Chapter Text
He's awake the entire time, his eyelid fluttering tiredly while they transfuse him blood and stitch his wrists.
The room is narrow and the lights fluctuate above him, his chest too tight to inhale. He can't remember where Will is, and he struggles to sit up to search for him. Fear strikes deep when too many sets of hands force him to lay flat again, people holding him down makes him hyper aware that they can feel his useless struggles.
Air splutters in and out of his mouth and he twists his neck away when a mask is pressed over his nose and mouth -they're going to suffocate me, Will?- uselessly as someone straightens his face and forces the plastic mask onto him. "Inhale slowly," he hears, but all he can manage is panting gasps.
The muscles in his arms and legs jerk restlessly against the hands as soon as their grips lax, only to tighten again when he struggles. He knows better than to fight, but it's just not the same this time. This is his doing, he made a mistake and now they'd lock him away where he'd never feel pain or joy again. He'd never be hungry and he'd never be full. The thought of being locked away but never feeling again strangles the air from him, then everything is black. He'd given up his freedom.
When he opens his eyes again, the consistent pressure of five point restraints soothes the wave of fear. He feels a twisting sense of relief that no one is touching him; he can't help but think he wishes he would have been strapped down like this instead of on his knees all those years. He feels numb, staring up at the ceiling and accepting the spoon of ice chips someone slips into his mouth. He can't turn his head to look for Will, but he doesn't smell his aftershave and he knows he's not there.
~*~*~*~
It's an eternity before they release him, they fool him once by releasing each limb one by one so he can stretch them, only to secure them again. He doesn't resist, but he does feel more clear headed when they finally do release him all the way. He feels tired and worn down, but he can focus on one thought. Despite the terrible soreness in his throat and a headache, he feels alert. He glances up at the woman who offers him the ice chips and balances him in the sitting position. "You look much better, sweetheart." He looks away quickly and sucks on the ice, studying the tightly wrapped bandages on his wrists. Shame weighs on his shoulders and he self-consciously hugs his middle. "Don't dwell on those too much, think of how you're going to go on for here. Don't be embarrassed, we are here to help. We want to." She reaches her dark hand to rub lotion into his skin where one of the straps left the skin a little raw. "I'm Louise."
Her presence is comforting, he relaxes and watches her work around him. "Twenty-four hour suicide watch is rough, you spent a lot of the time screaming. Ice will sooth your throat," she explains, spooning more into his mouth. "You calmed down eventually, then you were no trouble at all. They're gonna get a room for you, then we will move you up stairs." He shivers, then there is a blanket wrapped around him. He wants to say thank you, or apologize and tell her he isn't an animal, not anymore. He was confused, he doesn't act like that anymore. He frowns at the bedding and wonders what Will would say. "You were afraid, a lot was happening at once. Compared to what we usually see, you were calm." He looks up and manages to find her dark eyes that are the same color as her skin. She looks back gently; no judgement or anger on her face, then he looks away.
~*~*~*~
"He's off suicide watch and he's settled into a room now," the doctor tells him, and he wants to ask when he can see him, but the words stick I'm his throat. "I'm trying to get him comfortable so we can work on some therapy, I'm trying to get him to write and draw so we can communicate."
"He knows how to write," Will says lamely, offended by the implication that One-Eye wasn't capable.
"I'm aware, I'm sure he is capable of a lot of things- it becomes a matter of getting him to do them." Will nods once and looks away, "he can't have visitors until he's made some progress, then we can talk about outpatient treatment. He has to communicate first." It's as if the doctor read his mind, and he can't help but think that it'll never happen. One-Eye will never communicate.
~*~*~*~
Adjusting is hard. His room is too quiet and he misses Will and the dogs. Most people don't bother to introduce themselves, they come with food and medication. Louise comes in with a big smile and crosswords from the newspaper, he stares at the page in her hand with Suduko, "You like that game better? I have a whole book of it you can have," she said one day, and the next day she gave him an entire book of puzzles. He thinks of Will and the beginning when he wasn't sure how Will would want him to act. Will had accepted him and he let him down.
The puzzles blur before his eyes, and the tears drip down his face. He's so useless. Louise hands him a tissue and he hurries his face in his hands to hide it from her.
~*~*~*~
A man comes in and introduces himself as Doctor Rowell. He sits down and One-Eye focuses out the window. "I want to get right to the point. I know you've been through a lot and this is the last place you want to be. You have to work with me so we can get you out of here." One-Eye looks at him quickly then looks away again, "You can look at me, you can communicate with me however you feel comfortable."
They sit there for another fifteen minutes before the doctor stands, "I'll be back tomorrow."
~*~*~*~*~
He learns the routine and it makes him comfortable. Someone brings him breakfast and medication that he devours because he's afraid it'll be his last meal. He does Suduko until Louise comes in and tells him it's time for a shower, then she checks his wrists and brings him clean scrubs. Doctor Rowell comes and he sits and listens to him talk about the outside world for an hour. Then lunch comes and he reads whatever book Louise left for him, then he sits by the window. Dinner rolls around and he finds himself tired even though he doesn't do anything. They give him more pills and he can't resist sleep after an hour.
He shuts himself down and lets the time pass just like he used to, letting the world go by however the people around him say. He thinks of Will before he goes to bed, and wishes he was there so he could fall asleep with him.
~*~*~*~
"Seeing you will make it harder, Will. He has to stand on his own two feet first," Alana says while he washes Winston on the porch. It's been a month since the accident, and he hadn't seen One-Eye since that night.
"I'm afraid he won't get better, maybe he thinks I abandoned him."
"I know Doctor Rowell personally, he's a nice man. One-Eye will open up and you'll be free to see him."
~*~*~*~
He dreams at night that Walt takes Will and chains him in a cage and he wakes up drenched and terrified. Will's screams echo in his head and he gets up because he's alone and confused and stumbles out into the hallway. He doesn't know what he needs but he just leans on the wall and wraps his arms around his middle until two nurses come rushing over. They help him into the bathroom to change, where he throws up, then sits quietly while they help him change.
The bed is dry and fresh when they bring him back to bed, he sits on the edge of the bed and only then realizes that one of the women is the one who was there for him through suicide watch. "You okay, sweetheart? You looked pretty spooked." Louise encourages him to lay back, and he blinks up at her. "I was reading a poetry book at the station, want me to read it to you for awhile?"
She goes to get it and pulls up a chair. She reads to him while he stares at her, confused by the comfort she brings until her voice lulls him to sleep.
~*~*~*~
"I heard you had a rough night last night," Rowell begins, One-Eye puts a three in the top box of his Suduko. "Why don't you write something?"
He doesn't want to, he grips the pen tightly and glances up. The man hands him a pad of lined paper. He wants to ask about Will and when he can see him. "Why don't you write how you're feeling? Even in one word."
He stares at the paper for a full eight minutes before he slowly lifts the pen to the paper. His handwriting is shaky and requires his full concentration. Rowell reaches for his hand and he flinches back, "Try holding the pen like this." He readjusts his fingers for a better grip, then leaves him to try again. The letters take shape and he drops the pad after. empty Rowell smiles at him encouragingly, "That's a good start. Why don't you tell me about yourself, what's your favorite color?"
He stares at Rowell uncertainly, unsure what he's supposed to write. He'd never considered it. He looks around the room and observes the colors. The walls resemble the sky, blue.
That's how they start off every session, he writes how he feels and answers a simple question. After a few days he puts more thought into how he feels besides empty, and he switches to lonely. Then angry, tired, frustrated.
It's six weeks when he looks up at Rowell from his place on the bed and hands back the paper back with 'okay' written on it.
~*~*~*~
"You spend a lot of time staring out the window, why don't we have a walk?" The doctor suggests weeks later, and One-Eye stays put. The doctor doesn't sit this time, and One-Eye watches him closely. "Okay, we don't have to. I'm going to spend today's session in my office. You're more than welcome to join me," and then he leaves him there alone.
He'd hated the daily visits, but somewhere in his time there he'd come to accept the company. The room feels small and bleak, his chest tightens and he can't help but feel he's done something wrong again. He's afraid the punishment will be to leave him alone for good. He makes himself stand and walk down the hall to stand in the doorway of the warmly decorated office. "Come in."
"Have a seat," he insists, and One-Eye does as he's asked, his hands twist in his lap and he keeps his attention on them. "I'm glad you chose to come here."
One-Eye forces himself to look up for a second before he looks away again. "This is where the other patients have their therapy, and I figured since you were feeling better- you might be ready to come here and talk." He doesn't know why but he stands up again, backing away from the desk just to have space. He doesn't know why he does a lot of the things he does anymore. He can't explain the feelings he has, only that they scare him. Why did he leave the room? "Are you anxious? You're shaking." He takes another step back and wishes he could communicate that he wants Will because he needs fresh air but he's afraid to go outside without him.
His lungs tighten again and he bites the inside of his cheek to stifle the sudden dread that he'll be stuck here, just like this, forever. Had Will even tried to visit him?
"One-Eye, look at me," he does what he's told because he has to, and Dr. Rowell is standing next to his open office window. "Come stand by the window, get some fresh air."
His chest loosens when the outside air enters his lungs and he shuts his eyes to enjoy it. Behind his lids Will is there and they're fishing in the stream. "Deep breaths, nothing bad is going to happen if you leave your room."
Tears well up in his good eye and he turns to bury his face into the other man's shoulder without thinking. "Alright," Rowell wraps an arm around him and eases him back into the seat. Frustration wells inside him because he doesn't know what he's supposed to do here. He feels like he's walking on eggshells and anything that happened before coming here never even happened. Was Will even real?
He reaches for a pen and paper from the desk and sniffles. Will?
"You miss him." One-Eye stares up at him, then nods once, jerkily. "How do you feel about Will?"
He frowns and tenses his mouth. He thinks back to the feelings he couldn't identify in his months around Will. Warm, full, hopeful.
He thinks of one of the poems Louise read him-
Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That’s all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.
He stops over thinking and writes the word he couldn't face before. love.
.