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Chapter Text

I’ve always hated my brother, I realized. Watching this child frolic in the grass, relentlessly pursuing a white butterfly, I felt a fondness that I had never felt for William. At my age of 8 years, I was expected to be the man of the house, following in my father’s footsteps, no longer allowed to play along with my sibling. But often, I would sit out in the meadow beyond the forest and encounter a person to whom I could be a brother. His name was Mundy, and he was 4 years old. I saw in him everything my brother could not be—a bright, whimsical child with a knack for jokes.

“Mundy,” I called softly, catching the child’s attention. I tossed him a rubber ball, something I’d found while exploring in the creeks, and he fumbled, letting it slip between his hands.

“It was going too fast,” Mundy said importantly, puffing out his chest. I shrugged. “That was my fault, I suppose.”

“That’s alright, I forgive you!” He ran towards me, holding the ball. “Here you go!”

Tousling his hair, I smiled. “Thank you, Mundy.”

***

It was evenings like these I would miss at Battle Creek, the school my parents took me to from ages 9 to 11. My parents, John Preston Kellogg and Ann Janette Stanley, believed that the second coming of Christ was imminent, thereby leading them to disregard our formal education. Nevertheless, I enjoyed my time at the school. It overlooked the meadow where I used to meet with Mundy, and sometimes I could even catch a glimpse of his tottering figure through the thinning trees. I knew that he developed a habit of exploring the forest, encouraged by my many stories of wild fairies encountered in the woods, and I pretended to be a guardian fairy of his own, leaving him gifts hidden in the nooks of trees.

Eventually, however, I had to leave school. My parents had found me a job sorting brooms at the broom factory, and I often wondered how Mundy was faring without my gifts. Did he, perhaps, assume that the fairy had simply left him (as I had)?

Chapter Text

Ever since he had been born with a caul over his face, Sigmund had been considered the lucky child in his family. He himself believed this to be true, despite the many hardships he had to go through. After his first playmate, John, the son of his step brother, moved away, Sigmund went for a few months mourning the loss of his friend, choosing to spend the days alone in the meadow beyond the river. It was there that he found a new playmate in Harvey.

               It was hard to describe Harvey. He had a soft smile that made everything in the world seem like it mattered a little more. He would often help Sigmund catch bugs and point out their peculiar anatomies, so different from mammals. “These have abdomens,” he would say, “and six legs, whereas we only have four if we’re lucky!” And he would let go dramatically, and the bug would escape as fast as it could into the bushes.

               Sigmund was a good child, of course. Why else would the fairies bring him gifts in the forest after Harvey left? And after the fairies stopped bringing him gifts, well, surely something else would come into his life. He just had to wait.

               Having been sent out on an errand by his father, Jacob Freud, Sigmund took the long way home, choosing to dawdle near the factory that was on the far side of town. He sighed, leaning against the wall, and tipped his hat over his face. He was tired from running back and forth across the town all day, and he took his time calculatingly.

               “No, I don’t need help. Thank you very much, though.” A boy who seemed to be a few years older than Sigmund was backing out of a doorway, holding a stack of brooms in his arms. Sigmund straightened up. He had the peculiar sensation that he had met this boy before, but he didn’t recognize him.

               It was hard to see the boy’s face in the low lighting of the alleyway, but it was certainly a roguish one. Sigmund watched as the boy settled the brooms into the back of a wagon, stacking them precariously, then stepped back to take a deep breath.

               “I don’t suppose you’ll stop watching me from the shadows, sir?” the boy asked, grinning. Sigmund froze. But it wasn’t him to whom the question had been addressed. He watched as the boy knelt and offered his hand to a cat underneath the wagon. “Here, boy, it’s okay. Actually, I have something for you.” He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small can. “I was planning on saving this for myself, since I haven’t seen you around in a short bit. You can have it, though.”

               “Meow.”

               “I know,” he said fondly, patting its head. “Enjoy.”

               ***

               For a year, Sigmund walked the same path back from his errands. The boy was there most nights, visible through the windows of the factory. One time, Sigmund could have sworn the boy looked over at him and they locked eyes, before breaking eye contact awkwardly. He returned home with a flushed face and racing heart, to which his father asked if he had been fooling around with a boy.

                It had been three months since he last saw the boy. Sigmund loitered around the alleyway, craning his neck to look inside the factory, but to no avail.

“What do ye want, lad?” a gruff voice barked. Sigmund turned halfheartedly. “Nothing, sir.”

“Then best get ye out of here,” the man said. He stroked his beard as he looked Sigmund up and down. “And ask yer mum to feed you some more. Yer hardly a stick.”

Sigmund set his shoulders defensively. “I—”

“All the lads are too damn weak to work here these days. Wish that lad was still around,” the man muttered. Sigmund perked up. “What lad?”

“None of yer business,” he snapped. He softened at Sigmund’s crestfallen expression. “I’m sure yer a fine worker yerself, when ye put yer mind to it. God damn, I can’t believe he left us to go work for the Whites. And a printer’s devil, to top it all off!”

The Whites? Sigmund scratched his head. They were an influential family who ran the press business; what ties did the broom boy have to be working for them?

“Meow.” The cat materialized from the shadows, arching its back and rubbing against the man. He grunted, toeing the cat gently. “This damn cat. I swear the lad was feedin’ it. Ye weren’t half so fat when I first saw ye,” he cooed. Sigmund backed out of the alleyway.

On his way back home, he ruminated about the boy, marveling at his supposed intelligence. A printer’s devil was a prestigious position for a boy of his age, and he must have excelled at his job to merit such a role.

“You’re not so bad, yourself,” his father, Jacob Freud, said later that night. “A printer’s devil is no small feat, but I daresay you have no small feet yourself!” he said, hawing at his own joke.

“Honey,” his mother said gently, placing a hand on her husband’s shoulder. She turned to Sigmund. “You are the best of the best, my love. Don’t ever think lowly of yourself. Who else could have gotten into such a prestigious high school, Leopoldstädter Kommunal-Realgymnasium?” She said the name proudly, ruffling Sigmund’s hair. He smiled up at her. His mother was a beautiful woman, capable of calming storms with her words, and catching the attention of every man she passed. His father, on the other hand... Sigmund fiddled with his fork. His father was... the opposite. Sigmund hardly looked up to his father, given that Jacob was prone to stealing his mother’s attention from him.

“I’m sure you could have accomplished far more, if you had been given the chance,” Jacob said, holding his mother’s hands. “You who are above all else, my love.”

“Oh!”

Sigmund sank into his chair and wished desperately that the day he began high school would come sooner.

Chapter Text

I had always wanted to be a teacher. But my parents knew what was best for me, having been guided by God, and I was determined to be a son they could be proud of. That son, as it turns out, went to the University of Michigan to become a doctor.

I enjoyed it, though. I excelled at anything I put my mind to, and it seemed that no one could be my peer. Until, that is, I met Sigmund.

How could I describe Sigmund? He was a cheerful fellow, to be quite honest, and got along with everyone in his year. He reminded me quite a lot of a much larger version of Mundy from my childhood, and because of this, I suppose, I was accused of favoring him so much to the point where I was unofficially banned in taking part of any mentee program that involved him. It was foolish, as he didn’t require my help at all.

A knock at the door startled me out of my thoughts. “John?”

I cleared my throat, embarrassed to have been caught daydreaming. “Come in.”

Speak of the devil. Sigmund grinned broadly at me, waving some papers triumphantly in the air. “They approved it.”

“I told you they would!” I strode forward and engulfed Sigmund in a friendly hug, patting him on the back. I felt the soft edge of his wallet pressing into my thigh and set him down with my hands resting on his shoulders. “Brought your money, I see?”

“Not yet,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “First thing I’m doing tomorrow, on my word.”

Our trip to Europe had finally been approved by the university, with Sigmund as my accompanying mentee. He would shadow me as I sought to expand my knowledge and expertise in various fields of medicine.

I smiled at him. “I’m proud of how far we have come. The beginning of this year, they would have been dead set against sending you off to any place without the supervision of a hundred adults, but look at you now!”

Sigmund hesitated, then stepped forward and set his hands on my shoulders. “It’s all thanks to you. I owe you much.” We locked eyes for a second, and he took his hands off with an awkward chuckle. “I just wanted to thank you before I became too much a pain in your arse.”

“That’s alright.” I cleared my throat. Lately, Sigmund had become prone to these outbursts of mellow emotion, and I remained shaken by each one. It was unlike his unthinking character to be so heartfelt, and I felt touched that he would entrust me with this aspect of himself. “You’re my favorite pain in the arse, I suppose.”

Sigmund spluttered, his face turning red. “Why-why would you say that?”

“What?” I furrowed my brows. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Oh,” he said. “No, no I suppose not. I’ll see you, then?”

He hurried off without waiting for a reply. I sat down, puzzled. “What is going through your mind, young fellow?” I said quietly.  

***

“We need a doctor!”

The shouts of the panicked crew woke me from my slumber. I stumbled to the upper levels of the steamboat, completely disoriented. I burst out of the hatch and, squinting against the vastness of the blue sea, grabbed a passing man by the collar. “What’s going on?”

“Someone has fainted, and I fear he can’t breathe!” His eyes seemed to be bulging out of his head as he flapped his arms. “We must hurry! Can you help him?”

“I can,” I said calmly. We had been taught a technique a few months ago in the academy to assist a person who couldn’t breathe, and I was confident in my ability to save this man. “Lead me to him.”

I followed the man’s head (which was shining in the light so that it worked to be a beacon). At the front of the ship (near the bow, the shining man informed me), a man was lying prone on the deck, spreadeagled, as several people rushed about frantically. I walked briskly to his side and knelt down. “Sigmund, you bastard, what are you up to?” I muttered under my breath. Of course it was him causing such a fuss on the deck. I turned my friend gently so that he was laying on his back and grasped his chin. After taking a deep breath, I lowered my mouth to his, and expelled it all in a swift motion.

The fifth time I repeated the motion, he awoke with a splutter, coughing up salty water. I sat back on my heels, pleased.  “Awake at last, are we?”

Sigmund squinted at me. “John? What… what were you doing?”

“Saving your life,” I said. I ruffled his hair. “That was some quick work, getting into trouble on your second day on a steamboat.”

“I just wanted to—”

“Enough,” I said, waving away his explanation. “I do not wish to hear it. Come, let’s get you to bed.”

The sun was turning Sigmund’s cheeks red. He brushed his lips with his fingers. “Coming.”

***

“Nonsense!” I confronted the man at the desk angrily. “I clearly recall booking a room with two beds.”

“I’m sorry, sir, we’re all out of rooms. You can either sleep in this one or find another inn,” he answered calmly. I exhaled, combing my hair with my hands. After weeks of travel, Sigmund and I had yet to rest. “Very well. Sigmund,” I said, turning to address my companion, “I apologize, truly, about this mishap. It seems one of us will have to take the floor for tonight.”

Sigmund rolled his eyes. “John, there’s no need for that. We can just both take the bed. Opposite sides and all.”

I hesitated. “I suppose you’re right. We will take the room,” I told the man. He shrugged. “Fine by me. Go ahead. Room 8.” He tossed me a key. “Don’t mind the mice.”

“I daresay I shall,” I muttered. “Come, Sigmund.”

The door was a stubborn lad, and only after a fair bit of heaving and grunting did it open. I shoved my way past the narrow doorframe and set down our bags. I did not trust Sigmund, a thin young man with the personality of a waterdog but the figure of a greyhound, to carry the bags without falling over. Sigmund tilted his head at me. “What?”

I realized I had been staring and shook my head. “Nothing. Let’s get us settled, then.”

***

I held my breath and plunged my body into the cold water. I scrubbed down my body with vigor and heaved myself out of the tub, gasping for air and slicking back my hair.  I grabbed a towel as I left the room and wrapped it around myself. Sigmund was coming round the room and almost bumped into me. “Say, John, I didn’t see you there—” He broke off and stared at me. “Wow. I, um..”

“What?” I looked down at myself, confused. “Is there dirt on me still?”

“No, just,” he stammered. “Nothing. You’re just.. very muscular.”

“Ah, yes.” I explained, “I exercise regularly. Mother and father tell me it’s for the best.”

He pressed a hand against his chest, looking disappointed. “I should get on that, then.”

“You are rather… of a smaller stature,” I amended hastily. “Perhaps it would benefit you to exercise alongside me?”

“I mean, sure, if you want that, I mean,” he said. “I suppose that might help.”

“I assure you it would.” I hesitated. “May I get dressed now?”

I put on my clothes while Sigmund went to take a dip. It was quite a cold night, but I had neglected to bring clothes of the sufficient warmth, leaving me with a thin nightgown that left rather little to the imagination. “Sigmund,” I called. He appeared in the doorframe with a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. “Yes, John?”

“Do you happen to have a thicker nightgown? I’m afraid I didn’t bring any that are—” Sigmund stepped forward and the towel fell to the floor. I averted my eyes, but not before I caught a glimpse of his lean body. “—warm enough.”

“Shit.” He rummaged in his trunk and pulled a nightgown over his head. Looking embarrassed, he handed me a thick blanket. “Have this.”

Our fingers brushed as I reached for the blanket. He snatched his hand back as though he had been burned.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t look at me. “You’re welcome.”

***

I insisted that I take the floor, but Sigmund was adamant that we share the comfort of the bed. We settled awkwardly on either side of the bed, and he was soon snoring quietly in a huddled bunch. I wrapped the blanket around myself and went to sleep myself.

***

I woke up in the middle of the night sweaty and parched, in a tangle of limbs. Disoriented, I tried to rise, but the two arms encircling my waist tightened. I realized Sigmund’s face was buried in my chest. He snored loudly and murmured something before nuzzling into me. My hand rose without my bidding and caressed his head. “Sigmund,” I said gently. He groaned and rolled back, exposing his body to the cold air. I contemplated his face quietly in the moonbeam that lit up his soft brown hair. I had poked fun at his lanky figure earlier today but, in reality, it fit his features quite well. I traced the contour of his cheekbone with a light finger. His lean body allowed for me to study his musculature rather easily. A sigh escaped from my lips, and I pursed them as though to beckon it back.

I noticed suddenly that my face was rather flushed. It was a common occurrence for me, though it usually happened nearer the summer, when the sun’s longevity was powerful even throughout the night. My heart was racing as well, and I attributed that to the startled awakening I had had. I inhaled deeply and turned back to my side of the bed. The blanket was warm and I had no difficulty in drifting off to sleep once more.

Chapter Text

“I’ve often wondered at your hidden desires.”

A smile tugged at the corner of my lips. “Hidden desires?”

Wrists encircled by firm hands. A breath along my nape, shivers up my spine.

Sigmund cleared his throat. I rubbed my eyes, realizing I had slipped into a daze in the midst of our conversation. Sigmund was looking at me, head tilted. I shook my head to clear it. “Why do you ask?”

He glanced towards the mound of books on my desk. Rich brown leather on ancient forest green. The books seemed to settle as he looked, sighing as though their age was getting to them. He shook his head with a smirk. “Why is it that we scientists pursue any knowledge in any field? I am curious. Besides,” he said, pointing out one of the books with a lazy finger, “That one has quite a crude drawing etched onto its surface.”

“Adam and Eve are unclothed because they represent the purity of humanity,” I said calmly. “It is a beautiful sketch of what humanity should be like—”

“Naked?”

“Free of desire that comes from the shameful privatization of our God-given parts. I, for one, believe in the complete freedom of expression of oneself.”

“It appears we are in accordance, then,” Freud said. He settled back into his chair, tapping the tip of his pen to his finger. “I, too, believe in the appreciation of man’s body, no matter the sex.”

“Although sex is exactly what I am against,” I responded. “Sexual desire is what turns humans into animals. It is what keeps us from being able to ascend to a higher level. Why do you think that the prophets acted so, celibate in order to keep their purity?”

Freud laughed. “I must admit, I thought you a different man.”

I frowned. “How so?”

He shrugged, running a hand through his unruly hair. “It did not seem to me that you were so opposed to the action of reproduction.”

A soft, almost silent moan, exhales carried away by the cold wind, a breath frosted in the air.

I glanced at the book that he had gestured towards, ducking my head to hide the quick red flush that crept suddenly up my neck. “Not the action, my dear friend, but the desire.”

Freud looked up at me. “But isn’t it true, in that case, that the desires of all people are to be condemned—that is to say, there are certain individuals in this world who wish to commit sodomy—”

“And those are just as much sinful in God’s eyes as those who wish to commit any other act of sexual desire,” I explained. Freud seemed to perk up at this, wriggling in his seat so he was more upright. “So you have nothing against those that are homosexual?”

“That is quite a leap to say,” I said, and pondered the question a bit. “No, I suppose not. They say that homosexuality is wrong, but I have no proof in the Book of Law that it is any worse than any other sexual desire that a human may display.”

“I see,” Freud said. He shook his head suddenly. “But here I am, having brought our attention elsewhere when it may better be served working on our project.”

I laughed. “I suppose,” I said. I got up from where I had been resting against the edge of the oak desk and sat next to my mentee. “We have much work to do if we are still to present our project by the end of the week.”

To be honest, I was thrilled to have such mindful conversations to accompany me into the late nights of working at the University of Michigan. Freud often asked strange questions, though this seemed to be his strangest yet, but I didn’t mind, given that we did do all of our work on time. I would reflect back on these conversations after I left the university to pursue further education. We did not part on such amicable terms.

Chapter Text

Freud dropped his tools and sat heavily in his chair. He threw his bloodstained gloves into the trash. Another unsuccessful day spent harvesting and dissecting eels in order to locate the male reproductive organs. This was everything he had staked his career on, and he had yet to find them. “Fuck,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead. A knock startled him out of his thoughts.

“It’s still no luck?” Kellogg leaned against the doorframe. Freud snorted, swiveling in his chair to face his rival. “It’s a fucking waste of time is what it is.”

“A shame.” Kellogg hesitated before stepping into the room. He twirled his mustache with one hand. “I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“I heard you will be working on the biology of nervous tissue in the coming months,” Kellogg said. “I was wondering if you wanted some assistance.”

Freud bristled, rising to confront him. “You don’t think I’d be able to handle it? Am I too young for your liking?”

“That’s not what I said,” Kellogg reassured him calmly. “I have a proposition for you. I also want to begin working on the human psyche. That is, regarding sex.”

“Sex?” Freud snorted. “At your ripe old age, I suppose, that is what you should be thinking about. It is only natural.”

“Rather the opposite,” Kellogg replied smoothly. “It is a sinful desire to hold in the first place, after all. According to the Book of Law, that is. I assume you are familiar with the Christian faith?”

“I know of it.”

“Then you know what is wrong with desires of such kind,” he said, looking Freud directly in the eyes.

Freud swallowed, feeling suddenly vulnerable. Both refused to look away. He shook his head and stepped forward. “Desires of what kind?” he said.  

“You know what.” The words were scarcely a whisper.

“Say it anyway.”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” Kellogg beckoned, and, almost unconsciously, Freud leaned in. “The way you look at others,” Kellogg murmured, his breath a soft caress on Freud’s skin. “The way your work is so utterly confounded by lust, lost in longing, the way your genius is wasted, spent entirely on your pathetic-”

“Enough!” Freud shouted, grabbing the other man’s collar with both hands. “I will not have you storm into my workspace, my home, where I have built myself a career-”

“A career based around sex,” Kellogg sneered, utterly unfazed. “You showed such promise when you were younger, and now, look at you.”

A sharp clatter broke them out of their reverie. Breathing heavily, Freud shoved Kellogg away and glowered at the young intern in the doorway. “What do you want?”

“I’m so sorry, I just dropped my-” She trailed off, as though just noticing the tension in the air. Bowing her head, she picked up her belongings quickly and left.

“Scaring the younger ones?” Kellogg scoffed. “A noble pursuit.”

“Following your tradition,” Freud retorted. “As though anything could come close to the way you-” He broke off and bit his lip. “As though anything could come close to how you treated me.”

“You were, and still are, like a lost puppy,” the other man spat. “Always looking for your owner to pick you up, always whining. Is it any wonder that I left when I did?”

Freud swallowed hard. “In any event,” he said, uttering the words with some difficulty, “I am quite alright in my pursuit without the help of you.”

Kellogg shook his head. “You are nothing like you once were.”

“I am everything I was and more. I am everything you wish you were: young, successful, passionate—”

“Passion?” The older man looked furious. He grabbed Freud’s collar and shook him roughly. “Passion, is what you call your desires? I call them sin. I call them disgusting—”

“And you who thinks you are so far above any other, when you feel the same way—”

“I am nothing like you, nothing! I have never felt a desire for anything, much less for—”

Their lips clashed in anger, a quiet, longing leap on Freud’s part. Unexpectedly, Kellogg let out a soft sound and bit Freud’s lower lip gently, then harshly. He teased Freud’s lips with a tongue, rewarding the moan of desire with a hungry advance, when—

Kellogg shoved Freud away, breathing heavily. The two stood, chests heaving, in the silent aftermath of their actions. Kellog spun on his heels and left without another word. The echo of the door slamming shut would haunt Freud’s dreams for months.

Chapter Text

“I know that which you hide—from me, from yourself. I know you.”

“Sigmund…”

Heated breaths mixed in the stagnant air, sweat glistening under moonlit beams. I woke up sprawled across my bed. The blanket was gathered on the floor as though I had flung it off in a frenzied fit. A dream, then.

The start to my day was slow. I combed through my mustache and goatee and slicked my hair back with a fine-toothed comb. Breakfast was enjoyable, a hearty mix of oats and honey.

Ruminating over our fight had not done me any good. I looked in the mirror as I brushed my teeth. My body was still fit, but I had not exercised in a few days and it was starting to become obvious. I rinsed out my mouth and straightened up, frowning at my reflection. I decided to do fifty more pushups than usual in an attempt to distract myself. A knock at the door interrupted my exercise.

“Kellogg?”

“Freud!” I surprised myself with the fervor with which I embraced my former mentee. He put his arms around me, albeit a little hesitant.

“I merely wished to stop by and…” He trailed off. Arms crossed, his fingers tapped an unsteady rhythm on the other hand’s wrist. “I wished to apologize.”

“Surprising, coming from you.” The words left my mouth before I could beckon them back, and Freud scowled, unaware of my regret. “I am leaving,” he said quietly.

Leaving? “What do you mean by that?”

He ducked his head. The sun spilling through the window cast a shadow across his ruddy cheeks. His eyelashes were long and brown, I noticed, as he blinked several times, as though holding back tears. “Compulsory military service,” he said thickly. “I… I had thought they would allow an exemption, for my condition, but…”

I shook my head. “The military?” I was aghast. Someone of Freud’s state would never survive such an ordeal. Freud looked away. “I wanted to apologize for the last few years. You were a great mentor to me at Michigan. There is no recourse through which I may take back my actions, but I…”

The last time we met loomed silently between us. “There is no need to apologize,” I said finally. I didn’t know what else to say—that I condemned his actions, his very nature, his passion? To be truthful, I often envied him for his freedom, his stubborn desire to pursue that which entered his mind at any moment.

“I won’t, in that case,” he responded smartly, eliciting a small chuckle from me. He smiled softly and leaned against the doorframe, lingering. “I guess I should leave now. They told me to pack my belongings by tonight—”

“Tonight?!” The words burst from me, an exclamation from my core that I could not withhold. “You are leaving tonight? But your studies, your experiments!”

“I…” Freud bit his lip and looked away. “I cannot in good faith continue my studies when—” Overtaken by a groan, he buried his face in his hands. I looked with consternation as his shoulders shook slightly. “I cannot in good faith,” he continued quietly, “when I know they are looked down upon by you to such a degree.”

The world spiraled to a halt. Deep within me, a wrenching agony overtook my heart. I heard a sudden keening in my ears and staggered back, falling into my chair. “Me?” The words barely escaped my lips. “You are quitting your studies because of me?” I realized with a shock that I was shaking. My breath hitched as I understood what he was saying. “You blame me for your cowardice?” I snarled.

His eyes clouded in confusion before clearing with sudden anger. “You never understand, do you? You never do—it was foolish on my part to even hope!” He left as though pursued by the Devil himself, fury in every movement.

I slumped in my chair, overtaken with exhaustion. An hour or so later, an intern appeared at my behest, a soft ringing of the bell. “Sir?”

“Bring me my documents,” I said. “I fear I may have to halt my studies.”