Bedlam: Two
Title: Bedlam
Rating: M
Warnings: Nothing this chapter.
Paring: KuramaxHiei
Summary: There was going to be a new arrival tomorrow, they say that he thinks he's a dragon. It's not so strange when I think about it, after all, I am a fox aren’t I? Or at least that's what he says. My other self.
Notes: I think this makes even less sense than the last one.
Previous Chapters: 1 2
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Chapter Two
Inside, Outside.
“Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.”
Carl Gustav Jung
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Once Youko had woken in the middle of a group session, taken hold of his plastic chair and swung it at the nurse and social worker before attacking one of the other patients in blind rage. The episode had occurred not long after Shuuichi and he had spoken to each other for the first time, Shuuichi himself had been on edge for two weeks before Youko had finally literally pushed Shuuichi down and taken control for a good month.
Since then he had undergone group and one on one sessions with his hands restrained.
It was in a private session with the social worker, Botan, and Shuuichi’s doctor that Kurama had emerged, they had spoken to each other - Kurama and Youko- something not normally possible between patients with multiple personality disorders. Along with that came the strangeness of having a mere four personalities instead of the average seven or above. Where most peoples minds had splintered into many different disorders, Shuuichi - the original, the host - had only created new personalities when he could not handle certain situations.
Youko was all the rage and vanity that Shuuichi himself had been to weak to muster up, Kurama was the strength to question and command Youko’s abilities.
“Who are you?” the doctor had asked, sitting on the old and worn gray couch beside Kurama, his hands clasped in his lap and legs crossed.
“I am better than Youko,” had been his first words, immediately countered by Youko. He surfaced with a sneer, pulled at the cords that restrained his hands by his sides - but still allowed him room to move - and positioned his fingers as if he were attempting to choke the very air before him.
“You are not,” he said, leaning forwards on the couch, and staring at his fists as they clenched and unclenched.
“You have no control over me.” The as yet unnamed personality countered, smiling warmly up at the ceiling.
“We’ll see about that.”
Then Youko had sunk and disappeared for a very long time, taking Shuuichi with him.
The fourth personality, Kuronue, had never appeared after that. The doctor had not pressed the issue when Kurama had not acknowledged his presence, and Youko had only scowled. Shuuichi himself had not yet arisen again to be asked if Kuronue was still around. Presumably he hadn’t been needed once Kurama had come along.
“My name is Kurama.”
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In his real bedroom now, looking out the window. He couldn’t sleep again. Yusuke had yet to make his rounds.
If he slept, or tried to sleep, Youko would take over. He knew it.
But he was oh, so tired.
Outside of the hospital was beautiful. Lush gardens and lovely rolling hills in every direction. They were in the country. This place was made to be as close to ‘home’ -whatever that was - as possible.
The doors to the outside were locked unless supervision was provided. The courtyard did little for him, and so he didn’t feel like making the trek there just yet. Perhaps later.
He ended up there anyway, and he growled in annoyance. One minute he was by the window and then as if only blinking he stood before the glass door that led into the courtyard. One of them had taken over.
Kurama was positive that it had been Shuuichi because otherwise he would have woken up inside. He ceased to exist when Shuuichi was in control, and it angered him that he had to rely on a human that was to week to deal with daily problems. Yet he did not admit to himself that he was a product of those inabilities. For he was as real as the door was before him as he pushed against it, and it gave way, allowing him passage into the night.
It was cold. But he hadn’t had a chance to pull a shirt on, and so he strolled into the center of the courtyard in only his sleeping clothes. That which was comprised of a thin pair of cotton pants, too big for him they hung low on his hips and were rolled up at his ankles.
He had an urge to dance under the moon that shone down on him, and so he smiled up at it, thanking it for its kind graces. Strangely he felt calmer at night rather than during the day. It was the time of the thief, the murky goings on of the underbelly of monsters that prowled around the country side, the time for the moon to reign. Silver, calming light shone carefully.
The red bricked courtyard rose all around him, boxing him in, and he stood in the center, staring up, smiling. The air was dead. Its presence was still around him, lifeless.
He dropped his head to admire the statue standing in the fountain, a female holding a gourd, water poured from it calmingly catching the light of the moon and glowing majestically.
The air took a breath, and died again.
Kurama pulled his hair from his face, annoyed, and with the band he kept on his wrist, tied his hair up and off his neck.
“You’ll get a cold like this you know,” a voice interrupted hid thoughts.
Kurama turned and calmed once he realized who it was. He relaxed once he recognized him, walking towards him through the darkness of night, lit by the moon. He was a tall man, once strong and noble, now drawn and strong only in his ability to not scream at the things he saw which weren’t there, and the things that talked to him. Schizophrenia.
Kurama smiled, he liked this one. “I won’t be out for long. I can’t sleep,” he said, and every time he said it, he got the feeling that he was misunderstood somehow. He can’t sleep. Wont.
“You’re in good company. I haven’t slept for three months now.” He chuckled and took a seat on the long stone chair facing the fountain and Kurama.
Kurama wondered if the way Kuwabara tilted his head then was because of the picture Kurama presented, standing under the moonlight, shirtless, before the fountain and surrounded by the tight red bricks of the walls around them, covered in creeping vines. And the flowers around them, with butterflies, even at night, skipping about them.
“Not at all?” he asked, walking to sit beside the gaunt man.
“A little,” he replied, frowning in thought. “But for seconds at a time and mostly without me knowing.”
“Oh.” Kurama’s eyes drifted away from Kuwabara’s profile as he watched the ever constant flow from the gourd and into the base of the fountain. Listening to the ever constant trickle of water.
“Can you hear them?” Kuwabara asked suddenly, startling Kurama.
Slightly annoyed that the peace was been destroyed, he asked, “Hear what?”
Kuwabara frowned again, and crossed his arms over his chest. As if doubting he should have said anything. “Nothing, never mind.”
Kurama watched as Kuwabara began to scan each other the flower bushes, then as his eyes snapped to the fountain. As if started he turned to Kurama, and stuttered, not aware that Kurama had been watching him until he’d turned to face him. “If- uh… If you don’t mind, can I ask you a question?”
Kurama raised his brow, but otherwise said nothing.
Kuwabara hesitated.
“Go ahead,” Kurama pushed.
“I feel rude for asking this but, what’s it like?”
“What’s what like, Kuwabara?” He knew what he meant though. He just liked the way he struggled to find the right words.
Kurama liked the fact that this man had the sense to choose his words carefully, it didn’t happen much and so he wanted to draw it out. It was selfish, but he ate it up like a ravenous beast.
“The flowers have said nothing but worship for you since I have been here, the very earth, Kurama, is worshiping you. Even the foxes skipping about say nothing but your name.”
Kurama gritted his teeth. “What foxes?”
“The silver ones.”
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He woke up inside his headroom and did nothing by scream at the top of his lungs, as loud as possible.
The boy whimpering in the corner, his mirror reflection, covered his ears and said nothing.
“Don’t you hurt him! Don’t you hurt him!” he screamed.
“Relax,” the fox said. “I want to talk with my family.”
“You have none! You’re a figment!”
Then he glared fiercely as for the first time in a long time, Youko appeared before him. He leant over the bed Kurama was strapped to and snarled at him, an inch from his face. “That’s is not true. I am as real as you are, and that,” he spat, pointing at the boy in the corner, “is too.”
Kurama snorted.
The boy flinched.
Youko’s face, fear itself, twisted into a demented look of pure evil and he smirked. A white fang appearing.
Kurama glared at him. “Don’t you dare.”
He didn’t know what the fox was going to do, but he had enough sense to know that that smirk was not good.
Youko merely stood and sighed, turning away and fading out of the headroom between one step and the next.
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They woke up in confinement, wearing a straight jacket.
Even so, Kurama could feel the bandages around his wrists and neck.
“Youko, what did you do?” Shuuichi asked.
They received no reply, and though they hated each other, both Kurama and Shuuichi curled up in the corner of the room together. As equals.
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Next?