Chapter Text
Dan had been having nightmares for weeks.
At first, it hadn’t been too big of a deal. It started off with the occasional jump-start to reality from faded memories he couldn’t quite grasp in the waking world. For the most part, it was the kind of disturbing he was used to – those pesky recurring themes of being watched or attacked or killed. Usual nightmare content.
It wasn’t very hard for him to get back to sleep after waking up. At worst, maybe Chris would stir because of him, mumble something in a half-dream state and then fall back asleep. At best, Dan would wake up, startled, shrug it off and be back asleep within a minute or two. Then the dreams started getting specific. Disturbing.
Themes shifted from regular nightmare material to distorted fragments of memories he wanted to forget.
He couldn’t even remember what the dreams were about when he woke up. All he knew was that suddenly, the idea of sleep didn’t feel so appealing, and he’d slip out of bed to distract himself – maybe go watch TV with Mr Mumbles until the sun rose, and then pretend that he just ‘woke up early’ if he was questioned about it.
It was when he started remembering what the dreams were about that the real problems started.
They were usually disjointed versions of events he remembered a little too well – a representation of them, a professional might say. It wasn’t the fact that he remembered the dreams that made them more unnerving. It was remembering the events they were based off of that made it impossible not to think about what was keeping him up at night.
The next problem came the first time he woke up Chris.
Maybe Dan had been moving in his sleep. Talking. Something. He wasn’t sure. All he did know was that he was in another reality where he was smaller than usual, hiding from someone much bigger than him behind a glass wall. Next moment, someone was roughly shaking him, and he shot up to smack his head into something that screamed “Ow!” and reeled back in shock.
“Wh—” Dan glanced around the dark desperately, taking a few seconds to adjust. It finally clicked in his head that he was in Chris’s – their room. “Chris?” He asked, tentative.
“Yes, of course it’s—” Chris cut himself off, holding a hand to his nose while the other reached for Dan’s shoulder. “Are you okay? You were talking in your sleep.”
The remnants were still there – running. Hiding. Danger. Helplessness. He involuntarily shuddered, grabbing the hand resting on his shoulder. “I’m fine.” He breathed out, but the way his grip tightened on Chris’s hand said otherwise. “Go back to sleep.”
“I will, but – do you want to talk about it first?” Chris gave him a look of concern.
Dan couldn’t really see it from where he was staring at the rumpled bed sheets. He vehemently shook his head, providing no other answer.
Chris exhaled tiredly. “Okay, just—” He removed the hand he had holding his nose and inspected it in the dark. After a few focused seconds of staring, he was satisfied that Dan’s unintentional blunt force hadn’t caused bleeding. Chris shifted on the bed, preparing to lie back down again – tugging on Dan’s shoulder to gesture for him to follow. Dan complied a little too easily for Chris’s liking – even going as far as nestling up to him; arms wrapping around him too tightly for someone that was ‘fine’.
For a second, Chris thought to say something, but thought better of it when he caught sight of the time. 1:30AM. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Dan; one secured around his waist and the other positioned so his hand nestled through black hair. He rubbed soothing circles on Dan’s back, hoping it’d help against whatever had caused him to be so shaken up.
If the subtle nuzzle into his neck he felt in return was any indication, then Chris’s presence was at least appreciated. He managed a small smile at that, and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Dan’s head.
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While in the kitchen the next morning, Dan had been met with worried glances from not only Chris, but Elise too – and hadn’t she slept through the incident?
He’d asked her as much; unimpressed at the thought that she’d heard anything. It was bad enough that Chris had heard him – and sure, the doting was nice, but there was something embarrassing about being a grown man plagued by nightmares. At least, Dan thought there was.
Elise didn’t seem too bothered by the fact – not even batting an eye as she prepared a bowl of cereal for herself. “Oh, no. I heard it.” She confirmed, “but Chris seemed to have it sorted, so.” She looked up from the kitchen bench, glancing between her husband and – friend? Housemate? The details were still a little fuzzy, even after having lived comfortably* together for a few weeks.
“I don’t know what you guys are so worried about.” Dan answered nonchalantly. To their knowledge, it had only happened the one time. Sure, it wasn’t exactly ideal to wake up from a nightmare alarmed – not panicked; definitely not that – but it wasn’t as if it was a regular occurrence. At least, as far as they knew. “It was just a bad dream – don’t try to tell me you’ve never had one in your life.”
“Well, sure,” Elise replied, “but usually I can get back to sleep after.” She gave Dan a pointed look, as if what she’d said was common knowledge – and he should really know better than to try and downplay an issue to her. She was too observant for that kind of thing to work. “You think I haven’t noticed you getting up in the middle of the night? You’re not exactly quiet.”
“Says you.” Dan grumbled, avoiding eye contact. He’d hoped the ever-growing sleepless nights had gone undetected. Apparently not.
“We’re just worried about you.” Chris said earnestly. He stretched his hand across the kitchen table to rest it on top of Dan’s free hand. He gave his partner a troubled expression. “I know you’ve been sceptical about it, but I really think you should consider—”
“I am NOT seeing a therapist.” Dan interrupted, yanking his hand away from Chris’s. They’d had that very conversation time and time again, and nothing had changed. Dan still hadn’t seen a psychologist. He still didn’t want to, and frankly, it should have been more obvious to Chris that Dan was absolutely opposed to talking to a ‘professional’ about his psyche – as if they were able to actually fix people. “I got better things to do than sit around and get lectured about how to handle my nightmares.”
“What ‘better things’ do you have to do?” Chris asked incredulously.
“Like finding the moron who keeps encouraging their dog to shit in our yard.” Dan replied, rising from the kitchen table and heading for the living room. His voice held that quality that Chris had long since identified as meaning ‘vengeance had been called’.
Somehow, Chris managed to lean over far enough to catch Dan heading for the front door without tipping his chair backward. He gave the man a troubled look, “I don’t think they’re encouraging their dog to—”
“That’s what they WANT you to think!” Dan yelled over his shoulder. The sound of the front door slamming shut followed his words, and that was the end of that conversation.
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Two nights later, the same thing happened again.
The nightmare had been the repeated pattern of flashes of sounds – images – movements – pain. Running, never escaping. The incessant pounding of danger and they’re out to get you. Dan didn’t know what had given it away – if he had started moving in his sleep. Maybe mumbled something incomprehensible like the previous time. He wasn’t sure, because all he knew was that he woke up lying on his back and breathing a little too heavy to be able to play it off as anything other than fear.
Chris had first realised something was wrong when he felt Dan kick him in his sleep. Sometimes that kind of thing happened – but it was usually accompanied with annoyed grumbling about something that didn’t make much sense if Chris was awake enough to hear it in the first place. Instead, he kept feeling Dan shift around; twitching as if he were visibly flinching from something. That’s not right.
It sounded like he was trying to say something, but nothing more than unidentifiable murmuring came out. Whatever it was, he sounded afraid. A lot of words could be used to describe Dan, but afraid was rarely one of them.
The situation set off red flags in Chris’s head. He turned over to face Dan – propping himself up so he was half-sitting. He was not risking leaning over Dan again; he’d learned his lesson from the sore nose and watery eyes he received last time. Instead, he waited for Dan to wake up, even if it hurt his heart to see his partner so unsettled.
Dan finally woke up – blinked up at the ceiling for a moment, trying to slow his breathing – because it felt like he’d just dove into freezing water or something. First thing he realised was that it was dark, but part of him was too scared to move or speak or keep fucking breathing in case they were still trying to find him. What if he moved and that gave him away?
Next, he noticed that he wasn’t in his apartment, and—right. He’d started living with Chris and Elise. That was a thing. Tentatively, he reached a hand for his hair, gripping it a little too tight, but it did something to confirm that this is real and I’m safe here.
As soon as it looked as though he was aware that he was awake, Chris tried to speak to him. “Dan?” He asked softly.
Dan jolted in shock – actually jolted, and that wasn’t something Chris ever knew him to do. Dan’s eyes moved to look at him, and it was unsettling to see the unmasked fear that resided there; unnatural, almost. His free hand tightened its grip on the sheets below, and this did not go unnoticed by Chris, either. When Dan finally spoke, his voice was horribly, uncharacteristically quiet, “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No, no you’re fine.” Chris replied on reflex. Without thinking, he leaned over to envelop Dan in a hug – pulling him up just enough to fully wrap his arms around Dan’s middle. He realised after the fact that maybe he should have asked first, considering how hostile his partner could be even on a good day. Concerningly, Dan appeared to make no effort to reciprocate nor reject the affection. He more just stayed there; not fully taking in what was happening. Chris held him a little tighter and quietly said, “Let’s just go back to sleep.”
He received a noncommittal noise in return, which Chris guessed was probably all the response he’d get at that point. Chris laid back down again and pulled Dan against him, hoping that the comfort would help him get back to sleep. They ended up in a similar position as the previous time; limbs tangled, one of Chris’s hands in Dan’s hair and the other hand splayed over his back. Once more, Chris thought to try and say something to Dan; ask what happened, but he could already tell he wouldn’t receive much of an answer if he tried.
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There was an attempt to talk about it the next morning, and that went about as well as expected.
The two had been on their way to the grocery store. Elise had given Chris a shopping list earlier that morning, and since she was more or less the breadwinner of the house, chores such as going shopping and housekeeping had been designated to Chris and Dan. So, they found themselves in the car – Chris driving and Dan staring out the passenger seat window.
For the duration of the drive, Chris had been periodically glancing over at Dan, trying to discern what his boyfriend was feeling beyond the usual ‘mildly annoyed’. Eventually, he decided to just ask the question that was on his mind, “So, were you going to talk about what happened last night? Or…”
“Nope.”
There wasn’t much room for argument or dispute after that. Talking about it clearly wasn’t an option, and Dan kept making it painfully clear that therapy wasn’t in the equation either.
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It only got worse from there.
More nights than not, Dan was waking up from some kind of nightmare either slightly startled, or having what was totally-not-a-panic-attack. It got to the point where if he so much as shifted during the night, Chris would instinctively wake up to check on him – and suddenly Dan’s sleeping issue became Chris’s sleeping issue, which then became Elise’s, and she was not having it.
The three of them were in the living room. Elise was cuddled up to Chris, and Dan was sitting on a separate couch from them. It was probably a good thing too, considering the conversation Elise was about to bring up. She looked over at Dan, who seemed a bit too preoccupied petting Mr Mumbles to notice her – either that, or he was too tired to have that sixth sense of I know someone’s watching me right now. “You have to see a therapist, Dan.” She stated.
That got his attention. He twisted to face her so fast that he managed to startle Mr Mumbles. “Are you out of your mind?!” He barked. From that angle, the bags under his eyes were so dark that they almost looked bruised, “Why would a therapist help me? They just charge you money to tell you things you already know!”
“Oh yeah? Like what?” She asked, challenging.
“You know—” He stood up that time; jostling Mr Mumbles off of his lap as he accentuated his point, “—‘Get more sleep’ and ‘your mother irreparably fucked up your childhood and now you’re having nightmares because you never sorted it out’.”
Even Chris looked up at this.
“…What?” It was hard to tell if Chris or Elise had said that. Maybe it had been both of them. Things had started getting blurry around the edges ever since Dan had stopped trying to sleep. He looked at where the two of them sat, confused.
“What?” He asked, suspicious, “What did I say?” At that point, it’d felt like the words had kind of just slipped out more than he’d consciously said them. He was a bit in the dark to what’d suddenly gotten the two of them so worried.
“Dan,” Chris wasted no time rising from his own seat, walking over to Dan and securely placing his hands on the man’s shoulders. Chris wore that annoyingly concerned expression he got when someone he loved was hurt, “Please see a therapist.” He insisted.
Dan grabbed onto Chris’s arms – although he couldn’t really tell if it was to reassure Chris or to maintain his own balance. “I told you, I’m fine.” Dan insisted, but the sudden headrush and blackspots in his vision weren’t very promising.
He didn’t remember much else after that. All he knew was that one moment, he was arguing with Chris in the living room, and the next moment, he was waking up in bed with an oddly concerned Elise sitting on the edge of the mattress while she read a book. Strange. He didn’t remember going to sleep. He sat up slowly, trying to get a grasp on the situation. “Wh’s goin’ on?” He asked – and he was definitely still half asleep.
The question caught Elise’s attention. She looked up from her book, and yep, the concern was aimed at him for some reason. “You’re sleep deprived.” She paused for a moment, tilting her head curiously, “You don’t even remember what happened, do you?”
Dan squinted suspiciously at her, “What are you implying?”
She slammed her book shut at that. “That’s it!” She snapped, levelling Dan with the kind of stare that could kill a man, “You’re seeing a therapist whether you like it or not!”
That made Dan sit up straight. He looked indignant, “I already said I am not—”
“Oh yes you are.” Elise hissed. She turned so that she was completely sitting on the mattress, facing Dan. “Maybe you’re fine with losing sleep, but I’m not. And I’m not okay with Chris losing sleep either.”
“But—”
Elise stopped him from continuing, “Either you go, or Mr Mumbles becomes an outside cat.”
Dan looked beyond offended at the threat. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wanna bet?”
The two stared off for several tense seconds; neither one willing to back down. It wasn’t until Elise cracked her knuckles that Dan backed down – realising that yes, Elise really would follow through with that threat and yes, she really could kick his ass in a fight (one that wasn’t with robotic cars, anyway).
He let out a frustrated sigh, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat. “Fine. I’ll go.” He relented, but he still had to make it clear that whatever happened was going to be on his terms. “But I’m not guaranteeing I’ll actually talk to them.” He added stubbornly.
Elise shrugged. It was better than nothing, at least. “Works for me.” Satisfied that the sleep issue was finally going to be addressed, she got up from her spot on the bed and made her way to the bedroom door. “They’ve got ways of making you talk anyway.” She said off-handedly before walking through the door.
“Oh, right.” Dan mumbled in reply. Then her words hit him. “Wait, what?”
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Not even a week later, and he was in the waiting room of a psychologist's office with Chris, listening out for when they’d inevitably call him up and he’d have to tell some stranger his life story in a level of detail that not even Chris knew. Great.
“It’s going to be fine.” Chris reassured, resting a hand on top Dan’s, which was digging into the waiting room chair’s plastic handle.
“Easy for you to say.” Dan responded bitterly. His grip on the handle did not loosen, and he sunk lower into the seat.
“It will.” Chris reiterated. The office had a white noise of air conditioning and computer key clacking that was either soothing and unnerving, depending on who you asked. Chris began running his thumb over the back of Dan’s hand. “Did you want me to ask if I can go in with you?”
Dan scoffed, “Why bother?” His eyes darted between the two potential corridors that his ‘therapist’ may appear from. He knew agreeing to see someone was going to be a bad idea, and a knot of dread had already formed in his stomach. “They’re just trying to dissect me for secrets, anyway.”
“That’s…” Chris searched for the nicest way to put his thoughts. He settled on: “A really morbid way of putting it.”
That only egged Dan on. He shifted in his chair, eyes ablaze with determination, “So you admit it then!”
Chris sighed, “Come on, that’s not—”
“Dan?” A middle-aged man entered the waiting room from one of the two corridors – the one furthest from the building’s exit, Dan noted. The man was a bit on the shorter side and balding. He looked the part, in Dan’s opinion – dressed a little too nice for someone who’s supposed ‘occupation’ was pretending they liked you (again, so they could dissect you for secrets).
Dan decided he should make his intentions known then and there; make sure that the therapist knew exactly who he was messing with. He stormed over to the guy, pointing an accusing finger into his chest. “Let me get something straight.” He warned menacingly, “I’m only doing this because my boyfriend and his stupid wife are making me.”
“Dan.” Chris warned. He was already out of his own seat and making his way over to the two. He put a warning hand on Dan’s back as a reminder to behave himself.
“What?” Dan turned his attention back to Chris wearily, “You guys said they knew ‘the situation’. Did you lie to me just to get me here?” ‘The situation’ referred to being in a polyamorous relationship with his best friend, and his best friend’s wife – although Dan would vehemently argue that second part was nothing more than a technicality.
For the most part, people in California didn’t seem to pay them too much mind – either that, or they just didn’t notice that some guy in an orange button shirt was going on dates with two different people. Either way, Dan had made it a requirement that whatever therapist he was forced to see wouldn’t be some weird judgemental person, and both Dan and Elise had assured him they made sure to pick someone who was open to unconventional arrangements.
“No, we didn’t lie to you.” Chris responded impatiently, “You’re just being rude.”
“And you think I care?” Dan remarked.
Chris moved to grab Dan's arm, “You said you’d at least try for me.” He wasn’t necessarily expecting a lot, but he’d at least hoped that Dan would attempt to be nice.
Dan tried to rip his arm out of Chris’s grip with little luck. “I say a lot of things.” He hissed back.
“I’m Dr. Morgan.” The therapist interjected, seemingly unphased by the exchange happening in front of him, “But you can just call me Russel.”
“Yeah, sure, Morgan.” Dan answered coldly. He eyed the man up and down, trying to get a better look at him since he had a voice and name to put to the face. Morgan sounded about right for the surname of a therapist, “If that’s even your real name.” He muttered under his breath, before finally managing to wriggle his arm out of Chris’s grip. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Dan began making his way down the hallway, only stopping to ask, “You coming, doctor?”
“I’m really sorry about him.” Chris addressed the therapist – Russel, before looking between him and his boyfriend worriedly. “Do you mind if I sit in? He tends to just be a bit like… that.”
“That is not a problem at all.” Russel replied kindly, “As long as he wants you in there. You know, doctor-patient confidentiality.”
“He won’t care.” Chris’s answer was confident, “Trust me.”
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If you asked Dan, the hour-long session came and went relatively quickly.
“That wasn’t so bad.” He commented as he opened the passenger side door of Chris’s car.
On the other hand, Chris had felt like he’d been watching the seconds tick by on the clock in slow motion – as if he’d been stuck in a time loop where sixty minutes was sixty years, and he’d somehow come out of some wormhole that’d prevented his body from ageing. He would not recommend the experience to anyone. “You kept throwing paper planes at Russel’s head when he asked you to write down your thoughts.” Chris reprimanded, although he didn’t sound very upset.
Dan shrugged, “Still, could have gone worse.”
It wasn’t surprising that his first session had no significant breakthroughs – or rather, that it hadn’t been much more than what most (Dan included) would have described as ‘a waste of time’. Chris tried to view it as a first step at the very least, but that may have been overly optimistic.
That became painfully apparent after Chris made one short statement, “Let’s just hope the next session goes better.”
By this point, the two of them were already in the car, and Chris was exiting the psychologist office’s parking lot.
Dan stared at him with a look of utter shock and betrayal. Hadn’t the one session been enough? Why did he have to go back? That wasn’t part of the deal. “You are completely out of your mind if you think I’m going back to see that shrink!”
Honestly, Chris should have expected the level of resistance Dan was giving him. Still, he rubbed at his temple with one hand, keeping the other on the wheel. Hopefully the whole ordeal didn’t give him a headache. He glanced at Dan from the corner of his eye, trying to gauge his chance of being able to reason with the man. Not likely, if his continual track record of stubbornness and defiance was anything to go by. Chris tried, anyway, “You can’t just go once and think that’ll solve years of—”
“I told you not to psychoanalyse me, Chris!” Dan snapped, “It’s bad enough you forced me to see the psychopath that does that for a living!”
Trying to entertain Dan’s leaps in logic could get exhausting sometimes. Chris wondered if maybe he should start seeing a therapist himself, for his own sanity. “…You do realise there’s a difference between a psychologist and psychopath, right?” He hoped Dan knew the difference, considering he always got straight ‘A’s in English back in high school.
“They both have ‘psycho’ in the name. That’s all I need to know.” Dan answered nonchalantly.
“You’re going back to him.” It was Elise’s voice.
“WHAT THE—” Dan startled, scanning the car for her presence. She hadn’t been with them on the drive there, or when they were in the office, or when they left, so how - ?
“She’s on speaker phone.” Chris elaborated. Maybe he’d been more subtle than he’d thought calling her up.
Dan was baffled that he hadn’t noticed Chris ringing her – wasn’t there usually some kind of ring tone? Maybe he hadn’t noticed it. It didn’t change the fact that she was making Dan’s situation much more difficult. “Why are you both so insistent on ganging up on me?” He complained.
“We’re not ganging up on you, Dan. We’re just worried about you.” Chris explained. Although his eyes were on the road, Dan could see that sappy soft expression that seemed to be there more often than not since the nightmares had started.
“I’m more worried about the state of my sleep.” Elise’s voice sounded through the speaker, “But yes, Dan. Chris is very worried about you. It’s exhausting.”
Dan huffed in annoyance. The two of them really did make things needlessly complicated. “You do realise this could all be resolved if you just, I don’t know, STOPPED worrying about me?”
That struck a nerve for Chris. He felt his eye twitch – one of those few instances where he felt like he might lose his cool. “Why would I have asked you to move in if I didn’t care about you?!” He snapped. He was getting fed up of having the same argument, of Dan disregarding his worry as if it wasn’t a big deal. As if it didn’t matter. “I know you think it’s awful to think that people worry about you, but that’s the price you paid by getting into a relationship.”
There it was again, the emotional blackmail; the, I love you and if you want me to keep loving you, you have to take care of yourself. It was awful. Dan hated it. He didn’t like being on bad terms with Chris in the first place, but ever since getting together – being able to know what it was like to be with him in the way he’d always wanted to – Chris being mad at him became even harder to deal with. He begrudgingly relented, “Fine. I’ll go back to the guy, but I’m still not promising some ‘heart-warming emotional breakthrough’ – or whatever it is you’re thinking will happen.”
The relieved smile that appeared on Chris’s face made him feel a bit less shitty about having to go back.
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The second visit hadn’t been much more successful, either.
The first twenty minutes had been spent in what was almost complete silence. Dan had reasoned that if he just didn’t say anything, the therapist wouldn’t be able to analyse his brain and steal his secrets.
However, that had only worked until Chris spoke up, “Dan, you do realise you have to actually say something while you’re here, right?”
“No I don’t.” Dan replied stubbornly.
“You just did.” Chris pointed out.
“Shut up, Chris!”
Chris furrowed his brows in frustration. “We’re not sinking money into this for nothing.”
Dan never really seemed to care about the costs for things, but Chris had noticed that he’d been a little more mindful of it in the past few months. It was one of those little things that showed he did care, even if he wasn’t always the best at showing it. Chris continued, “You have to at least talk to the guy while you’re here.”
Dan fidgeted in his seat, drumming his fingers on his arm and tapping his foot impatiently as if the gears in his head were turning rapidly. Eventually, he let out an anguished sound, “Arghh, fine!” He shifted to face Russel, “Hey, doctor.” He taunted, “You’re not very good at your job if I’ve gotten away with not talking for half the session.”
Russel didn’t seem to take offence to the insult. In fact, he didn’t really seem to take offence to anything. It was strange. “It was only twenty minutes, actually.”
“One-third – what’s the difference?!”
“Well,” Russel took the opportunity to try and steer the conversation in a constructive direction, “now that we’re talking, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“I do mind, in fact.” Dan replied bitterly.
“Great.” Russel appeared to be ignoring his apprehension – as if he didn’t understand the concept of defiance or rejection. He flipped one of the pages of his notebook over and flicked a pen along the side of the paper as he asked, “Do you want to try revisiting why you’re here today?”
Is this guy an idiot? How did he pass over half a decade of tertiary education if he’s this stupid?! “I already said –“ Dan adjusted himself, as if the movement helped alleviate even a fraction of the immense anger he somehow managed to contain in his body, “because my boyfriend and the demon he calls a wife made me!”
Once more, Russel didn’t give into the bait for an argument. Instead, he continued asking questions, “And why do you feel they made you?”
“I don’t know—Maybe they’re sadists.” Dan offered unhelpfully. He missed the offended look Chris gave him.
Instead of trying to reason why Elise was not a demon – because, really, they unfortunately had another, more pressing matter at hand to deal with – Chris turned his attention to the therapist. “Do you mind if I say something?” He asked.
“Sure.” Russel smiled.
Before Dan had the chance to stop him, Chris started speaking. “He’s been having nightmares for weeks. I have no idea what about, and honestly? I’m starting to lose sleep because of it.”
If Dan looked close enough, he could see bags beginning to form under Chris’s eyes. He did feel a little guilty about that, even if he wouldn’t admit it. After all, he still reasoned that everything would be a lot easier if Chris stopped worrying about him. That’d mean he doesn’t care about you, though. That thought made Dan frown a little.
“That’s… very helpful actually. Thank you.” Russel started jotting down notes as he spoke.
The sudden movement of pen on paper did not go unnoticed by Dan, “See Chris?!” He pointed at the pen and notepad, while his other hand went to grab at Chris’s arm to make sure he had the man’s attention, “He is collecting information on us!”
“Well, in a sense.” Russel clarified, “It’ll help me to understand what you’re experiencing and how to help.” He stopped taking notes at this point, taking the opportunity to address Dan directly, “I can also reference back to these notes to make sure I remember what you’ve told me in future appointments.”
“Sure, as if I’d believe that.” Dan scoffed, letting go of Chris in the process. He turned his full attention to the psychologist, making sure that his scepticism about the whole situation was well known. “And how securely are you storing those ‘notes’?” He questioned accusingly, “How am I to believe those are safe from any simpleton who could just waltz in here and have access to my brain?”
The therapist didn’t bat an eye at the hostility. Chris could only imagine the kinds of patients he’d dealt with that’d made him so placid. “I can assure you that these notes are properly and securely stored.” Russel stated.
“Oh yeah?” Dan leaned forward in his seat, giving the man in front of him an incredibly doubtful look, “Where do you keep them then?”
“If I told you, then they wouldn’t be as secure, now, would they?” Russel asked, a smugly inquisitive expression on his face. It was the most emotion Dan had seen him display. The thought of that was a little unnerving, if he was perfectly honest.
The look Dan gave him in return was somewhere between incredulous, and impressed with the display of perceptiveness. “Perhaps.” He replied, moving further back in his seat once more.
Russel took it as a sign that his patient was less hostile, potentially more open to an actual conversation. “So,” He attempted to change the subject, “You’ve been having nightmares.”
That was exactly where Dan didn’t want the conversation going. He shouldn’t have been so surprised that the therapist was going to try and ask about that. Stupid Chris. He thought somewhere in the back of his brain. Giving up that information was some form of betrayal in and of itself. “Yes. What of it?” Dan asked defensively.
“What have they been about?” Russel inquired, voice light.
The hostility was already creeping back in. If it weren’t for the fact that Chris (and Elise) was expecting him to be on his ‘best behaviour’ – which really meant not attacking the psychologist right where he sat – he supposed he could respond with his words. For the moment, at least. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He spat venomously.
“I would, actually.”
Sensing that things had the potential to go south very quickly, Chris placed a tentative hand on top of Dan’s. “He’s just trying to help.” He offered gently.
“That’s what he wants you to think, Chris!” Dan retorted. Of course his partner wouldn’t get it – Chris was too trusting; too nice. Sometimes that worked in Dan’s favour; a bitter part of him thought that maybe Chris being too nice was the only reason he loved him – but it was decisively frustrating when it came to Chris’s tendency to think the best of everyone else that wasn’t Dan. That therapist was part of that ‘everyone else’.
Russel interrupted that train of thought. “I think we’re just going around in circles here.”
“Thank you!” Dan exclaimed. His expression was a little too excited for someone who was apparently right about being what could be described as a waste of time. “Finally, he gets it!” He gestured enthusiastically in the man’s direction.
Russel turned his attention to Chris, “Maybe it would be worth trying to talk to Dan alone.”
That didn’t sound like a good idea to Chris. Maybe that psychologist didn’t know what Dan was capable of, but Chris sure knew – and he wasn’t fond of the idea of yet another person finding that out. He looked at Russel doubtfully, “You sure you want to do that? You have observed him the whole time we’ve been here, right?”
“Hey! I’m right here.” Dan snapped at him.
Russel glanced between the two of them and smiled reassuringly, “I think I can manage.”
If he was going to insist on it, Chris figured he might as well give the man a chance to see if he could get through to Dan – he was a professional, after all. Not like that’s made a difference in the past. A concerned part of him thought. He rose from the seat next to Dan. “If that’s what you want.” He said wearily, before making his way over to the office’s door.
That caused Dan to almost jump from his seat, “Chris—” he stared desperately after Chris, who had just about reached the room’s exit. “Are you just gonna leave me here with this psychopath?” He asked, aghast.
Chris gave him a look of mild sympathy, but his hand didn’t move from where it rested on the door handle. “You’ll be fine, Dan.” He responded, before turning the knob and opening the door.
Dan half-pushed himself out of the chair, his hands propping him up on the arm rests. This can’t be happening. All he could think was how Chris was really about to leave him alone with one of the absolute last people he wanted to be even remotely associated with. “I swear if you walk out that—” Dan didn’t get to finish the sentence. The door slamming shut finished it for him.
He slumped back in his seat and crossed his arms, dejected. “Great. Now the real dissection can begin because you have no witnesses, right?”
The quiet of the room was unsettling. It wasn’t as though the room had been very loud in the first place, but the silence had been less daunting when Chris had been there as a buffer. Suddenly, it was just Dan and this therapist, who was staring at him with a troubled expression. The faint sound of an analogue clock ticking on the far wall could be heard, which made Dan feel like psychologists had those damn things there just to help the process of insanity along.
After what felt like a very tense minute for Dan, and what was probably just a moment of contemplation for Russel, he finally spoke, “Dan,” He started slowly. His voice had that quality of someone who already knew the answers to the questions they were asking – and why ask them in the first place, then? “Has anyone ever told you that you can come across as paranoid?” Russel tilted his head slightly, as if the question itself hadn’t been enough of a cue that he was expecting a response.
That seemed to come out of nowhere for Dan – or maybe it was some kind of mind-game. Either way, he didn’t like it, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to admit that people had (more than) occasionally accused him of being paranoid. He averted eye contact. “Doesn’t mean I’m not right.” He grumbled.
Once more, the room fell back into that unsettling silence – and yep, Dan was sure that the ticking of that damn clock would drive him to insanity before Russel even had the chance – and speaking of; “Tell you what,” Russel started. His tone sounded weirdly chipper for someone as seemingly apathetic as he was, “If I did try to dissect you, you’d have my permission to fight back.”
Dan let out an involuntary breath of laughter at that, before remembering himself and schooling his expression back to seething defiance. “That’s very reassuring.” He answered sarcastically.
“Great.” Russel replied. He didn’t seem phased by the ominous response – but frankly, he didn’t seem phased by any of the interactions he’d had with Dan up until that point. Maybe the man was actually a robot. Considering all the outlandish shit that Dan had been right about, he wouldn’t be surprised if that suspicion was correct too.
Russel continued speaking, “Did you want to tell me about your nightmares now?” His expression softened in a strangely considerate way, “You won’t have to worry about Chris hearing any of this. Whatever you say stays between us.” He had a bit of a theory: that Chris’s presence had only added to Dan’s defensive behaviour, and so he hoped that his reassurance may make Dan more inclined to talk to him.
As it turned out, the observation wasn’t too far off. Even if Dan wouldn’t have admitted it, the idea of Chris not knowing what he’d say was tempting. The way Dan saw it; he knew he was all kinds of fucked up – and the less Chris knew about how deep some of it ran, the better. If he could get away with telling the truth in fragments – just enough to make it seem like he was opening up without actually having to, then maybe he could keep the whole ‘relationship’ thing going.
He had to admit, though. It did get exhausting having no one to talk to.
The idea rolled around in his mind for a minute. How much should I say? Should I say anything in the first place? Too many questions. Variables. Uncertainties that couldn’t be accounted for because people were horribly stupid, but they were also horribly unpredictable in their stupidity. Dan didn’t trust Russel. However, he supposed he could give surface-value answers; try to see what Russel did with the information before making a decision on how much more he’d share.
Finally, he caved. “You promise?” It sounded more like a threat than a question.
“Of course.” Russel answered kindly.
Dan took a moment to think of what exactly he was going to say without giving away too much. He didn’t really want to talk about his nightmares in the first place, so vague seemed like the best bet. “You know, usual nightmare content.” He began, tone casual, “Being chased. Attacked. Trapped.”
“Okay.” Russel began taking notes again – and Dan tried to push away the urge to grab the notepad and fling it into the nearest fire (ignoring the fact he’d need to make a fire to do that), “Do you usually know what’s attacking you?”
It was already getting too personal. That wasn’t what he signed up for. “What is this, an interrogation?!” He snapped accusingly. The expectant look he received from Russel told him all that he needed to know on the matter. “Right. Therapy.” Dan muttered. He paused for a moment, considering how to best answer the question he’d been asked. There was still the balancing game of determining what to share without risking over-sharing. Saying too much. Eventually, he settled on, “I guess? Not always.”
Russel was quick with the follow-up question; not even looking up from his notes as he asked, “When you do know what’s attacking you, it is usually the same thing? Or does it change?”
Nope. That wasn’t happening. That guy was out of his mind if he thought he was going to uncover the root of anything. “I don’t see how this is meant to help me.” Dan huffed in annoyance, hoping that’d cover up the fact that the topic was making him uncomfortable.
Once more, Russel gave a patient reply, “I’m just trying to understand so that I can offer useful help.” He figured Dan was the type for action rather than someone who saw the value in simply expressing feelings. There could be ways to work with that, if approached from the right angle – that was the idea, anyway.
“Sure you are.” Dan still didn’t buy it. The man could reassure him a thousand more times and he’d still think the whole ‘therapy’ thing was a trap. He hadn’t necessarily had a reason to think it wasn’t a trap anyway – Russel sure had been quick to zero in on the nightmare thing. Dan had to try though; see if he could share something ‘safe’ to gauge what kind of trouble he was in. “I guess it’s usually the same peo—things.” That had already been too much. He had to backpedal. Go back to defensive. Anger. “It’s not like dreams make sense anyway! One time I dreamt Chris was a sandwich! Which, okay he does like food a little too much, but – I stand by my point!”
“That’s not uncommon.” Of course Russel had a rationale for that comment. He always seemed to have something, although his expression didn’t give away much, as usual, “Nightmares can reflect reality, but they rarely mirror it.”
That sounded like one of those dumb sayings that didn’t make too much sense, but people thought they were really smart for reciting. Dan scoffed, “And what does that mean?”
“Well…” Russel actually paused in what looked to be thought, as if, suddenly, he didn’t have all the answers. After a few seconds, he continued, “Back to the example you gave – Chris being a sandwich. You know logically he’s a person, don’t you?”
What kind of question was that? Dan was thinking his therapist sounded incredibly moronic – either that, or the guy was severely underestimating Dan’s intelligence. One was slightly more annoying than the other, but Dan really could have lived with neither. “Yes, of course I do!” He snapped irritably, “I only told you that to show you how idiotic it is to try and give dreams meaning!”
Russel returned the hostility with his usual passiveness. At that point, Dan would have described the guy more like a beige coloured wall than an actual person. “My point is,” Russel started calmly, “sometimes things – or people – are represented differently in dreams.” When it looked like Dan wasn’t catching onto his point, Russel elaborated, “Just because someone takes on a different form in a dream, it doesn’t necessarily mean that the ‘person’ has changed.”
He paused again. He seemed to talk like an actor, or someone who worked with the elderly – speaking overly slow with annoying pauses between ideas. Both kinds of people were obnoxious in their own ways, and Russel hit the mark for both of them. “So, you can have recurring dreams about the same people, even if they don’t look exactly how they do in the waking world.” He concluded.
That explanation put too many ideas in Dan’s head; the kinds of things he didn’t want to think about or entertain for even half a second. He knew exactly what Russel was talking about, and he didn’t like it. “Great observation. How does that relate to me again?” Dan asked, unimpressed. He wasn’t going to let on that he knew anything more about the concept. Russel would have to articulate that himself for Dan to consider sharing even a fraction of that information with the guy.
Surprisingly, Russel just asked him another question. “I was asking if the things attacking you in your nightmares are consistent, or if they change.” It was weirdly innocuous, considering the fact that Russel had keenly picked up on that slip about ‘people’ attacking him instead of just ‘things’.
Dan scratched at his head uncomfortably. Maybe if I don’t say anything, he’ll take the hint and leave me the hell alone. He waited a minute, and just as he thought it was going to work, he saw Russel going to open his mouth. Dan cut him off with an anguished sound, “It’s consistent! God.”
“Thank you, Dan.” Russel smiled.
Dan huffed, “You’re enjoying my suffering, aren’t you?”
“Oh, absolutely.” Russel answered in a way that was painfully sarcastic.
“The sooner we’re done with this, the better.” Dan grumbled.
.
.
.
Not much more was covered that second session before Dan diverged into ranting about the list and how yes, a family of squirrels did hold a grudge against him – before he blew them up, of course. The therapist definitely had a field day taking notes on all of that.
Chris hoped that Dan would continue to tolerate Russel. With the volume of vendettas that Dan had against the world, it really did take a paid professional to be able to listen to all his grievances. However, there was part of Chris that was troubled by the fact that Dan was only able to open up to Russel (even a little) after he’d left the room. Did Dan not trust him? They’d been dating for almost a year, for god’s sake – did Dan still have issues trusting him? The thought stung a little. Still, Chris was mostly just relieved that any progress was made with the therapist. He’d been convinced that such a thing was borderline impossible.
.
.
.
The third session was where everything derailed.
After realising that Dan apparently was capable of talking one-on-one with a professional without tearing the man’s head off, Chris had opted out of sitting in on the appointment. Besides, that seemed to be the only way to actually get Dan to talk, even if he’d tried to beg Chris to come into the room with him when he was called up.
It’d been hard to say no. It was usually hard to say no to Dan – but it was especially difficult when he’d looked at Chris all betrayed, as if he was being sent off to his demise.
It’s for his own good. Chris reminded himself as he heard the door down the hallway shut. It’s going to be fine.
.
.
.
A good fifteen minutes of the session had gone by. During that time, Dan had taken the opportunity to go on tangents about the infinite number of things in the world he was angry with. It had started off with mundane things – or at least, things Dan would admit to being ‘mundane’ – before it spiralled into subjects such as how his car got fucked up too often, or how children were a plague to the world (but they’d be less so if adults weren’t so incompetent). Somehow, that had diverged into his anger at being forced to see a therapist.
By that point he was pacing back and forth across the room – because one couldn’t just sit down and talk about such important issues. He got onto the whole topic of being-pestered-into-seeing-a-therapist-until-he-caved. “And if it wasn’t for Chris’s excessive worrying because I let one thing slip about my mother—” He cut himself off. “I…” His anger was gone, replaced with uncomfortable vulnerability – hoping that Russel hadn’t just heard the ‘M’ word; since that was such a goddamn field trip for therapist types. “Wouldn’t be here in the first place.” He finished; much quieter than just a second before.
The pause after that confession was palpable. The incessant ticking from that damn clock on the wall rang too loudly in the silent room. Dan could see Russel staring at him with an unreadable expression. It felt like the guy was trying to see into his soul. Dan avoided eye-contact, hoping it’d make any attempts at analysis more difficult.
Finally, Russel said something; all too calm for someone who was surely scheming. “Why don’t we talk about your mother?”
Dan rolled his eyes, but took a seat regardless. He was done with his outburst, anyway, “Isn’t that just a line.”
Apparently, it wasn’t a question. “Well, why don’t we?”
“What’s there to talk about?” Dan already felt weary about the topic. If he could help it, he was absolutely going to say as little as possible – make it seem like the whole thing wasn’t a big deal.
“You tell me.” Russel replied. As usual, his tone gave away little to nothing about his true thoughts or intentions on the matter. It was frustrating. “Apparently whatever you said to Chris was enough for him to bring you here. And from how you’ve described him, he seems… apprehensive, to get into conflict. Unless he thinks it’s necessary.” There was an unspoken curiosity of whether Chris should consider therapy for that aversion to conflict, but Russel’s focus was on Dan and the apparent issues he had with his mother.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise that Chris was brought into it. He had been the one to contact the therapist, after all – and bring up the nightmares in the first place, for that matter. If it wasn’t for Chris— “I don’t even remember what I said!” Dan yelled. He was getting fed up with all the questions. “I was just telling him he shouldn’t worry so much about my dreams—and I guess something may have slipped out about a nightmare.”
“…Involving your mother?”
He should have known Russel would have connected the dots. Dan just wanted to go home – and maybe not the home with the two people who’d pry into his business. He was seriously questioning why he agreed to move in with them in the first place. “What are you – a detective?” Dan asked venomously. He decided he’d be as off-putting as needed to get the man to leave him alone, “I thought doctors were meant to be smart. Put two and two together so I can be done here already.”
There was a slight pause before Russel replied. Maybe he was starting to regret prodding at the topic. “So, you have nightmares about her.” Maybe not, then. He still seemed unphased by the whole situation, which was just getting progressively more unnerving, “Would that have anything to do with the nightmares about being attacked?”
Too personal. Way, way too personal. It was getting to a level not even Dan entertained in his own mind. The anger was divulging into something else; dark and sinister and very much wanting to kill a man if Russel didn’t know what was good for him and stop. “No.” He stated defiantly, eyes dark with warning. “Ask me that again and see what happens.”
“Okay.” Either Russel didn’t understand sarcasm, or he was purposefully ignoring a blatant threat. “Do you have nightmares about your mother attacking you?”
Oh god. Flashes of memories were beginning to resurface. Fleeting images. Sensations. The sound of her voice. He gripped at his hair, hoping it’d somehow get the situation to stop. “Shut up.” He spat. He sounded a little more hurt than intimidating.
There it was. The breakthrough Russel had been looking for; the opening for discussing what was actually happening at hand. His pen tapped on the side of his notebook once more – a nervous habit, perhaps? He looked too calm for someone who dealt with other people’s emotions as a career. “Why don’t we talk about that?” He asked politely.
More memories. Why were they talking about this? They needed to stop. Stop. Dan was standing before he knew it – the kind of rage where you can’t even feel your own body. “What’s there to talk about?!” He felt the words tear through him, but he couldn’t really hear the sound of his own voice. He continued on – words spilling out before he had a chance to stop them, “That she was an abusive alcoholic? That she was bat-shit crazy and never should have had children?” He paused, staring at Russel with the wild, fiery expression of someone who wasn’t quite in control; not entirely stable, “Well?!”
Once more, Russel stared at him with that horribly blank, passive expression. Silent condemnation – a part of Dan’s mind whispered to him. Russel’s voice was anything but judgemental or even remotely emotional. “Any of those would work.” He answered lightly.
This can’t be real. There was a flurry of events and situations and fucking trauma swirling around – scraping at the inside of Dan’s mind; clawing and clawing at the insides as if they needed to reach the surface more than Dan needed to breathe. Yet, there was his therapist, completely unaffected as he watched a man break, piece by tiny piece.
Something clicked in Dan. Or snapped. He couldn’t really tell anymore. He glared at Russel with a look between shock and fury, “This is a game for you.” Self-restraint was out the window; all but the thought of, don’t get arrested – reminding him of the heartbroken look Chris had gotten last time Dan was in trouble with the law. He marched up to Russel. His heartbeat was too loud in his own ears. The pumping of blood. Everything red except the blackness of her heart. “I’m not playing into it! Try all you want, but I’m NOT BEING MANIPULATED BY YOU!” He screamed, pointing an accusatory finger in the therapist’s face. It wasn’t enough. He wanted to punch the guy – something to get rid of the excess of energy that made him feel like his body was going to burst from the pressure.
Russel was unmoving. Unblinking. Barely even glanced at the finger that was almost pressed against his nose, as if he wasn’t one wrong word away from being assaulted. Instead, he looked Dan in the eye and simply asked, “Why do you feel your mother never should have had children?”
Disbelief won out for a moment. Frustration. Disbelief. A mixture of the two. “Oh, so we’re back to THIS again!” He violently gestured at the therapist. He barely wanted to have that conversation in the first place, and he wasn’t going to get into specifics about shit that didn’t really matter. “I told you to put two and two together if you’re so smart. She drank. Can’t you figure it out?!” His breathing was heavy. He felt his hands beginning to shake. He backed away – had to put some distance between them.
For once, Russel actually looked uncertain about what to say. Ultimately, it didn’t stop him from asking his next question, “Was she violent with you?”
Dan wished that Russel’s uncertainty had won out so he wouldn’t have asked.
“SHUT UP!” That had hurt Dan’s throat. He bet the windows shook. He couldn’t really tell. His hands were tugging at his hair too tightly – almost ripping it out. It was hard to feel the pain of it. “YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT!”
“Don’t I?” That annoyingly unassuming voice.
“OF COURSE YOU DON’T!” It was beginning to hurt Dan to breathe, but that was nothing compared to the horrifically vivid memories that had made it to the forefront of his mind. Past the point of ignoring. Deflecting. Defending. Shielding behind anger. His voice was raw when he screamed, “You don’t just ASK someone if their mother beat them – are you a masochist or something?!” His eyes were too bright. Vulnerable.
Russel almost looked like he wanted to backpedal and diffuse the situation. It was as if he only realised at that point that maybe he had pushed it a little too far. “I’m just trying to—”
“Understand me? Yeah, yeah. I fucking get it!” Dan didn’t even want to hear the man’s voice. See his face. He didn’t want to see anyone, but suddenly her fucking face was all he could see least he wasn’t destroying the place. Hurling the box at the furthest wall hadn’t even dented the pain that swelled in his chest. He couldn’t even look at Russel anymore. If his breathing got any heavier, he was going to cry. That wasn’t happening. “You like watching grown men cry—I bet there’s a fetish website for that you freak!” He wiped at his eyes; the beginnings of tears forming. “Shit.” He hissed under his breath. “I hate you. I really fucking hate you.” Who exactly he was talking to, he wasn’t sure.
“That’s okay.” Of course Russel didn’t take offence to that. He didn’t seem to be offended by anything – didn’t even seem to be human.
Dan laughed. It sounded broken and hollow. “You really think I’m going to tell my enemy shit that I don’t even tell my best friend?” He’d been right all along: therapists couldn’t be trusted. Russel had been no exception. “You’re out of your fucking mind, pal.” He stormed towards the office’s door. There was no way he was giving the man a chance to verbally dissect him for any more information he didn’t consent to giving away.
He’d managed to grab for the door handle before Russel called out to him, “You still have fifteen minutes left.”
Dan paused for half a second, grip tightening on the door. Something to try and keep himself together long enough to make it through the rest of the office, at least. Maybe until he could isolate himself from society for a while. “I. Don’t. Fucking. Care.” His voice was hoarse, but he hoped the intensity with which he swung the door open and slammed it shut behind him covered for that fact even a little.
The thoughts hadn’t ceased, but suddenly all the anger and drive were gone. He wouldn’t cry. Not in front of that man. Not Chris. Not anyone. He’d just wait it out – the melancholy. Pain. Grief. Whatever-the-fuck that ‘trauma’ thing would try to throw his way. He wasn’t weak, or any of the other things Russel thought he was. What Chris thought he was too, for that matter.
He didn’t look up from the ground once as he trekked down the hallway and into the waiting room where Chris was sitting with some generic food magazine they kept there for patients (or guardians). Of course he’d be looking at food.
The sound of the thudding footsteps caught Chris’s attention. He looked up from the magazine, eyes lighting up when he saw his partner. “Dan, hey—” He rose from his chair to approach Dan. As he made his way over, his expression changed from mild surprise to considerable worry. He’d never seen Dan look that conflicted. Distressed. “What’s going on?”
“We’re leaving.” Dan’s voice sounded a bit raspy. He ignored Chris’s question – didn’t even look in his general direction, for that matter. He just kept walking to the exit as if it were the only thing that existed in that moment.
He was halfway to the door when he felt a familiar, warm hand on his shoulder. He tensed at the contact. The idea of being alone for a very long time was incredibly tempting. It was a shame he started living with people – sharing a room with people. He’d hibernate in the garage if he had to.
“Hey, are you alright?” It was Chris again. Usually, his concern was begrudgingly welcomed on a good day or mildly irritating on a bad day. That time, it was entrapment. Being in a relationship was a mistake. Dan didn’t want to deal with himself. He didn’t want Chris to deal with him either.
He still refused to look at Chris – deciding that the ground was much easier to look at. He half-heartedly shrugged away the hand that was on his shoulder and continued walking. Just as he reached the door, he replied in a despondent voice, “I’m not going back.”