Work Text:
Sometimes, in the white, it’s only the stains that keep him grounded.
They’re what break up the foam walls, what reminds him that he’s in a place built by fallible human hands.
He still has two days left. Attempting to strangle the head psychologist with his own tie got him solitary, and yeah, sure, he’s not unused to it, but this one was longer than usual, and the water they’d offered earlier this morning might have had something in it because his head was getting awful swimmy.
So, he focused on the stains. Condensation, on the high part of the walls and the ceiling. Less pleasant things, more human things, on the rest of the cell. They probably don’t clean them that well.
The straitjacket is pulled tight around him, arms pinned to his front like a pharaoh in his sarcophagus. No gold or jewels or organs in jars around, though, only the walls and the ceiling and the moans of the other kids that manage to make it through those very same walls.
Only him.
Dib tried to chew at the collar, but it’s pretty bite-proof. They probably designed it that way. At least they didn’t gag him this time, but his own voice crumbled after the first… day, maybe? They definitely aren’t feeding him three times a day, so it’s nearly impossible to tell how much time has passed, and there’s no way to tell if his internal clock has been jammed. Maybe they’ll leave him in there for extra time because he’s a repeat offender. Not like they’d tell him.
He rocked back and forth until he managed to push himself to a sitting position, and then shoved his feet against the floor, inching like a worm back to the wall to shuffle himself up into a standing position. At least this way he can pace until he falls over again because balance is kind of shot with both the jacket on and the floor being padded.
He likes the stains.
One of them kind of looks like Zim, if he squints. He twists and pulls in the thick canvas, sweat trapped and stinking, and briefly wonders if it’s even worth saving people who keep doing this to him, and then shakes his head for even thinking about it.
He didn’t want to give Zim the satisfaction any more than he wanted to prove them all right, so he gritted his teeth and waited for them to open the door again.
Two more days.
(He thought.)