User blog:ThisIsXenon/ggad fic // parts three through six

Content Warning:  Rated PG-13 for language, dark/mature themes and violence.

Updates irregularly!

Chapter 31
When the panic finally died down, Micah collapsed onto his bed.

His head hurt, his ears were ringing, his throat was raw, and he held his arms—it’s okay, it’s okay now, you fixed it, you fixed your mistake, it’s going to be okay—tight to his chest.

He kicked off his boots and wriggled under the chilly sheets, still shaking, teeth chattering—gods why was it so cold? He nearly started to cry because of that but managed to shove it back down.

''You are stronger than this. You are stronger than this. You are stronger than this. You are stronger than this. You are stronger than this. You are stronger than this. You are stronger than this. ''

That’s how he fell asleep, rolling his new mantra around in his head.

He hadn’t counted on the nightmares, though.

It was still dark when he clawed his way out of it, and he was still screaming.

He shook—or someone was shaking him— he’d shattered into a million jagged pieces, scattered across the room—wait those were hands on his shoulders—trapped I’m trapped I’m trapped again—he lashed out with his feet but they didn’t connect—his hands fumbled at the belt he wasn’t wearing—I’m trapped and I don’t even have a weapon—and then he was falling and bam he was flat on his back on the floor and everything was spinning.

“Micah—“

He could feel footsteps getting closer—get back get back get back—and he sat up and scrambled away until he thumped against the wall and sweat stung in his eyes and on his back. His shirt chafed against his scars, and that took him back quickly, back to before, back with her screaming in his ear.

Coward coward coward you’re a coward—

“—t gonna hurt you—“

—You’re a coward and a failure and a traitor and a liar and you are nothing''. ''

He couldn’t breathe anymore, but there was still a keening sound coming from his mouth. He was far too sweaty to be cold, but the chills came over and over, and gods he felt sick. His chest felt tight, his heart beat so hard and fast that it hurt. And his head….the knot where he’d hit the railing pulsed, that entire side of his face aching.

“—awake now—“

Blurry. His eyes wouldn’t focus, and the incredible raw panic wouldn’t go away, no matter how much he tried to shove it back into its box.

''Get a hold of yourself. You need to get over it. It’s the past. The past shouldn’t affect you this much. ''

And suddenly it was her voice in her head saying it.

''The past shouldn’t affect you so much. Move on. ''

''You’re a coward. Do you hear me? A coward! A good for nothing coward and you can’t do anything right! ''

Get off the floor, ja—

“—karta, snap out of it!”

This voice was garbled and harsh and desperate and all his muscles locked up at once and he screamed back—

“Shut UP!”

—slammed his head against the wall, and the exponential uptick of pain was sweet because he knew he wouldn’t be conscious for much longer—

''Pass out just pass out then it’ll be over. ''

“Stop hurting—“ Hands closed around his arms and pulled him away from the wall. “Micah, you’re gonna give yourself a concussion.”

He was really sick now, dizzy and shaky and burning and freezing so he shoved the hands away again. He could see a little bit, the doorway to his bathroom—there, I need to get there—and he tried to stand—

“Whoa, hang on.“

—but that wasn’t happening either, and he fell to his knees and emptied his stomach on himself and the floor.

“Oh, love….”

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, but he was covered in it, head to knees and in his hair—''Disgusting disgusting you disgusting excuse for a human. ''

“Micah, focus on me.”

A hand was offered, not forced, and it kept disappearing and reappearing in the dark.

“Focus on me.”

The voice was starting to sound more familiar.

“You’re awake and you’re safe here.”

It was dark, but then it occurred to him that his eyes were closed, so he opened them. The hand was still there, so he wiped his own hand on one of the sparse bits of clean clothing he had on and held it.

“There you go,” The voice was gentle. “I’m sorry I yelled before. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Nngh—“

“Don’t try to talk yet. That was pretty intense,” So gentle. Sudden exhaustion slammed him like a wave, and he wanted to melt into the voice’s arms and never leave. “Just breathe. Focus on your breathing.”

''Inhale. Exhale. ''It came as a sob.

“Shhh, it’s okay, love, it’s okay. Let’s get you cleaned up. That’ll make you feel better,” The hand slipped away. “I’ll carry you.”

He was too out of it to resist, and the voice—''Damian. It’s Damian. He’s real''—carried him bridal-style to the bathroom. He closed his eyes.

“You’re burning up.”

Water running, then a cool cloth carefully wiping his face. Gods, it felt good.

“How many shirts are you wearing?”

He held up three shaking fingers.

“That’s why you’re so damned hot. I’m gonna help you change, okay? Is that okay?”

He nodded.

“For now, drink this,” Bottle against his lips, tipping something minty and burning into his mouth. He swallowed. “There you go. Now water,” A hand guided his to a glass. “You’re dehydrated. It’ll make you feel better. I’ll find you some clean clothes.”

“Okay….”

Retreating footsteps. He tried to pick up the glass, but his hands were still shaky and it clattered to the ground, soaking his feet. ''Shit shit shit, you can’t do anything, can you? ''He started apologising to the air, covering his face.

“Hey, hey now, it’s okay,” Damian was back. Micah peeked through his fingers. The light was on. Damian set the bundle of clothes by the sink and mopped up the water with a towel. “Uncover your face for me.”

Micah dropped his hands to his lap. “S-sorry—“

“It’s okay, love, you don’t have to apologise. We’ll try again,” He picked up the glass and refilled it in the sink. “I’ve got a straw.”

He guided the straw to Micah’s lips, and Micah closed his eyes and drank until the glass was empty. “There you go,” A soft hand caressed his face. “Now let’s get you into clean clothes.”

Micah let Damian guide his limbs, too overwhelmed to do anything more than follow simple instructions. Damian murmured to him, little sweet things in his ear, but then he stopped without warning—

“Oh.”

—and Micah realised his scars were in full view.

“She carved her name into you.” Damian traced the symbol, and Micah‘s chest constricted and he shrunk back.

''Shit. ''He crossed his arms over his chest. ''You’ve done it. You’ve really gone and fucked it up this time. ''Gods, she was in his head again, saying what she always would whenever she had the chance.

''That’s gross, Micah. That’s really gross. You're gross. You’re disgusting. I don’t see how everyone else puts up with you. I mean, you did it to yourself, so I don’t know why you care so much. You fucked it up for yourself. Your fault, your consequences. It’s just a natural progression of events. If you hadn’t lost him, if you hadn’t disobeyed me and broken all the rules, maybe things would be different. No one has ever messed up like this before, were you trying to do badly? To get pity? To get attention? That’s so selfish, Micah, that’s terrible. You don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve anyone, any friends or family. You can’t feel anything real. It’s all fake, all for attention, isn’t it? You’re hooked on the feeling of being important and loved and cared about because it gives you power. That’s sick. That’s selfish. You’re so fake. ''

Suck it up, you son of a bitch.

“I’m—“ He nearly choked on his words. “—m’sorry, sorry m’so gross and d-disgusting and such a c-coward over nothing—“

“You’re not disgusting, love,” Damian cut him off. “Not to me. I’m not mad about the scars. I’m not disgusted. They’re awful, yes, but only because something awful must’ve happened to make them. And it’s okay to be scared of that.”

“You’re just s-saying that—

“Listen to me, Micah,” Damian grabbed both his hands before he could cover his face. Micah’s breath stopped in his chest. “I don’t care about the scars. I’ve got them too. Everyone does. I’m not leaving you because of yours. I don’t ever want to leave you again,” He brushed tears off of Micah’s face that Micah didn’t know had fallen. “Right now, you need to know you’re safe here. You’re safe to do whatever you want:  sleep, cry, scream, break things, get so drunk you forget your name, whatever. I’ll keep you safe while you do.”

He chose to cry, crawling into Damian’s arms and shoving his face into his shoulder. Some last restraint finally broke and it all came out, years of bottled-up anger and pain and fear, more than he thought he was capable of keeping in. Damian rocked him back and forth, gently reminding him to breathe when he got too overwhelmed. He cried until his throat was raw and his eyes stung and his stomach ached from sobbing, his face hot and a mess of tears and snot.

“Any better, love?” Damian wiped his face with the cool cloth again.

“A l-little,” His speech was still jumpy. “So, you’re not m-m-mad at me? For n-not telling you about the s-scars?”

“Gods no,” Damian shook his head. “I could never be mad at you for that. If they’re too painful to talk about, then you don’t need to. Besides, I’m less worried about the ones here—“ He pointed to Micah’s chest— “and more so about the ones here,” He pointed to the slices on Micah’s forearms.

Micah felt his face burn. “Those are old.”

“This one’s still open.” Damian pointed more. “And it’s deep.”

Micah pressed his arms to his chest. “I’m working on it.”

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Damian said. “I’m here for a reason. I’m here to help you with this.”

“But I—“ How could he explain it? That he didn’t feel like he deserved it? That he didn’t want to drag anyone else into it? That he was scared of confronting his past head-on? Because all of those things were true, but there was something else, something else stopping him that felt bigger than all those other issues. “N-never mind.”

“Is that a yes?”

“What?”

“That you’ll let me in on what’s going on now? So I can help?”

“I….” He didn’t really want to—coward coward coward—but Damian deserved to know, after all this. “Yeah. It’s always freshest after a nightmare, so….”

“Let’s clean you up first. And then clothes. You’re shivering.”

“Right,” He’d forgotten. That was a first. “Right,” He tried to stand up, but his knees rebelled and he fell back into Damian’s lap. “Help.”

Damian washed Micah’s hair in the sink, helped him sponge clean, and guided him into clothes that were definitely too big, cocooning him in a fabric shield that smelled like Damian. Micah buried his face in the folds of the hoodie when Damian cleaned and bandaged his arms. The floor where he’d thrown up earlier was clean, and the sheets were different. Damian propped him up on a pile of pillows.

“How long have I been awake?”

“About an hour,” Damian replied, sliding into bed next to him. “Well, it’s been an hour since I got in here. You’ve been fading in and out for about that time.” Micah snuggled closer to Damian.

“I guess I’ll start with how I got those scars.” He’d never talked about it before. Ever. Not even with the rest of the Ennead. But they’d already known, probably more than he did, what had happened in that handful of hours.

“You don’t have to,” Damian said.

“But I do, really, I have to tell someone.” He didn’t know how this would end. But he started anyway. “Here goes.”