#;selfpara

Fuzzy at the edges, background noise.

"What a terrible accident." "Didn't they know better?" "He was there, right?"

Not background noise. The peanut gallery. Memories.

Injustice, blatant disregard for what was true in favour of what was easier.

Alexander knew what he needed to say, what he needed them to know. Back then, he'd been scared, confused, shamed by it all. Left wanting to do more.

But he couldn't talk, mouth unwilling to open.

He couldn't stand up, arms bound to the chair, forced to watch somebody walk away without a scratch. No repercussions. No justice.

And then again. And again.

He'd spent a life trying to make up for his silence, and he wasn't going to let that redemption end today.

He refused to sit by idly again, and again, and again.

"He's guilty."

It's more than a yell, more than a roar from somewhere in his chest. It's a decree. Tearing free of restraints, breaking his silence.

That was how he came back to himself. Sprawled somewhere unfamiliar, sunlight blaring down on his face a dampness on his skin that suggested he'd spent the night out there.

Hellllloooo guys. As usual, a quick disclaimer that the content below does contain mentions of violence, vague sexual undertones, use of drugs, alcohol, and details of organized crime. As always, if this is triggering to you in any way just give this one a skip n shoot me a dm. 

Bambi is ALSO mentioned in this as he and Warren do happen to know each other!!! happy reading, nerds. 

        Warren wouldn’t concern himself with the how or why he’d been caught, his hands raised as instructed. 

          The lights were white, hot, blinding as they burned brightly over the warehouse. It was chaos as people pushed and shoved around the large man, all in an attempt to get away before they were arrested. 

          Warren wasn’t bulletproof, he knew. The others would claim that they knew nothing, maybe even throw their boss under the bus for everything if given a deal. There was no true loyalty to the peroxide blonde who ran their little organization. Not when so much money passed between hands. Not when so many things that humans craved were within reach -- millions of dollars hidden away in duffle bags paying billionaires for their work, any drug that one would ever crave in tight bundles now mostly scattered across the floor, and any weapon that a citizen here could ask for. This was just business as usual. For a price, Bambi Han could get you anything you wanted-- within reason, of course. And it was Warren's job to make sure things went smoothly. 

           It hadn’t always been like this, though. 

            Five years ago Warren was just a bartender. He’d been offered a job at an up and coming night club after another had closed. Again. Business as usual. Warren didn’t really think much of it. He was young, coasting through life. The only things he really cared about were his little puppy he’d just adopted and the games of call of duty that he found himself unintentionally ignoring his girlfriend for. 

            It was his first night on the job when he met the owner. 

            He was tall, thin, Leith really. He seemed to shimmer under the red lights that pulsed in the room. Warren hadn’t seen anyone like him. 

            He had come to the bar, plush mouth set in an unhappy line as he gazed at the shelving behind the bartender before he informed Warren of what he’d like to have-- of course, the then twenty-four-year-old was entirely far too caught up in the way that the other’s lids danced with what looked like little flecks of stars, how thick his eyelashes were. Fuck. He looked a lot like a painting to Warren's untrained, somewhat blurred vision. He was so terrible at remembering to put his contacts in before going to work. 

            “Excuse me… w-what?” He stammered out, sheepishly, nearly dropping the glass he’d been wiping down. 

            “A screwdriver,” This time the angel's tone was impatient, annoyed as the bartender didn’t catch that he didn’t want to talk. That he was absolutely only here to get fucked up and have a good time. 

            “R-right.” He managed, a nod causing then choppy locks to bounce with each motion. 

            As he sorted out the drink he couldn’t help but glance occasionally at this being that stood only separate to him by fault of a few solid inches of black, shimmering Formica. They didn’t speak after that, not for nearly a year. 

            Warren had gazed at the blonde entity almost nightly, eyes always seeming to train to the daydream that the other workers would casually reveal was the bar owner over drinks a few weeks after the first night Warren laid eyes on him. It didn’t take much more than a google search to realize that Bambi Han certainly had an interesting life. An excommunicated hotel heir with more scandals back home in Korea than one could maintain in their single lifetime. He had an obvious taste for parties, as there was seldom a night that the prince himself didn’t grace the court with his presence. And the near-cult Instagram following that surpassed the numbers that many musicians held. These were all so interesting to Warren as he tended to keep to himself. Though he was tall, certifiably jacked, and knew how good he looked, the then bartender liked to go to bars and actually drink, not with the intention of a hook up — not when he had a gorgeous Veronica always pining for his attention— to go home and play a few rounds of whatever first-person shooter he fancied, and then pass out in a corner. He didn’t do much. Not that he wanted that to change. 

            It seemed like Bambi liked the negative attention. 

            Or at least, it seemed that way to Warren who had the luck of getting to carry Bambi away from a particularly messy argument. 

            He hadn’t heard what it was about, he didn’t know who was right. All he knew was that the club owner had been sat at the end of the bar and Warren learned a long time ago that Bambi liked his glass to remain full. No matter how many times it was refilled-- he didn’t care, he liked to feel like his glass would never empty. So Warren made sure that illusion was fulfilled. So, every so often the bartender would top up the glass, catching fragments of a conversation that slowly soured though Bambi was continually laughing. Eventually, the skinny girls, all equally as shiny and glittery (though still managing to be dull in comparison to the heir), who surrounded him wore frowns, their dates tensing. Warren knew better than to let this keep going, but before his long frame could meet with the end of the bar he heard the shattering of glass. 

            Bambi was soaked through when Warren had exited the bar, tossing the rag to the other bartender on sight as he did. This was a job that many of them had had to do, and tonight it was Warren's turn. 

            “Bambi, hey, it’s time to go. Let’s get you dried up, alright?” Warren said, wincing as shards of glass clung to the white button-up that was all but draped over wide shoulders. Had he not been afraid of Bambi hurting himself, he might have taken the time to note what a vision this blonde was. The glass catching the light, his skin looking as though it were marble-- cold to the touch and smooth--, and his eyes wide and a vibrant blue that was inhuman in nature. Who the fuck got to look like that? 

            Bambi hadn’t stopped talking, though. In fact, it seemed he was making things worse. The other parties were talking over one another and while Warren wasn’t exactly sure where the glass was from, he was certain that more of it would become a part of their equation if he didn’t get Bambi out of there soon. 

            Hoisting someone whose net worth was more that you would ever see in your lifetime over your shoulder went over about as well as could be expected. Complaints about his clothes being ruined, how he was depreciating in value each second they touched, something about poor hands. It was all accompanied by slaps to his back, squirming. God, if he didn’t think Bambi was gorgeous he’d find him to be such a pain in the ass. 

            Well… he guessed Bambi could still be hot and annoying as fuck. 

            And that began their relationship. 

            Bambi would run his mouth, get himself into trouble, and Warren would be there to do damage control. After a couple of years, he found himself working on Bambi’s personal security, which paid a fuck ton better than breaking up bar fights and pouring drinks. 

            During that time Warren had grown a bit attached to the blonde, even growing close enough to gently brush away peroxide strands when they spoke to one another. The conversations always superficial and fleeting, but enough to sate Warren’s obvious desire for the others time. 

            He’d eventually broken things off with Veronica, his attention stretched far too thin… And…. well, he couldn’t bring himself to stay with someone when his eyes would skirt over the pale thighs of his own boss. 

            This alone got him farther than kisses with her ever had. It was frustrating because he was terribly aware that this interest had turned to obsession. He’d never had a crush before, had never experienced someone not giving him the time of day or liking him back. Warren was attractive and yet Bambi never even batted a lash at him. 

            Security detail was weird. He hadn’t really known what to expect when agreeing to Bambi’s drunken pleas to have Warren join, but it certainly wasn’t driving his dinged up kia to a hot pink Palace that looked like it fit better in a Disney movie than in real life. 

            How did someone afford this sort of thing in the middle of the city anyway? 

            So many questions. 

            Maybe he should have expected it, though. Bambi was eccentric in his own ways. While he had a personality on the surface that you could toss a rock into a crowd of models and ten of them share, there were things about it that were obviously false. Bambi wasn’t really this person, no matter how much he liked to pretend that he was. At least, Warren thought so. 

            Maybe working so closely with him would show that. 

            A few weeks into his job he learned a few things. First, Bambi didn’t do much. Most days he roused from sleep late into the afternoon, hair a mess of blonde knots and wearing little more than a silk robe -- if that -- and it would leave Warren blushing. He often spent his days drinking by the pool or playing a poorly concealed DS. Second, Bambi was excessively nerdy. He played video games throughout his day, referenced comic books to other guards, blogged quietly about anime he'd seen, and even wore shirts with various characters printed onto them. Which was a shock to Warren's senses? Even More So when Bambi invited him for a round of Halo. 

          “Warren,” Bambi was leaning through a slightly ajar door as Warren scrolled aimlessly through his phone. Dark hair brushed back casually, a black button-up and jeans his uniform. A sidearm on his hip. He’d never had a job where he needed a gun before. 

          He raised his gaze up from the phone, breath catching as he realized that Bambi was shuffling around in a button-up up a few sizes too large that struggled to cling to his frame without slipping one way or the other. Marilyn came to mind. 

         “Yeah?” He breathed, phone tucking away into his back pocket as he rightened his form. 

         “Can you come play a round of Halo with me? I’m… really bored.” He asked, features mirroring someone much younger than his years as a pout formed. Warren really couldn’t say no to that. 

        “Yeah, sure. I’ll just let one of the other guys know--” 

        “No, it’s fine. It’s only for a couple of rounds and honestly, if you’re with me I think i’d be a lot better protected than if you’re just standing in my hallway like a really poorly placed decoration. Come on, it’s like I'm paying you to play games. It’ll be fun.” 

        He weighed the options, lower lip tucked between his teeth. What if this was a test? What if Bambi was seeing how easily swayed his security was? Warren had wanted time alone to get to know Bambi since the night that they had met. He’d wanted a chance to speak to him about the feelings he was developing for the other. Maybe even segway into a date if he could find the words. This was all a risk he was willing to take. 

       “ Yeah, okay.” 

        And just like that, they were settled in Bambi’s bedroom floor, a large tv on the far wall showing a title page and bags of chips strewn about. It really did look like a teenage boy had been living in this painfully pink, low-lit room. Warren didn’t know how many rounds they had gone through, swears ringing through the room as they took turns losing to one another. Playful shoves to throw the other off. It was as if they had somehow become friends in the time that they’d played. In the few years that they had known each other, they had only been able to share short conversations. The weather. Work. Some new song that was playing at the club. General rules. Never had they interacted like this. Warren’s heart felt so full. 

        He turned his head to the other, a grin on his lips and a caty remark on his tongue, but he finally realized why Bambi had been losing so badly this round. His eyes, heavy-lidded and a sparkling blue, were on Warren. He blushed furiously. “Is… there something on my face?” He asked sheepishly. Bambi gave a small shake of his head as his gaze scanned over Warren’s features in a motion that was far too slow and calculated for Warren’s comfort. 

            Dainty fingers stroked along his jaw and Warren felt a heat trailing behind the touch, his own hand reaching up to wrap around the much smaller one. While it had been a fantasy of his to have Bambi looking at him like this more than once, a part of him knew that this was absolutely a line that they shouldn’t cross. On the tip of his tongue, his lips parting to speak, Warren was going to voice this but before anything could come forward, mouths brushed over one another, thin fingers moving into his hair, and for the first time in his life, Warren had absolutely no idea what to do with himself. Did he rest his hands ever so lightly on narrow hips? Did he pull him closer? What was he supposed to do here? 

              “This is okay,” Bambi had said, lips ghosting over his own. 

               That was really all he needed before they closed the distance once again, lips meeting properly this time. 

             They met like this a few times, secretly sharing heated kisses in the darkened corners of his home. Becoming… intimate. 

             There had even been times that they had gotten together in warrens new Jeep. 

           It was far more than he’d ever expected. Were they together? What did this mean? 

           While Warren was head over heels for this gorgeous Blonde, they still didn’t text normally. They still hardly spoke. But did they need to when in the moments that they were alone they could be so vocal? 

          That’s why he didn’t have any issue standing here, hands held up and steady as police chatter seemed to overtake the entire warehouse. 

          He didn’t have any issue when cool metal and rough hands were around his wrists. Who else would make sure that Bambi’s name stayed clear? No one else really cared if everything Bambi had built came crumbling down between his pretty fingers. Warren cared. He cared a lot. 

         He wore a stone face in interrogation, his jaw set. 

     A scream and the skies opened up to weep as readily as he wished he could. He’dd never understood why his sad days had always been followed by storms. Never understood why the rain was just a perpetual thing when the world got too much for him back home. It was just England, nothing strange about rain.

      Now he knew better. He paid little attention to the freezing rain pelting down, as he finally le tit come out. The tears of pure frustration, the pain wracking his limbs, the shock on his skin.

                              “Are you proud, dad?”

     Arguing with the weather probably shouldn’t feel as natural as it did.

                              “She was a child. A... A girl.”

      It didn’t matter what she could have done to them. They shouldn’t have. He could still see her tears. He could still feel the way she’d recoiled at his punch. Still see her there, still on the floor. 

     Maybe if they’d been smarter, maybe if somebody else had gone, maybe if they’d just left her the fuck alone, that child would still be out there. Alive. They’d only needed to find out what had caused the ghostly cries. They hadn’t needed to...

                                “What’s the point in all this? We can’t save people. We couldn’t save her.”

     He knew the other demigods made offerings at the shrines to their godly parents. Spoke to them there, left mementos for them. But he couldn’t. He wanted to scream. He wanted to yell and fight. Not speak some honeyed words to earn the favour of the man who had set them down this course of destruction and pain and suffering and death. But mostly?

      Mostly he was just angry at himself. They should have tried harder. They should have found a way that wasn’t fighting. Should have looked for a way that it didn’t end with a little girl losing her life and cursing every grown up.

Peter sat by his mom, legs crossed on the grass like he used to. She had a new stone. Since he’d come back from the dead. He wasn’t sure if he should be comforted by their names appearing side by side for the last few decades. Not that ‘should’ had ever stopped him before.

“An’ then she just comes out of nowhere an’ snaps his neck. Just like that. That’s not a thing y’d want your boy to see, I get that, but I guess you’ve been watchin’ me. So y’know it ain’t the worst I saw ever.”

He sighed, shakily. “An’ apparently it’s this that broke the camel’s back. Got a nice sheet of paper sayin’ that. Feels like I got it stamped across my forehead sometimes. ‘Complex PTSD.’ Probably wouldn’t fit, actually.” Mom would appreciate his shitty jokes. Yet, he was sitting there wiping at his eyes, vision blurry as he looked down at the flowers he’d left. “I just...God, Mom, I wanna know what y’think of all this. The therapist said it was about my childhood, an’ it weren’t just Kilgrave. I didn’t do too good with that. Yondu saved my life, whatever else he did. Maybe I shouldn’t gloss over it like that, I - just wanna - it ain’t fair. Y’deserved more than this. I come t’this town t’see Gramps, an’ I love the guy. I do. But I come downstairs an’ I keep thinkin’ I’m gonna find ya whistlin’ in the kitchen like nothin’ ever happened.” “An’ then I wanna run back to space. I miss my sister. I miss all of ‘em, even Rocket’s stupid furry face.” His jokes really weren’t launching anymore, but he felt the need to at least try. “Talkin’ ain’t the same. I need a hug. I can’t go. I didn’t hold your hand. I should’ve. Gramps’s an old man. I’m terrified that somethin’s gonna happen to him the second I set foot on a spaceship.” “What I’m sayin’ is, I wish y’were here. I wish y’could meet ‘em all. Meet ‘Mora an’ show her my baby photos. Make fun of me. Hell, I’m older than y’ever were, now. An’ it ain’t fair. It ain’t. I can’t do nothin’ about it. I guess...if there’s one kid out there that’s still got a mom ‘cause the Guardians exist...that’s one thing I did. We did.”

Best.

It was a word that Rory knew too well. From an early age he'd heard it, over and over, as a description for his parents, and as a definition for what he needed to be when he grew up. His mother was well-known, and his father had his own business, both successful in their own right, and with their passing came that weighing pressure on his shoulders to make them proud: do them justice. Go above and beyond, until there was nothing left to give.

So, Rory had to be the best. At everything. 

He worked well in distractions. He kept his thoughts off of whatever upset him through music, cleaning, socializing: whatever helped him stay on top, that was the priority. Rory needed to have perfect attendance, perfect grades, and all the after-school activities to make him well-prepared, and to look good for colleges. On top of all that, he needed to have a good social life, friends and friends of friends that he could use when it best suited him. He needed a good reputation, the best awards... for him, things never really stopped, but he never thought of that as a bad thing. 

Rory had never been a natural at much. He pushed himself to keep doing things until he climbed to the top, brewing an almost toxic obsession with whatever it was until he was satisfied that he had it all down. It was easier for him to force himself through everything than to focus on the exhaustion that often overwhelmed him, something he wasn't comfortable to admit to anyone, nonetheless admit to himself.

A lot had been happening, lately. He had his after-school duties, the musical, and he was obsessing over Prom and getting a superlative more than it was coming across. He was happy to get a good role for the musical, however, and while it was a relief, the rehearsals were an added time slot that Rory was trying his best to maintain while constantly worrying about Quinn, and her pregnancy, and... now dating her. Something he was terrified of messing up. Along with that, his and Brandon’s dislike had advanced into planning an actual fight. All those things had been taking up most of his thoughts, and making it even harder to focus in class.

Still, it felt sudden. He was sitting at the desk, scribbling down his notes when he felt the tight pull in his chest. It was something he shrugged off, initially, not thinking too much about the wave of pain until it came again - it came in stronger, and it didn't fade away. His breathing wavered as he blinked up at the front of the class, his head feeling light, but it only rose more concern. Health had never been a worry, for him. He did his best to stay active, but the feeling made him think one thing: a heart attack. 

It hurt to breathe, and when he closed his eyes, all he could see were his parents. That was the worst of all, for Rory, mixing the aching pains in his chest with them, but they didn't look happy - they looked angry. Why were they angry with him? Wasn't he doing exactly what they wanted out of him? Though, maybe it wasn't enough. Maybe it wouldn't ever be enough. His breathing hitched again, and it was only then that he realized the hand on his shoulder, jerking in surprise as he looked up into the eyes of his concerned teacher. He didn't want to speak - his mouth wouldn't move, it felt too hard, so being asked if he was okay was met with silence and an annoyed look. She was too loud, though that wasn't the first time Rory had felt annoyed by her nagging voice, it was a different sort of annoyance, and he was quick to jerk away from her touch. 

After a moment, he realized he was being told to go to the nurse, and he couldn't even argue. He felt like he could collapse at any moment, the overwhelming aching pain in him convincing him that, without a doubt, he wouldn't even make it to the nurse. He got up, took a few steps, and felt a hand on his arm, which he jerked away from. Glaring at the.... well, they weren't a stranger. Rory was dreadfully bad at names, specifically those he didn't feel they were important enough to remember, but they clearly knew who he was, as they tried to ramble on to him and it all went over his head. He had to block it out, he had to focus on not dying in the halls of McKinley. That was one of the lamest places to die, and Rory wasn't having it. 

He was soon sitting in the nurse's office, cringing as she tried to ask him questions. He just wanted to get out. He needed space, and some sort of knowledge on what the hell was going on without needing to tell anyone. He kept seeing his parents, or words of disapproval every time he tried to shake it all away, and when he opened his eyes, it took him a moment to focus on the new faces staring at him, Rory frowning as he tried to get a hold of himself. Was he having a mental break? He didn't think he'd been stressing himself out that much, though with everything combined, it didn't seem as overwhelming when he'd been doing it so consistently. 

Soon he was being instructed to take deep breaths and focus on something in the room, and reluctantly, Rory did as he was told, focusing on the crack between two tiles on the floor as he took deep breaths. He thought it was ridiculous, but he did as he was told, until he was spaced out and the aching of his chest slowly faded back.

It was then that he laid down, and he was left staring at the ceiling, again, and blocking out every noise he heard. His breathing felt loud, but he preferred that more to hearing anyone else speak to him. He had no idea how long he laid spaced out, until the nurse finally cleared his throat, and Rory slowly turned his head to look at her. "... so, this isn't the, uh - the after life, is it?" Rory felt uncomfortable, after it was all said and done, having always been the one to try and lighten any bad situation, but he'd been too out of it to try. There was a quiet pause, before she shook her head. 

"Have you ever had a panic attack before, or is this your first?" Rory blinked in surprise. Panic attack? Why would he be having one of those? Specifically, in the middle of class, with nothing to panic over, in his opinion. Rory let out a breath. "No, I haven't. Is that all this was? Because, wow, was that dramatic, and... I love my drama, but I really should be getting back to class-" His voice cut off as her hand landed on his chest, stopping him from sitting up, and Rory fell back onto the bed with a huff.

"I'm going to give a call to your... guardian. Aunt? Carole, is that right?" Rory let out a scoff in disbelief. Was that necessary? He definitely didn't think so, and that was obvious in the way he instinctively shook his head. "Carole Hudson is a very busy woman. She doesn't need to deal with a phone call about me having chest pains that have since gone away, and I’m feeling grand. Good as ever. It's no biggie, ma'am, just let me..." 

And she was walking away, ignoring him and leaving Rory to childishly groan, covering his face in his frustration. Rory worked hard to try and remain a child that lived in her home, but left nothing to concern herself with. He worked hard to not burden her as much as he possibly could, and now she was being bothered to discuss something that Rory, essentially, felt was silly. Apparently, Carole didn't feel the same because it wasn't long until she was there, in front of him, cupping his face as he looked down at her. "I'm fine, Carole," he casually muttered at the look of concern in her eyes. He hated it. He didn't want her to look at him like that, and he quickly found himself trying to avoid her gaze.

There was some grumbling as he was checked out, and really, though it should've been a relief, it stressed Rory out more, knowing he was probably missing something important while he sat in silence with Carole in the car, his arms crossed over his chest, his body slumped down in the seat. The radio was the only comfort that kept him from speaking, and soon enough, she was turning it down.

"I worry about you."

Rory's jaw clenched. "What is there to worry about? I'm doing swell. Actually, I’ve probably never been better. One small thing doesn't change that I'm doing -"

"This isn't one small thing, Rory, and you know that. I know you're a smart boy. I know you know that this isn't something to be forgotten, even if you want it to be. I know you're doing your best-" The cringe that pulled onto Rory's face was clearly caught by Carole's side-eye, in the way she paused, peering over at him. "... and I'm proud of you. I'm sure your - your parents would be, and, hey - don't do that," she cut off, smacking his hand away from the stereo as he attempted to turn it up, the bass booming for nearly a second before there was silence once more. "I'm talking to you, and if you start being disrespectful, I'll... I'll ground you." It was clear Rory had never actually earned any kind of punishment, and he was side-eyeing her, ready to poke fun before he remembered that that grounding could potentially include prom, and snapped his mouth shut again. 

"What I'm trying to say is that you can talk to me. We're family," she reminded, "and if you're feeling something, you can talk to me about it." Rory tried not to roll his eyes, knowing that bringing any sort of attitude would not go in his favor. He didn't want to talk about it. Rory always felt that recognizing the issue meant making it real. He didn't want it to be real that he was stressing himself out too much. 

"If all of you were trying to help, I wouldn't have been sent home early. I'm probably missing vital test info right this very second. I'm fine. I feel great right now, except for the fact that I'm missing everything. Not very responsible of me. What if this ruins the rest of my school year? I'll fail, and that's something to really panic about," he rushed out, his tone jumping back into the joking tune that he naturally kept, though it sounded a bit more forced than usual.  Of course, that had earned him a slap against his shoulder with the back of Carole's hand. It wasn't much, and only affected Rory from the shock of it all. "Hey!" 

"You're gonna go home, and you're getting into bed, and... I'm keeping all activities away from you... and if this keeps happening, you’re gonna have to drop some of your after school activities. Alright?" 

The blurred sight of her nightstand greets Jaime as she fumbles to reach for her phone. She’s vaguely aware of a shrieking sound interrupting the still of the night but it takes only a second before she realizes exactly what the sound is. It’s the fire alarm - there is a fire at St. Brendan’s and she knows in an instant that she needs to get up and help.

She’s up out of bed in seconds, phone clutched in her hand as she pulls on her fluffy robe to protect her from the cold and her slippers are stepped into. She’s only just into the hallway when she notices something horrible - the lights aren’t on in the hall. She makes her way down the familiar hall in the darkness, not thinking for the first few moments that she’s got a flashlight on her phone. When she does remember, she flicks it on in an attempt to help her see. She moves over to Leah’s door, giving a firm knock and shouting, “Leah there’s a fire!” She wants her friend to be up and helping it she wasn’t already, and Jaime continues to make her way to the stairwell. 

Something else is in motion though, something Jaime would have never imagined in her thirty years. She’s steps away from the stairwell when the world seems to slow as an explosion rocks the building. The noise had been loud, piercing almost and she looks around, unsure of what the hell it was, when the floor beneath her gives way as the faculty wing collapses in on itself.

The world goes dark, her phone slipping from her grip with it’s light still emanating through the darkness until it falls to the ground feet away from her, going dark. It’s the only thing she’s able to focus on in the collapse, at least until her head slams into a pile of debris beneath her. It’s a sharp, splintering pain that radiates from a singular point and she can’t help the cry of pain that tears from her lips. She’d never felt pain like this before, but it’s far from the only pain. There’s debris scattered all over - some on her - and her muscles feel weak under the pressure.

Through her tears and the pain, Jaime manages to clamor out of the rubble in a number of minutes. She calls out for any of her friends, her colleagues, as she slowly makes her way through the bits of debris toward where she remembers the exit being. There’s no sense of time as she moves, just a desire to get out of this rubble and check on everyone - make sure everyone else is okay. The fire alarm - where had it been coming from? Nico, the students -- Erica.

Jaime’s breath hitches, limiting the air further than her shallow breathing already had. She needed to find Erica. She needed to make sure she was okay. Her colibri, her love... was this the only building attacked? And why - why had someone done this?!

She didn’t know when, but she had fallen into a heap, unable to move forward any further. Her muscles had given out, her body protesting between the trauma she had endured and the two hours of sleep she’d gotten not being enough. Tears streamed as she tried to crawl, but she didn’t get far. With the darkness inside and out she had no idea how close or how far she was to an exit. Was there even an exit anymore?

Jaime didn’t know how long she’d tried to crawl when she heard a holler of, “Cap! We’ve got a survivor!” Her eyes moved up, noting briefly that her left eye was unfocused and blurry, before she was scooped up by strong arms. The man was calling for a gurney as she was carried her into the cold night air. The world seemed to be darker than she’d ever seen it even as the flashing lights from the police and emergency vehicles illuminating parts of campus, and the cold air bit angrily into the exposed bits of skin through the ripped clothing of her pajamas. At some point she’d lost a slipper, too, and she honestly couldn’t remember when.

The EMT’s that rushed her from the building toward the ambulance were trying to reassure her that they had her, but Jaime wasn’t focused on them. She was looking around - trying her best to figure out what was going on - and she’d caught sight of the fire tearing through the residence wing.

“ERICA!” She’d screamed, fighting to get up, but the EMT’s had strapped her down and she couldn’t move. They did her best to calm her, but the tears streamed fast as her mind soared. What if Erica was hurt? She needed to save her!

St. Brendan’s was in good hands, if Jaime had been thinking rationally she would have known that. All she could think of as she was loaded into the ambulance, though, was that her students needed her and she wasn’t there to help them. One EMT climbed into the back once she was loaded, taking her pulse and listening as she kept crying for Erica. She talked about needing to save her, needing to protect her students as the ambulance raced away from the school toward Seabrook ER.

----------

The ride to the hospital and the ensuing trauma evaluation were a blur to Jaime. Her muscles ached worse than ever before, and the headache that had calmed down was back with a vengeance. She’d gone into a CT machine - at least that’s what she had been told it was - before being brought back to the ER to rest while they waited for the results.