For the post trauma sentence starters- all were tempting but I'd like to request a fic starting with "you're home. You're safe" Thank you!
Content warning for panic attacks and allusions to abuse (since Juno panics about Sarah and Jack)!
âYouâre home. Youâre safe.â
It lasts less than a second.
Buddy has herded the crew to the couch for a stream night. At Ritaâs behest theyâve pirated a stream service with a wide range of channels; she flips through their selection at a superhuman pace. Juno catches a glimpse of some kind of sports channel; a nature documentary; a kidâs channelâŚ
And then thereâs the flash of a red capeâthe swell of heroic music over the half-words,
Rita U-turns to the last channel, but the damage has been done. Panic doesnât surge through Juno so much as become him. He scrambles off the couch. Rita calls after him, but he makes a garbed excuse about snacks and flees.
Juno can feel his pulse throb through his arms and his legs and his neck as he stalks down the hall. He reaches his room on rickety legs and lets the door snik shut behind him.
Juno is forty years old, and he wants to collapse onto the bed and curl up like a child.
Hell, thereâs no one around to see. He does.
It doesnât help. No matter how hard he focuses on the texture of the sheets, or the smell of the room or the glow of the night cycle lights, Juno canât drown out that horrible voice: The good guys always win. The good guys always win. The good guysâŚ
In a vague way Juno understands there are people outside his door. A hushed discussion takes shape betweenâah. Rita and Nureyev.Â
Juno knows heâs not four anymore. He knows Jack is dead, and heâs on a ship a million miles from Oldtown, and the crew doesnât think heâs a worthless piece of shit. He knows Rita and Nureyev are on the other side of that door, not ma.
So why does he feel like heâs about to get the shit beaten out of him?
The door opens. Juno canât restrain a full-body flinch; his eye screws shut. Rita gives one last harried whisper. Then her tiny, trademark footsteps patter away down the hall.
Juno doesnât hear the door close, but the hallway light no longer stains his eyelid.
From across the room Nureyev murmurs, âJuno.â
Juno turns his face down against the sheets. He coils tighter into himself.Â
Thereâs a pause. Socked feet graze the floor. The voice sounds much closer nowâonly a foot or two away. âWhat can I do to help?â
Juno doesnât know how to respond to that. He shakes his head. Itâs worse to keep his eye shut; he needs to see the bedroom to remember heâs still here. He dares to peek at Nureyev.
It should be proof enough that Sarah and Jack are gone, to see Nureyev knelt at his bedside. But Junoâs body doesnât care about proof. Heâs forty and he can take care of himself, butâŚ
He has to protectâwho? He has to stop him; her; them. He has to be good. Heâs fucked up everyoneâs lives. Heâs about to get screamed at or hit. He starts to cry, and shame rakes hot lines up his chest.
âItâs like Iâm there again,â he splutters. He covers his eye. âHalf a fucking catchphrase and I feel like heâs about toâlike Jack or maâlike Benââ
Just tell them Turbo did it. Whereâs Turbo now, Juno? Being good is always hard, Juno. I can count onâ
Over the maelstrom Nureyev asks, âJuno, love. Would contact help or hurt?â
âYes,â Juno says. Little monster, little monster, little monster. âI meanâIâpleaseââ
Nureyev stands. For a horrible moment Juno expects him to turn around and leaveâbut then the mattress dips. Nureyev lies down so theyâre face to face. Juno grips a bundle of sheets between two fists, his hands drawn close to his chest. An arm reels Juno closer, slow and steady. One hand sneaks under Junoâs arm and finds purchase between his shoulder blades; the other comes up to fill the gap between the mattress and Junoâs cheek. Â
Juno shudders. His fingers go lax around the sheets. Nureyev rests their foreheads together and whispers,
âItâs all right, darling.â
âIâm sorry. Fuck. This is so stupidââ
âItâs not stupid at all.â Nureyev ducks down to kiss Junoâs temple. âThereâs no need to be sorry. Itâs going to be all right. Youâre home. Youâre safe.â
Junoâs heart and blood and brain beg to differ, but the closeness helps. With Nureyevâs hand on his cheek; his arm around his back; their foreheads pressed together, the endless loop of the good guys always win and little monster starts to skip. Junoâs eye flutters shut, and this time he doesnât see his childhood bedroom.
âRight here,â Nureyev reminds him, soft and sure. âYouâre right here.â