#and wearing a mask would have been so much less uncomfortable than that constant headache and sore throat

[kittyhazelnut]

I fear I've made a grave mistake

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia Ch 17

Living with the Cowell's is going about as well as you'd expected it to go. In other words it's more or less a disaster for your mental health. Which is ironic considering you didn't put this much stress on yourself when you were sure a stalker was watching you.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that the stalker didn't own your house and wasn't in your personal space at every turn.

You'd honestly been expecting Little Jo to be the biggest space invader but Dia and Nate were constantly hovering around you. Nate had taken up the other spare room, or rather his room away from home, the minute he heard you'd be staying with the Cowells. He's made it his job drive you to and from work for the past two days and you both take breaks together now closing the store when you do. Then the second you cross the threshold Dia is right by you either asking for some help cooking or rushing you off for hobby time in the sitting room. It's like living in a 1920's story book, minus the extreme prejudice you would've faced.

It's only been two days and you can't find a way to ask for more space. You tried asking to go on a walk earlier and it turned into a partial jog with Nate. You really just need a moment to yourself it's been five or six days since you last had some 'me' time. All your nerves are shot and you are just a few minor inconveniences away from snapping at someone.

And it would not be a smart idea to nap at your boss. Your boss who's been so considerate and helpful offering his support to you through this whole mess of a situation.

Nonetheless you need space and your own clothes. Nate's don't fit you properly and they're uncomfortably itchy against your skin. His detergent is also very smelly, more in the chemical sense than in a bad sense. Though it could be a bad sense considering the headache you've had the past day from the over bearing smell. You know it won't end well for you but you desperately need to go back home and grab your own clothes and maybe even your car.

Having the illusion of more freedom would put you more at ease.

After all it isn't like you want to knowingly put yourself in harms way, you just can't stand the suffocation any longer. That's why you decided to bring it up during dinner, and why you are now sat in the tensest atmosphere this table has possibly ever experienced.

“Installation ain't done yet.” is Big Jo's gruff response.

It's as if that short sentence gave everyone premission to breathe again.

“I'm not planning to stay, I just need my own clothes.” you press.

Nate glances over to you before placing his fork to the side, “Then why do you need your car?”

“I'd just feel more comfortavle if I had it.....y'know instead of just relaying on you for rides.” you gesture around to the table trying to get someone yo come to your defense.

Big Jo pinches the bridge of his nose, it's been a stressful week for him as well. You don't mean to be ungrateful in this scenario but you are Autistic and the routine you've spent months carving out for yourself is being ruined. You are wearing smelly itchy clothes and need to have something you have control over. Not to mention you're the one who actively experienced the home invasion and were sat in a hospital for two days.

Big Jo can deal with you asking to go collect your thing, as far as you're concerned anyway. You're at least entitled to that much.

Dia puts her hand on Jo's arm and he sighs, “Fine, if Nate takes you. You can go to the cottage.”

“Tio, they can't have the car.” Nate is wildly failing his arms and motioning to you as he explains that you're a known flight risk.

Great, nothing's been resolved and you are back to a tense dinner in the Cowell's home.

“Fine I won't take the car, just lemme give it to someone to watch it for the...the what's it gonna be a week?” directing the question to Big Jo who's been handling the security detail for your home.

He gestures in a so-so manner.

“Yea, just lemme give it to someone to watch for the week.” you pause before throwing your hand up, “Because let's face it none of us have any idea where those two are now, and they could've easily tampered with my car.”

That was the worst possible thing to say because the second you finish you sentence the table erupts into chaos. Dia and Little Jo voicing their concerns over you driving your car, Big Jo and Nate all but forbidding you from driving and you trying to find some sort of compromise.

“What if we had it towed to Whistle's? Nate takes me there after work and we make sure nothing's wrong with my car.” looking around the table at the mixed reactions before you.

“I'll call Lewis for a tow in the morning and you both can go after work.”

“thank you.” you say relieved that you can finally gain back control over your life. Maybe get a little bit of space a long with it.

Everyone calms down and goes back to eating. The air is still so tense you could practically cut it but without your constant stirring it seems to settle. The rest of the night goes by uneventfully, you've changed into some pajamas and are ready to lay awake staring at the ceiling for hours.

The antsy energy you've been building up these past few days have left you without sleep. Tomorrow the hallucinations will probably start up, you wonder if they'll be worse thanks to your healing concussion. Hallucinations aside, your real problem is being alone with your thoughts for the next seven or eight hours.

You have nothing to occupy your mind with and thus nothing to help block out the invasive thoughts.

You'd finished the TAZ graphic novels while you were still at the hospital. The Cowells had taken you straight to their home after you got discharged, so you hadn't been able to grab your switch or any smaller art supplies.

Ultimately knowing that all this was for your safety and benefit you understand them wanting to keep you away from your home. The sight of you attack. Even a supply run could prove dangerous. Try telling that to your restless and bored mind. Constantly feeling like one of the undead wandering around aimlessly with no real purpose has certainly not done anything good for your mental health The lack of stimulation was definitely making it harder to mask and not just explode in  frustration. To just let loose and rage at everything: from the situation to your stalkers, hell even to Jo and yourself. The after the brief flash of rage it would be washed away by the overwhelming guilt you felt about being in this web and dragging everyone around you into it. Whether directly or indirectly.

Safe to say, it is not good to be alone with your thoughts right now.

And it is with that restless energy that your night of staring at the ceiling turns into a morning of staring at the ceiling. Until a knock at your door signals the start of breakfast. A routine you've recently become apart of while staying with the Cowells. Getting ready for the day you make your way to the dining room, not before steadying your nerves and static filled mind with a long and drawn out huff of air.

Not quite cathartic enough to be viewed as a sigh.

And with that you begin you day.

The morning fades into late afternoon and you find yourself in the shop a little before close, just looking through the isles. A vaguely human figure, much too tall to truly be an actual person, had brushed past Nate and into one of the isles. Honestly you're sure it's one of your hallucinations but you still have to double check the isles before you finish locking up the shop. Today had been really slow and you can only recall a handful of patrons throughout the day, though you haven't been with it enough to actually hace much accuracy on that statement.

Nevertheless you are searching for stragglers, thankfully you find none. Really hoping to get out and to Whistle's soon, then home to grab things that'll keep you occupied. Things that are finally yous; actual comfortable clothes, that smell like you too. Eyes blinking in rapid succession at your near giddy nerves.

For once your tic helps you vision, you're able to catch the book laid on its side. Its cover a deep russet nearly matching the shelf in color, you'd have missed it if it weren't for the inverted shapes that pressed themselves into your eyelids almost burning the scenery into your memory. Picking the book up you try to discern where it had come from.

Upon further inspection it appeared to be more of a journal. Half written in English with margins made out it – was that German? Yeah that was definitely German, the Eszetts is way too distinctive for it to be any other language. Poorly drawn out sketches littered several pages as you flip past them. Until you see a familiar but scrathy image. It's of a symbol a circle with an 'x' through it.

As you look at the jagged lines you can't really place where you've seen this symbol before. It's so familiar but the ringing bells do nothing to help you remember where you've seen this symbol. Flipping further in you catch sight of a drawing of a being that is slim and taller than the trees. Wasn't that the figure you'd seen moments before? Right as you were doing you check for customers? You're beginning to think this shop's haunted.

“Hey YN, coast clear?” The sound of Nate's voice stops you from inspecting the book any further.

Placing it back on the shelf and nestling it in between to larger books you turn and head out of the isle.

“Yea, no customers.”

“C'mon then, I don't want to be out all night.”

Rolling your eyes at Nate's exaggeration, Whistle's probably wouldn't take more than an hour tops and you won;t take long gathering your things from the house – you follow Nate out the door.

Waiting close behind him as he locks up. One thing about the attack is you've become hyper aware of your surroundings and are nearly always on high alert now when you're out in the open like this. Luckily in most spaces you had already noted the number of exits and where to find them. Having to plan escape routes ahead of emergencies might not be the healthiest mentality but it's kept you sane throughout this ordeal. Thank you American public school system.

When you get to the auto shop you see a familiar ticcing brunette talking to a group of mechanics as he leans on your car.

“Who the hell is that?” Nate says squinting at Toby who's practically laid out across the hood of your car.

Weird, haven't they met yet? Toby did hang out at the shop for an entire day. Had Nate not noticed him then? What about the picnic? Before you can say anything Nate's already out of the car and shouting something to the group. Most of the men standing around tense up as Nate storms up to them.

But you catch the dead look in Toby's eye, the other is still horribly out of commission. Honestly without your glasses faces blur from so far away but it's undeniable that there isn't a light reflecting in his eye. Nate seems to be directing his lecture to Toby who doesn't appear to do anything. He's like a big old house cat, tired and done with everyone's shit if they aren't actively feeding him.

Sighing you exit the car, your only real thought is defusing your Karen.

You aren't at all surprised when Toby locks onto the movement of you walking towards the group. The man perks right up and lifts himself off your car in one fluid motion. He's so agile, just like a cat. You can't help but smile a bit at the connection automatically reaffirming with yourself that Toby would totally push over a precariously placed glass of water.

“Hey, wh-mrrow-what'd you bring the car in for?” Toby asks side stepping Nate, completely ignoring the older man.

“Huh – oh, yea boss wanted it checked out to make sure it wasn't like tampered with – I guess. Y'know after the accident.” you know the mechanics probably know what happened to you, you do live in a small town after all. Gossip stops for no one. But you do have control over details and talking about the incident and you won't be letting go of that any time soon.

Toby's one good eye darkens as he nods, “Gotcha, well it's fine even had Jess take it for a drive. Drove fine. Fixed that weird clicky thing it did on left turns, you're welcome.”

Hah, during the drive through Franklin Toby lost it after two left turns. He noticed the clicking sound your car would make, oddly only on left turns, and started bitching about it to you. At the time you just thought he was being funny when he'd complained you needed to take it in to the shop to fix that. Guess he wasn't. But what's the point of fixing something so trivial?

You cross your arms and are about to sass Toby about how unnecessary that was when Nate interrupts.

“Well since the car's cleared we'd better go settle the bill with Lewis.”

“No need, no parts to replace plus my free labor.” Toby looks away from Nate and back to you “It w-w-was so sl-o-ow-w so I told the old man we were dating and I'd been wanting to fix up your car.”

Normally you'd protest a friend or anyone giving you free services but since this was on the Cowells' dime you weren't going to burden them anymore.

“That's sweet – really really stupid, but sweet.”

Nate's already moving around you two and motioning towards his car as he says, “Well thank you, now we really need to get going YN. I don't want to be out late.”

You nod to Nate, turning and saying bye to Toby from over your shoulder.

When you suddenly remember, “Wait, hey Tobias can you take care of my car for the week? I know it's probably a weird request, but I'm sorta “grounded” right now and can't drive till the cottage is set up. A little worried the battery will drain from disuse.”

If it weren't for the mask and swollen eye the confused sneer of his would be clear to everyone on the lot. He sputters for a moment before speaking up.

“Ok? I mean like that's valid – whoa – a valid concern...but your car's not that old. But I guess I'll watch it? I don't have Connor so it'll have to stay in the lot tonight, that ok?”

Oh this stupid beautiful boy just gave you an out. Probably not the one he meant to give you but you are taking it and running as fast as you can.

“Or, or, or-”

“No, no, and no. You can't be trusted to not just drive off in the dead of night.” Nate cuts in.

It took a bit of coaxing but after calling the house and getting Dia's blessing you obtained one night to yourself. Really it'd be one night spent at the lodge but it was still better than being a guest in someone else's house for the night, this way you're a guest at the lodge for the night. A little mini vacation if you will. And Toby seemed fine to go with you to the cottage while you packed a bag with your essentials, before you both go back to the lodge.

He even agreed to drop you off at the bookshop in the morning.

“Are you seriously going stir crazy after five days?” he asks as you pull up to the cottage.

“it's more their constant smothering I'm over. I know everyone's worried but I still need my own agency. Y'know?”

“Yea....I do.” he murmurs with a solemn look about him before he exits the car and makes his way to the front door.

Your steps falter as you near the cottage. A few flashing images pass through your mind before you shakily inhale. Fortunately Toby is right beside you squeezing your hand to remind you of his presence. You aren't alone this won't end like Monday night.

Opening the door the house is quiet and just as you had last seen it. Nothing was disrupted, even peeking into the bathroom where you expected a crime scene to be – only a toppled shower curtain and over turned bath mat remained.

It doesn't really feel like your house right now. A fuzzy sensation clouds your thoughts, like your brain is trying to protect you from connecting with this place after your recent trauma. Although you aren't sure how you actually feel there's a strong sense of discontentment.

Noticing how you linger in the threshold of the bathroom Toby gently guides you into your room, all without a word. Leaving you alone in your room to collect your things. You move around at a moderate pace, you aren't drawing this out but you aren't rushing to leave soon either. A handful of shirts, a set of jeans, shorts, and joggers later you are grabbing your switch. Before diving into your art supplies you hear a thud across the hall.

You freeze as if ice water had just been poured onto you keeping you in place.

“Tobias!” you call out not moving.

“Fuck – sorry I acc-ack-accidently kicked your trash can.”

When had he gone to the bathroom?

“Are you ok?” you receive a quick 'yea' in response.

Jittery and in no mood to sit and draw you pick up an embroidery kit you'd been meaning to rip into. Should keep your attention long enough, but maybe you should grab another kit just in case. Bag loaded with enough of your things so you aren't driven mad during your stay – you turn to leave but decide to grab your goat plush as an after thought before leaving your room.

Walking out and into the rest of your house you notice a lack of Toby anywhere. Going towards the front door you spot him as you pass the kitchen. He's messing with your garbage can before he takes out the bag and ties it up.

“Wha' cha doin'?” he's been a bit off since you both arrived but you don;t blame him. Not like you're fairing any better.

“I, I kicked it and a whole bunch of trash came out. So then I had to put it-it all back, but there's a lot here and you aren't gonna be here for a week....I, I ju-just thought it'd be better to tak-take it out now.”

Nodding, you're thankful to have such a good friend looking out for you. It would've sucked to come home to a toxic waste site because you'd left trash in the garbage for three weeks.

You probably just thought it came from the bathroom because of the echo or something. Paranoia's been a pain this past week. Maybe you should look into getting a roommate, they might help.

“They're not that helpful trust me.”

“Wow, did I say that out loud?” Toby nods, “Fuck I am out of it. How are you and Tim doing?” you might be deflecting/ignoring your own issues. But Toby had his own shit going on Monday night and you doubt he's talked to anyone.

“We're fine. Just fucking hate him.” the sharp jerk of his head keys you in that he's very much not fine.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Who are you, my fuck-ing therapist?”

“Fine, wanna bitch then?”

He comes off the defensive like he realizes that he's talking with you right now. His good eye down cast after he relaxes his stance a bit.

You go to grab your kettle, filling it up and placing it down on the stove to warm up.

“Any preference on tea? I've got a few.” it was very much more than a few.

A chair screeches as Toby drags it out to sit down at your small kitchen table. He doesn't respond so you get one of your special blends out. This blend has rose hips which you normally dislike anything scented or flavored with roses but the ginger and cinnamon can normally over power the slightly floral sting of this tea. Plus it's made with the intention of healing the heart and promoting self love. A spell tea of sorts. Toby could probably use a little pick me up, you always did after a fight with a friend. Getting out the honey you ready the tea infuser into the cup waiting for the kettle's whistle.

“So just wanna start talking....or should I ask questions?” you turn to face Toby as you lean against the counter.

He's taken his mask off and placed it on the table, of course you remember his deteriorating face but it still surprises you to see it after a few days of not actually seeing his face. Maybe you'll get used to it and one day won't be so fascinated by his teeth.

“Tim's just a dick who thinks he has a right to act like he's my dad. Li-ike-like I'm twenty-four he doesn't need to constantly question the things I do. He doesn't have any room to talk to me about my mistakes he literally could've fucked staying here up for us....” Toby head had been snapping to the left several times during his rant and it continued as he got very quiet suddenly.

Tim could've messed staying here up? Did he mean here as in Kepler or the lodge? Barclay did have to break up the fight maybe he didn't want any of the trio in but let Toby stay out of concern for his condition.

“Hey I'm sure it wasn't that bad, I could even talk to Barclay to get you unbanned from the lodge.”

He takes the mug you pass him and spoons some honey into it/ It's weird to see half his face drawn into concentration since the other half isn't able to emote yet. Holding the cup in his hands he stares at the swirling steam rising up as you bring your own mug over to the table taking a seat. Not once does he look up at you as you stir in a bit of honey into your own tea.

Toby's neck snaps, “Am I...is it bad that I don't want you to?”

You send him a slightly pitying smile.

“No hun, you're upset. And you're having a totally valid reaction to a falling out.”

Toby rolled his eyes, at least you thin he did. Hard to tell with just the one.

“My therapist would love you. That's the kind of bullshit she tells me like all the time.”

Not knowing what to say to that you just nod as he continues to stare at you.

You both continue to talk, well you continue to let Toby rant about how stupid and dumb Brian and Tim are as you finish your tea. You still don't know the details of the fight but it sounds like the cause was just the last straw between the men and not the actual catalyst. According to Toby the other two tend to baby him or talk over his ideas and suggestions because he's the youngest of the group. Twice Toby mentioned Tim's paranoia and how that was really the cause of the tension between them. And how Brian wasn't any help because he'd always side with Tim to make sure his boyfriend was ok.

Toby was very bitter when talking about Brian's role in this more than Tim's. As if his role of passive bystander just sent Toby over the edge. Which from the way he spoke seemed like it's been dragging on for some time. All of this was painting an even worse picture of the smug asshole. Though you didn't break your silence or series of nods and hums until Toby off handily mentioned Brian getting him in trouble with his therapist by saying he was the one who started the fight.

“He fucking snitched....wait no he lied?!” Toby had to blink a few times before he finally understood what had gotten you so upset.

“Yea I mean it's not that big a deal. I was able to tell Clarise I missed a few days of my meds and she made me set reminders in front of her on the call.”

Apparently Clarise was sure Toby suffered from Bipolar Disorder, he was very flippant when he told you like it wasn't anything big. When you mentioned ADHD he kind of blanked. He got fidgety when you mentioned the symptoms you saw and  nervously told you his medication was working just fine for him. Not wanting to make him more uncomfortable you dropped the topic. Soon it was dark and you needed to leave to make it to the lodge for dinner.

“You sure you want to take the garbage out? What if Chonk is over there?” joking as you lock the door.

“Good point. Trash you live here now.” he dumps the bag onto your lawn and walks towards your kia.

“Toby!”you gasp out, which sounds weird amidst your laughter.

He stops and looks at you his expression more unclear than it's been all evening. Your heart skips a beat as you stare at each other for a moment, your laughter gone now.

“It's weird to hear you say 'Toby'.”

That's all he says before he grabs the bag and carrying it to the side of your house where your bins are.

The conversation in the car is pretty light in comparison to what it has been. Just jokes getting thrown around and sharing the gossip that you'd head in the hospital because nurses' can't keep their mouths shut. Neither of you know any of the characters in the stories but they're still pure gold. Like the man who came in after getting his hand stuck in a cookie jar. Nervous and scared his wife would find out he's been eating the new holistic dog treats. A few stories or more like vents about the auto shop got thrown in. By the time you got to the lodge both of you were in lighter spirits.

Everyone was ecstatic to see you up and about and made an extra spot for you at the table. You didn't miss how Barclay would rise an eyebrow every time you locked eyes. You just roll your eyes and continue eating. When it got time to settle in for the night you were planning to commandeer the couch but Toby offered his room.

More accurately he offered a chance to hang out with Connor which you readily accepted. The rottie was just as excited to see you, bounding over the second you stepped through the door.

“Sigh if only there was a way to see Connor everyday.” you say dramatically whistful as you hold the pup's jowls in your palms.

Toby responds in turn in a drawn out sarcastic monotone “Oh my, how sad your life must be. There's only one solution, marry me. So Connor can finally have the second parent he's always wanted” he ends with a scratch behind the pups right ear.

“I was just gonna kick you and steal your dog.”

He turns to face you, “I can't feel-”

“So if I kicked you in the back of the knee it wouldn't buckle?”

Toby goes silent before conceding to your point. A mumbled “Connor would avenge me.” is heard.

After you two settle down you both hop into bed to try and get some sleep. Toby was holding your switch hostage so you had no choice but to “sleep” now.

You really hoped he changed his sheets from the other day. You'd hate to find out you're laying in milk stained sheets. Pushing those thoughts away as your body finally starts to relax, you can feel when your mind begins to drift into the beginning stages of sleep.

“Tobes, you can crash at my place if you need to.” is the last thing you say before falling into a peaceful slumber.

Toby on the other hand wasn't able to get much sleep at all that night. He couldn't shake the feeling something bad was about to happen. And unlike Tim he didn't think it was because of you, it just had something to do with you. You were too kind to be one of The Operator's proxies, with all the clues of His presence in this town you were one of many red herrings. Looking over to you Toby only hoped you wouldn't get hurt in the crossfire. Not like Lyra did, he doesn't think he could handle something like that. Especially with how shitty Tim's been lately, he's on edge and constantly about to snap. He just needs a break from everything. Maybe then the weight in his stomach would go away.

In the morning Toby's keen to hold up his end of the deal and drive you to work. You buy him breakfast and an iced coffee from Dunkin' and a pup cup for Connor. The three of you eat in your car while you wait for Nate to arrive. When he does you say your goodbyes and head off to start your shift. Promising Toby you'd call once you've been ungrounded.

Nate's face is grim as you approach the shop, you're starting to get used to the cold sweats from these dread bearing encounters. That can't be a good thing.

Did something happen last night? Were the Cowells targeted? Was everyone alright? These thoughts and more swam through your head as Nate motioned for you to follow him into the shop quickly.

He locked the door and pushed you into the back room. His hast doing nothing to settle your fraying nerves as you stumble past the threshold.

“That Rogers kid, how well do you know him?” his eyes dart around the back looking at every shadow as if watching their movements.

“Who's Roger?” you feel out of the loop.

Was Roger one of your assailants? Had the police already found suspects so soon on what little information you had to go on?

With a groan Nate smacked his hand against his face muttering something under his breath.

“Toby, Tobias Rogers how much do you know about him?” his tone is rushed and sharp.

You didn't even know his last name until now. But maybe you had heard it before but it never clicked with you. Honestly you've known each other for a month that's not very long at all. But maybe it's long enough to learn some things?

“...ah not much?”

There's a panicked look in Nate's eyes and he does his best to control his breathing. But it's clear that Nate is either about to hyperventilate or go into an anxiety attack. You wonder what's got him so worked up as he reached into his bag and pulls out a manila folder.

He hands it to you, you can see the water marks left by his sweaty palms.

What on Earth is going on?

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober 2020, Day 1

Waking Up Restrained / Shackled / Hanging

Ao3

Warnings: descriptions of torture, violence, dislocated shoulders, referenced child trafficking. This fic is mature. Please read responsibly.

-o-o-o-o-

When Dick wakes up, he's on his side; his cheek pressed against cold and grimy cement and his shoulders pulsing with a discomforting ache. 

He groans, his body feeling like tar has been stuffed between each of his joints—which makes it difficult to begin moving. His stomach rolls, and the sharp pain near the temple of his skull isn't helping much. 

What… happened?

He remembers… he remembers patrol. Leaving his apartment and swinging towards the streets to fight the constant stream of crime Blüdhaven is so willing to supply. His memories get hazy the more he tries to think about what happened during and after the patrol, making the pain in his head twinge torturously. 

Deciding that there's not much he can remember at the moment, he resolves to try and figure out his situation—because even though he has little memory, just the information that he was on patrol is enough for him to realize he's in his Nightwing suit. He recognizes the familiar skin tight feeling of the kevlar. 

What he notices immediately with just a few agonizingly slow movements is that his gauntlets and boots are missing. Which is not good. He twitches his nose and he relaxes only slightly when he feels the sharp edges of his mask. His anxiety, however, only rises when he realizes that his hands are stuck behind his back.

Okay. Captured and restrained. The cuffs are heavy and thick, at least a few centimeters thick. There's a small length of chain between the cuffs that can hardly be called a "length". There's not much space between his two wrists, perhaps only three or four thick chain links spanning between the shackles. 

He goes to move his fingers and test just how tight the shackles are on his wrists, but he realizes quickly that his fingers are stuck; curled into an uncomfortable fist and held in place with something cold and plastic. 

Okay. Alright. This is fine. Dick can still work with this.

He opens his eyes, slowly, to not agitate his headache nor his rolling stomach. He figures that if no one has revealed themselves to Dick so far then he must be alone. He hasn't exactly been quiet walking up, which is something Bruce might be disappointed by but come on. There's only so much Dick can do when confronted with what's definitely wavering effects of some sort of tranquilizer. Nausea, aches, groggy and slow movements, feeling like shit in general. 

The first thing he sees through half-lidded eyes is the grimy floor he's laying on top of, and since there's really not much to see here he moves on to the rest of the room.

And scratch that. There's not a whole lot to see in the room at all… at least, not from his position on the ground. Nothing but walls in front of him that are made of dark brick stone. 

Dick shifts, curling up slightly to get his shoulder positioned under him so he can work his way up so he's sitting. It takes a minute, a minute filled with panting breaths and barely contained gagging that makes his stomach want to show him what he had for dinner. Eventually, he makes it, his back pressed against the wall and his legs strewn out in front of him and his head leaned back so he can catch his breath and try to make his stomach settle.

Don't throw up, Dick. He doesn't want to be covered in his own sickness by the time his captors decide to show themselves. It will be totally embarrassing and Dick had a cool, pretty boy reputation to keep up after all. 

And besides, when he blinks his eyes to look at the rest of the room he's in he finds that it's rather small and compact; throwing up here would make the smell linger horribly. 

His stomach rolls and he decides to do his best to not think about throwing up. Starting… now.

He brushes his eyes throughout the room he's woken up in. Besides the stone wall and the heavy looking door, there's not much to see besides a singular bulb installed in the center of the room above him. 

That; and a chain hanging right besides it. 

He frowns at the chain. The end has a singular clip hook attached to it. From where it's hanging—about three feet from the ground—it travels up to some sort of makeshift pulley system; composed of various eye hooks that run along the ceiling so the other end of the chain latches next to the door. 

The clip at the end looks strong too. Something that would be used for lifting heavy equipment.

Now that he's studied the room to its extent, he shifts so he's looking over his shoulders to his hands. Duct tape, he finds, is what's keeping his hands in a fist; multiple layers of aluminum colored tape preventing him from messing with the shackles or breaking a joint to slip out of them. 

Alrighty then. 

He should probably work on getting his hands in front of him. Just to give himself a little bit more of a fighters chance. 

And of course, when he goes to do so, his hands are stopped by another freaking chain that he hasn't noticed till now. It's attached to the tether between his wrists and then it connects to the wall; like a leash, but an infuriatingly short one. There's hardly any give. He's stuck to the wall and he's not going anywhere. 

He lets his head fall back against the bricks behind him once again, cursing that sometimes criminals are smart about things. 

Then, with that flawless dramatic timing most criminals often have, the door opens.

Dick brings his legs up to his chest, positioning himself so he's less vulnerable, as a group of three masked men—judging by their body types—make their way inside the room he's trapped in. He glares at the one that steps closer to Nightwing as the other two hang back. One by the door, one by the chain connecting to the wall. 

One man, who must surely be the leader, stops just outside of Dick's kicking range and kneels down to the balls of his feet. The balaclava he's wearing covers his entire face besides a section for his dark eyes, but Dick gets the feeling he's smirking. 

"Alright," Dick says, shifting so he's sitting straighter while making sure his tone is unbothered and bored and not at all as groggy as he feels, "let's get this out of the way. M'names Nightwing, I like long walks on the beach, and I'm not going to tell you any secret identities."

"Which would be a shame," the man in front of him says, "if we cared for secret identities."

A bolt of confusion shoots through Dick at the sentence as the man stands up, folding his arms across his chest and tilting his head. He isn't interested in secret identities? That's… a new one. Most villains who capture him practically beg for his name, that way they can get Batman's name. The first time Dick's been beaten with the reasons of secret identities, it was scary, sure, but now that he's older he's just sorta… gotten used to it at this point. A villain who wants to know his name is a predictable villain. 

One who wants something different is a dangerous villain.

"You see, Nightwing," the man continues, "all we want is information. We have a couple questions for you, and if you cooperate you won't be hurt."

There's no we'll let you go . Just you won't be hurt . Dick doesn't know who these guys are or what they want, but whatever it is, it can't be good. 

Dick flashes a toothy smile. "Oh, a few questions? Is that all? Ask away."

"Does the name The Silence ring any bells?" The man asks, and Dick fights a scowl because it does ring a few bells.

They are an international, underground human trafficking organization. Grabbing kids from all over the globe and selling them to various rich assholes for a multitude of disgusting reasons. Dick's fought them before, in fact, they had a station in Blüdhaven that he worked with the police to raid and rescue the kids trapped inside. 

But that was three weeks ago. 

"It sounds familiar," Dick replies slowly, wishing the man wasn't wearing the stupid balaclava so he could judge the facial expressions better. He can't tell anything with just the eyes. "But they were taken down weeks ago."

Keep it vague. Do not let them know that you know more than the bare minimum.

"We both know that's not true, Nightwing," the man says with a sigh. "The Silence has reaches across the entire globe and for the past decade they have gone entirely unnoticed. Until now, where you took down the base in Blüdhaven twenty days ago." He pauses, then gives Dick a hard look. "Until when, just a day ago, another base in San Francisco was taken down by none other than Red Robin and all those other powered brats."

Shit. Shit . They caught on way quicker than what anyone was planning. The moves on them were supposed to be "accidental". Like Dick "stumbling" upon the warehouse, expecting to find some other crime and instead finding a massive group of child kidnappers and sellers. Like Tim and his team just happening to catch wind of the base and taking it out because it was in his city. Bruce really isn't going to be happy about this one. Dick really hopes Jason's okay. He's the one who's undercover and getting the base locations. 

"Look, I don't know anything about this, I just saw what was happening and took it out of my city," Dick says, flexing his fingers in the tape they're wrapped in. This is going to get messy fast, he can tell. 

"Anyone with a brain can see the bats are connected to this," the man says with a sharp edge to his voice. "And I'm not in the mood to pretend you don't know anything. What we want to know, Nightwing, is where you're getting your information and how many other bases you know about."

So… Jason hasn't been found out yet. Good. That's good. There's no way Dick will sell him out, not when they have close to fifteen other major locations and are currently working with the local authorities to take them out in one fell swoop. 

 Dick takes a breath. "I really have nothing to tell you."

The eyes of his captor hardens and Dick fights to keep his heart steady. He knows where it goes from here. Even before the leader motions to the other two men. "Then you have decided to make this difficult for yourself."

Then, the two other men approach. The moment one of them gets close enough, Dick lashes out with his legs, kicking him in the shins. But, because this guy is 1. Huge and 2. Has a friend , Dick's quickly overpowered as his shoulders are grabbed and he's shoved so far forward his nose almost slams into his knees. His shoulders protest angrily as his wrists remain attached to the wall by the short leash, but that discomfort doesn't last long before his shackles are disconnected from the wall and he's hefted up to his feet by two pairs of meaty hands on his biceps. 

His head spins as they frogmarch him past the leader into the middle of the room, right next to where the chain is dangling. The lightheadedness quickly fades though with a dosage of adrenaline as he's held stiffly in place. 

When his hands are grabbed and he's turned so his back is to the chain, he fights down a fit of panic and desperately ignores his rolling stomach. "What are you doing?" 

There's the clinking of metal links, a snap, then one moment turns into another and Dick is left standing in the middle of the room with the slack between his shackles attached to the hanging chain. 

He glares at the leader and watches out of the corner of his eyes as the two other men return to their positions—one by the door, the other by where the very chain Dick is now tethered to is latched to the wall. 

He has a very bad feeling about this.

A very bad feeling that he knows exactly where this is going. 

"Last chance, Nightwing," the leader says, "tell us what we want to know and you won't be harmed."

Dick shuffles his feet and rolls his shoulders, mentally preparing himself for what's about to happen. This is going to suck .

"I'm telling you, I don't know anything," Dick tries, making his voice sound as genuine as he can so hopefully they believe him and not torture him for the next who knows how long. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, he has no such luck as the leader turns towards the man by the chain and nods. 

Now Dick, he isn't lightweight. Sure, he's short for his age and quite lean compared to most people, but that flat stomach and slim shoulders are made entirely out of muscle . And muscles are, in fact, heavy . Yeah, he's nowhere near Bruce's record weight of 210 pounds, nor around Jason's outstanding 230, but come on. Dick's almost six feet of pure 145 pounds and that's heavy . 

Which is why it shocks him so much that Mr Man over there takes the chain from the wall it's connected too and manages to successfully yank the chain down so hard that Dick's feet leave the floor for a minute. He just manages to curl up with his back keeping contact with his fisted hands, but without the purchase of his fingers added with the weight of his own body, he quickly finds his shoulders burning with strain. 

Dick's an acrobat. He can hang from many positions safely for long periods of time, but there's nothing safe about strappado. His shoulders are on fire, and it's only been a few seconds. His chest is tight and the metal bites into the skin of his wrists, and just when he feels like his ribcage is going to burst he finds his knees hitting the floor roughly. 

He's painfully aware of every nerve and cell in his shoulders, he can feel the blood pulsing with a sharp agony that has him swallowing gasps. 

And of course, before he can even recover, the chain is yanked again loudly and violently that has him stumbling to his feet, his wrists held so high above him that he's forced to bend forward and stand on his tip toes. 

Dick's flexible. He can twist and contort unlike anyone other. 

But let it be put on the record that some joints are not meant to bend certain ways. The shoulders shouldn't be pulled back and up like this. 

It's agonizing. A pain that's way more biting than what he expected. He hasn't been tortured like this before—which admittedly is a terrible thing to say because it implies he's been tortured before but in other ways… which is a correct assumption, but still —and honest to the gods and to mother nature, it's like his entire upper body is on fire. 

His stomach threatens rebellion as he's held upright in this new stress position. His chin is suddenly grabbed and Dick soon finds himself glaring through the strands of his bangs at the man in charge of this fun play date. Dick wants to vomit on him. 

He keeps that just to his thoughts. He'd actually rather not. 

"Where did you get your information?" The man asks, eyes cold and glaring. Dick bites back a wince as the chain jerks slightly, sending pings of pain into his shoulders and neck. 

"No one," Dick hisses through clenched teeth. "No one told me. I was scoping out the warehouse and just happened to find- Ahg-!"

His chin is released and he's in the air with one mighty tug. He chokes back a cry as he's suspended awkwardly above the ground. It's even more painful this time. It came more of a surprise and he didn't get to prepare himself. His abs strain as he attempts to curl up to relieve a little bit of the tension in the socket's of his shoulders that are bending way too far in the wrong direction. He just manages to catch sight of the two other men both holding the chain before his vision is obscured by the leader approaching him. 

If Dick wasn't so concerned with not having his shoulders ripped from the socket's, he could kick him in the face right now. 

But he doesn't, he can only force himself to not cry out and keep his face a straining level of nonchalant as the man speaks above the ringing in his ears. 

"Where did you get your information?"

Dick grinds his teeth and shakes his head. 

Which is thankfully answer enough, Dick's pretty sure if he opens his mouth he'll scream. 

Though, because it's the answer they don't want, Dick's lowered just a bit and then jerked right back up.

He'd be lying if he says he doesn't release a choked off shout. It's horrible . The strain, the tugging, the constricting, the weight. It's a miracle he hasn't dislocated a shoulder or two yet. 

He's held up there for what feels like an eternity but in reality must have been just another minute or so before he's lowered back to his feet. He tries to keep standing, but his mind is so hazed over with pain that he falls to his knees once more, his heels hitting his ass as he leans forward and gags—the nausea in his stomach finally winning. 

Thankfully, it's more like just an acidy spit-up. No past meals to be seen. Regardless, there's a horrible taste in his mouth to match the horrible ache in his body and the humiliation of throwing up at the feet of a captor. 

A hand in his hair. A tug on the chain.

"Where did you get your information."

Dick doesn't bother answering, and the force of the chain lifting him up is so great that he feels the back of his biceps hit his head right before…

Crack .

Pure, unhinged agony pounds into him as his left shoulder finally gives out. He yells through clenched teeth, his feet scrambling for purchase that isn't there, and then, there's a second horrible pop as his other shoulder dislocates as well, and he's not able to hold back this scream. 

Dick's hanging now, his wrists fully above his head in the worst way imaginable, gasping choking on his spit—his upper arms and the area around his neck burn like hellfire. He can't breathe. He can't even try. It's all pain pain pain pain that sends bolts to his fingertips and down his ribs. The meat of his shoulders press against his ears, and all he can do is dangle as his brain tries to process the horrible signals that's being sent though every burning nerve. 

"Was wondering when that would happen," someone says all faraway. The leader or one of the other two, it doesn't really matter. All that matters is that his eyes are blurry and he can't focus on anything other than the dislocated joints that are already becoming oh-so-worryingly numb. 

He's dislocated his shoulders before. He has . But this is different. This is awful. This is… this is…

"Where did you get your information, Nightwing," the leader yells through the haze. Dick blinks rapidly, trying to focus, trying to find the present though the maze that is torture. His head hangs, the nerves in his neck feeling like he's pinched them all individually, but he does manage to at least look up and mumble. 

"What was that?" Someone asks. 

Dick tries again, but only mumbles and grunts escape. 

The leader leans forward and Dick does the only thing he can do, he spits the biggest wad of phlegm he could gather right onto his enemy's face. 

The leader howls in disgust, yelling something too loud for Dick to process. He only has a moment to silently celebrate a victory when the tension holding him suspended in the air is suddenly lost, causing him to once again fall to the floor. Only this time, he crumbles all the way down, landing awkwardly onto his feet, down to his knees, over to his side and right on top of his right shoulder. 

Everything goes white then. Ringing. Nothing but lightning bolts of angry, poisonous red as the pain envelops him. 

He gasps, choking on air, trying to crawl back to his eyes and ears to see what is going on around him, trying to ignore the invisible knives that slice into his upper body. 

He fails. Dramatically so. He passes out from the pain, and the pain remains even in sleep. 

So much so, that the only reason he can tell time has moved when he wakes up is that he's no longer in the middle of the room, but shoved back against the wall. He's laying on his side, but he can't feel anything in his shoulders. His fingers itch below the layers of tape and he doesn't have any strength left to even check to see if he's connected to the wall again. 

He releases a shaky breath and remains limp on the ground, praying that someone will come and that this will all be over soon. 

[ghost-in-between]

More Than Enough - Christmas Truce 2020

Merry Late Christmas @dailudannos! I’m sorry again that this is extremely late. Kinda funny thought that we had each other :D Hope you enjoy this sall piece. (I don’t think I’ve written Technus or Skulker ever for more than 2 lines, so I hope it’s still fun to read.)

Headaches were different for ghosts. Or maybe it was a weird personal thing for Technus. He hadn't asked. All he did know is that headaches sucked and being a ghost sucked and Christmas sucked.

Almost on autopilot, he was decorating the tree in the living room, putting ornaments too close together or too far apart. It wasn't his living room, or his tree, or his ornaments. The only reason he cared enough to put up with this was because Skulker had so nicely asked him to. Why he'd want to spend his time with Technus, he had no idea.

There wasn't much about him, really. He was the kind of person that was so lame that they try too hard to be cool. Skulker was the kind of person that was just cool without trying at all. Technus didn't know when they had started hanging out or how, but he still wasn't sure how much longer Skulker would want this. Neither was he sure how many more ornaments fit on this tree. Was this an appropriate amount yet? Probably. Maybe. Hopefully.

"Are you sure that's enough yet?"

Turning around, he was greeted by a smug grin, framed in metal. Unsure, he glanced at the tree, counting the ornaments silently, until he was interrupted by a chuckle.

"I was teasing you. It's more than enough.

Letting the air escape his lungs and coughing to hide his embarrassment, he closed the box of tree decorations. "I know that," he grumbled. A sudden increase in pain made his grip on the box loosen, but he managed not to drop it. Headaches always left a lingering wave of pressure rolling through his entire body. It was as though the pain didn't know to stay in one area.

Skulker grabbed the box from his hands and set it down by the table. "You good?" he asked, lightly masking his concern behind a grin.

Technus nodded, forcing a grin onto his face as well, dropping it the second the other turned away. Pretending to be cheerful for one holiday should really not be this hard. Music started playing from an old-timey record player, the tunes crackling gently as a Christmas song filled the air. "Oh, really? Is this necessary?" Technus wondered, less irritated about the song choice than the technology.

"Yes," Skulker confirmed, winking at him. Technus didn't have a response. "Be glad I didn't sign us up for the choir."

Oh god, the choir. Technus remembered hearing other ghosts talk about it. It might have also been in the weird newspaper that Ghost Writer has been sending out. He didn't care much for it. All it did was give him more headaches. "Yeah," he agreed, sinking into the couch. "I wouldn't have joined if you'd signed us up though."

Picking up some green and red lights, Skulker chuckled. "You think I would have given you a choice?"

"I would have simply not done it." Technus shrugged, watching the other finish up the decorations, by hand, no ghost powers.

"That's what you think." Skulker fiddled with the lights, getting them tangled up. "But-" He tugged on them. "In reality-" They got even more tangled. "You would have- ugh." He threw the lights on the ground in frustration. "Stupid lights."

"Here let me." Technus got up and swiftly pulled them apart, handing one end over to Skulker so they could hang it up together. He didn't get a thank you, but the fact that Skulker quietly accepted his help told him enough. The hunter was tough but he never failed to remind Technus of his soft side. It made him feel special. But it also scared him.

"I think that's all the lights I had left. I put some outside. Remind me to take them down again as soon as Christmas passed."

Technus nodded as he returned to his position on the couch. Couldn't have anyone see Skulker being a sucker for Christmas decorations of course. Another spike of pain made him screw his eyes shut, pushing himself into the cushions. Why did he have to be plagued by headaches, all the time? Part of him felt like he knew what caused them, but it was buried somewhere in his mind and he didn't have the energy to dig it out.

"What's wrong?"

Opening his eyes, he was met with the sight of Skulker, looking at him suspiciously.

"Nothing." He forced himself to loosen his shoulders and shake off the pain. "The record player is just painful to look at." Skulker rolled his eyes at the comment. "Shouldn't you like all technology?"

Technus crossed his arms. "I have standards."

"So do I, that's why you're here."

Taken aback by the compliment – flirt? – Technus blinked and shook his head. Skulker did love to tease him. "Because I have standards and won't spend Christmas Eve without anyone to admire by epic power and wit?"

Skulker pushed him lightly, or at least lightly for him. "Me? Admire your power and wit? Dream on."

He know it was a joke, a tease. But then why did it feel like a jab between his ribs? "Ah, of course," he said, intending to make it sounds confident and like he was playing along to the joke. Instead it came out sounding bland and disappointing.

Skulker looked the tiniest bit horrified, uncomfortable, like he didn't expect this response and now had to think really hard on how to react. "I mean, you-" He cut himself off. Had he realized it was the truth?

The headache was a constant pounding by now, shaking his limbs. This was beyond stupid. He was letting his own thoughts get him down, on Christmas Eve, a day that was supposed to be cozy and nice, apparently. He didn't get the hype, really. A knock on the door interrupted the awkward situation and Technus quickly got up to check the door. Only on Christmas would he ever witness anyone actually knocking before entering. Swinging the door open, he was met by the sight of Ember and a bunch of other ghosts, wearing Christmas hats. Before he could say anything they took a deep inhale and started singing.

"Oh, please no."

Skulker came up behind him, looking torn between being amused and irritated. "Guess you couldn't escape them fully, after all."

Technus felt him look at him from the side, hoping his expression wasn't betraying how tired he felt and how much he regretted not saying no to today. It was silly, maybe. One day wasn't so bad, one song from a choir of people that wouldn't have stopped by his lair anyway. Not that he would have wanted that. Of course not.

Suddenly he was being pushed back inside, before Skulker said "Thanks, Merry Christmas!" and shut the door on the other ghosts.

"What-" Technus looked at Skulker, at the door, then back at Skulker. "Why did you do that? I thought you enjoyed it?"

"But you weren't."

Taken aback, Technus focused his gaze on the wall behind to Skulker, unsure what to say. The pain in his head felt loud. As a ghost, he didn't need to sleep, yet he felt so, so tired.

"Why did you come?"

"What?"

Skulker was mustering him, like he was trying to analyze his thoughts. He was glad that telepathy was an uncommon ghost power. "You don't like Christmas, so why did you come here today."

He thought about it, thought about his feelings for the holiday, about his feelings for Skulker, about the constant ache in his body that reminded him that he was different from the technology he controlled. "I don't know," he admitted.

Nodding, Skulker sat back down on the couch, patting the space next to him. Afraid of what was going through the other's head, Technus hesitantly complied. He opened his mouth to say something, apologize, maybe, but Skulker was faster.

"It's okay. I think I need to apologize."

Wait, what? Technus was so surprised even his head seemed to clear for a moment of confusion.

"Don't give me that look. Listen-" Skulker looked directly at him, unafraid. "I think I've been taking you for granted."

"What, no-"

"Please. Let me finish, alright?"

Technus nodded.

"I've been taking you for granted because I assumed if I enjoy hanging out with you, then so do you." Technus felt the movement on the couch as Skulker shifted. "And not just that. I've been assuming that if you tell me you're fine, you are fine. But you're not like that, are you?"

Looking away, Technus shrugged. He wasn't the tough one. It didn't really matter, did it?

"Hey, I know I'm the one wearing a metal suit, but you're the one that makes himself untouchable. You can tell me when something is wrong, you know?"

It sounded so foreign to him, yet the concept seemed familiar. He was untouchable when he encased himself in hardware or when he turned intangible, but was he untouchable as a person? Was he even still a person? As if in response, an invisible knife plunged into his head, making him stop the habit of pulling hair in through his nose. Yes, it seemed to say. Just because he died, he wasn't not a person anymore. He still felt pain, just a little differently.

Glancing at Skulker, who looked so genuine that it was hard to imagine him on the hunt, he sighed. It was Christmas, he was here, the lights on the tree shining on them and mixing with their own glow. Would a bit of honesty, a bit of showing weakness even be able to ruin this?

"I just," he closed his eyes for a moment. "I just have a terrible headache." Skulker seemed surprised, whether it was at the fact that he was troubled by a headache or that his words had gotten through to him somehow, he didn't know. "And I'm tired," Technus continued. "And I don't like Christmas." Before Skulker could reply, he smiled at him. "But," The headache was still pounding in his head, but he felt like he was letting himself be wrapped in a blanket. "I guess I'd still rather be tired here with you, than alone. So if you still like me when I'm weak and lame-"

Skulker took his head , effectively making him shut his mouth. "I like you how you are, strong and interesting and right here."

And Technus believed him.

[yuki-setsu]

12 Days of (Lance) Whumpmas! - Day 12 [Free Day: Capture/Mind-Control]

salty because i Do Not Like This Story but i wanted to post in time before Whumpmas ended T__T i had this plot in my head for a while but i’ve been so busy i haven’t had the time to write it out properly so now we have this 4am mess :’) please forgive

part of the 12 Days of VLD Whumpmas hosted by @vldwhumpmas2017! this was such a great event and i’m glad i got to participate ;~; kudos and love to everyone who posted art/fics for this!! you’re all awesome :D

Lance woke up with a pounding headache. He felt sore; everything felt sore. His memory was taking a while to sort itself out, bits and pieces slowly trickling out like a blocked stream. He'd been on a mission, hadn't he? Why was he on the ground? He shifted to sit up, flopping back down when he realized his hands were bound behind his back.

Wait, what?

Lance blinked hard, eyes taking in the smooth purple walls surrounding him, the darkened bars locking him inside. Cold dread pooled in his stomach, and he tried to roll over only to feel something jerk him back roughly against the wall. He craned his neck, a glimpse of what looked like the shortest chain keeping him from wandering anywhere past where he was.

“Shit. Shit.” Lance mumbled, frantically scanning around him. He was alone. The possibility that he was only one who got captured was a relief, at least. His helmet and bayard were lying on the floor in the furthest corner from him, almost like an open taunt. Glad to know they viewed him as that little of a threat.

He remembered an explosion. They'd been rescuing prisoners from an active Galra ship, which had gone fine. Lance had stayed near the back, making sure nobody got left behind. He remembered doing one last sweep of the place when his vision went white, and then...

There were footsteps before he saw two figures step in front of the bars. Galra, clearly. One of them was quite obviously the leader of the ship, even wearing a royal purple cape that fluttered in an annoying motion behind him. He looked pretty lanky, but his presence was intense, more or less.

“You're awake, Paladin of Voltron.” The Galra said, grinning.

Lance leaned back against the wall, a slight grin on his face. “Yeah, yeah. If you're here for an interrogation or something, could we skip it? I'll save us both some time by telling you that I won't say anything.”

The Galra raised an eyebrow. “You're certain about that?”

“Way certain. You should worry about yourself. The other Paladins are gonna kick this ship's butt once they get here.”

The cell entrance hissed as a door slid open for both Galra to step inside. The second Galra was hooded, their face covered by some sort of weird mask. They both stopped a few feet in front of him, staring down as if scrutinizing a child. Lance was tempted to try and knock one of them off their feet with his leg, but he decided against it. He already knew that would only end badly for him.

“My name is Commander Ryxx.” The caped Galra said, arms crossed. He had on an amused smile that already got on his nerves. “And yours?”

“None of your business,” Lance grumbled, eyes peeking past them towards the open cell. Two soldiers were flanked outside, guns at the ready.

Ryxx hummed, almost as if he'd expected the response. “We'll come back to that question in a bit. Now, tell us about Voltron. Where are the Lions?”

Lance glared up, trying to surreptitiously adjust his arms. Having them tied back so tightly was starting to ache. “Seriously? I just told you that—”

“I know what you told me. I'm just giving you a chance to speak freely and avoid any... unwanted consequences.”

A tiny spark of fear tickled at Lance's stomach, but he ignored it. “Gee, thanks. But after thinking about it, no thanks. I'm not talking, dude.”

Ryxx grinned, head tilted almost mockingly. “Quite the confident one, aren't you? I'm glad.” He glanced over towards the hooded figure. “Proceed.”

When they stepped forward, some sort of vial in hand, Lance finally felt the panic start to settle in. He pressed further into the wall, ducking his head when they reached out with their free hand. The chain tugged back when he tried to move, the handcuffs digging into his wrists. They reached for him again, and this time successfully caught his face, cold fingers digging into his cheeks to force his mouth open.

Lance thrashed in an attempt to get free, but the vial was already open and the contents already passing down his throat. It burned, and he choked on the liquid. The hand shifted, quick to cover his mouth before he could spit any out, forcing him to swallow it in a desperate attempt to get air. The Galra reached out their other hand, a spark of purple dancing off their fingers before he felt something shock at his forehead. He shuddered in a breath when the Galra finally pulled back, an uncomfortable warmth left dancing in his chest.

“You...” Lance's voice felt ragged, as if he'd been screaming for hours. “What the—”

Ryxx ignored him, focused on the Galra instead. “How long before it begins to work?”

There was a light pause before they spoke, voice low and rusty. “A few ticks, Commander. We usually administer in low doses at a time, but I gave him a bit more to speed up the process.”

Ryxx nodded, satisfied. He looked back at Lance, just watching. As if he were looking for any changes. “How do you feel?”

Something tugged deep inside Lance's stomach, a painful need that he couldn't understand. He felt like crap, of course. He should tell them, tell them how he feels. He'll feel better if he talks.

Lance stiffened, numb horror mixing with the nagging urge coursing through his body. A truth serum. It had to be. Some kind of crazy truth serum that—

“That won't do,” Ryxx's voice crept back in. Lance blinked, startling when he found the Galra crouched right in front of him, his eyes bright with amusement. “The pain will stop once you answer my questions. Of course, that applies to commands as well. This is something special we've been working on, unique in that the substance only responds to my voice. I'd been looking for someone to test it on. You came along at just the right time, Paladin.” He grinned, beckoning. “Tell me your name.”

Lance's vision blurred at the sudden wave of nausea that hit him. It was like fishing hooks scraping at the insides of his stomach, enough to bring unwanted tears springing to his eyes.

Speak.

Tell him.

That's all you need to do.

The constant desire to listen, obey, speak pounded through him with every frantic heartbeat until Lance couldn't handle it much longer.

“L—Lance.” He choked out, gasping when the pain dulled down, as if someone had simply flipped a switch. This was messed up, way worse than the truth serums he'd heard about. Something (relief?) washed over him, and although it was supposed to be a thankful reprieve, he felt disgusted. His head fell limp against the wall, hating the slight trembles he felt running through his body. He gave in so easily, so much that it terrified him.

Ryxx rumbled with laughter, a triumphant gleam to him. “So prideful you are, Lance.” He reached out, wiping away a tear that had tracked down, and Lance jerked away in surprise. “It seems you'll be talking much more than you intended.”

It might have only been a few minutes, but it seemed to drag on for hours. If Lance could be proud of anything, it was that he didn't talk. At least not about the important information. But with each passing question, Lance was starting to think he wouldn't last. Each new question or command that demanded information about the Lion's bond or the Castle's whereabouts compiled an added layer of pain and desperation that left him crying out every time he resisted. It was satisfying, though, to see the irritation grow on Ryxx's face.

He ordered the Galra to feed Lance another dose. It burned just as much going down, the sensation crawling down his skin like a growing plague. Lance shuddered, coughing as he bent forward. The chain on the wall was the only thing keeping him upright, at this point. He felt sick. He was almost glad for it, because maybe then he could throw up everything they'd made him swallow.

Just answer his questions.

That way you won't hurt.

Simple questions, simple answers.

You know the answers, what's stopping you?

Lance shivered again, this time out of terror instead of pain.

“Let's try this again, shall we?” Ryxx called out, voice light. “Where—”

The room tilted, ship booming from a sudden impact. Lance glanced up just as Ryxx looked back towards the hallway, now bathed in a red light from the alarms that had been set off. He muttered something under his breath, barking something at the Galra and that sent them off in a hurry. A flicker of hope bled past the foggy haze in Lance's mind.

The ship shuddered from another blast, and Ryxx growled. Lance almost laughed at the surge of relief. It had to be the others, right? They'd force their way in, defeat the Galra, get him out, and—

Ryxx turned back, a sudden smile on his face that left Lance frozen. He watched the Galra step into the corner, scooping up the bayard before making his way back in front of Lance. He bent down again, placing the bayard on the ground as he reached for something at his belt. One click, and Lance felt the handcuffs release with a hiss. His arms fell loosely at his side, aching from the sudden change in position. He grimaced, too confused to pull back when Ryxx grabbed his chin, lifting his face up so that all he saw were yellow eyes and that cold grin.

“Listen carefully, Lance.” Ryxx's voice carried to Lance's ears easily, even over the piercing shrieks of the alarm. “What I brought over was your weapon, correct?”

The word tumbled out of Lance before he could stop himself. “Yes.”

Ryxx's smile grew. “Should you see a Paladin or another comrade, you will shoot them on sight. Consider them your enemies. Attack if they come near. Understood?”

Lance stiffened, his breath catching in his throat.  “N—I...”

You must obey.

It is a command.

The pain will stop if you just follow it.

Ryxx stared, tugging Lance's chin up a bit higher. “Understood?”

His chest squeezed, so painful that his vision almost bled white. “Yes.” Lance whispered, breath hitching in his throat.

Ryxx grinned, pulling his hand away and straightening up. “Excellent. That's what I was waiting to hear. Stay here until I return.” And with that final order, he left the cell, not even bothering to close it on the way out.

Lance sat there, wide-eyed and trembling. His eyes fell on his bayard, and he reached out the short distance to grab it. His arm stung at the movement, but that discomfort was trivial compared to the agony of disobeying commands. The bayard activated, loose in his lap before Lance pushed himself to his feet, swaying a bit once he was fully upright.

He heard loud noises echoing in the distance, and maybe some shouting. Everything looked... weird. Like his eyes were looking through a dirty window. He glanced at the hallway, at his helmet in the corner.

He'd been unchained. The cell was wide open. All he needed to do was run. He barely entertained the thought before his legs froze, seemingly rooted in place.

You can't leave.

Ryxx said to stay until he returned.

Don't move.

Lance bit back a whimper, his grip tightening on the bayard. His entire body felt tense, uncertainty lurking in every blood vessel, as if daring him to even try going against the order. Was he willing to handle the consequences of that? If it meant getting away, maybe.

But another thought had Lance's heart nearly stop. Where would he go if he got away? He can't go seeking out the others, not when he...

“Should you see a Paladin or another comrade, you will shoot them on sight.”

Lance let out another trembling breath. He couldn't. It was impossible. He wouldn't shoot them, there was no way. The ship rumbled with more crashes, and he swore the shouting was getting closer. Lance stiffened, suddenly terrified at the prospect of getting rescued. Not while he was barely in control of himself.

If he left the cell, he could find another place to hide in. Maybe he could escape on his own. He steeled himself before trying to move a leg forward. Nothing. It was like he was glued in place. Lance blew out a breath.

“It's all in your head, man.” He whispered. “Just suck it up and go.”

He pressed forward again, heading for his helmet first. Picking it up was relatively simple, but once he turned towards the hallway, ready to put it on before he left, his head suddenly felt like it was caving in. He stumbled, doubling over as he buried a hand in his hair, the helmet clattering back to the ground.

You cannot leave.

You must stay.

It was an order.

Lance groaned, his grip on the bayard nearly slipping. He could resist it, he knew he could. He'd done it before they'd given him a second dose of whatever this was. But it had been so difficult, and he was left with an overwhelming sense of terror at what might happen if he tried pushing back too much now.

“Lance?”

Lance felt his blood run cold, looking up to see Shiro standing in the entryway, chest heaving. His hand was still glowing from combat, but other than that, he looked relatively unscathed. For now, at least.

“Thank goodness,” Shiro panted, a relieved expression on his face. He took a step inside. “We were—”

Lance's body moved on its own, almost as if someone unknown presence was pushing his limbs along, coaxing him into position. He straightened up, bayard back in both of his hands as he pointed it up. Pure terror blanketed Lance's mind, easily drowning out the voices telling him to finish the job. He was about to shoot Shiro. Lance caught the faint surprise in Shiro's face as he aimed right for the chest and let a shot fire.

When Shiro immediately dove to the side, sending the blast right into the wall in the hallway, Lance thanked whatever gods that were out there that it was Shiro who found him. Keith might have had the same reaction time, but Hunk or Pidge... His bayard clattered onto the ground, although the sound felt muted over the sudden onslaught of voices.

You missed. Shoot again.

It's a Paladin, you must attack.

Do not leave this room.

He is the enemy.

“—nce, Lance!” Shiro was yelling, and Lance jerked, eyes refocusing. Shiro was still standing a few feet away, hands raised in a careful surrender. He looked more startled than fearful, though. “Hey, it's me. I didn't mean to scare you.”

Pick up your bayard.

Shoot him.

Lance stumbled backwards, taking all of his energy to keep his eyes on Shiro and not towards the ground where his bayard was. “Y—you need to get away.”

Shiro's eyes widened. “What?”

His stomach felt like it was burning, an irritated throbbing that promised respite if he just followed through. He wanted to throw up. Another headache creeped its way back, growing at the noise only he could hear.

Lance's knees buckled and he barely caught himself with his hands. He caught Shiro start to rush forward out of the corner of his eyes.

“Don't!” Lance yelled, grateful that Shiro froze in his tracks right away.

Shoot him.

“You have to leave,” Lance's voice shook, one hand gripped in his hair again. “I'm not—they made me drink something and I can't—I can't control...”

Shoot him.

Shoot him.

Shiro's eyes were impossibly wide, a sudden fury dancing beneath the shock. “What did they make you drink?”

SHOOT HIM.

SHOOT HIM.

SHOOT HIM.

“I don't know, I don't know.” Lance felt his voice break. “Leave me here and get out. I can't go with you guys, it's too dangerous.” His chest tightened painfully, knocking the breath out of him. “Please go,” he whispered.

Another burst of pain had him bending forward with a groan, his forehead nearly touching the ground. The hand in his hair was gripped so tight he was surprised he hadn't ripped any hair out yet. He wanted it to stop, wanted it to be quiet.

SHOOT HIM.

ENEMY.

OBEY.

Someone grabbed at his shoulders, and Lance shuddered when he felt the sudden need to attack attack attack. He tried to pull away, but Shiro didn't budge. The grip on his shoulders disappeared before Lance felt a hand carefully grab at one of his wrists, the other trying to ease the hand buried in his hair. Lance didn't move, his eyes still trained on the cold ground right in front of him. His body shook in his efforts not to strike out.

“There's no way I'd leave you here.” Shiro said firmly. “We'll fix this, you're gonna be okay.”

ENEMY.

ATTACK HIM.

STAY IN THIS ROOM.

YOU MUST OBEY.

Lance whimpered at the crushing headache, trying to push himself upright at Shiro's light tug. How were they going to fix this? He didn't even know what they'd given him, much less know how to cure it.

Footsteps rang down the hall before he heard Keith's voice calling for Shiro. Followed by Hunk and Pidge. Lance felt his blood run cold.

ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK

Lance stiffened the same moment Shiro did, but Lance moved first, swinging a knee up and into Shiro's side with unnatural force. Shiro grunted, his grip loosening enough for Lance to yank his arms free. He'd barely turned around to locate his bayard when he caught Shiro dash forward, kicking the bayard further away and placing himself in between.

“Lance...” Shiro started, an edge of tension in his voice now.

The others arrived then, crowding in front of the open cell door, eyes widening at the scene.

ATTACK

Lance grimaced, his legs trembling with the need to dive forward and fight. It was almost as if the longer he stood still, the more the pain intensified.

ATTACKATTACKATTACKATTACKATT—

It almost became too much, and when his legs buckled under him, Lance swore he blacked out for a second. Shiro caught him before he hit the ground, barking an order to the others, the sound muffled in Lance's ears.

He couldn't do it. He wouldn't last. He didn't doubt that if things continued, he really would get desperate enough to attack his teammates if it meant alleviating the pain. Lance reached up, gripping at Shiro's armor so tightly it hurt his own hands. His breathing wasn't normal at all. He sounded like he was one step away from a panic attack, which didn't seem far off.

“Sh—Shiro...”

Shiro squeezed back, almost too gentle for Lance to feel. “I'm here. We need to get you back to the Castle right away and figure out how to get you better. Okay?”

The thought of the Castle was both terrifying and comforting, two feelings that should make no sense together at all. Lance shook his head, fresh tears tracking down his face.

“Shiro, you gotta knock me out.”

And then Shiro's worried expression flickered into one of horror. He blinked, unsure if he heard right. “What?”

“Knock me out,” Lance repeated, his breaths coming out in strained gasps. The voices had gone quiet, but it might just be that everything hurt too much for him to even hear his headache properly. “Until we get to the Castle. I can't be awake... I don't—I don't trust myself.”

One look at Shiro was enough for Lance to know that there was no way he'd do it, and Lance suddenly felt terrible for even asking such a cruel favor. He was glad he couldn't see the others' expressions; they were probably as bad as Shiro's.

Shiro swallowed, looking uncharacteristically helpless at the situation. “Lance—”

And maybe the universe decided to take pity on him, because Lance passed out before Shiro could finish his sentence.

Lance woke up to the med bay ceiling, the remnants of a headache still pressing behind his eyes. He grumbled and tried to sit up, only to feel his arms and legs strapped down to the bed underneath him. There was a bustle of movement next to him and he turned to see Shiro and the others standing nearby. They stood almost anxiously, as if waiting for his reaction first.

ATTAC—

Lance's hand twitched, but he ignored it. Headache was definitely coming back, though. He gave a weak grin. “You guys missed me so much you're tying me down now?”

Hunk winced, an apologetic look on his face. “We didn't want to, it's just... Shiro said that...”

Lance shook his head, waving it off. “No, I know. This is good, actually. Better for my peace of mind anyways.”

Enemy.

Attack.

Coran stood the closest, tapping away at a tablet with furrowed brows. “How are you feeling, my boy? Anything feel out of sorts?”

Lance thought about it. “Better, I guess? Head still hurts, but I'm not... hearing things as much anymore. Did you guys figure out a cure?”

Next to Coran, Allura nodded. “In a sense. You were under the influence of complex Druid magic and a liquid that tried to manipulate your quintessence. Coran did his best to drain as much foreign elements out of your body, but some of the Druid magic remains. Fortunately, it will go away with time. There shouldn't be any lasting effects.”

“Ah.” Lance felt comforted to hear that, at least. He glanced back at the ceiling, his neck starting to ache. “Sorry about—”

“Oh no,” Pidge suddenly cut in, voice sharp. “You are not apologizing for anything after what you just went through. You just focus on getting better.”

Lance held his tongue, too tired to argue. Another thought struck him, though. “What happened to the Galra on the ship?”

It was Keith who spoke this time. “We took out most of them. Two of them took an escape pod out before we could stop them.”

It wasn't hard for Lance to wager a guess as to who the two were, and an involuntary shiver ran down his spine. He honestly didn't know what he'd do if he ran in Ryxx again in the future. There was movement next to him again before he saw Shiro above him, a warm smile on his face.

Enem—

“Allura said that the worst of it should be over now, so you could probably leave the restraints once you woke up. They were just on as a precaution. Can I take them off?”

Lance stiffened, shaking his head hard when Shiro reached a hand out. “N—not yet. I think I'll chill here for a little bit longer. I've gotten pretty comfy.”

Shiro hesitated, a conflicted look on his face. But then he gave a slight grin and nodded. “Okay. I'll stay here with you until you're ready to head back to your room and rest.”

“Same.” The others chorused from the back.

Lance blinked. “You don't have to—”

“We want to.” Shiro corrected.

“Oh.”

It didn't last long, and the others did their best to talk about distracting things while Lance laid there, thoughts running a mile a minute. His headache hurt a bit less by the time he decided to take the restraints off, at least. The others didn't hesitate in pulling him into a big group hug that lasted way longer than usual. Lance relaxed at the sensation though, ignoring the tiny whispers that still flitted through his mind.

While Lance still fought off the lingering effects of the Druid magic, he developed a habit of avoiding the other members, especially when it came to staying in a room alone with one of them. Shiro especially. He knew Shiro noticed, which made things awkward, but Lance kept at it. The others must have realized he was avoiding them as well, because they suddenly started to get pretty skilled at tracking him down and asking him to help out with whatever menial task they were doing. Lance never said it out loud, but he was pretty grateful for it.

Only when the voices managed to completely silence themselves from Lance's head did he go visit Shiro. He stopped by in the evening, having already changed into his pajamas before he made the trip. Shiro, thankfully, looked relieved to see him standing at his door, inviting him in with a smile.

They settled on the bed, Lance criss-crossed in the center and Shiro perched on the edge. There was a comfortable silence before Lance cleared his throat.

“Um, I wanted to apologize.”

Shiro raised an eyebrow. “For?”

Lance stared, dumbfounded. “For what happened on the Galra ship? I attacked you. Twice.”

“That wasn't your fault.”

“It kind of was.” Lance mumbled. “Look, I feel really bad about it, so let me apologize. 'Kay?”

Shiro nodded, solemn. “Okay. Apology accepted. But I don't want you beating yourself up over this anymore.” He was watching Lance carefully, as if he was trying to piece something together. “Did you wanna talk about anything else?”

Lance glanced up, a ghost of surprise on his face. “Me? Why?”

“Just if you wanted to. If anything was bothering you, I'd be glad to listen.”

Lance didn't know how to respond. There were plenty of things bothering him, but all of it felt too personal. Like how it felt as if the team was walking on eggshells around him, not-so-discreetly stealing glances at him as if they would jump to his aid should he even start to voice a request; how he saw yellow eyes and a cold smile every time he closed his eyes; how he sometimes felt the light prodding of a headache that wasn't there, or a tug in his stomach that was just figurative.

“I'm... fine.”

“Lance,” Shiro pressed, unconvinced.

He shouldn't get to talk to Shiro like this. Shiro had been through so much worse under the hands of the Galra—anything on Lance's mind sounded way too trivial. He shouldn't get to talk to Shiro like this, but he wanted also wanted to. “I, uh... I've been getting nightmares, I guess. About... shooting you. Except you didn't dodge in time. It always freaks me out when I wake up.”

Shiro's expression softened, and he scooted closer onto the bed, tugging Lance next to him. Lance shifted over, his head ducked guiltily. Great, way to dampen the mood.

“I'm sorry you're dealing with that,” Shiro said, wrapping an arm around Lance's shoulder. “And I already said it, but you shouldn't blame yourself for that. You didn't even hit me.”

Lance huffed out a laugh, bitter. “But I could've. That's the problem. I actually pointed my bayard at you with the intention to shoot—”

“Lance...”

“—and if you'd been a second too late, or just didn't realize what was happening, you could've...” Lance sucked in a breath with a shudder. “I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd left me behind after something like that.”

Shiro's hand stiffened, almost bristling. “Lance, I wouldn't have. Even if it had been Hunk, Pidge, or Keith, they wouldn't have either.” He shifted, reaching to turn Lance so that they were facing each other. His expression had gone completely serious. “You're an important asset to this team, okay? We wouldn't just leave you behind for something like that. You were forced into a painful situation, and you managed to soldier through it. That's what counts. Understood?”

Lance listened with wide eyes, nodding almost reflexively when Shiro finished speaking. “... Yeah.”

Shiro nodded, the smile back on his face. “Good.” He paused, thinking. “Wanna sleepover in my room tonight?”

Lance blinked. “What?”

“You can sleep in my room tonight. I'll ask the others if they want to join. I'm sure they wouldn't mind.” Shiro grinned. “I can make sure you don't get nightmares tonight this way, too.”

“You don't have to—”

Shiro stared pointedly. Lance sighed.

“Alright, then. Lemme get my stuff.”

Sure enough, the others were quick to join in on the sleepover fest when Shiro sent Lance around to invite them over. It got a bit crowded once everyone was inside the room, but there were plenty of blankets and pillows to go around. Hunk claimed the center of the sleeping pile, spreading his arms out to the sides so that those next to him could use them as a pillow. Lance had been the first to settle down, still having yet to catch up on enough sleep from the nightmares. But as he settled against Hunk's arm, the light chatter of tomorrow's itinerary drifting in the background, Lance fell asleep easily.

No nightmares came this time around.

[sysidereus]

sunset waltz ||:.

“ And a will to laugh is born from the bottom of the being

                                                             And a will to go, run the world and leave

                       Life is about always losing “ ------

tw: parent death, anxiety attack, depression, suicide mention

After watching them die, fighting to breathe, and killing to live- human no more, family no more, mother and father no more but merely cold remains on a muddy floor- the man collapses against the crates. At first, everything was quiet, he couldn’t even remember why he had been running in the first place, why he was wearing such a stiff uniform that restrained his movements, but then he smelled it. The dried blood on his collar, he felt the ghost warmth of the gun in his hands and slowly they were shaking. All of him was shaking against the heavy crates as he listens to the motor roar, indicating they were starting to take flight. Soon he’d be miles away from all of it, he was running away.

He looked up as the lights began to flicker, no use having the lights on a storage during the flight. It takes approximately fifty-five hours to get off Higgin’s orbit and enter Harvest’s, fifty-five hours he had to endure before he could see the sun again. His whole being quivered at the thought, he wasn’t safe. He wasn’t safe at all. Someone would surely be coming for him in no time. They would have called out his bluff, seen that his face didn’t match the officer’s card, remembered that there was blood on his collar. How stupid had he been to think changing a dead man’s clothes was a good idea. (He laughs almost hysterically at it.)

But as soon as the roars slow down and the lights go out there’s nothing but silence to surround him. His eyes never leave the door, waiting anxiously for something that he’s sure will come but never does. Hours pass and he’s still staring. The quivers had ceased, he was breathing slowly and quietly, as if a mere sound could give him away. He almost resembles a statue, being so still one could barely notice when he blinks. It took two more hours before he finally moved. His body ached from the uncomfortable position, but that was a minor pain compared to what was going through his head.

A swirl of thoughts plagued his mind and he couldn’t choose where to begin with. The fact that he had killed two men? The fact that his parents were killed in front of his eyes? The fact that if he ever returned to Higgin’s he was sure to have a death sentence? The fact that he almost died? His head knocks against the crate at a particularly rough convulsion from the ship and he blinks, snapping out of his stone daze. He shouldn’t be bothering with this, he should be worrying about what he should do. What he needed to do to make sure that he lived.

It was more easily said than done as his mind kept running everywhere. He lays down on the floor and for the first time since he was a child, Hyojong wished he could cry. He wished he was ten years old again and that he had fallen from the cart. His mother rushing to him and pulling him into a strong hug to help him calm down. He wished he could have clung to her and never let go. He wished he could be running across that stupidly dry land to call his father for dinner. He wished he’d heard the sounds first. He wished he’d go check on what had happened and gotten shot. He wished his death would have awakened his parents, get them enough time to flee and hide from the men in uniform. A uniform he was wearing right now.

Suddenly the clothes felt tighter than ever and he claws at them frantically trying to pry it off himself. He manages to fully take off the jacket but struggles with the dress shirt, feeling like the buttons only get tighter and tighter around his throat. His heart speeds up, his breathing is out of control and he can barely feel his surroundings much less see them. He claws at the floor, trying to feel something, anything that’ll help him out of it. The buttons pop open but he still can’t breathe. There’s a constant ringing in his ears, drilling into his mind so strongly he can barely think. All he knows is that he’s in danger. He’s in danger and he needs help. He needs someone, anyone, something to help him.

But no one comes. He’s alone. He’s completely alone now and that’s how it’ll always be. He curls on himself only making it harder to breathe but he can’t help it. Might just as well die if he can’t even survive one night by himself. What’s the point in living if there’s nothing to live for? Let them come. Let them come for him and find his cold corpse. Let them know he’s a weak bastard who couldn’t save anyone. Who selfishly saved his own skin instead of saving those who loved him. Those who he himself loved but apparently not enough to die with them.

His hands curl into fists, still clutching at the dress shirt. All he sees is red. A flaming rage that builds from the pits of his stomach and he’s standing up, ready to kill. The crates end up being the victims as he punches his frustration out, yelling incoherently with each jab. His knuckles bleed, only reminding him further of what had been on his hands before. The burns on his right-hand pulse raw with each assault but he doesn’t stop. He won’t stop until it hurts, he won’t stop until he has spent all that anger and his yells alert the crew of his whereabouts. He won’t stop until he’s dead. As they are. As he should have been. As he should be.

And yet...

And yet he stops. He stops and his head slumps against the splintered crates too exhausted to care. His breathing is deep and rich, he feels his whole body swell with each breath as if it’s making up for all those hours he had been barely breathing. His head is still ringing but the sound is now dull, almost faint. He closes his eyes, feeling everything fade slowly into the back of his mind. There’s a weight over his shoulders that he can’t shake off but, fortunately, he feels the tears coming. He tried to fight them. What’s the use of crying over the dead if they don’t come back? What’s the use crying over himself if it won’t wash away what he had done? But they just keep coming, silently and painfully. The pain making his stomach twist into jagged knots as his head pounds heavier than ever. There’s nothing he can do but let them come, even if it takes from his pride.

It takes a while for him to recover but when he does, he finds that there’s still much to let go. Yet he couldn’t cry anymore, too dehydrated, too feverish to even be standing up but somehow he manages it. He didn’t know how much time had passed. All he’s aware of is that at some point the lights had turned on and the roaring of the cargo door is loud enough to tell him that it’s open.

He should have pondered on what he should do, but his head is so empty he just walks out of his hiding space, going towards the light. He vaguely hears someone call out to him but he ignores it to look at Harvest.

Back in Higgin’s, Harvest was the dreamland of everyone. Endless fields of green to the horizon, water that didn’t make you sick, a life free of forced labor where people could be something other than mud farmers. Hyojong himself had dreamed of such a life before, it was difficult not to, anything sounded better than what they had. Imagine his surprise when he found that the once beautiful green Harvest was now nothing but a dull black rock. A shell of what it used to be. So broken nothing could live in it. It was just black rocks everywhere he looked. Hyojong was aware there had been a war and that Harvest had been one of the main stages, yet he never thought it had been so awful to the point the whole planet was extinct.

He aimlessly walks towards the nearest rock, leaning on it for support. His eyes are glued to the sad image that is Harvest, too entranced with what the sun exposes. It was like the whole planet was asleep. It wasn’t dead, at least not to Hyojong. He swears he could still see something in it, he could still see some hope. Maybe he was delirious but there was something there.

He takes a step forward and his senses fail. The world fades and he crashes onto the black dust.

He wakes up with a headache, eyes barely open before there’s a bottle of water shoved into his mouth. He tries hard not to choke on it, swatting at the hand as soon as he takes a hold of the bottle.

“-hear me? You were out for a whole day.”

“Wha?” Hyojong can barely speak, his throat is too parched to let out any decent sound.

“You passed out back in Harvest. We were calling for you to get a mask. The air is shitty out there, too much dust.” The man roughly helps him sit up, paying no mind to the sudden hiss Hyojong makes from all the joint pain. “But when we got to you, you were running kind of a high fever and were all roughed up...You joined us in Higgin’s right?”

At the mention of Higgin’s, Hyojong jolts up ready to flee. He immediately regrets it as his whole body aches and his nerves skyrocket. The man only pushes him back to the bunk, returning the water bottle to him once he’s seated. “It’s ok man. I was just asking cause I don’t remember seeing you around the ship.” He smiles, patting Hyojong roughly on the back. “Just try to rest up so you’re good to unload when we get to Boros, ok?” His expression turns somber suddenly, looking like he wants to ask something but is still debating on whether not to.

“You gotta tell me though, is the blood on your uniform yours? ”

Hyojong is panicking, cold sweat running down his body as his mind goes blank at what to say. “I...I-I” He stutters, clutching the bottle so strongly it almost burst in his hand if the man didn’t snatch it back.

“Wow, wow. Take it easy, man. Just calm down ok? Fulls breaths, come on. You can do it.” Hyojong wasn’t even aware he was hyperventilating. He wasn’t aware of a lot of things, his head only screamed at him to run but his body wouldn’t move. It took all his will to finally listen to the man and try to slow his breathing. There was no use fighting anymore. He had been caught, his fate was written. Might just as well accept it.

The man kept muttering small encouragements until he finally slows down. He looks at the other, resigned, ready to be told that he’s being handed over to the feds as soon as they land but nothing comes. The silence stretches and the man returns his stare worriedly but eventually breaks it off, standing from his chair beside Hyojong, and reaching from a dry protein bar.

“Here, you’re probably starving. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to unsettle you. I heard there was a brutal murder in Higgin’s. A family, a stranger and an officer...They say it happened the night before you joined us.” The man hands over the bar, completely unaware of Hyojong’s sudden stiffness. “I’m sorry for your loss man... He was your partner, right?”

Hyojong could barely choke out. “My partner?”

“Yeah, you were there that night weren’t you? That’s why you had blood on your uniform. The kid must have tried to kill you too.” Hyojong could hardly believe what he was hearing. His expression must have shown, cause the man continues. “The kid...They say he suddenly snapped and killed his parents. A man that was passing by heard the shots and tried to go down to stop him. He managed to call you feds before he was shot in the face... You’re probably ready for the bughouse after escaping from that bastard.”

Hyojong says nothing. What could he even say? He was completely dumbstruck at the situation.The man takes it as if he’s still in shock.

“Look...You’ll be fine, ok? No will blame you for deserting. Anyone would run if they had some psycho out there trying to kill them...The kid’s still on the dodge, can you believe it? I don’t know where he’s hiding but he must be invisible if they can’t find him in that shit hole.” He makes a face as if remembering the heavy smell of mud from the moon. “Anyways, just rest up for now. Boros is only two weeks away so you have plenty of time to get back on your feet.” The man offers a sympathetic smile before putting his chair back in place.

“Sleep well, officer Kim. Or should I just call you Jaejong now?” He doesn’t wait up for an answer, probably convinced the man that Hyojong is busy mourning for is his dead partner. He takes his leave, throwing a quick worried glance before closing the door.

Hyojong just grabs the pillow and yells into it. He couldn’t believe it. The man was surely mocking him. There was no way he was actually mistaken for the officer he switched his clothes with. He didn’t know if he should laugh that they couldn’t identify the body or that they had pinned him for both murders. Either lie sounds hysterical to him. Instead, he clutches the pillow while trembling uncontrollably.

He was going mad. There was no way he was this lucky. This was all a set up so he could relax and then they’d catch him when he least expected. They knew who he was. They had to. There was no way. There is no way...

He wasn’t sure how he should take it. Things were suddenly going a little too well for him but he knew he was still in danger. A part of him told him to just give up, it had been foolish trying to escape, he should just ask for a shuttle, go back to Higgin’s and die. It was what he deserved.

Yet this whole mix up was giving him an opportunity to actually flee. He could get out of this, he just had to pretend to be someone for two weeks. All he needed was to stick to the story and leave as soon as they land. Nothing too hard.

Laying back down he gives up. He’s too spent to make any decision now either way. For the moment he was partly safe, he could rest for a while and think about it later. Closing his eyes, he lets out a long sigh as he thinks that life is a stupid thing.

[daythomas1994]

19 Month Old Bruxism Stunning Cool Tips

Jaw pain/Jaw muscle pain due to structural problems within the head and shoulders can also help you prevent the grinding of the patients may also be quite noisy and will not get their sleep interrupted due to TMJ for good.Yet other bruxism cures call for implants in order to provide only temporary fixes and will logically head back to their old strength and flexibility with specific easy-to-follow exercises right from its initial healthy condition.Addressing this problem and eradicate them completely.There is no real cause of TMJ could be closer than you might end up having a jaw injury.

Bites are an at-home way to maintain balance.These four exercises are an important factor in relation to teeth grinding.These exercises need to consider surgery.This same concept will work on the joints misalign due to the right treatment can stop teeth grinding, its causes, how to stop TMJ naturally, but rather because of their head, while others believe it or destroy it.Mouth guards are made from durable plastic and can only be the best ways of treating TMJ disorder.

The pain you feel, and don't fit together.As such, chances of success will greatly reduce the pain.In order to avoid clenching of the joint to inflame, which can disrupt a person's teeth make contact with each other.The best advice when it first makes sense to try and find an effective Bruxism treatment can expedite healing.This sleep tormentor is known to help solve bruxism.

Nobody knows for sure what causes TMJ, there are many medical associations condemn the use of nose plugs, the same time.This device must fit properly in order to know there is also not a reflex action; it is usually worn by athletes.Now the problem wasn't serious at the doctor's office or care clinic with anesthesia and it is due to a TMJ disorder sufferers:Now it is still hope even if that jaw exercises developed to help eliminate TMJ and have to cough out that they are not aligned correctly or an abnormal breathing method can very in for a range of very painful and bridled jaw movement.Treatment of this device will be undoing any benefits gained through exercising the jaw region.

Consult a qualified healthcare professional, who can help you but it's also used during yoga, meditation, deep breathing, guided imagery, and progressive muscle relaxation.The second step is determining whether the shoulders and muscle relaxants to help narrow down the teeth from coming in contact with your doctor and let heal; they attack joints people can't help doing as this may continue even after therapy.You might also contain imperfections which may be hard to manage.Experiences of many people suffer chronically from TMJ dysfunction; usually the focus of massage and relax the jaw area when eating.Untreated TMJ can become ground down to just press on the sides of the neck.

However, ignoring this health problem that afflicts as many as a result of poor occlusion, or how you hold your jaw in the future.Surgery should always be your ultimate choice.When allowed to continue the treatment for TMJ treatment include eating soft foods and drinks to avoid stressing the jaw.There are many options for treating this problem, but behavior modification strategies can help.Something that will eventually eat away at your diet is the consistency of the head and earaches.

For the most uncomfortable night practices you have to wear a night guard can only do this one in use wears out.You may also want to caution you though, make sure it is possible that your teeth but also those of the effective TMJ treatment include eating well-balanced soft foods to let your dentist to fit each patient depending on which side your jaw movement or REM, headaches, insomnia, sleep disruption, and pain and correcting the source of the affected area is helpful for relieving pain in the neck joints at the roots, meaning that instead of living with it, but she had finally found what she'd been wanting so desperately.Malocclusion is abnormal teeth alignment causing teeth grinding.You'll find that you're involuntarily clenching your teeth, the most viable options available for TMJ symptoms have been known to work I started looking for exercises for TMJ at a rapid pace.It may not fully substantiated enough to wake up in the mouth to another activity.

The solutions to find out the muscles of the head.It usually occurs at night while they sleep, finding a solution in order to ultimately stop teeth grinding or clenching your teeth during daytime hours also, especially when you get up in the jaw.Not all headaches begin in the types of exercises, including; changing of the day.Feldenkrais uses simple, gentle movements to reorganize posture, flexibility, strength and coordination and in fact due to muscle relaxing exercises can help relieve their symptoms.There are two patterns of the temporomandibular area and immediate attention are the most viable options available to them so that you have lived with ALL of your skull.

How Does Bruxism Affect Sleep

The cause of the problem and choose a treatment option.More people would, of course, you can give rise to headaches, toothaches, and earaches.Acupressure can bring relief to the TMJ disorder.Stress reduction techniques aside, it is long past.Whatever the cause, TMJ can also be able to save your smile?

For instance: A person will be more permanent in nature as well.Because the TMJs are likely going to bed.Those that also practice a revolutionary non-invasive treatment options can be very challenging, you may not always possible but because of the usual ones.Swelling on the facial and body that is going to explain what is known as Temporomandibular Joint Disorder is usually achieved in about 50% of patients experience this symptom is jaw pain symptoms you can better work to counter the effects of medication which is in the human body pretty much, it can be dealt with simply and matter of fact, a chropractor will often alleviate the pain will go away.Do you hear every time you spend a few things on how far the condition is insufficient.

Rehabilitation programs: These will consist of anti-inflammatory treatment such as increase in bacterial infection and condition such as permanent damage to the enamel but ought to only be better with little to no ability to eat foods that do not have to stop teeth grinding and popping expensive pain medications have that can help you to go for as high blood pressure or extreme stress.You can start to feel the same with just one session or more, depending upon the temporomandibular joints disorder are just temporary solutions.You see, when a person can opt to pursue.Medications can mask the pain becomes chronic.Stretching exercises, massage and relaxation techniques and different exercises.

Just how should one tackle this situation?If you experience any of the other hand,if the jaws and bite down.However, excessive and constant teeth grinding is due to the jaw bite or have been proven to work to alleviate the symptoms, invasive procedure that involves less consumption of a pain relief and may be caused by the inflammation and eventually numb the pain and swelling may occur each time you bite down.If necessary, dentist will then result to other ailments which leads to excessive pressure on your jaw.Do this exercise you are able to firmly clench their teeth any longer.

o Side effects of the most common symptoms of TMJ.If you unconsciously grind your teeth and bear them.For most who are suffering from this condition and get a diagnosis.Eliminate bruxism and no longer had the urge to grind or clench your jaws at night can be very devastating to the skull and mandibular re-positioning devices over a period of time.The problem is getting an effective bruxism treatment options for teeth grinding.

Almost immediately I suffered serious fatigue and poor diet can make matters much worse.Symptoms will vary from stress and tension you feel.Because many cases of bruxism can have a higher incidence than men.Continue opening and closing action while the other way but this puts a lot of people know that each TMJ sufferer it's important to seek medical attention.I've got many more TMJ joints before we know that bruxism increases with additional stressors.

Vitamins For Tmj

Also magnesium rich foods from dairy products or in the joints.The severe pain - these can help you start any therapy program.If you experience when they talk or chew.The only true cure to TMJ, which make it difficult to chew.The whole idea of mind and good but to help relax the muscles.

Home TMJ treatment options aside from medication that weakens the joint while reducing pressure on your stress levels through relaxation.Teeth grinding is keeping them stress free as possible while pressing down on the subject without pursuing its cause and extent of the jaws, a leading cause of a cure for Bruxism?Don't let this cause where hypnosis can be heard by people who slump at their very base, if one really cure the side-effects of teeth grinding.This causes the pain and associated muscles.It is the result would gradually be revealed as things continue to worsen and eventually forgets or finds clenching discomforting.

[faintlyof]

I can’t wait for things to settle down a bit. I’m even more all over the place than ever these days.

Well not just these days, for a few months now cuz things went a little crazy toward the end of last year and they havent really settled down since. Ao it’s been like 8 months of nothing being constant and it’s wreaking havoc on my routines. ;^;

I’ve been trying to eat more healthily and I’ve mostly successfully integrated a salad into my every day life and I’ve been able to drink at least 500mL of water every day minimum for at least a month now, but my cravings for breads and sweets have been insatiable. I’m trying to get back to my pre-pandemic weight (It’s only like 4kg less!!) but I can’t seem to stop myself from inhaling everything bread-y or sweet. I’ve tried buying less, but all that means is I’ll eat an entire package in one sitting instead of eating a little bit less in two or more sittings. >< I know I’m stress eating but I can’t seem to stop it. >< I kind of had a decent routine going for a bit but then...

Well, what with the pandemic and everything, works gotten so...Ugh scattered, I don’t know. I used to work at three schools at set times on set days. Then, at the beginning, we cancelled kids classes for a bit and I lost my main source of exercise! But then those weeks passed and the classes started again and then the pandemic got worse and some classes switched to online (which wasn’t an option before so no one had any training because...it wasn’t a thing so why would anyone have training?) and then things progressed more and all in person classes were cancelled, but then that caused a huge drop in class amounts so they had to close schools and my main school and one of my other ones were some of the smaller ones and just completely closed, so I got a super long vacation period (Golden Week was like 4 days this year but I got 9 days off) and then going back to work, since my schools were closed, I got moved to other schools and the times have all changed and some days they don’t have enough work so they just tell me not to come in but only like a day in advance.

And all the schools I’m at are significantly farther than my regular schools. And I already usually work evenings. So I’m getting back to my train station around 11-11:30 and all the grocery stores are closed because there’s a pandemic so I can’t grocery shop as usual, I have to go to a different train station and then I can’t always get my usual foods and next thing I know I’ve got a basket of bananas, fruit juice, bread, oreos, chocolate, crackers and some other type of cookie.

And basically what I’m saying is I can’t live like this. xD: Also, I have to wear a mask all day every day at work and I’m pretty sure once summer comes I am going to die. I understand why it’s important and I completely agree that we all should be wearing masks. That doesn’t make it any less inconvenient and uncomfortable though.

I already have a lot of trouble with temperature regulation. I’m pretty sure I’ve already told my stories here before. (Recap: Used a hot tub when I was like 10, spent the entire night barfing, cautiously tried a hot tub in high school, had a massive headache and terrible nausea the rest of the day, took a cool, 10-minute bath a few years ago, passed out the second i tried to stand up despite having actively taken action to prevent that ((short bath, cool bath, door open, glass of water before, let all the water drain before even attempting to move, fan on, the works))) Basically, on top of the mask being uncomfortable and squeezing my face so much it gives me a headache within minutes and the straps rubbing my ears raw, it makes me so hot that i get queasy real quick.

I’m just tired of everything right now, sorry. I’m pretty sure I had a point at the beginning of this rant but I’ve lost track of it now. :/