Who: October and Aiden What: Old acquaintances explaining the intricacies of dual personage. Also food. Where: A diner When: Way backdated, before the Christmas plot.
October Fischer. There was a name Aiden hadn’t heard in years and years, not since he graduated and the other man went back home. It was almost a nasty blast to see that name and that handwriting, but their actual relationship as almost-not-really friends had never been bad - it was just that the last time he’d known him had been … that time, when life was almost not even worth living. But for once, he was able to maneuver past that into the territory that this was a familiar face, someone who knew him and might not assume he was insane because of this whole shitshow they were living in. It was a little triumph to get that far.
Eventually, though, after a few weeks of silence between them, Aiden reached out. He was getting lonely, though he hated to admit it - where Nadir might have provided conversation, Otto spent most of his time saying very little. The one trip through the door (the door that had lead him straight into near-suicide hell at that party, go figure) had told him just why he was hearing what he heard, and as a result, he’d sworn not to go back through unless it was absolutely necessary. Which meant a strangely clinical sort of silence, occasionally interrupted by what sounded and felt like needles carving painless stencils into his skull.
So - yes. He’d reached out, called up Fischer after delving the man’s number out of local psychiatrist listings, and they’d decided on lunch just for the hell of it. A break from the workday wasn’t quite a relief but it was nice to get out for some reason that wasn’t the usual arguing with the bank or trying to buy just enough food to allow him potent alcohol on the side. It was someplace Fischer knew, had apparently frequented back when he lived in Vegas, so Aiden set his usual suspicions aside and went there without argument. Another little victory for his slowly-recovering psyche.
The diner was the epitome of the greasy spoon, complete with cracked vinyl booths and formica tabletops. As run-down as the place was, it had a steady clientele that kept coming back and dolling out the bills (because this place didn’t take no credit cards) for the best sausage and gravy this side of the Rockies. It was a place that Toby had grown up with, a place that could be counted on for a hot meal when his mother was too whatever it was to get out of bed that day. So even now, over a decade since he had last been in town for more than a passing visit, the place was still familiar and comfortable to him. So when he heard from Aiden, it seemed a natural place for whatever reunion happened.
It had been years since he had last seen Aiden, and honestly almost as long since he had really thought of the man. It brought back an unpleasant time in his life, one that he did not like to revisit often, and the guilt that threatened to weigh him down was best avoided, Toby had found. But finding Aiden here was hardly something he was wary of; life was funny sometimes, in the way that paths crossed years later, and it was hardly in his power to avoid those sort of encounters. Besides, in a city like Las Vegas, every friend and connection was worthwhile.
His table, and it was still his table after all these years, was a booth in the back of the diner, tucked in the corner, one of the few booths without a window beside it, which was perfect for the solitude that Toby preferred. He had already ordered, the piece of lemon meringue pie sitting in front of him, the meringue heaped embarrassingly high, a cup of black coffee nearby. A medical journal was in hand, pen tapping the pages, engrossed in his reading as he waited for Aiden.
As far as Aiden was concerned, the diner was a shithole. But he wasn’t going to say that out loud after walking in the door; he reserved it as a private judgment, to grumble about later. Not that he could really talk about fine dining, it was just that if he was going to eat standard low-grade (not bad, just low-grade) food, he usually did it in the privacy of his own apartment. Where only he could judge himself.
It wasn’t hard to pick out Fischer, who hadn’t changed much in the almost ten years since they’d last been in contact. Aiden meandered his way over and sat down in the unoccupied seat. No windows, which was a plus. He gave the pie slice a raised eyebrow, the medical journal a sneer, and finally the man owning both a flat look.
“I suppose a mental health professional is less concerned about the detriments of dessert,” he said, though there wasn’t any real vitriol in his tone. “That’s not actually your lunch, is it?” The coffee didn’t surprise him in the least, and he passed on it when the waitress dropped by, choosing water and a menu to scowl over instead.
Toby glanced up as Aiden slid into the seat across from him, giving him a long look before he closed the journal and tucked it into the leather satchel that sat on the seat beside him. “No, it’s not my lunch. But if you don’t order a piece early enough, they tend to run out.” Hands folded in front of him and he gave Aiden a long look, his gaze intentionally probing as he looked over the man he had known for longer than was likely healthy, though their last meeting had not been on the best of terms. “The food here is better than you’d think. I would recommend the biscuits and gravy. Homemade, nothing like you get at those chain restaurants.” Reaching over to the little cream and sugar caddy, Toby plucked out three packets of sugar, the real stuff, none of the artificial sweeteners for him, and tearing all three of them open, proceeded to dump their contents into his coffee. Two creamers came next and then he was stirring the concoction and pushing it aside once more. “So. How long has it been, Aiden?” he asked, fingers steepling together once more, the classic ‘I’m studying you’ pose coming into play.
Aiden remembered Toby’s attitude, though the years may have made it more obnoxious in his favor. The careful way of speaking, the steepled fingers, the long, calculated gazes - those, at least, were still the same. He gave the other man a flat look over the top of the menu and met the studious gaze with an impenetrable one of his own. He’d take Toby’s word on the food, especially considering he’d never been much of a home-style type. Rich food didn’t sit well with him. The menu was not providing many other options.
“If you’re trying to pull a psychoanalysis on me, you’re doing a shit job of hiding it,” he said dryly. “Or maybe the natural tendency to do so is leaking into your everyday conversations. Work on that. It’s been a while.” Almost a decade. One dull, unpleasant decade, recently interrupted by mental voices and a hotel that wanted to ruin his life. “Uneventful until recently, so don’t bother asking. Should I assume the same for you, or have you lead a wild life treating the rich and famous for their various problematic psychoses?” It was said with only some wryness to it; at this point he wasn’t going to put anything out of reach, even for October Fischer.
The waitress came back with his water, and despite a handful of spiteful misgivings, Aiden went ahead and ordered a slice of pie to set aside for later. (Maybe.) He kept scanning the menu after that, glancing up at Toby occasionally to assure the man that yes, he was listening. Just multitasking.
Brows arched at those words and Toby couldn’t help but offer Aiden a wry grin in response. “I wasn’t trying to hide it, Aiden,” he said evenly, just a trace amount of amusement in his words. “And yes, something along those lines. I try to stay away from the rich and famous; too many expectations and too many chances to fail, miserably at that.” He gave a nod towards the menu. “You won’t regret anything here. It’s good food, even if I’m sure you think I’m lying. I’ll even treat you.” Not that the place was expensive by any means of the word, but it was something to offer.
That was what really did the trick - Aiden raised his eyebrows just slightly, then turned his attention back to the menu in full. Any intention of throwing ten bucks on the table and leaving early evaporated into thin air (intention nothing, that had been his entire plan), and now he was more than willing to take Toby’s word for the food. He’d actually give it a try. Amazing what could happen when someone else was willing to foot the bill.
“Well, then, don’t do that,” he said. “I don’t need to be analyzed by someone in the same boat as me. Actually, I don’t need to be analyzed at all. Headcases aside, I am slightly less neurotic than I was the last time you saw me. Who even eats grits anymore?” He gave the menu a critical look, then flipped it over to the back to see what there was to drink.
Somehow, October had known that the offer of footing the bill would keep the man from grumbling too much at sharing a meal at a place that was either above or below Aiden’s normal fare. Victory to him, but he didn’t crow about that. Instead, he took a drink of coffee, added another packet of sugar, and again pressed the cup and saucer away. Coffee was more a ritual, something to keep his hands busy, than something he truly enjoyed drinking. Warmth, caffeine, and sugar. He liked that part, but the taste was less than appealing.
“And you’d be surprised, Aiden. Normally, those that declare that they are not in need of being analyzed are those that are most in need. As for your neurosis, that has yet to be determined in my eyes.” A flicker of a grin to show that he was joking, and then he sipped at the coffee again, watching as Aiden perused the menu. “Grits are delicious when made correctly. Don’t be so judgemental.”
However much October might have been joking, Aiden gave him a careful look. He hadn’t gotten where he was today without a gratuitous helping of paranoia. He assumed it was impossible to leave the job behind, even when having lunch with a friend, and expected some sort of diagnosis at least by the time they left.
“They’re southern,” said Aiden, born and raised in the heart of Yankee territory. “You can get the same sort of thing with less gravy and more taste in plenty of other options. There’s no way I can actively stop you from doing what you do best outside of beating you to death, but if you absolutely have to pull an analysis on me, don’t try to convince me to come in for a real session. I’m both not interested and can’t afford it.” He flipped a page and saw nothing else really appealing, but a few things that wouldn’t go amiss. “And I’m sure you recall that being judgmental was about the only thing I was ever really consistently good at.”
“You say ‘Southern’ like its a bad thing.” There was that look again, appraising and seeing far more than most people would be comfortable with. “Are you forgetting where I grew up, Aiden? Las Vegas. But I can still appreciate good food when it’s on a plate in front of me.” There was a small grin, private and just barely visible before he sipped at his sweetened coffee beverage, because it was more sugar than anything else now. “And as for a session, I couldn’t charge a friend, nor could I see a friend in good faith. But you do know that I am here to help you if you should need it, free of charge.” And those were some honest words.
The words it is a bad thing formed somewhere in Aiden’s throat, but he let them fall back instead of spitting them out like he would have even a year ago. He just shrugged dismissively and tried not to think about how easy it would be to ask Toby to listen to the various and sundry insanities that had piled up over the months. He didn’t need help, damn it. Even free help.
“I’m sure I’ll keep it in mind,” was all he said in return, a little dry. “And speaking of needing help, you should probably find someone to play therapist to you pretty soon. You’re not back here just to indulge yourself in your history, I know that much.” The phone, nicer than Aiden’s actual phone, was jammed in one of his jacket pockets deep enough that he’d never feel it if it buzzed. The new lunatic he was sharing a skull with hadn’t seemed to care either way.
As the conversation turned to the mention of the other reason why they were, Toby pushed his silverware around on the table, eventually shoving it to the side and leaning back, long fingers laced together atop the table. “How long has it been for you?” he finally asked, his voice pitched quieter than it had been moments ago, this conversation something he did not want to become public, for reasons that were likely obvious.
“Months,” said Aiden, deadpan, now that they were on a topic they could both be equally negative about. “I’ve been living here for a couple years and suddenly I’m hearing voices and getting strange mail.” But he kept his tone as low as October’s, if still moderately conversational. He didn’t want anyone overhearing either. “It’s been nonstop since March at least, and now it’s … well, it’s still ridiculous.” He stopped himself before he admitted to having an actual crazy bastard in his head. Nadir he’d admit to, but not this.
October was quiet for a long while, his brows furrowed down together as he thought about what Aiden had to say. “I had already been planning on moving back to Las Vegas, though I admit the journal pushed things on a bit faster than I had initially planned on.” He paused, glancing up towards the man he had known for some years. “How bad has it been? Honestly, please, because from what I’ve experienced already, I must admit that I’m a bit... well, concerned.” Voices in his head, things that were out of his control. It was not a recipe for anything October wanted to deal with. He had enough, with his job and his mother, without piling on this brand of crazy on top of it all.
Aiden smiled, but it was a bitter, slight smile, and the look he gave October wasn’t a pleasant one. It wasn’t deliberately vindictive for a change, but it wasn’t … promising.
“At first it was fucking awful,” he said dryly, “and then it got worse. They can take control of you if you’re bad about things, or drunk as hell, or just weak-minded in general. And that hotel is dead-set on ruining our lives. If you feel like you have to go there, no other choice? Break your own legs.”
He idly pushed the glass of water around in front of him, looking down into it and letting the hollow smirk fade.
“ … it got better for a while, though. The guy I had wasn’t actually bad, just had a stick up his ass. It all really depends on whether you’re dealing with someone halfway normal or not.”
October had no doubt, judging by Aiden’s reaction, that the man was not exaggerating when it came to his description of the hotel and the sort of things this place had to offer. Unfortunately, it gave him very little comfort in what was happening and what possibly lay in front of them. Removing his glasses, he reached up to rub his temples with fore and middle fingers, closing his eyes for a long while. “I don’t think I have much to worry about insofar as my other is concerned. He’s rather determined, but hardly a danger, I do not believe.”
But then something about what Aiden said drew his attention. “You say ‘had’ as though you no longer have him. Has that changed?”
Aiden shifted uncomfortably and stopped shifting the drink.
“Had, yes. A month or so ago, he just … stopped. It was after there was this stupid goddamned Halloween party, and I - ” He paused, absolutely unwilling to tell October what had gone on there and what the possible reasons were for Nadir’s disappearance. “There’s someone else now, who isn’t exactly on the pleasant end of the sanity scale. He hasn’t done anything yet, but I don’t know how long that’ll last.” Said dismissively, without the concern some part of him actually felt. “Lucky for you if yours is just obnoxious. I’m sure he’ll make your life difficult somehow. It’s all they do.”
“Obnoxious and hailing from a fairytale.” Toby gave a small shrug of his shoulders and leaned back against the booth, watching the way Aiden’s expression had changed, the shift, the tone of his voice. “And if there’s anything I can do to help, Aiden, you know I will. I mean that.” This place wasn’t the sort of thing that should be tackled alone. Strength in numbers, or something along those lines.
“I told you not to pull psychoanalysis on me,” Aiden said, less sharply than he wanted. “If it turns out I’m saddled with a deranged lunatic, I’ll reach out, believe me. Right now he’s just closer to comic-book villainy than anything else.” That he was a comic book villain was hardly relevant. “Not that I don’t appreciate the offer.”
Fairy tales, October said, and obnoxious. There were only so many tropes to fit that.
“At least tell me it’s not a princess.” And there was a tiny hint of a grin there, some little hope that Toby would admit to it in his usual calm manner with only a slight frantic denial that there was a princess lodged in his head. It would make the mood so much easier to deal with.
“I’m not pulling any sort of psychoanalysis on you, Aiden. You’re a friend, and I want to make sure you’re all right. That’s all there is to it.” He didn’t have a lot of faith that Aiden would reach out, so Toby filed this away as something to keep his eye on as the days and weeks went on. “And no. It’s not a princess, I’m extremely sorry to disappoint.” The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly, amusement clear, and sipping on that sweetened concoction of sugar with coffee, Toby settled his attention once more on Aiden. “Hansel. As in, witch and the house made of sweets and a sister, and all of that. Hansel. Except he’s rather grown up. Perhaps older than me, if that seems feasible to you.”
A friend, Aiden considered with only the slightest grimace. Hard to find friends, especially when they hadn’t gotten along all that well all those years ago. But if nothing else, it was someone to talk to - someone with a history that briefly met with his. There was a little comfort in that. Just because they were dragged back into the same path by a deranged magic hotel …
“Disappointing,” Aiden said, drawing in the condensation left on the table. “Which story did he grow up in? Suppose it doesn’t matter. I can believe him being older.” Both of the presences he’d put up with were older; Nadir by at least thirty years, Otto by twenty. “He’s probably judgmental in that case. What’s the little gingerbread boy do as an adult?”
“He hunts witches, if you can believe that.” Toby managed a sliver of a smile, but all the talk of other personalities lurking around in their heads had left a bad taste in his mouth. So he dug in to the pie he had sitting in front of him. “Let’s not talk about this anymore. Just... just eat. I need to get my mind off of it before I start analyzing it too much myself.”
“Slightly less. Despite everything I’ve been through in the last few months.” But why the hell not. Some of those innocent little children victimized in fairy tales had to grow up to be bitter adults, rather than paragons of religious virtue like the stories all said.
But - he didn’t mind bringing the bizarre conversation to a halt, and finally flagged down the waitress to order himself something smaller to eat, despite his previous intention to put a strain on the one who’d offered to pay. That and a drink, and he’d probably be fine, with enough space left over for a drink to properly buzz him rather than getting absorbed by the meal.
“You’ll just go nuts if you try that, so avoid it if you can. There’s at least a few other people in your field around; I bet you could form a club and have a field day with it.” Aiden half-grinned and leaned back against the plasticky seat. Not that he’d ever want to know what went on when psychologists met, but the idea was at least a little funny.
After the waitress had left with Aiden’s order, Toby went back to filling his cup with sugar, the concoction all but undrinkable after the dozens of tiny packets he had emptied into the sludgy liquid. “Yes, a club. I’ll get right on that. Heck, Aiden. I’ll invite you to join us. That way I can spare you my psychoanalyzing and you can let someone else have at you.” The grin said that he was joking, fingers running over the rim of his coffee cup, shoulders sinking down in something that approached comfort. “It’s strange, I must say. Coming back here. Running into the people I have. People from New York. You. A patient from Phoenix. My brothers. Everyone seems drawn here for some reason, chosen for this for reasons I can’t even begin to fathom. Do you ever wonder what’s made the lot of us so special that we were chosen for this?”
All Aiden did in response to that was give October a flat, mildly disgusted look, and refuse to actually comment. He sipped at his water and listened to the listing of people, and it seemed almost too ridiculous to be coincidental. No, Aiden hadn’t run into anybody he knew up until Toby’s arrival, but all the people he’d known were firmly situated in the far reaches of the east coast. They didn’t travel well, he supposed. So why so many for October?
“Not really,” he said, “and that sounds almost suspicious. Old patients and your siblings? How many people, exactly? Because you’re the first person I’ve known that’s arrived here, so it doesn’t work that way for everybody.” The idea that something might make a select group of people, all distantly (or not so distantly) related in some way, unique enough to be drawn to this one hotel was unsettling and not something he wanted to focus on very hard. If anything, it made him want to drink more - and now. “If there’s a reason, it’s probably bullshit, so let’s not consider it.”
It took him a moment to add everything up, fingers tapping on the table as he went through it in his head. “At least four others that I can count quickly. No. Six. Two friends from when I was younger that lived here in Vegas, actually.” Adding the O’Hara sisters into the mix just made things even that much odder, his lips pressed in a thin line. “I must admit that I don’t like that number. Too coincidental to be anything like a coincidence.”
“Then what the hell else is it?” Aiden shut his mouth as the waitress came back and handed him his plate - something small-portioned but warm. It’d do well enough. “I’d prefer to think we’re just that unlucky, and the fact that you have a little group of equally unlucky people is just … even worse luck. I don’t want to think that someone got chosen and it just spread out from there, grabbing anyone with a remote connection as it went.” He tapped his fork against the plate, leaning one elbow on the table. It had better have just been bad luck.
“If you’re looking to me for an answer, you’ve chosen the wrong person.” Toby glanced up as the waitress approached, waiting until she had left before continuing their conversation. “Let’s not think on the whys or million other questions we both have. For now, let’s simply attempt to get through it, yes?” Finally, Toby dug into his pie, cracking a small smile as Aiden leaned in towards his food. “Eat up. I promise you you’ll be coming back here regularly once you get a taste of the food.”