Eugene had been woken up the usual time in prison. Stupidly early!. He had gotten up washed, made his bed and eaten his breakfast. He'd done his laps around the yard like every single inmate that was before and after him in that prison.

He sat on the edge of his bed. The wounds from his previous beating at the hands of the screws were more tender than ever. This wasn't the first time and wouldn't be the last before the end of his final year and he would be realised back to the depths of whitby.

He stood up holding his ribs when his door clicked and the small hatch opened "longbottom, hands through the door" he placed his hands through the door and was cuffed before stepping back to allow the screw to open the door. He was then led to the medical room before being told to sit and wait.

Tristan had promised himself he would never ever work in a prison again! But alas, beggars couldn't be choosers and doctor Tristan Wells was on his way to being a beggar. Moral standards were a privilege of those with successful businesses. He was disgusted with himself for dropping his own and quietly prayed to the universe that he wouldn't be roped into anything horrendous this time. If he merely treated patients and kept his hands 'clean', he'd be able to sleep at night. He'd bring something positive to a bad situation. He wouldn't be culpable.

After inspecting new inmates and having heard every insult under the sun, his energy was drained, but the day still stretched out before him. Through dark and monotonous corridors, he was led to the medical room, where, he was told, he was to look at an inmate who had gotten into a fight and was badly injured.

He remembered the way inmates were handcuffed when he tended to them, so that did not shock him, but what he could see of the injuries looked nasty. The young man looked no older than twenty, but it was hard to tell. He had a sturdy built but was evidently malnourished. Tristan knew some of the men were here for violent crimes, but in that moment, he couldn't help feeling sorry for someone so young in a place like this. The kid had evidently been here for a while.

"I'm Dr. Wells. I'm here to treat your injuries," he announced. He put his bag on a table and began to wash his hands in the bowl of water and soap he had requested. "What does the other look like?" he joked, trying to break the ice. A prison guard by the door gave Eugene a meaningful look.

Eugene didn't speak he just sat waiting. He was in hell and knew it. He was counting the moments till he is released from this hell and wanted out quickly. The beating had come over nothing other than looking at a screw the wrong way and now he sat there with a list of injuries yet again.

His elbow protected his ribs because his hands were cuffed. His eye swollen, his nose broken and lip burst. That was what he was aware of. He wasn't sure how much more injuries there was and why they had brought him to the doctor. Usually you were chucked back in your cell and left to rot.

Eugene kept his head down and repeated the same saying the same sentence that became part of everyone, "Longbottom, Eugene. Prisoner number two six seven nine one" he sighed. It was always the same, name and number for food. For clothes, for everything in this place.

Tristan turned his head sideways and looked at the downtrodden young man. He dried his hands. Then he walked over and stooped down so that he could have a look at the face. "Sorry about this, Mr. Longbottom," he muttered. Then he carefully put his fingers on Mr. Longbottom's nose, to feel for a fracture. He wasn't too concerned about the kid getting up and attacking him. He was cuffed and there was a guard present.

Eugene sat there and didn't sat anything. He felt the pain when the doctor moved his face but it wasn't unbearable. He spoke for the first time "its not the first time its been broken. Was broken twice when I was a kid so I know it won't go back into the same shape it once was" he sighed and held his ribs still with his arm as best he could. He couldn't see anything out of his eye at the moment so only had vision on one side
but the swelling would go down soon enough.

Eugene sat there staring blankly at the walls like he had done the past 5 & a half years. Nothing ever changed and he would be glad the day he walked out of here in a few months. He hated this place with every fibre of his being but not as much as he was angry with his family they hadn't even written or visited in his entire time there. Even his friends hadn't visited. He was truelly alone in the world

It should not surprise him, that the young man had bad childhood injuries. Was he related to the Longbottom family he had already heard so many bad things about? Poor kid.

His eyes fell on the hand on the ribs. "I'll patch up your face as good as I can, but there might be more serious injuries to deal with." He turned to the guard. "You'll need to uncuff him for a moment, sir. I need to inspect his torso."

Eugene held his hands up so the gaurd could remove his cuffs. The guard in the room was one of the better ones. Probably a family guy with a kid Eugene's age. He stood in once the the cuffs had been removed his shirt to give the doctor a better look at his torso. The strain but pressure on his ribs and he winced in pain

He let out a groan of pain followed with an outburst "Jesus fuck!" His hand automatically going to protect his side. "Sorry doctor, didn't mean to speak like that"

It's only a few more weeks Eugene told himself you can make it through then your out of here. But out of here to what was the question. He expected a war with his family. No visits, no letters.....totally forgotten about and left to rot. 6 years he got for stealing to help fed him and his siblings while his mother was drunk and not one had made contact!

Both in the asylums and in the prison he had worked in before, Tristan had heard plenty of swearing, and so it was only the tone that started him. "That's alright. You must be in a lot of pain. Here on your ribs, that's a nasty bruise. Anywhere else?" Did a whole bunch of inmates attack him over something? Why were the guards not paying better attention?

The guard had left the room for a few minutes to deal with something else. Eugene was one of the quiet people in the prison so the gaurd didn't mind leaving him with the doctor for a few moments while he went to deal with something else.

He looked at the doctor "on my upper shoulder blade and my hip" he whispered just loud enough to be heard by the doctor. "This was the gaurds doing. A few inmates kicked off yesterday afternoon and I got caught out. Beatings are normal here doctor. Its how they make you toe the line. The bruises are from two screws truncheons" he sighed "ill be out of here and can return home in a few months anyways. I'm just counting the days till then. That's if I have a home to return to. They left me here to rot which is why I'm considering not returning to whitby"

[CW: Reference to juridical corporal punishment and other violence]

Tristan was deeply uncomfortable when the guard left. He pitied the young inmate, who looked like he had been half-starved. But Tristan, though tall, was not exactly athletic either. If the inmate had gotten into a fight with another inmate, he might try to attack a doctor too. He observed the injuries the young man referred to, but he was hyper alert, ready to move away at any moment.

Then the young man's next words sunk in. He stepped back and looked the young man in the face, frowning. "Are you being honest?" He knew that men could be flogged in prison, which was why he had stopped working there. And the police could birch a boy if the Magistrate so decided. It was an abomination, in Tristan's eyes, but at least in those cases there were rules and procedures, safety regulations! The idea that prison guards could just beat the living daylight out of prisoners and that this was a common thing... That had to be reported!