A/N: My apologies for the delay between chapters. Thank you all so much for the reviews! Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! See the first chapter for the disclaimer. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and please review. :)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Sleep wouldn't come to him.

It wasn't about being in his father's house. It wasn't about what had happened to him. It had nothing to do with hunger, or pain, or anger.

Jamie just... couldn't... sleep.

His mind wouldn't shut off, for some reason. He could barely pin down what he was thinking for more than thirty seconds, and he wondered what he could do to calm his mind down. He had tried reading, but that didn't work. He couldn't focus on the words, no matter what book he chose to read.

He grabbed his crutches, making his way slowly out of his room and down the stairs as quietly as he could. He wasn't surprised to find that he wasn't the only one awake, as proven by the light in the kitchen. He sighed softly, making his way in to see who else had been bitten by insomnia.

Frank glanced up from the file in front of him.

Jamie nodded slightly, more to himself than to his father. "Hey, Dad," he said softly.

"Can't sleep, huh," Frank said.

Jamie shrugged. "I think I slept too much when I was unconscious."

Frank smiled softly at his son's joke.

"What's your excuse?" Jamie asked.

"Paperwork."

"Paperwork can wait until tomorrow. So, what's really keeping you up?"

"Freddy Jasper goes before the court tomorrow."

Jamie stiffened almost imperceptibly, deciding to make his way over to the fridge for a snack.

"Honor and Liam have later dates," Frank continued.

Jamie nodded again, opening the door to the fridge silently.

"Freddy's pleading out. The others are in jail awaiting trial. They aren't getting out any time soon. It's over."

"I know it is," Jamie said finally.

"Then, why aren't you sleeping tonight?"

Jamie shrugged. "I just can't."

Frank looked at him over his glasses.

Jamie shrugged, pulling a bottle of water out of the fridge. "My mind won't shut off," he admitted as he sat at the table across from his father. "I can't focus. I can't stop thinking. It's not even about one thing in particular, it's just… everything. I'm sorry, Dad."

"For what?"

"For what I put you all through."

"None of that was your fault, Jamie."

Jamie shrugged again, taking a drink from the water. He supposed that there was a part of him that believed what his father was saying. But that part was well hidden, beneath layers of pain. Of denial. Of hurt. Of fear.

"Nothing that happened in that warehouse is your fault," Frank reminded him.

Jamie still said nothing, looking down.

"It may not feel like it…"

"Dad," Jamie said softly. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but… I can't hear it right now. I'm sorry. I just… I can't."

Frank nodded. "I understand," he said.

"I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize, son."

Jamie nodded slowly, sighing softly. "Feel like I do. Like there's a lot of things I have to fix."

"We'll help you any way we can."

"I know." Jamie shifted in his chair. "I just don't know where to start."

"Talking usually helps."

"I talked to Danny already."

"You gave your statement to Danny."

"That's what Grandpa said, too," Jamie said lightly, looking at his father.

Frank smiled.

"I don't know what more there is to say," Jamie continued. "I talked about what happened."

"But that's not everything," Frank said softly.

Jamie sighed, shifting again.

"You're having nightmares."

Jamie said nothing, but did notice it was more of a statement than a question.

"You're having insomnia, flashbacks. Even mentioning their names gets a reaction out of you."

Jamie looked down again, finding his hands folding and unfolding on the table to be of interest.

"You're showing signs of PTSD, Jamie," Frank said.

Jamie inhaled slowly. It wasn't news to him. He had kind of figured that. But knowing it and hearing it were two different things. Because hearing it meant someone else knew. Knew what he was fighting to hide, what he wished no one would ever know.

He was crumbling.

He couldn't hold it together too much longer, but he couldn't say anything. He held onto his water bottle silently, not wanting to say anything.

Frank, also, said nothing.

Jamie sighed softly. "I know," he said almost imperceptibly after a moment.

Frank nodded.

"I don't routinely go into warehouses, though, so the avoidance isn't really there," Jamie joked.

Frank smiled slightly.

"And, I don't have to worry yet about driving, considering I got the broken leg."

Frank nodded again.

"I'll heal."

"Not alone," Frank reminded him.

Jamie nodded. "I'm just… not ready to talk," he whispered.

"I know. But, you shouldn't be afraid of talking to any of us. You survived a tough ordeal. We're all proud of you, Jamie. And nothing that you tell us is going to change that feeling."

Jamie swallowed, but didn't say anything.

Frank fell silent as well, watching Jamie.

Jamie cleared his throat. "I, uh, I think I'm gonna go upstairs and go to bed," he said softly. "Thanks for the talk, Dad."

"Anytime, son," Frank replied.

Jamie stood up, leaving the bottle of water on the table as he maneuvered himself upstairs on the crutches. He made his way into his room, plopping onto his bed. Instead of sleeping, though, thoughts kept racing through his mind about what his father had said.

He was showing signs of PTSD.

And they were right. He did need to talk. He just wasn't sure who he could talk to. His father's words rang in his head.

"We're all proud of you, Jamie. And nothing that you tell us is going to change that feeling."

Some part of him doubted that.