Sick, Lovely

Ryan slumped to his knees at Zerith's bedside, pressing his face into the sheets. He hiccuped between sobs that racked his body. It wasn't supposed to be this way. To end this way. His hand slipped from the mattress, leaving a bloodied streak in its wake. From his fingers slipped a crimson painted knife. It hit the linoleum with a metallic 'clank'. Ryan shook, trying to find breath. He wanted desperately to apologize. But violent screams were the only sound coming from his mouth.

One would have thought that a knife wielding man walking into the intensive care unit coated in blood would not have been permitted through the door. But when someone sees a person in that state, face to face, you point them in the direction they want to go. What else is there to do? The silent alarm under the counter can only be pressed so many times. Police can only move so fast. No sense in upsetting a madman in the meantime. Not anymore than he already was, anyways.

As his breathing calmed, Ryan was forced into listening to the slow beeps of the heart monitor. The soft sound of Zerith's breaths. Inside his rib cage, he swore there had been fire, dissolving organs and bones. A tap on his shoulder forced him to turn. Three police officers and an assortment of a SWAT team stood there, waiting for him to stand. Ryan got to his feet and held his hands up, helpless. There was nothing for him here but death and suffering. "Let's go." He whispered. "No fights. No more violence. Let's just...go."

FIVE HOURS LATER.

"So. Mister...Sentinel, is it?" The psychological evaluator sat across from Ryan, placing his folder down on table between them. Ryan said nothing and chose to take a deep examination of his palms instead. He questioned whether or not the blood would ever come off. It felt stained on his skin. "Is that the right pronunciation?" The evaluator prattled on. Ryan tuned it out. What she had to say to him held no significance at that moment in time. "Ryan." She said, trying to snap his attention to her. He lifted his gaze to meet hers.

Ryan, in his 'day job', had figured out people quite well. Body language gave away everything, even what the eyes betrayed. She looked into his baby blues, framed by purple-blue circles from sleepless nights and drug abuse. She could see the dirt on his face. And, of course, there was the blood. On his skin, in his hair, stained in his clothes, it simply existed everywhere. But those things didn't cause her heart to skip a beat. It didn't cause the gasp she tried to hide or the pain she no doubt felt flicker in her chest. Because she wasn't afraid, she didn't feel those things.

In her own day job, she had been trained on seeing through people's facades and into who they really are. One did not fake insanity so easily around a professional, not one like her. She looked past those things, what others would see off the bat, and saw the tear tracks breaking up the dirt on his cheeks. He wrung his hands in desperation. His vision always flickered to the red all over him, but not in fear or excitement, but in exhaustion and defeat. This man before her, the hunted one, held something past murderous intent.

"Yes." Ryan spoke quietly, as though he didn't want to really be heard. "That's right. Ryan Quinton Sentinel. Twenty years old. On the run for five. Blonde hair, blue eyes, six foot two inches tall. Multiple counts of murder, or attempt there-of, possession of stolen goods, tested positive for heroin, possessed drug paraphernalia." He stopped to think. "Right, that's it, I think." He recited the list, trying to save them some time. He had already been in the god forsaken examination room for hours. He wanted a bed, and perhaps to be hit over the head with a baseball bat.

"You left out that you've had an evaluation before." The woman raised a brow. Ryan took note of how perfectly groomed she was for it being that late at night. Not a single hair out of that perfect little bun of hers. The makeup she wore seemed to have been put on over a base of glue. He cocked his head, curious to if she had been up at all before they called her in for him.

"Right. When I was fifteen." Ryan agreed, nodding his head. "They gave me some bullshit. I don't remember. Stopped caring."

"Noted." She opened his file, shuffled papers, and the evaluation started. It wasn't any different than he remembered. Various questions. Look at this. Choose one of these. The only change was this woman, who hadn't bothered to introduce herself, seemed a little more sincere. It took possibly two hours of their time. After a while, she grew quiet, cleaned her glasses and looked at him. "Well," she started. "This is not going to be fun for you." She mumbled. "I believe you are...shall we say, imbalanced, mentally. But we cannot be sure. Not without observation."

Three Days After The Incident.

Ryan had been transported to the nearest mental health facility. He found himself satisfied with the choice. He had expected a trademarked loony bin and what he got felt more like a day care. They put him in a room, no different than any other bedroom, save for the lack of sharp anything, windows or easily broken furniture. He did, however, take note of the two way mirror on the far wall, black on his side. They would be watching. They would also be bored to tears. In the three days Ryan had been in their care, he hadn't done much but sleep and stare aimlessly at the walls. Meals brought to him remained relatively y untouched. Nothing had been bothered or taken from its place. He didn't bother to try to talk to the wards on the other side of the mirror, or stare at them. He spoke only to request a bathroom visit. By all means, he was cooperative and behaved. But that did little for his case. He had no signs of the personality disorder offered up by his evaluator, whose name had been revealed to be Anna. One of the doctors in charge of Ryan's observation sighed.

"I think we should call her," He said. "This kid...seems perfectly healthy to me. Just another one that snapped." His coworkers gave in to the notion after a short debate. Anna was called in. "Have you tried to talk to him?" She scolded as they explained their opinion. They nodded furiously. They had, in fact. Ryan would stare at them, give as short of replies as he could, and attempt to go back to sleep, for the most part. She, along with the doctor who had insinuated nothing medically wrong with Ryan, went for a visit. It was a battle amongst themselves. Too many people would have liked to see Ryan dead, and this doctor was one of them.

"Ryan?" Anna opened his door softly. Ryan had his back to them, sitting on the floor with his legs crossed. Anna entered, followed by the good doctor. "We came to talk to you. Are you feeling okay?"

"Feelin' just fuckin' ducky." Ryan replied. His voice chilled the two. His voice had contorted. It held no life. The tone had dropped an entire octave and sounded gravelly. It was not the one either had heard from Ryan before. "Thanks for poppin' in, doll. Now, get the fuck out." Ryan growled. Anna kept her position firm, and the doctor beside her made a motion to the window to prepare them in the event Anna and himself needed saving.

"Ryan..." Anna breathed. "Are you sure you're okay? Do you want to come sit over here?" She motioned towards a chair in the corner, knowing he couldn't see. "We just want to talk. Me and Doctor Anderson here. We're worried about you."

"Nope. Don't wanna. Sorry." He shrugged his shoulders. For awhile, Anna stared at Ryan, watching his movements, waiting for the pounce. But Ryan stayed on the floor, rocking back and forth. "I thought I told you to fuckin' go."

"I'm sorry." Doctor Anderson spoke up. "We are still observing you, that's all."

"Fuck you observation! And fuck you too!" Ryan snarled and whirled around. His face twisted into that of an animal before the kill, his blue eyes dark, and an out of place smile plastered into the mess. "Leave." He threw a portion of a metal rod at them. It bounced off the door frame just beyond Anderson. "Because I think my aim is gettin' better." He laughed then, loud and hard, like he had told them the best joke he'd ever heard.

"Ryan, can you settle down?" Anna pressed on. Ryan stopped laughed and stared at her.

"No." He said softly. That was when the other half of the metal piece showed itself. Before someone could react, Ryan had lodged it into Anderson's wind pipe. Blood spurted out across Ryan's face, onto Anna, the walls, anything within a five foot radius. Ryan turned the pipe this way and that, trying to inflict the most damage in the little amount of time. He was not stupid. The wards were coming to get him.

They ran into the room and threw Ryan to the floor. He laughed madly again. "I'm not a good boy, am I?" He said, looking at Anna, before he went under the anesthesia.

Four Days After The Incident.

Ryan had woken up, aware of what he had done, and guilt ridden over it. He ceased replies at all, and kept his eyes closed in an attempt to keep himself asleep. He could no longer move. After the stunt, he had been restrained onto the bed. Anna stared at him through the two way mirror. What had happened scared her mentally, but she had chosen her work over dealing with it. She had always been that way. If she could bury herself in someone else's problems, hers were as good as gone.

"I don't believe for a second that Ryan attempted to kill the Trexlon boy. Nor do I think he wanted to kill any of the others." Anna spoke quietly, keeping her eyes locked on the sleeping Ryan. "Who I saw yesterday...it was not him. It was...something else entirely." If she were to be honest, the whole situation gave her goosebumps. But that was neither here nor there. The point was, the Ryan she had spoken to before that moment was nothing like the one that ripped apart a man's throat.

"I believe he's suffering from a very bad case of dissociative identity disorder." She announced. "There will need to be more testing...but...I believe that is what I'm looking at..."

Five Years After The Incident.

"Now, you're sure you're feeling okay?" Anna asked, staring hard at Ryan. He had been in her care for five years by then. It was almost like having another son for her. Ryan nodded, pulling his leather jacket on. It smelled of cigarettes and rust, but it felt familiar, and that was all that mattered.

Over the past five years, Anna had battled the point of Ryan rejoining society. Ryan had been subjected to countless tests, observations, and scenarios, all to indicate he himself did not pose a threat to society. When under proper medication, Ryan would be completely calm, even in some of the more horrid stress situations they put him under. But it proved efficient enough, and now Ryan was going home. He would have an officer come around once a week to check in on him, drug test him, and so forth, and if he left the county, he had to report to the same person. His prescription had to always be up to date, and he had mandated therapy every Tuesday and Thursday. He also wouldn't be eligible for a license for another year. He didn't mind. He just didn't want to go back into his holding room. It began to feel too small after some time, but he couldn't remember when.

"I'll be fine." Ryan assured her. "Just gonna go home." He smiled at the thought. A large manor, filled with people and the occasional ghost (though, now he wasn't sure if the ghosts were real or not) and smelling of food. Home, with his friends, his surrogate family, who took him in, blood, drugs, and all. They stood in front of the psychiatric hospital, waiting on Ryan's ride. Finally, a black car pulled up beside them. The window rolled down, revealing Demonte on the other side. Ryan sighed, stifled a laugh and climbed into the car, waving one last goodbye at Anna.

"I'm so glad you're home!" Demonte gushed. The man hadn't calmed down in the past five years, and that was almost a comfort for Ryan. "Oh, I need to make a cake! No, two cakes! And macaroons. You still like those, don't you, and...there is so much to do!" Ryan stared at him blankly, listening to the words but not really grasping them. Demonte behaved like Ryan had been away at summer camp, not the hospital for five years. Finally, Demonte stopped with a sigh and glanced over to Ryan. "We're all just glad you're okay, Ry." He smiled faintly. Ryan nodded and looked out the car window.

"Me, too." Ryan said, though he was done, for now, thinking about where he'd been and what had happened. Nightmares stayed the entire time of the incident. The storm. The blood. Zerith trying to stop him. The knife sliding into Zerith. Ryan squeezed his eyes closed and begged the images to stop. They subsided, and Ryan took to focusing on other things, like Demonte's appearance.

His once wild mane of hair had been tamed down, cut off to his shoulders. He no longer wore glasses, and it let his natural eye color sparkle when he talked. Ryan smiled to himself, wondering if that was something Arin enjoyed about Demonte. Demonte's style of dress also mellowed down, coming less flashy and more aristocrat-at-a-rave. Sophisticated, yet still the same Demonte, deep down. What stunned Ryan, though, was the silver and gold ring sitting on Demonte's ring finger.

"What's that?" Ryan asked bluntly, like a child might.

"Oh, right," Demonte giggled. "Arin and I were able to be married this past year. Isn't that amazing?"

"Yeah. Amazing..." Ryan's voice trailed. He felt like he had missed so much. Almost too much. "Will..he be there? At home?"

"Of course, darling boy! Everyone will be there. Well...except Zander. Zander is.." He paused, trying to find the words that wouldn't make Ryan panic. "Zander admitted himself to a rehab facility about three months ago." Demonte frowned for a moment and then brightened up again. "But Derik says he'll be home soon! In just a week!" At that, Ryan felt relieved. Perhaps his former drug buddy wouldn't be the best welcome wagon, but Zander had been more than that.

He and Zander had been friends for years, since they were children. Ryan kicked Zander down a slide. Zander threw sand in Ryan's eyes. They were inseparable after that. After graduation, when Ryan began to notice his heterosexuality wasn't as real as he thought, it was Zander he started to have feelings for, and Zander who verbally rejected the idea of a homosexual relationship, but silently helped Ryan accept himself. Later, Ryan had realized that he really had no feeling beyond platonic for Zander, but instead had the romantic feelings for Zander's twin brother, Zerith. And Zander accepted that, too. It felt a decent enough set up, and one he'd be relieved to have back.

"...Are you worried about seeing Zerith again?" Demonte asked after allowing the silence to lapse between them. Ryan wished he could become the fibers in his seat at that question. How did he address someone he stabbed, but also had feelings for, that only one person knew about?

"Yes." Ryan said, hoping the honesty would keep away anything uncomfortable to transpire. "Yes, I am." Demonte gave him a sympathetic look and let the silence envelop the rest of the ride.

In the drive way, Ryan stood awkwardly beside the car, holding his back pack against his chest like a kindergartner on his first day. "Is...my room still there?" Ryan squeaked.

"Would never get rid of your room." Demonte spun on his heel to look at Ryan seriously. "You are always welcome here, no matter what you've done, sweetie." He hugged Ryan then, and Ryan hugged him too. It occurred to both of them that this had never before happened. Demonte, always the mother of the troupe, coddled Derik and loved Arin. He held Zerith. He even once held up Zander during a fit. But never, not once, had he touched Ryan. They parted and stared at each other with this realization. "You've always been a part of this family, Ry. You always will be." Demonte walked to the front door and Ryan trailed slowly behind him.

"We're home!" Demonte called.

"About fucking time. Jesus dick, Demonte, what took you so long?" Arin rounded the corner, nearly smacking into Ryan. "Oh, damn." Arin's voice grew quiet. "Hey, you..."

"I'm not contagious, Arin." Ryan narrowed his eyes, taking in Arin. The six foot five man had changed significantly, from long, black hair jutting out in every angle, to having a neon green mohawk, and piercings on his face instead of makeup. Plaid and jeans replaced hoodies and Tripp pants. Arin almost passed for an a-typical individual. He frowned again, thinking over what he had missed. Too much.

"Sure. Right." Arin shrugged nonchalantly, breaking back into his normal persona. "So, how was the loony bin? Make any friends?"

"Uh, no." Ryan scratched his head, feeling the long locks of hair. Truth be told, he had no idea what he himself looked like.

"Damn shame, man. Tough break. Oh, well. You still have us assholes." Arin turned to go into the kitchen. "I'm sure you're aware where your room is."

And he was. Ryan took to the opposite direction and followed the halls until he found his door, marked clearly with a bright red 'R', carved with a knife and colored in with Crayloa markers. He sighed and went in. Ripped posters, torn sheets, and the familiar teddy bear greeted him. He sat down on the mattress and picked up his bear. "Damn it...What am I gonna do?"

"You could try...talking to us." A soft voice said from his door way. Ryan stared down, not wanted to look Zerith in the face. "Demonte..he..said you were home. I came to say hello." Ryan listened as Zerith walked carefully across his floor and sat down beside him.

"Hello." Ryan whispered.

"Hello." Zerith whispered back. "You know," He said after a moment passed. "I'm not mad. I was, when it happened. I was glad to see you being crucified by the media...but..then I wasn't." Ryan felt him shift and looked up to see Zerith, for the first time in five years, for the first time since he had put a knife blade through the sickly boy's heart. "I had a heart transplant. It works better than the one I was born with." He smiled weakly.

"That's good." Ryan said, forcing himself not to stare. Zerith, he had changed, like everything, and everyone. Long, black hair washed over his shoulders. His clothes were more trendy and fit a little better. He looked happy. Healthy. "I'm..glad you're okay."

"I'm very okay." Zerith said. "You little psychology lady found me, you know. Wanted to ask me about the incident." Zerith placed a hand on Ryan's thigh. "She told me you...fell apart..in there. That you were sorry, too." He paused. "I believe her."

"You do?" Ryan asked, taken aback.

"I do." Zerith smiled. Ryan wondered if Zerith had ever smiled like that before. He reached up slowly and touched Ryan's hair. "What did you do...?"

"Oh." Ryan touched his hair as well, remembering what exactly he had done. "Had a nervous break and got half my head shaved." He laughed awkwardly. "I look stupid, right?"

"No." Zerith looked him in the eye and Ryan felt like running. This wasn't fear. No, this was more like the anxiety he had felt early on in his stay. "I like it. It's different. Unique."

"Thanks..."

"Ryan."

"Yeah?"

"You love me." His words cut through the air and brought about a static of tension, confusion, and, above all, a sensation of something finally being let go of.

"What? I didn't- Who said that?" Ryan stammered over his words, trying to conjure the right words. Why would Zerith say that? When did Zerith say this much, anyway? Who trained him to do that?

"You."

"I didn't."

"Not to me. To Anna." Zerith's fingers trailed down Ryan's cheek tenderly. "She told me you said it while you started to regret everything..It wasn't a lie, was it?"

"I didn't want to hurt you." Ryan turned away. "I didn't mean for you to be...hurt... I was in a frenzy and you...grabbed my arm...Damn it, I don't know what to say..."

"Not that. Ryan, do you love me?"

Ryan sat still and listened. Zerith's breathing, it brought back thoughts of his sobbing in the hospital room, the blood running down his fingers, the screaming... "Yes. And I thought I killed you."

"You didn't." Zerith pulled his hands away from Ryan and the two sat there, Ryan holding his bear and looking intently at the floor, Zerith looking at Ryan with his hands folded neatly in his lap.

"I didn't." Ryan said, feeling at a loss.

"I believe you." Zerith said. "Both that you're in love, and that you didn't mean to hurt me."

"I'm in..." Ryan whimpered and pressed the bear up to his face, trying to hide any sign of emotion. "Fuck."

"It's okay." Zerith's words were kind.

"You don't have to be nice to me." Ryan said suddenly. "I fucking stabbed you. You almost died. Now someone tells you I might be in love and...and you're okay with me?"

"I'm nice because I want to be, Ryan."

"Why?" It almost angered him. How could Zerith be like this?

"Because. You've fought awfully hard, you know. For someone who claims to feel nothing. You've barely even looked at me, despite your romantic declaration." He pushed the bear away. "I want to know you."

"You don't."

"I do." Zerith kept himself soft spoken and carefully walked around Ryan's emotions like he were a mine field. "Did detoxing make it worse? The...stay..."

"Yes." Ryan said, monotone. "I was a lab rat and the studies had to stop once I started getting sick."

"Did it take awhile to get better?"

"I'm not better, Zerith." Ryan spoke with a heavy sigh. It hadn't been something he wanted to think about. "I never will be better. I'm forever addicted to heroin. And I have to take a pill cocktail to keep myself from flying off the handle." Why was he saying these things? He didn't want to talk. He still wanted to sleep. He had always wanted only sleep for five years. Dreaming, for the majority of it, kept away his reality.

"I'm sorry." And then Zerith hugged him, laying his head delicately on Ryan's shoulder. "I take a lot of pills, too. I understand that much." Ryan felt Zerith shake with silent laughter. "I suppose we have that in common now, right?"

"That's not a normal thing to have in common."

"But it's what we have." Zerith held Ryan a little tighter and his eyes fluttered shut. To say he felt safe was to lie. He kept waiting for Ryan to snap and turn on him, for that sick grin to spread across his face and his hands to clamp around Zerith's throat. He hadn't lied in what gave him the trust he showed at that moment. Anna's look of heartbreak over Ryan's collapse... The nurses at his own hospital who had to explain the blood on his sheets had been from Ryan that night. He had begged for Zerith to live. It all presented a healthy case, at least, for Zerith it did.

Ryan placed the bear down on his pillow and put his arms around Zerith and held him. The two sat that way for a long time, but neither knew for how long exactly. Ryan tried to keep himself still, although the howling pain he felt the first night of the incident had come flooding back to him, mixed with a strange sense of relief. He cried, and tried to pretend he wasn't, tried to imagine himself far away. But where his mind went, Zerith went too. Finally, he calmed again, and came back to the scene he really existed in. The one he imagined so many times while he was gone. Here, in his room, with Zerith curled up next to him and in his arms.

"I'm sorry." Ryan said. "I'm sorry..I'm sorry." He repeated and shook his head.

"I know." Zerith reached up and touched Ryan's face. The Ryan he'd known before, the one that he had hated, never went through any kind of emotions except anger and irritation. This one, this person sitting with him, that was not the same person. "I forgive you." Zerith pressed his face against the side of Ryan's neck. "Just don't try to kill me again."

"I wouldn't do that." Ryan yelped.

"It was...attempted humor, Ryan."

"Oh."

"Ryan?"

"Yes?" Ryan shifted to be able to look at Zerith more clearly, and, in return, found Zerith's lips against his. The stun took more effect than he had imagined, but once he had forced it away, he melted into Zerith. They parted, only barely, just far enough to say they weren't locked in a kiss any longer.

"I love you, too."