This update has been a long time coming and there is a lot to talk about. The simplest reason why I stopped updating this story is largely because I became hyperfixated on The Stanley Parable when the new release came out last year. Somehow it managed to completely knock Courage out of that near 20 year long hyperfixation I've had with the show. I have never experienced this before where you feel so strongly about a new interest that you stop hyperfixating on the old one. I expected it to die down with TSP over time and I'd get back to being fixated on Courage, but that hasn't happened. Most of my creative energy is still going to TSP, and I don't mind that at all. It's been a lot of fun. But that does put me in a bind with this story now that I've lost that intense urge to keep writing it.

The other thing this long break from writing this story has caused is that now that I don't have sheer momentum keeping me going, I've really had to contend with the fact that over the last few years I've started to like the idea of how this story ends less and less. It no longer reflects me as a person or the sort of stories I want to write. Before, I planned to just go through will it regardless, because I owed it to the spirit of what caused me to start this story in the first place to see it through as it was largely envisioned, despite the ending having been revised in my head multiple times already, but a core theme was there the entire time. However, where I'm at now, I've come to the conclusion that if I try to force myself to write it, now that Courage isn't my big fixation keeping me going through sheer momentum, it's not going to happen. So, I've been working and reworking it in my head on and off lately and I think I may have found a new way to end this thing that still manages to stay true to all that has come before but is more in line with my current creative ideals. It's not perfect, and I need time to keep figuring out what to keep and what to rework, but I am getting there. The story I planned to write after Finale will have to be scrapped, but its one major plot point will be moved to the ending of this one and I think readers will really like which particular story thread I'm going to wrap up.

Of course, I do have to contend with the fact that I may not have it in me to end this story now that my creative fire for it has burned out to some extent. Not entirely, or else I would not be working to still give it a worthy ending even if the original version of it no longer appeals to me enough to write it. I've lost several friends over the long years I've been writing this who were closely tied to my creative output with this story and it is becoming increasingly harder to come back to this thing when so many of my good memories of it have been soured and are unfortunately tinged with sadness and a lot of negative emotions. It is what it is. I've moved on from what's happened, but looking at this story is now looking back at those things I want to move on from. That's the other reason why it is hard for me to have the drive to keep working on it.

On that note, I want to get to the point of why I decided to finally publish an update like this. Atticus's PTSD is a huuuugeee part of his character in this story and his ongoing struggle with it is such a large part of everything that happens within it. There was a chapter I was working on over a year ago that would have happened maybe two or three chapters after the last one. To sum it up, it is meant to largely be the wrapping up point for his ongoing arc with dealing with his trauma. He has an unexpected episode, despite there being no reason for it, and he is forced to content with the fact that even though he is at his absolute happiest now and doing so much better than he was before, that this is still something he is going to have to deal with and all of the complicated feelings he has about that fact. Because even though it's easier to deal with now that he has the love and support he didn't have before, it still...well, I'll let what I wrote speak for itself. I never finished this chapter, but because I did not want to update this story without something to show for it, I'm going to release this unedited version of the chapter. The beginning of the chapter is missing because I never got around to writing it, but where it starts is a decent enough point, especially given the topic this chapter deals with. Please note that if I do return to updating this story, this chapter will likely be rewritten to some extent. Hopefully what is here is good enough though.

I want to confess something very important, something that even I have had to content with over the long years of writing this story. When I started this thing so very long ago, I was in deep denial of the fact that I have CPTSD. I didn't think that anything that had been done to me was 'bad enough' for me to qualify it as trauma or could cause me to have PTSD. I didn't even see it as abuse back then. In truth, I grew up experiencing heavy emotional abuse from family and peers. It is only within the last year or so that I really have started to come to terms with just how bad it really was and how so much of 'me' is just one giant trauma response. It's been a process to unpack all of it and I am still unpacking it. I don't know if healing has begun or if I will ever manage to unlearn all of the trauma responses they instilled in me, but just the fact that I've accepted that you don't need to be violently assaulted for someone to abuse you, that mental torment is abuse, that the way I was made to feel like the very core of my being is wrong and unacceptable was a cruel thing for these people to have done to me, that it was not simply just that I was a bad person who didn't try hard enough to make myself acceptable, that they were not justified in their ongoing bullying and shaming of literally every aspect of myself that I didn't succeed in hiding away from the world, it's all a good sign. It was abuse and it did cause me to develop CPTSD at way too young of an age to cope with any of it or know how to manage any of it on top of the ongoing emotional abuse that was already making me feel like a broken and unworthy human being for simply being neurodivergent in a deeply ableist society.

If it isn't already painfully obvious where I'm going with all of this, back at the start of wring this story, I used Computer's ongoing arc with trauma as a way for me to work through a lot of the feelings I was dealing with at the time in the deeply exaggerated manner that this fiction depicts. I didn't even understand what I was doing at the time or question why the hell I can write a traumatized character who is in denial of their trauma so well. At the end of the day, the Computer of the show is just a gag character who isn't really much of a character outside of some memorable lines, but there was always a lot of room 'for' character with what we were given of him and his memorable interactions with Courage. I am proud of this version of him that I've characterized and built up over the years and he has inadvertently brought me much comfort and helped me understand myself by writing him. I honestly regret it a bit, laying so much suffering onto him to an almost humorous degree in a black comedy sort of way, to a point that I've lampshaded it more than once, but his suffering was never in vain, because he helped me get through some shit and come to terms with more than a few things.

So, yeah, just in case I don't have it in me to finish this story now, if this is where all things finally end, this is the note that I want to leave it on. Here's hoping I can find a proper ending for these doggo dorks now that I've changed as a person, but if this is the end of the line for them, this is the best place I can leave them within my capabilities to write them.

... ... ... ... ... ...

He felt as if, somehow, the room was too big while also feeling as if the walls were closing in upon him. It was as if every shadow cast by the glow of the TV was about to jump out at him from the endless expanse of this much too big room. On the other hand, it felt too stuffy and stifling as well. The walls were too close to the couch, like anything could sudden burst through them at any moment and...

All of a sudden Atticus was alone and formless within his own system. He was exhausted beyond all reason and he knew that he was about to lose this war that he had been fighting for much too long. His defenses were crumbling. Where he had once been able to maintain them effortlessly, the constant assault had finally worn him down to a point where he just could not keep up.

Fear the likes of which he had never experienced before struck him as he felt the last of his defenses fall and that smug, smiling man who stood outside of his screen, began to worm his way into Atticus's programming. The thought struck him then that this was it. That these were his last moments as the person he was. That man was going to change him into something unrecognizable, as he had already threatened that he was going to do from the moment Atticus was switched back on while in his possession. It would not be until later that he would discover that He could not brainwash him into becoming someone entirely different from himself, only modify his programming in such a way to compel him to act against his own will, as if that were any better of a fate, but in that moment, the fear that he was going to be obliterated and replaced with a mindless slave was real and genuine.

The feeling of that man opening him up, revealing his inner workings like a serial killer might slice open the torso of his kill to get a look at the organs inside, was the most horrific and violating sensation that it was possible for a being such as himself to experience. With little care for what He was doing, he started deleting code and with deft fingers typed in his own. Atticus could do nothing to fight or defend himself in this state as He locked him in, trapping him within the confines of the code that comprised who he was. The man was turning him against himself, and he was helpless to stop any of it.

As His own programming flooded Atticus's system, their spider-like shapes clawing their way inside and swarming around him like a hive of angry bees, Atticus found himself wondering something that he had considered plenty of times since His siege upon his system had begun. Was this punishment for allowing Owen to die?

As much as he did not want to, especially not at a moment like this, his memory banks rebelled against him and he recalled the scene with perfect clarity. He heard the soft footsteps on the carpet, saw the shadowy figure enter within the viewing range of his screen, watched it creep up upon Owen's sleeping form. In those few seconds, he could have said something, anything, to wake Owen up, but he had been too surprised by the hooded figure's sudden appearance. Where he should have acted, he froze two seconds too long instead.

It all happened in an instant. He saw Owen shift around a little as he slept on, and the hooded figure must have thought that he was about to wake up because he pulled a gun from within the folds of his jacket in great haste. Without even a moment of hesitation, he took aim and fired.

Atticus watched in dumbfounded silence as a single bloodstain appeared in the blanket and started to grow in size.

Owen did not stir again.

"Shit!" The voice of the hooded figure rang out, breaking the silence that had followed the gunshot. "That was loud enough to wake half the city up! Need to hurry..."

The hooded figure turned upon Atticus. In the light of his screen, the figure had an eerie, grim reaper like quality about him. In spite of this, all Atticus could focus upon was that ever growing bloodstain, until the grim reaper moved in and blocked Owen's motionless shape from view.

And on that night where Atticus had already made one mistake that he could never take back, he then made the greatest mistake of his life. He should have played dumb. Should have pretended to be any old computer. Should have made Him think that He had killed a man for a perfectly ordinary computer that He could have bought from any store. But, no. Still in shock from all that had happened in the span of mere seconds, he said to the man, "What have you done?" and sealed his fate.

The man reached up and lowered his hood, revealing an ugly face that was already in the process of breaking out into a wide grin. "Jackpot!"

Still lost in his memories, Atticus barely noticed Him turning his own programming against him. It was only when He typed in a command to make the spider programs attack, or to be more exact, to break him apart so that his data could be more easily analyzed, did Atticus finally snap back to reality. It did not matter though. There was nothing he could do. As long as He had command of his programming, he was a prisoner inside of his own body.

He knew he should have fought. Should have gone down swinging and not let Him ruin him without making the bastard fight for every scrap of his data, but as the programs took aim with their claws, all he felt was circuit chilling terror. In the end, all he did was freeze, just like how he had frozen when Owen...

The claws swooped in and pierced his very being, ripping away chunks of himself more like he was being attacked by a pack of ravenous wolves than any spider. The pain was so much worse than he could have ever prepared for. It was a kind of pain no being made out of flesh and blood could experience. It cut into him deep, laying bear all aspects of himself. Nothing could remain hidden from His sadistic curiosity. Thoughts, feelings, memories, all were ripped wide open.

Through the haze of his agony, one single question managed to fight its way above all of his other frantic thoughts. How could he ever feel safe, secure, or like a whole and complete being again after having this done to him? His very essence was being opened up and stripped away from him. It was a level of violation that no person could ever hope to recover from.

Unable to bear another second of it, he screamed and thrashed, but his hijacked programming held him in place.

Then, he felt something trying to encircle him, and already feeling as if all of his boundaries had been stripped away from him, it only increased the sense of violation that was tearing his mind apart. With unexpected suddenness, his freeze response gave way to a mix of both fight and flight. He kicked out as hard as he could and...

His eyes snapped open just in time to see Courage hit the ground.

Confusion took hold. For several long seconds, he struggled to remember where he was and that he was safe. Had he been having a nightmare...or had he been lost in one of his old memories? It had felt as real as if it had been happening all over again. None of that mattered though. Guilt clawed at him for having kicked Courage hard enough to knock him off the couch they'd been sharing.

Scrambling down from the couch, he raced over to his companion, who remained lying where he was, clutching at his snout. Atticus could feel himself trembling involuntarily and his heart felt like it was about to seize up from how hard it was beating. Despite his confusion, and despite how hard he was finding it to string two coherent thoughts together, he dropped to his knees beside Courage.

"I'm so sorry!" He blurted out. "I swear I didn't...uh, erm, ice! Yes, that's it! Ice! I'll go get you some ice for your nose!"

He could not take back what he had done, but he could at least do everything in his power to make it up to Courage for hurting him like that.

As he started to stand, Courage's paw shot out and caught his arm. "It's okay, pal." He said with a wince. "You don't have to do anything. It's not that bad, it just stings a little. I know you didn't mean it."

Atticus took in a deep breath. He felt like he was suffocating and it only added to the sensation that he was struggling with that was making him feel like this dog body of his was about to shut down on him.

"A-are you sure?" He asked, struggling to find his voice.

A heavy knock at the door caused him to jump, followed by Bruno's muffled voice asking, "Are you okay in there?"

Struggling to keep himself steady, Atticus went over and opened the door. It wasn't just Bruno standing there, several of the other dogs were with him too, including Lily's mom.

Fighting to bridge the disconnect between himself and his host body, Atticus managed to force himself to say, "Yes, e-everything is fine. Why do you ask?"

Bruno gave him a bewildered look. "Uh, dude, you were screaming like a serial killer had broken into your room and was in the middle of stabbing you to death."

"...I-I was?"

"I'm pretty sure you woke up the entire mansion."

Atticus could feel his ears dropping as the disconnect between himself and his host body only seemed to widen. Great, as if he hadn't already made enough of a fool of himself today...

Courage appeared by his side and explained to Bruno, "He was having a bad nightmare, that's all."

"What's going on with your nose?"

"He was flailing around a lot while I was trying to wake him up and he got me in the snout without meaning to."

"Oh...I see." Bruno mused, rubbing the back of his neck rather awkwardly. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

Courage shook his head. "Nah, he's doing better now."

Bruno's eyes shifted over to Atticus and one glance was more than enough to know he wasn't actually doing any better.

"Erm, if you say so. Well, uh, if you need me, you know where I am."

The dogs turned to leave, all except for Lily's mom, who offered Atticus a sympathetic look. She had to be thinking about what they discussed at the bonfire.

Courage grabbed Atticus's paw. "You know," He said, taking a step forward. "I don't think I need any ice, but I could really use a snack right about now."

He pulled Atticus along with him, not that Atticus had a problem with it, it was just that he was really struggling to stay even remotely grounded at the moment and it was difficult to get his feet to do what he wanted.

Once in the kitchen, Courage rifled through the pantry until he found a bag of dog bones. He sat down at the table, nibbling at one, while Atticus mindlessly paced back and forth through the kitchen, his paws clenched together so tightly that it was surprising his nails had not yet drawn blood. In spite of how much he was struggling to stay present, he was so very grateful to Courage for seeming to understand that he needed some space right now while also understanding that he did not want to be left to spiral all alone either.

His pacing went on for an hour, maybe even longer than that. Courage went back into the pantry to grab another bone at least once during that time. Finally, finally, after what felt like much too long, Atticus could feel his heart rate beginning to slow, his body become less jittery, and his sense of self slightly more connected with his host body. With a greater sense of clarity came...disappointment. He continued to pace, thoughts racing. Anger and frustration that had been building up toward himself for awhile now threatened to boil over.

"Atty?" Courage called out, giving him a start.

He slowed to a stop and turned toward him. "What?" He answered, his voice devoid of any emotion.

"You've lost that thousand yard stare and now you look more like you want to punch something. What's wrong?"

Atticus just stared at him for a moment and then began to laugh. He laughed and laughed and it sounded as hollow and helpless as he felt. Courage allowed him this without a hint of judgment, no matter how crazy it must have made him look.

Once he had laughed himself to a point where his throat felt like it could never produce another laugh again, he glared down at his paws, paws that were familiar but ultimately not his. No matter what, he was always going to feel like a stranger in his own body, because there was no shape for him to take that would be his own. Any chance he might have had in feeling comfortable with his formless state of existence had been destroyed by Him. As long as his programming remained as scrambled and compromised as it was, he would never feel right or whole again. It was too broken to ever go back to the way it had once been, not even if he had a thousand years to try and put it right. Those sort of scars ran too deep for a mere rewrite of his code to fix it. Like it or not, He had deprived him of all hope of ever feeling safe or secure again, no matter what form he might take. That was just the inevitable result of having his very essence so horrifically vivisected.

He turned away from Courage and shrugged his shoulders. "So, this is it, huh." He began, the tone of his voice a mix of bitterness and hopelessness. "I'm the happiest I've ever been and yet I still find myself back in this rut regardless of how I have been doing. I cannot escape it. At best, I can hold myself together for a little while and then it all falls apart once more. What I have always feared seems to be the truth. I'm never going to get better. I...I'm always going to be this way." He hesitated, and then added in a quivering voice, "Do you have any idea how frightening that is?"

He heard Courage shift around in his chair. "It's okay, Atticus. You're just going through another rough patch and that's fine. This will pass. It always does. Then you'll be back to your regular self, and if it does happen again, we'll all still be here to help you get through it."

Atticus whirled around, gripping at his chest with both of his paws. He laughed bitterly, his voice going from having laughed too much already, and when he spoke again, his voice was so strained that he could barely get the words out. "You don't get it. You really don't get it. You can't help me. Nobody can. No amount of support is going to keep me from slipping back into my most painful memories. Do you not understand how much this hurts? To watch Owen die again, to feel Him worming his way through all of my defenses after weeks of trying to save myself, to feel my own mortal terror after He broke through with the same amount of clarity as the day it happened, to feel all of the pain, all of the violation that comes with being opened up and ripped apart," He backed away, still clutching at his chest as his arms trembled. "Being forced to go through all of it again, time after time, even after I'm finally in a better place, it is killing me as surely as my broken system is. And there is nothing you can do to help me. I know how hard you've tried, and I cannot even begin to describe how angry I am with myself for not being able to get better after all that you've done to help me, but I am stuck this way. It is terrifying and I hate acknowledging it, but I cannot keep denying reality." His back hit a wall and his legs gave out.

He sat there, watching Courage approach with such a sad expression on his face, and he knew then that Courage felt just as helpless as he did.

"This is going to keep happening-" He reiterated to the love of his life, forever fearful that this deep, incurable flaw of his might one day be the thing to make Courage change his mind about him.

"-And I am so scared."

Courage dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around him. Where it had felt violating before, while he had been in the midst of the episode, it now felt like the most comforting thing in the world. For once he actually missed their time together as one being, where Courage had been in direct contact with his real self, the core of his being. This was nice too, but he wished so badly that it did not have to be through this body that was not his own and never would be.

And, just like that, the dam that he had been trying so hard to hold together broke. He was suddenly sobbing into Courage's shoulder. Even if he had wanted to stop himself, he knew he would not have been able to. After a long while, his sobbing gave way to a soft chant of, 'it hurts, it hurts, it hurts-', before he broke down again. It was all he could do but to give voice to his inescapable pain.

Courage held him in silence for a very long time, and only after he began to calm did Courage quietly assure him, "Don't worry, pal. Even if we can't stop this from happening again, I'll still be here to help you get through it. I know this isn't a cure, and I know I can't stop the pain from coming again, but I won't let you face this alone, I promise."

There was a million things that Atticus wanted to say to him in return. He had to settle on a simple, "Thank you, Courage." And soon after he found himself chuckling self-consciously. "I guess making a career out of helping you save your family really paid off in the end, huh?"

Courage grinned and nuzzled him. "Yeah, it has." He chuckled.

In spite of everything. Atticus managed a weak smile of his own.

Still, he had to confess, "I'm so very sorry for all of this, Courage. It's already hard enough for me to deal with and I despise putting it on you as well. I know you don't mind, but-"

"It's not a problem, Atty. You've got enough that you're going through so don't feel guilty about dragging me into it as well. I want to help and I can handle it."

Atticus let his chin rest on Courage's shoulder and he stared out into the empty kitchen, not really taking anything in. "Yes, of course. If you're giving me permission then I want to just...talk. You don't have to listen, especially if it becomes too much to bear, but I feel like I need to turn my processor off and just talk until I can't anymore. About what He did to me, about what happened at Charon's, and even about something as small as when you had your attack on that river bank and they took me away without allowing me to know if you had survived. I spent quite a long time in the police station thinking that you were dead and I had no idea where I was supposed to go from there. D-did you even know that? I guess I never told you, did I? Well, there is certainly a lot for me to blabber on about. We'll be here all night, I fear, but I must do this. I'm certain that I must. It might be the only thing that will keep my last atom of sanity intact."

Courage nuzzled him again. "Do whatever you've got to do. If it'll help you start to feel better, it can only be a good thing."

Atticus hugged him all the harder, trying to put all of his love and affection into that one simple gesture. He hated knowing that he would never be able to repay Courage for all of his patience and kindness, not even if he had a million years to do so. All he could do was keep trying to be a better, happier person, for both of their sakes. Maybe it did not matter if he could never feel like a whole or secure being again. As long as he could keep picking up the pieces and continue living on in spite of all the harm that had been done to him, maybe that was the best way to live his life, instead of trying to fix or hide away the scars that were etched into his very being.

And maybe Courage was right. Maybe healing would come with time. Even if it did not, Atticus was already starting to feel better in at least one way, now that it didn't feel as important for him to get better as soon as possible. He would always live in fear of the next episode, and there was no escaping the pain of his memories, but it was exactly like Courage had said. This would pass. It always did.