Chapter Text
Noah still remembers when he first got to the hospital.
He has a weird thing — whenever he starts to remember something, Noah always starts with the smell. Visuals can be deceiving but his smell, his smell usually never lies.
He was 18 when he got to that hospital. His mother, being a doctor and well-endowed with that part of healthcare told him everything he needed to bring. No glass, no belts, no strings. No open toed shoes either, for sanity reasons.
The hospital was filled with white walls, blinding bright lights and the overwhelming smell of hand sanitizer. It smelled…too clean, if he can remember it right.
He remembers changing from a grey tank and basketball shorts into in-patient blue scrubs. His shoes were replaced with grippy socks as he was guided to the emergency room. A huge room, if he can even call it that.
Colored tiles were on the floor, beige pillars stood. And several rooms, some even had colored numbers on them. And with each room, someone was outside of the door. Dressed in their own scrubs, peeking their heads through the doors every once in a while.
”Noah,” A voice called. He turned, a nurse pointing him into a room. “Here first.”
It was silly, he knew. Noah never liked hospitals or doctors, especially the needles and the flu tests he knew awaited him through those doors. His mom told him mostly everything that would happen here.
”Mijo,” Brenna said, holding his hand. “Let’s go together. Okay?” And Noah remembers nodding, trusting his mother completely as they started to walk towards that door.
And suddenly, he was back.
Back in the tournament, back with the clock slowing running out. Back with terrible commentary and hearing how his opponent found the first clue.
Shit. Noah thought. Now was not the time for daydreams.
His eyes scanned under the car, trying to find something, focused. The challenge said there were six things wrong with this car, meaning there HAD to be something wrong with the undercarriage. Before he noticed it.
A small dent with a pink sticky note attached to it. Noah looked to a white table only a few feet from the two men, with tools of different sorts. Including gloves. How did Noah miss that?
Popping the dent back wasn’t a problem, in fact, it was honestly pretty easy. Even without gloves. But it was the pink sticky note attached, the riddle that left him slightly puzzled.
The mechanic took the sticky note, reading what was written in slightly messy handwriting. Written in a hurry.
”I roar without a throat, sprint without a leg,” Noah began, softly to himself. “Fuel is my feast, and the road is where I beg. What and where am I?”
What the fuck.
Okay. Noah had to put his thinking cap on. This…whatever roared without a throat. And it was car related, with the road being where it begged.
”C’mon baby, show me sum’, show me sum’.” He muttered to himself, almost as if he was asking the car itself to help him. But really, it was just a vocal stim. Something to keep his brain active and functioning, something he’s been repeating since childhood. He can never remember the song, only that lyric.
Road. Roar. Fuel. Sprint.
Noah’s eyes lit up. The sound of him figuring it out was almost like a seatbelt, finally clicking into place. And that place was under the car’s hood. It was an engine.
He rolled from under the car’s undercarriage, expeditiously. Noah walked in front of the car, a Porsche if he were to add and popped the hood.
Jackpot. It wouldn’t have took a mechanic to know that the screws on the engine were unscrewed. And as soon as he checked under the hood, there was another sticky note. Red, just on the top of the hood.
Now, Noah knew that any good robotic mechanic in this line of competition would check on their opponent. Noah didn’t. He knew he would get distracted and his mind would drown in thoughts if he did.
He almost ran to the table, grabbing a wrench, screwdriver, and the gloves. In case he needed them. And back to the car he went, tightening the screws on the engine. Noah tuned out the sound of ridiculous commentary and more so, focused on the clock. Ticking, as the room almost became silent.
Not ticking like a bomb but slowly just…ticking. Moving back and forth, almost like the sound of a swing but not quite.
Noah was fixated on clocks for a while. How to build one, fix it, listen for the cogwheels finally turning as it was finally fixed.
He remembered hearing a clock tick again and again when he was in his hospital room, being greeted by a social worker. Whose name was pretty hard for him to pronounce, so he honestly forgot about it.
They talked about why he was here, things he liked, how he was feeling (it was honestly mostly a one-sided conversation with the dry replies Noah gave), and she even gave some background on herself. How she was once in the same situation Noah was in, maybe in an effort to make him feel seen.
He remembers her shifting in her seat, announcing that this was her last question.
"Noah, do you know what apophenia is?" The social worker asked him, clipboard in hand.
Noah wrinkled his nose, unfamiliar with the word. It sounded like a disease, not like Kris's but maybe a disease to the mind. Like rust on cars. He shook his head.
"Well, it's finding meaning or patterns when others wouldn't." She explained, moving her right hand that held a grey pen that only produced black ink. Noah focused on that more than her face since he wasn't exactly fond of looking people in the eye. "More often than not, people with this disorder get feelings of revelation, or like it says on your father's file: ecstasys."
The Puerto Rican’s eyes widened. His father’s file?
The social worker began talking again. “Apophenia was only one of his symptoms, however.” She sighed, looking away from Noah before looking back.
“I’m not allowed to disclose patient’s mental health history. Especially those of the dead but — I do believe you should be the one to hear it.” Noah’s brows furrowed, she made it sound like it was the worst thing ever or that his father had killed someone.
”You father had one of the most extreme cases of schizophrenia I have ever seen. I don’t even know how he survived without treatment for that long, especially with young children.” She told him. “And there is a very high change you have it as well.”
Noah could almost describe the feeling like tunnel vision. Being fixated on one thing, his only focus, only goal in life right now is fixing that car and winning the tournament. Nothing else matters in that point, like he’s in a vast and claustrophobic tunnel and crawling towards the light.
He filled the gasoline, popped dents, changed the moldy tires, fixed the engine up and now there was only one thing. Now, he sat in the driver’s seat catching his breath.
The finally sticky note as the clock, ticking and chiming was down to 50 seconds.
A riddle in the final sticky note. So blatant and obvious, almost like giving Noah a break.
“Your journey is nearing, ‘cause you rock. The final thing you need is in the ___”. It was almost too easy.
”Glovebox.” Noah filled in the blank out loud, going to check the compartment immediately, opening it and finding the car keys.
He almost stabbed the key into the ignition, twisted it and felt the car start and rumble under his feet. An uncontrollable smile came across his face as the timer stopped at 40 seconds, and a buzz ran through the entire building.
Now, this is when Noah looks at his opponent. He turns, seeing the kid. Bumblebee, looking disappointed as ever with something crumpled in his hand. Noah turned back, a wave of relief almost washing over him as the tunnel suddenly became open ground.
He always got too into this competitions, that was his problem. Reek always scolded him for that, how Noah would immediately determine his self-worth based off of how he good he was at these games.
Everything else was a blur after that. Since calming down from adrenaline, you don’t really pay any attention to stuff that happens afterwards. He did pay attention to the words uttered by the person who gave him his winning money. How he was going to Florida for an another competition next month.
Thankfully, as Noah’s fears were calmed, they didn’t say this week. The mechanic was planning on spending his little brother’s birthday with him this week, and couldn’t afford to have to choose between his family and his passions. (He would choose his family, no matter how much he loves these tournaments.)
He remembers going outside, his cheeks hurting from smiling. Maybe. He remembers seeing Bumblebee — Ben, walk out. They made small conversation, he believes.
By small conversation, it was basically him responding to different radio sayings or soundboard phrases.
Before this silver Porsche with blue stripes pulled up, and the conversation was cut short. Noah remembered the honking, remembered that he recognized the voice but had no clue where it came from.
He doesn’t know what compelled him too, but he did move his head to take a small peek at this guy or girl. And the only thing he saw, the most biggest and unmistakable attribute of this person was their hair.
It was huge. Well, not huge but it was big. And curly, with lots of grey hairs mixed with the rich dark brown curls, and a few of the hair strands were dyed blue. The same blue as the stripes on that Porchse.
It struck him. Like he was almost hit by a truck and sent flying into a huge body of water known as “deja vu”. Where had he seen that specific kind of hair before?
Noah wasn’t taken to upstairs, or in a more treatment facility until his first week in the emergency room. Doctors woke him up, pestering him with questions before a nurse calmly told him he was going upstairs.
Of course, Noah was confused. But none of his questions were answered and he figured he’d just go along with it rather than making it more frustrating for everyone involved.
And after the necessary stripping down, checking his height and weight and being assigned a sitter, he was finally allowed to go into a common area with the other kids.
And then, he saw one of them. Sitting in a plastic chair, one foot on a weight wooded table. The hair was what struck Noah the most. It was more down, a little more straight. But still very curly, with various of grey streaks that looked like silver in the bright lights. A few strands of the hair was dyed a bright blue. It was tied in a frizzy and messy bun, like you could tell no effort when into it. Also, this guy or girl — Noah couldn’t exactly tell — had multiple ear piercings.
They turned to him, eyes widening for a moment. “I thought you were Brian for a second there.”
Brian?
”Who?” Noah said, as an adult who sat across from this kid told the Puerto Rican that “Brian” was another kid who just got out and scolded the kid with the weird curly hair not to talk about patients who had gotten out.
Noah took the time to almost size the kid up. He was in the grey t-shirt and dark green baggy pants that everyone had to change into, which was honestly a relief from the paper scrubs. Aside from the curly hair, their skin was a lightest brown. A little darker in color but not that quiet. Their arms were crossed, and they sat on their other foot.
The second-most noticeable feature was their eyes. They were blue, slightly dark and hooded. The thing that unnerved Noah wasn’t the pupils.
It was the fact those eyes had absolutely no light in them.
”Yo!” The kid yelled, making Noah flinch at it and realize the patient he was “sizing up” was staring dead back at him. “You got a starin’ problem or something?”
”Mirage!” The adult sitting across from Mirage scolded. “We do NOT talk to new people like that. Don’t be rude.”
So Mirage was his name? The only thing Noah could think of was who would their name their kid that? After an illusion?
Mirage rolled his eyes, those cold blue returning back to him. “What’s your name?” It didn’t sound like a question, more like a demand. Which made Noah realize another crucial thing.
This guy or girl — was leaking “pretentious douchebag rich kid” in every pore. It was in the way they sat, comfortable yet poise. Like they owned the place. The kid raised an eyebrow as Noah realized he hadn’t answered.
”Noah.” He says. Plain and simple. “What’s yours?” He asks out of habit.
”You weren’t listening?” Mirage responded just as quickly and seriously, Noah could already feel the frustration creeping into him. This guy or girl or whatever was being a total dick right now.
”Mirage!” Both the teen’s sitters yelled, upset at the rudeness from the curly-haired kid and Noah could honestly see why.
”What?!” Mirage responded. “Both of you have said my name 5 times while he was here!”
Noah groaned internally and sighed externally. “It’s called common curtesy.”
Mirage snapped back. “It’s called giving everyone in the room the impression you’re an airheaded dumbass.”
”Man, you know WHAT—“ Noah was about to step closer, before his sitter stepped in front of him. He didn’t realize the entire common room went silent, or everyone’s eyes were on the both of them until now.
“OKAY, why don’t I show you your room, Noah?” His sitter said, pushing him towards one of the rooms — similar to those on the emergency room. Noah’s anger slowly faded, with nothing but one opinion on that guy, girl — whatever.
That kid was a total asshole.
Could that person possibly have been that kid back the hospital?
…
No way.
Last he checked, that kid was what? Gonna spend the rest of his life in places like that? He supposed to be going to a long term residence or whatever that means. And Noah doubted he’d ever see that guy again.
Sighing, he put his jacket on and started walking back to the hotel. It was already 5 pm, it was going to get dark soon and Noah rather not get caught in the dark streets of Paris. And it was getting cold.
It didn’t take long for Noah to get to the hotel, or for him to check right back in. Now realizing he didn’t check up but literally just ran through the door.
“Vous les Américains êtes toujours pressés.” The clerk said, shaking her head as she handed Noah his key.
“Merci.” Was all Noah said to that, taking his key and deciding to take the elevator instead of walking up the stairs.
Soon, he would go to his hotel room. And soon, he would immediately go to the telephone and call his phone. Smile when she picks up, greet her and tell her everything that happened. How it wasn’t hard for him to win the competition but still challenging in a way. Mentally speaking.
He stood in the dimly lit hotel room, clutching the phone to his ear with a mixture of relief and apprehension etched across his face, responding as his mother asked so many questions, ranging from if he was eating well to did he win.
As he listened intently to the voices of his family — his Ma with her questions and Kris constantly interjecting cascading through the receiver, his expression remained a mosaic of emotions. A fleeting smile touched his lips, quickly replaced by a furrowed brow as both he and Brenna scolded Kris for interrupting.
His eyes darted around the familiar surroundings of the hotel, tapping his index finger on the telephone. It seemed with each passing word, his face and tone changed in the matter of seconds. Noah counted in his head, the call went on for only 20 minutes or so before he said he had to go to sleep since he had a long day from the competition.
As he stood and took in his surroundings, he noticed the person in his bed wasn’t there anymore. They must’ve checked out themselves, and even cleaned up for him.
”Alright Noah, you get some rest okay? We’ll see you when you get here.” His mother’s voice crackled on the end of the line.
”Bye Noah!” Kris yelled from the other line, causing an almost smile to come to Noah’s face as he said his goodbyes and hung up.
Noah took a deep breath, rubbing at his temples. Truth be told, he had absolutely no idea how this would go down. Most days, they’re normal. A happy family, getting by. But some days, some days one thing triggers another and lets off a bomb of emotions that have led to screaming matches and dorms being slammed before. He just…he didn’t know how this was going to play out. If he really should visit or just back off.
He sighed, going onto the bed and lying in starfish position.
Staring at the ceiling, he noticed the cracks and the paintbrushes. One in the near left corner looked like cat, the other in the far right looked like a button. And the middle look like a person’s face.
Apophenia. The term for finding meaning or patterns when other people wouldn’t.
Noah’s brows furrowed as he thought more about it. How apophenia was only one of the symptoms of schizophrenia, and how his father’s was extreme and how it made him kill himself—
Noah sat up. He wasn’t his father. The farthest thing from him. He wasn’t going to let this little thing completely control his life, an old diagnosis that was only a theory. He was never actually diagnosed. The only thing they told him he had was “Major Depressive Disorder” or something like that.
Maybe he should do what his mom says. He should get some rest. He did have a long plane trip ahead of him.
So, he took a breath. Sighed it out, and turned off his lamp light.