"Today, I'd like to start with a depression test. It would be similar to the anxiety test we did yesterday. What do you think?"

Garmadon watched Phil, fiddling with his sleeve. "Oh…um…" That didn't sound too bad. Depression…well, he wasn't really sure what it even was. It had to be better than the anxiety one, though. "Okay."

Phil smiled, then opened his computer.

They were in the same room as last time again. The walls were still creepily cheery, the paintings too blue and bright.

The therapist flipped his notebook around. "Here's the answers you can pick for each question. Sound good?"

Garmadon looked at the writing. They were the same options as last time, "Not at all", "Several days", "More than half the days", and "Nearly every day". He nodded a little.

"Great." He smiled. "These are over the past two weeks, just like last time. First question—little interest or pleasure in doing things?"

"Um…every day."

"Feeling down, depressed, or hopeless?"

Garmadon paused, stomach twisting. "…Every day." Though he remembered yesterday, when he'd spoken to Misako. Maybe everything would be okay.He'd considered that yesterday. Actually considered it. He'd never have thought he ever would. He bit his lip.

"Trouble falling or staying asleep, or sleeping too much?"

"Um…" Every night it was difficult to fall asleep, because Ichor could come at any moment. But because of that…he also would sometimes crash, falling asleep instantly. "Half the days…"

"Feeling tired or having little energy?"

"Every day." That was an easy one.

"Poor appetite or overeating?"

He paused. I already ate. He'd said it so many times to Wu. Lied and did everything he could to get out of it. He still didn't appreciate eating much—he didn't deserve it. He'd gotten more than he deserved already. "Yes…every day." He stared at the floor, face reddening slightly. Maybe he was insane.

"Feeling bad about yourself, or that you're a failure, or have let yourself or your family down?"

Garmadon looked at him. Now that one seemed intentionally directed at him. Who came up with these questions? "Of course I do. Every day. Haven't you heard about what I've done?"

Phil nodded calmly, eyes still on the computer. "Yes, I have. But I haven't heard it from you. I don't know your story. The news doesn't always tell the truth. And remember, this is just an assessment. Someone put these questions in a long time ago."

"Oh…" He stared at the floor again. "How long ago?"

"Few years ago, I think? It's a little new."

"Oh."

"Are you ready for the next question?"

"Yes."

"Alright. Trouble concentrating on things, such as a movie, or a book?"

"Every day." Maybe not with movies—though he supposed he had fallen asleep to Starfarer—or books, but with people. Other things. He could never seem to fully be in the moment for a conversation. He was always getting distracted. Or when he was playing fetch with Ochre. He stared off, numb to the world and stuck on some memory.

"Moving so slowly that other people could have noticed? Or, the opposite—being so fidgety or restless that you have been moving around a lot more than usual?"

"Half the days." Especially with him leaving the couch when he wasn't supposed to when he'd been injured… Wu was certainly annoyed at that. He actually wasn't sure if that counted, though.

Phil looked at him. "Thoughts that you would be better off dead, or of hurting yourself?"

Garmadon hesitated. "…Skip."

The therapist watched him for a moment, then looked back at the computer. "If you're having thoughts like that, it's imperative we address them as soon as possible. Are you sure you want to skip the question…?"

"Yes." He bit his lip.

"Alright. I'll leave it up to you." He looked at him. "But you can tell me if you do experience those types of thoughts, okay?"

Garmadon nodded a little, avoiding his gaze.

Phil looked back at the computer. "Next question—if you've said yes to any of these problems, how difficult have these problems made it for you at work, home, or with other people? This one has different answers. You can say, 'not difficult at all', 'somewhat difficult', 'very difficult', or 'extremely difficult'."

"Um…extremely."

Phil nodded. "That was the last question."

"What's my result…?"

"You skipped one question, so it's not completely accurate, but you scored severe depression."

Great. Severe anxiety AND severe depression? He really was nuts. What were these tests for, anyway?

Phil looked at him. "How do you feel about that?"

He shrugged a little. "I'm guessing it's bad?"

"Not necessarily."

"Why?"

"These scores just tell me more about your symptoms so I can help. And these scores aren't permanent—you can work on lowering your anxiety and lessening your depression."

"Oh…" He fiddled with his sleeve.

"Did you have anything you wanted to talk about?"

"No."

"Alright. Then that's all I have for today." Phil stood. "Thank you."

He stroked Ochre's head, then also stood. He followed Phil to the door.

"I'll see you tomorrow. You're already making good progress." Phil smiled at him.

Garmadon sincerely doubted that. He hadn't made any progress that he'd seen.

The next day, Garmadon once again went to see Phil. They sat in the same white room. Phil had his computer opened again.

"I'd like to do one more assessment. Is that alright?"

"Yes…" Garmadon bit his lip.

Phil smiled. "Alright."

"What is this test about?"

"It's a Posttraumatic Stress Disorder assessment. Or, PTSD for short. So basically trauma."

Garmadon frowned.

"Do you still want to continue?"

"I guess…"

"You may skip any questions you want. First off, there's a note. It basically says, PTSD is usually caused by a war, threatened or actual physical assault, abuse, being kidnapped, being taken hostage, terrorist attack, torture—"

Garmadon stiffened a little, eye widening slightly.

"—Natural disaster, or serious vehicle accidents. It can also be indirect exposure, like learning about a friend or family member experience these things, like assault, a serious accident, serious injury, being murdered, or committing suicide. It can also be seeing someone be killed or seriously injured." Phil looked at him. "These are usually the criteria for getting PTSD, but I've seen cases where it doesn't have to be so severe. It just depends on how the person interprets the experience, how their mind processes it. You could technically get PTSD from anything. But anyhow, that's just the note at the beginning. Anything stick out to you?"

"…No."

"Hmm. Alright. Maybe I'll wait on this assessment, then."

"Oh."

"It's difficult to do without a traumatic event to work off of. Maybe we'll do something else today." Phil closed his computer.

Garmadon shifted uncomfortably.

"Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

"No."

Phil looked at him. "Would you like to play a game?"

"A…game?"

"Yes."

"I guess…" Garmadon frowned.

Phil smiled, then stood, setting his computer down and taking his notebook to the table behind the chair. "Do you have a favorite board game or card game? I have a few options here."

"…Not really."

He nodded, set his notebook down on the table, and then went to the bookshelf. He started looking through games. "What about Jenga? It's a popular choice."

"Sure…"

Phil took out a box, setting it on the table. "Would you like to come over?"

Garmadon stood, slowly walking over to him. He studied the box.

"Have you ever played?" Phil gestured to a chair.

He sat. "Yes."

His therapist smiled. "Great." He sat down as well, opened the box, and then carefully dumped the stack of blocks neatly onto the table into a tower. "Would you like to go first?"

Garmadon shrugged, not really caring, and pushed a block out. He set it on the top. "Why are we playing a game…?"

"It helps clients relax." Phil took another block out, setting it on the top by Garmadon's.

"Oh."

They continued to take turns removing a block and adding it to the stack.

"How has your day been?"

"Fine."

"Your brother make you drink any more tea?"

"Just one this morning."

"Which one was that?"

"He calls it 'Anxie-tea'. And since the name is so ridiculous, it's probably some fancy magic tea…"

"Hmm. I've never heard of that kind. Do you like it?"

Garmadon shrugged.

They played for a while more, until Phil removed an unstable piece and knocked the tower over.

"Well, I was never really good at this game…" Phil laughed amusedly. "Perhaps that's why this game is popular—I always lose."

"Maybe…"

Phil stood, putting the blocks away. "That's all I have for you today. Thank you for coming. Did you have any questions?"

"No."

He put Jenga away, then headed for the door. "Alright."

They went back over to Wu and Misako in the waiting room.

"How did it go?" Wu asked.

"Fine," Phil said. "I'll see him tomorrow, then? Same time?"

Wu nodded. "And, could I speak with you?"

"Oh. Of course." He smiled, then headed for the hall again.

Wu followed.

Garmadon shifted uncomfortably, then picked up Ochre, stroking his soft fur.

Misako looked at him. "What did you both do?"

"Played Jenga, mostly." He shrugged.

She rose an eyebrow. "Hmm."

"I don't know why. He said it helps people relax."

"Did it?"

"…I guess a little."

She smiled. "That's good."

"Yeah…"

Phil stopped further down the hall, turning to face Wu. "What did you want to talk about?"

Wu stopped as well, holding his staff in both hands at an angle. "I was just wondering, how is Garmadon's therapy going? Have you made any progress? Have you figured out what happened to him?"

"I can't say. That's doctor-patient confidentiality. Anything we talk about in that room stays between Garmadon and I, unless your brother brings up what we talked about. But don't worry, I can help him. He's doing well."

Wu frowned. "How long will he need this therapy?"

"If he does have PTSD…possibly a while. That takes a while to recover and heal from."

He sighed quietly. "Alright. Thank you."

Phil smiled. "Anytime. I'm happy to help."