Chapter Text
And my mind keeps on changin’
I’ve gone blind, I can see through
And my mind’s fully fadin’
And I know this might seem strange
Keep pretendin’ it’s okay
-Mystery Skulls, 555
It starts like this; Vivi sits, half-conscious and cold in the hospital waiting room. Mother’s here too for some reason, carefully stroking her hand. Whether she means to placate or reassure, Vivi can’t tell. It’s miracle enough that she even understands where she is. She feels groggy and mindless—loose like unmolded clay. She has nothing left but her basest instincts, so she… starts counting off. Something must have happened, right? She needs to make sure everyone made it out safe and where they belong.
First, Mystery. The last few hours seem unreal when she tries to remember them—hazy, like walking through a dream. Where did she leave him? She thinks… Right. He’s with Grandma. He looked a little roughed up when she saw him last, and she assumes he got them to the hospital this morning? He’s gotta be tired. Grandma knows how to take care of him, even if she’ll harp on about it bitterly the whole time.
Second, Arthur. Something inside her twinges with pain as she tries to think. Arthur she repeats to herself again, and it makes her feel brittle. When she last saw him—when she last saw him he was—Her stomach flutters, gives her the sick sensation of falling from a very high place. Arthur. GOD ARTHUR. He—all that blood, and she—his arm!
“Oh, sweetheart,” Mother’s hand tightens over her shaking one and Vivi realizes that she’s crying. Why is she crying? (God, God—Arthur)
Second, Arthur. Maybe Mystery got him to the hospital this morning? He’s nearby. He’s just down the hall, and soon enough the staff will let her in to see him. He’s going to be okay, she thinks. He’s got to be okay.
Third, —
Third, there’s—
There’s…?
Who’s supposed to be third? She always counts off three, doesn’t she? Who goes third?
“Darling,” Mother coos, and Vivi wonders what she wants. She loves her mother, but the woman’s antics can grate on her at the best of times, and things aren’t exactly fantastic right now. “I know it’s hard. I know something horrible happened, but don’t you think you should try to talk about it? For me?”
Try. Try to talk. Vivi’s nose wrinkles as she mulls the request over in her head. Try to talk about what? Is she not talking? What does her mother want her to—
“Arthur,” Vivi says, and her voice sounds strange and weak. “Arthur’s hurt,” It’s all she can think to say. What else is there to talk about? Arthur’s hurt—hurt bad.
Her mother’s lips press together in a moment of upset. “I know, but,”
This is what her mother says: “Sweety, what happened to Lewis?”
This is what Vivi hears: “Sweety, what happened to -̨̯̪͔͈̯̺̩̬̟̺̼͉͔͇̫̩̬͖ȩ̴̠̯̮̙̰̩̝̭͡͞_̴̨͓͍͇̜̤͍̹̣̙͇͓͓̱̣̗͡_̩̱͇͕̲̠̺̣͕̳̱̰̯͘͟͠͞ͅi͕͔̬͔̜̜̻̠̹̭̗̯̦̙̣̰̥͢͡s̢͙͖̘͓̱̻͘͢ ̸̛̫͓͓̖͍̭̳̲̦̞̭͎̠̙̦̰̦?"
It’s like—It’s like her mother is speaking in a language she can’t quite hear. Like it bends away from her before she can get her mind around it. What—?
“Who?” Vivi asks, and watches her mother’s face go very pale indeed.
If that were all, she might simply write her confusion off as a bad dream or a hallucination. The shock of Arthur’s injury and near-death had affected her deeply. The world unraveled around her and refused to make any sense at all until she could believe Arthur might live. She pushes her own mother away and refuses to leave his side, hardly dares to sleep until she sees him awake again. The hospital doesn’t allow dogs other than therapy canines, so she misses Mystery horridly the whole while, but she needs him to be okay. If the last memory she has of him is the sight of his tear-tracked face, pale and motionless amongst a river of his own blood, she—
Well. Suffice it to say, she hadn’t exactly been in the best mental place.
Eventually, the nursing staff starts to worry about her wandering around in blood-spattered clothing through a sterile environment. They hand her a pair of extra scrubs and bundle her skirt and sweater in a bag she can take home later. Vivi scarcely notices.
She spends all her time isolated in his hospital room, folding gift-store paper into makeshift ofuda. Granny would be appalled. She has no way to bless them without flame or incense, and she doesn’t even recognize the names of all the gods she writes to for help, but… Every time she looks up and catches sight of Arthur’s pale form, hooked up to the monitors and so still, she—
Blasphemy or not, useless or not, she can’t exactly cast any other protection spell in the middle of a hospital. Besides, Mystery keeps telling her that the intent of the spell means more than the form, and she intends Arthur to recover. Isn’t that what matters most?
She folds another sheet of paper and picks up a pen, lets the characters flow from her fingers without any guidance from herself. Maybe she could buy a lighter from the shop downstairs and run through a blessing in the smoking area. The other visitors and staff might look at her strangely, but she’d never been one to care. She adds the tag to her growing stack, picks up another sheet of paper, glances at Arthur and—
Her heart skips a beat. His eyes are open.
She’s never been so glad to see the color amber in her entire life.
“Arthur,” his name escapes with a whoosh of air that leaves her breathless. She drops everything to stumble towards him, knocking her stack of homemade ofuda over in the process. Loose strips of paper with illegible names skitter across the floor and she doesn’t care. “Arty, you’re awake!” It’s a stupid thing to say, but she can’t help feeling a little stupid. She has to make sure this is real.
He blinks at her, even and languid. His gaze tracks her motion across the room just a second too slow. Vivi remembers suddenly that the nurse has Arthur’s morphine dialed higher than usual; they’d upped his dosage when he started whimpering in his sleep, hoping to let him actually rest. Maybe the drugs worked a little too well.
“Buddy, you look high as a kite right now,” she can’t help giggling, filled to the brim with nervous energy. For a few seconds, she watches his lips quirk into a dopy grin and thinks maybe she worried for nothing. But then… Arthur looks down.
Vivi follows his gaze to the bandage-covered stump where his arm used to be. Her heart drops like a stone in her chest. “Yeah,” she tells him, resolutely ignoring the way her voice quavers, “I know it sucks, Art. I’m so, so sorry. I couldn’t—” couldn’t what? She doesn’t know. She has no idea what happened to him—how he lost it, what they’d even been doing. Even so, she feels like this mess is somehow her fault. They’d been on one of her cases….
Hadn’t they?
“….’s notta dream?” It takes her a while to decipher his slurred speech, but as she realizes what he means, her throat grows tight. Her vision blurs and she has to choke out a response.
“No, Art. I wish it was, but it’s…” She thinks instantly that she should have lied. Arthur’s hazy expression tips toward panic. She can hear his heart monitor pick up in tempo, her every instinct screeching at her to fix it, “It’s going to be okay. We’ll get through it, alright? You’ll be fine! You’ll see,” Vivi reaches out and gently cups the side of his face to block his line of sight. It doesn’t seem to matter. “Arthur, hey,” she coaxes, nearing her wit’s end. Her free hand hovers nervously over the nurse call button.
Arthur simply stares at her, wide-eyed and frozen. He looks like nothing so much as a frightened doe, preparing to bolt. He opens his mouth to speak, visibly struggling to find the words. She doesn’t know what she expects him to say. By all rights, he should be frightened, or even angry. If he had lashed out, she would have understood. But she certainly doesn’t expect him to ask,
“Why’re y’ here?” Vivi’s features twist into a confused frown. Nothing and no one could tear her away from him when he needed her, and she thought he’d known that. They’d been inseparable since elementary school. Had she done something to make him question it? Sure, maybe he’d seemed a little uncomfortable lately with—
With? There had been something, right? She clearly remembers catching Arthur’s unhappy expression in the rearview mirror as they sped along the road, but…. But that doesn’t make sense. If she’d seen him in the rearview, who could have been driving the car?
(There’s color in her head, eating away at her thoughts with a sense of warmth. Something just a touch more purple than magenta, threading through her veins, stilling her racing mind. Arthur always drove. Arthur always drove.)
Arthur—is staring at her. She still hasn’t given him an answer. There’s a knot of something building in her chest, but that doesn’t matter. Her best friend is staring at her in terror, and she has no clue what he fears.
“I’m not going to leave you, Arthur. Never.” She has a front row seat to watch him fall apart and she doesn’t know why. He flinches away from her touch, beautiful eyes filling with tears. “No, hey, Arty, I—do you want me to go? I… did I do something wrong?”
“ ’s dead, right? Has to be, or you’d be with Ļ͈̜̮̼̻͙̔̆͞͝e͎͓͍͕̱͕͈̓̓̔́̆_̰̗̖̯͔̳͇̂́̐ͩ͌͒̇ͯ͡-̶̜̘̥̦̗̼̗̖͋ͥͮ͠ͅsͪͩ̎͂̉͊͏̵̖̩̜̻̫̻͓͈”
…what?
She thinks instantly of the strange conversation with her mother in the waiting room. Whatever Arthur ugently wants to convey snakes away from her in the same maddening way. She’d thought maybe the whole thing had been some kind of stress-based hallucination, but the way Arthur looks at her now…
“I—I don’t—”
“Viv, please. Please tellme ’s not dead. You—you got’m outta the cave, right? You wouldn’t l̝̒͑e̴̛͉̹͔ͥͭͣͪ̎́̍t̶̠͔ͫ͜͝ ̴̱̹̻̔́̓ͣͧ_̸̝͔͔̎͘-̵̨̯̬̳͕̟̹̮͋̇̄ͣ̅̏͂͜ͅ_̯̝̟͍̓͑̋̎̇ͅį͉̠͇̘̲͇̓̋̄̄́ͧ̔s̫̩͙̹̎̂͜ ̵̳͍̳̱̳̔ͬ́ͅd̵̝͇͉ͯ̀̑͒͞i̳̰̬ͫͥͥ͗͋̇͟e̢̧̦̫͑̓́ͣ͌͛̓ͧ̌, right? Ev’n though I̞̲̳̠ ̻̹̪̗̥̱̩̆̋̂̒̆͗p̥͉̥̪͇̮̊̓_͈̣ͩͥ̋̿̉͐ͣš̗̞̤͉̪͍͊ͥ̂̋h͇͎͇̼̝͗̓ḛ̼͇̯̤̫̈́̑̃ͣ͆̑d̵͎͔ͪͥ ̴̠͕̦̺ͭͦ͑-͍̪̠̟̗̥̝̀̿͑-͈̹̮̙̇̎̑͆ ͎̓͞o̧͎͔͖̜̩̝̘ff͖͍͉̋ͮͣͬ̔ ̘̩̯̠͈̋̊̈́̋̅̾̍ͅt̴̖ͨh̪̭̬̳̿̅̋̃͂͟ͅȩ̝ͨ̽ ͤ̒͂ͪȩ̱̌̇d̙͑̂ͬ̉͛ͤ̚g̵̥̺̎̈́̑͋̓̌e̤̜̗̗͉̟”
His words weave in and out, warping and stretching into static as he talks. She can see his lips moving, but she can’t hear him past the fuschia heat in her head. It’s the strangest thing. She can hear his heart monitor whining clear as day, but whatever he so desperately fights to tell her is—
(Light flashes behind her eyes, somehow soothing and painful all at once. It pries her thoughts away, pushes her questions back under. Arthur’s on a lot of morphine, isn’t he? He must have dreamed something terrible. Have to help him—have to keep him calm)
That heart monitor sounds concerning, and she hasn’t worried over Arthur all this time just to watch him die in front of her now. She reaches out for him, tries to ignore the strange headache building in the center of her skull.
“You—you need to calm down.” Probably one of the worst things to say to someone in a panic, Vivi realizes, but she can’t think in a straight line. Arthur dissolves, pleading with her. She can’t understand a word of it—every syllable sends another spike of pain through her skull.
“Please, please – I didn’mean to. I͝t ma͡de͝ ͞me p̨̪̼̟͢ ȗ̶̡̧̅̈͂͛̇̊͆̎͐͒̀sh̷͕̫̠̼͚̖̭̪͜͞ ̤̝̣̰̠̬͇͔ͅh̶̯̻͖_͏̡̦̲̬̩̞̝͔m͍͕̩͙̖,̴̵̘̦̗̗̯̤̣͕͞ ̴̟̠̬̳̟̳͖͇a̡͔̝͖̳̣͈n̷̡̘̜͓̣̮͍͉͍͕͝ḏ̘ ̞̠͕̖͠t̷͎̲̼̳̪̭̤h̟̪͟͜e̞̗̳̖̘̘̫r͕̪e̮͉͔̬͉̗͜ ̛̈ͩ͛͋̀͛͠͏̶̟̤̺̞͖̠̰̼͇̜̪'̨̬͕̲̘̱̼̞͓̮̱̫͐̔̌̈s̴̰̦̮̣̞̻̮̪̞͚̬̬̪͊̃ͩ̒͆̿͋͒̃ͬͨ̉̒̆͢ ̶̴͕̱͎̖̘̥̞̼͓͔̗͈̼̎̍͋̽͝s̵̙̪̲̲̫̤̱̲̼͛̐ͨ͊̐́̑͆ͦ̃ͫ̎ͯ̋̊͗ͬ͐́͞ͅǫ̴̶̥͎̙͙̤͍̦͔̤̜̘͔̪̪̣̘̙̓̎͌̈́̾̏ͯ͒ͮ̍̏͠ ̧̩͕̥͖̫̭̣͈̞̞̔̇͋̓̍ͮͪͣ̋ͧm̨͔̻̭̳̞͖̝͙̮̦̼̏̈́̍̊̇̔͑̅̄̊̉̏͆͒̚͟͟ȗ̶̡̧̘͚̣̲͖̲̜̤̳͍͓͕̼̪̙̅̈͂͛̇̊͆̎͐͒̀c̨̨̝̞͚͈̫̦ͣ̿̅̌̊͊͞ḥ̺̭͎͕̗̙͕̱̤̙͎̐̀͌̍̐ͪ̓̿̑ͫ͂ͩ̓͛̐͟ ̢̲͔͉̈́̽ͩ̆̅̕͝b͎̣͈͙̥͇̞͕̩̙̳͈͓̞̓̔ͭͅͅͅl̷̢̢̛̬̘̬̫̣̟̤͉ͧͬͧͦ̐ͯ̔ͪ̚ȯ̸̜̱̫̗͓̦̣̮͔̗̤͖̯͎̟̳̾̌́ͤͣͯͅo̧̯̙̘̣̘̗͓͔̳͛ͣ̈́͐̈́̍̐͊͗͗̽̑͘ḑ̸̴̨͕̝̯̤͕̙͉͖̟̟͂̀̀ͣ̋͠. God, please don’ l̢͟et̵̸̕ ̛L̨e͞ -̷͜_̶͏͘͢͡-̕͏̴͠ ̢͏͜b̴̵͠e ̺̣̥͞d̻̞̗̖̭̮̗͟ȩ̦͔̥͇͜ͅa̭̩̘̥͖̼͈͈̪ḓ̨̡̲̣̣̜.̳̣̪̫̳̪̹̺̹ ̸͖͕I̶̞̲̪̻̭͕̬̕͟ ͞҉̯̲̩̩̤̞̮̱̣̦̘͇͜ͅḍ̘͇̝̹̣̱̪̺̲͈̮̮̖͞͠i̢̛̺̦̤̲͎̩̖̕͜͞d̷̫͓͕̼̙̮͉̥̝̗͢͜͞͠n̶̶̢̺͔̟̻̟̼͓͖̘̳̫͔̭͈̻͙'̸̛͔̣͚̜̥̭͘͢͝ͅ ̨͎̥͙͔̞͍͍̣̺̤͉̯͍̺̼͉͓͜m̵͔̠̳͓̯̗̯̪̖̫̻̼ͅe͏̫̝̹͉̣͈̫͓̦̩̕͞a̷̴̟̼̦͚̰̰̪̮̰̭̹͚̹͝ͅn̶͔̞͕̹̹̗̱̯ ̜̞̮͚͚̕͢į̛̪̟̙̦̼̤̣̰͖̦͇̳͍̘̬͇̺͘ţ̶̖̱͎̻̼̫̼̭̱͙͈͎͔̱̱̩̕͟-̧̰̳̜̺͉̼̺̙̳͍̼̙͘͝͞”
Arthur’s static spills out in pinkish-purple waves, beep of his monitor stabbing through her with one final crescendo of agony.
Lucky for both of them she hits the nurse call button with her face when she passes out.
Something is very wrong.
If she thought so before, the feeling only intensifies when the police show up and start asking her questions she can’t hear. They’ve pulled her aside for a statement more than a few times now, but she can’t seem to get through the answers. Things start simple enough; where were you and your friend that night? How did he loose his arm, are you sure you didn’t see anything, blah, blah—but then…
“What happened to _̸̝͔͔̎͘-̵̨̯̬̳͕̟̹̮͋̇̄ͣ̅̏͂͜ͅ_̯̝̟͍̓͑̋̎̇ͅį͉̠͇̘̲͇̓̋̄̄́ͧ̔s̫̩͙̹̎̂͜?”
It’s that same question over and over again. She can’t understand it. Every damn time, she stares and squints and tries to parse the words away from the noise. “Was _̢͢͡e͘͏w̸i̵̕-̕̕͢͝ ͜͢ with you when ͞͝͠y͢͝ơ͟͡ų̸̶͠r̷͟͟ ̴͘͠͝͡f̛͜r̶͜͡͞i̷̧̛ęn̴̨͟͢d͟͏̡͜ ̵̕͡w̨͟a̢̡̢͢s ̸͜͢͡͠a̸̷̧̧͢t͏̨͘t͡a̷̡̛͜͞c̴͏̧k͘͝ę͟_̸̢̛͠͞?”
It doesn’t matter how hard she focuses or how much sleep she gets. Eventually, the lights blare pink-purple-pink and before she knows what’s happened she winds up face down on the couch in Arthur’s room.
Vivi groans as she comes back around. She pushes herself up, ignoring the way her face sticks to the plastic of hospital furniture. Her cheek stings when she pulls away. She assumes she now sports a highly attractive red mark.
“Hon, you’re not going to help your friend much if you don’t take care of yourself,” Arthur’s nurse calls from his bedside, her hands moving efficiently through the task of pulling the old dressings away from his wound. Vivi pushes herself upright with a groan, her hand already reaching up to rub at her habitually sore head.
“I know,” she answers, and tries not to let too much of her frustration color her voice. If she could just figure out what was wrong with her, maybe she’d do more to address it. But try as she might, she can’t discern the source of all these fainting spells. Is she suffering some kind of prolonged stroke?
Whatever it is makes her skin crawl, keeps her instincts singing with alarm. There’s only one thing in the whole world that worries her more. She steals a glimpse of Arthur, propped up against his pillows on the elevated bed. The nurse fusses at him beneath her breath but it's patently obvious that the blonde can’t understand her. He’s awake today, or as close as he can get on a fresh dose of medicine. Liquid gold eyes catch her own across the room and she hastens to send him a smile.
He doesn’t smile back. He hasn’t said a word since the first day he woke.
They tell her he’s just been hit harder by depression than the average amputee—that these things pass with time and support, but there’s a magenta-toned whisper threading through their words every time they say it. She knows it’s something different—something worse.
“You feelin’ alright today, Arty?” She calls, even knowing he won’t answer. His nurse tuts at them both and adjusts the mattress height until she can get a better view.
“Well, that nasty little infection seems to be blowing through just fine. Seems like you get to go home sooner than we thought.” Vivi wishes she could remember the nurse’s name. She cares for Arthur regularly. Seems kind, if a little irritable. After spending so much time in the hospital, Vivi thinks she might be due a little irritation now and then. “Are you the one who’ll be taking him home eventually, Blue? Someone’s going to need to know how to do this for him.”
She doesn’t expect the question, so it takes her a while to respond.
“Oh! I—guess so? Unless his uncle…” Vivi trails off, hit with a sudden flash of horror. Arthur’s uncle. What if he didn’t know? They were prone to long leaves of absence on their road trips, so he might not even know he should worry. And even if he did, he had no way of knowing they were in Tempo’s regional hospital in particular. She’d just been so distracted. Besides, her mother had fielded so many calls and texts when she arrived that she figured the whole town must know by now. She hadn’t even thought to contact…
Lance is going to kill her.
“Uncle?” the nurse parrots, and Vivi shakes the waves of panicked shame away. She can feel like an idiot later.
“I mean, yes. I’ll be the one.” She gets a suspicious side-eye from the older woman, but no further protest. Arthur has no input on the subject. He simply stares, follows Vivi’s path across the room until she comes to a rest at his side. She hates seeing him so empty, but it’s a better look than death.
Maybe she just has to remind him that she’s here. Vivi slides her hand into his and holds tight.
Arthur, unblinking, squeezes back. Hope flutters anew in her chest. They can do this. Things will be alright again. Lance and her blasted head problems can wait. “Show me what to do,” she demands, and the grumpy nurse favors her with a smile.
Eventually, stymied by their persistent silence, the police demand a medical exam. She’d very nearly gotten herself arrested for refusal to cooperate before Mother managed to step in. They have to drag her, seething, from Arthur’s hospital room. Vivi hates them for it. She promised Arthur she wouldn’t leave.
Well, if they’re going to make a liar out of her, this had better be worth it. She puts her game face on and resolves to get this over with as quickly as she can.
She doesn’t remember what happens next. She does remember the diagnosis.
“Dissociative Amnesia,” the doctor says, background music to the vision of her mother’s frown carving deep furrows in her skin.
She can’t think too deeply about it. Every time she tries to understand it, her thoughts turn to static. Apparently, she’s forgotten something everyone thinks she should remember. She knows that much. But if she tries to apply any logic to the things they say, she—
“Dissociative amnesia,” she learns to repeat to the police, and the investigators, and all the well-wishers who ask her questions she can’t hear and stare her down in confusion.
“Dissociative amnesia?” she asks aloud to Mystery in the quiet, at some point after Arthur’s finally safe at home. Perhaps the doctors know their science best, but the feeling of her thoughts skipping like a record so many times a day couldn’t feel further from organic. Mystery pointedly does not look at her when he nods. She should find that suspicious. She tries to mark his behavior down, a clue to think on later.
She forgets.