A/N: TRIGGER Warning: mentions of rape/ flashback/ panic attack
The thing about Skye
She has nightmares
It's not only that Skye doesn't want to sleep, it's that she can't sleep. If she tries to settle down (even completely safe in a hidden nook or during the day when witnesses are more readily available) her thoughts surge forward to the front of her head, playing out before her closed eyes, so real- so immediate- that she ends up bolting upright not too soon after to find something else to occupy her mind.
Most of the time, she doesn't really feel like sleeping, so she avoids it at all cost until her body absolutely cannot handle being awake, and she barely manages to find some nook to crawl into before she passes out from exhaustion. But sometimes she wants to sleep so badly she feels like she could burst into tears- even if she does have to suffer through some nightmares.
Skye doesn't mean to fall asleep this time. It's been almost a week of absolutely no missions, just casual training and non life endangering information gathering, and not enough going on to keep Skye's concentration- her focus- her stupid brain occupied.
It's a miserably quiet week, which means she's avoiding closing her eyes because quiet days are always the worst. They allow the memories and thoughts to get too close with nothing else demanding her immediate focus over them, and sleeping is the perfect excuse for them to surge forward to the forefront.
But it's been almost a week now, of quiet days, and she feels like she's going to burst into tears she's so tired because the human body isn't meant to go so long without sleep. But Skye is determined. She really doesn't want to invite the bad thoughts in. So Skye places herself in the middle of it all- where her body is forced to be aware and ready because trauma- and stares down at her computer screen.
She hasn't done anything in she-doesn't-know-how-long, because the letters and numbers of code have all blurred to just one glowing color and Skye's thoughts are scattered and not working.
And then her body betrays her as the body is wont to do when it is abused so grievously. She falls asleep (passes out), right there in the middle of the common room, even with her new team breezing in and out and sometimes directing their well meaning but ultimately unnecessary concern in her direction. She's fine.
And then she's not.
Her body and brain are traitors. Skye is waking up to the small snick of a lock being turned, and she lifts her head in confusion.
The classroom is empty for lunch period and her teacher is hovering by the door, hand still posed on the lock. And Skye is abruptly more awake but not too concerned yet even though her gut churns.
Teachers can't do much. She was sleeping in class, sure, and they can call home to her newest guardians to get her in trouble with them, but they can't punish her more than a lecture and a detention. School is the safe zone.
But then her teacher is stalking slowly toward her, whispering soft words and has an all too familiar look on his face, and Skye knows that she made a grave error in judgment. It coils in a dreaded pit in her stomach.
She doesn't move. Can't. Even as he circles behind her chair and brushes a gentle finger against her cheek and pushes a lock behind her ear.
It's only as his fingers trace down her collar bone and dip past the edge of her shirt that feeling floods her body and she leaps to her feet. He catches her, though, by the back of the neck and forces her head forward and down- until her face is smushed against the desk she was previously drooling on. He kicks her chair away. She is bent over, her butt up in the air, and this is a dangerous position she finds herself in. She thrashes, hoping to kick over some desks- make enough noise to maybe draw attention and force him to back off (she forgot that she has a voice- that she could- should- scream with). She tries to twist, but it's impossible with her head controlled as it is.
'Don't fight it,' 'Don't fight it,' Don't fight it,' is hissed in her ear. It coils in her brain and warps until the voice is her own chant.
She stops fighting. Her limbs go limp and pliant, but her awareness won't dissipate. Her mind won't distance itself, now, when she needs it to- but it will randomly when she doesn't want it to. She is aware of everything. So she distances her mind herself. Tries to think of other things other than his hot breath, or his hands, or how she fucked up thinking school was safer than where she lives.
She's actually living with a rather nice lady at the moment.
Skye's mind turns analytical. Thinks about all the things she'll need that can fit into a backpack. Normally, all her things fit, but the lady she is staying with actually bought her a few things, and she organizes in her head what she wants to take.
Because Skye is leaving. She has an urge- it's been building in her for years- growing until it's the only thing she can think about some days, and it's the only thing she can think of right now. RUNRUNRUNRUNRUN-
She can still feel his hand on the back of her neck, and pressing on her lower back forcing her to arch- but she can feel them on her shoulders, too. They shake her harshly, which means she must be free. If his hands are on her shoulders, he doesn't control her head anymore.
"Skye!"
Skye twists and thrashes and the voice in her head screams in her ear "Stop fighting. Skye, you're okay. Stop fighting."
Liar!
Skye was okay before. She was handling it. She had a plan- she was finally going to do it. RUNRUNRUNRUN- but her body isn't responding. She's still bent over that damn desk, and now she can't breathe.
'Don't fight it,' 'don't fight it,' 'don't fight it-"
"Skye! WAKE UP!"
Skye has a voice. She remembers now.
And she screams.
She breaks free. She tears herself from the hands and she falls through the dark and she lands on hard floor. Hard floor she scrambles across- RUNRUNRUN- before she slams into something that sends a sharp, aching pain across her cheekbone and the hands are grasping at her again. More hands than her teacher should have.
"Skye, breathe. You are safe. Open your eyes. Wake up."
Skye gasps thin air, and her eyes fly open.
Strangers' faces waver in her vision before her sluggish brain starts working. Thought process comes slower than normal, but when it clicks, it's like a switch is flipped and all the energy urging her to fight drains out of her. That ever constant urge to run doesn't leave, though. It's always sitting there on the outskirts of her thoughts.
Skye's body droops in exhaustion, going pliant and numb under the hands restraining her. Keeping her from thrashing headfirst into the coffee table again- because she's on the Bus. Not in a classroom.
"Sorry," Skye slurs, giving into the restraints even though her skin crawls and she wants nothing more than to get them off. But she's so tired. She's just so tired, all the time, and she wants to stop existing.
Jemma comes forward now that Skye isn't fighting tooth and nail against the people trying to keep her from hurting herself. She crouches down next to Skye and ducks to try and catch her eyes, but Skye averts hers.
She can feel a body against her back, keeping her from slamming backward into the couch, and it keeps her heart struggling in her throat. It's Grant, though, and he protects her. She can smell his shampoo even though it's almost the end of the day, and the familiar smell forces the drowsy, false, calm to remain.
He would never hurt her like the ones in her dreams.
"Hey." Jemma calls, trying to drag Skye's attention back to the present. "Are you back?" She reaches out and so very gently brushes an errant strand of hair behind Skye's ear.
She flinches hard.
"Skye?"
Skye's eyes bounce from the ground, up to May, and then away again. Keeping eye contact is too hard right now. She's too tired. Too raw. And May is crouching only a foot away and still lightly gripping her forearms like she expects her to start swinging any moment.
Skye's knuckles ache on her right hand, and she vaguely wonders what she hit. If it was a person or an inanimate object- both undeserving of her defensiveness.
"Skye," May says again, more firmly, and Skye lifts her head. Still can't look at her, but she hums and stares over May's head at Fitz's flapping hand as he bounces anxiously on his toes. She can see Coulson right next to him, but she can't look at that man either.
Everyone is here. Everyone saw her freaking out because she thought setting herself in the middle of them would keep her awake, but she fell asleep instead. Fell asleep and was plagued by the very thing she was avoiding because she knew it was coming. It's been a horribly, miserably, calm week.
"I'm fine," Skye says, and her voice sounds faint, flat, and absolutely not fine. She clears her throat and wiggles her numb fingers. "Can you please stop touching me?"
May backs up immediately. Not standing, but shifting until she's perched on one of the cushions Skye was when she was failing to avoid unconsciousness. Ward is slower. He has to detangle himself but he, too, gives her space. Just because she asked. What a novel thing.
Skye's hand, now free, rises on its own to cup the back of her neck. She can still feel his hand there, pressing her down. She still feels the weight- dragging at her body (she tells herself it's just the exhaustion- she's fine).
"Talk," May demands, voice edged. Skye should be used to the tone. And she is. That's just the way May talks. But… Skye's shoulders curl toward her ears, her knees tug closer to guard her organs.
Skye lurches to her feet, and Jemma scrambles up, too, before they can accidentally knock heads.
"I'm fine," Skye insists (she's fine, she's fine, she's fine). She turns and tries to duck past the team. She just needs a mission- something to do- not fall asleep.
Fitz reaches out as she tries to escape, catching her wrist. "You're not fine, Sk-"
"Don't touch me!" She snarls. Skye yanks herself away with more strength than her body possesses, tripping over her own feet. Once her balance is gone, she can't get it back and she starts to fall. Arms reach out to catch her, and she twists again, staggering into the bar this time. "Don't- don't- d-don't tou~ch me," Skye's voice wavers and collapses with a sob, and the hand on the back of Skye's neck forces her down, down, down, until she's on her knees and her forehead is pressed against the floor.
'Don't fight it,' 'don't fight it,' 'don't fight it.'
Why does everyone want to touch her? Why do they seem to feel some inane need- entitlement- to infringe on her space? (She forgets, for the moment, that she normally adores this select group of people's casual touch and contact. She's started seeking it out without abandon once it became clear that they don't seem to mind it, either.)
"Alright, everyone out," Jemma orders, but Skye can't. She can't get out, can't catch her breath, can't magically summon her feet under her to carry her away. "Out."
Skye shudders, but the scientist isn't talking to Skye. She doesn't talk to Skye until she lowers herself to the floor and hunches forward like she might mimic the pose Skye's been forced into. Skye scratches desperately at the back of her neck, trying to remove the hand that is pinning her to the spot.
"Skye, I need you to breathe, please," she says softly, and so very calmly. "I'm not going to touch you, but you need to breathe. I promise you are safe. He's not here. I promise."
Anxiety spikes sharper through Skye's molasses blood. "H-He? You k-know He..?"
"Don't focus on Him. Focus on me. Focus on yourself. Take a breath."
Jemma sounds so reasonable and calm when everything isn't okay. But… Jemma is far smarter than Skye. Jemma is… on the Bus. Skye is on the Bus.
He's not here.
"He's not here. You are safe. It's just us. Take another breath, Skye." Skye follows the command blindly- instinctively. She chokes on another coughing sob that takes the opportunity to rush out. "Try again."
She does, and this time her lungs inflate all the way before the air is ripped away again.
"Good. Again." It's easy to follow such firm and commanding directions. It's instinct. And the next breath comes even easier, and the exhaustion washes back in along with it.
Skye's body slumps, hands falling away from the vulnerable back of her neck. It stings from where her nails scratched at it.
"I'm so tired, Jemma," she whispers after several long minutes.
"Then sleep."
"I can't," Skye whimpers, and a few more errant tears slide down. "I can't, please, I can't." She hears the scientist shuffle closer, but she still doesn't touch Skye.
"I'm sorry, Skye. I'm sorry, but you need to. This isn't healthy."
"I'm fi-"
"You aren't." Skye's jaw snaps closed. She breathes deeply. Then sits up and wipes the tear tracks from her cheeks.
"I am. Most of the time, I promise I am." Skye doesn't know if Jemma believes her or not, but that doesn't matter. All that matters is that Skye does. Because if Skye is okay, Skye can function. Skye can do her job and doesn't have to focus on anything that sets her teeth on edge and very much wants to make her not okay.
It's a very dangerous place to be if Skye isn't okay, and she rather likes her life right now. So Skye pretends she is fine, and she is as long as she can keep believing it.
A/N: Ah, and we made it back to the angst. I've been getting soft lately. Please let me know what you guys think!
~Silver~