Von

Chapter One

"So." Pen still tucked between his fingers, Dr. Gallagher laced his hands together and settled them with a soft air of finality atop the case file on his knee. He was going to need a new folder soon, Zeke absently noticed; this one was next to bursting with all the notes that had accumulated from their sessions together.

He tore his attention away from his case file – and that had to be, what, his fourth one by now, just for Zeke? – and glanced up just long enough to see the creases of his psychiatrist's face deepen with a fatherly smile, faded blue eyes kind and observant behind his glasses, before Zeke's mottled gaze redirected itself down to his hands.

"School officially starts in one week. You excited?"

Doing his level best to choke down the nerves suddenly rising inside of him, pulse pounding in his throat, he wet his dry, chapped lips and stared down, rapt, at the fingers worrying at the fraying cuff of his hoodie. There were already holes there, where the fabric looped over on itself, and the reinforced seam that held the cuff together had long since been reduced to an exposed loop of thickly stitched material that frequently fell victim to his nervous fingers. But he'd kept the hoodie, regardless, worn thin and fraying as it was. It was, perhaps, partially a testament to his fondness of the text on the back, which read, "Never Trust the Living". But it was familiar, too, both comfortable and comforting when the rest of the world was set on driving him towards an anxiety attack or depressive episode.

"Uh…" Zeke tried to clear his throat, and managed a weak, self-deprecating half-grin as his eyes flicked up to Gallagher's face again. "Terrified, more like."

To be honest, he could feel his heart hammering against his ribs at the mere thought of it, but still, in a display of candor common only within the confines of his psychiatrist's office, the words continued to spill out of him, even as his gaze trained itself on all the ragged edges of the fabric in his hands.

"It's been…" Another brief, flickering grin at the understated enormity of the thought, "a really long time since I've been in school-"

"Seventeen years," Gallagher added with a sage nod.

"Yeah, so I'm a little worried that, y'know – especially from all the issues I've had from the ECT and everything – I'm a little worried that I won't be able to keep up, y'know? Too much information all at once," he mumbled down at his hands with a tiny frown, "and not enough time to really absorb it."

Gallagher's lips pursed themselves briefly into a mouth-shrug, his bushy salt and pepper brows arching only for a moment in allowance, acknowledging the verity of his concerns. "But at least you know they have services in place to help with that, if you should find that you need it. And you're already on a reduced course load."

"That's true," Zeke conceded in a soft murmur. "I still worry though. I mean," an agitated finger lifted to itch at his brow, "that's a lot of stuff to try and remember. I mean, I'm not as worried about the artsy part of things. It's the technical part that scares the shit out of me. All those tiny little steps that you have to get just right or everything ends up getting fucked up."

After all, the doctor had warned him that electroconvulsive therapy would likely have some degree of impact on his short-term memory – had assured him that in the vast majority of cases, it was only temporary, affecting scarce more than his memories shortly before, during, and after the procedure – and he had been made fully aware of the risks and potential complications that could arise if he still chose to undergo treatment. What neither of them had anticipated, however, was that Zeke would soon find himself in the tiny percentage of patients who suffered far more severe and far-reaching side-effects than the conventional bouts of temporary forgetfulness.

In fact, as far as Zeke was concerned – even a full two and a half years after initially undergoing the process – his brain had been completely and totally fried. For months after completing the necessary twelve sessions of ECT, he'd found himself all but utterly incapable of retaining new information, often asking people the same questions that he'd asked only a few moments beforehand, rehashing entire conversations with no recollection of the things he had already said. He couldn't remember any of the things he'd done immediately before he'd been hospitalized, and while that issue in particular wasn't uncommon, the fact that his memories had never returned was.

But more than that, well above and beyond the frustrating and frightening issues with his short-term memory, were the effects it had had on his long-term memory, as well.

Because of Zeke's seemingly lifelong curse of the worst possible kind of luck, his willingness to undergo electroconvulsive therapy – in the desperate hopes that it might finally alleviate the symptoms of well over a decade's worth of suffering from chronic, treatment-resistant Major Depressive Disorder – had effectively given him retrograde amnesia. He hadn't just lost bits and pieces surrounding the four weeks of treatment. He had lost years.

In the time between the treatment and now, he'd attended a family reunion only to realize that he couldn't remember who half of the attendees were, despite the fact that they'd been an off and on presence throughout his life ever since he'd been born. Aunts, uncles, cousins… People he had literally grown up with, spent countless holidays with… Many had been reduced to mere strangers.

Co-workers he had known for years were suddenly entirely new people to him, and he had failed utterly and completely in every attempt he'd made to try and remember them and what he once knew of their lives.

Zeke knew them now, thanks to prolonged exposure and sheer repetition, but it had taken him months to gain that ground.

He'd asked his best and oldest friend how their beloved and ailing pet dog had been doing – a dog he'd loved as dearly as though it were his own – only to discover that it had died of its ailments well over a year ago… and he had even been with them when they took the animal's body to the vet to be cremated. He had been utterly and absolutely devastated.

He'd stayed in touch with an ex with whom he'd remained friends, only to wonder why they'd broken up in the first place, and he'd found himself going to his mother so she could explain to him what he had told her in regards to why the decision was made, after two years of being together, to end the relationship. The reasons made sense; they sounded like believable issues he would've had with his ex, but he never had been able to remember any of the actual process of it himself. Hell, he hadn't even remembered that his ex had moved and was now living with two other roommates – people he had met, an apartment he had seen on multiple occasions – or that his ex had siblings, one of whom had abused him horribly as a child.

Even now, the only things Zeke remembered were faded snapshots of the many times they'd played Magic: The Gathering, playfully trash-talking one another over their cards, or the way his ex would make him supper before they would settle down, comfortably snuggled together, to watch something on Netflix. He didn't remember the fights his friend had recounted for him, or the way he'd apparently made frequent complaints about how smothered he'd felt by his ex's physical, emotional, and sexual needs.

It wasn't an issue of simply being a little more forgetful than usual, which was a problem he'd had well before treatment and was accustomed to dealing with. Entire swathes of his memory were just… gone. And it wasn't just people and experiences that had disappeared, either.

The vast, eclectic assemblage of knowledge that he'd loved so dearly, the information on things both trivial and erudite that he'd gathered into his mind and cherished like a dragon cherished its hoard, had vanished into the same void, been swallowed up by the same black hole that had consumed his familiarity with even the things nearest to his heart – things of his own making, infused with his blood, sweat, and tears.

When he'd been released from the hospital, he'd found the creative projects that he'd left at home were completely alien to him. That the very task of writing, of drawing, was suddenly as foreign to him as playing a piano might be to a dog. And that… as a person whose creativity and imagination had always been the core of his identity, that was the thing that had nearly broken him beyond repair. It felt like the ECT had taken everything from him at that point, and given him nothing in return.

It had been over two and a half years since he'd undergone electroconvulsive therapy, and while his memory was slowly starting to improve in painfully small, patchy areas, there was still so much that he continued to struggle with, and his friends and family were a constant well of reminders of all the things he'd forgotten. And the worst part about all of it was that not too long ago, Gallagher had rather reluctantly admitted during one of their sessions that if his memories hadn't returned by now, the chances were overwhelmingly likely that some of those things – some of those years – would remain lost to the void forever.

As though sensing the path down which Zeke's problematic mind had taken him – or maybe the good doctor had simply been able to see the hopelessness swelling beneath his expression while he stared down at his motionless fingers and fraying sleeves – Gallagher leaned forward in his plush leather chair, his raspy smoker's voice softened to a velveteen rub. "I know how hard all of this has been on you, Zeke. Believe me, I know, and if I'd had any way of knowing how severely the ECT would affect you, I never would have recommended it. But you also have to believe me when I tell you that you are far smarter and stronger than you give yourself credit for. The tests don't lie. Even after the ECT, you are a smart kid."

Zeke hadn't been young enough to qualify for "kid" status for many, many years – after all, he was rapidly approaching his thirtieth birthday – but even so, a weak flicker of a smile tugged at the pierced outer corners of his lips. I guess everyone seems like a kid when you get to his age. Then again, I guess I can't really blame him. I know I certainly don't feel like I'm almost thirty.

But he supposed it didn't help that he felt like he'd lost years of his life, either.

Gallagher had ordered a thorough examination from another psychologist and their aide to determine how badly his cognitive functions had been impaired post-ECT, and in what areas. When the results and the write-up had come back, Gallagher had proudly informed him that – despite the below average and impaired rating assigned to other areas of his cognition, like his memory – his overall intelligence had been graded in the "superior" range when compared to others in the same demographic.

A large part of him was convinced that there had been a screw-up somewhere, that the test was, frankly, full of shit, because on any given day, Zeke would have been hard-pressed to admit that he felt intellectually superior to a rock, much less others in his age range. Anxiety had always made him painfully awkward in social situations, and he spent easily ninety percent of his time living within the confines of his own head, swimming amongst his thoughts about everything and nothing at all – and the sheer number of "dumb blonde" moments he had per day was beyond mortifying.

Needless to say, this "intellectually superior" business was a long-running point of contention between him and his doctor. Zeke knew it. Gallagher knew it. Gallagher insisted on making concerted efforts to convince him of the fact via small, subtle jests; Zeke insisted that he politely disagreed, and left it at that.

"I think that going back to school," Gallagher continued, "immersing yourself in an environment saturated with people with similar interests and learning to do more of the things you love is honestly the best possible thing you could do right now. I think it'll make a world of difference when it comes to boosting your overall well-being and just… helping you feel at least a little less shitty all the time. Add on the benefits of having a degree under your belt that will hopefully open more doors for you career-wise, and…"

Zeke managed a nod, swallowing and wetting his lips again, picking relentlessly at the frayed hems of his sleeves. "I know. That's what I keep telling myself. Y'know," he added, "every time I start getting cold feet." He fiddled with the cuff of his sleeve, a minute furrow settling in his brows as he considered the situation. "I still don't like the idea of knowingly depriving myself of a decent source of income, but…"

"I know. And I know it's going to be hard at first, but stick with it, okay? Or," Gallagher added, linked fingers splaying themselves for a moment, "try to do both, go to work and school until you feel like one of them has to go. You never know, maybe you'll surprise yourself by being able to confidently juggle both."

He distractedly worried at the inside of his lower lip with his teeth and nodded. There was a moment of silence just then, and he allowed it to settle like ash between them, playing with the tortured hem of his sleeve. Despite never lifting his gaze from his lap, he could feel Gallagher watching him, assessing him with those keen old eyes of his, reading more than Zeke cared to consider in the set of his face – and when he glanced up again, his doctor was still watching him, his expression soft and sad, even as his lips creased with a gentle smile within the confines of his short silver beard.

"For what it's worth," he said, "I'm proud of you, Zeke. For not giving up."

Eyes flashing back down to his sleeve, jaw clenching, it took everything Zeke had to shove down the abrupt surge of emotion those words invoked. Twenty-nine years old, and even the smallest words of heartfelt praise felt, to him, like the validation he'd been bereft of his whole life.

"Especially when it means subjecting yourself to the particularly… unique breed of torture that is hospital food for a month. Again."

A soft laugh – little more than a huff of breath accompanied by the tiniest of smiles – escaped him, and he could all but feel the victorious, lop-sided grin radiating from his doctor's side of the room upon seeing that his jest had succeeded.

Zeke's own smile, however, waned soon enough, fading to a faint, pensive curl at the outermost edges of his lips as he resumed fidgeting with his sleeve. "Yeah," he murmured, acutely aware all over again of the hospital bracelet around his left wrist. "Thank you for not, y'know, giving up on me. I know I haven't exactly been the easiest patient to deal with." Not so much because he had been wilfully resisting treatment, but his body…?

There was a reason why he'd felt compelled to take the risks associated with electroconvulsive therapy.

The drugs alone – and he'd tried a lot of drugs – just weren't cutting it. Either his body couldn't tolerate the side-effects, or there were negative interactions with the few drugs in his regimen that had helped to a degree… but more often than not, they simply did nothing at all. Zeke seemed utterly impervious to them, and he'd spent more than one session with Gallagher trying to figure out precisely how to handle the new concoction in the hopes that they would stumble upon the magical combination that might permit him some small degree of relief from his symptoms.

After twenty-four years of suffering from depression, and six of working with Gallagher, they'd yet to find anything that made a substantial difference.

Gallagher watched him a moment longer, grin softening. "No thanks necessary. But let's finish up and get you out of here, shall we? You must be eager to get home."

For the first time since Zeke had stepped into his psychiatrist's office, a mild but genuine smile hooked itself into the pierced corner of his mouth. "Can't argue with that."

He'd learned years ago to accept the fact that periods of hospitalization were inevitable as the severity of his depression vacillated, but that didn't mean he had grown to particularly enjoy them. He missed the privacy of his own home, the convenience of his creature comforts without having to check them in or out of lockup at the nursing station, or worrying that something harmless may be confiscated for the safety of all the patients on the unit – like his pencil sharpener… But more than that, he missed his dog.

After all, she was often the only thing that kept him from trying to kill himself, the persistent flicker of light in the dark confines of the pit that had consumed his life. She didn't judge him, or hold grudges. If he was feeling particularly stressed, she would be there to quietly lay at his feet for a nap or to snuggle into his side on the sofa, settling her head into his lap. If he was feeling particularly depressed, she would be there to lick his hands and bring over one of her toys to hopefully present it to him with her mismatched brown and blue eyes – so very much like his own – sparkling.

Christ, he couldn't wait to get home, just to see her again.

-x-

Tearing himself from his thoughts when some small, distant part of himself warned him that one of the many nurses buzzing about the unit was finally returning, Zeke gave a few emphatic blinks of his mismatched eyes, struggling to clear the last cobwebs of boredom, and looked up to greet her with a wan smile.

"All right," the nurse breathed, shambling up to his side of the nursing station with a Ziploc bag full of fluorescent green pill bottles in her hands. "This'll keep you going for the first week or so." She plopped the bag down on the elevated countertop of the nursing station, fiddling with the bottles inside and rotating them until she could check each of their labels, various other members of the nursing staff tending to their own duties behind her. Petal was screaming in the background again, her voice muffled by her closed door; her nurse called something over to her colleague before hurrying away down the hall.

God, he was going to be so happy to get out of here. No more screaming; no more painfully awkward interactions with people who were even more ill than he was. Paranoid schizophrenics, drug addicts, borderlines, bipolars, aggressive delusionals, dementia patients… Of course, it wasn't their fault they were mentally ill, so he tried as hard as he could not to judge them, but despite his general avoidance of strangers, he was going to be happy to be back out in the world where most people could at least pass as normal, and he didn't have to walk on quite so many eggshells in the event that he was forced to talk to someone. Being this on-guard 24/7 got awfully exhausting after a while, and he wasn't exactly running on a surplus of energy as things were.

"So, this is your quetiapine, one hundred milligrams and two twenty-fives for one fifty milligrams total. Two milligrams of clonazepam. One hundred and seventy-five milligrams of Trazodone to help you sleep. One hundred and twenty milligrams of Fetzima, one milligram of Rexulti, to help boost the Fetzima…" She listed the rest of his medications softly under her breath as she worked through the bag, checking them each off on a long list, before she looked up at him again. "And Dr. Gallagher gave you a new prescription to refill everything once these run out?"

"Yes ma'am." Arms folded atop the counter, Zeke wet his parched lips again, nerves fluttering in his throat as restless fingers fiddled with a crease of fabric at his elbow. As keen as he was to go home, it wasn't beyond him how his feelings were a peculiar mixture of eagerness and apprehension. After all, the hospital had been his home for the past month, and there was no denying that part of him was going to miss the background bustle of the nursing staff and the other patients in residence.

He hadn't been overly social with many of the other patients, preferring largely to keep to himself – in truth, some of them kind of intimidated him – but he had developed a particular sort of fondness for the nurses and aides who'd been assigned to him. Never mind that all the extra company made it hard for his mind to dwell too long on thoughts that would only get worse, and had in fact been the very things to land him here in the first place. He loved his dog's company, and treasured her modest little contributions to keeping him relatively level-headed, but unfortunately even her capabilities had limits.

"Good good." This particular nurse wasn't one that usually looked after him, and Zeke found himself ever so slightly disappointed that his favorite, a dusky-skinned middle-aged woman named Maya, wouldn't be around for any last-minute words of encouragement or a showing of her boundlessly amiable smile before he was discharged. "And is someone coming to get you or do you have a vehicle here?"

"My dad's coming to get me."

Petal was still shrieking. That, at least, was something he wouldn't miss at all. Trying to ignore it to the best of his ability, honing his concentration on the task at hand, he took a deep, steadying breath and rubbed an agitated hand over his forehead. She'd been screaming off and on since the day Zeke was admitted, and unlike so many outbursts from the other patients, these were ones he just couldn't seem to tune out.

"Sounds good." The nurse handling his discharge rummaged around below his line of sight for a moment while he stood there, fidgeting, before resurfacing with some paperwork and a pen that she slid towards him with a cool, professional smile. "If I can just get you to give that a quick read-through, initial here, here, and here, and then sign and date it, you can be on your way."

"Awesome, thank you." It didn't take any more prompting than that for Zeke to pick up the pen and start looking through the paper-thin barrier between himself and freedom. He hadn't undergone ECT this time, and he certainly hadn't been cured of his depression – he knew that asking for a permanent state of remission was beyond stupid – but he also wasn't feeling quite as suicidal, and he'd regained some of the motivation and interest he'd lost.

Above all, if he was being honest with himself, he mostly wanted to go home so he could be reunited with his mischievous blue merle Sheltie, Phi. Zeke knew how silly it could and likely did sound to strangers, but he'd been born and raised around animals, and being a natural introvert, he'd always found their company more comforting than that of so many other people.

Phi was the first dog that was truly his own, and she had proved to be a substantial help in dealing with his lower moods, even going so far as essentially saving his life for the very simple reason that he was responsible for her well-being. When he felt completely alone in the world, isolated and unwanted, Phi was always there with unconditional love and acceptance, and he'd missed her something fierce during his stay in the hospital. He'd missed her bright, intelligent heterochromatic eyes, and the sweetness of her foxy little face with her tan cheeks and eyebrows, and the simple pleasure of playing with her and ruffling her soft, ample coat with its mottling of greys, blacks and whites. She was his fur-baby, and if it weren't for her…

Christ, he didn't even want to think about it, what it would have been like to live without her these past couple of years.

"Zeke? You're leaving?"

Torn from his thoughts by a soft, familiar voice just as he finished scrawling his signature along the line at the bottom of the sheet, Zeke glanced over towards its source and found one of the other patients who seemed to have taken a particular shine to him hovering in the corridor. It was Lily, a petite Chinese girl being treated for bipolar disorder. She was peering at him with wide eyes flickering between the nurse, his luggage, and himself, twisting her fingers at her waist with a clearly dismayed expression on her face.

"Are you going home on a weekend pass?"

Zeke managed to drag a small, contrite smile onto his lips, hastily dating his form before sliding it and the pen back over to the nurse. "No, sorry. I'm, uh… I'm being discharged today."

"Oh." Visibly disappointed, her gaze slid down to the floor, eyes obscured behind the dark fringe of her bangs as her head bowed, her delicate shoulders slumped. "Well, that's good, I guess, if you're feeling better."

He managed a wry smile. "Better than I was." Rubbing idly at his upper arm, overcome by a sudden surge of uncertainty in the face of Lily's distress – wanting to comfort her but not quite knowing how without doing something profoundly awkward or potentially triggering, like hugging her – he lingered for a moment, torn between the urge to flee back to normalcy and the need to do or say… something. Anything. She was, after all, quite possibly the only person he'd grown to genuinely like during his time in-hospital, and he couldn't help but feel slightly protective of her, especially given the amount and sheer variety of abuses she'd suffered throughout the course of her short life. He liked her, of course, but there was no changing the fact that much of her trauma was heart-breaking and hard to stomach. "Are… you gonna be okay?"

Head bowed, gaze inscrutable, Lily gave a tight, jerky nod, a hand clasped at the elbow of her opposing arm. He had always been amazed by how tiny nature had made her, and how much smaller and more delicate she always seemed to make herself, like even the slightest blow might cause her to shatter. She'd been making progress in group, but there was no telling how much more damage she had yet to work through, and, while admittedly some part of him felt terrible for leaving her alone here… He wasn't her doctor. There was nothing he could do for her apart from keeping her company, keeping her safe from other patients if someone blew up. And he certainly couldn't stay here indefinitely.

Not quite sure what else to do, he nodded more to himself than anything, wetting his dry lips before he finally managed to flash her a perfunctory grin. "'Kay, well…" A hand wandered back to find the extended handle of his suitcase, fully aware and hating how callous his uneasy farewell was going to make him seem. "You take care, okay?"

Her expression remained frozen despite the way her eyes were frantically darting back and forth across the floor at her feet, and he felt his heart sink a little lower in his chest at the realization that he couldn't offer her anything more meaningful than the same old condolences that he harboured such deep-rooted disdain for. And then it hit him.

"Actually…" Zeke glanced back over at the nurse who'd been helping him. "Sorry, could I bother you for a scrap of paper or something? And a pen?"

"Sure."

Softly thanking her as the nurse slid a little piece of paper towards him, Zeke hastily scribbled down his email address before holding it out for Lily to take. "It's my email address," he informed her lamely. "So you can still contact me if you ever wanna talk or anything."

Dark eyes flashed up at him from under the fringe of her bangs, a shy smile tugging at her lips as she stared down at the slip in her hands. "Thank you…"

Zeke nodded with a wan grin plucking at a pierced corner of his mouth, merely observing the other patient for a moment before she abruptly flitted forward and trapped him in a hug. "Uh…" He was still rooted there, arms awkwardly hovering, when Lily backed away, murmuring one last "Thank you," under her breath as she flashed that same timid smile at him before she twisted to leave, pausing just long enough to wave over her shoulder before she resumed her course.

Zeke watched her go, idly aware that the nurse had been watching their interaction, her expression softening. "That was really sweet of you." Her gaze shifted to watch Lily's back as she retreated to her room down the hall. "She has such a hard time opening up to people."

He managed an embarrassed grin before he hefted his backpack onto his shoulder and reclaimed his luggage. "Guess I'm special."

The nurse snorted a huff of laughter as she watched Lily retreat. "Guess so." She flicked her gaze back to him, loitering uncomfortably in front of the nursing station, itching for something similar to a dismissal to be issued so he knew for a fact that he could leave. "So you're taking off?"

Finally. He hefted his backpack higher up onto his shoulder. "Yup."

"Right, well, you take care of yourself, okay?"

"Yes ma'am. I'll try my best."

"Do or do not," the nurse warned him gravely, a finger levelled in his direction. "There is no try." Her face broke out in a small, warm smile. "Hope I never see you again, Zeke Cooper."

-x-

Emerging into the bright autumn day, Zeke was left squinting and shielding his eyes with his hand until his vision could readjust to the sunlight, near blinding after having spent so long under the hospital's sterile fluorescent illumination. The very first thing he registered, even before his eyes could adjust, was the sudden eruption of a very familiar string of barks. He dropped his hand down to his side, a smile breaking out on his face as he saw Phi dancing and wiggling on her leash further down the sidewalk – he only faltered for a moment, his stomach twisting, when he realized that it was his mother holding her tether.

Still, Zeke hurried down the pavement and dropped everything as he fell to one knee to greet his furry companion, scrubbing his hands through her sizable ruff as she grunted, sang, and grumbled at him in joy, her entire body gyrating. She lunged up on more than one occasion in an attempt to lick his nose or the corner of his mouth while he baby-talked to her, asking her if she'd been a good girl, answering his own question with the special voice he'd made up for her, and then continued her end of the conversation as excitedly as she was moving.

Yes, yes, she'd been a good girl. She'd gone to Gamma and Gampa's for adventures, and told me all about her time away. And then there was a car ride! And then suddenly Papa was there and, and…

So he was weird and baby-talked his dog. So what? Didn't most people do something at least similar to that?

She surged upwards and licked at the end of Zeke's doubly pierced nose, nearly knocking him flat on his ass while her paws scraped down his stomach to land awkwardly on his upper thighs, her nails digging through his jeans into the soft flesh there. Phi jumped again and this time almost got his mouth before he jolted his head back and away, still grinning like a fool, to gently push her down.

"Hello to you too, by the way," his mother irritably grated, taking a puff from her cigarette. "And thanks for watching my noisy, impossible mutt of a dog who listens about as well as a wall of concrete."

His nerves were already sparking with ire given the way she was talking about Phi, but he pushed them down, trying his absolute hardest to smother the first embers of a bad mood. "She listens just fine," Zeke grumbled. "She's just not used to listening to you." He straightened, glancing around his mother to the SUV sitting at the end of the sidewalk, eyes squinted in the harsh summer light – his stomach plummeted at the sight of his scowling brother in the passenger seat. "Where's dad, anyways? I thought he was the one coming to get me."

"He couldn't," his mother succinctly informed him. "Said he was in too much pain, so, sorry," a caustic grin slathered itself across her lips, "but you get to deal with me."

"Mum, you say that like it's a bad thing. Could you believe for just one second that I'm actually happy to see you?" Zeke implored. "I haven't seen you in a month."

And, sure, maybe that happiness was also wrought with the tension of knowing she'd probably start a fight over something, no matter how small, but there was a part of him that greeted the sight of her with relief. She hadn't come to visit him in the hospital, but as rocky as their relationship could be, she was still his mother. And they did have good days, no matter how few and far between, and those were the ones he missed, where they laughed and talked crap about strangers and she actually cared about what was going on with him.

She just stared at him with her cigarette caught in her lips, a single brow climbing into an arch. Zeke stifled a sigh, because evidently today was not going to be one of those good days.

"Anyways," he barrelled on, softening his voice until it was little more than a whisper, his face crumpling into a mask of pained despair. "Did you have to bring Raph? You know we-"

"He had an appointment today, Zeke. I'm not making more trips into the city than I have to."

Zeke couldn't help himself from bitterly rising to the bait. "Then, maybe, if he'd finally suck it up and get his fancy little car fixed, he could've driven himself. Mum, that thing's been sitting in the driveway since he moved back in, and he's three years older than me. He-"

She levelled an accusatory finger at him, sniping at him past her cigarette, "We are not doing this right now, Ezekiel. Now, grab your bags and your dog and get in. It's been a long day and we're both anxious to get home."

And you think I'm not?

Staring up at her with an expression of utter resignation, his shoulders sank, but he did his best to put just another lost fight behind him as he straightened to his full height and collected Phi's leash and his luggage, knowing all too well that another fight – another onslaught of nasty comments – was no doubt waiting for him the moment he got into the SUV. But he didn't even make it to the door before his brother, hanging an arm out the open window, sunglasses on, opened fire.

"Y'know, next time you feel like ganking yourself, your bitch of a dog's going to a kennel," he sniped. "If she wasn't fucking whining, she was fucking barking, and if she wasn't doing that, she was pacing holes in the floor." His brother petulantly informed him as Zeke opened the door. Three years older – thirty-three to Zeke's almost thirty – and he still had the attitude of a snotty fifteen-year-old, but he guessed that was what happened when your mother coddles you your whole life.

Zeke tried to ignore him as he went around back to open the hatch and heave his luggage in, but even this didn't deter his brother from complaining. He just raised his voice so Zeke could hear him at the back of the vehicle.

"She tried to fucking bite me."

Yeah, well, maybe if you weren't such a grade-A asshole…

"She doesn't bite, Raph," Zeke wearily told him.

"Yes she fucking does!" He yelled back. "She tried to bite my fucking ankle!"

Then you probably did something to deserve it, you little prick. Zeke shut the hatch and came around to the rear passenger seat again, bending to collect Phi and pop her into the back seat. "She's a sheltie, she nips at heels out of instinct. She's a herder," He forbearingly informed him, "she'll do that. She does it to me all the time."

Phi didn't, actually. He'd trained her out of nipping at heels when she was still a puppy, so the likelihood of his brother lying about it was high enough not to worry him about her trying to bite him. It did, however, heighten the likelihood that he'd done something mean to her to merit a snap, and Zeke could barely even think about him trying to hurt or otherwise mistreat her without his blood pressure going through the roof.

"She didn't 'nip' at me, asshole," Raph retorted. "She tried to bite me!"

Zeke gave his brother a deadpan stare before climbing into the car himself. "I'm not doing this right now, Raph, and if you'd kindly refrain from being so superciliously hostile, I'd appreciate it." His stare softened with the tiniest ounce of exhaustion. "I just got out, man, give me a break."

"Well fuck you and your big words, dictionary-reader. That mutt's getting a muzzle put on her next time she comes near me."

I'd be more worried about the next time I come near you, you useless, entitled waste of skin. As always, however, the words kept themselves locked behind his gritted teeth.

So Zeke ignored him and looked down at Phi, who had curled herself into a ball with her head in his lap, a tiny smile playing on his lips as he gently scratched her behind one of her velvety-soft ears. In the fine hair cascading down from her head, Zeke could feel a mat forming, and made a silent note to himself to deal with it once they were home. If nothing else, it would give him something to do, and she likely needed a good brushing after being untended to for the month he was in hospital. Shelties, while hyper intelligent and stuffed full of personality, were not low maintenance, and he prided himself on taking care of her the best he could when his depression permitted it.

"You excited to go home?" He murmured to her. She lifted her foxy head and half-blinked at him, her tail swishing lazily against the leather of the seat. "Yeah," he breathed softly, returning to his petting as she resettled herself. "So am I."

-x-

Wrenched from the cloudy nebula of his thoughts as the car came to an abrupt halt around him, Zeke straightened in his seat and tugged out his earbud with Todrick Hall's "I Like Boys" fading from his awareness. A quick glance out the window confirmed they were finally at his apartment building, and he shoved both earbuds into his pocket as he paused the song on his phone, and gave Phi a quick scrub on her head to rouse her.

Finally. Finally finally, his thoughts heaved a sigh saturated with relief. There was only so much longer that he could tolerate listening to his brother brag to his mother about how well he was doing as a streamer, how many subscribers he had on Twitch and how his newest remote gig as an AI tester was paying him close to fifty bucks an hour, and even though he'd blocked him out with his noise-cancelling headphones half an hour ago, Zeke still caught the occasional snippet of conversation, and that was enough to have his hackles up. The mere sound of his voice annoyed Zeke some days, and every time he heard him laugh – his stupid, stupid laugh – even the conflict-averse pacifist in him wanted to punch something.

Raph had always been the golden child in Zeke's family of four, coddled by their mother beyond Zeke's forbearance while Zeke had always gotten the "tough love" treatment. His dad, at least, didn't like it, so that was something, but given that his mother was essentially the leader and breadwinner of the family, her word was law. And, sometimes, her decisions made Zeke want to tear out his bottle-blue hair and scream. That was why he'd moved out despite his concerns of being able to financially support himself. The risk was better than the smothering atmosphere at home and the constant reminder that his brother wouldn't be held liable for any of his fuckups and bad decisions, because Mummy would always be there to fix them.

Not always, part of his mind darkly reminded him. One day she and dad are both going to be gone, and then what? If he plans on looking to me for help, he's gonna be sorely disappointed.

Zeke shoved his way out of the back seat, carefully collecting Phi as she toddled after him and set her down on the pavement before she could try to make a jump for it. Rounding the back of the car, he couldn't help but be a little surprised that his mother had followed him, but by now his mood had been thoroughly ruined, so he cut her off with a terse, "Don't worry, I've got it," and opened up the hatch on his own. She hovered by his side, her mouth a tight line, fists on her hips, and her expression stormy as Zeke hauled his bags out and set them on the ground.

Before she could say anything, he flashed her a feeble smile, and thanked her for the ride and for looking after Phi, suddenly acutely aware of the moody-looking clouds that had gathered over them during the drive. It looked like it might rain later, and part of him greeted the thought with joy. It had been a dry summer, after all, and even in a heavily developed area like his neighborhood, within walking distance of the train and transit center, they could use the moisture. Never mind the fact that Zeke had always liked the rain. Liked the sound, liked the smell, liked the damp cool it draped over the world.

He gently shut the hatch, thankful his sunglasses blocked the view of his eyes, as he began walking towards the front doors of his building.

"I hope you're feeling better," his mum called after him, and guilt snuck through him like the first touch of hoarfrost. Zeke slowed to a stop, a breath escaping him in a half-sigh as his shoulders wilted. "You had me worried, you know."

Zeke pivoted and looked back at her. "I know. I'm feeling a lot better now." Which was a lie. He wasn't, and he hadn't been even before he'd left the hospital, but he'd been deemed less of a threat to his own well-being, and, after all, there's only so much a hospital can do if one was as treatment-resistant as he was. He'd tried all of the drugs – well, not all of them, but several dozen from each class of medication – and they hadn't done anything for him. The best bet he had right now was therapy. And while he wasn't feeling a lot better, his mood had improved from the black hole of suicidal ideation that had landed him in the hospital in the first place. He didn't actively want to die anymore, but he wasn't exactly shitting rainbows and unicorns, either.

He lifted his hand to wave farewell and got the same lackadaisical gesture in return. His brother, typically, ignored it all, playing on his phone. Confident that this would be the full extent of their conversation, he turned back around and headed to the front doors of his complex. He let himself in and took the elevator up to the top floor – not saying much in a three-storey building – and slunk through the corridors to his apartment at the end of the hall. After punching in the entry code for his door, Zeke carefully scooted both his bags and Phi into the apartment, greeted not by roommates but all the boxes he still hadn't unpacked after moving in. He'd lived here for a year, now, and still hadn't managed to gather the energy or motivation to finish unpacking.

Door shut behind him, he leaned back against its bracing surface – eyes sagging shut, head tilted back – and slowly slid down its face until he was sitting on the tile of the entryway. Phi danced close, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into himself for a hug with his face buried in her ruff. Of course, he was relieved to be back home, but there was no denying the lonely void that welcomed him, either.

Just you and me again, his thoughts murmured, heaving a sigh as he carded his fingers through Phi's soft, voluminous hair.

If it weren't for his complete lack of trust in others and the anxiety that frequently paralyzed him during social interactions, he might have actually appreciated having a proper roommate. But the anxiety was beyond draining, and at that point, he needed his own little sanctuary to retreat to so he could recharge. The fact that he could afford this apartment at all was a testament only to his frugality and complete lack of social life. (As well as, he supposed, the government funding he received due to the severity of his "disability".) He hadn't even seen his only friend in months, and each time, the distance between visits and phone calls grew, her responses to his texts few and far between, but he tried not to entertain the thought that he was slowly losing her.

Luckily, Phi started wriggling and squirming in his arms so she could eagerly lick at his face and jerk a chuckle out of him, the troublesome thoughts of his friend thrust back into the shadows.

"Yeah, yeah," Zeke chuckled. Phi jumped up and managed to lick at the pierced corner of his mouth, jarring his lip ring. "Okay," he laughed harder, pushing her down and cupping her face to meet her mottle blue and brown eyes. "Do you wanna go for walkies?"

Her wiggling and dancing merely intensified as she barked with approval.

"Okay," Zeke said, pushing himself back up onto his feet and gathering up the leash he still hadn't freed her from. "Let's go for some walkies." And with but a few movements on his behalf, he and Phi left the lonely confines of his apartment behind.

-x-

To Be Continued…

-x-

Just as a note for anyone who's curious – and do please correct me if I'm wrong – the title, Von, is Icelandic for "Hope".

Fun Fact: Zeke's experiences with ECT came from my own, and the examples used to describe how much he's lost have also, largely, come from my own experience. It is some scary and devastating shit, my friends. Sure, ECT has been documented to improve the majority of its patients when it comes to MDD and other mental disorders, but with me, it took just about everything and left me little behind. It hurt me hugely, instead of helping. The family reunion? True. The friend's dog? True. The multiple conversations? True. The ex? True. (But he also turned into a massive asshole after living in Japan for a year.) The hoard of knowledge, the ability to write and draw? True, which nearly crippled me. It's been about eight years, and I am still struggling with what electroconvulsive therapy has done to me.

That having been said, no, Zeke is not a self-insert by a long shot./funfact