Dissociation? Chuuya's pretty out of it and isn't focusing well
Panic Attacks
you guys don't get any context to this...
Chapter 24
Notes: I feel like a lot of this fic is Chuuya crashing out. But i like writing that so i won't look into it much. he is an overthinker, to me. he is emotional, so a lot of thoughts contribute to the things he does. there doesnt seem to be any plot to this fic atp. but i have fun writing it.
What is the best course of action after a traumatic event? Within the initial few seconds following the shock, it's best to remove oneself from the situation, if possible. Seek aid from a physician, if needed. Rest. Recover. It would also be advisable for one to receive a form of counselling, no matter the degree of trauma. A large number of its' particpants have noted that it has had a positive effect on their mindsets. Some pro's include the development of good habits and coping mechanisms; and even if one were to find that the cons outweighed the benefits and decided it is not for them, that is fine!
Therapy is not mandatory, but to attend is advice given by many.
Advice that one Chuuya Nakahara never received.
If he'd ever received that advice, perhaps he'd be getting through this with a bit more… eloquency.
…eloquency? Grace? Care? He wasn't sure which word was the best fit. His pulse raced and his head pounded. Not one thought could form in his head.
Chuuya's vision comes and goes. Darkness encroaches and recedes like waves in the ocean.
Unrecognisable figures got closer and closer following each blackout.
His ears, however, heard both everything and nothing.
Movements, actions, hustling and bustling. And above it all, screaming. Did it belong to the crowd, or was it his?
Throat tumbling over heaving sobs, frantic, gasping breaths choking out of his mouth, Chuuya brought a shaking hand to his cheek. Scalding water trickles over his fingertips, and he shook, shook, shook it off!
Get off!
Get away!
Leave—
"—me alone!!!!" Chuuya screamed.
"—huuya." A voice broke through the chaos. "You're okay, it's me, I'm here."
The blazing sun took a sharp turn, melting into the same dullness of Chuuya's mind, a solid concrete wall shot up like a wave crashing into a cliff.
He tossed his head left and right, the red at the edges of his vision retreating ever so slightly. His body trembled.
With the great big ball of fire in the sky blocked out, his eyes could focus. Heavy eyelids stayed open as he was faced with— with him. His reflection. Small and distorted and utterly pathetic. Face flushed red even in gold-tinted glass with tears streaming, streaming, streaming down his face. Disgusting.
Concrete rushed around Chuuya's other side, leaving them— Chuuya, Sunglasses and… who else was in here?— enclosed with just a sliver of space for an exit. The complete lack of sun removing the reflective glare of the glasses in front of him, and with a shimmer, two wide, concerned eyes bore into his. The gold eyes of Hizashi Yamada.
"Chuuya, no one can see you now. Relax, little listener. It's okay— you're okay— you're safe!" His voice was loud. N's voice wasn't. N was calm, calm, calm as he ignored Chuuya's begs and pleas for him to return the amniotic fluid he— the other Chuuya— needed to live. Calm calm calm as a violent, thrashing electric current ravaged through his body.
Yamada was not N.
But Chuuya still didn't want him to touch him.
Steady hands descend from just above Chuuya's ears, on course for his shoulders.
"Fuck. Off," Chuuya declared, as steadily as he could.
Yamada didn't listen. His hands made contact. And so, Chuuya retaliated.
Form stained a deep red, the ground splintered beneath Chuuya's feet as the tears continued to stream down his face. He couldn't get them to stop, he wanted them to stop, as Yamada flinched away with a hurt look in his eyes.
"Mic. Calm your kid down before he blows up again." An unfamiliar voice wormed its way into his ear. Unpleasant. He'd rather Yamada spoke again.
And spoke he did, tossing his head around to the right to address the person who'd just spoken to him. "Leave it alone, Cementoss. He's just scared."
Scared. Vulnerable. Weak.
"Shit— hang in there! Don't you die on me!"
Chuuya stares into his own, unseeing eyes in his lap. Glazed over eyes and lungs suffocating on air, skin peeling off his bones. This boy, this child, this real human being, was scared.
"I'm not scared," he blurted, with a waver in his voice. The deep, dark crimson hue engulfing him only darkened.
Yamada swatted fractured pieces of cement away from his face, his attention torn between Chuuya and the hero behind him.
"Yamada," the unfamiliar voice said. "He's going to blow up, he'll need to be subdued before he hurts anyone else."
Yamada made a noise of disbelief. "Subdued?! He's a kid. He's just—" he cast a glance at Chuuya's trembling form— "give us a minute. Go check on Kaminari."
"He's got Eraserhead and Mt. Lady—"
"Just go. I've got him."
Chuuya fists clenched. Why're they talking like he's not right. There.
The personified block of cement stepped outside through the crack in the concrete dome, leaving Chuuya and Yamada alone.
"Chuuya," Yamada started, softly. Too soft. Like Chuuya was a sheep in a field and not a wolf in a cage. "C'mon, kid. Let's get outta here. No one's lookin' at you, kid. Jus c'mon. Let your quirk go, and we can go inside. We'll regroup with Shota and Dazai, and we'll sit somewhere quiet, 'kay?"
Chuuya stared, just for a moment, at Yamada's face. At his eyes. Clear, bright, honest eyes. Not the deceiving, dark, scheming eyes he was used to. He couldn't remember the last time someone looked at him the way Yamada was now.
So, with a heavy heart and great difficulty, Chuuya let Tainted slip out of his grip.
Yamada offered him the fondest of smiles, and— as Chuuya began to walk out of the concrete dome— matched Chuuya's stride at his side. He didn't move to make any contact with him, and for that, Chuuya was grateful.
But when they stepped out into fresh air and the crowd screamed their curses, Yamada let an arm hover over him, shielding his face from the cameras.
Deposited in a bed in the nurse's office, Chuuya ignores the shaking of his hands.
He was fine. The situation was fine. Kaminari was probably fine. Everything was fine, fine, fine.
With his legs dangling off the mattress, Chuuya leaned forward to bury his head in his hands. He thought he was better than this.
A sterile white curtain boxed Chuuya into a cube with a false sense of privacy. The taunting noon sun still reached Chuuya there, the two dark shadows reminding him of the two Pro Heroes that locked down the exit.
…
Locked down was most likely a too harsh way of putting it; it was simply Yamada and Recovery Girl standing in front of a white sheet. Where was Aizawa? A distant window let in a chilling breeze, rivalling the heat of the sun. Chuuya shivered, his hands lowering to ghost over his itching forearms.
They'd moved Chuuya into the main school building, which was surprisingly near to the stadium. The jeering and shouts no longer reached Chuuya's ears, but he could still hear them.
His arms continued to itch, and a fingernail found its way between his teeth.
The Yamada-shaped shadow removed the sunglasses from his face. He hadn't said much that meant anything on the way over. Then again, Chuuya wasn't really listening.
"How's Kaminari doing?" He sighed, lacking his usual energy.
"He'll be fine., now that I've treated him with my quirk." Recovery Girl's steady voice stated. "It is good that Cementoss slowed the poor boy down before he hit the wall, otherwise it could have been a lot worse."
Chuuya gnawed at his nail.
"Oh God." Yamada's speech was muffled now. "What does this mean for Chuuya?"
…
…
…
"You really care for that boy of yours, don't you?"
Yamada's voice became clearer. "What?"
"You're more concerned about the consequences Nakahara will face than young Kaminari's health."
"You said he's fine! I just— ….live tele… injured… Yoko— home…"
Chuuya's arms itched itched itched and all the nails on his right hand had been shortened significantly. He stared at an outstretched hand, all scenery behind it melting into an uncomfortable static. When had he started to bite his nails? When had he started biting his nails in general? He never used to do that. He never did, childish, childish things like biting his nails or eating dinner at six or leaning into touches or losing control or having a fucking mental breakdown on live television! He never went to school or went out with his friends or even had friends, not like the Flags, not since the Flags—
Denki Kaminari was someones friend.
Which made Chuuya Nakahara someones Paul Verlaine.
Denki Kaminari was alive, sure, alive for now. But Chuuya was unstable. Mad. He always knew that— but what if harming a teenager was just the beginning? What if he and his self-proclaimed brother had more in common than Chuuya once thought? Verlaine went mad after he lost someone important to him, after he lost Rimbaud. Chuuya— he lost more than that. Doc, Iceman, Pianoman, Lippman, Albatross—
Albatross.
Oh, Albatross.
Chuuya's arms itch-itch-itched with something crawling and familiar. Something not easily satisfied.
Albatross. So young, but with experience well beyond his years. Someone who weaseled himself into Chuuya's space and stuck to him like glue. Someone who brought him to the rest of the Flags. Someone Chuuya pictured being in his life for the rest of his days—
Taken from him.
Too quickly.
Too soon.
Kaminari.
If he was someone's Albatross
He didn't want to take him from them.
If any one of the six of us is ever in trouble, you remember that flag and gather under it. We're counting on you.
How could anyone ever rely on Chuuya while he's like this? Arms itching and body jittery— it was as if he had too much blood pulsing through him. Too much blood, racing in his veins, begging
To
Get
Out.
A cloud passed over the sun and the shadows were engulfed by its kin, giving Chuuya the illusion of solitude.
This little curtained-off area was essentially just a hospital room, right? A hospital room.
Where doctor's worked.
And while that hero— Recovery Girl— had a quirk, she was still elderly and those stupid, stupid powers had drawbacks.
She had to stock some sort of kit, some sort of— something sharp!
Chuuya slid off the cot, body still jittering despite the smooth slide of his socked feet on the marmoleum floor. Half of an unwisely placed cabinet made a break in the far side of the curtains and Chuuya's eyes locked onto them immediately.
There.
Suture kits, scalpels, syringes— the lot. Something had to be in there.
The metal of the door screeched as it was pulled open and Chuuya covered it with a cough. He didn't wait, didn't pause, didn't wait and listen for any outside movement, heart sinking and mind jumping for joy once his eyes fell on a sterile scalpel.
"…therapy would be a good id—"
With trembling hands, Chuuya ripped the scalpel from its packaging. Just one cut, just one tiny little nick, and he'd be done, he'd be ready.
A laugh forced its way out of Chuuya's mouth before he stifled it with a slap to his mouth.
"…will I talk to him abou…"
Chuuya pressed the sharp, sharp blade to his skin—
"…keep me updated on Kamin…"
— and relished in the sharp, sharp stinging sensation—
"…yeah, we'll be keeping the little listener with us for the…."
— as skin parted and blood filled the gap. Chuuya stared as the viscous liquid overflowed. His mind was pleasantly foggy as he just stood and watched and—
"Chuuya?"
Blood drip-drip-dripped onto the floor.
ew scene, chuuya sitting in infirmary dealing with his thoughs. ocnsult notes app
Chapter 24
What is the best course of action after a traumatic event? Within the initial few seconds following the shock, it's best to remove oneself from the situation, if possible. Seek aid from a physician, if needed. Rest. Recover. It would also be advisable for one to receive a form of counselling, no matter the degree of trauma. A large number of its' particpants have noted that it has had a positive effect on their mindsets. Some pro's include the development of good habits and coping mechanisms; and even if one were to find that the cons outweighed the benefits and decided it is not for them, that is fine!
Therapy is not mandatory, but to attend is advice given by many.
Advice that one Chuuya Nakahara never received.
Gin Akutagawa is eleven years old when she follows her brother into his organisation of choice.
Naomi Tanizaki is fifteen years old when she follows her brother into his.
It is hard to get to know them personally.
Of course--
The shock that the Mafia's rabid dog has something as human as a sister renders Gin forgettable.
The disgust with her relations with the Agency's illusionist renders Naomi undesirable.
Gin Akutagawa's brothers reputation precedes her own. People fear this kind of man that has this girl under his protection.
Naomi Tanizaki's brother has newly made a name for himself with his capabilities for assassination. People fear this kind of man that has this girl under his protection.
The Port Mafia's skilled Assassin is known as "Gin". Never "Akutagawa".
The Armed Detective Agency's smart Secretary is known as "Naomi". Never "Tanizaki".
The right to their family names belongs to the men of the family.
Doomed to follow, doomed to be forgotten, doomed to be looked at with disgust.
Doomed to be an accessory to their brothers.
What of Gin? What of Naomi? Plain and simple-- girls without definition bestowed upon them by a man.
Junichiro Tanizaki is five years old when his brother leaves forever. He doesn't know Why, When, or How. He knows the Where, though.
He knows that he's curled up on the floor of their bedroom, wedged in the corner with Naomi's head on his lap. He knows that it's her fourth birthday today— the twenty-fifth of March— and she has pastel pink icing crusted on her chin. He knows where she's hidden the remainedr of the chocolate cake— on a plate, beneath the green bed.
But the When that he does know is that when their brother comes home, he won't approve. He'll say that it'll attract ants. He'll ask why it had to be his green bed, and not Junichiro's orange, Naomi's pink or baby Kenji's blue cot.
And he knows that the explanation will be left to Junichiro, and he will feel his eyes water, pick at worried sleeves and trip over his words until his brother sighs and smiles and says that it will be okay.
He knows that their brother would then lower himself onto the floor beside him, and ease little Naomi out of Junichiro's lap and into his own. He knows that this will alleviate the burden of protection, allowing Junichiro to sink into his big brothers open arms, renouncing the title of protector to become the protected.
He'll fiddle with the unbound blond hair flowing over his brother's shoulder, then his own, as he plays his brother's 3DS.
Until he comes home, Junichiro will keep gathering Totem Stickers so he can get the big pokémon from Professor Oak. He hopes that no one'll realise that he didn't actually catch them by himself.
Junichiro Tanizaki is five years old when his brother leaves forever. He doesn't know Why, When, or How. He knows the Where, though.
He knows that he's curled up on the floor of their bedroom, wedged in the corner with Naomi's head on his lap. He knows that it's her fourth birthday today— the twenty-fifth of March— and she has pastel pink icing crusted on her chin. He knows where she's hidden the remainedr of the chocolate cake— on a plate, beneath the green bed.
But the When that he does know is that when their brother comes home, he won't approve. He'll say that it'll attract ants. He'll ask why it had to be his green bed, and not Junichiro's orange, Naomi's pink or baby Kenji's blue cot.
And he knows that the explanation will be left to Junichiro, and he will feel his eyes water, pick at worried sleeves and trip over his words until his brother sighs and smiles and says that it will be okay.
He knows that their brother would then lower himself onto the floor beside him, and ease little Naomi out of Junichiro's lap and into his own. He knows that this will alleviate the burden of protection, allowing Junichiro to sink into his big brothers open arms, renouncing the title of protector to become the protected.
He'll fiddle with the unbound blond hair flowing over his brother's shoulder, then his own, as he plays his brother's 3DS.
Until he comes home, Junichiro will keep gathering Totem Stickers so he can get the big pokémon from Professor Oak. He hopes that no one'll realise that he didn't actually catch them by himself.
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