Heart - 11. Intelligence Dragon

"G'day mate," a brand new nurse opened up Tyson's door - without knocking - and stood in the doorway. "Tyson, yeah?"

"Yeah?" Tyson scooted down the bed so he could properly see who he was talking to. "Who are you?"

"Just Evan," he looked like he was no older than Tyson. He was a short, skinny thing with glasses, a baby face and mousey brown eyes. What was he? Twelve? Come on! "I'll be looking after you until Neil comes in. Is that alright?"

"I guess," Tyson hugged a pillow to his chest.

"Sweet. Can I come in?" Evan asked him politely, and Tyson nodded. "Cheers," Evan slowly ambled his way towards the injured, angry young man and sat in the chair that Cynthia used earlier. "So, how long have you been here? I've seen you around a couple of times."

"Eighteen days," the boy replied miserably, dangling his feet off the side of the bed. "Where have you been? I don't recognise you."

"Oh, I spend most of my time out the back in the HDU," Evan replied softly, crossing his legs. "I do a lot of one on one."

"Okay. Are you doing one on one with me?" Tyson demanded of him, and Evan met his gaze, not remotely intimidated by him.

"No. I'm just here to get to know you!" He smiled and ran his hand over his buzzed brown hair. "But if you did need one on one support, I would probably be the one keeping you company."

"Right. So if Cynthia or dickhead Ron decided I'm a psycho, then you'd be the one to ghost me and make sure I didn't kill myself?" Tyson asked him, folding his arms indignantly. "Are you the go-to guy for the psychos?"

Evan looked at him with sympathy. "Don't think of it that way. Inpatient units tend to be overwhelming for most people who need them. When it gets too much, I'm here to chat, provide any support you might need, and... yes, if it comes to it, I make sure you stay safe."

"So why did they stick you with me? Do they think I'm about to kill someone?" Tyson quipped, sticking his phone back into the tiny wall charger. It was nice that he had a charger for his phone, but the cord was barely an inch long lest he tried to hurt himself.

"You don't need to look for more layers here, Tyson," Evan chuckled, shifting in the squeaky chair. "We're not playing games and you're not in trouble. I'm just here to cover Ron's patients this morning, and I like to get to know the patients in my care. That's all. I'm not here to make anything harder than it needs to be."

"Like Ron?" Tyson glared suspiciously, and Evan sighed.

"Ron has his way of doing things," the nurse explained gingerly, scratching at his nose. "I'm not making excuses for how he behaved with you, but he's quite good with some patients. I've seen young boys and girls - who are so depressed they couldn't get out of bed - going to meals and classes and even excursions outside because he motivates them."

"Bullies them," Tyson corrected him.

"You're very independent. I can see that already. Putting Ron with you was a bad choice, I reckon. You will not be seeing him again," Evan reassured him, leaning forward in his chair. "I shouldn't be telling you this, but can you keep a secret?"

"Ron wears ladies' underwear!" Tyson kidded, a smile spreading over his cute face. Evan laughed, a strange goose-like sound that threatened to peel the paint from the walls. Tyson noted that he should probably avoid making jokes in the future.

"He got in trouble for the report he made, and your doctor filed a complaint on your behalf," Evan explained quietly, and Tyson did enjoy hearing that. A victory! He didn't care what Evan said. Ron was a bully. He shouldn't have been allowed to be around vulnerable people. "So, I see you're comfortable here, so is there any way I can convince you to come out to the education unit?"

"Why should I? I don't learn anything. I'm too smart," Tyson clutched at the book he was reading. He was anxious to get back into it.

"You can read your book in there! But it's fine if you want to stay here instead," Evan got to his feet. "I think it would do you good to get out of this room and even just be around other people, Tyson, but it is your decision. I won't lie! It's also convenient for me to have you with the others. It saves me a walk up this end of the ward. Heh."

Tyson chuckled at the man's honesty. That he would openly admit to such a thing was what the young boy needed to let go of the suspicions and resentment he felt towards this... overgrown child. He understood now why Evan was often chosen to provide support for the more troubled patients in the AIU. He was friendly, supportive and honest. That was what Tyson needed. People like Alice, Sue, Neil and Evan. Not someone like Ron who pushed him to do things he didn't want to do. Tyson remembered what Evan said. People too depressed to get out of bed or too unstable to make their own decisions maybe could benefit from Ron's pushy approach... but he wasn't like them. He was in here to escape people like Ron... people like his mother.

"Alright! I'm coming!" Tyson gave in.

The education unit was the name given to the big room with desks, a whiteboard and many bored, miserable kids filling in worksheets full of whatever they were learning on that day - English, mathematics, history, basic science. The social worker often took charge of the lessons, giving everyone the same work to do regardless of age and education. Often the material was all for eleven or twelve-year-olds, as they were the youngest admitted to this AIU. It meant that for the older kids - and Tyson - it was nothing more than something to keep their brains active. There was no learning. But this was a public facility, after all. Tyson and his parents would have preferred a private hospital, but for someone prone to outbursts and self-harm, it wasn't an option. No private hospital would take a patient as risky as Tyson. At least he had the privilege of private doctors.

"Hi!" Charlie was the first to smile and wave, chewing on his pencil and not doing any work. His pillow was in his other arm - and it badly needed a new cover.

"Oooh! Hello!" Vladimir, sitting with his young friend, waved madly and pointed to one of the spare chairs opposite them. "I didn't think I'd see you here! How are you?"

"I'm okay!" Tyson answered with cautious confidence. "How are you? Did Cynthia treat you nicely?"

"You know she did!" The raven-haired boy answered with flamboyant flair, the one that lead Tyson to believe he was gay to begin with. "Where have you been hiding her, Tys? I really like her! She's sourcing appointments with a psychologist and a GP I can stay in contact with when I'm discharged, and she's got the social worker to help me find a new school and help Mum with getting extra welfare benefits as my carer! Tomorrow we're working on welfare plans and doing some family counselling or something so Mum and my brothers know when I'm in trouble and what to do!"

"She did this in one day?" Tyson's jaw dropped. Wow. It's incredible how much Cynthia can do when her patient isn't fighting her at every turn. Maybe I could learn something from Vlady.

"Yep! The last guy didn't do any of this stuff! He only wanted to drown me in meds and lock me away," Vladimir should have sounded miserable about the way he'd been treated during his stay in the unit so far, but there was none of that. He was only looking to his future. It was... glorious. To have seen him so out of sorts one day, but optimistic the next, even though the voices told him horrible things. "I can't wait to go home! I miss my friends and my family and--" he quickly cut himself off when Tyson bowed his head. "We'll work it out."

"Yeah. Sure," Tyson didn't want to rain on his parade, so he kept his pessimism to himself. "What are you doing over there, C-man? Are you using that pencil or just snacking on it?"

Charlie looked to be in a mischievous, playful mood, and he put the pencil in his mouth once more and bit it in two, spitting the back end out on the table. The boys giggled, but Petra wasn't so impressed.

"Hey, that's not what we're in here for," she gently lectured the younger boy, taking both parts of the broken pencil away from him. "If you don't want to work on your sums, then that's okay, but we can't have you breaking all our pencils!"

Charlie immediately put his fingers back in his mouth, and Tyson shuddered. It wasn't the childish way Charlie conducted himself that upset Tyson - after all, it wasn't his fault. It wasn't the pillow hugging, the weird speech or the unwashed, tangled hair. It was that saliva seemed to coat everything. His fingers, his face, his pillow and his pyjamas. Surely there was a way for Charlie to react to the horrible trauma he faced without getting everything wet?

"Why don't you want to work on your sums, Charlie?" Tyson asked out of interest, and the boy whined in response.

"It's hard!" Charlie huffed, grabbing his paper and flinging it off the table.

"They are if you don't try!" Tyson, ignoring the throbbing in his ankle, hopped up and gingerly limped over to fetch the sheet and bring it back. "I'll help you."

"No," Charlie eyed him off, and Tyson decided perhaps it was better to leave it alone... until the boy spoke again. "I'm stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid--"

"Hey, no," Vladimir tried to calm him down, but Charlie wasn't having it.

"You're stupid and you're worthless and you're retarded!" Charlie shouted, seemingly speaking to himself as a third person.

He used words that he, a three-year-old in a twelve-year-old body, did not say. At least, Tyson had never heard them before. Or that level of anger. He looked furious... and terrified. He was clutching his pillow so tightly his fingers were white.

"Who's that on your top?" Tyson asked him as Petra noticed the increasing agitation of the poor kid and began to advance.

"Y...y-y... y... B-blinky Bill," Charlie's fingers relaxed and he looked down at his pyjama shirt.

"I didn't know that," Tyson looked between Vladimir and Petra. "Who is he?"

Of course, Tyson knew who Blinky Bill was - all the Australian kids did! A lovable animated koala bear. A children's character. But while Charlie was distracted, he wasn't... doing whatever it was he was doing. Lashing out at himself. He wasn't scared or angry or upset.

"Koala..." Charlie looked at him with eyes almost hidden entirely by tangled brown curls.

"Are you alright, Charlie?" Petra took over, a pretty young woman who often liaised between doctors, patients and their families. She was the social worker that most often worked in the AIU. "Do you want to go back to your room?" The boy violently shook his head, chewing anew on his hand. "Okay. Let me know if you change your mind."

"I'd like a pencil please," Tyson surprised Petra, who raised her eyebrows.

"You do? Well, certainly," she beamed at him and went to retrieve one.

"You're full of surprises," Vladimir commented, leaning forward on his elbows, his hair almost hiding such magnificent blue eyes. "I like that."

Tyson blushed pink, and that drew a chuckle out of the happy, pale figure opposite him. Vladimir had finished all his work reasonably quickly and was now doodling on the blank side of his paper. It was a face. Not the monster he was seeing. Not Tyson. Not anyone he'd known. But it was a boy, and although Vladimir's sketching could use a lot of work, it was a cute one.

"Who is that?" Tyson asked, thanking Petra for dropping off a graphite lead pencil for him.

"Oh. Someone I used to know," Vladimir looked sad when he spoke of this person. "One of my friends from the Russian community. He died."

"Shit. I'm sorry to hear that," Tyson wasn't sure how to appropriately answer that. "Can you draw me next?"

"Like one of my French girls? I don't see why not!" Vladimir giggled and bit his bottom lip. "Don't be offended when I make you look like an ox, because you're actually quite good-looking."

Tyson chuckled, and he pressed his pencil hard on Charlie's discarded sheet, causing the lead inside the implement to break.

"Petra! Can I please get a sharpener? My lead broke," he called out to her.

"Won't be a second," she didn't look up at him, busy helping an irate Amy solve some long division.

"Are you just here to annoy her?" Vladimir asked, observing Tyson's smirk.

Tyson ignored him. "Hey Charlie, do you think I'm stupid?" Charlie eyed him up and down before shaking his head. "I don't know who Blinky Bill is, though! Are you sure I'm not stupid?"

Charlie's lips curled into a small grin this time, and again he shook his head.

"I agree! Not knowing something isn't the same as being stupid, right? So... why do you think you're stupid just because you don't know your sums? You know who Blinky Bill is."

Charlie's eyes glassed over, and he looked like he was deep in thought. Got him, Tyson thought. I got him. He can't refute that, even if he is only three. "So I know these sums look tricky, but I think you're pretty smart and if you don't know how, well, we can work it out together. You wanna give it a go when my pencil's working?"

Charlie scowled and shook his head, but immediately changed his mind and sighed, giving a tentative nod and sitting up in his chair. Vladimir was giving such an adoring gaze that Tyson almost felt objectified, and he was too shy to meet those pretty blues.

"Here you go."

Petra arrived with a blue plastic sharpener in her hand and spun the pencil a few times until it had a new, small point. Tyson thanked her, took the newly sharpened pencil and immediately broke it again, a look of awe on his face and drawing laughs from his friends.

"Petra!" He wailed, and she strode over again with an amused look.

"Heh. Here, you keep this for now," she dropped it down on the table for him as she circled back to the rest of the inpatients.

"You can't help yourself, can you?" Vladimir chuckled, using his pencil to slowly create Tyson's oval-shaped brown eyes. "You're a little arsehole."

"She makes it too fucking easy," Tyson sharpened the pencil himself, getting a nice fine point this time. "Okay, Charlie! Come and sit here! Do you know what two plus two is?"

Charlie slunk around the table, looking almost insulted, and raised four fingers from his dry hand as he took the seat next to the older boy. Tyson grinned.

"There! So you know how to do sums already!" He exclaimed, doing his best to keep the other boy interested. "The ones on the page are the same thing, just with bigger numbers. So, do you know how to do them this way?"

Tyson scrawled down "2 + 2 =" on the blank page in front of him, and Charlie nodded, taking the pencil from Tyson's hand and writing 4. It's not so hard, Tyson thought. If only someone bothered to make sure he was learning, then he might not have so little faith in himself. He couldn't blame Petra - after all, she only had two hours twice a day to try and help as many struggling and mentally unwell children as she could. The public mental health system was about saving lives - not enhancing them. If Tyson became a politician, he would push very hard to fund public hospitals and inpatient units after his experience with them. Everything was awful.

"Okay, so you're smarter than you think you are," Tyson encouraged him, and Charlie gave a shy, proud smile that warmed his heart. "What about if I write it this way?"

He wrote "2 + 2" vertically this time, the way the problems on the other page were presented. This time, Charlie's smile disappeared. That was good, at least. It told Tyson where the problem was. He didn't know how to do them when written like this. He wondered why Charlie didn't know. Surely he went to school and stuff? He was a part of the foster care system - no parents of his own, but that meant he'd be getting an education, right? Or had he been stuck in hospital units since he was young? When did those sick fucks who were supposed to be raising him start pimping him out to paedophiles and slap him around? The very thought haunted Tyson every time Charlie panicked - if someone accidentally touched him or he remembered something horrible or the time he dropped his pillow in the hallway and shrieked loud enough to startle everyone in the entire ward.

"It's the same thing, C-man. I just wrote it differently, you see? Two plus two is still four, but we just have to read it downwards instead."

Tyson explained as best he could, and Charlie paid close attention, but the confused look on his face was discouraging. Nonetheless, Tyson persevered. He hated stupidity when it was from people who should know better - Ron, for example. Or Dr Okereke. It irritated him. But it was never Charlie's fault, so it only made Tyson sad. It did take some time and some patience, but Charlie was eventually able to add two and even three numbers over ten together - although carrying the one still gave him trouble.

"You should be a teacher!" Vladimir gushed when the two of them walked alone towards the dining hall for lunch when noon came around. Tyson raised a sarcastic eyebrow. "I mean it! He actually listened to you."

"I couldn't be a teacher!" Tyson hopped along on his crutch - he was now able to put a bit of weight on his ankle. It still hurt, but it was healing fast. "No way. I'm not a people person."

"Charlie doesn't agree," Vladimir took Tyson's arm in his own and ambled along at the younger boy's pace. "Imagine if you taught him every day, Tys. You'd make a big difference."

"I can't!" Tyson repeated. "I can't throw all the work me and my Mum have done to set me up just to be some teacher."

"Just be a teacher?" Vladimir screwed up his handsome face. "Just be a teacher? Do you know how many kids like Charlie need just a teacher? What are you going to do instead? Be the CEO of Mensa, or something? Sit on your intelligence and hoard it like a giant... intelligence dragon?"

The boys started laughing in spite of their argument.

"I'm too smart to be a teacher," Tyson had heard his parents and other high-society nutjobs tell him so a million times. "Anyone can teach."

"If you're so smart, I wish you'd work out how to remove that giant rich kid stick from your butt," Vladimir told him harshly, and Tyson grimaced.

"Sorry."

"What do you want to do for a career, anyway?"

"Surgeon. Politics. Law," Tyson listed off the choices his parents gave him. The big three. The moneymakers. The prestigious, respectable jobs.

"I don't think I've ever seen anyone less excited when they talk about their future careers," Vladimir raised an eyebrow in a way that made Tyson want to smash his stupid face. "Seriously. You sounded like you were listing off chores you had to do when you got home. You liked helping Charlie out! I saw you! You can't lie to me because I saw you with my own eyes!"

"Charlie is not my problem!" Tyson replied stiffly, wrenching his arm away from his friend's. "None of these people are! Yeah, my parents gave me the best of everything, so it's my responsibility to use it the best way I can. Any moron can teach Charlie how to add numbers together."

"No moron is teaching Charlie how to add numbers together, though," Vladimir folded his arms. "Мозги маленький идиот." (Brainwashed little idiot.)

"What did you say to me?" Tyson shoved Vladimir with his arm.

"But you're so smart, aren't you Tyson?" Vladimir gave a scornful sneer. "Figure it out for yourself."

Tyson found himself snookered. He wasn't used to losing arguments. Edith had taught him very well over the years never to take no for an answer - unless it was from her, of course. Most people who argued with him were very quickly shut down. He was superior to them, so it wasn't difficult. But Vladimir never let him get away with anything! Always ready to call Tyson out when he was being unreasonable, and although he wasn't well educated, he was a smart cookie. Tyson could see it in him.

Imagine if Vladimir got the tutors and resources I did growing up, he thought for a moment. Imagine if Charlie did. Hmm.

"You drive me crazy sometimes!" He complained, slumping against his crutch with a heavy sigh. "I like you, but you can give me the shits something chronic!"

"You raise my blood pressure too, don't worry," Vladimir walked past him. "But you manage to relieve a tiny bit more stress than you create! So you're worth it when you're not being a мозги маленький идиот." (Brainwashed little idiot.)

"I'm not being a teacher!" Tyson insisted once more, and Vladimir shrugged.

"That's your call, Tys! If you end up being a miserable lawyer for a living and wind up teaching legal studies ten years later, you owe me a doughnut," his blue eyes twinkled as he beckoned. "Come sit with me. I'm hungry enough to eat Jae's fingers if he holds my plate too long."

"Fine," the Sri-Lankan boy poked out his tongue. "But I need to shower first. I forgot to this morning."

Vladimir nodded and left him alone. Tyson felt relief, feeling like everybody was watching him. He hobbled his way down to his room, and he shut the door behind him. Following that, he snatched up his towel and a change of clothes, and he closed the bathroom door behind him. With two doors between him and the ward staff, he slid off his tracksuit pants and began to unroll the compression bandage that helped his foot recover. He took out what he had managed to smuggle in from the education unit under everybody's noses and examined it closely.

The pencil sharpener.