Chapter Text
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THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE
(CHANGE, CYCLES, INEVITABLE FATE)
The iteration ends with Evan and Vinny curled up against a tree, drenched in each other’s blood. It ends with a fight to the death, then forgiveness, then reunification. Hands on throats and pressure on wounds, and then Vinny staring up at Evan’s outstretched palm and Jeff’s welcoming grin.
Vinny looks up at James Corenthal, and remembers his dad, and his brothers and hte countless lives they’ve shared together, the constant mistakes they’ve made fighting against Man and Habit. The iteration ends with the four of them walking into the trees, into the small peace their father carved out for them, and them alone; they walk, ready to enjoy the brief time they’ll have together before the cycle starts anew.
The iteration ends in tragedy, and the stage is set up for the next act.
The next iteration began as the last ended - with Evan. This Evan is sixteen years old, and is - as he has been for most of his life - a patient at a mental health inpatient programme.
Evan thinks his life is normal, or at least, as normal as it can be when you’re considered ‘a danger to yourself and others’. To him, it was normal; normal was art block and therapy and tutoring, not football and school or whatever it is ‘normal’ kids do. He doesn’t know. If he’s honest, he’s a little resentful, because he can tell he’s different, even if he doesn’t know what is different. It’s fine. He tries not to dwell on it for the most part.
So it goes. Evan engages with the routine set out for him, doesn’t argue, isn’t difficult. What good would that do anyway? He’s friendly enough but keeps to himself for the most part, so that when the other kids go home after just months, or when hospital staff retire, he can keep a bittersweet smile on his face and feel as though he isn’t just lying through his teeth. Evan keeps everyone at arms length to save himself the heartbreak. God knows he had too much of that already.
Mostly, Evan stayed in the corner of the rec-room, people-watching. He loved seeing what behaviours, tics and traits people had when with their friends, people they liked or didn’t like, or all alone. He would sit in front of a coffee table, puzzle spread out, twirling a piece in his hand as he watched. This way, the extent of his feelings towards someone leaving was disappointment, if it was someone he found particularly interesting.
The only person it’s hard to stay distant with is his therapist. This isn’t a shocking realisation, considering you’re supposed to tell your therapist anything and everything that filters through your brain - but even then, Evan feels strangely connected to his therapist. Before his current one, he had Dr. Lucy Brown for pretty much all of his teenage years. Those years were spent fostering trust between them, something easier said than done considering Evan’s horrific trust issues. It took years to even mention what happened to his parents, let alone any of the heavy stuff. But only a year with Dr. Richard Corenthal and… he can’t help but feel like there’s something special about him.
He remembers meeting Corenthal for the first time, faded memories moving to the forefront of his mind, memories that couldn’t have possibly happened: him and Corenthal decorating a Christmas tree, in a therapy appointment, sitting on the grass, watching the sunset. Memories so faint and quick they could be seen as deja vu, but this was his first time meeting the guy.
Maybe that’s why he trusted him so quickly. Or perhaps it was the fact that he had no choice in the matter. His life is decided for him and he has no choice but to roll with the punches. As a mentally ill person, and a child at that, he has no autonomy.
That night, he dreamed of a leather jacket, a deathproof hat, and trees.
Corenthal was okay, he guessed. He didn’t wear a leather jacket, just normal, doctor-y clothes unfortunately, but he was okay. The first session was a “getting to know you” session, which was hard with a person like Evan, who loved to fuck with people and annoy them past their breaking point, but whatever. He found out that Corenthal always dreamed of adopting kids, and had a daughter called Linnie, who also did a stint at a mental hospital. He found out Corenthal liked really old music like Frank Sinatra, and loved spending time outdoors. In turn, Evan told him about his music taste, and how he used to be a blue belt in karate as a kid, before shit went sideways, and how he likes to draw but isn’t very good at it yet, despite how many hours of art block he’s done. He spoke about how he loves hiking and doing outdoors-y things, and loves animals but hates rabbits.
Corenthal looked up from the notebook Evan was writing in. “Rabbits? Any particular reason why you don’t like them specifically?” He didn’t shame him, or judge, or say something along the lines of ‘but they’re so cute’ like literally everyone else had done, he just asked candidly.
Evan shrugged, taking a moment to think about it. Truthfully, there’s no real reason why he hates rabbits, just like there’s no real reason for a lot of things about him. He just looks at them and finds them creepy, always has.
The words that leave him are, “They looked at me funny.”
Corenthal lets out a deep, bellowing laugh. Something about it is comforting. “Alright, Ev.”
That was another thing about Corenthal, Evan found after a couple therapy sessions; he almost always used a nickname for him. It wasn’t anything sinister, nothing more than ‘Ev’ or ‘Kiddo‘, but he hardly ever referred to him as Evan. It probably wasn’t professional, but Evan didn’t think it was weird. It was almost paternal.
Around his fifth or sixth session, he asked about it. “Oh, I’m sorry Evan, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” Evan sputtered to assure him the opposite, but Corenthal continued, “if I’m honest, it’s probably subconscious. Early on, I had another patient called Evan, but he insisted I call him by a nickname his mother gave him. I guess I found your name was Evan and immediately jumped to nicknames, I guess.”
Evan squinted his eyes slightly, thoughts tumbling in his mind a million miles a minute. It seemed like a logical answer and yet… he could tell Corenthal wasn’t being straight with him. It could be a lie, more likely a lie of omission, if he had to guess, but it still struck him as strange. But… doctor-patient confidentiality existed? So maybe it was ‘cause of that?
“Oh yeah? What was the nickname? The one his mother gave him, I mean.”
Corenthal looked at him. “He went by Habit.”
This wasn’t a lie, Evan could tell. The way he said it, the finality, conviction… Corenthal said the name like it carried the weight of the world, like it held some secret and heavy meaning. And when Evan met his eyes, he found the regular kindness in them had been replaced by intrigue. For the first time with Corenthal, he felt like he was being studied. Like the name should carry meaning to Evan, too.
But it didn’t, right? At least, he didn’t think so. Evan’s mother hadn’t really bothered with nicknames beyond the usual ‘Ev’, and his father’s nicknames were less than savoury. He had never been called ‘Habit’ before.
Evan nodded, in a ‘oh, okay’ kind of way, and Corenthal sat back, seemingly… disappointed? Or sad? But whatever it was, he covered it up quickly, and moved on.
The rest of the session went by as normal, but he couldn’t stop thinking about that nickname, and the look the doctor gave him when he had said it. ‘Habit’... like, good habits, bad habits? He swirled the name around his mind, hoping for an answer to be conjured. Flashes of knives and blood and purple tape briefly came to mind, but left as soon as they came, and Evan dismissed them as another trick his mind played on him.
Evan’s days returned to a kind of normalcy, once the novelty and anxiety of a new therapist wore off. He still sat with kids at mealtime, still went to artblock and drew landscapes to the best of his ability, he still sat in the back of the room, puzzle in front of him, and watched.