Peter Pan OUAT One-Shots/Imagines

PTSD (x Reader)

Warning: There is content concerning drugs, alcohol, abuse, suicide, cutting, and many dark themes in this imagine. If you are sensitive to these subjects, please do not read this. 

Key:

Y/N- Your Name

Y/F/N- Your First Name

Y/M/N- Your Middle Name

Y/L/N- Your Last Name

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My mind flashed with dark images of my own history. A dusty, broken beer bottle lying on it's side, dripping it's foul contents onto the splintered wooden floor. An old, musty attic with some blankets reeking of mildew ready for me to sleep in them that night. My tattered beige dress draped over the white picket fence to dry, flecks of paint from the wood attaching themselves to the cotton. The rusty old mailbox full of bills that would never be paid. Myself, against a wall, screaming for help as one of my father's friends abused me. Gnarled vines tied to make a rope hanging out the window for an escape that would not succeed. Pillows stained with blood and tears from the nights when my father's temper was effected by his intoxication. Shards of the mirror that shattered long ago reflecting the light of a crescent moon. China blue eyes of my brother full of fear at an approaching blade. Crack cocaine in a zip up bag lying on the windowsill below the cracked glass. A raised fist, a flash of white, my own screams filling that terrible house, red liquid dripping from the counter, my father's face-

"Y/N! Y/N!"

My eyes shot open and I sat straight up, a scream leaving my lips. Sweat dripped from my brow and my whole body shook, particularly my hands. Desperately, I lifted my hand to look at it. I couldn't control it, it just kept trembling. Finally, I met Peter's eyes. They were wide with concern for my well being. 

"P- Peter?" The sound of my voice was hoarse and broken, like I had been screaming for a long time, and maybe I had been. Truthfully, it surprised me. It was so hard to speak, like a physical challenge. This had happened to me many times, but in the past, I never had trouble speaking. 

Peter lunged and grabbed me in his arms, my frail frame drawn deep into love and comfort as he held me tightly. "Oh god, Y/N, what... what happened?"

I pushed him away and looked down at the sheets of the bed in our treehouse. They were bunched up and matted, cool and crisp, so much easier to face than my boyfriend. "It was nothing, really. Just a nightmare."

"Y/N...." he trailed off, "You know I love you unconditionally, and you know that I will not judge you, not even for an instant. So just tell me, because you have me wrapped around your finger, I'm in this for the long run. I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

How did he always know just what to say? "Okay, I guess." Quietly, I began to tell him all about the house I grew up in. A house of hate, of tears, of sleepless nights. Slowly but surely, I explained what my father was like and how he treated me. The images I had seen in my nightmare that resurrected the past came back and soon, Peter knew of them, too. 

When I finished, he didn't say anything. He just scooted towards me and held me as I sobbed. I think that's about the best thing he could have done in that moment. It was a sign that he loved me and he would stand by me, but at the same time he understood that words could not explain that moment, they would only fall short. So he didn't say anything, he just embraced me, lulling me into a dreamless sleep. 

~+~

Morning sun streamed in through the windows and shone on my face, waking me. I turned over slowly, expecting Peter to be there, but the bed was empty. All that were left were sheets carelessly tossed around the bed. 

I swung my feet over the side and padded through the treehouse till I found Peter in his study, pouring over a few books and a notebook with a leather cover. "What are you doing?" 

He jumped and looked up at me, then relaxed. "I'm working," he wrote something else down really fast then shut the notebook and came over to me, "And I think my work's about to pay off."

"What do you mean by that?" I asked skeptically. 

He lifted the notebook. "I mean I can help you with your PTSD."

"What?" I took the journal from him and opened to the first page, "How?"

"Well, read it."

And I did. "Lets see... You want to talk about it, like a therapy... okay. Medication?"

"Yeah," he pulled out a small container of meds. "Stole them from back in the Land Without Magic. 

"Hmm. Live a healthy lifestyle, connect with more people, and establish a stronger relationship with you. It all sounds good to me. You honestly think this will work?" I asked. He just nodded. "Alright, what are we waiting for?"

Our first session went well, I suppose. We sat and talked through everything, and within a year, I my nightmares were almost gone, they happened rarely. Peter's plan was going perfectly and I couldn't be happier. 

It was a typical morning for Peter and I, and it was yet another session. We sat and talked about what happened for what seemed like forever, like always. 

"And I guess that my father's horrible habits shouldn't get to define my future. I am not defined by my history, or something deep like that. And I mean, I think I'm succeeding on that. Look at where I started and look at where I am now!"

Peter nodded and jotted something down. He had used his magic to memorize a couple phycology textbooks and had helped me with therapy since we didn't have any psychologists on Neverland. "Hey, Y/N?"

"Yeah?" 

"I have something to ask you." He got up from his chair and crossed to me. I was standing in our treehouse by the window as he approached. He pulled something from his back pocket and as he got down on one knee, I began to feel tears overflowing. "Y/N, I love you. I would let my walls crumble for you, I'd give up my power for you, I'd sacrifice my lost boys, Neverland, even my own life to make you happy for a single instant. You know why? Because I am happy if you are happy. Your smile makes me smile, your laugh is contagious, your joy washes over me until I just don't know how to think. And I love that feeling because I love you. And I want to feel that for as long as possible, for eternity. For eternity, I want it to be just you and me. So, Y/F/N  Y/M/N  Y/L/N, will you be with me every step of my life, when I cry, when I laugh, when I scream in agony, when the world presses down on my heart, when new doors open, and every time I rise and fall by marrying me?" 

"Oh god yes, Peter, yes, yes, yes, yes!" I flung my arms around his neck and kissed him with everything I had in me, and when we broke from the best kiss we have ever shared, the kind in movies that you think don't exist, he slid a simple but beautiful diamond ring over my finger. 

Needless to say, my fiancee (soon-to-be-husband) and I had that fairy tail ending children so desperately crave. And I never had a nightmare again because my pain does not paint my path, I do.