Chapter Text
The first therapy appointment was worse than the hospital.
"You can leave at any point," Caleb said in the beginning.
"I've already tried that once." Robby huffed.
"And it didn't help" Caleb added
"No, guess not" Robby mumbled.
For nearly forty minutes they talked.
About COVID. About Adamson. About Robby's nightmares. About the strange gaps that had started months ago but that he'd always blamed on exhaustion.
"You've described dissociation for years," Caleb observed.
Robby frowned.
"No."
"You've just used different words."
"I said I was distracted."
"You said you felt like you skipped pages."
Robby looked down.
"You also described driving home without remembering the drive."
"I thought everyone did that."
"You regularly lost conversations."
"I was tired."
"You forgot entire meals."
"I worked double shifts."
Every answer came immediately and sounded reasonable. Caleb nodded each time.
"I'm not saying those explanations weren't possible." "But all of them?"
Robby didn't answer.
"So..."
Caleb folded his hands.
"Can we talk about the others?"
Immediately there was a sharp pressure behind Robby's eyes. His stomach twisted.
"No." His answer came too quickly. "I don't..."
His breathing caught.
The office suddenly seemed brighter.
The bookshelves blurred.
He heard Caleb's voice somewhere far away.
"Robby?"
The pressure intensified.
His vision tunneled.
He felt his eyes get droopy and heavy.
"No."
He squeezed his eyes shut.
"No..."
His fingernails dug into his palms.
Caleb watched carefully.
"Can you tell me five things you see?"
Robby blinked.
"What?"
"Five things."
"I..."
His breathing stayed uneven.
"The window."
"Good."
"The bookshelf."
"Good."
"The..."
His voice shook.
"...Your coffee mug."
Caleb nodded.
"Keep going."
Robby slumped back into his chair.
He felt exhausted.
Like he'd just finished running.
"...What was that?"
"I think you interrupted a switch"
Robby swallowed.
"...Can you do that?"
"Sometimes. Why didn’t you want to switch?"
Robby gave him a look. Wasn’t it obvious? Why would he want to switch? It sucks.
The migraine arrived less than five minutes later. It hit like someone driving a spike behind his left eye. By the time Jack picked him up, Robby could barely tolerate the sunlight.
"You okay?"
Jack asked quietly as they drove home.
"No. My head..."
Jack reached over briefly, squeezing his hand.
"I already cancelled dinner with Dana."
Robby sighed with relief.
"Thank you."
The headaches continued after every session. Not always as bad but always there.
Four days later Caleb wheeled a spiral notebook across the desk. Robby looked at it suspiciously.
"...Homework?"
"A little."
Caleb leaned back.
"I'd like you to try communicating."
Robby stared.
"...With who?"
"The others. I'd like you to write them a letter."
"...Seriously?"
"Seriously."
"And then what?"
"Leave the notebook somewhere safe."
"And?"
"And see what happens."
Robby laughed.
"You think they're going to answer?"
"I don't know."
"...This sounds insane."
"I imagine it does."
That evening, the notebook sat on the kitchen table for nearly an hour. Robby walked past it six times. Ignored it. Made coffee. Ignored it again.
Jack had to basically sit him down himself or he would have spent the rest of the day like this. He reluctantly opened to the first page.
The paper looked impossibly white. His pen hovered.
He wrote and crossed things out and wrote again.
„To whoever is in here,
i guess we share a body. I don't understand why this is happening. But Caleb thinks talking might help."
He stared at the words.
It sounded stupid.
He almost tore the page out.
„If anyone is really there... I'd like to understand.“
He closed the notebook and set it in the middle of the table.
An hour passed.
Jack made dinner and they ate while they watched television.
They went to bed and the notebook stayed untouched.
The next afternoon, Robby tried again.
He flipped to a clean page.
"I feel ridiculous," he muttered.
Jack smiled from the living room.
"You don't have to force it." he called over.
Robby sighed and uncapped the pen.
„I don't know if yesterday worked.“
"I'm writing letters to myself." He laughed bitterly. "Fantastic."
His pulse quickened.
The familiar pressure bloomed behind his eyes.
"No."
He shoved the notebook away.
"No."
His breathing became faster.
"This isn't helping right now, let me finish writing—."
The pressure grew stronger.
"I'm done."
He stood so abruptly the chair scraped loudly across the floor.
Jack looked up from the couch.
"Robby?"
"I'm fine."
But he wasn't.
The room tilted.
A buzzing filled his ears.
His vision blurred.
Jack was already standing.
"Robs?"
"I said—"
Darkness.
When awareness returned, Robby was sitting in the same chair. The pen lay on the table. The notebook was open. Jack was standing several feet away, watching him carefully. There was a hot chocolate on the table slowly going cold.
"...How long?"
"About twenty minutes." Jack answered quietly. Robby's stomach sank.
"...Again?"
Jack nodded.
"...Yeah."
Robby looked down slowly.
The notebook had changed.
His neat handwriting ended halfway down the page.
Below it someone else had written.
The handwriting was rough and almost carved into the paper.
„Stop digging. Everything was fine before you idiots started this. Forget the notebook. Forget therapy. Forget all of us. You're making everything worse.“
There wasn't a signature.
There didn't need to be.
Robby recognized the attitude instantly.
"...That‘s the teen one."
Jack nodded once.
"I think so."
Below that was different handwriting.
It was smaller and neater and almost painfully polite.
„Hi. I know this is probably really overwhelming for you. I'm glad you're trying. I think Caleb's right. We should probably talk.
I'm John...It's nice to finally meet you, haven’t fronted in twenty years or so. Please don't listen to Mikey. He's trying to protect everybody. He means well. Mostly."
Despite everything, Robby almost smiled.
It sounded exactly like the young doctor Jack had described.
"The teens name is Mikey" Robby mumbled.
Then his eyes drifted lower.
At the very bottom of the page was a tiny drawing. A flower - uneven, simple, five little petals around a circle on a stem that was slightly crooked. Next to it, in tiny, hesitant block letters that looked like they had been erased twice before finally being left alone, was just one word.
„Michael“
Robby stared at the page for a long time.
His fingertips trembled as he gently traced the edge of the little flower.
No words.
No explanation.
Just proof that the frightened little boy existed.
That he had been there.
That he had seen the notebook.
A tear landed on the page.
Robby quickly wiped it away before the ink could smear.
"...They answered."
His voice barely existed.
Jack gently put a hand on Robbys shoulder.
"...Yeah. You okay?"
Robby swallowed hard.
"I..think so? I‘m so fucking confused“
Jack sighed and sat down next to his husband.
"You and me both. But we‘ll be okay“