certified insanity // henry creel x reader

PAPER

TW: talking about death (the way Twelve perceives things is not good so please do not take anything she says into account. She is CRAZY.) 

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The funny thing about death is that everything in you just stops. It is like all of a sudden you are no longer breathing and your existence simply disappears. The funny thing about death is that it is final. There's no reversal. No magic that can bring you back, or happily erase all the mistakes you've made. When your clock stops ticking, it stops forever. 

And then there's no way to bring you back. 

Because you've fallen off the edge of the cliff—off the edge of the world. No way back up from the rabbit hole. 

Peter's eyes gravitate down my face, his hair neatly combed back, even at 10:50 pm. Not a scratch, or blemish on his perfect skin. His eyes so blue they could belong to the ocean. They could be sapphires blending into the rocks. His hands, poised in front of him, clasped by his belt like they always are. 

"Goodnight, Y/N," he says, and there is a finality in his voice that is startling. 

I dip my fingers underneath the sheets, staring back at him. A sliver of moonlight slips through the slit in my wall that could not be called a window in anyway. It must be a full moon, because the white light casts a wide crescent on the other wall. So brightly. So hopeful. 

"I hope you mean, goodnight and not goodbye," I whisper, as to not be heard by anyone else. Peter hears me, though. He blinks, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. 

"Training will be difficult tomorrow," he comes slightly closer, then says—"I just thought I should warn you. Brenner has something...different in mind." Peter—just and only Peter, standing in front of me. He kneels down beside my bed. "Good luck, love." 

I search his face. "Good..luck?" There is nothing that could give away what other message is drifting beneath the surface. "Is it going to be that bad?" He has never looked so somber, never shown an air of worry. But now...it's like a switch has flipped. "Peter." 

"Yes, love?" 

"Are you...going to be there?" The wheels in my mind turn, but very slowly. It's like I'm walking through mud attempting to find an answer in the depths, but there isn't anything to find. Decoding Peter is my least favourite and most favourite activity. 

He nods. "One way or another." There is an urgency to his tone. "Listen to me," lowers his voice and looks at the cameras. "Brenner has something very different in mind for training tomorrow." 

It's like he's screaming something at me, trying to get me to understand but I just can't. My head goes under the water. 

I am drowning now. 

"I don't understand—" Peter cuts me off, pressing his lips against mine. His kiss is slower than usual, and less urgent but more and less and more and less and more all at once. It is almost lovely. Patient. He pulls away, grazing the side of his hand down my face. "Be careful, Y/N. Don't let them break you." 

What?

I don't have a single word to say as he stands up, walking out of the room. 

I don't even have the energy to call after him. To tell him to come back and explain to me what the fuck he could possibly mean. 

The lights are hot and bright against my face. The world is on fire, and I have lit the fuse. 

"Are you ready for your turn, Twelve?" Brenner inquires, stepping into the room. All of the subjects turn to face him. Two, who has just finished his session, comes out from behind. Visibly shaken. He does not even look at me as he passes. Brushes my hand lightly—presumably by accident. 

But he slips a piece of paper into my fingers. I clutch onto it immediately, not turning to look at him. 

"I'm ready, Papa," I say monotonously, clenching the paper in between my two fingers. "Are you testing me again?" Peter's words from when I first got here play over and over in my head. It's easier to play along. 

I can hear Two's breathing from behind me. It is quite shallow—so uneven that I almost want to turn around—to look at him. Because if the test was so bad it could hurt him, then I wish to know what is coming for me. 

I follow Brenner down the hallway, turning the paper over and over in my hands. And then I read it, eyes darting across the page. 

Fuck. 

A bolt shoots though my heart and I find it hard to keep walking. I tuck the paper into my pocket. 

"We're going to a different room today," Brenner says, not bothering to look at me. He unlocks the door to a large room. It has a large screen hooked up to the wall. A chair is in the middle. It's one of the fancy lab chairs, with hooks and and wires, and straps to pin you down. 

"Wonderful." I hope I don't sound too sarcastic. 

I take a seat in the chair and Brenner begins to wind the wires around my head. My hair—which thankfully still exist, is pulled behind my head into a tight ponytail. 

"Now, I hope this test goes well for you," Brenner inserts a needle into a large vial, taking out a large amount of the dark blue substance. "It has been known to cause some..hmm...side-effects, but nothing too serious." His lips form a thin line. "Nothing that you can't handle, Twelve." 

He stands off to the side as six nurses enter the room, all taking positions on the different sides. 

I don't flinch as the needle slides into my skin. As the world begins to swim. 

"I wish you luck, Twelve." 

The world slowly fades into oblivion. It flips around and around. Not like the other tests. The room spins around me, melting and re-forming, and melting again. It twists and turns like a rollercoaster—throwing me this way and that. My stomach churns as my vision turns into squiggly lines, as they become blurry and clear. 

I open my eyes. 

It's the same room. Nothing has changed. Not a single thing. The screen—or mirror I suppose—is still there on the wall. But Brenner is gone. The nurses are still standing there. Hands behind their backs, faces plastic. 

I remain sitting. Until a new face enters the room. 

Peter. 

And someone else too. 

Six year old Quinn. 

He is being wheeled in on a stretcher. 

His limbs are contorted in weird angles, but his mouth is still open and his eyes are wide. Like he is still alive. Frozen in horror. 

My heart stops. This isn't but is but isn't real. 

Peter wears a smile on his face. It looks real. 

It looks real. 

"Miss me?" Quinn's small voice comes out of his crooked jaw. "Why didn't you stop them from taking me?" His arms and legs shudder against the stretcher. "Why didn't you stop them, Y/N? YOU WANTED ME GONE! YOU WANTED ME GONE!" His voice slowly raises. 

I throw a glance at Peter. My breath catches in my throat, and tears start to collect in the corners of my eyes. 

"I—I—Quinn—" I cannot force a word out of my mouth. 

Peter walks forward, his smile widening. "You cannot lie. You did this." 

A lighter. He's holding a lighter. It wasn't there a second ago. 

He flicks it. A flame ignites on the tip and he lowers it dangerously close to Quinn's dressing gown. 

"You did this, and now you're going to regret it."