A/N: This is a Coraline fic that focuses a lot on the likely effect of such a traumatic incident like the Beldam, and this is a warning. I've also not had this beta'd because of the severe lack of betas in this fandom, so if you find a mistake or have a suggestion on how to make it better, please tell me.

Warning for the entire story: Violence, implied underage sex, implied drug use, mental disease, possibly percieved OOCness (although I think that I did an okay job of portraying traumatized!Coraline despite not being a psychologist/psychiatrist), and underage drinking. I believe that sums it all up.

A hand was stroking her hair gently. Fingers ran through the strands, giving her a warm feeling in her chest. She could swear she felt someone smiling at her. These weren't the thin needle-like fingers of her. These were thick, clumsy fingers that somehow were able to be gentle and treat her like a porcelain doll.

She wondered vaguely who it was. She had a hunch, a hunch that she desperately clung to. It gave her hope. So she didn't open her eyes. If she did and she was wrong, her heart really would break.

A small, gentle kiss was placed on her cheek. The lips were rough, like cloth, but the tenderness with which they touched her completely destroyed the coarse effect. She remembered those lips. Now she knew that it was a dream.

The hand started to slip from her hair, but she quickly grasped it, keeping her eyes screwed shut. There was a soft intake of air from the owner of the hand. They must have been under the impression that she was asleep. "Please don't go…"

Fingers ran along her own, coaxing her to loosen her grip. She did so reluctantly, curling up and clenching her teeth, tears leaking out of her closed eyes against her will.

There was a hesitation. The clumsy fingers touched her face, wiping the tears away lovingly. In the distance, she could hear screaming. She felt the hand stiffen.

Her cheek was kissed again and she woke up.

Coraline sat up sharply, casting her eyes around for any sign of her visitor. Nothing.

Her cheeks were still wet, though.

She roughly wiped any remnants of tears away. Light cascaded from her window, falling on her bed and warming her through the covers. She jumped out, wiggling her toes in the new floor carpet her parents had bought her.

It felt like there was a stone in her stomach. She let out a sigh, opening the window slowly. Damned dreams. She loved them, but she hated the desperate feeling of sadness and longing that came afterwards.

Maybe she could pretend that she was still sleeping for a while. Her parents wouldn't check to make sure, and she wanted to be away from them for a while. Hell, they probably weren't even in the house anymore.

She sat on the roof, leaning back and closing her eyes. It had been almost one whole year since the Other Mother. She had had nightmares of seeing her Other Father drown in the water… of the Other Mother pinning her down and sewing buttons in her eyes… of the Other Wybie…

Oh Wybie…

She tried to drive him from her mind. Her heart ached. He had known what would have happened if he had helped her, if he had even felt bad for her. He was mute but he wasn't stupid.

Damn it. Damn it all to hell. She was going to cry again if she thought about him.

But the nightmares had stopped about a month ago. They were replaced by the dream of the person stroking her hair.

She ground her teeth together, reaching back in the window and grabbing a pack of cigarettes. She took out one and lit it, taking a small puff. She had started smoking a month after the Other Mother. A kid offered her one and she didn't say no. They made her feel better, calmed her nerves. She always felt like the Other Mother was right behind her, reaching out to grab her eyes.

Wybie, this world's Wybie, had been trying to help her quit since he found out about her new habit eight months ago, the same time he found out about her drinking problem. She was grateful for the help. Her parents loved her, but they had no clue about the real torment she was going through. She had been getting into fights at school, her grades were dropping until they hit rock-bottom, and she had completely lost interest in everything. Luckily, they hadn't found out about the cigarettes, the alcohol, and the few drugs she sometimes dabbled in. Nonetheless, they sort of panicked and sent her to a shrink.

Her psychiatrist was named Alfred Windsor. He diagnosed her with some mental disorder… Post Traumatic Stress or something… Told her parents that he believed that she had been sexually molested. Now they thought she was raped. But she managed to convince them that nothing like that happened.

Her horrible fear of needles, thread, and above all, buttons, left her shrink stumped, though. She never bothered helping him figure out the answer to that one. She would've probably been thrown to the men in white coats if she did.

In the end, it was Wybie who saved her, not those damned anti-depressants her parents practically forced down her throat (though the pills helped, she had to admit). She'd never say that to him, though. He was too shy, too bashful to accept such praise. He had been the one hanging around, letting her talk, motivating her to start exploring and gardening again, helping her with her schoolwork, slowly weaning her off all the smoking and drinking she was doing, slinking around like a guard dog and pulling her back when it looked like she was going to get in a fight… he had been supporting her through the whole thing. She had a feeling that he was affected by the incident too, but he always denied it.

She took another drag of her cigarette. She knew she should feel guilty for smoking, but Wybie wasn't here to try to grab it away. And the feeling of her visitor's kiss was still on her cheek…

There was a soft meow at her side. Coraline looked down, reflexively reaching out and stroking the cat at her side. He looked up at her, giving her the closest thing to a scowl that he could get to at the sight of the cigarette in her hand. But he didn't try to claw it away. He understood that she must have been in real pain to reach for those things after all the effort she has been putting into quitting.

He cocked his head questioningly, letting out a soft meow. She hesitated before speaking. These dreams… and the subject and reasons behind them… they were something she hadn't even shared with Wybie.

"I dreamt about him."

The cat gave her a small glare, as if to say 'Would you please be more specific?'

"The Other Wybie."

His tail lashed slightly, but he gave a small dip of his head in understanding. He licked her hand gently, his rough tongue licking away the salt that wiping her tears had left.

"I… we… we almost kissed, once."

The cat dipped his head again, not letting surprise flit across his face.

"It wasn't on purpose."

Coraline was grinning widely, suppressing giggles as Spink and Forcible bickered on the stage, jumping up and down in time to the music. The Other Wybie looked at her, smiling, and touched her hand lightly.

She stiffened slightly in surprise, but relaxed and held his hand gently. His smile widened and he looked back at the stage, his button eyes holding more emotion than she had seen in most others in this world.

"We just sort of… fell together."

The Other Wybie held her arm gently, smiling as he helped her walk out of the theater. Her legs were wobbling from the acrobatics the sisters had put her through and she was grateful for the assistance. She grinned and tickled his nose lightly with the rose he had thrown her. "You have good aim. Have you been carrying this around all day for me?"

He gave her a sheepish look, blushing gently. She giggled, kissing his cheek playfully, noting how it was rough as cloth. "Thank you, Wybie."

He blushed again, harder this time, and stumbled. She fell down with a yelp and dragged him down with her to the carpeted theater floor.

The world spun for a brief moment before it resumed its shape. Coraline was suddenly really glad that Other Wybie had brought her to the dark part of the entrance way that no one could see or bothered to go to. He was on top of her, their faces and lips mere centimeters apart. For a weird moment, she was tempted to close the gap between them. His mouth was in a small 'O' of surprise, but he didn't try to get off for a moment. She reached up, touching his rough cloth-like lips gently, trying to think of something to say.

"It didn't hurt when she made you mute, did it?"

The Other Wybie closed his mouth, crawling off of her and allowing her to trace the outline of his lips. He shrugged, cocking his head. She wondered briefly why she had never pressed the matter after she first tried asking the question.

"How could you not know?"

He hesitated, touching her hand lightly.

He seemed to decide to not answer. He just smiled sadly, helped her stand up, and walked her out of the theater.

Coraline let out a frustrated sigh, taking another heavy drag. She could only imagine what Other Wybie would do if he saw her smoking because of him. He would probably just take her arm tightly and lower it, shaking his head sharply.

The cat let out a loud meow, curling around her gently. Her next words were dead and completely devoid of emotion. "He's dead because of me. He had that awful smile sewn on just for me. All because… because he wanted to protect me…" She slammed a fist on the roof. "WHY did he want to protect me?! Why did either of them want to protect me?!"

She wished she had a good bottle of whiskey or something in her hand. At least she'd be able to swig and smash the glass. "THEY KNEW THEY WERE GOING TO DIE! THEY SAVED ME! THEY SAVED ME!"

Before she knew it, she ripped a shingle from the roof and threw it violently at the ground, getting satisfaction from the audible crack of its breaking. The cat let out a loud yowl, jumping from the roof and landing on the ground.

"Is this a bad time, Coraline?"

She stood up, looking down at the ground to see Wybie cowering on her porch steps, shielding his head from falling shingles.

She jumped to the ground, barely wincing at a small sharp pain in her leg. Coraline didn't bother hiding the cigarette in her hand. Why try? Her parents were probably in church anyway at this point. They always were when she woke up on Sundays.

Wybie looked at the cigarette in her hand, frowning. "Did something happen?"

Coraline took a long drag. Her friend had gotten a lot more comfortable around her. He was now able to actually talk to her without diverting his eyes or stumbling over his words.

"Nightmare," she said shortly. "I need a drink."

"No, Coraline, you haven't had one for a month now!" Wybie said, wringing his hands slightly. "You'll undo all the work…"

"You don't expect me to just quit cold turkey, do you?"

"It's better for you! Just talk to me about it. I'll even let you keep smoking." He said the last part with a small smile. They both were perfectly aware that he could never physically stop her from smoking if she didn't want him to. She was strong, and the last time he actually succeeded she ended up getting her stress and emotions out by crying and turning up at their usual meeting place high as a kite. How someone their age got half the things she got her hands on, Wybie would never know.

Coraline hesitated.

"Please. You only make it worse when you get loopy and you know it. I'm here to talk if you like," he said, giving a small smile and gesturing to himself shyly. He was still slumping subconsciously, making himself smaller.

She hesitated for a moment more, craving the nice buzz she got when she raided her mother's whiskey storage. But she turned away. "Let's go to the well."

They were silent as they walked. Wybie had become very good at picking out when Coraline was in the kind of sullen mood she wished to be taken out of and when she was in the kind that she wanted to brood. The cat, their cat, walked at their feet, meowing ever so often.

As soon as Coraline's cigarette burnt into nothing but a butt, she put it out on the inside of her wrist. Wybie winced, reaching out to stop her, but a small glare from her made him pause. She was in a serious mood.

She put the butt in her pocket, a habit she had picked up to avoid littering, and she immediately took out another one and lit it. Whatever her nightmare was, it must have been awful, Wybie mused.

"Coraline, those things are bad for you. They get your lungs all full of tar and icky stuff like that," Wybie said gently.

"I don't care right now," she mumbled.

"Aw, come on, Jonesy. Don't go all 'life isn't worth living' on me!" Wybie said, smiling weakly and touching her shoulder playfully. "I might need to call your shrink on you."

"You wouldn't dare!" Coraline smiled, a rare occurrence. "I already have to take three pills a day!"

"Wow, really?" Wybie laughed playfully. "You sure you didn't ask your shrink for more?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure. I usually leave that to the dealers near school," she said, grinning and shoving him lightly.

Wybie smiled and laughed at the admittedly off-color joke, looking up at the circle of mushrooms that marked the well. "Here we are."

Coraline sat at the stump, hugging her knees and staring at the well warily. One of the plethora of nightmares that had—and still do, really—terrorized her was of the Other Mother's hand coming out of there and killing Wybie or killing her or letting the Other Mother out…

"You're really scared, huh?"

She looked up. Wybie was still slouching, one arm on one knee while sitting by her, but his eyes were sad and his face was serious.

"Yeah."

He looked down at the well, shifting slightly. "I am too. Not as much as you, but I'm scared of that little… needle-hand-thing coming back and throwing me into the well and dragging you back to that Other Mother or whatever she is. I've had some nightmares about it. But… hey, you sleep just above the place where it came from."

Coraline nodded slowly, taking a very long drag and puffing the smoke out in the opposite direction of Wybie's face politely. "Yeah. I haven't gotten a lot of sleep because of that. I must've had… about three hours a night for the last two weeks. Tops. I'm usually able to get rid of the headaches with an Advil and wake up with several cups of coffee."

"What?!" Wybie sputtered for a bit, clumsily pushing her to the ground lightly. "Then you should be sleeping! You can't go with that little sleep for so long!"

Coraline cast a wary glance at the well.

"I'll stay with you and keep watch. Promise."

She hesitated, but natural instinct screamed at her to get the sleep while she can. Coraline nodded, smiling gratefully, and lay down, snuggling up to him so her head was in his lap. She could here his nervous chuckling and his cheeks flushed darkly, but she just responded with a tired smile and closed her eyes. She was asleep immediately.

"Hello, my little doll."

Coraline looked up sharply, her eyes darting for the source of the voice. If she could see it, she could fight it.

The source just chuckled softly.

"Your mother is not here right now. No need to worry your little head."

Two hands touched her shoulders. Coraline turned around quickly, relaxing a fraction when she saw it was her Other Father, no longer a drooping pumpkin. "I thought you were dead!"

"Oh, I was there for a bit." He didn't offer any clarification and hugged her gently, something she returned enthusiastically. "I've been watching you, butter-bee. We all have. Why are you hurting yourself so much?"

"Shrink says PTSD. I blame my Other Mother."

"Maybe you're right, Coraline."

She hesitated, looking down. "If you're alive, does that mean that Wybie…"

"Yes."

Coraline looked up sharply.

"He's been particularly upset about what has been happening to you. He wishes he could come and see you now, but your mother is watching him closely; she has noticed that he has been missing for a few nights."

"So he's the one…?"

"Yep." Her Other Father smiled, leading her slowly down the misty hallway they were in. "I approve of both versions of your friend."

She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but then she felt a cold chill settling in her spine. Her Other Father looked up sharply in fear, and promptly disappeared.

"Darling… I have what you want…"

An all too familiar shadow formed in front of her, holding out two dolls with needle-like hands. One was her Other Father. One was… Other Wybie. "We wouldn't want anything to happen to them, would we?"

Slowly, the hand ran its fingers through the dolls, allowing the sand that filled them to drain slowly.