Just an idea I had, probably really bad. Don't read if you don't like cutting and depression. Just a one-shot.
The five of them were chained to the cold wall, lined up like pigs to the slaughter.
In front of them stood the most unlikely of enemies: Fitz. But it wasn't his fault, not really.
They had finally come up against an enemy they didn't know how to fight; a body-less conscious.
It had taken over Fitz's body and given him telekinetic abilities. And that's how they ended up where they were now.
"What have you done with Leo?" Simmons shouted, struggling against the chains.
"Oh, he's in here somewhere," the conscious said. The voice was Fitz's, but it sounded different. Heartless. Cold. "But you can call me Spike."
"Spike" walked to one end of their line, where May was taking everything in in silence.
He placed his hands on her temples.
"Hmm," he murmured, closing his eyes, "Not very surprising."
May made no response. Spike/Fitz released her temples and opened his eyes and then concluded: "That one so very traumatic experience has left you irreparably broken." So he was telepathic, too, apparently.
He moved on to Coulson, repeating the same process with him, even giving a diagnosis quite similar to May's. Same for Ward. When he got to Simmons, however it was a bit different.
"How sad," he said, "Loving a man you probably will never have." Simmons blushed profusely, cowering against the wall.
Finally, he got to Skye, standing in front of her, he didn't hold her head in his hands, like he did the others.
He tapped his finger to his lips. "You're smart. Oh you're very smart," he chuckled in appreciation, "The others are all idiots. They keep their emotions and memories hidden, tucked away. Makes it very easy to find the things that hurt them. But not you. Oh, no, not you. You keep all your memories and emotions on the outside. Good and bad mingled together. Tricky. Very hard to sift through things. But we'll get there, darling, I promise."
He stepped back and raised his hands.
Skye let out an ear-piercing scream. Both Coulson and Ward struggled against the chains that held them, the instinct to protect her overwhelming them.
Spike chuckled again. "Oh ho, this is good. This is very good. Abandoned as an infant. How absolutely terrible."
When Spike shifted his hand sharply to the left, Skye's head jerked. She screamed again. Suddenly she was free of the chains and floating midair.
The room grew dark as memories passed in front of them. As each person in the room watched, all else faded. They were inside Skye's head watching her childhood pass by.
It started with Skye, as an infant swaddled in blankets, was brought by a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent to an orphanage. Most of the memories flashed by but certain ones stood out.
At age five:
Skye sat in the office. The orphan manager stared down his nose at her.
"A family took you in," he said, sounding extremely disappointed and disapproving, "Why did they send you back?"
"I don't know," young Skye answered, "They weren't very nice people and they didn't like me very much."
The manager sighed. "I don't care if they weren't nice. You were supposed to stay gone."
Skye just stared at him.
Shuffling his papers, he finally said, "No supper for a week."
Age nine:
It was only her second night in her new home and she was already miserable. The family (what was this? Her third? Fourth?) was cruel.
That second night, she was curled in her bed, fantasizing about a world where she was loved, when the door banged open. The man of the house filled the doorway, only a shadow, blocking the light from the hallway.
He came closer and Skye pressed herself against the wall. She knew what was coming next.
Regardless of how small she made herself, he picked her up effortlessly.
A single, open-handed slap sent her spinning to the floor. She stayed down.
"You were awfully rude tonight," he said, "I'm sending you back to the orphanage in two days. Until then, make yourself invisible."
Age twelve:
It was her tenth family. A week in and they found out that she was diagnosed with depression. They were sending her back as soon as they could.
Skye hated this. Hated being sent to new places only to be sent back. Going from one wretched place to another. But most of all, she hated being treated like property. When it was found out that she was damaged goods, the family wanted a refund for her. Like she was ripped clothing.
She pressed the knife to her skin. The blood beaded on the blade, on her olive skin. She never cut to die. She had hope of a good life. She only to hurt. That momentary reprieve from the real world that only came with pain.
Age sixteen:
The bell rang. "Skye, would you stay after class?" Mr. Michaelson requested. Skye didn't respond, but didn't leave either.
Foster care finally stopped trying to sell her off and put her in a real school. She didn't know what was worse. She didn't have friends here either. No wanted to be near the orphan who cut.
Except Mr. Michaelson. He got off on it. On her scars.
Skye was still sitting in her desk, fiddling with her physics notebook. Michaelson came up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. He pulled her up, pressing her against him.
His hands slid under her shirt.
Skye did nothing except stare ahead, her doe eyes lifeless.
Age nineteen:
She still had nightmares every night. About the families: she remembered every one with perfect clarity. About the foster care managers. About Mr. Michaelson. But she was out of foster care.
She had been for over a year now. She got herself into therapy (and college) as soon as possible. She had stopped cutting. Her computer skills were getting better. The Rising Tide was welcoming her into their arms.
She sat in the comfortable vinyl chair in the therapist's office. Ms. Williams was her name.
"How are you, Skye?" she asked, genuinely concerned.
"Good, good," she replied, "Things are looking up."
"Good."
"I still wonder, though. I wonder every night."
"Wonder about your parents?" Ms. Williams clarified.
"Yes."
"Tell me."
"I wonder why they left me there, that night. Why did they chose to leave me to such a horrible life?"
Ms. Williams knew not to respond and to let Skye talk.
"And every night for my entire life, I've wondered," Skye blinked back tears, "Is it my fault?"
"How could it be your fault?"
"Get out of my head," Skye's present voice, trembling, cut through the memory, but it continued.
"Was I not good enough? Even as an infant, was I disappointing to them? Did they see what a worthless, useless person I would become? Did they hate me, even then?"
"I said, GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" Skye screeched. The memory fell apart around them. Skye drifted to the floor and knelt there.
"I could take all of these memories away," Spike said, "You could live with me and never have this uncertainty again."
Tears glistened in Skye's eyes and spilled over onto her cheeks. "These memories, the scars I still have, make me who I am."
She was resisting Spike's control. But he moved his hand, trying to resurrect more memories. The room began to get misty again.
Skye screamed one final time, with all the conviction she had left, "GET OUT OF MY HEAD, YOU BLOODY BASTARD!"
The mist disappeared. Skye feinted, having used all her energy. The chains binding the rest of them dropped away and they were free. Fitz collapsed.
Simmons rushed to Fitz as he regained consciousness. He remembered what happened, but saw it from the outside.
Fitz and Simmons embraced as Ward and May rushed to Skye. Ward pulled Skye's head into his lap. Coulson stayed where he was, shaking.
All focus was on Skye, so no one noticed the tears on Coulson's face.
May lifted Skye's arm, sliding up her sleeve as Ward checked her vitals.
"How could we not have noticed this?" May breathed, looking at all the little white scars on her arms.
Skye began to stir. "Is it over?" she asked.
"How will I ever make up for all of that?" Coulson stammered, staring at Skye.
"What?" she croaked, groggy. She sat up, moving her head from Ward's lap.
"That was all my fault," Coulson said.
"Of course it's not." Skye rubbed her eyes, trying to make sense of what Coulson was saying when he rushed at her.
Kneeling next to her, he embraced her in a hug.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, for her and only her (but in the silence, everyone heard), "I'm so sorry, my daughter."
Sorry if that was too much!
-Sasha