Chapter Text
It started in the midst of war.
Deimos had gotten used to not having to watch his back so much. Sanford was there to do it for him to some extent, and him for them. They were each other’s shields. Even when he slept alone in his cramped room in the bunker the two took over, he felt relatively secure. He didn’t think any AAHW agents would find them all the way out here.
But one night, they did.
One night, he woke up to the floor below him rumbling and the sound of too many footsteps, the door of the room next to his opening, then a chorus of clicking, and next thing he knew, there was loud gunfire and Sanford yelling out his name, filled with anger and fear. If Sanford hadn’t put a stash of looted guns in both of their rooms, they would’ve died that night.
Deimos felt incredibly stupid for thinking that was overkill, or that they were ever safe there. More things to feel stupid over.
After that, the duo moved from place to place to take shelter every night, and sometimes even lived out of Deimos’ truck. They never stayed anywhere for longer than a few days. They never settled down. Never again.
They were both shaken up by what happened, but Sanford had at least seen it coming, and was adjusting to living this way. For them, it seemed to just mix into the rest of the violence they’d witnessed and gotten involved in. Deimos, on the other hand, couldn’t get over it. The events of that night played out in his head pretty often, and some nights, he woke up in a cold sweat and on the verge of screaming from a nightmare about it.
Sanford was understanding, holding Deimos through his tremors, reassuring him no one was coming tonight and neither of them were going to die, guiding him back to sleep so he’d have the energy to fight another day. It felt nice and all, but it never really assured him, and Sanford knew that.
Deimos never stopped being himself, snarky, a joker, and sometimes overly enthusiastic. The light in him never quite went out. If anything, he started amping it up to make himself and Sanford feel better. But one part of him did leave after that day, and it was his daring side, which was gradually replaced by something he would’ve found ugly if he recognized it.
First, he’d start waking up in the middle of the night to make sure no one was coming. He only did this once a night before falling back asleep initially, but then, it became multiple times a night. Next, he’d started looking over his shoulder while he was fighting more. It eventually got to the point where Sanford watching his back became pointless, and left Sanford’s back vulnerable in the process, so he at least let himself put his safety back in Sanford’s hands in that area.
Then, he started to feel unsafe whenever he and Sanford went anywhere there could possibly be members of AAHW, practically letting Sanford lead the way most of the time. His smoking “habit” got worse, attempting to calm himself in vain.
One time, he outright told Sanford to stop reassuring him after he had another nightmare because it would make the agents come. Sanford told him to not let himself go insane over what happened. He went back to sleep after that.
He stopped feeling safe anywhere. And in war, that made sense. Sanford was always cautious for a reason.
But surely, if he was truly being cautious, he wouldn’t have died when trying to revive Hank.
That...place he went to. That hellish place. Maybe it was Hell. Whatever it was, it made everything worse.
-
Deimos wakes up. He’s in a bed, in his own, windowless room. It’s still dark.
He’s back in the bunker, he knows he’s back in the bunker. He looks over to the side of the room.
No guns. He and Sanford are going to die.
He jumps up frantically and jostles open the door. Instead of the bunker, he finds himself in the middle of a corridor. He turns to the side of the corridor, and finds 2B in the dining room, pouring himself a bowl of cereal.
“Good morning, Deimos. This is awfully early for you, though, it’s 7 A.M.”
Deimos is reeling. He thinks he remembers what’s going on, but the memory’s not really there, caught between the haze of before and now.
“Where the hell am I?”
“Oh, I see...you’re in my home, with Sanford and Hank. The war’s over. Your job’s done.”
Oh. Right. Deimos wraps his arms around his head and shakes it.
“This is a gradual process, Deimos. Your brain will keep making you think you’re in war, even when you haven’t been for a long time, because you had to be in that mindset for years. It’ll fade as you allow yourself to adjust, but you can’t get frustrated with yourself.”
“Nah, Doc, I thought I was back in the bunker on that night.”
“...Would you like to come talk to me later?”
Deimos sighs.
“Yeah, probably.”
He heads back to his room to prepare himself for the day.
-
“We know you have PTSD, and resulting paranoia from that, but this sounds like a case of a paranoia-driven delusion. Can you think of any other instances where you’ve experienced delusional thinking?”
“Um...maybe. I’ve had moments of believing someone reassuring me something wouldn’t happen would make it happen. Like, I genuinely thought people could be jinxed.”
“Hm, I see…”
Deimos knows 2B means well, but he doesn’t like it when he says things like that. It usually means something bad.
“I mean, there’s also this one time where I went to a café with Sanford to actually have a good time for once now that we can, and I thought these people looking at us were planning to hurt us. I almost beat the shit outta them, but we got out of there before I could even try. I’m gonna try to not spend too much time in indoor spaces unless I have to from now on.”
“Oh, okay.”
2B proceeds to write something down. Deimos really doesn’t like that.
After a moment, 2B adds, “Have you experienced any sort of hallucinations?”
“I don’t think so. Why’d you ask that?”
“Well, from the symptoms you’ve described in the past and now, I’m beginning to believe you may be experiencing psychosis.”
“You’re saying I’m insane?
“...No. That word doesn’t have a real meaning in a medical sense. It’s truly just an insult, and not the kind I’d use.”
2B clicks his tongue.
“Let’s get back to the point. If you’re experiencing psychosis, that means you’re experiencing a disconnect from reality that’s beyond your trauma, and cannot be tackled solely through therapy and working on yourself. You could need to be prescribed anti-psychotics. Of course, we can’t just jump to the conclusion this is psychosis and then have a prescription be given to you, you’ll need professional input and a test.”
Deimos feels closed in.
“This sucks.”
“I know, but this is your reality, even if you don’t feel in sync with it, and you must face it head on for you to live your life in full.”
Finally, Deimos blurts out, “Sanford told me they didn’t want me to go insane.”
“...In response to what, exactly?”
“The first thing I told you about.”
“You need to talk to them about that. I don’t think that was meant to insult you, he probably just wanted you to keep it together so you could keep fighting, but that’s an unfair expectation to put onto you that could’ve made you repress your symptoms, and you might still be doing that without realizing.”
“I don’t wanna put that on him. Not right now.”
“I understand, but it should come up at some point. If you are experiencing psychosis, it’ll have to.”
Deimos recalls how Sanford was doing earlier. He sat down in the living room, and then completely lost touch with everything around him. He didn’t respond when people called his name, and Hank thought he’d gone unconscious before realizing his eyes were still open behind his shades.
Dissociation. Sanford said it felt like they became the room around them. They dissociate pretty often, apparently, but it’s not as bad as that was most of the time.
Deimos is starting to feel sick.
“I think I’m done for now.”
“Alright. Thank you for telling me all of this.”
Deimos leaves 2B’s office without responding or even waving goodbye.