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David Haller (xgene) wrote,

He'd been trapped. Held against his will in that stupid hospital. Up until then, after the first month, David had been there willingly. He was a junkie, a schizophrenic nobody who caused more harm than good, one who tried to kill himself to get rid of the waste. Yeah, maybe he belonged in a goddamned loony bin. But he was still a person, he still should have had the chance to see his father, had a chance to go to his funeral. He should have been allowed to mourn rather than just having his dosages tripled so he felt nothing at all.

David remembered last year, how he'd lashed out at the doctors, lashed out at everyone who came near him. It'd taken six orderlies to pin him down, drug him up, and left him in isolation for however long it took for him to stop screaming. The disorientation, disjointed sensation. The leaps from despair to rage, the sound of Lenny banging on the locked door between them, practically ripping his own hair out.

Trapped. Unable to grief, only to scream and rip and tear at himself until more drugs were pumped into him. Trapped. Then nothing, no strength to move, no strength to scream. Trapped. Lost in his own, nonsensical thoughts, like dreams but worse -- dreams that made you physically sick.

The rocks atop the tombstones began to vibrate, the space around them beginning to streak, as if rain were pouring and slicing out the details in long, harsh lines, but the sky was still blue, still clear. David didn't hear Sydney at all, could barely recognize anything beyond his father's name, engraved and still-sharp, without over seven years of wear and tear on it from the elements. From the storms that would come from the ocean. From the salt in the air.

Salt and metallic. Streaking. Crackling. David pushed himself to his feet suddenly, hands wringing in his hair, pulling and tugging. A scream of frustration burst out as he stepped away from the graves. Eyes closed tight, he shook his head, kept pulling. Should've been here. He should've been here. Trapped. Physically. Locked in a room. Drugged. Trapped. Emotionally. Unable to mourn. Unable to grieve.

The details of the world washed away like paint on a canvas being drenched in water. Every color lost its hue, blending into something muddy and grey. David kept walking away from the grave, shook his head, lost in himself, unaware of anything around him. He kept walking, kept tugging at his hair, muttering to himself, words too fast to be coherent -- word salad.

And then a voice came through, clear as anything, sharp.

The words didn't make any sense, but their clarity snapped him to attention, hands dropping as the world came swiftly back into focus.

Hair a mess, eyes wild, he looked right to Sydney and then back in the direction of the voice. There were people gathered around his father's grave... his coffin. The voice, the words he was speaking... Hebrew. A rabbi. David's brows furrowed, shaking his head again. No, no, this couldn't be real. This had to be a delusion. It had to be. That was -- how could it -- that was his father's coffin, not buried yet. That was Amy, standing with Ben... people his father worked with, friends. All gathered around, all listening.

His dad's funeral. Robert Haller's funeral.

Eyes even wider, desperate, still burning as the tears threatened to fall, he looked to Syd, wordlessly imploring her to confirm --

Is this real?