GN Reader :) Forgive me for lore/character inaccuracies.
Unedited. Just a silly quick write
Remy getting turned into a cat had been funny for exactly three seconds.
Then he'd started following you around.
Not in a cute way.
In a "you are now responsible for me and I resent it" way.
The first time you tried to get him to walk on his own, he simply jumped right back onto your shoulder.
The second time, he climbed your leg.
The third time, he sat in the middle of the road and screamed until you picked him back up.
"You are the most dramatic person I've ever met."
"Mrrrow."
"I don't even know what that means."
The cat glared.
You somehow understood it perfectly.
It definitely wasn't polite.
You'd been partners for a job recovering some stupid artifact. One minute he was picking up the artifact, the next, an orange and black cat was staring at you, yowling its head off.
You'd laughed.
That had been your first mistake.
The second had been calling him adorable.
The third had been taking a picture.
Remy remembered all three.
The first ten minutes had mostly consisted of you trying to figure out what happened.
The next thirty consisted of Remy trying to convince you he was still Remy.
He'd eventually succeeded when he knocked over a deck of cards, somehow separated out the queen of hearts, and then stared at you like you were the idiot for not understanding sooner.
"Oh my God."
The cat narrowed his eyes.
"Remy?"
"Mrow."
"You're actually Remy."
The cat visibly relaxed.
Then you laughed.
The look he gave you could've curdled milk.
From that point onward, things somehow got worse.
Because it was then you both realized you had no idea where the hell you were.
No signal.
No jet.
No way to contact the mansion.
Just miles of road, forest, and one extremely angry cat.
You'd thought being stranded would be the biggest problem.
It wasn't.
The biggest problem was that Remy had apparently retained every single aspect of his personality.
Including his inability to mind his own business.
The first indication came when an old pickup truck pulled over beside the road.
The driver leaned out the window.
"Y'all alright?"
Before you could answer, Remy launched himself from your shoulder into the truck.
"What the hell?!"
"MROW."
The man stared.
You stared.
Remy sat proudly in the passenger seat.
"Remy."
The cat blinked.
"Get out of the truck."
He did not get out of the truck.
The driver laughed.
"You know, I think he likes me."
Remy immediately knocked the man's sunglasses off his face.
You ended up apologizing for fifteen minutes.
The second indication was when food started going missing and also appearing.
By the end of the first day, he'd stolen half your trail mix.
Two sandwiches.
A hot dog.
And somehow an entire packet of beef jerky.
You never actually saw him take the jerky.
One second it belonged inside a store.
The next it belonged to Remy.
The workers were still trying to figure out what happened.
Honestly, so were you.
Nighttime brought its own challenges.
Namely the fact that every motel within reasonable distance was full.
Which was how you found yourself sitting beside a campfire in the middle of nowhere.
Remy sat across from you.
The flames reflected in his eyes that were far to red for a normal cat.
You tossed another stick onto the fire.
He stared into the woods.
You stared into the woods.
The woods stared back.
Somewhere in the distance, something howled.
You looked at Remy.
Remy looked at you.
Slowly, the cat got to his feet.
Then he climbed directly into your lap.
You blinked.
The cat immediately curled into a ball.
For a second, neither of you moved.
Then you carefully looked down.
Remy refused to meet your eyes.
"Oh."
His ears flattened like he didn't want to hear anything you were about to say.
Something surprisingly warm settled in your chest.
You scratched behind one ear.
The noise he made suggested he hated it.
The fact that he immediately leaned into your hand suggested otherwise.
"Don't worry," you said softly. "We'll figure it out."
Remy was quiet for a moment.
Then he sighed.
Actually sighed.
You hadn't even known cats could do that.
A few minutes later he fell asleep.
You took another picture.
His eyes snapped open instantly. The glare returned.
You grinned.
"Just making memories."
He looked like he was mentally adding another charge to the ever-growing list of crimes he'd eventually commit against you once he had hands again.
At this point, the list was getting fairly extensive.
The next morning somehow managed to make it worse.
You woke up cold, stiff, and alone.
The fire had long since burned out.
The blanket you'd thrown over yourself during the night had slipped halfway onto the ground.
And Remy was gone.
For a solid thirty seconds, you genuinely panicked.
You were on your feet immediately.
"Remy?"
Nothing.
The surrounding forest remained stubbornly silent.
A dozen horrible possibilities flashed through your mind.
He'd wandered off.
Gotten lost.
Been taken by a wild animal.
Gotten stuck somewhere.
You spent the next twenty minutes searching.
You were halfway through planning how exactly you were going to explain to the X-Men that you'd somehow misplaced Gambit when you finally spotted him.
Sitting on the roof of a convenience store.
You stopped walking.
The cat stared down at you.
You stared up at him.
There was a long moment of silence.
Then you pointed.
"How?"
Remy blinked.
You looked around.
The building was completely flat.
No nearby trees.
No ladders.
No fire escape.
Nothing.
You looked back up.
The cat had the audacity to look smug.
"You know what?" You sighed. "I don't actually want to know."
The smug expression somehow intensified.
Unfortunately, that was also when you began realizing that being a cat came with certain advantages.
Advantages Remy wasted absolutely no time exploiting.
For starters, people paid almost no attention to him.
A fact he discovered immediately.
You'd stop for directions.
Remy would vanish.
You'd spend ten minutes looking for him.
Then he'd reappear from seemingly nowhere.
Usually looking entirely too pleased with himself.
The first few times, you assumed he was just wandering.
Then he started bringing things back.
A receipt.
A road map.
A motel key.
An entire wallet.
You stared at the wallet.
Then at him.
Then back at the wallet.
"Remy."
The cat blinked innocently.
"Did you steal this?"
"Mrr."
"That wasn't a no."
The cat yawned.
The wallet mysteriously reappeared on the counter of the gas station ten minutes later.
You suspected guilt.
You also suspected he was offended that you weren't impressed.
The real problem started once he figured out just how much people liked cats.
Remy had spent years weaponizing charm and becoming a cat only expanded his arsenal.
The first victim had been an elderly woman at a rest stop.
She spotted him immediately.
"Oh, aren't you handsome?"
The cat practically melted.
You watched in horror as he rolled onto his back.
Rolled.
Onto.
His.
Back.
You pointed accusingly.
"You hate people."
Remy purred.
The old woman laughed.
"He loves the attention."
The cat purred louder.
Your jaw dropped.
Because that was a lie.
A complete lie.
This was the same man who spent most social interactions acting mildly inconvenienced by everyone around him.
Yet somehow he had convinced this woman he was the sweetest creature on earth.
The second she walked away, the purring stopped.
The glare returned.
You narrowed your eyes.
"Oh, so you're a fraud."
The cat looked completely unashamed.
Which, honestly, tracked.
The true extent of his betrayal became clear three hours later.
You'd been unsuccessfully trying to convince a truck driver to let you hitch a ride.
"No room," the man said.
You sighed.
"Right. Thanks anyway."
Then Remy jumped onto the man's lap.
The truck driver froze.
Remy immediately began purring.
The traitor.
The absolute traitor.
The man looked down at him.
Then at you.
Then back at the cat.
"Well..." he said. "I suppose I could make room."
You stared.
Remy looked directly at you.
And somehow managed to look smug while purring.
You'd never wanted to throw a cat into the sun more.
By the time the sun started sinking again, you were exhausted in a very specific, soul-deep way that only comes from spending a full day arguing with a cat that used to be a man.
Your goal had been simple: find shelter.
Preferably indoors.
Preferably with walls.
Preferably somewhere Remy could not climb onto a roof and disappear into the skyline like a furry bad decision.
Which was how you ended up asking the trucker to drop you off at a small roadside motel that looked like it had been surviving purely out of spite and budget cuts.
Neon sign flickering.
Ice machine humming like it was on life support.
One car in the lot that looked like it had been there since the last century.
You stepped out of the vehicle.
Remy followed.
Immediately tried to walk into traffic like he thought it would stop for him.
You grabbed him by the scruff without even thinking at this point.
“I swear,” you muttered, “if you die as a cat, I’m going to lose my shit.”
“Mrrr.”
“Don’t ‘mrr’ me.”
He did it again anyway.
The motel sat in front of you like it was considering whether your existence was worth the effort of acknowledging.
Probably not.
You approached the front desk anyways.
Remy, tucked under your arm, immediately went rigid.
You felt the shift before you saw it.
The little con artist had spotted something.
A key rack.
A dangling set of plastic tags.
A moment of silence passed.
Then—
He launched.
Not jumped.
Not climbed.
Launched.
Straight off your arm like a furry missile with a criminal agenda.
“Hey—!” you hissed.
But he was already gone, disappearing behind the counter with the confidence of someone who had never once considered the concept of consequences.
You stood there.
Blinking.
Looked to the empty front desk, then the now shaking key rack and the little paw that kept whacking a tag.
The little paw kept batting at the keys with the focused intensity of a man defrauding a government system.
A moment later, something clattered behind the counter.
Then another.
Then a suspicious thunk that sounded like a small lamp meeting its end.
You closed your eyes.
“Remy,” you whispered into the air, “I am begging you to have a reason for this.”
A pause.
Then—
A key slid out from beneath the counter.
Dragged.
Slowly.
Like it was being offered in a sacred ritual.
You watched as the plastic tag emerged fully into view, followed by a triumphant little orange-and-black head.
Remy.
Sitting there.
Holding the key in his mouth like he’d just negotiated a hostile takeover.
He stared at you.
Unblinking.
You stared back.
"…You stole a room key."
He blinked once and dropped it.
You grabbed the key just as the motel phone rang.
The receptionist—who had been in the back room—emerged looking mildly annoyed and extremely underpaid.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
You smiled.
Which, under the circumstances, was already suspicious.
"Hi," you said quickly. "Yeah, sorry, I just wanted to check and see if housekeeping was done with our room?"
You glanced at the key in your hand. "Room 12."
The woman looked at her monitor, then the key rack, then you.
You lifted your hand slightly.
And there it was.
A key.
Dangling innocently from your fingers like it had always belonged there.
The woman blinked.
Behind the counter, something small and orange briefly flicked into view.
Then vanished again.
"Oh," she said slowly. "That must’ve been… a scheduling error."
"Yes," you agreed immediately. "Probably that."
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she reached for the room log.
You could practically hear Remy, somewhere behind the counter, committing emotional warfare in real time.
"Oh my god," she muttered. "No one marked it as cleaned."
"Oh, really? That's unfortunate," you said.
"I’ll get maintenance on it right away."
"Thank you so much."
But she was already walking away, calling for housekeeping like she had just uncovered a major administrative catastrophe.
Within minutes, panic had bloomed through the motel like someone had yelled fire but replaced it with cleaning emergency.
You watched as two staff members rushed past you with fresh sheets.
Another with a vacuum.
Someone else dragging a cart that squeaked in protest.
You stood there and Remy reappeared at your feet like nothing had happened.
Sat.
Looked up at you.
Completely unbothered.
You stared at him.
He stared back.
"…You are unbelievable," you said.
"Mrrp."
"That is not a defense."
He blinked slowly.
Then curled his tail around his paws like he was awaiting applause.
You exhaled through your nose.
"…We have a room."
The cat’s ears perked.
You pointed at him.
"And I hate that I have to give you credit for that."
Remy, very slowly, sat up straighter.
Proud.
Unrepentant.
Absolutely insufferable.
And somehow—
Just a little pleased with himself.
You shook your head as you headed toward the hallway.
"Don’t ever do that again."
The cat followed immediately.
You didn’t believe for a second he had heard you.
Or cared.
The motel room was not good.
It wasn’t even “charmingly bad.”
It was just… bad.
The kind of bad where the carpet had given up years ago and the lighting made everything look even dirtier than it was.
But it had a door that locked.
And a bed that didn’t immediately threaten to collapse.
Which, at this point, was all you could ask for.
You barely remember getting into it.
Just the blur of exhaustion, the faint awareness of Remy pacing the room like he was inspecting enemy territory, and then—
Nothing.
Sleep hit you like a dropped weight.
No dreams you could recall.
No sense of time.
Just dark.
Warm.
Still.
At some point in the night, you shifted.
The mattress dipped slightly under a new pressure, but your brain didn’t fully register it.
Only that something small and warm had settled in.
Familiar, in a way you didn’t question.
Morning came in uneven slices of motel light.
Blinds half-closed.
Sunlight sneaking through in thin gold stripes across the room.
You blinked awake slowly, the kind of waking that feels like surfacing from underwater.
For a few seconds, you didn’t move.
Just breathed.
Then you realized you couldn’t move much at all.
Something was on your chest.
Heavy enough to notice.
Light enough not to hurt.
You frowned slightly, still half-asleep, and looked down.
Orange.
Black.
Curled into a perfect, impossible little circle right on top of you.
Remy was asleep.
Actually asleep.
No smugness.
No glare.
No commentary.
Just soft, even breathing, his tail tucked neatly around himself like he’d decided your chest was the most acceptable place in the universe to temporarily stop existing.
For a moment, your brain refused to process it.
Then it did.
"Oh," you whispered.
His ears twitched.
Not fully awake.
Just enough to acknowledge you.
You stared at him.
This was… cute.
He hadn’t climbed on you like a nuisance.
He hadn’t demanded attention.
He hadn’t used you as furniture out of spite or convenience.
You shifted your hand slightly, unsure if you should move him.
Your fingers hovered for a second.
Then, carefully, you brushed one fingertip over the space between his ears.
The reaction was immediate.
Not dramatic.
Just a quiet, instinctive lean into your touch.
Like something in him had decided it didn’t need to argue right now.
You exhaled slowly, a small laugh slipping out before you could stop it.
"Well," you murmured. "Look at you."
Remy made a sound that could generously be described as a sleepy protest.
You took that as permission.
Or at least, non-violent tolerance.
Your hand stayed where it was.
The room stayed quiet.
For once, there was no running.
No arguing.
No theft.
No elaborate escape plan unfolding in the background of your life.
Just a ridiculous mutant thief turned cat.
Sleeping like he trusted you enough to do it.
And you, very carefully, not moving a single muscle like you might break the moment if you did.
"…Don’t get used to this," you whispered.
Remy did not respond.
Which, somehow, felt like the loudest agreement he could possibly give. Or the loudest "I don't care what you want."
Either way, you just stayed like that.
Listening to the quiet breathing on your chest.
By the time you woke up properly, Remy was no longer on your chest.
Of course he wasn’t.
He was sitting by the window instead, tail flicking slowly, watching the parking lot like he was judging everyone who had ever checked into this motel as a life decision.
For a moment, you just lay there.
Still half caught in that strange softness from earlier.
Then you exhaled.
"…Of course you’re up already."
"Mrr."
"I’m going to take that as ‘good morning’ even though I know it’s not."
He didn’t turn around.
Which, in Remy terms, was practically a greeting.
The rest of the day blurred into motion again.
More road.
More walking.
More asking for directions from people just to make sure you were still on the right track.
Remy, meanwhile, had fully adapted to his new role as the world’s smallest liability.
He rode on your shoulder like he owned it.
He disappeared at least four separate times and returned with things you did not ask him to acquire.
A snack.
A motel brochure.
Someone’s pen.
You stopped asking questions around the pen incident.
At one point, a kid tried to pick him up.
Remy allowed it.
Like he had been waiting for this exact moment his entire life.
He purred so convincingly you briefly questioned whether you were traveling with the same creature who had once tried to pick a lock with a playing card.
The kid’s parent took a photo.
Remy looked directly at you while it happened.
You could feel him smirking without him having a face that could technically smirk.
Traitor.
Absolute traitor.
But something had shifted slightly.
Not dramatically.
Not in any way you could point to and label.
Just small things.
He stopped wandering quite so far.
He stopped vanishing for long stretches.
He started sitting closer when you paused to rest.
Not on your shoulder every time.
Just next to you.
Like distance had become a calculation he didn’t want to get wrong.
You didn’t say anything about it.
Of course, he didn't either.
You both ended up at another roadside stop near dusk, the sky going soft and orange in that way that made everything feel temporarily less broken.
You sat on the curb outside a closed diner.
Remy sat right next to, practically pressed against your leg.
The silence stretched.
Comfortable in a way neither of you acknowledged.
Eventually, you leaned back on your hands.
"We’re still lost," you said.
"Mrrp."
You huffed. "Fine, not 'lost' but still miles away from home."
He flicked his tail.
Somewhere down the road, headlights passed.
For a moment, you just watched them fade.
Then you felt something small push against your side.
Remy, rubbing his head against you like he'd been a cat all his life.
You glanced down at him.
He didn’t look up.
Pretending very hard that this meant nothing.
You huffed a quiet laugh.
"Yeah," you murmured. "Okay."
You sat up, your hand instinctively scratching his ear.
Surprisingly, he didn't protest.
You laughed. "I have to admit, Remy, you're pretty cute as a cat."
He froze.
For a second, even he looked surprised.
Like some deeply buried cat instinct had just received the best news imaginable.
The entire world felt like it held its breath with him.
Then—slowly—his posture changed.
Not defensive.
Not offended.
Recalibrating.
His ears angled slightly forward.
His tail gave one slow, deliberate flick.
You narrowed your eyes.
"…Why do I feel like I’ve made a mistake?"
"Mrr."
Except this time, it wasn’t sharp.
It wasn’t protest.
It was… smug.
You watched him carefully as he walked in a tight circle around the concrete.
He sat down again, just slightly closer than before.
Like he had decided your statement required clarification through proximity.
Then, very deliberately, he leaned into your hand.
Not accidental.
Not hesitant.
Performed.
You blinked.
"…Oh my God."
His eyes half-lidded.
Not sleepy.
Pleased.
Like he was listening to praise he refused to acknowledge out loud.
"You’re enjoying this," you said slowly.
His tail flicked once.
Calm.
Collected.
Absolutely unbothered.
You scoffed. "You’re using this."
A blink.
A pause.
Then another slow headbutt against your palm, firmer this time, like punctuation.
It was almost worse than him being offended.
At least offended meant you were safe.
This felt like he was quietly taking inventory of every way he could leverage future attention.
You leaned back slightly. "This is manipulation."
"Mrrp."
"That didn't sound like denial, mister."
He stretched out beside you then, deliberately pressing his side against your leg again, settling in like he’d signed a contract you hadn’t read.
And if cats could smirk, you were fairly sure that’s exactly what he was doing.
"…You’re impossible," you muttered.
His eyes closed halfway.
Satisfied.
Like that was the correct answer.
The night settled in slowly after that.
Less frantic than before.
Less sharp around the edges.
You eventually made it to another motel—this one slightly less offensive than the last, which you took as a sign of personal growth in the universe.
Inside, everything played out the same familiar way.
Key.
Room.
Remy disappearing briefly into the hallway like he was checking for structural weaknesses.
You didn’t ask.
Some lessons were learned.
That night, you fell asleep faster.
And this time, when you woke up—
He was still there.
Not on your chest.
But curled at your side, pressed against your arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Like it had always been that way.
Like it might not change tomorrow.
Like it might not change tomorrow.
The next day passed in a strange sort of rhythm.
Walking.
Hitching rides.
Stealing food.
Well.
You weren't stealing food.
Remy certainly was.
By this point, you'd stopped pretending otherwise.
The two of you had somehow developed a system.
A terrible system.
An embarrassing system.
But a system.
You'd handle directions.
Remy would disappear.
Then he'd return ten minutes later with information he absolutely should not have had access to.
Somewhere along the way, you'd stopped questioning it.
On the morning of the fourth day, however, something changed.
You noticed it while stopping at a gas station.
Not because of anything dramatic.
Because for the first time in nearly a week, Remy stopped.
Completely stopped.
No wandering.
No climbing.
No theft.
Just sitting perfectly still beside your feet.
Watching something.
You followed his gaze.
The sky.
At first, you didn't understand.
Then you heard it.
Faint.
Distant.
Growing louder.
The unmistakable sound of an engine.
You froze.
Remy didn't move.
A shape appeared overhead.
Small at first.
Then larger.
Then unmistakable.
The Blackbird.
For a second, neither of you reacted.
The aircraft swept overhead.
Banked sharply.
Then circled back.
Directly over your position.
"Oh."
The word left your mouth before you could stop it.
The jet dipped one wing.
Like a greeting.
Like confirmation.
Like someone finally saying there you are.
Beside you, Remy's tail stilled.
And suddenly the last week felt very far away.
The roads.
The motels.
The campfires.
The ridiculous arguments.
The mornings waking up to find a cat pressed against your side.
All of it.
Temporary.
A rescue team arrived less than twenty minutes later.
The reunion was loud.
Confusing.
Filled with questions neither of you wanted to answer.
The cure took less time than getting everyone to stop asking questions.
Apparently turning a man into a cat was significantly easier than explaining how the two of you had managed to survive nearly a week on the road.
Most people seemed content with the simplified version.
Remy became a cat.
You got lost.
Chaos happened.
The end.
The details were yours.
Remy was human again.
The world was back to normal.
Or as normal as life at the mansion ever got.
For a few glorious hours, everything seemed fine.
Then came the mistake.
It started with a conversation.
One innocent conversation.
The kind that happened every day.
You were sitting in one of the common rooms with a handful of the X-Men, recounting the trip.
Everyone seemed particularly interested in the cat part.
Which felt unfair.
There had been plenty of other things worth discussing.
The theft.
The hitchhiking.
The motel scam.
The attempted robbery of a gas station hot dog.
Yet somehow everyone kept returning to:
"So he really slept on your chest?"
You sighed.
"Once."
"Aww."
"It wasn't an 'aww' moment."
"It sounds like an 'aww' moment."
"It wasn't."
The chorus of disbelief that followed suggested nobody agreed.
Someone else leaned forward.
"Do you have pictures?"
You made the mistake of answering honestly.
A minute later, half the room was crowded around your phone.
"Aww."
"Oh my God."
"Look at his face."
"I can't believe that's Gambit."
"HE'S IN A LAUNDRY BASKET."
"I told him not to climb in there."
"He looks so offended."
"He was offended."
"He looks fluffy."
"He does look fluffy."
"He was fluffy."
"AWW."
You buried your face in your hands.
The traitorous part was that you were laughing too.
Because, objectively, some of the photos were funny.
The room had devolved entirely by the time Remy walked in.
Nobody noticed at first.
Not until a familiar voice spoke from behind them.
"Whatcha got dere?"
The room froze.
Instantly.
The way a room freezes when everyone realizes they're about to witness something incredible.
Slowly, heads turned.
Remy stood in the doorway.
Coffee in one hand.
Looking entirely unsuspecting.
You watched the moment happen.
The exact moment.
His eyes flicked to the crowd.
Then to your phone.
Then to the screen.
A photograph stared back at him.
Cat Remy.
Fast asleep.
Curled into a tiny orange ball.
His coffee stopped halfway to his mouth.
The room held its breath.
"...Cher."
Uh-oh.
You immediately recognized that tone.
You slowly stood.
"Now, Remy."
His eyes never left the phone.
"How many pictures?"
Nobody answered.
A mistake.
A terrible mistake.
Because the silence told him everything.
His gaze shifted.
Slowly.
Dangerously.
Toward you.
You took one step backward.
"To be fair, some of them are really cute."
The room erupted.
Half the X-Men started laughing.
Someone nearly fell off the couch.
Remy's eyes closed briefly.
Like he was summoning patience from another dimension.
When they opened again, he pointed directly at you.
"You."
You pointed at yourself.
"Me?"
"You."
You nodded.
"Yeah, that's fair."
Then you ran.
Because survival instincts existed for a reason.
Remy's laugh followed immediately.
Which was somehow more terrifying than if he'd been angry.
The chase that followed reportedly went through three hallways, two stairwells, and one unfortunate kitchen.
Nobody ever got all the photos.
Most of them, sure.
But not all.
Because hidden away in a folder you'd renamed three separate times sat one final picture.
A blurry photo taken in a roadside motel.
A small orange cat curled against your side, completely asleep.
I probably won’t get much writing done in the next couple days, so forgive me if posts slow down. We have some work being done on our house plus I’m beginning a few new projects and job.
Saints, Sinners, and Sleepwalkers | Kit Walker x Reader
Series Masterlist Here
8k words
Expect Disturbing Themes
Chapter 6: Heightened Awareness
Morning always came too early in Briarcliff.
One minute the lights were out.
The next an orderly was banging on doors and shouting for everyone to get moving.
Kit had never gotten used to it.
Didn't think he ever would.
Hoped he’d never have to.
He sat at one of the cafeteria tables, turning his cup between his hands while the room slowly filled with patients. The coffee was terrible and the food wasn't any better.
Across the room, somebody was already arguing with an orderly. A tray clanged somewhere near the kitchen.
Normal morning. Normal for Briarcliff, anyway.
Kit found himself looking toward the doors. Not consciously. Not at first. Just one of those habits he'd picked up.
The same way he'd learned where the orderlies usually stood. Which hallways were busiest.
He looked for her.
The realization hit about the same time he spotted her.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
There you were.
A little slower than most people. A little more careful.Carrying your tray with both hands.
Present.
At least this morning.
Something in his chest loosened.
Funny.
A few months ago he wouldn't have known if you'd shown up at all. Now he found himself checking.
Every day.
You hadn't noticed him yet. Or maybe you had. Sometimes it was hard to tell.
Kit leaned back slightly in his chair.
You spotted him about halfway to the table. Or rather, you spotted the way he suddenly stopped pretending to be interested in his coffee.
The corner of your mouth twitched. Just slightly.
By the time you reached the table, he'd already nudged the chair across from him out with his foot. Not looking at you while he did it. Like it wasn't intentional. Like he hadn't been waiting to do it. Like he didn’t do it every morning.
"Mornin’." His voice was rough with sleep.
You set your tray down.
"Morning."
For a few minutes, neither of you said much.
The cafeteria buzzed around you. Orderlies barking instructions. Patients talking over one another.
Kit stabbed at something that claimed to be eggs. "You think these get worse every day?"
You looked down at your own tray. "They're trying."
That earned a laugh. A real one. Not loud. Just enough to make something warm flicker in your chest.
Kit pointed with his fork. "Now that's optimism."
You rolled your eyes. "That's not optimism."
"It ain't?"
"No." You poked suspiciously at the eggs. "It's more like determination."
That made him laugh harder. For a second, several nearby patients looked over. Neither of you cared.
The conversation drifted after that. Small things. Nothing important.
The weather. A patient who had tried hiding bread in his sleeves again. The radio station that somehow always played the same handful of songs.
Kit found himself watching you while you talked. Not because anything was wrong. The opposite.
You seemed more aware than you'd been in days. Your eyes tracked the room. You responded without as long of pauses. Even your shoulders looked less tense.
Whatever happened in that appointment yesterday...
Maybe it helped.
The thought settled easier than he expected. You deserved something that helped.
Eventually breakfast ended the same way it always did.
Too quickly. Metal scraped against tables. People stood. The room began to empty.
You and Kit moved with the crowd. Falling into step beside one another without really discussing it.
The hallway was busy. Patients being shuffled from one room to another. Orderlies lingering at intersections.
The first day in a while that felt... normal.
A couple orderlies led the small group that gathered. Other patients that knew their routine too.
For a while neither of you spoke. Not because it was awkward. Just because it wasn't necessary. Your shoulder brushed his once when the hallway narrowed. Neither of you commented on it.
There wasn’t a need to.
“Y’beat me there the other day.”
“Huh?” You glanced at him.
“When we got stuck on laundry duty,” Kit said. “You had five minutes on me.”
You frowned slightly. “You were carrying twice as much.”
“That ain't the point.”
“It is if we're counting.”
Kit scoffed. “Now you're changin’ the rules.”
“You're the one who started keeping score.” A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth.
“That's ‘cause I was winning.”
“You just said I beat you.”
Kit held his finger up, “Once.”
You rolled your eyes.
Ahead, one of the orderlies barked for a patient to stay with the group.
The line shifted around a corner.
For a few seconds, all you could hear were footsteps and the occasional rattle of keys.
Kit glanced sideways at you.
“You seem better today.”
The words were casual. Too casual. Like he'd been thinking about saying them for a while.
Your smile faded. Not completely. Just enough to notice. “Do I?”
“Yeah.”
You looked ahead again.
The occupational therapy room wasn't far now. You could already see the familiar doors.
“Maybe.”
The answer came easier than it would have yesterday.
Kit nodded once.
Like that was enough. Like he wasn't going to push.
Your lips tugged up.
Then—
“Walker.”
The voice cut clean through the corridor.
The small group slowed.
An orderly stood several yards ahead, clipboard tucked beneath one arm.
Expression blank.
“Dr. Thredson wants to see you.”
For a second, nobody moved.
Then Kit looked toward the orderly.
“Now?”
“Now.”
The answer was immediate.
Your eyes flicked to Kit. His expression shifted. Not annoyed. Not worried. Mostly surprised.
“Guess work'll have to wait.”
The attempt at humor was weak. You knew it. He knew it.
Kit sighed dramatically before stepping out of line. “Save me a spot.”
Then he glanced back at you. Just briefly. Long enough to make sure you were smiling. Long enough to smile back.
The orderly cleared his throat and Kit rolled his eyes.
“Alright, alright. I'm comin'.”
The man didn't respond. Just turned and started walking. Kit fell into step behind him.
The sounds of the group faded as they continued down the hall. Slowly, the scrap of shoes and leaking pipes became the only sound around them. Not one word.
Not that Kit expected conversation. Most orderlies weren't exactly interested in making small talk. Still. The same Briarcliff sounds over and over drove Kit crazy.
His eyes drifted toward the office numbers they passed.
He'd never been called in by Thredson before.
Not yet.
The thought wasn't exactly nerve-wracking.
If anything, it was the opposite.
The man seemed decent enough. Hell, compared to Arden, he seemed downright normal.
Kit shoved his hands into his pockets.
Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe somebody would finally listen.
The accusation still felt ridiculous every time he thought about it.
Bloody Face.
A serial killer.
He almost laughed. If the situation hadn't been so miserable, he probably would've.
The orderly stopped outside a wooden door and Kit's attention snapped back.
A small brass plaque sat beside it.
DR. O. THREDSON
The orderly knocked once.
A voice answered from inside.
“Come in.”
The orderly opened the door.
“Walker.”
Kit took a breath.
Then stepped inside.
The office looked as you’d expected. Bookshelves. A desk. A radio playing some song in the corner.
Nothing about it felt like Briarcliff and that alone made Kit relax a little.
Thredson looked up from the file in front of him.
“Mr. Walker.”
His voice was calm. Professional.
“Please, sit.”
Kit did.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Thredson closed the file. Folded his hands together. And waited.
Kit frowned. “That's it?”
A small smile touched the doctor's mouth. “That's it.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Whatever you'd like.”
Kit stared at him. “You ain't gonna ask questions?”
“I imagine you'll answer the important ones regardless.”
That earned the faintest laugh from Kit. Not because it was funny. Because it was unexpected.
Most doctors came in with conclusions already written. This one seemed content to let him speak. So he did.
“I didn't kill anybody.”
There. Right out of the gate. No point dancing around it. The staff knew why he was here.
The smile faded from Thredson's face. Not judgmental. Attentive.
“I know proving your innocence is important to you.”
“I didn't do it.”
“Tell me what happened.”
Kit leaned forward immediately. “I came home and she was gone.”
The words left him immediately. No hesitation. Like he'd told the story enough times that the beginning always came first.
“Gone?”
“Our house was wrecked.” Kit swallowed. “Dirt all over, furniture overturned, a broken window. Looked like somebody tore through the place.”
“I thought of every stupid thing I could.” The memory still made his stomach twist. “A sudden storm or wild animal, ‘n she ran to the neighbors.”
The thought sounded ridiculous now. At the time, it hadn't.
“Then I found blood.”
For the first time, Thredson's pen paused.
“How much blood?”
“Enough.”
Kit looked away. His jaw tightened.
“Enough that I knew something happened.”
Silence settled between them. Not uncomfortable. But waiting.
“What happened next?”
“The police.” A humorless laugh escaped him. “After that, things got real simple.” He spread his hands. “House torn apart. Wife missing. Husband standin’ in the middle of it.”
His eyes found Thredson's again.
“Guess who they blamed.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Thredson asked:
“Do you believe she's dead?”
The answer came so quickly it almost interrupted him.
“No.”
Thredson's pen paused again.
“Why?”
Kit frowned.
The question irritated him more than it should have. Because everybody always wanted a reason. Something concrete. Something they could write down. He didn’t have that. Not really.
“I don't know.”
The words came out sharper than intended. A muscle jumped in his jaw. Then he exhaled slowly.
“She was my wife.” The office fell quiet. “I know Alma.”
“She’d fight,” his voice lowered slightly. “And she wouldn't leave.”
Not him. Not their home. Not without saying something. Anything.
Thredson watched him carefully.
“And if you're wrong?”
Kit's gaze dropped to the desk. For the first time since he'd started talking, he hesitated. Only for a second.
“I'll believe it when I see her.” His eyes lifted again. “Not before.”
The certainty in his voice surprised even him. Because it wasn't certainty. It was hope. Hope she was alive. Hope that she’d return. Hope that his life could still go back to normal.
And he wasn't ready to let go of that yet.
After that, the words came easier. Not because any of it hurt less. Because for once nobody wasn’t trying to stop him.
Thredson asked questions when they mattered. Then listened.
So Kit talked.
About Alma. About the home they'd built together. About neighbors he'd known his entire life suddenly looking at him differently. About deputies searching through everything he owned. About handcuffs. About interrogation rooms. About repeating the same story so many times he could practically recite it in his sleep.
Most of all, he talked about what came after.
The looks. The whispers. The certainty on other people's faces. Like the decision had already been made. Like the truth didn't matter anymore.
The whole time, Thredson remained quiet. Occasionally making a note. Occasionally asking a question.
Never arguing. Never telling him he was confused. Never telling him he was sick.
This doctor wasn't looking at him the way everyone else did.
At least, it didn't feel like he was.
And that mattered.
When Kit finally ran out of steam, the room fell silent again. His chest felt tight. His throat dry.
“You think I'm crazy too?”
The question slipped out before he could stop it.
For the first time, Thredson leaned back in his chair. Studying him. Considering.
“No.”
The answer came so simply that Kit just blinked.
Thredson adjusted slightly.
“Not in the way Briarcliff uses the word.”
Something in Kit's shoulders loosened. Just a little.
“You believe me?”
Thredson's expression remained neutral.
“I believe that you believe what you're telling me.”
Kit's jaw tightened immediately. There it was. The same answer. Just dressed up prettier.
His eyes dropped to the desk for a second before he looked back up.
“You think I'm makin’ it up?”
“I didn't say that.”
“You didn't have to.”
The words came out sharper than intended.
For the first time, something resembling sympathy crossed Thredson's face. Not offense. Not irritation. Just sympathy.
Which somehow annoyed Kit even more.
“I know what happened.” His voice was lower now. Steadier. “I know what I saw.”
“Mr. Walker—”
“No.”
Kit leaned forward. Not aggressive but determined.
“Everybody keeps saying the same damn thing.”
The room fell quiet. The radio still humming softly.
“They look at me like I'm confused.”
His throat tightened.
“Or sick.”
Another breath.
“Or lying.”
The last word came out harder than the others. Because that was the one he hated most. Lying. Like everything he had lost wasn't real. Like he hadn’t loved Alma. Like she wasn’t a person to him.
Across from him, Thredson remained still. Watching. Listening. Waiting for the frustration to burn itself out.
Eventually Kit sat back again. Dragging a hand across his face. Suddenly exhausted. “I'm not asking you to believe every part of it.”
A pause.
“But help me figure out what happened.”
For a moment, Thredson said nothing.
Then he nodded. Slowly. Reasonably. Like he believed Kit had asked for something entirely fair.
"I think that's a worthwhile goal."
The tension in Kit's shoulders eased slightly.
Thredson picked up his pen again. Made a brief note. Then looked back up.
"Can I ask you something unrelated?"
Kit shrugged.
"Sure."
"You seem to have adjusted to Briarcliff better than some patients."
Kit barked out a short laugh.
"That's a hell of a sentence."
A faint smile touched Thredson's face.
"I don't mean happily."
"No kiddin’."
"But most new patients isolate themselves."
Kit frowned. "What's your point?"
"I'm curious how you've managed not to."
Kit quirked a brow. "What d'you mean?"
"Most patients find something." Thredson's pen rested lightly against the page. "Something that helps them endure being here."
Kit thought about it. Then shrugged. "People."
Thredson's pen paused over the page.
"People?"
"Grace, at first." That answer came easy. "She ain't exactly friendly, but she knows how this place works."
A corner of Thredson's mouth twitched. "High praise."
"More than she'd give me."
That earned a brief smile from the doctor.
Kit continued.
"She tells you when you're bein' stupid."
"An admirable quality."
"Depends who you're askin'."
The smile lingered for a second before fading. Thredson made another note.
"Guess I got lucky." Kit said, almost mindlessly.
Thredson tilted his head slightly. “How so?”
Kit looked down at his fingers. “Got Grace, Sleepwalk—”
The word died immediately and Kit winced.
“Sleepwalker?” Thredson asked before Kit could continue.
Kit looked up.
There wasn't judgment in the question.
Just curiosity.
“Old nickname.”
The answer came quickly. Almost dismissively. But Thredson noticed the way his jaw tightened.
“Tryna get out of the habit of sayin’ it.” Kit let out a humorless laugh.
Interest flickered in Thredson’s eyes. “She doesn't like it?”
Kit considered the question. Then shrugged.
“Reminds her of somebody.”
Jimmy.
The name flashed through Thredson's mind immediately.
Interesting.
"Someone important?"
Kit hesitated. Long enough to answer the question without speaking.
“Yeah.”
Thredson nodded once. Like that was all he needed.
"You seem protective of her."
The words were casual. Observational. Not accusatory.
Kit frowned slightly. "Do I?"
Thredson gave a small shrug.
"You notice when she's struggling."
A pause.
"You remember things that upset her."
The doctor's voice remained calm.
Measured.
"Most patients don't pay that much attention to one another."
Kit sat back slightly. Thinking. Because when it was put that way...
Maybe he did.
"I don't know."
The answer came honestly. Kit looked toward the window. Searching for words.
"She..."
His brow furrowed.
"She’s just kinda different."
"Different?" Thredson repeated. “What makes her different?”
The room fell quiet again. Kit leaned back.
The answer should've been easy. But it wasn't.
Because it wasn't just one thing.
It was the way she didn’t expect anything from anyone. The way she remembered little things and forgot others. The way she'd spent months forcing herself to be there for Pepper. The way she'd smile like she wasn't entirely sure she deserved to. The way she'd sit beneath that tree, drawing circles. The way she'd keep trying. Even when it would've been easier not to.
He admired that.
“I dunno,” Kit rubbed a thumb against his palm. “She’s kinda selfless without meaning to be. ‘N I think she’s strong. Smart too.” He pointed at his head. “A lot goin' on, y'know.”
Thredson watched him for a moment. Then made one final note. The scratch of pen against paper seemed unusually loud.
“I think that's all we have time for today.”
Kit stood. The chair legs scraped against the floor.
"Thank you."
The words surprised him a little.
Thredson looked up from his notes.
"For what?"
Kit shrugged.
"Listenin'."
The doctor's expression softened. Or appeared to.
"That's my job, Mr. Walker."
Kit nodded. Then hesitated. There was still one question. The same one he always had.
"If I keep talkin' to you..."
His voice trailed off.
Thredson waited.
Kit looked away briefly. Then forced himself to finish.
"Do you think I got a chance?"
Not freedom. Not acquittal. Not even proving himself right.
Just a chance. A chance that somebody would eventually understand. A chance that somebody would eventually believe him.
Thredson was quiet for a moment.
Then:
"Certainly."
And it was exactly the kind of answer Kit wanted to hear.
The orderly led him back through the familiar halls.
The conversation lingered in Kit's head longer than he expected. Bits and pieces of questions. Answers. The scratch of Thredson's pen. The feeling—however brief—that somebody had finally listened.
By the time they reached Occupational Therapy, the knot between his shoulders had loosened slightly.
The orderly opened the door.
Kit stepped inside.
Immediately, his eyes searched the room. Not consciously. The same way they searched the cafeteria every morning. The same way they searched the yard. Just habit now.
A familiar one.
He found you near the back. Head lowered over your work. Thread looped around your fingers. Focused.
Then his gaze shifted to the empty chair beside you. And for a second, he simply stared. Because he had almost forgotten saying it.
Save me a spot.
Yet there it was. Still empty. Nobody sitting in it. Nobody's work piled on it. Waiting.
Something warm unexpectedly settled in his chest. As though the sight meant more than it should.
Maybe it did.
You looked up and for a moment neither of you did anything.
Then you glanced at the chair. A tiny movement. Barely noticeable. An invitation.
Kit couldn't help smiling.
The feeling caught him off guard.
It shouldn't have.
You'd saved him a seat.
That was all.
A small thing.
The kind of thing people did every day.
Still.
After spending the last hour talking about Alma, about loss, about people disappearing without warning—
The sight of somebody remembering felt different.
Kit shoved the thought aside before it could go anywhere.
Then crossed the room.
You watched him approach. Not obviously. Not enough that anyone else would've noticed. Just enough to confirm he was actually coming back.
Kit dropped into the chair beside you.
"Didn't let anybody take it, huh?"
You glanced at the empty workspace.
Then at him.
"No."
"'Ppreciate it."
A small smile tugged at your mouth.
"You asked."
"Fair."
For a few moments, the only sounds were the scrape of chairs and the rustle of fabric. The familiar rhythm of occupational therapy. Comfortably repetitive.
Kit reached for the pile of linens waiting beside him.
"Y’miss me?"
The question came out so naturally. Yet, it was so unexpected you almost looked up.
Instead, your eyes stayed focus on your working fingers.
"You were gone less than an hour."
"So that's a yes."
"It isn't."
"Sounds like a yes."
You shook your head and Kit grinned.
For a second, neither of you said anything else.
Then:
"How'd it go?"
The question left your mouth before you could stop it. It surprised even you.
Immediately, Kit's grin faded.
Not completely. But more than enough for you to notice.
His hands paused over the fabric. And his attention shifted somewhere else. Back toward the office he'd just left. The conversations he had.
His hands resumed working.
Slowly.
"He listened."
You glanced over.
Kit wasn't smiling anymore.
Not exactly.
But there was something lighter about him.
Like some weight had shifted.
"Actually listened."
The words came out almost surprised.
You looked back down at your work.
"That's good."
"Yeah."
A pause.
"Said I might have a chance."
Your fingers stopped. Only for a second.
"A chance?"
Kit nodded. "At proving I'm not supposed to be here."
The room suddenly felt quieter. Not actually quieter. Just farther away.
You stared at the thread wrapped around your finger. "Oh."
Kit didn't seem to notice anything strange about your response.
Why would he?
To him it was good news. And it was. Maybe the best news he'd gotten since arriving.
"I mean, not tomorrow or anything." He shrugged. "But still."
Your fingers resumed moving. Slowly. Carefully.
"That's good." You said. And you meant it. You really did.
Because if anyone deserved to leave Briarcliff, it was Kit.
But your stomach felt strange.
You focused on the thread between your fingers.
Pull.
Loop.
Pull.
Loop.
The rhythm helped.
Across from you, somebody dropped a basket of linens. A few patients laughed.
You barely heard them. You weren’t drifting, not this time. But your fingers were starting to shake.
"Hey."
The word cut through the noise in your head.
You blinked.
Kit was looking at you, concern creasing his brow.
"What?"
His expression softened slightly. "There you are."
Heat immediately crawled up the back of your neck. You looked down at your work again.
"I was listening."
"Uh-huh."
"I was."
Kit snorted. "You got that look."
"What look?"
"The one where you're about three seconds from forgettin' I'm in the room."
You frowned. "I don't do that."
"You absolutely do that."
You shook your head and Kit chuckled.
It wasn’t long until names started to get called. Chairs scraped, orderlies barked instructions or didn’t speak at all, and patients began filing out of the room.
You and Kit stood at the same time. You both knew where you were heading.
You and Kit stood at the same time.
You both knew where you were heading.
The hallway outside Occupational Therapy was already crowded. Patients shuffled forward in uneven lines. Orderlies lingered near the walls.
For a while neither of you spoke. Kit walked beside you, hands shoved into his pockets. You focused on the floor.
One cracked tile. Then another. Then another.
Voices echoed ahead. A door slammed somewhere down the hall. Normal.
Just normal.
"You sure you're alright?"
You glanced at Kit. He wasn't looking at you. The question sounded almost casual.
Almost.
"Yeah."
"Uh-huh."
"I am."
"You're a terrible liar." He faintly laughed.
"You're one to talk."
That earned a laugh. A real one. Still small. But more than the one before.
Before he could answer, a familiar voice drifted down the hall.
"There you are."
Both of you looked up. Grace was leaning against the wall near the intersection ahead. Arms crossed. Expression unreadable. Waiting. Or pretending she wasn't.
"Thought they got rid of you," she told Kit.
"Not that lucky."
Grace rolled her eyes. "Clearly."
Kit grinned. For a moment the three of you fell into step together. An odd little formation. One that would've seemed impossible a couple weeks ago.
Kit’s grin faded slightly. “Talked to the doctor earlier.”
Grace studied him for a second. Then raised an eyebrow. “It went well then?”
"Better than." The admission surprised even him.
Grace noticed. Of course she noticed.
"Huh."
That was all she said. But her eyes narrowed slightly. Considering. Assessing. The way Grace always did. Maybe having that same odd feeling in her stomach that you were.
Grace looked ahead again. "Careful."
"With what?" Kit frowned.
"Getting your hopes up."
"He wasn't like that," Kit scoffed.
Grace's expression didn't change. "Maybe."
The answer carried enough skepticism to make Kit roll his eyes.
Before either of them could continue, the common room came into view. The same collection of worn chairs. Scuffed tables. Patients scattered throughout the room. And that damn record player.
Your eyes found Pepper immediately. Not consciously, just habit.
She was sitting on the floor, puzzle pieces scattered around her. Just like normal.
Something in your shoulders eased. You were already moving before you realized it.
Kit noticed and fell into step behind you.
Grace followed a second later. Still watching Kit. Still thinking.
Pepper looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. The moment she saw you, her face brightened.
"Twirly."
"Hi, Pepper." You couldn't help smiling.
Pepper immediately shifted her puzzle pieces to make room. An invitation you’d never turn down.
Kit dropped into the chair next to you and a moment later Grace took the one across from him. The movement all felt strangely automatic. Thoughtless.
Pepper looked between all three of you. Then tilted her head. Suspicious. Or curious. Or both.
"Why's everybody look funny?"
Kit laughed.
Grace groaned.
“Just a long morning,” You spoke softly. It was easier for everyone.
Pepper nodded with the upmost seriousness before turning her attention back to her puzzle.
For a few moments the only sounds were the muttering of patients and that horrible song on the record player.
Then:
"The south wing’s still the best option."
Grace said it so suddenly that Kit almost laughed. You blinked. Pepper didn't even look up.
"Hello to you too." Kit leaned back in his chair.
Grace ignored him. "The side entrance is impossible."
"We know."
"And the front’s got too many people."
"We know that too."
Grace shot him a look. "Then stop making me repeat myself."
Kit grinned. "Never."
The expression lasted all of three seconds before Grace's glare deepened.
Then she looked back toward you. Not dismissing you this time. Actually looking.
"You ever notice who's posted there?"
For a second, you thought she was joking. Then you realized she wasn't. The question hung in the air. Waiting. On you.
“South is busy,” you murmured, choosing to look at the floor rather than Grace’s piercing eyes.
Grace sat back, like she was unimpressed.
You stared at the worn linoleum.
Thinking. The thought had been sitting in the back of your head for a while now. Ever since Kit started talking about escape. You'd never planned on saying it.
But—
"The west door."
The words came out quietly.
Three heads turned toward you. Even Pepper looked up. You immediately regretted speaking. A familiar heat crept into your face.
"The west door?" Grace repeated.
You nodded once. Slowly. "It's quieter."
"What d'you mean?" Kit leaned forward slightly.
Your fingers picked at one another. Trying not to look at any of them.
"At night." A pause. "I don't think they watch it very much."
Grace's expression shifted. Not agreement. But interest. Actual interest. So you kept going.
"The woods are back there," you swallowed. "Aren't many lights."
The room fell quiet. Grace was looking at you differently now. Not kindly. Not warmly. But seriously. As though she'd just realized you'd been listening to the conversation all along.
Everyone was quiet for a long moment. Grace stared at you.
“No shit.” She muttered.
You blinked. Kit couldn’t help but chuckle, but Grace ignored him entirely.
"The woods." She rubbed a hand across her mouth. Thinking. Actually thinking about it.
Nobody spoke for a second. Then Kit looked at you. Really looked at you.
A different kind of recognition than normal settling across his face.
"You been thinkin' 'bout this?"
Immediately, you wished he hadn't asked. The attention alone made your stomach twist. You looked back down at the floor.
"A little."
"A little?" His tone made it clear he didn't believe that for a second.
"I listen." You shrugged. The motion small.
Grace snorted. "Apparently."
"Twirly notices things." Pepper grinned.
Heat crawled into your face.
You wished all three of them would stop looking at you.
Unfortunately, none of them seemed interested in doing that.
Grace looked out into the room. Thinking again. Rearranging the pieces. Taking it all apart and rebuilding it again a hundred times in her head.
"The woods would give us cover." Nobody interrupted. "The hard part's still the door."
You glanced at her. "They don't watch it much."
"At night."
You nodded and Grace considered that.
"How many staff?"
You frowned. Trying to remember.
"One. Sometimes two."
Grace muttered something under her breath. Already doing the math. "That could work."
Pepper looked between the three of you. Then back to her puzzle. Apparently satisfied that whatever was happening wasn't immediately dangerous.
"The woods would slow people down too." Grace tapped a finger against her knee. "If we got far enough in before they noticed..."
The sentence trailed off. Her eyes shifted. Landing on Kit. Waiting. For once, he hadn't said anything. Not disagreement. Not agreement. Nothing.
"You got a thought?" Grace frowned.
Kit looked up."Huh?"
"The plan."
"Oh." He shrugged. "Maybe."
Grace stared at him. That wasn't an answer. It wasn't even close. "You've got nothin' else to say?"
Kit rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. The motion looked almost sheepish. "Just listenin'."
The silence that followed was brief. But noticeable. Because Kit didn’t usually "just listen." Not when it came to escaping. Not when it came to getting out. You knew that. Grace knew that.
Grace's eyes narrowed, studying him. She glanced at you before looking back at Kit. “That doctor tell you somethin’ we should know?”
Kit blinked. "What?"
"You're quieter." Grace shrugged. "Usually you've got ten opinions by now."
Pepper looked between them, then to you, concern growing on her face. Your hand gently found hers and just like that, she was back to her puzzle.
"The doctor." Grace’s tone flattened. "Did he say somethin’?"
For a moment Kit considered the question. Then shook his head. "No."
A pause.
"He just..." Kit trailed off. Searching for words. "He listened."
Grace's expression didn't change. If anything, it became more skeptical.
"That's it?"
"That's it." Kit shrugged.
Now it was your turn to look at Kit with skepticism. He’d been so ready to tell you that Thredson said he had a chance. So why not Grace?
Kit noticed you. “What?”
“What what?”
“You got that look.”
Grace glanced between the two of you.
“What look?” You asked.
Kit gestured at you. “That one.”
“You told me he said you had a chance...” You frowned.
The words left before you thought about them. Silence. Immediate. Heavy.
Grace's head turned slowly toward Kit. "A chance?"
Kit closed his eyes briefly. "Aw, hell."
Pepper looked up from her puzzle.
Grace folded her arms. "A chance at what, Walker?"
Kit shot you a look. Not angry. Not even frustrated. Just caught.
“Sorry.” Once again, you found the floor very interesting.
“Nah.” Kit sighed. “S'not your fault.”
“Walker.” Grace raised an eyebrow.
"He just said I might have a chance of provin' I don't belong here."
The room fell quiet again. Not because anybody disagreed. Because everybody knew what that meant. Or could mean.
“And you believe him?” Grace scoffed.
Kit frowned. “I didn't say that.”
“You look like you do.”
“I said he listened.”
“Congratulations. He did his job,” Grace rolled her eyes. The words came out sharper than she probably intended. Or maybe exactly as sharp as she intended.
Kit leaned back in his chair.“You weren't there.”
“No,” Grace folded her arms. “I've just been here longer.”
Silence
Kit rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. Frustrated. Mostly with himself.
"I just..." The words came slower this time. "He didn't treat me like I was crazy." Kit looked away. Toward the window. Toward the bars. Toward the world outside.
You looked at him. Really looked at him. The tension in his shoulders. The frustration in his voice. The way he couldn't quite bring himself to look back at any of you.
For a moment, the office flashed through your mind. The sunlight. The radio. Thredson asking questions. Waiting for answers. Listening. Like he wanted to hear them. Like they mattered.
You understood. Maybe a little too much.
Grace noticed. Of course she did. Her eyes flicked between the two of you as she sat forward.
"You agree with him." It wasn't an accusation. Not exactly. More of an observation. An aggressive sort of observation.
Kit glanced at Grace when she spoke, but his attention swiftly redirected to you. And for a moment, you met his eyes. Deep, warm brown, like sea glass.
Now Pepper’s gaze flicked between you two too.
You looked down at your unoccupied hand. “He listens.”
Grace stared at you. Then let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah.” She leaned back in her chair. “Of course he does.”
Kit frowned. “That’s not—”
“Every doctor listens.” Grace cut him off. She paused; her eyes flicked between both of you again. “You’re just supposed to talk.” The words hung there for a moment.
Pepper, sensing the shift, went back to her puzzle a little too quickly.
“They ‘listen’, pretend they’re takin’ down notes,” Grace said, folding her arms. “Nothing changes.”
Kit exhaled through his nose. Not angry. Just… frustrated again. “You weren’t there,” he repeated, softer this time.
But it didn’t land the same way anymore. Because now it wasn’t just Grace questioning him. It was both of you reacting in different ways to the same thing.
“That ain’t what it felt like.” Kit shook his head slightly.
Grace gave a short laugh. “It never feels like it.”
Kit glanced at her again, jaw tightening. “I’m not sayin’ he fixed anything.” A pause. Just long enough to gather himself. “I’m sayin’ he didn’t make me feel like I was already gone.”
Silence followed that. Not dramatic. But thick. Like the air had grown in humidity.
Grace didn’t respond immediately. Even Pepper stopped moving her hand for a second. And you froze.
It wasn’t about trusting anyone for Kit. It was about recognition. Being seen.
You understood that much. Maybe better than you wanted to. Because you were learning what it felt like to be looked at and not dismissed. To be listened to like you mattered. The thought lingered. Uncomfortable.
Familiar.
And for a moment, you couldn’t quite meet Grace’s eyes.
Grace exhaled through her nose. “That’s what they do.” A beat. “Make you feel like you’re not invisible.” Her eyes flicked to Kit. Then to you. “Doesn’t mean they’re helping you.”
Kit’s jaw tightened slightly. “That’s not what I said.”
Grace raised an eyebrow. “Then say what you mean.”
Kit opened his mouth. Closed it again. A breath left him through his nose. “I don’t know what I mean,” he admitted finally.
The honesty landed heavier than an argument would have. Because it wasn’t a defense anymore. It was uncertainty. And Grace didn’t have an easy answer for that.
Silence settled again. Just as heavy as before.
You became very aware of your hands. Of the shifting of puzzle pieces next to you. Of your own breathing.
“I don’t get it,” Grace muttered. Not to anyone in particular. Then, sharper: “Just—don’t get it.”
Kit didn’t respond. Neither did you. For a moment, it felt like the conversation might just… stall there. Break apart.
But softly, Pepper spoke.
“You all look like the broken clock.” Three heads turned toward her. She didn’t stop her puzzle. Just tilted her head slightly. “The one that still moves, but it’s wrong.” A pause. “Too many hands going different ways.” Her voice lowered.
The room went still in a different way now. Less tense. More… aware. Grace looked away first. Kit followed a second later.
You stayed looking at Pepper a moment longer. She wasn’t smiling. But she wasn’t upset either. Just observing. Like she’d said something obvious that no one else had noticed yet.
Then somewhere near the front of the room, a door opened. A voice called a name. Routine returning. Pulling the moment apart without asking permission.
Grace shifted first. “Lunch,” she said flatly.
Kit stood after her. A second slower than usual.
You followed. And Pepper followed you.
Just like that—
The conversation ended the way most things did in Briarcliff. Not resolved. Just… interrupted. Unfinished.
The sound of footsteps filled the hallway again. Not hurried. Not chaotic. Just steady. Routine reclaiming the space.
The four of you kept your distance from the others.
Pepper stayed closest to you as the group moved; fingers still lightly holding your gown for a moment before letting go again.
Kit walked beside you. Grace slightly ahead. For a while, no one spoke. The echoes of the common room conversation still lingered between you, but no longer actively spoken.
Then footsteps slowed somewhere ahead. Not Grace’s. A figure rounded the corner of the corridor. White coat. Hands folded behind his back.
Dr. Arden.
The group didn’t stop, but something in the air shifted immediately. Subtle. Like the hallway itself had tightened.
Arden’s eyes moved first to Grace. A brief glance. Then Kit. Longer. Measuring. And then you. And he paused.
Just for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. Enough to register. Enough to be felt.
“Mr. Walker.” Calm voice. No warmth. No hostility either. As if it was observation dressed as courtesy.
Kit gave a short nod. “Doctor.”
Arden’s gaze didn’t stay on him. It drifted again. Back to you. Something faintly unreadable crossed his expression. Not quite interest. Not quite recognition. Something closer to cataloguing.
“Miss Reverie.” The name made the air feel thinner for a moment. Not because it was new. Because of the way he said it. Like it had been there already. Just waiting to be used.
Grace’s steps slowed enough to bring her beside you.
Pepper went still.
Arden’s attention didn’t linger long enough to become a confrontation or conversation. The lion doesn’t waste time on birds.
Instead, his eyes shifted down the hallway again, already moving on. But as he passed, his voice softened—just slightly. Not kinder. Just quieter.
“Still flexible, I trust.”
Arden’s footsteps faded down the hall. Not rushed. Not lingering. Just gone. Like he hadn’t been anything more than part of the corridor noise.
Kit let out a breath beside you. “Guy always talk like that or is it just me?”
There was a hint of humor in it. An attempt. To make it small again. Manageable.
Grace gave a short, unimpressed sound. “Always.”
Pepper shifted slightly closer to your side. A quiet, grounding pressure.
You didn’t respond. At least—not in any way that reached the outside. Because your mind hadn’t followed Kit’s words. It hadn’t followed Grace’s tone either. It was still stuck in the moment before.
The pause. The way Arden had said your name. Like he knew where it belonged. Like it had never really left his mouth.
Your head felt distant. Not sick. Not calm. Just… far away. Too far away to organize properly.
Thoughts tried to form and failed before they became anything solid. Too many edges. Too many directions. You caught fragments but not a one of them connected cleanly.
They just circled. And every time you tried to grab one, it slipped sideways into another.
Kit said something again—softer this time. Your name, maybe. Or a question. You weren’t sure. It didn’t land.
Grace glanced at you once. Then again. Sharper now. “You alright?”
You heard that one. Barely. But you did.
You nodded. A reflex more than an answer. But even that felt delayed. Like your body was somewhere you weren’t. Or maybe you were somewhere it wasn’t.
The hallway moved around you. Feet. Voices. Doors opening somewhere ahead. Lunch. Something normal. Something that could help.
Your eyes drifted, finding Kit without meaning to.
You and Kit. Alone at your table, like every meal.
That could help.
Kit was already beside you again. You hadn’t noticed him moving closer. Or maybe you had, and it hadn’t fully registered yet.
The cafeteria doors swung open ahead and noise spilled out. Trays. Voices. Metal scraping metal. Normal. Loud in a way that almost helped.
Grace went her own way. Pepper, like usual, had to be guided to her table.
You moved through the motions, your body working more on muscle memory than anything else. Get your tray and get to the table.
Kit didn’t pay much attention either. Instead, he was watching you. Not really staring but looking. Observing. Like he was trying to place something that didn’t fit where it usually did.
“You good?” Simple. Low.
You nodded before the question fully settled. “I’m fine.”
Kit didn’t answer right away. He grabbed a tray only after you took one.
“That didn’t look like fine.” The words weren’t accusatory. Just honest.
You glanced at him briefly. Then away again. Because looking at him made it harder to keep the moment contained.
“It was just…” The sentence didn’t form cleanly.
Kit slowed with you. Didn’t push ahead. Didn’t leave the silence for you to fill alone.
“Just what?” That was all he said. Not pressure. Not impatience. Just there. Waiting. And that was worse, in a way. Because there wasn’t anywhere to run from it without making it obvious you were running.
Your grip tightened slightly on the tray. “I don’t know.”
A pause. Not empty. Not giving up. It was uncertainty.
You grew closer to your table, and Kit remained quiet beside you. Patient. He didn’t feel the need to fill the silence or speed you up.
The two of you sat before you came up with any words to say.
Then, quieter than intended, meeker, you spoke.
“He talked to me.”
Kit’s expression shifted. Not surprise. Not quite confusion. Something in between. Like he didn’t fully understand the importance.
“…Arden?”
You nodded once. That was enough.
Kit exhaled through his nose. Slow.
“Yeah.” A beat. Then his voice softened. “What’d he say?”
You hesitated. The chair beneath you suddenly felt colder. It wasn’t really anything. Not when you said it out loud. Not when you broke it into words. You shifted your grip slightly.
“It wasn’t—” You stopped. Because that wasn’t true either.
Kit didn’t rush you. Just slowly picked at his food. Like he was giving the moment space to exist.
“He just said that I’m still… flexible.” You looked at the table.
“Flexible?” Kit frowned.
You nodded once. That familiar tight feeling crept back in, but less sharp now. More distant.
“‘Still flexible, I trust.’”
The words sounded worse when you repeated them.
Kit was quiet for a second. Just looking at you. Trying to place it.
“Like… physically?”
“Well... yeah...” That wasn’t quite right though. Because there was always something more than just your flexibility behind it.
“But...”
A long pause. Too long. You didn’t know the words.
Kit’s brow furrowed and he set his fork down.
“Mentally?”
You didn’t answer right away. Mentally felt clean. Simple.
Whatever words were stuck in your head didn’t feel clean. Or simple.
“…I don’t know.”
Kit’s expression softened, but a crease remained between his brow. He studied you. Waiting now.
And you hated that part—the waiting. It meant you had to decide whether to leave it vague or let it be real.
“It’s not really what he said,” you mumbled. Your fingers were quick to find a loose string on your gown. “He said it like… it meant something.”
Silence.
Kit’s expression changed at that. Still not fully understanding. But recognizing the meaning behind the words, even if he didn’t have the context.
He looked down briefly then back up at you. “You don't look scared.”
You blinked. “What?”
“You looked scared when he showed up,” he shook his head. A pause. “But not now.”
You looked down at the string in your hands. Kit wasn't wrong. The fear had been there. The cold feeling in your stomach. The thousand thoughts. The panic of being noticed again.
But now... Now it was something else. Something harder to explain.
“Then what do I look like?” The question slipped. Not that you had tried fighting it.
Kit studied you again. Long enough that you almost regretted asking.
Then:
“Worried,” his answer came quietly. Certain. Not guessing. Not trying to make you feel better. Just honest. “Worried ‘bout what it means, I guess.”
You nodded. Just once. Slowly.
Because he was right. Of course he was.
The realization should've been frustrating. Instead, it mostly felt unfair.
You weren't entirely sure how he'd gotten so good at that. At looking at you and somehow finding the thing you couldn't quite put into words yourself. Your fingers loosened slightly around the string. For a moment, neither of you spoke.
The cafeteria noise filled the space instead. Trays clanging. Shoes scraping. Voices carrying from distant tables. The usual chaos of lunch.
“You do that a lot.” Your voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper.
Kit frowned again. “Do what?”
You glanced up. Then immediately wished you hadn't. Because he was already looking at you. Waiting. Listening. Like he always did.
“Figure things out.”
A corner of Kit's mouth twitched. “I don't think I do.”
“You do.” The answer came quicker than expected. Certain.
Kit blinked. Genuinely caught off guard this time.
“Well,” Kit picked up his fork again. “I'll try bein' less observant.”
You snorted. The sound surprised both of you.
Then Kit grinned. “There it is.”
“Oh, stop.”
“I'm serious.”
“You are not.”
“Y’laughed, though.” A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“It wasn’t a laugh.”
“Oh, close enough!” He argued.
Your lips twitched and you bit the inside of your cheek. “Not close enough.”
“Sure,” Kit groaned and rolled his eyes, but his grin widened.
“It wasn't.” You muttered.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Kit waved a dismissive hand.
You shook your head and rolled your eyes.
The conversation settled after that.
Not because either of you had forgotten Arden. Or Thredson. Or Grace. Or escape. But because for a few minutes, neither of you had to think about them.
Lunch carried on around you. Patients talked. Orderlies shouted. Someone dropped a spoon. Normal. Almost peaceful in it’s own way.
Then a shadow fell across the table.
You looked up.
An orderly stood there. Expression blank. As always. His eyes moved to you.
“Miss Reverie.”
The smile vanished from Kit's face immediately.
“Yeah?” You sat up slightly.
“You're wanted in the chapel.”
For a second, neither of you spoke. The chapel. You weren’t usually sent there.
Kit frowned. “The chapel?”
“That's what I said.” The orderly looked at him. Then looked back at you.
“What for?” Kit's brow furrowed.
The orderly shrugged.
You glanced toward Kit. He was already looking at you. Concern replacing the amusement from moments earlier. Not panic. Just uncertainty. The same uncertainty you felt.
The orderly stepped back.
You glanced across the cafeteria. Pepper was already looking at you. Worry sat plainly on her face. You offered a small nod.
The kind that meant: I'm okay.
Or at least: I'll come back.
Pepper nodded immediately. Like she believed you.
Your eyes shifted as you stood.
Grace was watching you too. But she didn’t look worried, more skeptical. Thoughtful. Assessing. Which somehow felt better than if she had been.
Then you looked at Kit. He was already looking at you.
“You'll be alright?” The question was quiet. Simple.
You nodded. Because what else could you do? You weren’t sure. But neither of you could change that.
The orderly cleared his throat. Waiting.
You turned to him and he began walking. You followed three paces behind.
The cafeteria noise swallowed the moment almost immediately. Trays. Voices. Silverware. Life continuing without permission.
The orderly led you to the door and down the hall.
Hydrotherapy sessions to ease muscular strain and induce calm Observed counterproductive response during recent hydrotherapy session. Patient exhibits dissociative retreat with preserved coordinated muscular response. Recommend reevaluation of hydrotherapy and further psychiatric assessment.
Temporary isolation recommended for patient and staff safety Temporary separation from high-stimulation environments recommended for patient stability and staff management.
Increase frequency of observation during dissociative episodes.
Monitor patient response to autobiographical memory recollection.
Document interactions with identified stabilizing relationships.
Monitor effects of current medication regimen on memory retention, dissociative episodes, and therapeutic engagement.
Further evaluation recommended.
|
Religious Staff Note:
Chaplaincy consultation scheduled with Father Howard.
Attending Physician (Primary): Dr. Oliver Thredson
Supervising Physician: Dr. Arthur Arden
The common room buzzed softly around you.
Not loud enough to be chaos. Not quiet enough to think.
A radio crackled somewhere near the nurses’ station, the music warped faintly beneath static. Someone nearby laughed too hard at something that wasn’t funny. Cards slapped against a table in uneven bursts. Shoes scraped tile. The overhead lights hummed constantly, sharp and electrical.
Your normal chair was gone. So, you sat curled into the corner of the couch furthest from the television and its endless static.
The fabric beneath your fingers scratched rough against your skin.
Stay here.
Your thumb pressed slowly into the seam of the cushion. In. Out. In. Out. The rhythm helped a little. Something solid. Something real.
Across the room, two patients argued quietly over a puzzle missing pieces. A nurse flipped through a magazine without actually reading it. Somebody was humming under their breath again. Same three notes. Over and over.
Your eyes drifted toward the windows.
Rain tapped softly against the glass.
You counted the drops for a while.
Lost count.
Started again.
You swallowed hard.
Your fingers had begun tracing shapes against the couch cushion without you realizing it—small looping circles, over and over until the pattern started repeating itself.
A grounding trick.
Or maybe just another habit.
You weren’t sure anymore.
The room tilted strangely for half a second when someone dropped a book nearby.
Your shoulders jerked instinctively.
Too fast.
Too sharp.
A few people looked over.
You immediately stared back down at your hands.
Stay here.
The phrase repeated silently now.
Stay here. Stay here. Stay here.
But your body felt wrong today.
Too light one second.
Too heavy the next.
Like your mind kept stepping a few feet outside itself before stumbling back in again.
You hated this part.
Not the forgetting.
The waiting.
Waiting to realize another piece of time had vanished without asking permission first.
Your jaw tightened.
Pepper needed you here.
That thought anchored harder than anything else managed to.
Not yourself.
Not Briarcliff.
Pepper.
Your nails dug lightly into your palm until the sting steadied your breathing again.
Then—
“You do that a lot.”
The voice startled you enough that your head lifted immediately.
Grace stood near the arm of the couch, one shoulder leaning lazily against the wall. Like she’d been there longer than you realized.
Watching.
Your stomach twisted faintly.
“Do what?” you asked quietly.
Grace’s eyes flicked toward your hands.
“Leave.”
Oh.
You didn’t know how to respond. Couldn’t really.
She was right.
Grace studied your face for another second before pushing off the wall. She moved closer, but not enough to crowd you. Careful. Measured.
“How often do you get like this?” she asked.
Your fingers curled tighter against your palm. “Like what?”
“Far away.”
The words landed too easily.
You looked down again instead of answering.
Grace huffed quietly through her nose, like she had already expected that response. “Kit thinks you’re tougher than you look.”
That made your eyes flick upward.
Not because of the compliment.
Because of the way she said Kit.
This conversation wasn’t really about you.
It was about him.
“What do you think?” you asked before you could stop yourself.
Grace tilted her head slightly. “I think you’ve survived this place longer than most people would.”
Not an answer.
You noticed that.
“But surviving ain’t the same thing as getting out.”
The room suddenly felt smaller.
Your stomach tightened faintly as Grace glanced toward the nurses’ station before lowering her voice.
“If something happened,” she said carefully, “could you run?”
You blinked.
“I mean really run.” Her eyes stayed fixed on you now. Sharp. Assessing. “Not freeze. Not drift off somewhere. Not panic.”
Your throat went dry.
“If we have to fight, can you fight?”
Somewhere nearby, someone laughed again. The radio crackled. Rain tapped steadily against the windows.
“If the plan fails, can you think on your feet?”
You could feel your pulse in your wrists.
Grace watched every second of your silence.
Then:
“Can you?” she repeated.
Your first instinct was embarrassment.
The second was anger.
Not loud anger. Not explosive. Not even really at her.
Just that quiet humiliation of realizing someone had looked at you and immediately seen weakness.
But...
Was she wrong?
“I don’t know,” you admitted softly.
Grace nodded once like she appreciated the honesty more than the answer itself.
“That’s a problem.”
Your jaw tightened.
“For you?” you asked.
“For everybody.”
The words stung more than they should have.
Grace must’ve noticed, because some of the hardness in her face eased slightly after a second.
“I’m not trying to be cruel,” she said.
You looked away toward the rain-streaked windows.
“You think Kit talks too much,” you murmured.
A faint smile tugged briefly at one corner of Grace’s mouth. “Yeah. He does.”
Despite yourself, your lips twitched faintly too.
Then her expression flattened again.
“But he’s serious ‘bout getting out.”
The humor vanished just as quickly.
“And serious people get killed when they start thinking with their heart instead of their head.”
Your chest tightened painfully.
Not because Grace sounded cruel.
Because she sounded practical.
The worst part was that you couldn’t even blame her for asking.
You’d lost conversations.
Lost hours.
Lost pieces of yourself so quietly you only noticed after they were already gone.
Sometimes they were pieces you never even had.
And lately you were getting bad again.
The thought settled heavy in your stomach.
Would you get him hurt? Caught? Killed?
The room suddenly felt too warm.
Your eyes dropped back to your hands before Grace could read anything else on your face.
You thought about Kit beneath the tree. Him laughing. Talking about fixing broken things like they were still worth keeping.
You thought about him calling you “sleepwalker.”
Thought about how much interest he took in you. Not only your life, but you. Just as you are.
And for one horrible second, you pictured him running while you froze.
Pictured him turning back for you.
Pictured blood on the floor because he hesitated.
Your throat tightened hard enough to ache.
Grace spoke again, quieter now.
“This place makes people weak if you let it.”
You swallowed once, “Yeah.”
Softly. Not defensive. Not angry.
Just tired.
Because it did.
They did.
And somewhere deep down, you were beginning to fear Briarcliff was winning.
Grace watched you for a long moment after that.
Not exactly cold.
Just thinking.
The common room carried on around you like nothing had happened. A patient near the window started singing softly to himself. Someone else complained about missing cards. And that damn song on repeat.
Your hands stayed folded tightly in your lap.
Grace finally sighed through her nose and leaned back against the wall again.
“I’m not trying to scare you,” she said.
You didn’t answer.
Her gaze drifted briefly toward the nurses’ station before returning to you. “People like to pretend hope’s enough.” A small shake of her head. “It ain’t.”
Something in her voice had changed slightly.
Not softer.
Just tired in a way you recognized.
“You think I like talking like this?” she asked quietly. “I don’t.”
Your eyes lifted toward her again.
She looked a way you had never seen from her. Less guarded. Not open, per se. But closer to human than sharp edges and suspicion.
“People like each other,” she continued. “They get attached. Then something goes wrong and suddenly nobody’s thinkin’ straight anymore.”
The words pressed strangely against your ribs. She wasn’t really talking about people. She hadn’t been. She was talking about Kit. Maybe herself too.
Grace crossed her arms tighter. “Kit already trusts you.”
Your stomach tightened faintly.
“That means I need to know if I can.”
The honesty of it caught you more off guard than the interrogation had.
You looked down at your hands again.
The truth sat ugly and heavy in your chest: you didn’t know if she could.
Didn’t know if Kit should.
Silence stretched between you again.
Then, quietly:
“I used to be better.”
Grace frowned slightly. “At what?”
“Staying here.”
You tapped two fingers lightly against your knee. As if grounding yourself without thinking.
“I’ve been losing things,” Your voice stayed low and careful. “Conversations and... stuff.” A pause. “More than before.”
Grace studied you carefully after that.
Not pitying.
Assessing.
But no longer dismissive either.
“That because of this place,” she asked, “or were you like that before?”
The question settled heavily between you.
Your fingers stilled against your knee.
For a second, you almost said nothing again.
That would’ve been easier.
But something about the way Grace was looking at you now—not cruel, not careful either—made the words slip out before you could stop them.
“I was worse before Briarcliff.”
Grace stayed quiet.
You swallowed once.
“The years before here...” Your voice thinned slightly. “Sometimes I’d lose weeks and months.” A faint shake of your head. “People would talk to me and it was like I never even heard them. Sometimes I’d wake up somewhere different, not knowing how I got there.”
The common room blurred softly at the edges for a second before settling again.
You forced yourself to keep going.
“When Pepper got brought here...” Your throat tightened. “I started trying harder.”
Her brows furrowed. “Trying what?”
“To stay.”
Simple answer.
Honest one.
You stared down at your hands.
“I practiced.” A humorless little breath escaped you. “Grounding. Counting things. Holding onto conversations.” Your fingers curled slightly. “I got better.”
At least, you thought you did.
“Pepper needed me to.”
The words came out almost automatic.
Like that alone explained everything.
Grace’s expression shifted subtly after that, like she was listening differently now.
Maybe it did explain things.
And then, quieter:
“I don’t know why I’m getting bad again.”
Again, Grace was quiet for a while after that.
Not uncomfortable quiet.
Thinking quiet.
The kind that settled like four feet of snow after a blizzard.
The common room felt oddly quiet now. Like it felt the silence between the two of you.
You kept your eyes on your hands.
Grace finally spoke.
“This place wears people down on purpose.”
You looked up slightly.
“They drug you, isolate you, treat you like an animal long enough...” She shrugged faintly. “Eventually people stop fighting to stay themselves. They stop caring.”
Something about hearing someone else say it made your chest ache.
Because you’ve seen it happen. Because you’d felt it. Every day.
Grace studied your expression for another second before adding, quieter this time:
“But the fact you noticed means you’re still here.”
The words caught somewhere deep inside you.
Not comforting.
Not exactly.
But they were different than the others.
You didn’t realize how badly you’d needed someone to say that until now.
It made your heart pound.
Grace pushed herself off the wall before the silence could turn heavy again. “Doesn’t mean you get to stop trying, though.”
There she was again.
Sharp edges. Practical. Controlled.
But not cruel. Not really.
You nodded once.
“I know.”
Grace looked at you, but it was different this time. It was assessment, more so consideration.
Like she had written you off yet.
And that meant something.
Occupational therapy was quieter in the afternoons.
Pencils scraped across paper in uneven rhythms while orderlies paced between tables pretending to supervise. Rain tapped faintly against the high windows, turning the light gray and flat.
Kit sat heavily into the chair across from Pepper, rolling the stiffness from one shoulder as he glanced at the papers scattered across the table.
Pepper barely noticed him sit down.
Her pencil moved in slow loops across the page.
Circle after circle after circle.
Not drawing anything.
Just repeating the shape until the paper had started to tear beneath the pressure.
Kit watched for a second before speaking.
“You get that from Twirly?”
Pepper looked up immediately at the nickname.
Then nodded.
“It reminds me of her.”
The words made something tighten in Kit’s chest.
Pepper looked back down and traced another circle carefully over the last.
“She’s been getting bad again.”
Kit’s brow furrowed slightly. “What makes you say that?”
Pepper shrugged one shoulder.
“Her eyes go quiet more.”
That phrase again.
Not asleep. Not gone.
Quiet.
Kit leaned back slightly in his chair. Getting worse?
The thought sat wrong, ringing around in his head.
How hadn’t he noticed that?
Pepper suddenly stopped drawing.
“The nice doctor asked about her.”
Kit looked up.
Something in his expression must’ve shifted because Pepper blinked.
“The one with the soft voice,” she added. “He said he wants to help Twirly stay here.”
A cold feeling settled slowly into Kit’s stomach.
Because somehow, that didn’t sound right at all.
Kit’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“The nice doctor?” he repeated carefully.
Pepper nodded, still turning the pencil slowly between her fingers.
“The one with the soft voice.”
A face surfaced in Kit’s mind.
The man from yesterday. Clipboard in hand. Watching the yard like he was looking for something specific.
Watching her.
Kit leaned forward a little, grabbing a pencil off the table. “Black hair?”
Pepper brightened instantly. “Yeah! Him.”
Something uneasy curled tighter in Kit’s stomach.
He tried not to show it.
“What’d he want?”
Pepper shrugged. “Just talked.”
“That all?”
“Mhm.” She traced another circle absentmindedly near the edge of the page. “He asked about Twirly. Asked if she always gets quiet like that.”
He frowned.
“And you told him?”
Pepper looked confused by the question. “He’s a doctor.”
Simple answer.
Matter-of-fact.
Not defensive.
Just obvious to her.
“He listens better than the others,” she added after a second, voice softer now. “Doesn’t yell.”
That hit harder than Kit expected.
Because around Briarcliff, not yelling probably did feel like kindness.
Pepper’s pencil moved across the paper again.
“He looked sad when I talked about her.”
Kit doubted that.
But Pepper said it with such certainty he didn’t argue.
Instead he glanced down at the page between them.
Circles layered over circles until they almost looked like bruises pressed into the paper.
His jaw tightened faintly.
“What’s his name?” he asked.
Pepper tilted her head.
Then smiled a little.
“Doctor Thredson.”
Pepper’s smile faded just a little as she looked back down at the paper.
“He’s nicer than the others,” she said quietly.
Then, after a pause:
“But Miss Elsa used to smile like that too when she wanted somethin’.”
Kit didn't know what to say.
He didn't have to.
Pepper continued drawing circles, layering graphite over graphite.
“He watches people when they ain’t looking.”
Kit’s brow furrowed faintly.
Pepper shrugged one shoulder.
“Like how you watch Twirly.”
Kit went still.
Not dramatic.
Not enough that anyone across the room would notice.
But Pepper did.
His fingers tightened once around the dull pencil in his hand before loosening again.
The occupational therapy room suddenly felt louder than before. Pencils scraping paper. Chairs dragging across tile. An orderly coughing somewhere behind him.
Pepper kept drawing like she hadn’t just said something that lodged directly into his ribs.
Like you watch Twirly.
Kit stared down at the circles covering her paper.
One inside another.
Over and over.
His jaw worked faintly.
“I ain’t—” he started automatically.
Then stopped.
Because he didn’t actually know how to finish that sentence.
Pepper finally looked up at him again.
Not suspicious.
Just curious.
Kit didn’t know how to respond.
Because he had been watching her.
But not like that.
Not how people were watched in Briarcliff.
Not the way doctors stared through patients instead of at them. Not the way orderlies monitored movements like waiting for someone to snap.
That wasn’t what this was.
He watched because sometimes she looked lost before she realized it.
Because sometimes her hands shook when the room got too loud.
Because sometimes her eyes drifted somewhere far away and he hated how nobody else seemed to notice when it happened.
Or maybe they noticed and just didn’t care.
Pepper kept looking at him patiently, waiting.
Kit rubbed his thumb against the side of the pencil.
“She just...” He exhaled quietly through his nose. “Ain’t nobody lookin’ out for her in here.”
Pepper’s expression softened immediately.
“’cept you,” she said.
That one hit him harder than he expected.
Because he still wasn’t sure when that had become true.
Neither of them spoke for a few beats.
“He asked what brings her back when she goes away.” Pepper said.
Kit’s eyes lifted immediately.
“What?”
Pepper shrugged lightly, still tracing the pencil along the edge of the paper.
“When her eyes go quiet.” She glanced toward him. “The doctor wanted to know what helps.”
Something cold settled slowly into Kit’s stomach.
Pepper continued before he could respond.
“I told him hugs usually work.”
Kit’s jaw tightened faintly.
Not because Pepper had done anything wrong.
Because the conversation suddenly felt too personal.
Too interested.
Doctors here usually didn’t care enough to ask questions like that.
They sedated people. Restrained them. Dragged them room to room.
They didn’t try to understand them.
Which meant this Doctor Thredson either cared far too much—
—or wanted something.
And Kit wasn’t sure which possibility bothered him more.
The common room had grown quieter.
Not truly quiet.
Briarcliff never was.
But quieter in the way storms sometimes calmed before getting worse.
The radio had gone to static again. Rain still tapped softly against the windows. A few patients wandered aimlessly between chairs while others sat slumped half-asleep beneath the dull hum of fluorescent lights.
Grace was gone.
You weren’t sure when she’d left.
Your fingers traced slowly against the seam of your skirt. Back and forth. Back and forth.
Grounding.
Trying to.
Your eyes lingered on the rain crawling down the glass.
One drop splitting into two.
Then four.
Then gone.
The room softened around the edges again.
Voices blurred.
The static from the radio stretched long and hollow in your ears until it almost sounded like distant applause—
The loud clearing of a throat.
You flinched hard enough your arm knocked against the arm of the couch.
Sister Jude stood over you.
Her expression tightened faintly at the reaction.
Not sympathy.
Assessment.
“Come with me.”
Your throat felt dry. The staff taking you somewhere was never good, but when it was Sister Jude? Even worse.
For you, at least.
Routine changes were rarely good here. The thought made your stomach twist.
Sister Jude turned sharply, expecting you to follow.
You stood quickly and moved after her, careful not to fall too far behind as her heels clicked crisply against the tile.
The hallway felt colder than the common room.
Or maybe you were colder now.
“You have another appointment with Dr. Thredson,” Jude said without looking at you. “He requested the session be moved forward.”
Something uneasy shifted low in your stomach.
You kept your eyes fixed ahead.
“Oh.”
Jude’s gaze flicked toward you briefly then away again.
“He seems to have taken quite an interest in your case.”
The words made your shoulders tense instinctively.
Not because of what she said.
Because of how she said it.
Like interest itself was dangerous.
“He thinks you’re special.”
Your chest tightened faintly.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
You remembered the way Thredson watched during hydrotherapy.
Your first session with him.
The voice.
The questions.
At the time you thought it was routine for him.
Special.
The word sat wrong inside you.
Special patients got watched more closely.
Taken away into private rooms for things most of the staff didn’t even know.
Experimented on.
It happened to you once with Arden. It had finally slowed down.
You swallowed once.
“I’m not,” you said quietly.
Sister Jude’s mouth pressed into a thin line.
“No,” she said after a moment. “Most likely not.”
But she didn’t sound convinced.
You swallowed once.
Sister Jude noticed.
“Dr. Thredson is considered very promising in his field,” she said crisply. “You should be grateful someone is willing to invest time in your treatment.”
Treatment.
The word scraped strangely against your ribs.
Jude slowed briefly near the end of the hallway, turning toward a heavy wooden door.
“And I would advise you,” she added sharply, “not to mistake professional attention for kindness.”
It felt like a weight had been placed on your chest.
Because the truth was, you hadn’t known what to mistake it for.
Sister Jude stopped outside the office door.
You hadn’t realized how tense your shoulders were until she knocked twice against the wood and the sound made your pulse jump.
“Your appointment,” she said flatly through the door.
A beat passed.
Then:
“Come in.” Dr. Thredson’s voice was smooth as warm honey.
Sister Jude opened the door without another word.
The office smelled faintly of coffee and paper instead of bleach.
It shouldn’t have felt different from the rest of Briarcliff.
But it did.
The lamps cast softer light than the fluorescents outside. A radio hummed low somewhere in the corner, barely loud enough to know that it wasn’t that same song in the common room.
Carefully arranged comfort.
It was odd.
But welcomed.
“Thank you, Sister Jude.”
Thredson stood as you entered.
Polite.
Calm.
His dark eyes settled on you immediately, attentive enough that it almost felt rehearsed.
Jude left without responding. The door shut firmly behind you.
And suddenly the room felt much smaller.
“I appreciate you coming,” Thredson said gently.
That made something tighten—just slightly—in your chest.
You weren't sure why.
Slowly, you lowered yourself into the chair across from his desk.
The cushions sank beneath your weight.
Too soft.
The room felt too warm.
Too quiet.
Like it was trying very hard not to be Briarcliff.
Thredson sat down across from you and opened a folder.
Your folder.
The sight of it made your stomach twist.
His eyes flicked briefly over the page before returning to you.
“How have you been since we last spoke?”
The question sounded simple.
You knew better.
You looked down at your hands.
“Fine.”
A lie.
Not a very good one.
But he didn't challenge it. Didn't even acknowledge it.
Maybe he expected that.
“Observation has been difficult lately.” He folded his hands together atop the desk.
Your fingers froze.
Just for a second.
Then resumed picking lightly at the seam of your gown.
“You've been watching.”
The words slipped out before you could stop them. You used to never talk. Now you felt like you had trouble stopping.
A small smile touched the corner of his mouth.
“That's part of my job.”
You weren't sure if that made you feel better or worse.
Silence settled briefly between you.
Not necessarily uncomfortable.
Intentional.
Like he was waiting to see what you would do with it.
Eventually, he spoke again.
“You seem tired.”
Your shoulders stiffened. It wasn't an accusation. And that somehow made it harder.
“Most people are.”
“That's true,” his agreement came easily. No argument. No correction. “Most people aren't worried about getting worse.”
Your eyes lifted before you could stop them.
Immediately, you regretted it.
Because he noticed. Of course he did.
That too was part of his job.
Thredson's expression didn't change.
But something sharpened behind his eyes.
Interest.
“You are worried,” he said quietly.
It wasn’t a question.
You looked away first.
The sun was bright against the window, golden rays skimming your skin.
The radio continued humming a song that you weren’t familiar with.
You focused on that instead.
The beat. The rhythm. The melody.
The rasp of the singer’s voice.
Anything except the feeling of being understood too quickly.
After a long moment, you nodded.
Just once.
Just slightly.
Thredson leaned back in his chair.
Not triumphant.
But patient.
As though this tiny admission mattered far more than it should.
“Tell me why.”
And there it is.
The first real door he asks you to open.
You stared at the thread you’d been picking at.
For a moment, you thought about lying again.
Saying you didn't know.
Saying it wasn't important.
But he would know.
"I lose things."
The words sounded strange once they were out.
Thredson didn't interrupt.
"Time." Your fingers twisted together. "Conversations."
You swallowed.
"Sometimes memories."
His expression softened.
Like he understood.
Like he wanted to listen.
Somehow that made it easier.
"I used to notice when it happened."
Your voice had gone quieter now.
"Now sometimes I don't."
A pause.
"I forget I've forgotten."
Your throat burned and stomach twisted up with regret.
The words were out now.
Too late to take back.
You stared at your hands, suddenly wishing you had said nothing at all.
Wishing you had kept your mouth shut.
The radio hummed softly in the corner.
The singer's voice blurred into the background again.
You focused on the loose thread beneath your thumb instead.
Anything except looking up.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then:
"That sounds exhausting."
Your fingers stopped moving.
Completely.
The loose thread slipped from between your fingertips.
For a second, you forgot about the radio.
Forgot about the sunlight spilling across the floor.
Forgot about the file sitting open on his desk.
The words hit harder than they should have.
Not because they were kind.
Because they were true.
Exhausting.
You spent so much time trying to stay.
Trying to remember.
Trying to notice when pieces went missing.
Trying to make sure Pepper never had to wonder where you'd gone.
Trying to be present.
Trying.
The effort never stopped.
Nobody had ever said it out loud before.
Your throat tightened.
Slowly, you looked up.
Thredson didn't look triumphant.
Didn't look curious.
If anything, he looked concerned.
"You shouldn't have to carry that by yourself."
Something in your chest tightened unexpectedly.
You weren't sure whether to laugh.
Or leave.
Or say thank you.
None of those felt right.
So you said nothing at all.
"When did you start noticing it getting worse?"
You frowned.
The question sounded simple.
It wasn't.
Your fingers found the seam of your gown again.
When did you start noticing it getting worse?
The radio hummed softly somewhere behind him.
You thought about arriving to Briarcliff.
The common room.
Observation.
Arden’s interest.
The tree.
Pepper.
The memories that seemed to be finding their way back more often now.
None of it felt like the beginning.
Not really.
You swallowed.
"I don't know."
Thredson waited.
No interruption.
No correction.
Just that same steady patience.
"I guess..."
Your brow furrowed.
"I guess around when Kit came around."
The words sounded wrong as soon as you said them.
Not wrong.
Just incomplete.
Like there was something important missing from the explanation.
Thredson remained quiet.
Listening.
"Mr. Walker."
You nodded.
"He sits with me sometimes."
Sometimes.
The understatement almost made you smile.
"He asks questions."
Your gaze drifted toward the window.
The sunlight had shifted again.
"I remember things more when he asks."
The admission came before you could stop it.
Your stomach tightened immediately afterward.
Thredson's eyes sharpened ever so slightly.
"Things from before?"
You nodded.
"The Freak Show."
Pepper.
Jimmy.
The stage.
Things you spent years trying not to think about.
Or couldn't.
You weren't always sure which.
Your thumb rubbed against the seam again.
"Maybe remembering more is making it worse."
Silence settled.
Not the uncomfortable kind.
The kind that made you think too much.
Then:
"You spend a great deal of time with Mr. Walker."
You blinked.
The observation caught you off guard.
"A little."
One corner of Thredson's mouth twitched.
Not quite a smile.
"A little." He repeated.
Heat crept into your face before you understood why.
You looked away.
"He talks to me."
The moment the words left your mouth, you wished they hadn't.
Because they sounded childish.
Stupid.
Like you were trying to justify something.
Thredson didn't laugh.
Didn't dismiss it.
He simply tilted his head slightly.
"And most people don't?"
The question was gentle.
Almost casual.
Which somehow made it harder to answer.
Because the truth was embarrassingly simple.
Most people talked around you.
About you.
At you.
Kit talked to you. With you.
Your gaze dropped back to your hands.
The seam of the gown. The loose thread.
"I don't know." Your voice came out quieter than before. "It feels different."
The admission settled heavily between you.
Different.
Not better.
Not worse.
Just...
Different.
You struggled to find words for it.
Most people eventually stopped asking questions when you couldn't answer them.
Or they answered for you.
Or they decided whatever was wrong with you was too complicated to bother understanding.
Kit didn't seem to do that.
He just...
Stayed.
The thought made your heart pound.
Across from you, Thredson remained silent.
Listening.
Waiting.
You were beginning to suspect that he was very good at it.
"He remembers things I tell him."
You frowned slightly.
Or maybe that wasn't quite right.
"I mean..." Your fingers twisted together. "He listens."
The moment the words left your mouth, they felt important somehow.
You weren't entirely sure why.
Thredson watched you for a moment.
Then:
"Do you think being listened to makes it easier to remember?"
You blinked.
The question caught you off guard.
Your first instinct was to say no.
Because those things didn't seem related.
One was memory.
The other was...
Something else.
Your brows knit together. Thinking.
The radio continued its soft hum from the corner.
You thought about the tree.
About circles drawn into the dirt.
About Kit asking questions and then actually waiting for the answer.
Even when the answer took a while.
Even when you forgot what you were saying halfway through.
Your fingers tightened together.
"I don't know."
A pause.
Then:
"Maybe."
The word came out small.
Uncertain.
Thredson didn't rush to fill the silence.
Didn't tell you whether you were right or wrong.
You found yourself continuing anyway.
"Most people don't wait."
Your eyes dropped back to your lap.
"They decide what I mean before I say it."
The admission surprised you.
You weren't sure where it came from.
Or why you'd said it.
But once it was out, you couldn't take it back.
For a moment, the room was quiet.
Then Thredson nodded once.
Not dramatically.
Just enough to show he'd heard you.
"And Mr. Walker waits."
Not a question.
An observation.
A simple one.
Yet somehow it felt like he'd noticed something you hadn't.
"Earlier you said things seemed to get worse around the time Mr. Walker entered your life."
He adjusted just slightly in his chair.
"Yet you describe him as someone who helps you stay present."
You frowned.
It sounded silly when he said it.
Contradictory.
You just hadn't known how to explain it.
Your fingers found the seam of your gown again.
"I think..."
The words stalled.
You looked down.
Then tried again.
"I think I notice it more."
Thredson remained silent.
Listening.
Waiting.
You hated how much easier his patience made talking.
You swallowed.
"Before..."
Your brow furrowed.
"Before, I'd lose time and not think about it."
The radio turned to static.
"Or I'd realize hours later and just..."
You shrugged.
"Keep going."
There wasn't much else to do.
You couldn't get the time back.
You couldn't remember what you forgot.
So eventually you learned not to dwell on it.
"Now I notice."
Your voice had gone quieter.
You stared at your hands.
"Because people notice."
People.
Not just Kit.
Pepper.
Grace.
Even yourself.
More than before.
A long pause followed.
Then:
"When I forget something now..."
Your throat tightened.
"I... I care."
The static in the radio seemed to settle rather than fade.
Thredson didn’t speak immediately.
His gaze stayed on you—steady, unreadable in a way that didn’t feel unkind.
Then, carefully:
“You care.”
Not a question.
A reflection.
Like he was testing the shape of the words in the air between you.
You hesitated.
Your fingers tightened in your lap again, like you were only just realizing you’d said something you weren’t supposed to say.
Thredson didn’t press.
Instead, he tilted his head slightly.
“When you say you care…” he continued gently, “what exactly are you afraid of losing?”
The question landed differently than the others.
Not broad.
Not abstract.
Specific.
Your throat tightened slightly before you could stop it.
Because suddenly it wasn’t about memory anymore.
It wasn’t even about “getting worse.”
It was about what breaking meant now.
Thredson’s voice stayed calm.
Measured.
“Aside from your time,” he added quietly, “what feels most at risk when you notice these gaps?”
The room felt still again.
Not empty.
Focused.
Like everything in it had narrowed down to that single point he’d just placed in front of you.
The question sat between you for a moment.
He didn’t move to fill the silence.
Just waited.
Your throat felt tight again.
“I don’t know,” you said quietly at first.
A pause.
Then, more carefully:
“I think I just… don’t like not remembering.”
Your fingers pressed together in your lap.
“When I can’t tell what happened.”
You swallowed.
“It feels wrong.”
Not dramatic.
Not emotional in an obvious way.
Just… unsettled.
Like something out of place that you can’t quite fix.
Your gaze stayed down.
Thredson didn’t respond immediately.
Instead, he studied you for a moment longer—like he was organizing what you’d said into something usable.
Then he nodded once.
Slowly.
“I see.”
Not dismissive.
Not approving.
Just… noted.
The word sat quietly in the space between you.
“You’re not alone in that feeling,” he added after a beat. “Disturbance in continuity can be deeply unsettling.”
A pause.
Then, more gently:
“But it’s also something we can work with.”
He reached forward slightly, closing your file partway without fully shutting it.
A subtle end to the focus.
“For now,” he said, voice easing back into something more procedural, “I think that’s enough for today.”
Your stomach tightened faintly at the shift.
Not because he was cold. Because he wasn’t.
He looked back up at you.
“And I’d like you to notice something for me before next time.”
The tone remained calm. Almost casual.
“Specifically,” he continued, “whether those moments feel more frequent when you’re with certain people.”
A brief pause. The faintest emphasis on the last word.
Then:
“We’ll continue this soon.”
Not a dismissal. Not a release. A continuation.
You nodded faintly.
The words “we’ll continue this soon” lingered longer than they should have. Then you stood. The chair made a soft sound against the floor as you pushed it back.
Thredson rose as well, professional again in an instant.
He opened the door for you.
“Thank you for your time,” he said gently. Not cold. Not distant. Carefully measured.
You stepped into the hallway. The light outside felt sharper than it had before. Behind you, the door closed softly. Click. And then you were gone.
Thredson remained standing for a moment after the door shut. The room felt different without her in it. Not empty. Just… less structured.
He exhaled slowly through his nose, then turned back to his desk. The file lay open where it had been the entire session. He didn’t sit immediately. Instead, he picked up his pen. Paused. Then began to write.
Clinical Notes — Patient ███
Subject demonstrates increasing difficulty maintaining temporal continuity. Self-reporting “loss of time,” “missing conversations,” and “inability to track events.”
A pause. The pen hovered slightly before continuing.
Strong emotional response when discussing memory disruption.
Another line. Shorter. More precise.
Notable attachment indicators present.
He paused again. Then added:
Subject associates improvement in recall with interaction involving Patient Kit Walker.
The pen stopped. For a moment, he simply looked at the line. Then, without changing expression, he underlined it once. Not heavily. Just enough to mark it.
He set the pen down carefully. And finally sat. His gaze drifted briefly toward the closed door. Then back to the file.
“Interesting,” he said quietly to himself.
Not pleased. Not concerned. Just certain it was becoming more coherent.
The smell of bleach stung your nose the second you had stepped into the hall. The orderly that had been waiting for you said nothing, just began walking. You followed, a careful three steps behind.
Your shoes scraped the floor with each step. The rhythm made you think about that song again. Whatever one had been playing before the static. It began playing in your head. Rhythm, beat, melody, the raspy voice.
Noise from the cafeteria disrupted it. Dinner must’ve started while you were gone. It was loud. Trays scraping. Voices echoing. Silverware striking metal plates. Normal Briarcliff noise.
After the quiet of Thredson's office, it felt almost overwhelming.
The staff’s faces look more irritated than normal. Or maybe they always looked like that and you just... never noticed.
You moved through the normal motions that ended with a tray in your hands and you walking towards the table.
Kit was already there, mindlessly moving the slop on his tray with his fork.
Looking at him made your heart beat a little faster.
So, you looked away.
The empty seat beside him suddenly seemed much farther away than it should have.
Still, your feet carried you there. Routine. The certainty of it.
You sat down carefully, setting your tray onto the table. For a moment, neither of you spoke. You picked at the food. The food picked back.
Across from you, Kit watched. Not openly. Not enough for anyone else to notice. But enough. You could feel it.
"You're late." His voice was casual. Trying to sound casual.
You nodded, "Yeah." That was all. No explanation.
Your fork dragged through the potatoes. Or whatever passed for potatoes. The silence stretched.
Kit's brow furrowed slightly. Not because you were late. Because normally you would've said something else. An excuse. A story. A shrug. Something.
Instead, you were staring at your tray like it held all the answers.
"Everything alright?"
There it was. The question he'd been trying not to ask.
It should have been an easy answer. You almost laughed. Because you didn't know. Your fork scraped lightly against the tray.
Part of you felt lighter. Like something had finally been set down after carrying it for too long. The pressure in your chest wasn't quite as sharp as it had been that morning. The constant buzzing in the back of your mind felt quieter. For now.
But another part of you felt exposed. Raw.
Like someone had peeled back a layer you normally kept hidden and left it there for the world to see.
You kept hearing yourself talk. Hearing the words after they'd already left your mouth.
I care.
Your stomach twisted. Not because they weren't true. Because they were. And now someone else knew it.
You stared down at your tray. The potatoes. The gray meat. The bent spoon.
Anything but him. Anything but those warm brown eyes that always seemed to notice too much.
"I think so." The answer came out softer than intended.
Honest. As honest as you could manage. Because you weren't entirely sure what was wrong in you. Or what was right.
“I think so.”
The answer should've reassured him. It didn't.
Kit watched you push food around your tray. The same way he'd watched you draw circles beneath the tree. Absent-minded. Like part of your attention was somewhere else.
His brow knit slightly. Maybe nobody else would've noticed. Hell, maybe a few weeks ago he wouldn't have noticed. But he'd gotten used to you.
The little things. The way your eyes usually wandered around the room when you talked. The way your fingers moved when you were thinking. The pauses before answering questions.
This felt different. Not really worse. Just... Different.
You hadn't looked at him once since sitting down. Not really.
And every time he looked away, he caught his eyes drifting right back. Checking. Making sure you were still there. Still listening. Still present.
The thought made something uneasy settle in his stomach.
Across the table, you continued staring at your tray.
Kit glanced toward the orderlies moving through the cafeteria. Then toward the doors. Then back to you.
Late. Quiet. Distracted.
His jaw tightened faintly.
"Where were you?" The question was gentle. Not accusing. Just worried. And maybe a little more curious than before.
You finally looked up. Only for a second.
"Appointment." Then your gaze dropped back to your tray.
Kit's fork stopped moving. "Yeah?"
You nodded. The potatoes became fascinating once more. "With Dr. Thredson."
Kit could’ve guessed that. The doctor from the yard. The one watching. The one Pepper kept talking about.
"How'd that go?"
You hesitated.
The answer should've been easy.
It wasn't.
Your head was beginning to hurt.
That sounds exhausting.
The words echoed back before you could stop them.
You rubbed your thumb against the edge of the tray. "He asked questions."
Kit huffed a quiet laugh. "That's usually what doctors do."
The corner of your mouth twitched despite yourself. Just barely. "Yeah."
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then:
"He listened," The words slipped out before you could stop them.
Kit blinked. Then gave a small nod, "That's good."
You looked up.
His expression was genuine. No teasing. No skepticism. Just relief. Like that was the answer he'd been hoping for.
"You seemed pretty nervous before."
Your fingers paused against the tray.
"I was."
"Yeah." Kit nodded slowly.
He could understand that. Hell, he'd been nervous talking to doctors before. Especially in a place like this.
"Did it help?"
The question was simple. Honest. And somehow harder to answer than the others.
You thought about the office. The sunlight. The radio.
The way Thredson had sat there patiently while you searched for words.
You thought about how exposed you'd felt. How relieved. How uncomfortable. How understood. All at once.
"I... think so." The answer came slowly. But it was true.
Kit's shoulders loosened slightly. Not enough that most people would notice. But enough that you did.
"Good."
Just that. Good.
No questions about what you'd discussed. No digging. No trying to pry information out of you.
Just relief that you weren't coming back looking frightened.
The conversation drifted after that. Nothing important. Nothing heavy. Just enough to fill the space between bites of terrible food.
The cafeteria remained loud around you. Orderlies shouting. Trays scraping. Someone laughing too loudly from across the room.
You glanced up.
Kit was looking at you.
You could still see remnants of concern etched between his eyebrows.
But still, he smiled at you. Small. Crooked.
The kind of smile that seemed to appear before he even realized he was doing it.
For a second, you just stared. Then the corner of your own mouth lifted. Not much. But enough.
The concern didn't leave his face, but his eyes softened.
And something in your chest loosened.
Maybe Thredson was right. Maybe being listened to helped. Maybe being seen did too.
The cafeteria remained loud around you. But, you didn't really mind.
AHS evan peters characters headcanons for cuddling/physical intimacy :3? Not necessarily NSFW, leaning more on fluff than suggestive !
Enjoy 🥰
Includes Tate, Kit, Kyle, Jimmy, James, and Kai
No warnings I don't think
Tate Langdon
Tate is aggressively touch-starved. Not in an obvious way at first either. He acts casual about physical affection until he actually gets it, then suddenly he’s sticking to you like superglue.
LOVES laying with his head in your lap while you play with his hair. He goes completely quiet during it too. That kind of silence that feels heavy.
Big on sleepy forehead touches. Nose nudges. Absentminded, almost instinctual touching.
He’d pretend to hate cheesy couple stuff but secretly melts if you hold his face gently.
Has a habit of hooking a finger into your belt loop or sleeve when you're laying together, like he's scared you'll suddenly get up and leave.
If he’s upset, he gets clingier instead of more distant. Would absolutely crawl into your bed at 2am without explaining anything and just bury himself against your chest.
Movie cuddles with Tate eventually turn into him laying on top of you or you on top of him. This man has no sense of personal space once he feels safe.
Kisses are either incredibly soft and gentle or devastatingly intense. No in between.
Kit Walker
Kit cuddles like a person who genuinely believes tenderness can keep bad things away for a little while.
Warm. That’s the first thing about him. Physically warm, emotionally warm, space heater warm.
LOVES domestic affection. Hugging you from behind while cooking, kissing your temple in passing, rubbing circles into your shoulders without thinking about it.
Sleeps best when touching you somehow. Hand on your waist, tangled legs, fingers linked. Doesn’t matter, as long as he can feel you.
He’s very attentive to what comforts you. Notices quickly if you like scalp scratches, back rubs, weighted hugs, etc.
Kit after a long day would absolutely pull you into his lap and just exhale into your shoulder like you’re home base. And really, to him, you are.
Gives the kind of hugs where he squeezes tighter halfway through because he wasn’t ready to let go yet.
Quiet morning cuddles with him feel sacred. Pale sunlight, tangled sheets, sleepy voice still rough around the edges.
Kyle Spencer
Kyle’s entire love language is basically him treating you like you're fragile and precious.
Very hesitant at first. He’d worry about being “too much” or doing something wrong.
Once comfortable though? Constant physical contact.
HUGE cuddler. Like genuinely. Arms around your waist, legs tangled with yours, face buried in your neck.
He likes laying his head on your chest so he can hear your heartbeat. It instantly relaxes him.
Physical affection becomes one of the main ways he communicates emotions he struggles to verbalize.
If you touch or kiss his scars without even thinking about it, you will literally see his eyes light up.
Kyle always falls asleep during cuddles first. Usually with his cheek smushed against you and one hand still holding onto you.
He’d love when you initiate affection because it reassures him you actually want him close.
Jimmy Darling
Jimmy is affectionate in a very wholehearted, overflowing way. Like he spent years being denied softness and now refuses to not give it.
Bear hugs. Constantly.
He kisses with his entire soul behind it. Even casual kisses somehow feel earnest.
Obsessed with having you sit in his lap. Doesn’t matter where you are. Chair? Couch? Edge of the bed? Congratulations, you're now sitting on his lap.
Teases you constantly during affection. “You comfy there, sweetheart?” while he’s the one crushing you against his chest.
He absolutely nuzzles into your neck whenever you're laying down together. Like it's automatic for him.
Tired Jimmy is absurdly soft. Running his hands over your back slowly, pressing sleepy kisses to your shoulder, mumbling half-coherent praise.
If you trace patterns on his hands or arms, he goes very still. That kind of tenderness wrecks him a little.
James Patrick March
James treats physical affection like a decadent art form. Every touch is deliberate. Dramatic. A little dangerous around the edges.
HUGE on hand kissing.
Loves draping you across him while you're lounging.
Surprisingly affectionate in private. Publicly he’s composed and theatrical, but alone? Very touch-oriented.
He adores slowly brushing hair away from your face while maintaining eye contact.
He likes possessive little gestures: hand on your neck, fingers around your wrist, pulling your chin toward him during kisses. Never rushed though. Everything with him unfolds like velvet curtains.
Secretly enjoys when you become affectionate first because it feeds his ego. Like to a catastrophic degree.
He’d absolutely call cuddling “indulgent” while actively refusing to let you leave the bed.
Kai Anderson
Kai is… complicated. Affection with him tends to blur together with control issues, emotional dependency, and genuine vulnerability all fighting one another. But underneath all the chaos? He craves closeness. Desperately.
Initially acts like he doesn’t need affection at all. Then proceeds to hover around you 24/7.
Touch-starved.
Late-night vulnerability hits him hardest. That’s when he gets quieter and more honest, pulling you against him while talking in a low sleepy voice.
LOVES having his hair played with. Instant system shutdown.
He’s clingier than he’ll ever admit. If you’re sitting together, expect him to pull your legs over his lap or hook himself around your waist.
The first time you casually kiss his forehead, he short-circuits.
Physical affection becomes incredibly important to him once attached to someone. Reassurance through touch. Constantly checking you’re still there.
Would absolutely deny enjoying cuddles while actively dragging you back into bed for “five more minutes.” Which becomes an hour. Then two. Little dictator of the blanket republic 🛋️
Saints, Sinners, and Sleepwalkers | Kit Walker x Reader
Series Masterlist Here
7k words
Expect Disturbing Themes
Chapter 5: Patterns of Attachment
The knock at the door was sharp. No hesitation, no warning. Just three hard raps against the glass pane of Thredson’s office, followed by the door creaking open before he could answer.
Arden didn’t wait for an invitation.
He stepped inside, crisp and cold in both demeanor and posture, a file clenched tightly in one gloved hand.
Oliver looked up from his notes, the faintest smile already curling at his lips. “Arthur. To what do I owe the—?”
“You altered one of my patient files,” Arden cut in, lifting the folder like evidence in a courtroom. “Without authorization.”
Oliver blinked once. Then leaned back in his chair with that practiced calm he wore like a second skin. “If you’re referring to the—”
“I am,” Arden snapped, lifting the file slightly. “And while the Church may have welcomed your position here, do not forget—you are not her attending physician. I am.”
Oliver gave a small shrug, folding his hands in his lap. “And yet your treatment approach was clearly outdated. She was misdiagnosed. I made a note.”
“You rewrote half the damn chart,” Arden hissed. He was still standing—he hadn’t even closed the door behind him—and his voice stayed quiet only out of necessity. “You overruled multiple reports. Adjusted treament orders. And you’re not even trying to hide it.”
Oliver raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m not ashamed of doing what’s best for her.”
That earned a sharp exhale from Arden—something dangerously close to laughter. He stepped forward once, his grip on the file tightening.
“You’re overstepping,” he said, voice low and clipped.
Oliver tilted his head, still calm, but there was a flicker of interest behind his eyes now. “She’s not responding to your methods. You’ve seen it. Catatonia, dissociation, complete withdrawal. What you call treatment, I call stagnation.”
Arden’s jaw tightened. “You think you’re the first outsider to walk in here thinking they’ve ‘discovered’ something special? You’re not. You’re just the latest fool trying to play savior.”
Oliver’s smile returned—thinner this time. Sharper. “Maybe I’m not the first,” he said, voice light. “But I might be the last. Especially if I’m right about her.”
Arden’s eyes narrowed. “Right about what?”
Oliver leaned in slightly—not with warmth, but calculation. Like he was offering a diagnosis, not a confidence. “Her mind. The trauma that split it. She’s not schizophrenic. Not possessed. She’s protecting something.”
A pause.
“And if I can reach that part of her…”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.
Arden’s voice went cold. “She’s not your experiment, Thredson.”
Oliver stood, slow and deliberate. Unshaken. “No,” he said. “She’s a person. And that’s something I don’t think you’ve ever quite understood.”
The silence that followed was brittle. Taut. A single breath would’ve shattered it like glass.
Arden took a step forward.
“You seem awfully invested in one patient,” he said, voice low and deliberate. “Is this truly about diagnosis—or are you just looking for something else?”
Oliver’s smile lingered a moment too long before it slipped. Not fully—just enough for the air to shift. The slight narrowing of his eyes. The tick of his jaw beneath calm restraint.
“Careful,” he said, quieter now. Not a threat. Not exactly. “You’re toeing the line between suspicion and slander.”
Arden only lifted an eyebrow. “Am I?”
“She’s not stable,” Oliver continued, regaining his poise. “But she’s not a lost cause either. You write her off like she’s a slab of spoiled meat, but I’ve seen it. She’s responsive when approached correctly.”
“Responsive,” Arden echoed, voice laced with disdain. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
Oliver’s fingers curled at his side before relaxing. “Her condition is the result of long-term trauma. Not hysteria. Not demonic possession. And certainly not a need for any of the treatments you’ve assigned.”
Arden tilted his head slightly, watching him now as if dissecting him with his eyes alone. “You’re speaking awfully personally, Oliver.”
Silence stretched between them. Not awkward—weighted.
Then Oliver sat back down, smoothing the front of his jacket like settling a mask back into place. “I’m invested in the truth. Nothing more.”
“Of course,” Arden scoffed, dropping the file onto the desk. “Well. If she ends up in worse condition under your care, I’ll be sure to let the Monsignor know exactly who’s responsible.”
Arden turned and the door opened with a slow groan, then clicked shut behind him.
For a moment, the room was silent again.
Oliver didn’t move. Just stared at the folder on his desk.
Then—calmly, quietly—he reached out and turned it toward him.
And opened it again.
The day crawled on in its usual rhythm—meals, silence, supervision. Patients were moved from room to room like pieces on a board no one was playing to win. Nothing seemed urgent on the surface, but something had shifted beneath it. A cold current threading its way through the halls, silent and slow.
Oliver returned to his rounds like nothing had happened. Arden disappeared into the east wing, muttering to a nurse about equipment repairs and noncompliant orders. Staff walked a little faster. The air smelled faintly of bleach.
By the afternoon, the ward had settled into a dull hush.
The door to his office clicked open. Pepper was led in by a nurse—gently, almost apologetically. Her steps were small, cautious, but her eyes flicked curiously around the room, settling on the man seated behind the desk.
Oliver stood, smoothing down his tie in a practiced motion. “Pepper, is it?” he said, voice light and professional. “Please, come sit. There’s no need to be nervous.”
She glanced at the chair, then at him, then slowly moved to sit. Her hands stayed folded in her lap, twitching now and then.
He retrieved a file from his desk and opened it with deliberate precision. “This is just a simple check-in,” he began. “No poking, no needles. I just want to talk.”
Pepper didn’t respond. Her eyes were on a spot on the floor now, lips pressed tightly together.
Quietly, he made a note.
“Will you speak with me, Pepper?” he asked after a moment.
Still no answer.
Oliver leaned back slightly, watching her. The room was quiet enough that the clock ticking on the wall felt invasive.
Then, with a soft exhale, he closed the file and set it aside.
“Well,” he said, his tone softening. “You remind me of my little sister. She didn’t like doctors either. Especially ones who ask too many questions.”
That made her eyes lift—just a little.
He smiled, gently. “That’s better. See? No tricks here. Just two people talking.”
Pepper’s eyes hovered on his face now. Still cautious, but present.
He leaned forward just slightly, elbows on the desk, his voice lowering to something gentler. “Do you have any friends here, Pepper?”
She nodded, a quick, sharp little motion.
“Who’s your best friend?” he asked, pen poised above his notes but not moving yet.
Pepper’s face lit up with the smallest smile. “Twirly.”
Oliver blinked. “Twirly?”
Pepper nodded again, more certain this time. “She bends. Like this,” She lifted her arms, mimicking an exaggerated arch. “Pretty.”
“And how long have you known her?” he asked. “Is she someone you met here?”
Pepper shook her head. “Nuh-uh, with Miss Elsa.”
He made a small, thoughtful note.
“You were together before Briarcliff?”
She hesitated—then gave a slow, sad nod. “It was going all wrong. He took Twirly and she never came back.”
Oliver paused. Slowly, he looked up at Pepper. “He took her?”
Her fingers twisted into her gown. “Jimmy was mad. It was the biggest fight they ever had,” she sniffled but didn’t cry. Just blinked hard and kept talking, voice soft and flat, like it had been said too many times in her head already. “After that… everyone knew somethin’ was wrong, but no one but me seemed to care.”
Oliver tilted his head slightly. This was more than expected. “This man who took her… was it Jimmy?”
Pepper shook her head, lips pressing into a thin line. “Dell.” The word came out like a stone dropped in water. Heavy. Certain. “He said he was helping. But he didn’t ask nobody. Just—" She mimed a grabbing motion with her hands. “—poof. Gone.”
Oliver quickly scribbled something in his notes. “And Jimmy?” he asked, keeping his tone careful, almost gentle. “He fought with Dell?”
Pepper nodded again. “Yelled so loud the mirrors cracked.” She blinked. “Not really. Just thought they did.”
Her fingers found a loose thread at her sleeve. “Jimmy said she was family. That Dell didn’t get to decide things.” She wrinkled her nose. “But Dell always thought he could. ‘Cause he’s big and loud and mean.”
Oliver's pen slowed.
“Do you think she knew what was happening?” he asked.
Pepper didn’t answer right away.
“I think she knew she couldn’t stop it.”
He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. The pen tapped once against the page. “Has ‘Twirly’ always had these episodes?”
She tilted her head.
“When it seems like she’s not even in the room,” he clarified, “When she goes away.”
“When her eyes go quiet,” Pepper corrected softly, nodding. “It started before she joined Miss Elsa. I have to hug her real tight to get her back.”
Oliver’s lips slowly curled into a smile. “You sound like a good friend.”
Pepper perked up slightly at that, shoulders straightening.
He glanced at his notes again. “Do you know what made her that way? Was there something bad that happened?”
Pepper’s smile faded. She didn’t speak for a while, just shifted in her seat, picking at her thumb.
He waited—carefully neutral. Then, gently: “You can tell me. It might help her.”
Pepper’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Twirly didn’t talk ‘bout it much. Only to Jimmy. He used to say the world was unfair to her before she was even a freak.”
“Did she like Jimmy?”
She nodded.
He didn’t press. Not yet. Instead, he softened further. “And how do you think she feels about you?”
Pepper blinked at him, confused.
He gently cleared his throat, “I mean—if she were here, sitting where you are—what would she say about you?”
Pepper smiled again. Brighter this time. “She loves me. Always.”
That was enough for now.
Oliver made another note, then folded his hands on the desk. “Thank you, Pepper. You’ve helped me understand a lot today.”
She looked pleased.
But as the nurse arrived to lead her out, she glanced back once at him. The kind smile he wore hadn’t changed.
Still, something lingered in her eyes. Not fear—not yet. But the smallest trace of doubt.
Oliver waited until the door clicked softly shut behind Pepper before turning back to his desk. The kind smile he’d worn dissolved at once, his jaw loosening, shoulders settling into a posture that was colder, truer. The performance was over.
He uncapped his pen with a slow, deliberate motion and pulled the notepad closer. His handwriting was precise—tight, controlled, almost elegant in its austerity.
Subject: “Pepper” (Evaluation re: Patient ███)
— Displays strong emotional attachment to Subject ███.
— Repeated use of nickname “Twirly” history predates institutionalization.
— Confirms shared time in traveling performance group—“Miss Elsa” & “Freaks” (note: find official name from archives).
— Cognitive assessment inconsistent. Childlike, but responses imply greater awareness than previously documented.
— Protective instincts notable. Could be exploited for leverage.
— Appears unaware of deeper triggers in Subject ███’s condition. No direct reference to trauma mentioned, though implied.
— When prompted about dissociation episodes, described as “when her eyes go quiet.” Language imprecise, but emotionally resonant.
He paused, tapping his pen once, twice, against the margin.
Conclusion: While limited in clinical vocabulary, Pepper’s insights are emotionally reliable. Relationship with Subject ███ is exploitable. Use with caution—risk of emotional retaliation from ███ if perceived threat to Pepper arises. Further observation necessary. Consider introduction of mild stressor to evaluate protective response.
He closed the folder with a soft snap and leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at his lips. The mask of gentleness no longer weighed on him; in the quiet, his voice was almost affectionate.
“She’ll come to me,” he murmured, savoring the words. “They always do, eventually.”
Leaning forward again, Oliver clicked his pen. At the upper corner of the page, he pressed the tip to paper and, with a little too much pressure, scrawled a single word. The ink dug deep into the fibers of the page, black and final.
Jimmy.
Heat from large stage lights bathed your skin. Sequins scratched against your arms. The audiences’ bated breath filled the tent. Then, the music started. Quiet and soft at first. A mix of elegance and haunt.
Your arms pulled up, fabric stretching around your shoulders. One leg stretched out, your foot dragging against the stage. Your muscles flexed and stretched until they were burning as your body twisted and folded.
People oo’d and aw’d. Some leered at you while others cringed and grimaced.
But you didn’t see them. Didn’t hear them. You only heard the beating of your heart and each breath you took.
The tent blurred at the edges. Lights streaked and warped. The gasps of the crowd warped into something like waves crashing against your skull. You folded yourself tighter, bone against bone, skin biting skin, until the ache in your body was the only tether left.
And then—
The tent was gone.
A flicker. A blink. The world snapped cold and sterile. Linoleum under your cheek. The hum of fluorescent lights. A faint cough from somewhere across the room.
You weren’t on the stage anymore. You were in Observation.
And your body was wrong—twisted, folded, bent tight against itself.
It wasn’t supposed to be like that. You never moved during observation, you’d been practicing since Pepper came back into your life.
Were you getting worse? Taking steps back? Why? How could you ever protect her if—
A voice cut in, sharp and impatient.
You flinched, looking up too fast. An orderly stood in the doorway, annoyance etched across his face. You hadn’t heard the door open. Had he been standing there? You weren’t even sure what was said.
You shook it off. You were good at that.
Slowly, you stood, careful with your aching joints and protesting muscles.
The orderly didn’t speak or look at you again. Simply turned and began walking. You followed, a careful three paces behind. Your feet dragged against the floor creating a sound that was pricking at your ears.
He stopped at your room and pushed the door open with a shove of his shoulder. The hinges gave a groan that seemed to stretch long after he’d let go. You stepped inside. The door shut.
Click.
The lock slid into place. Too sharp. Too final.
The fluorescent light hummed overhead, constant and thin, like a wire tightening against bone. You tried not to listen, but it crawled deeper the longer it went on. Somewhere down the hall a tray clattered—metal on tile, then voices, a laugh, a muffled curse. It all pressed through the walls.
Your breath caught. Too loud. You pressed your lips together, tried to breathe quieter, but the sound only grew inside your head. Your pulse joined it, thick and pounding, crowding out the space behind your eyes.
The hum, the slam, the laugh, the click of the door replaying in your skull.
You pressed your hands over your ears. The hum grew sharper. You let go. Now the hallway voices pressed closer. No escape. Every sound louder than the last.
You closed your eyes, but the noises came with you.
You slid down the wall until you were sitting on the floor, knees pulled in tight. The wool of your gown scratched against your skin. Another sound. Another thing you couldn’t turn off.
You pressed your feet flat to the floor.
Cold. Solid. Real.
You focused on it, counted your breaths the way you’d taught yourself to do. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Slow. Careful.
One.
Two.
Three.
The hum of the light didn’t fade.
You tried again. Named the room instead. Walls. Bed. Door. Sink. Cross. You traced each thing with your eyes, forcing your gaze to linger, to stick.
Your hands trembled in your lap.
They weren’t resting the way you’d left them. Your fingers had curled inward, wrists angled wrong, pulled too close to your chest. You stared at them, willing them to relax.
Move, you told them.
Just straighten. Just be still.
They didn’t.
A tight, ugly fear settled in your stomach. Not for yourself, that part came later, if at all, but for Pepper. For the way she leaned into you. For how she looked for you in every room.
You can’t slip, you thought. Not like this. If you fall into it once, it’ll never end. You can’t.
You forced your hands flat against the floor. The tile was cold enough to sting. You held them there, palms burning, until the shaking slowed.
Your breathing never quite steadied.
The sounds stayed too loud. The light stayed too bright. Time stretched thin and strange, pulling at you.
You stayed there like that until the noise dulled into something far away. Until you could stand again without swaying.
It wasn’t perfect. Or good. But it was better. It was passable.
Kit woke before the bell.
That wasn’t unusual. Briarcliff had a way of training your body to stay half-alert, even in sleep. He lay there for a minute, staring at the ceiling, listening to the building breathe — pipes knocking, someone coughing down the hall, the distant squeal of a cart being pushed too early.
When the bell finally shrieked, he was already sitting up.
Breakfast came and went the same way it always did. Lines. Trays. Noise that bounced off the walls until it felt like it lived in your skull. Kit scanned the room out of habit, eyes catching on the usual landmarks.
Pepper first.
She was across the room at her usual table, legs swinging under her chair, completely absorbed in her food. She looked fine. Happy, even.
Then her.
She was already seated where she always sat, head down, shoulders drawn in just a little tighter than usual.
Kit slowed a step.
Something was off. Not big. Not obvious. Just… wrong in the way you noticed when a familiar sound changed pitch.
She didn’t look up when he approached.
“You okay?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
She nodded, quick and sharp, like she wanted the question gone more than she wanted to answer it.
Kit didn’t sit right away.
She was off. Not distant or gone, but tight. Tense. Like when someone touches you with frozen hands. Her fingers were curled under the edge of the table, knuckles pale.
“Sleep alright?”
She hummed. Quiet and clipped.
Kit sat, but his attention stayed on her. He watched the way she moved—careful, measured. Like she was afraid of doing the wrong thing by accident. Like her body didn’t quite trust itself.
He’d seen the drifting. That blank, faraway look. This wasn’t that. But he couldn’t place what it was.
Across the room, Pepper laughed suddenly at something no one else seemed to notice, the sound carrying sharp and bright over the dull hum of the hall.
Her head lifted just a fraction at that. Not much. Just enough to check.
Kit followed her gaze. Pepper was still smiling, a half-eaten piece of toast clutched in her hands.
When he looked back, her eyes had already dropped to the table again.
Like that was all she needed. Just to make sure.
Kit felt something twist low in his chest.
She didn’t notice him watching. Or maybe she did and didn’t know what to do with it. Or didn’t care. Or maybe she was growing used to it. Either way, it left him sitting there with the quiet certainty that whatever was happening in her head wasn’t good.
And whatever it was, she wasn’t going to say it out loud.
Not yet.
Everything that came after breakfast was blurry. Every time Kit thought he’d get to see someone he actually knew, they just... weren’t there. Something felt so odd about today. More so than normal.
The hallway smelled faintly of bleach and wet wool. Same as always. Same choking mix that settled in the back of Kit’s throat no matter how long he stayed in this place.
Orderlies shuffled patients in every direction. Shoes scraped tile. Someone farther down the hall muttered prayers under their breath.
Kit didn’t want to admit it, but he was starting to think God didn’t answer prayers.
A woman laughed suddenly somewhere nearby — sharp, cracked, wrong. Another patient started crying almost immediately after, the sounds overlapping until Kit couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
Briarcliff had a way of making every noise feel trapped.
“Mr. Walker.”
Kit glanced up.
Sister Mary Eunice stood near the end of the corridor, hands folded neatly in front of her habit. Her smile appeared quickly, almost automatically, though it never quite settled right on her face.
“Outside time,” she said gently. “This way.”
Kit pushed himself off the wall he'd been leaning against and followed without arguing. Sister Mary Eunice wasn’t cruel the way some of the others were. Nervous, maybe. Too eager to please. But not cruel.
At least not yet.
The heels of her shoes clicked softly against the tile as she led the small group forward. She hummed under her breath — something low and church-like Kit didn’t recognize.
They passed the day room.
She wasn’t there.
Neither was Grace.
That strange feeling in his chest tightened another notch.
Sister Mary Eunice unlocked the back door and pushed it open. Cold air rushed inside immediately, crisp and damp and real enough to make Kit breathe deeper without meaning to.
His eyes scanned the dying grass.
The cold air bit at his bruised cheek. Damp grass bent beneath wandering feet, patients drifting in slow circles beneath the gray afternoon sky. A few sat on benches near the fence. Others smoked silently under the watch of the orderlies.
Then he saw her.
Beneath the tree.
Same spot as always. Finger drawing shapes into the dirt.
Something in his chest loosened a little at the sight of her sitting there, knees drawn up slightly, shoulders tucked in against the breeze. She looked small from this far away. Still. Too still.
Kit started toward her without thinking much about it.
Halfway across the yard, movement near the staff steps caught his attention.
A man stood near the doorway in a dark coat, one hand tucked into his pocket while the other held a clipboard loosely against his side. A doctor, probably. Briarcliff had plenty of them wandering around pretending they were doing something useful.
Kit recognized him vaguely. Probably one of those psychiatrists he was meant to have an appointment with. He’d seen him in the halls once or twice. Quiet type. Clean-cut. Didn’t carry himself like Arden did. Less swagger. More watching.
And he was watching now.
Not the yard.
Her.
Kit slowed almost without realizing it.
The doctor’s attention lingered too long to be casual. His expression didn’t give much away—calm, thoughtful maybe—but his eyes rarely left the tree.
Or the girl sitting beneath it.
For a second, something uneasy crawled up the back of Kit’s neck.
Then a patient nearby started shouting about snakes in the grass, breaking the moment apart. An orderly barked back. The doctor glanced away briefly, attention shifting toward the commotion like nothing had happened at all.
Kit frowned faintly.
Maybe he was imagining things.
Wouldn’t be the first time this place got under his skin.
He kept walking.
She hadn’t changed much since breakfast. Her hands rested near her lap, fingers flexing faintly against the fabric of her gown like she didn’t realize she was doing it. Her gaze fixed somewhere near the roots of the tree.
Not gone.
But close.
He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, you shifted slightly to make room for him, though there was already plenty of space beneath the tree.
You were used to it now. Sometime after getting outside, after you’d already begun tracing shapes into the dirt, you’d hear his heavy footsteps approaching. Usually wait for him say something just to make sure it was him. But today you just wanted him to be sitting beside you already. It was comforting. The routine, him, the certainty of it.
He sat beside you with a quiet groan, stretching one leg out into the grass. For a while, neither of you spoke. The yard buzzed softly around you—distant chatter, the squeak of the back gate, wind dragging dead leaves across the ground.
Closer now, Kit could see the exhaustion sitting under your skin. The faint stiffness in your posture. Briarcliff made everyone tense, still; this was different. He had hoped you just hadn’t slept well, but really, he knew better.
“You been out here long?” he asked.
You shrugged. “I think so.”
Think.
Not know.
Kit noticed that too.
He leaned back against the trunk, staring out toward the fence line. “Used to hate sittin’ still,” he admitted after a minute. “Back home, if I stayed in one place too long, my mama’d find somethin’ for me to fix.”
You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting the tugging at your lips. You glanced his way, those brown eyes looking back at you.
“Anything with parts.” He huffed a quiet laugh, like he knew what you were thinking without you asking. “Tractors mostly. Radios sometimes if I got lucky enough to get my hands on one.” His gaze averted to the ground as his own index finger joined yours in the dirt. “Wasn’t always good at it.”
A beat of silence. “But you liked it.”
“Yeah.” His voice softened some. “Liked figuring out how things worked. Felt good when you could take somethin’ busted apart and put it back together.”
The words settled quietly between you. Something about them made your chest ache. The normalcy. Imagining what his life was like before he got here made it ache.
Kit didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did and kept going anyway.
“Had a friend who used to get mad at me,” he continued. “Said I’d spend hours messing with junk nobody cared about.”
Your fingers stilled as you looked up at him. “Did it bother you?”
“Nah.” He moved his hand from the ground to pick a lose thread at his knee. “Guess I always figured if somethin’ was broken, that didn’t mean you gotta throw it away.”
Your gaze dropped after that.
To your hands. To the dirt. To the roots twisting beneath the tree.
Kit watched your expression shift—subtle enough most people probably wouldn’t catch it. But he was learning your silences. Learning you.
His voice grew quieter.
“What about you?” he asked. “What’s somethin’ you liked before all this.”
You were still for a long moment.
Then, your fingers began drawing circles again. “I used to climb trees.”
“Yeah...” Kit’s face softened. “Yeah, I remember you tellin’ me that before.”
“Oh,” You stopped again, looking up from your hand, though not at him. You searched your mind for the conversation and found only static.
How many moments had vanished without you even realizing they mattered? How many conversations were you in that you couldn’t even think of?
“What about somethin’ from the Freakshow?” His voice pulled you from your thoughts.
You looked at him for a beat, your eyes settling on his small, but encouraging smile.
“I liked when Pepper would laugh.” You murmured, looking down at the partially draw shape that your hand still hovered over.
Kit smiled a little at that. “I think you still like that.”
“Yeah, but...” The corners of your lips turned up. “She snorted. Every time. Like... like a...” You trailed off, the old sound replaying in your head. Then, you mimicked it.
The sound surprised him enough that he laughed. Not as controlled as usual. Not loud enough to be at you. That made you laugh, too.
Kit noticed the tension leave your shoulders for the first time all day.
The sound faded slowly between you.
Not awkward. Not empty either. Just quiet again.
But lighter now.
Kit glanced over at you, still catching traces of that rare smile lingering at the corners of your mouth. It looked strange on you—not wrong. Just unfamiliar, like something that hadn’t been used in a long time.
He liked it.
Happy always sounded like something you hadn’t been in a long time. And now? Every once in a while he got proof that he was bringing some of that back.
Across the yard, an orderly shouted for a few names to line up near the doors.
The moment cracked apart immediately.
Patients began shuffling across the grass, some muttering complaints under their breath while others moved automatically at the first command. Somewhere near the fence, a woman started arguing loudly with a nurse about staying outside another five minutes.
You were already pulling your hands back from the dirt.
Kit noticed how quickly you folded back into yourself once the shouting started. Your shoulders tightened again. Your gaze dropped. Like whatever brief softness had surfaced beneath the tree was something fragile enough to hide the second the world came rushing back in.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
A pause.
Then a small nod.
You stood carefully, brushing loose dirt from your palms against the thin fabric of your gown. Your joints still looked stiff when you moved. Kit frowned faintly, but stood too.
Neither of you said much as you started toward the building together.
Dead leaves crunched beneath your shoes. The closer you got to the doors, the louder Briarcliff seemed to become again—the clang of metal, raised voices from somewhere deeper inside, the low mechanical hum that never fully stopped.
You slowed once near the steps.
Kit looked over at you instinctively, slowing to a stop.
For a second, it almost seemed like you wanted to say something.
But whatever it was stayed caught somewhere behind your teeth.
Instead, he asked, “See you at dinner?”
Your eyes flicked up to his.
Then you gave a small nod. “Yeah.”
Simple as that.
An orderly pushed the door open, and the warmth of the building spilled out carrying the familiar smell of bleach and damp wool.
You hesitated only a second before stepping inside.
Kit lingered near the steps after the door shut behind you, staring at the spot where you disappeared.
“Well.”
Grace’s voice cut in from behind him.
Kit looked over his shoulder sharply, almost guilty, though he couldn’t have said why.
She was leaning against the brick wall near the side steps, arms crossed tight against the cold. A cigarette smoldered between her fingers, though she wasn’t really smoking it anymore. Just letting it burn.
Grace tilted her head slightly toward the closed door. “You gonna keep starin’ at it,” she asked, “should I get you a chair?”
Kit rolled his eyes faintly, looking away. “Shut up.”
That only made the corner of her mouth twitch.
Interesting.
Not angry.
Amused.
Grace pushed off the wall slowly and stepped closer. “Didn’t know Briarcliff romance was part of your grand escape plan.”
“Ain’t like that.”
“Mmhm.”
Kit shoved his hands into his pockets, jaw tightening slightly. “You got somethin’ you actually wanna say?”
Grace studied him for a second too long before answering.
“You look for her first now.”
That landed harder than he expected.
His expression shifted just enough to confirm it.
Grace noticed.
Of course she did.
“Forgot about Alma already?” she asked finally. Not cruel exactly. But not soft either.
Kit’s face hardened immediately.
Grace sighed through her nose, rubbing the cigarette out against the brick beside her. “Relax, I’m not accusing you of anything.” Her gaze flicked briefly toward the yard. “I just think you’re getting attached.”
“She needs somebody lookin’ out for her.”
Grace gave him a long look. “That what this is?”
Kit opened his mouth.
Stopped.
Because the truth was, he didn’t entirely know anymore.
Grace saw that too.
And suddenly some of the teasing faded from her expression, replaced by something more complicated. Not jealousy. Concern maybe. Frustration.
“You keep doing this,” she muttered.
“Doin’ what?”
“Trying to save people.” She folded her arms again. “That eats people alive, Kit. And the second you start thinking you can carry everybody out with you…” She shook her head faintly. “That’s when it gets dangerous.”
Kit looked back toward the doors.
“She ain’t dangerous.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”
The cold wind kicked up between them for a moment, dragging brittle leaves across the yard.
Grace’s voice softened just slightly after that.
“I’m not saying don’t care about her.” She glanced toward the building too. “God knows somebody should.”
Then her eyes settled back on him.
“I’m saying Briarcliff notices things.”
That made him look at her again.
But he didn’t respond. Couldn’t. And this was not the conversation he wanted to have.
“When’d you get out here anyways?” Kit crossed his arms over his chest. “Normally have to wait another few minutes for you.”
“Came from ‘round front,” Grace said like it was nothing. “And you’re changin’ the subject.”
Kit exhaled through his nose.
Grace tilted her head slightly, studying him again. “You know I’m right.”
“She’s had a rough couple days.”
“So’s everybody in here.”
“That ain’t the same.”
Grace’s eyes narrowed just slightly at that. Then she looked back toward the building doors.
“You keep doing this thing where you start collecting people.”
Kit frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means first it was Pepper.” She ticked it off with her fingers. “Then her. Couple days ago you tried convincing me Shelley should come too.”
Kit shrugged faintly. “Thought she’d be helpful.”
Grace barked out a short laugh. “Helpful?”
“She knows the building better than most people in here.”
“Yeah, and she’s fucked every orderly in it.”
“She ain’t wrong about everything.”
“That’s not the point.”
Kit’s jaw tightened again.
Grace stepped a little closer, lowering her voice. “You can’t bring everybody when we leave.”
“I ain’t tryin’ to.”
“Aren’t you?”
The question sat between them.
Kit looked back toward the doors again without meaning to. “What’s wrong with not wanting people left behind?”
She looked away, toward the fence line.
“What’s wrong,” she muttered, “is people panic.”
Kit stayed quiet.
“They get scared, hesitate, double back.” Her jaw tightened faintly. “They make stupid decisions and the more people around, the more likely that’ll happen.”
He chewed the inside of his lip.
“That happen to you before?”
Grace scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Everyone’s got a story like that.”
“Where is she?”
Jimmy’s voice cut through the midway sharp enough to turn heads.
Behind him, people were beginning to notice the shouting. A few performers lingered near the tents, uncertain. The twins stood half-hidden near the curtain entrance whispering to each other. Elsa remained farther back beneath the tent lights, tense and watchful but unmoving.
Dell slammed the car door shut harder than necessary.
“For Christ’s sake, Jimmy, lower your voice.”
“Where is she?”
Dell exhaled heavily through his nose like the question itself exhausted him. “She’s in the car.”
Jimmy froze.
Then immediately shoved past him toward the backseat.
The inside of the car was dim, lit only by weak yellow midway lights. You sat curled against the door, shoulders folded inward too tightly, one hand limp in your lap.
Your eyes were open.
But far away.
Wrong.
Jimmy’s stomach dropped.
He reached for the handle immediately.
Locked.
The sharp rattle of it made his expression twist. He yanked harder, like force alone might undo it. “Open the damn door.”
Behind him, Dell didn’t move. “She’s fine.”
“The hell she is.” Jimmy hit the window once with the flat of his palm before crouching lower, trying to catch your eyes through the glass. “Hey.”
His voice changed instantly. Softer now. Frightened.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
Your gaze shifted faintly toward him at the sound, delayed and unfocused.
Behind him, footsteps approached quickly through the gravel.
Paul.
He stopped beside the open car door, his expression tightening the moment he saw you.
“She’s dissociating,” he said sharply.
Dell rolled his eyes. “She had another episode. That’s all.”
Paul ignored him completely, keeping his attention on you instead. “How long’s she been like this?”
“Long enough,” Dell muttered.
Jimmy looked ready to tear him apart.
“She doesn’t even know where she is right now.”
“That’s exactly the problem,” Dell snapped back. “Customers are staring every damn night. Pepper gets upset, the audience gets nervous, and suddenly nobody remembers why they paid to come here in the first place.”
Paul’s jaw hardened.
“So your solution was what? Throw her in a car while she can barely respond?”
Dell stepped forward defensively. “She needs real help.”
“She needs somebody not taking advantage of an episode,” Paul shot back.
That drew more attention.
Murmurs spread quietly through the troupe now. Uneasy. Fractured.
Inside the car, your fingers twitched weakly against your dress at the rising voices.
Jimmy noticed immediately. He tried wrenching open the door again, as if he thought he could get in with just his hands.
Dell scoffed. “You can’t help her, Jimmy.”
Jimmy turned on him so fast the tension in the air snapped tight.
“You don’t know a damn thing about her.”
Dell folded his arms. “I know she’s getting worse.”
The words hung ugly in the night air.
Paul glanced toward Elsa briefly, like he expected her to step in.
She didn’t.
Nobody did.
Because nobody knew how anymore.
Everything had already been splintering for weeks—arguments, disappearing money, bad crowds, people turning on each other in quiet little ways that grew louder every day.
This was just another crack.
Only this time, you were trapped inside it.
Jimmy pressed his hands against the window now, trying to catch your gaze again.
“Sweetheart.” Softer. Careful. “Look at me.”
For one terrible second, it almost worked.
Recognition flickered faintly across your face.
Then Dell slammed his hand against the roof of the car.
The bang split the midway.
You flinched violently, folding tighter into yourself.
Gone.
Jimmy snapped.
He grabbed Dell by the front of his shirt, slamming him backward against the car.
“You did that on purpose.”
“Get off me.”
“You knew she was slipping!”
“She was already gone!” Dell barked back. “That’s the goddamn problem!”
The observation room door groaned open.
The sound hit first.
Then the light.
Harsh fluorescent white spilled across your vision as your body jerked hard enough to make your shoulder ache. For one disoriented second, you still expected to hear shouting. Gravel beneath tires. Jimmy’s voice.
Instead there was only Briarcliff.
Buzzing lights.
Shuffling shoes.
The smell of bleach.
Your breathing came unevenly as you blinked against the room. Your cheeks felt cold. Damp. A stray tear falling onto your hand.
An orderly stood in the doorway waiting impatiently.
“You done?” he muttered.
You looked down.
Your body had folded strangely against itself sometime during observation—one arm twisted tight against your stomach, fingers stiff from being curled too long. Pain crackled through your joints as you slowly forced yourself upright.
The orderly sighed loudly while you struggled.
Once you stepped outside and turned the corner, you saw him.
Dr. Thredson, clipboard in hand.
He offered a small smile when your eyes found him. Not warm. Not cruel either.
Interested.
Like he’d just seen something worth remembering.
“Rough afternoon?” he asked gently.
The question made heat crawl beneath your skin.
Because he said it so casually.
Like he hadn’t seen everything.
The orderly muttered something under his breath and continued down the hall before you could process it.
You stayed near the doorway a moment longer, arms tight around yourself.
The world still felt slightly tilted.
Observation always left you strange afterward, but this time felt worse. Your skin buzzed. Your thoughts wouldn’t settle properly. Fragments of memory still clung like cobwebs behind your eyes.
Jimmy yelling.
The slam of a hand against metal.
That awful feeling of disappearing while someone begged you not to.
“You’re shaking.”
Dr. Thredson’s voice pulled you back hard enough to make your stomach twist.
You hadn’t realized he’d stepped closer.
Not too close.
But closer.
“I’m fine,” you said automatically.
A lie built from habit.
His eyes flicked briefly toward your hands before returning to your face. “I didn’t say you weren’t.”
That caught you off guard.
Most people at Briarcliff decided things for you before you spoke.
Crazy.
Violent.
Unwell.
Gone.
But he said it differently. Calmly. Like he was waiting to see what you’d do.
It unsettled you more than yelling would have.
“You were in observation a long time today,” he said.
You shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t remember most of it.”
The admission slipped out before you could stop it.
Immediately, regret curled in your stomach.
But Thredson only nodded once, thoughtful rather than surprised.
“That happens often?”
Your jaw tightened.
There it was.
The real question.
Not concern.
Curiosity.
You knew that look.
Performers learned early when people were looking at them versus studying them.
Still—
He hadn’t touched you. Hadn’t cornered you. Hadn’t spoken to you like you were stupid.
That alone made the conversation harder to leave.
“I’m tired,” you murmured instead.
Something unreadable flickered briefly across his face before smoothing away again.
“Of course you are.”
Gentle.
Too gentle for Briarcliff.
He stepped aside then, giving you room to pass down the hallway.
You moved past him carefully, arms still tight around yourself.
Then:
“Miss Reverie.”
You winced at the name.
“I’ll be seeing you again soon,” Thredson said.
His tone remained calm. Professional. Like discussing the weather.
Still, something about it made your shoulders tense.
You gave a small nod without looking back.
Then continued down the hall, the fluorescent lights buzzing louder than before while the feeling of his attention lingered between your shoulder blades all the way to your room.
Can I requast a Robin x reader where they get caught by one of the charcters in the show (maybe like eddie or somthing) and they are scared that the person will tell everyone about them secretly dating?
I love your writing btw <3
Thank you! I hope enjoy this little blurb/oneshot, Anon <3
Warnings: queer (implied) romance in the 80s, little argument about hiding said romance, mostly gender neutral reader,
The fluorescent lights above Family Video buzzed like trapped insects.
One of them flickered every few seconds, briefly washing the aisles in a stuttering pulse of dim yellow before snapping back to life again. It made everything feel unreal. Like the store existed somewhere outside of Hawkins entirely, tucked between late fees and dusty VHS tapes.
The front doors were locked.
Steve had gone home nearly an hour ago after complaining dramatically about “child labor” when Dustin asked him to help move something. Max and Dustin had left with him.
Supposedly.
Robin stood behind the counter with her arms folded tight across her chest.
“You pulled away again.”
You sighed instantly, exhaustion dragging through your bones. “Robin…”
“No, seriously,” she said, voice sharper than usual. “What was I supposed to do there? Pretend I wasn’t talking to my own partner because Henderson walked into the room?”
You glanced toward the dark front windows instinctively, as if someone might be standing outside listening.
“That’s not fair.”
Robin laughed once. Nervous. Bitter. Wrong.
“Not fair?” she echoed. “You think I like pretending you’re just my friend all the time?”
The words landed hard between the shelves.
Usually, Robin covered fear with jokes. Endless spiraling jokes. Words stacked on words until nobody noticed her shaking underneath them.
Not tonight.
Tonight her voice cracked around the edges.
You lowered yours immediately. “Keep it down.”
“There it is,” Robin muttered, throwing her hands into the air. “That. Every single time.”
“Because this is Hawkins, Robin.”
“And?”
“And people here talk!”
You hated how panicked you sounded.
Robin’s expression flickered.
Not anger anymore.
Hurt.
Deep, bruised hurt.
“We fought monsters together,” she said quietly. “Interdimensional nightmare monsters. But holding my hand in public is where you draw the line?”
“That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?”
You opened your mouth.
Nothing came out.
Because the answer sat ugly and heavy in your throat.
Fear.
Fear of the wrong person seeing.
Fear of whispers.
Fear of your family finding out.
Fear of becoming one more thing Hawkins decided was wrong.
Robin looked away first, jaw tight.
“You know what sucks?” she said softly. “I’m actually starting to forget what it feels like to just…” She gestured helplessly between the two of you. “Be normal with you.”
Something in your chest twisted painfully.
“Robin…”
“No, because I get it, okay? I do.” Her voice shook now despite her obvious attempts to steady it. “I know why you’re scared. I’m scared too.”
That hurt even worse.
Because Robin admitting fear felt rare. Like seeing the wiring underneath a neon sign.
Before you could respond, a sneaker squeaked somewhere near the front entrance.
All the air left your lungs.
Robin froze.
Slowly, horribly slowly, both of you turned toward the sound.
Dustin stood near the new release rack holding a forgotten backpack in one hand.
Max stood beside him.
Neither of them looked like they knew what to do with their faces.
The silence that followed felt catastrophic.
Robin went pale instantly.
You felt your stomach drop so hard it was almost physical pain.
Dustin lifted both hands immediately. “Okay,” he blurted. “We were not spying. For the record. This was accidental espionage.”
Max elbowed him hard.
“Ow.”
Nobody spoke.
You could practically hear your pulse roaring in your ears.
Robin took a small step backward like instinct was already telling her to run.
“This…” you started, voice thin. “You can’t…”
You didn’t even know how to finish the sentence.
Look at us differently.
Tell anyone.
Ruin this.
Dustin’s expression shifted abruptly.
The panic on your face must have finally registered because his own faded into something more stunned than awkward.
“Wait,” he said slowly. “You guys thought we’d tell people?”
Neither you nor Robin answered.
And that was answer enough.
Max’s face softened immediately.
Not pity.
Understanding.
“You’re scared,” she said quietly.
Robin gave a brittle laugh. “Congratulations, Mayfield. Gold star observational skills.”
“Robin,” you warned gently.
“No, it’s fine,” Robin said quickly, though she sounded seconds away from completely unraveling. “This is great actually. Fantastic. Super fun development. Love surprise audiences.”
Dustin frowned.
“Why would we care?”
You stared at him.
It almost made things worse somehow.
Not because he was being cruel.
Because he wasn’t.
Because for them, acceptance came easy in a way the world had never allowed for you or Robin.
“You don’t get it,” you said quietly.
Max did, though.
You could tell immediately.
Maybe because she knew what it felt like to be watched all the time in Hawkins. Judged. Boxed in. Forced into survival mode.
Her voice stayed careful when she spoke again.
“My mom talks about people sometimes,” she admitted. “People in town.” She glanced toward Robin briefly. “I know how they are.”
Robin looked down at the floor.
The fluorescent light buzzed overhead again.
Dustin looked between the three of you, realization dawning slowly and painfully across his face.
“Oh,” he said.
A beat passed.
Then another.
Then Dustin straightened abruptly, clutching his backpack strap tighter.
“Well,” he declared with surprising firmness, “they suck.”
Robin blinked.
“What?”
“Hawkins,” Dustin clarified. “The people. Not you guys.” He grimaced. “Obviously.”
A startled sound escaped Robin before she could stop it. Half laugh, half something dangerously close to crying.
Dustin kept going now that he’d started.
“I mean seriously, after everything we’ve seen? Monsters, government conspiracies, alternate dimensions, Vecna looking like a burnt hotdog person…” He waved a hand vaguely. “This barely even cracks the top ten weird things in my life.”
Max snorted quietly.
Robin pressed the heel of her palm hard against one eye.
You realized suddenly that her shoulders were shaking.
Not with fear anymore.
Relief.
Small. Fragile. But real.
Max stepped closer first.
“We’re not telling anyone,” she said simply.
Dustin nodded immediately. “Absolutely not.”
The sincerity in his voice hit like a tidal wave.
Because they meant it. No hesitation. No disgust. No judgment.
Just certainty.
Robin finally looked at you then.
Really looked at you.
Eyes bright and exhausted and painfully open.
For a second neither of you spoke.
Then, carefully, like approaching a frightened animal, you reached for her hand.
Robin inhaled sharply the moment your fingers linked together.
No hiding. No pretending. No jerking away.
Just warmth.
Dustin immediately looked anywhere else.
“Wow,” he announced loudly to the ceiling. “The ceiling sure is… extremely ceiling today.”
Max rolled her eyes so hard it was practically audible.
But she smiled a little too.
And for the first time in a long while, the fear inside your chest loosened just enough to let you breathe.
Hi! I had this idea where Robin Buckley and reader are secretly dating. And than somthing bad almost happens to Robin(like getting pulled to the upside down for a moment or something) in one of their fights and when reader finds out Robin's ok she shows too much affection in relief, causing the other people from the group to be suspicious of them/ figure out they're dating and ask them about it, being accepting :)
Sorry if I explained it poorly, English isn't my first language.
You explained it great! I'm sorry in advance, Anon, this definitely wasn't my best work but I wanted to post it even if I'm years late. I hope you enjoy it, I made it quite light-hearted :)
Warnings: Everyone feels a bit OOC lol, brief mention of injuries, fem reader, idk what else
The world smelled like burned metal and wet earth.
Nancy was still shouting something from deeper in the tunnel system, her flashlight beam jerking wildly across the walls, but you barely heard her over the rushing in your ears.
Robin had disappeared.
One second she’d been there beside Steve, arguing breathlessly about left or right, and the next the ground beneath her had split open with a horrible shriek. Vines snapped around her ankle and yanked.
“ROBIN!”
Her scream cut off sharply.
You moved before you even thought about it.
Steve caught your arm. “Hey, hey, wait!”
“She’s down there!”
“No kidding!” he snapped, already trying to pull a vine loose from the wall. “We’re getting her back!”
The seconds stretched into centuries.
Dustin and Erica were shouting over each other. Nancy hacked at the vines with her knife. Somewhere nearby, the Upside Down groaned like a living thing waking up.
Then suddenly:
“Okay! Okay, Jesus Christ, I’m coming up!”
Robin’s voice.
Alive.
A muddy hand burst through the opening first, followed by Robin herself, scraped bloody and gasping as Steve and Nancy hauled her the rest of the way out.
The second you saw her, something inside you cracked wide open.
You dropped to your knees beside her so fast you almost slipped.
“Oh my God,” you breathed.
Robin blinked at you, startled. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.”
Your hands were everywhere before you could stop them. Checking her face. Her shoulders. Her arms. Like if you let go for one second she’d disappear again.
There was blood smeared near her temple.
Your stomach twisted violently.
“You could’ve died,” you whispered, voice breaking.
Robin looked stunned. Not because of the danger. Because of you.
And then, in front of everybody, you grabbed her face and kissed her.
Hard.
Relieved. Shaking. Furious. Alive.
For one full second nobody moved.
Then:
“Wait.”
Steve’s voice.
You pulled away instantly, horror crashing over you almost as fast as the relief had.
Robin looked equally panicked.
Dustin’s mouth dropped open so far it looked medically concerning.
Erica pointed dramatically between the two of you. “I KNEW IT.”
“You knew?” Steve exclaimed. “How did you know?!”
“She literally looks at Robin like she hung the moon.”
“You didn’t tell me my best friend had a secret girlfriend?”
Robin sat up slowly, still pale. “Can we maybe focus on the interdimensional death cave first?”
“No, absolutely not,” Steve said immediately. “This is huge.”
Nancy, somehow the calmest person there, crouched beside Robin with the world’s tiniest smile. “How long?”
Robin glanced at you.
Your face still felt hot enough to melt steel.
“…Seven months,” she admitted quietly.
Steve looked genuinely wounded. “Seven months?!”
“We were gonna tell everybody eventually,” you muttered.
“Eventually?” Dustin cried. “You guys were worse at hiding this than Lucas and Max.”
Robin groaned and covered her face with both hands. “That is objectively false,” She mumbled into her hands.
“You stare at each other like divorced poets in foreign films,” Erica replied.
Despite everything, despite the terror still clawing at your ribs, you laughed shakily.
Robin peeked at you through her fingers.
You reached over carefully this time, brushing dirt from her cheek.
“You scared the hell out of me,” you said softly.
Her expression melted immediately.
“Sorry.”
And just like that, Steve threw both arms into the air dramatically.
i feel like people aren't getting how dire ai is. we are running out of drinkable water. our brains aren't engaging as much with what we see and hear. people near data centers don't get clean water and experience electricity blackouts. it's being used to make pornography of underaged people and women. it often just lies. it affirms everything. it lies. it has made people kill themselves. it lies for gods sake. and people act as if im dramatic for being staunchly against it. 'now i KNOOW you hate ai and whatever, but look at this cute video' this isn't me being a new age puritan about internet videos, this is about the fucking earth and our future living on this planet. people are suffering now, people will suffer more, and my friends and parents will roll their eyes and think im annoying for despising ai so explicitly. we need to wake up because we cannot live like this
Hey idk if you know the movie possession from 1981 but i was wondering if you could write a fic based off of the scene when the female character cuts her neck with an electric knife with any of evans ahs characters. Also i love your writing ☁️💗
(if you don’t feel comfortable writing something like that I understand ofc)
I loved this idea, like using specific scenes as inspiration is so fun to me. Also I’m sorry about the literal years that have passed, I’m finally gonna clear out my requests by writing them :) sorry for any mistakes!
Thank you for the request and understanding. I originally started writing this with James Patrick March, but then realized it was too similar to something I’m already working on with him, so I re-did it with Kai.
I hope you enjoy, Anon ❤️
Warnings: Depictions of violence, fem reader, reader has a mental break, electric knife, Kai leans more to his canon self, reader does not harm herself(I wanted to lean more onto the emotional beats of the og scene), I believe that’s all
The house had stopped feeling like a house weeks ago.
Now it felt like a waiting room. A place people passed through on their way to Kai.
Phones ringing. Front doors opening and slamming. Voices carrying down hallways at three in the morning. Campaign volunteers rotting into cult members rotting into shadows that sat at the kitchen table and spoke in circles until sunrise. Everyone wanted something from him. Guidance. Approval. Salvation.
And stupidly, embarrassingly, so did you.
At first, it had felt intoxicating to be near him. Kai had a way of speaking that made every sentence sound like the beginning of a revolution. Like he could carve meaning out of empty air and shove it straight into your lungs. Being loved by him, or whatever warped version of love he was capable of, had felt important. Necessary.
Now it just felt exhausting.
Because Kai only loved people when they reflected something back at him.
Devotion. Loyalty. Need.
The second you became complicated, the second you needed something in return, his attention wandered elsewhere. To the campaign. To meetings. To late-night speeches muttered at the dining room table to people too tired or too brainwashed to argue back.
Lately, he barely looked at you at all.
The worst part was that you couldn’t even decide whether he was doing it on purpose.
Maybe this was intentional. Maybe Kai liked watching people unravel around him. Or maybe he simply didn’t notice when they did.
Neither option felt better.
The TV buzzed softly from the living room, throwing pale static-light across the walls. Some late-night news anchor talking about polling numbers in a voice that sounded syrupy and distorted through exhaustion.
You sat curled at the kitchen counter in one of Kai’s old shirts, picking absentmindedly at chipped nail polish. The digital clock on the microwave blinked 2:13 AM in violent green.
You hadn’t slept properly in days.
Every time you closed your eyes, your brain kept moving anyway. Thoughts circling like flies trapped beneath a glass. You’d started hearing things occasionally too. Not voices exactly. More like sounds stretching strangely. The hum of appliances becoming unbearable. Water dripping too loudly. Kai’s voice replaying in your head long after he’d stopped speaking.
Sacrifice requires discomfort.
People only become something meaningful through pain.
Fear is transformation.
You swallowed hard.
The front door opened.
Laughter drifted in first. Male voices. Shoes against hardwood. Then Kai finally appeared in the kitchen doorway, sleeves rolled up, hair messy from running his hands through it all night. There was lipstick-red irritation smeared beneath his eyes from exhaustion, but he still carried himself like he’d just stepped onto a stage.
He stopped when he saw you still awake.
Not concerned.
Annoyed.
“Jesus,” he muttered, tossing his keys onto the counter. “You’re still up?”
Something inside you twisted unpleasantly at that.
Not are you okay?
Not why are you awake?
Just mild irritation. Like you were another light accidentally left on in the house.
Behind him, someone laughed at something downstairs. The sound scraped across your skull.
Kai opened the fridge, barely glancing your way. “You’ve gotta stop doing this weird insomniac shit. You look like a corpse.”
You stared at him.
He didn’t notice.
Or maybe he did. Maybe that was worse.
The refrigerator light spilled pale gold across his face as he grabbed a beer, already halfway somewhere else mentally. Already moving past you before the conversation had even begun.
Your chest felt tight suddenly. Hot.
“Kai.”
“Hm?”
Finally, he looked over.
And there it was again. That horrible distracted expression. Like you were interrupting something more important just by existing near him.
Your fingers curled tighter against the countertop.
“I feel like I’m disappearing here.”
Kai snorted softly, not even cruel about it. Just dismissive.
“Everybody feels dramatic at two in the morning.” He took a sip from the bottle. “Go to bed.”
The fridge door shut with a dull thump.
Then Kai was gone again.
His footsteps disappeared down the hallway alongside the low murmur of conversation from downstairs, another meeting bleeding into another night. Someone laughed loudly. Kai answered them a second later, easy and charismatic already, his voice smoothing itself into something warm for everybody else.
For everybody else.
You stared at the empty doorway long after he’d disappeared from it.
The kitchen suddenly felt too bright.
Too loud.
The refrigerator hummed in the silence. The ancient fluorescent bulb over the stove buzzed faintly, flickering every few seconds hard enough to make your eyes ache. Even the clock on the microwave seemed louder now, each tiny electronic click scraping against the inside of your skull.
2:17 AM
2:17 AM
2:17 AM
You dragged both hands down your face harshly.
“Go to bed.”
The mocking simplicity of it made something ugly twist in your stomach.
Like exhaustion was the problem.
Not him.
Not this house.
Not the endless parade of people swallowing pieces of him while you sat upstairs rotting quietly into the furniture.
Your knee bounced rapidly beneath the counter.
You needed something to drown the noise out.
The TV muttered from the living room. The refrigerator hummed. Pipes creaked somewhere in the walls. Downstairs, Kai’s voice rose and fell rhythmically, every word blending together into meaningless static until you couldn’t tell whether he was giving a speech or laughing or arguing anymore.
You stood abruptly.
The movement made your vision blur for half a second.
Cabinet door.
Cup.
Sink.
Water splashing too cold against your fingers.
You gripped the edge of the counter harder.
Breathe.
God, even your own breathing sounded wrong.
Sharp.
Wet.
You laughed once under your breath at that. A tiny accidental sound.
Then again.
Not because anything was funny. More because suddenly you couldn’t stop hearing yourself. Every movement felt exaggerated somehow. Like your body had become something separate from you, performing badly in front of an invisible audience.
You pressed your palms against your eyes until stars burst behind them.
Kai’s voice echoed through your head again.
People only become something meaningful through pain.
The words repeated.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Your gaze drifted downward absently as you opened another drawer.
Utensils shifted softly inside.
Metal glinting under the fluorescent light.
You pushed things around without really looking. Wooden spoon. Scissors. Batteries. Takeout menus stained with grease.
Then your fingers brushed cold plastic.
The electric carving knife.
You stared at it for a moment.
White handle. Long serrated blades locked together at the center. Innocent-looking in the strange way kitchen appliances always were. Harmless until they weren’t.
Your hand closed around it slowly.
Somewhere downstairs, applause erupted suddenly around Kai’s voice.
Your throat tightened.
The knife whirred violently to life in your hand.
BZZZZZZZ
You flinched hard at the noise, then laughed again despite yourself.
The vibration traveled all the way up your arm.
Too loud.
Too loud.
But you didn’t turn it off.
Instead you pressed the back of your wrist against your mouth, laughing shakily into your skin while the blade buzzed beside your ear like a living thing.
And downstairs, Kai kept talking.
Talking.
Talking.
Like you were already gone.
He noticed it as a gap before he noticed it as a sound.
Kai was mid-sentence when it happened, his voice still carrying the shape of persuasion, of certainty, of something designed to hold a room together.
But something tugged loose anyway.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
Just… wrong.
The kitchen above him had gone quiet in a way it shouldn’t have.
No footsteps. No cabinet movement. No restless, half-present pacing that he’d grown used to ignoring the way one ignores a refrigerator hum.
Even the house itself seemed to hesitate.
Kai stopped speaking.
A few faces turned toward him expectantly, waiting for the thread to pick back up, waiting for him to become what he always was for them again.
He didn’t.
His attention drifted upward instead, slow at first. Irritated more than concerned.
Then sharper.
Because there it was.
A sound that didn’t belong in the rhythm of the house.
A high, mechanical whir.
BZZZZZZZ
Kai’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
Someone in the room laughed at something that wasn’t funny. Another voice tried to fill the silence he’d left behind.
He didn’t respond.
He was already moving.
Upstairs.
Each step measured, controlled. Not urgency. Not panic. Kai didn’t do panic. Just correction. Like a system returning to balance after a disturbance.
The hallway light flickered as he passed beneath it.
Of course it did.
The house always behaved like it was thinking when things went wrong.
The sound grew louder as he approached the kitchen.
The buzzing.
Constant now.
Unmistakable.
Kai stopped just outside the doorway.
For a moment, he didn’t enter.
He simply observed.
Because what he saw didn’t immediately resolve into something useful.
You were there.
In the kitchen light that was too harsh, too exposed. Curled slightly into yourself like the posture of someone trying to fold inward and disappear. One hand near your face, the other gripping something he couldn’t quite identify at first because your body was moving in small, unsteady rhythms that didn’t match intention.
And then he saw the knife.
Running.
Bzzzzzzing violently in your hand like a trapped insect.
For the first time in a long time, Kai didn’t have a ready interpretation.
Not manipulation.
Not defiance.
Not attention-seeking.
Just… dissonance.
His voice came out quieter than it usually did.
Not softer.
Careful.
“What are you doing?”
It wasn’t a question that expected an answer.
It was a question that expected correction.
You didn’t respond immediately.
That, more than anything, shifted something in him.
Because you always answered.
Even when you resisted. Even when you argued.
If it was him? You responded.
Now you were laughing.
Low. Unstable. Like hair catching static.
The knife whirred again as your grip adjusted slightly.
Kai stepped fully into the kitchen.
The sound of the room changed immediately behind him. Like the house itself recalibrated around his presence.
He didn’t take his eyes off you.
“Turn it off.”
Still no compliance.
That was new.
Unacceptable, even.
He took another step closer.
The buzzing filled the space between you like something alive.
And then Kai saw your face properly.
Not performative distress.
Not emotional escalation.
Something looser than that. Less structured. Like you weren’t fully anchored to the moment he was standing inside of anymore.
And for the first time, his irritation faltered into something he didn’t like naming.
Uncertainty.
“…Hey.”
A pause.
Smaller now.
Less controlled.
“What are you doing?”
And the worst part, the part Kai didn’t have language for yet, was this:
It didn’t feel like you were doing anything at all.
It felt like something had already happened, and he was late to it.
The first thing you registered was the buzzing.
Not sound.
But pressure.
It filled your arm like carbonation under skin, shaking the edges of your thoughts loose until they stopped sitting neatly in a row.
BZZZZZZZ
Too bright. Too sharp. Too alive.
You blinked hard.
The kitchen was still there, but it didn’t feel like it belonged to anything real anymore. The walls looked slightly too far away. The light too white. The air too thin, like it had been stretched.
Your hand was still closed around the knife.
You didn’t remember deciding to hold it like that.
Or maybe you did.
Time felt… unreliable.
Footsteps.
Somewhere.
Above you? Beside you? Inside the house?
Then a shift in the room.
Not sound. Not sight.
Presence.
Like gravity had changed its mind.
Your head turned slowly.
Kai was in the doorway.
That should have meant something.
It didn’t fully arrive.
He was speaking. You could see his mouth move. The shape of words forming and breaking apart before they reached meaning.
“What are you doing?”
You laughed again.
It slipped out without permission, light and wrong, like it belonged to someone else watching you from slightly above your body.
Doing.
The word felt funny.
You weren’t doing anything.
You were just… here.
The knife buzzed louder when your grip tightened by accident, and the sound made your shoulders jerk.
Your gaze dropped to it again.
Oh.
Still on.
You lifted it slightly, watching the vibration blur the air around it.
Fascinating.
Like a small storm you were holding in your hand.
Kai said something else.
His voice sounded different now. Closer. Sharper at the edges. Like he was trying to pull you back into alignment with him.
“Turn it off.”
Turn it off.
Right.
That would probably help.
Your thumb searched for the switch.
It didn’t land correctly at first.
The world kept slipping sideways every time you tried to focus on a single point. The refrigerator hummed too loudly. The clock clicked too aggressively. Your heartbeat felt like it was happening in a different room.
You tried again.
Still buzzing.
Still wrong.
A small sound escaped you, halfway between a laugh and something else.
“I think it’s stuck,” you said, though you weren’t sure you had meant to speak at all.
Kai moved closer.
That you understood more clearly.
Movement meant danger. Or control. Or something.
You tilted your head slightly, studying him like he was also part of the kitchen now. Another object with unclear function.
His face looked tense.
Focused.
Almost… alarmed?
That felt incorrect.
Kai didn’t get alarmed.
That was not in the system.
The knife vibrated harder in your hand and you flinched at it, bringing it instinctively closer to your chest as if it had startled you personally.
Your breath hitched.
“Oh,” you whispered, soft and strange, realization arriving late like a train that had missed its stop and kept going anyway.
“You’re here.”
And suddenly, that mattered more than the knife.
More than the buzzing.
More than the kitchen.
Because if Kai was here, then something in you had finally succeeded in getting his attention.
Even if everything else had to fall apart to make it happen.
So, obvi I haven’t been on here in months. I’m not gonna be a broken record and say “I’m gonna be consistent again!” Cause let’s be real I’m gonna end up disappearing. But, I’ve been working on some fics so I might end up posting a few things soon :)
