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My body keeps the score

summary: being comforted by bobby when you’re experiencing a ptsd flashback. characters: captain bobby nash x gn!firefighter!reader (platonic), mentions of other 118 crew members (though vague/non descriptive) warnings: ptsd flashback (reader), mental health struggles (reader), hurt + comfort, probably some inaccurate descriptions of being a firefighter - pls let me know if i missed anything! a/n: a big ♥️ to anyone else who currently does/has experienced ptsd related flashbacks! also, yes, the title is basically the same as that self help book (i haven’t read it - kinda scared to, lol -, but i’ve heard lots of good things.). the above image isn’t descriptive of the ‘reader’, but is just for the vibes.

reblogs, comments & feedback welcome!

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you’re at the scene of an emergency when it happens, suddenly triggered by a smell, or a sound, or an object in your eye line. you can’t control the fear gripping it’s fist within your chest, or how it makes it slightly harder to breath, harder to focus your thoughts.

flashes of that moment swim to the surface of your mind, unbidden. quickly, you succeed in covering up your inner turmoil with professionalism, going through the motions of procedure that are ingrained in your bones from years of practice.

the emergency gets squared away, and everyone who’d needed you to be put together in the face of their scariest moment is now released to other qualified professionals, or free to return to their regular lives. you continue to disassociate from the present reality slightly, mind vaguely fuzzy, desperately needing a quiet moment to yourself to recalibrate - remind your body that it’s not back in that moment, that you’re safe now.

the sight of the station as the engine rolls through the giant doors has you restless to hop out and speed-walk towards the showers, but you reel in the thought. reminding yourself not to draw attention, despite the ache to find some temporary solitude.

small talk is passed around as each of you tidy up the truck, and re-organize your gear in their proper places. a couple of your co-workers acknowledge you with a ‘good job out there.’, and ‘hey, nice save.’ as they’re passing you to make their way upstairs for replenishment.

you only respond with a brief smile, and quick ‘thanks.’

gratefully, nobody suspects something to be amiss with you. especially after that last call left the whole crew pretty worn down, and ready for any amount of recuperation.

eventually, most of the crew has found their way upstairs to wind down, or to help prep the ‘family dinner’ your captain made into a popular ritual in the firehouse. with the space mostly cleared you make your escape through the bunk room intending to clear away the mess in your head with a shower, but the sight of your bunk in the dark of the room makes you pause.. you have time to take a breath here for a sec. only a second though, then you should shower quickly and move on back into the frey like nothing happened.

the mattress eases under the weight of your body as you sit on the edge, feet flat to the floor.

one deep breath, two..

but then the quiet you’d longed for, the empty space no longer filled by distraction makes way for more memories to swing forth into the forefront. you clench the tips of your fingers over your knees to try at an attempt to ground yourself, breaths steadily quickening against the weight of trauma, replaying through/on the projector of memories behind your eyes.

“Woah, hey, y/n?” your captain- bobby’s voice breaks through the ringing buzz in your ears. you didn’t hear him come into the room. he approaches you slowly, broad palms reaching out as though interacting with a panicked animal, “Hey, kid, look at me, take a deep breath.” his voice is firm, yet calm, despite the concern and fear he’s feeling.

he’d come looking for you when dinner finished cooking. he thinks about how you always work so hard - same as everyone else on his watch -, and should get some food in you before the next call comes in. though, bobby didn’t see you hanging around with any of your usual partners in crime, and asked aloud who’d seen you last, as he plated the meal at the family sized tables.

when no-one seemed to have a clear answer, he let everyone else start eating and went to find you, at least hoping to let you know there’d be some put aside if you were busy.

he didn’t expect this..

the dread in his stomach at the sight of finding you sitting alone in the dark, air passing from your mouth in short bursts - it couldn’t be enough coming in versus what was going out.

similar to buck, you’d slipped into a role in his life of surrogate/adopted child, so seeing you unraveled like this felt akin to a piece of his heart being crushed, and bleeding out in front of him.

“Uh-i’m s-sorry.” you manage to whimper out through tears. it’s embarrassing to feel so out of control of your emotions, especially at work, but even more so in front of your captain. he’s someone you look up to, and even though he’s your boss he has slowly made his way into your life as the/the slot marked father figure you’d needed/another father figure.

you want to compose yourself, but the tears just won’t stop. and when you try to hold it all in on a hiccuping gasp, a hand at you lips as though you’ve said something you wish you could take back.. it only takes mere seconds for the damn to break yet again. the hardened surface cracking open signalled by your pained, blubbering whimper, and then flowing once more without pause.

bobby’s sat himself beside you now, his frame firm, and a hand behind your back, a still presence denoting the solidity of this space here for your unravelling to unfold. “You don’t need to apologize, just let it out. I’ll be right here, kid.” he doesn’t try to pry, even though he wants to know what caused this wounded version of you to be sat before him, so he can protect you from the experience ever happening again.

you continue to cry, and sob, and shake next to him.

he intermittently rubs his hand over your back when you start to choke a little on the snot that runs from your nose - as well as the lack of regular inhalations of oxygen -, and the press of his palm into your shoulders reminds you through the fog of your mind, to take a bigger breath.

eventually, your tears slow to a stop and only the occasional sniffle is heard in the otherwise quiet space.

he still doesn’t try at encouraging you to confess or admit what got you so worked up to the point of panicked tears, instead, he reminds you that you can talk to him about anything, and that whether on the job or off his door is always open.

you mumble out a ‘thanks’. it’s a little halfhearted, but mostly exudes the tiredness you feel after the emotional waves tearing through your body, having now receded.

bobby offers to heat up some of the leftovers of the dinner laid out upstairs, ‘they’ll be warm and waiting for you when you’re done cleaning up. so, take your time, y/n. no rush, okay, kid?’

he leaves after you nod in affirmation, and you groggily make your way into a shower to scrub away more than you’d previously hoped you’d be. you’re relieved to have released the pressure of dormant emotions, yet tired from the tears that’d wracked your body, and truly take the time given to cleanse away the grime on your flesh from the heavy moment, as well as the last call.

even when so much time has passed, and therapies have been successfully utilized, sometimes, the body still keeps the score. but you know your triggers don’t take away from the growth, and the steps backwards don’t erase the steps forward.. you know this, and opt to give yourself the kindness of forgiveness (for not being perfect) after every - now - once-in-a-blue-moon meltdown.

you rejoin the group of your firehouse 118 family, grateful for the people in your life, the work you get to do and of the person you’ve become.

♥️

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