Some day, fall 2006

「Hibiki,- Hiki-chan.」His mother's voice cut through the fog, laced with sweet care and sore frustration. He felt that too, yet couldn't convey. A soft nothing had taken it all away. He wasn't sure what he was doing. Am I doing anything? – was I?

A small noise escaped him, the absolute top of his communicative abilities as it required him to stay focussed long enough to make it. He wanted to ask her what was happening.

The things around him were so distant, like his mind was connected to his body only by long threads of sensations. He could barely tell anything from so far away, and it was even harder to respond. By the time he did, something else had gotten in the way: a glimpse, or a sight, or a feeling that strummed his attention. Never one he could follow up on, but enough to make him forget about the things surrounding him – yet not so much that he could be blissfully unaware.

Through it all he realised his hands laid on a drawing. A colourful one. A chaotic one. Blurry. It didn't really make sense. Just colours. There was something he had wanted to tell – but he didn't know what anymore.

It didn't make sense, nothing did, and that made him angry. He grabbed the paper and tore at it, his fingers crumpling and ripping the paper.

「Hibiki! Don't,-」Two hands took his and forced him to let go, laying the paper back on the table. His hands were pulled towards her. He looked up and saw his mother. There was pain. He didn't like looking at her. Not anymore. So he looked through her – and that hurt her more.

「We're just going to see grandpa and grandma.」she said as sweetly as she could, but there was a bitter sadness to the way she had to be kind to him. Kind because he couldn't help himself; kind because he didn't deserve the anger and disdain she felt for how he was now. And he knew.

He didn't forget that he had been smart, and maybe somewhere inside he still was, but not then, and not anymore. His mind floated in numbed intelligence, too thick for his thoughts to flow through. The fog came with the medicine. To keep him calm. It was better silent. He wanted to scream,- to cry. Die. So it would always be quiet.

「... to them.」Her sentence ended, but he'd only just started to unravel it. For a long moment he stared endlessly ahead, trying to figure it out. She didn't let him. Maybe she'd been patient before, at first, but no more. It didn't matter.

A wet cloth wiped the paint from his fingers. He missed the colour, but not for too long – and he couldn't really miss anything too much. He missed Hayate. Maybe he'd show him his drawing. When he could. Once it made sense: once he made sense again. If he ever would. If he even could be.

He didn't want to think. It was too much. So he didn't for a while.

Quite a while.

His mind got stuck. It wasn't a pleasant void. He knew and saw things but his mind could do nothing with them. His mother tried to talk to him, but he couldn't work through the words in time to respond. So he didn't acknowledge her.

It was simpler to let himself fall still, even when he felt bad. But it all felt bad either way. Nothing was good, just easy to ignore. Easy to forget, except for those unspeakable things he never could.

His mother led him along a garden path. Not one of his home, but the green and fresh air helped. There were trees. And it was wet. Rain and a little cold. A calm, sweet chill. It helped him, reminded him of forests near his home. He wanted to go home. Not here anymore. Not back to that building, of halls and rooms and doctors and nurses that he didn't know. They held him still when he was scared, and scared him the sparse few moments where his mind was still.

Then the green came to an end. The road appeared. A car was parked beside it. His mother's car, and she lifted him inside.

The strap of a seatbelt pressed against his shoulder. Kept him in place. Ropes tied him to a table. Hands pushed his wrists and legs down. He knew what would come next. Inevitable, inescapable. Inside he cried for help. Screamed and shouted and begged to go home.

His fingers weakly plucked at the strap of his seatbelt, soft noises trying to tell his mother he didn't like it. Trying to tell her that deep inside he was being hurt. Not again. Don't...

She ran a hand through his hair; she hushed him. But his memories were persistent. The rumble of the engine gripped his trauma and forcefully dragged it up out of the haze.

A van door shut. Darkness. He screamed. He cried out for his parents. The roar wreaked through his gut as strange men drove his body into the floor. Drove him far away from safety. A kind he wouldn't know anymore. No more. Please, no more... please!

Tears ran down his cheeks. Through clenched teeth came soft whimpers. The medicine and his mother's best efforts weren't enough to make it go away – no matter how hazy his mind became, it was still dark. A dark room, dark deeds. Dragged along. Destroyed.

Words were said, but he had sunk too deep into his mind to hear them. The rumble stopped. The seat belt came undone. He crawled into his mothers arms, looking for a desperate way out of his head.

Her embrace was warm. He buried himself into her bosom, trembling and weakly clinging to her. Everything was heavy and difficult, but she was soft, and he wanted her to feel safe. He needed her to make him feel safe.

She held him, her fingers gently running along the back of his head. Slowly she rocked him back and forth, while speaking softly in his ear. It didn't feel right: all the motions were there, but none of the maternal love. Maybe she meant well, but no matter how tight he clung to her he couldn't find his mother. Just a woman that held him because she had to – because it was right, not because she wanted to. Not anymore.