#forced medication cw

[atypi-cals]

man, I miss high-school. i know I know I was miserable as shit all the time but I blame that for living in a toxic, abusive environment. I'm just so isolated now. I wish I could have gone into a building full for hundreds of other people my age every day, learn new stuff for free, and be at my best self there, not the undiagnosed unrecognized traumatized confused little wreck I was back then.

[scoutsurge]

CW//!! blood, large cut/wound nothing super graphic! but just in case <33 .

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Images under here!

AAUUGHH YESS.S.H YESSSS

[tyrianludaship]

Me seeing people on twitter talking about morally grey characters like they're completely irredeemable and makes them abusive rapists as a result even though the bad actions they've done is only comparable to a Wile E. Coyote cartoon skit but gorier:

[whump-in-the-closet]

Hear me out, I’m pretty sure we all heard of hypnotist whumper, but hypnotist caretaker? Yeah, thats it.

TYPE SHIT

Whumpee begged. For the first time in weeks, they begged. They were home, they were safe, they-- alarm bells went off in their head-- they were not safe.

"Please, Caretaker!" They forced themselves under the table, the carpet scratching at their knees and the confined space suddenly constricting. Their pleading was a whisper, low and caught in their throat, "Please, please--"

Caretaker's shoes stopped at the table. He sighed. In a soft voice, as if talking to a cornered animal, he said, "You need to take your medication, Whumpee. You're...you're not well."

"No."

"Let me help, Whumpee."

Whumpee remained where they were. "I thought I could trust you--" their words were broken off by a coughing fit, leaving their head ringing and everything swimming swimming swimming...

Caretaker crouched down.

Through the blurring, Whumpee could make out his dark eyes, pitted with exhaustion and faintly annoyed. In Caretaker's calloused hand was a bright orange bottle. Whumpee's name was on the label.

Whumpee shrank back.

Caretaker sighed again. "Whumpee, look at me."

Whumpee didn't notice him drawing a small pocket watch out of his faded jeans.

Their vision flailed outwards, fracturing, like a piece of starfish broken off.

Tick, tock

Caretaker started to swing their pocket watch back and forth, the clock hands steady inside the white case.

Tick, tock, tick--

Time slowed into a strange, honey-like state. Everything blurred away, except the pocket watch and the ticking hands.

Whumpee's panic faded, worked into the batter of time and starry vision. Whumpee didn't really feel anything--

just faintly quiet

tick

A city night quiet, with neon laughter and buzzing lights

"That's it, look at the watch,"

tock

A country road quiet, with Whumpee in the trunk of the car and the duct tape suffocating.

"Here are your meds. Take them."

tick

tock

A basement quiet, with concrete walls and deafening grey all around...the pressure building into silence.

"I'm sorry."

[testosteronetempation]

[medig]

A Tale of Woe, Ep. 41: Helpless

(all episodes)

"What the hell is going on, one minute you guys were giving me my shot, the next thing I know I wake up like this... and I can't move. What the fuck are you sickos doing to me?"

"Misty, you may or may not recall hearing from your sister Susan about the experiment in which she she participated. What was officially being tested in that experiment was a new drug intended to safely immobilize conscious patients during outpatient surgery. With no affect on the patient's breathing, even leaving the patient able to freely communicate with the doctors during the procedure. And no numbness or loss of normal sensation, allowing the doctor to choose local anesthetics as needed. The trials were spectacularly successful, so you can thank your dear sister's contribution to medical science for what you are about to experience."

"Which is?"

"Momentarily, my colleagues and I are going to pull that thin blue sheet down, and open the back of your hospital gown, exposing your poor, helpless, little bare bottom. Then we are going to take that feather, and take turns tickling you about the buttocks, anus, perineum, labia, and clitoris, and continue this procedure until you either soil yourself, lose consciousness, or achieve orgasm. And if the outcome is orgasm, we will continue to see how many we can get out of you before one of the other two outcomes occurs."

"W-w-w-what the actual fuck? No, no, no! N-n-n-no no no.."

"As I told you before, Misty, you are just a little tickletoy now, to do with as I please.. feel my touch and tremble.."

[the nurse removes the sheet]

"Oh no no no I can't take it! Let me go let me go..."

"Misty, you can't go anywhere, your muscles don't work. You're just going to have to ride this out, there is nothing you can do to stop it."

"You son of a bitch, when I can move again I'll kick you in the balls.."

[the doctor opens back of the hospital gown..]

"Big talk for a girl with such a ticklish little tushie.."

[.. and tickles her with his fingers]

"Ahhh! No no no please.. Look you've already got me laid up here butt-side up, can't you just fuck me in the ass or something? Anything but this.."

"Your bargaining is always so amusing, my sweet little Misty Leigh. Now, we three actually have been taking bets about which area of stimulation will yield the first orgasm. Doctor [redacted] predicts the anus, our nurse here suggests the clitoris. My money's on your taint... let's begin"

[tenderjock]

“in the small cramped dark inside” (a coday ficlet)

tw canon-typical dehumanization, medical abuse and child abuse, violence and brainwashing, child death, death of a minor oc.

There’s a sharp, lancing pain in 2224’s right temple.

It’s been there for two sleep cycles, through training and meals and the mandatory medical examinations that follow reconditioning. 2224 knows that this pain is a sign that he is defective, suboptimal, but he cannot - he does not - doesn’t want to, again -

He does not tell the longneck scientist that examines him about the headache. For now, this physical imperfection remains undiscovered.

2224 does not know why the reconditioning was deemed necessary in the first place. He only knows that now, orders burn, anxiety welling up in his lungs and on the back of his palate until he completes the assignment he has been given.

He pushes it, sometimes. Tries to see how many seconds he can hold out before his hands are compelled to do the task. His record is six.

In the shiny white hallway outside the training salle, his batchmate 2222 shifts forward in the hard, plastoid chair next to 2224's hard, plastoid chair. They are the only remaining clones of their batch, the rest culled for imperfections.

Twosie's eyes dance with mischievous mirth. "You gonna bite 17 again?" he whispers.

2224 smiles uncertainly. He has no memory of biting 17, ever, in his life. He has very few memories of any time longer than two days ago.

Huffing, his batchmate sits back. 2222's eyes look dark, wounded, like - like something 2224 doesn't have words for in his vocabulary.

When they were barely more than tubies, the longnecks had given them thin blankets. Once the blankets had worn through and been outgrown, they were taken away, replaced with reusable poly-foil sheets. 2224 had curled up under the foil, unable to sleep for three nights, jerking awake every time it crumpled under his toes. The look in Twosie's eyes reminds 2224 of that feeling, only worse.

(He doesn't know why he remembers the blankets but not biting 17.)

Despite the headache, 2224 performs admirably during training, exceeding expectations and outpacing 2222 in strength and speed and agility. Things came easy to him, and the things that didn't come easy he applied himself to until the benchmarks were met. 2224 had always been the top-ranked one in his batch. He had tried to help his batchmates when they couldn't make target practice or fumbled in war strategy, but -

Finally they got to the fun part: 2224 and 2222 facing off across a boxing square, monitored by trainers on all sides. 17 is not among them, 2224 notes with some disappointment, but he doesn't have time to contemplate it because 2222 takes his distraction as an opportunity to strike.

2224 blocks the first punch, makes the second. It's over quick, just a handful of blows before 2224 has 2222 on his knees, head locked between his arms.

"Very good, 2224," the head trainer says. 2224 blinks, uncertain at the praise. 2222 redoubles his efforts to escape, but 2224 controls his batchmate easily.

Sweat drips into his eyes but he doesn't dare wipe it away, doesn't dare let his opponent go until he hears the order to release.

"Good," the head trainer says again. Then: "Terminate 2222."

There's a roaring building up in his ears. One. His lungs are filling with seawater, his head with thunder and static. Two. 2222's pulse is rabbit-fast under his palm. Three. The trainer is waiting, expectant. Four. That kriffing anxiety swells on the back of his palate, choking and he can't breathe he can't think -

Five.

Twosie claws desperately at the hands that are holding his head. Six. Like it's happening somewhere far away, 2224 clenches his fists, squeezes, twists.

Model CC-2224 has been reevaluated post-reconditioning (note: the reconditioning process has never before been successfully applied to a CC model) for behavior issues. It is functioning normally and shows much more compliancy at this time. Reconditioning has been marked as successful. This process is now cleared for CC model units.

[cynicalrosebud]

Rumor Has It (14)

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

CW: Medical; Aftermath of torture; self-deprecating humor; You Are Responsible For Your Own Media Consumption

The quiet hum of the base settled over the two soldiers as they leaned against the cold concrete walls of the hallway just outside the medical bay. Soap stood with his arms crossed, his brow furrowed, his usual carefree expression gone as he stared at the ground. Gaz, leaning next to him, tapped his fingers on his leg, a quiet restlessness simmering beneath the surface.

“Christ… That was too bloody close,” Soap muttered, finally breaking the silence. He pushed a hand through his mohawk, his jaw clenched tight. “Thought we’d lost him.”

Gaz nodded, his face grim. “Same, mate. Never seen anything like that before. When we found his tags, the blood—” His voice trailed off, shaking his head as if trying to banish the images from his mind. “And the screams. Heard him over the comms like it was right next to me.”

Soap’s fists tightened, his knuckles white as he spoke. “They did a right number on him, Gaz. Ye saw him. Barely even breathin’ when we got tae him.” His voice cracked just a little, anger and fear mixing together. “And he still had the gall to tell us he wasn’t worth savin’.”

Gaz let out a heavy sigh, leaning his head back against the wall and staring at the ceiling. “That’s Rumor for you. Always takin’ the piss, even when he’s bleedin’ out.” A small, tired smile tugged at his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Stubborn bastard.”

The hallway fell silent again, save for the occasional footsteps of medics passing by or the distant murmur of voices from another room. Soap and Gaz just stood there, both of them lost in their thoughts.

“He’s gonna be alright, yeah?” Soap asked after a beat, his voice quieter, more uncertain than usual. It wasn’t often that Soap let doubt creep into his tone, but after everything they’d been through today, it was hard to keep it out.

Gaz hesitated before answering, his eyes flickering toward the door of the medical bay. “He’s tough. We’ve seen him bounce back before, but... this time was bad, Soap. Real bad.” He shifted, crossing his arms tighter over his chest. “But if anyone can pull through, it’s him.”

Soap huffed out a breath, shaking his head. “Aye, if his bloody mouth doesn’t get him killed first.”

Gaz chuckled softly, the sound bitter but familiar. “Wouldn’t be Rumor without it.”

They fell quiet again, the weight of the mission still hanging heavy between them. Soap’s mind raced, replaying the moment they’d stormed the enemy compound, hearing Rumor’s screams through the walls, the blood, the way they found him—beaten, broken, but still spitting venom at his captors.

“I should’ve been quicker,” Soap muttered, his voice barely above a whisper now.

Gaz turned his head, frowning at him. “This isn’t on you, Soap.”

Soap shook his head again, his gaze fixed on the floor. “I was close. Could’ve gotten to him faster. Maybe... maybe if I’d been quicker, he wouldn’t—”

“Don’t,” Gaz cut in sharply, standing up straight now. “Don’t do that to yourself. We got him out. That’s what matters.”

Soap didn’t respond, the guilt gnawing at him, but he didn’t argue either. He knew Gaz was right, but it didn’t make the sinking feeling in his chest go away.

After a long pause, Gaz glanced toward the door again, his brow furrowing. “You reckon he heard us? Over comms?”

Soap raised an eyebrow. “Ye mean when we were callin’ for him?”

Gaz nodded. “Yeah. D’you think he heard us, tried to hold on ‘cause of it?”

Soap’s expression softened, and for the first time since they’d pulled Rumor out, a small smile tugged at his lips. “Aye. I think he did. He’d never admit it, but I reckon he did.”

Gaz chuckled, shaking his head. “Good. That bloody idiot. I’m gonna rip him a new one when he wakes up.”

Soap snorted, his grin widening. “Get in line, mate. That’s my job.”

They stood there for a moment longer, the weight of the mission slowly lifting, replaced by the familiar banter that had kept them going all these years.

“Wanna go get a drink?” Soap asked after a beat, pushing himself off the wall.

Gaz raised an eyebrow. “After today?”

“Exactly. We bloody well earned it.”

Gaz sighed but nodded. “Alright, but you’re buying.”

Soap grinned, clapping Gaz on the shoulder as they headed down the hallway, their footsteps fading away. “I’ll put it on Rumor’s tab. He owes us.”

As they walked away, the door to the medical bay remained closed, but both of them knew that inside, Rumor was fighting his way back. And when he woke up, they’d be there—just like always.

The dull, sterile smell of antiseptic filled the air, the faint hum of medical equipment beeping somewhere in the distance. The soft, muted lights overhead buzzed quietly, casting a faint glow over the room.

Rumor groaned as he stirred, his body feeling like it had been hit by a freight train. Everything hurt—his arms, legs, his ribs... hell, even his fingers ached. His mind, however, was fuzzy, still grasping at the remnants of unconsciousness, trying to pull him back under.

The first thing he became aware of was the oxygen mask pressed against his face, the rhythmic sound of his own breathing echoed in his ears. Then came the throbbing pain in his side, where he vaguely remembered being stabbed.

His eyes fluttered open, heavy and slow. The white, blinding lights of the medical bay made him squint as he tried to focus. For a moment, everything was hazy, the lines between dreams and reality blurred.

"Easy now," a deep voice broke through the fog. Ghost. Of course it was him. The voice was unmistakable, calm yet full of authority. "Don’t try to move too much, pup. You’re still patchin’ up."

Rumor blinked a few times, his vision slowly sharpening, revealing the large figure sitting beside him, half-covered in shadow. Ghost was leaned back in a chair, arms crossed over his chest, his mask firmly in place. His dark eyes, though, were fixed on Rumor with a rare intensity.

“You’re... really here,” Rumor rasped through the mask, his voice hoarse, barely audible. His throat felt like it had been dragged over sandpaper.

Ghost tilted his head slightly, his gaze softening. “‘Course we are. Wouldn’t leave you behind. You know that.”

The memories started to rush back in fragmented flashes—captured, tortured, the screams, and the darkness closing in. He had told them... I'm not worth saving.

"Guess ye didn’t listen," Rumor muttered, his lips twitching into a weak attempt at a smile.

"Never do," Ghost shot back with a small grunt, his gaze briefly shifting away. “You talk too much shite sometimes.”

Rumor’s eyes scanned the room, noticing the small details—IV lines snaking into his arm, the bandages covering his torso, the lingering pain in his chest, and the steady beep of the heart monitor beside him. The faint scent of smoke on his skin reminded him of the hell they’d pulled him out of.

“Where’s... everyone else?” Rumor asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Price’s with Laswell. Soap n’ Gaz are nearby—been hoverin’ like bloody nurses. Nik got us back here.” Ghost paused, his eyes darkening briefly. "Took us too long to find you, pup. Too long."

Rumor swallowed hard, the guilt of his earlier words gnawing at him. He’d tried to keep them away, tried to make them leave him behind. He hadn’t wanted them to risk everything for him.

“I told you—”

“Don’t start,” Ghost cut him off, his tone firm but not harsh. “You might not think you’re worth savin’, but tha’s not your call. We made that choice for you.”

Rumor’s throat tightened, the weight of his words, their actions, sinking in. He didn’t know how to respond, his usual sarcasm failing him for once.

The door to the recovery room slid open, and in walked Price, looking just as battle-worn as ever, his signature hat pulled low over his eyes, though there was a softness to his expression as he approached.

“Well, look who’s finally awake,” Price said with a small smile. He stood at the foot of Rumor’s bed, arms crossed as he surveyed him, taking in the sight of their beaten, but alive, teammate.

Rumor tried to sit up, grimacing from the pain. “Cap...” he started, but Price raised a hand. The older man looked pained at the sight of the Welshman laying there. Rumor couldn’t stand the sad look that was wasted over him.

“Permission to die, Cap?” Rumor asked weakly, his usual cheeky grin barely forming on his lips as he attempted to lighten the mood.

Price shook his head, his smile fading a bit into something more serious. “Denied, soldier.”

Rumor managed a small laugh before wincing in pain. “Figured you’d say that.”

Price stepped closer, placing a hand gently on Rumor’s shoulder. “Rest up. You’re not done with us yet.”

As Price turned to leave, he stopped briefly at the door, glancing back over his shoulder. "You’re part of this team, Rumor. Don’t ever forget that.”

Rumor felt the warmth of Price’s words sink into his chest, though his body still ached, and his mind was exhausted. The weight of everything—the rescue, the pain, the torture—lingered in the air, but so did the presence of his team, the people who wouldn’t leave him behind.

Ghost leaned back in his chair again, one gloved hand resting on Rumor’s arm in a rare, quiet gesture of reassurance.

“Try to sleep, pup,” Ghost murmured, his voice softer now, gentler. “You’re safe.”

Rumor closed his eyes, letting the exhaustion pull him under once more, the sound of his team’s voices a comfort he didn’t realize he needed so badly.

Safe. Finally.

The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the small room, a harsh contrast to the chaos and blood from just hours before. Rumor lay in the hospital bed, bandaged and hooked up to monitors, his breathing shallow but steady. His eyes were open, though half-lidded, and a faint smirk tugged at his lips when he noticed the two familiar figures hovering in the doorway.

Soap and Gaz exchanged glances before stepping inside, trying to keep their expressions casual, but the relief in their eyes was unmistakable. Soap was the first to speak, his voice light despite the weight in the air.

“Look who finally decided to wake up, eh?” Soap grinned, pulling up a chair and sitting by Rumor’s bedside. “Ye know, we were this close to sellin’ yer gear to pay for drinks while you were out.”

Rumor let out a low, breathless chuckle, his voice raspy from disuse. “Better... leave my girls outta that, MacTavish.”

Gaz snorted from where he stood, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “You’ll be lucky if we didn’t pawn them already. You owe us after that stunt.”

Rumor shifted slightly, wincing as the movement pulled at his injuries. “Didn’t ask to be... the damsel in distress,” he muttered, though his eyes softened as he looked between the two of them. “But... I guess I owe you both, huh?”

Soap’s expression flickered, his usual grin fading for just a moment. “You’re damn right, ye do,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “Ye nearly gave us a heart attack, ye prick.”

Gaz nodded in agreement, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced with something more serious. “You had us worried, mate. Don’t think I’ve ever heard MacTavish shout like that before.”

Rumor’s lips curled into a faint smirk, even though his face was pale, and his eyes were dull from exhaustion. “Don’t... flatter me, Gaz. Wasn’t... worth the fuss.”

Soap’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, he looked like he might lose his temper, but instead, he just sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Ye really don’t get it, do ye?”

Gaz stepped closer, his face softening as he looked down at Rumor. “You are worth it. Don’t ever pull that ‘not worth saving’ bullshit again.”

Rumor looked between them, his breath hitching slightly, but the humor in his eyes faded as he realized they weren’t joking. “I... didn’t mean it like that,” he muttered, his voice faltering. “Just... didn’t want you wasting your time.”

Soap’s expression hardened. “We decide what’s a waste of time. And trust me—coming after ye wasn’t.”

There was a heavy silence in the room, broken only by the steady beep of the heart monitor and the hum of medical equipment. Rumor closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling softly.

“Guess I can’t... talk my way out o’ this one, huh?”

Gaz chuckled, the sound soft but genuine. “Nope. We’ll drag your sorry ass out every time. Whether you like it or not.”

Rumor’s lips twitched, a weak but appreciative smile forming as he opened his eyes again. “Glad to know you lot are so... damn stubborn.”

Soap grinned, leaning back in his chair. “We learned from the best.”

For a moment, there was a sense of normalcy, the banter slipping back into place like an old, familiar habit. Rumor relaxed a little, though the pain still lingered in his movements.

After a few minutes of quiet, Soap’s expression shifted, his voice softening as he leaned in slightly. “How ye feelin’, bonnie? Really.”

Rumor sighed, his eyes closing again as he considered the question. “Like I’ve been hit... by a truck,” he muttered, his voice low. “But I’ll live. Just need... some time.”

Gaz gave a small nod, his hand reaching out to pat Rumor’s leg gently. “Good. We need you back on your feet sooner rather than later.”

Soap leaned forward, his grin returning as he added, “Yeah, don’t think we can handle the paperwork without ye.”

Rumor huffed, his laugh weaker than usual. “I’ll... keep that in mind.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence after that, the weight of the rescue still hanging between them but slowly lifting as they sat together. They didn’t need to say anything more—just being there was enough.

After a few minutes, Soap stood up, stretching his arms with an exaggerated groan. “Right, we’ll leave ye to rest. But don’t get too comfy, mate—we’re expectin’ ye back to keep us in line soon.”

Gaz shot him a look, shaking his head with a smile. “Don’t rush him, Soap. Man’s barely woken up.”

Soap winked at Rumor as he started toward the door. “Don’t listen to Gaz. Ye know he can’t handle anythin’ without ye.”

Rumor smiled faintly, his eyes half-closed as exhaustion began to pull him back under. “Try not to... burn the place down... without me.”

Gaz smirked, following Soap out of the room. “No promises, mate.”

As they left, Rumor’s eyes closed fully, the quiet beep of the monitors lulling him into a more restful sleep, knowing his team was waiting for him when he woke up again.

[formaldehydeaddict]

i’m high right now but its not enough. i want something better i dont want to feel sensation.

i think i will stare at my ceiling while i get myself higher and daydream about 📸 strapping me down and administering me copious amounts of morphine.

i want to watch him get hard seeing the ivs twitching with my pulse (thats rushing so loudly in my ears that i cant even think.) oh what i wouldnt give to see his cock throbbing desperately while he twists and moves the needle under my skin while i’m too high to even scream or do anything about it. i want to be paralyzed underneath him.

maybe if he plays with it enough he could open up the wound to slip in a finger or two… he could pull on and stretch out my tendons and study how my muscles react, we find all the ways we could explore the human design so intimately together… he would be so beautiful with my blood on his face from eating out his work.

[copics-and-renegades]

Whumptober 2023 Day 07: Examination (Goddamn Right You Should Be Scared Of Me)

Cutting-edge science, but unfortunately you are the specimen.

---

Angel Transformation Whump!!! Angel Transformation Research Whump!!! Yaaaaay!!!!! :D

Very very attached to the headcanon that Yuan got as untypically far as a half-elf in Sylvarant because he was, well, involved in angel transformation research. In the form of "wow I can't believe it worked this time journals will line up for my papers".

Had this finished and then afterwards a splendid discussion with the fellow Desians-and-Renegades enthusiasts crew about how touching the wings might feel. :3 It's their bodily mana taking shape. It must feel like someone reaching inside of them, in a way. :333

I like to liken it to eye contact xfmzngznf but that's just me. :'D

[whump-card]

Sunless Lives Part 25: I Will Wait

~1580 words

CW: drugging, noncon undressing, nonsexual nudity, noncon touch, medical whump, forced institutionalization, ED mention, negative self-talk

First, Previous, Next, Masterlist

~~~

DR MANDAL: I’d like to know how you like the staff and faculty here so far.

M BECK: Oh, they’re great. Everyone’s been wonderful.

DR MANDAL: No trouble at all?

M BECK: None.

DR MANDAL: That’s good to hear. What about the other patients, do you like your roommates?

M BECK: Sure, they’re alright.

DR MANDAL: No issues?

M BECK: We all wake up with nightmares, so it’s not like it’s fair to complain about that.

DR MANDAL: So no issues, but do you like them?

M BECK: I think so. I think everyone here hates themselves so much, it’s hard to connect with other people.

DR MANDAL: That’s very observant. Would you include yourself in that?

[0:26]

M BECK: Yeah.

~~~

The intake process was terrifying. Whatever drugs he’d been given had worn off enough for Simon to be awake, but not enough for him to resist as he was manhandled by orderlies out of the car and into a hulking rock of a building - the title of Fort wasn’t just for show. He didn’t have much time to look before he was inside, lifted onto a gurney and wheeled through a dizzying maze of hallways and into a cold room. Broad-shouldered orderlies leaned over him, and started taking off his clothes. One unzipped his coat, while another sat him up. The coat was jerked over his shoulders and off, and dropped unceremoniously on the floor. Then his turtleneck was peeled off, his arms gripped and guided by strong hands. He whimpered and flinched when they touched his skin directly for the first time, and he distantly registered a laugh. His upper half was dropped back onto the gurney and they set to work on his lower half. Someone pulled off his boots and socks while someone else started unbuttoning his jeans. This sent a shock of panic through Simon, he wanted to tell them to stop, but he couldn’t form the words. He couldn’t form coherent thoughts either, instead his head was overtaken by wordless waves of fear and shame and embarrassment as they pulled his pants and underwear down. A hand briefly grabbed his ass but Simon couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or not. Tears slipped out and ran down his temple and into his ear. He couldn’t even move to brush them away, much less stop anything that was happening. Someone whistled when his thighs were revealed.

“Bloodbag.”

“Yup.”

“Fuckin’ idiot.”

A vague figure ran a hand over his ribs.

“ED watch?”

“Probably.”

“I’ll be deciding that.”

The orderlies backed off, and a gray-haired man in a doctor’s coat took over, briskly taking Simon’s vitals and shining lights in his eyes, ears, and mouth. He manually pulled at Simon’s eyelids and jaw himself, and didn’t address Simon as he worked. Then, Simon could only lie there and watch as the worst happened: the doctor received a camera from an orderly and started taking pictures. His face. His scars. The bites. The flash of the camera left Simon blinded and dazed. The doctor barked at the orderlies to flip him over and Simon heard the camera click as he captured his backside as well. Then he was dropped onto his back again, a sheet was thrown over his lower half, and the room was suddenly quiet and empty.

His head flopped to the side on the thin padding of the gurney, mouth agape. Tears and drool slowly leaked out, out of his control. He felt disgusting. Violated. Scared. This had to be some sort of mistake. There was no way Chris would send him to someplace like this. Your boss and your friends were so very worried, Kelly had said - Gina, Amber, and Devon had had a hand in this as well. He needed to talk to Chris. This all had to be some horrible misunderstanding. It had to be.

He wanted Matthew.

He wanted to go home.

Maybe you made a mistake.

Simon drifted in and out of consciousness for a while, but was finally brought back by his stomach growling loudly. He’d lost a lot of his appetite over the last month, but even he could only go so long without eating. He found he could move his arms, and legs, and even slowly sit up. He discovered some thin, scratchy clothes folded at his feet: a long sleeved t-shirt and elastic-waisted pants, both a sickly shade of green, and started the laborious process of putting them on. He felt sick, dizzy, cold, and hungry, and his limbs moved half a second slower than he wanted them to. He had just pulled up the pants and was standing unsteadily against the gurney when the door opened. He flinched back, grabbing the gurney for support. The large redheaded orderly that entered looked him up and down.

“McKenna?”

“Yes?” Simon breathed.

“With me.” He stepped aside and held the door open. Simon tentatively scooted through under his gaze.

“Where-?”

“Left,” the man ordered.

Simon started walking to the left down the hall, but his legs wobbled under him and he staggered into the wall. The large man caught his upper arm, gripping it hard enough to bruise, and dragged him along.

“That hurts, you’re hurting me,” Simon pleaded. No response. “Where are we going?” Nothing. They passed by more doors and under more fluorescent lights, as well as beady-eyed cameras mounted in high corners. The surveillance reminded Simon of Lara’s house, and his heart pounded. He stumbled to keep up. “I haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday, can -”

The orderly abruptly stopped and slammed Simon into the wall, pinning him there with an arm across his chest that knocked all the air out of Simon’s lungs.

“Don’t ask me for shit,” he growled, “Don’t ask anyone for shit, just do what you’re told, and shut the fuck up.”

Simon nodded, gasping for air. The orderly held him there for a long, threatening moment, clearly enjoying the power trip. Then it was back to being dragged.

After a few more confusing turns, they passed through a heavy security door and into an open room with round tables and scattered chairs, occupied by a handful of other people in the same green outfits as Simon. Orderlies were dotted around the room, observing as patients drew in coloring books and played checkers. It reeked of mildew and sick. Cameras stared from every corner.

“Don’t make any friends,” the redhead whispered in his ear, and released his arm. Simon staggered a couple steps forward, clutching at his aching bicep. Some of the other patients turned in their seats to watch him with languid curiosity.

Simon hugged himself tightly, breathing fast. He didn’t know what the orderly’s warning meant. He didn’t know what to do. He looked around the room in desperation and his heart leapt when he saw the back of someone in pink scrubs - a nurse, not a patient or orderly. The pink reminded him of Tammy at the clinic, and how kind she’d been. He wove through the tables to where she was talking to another patient.

“Excuse me,” Simon tapped her on the shoulder, “I just got here, I don’t know what’s going on, can you help me?”

She turned around slowly, her thin eyebrows high.

“Okay, number one, do not touch the faculty or staff,” she lectured.

“Oh, sorry, I -”

She snapped her hand closed in front of his face.

“Ah-ah! I don’t want to hear it. Who did your intake?”

“I didn’t - I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Do you know your room number?”

“N-no.”

 She huffed.

“Fine, I’ll look everything up for you. What’s your name, do you at least know that?”

“Simon. McKenna.”

“Thank you.” She strode away, ponytail bouncing, and exited through a security door that she opened with a keycard. Simon watched her go, pressing his knuckles to his mouth.

“That’s Linda,” said the patient she had been talking with - a very tall, very skinny man hunched over a hand of cards. Two others sat opposite him, an older man with a significant tremor and a boy younger than Simon, barely an adult.

“You don’t want to mess with her. I’m Chett, you wanna play cards with us?” the skinny man twanged, and grinned black and yellow teeth in an eerily familiar way that made Simon shrink back.

“S-sorry, no thank you,” he stammered.

“C’mon, sweet little thing like you needs friends!” Chett cajoled, but Simon was already backing away. He found a mercifully empty table and slouched down in the slippery plastic chair to wait for Linda. His heart thrummed and his eyes darted around the room at the other patients still giving him sidelong glances. None of them looked particularly friendly. The orderlies, on the other hand, looked downright hostile. They were all large men, some even larger than Matthew, and they glowered down over the patients like a bank of storm clouds.

Matthew. Simon felt tears spring to his eyes again. Hopefully wherever Matthew was sent was better than this. He put his head down on the table, sheltering under his arms. His mind replayed his last moments with Matthew. Their last kiss.

I’ll come get you.

Only a little while.

It’ll be okay.

You fucking idiot.

Regret started to bubble up in his stomach.

Shouldn’t have gone to the clinic.

He winced at the thought. Matthew, the real Matthew, was back and alive, and he was regretting that?

Worthless.

You deserve to be here.

~~~

First, Previous, Next, Masterlist

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy, @pigeonwhumps, @sunshiline-writes, @seasaltandcopper

[medig]

A Tale of Woe, Episode 36: Unknown Pleasures

(all episodes)

"So what's it gonna be this time? You guys made me put these shoes on and walk around in them out in the hot sun all day, and now what? What's the deal?"

"The deal, Misty, is that there's nothing that can beat the feel, and smell, of sweaty feet straight out of the shoes, and I aim to thoroughly enjoy it"

"You.. you pervert, I knew you were weird but this is a new low even for you! Lemme outta here.."

"You're not going anywhere, your legs are strapped down tight. I am going to slowly untie those shoes, one lace, one loop at a time, then one shoe at a time I will remove them, and be greeted by the aroma within, which I will enjoy for as long as I wish. Then I will slowly, one at a time, peel off your socks, revealing your moist sweaty feet to the chill of the air. You will helplessly lie there, feeling every touch, every caress, every kiss, every lick, every tickle..."

"No no no, I'm not ticklish, I promise.."

"You really don't remember our previous session, do you?"

"W-what are you talking about?"

"Good, the drugs worked perfectly, just like they will again. You're not going to remember this time either."

"Remember what?"

"Remember laughing helplessly until you passed out when I tickled your feet before. That's going to happen again.. and again and again.. now that I've found your true weakness, you're going to be my little tickletoy from now on.."

[lifewithchronicpain]

Do pain patients on long-term opioid therapy make irrational decisions? Is their mental capacity so diminished by opioids that they shouldn’t be involved in treatment decisions with their doctors? The answer to both questions is often yes, according to a controversial new op/ed published in JAMA Internal Medicine. At issue is a recent update to the CDC’s opioid prescribing guideline, which calls for shared decision-making (SDM) when a prescriber considers tapering a patient or abruptly discontinuing their opioid treatment. The guideline was revised last year after reports of “serious harm” to patients caused by forced tapering.

“In situations where benefits and risks of continuing opioids are considered to be close, shared decision-making with patients is particularly important,” the 2022 guideline states. But that advice about consulting with patients goes too far, according to the lead author of the JAMA op/ed, Mark Sullivan, MD, a professor of psychiatry at the University of Washington and a longtime board member of Physicians for Responsible Opioid Prescribing

“The value of SDM has been recognized for many years but also has its limitations, including where patients make irrational or short-sighted decisions,” Sullivan wrote. “Long-term opioid therapy induces a state of opioid dependence that compromises patients’ decisional capacity, specifically altering their perception of the value and necessity of the therapy; and although patients with chronic pain are not usually at imminent risk of death, they often can see no possibility of a satisfying life without a significant and immediate reduction in their pain.”

Sullivan and his two co-authors, Jeffrey Linder, MD, and Jason Doctor, PhD, have long been critical of opioid prescribing practices in the U.S. In their conflict of interest statements, Sullivan and Doctor disclose that they have worked for law firms involved in opioid litigation, a lucrative sideline for several PROP members...

...“In the case of opioid prescribing, and especially opioid tapering, working to persuade the patient is almost always the best clinical strategy. But there are circumstances (opioid use disorder, diversion, serious medical risks) where tapering should occur even if the patient objects,” Sullivan wrote. Opioid diversion by patients is actually rare. The DEA estimates that less than one percent of oxycodone (0.3%) and hydrocodone (0.42%) will be used by someone they were not intended for.

As for patients on opioids behaving “irrational,” Sullivan and his co-authors cite an op/ed published 33 years ago in The New England Journal of Medicine (NEJM). But that article doesn’t even discuss opioids or tapering, it’s about whether patients and doctors should collaborate in making decisions about end-of-life medical care. It also makes an important disclaimer that “even the irrational choices of a competent patient must be respected if the patient cannot be persuaded to change them." Sullivan rejects that approach to opioid treatment...

...In a rebuttal to Sullivan’s op/ed also published in JAMA Internal Medicine, Mitchell Katz, MD, and Deborah Grady, MD, disputed the notion that a patient’s choices shouldn’t be respected. “Primary care professionals generally highly value the inclusion of the patient’s perspective in decision-making, consistent with the principles of patient autonomy and self-determination, and are loathe to go against a patient’s wishes,” they wrote. “As primary care professionals, we have found it helpful to tell patients that it is not recommended to take more than a specific threshold of opioids and that we do not want to prescribe something that is not recommended. However, that does not mean sticking to rigid cut points for dose and duration of opioid use, abandoning patients, or having them undergo too rapid a taper.”

Others questioned JAMA’s decision to publish Sullivan’s op/ed. “While I recognize the editors’ legitimate intellectual interest in providing a forum for open discussion on the opioid policy space, I question their decision to publish an editorial that represents an ongoing call for broad, ill-defined reductions in opioid prescribing,” said Chad Kollas, MD, a palliative care specialist who rejects the idea that patients shouldn’t be involved in their healthcare choices. “Errantly embracing a lower evidentiary standard for medical decision-making capacity creates an unacceptable risk for harm to patients with pain by violating their rights of medical autonomy and self-determination.” (Full article at link)

So essentially a man with a bias against opioids and who makes money litigating against uses a 33 year old op ed to assert pain patients shouldn't have a say in their medical care because we irrational. Proof of that irrationality is that if we have to deal with severe chronic pain with no relief, we may contemplate suicide. So fucking irrational, right? 🤬

This man is fucking cruel and inhumane. He works for an organization (PROP) that has had direct influence on the 2016 CDC Opioid Guidelines which lead to many pain patients committing suicide or dying from complications due to forced tapering and withdrawals. And this man has been given a platform to assert that our desire to not exist in severe daily pain is irrational. Fuck him!

[navy-heart]

Medical abuse is truly one of the most horrific & understudied and dismissed forms of abuse, and the dismissal of medical trauma even in communities about trauma is one of the most disturbing things I have to witness often.

Somehow even people who have experienced psychological & emotional abuse have their first reaction to learning about you having medical trauma be "aw a doctor was mean to you sometimes and now you scared of white scrubs?". Well no, sometimes your doctors violently rip you away from your caretaker when you're five and scared and confused and in pain and proceed to do an incredibly invasive test on you without warning or care while your caretaker is shoved out of the room so you can't see her and you're surrounded by blood-curdling screams of equally scared children. You're told you need to toughen up and you do, because this will happen every day and you can't do anything about it. Because you're five.

And you know what? God bless the people whose medical trauma does stem from "doctors being mean to them", as if it makes it less valid. I wish I lived in the world where all medical trauma stemmed from that alone.

[aceparagoned]

In reference to this post I made about a couple of weeks ago, I'd like to go further into depth of how Hikaru's Crux was studied. In this headcanon, please be mindful of the following content warnings: child abuse, torture in a medical setting, and the ethics surrounding human experimentation in the name of "science."

When Hikaru was born and her Crux was discovered, scientists were intrigued on how this particular human could have developed another organ in the womb when her own mother, Katsumi, didn't have one. During Katsumi's entire pregnancy, the additional organ was discovered during routine ultrasounds, but there were discussions into the ethics of testing on an unborn fetus that could lead to Katsumi possibly miscarrying. Not just that, but Tamotsu, Hikaru's father, objected to the point of practically almost getting arrested for threatening to hurt the scientists that wanted to experiment on his wife and unborn daughter.

So, they held off until Hikaru was born so as to carry out their experiments when the Crux was fully developed.

This wasn't met without a great deal of resistance from not just Katsumi, but Hikaru's father, Tamotsu. The both of them vehemently argued to not test their daughter at all, thinking that she deserved so much more than being nothing more than something to gawk at because of being born with something else that no one else, at the time, possessed. For at least five years, Hikaru was able to grow up in a happy family until she was voluntarily given up to participate in the PIPE's training program in an attempt to turn the tides of war. They only gave her up on the promise that no experiments would be carried out on her because of her Crux.

The PIPE, desperate to continue living instead of losing the war against the Gnocem, promised they did. However, promises can be broken and it's one of the PIPE's horrible secrets that they've kept under lock and key this entire time.

See, after Hikaru had been given up by her parents, things were okay for a time. She was properly cared for, treated with respect, and told that things were going to be okay. That was, until, the same scientists who were intrigued when she was still in her mother's womb arrived and brokered a deal with the PIPE: they can test on her all they wanted if it'd produced the results they were looking for and that was to be humanity's weapon in the fight against the Gnocem. The deal was agreed upon and this is where things had taken a turn for the worst for Hikaru, who still was a child at this point.

At first, the experimentation wasn't that bad. Just a few shots and blood tests, really. But when that didn't reveal anything regarding the capabilities of Hikaru's Crux, they had to get "creative" with their testing and by being "creative", they resorted to procedures where sights like these [CW: needles in image] were unfortunately common practice with Hikaru strapped to a cold, metal surgical table and pleading for them to stop hurting her and that she was sorry for whatever she did to deserve this punishment.

Sadly, her pleas fell on deaf ears because it went so much further than just injecting her with multiple drugs. They wanted to see how she'd be able to heal and how much pain she could withstand. So, they went through with not just stabbing and lacerating her, but full on maiming by shooting her through her hands and feet. Again, her cries for mercy went ignored. However, these extreme methods of testing her endurance and pain tolerance finally paid off during her training regimen that she was still expected to go through. They ultimately made her stronger, and in their eyes fortunately able to withstand much more in terms of increased training.

Yet, no one thought about how she was still just a child. During these experiments and training, they slowly whittled away the bright and happy girl that started on this because she was promised that she was gonna be a hero and save the day! How could a child resist that? The PIPE and the scientists kept on saying that this was all in the name of making her a hero, like they promised she'd be.

Was being a hero worth all this pain and misery, though? That was one of Hikaru's many thoughts while she was in her room, quietly sobbing into her pillow at night until she finally was able to sleep, having passed out from the pain and discomfort she was in. Hikaru also learned that no matter how many times she cried or apologized, they'd still carry out the experiments on her, so eventually she'd just lie there and take it, trying to not make a single noise for fear that it'd only ramp up the experiments' intensity on her.

And the way that she was rewarded for this? They simply gave her treats, which were one of her only comforts. She couldn't contact her parents to tell them what was going on and the reports that they received told them that Hikaru was being well taken care of and was happy. Nothing was wrong in their eyes, even as they kept on forgetting the most important aspect of this whole matter: Hikaru was still a child. Yet, if it produced results such as giving them little victories here and there on the war, so be it — they would continue this extreme training regimen and keep on lying to her parents that she was being treated the way that they had promised. To this day, they still don't know what sort of hell their own daughter has been through and Hikaru doesn't want to upset them by telling them the truth, either, because of how these experiments gave them the stability that they have today.

As Hikaru grew up and became more powerful (along with being broken down and molded back into what the PIPE wanted of her), the experiments eventually ceased altogether, but this gave her a lasting fear of anything medical because of the hell she was put through. As previously mentioned, Hikaru is very critical of others tending to her injuries that she sustains in fights since she'd rather be the one to patch herself up because she doesn't trust anyone else to do it. Those in the medbay only admonish her for getting hurt for the umpteenth time and don't have any sympathy for her, no matter how grievous the injury really is. So, she'll often be by herself, dressing her own wounds while trying to stifle her sounds of discomfort however possible. This behavior of hers is still prevalent to this day because of how deep seated her own fear of anything medical is concerned — all because the PIPE saw her as nothing more than a weapon instead of a human being.

As far as anyone's concerned, the PIPE is heralded as this pillar of strength and hope, but no one publicly knows just what it took to get there. It's still classified information that only those who are higher up the food chain are privy to and have sworn to never reveal to the public the atrocities they committed to attain the semblance of peace that they have today. Anyone who tries to speak up about the human rights abuses they committed is silenced, never to be seen nor heard from again.

To Watanabe and others, the PIPE is nothing more than a shining beacon of peace and prosperity in the world and nothing shall ever taint that pristine image that they've cultivated for themselves all these years.

[whatiswhump]

Silas Sevieller

I have probably posted snippets of this before. But now doing it in one fell swoop.

CW: Mention of past child death, psychiatric whump, needles, manhandling, possessive whumper.

-

A grin flickered across his smug face, begging the question, how was he enjoying this?

Sydney adjusted the grip on his gun, no less determined but certainly unnerved by the psychopath.

“What’s the matter Syd? Had enough?”

“Just give up, back up is almost here. You’ve done enough.”

There was that smile again, “Ohhhh, enough? I was only getting started before you interrupted me.” The young man, lackadaisically threw a knife so that the simple flick of his wrist sent it hurtling towards Sydney. 

If Sydney were any slower he would be on the concrete with a serrated dagger in his forehead.

“Jesus, Silas, what gets you off?” This was the end game, now Sydney just needed to distract. Silas Sevieller had narrowly escaped already four times this year and it was only March. He had made it to the top of nearly every list.

Silas betrayed no emotion to the question, he also knew Sydney’s game… yet it seemed he was interested in playing, “If that's the most interesting question you have to distract me than I've underestimated you. I'm dissap-"

Suddenly the room was flooded with noise, there was yelling from every direction. Black armored figures trained rifles all on one target.

The target only grinned a toothy grin and kneeled with his hands behind his head, he knew the drill.

Sydney narrowed his eyes at the young man, where was the fear behind that vicious facade? Irritatingly, he saw no spark or inkling of anything resembling fear. So he looked at the men holding him and gruffly ordered, “Go ahead, get him out of here.”

-

The first time he caught him it was out of brute force, Silas fought the fight but Silas won. Silas had never been much for physical prowess. As a child he would orchestrate the fights in the orphanage yard rather than engage in them.

The second time Silas escaped, Sydney caught him by wits. He realized Silas was so delighted by- so caught up in the game, that he could be lured in more easily than someone of his intellect would expect. Silas wasn’t entirely surprised this time, he had seen the signs, the telltale queues but Sydney was right, he was having too much fun. In the moment he couldn’t help himself. And anyway he had slipped out of their prison once, what would stop him from doing it again? Surely not the imbeciles that ran it.

But those same imbeciles weren’t very pleased with him when he was dragged back in chains. They cut his rations and put him in solitary. Guards started looking for excuses to force him back into place. The blood spilt hardly deterred Silas at first. And anyway he had spent most of his life alone, he appreciated the time to think and formulate. Being alone was comfort, not being forced to rely on someone else, being alone was safe. He could trust himself and no one else, he had known this for a very long time. So solitary suited him just fine.

But the third time it wasn’t so easy, he had become ragged and thinner, more desperate with every bruise until at last he stole away in the night, leaving chaos in his wake. Sydney had caught up to him a few weeks later… on that awful day. Almost the whole city block was levelled, Silas hadn’t wanted that. God, that was the last thing he wanted. Sydney found Silas standing alone in the wreckage, horrified.

“Silas, it’s done. You’ve done enough.” Silas rested a hand on his hip, poised over his weapon.

Silas whipped around, instantly disguising his lost expression into a coy smile, “Sydney! I missed you! You never came to visit.”

Silas couldn’t help but smirk, “Yeah well I knew they were taking pretty good care of you there, they held onto you for over a year this time!”

“Did they? Huh, didn’t get to have a calendar in solitary, figured it had only been a couple of weeks.”

“What did you think about in all that time?” Sydney was stalling for back up and Silas knew it once again. Sydney didn’t want to pummel him again like the first time. Something about it had felt… wrong? If that made sense. It was better this way, to outmaneuver him, mitigate the damage.

Silas glanced around himself quickly, almost imperceptibly, scanning for others. He didn’t spot anyone, it wasn’t too late.

“Well I guess I’ll just have to tell you next time we meet won’t I?” Silas wiped some of the blood of his forehead with the back of his sleeve and winced, “Until next time.” He turned to leave.

“SEVEILLER HANDS UP!” The order rang through the smoldering air and caught Silas in his tracks.

They really were faster this time.

Men in tactical suits emerged from different directions, all equipped with rifles trained on Silas. Sydney glanced back at Silas and flashed a grin.

“Silas, No!” Silas realized then what he was going to do.

But the gun had already been pulled out of his back waistband, he was holding it up, trained on Sydney.

“Don’t shoot! Or I’ll take him with me!” Silas yelled.

Did Sydney see a quiver in Silas’s hands? He wouldn’t actually shoot him would he? He had never intentionally killed anyone right?

Sydney didn’t have time to debate this, this had to end, before someone got hurt, or worse, they shot Silas.

“Silas, what would Julie say?” He had recently uncovered it in a file, in an interview someone had mentioned someone named Julie and that she had died. He was grasping at straws but he hoped it might distract him but for some inexplicable reason it felt embarrassing to drag some random woman's name into their standoff, like he shouldn't do it.

But perhaps it was the right thing to do because after a brief moment Silas’s face devolved into horror as he stared at Sydney, he immediately lowered the gun and then dropped it like an afterthought.

"You know about her?" He asked in shock.

The SWAT team members surged in and tackled him to the ground and he didn’t fight it. When they pulled him back up, wasting no time in getting him to a more secure location, his eyes were empty, like he had seen a ghost. He went away with them quietly not looking back up at Sydney again, now lost somewhere else.

Who was Julie? Another victim?

-

The coffee was shit today. Did anyone else agree? Sydney didn’t even feel like making a joke about it though, he was too distracted with his previous night’s dream. Not one to overanalyze the weird shit that his subconscious made a hobby of coming up with, he didn’t normally let his nightmares take over his days but last night’s still tugged at his mind. 

He had had this hair-raising vivid vision of Silas Seveiller in his bedroom... to murder him. But right when Silas raised his knife, he stopped and whispered, This isn’t what I want.

Sydney didn’t understand it but it kept playing on a loop in his head throughout the whole morning. By noon he decided the only way to prove to his subconscious that the maniac hadn’t escaped to murder him was to go see him. Seeing Silas locked up would put him at ease again.

But Silas wasn’t in prison this time. They had finally decided that he wasn’t mentally fit to be kept there... Syd wondered if it’s because the Powers that Be thought the prison guards might actually kill him this time. 

Now Sydney would have to go to a very different place to see his nemesis.. one that he did not look forward to.

-

“Rise and shine Seveiller. You gonna take your meds today?”

The young man squinted to see two men towering above him, instantly making him feel nauseous. One pulled his sheet back while the other pressed a paper cup into his periphery.

“Because of your little meltdown yesterday, this is your only chance.”

“Well I don’t want it,” he croaked with a voice still heavy under the sedation of the previous night’s dose.

And then they were gone. He curled back into a miserable ball not bothering to pull the sheet back up.

A door far away buzzed. The sheet was gone again. The sheet was already gone? There were hands on him. Strong grips pulling him off the bed, he struggled. He even tried to land an elbow but he wasn’t strong enough and they too easily pinned him down. His face was forced into the mattress and his backside suddenly felt colder. Then there was a prick of a needle and he felt the elastic waistband of his pants being pulled back up. Someone was guiding him back onto the bed.

“This is for your own good,” he heard.

--

Time passed... he thought.

“Won’t you eat?”

--

“Time for meds. Are you gonna take them?”

No, he thought.

--

Where was he?

--

“Silas?”

Who was that?

--

“Well he’s been amazinigly uncooperative, worse than most. Most patients start to behave and submit to treatment after a few weeks, once they learn the alternatives if they don’t. But not Mr. Sevieller, however you would probably know that better than anyone since you are the one that caught him.” The doctor spoke over his shoulder as he strode down the blue linoleum hall.

Sydney picked up his pace to keep up, “In what ways? -not cooperating, I mean.”

The doctor looked back at him for a moment, Sydney suddenly felt as if he were another specimen under the microscope before the doctor returned his attention in front of him again.

“Well the boy is very sick. He used to attack the staff often at first when he came into our care. Before we started to learn how to uh- take care of him properly. He’s broken multiple noses and plenty of other bones of the orderlies. He refuses medication, thinks he doesn’t need it. Consistently refuses food out of insubordination, attempts pithy escapes… won’t engage in therapy nor submit himself willingly to any kind of treatment.. The list goes on and on. However, recently, I’d say the rules seem to be breaking through to him.”

Fitz wasn’t surprised, it all sounded like the young man he had worked so hard to bring in. He still wasn’t sure if psychiatric care was what Silas needed but he felt relief every time he had thought of Silas in here rather than out on the streets causing mayhem…. But the one thing that gave him pause was the word attack… Silas could through a punch but normally not unwarranted, he might’ve fought them but he found it hard to believe that Silas himself was the physical instigator…

He pushed down this puzzlement though as they buzzed through yet another door and reached the end of a hallway. The doctor peered through the window in the door first and then moved for Sydney to see for himself.

What he saw was not what he anticipated. There was a young man in there alright but he barely recognized it as Silas, the only indicator being that shock of dark hair. A much thinner version lay curled into himself and lifeless in the thin iron bed fastened to the floor. His pale eyes were open but his gaze didn’t move from where it was trained on the floor. Silas’s unruly hair had been shaven which made the hollows in his cheeks and eye sockets stand out that much more. A fresh looking bruise bloomed over his right eye creating a sickly mirage of yellows and blues. His arms were folded into his chest and his mouth hung slightly open. 

“What the hell happened to him?”

The doctor looked slightly offended for a moment, “Were you listening? He is on heavy sedation while we train him to willingly take his medication. A lot of our patients require …  proper motivation.”

Heavy-handed then. Sydney didn’t try to probe any further nor apologize for his harsh tone, he just turned away from the window.

“His responses will be delayed or he may not respond at all. It’s nothing to be worried about.”

“Well, I’m not worried about him.” Sydney shot back a little too quickly, bordering on defensive, “This is just a visit to ensure that he was still here- no offense. Er just a peace of mind thing. We both know what he is capable of.”

“Yes, sure, well if you have any trouble knock on the window. The orderlies are close by,” The doctor instructed curtly and took his leave.

-

“Silas?” No movement.

Sydney stared a for a moment before suddenly feeling like he shouldn’t be there. He was raising his hand to knock and to be let back out when Silas spoke.

“I don’t want it.”

“...Want what?”

His eyes pressed tightly together, “Please- I don’t want anymore.”

His voice was so small, such a stark contrast to the last time Sydney had seen him. Visions of that grin flashed in his head.

“Silas, it’s Sydney Fitz, do you recognize me?”

His eyes opened and he slowly looked up, his eyes were so red, it looked like he had been crying. Silas... crying?

“Syd? What are you doing here?” There was recognition but it was subtle and it looked as though he was having trouble focusing on him. He tried shifting to sit up but it was a poor effort.

“Here in an official capacity. Sent to make sure you’re still here. I’ve heard about your escape attempts, you forget that we know you too.”

His eyebrows came together but he didn’t say anything at first, then at last he muttered weakly, “Ya, I’m still here.”

“They treating you alright?” Sydney didn’t know what else to say.

Silas shrank back and looked up at the window of the door like he expected someone to be looking through it. He ignored the question though and instead responded with, “Why am I here?”

“You’re sick, Silas. You’ve committed countless crimes that you were convicted for, you need treatment and care.”

“... Do you believe that?”

“I’m not a psychiatrist, but I do know you did what you did and now people are dead.”

Silence.

“Where did you get that bruise?”

He stared back with no response.

Fitz pointed to his own eye in explanation.

After a prolonged moment Silas seemed to comprehend, he reached up to his own and winced when he found it with his fingertips, “.... You know me, I can’t help but fight it.” An attempt at a smile flickered across his lips but his tone lay flat.

Then the lock turned over and two very large men strode in. Silas shrunk back into himself, again. It was the quickest reaction Sydney had seen out of him yet. He pulled his sheet up further, a barrier.

“Please, please no. I don’t need any more.”

“Sorry sir, but he is on a strict medication schedule.” the nurse or orderly was addressing Sydney to apologize for barging in the middle of the visit. 

“Silas, are you going to take it or are we going to have to give you another shot?”

“No- no I won’t. I don’t need it.”

“Alright get up.”

He didn’t move except to flinch when the orderly stepped towards him and pulled him off the bed and in one move deftly pinned him down so his face was pressed up against the hospital linens.

One of the orderlies looked back at Sydney, “Sorry sir.”

Silas was struggling and doing a poor job of it. “No! Please don’t!”. It was almost too easy for the single man to hold him down as the other one uncapped the syringe that had been in his pocket. Then the first pulled down Silas’ thin hospital trousers. The other quickly injected the medication. Silas watched with considerable horror. And before he knew it the pants were back up, Silas was being lifted back on the bed.

He squeezed his eyes shut, cheeks burning with humiliation.

“Consider taking your pills next time.”

Then to Sydney, “Sir, let us know if you need anything.”

“Uh sure, yes”.

Silas looked back up at him with tears welling but he didn’t say anything. Rather he just pulled up his sheet a few centimeters and then trained his eyes down.

Silas stood speechless for a few more moments, unable to reconcile the brute force so deftly performed with a man he considered so impervious.

“...Silas, why don’t you just take it? It would be easier for you.”

He only shook his head, anger just barely visible through the misery.

--

Sydney couldn’t get rid of the feeling in his stomach all week. The fear of that grin had collapsed into images of a small frame in a small bed breaking down into itself, eyelids fluttering. It was sickening.

Against his better judgement, he found himself back at the institution the next week. That pit he was feeling in his stomach, he couldn’t decipher it. At last he decided that it was intuition, that maybe Silas had been faking it, planning another escape of some sort. To visit him again was the only foolproof way to keep an eye on him. 

“We’ve had to start force-feeding him this week, it is not our ideal course of action but while he refuses to eat, it is the only way. Maybe you can knock some sense into him.” The doctor seemed like he couldn’t care less as he was once again briskly leading Sydney down the hall. 

This time Silas was asleep when Sydney was buzzed in. His face was peaceful again, almost innocent if it didn’t have all the bruises.

Unused to approaching sleeping people, he lived alone after all, he cleared his throat first in an attempt to wake him. When it had no affect, Sydney uncomfortably muttered his name.

“Hey, Silas, you there? It’s me again,”

He only stirred slightly, so he tried again. This week, there were no sheets on the bed, instead it was bare and Silas donned only a straight jacket and thin cotton pants.

After the third time, Silas opened his eyes, he looked like he was trying to rouse himself from the grave. What the hell did they have him on?

“Syd?” he whispered as he found Sydney with his dazed eyes.

“Ya it’s me again, I came back.”

If Sydney didn’t know any better he could’ve sworn that tears welled in the corner of Silas’ eyes, after a few more moments he said, “It’s good to see you.”

Sydney scoffed, Silas would never say that without dripping with sarcasm, “Haha, I bet.”

At this moment, Silas seemed to become more aware of himself and remember the straight jacket he wore, he shifted uncomfortably.

Sydney gestured at it, “They’re really giving you the all-exclusive vacation package huh?”

Silas grimaced at first but found a bit of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “Yeah, they treat me like royalty here. They love me so much they don’t want me to leave.” 

“Now that’s the Silas I know,” Sydney chided back.

Silas shifted himself to sit up on the bed, it took longer than it should have and Sydney could swear there was an almost imperceptible groan at one point. How did struggling create so many bruises? He wondered.

“I heard you’re not eating?” Sydney had meant to interrogate his arch enemy on escape tactics, etc. but now that he was here, for some unexplained reason, he just couldn’t bring himself to. 

Silas wilted a bit, but then breathed in again and responded while cracking another smirk, “The food is shit, worse than what they make over at the prison.” 

“Silas, you never stayed there for more than a week before you escaped every time,” Syd chided back.

His grin curled a little tighter, “Oh ya, almost forgot,”

“Well don’t go killing yourself so soon, otherwise who am I going to fight every goddamn day?”

Silas didn’t respond as quickly, “I don’t know but hopefully the next fella has better aim.”

“Yeah maybe make it a little more interesting,”.

Silas had a coughing fit, it was deep and heavy, it sounded painful. The pallor on skin greyed significantly by the time he finished. 

“...You okay? That sounds nasty.”

He straightened himself up a bit, “It’s nothing, the doctor already saw me, just some bug they said.”

Sydney wasn’t convinced but Silas was getting more drawn by the moment, clearly he was getting tired. His eyelids drooped further.

Sydney inched towards the door, unsure why he was feeling something foreign and uncomfortable in his own chest, “You seem like you’re getting tired so I am going to head out, let you get your rest.”

Silas’s eyes opened fully again, “Are you going to come back?” that small, small voice again.

“Um, yeah, sure, I’ll stop by again soon if you want.”

Silas nodded forward a bit and then slowly lowered back down to the mattress, his eyes were closed before the door had locked behind Silas again.

-

“Um, Silas. I have to ask you something. That day… when I caught you-”

Silas wearily smiled and flicked his eyes up to the man standing above him, “Which one? You’ve got a few lucky breaks under your belt.”

“The day you threatened me with a gun.”

The small quirk of a smile dissolved as his face paled.

“I didn’t know who- it was just a blind attempt to stop them from shooting you… Who is Julie?”

Silas looked back up at Syd revealing glassy eyes with a grief torn expression, “Was- you mean was.”

Sydney watched his... enemy- deflate, his shoulders caved in and head hung low.

He blinked the heavy welling tears out of his eyes, not bothering to wipe them away, “She-” He closed his eyes for a moment, flushed with emotion, “She was my little sister.”

He looked back up to Syd with large dull eyes. 

Something panged deep within Sydney, jesus. All of the blood drained out of him, “Oh god, Silas, I’m-” 

“I -I was supposed to protect her. I was all she had.”

Silas choked on his tears that started to come quickly, “But I couldn’t- I couldn’t- save her.”

Blind grief consumed his face. He had never- Never- spoken about it. Not to anyone.

“She never doubted that I would keep her safe. I was ten and she was seven, we were sent to a new foster family. We were just happy to stay together. The father.. He was a monster. He would lock us in the basement for days at time, beat us. One night he came down and he didn’t want to hurt me like he normally did- he went after her-” Another involuntary sob tore its way out of him, “I tried to fight him off- but you know I was a kid- he was too big. He beat me until I couldn’t stand- She was so small- all it took was one hit in the wrong place. She suffocated slowly- I couldn’t do anything for her, I kept thinking that if I knew how to hold her or how to fix it- I held her down in that basement for all night- He didn’t come back down until the next morning. By then she had-” been dead for hours.

Sydney listened in horror as his arch enemy broke down in front of him. Before it occurred to him what he was doing, he sat down on the bed and pulled the agonized man into his arms. Another sob escaped him but he didn’t fight it, he went limp into the strong hold, sobbing into his chest in anguish.

Then the door buzzed, Silas jerked away from Sydney, a panic and crazed look on his tear soaked face.

Two orderlies and a nurse came stampeding in. Silas bolted to the further corner of the bed holding out an open palm, “Please no-” with a strangled sob.

“Silas, you are overwhelmed. You know how this goes, it’s for your own good.”

The nurse looked at Sydney who had also jumped up, “Sir, please get behind us- he’s unstable- not safe like this.”

Sydney’s confusion fell into anger, “He wasn’t going to hurt me- he-”

Another strangled sobbed escaped Silas as the two men grabbed him, forcing him down onto the bed. A third orderly appeared out of nowhere, he immediately began fastening the five point restraints that were previously tucked under the thin mattress.

Silas struggled like a trapped animal, tears still streaming down his face. When each limb was tethered, the nurse approached with a syringe held aloft as the men held his arm still.

“Shhh- it’s okay Silas, this will make you feel better.”

She administered the syringe quickly and the men stepped away. 

Silas turned his head, “Syd-” his expression crumbled again into raw desperation when his gaze landed on his face. But just as quickly as they had tackled him down, his expression began to soften and his eyes emptied.

Sydney was left standing there feeling like someone had wrenched his heart out of his chest.

-

Sydney found himself back at the gates of the hospital with a lump in his throat the next week.

“Mr. Seveiller requests that he receive no visitors at the moment, unless this is official business?”

By the time he got back into his car he thought he might throw up.

Against his better judgement, he went back the next week and was met with the same response. It became a ritual, showing up only to be denied. If he had really wanted to see Silas he could easily feign some official matter and force his way in to see him…. But Silas didn’t want to see him anymore. And could he fault him for that?

And then those tapes landed on his desk one morning, a few months after that awful day. Sydney hadn’t bothered to stop by the hospital in over a month. It didn’t stop him from thinking about Silas. He felt a pang in his stomach when he read the name on the file.

“Hey, Fitz? The loony bin sent over copies of the reports on Sevieller. You wanna see them?”

“Isn’t there patient doctor confidentiality?”

“Not when the patient is a real threat to national security, no. Although I doubt he’s much of a threat anymore… Someone finally figured out how to put that psycho in their place.”

“I’m surprised he talked to the doctors,” Fitz responded in a trained tone of apathy.

“Yeah, I guess they gave him something to get him going.”

A jab of… was it guilt? hit Sydney. They were drugging him defenseless? Even when dealing with someone as dangerous as Silas… it didn’t seem right.

“Sure. I’ll give them a look.” He sighed and tossed the flash drive on his desk, attempting to seem disinterested still. 

“The bastard’s really a wreck, crying like a baby.” The cop gave one last imperious chuckle and picked his coffee mug back to sidle up to another desk.

Syd’s eyebrows creased slightly as he plugged the flash drive in, nervous about what he would see.

First file was a video.

Two men were guiding a drowsy looking Silas into a small plain room. He stumbled clumsily and they pushed him into chair and cuffed his hands to the table in front of him and his ankles to the floor. It struck Sydney as a bit excessive.

“Mr. Seveiller, are you ready to cooperate with therapy today?” A voice from out of frame addressed Silas.

He resolutely shook his head no once, a fire burning in his eyes. Sydney recognized the smoldering flicker, he had seen it so many times before.

“If you don’t begin to cooperate, it means the medicine is not helping your condition and we will have to up the doses.”

Silas glanced at the camera before responding, “The drugs aren’t doing anything but giving me side effects. You and I both know that’s because I didn’t need them to begin with.”

“We’ve been over this Mr. Sevieller, you are in denial, we are only helping you here. If you can’t begin to see that, then your condition is worse than we  thought.”

“I am not in denial, I am not sick, I am just a very bad person.”

The voice hummed slightly and Syd could hear pen scratching.

“Write as many notes as you want, you won’t figure me out and I won’t bend.”

Silas stared down the anonymous man on the other side of the camera with unreserved confidence. He wouldn’t be tamed quite so easily.

The next tape was dated a week later. The men were guiding him back in but they walked more slowly. This time Silas held out his wrists to be fastened down. Then he regarded the other side of the camera with an annoyed grimace.

“Good morning, Mr. Sevieller. How are you feeling?”

He subtly rolled his eyes but elected to hold his tongue settling for, “Peachy, doc.��

“Have the new levels done anything to change your mindset?”

“Other than sleeping through meals? No. But you know, I enjoyed being showered by two burly men this week. An unexpected new perk,” Silas smiled saccharinely, daring the doctor to press further.

“I am afraid you can’t be trusted in the showers after… Monday’s incident.”

-

Two men were dragging him into a bare room kick and screaming. The wrestled him into a chair and attached his wrists and ankles to it like a goddamn animal.

“Do you want to be a good boy today?”

Silas wearily picked up his gaze to look across the table, a solid “fuck you” written over his expression, but he didn’t speak back.

“Well I have something to help you do that. Lucky you.” For the first time, Sydney could hear amusement in the voice behind the camera.

Silas’ expression wasn’t mirthful and ready to strike back like Syd had come to expect, there was frustration and exhaustion instead. 

Someone else came out from behind the camera, they held a syringe aloft as they approached they tethered patient. 

“No no no, get away from me. Don’t come near me with that-” Silas looked… scared?

“You don’t even know what it does yet,” the voice said from behind the camera, “If we agree not to use it, will you behave and talk with us?”

Silas aimed a look of pure hatred bore through the camera lens and to the person owning the voice. It looked like it took strength to shake his head no, just a millimeter. But it was enough.

A sigh, “Okay, inject him. And remember you had an option.”

Silas began to writhe in his restraints, desperately trying to create space from the syringe bearer. More people came in and attempted to hold him down to the table. Silas violently resisted throwing himself aas far within the restraints as he could, likely seriously injury his wrists and ankles in the struggle. At one point he managed to bite an arm and the headless body jumped out of the shot. Another nurse? Orderly? Slammed his head against the table then, temporarily stunning him.

“Do it! Now!” A voice rang out.

Whatever it was didn’t take long to begin working, Silas stayed limp on the table no longer moving, a stark contrast from the scene moments ago. 

“Okay, rouse him now.”

Someone took smelling salts for fainting victims and cracked them under his nose, a faint flinch was visible from his now still body. A strong set of hands then manhandled him back into sitting, pressing him against his chair again. And then checked his eyes with a pocket light. 

The kid squinted in annoyance but didn’t resist.

“Silas, are you feeling more agreeable now?”

Silas looked back across the table as if just seeing the speaker for the first time. 

“Yes sir?” He answered uncertainly, quietly. Even through the camera the dazed look in his eyes was visible. 

“Will you answer my questions and be a good boy?”

Silas remained locked on him, his eyes wide, “ Yes- yes.” He spilled out with uncertainty, as if part of him still knew he didn’t want to do this.

“We just gave you a special medicine that releases inhibitions, forces you to tell the truth, a truth serum if you will. You’ve been very bad but I think you can behave better now.”

Silas just stared at him.

“I want to start from the beginning. Your history. You had a drunken father and a promiscuous mother who didn’t take care of you, yes?”

“She tried to-”

“Yes?”

Silas nodded with his eyes wide, “Yes, she was out a lot. They both died by the time I was eight though.”

“And that’s how you and your little sister ended up in foster care?”

Silas suddenly looked confused as if he didn’t know how this man knew these things. 

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

“No- yes, the state took our custody. No other family.”

“And that’s how your sister died, in foster care. Did you do it? So angry at the world you had to take it out on someone else?”

Horror made the tenuous expression on Silas’s face drop, “No- no. I didn’t- I couldn’t- I couldn’t protect her-”

“From yourself you mean?”

Tears began to roll down his cheeks but he seemed to not perceive them.

“No, I didn’t- he did it- he-” He was tripping over his words, clearly horrified but mysteriously stuck in a dream where he couldn’t reason, couldn’t fight back and couldn’t stay silent instead of engage.

“You seem to not even understand yourself- sometimes the brain locks away trauma, things it doesn’t want to believe… maybe you need a higher dose next session to get the real truth.”

“He killed her- I didn’t- I didn’t-”

Sydney’s heart clenched so deeply or gut wrenchingly that he didn’t know if he could keep watching. He knew for a fact that he had never discussed with any one else other than him. Now to have it torn out of him… but worse… accused? It was sickening.

“It sounds like it could have been the beginning of your misanthropic reputation, after that you went to the Pelham Boys’ School, where you spent most of your time in solitary confinement for infractions.”

Silas was full on sobbing now, well beyond wondering how a childhood file could be unsealed, beyond the injustice of the forced interrogation they were trying to call psychotherapy… now in a completely detached state of agony.

“Silas, stop it. We are not done. Listen to me-”

But Silas wouldn’t stop, he was completely departed, sobbing and unreachable. 

“Fuck, you dosed him too high for the first time. Fucking waste of time. Take him away, sedate him and let him sleep it off.”

By the time the staff members were around him again, Silas’s tears had stopped but his head was at an odd tilt downwards and his eyes were hauntingly vacant. He didn’t notice when his wrist were unlatched, or his ankles (although Syd could see the angry red welts around each limb) he didn’t even respond when they began to drag him out. 

The voice swore a few more times and then the camera switched off.