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.
Grace glanced toward Kit. “You seem awfully chipper.”
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.
Toward the chapel.
Toward whatever was waiting for you there.
