The Trial by: Crystal


Disclaimer: Dawson Creek does not belong to me in any way, shape or form. I don't own the song "The Trial" by Pink Floyd.

Distribution: Put it wherever you want. Just send me an e-mail at

Classification: Other

Note: Ok. I finally finished this next part and I'm halfway finished with the sequal! I'm am SO sorry it took so long but there were a lot of troubles I had at home and also I was sick in the hospital for a long time and I'm still recovering. I was considering ending the series, but the HUGE amount of support change my mind. Thanks to EVERYONE who e-mailed me!

Crazy, toys in the attic, I am crazy
Truly gone fishing
They must have taken my marbles away
Crazy, toys in the attic, he is crazy

"The Trial"
~Pink Floyd

Dawson quickly strode up the walk to Pacey's home, he could not shake the feeling that something was horribly wrong with his friend. Even when Joey had scoffed at his strange fears he could not shake himself of them, and for once he dismissed her opinion. His eyes scanned the still house, looking for any sign of life. Nothing. The house was deceptively calm and silent, the door shut against the world, but Dawson thought that in it's depths it hid some horror, some disaster that he was only becoming aware of. He walked up the wooden steps to the porch, his footsteps made hollow noises under his feet.

When he reached the door he pulled back his hand to knock but something inside of him warned him against it. Instead he turned the knob, found the door open, and silently slipped in. He walked slowly but surely, willing his feet to make as little noise as possible. For anything would sound loud in this house. His eyes widened as he saw the woman that lay in the first bedroom. For a minute he couldn't even recognize her. A soft oath escaped his lips as who she was registered to him. It was Pacey's mom. He couldn't even remember the last time he had seen her, even heard Pacey mention her. To think of it, he couldn't remember Pacey mentioning much of his family, beyond the complaints of arguments with his father and sisters. It suddenly struck him as odd. How much did he not know of the person he thought of as a "best friend"?

As he gazed down at the sleeping woman all these thoughts raced through his head and he realized that he did not know who his friend was. The laughing, wisecracking boy was just a bitter facade that had until recently been held without flaw. Dawson suddenly caught the smell of cheap wine that filled the room and seemed to issue more strongly from the bed. As he gazed around he saw bottles lying in various positions next the wallpaper covered walls, often they were half-smashed or partly filled with alcohol beverage.

How could Pacey have hidden this from him for so many years and how could he have not questioned the various oddities he found in his friend's mention of his family? Dawson berated himself and could see obvious reason for Pacey's angry behavior in the last few days. He began to study Pacey's mother and saw the reddened cheeks of a drunkard; saw the deep lines of wrinkles that belonged to a woman ever so much older than this one; saw a scrawny body that had long lost the curves of womanhood. This was just a shell of the healthy, smiling woman he remembered from past days in elementary school and at birthday parties.

Dawson tore himself from the room and silently continued down the hall. He reached the last door, the one he dimly remembered as the one that led to Pacey's room and turned the knob. With a squeak the knob turned and he let the door open until it hit the wall with a thud. He readied himself for the sight of his angry friend demanding what the hell he was doing, barging into his room, and prepared a fake smile and a stupid explanation.

Nothing Dawson's mind conceived could have prepared him for the sight of the slight, blond girl cradling Pacey's head, which was covered with drying blood, in her lap. Horror filled him and he softly called out to her, but she did not look up, did not respond in even the tiniest way. He half-walked, half-ran across the tiny room and swiftly sank down next to the pair. He began to call out Pacey's name as if to stir the unconscious figure from the deep sleep he was in. The blond girl, Andie, looked up and her eyes caught his attention. They were those of someone who wasn't totally there.

"Shh," she mumbled, "Pacey's sleeping. Don't wake him up." For a second, she glared at Dawson, then her gaze softened as she looked back down at Pacey.

"Go away." The words were said in the same disjointed voice that sent chills up Dawson's spine. He ignored her and looked at Pacey, taking in the smashed nose, and the broken arm. He swiftly turned his head and vomited as he saw the arm at the odd angle, and the white bone jutting from it. Dawson got up and raced from the room, from the horrifying sight, and went to find a phone.

He would call help and everything would go away, everything would be taken out of his hands and Pacey would be just fine tomorrow. Dawson would see him at school and they would joke around as they always did. Everything would be o.k.


Pacey emerged from the deep blackness of his mind. His blue eyes slowly fluttered open. Everything was so fuzzy and unfocused. He perceived a deep throbbing pain that echoed throughout his body, focusing sharply on his chest; but it was so distant, blanketed by feelings of lethargy. Pacey cautiously tried to move, and broken ribs shifted. Pain hit like a shockwave as he tried to scream, but no sound came from his throat. He drifted away...


Andie's head jerked up as she heard the piercing shrill of a siren fill the air. Panic filled her as she remembered how the paramedics had taken the broken body of her brother to his inevitable death at the hospital. She hated hospitals. They smelled of evil medicines and death. Those men weren't going to take Pacey there to die, she wouldn't let them.

Andie looked down at his still figure and whispered, "I won't let them take you. You're not going to be Tim."

The thundering sound of footsteps filled the air and Andie drew back, wishing they would go away. The door was flung open and a paramedic cautiously stepped in. His breath caught as he saw Andie protectively shielding Pacey, glaring at him with a peculiar mixture of terror and hate.

"Miss, please let go of the young man so that we can take him to a hospital," the paramedic said in a calm voice.

"Hospital?" Andie moaned, she began to babble, "No, you can't take him there. That's where Tim died...that's where Tim died..." Her voice lapsed into an intelligible mumble as she began to sob helplessly.

Why couldn't he understand? Pacey needed to stay with her so she could protect him. Even as tears fell from Andie's eyes she could sense the paramedic edging towards her, and she tensed in predatory anticipation. He gently moved Pacey from her lap and got up to call his partner who was in the living room talking with Dawson.

In a low, dangerous voice Andie said, "I won't let you kill him." Hands hooked into claws she attacked the paramedic, even as a warning voice in her head whispered that the man was only trying to help Pacey. She paid no heed as her nails whipped across the man's face in an arc. He gasped, hands coming up protectively to shield himself, barely keeping her probing fingers from gouging out his eyes. Andie screamed and collapsed to the floor. Her body shook with terrified sobs as all the energy flew out of her.

The paramedic called out to his partner, who had been talking in the Witter's living room with a shaky Dawson, but had begun running to Pacey's bedroom to aid his partner. "I'm going to need some meds!"

The second paramedic reached Pacey's bedroom and stopped, he quickly searched through his medical equipment. Coming up with a syringe full of a powerful sedative he walked into the room. He saw his partner kneeled down next to the crumpled body of a teenage boy, and then he saw the girl collapsed on the floor, her shoulders shaking from her sobs. His partner looked up and indicated to him that he was to inject the sedative into the girl.

Andie sensed the presence of another person in the room and, without raising her head, peeked up through her hair. She saw the syringe in the man's hands and began to scream incoherently. Andie felt the sharp prick of the syringe as it entered her arm. For several seconds she continued screaming but then abruptly stopped as she lost consciousness.


Pacey slowly opened his eyes, bright white light stabbing into them painfully. He tried to bring up his arm to shield them but it wouldn't respond. The low murmur of voices reached his ears and he turned towards them. As his eyes slowly adjusted he saw Dawson and Joey quietly talking in the corner of the room, apparently hoping not to disturb him. Pacey was almost shocked to see Joey; the tall brunette rarely took any time out of her life for him unless it was for insults.

Suddenly panic flooded through him. Where was Andie? The last thing he remembered was Andie bravely trying to face his father. His eyes searched the small white room.

Dawson turned around, and his face lost some of it's tenseness when he found Pacey awake. "Hey Pacey. How are you feeling?" he asked in a cautious voice.

Pacey ignored him, "Where's Andie?"

"She was taken to the psych ward..."

To be continued...

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