#a fractured reflection

[stargazingdustbunny]

Apparently I am very good at giving people the vibe that I have been part of their organization and they have known me for much longer than I actually have. This isn't just true of almost no one realizing how new I am to this website, it's happened at school, camp, and other places.

Not sure what about me causes this, but it's kind of funny and sweet when someone who actually has been there forever thinks that you have too.

[madcat-world]

The Moon - Karina Refrynn

[kingc0da]

My one in a lifetime post on Tumblr.. I still don't know how to use this app, here is art of Mohawk! Mark and Mainstream! Mark. There's lore behind this drawing but I'm lowkey toolazy to explain it but basically: brothers AU.!!!! 1!1'qmm yay how do tags?

[squicky-fannish-discourse]

Contd. to this event

MASTER POST OF THIS AU

Hiromi imagined her first beyblading match to be vastly different. Probably with some other rookie in a smaller, more manageable stadium, and under less threatening circumstances.

Not against one of the strongest bladers of their generation, and Kai may kill her. And she wants to save him.

Whatever.

If... the desire to win, or love beyblading is a source of motivation for her team... then is... wanting to save people... a source of motivation?

And then she thought of the sleepless nights lately.

She thought of Grandpa, waiting for Takao to come home.

She thought of Mao crying on the phone.

This Blake ... he has control of her team.

And the flames around her grew in response to her feeling of frustration.

"Hey!" she screamed through the flames. "KAI!"

He wasn't listening, as he was getting angrier.

"KAI!"

"These disgusting flames!" he snarled. "I will extinguish them."

"What?" she asked slowly.

She looked around herself at Blue Suzaku.

Why does... her bit-beast infuriate him?

Whatever!

"Kai, I don't know if you can hear me, but you're part of our team. Takao, Myself, Max, Rei, Daichi, Kyoujyu," she called out to him. "You fought with us for BBA, against Brooklyn, against the odds—"

"SHUT UP!"

"YOU WERE AN IMPORTANT PART OF OUR TEAM!" she yelled.

But it doesn't matter anymore who he beat... does it? This is not him... is it? What does she really know of Kai?

He roared in anger. "SHUT UP!"

Her Suzaku and Suzaku clashed at the heart of the warehouse, as they both yelled in unison, lighting up, and blowing off the rooftop as their beyblades rammed into each other. Sparks flew. The windows blew out. The night sky was lit up with sparks. Heat and wind surrounded they yelled their attacks.

"SUZAKUUUU! FIRE ARROW!"

"SUZAKUU!" she repeated. "FIRE-ARROW!"

"STOP COPYING ME!"

They both clashed and set the entire warehouse walls on fire as Hiromi felt the bit-beast surround her with blue flames to protect her from the onslaught. Her beyblade collided into his.

For a brief second, a sliver of a second, through fire, sparks and smoke, she saw his eyes clear from that cloudiness. He stared at her. Hiromi was thrown back.

"I..." she got to her feet. She may not know everything about him. But one thing's for sure. "YOU ARE NOT A PUPPET!"

For a split second, he widened his eyes at her.

And then he clutched his head.

"SHUT UP SHUT UP!" he screamed.

"NO!" she yelled back. "IF MY VOICE ANNOYS YOU! LET IT! THIS IS NOT WHO YOU ARE! YOU'RE NOT A PUPPET!"

Hiromi got to her feet, ignoring her burns.

"I SWEAR WHATEVER IT TAKES, I'LL DRAG YOU AND THE OTHERS OUT OF THIS HELL, BUT STARTING WITH YOU! WE'RE GOING BACK HOME. I'M NOT GOING TO LET HIM USE YOU!"

Then she felt it. A link. Something tethering the two of them.

This... Connection. Their flames started to connect, creating a circle around them.

The fires around Kai collapsed, as he's struggling against something, the mind-control or whatever. He trashed around, as he crashed to his knees.

She tried to cross over towards him.

Then circle of flames collapsed.

His flames barred her.

"I..." she thought. "I'm not strong enough to brave Suzaku's flames... but still... I can't do nothing. He's so close."

The flames increased in intensity.

"Kai..." she held out her hand.

He had his head in his hands.

"Kai, listen to me," she said. "You're strong enough to break free of this. You're stronger than you think. I..."

He then stood up as the flames around started to coil, and they increased in ferocious intensity forming a powerful fire vortex around him.

His eyes were red again.

Hiromi stared at him with wide eyes.

"Suzaku," he said. "Burn her."

Seriously?

Hiromi stared up at the powerful vortex.

She... she can't copy this one... This... true Suzaku is too powerful. She felt her helplessness fight against her frustration.

That's when another beyblade entered the fray. "You ain't gunna do that to her, KAI!" she heard. "YOU'LL REGRET IT!"

"Wolborg! ATTACK!"

And an ice-bridge divided them protecting her from Suzaku's onslaught.

"FALBORGGG!"

"SEABORG!!"

What?

Hiromi kept her eyes trained on Kai, who glared at them, and Suzaku shattered the ice. He was struggling.

Suzaku churned within fire, as a maniacal grin overtook Kai's face, and Hiromi's heart broke.

And with one final clash, Suzaku sent their beyblades flying. The Flames covered his departure through flames and smoke, as he looked over his shoulder at her one last time.

She thought she saw someone else through the flames.

She got to her feet.

Huh?

And then she broke into a run.

"OI!" Yuriy yelled at her.

She ran through the warehouse, past the smoke and fire, and the falling beams. And out into the cold night, where she saw nothing. HIromi spun around.

"Kai?" she called out into the night. "KAI!"

The sound of the waves crashing against the shoreline met her followed by the sound of another beam falling.

.

.

.

"I dunno what to do!" Boris said. "We looked all 'round for 'im, and can't find him."

Hiromi walked up to them, past the warehouses which were on fire.

"Drat," Yuriy said. "So he's gone or something."

"I was gunna beat 'im up before he tried to beat me up!" Boris said.

Sergei nodded solemnly, and he glanced over at Hiromi.

"What do we tell Kyoujyu? Is this the girl he was worried about?"

There was... a moment there... She sighed. She's so tired.

"Oi," Yuriy called out to her. "Are you the one who Kyoujyu was worried 'bout?"

"Oi, GIRL! YOU! GIRL!" Boris said. "If we weren't gunna save ya, you'd be roasted. Where's our thanks?" He wagged his finger at her.

She blinked as she looked up.

"Oh," she said with a smile "Thanks for that."

And they stared at her awkwardly, like they didn't expect her to thank them.

"Kyoujyu sent you?" she continued. She had been talking to him on the phone when she spotted Kai around the town.

"I didn't know Takao's teammate could beyblade," Yuriy said as he squinted at her.

"I don't."

"Huh!?" Boris said. "Then whaddya doing beyblading Kai?! Are ya crazy?"

"Haha. Well he was in town... for one reason or the other... likely to finish off Brooklyn, and I ran into him on my way back."

"Oh."

"Oh okay?!?"

"GUYS!"

She spun around to see Kyoujyu.

"You guys are safe! And Kai didn't destroy you guys."

"Whaddya mean Kai can destroy us?" Boris got all up in his face.

Yuriy stared at Kyoujyu and then he pointed at Hiromi, who rubbed the back of her head with a sheepish look.

"She was beyblading him, actually."

"Huh!?" Kyoujyu asked her. "I... I thought I told you not to do that!"

"Kyoujyu," Hiromi said with a smile.

"We don't know the capabilities of... something like that?! Incomplete Suzaku. What kind of... it's so cold and weird...?!"

"Kyoujyu."

"And beyblading Kai?! Are you serious!? Do you want to die!?"

"Kyoujyu."

"I KNOW WE'RE both frustrated! But you can at least wait for Brooklyn and me?!"

He pointed at the warehouse which was still burning.

"Kyoujyu!"

"What!?"

He was fuming. The Demolition boys stared between them.

"I think..." she said with a sooty smile. "I think I almost managed to break control off Kai."

He stared at her with wide eyes.

"Wot," Yuriy asked.

[notafanbut]

Have binged watched the first 10 episodes, and it is amazing. Beautifully shot and acted. His way of caring for her without making her feel she is a burden. Giving her all the things she feels she doesn't deserve. The bigger bedroom (I want this room), food, soup, dumplings, fireworks, proper coffee....

He knows how he feels, how he has always felt, but doesn't know how she feels, because, actually neither does she consciously.....subconsciously he's her sun, her home, her safe space. She has no issues being around him and considering past interactions with men, that speaks volumes. He uses his cold demeanour and demanding ways to get her to do things - get pizza, come shopping.....

They are an old married couple already.

[epickiya722]

Does Yuji have his whole hand in Sukuna's chest?! Do my eyes deceive me?!

[loopstagirl]

Fractured Reflection, Ch 4

TW: Prisoner of war, torture

With many thanks to @scribbles97 for keeping me inspired!

Scott's POV 1 | Jeff's POV 1 | Scott's POV 2 | Jeff's POV 2 | Scott's POV 3 | Jeff's POV 3

Chapter 4 - Scott's POV

It took several days after the debriefing for Scott to find any semblance of balance again. Saying it out loud, putting that room into words, made it real and tangible. It seemed so close, like it was just down the corridor and if they decided they didn’t like his answers, that’s where he was going until he changed his story.

The nightmares got worse. A low-grade fever left him sweating and shaking as he struggled to deal with the shock of what they’d suggested.

Him. A traitor.

Captain Scott Tracy of the United States Air Force, decorated pilot, son of Jeff Tracy, a legendary hero, a traitor.

The worst part was that for a second, he wondered if it was true.

During the darkest moments, he couldn’t remember what he’d told them. He had bargained with them, forcing their attention on him to protect the rest of his team. He didn’t think he was stronger than them, far from it. But they were his squad. It was his duty, his responsibility, to keep them from harm.

The water boarding. The room. The beatings. The humiliation. Scott always believed his family had stopped him from losing his mind: those precious memories giving him a fragile grip on reality. But what if his mouth had betrayed him, betrayed his country, even as his mind drifted away with thoughts of his mother’s smiling face; his brothers’ laughing; his father’s strong arms keeping him safe?

His dad wasn’t enough this time. But by the time the fever broke and they got him back on solid foods again, a therapist had been lined up. The first session left him more wrung out than any of his recovery so far, but it had helped.

Deep down, he knew he hadn’t betrayed anyone, other than maybe himself. It hadn’t taken long for someone to help him reassert his self-belief and shake off the thoughts those Generals had planted in his head.

Of course, it helped that the Generals didn’t come back with any other questions. Scott had a feeling Colonel Casey had something to do with that. She’d been almost as furious as his father at what they’d been insinuating, and Scott knew his ‘aunt’ would’ve have given some higher-ups hell over it, regardless of rank.

But now, things had started looking up again. He’d had another session with the therapist. Then he’d been introduced to a different sort of therapist. Scott had been both looking forward to, and dreading, the start of physical therapy. He wanted to get back on his feet, wanted full motion back again. But he didn’t want to face his own weakness. Never mind his mouth; his body had certainly betrayed him.

It was both better and worse than he had anticipated. But there was one side effect he hadn’t considered.

It exhausted him. More than anything. In fact, it exhausted him so much he managed to sleep without nightmares tearing him from his new reality to his old one.

A week after the debriefing, Scott slowly opened his eyes. It was bright in the room, a natural light rather than the glow of the lamp he insisted was left on. Purely to help anyone coming and going, of course.

But for the first time, he’d slept the night through.

He felt it, too. The blanket was a warm weight rather than the suffocating restraint it had been previously. He hurt, but it wasn’t the agonising stab of memory, more the slightly unpleasant ache of pushing himself too far.

(Apparently, no one told this therapist they’d have a harder job slowing their new patient down than motivating them to take the next step).

Scott rolled his head to the side, and the memory of a smile touched his lips. It no longer surprised him to see his father in the chair by his bed. The man had told him he was going to stay by his side, and he’d stayed true to that. Scott knew he should tell him to go, find a proper bed, get a decent night. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

Jeff was exhausted. Scott could tell by the way he didn’t immediately wake up as soon as his son moved. It gave him a moment to study the man, though. There was no doubt he’d aged in the time Scott had been missing, and dark circles ringed his eyes, making him look drawn and, well, old.

But as he looked, Scott’s gaze drifted to his dad’s hand. It was resting, palm up on his leg, his fingers loosely curled around something. It was obvious he’d been holding it tight, but sleep had made his grip soften. Scott caught a glimpse of something metal.

He shifted again, his whole body moving this time. It was enough to make his dad stir. He instantly sat up straighter, cracking his neck from side to side before smiling at his son.

“Good morning.”

Scott’s lips twitched. He wasn’t quite there yet; his muscles seemed to have forgotten how to form expressions other than fear and pain.

His dad stretched but Scott’s gaze was locked on his hand still. It had clenched as he moved.

“What’s that?” Scott gestured at his father’s hand.

His dad looked down at his closed fist. He went still, knuckles turning white as his grip tightened. For a moment, Scott didn’t think he was going to say anything. When he did, his voice was quiet but hoarse, as if his emotions were constricting him.

“It’s,” he stopped. Swallowed. Came forward and sat down on the edge of the bed. Scott shifted over to give him space, pleased when his body let him move with something that resembled ease.

“They’re yours,” his dad whispered. Slowly, his fist opened. Scott stared.

He remembered all too clearly the day he’d been presented with the tags. Five days in to his basic military training, queuing up with what would later become his squad: going through the process of registering his information and getting his fingerprints taken to give him an active record on the system. Being presented with the two small pieces of metal and the instructions to have them with him, always.

Scott hadn’t taken them off from that day onwards. Even when he was on leave, and his brothers had pestered to see them, he’d unhooked them from his shirt, let them hold the tags in their hands, warmed by the closed contact with his skin. But never once had he slipped the chain from around his neck.

He could remember all too well when he’d lost them as well.

It hadn’t been immediate. Their captors had let them keep them, let them cling on to their identities, for all the good it did them. As far as he could tell, the rest of the squad had been rescued with theirs still on. It was the only way their captors had let them keep any of their humanity.

But not Scott.

It had been that final time they’d dragged him to isolation. Once they’d got him away from the others, two men holding his arms even as they’d forced him to his knees, another soldier had stepped in front of him. With one sharp tug, he’d torn them from his neck. In that movement, he’d also torn away Scott’s sense of self, his hope, and his adamant belief he was going to see his family again.

He’d torn away what had made Scott Tracy the man he was.

“How-,” this time, it was his voice that was shaking. “How did you get them?”

He thought he knew, though. All along, there had been something missing. His father had refused to say how they’d provided proof of life, refused to comment on what had sparked off the rescue mission when everyone higher up the chain of command had written Scott off as lost.

“They sent them to me,” his dad murmured. “A small, unobtrusive package arrived at the office one day. They thought they were sending a ransom. While it was true that sending me your tags was enough to get my attention, they made a mistake. Sending me these was giving me my son back.”

Scott thought he understood. Until then, his dad hadn’t had a reason to believe he was alive. Sending the tags had given him hope, even as it had been taken away from Scott.

“Here.” His dad gently took his wrist, angling his hand until he could slip the tags onto Scott’s palm.

Scott froze. They were warm from the heat of his father’s skin. The engravings glinted in the warm light of the room, providing Scott with information he’d forgotten about himself in that place. All he could do was stare for a long moment.

A gentle hand covered his own, slowly folding his fingers around the tags. Scott let it happen, but he didn’t consciously move. When the hand disappeared, shifting to a soft grip on his shoulder, Scott made himself look up.

“Scotty?”

With a yell he didn’t know he had in him, Scott threw the tags across the room.

They stripped his identity from him when they’d taken those tags. But giving them back didn’t restore everything he’d lost.

“They’re not mine,” he said, breathing heavily.

“Scott, they are.”

“No.” Scott looked away. “That’s not me.”

The man those tags belonged to had been lost in that prison, trapped in the darkness begging for someone to come and save him. How could Scott take the tags back when he couldn’t go back to the man who’d worn them?

He kept his head turned as his father stood up. He heard him collect the tags from where they’d fallen. While Scott was grateful that his dad didn’t try and give them back, he also didn’t know what to do when the man placed them on the bedside table.

“No one is making you wear them,” he murmured in a soothing tone. “But don’t give up on them so easily.”

Don’t give up on yourself so easily is what Scott heard.

He was breathing heavily through his nose, trying to keep the tears at bay. He was so tired of feeling weak and vulnerable, his emotions getting the better of him after so long suppressing them. But there was something about those two small pieces of metal and the chain holding them together that was more of a painful reminder of what he’d lost than anything his dad could’ve said.

The bed dipped again under his father’s weight.

“You think that because of what you went through, you’re not the man you were? Well, you’re right. No one can undo what you experienced, although god knows I wish I could. No amount of therapy is going to get that man back, son. It’s changed you. But it’s up to you to figure out if that’s for better or worse.”

Scott couldn’t look at him, instead keeping his gaze fixed on the bedspread. It wasn’t a surprise when a hand cradled the back of his head and his father pressed a kiss to his forehead before he stood up. No doubt he was intending to give his son space to come to terms with his latest emotional rollercoaster.

“Dad?”

Scott found his voice just before his father walked out of the door. He stopped, looking back.

“Scott?”

Scott sat up straighter, forcing himself to meet his dad’s gaze.

“Help me shave?”

A grin split over Jeff’s face and he nodded.

“Of course. I’ll get what we need.”

He hurried out, as if Scott was going to change his mind in the few moments it took him to fetch everything. But all Scott did was force himself to sit up straighter, flexing his fingers. He wasn’t steady enough to hold the razor himself yet.

His father had made a good point. He couldn’t be the man he was before. But that didn’t mean he had to be the man that prison had made him, either.

Scott wasn’t naïve: it wasn’t as simple as a change in mindset. He was still haunted; still scarred, both physically and mentally.

But as he got ready to take back some control, he figured a change in his thoughts had to be a damn good starting point.

-x-

“Two more beads, then you’re done.”

Mal’s voice was warm and encouraging. Scott gritted his teeth, his hand, no, his entire arm, trembling, as he held the small bead between thumb and forefinger. With his other hand, he held the string as steady as he could, concentrating as he tried to thread the bead on.

It was his fifth physical therapy session, and if Mal was surprised by the strides his patient was taking, he was professional enough not to show it. He hadn’t needed any of his usual coaxing with Scott. Instead, he’d needed to remind the man what his body had gone through and pushing it wasn’t going to make him heal any faster, but the opposite.

Scott threaded one bead, then the second. He saw Mal shift out of the corner of his eye, no doubt prepared to take the equipment away. Before he could do so, Scott threaded a third bead.

“Alright, hot shot,” Mal laughed. “You proved your point.”

He took them away before Scott could do anymore. Scott sat back in the chair with a sharp exhale, surprised when he realised his forehead was damp with perspiration. It should’ve been such a simple task, but it took it out of him more than he cared to admit.

They’d set his fingers, straightening them out after they’d healed wrong from previous breaks. Improving his dexterity hadn’t been quite as straightforward, but Scott was adamant he would get it back. He might not be able to play the piano properly, but that had never been his forte anyway. As long as he would be able to fly, that was good enough for him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Mal said. “We’ll hit the gym.”

Scott nodded. He liked his physical therapist. Mal didn’t treat him like he was broken; didn’t let Scott wallow in self-pity. He treated him like a buddy, challenging him in a friendly way that Scott couldn’t refuse even if he found it hard. He wondered what that said about his pride, whether it was as gone as he believed…

“Mr Tracy.”

“Mal.”

Scott looked up at the voice. As Mal left with a cheerful wave, his father came in with two coffees in his hand. Scott gave a small smile, the action gradually coming back to him with each day that passed. The medical staff had tried to warn him off the caffeine, before realising it was a far greater motivator to make him do as he was told than anything else.

He took the offered cup, but had to put it down. His muscles were trembling from the activity he’d just been doing.

His dad sat on the bed. He didn’t say anything: he’d learnt not to ask how the session had been as Scott would only focus on what he should’ve been able to do rather than what he’d managed.

“I was thinking we could get some fresh-,” he trailed off, frowning.

Scott heard it, too. The sound of a commotion coming from further down the hallway. He glanced at his dad, who shook his head: he didn’t know what was going on, either.

Scott shrank back. He didn’t mean to. But the last time he’d heard raised voices down a corridor, they’d been coming for him.

Whether his father had seen the action or was just curious himself, Scott didn’t know. But he leapt from the bed and stuck his head out of the door.

“Stay here,” he called back. “I’ll find out what’s going on.”

Scott didn’t point out he was exhausted after his therapy session: he couldn’t go anywhere even if he wanted to. But he did force himself to sit up straighter, refusing to be that scared little boy again.

But as the noise came closer, Scott straightened even more. He frowned. This wasn’t a threat. This was something familiar. He knew those voices. They’d got him through the worst moments of his life. Not his team, but people even closer to him than that…

Just as Scott intended to stand, the door opened. His dad appeared, a look Scott recognised from years gone by: half-exasperation, half-fondness.

Four very familiar figures crowded in the doorway. For a moment, there was a sharp intake of breath. Scott stared back just as intently as they were looking at him.

John: paling when he saw his big brother, but the smile uncurling making him look years younger.

Virgil: jaw set, head lifted as he refused to show what he thought about his brother’s appearance and instead trying to be strong.

Gordon: his jaw dropping when he saw Scott.

Alan: giving a small gasp, tears flooding his eyes and turning into John.

Scott didn’t know what to say. Even after weeks of the best care the military had to offer (plus a bit more, given Jeff’s refusal to leave and no one wanting to upset him), he knew he still looked like a mess.

He was wearing a zipped hoodie and tracksuit bottoms. But the exertion of the therapy had made him unzip the top, leaving his chest and torso exposed. Most of the wounds were well on their way to healing, but the scars were still puckered and raw. Scott jerked, quickly pulling the zipper back up.

“Well, fu-.”

“Gordon!” John’s hand shot out, cuffing him over the head.

“What?” Gordon protested, rubbing his head, and looking at John. “He’s not exactly Prince Charming right now.”

“He’s never been Prince Charming,” Virgil said in a distracted tone. His gaze was locked on Scott, his expression serious. Scott wondered if he even realised he’d spoken.

But Scott knew he’d seen what the others hadn’t. The slightest relaxation in his shoulders at Gordon’s words. It was better than pretending everything was fine and nothing amiss.

“That’s because Prince Charming is the boring one. I’d rather be Aladdin,” Gordon shot back.

“A thief?”

“At least he gets to have more adventures.”

“Doesn’t get to fight a dragon though,” John said.

Their dad was shaking his head at their antics. But Alan’s tears had dried up and colour had returned to John’s cheeks. Before Gordon could respond, there came another sound.

One that had been missing for a very long time. Longer than Scott had been gone. As even though he’d been in the hospital for several weeks now, he hadn’t realised he still had this in him. Listening to his brothers’ banter, their utterly ridiculous conversation given where they were standing and what they were faced with, there was only one thing Scott could do.

He laughed.

It didn’t last long but enough to see the startled look on his father’s face relaxing into a pleased smile. John and Gordon exchanged smug smirks and the four brothers made their way into the room.

Scott looked at his dad. “Help me?” he murmured softly.

The man helped him over to the bed, knowing what Scott wanted. Scott then pulled Alan up next to him, wrapping his arms around the boy’s waist. Virgil snagged the chair and dragged it over even as Gordon climbed on the bed, sitting cross-legged on the end. Virgil sat in the chair, also folding his legs up, while John leant against the wall.

Scott looked around at the four of them. Drank in the sight of them. The feeling of Alan in his arms, Gordon’s weight leaning against his foot, reaching out and touching Virgil’s arm, making sure they were all real, all truly here.

There was a lump in his throat, but this time, it was different to when emotions had previously overwhelmed him. This felt… Scott swallowed. This felt positive.

He thought he’d been starting to come to terms with what had happened to him and started to process the emotions that came with that. But this time, it felt like a leaden weight in his chest had moved from his heart to his throat, and was fighting to free itself. He didn’t currently know how to speak, what he was supposed to say, but he felt that maybe he could breathe properly for the first time since he’d woken up.

He couldn’t stop himself, looking from one to the other, mouth opening. He wanted to tell them what it meant to him that they were here, how hard he’d kept fighting to come back to them and how they’d kept him going. But his voice didn’t work and tears flooded his eyes instead.

They were here.

They were really here.

Apparently, his father thought the same thing.

“How did you get here?” There was a firm note in his voice, one that gave away he expected an answer. Virgil flushed, looking at John who was pointedly examining something on the far wall with far greater intensity than a blank white patch needed. Both Alan and Gordon looked at their big brothers. When no one spoke, Gordon did.

“Virgil flew,” he announced. Virgil gave him a betrayed look and Gordon pulled an apologetic face. “What? You did. John navigated and made all those calls about landing rights and flight paths or whatever he was talking about but Virgil was at the controls.”

“Thank you, Gordon,” their dad said in a clipped tone. “I just didn’t realise he owned a plane to bring the three of you over to the mainland.”

“We may have borrowed Tracy 2,” John confessed to the wall.

“And you knew our location how?”

They were in a military hospital, after all. It wasn’t widely known exactly whereabouts it was located. This time, it was John who flushed and nothing else needed to be said.

Their dad pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. “So, you stole my plane and came to a classified military hospital whose location John dug out from somewhere he shouldn’t have access to. How did you get past the guards?”

This wasn’t the sort of place that anyone could just walk into. Not only because it was military, but because of the severity of both the physical and emotional injuries being treated here. Too many things were triggers for the men and women who’d been through hell.

“Oh, that was all Alan,” Virgil said, sounding proud.

“Please, sir,” Alan said in a high voice. His blue eyes went impossibly wide. “Both my daddy and big brother are in there. I have to see them; I just have to.”

“Then I told them I really needed the bathroom,” Gordon chimed in, sounding far too pleased with himself.

Scott couldn’t help it. He laughed again. In a way, he should’ve known. Only his brothers would take entering a restricted military hospital as a challenge and not let anything stop them.

“That’s not exactly how it went down,” a voice said from the door. All the Tracys looked up.

“Aunt Val!” Alan cried, excitedly.

“What do you mean?” John asked.

“You think I didn’t know as soon as you four cleared the flight path? I guessed you were coming here, although I’m impressed that you made it that far. I warned the guards four tearaway kids would be arriving and to let them in.”

“I’m not a child anymore, Aunt Val,” John said. It had been a long time since anyone had called him a child.

“Are to me, kiddo,” Val said. She reached over and ruffled his hair, making John scowl and Gordon laugh. “Now, Gordon, Alan, how about you boys come and help me find some snacks.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. Alan looked like he was going to protest but Gordon slipped off the bed, serious for once and knowing to do as he was told. She gestured them out in front of her, and Scott watched them leave.

“Alan’s grown,” he said quietly, “and Gordon’s got stronger.”

“He’s training hard,” his dad said. “Taking it seriously.”

“Good.”

Scott had been worried his brothers would give up their own dreams when he’d gone missing. He was glad to see that wasn’t the case, although he did wonder if Gordon had seen the pool as refuge rather than thinking about his career.

For a moment, there was silence. Scott looked up to see John and Virgil exchange glances heavy with unspoken meaning. He understood. For six months, the pair of them had been forced to deal with the idea that he was missing, captured behind enemy lines, and then presumed dead. They’d had to process a lot.

Now they were here and Scott knew he was hardly the brother who’d said goodbye to them last time he’d been home.

But with Alan and Gordon gone, he had some space. He shifted up on the bed, motioning for them to both come closer.

“I’m not going to break,” he told them.

Virgil had clearly been waiting for that. With a soft cry, he flung himself forward and wrapped his arms around his big brother. Scott returned the grip, and knew it was the strongest he’d held something in months.

“Don’t do that,” Virgil said against his shoulder. “Don’t ever do that again, you hear?”

“Yes, Sir,” Scott said with a small smile. As John came closer, Scott lent his cheek against the top of Virgil’s head and allowed himself to smile.

[linka-from-captain-planet]

I don't know who to ask and you seems to have an eye for colors in expedition 33 so I came to you)

If Maelle is red and real Alicia is red why is Alicia!Maelle white? Is she repainted or what? hasn't Maelle hommaged like the others?

I am in late act 3 but didn't finish the game yet so maybe the answer is still there?

hi! I don't think this is ever answered in game, but my best guess is that it has something to do with being a Painter inside a canvas. I don't want to potentially spoil things that happen in the ending, but I believe that it's consistent across Maellicia, Real!Renoir, and Aline that their hair is its ordinary color outside of the canvas but white inside of it. Maybe it's because of their control of chroma while in a canvas, which is also mostly silver

[nomadelaide]

An Adelaide "Addie" Sawyer Moodboard... in Color

Within green auras, we encounter individuals characterized by their nurturing disposition, deep empathy, and harmonious nature. Those adorned with the green aura exude a tranquil presence, embodying qualities of compassion and understanding. Natural caregivers effortlessly forge connections and cultivate meaningful relationships, guided by their unwavering devotion and unconditional love. Yet, amidst their nurturing instincts, challenges may arise in maintaining boundaries and prioritizing self-care. Despite this, individuals with green auras showcase resilience, navigating life’s complexities with grace and empathy. Their balanced demeanor and innate wisdom illuminate personal growth, relational harmony, and spiritual enlightenment.

[inocennt]

lover at its conceptual core is an overt callback to the red album prologue and i am So Normal about this

[nottheweirdest]

I just wanted to say how much I love your work and everything you put into making new content. I only discovered your work about one or two months ago but I was blown away. I read Clean Slate in one sitting and in the following week read all your other work. I’m currently rereading everything because I can’t get enough and you’re by far my favourite Sonadow writer so please never stop writing!💕😭🙏 It’s been two years since Clean Slate has been completed and you already said you’re working on it and gave us small little hints for the sequels. I don’t mean to rush you or anything, I’ll wait as long as needed for your next masterpiece but when do you plan on start posting the sequel? 🫶

😭💖 thank you so much.... I gotta say I was in a bit of a 'not so nice to myself headspace yesterday' and this really helped put a smile on my face 💙🙏

I can't believe you read all my stuff that fast!! That's so much 😂 I'm beyond grateful and happy you did though!! I think I might melt into the ground from the warm and happy feels jagdjshhduss 🥹 you motivate me so much! Especially when I was kind of Gordon ramsaying myself yesterday 😅

So, Fractured Reflections is going to be dense and dark, even more so than Clean Slate I think. It's going to take a lot of focus and care to make sure I don't leave anything out, especially because it's further setting up the third and final book. Basically, in a nutshell, it's gonna take at least ten braincells to write and at the moment I only have two that occasionally bump together and make stuff like Masks 😂 I really don't have a date, but it's possible I might start this summer. Especially if I get to take some PTO in March (that's really how I do a lot of writing 😂). I want to get a good chunk done before I begin posting, mostly so I can go back and correct something 😂

[seaweedmakesart]

The first chapter of My Spider-Man AU is up!

Fractured Reflections - Chapter 1 - SeaweedWrites13 - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]

Hope you guys like it!

[squicky-fannish-discourse]

How can I destroy my weakness? ‘Cause I wanna be stronger I need to keep them all safe, but I lack the power

Never give into that ungodly night What good is a star that has lost its light? I watch as they fade one by one

A bit of angst for mayblade with brainwashed bladebreakers thanks to @zennx-23's villain oc Blake

MASTER POST OF THIS AU

[hao-and-yoh]

A little reflection time… and no, none of my multiplying twins cast are going to gate crash this post - it’s just me this time.

Behind the scenes of my absolutely insane participation in this fandom, I have a lot going on in my life, some rather sad things, some that are rather stressful.

My hyperfixation and love for my work has really kept me going during a difficult time and my passion and drive to be creative has helped me keep my head above water. It’s amazing that others think the work I create is good quality and enjoyable - which is honestly truly amazing when I get that feedback. The kind of boost it gives me is euphoric, and propels me forward and motivates me more.

Though I think truthfully all along my motivation comes from deep within to tell the story I want to tell because it resonates so much with my heart and I love these characters so so much. Being in that cycle of wanting to read what’s next of your own work is difficult to explain. But without that - I don’t think I would still be here creating. Though at the same time, I really have to give so much love and appreciation to those who have stuck with me from the very beginning @ivycorp and @pisklekota. Your on-going support honestly means more than words. ❤️

I have so many exciting projects planned, some that are already in progress, but I have to recognise that I’m spread really thin - and it’s just not possible to produce the work at the rate I want to. As time goes on, I realise that my capacity to create at the same rate will begin to slow down - but I don’t think my passion is going to go anywhere any time soon. It just means the work I put out may come out a little slower over time.

Current on-going projects:

- Phase 3 of “Alt Universe”

- Mapping out FD “Volume Three”

- “Nobody Can Save Me” full art comic

- “Icebreaker” HaoxHoro Part 3

Planned projects:

- Phase 3 Cover Art

- Volume 3 Cover Art (with all the twin variants!!)

Exciting news! I reached out to a member of the fandom community who is now working on an FD Antagonist AMV for “Asakura Zeke” for me!! I’m so excited ahhh!!! 🔥🔥🔥

And I’ve started participating more in the active fandom community and reaching out to others and enjoying their works too. This has been so rewarding for me and expanded my horizons beyond FD - and it’s been so much fun getting to know others work! I’ve been consuming it all like a woman possessed!!

So last parting words for this post which is a strange mix of sad and happy news, FD and Shaman King as a whole will always be my favourite escape, and I’m excited about what’s to come in the future. The friends I’ve made during this journey are the best part of this whole experience, and I’m so glad that I have created this world that I will be able to return to again and again. ❤️

Alt Hao: are we really not allowed to gate crash?

Me: Oh go on then.

Zeke: Well that didn’t last long. 🙄

Yoh: (ZZzzz)

Alt Hao: Is he still asleep on a plane?!

Me: Yes! 🤣

[moriparty413]

rose and blake thorburn

[loopstagirl]

Fractured Reflection, Ch 3

Taking it back from @scribbles97 for the next chapter.

Chapter 1 | Jeff's POV 1 | Chapter 2 | Jeff's POV 2

TW: TW: POW, TW: torture

Scott knew he’d given his father permission to leave, but he wasn’t truly aware of the man stepping out. His gaze was locked on Jen. She was alive.

His dad had told him the surviving members of his unit had been rescued. But Scott wasn’t sure he’d truly believed him until this moment. Watching her cross the room; feeling her take his hand.

Silence fell over the two of them once they were alone. Then Jen suddenly shifted from the chair.

“Move over,” she said.

Scott understood. He obediently forced his aching body to shift slightly to the right, giving her space to climb onto the bed next to him. Her head rested on his shoulder and for a few moments, the two of them just breathed.

How many times in recent months had they slept like this? Trying to find a comfortable position, making sure one couldn’t be taken without the other knowing about it.

“She’s a good one, that General,” Jen murmured. “She listened to me. Let me talk. Didn’t tell me to just rest when I… when I…”

Scott felt her shudder next to him. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he lifted an arm, draping it over her shoulder and holding her close. In a way, he was envious. Jenny could find the words. She could say them out loud. She could let her defences down and not be afraid of what was going to come out of her mouth.

Then again, if what his father said was true, she’d had at least a month in this hospital by now. Judging by the look he’d seen in her eyes when she’d walked through the door, it wasn’t enough.

Silence fell again. Jen’s hand was twisting in the blanket, an involuntary movement. Scott moved his own splinted hand, returning her earlier movement and resting his hand on hers, stilling her. He recognised the anxious tick and knew her movements would only get more distressed if she continued. He’d watched her try to twist free of restraints too many times.

“We tried to tell them!” Jenny suddenly blurted out. She sat up, her abrupt movement sending a spasm of pain through Scott’s body but he hid it as she turned to face him, tears in her eyes. “We told them you were still there. That you were alive. They said they’d done a sweep and hadn’t found anyone else. I tried to tell them about… about….”

She couldn’t say it. She didn’t need to. Scott shrunk in on himself, the need to make himself smaller, to have room to breathe… his left foot gave a throb in remembered pain.

She’d tried to tell them about the hidden room. The small room. The dark room. The room where the only thing anyone could hear was their own screams. How many times had the guards mocked they forgot where the door was? A cursory sweep was not going to uncover it. Uncover him.

Nor did Scott blame the rescue party, though. They were deep in enemy territory, evacuating as many as they could. If the choice was between leaving him behind, or conducting a more thorough search and risking the lives of everyone they’d pulled out? Almost since the day they’d been caught, Scott had made it clear he didn’t care what happened to him, as long as his team survived.

“I knew you were alive,” Jen finished, her tone fierce even as tears shone in her eyes. “I knew it.”

Scott forced a small smile. He couldn’t allow her to shoulder this blame. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t even the men and women sent in to get them out. They weren’t the ones who’d agreed to the trade; they weren’t the ones who’d have had a prisoner list and know that not everyone who’d gone it came out again.

He awkwardly took her hand, holding it over his own beating heart, wordless reassurance that he was, indeed, still alive. When their throats had been too raw for verbal reassurance, this had been their way of offering comfort.

Jen smiled. She picked up his other hand and mirrored the movement. Scott closed his eyes as her rapid heartbeat thudded under his hand. She was alive.

He glanced at the door, then back at Jen. She nodded.

“I told the general what you did,” she said quietly. “How many times you forced their attention on you, bartered with them to protect the rest of us. What they did to you in response.”

They’d been determined to get him to go back on the deal. If they could break him, if he begged them to stop…

But it didn’t matter how many times he was waterboarded or beaten. There was something deep in Scott that couldn’t be extinguished. He’d never really been aware of it until faced with that choice, but now he was conscious of it, he realised it had been burning in him since the first time John cried not out of need, but out of pain.

Scott would never let anyone be hurt when he was there to stop it.

“You shouldn’t have done it, Scott. What you went through-,” She trailed off.

They had all been tortured. Questioned for hours for information, then just for fun. Several of their teammates had succumbed to it. As far as Scott was concerned, he hadn’t stopped anything. He shook his head mutely, but Jen’s grip on his hand tightened.

“You took so much on yourself. You never let them… I would’ve broken, if not for you. When I couldn’t stand and you stepped in front of me. When Sienna couldn’t stop sobbing and you tackled the first guard, making them forget about her. All the times they had to get you in chains before they could take one of us… Scott, they’d lost interest by the time they got us out. They went through the motions, but that was all. We weren’t worth the effort when they had you.”

Scott’s gaze fell on his wrist. There was a scar there, in the perfect position for someone to fight against manacles. But it was healed. It had healed months ago.

She was wrong. He hadn’t protected them.

It was her faith in him, blind and undeserved, that made him force a word out.

“No.” It was a whisper, nothing more. His voice worked: he’d spoken to his father enough when he first had woken up. But his mind had caught up with the horrors inflicted on his body and he wasn’t sure how to find words when all he’d wanted to do was scream. He’d seen the look on his dad’s face when he’d cried: he couldn’t force the man to witness how broken his son was.

“No?” Jen looked at him, also glancing at his wrist before looking back at his face.

“They won,” Scott murmured. “I couldn’t save Mike. I couldn’t stop them. They took you all, one by one. They won that day months ago when they realised they didn’t have to chain me up anymore.”

“Scott…” Jen stared at him. “Captain, no. We all adapted. We all found ways to survive. No one had the strength to keep fighting, and you lasted longer than the rest of us.”

Scott looked at her. Did she really not blame him? He was their captain: he was supposed to keep the squad safe, make sure everything fell on him rather than them. But half their squad hadn’t made it home and the other half… Jen might’ve been talking, but there was no way in hell she was alright.

“If you’re going to blame anyone, blame me,” she continued.

“What?”

“I was the reason we were caught. If I could’ve run, we might have got out.”

Scott knew what she was referring to. The village they’d been helping. The anti-aircraft missiles half a kilometre away had been unpredictable. The area was supposed to be quiet; their enemy having moved on and left destruction behind. It wasn’t the first village they’d helped. But it was the first one where they’d arrived in their own plumes of smoke, all of them falling prey to the bullets that tore through the sky, making their engines scream as they fought to stay in the air. All four of them had been shot down. It was a miracle no one had died on impact.

There had been injuries, though. In the end, it was hard to say if they were helping the village, or the villagers had been helping them. Scott had carried Jenny in, her ankle swollen, not bearing her weight. How they’d got away with only a couple of broken bones between the eight of them had made Scott believe that luck was on their side.

Fate had just had other ideas in mind.

“You know we weren’t running,” he said softly. “Even if we’d been able to.”

His entire team had come to the decision unanimously. If their enemy thought the village had been helping them, they’d torch the entire place. Innocents would suffer if they’d tried to run. Scott would never have made it an order to stay, but his squad had been taking defensive positions and preparing to fight not only for their lives, but for the people who’d had helped them, before the words came from his mouth.

Scott felt a coil of pressure ease from his chest. This was something he knew how to do. Reassure a team mate, a brother, a random stranger he’d only met once. This was his job.

“Jen, look at me?” He waited until she held his gaze. “This isn’t your fault. Never think that.”

She stared into his eyes for a few moments, then looked away. Scott pulled her close as her sobs echoed through the room. How long had she been holding onto that misplaced guilt?

“I told them you were alive,” she murmured. She sagged against him and Scott just held her as her breathing started to even out.

His body struggled to support her weight, but he didn’t care. For the first time in months, he could protect his co-pilot from her surroundings. If he found out anyone had tried to debrief her without her Captain present…

Scott gave a small huff, the burst of air painful against his sore throat. He’d do what? He didn’t know how to talk about what had happened, how to get the stuck-up Colonels who’d never been out from behind a desk to understand.

It wasn’t like the team had been sitting in a cell, just waiting for a ride home. Every day, they’d had their strength, dignity and pride stripped from them until it became the norm for four USAF personnel to huddle into themselves, trying to make themselves invisible, every time they heard a door open.

How was he supposed to make anyone understand that?

Her weight started to get too much. Scott looked at the door. His dad was out there. He could call out, knowing the man would be by his side before Scott could blink. Or Val. Jen was right: she was one of the good ones. She wouldn’t have given up on him, either.

But he didn’t want help. He didn’t want anyone taking Jen away again, not until she was awake. They’d all been moved while out cold too many times. This had to be her choice.

He managed to shift. His breath caught in his throat as every nerve screamed at him. His body was used to movement meaning pain and right now, he was giving it more of that.

He was sweating, tears leaking from his eyes by the time he managed to get into a more comfortable position. The movement utterly exhausted him though. No sooner had he moved when sleep stole upon him, dragging him back.

-x-

Jen was gone.

They were all gone.

Even the light had gone.

It wasn’t dark: he could see. But it wasn’t light, either. A perpetual dimness that left him halfway between life and death. Everything the same hazy grey that made him want to scream, even to bleed, just to see colour.

He couldn’t move. No matter which way he twisted and turned, regardless of how much he thrashed, the unrelenting walls did nothing but close in further. They were crushing him. Didn’t anyone know they were crushing him?

Of course they knew. Just, no one cared.

Scott knew he was screaming. Begging. Pleading with them to let him out! He’d take anything they threw at him, suffer the beatings, the drownings; anything if it meant getting out of this room. But although his screams echoed in his own ears long after they’d stopped escaping his throat, he seemed to be the only one who could hear them.

“Wake up. Scott. C’mon. Wake up, son.”

He could hear a voice, a voice offering him a way out. But there was no door. No way free. The guards had meant what they’d said about forgetting where the door was. No one was going to be able to find him. He’d die, trapped in here alone, unable to breathe…

“Scott!”

There was a tone of command this time. An order. Orders he could do. Orders meant he didn’t have to think. They stopped the beatings, kept his teammates safe…

He fought to obey, the grey gradually giving way.

Light.

He was surrounded by light. He wasn’t in that room anymore. His father was looking down at him, concern and fear mingled into a loving gaze that Scott didn’t deserve. He tried to shift away but…

No!

He couldn’t move. He was still trapped.

A fast, urgent beeping came from somewhere far away, footsteps came running. His dad’s hands were on him, one holding his own, the other cupping his cheek.

“Son, I need you to calm down. Listen to me.”

He wanted to obey. God knew he wanted to obey: that meant the pain would stop. But he couldn’t. Not this time.

All he knew was that he was trapped, and he couldn’t breathe. He tried to focus on his father’s face, but something suddenly obscured his vision, hands reaching for him, something covering his mouth and nose.

Not again. They’d promised he was safe. They’d let him believe it was over. But here he was, held down, flat on his back, something covering his mouth and nose.

Scott screamed. He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t be strong anymore. Not when he thought he was safe. But this time, in that scream, was a word. A name: a title.

Half-awake, half-delirious, trapped in his own blankets and fighting the oxygen mask a nurse was attempting to slip on, Scott Tracy screamed for his father.

“I’m here. I’m right here. Scotty, I’m here.”

The hands disappeared. Whatever was over his face disappeared. The pressure holding his limbs down eased as hands made short work of untangling the blankets from where his thrashing had twisted them around his legs.

He could move. He could breathe.

And hands gripped his shoulders, pulling him up, straight into strong arms that had promised to keep him safe, promised to let him just be himself.

Scott fell into the hold. Tentatively, as if fearing it would vanish, he lifted his arms, fingers brushing the material of his dad’s shirt, making sure it was real and not some trick, before latching on as if his life depended on it. If he was honest, he wasn’t sure that it didn’t.

Time passed. Scott had no idea how long. He was conscious, but not really in the room, refusing to let go. At some point, he’d been laid back down, but a hand had gripped his own, a promise that he wasn’t alone.

Finally, the room fell silent as the medical staff realised any intervention was making things worse.

Finally, his mind fell silent as Scott realised he was safe in the hospital, his dad by his side.

He forced his gaze on the man. His father was watching him, probably hadn’t looked away for this entire time. When he saw Scott focusing on him, he smiled warmly, a thumb brushing away the treacherous tears leaking from his eyes.

“I’m here,” he murmured softly. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry.”

He’d spoken to Jenny, and had a feeling that if his father hadn’t heard him, it would’ve been reported that he was talking again. But this was the first thing he’d said to him directly.

“For what?” There was shock and – if Scott wasn’t mistaken – repressed anger in his dad’s voice.

Scott shrugged. He gestured feebly at the room around them, encompassing himself in the movement.

“Being weak,” he muttered, looking away. “It was a dream, just a dream, I know that, but…”

He knew he’d begged them in reality as well. He could handle the beatings, the burnings, had only winced when they’d broken his fingers. But after experiencing that room once, he’d cracked. The second time they’d thrown him in, he’d fought, then pleaded with them, then finally fought the room. Not that it got him anything but a broken toe.

How could he admit to his father the man he’d raised was not the son he deserved?

“Never think that.” The fierce note in his dad’s voice made him jump. It was a commanding tone, full of authority and a demand to be heard, obeyed.

“But-,”

“You are not weak, Scott. You’re a survivor. You did what you had to in order to survive that place. I don’t care if you pleaded with them every single day. Hell, if it kept you safe, I hope you did. You have nothing to prove to me, you never have.”

Scott stared at the man, his breath catching in a way that had nothing to do with panic.

“My squad,” he said softly. “I had to…”

He had to keep them safe. And he’d fai-

“You saved them.” His father’s words stopped his thoughts before they’d fully formed.

“Jenny spoke to Val. She’s told her what happened. What you did. You’ve been so strong, Scott. My strong, brave boy. Those that made it back did so because of you. The only people who have failed are the ones who should’ve found you months ago. Who shouldn’t have left you behind.”

Scott shuddered. He wasn’t ready to talk about that. How it felt to know that someone, high up, knew he was still in there, and had decided that was an okay sacrifice to take. He might’ve done the same thing if he knew it meant keeping his team safe. Hell, he might have volunteered to stay behind.

“How’d you know I was alive?” he asked his father quietly. His team might’ve believed, but they hadn’t known. Not for sure. Not given they’d already been separated and Scott had been taken to solitary before the rescue.

His dad couldn’t meet his eye. “They gave me proof of life.”

“I don’t remember,” Scott said. Maybe they’d filmed him while he had been unconscious? Although that was hardly irrefutable proof that he was alive.

“It doesn’t matter. All that matters if you’re here. You’re safe. And you’re going to be okay.”

Scott nodded, letting the words sink in. He wasn’t entirely sure he believed them, but he clung to them like a lifeline, not yet ready to let go and see if he could pull through on his own.

He forced himself up straighter, his father’s hands falling away as he did so.

“What’re you-,” his dad trailed off as Scott threw back the covers, twisting until his feet were hovering above the floor.

Slowly, he let them touch, his toes curling at the coldness that greeted them. He touched the floor again, then shifted further forward, readying himself to stand up.

“Scott. Stop. What are you doing?”

“I have to do this,” Scott said. He was talking to himself as much as his father. “I have to move.”

He couldn’t lie there, trapped in bed, with the nightmare still vivid in his mind. He needed to know that he had the power to move if he wanted to. That he wasn’t stuck in another sort of prison.

“I don’t think- Scott! Wait!” The command was back in his dad’s voice this time and Scott immediately stilled. He was braced against the side of the bed, palms pressed flat to the mattress even with the splint on his hand. The nail on his big left toe was still discoloured from where he’d kicked the wall in that room.

Scott looked up as his dad hurried around the bed.

“I can’t stop you, can I?”

Scott shook his head.

“Then let me help.”

Scott wanted to protest. He needed to do this on his own. But his dad spoke before he could.

“You’ve been in that bed for over a month, son. You were unconscious for weeks. Your legs aren’t going to support your weight. It doesn’t mean you’re weak: it means you have to take this slow and let me help.”

It went against his nature to ask for help. But slowly, Scott nodded. His father slipped one of Scott’s arms over his shoulder, his own wrapped around his son’s waist.

It was a gradual movement, but Scott shifted his weight from the bed to his feet. He would’ve fallen if it wasn’t for his father’s strong arms, but he was upright. He took a shuffling step, then another, suddenly wanting to pick up speed.

“Easy, soldier.”

Scott slowed, every instinct obeying. There was a low chuckle in his ear.

“Always wanted to run before you could walk,” a fond voice said.

Scott blushed, but focused on putting one foot before the other. In a strange, shuffling movement, he made his way across the room.

By the time he reached the other side, he was panting, sweat beading his forehead. When he lifted an arm to wipe it away, he saw his hand was shaking. Suddenly, the bed felt like a very long way away and Scott wasn’t sure how he was going to make it back, even with help.

“Here.”

He was being lent against a wall. Scott hoped the whimper that built in his throat didn’t escape his mouth as his father’s arms disappeared. But then a chair was being pulled over and he was being helped into it.

Scott half-sat, half-fell, every limb trembling violently. He felt sick.

But he’d done it. He’d moved from the bed. He’d chosen to move, and he’d done it. There were no walls, no locks, no chains, holding him back this time. Sure, he’d needed help, but no one had stopped him.

“Scotty?”

“I’m gonna hurl.”

A trash can was pushed in front of him just in time, a warm hand rubbing soothing circles on his back. Just the way it had done when he’d been a little boy, needing his father but not knowing how to admit it when he was trying so hard to be grown up.

The retching passed and his dad helped him take a few sips of water. Exhausted, Scott leant back in the chair, fighting to keep his eyes open. He wasn’t ready to return to bed or the nightmares.

“Dad?”

“Yes, kiddo?”

“You found me.” His voice was slurring. It didn’t matter what he wanted; his body had decided that was quite enough excitement for one day.

“Scott, I-,”

“Thank you.” This time, it was just a whisper. His eyes were already shut, his body slumping where he sat. The bed would have to wait for another day.

He was asleep before his father had a chance to respond.