A little one-shot I whipped up just now, because I can't sleep. Takes place, as the name implies, in a mental hospital.

Pairing: Mal/Mike. If that bothers you, then just click the back button.

TRIGGER WARNING: Auditory hallucinations, language, abuse.

There's nothing all around me. Nothing. Nothing.

Nothing.

Every lightbulb has been taken from my room, forcing me to face a fear of the dark. Black wallpaper (more like construction paper) covers the single window. The last thing I saw was my roommate being escorted out of the room to electroshock therapy- and you better believe he put up a fight. I can still see the long, horrible needle being jabbed into his neck, his face going slack and his pupils dilating...

Nothing.

I sit in complete darkness, hands sweating horribly even though it's freezing. I'd asked for a blanket, I'd asked for one a million times. Never got one. This thin, itchy red cloth isn't anywhere close. Maybe if I were shorter...

I can hear sighing, moaning, as though there's some kind of ghost near. Screeching starts up- are these "hallucinations", or are they the cries of the other asylum inmates?

Water turns on, even though there's no sink anywhere in or around my room. I pull my knees up to my chest, hiding my face as I shake and twitch and mutter, "Why am I here? Why am I here?"

I don't care if they call it a "state hospital", this is an insane asylum. I'm not insane. Those voices are real. My abuse was real. My abuse is still real. Someone is calling my name in the dark, and I don't answer because no one ever responds- and that's real, too. The nurses are abusing the other patients, and I KNOW IT, but they tell me the screams are all in my head. No one ever believes me.

(Someone, if you're out there, please help me. I'm trapped. If you're near a phone, grab it and call my parents. Make sure you talk to my dad; my mom will laugh at you. She's the one who put me here.)

They force those anti-psychotics down my throat to stop the "hallucinations", but they've got no effect... I hear more screaming.

An arm snakes around my waist.

I jump, making little noises of distress like a poor bunny being caught in a trap meant for a bear.

"Shhh! Do you want them to hear you and stick a needle in your neck, too?"

I stop. Carefully, with just a little hope in my voice, I asks into the darkness: "Mal?"

"Who else would it be?" He makes it sound like I'm an idiot for asking.

My surroundings are approaching us, distorting like clay being molded, the way my face does whenever I look into a mirror.

"Shhh," Mal whispers, folding me up in his arms. Trying to hide my pathetic sobbing from the orderlies, I cry into Mal's black shirt instead.

"Please stop crying," is his only request, lifting me by the chin so I'm looking up at my dark angel. His eyes, intense and serious, can frighten away even the most hardened criminals. I've seen it firsthand.

But never me. He doesn't look at me that way. No, he's thinking about the people who run this place, the people who make me take sleeping pills (that, ironically, mess with my sleep) and the anti-psychotics (that do nothing but worsen my depression).

"I hate it here, Mal," I cry, trying to make sure my shoulders don't rack with sobs. He just pulls me in closer- somehow, that's possible- and strokes back my hair. "I'm so alone."

For some reason, he laughs. "If there's one thing you aren't, it's alone."

"B-but there's no one-"

SCREAMING.

My eyes widen, but Mal makes me look at him again. "You were saying?"

What was I saying? "I don't know."

"If any of those people touch you, I'll slit their throats." That's one of the ways Mal says 'I love you'. Twisted, I know. But he's my twisted angel, my ghost and guardian ever since I can remember.

If you grew up the way I did, living a nightmare, afraid of breathing, never knowing what's going to come next... If you had to deal with your mother looking at you with nothing but hate in her eyes, her mouth curved up in a sneer as she tells you that you disgust her... If you saw before your eyes your own father telling you there's nothing he can do to stop her rage... Well, you would want a violent guardian, too.

"I love you, Mal," I say a little too loud.

He gives me a light kiss, keeping his forehead leaning against mine. "You're not alone, Mike. Never. Never."

"Promise you'll stay no matter what?"

Footstep, footstep, footstep, and a flashlight comes into my room. "Checks," the nurse says, making a small mark on her clipboard to make sure I'm accounted for. (Like property. Even the things they do that make sense make me somehow feel subhuman.) I wonder, can she see my protector, too? No. She would have me sent to shocks or solitary confinement.

The light is gone, but Mal remains, just like always, my one constant.

He's glaring at the door, as though trying to will away any more nurses with his thoughts, but I know none of them will come back.

...well, I assume. Oh, God, someone come get me out of this place! Someone turn off that water! If you can hear me, if you're not trapped somewhere like me, then someone please help me! Someone stop that FUCKING SCREAMING.

Mal can read my thoughts. He cups my face with his hands, leaning down for another kiss. This one is longer, but still sweet, still chaste. When he pulls back, he's smirking in that confident way I've only wished that I could emulate. It always makes me feel better.

But then the sun starts coming up. The black wallpaper shows where its cracks are. The light eats through my room, landing on Mal, and he's gone just as quick as he showed.

I don't get to say goodbye.

And I'm left crying into my own hands, not just scared anymore, but completely petrified. Because no matter what he says, I always worry that Mal may never come back for me...