Biker Mice From Mars - Breaking The Habit

Trauma

"Okay, so what did he do this time? Try to headbutt a moving train?" Ruby asked as she stepped into the living room.

But the moment the last word left her mouth, she stopped dead in her tracks.
Her gaze swept across the room, taking in the blood, the splintered furniture, and the shattered photo frames littering the floor.
She wasn't easily rattled, but even for her, this was a grim sight.

"You guys throwing a late Halloween party or something?" she asked, her voice dropping an octave as she marched over to Vinnie.

The young mouse was still sprawled on the hardwood in a pool of his own blood, completely out.
Kiwi was kneeling beside him, his head cradled in her lap.
She had broken down the moment he was out, the strength she had used to sedate him gone in the wind.
And now, she simply couldn't stop crying.

"He got stabbed rescuing me," she sobbed, looking up at Ruby with swollen, bloodshot eyes.
"Please... help him."

Ruby knelt next to them.
After a quick, reassuring pat on Kiwi's hand, she leaned over to inspect the wound in Vinnie's arm.
She worked with practiced, clinical speed, checking his pulse and the depth of the cut.

"He'll be fine," she finally said, straightening up.
Her voice was calm, the anchor in the storm.
"The blood makes it look worse than it is. It's a clean hit, even missed the bone."

Kiwi shook her head, another tear trickling down her cheek as her eyes remained fixed on Vinnie's now-relaxed face.
"You didn't see him... He totally lost it. Jesus, the look in his eyes..."

Ruby pursed her lips and nodded, already busy cleaning the wound with practiced efficiency.
She remembered Vinnie's reaction the first time she had patched him up in this house.

She glanced at Kiwi once more before picking up a small razor to shave away the blood-matted fur around the gash.
"Do you know anything about PTSD? Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?" she asked, her hands never stopping their work.

Throttle and Modo, who had retreated to the couch to give the women space, shared a heavy, knowing look.

Kiwi glanced back at them briefly before her gaze landed on Vinnie's pale features again.
"I've heard of it."

"Well, I've worked with soldiers who suffered from PTSD," Ruby said, keeping her gaze fixed on what she was doing.
"They see things no one should ever see. And they don't talk. They bury it, thinking they're being strong, but in reality, they're just skipping the processing. It makes sense, though, I mean, who would want to relive hell?"

She paused, dabbing away some blood.
"But that unresolved trauma doesn't stay buried. It just waits for a trigger. For your white-furred friend here, it looks like medical help is the 'on' switch. The moment he realized he was hurt and needed help, his brain stopped remembering the past and started re-experiencing it. He wasn't in this room anymore. He was back in whatever nightmare made him this way."

Kiwi said nothing.
The pieces were finally starting to fit together, and the picture they formed was heartbreaking.

"And how can we help him?" Modo asked, his voice thick with a mix of worry and helplessness.

Ruby cleaned the wound one last time and grabbed her suture material.
She didn't look up, but her tone shifted from clinical to something more practical.
"Well, you can't 'fix' what's happened. You can't reach into his head and pull the memories out. But when he's in the fog? You can be the lighthouse."

She glanced at the two of them.
"When he's triggered, he loses his sense of 'now.' Your job isn't to fight him or argue with him. Your job is to bring him back to the present. Talk to him. Keep him grounded. Remind him where he is and who he's with. You have to be the proof that hell is over, even when his brain is telling him it's just beginning."