It had been a long night with Farid mostly not getting much rest. He had been too troubled by Ansson's words. He disliked dealing with clients like that and tried not to often. His time was reserved for those who wanted to get better. People who just caused suffering for no reason and saw no benefit in change had no place in a session with him. Truthfully, he could not stomach it very well. He was supposed to be objective with clients, but it was difficult when they were vile. Eventually, the doctor did get to sleep, but his alarm seemed to have a personal vendetta against him as it sounded.

When he reached the prison, he went to the session room and smiled when he saw the first client. To his mild surprise, Dagur did not return the smile, but he did not look angry. He just seemed troubled. His gaze lingered on Gobber when the officer headed to the door. Finally, it landed on the psychologist.

"Doc, could I pick the topic for today?" he asked almost timidly.

Farid nodded. "Of course. What did you want to talk about?"

Dagur paused, then forced himself to continue. "Ansson."

The therapist set down his notepad. Even when the inmate had looked at him, he had more so looked in his direction than directly at him. Then was no different. Dagur's eyes were on the table and would not move from there.

"Alright."

"I know you talked with him and heard about how we met before being here." Dagur's voice got quiet. "Before talking with him, did you know?"

"I had my suspicions for a while."

This caused the inmate to look up and meet his eyes for the first time that day. "Do I just have it written all over my face or something?"

"No, but it was unusual for Ansson, or Abominable, to be around as often as he was. It seemed like something more might have been going on."

"Well, I didn't think it was weird at the time. I just thought he liked fighting me a lot since he kept winning. If I'd known…well, I guess nothing would've really changed. I wasn't even always at the house like that time in the forest on the anniversary of Ella's disappearance. He just always seemed to find me.

"I didn't know why he wouldn't leave my room the first time. Normally, he'd go in there to steal something, but he wasn't taking anything. It didn't make sense until it did."

"Did you ever tell anyone?"

Dagur nodded. "I told my dad as soon as Ansson left the first time." He pointed at his head. "I still wasn't getting it. I didn't get that it was something which couldn't be told. I just knew I didn't want it happening again."

"What do you mean that it was something which couldn't be told?"

"Dad didn't believe me when I told him. Then, he said that if it was true, it would mess up his job if word got out. Same thing as with losing Ella. No one could know he was on drugs. If someone found out about Ansson, then they'd probably find out why he was at the house and then he'd get disbarred."

"So, what was it he said to do?"

Dagur let out a scornful chuckle. "'Try to act more normal.' I guess he figured that if what made me special was my being so weird, it would kill two birds with one stone if I just stopped. Worth a try, right?"

Farid tried not to frown, but his expression did take on a sympathetic look.

"Don't look at me like that, Doc," the redhead requested. "That's the other thing he said would happen. After a little while, I went to Dad again to see if there was a way which didn't have to involve the police. That way, he could still look good to the public and Ansson could go away. He only trusted him to be his supplier, so that plan didn't work. I said I'd tell someone else and get them to go after him if he wouldn't. That's when he said everyone would just think I was pathetic."

"I don't feel that way."

"They might have. He said they'd have thought I was even weirder. It wasn't bad enough I didn't think like they did, then there'd have just been something else wrong with me."

"What happened doesn't make it so that there's something wrong with you," the doctor said sincerely. "There's something wrong with Ansson, but that doesn't reflect on you."

Momentarily, Dagur looked disbelievingly at him, then his skeptical frown faded. "It sure was convincing when he said it did. I was so worried about anyone thinking I was any more of a freak that I just kept it to myself. I figured I'd handle it. I needed to get better at fighting anyway. One day, I'd be strong enough to win."

A feeling of defeat hit the young man. He interlocked his hands on the table.

"That day didn't come before he got arrested," he admitted. "It just kept getting worse and worse and more often on top of it. Whether Dad was buying or not, Ansson was there. I never got a break. If I was at school, the other students would call me weird or make fun of my laugh; if just Dad was home, he'd just make me feel like a disappointment; and if he wasn't the only one there, then that meant there'd be a fight I was going to lose." Dagur put his hands to the side of his head. "I couldn't take it anymore! It's like I could feel myself losing it more and more."

As he thought back to the time, he grimaced and tightly gripped his hair, tugging on it some. Farid regarded him closely. The memories were too strong. He was getting lost in the recollection.

"You're not there anymore," the doctor said, bringing him back to the present. "It's behind you."

Dagur took a deep breath and nodded, lowering his hands again. "I went to my dad one more time. This time, I didn't bother asking him to help with Ansson. I knew that was pointless. Instead, I asked if I could go to talk with someone like you."

"That was what you were referring to when you said you had tried to speak with someone before?"

"Yep. I wasn't becoming any more sane and if that was the cause of all the problems, it seemed like therapy was the natural solution. I'd never been, but I'd heard about it and read about it. I used to try to self-diagnose, but I just wound up deciding I had everything, so it didn't really help."

"That's not just you," Farid said with a warm smile. "A lot of people tend to become overly worried when they try to label themselves that way."

"Well, it's nice to know that that's not just a me thing." A small smile appeared on his face, but it did not last long. "Dad wouldn't agree to that either, though. He wouldn't risk letting anyone think he had a kid with mental issues."

"He wanted you to change, but he didn't want to help you with therapy?"

"That's my dad for you. Ever the confusing one. You should've read his notes. He used to keep a journal. Twice, I got a look at it and it might as well have been in gibberish or something. It made no sense at all. I guess it suited him pretty well. I think he'd just given up on me by that point. Maybe he would've sent me somewhere if things had been different and Mom and Ella had still been around. I wouldn't have been his only family. With it just being me, I represented him, so I couldn't be a problem. Since I was, I couldn't be acknowledged."

"When was this?"

"It was when I was thirteen. I kept trying to stay nice for his image, but it felt like everything was bubbling up inside. One day, some kid called me stupid and I just wanted to kill him. Really kill him. It didn't feel like how I heard some people get mad and not really act on it. I just was getting angrier and angrier. Something had to be done and I didn't think it was going to happen if I left it to my dad. So, I went to Gobber."

"Just Gobber?"

"Just Gobber. Stoick didn't like me, so I wasn't sure if he'd even believe what I said. I'm not sure if Gobber liked me then either, but he disliked me less at least. I told him I'd seen Ansson selling drugs near town. I didn't tell him the rest. He'd tell Stoick and if Stoick found out, then Hiccup definitely would've and I didn't want him to."

"I don't think he would have thought badly of you because of that."

"I couldn't be sure. I kept hearing what Dad said in the back of my mind about everyone just thinking I was crazier, so I didn't want him to know. Gobber wasn't able to get him for that, but luckily, Ansson wasn't good at hiding the drugs, so he was able to get him with possession and distribution charges."

"And that was why he was gone when you got to high school."

"Exactly. It was great. Even if Dad still hated my guts and I didn't have any friends, at least he was gone. I could live with the rest." Dagur began frowning again. "At least until I got here. When I saw he was my cellmate, it was like cruel fate. I wanted a different one, but I wasn't so lucky, so we were stuck together. The first night, Ansson thought things would go back to normal and for a few minutes they did. He attacked and I attacked back, but I was a lot stronger than I was as a kid. His hits hurt less and mine hurt a lot more. He was still a little stronger but not by much and I was faster. As soon as I realized I was winning, I planned to go for the kill. I'd already killed, so what was one more person's blood on my hands?"

"What stopped you?"

"Who, not what. Alvin snuck up and tased me in the neck. If he'd been a few seconds later, we'd be down an Abominable." The inmate started to smirk a bit. "It felt good to almost kill him. Would've been better to have done it, but it was still a nice change of pace to get that far." He scowled. "The only problem was that Ansson realized the fighting wasn't so one-sided anymore too, so he started cheating. He'd find items here and there, get a shank from a crooked guard, and stuff like that. Whenever we'd be in the yard, he'd get his cronies to attack and whenever we were in the cell, he'd use those to attack on his own. He knew he couldn't beat me without help. Even with those weapons, things didn't go back to normal. He thought he'd be able to wear me down, but he couldn't. He'd attack every night and every time I started to get in some really good hits on him, another dirty cop would come by and break up the fight.

"I almost strangled him in his sleep, but the guard saw that too. He was able to sleep peacefully, but I couldn't. If I couldn't see what he was doing, I couldn't defend against it. Still, nothing really happened besides a broken bone or two, a few stabbings, and lots of bruises."

"And no one noticed this?"

"When Gobber did, he'd send me to Gothi." Dagur sighed. "So, I should probably finally answer your question about my scar. Back then, I knew some of the officers were underhanded, but I didn't know how many or who specifically. It was a day I had messed up another drug deal for Ansson. I was getting pretty good at that, but that was causing tension to be high. This time was the last straw. I figured it'd be the same as every other time and Ansson would get some new weapon to use, but he didn't. As the night got later, he didn't even say anything to me.

"The guards were going by like always, so I didn't think anything was up when Alvin came. He said he was transferring me to a different cell because I'd been to the infirmary so many times and it seemed like Ansson was the cause. He also said that I'd have to be restrained for the transport to be safe for everyone." Dagur clenched his fist and gritted his teeth. "I let him lock those handcuffs on me, but we didn't leave the cell. Instead, he put a cloth over the bars to keep from having an audience. I knew I was in trouble then, but it was too late. They both started attacking. Alvin gave Ansson his club and he used his hands. Alvin was stronger than anyone I'd ever fought before. The club hits from Ansson hurt, but each punch from Alvin felt like it was bursting an organ.

"It wasn't even a fight. I was back to the one-sided battles. Between the cuffs and their combined skills, I was losing badly. Neither of them wanted me dead, though, so they stopped before that could happen. Alvin said that he wanted me to remember that day and know not to get involved in his business again. He handed Ansson a knife which he used to cut off my hair, then he pulled out most of it on the sides. He decided that wasn't enough, so he took the knife back and told him to hold me still."

Dagur traced his finger over his right eye. "One." Next, he brought it to his cheekbone on the side. "Two." Then, the finger was put on his cheek a bit under his eye. "Three." Finally, he traced from around his temple to his chin. "Four. Took him four cuts to do this. He went in that order too. He wanted the last one to be the longest and slowest."

The young man closed his one eye, remembering how he had to keep the blood from dripping into his right one that night.

"That still wasn't enough. Ansson wasn't going to let an opportunity like this go. He asked Alvin to help pin me to the floor," Dagur suddenly became aware of his tapping foot and stopped the action. "Five years of peace and then it was taken away like it was nothing. Alvin said I was going to be nicer to Ansson if I didn't want another night like that." He felt himself getting flustered. "If it'd just been Ansson, that wouldn't have been a problem, but Alvin pressing you down is like a mountain landing on your back and head. I-I couldn't get up…I didn't think it was ever going to stop, but then I heard the cell opening again. Gobber had heard them and knew something was wrong. I don't think he expected that. I wasn't all there at the time, but he sounded angry. I don't remember what happened between then and when I got to the infirmary. I think I stayed a couple of days. I was in pretty bad shape.

"I wouldn't talk with any of the nurses or Gothi. I don't even think I could. I just felt lost. I didn't want every night to be like that. It wasn't a life I was willing to live. Just before I was released from the infirmary, Gobber came and spoke with me. He leveled with me–heh, that's probably why I don't mind it when you do too."

Farid smiled sadly. "What did he say?"

"He was saying that I was the youngest prisoner, so I was going to be tested by other inmates and guards. If I wanted it to stop, I had to prove I was just as tough as the baddest guys in here. He was right and I knew it, so I took his advice. Admittedly, I might have added a bit of my own flair to his suggestion. As soon as I got back to the cell, Ansson thought the nights would go his way, but he thought wrong. I waited for the guards on duty to walk far enough down the hall that they wouldn't see me, then I put up the cloth and attacked him. I wanted him to live this time. Just like Alvin wanted my face to be a reminder of what happens when someone messes up his drug deal, I wanted Ansson's whole body to be a reminder of what happens when you mess with Dagur the Deranged." A look that was a cross between anger, hatred, and sadness appeared. "No one was going to do that again. I wasn't going to let them. Next one who tried would die. No more warnings."

Dagur glanced up at Farid and saw the look on his face. It was not pitiful or full of disgust. It was also not cold and unfeeling. Instead, it was concerned and with a trace of anger.

"I probably should've expected this response from you, but I still wasn't sure how you'd react," he admitted.

"I won't judge you for anything and especially not something like that."

"Thanks," came the quiet reply. An unreadable look crossed the redhead's face. "There's something else I want to tell you…"

Dagur turned his head as the door opened and Gobber entered. He got up so that the handcuffs could be reattached.

"Until next time, Doc."

"Until then," Farid said, with a nod of his head.

As he watched him leave, a thought crossed his mind. "I want him to get a chance to talk with Heather, but I don't know if that'll happen before he's out of solitary. If there's a way to prove he didn't try to escape, maybe the therapy sessions' success would be enough to let that happen."

A few minutes later, Gobber came back. The psychologist peeked out the door and saw him before he could get another client. Purposefully, he had scheduled a few extra minutes in between sessions this time so that they would be able to talk.

"Do you have a moment, Gobber?"

The man nodded and went into the room, closing the door behind him.

"Is there any way for Dagur to have unlocked that door by himself?"

Gobber shook his head. "Not the way it's built. It's specifically designed to only work with a certain set of keys and it even opens inwards to prevent stronger criminals from possibly kicking it down easier. Even if we assumed he did try to get out, he'd have needed someone to give him that key." He paused, seeing a contemplative look on the man's face. "What are you planning?"

"It's more me just trying to see what can be done at this point. I want him to get a chance to show that he's not that violent anymore–or at least not a danger to the average person. I don't think he'll get that if he stays in solitary. Maybe if we connect the 'attempt' to Alvin, this could be our way to stop him."

At the mention of the other officer's name, Farid noticed Gobber's disposition change.

"Dagur told me that he went to you about Ansson when he was a kid."

"He did, but I wish he'd told me more than he did. I would've tried to get him a different cellmate if I'd known. Wish he'd told me when it was happening back then too. I could have done something to help. He didn't have to deal with that alone."

"He also told me about the night with the scar and how you were there to help him."

The blond's brows furrowed deeply. "I wasn't even supposed to be on duty that night, but I wound up coming in anyway to speak with Stoick about something. Figured I'd do a few rounds while I was there. I wasn't unaccustomed to seeing sheets over the bars. Working here as long as I had even then, it was a pretty common sight. I knew it meant the inmates wanted privacy and didn't have a problem with that. It was their choice; however, considering how many injuries Dagur seemed to be getting from who I assumed was Ansson, it didn't put a good taste in my mouth.

"What really did it was when I heard Alvin's voice." Gobber felt anger similar to what he had experienced that night. "There was blood everywhere. The lad was barely even conscious for Pete's sake. On top of that, when I saw the handcuffs too, I just lost it. Not that them not being there would've made it fair, but it was an additional way to slant the fight in their favor." The officer took a breath to calm himself down. "I think I threw Ansson across the cell. For Alvin," he said, lifting his prosthetic arm, "I used this. It wound up cutting him pretty deeply on his cheek, so they both got their scars that night."

"What happened afterwards with Alvin?"

"He never brought it up with me. I told Stoick I saw him in the cell, but Alvin claimed he was trying to break up the fight." Gobber bared his teeth. "He's a filthy liar. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see he was an active participant."

"Dagur said you came to see him."

"I did. Gothi is a cantankerous, old lady, but she's a lot softer than she lets on. She was worried about Dagur since he seemed like he was completely gone mentally. It was almost like he was in a comatose state without technically being in one. He'd look at people, but he wasn't speaking and wasn't eating. I came to see him and that brought him back. When we were alone, he asked me to not tell anyone about what happened. That's why I wouldn't tell you either when you asked."

"I can understand you respecting his wishes."

"When I was talking to him, he didn't seem like the kid I'd spoken to from time to time. He just was so lost–destroyed really. I realized that was why he wasn't eating. He was ready for it to end. I tried to encourage him not to be. Said he'd be seen as an easy target by the others–he was really just a kid and you don't want to be a kid here. I told him that could change if he was someone they wouldn't mess with. Looking back, I probably gave that suggestion to the wrong person, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't grin when I saw what he'd done to Ansson. For nearly five years, Ansson had been top dog, so when everyone found out what Dagur did to him, they were terrified. I had expected him to be considered as tough as the others, but he outdid them. Of course, this also meant he had to go to solitary confinement. I spoke with him that first night after the transport. I didn't want that for him. I'd seen what it could do to the most stable people and if we're being honest, he never was in that category. He didn't care, though. He said that he was used to being trapped with his thoughts. He could handle those. He just didn't want to ever be put in a situation like that night again."

Gobber stopped, hearing some loud inmates complaining about something. Looking at Farid, he explained that he had to go. The correctional officer left to handle that matter until it was time for him to bring the next patient. He was not gone for long and soon, Farid was right back to having more sessions. Regardless, that did not mean he had forgotten about how there was one more thing he would have been told had the first session not ended so soon. This stayed in his mind until The next day in the therapy session when Dagur returned. He looked more certain of himself and almost like he had actually slept that night. There was a determined expression on his face as he sat down.

"Hello," Farid said with a calm smile. "There was something you wanted to tell me yesterday before the session ended."

Dagur nodded. "Yeah, I wanted to tell you that I didn't kill my dad."