princehonorable | (no subject)

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charlie b

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Ever since he'd woken up, people kept telling him that his memories would come back to him. They assured him it would happen, in their own time, and he'd believed them. At first, it even seemed to be happening. He'd begun to pull little threads of memories out of the mist, here and there, but then they just stopped. Day after day and nothing new came to him. David is beginning to think he'll sell his soul just to start piecing together the fragments he has.

He knows he's got options. He was just hoping that he could solve his own problems. When it becomes clear that he won't be able to do this without help, he makes his way down the hall from the clinic to the psych office, knocking on the door lightly. "I'm looking for a Charlie Bartlett," he says, glancing around the office. "I was told one found me when I first got here and I've been informed he works here, too. Is that you?" he asks, of the boy in front of him.

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"That's me," says Charlie, hurrieidly putting down his feet and discarding the comic that he's been flipping through. "You...look kind of different from the last time I saw you."

He holds out his hand.

"Hi. I'm Charlie. What can I do for you?"

"Awake, I assume," he jokes in turn, though there's an awkwardness to him. His shoulders curve in on themselves before he remembers to stand tall. "I was told that if I wanted to seek out psychiatric care, that I should come to someone in this office. Someone mentioned that in order to gain my memories back, I should talk to someone?"

It's all guesswork, really, since he can't guarantee it will work.

"Therapy couldn't hurt," said Charlie, turning in the desk chair and reaching for the forms that he'd need. "I know that I've got spots, but I could probably fit you in with anyone you want to see."

"No. No, you found me," he says, sure of that much. "I know I can trust you with my physical well-being, that means that my mental status will probably be a sure bet with you, too," he says. He's not convinced if that's true, but he'd like to presume it is. He doesn't know who he can trust, after all.

"Well, if you're happy then I'm happy," says Charlie, reaching for the paper work. "You want to take a seat and I'll check you in?"

He nods, aware that this is going to make him uncomfortable, but he rides out that feeling and sits. "When someone found me, after I woke up, he mentioned something called hypnosis. I'm missing memories -- a lot of them. Well, all of them."

"I want to remember who I am."

"I am way not qualified for hypnosis," says Charlie, starting to fill in the sheet, as he glances up. "But there's probably totally someone int he ofice who can help out with that, even if you want me as your main therapist."

"No, no, it's okay," he hurries to insist. "I don't really want to go to that option, I just need to sort out my thoughts. I needed to know if it was really an option," he confesses, folding his palms in his lap. "I have to confess before we start, what I can remember doesn't make any sense."

"Well, that's okay," says Charlie, getting comfortable in his chair so he doesn't fidget. "Why don't you just start at whatever you think is the beginning and we'll go from there?"

He clears his throat and sits down, digging his fingertips into his thighs as he tries to think about where he should start. "I've got a few beginnings," he confesses. "I remember waking up here. But, before that, I remember a farm. I also remember a small town in a cloudy place. A state, united states? Something like that."

"The United States. America," says Charlie, nodding. He makes a note. "Well, that's something, right? That's where you're from. It's a place to start. What else do you remember?"

"Forest," he says, after a moment. "Everything that I do remember, you have to understand, seems like it's all surface and no depth. I can't seem to scratch past the shallowness of what it is. I see a forest, but no more. There's a man wearing a glove and a daughter?" He shakes his head. "And I remember a coffin."

"Maybe we ought to focus on details," says Charlie, turning the pen over in his hand. "Can you tell me what the forest's like? Anything you can remember."

He nods, trying to focus on that one aspect. When he closes his eyes, though, he can see the forest clearly in his mind. He thinks on it, tries to pick out a detail, but just as he's opening his mouth to talk about the edge of the cliff and the roads, another memory catches him so suddenly that he doesn't have time to filter his words before he's saying, "Troll road," aloud.

"That's interesting," says Charlie, making a note, his eyebrow raised. "Why do you say that?"

"I don't know," he says, when he comes back to himself. "See? That's my trouble. I say these things, these strange things, or I have these dreams, and I don't have the slightest clue why. I don't know why I said troll road, just that I did, and it sounds familiar."

"I guess we just have to keep picking through it all," says Charlie, twisting his pen between his fingers as he thinks. "See if there's any patterns. See if anything fits together."

"Okay. Okay," David agrees, starting to feel something that runs akin to positive hope. "That sounds good," he says. "When can we start to do that?" He wants to find something that makes sense in his clouded mind.

"We've kind of started already," says Charlie, reaching for his diary. "But how about we make a weekly appointment? Work on it a little bit at a time?"

He nods, managing a half-cocked smile in Charlie's direction. "I bet you had no idea the depths you were walking into when you found me," he jokes, trying to relieve the tension he's feeling because he still doesn't know. "Weekly sounds good, though. The sooner I can find something that makes sense, the better."

"Yeah, no, not quite," says Charlie, flashing a grin. "But, one afternoon a week, I'm yours for an hour and we'll see what we can get to the bottom of, okay?"

David's slightly worried about what they might find, but he gives a short nod of his head, appreciative that there are people here that are willing to help him. "And you won't back out if we find something dark and grim?"

"No way," says Charlie, with a crooked smile. He holds out his hand.

"We're in this together."

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