Why Don't We Sickfics

PTSD, Pt. 3

Boom.

The resounding crash echoed through the venue. The lights flashed.

The music fizzled out for a moment before it came back.

The boys looked around in confusion. Corbyn wasn't singing his verse.

It was coming back at full force. He could see the man with the gun so vividly.

And this time, the gun fired.

Corbyn looked down at his shoulder to see that it was dissolving away. The skin around the hole was blackening, peeling away to reveal a sickly mechanical structure, thick dark greasy liquid pouring out. His shoulder was screaming in pain, the bone shattering to reveal an even darker core.

Jonah ran to the huddled figure on the ground, the other boys in close pursuit. "Turn the lights out." he shouted into his microphone. The stage lights turned off, but the glimmers of a thousand phones still lit up the venue. Some of the fans were screaming, some were talking in confusion, some were talking to their friends. All he knew was that it was loud, and that noise like this made Corbyn's panic attacks worse.

The darkness was creeping in, seeping through his bloodstream and flooding the concert field. It was no longer blood that was choking him, but the sickly dark sludge that was squeezing his lungs. It had a sickening smell, something he couldn't quite make out. It was like metallic iron and burnt flesh, with a toxic sourness mixed in. It had taken ahold of him, forcing him down below the deep, dark liquid, a prisoner inside his own body.

The blonde was shaking, sobbing hysterically. He was on his knees, covering his head, a small puddle of shame around the quivering body. Jonah had never seen him this shaken. It was the first day of the tour in which Corbyn had looked like his old self, and yet he was now broken once more.

The large velvet curtains swept closed, hiding the boys from the crowd.

The boys bent down, unsure of what to do.

Jonah gently placed a hand on the blonde's back. He winced as Corbyn recoiled away. "Ssshh, Bean, it's me." he whispered. "It's okay. Just-- just try to breathe."

Someone was talking but he couldn't hear. His shoulder was corroding away, burning an excruciating agony through his soul. He had never felt more hopeless. He was trying and trying and trying to fight the pain but it only got worse.

It wasn't getting better at all. By this point, the stage crew and theatre staff were coming up to them, asking them what was happening. It was all too overwhelming. Jonah took a deep breath. "People! Get away! Give him some space." he shouted. The other boys were helping out, politely moving the crowd of staff away from the stage.

The thick curtains weren't blocking most of the noise from the fans. They had to move Corbyn out, away from the noise.

Jonah gently placed his hands around Corbyn's body. "Bean, I'm gonna get you somewhere quiet, okay? Trust me, please. I'm so sorry." he whispered into the blonde's ear as he heaved the younger boy to his feet.

Corbyn couldn't stand. He couldn't walk. His legs were trembling too hard, the world was still spinning around him. The dark black liquid was dragging his feet to the ground, holding them down. He wasn't strong enough to support his own weight. He felt himself falling, his knees buckling like limp spaghetti.

Jonah grunted, bending down to pick up his knees. He cradled the boy in his arms, slowly carrying him offstage. "Everything is okay. You're safe, I promise." He whispered as he carried the trembling boy backstage into their green room, the rest of the band following.