Chapter Text

Day One

Patient: Frank Iero.

Location: Intake wing B

Time Admitted: Unknown because apparently human rights no longer apply.

___________________________________________________________

My Name is Frank Iero,

And they are putting me in the fucking looney bin.

My fault, I guess. I should know better than to make those sorts of jokes during a therapy session. But it was a joke.

Doesn’t matter at this point, though.

Clearly.

Here I am. 

And here I have been for the last ten hours. Blue gown, sad little room all the way in the back of the hospital, camera staring at me, nothing to do except watch shitty television and try not to antagonize the nurse propped outside the doorway with one hand braced on her knee.

Jesus. 

The food they promised me can’t even get here in a timely manner. Not that I’m hungry. 

That's funny. 

but man I could use something to do right about now.

“How long has it been now?” I call out to the nurse. 

“Frank, I told you I’m not answering that anymore.”

Fucking hell. Even Nurse Angel is sick of my shit. 

When she first swapped out with the grumpy older dude, she’d been all sympathy eyes and pep talks…

“That has to be against some sort of law.” I say, more for conversation than actual argument “I mean. It has to be a human right to know the time. Right?”

Silence.

Yeah. Good call. Quit humoring the crazy dude.

About an hour ago, some lady in a cardigan and nervous hands had wheeled over a laptop and asked me about a million questions.

Pretty sure I answered all of them wrong because, by the end of it, she had informed me with sad eyes and a tight little nod that I would, in fact, be going to inpatient.

I should’ve lied. 

I know that now.

But something about her dirty blonde bob and that little purple hair clip made me uncomfortable enough that the second the first lie came out, I started squirming like crazy.

And then of course, there were those stupid kind eyes encouraging me to “take care of myself” and “put myself first”

Fuck.

She had gotten me to agree before I even fully realized what it was I was agreeing to.

A sudden commotion pulls me out of my thoughts. The sound of rattling wheels approaches fast.

Lots of footsteps too.

Honestly, the most action I’ve seen since they escorted me into this little selfharm-proof corner of hell.

And somehow, 

Both miraculously and ridiculously 

This fuck-ass hospital has delivered on two things at once:

The saddest slice of cheese pizza I have ever seen in my life.

And two paramedics urgently wheeling a gurney down the hall.

The food cart nurse and the paramedics sort of stare at each other for a second.

And my useless brain immediately supplies western stand-off music.

Will the lunatic eat?

Or will they be whisked away??

Food nurse nods once and tosses the little milk carton at me.

“Drink quick,” he says “looks like you're finally getting out of here.”

I don’t want the milk. 

But something mischievous in his expression makes me realize that he is bending some sort of rule for me.

Which is weirdly sweet.

So I pop open the carton and take a huge swig. 

Stupid. 

Because I am lactose intolerant.

…

The ride in the ambulance is otherworldly. 

I’ve never been in one before. Too poor for that rich people shit, you know? Gotta drive myself to the ER when a cute accident happens.

Anyway, yeah the drive is strange. 

The paramedics are funny. Like… genuinely funny. 

It throws me off when one asks me if I like video games and I’m like, duh, obviously, and then he starts joking with me like we’re just dudes hanging out somewhere instead of me being zip-tied to a rolling hospital bed in the middle of the night.

Not literally zip-tied. But close enough.

I don’t know 

It's not what I expected.

One of them tells me about how his gaming buddies were there for him when nobody else was, and I get it. I do.

But honestly?

At this point I’m mostly trying to figure out when they’re finally gonna let me go to sleep. It has to be at least one in the morning by now. So I nod along. Laugh when I’m supposed to. Let the conversation drift around me.

And somehow he notices the exact moment my brain checks out because after that they stop really trying to talk to me and just sort of… include me.

Still strapped to the gurney, they wheel me through automatic doors while chatting back and forth with each other, except every few sentences one of them tosses something in my direction like I’m still part of it all.

Like they don’t want me disappearing too far into my own head.

The building itself is quiet.

Too quiet.

They push me down this long hallway covered in painting after painting of mountains and waterfalls and all that peaceful nature bullshit hospitals always seem obsessed with.

“You more of a beach guy?” one of them asks, “or hiking?”

“Uh…” I mumble. “Hiking, I guess.”

“Cool.”

And then, for reasons completely beyond me, he stops my gurney in front of this huge painting of a forest at sunrise.

“This one’s a pretty good view, huh?”

And yeah.

I guess it is.

I stare at the painting for a minute, reading the little placard underneath it.

Apparently it’s a real forest.

I don’t notice when one of the paramedics steps away to talk to a nurse or an attendant or whoever.

I do notice when he comes back and they start unstrapping me. They hover nearby while I sit up, watching carefully as I stand.

When it becomes clear I’m not about to keel over, the taller one gives me a nod 

“This is where we part ways, bud. We’re rooting for you.” 

And I don't know.

He says it just flatly enough that it doesn’t come off as cheesy.

Not inspirational.

Just a paramedic relieved the easy ride with the fucked up kid is officially over.

I turn toward the tiny woman standing in front of me wearing a warm smile. She’s trying very hard to look welcoming.

I don’t miss the massive dude standing directly behind her.

You know.

In case I decide to rip one of the paintings off the wall and stab her with it or something.

Whatever.

She leads me into a mostly empty room with a long bench and two adjoining side rooms that somehow are even barer except for identical benches against the walls.

She’s talking at me.

I’m responding 

Couldn’t tell you a single word either of us says.

What I do notice is that, as the conversation continues, she slowly inches a little closer every few minutes. Like she’s testing the waters with a stray animal.

Eventually she hands me a clipboard and asks me to fill everything out as best I can. I glance down at it numbly.

Mostly consent forms.

Page after page she flips through while explaining policies in the same calm voice people use to explain turbulence on airplanes.

One page is for emergency contacts. Who’s allowed to call me while I’m drooling in here or whatever.

That's funny.

I leave that one blank.

Once it's done she takes the clipboard and asks me to wait in one of the adjoining rooms.

When they come back it's the big dude that steps forward.

She immediately starts explaining this part is standard.

Necessary

Routine.

Which is how I know it’s about to be humiliating.

The guy asks me to lift my arms one at a time while he reads off every bruise and scab on my body like it’s the morning weather report and she scribbles everything down dutifully just behind him.

He crouches slightly to inspect a nasty scratch on my thigh.

It’s my cat.

It’s my cat, damn it.

I want to tell him that. Tell him it was Mouse, not.. not me.

But he’s already moved on to the bruise on my knee from wiping out on my skateboard last week. 

I don’t explain that one either.

After a moment he straightens back up and gives me this brief apologetic look before quietly asking me to open my hospital gown.

Jesus.

He’s respectful about it, which somehow makes the whole thing worse.

He only looks long enough to check for more marks before immediately averting his eyes again. He even closes the gown for me afterward.

For one blissful second I think maybe that was the worst part.

And then, naturally, I’m proven wrong.

“Need you to squat and cough, bud.” He says voice gentle and exhausted.

Oh yeah.

Of course.

Who knows what dangerous contraband I might be trying to smuggle into my extended fucking stay.

I do it.

What choice do I have?

It’s over fast, but something about it sticks to me anyway. 

Like static.

After, they move quickly. Tell me I’m almost done for the night. Tell me then I can finally sleep. Like they already know that’s the only thing in the world I want anymore.

They zig zag me through so many hallways I start getting dizzy.

“You hungry?” the tiny woman asks, her voice more cheerful than the situation calls for, if you ask me. 

I shake my head.

“You sure? I know the food at that hospital is…” she winces slightly, “... not the best.”

Another head shake.

Not hungry, lady. Just tired.

“Come on, sweetheart, don't say no just because you're trying to be easy.”

It's sweet. But man can she stop doing that?

 So I nod. Whatever makes her happy i fucking guess.

And apparently it does make her happy because her whole face lights up as she gestures me into a little office-looking room with a blessedly padded chair for me to sink into.

“Good. We've got peanut butter and jelly or ham and cheese.”

And something about this whole thing is so deeply fucking weird. 

I am currently having my midnight-lunch order taken by a woman who saw my dick less than fifteen minutes ago.

Very non-sexually.

“Peanut butter” I mumble, mostly because it was the first option listed and also the only one I can actually eat.

The nurse nods immediately like this is excellent news. Then her expression softens even further, like she’s about to offer me something genuinely special.

“Oreo cookies or chocolate chip?” She sounds sincerely excited about this. Like securing me the ideal dessert is personally important to her.

I’m suddenly very grateful she can’t read minds because the thought of cookies right now makes me vaguely nauseous.

“Uh… Oreo.”

Whatever. Whatever.

“Perfect.” She beams at me like we’ve accomplished something together.

Then she pauses in the doorway.

“One more question.” she says warmly. “Milk or apple juice?”

And weirdly,  

that's the first option all night that actually catches my attention 

“Apple juice” I say immediately.

God, please. Apple Juice.

Cold, sharp, sweet.

Something in my voice must give me away because her smile turns oddly soft, like I’ve somehow done her a favor now.

“Apple juice it is,” she says quickly “sit tight.” then after one last reassuring nod, she disappears down the hallway

And god finally one fucking second alone to breathe. Well, sort of. I can still see big guy hovering nearby but still no one is chattering at me or asking me questions. If only, if only I could sleep now.

A few minutes later the nurse comes hurrying back in balancing a little cardboard meal box against her hip. It’s sort of comical, because the woman looks genuinely pleased.

“Okay,” she says breathlessly. “Peanut butter and jelly, apple, Oreos…”

She sets everything out carefully in front of me one item at a time.

Then triumphantly:

“And two apple juices”

And there they are.

Tiny plastic cups with the foil lids. Like applesauce containers. Something about the extra one feels devastatingly kind.

“…Thank you.”

The nurse smiles immediately.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” Then she pauses and looks toward the hallway. “Don’t run away,” she jokes lightly. “I gotta grab the vitals cart.” And before I can even process how absurdly human that sentence is in a god damn psych ward, the nurse disappears again.

A minute later she comes back wheeling a medical cart.

Blood pressure cuff. Vials. Laptop. The whole  fucking shebang. 

And something about seeing another one of those god forsaken things makes this deep exhaustion settle into my bones.

Again.

I have to do this again.

“Okay,” she says gently, “I just need to finish up some intake stuff and then your physician will come talk to you.”

I nod. Because what else am I supposed to do? Refuse now? And then what?

I peel back the foil lid on one of the apple juices and take a sip. The sharp sweet taste of it floods my mouth immediately

God

That actually helps a little.

The nurse wraps the blood pressure cuff around my arm while typing into the laptop balanced on the cart. Her voice has changed cadence now. Routine and professional.

“Height?”

Short.

“Allergies?”

If you count food sensitivities, then fucking countless.

“Any history of seizures?”

No. 

Nice to finally get a positive answer in there somewhere.

The cuff tightens painfully around my arm while she types steadily. I hate getting my blood pressure taken. I always have.

Then casually. Almost absently.

“Ever been sexualy assaulted?”

Ah, fuck.

Now I gotta get sympathy eyes from Apple Juice Nurse.

I know it’s routine. I know she probably asks everybody this. But the question lands on me like cold water. I go stiff before I can stop myself.

I could lie.

It would be easy. Just say no. Move on.

But that second little container of apple juice is staring me down. 

So I fucking answer even if its through gritted teeth.

“...Yeah.”

The nurse pauses for half a second. 

Just half a second. But it’s enough. Her autopilot glitches.

Then the blood pressure cuff releases with a hiss.

She reads out the numbers automatically while typing them into the chart. Numbers that mean absolutely nothing to me right now because suddenly I feel weirdly detached from my own body.

I take another sip of apple juice but this time I barely taste it.

The nurse carefully removes the cuff and scrolls farther down the form.

Then softer now “How long ago was, uh…” She glances at the screen awkwardly. “The incident?”

I blink at her.

“Oh. Uh. No, not recently.”

Immediately my brain starts spinning.

Wait. Shit. Should I not have said anything then?

Do they have to do some sort of god damn rape kit now?

Did I answer wrong?

The nurse just waits quietly. She doesn’t push or correct. Just keeps looking at that screen like maybe the answer will magically appear there for both of us.

I look down at the half-empty juice cup still in my hands.

“...Once when I was eighteen.” I mumble. “And… uh… yeah. When I was three.”

The nurse gasps. Actually gasps.

And something about that catches me completely off guard. Because what? Don’t psych nurses hear horrible shit constantly? Shouldn’t this just be another answer in another file?

But suddenly she looks stricken. Human in a way I wasn’t expecting.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Barely above a whisper.

And I don’t like that. 

I don’t fucking like that.

I shift uncomfortably and set the apple juice down even though my mouth has gone desert dry.

The nurse fumbles slightly with the laptop now. Visibly flustered.

“Well…” She clears her throat quickly. “Your physician should be in shortly.”

The words come out fast, almost abrupt.

“Okay,” 

Then she’s gone almost immediately. Wheeling the cart out with suspicious urgency. What a weird fucking reaction. And even weirder? I feel guilty for causing it. I knew I should have lied.

I stare at the doorway for a few seconds before boredom settles back in.

No phone, no distractions, nothing to do.

So eventually I look back down at the little boxed meal. The sandwich still untouched, apple beside it. That ridiculous little packet of mini Oreos. I snatch up the second apple juice and drain it quickly before absently rearranging everything else on the tray.

Cookie packet behind the apple. Apple rotated to the more visually appealing side. Napkin Straightened.

I just need something to do with my hands.

Need to not think about being a kid.

Need to not think about the look on the nurse’s face.

Mostly though?

I just really fucking wish I had asked for another apple juice.