ninjago imagines

then try to breathe//under the water | lloyd g.

Whumptober 5/31

Prompt (Alternate): Deal with the Devil

TW: Blood and injury, Nightmares, Self destructive tendencies 

———

Approach the sphere, Energy growls, and the sound reverberates through Lloyd's bones, sinking deep into his chest. A million reasons rush through his mind; what if he loses his element, what if it doesn't work, what if he dies, but it's far, far too late for all that. His feet automatically carry him forward, shuffling towards the edge of the bridge, stopping before he tips over into the glowing abyss. He has people to save. Dragons to keep safe. His family to protect.

He has no choice. (Has he ever?)

Lloyd reaches his hands into the light, fingers grazing something humming and buzzing and screaming with terrible power. He thinks he might die from the pain, for an instant, but he's never so lucky, is he?

The burning power creeps around his wrist and pulls, and he—

———

He wakes up in the midst of it all, a blazing pain behind his eyes and palms, a recognizable feeling of a flickering, unstoppable heat in his chest raging to be released. He thinks he felt it once before, something close to it, anyway, the night he exploded into gold in the middle of the sky, the night—

Graves litter the wasteland around him, and his heart jolts as he picks up on the colors decorating them—Kai's fiery red mask, Cole's burnt orange— he failed, he failed them all—

He wakes up curled in familiar arms, jostling as they run, run far away enough from—Zane tells him he saved them—who's them? Who's— the dragons, his team, he reminds himself, somehow, and the throbbing pain in his head threatening to break him into a thousand pieces makes him question if it was worth it, if anything is worth this—

A dragon sweeps the sky before him, his wings are engraved with the past and the present and the future, the birth and the destruction of Ninjago and the world, forever—it roars, loud and horrible in his ears, and swallows him in a column of bright fire.

He wakes up twisted in cold sheets and hands holding him down, head ablaze with fire. Someone is screaming, crying with pain and it takes him far too long to realize it's his own voice—

The power consumes his body, symbols flashing throbbing glowing before his eyes, and the ground crumbles to dirt and dust beneath his feet, throwing him into the void to be forgotten. The darkness stretches before his eyes, stars twinkling in the night.

Lloyd wakes up for the final time days or weeks later (he forgets to ask, really), and the fire in his chest has dulled to something manageable, at least for a while.

But it's not the same, because he really isn't ever that lucky.

———

Days pass before he notices the changes. He loses himself in a nightmare, wakes up screaming, but instead of being on the floor entangled in blankets, he's inches from the end of the monastery's rooftops, elbows scraped to ruins against the cold, ragged bricks. He lets Zane nurse him over feverishly, listing off the possible causes for the phenomenon (there is no cause, there is no reason, fate wants him to suffer and he will) and listens to Kai ask if he's okay, over and over, and he nods, once, and doesn't pull away when the antiseptic dabs against his torn skin.

Lloyd tries to remember what he was dreaming about. He can't.

———

The nosebleeds start the day after, as cliche as they are. He watches the red soak into his gi, and brushes a hand across his nose, blinking at the blood. It doesn't stop for hours, but he doesn't pass out, and he lets Arin and Sora make as many Stranger Things jokes as he wants to mask the worry in their voices. The burn in his chest flares up, the pain tearing at his head, and Lloyd licks the iron taste from his lips, trying not to think of Sensei Wu's voice, preaching tales of the risks of making a deal with the devil, whatever names they go by. You got them out, he reminds himself. You saved them.

He gets used to the sight of red dotted stains on his sheets and pillows, and no matter how much Zane promises to get them out, they never really fade away, not really.

The pain lightens when he trains, letting his power burn through countless mannequins and punching bags, letting it arc through the air and take the ache from his core, if only for a second. Then the pain rushes to his head—stabbing and clawing and slashing apart his thoughts, spilling every single dirty thought he has to the surface-–red skies pour down upon his head and the ground thunders beneath him—

Lloyd wakes up on the ground for what feels like the thousandth time, Nya running her fingers through his hair, and the only thought he has is that he's glad he's not stuck floundering in the air, like last time (stuck until he fell as he woke up, anyway, and wasn't that a horrible awakening to everything). She tells him that he's okay and that they'll fix it and that she's sorry, so sorry, and when he tells her it's okay he means it in a way he hasn't for a long time.

Because it is, obviously. It is fine. Lloyd's the one meant to save everyone, no matter what burdens or unspoken side effects it's bundled along with. It's what he was made for, even if it isn't spelled out as clearly as Zane's fate is, and it's worth it, no matter how many times he's shaken awake crashing to the ground or how many hours he spends curling in bed with his head splitting apart.

It is fine. It's hard to remind himself sometimes, but Lloyd does it anyway, clinging to the three little words like a lifeline. Day by day, the burn in his chest grows to a constant ache, and he lets it eat him alive.