Where's Jim? (Trollhunters)

Struggles

Jim has always heard in stories and in movies that when a character experiences something traumatic, they usually end up having nightmares or flashbacks of some sort. The worst part of the event replayed in their mind, plaguing their sleep and their lives until they refuse to do it anymore. He'd really hoped that he would manage to avoid that particular side effect.

But the museum floor was cold, and the ropes were so tight he was bleeding around them. He couldn't move anything, not even to look away from the sight in front of him. His friends and family, all lines up next to each other, everyone from Blinky to his mom. They all looked resigned to their fates, eyes startlingly dull and empty. Strickler was here this time too, in his hideous green form. He was carrying the knife again. "What did I tell you, Jim? You'll never escape from me. One last chance. Either cooperate, or they will suffer."

But Jim can't answer. His voice is frozen, and his lips won't move. Nothing is moving. 

"I see then. Well, I did warn you." He shrugged, plunging the knife into Claire's back.

She doesn't react. The blood begins pouring out, soaking the knife and the ground. It clings to Jim's knees, climbs up his body and stains what it can. Her body eventually falls over, in the same position Jim swore he remembers Strickler's body was.

The pattern continues slowly. He's forced to watch as Strickler visits everyone he cares about one by one, their blood seeping out and joining the quickly growing flood. Even Blinky and Aaaarghhh!!! became victims, all of their eyes growing even deader as their bodies impossibly contort. His mother is the last victim, the blade being plunged directly into her heart.

Jim bolted up in his bed, sweat coating his body instead of crimson red blood. He was crying too, tears rolling down his face faster than he could ever try to stop them. It was just a dream. Just a stupid dream, and yet it had felt so real. He can still feel the blood sticking to his hands, although it was probably just the sweat. He needed to get clean, to wash all of this away. All the fear, all the pain, all of the memories.

The bathroom was a short walk away from his room, but it may as well have been miles away. His legs were shaking so much it was hard to walk, even harder to try to do it without waking up his mom. But he makes it eventually, turning on the sink and splashing water on his face. This was real. He wasn't in the museum anymore. He was at home with his mom, safe forever from Strickler and his plans. He'd seen the body himself, had felt the blood splatter when it was still warm. Okay, so clearly nightmares were something to take into consideration. A part of him hoped it was just because the memory was so fresh. It had been about twenty four hours since he was rescued, but he'd spent most of that day sleeping. Claire had mentioned he'd started having a nightmare once he was saved too. That could eventually be a problem if it continued. Sleep was something he didn't get enough of anyway, and this could cause him to become very sleep deprived. 

But that was something for future Jim to worry about. Right now, he needed to go back to bed and try to salvage what little sleep he could manage. He headed back towards his room, only making a stop to grab an extra blanket from the closet. He had no energy nor any desire to change his entire bed, so he'd make do with laying on top of everything that was currently there and then changing it tomorrow. He changed out of his sweaty clothes into a fresh pair before climbing back into bed, burrowing under the clean blanket. 

It felt all too soon when his alarm started blaring, pulling him out of the blissful land of sleep to the land of the consciousness. Jim groans, slipping a hand out from under the blanket to slap at the alarm clock. He doesn't want to go anywhere, not even to leave his bed and wander around his house. The sun doesn't seem to agree with his plan, shining into his eyes and trying to prevent him from lazing the day away.