somniphobia

wait! this isnt feet finder!

its just the Winter Ptarmigan

Readmore for a small megalosomnia dont imagine i made i mentioned a bit ago

A horrid cocktail of devastation and despair was inoculating the air, almost palpable in the otherwise sterile scent of the hospital.

Nightmare paused in the hallway, orienting towards the scent as if pulled by an invisible thread. Suddenly he was opening a door, leading to one of the outpatient rooms. Not that the emotions permeating the air was his only clue to finding the source.

Wet, heaving sobs were muffled by the door, but still clearly audible. And yet, not a single nurse stopped. If anything, they seemed to be picking up the pace, desperate to avoid that room in particular.

He stepped into the room, curious at what he would find. A hospice patient perhaps, or someone who had just received a terminal diagnosis? But then, why the avoidance from the staff?

A human woman sat on the edge of the hospital bed, draped in a sickly green hospital gown as she clung to the footboard of the bed, shaking pitifully as tears ran down her face.

“Normal bloodwork…” she murmured, a broken laugh bubbling up from her throat in the silence. “It always is, isn't it?”

Her head came to rest on the plastic railing, nails clawing grooves into her scalp deep enough to draw blood as she moans like an animal in a snare.

“Then why…why does it HURT–” she starts to say, only to gasp when she catches a glimpse of his shoes through her tears, quickly lifting herself into a sitting position, trying to wipe the snot from her face.

“I'm sorry… I just needed a moment, you probably need this room ready for the next patient…”

She mumbles out apologies, sounding so utterly defeated that he finds himself stepping closer in fascination. Humans are usually so…determined.

If humans could fall down, he was certain that this one would have already succumbed to the urge.

She finally abandons all sense of decorum, adjusting the hem of the sleeve to blow her nose wetly into it. Nightmare feels his nasal bridge scrunch up in disgust.

How…unpleasant.

She shifts to the other sleeve to wipe her eyes, and finally blinks up at him in shock, fully registering that there's a strange monster in her hospital room.

Her eyes widen, looking over his bottle green suit for any sort of name tag or clearance badge, but obviously finding none. She tucks herself further onto the bed, trying to surreptitiously shift closer to the panic button embedded into the wall over the headboard of the bed.

“Who are you?” She croaks out, hands shaking where they're white-knuckled on the bed railings. “You're not one of the nurses…”

Nightmare smiles, taking a seat near the bed, uncaring of how she flinches away, hand hovering over the call button.

“Perceptive.” He murmurs, propping his hand up on the armrest casually. “No, I am not. Though I do work closely with many of the fine practitioners here…”

The woman's eyes narrow, looking him over with a more critical eye, despite being clearly exhausted.

“I didn't ask for consultation about experimental drugs, Mr–”

Nightmare cuts her off with a wave of a hand, dismissing the accusation.

“Dr. Night-Shade, if you don't mind. I don't practice with this particular location, mind you, but I'm sure you'll forgive the…unorthodox nature of this discussion in time.”

Its not fully a lie, he tells himself. He's lived enough lifetimes, enough millennia to know all there is to know about current medical innovations.

Whether he's a licensed doctor, however…

Best not to mention that part.

She looks even more suspicious now, glaring down at him from her perch against the headboard.

“Look, Doctor. If you really have clearance to be discussing treatment options, you'd understand why I'm in the outpatient wing. There's a label on my particular file, it says ‘hypochondriac’, which means I'm basically a lost cause.” She huffs, trying to feign defiance to soothe the pain of not being heard.

“I've been receiving magic treatments, physical therapy, nerve blocks…the works. There's nothing you can offer me that I haven't tried. Unless you do discount lobotomies, or leeches.”

He chuckles, shaking his head.

“Nothing that archaic, I assure you. I can see you've been seeing my colleague, Dr. Baggs. I take it that the pain cannot be dulled by mental suggestion, then?”

She snaps her head up to look at him, surprised.

“Did…did you actually read my file?” She whispers, almost disbelieving.

Nightmare nods, choosing to omit the fact that he swiped the document from the nearby desk, the file placed haphazardly enough to allow him a quick peek.

Aren't humans usually careful with these sort of sensitive documents? Why the carelessness?

“I think the more important question to ask would be, ‘Why is that a surprise?’” he hums, pulling the file out of his suit jacket and flipping through with a curious, clinical air.

“Castella, correct? Lovely name.” He adds, turning the folder to face her as he points at the name written hastily in the upper corner.

“That is the name you prefer, correct?” he asks, searching her expression.

The woman looks on, utterly flabbergasted. Suddenly she jolts, as if registering the question. She nods, seeming embarrassed.

“Yes, sir. That's correct.”

Nightmare smiles, flipping to the previous practitioner’s notes. This file is…extensive, he thinks to himself. Not even Axe has such a thick collection of tests, scans, and diagnoses in his medical folder, and he has a stars-damned hole in his skull.

There's also…very little sense to the notes, chalking even the most concerning symptoms up to anxiety and depression of one stripe or another.

He squints at a hastily written note on a diagnostic criteria sheet in red ink. The criteria have clearly been met, judging by the positive test results, but the note just states ‘patient is too young to be diagnosed with autoimmune disorder, send for regular bloodwork and recommend OTC antihistamines.’

He can feel his eyelight twitching in irritation, frustration mounting when page after page shows the same story playing out over and over again.

He pinches his nasal bone in resignation, closing the file with a frustrated groan.

“I'm going to hope that your previous pain specialist did NOT, in fact, recommend a breast reduction to reduce spinal pain and instability. Human doctors are utterly impossible…” he hisses, tossing the file onto the floor, scattering papers across the clean white tiles.

He's actively impersonating a medical professional, and even he feels that he could do a better job than that!

Castella nods, seeming reassured by his irritation towards her previous, incompetent doctors.

“Yeah, she looked at me like I was crazy when I told her I didn't want that…as if I was being unreasonable??” Castella huffs out, throwing her hands up in frustration.

She smiles at Nightmare sadly, gesturing to the scattered documents.

“Dr. Baggs tries to help, he really does…but its not his fault that his treatments just…don't work on me. Trust me, I really wish they did.” Castella adds, hugging herself in an attempt to self-soothe, tears pricking at the corner of her eyes.

“There's hope for you yet, my dear.” He murmurs, rising from the chair to retrieve the scattered papers, setting the reassembled file in his chair before moving to draw the privacy curtain around the bed.

“But first, get dressed in your street clothes. I will walk you to Baggs' office, and we will discuss a referral to my practice.”

He steps back over to the chair, collecting the file before retrieving his cellphone from his pocket.

Nightmare quickly dials Baggs’ number, listening to the rustle of clothing on the other side of the curtain as the phone rings, before a tired voice barks out.

“nightmare, for the last time, let me work.”

“Ah, hello Dr. Baggs. Is Axe stable?”

The skeleton on the other line sighs, clearly exhausted from the healing. Well, more exhausted than usual.

“of course he is. that's what you pay me for, isn't it?”

He hums, enjoying the irritation coming through the tinny speakers.

“Of course.” He parrots back, before shifting gears to the matter at hand.

“Let's discuss your other patients, shall we? I know we've discussed Miss Castella's reaction to your current treatments before, and I'd like to see if we can collaborate on a possible solution for her.”

“what? nightmare, how do you even know–actually, nevermind. i keep telling security to escort you around the grounds, but clearly that needs to be enforced.”

Nightmare chuckles, picking lint off his sleeve before checking his watch.

“Insurance coverage aside, we'll be at your office in…twenty or so I expect?”

“great. yeah, just ignore me. its not like you called me or anything.”

The curtain divider shifts behind him, and Nightmare nods his head, ignoring Baggs’ annoyed grumbling.

“Thank you Baggs, we'll be there shortly.”

“whatever, prick.”

The line goes dead, and he tries to school his sadistic smirk into a more calm, soothing expression, before turning back to Castella.

His words die in his throat.

She looks positively regal, her full taffeta skirt swishing around her calves and showing the barest peek of delicate striped stockings above the tall boots.

Her black ensemble is absolutely frothing with lace, the ivory crochet trim reminding him of cathedral spires circling the hem of her skirt and sleeves.

The wide-sleeved jacket is exceptionally tailored, white lace gloves peeking out from beneath the wide cuffs, and a delicate white collar tied ‘round her throat with a velvet ribbon.

A taffeta bonnet is tied onto her head at the chin, and round spectacles are perched on her pale face. A small carpet bag is clutched in one hand, with a frilly parasol hooked around her elbow.

He can feel his grin curve into an unsettling crescent moon, all teeth and satisfaction.

Oh, Killer is going to love this one, he thinks to himself. He's always been fascinated with pretty, delicate things.

“I didn't believe humans still had royalty,” Nightmare hums, “but I suppose I still have much to learn.”

Castella laughs at that, rolling her eyes at his comment.

“Very funny, Doctor.” She drawls, a bit of a southern lilt creeping into her cadence.

He playfully offers her a deep bow, taking her free hand to brush a gentle kiss atop her knuckles.

He looks up at her, pleased at the embarrassed flush on her cheeks, but he decides not to comment on it.

He moves to her side, offering an arm.

1. I AM A GOOD LITTLE LAB EXPERIMENT

2. MY SUFFERING IS FOR THE GREATER GOOD

3. THE SCIENTIST THAT EXPERIMENTS ON ME LOVES ME UNCONDITIONALLY

4. I LOVE GOING INTO THE TUBE/JAR/INSERT RELEVANT APPARATUS OF CONTAINMENT

Suddenly having 50 moving eyes can make you disoriented and barfy and the adjustment period sucks ass

It takes both more and less time than you’d think to figure out what the structure as a whole looks like and where those eyes ARE

After you get used to it the entirety of the structure itself and all of the eyes you can see from feels like an extension of your nervous system in a very bizarre way. Like I have dreams now from the perspective of A Building and I’m not sure how to describe that.

On my COMFORTABLE system, the one I spent the longest time on, I never had to think about what code I needed to punch in. If I needed to watch a specific person, I could follow them all over the site without thinking about it.

Now at a different location, all the manual equipment and codes and lag and resolution are different, and it feels like going from playing the piano to driving stick shift on the left side of the road with my feet