Blog Hop

Title: Slipping Through the Cracks
Author: Harper Kingsley
Character: Franz Caulder/Ryan Wilder, Dr. Pamela Werth, Nicole Carson
Genre: mm
Rating: mature
Summary: Kid Nitro went to sleep in his own bed, and woke up on another Earth in the body of an alternate Franz Caulder. It’s a world without metabilities, which is jarring enough, but it’s also a world where Other-Franz is a mental patient grappling with some serious problems.

[table “24” not found /]

Leave a comment at the “Hop Against Homophobia and Transphobia” post and receive a PDF copy of the complete story after the hop.

***

Sleep had become one of his havens in this new world. Sleep was the place he went when he simply couldn’t handle anymore and he needed to get away for a little while.

To fall into a dream and feel safe and warm at home. He was thankfully free of nightmares. All he got to see night after night were the people he loved and the city he’d vowed to protect. It made it hard to wake up in the morning and face reality.

Franz was fitting into this new life uncomfortably well. He thought sometimes that maybe he was losing himself–had been losing himself this entire time–and simply hadn’t noticed.

He pulled his hoodie tight around himself and curled up on his bed. He could still see daylight outside his window, but he didn’t care. He felt exhausted, his body heavy and ungainly and his eyes scratchy so he blink-blinked them until suddenly they seemed to stay closed on their own.

Sleep felt like the easiest thing in the world.

 

Waking up was hell. He felt like he was being ripped out of the arms of his loved ones and dragged kicking and screaming into a world that was too bright, too harsh, where even the things that weren’t supposed to hurt made him feel beaten and small.

His mouth was dry and tasted awful. His skin felt pulled so tight that every movement he made was nearly painful. When he climbed off the bed he stumbled and nearly fell, his knees trying to fold up under him.

He made it to the bathroom and the sink, where he hurriedly rinsed out his dry mouth and drank five handfuls of water before saying “Fuck it,” and stuck his mouth right under the tap. He drank and drank until he finally had to stop, not because his tongue felt any less dry, but because his stomach felt stretched and he seriously worried about suffocating.

Then he peed for a worryingly long time, and his urine was dark and cloudy yellow and he wondered if there might be something seriously wrong with him. Would he even know if his kidneys were shutting down?

“This place is driving me crazy,” he said, slathering toothpaste on his toothbrush. His mouth still tasted horrible, though it wasn’t as bad as when he woke up.

He brushed his teeth and there was a little blood and he added it to his list of things to ask the doctors. The last thing he wanted was for the medication he didn’t really need to make his teeth all fall out.

At least it was something he could use as proof to show himself that none of this was real and he didn’t belong here. Other-Franz would have been hardened to the drug combination, yet here he was reacting badly.

He needed to switch back. He *needed* to go home.

It felt natural to pull his hood up over his head. If he’d had some goggles or something to hide his eyes, he would have worn them too. Walking around with his face uncovered was unnatural and strange. He felt exposed.

Breakfast was spent with Nicole again. She had become his de facto friend and he wasn’t fighting it. Even when she was being her most acerbic, she always seemed glad to see him when he came in. Even if it was only because he gave her someone to bitch at. He didn’t mind listening to her angry babble, not when it was so easy to see that she was on the raggedy edge of something.

Terrible things had happened to her, the kinds of things that he didn’t even want to imagine, and she’d been damaged by them. Yet she still got up each day and she still found things to be passionate about. He had to give her respect for that.

From what he understood, the things that had seen her locked up in this place were the kinds of things people wrote horror stories about. Her family had screwed her over in their attempts to change everything about her from her sexuality to the clothes she wore. Like being a dress up doll was going to make it better when they were killing *her* to make her into someone they could love better.

It made him wish that Nigel was here, because Nigel didn’t take any kind of crap and he always knew the right thing to say. Franz just had to stumble around figuring things out for himself. Badly.

“Hey playa,” Nicole caroled when he approached the table with his tray. She gave him a smile that stretched across her whole face like Gumby and there was a disturbing amount of sparkle in her eyes.

“Good morning,” he said cautiously. “You seem really cheerful this morning.”

“They gave me some of the new stuff. New stuff. Its like fucking a rainbow with my brain. I don’t know why they never gave me this before. It’s complete assballs, dude. I feel like if I wanted it enough I could totally fly. *I believe I can fly*,” she sang, tossing her head back and forth.

Franz took a careful bite of his eggs, chewing slowly to keep his mouth from hurting. “Please don’t try to fly. Or if you have to try, follow the rules of people taking acid or shrooms for the first time: Fire is hot. The ground is hard. Water is wet and can’t be breathed. And if you absolutely have to fly, test it out from the ground first.”

“You are a major buzzkill. Seriously, you sucked the fun out of the room so fast I think you gave me herpes.”

“Hm.” Franz opened his juice box and took a sip when really his dry mouth wanted him to suck the whole thing down in one go. It seemed that it was going to be another one of *those* days with Nicole.

He buttered his toast and settled in to be the silent listener. If he said anything she didn’t like, he would be listening to a spittle-flying rant. Better to be quiet and eat his breakfast, never mind that he had very little appetite and had to force nearly every bite.

He was surviving this place, he was. One day at a time he was making it through and it wasn’t as horrible as he’d imagined it would be. There was no shock therapy at least and the food wasn’t too bad.

Franz calmly ate his toast and half-listened to Nicole. She had a habit of dropping information he could use in the flow of her conversation.

TBC…
[table “24” not found /]

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Check out the rest of the hop and all the excellent people that have offered up some great posts and prizes. Spread the word: No more homophobia or transphobia. Equality for everyone.

---

So Franz is spinning out into being this whole series of stories kind of guy. Would anyone be interested in seeing that? (At least half as interested as I am in writing it, because I am totally willing to write the fok out of this. Serious business.)

When I started, it was something different, but it’s been steadily evolving. Not so much a romance as a life story. What’s posted here for the hop is pretty gen. It’s just him dealing with this giant mental shift while powerless and locked up in an asylum. Plus there’s the whole deal with his mom, the giant scar on his face, and the stuff with Nicole.

And you all know that if you go to the “Hop Against Homophobia and Transphobia” post and leave a comment I’m giving out free copies of this story. Like, to every single commenter.

Plus one lucky commenter will win a copy of my Allies & Enemies short “Psychotic.” Remember that cut scene I was tossing around? Yeah, it became a thing of angry/fearful/exultant/life affirming emotional displays and violence against some bad people. Kind of darkish, but with a happy ending.

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Title: Slipping Through the Cracks
Author: Harper Kingsley
Character: Franz Caulder/Ryan Wilder, Dr. Pamela Werth, Nicole Carson
Genre: mm
Rating: mature
Summary: Kid Nitro went to sleep in his own bed, and woke up on another Earth in the body of an alternate Franz Caulder. It’s a world without metabilities, which is jarring enough, but it’s also a world where Other-Franz is a mental patient grappling with some serious problems.

[table “24” not found /]

* * *

Another groggy hangover day. He felt rundown and as though he couldn’t handle anymore. He wondered if this was what dying was like, a slow sleepwalk through a mental hospital with people moving in and out of his peripheral vision like ghosts.

Lifting his head seemed impossible. So he trudged around with his hood pulled up and his shoulders slumped, and the sight of his own slipper wearing feet became familiar.

*Only they’re not my feet,* he reminded himself. But it seemed hollow and far away.

He’d been in this place a week and he already felt worn down. He was losing bits and pieces of himself to the drugs and the worried faces and he couldn’t stop it. Not once he was caught trying to hide his meds and earned himself a constant presence when it was Happy Fun Pill Time.

It wasn’t even his fault, not really. Whatever they kept shooting into his hip to knock him out had really messed with his brain. His hands felt as though he were constantly wearing mittens, or maybe even boxing gloves, and any kind of fine motor control was right out the window. So of course he was going to be spotted palming his pills when he couldn’t even get his fingers to close properly.

At least the nurses were cool about it, disappointed to a painful degree, but cool. They just shifted things around so he was observed to be swallowing his pills and kept on like everything was normal.

Which meant he was getting a full dose of the meds, and getting used to being zombified was a bitch.

“I think my meds are too strong,” he announced at his first session with Dr. Werth.

“You do, do you?” She sounded vaguely amused, but also as though she was listening.

Franz nodded. “Yeah. I feel like my head is a giant watermelon on my shoulders and… and I haven’t been able to get an erection.” He blurted out the last part and his ears felt hot enough that he thought they might explode from the pressure. Still, it was something he felt was important.

He’d never tied his self-worth in with his sexuality, but sometimes he wanted to jerk off and not being able to get it up *at all* was about to make him seriously lose his mind. Especially knowing that the cause was all the pills they kept jamming down his throat.

“Is that why you stopped taking your medication?” She was looking at him over the edge of her glasses and he had to shift away from her lightning gaze.

He pulled his hood closer around his face. “Maybe.”

Dr. Werth sighed. “Okay, Franz, here’s the deal: You keep taking your meds as directed, and I’ll lower the dosages. We’ll play around a little and see what works.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” he asked.

She smiled sadly. “Because you deserve to have someone be nice to you. Besides, you’ve been more outgoing lately. You’ve really been trying, so I’ll try my best too. Your dosages might have been a little strong for you. What do you say, you keep taking your meds and talking to me, and I lower your dosages and maybe in a few weeks we can arrange a visit from your mother?”

“My mother?” *But she’s dead.* He felt nailed in place and would have stopped breathing all together if she wouldn’t have noticed.

“I know you’ve wanted to see her for a long time and I think you’re ready now. You’re stronger than you were and she’s been making all the NAMI meetings and receiving her own therapies. This could be good for you. Both of you.”

“Okay,” it came out a whisper.

The idea of seeing his mother — who had become more myth and legend in his mind than woman — was huge. She’d died so long ago that he had no real memories of her, just the things that he could cobble together from stories and the vague feeling he got when he ate certain chocolates or smelled certain flowers: “She’s been here. This was what she loved.” And that was it.

But she was alive in this world. He could actually see her and talk to her and it was one of those things he’d always half-dreamed about.

*Except she’s not YOU’RE mother.* He shoved that traitorous voice down deep. He didn’t want to hear it. Not when he had a chance to meet his mother in person, something he’d never thought would happen.

All he’d ever had were old videos and photographs. A series of images to encompass the entirety of a person.

“Good.” Dr. Werth rubbed her hands together and lounged back in her leather chair. It didn’t even squeak. “You’ve been making great progress recently, Franz. I’m very proud of you.”

“Thank you.” It seemed like the thing to say.

“Now, would you like to discuss what happened with Bertie? Are you feeling safe enough to talk about it?”

This wasn’t how he’d thought talking to a therapist would go. He’d imagined lying on a couch while someone nodded and “uh hm’d” at the proper points. It would be some painful process of sobbing and self-hatred. Instead, this was just a casual conversation between two people; Dr. Werth came off more as a nosy aunt than a figure of authority.

“He didn’t do anything to me. I knew he wouldn’t do anything to me. Yet I still freaked out. I don’t know why.” He twisted his fingers in his lap, the sleeves of his red sweater covering most of his hands. “I felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

“It can be frightening, can’t it? I remember my first panic attack — it’s not something you can ever forget — and the way it felt as though I were being crushed. It’s very frightening.” She took a sip of her coffee. He could smell it, hot and sweet. “You’ve always been very brave about how you handle things. You’re one of my heroes.”

He didn’t know where the blush came from. It just seemed to happen by itself.

“If you don’t want to talk about it now, that’s fine. You know I’m always here and ready to listen,” she continued. “I worry about you and like to see that you’re doing okay.”

“I’m okay. I just had a rough patch. Bertie just caught me when I was in a bad head space.” The words came as easy as breathing and sounded completely natural. He was a little stunned by how good he was at filling the silences without sounding like he was just babbling.

“That’s really all that happened?”

Franz shrugged. “Seems like. Can I go? I’m feeling really tired.”

She gave him what might have been a disappointed look on someone else. “You go right ahead. We’ll change up your medication, so don’t worry.”

“Thanks doc.” He stood and gave her a little wave before leaving the office.

Sleep had become one of his havens in this new world. Sleep was the place he went when he simply couldn’t handle anymore and he needed to get away for a little while.

TBC…
[table “24” not found /]

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Check out the rest of the hop and all the excellent people that have offered up some great posts and prizes. Spread the word: No more homophobia or transphobia. Equality for everyone.

---

Title: Slipping Through the Cracks
Author: Harper Kingsley
Character: Franz Caulder/Ryan Wilder, Dr. Pamela Werth, Nicole Carson
Genre: mm
Rating: mature
A/N: Nicole uses the F-word like a lot.
Summary: Locked in a mental hospital, Kid Nitro is falling into the life of an alternate version of himself. Franz Caulder.

Check out: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.

* * *

He felt groggy and out of sync. His body was a heavy suit pulling him down and even though he couldn’t sleep anymore he felt exhausted.

Franz realized that he didn’t react very well to being drugged. The hangover was awful.

He flipped up the hood of his sweatshirt and forced himself to leave his room. Dwelling on things wasn’t going to do him much good. Besides, he thought he was supposed to be hungry. Though it was strange to feel a hollow emptiness in his stomach, yet have next to no appetite at all.

He barely made it halfway toward the dining area when Dr. Werth cut toward with him a serious face on. “We really apologize for what happened yesterday with Bertie. It was unfortunate scheduling and I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“I wasn’t expecting that to happen,” Franz said.

“I know you hoped you were past the point of having panic attacks, but this isn’t a catastrophe. It’s a minor setback, and as long as you promise to keep trying, we can keep moving forward.” She was looking at him with a steady expression of determination.

“I’ll keep trying,” he said.

She smiled and patted him gently on the shoulder, careful to keep her hand in view at all times. “Good, good. You’ve progressed so far, Franz. Now, go get yourself some breakfast. I think Joshua broke out the waffle maker.”

“Yeah. I’ll do that.”

Walking away felt weird and uncomfortable. He hated not knowing how to respond in a given situation. All those years of training wasted by his lousy memory and lack of tactical skills.

Franz ghosted around the edges of the dining area and prepared himself a tray that boasted two perfectly golden waffles slathered with butter and strawberry jam. He picked up a carton of chocolate milk and went to sit across from Nicole.

She’d freaked him out, but at least she was a friendly face. He could feel everyone else’s eyes burning into the sides of his head and forced his shoulders square. He smiled at Nicole. “Good morning.”

She was messily peeling a hardboiled egg, the pieces scattered across an unfolded napkin. She held the egg a few inches away from her mouth as she spoke. “Well, you’re definitely the weirdest fucking thing I’ve seen all day.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on. You had a fucking freak fit outside yesterday. Why the hell are you acting all cheery and bright?” She took a bite, yolk crumbling bright yellow around her lips. “Usually you’d be moping around and sobbing as you write in your diary. What the fuck?”

So Other-Franz wasn’t the kind to bottle it up. That was valuable to know.

He poked at his waffle reluctantly, the golden perfection doing nothing for his lack of appetite. It felt like a waste.

“I’m trying something new,” he said. “That other stuff wasn’t helping me, so I figured it was dumb doing the same thing over and over again while expecting a different result.”

She wagged the last bite of egg at him. “That’s nearly scientific. Who would have thought that pretty face could hide such a brain?”

It was instinctive. His hand moved by itself to cover the left side of his face. It was the classic Phantom of the Opera face hug, his palm hovering over the scar without touching, and it felt strangely right. No one could see as long as he covered it up.

When he realized what he was doing he forced his hand away and down onto his lap. He clasped his right hand tight around his left, fighting his instinct. He bowed his head and held on, his ears burning hot with embarrassment.

Franz had never felt like this in his life. His emotions were all over the place and the body kept doing things without his control. He felt like he was losing himself.

“Sorry. Fuck, you just had one of your episodes, fuck, I am so sorry. There’s no way I was trying to trigger you or anything,” Nicole said. She sounded honestly contrite.

Franz sucked in a gusting breath and held it for a long moment before gently exhaling out through his nose. When he spoke, it was while staring down at butter dripping off his waffles. “It’s not your fault. You just surprised me. And why do you have to talk like that all the time?”

“What the fuck do you mean?” she demanded, then snorted a laugh. “I figure the worse I talk, the more people will pay attention to me. I spent my whole life with no one ever hearing a single word I said. Then the first time I told my mom to go fuck herself… She actually saw me. She might not have liked what she saw, but she *saw* me. It was the first time ever.”

“Wow, that’s strong.”

She scoffed, “No it wasn’t. It bought me a one-way trip to psycho camp. Religion for my spirtual betterment, mortification for my physical well-being, and pretty prancing counselors to provide the temptation. Because punishment and fear of punishment is powerful strong. I would have been better off keeping my mouth shut and letting my mom ignore me until I was out of the house. Because once you’re a freak, then you’ve got to be fixed. That’s the rule.”

“It’s a sucky rule,” Franz said.

Nicole smiled, her eyes shining bright with either tears or defiance; he wasn’t sure which. “You’re damned right it’s sucky. Especially when there wasn’t anything to be fixed.”

“Did your mom send you here too?” He wasn’t trying to pry into anything personal, but he needed to know as much as he could about this world. And he was a bit curious.

“No. The state sent me here.” She pushed her long bangs away from her face with her hand, the lank strands not wanting to stay behind her ears. “My mom didn’t do her research and sent me to the kind of place where sadists earn their paycheck. There was a big raid and all kinds of trials and people went to jail all over the place. And I got declared mentally unfit and there’s no psychologist that will sign off on letting me go. None of them trust that I would keep taking my meds.”

“Would you?” he asked.

She laughed. “Who fucking knows? I’m just some headcase that can’t be trusted on the street. They’ve got like degrees and stuff.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t know what to say.

After breakfast was group therapy. He sat in his usual pose with his arms crossed and his hood up and tried to imagine himself somewhere far away. Completely other than here.

Yet he couldn’t seem to close his ears. The words around him kept getting sucked into his head and unwillingly he was absorbing the things the man was saying in that awful droning voice. Just snatches here and there as Franz tried to will the sound away.

“…drove right over the cliff. There was blood everywhere and parts splattered all… took fifteen people… police… And when I woke up I was in lockup and I knew it was serious. I’d screwed up again. I’d been out of my mind, but the things I did and the people I hurt, I won’t ever be able to forgive myself for that… wonder sometimes why no one ever helped me… I was alone… hurting… I did awful things to survive yet… still feel dead inside…”

That voice was spinning out tendrils that were digging themselves into Franz’s ears, burrowing their way into him. His ears itched and ached and he dug his fingers into his elbows until he couldn’t take it any longer and he covered his ears with his hands.

The man kept talking. The words lost all meaning, becoming nothing but emotions washing over Franz. A dark flood of guilt, horror, despair.

He leaned forward and dug his forehead into his knees as he pressed his hands tight-tight against the sides of his ears. His breath came from him in heaving gasps and tears trickled from between his tightly clenched eyelids. He felt as though something had broken open inside of him and every part of him was being covered in slow moving syrup.

He was drowning with no air to fill his lungs and he felt sounds escaping his throat but he had no control over any of it. All he had the ability to do was hold his ears and pray that he would make it through this moment, that everything was going to be all right.

There was a harsh buzzing sound filling up his head. His keening cries couldn’t cover the painful, grinding *sound* that rang through his skull.

He was dying.

There was the distant whisper of motions and yells from the people around him, but he was too wrapped up to listen. The buzzing was so loud and there were colors swirling around the backs of his eyelids, sickening hues that made his stomach squeeze tight. And through it all there was an endless overflow of tears until even through his misery he could feel them hot against his face and soaking through his pants.

He didn’t know what was happening. Everything was out of control and he didn’t have the wherewithal to focus on anything but what was happening to him.

There was a warm hand on his shoulder and something prickly nudged against the back of his hand. There was the murmur of words, but he couldn’t focus.

The nudging continued until he lifted his head a little and cracked his eyes open. The overhead light stabbed at him, but he blinked until he was able to make out the small white pill cup being waved near his face.

He swung an arm to knock the cup away, but the nurse simply held it out of reach a moment before once again trying to press it on him. It took him a long time to comprehend that the pills were supposed to help him.

He kept trying to say no, but the buzzing was getting so loud that he was surprised the room wasn’t shaking. Finally he snatched the cup and swallowed the pills, choking a little when he drank the offered water.

He lowered his forehead back onto his knees and held onto his head. That hand on his back rubbed soothing circles. He might have pulled away, but that contact felt like an anchor holding him back from the pain swelling in his head.

He stayed there for some immeasurable length of time before he was finally able to unfold himself from the chair and was led back to his room. He kept his eyes tight squeezed shut and his hands on his ears, but the nurse held his elbow gently.

He climbed onto the bed when urged and let his shoes be tugged off. He was covered by the thin blanket. There was a rattling sound and blinds appeared from somewhere to cover the window. The light was switched off and everyone left, the door closing solidly behind them. He was in the dark alone.

Franz curled around his pillow and cried.

He wailed and sobbed and he made sounds deep in his throat that tried to split him apart. The pain ebbed and flowed through his head on the trail of that throbbing sound.

Even knowing that it was all happening inside his head, he still clutched at his ears. It felt as though it was helping.

He soaked his pillow and cried until his breaths were coming in hitching gasps and he felt completely broken open. The bed jerked with each of his hiccuping breaths and whatever those pills had been, he felt as though he were floating in place.

And somewhere he fell asleep.

He was sucked down into the dark, but it only felt like it took a moment. Then he was blinking open crusty eyes and the room seemed much darker than before and his mouth tasted horrible.

Colors throbbed bladelike across the walls, seeping in under that line of light on the door. He huddled around himself as the colors took form, a gibbering monkey in a red jacket with gold epaulets. Then more animals, dancing and cavorting, and there were circus tents in the background and the spinning shadow of the ferris wheel.

Franz watched everything, his eyes stuck at half-mast, gazing fascinated at all of the animals as they performed their show. Then the bear stepped in front of the lion and there was an argument and the monkeys were refusing to let the bear play with them.

Tears pinched the corners of Franz’s eyes and his heart was beating loud and fast in his chest. He could feel it thumping against his ribs.

He tried to climb out of bed and stumbled and fell. He lay sprawled for a moment, but the animals were dancing too close and the ferris wheel was spinning fast enough to leave a blazing trail of light across his eye and the monkey was leering at him and he was absolutely terrified.

He crawled to the door, the blanket tangling around his legs. He kicked it off and reached up to grab the knob with his hand, using it to pull himself to his feet. Then he stumbled out into the light.

One of the white wearing nurses saw him and walked over. It was the one that had made the waffles, Joshua. Franz liked Joshua.

“The monkeys wouldn’t let the bear play and he’s real sad and the light spinning and… I don’t feel good.” He leaned forward and threw up next to his own bare feet.

Joshua’s hands caught him before he could sag and fall. He was led toward a couch when he panicked about going back into his room with *them*. He was settled on a couch and someone wrapped his blanket around him. And throughout it all Joshua stayed next to him, a warm presence, solid and real.

TBC…

[table “24” not found /]

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Check out the rest of the hop and all the excellent people that have offered up some great posts and prizes. Spread the word: No more homophobia or transphobia. Equality for everyone.

---

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Title: Slipping Through the Cracks
Author: Harper Kingsley
Character: Franz Caulder/Ryan Wilder, Dr. Pamela Werth, Nicole Carson
Genre: mm
Rating: mature
Summary: Kid Nitro went to sleep in his own bed, and woke up on another Earth in the body of an alternate Franz Caulder. It’s a world without metabilities, which is jarring enough, but it’s also a world where Other-Franz is a mental patient grappling with some serious problems.

Check out: Part 1, Part 2.

* * *

He was running. His legs were churning fast and the world was spinning past him in slow motion. The faster he went, the more the world slowed down, until he thought that if he just went a little faster then time would stop all together.

Lightspeed was a bright yellow blur ahead of him and he couldn’t help being jealous. There was a reason Lightspeed was known as the world’s fastest man. Franz always felt a bit left in the dust.

Clenching his jaw, Franz pushed himself until his legs began to burn. Faster and faster until something seemed to happen, a strange switch over that turned the world around into a swirl of color and he was RUNNING with no impulse to ever stop. He felt as though he could keep going forever.

Lightspeed was always just a few steps ahead of him, always that little bit faster, but Franz didn’t feel like giving up. He knew that if he kept going, one day he would catch Lightspeed. One day *he* would be the fastest man alive.

“I’m going to catch you!” he shouted, the wind trying to whip his words away.

Lightspeed glanced back over his shoulder with a teasing smile on the visible portion of his lips. “You’ll have to try harder than that, boy.”

Franz yelled when Lightspeed put on another burst of speed and zipped ahead. Franz tried to catch up, but it seemed impossible. The man was just too fast. There was no catching that speed.

Franz woke with a jerk and the momentary sensation that he was falling.

He sat up and looked around the room, hating it and wanting to go home. He wondered if Nigel was taking care of himself without him there to nag him.

He got out of bed and went out to deal with his second day in Rotham Lite. He figured it wasn’t going to be too bad; he wasn’t locked behind a security door with padding on the walls like they had at Rotham. Housing both the criminally insane and the non-violent but permanently disturbed, Rotham had been rated as the world’s “Fiercest Asylum” by FasHonesta Magazine and that had only been a little bit of a joke. Rotham killed people.

This, though, was a completely different situation. These people actually cared for the mentally ill instead of just locking them up. He’d heard people discuss letting them out as an option, but he’d never believed it would work.

He’d heard all the stories about what the mentally ill would do if they were let out in public. There would be murders and rapes and horrible things all over the place. Everyone knew that’s what would happen. They had to be locked up for their own good, only allowed out to work and then only with a chaperone. It made sense; they were completely unbalanced and should be locked up for the good of everyone.

It was an idea Franz had always believed in. Except here in this world, the mentally ill were treated like normal people for the most part. They were only locked away when they were an imminent threat to themselves and other people. Otherwise they received what what was called “out patient” care, something Franz had never imagined possible. He was used to the idea of mental patients receiving permanent medication dispensing pumps to keep them safely controlled and happy in their Mental Health housing. Here, someone that just needed a few pills could live a normal life *outside*.

Which meant that Other-Franz had had some serious issues he’d been dealing with. Franz suspected violence and antisocial behavior, though it was hard to tell without asking what his prognosis was. He figured it would be better to wait for the information to present itself than ask dumb questions.

He’d been considering proving his sanity and getting out, but discovering how this world worked made him have to think. If these people that seemed so understanding about mental problems had thought it was a good idea to keep Other-Franz locked up for nearly a year, would it be such a good idea for him to get the guy out? If there was a body switch, Other-Franz would be out on the street with a clean bill of health. Could he do that to these people?

Sometimes he hated having a conscience. Because he definitely wanted out of this place, but not before he found out if it was safe for Other-Franz to be out in the world.

Franz wished that he knew anything about mental health disorders, but it had never been one of his concerns. *Those people* lived in special care facilities where regular people never had to see them or worry about them. When he’d occasionally had to deal with someone crazy, it was usually a supervillain he could hand over to the CMPF; it wasn’t his problem.

Yet here he was in this place, surrounded by people that made his skin crawl uncomfortably, and it wasn’t something he could happily ignore. They were right in his face and the doctors and nurses thought he was one of them.

The only relief he had was to keep reminding himself, “I’m not crazy.”

He held to it through another group session where he slouched in his chair with his arms crossed and his mouth shut. He held to it for the twenty minutes when he was forced to write down his *feelings*. And he was only a little violent with the paintbrush when it came to arts and crafts time.

He was feeling as though the walls were closing in by the time they were taken out after lunch for their daily walk. He pulled on his hoodie and promised himself that everything was going to be all right. Nigel would get him home and everything would be all right.

The air was crisp outside, a switch from the summer he’d left behind. The sky was a grayed out blue with some darker clouds in the distance. The leaves on the skinny trees framing the lawn were changing from green to yellow and he couldn’t help reaching up to touch them. Everything felt so real.

Franz looked around at the other patients with him–two men and three women–but they were seemingly off in their own worlds, wrapped up in their own problems. The nurse with them let them all do their own thing, knowing that the tall chain link fence surrounding the large yard would keep them in.

He turned to look back at the hospital, his eyes tracking over the windows and what he could see of the roof. It was a solid red brick square looming four stories high with bars on every window and only the wide double doors for entry or exit. He didn’t see a whole lot that he could work with.

For about the ten millionth time in his life, he wished that he had taken the extra courses the CMPF offered on escape and survival. He’d always had his superspeed and his superstrength; being normal had never been one of his worries, so he didn’t know how to do it.

His body felt strange to him, heavy in a way it had never been before. The hum that he’d heard thrumming in his blood since he was a little kid was gone. He felt drained, a shell of himself.

But he was still alive, and powers or no powers, he was still Kid Nitro.

Franz looked around at the fenced in yard and the other patients. He’d never been in a situation like this, had swung things so he would never be in a position like this.

He’d never seen much purpose in facing hardship when he didn’t need to. If the world went to hell, he was sure he could survive whatever got thrown at him. He didn’t need special training because he would be fine. Plus he’d have Nigel, and Nigel knew practically everything.

Except here he was in another world all alone. And he was worried that he was going to screw everything up. Because without guidance that’s what he always did; he ruined things. He was a ruiner.

Franz must have been too deeply in his own world, because the overly friendly arm slung across his shoulder almost made him fall. He caught his balance and looked at the brown haired man that held him.

Cheerfully round body and a clean-shaven face that was nearly cherubic in its sweetness. But there was something in the green eyes that put him on edge. “Shame about the scar on your face, but you’ve always caught my eye, Franzy. You’ve got something appealing about you. You’re a very handsome boy.”

Franz felt a throb of creeping dread go through his whole body. He couldn’t help it. He *cringed* away from the man. “Leave me alone, Bertie,” he blurted out, and it didn’t even sound like his voice. It was so timid and small; weak.

It felt as though all the strength was draining out of him and the fight went with it. He felt small and fearful and there was this rising sense of helpless misery.

He experienced the phantom slide of hands across his bare skin and the ghostly whisper of voices in his ears. And there was fear and pain and somewhere in the dark someone was screaming.

The sound that escaped his lips made his whole body twist. His throat felt squeezed tight and his testicles were trying to draw up. Every bit of him felt strung with wire and the world was narrowing down to a pinprick of light and he was fading away.

“Bertie, you have been told before that you are not allowed to speak to Franz. It was part of our agreement to treat you.” The nurse sounded exasperated. “Are you all right Franz?”

He couldn’t speak. He was being pulled out of his skin, colors smearing around as his breath came in fast pants that left him still desperate for oxygen.

He wondered if he were dying.

The world was getting too bright and everything looked too sharp and frightening. He was scared, he couldn’t help it, and he wasn’t even embarrassed when he felt the warm gush of hot liquid down his leg.

His head was whirling and spinning and he couldn’t breathe. Everything was too bright, too harsh, it was killing him, wiping him out, destroying him bit by bit as the world spun fast and faster. He keened, the sound rising from him like a bird and…

There was a nearly gentle prick against his hip. He hadn’t even seen her get close. The needle looked gigantic in her hand.

Then everything slid sideways and he went too. Just for a little while.

TBC…

[table “24” not found /]

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