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You smiled. “The patients. But the staff too. All the people who work here. The ones who held on as long as they did. I could not have asked for a better job…”

He remained silent, confused but attentive. He didn’t understand you, that he was sure of. He probably never would. “If you love this place and the people who live here that much…then you better stay here with me and get some rest.”

You smiled and opened your eyes slightly to look at him. “Even you are…exceptional.”

He stayed silent and simply stared at your weary but sincere eyes and your feverish face. He couldn’t even bring himself to say something mean or sarcastic as usual. All he could do was slowly wipe the sweat away from your forehead. “Exceptional?”

You nodded and smiled. “The best in your field, or so I heard.”

He watched as you let your eyes slowly close, finally allowing your feverish body to rest. He placed another hand behind your head, his fingers massaging your messy hair, the sweat from your fever making your hair damp, and his thoughts raced through his mind again. He leaned his own head back and slowly exhaled, closing his eyes and letting his other hand gently lay on your back, feeling each rise and fall of your heavy breathing.

He had truly lost his mind, hadn’t he…But he did warn you. Everything that would happen next would be entirely your fault. Right. Everything was your damn fault.

You were nothing more than some healing Tinkerbell, a crazy woman…He was a man of science, he should start acting like it.

Later

A nurse came in and found the both of you on the couch—asleep. She approached and shook you awake. “Head Nurse Y/N ?”

You groaned and slowly opened your eyes. That was the most sleep you think you’d gotten in a while…wait. You opened your eyes fully, and realized that you were laying on top of a sleeping House.

You immediately tried to detangle yourself from his grasp and stood up in a hurry. “Right. What is it ?”

The nurse grimaced. “Hum…Sorry to bother you. But one of the patients is gone from their cell. Michael? Michael Myers? He’s gone.”

You sighed and shook your head. “I see. Another sleepwalking episode I imagine.” You sighed. “Fine. Thank you. We are coming. I will wake up House.”

The nurse nodded and quickly walked out of the room. You looked down at him, who was still sleeping on the couch. You then gently shook his shoulder, trying to wake him up. “House ? Wake up…”

He groaned and sat up, running his hand over his face and rubbing his eyes.

You sighed. “Sorry. But we need to go. Michael. He is gone.”

“Again ? Seriously?” He sighed and shook his head before standing up. “Hasn’t he done this enough times already?”

You smiled and shrugged before leaving the room. You then instructed all guards to swipe the surrounding forest. The nurses and doctors would look inside the hospital. House followed behind you. You looked in the cafeteria, the common living room which was still under construction and even the attic.

House popped up a bottle of Vicodin in his pocket to take a pill but hesitated…

Did he really need it? He was able to fall asleep the night before without any Vicodin pills. Granted, he was exhausted and he was also tired from helping you through your fever, but…He put the bottle back in his jacket pocket. He would take it later, he decided. Right now, he needed to find that goddamn patient.

He then saw you outside and walked over to you. “Any news on Mikey Boy yet?”

You shook your head negatively, until the facility’s priest came forward. “Head Nurse Y/N? Doctor House?”

You and House turned around and looked at the priest. “Yes, Father Cornelius?”

He sighed. “I…believe I have found Michael. Please. Follow me.”

Both you and House followed the priest towards the chapel. House rolled his eyes and mumbled under his breath. “Of course. Of course he’s in the chapel. Because we all know Michael’s a devoted Christian man...”

You stepped in and Michael was indeed standing there with a bloody knife in his hand. You frowned and stepped closer.

“Michael ?”

He turned to you with those soulless eyes, the ones that showed nothing but pure evil.

The priest stayed by the door, keeping his distance. House stood behind you, trying not to show his own fear.

You took a deep breath and took a few steps closer. “…Are you okay, Michael?”

No answer. Michael simply continued staring at you with those unnerving lifeless eyes.

The priest spoke behind the both of you, his voice growing worried. “Head Nurse Y/N, be careful…”

You nodded wordlessly and looked down at the bloody knife. “…What happened ? Did someone attack you, Michael?”

No words came from him. The only thing that happened was him slowly lifting the knife higher in the air, the blood dripping onto the floor. The priest made a small, soft gasp from behind the both of you, and you could hear him speaking to himself, muttering a prayer.

Meanwhile, House was wordlessly watching the scene and feeling more tense by the second.

You didn’t flinch. “Could you please give me the knife, Michael? I wouldn’t want you to cut yourself with it. Are you hurt?”

Michael clutched the knife tighter. There was something about his cold, emotionless expression that was beginning to…make you uncomfortable. You’d seen him act like this before, but for some reason, something wasn’t right this time around.

The priest, from the door, began to speak again. “Dear Lord, please protect us…let us not come to harm—“

Another moment of silence, Michael surprisingly spoke. “It wasn’t me, that was hurt…” He looked down at the blood on the knife, his expression still unreadable and his eyes pitch black.

Doctor House spoke up behind you. “Y/N. Step back. The patient is currently unstable. He’s dangerous…”

You didn’t show fear and simply extended a hand. “Michael. I know you do not want to hurt me. I am sure you had a good reason for hurting someone else tonight. How about you give me the knife and we can talk about it? You and me?”

A few seconds of silence passed, Michael simply stared at you. The priest was holding his breath at this point. House seethed. “Y/N, I’m warning you. Back. Up. Right now. You’re too close.”

Suddenly, Michael lifted his knife again and House immediately tackled you to the ground before you could be stabbed. He then called out to the priest, his voice hard and cold.

“Call security! Now!”

The priest immediately ran outside and you quickly grabbed House to help him up so you could run away.

Michael followed the both of you.

He heard Michael behind you two, those odd footsteps getting closer and closer. House’s leg was suffering and you knew he wouldn’t be able to run for much longer.

You looked back at Michael who was getting closer…Your eyes watered and you knew you didn’t have much time. You saw the door of the confessional and pushed House inside before closing the door behind him—leaving him completely confused.

He pounded his fist on the door. “Y/N! What the hell are you doing?! Let me out of here!”

You used your body to keep the door closed and whispered. “You need to stay alive.”

He panicked, trying to open the door to no avail, and he realized that you were using your body to prevent him from getting out. His breathing was ragged by this point and he pounded on the door again, desperately. “Y/N! Let me out of here! Y/N!”

Before you could answer, Michael grabbed your arm and spun you around. He then grabbed you by the throat and pinned you against the wooden door…The tip of his knife pocking your side. Your eyes widened in shock and fear as you could feel the cold blade of the knife against your skin. You attempted to kick him, but he tightened his grip on your throat, preventing you from defending yourself.

House heard the commotion happening outside and pounded on the door harder and more desperately, his voice growing hoarse from shouting. “LET HER GO, YOU ASSHOLE!”

“M-Michael.” You tried to speak up.

Your voice was strained with his hand still tight around your throat, making it difficult to breathe. Michael kept a firm grip on you, pushing you up against the confessional door and his face remained perfectly expressionless.

House continued to bang on the door, desperately trying to get it open. “Michael! No! Don’t do it!”

“I’m your friend…Michael. You know I am. I do not want to hurt you. And I know you do not want to hurt me.” You told him with tears in your eyes. “I read to you. I taught you how to read and write…I am not your enemy, Michael. You know I am not. Do not let your bloodthirst overwhelm you, please.”

His soulless eyes simply looked at you, his grip not letting up. He did not want to listen to you.

“M-Michael?” You slowly lifted your hands to his mask. “It’s okay. Just…listen to me. Please.”

Michael tensed up once you placed your hands on his mask. He slightly loosened his grip on your throat, and it became slightly easier to breathe. You slowly removed the mask and strands of blond hair fell and covered Michael’s face. You could hear his ragged breath and when you touched his cheeks—you felt tears running down his face. You soothed him and slowly held him against you. “It’s okay…”

He stood there, still and stunned and his grip on your neck loosening even more. House was still shouting, although it was becoming quieter and he was running out of energy from the endless pounding on the confessional door.

You whispered. “It’s okay, Michael. You’re safe. No one will hurt you.”

He looked shocked as you held him. He was breathing heavily. He was confused and frustrated, but he didn’t try to fight you anymore. He just stayed there, feeling your touch, your soft voice and your gentle soothing.

House was no longer banging on the door and his breathing slowed down behind the confessional door. He was listening intently to the soft, tender words you were speaking. Michael was pressed against you and breathing rapidly.

He was trying to understand what was happening and why you were being so gentle with him. He didn’t understand it. Your voice…the words you were saying, the way you were holding him. It all seemed so…peaceful, gentle, kind.

You stroked the top of his head. “Drop the knife, Michael. I won’t let anyone hurt you. I promise.”

He stayed motionless, still breathing heavily and deeply confused by your words. He had killed numerous people already, yet you were still holding him, you weren’t repulsed by him, you were still being so kind and gentle. He could feel your hands on his head, your touch so soft and comforting…even when you perfectly knew who and what he was.

He could feel the tears streaming down his face and he couldn’t understand why he was even crying right now.

You continued to whisper words of comfort and affection, trying to make him understand that despite knowing what he has done, you still cared.

Suddenly, the knife clattered to the floor and he held you in a crushing hug with his face pressed against your shoulder. His nails dug into your skin painfully, but you did not complain. “I know this isn’t what you wanted. Let go of the knife, Michael.”

He was shaking and crying against your shoulder. And you? You just let him hold you tighter, allowing him to find comfort in you, even as your skin was bruised and scratched from his nails.

You continued to soothe and console, whispering softly and gently into his ear. “It’s okay, Michael…”

Suddenly however, guards came in and shouted for Michael to get down on the floor. You raised a hand. “Stop it. Do not frighten him.”

The guards were confused at your command, but they obeyed, as they watched the strange scene of you holding Michael in a tight hug, his maskless face buried against your shoulder. Finally, Michael released you and you managed to get away from the door of the confessional. House stepped out and stayed silent. You were still smiling…that sweet smile meant to charm and comfort.

“It’s alright. They won’t hurt you, Michael. I promise.”

Michael was still looking into your eyes, and there was something different about his expression…he looked almost…sad. House watched the whole scene with a stunned silence, trying to process what he had witnessed. The guards stepped forward and led Michael out of the chapel. The moment he was brought outside, you winced and started shaking.

You rubbed your own arms and tried to reassure yourself.

House stepped up to you and finally spoke, his voice quiet. “You’re an idiot.”

“I know.” You whispered—you eyes devoid of any emotion.

He kept staring at you for a few more moments before looking away and crossing his arms. “You could’ve died tonight.”

You nodded. “Well…death awaits us all.”

House’s eyes softened as he saw your empty expression. He put a hand on your shoulder.“Are you alright?”

“I…I’m fine.” You smiled at him. Even now, even when you almost died, you were still giving him that…damn smile.

He gripped your shoulder tighter and stared at you. He didn’t buy your answer at all. “Don’t give me that crap. You just had a man try to kill you, and you’re telling me you’re fine?”

You closed your eyes. “…I am still breathing.”

He could see right through you, he noticed how your hands still shook, how your skin was pale with adrenaline and how you were holding back your tears. Why were you still trying to act like you were alright? You weren’t okay.

He forced you to look at him. “That’s not the answer I was looking for, sunshine.”

Your smile twitched. “…It is the only answer you will get from me, House.”

He shook his head, narrowing his eyes as he held your cheek in his hand. “Not good enough. Now quit smiling. You’re not fine, so why are you trying to make it seem like everything is ok?”

You sighed and pulled away. “Do not pretend you care.”

His expression hardened a little as you tried to pull away. “Believe it or not. I do care.” He put a hand on your shoulder and forced you to look back at him. “I swear, if you force me to ask you what’s wrong one more time—“

You turned around to face him and finally snapped. “Doctor House. I almost died today. So no. I am not okay. But I have a job to do. And letting the patients see my fear, my doubts and my anxiety won’t help them or me. I am the head nurse of a hospital for slashers and supernatural beings. Every word, every movement and every emotion is being put under a microscope. I do not have the time to be sad or angry or upset…”

There it was…the truth behind everything. The reason why you were so cheerful to a fault, why you were always smiling, why you were always helping people. He stared at you…at the tears and the emotions and the pain and the fear…He saw the size of your heart. And it scared him.

You wiped your eyes and stood up straighter, trying to regain composure. “I can’t be weak. I don’t have the…luxury of being anything but fine.”

House, for once, didn’t know what to say.

Your heart was so huge. It almost made him feel small.

Your entire body was shaking from the tension, and yet you were still standing there, with your hands balled into fists and trying so hard to hold it together. “I am not fine. But I am not an idiot. I am not crazy. I am not naive or stupid. I am more realist than you ever were! I know what it takes to be a nurse in this hospital! I know that if I lose that smile you hate so much, then all I worked so hard for comes crashing down! Everything breaks and leaks and runs into the sand to disappear forever!”

He just…stood there, silently listening to your words. You were yelling, and it was the first time he had ever seen you this…emotional. You were no longer trying to smile. You were crying and shouting and shaking and gripping your coat, desperately telling him what it was like for you.

“I CARE ABOUT THE PATIENTS, THE STAFF AND EVERYONE BETWEEN THESE WALLS ! I DO BELIEVE IN REDEMPTION ! I DO BELIEVE IN THE BEST OF YOU AND ME AND EVERYONE ! AND IT IS NOT FAIR THAT I AM BOUND TO BE THE ONLY ONE TRYING TO FIX THINGS ! IT IS HARD ! IT IS HARD AND IT HURTS, HOUSE !”

You stood before him, breathing hard, exhausted and struggling to keep it all together. This woman…this woman he would always call crazy, this woman he would insult and belittle day in and day out…was sobbing her eyes out in front of him. You were no longer the smiling, cheerful, optimistic person he had known you to be. You were angry, desperate, and emotional…everything he had accused you of hiding.

You tried to dry your tears. “Go on. Mock me. Drench me with your sarcasm and skepticism. I am sure you are dying to do so…But I will be back tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that. So watch me help the patients or stay out of my way !”

He finally spoke again, his voice quiet, and he took a step closer. “No.”

You looked up at him, surprised at his response. “No? What…what do you mean ‘no’ ?”

He took another step closer, looking at your red eyes and disheveled hair. “I’m not gonna mock you. And I don’t want to be in your way.” He took another step closer. “No…I won’t mock you. I won’t mock you because I’ve spent weeks trying to prove you’re delusional. Every time I think I’ve found the evidence, you go and make another murderer cry.”

You were taken off-guard. In all the teasing and arguing and bickering you would face with him, you had never, not even once, seen him agree with you.

“You know what’s annoying? You’re actually good at this. I still think you’re insane. I just don’t think you’re wrong. I couldn’t do what you do, even if I wanted to pretend to be a good person for a day and try.” He told you honestly.

You were speechless. Here he was, the most cynical man you had ever met…He was the last person you would expect to ever receive any sort of compliments from. And yet here he was, the man who had been a complete jerk to you, drying your tears and calling you exceptional…You sighed and pulled away before picking up his cane. You then returned to him and gave it back to him.

“…It may be so, but I can’t do this on my own. I need help. Your help.”

He looked at you, surprised at your words and a bit confused. He took the cane from you, his hand grazing over yours for a second.

He raised an eyebrow and gave you a look. “My…help? You need my help?”

You smiled. “Yeah. I know. Shocking. But you are the only doctor who actually lasted in this place. You made it where so many failed. You are just as exceptional as I am and this is maybe why I…respect you as much as I do. Our methods are different. But I believe together we can do great work.”

He stood there in stunned silence, just looking at you, before finally speaking again. “Alright…I guess someone’s gotta have your back. But I have to warn you. I am terrible at trust falls.”

And there he was, being the bastard that you knew again…and you didn’t mind it at all.

Your smile grew a little as his sarcasm returned. “It’s okay…We’ll get there eventually.”

You then both left the chapel.

Back in the hospital

You were sitting in the infirmary as House asked you to show him your injuries from Michael. You sighed and lifted your shirt for him to examine the bruises and nail marks. He examined them, running his fingers gently over the marks and bruises, trying to assess any serious damages.

His eyes were fixed on your skin, and you could hear his own breathing slightly uneven.“Michael did a number on you…”

You smiled weakly. “He was scared. And upset.”

He nodded, tracing his fingers over the marks on your skin without even thinking. “He was still an asshole for that…”

He suddenly realized what he was doing and stopped touching you, pulling his hand away.

He quickly spoke up. “…Anyway…these look like they’re gonna hurt at the end of the day. Let’s get some ice on these nasty bruises.”

You nodded. He stood up and headed over to where all the medical supplies were store. He grabbed some gauze and ice to help with your injuries. He returned and stood in front of your seat and placed the ice and gauze on the table.

He then spoke up again. “Lift up your shirt again.”

You huffed playfully and smiled. “If you wanted another peep, doc. You could have just asked…”

He rolled his eyes as you teased him, but he couldn’t help the small smirk that formed on his lips. “Ha ha. Very funny. Just shut up and lift up your shirt.”

You chuckled and did as he asked. “Is that what you do now? Ask poor nurses to show you their battle wounds so you can have an eyeful?”

He just barely suppressed another smirk as he started applying the gauze to your side. “Please, you have no idea the kind of things I’m willing to do just to get people to show more skin.”

He ran his hands gently over your side, feeling your skin and wrapping the gauze snugly around your waist. You chuckled and stayed silent after that. He finished up, making sure the gauze was securely wrapping you.

“Done. How does it feel?”

You stood up. “Better.”

He nodded, folding his arms. “Good. Make sure that stays on for at least 2-3 hours.” He then smirked, looking at your now gauze-wrapped waist. “And no more trying to get crushed by crazy patients, alright?“

You smiled. “No promises.”

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk on his face.“You planning on getting crushed again? That some new fetish of yours ?”

You huffed. “Who does not dream to be crushed by a murderous mountain of muscles ? Every girl’s dream…” You pulled down your shirt. “Well, see you later, Dr. House.”

He didn’t lift his head. “Gregory.”

You froze and looked back at him quizzically.

He eventually lifted his eyes towards you. “My name. It’s Gregory. You can stop calling me Dr. House.”

You blinked before smiling. “Alright. See you around then, Gregory.”

One hour later…

You went to Jason Voorhees’ cell. You asked the guards to open the doors and entered before sitting down on the floor of the cell.“Hello, Jason. Remember me?”

Jason lifted his head up to look at you, but the rest of body remained still. He stared at you for a few moments before slowly nodding.

You smiled. “Good. I am so sorry I couldn’t come visit you earlier. It has been a very busy month…”

Jason didn’t respond, he just continued to look at you. He didn’t look hostile or angry. He was just…quiet. You coughed and took out something from your bag. “I…brought you a gift.”

You put down a small toad figurine in front of him. “I hope you like it? If you’d prefer a frog, I can bring another one.”

He looked down at the small figurine before gently picking it up, turning it over slightly to inspect it.

He seemed to…like it.

He wasn’t smiling, he wasn’t speaking either, but the way he was gently holding the figurine made you believe that he wasn’t disappointed. You sat down opposite him and smiled, watching as he kept observing the figurine. The two of you just sat there for quite a while in almost absolute silence, with the exception of the occasional sound from the guards standing by outside of the cell.

It was strangely peaceful. Just the two of you sitting across from each other…

“You like it ?”

He slowly nodded, still gently turning the figurine over in his hand.

“Are you…doing okay ?”

He looked up at you for a moment before slowly nodding again. Even though he wasn’t speaking, Jason had no problem communicating when he felt like it.

You observed him closely as he stared at the figurine and gently pet its head with one finger. He seemed so incredibly fascinated with this figurine, holding it with such care and attention that he never showed for anything else. Meanwhile, you just sat there, watching him, noticing those little mannerisms that made him so much more human than people made him out to be.

You coughed to catch his attention. “I was actually wondering if…perhaps you would like to see the frogs and toads near the lake?”

He tilted his head quizzically and stared at you thoughtfully, as if you contemplating a particularly difficult question. Then, after a few moments, he nodded once more.

Your smile widened and clapped your hands together. “Wonderful.” You stood up and knocked on the door of Jason’s cell. “Could you please open the door? Jason Voorhees is allowed 30 minutes of fresh air outside of the facility.”

One of the guards looked at you with a worried frown. “Are you serious? You’re letting this guy out of his cell?”

You coughed again. “When I will need your opinion, I will be sure to ask for it, sir. Now, this is my patient. And each patient will be allowed 30-minutes of recreation.”

The guard just grumbled to himself, not happy about this situation but he had no choice but to follow your orders. “Just know I won’t hesitate to shoot him down at the slightest sign of aggression.”

Your smile turned forced. “Right. Thank you for your valuable input. Open the door.”

The guard muttered one final remark before opening the door and letting out Jason. “This is a terrible decision…”

Jason stood up and quietly walked out of the cell door as soon as the guards opened it. He took note of the guards and their guns and looked at you, expecting your instructions.

You smiled and offered him your hand.

Jason gently placed the figurine in his pocket before looking at your hand. He stared at it for a few more moments before gently taking it. His hand was so much bigger than yours, almost enveloping your hand entirely. However, he held your hand very gently. You kept walking forward and opened each door until the very last one. Jason lifted a hand to cover his eyes as the sunlight reached his eyes. But he still let you lead him outside…hearing birds chipping away in the distance as you both kept walking.

He followed you with his head ducked down slightly. Even when the intense sunlight hit his eyes, he continued to follow you, trying to keep a hold on your hand as you guided him to the edge of the lake. He looked around, trying to get used to the sun on his skin, the breeze, the birds and the smells of nature. It had been such a long time since he had experienced something like this…

And then, you released his hand. You had arrived and smiled back at him. “Nice, huh ? I do sometimes miss the sunlight staying inside all day.”

His hand hovered in the air for a few seconds, feeling the absence of yours before dropping it back down to his side. He just nodded at your question, still not saying a word, as he kept looking around. He seemed entranced by it all. It was as if he hadn’t seen nature in years…and maybe he hadn’t. He just stood there, his eyes still adjusting to the brightness of the sunlight on the water of the lake, his head looked around as he drank in all of the different smells and sounds…

He then stepped closer to the lake and crouched down to sink his hand inside the fresh water.

His eyes closed and he looked genuinely happy.

Your smile softened at the sight of him gently stirring up the water with a single finger, the ripples continuing across the surface. He still hadn't said a word, but his breathing, his body language, his facial expressions, his mannerisms and the way he was sitting by the lake…all of it was enough for you to know exactly what he was thinking and feeling.

You walked closer and crouched down next to him to ask knowingly. "Enjoying yourself?"

He turned towards you and stared for a few moments before nodding. He then turned his gaze back towards the water, his large fingers gently skimming the surface, causing ripples to travel across the water and eventually reach the edge of the lake.

A calm silence surrounded the two of you, with nothing to disturb the tranquility.

You mimicked his movements.

He looked at you briefly, noticing that you were stirring up the lake water with your fingers as well. He returned his attention back to the water. But you could guess the ghost of a smile on his face.

His eyes then caught something moving in the water and in a matter of seconds, he had caught a fish with his bare hands.

You were about to congratulate him and ask if he would like to cook it for dinner when he suddenly lifted his mask to bite down into the fresh still-kicking fish.

You blinked before chuckling. “Well, that’s certainly a way to eat fresh.”

He looked satisfied with his catch and tore through the skin and flesh with his teeth, ripping it apart with savage strength. It was both disturbing and impressive, seeing such a grisly display, but…there was something else in his expression, beneath all the gore and viciousness. All the other patients ate their food as they were served, but Jason…he had always preferred to eat with his hands and mouth directly.

You smiled and looked into the water before attempting to catch a fish yourself, only for the fish to slip out of your fingers and slap you with its tail. You were stunned and started laughing. Jason made a small sound—a light chuckle, and his chest rumbled slightly. You turned to look at him and you were surprised to see that he was smiling. He was actually showing his teeth.

But he then realised he still had his mask off and promptly pulled it back down.

You continued to smile at him, having caught a glimpse of that small moment of genuine emotion. There was a sudden silence, save for the sound of the lake water and the birds chirping.

He was still holding the now fish skeleton in his hand, wiping the blood off his mouth with the back of his hand. But that small smile was still burned into your memory. Unfortunately, the 30 minutes were up quicker than expected and the guards brought Jason back in his cell.

Once back inside, Jason curled up into a ball where he usually slept and held onto the figurine, pressing it to his chest. You couldn’t help but smile at the precious sight.

But then, General McCain arrived and stopped next to you. “I heard you almost got killed by Michael Myers this morning. And now you let Jason Voorhees out of his cell? Do you have a death wish? Is that what this is?”

You turned to look at him with a frown on your face. “Jason’s a patient—same as the rest. And he has been behaving very well lately. As for Michael, he was sleepwalking and was scared. He just needed someone to reassure him. So no, I do not have a death wish. I’m just doing my job.”

McCain shook his head, his expression harsh and unforgiving. “I don’t think you understand how serious this is. We’re not dealing with regular patients here. These are mass murderers, psychopaths, rapists, serial killers—”

You rolled your eyes, cutting him off. “I know the file of every patient here. I know the severity of their disorders. I know them better than you do. You may be the head commander of this facility, but I’m in charge of all the patients. I am responsible for the well-being and recovery of every patient here, and that includes Jason.”

McCain gave you a disapproving look before l suddenly grabbing your upper arm tightly. “You are gonna get yourself killed. You think a couple of smiles and kind words are gonna magically cure these monsters?”

You winced. “Let go of me. It is that sort of attitude that has been damaging the patients’ health and safety.”

McCain tightened his grip on you, his fingers digging into your skin. He was more than fed up with your insolence. “You think these people want to get better? You think they even can get better? They’re mad, and the only thing you can do is lock them up in a cell and throw away the damn key.”

You glared at him. “Now that is going too far! I know you would rather that be the case. But I can assure you that as long as I am breathing, none of the patients will ever be treated like wild animals or mistreated ever again!”

McCain rolled his eyes. “Don’t you get it ? There is no rehabilitation for these people. You trying to get all chummy and friendly with them is only gonna get you killed!”

You growled and finally managed to yank your arm away from his grip. “No, you don’t get it. You haven’t even tried to talk to them. They’re not getting better because of the lack of treatment, the terrible conditions, and the fact that they are left alone with their thoughts!”

McCain scoffed. “The whole ‘being stuck in padded cells’ thing is to keep them from killing each other, and themselves for that matter. That’s the only treatment they’re gonna get, because they can’t be trusted around anyone else. They’re too dangerous.”

You were furious at this, clenching your fists by your sides. “That’s a load of crap and you know it! I know about the lack of therapy they used to get, the crappy food, the solitary confinement. None of that helped at all! They need help…And I want to give them that help.”

McCain sighed, getting irritated. “And how many more times are you gonna get almost killed today? Michael Myers attacked you earlier. How did you calm him down? By reassuring him and calling him by his name. That won’t work on every one of these psychos! You can’t talk your way out of danger every time !”

You were about to answer when Jason, who had been woken up by the screams, roared as he pounded on the door. He was clearly unhappy by the way McCain was yelling at and grabbing you.

McCain looked at him and huffed before getting his remote out. “See? You keep thinking that they somehow feel something for you. But you’re wrong. They don’t. They attack anyone and everyone…They’re animals.” He then pushed a button and Jason screamed in pain as electric shocks went through his body.

You looked at Jason who fell to the ground as the electric shocks ran through his body.

You felt pure anger.

Not only had McCain yelled at you, but he’d shocked a patient who had been completely non-hostile just a few moments ago. You could see the pain in Jason’s eyes as electricity coursed through him.

You grabbed McCain’s wrist. “Turn it off. Now.”

McCain did not look happy, but he did turn the remote off. “You gonna defend him now? He’s a psychotic, murderous serial killer, same as the rest of them. They’re not even human.”

You looked at him, your eyes filled pure, cold anger. “You say that like it’s a hard fact.”

You could see Jason still laying on the ground, groaning in pain as the electricity stopped. His breaths were haggard, but he was at least okay. McCain, on the other hand…

You just looked at him, taking a step closer. “You keep saying that you want to protect everyone…but they are the patients. They should be treated with as much respect and dignity as everyone here. How do you assume they will get any better if you only keep punishing them? They do feel things.”

McCain was becoming increasingly annoyed.“They feel blood-lust and killing instinct. That’s about it.” He suddenly grabbed your arm again. “And they’ll turn on you. They always do.”

You grunted as he grabbed you again, and you tried to pull your arm away. “No, they won’t. They aren’t stupid. They know better than to attack the only person who’s willing to listen to them.”

McCain scoffed disdainfully. “Oh yeah? Let’s put that theory to the test, shall we ?!”

He then dragged you away towards another cell and without a second thought…threw you in it. “They haven’t had their dinner yet. Let’s see how long they’ll ‘listen’ to you.”

You stumbled after him. “McCain, what are you doing?” McCain stopped in front of the reinforced cell doors, the yellow warning lights casting harsh shadows across the corridor.

“Proving a point. You think you can just waltz up to any of these monsters and have a little chat? You think they’re all gonna be friendly and sweet to you? Well, let’s see how you deal with the ones who are not human.” He looked at you with complete certainty. “Prove it.”

You frowned. “…What?”

He pointed towards the heavy steel door. “You keep telling everyone these monsters can be rehabilitated. You keep saying they’re people. Fine.” His voice was cold. “Walk in there and spend the night.”

Silence filled the corridor. The guards looked at each other—horrified. They knew who’s cell that was. The Penny Brothers…

“I-I don’t.” You started.

He stopped walking and looked at you from over his shoulder. “And why not? You said you could handle yourself, that the monsters in there are just misunderstood people. I’m giving you a chance to prove that. So go on.”

Your heartbeat sped up and you tried to quiet it down. You shook your head and looked at the cell. “Listen. That wouldn’t prove anything…”

McCain spoke again. “Does that mean you understand and give up? You will let me do my job without interfering?”

You remained silent for a moment, then you quietly answered. “I’ll spend the night.”

McCain blinked and stared. “What?”

He hadn’t even considered that you’d be foolish enough to agree.

You turned towards him. “If I refuse, then every time I’ll ask for better treatment, you’ll remember today.” You took a slow breath. “You’ll say I didn’t even trust them myself when it was time to prove my convictions.”

You looked at the guards. “Please unlock the door.”

None of them moved. They all looked towards McCain—waiting for him to put an end to this madness. But he didn’t. He gave a single nod.

The heavy locking bolts disengaged one by one. The massive door slowly rolled open. You looked at Pennywise and Penny who were now both staring at you with bright yellow or red eyes.

They were hungry…and you looked like dinner.

You took a deep breath and entered the cell. McCain seemed to regret his decision, but it was too late. He walked away.

He smirked in response. “Morning to you too, sleeping beauty. You were out like a light last night. I could've probably shot off a gun right next to you, and you'd still be asleep.”

“…Right. Thank you for giving me a place to sleep for the night.” You yawned.

He shrugged as he continued looking through the cabinets. “It was better than letting you pay for an overpriced room at a sketchy motel with some criminal waiting outside to mug you in the middle of the night.”

You smiled. “Would it be possible to have a cup of coffee?”

He nodded and closed the cabinet. “The machine's going, and it's brewing a fresh pot. It should be all ready in a minute or two. I was looking for something edible but…it has been a while since I’ve eaten breakfast.”

You nodded understandingly and your eyelids started falling on their own.

He noticed and smirked. “Still tired, huh?”

You didn’t answer and he hummed before nodding to himself. “Yeah, judging by the drool stain you've got going on, I'm gonna guess that the answer to that is an obvious 'yes'.” He turned his gaze back to the coffee machine for a moment before looking back at you. “Hey, you want cream and sugar?”

Your eyes were closed and you snored.

He rolled his eyes and smirked. “I don't know if that's a feat of sleep deprivation, or proof that you could definitely sleep through any disturbance—” He was suddenly interrupted by the sound of the percolator finishing its brew. He sighed before pinching your nose closed to wake you up.

You opened your eyes, looking around blearily and groggily, trying to process what just happened.

“You were sleeping so soundly, I was afraid you might die on me from lack of blood flow to your brain.” He explained. “Also, did you want cream and sugar in your coffee, or are you just drinking it black like any sane individual out there?”

You hummed, “Cream. Sugar. Lots of it. I need that sugar rush to last the day.”

He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Cream and sugar? And you call yourself a nurse?”

You lifted your hands to reach forward. “Come on. Please?”

He rolled his eyes playfully and shook his head. “Yeah, yeah. Cream and sugar it is.”

He turned back to the coffee pot and prepared it before stirring it up and bringing the mug over to the table. You smiled and cupped your hands around the steaming cup with a small satisfied smile.

He huffed and took a sip of his own coffee. “You look like one of those weird kids on TV having hot cocoa with marshmallows on a cold winter day. Does a little morning cup of Joe really make you that happy?”

You smiled and lifted your cup towards him. “Thanks, Santa.”

He rolled his eyes. “Please. Don’t insult me. I'm nothing like…that big round-faced jolly man with his white beard who says hohoho. I hate red and I suck at giving presents.”

“But you made me coffee.” You retorted playfully and took another sip.

He rolled his eyes again. “Yeah, and? The man makes toys for children and makes his way around the world every year, giving toys to people who've been nice. Making coffee is nowhere near as charitable.”

“Making coffee is a gift too. You did something for me.” You insisted—but clearly you were having the time of your life messing with him. He rolled his eyes again and took another sip of his own coffee as he watched you finish your liquid dessert and then put the empty mug down on the table.

“We should get ready for work.”

He nodded and stood up. “Yeah, gotta see more of the mad men.”

You both got dressed, went into the car and drove back to the hospital. Once there, he opened the car door and pulled himself out. You then both made your way towards the main entrance.

The moment your foot stepped inside the hospital, you straightened up and your expression changed.

Time for work.

He noticed and smirked. “Ahh, there it is. Nurse mode.”

You nodded wordlessly. “I would advise you to do the same. The patients can be quite the troublemakers. Just do not let your emotions show fear or anger.”

He scoffed. “I’m a doctor. I worked in the ER. You know what kind of people get referred to the ER on a regular basis? Drug addicts, prostitutes, the mentally ill, gang members, criminals, the homeless…I’ve seen and dealt with the worst of the worst, and I’m good at keeping people from seeing what I really think.”

You nodded understandingly and you both rode the elevator up to the right floor.

…

A few hours passed, Dr House was just coming out of one of the patients’ room when he saw you in the hallway, looking into a patient’s file on a clipboard.

He limped over to you and looked over your shoulder. “What do you have there?”

“Brahms Heelshire’s file.” You answered without looking at him. “Yesterday was his third escape attempt this week…”

He scoffed. “Brahms Heelshire? Really? That guy’s been here for what, 4 or 5 years? And he’s still trying to escape?”

You nodded absentmindedly. “I just do not understand…why? He has no family anymore. Nothing to go back to.”

He looked over the file. “Well, there’s usually only two kinds of people who try to escape as frequently as he does: the ones who haven’t come to terms with their current situation yet and the ones with severe mental illnesses. Given the current situation, I’d wager it’s probably a bit of the former and a good bit of the latter.”

You nodded and started walking towards the patient’s cell. He followed you. “Do you really think he’s going to talk to us? I mean…that guy could just decide to kill us both.”

You smiled at him playfully. “Do not speak and I think everything will be just fine.”

He lifted a skeptical eyebrow at you, slightly surprised at your sudden sass, but he still smirked. “Oh, really? Challenge accepted. I’ll be as silent as a church mouse.”

You chuckled before taking out a stuffed bear from your bag. “Cute?”

He gave you a questioning look. “Are you planning on using that to tame Brahms?”

You smiled enigmatically, but didn’t answer before entering the cell. You looked around and found the poor man curled up at the foot of his bed. House followed behind you and took in the sad sight. It really was a pitiful picture: a man curled up like a child with a blank stare. He looked sick and exhausted.

You sat down on the bed and offered him a friendly smile. “Good afternoon, Brahms. Did you sleep well?”

The man didn’t answer at first, but then groaned and buried his face into his arms before muttering an inaudible reply.

You smiled. “Ah. Not so good then I take it?”

He didn’t look up, but he muttered again in response—a little louder this time. “When does it ever get ‘good’ in here?”

You nodded understandingly before scooting closer and taking out the stuffed bear to sit it down on the bed. The man lifted his head and turned to look at the bear, his gaze moving from the toy to you before turning his head back down.

You coughed and made the stuffed arm wave. When he saw the toy wave, he immediately sat up. You smiled victoriously—at least now he was paying attention. “This is Miss Daisy. Miss Daisy wants to know what is going on and what it would take for you to give her a smile.”

He stared at the toy curiously before extending a tentative hand. He eventually touched the toy bear, running his fingertips over its soft and fluffy surface. Meanwhile, Doctor House remained silent as he had promised and observed Brahms’ reactions. The patient seemed happy enough as he squeezed the toy. He then pressed the plushie against his face and inhaled deeply.

“You like the gift ?” You asked as he continued to hug the toy, nodding his head as he buried his face even deeper into its fluff.

You nodded. “Could you perhaps tell me why you have been so eager to leave recently?”

He lifted his face from the toy momentarily and answered in a weak and quiet voice. “I don’t like it here…”

You nodded again. “I see. May I ask why? I understand that there has been some improvements in living conditions…I thought it might change your wish to escape.”

He looked down at the toy bear. “It feels like a prison in here…it makes me feel trapped. I just want to go outside—anywhere else.”

You nodded understandingly. “I see…Well, I cannot promise to get you out of hospital grounds yet but, perhaps would you like to go outside? Have access to the gardens? Would that improve your mood?”

His eyes lit up at the idea, and he nodded vividly, clutching the toy even tighter and bringing it closer to his chest. “Yes please.”

You nodded and wrote it down. “Noted.”

He nodded again, cradling the toy bear in his arms and pressing it against his chest. “If I…” He paused for a moment, looking down at the toy. “If I…behave…could I make a special request?”

You smiled. “Sure thing, Brahms. What do you want?”

He suddenly went silent for a minute. You heard him say something, but it was mumbled into the toy, and too quiet to hear. You leaned forward a bit closer to him. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I didn’t catch that. Could you repeat please?”

He moved the stuffed toy away from his face, and he looked away, suddenly looking embarrassed. “I…I wanted to ask…if I could have…” He looked at you and then back down at the toy, then back up at you. However, he couldn’t seem to meet your eyes. “…a friend.”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise and you tilted your head a bit. “A friend?”

He nodded, but still did not meet your eyes and fiddled with the bear toy. “Yes. Just…a friend—a nice person to talk to and play with. Please?”

You felt your heart go out to him. He seemed so pitiful, and desperate. You reached out and gently placed your hand on his arm. “I’ll see what I can do, Brahms.”

He looked up at you for a moment, his eyes wide and hopeful before he looked down at the toy, and then back up at you. “Really? You can get me a friend? You won’t just say you will and then forget about it, like everyone else…?”

You shook your head with a small reassuring smile. “No, sweetie, I won’t do that. I’ll personally see that you have a nice, kind, and caring friend. I won’t forget about it, I promise.”

He seemed satisfied with the promise, and he hugged the toy even closer, rubbing his face against the bear again. “Thank you…”

You chuckled lightly and nodded, patting his arm gently. “Yeah, of course.”

He let out a breath and closed his eyes, nuzzling his face against the toy once more as a happy and relieved look appeared on his face.

You nodded and then looked at Doctor House. “This is Doctor House. He will examine you now. Would you agree to that?”

He looked over to House and seemed scared for a moment, but then nodded in agreement. “Yeah, it’s fine…”

You smiled and nodded as well. You kept an eye on Brahms, making sure he stayed calm and at ease as House approached. The doctor looked down at Brahms and nudged his foot with the end of his cane. “Stand up, big guy.”

Brahms slowly stood up from the bed, being careful to keep his toy clutched tightly in his arms as he did. House nodded and set his cane against the side of the bed. He then looked Brahms up and down, looking for anything that might be wrong. He then noticed a small scratch on Brahms’s right arm. “What happened here ?”

Brahms looked down at the scratch and held up his arm, showing it to House. He then seemed to remember something, and his gaze dropped sheepishly—like a toddler. He mumbled an answer, the sound too soft for either of you to hear.

House raised his eyebrow and leaned forward closer to Brahms. “Couldn’t hear you, kid. Say it again, a little louder this time.”

Brahms raised his voice, though it was more timid than anything and replied, his gaze still on the ground. “I tried to escape again and a wire in the fence cut my arm.”

House nodded as he listened, noting the injury. “Well that was a stupid thing to do, wasn’t it? You’re lucky you only got a scratch.”

He nodded, still looking down and holding his toy tightly. “Yeah. I won’t do it again…”

House nodded and sighed, looking Brahms up and down. “It’s really a shame, and you’ve tried it, what—three times this week? Pal. Take a clue.”

Brahms’s shoulders slumped even further downward as he was scolded. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop…”

House shook his head in response. “Well, you’d better, or next time you might actually hurt yourself. You’re lucky you only got a scratch this time. That fence is designed to keep people like you from escaping. What if you hit your head next time you try to escape? Or break something? There’s no point in continuing to try to escape, so I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

Brahms tilted his head. “I just…want to get out.”

House hummed as he proceeded to bandage the wound. “Really now? And where do you plan on going when you do get free? Do you even have somewhere to go?”

Brahms didn’t respond. He just looked away sheepishly, fidgeting nervously with the toy in his hands.

House sighed and rolled his eyes. “Exactly. You don’t have a plan. You don’t have any place to go. You don’t have a job, or money, or anything. You can’t take care of yourself. All you’re gonna do is end up back here, probably with more scratches and broken bones, so just accept it and stop trying to escape.”

Brahms hummed. “My family gave me money.”

House scoffed as he finished the bandage. “Your family might’ve given you money years ago, but it’s 202… now. There’s a very, VERY strong chance that any money you were given is worthless now. And besides, what would you do with it? Build yourself another manor? Keep preying on harmless babysitters? Kill whoever bothers you in your gloomy teenager phase?”

Brahms looked down at the floor and started to get teary-eyed, clearly affected by the doctor’s words and the trauma from his past. “I…I-I don’t…”

“Doctor House.” You intervened with a displeased expression. “A word outside?”

He looked at you and rolled his eyes, but he still hobbled out into the hall. You stepped outside after him and you faced him with a disapproving frown. “We are supposed to help them—not berate them.”

He scoffed and shook his head in disbelief. “I am helping him. I’m toughing him up so that he’ll quit escaping and hurting himself.”

“This establishment is about redemption. What message are we sending if you start telling them that there is no escape?” You reminded him.

He rolled his eyes. “I’m telling the truth. And reality doesn’t care about feelings or being ‘nice.’ It’s better to get him used to the idea now that he’s not going anywhere than to keep lying to him and telling him that there's hope.”

You frowned in incomprehension. “What do you mean?”

He shook his head and sighed in exasperation. “Exactly what I said. That kid in there is never getting out of this hospital. There’s no point trying to feed him stories about how he’s capable of going free and living in the world again. It’s never going to happen, and it’s better to get him used to that idea now than to let him continue thinking he has a chance.”

Your jaw twitched. “I BELIEVE in them. I believe in sending them back into society.”

He rolled his eyes again. He put on a fake smile and added a sickly-sweet tone to his voice in an attempt to tease and mock you. “Of course you do, ‘sunshine’.”

Your eyes widened at his mocking tone and you shook your head. “If you do not believe in their redemption, then what are you doing here?”

He rolled his eyes again and dropped the fake smile. “I’m a doctor. I work wherever I’m needed. Or wherever I am paid. I don’t have a choice in the matter, and I’m not here for their ‘redemption’.” He made air quotes around "redemption" to indicate the sarcasm in his sentiment. “I am here to make sure they stay alive. And because I was mildly interested in the special freaks you seem to have locked up.”

You gasped and thrusted a finger into his chest. “We never use that word. Take that back!”

His eyebrows shot up and he looked at your finger on his chest with an annoyed expression, then back up at you. “What ? ‘Freaks’? Why? Can’t handle the fact that that’s what they are? They’re abnormal, and therefore freaks. I’m just being ‘honest’. One of the qualities you seem to value so much.”

You grit your teeth and seethed. “Careful, Dr. House. There is a thin line between honesty and cruelty.”

He rolled his eyes again. “Oh, spare me. They’re in a hospital for homicidal lunatics, and they’ve clearly got severe mental problems. You don’t fix reality by changing the vocabulary. You think they’re gonna get offended about me calling them freaks?”

He turned towards the cells and as if to prove his point he shouted. “FREAKS!”

Your chest heaved and you glared at him. “I obviously made a mistake hiring you…”

He huffed and rolled his eyes. “Oh, please, you couldn’t get rid of me even if you tried. You do not have any doctors besides me. None of my predecessors lasted. I am here for as long as I’m paid to be here. You’ll just have to deal with me. Besides, you just don’t like the fact that I’m not acting like your perfect ideal of a doctor.”

You looked him up and down. “Obviously not.”

He smirked and shrugged. “So sorry to not fit the job description. I’m so sorry I’m not some cheerful, happy doctor who gets all gushy over people with mental problems and wants to treat them like they’re children…”

“No. I wanted a doctor who I could trust.” You snapped. “ I wanted a doctor who understands my vision. I wanted a doctor who wanted the patients to get better!”

He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh, don’t give me that crap about wanting the patients to get better, alright? You may genuinely want that, but you’re delusional for thinking that you can actually get these people to become normal. They were locked away for a reason, and trying to get them to rejoin society is an unrealistic pipe dream.”

“Then this discussion is over.” You seethed and turned around to leave.

He grabbed your arm before you could leave and spun you back around. “Hey, wait. Don’t get all pissy now.”

You glared at him and wretched your arm away. “To be a sunshine takes everything I have. To stay positive and keep smiling are my ways to give the patients something to look forward to. What do you offer them?”

He put his hands in his pockets and glared right back at you. “Realism. I offer them someone to be real with them. Not someone who tries to baby them and treat them like they’re not outcasts, like you do…”

“THEY ARE NOT DEAD YET, HOUSE!” You snapped. ”They can still dream of better things than your cold harsh reality.”

He looked at you with a slight look of surprise as you shouted, but he still answered defiantly. “Don’t you get it? That kid in there,” he gestured towards the cell, “he’s a serial killer. What better things do you think he deserves?”

Your eyes watered. “They deserve a chance, House. An actual chance. They are broken. But they can be fixed. We can glue back the pieces.”

He sighed in disbelief and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “People aren’t like that. They’re not a puzzle to be pieced back together.”

A single tear rolled down your cheek. “…And I thought you’d be smart enough to understand the importance of hope.”

He looked away towards the cells and muttered. “Hope’s for idiots.”

Your heart clenched in your chest and you quickly wiped your tears. “…Right. Thank you for your honesty.” With that, you walked away.

House found himself standing still for several moments before he cursed and hobbled after you. “Y/N. Wait.”

He fell. You did not look back.

“Would you hold on for a second?” But you were already gone. He cursed and grumbled to himself as he sat on the floor. He rubbed at the ache in his leg and sighed. “Great. Just…great.” He tried to stand up, but his leg was feeling worse than usual. He leaned against the wall and tried to get up again.

He finally managed to stand up and stopped next to a cell where a voice spoke up.

“Pff. Way to go, jackass.”

He turned towards the cell and rolled his eyes, immediately recognizing that insufferable voice. “Oh, great. You—of all people…”

Freddy smirked. “Making our lil’ mama bear unhappy? Tut-tut. Bad idea, House.”

He rolled his eyes. “Bite me, Krueger.”

Freddy grinned and suddenly grabbed House’s arm and pulled it inside his cell.“Sure. If you insist...” He then bit it hard.

House shouted obscenities and tried to pull away, dropping his cane as he tried to retrieve his arm. “Let go of my arm, you crazy bastard.” His arm was bleeding now, and Krueger still had a vice-like grip on it. He could see the blood trickling down his arm, and he tried to pry his arm free from his grip, but he was too strong. “I said let go, Krueger!”

Freddy didn’t obey and only sank his teeth deeper as the other patients started making noise or even laughing around them. He tried to pull his arm back again, but it was no use. He punched Krueger as hard as he could in the ribs with his free hand, but he still held on like a rabid animal.

Suddenly, a voice raised behind him. “FREDDY.”

You stood there.

Krueger froze, though his grip was still as tight as ever. He turned to look at you, as did House.

You stepped forward and faced Freddy. “Let go of the doctor’s arm. Now.”

Freddy smirked challengingly and tightened his grip on House’s arm. “And what happens if I don’t?”

You hesitated—reaching for the familiar remote in your pocket to activate the electric collar around Freddy’s neck. You could hurt him. But instead…you asked. “Let us say you break or rip off the doctor’s arm. And then what, Mister Krueger? What do you think will happen?”

Freddy chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. “He’ll cry in pain, and I’ll have a good laugh.”He chuckled again, tightening the grip on House’s arm, though not enough to break it, just enough to make it ache a bit more.

You nodded. “Okay. You have a good laugh. Then what?”

He rolled his eyes. “Then I’ll let him go, and I’ll get put in solitary for a few days. Big deal.”

You sighed.

“Freddy. I am going to be honest with you.” You took a deep breath. “I have bet a lot on you and all the patients in this hospital. I have made an important deal with someone to improve you and the other patients’ living conditions. I am not ready to give up. But you need to show that you have improved. I need you and the other patients not to harm or kill any members of staff…I need you to trust me and let go of Doctor House’s arm. Please.”

He smirked before looking at House’s bleeding arm, then back at you. “You’re trying to bargain with me, huh? How cute…but why should I care about your lil’ deal?”

You closed your eyes and thought about it. Telling him about future consequences or rewards wouldn’t help. Slashers are unable to grasp long-term benefits. Then, it hit you. “You asked for a garden, right? I remember. I already made the demand and all the necessary equipment should soon arrive. I am trying, Freddy. But it’s hard when nobody else seems to think you can be or do better. And if you keep hurting or killing staff members then I won’t be able to help you anymore. And that would mean less for you—a lot less than what was granted so far and me possibly getting fired.”

He looked at you curiously for a moment, tilting his head slightly to the side as he thought about it hard, then his grip on House’s arm loosened a bit. He was silent, his eyes glued to your face, trying to discern if you were lying or not.

You opened your eyes—cold sweat running down your face. “Please.”

He looked at you thoughtfully for a moment, and then suddenly let go of House’s arm, shoving him back into the hallway. “Alright, mama bear. I’ll play your little game for a while. Maybe for a few days, or a week or two. But don’t think I’m doing any of this for your sake. I’m doing it for me, and only for me.”

House stumbled back into the hallway and took a few steps backwards, holding his injured arm. He looked down at it, at the bite mark that was inflicted by Krueger. “Great. I’m probably going to need shots now…”

Freddy cackled and flipped him off. You took House’s good arm and dragged him away. He didn’t resist, but as you both started walking, he looked at you quizzically. “You realize what you just did, right? You just made a deal with a homicidal psychopath.”

You glared at him. “It was that or you lost your arm. You should be thanking me on your knees right about now.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Oh, spare me with the self-righteous indignation bit. I’m fully aware that you made a smart choice and that you helped me out. I’m just saying you made a deal with a madman that’s all. The Springwood Slasher? The guy who kills people in their dreams? And you want to trust him? That’s gonna blow up in your face at some point…”

You didn’t answer.

He rolled his eyes again and sighed. “Oh, right, I forgot…you don’t like negative comments about your precious ‘redemptive’ dream, do you? You’re just going to keep ignoring me until I agree that all of your patients are just misunderstood and need help. Yeah. That’ll work out great.”

You reached the infirmary and sat him down on the bed before looking around for some medicine and bandages. He sat down on the bed and rolled up his sleeve, exposing his wounded arm up to his elbow. “That bastard got me good…”

“You’ll live.” You replied flatly.

He scoffed and looked at you with a glare. “Oh, thank you so much for that comforting bit of wisdom. I feel so much better now.”

“What blood-type are you?” You ignored his comment and decided to focus on the most important.

“B/T. Why? You gonna give me a blood transfusion too, Mother Theresa?” He mocked and huffed before looking away.

You hummed. “Guess what? It’s your lucky day. We match.”

“Of course there would be another convenient twist. Of course you just happen to have the same blood type as me…Why am I not surprised?” He sighed and laid his head back.

You smiled. “Relax. It’s just a bite. It’s not like he cut off your arm.” He winced as you touched the wound, his fingers clutching the sheets of the bed. You restrained a laugh.

“Oh, go ahead and laugh. I’m sure you’ll be laughing your ass off if I get blood poisoning and my arm falls off. I’m sure that’ll be hilarious.” He grumbled.

“Do not worry. You know I would never let your arm fall off.” You replied assuredly.

He rolled his eyes again. “Oh, right. Nothing will happen to me because you’re here, my hero.”

“Eeexactly.” You smiled and finished bandaging his arm.

He looked down and lightly touched the bandages, critically assessing your work. “Just a question…have you always been this insufferable, or did you become this annoying after starting this job?”

You smiled again. “It is an innate gift I believe.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, I see. So you’ve been born and raised to be a pain in the ass then. Wonderful. You’re the pinnacle of human achievement, truly the best of our species. Tell me, what made you want to work at a nut house instead of a legitimate hospital?”

You smiled—but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “That is a story for another day, doctor.”

He huffed and shrugged. “I’m sure it’s such an inspiring story. Saving the lost souls of the most horrific killers this world has to offer. Aren’t you just a saint?”

You went to the sink and wordlessly washed your hands while he continued to sit on the bed. “You should go into the Olympics, you know. You’d do great in the self-righteousness competition.” He jabbed.

“Oh? Is that so? Maybe I should…” You replied evenly with a thin smile and dried your hands in a towel. You then turned around to face him and said sarcastically. “But then who would be there to care about the poor little doctor who doesn’t care about his own life?”

He looked up at you with a slight glare, his expression turning to an annoyed one as you smirked down at him. “Don’t try to play the ‘who’ll take care of me’ card. I can take care of myself just fine; I already have, before I met you.”

You hummed. “And yet, you are here. In this hospital. Must mean that your former colleagues didn’t like you very much.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes again, his glare getting even more exaggerated. “Oh, you’re brilliant, you know that? You got me there. I don’t have a comeback for that. How about next you tell me how I’m still single and how I work too much—so you can complete the list of obvious things about me?”

You chuckled. “Why tell you things you already know?” Your eyes met his and you added. “How about being nice to the only colleague who actually tolerates you and wants to keep you alive? And a thanks? That would be a start.”

He rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but fine. Thank you for not letting me die. Satisfied?”

You smiled. “Immensely. Now if you will excuse me, I have patients to take care of.” You turned around and left—leaving Doctor House to meditate on your words..

That night

It was late at night and everyone had gone home for the night. However, you had fallen asleep at your desk. House limped down the dark quiet halls. He wasn’t sure why he had had the sudden urge to be up and about, but he couldn’t just stay in his office, staring blankly at the ceiling.

So here he was, wandering the corridors, hoping to just kill time. He slowly walked past your office and noticed that the light was still on. Curiosity took hold of him, and he slowly poked his head through the crack of the open door.

Sure enough, there you were, slumped over your desk—sound asleep. What was it with you and working yourself to death? He quietly walked over to your desk, looking down at you with a bemused smile.

Your cheek was pressed against a list of files with a paper written: POTENTIAL FRIENDS FOR BRAHMS HEELSHIRE…

He picked up the list and skimmed over it, chuckling to himself at the idea of you looking for friends for Brahms, because the little boy man had asked for one.

Five Hargreeves. Michael Myers. Penny. Jason Voorhees.

He shook his head as he read the list you had made. No way in hell would any of these freaks ever agree to befriend that creepy little doll fanatic. He looked down at you and shook his head with an amused smile. You were insane…But then, his hand moved on its own to stroke the back of your head.

He froze as his hand moved across your hair, and he realized what he was doing. What was he doing? What the hell was this?

He snatched his hand back and closed his eyes, trying to regain control of his body. He exhaled and ran his hand across his face instead, trying to compose himself. He needed work. Right. Work. So instead he looked over the files you were looking at. He took one of them and read over it, curious what information you had gathered on the potential friends for Brahms.

Some of the names on the list made sense, but some…made him do a double take. Jason Voorhees was a high-level threat patient. Even he rarely went into his cell…So why would you even think about him?

He looked over your notes. They both had family trauma, they both were rejected as a kid and seemed to share child-like traits…

He put down the file and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was crazy. But somehow it also made a lot of sense.

He shook his head before taking a marker…Time to act like his old jerk self again! He uncapped the marker—ready to scribble whatever on your face—but couldn't bring himself to do it. He looked over your sleeping form once again, then looked at the marker in his hand, feeling more and more frustrated with every passing second.

He couldn't force his mind to think the negative things that were his MO. He leaned against the side of the desk and sighed again. He shook his head. He was behaving like an idiot. Hell, he should be drawing all over your stupid face right now, like his brain was telling him to do.

His fingers slowly slipped to the back of your neck and he frowned a little as he noticed how warm you actually were.

That wasn’t normal.

“Hey, Y/N?” He called you, but you didn’t answer. “Hey, come on, wake up, sunshine.” He called out to you again, a bit louder this time.

When you still didn’t respond, he put down the marker on the desk and moved next to you. He gently shook your shoulder, trying to make you respond with increasing worry. He tried once again to shake your shoulder, and this time, you groaned and slowly lifted your head off the desk, but you didn’t seem aware of your surroundings.

You then noticed Doctor House and smiled—clearly in a daze “Hi…Sorry. I fell asleep. My head is…killing me.”

He sighed with a mixture of worry and relief, seeing that you were at least awake now. “Yeah, no kidding. You’re burning up…”

You scoffed and stood up. “Nonsense. I feel fine…”

You almost fell. He caught you with difficulty. “Right. You can’t even stand on your own two feet, don’t try to feed me that garbage. You’re sick. Take it from the doctor.”

You didn’t move and groaned again. “I shouldn’t be sick. I have work to do. Your leg will give out and then we’ll both fall like two idiots…”

He sighed. “…My leg’s fine. It’s not like I’m gonna collapse if you lean on me. You need to lie down. Come on.” He moved you both to the couch in the corner of the office and laid you down. “….How long have you been feeling sick?”

You sighed. “I don’t know…This afternoon? I went to check on a patient and returned to my office and now my head has a giant hammer inside pounding against my skull…”

He sighed again, feeling your fever once more. “Don’t you know better than to ignore signs of an oncoming illness? You’re a nurse, aren’t you?”

You looked up at him with eyes half closed and a massive headache before seething. “Fffffffffffffffffff—you.”

“You can’t even swear at me properly. You really are sick.” He replied with a smirk.

You sighed and resigned yourself to being a slug. House watched you for a long moment, expecting you to protest again. Instead, you simply curled up slightly on the couch, your eyes drifting shut immediately. It was so unlike you that it bothered him. The woman who spent every waking hour racing from one crisis to another, who somehow had enough energy to smile at every patient she met, had turned into this…over-exhausted pile of flesh.

He glanced back towards the cluttered desk. Several empty coffee mugs sat forgotten among the paperwork, and there was a half-eaten granola bar still in its wrapper that looked as though it had been abandoned hours earlier.

Judging from the state of the office alone, you hadn’t been taking particularly good care of yourself.

His eyes narrowed. “No wonder.”

He pushed himself upright with his cane and limped over to the small cabinet in the corner of the office that served as your emergency medical supplies. He opened it without ceremony, rifling through its contents. Thermometer. Blood pressure cuff. Disposable gloves. Antipyretics. Oral rehydration salts.

He grabbed what he needed before returning to the couch.

You didn’t even open your eyes when he slipped the digital thermometer beneath your tongue. “…Don’t chew it.”

You gave him an incoherent grunt that sounded vaguely offended but obeyed nonetheless. The thermometer beeped and he pulled it free to look at it. “One hundred and three. What an idiot…”

You frowned without opening your eyes. “I heard that.”

“I’m counting on it.” He reached for the bottle of fever reducer, shook two tablets into his hand, then filled a paper cup with water from the cooler in the corner. “Sit up.”

He slid one arm carefully behind your shoulders and lifted you just enough that you were sitting against the armrest. Your head immediately lolled sideways until it came to rest against his shoulder.

He placed the tablets into your hand. “Medicine.”

You looked down at your own fingers as though they belonged to somebody else. “…How?”

He sighed tiredly. “You put them in your mouth.”

“…Oh.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Medical school. And yet here we are.”

You swallowed the tablets with the water he held for you before immediately allowing your head to fall back against his shoulder again. House found himself sitting there far longer than he’d intended. His original plan had simply been to confirm you weren’t dead. Then it had become making sure you took something for the fever. Now…he was apparently functioning as furniture. For the first time since he’d met you, you looked genuinely at peace. His eyes drifted back toward the files scattered across your desk.

Every page was covered with observations written in your handwriting—not about what crimes they’d committed, but about what made them laugh, what frightened them, what foods they preferred, which staff members they trusted, how they reacted to praise, and which patients might calm each other instead of provoking one another.

You stirred against him. “House…”

He looked down immediately. “What?”

“…Don’t…forget to feed the Penny Brothers…”

STACK

Stack whistles when he sees these beauties on your skin. He’s obsessed, "C’mere, baby. Lemme see ya."

He pulls you into his arms and smirks before playing with your piercings. He then kisses the newly-pierced zones and chuckles.

"I believe we gotta celebrate those beauties, don’t ya think?" You end up in the bedroom.

BO

Bo stares.

He then smirks and whistles. "Hello there, sweetheart. Nice lil’ things ya got there. Mind if I touch? They sensitive?"

He starts experimenting and touching them curiously.

BERT

Bert is stunned before he giggles maniacally and starts clapping his hands excitedly. "Oooh. That looks really nice. Can I touch? Please? Can I touch?!"

He will insist until your give in and let him touch you.

JOAN

Joan is confused. "Why would you do that to your own skin?" It would take her time to get used to it, but she would eventually learn to appreciate them.

CORNBREAD

Cornbread is happy to see you with them. He grins and pulls you flush against his chest. "Look at ya. Love the new look."

MARY

Mary smiles and puts her hands on your waist. She admires the piercings and grins. "Pretty as a picture."

ANNIE

Morgan is a doctor, a doctor who knows exactly how many bones exist in the human body and how much blood loss it takes you to bleed out and die.

So Morgan brings the man deep into the forest and calmly explains every injury he’s about to receive in scientific detail. No one hears the earth-shattering screams he produces as Morgan proceeds to cut off each of his fingers.

Morgan visits the hospital after finishing his…other appointment. He immediately checks your charts then personally argues with three nurses. Morgan would become a nightmare for every medical professional involved. It means the hospital staff would quickly discover they have acquired a second attending physician they never hired.

"Why is their medication dosage this low?"

"Doctor—"

"Answer the question."

HANNIBAL JR

You almost wish he would yell. At least then you’d know what he was feeling. Instead, he simply sits beside your bed and reads while keeping one hand on yours.

He knows you’re awake.

"Who was it?"

You tell him. He nods and says nothing more about the matter. However, the man later receives a visit. Hannibal Jr. dismantles people psychologically. He learns their fears, their insecurities and their secrets.

And then he quietly pulls every thread. Within months the man is living in constant paranoia.

The worst part? He can never prove Hannibal did anything. Because Hannibal Jr. never leaves evidence behind. And then one day, the man mysteriously vanishes. You don’t ask what happened. You just know that the family had a lot of meat to eat this week.

KEVIN

"…What?" Kevin cannot believe there is an idiot who thought he would be clever enough to hurt you and get away with it.

His eyes darken and he loses all emotions in his pupils. It is a frightening sight. He stares at you and smirks. "Don’t worry, princess. Kevin’s gonna fix this for ya. Real quick."

He proceeds to drive to the man’s place and break every single thing he has in his house. When the man returns later, he walks on shards of glass and ceramics all over the place.

He doesn’t even get a warning before Kevin hits him with a baseball bat—so hard that he instantly hits the ground. Then Kevin kicks the back of his head, the shards of glass and ceramics piercing the skin of his face.

The man screams in pure agony and Kevin smiles before taking a picture.

PETER

Peter looks innocent. That is the problem. Most people see the blond curls, the big dark eyes, the soft voice, and immediately assume he is harmless.

The man who hurt you makes that exact mistake.

Peter spends the first few days at the hospital sitting beside your bed. He holds your hand whenever the pain gets bad. He brings you books, snacks, flowers—anything he thinks might make you smile. But something about the way he looks at you makes you uneasy. Because Peter only looks that calm when he’s already made up his mind.

A week later, the man receives a knock on his door. When he opens it, he finds Peter standing there.

Alone. He is holding a small gift basket. The man almost laughs as he gazes up sweet innocent little Peter.

Peter smiles. "Hi."

The conversation starts pleasantly. The man answers because Peter seems harmless.

Peter’s smile never changes. The longer the conversation continues, the more frightened the man becomes. Because Peter slowly removed his mask. The lies. The affairs. The money hidden from relatives. The betrayals. The things he thought nobody else knew.

He knows everything.

Finally, the man stands. "You need to leave."

Peter remains seated. His expression is still gentle and kind. Yet the room feels colder.

"You hurt my family." The words are spoken softly. "I don’t think you understand what that means."

With that, Peter gets out a knife and straddles the man to stab him 50 times without losing his smile. At the end, he cleans himself up and calls Grant to come and clean up the mess.

GRANT

The man notices the truck first. An old pickup parked across the street. Then he notices it again the next day. The same truck. The same driver. The same pair of tired eyes watching him.

Eventually the man approaches. "What do you want?"

Grant lowers the window. "Just looking."

"Looking at what?"

Grant studies him for a moment then he shrugs. "Nothin’ special."

The man spends the next week becoming increasingly nervous. Because Grant never leaves. One evening he finally snaps. "WHY ARE YOU FOLLOWING ME?!"

Grant steps out of the truck and scratches his beard. "You hurt somebody."

The man swallows. "It was an accident."

Grant nods. "Maybe. Doesn’t matter much to the person lying in a hospital bed."

The man takes a step backward and Grant watches him closely.

"That’s somebody’s kid." His voice is barely above a whisper. He then chuckles humourlessly. "Man…you chose the wrong family to mess with."

Grant sighs before rolling up his sleeves. "You’re lucky, y’know?"

"Why?" The man asks suspiciously.

A faint smile appears on Grant’s face. "Because they could have come and ended your life. Instead, they asked me to deal with ya." With that, Grant starts punching and kicking the man to an inch of his life.

The next day…

You smile when you see him. "Hey, Grant."

Hannibal Sr. would be speaking, calm as ever, and then he would simply stop mid-thought when you appeared. Not because he forgot what he was saying. Because something else had taken priority.

Morgan noticed and he didn’t like it.

His father loved Clarice, still mourned Clarice and he wasn't interested in Y/N.

But then he began catching moments when his father's gaze lingered. That was what finally made Morgan understand.

You reminded Hannibal Sr. of Clarice. Morgan disliked emotional attachments. They made people irrational.

One evening he found his father alone. “She looks like her.”

There was no point pretending he didn't know and Hannibal Sr. looked up from his book. For a long moment neither man spoke.

Then Hannibal Sr. calmly turned a page. "She does." He didn’t try to deny it.

Morgan's jaw tightened. "And that's why you're watching her."

"I watch her because you are interested in her. A father must know if someone is worth belonging to the family before letting them enter the family." He replied evenly.

From that day forward Morgan became more protective of you. Because he knew exactly what grief could do to people. Especially men like Hannibal Sr. And while Morgan trusted his father with many things, he did not trust him with you.

Kevin was not subtle. That was both his greatest strength and his greatest weakness. Where Morgan observed, Hannibal Jr. analyzed or Hannibal Sr. hid entire wars behind a polite smile.

Kevin simply said what everyone else was thinking. Which was why he was the first one to blurt it out. "You know she looks exactly like her, right?"

The dining room went silent. No one questioned what he was talking about. They all knew. Morgan closed his eyes and Peter looked like he wanted to disappear into the floorboards.

And Hannibal Sr.? Hannibal Sr. continued cutting his food as if nothing had happened.

"Kevin." The warning in Morgan's voice was immediate.

"What?" Kevin asked innocently. "She does. There’s a big ass portrait of her in the living room. It’s not like it’s hard to see."

Morgan immediately kicked him under the table.

"OW!" Kevin winced.

"Stop talking."

"No but seriously. Look at her!" Kevin exclaimed.

The second kick was much harder.

Kevin rubbed his shin and scoffed. "You people are so sensitive." After that, he tried to behave. He really did. For almost three whole days.

Then he walked into the library and found you and Hannibal Sr. talking. And for a brief second, Kevin saw something cross his father's face. Longing. The kind that comes from missing someone for so long that you stop remembering what life felt like before them.

For the first time, Kevin understood. And suddenly all the jokes died in his throat. After that, Kevin became strangely quiet.

Not because he thought you were Clarice.

You weren't and he knew that. Kevin just felt sorry for you. Because being compared to a ghost was exhausting. One afternoon, after catching someone mention Clarice for the fifth time that week, Kevin threw an arm around your shoulders and groaned.

"Okay. New rule. Next person who says Clarice’s name gets punched."

You raised an eyebrow and Kevin pointed dramatically around the room. "Because you're you. And frankly, this family is already weird enough without everyone having an existential crisis every time you walk through a doorway."

For a moment, you laughed. Kevin grinned. There it was. That laugh. It was different. It was yours and Hannibal Sr. seemed to realise that, as he looked away—no longer interested.

Peter had never met Clarice. To him, she was a portrait. A beautiful woman frozen in oil paint above the fireplace. A ghost that lived in family stories. Sometimes Hannibal Sr. would mention her. But never for too long, like an afterthought.

But Peter learned very quickly that Clarice was important.

The portrait alone made that obvious.

Nobody put a painting that large in the living room unless they wanted everyone to remember. So when you arrived...the resemblance was simply impossible to miss. At one point he was walking through the living room when he looked up at the portrait and then at you.

You looked at him. "What?"

Peter nodded at the portrait and you followed his gaze. "Oh."

For a moment he looked genuinely concerned. As though he had stumbled across something he wasn't supposed to see. "You know that's weird, right?"

"Peter." Morgan's warning came instantly.

"What? It is weird!" Peter wasn't frightened of you. He was frightened of the situation.

Because Peter hated family drama. Family drama meant arguments. Arguments meant conflict. Conflict meant people getting upset. And people getting upset often led to Peter wanting to hide in a closet somewhere until everything calmed down.

The more time passed, the more uncomfortable he became. Not because of you. Because of everyone else.

One evening Peter finally gathered enough courage to ask. "What was she actually like?"

The question surprised everyone. Especially Hannibal Sr. For a long moment, nobody spoke. Then Hannibal Sr. looked towards the portrait. "Kind."

That was all he said. Kind. The answer lingered in Peter's mind. Because it wasn't what he expected. The Hannibal family wasn’t kind. It wasn’t who they were.

But Hannibal Sr. had chosen kindness. And somehow that told Peter everything. After that, he stopped looking at the resemblance quite so much.

Because the more he got to know you, the harder it became to see Clarice. You weren't a portrait. You weren't a story. You weren't a ghost.

You were just Y/N.

And honestly? Peter preferred that.

Even if the rest of the family didn't seem to share his opinion.

Hannibal Jr. knew immediately. He knew because unlike the others, he remembered her. The first time he saw you, his breath caught and then he hated himself for it. Because for one terrible moment, his mind had tried to convince him that the impossible had happened.

That somehow—his dead mother was standing there. The illusion lasted less than a heartbeat. But it still happened.

After that, he avoided you. The others assumed he was being suspicious. But truthfully? Looking at you hurt. Because every resemblance dragged another memory to the surface.

One evening he found himself standing in front of Clarice's portrait. You were standing there too, looking at it.

Neither of you spoke for a while. Then you quietly asked: "Was she really that beautiful?"

Hannibal Jr. stared at the painting. "No."

You blinked. "No?"

A small smile appeared on his face. "No." He looked at you. "She was much more than that."

For a moment, you thought he was joking. Then you saw the expression in his eyes. He wasn't. The portrait showed Clarice's face. It showed her features. Her appearance.

But it couldn't show the things Hannibal Jr. remembered. A painting could never capture those things. So in his eyes, it would always be an imperfect copy.

Just as you were.

Not because there was anything wrong with you. But because nobody could ever truly be Clarice except Clarice.

"I don't understand," you admitted.

Hannibal Jr. was quiet for a long moment. Then he surprised himself. He laughed. "That's a good thing."

You frowned. "Why?"

His eyes drifted towards the portrait. "Because everyone else sees her face. But I am the only one who truly remembers her."

For the first time since meeting you, Hannibal Jr. looked directly at you without flinching. You looked like his mother. Perhaps more than anyone had a right to. But you weren't her. And after spending so many years trying to preserve her memory...He found that strangely comforting.

Because it meant he hadn't forgotten. He still knew the difference.

Grant didn't notice at first. Not because he wasn't observant. Because nobody had actually told him what Clarice looked like.

Sure, he'd seen the giant portrait in the living room. Hard to miss really. But after living with the Hannibals for long enough, he'd learned not to question the giant portrait of the woman everybody stared at like she'd personally invented sunshine.

Then one afternoon he walked into the living room. Looked at the portrait. Looked at you. His eyebrows slowly disappeared into his hairline. "...Well, damn."

Nobody paid attention. Which somehow made it worse. Grant continued staring. "Oh, y'all are serious."

Still nobody responded. The room was silent. Like every person present was pretending there wasn't an elephant standing in the middle of the room.

"Grant." Morgan sounded exhausted already.

"No, hold on. Maybe m’just losin’ my mind and s’just I’m missin’ my glasses or some shit." Grant took out his glasses and took another careful look. His expression became increasingly bewildered. "Nah. M’right." Everything clicked together. Grant threw both hands into the air. "Well no wonder everybody in this house is acting insane."

"Grant." Hannibal Jr. tried to gently warn him

He pointed at you. "You look like the boss’ ex-wife—like Clarice." Then at the portrait. "Or Clarice looks like you anyway."

Then, after a long pause, he squinted suspiciously at you. "Honey."

"Yes?"

"You ever considered changing your hairstyle?"

The room went silent. Kevin nearly fell off his chair laughing. And for the first time all day—Hannibal Jr. smiled. Because Grant had accidentally done what nobody else had managed to do.

He'd made the whole situation sound exactly as ridiculous as it actually was. And once you saw it that way...It became a little easier to breathe.

Two days later…

"Darlin'." Grant called you.

You looked up from your tea. "Yes?"

"Come with me." That should have been your first warning. Unfortunately, you trusted him. Five minutes later you found yourself sitting in a chair. A towel around your shoulders and Grant standing behind you with scissors.

"...Grant. Why do you have scissors?"

He smiled. "Because we're fixin' a problem."

"What problem?" You asked with a worried frown.

Grant met your gaze through the mirror. "The fact that every man in this house has apparently lost his damn mind."

You burst out laughing. An hour later, the haircut was finished. Different enough to break the immediate comparison.

Grant proudly spun the chair around. "There."

You blinked then smiled. "I actually like it."

Grant grinned—pleased with himself.

Kevin saw you first and his eyes widened. "Wow. Huh. Y'know, that's actually really nice."

Morgan arrived next and stared before addressing Grant. "...You cut her hair. I like it." The approval of Morgan Hannibal was rarer than solar eclipses.

Peter wandered in and stopped. "You don't look like the painting anymore."

The room fell silent. Then came Hannibal Jr. For a moment, when he saw you, he simply stared. "Thank you, Grant."

Grant blinked. That was unexpected. He had never received a thanks from that pompous bastard.

Hannibal Sr. entered next. The room became noticeably quieter. The old man stopped and his eyes settled on you. For several long seconds nobody spoke.

Then he smiled. "You look lovely."

Meanwhile Grant folded his arms and admired his handiwork. Because for the first time since you'd arrived, nobody was looking at Clarice's ghost. They were looking at you.

Stack

Stack becomes a surprisingly competent nurse. He pretends he’s annoyed at first though. “Baby, I leave ya alone for five minutes and yer immune system starts freelancin’.”

Meanwhile he’s already got: water, medicine, blankets, soup and three different thermometers all at the ready for you.

“Drink.”

“I’m not thirsty.”

“Wasn’t a suggestion.” He’s actually worried sick. If you fall asleep against him he’ll immediately stop moving because he’s terrified of waking you. Then he’ll sit there for four hours with his leg asleep because his baby human is sick and needs his affection.

Mary

Mary becomes incredibly gentle and motherly. She’s the type who quietly appears with tea before you’ve even asked.

Need another blanket? She’s already bringing it. Need medicine? Already handled. Need someone to sit with you? She’s there.

The scary thing is how calm she remains. You’d think she wasn’t worried at all. Then she brushes your hair away from your forehead and asks: “Tell me honestly. How bad is it?”

And suddenly you realize she’s been worrying the whole time. She’s just hiding it better than the others.

Bo

Bo acts like you’re being dramatic. For approximately ten minutes. Then he sees you actually look miserable and decides he has to do something about it. “Alright. Move over.”

He takes over the entire situation. No arguments. You’re staying in bed. You’re drinking water. You’re eating something.

The funniest part? He absolutely babies you while pretending he isn’t. “I’m not fussin’ over ya.”

He’s literally adjusting your blankets. “I’m just fixin’ this.”

He’s literally checking your temperature. “Shut up and get better already.”

Bert

You sneeze once and Bert appears from another room like a demon summoned from hell. “WHAT WAS THAT?”

“A sneeze.”

“YOU SURE? SOUNDED LIKE Y’WERE DYIN’!” He spends the first day convinced you’re dying. The second day he’s convinced you’re recovering. The third day he’s worried again. He has no consistency. But he never leaves. He’s constantly making terrible jokes because he hates seeing you miserable.

“Good news.”

“What?”

“If ya turn into a zombie I’ll still love ya.”

You then spend the day cuddling on the couch and him smooching your forehead every 30 seconds because he believes it’s healing you somehow. He will however search for a doctor eventually.

Joan

Joan researches everything. By day two she’s read seventeen medical articles. You mention a symptom once and she remembers it forever. “Your cough sounds better than yesterday.”

“…How do you know that?”

“I made notes.”

“You made notes?!”

She made notes. A whole notebook of notes.

You discover she’s been tracking your temperature, appetite, sleep and symptoms like an actual doctor. She’s basically conducting a scientific study called: how to keep my human alive.

Cornbread

Cornbread is calm. The kind of calm that means he’s already decided he’s not leaving your side until you’re better. You wake up and he’s in the chair. You nap and he’s still in the chair. You wake up again.

Still there.

“Have you moved?”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause you’re sick.”

If you try getting out of bed he’ll just point.

“Back.”

“Cornbread—”

“Back.”

Will bear-crush you at night and tell you that he isn’t leaving your side until you get better.

Annie

Annie is the sweetest nurse imaginable. She has it all covered. Soup, tea, fresh blankets, warm compresses and soft kisses on your forehead. She turns your room into the coziest place on Earth. And she talks to you constantly because she knows being sick can feel lonely.

“Need anything, sweetheart?”

“No.”

“Okay. I’ll ask again in ten minutes.”

He sat down and ran a hand over his face as he tried to process everything. He wanted to see this son of his, perhaps be a part of his life…even if he knew it was too late to make things right.

He asked for a special authorisation and the board agreed to let him meet his son. Noah came to the mental hospital and they met near the lake surrounding the property.

Noah seemed…calm—peaceful in a way.

Eddie stood there for a moment. He didn’t know what to say to him. They were strangers. He didn’t know anything about his own son. He took out a cigarette to calm down his nerves and offered him one.

Noah refused.

Eddie didn’t blame him.

Then, Noah started talking. “I have a beautiful wife. Her name is Y/N. Y/N Hannibal Lecter. And…I have a kid of my own. There were nights when I asked myself why I wasn’t like the other kids? Why my dad never cared enough to show up? But now that I am a dad…I realise that it doesn’t matter. Because I am not you. I will never be you. And that is my biggest success. I…am not your son. I am my own man. And I am glad of the man I turned out to be without you.”

Eddie listened to him from the beginning to the end before he blew out smoke and looked up at the sky. “…Who ever said I wanted you to end up like me?”

That was the first thing he ever said to his son. And he meant it. To be honest, Eddie had a very bad life. A life he would never wish upon anyone. His life at the many mental institutions he had frequented and his obsession with becoming a husband…that were never things he had decided for himself.

He looked at Noah and smiled. “I am glad you managed to succeed where I failed. And I can assure you…there is no regret to be had about me not being around. It took me a long time to see it but…I would have ruined your life.”

Noah seemed taken aback by his words and turned fully towards him. “You aren’t…upset? About not being there for me?“

Eddie stared into his eyes and sighed. “Listen, kid. I’m mad. Very mad. But the fact that I managed to not screw you up? Yeah. That’s the best thing that could have happened to you. I turned young men—just like you—into my wives by cutting their dicks off. Frankly? Congrats on being normal.”

Noah blinked before looking back at the lake and shoving his hands into his pockets. “…So it’s true? What they said about you? About…what happened in Mount Massive Asylum?”

Eddie didn’t reply for a moment. He contemplated on what to tell him. Then he decided to tell him the truth. “Probably worse than you think. Your mother was lucky she met me before…that time in my life. And you were lucky to never have met me during that time. I don’t even know why you wanted us to meet, since you have a perfect life.”

Noah looked away before confessing. “Not so perfect. Some things I reckon I inherited from you.”

Eddie frowned. “Such as?”

Noah took a deep breath before continuing. “At night…I go into the closet and watch my wife sleep. I stare at her while I think of getting her pregnant again. I…didn’t even want the first child all that much. But the moment it was born? My mind has been…only thinking about that for months. It’s like…a thought that never wants to leave.

Eddie stared at him for a long moment.“No.”

Noah frowned. “No?”

Eddie shook his head. “That’s not me.”

“You became obsessed with people.”

“I became obsessed with owning people.” He corrected him. The cigarette burned quietly between his fingers. “You stand in a closet because you’re scared of what’s happening in your head. I dragged men into operating rooms because I wasn’t.”

Noah didn’t answer.

Eddie exhaled. “You know the difference?”

“What?”

Eddie looked at him. “You came here to ask if something was wrong with you.”

Noah swallowed.

The wind coming off the lake felt colder all of a sudden. “And what if there is?” he asked quietly. “What if there is something wrong with me?”

Eddie looked out over the water. For a moment, Noah wondered if he was going to ignore the question.

Instead, Eddie laughed and shook his head. “Kid, everybody's got something wrong with them.” Eddie flicked ash from his cigarette. “You know what I hear when you talk? I hear a man who loves his wife.”

Noah immediately shook his head. “You didn't hear the part where I stand in a closet watching her sleep?”

“I heard it.”

“That's not normal.” Noah countered.

“No.” Eddie nodded in agreement. “Neither is spending six months terrified you're becoming your father.” Eddie took another drag before continuing. “You know what normal men do when they start having ugly thoughts? They hide them. They pretend they don't exist. They tell themselves they're fine. Then one day everybody around them gets surprised.” The cigarette crackled softly. “You came looking for the worst man you could think of and asked if you should be worried. That tells me you're paying attention.”

Noah looked away. The answer should have comforted him. Instead it made his chest ache. “You really think that's enough?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Noah, if you're standing in closets because you can't stop thinking about your wife, then stop standing in closets. Talk to her.”

Noah barked out a surprised laugh. “You want me to tell my wife I hide in closets watching her sleep?”

“I'm serious.”

Despite himself, Noah laughed again. The sound seemed strange between them.

Eddie smiled faintly. “There it is.”

“What?”

“You sound normal.” The smile disappeared almost as quickly as it came. “Normal people aren't born normal, Noah.” He dropped the cigarette and crushed it beneath his shoe. “They make choices.”

Noah suddenly understood that Eddie wasn't talking about him anymore. He was talking about himself. About every choice he wished he had made differently.

After a long silence, Noah spoke. “You really don't think I'm like you?”

Eddie smiled weakly. “No.”

“How can you be so sure?” Noah asked with hesitation in his eyes.

He quietly looked from hallway to hallway and cell to cell, and he didn’t speak for a good while before he finally commented. “This entire place is a train wreck…”

You agreed. “I know. It’s in a serious need of repair. All of it.”

House nodded, his gaze locked straight forward as he continued limping down the hallway. “Sure does. This place looks like a crack house, not a hospital. All the equipment is old and busted, all the supplies are outdated, I bet you they’ve got rats and roaches living inside the building…”

You smiled at the irony. “There used to be in the kitchen. But I chased them away. As for the equipment ? It will soon be replaced. And I already contacted a contractor to see if they can work on the cells. Perhaps better accommodations.”

He smirked and rolled his eyes. “Better accommodations, huh? You know they’re mostly criminals, right? You’re not running a homeless shelter.”

You smiled at him. “I prefer clinically insane seeking to get better. They are patients. Our patients.”

He raised an eyebrow and cast a glance at you. “They’re still crazy. And they’re still dangerous. Don’t get too comfortable or familiar with them, or one of them will end up stabbing you one night or putting a pillow over your head.” He continued pushing himself forward down the hall, his limp becoming more pronounced the further he went. “You’re way too soft on them. You need to learn how to keep a professional distance and not treat them like normal people.”

You hummed and led him to his new office—choosing to ignore his advice. “I hope your new office will be to your convenience. I allowed myself to make it as welcoming as possible.”

He raised an eyebrow. "Well, let’s see how 'welcoming' it really is." He pushed himself all the way into the office and looked around for a moment, taking a quick mental inventory of the room. He then nodded, looking somewhat impressed. "Hm…It certainly isn't the nicest place I've seen in my life, but I've definitely seen worse. At least it looks clean."

You smiled happily.

He took a long look around before his gaze settled on the chair behind the desk. He limped over and sat down, then leaned back and put his cane against the wall next to him. He exhaled slowly and closed his eyes, sitting completely still for a few seconds before he spoke. “Alright. I'll admit. This office isn't complete garbage.”

Suddenly, a cat appeared and sat on Dr. House’s lap. You were about to apologise and take it away when House put a protective hand around it and asked. “Is the cat part of the furniture? If so…excellent marketing strategy. I approve.”

You chuckled and shook your head. “That’s Pat. Brahms’ cat.” You then sat down in front of him. “So…how was your first day?”

He gave a small snort of amusement as he started petting the cat. “Well, it certainly hasn't been boring, I'll give you that. I met a couple of…interesting patients, and this place turned out to be a lot weirder than I thought. I mean, a lunatic dressed as a bat regularly breaking into a psychiatric hospital? I didn't think that kind of thing happened outside the comics. And the insane clown, of course. He was…certainly something.”

You smiled. “And…will you be here tomorrow ?”

He let out a huff of amusement. “Yes, I believe I will be." He smirked at you. "As long as I'm getting paid, I'll be here. But be warned, if anything weird or particularly insane happens, I will be charging extra.”

You nodded in agreement. “Fair. Completely fair.” You then looked down at your watch and smiled. “Well…congratulations. You have officially lasted longer than 90% of the doctors we hired.”

He looked amused by this statement. “Does that mean I get a gold star or a medal?”

You smiled. “How about a drink ?”

He raised an eyebrow in surprise and smiled. “A drink? Sounds like your way of trying to bribe me.”

You chuckled. “You caught me red-handed.”

He put the cat down on the ground, sat up and leaned forward in his seat, folding his hands together on the desk. “Alright. You can buy me a drink, but I'm ordering top-shelf everything.”

You nodded. “Of course.”

He stood up and grabbed his cane, then began walking towards the door. “Well then…let's get going, shall we?”

You smiled and stood up too, but then—Nurse Sandra came in. “Y/N ! We have an emergency in the Penny Brothers’ cell ! They are fighting ! Come quick !”

House stopped in his tracks and sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “What now?”

You didn’t answer and ran off. House sighed again, but he then decided to follow you, quickly stumbling after you. He could hear you running down the hall, and tried to follow the noise to keep pace with you.

You ended up in front of the Penny Brothers’ cell and gasped as you realised that Pennywise’s arm was missing and was now in Penny’s mouth.

“MY ARM ! GIVE IT BACK, YOU PARASITE !” Pennywise shouted. Penny refused and crawled up the ceiling like a huge spider.

House hobbled up to you and stopped next to you and leaned slightly against the wall, his breathing ragged from pain and exhaustion. Looking through the barred door at the current situation, he made a face and muttered something under his breath. “What the hell is happening here?”

You cursed under your breath. “Doctor House. You should not be here right now. Those patients are…atypical. Just stand back and let me handle this, alright?”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course. I suppose I should just stand here and twiddle my thumbs while two circus freaks eat each other, right?”

Suddenly, a loud roar in the cell interrupted you both and you looked back inside to find both clowns growling at each other.

“Pennywise ! Penny ! What is going on ? Why are you two fighting ?” You asked urgently.

House snorted. “Did you say Penny and Pennywise? What, their parents didn't know what to name them, so they called them the same thing?”

You ignored House for now. You needed to calm the Penny Brothers down and entered the cell. “Hey hey ! What is going on here ?”

Both of the clowns' gazes immediately locked onto you as you entered the cell, standing completely motionless as their creepy glowing eyes were staring straight at you.

House stood by the door, watching cautiously.

You raised both hands. “Alright. Let’s just…calm down, okay boys ? Tell me. What is going on ?”

Pennywise growled. “Penny’s got my arm, and the bastard won't give it back.”

You nodded and looked up at Penny still holding onto the ceiling with drool dripping down his chin. You sighed. “Alright, Penny. Why don’t you get back down so we can talk? Did something happen? Are you hungry?”

He simply huffed in disapproval and Pennywise grumbled angrily. “Of course he's hungry. He always is. That's why he's eating my damn arm.”

You nodded. “Alright. Alright.” You then asked a guard to go get meet from the kitchen and sat down on the floor of the cell. The guards nodded and quickly left to retrieve the food. Meanwhile, Pennywise slumped against the wall and grimaced in pain as he continued holding his bloodied shoulder.

You looked up at Penny. “Penny. Come back down with your brother’s arm. Please.”

He remained on the ceiling for several more seconds. Pennywise grumbled again, his expression becoming more irritated by the second. “Yeah, good luck with that. It's no use. This idiot's stubborn as a mule and he'll never let go of my arm unless he gets what he wants.”

You stared at Penny. “Penny. I know you did not mean to do that. Just…come down. Look at Pennywise. He is in pain. He is hurt. He needs his arm.”

Penny's gaze remained fixed on you, but you saw his eyes dart over to his brother for a moment, and a hint of guilt flickered on his face.

Pennywise let out a pained chuckle. “Go ahead, boy. You know you're in the wrong here. Come on down and give me back my arm, ya stupid lil’ shit.”

After several more seconds of contemplating, Penny finally dropped down from the ceiling and took a few, cautious, steps forward on all fours. His eyes remained locked onto his brother, his gaze wary and uncertain.

House watched, still completely silent, but clearly intrigued by this whole charade. You smiled at Penny and extended a hand. “Now, Penny. I know you probably were hungry or wanted to play…But I need you to please give me the arm.”

His gaze switched to you, then down to the arm in his mouth. He paused for a moment again, then dropped the arm to the ground. It landed with a wet splat on the floor.

You smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Penny.”

You then grabbed the arm and gave it back to Pennywise. “Will you be able to heal on your own or should I ask Doctor House to give it a look, Pennywise ?”

House perked his head up and took that as his cue to enter the room. He hobbled over and knelt down next to you, taking a look at Pennywise's arm with a critical eye.

After a few moments, he spoke. “Yup. It’s severed. So hum…what do you want me to—?”

But his eyes widened in shock when he saw Pennywise’s arm miraculously reattach itself.

“What in the—?” He fell back.

You chuckled as you observed Pennywise's arm mending itself before your very eyes. House's shocked expression gradually changed into one of curiosity.

“This…This can't be…I…” He stood up and looked between the two brothers. “I…I'm going to need an explanation for that.”

You smiled knowingly. “Penny and Pennywise are…well…VERY special patients.”

House raised an eyebrow. “No kidding. But how special we talking, exactly? Because the arm reattaching itself…That really shouldn't be possible, on any scientific level.”

You coughed. “…A not human level.”

He blinked in sheer disbelief. “Not human? As in…I don't know, aliens or something? Unless we’re talking about some kind of weird, one in a million genetic mutation.”

Pennywise guffawed. “We are gods, ya idiot!”

House’s eyes widened further. “Gods…Are you serious? You’re telling me you two are actual gods?”

You sighed and shook your head. “No. They are not. They are aliens but with a superiority complex that we are currently working on.”

He looked somewhat relieved by your response. “Alright…aliens, I can buy…That at least makes some sense. I mean, I'm still trying grasp the whole arm thingy, mind you, but it's a much better explanation than them being actual, literal gods.”

You smiled and nodded before the guard came back with raw meat. You then looked back at the clowns and took the bag before throwing an entire cow leg into the air. House raised an eyebrow and was about to ask why you would do that until both Penny and Pennywise stared at the thrown piece of meat with wide, unblinking eyes. For a few seconds, both of them simply stood still. Then, both of them abruptly crouched down, before lunging forward simultaneously and beginning to viciously devour the meat in the air.

You smiled and wordlessly stepped out. House took a moment before hobbling along next to you for a few seconds before speaking. “So…Those two are definitely among the weirder patients you have, right? I mean…Aliens who consider themselves gods? That pretty much takes the cake in my book. Unless you got some other patient in here that's even weirder than those two.”

You smiled enigmatically at him.

He stopped dead in his tracks. “No. No way. What, do you really have something better than God-Complex Alien Clowns?"

You chuckled. “All in due time, Doctor House. I think you have seen enough for one day. And I still owe you a drink.”

…

“I have to ask. And be completely honest. I want the complete and full truth. How exactly does this facility manage to attract lunatics like that? Because you've got some of the most deranged, batshit crazy, utterly insane individuals that I've ever seen. And don't even get me started on the clown aliens that I just saw. Where the hell do you even find these people?”

You chuckled and shrugged. “Well, General McCain is behind the recuperation teams. They send people to retrieve slashers and they are admitted.”

House raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious? People go on a manhunt for these people? And somehow just finds them? How? I mean, how do some random retrieval teams even know where to look? What, do they have a tracker or something?"

You opened the door of the hospital for him.“We receive calls or anonymous tips on murders. The slashers are rather easy to find actually. They usually hunt or kill in one specific location. And they leave traces…blood…victims.”

You walked towards your car. He hobbled to the car and got in the passenger seat, grunting slightly in pain from the effort as he leaned heavily on his cane before sitting down. “Hmm…Still…You got alien murder clowns. I don’t think you’d ever get those kinds of patients—not without a lil’ bit of help.” He closed the car door, then looked over at you.“So be honest. How do you know where to look for the really crazy ones? Or are you just waiting for them to stumble through the front door one day?" The car engine roared to life and you pulled out of the parking lot, heading out of the hospital at a steady, but comfortable, speed. House continued questioning you. “Seriously though. How do you find the most insane, most out there, totally off-the-rails patients like that? It's not the sort of thing that just…happens, surely.”

You chuckled. “Well, I do not know exactly how it works. I am still new after all. But I believe General McCain has dealt with slashers before. He knows them. He knows how they think and act. Let us just say that most slashers like to live in abandoned places—where nobody goes or wants to go. You just need to search long enough. And as for patients like Five Hargreeves and Arthur Fleck ? They are transfers. The only slasher who ever actually stepped into the hospital willingly was Michael. Or that’s what I heard.”

His expression became intrigued as he nodded in understanding. “I see. So your head of security isn't just security, huh? He’s a professional slasher hunter too? Makes sense. He'd have to be, to bring in guys like that. And how many of these 'slashers' have you got in the hospital now?”

You thought about it. “Mhm…Not sure.”

He frowned. “You're not sure? You don't know how many dangerous, murderous psychos you've got under your charge?”

You smiled weakly. “They are are not all slashers. There are normal patients like Arthur or Five who are still very human. And there are other kinds of people who we do not know because they belong to the left-wing of the hospital.”

He raised an eyebrow. “The…left-wing of the hospital? You mean there are more patients that I haven't seen or met yet? How many more patients are we talking here?”

You smiled as you kept driving. “You won’t meet the left-wing patients. They have their own doctors and staff. We barely meet occasionally. I have never met them myself.”

House leaned back in the seat. “You've never met them? Really? You're telling me there's a whole section of patients you don't ever see? How are they even able to isolate themselves like that?”

You shrugged and stopped in front of a bar. “Heavy doors and hospital regulations.”

He hummed as he unbuckled himself, then used his cane to slowly climb out of the car. “A whole section of the hospital that is off limits, and you’ve never been curious?”

You smiled, but didn’t answer and opened the door for him. He sighed and hobbled inside, glancing around briefly and giving the place a look-over. “You could not have picked a more generic bar if you tried. I can practically already taste the mediocre brew.”

You smiled and playfully nudged him. “It is a place for the staff to distress after a long day of work. And the alcool is excellent. But I often come here for a good burger and fries. I am starving.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he followed you. “Burger and fries? Seriously? I thought you were a classy lady. Ordering the cheapest food you can find…You trying to impress me?”

You grinned at him and shrugged. “Extra ketchup. Extra fries. I will also eat with my hands. Can you believe it?”

He smiled and shook his head. “Oh really? That's very classy, I see you're really going to great lengths to impress me.”

You laughed his sarcasm off. “Come on. I am paying for whatever you’re getting. The least you could do is keep me company while I eat.”

A smile returned as he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, easy there. Did I turn down your offer? Besides, a free drink and meal is not something you can just turn down.” He hobbled forward and sat down in front of you. He let out a sigh of relief and started massaging his calf. “Ugh…walking up and down that corridor with all the patient' cells. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer. But, you’re buying me a drinki. I won’t press charges.”

You smiled and discreetly retrieved something from your pocket. “Maybe this will…cheer you up ?”

You left a Vicodin pill box on the table.

His eyes widened at the sight of the pills. He quickly snatched up the box and opened it, looking inside. “A gift? What’s the catch?”

You smiled. “You told me about your leg. I know Vicodin pills are expensive and even more so when you have no actual health insurance or prescriptions. No catch. You impressed me today.”

He chuckled as he looked back up at you, a smirk returning to his face. “You really don't have any shame, do you? Bribing me with a free drink and painkillers. You've got to work on your subtle seduction techniques.”

You smirked back. “Sometimes honesty is the best seduction technique there is.”

He raised an eyebrow and smirked wider. “Is that so? Well then, in the name of honesty…Let me be just as honest with you. That is the single most pathetic attempt at flirting I have ever witnessed in my entire life.”

You hummed. “If you do not want my gift I could just…” You ever so slowly started dragging the pill box away from him.

His smirk disappeared in a moment, and he quickly snatched it back, glaring at you with a sharp eye. “Ah-ah-ah. Hands off. That is my Vicodin. I don't care how terrible your pickup lines are, you're not getting this back now.”

You smirked. “Ah. So suddenly you are opened to bribes ?”

He rolled his eyes again, before shoving the box into his pocket and leaning forward. “Alright, fine. I'll admit. For the right price, I am completely and totally receptive to bribes.”

You chuckled. “You and I will be happy coworkers. I can already feel it.”

He rolled his eyes and lifted up one of the menus on the table. You looked at the menu as well. “The maxi cheese burger looks good.”

He smirked and nodded as he looked over the menu. “The 'maxi burger.' Sounds like an even more generic name than the name of this place honestly. I think I'll have to order it just to see just how mediocre it is.”

You chuckled. “Ah. So you can tell me how shitty my tastes are?”

He nodded and chuckled as well. “Oh, I can already tell they are pretty shitty. Hell, you took me to a generic-name, generic-looking bar. In terms of good tastes, you've been failing pretty hard so far.”

You smirked. “Even if you do not like it, I will enjoy my burger…and enjoy the sight of you disgustingly picking at your food because you thought I would care about your opinion on my food choices.”

He rolled his eyes. “Who said I won't like the food?” He closed the menu and set it down on the table. “Maybe that shitty burger you're ordering is the best thing I've ever had in my life, and it will completely blow my mind.”

You smiled. “Then we will both be happy and maybe I will get the chance of seeing a smile on that face.”

He rolled his eyes again. “Yeah, sorry to burst your bubble, sweetheart. I am very hard to please, in case you haven't noticed."

“You don’t say…” You bit back a cheeky smile as a waiter came by and you gave him your order.

House looked up at the waiter and spoke in a slightly mocking tone. “I want the biggest, largest, greasiest, most fat-packed, cholesterol-filled meal you have on the menu. No vegetables, no fruits. I want everything as unhealthy as possible. You got that?”

Your eyes widened and you started laughing to yourself. He smirked as he heard you laughing, and then turned back to the waiter, who was still standing there—looking vaguely concerned. “You heard me, right? No rabbit food. I want a burger that'll send me straight into cardiac arrest, and a side of bacon so greasy it'll harden in my arteries.”

The waiter nodded and walked away, still a little nervous.

You chuckled as you watched the waiter walk away and shook your head in disbelief. “You know, I did not take you for a man with a death wish.”

He chuckled as well, nodding in agreement. “Well, if I'm gonna eat junk-food, I well better go all-out and get all the junkiest stuff I can find. Hell, I might even order dessert if this place has any.”

You smirked. “They have the chocolate cake from Matilda. You know—the movie ?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? That sounds ridiculously unhealthy and totally fake, and absolutely perfect. I'm gonna order three.”

You started laughing even louder.

He gave you a smirk, clearly amused by your reaction. “You laugh, but it's the truth. If I'm gonna treat myself, I'm gonna go all out. I'm not the kind of guy who'll order some diet salad or something just so I can look healthy.”

You started cackling and replied sarcastically.“You truly are a people person.”

He shrugged. “Oh, come on. I'm a man of simple tastes. I don't need fancy restaurants or anything like that. I was never one of those social butterly types. And I don't even like butterflies that much to be honest. They're kinda terrifying. Just sitting there, slowly flapping their wings right in your face, staring with their creepy, buggy eyes…It's like a horror movie.”

You smirked and looked at him with an amused expression. “Then I must be a nightmare to you. Trying to convince everyone that the slashers are capable of redemption and reinsertion in society.”

He smirked right back at you. “Actually, that part's not what worries me. I already have a good idea of how insane these slashers are, so I understand your efforts are, more likely than not, going to be completely futile. What worries me is that you seem to have a tendency to try way too hard to make people like you. In my professional opinion, your personality is sickeningly sweet, bordering on irritating. You're going to give me a cavity.”

You winced and brought a hand up to your chest. “Ouch. You could have at least kissed the rock before throwing it at me.”

He huffed. “Sorry, but I'm a man of medicine. I gotta call it as I see it. And it's my honest medical opinion that you're way too nice of a person. You're going to get taken advantage of, mark my words. Or maybe that’s your master plan. Making everyone believe that you are so nice and then BOOM. You are actually an evil witch.” He smirked and shrugged. “Of course, I could be wrong. Maybe you are just a nice person, and you truly care about the well-being of these maniacs, and you want to do your best to help. Who knows. But one thing is for sure: You need to learn to loosen up, be a little more mean. You're going to be eaten alive otherwise.”

You took a sip of water. “Well…I do not need to. Not anymore. I have you to be the mean voice now.”

He smirked. “Right. I'm the mean old and grumpy doctor with horrible bedside manners. You, on the other hand, seem to be the type that the patients are going to end up clinging to, like a bunch of little parasites, because you are so…ugh…nice. Glad to know I play such a vital role in your life. Being mean is something of a specialty of mine, in case you couldn't tell by now.”

You smiled and stared at him. “…I was joking, you know ? I do not believe you are all that mean. Just demanding. And that’s good by me. Besides, I believe the patients like you.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow at you. “Really? What, is it my charming personality? My irresistible sense of humor? The fact that I can keep a constant sarcastic tone in every conversation? What is it that the lunatics are finding so fun about me, aside from my rugged good looks and incredible intelligence, of course?”

You stared silently at him for a moment.

“Your honesty, Doctor House.” You finally replied and smiled. “The patients recognise genuine people when they see one. You might hide behind your sarcasm…but they know you are not someone who will deceive them.”

He huffed and rolled his eyes yet again. “Oh please. They're a bunch of lunatics. They're crazy and delusional and most likely have serious brain damage. If I'm being completely honest, I doubt they're even capable of recognizing anything, aside from maybe bright lights and loud noises. Do you really think that they're capable of detecting my…I don't know, I guess my 'honesty' or whatever? Give them a little more credit than they deserve, why don't you.”

“Slashers are more sensitive than you give them credit for.” You smiled. “They see more than what we think.”

He rolled his eyes again. “You have got to be kidding me. You really have way too much faith in these people. What, do you honestly think they have X-ray vision, like Superman, or something? 'Cause let me tell you something: the only people in the world with X-RAY VISION are x-ray technicians and radiologists. These loonies are not superhuman, no matter how much you want to believe they are. They need a reality check. That's all there is to it.”

You smiled and shrugged. “I don’t know. You’ve seen masked serial killers, criminal masterminds and alien killer clowns. And yet…You still believe there is nothing more to them ?”

He huffed and shook his head. “I don't believe there's nothing more to them. I'm sure they all have complicated, disturbing histories and traumatic pasts and all sorts of weird mental issues. That's just a given with insane people. But what I don't buy into is this notion that they're all somehow psychic, and can sense my underlying personality and intentions. That's just ridiculous. Unless you're a psychologist, you have got no hope of deciphering a person's thought process with some kind of superhuman intuition. I'm not buying that bullshit for a second.”

You smiled. “And yet, we choose to trust each other.”

He sighed. “Please…Don't compare our completely normal, everyday relationship to your insane patients. The fact that you and I trust each other in a fairly normal way is completely different than these freaks "sensing" that I'm trying to help them. There is a perfectly logical process in me trusting you, which involves the fact that you are a normal, somewhat sane person, and that you have given me no reason to believe otherwise. See? Simple, easy, and completely understandable. Not some kind of mental sixth sense.”

You hummed and rested your chin in the palm of your hand and there was a knowing gleam in your eyes.

“So…you do trust me ?” You asked with an amused smile.

He huffed and crossed his arms. Busted. "Of course I trust you…enough. You haven't given me a reason not to. You are…tolerable. But would I really trust you with everything ? Of course not. I don't just go around blindly giving out my trust to just anyone. You have to work for it. I have high standards. And don't expect total trust right off the bat. You have a lot of work to do before then. That is not earned easily, let me tell you.”

Your smile widened. “I’ll take it.”

He huffed again and smirked as he began rubbing his forehead, where a growing headache was forming. “You are so easily pleased, I swear. I've given you the absolute bare minimum of trust, and you're acting like it's a marriage proposal.”

You blinked before laughing again. Then the waiter came back with your orders. Your eyes widened as you saw the actual size of the burger who was brought for House. It was almost the size of the table. He smiled and rubbed his hands together eagerly, his headache completely forgotten as he looked at the colossal, greasy monstrosity sitting in front of him.

“Oh yeah. That's more like it!” He grabbed a knife and fork and immediately set to work cutting off a large chunk before shoving it into his mouth and eating ravenously.

You chuckled and grabbed your own burger to take a big bite out of it.

He took another large bite and nodded his head. “Not bad. Not bad. They definitely overloaded it with grease and cholesterol, just the way I asked for it. It's really making my arteries harden as we speak. This is the good stuff.” He took another bite, followed by another, before stopping to speak again. “I'm guessing your burger isn't nearly as disgusting as mine?”

You chewed enthusiastically and did not even bother answering. He looked at you with a raised eyebrow, slightly surprised by your overly-enthusiastic expression, before taking another massive bite and then speaking with his mouth half-full. “Damn…Do you get this hyped up over everything? You're acting like you've never had a decent burger before in your life.”

“Everything tastes better in company.” You replied before taking another bite.

He rolled his eyes before taking another bite himself. “Oh, spare me with the clichés. I swear, you are just a walking Hallmark card.”

You tilted your head. “Hmm ?”

He chuckled as he shook his heard before taking another bite. “You just sound cliché. Hallmark Card. Like, the type of overly-cheesy bullshit that Hallmark would sell, and that stupid, romantic, overly-sentimental morons would write. I can practically see the little, crappy hearts all over the inside and the corny, poorly written messages. You definitely sound like someone who would write one of those.”

You snorted. “And you would be an old broken radio. Repeating over and over: Misery. Misery. Misery. Blah blah blah. Boooring.”

He rolled his eyes again. “You see, right there. That right there was a pathetic attempt at a witty comeback. That should be embarrassing for you.”

You grinned. “You are just jealous that I can still see the good in this world, you terrible sceptic.”

You ate a fry. He rolled his eyes again and scoffed. “What, you think I'm some kind of Grinch who hates the idea of good things in the world? Please. I'm not a saint by any stretch of the imagination, but I'm not pure evil either. I can appreciate good things just like anyone else.”

You stopped eating for a second and seemed genuinely curious. “Like what?”

“Like…This food for one. And the fact that I'm getting a free meal. Can't really complain about that.” He replied.

You nodded. “True. Very true.”

He chuckled and took another bite. “Also that little pill of Vicodin you gave me earlier. That was a nice bonus.”

You smiled. “So…everything I gave you?”

He shrugged. “I can count the number of people who have given me either free food or free drugs in one hand, and you've given me both so, yeah, that's pretty good in my book.”

You wordlessly smiled.

He raised an eyebrow at your expression. “Seriously…What's with that grin? Why are you so damn smiley all the time? You look like a golden retriever, with that goofy smile permanently grafted onto your face.”

You shrugged. “Be the change you wanna see in the world as they say.”

He rolled his eyes again. “Well, if that's what you want to do, be my guest. Good luck changing the world with your endless happiness.”

He took another, massive bite of his burger and let out a satisfied groan of pleasure.

You grinned. “So ? Good ?”

He nodded vigorously as he swallowed the huge mouthful. “Oh, yeah. That's good. Really good. Just pure heart attack material.” He took another, huge bite, before speaking again in between chewing. “I don't think there's one single healthy thing on this entire burger. Bacon, sausage, cheese, mayonnaise, ketchup…They threw it all in here.”

You smiled. “Nothing better for the end of your first day. Try not to kill yourself though. We’ve got work tomorrow.”

He smirked in response and raised the rest of the burger up to his mouth in a mocking mock-salute. “Hey, who knows? I may keel over tomorrow. No one knows for sure how long they've got left on this world.” He then let out a sarcastic laugh and took a few hasty bites. “You just never know when death is sneaking up behind you. Even if you're just at work.” He took another, huge, bite out of the burger.

You huffed a laugh. “I would resuscitate you. Bring you back from the beyond myself. No way am I losing another doctor.”

He chuckled in response. “Aw, that's sweet of you. I guess I am a bit of a rarity on the medical front. Can't be that easy to find a doctor willing to put up with working with a bunch of insane, raving lunatics like them. So you better keep me alive. I'm apparently valuable.”

You smiled and answered truthfully. “Yes. You are.”

He smirked again. “Well, look at that. We actually agree on something. That's a rare occurrence for us. I am valuable. You've caught onto that quickly. I'm clearly the MVP of the hospital. No one else in that hospital can do what I do, and you know it.”

You nodded while discreetly trying to steal one of his fries. “Oh yes. Incredibly valuable. Best doctor this side of town.”

He rolled his eyes at you trying to steal one of the fries, but didn't say anything on it. “Of course I'm the best doctor this side of town. Where else are you gonna find a brilliant mind like mine? No other hospital in the country could ever produce something like me. I'm one in a million. You should be honoured to have the privilege of working with such a legend. And I have really good eye sight, in case you are wondering. I can see you trying to steal one of my fries, and I am not about to let that happen.”

He quickly shoved the plate away from you.

You pouted. “Sharing is caring ?”

He smirked and poked his remaining fries in a childishly defensive way. “My fries. All mine. Get your own.”

You scoffed before breaking into a light laughter.

He shook his head. “Yeah, go ahead and laugh. It ain't gonna get you any closer to a single one of my fries. These bad boys are all mine, and I ain't sharing a single one.”

You pouted. “But I finished all mine.”

He raised an eyebrow and nodded. “And whose fault is it that you finished yours before I finished mine? This sounds like a you problem. Yeah. Sucks to be you.”

You huffed. “Fine. It’ll be less for my love handles.”

He smirked and nodded, before taking another, enormous bite of his burger. “Yeah, exactly. So you should be thanking me. Doing you a favor really. You don't wanna get fat, you'll stop looking as cute. It's my good deed of the day.”

You froze. “Wait…Hold on.” You smirked. “What was that ?”

He paused mid-bite and his eyes widened momentarily, realizing what he just said. He then quickly swallowed and attempted to recover, a confident smirk returning to his face. “What, you think I was actually calling you cute? I am a doctor, in case you forgot. I was just pointing out an obvious medical fact. It's a well-known, scientifically proven fact that the heavier you are, the more unattractive you are.”

You hummed. “Right. It’s the first compliment I received from you.”

He rolled his eyes and rolled with the conversation. “Alright, alright, you're cute, I admit it. There. I said it. Happy now, you attention-seeking, validation junkie?”

You smiled. “Thank you, Doctor House.”

He rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Oh yes, you are very welcome. It was my pleasure to boost your already astronomically high self-esteem, and to remind you that you are physically attractive.”

You looked down. “Right. I haven’t taken a shower in two days, I am sleep-deprived and I am still in my nurse uniform. But I am physically attractive in your opinion.”

He rolled his eyes again. “You still look decent, considering all those factors. Trust me. You aren't half bad. You've still got a long way to go before you are as sleep-deprived, unwashed and haggard looking as me."

You smiled and didn’t say anything after that. You let him finish his burger and paid before you left the dinner. He held the door open before stepping out into the lot and waiting for you to do the same. You did and thanked him before looking up. It was dark outside. But the stars were shining bright.

You closed your eyes and filled your lungs with fresh air. Then you re-opened them and stared at the stars above.

He looked up as well, following your gaze to the sky to see the bright stars above. He leaned against the wall and put his cane at his side. “…You like stars, huh? A lot of people do, I guess. I don't get it personally. They just look like bright, random lights in the sky. People give them all these weird names and meanings but they're just…lights. I don't see what's so special about them.”

You smiled. “My uncle and I used to look at them at night. Together. Then we would make a wish every night.”

He rolled his eyes but secretly was listening intently. “Oh yeah? What kind of wish? Don't tell me you were wishing for some kind of childish dream, like becoming a princess or a superhero, or president. Or worse, that you'd find true love.”

You chuckled. “Oh no. None of that.”

He looked at you. “No? Then what were you and your mysterious uncle wishing for? Or is it some kind of super top secret information, too secret to share with me?”

You shook your head. “No. If you wish to know…I would ask them to keep our family safe—to watch over us.”

He snorted in response. “You asked stars, of all things, to watch over you? Seriously?”

You smiled weakly. “My uncle told me that the stars were the people who passed away over the years…so I wasn’t really asking the stars. But my parents. To watch over me and my uncle.”

He raised an eyebrow, the sarcastic smirk disappearing. “Oh…I see.”

It was suddenly very silent between the two of you…

“I, uh…I'm sorry for your loss.”

You shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

He nodded and took a deep, heavy breath.

He stayed silent for another moment before letting out a deep breath and running a hand through his hair. He then turned away from you. “Ugh…Now the conversation just got depressing. Can we move on to something else? All that emotional crap is making me nauseous.”

You smiled and looked at him. “Of course. So…where do you live ? I will drive you.”

He looked back at you with a raised eyebrow. “You're just gonna give me a ride, huh? You expect me to let myself be whisked away by some random nurse? Not so fast. I'm not letting a creep like you drive me off to some remote country-side cabin or something. I've read that horror story dozens of times."

You chuckled. “Except I drove you to the diner and bought you dinner and I am now your coworker. Besides, I told you I need you to come to work tomorrow. I won’t kill you—yet.”

House’s smirk returned to his face. “Oh, so you're just gonna wait until I'm no longer useful, huh? I understand. You're playing the long con. I will let my guard down and then you'll knock me out, take me to some abandoned farm in Idaho, and I'll wake up in a dark, damp cellar chained to a wall. You really should be more subtle about it, you're tipping your hand before your master plan is in full swing.”

You grinned. “Wow. You read me like a book.”

He shrugged. “I'm a genius. That's my job: figuring people out. So, let me guess. This cellar I'm being held prisoner in is going to be your torture chamber, right? Or maybe you'll hold me hostage so you can live out all your weird, fetish-fueled-power-play fantasies or something. I can see you're the type that gets off on that kind of thing. You'd probably like to be the mistress to a billionaire, having all the best that money can buy.”

You restrained a laugh. “And you would be…what ?”

He smirked. “The billionaire. Of course. Who wouldn't want to be a billionaire with a hot mistress that follows you around, wearing expensive clothes and jewelry, pampering you 24/7, and doing anything and everything you say? It's a great life. Who wouldn't want that kind of life?”

You chuckled. “Come on, Doctor House. You would never be mistaken for a billionaire.”

He rolled his eyes. “Why not? I'm smart, I have money, I'm a doctor, I'm single and I have a nice apartment. It could totally happen. I've got the credentials and the means to be a billionaire with a beautiful mistress, and you know it.”

You smiled and didn’t answer before walking to your car.

“Mister Billionaire. Your ride is here.” You opened the passenger door.

He rolled his eyes and smirked, before hobbling over to the passenger side of the car and getting in. “Yeah, yeah. Just drive. And no funny business, understand? One wrong turn and I will not hesitate to jump out of this moving vehicle.”

You closed the door and smirked before whispering. “I would catch up with you in no time.”

He chuckled as he buckled up, fastening the seatbelt before turning to you. “Oh, you would huh? I'd like to see you try. I may not look like it, but I can go pretty far with my 'gimpy little leg' if I need to.”

You smiled before getting in the driver seat and starting the car. “So…Where to?”

He told you to take a left. You smiled and did as he instructed. He occasionally winced when a sudden movement jostled his leg, but otherwise remained silent, mostly staring out the passenger window.

You started humming and drumming your fingers on the wheel.

He rolled his eyes and smirked. “You really are a cheerful one, aren't you? All smiles and sunshine all the time. Doesn't it get annoying having to fake it all the time?”

You glanced at him with a confused expression. “Who said I was faking it? I love my life.”

He rolled his eyes again and huffed. “It just seems impossible for someone to have such a positive view of everything all the time. It's like everything you look at through those big, wide, doe-eyes of yours is either a ray of sunshine that must be nurtured, or a piece of art that must be worshiped. How it is possible to see absolutely everything in such a positive, sunny view all the time? It's like you live in some Disney-world nightmare land where everyone is skipping through a field of flowers and singing happy songs 24/7.”

Your fingers twitched and you stopped drumming. He noticed. “What, did I finally hit a sore spot? You don't like it when someone questions your sunshine-and-rainbows view of life? Is your precious, happy-go-lucky world view being threatened by the mean old cynic who hates good vibes? What, is your world gonna fall apart now? Did I finally pop the bubble?”

You stopped the car. “I believe we have arrived.”

He turned away from you and looked out the window to see that, indeed, your car had stopped in front of his apartment building.“Huh. Looks like you weren't trying to kill me after all. That's a surprise.”

You both stayed still.

He remained silent too, neither one of you moving. Then, he finally turned to you and spoke. “Alright, looks like I'm here. You gonna unlock the door and let me out, or is this the part where you pull out the rope and gag from the back and start planning my basement jail break?”

You didn’t reply.

He raised an eyebrow. “Well? I'm waiting. Or are you gonna just sit here and stare at me all night? You wanna sit awkwardly until the end of time? I'm tired and would really like for this night to be over, so if you could just get out and open the door for me that would—”

“Is it that difficult to believe that I am simply trying to be a good person, Doctor House ?” You finally asked—tired of his constant skepticism.

He raised both eyebrows in response. “Huh. Did I finally touch a nerve? Did I finally get the overly-sunny, relentlessly-happy nurse to drop the kind, generous act, and show me her true grumpy-face? That's a first. Is this what a real conversation with you sounds like? I never thought I'd see the day.”

You looked at him and smiled weakly. “Yeah. You won. I just…like to be a good nurse, Doctor House. I work with dangerous individuals who feed on fear. Have you tried to stop and think for a second what would happen if I lost my smile for even a moment?”

He paused before turning serious. “Of course I did. I'm not stupid, you know. I know you do what you do for a reason. I'm just choosing to give you a hard time about it, because I enjoy messing with people like you.”

You frowned. “Like me ?”

He scoffed. “You know exactly what I mean: the happy-go-lucky, sunshine and rainbows type. The kind that has a perpetual smile on their face, and sees every glass as half full, even if they spill it. The kind of person who never seems sad, no matter what happens, always smiling through the good times and the bad. The kind of person that never seems to get sick of anything or anyone, and that is willing to give everyone second, third, fourth…infinite chances, even when others tell them to just let the person go.”

You forced a smile as you realised that perhaps Doctor House wasn’t being hostile against you on purpose. “I see.” You climbed out of the car and opened the passenger door.“Well…I guess you won.”

He huffed humourlessly. “I always do. It's what I'm good at.” He unbuckled his seatbelt and then carefully got out of the car, keeping his cane by his side and making sure to put most of his weight on his good leg.

You nodded. “Well…goodnight, doctor.”

He nodded as well and then smirked. “Yeah, good night, head nurse. Guess I'll see you at work tomorrow."

“Yes.“ You then turned around…but his voice sounded behind you

“Hey, at least give me a hand to walk with, will you? I'm the old guy with the bad leg, remember? You really gonna just gonna make me hobble all the way to the apartment by myself?”

You froze and didn’t look back. “You made it clear what you think of me. You think I am fake. You think that I am not a good person. Why would you want me to come with you ?”

He rolled his eyes at your overdramatic reply. “For crying out loud, I'm just asking for you to help me limp to the door. You're acting like I'm asking you to come spend the night and read me a bedtime story. What's this, a little payback for me insulting you? You're giving me the silent treatment and refusing to help me walk because I called you out on your fake, overly-cheerful act? Grow up.”

You hesitated before sighing and walking back to him. “I thought you didn’t like people offering you help ?”

He rolled his eyes in response. “I don't like people offering to help if I don't need any. Right now, I'm an old, crippled man who needs a little help getting to the apartment. So, I'm making an exception.”

You sighed before wrapping an arm around his waist to secure him. He gripped his cane with his free hand, and then placed his other arm around your shoulders, using you to balance himself, before the two of you started walking carefully towards the main door of the apartment building.

You arrived and called the elevator.

He hobbled alongside you, leaning on you for support, as you brought him into the lobby of the apartment building. He continued to keep a steady grip on his cane and his arm wrapped around your shoulders while you pressed the elevator button with your free hand. The two of you stood, waiting in the lobby for a few moments. He stayed steady against you and remained silent, before the elevator finally arrived and the doors opened with a ding.

He limped into the elevator, using his cane and your support to help keep his balance as the two of you navigated inside. You pressed the button to take the elevator up, and then the doors shut, leaving the two of you alone in the small lift together.

He seemed to lean forward and you pressed your free hand to his chest. “Hey. Stay with me.”

He looked at you with a raised eyebrow and smirked. “What, scared I'll fall over and hurt myself? You really are a mother hen, aren't you?”

You smiled. “The patients call me Mama Bear. I think it is rather funny.”

He rolled his eyes and smirked again. “Of course they do. I bet you're like their pseudo-mother figure, always babying and coddling and doting on them. No wonder they like you so much. You're their mama.”

There was a distinctive ding and the doors of the elevator opened. He lifted his cane and hobbled out of the elevator, and you helped guide him safely into the hallway.

The two of you started walking down the hallway, still walking side by side with your arm wrapped around his waist. The hall was nearly empty, filled only by the sound of muted tv broadcasts floating out of the apartments and the occasional creaks and groan of the building itself.

You stopped in front of his apartment door and helped him get in. You looked around and found a mess…Old takeaway boxes, books everywhere than on the shelves, clothes thrown one on top the other…

He limped into the room and sighed at the sight of his messy apartment. “Ugh…Yeah, sorry if it's a bit of a dump right now. I haven't had time or the energy to clean the place up lately. I've been busy with work, and…Well…” He paused for a moment to make his way over to the couch and to ease himself down into the cushions.

You nodded before proceeding to pick up the trash to throw it in the bin.

He leaned back and sat in the couch as he watched you pick up the trash and garbage and then place it into the bin. “You don't have to clean for me, you know. I can do it myself when I have time. Or, I could just hire a cleaning lady.”

You didn’t reply and only kept picking up old empty boxes, bottles and beer cans.

He rolled his eyes. “Seriously? You're not gonna listen to me now? I'm telling you, you don't have to clean up my apartment for me. I can do it myself when I have the time. I'm not so crippled that I can't pick up some garbage.”

You smiled. “You are now a doctor at St Louis Hospital. You need a proper and clean space to rest to be fully efficient.”

He rolled his eyes and smirked. “You really are a little mother hen, huh? You just can't help yourself when you see a grown man who's a little messy, you just have to start tidying the place up. How stereotypical.”

You ignored his negative comments and started picking up the books next.

He rolled his eyes and sighed, before resigning to letting you clean up after him, figuring that he wouldn't be able to get you to stop. “Ugh…There. Fine. Knock yourself out. But can you at least do it all a little quieter? You're giving me a headache. I don't need you making a bunch of noise while I'm trying to rest my leg.”

You nodded and tried to be as quiet as possible. He leaned back on the couch and sighed, before resting his cane at his side and getting himself more comfortable. He took a deep, heavy breath and closed his eyes, trying to relax and ignore the sound of you picking up clutter and stacking books.

You put them back on the shelves one by one. You were happy to see the floor now.

He let out a sigh, his eyes still closed as he listened to you sorting the books. After a few moments, he finally spoke. “The books don't have to be in a certain order you know. I have a system—a very specific system. My books need to be kept in a very specific order based on a very specific criteria that only I understand.”

You hummed. “Doctor House. I have a theory. I believe you do not need those books. I believe you read every single one of them. I believe you remember each and every word. I know that no matter the order I put them in, you won’t even look at them.”

He opened one eye and smirked. “Oh yeah? And how do you know that?”

He closed his eyes again. “You seem so certain about the idea that I'm that smart, that I've read every single one of those books and remember every single word, or that I won't even bother to look at them if they're out of order. I do not have photographic memory.”

You smiled and look at the title of one of the books. “Blood transfusion. Chapter 3.”

He opened one eye then, looking over at the book you picked up. He then smirked. “I can clearly see that the book you're holding is open to chapter 3. Well done, you.”

You chuckled. “Come on. Chapter 3. Imagine I am a dummy and I need that knowledge because one of my patients needs an urgent blood transfusion.”

He closed his eye again and sighed. “Chapter one covers the basics of the process: The different blood groups, Rh factors, and blood typing. This one is the most important because you need to be sure that this patient can accept another one's blood without their whole immune system rejecting it. Chapter two goes off of that by going into detail on how you can prepare blood for transfusion…”

He then launched into the book, reciting the specifics of Chapter 3 from memory, just as you had asked.

You smiled. “Correct, Doctor House. A+.”

He rolled his eyes and smirked. “Wow. Thanks, I'll be sure to frame that A+ and put it on my fridge. Or maybe I'll use it to pick up all the ladies. I'm sure 'A Plus on a book on blood transfusion' is going to get me laid.”

You hummed before continuing with your cleaning.

He smirked again and then closed his eyes, sighing heavily. He listened to you continuing to sort through the clutter of his apartment, cleaning it up and making it more presentable. “Are you planning on staying all night and tidying up every part of my apartment?”

You did not answer. You just kept picking things up. Even dirty clothes that you put into a pile for a good washing.

He sighed and then leaned back in the couch once more, settling into the cushions and closing his eyes again. “Yeah, of course you are. This is like a little treat for you, isn't it? You get to come over and play nurse, even when you're off the clock. You get to play mother hen and clean up my apartment for me. It's a nurse's wet dream.”

You didn’t answer his obvious taunt. He smirked as you remained silent and continued cleaning. He then decided to tease you. “Maybe, if you're lucky, you'll find my porn stash.”

You hummed. “Porn is normal for a single middle-aged man to own. There is no shame in it.”

He lifted a skeptical eyebrow at you. “That's it? No disgusted reaction? No lecture on the evils of pornography? No shock and horror?”

You shook your head negatively. “No, Doctor House. This is your home, your sanctuary. I won’t be so terribly rude as to shame you for anything that you do in your free time.”

He raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised that you would have such a relaxed attitude towards pornography. “Not even a single raised eyebrow? No shocked gasp? No look of judgement? Nothing?”

You smiled and huffed. “You are an adult.”

He smirked again. “Maybe I should be concerned that you seem so nonchalant. You should be having an appropriately shocked, aghast reaction to something like that. Instead, you're telling me that I'm an adult that consumes porn and you're fine with it. You're acting like a mother that just found her son's stash and isn't all that bothered by it.”

You kept a smile on your face. “Why would I feel concerned by your porn consumption ?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Seriously? You really don't think there's anything wrong with porn? With people, especially men, getting addicted to a harmful stimulant like pornography? You don't think it's an issue that some people, some guys, get addicted to this stuff and can't get off without it? You don't think it's harmful for people to develop certain unrealistic expectations about real life, sexual relationships because of the imagery that's pushed by the adult entertainment industry?”

You stilled before slowly looking back at him. “…I believe you are not the kind of man to take those pictures to heart, Doctor House.”

He rolled his eyes and smirked. “Of course not. I'm not dumb enough to get so hooked on it that I'm incapable of getting it up in real life without the images on a screen.”

You nodded before looking around. “Well, it seems I have finished. I will be going now.”

He nodded and opened his eyes again. “Yeah, looks like you're done. Now, the only problem is that it's nearly midnight. Any other time, I'd say go ahead and drive home, but this late at night…”

You smiled. “I am perfectly capable of driving back to the hospital. It is not all that far.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, and you've been working all day, which means you are probably sleep deprived. That, on top of the roads being potentially icy at this temperature and the risk of some nutjob driver running into you…”

You shrugged. “The patients need someone to look after them at night.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed. “I get that. But one of the nurses can take your place. That hospital isn't going to fall apart if you're gone for one night.”

You hesitated. “Well…I will probably find a motel or hotel nearby.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and what a lovely night you'll have there, in those dingy, sketchy places. Not to mention all the criminals prowling the streets at night, who would love nothing more than to mug an exhausted, young woman after midnight.”

You sighed. “What other option is there ?”

He crossed his arms and shrugged. “Well, you could always stay here for the night.”

You blinked. “Here?”

He nodded, and then smirked. “Yeah, why not? You just spent the last hour cleaning the place. You already know the layout of the apartment. I'm pretty sure I have an old shirt or an over-shirt in my closet that you can borrow. And I could sleep on the couch.”

You frowned. “With your leg? You need a good night sleep too.”

He smirked and rolled his eyes. “My leg is fine. I can handle a night sleeping on a couch. I've slept on far worse back in medical school.”

You hesitated. “Are you certain?”

He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Yeah, I'm certain. I'm a doctor, remember? And I'm a guy. We don't complain when it comes to this kind of thing. I'm perfectly capable of spending one night on the couch.”

You reluctantly nodded. “Alright. You talked of spare shirts ?”

He nodded and pointed to his bedroom door. “Yeah, there's a closet in my bedroom. Just walk in and open the closet, you'll see them. Knock yourself out.”

You nodded and went there before finding an old Star Wars t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants. He leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes once more. He opened them to find you standing into his kitchen to get a glass of water. “Is that my old Star Wars t-shirt? You really rummaged through the deepest trenches of my life to find that thing. Last time I wore that was in…What, high school? College? I can't remember which anymore.” He shook his head and smirked before going back to relaxing. “…I was so into Star Wars, it was actually kind of sad. I was into pretty much every kind of geeky stuff as well. Movies, comic books, D&D games, whatever I could to get my fix. I kind of wish I still had those old things…I bet the apartment would look a lot less boring if I had a few of those things sitting around.”

You nodded and smiled at him. “Perhaps. Goodnight, Dr. House.”

He nodded as well and then closed his eyes. “Yeah, yeah…I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight.”

She was quiet, seemingly taken aback by your response. “Err- I’m terribly sorry, ma’am. But why are you calling Wayne Enterprises about that? We don’t handle hospital finances…”

“Mr. Wayne personally sent funds to keep the hospital running. It is the reason for this call.” You replied evenly.

Again there was an awkward confused silence on the other end of the line as the intern struggled to find words. Her voice was uncertain when she spoke again. “One moment, please…I’ll transfer you to his private secretary.”

You hummed. “Thank you.”

You were placed on hold, and after a few moments of listening to generic hold music, a man picked up the phone. He had a formal, upper-class voice, and he spoke with a smooth and cold, professional manner. “Secretary to Mr. Wayne. How may I help you?”

“Right. This is Head Nurse Y/N L/N from the St Louis Mental Hospital ? I would like to speak to Mr. Wayne.”

The secretary gave an emotionless hum of acknowledgment. “Yes, I received a message from one of our interns. Mr. Wayne is in a meeting as we speak. May I take a message?”

“Yes. Please. Tell him I need to speak to him urgently concerning the hospital’s conditions and the treatment of patients.”

The secretary was very quiet for a moment, and you could hear the sound of a pen quickly scratching across some paper on his end. “I’ve made a note of your message, ma’am. I will inform Mr. Wayne of your wish to speak with him when he is done with his current meeting. I assume he will try to return your call as soon as he is available.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am.”

He hung up. It seemed that you now had to wait for Mr. Wayne to return your call. You sat for a long while and kept working. Eventually—after what was almost fifteen minutes of waiting—the phone rang. You picked up the receiver, not expecting to hear the cool, collected voice of Mr. Wayne on the other end.

He spoke in a polite, professional tone. “Good evening. This is Bruce Wayne. I’m guessing you’re the head nurse trying to contact me about St Louis Mental Hospital?”

“Indeed.” You replied.

He was quiet, and you heard some papers being shuffled on his end of the line. “Yes. I see one of my secretaries wrote down a message from you. So you said you wished to talk to me about the hospital’s funds, is that correct?”

“Yes. I couldn’t help but notice how most of the funds was given to the armed forces keeping the patients and that almost nothing was left for the medical or other members of staff. Also, when I first came in the hospital, I saw how many of the patients suffered from mistreatment and malnutrition due to terrible living conditions. I am now contacting you in the hopes to convince you of sending more money in order for the hospital to provide the necessary care for the patients.” You exposed your arguments and Wayne was quieter while you spoke.

He eventually sighed. “I’ll be completely honest with you, Head Nurse L/N. I am…well aware of the hospital’s conditions. You’re not telling me anything new.”

You frowned and clicked a pen. “I see…Then I suppose you understand the seriousness of the situation.”

“I understand. Believe me, I do. I suppose I’ve just been hesitant to give them a larger sum of money. The hospital is good, but they’re…expensive. And I’m worried that I may be giving more money than I should be to keep things running.” He explained.

You nodded. “I see. But those patients need help. Not only guards to keep them away from society, but a way to move forward. They need hope, Mr. Wayne.”

He was quiet for a moment before he responded, his voice low and soft. “I understand that, but you have to understand that I’ve tried to help. We, Wayne Enterprises, have sent over millions of dollar in funding; not just to St Louis, but to other similar facilities as well. And I’m…well, I’m a bit tired of feeling like I’m throwing money into a fire. I’ve given the hospital a good sum of money, and yet I still get reports of the patients being as violent and deranged as ever.”

You closed your eyes and sighed. “Sir…I want nothing more than to help them. The patients. But I need you to help me save them. Be the hero they need. I beg of you. I just know that they just need someone to believe in them.”

Wayne was quiet for nearly an entire minute, but you could vaguely hear him tapping a pen as he thought. He exhaled deeply, his voice tired and resigned. “I understand what you’re saying, but I simply do not see how it’s possible. Every psychiatric facility I’ve given money to has been just like this one. The patients don’t improve. They don’t get better. I am starting to believe that they are…untreatable.”

“They are not untreatable.” You immediately disagreed. “They just need a slight push in the right direction. They need…to believe they can do it.”

Wayne sighed again. “Do they really? You’ve read their files. You know what they’ve done. You surely can’t think that most of them would ever get better. You understand how unlikely real reform would be, right? Can you truly imagine somebody like Arthur Fleck ever getting better?”

You frowned and closed your eyes before sighing. “Might I share a personal story with you, sir?”

Wayne was quiet for a moment, a curious note in his voice. “I’m…listening. Go ahead.”

You looked up at the ceiling. “When I was 11, my parents got into an accident and they both died. I thought I would never get over it. But then, I met someone. A man who gave me a home and a life where I thought I would find neither again…”

Wayne was quieter now. He didn’t speak to interrupt you, and only let out a soft hum that signaled for you to continue.

You smiled. “Do you know what the name of that man was ?”

He remained silent.

You smiled. “Norman. Norman Bates. One of the few slashers who was deemed safe enough to come back to society.”

You could hear movement on Wayne’s end, as if he were sitting up straighter. “Norman Bates? You’re…joking, right ? The man who used to dress as his own mother and kill his clients in his motel?”

You chuckled. “Surprising, right ? And believe it or not…I spent the best years of my life with that man.”

Wayne was completely taken aback. He let out a sigh that sounded almost like a laugh. “Forgive me, but that’s…quite surprising. I’m supposed to believe that you, an educated head nurse in a mental institution, was raised by a slasher ?”

You kept a smile on your face. “Believe what you want, Mr. Wayne. I told you my truth. I do not expect you to understand. But I ask you to take that example and think about the patients under my care. Think about how wonderful it would be to give them the chance to have a life again.”

Wayne was quiet for a long time, truly contemplating your story. He sighed once again, and you could hear him shift in his chair and rubbing his temples. Finally, after over two minutes of complete silence, he spoke again, and his voice sounded even more tired than before. “Alright…alright. I’ll give the hospital more funding. I’ll give a larger sum, just for now. But I’m not doing it lightly. I’m taking a huge risk.”

You grinned and stood up. “Thank you ! Thank you so much, Mr. Wayne !”

He hummed. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m doing this under one condition; I will pay the hospital a visit in three months and if I see absolutely no signs of improvement in the patients, I won’t fund the hospital anymore. Do you understand? Even if you haven’t ‘reformed’ them, I want to see something. I won’t give a single dollar more if I see that the entire place is still a hellhole like it was. If this fails, then Wayne Enterprise will cut off all support. You’re running on borrowed time from the get-go.”

You nodded. “Yes, sir !”

“Good.” He inhaled deeply. “Alright…I’ll have 5 million transferred as soon as I hang up. And…l’ll see you in three months, head nurse.”

Without waiting for a reply, the phone line cut off. But, you were still feeling ecstatic. You ran out of your office and jumped up in the air. “YES !” You had a reason to celebrate, but you still needed to be careful. Now that you had the extra funding, you needed to use it properly and use it right.

And you had the next three months to do it.

….

You got to work immediately, starting with sorting the budget in the order of importance.

First, you needed to hire competent doctors and more nurses. And the cooks were necessary to ensure the patients all ate properly and that they didn’t all end up malnourished. You started making a list and couldn’t help the smile from spreading across your face when you received a message to confirm the transaction.

You could not help but feel overjoyed.

You continued making a list and sorting out the budget as you tried to determine exactly how much the hospital needed.

You stood up and called Nurse Sandra in.

Nurse Sandra stepped inside and shut the door as she walked towards your desk, looking perplexed. “You wanted to see me?”

You smiled at her. “Yes! I need your help, Nurse Sandra. I have just received funds for our medical and non-army staff. I need you to help me make a list of criteria for our future doctors and nurses.”

She nodded, her expression changing as her interest increased. She took a seat across from you and took a notepad out. She looked up at you with a bit of excitement in her eyes. “And just how much money did we receive, if I may ask?”

“5 million.” You replied with a small smile.

Her eyes widened, and you could’ve sworn her eyes shone at the news. She scribbled something down on her notepad, before looking at you again. “5 million, you say? Good lord, that’s a lot of money…that’s fantastic news!”

You smiled and nodded. “I think so too ! Now, we must work even harder. We cannot let Mr. Wayne’s generosity go to waste.”

She nodded and looked at you with a determined expression. “Right…So how will we begin? Shall we start with the doctors first?”

You nodded. “We need doctors who are…brave?”

She chuckled softly. “Yeah, I know what you mean…How about we also add ‘calm in the face of danger’ to the list?”

You nodded. “Who is used to extreme cases ?”

She nodded as well. “Yes, definitely. I’d say a solid background is a necessity…Perhaps we should also add a requirement for ‘good with traumatized patients’?”

You nodded. “Also, ready to work 24/7 ?”

She nodded in agreement. “Of course. All of our staff have to be ready for anything. Oh, and we should definitely add ‘willing to work under an ungodly amount of pressure’.”

You nodded. “Definitely. And hum…what else?”

She chuckled and smirked a bit as she scribbled down some more notes. “Oh, you’re forgetting another one…‘Not a total dick’.”

You gasped. “Nurse Sandra!” But then laughed.

She grinned and laughed along with you. “I’m just saying, head nurse. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not work under some jerk.”

You nodded. “Right right…”

And with that, you sent out applications for doctors.

A few came but…it was a disaster.

Some of them couldn’t handle the pressure and left as soon as they started. Other people tried to work here for only a few days…before they were forced to leave after getting into an incident with some of the more unstable patients.

This continued for over a week with no sign of stopping, leaving you and everyone else still in the hospital at your wit’s end…You were almost out of options when you heard a cough.

You looked up and found a man with a cane standing there. His icy blue eyes almost staring straight into your soul.

You then sighed and begged. “Please. Tell me you are a doctor.”

The man chuckled and took a few steps forward. He stopped at the desk, leaned on his cane, and looked down his nose at you with a smirk on his face. “Well, I wouldn’t describe myself as simply ‘a doctor’…”

You frowned. “Well, are you licensed ?”

His smirk widened and he chuckled again. He slowly hobbled forward a bit more, standing beside your desk now.

He held out one of his hands. “Yes. I am most certainly licensed.”

“Thank god!” You let out a sigh of relief and shook his hand.

He grinned. “Don’t thank god. Thank me.” He sat down in front of you next. “So…I assume you’re having trouble hiring?”

You frowned. “Who told you that?”

He chuckled again, looking very smug. “It’s written all over your poor, tired, stressed-out face. It doesn’t take an expert to recognize someone who’s at the end of their rope.”

You smiled weakly. “Fine. Good guess. Now…Tell me. Name. Experience. Career. Medical school. Go.”

He smirked. “Right to the point, aren’t you? No small talk. No foreplay.” He let out a small sigh, shifted his weight and leaned back in the chair. “Let’s see…well, my name is Dr. Gregory House. I went to Johns Hopkins medical school. Graduated top of my class. I was chief of diagnostic medicine of internal medicine at Princeton-Plainsboro Hospital. Is that enough to get the job?”

You hummed. “Yes. But I’m not impressed. Tell me. Why should we hire you?”

He raised an eyebrow, a look of surprise flashing across his face. “Oh? You’re not impressed, huh? I’ve got one of the most impressive medical histories of any hospital in the country, and you’re actually asking why you should hire me? I’m sure you don’t want an entire list. I mean, you would have to clear almost an hour’s worth of time for me to tell you all the reasons why you should hire me.”

You smiled and crossed your fingers over your desk. “I am all ears.”

He let out a tired groan. “…really?” He gave you a long, hard once-over and sighed before sitting up straight. “Alright…well, to start with, I’ve personally solved tens of thousands of medical cases. There’s a medical textbook in my name. My success rate in curing the ‘terminally ill’ is nearly a hundred percent. I’ve got the medical history and the experience to back me up, and I’ve even solved extremely rare diseases that any other doctor would’ve written off and called ‘incurable’.”

Your smile stretched as he started talking more and more. You then whistled. “Okay. Impressive. Now…I would like you to answer me honestly. Just one question and you will have the job.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s a rather tempting bet, head nurse L/N. Alright. Go ahead. One question. Ask me anything.”

Your smile disappeared for a moment. “…Doctor House. What happened in Princeton-Plainsboro? Why did they decide to let you go?”

House’s expression froze for a moment. “That’s…an unexpected question.” All the arrogance and sarcasm that had been dripping from his words vanished for a moment, replaced instead by a sort of numbness in his voice. “You…did your research on me, huh?”

You smirked. “I like to know all my options. Besides, it allows me to know and perhaps bond with the staff before they even get to work here. Now, talking time.”

A grimace twisted his face as he stared at you, his gaze intense and focused. He nodded slowly, his voice even and unemotional. “Fair enough. I was let go from Princeton-Plainsboro on the basis of me overprescribing opiates…and a minor drug abuse problem.”

You hummed. “Is that so? And is that still a problem?”

He rolled his eyes and gestured to his cane. “This isn’t a prop, you know. I had to have an extremely painful operation done on my leg. And they had me on high doses of very powerful pain medication to keep me from screaming in agony 24/7. Of course I needed more than the average person. I wasn’t abusing it. I just needed it to function like a normal adult. And I still need it. Vicodin makes me focus.”

You stared at him.

He shrugged, his expression defensive as he stared you down. “What? I need it. I use it to keep my mind clear and my brain healthy. I’m not an addict. I just…have to be on it all the time.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Huh-huh.”

He frowned, his expression hardening as he leaned forward in his chair. “Oh, don’t give me that. You’re looking at me like me taking a little Vicodin everyday is going to impede my ability to be a capable doctor.”

“Is it?”

He rolled his eyes and gestured around. “Do you see any shaking? Do I sound nervous or tired to you? Have I given you any indication whatsoever that I am not in full control of my mental and physical state?”

You hummed. “Not yet. But I will be honest with you, Doctor House. This hospital is nothing like the one you used to work in. The patients are…special. Dangerous. They can be cunning and manipulative. They will take every opportunity to mess with your head and if they see a weakness…they will take advantage.”

He let a small smirk cross his face, his eyes taking on their smug glint once again. “Oh? And you’re scared they’ll be able to get into my head? Really?”

You didn’t smile. “Only yesterday, two of the doctors I hired were seriously injured, Doctor House. The patients here are notoriously hard to deal with. I would advise you to think very carefully.”

His smirk widened, and he was clearly amused. “Oh, I am thinking carefully. In fact, I’m thinking that whatever patients you’ve dealt with so far cannot compare to what I’ve dealt with before.”

It was your time to smile before you stood up.“Follow me.”

He looked surprised for a moment before he rose with the faint ‘tap’ of his cane, and he followed you silently. You both walked out and started walking towards one of the cells.

“In this cell we have Michael Myers. I want you to do a checkup on him.” You told him.

House was mostly expressionless, other than the slight raise of one eyebrow. “Michael Myers? The one and only Michael Myers? The guy who supposedly killed his family on Halloween in 1963? That Michael Myers?”

You smiled. “Ah. So you’ve heard of him?”

House grunted, the hint of a smirk on his face. “The story of Michael Myers is infamous. A young man who snapped and killed his own family for what seemed like no reason at all. I’m…well, curious to see him in person, if you want to call it that.”

You hummed understandingly. “Well, it is your lucky day.”

You then opened the door. He nodded and stepped into the cell, his expression growing more serious. He carefully made his way into the cell, stopping to stand in front of Michael Myers, who remained sitting on the floor.

He leaned on his cane and slowly looked the man up and down. You entered next and smiled.

“Hello, Michael. I’ve brought a friend with me. Is that okay?”

Michael simply sat there, staring at the floor and didn’t speak up.

House let out another chuckle from beside you. “Oh, he looks like such a social butterfly.”

You smiled at House and shot back. “Then you two will surely get along.”

He smirked, and his gaze didn’t even stray from Michael. “Oh, I look forward to this.”

He began stepping closer to Michael, though the man still didn’t move or even look up at him. House knelt by his side and looked him over intensely.

You then sat in front of Michael and smiled. “I know you do not like people invading your personal space, Michael. But this gentleman is here to examine you. Make sure you are healthy. Is that okay? I will need your consent.”

House looked irritated by the fact that you were talking to Michael like he was a child, but he said nothing and waited to see what the man would do. Michael was still unresponsive for a moment, until he slowly turned his head and fixed his gaze on House for the first time. House returned the stare for several seconds, before letting out a low huff of air in mild amusement at the sight of Michael’s blank, cold gaze.

But Michael eventually slowly nodded.

House immediately began looking over his physique, his gaze still trained on the other man’s blank face. He chuckled softly. “Looks like a very healthy specimen. No injuries, no rashes…not so much as a single bruise or scab on him. Not a lot of muscle or body fat on him, but I suppose I can’t blame him for that. He’s been in this hospital for, what, the past 40 years?”

“50.” You corrected him. “The first slasher to ever be admitted.”

House let out a low whistle. “50 years? That’s a long time.” He looked closer at the man. “Still…he’s in good health for someone who’s been locked up for five decades.”

You smiled and nodded. “Michael is a very strong man.”

House hovered his hand a few millimeters above Michael’s biceps and gently grabbed his arm. He pulled on the end of Michael’s right arm like he was pulling a rubber band, testing the mobility in his muscles.

And all throughout, Michael remained emotionless and stared directly at House, his gaze unfaltering and unmoving.

You could see Michael tense up, you scooted closer to him. “Hey, Michael. Look at me. You’re safe. Doctor House is a friend. He won’t hurt you.”

Michael continued staring at House, his gaze remaining focused on him as he continued his examination. House noticed it as well, and he remarked. “Don’t like having someone touching you, huh big fella?”

Michael stared at the doctor before taking out a notebook you had given him.

He showed House a page where the word NO was written.

House looked amused at his little notebook as he smirked and spoke again. “You don’t have any problem with making it clear what you want, huh? Not much for small talk?”

Michael held up the same page.

House chuckled again, raising his hands in a sort of mock surrender. “Alright, I can see that you just get straight to the point. No need for idle conversation or pleasantries. You’re to the point. I respect that.”

Michael stared at House for a moment before turning back to you and changing pages in his notebook to READING TIME?

You blinked and nodded. You then began to open your mouth to agree, but House cut you off. “Reading time? Are you serious? You have ‘reading time?’”

You glanced at House. “Now, manners Doctor House. He did not attack you and that means he is allowed to be read to.”

House rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms and looking a bit put out. “Oh, he gets rewards for behaving. How fun.”

You ignored Doctor House’s obvious sarcasm and got out a book from your bag.

House snorted. “What is that? A children’s book?”

You glared at him. “Alice In Wonderland is a perfectly acceptable book for any age.”

Despite your glare, House smirked. “Oh, please. I doubt he’s even capable of understanding anything more complex than Goodnight Moon.”

You rolled your eyes and only started reading to Michael. Michael listened intently as you began to read, his demeanor shifting suddenly as he instantly started listening.

House raised his eyebrow at this. “Huh. Guess he’s more capable of understanding than I thought. Unless he just likes the sound of your voice.”

You kept reading and Michael imperceptibly scooted closer to look at the images while you read. House watched him intently as he moved closer to you, clearly still somewhat taken aback by this development. He refrained from making more comments.

Once the chapter over, you closed the book and smiled at Michael. “Thank you for your cooperation, Michael. I will come back later to read some more.”

Michael still hadn’t said a word, but he nodded slightly. House looked between the both of you, clearly having gone from being amused to intrigued by this development. You then stood up and were about to step out when you suddenly remembered.

“Ah! Before I go. Michael. Would you perhaps have any special request? Something you would like to change in your current living situation?”

Michael thought about it for a few seconds. He reached towards the notebook he had used before and flipped through it, looking for something. House looked even more intrigued by this, his eyes fixed on Michael as he waited for his response. Michael finally stopped flipping through the pages of the notebook and showed you a specific page.

MORE READING TIME

You read and nodded. “Of course. But I was wondering…maybe in terms of living accommodation, dear?”

House interjected again before Michael had the chance to write anything, his smirk still in place. “Oh? Maybe a king-sized bed? Some nice, satin sheets?”

You glared at House. “Those are patients. Not prisoners. If they wish for a king-sized bed and satin sheets, then I will do my best to provide them with that.”

House rolled his eyes, but he said nothing in response. Michael seemed to think for a moment, before turning another page and showing you another note.

RADIO.

You smiled. “Alright. I’ll see what I can do. Thank you, Michael.”

House raised his eyebrows again as he heard your response. “Really? How kind. If you just add a refrigerator, he’ll be able to live like a king in here. Why not give him a jacuzzi tub while you’re at it?”

Suddenly, Michael seemed to pick up on your growing frustration about the doctor. He wordlessly stood up and faced the doctor. All hints of mockery instantly disappeared from his expression, replaced by a blank, slightly anxious face. Michael was a huge man—two or three heads taller than Dr House. He stared down at him before you came and smiled up at Michael.

“Michael. It’s alright.”

Michael stared blankly at you for one more moment, before his expression grew cold and he turned back to stare at House. House didn’t look away from the imposing figure in front of him. He said nothing and simply stood there, wordlessly staring back at Michael…

You put a hand on Michael’s. “Hey. Look at me.”

Michael immediately tore his gaze away from House and looked back at you, his expression softening the second you put your hand on his.

You smiled at Michael. “It’s okay. Doctor House is a friend. Just a friend with a…very big mouth.”

Michael’s gaze went back to House for a moment, and it seemed he was considering whether to do something about him or not. However, the moment quickly passed, and he turned his gaze back to you as you continued to hold his hand.

You used your index to trace soothing patterns on his inner wrist. “Calm down. Everything is just fine.”

Michael was clearly taking note of your gesture, his gaze locked on your hand as you traced those soothing patterns on his wrist.

He was now entirely focused on you, and the tension in his body lessened significantly.

House was still silent at this point, quietly watching the entire interaction.

“Everything is fine. Now me and Doctor House will leave the room, alright ?”

Michael frowned deeply but nodded. He still hadn’t taken his gaze away from your hand, but he simply stood there and waited as you took a step back. House hadn’t moved an inch, anxious about setting Michael off again.

You slowly released Michael’s hand.

“Good.” You then started to back away slowly and gestured for Doctor House to follow you.

House got the cue and slowly followed you, keeping his back to the door and never turning away from Michael, in case he decided to rush suddenly to attack.

He waited until both of you were completely outside the cell again before speaking. “Well, that was certainly an experience…”

You let out a loud sigh of relief and lifted a hand to your chest.

House leaned against the cell door, looking relieved but also stunned by the entire experience. He let out a long sigh and shook his head. “I can’t believe you actually got him to turn away from me…If you hadn’t been there, I’d probably be a dead man right now. Or at least, I’d be seriously injured.”

You looked at him and asked with a small hopeful smile. “Still interested by the position, doctor ?”

He chuckled. “Honestly, part of me wants to just leave and never come back…but the other part of me is just too damn curious. This hospital is like a zoo. It’s a madhouse in here. And I am curious how things would work if I decided to stay. I mean…I never worked with patients like that before. It wouldn’t be boring. That’s for sure.”

You beamed at him. “Really ? You are willing to stay ? Oh thank you ! Thank you…”

He nodded, raising a hand to motion for you to calm down. “Yes, I’ll stay. Don’t get too excited though. I’m still reserving some of my doubt, so don’t go celebrating just yet.”

You nodded. “Of course. I am just happy we finally have a doctor !”

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, before pushing himself off the wall and straightening up. “Well, I’ll need to sort out some things first, but I can start as soon as tomorrow, assuming you want me to be here that fast.”

You nodded. “Of course ! Living accommodation will be given to you. And also I would need you on the clock 24/7. Could you handle that?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re seriously expecting me to be on the clock 24 hours a day ? No time off, or anything like that ? I’m not a machine, you know.”

You started thinking about it. “That’s right…I should probably find a second doctor then. Maybe a third ? It has already been hard finding you…”

He nodded. “You’ll probably need at least two others besides me. There is no way I’m working 24/7. No one could do that. I’m willing to come here almost everyday, but I’m not looking to work to death. I’ll be here from 8:00 AM to 6:00 PM every day, and no earlier and no later. I need time for rest too.”

You nodded. “Right.”

He nodded as well. “I’ll also need all the medical files you have so I can look through them. I need to know everything I can about the health of these people. And I’m guessing the majority of them haven’t had any real medical exams done in the past 10 years.”

You winced. “That’s exact. I was actually surprised when I looked into the files. But, you will have access.”

He hummed and walked away. “I’m surprised you even have files at all, given how disorganized this place is so far.”

You sighed and shook your head. “Not my fault I’m afraid. I was hired only a month ago.”

House rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I can tell. You’ve cleaned the place up a bit, but you’re nowhere near done yet. You need more doctors. You need better record keeping. You need better staff and better equipment. And even the staff you have now are still nowhere near competent enough to keep this hospital in one piece. You’ve got a lot of work ahead of you, and you’ve only made a dent so far.”

You winced at his bluntness. “Hurtful, but fair. I already hired more nurses. And a cleaning crew. I will also ask for a common room for physical exercise and perhaps for patient interaction.”

He nodded. “That’s good, but you’re still going to need a lab and a pharmacy, and you need better equipment. You have anything even remotely resembling an MRI machine in this place?”

You closed your eyes. “Listen. Before I came along, the hospital barely had money for anything other than guards and weapons to keep the patients out of trouble. I received funds from a benefactor only a week ago. I am already working as hard as I can, but I am still struggling.”

He sighed. “Well, good for you. You’ve been dealt a shitty hand. I get it. But I’m gonna be real with you…I don’t know how long this hospital is gonna last if you just keep limping along with your current team. This place is gonna fall apart if you don’t start doing more and get a better team. You’ve just been putting bandaids on bullet wounds without treating the real issue.”

You closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose. “And what do you suggest ?”

He shrugged. “First of all, I suggest you start looking for other doctors. You need at least two more besides me. And you need better medical equipment. Everything in this hospital is in a sorry state, and you can’t treat your patients well with the limited bullshit you’ve got right now.”

You nodded. “I’ll look what I can do. Could you perhaps help me with the equipment choice ? Did they have good equipment in Princeton-Plainsboro ?”

House smirked slightly, a hint of mocking pride evident in his tone. “Of course, they did. And I can help you pick out some new stuff, but you’re still gonna have to spend a lot of money. New equipment isn’t cheap, you know.”

You nodded and were already typing on your phone, but your typing was extremely slow. M-E-D-I-C-A-L E-Q-U-I…

At seeing this, House rolled his eyes again, his expression becoming more and more exasperated. “Are you…seriously googling ‘medical equipment’?”

You looked at him. “…No ?”

House pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. “You are, aren’t you? What are you, like, 10 years old? What kind of hospital manager googles ‘medical equipment’?”

“I am not a hospital manager. We do not have one. I am a head nurse. This is my first job. Give me a break.” You huffed then faced away from him to slowly type in peace.

He let out a sigh. “Of course. Of course you’ve never done this before. Why am I surprised?” He ran a hand over his face and started muttering under his breath. “What the hell am I getting myself into?”

You finished typing. “Okay so hum…Any suggestions ?”

He sighed again and leaned back against the wall, running a hand over his forehead. “Are you asking me to give you specific names of companies? Because that’s not something I can just do off the cuff. There are dozens of reputable medical equipment manufacturers, and they all make things that are useful and necessary. It’s gonna depend on what you want most.”

You started thinking about it. “I already asked for more pills. I asked for the usual hospital staff needs based on the nurses’ requests. Like bandages, creams, casts…”

He nodded. “And that’s a good start. Those things are definitely gonna be needed. But a lot more is going to be necessary. You’re going to need more medications, more tools, more medical and surgical equipment…you’re going to need a lot, and it’s gonna cost a shitload of money.”

You nodded. “We received 5 million. For everything I did so far, I’d say we’re good on the money. But I think we’ll need a hospital manager. Because frankly ? I think I cannot do everything myself. I did not even have the time to get some sleep in the past two days…”

House chuckled humourlessly and shook his head in disbelief. “Not only are you completely inexperienced, but you’re also trying to do a job that would require three people on your own.”

You sighed and rubbed your eyes. “Yeah. I know. I just…We need more. So far this hospital has been a prison more than an actual health care facility. When I first came, half the patients were ill or malnourished. I had to pay for the food out of my own pockets…I cannot stop now.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression becoming slightly more serious. “You…paid for groceries for your patients…out of your own pocket? You’re telling me that before this place had any funding, you personally, as a nurse, bought food for the patients that the hospital couldn’t properly take care of?”

You hesitated. “…Yes. Because the cooks were serving them rotten food and tins. I saw one spit in their soup.”

House actually looked surprised by this, his smirk disappearing for a few seconds. “Wait…you’re serious? Who has been taking care of the patients so far then?”

You smiled weakly. “Me and like three brave nurses. Very good women. They lasted more than most.”

House sighed and shook his head. “I…I have to admit, I’m actually…impressed. That was a stupid decision, and I have no idea why you would actually do that, but…it shows that you care. That’s admirable, I suppose.”

You smiled hopefully at him. “Does that mean you’ll still stay ?”

His smirk returned. “We’ll see. You’ve actually…managed to impress me, in a way. I thought you were incompetent, inexperienced, and completely unqualified at first sight. Now…I think you’re incompetent, inexperienced, and somewhat what this hospital needs.”

Your smile brightened. “This hospital needs you too, doctor. What do you say?”

You extended a hand. He chuckled softly and shook your hand. “Don’t get too excited. I’m only agreeing to help this place because I’m mildly interested in how it’s going to operate. This is just…a work opportunity and a learning opportunity. Also, I will need a weekly income.”

You nodded. “Of course. What amount would you deem satisfactory ?”

He thought for a second, tapping his chin with his hand. “I’d say…roughly ten thousand dollars a week. I mean, I’ll be handling not only basic things like check-ups and prescriptions, but also more difficult patients. I’ll also be overseeing other doctors, and providing medical advice. My help isn’t gonna be cheap.”

You nodded. “Done.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really? That was…surprisingly easy. I’d expected you to try and bargain the price at least a little.”

You chuckled. “Doctor House…You are the only doctor who came into a patient’s room and managed to get out without a scratch. Even when I entered with the other people trying out for the position, they would usually end up injured or psychologically unstable. I would have accepted any price”

He blinked in surprise before snorting. “Really? They must have just been incompetent rookies then. I’m probably the most capable doctor you could have picked.”

You smiled. “Let’s continue our tour first, shall we?”

He nodded and followed you. "Lead the way."

You started walking around the right-wing and introducing him to the other patients.“Jason Voorhees, Brahms Heelshire, Jack Torrance, Bubba Sawyer, Thomas Hewitt, Five Hargreeves, the Penny Brothers, Arthur Fleck…”

House looked interested in each patient, but he didn't appear surprised or even disturbed by their presence. In fact, he looked…curious. "Hmph. You've certainly gathered a variety of people. Not what I expected."

You smiled and noticed. “You aren’t scared.”

"Scared?" He asked and thought about it. "No, not really. Intrigued, maybe. But they're just people. Psychopaths, sure, but just people nonetheless. Nothing to be afraid of.”

His answer pleased you. You stopped and turned around to face him fully and beamed at him. “I believe you will make a great difference here, Doctor House.”

His smirk grew, and his expression shifted into something resembling a self-assured grin.“You think so? Well, I am the best in my field. I doubt there’s a single person in this hospital, patient or staff, who’s more qualified than me.”

You nodded. “Then welcome aboard.”

He nodded as well, and he gestured for you to continue. “Alright. I believe now we need to discuss my living arrangements, yes?”

Your eyes widened. “Right. I usually sleep in the hospital. But the staff are allowed to go back home once the day over. You can do the same.”

He raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Wait…you choose to sleep here?”

You winced. “Some of the patients have night terrors. And Michael sleepwalks. I do not understand how he manages to get out of his cell, but he does.”

House’s smirk returned. “You’re telling me you’re staying here all day and all night just to look out for the patients? That sounds like a recipe for disaster…and extreme exhaustion.”

Your smile faltered slightly. “I know. But I have no choice.”

His smirk faded, and he let out a sigh. “You’re going to run yourself into the ground at this rate. You need a break. And you need a life.”

You hesitated before wordlessly gesturing for him to follow you. He raised an eyebrow, but he decided it was best to just comply. He followed you silently, his cane tapping against every step he took.

You stopped in front of Arthur Fleck’s cell and stepped in.

House raised his eyebrows, as if surprised by your choice in destination. However, he said absolutely nothing and simply followed you into the cell.

You both stepped in and you found Arthur hunched over on the bed.

“Good afternoon, Arthur.”

His head was bent, his chin resting on his chest. However, upon hearing your voice, he lifted his head and looked up. His lips broke into a wide grin as he saw you. “Head Nurse Y/N. What a lovely surprise…”

House watched with interest, examining the man’s behavior and mannerisms. You didn’t hesitate before taking a few steps forward. Arthur wordlessly stood up and took your hand to kiss the back of it.

His gaze remained locked on you even as he began kissing your knuckles. “It’s truly wonderful to see you, my dearest.”

You nodded in kind. “Arthur. How have you been? Did you receive the new green hair dye products you asked for? I did try to find the right brand.”

He smiled warmly as he gently released your hand. “Indeed, sweetie. And I thank you for bringing it for me. It’s absolutely lovely. You’re a lifesaver.” He chuckled softly, continuing to smile at you. However, his gaze suddenly shifted to House as he slowly seemed to remember that he was no longer alone in the cell. “And who might you be ? Another recruit ?”

House was staring at Arthur intently now, still leaning on his cane, and he responded to him immediately. “You could say that. I’m a doctor. Doctor House.”

Arthur gave him a quick once-over. “I see. Have you met the others yet?”

He shook his head. “Just one. I’ve only been here for a few hours now.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Only for a few hours, and you’re already checking in on patients? Either you’re very dedicated or very curious.”

He chuckled. “You could say that. Or both, either one is technically right. I enjoy learning things…and I’m always up for a challenge. And this place looks like it’ll certainly provide that.”

Arthur huffed out a laugh. “You’d be right about that. But a man like you doesn’t look like the kind to take a big interest in patients like us.”

Doctor House raised a quizzical eyebrow at his comment. “A man like me ?”

Arthur chuckled softly. “Yes. A man like you. You strike me as someone who looks down upon the mentally insane. Just another stuck up doctor who only cares about a good paycheck.”

House smirked, seemingly amused by this. “You’re not too far off on the second point. I’m certainly here for the money, but I don’t necessarily look at my patients as ‘below me.’ That’s something I find far too annoying to deal with. But I like to learn, and I like a good challenge…and that’s what I intend to get here.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “Well, I suppose you’ll definitely find that here. But if I may, Doctor…what do you think of me? I am curious.”

House smirked, now seeming far more interested in the conversation. “Oh, this should be good. Alright then, why not. You do strike me as interesting. Your general demeanor is far different from any other patients’ I’ve ever seen. You’re calm, almost friendly. You can definitely be hostile, but you seem far more civil than most. And honestly…you sound fairly rational. I wouldn’t have even guessed you were a patient if I saw you outside this cell.”

Arthur chuckled but his laughter sounded hollow and suddenly it broke into an uncontrollable fit of giggles. House raised an eyebrow, his smirk slipping at hearing his laughter. However, he had seen things like this before, so he simply waited for him to finish.

After a little bit, Arthur stopped and wiped his eyes. “Sorry, sorry. But hearing someone say that I sound rational…never fails to sound hilarious to me.”

House simply let out a snort. “Well, you certainly don’t seem rabid or completely out of your mind. That’s more than it can be said for some.”

“You haven’t read my file. It shows.” Arthur told him honestly.

House chuckled. “That is a fair point. But honestly, it doesn’t really matter to me what your official diagnosis is. Diagnoses are usually a load of crap anyway.”

Arthur smiled and got out a cigarette. “Do you mind if I—?”

House shrugged, a smirk returning to his face.“Go ahead, I don’t mind. I don’t care if you smoke in here. This is your cell after all.”

Arthur smiled before looking at you. You nodded in agreement and then you lit up his cigarette. House leaned his cane against the wall and crossed his arms loosely as he spoke.“You two seem awfully close.”

You looked at Doctor House and immediately knew where he was going with this. You were quick to explain. “Arthur Fleck was the first patient I had to treat urgently when I first started working here.”

House raised an eyebrow. “Oh, was he? What’d you do, fix him up after he had a temper tantrum?”

Your eyes darkened. “No. He was being beaten up in his cell and I decided to intervene since the guards didn’t.”

His smirk disappeared, and he frowned. “Wait. The guards…let him get beaten in his cell by another patient while they just stood and watched?”

Your jaw twitched. “Not a patient.”

House’s frown deepened, and he now looked mildly disturbed. “Not a patient? Who the hell was it, a guard? A visitor?”

You sighed. “His name got Bat and man in it.”

House’s eyes widened and he looked stunned. “Wait. Wait a minute. You’re telling me it was the Batman in here beating this guy up? Seriously? Who is he, the Joker?”

Arthur burst into laughter. “You REALLY didn’t read my file.”

House rubbed a hand over his forehead, and let out a sigh. “Jesus. Just when I thought this place couldn’t get any crazier. This is insane. But…how is this even possible? Batman isn’t supposed to beat people up. That’s the whole goddamn thing with him. He doesn’t kill people.”

Your smile didn’t come back as you told him. “Yes. He doesn’t kill. But he does beat up and leave scars. This is why I stay at night. I can’t leave the patients.”

House didn’t respond, for once he seemed utterly speechless. Finally, he ran a hand through his hair, closed his eyes, and exhaled again. “This….is insane. No. This is beyond insane. I can’t even imagine…a freaking superhero in a psychiatric facility who beats up patients.”

You sighed. “This is why we need you. The patients are resilient and strong but…they can still be hurt. They can be injured and in pain. And we are the only people who can stand between them and the world.”

He sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose, his smirk now completely gone. “Yeah. I can…can see I’m gonna be needed here a lot more than I expected. I mean…a vigilante just comes in and brutalizes the patients…and none of you have any way to stop it? You really do need me or at least someone like me here.”

You smiled before looking back at Arthur who was wordlessly smoking and looking at Doctor House. “I like you already.”

House looked back to Arthur, who was still smoking his cigarette. His expression was neutral as he looked right back at House, but his gaze was fixed and unwavering.

House just stared back for a few seconds before letting out a snort. “I’ve got to say…I’m starting to understand why this place is underfunded. All the money needed to keep this place up and running is probably going into defending against future lawsuits. The hospital can’t afford much security, but it’s probably spent a fortune in legal fees.”

You looked at House. “The guards are not underfunded. The rest of the staff is.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Wait. The guards are getting more funding than the rest of the staff? No wonder the guards are so incompetent. You put money into them and they still don’t do their goddamn job.”

You nodded. “I talked to General McCain. The head of security but…his hands are tied. They are paid to make sure the patients stay inside. Not to protect them from outside threats.”

He huffed out a half-laugh, clearly still in disbelief at this entire situation. “This just gets crazier and crazier. You’ve got incompetent guards who aren’t paid to protect anyone but themselves, the local goddamn superhero beating up patients, and you’re the only staff member here who actually cares about any of them. This hospital is insane.”

You smiled and Arthur huffed.

Pennywise was resting in his favourite rocking chair while Freddy was sprawled on the couch nearby, boots kicked up on the armrest and his hat lowered over his eyes. The arrow struck Pennywise square in the chest. He froze, his yellow eyes widening.

He turned—and saw Freddy.

And in an instant, the world changed.

Freddy—burnt ass, scarred, grinning with razor teeth—suddenly looked, to Pennywise, like the most devastatingly handsome creature in all of creation.

Freddy glanced up at the sudden silence. “The hell y’all staring at, cotton candy?”

Pennywise’s lips split in a wide, dreamy grin. “You.”

Freddy blinked, confused as hell. “…Me?”

“Yes, you,” Penny purred, sauntering forward. “Ya perfect lil’ crème brûlée.”

Freddy sat up slowly with eyes wide as saucers. “Uh…d’ya hit your head, Bozo?”

But Penny wasn’t listening. He dropped to his knees dramatically, hands clasped. “Take me, dream demon! For I am yours, now and forever!”

Freddy’s jaw dropped. “What in the actual f—?!”

Pennywise grabbed Freddy’s leg and yanked him off the couch. He then nuzzled his face against his chest while Freddy tried to pry him off. “No! Fuck off! Hey! Ya listenin’ to me, ya big fat bitch?!”

But Pennywise didn’t hear anything—he couldn’t. He just kept staring at Freddy with the biggest grin he could muster and heart eyes…also a little drool. “I love you too, sugar.”

Freddy would normally LOVE messing with the clown and get along with the chaos, but he could see that this wasn’t really Pennywise. So he punched the clown in the face, stood up in a hurry and shouted. “FUCK OFF, P! CAN’T BELIEVE I’M SAYIN’ THIS BUT I REALLY DON’T WANNA FUCK YA! YA DON’T EVEN LIKE SEX, YA DUMBASS!”

Pennywise grinned widely before chasing after him in all fours. “For you, I’ll make an exception!”

Freddy’s head *CRAPCRAPCRAP…*

Meanwhile, in your bedroom…

“Oh no,” you whispered, nose already tickling with another sneeze. You tried to stop it—tilting your head back, pinching your nose, praying the fever didn’t drag another arrow out of you.

But it was useless. “—hhhhhhtchooo!”

The golden spark shot like a bullet down the corridor, veering straight into the living room.

Inside, Michael was standing near the window, massive shoulders blocking out half the light. Arthur sat not far away, humming softly as he fiddled with his deck of worn cards. The arrow pierced Michael’s chest first. His breathing hitched.

And then he turned his head. Slowly.

Towards Arthur.

Arthur blinked, mid-shuffle. “Michael? Are you alri—?”

Before he could finish, Michael crossed the room in two strides. His hand clamped around Arthur’s throat, throwing him harshly against the floor. The impact cracked tile beneath them.

Arthur gasped, cards scattering everywhere. “M–Michael!”

His breathing through the mask was ragged, heavier than Arthur had ever heard it. Pinned to the floor, Arthur frowned, utterly confused as Michael held him there. His hand searched for his hidden knife, but Michael stoooed him and instead intertwined their fingers to pin it above his hand. Michael sat on top of him and raised a fist to beat the man to a pulp when Arthur closed his eyes. If this was his end…well, there were far worse endings than being killed by a friend.

But then, pain never came. Instead, he felt a warm liquid drip down on his face.

He slowly opened his eyes to find that Michael’s fist was shaking as his nails dug into his palm. He was desperately trying to hold himself back. Arthur looked up and hesitated whether to laugh or cry. This bloodthirsty cursed killer…held more restraint than most men he knew or had ever known.

He was fighting so very hard against his very nature to protect him…His fingernails digging into his own shaking palm to stop himself.

From your bedroom, your hand clamped over your mouth again, heart hammering.

“Oh god,” you whispered, “it’s getting worse.”

Your nose tickled. Another sneeze was coming. You rubbed your nose raw with a tissue, sniffling miserably. And then—of course—your body betrayed you again. “hhhhh-HhhAATCHHhhhoo!”

Another golden spark shot out like a bullet. You groaned, reaching out helplessly as if you could catch it midair. No chance. It sailed straight across the room and struck Jason next. Jason had been sitting quietly in the corner, hunched and fidgeting with a small carving of wood he’d whittled.

The arrow hit him straight in the chest, and he jolted as though struck by lightning.

His masked head snapped up—straight towards Brahms, who was crouched on the floor nearby, muttering to his doll and humming tunelessly. Jason dropped the carving.

His whole body trembled. Slowly, he lumbered towards Brahms.

Brahms blinked, tilting his head at the towering figure. “Jason?” he asked softly, not understanding why his friend’s shoulders shook so badly.

And then Jason bent down and enveloped him in an enormous, crushing hug.

Brahms stiffened in surprise at first. Jason clung to him tightly, massive arms shaking as he whimpered and panted beneath his mask.

“…Oh,” Brahms whispered, realization dawning. His lips curled into a small, genuine smile. “You want a hug?”

Jason squeezed tighter, pressing his masked face into Brahms’s shoulder.

Brahms’s arms slowly came up, wrapping around the giant. He closed his eyes, leaning into the warmth. “It’s alright. I’m here.”

But then…Jason surprised him by suddenly removing Brahms mask and his own to aggressively kiss him. Brahms was so shocked, he didn’t know how to answer…but Jason didn’t leave him time to process as he suddenly pulled him up to carry him to their bedroom.

Suddenly, Brahms seemed to understand and tried desperately to grab onto the walls around them and door frames to slow him down. “Jason…Jason! No! Wait!”

Jason wasn’t waiting…

He kissed Brahms again and kept walking forward.

From the doorway, your throat tightened as you muttered weakly, “Okay, maybe that one wasn’t so bad…” But then your nose twitched again. “Don’t sneeze, don’t sneeze, don’t—hhhhhHHhhhhhTtTSSSHhhhhhhuuuhhh!”

The golden arrow zipped down the room and smacked straight into Norman, he had been quietly sitting in a chair, hands folded neatly in his lap as he was reading. His eyes glazed for a moment, then flicked towards Jack Torrance.

“Uh…” Jack straightened slowly. “Why are you looking at me like that, buddy?”

Norman’s lips parted slightly. His eyes softened, hazy, but intense. “You’re beautiful, Mister Torrance.”

Jack’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Norman slowly stood up, the book falling from his lap and his eyes never leaving Jack’s. He took a slow step forward. Then another.

Meanwhile, Jack instinctively stepped back. “…Hey now, I don’t know what game this is, but I don’t like it. Knock it off.”

Norman tilted his head with a dashing smile. “…Such a magnificent man.”

Jack’s throat went dry. “Oh, boy…” He chuckled nervously, hands coming up as Norman inched closer, gaze hungry and trembling.

“Listen, man. I really think you and me is a really bad idea. We’re good friends, but that’s it.”

Norman didn’t answer and Jack ran to the bathroom and closed the door. But Norman didn’t let it deter him. He went to find an axe to smash the door down.

Ironic.

From the doorway, you buried your face in your hands. “This is getting worse by the minute…” you groaned.

And of course, your nose was already starting to tickle again. Your entire body ached from holding back another sneeze. You pressed tissues to your nose, praying for mercy, but your divine cold wasn’t about to spare anyone.

“hhhhhHHhhhttttTSSsshhhhhhoooooo!”

Another glittering arrow shot across the room and struck Chucky this time. The doll froze mid-step, plastic face slackening for just a moment before his stitched features stretched into a wide, unnervingly dreamy grin. His little head swiveled, eyes locking on Patrick who was staring at the reflection in his axe.

“Well, well, well…” Chucky purred, hopping down from a chair. His stubby arms spread wide, voice syrupy. “Ain’t ya a fine piece of Wall Street meat? Forget Tiffany—daddy’s found himself a real man.”

Patrick barely looked up, his gaze still fixed on his reflection in the shiny blade.

Chucky started waddling towards him. “C’mere, sugar. Don’t play hard to get. I’m gonna crawl right into your Armani sheets and—”

The axe came down in a clean, brutal arc.

CRACK.

“Jesus Christ!” Chucky shrieked, dragging himself across the ground with one arm. “What the hell, ya psycho?!”

Patrick wiped the blood from his face and admired the axe’s sheen once more. “You repulse me.”

Chuckled cackled. “Ya lil’ savage. Only makes me want ya more, baby!”

Patrick proceeded to bring the axe down. Multiple times.

Your sinuses were on fire. The tissues were damp and useless in your hands. Every time you tried to fight back the pressure, the universe seemed to conspire against you.

“hhhhhHHhhhhhTTTTTsssshhhhhhuuuuuuh!”

Vincent had just arrived. The arrow hit him square in the chest. He stilled. His head lifted. His eyes locked immediately on Bubba. He was sitting awkwardly on the couch, watching all the chaos unfold with wide, confused eyes.

Vincent froze. His breathing quickened. Then, with the sudden urgency of inspiration, he pulled a small, worn Polaroid camera from his coat pocket. He lifted it to his eye, tilted his head, and clicked.

The shutter’s snap made Bubba jolt. He looked around as if searching for what Vincent had just captured, then pointed at himself—confused.

Vincent nodded. Another flash. Click.

He then lowered the camera only long enough to tilt his head the other way, studying Bubba like he was a statue in a museum. Then—click. Another picture. Bubba blinked rapidly, unsure of what was happening. But slowly, he adjusted in his seat.

He was posing.

Vincent’s chest rose and fell with silent, feverish devotion. Every angle, every gesture—perfect. He stepped closer, crouching to get a lower shot. Click. Click. Click.

Bubba puffed out his chest, cheeks darkening under the mask with pride. For once, someone was looking at him like art.

And of course—your nose started to twitch again. Your body was trembling. Feverish, tissues crumpled in your hand, you tried to stay still, to keep the arrows from flying—but it was too late. The arrow streaked across the room, ricocheting off a light fixture before striking Eddie Gluskin square in the chest.

Eddie froze mid-step, wide-eyed and shivering, and then his gaze landed on Bo. The moment was instantaneous, consuming. Bo barely had time to react before Eddie lunged at him like a wild animal.

He darted towards the nearest glass door, locking himself inside the small security room. The sliding lock clicked, and he breathed a sigh of relief—until he saw Eddie pounding on the glass with both fists, wide-eyed and unhinged.

“I’M GONNA MAKE YOU MY NEXT WIFE!” Eddie bellowed, voice cracking with strange, fevered devotion.

Bo leaned back against the wall, eyes wide in disbelief. “…The fuck is wrong with ya, dumbass?!”

Eddie pressed his face closer to the glass, a crazed sort of adoration in his expression. “You…you’re mine! Mine!”

Bo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He usually liked madness, but he had no intention of becoming that fucker’s twisted wife. He knew what that meant and he wasn’t about to let that psycho do something similar to him.

Your nose twitched again, the inevitable looming…You tried to steady yourself, breathing through your mouth. “Okay…just…just hold it…”

But your body had other plans.

The last golden arrow shot across the room.

Penny froze, his infectious laughter vanishing into a stunned silence. His eyes locked onto Eddie Munson—the unfortunate target of his new fevered, unrestrained love. Eddie froze. He had seen how the others had changed because of that weird gold arrow. Then his hand shot to a beer bottle, smashing it against the wall in one smooth, desperate motion.

“PENNY! DON’T!” he screamed, voice cracking.

But it was already too late.

Penny surged forward, mouth gaping wide, drool dripping from the corners, eyes glowing with manic devotion. He lunged towards Eddie with the kind of reckless, single-minded energy that only Penny could muster. Eddie barely staggered backwards, screaming like a child, trying to evade the monstrous clown who now saw him as the object of his all-consuming affection.

The asylum was officially a battlefield of twisted, feverish love—all because of one sick nurse and a sneeze too many.

…

Hours later…

You woke with a start, sunlight streaming weakly through the asylum windows. Your head felt clearer, your nose no longer burning, and your body finally at peace.

Stretching, you rubbed your eyes and stood up. You groaned softly and brushed yourself off. “Okay…time to fix this mess.”

A few careful gestures, a couple of gentle waves of your hands, and the arrows of uncontrolled affection unraveled like golden threads. Finally, you took a deep breath and smiled, exhausted but satisfied. Your power, once uncontrolled by illness, had restored balance. 

But then…you heard the slashers scream and yell from multiple rooms. You sighed.

Arthur Fleck sat in the chair opposite your desk, legs crossed, hands resting loosely in his lap, as if he’d been invited. He looked up the moment you appeared, his expression calm, eyes sharp and unmistakably alert. 

Slowly, you closed the door behind you. You then took your seat, fingers interlaced, your posture composed despite the alarm blaring just beyond the walls.

“Mr. Fleck,” you started with a tight smile. “I was on my way to check on you in the infirmary. But it seems you found me first.”

He looked composed and lucid now—a far cry from his previous state. He leaned back in the chair and elegantly crossed his legs, entirely at ease. “Yes, ma’am. Apologies. I was…tired of lying in bed.”

You nodded understandingly. “Right. I am glad to see you up and about, Arthur. However, your physical condition is still rather less than satisfactory. You should have waited in the infirmary. I did say you needed rest.”

He chuckled softly under his breath and his eyes met yours. “Of course, of course. I understand. But, to be honest, I didn’t want to wait while the whole hospital is in an uproar over lil’ ol’ me. I decided to wait in here instead, knowing you’d come back to your office eventually.”

You exhaled through your nose and smiled placidly. “I see. Are you perhaps trying to get me fired, Mr. Fleck?”

His smile widened just a fraction. “Oh no, no, no. Nothing of the sort I assure you. I simply preferred to wait for you here. It’s much more…private than the infirmary room.”

He reached into his pocket and retrieved a cigarette, rolling it between his fingers. “Do you mind if I—? It’s been so long.”

You nodded nonchalantly. “Of course.”

He lit it with unhurried care, inhaled deeply, then exhaled the smoke towards the ceiling. He relaxed his body further back into the chair and sighed. “Thank you, sweetie.”

He seemed totally unfazed by the fact he had escaped guards, or that he was risking punishment from even sitting in front of you.

You coughed. “So…could I inquire as to the reason for this impromptu visit ?”

Arthur smiled again, smoke curling from his lips as the alarm continued to wail somewhere in the distance.

“I thought we might have a nice little chat,” he explained—lazily waving around. “While everyone else is busy tearing the place apart looking for me.”

You hummed thoughtfully and began sorting through the papers on your desk, deliberately casual—pretending that his presence in your office wasn’t a blatant breach of every safety protocol the hospital had. “You could have also…well, escaped.”

He let out a burst of soft laughter and nodded in agreement. “Oh. Of course, I could have…but I’d rather not be shot today.” His eyes flicked briefly towards the door before returning to you. “And there are too many guards and people running around out there. I just wanted a little privacy. I therefore much preferred to have some conversation with my new favourite nurse while they’re all running around.”

He took another drag, the cigarette smoke curling from his lips and filling the room. “So…since you’re being nice enough to humor me…could I ask you some questions?”

You smiled politely. “Be my guest.”

His expression mirrored yours—calm, smug, quietly sly.

“Tell me, head nurse.” His gaze swept over you. “Why haven’t you left this godforsaken place yet? Like any sensible person would have?”

You tilted your head and slowly blinked—not sure what he meant by that. “…I work here.”

He chuckled, his smile never leaving his face. “Yes, I know. But that’s not a real answer.” He took a moment to exhale more smoke. “The conditions here are miserable, the patients and employees alike are treated horribly, and there are barely any good news to go around. Let’s call this hospital what it is. A prison. a life sentence. You know that. I know that. Why on earth are you still here?”

You had no answer for him so your chose to remain silent.

He chuckled to himself and shook his head. “Oh come now. This can’t really be a question that hasn’t crossed your mind before. You are clearly a good professional head nurse. You don’t belong in a dump like this…and you are still here. You must have a reason. Right?”

He took another drag. “So…I’ll ask again. Why haven’t you left?”

You smiled faintly. “Well—for the same reason I’m sitting here with you instead of screaming for help. Perhaps—like you—I wanted a nice conversation.”

He smirked as you imitated his reasoning. “Great act, sweetheart. But I do not buy it.”

You tilted your head quizzically at him. “What do you mean?”

He let out another huff of quiet, amused laughter and shook his head. “Really?” He leaned forward in his seat and watched your expression intently—as if he knew something you didn’t. “Your body language already tells me all that I need to know, my dear.” He clicked his tongue. “You’re nervous and scared. You’re trying so hard to remain composed. But it shows. And it’s so obvious. It makes it funny.”

You suddenly looked straight into his eyes and smiled calmly. “I apologise. I think you have misunderstood my intentions, Mr. Fleck. I’m here because this is my job. I’m here because I want to help people like you.” Your voice didn’t waver. “I’m not scared. I’m not nervous. I’m here because I choose to be.”

Arthur snorted in disbelief. “Oh now, isn’t it just adorable. You truly are a remarkable actress. I almost believed you for a moment.”

You leaned in closer, holding his gaze without blinking. “Answer me this. Do I really look scared to you, Mr. Fleck?”

He smirked and leaned forward as well. He stared straight into your eyes, his gaze cold and sharp. He took another slow drag, not breaking eye contact with you. He laughed softly and finally shrugged. “Of course you do. Your expression is too stiff. Your body is too tense.” He looked you up and down, studying you intently. “You’re scared. But you’re trying so very hard to appear calm and composed…and you would’ve almost had me fooled if I wasn’t more perceptive than most people. I know fear. I have seen it. I have felt it. Fear is so very noticeable once you know the signs.”

He leaned back in his chair and took another drag. “Besides, anyone in your position would be scared, right? I mean it. You’re all alone in a room with a complete madman. You know what I am capable of.”

He let out another burst of quiet laughter, watching your face for any twitch or shift in your expression. “I know when others are frightened, and right now, you’re one of those frightened little rabbits. You’re an intelligent one, but a rabbit nonetheless. No matter how hard you try, you can’t change yourself. And it is no shame. Everyone would be scared in your situation.”

You suddenly stood up and he wondered what would be your next move. He raised a quizzical eyebrow as you locked the door.

“Interesting move, I’ll admit. Why?” he asked.

“Let me explain something to you, Mr. Fleck.” You slowly walked back to him and lowered your hands to the arms of his chair to trap him in his seat. “I did not spend 6 years or more studying medicine and psychology for you to tell me if I am scared or not. Of course I am. As I would be in any situation where I know I am in danger. But, I decided to trust you, to help you. Because I believe you can do better. So yes. You are right. I am scared. But I should not be. For I believe you and all the other patients in this facility are bound for greater things than rotting in a cell for the rest of your lives.”

His face went completely blank as he listened to you, no hint of a smile or a smirk on his face anymore. But then, his eyes shone and he grinned. “Oh…do tell me more.”

You were a little taken back by how interested he suddenly seemed. You cleared your throat awkwardly, clearly a little thrown-off. “Are you truly interested in what I have to say?”

He nodded slowly and tapped his cigarette for the ashes to fall in the ashtray on your desk. “Very much so. Especially the part about us being ‘bound for greater things.’ Everyone says we need to change, but not a lot of people believe we can be great. Most of the time, they would be happy if we became what society deems normal. But you? You believe we can be great. You believe we can reach greatness. That sets you apart in my eyes. Because truly? Who wants to be normal? No…Greatness is what we all aspire to achieve.”

You thought about it and nodded. “You have the potential. All you need…is a little push in the right direction. And yes. You can reach greatness once the effort is there.”

For some reason, Arthur didn’t look as amused or mocking as he had before…he actually looked like he was taking your words very seriously. He slowly nodded again, and let out a soft hum. “And you are that someone who could give me that great push, I suppose?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know if I will be. But, yes. That’s my goal. I want to help patients like you realize their potential even if they sometimes don’t realize they have any. Because sometimes, patients don’t believe they even deserve a second chance.”

A very small smile started to form on his face, one that actually looked genuine. He chuckled softly and eventually shook his head in disbelief. “You sound like someone who actually cares. About all the dangerous, violent, psychopathic men and women locked up in here…as if they could actually be helped.”

You nodded—certain of your words. “Of course they can. People don’t act out for no reason. There’s always an explanation for bad behavior. As I said, someone just needs to find it. And then…they can help that person.”

He remained silent for a moment—contemplating something—before he suddenly grabbed a pair of scissors on your desk and raised it to your throat. “…What if I killed you right now?”

You froze, your eyes widening at the sudden move. He had the tips of the scissors less than an inch from your neck, his hand firm. But even with a weapon at your throat, you didn’t struggle or fight. Your body remained relaxed and your expression was calm; you barely even moved.

“Is that…truly what you want, Mr. Fleck?”

He kept the scissors at your throat, not pressing any harder than he already was, his eyes staring very intently into yours for a long moment. He then confessed. “I’m not going to pretend I haven’t…considered it.”

You hummed and didn’t move. “Would that be beneficial for you in any way?”

A small smirk started to form on his face again and he tilted his head—pondering the idea of a dead nurse on his already soiled hands. “Perhaps. It would certainly be satisfying.” He moved the scissors slightly, running the metal blade lightly over your skin without breaking it. “You’d be out of my way…and the rest of the patients wouldn’t ever have to worry about you trying to treat them. Seems like a good outcome to me.”

You frowned slightly and asked—genuinely curious. “…You have no wish to have a life again, Mr. Fleck?”

He chuckled bitterly, running the tip of the scissors lightly up and down your skin. “What kind of life could I have outside of this place? I have no family to return to. And what woman would want me? I’m a murderer with a list of mental health problems a mile long. There’s no going back to ‘normal’ for me, sweetheart. I’ve made my bed. I have to lay in it now.”

You leant forward—the tip of the sharp scissors digging into your skin. “Who said you were dead yet, Mr. Fleck? You do not need to lie in that bed forever. That bed could change into something better…”

His smirk widened slightly and he raised his eyebrows in surprise. “So you think I can achieve a wonderful, beautiful future by just obeying and listening to you? That’s funny. You’re truly desperate, aren’t you? You’d do anything to try to turn me into a harmless little toy who obeys your every command, wouldn’t you? Is that what you truly want? To be the ‘saviour’ who succeeded in turning a bunch of criminals into model citizens?”

You slowly lifted your hand to his wrist. “…I have no interest whatsoever in making you into anything but a man with a future, Arthur.”

He looked down at your hand on his wrist and his smile faltered slightly. “A man with a future you say? You should probably lower your standards for what I could achieve. You’re only setting yourself up for a lot of disappointment.”

Your thumb stroked his inner wrist. “Let me be the judge of that. Please.”

Arthur’s eyes lowered to your thumb and his jaw twitched before he looked back up at you. “And if you’re wrong? If I’m proven to be exactly the man everyone thinks I am—a psychotic mass-killer with no hope of ever being released?”

You smiled—a weak smile that told more than words ever could. “Then the scissors will still be there.”

His eyes widened. He hadn’t expected that response. He hesitated and eventually let out a humourless laugh. “You see a glimmer of hope in a pile of ash. The only reason you’re still standing here unharmed is your good fortune. Anybody else would be dead already. You’re not dealing with a dog, or a harmless pet. You’re dealing with a wild animal. I’m a threat, sweetheart. We all are.”

You hummed and ever so slowly lowered his hand with the scissors still in it. “I repeat. My intention is not to turn you into a pet, Mr. Fleck. My first objective is your health, my second your security and my third your future.”

He finally let you lower his hand all the way and the scissors fell to the floor. Arthur seemed lost for a second before he smiled weakly and shook his head. “You’re not the first person to say that, you know. The doctors and psychiatrists I’ve been with—they’ve all said that they want to ‘fix me’ and make me into a good boy. They all say it’s for the best…but then they usually just give up when they realize that I’m too much for them to handle.”

You smiled sympathetically. “Please. Let me try. What do you have to lose?”

He rolled his eyes and huffed. “Well, I’m not really doing anything at the moment. So, go ahead. I am curious to see what you have to offer the Joker.”

Joker. Not Arthur. You noticed and realized how Arthur seemed to truly juggle between his two identities. And it seemed one of them had clearly taken over these past few years.

You nodded and sat back down before smiling. “How about we start by calling you ‘Arthur’?”

Arthur’s smile lingered for a moment longer before slowly fading. Something unreadable passed through his eyes as you said his name. Not anger. Not amusement. He seemed to be recalling a name long forgotten.

“…Arthur,” he repeated softly, testing it. It had been so long…

The alarm was still screaming somewhere in the distance, muffled by thick walls and locked doors. Neither of you moved to acknowledge it. You straightened a folder on your desk and finally sat back in your chair, your posture composed once more.

“If we’re going to do this,” you stated evenly, “we’ll do it properly.”

Arthur tilted his head.

“Oh?” he murmured curiously. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

“By establishing boundaries,” you replied. “For both of us.”

That earned a low chuckle.

“Boundaries,” he echoed. “That’s funny, coming from someone who just stood still with scissors at her throat.”

“And yet, you lowered your hand.” You shot back without ever lifting your eyes.

That made him pause. His fingers flexed slightly, as if he’d only just remembered the sensation of holding the weapon. His gaze drifted briefly to the spot on the floor where the scissors lay, then back to you.

“Fair point.”

You opened the folder in front of you, revealing a blank page. No notes. No observations. No diagnoses yet.

“This is not an interrogation,” you continued. “And it’s not a performance. You don’t need to impress me, frighten me, or prove anything.”

Arthur leaned back, crossing his arms. “Then what do I need to do?”

“Answer honestly. Or don’t answer at all.” You replied.

His lips twitched. “You’re giving me options now?”

This time, your eyes lifted to meet his. “I always was.”

Silence stretched between you again.

“You’re not afraid of what I’ve done.” Joker stated.

“I’m aware of it,” you corrected.

“And you’re not trying to fix me.” He asked.

“No.”

“Or save me.” He added.

“No.”

He studied your face carefully, searching for cracks. “Then why try to redeem me?”

You didn’t answer right away. When you finally did, your voice was steady. “Because you’re self-aware. Because you know what you are capable of. And because you chose not to act on it just now.”

Arthur laughed quietly.

“Careful,” he warned. “You’re giving me credit I don’t deserve.”

“I’m acknowledging reality,” you replied matter-of-factly. “You don’t need to deserve it.”

Something in his expression shifted.

“…All right,” he indulged at last and laid back. “Let’s say I play along.”

You met his gaze. “Then my first question is simple.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow at you. “Oh, I doubt that.”

You leaned forward just slightly. “When did you stop believing your life could be anything other than this?”

Arthur didn’t answer immediately. For the first time since he’d entered your office, he looked away. Arthur’s eyes remained fixed on some invisible point beyond your desk. His fingers drummed lightly against the arms of his chair.

“You want to know who I used to be,” he acknowledged. “Before all of this…before the masks, the smile, the crimes.” He exhaled, a soft, humorless laugh escaping him—a painful rictus. “I used to be…someone nobody noticed. Just another face in the city. I made people laugh. Well…some of them. Not all of them. Mostly it was just me, pretending. Pretending the world wasn’t grinding me down into nothing.”

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, eyes dark but distant.

“I wasn’t…good. Not really. I wasn’t a hero. I wasn’t clever. I was awkward, scared, and…unseen. Nobody looked at me twice. My jokes fell flat, nobody understood me…my life was…small. Invisible. And that made me angry. Angry at them. Angry at myself. Angry at a world that didn’t notice when someone like me stopped existing.”

He paused, a short, brittle laugh escaping him.

“And then…things happened. Things I thought I could survive. Things I thought I could…fix myself around. But the world doesn’t fix itself, and people don’t change unless something—someone—forces them. And I snapped. Not once. Not twice. Over and over. Until there was no one left in my life but me, staring back at a mirror I didn’t recognize.”

Arthur lifted his gaze, finally meeting yours. The smirk was gone.

“That’s who I was. That’s the man I used to be and who was so desperately trying to be…someone. And somewhere along the way, that man…he…died. Or maybe he just stopped mattering altogether—if he ever truly did.”

He took a long drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke drift lazily towards the ceiling.

“Do you know what it’s like to be invisible…until one day you realize the world doesn’t care if you live or die? That’s me. That’s the ‘before’ you won’t see on the surface. The before no one remembers. The before nobody wanted to see.”

You stared at him, letting the silence hang in the room for a moment. His eyes flicked to yours, searching, wary, as if expecting mockery or dismissal.

But he found neither.

“Personally? I would have remembered you.” You replied casually and shrugged. “The person you were before…before all of this. The scared, awkward, unseen man who tried to make people laugh. I would have seen him. Maybe I wouldn’t have understood all your jokes, but I would have certainly recognised the effort behind them. That’s what would have made me stay and laugh.”

He blinked slowly, caught off guard by the confidence in your words. “You…would have?” he asked, his voice low, suspicious, as though the idea itself was impossible. Arthur’s hand twitched slightly. The cigarette wavered in his fingers. He leaned back in his chair and eyes were deep…two deep pools of blood and unshed tears.

“Yes. Because I care,” you replied softly. “I care because I know that even the person you’ve become doesn’t erase who you were. And it doesn’t have to define who you can still be. That man…he’s still in there, Arthur. And I intend to help him surface again.”

He exhaled slowly and cackled…but not mockingly.

“You’re…stubborn,” he accused you.

“And you’re worth it,” you shot back, returning his gaze without hesitation.

He smiled. But then…Arthur noticed the bruises around your neck.

He went completely quiet, the smirk vanishing from his face. His expression went completely blank as he kept his gaze fixed on your throat. His eyes lingered on the discolored skin around your neck, taking in the shape and color.

“How did you get those bruises…?”

You looked down and started writing things down—purposefully ignoring the question. “I will ask the guards to let you and the other patients leave your cells at least 30 minutes a day for fresh air.”

He was quiet for a moment as he watched you write—unbothered. His voice was tense when he spoke again, his words tight and sharp. “I asked you a question.”

Your pen stopped writing at the seriousness in his voice and you sighed before finally lifting your gaze once more. “Does it matter, Mr. Fleck?”

His expression stayed the same. “Yes. It does matter.”

His eyes never left your neck, his gaze fixed onto the bruises.

You smiled. “Why are you interested ?”

His face remained stoic, his jaw tight and clenched as he kept staring at the bruises on your neck. He inhaled through his nose before responding. “Humor me, just this once…who did this to you?”

You kept a smile on your face, even if you weren’t smiling inside. You were scared he would find out. “I cannot say. It would be betraying my oath as a nurse for patient confidentiality.”

His expression hardened, and his grip on the arms of the chair tightened until his knuckles turned white. He clenched his jaw so hard, you could practically see the muscle in his face straining. He inhaled deeply again and slowly stood up, the chair scraped loudly against the floor as he took a step towards you. “Who. Did. This…?”

He was standing so close to you now. You could see the anger in his eyes and the glimmer of insanity.

You kept your smile on. “A patient I made a promise to and could not keep. I paid the price. That’s all.”

“And just what promise could you have possibly broken to justify your neck looking like that?” he asked before pointing at your neck.

“…I missed our regular reading session.” You replied with a nonchalant shrug. No reason to lie now.

Arthur cracked his neck and sighed before taking another drag of his cigarette. “So let me get this straight. Your neck was almost crushed…because you missed someone’s ‘reading time?’”

You smiled—but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Patients here are special. They are scared. They want something to believe in…It will take time for them to get used to me.”

He gritted his teeth and leaned in even closer, his face right next to yours. “I will ask you one final time. Who did this…?”

You did not answer.

He inhaled deeply, his shoulders hunching forward as he exhaled through his nose. There was a slight hitch in his breath, like he was fighting to stay calm. “You’re not going to tell me…are you?”

You smiled apologetically at him.

He chuckled, his laugh harsh and sharp. He raised a hand and placed it against your neck, his hand moving slowly around the bruised skin as if he was inspecting it—measuring it. He gently traced your bruises with his fingertips, his touch surprisingly light and gentle as he assessed the damage. “Fine then. How badly does it hurt…?”

Your smile twitched. “It’s okay. How bad does it look?”

He didn't respond immediately, instead focusing on the skin beneath his fingers. His hand inspected the purple blotches on your neck.

“It looks terrible.” He then started laughing uncontrollably. You had read in his file he could have those sorts of laughing fits. You had never actually witnessed one before.

It looked painful.

You noticed the way his shoulders shook, how each exhale hitched sharply, and how his hand tightened against the desk for support.

The cigarette slipped from his fingers unnoticed, clattering to the floor.

Arthur’s body wavered, and he staggered forward with a hand on his chest, eyes widening as he tried to steady himself. Without thinking, you rushed forward, catching him under his arms before he could fall. Kneeling beside him, your knee brushed against the fallen cigarette…but you did not falter.

You held him up.

“Careful,” you murmured, adjusting your hold to support him better. You noticed the flash of embarrassment and fleeting pain in them.

He exhaled shakily, still laughing, though the sound had fractured into quiet gasps. “I…apologise.”

You nodded, keeping him steady. “It’s okay. It’s alright. Just breathe. I’ve got you, Arthur.”

You held him steady until your were sure the episode had ended, adjusting your grip so he wouldn’t topple, even as the sting from the cigarette burned your skin. His laughter had dwindled to short, ragged gasps, and for a moment, he seemed almost lost in the sensation of being caught—supported. Then slowly, his hands wrapped around your arms, gripping you in return. Not aggressively—more as if anchoring himself, needing the solid presence you provided. You felt the pressure of his fingers as they sank into your flesh—but you knew he didn’t mean to hurt you.

“I’ve got you,” you repeated, your voice steady as your eyes closed. “You’re safe. Right here. You won’t fall while I’m here to prevent it. I promise.”

Silence. Then…

“You feel…real,” he murmured, as if surprised by the sensation. “You don’t feel like an hallucination. But then again, none of my hallucinations ever feel fake…”

You held his gaze, letting him feel the truth of it. “I am real, Mr. Fleck. It might not feel like it right now, but I am.”

Another short laugh escaped him—lighter this time, more brittle—but he didn’t pull away.

However, soldiers barged in and immediately separated the both of you. They tackled Arthur to the floor and you stood up.

“Do not hurt him.”

They froze, two of them holding Arthur's arms while another had his knee on the man's back.“…You sure, ma'am…?”

You nodded and forced yourself to remain calm as you saw the clear pain on Arthur’s face. “Yes. Just bring him back to his…hum…room. For now.”

They looked at you like you were insane, but reluctantly listened and pulled him up forcefully. He craned his head around to look at you, his eyes wide and frenzied as he let another manic laughter escape him.

He didn't fight back; he simply let them carry him out of your office while he cackled…

You sighed once he was out and sat down, only to have General McCain come in. “I heard what happened. You were in that office with him for 30 minutes. What did he say? Did he threaten you? Did he hurt you?”

You looked up at the General, taking in a deep breath before answering truthfully. “He did not.” You paused, thinking about what to say.“We…simply had a conversation.”

The General raised an eyebrow, looking unconvinced. He crossed his arms and looked at you expectantly. “And what exactly was this ‘conversation’ about?”

You shrugged. "…Everything and nothing. Just normal conversation topics. He just wanted to talk."

General McCain gritted his teeth. “Head Nurse Y/N. I am Head of Security. If you protect the patients…no one will be able to protect you.”

Your eyes widened at his words, and your expression hardened. "I am here as a head nurse to try and help these people—whether it be their mental illnesses, their physical injuries, or their emotional wounds. Whatever it is, I will use everything in my power to keep them well. All of them. That is my duty."

General McCain sighed. “You forget about my duty. If something happens to you? I will have to go search for new staff. Again.”

You shook your head and held back a bitter smile. “I don’t mean to sound disrespectful, but my duty to my patients comes first. I am here to give them the treatment and care they need, and if that means risking my own safety in the process by talking to a patient like Arthur Fleck, then so be it.”

The General was quiet, his expression stoic and his arms still folded. He was quiet for quite a while…then… “Do you have any idea just how dangerous Arthur Fleck really is?”

You smiled and restrained a mocking laugh. “You think I haven’t read his file or something?”

The General’s expression stayed neutral as he responded. “His file only goes so far. He’s a homicidal maniac with a talent for manipulating other people’s emotions and exploiting any situation to his advantage.”

You stared at General McCain. “Have you read the entirety of the file? The man had—forgive my language—a very shitty life. He was raised by his adopted mother and her boyfriend, they were abusing him physically and mentally, until the trauma to his brain caused him to develop Pseudobulbar affect. In Arthur's case, his PBA causes him to laugh uncontrollably during moments of intense stress and sadness. He is in intense emotional distress and to make matters worse, he has hallucinations and cannot differentiate said hallucinations from reality. He is suffering immensely.”

The General nodded, but his expression did not change. “Yes. I am well aware of his circumstances. But it does not change the fact that he is a threat to himself and anyone around him. He has a long list of violent tendencies, and a history of lashing out and attacking others. He’s dangerous. And yet he seems to have taken a liking to you. That doesn’t concern you in the slightest?”

You chuckled. “A liking? That is stretching it.”

The General raised an eyebrow, his expression unimpressed. “You call it stretching, but I call it an observation. The way he was acting in your office? The way his eyes were fixed on you? You were holding him for god’s sakes. Even with the guards pinning him down, he kept his gaze on you! He sees you as an ally. And that is a dangerous position for you. If he didn’t have a genuine interest in you, then why was his attention focused purely on you?”

You froze and slowly glanced up at him before crossing your fingers. “…Because I am not the one with a gun, General McCain.”

The General huffed. “And that’s the problem.”

He nodded towards your office door. “He’s insane. You know how disturbed his mind is. And somehow, you think it’s a good idea to talk to him…alone….without any guards around to protect you…?”

You chuckled humourlessly and shook your head. “Well, I didn’t exactly expect him to show up in my office, did I?”

The General sighed, and you could see a hint of weariness in his expression. “That’s not the point. The point is that you should have called for guards, or for another nurse, or for me. You could have requested for someone to be there in the room with you. You could have taken any precaution and called for someone to be with you at any given moment using the beeper in your pocket…but instead you had a casual conversation with a psychotic killer for thirty minutes.”

You smiled cheekily. “And I am fine. Thank you for asking.”

The General rolled his eyes, letting out another sigh. “You’re completely disregarding my warning. You’ve been here for less than two weeks. I’ve been here for years. You’re very fortunate that he didn’t get the chance to do any real damage.”

You nodded and stared at him before trying to cut the conversation short. “Thank you, General McCain.”

The General rolled his eyes. “You can’t just ‘thank’ me, then shrug off what I’ve said. I am being completely serious, head nurse. You need to be more careful when it comes to these patients. You cannot give anyone an opportunity to be alone with you. Especially Arthur Fleck.”

You nodded—seriously this time. “I understand. I will…take your words into consideration.”

The General scoffed. “You’re not taking anything into consideration. I can tell by the look in your eyes.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “Do you have any idea what would happen if something went wrong and Fleck attacked you in your office? If he got the upper hand and no one was there to help you?”

You stared straight into his eyes. “If he wanted me dead, general. We wouldn’t be having this conversation. Being afraid of the patients is one certain way to get yourself killed. I simply chose to treat them as human beings—something people in this establishment seem to forget that they are.”

The General met your gaze, his expression unchanging. “Being reasonable and cautious is not the same as being afraid. You have to remember that they are dangerous, sick, and psychotic. They are violent and disturbed. You can’t just go in there and ‘treat them like human beings.’ You can’t act like they’re ordinary people who can be reformed because you want them to. I get that you’re trying to do a good thing here, nurse. I really do. But you have to realize that some people can’t be ‘saved’, no matter how badly you might want them to—and no matter how much you treat your patients like human beings, some of them aren’t even in there anymore.”

He sighed again, the stern expression on his face softening. “Arthur Fleck is insane, pure and simple. There’s no ‘reasoning’ with him or ‘treating him like a human being’ or trying to ‘give him a second chance’. He’s too far gone.”

You shook your head—disagreeing wholeheartedly with his bias assessment. “If you keep telling them that, how do you expect them to hope for better things? Why not just give them all guns and ask them to shoot themselves dead?”

The General grimaced. “Don’t be dramatic. That’s not what I’m trying to say. I’m not saying they don’t deserve to live. I’m simply saying they can’t be expected to return to normal society. They’re too dangerous, and they need constant surveillance and medication to keep them under control.”

You sighed and stood up. “I have a call to make. If that is all…”

The General sighed. “Yes. That’s all. Just…keep what I said in mind. And please—be careful with those patients.”

You nodded. “I will. Now, if you would please leave my office?”

The General gave another curt nod and stepped out of the office, closing the door gently behind him as he left. When he was gone, you took a deep breath before pulling out your phone and searching for the number of Wayne Enterprises.

You then dialled the number.

The phone rang for several minutes before a voice finally picked up, a soft, feminine voice that sounded like it belonged to a young intern. “Wayne Enterprises. How may I help you?”

Adelaida looked tiny compared to him. Thin arms, messy hair, sketchbook clutched tightly to her chest. White bandages wrapped around both her wrists. Bo noticed the bandages instantly. His expression changed for half a second before he looked away again. Great. They had brought another scarred lil’ freak for him to fraternise with…

“This is Adelaida,” the nurse explained carefully. “She likes drawing.”

He scoffed and lowered his cap over his eyes. “Yeah? Good for her.”

Adelaida stared at him openly. Unlike most people, she didn’t seem nervous. Her eyes drifted down to his wrists instead, where old restraint marks sat faded against his skin.

“You were tied too,” she remarked quietly.

Bo glanced at her and huffed. “…Yeah.. Good eye, pipsqueak.”

She slightly tilted her head.

“They tie me because I scratch,” Adelaida explained. “But I need my hands to draw.”

Bo grunted—completely uninterested in the little him looking around with big googly eyes. “That so?”

She nodded seriously and sat down at the small table in the room. She immediately opened her sketchbook and started drawing.

For a while the room stayed quiet except for the sound of pencil scratching paper.

Bo kept pretending he didn’t care, but every few minutes his eyes flicked towards the bandages around her wrists. He recalled the times when his own parents did the same and he winced internally at the unhappy memories. He used to be a violent kid, but that pipsqueak seemed as violent as a squeaky toy in a dog shop.

Finally he muttered, “How bad d’you pull at ‘em?”

Adelaida answered honestly. “Until they come off.”

He hummed. “And then?”

She shrugged. “They bleed.”

Bo stared at her for a moment. “…That’s stupid.”

She smiled and shrugged again. “I know.”

He remained silent and she continued. “But I don’t like being trapped.”

“Yeah,” he muttered quietly. “Nobody does.”

One of the nurses relaxed slightly seeing the conversation stay calm. That was a mistake.

Because a minute later Adelaida asked, “Did they use leather straps on you?”

The room went dead silent. Bo’s entire body stiffened. The nurses immediately stepped forward, worried he’d snap, but instead he just rubbed a hand over his mouth and looked irritated.

“…Used whatever they could get their hands on.”

Adelaida nodded like that made perfect sense.

Then she held up her sketchbook toward him.“Look. I drew you.”

Bo blinked. The drawing was rough and childish, but recognizable. Big shoulders, messy hair, angry eyebrows. She’d drawn all his scars too.

“You made me look ugly as hell,” he told her, but grinned all the same. “You’re goin’ places, kid. Maybe not fancy places, but am sure ya ain’t a rotten apple.”

Adelaida looked delighted by the criticism.

For the next few visits, it became routine.

Adelaida would sit in his room and draw while the nurses supervised. Sometimes she talked nonstop about imaginary creatures and strange places. Sometimes she stayed quiet for an hour straight.

Bo usually acted annoyed the entire time.

But he also started noticing things. Like how she scratched at her wrists whenever she got anxious. Or how she’d panic if someone touched her sketchbook without warning.

One afternoon a nurse reached for the notebook too quickly during cleanup. Adelaida jerked back hard enough to reopen one of the healing cuts on her wrist.

The second blood appeared, Bo stood up so fast his chair screeched across the floor.

“The hell are you doin’?!” he snapped.

The nurse backed up immediately. “Bo, calm down—”

Bo didn’t care. Ray of sunshine over there was busy drawing. The nurse could wait five second for her to finish. “Fuck OFF!”

Adelaida looked startled more than scared.

Bo ran a frustrated hand through his hair before crouching awkwardly in front of her.“Lemme see.”

She hesitated, then held out her arm. He looked angry the entire time he checked the cut.

Not angry at her. At the situation. At the fact the scars on her wrists looked familiar.

“You gotta quit yankin’ on those straps till you tear yourself open,” he muttered.

She sighed. “I can’t help it.”

Bo went quiet for a moment before cupping her face. “Lemme get it through your thick skull. No one’s comin’ to save ya from your life. So y’better get used to it. Yankin’ won’t help. Bloodin’ won’t help either. It’ll just make ya more into a freak and then you’ll stay trapped in this hell house for life. Believe me, kid. Won’t be a happy endin’ for ya.”

Adelaida sighed and stayed silent until the nurses took her away. After that, the nurses noticed something strange. Bo behaved better on the days Adelaida visited. Less fights. Less screaming at orderlies. Less throwing things when angry.

But later that same day, Adelaida fell asleep at the table with crayons still in her hands. And Bo sat there completely still for almost an hour so nobody would wake her. He looked down at that little girl and just hugged her tight.

The way he would have liked to be held at that age…