[open] you told them all I was crazy

[onlyhymns]

WHO: Cade, Simon, and anyone brave enough to visit them
WHAT: Blue Flu Boogaloo: Two Dudes Askew, Hijinks Ensue
WHEN: Phase II
WHERE: Simon's room, now with more Cade
NOTES: Ultra mega content warning for a variety of topics that might come up in flashbacks, most notably childhood sexual abuse, graphic violence, and possibly more which will be added as necessary.

I. Visit Both!

During the day, when they're both awake, the room is just a regular disaster zone. Simon's tools are laid out with no rhyme or reason, anything that could have at any point been tidy is in total disarray, and the room contains a frightening sense of lost control.
For more specifics, see their individual prompts:

II. Just Cade

Being easily worked up at the best of times, the lyrium problem has Cade nearly out of his mind and dissociating for what began as small spurts and has expanded to nearly all of his waking hours. It can be difficult to tell, being that it most often manifests as reclusiveness, with the thirty-something man sitting with his knees curled to his chest at the far end of his bed, his demeanor that of an eight-year-old with a monster in the closet. When it looks different, it's endless pacing, agitation, frantic muttering, the telltale signs of someone in danger of hurting himself.
Sometimes Simon or visitors can bring him out of it; sometimes he doesn't know who they are, or where he is. Dosing him with more lyrium results in pockets of lucidity, which rapidly turn despairing as he realizes he's losing it again, and they often aren't worth the trouble.

III. Just Simon

Anyone entering the room could be forgiven for not immediately realizing that Simon is there, when he is. It may be the first time in his entire life that he hasn't been the most immediately noticeable person in a given space. His bed is strewn with tools and books, the blankets pulled over his head to dampen whatever noise Cade makes, and beneath the covers, he shivers faintly.

He doesn't sleep, though, when he can help it--not here. Never here. He fights sleep now as hard as he's ever done, and if it means hauling himself out of bed inch by freezing, head-pounding, light-sensitive inch to go seek pharmaceutical help for it, he does as often as he can manage. His ability to manage grows increasingly less frequent by the day. He's promised himself to the researchers as a test subject, all but flinging himself at them in his desperation to find something that will help, magic or otherwise, but his memory of that commitment fades in and out and gradually dissolves altogether unless he's reminded of it.

He knows how this goes. It isn't the first time he's found himself in this lyrium-deprived boat with no memory of how he got there. The powerlessness is the point.

Comments

Just Cade

[justice_is_blond]

He avoids Cade. It's best for both of them, he'd agreed to it, but that doesn't mean he doesn't see the man looking miserable as he paces when Anders' path takes him past the open door. He goes a few steps past the door and stops, glancing back at the frame at an unexpected pang of sympathy. Indecision roots him in place as he debates calling Sam to check on Cade or walking back a handful of steps and asking.

The harder task wins out. Cade is suffering, and Anders is alive to atone, not to ignore and take the easy way. Anders goes back to the door, careful not to breach the threshold or appear threatening.

"Can I help you?" he asks quietly. "Say no and I'll go without argument or delay."

[onlyhymns]

It's night time, which explains Simon's absence, and Cade has just been pacing the room for hours, his knuckles and fingertips bloody from Maker-knows-what he's been doing, though the red smudges on the walls give some indication.
He stops when he hears a voice, and turns to look behind him with a jolt, lifting his shaking hands to grasp his upper arms protectively. There's something off about him; the glassiness in his eyes, the total silence with which he regards Anders, which communicates the unnerving fact that Cade doesn't know who he is.

[justice_is_blond]

It's stupid, and he knows it's Simon's room which would make going in an even greater level of stupid, but where would he be if he wasn't constantly making stupid decisions? Still in Kinloch Hold, likely, and he can't stand to leave the man bleeding.

Anders steps in and holds out a hand. "Let me see your hands, please." He considers saying Cade's name and dismisses the thought. If he's lucky - a rare occurrence, to be sure - he can take care of the injuries and be gone long before Cade has any idea of what's going on right now.

[onlyhymns]

Cade flinches back when Anders steps in, but it's out of unfamiliarity rather than total fear. Something about the man's voice calms him down, however, and he extends his hands for him to see, timid and ashamed. "I'm sorry," he whispers, something childlike about his bearing, trust and fear in one.

[justice_is_blond]

Some of the hard resentment he's held against Cade cracks and Anders glances away for a moment before looking back. The man was still one of Meredith's, there's been no whispers of him feeling bad for all he likely did, but there's a flash of personhood there that Anders has never looked to see.

Despite the mix of emotions he doesn't know how to sort out, Anders takes Cade's injured hands in his and casts, healing the clearly self-inflicted wounds without additional judgement. Fever takes people in all sorts of different ways.

"You don't have to apologize to me for the wounds," he says quietly. "These don't hurt me. Only you." And whomever cares about Cade, though he doesn't need to put that guilt on the man. "Do you think you can take a break from hitting the wall?"

II

[nadasharillen]

It was a different world in here. Nari tightened her grip on the small cloth-wrapped bundle she'd brought, tried to look like she belonged there, but the suspicious glances and unwelcoming stares were impossible to ignore. She didn't. It was writ large on her skin.

It had been different when there were work orders, when she'd had reasons they'd understood--that she had. She'd had the protection of her work, the protection of her pride. Now, she felt ...permeable. She didn't like it. By the time she made it to Cade and Simon's door and raised a hesitant fist to knock quietly, her still thin form had sprung a nervous sweat.

"Cade?" Her voice unsure enough to be nearly palpable, "It's Nari. I brought... Can I come in?"

[onlyhymns]

The room was quiet, no sound of anyone walking around or talking, but it somehow became... more silent when Nari knocked, in the way of a normally breathing person suddenly holding their breath.
No answer came. Simon had gone elsewhere to sleep, and Cade was alone, and he wasn't going to answer the door.

[nadasharillen]

The purposeful stillness inside makes Nari press her lips together with concern. He obviously wanted to be left alone but... so had she, in the forest and on the docks. She hadn’t been. She’d kicked and screamed, she’d said cruel things, she’d stabbed Cade for Creators’ sakes, and she’d lived. And when she’d been alone... her eyes flick briefly to the small expanse of wrist that had become visible when she raised her hand to knock, the marks it held.

Simon had looked absolutely awful when he'd stopped her in the library to ask her to look in on Cade. Unshaven, hair in disarray, face pinched with pain that dipped briefly into agony with any noise louder than the persistent turning of pages. He'd forgotten what he was trying to ask her twice while doing it, all the while the pale blue pallor making him look eerily like he'd frozen to death some days ago.

She'd only nodded in return, her throat clenching around the thought of Cade the same way.

“Simon sent me," she manages, hoping a friend's name would help, and then "I’m coming in now." A moment later her face appears, eyes quickly scanning the disorder of the room for the man she’d come to see.

[onlyhymns]

The room is dark, the candle having burned out ages ago, and Cade is sitting with his face against his drawn-up knees, shivering. He hasn't slept in who knows how long, and he isn't sure how long ago it was that Simon was here (was Simon here?) ((he was, not even ten minutes ago)).
He's not quite visible when she comes in, and seems to be willing himself less so.

Cade

[arlathvhen]

She can't tend to everyone that she cares about who has been affected by this. She wishes she could, but there's so little time, and so much to do. The bigger picture requires her to spend her time running around trying to keep everything held together and praying that it ends soon. But Cade doesn't have the support network the others have, and it's not like he's known for his stability when he's in good health.

So she makes time for him, knocking on the door and then stepping in. It's kinda rude, but she doesn't want to deal with the possibility he won't open it for her. In her arms is a basket, with food, cider, and some of the sleeping potions that they've been brewing up.

"Cade...? It's me, Beleth." She calls as she daintily steps over some of the mess, a worried expression on her face as she glances around.

[onlyhymns]

Simon has been good about ensuring that others fill in when he's not around, and Cade is able to remember this long enough to recognize Beleth when he hears her voice. He perceives it as a fog lamp, something familiar to help him navigate the day amidst all the noise and the pain and forgetting.
"Beleth," he says with a strained smile, his eyes tired and his whole body quivering with exhaustion, "where's..." His eyes go vacant a moment, the question perhaps continuing in his mind and nowhere else.

[arlathvhen]

Beleth smiles softly at him, and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. He's...not looking good. None of the affected are, of course, but. She decides to leave the sleep droughts on Simon's bed, it's probably a bad idea at this point to let him have them.

"That's right," She assures him, and waits for him to finish the question. Which...he doesn't. Well, then. That's not very comforting. But she leans down to fish some little cakes out of the basket, and offers them to him.

"Here's the cakes," She tells him, which can either just be a general statement, or an attempt to answer his question.

[onlyhymns]

Ah, the cakes! Thank goodness, he'd been worried.
Probably.
Making an interested face, Cade's attention is diverted to them, and he takes one to bite into it without asking any questions. It's definitely fine if Beleth gave it to him, and-- wait, why is Beleth here?
Still chewing, Cade looks at her uncertainly.

cade or both i'm good for either just lmk, no csa in flasbhacks pls

[limier]

For the past several days, Wren's been difficult to reach.

The greater her visibility, the more there's to lose for doubt of her; the easier it will be to question any decisions made before this thing took hold. But at some point between the fever's break and the familiar drag of thirst, she's talked an escort into seeing her to their room.

(More accurately: Into seeing she returns to hers after.)

"Harrimann," If Simon's there, she's yet to notice beneath the disarray, voice hoarse. "May I come in?"

The doorframe's convenient for keeping upright. Her eyes are wary, sharper than they'd been but an hour past, and her knuckles twist with a nervous energy. Not an indulgence that she intends to repeat, but necessary now — she came to see them, and not the dead.

u got it

[onlyhymns]

He's a little more lucid than usual, but that's not saying a lot. When Cade opens the door, his shirt is hanging open like he couldn't figure out how to fasten it, and, chillingly, he doesn't seem bothered by it at all. He stares dazedly at Wren for several moments as though shocked anyone is here in the first place, and it can only be gathered by the fact that he isn't asking questions that Cade recognizes her.

[paladingus]

It's a good thing that Cade is fit to open the door, because leaving Wren out there to wait would be cruel, but damned if Simon is going to budge from the fetal position. Every noise feels as though someone has stomped directly on his forehead.

But for Wren, when he does half-realize that it's her, he'll at least roll over and peer out from beneath the sweat-stained pillow. It does not, perhaps, register with as much meaning as it might if he had dosed himself more recently--his mind floats important and pay attention, sweetened with a strain of disconnected good to see her, but he can't completely grasp the why of it through the fog.

"D'you need us?" His voice, too, is rusty.

[limier]

Her glance skates from Cade's chest to the bed in the corner. Well, none of that’s good.

"No," She steps in, sees the door shuts behind her. "At ease."

As though that's anything any of them are much capable of. She fishes a shaking hand into a pocket, holds it there a moment, willing stillness that won't come. A beat, several pages and ink withdrawn. Clearing space on the desk (a wider sweep than she means to) is half an excuse to relieve the urgent pressure to move, and half,

Well. They’ll get to that. First things first, and second things second, and this would all be a great deal easier to think through if her veins would stop humming up through her teeth. An eye across any pitchers, glasses present; they’ll need water, for all it won’t feel it helps. She gives up on the hunt as abruptly as it begins — remind someone else to do it — to stoop beside Simon’s bed, get as close of a glance as the pillow allows. A frigid hand to his forehead, she pulls away, turns to Cade.

"Do you know how this goes?"

Either of them. She should have asked before, but this isn't something you ever speak of. It’s far too late to hope of a sensible answer now, but the manner of it might at least give her something.

Both

[keenly]

There's a gentle knock, a tapping of knuckles against the frame of the open door. Colin is carrying a box of flasks filled with varied tinctures and potions. He is tired, looks tired, and has barely had a sit-down all day. Somehow, all of the interactions have gotten easier. Dealing with Templars while having the upper hand is old hat to him, of course, but this is different. This is him having a job to do, and doing it.

He squats first in front of Cade, peering into his face with concern. At once he takes a philter and some refined lyrium out of his box and begins to go about giving Cade the dose of it, remembering how to do it from seeing it in the Circle on occasion. If Cade lets him do it, he can move on and give Simon his dose while Cade recovers.

"Hello, Cade," he says softly. "I'm going to give you lyrium first, and then we're going to find you the right medicine."

[onlyhymns]

Cade is still coming down from a sleeping draught and is still fairly groggy, so he does little more than stare blearily at Colin while the unfamiliar man addresses him. The lyrium is injected without incident, and he sighs back as the man moves away to deal with Simon, drowning in the sudden rush of comfort and Goodness coursing through him. Ah, there's his brain again.

[paladingus]

At the moment, Colin is as unfamiliar to Simon as he is to Cade. He can't put a name to the face, can't understand why he's here (or why Cade's here, or quite who Cade is)--but there's enough latent association buried in the back of his brain to make him uncertain whether he should trust this stranger to inject him with anything.

A week ago, there'd have been no question of it, though of course, a week ago, he'd been perfectly capable of doing it himself. But that last encounter lingers, tinges everything dark and doubtful, leaves him skittish. He watches Colin warily through pain-narrowed eyes, his arms still buried under the blankets.

[keenly]

It would be easy, so damn easy to let these Templars suffer and die. All Colin would have to do is...nothing. He could sit in his shop and pretend nothing is going on outside. But now he has seen their suffering faces, their bodies wracked with the Chantry's corruption. Colin once preyed on this addiction, using it to make Templars protect him from other Templars. He'd made profits from it, is still making profits from it. And for the moment, he has a pang of regret. Lyrium has always meant leverage, safety, and power, turning the thing that robs Templars of their dignity into a shield. He has never felt bad about it until now.

Colin perches on the edge of Simon's bed, preparing the lyrium. When it's ready to inject, he looks at Simon, who is wary and so out of his head that he doesn't even seem to recognize him. Colin's brow furrows. Why should he feel guilty about this? Simon and Cade chose this life, trained for it, strived for it, for what? So there would be enough people to kill mages? And now he's helping them. And no matter how much he argues with himself in his own head, he's not going to stop. Colin might be manipulative, but he can't bring himself to be cruel.

"Simon," he says softly. "Do you want lyrium?" Start with that question so that Simon can feel he has some dignity and control over the situation, as wary as he is right now.

I. Both!

[mal_adjusted]

[The young woman who enters their room with a full tray is not someone either one of them will recognize. She has a look on her face that looks like she is concentrating very hard on not dropping anything, but after the tray goes down, the look of concentration is now switched to the two men before her.]

So. Hello. I'm Mal.

[She goes with an official sort of looking nod and a Bright Fake Smile, before she nods at the tray.] Healers sent me by. See if you needed, you know, food or maybe some potions to help you sleep, or, you know. Other stuff.

[A pause.]

.... I don't do baths. Just letting you know.

[onlyhymns]

Cade stares at her like a crazy person. He glances at Simon, uncertainly, then back at the girl, her words slowly sifting through his brain and trying to make sense.

Is her hair really pink? Is he imagining that?

[mal_adjusted]

Mal looked over at the blond one, then over to the dark haired one, as the smile sort of slipped sideways.

"I am ... really here. Just to let you know. Really here, really me."

[paladingus]

Simon blinks at her with unfocused eyes, oblivious to Cade's unspoken question and yet half-wondering the same thing.

But Mal has done them both the service of explaining what she's here for, clearly and without the kind of ambiguity a lyrium-deprived mind likes to latch onto and twist, and it gives Simon the anchor he needs to declare her trustworthy enough for the moment.

"Do you--" It takes him a moment; the catch in his too-dry throat forces him to start again. "Do you have any elfroot? Or anything stronger, even, but I'd take the elfroot." Sleep is out of the question as long as he can avoid it, but pain relief is another matter.