Adam awoke the next morning in searing pain. His head pounded in protest as he tried to move his arms and block the light pouring into his room through the window, blinding him and making him squint his eyes. He'd woken up with migraines many times, thankfully, so he knew to reach towards the headboard of his bed and found a little wire strung against the wall. As he pulled it, he almost heard the bell ringing on the other side of the house, but that might've been his ears protesting to his movement.

In a matter of seconds, two servants were at his bedside.

"One of you inform my sister that Cleric Nattien needs to be brought around," he said slowly, closing his eyes to assuage the pain. "Will the other please close the curtains?"

They divided the tasks between them instantly, one servant dashing out as the other moved to the window and pulled the heavy black drapes together in one quick movement. They had as much practice with his headaches as he did, and he was grateful for it as the servant returned to his side and helped extricate him from his mess of bedsheets.

The servant helped Adam get dressed, since leaning over caused black dots to cloud his vision, to say nothing of the pain that made him nauseous. Adam managed to spy his reflection in a mirror as the servant helped him into a special black shirt. There were great dark circles under his eyes and his hair was shooting out at odd angles, proving how restlessly he'd slept. Since he couldn't pale more than he already was, his skin turned gray in sickness so he resembled a corpse. He could almost appreciate the irony, remembering Anna's terrified expression.

The shirt was pulled over his head, but it hung like a black curtain over his shoulders as the servant began buttoning it up Adam's side and the inseam of his arms. His mother had had the shirt specially commissioned after he complained about difficulty rolling his sleeves above the elbow on days like this. Anything to make this easier for you, dear, she'd said, and Adam had stifled a laugh.

The servant escorted Adam through the house after he was dressed, holding his arm when he swayed dangerously and closing drapes ahead of them as they went down to the first floor. Then they descended into the basement, and she ran ahead to light the lanterns as Adam found a familiar cot. He thanked her for keeping the lights low as she scurried away to undo the path of darkness they'd left through the house. Adam leaned against the cold stone walls as his muscles ached, sweat cooling over his body, and he waited for the cleric to arrive.

There was a light rap at the door and Adam turned to greet him as he entered. George Nattien gave him a slight bow of the head, his halo of brown hair bobbing with the motion. Compared to all the black around him, his golden waistcoat gave off a soft glow as he maneuvered around the room, and his baby blue dress shirt stood out like a white flower stuffed into the dirt. George carried a big leather bag which Adam recognized, and he placed it on the table next to his cot as he smiled warmly at his best friend.

"Do you think it's a bad one today?" George asked, taking in the sight of Adam sweaty and exhausted in front of him.

"You're the doctor, you tell me," Adam kidded, but hoped he didn't look as ghoulish as he felt. George rolled his eyes and began digging in his bag for a book and pen.

"I guess this means the last exorcism didn't work," he joked dryly, opening to a calendar and marking off the date with a big black dot. Adam tried to laugh but it made his head throb.

"I could've told you that three days ago."

"The way I see it, you've never had a curse broken before, so you wouldn't know what it feels like. I'm going to check your vitals, dear." Adam adjusted himself as George stuck a thermometer in his mouth, raising an arm so George could begin to undo the buttons. George donned gloves, which Adam had always considered unnecessary for their intimate sessions in his family's cellar. Sterility was a luxury even in the hospital, let alone in this makeshift doctor's office.

George stuck a needle into the vein at his arm and drew some of his blood into a little vial, placing it in the bag to analyze later. He pulled out creams and bandages as they waited for the thermometer to warm up, preparing for the worst-case scenario. Adam liked to pretend the worst-case scenario happened less often than it did, but based on his growing fatigue, he considered asking for the mouth guard.

George pulled the thermometer from his mouth and twisted his lips into a pout as he scribbled the number down.

"Take the ice and put it on your neck."

"I thought you'd never say," Adam mumbled, reaching for a wet paper bag. He set it up behind his head, hoping he'd have enough time to sit here and let it leach away the pain from his migraine. George hadn't been able to crack much about his strange affliction, but they were masters at migraine mitigation.

"Do you want some numbing? You look terrible."

"As my personally hired nurse, I think you're supposed to be nicer to me."

"As your best friend, I'm just keeping you humble. I'll take that as a 'yes.'" Adam helped him unbutton the rest of his shirt and pulled it over his head, hissing as the bag of ice dripped water down his back. George took a jar of murky gel in one hand and put his other on Adam's shoulder, bowing his head in prayer.

Adam knew he was casting a spell, but he was always disappointed by how quiet George's magic was. If you worshiped Pelor, and the Raven Queen, and Ioun, and as many gods as George had crammed into his schedule, you think he'd at least glow from the power inside his body. But he didn't even murmur.

The gel was sticky and cold, but it began to numb his aching body as George spread it liberally over Adam's arms and chest. They'd tried to be more conservative in the past, but depending on how poorly today was going to go, it was better to apply as much as possible now than try for it later, when things got dicey.

As George worked, he struck up conversation to keep the sickly noble distracted.

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"How was your meeting yesterday? My mother claims someone saw a woman running away last night." Adam grunted out a laugh.

"It went about as well as the others."

"So you scared her, and she peed herself?"

"That was one time, George, I didn't say it was the worst."

"So she stabbed her own hand with the salad fork at dinner?"

"George--"

"Do you remember that young man who gave your father tips about how to run the hospital? That one was really something." Adam smiled and looked at his best friend, who tried to suppress his own grin as he worked.

"I see your point. I just scared her off. At this rate, I'll have to marry you." George harrumphed, but they'd joked about that since they were fourteen years old. Adam almost always brought it up after a bad courtship; it helped ease some of his guilt. His sister was taking on the mantle of matriarch, spending hours each day learning the ins and outs of aristocracy and business, meanwhile he couldn't convince even one person to see him for a second date. Besides, if George couldn't figure out how to break his curse, it might be his only shot at satisfying his family.

The cream numbed his muscles, but Adam groaned as he felt pain deep in his chest, settling into his lungs as he took shallow breaths.

"I don't think we're escaping it today," he muttered, closing his eyes and leaning against the cold wall. He heard George sigh and rummage through the bag.

"I will prepare the room then. But if you can help it, fight it off, okay?" There was never any fighting it, but Adam promised.

A few minutes later, Adam was on his knees in a circular room, his arms shackled to the wall behind him. There was a chalk pentagram sketched on the ground in front of him, five lit candles providing the only light as George crouched in the doorway with a cool rag. He ran it across Adam's forehead as he grimaced, wiping sweat from his eyes and dipping it in a bucket of water between each touch. Adam was running so hot that he warmed it immediately.

George kept a low hum of conversation going, and Adam tried his best to listen to it and keep his mind off of the growing dread in his stomach. One time, he'd gotten this close to an episode and avoided it by distracting himself. Since that time, five years ago, they'd hoped to replicate it. At minimum, it kept Adam calm as he felt the panic rise in his chest.

"I met someone yesterday," he stuttered, his eyes clenched shut as he panted.

"Oh?"

"He had scars all over his body, and a cane-- oh Gods!" He turned to George, peaking one eye open. "George, I promised I would get him a new cane today! You have to send someone to the hospital for me." George nodded absently, running the cloth over his cheeks.

"Of course. What was his name?" But Adam didn't get a chance to respond, his mind suddenly erupting in loud whispers.

"Go," he managed, before he started puking. It was bile once, and then the smoke began to pour from his mouth endlessly, black fog that curled up the walls of the room.

Young one, a voice cooed in his head, and Adam thrashed against it as he felt a hot knife of pain in his mind. The room was getting warmer. Chained in a prison, why do you fight me so? You must put an end to your oppression. Adam never heard a clear voice, the words instead appearing in his mind and stretching his reality to the point of destruction. He'd never confided about it to George, afraid that one of these times, he would never come back from the brink of insanity.

They hate you, they want to destroy you. We will get them first. Adam screamed, pulling at his chains. They experiment on you, they break you in futile attempts to heal what isn't broken. Destroy the pentagram. Adam tried to swipe at it, anything to make the voice stop, but his hands stayed firmly behind him. Obey your creator! Break the chains and kill the heretic who put you here! The cost of disobedience is great, young one. The voice rumbled on about his family and their vile actions against him, and Adam convulsed in vomiting and cries. The room was boiling, and Adam saw the flames from the candles growing bigger, licking at the walls until they finally caught. He raged against the voice in his head and screamed bloody murder as he was engulfed in fire.

George stood just outside the door to the room - the cell - as he listened to Adam's screams, his hands clamped around the cold rag to steady his shaking. He heard his cries change in severity and pulled away, the noise dampening instantly until it sounded more like a mosquito buzzing than his friend being tortured. The stone walls and thick iron door were supposed to be soundproof, and they were if you stayed far enough away. George had decided years ago that it was important to listen in when he could stomach it and remind himself of the horror happening behind the door. If he opened it, he wasn't sure what would happen to either of them - George certainly had the scars to justify nervousness. Adam had tenfold as many.

Cutting off his train of thought, George took the bucket and rag back to his table and reorganized the supplies laid out there. Worrying and letting panic consume him helped no one, and the less he allowed himself to feel guilty the easier their arrangement was going to be. He'd spent years learning how to meditate and rid himself of emotion that it should've been easy. But there was a notable difference between sitting on a mat in a quiet room and centering himself than doing it here, in this torture room as his best friend lost his mind a few feet away.

George paged through his book, where he'd marked down Adam's symptoms earlier, and added: "Patient suffered an episode today. Previous attempt to cure was unsuccessful. Running out of procedures to try. Might retry moonlight ritual to delay next episode." He set his pen down and listened. Adam was still screaming. George closed his eyes and steadied his breathing, running through the list of rituals they'd tried and controlling the despair pulling at the edges of his mind. His family had poured out every extra penny in their coffers to find material for George to study, hoping to cure the Hesler heir. They were relying on him to recoup the cost when he finally freed Adam of his affliction, by any means necessary.

His mother had gotten particularly mad at him one day when he'd made a fuss during his studies, reading over an exorcism ritual she'd personally recommended. The best-case scenario was that Adam would be cognitively destroyed and in pain for the rest of his life. George thought death was the more desirable outcome, and he'd refused to continue reading the passage. He'd been locked in the study for three days for refusing to cooperate.

The high whine stopped suddenly, and George ran to open the cell door. The room smelled terrible and was so humid George's hair started to curl as he batted away steam. Adam was slumped forward, his dark hair drenched in sweat and covering his face, mouth agape. Blood dribbled down from his nose and his shoulder had been dislocated.

George waved a hand through the air and a spectral key appeared in the lock of Adam's shackles. George had to catch him with his body, and he cursed as Adam's weight pushed him across the slick floor. Violet had tried to teach George how to summon invisible servants to help with the aftermaths of Adam's episodes, but it wasn't within his capabilities. He was already the hand of the Gods (he worshipped several), and they would not grant him his own. He'd found ways to manage.

George dragged his friend's limp body across the floor by his armpits, and at the foot of the cot, he slammed a foot against the ground. It rumbled and began to raise his body until George could push Adam onto the bed.

Before he started fixing him, George pulled restraints out from under the cot and tied Adam down. The straps had been added ten years ago when Adam had awoken and attacked him, and they'd come in handy plenty of times since. Once George could ensure his own safety, he could put that shoulder back in place. He resisted the urge to kiss Adam's forehead as he wiped the blood from his face. We're not giving up until you're saved, he thought grimly. That, or we're married, and he reached for Adam's arm.