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Jerome got into his first fight at Arkham during his second week, which was a new record, all things considered. He'd gotten into another argument with Greenwood -- he couldn't stand that idiotic cannibal -- but this one escalated and Greenwood threw a punch. Jerome, of course, fought back, but one particularly hard punch to his face was met with a sickening crunch and a flare of pain, and suddenly he was back at Haly's, uncle Zach over him.
Jerome had dropped to the ground, clutching his nose that was streaming blood, and Greenwood was crowing about his victory when the guards finally intervened. They roughly grabbed Jerome and hauled him off to the infirmary, leaving the relatively unscathed Greenwood to feed his ego.
"Ow," Jerome grumbled as the nurse prodded at his nose. The woman was nice, with large square glasses sitting on her nose. Something about her demeanor reminded him of his brother before the lies began. When he used to patch Jerome up.
"Doesn't seem broken. Just some burst blood vessels. Pinch it and lean forward; breathe through your mouth, okay? I'll tell you when to stop."
"I know, I know. Ain't my first rodeo, lady," Jerome rolled his eyes but did as she said as she wiped the last of the blood from his face.
"I'll get you a cold compress for that eye, it's bound to bruise. And I want you to stay here for a little, I want to watch for a minor concussion-- just in case." Jerome grunted in response and she turned away to prepare the compress.
Distantly, the sound of wailing and screaming began. Loud footfalls ran past the infirmary and the nurse sighed heavily as she handed the compress to Jerome.
"I'm sorry, Mister Valeska. It's about to get quite loud. Just… stay back over here. We have a… He's a difficult patient." She pulled back a curtain in the corner of the room and began adjusting various straps attached to a bed. It was one of the few beds in the wing that didn't look old and rickety.
" Patient'? Not an inmate?" Jerome prodded, curiosity piqued.
"Yes, he's… Very unstable, and potentially violent, so he's kept here in the isolation wing." Finished with the bed, she turned around and began gathering a mix of general first aid supplies, along with a truly baffling amount of syringes.
The crying got louder and louder until a group of guards burst through the door and the screaming exploded in volume.
" NO! LET ME GO! I WON'T-- GET AWAY FROM ME! NO, NO!! " The source of the screams was a teenager being hoisted up by the arms by two guards. He was kicking and thrashing wildly, and several of the guards behind the main two were sporting bruises, one even had a broken nose.
" PLEASE! IT'S GOING TO GET ME! I HAVE TO-- PLEASE! " The kid sobbed as they forced him down onto the bed and began strapping him down.
"IT'S THE ONLY WAY TO ESCAPE HIM, PLEASE!" He made a half-ditch attempt to lunge at one of the unharmed guards, but one arm was already strapped down so all he did was pull on it-- which made a loud pop . He didn't react to the apparent dislocation of his shoulder, but the guards pushed him back down and finished securing him.
Once he was strapped down the nurse quickly injected him with something and his screaming quieted down to loud sobs and incoherent crying. In just a few seconds his fighting began to slow and he got quieter, turning lethargic, then his eyes slipped shut.
Jerome had just watched the whole catastrophe in stunned silence. He knew there were some really crazy people here, but not like this. Even in his medicated sleep the teen whimpered and jerked occasionally. There was no rest for him.
"What was it this time?" the Nurse asked, not even looking towards the guards as she popped the patient's shoulder back into place.
"A piece of a mirror, no one knows how he got it," The guard held out the glass, which was no bigger than his thumb and slicked with blood. That's when Jerome noticed the red soaking through the sleeves of the teenager's shirt. The Nurse huffed and shook her head after looking back at the guard.
"Ridiculous how he keeps getting his hands on these." She muttered and unstrapped one arm and took a pair of scissors to cut up the center of his sleeve. The teen's arm was crisscrossed with marks, from purpled scars to cuts still scabbed up, and the fresh line going vertically down the center of his forearms, still bleeding.
Jerome almost felt bad for the kid. He remembered those days. His scars were just beginning to fade.
The nurse motioned the guards to leave and cleaned and bandaged the wound before moving onto his other arm, which sported fewer marks than the other but had the same cut down the center. Nothing was deep enough for stitches-- at least that's what Jerome assumed, with the nurse only bandaging them. The nurse turned towards Jerome, frowning.
"I need to go search and secure his cell again. Please do not bother him, especially if he wakes. Do not antagonize him. Don't talk to him-- don't even look at him," She ordered, voice firm. Jerome nodded in agreement, despite knowing he was absolutely going to break that agreement the moment she left.
The door clicked behind her and Jerome immediately got up, approaching the teen. He sat on the chair beside him and stared, furrowing his brows. He was probably around Jerome's age, but he couldn't be totally sure; the dark circles and perpetual line between his brows made him look a little older than he probably was. He was pale, in a sickly no sunlight sort of way, which contrasted with his deep brown hair. It was a mess of tangles and sat around shoulder length. Despite the dishevelment, Jerome thought the teen was cute.
Vivid blue eyes blearily looked up at him and Jerome jerked away as if he was burned -- a sensation he's all too familiar with -- and felt his cheeks redden when he realized he had leaned in super close to look at him.
"Who're you..?" The teen croaked out, the furrow between his brows deepening as he looked around.
"Nurse 'tricia gone?"
"Huh? Oh, yea. She went to go, uhh, somethin' with your cell." Jerome motioned towards the door. The teen nodded and looked up at the ceiling, sighing.
"Securing it again…" He mumbled, glancing over at Jerome.
"So, who're you?"
"Jerome, you?"
"Jonathan…" His arm jerked when he tried to use it only to be restrained by the straps. He sighed.
"Why are you here?"
"Here as in the infirmary or here as in Arkham?" Jonathan paused for a moment, considering Jerome's words.
"Both," He answered.
"Got in a fight with an asshole cannibal, almost broke my nose. Aaaanndd , I killed my mom," Jerome answered casually, leaning back into his chair. Jonathan just nodded numbly.
"What 'bout you?"
" Mm… My father injected me with condensed hormones that caused abject terror. He was trying to cure fear, but it had to be done in repeated small doses. He gave me a massive amount. Now I live in a constant state of fear and anxiety because I have incredibly vivid hallucinations of a Scarecrow that wants to torture me for all eternity." Jonathan explained this all very slow and calmly, as if he wasn't living in a horror movie 24/7. Something about the fear shtick rung a bell in the back of Jerome's mind. He remembered reading a newspaper at the library about some serial killer experimenting with fear the day before he killed his mom.
"Oh, and I'm here now because I just tried to kill myself. It's the only way to escape It. It says… It says It won't ever kill me. It'll just hurt me forever, even when I beg for death It won't stop. So I have to kill myself to escape it."
"That's stupid." Jerome said flatly, curling his lip. Jonathan's own expression scrunched up in offense.
"Why give It the satisfaction of you takin' your own life? Live, and overcome It. Kill It as repayment for all the hurt It gave ya." Jonathan's face smoothed out, thoughtful.
"I assume that's what you did to your mother?" Jonathan raised an eyebrow at him. Jerome nodded.
"I don't think that will work for a hallucination. I can't kill It. I can't overcome It. No one knows how to help me. What was done can't be undone."
"Well if It's just a hallucination then why freak out about It. It can't actually hurt ya. It's not real."
"True, but in my terror I hurt myself for It. I can't escape pain, just like I can't escape It. It will haunt me until I die, and that's a fact." Jonathan's expression was blankly resigned. It made Jerome curious, how accepting he was of his terror when he wasn't actively panicking.
"Fuck, you're depressin', dude." Jerome said exasperatedly. He leaned over and began unbuckling the straps restraining Jonathan.
"What are you doing…?" Jonathan questioned as he shifted up into his elbows.
"What does it look like? I'm freein' ya. You're not goin' crazy, so ya don't need 'em," Jerome finished off the last of the straps and grinned at him. Jonathan offered a small smile back, but it was weak and shakey, like he hadn't smiled in a very long time. He tried to push himself up into his hands but faltered, whimpering and falling back into bed. He pulled his arms close to his body, hugging them tightly to him.
"Wait, let me see them. The nurse hardly did shit to help. All she did was bandage them," Jerome held out his hands and Jonathan hesitantly lowered his arms, revealing bandages that were beginning to stain red. Jerome frowned and began unwinding the bandages, Jonathan whining when they peeled away from the fresh cuts.
"Damn, she should'a stitched some of this," Jerome muttered, dabbing at the few spots that began bleeding again from the disturbance.
"I'm shit at stitches so I won't subject you to it, but if she has some… Oh, here! Butterfly strips." Jerome rambled as he rummaged through some cupboards, eventually returning victoriously with the package. He grabbed a handful of the bandages and began to carefully apply them, holding the sides of Jonathan's cut together as he did. Jonathan's face scrunched up in pain at Jerome's prodding, but it was soon over once Jerome thoroughly covered his arms in the strips.
"There!" Jerome grinned and set aside the remaining strips, picking up a new roll of bandages.
"Cover them back up and you'll be good as new." He carefully wrapped his arms back up then gave him a gentle pat on his knee when he was done.
"Thank you…" Jonathan mumbled after a moment, seemingly speechless.
"How are you so good at this?"
"I may not have hallucinations, but I had a shitty childhood too. I understand ya." Jerome rolled up one of his sleeves, revealing uncharacteristically neat lines of scarring going from wrist to inner elbow. They have faded to white. Jerome realized long ago hurting himself did nothing for his situation. The only way to escape it was to kill the source.
Jonathan hesitantly reached out and brushed his fingers over Jerome's scars. Jerome almost instinctively flinched away from him but he managed to stay still.
"Will… Will mine fade like that eventually?" He asked, gaze drawn back to his own scars, that were mostly still swollen reddish-purple lines.
"Eventually. Maybe. The really deep ones might not fade to white. Not sure, I'm no expert," Jerome shrugged.
"But ya gotta stop if you want them to fade anyways."
"I know…" Jonathan muttered, "It's hard to stop. It focuses me. Snaps me back into reality. Little cuts used to work at first but now I have to go deeper and deeper and cut more and more."
"Well, first things first, stop smuggling sharp objects into your cell," Jerome stated matter-of-factly, and Jonathan seemed to wilt at the suggestion.
"I know. I can't help it." Jonathan's voice was quiet and distant, and Jerome could tell the topic was worsening his mood. Jonathan's eyes lingered somewhere off to the side, looking down and away from Jerome. There was a minute tremble in his hands. Jerome's brows furrowed. Maybe Jonathan was beginning to disassociate. He rememered Jeremiah doing that whenever their mother began one of her drunken rants.
"Hey!" Jerome interjected loudly, slapping the bed beside his hand to draw Jonathan's attention.
"Tell me whatcha do for fun."
"Dunno… I like to read, I guess." Jonathan's eyes flicked up towards Jerome's for a moment before looking away again. Jerome turned to see what Jonathan's eyes were tracking across the room, but there was nothing.
"I draw, too. Usually the Scarecrow." Jonathan's voice cracked halfway through 'scarecrow'. He swallowed thickly and pressed his lips together.
"Anything else you do?" Jerome rested his elbows on Jonathan's bed and leaned close to him, continuing to try and keep his attention.
"School... School work, sometimes… I try to keep up, still." Jonathan's voice was growing quieter, but his breaths were beginning to be audible. Jerome rested his hand on Jonathan's and he jerked slightly in surprise.
"What's your favorite subject?" Truly, Jerome couldn't care less about school, but he had figured out Jonathan was probably beginning to hallucinate, not disassociate like he thought prior.
"Sci… Science… Chemistry." Jonathan answered slowly, brows drawing downward. His lips twitched and quivered and Jerome caught the quiet sound of a whimper coming from him.
"Jonathan," Jerome softened his voice and patted his hand, which finally drew Jonathan's attention away from his hallucination, meeting Jerome's eyes.
"Are you seeing It?"
"Y-Yeah," Jonathan admitted quietly, and his breath shuddered. "You--You're not going to hurt me, a-are you?"
"No, Jonny, I'm not gonna hurt ya." Jerome reassured, squeezing his hand.
"It says you want to hurt me," Jonathan insisted, trying to pull away. Jerome let go of him and Jonathan wrapped his arms around himself as tears began gathering in his eyes.
"I got no reason to hurt ya, Jon. It's just buggin' ya. Ignore it."
"I can't ," Jonathan winced and drew his shoulder up to his ear, rubbing the side of his face into his shirt.
"Stop it," He hissed out, and blindly swatted next to him. Jonathan's face crumpled and he roughly ran his hand through his hair and tugged at it.
" Hey , there's nothing there," Jerome reached out and untangled Jonathan's fingers from his hair.
"N-No, It's behind me," Jonathan squirmed and arched his back like he was trying to escape the sensation of something clawing down his spine.
"There's nothin' but bed behind you, look," Jerome patted the mattress and Jonathan twisted around to see. An audible sigh of relief passed his lips. As he turned around to look at Jerome again he jerked and made a quiet squeak, inching away from Jerome.
"B-Behind-- It's going to choke you!" Jonathan yelped, eyes wide.
"Jonathan, It's not real." Jerome insisted, speaking slowly. Jonathan's expression twisted in fear and he rapidly shook his head, hands hesitantly reaching out.
"Let him go, please!" Jonathan cried out, tears spilling down his cheeks. Jerome sighed heavily. It was clear his hallucination was too far gone for him to reach Jonathan anymore. Suddenly, Jonathan's hands shot out and wrapped around Jerome's neck. Jerome grabbed his wrists and tugged, but Jonathan's grip was surprisingly tight. His nails dug into Jerome's throat and Jerome breathed raggedly through the attempted choking.
"Let. Me. Go," Jerome gritted out, pulling so strongly on Jonathan's hands he could feel his wrist bones shift beneath his fingers. Jonathan wasn't very effectively cutting off oxygen, but his fingers were digging into his carotid and slowing blood flow. Jerome was already feeling lightheaded. Jonathan's grip wasn't loosening.
Jerome's eyes flicked to the tray beside Jonathan's bed in panic and his eyes raked over the syringes there. Whatever cocktail used to immediately put Jonathan out previously wasn't labeled, but he did spot a syringe helpfully labeled 'Thorazine' -- something Jerome did recognize. He grabbed the syringe and plunged it into Jonathan's thigh. The shock of pain made Jonathan pull away from Jerome, eyes wide. As Jerome retreated and set the empty syringe down, watching Jonathan all the while. His expression shifted from shocked fear to something akin to horror.
"Sorry, Jonny," Jerome apologized, gently helping him lay back in bed. It was like all the energy was drawn from him and he laid limp. The quietest whimper came from him and he shut his eyes, turning his head away from Jerome. His expression was pained, and it seemed just the smallest movement took so much effort. Jerome hesitated uncharacteristically for a moment before he stood up and retreated across the room. The cold compress the nurse had given him laid abandoned on the counter, half-melted. His eye ached. Jerome took it up and pressed it to his brow the moment the infirmary door opened.
"Oh, God, what are you still doing here? Get. Go back to the recreation room." The Nurse looked harried and she barely gave Jerome a glance before she headed over towards Jonathan. Jerome was quick to jump out of his chair and leave the infirmary, eager to avoid being chewed out for unbuckling Jonathan from his restraints.
Jerome slowed down as he walked down the hall and found himself reflexively rubbing at his neck. All he could see in his mind was the wide-open terrified expression on Jonathan's face as he choked Jerome. He wondered if he looked like that when he killed his mother. Jerome didn't feel much like going back to the rec room. He turned a corner and headed in the direction of his cell.
Maybe one day he'd be able to talk to Jonathan without his fears plaguing him. One day, maybe.
-- THE END --