ninjago imagines

i'm scared it's in my bones | zane j.

Whumptober 4/31

Prompt: Iron Rod/Loss of Powers

TW: Self destructive tendencies/self harm implications, Flashbacks, Mentions of minor character death 

——— 

Zane fingers the thin bracelet he fashioned for himself out of raw vengestone —a piece he secreted away into his gi from a vengestone bust, months ago. It's scrappy, awkward work, nothing like the graceful machinery Nya creates, nothing like the precise repairs Jay does for him whenever he's hurt on a mission (even if he doesn't deserve it, a voice hisses in his mind, and it feels like the truth).

But it does its job, and that's what's important.

Click.

The vengestone locks around his wrist, the heavy weight strong and reassuring. Inside his core, he feels the ice creep away, slowly and painfully, retreating into a place deep inside him. The screams in his ears quiet to a dull roar—one he can almost ignore, if he tries hard enough.

At first, even the thought of it seemed like something too horrible to even consider. But the days go on, and on and on and on, and all Zane can see when he closes his eyes are the faces of those he froze in the Never-Realm, mouths open in screams of terror, eyes filled with tears. He thinks of the ones that never made it out of their icy coffin, the ones that the others didn't arrive in time to free. From the Vex, from the Ice Emperor, from him, no matter how many layers of words Sensei Wu tries to wrap the truth in. Mothers and husbands and children, lost to his senseless violence and anger. The frost twists around his wrists and he lets it cut into himself, deeper and deeper.

At night, he lays in bed, still as a corpse. He doesn't sleep often, and when he does, he never dreams, not in the way he would before the Never-Realm. His night passes in flashes of cold white snow and a storm of faces with no names he can never forget—always screaming, always crying. He wakes up (does he, really?)and the days begin anew, but the thought of returning to bed hangs over his head like a vice.

He tries and tries and tries to hold them off, as much as he doesn't deserve the respite from the memories. He stays up cooking, trying out old recipes that read like familiar friends to him, but when his hands shake when he reaches for the flour (pain cold no no no no), and try as he might, the end result never tastes or looks as they used too, no matter how much Lloyd gushes to him about it.

Sometimes he catches himself in moments of weakness and thinks about telling something, anyone, about the night terrors, the memories that never stop washing over his vision every time someone brings up the Never-Realm or a cloud catches the wrong way in the reflection of his eyes, the way his power sinks into his bones like a blade every time he summons ice to his hands.

He dismisses the thought every time, however. For his family, their powers are a lifeline—something they use honorably, to save and fight and protect, the very thing he was created for. He is the one who failed. He is the one who froze and hurt and killed people, breaking the sole purpose of his existence.

Zane is—well, he isn't sure what he is, anymore, if he's being completely honest.

He closes his eyes, and the burning ache of vengestone takes it all away.