The car ride is awful.

He was curled up in the back seat with his bags (his Uncle had given him a disapproving look and practically forced him to pack another) headphones slipped over his ears even though nothing was playing. It was his mother's car, an expensive one that Lloyd never bothered to learn the name of, but there's an outlet and he had hurriedly plugged his phone in as a distraction. His Uncle wouldn't talk to him with his headphones on (Not like he ever talked to me anyway), so it was surefire way to by him some valuable thinking time. Or, rather, time to overthink every little thing as they drove closer and closer to…wherever it was they were going. Some correctional facility? Lloyd wasn't sure. All he knew was that whoever his Uncle was taking him too was going to "help" him. Whatever that meant.

Honestly, he still wasn't sure what he needed help with. Other than his slight dependency (oh, who was he kidding; he was fucking addicted) to drugs, and to alcohol, and the occasional razor blade against the skin of his thigh. He was careful with the former, however, because he was afraid of what would happen if he left something permanent on his skin. His thoughts already gave him a constant reminder; he didn't need a physical reminder, too. Mentally? All he knew was that he was pretty fucked up. How to fix that? He had no idea.

Maybe he'd make new friends. The thought sends a shot of ice cold dread through him. Why did the thought of new friends make him so anxious? Probably because all my old friends are either dead, running from the cops, or in prison. I must have really lucked out, huh? He shudders, bringing his bag closer to his chest. Maybe I'm just are afraid of starting all over again? Not that he had much to cling to. His home life sucked, and his previous escape had been shattered for almost six months now. No, he had nothing to go back to. Not anymore.

"So…Where are we going?" His Uncle startles, tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

"Julien's Correctional Facility. It's in the inner part of Ninjago City."

"Oh," Lloyd said softly, fiddling with the straps of his backpack. An inner-city facility had not been in his list of ideal locations. For one thing, they probably wouldn't let him outside. The only reason he had survived so long was because of the days where he sat in the sun and let him warm him up until he could move and feel again. Like a lizard. Dragons were lizards, right? They didn't need the sun to warm them up; they had their own sun inside them. Maybe if he pretended he was a dragon he could live without the sun, too.

"They have a garden there," his Uncle offers, and Lloyd straightens. "It isn't as impressive as your mother's, but it's something."

It'll be enough. It has to be. "Okay." He had practically lived in the garden the first month after The Accident, hidden amongst rose bushes that pricked snagged his clothing and pricked his skin so much that he bled, only venturing out when sun disappeared to go cry amongst the orchids his father had planted before everything went to shit. He felt unsafe in the dark, and to him any memory of his father was safe, was sacred, and so he clung to his memory in whatever form he could find it. He would find somewhere safe to hide when things got too rough at the facility.

Ever since he was a kid he had been an easy target. His small stature paired with the fact that he bruised easily made him a favorite amongst the kids in his middle school. High school had gotten better, but that was only because his friends were willing to fight and were determined to protect the baby-faced blonde they added to their group. Mostly because he had the ability to get good liquor and despite his tiny fingers could roll the best joints this side of Ninjago City. But they were good people, at least to him, and he would cling to their memory, too. At least, he would try. Some memories were better left forgotten. Not that you can forget, a voice whispers lowly in his ear. How could you? They raised you, didn't they? Would you dare forget your parents?

Lloyd presses his hands firmly over his headphones, wincing at the sound of his nails scraping against the plastic. Not toady. Please. Please, not today. The voice laughs but says nothing more, and after a moment Lloyd slowly removed his hands, glancing to see if his Uncle had reacted. He was a little disappointed to see that his Uncle hadn't moved at all, but wasn't surprised. His family had never cared for him. They were too busy trying to live the childhood he had taken from them (not that they had told him that was the reason—he had figured that one out on his own).

When they enter the city, Lloyd turns his music on, finding a playlist of his own that was called For Days When You're Overwhelmed and Hate the World and Nobody Will Shut Up. The first song began, the opening of an anime he had watched when he was too drunk to appreciate it. HIkaru Nara. If you will shine. It was bright, and usually he only had to listen to it to be pushed out of his bad mood. He places the song on repeat, because he doesn't want to go through the rest of the playlist (he wants consistency, damnit, for once in his life). So HIkaru Nara it is, with its lyrics that he doesn't quite understand and the mix of violin and piano that makes his heart swell.

At some point he must have fallen asleep, because when he opens his eyes the car has stopped in front of a building that looks dwarfed next to the metallic Godzillas next to it. His neck aches and he feels stiff, but he pushes through it with a roll of his shoulders and a slow arching of his back. Every move he makes causes his muscles to groan in protests, and he tries not to think about the reason behind it (After all those years of curling into tight spaces his body should be used to some discomfort…Shouldn't it?). A quick glance around the car tells him that his Uncle has left. Good riddance. I didn't need him anyway.

He climbs out of the car without a second thought. His Uncle is either inside the building or he's left him for dead; he's not about to sit and find out if the former is the actual answer. Carefully he slips one of the backpacks over his shoulder, tightly gripping the other one. He takes a deep breath before making his way towards the building. There's no sign indicating what kind of building it is; honestly the only reason he knows this is the right place is because the stone exterior sticks out amongst the steel giants on either side. That, and if he leans far enough while standing on the tips of his toes he can just make out some trees behind the building. The fact that there are any plants at all is enough to soothe him.

Still, he hesitates outside the doors. Entering will change his life—for better or worse—and it's a commitment he isn't sure he's ready to make. But he wants to leave. His home sucks, his mom is awful, and his dad doesn't care, and his Uncle does nothing but sit and watch as his mom tries to tear him apart. His friends are gone. There's no one on his side anymore. Back there, he's completely alone. Here, he as a chance (even if it's small). There's hope. For him, for his future.

He's standing in front of the door before he can think too deeply about it, grasping the door handle in a death grip (it's cold, the opposite of most people's renditions of Hell, so that must be a good sign). The door gives easily under his weight (what little there is) and he slips inside, making sure the door shuts softly behind it. He glances around the room curiously, a little shocked.

It certainly doesn't look like a hospital, or a mental facility. The walls are white, but not in the horror-movie-esque way that it's usually portrayed. The lights aren't fluorescent, either, just bright. On the walls there are paintings and drawings of all sorts, primarily portraits. There are plush chairs situated in one corner with children's toys scattered on the floor in front of him. He heads towards those, not quite ready to face the office staff (horror movie scenes flash before his eyes, making him feel queasy) and he settles in front of one of the chairs.

The waiting room is eerily silent—there wasn't even any elevator-worthy music playing. Lloyd was a little disappointed. But it wasn't scary. In fact, it's almost the opposite. He's the most relaxed he's ever been without any drugs or alcohol. That might have to do more with his upbringing and personality than the actual atmosphere though.

His father was a business tycoon, and a powerful one at that. He had the world at his fingertips, quite literally. He was charming, dark-haired and handsome, and could probably charm snakes with just a few words. On the other hand, his mother was straight-forward to the point of bluntness, avoiding pretty words and making comments that she knew would get results. She was stubborn and sometimes distant, caring more for her archaeological finds than her son. Both weren't afraid to get their hands dirty, either. Their marriage had been one for clearly selfish gains, however. His mother wanted access to the Serpentine tombs in the South and his father wanted more backing from the archeological committee. A perfect match.

By the time Lloyd was born things had already taken a nasty turn. When he wasn't at his Uncle's house he was home with a babysitter who only cared about the large paycheck. His parents would do anything to keep him out of their limelight, and he was happy to oblige—he didn't want any of that, anyway. By the time he was seven he could tell the real from the fake in almost anything. That was the moment he realized he wanted something real, whatever that may be.

Hopefully there would be no scandals that would erupt from him being here; there would be no covering this one up. After all, there were only so many reporters they could bribe. The story would come out, and there would be no way to silence it. Sometimes he wanted to release it himself and destroy the perfect family façade his parents had created. Prove to the world that there was more inside their dollhouse than they could ever believe. He had enough information, and most would believe his testament. Who wouldn't believe the darling little Garmadon boy? It made him sick just to think about it.

Subtly Lloyd reached a hand inside his hoodie and drags his nails across his stomach, trying to school his expression into something neutral. His body bore all the evidence of the Garmadon's dark history; he was a living legend, a relic, the only one of its kind. Mom would be proud. He almost laughs at that, biting the inside of his cheek to keep it down. He isn't ready for any attention, yet. Even he doesn't know the gravity of their history, yet, and he was there for it all. He wonders how fucked up they made him, wonders if wasn't the drugs or alcohol that ruined him but his own family. Something deep in his body that he couldn't control, couldn't fix even if he wanted to. He wonders if the people here will pity him. Lloyd hopes not; he's tired of pity.

The door swings open and he looks up to see an older man enter. A quick glance along the walls and Lloyd quickly recognizes his face amongst the portraits, although he can't make out the name underneath it. The man turns to him as if he knows that Lloyd is sitting there. Lloyd straightens quickly, scrambling to look somewhat presentable. "I tried to tell them that those chairs weren't comfortable, but no one ever listens to an old man, do they?" He says lightly, and Lloyd glances up at him curiously. "Do you mind if I sit with you a moment?"

"No," he replies after a moment.

"Thank you." He sinks into a chair with a soft groan, rubbing his knees. "The walk to work certainly isn't what it used to be."

"You work here?" Lloyd asks, unable to hide the shock in his voice.

"Oh, yes." The old man good naturedly. "I think it makes sense for me to work in my own building, doesn't it?" Lloyd nods dumbly, and the man laughs. "I'm Nathaniel Julien, but most people tend to call me Dr. Julien. And you are?" The doctor extends his hand and Lloyd hesitates a moment before accepting it.

"Uh, Lloyd. Lloyd Garmadon."

"So, you were the one they called me about," Dr. Julien muses, and when he sees Lloyd's nervous expression he laughs. "It was nothing bad, I promise. I'm currently the only working doctor here; my son hasn't quite gotten his medical degree yet. I'm the only one certified to give perform any medical tests. There's no need to be frightened."

"I'm not," Lloyd argues weakly before leaning back against the chair.

"It doesn't do either of us any good if you lie; it's alright to be afraid."

"I'm a Garmadon," he emphasizes his family name like that explains it all. "We're not supposed to be afraid; we're supposed to make people afraid."

"Is that something you enjoy? Making people afraid?" The doctor asks, and Lloyd can't bear to look at him.

"No," he admits after a long moment. "I guess I don't."

"Family isn't always the people you're born too," Julien says, rising slowly. "Sometimes it's the people who find us and see us at our most vulnerable and love us anyway. Why don't you think about that, and tell me what you think family is during our next session?"

"Next session?"

"Your Uncle seemed very adamant that we get you checked in as soon as possible. A good friend of mine should be down here to show you around soon. He can be a bit, ah, hot headed. But he's a good kid. I think the two of you should get along fine." The doctor shakes his head fondly like he's talking more about a wayward son than a friend. "Will you be alright on your own?"

"Yeah," Lloyd said, throat tight. "My Uncle…?"

"Is gone, I'm afraid," Dr. Julien said sadly. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Lloyd mumbled, knowing that the doctor could clearly see that it was indeed not fine. "I'll be fine."

"That you will. Until we meet again, Lloyd." The older man rises from his chair slowly, giving Lloyd a wave before entering further into the facility. Lloyd curls in on himself, slipping his headphones up from his neck and over his ears. He presses his hands firmly against them, wincing at how loud it is. But he doesn't want to turn it down—let him go deaf. He'd rather not hear at all than hear the horrible things people would say about him when they found out.

The doctor seemed nice, though, a voice whispers softly, I'm sure he wouldn't let you drown.

"But he might," you whisper back, frantic, nails scraping against he plastic. "He might."

"Just because he might doesn't mean he will." Lloyd jumps, head whipping up to see a young man standing in front of him. "Easy, kid. I don't bite." Yeah, right. He stares up at him, not being subtle about watching his hands. The man holds them out, palms up. "I'm not going to hurt you. Promise. You can even hold them, if you'd like, so you know where they're at while we're talking. Sound fair?"

Lloyd takes a shaky breath, narrowing his eyes at the hands offered to him. "I don't even know you." It comes out high and tight, almost making his voice crack, and Lloyd winces. The man hums, carefully sinking so he's more at Lloyd's level. He makes sure that his hands are where Lloyd can see them the entire time, and each movement is painfully slow. "I don't know you, either, but I've heard of you. That's got to count for something, right?"

"Why should I trust you?" He spits, suddenly defensive. How much does he know?

"I don't know," the man says with a shrug, and Lloyd's nails dig into his palms. "Why don't we talk a little more and you can find out?"

"Fuck you." Lloyd practically grows, and the man laughs, hard. Lloyd feels his skin get hot, and he drags his nails across his palm to keep himself from doing something he might regret.

"Fiery little fuck, aren't you?" The man laughs again, but this time Lloyd feels the heat go right to his stomach. He curls his toes, glancing up at the man. He's pretty hot. Wait, no, can't think like that. Not here. "So, what do you say? Wanna come get lunch with me?" The man feels dangerous, and every word he says sets Lloyd aflame. It's a risk, and, his own health be damned, Lloyd wants to take it.

If this "new life" he's leading only leads to his own fiery demise, well, he'll take it. Phoenix's rise from the ashes, don't they? Well, maybe he can, too. "Okay," Lloyd says, taking the man's hands. "But you're paying."

"Yeah, yeah," the man replies easily, and Lloyd smiles. Maybe this won't be so bad. For once in his life Lloyd hopes that he's actually right.