Chapter Text
Since the day Josh got admitted to this god forsaken psychiatric ward, he’s been doing the same exact thing every single day. He hasn't been there as long as some of the other patients, but he was still beginning to lose his fucking mind repeating the same process every time he wakes up.
When he signed all those admission papers he didn't think he’d be living the Truman show in real life.
He’s done this routine so many times now he can schedule it out by memory:
6:30am: Day/Break rooms open, it's where Josh is blessed enough to have his coffee. (No, it doesn't help his anxiety, but being up that early requires coffee.)
7-8:30am: Breakfast. They usually all go to the cafeteria for that. Of course, he sits alone by the nearest window.
9am: Medication time.
9:30am: The first group therapy session of the day. They mostly talk about their daily goals. Sometimes people skip it, but Josh attends for the sake of having something to do.
10:45-12pm: Free time.
12-1:30pm: Another group therapy. This one is fun when they get to play with puppies or do art. Something that doesn't require speaking.
1:30-2:15pm: Josh meets with his psychiatrist or therapist, depending on the day. Usually they talk about how many suicidal thoughts he has in a day. It's fun.
2:30-3:30pm: Group therapy again. Sometimes the therapist shoves a deep topic on them like do you think you can survive without our help? or the question Josh personally despises: how do you feel today? I don’t feel anything, he wants to say. You should be more specific.
4-5pm: Dinner.
5-6pm: Free time. Meds. All that jazz.
6-7pm: Visitation time. Josh isn't always lucky, but sometimes his sister Ashley visits. If not, he just goes and lays in his room.
7pm: Snacks, if you feel like it.
7:15-8pm: The last therapy sesh of the day. They usually ask if you've met your daily goal from the first session.
8:30pm: Meds.
9-11pm: Free time or as they've all agreed to call it: movie 'n chill. It's basically the same as Netflix and chill only this facility doesn't have Netflix, just shitty ass movies on dvd. They make do with what they've got anyway.
After that the nurses shove them all to their rooms and Josh takes it upon himself to shower and so on before he goes to bed.
It’s always the same, maybe different activities and sometimes different questions, but nonetheless, always the same damn thing. Every time.
Now the thing is, Josh doesn't do anything during his free time, per se. He gets quite a bit of it, but being the introvert he is, he doesn't really engage in conversations with anyone else.
He sits by a window and looks out into the garden, specifically straight at the high beige walls gating his freedom. The last thing he ever wanted out of going to the ER was to be locked up in a psychiatric ward. He wasn't even allowed to go outside, for fuck’s sake.
He remembers everything about that night, too; a lot of people here don't really recall things, saying they'd blacked out while everything happened, but not him. No sir, he remembers it all too clearly, almost too vividly to ever forget the night he finally snapped and got into his car, choking on his sobs as he drove himself to the hospital because his parents didn't believe in depression.
You’re just sad. You'll be fine tomorrow, you'll get over it. Stop being fucking selfish when people out there have it worse than you.
If he closes his eyes he can see himself running into the ER and filling out a form for himself with shaking fingers, tears and snot mixing together and running down his face. He waited and waited and waited until he finally got fed up and grabbed a nurse who was passing by’s hand and begged her to help him.
I'm going to walk into the nearest bathroom and slit my throat if you don't help me, please ma'am, please believe me. I can't do this anymore. I'm a danger to myself and others, please please please--
Needless to say they took him into a room straight after, confiscating his knife from him and giving him tissues so he could weep all he wanted, his hysteria being brushed aside.
Next thing he knew he was taking all his things and being admitted into this absolute shithole of a place, all his stuff being taken from him the second he reached the front desk. He remembers being shoved into a room while a doctor took blood tests and asked him a bunch of questions he didn't know the answers to.
Do you know why you feel this way? No.
When did these feelings start? Josh couldn't remember if he tried. Maybe when he was 13? 14?
Do you want to kill yourself right now? Well, not with you in the room, buddy.
The only good part is that while he adjusted to his new surroundings he had no roommate up until a few days ago.
Tyler Joseph.
It was fine, Tyler doesn’t speak to Josh and vice versa. Sometimes Josh hears Tyler talking to himself, but overall they mind their own business and he appreciates it more than Tyler knows. Josh doesn't like to speak, not anymore. Ever since he came out with his problems and realized nothing was helping him, he just lost the hope to get better. In the end he let out his cry for help multiple times and it did nothing for him, so talking just seems like a total waste of time at this point.
Not that he would necessarily describe himself as mute, but he only speaks when he's spoken to and even then sometimes all he can do is swallow, shrug his shoulders or nod yes or no. It’s nothing personal towards his therapists or the random other people locked up with him, it was more the fact that he was so tired of living in this constant mindset where every second thought is a way to kill himself. It’s living in constant fear of the things he can do while he was in a fucking mental hospital. If he didn't feel safe here, somewhere he was monitored 24 hours, 7 days of the week then where would he?
Sometimes he wishes he had just killed himself and put himself out of his own misery.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone sit down next to him, their thigh bumping into his own. He doesn't look away from the garden, just stiffens and hopes that they don't speak to him.
“Hey man,” The guy starts, tapping him on the shoulder and Josh flinches away. The guy retracts his hand. “Sorry. Hey.”
Josh takes a deep breath while closing his eyes, quickly trying to compose himself and then looks at the other boy. He’s got brown hair that’s slicked back, a huge forehead and a smirk on his lips that made Josh want to move away as fast as possible.
Instead he nods for the boy to continue; there had to be a reason for him coming to bother him in the first place and now he was curious.
“My buddies and I want to know what you fantasize about everyday,” The guy points out the window. “There's fuck all out there, not even the occasional squirrel, my guy. So what do you see, huh? Death? Sex? Drugs? Frolicking into the sunset fully recovered? Burning this place to the ground?”
Josh hears laughs and chuckles and snickers from behind him and his face heats up in anger. He shakes his head, narrowing his eyes at the kid next to him.
“Why don't you speak, pink hair? You got something against vocal chords?” The kid smacks a hand over his mouth. “Shit, are you mute? Dude. What the hell are you doing here? Have you ever participated in therapy? Oh man, you guys, the mute is gonna kill us all, mark my words.”
“Leave him alone, Brendon.” A new voice snaps from across the room.
Josh looks over and sees Tyler leaning forward on the couch, a glare of his own aimed at the kid-- Brendon. Tyler always has something to do with flowers on him, whether it be a shirt, robe, shoes, etcetera etcetera. Today it’s a flower crown on his head while the rest of his clothes are pitch black. He’s got a game controller in his hands and the two kids next to him cheer at winning whatever game they were playing, but Tyler doesn't even react; his attention is on them.
“Well I'll be damned, Donnie Darko, you and pink hair are friends?” Brendon taps his fingers against his chin and grins. “You--”
“Stop,” Josh finally says, voice rough and scratchy like he hasn't used it in a while before looking back out the window. “Leave me alone.”
Brendon pauses for a millisecond. “He speaks!”
“Go away.” Josh whispers, his vision going unfocused, doubles of the flowers (begonias and geraniums and tiger lillies--) outside forming in his line of sight.
Breathe.
“Sure, pal.”
Just like that, Brendon gets out of the chair next to his, whistling as he walks to the group that was chuckling not so subtly behind him. Josh doesn't turn around to glare, just continues staring blankly outside.
Apparently Brendon’s disturbance gives the new kid, a young chubby ginger boy with oversized sweaters and hoodies, the courage to speak up, an English accent clinging to his words.
“Who are they?”
“Tyler and Josh,” Someone else replies with a sympathetic sniff. “Tyler’s a psycho and Josh lives in a dream.”
At that, Josh curiously looks over at the couch where Tyler is busy handing over his controller to a different kid after losing again (best ⅔ obviously, they weren't complete savages) and waits for him to notice and lock his eyes with his.
All Josh can do is smile gratefully because no one’s ever defended him before and watch as Tyler slowly, almost wickedly returns it in the form of a smirk with a passive shrug tossed his way as if to say it was no big deal.
Josh begs to differ.
When a nurse comes in a few minutes later to announce it’s time for group therapy number two, Josh snaps out of his trance and realizes he hadn't stopped staring at Tyler.
Tyler hadn't stopped staring at him, either.