Screams echoed throughout the halls, gasping, and panicked, each one pouring out of a gaping, horrified mouth. Throat blooded and scraped raw, shrieks of pain filled fear howled unapologetically loud; small frame trembling, teeth audibly chattering together from the violent twitching. Thin, frail legs kicked out, banging fruitlessly against a large chest, head thrashing from side to side, spraying droplets of hot salty tears across the dark room. Eyes clenched shut, squeezed impossibly tight, heart pounding like a jackhammer.
A large hand reached out, thick digits splaying over the span of his face, nails digging into the hot flesh of his cheeks slightly, gripping harshly as they titled him to one side, exposing his fluttering pulse. Grunting, the larger figure adjusted themselves, pushing down the tiny, flailing limbs and anchoring them to the cold floor with a well-positioned shove of the knees. Tutting, it huffed on annoyance, words oozing with exasperation.
"Really? We have to do it like this every time?" A click of the tongue and a fidget in stance as the body started bucking uncontrollably, "If you didn't insist on pulling a strop like this, it would have been over by now."
Apparently unconcerned with the larger frames plight, the thrashing became more frenzied, dry croaking cries vibrating from their chest, wailing louder and louder, the side of their face being forced against the tile, lips curling up in despair.
Sighing heavily in disappointment, a needle was produced from their coat pocket, pressure hardening as they leaned closer, the sharp, pointed tip an inch away from its mark.
"Nononono! Please!" Squeaky and hoarse, their voice wobbled, "I'll be good- please don't- I don't like-"
Stuttered pleas for mercy ran silent, choked off in a fit of agony as the delicate flesh of their neck got pierced roughly, the plunger sinking down torturously slowly, thick black sludge entering his bloodstream with a burning ache.
"There we go." The words were purred, the owner grossly satisfied with their achievement, "Was that so bad?"
In one fell swoop, the needle was ripped out, crimson oozing sluggishly from the wound. Crackled gasps and harsh sobs rattled out of the victim's body, heaving hard.
Fingers carded themselves through thick, untameable brown locks, tangling in a way which was supposed to be comforting. A quiet shushing noise came out of the wickedly grinning mouth, mock patient and tender, "What are we ever going to do with you, Thomas? My sickly boy?"
Acid pushed up his throat, crawling desperately up his oesophagus, nausea coiling unpleasantly in his gut the longer he listened to the gentle cooing.
"Father, please-"
"You'll be strong one day; my perfect creation," Lips traced his hairline, a loving kiss placed on his brow, "My classic, stupid, Tom."
—
Lids fluttering rapidly, a dazed pair of black eyes cracked open an inch, glancing around unseeingly as white blinding lights burnt into the back of his retinas. Squeezing them back closed, a groan tumbled from his grimacing mouth, head tilting back in a half-hearted stretch.
Smacking his lips, he glanced around warily, absorbing the minimal scenery. Walls washed a sterile hospital white, clean tiles spread across the floor, a screen of clear plastic separating him from the labelled exit, a neat line of circles ran across the middle, cut into the smooth surface to allow a flow of oxygen to enter the otherwise airtight room. Being mostly barren of any other accessories, the only furniture in the small room being the cramped stretcher he had been laid flat upon. A single, soft pillow cradled the back of his skull- surprisingly comfortable, and unsurprisingly as white as the rest of the small room- an IV pole lurking close to his bedside, fluid bags empty and hanging limp.
Where the fuck was he this time?
Waking up in foreign places was apparently becoming a bad habit of his.
His alcoholism seemed strangely pathetic and minimal in comparison.
Ah, the good old days of empty Smirnoff bottles and vomit soaked carpets- just where had they gone to? They seemed a lot more comforting than the hospital-stroke-laboratory he had been left to rot in.
Grunting, he sat up, leaning lazily on his arms as he looked down, seeing the pale expense of his chest, stomach and thighs. Biting his lip in a mixture of irritation and embarrassment, he bitterly realised he had been stripped of his clothing- only having his black and white checkered boxers remaining on his body.
"Lame." He huffed, rolling his eyes- feeling oddly hollow without Florence covering his nearly naked form.
Wiggling his fingers testingly, he winced slightly, hissing in pain as his bones jostled the needle embedded into the back of his hand. Squinting, he deliberated on whether to just pull the infernal thing out- it wasn't pushing anything through his system at the moment, so what was the point of it staying?
Besides, he hated needles.
The further away they were from his person, the better.
Ripping it out, he clenched his teeth shut, jaw tense as blood welled up from the open wound. Throwing it to the floor, he jumped off of the flimsy medical bed, swaying lightly on his feet. Stumbling around, he steadied himself with his bleeding arm, smearing the crimson ooze into the thin sheet.
Snorting at his own incompetence, he wobbled, feeling an uncomfortable twinge in his side. Groping around his torso, he found a set of tightly wound bandages, crusted flakes of blood staining the gauze.
Face scrunching up, he vaguely remembered being tased, the metal poles tearing into his dress and shocking him unconscious. He must have been hauled the rest of the way, slung over some rando's shoulder like a sack of filthy, effeminate potatoes.
He never was good at first impressions.
A gasp and the distinct clatter of a clipboard being dropped to the floor interrupted his musings, gaze flickering upwards to see a young brown-haired woman in a long lab coat. Her face was pale, and her eyes wide, mouth gaped open in shock, horrified wrinkles outlining her features.
To be fair, he would be surprised too if he found a half-naked man in his room.
Hands cupped delicately over her lips, she uttered a shaky, "You're awake? Wha-"
Bending down to collect her abandoned notes, she flipped through them hurriedly, the papers crinkling loudly at the rushed movements, hands shaking from barely concealed nerves.
Tom watched, eyebrow upturned and mouth pressed into a neutral line. Learning from experience, he just had to be silent in order to hear any kind of expositional dialogue.
Fumbling for a few more moments, she seemed to find the information she needed, a single finger tracing the lines of text, lips moving as she read. Eyebrows knitted together in confused disbelief, she looked up, a heavy frown on her features, "Do you do a lot of drugs?"
Not expecting that, Tom choked, leaning forward and gripping his stomach. Gasping out a weak, "No?"
"Apparently you have enough horse tranquilisers in your system to put yourself in a coma- how are you even-" Not even finishing her thought, she shook her head, "How do you feel? Everything working as it should?"
Roaming his gaze over her, he paused, humming faintly as he internally analysed his body, overly aware of every inch of his bare form. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders in a non-committal gesture, murmuring a soft reluctant noise of indifference.
Silence hung heavily over the room for a few seconds, the nervous young women nodding awkwardly in acceptance. Looking away, she pulled a face, "I-I need to talk to my superiors- this isn't-"
Without finishing, she turned promptly on her heel, spinning around to plough her way back through the door, exiting the room.
Completely bewildered, Tom sighed, wrapping his arms around his chest, shaking his head as he was reminded of the fact he was distressing bare.
Having nothing else to do, he paced the small rectangle of his quarters, running a single finger along the surface of the walls as he stalked by, feet slapping against the dazzling tile. Doing it gave him a bizarre sense of purpose, mapping out the little nooks and imperfections that lurked in plain sight, the beginnings of a plan forming in his foggy brain.
Rather worryingly, the monster inside of his mind seemed to be silent for the moment, not piping up on the recent events, or scratching its long talons along the sides of his skull, antagonising him in a fit of boredom. Instead, he had the uneasy stillness of being alone, something that he hadn't experienced since he was very young.
How did normal people cope?
Fluorescent lights blared overhead, flickering and buzzing with electricity. Both of them together made his eyes hurt, and head ache, the droning hum grating on his nerves. Lit up as he was, the constant blinding spotlight ironically made himself feel even more naked.
After of what could have been a few minutes, or perhaps a few hours of patrolling, he sat down with a heavy sigh, his back facing the plastic separator and the door. Crossing his legs, he cradled his foot against his opposite thigh, gently thumbing the long scratch on the underside, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he spaced out.
Unaware of the other body entering the room, he sat still, staring blankly into the blank void of the wall, breathing muted. He only became enlightened of the other's presence when they cleared their throat, the sound cutting sharply through the strained silence.
A tingle ran down his spine, goosebumps crawling up his sides, breath hitching and heart freezing in his chest as he heard the achingly familiar growl of a deep Norwegian accent.
"Welcome back, Thomas."
--
A/N: Guess who has the Sads™️?? It's this guy! Oh boy, depression makes writing hard.
Anyway! This chapters art is from the user @Smugegg (great name btw) !
I love the colour palette that you've used! And honestly? I wished I could make my bent arms look that natural.