FRIDAY – WEEK 3
New day, new nightmare. This time I wake up softly crying, so I'm able to stop pretty quickly. I just wipe my face with my hands, and I'm good for going back to sleep until I'm able to get to the showers.
I turn the water to as hot as I can stand it, let the soap suds wash away down the drain. I tilt my face up, enjoy the feeling of the water flowing down my body. Suddenly I'm hit hard from behind. The last thing I see is the knob heading straight for my face.
I wake to lights so bright that I squeeze my eyes closed again. I'm cold, but I'm on something soft, and I'm thankfully clothed.
"Just stay still, Dean," I hear Robert say from my right side up by my head. I feel his hand start to rub up and down my right arm, and I instantly calm down. "Keep your eyes closed," he says when I try to open them again.
"What happened?" I ask, making sure to keep my eyes closed as ordered.
"Can you tell us the last thing you remember?" Robert asks.
I feel a strange tugging sensation at the right side of my scalp just above my hairline. I try to reach for it, but find that I'm in restraints again. "Why am I strapped down?" I ask as I start to breathe a little heavier, panicking just a bit.
"Calm down, Dean. You're okay. You fell in the shower room. You hit your head on one of the knobs, got yourself a bit of a gash on your scalp. Dan is putting some stitches in right now. That's why your head feels a little funny. He numbed it up, but you're probably feeling a bit of a pulling sensation," Robert explains.
I let out a groan as I remember. "Something hit me," I tell him.
"Simon had a bit of a freak out today, and he was running from the orderlies when they all ran into you," Robert says.
"Simon?" I ask. "Doesn't sound like Simon," I say even taking into consideration I don't know him that well.
"He's been hoarding his medications in his room instead of taking them," Robert explains.
"Oh," I say intelligently. I try the restraints again. "But why am I tied down?" I ask again.
"If you'll stay still, we can take those off," Dan says from my left side.
"We didn't know if you would wake up combative or not," Robert tells me.
"I'll be good," I say with a grin.
"Okay, but stay still," Robert says again as I feel him take the restraints off.
"Yes, sir," I say obediently. "How many stitches, Doc?" I ask as I work hard at staying as still as I can. I'm used to having stitches put in, but I'm not used to the skin being numbed up first. This is kind of cool. It doesn't hurt.
"I'm thinking it will end up being eighteen when I'm done," he replies.
I smile. "Well, it's not the worst I've had," I comment.
Dan chuckles. "No, I suppose it's not," he says. "It's actually a good thing you hit the knob. If you hadn't, you would've gone face first into the tile wall," Dan tells me.
I let out a chuckle. "I'll take a scalp laceration over fractured facial bones any day," I say with a smile.
Robert resumes his position on my right side, puts his hand on my shoulder. Sam used to touch some part of me while Dad put the stitches in. I missed it when Dad wasn't around and Sam was the one doing the stitching.
"All the sutures are in, but I want you to stay where you are for a little bit longer," Dan orders me. "Because of the location, I'm going to have to wrap your head with a bandage. The bandage will only have to stay on for the next twenty-four hours, though."
"I'm going to look like such a dork," I say with a grin, and the two men chuckle at that.
"Watch the bandage carefully for the next twenty-four hours. If the wound bleeds through, I want you to tell Robert immediately. Is that clear, young man?" Dan asks.
"Yes, sir," I say. The man probably knows I hate doctors, would do anything to avoid one, and therefore the strict warning.
"Tell Robert if you have any concerns at all," he continues. "If it starts to smell funny or a clear discharge soaks the bandage, I want you to tell him."
"Yes, sir," I say again as he gently lifts my head, wraps the bandage around it.
"All right, now I want to give you a shot," Dan says
I instantly tense up, and my eyes fly open. Robert's grip tightens, and I look up at him. I stay where I am, but I feel myself start to shake a bit.
"Are we going to have to put the restraints back on?" Robert asks me, eyebrow raised.
"No, sir," I say with a wince.
"Close your eyes again, Dean," Robert tells me, and I do as he says. "It's going to go real quick."
I startle when Dan picks my left arm up by my wrist, but then he just rests my arm across my chest. When I feel my pants being lowered on my left side, I squeeze my eyes closed even tighter. When he finally pokes my left hip with the needle, I manage to stay still, but I can't help the little grunt that comes out.
"Okay, you're all set to go," Dan says cheerfully.
I open my eyes, and Robert helps me sit up on the bed. The infirmary is empty but for us and Danny. He's on the left side of the room in the bed closest to the windows. He's just staring out the windows.
Robert helps me down off the bed, and then takes me by my right upper arm. "Lean on me if you feel dizzy at all," he says as we head for the door.
"I'm going to want those out in ten days, Dean," Dan says as we get to the door.
"Yes, sir," I say as we leave.
"That will be the Monday after this coming one, but it'll be put onto your daily schedule that day, and I'll remind you about it so you don't forget," Robert tells me as we walk down the hallway.
"I suppose you're going to make me go back to Dan to get them out, aren't you?" I ask with a scowl.
"Yup," Robert says with a grin.
"Well, don't you look spiffy," I hear Joey comment as he sees the two of us heading for the common area. He's got a big smile on his face, and his book is in his left hand. "Simon got you good!"
"Hey, yeah, where is Simon?" I ask as I turn to look at Robert.
"Where everybody goes when they refuse to take their medications," Joey says before Robert can answer.
"Oh," I say awkwardly and with a grimace.
"He'll be okay," Robert assures me. "He's been doing so good for so long on his meds that it took me by surprise to find out he'd stopped them."
"You don't know why?" I ask.
"Nope," Robert replies.
"Did you make Dean glow?" Joey asks.
Robert chuckles. "Yeah, but he doesn't know it yet," he says.
"Make me glow?" I ask, puzzled expression on my face.
"We sent you through the CT machine while you were out of it to make sure you didn't have any internal bleeds," Robert explains.
"Oh, and I'm guessing that, since I'm not in surgery, I'm okay?" I ask with a grin.
"All they found was a giant ego, and they said there's nothing they can do about that," Robert says with a lopsided smile, and Joey and I chuckle. "Okay, you two go out and have fun. I've got work to do," Robert says as he heads off toward the nurse's station.
"Did you see Danny while you were in the infirmary?" Joey asks as we sit down on the couch nearest the window.
"Yeah," I reply.
"Well?"
"He was just staring out the window," I say with a wince.
"Oh," Joey says, sounding disappointed.
"I don't know if anything has changed since Robert told me this, but he said that Danny's refusing to eat or talk to anyone," I tell Joey in a hushed voice.
"I know he's a jerk, but I still feel bad for the guy," Joey says softly as he looks down at his book, traces the embossed words on the cover with a finger.
"Yeah, same here," I tell him.
Joey tosses the book on the table in front of us, then settles his back against the armrest, pulls his legs up against his chest. "You never got a turn that day we were talking about pets. Did you ever have a pet when you were growing up?" he asks.
I slide down into the couch until my head hits the back of it, sprawl out as per normal. "Nope, Dad always said we moved too much to be able to take care of a pet," I tell him.
"I had rats," Joey says with a smile.
"Oh, ugh, rats?" I say with a sour look on my face.
Joey chuckles at my exaggerated reaction. "I take it you don't like rats," he says with a smile.
"That's putting it mildly," I say with a shiver.
"You're scared of them!" Joey points at me and nearly screams with excitement.
"Well, you don't have to tell everyone, but yeah, so, I'm a little scared of them," I say much quieter than Joey's little outburst.
Joey laughs again. "I had two of them. They were big with black fur," he says as if he knows this is grossing me out.
I squirm a little. "You left them in their cages, right?" I ask with a frown.
Joey smiles as he shakes his head no. "I took them out all the time. They loved being petted," he tells me, watches for my reaction.
I moan with another sour expression. "I'm glad we never got to have pets. Sam would've probably wanted a rat," I say grumpily.
I see Joey look toward the nurse's station, and I turn to see Robert walk up to us. "I'd like you to eat lunch today, Dean," he says when he stops in front of the couch.
"Okay," I say with a shrug of my shoulders.
"If you throw up after eating, I want you to tell me, okay?"
I shake my head no. "I don't like what happens when you find out I've thrown up," I grumble.
Robert smiles at that. "I want you to tell me because of the head wound. If you're throwing up, it could be a sign of something going on in your head," Robert explains.
"Oh, okay, then I guess I'll tell you," I give.
"Did you eat yet, Joey?" Robert asks.
Joey winces. "I was waiting for Dean," he says, obviously lying.
"Eat lunch," Robert orders him.
"You got it, man," Joey says as he stands up, offers me a hand up.
Joey and I each get our tray, take an open table. It's almost empty since it's so late in the lunch hour.
"How old are you, if you don't mind my asking," I ask Joey as we start in on our lunch.
"Twenty," Joey says with a mouthful of his sandwich.
"You look younger," I say as I ball up my wrapper.
"I had just turned eighteen when I killed Mom, so I was getting ready to be tried as an adult, and just happened to be old enough to be put in with the rest of the guys here," he tells me.
"Again, if you don't mind-"
"You can ask me anything," Joey interrupts me. "The only thing I didn't want you to know about was the cutting, and since you know now, it doesn't matter."
I chuckle. "That's actually what I was going to ask you about. How old were you when you started cutting?" I ask.
"I'm not really sure," he says. "I think I was around seven, but it could have been earlier, and I just don't remember it."
"Seven?" I ask, surprised.
Joey chuckles. "I remember pulling some glass out of the garbage can to look at it. It cut me, and I was amazed by how the blood looked running down the glass. So I started cutting myself on purpose to see it some more," he tells me.
"What did your mom do when she found out?" I ask with a wince.
"She didn't," he says with a grin.
"How'd you pull that one off?"
"After the first cut, I did it on my knees, and it looked like I fell in the rocks, which is exactly what I told her," Joey explains.
"Did she ever find out?" I ask him.
Joey shakes his head no. "She never confronted me about it, but I think she knew," he tells me.
"What do you think you would have done if she had confronted you?"
Joey shrugs his shoulders. "We probably would've ended up fighting about it." Joey eats a few more bites of his sandwich. "Do you remember your mom at all?" he asks me.
"Kind of," I say.
"I was just wondering because I can't remember my dad at all, but you were twice my age by the time your mom died, so you might remember her more than I remembered my dad," he says without taking a breath.
"I remember she had blonde hair that I used to run my fingers through. She was pretty. She used to sing to us," I say. Then a memory hits me, and I chuckle.
"What?" Joey asks.
"I just remembered that Mom was the one to potty train me, and she would throw a few Cheerios in the water, tell me to aim for them," I say with a bit of a blush.
"That's really cute," Joey says with a smile.
"I'd actually forgotten about that until just now," I tell Joey.
"Cool," he says. "Did your dad use that method to get Sam toilet trained?"
I shake my head no. "Sam toilet trained himself. He saw us using it, and one day he decided that he wanted to use it, and so he just did," I say with a shrug.
"Cute," Joey says, an adorable look on his face that makes me glad I thought of it. "I wet the bed until I was six," Joey grumbles as he tosses one third of his sandwich down onto the tray uneaten. "But that's okay. My mom told me that my dad wet his bed until he was fourteen!"
"Oh, man, that sucks," I say with a wince.
"Yeah, that's just disturbing is what that is," Joey says with a chuckle. "Well, are you queasy yet?"
"Nope," I reply. "At least no more than usual," I say with a smile.
"Good. I hate it when Robert has to shove stuff up your ass," Joey says with a lopsided grin.
"Oh, ha, ha," I say smartly. "You just wait. One of these days he'll hold you down on the bed and shove suppository so far up your ass you think it's going to come out your throat, and then we'll see who's laughing," I tell him with a grin of my own.
"Big baby," Joey taunts as he gets up, takes both of our trays over to the cart.
TUESDAY – WEEK 3
They're getting worse. It feels like the nightmares are just coming one right after another now. I'm so tired, I feel like I haven't even slept. I can't remember ever feeling so bad in my life. Thankfully I don't wake up crying to every one of them, but I'm pretty much guaranteed to wake up sticky with sweat-chilled skin.
I roll out of bed, grab a new set of scrubs, head for the shower room. I check my schedule for the day, groan when I see that I've got an appointment with Jim in less than a half hour. That means I can't stand under the shower for forty-five minutes like I've been doing in the morning. Nobody's said anything so far, so I assume it's not a big issue around here.
"It still sounds like bullshit, and I don't like it, but I'm warming to the stages-of-grieving idea," I say as I sit across the coffee table from Jim.
Jim smiles at me. "I know a lot of this stuff is hard to take in, but I appreciate that you listen, and that you answer me honestly," he tells me sincerely. "Did you try any of the relaxation techniques?"
I nod. "Yeah, but the nightmares are getting worse," I grumble.
"How so?" he asks.
"Well, before I would have one or two big ones a night, but now they just seem to be constant throughout the entire night. I'm waking up drenched in sweat every fucking morning," I say tiredly as I rub my eyes.
"Robert's going to notice soon, you know. I can see from here that you're overtired," Jim says, sounding concerned.
"I think both he and Greg already know, they just don't want to see me go on the tranquilizers again," I say with a shrug.
"My knowledge of medications only goes so far, but I do know that people get used to tranquilizers, and they lose their initially-strong effect over time," Jim tells me.
"I really don't give a fuck," I say, then yawn. "I'm not taking them," I say, sounding so tired that the bite is gone from my words.
Jim lets it go. "Any new nightmares?" he asks instead of pushing it further.
I shake my head no. "Those same two on repeat most of the time, but there are others," I tell him.
"And you can't remember them?" Jim asks.
"I remember bits and pieces of them. I think they're mostly old jobs gone wrong, and either Sam or Dad gets killed in them," I say as I lean my head back on the couch, close my eyes, wrap my arms around my stomach.
"Did you and your brother ever have a service for your father?" Jim asks.
"Part of why I'm in here, doc," I say with a grin.
"What did you do with your father after you took him from the morgue?" he asks.
"Sam and I salted and burned him, said goodbye in our own way," I say softly, the little bit of cockiness I had going for me suddenly disappearing from my voice.
"Good," Jim says.
I sit up and look at him. "Huh?"
"It's good that you had that opportunity. People who aren't able to say some form of goodbye to their loved one find it even harder to get through the grieving process," Jim tells me.
"Okay, so you're going back to the grieving thing again. What do I do since I'm stuck in between one and two?" I ask him.
"There are some basic guidelines that I can tell you, but I want you to know that this isn't going to be a quick fix," Jim warns me.
I let out a sigh. "Yeah, I'm seeing that," I say with a wince.
"Okay, the first thing is to be patient with yourself. This is a big deal, and it's going to take a lot out of you," Jim tells me. "And I know you're not going to want to hear this, but you're going to need to talk about it," Jim says.
"But that...," I trail off as I focus on his stupid plant.
"That hurts? I know it does," Jim says to me.
"I'm so fucking tired, and I'm so sick of crying," I complain, bordering on a whine.
"Just remember that it's the hormones, the brain chemicals, and the fatigue that are making up a big part of how emotional you are. Yes, dealing with death is a big deal, and you're going to cry about it, but what you've been doing lately is completely draining yourself," Jim explains.
"I don't want to cry anymore," I say, definitely whining this time.
"You're not just grieving a lost person, you're letting go of an integral part of yourself that was a large part of who you are," Jim says.
The backs of my eyes start to prickle. I let out a groan, lean my head back again. I hate this. This all should be much easier than it is.
"This is all going to take time, Dean. And nobody can tell you when or how to feel the things you're going through. You're going to have to open up and talk to someone that you feel comfortable with. And if that isn't me, that's okay. But find someone. If you find yourself able to talk to your brother, that's wonderful. If not, that's okay, too. Don't ever let anybody tell you how to feel, and don't let anybody tell you it's about time to get over this, because it's different for everybody," Jim tells me.
"How will I know when I've gotten over it?" I ask.
"You're never going to be the same as you were before your father died. It just isn't going to happen. What will happen, though, is you'll start to feel different. You'll start to feel that you can finally get back to being yourself," Jim explains. He lets that sink in for a moment. "It's not going to help if you blame yourself for his death, either," Jim says softly.
My eyes snap to his. "But it was my fault," I nearly yell at him. Where did that come from?
Jim shakes his head no. "Your father made a choice, Dean. It wasn't up to you," he says.
My stomach clenches. "But he would be here if it weren't for me," I growl, my throat hurting, chest feeling tight.
"It was his choice," Jim says with a shrug as if it's that easy. "He loved you, and he made a choice based on information he had at the time that you may not even know about," Jim tells me.
"It was the wrong choice," I growl again, my throat too tight to speak normally.
"Not in his eyes," Jim says.
"It was the wrong choice!" I yell at him. My eyes are burning badly enough that it's getting hard to see Jim.
"But it wasn't yours," Jim says just as calmly as he has everything else.
"That fucking bastard left me here without him!" I yell again, my voice breaking on the last word, and my fucking bottom lip trembling. "He left me here with this huge fucking responsibility that I never asked for with the guilt of knowing that I'm the reason that he's in Hell!" I continue yelling, tears running down my cheeks.
Jim shakes his head no again. "It's not your fault. It wasn't your choice. That one's all on him, Dean," Jim says.
A sob breaks free from my throat. "But-"
"Wouldn't you have done the same thing had the tables been turned? Would you do the same thing for Sam?" he asks me.
I shake my head no. "He shouldn't have done it," I say, my voice getting weaker. I angrily wipe the tears from my face, but more just come streaming down anyway.
"You meant everything to him, and he did what he thought was the right thing to do, which was saving you at the cost of his own life. Ask any parent, and they would do the same thing," Jim says.
I cover my face with my hands as another sob breaks free. "It was the wrong choice," I insist. A stupid keening noise comes from my throat followed by a sob. "He shouldn't have done it," I say with a ragged voice.
"It's out of your hands now. All you can do is grieve for your father and try to move on with your life," Jim says loud enough for me to hear over my crying.
"And now I've fucked up, gotten thrown in this shithole where I can't even do the one thing Dad asked of me. I can't save Sam," I say through my hands as I begin to cry even harder.
"It's not your fault. You've done the best you could do, but things have happened that are out of your control," Jim says reasonably.
I let out a frustrated growl. "I should've-"
"You're only human. There's only so much you can do," Jim interrupts to tell me.
"He shouldn't have left me. He shouldn't have left Sam. I can't do this anymore," I say as I press harder on my eyes, trying to get the tears to stop.
I hear Jim get off the couch, but I'm too busy trying to keep the tears where they're supposed to stay to pay much attention. The couch suddenly dips on my right side, and then there's an arm around my shoulders pulling me closer to warmth, and I go with it. I curl into Jim's side, rest my head on his shoulder, and let myself cry some more.
It seems like forever that we sit there with Jim slowly rubbing his fingers over my left shoulder, me crying into his chest. It feels so good, and I don't want it to end. But then I start feeling a bit ridiculous, and I tense up.
"There's nothing to be ashamed of," Jim says. "You needed this, so relax," he tells me.
"Yes, sir," I say, then sniffle.
We sit there for a while longer as I slowly calm down from crying so hard. The hiccups and sniffling finally lessen. I start to drift off when Jim gently sits me up. "Why don't we get you back to your room for a nap?" he asks as he stands up, holds a hand out for me.
I shake my head no. "Robert doesn't let me take naps in my room," I say as I let Jim pull me up.
"He will if I tell him to let you," Jim says with a grin.
I chuckle with what feels like a completely raw throat, and the sound that comes out is more like a cough. "Cool," I say as I head out the door.
"Dean," I hear Joey say, and I crack open my eyes just a bit to look up at him from my comfortable cocoon I've made for myself in bed. "Hey, man, it's time to get up," he says.
"How long was I out?" I mumble.
"Two hours," Joey tells me. "Robert told me to get you up and take you to lunch."
"Not hungry," I moan as I pull the pillow over my head.
Joey laughs. "Don't start that. That never leads to anything but much badness," he says as he takes the pillow from me, holds it against his chest like I'm going to take it back.
I kick and struggle with the blanket for a while as I get untangled. I slowly slide off the bed, get my slippers on, and walk into the hallway. Joey catches up to me.
"If I'm being too nosey or into your shit, just tell me to fuck off, okay?" Joey asks as we get to the nurse's station.
I give Robert a wave. "You can ask me anything you want to, kid," I offer.
We each grab a tray, sit down, get comfortable. Joey looks at me for a moment as if trying to gather his thoughts. "Are they getting worse? The nightmares?" he asks me.
I nod as I stab at the chicken salad. "I don't know what the deal is, but yes, they're getting worse by the night," I tell him.
"I know pretty much everybody here has nightmares, but yours seem to be so much worse. You look like shit," he says with a concerned look on his face.
I shrug. "I don't know what to tell you," I say tiredly.
"Well, I was thinking about it last night after you woke me up," he starts.
I wince. "Sorry," I tell him.
"It's not a big deal," Joey says with a wave like it's nothing. "Anyway, I was thinking about this kid that I knew when I was in maybe third or fourth grade. The kid had nightmares so bad that he would hurt himself and his sister in the middle of the night," Joey tells me.
"Wow," I say as I look up at him, interested.
"Yeah, it was bad. The kid would be screaming every night, waking up the whole house," he says.
"What happened?" I ask.
"It got so bad that they took him to a doctor, and the doctor not only put him on medication for it, but he also sent him to some kind of psych doctor. I'm not sure now what kind of psych doctor it was, though, but they got it under control after a while. The only reason I mention it is because they diagnosed him as having night terrors instead of nightmares," Joey explains.
"What's the difference?" I ask him.
Joey shrugs. "I really don't know, but you might want to ask either Jim or Richards about it. They probably know more about that kind of thing," Joey tells me.
"I'll ask Jim," I tell him.
"I just thought it might help," Joey says.
"Thanks, man," I say with a smile. "I'll take anything I can get. I actually fell out of bed last night because of a nightmare," I admit.
Joey laughs, then quickly covers his mouth. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't laugh at you," he says with a panic-stricken look on his face.
I chuckle. "It's okay," I tell him with a smile. "Do any of the other guys wake you up at night?" I ask.
"Every once in a while someone will, but not usually. There used to be a patient here named Kevin. Kevin pretty much yelled all the time, but he would scream at night like someone was killing him," Joey tells me.
"What happened to him?" I ask him.
"He killed himself the same way Danny tried to," Joey says with a wince.
I groan as I poke at my salad some more. "Did Danny have a lot of nightmares?"
"When he first came here he didn't, but then closer to the time where he cut himself, he started in with the screaming at night," Joey tells me.
"So, basically you're telling me to stay away from the razors?" I ask with a lopsided grin.
"Just a little bit," Joey says.
WEDNESDAY – WEEK 3
"No!" I scream as I sit up in bed. The nightmare wasn't that horrible, but it was enough to wake me suddenly. I look up at the clock to see it's still Wednesday. Thursday is only thirty-two minutes away.
I lie back down, turn onto my right side so that, if somebody looks in through the window, they won't see me awake.
"Oh, fuck," I grumble as I see Dad sitting on top of my dresser. He's in scrubs, too, and he's just looking at me with a soft smile. I didn't take any new medication, but this must be a hallucination. Maybe they gave me something new, and I didn't notice. I need to pay more attention to what's in those cups.
"Hey, Dean," Dad says.
"Hey, Dad," I reply as I close my eyes.
"You sure got yourself into a mess this time, didn't you, son?" Dad asks.
"Sam's going to get me out," I tell him nonchalantly even though I know none of this is real.
Dad lets out a sigh. "I told you last time that Sam is dead, baby," he says.
"Well, ask him to visit me, too, would you?" I ask of him, tired voice.
Dad chuckles. "I know you think I'm not real, but I'm going to show you that I'm as real as can be," he tells me, and I hear him slide down from the dresser.
"Okay, you're real," I mumble as I kick the covers to the floor. I always get hot in the middle of the night here, especially with all the nightmares.
The end of the bed dips, so I open my eyes and turn onto my back, watching as Dad crawls up toward me on his hands and knees.
"What are you doing?" I ask, getting a little flutter of nervousness in my stomach.
Dad doesn't say anything. He crawls between my legs until he can't go any further, my legs stretched around him. He leans over me, his hands on either side of my head so that we're face to face.
I start to breathe heavier. "What are you doing?" I ask again, only this time it's a whisper.
"Showing you how real I am," he says softly, then leans in until his lips are barely touching my left ear. "I could kill you right here, right now, and nobody would ever know what happened. They'd just find you in the morning, dead and cold."
I gasp, try to pull back, but I'm already against the pillow. He leans back, and I stare up at him with wide eyes. "I-"
Dad shushes me, patting my belly. "It's okay, baby," he says as he chuckles.
I start to panic, to pant. Something's really off. More than just the fact that my dad, who is currently dead, is apparently visiting me from Hell. "I don't know what you want, but I've had about enough of this," I say as I reach up and push against his chest with both hands. He doesn't budge. He doesn't even seem to notice that I'm pushing.
"It's all going to be okay," he reassures me, voice patronizing in a way Dad only used when he was dealing with really traumatized victims when we were hunting.
I squeeze my eyes shut. "This isn't real. This isn't real," I say, hoping that my brain will get it and stop this shit. Then I let out a scream as Dad pinches my left inner thigh so hard that I wonder if he's taken the skin with him.
"It's real if it hurts," Dad tells me with a grin on his face.
"Oh, fuck! It's real! It's fucking real!" I say as I enter into full panic mode. I don't know how, but this is fucking real. Dad's out of Hell. He's come for me. I have to get out of this. I push the thumb of my left hand into Dad's trachea as I grab onto his hair with my right hand, trying to hold him in place.
Dad laughs at me. "You can't hurt me, but I can hurt you," he tells me, and his voice isn't affected by what I'm doing to his throat in the least. He sits back, effortlessly pulling himself out of my hold, and a grin spreads over his face. "I've learned a few tricks down below," he says as he reaches behind his back with his right hand, pulling something out of the back of his jeans.
My eyes widen when I see a fucking huge hunting knife in his hand. "What the fuck are you doing?" I ask, not nearly as aggressive as I'd like to sound.
"Calm down, kid," Dad soothes, tapping the flat of the knife on my stomach.
Even through my thin shirt, I can feel the cold steel. "Why are you doing this?" I ask, voice barely a whisper.
"You need to learn," Dad says, shrugging. "I taught you everything you know, but do you know how to fight off something that's been in Hell as long as I have?"
"We do all right," I say, nodding.
Dad snorts. "So naive," he says, then lunges forward.
I gasp as his left hand goes around my throat and suddenly the knife's point is touching the vulnerable skin of my left cheek, just below my eye. "Dad, stop. Please, just stop," I say, voice breaking. I'm so scared that tears are starting to run into my hair. My whole body is shaking.
Dad lets the tip of the knife slide over my cheek, my forehead, then down my nose before tapping on my bottom lip. "I did it for you, you know. I went to Hell so you could stay up top and watch Sam."
"I am," I say, my hands balled into fists at my sides.
"Are you really?" Dad asks. "Because from what I've seen he's dabbling in things he really shouldn't be. And that kinda makes you a shitty big brother."
My bottom lip wobbles. I know I haven't really done what he asked me to do. Sam scares the shit out of me sometimes, but there's something else, something deep inside me that says we can handle it. We can handle whatever life throws at us, and we'll make it.
"I thought so," Dad says, nodding as the tip of the knife runs back and forth over my bottom lip. One wrong move and he could do a lot of damage. "If you're not going to take care of the problem, maybe I need to pay a visit to Sammy myself."
My bottom lip trembles as I look into his eyes. He means it. He's not bluffing. "Dad, please," I whisper. "Don't. Don't hurt him. We've got it. I'm watching him, and he's doing okay. I can-"
"You're stuck in here," Dad says, interrupting me. "And you can stop him from going darkside any more than you can stop me from dragging him back to Hell with me," he says with a wicked grin.
I can't help it. I totally lose it. I use what seems like every muscle in my body to fight against him. I kick out with my legs, arch my back off of the bed, and shove at him with both hands as hard as I can, screaming louder than I've ever screamed before. I don't care if the knife does anything to me, and I'm beyond caring if someone hears me and comes running. He's not touching my brother.
The fucker lets me run out of steam, and soon I'm panting, shivering, and blinking up at him. He's still there, smirking at me, and my little display didn't do a damn thing.
"You're not going anywhere," he says, "and if you feel that strongly about it, then I guess I'll just have to show you what's going to happen to little Sammy."
I flinch as he drops the knife onto the floor, the sound loud in the small room, and then I'm screaming in terror, because what's sitting between my legs no longer looks like my father. There's nothing human about it. I can't even focus because my brain just isn't keeping up with whatever it is I'm seeing. There's tentacles, swirling masses, gore, quivering flesh, black eyes that see right through me, and the stench of rot fills my nose.
I can't stop screaming. I can't move. I can't think. All I can do is lie there screaming my head off while this thing sits there, not doing anything to me other than scaring the shit out of me, and I know it's Dad. Even as unrecognizable as it is, I know it's Dad.
Then Dad's suddenly gone, and I notice I'm not lying on my bed anymore, but I'm on cold steel. I stop screaming and look around, finding myself in the steel box again. That was a fucking dream. A dream, and it felt that real.
I shakily stand up, noticing that not only am I seeing this dream through my own eyes, but I'm cold and shivering and my pants are wet. I wipe the tears from my eyes just in time to jump out of the way of a flame coming from the floor.
THURSDAY – WEEK 3
"You okay, Dean?" Robert asks as he walks into my room.
I lift my head from my knees to look up at him with sore eyes. I'm on the very end of my bed with my knees tucked up against my chest, the pants material a little wet where my tears have stained them.
"Dean?" he asks again.
Even though I've been tearing for the last hour or so in this position, I manage to let a sob out when I hear the concern in Robert's voice. More tears start to come, and my bottom lip trembles.
"What happened?" he asks.
I let out a very unmanly squeak. I'm shaking. "I pissed myself," I say with a ragged voice.
"It's okay, Dean," Robert assures me. "Come here," he says as he gestures for me to stand up. I shake my head no. Robert nods. "Yeah, come here," he says again.
I slowly slide to the edge of the bed, and Robert takes me by the right upper arm, helps me up.
"It's okay," he says again. "You're not in trouble, and nobody's going to make fun of you," Robert tells me. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me to him. "I know you're probably scared, and you probably feel stupid about this, but I want you to calm down. It's going to be okay," he assures me again.
I wipe the tears from my face, already feeling a little bit better in Robert's arms. "I'm sorry," I whisper.
"No problem. Get some fresh scrubs out of your dresser, then go ahead and take a shower. I'll take care of your bed," Robert says.
"Okay," I say, probably sounding horribly pathetic.
"We're going to want to get a urine sample from you, so don't piss while you're in the shower room," Robert says as I make it to the doorway.
I turn around, panicked look on my face. "Are you going to take me to Dan?" I ask.
"We're just going to get you a quick checkup to see that everything's okay," he tells me.
I start to walk back into the room. "Robert-"
"Go take your shower," Robert cuts me off, says it with a bit of an authoritative tone to his voice.
"But...," I start, but he just turns to me, raises his eyebrow. "Yes, sir," I mumble as I turn away.
Robert's waiting for me outside the shower room when I come out. "Ready?" he asks with a smile. I shake my head no. Robert chuckles. "You're going to be fine," he says as he gets a hold on my left upper arm, and pulls me toward the infirmary.
I try to stay where I am, but he pulls hard enough that I have to either go or fall. "But I don't want to go," I whine as I catch up to his longer stride.
"Hey, what are you two doing here this morning?" Dan asks as we walk through the door.
I suddenly realize that, in order to get Dan's help, he's going to have to know that I pissed myself. I turn to Robert with widened eyes. "Don't tell him," I hiss.
Robert turns me to him, looks down at me. "We have to tell him," he whispers so that Dan can't hear him. "We have to make sure that there's nothing we need to treat. There are lots of reasons why that could have happened," Robert says.
"Like what?" I ask with a wince.
Robert puts his hand on the back of my neck, physically pushes me toward the first bed on the right. I look for Danny, see that he's in the same position I saw him a few days ago. It makes my stomach hurt. Then I see the doctor putting his gloves on, and my stomach hurts for a completely different reason.
"What seems to be the problem?" Dan asks as he walks over to us.
"Dean had a bit of nocturnal enuresis," Robert says to the doctor.
"Ah, okay, then go ahead and change out of your scrubs, and then have a seat on the bed," the doctor instructs.
I make a whining noise as I give Robert a look that probably ends up being totally pathetic. Robert and Dan close the curtains around the bed, and then Robert walks up to me, starts taking my shirt off. I put my arms up, let him take it off. I kick off the slippers, take the pants off, and get up on the bed.
Dan walks up to me. "Was it the full bladder, or was it just a little bit," he asks me.
I can feel my face heating up. This is so embarrassing. "It was the whole thing," I say with a wince. Can I leave yet?
"Did you get a urine sample from him yet?" Dan asks Robert.
"No," he replies.
"Have you had any pain when you urinate or redness at the end of your penis?" Dan asks me.
"No, sir," I say.
"Go ahead and lie down on the bed for me," he tells me. "Where did you get this?" he asks as he points to my leg.
I look down, and a chill goes down my spine as I see a quarter-sized bruise on my left inner thigh, right where Dad pinched me in my dream. "I, um, ran into my bedside table," I lie quickly.
"Was this before or after you wet the bed?" he asks.
"After," I tell him so he doesn't think it's related.
"Okay, then go ahead and lie back down." I do as he says, and he starts pushing in and feeling my stomach. "Do you have any diabetes in your family?"
"Not that I know of," I reply.
"Have you ever had surgery on your urinary tract before?" he asks me.
"No," I reply, pretty sure that Dad would have at least mentioned that if I had.
"Now I need you to be honest with me," he says as he stops what he's doing, looks me in the eye. "Have you had any sexual contact with anyone since you came here?" he asks me.
"No, sir," I say with a shake of my head.
"It's not going to help you any if you lie to me," Dan comments.
"I'm not lying," I tell him.
"Okay, then, Robert, would you get me an STD swab kit and a specimen cup?" Dan requests.
"But I'm not lying," I say with widened eyes. I remember the swab, and I don't want to do that again.
"I believe you, but there are things that might not have shown up on the first test I did. I'm just covering all the bases, Dean," Dan tells me.
I groan as I throw my right arm over my eyes. I don't want to have to see this. I hear Robert come back, hand the things to the doctor.
"I know this is uncomfortable, but just hold still. It only takes a couple seconds," Dan assures me.
I wince as I feel that fucking swab go into me, swirl around. I so don't ever want an STD. This does not feel good at all. Robert comes up to my right side, puts his hand on my shoulder, gives me a little squeeze before just resting his hand there.
"Do you have any problems with constipation?" Dan asks as he goes back to feeling my stomach.
"No, sir," I reply.
"You've never felt any bulges in the groin area, have you?" he asks.
"No," I say as I feel him start to run his fingers down the creases where thigh meets groin on both sides.
"Have you had any recent trauma to your groin area, gotten in a fight?" he asks me.
"Well, I was in a fight, but he didn't knee me, if that's what you mean," I tell him.
"Did you get punched in the stomach?" Dan asks, still poking and prodding me.
"No, just the face," I say with a nervous chuckle.
"Okay, then go ahead and sit up for me," Dan instructs. "If you don't mind," he says as he hands me the specimen cup.
"Fuck," I growl as I take it from him.
"Something wrong?" he asks.
I blush. "I don't suppose you'd be able to leave me alone in here for a few minutes, would you?" I ask with a wince.
"I'm sorry, but I need to know that it's yours," Dan says.
"Just outside the curtain?" I ask hopefully.
Dan shakes his head no. "No, I can't," he tells me.
I let out a whine. "But I can't go unless I'm alone," I tell him.
Dan turns to Robert. "Can you get a catheter kit for me?" he asks.
"No!" I say with wide eyes. I take the top off the specimen cup with shaky hands. "Don't do the catheter thing!" I say as I grab my dick, hold it over the cup.
I try to relax, but it doesn't come. I set the top on the bed next to me, then push over my bladder the way that Greg did last time. Nothing happens. I start to panic as Robert comes back with the kit.
"No! Please don't use the catheter," I beg. "All you have to do is stand just outside the curtain. I swear I won't put anybody else's piss in here but mine," I assure the doctor, getting desperate.
Dan takes the cup from me, picks up the top from the bed. "Lie down on the bed, Dean," he says as he sets the cup and top on the table next to the bed.
"No!" I say again as I shake my head. "Just-"
"Dean," Robert cuts me off, raises his eyebrow at me.
"Can I try again? Let me try again," I ask of them.
"Try standing up this time," Dan suggests as he hands the cup back to me.
I take the cup back, stand up, try again. I stand there for what seems like forever, but nothing happens.
"Relax," Robert says softly. "Let your shoulders drop, take a deep breath, and then try and let it out along with your breath," he instructs me. I do as he says, but nothing happens. "Try one more time, and then we'll do the catheter," he tells me.
I take a really deep breath, then let my shoulders relax as I let the breath out slowly, close my eyes, and I piss. I try not to get so excited I spill anything, but can't help the big smile on my face. I'm able to fill half the cup before my shy bladder decides that's all it can give. "Is that enough?" I ask Dan, worried that it's not enough.
"That's all we need," he says with a smile as he takes the cup from me, puts the lid on, hands it to Robert along with the STD swab. "Go ahead and get your scrubs back on," Dan tells me as he points to my clothes.
"That's all you're going to do to me?" I ask, relieved.
"Unless you'd like me to do a rectal exam," Dan says with a shrug and a grin.
"No, that's okay," I say quickly as I pull on my scrubs.
Robert opens the curtains. "Let's get out of here. You're already five minutes late for your appointment with Jim," he says.
"See you boys soon," Dan says as we leave, and I cringe at the thought.
"You okay?" Robert asks as we get about halfway to Jim's office, me quiet the whole way.
"Have I told you I don't like doctors?" I ask.
"I'm sorry we had to do that, but we just need to cover all the bases," Robert says, sounding sincere.
"I know, but I don't have to like it," I grumble.
Just past the nurse's station, Robert grabs me by the upper arm, stops the both of us just out of earshot of the common area. "Are you talking to Jim about your nightmares?" he asks me quietly.
"Yeah," I say with a nod.
He puts his left hand on my shoulder. "Talk to him about what happened this morning, okay?" he asks me.
I look down at his shirt. "How many more people do I have to tell I pissed myself?" I ask grumpily.
Robert lifts my chin with a finger. "I know it was because of a nightmare, and I want you to tell him about it," Robert tells me.
I instantly bristle. "You knew, and you still made me go through what I just went through with Dan?" I growl.
"I had to do that," Robert says.
"Why?" I ask through gritted teeth.
"I was concerned for your health, and if I would have ignored that, I could have gotten in deep trouble," Robert explains.
I don't want Robert to get in trouble. I calm down a bit. "All right," I say.
"Just tell him for me, please?" Robert asks again.
"Fine," I give.
Robert gives me a smile that lights up his face. "Thank you," he says softly.
"Yeah, well, don't get used to me doing what you tell me to do so easily, because it isn't going to happen like that all the time," I grumble.
Robert chuckles. "Get to your appointment," he says with a smile.
"Yes, sir," I say as I turn and walk down the hallway.
"Come on in," Jim says after I knock on his door.
"Sorry I'm late," I say as I pass him on the way to the couch.
He sits down across from me, sets my file on the couch next to himself. "Problem?" he asks, not sounding mad.
"Kind of," I say with a wince.
Jim smiles softly. "You don't have to tell me, but I wish you would. You have a look on your face that says it's something big," Jim tells me.
I look down at my knees, wrap my arms around my stomach like it's going to fix everything that's wrong. "I had another nightmare last night," I say dejectedly.
"Was it a new one?" Jim asks, interested, and I nod. He waits for me to continue, but I don't. "What happened, Dean?" Jim asks, sounding concerned.
"I pissed myself," I whisper to my knees.
"Was it because of the nightmare?" he asks me, and I nod. "Dean," Jim says, then waits for me to look up at him. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about," he tells me.
I wince at that, look over at the plant. I feel ridiculous. "As if the crying wasn't enough, now I'm wetting the bed," I say with a snort.
"You know what that tells me?" Jim asks.
"What?" I ask.
"It tells me that these nightmares are affecting you badly enough to seriously upset you," he says. "Can you tell me the dream?" he asks, and I shake my head no. Jim leans forward, puts his elbows on his knees. "This is a big one, Dean. I really think that you should tell me about it," he says.
"I don't want anybody to know about it, even you," I say as I look to the bookshelf on my right.
"Well, you know I'm not going to tell anyone, and I'm certainly not going to laugh at you or view you any differently because of it," Jim assures me.
I promised Robert I would tell. Fine. "I thought I was awake for this one," I tell him as I finally look at him. "I woke up from a nightmare, turned over, and there was my dad sitting on my dresser, so I thought it was another hallucination."
"Have they changed your medications again?" Jim asks me.
I shake my head no. "I thought they might have, but I didn't notice a new pill in the cup. I just kind of went along with it, thinking it was hallucination. I said hi to my dad, and he said hi back," I explain, but then stop talking. I don't want to talk about this.
Jim gives me a moment. "What happened, Dean?" he finally asks.
I take a deep breath. "He didn't try to tell me Sam's dead this time. Instead he said he was going to hurt him, that I wasn't taking care of him, so he was going to...," I start, but then look down at my knees again. This is hurting all over again. I don't like this.
"Just remember that you're here, and that this is what's real. Keep the dream in its place while you're telling it to me," Jim tells me.
I wince. "He climbed up on the bed, got in between my legs, held me down while he told me I wasn't watching out for Sam, that he's getting into shit he shouldn't be," I say, then lean my head back on the couch, close my eyes. "He pulled out a knife, and I tried to fight him off, but he was way too strong. When I tried to tell myself he wasn't real, he pinched the inside of my thigh, and he told me that, if it hurts, it's real."
"Did it hurt?" Jim asks.
I nod. "It hurt so bad that I screamed. I panicked, then, because I realized everything was real, that it wasn't a dream. Then he said he was going to hurt Sam," I explain to Jim.
"What happened then?" he asks, prodding me along. "Were you still fighting?"
"I tried, especially when he turned into a fucking monster," I say, sitting up and gauging his reaction. "One minute he looks like Dad, the next he's a fucking swirling mass of rotting flesh and black eyes. I can't remember ever being so absolutely terrified. I was so scared that I just started screaming. I knew I wasn't going to be able to stop him from doing anything to Sam. He was way too strong. But I couldn't stop screaming, couldn't stop fighting, and then suddenly he's just gone and I'm on the floor of the steel box from my other dream," I say, shaking my head.
"And you think you lost your bladder during this dream?" he asks.
"I must have, because when I woke up, I was wet and I had a bruise on the inside of my thigh where my Dad pinched me in the dream," I tell him.
Jim leans back into the couch, crosses one leg over the other. "Dean, has your dad ever hurt you or touched you inappropriately?" Jim asks.
"Never," I say as I shake my head no. "He would never even think of doing anything like that to either of us," I say with conviction. "That's why this dream or hallucination or whatever it was just totally blew me away, because he just wouldn't ever do anything to me," I tell Jim.
"You're positive?" he asks, and I nod. "I only ask because, a lot of people who have been hurt in real life but have suppressed it, start to dream about it before they actually remember what really happened," Jim tells me.
"That's definitely not what's happening. You don't know my dad. He just wouldn't," I say strongly, shaking my head no.
"Okay, I just had to make sure," Jim says, and I nod in understanding. "Your dream could also mean that you're feeling helpless, that someone is jeopardizing your self-esteem or your emotional well-being," he tells me. "And it doesn't even have to be your father."
"What if I feel that way about everybody around me?" I ask with a lopsided smile.
Jim nods. "You took the words right out of my mouth, actually," he says with a grin. "You're in a strange place, and you're being told what to do, when to do it. You're being made to share things that you really don't want to share. You're even being touched when you don't want to be," Jim explains.
I shake my head no. "I don't think this is about Jerry," I tell him.
"I didn't mean just Jerry," he says with a shake of his head. "You're terrified of doctors, and yet you've had a full physical, and you've also had stitches put in just the other day by a doctor."
"And I got a mini-physical as soon as Robert found out that I wet the bed," I grumble.
"See, now you're having all of this shit thrown at you constantly. Of course you're going to dream it," Jim tells me.
"So what do I do?" I ask.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but you're going to have to learn to calm yourself down, to accept everything around here," Jim tells me.
I let out a groan as I let my head drop to the back of the couch. "That's your advice? Take it up the ass?" I whine, sit up and look at him again.
Jim nods. "You're the type of person that always needs to be in control of everything all the time. You need to let that go, relax, and let someone else handle things for a while," Jim explains.
"How the Hell am I supposed to just let everything go when they keep doing things to me that I don't want done?" I nearly yell at the man.
"Is fighting it going to change anything?" he asks me.
"Fuck, no," I growl.
Jim sits forward. "Like I said earlier, all you're doing is draining yourself by fighting everything and getting upset," Jim says with a shrug. "Everyone here is looking out for your best interests, yet you've fought every single thing that's been done to you from the moment you got here."
"How is shoving a tube up my nose-"
"Were you eating?" Jim interrupts to ask.
I let out a huff worthy of Sammy. "Well, no, but-"
"So they were attempting to help you," he says reasonably.
"Well, then how is drugging me nearly unconscious for twenty-four hours helping me?" I ask with a bit of a snarl.
"Were you refusing your medications?" he asks me.
"Yeah, but they didn't have to knock me out for a whole day because of it," I growl.
"If they wouldn't have done that, would you have taken the medication?" Jim asks.
"Hell, no," I say.
"There's your answer," Jim says with a shrug.
"I don't want help. I want to be left alone!" I tell him.
Jim shakes his head. "The truth of the matter is that it has been decided you are unfit to care for yourself. You were sent here for help. The only thing that you can do now is accept that help," Jim explains.
I look down at my knees. "I didn't ask for this," I mumble.
"Ask anybody who's in here, Dean. None of them asked to be here. You've got to either make the best of it, or you can fight everything and everyone and end up hurting yourself in the long run," Jim tells me.
I sulk for a few moments. "This sucks," I complain.
"It's really in your best interests, Dean," Jim says.
"You must hate your job," I say as I look up at him.
He gets a puzzled look on his face. "Why is that?" he asks.
"You're constantly telling people shit they don't want to hear," I say with a lopsided smile.
Jim chuckles at that. "As a matter of fact, I love my job," Jim says.
"I figured," I say with a snort as I roll my eyes.
"I spend my days helping people learn things about themselves that they didn't know. What could be better than that?" he asks me with a shrug.
"Ridding the world of evil like a superhero?" I ask with a cocky grin.
Jim laughs. "Okay, you win," he says with a smile. I chuckle. "But in all seriousness, Dean, I really want to see you thrive here. That's all everybody wants to see. You acclimated yourself extremely quickly to the medications that they gave you, and you talk openly to me. You really are doing quite well," Jim says.
"Except for the nightmares, bed wetting, and crying," I grumble.
"All of which can easily be explained by your transition to life here, and to taking medication," Jim says. "Richards is literally manipulating your hormones and brain chemicals with those medications. That's not an easy thing to handle," Jim tells me.
"And he's not finished, either. He told me yesterday that he wants to change one of the medications already," I growl.
"I'm sorry about that," Jim says, sympathetic tone to his voice. "Is it because of the nightmares?"
I shake my head no. "I really don't think he knows about them yet," I tell him.
"I know you're not going to want to hear this from me, and I've already said it once, but it's really not a good idea to lie to Richards," Jim tells me again.
"I'm not going back on tranquilizers," I say strongly.
"Okay," he says with a nod, then looks down at his hands.
"Hey, Jim?"
He looks up at me. "Yeah?"
"Joey said something about this kid he knew when he was younger. The kid had something called night terrors. That isn't what this is, is it?" I ask him.
Jim shakes his head no. "There are a few differences between nightmares and night terrors. One big difference is that, with night terrors, the person doesn't remember the dreams at all. They have total amnesia of anything that happens or that they do while asleep," he tells me.
"Oh," I say, a little bit disappointed.
"In your case, the treatment wouldn't really change all that much if you were having night terrors, although we would want to put you on a tranquilizer, because they have been known to suppress the fourth stage of sleep. That's when the night terrors tend to occur," he explains.
"Oh," I say, not as disappointed now that I know treatment requires a tranquilizer.
Jim smiles. "You're pretty much doing everything you can to help these nightmares besides the tranquilizers," Jim assures me. "You're doing good," he says as he stands up, offers me a hand up. "You just need to chill out a little bit," he says as I let him help me up.
"Thanks," I say with a smile as I head out the door.
"See you for group later today," Jim says as I start to walk down the hallway.
"Okay," I say with a wave.
I fall asleep to the shitty little movie they play, and I'm awakened by someone nudging my legs.
"Wake up so you can go to bed," I hear Robert say. It sounds like he's smiling.
"Can't you just carry me?" I whine.
"Nope," he says as he offers me a hand up. "Come over and get your pill, and then you can crash."
"What are you doing here so late at night?" I ask on the way to the nurse's station.
"Greg had something going on tonight, and he asked me if I could cover for him until he got here," Robert explains.
"We just can't get rid of you, can we?" I ask with a smile.
I walk up to the nurse's station, but Robert stays on this side of it with me. He pulls my cup out of his right pocket, hands it to me. I can't quite place the look on his face.
I look down into the cup. "Why doesn't this look like my normal pill?" I ask, starting to get upset.
Robert moves a little closer, puts his left hand on my right shoulder. "Richards replaced the sleeping pill with a tranquilizer," he says softly.
I instantly tense, pull out of Robert's gentle hold. I shake my head no. "I'm not taking a tranquilizer," I say adamantly as I try to put the cup back into Robert's pocket.
Robert grabs my wrist, holds my hand with cup out in front of me. "Just try it. It takes a few days to get used to it, but-"
"No," I say as I pull my wrist out of Robert's grip. "I'm not taking it."
"Calm down, Dean. It's really not that bad," he tries to tell me.
"What the fuck is not bad about passing out for twenty-four hours straight?" I growl at him.
"This time you'll be in your own bed, and-"
"Fuck that," I say as I look him in the eye. "I'm not taking it," I tell him, this time throwing the cup with the pill in it behind him. Thankfully all the other patients are in their rooms now.
"I really don't-"
"Then don't!" I say a little louder.
"Dean, you know what happens when you refuse to take medication," Robert says, looking like he's not happy about threatening me.
My jaw drops. I hadn't thought about that. A whimper comes out of my mouth instead of the words I was ready to say. "No," I whisper, a panicked feeling starting from the pit of my stomach.
"I'm sorry, but yes," he says as he walks over and picks up the cup and pill which separated from each other on the trip over Robert's shoulder. He walks up to me again, holds the cup out to me.
"I can't!" I whine as I take a step backwards.
"Come on," Robert cajoles. "It's not going to be as bad as you remember it. You'll be in your own bed this time," he repeats.
I do believe this is the worst set of choices I've ever had in my life. I shake my head no again. "I can't!" I say louder.
"Come on, Dean. Just take the pill, please!" Robert nearly begs me.
My bottom lip trembles a bit now that I fully realize just what position I'm in. "No!" I yell as I back up another step. I can feel myself shaking harder. I feel like I'm going to throw up I'm so upset.
Robert turns to the nurse's station. "Jason, Dale," he calls over the desk as he pockets the medication.
"No!" I yell again, then start to take another step backward. This time my slippers start to come off, and I trip. I fall to the floor hard on my ass, letting out a grunt.
Robert is quick. He's on his knees behind me faster than I can get to my own knees. He shushes me as he wraps his arms around my arms and chest. "Calm down," he says as he pulls me to him, his mouth next to my right ear.
"Please don't do this! I don't want... I can't do that again!" I say desperately as I try to pull out of his hold. I could get away from him, but I'd have to hurt him, and I don't want to do that.
The buzzer sounds, and Dale and Jason come out of the door, head toward us. "It's going to be okay, Dean," Robert says softly. "Calm down, and don't fight us."
I start to pant as I see the two men getting closer to us. "I don't want to go! Don't make me go! Don't leave me alone in there!" I scream. I push myself into Robert as Dale and Jason reach for me as if Robert can save me.
Robert lets go of me. "It's going to be okay, Dean," he says again as the two men each grab one of my upper arms.
The men pull me up, and Robert gets up. He starts to walk toward the Pit. "No! You can't do this! I can't go in there again! Stop!" I scream as I fight against the grip that the two men have on my arms.
Dale and Jason start dragging me to the Pit right along behind Robert. They don't seem to care that I'm not walking there myself. I lose both of my slippers somewhere along the way.
"Stop!" I scream again as I get my feet under me, then kick Dale's left leg out from underneath him. The guy actually has the decency to let go of me before he falls, which makes me feel even worse.
Robert turns, gives me a look as he gives Dale a hand up. "I was being nice, not giving you the shot. Do I need to go get one?" Robert threatens.
"No, but-"
"Then knock it off. It's not their fault you refused your medication," Robert says in that same authoritative tone that always gets to me. Robert starts off in the direction of the Pit again, and Jason and Dale follow.
"Robert, I can't take the tranquilizers!" I yell as we walk into the Pit. "Don't!" I yell as the men put me on the bed, start to put the restraints on me. "No!" I scream, fighting as hard as I can.
"You're going to hurt yourself, Dean," Robert says as he gets everything ready. "Go ahead and put the chest and head straps on this time," Robert tells Jason.
"No!" I scream, drawing it out. Once all the restraints are in place, I can't move at all. I start panting even harder, and a whimper makes its way out of my mouth.
"You're going to hyperventilate if you don't calm yourself down, Dean," Robert tells me as he hangs up a bag of clear fluid.
"Don't leave me alone! Please don't leave me alone!" I beg Robert as I feel the cold alcohol swab on the inside of my left elbow. I'm so upset and high on adrenaline that I barely even notice when he inserts the needle, tapes it down.
Robert takes a moment from what he's doing to run his fingers through my hair. "Calm down," he says again.
My bottom lip starts trembling again, only this time a few tears run into my hair as well. "You can't leave me," I whimper.
"Nothing's going to happen to you. You're safe here. Just calm yourself down, and try to get some rest," Robert tells me as he wipes a few tears away with his thumb.
"Did you tell Richards?" I ask, needing to know.
Robert's shoulders slump a bit. "He asked me outright how you were sleeping, and I'm not going to lie to him," Robert tells me. I squeeze my eyes closed, feel more tears run down my face. "I'm so sorry that you have to go through this, Dean, but we're all just trying to make you better," he says sadly.
"I know," I whisper, my mouth turning down of its own volition, more tears following the path of the others.
I don't watch as Robert goes back to putting the medications into my port. I don't want to see any of this. I just want to go back to my room. Then I feel him pull my pants down a little in the front.
"No! Fuck, no! Don't do that again! Don't!" I scream as my eyes fly open. I look down at the catheter tubing in Robert's hand with wide eyes.
"It's going in because you need it," Robert says firmly as he grabs my dick. I squeeze my eyes closed again, let out a whine as I feel the tubing go in. "It's not that bad, and it's over pretty quickly," he says as he works.
"Yes, it is that bad, and no, it's not over pretty fucking quickly," I grumble. Robert chuckles as he finishes, pulls my pants back up into place. "Don't leave!" I nearly scream as I open my eyes to see him step away from the bed. "Please don't leave, Robert! Please!"
"I'll stay with you until the drugs kick in, how about that?" he asks as he walks over, takes the head strap off, and then starts running his fingers through my hair again.
I look up at him. "I can't-"
Robert shushes me. "The drugs will kick in, and then I want you to just go to sleep, okay?" he asks, hands still in my hair.
His touch feels so good that I lean into it. I close my eyes, just enjoy the feeling. I start to feel the effects of the drugs, and I end up falling asleep before Robert even leaves me alone.