Based off a Nightmare I had recently, and I really, really needed to get it off my chest (simply because I felt like I would keep on having it)
Summary: Christmas day was a day meant to be spent with family and friends. But what happens when, one goes missing—turns up dead, and you only have a picture sent out on the internet to prove anything?
WARNING: AU, Character Death/Blood/Disturbing Mental Images (possibly)/Unstable Minds…etc…
NOTE: Since this was based off a DREAM some things MAY NOT be correct. I'm trying to keep it as close to the dream as possible.
Oh yes, and Kanda plays the same person I was in the dream –just to clear that up-
'Why did I ever leave in the first place?' I wondered, letting out a soft hiss as my back hit the tiled wall of the shower. The very wet, still steaming shower. I could feel water soak through my shirt.
But that didn't matter. No.
'How the fuck did that happen?' I winced as my legs gave out, making me crash against the bottom of the tub. Now water was soaking through my pants. But that didn't matter either. I could change, that was easy. It wouldn't change anything. It wouldn't change the fact that—I didn't know.
That was it. Just it.
I didn't know.
How I ended up like this. In the shower—away from what just happened which I couldn't remember for some reason.
I inhaled, but it was hard to breathe—because of the steam, and the warmth. 'Don't panic.' I wasn't going to, 'Just think.' Which I wasn't good at. Not when it came to something like this, 'What happened?'
Nothing came up. It was blank. Completely and utterly blank.
'Dammit.' I ignored the faucet poking me in the back, and bowed forward, gritting my teeth, 'I need to remember!' before I could leave—I had to. Because it had to be important. It had to be.
I couldn't remember.
It was blank. White.
'Why?' I couldn't remember. I just couldn't.
"Yuu?" I called out, slamming the door shut behind me. It was too quiet—even for his place. And I was worried. He had left—so suddenly. Just. Like. That. And it worried me. It shouldn't. But it did.
"Yuu?" I called out again, kicking my shoes off and making my way through the house. It was like he wasn't home, when I saw his shoes there too—by the door, he was home. But where?
He couldn't just ignore me again, right?
"Yuu?" I called for the third time, making my way into the hall. Damn this House is big. Because it was—bigger than I remembered it—'For him to live here alone half the year.' While Tiedoll was out painting or doing whatever, and Marie—well, he should have been home, right?
'Then where is he?' Because he would have heard the door open, I was sure of it. 'Or maybe he's asleep.' Because it was getting late, and he hadn't showed up for the party anyway—'Didn't Yuu say he had to work?'
Oh wait. He had, hadn't he?
'But he said he'd drop by.' So that must be—'Yuu left to check on him.' I felt my lips twitch, 'He can be nice sometimes, too.' But I was still worried.
Because Kanda left too. After he got his present—a digital camera. From me, of course, but he didn't know that. It was cute. 'I wonder if he'll let us take a picture together.' Because he had been fiddling with it. 'Maybe I need to show him how to work it.'
It'd be a shame if he broke it so soon, 'Then I'll tell him I'm the one who bought it for him. He'll be surprised.'
He would be. 'If he doesn't just throw it out afterward.'
He wouldn't. Right?
'Nah, it was too expensive!' Wouldn't put it past him though, when I wasn't looking. 'But he said he wanted one. So,' I exhaled and continued walking, 'damn this hall is long.'
Or more like 'Why'd you choose the last room?' But then that was Kanda for ya. Not exactly the most sociable person. That was funny too, considering how many people knew him. But that was mostly Lenalee's fault.
'Which reminds me I need ta call her later.' Because she had been worried too, when she saw Yuu leave, 'If Komui will give her a free moment.'
'The overprotective bastard.' I felt my lips twitch again, in a real smile. But it almost immediately died. Almost immediately.
Because Kanda was anti-social. He hated company, he hated being open for company, and he adored his privacy.
So why the heck was his door open?
Better yet—was that water running?
He was taking a shower. With his door open.
'He'll regret that.' It would've been funny to peek in and scare the crap out of him—if now was time to be funny. I had unlocked his door once, just to see him showering—'not that I'll admit that'—Well I just did but—
His door was open.
And so was the bathroom door. His own private bathroom. He never left that door open. Whether because he was messy, or that he was a privacy whore—it could be both. Could be (if he kept enough clothes on hand to be called messy) but I doubted it.
I shrugged my coat off and tossed it on his bed. The steam from the bathroom was literally seeping into every corner—every damn space it probably could.
And his clothes were lying in a heap on the floor by the shower door.
Bloodied and stained like he had just gotten into a fight with someone.
'Is he hurt?' No. That shouldn't even be a question.
I took one step into the bathroom, and banged lightly on the screen door. I didn't want to scare him—I didn't—but—
I did anyway.
But I saw enough anyway—
'Oh good,' he wasn't hurt but—
"Get out." I flinched at his voice, but didn't budge.
'He isn't hurt.'
'where'd the blood come from?'
He saw where I was looking. And—regardless of the water—of that much more steam—and the fact he was butt naked, not that I minded that—he stepped out.
"What do you want?" He hissed, but his voice sounded hoarse, like he had been screaming. His eyes wouldn't focus on me. They kept glancing down, at his clothes. Then at a towel, then at the mirror behind me—he looked like he hated what he saw.
I couldn't blame him.
No bloodied wounds. No nothing. But his face was pinched in that way I hated—the way I only saw a few times (and thankfully not more), and his eyes—
"I…was worried." I found my voice enough to speak those words. It must be the humid air, but they sounded weaker, more thrown together—forced—I didn't like it.
He didn't look like he believed me. He still wouldn't look at me. Instead he grabbed a towel (one for decency of course) and wrapped it around himself—
"You left." Two extra words tumbled out, "the party—I mean. Lenalee saw you leave when you—were out on the balcony. Sh-she got worried." He tensed at every word. But he still wouldn't look at me.
Instead he picked up his clothes and—not in his closet. In the shower, under the steaming water—like he wanted to get the blood out.
"Yuu—" again, tensed shoulders, "What happened?" He shot me a glare that wasn't aimed at my face.
"Nothing happened." But I didn't believe him, dammit. I didn't. "You can leave."
A glare, half a second, at my face. Then away—as he pushed past, towards his closet. To get new clothes, because of the bloodied ones in the shower.
"Like hell I'm going to leave if you can't even look at me." Those words tumbled out too as I watched him pick out clothing. The appropriate stuff. Then a shirt. And a pair of pants.
He didn't even care I was watching him. He didn't even care—even though he knew I could see those scars (on the back of his legs. I never asked where they came from. I never wanted to know. Tiedoll and his big mouth. Cross too).
Or maybe he did, a little bit.
He didn't let me get too far, "Get out."
"No," he glanced at me over his shoulder, again not meeting my eyes (err, eye), "I'll wait in your room."
"You aren't making me leave."
I backed slowly out of the room and sat, slowly, on his bed (which was, thankfully, right by his door, so if he did try to lock it, I'd get there in time) Not that I thought he'd do that. Because then something would be wrong
(and I wouldn't mind breakin' down a damn door)
A few seconds later and Yuu came out, hair still wet, shirt never acquired, and he glared at me again.
'Don't be fazed,' and I wasn't, 'Say something.' Before he hides back in the bathroom again, of course. I pushed myself up from the bed and stood, firmly, in front of the door, "Where'd you go?"
He tensed again, not looking me in the face—again—
"Well? You're gonna have to tell me at some point."
"No I don't."
"Yeah you do." I leaned in—thankful for the painfully few inches I had on him—"So spill."
"I don't have to."
"For Lenalee's sake." I added on, "I'm not just gonna tell her you went for a walk. You know she isn't going to believe me."
Of course he'd hesitate at that. I'd expect that much, "But I did."
"Go for a walk?" He nodded his head. "Where did you go for this walk?" He still wouldn't look at me. He was focusing on his grip on the hairbrush in his left hand—it was his favorite I knew, he always had it. Tiedoll had given it to him as a present, and at this point it was missing a few bristles—"You left before you could get all your presents, y'know. An' you left real' quick too."
"I walk fast." That was lame, "And—I don't need presents."
"But you took mine." Now he looked at me—now he did—"The camera, it's from me." I elaborated, watching recognition flash in his dark eyes, "forgot the tag, but I thought it'd be funner that way." I expected him to get angry—to 'tch' at me—to—anything.
But he looked horrified.
"Oh c'mon, it can't be that bad getting a present from me." But it wasn't a joking matter and I knew it—from his expression, "Where'd ya put it anyway?" He never looked horrified. And asking that made it worse.
And he didn't answer me.
he tried to push past me.
"Yuu, woah, hold up," But I stopped him. With hand on his shoulder, pushing him back, turning him, until he was sitting on his bed—on my coat that I had thrown there—"What the hell?"
Because that wasn't—
"What happened? Did you break it?"
That stilled him enough, so I went with that, "What? It's—it's cool, if you broke it it's under warranty, y'know, we can get a new one." Because it was—paid an extra fifty bucks for it but still, "Wouldn't expect ya to break it so soon, but it's fine."
You'd expect Yuu to be the careful one, after all. But he still looked horrified. Not guilty—not that I'd ever expect him to be guilty but—
That wasn't it.
"It's not broken." His voice was so quiet then, I almost didn't hear him.
"It's not?" His shoulders slumped in my grip, "Then where is it?"
"I don't know." Blank. His voice was completely blank. He looked more composed now—if that were possible—but he still wasn't looking at me.
"You don't know?" I repeated, he shook his head, "Did you drop it somewhere? We can always retrace your steps." He tensed at that, a little bit, "I mean—there're like five different ways to walk to your place," because there were, I counted once, "which way did you go? It shouldn't be too hard to fine. The sun's still up."
Even more. Tensing. He shook his head—then—again—he tried to—get up, push me away—
"We don't have to look for it." He stopped struggling for an instant as he said that—looking towards the window this time. Like he didn't want to go outside or something.
"Why?" I shook my head, "if we don't' go out now we might not find it." And then the fifty dollars and the warranty would be basic crap. Unless I could pull out some stops but—I knew I was just running with that.
It was an excuse but apparently it was true (that he lost it)
"We don't have to." He stated again, still not looking at me.
"And again why? Is it really broken and you just don't want me to know?" he visibly flinched but quickly shook his head, "Then why can't we go look for it? I mean—" I thought back to the bloodied clothes and the still running shower, "did…wait." Something clicked, "something happened."
"It'd help if you'd actually look at me." I chided gently, "Or else I'll really think you're lying."
"I'm not lying."
He did try to look at me this time around. I had to give him points for that, "I'm not." He repeated, looking me in the eye. But still—still—he didn't look like he wanted to.
"Again, of course not." I repeated all the same, "You're just really crappy at telling the truth, then."
"If you don't wanna look for it then tell me why." I cut him off, "especially if it's got something to do with the current state of your clothes."
He looked down at what he was wearing
"Not right now," I nearly rolled my eyes, "I'm not stupid. I saw the blood." Because I did, and he knew I did. "And it isn't yours."
He wouldn't stop staring at me like he knew something. He wouldn't let me move either. Why wouldn't he let me move? I didn't know what happened—I didn't. Really.
"Tell me why it isn't yours."
Like he wanted it to be mine? At least then it would make sense.
"I don't—" What was I going to say? Was I going to lie again?
"You don't know?" He didn't let me, "Why don't you know it's not yours?" still staring at me. Even with one eye it was still—
I couldn't look him in the eye.
Did I do something wrong? I couldn't remember that much. But Blood was never good, and if it was mine then—why wasn't I hurt? If it was someone else's then—where were they? What happened to them?
"I—can't remember." I still couldn't look him in the eye, but maybe it was enough. He wasn't stupid. He wouldn't jump to conclusions. For all the common sense he lacked—he wouldn't accuse…right?
"You can't?" I shook my head, "You mean you—well, I mean," I glanced at him and he just stared, hard, like he was trying to think it over and what it meant. Maybe he'd find something, because I didn't know.
Then he exhaled, "So you can't remember. How the blood got there?" I nodded my head, "And where the camera is?" Another nod. "Well," he paused, again, another sigh, "I—guess…I can at least tell Lenalee you're safe."
'Because she'd be worried about me.' She worries about everyone. Too much. I didn't nod my head, but he knew anyway.
"she might want to talk to you, though," he warned, fumbling around in his back pocket for his cell-phone, "just a warning. I mean, I can try to get her not to but you did just kinda up and leave."
"Hmm?" He finally got his cell phone out, and dialed her number, but he was still looking at me like he wanted me to answer.
But I didn't. Because—
'Because I thought I saw Marie.' I did. I was sure of it. The zoom option helped, but it was him and I had gone to greet him—but then—
"You okay—Lenalee!" His question got cut off halfway when she picked up the other end. He smiled for a moment, before laughing into the receiver, "Calm down—yeah I found him. He's at his house."
A short round of silence. He stared at me for a moment, "Nah, I don't think so. He's not—feeling well."
Another pause. His face fell slightly, "Neh, no. I mean, I don't see why not." He cast me an apologetic glance, mouthing the word 'See' before thrusting the phone out at me, "she wants to talk to you."
I had no choice. I had to take the phone. It was there, and if I didn't then she would come over here and---"What?"
"That's no way to answer the phone." She immediately scolded, but it was obvious she was relieved, "How are you feeling? Lavi said you were sick."
"Better as in? Do you have a fever? What about Marie? Is he there?" My grip tightened on the phone—of course she'd bring him up. Why wouldn't she? He didn't show up at the party. He couldn't because—
"Tiedoll wants to know about him too, since he was supposed to get off work early today. He's kinda spazzing right now, if you know what I mean." She laughed nervously into the receiver, but I almost didn't hear her. Almost. "If he's there, how is he? I mean is he asleep? Or what?"
Nervous. She was nervous. It was—
"He's not here." Why did I say that?
"Really?" she sounded surprised. Now she'd get worried, "He's working late? Today? But it's Christmas!"
She didn't let me get a word in, "Tiedoll's going to have a fit when he finds out. Tell me he at least called?"
I was forcing each word out—I—
"What? Then—doesn't he usually?"
"Should we drop by? I mean it's getting late, they're almost closing, right?" What could I say? I never knew his working hours to begin with, "Yeah that's what we'll do. I guess we'll call you when we get there. Maybe we can pick you something up on the way back! Though if your stomach hurts or something, I don't know what would be good…"
"…yeah." What else could I say? What else?
"Okay then, ah, we'll—call you if we see anything good or—yeah." Suddenly a loud crashing sound could be heard somewhere behind her—even Lavi heard it, and looked concerned—then, suddenly—
"Wait Allen—I'm talking!"
"I don't care! This's important!"
"But—it's Kanda, you aren't just going to—"
"No. This is IMPORTANT! Give me the phone!"
"Please? No, seriously it's—don't pass off the phone." He was aiming that at me. But I didn't—
"Why the fuck would I want to talk to you."
"Because," he paused I could hear anger that I didn't need to deal with—"I just got an email."
"You were texting the whole time?!"
"Yeah but this is important." He actually snapped at her—he—but—"Are you near a computer?"
I glanced over at my desk, Lavi did the same. "Yeah why?"
"And Lavi's with you? Good. Just—get on. Get online!"
"Just DO it."
"Allen—Kanda isn't feeling well—you shouldn't shout!" It sounded like she tried to grab the phone away from him, but failed. "It's Christmas—Allen—can't you—"
"Yeah, yeah it's also the day after my birthday. I KNOW, Lenalee. But this is—I think I know why Kanda doesn't 'feel well'."
The pit of my stomach dropped.
"What are you—" I started,
"Talking about? You'll see when you get online. Are you online?" I looked over at Lavi, who was sitting in the chair in front of the monitor—clicking on the familiar blue E.
"where the heck m'I going?" He asked, before beckoning me over to him, "And turn the phone on speaker—so he doesn't have to shout."
But he isn't shouting.
I handed the phone off anyway, he clicked a button and suddenly the Moyashi's breathing got that much louder.
"You're on speaker now, where do ya want us to go?" Lavi wondered, turning back to the screen again, his expression—worried. Again.
"Do you know deviantArt?"
"It's an Art site. Just—go to it."
"Okay, okay," his hands flew across the keyboard, and in an instant—a grey screen with pictures appeared, "I'm there. What now?"
"Type D-Berry. In the search box."
He did that.
Why could I only watch his hands?
"Read the Journal—or, no. Click on the link."
"The only one THERE." He sounded like he was about to panic.
"But it leads to a picture." Was his immediate response
"No, duh, of course it does."
"But it has a warning—"
"You don't have to read it—just—click on the link! Do it!"
"If you say so…" he trailed off, clicking on the link, quickly—before staring—back at—me.
And then the picture—and—
"Is this the reason you're feeling sick, Kanda?" It was the Moyashi's voice. Deadly. Concerned. Worried.
"What is it?" and Lenalee, sounding worried.
"So that's where the blood's from." Lavi said—too loudly—too—
It…of course it wasn't my blood. I wasn't—hurt but it—it was—it was—
"I can assume where my camera went now." Lavi muttered darkly, "Who the fuck took this?" He didn't blame me—he didn't blame me—"And Yuu, sit the fuck down before you collapse."
"That's what I'd like to know." Allen again, sounding—not—not blaming, "We're coming over there now."
"But what about Marie?" Lenalee now, worried, "What's—"
"Oh you won't have to worry about Marie." Allen let out a choked laugh—
"Because," A pause, "he's dead."
-------(Lavi's POV—An unidentifiable time later)-------
"And the picture is?" I watched Yuu's left hand twitch under the table, as the picture switched into the curly haired man's hands. For a moment he inspected it—before his eyes widened in shock. He coughed lightly, and placed the picture face down, "I…see. That is substantial enough proof. Doesn't make things better that this was posted on—what was it again?"
"deviantArt." Tiedoll answered when Yuu remained silent, "it's an—art site, I think."
"Ah," he nodded his head, looking a bit disturbed, "I think I've heard of it before. It has a fairly good reputation other than what any site would have issues with." He glanced down at the photo again, shuddering slightly, "though you're saying you have no idea who the person is who uploaded this?"
At least he could shake his head.
"We've done as much background ch-check as we could," Tiedoll stuttered, "Even with Allen—he's a friend of…Kanda's—and the moderators of the site. They've cancelled their account, but the picture already got out."
Again the man nodded his head, "That's just how the internet works. But you caught it easily enough. We won't know much more until the official investigation is complete with." But something in the way he said that disturbed me, "Until then…you'll be placed under heavy surveillance."
'Like that'll help any.'
"Which of course, means, it would be best if you didn't leave your home." He added on with a sigh, "As unfair as it seems, it might also be for your safety."
'Why? From the angry mob of people who won't fuckin' question it might be set up?' Oh no, of course not.
His eyes found mind immediately, "And you're the one who bought the camera they used?" I nodded my head, "Your name is…Lavi?" Another nod, "I see. Well, they might trace the camera back to its original supplier so you might have to answer a few questions later on. But you won't be put under surveillance."
"I'd hope not." I would have laughed but now wasn't the time for laughing, "I can still visit Kanda, right?"
He nodded his head, "Of course you can." He glanced at Yuu, then back at me, "In fact that might do you well. After all…ah, this man was your…?" he trailed off, looking at Tiedoll now.
"Adopted son," he sniffled, "They're all my adoptive sons. Only Daisya—the one who found the photo—doesn't live at home. Though he's flying home for this, thankfully." He let out a shiver, and Yuu twitched, uncomfortably again.
"I see, well, I'll talk with him too once he arrives." For a moment the man fumbled around for something in one of his coat pockets, before pulling out a card, "This is my card." He stated, "It has my cell phone number, as well as my office number."
I managed to read the name on the card before Tiedoll took it. It read: Tyki-Mikk
'That name sounds familiar.' But I kept my mouth shut, 'No point in saying so now.' Especially not when I wasn't entirely sure.
Especially not then.
"I'll make sure to call you if I figure anything else out." He smiled reassuringly before walking to the door, "there should be a car waiting for you out front to take you back."
Just in case.
But that was never said either.
"Thank you," Tiedoll attempted to return the smile with a watery one, pulling Yuu—who was too maliable for his own good—out of the chair. I was just about to follow them, however—
But then he—Tyki—Mr. Mikk—stopped me, "Oh yes, before you leave, I'd like to ask you something as well."
Tiedoll and Kanda paused, but he shooed them on, "Don't worry it will only take a second. You can wait out front." Yuu looked just about as lost as he had when they dragged him in here—and Tiedoll looked almost disturbed, but he dragged Yuu along with him anyway, towards the front.
Then the door eased itself closed. Tyki in front of it. And he asked, rather simply, "Can I trust you with something?"
Because I knew who he was. And I knew the two who were the cause of this mess in the first place. I couldn't pretend I didn't recognize the lines. The lines caused by the thread that Jasdero always carried on him.
Those lines—even through the bloodied mess, and the fact that the boy—Kanda—had been holding so tightly onto the head.
It was just like them to decapitate someone. Yet to clearly leave their mark. The stigma. It was horribly obvious even through the blood, and the darkened skin.
And the redhead in front of me seemed all but surprised. Or maybe not. I didn't know, his gaze kept shifting from my face, to my hand on the door preventing his escape.
But he answered me well enough, "Trust me with what?"
"I'm just asking if I can."
His one eye narrowed, for a split second, thinking. Then he sighed and shrugged, "I'm not stopping you. But I can't say I won't tell anyone, depending on what it is, and what your reasons are for telling me." And keeping it secret.
Because if you had to trust someone with something—if you had to ask, then that meant you didn't want it told?
Of course it meant that.
And I didn't want those two to know I knew the murderers. If we found out via proof and other things—it wouldn't be as bad. But.
I exhaled, "If I told you I might know—just from that picture—who the murderer is, would you believe me?"
He blinked and glanced back, at the desk and at the overturned picture. He looked back at me, and blinked again, "It depends on if you know them or not."
"Well I might."
"You might." He parroted back, eye narrowing again.
His gaze was much harsher than I would have thought. But I didn't look away, "Yes, I might. Of course it's pure conjecture at this point, I won't say I know officially."
"Of course not." He knew he had some effect on me, but his expression didn't change, "You're a lawyer aren't you?"
'What does that have to do with anything?' But I didn't say that out loud, instead, "Yes that I am."
"So it would be bad if you admitted to knowing who they were." He pointed out, "And you already know that."
"I do." I agreed, "Which is why I'm saying I'll give my guess away."
"Why not?" his eye narrowed again, "After all—your grandfather is—" then I paused. Judging from his facial expression—he could fill in the rest, "Do you understand?"
"Well enough." He was tense now, though, just a bit. "So are you going to tell me? They're waiting for me, y'know."
"I know," I consented, loosening my handle from the door, and instead, leaning against it, "I'll tell you now." I closed my eyes and leaned my head back. Collecting the scattered thoughts from that image and—
"If I said I knew the murderers because they were of a relation to me—not a close one, but we share blood—and that I wouldn't find it all too surprising if they had propranolol(1) on them, or maybe even Rohypnol(2) (though I highly doubt the last one)—and that I'm so sure it's them I'd be surprised if it was anyone else—" I took a deep breath, opening my eyes to stare at him again, "would you believe me?"
For a moment he didn't say a word. Instead, he was thinking—a thinking mind was always a dangerous thing. I almost regretted telling him. That is, until—he spoke and the first thing out of his mouth was—
"Murderers? Plural? There're two?"
'Ah, yes of course,' I nodded my head.
He smiled, but it wasn't friendly, "Well. I might. Just because of that." Then he stepped towards me again, and grabbed the handle—I couldn't even move out of the way, "Now if you'll excuse me. I'll be going now."
And all I could do was watch him go. Watch him walk down the tiled hall to where his friend was waiting.
And I had to wonder—
'Can I really win?'
'I'll try my best.'
-------(Lavi's POV –the Day of the Trial-)-------
"Ignore it." I grabbed the paper from his hands almost immediately. He was reading it again, with that same, disgruntled expression on his face. Like he didn't care—when I knew he did, "You shouldn't be reading that crap anyway."
He didn't answer me, of course, he just looked away. Almost like it pained him. But he wouldn't show it that openly. I knew he wouldn't.
"Yuu, look, don't worry about it too much." I tried, folding the paper up nicely before tossing it in the recycling bin, "No matter what the paper says—bad, or good—it's not going to change anything."
For another moment, he was silent, but then he answered, "I know." He shifted in his seat before leaning back. Then he tugged at his bracelet. For trying to hide the fact this was bothering him—he wasn't doing a good job of it.
But then, of course he'd be the one to overreact when people were for him and not against him.
Everyone was for him—all the papers positive that he wouldn't do something like this. That the whole thing was too suspicious—every drop of it.
And yet it disturbed him more than if people wanted him dead.
Marie's dead. His brother—someone in his family—was dead.
And even if no one blamed him for it—he was still just that. Accused.
Sometimes that made all the difference.
(1)& (2) Rohypnol and Propranolol the first is a date rape drug, and the second is one that's supposed to help treat hypertension , but they're also recently doing studies for it as a treatment for Post Traumatic stress disorder(after you've taken it). Propranolol, especially when taken after something traumatic has happened, can make you forget about it. (And when taken 10 years afterward --it can make you forget the pain but remember the facts--it's why it's used as treatment for PTSD) (info from various sites, mostly Wikipedia, I don't know if they're entirely correct. But since the drugs were mentioned...here's the info.)
And it's done. Yes my dream left off with a cliffhanger, so I left this off with a cliffhanger. Again, I really needed to get this off my chest, so I'm glad I did. I'm probably not going to stare at this much longer afterward (it was hard enough writing about) so...so yeah.
Review if you want to –goes back to working on Pressure-