It's dark both inside and outside when my eyes flutter back open. The HQ doesn't have any lights on, the sun has set, and all I can hear is the sound of distant car horns blaring. Other than the normal sounds of the city, it's still eerily quiet in the apartment. I slowly push myself up off the couch, my hands sliding against the wall as I look for the light switch. My hand hits it and flips it back on, almost blinding me with the brightness.

"Guys?" I call out loudly but receive no answer. Maybe they're still at work. I don't exactly know what they do for a living, so I'm not sure when they get home.

I grab my phone and hit Skipper's contact, pressing the phone to my ear. The call goes straight to voicemail. "This is Skipper, and you should not have this number." I roll my eyes and hang up, cutting the robot lady off who was telling me how to leave a voicemail. I lock my phone and put it down on the counter, biting my lip.

I take the time to grab some pyjamas from my room and throw them into the bathroom carelessly, grabbing a towel from the little cabinet from inside the bathroom and closing the door.

The shower feels absolutely wonderful on my back, but it feels terrible on my legs. I look down to see my legs are battered, scraped up, scarred, a few wounds still very sore and scabbed up. Some look worse than others. One catches my eye, specifically on the side of my knee. I hadn't noticed at the time, but I'd gotten it from crawling through the shattered windshield to get to Mom. It needed stitches. I don't remember how many.

The pain causes me to stop dallying in the shower, quickly washing up before jumping out. Not wanting to see the damage the car crash did to my body, not wanting to think about the scars I will have to remind me of that terrible incident maybe for the rest of my life, I make quick work of drying off and throwing on my pyjamas.

I flip my head upside down and wrap my hair in the towel, flipping it over and putting it on top of my head before I grab my clothes. I barely take one step out of the bathroom doorway before I'm shoved back in, and shoved against a wall.

I yelp and drop the clothes, eyes wide as I look into Skipper's face. His arm is across my upper chest and shoulders to pin me against the wall, his other hand pressed to my mouth. Rico, Kowalski, and Private are all behind him, their arms up in different attack stances. The looks on their faces, however, is what chills me to the bone. My eyes are wide as I look over them, my breath caught in my throat. These guys are a lot more fucking scary than I originally thought.

"Liberty, you've got to warn us, soldier!" Skipper says as he lets me go. The other three relax at the words, and just like a switch being flipped, they're back to their normal selves. "We could have hurt you."

Slowly, I peel myself off the wall, swallowing hard. "S-Sorry. I would have let you know I was taking a shower, but you didn't answer your phone when I called."

Skipper throws his arm in the air, gesturing towards who knows what. "Don't call me while I'm at work; it throws me off. Think of a better way next time."

Oh. "I'll leave a note on the counter next time." Without another word, I pick up my clothes and run to my room, using my hip to close the door behind me.

I slide down my door, pushing the lower half of my face into the softness of my clothes. What in the hell was that? Who am I living with that they just know stances like that, where they know hand-to-hand combat so easily it comes to them naturally?

And I wonder what happened to the man that comforted me the night before. The man that held me close and played with my hair, the man that whispered that I could do this and it would be okay. I wonder where he went. I liked him.

Weeks go by, and slowly, we all seem to be getting into a routine. Wake up, go to school, come home, do homework, take a shower, wait on the couch until the guys get home, they get home, I retire to my bedroom for the rest of the night. Rinse and repeat.

The only differing factor seems to be my nightmares. They aren't going away, they aren't getting less intense. They are always the same thing over and over again, and I would always wake up crying. I would always wake up to Skipper pulling me into his lap on the floor to hold me close. But nothing seems to change between us. We never talk about it.

I'm not even sure we want to talk about it.

Saturday is always grocery shopping day. Private and Kowalski alternate shopping, and they always bring me along to get me out of the house. We get along but in different ways. My relationship with Private is more fun, more him talking about the show Lunacorn because I know I'm the only one who will truly listen to him besides Kowalski. My relationship with Kowalski is mainly science — normally I ask him chemistry questions with things I don't understand from my class, and he is more than happy to explain how it works. Sometimes he gets carried away with his explanations and I have to remind him he's not talking to someone who knows all the scientific terminology, to which he normally grins awkwardly and backtracks. No matter what, it is still fun.

This weekend is Private's turn for grocery shopping. I know he loves going shopping, since every time he goes he always gets a little Lunacorn merchandise from the kids' section. I don't mind at all — we all have our guilty pleasures.

As we wander throughout the aisles, I remain mostly silent while Private does the talking about practically anything he could. This man could go on for hours if you let him, frankly. I don't want to intervene too much; I don't want to get too close. When I leave, I want to leave for good.

"So then Princess Self-Respectra said —"

"Hey Private?" I interrupt as softly as I possibly can, not wanting to hurt his feelings. "Maybe we should focus on grocery shopping. We missed the fish aisle."

Private blinks and turns around, laughing nervously as he runs his fingers through his hair. I smile and pat him on the back as we backtrack to the seafood aisle, picking out the different fish the others had requested. I swear, when I get out of here, I'm never looking at another fish again.

I stay in the seafood aisle as Private runs to the bathroom. It's against Skipper's "protocol" for me to be left alone and I can tell Private is nervous about leaving me, but I figure I'll be okay for the hot minute he's going to be gone.

Opening the freezer door, I grab a few packages of carp. I back up and turn to throw it in my cart when I realise someone is standing very much too close to me. My automatic reaction is to jump back and gasp, about to apologise for almost running into them, when a voice I know I recognise from somewhere rings out. "Calm down, little one," the sickeningly-sweet voice says. I look up, confused, but it clicks as soon as my eyes land on his eyepatch.

It's the man from the plane.

How on earth did we manage to run into each other again, and how does he remember me? His hair is styled the same, his creepy smile is the same, his eyepatch is still there. The only difference is that this time he has normal clothes on rather than a business suit. I can almost feel him staring into my soul, and it makes my feet go cold. But maybe that's also the frozen carp currently on my feet.

"I believe you dropped this?" He bends down and grabs the carp packages, handing them to me. I don't take them. I just press myself back against the freezer door, staring at him, watching him for any creepy movements. Why the hell was he so close? "Ah, I see. I'll just put this next to you and let you get on your way."

Mr. Eyepatch takes a couple of steps back, and turns on his heel and walks away. I let my guard down and grab the carp, throwing it into the basket of the cart. Only a few seconds later, as if timed, Private comes around the corner. "Sorry 'bout being so long. More people were in the bathroom than usual," he apologises, smiling at me.

I wave my hand dismissively, both to his apology and to dismiss the thought of Mr. Creepy out of my mind. "No no, it's fine, Private. C'mon, we better finish up soon if we want to stop by the Lunacorn section."

Private's eyes light up as he claps his hands giddily, making a chuckle rupture from my throat. It was weird to think about a grown man being so interested in a kids television show, but the fact that it was Private just made so much more sense.

We finish up the shopping after picking up some cereal and Macaroni and Cheese for me, and we head over to the Lunacorn aisle. I liked the show when I was younger, but I since fell out of watching it when I got more into my teen years. However, Private never seemed to grow out of it, and watching him giggle at every toy and shirt made me smile.

It's nice to see someone else's life going just fine.

Once we check out, we start heading out to where we parked the car. "It's nice to hang out with you, Private."

His eyes light up like a kid waking up on Christmas morning, and it makes me smile. "Really?"

"Yeah, it's fun. You're fun."

I turn forward, just in time to watch one car collide into the back of another one. The sound of metal crunching punches the air out of my lungs, and I suddenly feel like I'm falling. I'm falling back, back to the crash. I'm back in the car, back in the crash. I'm covered in glass, covered in blood. I scream for Mom. She stops breathing in my arms. I scream and cry for her. She needs to wake up. I love you. Nothing can bring her back.

Darkness closes around me, and it feels like I'm suffocating. My lungs want more air than I can suck in, and I scream. The darkness consumes me, swallows me whole, and I hope I never wake up again.

"... and that's when she started screaming?" I hear a distant voice, one I don't recognise. I try to stretch, but my wrists are tethered to something. What the hell?

But a voice I recognise responds, as British and skittish as ever. "Yes, doctor, she did. The two cars in front of us crashed into one another, and she panicked. She started screaming, started calling for her mother."

"She's been having nightmares, but she's never done this while awake." That voice definitely wasn't Private's. That was Skipper.

My eyes slowly force themselves open, only to squint back closed from the light. I know I'm in a hospital — after spending nearly two weeks in the hospital, I can recognise the smell of antiseptic from a mile away. Again, I open my eyes slowly, getting used to the light. Apparently, I've zoned out from the conversation, as suddenly it seems they're on a different part of the conversation.

"No! She's my daughter, and I say no. I'm not having her on medication, especially ones she needs to take daily. I have too many enemies that could use that against her to get to me. No medication, case closed."

They're at the foot of my bed. Skipper's arms are crossed over his chest, eyes forming slits as he eyes the doctor suspiciously. Private is tapping his hands together nervously, a couple steps back from Skipper. Kowalski has a hand on Private's shoulder, trying to calm him down while intrigued in the conversation between the doctor and Skipper. Rico is the only one looking at me, and when he notices my eyes open, he squawks to let everyone know I'm awake.

The four men and the doctor swivel their heads in my direction, and the doctor walks beside me. "Miss Peregrine, how are you feeling?"

I lick my dry lips, craving water at the moment but too afraid to ask. "I'm… tired. Confused, but I feel fine." She writes something down on his clipboard as she nods, and I lightly jerk on the tethers tying my wrists to the bedsides. "Can… I ask why I'm tied up?"

She never even looks up. "You were flailing and fighting against our help, so we had to protect you and the nurses so you wouldn't harm anyone." She finally takes her eyes off the clipboard to meet my eyes. "Do you remember anything?"

Skipper dodges between her and the bed to untie my wrists before I could even ask. I give him a nod in thanks, which he responds with a brief nod of his own. "Not… really. Everything's kind of a blur. I remember leaving the store with Private, and then…" I struggle to remember what happened next.

The doctor doesn't wait for me to continue. "What I believe you have is post-traumatic stress disorder or PTSD. Usually, we don't catch the symptoms this quick due to the natural grieving process, but your symptoms and your…" she hesitates for a moment, "high level of trauma, you seem to be a special case. We could discuss medication —" A deep growl stirs in Skipper's chest as he glares daggers at the doctor, but she continues despite him. "— and it could help you with these episodes and your nightmares."

Skipper cuts in, his jaw tense. "I've dealt with my PTSD without medication. She doesn't need to be on any, either."

As she opens her mouth, Kowalski interjects. "Skipper, the medications could be helpful for her. Her nightmares haven't been getting any better, and I think she deserves to be free from them. Don't you?"

Skipper mulls it over in his head, silent and stone-faced the entire time. However, after about a minute, he sighs exasperatedly, arms falling to his sides. "Fine. I still don't like it."

Once the medication has been explained, the doctor takes her leave. I sit up slowly, sitting cross-legged in the hospital bed. "What… happened, Private?"

Private sits next to me on the bed. "A car rear-ended another in front of us. It wasn't severe enough for people to get hurt, but it was severe enough to cause car damage. You saw it happen, and you just… fell back. You started screaming for your Mom, and I called 911. Once they arrived, I called Skipper to meet us here. He managed to help you calm down a bit, but you weren't breathing properly from the anxiety and stress, and you passed out."

I don't remember anything past the car rear-ending the other one. I remember the flashback slightly, but I don't remember anything from reality. "How long has it been?"

"About two hours," Kowalski responded nonchalantly.

Rico waves his arms all about and makes noises, apparently imitating what happened. I watch him with careful eyes, turning my gaze to Skipper when Rico throws himself on the floor when he imitates me passing out.

"Um… thanks, Skipper. For helping."

He curtly nods in replacement of a "you're welcome." A small urge to hug him rises in me, but I fight it. Hugging isn't Skipper's thing. And hugging Skipper isn't my thing. He's been helping me through these nightmares and episodes, but I never get any time outside of those isolated incidents with him. He's my father, just the other half of my DNA. He is not my dad. I never had a dad, and I never will. Skipper is just my father.

That's all he's ever going to be.