#ptsd fic

[misstymbersclinic]

Character who's been through something awful finding out that they apparently don't fit the criteria for PTSD so then they're left to wonder "what the heck is wrong with me then?". And feel guilty like they've been faking all this time...

[misstymbersclinic]

"Call if You Need Me"

Mentions of vomiting and PTSD

*Based Around The Time of Halloween 2018*

It was one of those nasty, foggy and wet mornings. Laurie Strode was just starting to wake up as the morning sunlight filtered in through her curtains, disturbing her less than peaceful slumber. She'd been up half the night, plagued by nightmare after nightmare, a panic attack, nonstop shaking, and a partridge in a pear tree...

She was absolutely exhausted by the time morning rolled around, and as if the situation couldn't get any worse, her stomach felt...off. Although annoying, this was no surprise. After a night of crippling anxiety, a little queasiness was to be expected. Laurie dragged herself downstairs where Allyson was already awake and getting ready for school.

"Morning Grandma." The teenager said, her voice cheerful. Laurie managed a smile. "Morning hun..." she said, pouring herself some coffee before taking one sip and immediately deciding that she was too queasy for that, and putting the mug down. "You feeling ok?" Allyson asked. Laurie faked a reassuring smile. "Yeah, baby, I'm fine. Just...didn't sleep well, that's all."

Allyson gave the older woman a sympathetic look and hugged her. "Well...I've gotta get to school. I wanna have a few minutes to study before my first period test. Call if you need me!"

And with that, she disappeared out the front door. Laurie smiled; she admired how caring her granddaughter was. She made her way to the pantry to try and find something that she thought she could stomach eating.

A few bites of plain toast later, she pushed the plate away and wrapped her arms around her middle, cursing under her breath. Picking up her phone, she checked the weather. It was warm out today, so, Laurie decided that maybe some fresh air and shooting practice may do her some good.

Now changed into a t-shirt and leggings, Laurie stood in the woods, blasting away at her plastic targets. The hope that the fresh air would settle her stomach was quickly dying. After emptying her shotgun into the mannequins, Laurie placed a hand on her cramping stomach and sat down on a stump. Her muscular arms wrapped around her stomach, she glanced to her cellphone on the log beside her, and Allyson's offer flashed through her mind.

"Call me if you need me!"

Laurie reached for her phone, but stopped herself.

"No...don't bother Allyson. She's at school. " she scolded herself. "Besides, she probably just said that to be nice. I'm not gonna call my granddaughter at school because I have a tummy ache." Laurie mumbled aloud with a pained chuckle.

Laurie rocked herself in her seated position as the cramping worsened. The final girl clutched her stomach, a pained grimace etched into her aging features. Her stomach rolled and gurgled as she came closer and closer to tears. These cramps reminded her of her teenage years, struggling with painful periods. It'd been years since she had that distinct, "I want my mommy" type of feeling. She was so tempted to call Allyson for help, but something in her mind still made her hesitate.

"Maybe I should call Karen..." she thought, then laughed. "Oh, heck no...I'd never hear the end of that. No way."

Laurie was just about to stand up to go back to the house, when her stomach lurched. Without any time to think, she doubled over and was emptying her stomach violently onto the forest floor. She yelled in pain as her chest muscles contracted with the force of her heaving. The poor woman could barely get a breath in between retches, but in the midst of the panic, she managed to grab her phone. Tossing her pride aside, she slammed Allyson's contact.

Allyson was in the middle of listening, or at least trying to listen, to a droning lecture about the history of medicine. Her phone rang in her pocket, and when she saw that it was Laurie, she quickly apologized to her teacher and left the room to take the call. She stepped into the empty hallway and answered the call. "Hey grandma. Everything ok?" Allyson asked. The girl's eyes widened when she heard her grandmother's tearful voice beg, "please...please come home...I'm really sick..."

"I...ok, I'll be there in just a few minutes, just sit tight. " Allyson said, before hanging up. She went back into the classroom and explained the situation to her teacher, and, thankfully, the teacher was understanding and gave her permission to sign out.

Allyson rushed home as quickly as she could, and when she didn't immediately find Laurie in the house, she assumed she was in the woods. Sprinting out the back door, Allyson called out to her grandmother. When she reached her, Laurie was sitting on a log, doubled over, clutching her belly and sobbing, a pool of vomit at her feet. Allyson crouched beside her. "Oh no...not feeling good,huh?" She cood, wiping the older woman's tears. Laurie shook her head and took in a sharp breath. "I-I'm so sorry...to call you at school...you..probably missed that test..." she sobbed. Allyson shook her head. "No no, it's ok. I already took it. Made an A." Laurie gave a tearful smile. "That's my girl. " she said, going to give Allyson a kiss on the forehead then stopping herself. "Um..yeah, you probably don't want me kissing you right now."

Allyson chuckled, "believe it or not, I don't mind. C'mon, let's get you back up to the house. "

The two women made their way back to the house, Laurie leaning heavily on Allyson. Once inside, Laurie collapsed onto the couch, and her granddaughter plopped down beside her. As Laurie cuddled up to the teenager's side, Allyson wrapped an arm around her and asked, "so...you wanna tell me exactly what malfunctioned?"

Laurie let out a tearful, yet heartfelt laugh at her granddaughter's attempt to lighten the mood. "Well...I don't know, I just...I had an awful time last night and I woke up feeling sick. I figured it was just anxiety...I mean it still may be, but...anyway, it just kept getting worse. I couldn't eat, couldn't drink coffee; and you know me, Allyson, I love my coffee."

Allyson smiled. "Yep, you sure do. Although I don't know how you call it coffee with all the cream and flavoring you put in it."

Laurie gave the girl a teasing bump on the shoulder. "Anyway, I thought maybe some fresh air would help, so I went shooting. But, then..well."

Allyson sighed. "Well...sounds like a stomach bug to me." She suggested, and Laurie shrugged.

"Allyson...can I just...vent for a moment?"

"Of course. "

Laurie took a deep breath. "I don't know what to do about the trauma anymore...the medications don't work anymore, I try meditation, ASMR, white noise...nothing helps..."

"I'm so sorry..." Allyson said, stroking Laurie's silver/blonde hair.

Laurie started to cry again. "It...it's getting so bad...it's making me sick...I-I can't take it anym..." she stopped, clamping a hand over her mouth as Allyson sprang up to grab a trashcan. The teenager thrust the container under her grandmother's face just in time, as she reached around with her free hand to hold her hair back. Laurie leaned back once she was finished, panting and wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist. "Jeez...this is horrible..." she moaned.

Allyson gave the contents of the trashcan a disgusted glance before setting it to the side and sitting back down. "Feeling any better?" She asked, and Laurie nodded. "A little, yeah."

The two women sat in silence for several minutes, before Laurie spoke up. "Sorry again for pulling you out of school. "

Allyson gave her a reassuring smile. "Oh, don't worry about it. You got me out of algebra, I owe you a thanks."

Laurie chuckled. "Your mother is gonna freak." She said. Allyson shrugged. "She'll get over it."

[sulphuryasecretcloset]

It's just a nightmare

It's a stupid thing that triggers it. A stupid, STUPID thing. And of course it is Corin's fault.

He's making dinner and gets distracted by Grogu. He completely forgets about the food until the stench of burning meat reaches his nose and reminds him with a jolt. Running back into the kitchen, Corin grabs the frying pan and mindlessly yanks it away from the heat. The intense smell of the charred remains hits him hard, makes forgotten memories stir, and causes him to abruptly drop the pan into the sink. The loud sound of metal slamming into metal combined with Din unexpectedly barging into the kitchen rather noisily to find the source of the fire makes Corin's entire body freeze. His brain lights up with blind panic for several seconds.

“Corin?” Din calls out for him, almost a little cautiously, as he takes a step closer. “Corin, are you okay?”

His heart is racing as if he's in some kind of horrible danger, which makes no kind of sense. Corin gulps for air. “I'm fine.” He mumbles, trying to pull himself together. He's acting like an idiot. “I, uh, I...” Corin clears his throat. “I burned dinner. Sorry.”

“I wasn't hungry anyway.” Din half-heartedly jokes, inching closer like he's approaching a skittish animal. “You didn't get burned, though, right?”

Corin swallows, slowly regaining control of his body again in time for him to lift his hand and look down to see the red skin where he'd held the pan. A bit of bad luck. “Nothing a little bacta can't fix.”

Din takes a hold of his hand, studies the damage done, and sighs.

A worried coo reveals the presence of the little bean. He's standing in the doorway, looking over at them with concern all over his adorable face.

“I'll fix him up, Grogu.” Din replies. “I'll look after him, I promise.”

Corin swallows down a wave of nausea. That smell... “I'm...” That smell and some loud sounds shouldn't be enough to reduce him like this. He should be stronger than this. “I'm fine.” “Yeah. I know.” Din doesn't sound convinced. He just sounds sad.

That should have been the end of it. The bacta heals Corin's hand and Din manages to make dinner that isn't set ablaze and tastes really good. Corin cuddles and rocks the little bean into a peaceful sleep. It's a stupid moment caused by his own stupid negligence, harmless and forgotten by the time Corin crawls into bed, settles on his side and Din wraps his arms around him from behind. They fall asleep curled up together. It makes absolutely no sense why, instead of sweet dreams, a horrible nightmare rages through Corin's brain, filling him with screams and blood and shadows, until he jolts awake with a gasp and his heart now racing so fast it physically hurts.

“Corin?” Din whispers from behind him.

“I'm fine.” Corin forces the words out between numb lips. He's still curled up on his side with Din behind him, which is good because that means Din can't see his face. Corin already ruined dinner today, he's not going to ruin Din's sleep as well. It was just a nightmare, after all. Not memories. Just a nightmare. There was nothing familiar about it. Just random horror. A nightmare. Bad luck. “Did I wake you? Sorry. Go back to sleep.”

“You're safe.” Din tells him instead of asking him anything. There is a light touch to Corin's shoulder. “You're here, with me, with us. You're safe, Corin.”

Corin nods, a jerky and too eager movement. “I know. I'm fine. I'm sorry.” Or, he will be fine. His heart just needs to stop racing like crazy and the dread needs to uncoil from his belly. It will pass because it always does. He's had countless nightmares before after all. It's just a nightmare.

Din strokes Corin's arm in a soothing gesture. “You're safe.” He repeats rather than contradicting Corin's words. He doesn't sound angry or annoyed, proving yet again he's among the kindest souls in the Galaxy. “Everything is okay, I promise you. You're safe now.”

Eventually Corin's breathing returns to normal and his heart calms too under Din's gentle touch and words. He tries to keep as quiet and as still as possible so not to disturb Din any more that night. Din needs his rest. But despite knowing it was just a bad dream, Corin can't get himself to close his eyes and go back to sleep. He's haunted by some irrational dread that the nightmare might start up again. There are outlines of screams removed from his brain, voices he tells himself are random or made up, and then there is that damn smell... It's been over half a day since he burned the food and yet Corin swears the smell still lingers in his nose. He stares into the darkness of their bedroom.

A couple of minutes later, Din breaks the silence with a quiet question; “Do you want to back to sleep?”

Corin hesitates. He doesn't want to make Din worry, but he simply cannot lie to him. “No.” He whispers apologetically, knowing this means Din won't sleep either because he is that good of a man.

“Okay.” Din says, still without a trace of anger or irritation. He sits up and gets out of bed, reaching out a hand towards Corin. “Come on.”

Sitting up, Corin frowns confused. “What?”

“Come.” Din wiggles his fingers and when Corin takes it, he makes him leave the bed and follow him out of the room.

“Din?” Corin asks, increasingly confused as he trails after his Mandalorian.

“I'm making you some warm tea.” Din says, with ease, as if it no big deal to do this in the middle of the night because your partner is a weak creature who can't even get sleeping right.

However, not even guilt and self-loathing stand a chance against the feelings Din brings out in him when they sit on opposite sides in the widow sill of the warm living room and look out the window. Outside they can barely make out the snowflakes, quietly falling amidst the calm darkness, while steam rises from the cup between Corin's hands. No words are spoken. Din doesn't ask him about the nightmare or try to distract him with other topics, merely sits with him in silence with nothing but their ankles touching as the sill isn't really made to fit two grown men.

Corin's gaze shifts from the snow falling outside the window over to rest on Din and his heart glows with how much he loves this man. Din is so kind, patient and selfless that not even bad luck stands a chance against him. Deprived of his sleep, Din should be annoyed, he has every right to be, but he's not. He seems perfectly content to just sit there with him, in serene silence, watching the snow fall.

And that is how, long after the tea is gone, Corin finally relaxes, the phantom smell goes away, and his eyelids grow heavy. So very heavy.

“Back to bed?” Din asks, his voice a quiet, warm caress.

Corin manages a drowsy smile and nods. He can sleep now.

“Okay.” Din gets up and surprises him yet again by backing up to him and crouching down a little. “Hop on.”

Even if he wasn't half-asleep, Corin suspects he would have been every bit as confused. Is Din seriously offering him a piggyback ride? His lips tug at a smile. “Din...” It's Corin's brain that is messed up, there's nothing wrong with his legs.

“I would carry you back bridal style, but you're heavy and I'm too tired.” Din says with a slight grin in his words.

Corin huffs a laugh. “I can walk, Din.”

“I know you can.” Din replies, but doesn't straighten up. “Now, jump on.”

Corin hesitates, as usual, torn between not wanting to burden Din further, quite literally, and the childish urge to accept the offer. He remembers when Din had carried him on his back at the Covert and how surprised he had been at meeting Din's more playful side. He really loves that side of him.

It's silly, they're too old to be acting like this, yet... Corin fights against a smile as he does as Din asks. “Don't blame me if you ruin your back.”

“You're not 'that' heavy.” Din snorts, hoisting him a little and getting a good grip on Corin's thighs with his capable hands.

Corin grins and slides his arms around him, partially to hold on and partially to simply hug him. Corin 'is' heavy, he's far from Liita-sized, but Din is strong, in so many ways, which is probably why Din carries him, physically and more, without any problem. Corin rests his cheek to Din's shoulder and smiles.

Maybe one day Corin will be able to face the root of the nightmares, maybe one day he'll be able to tell Din about them, but right now he convinces himself it was nothing but made up horrors from his stupid brain and savors Din's warm, solid presence and knows he's safe.

There are no more bad dreams that night.

[sardonic-sprite]

Wake me up when it's all over

Dick was running, sprinting as fast as he could and yet never drawing closer to his goal. Laughter and screams clamored in freakish dissonance, underscored by a taunting, threatening, tick, tick, tick...

The building still looked a mile away, but Dick had made it close enough now to hear the snapping of bones.

"Can't fly with broken wings, now, can we, birdie?"

Jason sobbed. Fly? He couldn't even move. Just trying to breathe hurt, the agony so persistent that each new blow barely registered as new pain.

He could hear the wet, ragged gasps of sunken-in lungs, fighting for enough air. Jason was always fighting.

Dick had promised he wouldn't have to fight alone anymore, but he was, he was, and Dick was too fucking slow, why couldn't he get any closer?

He was dying.

Jason was dying.

Dick couldn't save him.

The laughter crescendoed, drowning out the sobs and gasps but not the tick, tick, tick...

"Dick. Dick. Dick!"

"JASON!"

Boom.

Dick screamed as everything went dark, grabbing at empty air like he could snatch his brother away from the blast.

The air wasn't empty.

A young voice yelped and oof'ed as Dick dragged him close and held him tight, burying his head in their hair and pressing his fingers to the quick, steady pulse at their throat. Alive.

"Dick..." the wrong brother whispered. "It was a dream."

Light flared and assaulted Dick's eyes as another voice, this a half-awake growl, demanded, "What happened?"

"Nightmare," Tim said quietly, pulling out of Dick's arms. He met Dick's eyes sadly. "You had a nightmare, Dick."

So Jason wasn't-- No. No, Jason was dead. The dream's lie was that Dick could have even tried to save him. A sob slipped out.

Tim lay down against him again, burrowing closer and hiding his face in Dick's shoulder. Bruce turned the light off and sank down on the side of the bed, setting a bracing hand on Dick's knee.

"It's alright, chum," he lied, voice wavering. "He can't be hurt or afraid anymore."

Jason was suffocating, black smoke choking out all the air and light. He thrashed against the rubble that pinned him down--

--and it flew off him with a yelp.

Jason jerked and blinked, and everything reset and snapped back to clarity; the lamp on the table showing him the small boy in rumpled robes, several paces back, and the light from the hallway framing the woman still in day clothes, stepping closer.

He took a shuddering breath and drew his knees up to his chest, hiding his face against them, as if it could block sight of his tears.

"Akhi?" Damian called tremulously, and Jason slowly reached out with one hand. A small, warm hand slipped into his grasp, and Jason tugged him close, adjusting to curl around Damian, like the kid was Jason's teddy bear. Like Jason was the kid's shield from a blast.

Jason barely felt the mattress sink on his other side before a cool, gentle hand smoothed his sweaty hair away from his face. A second later, lips pressed a kiss to his temple.

Talia didn't tell him he was safe now. She wouldn't lie. But she did whisper, "Go back to sleep, Jason. I will protect you."

And she wouldn't lie.

[raggedbreathwhump]

Whumpfic: The Hunt (Part 1)

Setting/fandom: Generic futuristic spy-fi.

Content warnings: Torture, PTSD, brainwashing, implied noncon, suicidal thoughts

Relationships: M/M

Total word count: 9906

Rating: T

Summary:

When Zack's cell door is inexplicably unlocked, he makes a run for it.

He has plenty of time to regret that, later.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You shouldn't have done that, prisoner."

The voice comes out of nowhere and Zack jumps, heart in his throat. It takes him a moment to pinpoint the source – a panel of speakers up by the ceiling, something innocuous made for announcements. He swallows, tries to calm his racing heart and slips into the next room, navigating through this corporate maze. Almost every room seems outfitted with an announcement panel. The voice, growling with every syllable, follows him like a shark.

"That trick was cute, the booby trap on the door. Took me out, fair and square. But you didn't get far, did you? I can tell you're nearby. Don't worry, I'm going to be with you every step of the way now. Until we're in the same room."

Zack tries to tune it out. This is just a cheap demoralizing tactic. Even if the whole thing was a setup, he has a real opportunity here. If he sticks with it, he might get out. He might.

"You even took away my gun. Like I said: cute. Did you really think that one through? I already got a replacement, and let me promise you one thing, prisoner: No matter what you do, I'm going to use it."

He slips down the corridor. The room has at least three speaker panels and the voice is all around him, a tangible presence in his ear. If his heart was racing before, it's pounding painfully now, the gut-deep fear threatening to overwhelm his senses. He forces it down, recalls the entirety of his training – keep his mind cool, search for openings, wait for the opportunity, then move, with boldness and decisiveness.

The corridor is empty. It might have felt reassuring, but really, it just strikes him as the deserted death maze it really is. An arena to play cat and mouse in. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself at that thought. Keep moving. The next door, the next room – he peeks inside. There is a turret, facing away from the door, towards the other end of the room, Still no people. He steps inside, hugging the wall and ducking behind cover out of habit.

"Or maybe you thought it would... what, delay me? The extra minute or so I would have to spend to go out of my way to secure a replacement gun. That could be the difference between life and death, is that right, prisoner?

Wrong.

Listen closely. I'll let you in on a little secret."

Damn that voice. He can still hear Diego in it – his old partner, his old lover – but there is nothing he can recognize of the person he used to know. His lyrical taunts, waxing poetic about the mission at hand... Zack can remember that, still. But he's never had to hear it like this, with only the cold, vicious cadence of a hunter who can't wait to get his claws into him.

"You're here because of me." Diego's voice drops to a confidential whisper now, deep and gravelly. "That's right. It doesn't matter what you do, how much time you buy, how much of an edge you gain. None of it will matter. If you haven't figured it out already, this was all just a fun little exercise. A thrilling little chase for me. And a test for you, if you like. You failed, though. You fell for it hook, line and sinker. But I've been calling the shots from the beginning. I let you off with a head start. And I'm the one who made sure the entire area around us is on lockdown. You're not getting past that. And when I start to get bored... I'll start tightening the noose."

Zack's heart sinks. He begins to tremble, has to stop and lean back against the side of a desk for a moment to calm the queasiness inside him. He'd known, of course. He'd known it was a trap for a while now, and on some level, even before he'd set foot outside his cell. It was all just too convenient, but that was the training: leave no opportunity unseized.

Hearing it from him is something else, though.

The turret – he can slip past it if he's quick enough. Zack gathers his strength, disables it with a touch of his hand and the pulse generator built into his arm, then makes a mad dash for the door on the other side, slips through into another, bigger room. A conference room or something of the like.

"Couldn't wait to spring free, could you? I'm surprised at you, prisoner. I thought you had quite a cushy deal going on here. You work for us, and we keep you alive. But those terms just weren't good enough for you, were they?"

Zack takes it in with a practiced gaze. Two doors on the opposite end. Between here and there – furniture, several low tables with chairs, a powered-off projection screen, a decorative sculpture, and a fancy chessboard (likely just as decorative). He starts to move towards the doors, keeping close to cover.

"I'll tell you what... listen closely, prisoner-"

Zack freezes briefly, eyes wide as he hears the voice again – from the speaker panel, as expected, and a second, fainter source, from behind the door to the right. It's him. Fuck, it's him. He finds his wits in time to make a dive for the couch by the wall, the one that's facing most of the room, and hunkers down behind it. The door opens a split second later and a pair of footsteps in heavy boots enter the room.

"...because I'm only going to say this once. My superiors aren't too happy with you. Neither am I, you can imagine. After all, we had a deal too, didn’t we? I made you a promise, last time you tried to escape..."

Zack is frozen, pressed against the back of the couch. He doesn't dare peek past it. His body is screaming at him that he's about to get caught, overcome with an irrational conviction as solid as his bones that Diego will see him, smell him, can probably hear his thundering heartbeat right now all across the room. He tracks the heavy footsteps, his mind blank. He's been deployed on countless missions and found himself hiding behind cover, inches from an enemy, but never before has he felt such fear.

"Right now I have every inclination to make good on it, and I might not stop there. And after you're caught... well, who knows what the top dogs will do to you, when you're being so inconvenient. But I'll tell you what. You come out of hiding like a good boy right now and I might take it easy. Maybe put in a good word for you. Mistakes were made, but I'm not a monster, you know. What do you think?"

The footsteps are moving away now. Maybe it'll be okay – his mind jumbled, Zack realizes too late that maybe Diego doesn't expect to find him here, is failing to search behind cover as thoroughly as he might otherwise. After all, they do not know he can disable devices as easily as he can. They weren't expecting him to head this way, past the turret.

He can use this. Surely he can use this. If he can bring himself to move. Zack shuts his eyes, quietly takes a deep breath. His heart feels ready to burst out of his chest. His blood is pumping in his temples, something between nausea and a headache pounding in his head, and he feels achey and hollow and not quite attached to his own body. He has to snap out of it. Now. He needs to snap out of it.

"Are you here, little fox?" Diego says teasingly before sharply kicking open the door to the next room – the room Zack last came from. The turret! Fuck, if it's still disabled, if it hasn't completed its reboot...

Zack doesn't wait to finish that thought – Diego's back is turned and this is all the time he gets. He darts out from behind the couch and to the next scrap of cover. His heart sinks as he hears Diego hiss softly in realization.

"Interesting..."

The door – now! It's a straight line of open space between him and the exit, but he has to take it. Zack makes a mad dash for it, across the room, reaches it, pulls on the handle. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Diego's shape in the opposite doorway, turning towards him.

"There you are!"

Zack shoves the door open, all but falling through it. Inches behind him, plasma fire shatters the glass inlets of the door and  a shower of glass shards peppers the ground. Zack scrambles into a sprint. Another hallway. He has maybe one, two seconds out of sight and out of earshot. He picks a door at random, closes it behind him, keeps running past desks and chairs, kicks one out of the way, curses himself, chooses another door at random and keeps running. If he had a grasp on where he was in this maze of office rooms and cubicles before, he's lost now.

Diego's boots thunder through the corridor he left behind.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" Diego sounds pleased, and – dammit, he knows the voice is coming from the corridor, but the sound of it over the speakers diffuses it, makes it harder to pinpoint. Zack is standing in the next room, briefly frozen. The way he's facing looks familiar, but he doesn't think he's been here before. He snaps out of it and keeps moving. Spots a door with a fire escape sign on it. Filled with a strange, sudden sense of hope, he runs to it, slips inside. If he can get to another level...

The staircase is there, and he can spot another door several stories up. His legs aching and lungs already burning from the chase, Zack runs up the metallic grate steps as softly as he can. Up close, the door is solid, metallic, with a round 'submarine' style window in the top half, and another office area behind it.

It's locked.

Zack has a brief, hollow moment of wondering just how long it would take Diego to find him if he just... stops here. Stops running and waits for him. As he was told to. There is no way out, he can feel it in his bones no matter how hard he tries to delay the inevitable.

The boss would be disappointed. This wasn't how he was trained.

It's an odd thought, but it helps.

Zack tries and fails to put his back into it for a few seconds before giving up, gasping. He glances back down. He cannot hear or see Diego except through the announcement system, but backtracking feels equivalent to death. He looks back at the glass window. Double sheeting.

Zack grits his teeth and pulls off the top of his jumpsuit to wrap it around his elbow. Desperate times, desperate measures and all that.

He smashes through the glass. It takes him a couple of tries and sends glass shards flying everywhere, and painful jolts through his arm, but he can worry about that later. The noise of breaking glass is deafening. He somehow reaches through for the handle on the other side, grasping blindly. Miraculously, he feels a set of keys in the door. He has just enough leverage to turn it, with the tips of his fingers.

"I heard that, little fox." There are no speakers up here, and the area looks older, but he can still hear it from the level he just left. Like a spur, it jolts him into action. He needs to keep moving. There has to be an exit here somewhere.

Before Zack has taken even a dozen steps into the room, it becomes clear that coming here was a mistake. The area is essentially one large room full of cubicles. An exit to the left has been sealed off for construction. An exit to the right has been bricked up. An elevator door – but there is an old-timey grate gate in front of it, with the key nowhere to be found. A ventilation shaft by the ceiling looks promising, but is higher up than he can reach without moving furniture around. Not when he's already out of time.

Out of breath, Zack ducks behind a cubicle just as Diego bursts through the door.

The enforcer stops in the doorway and surveys the room. He takes a deep breath, sniffing the air. Melodramatic as always...

"I know you're in here."

He says it calmly, matter-of-fact, and it sends a chill down Zack's spine. He watches as much as he dares through a crack in the cubicle wall he's behind. A dead end. He's trapped with no way out, but if he plays it smart and keeps his head, waits until Diego has moved away from the door and circles around, then-

As if reading his thoughts, Diego looks around thoughtfully and grabs a large, heavy cabinet next to the door. He pulls on the sides, and Zack winces at the deafening noise as the metal legs drag over the rough concrete floor. Diego pulls and pushes it into place until the exit is securely barricaded.

Zack stares, cold resignation flickering through his heart. Well, that's it, then. He'll never move it quickly enough to slip out, not with that amount of noise... This was place was a death trap, and he blundered right in.

In soft bewilderment, he wonders if this has been the plan all along. If somehow, Diego had meant to herd him into this one area where he would finish him off... he couldn't have planned that, could he? This hadn't been the plan from the beginning. Zack had gotten farther than they had ever meant for him to get, of that much, he was sure. For all the good that did.

Diego continues his soft, cruel taunts as he begins to search in a circle through the large room, clearing a row of cubicles with every few steps. He's away from the exit now. Zack could try, if he's foolhardy enough to try till the last, but he knows a losing match when he sees one. There seems to be something pathetic about being shot in the back while scrambling to move some furniture out of the way.

Diego is not close to him now, but he will be. There is no escaping him. There is no point, no feasible way for him to make it out of this, no benefit he will gain by trying to drag it out, stall for time. His heart is pounding, his limbs shaking from the chase, and more than anything Zack wants to curl up someplace dark and not... think, or feel, anytime soon. He'd never understood people who, in response to a crisis, simply hid in a corner and cried in panic, but he can relate to that a little bit better now.

He stands up, not bothering with cover. Diego can't see him yet, but he will as soon as he clears that pillar and makes another sweep. Any moment now.

Zack wants to close his eyes, gives in to it. Let Diego find him. Let him shoot him, for all he cares. He's had enough of this cruel game. He's ready to lose, just for it to be over.

"There you are." The voice is smug and satisfied, sending a lurch through him. Zack looks up silently at the figure of the enforcer facing him – gun at the ready, visor only partially concealing the pleased, hungry smile, and he is panting slightly. Zack has nothing to say to him. He's tense, bracing himself for the worst, but refuses to let himself fidget. Some deep, ancient instinct in him is telling him to play dead. Maybe if he doesn't move, it won't be as bad...

"Look at you," Diego continues. He can't see the man's eyes behind that visor, but wagers he wouldn't like the look in them. "Not even trying to hide now, are you? Smart. Pity you weren't this smart when it mattered."

He raises his gun, gesturing at Zack. "Now, while you're at it, why don't you raise your hands, too? Show me you're unarmed."

Zack glares at him slightly, a weak reaction that breaks its way through the fear. This is wildly unnecessary. Any idiot could tell you he's unarmed.

Slowly, he raises his hands. Diego smirks, nods with satisfaction. "That'll do. Keep still, now."

Zack swallows, everything in him tensing as Diego approaches him with slow, heavy steps. Zack can see him better than he wants to, now, can see every scratch and scuff in that heavy guard armour, can tell just how much Diego is relishing this. He feels sickened.

"On your knees, now." Diego's voice is almost soft, but there is nothing soft about the way Diego is looking at him. He stops a few paces away.

Zack obeys him, hands still in the air. He watches the sights of the gun adjust on him. On the other side of it, Diego is watching him with his head tilted, as if surveying a particularly exquisite piece of art. Zack stares back impassively, past the barrel of the gun. He has no more defiance left in him, not anymore. Somehow, that feels more like losing than anything else has.

Diego nods softly. "Good..."

Zack barely has time to process it as the man lowers his gun and shoots him through the knee.

With a cry and a shudder, Zack drops to the floor, then simply lies there, gasping. He can't quite breathe past the pained, choked noises clawing through his throat, and his leg is on fire.

"Sorry, peach. A promise is a promise," Diego says quietly.

Zack barely hears him. He's squirming on the floor, helplessly cradling his knee and making noises he can't quite stop. The splintering, burning pain in his knee is slowly fanning out, as if engulfing him in radiation. The concrete floor is cold against his arms, the texture rough. Heavy footsteps, coming closer. He tries to lift his head to look up. Something heavy – a boot on his back forces him back down, crushes him briefly to the floor. He chokes on his whimper.

"I've got him." Diego's voice seems high above him, and it's exuberant, breathless. Footsteps again. Diego is walking away, towards the door. "Yes, we're on floor 47. Send someone to bring him in."

Zack closes his eyes and rests his face against the concrete. He has trouble thinking past the blazing pain – he can't move, can barely think about moving his leg without feeling like his knee has become a thin sack filled with white-hot shards. Something in him distantly realizes that it's not good news for his mobility, or his future chance of escape. Can't run very far on one leg. They've got to patch him up, right? They have to. At least it's over now. It sinks in with cold, sickening relief. The hunt is done. It's over.

Peach. Diego called him 'peach'. His blood runs cold at the realization. An old nickname. A word Zack remembers being murmured in the dark, affectionately, with a kiss pressed into his hair before they both get ready to face the new day. A glitch, or a rediscovery? Of all the damnedest things to remember...

"Belay that," the voice snaps him out of it – Diego's footsteps have stopped without him noticing. He's still in the room. "Five more minutes. I'm not done yet. No. Don't interrupt. Vulture out."

Zack hears a click as Diego shuts off comms, and then the heavy boots again... walking towards him, again, back towards him, slowly. No, no, not this, it's over, it is supposed to be over. Zack squeezes his eyes shut, unable to think past the overwhelming dread, so much stronger in its comeback now that it had been minutes before. He stays still as a corpse. Play dead and maybe he'll lose interest...

Diego's breathing is hungry, as if he's savouring the air as he stalks closer. He doesn't say anything, but the next thing Zack knows, a hand has seized him by the collar and is dragging him across the floor. He groans with pain as his leg is jostled in the process, tears springing to his eyes. "Diego, don't..." he manages to gasp. His leg catches on the leg of a table and he only just chokes back a sob.

Diego doesn't grace him with an answer. He drags Zack through a doorway into a cul-de-sac of a side room that must have been a kitchenette once, as far as Zack can tell from his vantage point near the floor. Diego kicks a turned over empty water cooler out of the way. Zack groans as he is pulled upright, shoved with his back against the counter and his legs stretched out in front of him. He has no choice but to look at him as Diego crouches in front of him, leering.

"Alright now, prisoner. Just you and me again," Diego murmurs, exhilarated, like he can't get enough of Zack's terror. Zack can only barely focus through the haze of pain, and even worse, the helplessness that has washed over him. He's hobbled, unarmed and has nothing to do except sit there and pray that Diego will get bored quickly enough. That face – fuck, he can't bear to look at it. All the familiar lines are still there, except for the glint of those eyes through the visor – twisted and dark like nothing he has seen before.

He finds himself looking away, trying to avoid that gaze, but Diego reaches out to non-too-gently grasp him by the chin. Zack hisses, staring into those eyes again. "Before I take you back, let's make sure we understand each other," he says softly, menacingly. "You've learned your lesson, haven't you? I must admit, I haven't had this much fun in a long, long while." His smile drops then, his face deadly serious. "But the time for fun and games is over. I want you to promise me something. Repeat after me: I will never try to run again."

Zack stays silent. At this point, only the rush of fear and adrenaline is still keeping him lucid, but there are lines he won't cross, some tiny vestiges of his spirit still remaining that he refuses to let go of. No way in hell is he going to play along now.

Diego's expression twists in an ugly way, he seems both outraged and smug. He's enjoying this, Zack realizes with a cold jolt. He'd never thought Diego, his Diego, had it in him..

"...One more time," Diego says slowly, deliberately, growling every syllable like a dog chewing through a particularly delicious bone, "I want you to promise me. That you will never try to run. Ever again." He tightens his grip on Zack, shifting his weight, and with an awful certainty Zack anticipates the pain a moment before it happens – Diego brings his boot down onto his knee, and Zack twists, a sound ripping from his throat as the pain flares white-hot, sparks dancing in his eyes. Mindlessly, he tries to scrabble for something, but Diego pins him down effortlessly. "Because let me promise you something, prisoner," Diego continues, his voice low and gravely, "if you ever try that again, I will find you, prisoner. I will hunt you down, and I will make damn sure you will not walk again for the rest of your short, miserable life. So tell me. Do we have an agreement?"

Zack doesn't answer. And then a moment later, he can't speak – Diego presses his boot down onto his knee and grinds it hard against the floor, and Zack is screaming again... he barely registers it, only feels it as the strain in his throat and the sound ripping through the building, his vision blurring with white noise. He loses track of things for a while. When he comes to, Diego is slapping his face, and then there is a splashing sound, something cool dripping down his skin, and Zack slowly blinks as Diego caps a flask at his side again. "There we go," the voice mocks him, a hand is roughly holding up his chin again. Zack squints at the bright overhead lights, his eyes won't quite focus on the figure blocking them out. Another slap to his face, harder this time, enough to whip his head around and make his ears ring.

“You with me again, peach?” A hand grabs his chin again, rough, but the nickname stings more.

“Stop...”, Zack manages, barely able to focus on his face past the haze of pain, the bright overhead lights bathing Diego's face like a halo. He cannot comprehend this. His Diego... his Diego was never like this.

The hand at his chin drifts up his cheek, oddly gentle now, and into his hair. Zack's head drops, he doesn't have the strength to hold it down, and the cool fingers against his scalp are the only thing that feels good right now. He leans into them dizzily. “Matthew?” he murmurs, before he can think better of it. Before he can regret it. Diego's name, his real name-

A terrible, empty beat of silence, but Diego's voice is inhuman when he breaks it.

“Quiet,” he growls, hand tightening in Zack's hair again, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut against the sting. Squeaking noises – bottlecap again, and his head is being held up again as water sloshes down his throat. He coughs, convulsing, and tries to swallow.

"That's better," Diego is saying, as if through a thick wall of cotton, his voice cold and merciless. "I want to make sure we understand each other. So tell me, one more time. Are you going to run again?”

Zack squints up at him against the glaring lights, grits his teeth, and doesn't answer.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Zack stares at the floor.

His back is to the side of the bed, arms folded over his knees. In the background, the distant alarm noises blare on and off. The emergency lighting is flickering every so often. It looks real.

The door to his cell is open, the force field having fizzled into nothing some minutes ago, but he refuses to look at it.

It looks real, but it isn't.

He tells himself there's a reason. It's been two weeks. Thirteen days, to be precise. His knee still gives him jolts of pain when he places his weight on it too rapidly - advanced corporate medicine can only do so much. He's in no shape to make a run for it, even if it's real. He'll just have to wait for a better opportunity. After all, he never did make that promise not to run again.

That's what he tells himself.

Inside, he knows he'll stay put the next time, too. And the time after that, if it comes to it. There is no leaving, not for him. Not with the heavy weight that settled in his limbs two weeks ago and has refused to leave – a taste like lead and the cold tang of dread.

He starts to imagine running. Making a break for it, navigating the maze-like corridors, alone. Taking out the guards. Hacking into security. Pursuit, the heavy presence hot on his heels. Hiding with his back to a couch, barely daring to breathe.

His mind shrinks away from it and he releases a breath, slow and deep, emptying it again.

The boss would probably fire him on the spot, if she could see him right now.

Heavy footsteps down the corridor. His heart sinks, and only when they come to a stop in front of his cell does he dare to look up.

Diego – the Vulture, Zack needs to stop thinking of him as him – cuts an imposing figure in the doorway, with his visor and shoulder pads and semiautomatic held in a leisurely but firm two-handed grip. The unsettling smile on his face only widens when he sees Zack. He takes a step into the cell, taps at at key on his wrist. With a hum, the force-field doors reactivates behind him, but everything else – the cameras, the lighting – does not.

Zack's heart sinks. Not him again. Diego – the Vulture has mostly left him alone since that... hunt. With the exception of being there when Zack woke up, a cheap cup of coffee ready by his bedside in some kind of mocking gesture. He hadn't touched it, didn't know what to make of it. The less he thinks about Diego, the better.

Diego slowly holsters his gun, stepping closer. The cell is small enough that Zack already regrets his far too vulnerable position now, sitting on the floor. He wants to jump to his feet, back away from Diego into a corner, put all the distance he can between them... but something in him makes him stock-still. Something about the predatory glint in Diego's eyes, the memories of that day, of having learned that if he runs, Diego will give chase. Avoid giving him reason to, even the slightest. Stay still. Play dead, give him nothing to respond to. He will get bored.

At least that's what Zack tells himself when Diego stops in front of him.

“Good boy,” the man murmurs. Diego holsters the semiautomatic, then reaches out, ruffles Zack's hair, and he shudders. “You didn't run.”

There is nothing he can say to that.

The hand in his hair drifts down, cups his chin.

Diego's voice is smug, but soft. “I knew you'd learned your lesson.”

Zack stares at the floor and finds himself wishing for a gun.

[silvercarinae]

Ooo, you're doing fic requests? Would you consider writing a Ninjago piece with something angsty about Ice Emperor Zane? I've been craving that lately!

sir yes sir, and that's another fic request finished. send more, guys, I only have one left and it's basically done. sorry for the wait!! set after S11,  Zane is no longer the Ice Emperor and is back in Ninjago but still has the memories from when he was.

tw: ptsd, flashbacks, ice, anxiety

zane deals with ptsd from the never-realm, causing him flashbacks. and lloyd, but just a little.

• • •

Faces. That's what Zane remembered most out of all his memories as the Ice Emperor. Faces of the people he captured. Hurt. Froze.

He'd never forget how they looked at him. Like he was the monster that lived in their nightmares, the devil who lurked in the dark shadows.

He probably was their biggest fear. That part hurt the most—

"-ne. Zane!" Jay called, breaking him out of his thoughts. "Are you okay?" he asked, deep brown eyes filled with concern.

Zane forces a small smile towards the lighting ninja. "Sorry, Jay. I was...thinking about something."

"Okay, well, we better get to training." Jay said, returning his smile.

"You are right. We should go." Zane responded, grateful the other teen hadn't questioned deeper.

Their footsteps echoed across the empty hallway they were following, and Zane was eerily reminded of the wide, hollow castle he'd lived in for so many years.

Reaching the training rooms, Jay pushed the doors open, dark hazel wood creaking slightly.

"Hey, you guys are late." Lloyd said, looking up. His eyes found Zane, and his sensors picked up a rising heartbeat. He allowed a small smile at him, and it slowed.

"Uh, Master Wu said we were practicing sticks today." Lloyd nodding towards a pile of a sticks leaning against the opposite wall,

"Staffs, Lloyd, not sticks-" Kai cut in.

"Okay, okay, staffs, whatever-" Lloyd interrupted him, rolling his eyes.

This all went unheard to the ice ninja, staring at the weapons, lost in thought. Staffs. He hadn't picked one up ever since the day he returned from the Never-Realm. Not even anything remotely like one.

Jay was fiddling around with them, finally picking out two and walking back to him.

"Here." He hands Zane the staff absentmindedly, still distracted by something else.

The weapon felt familiar in his hands. Way, way too familiar. His memories dragged him back to just a few weeks ago, when-

His fingers tightened around the frigid metal, raising it above his head. Ice cracked sharply around his grip, already frozen for years, decades on end. A blast of magic flew out from the staff's head, and-

"Zane?" He snapped out of the dream- no, memory, and blinked, world in blurry darkness for a second.

His teammates stared at him, gazes full of worry. And fear, he saw.

With a start, Zane realized he'd broken the staff, splintered half lying on the ground.

"I-" He stuttered weakly, thoughts muddled and confused. He dropped the other half, wood clattering loudly against the floor in the silent room, and backs out the door.

How could he have let himself slip like that?

• • •

A month after the accident, winter visited Ninjago. Jay and Kai were pressed up against the window, watching the heavy snow fall. The rest of the team were spread out around the living room, engaged in a video game.

"Guys, it's snowing even more now!" Jay exclaimed, pointing out the window. Cole sighed heavily, putting down his controller.

"I know, you're only said that three times before." He said pointedly, and the screen suddenly flickered and flashed, digital bomb exploding in the game. Cole's avatar was thrown out of his car, flopping onto the ground humorously. Lloyd laughed in victory, lifting his headset off his ears. Nya put down her controller

"I won!" He said proudly, and Cole gaped at him, jaw falling open in dramatic shock. "You little- I was talking to Jay!" Lloyd shook his head, crossing his arms. "How is that my fault?"

"Oh, I'm going to-" Cole scrambled up from his seat on the wood floors, and the other teen stood up from the sofa hurriedly, blanket falling off his lap in his hurry. Zane leant down to pick it up, folding it neatly again while Cole chased Lloyd out of the living room.

"Okay, I'm going out."Jay decided, sliding the curtains across the window. "Why not see the snow in real life?"

"It's still snowing, you might catch a cold." Zane interjected, twitching a corner of the curtain open and looking out.

"It's fine, it's like, lighter now!" Jay defended himself, and Zane gave him a look, seeing that the snowfall outside was heavier if anything.

"We'll be fine," Kai said, pushing the lighting ninja out the door. "Go-get out of here. Wanna come, Zane?" He asked absentmindedly, picking up a abandoned jacket off the ground.

"I want to come!" Lloyd chirped excitedly, appearing at the doorway next to Jay. The brunette  jumped back in surprise, crashing into Kai standing behind him.

"How did you get here?" He shrieked, and Lloyd grinned mischievously. "Uh, ninja skills? Did you forget those exist?" He snickered, adding a afterthought. "Actually, I think you do forget those exist."

"What's this? Bully A Jay Day?"

"Everyday is Bully A Jay Day."

A disgruntled fire ninja picked himself off the floor, annoyed. "Out, both of you." He ordered, and they traipsed out the door obediently, chattering excitedly to each other.

"I'm making a snowman-""I'm making a snow family-" Their voices faded away, Kai tugging on a jacket before following them out. Zane put down his book, deciding to follow them out. He did love the snow, after all.

Once he's outside, he sees the sparkling white covering the earth and is convinced he made the right decision. It's so beautiful, after all. Lloyd is being chased around the courtyard by Jay for whatever reason, and the small boy slips against a small frozen puddle, landing with a small 'oof."

"Now who doesn't have ninja skills?" Jay shouts triumphantly at him, and Zane smiles amusedly, walking over to help him up. He holds out a hand, and Lloyd reaches up gratefully, expression changing mid second. To fear.  His gaze is looking a million miles away, and it sends him back to the memories of—

—Lloyd watching his slow movements with wide eyes, unbelieving, as General Vex taunts him. A jagged edge of ice traps him unmoving on the floor, as the Ice Emperor approaches closer. He feels the power, the frigid cold power building up in the scepter, and it is almost about to-

"-protect yourself, hm?" His general's cruel voice cuts in, and the Emperor blinks, slowly. Protect. Protect the those who cannot protect themselves.

You were built to protect those who cannot protect themselves.

His memories slam back into him like a wall, smashing whatever hold the scepter has held over him these past few years—no, decades, decades of surviving in the icy wastelands, of holding the awful, terrible scepter, of hurting people—

The world fades back in around him, and he blinks, legs suddenly feeling like they can't hold him up on the ground.  Lloyd is looking with him with wide eyes, now standing next to the nindroid. He can feel the other's stares piercing them behind him, the grounds now silent.

"Are you okay, Zane?" The teen says, words coming out as white mist, clouding his face.

"My apologies." He straightens up, forcing a small reassuring smile onto his face.  "I was distracted."

The snow littering the courtyard around him suddenly seems less bright, and everywhere he looks,  he can only remember the plain white of the Never-Realm.

His fingers have gone numb, and he flexes them instinctively, confused when they don't move. A block of ice encases each of his hands, and he automatically panics, smashing them against the wall besides him.

The ice shatters immediately and splinters onto the ground, sharp shards flying everywhere. Lloyd flinches behind him, and he redraws his hands quickly, sliding them into his coat pocket.

"Sorry." He says dazedly, hurrying into the monastery, and leaving behind the three confused ninja. Once inside, the reality of what just happens sinks into him, and he leans against the wall, head spinning hazily.

Nindroids weren't supposed to mess up like this.

Not ever.

Somehow, someway, he hadn't returned from the Never-Realm the same, Zane realized. Memories were forcefully taking him into flashbacks from the smallest things, powers malfunctioning.

He was broken.

[victoriasugden1]

I'm like 90% done with my whites aftermath fic it's 10k and totally how I imagine them leaving which isn't what actually is happening but I'm so excited for you all to read it.

[kythwena]

It’s okay to admit you’re scared of something. And even if you think it’s stupid to be scared of something, your fear is valid.

Raising Home by TheTypewriterGirl