Noah let his head fall against the toilet seat, it's cold surface providing a great relief to his clammy forehead. His teeth chattered slightly, and his parents talked nervously in the doorway of the bathroom.

It seemed that whenever things started to look up for Noah, his poor health came along to remind him not to get too comfortable. In this case, it was a twisted mix of a vomiting bug and an excruciating migraine.

He was not enjoying the combination.

The physical illness wasn't even the worst part. The vomiting and the migraines he could deal with, it was the depressing thoughts and breakdowns that came with them which really wore him out.

His parents stayed with him for a while, providing water, medicine, and comforting words. They discussed with him whether he should go back to the doctors, but Noah discourage that idea. The doctors had told them to expect these side effects, he argued.

In reality, he just didn't want to spend another minute in a hospital. Six months was enough.

Two hours later and he found himself lying on his bed, nothing but his thoughts to keep him entertained while a damp washcloth was spread across his forehead.

His thoughts, as expected in a time like this, were predominantly negative.

As always with these particular spells of crippling depression, he found himself losing control of his thoughts. Like a drunk, he was far from thinking straight.

In his head, he cursed himself ten times over for being the way he was. Had he not gone through enough trauma over the last six months? Why did his body insist he relive it every couple of weeks, a sick reminder of his self diagnosed abnormality.

His thoughts dig deeper and deeper into the hole of anger and loathing, and he soon found himself with a bigger feeling of resentment consuming his every thought.

He hated this. Hated feeling like he was some unstable pity case. He hated everything, his parents, his life. He hated Casimir, because Casimir wouldn't open up to him. Cas has gotten off scott free, yet wouldn't tell Noah everything that had happened. Hell, wouldn't tell Noah anything that had happened.

What was so secretive that Cas couldn't share? Noah suspected that it had something to do with Casimir's family, and that he himself was possibly linked. Then again, that could just be the paranoia talking. Another side effect, of the medication or the sickness he wasn't certain.

Closing his eyes, Noah tried to calm himself. It was all in vain anyway, as he felt a surge of anger building up inside of him.

Much as he tried to push it down, it surrounded him. Filling his every pore and clouding his every breath. The swell of fury and anxiousness built up, until he found himself in the midst of a full blown creation of a mixed fit of rage and panic attack.

He found himself reaching for the objects nearest to him, without paying any regard to their importance before hurling them at the wall with all his might. Tears streamed down his face, sobs wracking through his body as he broke down in the middle of the room. His parents banged on the locked door, but to no avail. Noah could distantly hear them pleading with him, but the words didn't register in his clouded mind.

He shouted expletives at the wall, screaming with a voice that promptly went hoarse. He cursed his parents, his illness, Casimir. His body shook with the likeness of a seizure, and his fists were so tightly balled that his nails left bloodied indents in the palm of his hand.

Eventually, and Noah didn't know after how long this was, the anger escaped his body and he was left numb. Wave after wave of exhaustion washed over him, and his eyes emptied of tears. He flopped backwards onto his bed, not bothering to get in under the covers. He stayed that way, trembling atop the sheets for as long as he could stay awake, until eventually a restless sleep took over and pulled him under, a blanket of relief for his restless mind.

When he woke the next morning, the first thing he registered was the pain. His throat was raw, his head throbbed, and his muscles were aching. He had a crick in his neck from sleeping awkwardly, and the cuts on his palm made by his nails stung with surprising intensity for such shallow wounds.

The next wave of feeling was emotive. Guilt and dread pooled in his stomach as he replayed last nights events in his head. Embarrassment settled in his mind, ashamed at how he had behaved. He tried to remember it all, what he had said to his parents especially. As if the guilt of his actions wasn't enough, knowing that he quite possibly had said something to hurt them would just be another level.

Eventually rising from his uncomfortably comfortable position, Noah made straight for the bathroom. He could deal with the repercussions of his actions after. For now, the first thing on his agenda was a long hot shower.

Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the shower wall as he allowed the hot jets to clean off his body, getting rid of the dirt and sweat from last night's antics. After giving his hair a thorough scrubbing he eventually left the shower, satisfied that he was clean and fresh as needed to face both a new day and the consequences of yesterday.

The next job on the list was the clean the absolute shit storm he had made of his bedroom. Starting with the floor, Noah plucked the shards of glass from the smashed clock up, being careful not to cut himself off the jagged edges.

He decided that if he was going to clean his room, he might as well go all out. Pulling out spare sheets from the pile atop his wardrobe, he started on stripping the bed completely and redressing.

Getting rid of all traces of the night before. A clean start both for himself and his room, it seemed.

His room was practically gleaming by the time he finished, leaving Noah feeling a lot more optimistic then he had at the beginning of the morning. Bundling the old bedsheets into his arms, he finally left the room. He turned the key in the lock, not remembering having locked the door the night before.

The thought was slightly worrying.

Bundling the sheets into the washing machine in the utility room, Noah decided that now was time to stop procrastinating and face his parents.

There was no more work that could possibly done on his room, nor his conjoined bathroom. He had stretched the mundane chores for as long as possible, and now was time to deal with the real problems caused by last night.

The shattered clock suddenly seemed to irrelevant in comparison.

"Noah, you're up early!" Michael exclaimed, peering over the top of the newspaper as Noah sidled into the kitchen.

"Had a spot of cleaning to do." Noah said abashedly by way of explanation.

"I can imagine." Allison replied, seemingly appearing out of nowhere and sticking on the kettle. "Coffee?"

"Sure." Noah replied, grabbing his bowl of cereal off the counter and joining his dad at the table.

Moments later, Allison joined them at the table. Placing a steaming mug of coffee in front of Noah and herself, she settled down in the seat beside her husband.

Alas, the intervention begins.

"Noah.." Allison began, and beside her Michael put down his newspaper and removed the glasses from the bridge of his nose. "We're worried."

"I know. And I'm sorry, I really am. You have to know I'm tryi-."

Alison held up a hand to stop him before he could continue. "Oh Noah, we don't need an apology. We're on your side here. We're worried for you, for how you might be feeling."

"How are you feeling?" Michael asked, gingerly placing a comforting hand on Noah's resting forearm.

"Better, now." Noah admitted, shrugging his shoulders uncertainly. "Slightly embarrassed, to be honest. And sorry, really sorry for anything I said. You know I didn't mean it."

"Honey, there's no need to feel embarrassed. We know you didn't mean anything you said. We are fully aware that you weren't in your right frame of mind and that's what concerns us. Is it the meds, do you think? Because if there's any way that a change in prescription can help you, we can arrange it." Allison said, Michael nodding in agreement alongside her.

"It's not the meds." Noah said truthfully, taking a sip from the blue coffee mug resting between his hands.

"How do you know?" Michael asked.

"I can just tell. The meds are sometimes the only thing that keep me grounded." Noah answered. "If I'm honest, I don't think there's anything we can do. We all heard the doctors, they said all this sickness would pass eventually. All we can do is wait until I grow out of it."

"It's not the sickness that concerns us, it's the aggression," Allison said. "All this anger that you're showing during your episodes, it has to be coming from somewhere."

Noah stayed quiet, knowing that she probably had a point. He had a strong idea that all his inner anger and upset was linked to the accident, more specifically the frustration he felt toward not knowing what happened.

"I guess.. I guess maybe it's to do with the accident. Like, not knowing what happened and all that."

Allison's face fell, and she looked at her husband for a response. "Son, you know we wish we could tell you, right? But it'll not do you any good, and for us the number one thing is that you recover properly from this. Even if it means waiting that bit longer before you get any answers, it's better if you come to them in your own time."

"I know," sighed Noah, fidgeting with a groove in the table. "I know, but still. I wish somebody would just tell me."

"It's for your own sake, love. When we used to tell you back when you first started asking, it just made you more sick. Doctor said something about your brain not being able to make the connection and your body reacting negatively."

"I get that, really I do. But then there's Cas as well. I feel like his family is involved somehow, and whenever I'm with him I feel like there's something he's not saying."

"Whatever the story is with you and Cas, that's something you need to resolve amongst yourselves." Allison said, and for a split second Noah wondered whether she knew more about his feelings for his best friend then he was letting on. It wouldn't be that far of a stretch.. they weren't exactly surprised when he came out.

"So what's going to happen? What's your solution?" Noah asked, bringing the mug of coffee to his lips.

"You're not going to like it." Allison said, casting a glance over to her husband.

"What is it?" Noah asked, a feeling similar to uneasiness pooling in his stomach.

"We think you need to talk to someone." Michael said, speaking on behalf of himself and his wife.

"Talk to someone..?" Noah asked, realization dawning on him almost as soon as the words left his mouth. "Oh. Talk to someone." He said again, knowing what his parents meant.

"A therapist." Michael said with a nod, voice tentative but sure at the same time.

The thought didn't appeal to Noah at all. He didn't want to sit in front of a stranger and talk about his problems.

But then again, if the therapist could help him unlock the memories of what happened that day, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing.

"Okay." Sighed Noah, knowing there was no point in arguing. His parents minds had been made up.

Maybe it was for the best.