Coming Home // Sidemen AU (Minizerk)

The Next Step

Okay, maybe shouting 'no' repeatedly had been a misjudgement on his part. It hadn't really done anyone any favours and was probably a low point of the day for most of the people present. Thankfully, despite his manic reaction, he had not been put back to sleep again, and was merely given a mild sedative to keep him drowsy. It allowed the doctors to finally gain his permission to do a full examination of him; why bother fighting them anymore, he'd thought tiredly, they'd find out eventually. Let them write out their mandatory reports so they could stop worrying about him and see to other patients who were seriously hurt or sick.

He could've saved them even more time and money by actually verbally telling them what had happened to him, but at the moment that was a task he was not up to. After his earlier outburst, 'no' ended up being the only word he said throughout nearly his entire stint at the hospital, if you didn't count the intelligible shouts and screams back when he'd first arrived disorientated. He was there for a total of three weeks, linked up to that stupid IV, with half his body immobilised due to bandages and casts. Still, it seemed like a luxury hotel compared to the dark basements he'd spent six years in. Hospital food was pretty fucking good too.

The biggest downside of his hospital stay were the examinations, although not the physical ones. Don't get him wrong, they were not how he'd liked to have spent his time but they were do-able. No, it was the so-called mental health examinations he was required to take, so they could assess how fucked up he was in the head and decide whether or not they had to cart him off to Arkham. He'd always been a very private guy, even with the closest of his friends, so if they thought he was going to spill his guts to someone he barely knew they were the ones fucked up in the head.

Afterwards he often felt more stressed than before, after the barrage of questions. What happened on the night you were taken? What happened on a day-to-day basis? Did you ever see anyone else? Did you ever have conversations with Mr Anderson? Do you know why he took you? Were you afraid of him before? How did you feel, being kept locked away for so long? How do you feel now? Why won't you speak to me, Josh? What do I need to do to earn your trust?

He kept up the tradition and never spoke during those sessions, not just because he'd been conditioned into believing talking was bad for nearly two years, but because he had no answers to the questions she was answering. Why bother speaking when a lowered gaze or occasionally a small shrug of the shoulders said all he needed to? He knew if the man had still been alive, then telling them about the other part...the bit before he'd been taken, would be of use to them. But the guy was dead, what good could it do now?

He felt bad. The doctor, Karen, seems like a nice woman, well meaning, but she just didn't understand anything. She tries to ask him about what happened, assuring him that nothing bad will happen to him, that his captor...Mr Anderson, was dead and could never hurt him again.

That's where she was wrong. He could still be hurt. He could still be scared. Even with the man dead, he still had an incredibly powerful hold over him. Every time he was moved to a new room he felt as if he were going to be punished for moving to the new location. Every time he shut his eyes, dark and horrible memories would return to him. Every time he saw a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he was reminded of how much he had lost; how he had turned from a normal eighteen year old into this...

He couldn't even fucking write properly anymore, due to the one injury he'd inflicted upon himself in that moment of unexplained rage. His left hand had truly been messed up for good and he was told he'd never be able to use it to do dexterous tasks again. He supposed for writing he could make do with his right, he was practically ambidextrous anyway; but it would always be there, a reminder of the kidnapping. His right foot was a bit dodgy as well, the one they'd had to put a cast on for a bit to help with the healing process, although he was told it should heal fully in time. That was a minor win for him, he thought. He'd been extra careful not to put any weight on it after it had been stamped on forcefully a couple of months ago.