This one comes with thanks to Loopstagirl and her excellent fic. You know the one I mean…

Warnings for mentions and memories of torture.

The memory came in full technicolour.

Scott was sitting on the floor with his legs crossed and hands on his thighs, grinning. He had no idea what the time was, but the blinding light and noise loud enough to make some others scream in frustration – he'd heard them.

He settled back and closed his eyes to the brightness. The volume increased and the lights flickered and Scott's grin became wide.

Scott was the eldest of five. He had survived far noisier when Virgil was practicing a new piece or using the piano as a means to vent his anger at younger siblings. But really if he could survive Gordon then this kind of sleep deprivation was a doddle.

As the bucket of freezing water slammed over him and he sat up, spluttering, the dream faded.

He'd give anything to be back in SERE right now.

Wiping the water from his face, Scott tried to supress the shudder as a booted foot kicked his bare one. His foot moved and the chains jangled. The guard laughed and kicked his leg before leaving.

Eyes so heavy with lack of sleep, Scott pulled his good leg up and hugged it. The light and the noise weren't the problems here, just like the they hadn't been in training. No, it was the freezing water and the constant kicking of his broken leg every time his eyes even drifted closed.

Even the beatings and the waterboarding didn't have the same effect on his psychosis.

The walls had melted days ago. In fact, Scott was pretty sure he wasn't hallucinating any more, but what worried him the most was that he had whole periods of time he could no longer account for. He might not know what happened during the times he couldn't remember, but Scott had a suspicion that he knew, his brain didn't want to remember.

The new injuries he sustained after every missed episode told him more than he needed to remember.

Another slosh of water and Scott gasped. He hadn't realised his eyes had closed. This time, though, the kick didn't come. Instead the guard bent down and unchained his leg, grabbing the cuffs and hauling Scott to his feet.

The enforced march through the compound caused more pain than anything else. They had bound the break tight enough that he could shuffle along on it, but every time he stumbled the guards took delight in pushing him hard into the walls, over onto the floor and kicking him enough to hurt as much as possible but not do lasting damage.

They brought him into a room. Stark white walls, wooden table in the middle with cuffs in the corners, a sink in the corner.

He remembered. Scott remembered what happened every time he was brought into this room. He didn't have lost time, he just didn't want to remember this. Scott struggled hard, but there wasn't much he could do to prevent them hauling him up onto the table and strapping him down.

A bucket of ice water woke Scott with a start and he blinked as he took in the fact he was back in his cell. He tensed, waiting for the kick, but it didn't come. The noise was different, loud but not in the way that they had been been subjecting him and the other captives to. His befuddled brain couldn't do anything but be confused.

Scott stared up at the guard. There was something wrong. The guard wasn't smirking at him. In fact, he looked…worried? Worried was the word that his brain supplied. He couldn't work out why. But then the guard pulled out a gun and pointed it at him.

There was a beat of absolute silence.

The guard's hand was shaking and Scott drew in a shaky breath. He closed his eyes and thought about his brothers and his Father and Grandmother. Then the scent of his Mom surrounded him and her arms encircled him as the gun went off.

Scott shot up, chest heaving and eyes wide.

He didn't know where he was, but he needed to…to…there were things in his arms and on his chest and Scott tore them off, practically falling off the bed and scooting down into a corner, watching and listening. Alarms were going off and he shot up and ran.

There was a moment of awareness that his leg was in a cast but Scott pushed it to one side and shot out of the room. He skidded to a halt as a team of nurses and doctors pushing a cart in front of them almost barrelled into him, then took off down a side corridor.

As he ran the pain of his injuries began to make themselves known and he'd slowed down substantially before he could get to any exit. And then something barrelled into him and he couldn't breathe. He flopped about trying to dislodge the body on top of him but nothing worked and he was getting weaker and weaker. There was a sharp scratch to his arm and he couldn't fight anymore.

Voices.

He was trying really hard to wake up to find out what the voices were saying but try as he might, he couldn't open his eyes, couldn't wake up. Scott struggled harder. He couldn't sleep, needed not to sleep. Sleep would get him in trouble. He tried to tense for the water and the kick, but nothing was working anymore.

'He needs to sleep, but he's fighting it.'

'Why is he fighting it?'

'Because he's been conditioned to stay awake by his treatment in the camp, and he hasn't processed yet that he's safe.'

'How do we help him realise he is safe now?'

'Give him a couple of hours for the sedation to wear off and make sure you and your son are here and the first people he sees.'

'Couple of hours? When did you sedate him and how strong was it?'

'About an hour ago and it should last about four hours.'

'Then I'm afraid to tell you that he'll be coming around any minute now.'

'What?'

'Scotty has such a high metabolism that he burns through sedation twice as fast as a normal person.'

In his head Scott snorted. He suddenly realised he recognised the voice. He put every ounce of struggle he had into opening his eyes.

'Dad?'