Chapter Text
“We keep the more violent patients in D Wing,” Dr. Gundebad said, jerking his thumb toward the padlocked door. “So make sure you have at least one other orderly with you when you go inside to hand out medications.”
“All right,” Bilbo said, adjusting his briefcase’s strap to keep it from digging into his shoulder.
“We won’t go in there right now,” he said, giving Bilbo a grin, “Too many possible weapons on you.”
Bilbo wasn’t sure if he should laugh or not, but accepted it with a smile. “I suppose that makes sense,” he said. “Is there anyone I should stay away from specifically?”
“Not particularly,” Dr. Gundebad assured him as they walked down to the staff room. “Most of our patients aren’t too bad. It’s a small ward after all. The D Wing only has two people in it that you should be a little more cautious around since we usually send the more dangerous inmates to a facility that is better equipped to handle them. Sméagol Rivers has dissociative identity disorder and has an obsession with a friend’s ring. He won’t let anyone take it from him. Not that I’d encourage it.”
“Why?”
Dr. Gundebad punched in the code for the staff room, letting Bilbo enter before him. “Sméagol attacked his cousin five years ago when he tried to take it so that they could eat dinner. And a few other inmates who had tried to take it were attacked as well.”
“Oh,” Bilbo said, chills crawling up his spine. Dr Gundebad chuckled.
“Don’t worry, he’s mostly harmless.” Bilbo guessed that was true if he was allowed to stay at Moria Asylum. Dr. Gundebad opened a locker. “Here you are.”
“Thanks,” Bilbo said, taking note of the locker number and lock combination. He put his handheld notepad and pen back in his briefcase. “What about the other?”
“Other?”
“The other patient in D Wing I should be a little more wary of?”
Dr. Gundebad sighed. “Do you remember the owner of Erebor Technologies? Thorin Oakenshield?”
“The bloke who attacked his assistant because he swore he heard him say that he stole the company?”
“Yes, that’s the one. He’s a bit deceptive and he might try to trick you into thinking he’s sane.”
“What does he have?” Bilbo asked. Dr Gundebad arched a brow at him. “Sorry,” Bilbo said. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
Dr. Gundebad scratched his chin. “It’s a hereditary illness that is prevalent in Thorin’s family. We aren’t sure exactly what it is, but it’s a strain of schizoaffective disorder, a little bit of obsessive-compulsive disorder…” he sighed. “He’s perhaps our most difficult patient next to Sméagol. But even Sméagol isn’t as bad.”
“Wouldn’t he be moved?”
“His family would rather avoid changing facilities. And other than when we go to give him his medicine, he’s perfectly calm so I see no reason to have him moved.” Bilbo could understand that. No one wanted to be separated from their family.
He’s encouraged to buy white scrubs from a uniform store (white, no color and no jewelry of any sort) before he started work officially the next day. He was given the padlock numbers for the doors on a list and encouraged to memorize them. Dr. Gundebad led him back to the entrance and bade him goodbye and that he’d see him on Thursday. Bilbo pulled out his cell phone and dialed his grandparents.
“Hello?”
“Grandpa, its Bilbo. I got the job.”
#
Bilbo’s flat was sparsely decorated with next to nothing.
He had a bed in the bedroom with a decent mattress and warm sheets and a down comforter and two fluffy throws. He also had an old table, fold away table and three folding chairs in the kitchen. Bilbo hoped to raise enough money to get something a little bit more for his new home while he studied at Ludwig-Maximilions.
His grandmother had tried to convince him to attend grad school closer to home so he wouldn’t have to move, but he needed to get out of England for a while. Whether he really needed the years away that he planned, he didn’t know.
He had decided to stay in Germany through the following three or four years for his PhD in psychology in all four seasons, save the two or four weeks in England to visit his family for Christmas.
He considered himself blessed. His grandfather was paying for almost everything he needed. Tuition, rent, food…everything else he had to pay for himself and he didn’t want to rely on a scant monthly allowance that may or may not stretch through the months for it.
With that in mind, he was glad to get a decent paying job at Moria Asylum. Dr. Gundebad didn’t seem to mind that he couldn’t work full time, mentioning briefly that his own son was an undergrad freshman at the University of Ingolstadt.
Bilbo opened the window, letting what was left of summer flow into the room. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow on the Isar. He had a couple days before he started work and almost a week more before his classes began and that made him eager to scout the university and his neighborhood. Where the food was, the best coffee shops, the library, a bank…
He sighed.
There was so much to do before he could start working. He needed a subway card to get from home or work to the university…needed to stock his fridge—there was only so long he would be able to survive on frozen dinners.
Bilbo stepped away and stretched. Overwhelmed by the errands he’d need to do, they weren’t that bad and so far, Munich was a refreshing difference from London’s grey drab.
The next few years, Bilbo decided, would be interesting.
#
Blotaz punched in the code for D Wing. “Ready?”
“No,” Bilbo said, pushing a trolley in. “But I’ll live.” Blotaz grinned.
Bilbo had been told to ask Blotaz if he needed anything and so far he didn’t need to stick close to him that much. Still, he was advised never to enter D Wing alone. The patients in that wing were often likened to wild cats: they’d attack you the moment your back is turned.
While that made his heart hammer a little faster in his chest than he’d like, Bilbo kept a perfectly neutral expression on his face as he and Blotaz delivered the medications. He hesitated at a door with the name Sméagol written on a plaque.
Blotaz chuckled. “Don’t worry about Smeeg,” he said. “He won’t attack so long as he knows you aren’t going to take his Ring.” He opened the door and Bilbo followed him inside. The man squatted on the bed, stroking a gold band in his hand, mumbling to himself. His black hair was thin and slowly falling out.
“Sméagol?” Blotaz said. Sméagol didn’t look at them. “Gollum?” His head snapped at them and he snarled, baring his teeth and gurgling. Blotaz didn’t seem impressed by the hostility. “It’s time for your meds, Gollum.”
“And candy?” Sméagol (well, Gollum) asked.
Bilbo furrowed his brow.
“After your meds,” Blotaz said, handing him a paper cup. Blotaz grinned at him. “Cherry flavored cough syrup for his throat,” he said. “He likes how it tastes, which is more than what I can say.”
Bilbo agreed. He’d stick with tea with a drop of honey, thank you. Gollum swallowed his meds and released a raspy giggle when Bilbo gave him the syrup.
Surprisingly easy, Bilbo thought, pushing the trolley back out into the hallway. Three rooms later, Blotaz walked past. “What about this one?” Bilbo asked. Blotaz turned around and stared.
“Not yet. We prefer to give Thorin medicine last. We need about two more people to hold him down so his medicine can be given.”
“Seriously?!” Bilbo squeaked. Blotaz hummed, crossing his arms over his chest and nodding. Bilbo swallowed, following after him. “So he’s difficult?”
“Compared to most of the inmates, Thorin is much more difficult. You’d think we’re torturing him with how much he screams when we give him his shot.”
A Bilbo tried to push down the fear he felt at meeting Thorin as he and Blotaz gave the others their medication. Some of them responded well to the medicine they had and were glad to meet Bilbo, if a bit morose about staying at Moria.
Circling back around to Thorin’s room, two other orderlies waited for them. One was tall, dark, and broad shouldered. He introduced himself as Lurtz. His companion, an older orderly, gave the name Grishnak. Lurtz opened the door and they filed in.
As soon as they were all in the room, Lurtz closed the door and Bilbo looked at the man sitting on the bed. He was handsome, tall. His black hair covered his neck and ears. He stared at them with defiance in his sky blue eyes. They fix on Bilbo, watching him.
They didn’t blink when Lurtz and Blotaz pinned Thorin’s ankles down, strapping him down. Bilbo handed the needle to Grishnak. He approached and bound Thorin’s hands down, expecting him to attack at any moment. To bite, scream, scratch…
But he did nothing. Bilbo pinned Thorin’s shoulders down, wishing that he’d blink or look away, anything but stare at him.
“Done,” Grishnak said. They release him and back out of the room, locking it again. Thorin jumped at the door, rattling the handle. He banged his palms on the door, making Bilbo jump.
“That’s more like him,” Grishnak muttered.
“I thought he was violent,” Bilbo said.
“He is violent,” Blotaz said. “I’ve never seen him that calm before. He’s usually fighting us. Not sure I like this change.”
“I like it,” Grishnak said. “Maybe his meds are finally working.”
“He doesn’t respond to his medicine?” Bilbo asked.
“Thorin’s case is strange,” Lurtz said. “No one knows what he should be given. He was on invega and lithobid, but he wouldn’t swallow.”
“Nearly bit my hand off the last time we made him take them,” Grishnak snarled. “So Azog got approval for him to take a shot to stabilize him and keep him calm. Bloody good that does.”
They exited the wing. “Personally, it worries me,” Blotaz whispered to Bilbo and Lurtz. Lurtz hummed, arms crossed. “What if Thorin’s up to something. The meds haven’t been working, why would they now?”
“Maybe Azog finally decided to give him an anti-anxiety medicine.” Lurtz suggested. Blotaz shook his head and Grishnak bade them goodbye for the day.
“He acted like his normal self when we left.”
“Maybe it’s the newbie.”
Bilbo blushed. “Doubtful,” he said. “Maybe it has to do with me being new?”
“Eh, we’ll worry about it later,” Lurtz said. “When does your shift end?”
“At eight,” Bilbo said, “When the night orderlies clock on.”
“Want to grab a bite. Blotaz and I usually go drinking after work.”
Bilbo beamed. “Sure.”