So if anyone's frequented Tumblr lately, you'll have seen an increase of Lloyd-with-a-robot-arm art (if you haven't you should, it's all wonderful) and I couldn't resist jumping on the one-armed-Lloyd bandwagon. Technically the AU takes place in the movie-verse, but I had an idea for the show so! here's this mess. (Also the snake is...don't question where it came from, it's plot convenience :'D )
Takes place around season 9, btw! (so Kai isn't here to have an aneurysm on the spot)
It's nearing the height of dusk when the scream rings out across the city, the sky a midnight blue behind the smoky streaks left from fires as the agonized cry echoes loudly across the empty, near-haunted streets, reverberating from building to half-wrecked building. Ronin stiffens at the sound, his hands clenching sharply around the hilt of the knife tucked in his belt. He goes still, the tail end of the scream slowly fading around him where he stands half-hidden in the alley, shrouded in the darkness left by the shattered street lights.
The group of bikers he's hiding from seem to take a similar reaction, their normal manic expressions replaced by the same alarm, the same looks of discomfort Ronin knows he wears as the hairs on his neck crawl. There are several exchanged glances, a burst of rude chatter, and the Sons of Garmadon are gone, racing back down the streets with a roar of engines as loud as they came with.
Ronin exhales, letting his hand stray from the knife. He's never been one to avoid risks, but in a time like this, cutting it close is a little too close for him. He ought to keep a better eye out as he heads back.
He spares one last glance at the darkened sky, his thoughts straying to the scream. While it's not uncommon to hear a cry echo out across Ninjago City, especially in these days, there was something undeniably eerie about this one, a sinking kind of dread that claws at Ronin's heart even now that it's long-faded.
He swallows, shaking off the feeling best he can. Whoever they are, he can only hope they either escaped or met a quick, painless end. Either way, it's not his problem.
He really should have known better, with the crowd he hangs out with.
"M'sorry."
"It's not your fault — Pixal, help me, I'm losing my grip-"
"Sorry."
"Here, grab his ar-" There's a sharp, shaking inhale. "Just hold him up, we're almost back to the warehouse-"
"M'sorry, Nya-"
"Stop apologizing and stay awake, just —! Pixal, can you - hey, no no no, eyes on me, okay?"
"S'my fault."
"I said eyes on me!"
It's Lloyd's own stupid fault, that's what it comes down to.
Not that everything going horribly-pear-shaped wrong due to a classic Lloyd screw-up is anything new, but Nya's trying her best to push that it's not, and Lloyd appreciates it, but this time, it actually, truly, very-much-without-a-doubt is his fault.
"Five minutes," Ronin growls, stalking through the warehouse. "I leave for five minutes, and - and this happens?"
He gestures wildly at Lloyd, who's still lying half-trapped in Nya's embrace and is unlikely to escape anytime soon. Skylor glares at him.
"Keep it down," she says, her voice hushed but strained. "We didn't have anything to sedate him with."
Ronin swears, but the horror's more evident in his voice now. He gives the busted table chair a half-hearted kick, before collapsing wearily in it, grinding a palm against his eyes. "How's he holding up?"
Lloyd feels a gentle hand card through his hair, and his heart hurts at how he can feel Nya's fingers still trembling.
"He's alive," Nya breathes, small and quiet. "That's what matters."
"The surgery was successful at halting the bleeding," Pixal murmurs from somewhere to his right. "That's the best we can do for now."
There's a choked sob nearby, which Lloyd recognizes as his mother. Mystake's gravelly tones pick up, though her words don't entirely make it through the cloudy haze that's settled in Lloyd's brain. He frowns — or tries to, he thinks — when his mouth won't move. He wants to tell them that he's fine. It doesn't hurt that much anymore, really. There's a constant ache, and if he moves there's a seventy percent chance he's gonna break down crying, but compared to the fiery agony from earlier, this is nothing. He feels off-balance if anything, like someone's shifted him too far to one side. Lighter, like he's lost some heavy weight that used to be there.
Lloyd frowns, and he feels his eyebrows moving this time. He strains, trying to pull his right arm closer. He's met with that off-balance feeling again, except this time there's an odd kind of emptiness. His frown grows deeper, and he tries to move his fingers, to get his right hand to move-
"Hey, it's okay, go back to sleep." Nya's voice is soft and familiar, comforting in a way only Nya is, and Lloyd feels her hand in his hair again. "I've got you, okay? Just go back to sleep."
Lloyd wants to protest, but he lets it go, exhaustion pulling him back under. A nagging part of him fights it, wondering why there's an undercurrent of heartbreak in Nya's voice. Wonders why his mother was sobbing, why Ronin was so angry, why Pixal kept going on about a surger-
Lloyd's eyes snap open. He stares blankly up at the ceiling of the warehouse, memory crashing back down on him with all the subtle force of a wrecking ball.
Oh yeah, he thinks dully, as he stops trying to move his right arm.
He doesn't have one anymore.
"You know, out of everyone, I think you're the best with handling stitches."
Nya doesn't look up from his ar— from his…shoulder, but she gives a quiet hum of acknowledgement.
"Like, it's not that hard a competition, 'cause Kai always looks like he's gonna puke instead, Cole an' Zane seem like they're gonna start crying, and Jay's more likely to sew his sleeve to you instead, but still."
Nya finally snorts at that, and Lloyd feels the darkened, crushing weight that's made itself at home on his chest lift a little bit.
"Cole's actually better at it," she says quietly, carefully dragging the antiseptic-soaked cloth over the wound again. "I get pretty emotional sometimes too."
"Well—" Lloyd trips over his own tongue as something in his shoulder sears hot, and he tries to hide the flinch (Nya's looked sad enough recently). "I still think you're the best. And that's not a knock on you, uh, being a girl and stuff, since this is technically sewing, you know, and that's usually-"
"Let it go while you're ahead, green machine," but Nya's smiling for real this time. She gives him a look. "Besides, we all know you're the best seamstress after Zane. I saw what you did with your uniform."
"M'not a seamstress," Lloyd argues. "I'm a…seamst-er? That sounds wrong…"
Nya shakes her head in amusement, and, to Lloyd's eternal relief, finally begins to wrap the bandages around what's left of his upper arm.
There's not much. Lloyd swallows thickly, finally sparing it a glance now that the actual wound's hidden from view. There's his shoulder, there's the end of it, there's some bandages, and then—
Nothing. Just empty space.
The warm weight of Nya's hand finds his own (his only), squeezing briefly. "It is hurting again?"
Lloyd shakes his head. "No," he says. It's not entirely a lie. The weight sitting on his chest hurts a lot more.
Nya hesitates, her breath hitching. "Are you hurting again?"
Lloyd pauses, looking down at where his legs hang over the edge of the table. He plays the look on her face that night over again in his head, the shaking of her hands. Lloyd shakes his head.
"No," he says, pasting a smile across his lips. "I'm fine."
Nya doesn't look like she believes him, but that's alright. Lloyd doesn't really know if he does, himself.
The thing nobody seems to get is that he brought this entirely on himself. Like, yeah, it was terrible and painful and Lloyd's got so much blood left on his uniform he may as well be Kai at this point, and he's probably gonna have to make some drastic adjustments to his fighting style — definitely will, because his fighting style won't even work anymore, the arm he'd hold his katana with is gone now, and FSM he's gonna have to learn how to do everything again-
Inhale. Deep breath. Freaking out isn't going to make it better.
Lloyd exhales shakily, and his heart rate returns to something a little more manageable.
So. Anyways. It's Lloyd's fault, and that means he doesn't get to curl up in a corner so no one can see him trying not to cry over the fact that he can't get his stupid armor strap to buckle with one hand.
Lloyd bites his lip furiously, fingers — he's only got five of them now, looks like he's finally gonna have to learn how to do math in his head — fumbling clumsily with the strap, leather slipping through his hold as the strap falls loose. He tightens his grip on it, bringing his knee up to — to try and pin it down, maybe he can — teeth, maybe? Whatever it takes to get this strap to stay still, because the hand he'd usually use to hold it is — is—
Lloyd sniffs miserably, then wipes furiously at his eyes. Don't, he tells himself viciously. Don't cry. He can't cry, he doesn't get to, not when he knows what the alternative is. Really, in contrast, losing his arm is — it's—
Well, it's not great. It's definitely not something Lloyd's ever had on his bucket list, that's for sure, but it's what he ended up with. It's just like the Tomorrow's Tea, like the responsibility of murdering his dad, like Uncle Wu suddenly dropping team leadership out of the sky and into his lap. Lloyd sure as heck didn't want it, but it's what he got, so he's gotta deal with it. No use in overthinking the what-ifs or unfairs.
It would, of course, be a little easier to put up with if it'd stop hurting so much. Lloyd grits his teeth against the throbbing ache, too-sharp incisors digging into his lip. He forces his jaw to relax before he cuts his lip again, and gives a sharp exhale instead. It's just in his head — the pain's just in his head, he reminds himself. There's no arm there to ache in the first place, even if he swears he can still feel the limb, still feel the ache in his elbow, his wrist, his fingers that aren't freaking there anymore-
"Phantom limb," Pixal tells him clinically, after having dragged him from his hidden corner of self-pity and general loathing of the universe on the whole. "It's normal for amputees."
"Oh." Lloyd bites his lip again, staring at the empty space where his arm should be, trying to force back the blurring in his eyes. He appreciates that Pixal's being straight up with him — that she's not looking at him with that heartbroken sort of pity, trying to soften every word like she's talking to a wild animal about to bolt, he really does. But it just-
Amputee. His arm's really gone for good, huh. Weird seems like too underwhelming a word, but that's all Lloyd's brain is giving him right now. It doesn't hurt, exactly, it's more like a numb sort of blunt shock that keeps socking him in the head every time he thinks about it. But that's alright, he tells himself. It's just gonna take some adjustment. He'd known this. He'd known exactly what he was getting himself into he made his choice.
So he can get over it already. He's fine. He doesn't really have the time not to be, he thinks, as the crashing sounds of the Colossi echo from the TV set again.
He also really, really needs to get better at pasting that smile on his face. Because while Lloyd might be fine, the, uh….the accident hasn't exactly been a great motivational point for their little resistance. Nya tries her very best not to cry but ends up sobbing into Lloyd's empty sleeve anyways, because she tried to hold his hand when Pixal re-did the stitches and she realized it wasn't there, then promptly broke into a steadily-devolving stream of "I should have protected you!" sort of shtick Lloyd is used to hearing from Kai.
His mom starts crying the minute she sees him and Lloyd's pretty sure she hasn't stopped since. Lloyd would try to comfort her more, but the last time he tried that, he panicked and resorted to making terrible puns about arms, which he's pretty sure just made her start crying harder. Pixal swings back and forth between nagging at him to take better care of the wound and rattling off other accounts she's read from people who've lost limbs with an almost desperate sort of intensity, stressing that the transition is going to be hard at first, but once they get the prosthetic made and he's used it for a while, he'll be able to do everything he could before, she promises-
The other elemental masters have been keeping a respectful distance, which Lloyd is really hoping is just because they want to give him space, and not because they think he's completely lost his marbles.
Skylor and Ronin are the only two with reactions that don't make Lloyd feel like a walking-worst-human-ever. Skylor's got that tough sort of determinedness Lloyd recognizes a little too well, and she actually appreciates the arm puns — they've got a list they're making to try out on Kai when he gets back, 'cause FSM knows they're gonna need some tension-breaking one-liners for that reunion. Ronin treats him about how he always has, which Lloyd appreciates more than words, but he also helps because he gets the visceral desperation that drives you to take insane lengths to come out on top sometimes.
None of that, of course, changes the fact that Lloyd now has to live with the reality that he effectively Luke Skywalker-ed himself, but he figures that was pretty much an inevitability with the way his life was going, anyways.
"Hey," Nya speaks up, half-bent over the metal in her lap. "You, uh, you remember Star Wars?"
Lloyd gives her a blank look from where he sits cross-legged on the table. "Do I remember Star Wars," he says, flatly. "No, I don't remember Jay making Darth Vader noises at me for two months straight, or hearing 'Lloyd I am your father' eight thousand times a day-"
"Alright, geez, point taken," Nya says. "When'd you become such a snarky little brat?"
"When my dad chucked me through a wall," Lloyd mutters, darkly.
"Pretty sure you were one before that, but okay," Nya says, breezing through Lloyd's mood-killer statement like only Nya can. "Anyways, remember the end of Empire Strikes Back? Everything's kinda terrible, because they lost Han and the Falcon keeps messing up, and Luke is-"
"Luke lost a hand," Lloyd interrupts, narrowing his eyes at her. He'd figured out where she was going with this the minute she mentioned Star Wars, but still. "Do you see this?" He gestures at his right shoulder, which pretty much just ends in his right shoulder. "This is an entire arm. Luke had it way better, he got to keep like — he got to keep his elbow, and his, um, whatever you call the bones in your upper arm-"
"Are you trying to invalidate Luke Skywalker's hand loss?" Nya says.
"No, I'm saying he at least had it a little better, because his dad neatly sliced his hand off, instead of releasing an ancient snake on him that eventually ended in Luke chopping the entirety of his own arm off like a crazy person."
"You definitely had crazy in your eyes," Nya mutters. She blows her breath out, then pins him with a look. "Look, I know we've — we've talked about this, but if you ever— if you ever try anything like that again-"
"Next time I'm planning on sending a katana through my arm, I'll give you five minutes' warning, promise."
Nya whacks him solidly across the head. Lloyd yelps, throwing his arms up in defense —
Whoops, he thinks blankly, as he starts toppling off the table, any sense of balance lost completely. He doesn't have an arm on that side, so if he moves like that, he's gonna send himself-
Lloyd hits the floor with an oof, just barely bringing his good arm up in time to protect his face. His armless side, on the other hand, is not so lucky.
"Lloyd!" Nya's yelp is punctuated by the sound of metal clattering to the ground, and she's at his side before he can push himself back into a semi-dignified stance.
"M'okay," he says, finally maneuvering himself into a sitting position, desperately trying not to jostle his right side more. "Just - ow - banged it up a little."
He tries to stand up, only to lose his balance again, wavering briefly before he stumbles back to the floor. Lloyd hisses in frustrated pain, curling in on himself. Ow, ow, ow, why'd he have to land on that side-
"Here." Nya's hand is gentle on his back as she eases him up, the other kneading into the muscles of his shoulder just above what's left of his mangled arm. Lloyd feels himself relax a bit, the pain ebbing slightly.
"Thanks," he murmurs, arm still wrapped around himself.
Nya squeezes his shoulder, and Lloyd hears more than sees her take a seat next to him, her knee bumping his.
"It's like Star Wars," she repeats, sounding as lost as he feels, while trying to convince herself she's not. "Everything's terrible right now, but it's — it's gonna work out fine in the end."
"Yeah," Lloyd says, following her gaze where she stares up at the window high above them. "Just like Star Wars."
…well, he hopes it's not exactly like Star Wars. He really doesn't wanna test out what's left of his father's moral integrity while getting electrocuted to death.
Garmadon would probably just let him die, anyways.
It could be his father's fault. He's the one who brought the snake into it.
Lloyd doesn't know where he got it — maybe Harumi decided to go the full nine yards and resurrect the Great Devourer while she was on a roll. It'd be a weird choice, because it kinda murdered her parents, but with what Lloyd's seen of her, he wouldn't put it past her ambition for destroying literally everything she can get her hands on.
In all honesty, though, it's probably not even the Great Devourer. His mom's betting on a lost descendent or overlooked relative, and Ronin's got money on Garmadon having cooked up some twisted version of it just to get the jump on them. Skylor seemed a little green at both ideas, and Nya had simply said it didn't matter which it was, nothing was gonna stop her from mounting its head as a decorative wall display.
Pixal's the only one Lloyd really listened to, though, because she was the one to confirm that his actions hadn't been in vain. She was the to look him dead in the eye, vivid green meeting his dull red, and tell him that there wasn't a trace of venom that had spread beyond his arm.
Lloyd hadn't heard Mystake's echoing confirmation, but that's probably because he'd been crying, which seems to be an inconvenient habit he's picked up since he hacked his own arm off.
The very idea of it is definitely Lloyd's fault, probably for watching so many zombie movies with Kai at two in the morning. The dumb part is that he'd actually been winning, he'd been this close to getting some mediocre sort of revenge on Harumi, when he'd felt the sharp, twin stabs of pain on his hand mid-strike, looked down to see a horrifyingly familiar serpent with its fangs locked around his the pale skin of his hand, and frozen.
The next thirty seconds went a little something like this:
Lloyd tries not to scream. He knows what this means, because there's a giant stupid chunk of his life that's revolved around this kind of snake. There is no small amount of terror associated with this knowledge.
So his mind rationalizes — the snake bite is like a zombie bite. He's been infected. When you get infected in a zombie movie, you cut the infected limb off, so you don't become a dead-brained flesh-devouring monster.
There are five seconds for debate. Lloyd doesn't want to cut a limb off, but he doesn't want to become a dead-brained flesh-devouring monster either.
What follows is a bit of a panicked blur. Lloyd looks down at his hand and sees the dark purple venom spreading through the veins. Lloyd looks at the sword in his other hand. Lloyd has a brief, vivid image of himself with his father's face, laughing cruelly as he tries to crush everyone he loves to tiny bits. The next thing he knows, his sword is a whole lot bloodier, his right side feels several pounds lighter, Harumi looks like she's about to throw up, and Lloyd is suddenly in a rather intense amount of pain.
Nya tells him that it was one of the worst moments of her life, but she does admit that for a brief, half a second's time, the look of absolute terror on Harumi's face at seeing Lloyd hack his own arm off with all the casualness in the world was the best thing she's seen this year.
Someone could've at least taken a picture, he thinks dully. What's the point of severing your own limb in front of your enemy if you aren't even gonna get the satisfaction of seeing them scream like a baby about it?
Nya decides to stay up all night making the final adjustments to the prosthetic, so Lloyd stays up with her. He's more hindrance then help, flinging suggestions at her every few minutes. Nya rolls her eyes at him way more than he deserves, though — because alright, he gets that a side dispenser for making hot chocolate and extra jet engines so he can fly are kinda out of the practical realm, but there's nothing wrong with a canon for an arm, or hand tasers, or cool laser-shooters like in Fritz Donnegan—
"Except that it'd add way too much weight, and your arm would start bleeding all over the place again."
"That's…no it wouldn't," Lloyd says, lamely.
"Oh, are you the medical expert now?" Nya raises an eyebrow at him.
"No, but it's not like you are," Lloyd raises both eyebrows back, then frowns, expression screwing up as he tries to raise only the one like Nya.
Nya gives a snorting giggle. "Stop trying," she says, shaking her head even as she smiles. "You're gonna hurt yourself."
"How do you even do that, anyways," Lloyd mutters, abandoning his attempts.
"It's a genetic and unattainable gift," Nya says, and Lloyd snorts this time.
"Sure. Is being totally lame genetic too?"
"Apparently being a persistent brat is for you," Nya sets the wrench down emphatically. "I'm trying to make you something functional, not a full-blown weapon."
"But I'm a full-blown weapon," Lloyd argues. Nya doesn't reply, and Lloyd is suddenly aware of how heavy his words echo in the room, the subtext that kind of sentence has.
Oops. He can't make one joke without it going sour lately, can he.
"You're a lot more than that," Nya says quietly, a slightly-heartbroken look written across her expression. Lloyd bites his lip. Great, now he's made her sad again.
He looks down, eyes catching on the empty sleeve of the sweatshirt he's wearing. Lloyd glances surreptitiously up at Nya, then twists his body slightly, tilting it forward. The empty sleeve smacks Nya on the arm once, twice, before she turns a disbelieving look on him.
"Really?"
Lloyd gives her an unapologetic grin. "I need a super cool laser arm in there, Nya."
She gives a long-suffering sigh, but Lloyd is pleased to spot the amusement on her face, the way her forehead eases out of its furrowed tension. "You're getting a nice, sturdy, functional arm. That's all."
"Oh, come on," Lloyd pleads. "What if I run into Harumi again? Wouldn't it be great if like, she tried to grab me, and I zapped her with my high-power arm taser?"
There's a beat of silence as Nya considers this excellent point. "Arguments…can be made for a taser," she admits.
Lloyd gives a quiet whoop of victory. He then turns an extra-bright, fully sincere, wide-eyed smile on her. Nya steadily refuses to look at him, but her fingers slow a bit on the wires, and she gives another, weary sigh.
"….I'll consider the laser hand."
The arm is functional, sleek and shiny and sturdy metal made for battle. Nya, dark circles beneath her eyes as Lloyd tries to shoo her off to bed, hazily promises that she's gonna make him one that's more comfortable too, one that's not for fighting, maybe they can paint a bunch of cool green designs on it, and stuff—
Ronin gets ahold of her by that point, and Pixal takes over the final adjustments while he tosses her on a couch next to Skylor, telling her to make sure she stays. All that's left after that is for Pixal to attach it, which, for all that Lloyd had been preparing himself for a prosthetic, is something he hadn't actually thought through.
"In order for it to function, we'll need to attach it to the nerve endings left in your arm," Pixal explains, and there's an apologetic look in her eyes Lloyd really doesn't like. "I'll be as gentle as possible, but it will…hurt quite a bit, I'm afraid."
Understatement of the year. Lloyd makes it through the surgery without passing out, but it's a close thing.
Once it's attached, though, he's pleased to find that it moves how he wants it, the sight of his right fist curling, even if metal, somewhat bizarre. He's got two arms again. He's not completely useless anymore, he can fight, he can—
Hurt, apparently. Lloyd can hurt, every movement and every hour, building up into a savage sort of agony where the arm meets the scarred flesh of his shoulder. It's to be expected, Pixal explains, since everything's still fresh and tender in there, but Lloyd is sick and tired of being in pain, sick and tired of sleepless nights trying not to scream into his pillow, and no amount of reassurances that it'll get better soon help with that.
Because the ache doesn't lessen. With every minute the prosthetic's on it just gets worse, fiery bolts of pain flaring at the ends of the nerves. It hurts, and Lloyd knew it would, but FSM this is — it's —
He swallows, flexing the fingers of his good hand — his only real hand — and watches the smooth, unhindered way they move. He looks at the cold metal of the prosthetic, biting back a hiss of pain as he forces the metal fingers to move clumsily. He can barely make the stupid elbow bend without wanting to tear the entire arm off.
…this is a lot harder than he thought it'd be.
Lloyd shifts in his perch high up in the warehouse rafters, listening to the others talking below. He should join them, really, he's supposed to be the leader here, but…he needs a minute. A minute to adjust, that's all.
Lloyd leans his head back against the wall, exhaling heavily. He misses when the worst he'd have to worry about was the ache in his ankle when it rained.
And it's stupid, but Lloyd also finds himself missing like — he misses his fingernails, misses the little tapping sound they'd make, he misses that patch of freckles he had on his forearm and the one weird scar he'd picked up on his index finger, he misses the warmth when he knits his hands together, he misses being able to feel warmth beneath his fingers, and he misses—
Lloyd stares at the metal hand, and feels the icy grip of fear enclosing around his heart again. He hasn't tried to use his powers yet. Hasn't even mustered up a spark, not that he could. He doesn't even have any powers to use, and he might not get them back, so it's useless to speculate right now.
But what if — if he does, then…can the arm channel it? Will it be able to handle the green power, or will it blow straight up where its attached to him? How's this gonna affect that?
Lloyd swallows, lowering the clenched metal fist into his lap. Whatever, he thinks dully. It's not like his power is something he's gonna need to worry about anytime soon.
"Is he dead?"
"Ronin, please-"
"I think he's dead."
"Left side, Lloyd," Nya sighs, hovering over him. "You gotta lead with your left now. Remember?"
Lloyd groans in reply, throwing an arm over his face where he's sprawled across the training mat. "Ngh."
Nya hesitates, shifting from her right to left foot. "I didn't hit you that hard, did I?"
"No, I'm just a dumbas-"
"Lloyd."
"Dumb, dumb, I'm super dumb, that's what I was saying."
"No, you're not," Nya says, grabbing his arm — the good one — and hauling him to his feet. "You just keep forgetting to lead with your left side."
"Yeah, you said that," Lloyd mutters, rubbing his side. He rolls his shoulder, wincing at the aching pain in the prosthetic that he's slowly becoming familiar with. The ache's finally lessened, though — it isn't in constant agony as often, and he's starting to sleep more than two hours at a time.
"Then do it."
Lloyd gives her a plaintively pouting look, and Nya rolls her eyes. "Puppy eyes aren't gonna cut in in battle."
Lloyd huffs. "I've led with my right side my whole life," he defends. "Besides, isn't the point of this—" he waves the metal arm aloft, trying not to wince at the unfamiliar added weight. "—so that I can hit with my right side?"
"Yes, eventually," Nya says, eyeing Lloyd's movements, and he shifts the arm self-consciously. "But you're barely able to move it above your shoulders now, much less throw a hit with it."
Lloyd scowls. "I can throw a hit with it."
Nya raises an eyebrow, and ooh, Lloyd knows that look. "Then prove it," she says.
"Uh oh," Skylor mutters beneath her breath. Pixal looks between the two of them in alarm. Ronin makes an odd noise that sounds a bit like a laugh.
Lloyd meets Nya's gaze head-on with his own stubborn glare. "I will."
"Uh oh," Skylor repeats. Pixal steps between them, looking even more concerned. "I don't believe this is a good idea, Lloyd's arm is still-"
"Alright then," Nya says, ignoring the others. She steps past the training mat, walking over to the punching bag they've strung up. She taps the solid fabric, her nails making an muffled clacking noise. "Show me you can hit someone with it. Show me you can hit them hard."
Lloyd squares his jaw, stepping over to her. "Fine-"
"And," Nya continues, louder. "Show me you can hit them without immediately doubling over in pain."
Lloyd's breath rushes out in a quiet exhale, and he avoids her eyes. Right, okay. He hasn't been hiding it as good as he'd thought. Great.
"Fine," he repeats, more muted this time. He rolls his shoulders, glaring at the bag. He can't back down now. This isn't just about him using his right side, this is about Nya ever letting him outside again, about her ever letting him within fifty feet of a battle again. If Lloyd can't prove that he's not a walking liability, then Nya's probably gonna bench him forever. Or at least until the guys are back.
And the thing is, Lloyd would get it. She has reason.
So he's gotta prove to her, right here, right now, that he can fight. Lloyd's not worried about possible damage — Nya built the arm, and he already trusts her with his life and more. He is…slightly concerned that he's about to put himself in a lot of unnecessary pain, but he'll just have to suck it up. He can cry into his pillow later.
Nya gives a barely audible, weary sigh. "You don't have to," she says, quietly.
Lloyd doesn't reply, squaring back and setting up instead. His jaw clenches as he pulls his arm back, metal fingers curling into a tight fist. Show me you can hit someone, right? Lloyd's gonna show her he can wreck someone. He doesn't care about the recoil, he's gonna give this all he's got. He's gonna pour every ounce of frustration and anger and fear into this punch, every last hour spent in pain and every sleepless night because of that pain, every single time he's felt so stupidly useless because his arm is gone—
Lloyd's fist slams against the bag, the force rippling back through his arm as he yells, already half-bracing for the rest of the recoil.
It doesn't come. The weight of the bag gives under Lloyd's hit with a loud metallic snapping sound, and before he can even finish following through with the strike there's an thundering crunch of wood, and—
"Holy shit."
The fact that nobody calls Ronin out on his language is probably a bad sign, Lloyd thinks. He looks up, shaking the mild pain in his shoulder out as he does, and follows everyone else's gazes. His mouth falls open.
"It wasn't supposed to do that!" he yelps, staring in horror at where there's a hole in the wall. He blinks rapidly, realizing that the punching bag's gone — did he hit it hard enough to do that? Lloyd suddenly wants to curse a lot worse than Ronin. He doesn't have his powers right now, and even then, he's not Cole, how in the world did he hit it that hard?
"I believe you made the arm strong enough," Pixal finally says.
"No duh," Skylor says, gaping at the shattered chain the bag hung from.
"You sent it through the wall," Nya says faintly, staring at the hole. "That was one punch. And I was gonna have you start throwing hits at me."
"Why did you make it this strong?!" Lloyd clutches his metal arm, staring at it in slight terror. "I could kill somebody with this!"
"Yes," Nya nods. Lloyd gapes at her. Why does she sound satisfied with that? Nya looks at the splintered wall, then back to Lloyd, he eyes raking over his arm.
"Okay," she says, shaking her head and grinning. "You win. Lead with your right side this time."
Lloyd glances at the metal arm, then back up at Nya, wide-eyed. "I'll, uh, I'll save that for Harumi, I think," he says, weakly. "Let's go left side."
Nya snorts, but her expression is lighter than it's been in days. "Alright then, green machine," she says, bringing her arms up in a fighting stance. "Show me what you got."
Lloyd brings his own arms up, and feels a thrill of excitement as he doesn't immediately stumble off-balance from the weight difference. "Oh I'll show you," he grins. "I'll take you down."
Lloyd is, in fact, the one that gets taken down, but for the twenty full minutes he's able to hold his own against Nya, the added strength of the arm giving him an advantage that almost outweighs the disadvantage the pain adds, Lloyd feels like he might just have a chance.
"Hey, hey Nya."
A sigh. "Yes, Lloyd?"
"I'm going on live TV for this speech thing."
"I'm aware."
"Everyone's going to see me with it."
"…yeah. You okay with that?"
"Oh, yeah. I was just gonna say that it's extremely important to me."
"What is?"
"That I show up on the TV with a totally kick-ass dragon arm."
Another, longer sigh.
"I'll see what I can do."
Lloyd is starting to suspect that he may be repressing things. Maybe, just a bit.
Not that he hasn't repressed stuff before — he's currently repressing the ten tons worth of high-pitched screaming into the void that came along with Harumi bringing his dad back as a hollow shell, and he's been doing fine with that one. Lloyd's a pro at repressing stuff. If he wasn't the Green Ninja, he'd have been like, the elemental master of repressing your emotions until you don't even know why you're crying in the shower this time.
But the fact that he's lost an entire arm and has yet to fully experience any kind of overwhelming reaction about it is…probably concerning. Like yeah, he's been frustrated, he's been scared, he's been in pain more often than he's not and that sucks, but he doesn't seem to have really had the appropriate reaction to fully losing a limb and all that it entails yet. Or at least that's what he thinks Nya is trying to tell him.
(And yeah, he gets that she's concerned, everyone's concerned about him, when is anybody not concerned about Lloyd and his idiotic life decisions, but—)
Naturally, it's going to be during this conversation that he hits his breaking point.
"Look, I know it's second nature and that zero of the guys have been any kind of good example, but you've got to drop the blame-yourself, brood-in-silent-guilt thing."
Lloyd hand tightens where he's gripping the edge of the table, and he feels a sudden urge to yank his arm from Nya's hold and run.
"I dunno what you're talking about," he tries.
She cuts him a look. "Really? You're gonna lie to me too?"
Lloyd whips his head away, staring resolutely at the wall furthest from him. "It was my fault," he finally says, his voice thin in the quiet of the little room they're hiding out in. "So that's that."
Nya exhales tiredly, the sound of someone who's heard something one too many times. Lloyd feels a kind of hot frustration spark in his gut at the sound.
"It wasn't your fault."
"Yes it was," Lloyd grinds out, angrier than he means to be. "It's my fault — I'm the one who cut it off, Nya—"
"You didn't have a choice," she snaps back. There's an angry sort of sheen building in her eyes, and Lloyd hates himself. "It was that or the venom, he didn't leave you any other opti-"
Something snaps in Lloyd's chest, and he feels control slip through his hands like a fine stream of water.
"It's my. Fault!" he bursts out at her, and Nya looks taken aback. Lloyd can't stop himself — he doesn't know why he's so upset about this, he doesn't know why this is so important, but there's something wild clawing at his chest screaming that it has to be his fault, it has to be—
"It was my choice!" he continues shrilly, breathing harder than he does in training. "I was the one who decided to cut it off, I was the one who chose not to be like him, it was my choice, not Garmadon's, mine, stop trying to take that away from me—!"
Lloyd's rant cuts off in a sob, and he stumbles from the table, yanking the arm to him and trying to force back the raging emotion that's broken loose. Nya stares at him with wide eyes, frozen in shock. Realization breaks across her face like a tidal wave, and her eyes soften, her expression shifting into something that makes Lloyd want to cry harder. He quickly turns away, frantically scrubbing at his eyes as he tries to get himself under control. This is terrible, this is humiliating, Lloyd is a disgrace to the Green Ninja and everything that everyone's done to make sure he's gotten this far, but—
Lloyd chokes on another sob. It's just like the tea, it's just like the stupid tea. Everyone tried to tell him that he didn't have a choice then too, insisting that potential death doesn't really give you much of a choice, and Lloyd couldn't get them to see — he couldn't get them to see that it was his choice. Just like Lloyd made the choice to cut his arm off instead of falling to the same cursed blood his father did. Those were his choices, those were Lloyd's decisions, he made them himself, and that's important because - because -
Because if Lloyd didn't have the choice to grow older, if he didn't have the choice to become the Green Ninja, if he really hasn't had a choice in anything like that — then what kind of life does that leave him with?
"Okay."
Lloyd's head snaps up, and he looks at Nya through watery eyes.
"Okay," she repeats, gently. "It was your choice. I agree."
Something a little too dizzying to be relief swoops through him, and Lloyd slumps back against the table, his side hitting it a bit too hard as he breathes out shakily, wiping at his eyes.
"Okay," he echoes, his voice thick.
"But—" Nya takes a step closer to him, but she doesn't touch him. She looks hesitant, but her jaw is set in that stubborn sort of determination Nya always has. "That doesn't mean it's all your fault. You…you have your choice. Let Garmadon own up to his, too."
Lloyd can't meet her eyes for that one, but he doubts it'd make a difference anyways, because they keep blurring over so much. Which is ridiculous, because how does Lloyd even have enough hydration left to keep crying all over the place like this—
Nya blows her breath out, and leans up against the table next to him, her shoulder just brushing his left one. Lloyd shifts his hold on the metal arm, and lets the tension in his shoulders ease, leaning into her.
"And for what it's worth?"
Lloyd looks at Nya, and she gives him a crooked smile.
"I don't love it, obviously, and if you ever try that again, I'll — well, you know, but…I think you might've made the right choice."
Lloyd's humiliated himself enough today, but he can't stop his eyes from flooding over again.
"Thank you," he croaks, and Nya grabs his shoulder, pulling him to her so their heads bump briefly together.
"You're Lloyd," she tells him. "Not Garmadon. You're my brother, and you're good."
She shakes her head, giving a wet laugh.
"You're too stubborn to be anything other than that, clearly."