Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The cardboard box thudded against the passenger seat, crumpling slightly under the weight of Hank Anderson’s entire life.

Clothes shoved in haphazardly. Picture frames he couldn’t look at anymore. A few half-empty whiskey bottles he told himself were for emergencies. A folded Detroit Tigers jersey.basically all of the bullshit he owned through his whole life, valuable and worthless things that he didn't care enough to throw them away or even forgot they existed in the first place so they just ended up stuffed all together in the many boxes and luggage in the truck of Hank's battered Oldsmobile cutlass.

The house was completely empty, he got rid of the furnitures knowing he wouldn't bear to take with him all the ghosts of this house he lived in for way too long, it felt weird, looking around the house that used to hold so much memories only to find it hallow and dull with dust everywhere, plain as if it had been abandoned since forever, nothing to look at as he hovered by the door, his pale blue eyes scanned the empty space and the loud echoes of old buried memories was louder than Hank's thoughts, and somehow, his inside felt way emptier than this house, it was terrifying, he couldn't even feel his own heartbeat, as if he's some shell of human with no actual soul inside.

It felt too surreal.

“Fuck this,” he muttered under his breath shaking his head to snap out of dark loop that he's sure will haunt him again in the nearest chance, but that's for later, now he has a road trip that will take an agonizing hour or so till he reach to his new destination.

He dragged his feet out of the leftovers of his life grabbing the handle and slamming the door behind before making his way to his car.

Alright, here goes nothing.

Sumo huffed from the back seat, a mountain of drool and fur. The Saint Bernard took up nearly the whole space, his big brown eyes trained on his human with the kind of eternal patience only dogs seemed capable of.

Hank grunted starting the engine "You ready to leave the hell behind, big guy?" he asks knowing how stupid his question is since the dog didn't have a choice to begin with.

Sumo sneezed.

Hank took that as a yes.

The drive to Ann Arbor was quiet, save for the groan of old suspension and the occasional low growl from Sumo when they passed other cars. The further they got from Detroit, the lighter the air felt—figuratively, anyway. There was something too damn cheerful about Ann Arbor. Too clean. Too hopeful, it's only an hour away from Detroit yet it looks like a total different country!

Hank hated it already.

It took him three trips to unload his car and nearly cheered like a madman when he found that there was an elevator in the building, he couldn't have made it to the fifth floor back and forth with the help of the glory elevator, his aching back would have definitely snapped in two he's certain of that.

The apartment was modest, two bedrooms, white walls already stained with old fingerprints, floors that creaked like dying birds. The kitchen sink dripped. The radiator rattled. It wasn’t much, but it wasn’t Detroit and that's a start.

He didn’t unpack.

Instead, he stood in the living room, staring at nothing while Sumo sniffed around the corners exploring their new home that wasn't as big as the house they left behind in Detroit.

Hank exhaled deeply and pulled a bottle from the box labeled Kitchen and took a long drink, grimacing. "Here's to new beginnings," he said quietly, to no one in particular "Whatever the fuck that means."

He got rid of his shoes, his shirt and his pants, settling in only his boxers despite the cold air of early November, he didn't give a fuck and he was too lazy to unpack right now, so he grabbed the Jack Daniel's bottle with him and went to the living room after pouring some water and kibbles for Sumo in his bowls, he plopped down on the couch with a groan, scowling at how unfamiliar and uncomfortable it felt unlike his beloved old couch, well, he'll just have to suck it up and adjust, he turned on the small TV and settled on a random channel that had some dumb black and white old movie, he didn't really care, he only wanted some noise to fill the silence while he took his sweet time savoring the amber liquid that will kill him some day, not today, but maybe, hopefully, one day, he sank deeper into the couch trying to find a comfortable position before giving up and taking another swig of his whiskey, he lifted the bottle squinting at it slightly before huffing loudly.

"Fuck."

He'll have to run some groceries at some point, he'll run out of alcohol and the idea itself gives him a dull headache that makes him want to tear his hair off! also he won't be opposite of the idea of getting some food too, not vegetables and shit, hell no, just some stuff to fill the fridge, bread and cereals and milk, you know, the basics, he'll have to figure out the nearest fast food restaurants around this area to settle on somewhere he could order from regularly, fuck, he's going to miss 'Chicken feed' that burger was damn good, he's starting to regret moving out.

Why the hell did he listen to Jeffrey?

The man has been nagging him since forever and he always declined and ridiculed the mere idea of fresh start and all that hopeful bullshit, Jeffrey Fowler is his best friend, or used to before Hank drifted away from everyone after his life went to hell, he basically cut him off, relieved that the man was at another city busy with family and work, and yet he disappointed Hank with the amount of effort he was putting to reach out to him, for three fucking years Hank kept trying to block him out of all his contacts and yet Jeffrey kept being a stubborn son of a bitch calling him from different contacts, it confused Hank, because seriously, why would someone bother at all? he's an asshole, he's not worth all the trouble.

But the loyal friend kept nagging.

"Hank, for the fuck's sake, man!, get your head out of your ass and think about it for once!," he kept yelling through the phone making Hank's hangover even worse as his head throbbed painfully, he felt like his eyes were going to pop out of their sockets like some gory horror movie, and his stomach kept twisting and churning with a urgent need to empty itself from the crazy amount of alcohol it had, and Jeffrey's voice was loud, too fucking loud!

"At least consider it! alright? maybe it'll be worth the trouble, give yourself some credit for god's sake, you're a decent doctor you know, do I need to tell you how many certificates you have in your possession? or how amazing your record is?! do you really want to throw all of that and live like some miserable alcoholic bitch? seriously man you're better than that!, just give it a try alright? things here at Ann Arbor are way calmer than Detroit, and here in my hospital I can promise you that you'll be more comfortable than you have been through your whole career, just get your lazy ass here and see how it works, it won't kill y-"

"Okay!!" Hank finally snapped, his head was going to burst, and Sumo was barking too loudly running back and forth around the house chasing his chewy toy as if he was conspiring against him with Jeffrey.

"Okay?" Jeffrey repeated slowly, his gruff voice is finally lowering in shock as he spoke more tentatively using a new approach "You're serious-"

"Yes! I'm fucking serious, I'll come to Ann Arbor or whatever the fuck, just shut the fuck up and leave me alone, you're such a pain in the ass, if I killed myself right now it won't be out of depression more of a desire to get to shut up!" Hank scoffed loudly, rubbing his temple in a useless attempt to soothe the agonizing pain.

"Hey!" Jeffrey yelled once again, his tone it threatening and ringing in Hank's ear louder than any bell causing him to close his eyes tightly "That's not funny, dipshit!, you better-"

"Ugh, yeah, yeah, suck my dick." he replied with a groan and hung up on him before making a trip to the bathroom to puke his guts out.

That's how he actually agreed to move out, maybe he has had enough of Jeffrey's calls, maybe he was finally reaching to a breaking point and was secretly clinging to any lifeline thrown at him because something deep inside him kept desperately screaming and begging for a change, any change at all, a distraction maybe, maybe and just maybe.

And as much as Hank wasn't really ready to go back to the field, he thought maybe he could use it as a good strong distraction, dealing with mentally unstable people should be enough of a distraction right?

Yes, with how ironic it is, Hank Anderson used to be a psychiatrist, a good one too, mind you, he's a board-certified psychiatrist with over twenty years of clinical experience.He holds a medical degree from the University of Michigan and completed his psychiatry residency at a top-tier hospital. Specializing in forensic and trauma-related psychiatry, also was known for his sharp diagnostic skills and unorthodox yet highly effective treatment methods, his professional record is exemplary, with a long history of successful patient outcomes and expert court evaluations, a recognized member of the American Psychiatric Association and a respected figure in Michigan’s mental health community, had multiple of certifications aside from his medical license as well, he was really one of the best.

But since that one night he lost everything, his whole life collapsed, a car crash was able to take everything away from him.

His son's life, his marriage, his will to live.

It was that fateful night that changed Hank forever, it was supposed to be a good day, a warm night full of life and Cole's innocent giggles.

His wife went out with her friends since it was her day off, with the promise of making a delicious dinner and special hot chocolate for Cole at night once she comes back, they needed some groceries, and Hank had to take Cole with him since the six years old boy kept begging to go with him giving his best puppy eyes that he knew it his daddy's weak spot, so Hank took him with him, and paid for that choice for the rest of his life, their car crashed with a truck due to the slippery road, Hank survived with few injuries, Cole didn't make it, how Hank wished their roles were reversed, he would have given anything to save his boy, he wouldn't have hesitated to trade his life with his son's if he was given the choice, but life was a real bitch, it didn't work like that, so Cole died, and Hank had to live with that loss for the rest of his life, he kept drifting away from everyone, drowning his sorrows with alcohol, neglecting his job, fighting with Mary, his wife, he knew it wasn't really her fault, but he had to find something to pour the anger onto, someone to blame besides himself, and she was the one, he kept blaming her, accusing her with words full of cruelty and poison even when he knew that she was living the same pain as him, he kept pushing and pushing till he ruined what's left of their broken marriage, the divorce didn't really hurt though, Cole's death had drained him from any sadness or grief he could ever feel, nothing hurts more than losing a piece of yourself, and he couldn't pretend that he could live like nothing happened, he quit his job, throwing away decades of successful career just to wallow more in his misery till he chokes on it and die eventually.

But here he is, trying to live again, trying to find a purpose, a distraction that will hopefully pull him out of his own head even if it's for few hours only, in Hank's opinion, it's a pathetic attempt, but he might as well die trying.

And just as the empty whiskey bottle slips from his hand onto the wooden floor with a click, Hank pass out on the couch with the TV on, old habits never dies.

The next morning Hank woke up with a terrible hangover, cursing out at everything as he stumbled his way to the bathroom to puke and take a cold shower, then he suffered some more as he rummaged through the unpacked boxes and bags to pick any decent outfit for his first day at work "Why the fuck didn't I unpack?!" he exclaimed in frustration kicking one of the boxes that happened to contain the remaining of his whiskey bottles and well, he had kicked in hard enough to knock out everything across the hallway which led to the bottles to roll out and shatter against the floor, Hank stood for a long moment, mouth open in stunned silence contemplating whether to go jump out of the apartment's window and embrace death or scream his lungs out like a maniac.

Sumo broke the silence with a bark from the kitchen, waiting patiently for him to come and fill his bowls with food and water, a reminder that he has another soul living with him, he exhaled deeply rubbing his face as he tried to remind himself that he's a fucking psychiatrist and they usually are more emotionally composed than this and doesn't have a mental breakdowns over his spilled whiskey, he scanned the dim hall and sighed once again, the place was starting to stink with alcohol already, fucking hell!

He stomped on his feet to the kitchen and filled Sumo's bowls with water and kibbles and the dog went straight to his food, munching eagerly.

Hank opened one of the boxes and grabbed a small towel before walking back to the hall with a scowl on his face and strings of curses under his breath as he started wiping floor and picking the broken glasses trying to ignore the way his back protested being bent down for long minutes like that.

After managing to clean the mess without crashing out, he goes back to look for something to wear and finally finds his jeans and picks a dark stripped shirt with them along with his dark coat.

He gets ready quickly in his bedroom and looks at himself in the mirror, he stares at his reflection in the mirror and almost doesn't recognize the man looking back. The years had not been kind. Grey in his beard, more in his hair. Skin loose around his eyes. Bloodshot gaze, However, Hank doesn't really give a fuck, he wasn't going to a fashion show and he doesn't really care about the impression he'll leave on other doctors or the hospital staff or the patients, they can all go fuck themselves for all he cares, so he doesn't bother with his unkempt grey hair or scruffy beard, he just puts on his shoes, grabs his coat and keys along with his phone, giving a light head pat to Sumo on his way out as he murmured.

"Wish me luck, Sumo"

Let's say that it didn't age well.

Because once Hank hopped inside his car he was slapped with the realization that his car was out of gas.

Such a bright start for his day indeed.

The 'Echo' Mental Health Facility looked more like a repurposed museum than a hospital as Hank paid for the cab and stood there observing it with furrowed eyebrows. Tall pillars out front, wide glass windows. White brick walls, too pristine. There was a disturbing contrast between the serenity of its architecture and the screaming he could already faintly hear echoing through the halls for god knows why, it looked like a fancy prison for rich people.

Hank steps in as the automatic glass doors slid for him letting him walk through into the wide space of the reception floor, greeted with the familiar sterile scent in the air, the buzzing of the computers and the click on the keyboards at the reception counter, the faint ding sounds of the elevators, the clink of shoes and heels on the marble floors, the gentle quiet chatter and ringing phones and the unfamiliar faces of passing hospital staff, it was all overwhelming .

And despite Hank's long years of experience he found himself feeling awkward as if it's the first day being a doctor and his whole career was wiped out of his memory, he cleared his throat and walked further into thespace trying to grow some conference, he ends up pausing in his steps unsure of where to go.

Fuck, why does it feel so difficult?! he's fucking fifty-three not some five year toddler at their first day in kindergarten!

Suddenly Hank catch a calm voice of someone speaking nearby.

"You must be the new guy." It takes Hank ten seconds to realize that the voice is talking to him.

Hank turns and finds himself face-to-face with a young that looked maybe in his late twenties or something, white coat, clipboard tucked in hand like it belonged there. Dark brown hair that looked combed neatly with soft cruls on the edge falling over his forehead, chocolate brown eyes,warm and impossibly big, lashes too long to be fair. He had freckles dusting his pale face. sharp defined jaws and perfect high cheekbones. A dimple in his chin. And he was smiling gently showing off two other dimples adoring his cheeks, he looked sharp and yet soft it was confusing.

And well, he wasn't not smiling exactly—more like grinning with teeth that looked like they were about to shine like fucking diamonds.

"Doctor Anderson, right? Connor Stern," the younger man said, extending a hand. "Pleasure. We’ve been expecting you." he explained politely with a solemn nod.

Hank took the hand cautiously, eyes narrowing briefly "Yeah? They send the welcome committee now?" he asks rather sarcastically, eyeing that doctor up and down skeptically, he didn't think Fowler would go as far as sending him one of the doctors to escort him as if he's some damsel in distress! it's fucking offensive to be honest.

Connor chuckled lightly "Something like that. Come on, I’ll give you a quick intro before the chaos begins." he says with a friendly gesture, leading Hank towards one of the elevators, and well, as much as Hank hates following someone's lead, especially someone that young, he still hums simply and walks along with him into the big elevator, using some help won't kill him anyway, and that Connor looks professional despite being young.

Connor pressed the button of the fifth floor and nodded again at Hank with a small smile, Hank only nodded back awkwardly wondering where the fuck he's taking them.

He shrugs off the weirdness of the situation and clears his throat as Connor glance at him tilting his head expectantly as if he was reading Hank's mind and knew he wanted to ask something.

"Well, uh, so, you're a doctor here?" he asks, in a useless attempt to fill the awkward silence.

Connor blinked, staring at Hank blankly before raising his eyebrows "Obviously." he replies bluntly as a small smirk started to curl on his lips as he looked at Hank up and down "Are you?"

What a smartass.

Hank fights back an old eye roll as he huffs in mild annoyance folding his arms over his chest "You wouldn't know my name or come all the way down to approach me if I weren't." he retorted with a pointed look and Connor laughs under his breath averting his gaze to look down on the glistening clean floor of the elevator.

"Touché"

The elevator dings and Hank lets out a sign of relief ignoring the brown eyes that narrowed at him with curiosity as he walked out of the elevator with steady steps as if he has a clue where he should be going.

Connor followed him calmly drumming the tips of his fingers on the clipboard as he walked besides Hank with matching steps, he was maybe five or seven inches shorter than Hank but with the way he walked holding his head up with confidence it was almost unnoticeable.

Hank was led through the hallways, listening to Connor talk. The kid was sharp. Too sharp he has to give him that.

“And the patient in C-wing? Severe dissociative disorder, plus a history of self-harm. You’ll want to keep her away from the one in B3. Their delusions tend to feed off each other like some twisted duet. Fascinating dynamic.” he explained to Hank with passion as he waved a hand in the air seemingly excited to rant about all the interesting patients he dealt with.

Hank blinked. "You memorize all this, or are you just showing off?" he asks stuffing his hands in the pockets of his coat while glancing at the way Connor pointed where those patients at.

"A little of both," Connor confirmed with a grin as he shrugged nonchalantly.

They passed an old black woman,tall, dark curly hair, in scrubs, a nurse as it seems , she froze once she saw Connor as if she has seen a ghost, Hank paused raising his eyebrows as she kept glancing between both of them in disbelief، he took a look at the ID badge of the lanyard around her neck 'Doris Adams', a nurse as he guessed.

"Connor," she said with that strained nurse-tone that suggested she was moments from losing her mind. "What did we say about the coats?" she asks through a gritted teeth.

Connor turned slowly, calm smile still plastered on his face. "That I should return them. Eventually."

Then came the yelling.

Two more nurses rounded the corner. "There he is! Get him!"

Connor’s eyes widened for a brief moment then he took off.

Full sprint. Coat flapping. He darted around the corner like a fox.

“What the—” Hank began, watching the scene with open mouth.

“Yep,” said a familiar gruff voice behind him.

Hank turned to find Jeffrey Fowler, arms crossed, watching the chaos with the bored indifference of someone who’d seen it all too many times.

“Was that…?”

“Yep.”

“That kid’s a patient?”

“Uh-huh.”

"Jesus Christ."

“Welcome to Echo.” Fowler clapped a hand on Hank’s shoulder. “Come on. You’ll get used to it.”

Fowler’s office smelled like lemon cleaner and old wood. He poured them each a coffee that tasted like burnt regret and gestured to the rundown armchair across from his desk.

“You still drink this tar?” Hank asked with a snort, still trying to ignore the fact that the fucking kid in the white coat was actually a patient who stold another doctor's coat, he still can't grasp on that fact, he feels so fucking stupid, but still, it was his fault, the bastard was such a good actor he fucking nailed it!

“Better than the shit you used to brew.”

Hank grunted. “Low bar.”

They talked for ten minutes—about paperwork, hours, staff protocols. Fowler gave him a folder thick enough to be a murder weapon.

“Staff you’ll be working with includes Dr. Markus Manfred, he’s the heart of this place I'm sure you'll like him, most patients do. Dr. Reed.... Gavin. Stay out of his way unless you enjoy ulcers. and Chloe Crystal, she's one of the best nurses here, You’ll like her, she'll be your personal assistant”

Too much informations for Hank but he'll bite the bullet, it was his choice to come here anyway, he fights the headache as he nods half-heartedly.

“So, what's with the white coat escapee?" he can't stop himself from asking, a bitter scowl on his face, unable to accept that he got manipulated so easily by that little shit.

Fowler sighed deeply shaking his head as if the name alone brought him the worst headache. “Connor Stern. Case file’s in your folder. Be gentle with that one. Or don’t. Nothing phases him.” he stated shortly giving him a hopeless shrug.

“I’m not here to babysit some prankster.” he grumbles glaring at Fowler warningly.

Fowler leaned in with a frown. “No, but you’re here to save your own damn life. Try not to forget that.” he reminded him with serious edge in his voice.

Hank bristled but said nothing.

Fowler stood. “Come on, I’ll show you your office.”

The office was decent, it was modern decorated, glassy big desk with a smart computer and a glassy nameplate with 'Dr Hank Anderson' carved on it, comfortable chair, a file cabinet, a big comfortable couch, a mini fridge, and a window that looked out onto the wide space of gardens that belongs to the hospital.

Hank had to say, he was fucking impressed, he won't admit it either way, something inside him tells him that the fancy office is the only good thing about this place and that he's about to have a hellish time dealing with cases here.

Chloe arrived moments later to greet him, she looked sweet, blue bright eyes, blond hair in a neat bun, clipboard hugged to her chest and kind warm smile as she spoke to Hank gently.

“Dr. Anderson, I’m Chloe. I’ll be your assistant. Or nurse. Or sanity check, depending on the day.”

“Sanity’s overrated,” Hank muttered waving a hand.

She smiled like she’d heard it a hundred times. “Would you like the grand tour?”

He sighed. “Might as well.”

They moved through the halls. Chloe pointed out wings, therapy rooms, patient rec areas. The names came and went.

Then she said, “This wing houses high-risk patients. Like Connor Stern.”

Hank stopped walking. “He’s high-risk?” it was a little weird to hear that since his first impression of him was that he looked pretty compassed and calm, but since he got fooled by him he shouldn't be doubtful, from years of experience he knew that sometimes the most innocent faces and soft voices weren't as stable as they seemed, and Connor isn't an exception it seems.

“Eleven suicide attempts. Diagnosed with bipolar, Borderline personality disorder, severe anxiety, and a handful of other things. But he’s… different. Brilliant. he's actually very smart . Kind. Manipulative. Depends on the day.”

'Today he was surly feeling manipulative' Hank thought with a grimace unable to hide his resentment.

That Connor kid has a lot in his package it seems.

Hank rubbed his temple suppressing “Why do I feel like I’m going to be stuck with him?”

Chloe’s eyes twinkled. “Because Mr Fowler already assigned him to you.” she confirmed holding back a giggle watching Hank's face dropping.

“Motherfucker.”

She handed him the folder and Hank took it wordlessly, part of him considering going up to Jeffrey's office and tell him that he changed his mind about the whole fresh start bullshit, he grits his teeth opening the file, on the top was a picture, Connor, scowling, eyes hollow and blank, lips straight as if he never knew how smiling felt like, he looked nothing like the guy he met at the reception area, all smiles and calmness, and fuck if he's not interesting.

“I liked him better when I thought he was a smartass intern.”

Chloe’s smile was sad as she shook her head “He’s still a smartass. Just broken in places most people can’t reach.”

Hank stared at the photo.

And for the first time in a long time, he felt something shift.

Not hope. Not yet.

But something.

Something like the ghost of it.

A spark of curiosity maybe.

That Connor looks like he's going to give Hank hell of time.

Chapter Text

"This is the fifth time this month, Connor!" Doris, the old black nurse with kind face, she basically shrieked in Connor's face finally catching her with her other two colleagues, after a ten minutes sprint through the long halls of the hospital, he was fucking fast that by the time they got their hands on him they were all out of breath and the smug little shit didn't didn't even break sweat, and he looked absolutely proud of himself.

"I'm sorry, Doris." Connor said calmly, not sounding sorry at all as he begrudgingly took off the white coat he stole from one of the doctor's offices, god only knows how he even success doing it, and then he handed it to another nurse who glared daggers at the side of his head, he looked unfazed by the agitated nurses as he clasped his hands together looking at Doris with a smile that could only be described as the most innocent smile on the most not innocent guy.

Doris inhaled deeply, trying to compose herself and then shouting anyway "Go to the goddamn cafeteria, Stern!, and I swear to god if you try to skip lunch again I'll make sure to get you locked in the white room for a damn straight week! do you understand?!"

Connor blinked staring at her blankly before looking at the other two nurses who looked dead serious, he looked at Doris again for a second before sighing heavily, his smile is morphing into a deep scowl.

"Okay, there was no need to yell, jeez." he scoffed and turned away to walk in the other direction towards the cafeteria with long irritated strides as if walking to his own death.

Doris watched him disappear shaking her head in utter disbelief, three years being his nurse and she still never understand the audacity he has.

__________________________________________________

The cafeteria at 'Echo' Mental Health Facility was a cathedral of noise. Trays clattered against metal counters. Chairs screeched. Somewhere, someone was crying into their mashed potatoes. Others laughed at something no one else could hear.

Connor Stern sat at the far corner of the cafeteria, a fork spinning idly between his fingers. He hadn’t eaten. The tray in front of him was untouched, save for a glob of gravy slowly congealing next to some steamed vegetables that might’ve been alive once.

Across from him sat North, arms crossed, face sharp with disdain. "You’re being a dick today."

Connor rolled his eyes. "I’m always a dick. You’re just in a mood." he muttered flatly giving a nonchalant shrug.

North's narrowed her eyes at him "I’m in a mood? You’re the one sulking like a wet cat."

"I’m not sulking. I’m contemplating homicide."

North allowed a genuine laugh to escape her mouth as she raised an eyebrow "Again?"

Connor offered a tight, deadpan grin. "Don’t worry. You’re still low on the list."

Connor Stern isn't really a violent person, really, he can be cold, extremely rude and judgmental, even manipulative at worse, but he's not the type of guy to throw punches randomly or commit a mass murder.

He was just......having issues let's say.

Some serious ones too.

His suicidal ideation is one of the top of his personal issues.

His record isn't very bright by all means.

Eleven suicide attempts explains a lot to be honest, that's a crazy record, and what's even more insane that all of those attempts were outside of the hospital, before he got here, since he was a teenager Connor was playing a constant chase with death, added with other mental struggling like being a bipolar for example, that's the second on the list, it made his life hell full of confusion and thrill and mania and endless depression, the third on Connor's list is his borderline personality disorder that makes him suffer from a massive emotional instability that effects his whole damn life and put him in more misery with things and feelings he can't explain or comprehend accompanied with that raging explosive anger that he holds inside himself till it boils over the surface and burst out against whoever falls victim for it, the fourth on the list is his identity crisis, and it comes to this, comes Amanda Stern, the famous aristocracy business woman from a very known noble family, and who's also known to be Connor's adoptive mother.

Because Connor was an orphanage since birth, he knows absolutely nothing about his real biological family, maybe they'll dead, maybe his mother died while giving birth to him and then his father dumped him in some low life orphanage to not deal with his shit, maybe his father abandoned his mother when she was pregnant and she gave birth to Connor then dumped him as soon as he opened his eyes to the world so she wouldn't look at him and remember his deadbeat asshole of a father or her shitty life choices, or maybe they just had him by mistake and decided to wash their hands of his burden once he was born so they waited till he was born and threw him in the nearest orphanage before fleeing back to have fun together in their lives.

Connor stopped assuming once he became a teenager, it didn't matter, wouldn't change anything, wouldn't change his life.

Because Amanda Stern had picked him, back then when he was only five years old boy chasing after one of his friends in the orphanage, playing on the mud and laughing without anything weighing on them, just some clueless orphan kids having the time of their lives in the dirty backyard of the large building of the orphanage, Connor watched by the metal bars of the gates as one of the most fancy cars stopped few feet away from the gates, the black car was practically shining under the winter's sunlight, Connor's small hands grasped on the metal bars as he blinked in awe watching the chauffeur get out of the driver seat adjusting his black suit before rushing to the backseat door with an umbrella at hand.

"Wow." Little Connor muttered in complete wonder, brown eyes big and bright with curiosity and childish excitement while exploring the cool car and cool people in the outside world, he has been always curious, always eager to learn and explore, he snooped a lot which was the cause of him getting punished countless times by the nannies at the orphanage.

However, Connor ignored his friends calling him out to play, he stood rooted in the spot watching the chauffeur open the backseat door as a woman in white coat and dark high boots got out of the car so gracefully, wearing her expensive black handbag on one arm, she was beautiful, had that dark glowing skin soft and flawless, she was skinny and tall, standing with straight back and high head, had her dark soft hair pulled in a neat pretty bun, her eyes were sharp and brilliant, too dark with glint of knowledge, Connor watched her walk across the street in wonder while the chauffeur held for her the umbrella, shielding her from the soft drizzles falling from the cloudy sky, Connor tilted his head watching with a slight confused pout on his lips, did she hate the rain? it wasn't raining that badly, the nannies aloud them to play outside after all, and why was that guy holding the umbrella for her? why didn't she hold her for herself?

At that time Connor was too naive to understand that this just how rich people lived, they had other people doing things for them and all that fancy shit.

That day, Connor never thought that his life might change, he only went back to play with the other kids hoping that Miss Mary will allow them to watch the lion king cartoon again once they went back inside.

He never thought that it'll be his last day at that place, Amanda picked him to be her son out of all the boys and girls crowding the orphanage, he never understood why, maybe it was his big brown eyes that he sometimes used against some of the nannies to let him play outside or to drink more cocoa, maybe it's the way he spoke to her politely when they brought her to the head of the orphanage office to meet Amanda, too polite and smart for a five year old boy, or maybe she just picked him randomly, Connor didn't really know, he still doesn't, he wish he could have read Amanda's mind back then to know what she was thinking when she adopted him.

Nevertheless, the day ended with him leaving the orphanage with Amanda, paperwork ended like a magic when it was about rich families, and the car he admired from behind the metal bars couple hours ago was now something so close as the same chauffeur opened the door for them and greeted Connor gently with kind yet solemn smile.

"Hello, young mister"

Connor smiled at him brightly offering his small hand for a handshake since it was only polite to greet the man back.

"Hello, sir! I am Connor, what's your name?!"

The chauffeur glanced at Amanda back then, who only gave him a curt nod before getting inside the car, he took Connor's hand and shook it gently introducing himself, 'Ryan' was his name, Connor couldn't remember more stuff about him because at some point he wasn't there anymore and so much was happening in Connor's life to care about the guy, but back then he liked him so much, he thought he was a cool driver with how he handled the steering wheel with known expert hands.

Amanda took him under her wing, took him to another, bigger, wealthier world with too much luxury more than anything he has seen on the TV ads for his whole short span of life.

They lived in a whole mansion, he had his own bedroom, so big with large TV screen and dressing room and private bathroom!, and there was a large space of gardens full of trees and flowers and fish ponds he loved so much, there was people working there, like Ryan, guards ,gardeners, a butler, servants, and a personal nanny for Connor, he didn't understand why does he have a nanny here too, isn't Amanda his mother now? he's certain that mothers are supposed to take care of their kids without a help of nanny, but maybe he understood it wrongly? her name was Nenita and she was a Filipina (Typical rich people shit) she barely spoke English Connor didn't understand why the hell would Amanda bring him a Filipina nanny when they both don't speak the same language!

Amanda didn't leave him room for complaining, she brought him clothes, too much clothes, brought him books, too deep for his age, personal tutor to have etiquette classes, got him a weekly piano lessons as well, signed him to some elite school and got him a membership to the family's country club, everything was like a big fancy dream.

And Amanda told him once the papers were complete that they're a family now, that he has a responsibility and duties towards this family.

"You're a Stern now, Connor," she told him with calm silky voice, as she ran her fingers delicately through his soft curls, fixing his hair as he blinked up at her trying to grasp on the meaning of her words by searching her cool expression or the way her dark brown eyes, almost black, bore into his with so much determination and sharp pondering "I expect from you only the best."

Some people might call him lucky, he was just some little bastard in a worn-out orphanage and then he got picked by a wealthy mother and was shoved into a life full of luxury and fun.

But the truth was far from it.

Amanda was controlling woman, all she wanted was a son she could mold into whatever shape she was pleased with, and a personality based on her own mindset, she didn't want a son, she wanted a fucking machine.

And with all the shit Connor went through his life, by the eleventh attempt, Amanda was done with his bullshit and decided to sign him up at some fancy psychiatric hospital at Ann Arbor, meaning that he won't be released unless two things happens, two impossible options.

One: Amanda takes mercy on him and decides to release him by some generous bribe (Whic wasn't really going to happen because he has been in this shithole for three years now and the bitch never even considered it!)

Two: he starts taking the whole thing seriously and open up to one of the many scumbags of doctors here (Which is impossible because he would rather sell his two fucking kidneys before he gives Amanda the satisfaction of admitting that yes, he's fucked up in his head and needs help, so whatever, he would rather die here just to spite her)

So, yeah, Connor wasn't really planning a homicide, he's not a violent person, he just has issues, happens to the best of us.

North tossed piece of steamed carrot at his face and he flipped her off with an emotionless expression.

Ralph sat nearby, hunched over a folded napkin he’d turned into some strange paper creature. He was making soft humming sounds under his breath, completely absorbed in whatever story he was narrating for his napkin companion.

Connor glanced over occasionally. Watchfull as ever while he kept swirling the plastic fork in his hand with a long suffering sigh, sometimes Connor wish he could swap his head with him for just a day, not like poor Ralph would survive living with Connor's head for even an hour, he wouldn't like doing that to him.

Then Gavin Reed walked in.

The hospital's number one asshole, the damn son of a bitch was more sick than any patient here, it always amazed Connor how the hell was that even a psychiatrist in the first place, he's one hundred percent a sociopath, he literally thrives on the patients suffering, Connor would never be able to find the right words to describe how much he hates that man, he can't even count how many times he had fantasized about different methods of murdering him in the most satisfying gruesome ways.

He's not a violent person, he can swear, but Gavin just brings that murderous side of him he can't help but hope he would die one day before Connor goes into action and send him to the grave with his own hands.

He didn’t announce himself. He didn’t have to. The atmosphere shifted the moment he stepped into the room, like a storm cloud rolling in. Black slacks, white coat, smugness leaking from every pore. He walked like the floor owed him something.

Connor stiffened and frowned deeply, fork between his fingers tightening, North caught on the change in his posture, she raised her eyebrows skeptically at Connor before turning her head, once her eyes fell on Gavin she groaned rolling her eyes incredulously as she muttered under her breath "Fuck me, not that dickhead again."

Gavin picks the easiest target, because of course he's a fucking coward who only enjoy his superiority when he bully the weak, so he walks straight to Ralph.

“Oh good,” he said, voice rising loud enough for half the room to hear, as some heads turned to watch cautiously and some didn't bother to look knowing that it's just another day of Gavin Reed being a prick.

“My favorite genius of all times." Gavin exclaimed with mock delight, hovering by Ralph's table with a twisted smirk on his lips.

Ralph flinched.

Connor stood up from his seat, well, he might as well engage.

“Whatcha got there, Ralphy? Another masterpiece? What is that, a dog? Or is it a dinosaur? I can never tell with you. You’ve got the imagination of a five-year-old with brain damage.” the asshole laughs loudly at his own words as if he had just dropped the funniest joke known to the mankind.

Ralph whimpered, shielding his napkin creature, hyper-aware of the evil intentions of the grinning doctor.

North shot to her feet as well, her hands balling at her side as if getting ready to throw some punches “Back off, Reed." she spat harshly glaring at him with a threatening look.

Gavin turned and snorted. "Easy, tiger. Just saying hi to my number one fan." he dismissed waving his hand at her.

Connor steps in front of Ralph's table blocking him out of Gavin's view.

“Touch him, Reed, and I swear to god, they’ll need a fucking shovel to find what’s left of your teeth." Connor warns through his teeth, staring at him dead in the eye with clear message that he wasn't just bluffing.

Gavin’s expression twitched but he contains his irritation with a smug grin. "Still pretending you're the hero, Stern? You’re just another lab rat with a pretty face."

Connor smiled, slow and spiteful as he tilted his head eyeing him up and down like he's looking at an insect. "And you’re just another coward with a hard-on for power trips. Must be tough, torturing people for a living because nobody loved you enough to raise a human being instead of a festering asshole."

Gasps scattered across the room, some laughed too and some shifted in interest waiting for the situation to escalate.

Gavin’s smile vanished, replaced by a dark sneer "You little—"

Then everything went to shit.

Connor shoved him hard enough to fall on his ass like some dumb kid.

North lunged to stand by Connor's side.

A chair flew.

Trays hit the floor.

One patient started laughing maniacally, another tried climbing on top of the vending machine, and someone shouted that the apocalypse had finally come.

It was chaos. Pure and immediate.

Connor didn’t move. He stood in the center of the storm, eyes locked on Gavin, daring him as the doctor stood up with a death glare in his eyes promising him that this is not over.

Then hands grabbed him from behind.

“Connor!”

Nurses. Orderlies. Doris like usual, and Chloe among them.

“That's enough,” Chloe said calmly, and there was sadness in her voice as she shook her head in disbelief at the madness surrounding them in the cafeteria “Let’s go. Now.”

Connor didn’t resist. He never did. The moment passed, and he deflated, limbs slack, face hollow.

They dragged him out while the cafeteria descended into what could only be described as a riot leaving the orderlies to deal with the violent patients there.

__________________________________________________

An hour later, Hank Anderson sat in his office trying to decide whether it was too early to pretend he didn’t work here.

He hadn’t seen Connor since the morning's hallway sprint, and honestly he wasn't very thrilled about their first session, he wasn't thrilled about working at all, he didn't really have the energy to deal with unstable people, hell, he's unstable himself!

Yet, he has to try, if he fuck up then it's Fowler's fault, he should have known that bringing a depressed alcoholic man to his hospital won't be any good.

Now, Chloe was at his door.

“Connor’s ready for his first session. Try not to punch each other.” she advised helpfully with an apologetic smile.

Hank blinked. "That bad already?"

"He fought with a doctor to defend another patient, we caught him at last minute before he could lay his hands on him, the cafeteria looked like someone dropped a war in it."

Well, shit, isn't it great?

She left before he could ask more.

Connor slouched into Hank’s office with all the enthusiasm of a man heading to a public execution.

He dropped into the chair across from Hank’s desk, legs sprawled, arms folded. His expression was unreadable.

Hank stared at him.

Connor stared back, absolutely unashamed about how he had tricked him that morning acting like some professional doctor when he was in fact just a mischievous patient.

“Connor Stern,” Hank starts, trying to remember how exactly he used to do this shit but of course Connor doesn't give him the chance for a decent introduction.

“No shit,” Connor replied flatly, bouncing his leg already like he can't wait to get the hell out of here, and Hank paused, counting internally from one to ten before relaxing on his seat.

“You assaulted a doctor I heard" he stated calmly, observing Connor's body language looking for any hint of guilt, he finds none.

Connor scoffed. “If only. Gavin’s still breathing. My bad.”

Wow, okay.

“You incited a near-riot.”

“That place needed some energy. You’re welcome.” he assured casually, brown eyes roaming the office for no reason or maybe just to annoy Hank by not taking any of this shit seriously.

“You’re wasting my time.” Hank decided to be blunt, to hell all the professionalism.

Connor looked at him once again and shrugged “Yours, mine, society’s. Take your pick."

Hank leaned forward. “Why are you here, Connor?”

Connor looked up. For a moment, the sarcasm faded just for only a second.

“My mother wanted to get rid of me,” he said simply. “She succeeded.”

Hank said nothing.

Connor rolled his eyes and shifted on his seat staring at Hank expectantly with narrowed eyes “Let me guess. You’re going to tell me life is worth living, feelings are valid, and everything will get better if I just talk about it.”

“No,” Hank said. “I was going to say you’re a smug little shit with a death wish and a martyr complex. But go on. Tell me more.”

Connor blinked, he opened and closed his mouth for a moment, taken back by Hank's curt reply.

Then he laughed.

It wasn't a genuine one, it was bitter, surprised maybe.

“Shit,” he muttered, slightly stunned “They finally found a shrink more broken than me.”

Hank didn't take offense, it could be true anyway, he was just as much fucked up as him or maybe more he doesn't know yet.

“Probably.”

Connor’s gaze drifted to the window.

“I’m not here to be fixed. Just to be contained. Don’t waste your breath.” Connor explained simply, sending him a pointed look.

“I don’t do fixing,” Hank said. “I do listening. Sometimes yelling. Occasionally paperwork.” he replied with a heavy sigh, leaning back against his seat as he watched Connor eye him skeptically with scrunched face.

“You’re not very good at this."

“Neither are you.”

A pause.

Connor’s shoulders sagged slightly. "That’s fair."

They sat in silence for a minute.

Then Hank said, “Tell me what happened in the cafeteria.”

Connor tilted his head. “Reed poked the bear. The bear snapped. Chaos ensued. The end.”

“Why defend Ralph?”

“Because no one else will.” he replied with deadpan as if it couldn't be more obvious.

Hank studied him for a silent moment, tapping with his pen over the glassy desk absently “You’ve got a temper. But you pick your fights.”

Connor gave him a sidelong glance. "You sound surprised."

“I am. You seem like a pain in the ass. But not cruel.”

“I can be.”

“Then why aren’t you?”

"I don't feel like being cruel today, that's all." he justified with a smug grin taking a place on his lips and Hank rolled his eyes.

That little shit.

The session didn’t go well after that.

Connor was sarcastic , blunt and annoying, dismissive. He refused to talk about his suicide attempts, went dead silent when Hank mentioned Amanda, and accused the entire facility of being a glorified prison.

But Hank didn’t push.

He watched.

Listened.

Knowing that there will be a very long road waiting for him if he wanted someone like Connor to open up to him.

At the end of the hour, Connor stood up with a long exhale. “Same time next week?”

“Same time tomorrow.”

Connor scowled. “Fantastic. I can’t wait.”

He left.

Hank sat back in his chair rubbing his face tiredly, feeling emotionally drained even though the session wasn't even that serious, his head was going to fucking explode, he needs some fucking whiskey or he might just kill himself.

Maybe it's not too late to quit?

After all, it's still his first day here, he can still run away and never come back, go back to Detroit maybe?

No, fuck, he has to try, he has to fucking try!

'Get it together, Anderson, you were never a pussy'

He chides himself and groans loudly before grabbing Connor's file once again to read more about him.

'Alright, two can play this game, asshole, I won't let go just like that, whether you like it or not, I'm not leaving you alone until you talk'

With newfound determination, Hank shifts on his seat and puts all of his attention on this case, he won't give up, not now at least.

If he can't help himself, maybe he could at least grant it to other people.

Hank is hopeless, he's certain of that, there's no way he could be saved.

But maybe, just maybe, he can provide that missing hope to his patients, that's his job after all.

Chapter Text

Hank was starting to think maybe he’d made a mistake. Day three at the hospital, and already, he’d begun to question how the hell this place hadn’t been shut down by the state years ago. Or burned to the ground by a vengeful god.

He was in the staff lounge, sipping lukewarm coffee and trying not to grimace when Gavin Reed strolled in like he owned the place, he didn't know the guy by any means but still, something about him always put Hank off whenever he saw him, like sharp alert ringing loudly 'An asshole is right here!'

"Morning, sunshine," Gavin drawled, slamming a file onto the counter with far too much enthusiasm. “Slept well ?or did the psycho's misery kept haunting your dreams?” he asks with so much amusement as if he's trading jokes with an old friend while he chewed obnoxiously on his gum.

Fuckin-A.

Hank gave him a flat look. “You always this chipper, or did you stick a fork in a light socket before breakfast?” he scoffed with clear annoyance.

Gavin grinned, sharp and ugly. “That’s cute. You’ll fit right in.” he affirmed with a failed attempt to wink.

Jesus Christ, Hank can't stand that motherfucker already.

Over the next ten minutes, Gavin made it painfully clear just how little he cared about patients well-being. He cracked jokes about sedation doses like they were cocktails. He referred to Ralph as ‘the drooler,’ made fun of almost every patient's suffering and didn’t even bother to hide the broad smirk taking over his face like some demonic fox when he mentioned Connor.

"Stern’s your problem now, huh? Poor bastard. He’s a ticking time bomb, that one. Fun to poke, though. Real mouth on him. Ever see someone smile while getting electroshock?" Gavin snorted. "He will. Eventually."

That was enough.

By the time Hank left the room, he was certain of two things: one, Gavin Reed was a sadistic immature bastard. Two, Connor Stern had every right to fantasize about strangling him with his own stethoscope.

Hank is fucking curious how this fucker didn't lose his license yet, or how he's even a psychiatrist to begin with.

This place is such a freakshow, it's official.

______________________________________________________

Meanwhile, Connor was sitting on one of the faded couches in the rec room, fiddling with a plastic spoon like it was a weapon. Kara, another patient, in her late twenties with blue eyes and short pixie cut silver hair, sat beside him, chatting in a calm, dreamy voice to the space beside her.

“You think Alice would like the new coloring books?” Kara asked the empty air. Then she turned to Connor. “She likes princesses. Do you think she’s still upset about the pills?”

Connor blinked at her, his mind going blank for five seconds.

Huh?

Connor’s put on a tight smile “I’m sure she’s... managing.” he replied without having a fucking clue what this is even about.

Kara tilted her head, frowning. “But she screamed at the nurse yesterday.” she argued with a pointed look, her expression is too serious to Connor's utter mortification.

Connor’s eyes darted to the hallway as if considering a plan to bolt out of here and save himself the absolute discomfort “Right. Well. That’s between you and... her.”

“I think you should apologize,” Kara added seriously.

Connor blinked again, twice, then narrowed his eyes.

“...To who?”

“Alice, of course.” she replied calmly, staring into his soul with expectant expression.

Well, fuck.

Connor nodded slowly, rose from the couch "I think I'm gonna need to grab something from the vending machine real quick, you know, chocolate maybe, so I can apologize properly to Alice" he lied offering her a false enthusiastic smile and the walked straight out of the room like his life depends on it, unable to catch the way Kara frowned confusedly as she murmured.

"But Alice is allergic to chocolate."

He likes Kara, he really does, but sometimes she just freaks the hell out of him when she brings up people who don't exist, it never gets old. Creeps the shit out of him.

He found North at her usual spot—pressed up against the hallway wall like a bored delinquent. She spotted him and smirked widely as if she had just found herself a new victim, if you could call Connor victim at all.

“Aw. Did mommy freak you out again?” she asked putting a hand over her chest in mock sympathy as Connor sighed heavily slumping against the wall besides her with wide eyed look on his face as if he had just been flashed by 80 years old woman.

“I think I need an exorcism,” Connor muttered.

North cackled loudly , slapping on his shoulder rapidly with too much force to be counted as comfort. “Come on, drama queen. Let’s make today a little more interesting.”

They wandered into the cafeteria together, where North started flicking food at Connor’s head until he threatened to stab her with a plastic fork. One thing led to another, voices were raised, a tray went flying, and someone screamed “FOOD FIGHT!” in a way that sounded like a declaration of war.

Ten minutes later, a nurse grabbed Connor by the collar, hissing, “That’s it, Stern! One more outburst and it’s the basement for you!”

Why do they keep putting blaming him only without addressing North? he would never know, maybe they're avoiding getting punched in the face?

Connor grinned excitedly “Sounds cozy.”

But instead of more punishment, the staff seemed to ignore him long enough for North to pull him aside out of their eyeshot and whisper, “I know where they keep the cigarettes.”

Connor raised an eyebrow. “I don’t smoke.” he stated in a matter of fact tone giving her a confused look.

“Then start.” she replied simply elbowing him and then she dragged him to the nurses lock room with determination like they're on a mission.

Five minutes later, they were on the roof of the hospital, wind in their hair, the city lights blurred in the distance, and stolen cigarettes between their lips.

“This is probably killing us,” Connor said after his first inhale. He coughed. Hard enough for his eyes to water.

North beamed at him. “That’s the point.” she winked, blowing out the smoke like a pro.

They sat in silence for a while. The wind was cold, but it felt good. Real. Connor let the smoke curl from his lips, feeling like a character in a noir movie—if that character had a criminal record of violence, public nudity, and property damage with a very long list of failed suicide attempts.

“I hate everyone here,” North scoffed suddenly for no reason.

Connor nodded. “Almost everyone.”

North bumped his shoulder. “You’re not terrible. For a freak.” she admitted with the tiniest twitch of a genuine smile on her lips.

“Aw. You say the sweetest things.” he crooned dramatically wiping non-existent tears from the corner of his eyes as North snickered elbowing him again too hard for his liking, he winced slightly before rolling his eyes, seriously if he didn't die by his own depression he'll definitely die one day from broken ribs caused by no one other than North.

Ah.The things he endure for being a gentleman.

Not like he never felt like slapping her across the face too hard that she'll lose at least one tooth, or that he never wanted to strangle her to death when she acted like a heartless bitch.

Still, it's all in his head, he would never hit her no matter how she pissed him off, he has morals after all.

Staying here for three years, for fucking one thousand and ninety five days, a long, slow torture that never failed to soothe the dark thoughts in Connor's head, he never tried it interact with other people there, always gave the stink eye to whoever dares to try to approach him, he didn't need company, especially from some crazy people.

Not like he's very sane, but he could deal with his own instability just fine, but handling other's mental illness bullshit wasn't really for him, he's an introvert guy with the patient of sixty years old man, thank you so much, this place wasn't made for meet-cute and family bonding, it was an absolute hell with unhinged people that were too broken to be accepted by the world outside.

So he never planned on building any kinds of closeness with anyone here.

He wanted to suffer in silence until he figures out a magical way to get out of here or get a master plan to commit a successful attempt and off himself from the face of earth peacefully which is fucking hard when all the nurses are watching him like a hawk!

Of course nothing goes as Connor plans, gods hate him apparently.

Or maybe not? he doesn't know.

All he knows that he wanted everyone in that creepy place to fuck off and still he managed to befriend with them at the end.

It started by the two hundred and fifty day of Connor's staying at the hospital.

When a new patient got blessed with the honor of getting shoved in here among all the other broken ones.

Her name was North Carter, she was twenty-five, once she walked into the rec room that day she made her entrance very clear, too hard to ignore, as she flipped one of nurses off for looking at her in a way she didn't like, her whole aura was threatening and dangerous, she was pretty, yet it was the kind of scary pretty, strawberry blond hair, pale skin, sharp glaring hazel eyes, sharp small nose and full lips that were twisted in deep scowl, she wore shorts (In fucking February) paired with a red long sleeved off shoulder shirt, her hair was braided and pulled aside to her left shoulder, everything about her said that she was going to be such a pain for doctors and nurses here, hell, maybe even for other patients too.

She kicked one of the tables startling a patient who was trying to eat his pudding in peace, she didn't look sorry, didn't even glance his way, only clicked her tongue in annoyance and kept walking.

North wandered around the large space of the rec room, scanning everyone with the same sharp disgust on her face as if she had just fallen into enemy's territory, she looked at two patients playing chess, then huffed looking at others watching the shit show on the large TV screen, then at a man sleeping on an armchair snoring like a fucking vacuum.

She rolled her eyes and kept observing people around here till her gaze fell on him.

Connor Stern himself.

He was sprawled on one of the old couches, flipping through a crossword puzzle with all the enthusiasm of a corpse, slim, pale, curly-haired, sharp jaw, big eyes.

She paused, folding her arms over her chest while studying him with flicker of more interest.

Something about him looked more innocent and cruel, like a porcelain doll with an axe behind its back.

She walked straight towards him.

"Hey," she started, voice sharp and curt, as she kicked at the leg of couch two times with her dark boot "Scoot over." she ordered looking down at him with narrowed eyes.

Connor didn't bother to even look at her, raking his brown eyes over the puzzles with obvious boredom.

"Do I owe you money?" he asks calmly, in a measured steady voice, tapping his pencil over the page rhythmically, humming to himself thoughtfully as if he gives a fuck about solving the puzzle at all.

North faltered , her frown softened with confusion as she blinked looking at him with furrowed eyebrows "What?"

finally Connor looked at her, his expression is too relaxed and composed, he eyed her for just a second to realize that she's new here, he's certain since he had analyzed almost every patient in this godawful facility, and she wasn't familiar.

He pointed at her with his pencil, with the same nonchalant demeanor "I thought you're my debt collector with how demanding you are, am I late on my payment?" he asked again, raising his eyebrows with that mocking glint in his eyes.

North's frown increased tenfolds as she clenched her jaw glaring daggers down at him.

"Fuck off!"

Connor scoffs in disbelief "You fuck off! I was minding my own business till you came, Joe Pesci!"

"Don't yell!" she snapped with a threatening look, her fists balling by her sides and Connor groaned in annoyance, his fake peaceful time is ruined for all thanks for the she-hulk.

He shifted from his position on the couch with too much force, basically slamming himself back in a sitting position with the puzzle on his lap and the pencil in a tight grip.

He looked at her again and she looked right back at him, her frown softening only slightly as she sat down on the other side of the couch with a pleased sigh, casting him a smug glance.

'Bitch' is the only word flickering rapidly in Connor's brain like Christmas fairy lights.

"What's your name?" North asks him eventually, her tone is nonchalant as if she hadn't just bullied him into changing his comfortable set up.

He gave her a sidelong and shrugged "Katy Perry." he replies in a serious voice, twirling the pencil between his fingers.

North snorted, against her best attempts not to as she pursed her lips together giving him a half-hearted glare "You're an asshole."

"Mmm, I get that a lot, say something new."

"I'm North." she declared as if he cared to know.

Connor grinned tilting his head as his eyes sparkled with mirth.

"Like the direction?"

North arched an eyebrow, unamused look on her face "Like the threat." she retorted without missing a beat and Connor's lips twitched.

He exhaled a single amused breath through his nose and nodded "Okay, that's good, I'll give you that one."

They sat in silence for a five minutes, it wasn't uncomfortable, just....heavy, like the calm before a fire alarm.

Connor's curiosity gets the best of him, his eyes scanned her more intently, not in a flirty way, more like someone reading a warning label.

"So," he begun, catching her attention as she turned her head staring at him with puzzled expression.

"Statistically, you're either here for trying to kill someone, or because you believe that aliens control WiFi," he circled a word in his puzzle and then tapped his pencil before looking at her expectantly "Which is it?"

North snatch the puzzle from his lap to observe it curiously with narrowed eyes before throwing it back at him, right on his face as he closed his eyes momentarily trying to summon his nonexistent patience for her sake because if not, he might as well make it her last day here, it's a win-win, even for her right?

"I tried to crack my stepdad's head open with a baseball bat, the fucker still survived." she replied bluntly, clicking her tongue in disdain.

Connor paused, he blinked, absorbing the information before faking an impressed gasp, putting a bashful hand over his mouth as she scrunched her face in confusion at his performance.

"Ah, anger management I see? that's totally my type, very charming."

"Fuck you."

"Right back at you, sweetheart."

They both went silent for another minute after that, then Connor sighed heavily.

"My name is Connor." he confirmed reluctantly and North cackled startling him as he gaped at her unexpected outburst.

"The fu-"

"Connor? that's lame as fuck, I would have accepted Katy Perry over that."

"North, never make fun of my name again unless you want to get stabbed with that pencil in your fucking throat."

"You don't scare me, Katy Perry."

"So do you, Joe Pesci."

And ironically enough, that was the start of a chaotic friendship that lasted for more than two years now.

They were friends at days, and each other's worst enemy at others, always bickering, always arguing over the dumbest thing, always pairing up at getting themselves in troubles, and of course making an unspoken vow of bullying the shit out of Dr Gavin whenever there's an open chance.

North Carter is a unique girl, she could be the most frightening girl you could ever meet one moment, and the other moment you'll find him cheering wholeheartedly in the morning for stealing extra pudding from the cafeteria after a midnight sneaking, or gushing over the cute cat she played with at the hospital's gardens, Connor would never understand her, people are just complicated like that, and somehow they bonded just well, like two long lost siblings finding each other in the middle of madness.

She was the first one who forced him out of his shell, his very first friend.

Then next came Kara, Kara Williams.

It was a normal day, art therapy and shit, some useless activity doctors thought would be valuable to let the patients cope and draw out all their emotions, vent on the paper with colors and all.

If you ask Connor what he thinks, it's a fucking sack of bullshit.

How the fuck drawing would make him stop thinking about killing himself?! if he's being honest, the urge is only increasing during those dumb sessions!

He wish the crayons were sharp enough for him to stab himself but the world isn't fair after all.

There was a TV screen here too, for their entertainment, how mindful of them.

And it was stuck on a fucking kid's channel where a woman with giant teeth sang about brushing your emotions.

Connor had already tried to change it twice and been told that the remote was for 'staff use only'

He slumped on a beanbag chair shaped like a sad forg, he sat there staring into distance blankly, chewing on his inner cheek and regretting his whole existence.

North sat cross legged on the table beside him, grabbing handful of crayons from a therapy box labeled 'Coping colors' and scribbling angry shapes into a sketchbook the nurse gave to every patient along with the colors.

"This place is destroying my IQ." North grumbled under her breath, scribbling on the paper with much force as if trying to murder it, or murder the crayon, who knows.

Connor hummed resting his forehead on the table feeling like a sulky corpse, too drained to bother with the colors and all the shit.
"Yeah, that's probably their goal"

Then came a voice.

High, soft, too soft to be safe.

"Hi."

Connor lifted his head abruptly and North paused her furious coloring, both of them looked up.

A girl was approaching their table, no, not a girl, a woman you could say, she's an adult technically, but she had that nervous ,delicate presence of a porcelain ballerina, white-blonde hair, cropped short in a pixie haircut, big blue eyes that didn't really focus where they were supposed to, pale lips, bitten raw, she wore an oversized baby blue hoodie, dark pants, different colored socks, and she held a stuffed fox that had been clearly through hell.

"I'm Kara." she said quietly as if it was a confession, offering them a small tentative smile.

Connor and North exchanged a look.

Kara added softly "Alice wanted to meet you."

North raised an eyebrow "Alice?" she repeated with a massive question mark hovering above her head.

Kara nodded affirmatively "My daughter." she explained with a small shrug.

Connor's jaw almost dropped to the floor "Wait, you have a kid in here?" he asked in utter horror as he tilted his head peeking behind her as if trying to catch glimpse of a kid around the room, what the hell? were kids even allowed to be here?

Kara hummed softly, a gentle smile on her face as she caressed the stuffed fox in her hands "She's very quiet, she doesn't like strangers, but I told her you two seemed nice." she justified calmly, her voice is steady and serious.

North looked at her from under her lashes before shaking her slowly, too stunned to reply.
"This shit just got weirder." she muttered to herself furrowing her eyebrows as she eyed Kara up and down like she's analyzing a suspect, something she learned from Connor.

Connor just watched with open mouth as Kara turned to the empty space next to her and whispered something they couldn't catch, then she looked at them again and added "She wants to know if you guys like coloring books."

Connor blinked, North stuttered.

"Wait, hold up.....there's no kid, right?"

Kara's gentle expression changed in an instant, she gave them both a reproachful look, as if they were being rude to royalty.

"Alice is just shy," she protested firmly, a protective frown on her face "But she's here, she's always here." she assured with so much certainty that even North looked like she was second guessing herself.

Connor, for once, didn't have a snarky response.

Instead, he looked at the stuffed fox clutched in her hands, like it was Kara's only lifeline, the careful way she stepped around the invisible person as she walked over to the table like she had done a thousand times.

It all clicked in Connor's head as he finally realized Kara's condition.

A rare wave of sadness started growing inside his already shattered heart as he bit his lip holding back a sigh.

This world is too fucked up.

"She's.....your daughter?" he asked, more gently this time, with a gleam of understanding in his eyes as Kara visibly relaxed, her soft smile coming back to life as she nodded.

"They tried to take her away, said she wasn't real, isn't it insane?"

'Yeah, insane indeed'

Connor agrees internally as he nods slowly, life was never fair was it? always breaking the gentlest people whenever they think they had finally found something or someone to live for.

North looked like she was two seconds away from screaming bloody murder "Holy shit." she whispered sending Connor a wide eyed look.

Connor shakes his head, a clear message of 'Stop making it weirder than it already is!'

She swallows and grabs her crayon again trying to busy herself with something.

Kara sat down across from them, crossing her legs and reaching out to grab handful of colored pencils and crayons.

"Alice favorite color is pink," she said with a fond smile holding the pink crayon before looking at Connor and extending it to him "You can burrow it if you want." she offered kindly.

Connor blinked, then reached out to take the color reluctantly.

He didn't even need it, he wasn't into that shitty art therapy method.

North scoffed something under her breath, scribbling more intensely on the paper Connor is sure it's a matter of time before it gets torn in half.

Kara turned to her, her brows furrowed in mild concern as she tilted her head "You look upset."

"I am." North replied bluntly as Connor rolled his eyes at her usual bitching.

"Maybe Alice could draw with you," Kara suggested helpfully watching North's crayon halt on the paper "She's good at helping people calm down."

North opened her mouth, closed it, then rubbed a hand over her face like she wasn't sure if she should laugh or scream.

Kara noticed her fidgeting and tried to reassure her "You don't have to believe in her, she believes in you anyway."

Connor made a quiet sound, almost like a chuckle, North looked ready to combust.

"Please don't tell me she's not going to stick to us." North groaned looking at Connor pleadingly.

Connor shrugged, fighting back a smirk.

"She's probably going to stick around." he stated simply and North grits her teeth looking down at her almost torn paper with dark frown twisting her whole features, she looked like someone going through all of the five stages of grief all at once.

Kara just sat there calmly, staring at her expectantly.

After the long pause, North shifted on her seat and grabbed a blue crayon.

Surrender.

"I'm not drawing any princesses or cute stuff." she warned giving them both a sharp glare.

Kara nodded in acceptance "Maybe just a castle then," she whispered with a shrug, pondering on the many colors options before her on the table.

Connor slouched forward over the table, resting a hand over his cheek, watching Kara explain to irratited North how to draw a perfect castle.

"We're officially making the weirdest friend group on earth."

North snorted in amusement nodding with a sigh "More like mental avengers."

Kara only smiled at them brightly, overjoyed to be part of this small group.

"Kara says she likes both of you."

"Of course she does," Connor says with a playful grin "We're fabulous."

Connor never asked for friends, never was fond of the concept itself, but since when did life gave him what he wanted?

That's how their group got bigger with a room for another miserable member.

By the beginning of Connor's third year of staying in the fancy hellhole called 'Echo', there was another new patient welcomed into their group.

It was lunch break, early spring, the sun was brighter than ever and Connor felt like stabbing both of his eyes for no specific reason.

Dr Gavin stormed off, passing by the cafeteria on his way while yelling something about 'High risk transfer' and 'Goddamn liability'

Connor barley looked up from his tray of mystery mush "Sounds promising." he drawled sarcastically, letting out a long exhale as he played with the plastic fork twisting it between his fingers testing its strength before it snaps in half.

North smirked, fiddling with her napkin before rolling it neatly on the table.
"Maybe they'll bring us someone interesting for once. Like a biter. Or a cannibal , I'm getting bored here."

Kara was a little busy, separating the green beans on her tray into smiley face for Alice.
"Every soul deserves a second chance." she says gently, with a small peaceful smile on her face that sometimes pissed Connor off.

He raised an eyebrow at her as he whistled, totally unimpressed "That's adorable, you should embroider that on a straitjacket." he advised with stoic expression, his head was throbbing, he wanted to flip that table and knock over all the disgusting overcooked food and stomp on it till it became one with the ceramic floor.

The slam of the cafeteria's doors interrupted his fantasies and almost making him jump out of his skin as North laughed at his scared face muttering "Pussy" under her breath for absolutely no reason.

The newcomer walked in, or more accurately exploded into the cafeteria.

Barefoot wearing too much clothes for the spring, dark blue eyes were wide and haunted, the first thing that caught Connor's eye though, was the scar, there was a deep scar running across the right side of his face from his forehead to his cheekbone, it wasn't a clean scar, it was jagged, messy, like it was made with the main purpose to hurt, to leave a mark behind, an intentional sign of brutal violation.

Connor shifted on his seat, sitting more straight as a frown started to take over his face, it made him sick to his stomach, why would someone take their time with creating such an awful seam on someone that looked clearly helpless from the first sight.

His throat tightened for a brief moment before he swallowed forcing the lump down, it wasn't his business to care, he should really stop analyzing people here and carrying their own grief with him like he owned it, he was depressed enough with tons of misery that could cover the whole earth in black.

Yet, his eyes still scanned that stressed newcomer taking in his vulnerable form.

He had a dirty blonde unkempt hair, it looked greasy and uneven, like it had been chopped with a knife or pulled out in chunks, especially near the scar, parts are missing entirely, possibly burned or torn away.

His shoulders were hunched, giving a twitchy anxious posture.

He looked young, maybe in his late teenagers, or early twenties.

And that realization made something crack inside Connor that he brushed away ignoring its existence.

He was clutching a wilted dandelion whispering to it like it was giving him instructions.

Some heads turned to take a curious look at the newcomer.

Ralph blinked rapidly, staring at everyone around the cafeteria like he had just wandered onto a stage mid-play.

Then his eyes landed on Connor.

'Fuck me' Connor thought watching him walk to their table, why the fuck does he keep attracting weird people?!!

He wants to rip his head off.

Ugh, Amanda would be so proud of him now.

"You," the newcomer spoke in a wavering voice as if he was approaching a lion's den with no choice but to interact with "You're the leader aren't you?"

Before Connor opens his mouth North scoffs loudly causing him to flinch.

"Why the fuck did assume that? what impression gave you that idea? maybe I am the leader." she argued fiercely looking absolutely offended as the newcomer recoiled taking a step back staring at her with eyes.

Connor found himself wheezing in laughter and just to be an asshole he looked at Ralph and nodded "Yes, that's me, I'm the leader." he affirmed sending North a smug look which earned him a middle finger.

"Why can't I be the leader?" she protested folding her arms over her chest with deep scowl.

Connor raised his eyebrows giving her the 'Are we really talking about it now?' and she just glared right back at him.

He groaned dramatically throwing his hands in the air as if it's obvious "Because you're a mean bitch, you'll just scare everyone away! right Kara?"

Kara hummed thoughtfully before sending North an apologetical smile "You have some rage issues."

"Oh, fuck off!"

"North, Alice is sitting with us remember? you should watch your language."

"Well, tell her to plug her ears or some shit!"

"You're being a bad example."

The newcomer hovered by their table, shifting on his feet awkwardly looking unsure as he listened to the argument escalate.

Connor huffed and waved a hand at him gently.

"Don't mind them, what did you want?"

The newcomer nodded, with serious expression "The flower told Ralph to find you." he announced and Connor blinked rapidly staring at him.

He pointed a finger at himself mouthing a soundless 'Me?'

He felt dumb, and by the way, who's even Ralph?

North finally stopped arguing with Kara and looked at Connor with furrowed eyebrows.

"And that's a perfectly normal start." she said dryly dropping her elbow over the table with unnecessary force.

"Who's Ralph?" Kara asked curiously tilting her head.

The newcomer stepped closer to their table again.
"Ralph is me!," he explained eagerly, pointing at himself "Ralph didn't mean to bite the teacher, she made Ralph sit in the circle, Ralph told her, Ralph doesn't do circles." he complained passionately as Connor nodded along without understanding a single word.

"Totally reasonable." he deadpanned with a long sigh.

Doris, Connor's nurse, passed by their table checking on his tray.

"Intellectual disability," she explained calmly giving Ralph's head a gentle pat as she walked past him towards Connor who face palmed intently, he completely forgot about Doris's daily stroll, fuck, he should have been faster than that, the food would have been dumped happily in the trash if he didn't waste his time arguing with North and talking to Ralph.

Doris looked down at Connor's untouched tray and gave him an unimpressed frown as he pretended to be suddenly tired by holding his head in false pain.

"I think I'm having a stroke."

"YOU! will give me a stroke." Doris retorted in fury as North snorted enjoying the free show.

He yelped jumping in his seat as Doris pinched his arm without a warning and yelled "Eat your damn food!" then she stormed out like a furious grim reaper collecting souls.

North cackled and Connor rubbed his arm with scowl.

He's so done, that's an absolute abuse!

Ralph suddenly held out the dandelion like it was an offering "For you, it's not poisonous, Ralph checked."

Connor looked at him then at the offered wilted flower, feeling weirdly touched as he hesitantly reached out and took it gently between his fingers.

Ralph's entire body relaxed like a scared dog realizing he wouldn't get hit, his eyes sparkled with innocent joy as he bounced on his heels enthusiastically "You're kind," he said, in utter awe "The last one Ralph offered the flower to said no and called Ralph a sewer rat with legs."

North blinked, holding her chin in thought "That's oddly specific."

Kara stood slowly and smiled at him warmly "Hi, Ralph, I'm Kara, and this is Alice, my daughter" she said gesturing at the empty space besides her.

Surprisingly enough, Ralph didn't ask about the nonexistent child, he only nodded in understanding "She looks quiet."

Kara nodded in agreement "She is shy, but she likes you."

Ralph beamed brightly "She's polite! Ralph likes her too!"

Connor looked down at the flower in his hand and muttered "Shit, I have collected a full Pokémon team"

Ralph turned to look at him with hopeful look "Ralph would like to join your herd"

"My what?!"

"Your herd," Ralph repeated again more urgently "Your pack of kind people."

What in the werewolf world?!!

And what's with the 'kind' shit?

He's not kind, a little considerate but not really kind.

And for North, it's almost impossible.

Kara is the only kind person in this group, maybe Alice too? if it even counts, fuck he's going crazy.

Connor opened his mouth, closed it. Then he finally said "Sure. Fine. You're in."

Ralph gasped, stunned, even though he's the one who requested it in the first place "Really?"

"Yup."

North raised a finger at Ralph warningly as he started to sniffle "Don't make it weird."

Too late. Ralph immediately dropped to his knees in front of Connor and hugged him tightly burying his scarred face in Connor's lap.

Connor froze like someone had just dumped cold water down his spine.

"Uh, Ralph? you know personal space is a thing right?"

"Ralph have never had a herd before! they always threw Ralph away like he is a trahs" Ralph sobbed, to Connor's utter shock as he sniffled and looked up at him with thick tears streaming down his face, so much tears Connor didn't know when he even had the time to shed.

Connor's hand hovered in the air awkwardly, there was a weird tightness in his chest, something squeezing his heart as he moved really slowly and rested his hand on Ralph's back.

"You're not trash, Ralph," he said quietly "You're just a bit....scrambled."

Ralph sniffled, blinking slowly "Like eggs?"

Connor smiled and nodded "Exactly like eggs."

North held a fake cigarette made out of her napkin as she held it between her fingers trying to fill the absence of the real nicotine as she watched the scene unfold like it was a sad indie movie "God help me if I get attached." she said with a heavy sigh putting the makeshift fake cigarette between her lips.

Kara placed the extra spoon from her tray next to Ralph as he took a place next to her "Alice says you can have this, in case you want to dig a garden later."

Ralph looked at the spoon as if she had just handed him a sword "Ralph will plant kindness."

Connor leaned back staring up at the ceiling "We're all going to hell."

North blew fake smoke towards the ceiling and shrugged "Probably, but at least we'll have company."

Company.

Such an absurd word.

Connor never wanted one, never planned to, and definitely never wished to.

He wanted solitariness.

But life never gave him what he wanted.

Still, he couldn't say it was unpleasant.

It was like having a small family, a family by choice, people who could understand, and even when they didn't they would never judge you for who you are.

So that's the only thing Connor could be grateful for.

Other than that, he'll loathe and curse the world till the day he dies, which will be hopefully soon.

After smoking the cigarette that tasted like shit, they watched Ann Arbor from the high roof of the hospital as the cold wind of November laced gently through their hair.

He inhaled the clear air deeply into his chest closing his eyes.

Wouldn't it be wonderful to step forward and jump off the roof right now?

Just when it was starting to get really peaceful, they were caught, of course. Two nurses burst through the rooftop door like SWAT agents and hauled them off as if they had some magical sensors and spotted the way Connor's thoughts went downhill.

Connor resisted just enough to get dragged dramatically down the stairs.

“Oh no!” he cried theatrically. “My freedom!”

“You’re not funny, Stern,” one of the nurses muttered.

“That’s what my mother said. Right before she adopted me into a cold empire of pharmaceutical doom.”

Back in the building, he was informed—rather gleefully—that he’d be having another session with Dr. Hank Anderson.

“Oh, goody,” Connor muttered rolling his eyes.

The therapy room smelled like lemon wipes and bad decisions.

Hank looked up as Connor entered, arms folded. “Sit down.”

“No candles? No incense? I was hoping for ambiance.”

Hank pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look. Let’s just... talk. Normal human conversation.”

“Define ‘normal,’” Connor said, slumping into the chair like a wet cat.

Hank sighed. “How was your day?” he asked calmly, trying to act professional which made Connor want to laugh, it didn't suit him. Normal didn't really look like it Anderson's style.

However Connor lit up and started counting on his fingers like an excited kid telling his parents about his first day at elementary school “Got assaulted by a schizophrenic, stole government property, smoked on federal grounds, got tackled by a nurse, and now I’m here. So. You know. B-plus.”

Hank looked speechless “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Connor grinned. “Don’t worry, he’s used to the shouting.” he reassured waving a hand.

Hank leaned forward. “Connor, if you keep this up, they’re going to throw you in solitary for real. You think I’m bad? You think Gavin is bad? That white room doesn’t care how clever your mouth is. You’ll lose it in there.” he affirmed him firmly, his gruff voice taking a serious edge as his icy blue eyes bore into Connor's with sharp pointed look.

Connor went still. The grin melted off his face like snow in July.

Hank sat back, quiet and slightly weary.

“I’m trying here,” he added with the tiniest flicker of frustration.

Connor didn’t speak for a long time. Then, softly:

“I know.”

He knew, yes, any doctor would get tired of his bullshit and Hank Anderson didn't look any different, maybe he was more casual, more unprofessional, but he's a doctor at the end of the day, and eventually he'll realize that Connor is hopeless and will give up on his case handing it over to another doctor, that's how it works, he'll never get better, not unless he wants to.

The rest of the session passed in silence, Hank already knew there won't be any talking today so he just sat there and stared, Connor ignored him and kept his gaze on the large window behind the desk revealing full view of the gardens outside.

When Connor left, Hank stared at the door for a long time, then grabbed his pen and scribbled something down on his note, an acknowledgement, conclusion, or a reminder.

'Connor Stern isn't a lost cause'

Hank will break through him, if he fail, then he'll quit and go back to Detroit, it's either this or the end of his whole career, that's his new gamble.

Chapter Text

The first week was over.

Hank doesn't know how but he actually managed to survive a whole week without chugging down his painkillers pills with a bottle of Jack Daniel's.

But fuck if it wasn't a handful one.

He forced himself to finally unpack the boxes and bags after he was fed up with the annoying routine of waking up late for work and rummaging through boxes while cursing life like some old lunatic while Sumo watched him with disinterest, clearly used to his owner's unnecessarily overdramatic crash outs.

It took him two whole days to get his stuff settled, his back was already killing him, still he was determined to get it over with.

The closet was now organized with his clothes, folded and hanging decently, the small bathroom looked more good now with the brand new toiletries, body wash, shampoo, soap bars, toothpaste and toothbrush, deodorant, cologne, razor (Even when he didn't have the intention to shave his depressing beard), mouthwash, and finally some supplies of first aid kit placed safely in the wooden cabinet, you know, the basics any human being with a brain would have in their bathroom with some cleaning supplies he picked randomly.

The living room didn't need much though, it was small, almost too small to contain the recliner chair and the worn-out couch with the small smart TV screen at the center and a small coffee table before the couch, he only took some time picking a comfortable corner for Sumo's sleeping rug, and arranging his books inside the shelves in the room's walls.

He used to have lots of books back in the day when he had something called passion. But if he's being honest with himself he didn't really feel like he had the energy nor the interest to read anything, and he didn't have the hurt to throw them away, they were like part of his personality somehow, so he decided to just keep them there in the shelves for the sake of the decoration or whatever.

The kitchen was the worst of all the apartment, he didn't know the people that used to live in this place before him but they must be fucking nasty!!, there was bugs and dirt literally everywhere and he had to spend a whole evening after coming back from work to clean up every damn corner and every single cabinet, even the fridge required some cleaning, it was hell, Hank didn't sign up for this shit.

At the end he managed to rebuild the apartment into something human, not home, not really, the word was too strong for a place he barely stayed at, but it was something, a place that belongs to him.

Ann Arbor was nothing like Detroit though, everything was a little quieter and colder, more polished and organized. It made him feel a little homesick, because despite how his life took a shit turn it was still the place he grew old at, the place he had memories, places to go too, people he knew and all that sentimental crap, he had a strong connection with that city so it made sense how hard it felt to adjust to everything, the new places, the new faces, going out and feeling completely out of place.

He tried to go out few times, so his poor dog wouldn't suffer boredom since Sumo wasn't used to live in such a small space, back in Detroit it was easier with the big house Hank had, now he had to take him out from time to time for a walk around the neighborhood or to the nearest part there.

He also made some late night strolls around the neighborhood, trying to memorize the streets, spot a new bar to depend on whenever he feels like getting shitfaced, searching for good fast food restaurants around the area, liquor stores, grocery stores too.

He managed to get a good clue about places like that, luckily it wasn't as hard as he thought it would be, he almost covered half of city's streets, and he got himself couple bottles of whiskey and bourbon one too!. Hopefully he won't run out of alcohol till the end of the month.

Today is Saturday, finally off work after exhausting loaded week, of course it wasn't as cheerful and bright. Because taking his job into consideration, taking days off comes with tricks.

It's basically an on-call weekend, which means that any asshole could call him from the hospital and tell him that he needs to come and he'll have to suck it up and cancel whatever plans he had in order to go back to the field, luckily, Hank didn't have anything to do aside from taking Sumo out, avoiding any awkward encounters with the neighbors at all costs, and ordering some greasy meal from that fried chicken place two blocks away from the apartment and lazing around the place while checking out the files of his patients.

He woke up by noon stirring up at the noise of Sumo clawing at his door with his paws, a clear message saying 'Get your old ass up and feed me!'

He groaned rubbing the sleep out of his face before sitting up, he squinted at the digital clock at the bedside table reading the time, it was 2:00 PM.

A heavy sigh escaped him as he pushed off the covers and climbed out of the bed. His sleeping schedule was shit, he needs to manage it or it'll only lead him to severe insomnia.

Hank ran a hand through his unkempt grey hair as he walked over the door and grabbed the handle, greeted by Sumo who barked once at the sight of his owner finally awake, he pants loudly with his tongue out, thick tail wagging happily as he tried to jump on Hank as if he hadn't seen him for years.

Hank huffed a small laugh petting Sumo's head gently giving him a light scratch "Yeah, yeah, good morning to you too, bud." he muttered quietly, voice still rough with sleep but laced with amusement at his dog's enthusiasm.

Only Sumo could greet him with that love for absolutely no reason.

"Alright, follow me, big boy."

He went to the kitchen with Sumo in tail, clearly thrilled to get fed. Hank filled the bowl with kibbles and the poured water in the other bowl as Sumo dug in eagerly with no need for an invitation.

Hank pats his head once more before heading to the bathroom to take a quick cold shower to regain his focus on the shitty world outside.

He eats a bowl of lumpy cereal with milk and too much honey, then grabs his black hoodie, he gets dressed, doesn't bother with his hair, picks Sumo's leash and takes his coat before ushering the overjoyed dog out of the apartment for their thirty minutes walk.

It's not unpleasant, the air is too cold for early November but it's not freezing and what's even better is that people going about their business without being nosey or disgustingly friendly.

After coming back home, Sumo goes straight to his sleeping rug huffing loudly and slumping down ready to spend the rest of the day lazing around.

Hank doesn't have anything better to do as well, he gets himself cold beer from the fridge, pops the bottle open and plops down on the couch heavily turning on the TV on some random baseball game that didn't interest him in the slightest.

Hank sighs deeply, taking a swig from his beer before throwing his head back against the couch, staring blankly at the dusty yellowish celling.

Despite everything, Hank still felt the same empty void inside his chest.

Of course nothing would change.

Who he's kidding?

Moving out to another city and starting to build your broken career again won't fix shit.

It won't magically heal every goddamn piece of his shattered heart and then kiss it better!

Cole won't come back to life.

He's only fooling himself.

Living in a dull tasteless world is hell.

The loneliness is the worst, it could only drives you into madness when you wallow into it deep enough. And Hank became so used to it now that he thinks they might be friends by now actually, him and his miserable loneliness, the heavy silence, the never ending regrets and grief, it's been consuming him for so long they became one at some point.

Despite all the desperate efforts, Hank knows there's no way out, he'll keep going through the same cycle of despair every day till it eats his whole being and give him the final push off the edge.

He has made peace with that, one day the pain will become too much, too suffocating and raw. And Hank would finally grow the balls to end his own suffering. He'll die alone and pathetic.

He sighs heavily and takes a final long swig of his beer before deciding to find something better to do instead of sitting there like a rotting corpse.

With a grunt he stands up and leaves the living room, he heads to his own bedroom and makes a quick scan for the files he brought with him home till he finally finds them on top of the dresser, he snatch them with a bitter scowl, not very pleased with going through his patients cases in his day off but knowing that he has nothing better to do.

As he walked passed his closet he noticed that it was still half open from when he changed his clothes earlier, he rolls his eyes exasperatedly and steps forward to close it.

His eyes catch the sight of the two boxes inside, down at the bottom of the closest, he paused for a moment staring down at them with clenched jaw.

He had put them there purposely so it will be out of his sight and would spare him the pain but still, it's haunting him by just being there.

Hank didn't have the heart to get rid of them, how could he? it's the only thing left from Cole, small belongings that used to owned by the sweetest kid on earth, some are clothes, some are toys and cars, some are coloring books or notebooks that had contained a childish scribbles of his handwriting inside its own pages, Hank tried to open it once and ended up breaking down on the spot with dark thoughts looming over his head, whispering inside his mind to make a quick trip to the bathroom and swallow down his painkillers, and he would have done it, if he wasn't a damn coward.

He wish he could keep them as part of the lost happy memories of his son, the innocence, the laughter, the joy, he really wish he could have the courage to find a closure in them, to hold onto them like hope, but he can't, he just looks at them and feels like a failure, like he was supposed to be the dead one and not his little boy who barely lived and exploded life, he can't help but feel like they're there just to haunt him, to shove the ugly reality in his face with a giant imaginary sign saying 'LOOK! THAT'S WHAT YOU DID!'

Hank hovered there stiffly, his whole body feels like it's freezing with chilling cold despite the apartment's heater being on, his eyes are glued to the faintest hint of Cole's favorite teddy bear peeking out of the box in the shadows like an evil ghost.

He exhales shakily and force his frozen limbs to move as he bents down to push the boxes further into the dark closet keeping them out of his eyeshot before standing straight and slamming the doors shut.

'Coward' a voice echoes inside his head that looks pretty much like Cole's voice.

He swallows the growing lump in his throat and shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his face while his other hand kept gripping on the thick files in a death grip like it was the only thing grounding him.

It's all in his head, he knows that, all the taunting, punishing words are something from his creation, as fucked up as it is, Hank never makes them shut up, he just tires to ignore them, with that deep knowledge that he deserves them anyway.

He walks out of his bedroom after flicking the lights switch, trying not to think too much about the little encounter with Cole's stuff.

Life is funny, how could someone be well and breathing, so full of life and promising intelligence and wholesome kindness, then suddenly they're not there, not breathing, not talking, fading so fast like they never existed in the first place, with only some traces of them that contained the things that used to belong to them one day, it's funny.

No, it's not.

Life isn't funny.

Life is cruel, a fucking twisted bitch that tricks into thinking that you finally have something until you lose it eventually like you never had it.

It watch you cry and break while laughing at your foolishness whispering soundlessly in the air 'I can't believe you really fell for it'

It's fucked up, and Hank wish he could meet whoever wrote this scenario for him so he could flip them off and beat the shit out of them!

Hank tossed the files carelessly on top of the kitchen table and went to the cabinet, grabbing his brand new Jack Daniel's bottle, his appetite is all gone now, he'll manage to survive with his dear whiskey friend while busying himself with work.

He popped the bottle open and grabbed a glass before pouring the amber liquid to the brim, he sits down satisfied with the set up, the files are before him, the glass of whiskey is full and ready, and the bottle is sitting gracefully besides it ready to help with refills whenever the glass feels empty.

Hank grabs the first file his hand lands on and open it, greeted with the sight of Connor Stern scowling face and hallow big brown eyes.

"Great start." he scoffed rolling his eyes before grabbing the glass and chugging down the whiskey in one go, he slams the glass back down on the table grimacing slightly at the burning but not unpleasant burn of the alcohol in his throat.

With a deep sigh he starts his investigation by opening the diving more into the thick file after refilling his glass again.

It looked like it was going to be a long night, but it was a welcomed distraction at least.

The previous week was overwhelming, after being off the field for three years it was hard to adjust to going back to the same routine of his old life, the career he had chosen for himself long time ago was supposed to be pleasant, a joy more than a chore.

He tried to regain some of his dead passion in order to do his job, it wasn't so great, but still it wasn't a complete disaster.

He managed to indulge in the routine once again, his experience giving him a good start with some of the patients that were assigned to him.

He was trying to recall how it used to go back then when he was a good doctor with optimistic bright personality, it was fucking hard, but still he bore with it, went through sessions with his patients, made good impression with most of them, and got few things out of some, it was a bless that there was actually some people willing to open up and talk, it spared him so much efforts.

But then there was Connor.

And well, the kid made sure to give Hank the most pain in the ass week of his whole goddamn career!

It was safe to say that he's fucking handful!

Doing everything at his hands to drive Hank mad.

Sometimes, he would just keep running his smart mouth without getting them nowhere close to something fruitful.

Other times he would just sit there with that dead inside look on his face acting like Hank doesn't exist as they sit in heavy awkward silence.

And the other time that Hank hates the most is when he's quirky bastard, sitting with annoying cheeky smile plastered on his face that was made specially for the sake of spiting Hank while he listened to Hank talk his throat out trying to coax him into speaking, into saying something, anything at all!, the little fucker would only nod along as if he gives a shit, giving only one worded answers between 'Cool' 'Yup' 'Hmm' 'Sure' 'Sometimes' 'Maybe' 'Right' 'Probably'

And Hank sometimes feel like ripping his own hair off his fucking scalp from how frustrating he is, seriously Connor looks ready to talk about anything but himself, and it's understandable, of course, it won't be that easy, but the way he looks at Hank, it really drives him wild with anger, he looks at him like he's fucking enemy!! everytime they meet at Hank's office or the therapy room Connor has this grim look in his eyes as he observe Hank up and down like some detective cornering a serial killer!

The atmosphere is always tense, Hank knows they will come to some point where both of them will finally lose the civil facade and lash out on one another.

He only hopes it doesn't happen too soon.

He needs to figure out a way to break through the thick walls Connor build around himself.

He has made a challenge with himself, if he doesn't help Connor, his most hopeless patient as Chloe told him the previous doctors described him as, or his whole career is over.

He can consider it as a bet with himself, he's gambling with his whole life on Connor.

If the stubborn kid doesn't heal, then it might as well be over for Hank too.

And regardless of the useless sessions they went through the last week, Hank wasn't deterred. Considering his experience, he knew that there was still a very long road ahead of them if they were to achieve something, and Hank is more than determined to win this bet with himself.

He just need to be patient.

Patient, the word itself feels absurd to him, it used to be so easy back then, now it's a fucking huge task with how short his temper became.

But for the first time in three years, Hank has a purpose for him to live for, something to take his mind off all the dark, dangerous voices, it's something he can cling to for now, and it's the only thing he'll be devoted to until he see the outcome.

Figuring Connor Stern out.

Hank sat there for hours, a glass of whiskey replacing the other as he went through Connor's history, three years of being locked up in the hospital made his file loaded, lots of reports from multiple psychiatrists that had once upon a time been assigned to be his doctors, and all of them had given up at some point, five doctors, and none of them was able to get anything out of him despite some mental observations.

Five doctors looked at Connor and decided that there was no hope.

They simply turned their back to him after being fed up with his resistance, everyone of them was content to transfer the case to another doctor in hope they could be able to establish a different therapeutic dynamic.

They left some nonsense notes about the results of studying Connor's personality.

Distrustful, intelligent, uncooperative, reserved, sarcastic and outright aggressive at times.

It was bullshit.

They didn't figure shit out, didn't come with anything that could be useful, they all come to the same results and same observation that didn't take a blind guy to notice it.

One of them left a stupid and utterly unnecessary note in their report before leaving the case.

It said: 'Patient continues to stonewall every session. No progress, no insight, no effort. Wastes my time and his. Clearly not interested in getting better. Recommending transfer — maybe someone else can babysit.'

Hank had to pause, staring down at the note with baffled expression on his face.

He furrowed his eyebrows and shifted his gaze to look at the doctor's name and well, it all made since once he noticed the written 'Dr Gavin Reed' above.

He scoffed shaking his head in disbelief, Fowler must be so fucking stupid if he thought that someone like Gavin could handle Connor, it's a surprise that it didn't end tragically with Connor strangling the motherfucker.

He couldn't understand what kind of a good doctor could write such a disrespectful and unprofessional note about his patient, cooperative or not, it was something to be expected with the complex of Connor's personality and his long list of disorders.

He just can't wrap his head around the fact that five fucking doctors had failed to get him to open up even for once, well, four considering that Gavin would have been a failure no matter how hard the patient is.

It felt like they were just treating the whole matter like an experiment, found an interesting case, took it, tried and got constant refusals till they got bored and decided to walk away and move on with their lives, it didn't look like they were trying to help or even putting genuine efforts to begin with.

Anger flared inside Hank's core spreading in his whole being as he reached for the bottle taking a direct swig from it.

No wonder the kid was too determined on pushing him away and keeping distance, Connor is acting out because he's already convinced that he's a lost cause, that's why he must be so sure that there's no way out so he just drives anyone who tries to come closer away because he knows how it's going to end, he doesn't want feel hope.

Hank can't blame him.

Three years are a lot, if he was in Connor's place, locked there for years, being swapped from doctor to another, he would have lost his sanity long time ago.

They should have tried different times, different methods, different approaches, but they didn't felt like it worth the effort so they wrote a worthless report and handed it to the next doctor.

Connor's technique is simple, keep pushing till they get fed up and leave.

In that case, if you want to provide a progress you must push back with double efforts.

And that's exactly what Hank is planning to do.

Because he's sure as hell that Connor isn't a lost cause, he refuses to believe any of the doctors notes or recommendations.

And while all his previous attempts to get Connor to talk was met with massive rejection.

It still didn't stop Hank from taking some notes for himself as he made some examination.

Sometimes he would make a stroll around the hospital, checking on other patients, and then he would catch glimpse of Connor in the rec room, sitting on the floor with another patient, a younger one with dirty blonde hair and deep scar on his face, laughing quietly as something as the blonde spoke with passion and wide sparkling eyes, childish glee as Connor helped him fold some paper birds and boats.

Hank only watched for a minute before walking away with new conclusion.

Connor isn't really distrustful or distant by nature.

He still welcomes human connection with certain people.

Another times Hank would be smoking a cigarette by the window of his office (Ignoring the No smoking rule for his peace of mind) he would watch other patients walking around the gardens with nurses and guards keeping watchful eye on them all.

Hank notice Connor, standing under a tree with his hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, while kicking the small rocks at his feet absentmindedly.

A girl was standing by his side, with strawberry blond hair and sharp glare in her fierce eyes confirming that she might kill you on the spot if you look at her the wrong way.

They were both talking, more like arguing about something, Connor was expressing more emotions while bickering with the hot-headed girl more than any time Hank had ever seen in their sessions.

He would wave furiously with his hands in the air, gaping at her in utter shock at something she say, even flip her off, they seemed to have this back and forth and it looked like a normal thing since none of the nurses were alerted by their rising voices, and to Hank's surprise it ended with that girl slamming her hand over his shoulder in rapid motion, something aggressive but oddly friendly as she smirked widely at him, and Connor actually smiled, a small genuine smile as he huffed and shrugged his shoulders pushing her hand away from him.

Another conclusion, Connor could still function the ability of making friends and building some sort of bonding.

That was something to grasp onto.

He wasn't completely isolated, he was actually willing to make contact with others, by his own choice, to build trust and friendships.

He saw him at the cafeteria sitting with the same girl, and the other scarred boy and another girl with short silver hair and gentle smile on her face, they were all chatting and messing around like some highschool kids at lunchtime it actually amazed Hank, they made a nice group.

Connor looked in good spirit when he was around them.

And it gave Hank a good clue about Connor.

He doesn't really refuse socializing, he just accepts it on his own terms, by his own pure choice without any prying or pressuring, he uses sarcasm and dark humor as a defensive coping mechanism to shield himself from any possible hurt or disappoinment.

Which proved Hank more and more that Connor isn't broken, he is not someone who needs fixing, he just needs to trust the world once again, he needs to open up and acknowledge his issues.

Hank just needs to find his way into Connor's small comfort cycle, he'll have to win his trust first, then it'll be all up to Connor after that.

There is hope.

Hank is certain.

He spends the rest of the night reading Connor's file, writing down notes, plans for later, new methods and opening some topics next time they have a session.

He forgets all about the other files of his other patients, and when he realize that he realizes something else, he was completely drunk now, he felt lightheaded and the words kept blurring and melting into each other in a confusing weird shapes.

He groaned rubbing his eyes before closing the file and standing up, stumbling his way back to the living room with the remaining of the Jack Daniel's bottle in hand.

Hank sat on the secondhand couch, the almost empty bottle of whiskey cradled in one hand, the remote in the other. Sumo lay snoring heavily at his feet, the only comforting presence in the room besides the dull flicker of the television. The movie playing was some B-grade action flick with explosions louder than the dialogue. Hank didn’t care, his eyes felt too heavy to care.

He took a deep swig of the whiskey and grimaced as it burned its way down his throat once again. Outside his window, Ann Arbor’s weekend life hummed distantly — the occasional honk, laughter in the street, a train moaning somewhere far off.

It felt peaceful for some reason.

Then, from the apartment next door: the unmistakable rhythm of a headboard slamming against a shared wall, accompanied by high-pitched moans and enthusiastic grunts.

Wow, that's totally what he needed right now.

Hank sighed. He pressed the volume button, but the sound system of his old TV crackled and gave out a pathetic hum. The moaning got louder.

"Fuck me," Hank muttered with a huff, the words are coming out in heavy slurr, dragging a throw pillow over his face. Sumo barked once, lazily.

By midnight, he was good and drunk, the whiskey bottle fully empty now. The movie had changed twice, and he hadn’t moved. Somewhere between half-consciousness and dreamless sleep, Hank found himself muttering about Connor, his mind wandering to the stubborn smartass again.

“Damn kid... smug little shit... white coat thief...”

________________________________________________________

The morning sun was not kind, the bright beaming sunlight bursts into the living like an FBI team barging inside to collect a wanted criminal. Hank woke up with a loud groan and painful hangover, his mouth tasting like ash and regret. The hangover was a sentient entity now, pulsing behind his eyes and clawing at his empty stomach. Sumo licked his face once before trotting off to demand breakfast.

“Jesus, alright,” Hank mumbled, dragging himself to his feet and trying not to collapse on his face immediately as a wave of dizziness mixed with nauseous hit him like a train.

He fed the dog and rushed immediately to bathroom. After vomiting everything out till his throat hurt, he splashed cold water on his face panting heavily like a dying dog as he stared at his pathetic reflection for a whole minute trying to collect himself and get a fucking grip on this punishing hangover, he popped three ibuprofen and went to his bedroom to get dressed, his back is killing him and he cursed at himself for sleeping on that damn couch instead of his comfortable bed, then he left for the hospital with a snarl on his lips and a migraine ringing in his skull.

The 'Echo' Psychiatric Center was a cathedral of sterile lighting and polished floors. The contrast between its clean exterior and the rotting tensions within made Hank’s skin crawl.

His first stop that morning was his office, where Chloe greeted him with her usual warm smile. Too bright. Too sweet. It was a welcoming greetings, Hank really appreciates it, but he doesn't have the energy to put on a smile or make a small chat.

“Rough night?” she asked gently, bright eyes gleaming understanding as she stood by his desk with her clipboard in her hands hugged to her chest.

“I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about, I'm wonderful” Hank replied sarcastically, lifting his thumb up in mock cheerfulness as Chloe giggled putting a hand over her mouth.

“I'm sure of that," she played along with a known look, nodding with a smile, then she added helpfully "One of the buffet workers will bring you coffee in a minute."

Hank hummed in acknowledge rubbing his forehead as he slumped back on his chair "You're a real lifesaver, Chloe."

Chloe smiled sweetly and looked down at her wristwatch before looking back at him with thoughtful expression.

"You still have about an hour before the first session today, is there's anything we should do?" she asks, tilting her head as she stared at him with expectant gaze.

Hank furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head "No, I will just-" he started waving his hand dismissively then paused mid-sentence, he closed his mouth, taking a minute to think before looking back at Chloe who raised an eyebrow at him curiously.

"Tell you what, yeah, actually I have something in mind, could you find Connor's nurse for me? I need to talk to her." he settled on that deciding to make a good use of the free time he has despite the throbbing headache that was pounding his skull right now.

Chloe blinked in surprise before nodding vigorously "That's a good idea." she approved, seemingly understanding Hank's plan as she walked out of the office.

She's smart, Hank is happy that Jeffrey didn't give him some annoying emotionless nurse, he's already suffering enough.

After five minutes Hank was sipping from his steaming black coffee, sighing in relief for getting his daily caffeine does, a good distraction from the hammer inside his head right now.

Another five minutes passed and then there was a gentle knock before Chloe walked in with Connor's nurse following her, a short black woman with curly dark hair and kind face, Doris Adams, she looks in her early fifties, around Hank's age, and she looked nice and calm as Hank stood to greet her with a short handshake before asking her to sit down by on the chair by his desk, Chloe sat besides her, her note in hand, not waiting for Hank to tell her since she already knows that he'll need her to write down some notes.

"I hope I'm not interrupting your work," Hank started calmly, shifting on his seat to pay better attention to the nurse who shook her head reassuringly.

"It's alright, Dr Anderson, most patients are still in their rooms or starting their day."

Hank nodded slowly "I won't take much of your time though, I was wondering if you could help me out with handling Connor's case, I'll have to ask you some questions if you don't mind."

Doris welcomed it with a smile "Gladly, I'm ready to help with anything."

Hank was thankful the woman wasn't a moody grumpy one (Like himself), she was pretty cooperative, filling him in with everything he wanted to know.

It was much helpful than he thought, turns out she knows a lot about Connor, more than the other five doctors ever knew.

She told him about his usual routine, he wakes up every day almost in the same hour, nine thirty, he would use his own private bathroom to shower and then stick to his bed while reading a book till it's time for breakfast.

Which leads to something that wasn't mentioned enough in Connor's file.

"Eating disorder?" Hank repeated, his eyes sharpening as his furrowed creased with his frown, he couldn't help the way he tensed in his chair, sitting straighter as he stared at Doris intently.

Doris nodded "Yes, I think between all the other diagnosis the other doctors overlooked that." she confirmed with a sigh, looking equally frustrated as Chloe pursed her lips as well looking at Hank.

"Overlooked?!," he echoed in a scoff, a surge of anger boiling over the surface as his hand clenched around the coffee mug "That's fucking ridiculous, how could THAT be overlooked when it's obviously one of the most dangerous and effective disorders?!"

Hank can't believe this shit, he feels like punching something, or someone.

What the fuck is wrong with those doctors?! overlooking a patient's eating disorder in the sake of putting their attention on specific other ones?! that's disgusting.

"It's not fatal though," Doris assured calmly "It's ARFID, I'm not trying to downplay it, of course not, but what I'm saying here that it could be monitored well, I've been making sure he doesn't skip meals since he came here, sometimes it's hard but it's manageable." Doris explained trying to soothe the ragged look on Hank's face.

Hank clenched his jaw, opening Connor's file that was on the desk before him, he scanned through the diagnosis and there was no mention of the stage of eating disorder nor the eating disorder itself to begin with!

There was just small notes that described it as a lack of interest in food!

Hank wanted to rip that file into pieces.

That's fucked up! even if it's not a dangerous stage it still matters! what the fuck is wrong with those people?

Hank inhaled deeply trying to keep his composure as he shook his head "This is a big deal," he stated firmly tapping on the useless file with his hand profusely "I don't know what they were thinking to brush it off like that but it's serious and it can affect him in so many places."

Doris couldn't help but shrug helplessly "I'm doing everything I can to keep an eye on him, I check on him during every meal time."

It gave Hank some relief that at least there was someone mindful enough to give it more attention and consideration.

Hank was still displeased with new information but he decided to come back to it for later and move on to another question.

He asks her if he's close to any other people here, she confirms him that yes, Connor sometimes play card games with an old man called Edward who suffers from Alzheimer and schizophrenia, and sometimes would have occasion conversations with a middle aged woman called Diana that have something in common with him which is bipolar.

But the closest to Connor are three certain patients, North, the angry girl, Ralph, the scarred boy, and Kara, the gentle girl with silver hair and fox stuffed animal.

It was such a weird combination, a girl with severe anger issues, a teenager kid with intellectual disability and another girl with prolonged grief disorder and psychotic depression.

But it was a positive bond, she told him that he never fought with them (Minus North since they fight a lot but it's always unserious), Connor cares about them a lot, spends most of his time with them, and when he's too depressed he still sits with them but with much less energy.

"You can say they're like a family, siblings actually." Doris confirms with a small smile on her lips as she describes in detail some of their endearing antics.

Mentioning family leads Hank to asking about Connor's mother, Amanda Stern.

He knows her, he had looked her up on the internet after finding out that Connor came from a very wealthy famous background, he didn't find anything interesting aside from the fact that Connor was adopted by Amanda since he was five years old then became her legal heir.

Doris tells him that Connor despise the woman and rarely brings her up unless he wants to insult her or throw a sarcastic snark about his own life, she doesn't know a lot but she's very sure that the relationship between them is almost non-existent, especially after knowing that she's the one who signed him up in here when she was fed up with his behavior after his eleventh attempt back then.

"So she never visit?" Hank asks with hint of annoyance as he scratched his beard thoughtfully glancing at Chloe who kept up with each information Dori unfolded scribbling down on the note relentlessly.

Doris took a moment, narrowing her eyes slightly trying to recall something before shaking her head "No, honestly, she visits sometimes, but it's very rare, I could count the times she visited him through the three years on one hand," she answered with a frown, looking down at her hands before looking at Hank once again with sad empathetic expression "He always gets worse after every visit, more depression episodes."

Hank already hates that Amanda.

What kind of a mother throw her kid in mental health facility for three whole years barely visiting him only to make his life worse by putting him down over and over again.

There's this sinking feeling in Hank's gut that tells him that this Amanda plays the main role of Connor's condition.

"But she's not the only one who visits him, actually there's a regular visitor that comes once every month to see Connor." Doris proceed with a pointed look as Hank blinks in surprise raising his eyebrows.

Well, that's supposed to be a good thing but from the way Doris looks Hank feels like it's not going to be pleasant.

"It's far from pleasant," she starts in a warning, as if she's reading Hank's mind, watching him shift on his seat resting his elbows on the desk as he nodded signaling for her to keep talking.

"It's Connor's ex fiance," she declared and Hank blinked, visibly baffled, he had no clue about Connor's love life back before getting locked in here.

Now, that sounds really interesting.

"His name is Elijah Kamski, pretty famous businessman, if you make a quick search you'll find him all over the internet, Connor hates him more than anything, but the guy seems to have a quite unhealthy obsession with him he comes back every month no matter how unwelcomed Connor makes him feel."

Well, fuck.

Is there's anyone who can provide him a positive connection outside from this hellhole?

By looking at it, Hank feels like Connor had been locked in the outside world more than being locked in here, it's basically an environment full of toxicity.

A pang of sympathy squeeze Hank's chest and he brush it off instantly.

It's not his job to feel any kinds of emotions towards his patients, empathetic or not, it's wrong.

He ignores the surge of emotions blooming inside him and focus on the task at hand.

He asks more questions and Doris answers them all, some are certain and some are just guessing based on years of dealing with him.

After that Hank feels content with what he has for now, he thanks Doris for her time and she leaves the office heading back to her job.

Hank exhaled deeply, sinking back into his chair as he rubbed his face wearily with both hands.

"This shit is getting harder." he murmured quietly in mild defeat and Chloe made a noise of disagreement.

"I have to disagree with you, doctor, it's actually pretty helpful to know more things about Connor so you can interact with him in the right way." she argues gently placing down the note on his desk as she stood up.

Hank knew she got a point, so he just grunted in knowledge watching her smirk in amusement before grabbing her clipboard scanning it then looking at her wristwatch.

"Well, I should go collect Connor for your session." she told him and he nodded numbly closing his eyes as he heard the click of the door getting shut behind Chloe.

He feels horrible for some reason.

There's this voice inside his head telling him that he'll fuck it up, with how sensitive Connor's case seems.

Hank is starting to realize that he's the least qualified doctor on the planet for this case.

Maybe he's playing a losing game? it's not Connor's fault, he's not the problem, Hank is the real problem here, with how messed up he's right now could he really take the responsibility of handling Connor's case? could he even achieve anything at all.

He's just a failure old man.

He couldn't even keep his son alive, how on earth would he–

Just when it was about to get darker, Chloe came in and told him that Connor is waiting in the therapy room.

He swallows down the bitter taste in his mouth and leaves his office, assuring Chloe that he'll call her when he needs her.

He feels uneasy.

The voices coming back to bite at his brain once again.

Maybe he should just quit?

Hand the case to someone else who's more qualified and less fucked in the head?

Connor was already seated when Hank walks in. Per usual, he looked entirely too put-together for someone with so much going on around him. dark jeans, blue hoodie, combed hair with rebellion curls at the end. His expression was bored as he fiddled with the strings of his hood, Hank noticed the faint red mark on his right cheek— probably from sleeping on that side for the whole night.

“Nice of you to show up, Doctor,” Connor said dryly, barely glancing up.

Hank flopped into his chair and massaged his temples. “Let’s just get this over with.” he muttered unable to contain his annoyance, his mood was already taking a shitty turn and he didn't need a cheeky smartass poking at him.

“Oh no, don’t let me keep you from your hangover.”

Hank blinked, taken back, how the hell did he even notice? Hank is sure as fuck he doesn't smell like whiskey anymore and he made sure to dress up properly to not appear like some miserable homeless old man, so what the fuck?

Connor stares back at him with blank smug look.

“You’re real mouthy for someone in your position." Hank replied through his teeth, eyes narrowing slightly at Connor who shrugged nonchalantly, swirling the string around his finger.

“You’re real drunk for someone in yours.”

Hank’s eyes snapped up. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying, maybe next time try drinking less before walking into a psychiatric hospital knowing that you'll be dealing with some sick people, in my opinion it's pretty unprofessional.” he justified, a false concerned look on his face as he tilted his head scanning Hank up and down, chocolate brown eyes are gleaming with obvious judgement.

He's pushing Hank's buttons, and it's fucking working, with how much less confident he's feeling right now.

“Alright, that’s enough.” he spat firmly, glaring at him with sharp gaze.

Connor's expression hardens, betraying a hint of fury “No, I don’t think it is,” he retorts, his voice rising slightly in the room. “You want to fix me? Diagnose me? You haven’t even tried. You don’t even look at me like I’m a person. I’m a task. A tick box. And the truth is, you hate that I see through your bullshit.” he scoffed looking Hank with sharp disdain.

“Oh, I see through you, alright,” Hank barked, voice gruff and harsh as he watched Connor flinch, a little surprised “You strut around like you’re better than the rest of the people in here. Stealing coats, playing doctor. Stirring up chaos like it’s a game. You think I don’t know your type? Spoiled little brats with no sense of consequence.”

It was wrong, Hank knows that, yet he can't stop the words from running out his mouth.

He shouldn't be saying that, he shouldn't be lashing out at his patient.

It's not Connor's fault that Hank is a mess.

Connor’s eyes darkened, his hands fisted on his lap as he glared at Hank “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know enough.” Hank dismissed with a sneer.

He has to shut up!
SHUT THE FUCK UP, HANK ANDERSON!

“No!,” Connor snapped, his voice is ragged and loud, his usual composed demeanor is cracking as he his whole body language went rigid as he bolted up from the couch, his stance turning defensive and hostile “You know what’s in my file!. You know the versions of me other people wrote. You don’t know me. You didn’t see the trash orphanage. You didn’t live under Amanda Stern’s roof, you didn't get paraded like a fucking trophy!. You don't know shit!. You don’t know what it’s like to wake up and wish you hadn’t!.”

The room fell silent.

Connor was shaking with anger and other emotions Hank couldn't read, as he breathed heavily staring daggers into Hank with twisted frown on his face.

Hank pursed his lips together, his head is finally going quiet with the overwhelming outburst Connor had just unleashed.

He wants to say something, anything, because Connor had just expressed his emotions, it's supposed to be a progress, a success, a sign, Connor had just talked about himself, willingly, Hank's role comes here, to reply with something useful, to console, to tell him he understands, that he knows that feeling all too well like the back of his hands, to say anything instead of sitting there like a fucking statue.

But he couldn't.

Hank didn't trust his mouth to say the right thing in the moment, so he chose silence.

His headache had turned into something sharp behind his eyes. Connor was trembling, hands balled into fists, eyes scanning over Hank's expression with distaste and burning bitterness.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” Connor muttered coldly. “But don’t you fucking dare sit there and pretend you’re better than me when all you do is run from your own shit.”

That struck a nerve.

It hurt like a bitch actually.

Hank stood up so fast his chair screeched.
"We're done. Leave." he stated with equal coldness meeting Connor's fierce unyielding eyes.

Connor nodded with a humorless laugh. “Gladly.”

The door opened — Chloe stood there, wearing a worried expression on her face as she glanced between the two of them sensing the heavy tension in the air.

“I heard shouting,” she said calmly.

“Escort him back to his room,” Hank said quietly with no further explanation, not meeting her eyes as he sat back down on the chair.

"I can go on my own!" Connor deadpanned and walked past her without a word.

Chloe casted a long look at silent Hank, hesitating before sighing softly and followed Connor out. Shutting the door closed behind her.

Hank let out a long breath.He ran a hand down his face, shaking.

Sumo wasn’t here to bark him back to himself.

He poured himself a glass of water from the plastic cup. It tasted like nothing.

"Fuck,” he whispered burying his face into his hands.

He's the world's biggest asshole.

________________________________________________________

Connor sat cross-legged on the floor of his room, tossing a plastic spoon up and down in one hand while his other arm dangled lazily from the mattress above. The lights were off, as usual, and the curtains drawn so tightly that only a ghost of daylight crept in around the edges. The room had become his own version of a vampire den—silent, cluttered, and so dim it was hard to tell the difference between morning and night.

He felt oddly somber, too many emotions are spinning inside his head at once, he wanted to tear off his own skin, cry himself to sleep, and jump off the highest mountain on earth breaking every single bone in his body to be beyond saving.

He hated himself.

How did that old alcoholic asshole managed to break his well built mask?

Connor was smarter than that, he should have known better, he should have realized that the doctor was only trying to get under his skin and get a reaction.

Connor gave him on.

He fell right into the trap with no real effort.

He needs to work on his composure more now, he can't let that happen again.

He won't allow himself to crack no matter what.

Someone knocked once before letting themselves in, of course, it was Doris, just what Connor needed.

"Connor, time for your meds." she announced loud and clear, walking towards him with a small tray that had a a paper cup of water with a mixture of multiple different pills.

Now he seriously wants to die.

Connor didn’t even look at her. "Oh, wonderful. Today’s chemical cocktail of sanity." he cheered in a dry tone, snapping the plastic fork in half, his hand clenching tightly around it.

Doris sighed already used to Connor's relentless attempts to dodge the medicine like a bullet. "Just take them. We don’t have to do this every day." she pressed giving him a firm look.

He grabbed the paper cup from her tray, eyeing the few pills on the tray like they were a judgmental old women at a country club. "I like to believe that these are just placebos, and that the real medicine is the disappointment in your eyes." he stated calmly holding back a shit eating grin.

Doris narrowed her eyes at him, a displeased frown started to form on her face.

"Connor—"

"You know, I read somewhere that lobotomies are out of fashion now. Such a shame. Would've given me an excuse to be this fucked up without the pills."

Doris didn’t respond. She just stared at him with unamused gaze and waited.

Connor made a thoughtful face while staring back at her. "Do you ever wonder if you’re the problem?"

She held out the water. He groaned dramatically, mission failed just like every fucking day, he took the cup with exaggerated reluctance giving her one last pitiful look in hope she feels sorry for him and decline the whole medicine bullshit but who he's kidding? she stared at him blankly, tapping her foot impatiently like a fed up mother, Connor rolled his eyes and swallowed the pills, making sure to perform the most dramatic disgusted traumatized expression as he put a theatrical hand over his chest "Delicious. I can taste the manufactured apathy."

Doris sighed and turned to leave. "You’re a real piece of work, Stern." she mumbled flatly and Connor lit up taking it as a flattering compliment.

"I try!" he called after her with a grin, then his expression turned flat once again as he slumped down on the floor with opened arms like a dead man drowning in invisible puddle of blood.

________________________________________________________

Down the hall, Hank was leaning against a wall beside the staff break room, nursing a lukewarm coffee trying to maintain a relaxed posture despite the way his mind kept wandering back to the argument he had with Connor earlier.

He feels terrible, his Hangover didn't subside in the slightest and guilt was gnawing at his insides.

He shouldn't have lost his temper like that.

And he's sure as hell shouldn't said those judgmental words as well.

It a low blow.

Hank is a psychiatrist for god's sake! he should be the last one to judge out of all people.

Connor's actions are justified, he's emotionally unstable and have so much issues up his sleeve.

But then again, Hank isn't very stable too, if he's being honest he feels like he should be a patient here himself.

He almost laughs at the thought as shaking his head slightly.

Maybe coming to Ann Arbor was really a big mistake.

He chewed on his bottom lip, lost in thought as he stared at the dark liquid of the coffee in his mug, bitter and cold, just like him.

His internal pity party was interrupted as he noticed someone approaching him out of the corner of his eye.

He lifted his head meeting the gaze of Dr Manfred.

Markus looked like he had just finished his rounds and wandered over with that calm, statue-like presence that somehow made him look like he belonged in a museum instead of a mental health hospital, Hank had to admit, the guy was basically a ray of sunshine, all warm smiles and gentleness, totally charming and charismatic, his mismatched eyes held so much warmth and intelligence, so much knowledge it was almost scary, his presence drives attention wherever he goes without a single effort.

No wonder he's one of the most popular doctors here.

Hank can't help but wonder if he could transfer Connor's case to him, he looks more than capable, way better than Hank at handling patients.

"Rough morning?" Markus asks kindly, as he stands by Hank's side, a file in hand as he leaned one elbow on the circular table before them.

Hank grunted shrugging one shoulder. "Let’s just say whiskey doesn’t make a great chaser for regret."

Markus gave a quiet, knowing smile. "Adjusting to the new place?" he asks curiously with a small friendly smile.

Yup, charming as ever.

"Trying. The dog loves it. I miss the silence. And not hearing other people screw through paper-thin walls." he scoffed with humorless snort, lifted his mug to take another sip and holding back a wince at the shitty taste.

Markus chuckled softly nodding slowly in understanding. "Sounds.....exciting." he stated jokingly causing Hank to crack a small genuine smile this time as he hummed sarcastically.

"You have no idea ."

They both shared a small laugh, which felt rare and strange in a place like this.

Markus glanced toward the hallway. "How’s the Connor situation going?" he asked curiously shifting his gaze to look at Hank with interest.

Hank had to pause for a moment, his amused expression faltered as his mind wandered back to their last conversation this morning.

Great, when he thought that he was finally forgetting about it someone had to come and slap him across the face by mentioning that damn name.

Hank took a deep breath and released it out his mouth "That kid’s like a walking middle finger. Wrapped in dimples." he stated bluntly, frustration leaking into his tone as he busied himself with another quick half-hearted sip.

Markus eyed him with sympathetic gaze.

"He’s complicated. But there’s something there worth saving." he assured him with a gentle smile and Hank smiled bitterly nodding nonchalantly.

"Yeah? Let me know when you find it. Maybe I’ll stuff it in a jar for analysis."

Then it happened.

A scream tore down the hallway like a rip in the world. High-pitched. Desperate. Terrified. Piercing and traumatized.

Both doctors tensed up at the alarming noise, they exchanged a look as nurse Shelly came sprinting past the break room shouting urgently. "Call security! We need help in the south stairwell!"

Hank’s was slammed down on top of the table as he was already moving. Markus was right behind him, sprinting over the hallway where the sound came from.

By the time they reached the stairwell, a cluster of nurses and two orderlies had formed at the foot of the stairs. A teenage girl—sixteen, maybe—was hanging limp from the stair railing by a knotted bedsheet wrapped around her neck. Her body swayed slightly,barefoot, skin is turning sickeningly blue.

Hank froze on the spot, his breath catching in his throat as he stared up at the haunting scene with wide eyes.

One of the nurses was trying to support her legs while one of the orderlies climbed to cut the sheet. Someone screamed again. Someone else shouted for a defibrillator.

Hank could only stare, all sounds drained from his ears. It was like watching a horror film on mute. Just the chaos. The motion. The horror.

He blinked. Snapped back as he heard Markus loud demanding voice.

"Put her down, quick!" Markus was shouting, voice booming in the hallway with urgency as others from the hospital staff joined them frantically.

Hank rushed in, helping to lower the girl as they got the sheet off. Her face was purple, her lips blue. No pulse. No breathing, eyes are closed and body is stiff and cold.

She was dead.

Hank knew.

Yet, Markus still yelled at one of the nurses, as he knelt down before the girl with tense stressed posture as he tried to maintain his composure in order to control the situation.

'She's dead'

Hank wanted to tell him.

There was no hope.

Death had already set the damage and went on its way leaving them to clean up its mess.

"We need to perform CPR! Now!"

Hands moved like machines. Nurses barking orders. Someone sobbing nearby. It was madness, even some patients were drawn to the scene after hearing the relentless distressed yelling.

Hank stood still watching as Markus and two other nurses tried to pull the girl back to life, uselessly, she looked so lifeless, she looked so young.

Out of the corner of Hank's eye, he caught glimpse of a familiar figure few feet away, and as he turned his head to look his doubts have been confirmed.

Connor was standing there at the edge of the hallway, silent. For once, no sarcasm. No snark, only watching the scene with raw shock and growing sadness, by his side, the girl with silver hair, clutching the stuffed fox tightly while her other hand was clamped on her mouth in horror.

For a brief moment Hank's eyes locked with the brown ones, time seemed to stop for just a second as both of them paused, Connor had this unreadable look in his eyes, dull and hopeless, but Hank managed to understand what was behind it, it was fear, deep and aching.

Like he was asking himself 'Is this really the only way?'

He looked like he believed it as well, because he averted his gaze and looked at the girl who wasn't responding to all the desperate attempts to CPR, long gone.

Hank clenched his fists by his side.

No.

'He wanted to yell at him, it's not the only way! you won't end up like her! I won't allow it, not on my fucking watch!'

But he couldn't, the atmosphere with heavy with the new grief of another lost soul.

Markus stopped his attempts, realizing that there was no use now, he lowered his head, a grim expression on his face as he stared at the girl's lifeless face with clenched jaw, broken by the lose as he swallowed and shifted to look at one of the nurses.

"Register this, date of death, Sunday. Four PM." he stated numbly standing up on his feet, the words are heavy and shocking despite the fact that they all knew she was dead, it was still striking.

The nurse nodded, eyes glistened with unshed tears as she avoided looking at the girls motionless body laying cold and soulless on the floor.

Markus exhaled heavily and added loudly, more firmly "Someone calls code blue, and call Mr Fowler."

The silence after that was cold, cruel and unbearable.

Nurses started to usher patients gently back to their rooms away from the negative chaos unfolding through the whole hospital.

The girl was transferred back to her room till they finished all the reports and the hospital's usual protocol.

Jeffrey's sharp gruff voice could be heard in the whole building as he furiously reprimanded the whole staff responsible to the kid's case, lashing out on the unexpected tragedy that just happened without anyone paying close attention to her.

Then her personal doctor made a document writing in detail about the recent behavior of his patient and what might have led to such a tragic incident.

Jeffrey himself made the call to notify the girl's family, going through an endless stressful conversations as he tried to be as considerate and understanding as he could be.

There was an emergency group support session Markus had arranged for the patients who witnessed the traumatizing scene, trying to keep each one of them in check.

Hank had sat in his office shutting himself out of the mess as if he could escape the gravity of the situation like that.

He's only fooling himself.

Because even now he still feels it, the dark consuming melancholy, the gloomy tangible in the air.

The heartache and the painful grief.

Death is such a cruel son of a bitch.

Hank hates it with every piece of his heart.

It's an unwelcomed guest.

Always coming when least expected.

Like some evil snake, hissing in the air, pointing at you, mocking you for your ignorance, saying in an almost audible human-like voice 'Did you forget about me? my friend, I'm the only truth in this whole world.'

He wish death was a person, so he could fucking give it a piece of his mind.

The girl’s name was Melody. Hank learned that later overhearing Chloe talking grimly outside with another nurse.

Right now, all he thought about was that there was another kid swallowed by the darkness he spent every day pretending wasn’t real.

The world kept spinning. But it spun darker now.

And then his thoughts turned to certain person, Connor, standing there in the shadows, watching the devastating scene with glassy eyes, so dull yet so full of emotions, he looked hopeless, like he knew it was the only way to be free, a sad ending but the only available option for him, he watched with pained
resignation like he knew he will end up like Melody at some point, dead, cold, lonely, another number of the list of lost causes.

And Hank felt his heart clench painfully at the mare possiblity of watching Connor meeting the same fate.

He can't let that happen.

Connor can't give up on himself.

Hank will not allow another soul to get lost in the ugly embrace of death.

Because, yes, Hank knows that he's the least qualified man on earth to be responsible for someone's life, but he also knows that he'll die trying better than not trying at all.

He makes a vow with himself.

He won't lose faith in Connor's case, on himself maybe, but not Connor.

The kid still has a whole long life ahead of him.

And Hank will make sure to help him find his way back to the light, they can look for it blindly, together, he doesn't care how or when it's happening, but it's out of question, he's not leaving him alone until he heals and regain his will to live again.

_____________________________________________________________

Monday hit like a truck. The hospital was quiet, somber even, the air is still tense with the overwhelming grief of the aftermath of yesterday's event, but people kept living.

Melody died and the world kept spinning like it's just another day.

Connor sat on the edge of his bed, one leg dangling off, the other tucked up close to his chest, His room was a mess. piles of books and crossword puzzles scattered messily on the floor after they all failed to numb his mind. Doris had knocked earlier, demanding him to leave the room for breakfast, but he told her to go donate it to someone who still had the will to chew, she wasn't having none of his bullshit but luckily for him he managed to convince her to let him skip it just this one time with the promise to eat all of his lunch later, he stomach couldn't bear anything right now, he felt like he could puke his organs if he put anything in his mouth, Doris didn't pressure him, giving his shoulder a gentle light pat, empathetic as ever before leaving the room.

Maybe she's giving him space, to grieve and all.

He wasn't sure why he was grieving.

He hadn’t liked Melody. Not really. She once stole his pudding and flipped him off when he confronted her. But she didn’t deserve to die. No one did.

Except maybe Gavin.

Gavin could fall down a flight of stairs with a rusty syringe in his neck and Connor wouldn’t lose sleep.

But when other people died, people like him, it felt too real, like a harsh slap from life telling him 'Look! this is how you're going to end up soon.' with a voice that sounded painfully like Amanda's.

He stayed there sprawled on his bed with moving a muscle for two straight hours, staring up at the white celling as if it's the most interesting painting while he kept fading in and out of his own head.

After a while Chloe walked in after knocking standing by the door with kind expression “Connor,” she said gently.

He didn’t answer, just stared at the dust particles floating in the sunlight.

“It’s time for your session.” she reminded him slowly, her voice is careful as if she's telling a fussy child that Santa doesn't exist waiting for the eventual tantrum.

Surprisingly enough, Connor only hummed in acknowledgement.

“I know,” he mumbled quietly. Then stood up, running his slim fingers over the soft material of his black sweater before putting on his shoes and following Chloe to the therapy room with drained energy.

Hank didn’t expect him to come. He’d already downed a strong coffee and popped two aspirin, still feeling the throb from yesterday’s whiskey marathon. Still, it was a pleasant surprise, he thought Connor would decline their session due to their intense argument yesterday.

So when Chloe gently knocked and ushered Connor in, Hank blinked.

“Well I will be damned,” he greeted expressing his shock as he eyed Connor skeptically. “Didn’t think you’d show up voluntarily.”

Connor sat cross-legged on the couch, arms folded, face unreadable. “I like to keep people on their toes.” he replied naturally with simple shrug as Chloe left the room shutting the door behind gently.

“Mission accomplished.” Hank sat across from him, rubbing his temple. “So? Talk. Or don’t. I’m paid either way.” he said, playing nonchalant since he knew that if he tried to actually make him talk Connor would only get more stubborn.

Connor didn't look like he was about to throw some sassy retort at Hank's face, which is a miracle.

He just stared at Hank with a pondering look on his face before finally speaking, calmly and directly “Melody died.”

Hank nodded slowly.

“I'm aware.”

“I didn’t like her.”

Hank tilted his head, his eyes scanning Connor with hint of confusion and glimpse of hope as he hummed before reassuring dismissively “No one’s asking you to pretend you did.”

Connor inhaled deeply and shifted on the couch , he furrowed his eyebrows, pursing his lips together as if was contemplating whether to speak his mind or not. Meanwhile Hank waited patiently, trying to get his hopes up at the thought of Connor opening up to him.

“But she didn’t deserve to die. Nobody does. Except Gavin of course.”

Hank snorted, flicker of smile on his lips as he couldn't help but agree. “Fair.”

A pause.

“I tried to strangle myself once,” Connor said, his tone as casual as if he were talking about the weather.

Hank sat straighter, the words hitting him like a truck as he kept his expression natural trying to get a grip on the flaring excitement of this tiny progress.

Because holy shit! Connor is actually talking about himself, willingly!

“That so?”

“Mhm. Used my bedsheet. Tied it to a pipe. Almost succeeded. But apparently, I’m not very good at killing myself.” he explained shortly, not offering any details as he smirked at the end, finding his last words to be funny.

“That how you measure skill these days?”

“I’ve tried eleven times.” He shrugged. “You’d think I’d get better with practice.”

Something inside Hank twisted. But he kept his tone even. “Ever tried asking for help?”

Connor gave him a look as if he had just said the dumbest shit on earth.
“Help? You think people like me get help? We get meds. We get locked doors. We get told to color inside the lines.”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Hank tried to reason despite knowing that Connor wasn't here out of his own choice.

“Yeah. Because someone paid for me to be. Not because I wanted to live.” Connor scoffed bitterly, a distant look is clouding his eyes for a moment as if going back in time to a certain memory before blinking slowly and focusing his gaze back at Hank.

Another silence. Heavy. Thick.

Hank leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You ever think you’re not supposed to die?”

Connor scoffed. “You ever think maybe I’m not supposed to live?”

And for a moment, Hank didn’t have a comeback.

The session lasted longer than scheduled. Connor talked more than he ever had before, and Hank was more than eager to listen, desperate for any kind of progress. Connor kept talking, more like ranting.

About the white ceiling above his bed that looked like a sad face. About the time he swallowed a bottle of painkillers and woke up disappointed in a hospital after his stomach got pumped successfully. About how Kara believes that people who kills themselves go to hell because life is too precious to be left willingly. About how North laughed her ass off at that saying that there's no worse hell than life itself.

He talked. Hank listened.

And when Connor stood up to leave, something had shifted, something new, fragile and small that could be blown by the finest wave of the wind, but it was there, a sign for Hank that he was right, that Connor isn't really broken, that somewhere deep inside the damaged heart of his there was part that wanted to speak, to hope even if it's for a little bit, there was part that wanted to live, still lost, still hurting, but alive, Hank would only have to guide him there till he finds his own way by himself.

“You’re not the worst shrink I’ve had,” Connor admitted, lingering by the door, eyes guarded and calculating as he scanned Hank for a brief moment, there was no trust yet, it was understandable, but there was some kind of unspoken acceptance, and that was enough for Hank to know that he's taking the right path.

“Thanks, I guess.” Hank replied awkwardly, unable to ignore the flutter in his chest, he was doing something right for once. “You’re not the worst patient I’ve had.”

They stared at each other then Connor decided to come up with an unnecessary witty remark "You're still an asshole, though." he added flashing him a smug full dimpled grin.

Hank rolled his eyes exasperatedly, fegingig a grateful look "Thank you for the heartfelt reminder."

The little shit waved a hand in a mocking friendly gesture.

“Oh, don't mention it, and by the way, I still hate you, that doesn't change anything don't mistake if for kindness” Connor affirmed sending him a sharp warning look.

Hank huffed loudly, unable to decide if he's whether annoyed or amused.

“Yeah, tough shit, I'm not so fond of you either.” he retorted sarcastically folding his arms, giving him a dirty look that was met with equal hostile glare.

But then they both smirked.

Chloe, waiting just outside, raised an eyebrow when she noticed the change of the dynamic between them, she walked Connor out of the room, eyeing his relaxed face. “How was it?” she asked curiously walking by his side.

“Still alive,” Connor said, shrugging. “Shocking, isn’t it?”

Chloe laughed softly and nodded, an optimistic smile curling up on her lips as she held her clipboard with pleased spark in her bright eyes "Glad to hear that."

Connor shrugged again mirroring her expression with a small smile of his own.

He walked down the hallway, hands in pockets, already thinking of something snarky to say to Doris who was waiting for him by the entrance of the cafeteria, expecting him to keep his promise and eat his whole lunch, he sighed, raking his head for a way to escape Doris wrath when he dumps his food in the trahs later.

Inside the office, Hank sat back, staring at the ceiling, a content sigh leaving his lips.

Feeling oddly light for the first time in long time.

Maybe, just maybe, that was a start.