Les Oiseaux de Mauvaise Augure

When Zacky was stuck in the hospital- before the tight, white jackets and big, pink pills- his father came to visit him. Well, not really visit him.

Zacky hadn't heard from his father since the day he testified against him in the trial for murdering his mother and brother.

Zacky's hands- bound and restricted. His skin- burnt and pale and cold. His father- miserable and tired and disappointed and angry.

Zacky felt a presence in the room. A chill ran down his spine, but he didn't let it show. He turned his head away from the open window, which taunted him, to face the door.

Neither of them spoke.

Zacky was surprised to see him, to say the very least. The very least.

But, he could see it in his father's eyes. The reason for him being there.

Why why why why why?

Zacky licked his lips.

"Hello," he croaked out. His voice held no emotion. Mr. Baker swallowed hard, trying to collect himself in front of his son. Zacky felt his lips twitch, wanting to form into a smirk.

"Zachary." He flinched at his name. It made him feel very angry all of a sudden.

"What do you want? Oh, God, don't tell me you're here for closure. You wanna know why, don't you? You wanna ask it again. Well, go on. Ask away. It's not like I've got anything better to do with myself." Although, that window was calling to him and the metal handcuffs were burning his skin. He clenched his hands into tight fists, lifting them up again. Just to test one more time.

Nope. He was stuck there.

Mr. Baker glanced down at Zacky's hands as he lifted them, but then brought his eyes back to his son's face quickly. He wanted to keep eye contact. Maybe it would help. Help what? He wasn't really sure.

The doctors had told him that he was a little bit out of it because of a couple doses of sedatives that they have had to use. The psychiatrist that had visited a couple days ago to analyze him told the doctors and the nurses that he was, at the very least, schizophrenic. He hadn't been hallucinating, as far as the doctors knew, but the violent tendencies and unpredictable behavior pointed the doctor in that direction. He would be moved the next day to a mental health clinic in Southern California for constant observation, and would be started on a strict medication regime.

Schizophrenia did not run in the family, but Mr. Baker knew it was his fault that his son was like this. How exactly he turned into this monster was a bit of a mystery, but he knew it was his fault.

It's always the parent's fault.

The good or the bad that the child inherits can be prevented. The parents know what they are capable of and can prevent the spread of disease or depression or what have you. Parents are selfish in that they seem to think that it's a right of humans to have children. But, it is in fact a privilege. A privilege that has been abused for centuries by irresponsible or sick parents. Parents who want to put aside their maladies to start their own family. To replace the emptiness they feel with the love of frail bones, big eyes, weak stomachs, and sleepless nights. And then those children grow up and start to become stubborn and picky and diseased just like Mommy and Daddy. And then Mommy and Daddy learn of their problems and are shocked and surprised with the diagnosis of disease or depression or the like.

Schizophrenia did not run in their family, but wrath did.

Mr. Baker was never a happy man. The most joy he ever felt was when he was on a two day alcohol binge in college. He was an ambitious man. Easily stressed, but eager to advance. Any frustrations he ever felt, he knew he could come home and... well, let it all go.

Mr. Baker was never abusive. Zacky could never call him abusive. But, Mr. Baker had a problem with showing love and compassion. A masculine figure to the core. His voice was deep and booming and he exercised it often. He never hit his boys. He never showed them kindness. He never told them he loved them.

And, sitting in that hospital room with Zacky made him regret everything he ever did. Going on that damn alcohol binge. Meeting his wife. Having kids. Working as much as he did. Because he had backed himself into a corner. A corner blocked by his twelve-year-old son wielding a stainless steel kitchen knife.

Besides that, though, there was really only one other thought running through his head. He had practiced saying it in the mirror. Practiced letting go. Practiced just the right amount of tears glistening in his big green eyes. Practiced what Zack might say to him. What Zack might do to him. He was ready for it. He was going to dodge his way out of that corner with six simple words.

"I'm sorry, Zack. I love you." He kept the eye contact, noticing how his son's eyes turned a shade darker and just a touch harder.

"Liar."

"Deep down... deep down, I know why you are the way you are. Why you've done the things you've done. How you could... I'm sorry." Mr. Baker lifted a hand, and placed it on his cold arm, just below the stretched length of gauze. Zacky widened his eyes, grinding his teeth together and breathing hard and deep. "I gave you this disease, and all I want is for you to get bett-"

"Get out!" Mr. Baker did not flinch. And, he did not move.

"For you to get better," he continued. "If you're looking for someone to blame-"

"I said get out!"

"Then, blame me."

"GET OUT!" Zacky's hoarse voice was deep and rough and booming. Like Dad.

"I just want you to get better." Zacky's arms and legs twitched, his stomach muscles tightened. He tried to get out of the cuffs. Out of the bed. He wanted to strangle his father. His arms twitched with an incredible desire to kill someone. He shook violently, and his father finally took a step back. His own fists tightened. He took more steps back, not taking his eyes away from his son, convulsing and writhing on the bed.

"I'll kill you! I'll kill you! I'll kill you! Get out!" He screamed loudly just as the nurses rushed in. One of them pushed Mr. Baker out the door. Another took care of the sedative. A couple more held him down tightly, restraining his legs and arms and pressing down on the chest. As Zacky fell victim to the drugs, the last thing he saw were his father's green eyes taunting him from the doorway. His arms and legs kept twitching even as he started to fall into a deep sleep.

It was memories. The reason for his twitch. His father and his childhood. Zacky knew... it was never the drugs. He would never admit it out loud, though. Never.

Shadows sighed.

"Fuck, Vengeance, you can't get anything right. Can you?" Zacky rolled his eyes.

"It wasn't my fault." Usually Zacky wasn't one who made excuses. Usually Shadows wasn't one who listened to excuses. "That dumb ass you saddled me with didn't give me any signals. And you didn't tell me about the girl in the first place. I had a plan. I executed it perfectly. It was just the wrong person and it wasn't my fault."

"But, you still failed. And, failure is not an option. No matter how rusty you are. This was supposed to be easy. It was your ace in the hole and you still screwed it up." Zacky was happy that Synyster wasn't in the room for a change. Orbiting Shadows like the goddamn moon. He must've been with the hired help.

"So..." Zacky waited for Shadows to continue, but he merely paused. Shadows licked his lips and looked behind Zacky to the door, deep in thought. Zacky narrowed his eyes at him, his fingers twitching. His tongue darted out quickly over his cracked and dry lips. He took a bold step towards him. "So, what now, Matt?" He accentuated his syllables. "What are you gonna do?" He walked closer, knowing that he was pushing Shadows. Testing him.

Shadows suddenly smiled, laughing lightly. He let out a breath, looking Zacky in the eyes.

"Zacky," he said. He let his smile grow a bit. "Have you met Gerard, yet?"