This chapter takes place sometime after Chapter 61 of SFTD.

Would Jax ever be the same again, he wondered?

It wasn't so much the loss of his legs that he was mourning. Yes, it was distressing to lose them, but he knew Mordenna could easily make replacements, and he would be walking on his own two borrowed feet again. Much like Mordenna losing his eye, it was how he lost his legs. He could still feel it plainly—the pain of them being severed, and even the small stings in feet he no longer had. Jax was hoping to take his mind off of it—and somehow, that had landed him at the Bar. Something about Mordenna being there, he figured.

So Jax was sitting at one of the booths, people-watching as Mordenna chatted up the "locals," idly tapping pencil against paper. He'd gotten back into composing songs, recently—mostly just things to be sung by his choir or himself. No pianos to be found, and making a violin for Jax's size was out of the question. He still enjoyed singing, so he was happy to fall back to it.

Clint broke off from Mordenna's crowd, and Jax watched as he approached the radio. "—just gonna put something on, here, anybody mind?"

Figuring his own opinion wasn't being asked for, Jax looked back down at his sheet. Maybe some music would inspire him. He was looking for a topic for this piece—he had an excellent melody squared away and he just needed some lyrics.

Sherry walked over to Clint. "I hear the ADVENT stations have diversified a little bit to try to placate the populace. Try their frequencies."

Nodding, Clint began flipping stations on the radio. Generic pop, generic country, generic—

Orchestra.

Jax stilled, blood freezing. Clint went "hm." "That's good enough white noise. Wonder if..."

Whatever else Clint said, Jax didn't process it. It was just music. It was just music. Played by some orchestra—or even a synthetic orchestra—that Jax didn't even know. But he couldn't shake the feeling, couldn't stop the trembling in his hands as he dropped his pencil. He was back there, again. The ground scorched his back like Cronus's powers did as the Ethereal himself stood over him, blade made of simmering heat in his hands. The music was so loud, drowning out even his own heart hammering in his chest. It kept beating even as Cronus brought down his blade again, and Jax could feel the ice in his veins melt as his heart pumped the fire, catching his blood and boiling him alive from the inside—

"Jax!"

Mordenna was calling for him. Even though Jax knew he was behind him, witnessing his own brother die, it felt like his voice was echoing in front of him. His shredded heart seized with every beat, and his face grew wet as he cried tears of regret. He would never see them again. He would make the sacrifice again, if it called for it, but he was leaving this world without—

There was pressure around his chest, pressure he didn't remember. He blinked, the world falling away as his heart frantically hammered. He took in a shuddering breath, like he'd been holding it for a minute or so. Where... where was he? He was outside... no. He was in the Avenger. This had to be the Bar. There were muddied forms of people standing there, and as he blinked again, they came into focus. Then, blurred again. The pressure around his chest was unrelenting, and he looked to the side, blinking to clear his vision. It... it was Mordenna, hugging him, whispering. "Wherever you are," he muttered, "you're not there. Not anymore. You're in the Bar, and I'm right here with you. Please, Jax..."

As he blinked again, he finally felt the tears streaming from his eyes, realizing what was happening. The radio had been turned off—forcefully enough that it was turned to the side, threatening to fall off of its perch. He was... he was crying in front of the Bar. Ashamed, and emotions still raw, he used one arm to hide his face, the other hugging Mordenna. Lucifer was trying to say something, but he was unsure what, so far down in his subconscious as he was. "M-Mordenna. Please. Hide me. I-I can't stand this, I—"

Curtains materialized across the opening of the booth, looking very heavy. Mordenna pulled back, wiping Jax's tears away. "Jax, where do you think you are?"

"I-in the Bar, having just had a breakdown over nothing!" Jax was trying to keep his voice lowered, but it cracked and wavered as he hiccupped—shame and terror mixing into an unbearable storm. "It—it is just music! I lose myself over something so godforsakenly small—"

"No, no, I'm stopping you right there." Mordenna grabbed his shoulders. "Jax. It's not nothing, not if it does this to you. You can't be blamed if you've permanently associated orchestras with Cronus because he's been abusing you for years." He seemed to realize something. "And where's Lucifer?"

"I—he's—" Jax then realized he'd done what he always did when he was having a meltdown; he had attempted to quickly withdraw his psionics, like he was holding his breath. Once he realized that was having an effect on Lucifer, he let them go, shuddering.

Lucifer was quick to manifest on Jax's side, hugging him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I tried heading down into your subconscious to help you fight back but you shoved me down further and by the time I got there, well, Mordenna had gotten you out."

No longer having to cover his face in shame, he spared an arm to return Lucifer's hug, the pit in his stomach deepening. "Look at me. I-I am so easily offered help and yet I push it away, I—"

"Hey, hey." Mordenna stopped Jax. "Look, I know what you're feeling. Feeling like garbage that you pushed away one of your big sources of help. But you didn't mean to, Jax. You were going through a PTSD episode. Because that's what it is. You, at least—and probably me and Fals too—have PTSD from what the Elders did to us. It's not 'nothing.' It's something."

Lucifer rested his head on Jax's shoulder, mindful of his own horns. "Jax, please. Listen to Mordenna. I've been in your head, been with you through your nightmares, and I can tell you the distress you're feeling is real. It doesn't matter what it is that sets you off—the fact of the matter is that whatever does, does, and it should be respected and given care."

"Yeah. I don't blame Clint, he doesn't know, but I was quick to shove him to the side and turn that radio off. And as for them..." He looked towards the curtain. "They'll understand. Failing that, I'll make them. You're looking at a bunch of people out there who are going to have PTSD after this is all over, too. What if one of their triggers is seeing orange paint get splashed? What about the specific kind of candy they were eating when the announcement went out that the Avenger was going down?" Mordenna eased a hand onto his shoulder. "It's not the same for everyone. What's fine to someone else might bring back all this for you, and visa versa. Just... be easier on yourself, Jax. It's something I had to learn, too. Don't go adding more scars on top of the ones the Elders left."

Jax would have responded, but at that moment, the curtain was ever so slightly shifted to the side, enough to let in someone's voice. "Jax? Is... is it alright for Clint and I to come in?" That was Sherry, voice soft and soothing, if uncertain.

Mordenna and Lucifer looked to Jax, leaving the decision up to him. Jax wiped at his eyes. He'd at least try to look somewhat composed. "... come in."

Permission granted, Sherry was the first to step in, followed by Clint. The latter's gaze quickly went to the floor as he rubbed his mouth. "Hey, uh. Jax. I didn't mean to set you off, there. Wasn't my intention to cause that kind of reaction—even if I don't know why that music was so distressing for you. I'm sorry."

"Jax likely has PTSD," Sherry replied. "True, I don't know what the connection to orchestral music is either, but it's clear as day that it's one of his triggers. I'm sorry, Jax. Would you like us to get a message around the soldiers to avoid it when you're around?"

Jax was quiet for a second, somewhat stunned. He wasn't expecting understanding—or at the very least, the willingness to avoid what was harming him, even if they didn't know the cause. "I..." His voice was still shaking, and he took in a deep breath, sighing it out. "Yes. I would appreciate that much. And Clint... you've heard other people's signatures before, yes?"

Clint nodded. "Mostly yours. Sounds like thunder."

"My... my 'father's' signature sounds like an orchestra."

Clint winced, rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah, that would—that would do it. I get you, I..." He glanced at Mordenna. "I get nervous hearing a lot of people whisper, nowadays. It's silly, but it gets at me. I'm sure the same as it gets at you. I'll do my best to let everyone else know to avoid orchestral music."

Jax bobbed his head, retreating a bit. "Thank you. Could... could the two of you leave us be? I'm sorry for my bluntness."

"Not at all." Clint left, and Sherry trailed after him. "Take it easy, Jax. It's been hard for us all, and nobody would blame you."

With that, she left, with Jax staring at the side of the curtain. It was... confusing, but relieving to have that kind of understanding. The thought that he could be triggered by music still stung him, but with what everyone was saying? It stung less than it did. Jax sat back in the booth. "—can we stay here? I just... need a moment to collect myself."

Mordenna nodded, leaning against Jax and patting his arm. "We're here for you, bro. The other guys can wait, I'll stay here as long as you need." Lucifer echoed the sentiment by bringing down one of his slowly-healing wings, as if shielding Jax.

Jax relaxed a little, face still damp as he looked down at his notebook. Free of words, but ready to receive them. After a pause, he manifested a psionic copy of his hand and began to write.

Perhaps it was finally time to write songs about denouncing the Elders?