Wunderkind

1.08-Corkscrew

*Chapter contains mentions of past self-harm*

MAC AND BOZER'S HOUSE

TRY TELLING THAT TO THE NIGHTMARES

He can't get away. He's surrounded, trapped, he can't escape. The hungry eyes in the sea of orange around him aren't even human, they're feral and desperate. He tries to pull away, but there are hands on his arms, hands on his legs, hands on his body, they won't let go, he's crying and begging but they just won't stop...

Mac gasps, shoving away the sweat-soaked sheets tangled around his body and legs and scratching frantically at his skin, scrubbing away the feeling of grasping, violating fingers. It was just a dream. I'm safe. I'm not there anymore. It's not real. But it was real. It happened.

It's the second time he's woken up sobbing in the past four hours. That's an improvement over last night at least. Yesterday morning he woke Bozer up at three, screaming and crying and begging the monsters in his nightmares to leave him alone. He shouldn't have to deal with all this. I'm a mess.

He struggles to his feet, bracing a hand against the wall because his legs are shaking and weak and aren't quite doing enough to hold him upright. I need to get that feeling off of me.

He's sweating; he should take a shower, but he hasn't been able to do that since Bishop. The sound of the running water the one time he tried sent him into a panicked flashback that ended with him curled up in a corner, where Bozer found him crying and shaking nearly half an hour later. He hadn't asked any questions, but it was clear from the look on his face when he made Mac a mug of hot chocolate and practically forced him to drink it, fussing the whole time about how badly Mac had been shivering and how cold he was, that Boze is well and truly aware of the truth. How could he not be? When he touched you you yelled at him to leave you alone, to please stop, that you didn't want it. He's not stupid.

Mac carefully avoids looking at himself in the mirror. He already knows he looks like shit. His hair is greasy and dirty, his skin is striped with dried sweat, and his cheeks are hollowed out, wrists and ankles fragile, collarbones and ribs sharp and distinct. He's been out for almost two weeks and nothing has changed. I'm falling apart. And what for? That wasn't even close to the worst I've had it. He's told himself that over and over. It was one time, and not that bad. I dealt with this and worse before, what's different now?

Every time he tries to eat something more substantial than a granola bar, he throws up. He sleeps less than three hours a night, and any sleep he gets is restless and haunted by nightmares. It was one time. I've had so much worse. What the hell is wrong with me?

For a while he wondered if the test results from medical were wrong, if he was sick after all. But that wouldn't explain the nightmares. He hasn't been this bad since...since the first time it was more than one guy in the same incident. He'd woken up half his cell block with the screaming nightmares for a week then. But this wasn't even close to that bad and anyway, I'm used to it by now. Why am I falling apart?

Maybe because I thought it was over. When I was in CCI I knew it could happen again, any time. So after a while I just surrendered to it. Or got myself put back in solitary. And then I got out and I thought it would be over. But it wasn't. For the first time in a long time, with that team, I actually felt safe. And then they sent me back and I got hurt all over again. He knows he shouldn't blame his team, it wasn't their fault, their hands were as tied as his. But some days that's harder to remember.

It's the only explanation he has for this that makes any sense. He needs explanations. He needs to be able to solve the problem, to fix this, to be okay again. If I can't, then I'm no good to anyone. And I'll go back. He can't do that again. He can't. So I have to be okay, now. But the more he worries about what will happen if he can't cope, where he'll be sent if he can't go back to work, the sicker he feels and the less he sleeps.