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trekkiehood · 2 years

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Never Again - SPN Fanfic

@febuwhump : Day 6/ Alt 2 - Trapped Under a Collapsed Building

Title: Never Again

Fandom: Supernatural

Words: 3.1k

Setting: Stanford Era, Brotherhood AU, 9/11/2001

Whumpee: Dean

Caretaker: Sid (OC/RP)

Other Characters: Caleb

Ship: None

Ao3 Link

Summary: Dean is working a job with Caleb in NYC trying to distract himself from Sam's departure for college, when the Twin Towers are hit in a terrorist attack.

Trigger Warnings: 9/11, fire, death, explosions, building collapse, injury or death do to disability

Authors Note:

Dean is 22 Sam is 18 Caleb is 30

Disclaimer:

I'm sorry if info dump I spent four days majorly hyperfixating on this, watching 6+ hours of live news and even longer reading news articles on everything from the event to the elevator system in the towers. Also I was not born until a few months after 9/11 so if I mess up or have gathered wrong information I apologize. Also while the story of Stairwell B is true Dean was obviously not there. I know very little about the actual Sid except that he was a firefighter that day so I apologize if he is portrayed accurately. If you want the true events surrounding stairwell B you can read about them here: . /news/19572389.9-11-attack-josephine-harris-miracle-stairwell-b/

Jensen recently said that most scared he's ever been was on 9/11 and tho Jensen and Dean are in very different circumstances, I tried to capture some of that fear.

I know this one is really late (it's not quite midnight here tho so still on time) and it's because I wrote it today lol. Everything else has been prewritten. With that in mind, this was written very fast and I haven't even had time to re-read the whole things so I apologize for any mistakes.

However! I really love this one guys!

I've always wanted to write a 9/11 piece, especially when I realized it would have happened right after Sam left for college. This is nothing like what my original plan was when I first decided to write one a year ago, but I like it still. It moves really fast I know but it was the only way I could make it work.

I'll say more in the end note and let you guys get to reading lol.

Enjoy!

~TH~

There were very few things that scared Dean more than heights. Very few. One of those things had already happened but he was trying very hard to keep his head in New York and away from Stanford. But regardless, Dean hated heights. And he was very high. Yes people paid over ten bucks for a view he was getting for free. He did not care. It was grossly unfair that Caleb had made him come up here to attend this meeting when the older man just as easily could have come himself.

Dean's phone rang and he looked down at the number. Speak of the devil.

He stepped into the hallway and answered. "I hope you're happy."

"Where are you?" Caleb sounded oddly stressed for this early in the morning.

Dean rolled his eyes, "You know where I am."

"I'm serious. I want to know the exact place you are."

"About to go into the meeting with the guy from McLennan. And no I'm not late. The appointment isn't for a few more minutes."

"You need to leave."

"As much as I'd love to, we actually do need to talk to this dude."

"No. Get out of there. Now."

"Dude I just took two elevators ninety-three stories into the air just so you could make me come back down? If I leave I'm not coming back up here. You're on your own."

"Deuce, listen to me. You have to get out of there. Now. Something bad is going to happen."

That caught Dean's attention. "Did you have a vision?"

"More- more of a nightmare but listen to me you have to get out of there. I don't know what's about to happen but it's bad and you need to be as far away from the Trade Center as possible."

"Are you sure you're not just, I don't know, getting everything mixed up? I mean it was a dream not a vision. Maybe you're just feeling protective and remembering 93'-"

"Dean." The use of the Wincther boy's full name stopped him in his tracks. "It's not. I'm telling you something is going to happen. Not has happened. Is going to."

"Fine, fine. It's not that I don't trust you it's just that those elevators are-"

"Take the stairs."

"You're kidding. It's ninety-three floors, Damian."

"You didn't- Listen I can't explain it. I didn't get the whole picture. I just know that if you don't get out of there right now you will die."

"And the elevator?"

"Please."

"Fine but only to seventy-eight." He didn't understand why the civilians got a straight ride to the top while workers had to take to elevators to get to their floor. But he'd play along until he could get to the express elevators.

"Just get moving."

"Fine, I'll call you back when-"

"No! Just- just stay on the line, alright?"

"Dude how bad was it?" He said, opening the door to the B stairwell and beginning his descent.

"Bad dude. I'm really not even sure what happened but it was bad."

"Do we need to call someone?"

"I wouldn't know what to say. It's more of… just a bad feeling mixed with images I can't place. I don't know man, I just want you out of there."

"Yeah, yeah, and you want me to walk down over ninety flights of stairs to do it. Let me use the elevators and I'll be out in five minutes."

Caleb let out a breath of a laugh at that. "Get down to the express elevator and we'll talk about it. The one's near the top aren't near as fast."

"And here I thought you didn't like the business side of New York."

"Architecture, Deuce. It's the tallest building in the U.S. It'd be a sin not to study it."

Dean let out an involuntary shiver, "Don't remind me."

"What floor are you on now?"

Dean glanced up at the marker as he continued the seemingly endless descent. "Eighty-eight."

"Keep going."

"I am. You gonna call the office and cancel my meeting? They don't seem like the type of people to appreciate a no show. Especially before nine. 8:45 Damian. Who sets a meeting that early?"

"They can deal with it." He said with a smile in his voice. Dean was glad to have relieved at least some of the tension. "I'll call them as soon as you're out."

"Yeah yeah, which will be over an hour at this rate."

"Stop complaining, dude. Just think of it as one of Johnny's training exercises."

"The difference being, Dad never sent us an unholy amount in the air! Mountains? Yeah? Skyscrapers? Never again."

"One day you'll thank me for breaking your fear of heights."

"Breaking them? You mean exploiting them?"

"Hey whatever wor-"

A loud explosion shut out any other sound. The building shook and Dean was sure that the stairs were about to fall out from under him. His phone slipped from his hand and fell over the railing as he desperately grabbed for the shaking rail. Chunks of debris began to fall above him. Something hit his head and his knees started to give out. He was going to die. The building was about to collapse and he was going to die. The shaking stopped. Dean kept his hands firmly on the railing, pulling himself up and taking a few deep breaths.

He was okay. He was fine. Whatever had happened up there didn't involve him.

And he'd done a pretty good job at convincing himself of that before the stairwell began to fill with smoke.

Dean didn't know what was going on but he knew that Caleb was right. He needed to get out of there. Now.

His phone was lost to him. Whether it was broken somewhere or had fallen down the flights, he didn't have time to go looking. Caleb would have to deal until he could get out of there or find someone else with a cellphone. He felt like he was being actively chased by the fire. The smoke was coming down the stairwell faster than he could outrun it.

The eighty-second floor had smoke coming from the doorway. Had the fire spread that fast? Dean still had no idea what was happening. It had to have been some sort of bomb. But how had they gotten it up all the way up? The tower wasn't even open to visitors yet. Last time it had been the parking garage and they'd upped the security since then. How-?

It didn't matter. What mattered was that the smoke had caught up with him. It had caught up with him and he couldn't breathe. It didn't matter. Keep going. Keep going. Keep going. Stop. People needed help. But that wasn't hig job. His job was to get out. But he could hear them. The door was stuck. He should- should he?

Flashes of baby Sammy being pressed into his arms made the decision for him. He turned and ran back up the stairs until he found the door that had stuck in his mind. Someone was pounding on it from the other side.

Dean glanced up, noticing the fire still spreading. They needed to act fast. Some of the debris was blocking the door if he could just-

The debris moved, the door swung open. People started pouring out. Dean was trapped between the flow of people and the wall. He waited, unsure of what else to do. Saving people had always been his job. The fact that there was no supernatural activity involved that he knew of didn't change that fact.

When the last person had rushed past him down the stairs, he went in finding a man in a wheelchair trying to stand up.

Dean gave him a once over. He was smaller. Dean should be able to lift him with relative ease.

"Legs or back?"

The man blinked up at him, falling back in his chair. "What?"

"I need to know how to carry you."

"Back."

Dean couldn't stop the curse. Fireman's carry was out of the question. "Okay, okay, do you think you could hang on if I tried to get you on my back?"

"I think so." The man nodded.

Dean squatted in front of the chair. "Wrap your arms over my shoulders and then lean into me."

The man did as he was told and Dean crossed his arms over his chest, grabbing the man's wrists.

"Do what you can with your legs. I'll get you out of here but I need all the hlp I can get."

The man nodded into his shoulder and Dean stood up. The smoke was really pouring in now. It was nearly impossible to see.

"Grab onto my left arm." He instructed. "I need my right one to feel my way down."

When his arm was free he felt along the wall. It was slower than he would have like but faster than the man would have been able to get down himself. If the man could have at all. Dean thought about asking his name but at this point just breathing was enough effort without the added idea of speaking.

It was around floor seventy when Dean had to take a break. "Sorry, sorry," He muttered slowing down and finally coming to a stop.

"It's okay. Put me on the steps."

Dean didn't have the energy to decline. He knew he needed to keep moving but was finding it increasingly difficult to breathe. His head was pounding and there were far too many memories flooding his mind of smoke and burning and death.

Okay. Okay. He could do this. Don't think about the fact that he was close to a thousand feet in the air in a burning building in the near pitch black. Or that his life was not the only one he was responsible for right now. He felt around until he found the door handle and pulled. It opened and the smoke went into the room. Dean quickly grabbed the other man under the arms and pulled him into the room, moving back away from the fire.

"Just, just give me a minute to catch my breath."

The man nodded. "I'm Samuel by the way." Dean's head jerked up. Of course he was.

"Dean."

Winchester shook his head, clearing the rest of the cobwebs. The floor was beginning to fill with smoke anyway. "Okay. Get on." He instructed.

Dean happened to glance out of the window when he saw it. A plane. And it flew right right into the South Tower.

Debris from the tower was coming towards them and Dean took off a run towards the smoke-filled stairwell.

A plane. It was a plane.

"Did you see that?" Samuel whispered, clutching tighter to Dean's arm.

Dean didn't answer. He hurried down the stairs as quickly as he could.

He wasn't sure of the floor numbers anymore. Just breathe. Step. Breathe. Step. Breathe. Step.

Time seemed to drag on in a never ending world of darkness and smoke. His eyes stung and he wondered if there was even any reason to keep his eyes open. Then his eyes weren't open. Then he was on his knees with someone calling his name. He wasn't sure exactly how long he had been there. Had he lost consciousness or was his head just fuzzy from the smoke?

He felt foolish. He'd been trained to continue to fight in terrible conditions and yet here he was, choking on smoke in a friggin' skyscraper of all things. He really, really hated heights.

"Sir?"

When Dean looked up there was a blur of movement.

"What floor are we on?" he heard Samuel ask.

"thirty-four." An unknown and slightly muffled voice answered.

"He's been carrying me since eighty-three. Collapsed a couple minutes ago."

Dean blinked as hands tilted his face up and something was pressed over his face. "Take a couple of breaths kid." Then to someone above him. "Get him out of here. I'll stay with the kid."

His initial reaction to fight was overridden by the blessing of cool oxygen filling his lungs. "Sam?" Dean muttered, handing the mask back over to who he now realized was a firefighter.

"Someone's got him. Worry about yourself for a minute. I'm Sal."

"Dean," He answered as Sal helped him to his feet. He was barely standing when an earth shattering roar sounded. The building swayed and Dean clutched onto the firefighter, all thoughts of embarrassment long gone. He was going to die. He was going to die in a metal deathtrap higher in the air then he had ever even wanted to be.

The firefighter's radio went off. "South Tower has collapsed. Get out of there now. Over."

"No." the man whispered, an air of disbelief in his voice. Then into his radio, "Coming down."

"What does he mean it collapsed?" Dean asked as Sal started pulling him down the stairs at a much quicker speed than he had been moving before. "How is that even possible?!"

Not that he hadn't thought the building was going to collapse when the initial explosion had happened. But Caleb had always gone on about the structural brilliance of this place. Surely the building couldn't just… fall.

The fireman didn't answer and Dean didn't press. He stumbled down the stairs, the high power flashlight finally allowing him to be able to see where he was going.

The two continued until there was a group of firemen in front of them. One of them was carrying a woman. "What's going on?" Sal shouted.

"We're looking for a chair! It will make it easier to carry her down the rest of the way!" Someone shouted back.

"You good to stand here while I help him look?" Dean nodded, leaning against the wall. He was unsure if he'd ever been this tired in his life.

They weren't sure how long they'd been on the platform, but it couldn't have been too long, when the rumble began. Dean had seen and heard some loud and downright horrific things. But nothing had ever been louder than this moment. A gust of wind stronger than anything Dean had ever felt picked him up and threw him. It was like being attacked by a ghost but with no one to fight back against.

Dean hit the ground. Then there was silence. For a moment Dean thought he was dead. There was no sound. No light. He couldn't breathe. He could taste dust and his eyes burned along with his other senses. For a moment he wondered if he was in Hell.

"Sound off!" Came a shout from somewhere. Names began being called out. He heard Sal call out his name and felt relieved that the other man had survived.

Dean called out after it seemed that no one else was alive to speak. There were fifteen of them. Twelve firefighters, a police officer, the women that they were helping down, and him. A radio went off somewhere. People calling in their locations and asking for help. Dean knew he should get up, try to help. But the idea of just letting the darkness claim him was far more appealing. There was so much smoke. Was there even a hope of them getting out of this alive? Probably not. He was so tired.

"Kid, is that you? You with us?"

An arm shook him slightly and Dean grunted. "Wh-what happened?"

"Not sure. The stairwell is blocked below us. A Lt. Warchola radioed in. Said he's on the twelfth floor. We were heading up to check on him. How are you? Anything broken? Bleeding?"

Dean hummed lightly, finally taking stock of his aching body. His shoulder ached but wasn't broken. There was a cut on his leg but it wasn't life threatening. His head was pounding but it had been since the initial explosion. He might have hit it again but supposed at the moment it didn't really matter.

"I'm fine." Dean finally answered. "Help me up." Some debris had caught him, keeping him from being able to get up himself. The railing had twisted in such a way that squeezing out from it would have been near impossible without the fireman's help.

He followed Sal up the stairs, limping slightly. They went up as high as they could, meeting several other firemen, but there was no use. Everything had caved in. It was nothing but twisted metal above and below them. They were trapped.

The smoke was too much to see. After the failed rescue attempt, the fifteen survivors made their way as far down as they could go and sat together on the debris covered floor. Those who had oxygen, would periodically hand it off to one of the others. Dean was unsure of how long they sat there. Time held no real meaning. His head ached and he wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to stay awake.

"Hey," Sal nudged him slightly, handing off the mask.

Dean blinked a couple times before taking it.

"Hang in there kid, we're getting out of here."

A grunt was the answer. Dean had always had a complicated relationship with talking. He had no problem chattering on if necessary, but also found no reason to force out words when what he really wanted was to remain silent. So he just leaned his head back against the wall and breathed.

After a time, the smoke cleared enough for them to be able to catch glimpses of light. The firemen broke away to look around. Dean stayed with the woman, Josephine Harris. They didn't talk. She cried. Dean stared blankly into the darkness.

A commotion above him had him jerking up from a not quite sleep.

"Sunlight!" Someone called, "I think there's a hole big enough to get through!"

Sal appeared a few moments later with a fireman Dean vaguely remembered being named Butler. "You hear that? We're getting out of here. Told you we would."

Dean was pulled to his feet while Butler lifted the quietly sobbing women. They made their way up to the fourth floor.

It wasn't a constant stream, but every once in a while the smoke would clear enough to see sunlight. Dean followed Sal through the hole. The sun was bright. Too bright. But then Dean got a good look around him.

There was nothing.

He supposed nothing was a bad word for it. There was never ending rubble and flames and smoke. But what there wasn't was towers. The twin towers were gone. Dean glanced towards where they had come from and looked up. The tower was gone. The tower had literally collapsed around them.

"Come on kid, let's find someone to get you looked at."

Dean allowed himself to be led forward, ignoring the shouts of rescue personnel, ignoring the hands on him. He felt disjointed. Unreal. He couldn't stop glancing back at where the World Trade Center had once stood. The sky, so full of smoke and debris and who knew what else looked so… empty.

"But it-it's gone."

The guiding hand around him tightened. "I know kid, I know."

(To be continued in Day 16)

~TH~

9/11/01 was an extremely tragic day in America and it had worldwide effects. I hope I dealt with it respectfully. As I mentioned in a pervious note, I was not even born when 9/11 took place, but I EXTENSIVLEY researched the event (I had over 30 tabs open and the floor plan for the building. Not to mention watching hours of survivor footage) and did my best to make them reasonably accurate. Of course I have taken creative liberties. Sid was a real person. I know little to nothing about him except he was part of Station 6 and was assisting a disabled women named Josephine Harris in Stairwell B when the building collapsed and survived.

We'll be seeing Caleb's side of this story on day 16. It has not yet been written so feel free to throw out ideas lol.

I live and breathe comments so let me know what you think!

God bless,

Jamie

#9/11/2001 #9/11 #terrorist attack #twin towers #febuwhump2022 #febuwhumpday6 #febuwhump alt 2 #trapped under a collapsed building #tw death #tw death caused by dissability #tw fire #building colalpse #a very supernatural christmas #my fanfic #my fic #music #dean winchester whump #brotherhood au #spn fanfics

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linalove4561 · 3 years

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okay so basically this is me being an actual conspiracy theorist but I've been hyperfixating on Adam god damn Stanheight for about eight months now and I have some god damn theories about his own game , why he lost , and how he was a vital part of Lawrence's game.

{ Disclaimer , idk what the saw fandom has come up with since 2004 , if Leigh whannell himself said the exact shit from his lips I am not aware and I'm just like rambling }

honestly don't read this if you're not as obsessive as i am because this is about to be long as fuck.

OKAY !!!!!!!!

Let me start this with the main key points of both their tapes, in reference to Adam and Adam alone.

Adam's tape explained his reason for being tested was not just for his seedy job. But for being angry and not ever acting for himself.

If you're angry enough to have it mentioned in your Jigsaw tape, you're too angry for life.

Specifically in Lawrence's tape is the fact that all it fucking said was to kill Adam.

That's where all of my arguments will come from.

We have seen trap victims who themselves were not being tested. We've seen a million of them.

We also know Adam was technically given a key, despite how odd and impossible it seemed for Adam to actually keep it from going down that drain.

He was still supposed to have a way out after the test had ended.

And lets go ahead and say that the key was always supposed to be drained, that entire idea of him being a person used as leverage for Lawrence before he's set free is bullshit, that's fine !!!

Because despite the end of the trap, Adam had very clearly been given his reasons for being tested. He knew Lawrence was meant to kill him.

Adam was told he was a voyeur. He sat back and watched life happen around him, never actively participating. Detached and observing others and implementing him into reality, but never directly.

Adam was told to take control of his own fate.

Adam has everything on his side of the bathroom needed for Lawrence to actively succeed with the help of hints.

He was the only one who could reach the tape player. The saws and photos were on his side.

Lawrence has his wallet and the words on the back of that picture. Should Adam never give Lawrence a thing, all he would have was X marks the spot.

That box. And Adam would know at that point that Lawrence was supposed to kill him had he let Lawrence's tape be played.

He would know better to take anything from that man. To stay alive.

Adam, instead, continued to go through the motions. He let Lawrence figure out where the saws were. He let Lawrence have one of those fucking saws. He let Lawrence know about the X and the lights. He let Lawrence know fucking everything and anything he could to be sure Lawrence had the mentality to get them both out of there.

{ can i add here adam listened to everything lawrence said, about getting the tape player, about giving him a saw, about playing his little acting game I didn't know where else to fit this in but it's part of the argument that Adam didn't do shit for himself }

Sitting back. A third party. Waitng for his trap partner to put pieces together for him, and giving him every God damn piece of the puzzle when they hit a dead end.

The picture of Ali and Diana. Revealing himself and who he was. Giving Lawrence any knowledge he needed if it meant LAWRENCE could move forward with him following behind. Always one step behind

Trusting the man who is meant to kill him to instead take charge of his very life that had been placed in Lawrence's hands -- to save him. Not for him to save himself.

Watching and interacting indirectly or not at all when given the chance to be a sardonic and unhelpful asshole.

So that's the first thing, y'know ?

He was told to take control and save his life, not to watch himself die. And he did just that. He watched Lawrence Gordon saw himself away to a gun, and gave and watched Lawrence Gordon do so of his own free will.

He gave Lawrence the tools to succeed out of a cowardly, dependant nature. Never in his own life. Always in someone else's. Living off of others and exploiting them.

He did the exact opposite of what he was directed towards.

THAT'S NOT IT THOUGH !!!!

Like I said, the fact that Adam's fucking anger had to be pointed out in a FUCKING JIGSAW TAPE.

That means it's bad. Adam has said it in the trap himself about his girlfriend leaving him for it.

And he didn't even have to say it. He spent half the trap screaming at Lawrence. If he wasn't screaming, he was throwing saws, breaking glass, and threatening to cut Lawrence.

Screaming at an unknown figure.

Screaming at his frustrations. Every fucking thing he says is harsh and biting until he silently resigns himself to this shit.

He never wasn't angry. He never was taking charge.

I honestly fucking believe with all my heart had Adam done what he should have, what was asked of Jigsaw. And it really wasn't much. It was urging him to calm down. To take in his situation. His tools. And to get himself out. Lawrence be damned to Hell.

He had the tools. He had a saw. He had the ability to do an Eric Matthews. He had six fucking hours to get his shit together. To get himself out. To save his own life.

The only thing he actively did to move towards his freedom that wasn't on Lawrence's shoulders was kill Zep.

And saying all that he heard that fucking tape and then did

THE EXACT FUCKING OPPOSITE.

And you're all like , well what the fuck then if Adam wasn't killed by Lawrence and Lawrence didn't kill Adam, the fuck does Lawrence get to live for?

You know why he gets to live?

Despite the time limit being up, Lawrence showed his desire to live. Lawrence did something unthinkable to save and get to different human lives. Lawrence cauterized his own fucking amputated foot.

John had plans for Lawrence as soon as he took him into his trap, and none of us can deny that fact. So long as he won the game.

He didn't quite so much win, but he did do what Jigsaw always wants.

Someone to prove their desire and willingness to do anything to live or to save anyone else.

And y'know what Adam was?

Adam was a fucking key for Lawrence.

Adam had his ways to win that trap without that key.

And he chose to remain a screaming, closed off asshole who relied on someone else to get him help after watching them do anything that needed to be done in that trap.

That is Adam's game over.

Not the key.

His way of handling that trap.

{ Added ; There is no fucking scenario where they both live. Either Lawrence leaves Adam to rot, or Adam leaves him to rot. If Lawrence Gordon lives, there is no reality in which Adam would be free. }

~ feel free to talk and discuss because this is just my interpretation and I wanted to share ~

#saw #adam stanheight #lawrence gordon #jigsaw #ayyyye hyperfixation time #guys im an adam simp i mean him no harm but come one he's a meany #he's actually a scumbag but he's our scumbag

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morimakesfanart · 3 years

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Sindria's Prophet #08

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [AO3]

** TW/suicide of family member implied (it is marked ahead with ((text)) so you know what to skip) ~POV shift Mori~ In my old life I had spent 4 or so years as a historical reenactor for the mid 1700's through early 1800's on my weekends. My group mainly acted as pirates/privateers and sang sea shanties. We had done performances on different ships, but every time we were invited onto a period ship I couldn't make it, so I was geeking out when I saw the ship we'd be taking to Sindria. I prayed it didn't show on my face. Sure it was exciting for an other world's nerd like me to get to see a ship like this in use, but to everyone else it was a normal ship. The ship had two masts -both square rigged with a fore and aft sail at the back for better steering. Considering the reputation for the waters around Sindria I expected a bigger three mast ship for strength, but who was I to judge?

With only two masts, this ship probably only needed a crew of about nine people to allow for different shifts. It didn't look like it had room for many passengers. No doubt, Sinbad didn't expect to be bringing four extra people back with him. I was in full on research mode by the time I got on the ship, and I tired my best to not stand out or get in the way. Getting to look up at the rigging from on the deck was an experience. After everyone was settled I'd definitely make a point to look around more. I might even take one of the scrolls out and try drawing the deck of the ship since I never got around to drawing that gorgeous room in the hotel. I considered myself lucky that no one tried to talk to me until the rooms were being divided out -I had been hyperfixating so I might not have even noticed if they did.

Studying the ship could only boost me for so long. About 15 minutes before we left the port I could no longer ignore that my head was throbbing from exhaustion. This headache was undeniably becoming a migraine if it wasn't one already. I decided that sleep was the next thing on my agenda. Luckily, I made that decision around the same time the rooms were being divided out. I had figured I'd end up in the same room as Alibaba, Aladdin and Morgiana, but Alibaba was put in the same room as Ja'far and Masrur. Everyone put their bags down, and headed back on deck except me. I sat on my bed with my head in my hands as I started to let myself fully calm down. In the quiet it hit me just how much I had been using working on the scrolls as a way to avoid thinking about my guilt and lost home. I'd have to find time when no one else was in the room to work through these feelings. There was no way I could keep it bottled up until we reached Sindria. "Excuse me, Miss Mori?" Aladdin had re-entered the room and closed the door. We might not have been formally introduced but he was told who I was. "What is it?" I lifted my head to look at him, and tried to keep my expression positive. I felt the waves rising. A Magi was talking to a Prophet in private; something was bound to happen. The walls of the ship creaked, and I heard steps and the floor boards creak in the hallway. The wave got a little bigger. Silence hung in the air as the boy just stood there. Instead of trying to guess what he wanted I waited. His hands tightened around his staff. Aladdin looked nervous as he confronted me. "I know you say you've read Fate, but I don't think Fate is something written in stone. It's something that everyone makes together. It can always change." The hallway floor creaked behind the Magi again. The wave was getting bigger. Someone was definitely listening in, and there was only one King that was a chronic eavesdropper.

"I agree," I said bluntly. I wanted Sinbad to hear my answer. Ten years ago, he came to the conclusion that Fate was something already written as a way to cope with his guilt and trauma, and he thought he was 'the chosen one' for being able to read ahead through the waves, but he was wrong on both accounts. "You do?” Aladdin was surprised. It must sound weird coming from someone who read Fate. "I've read more than one Fate for this world, so I know there is no one true path." The manga, anime and OVAs were a little different after all. "And if Fate couldn't be changed then I couldn't be here." I turned so I was sitting facing him. "You see, I wasn't in any of the Fate I read. I wasn't even in this world until five days ago." The magi took a few steps towards me with wide eyes. Aladdin had felt very alone for not being from this world -now he would know he wasn't the only one. It wasn't a reveal that caused problems on its own when Aladdin explained in the original so I didn't see an issue in letting Sinbad overhear about me either- I had already implied as much the previous day. I felt the need to elaborated. "Everything I do changes the Fate I read because I wasn't here. For example, only one of the Fates I read showed the conversation where you all found out about the Kou Fleet. Remember how I yelled at Alibaba? If I didn't convince him to leave then King Sinbad would have knocked him out, and Alibaba would be kept asleep with medicine for this whole trip. Since I was there this time, I was able to change that." "Oh!" He brightened up a bit. "I much prefer things this way." "I agree. Like this it will be much easier for him to heal." I looked down at my intertwined hands. "I have no idea how this will change the Fate I read though." Aladdin hummed a question mark, but he didn't say or ask anything directly. I answered the obvious question to my words, "I can't read a Fate that I'm a part of, so now that I'm here I can't read how my actions are changing Fate. Eventually, the Fate I did read will become useless, and I have no idea if I'm changing it for the better." It was only as I said it that I remembered that Sinbad was listening. I had basically just told him that my usefulness as his Prophet would have a definite expiration date. All I had wanted was to let Aladdin know that he might not be able to rely on me for everything. I definitely wasn't thinking clearly. Aladdin cut into my thoughts. "Is that why the Rukh are so active around you? Because you weren't originally a part of the Flow of Fate?" "Probably." I didn't know what else to say. I knew I had to be making distinctive waves in the Rukh just by being here, let alone with all of my changes. "Miss Mori, where are you from?" I hummed in amusement at that. "I'm from much farther away than you or your parents-if you can believe it." I was from the same world as the person who wrote the original Fate of this world. There was no way I could tell anyone that. He was shocked again. It was written all over his face that he was questioning if I was really from a dimension farther away than Alma Torran. Aladdin gripped the flute that he always wore. "Then... Are you the person he didn't recognize?" "He?" Which 'he' -oh. I lowered my voice. "Ugo?" I put one finger over my lips and looked at the door. Sinbad has to remain ignorant about the Sacred Palace; he's too self-absorbed. Aladdin looked confused at my change in volume. He followed my gaze to the door and back then nodded. He didn't look all that surprised that I knew about Ugo. I kept my voice low. "Aladdin, let's talk more about this some other time. The walls have ears on such a small ship. And I'm exhausted." "Okay. Rest well, Miss Mori." Aladdin spoke at normal volume. I heard a scramble in the hallway, the magi left, and I put my glasses in the top of my bag for safe keeping. I could hear Aladdin through the wall. "Oh! Mr. Sinbad, Mr. Ja'far, did you want to check on Miss Mori too?” "Uh, yes. How is she doing?” Was King Sinbad's response. I could hear the nerves he was trying to

cover up. "Real smooth there, Sin." I mumbled as I finally drifted into unconsciousness. --- I was a young man of 20 some years. I had started a family. We didn't have enough money for food. I ended up taking a risky job because I knew it would pay better. ... No. I'm a six year old girl? I don't remember if I had parents, but I remember going to visit this old dog every day. ... If life was hard, and I had nothing to loose then there was no reason not to bet everything I had on one last round. How could I return to my family without money? The last time I saw my son he was three. Would he even remember me? ... Ya know, when you grow up with someone and everyone else can see your chemistry you'd think it would be obvious that we'd marry when we grew up, but she met someone else. ... I knew things were bad, but I never even considered that my neighbor was stealing from me when I was at work. Bastard stabbed me with my own kitchen knife when I caught him. --- I wasn't myself in my dreams. Every time I woke I had to ground myself and remember where and when I was. Rereading the scrolls I had made helped. Just how many Rukh had merged with me, and why? I had no connections to any of those spirits while they were alive. Was it just because ghosts like me? I wrote down every dream I had; their lives might have been over, but they were a part of me now. I was too exhausted to go on deck, and I could feel that there were still more lives inside of me that I had to get aquatinted with. When I wasn't sleeping, I was working on scrolls again since I at least had enough energy to write and draw. My breathing was getting difficult, and I was struggling with temperature regulation. I wasn't okay enough to tell if it was my body struggling with the changes in my magoi, like when Sinbad took in all the Rukh after the Fall of First Sindria, or if I was just sick. After making sure I could still use magoi manipulation I decided that it was probably the later. I mainly left that room for food, and I waited until almost everyone was done before going. I avoided talking to others too. If I was sick I needed to minimize my contact with others. Alibaba seemed to be in a similar state to me. We both found that staying near each other when around the others made them less likely to approach us with the depressing cloud that hung over us.

Those that did see me could obviously tell I was unwell. From their words it seemed like they were assuming I was just mourning -they were only half wrong. It gave me an easy excuse to leave, so I never corrected them. I did feel bad for worrying everyone. The whole situation sucked. I wanted to cry. I had been in lock down back home because of Covid-19 for 8 months as an at risk person (it's still Oct 2020 in this story). I was literally in a fantasy anime world now. I wasn't given a better immune system, but my boobs didn't need a bra anymore??? WTF?? If the current arbiter of Fate was me writing fanfiction, then they had a lot of explaining to do. ... Who was I kidding? I knew why I would write something like this. I wanted to see more stories about people like me -someone with my disabilities and life experiences- get to be someone "valued" even if they couldn't be on the front lines. My migraine wouldn't go away, and it wasn't the only part of me in pain. I think I got palpitations a few times -breathing was even worse during those episodes. If I hadn't had health problems growing up I probably would have been panicking. I knew it was stupid to not tell anyone what was going on with me. But would anyone even be able help me on a ship? Telling them would just make them worry more than they already were. Aladdin and Morgiana could tell something more was wrong with me; I couldn't fully hide from them while sleeping in the same room. They must have let the others know since they gave me some pain killers at some point. It tasted awful. I'm honestly not sure how affective it was, but it did knock me out. ((Skip to the next paragraph to avoid the trigger)) At least I was left alone most of the time. I had no choice but to sit with my thoughts about Balbadd. I grew up mourning. The blood on my hands might not be the same as losing most of my loved ones back home, but it was damn similar to when I was in high school thinking "if only one of us had answered the phone that day." The Balbadd revolt would have been much worse if I wasn't there. And even if I had said something sooner there was little that could be done to actually stop Al Thamen when they had their hands so deep in that country. Even with Sinbad there to sway Fate, Al Thamen would still find a way to spill blood. Even if I told Alibaba days in advance and he tried to talk to Cassim about it, Cassim wanted nothing to do with Sinbad, so any help that came from him would be refused. Cassim was twisted around Issnan's fingers and out for blood. I did the best I could. My actions did save some people. I'd have to take solace in that. --- I woke up to something wrapped around me, almost like I was tied down. I couldn't move my legs. I gave up trying to untangle my skirt and covers from me, and just pulled the skirt out from under the cloth belt -kicking the whole mass off like a cocoon. I had put my underwear on underneath and I still had the tunic on so I wasn't left totally uncovered. Star light shown in from the window. I had slept through another day. I couldn't remember my dream. Maybe I had finally returned to having my own dreams. The other beds in the room were occupied. My head was still swimming. I felt trapped. I needed something. I heard the waves outside, and felt the waves of Fate washing over me. Their sounds called to me. Back home I had used the sounds of waves to meditate and stim regularly. I had been hearing them all this time, but I wanted to see them. I didn't bother to slip on my flip-flops as I made my way to the door, didn't even think about grabbing my glasses until I was already on deck. It had been so dark below that I couldn't see anyway, and didn't realize I wasn't wearing them. The wave of Fate I had been following lead me farther into the space. When I hit it's end, the adrenaline that had got me that far died out. The night air hit my legs and I shivered. It was colder than it was at night in Balbadd. I thought we were heading south. Did I still have a fever? The cold reminded me that I really should have put on

my shorts or something before coming out here. The tunic just barely covered me. My vision was going grey scale. This was bad. Really bad. I recognized this feeling. I was about to pass out from not being able to breathe right. I used to have fainting spells as a kid because of my weak raspatory system and needed to carry smelling salts for a few years. The last time it happened was about five years ago -I had been really sick. My head was throbbing; my heart was pounding. Guess I was sicker than I thought. I needed to focus on breathing and getting to the ground. I stumbled to the bowsprit (the pole that sticks out the front of the ship) as support. I needed to get to the ground safely before I collapsed. I'd gotten a concussion once because I didn't get down before the black out hit. A wave crashed into me from behind. If I hadn't been putting all my weight on that wooden shaft I would have been pushed over even though it wasn't a physical wave. What in the world was behind me that would cause such a wave? I removed one arm to look back as my knees started to give out. There was definitely someone there. Their color balance didn't match anything I could remember, but they were really familiar. Without my glasses I couldn't really tell anything -especially since everything was becoming different shades of black. And I already had bad night vision. The light was fading. Shapes were getting harder to discern. Even though I was breathing deeper I hadn't managed to counter the fainting spell. I was going down. I definitely fell, but it didn't feel like I fell for long enough to hit the ground. The feeling across my back was really familiar. Someone had caught me.

Sometimes I was able to stay conscious when I fainted. It was kinda like ending up in sleep paralysis but with a -20 to all sensory inputs. Seemed like this was one of those times. I couldn't hear what they were saying or see them. It was like my head was deep under water. There was a pressure on my forehead. Were they checking my temperature? When someone faints you're supposed to lay them on the ground and position them so they can breath easier. This person didn't take first aid classes or forgot or something because I was being lifted upwards instead of laid down. It was really warm and comfy though. I liked this feeling. What was it? Safe? Was that it? I hadn't felt actually safe in a long time. I certainly didn't feel safe in that house back home even after everything was over. Maybe it was the feeling of warmth and safety. Maybe it was the way the waves were moving. Maybe it was the numbness that comes with blacking out. But whatever it was had stopped the pain. With the pain gone I calmed the rest of the way. I felt my spine straighten out onto a soft surface. The warmth faded even though something was now covering my legs. I was in a bed. The cold was back without a source of warmth to leech from. I definitely had a fever if I was this cold. Damnit. I grew up with all sorts of chronic health conditions and have always gotten sick easily. Even though I was now in an anime world, I was still me. Was I going to die in this world from some common illness that was already cured back home? We might not have had a lot of money back home but I was lucky enough to get a job with usable health insurance that let me work from home during a pandemic. I could at least get medicine every time I got a normal illness. I was finally able to afford to get and keep an inhaler. Not that any of that was of use to me now. My motor functions were returning. I rolled to the side and curled into the fetal position. I had lost everything. No home. No friends or family. Who would want to look after a stranger with nothing to give back? I was doing what I could to seem worthy of the main cast, but how long would that last? The story would reach its end in five years. What would I do after that? What was the point of all of the savings I had managed to make back home if I was going to be Isekaied? I had been the main bread winner and now my family couldn't even use my savings because I hadn't left a body behind as proof that I had died. All of the thoughts and feelings I was still running from were flooding through me. I couldn't even distract myself with writing scrolls or anything. This was probably for the best. Pushing things away for much longer would be unhealthy. And if I couldn't let myself feel miserable when I was sick and alone, then when could I? I let the tears fall. I hadn't been a loud crier since I was a kid, so I was caught off guard when I could hear my own sobs. I didn't have it in me to hide any more. The bed I was on creaked but I hadn't moved. There was a new weight on the mattress.

I wasn't alone.

The concept that someone was checking on me hurt harder. I didn't grow up in a healthy environment, so now feel immense guilt when someone shows me genuine kindness. But I am also aware and recovered enough to know I deserve kindness, so the guilt always paired with an equal amount or more of relief. I felt a hand stroke my hair. They wanted to comfort me. And I wanted comfort. The waves washing over me encouraged me seek out more. I used what little strength I had to pull myself against them. Having undeniable proof that I wasn't alone and that someone cares was overwhelming. The relief made me cry harder. I'd have to thank them later. But for the time being I'd pour out as much emotion as they'd let me.

#sindria's prophet #magi prophet fanfic #king sinbad #magi sinbad #sinbad magi #sinbad x oc #sinbadxoc

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 5 years

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oh gosh. oh gosh. I've been thinking about getting evaluated for ADD/ADHD myself recently but I'm scared & anxious. I don't know who to go to - is any regular psychiatrist/psychologist ok or would I need to find one who specializes?? What if I'm diagnosed but they can't do anything about it?? What if I'm MISdiagnosed so they can make money?? What if they tell me I'm just an attention-seeking narcissist and there's nothing wrong with me at all?? 1/2

All I can share is my experience, which is unique to a) me, b) my area, and c) my country’s healthcare system. I mentioned my frustrations with my concentration/focus (or lack thereof) with my primary care physician-- the person who does my annual check ups. They should be your first stop, if you’re in the American healthcare system, as insurance companies often require referrals for specialist appointments, and even if you aren’t in the American healthcare system, your PCP should be able to point you in the right direction of where to go next.

I have a really great relationship with mine-- she’s been treating me for my entire adult life. She referred me to a neurologist for ADD/ADHD evaluation. When I arrived, the cute intake girl asked me a shit ton of questions about my symptoms. And in talking to her it really hit home how much and how long I’ve been struggling.

And the neurologist took one look at my intake form and said “you definitely hit the markers for ADD.” (and maybe adhd? It kinda blurred at that point, because ha-hey guess who’s having focus/attention issues?)

Next step? Medication.

Medication is where the stigma kicks in again. Picture this: I am at the neurologist looking for help. There is literally no other reason for me to be there. I am struggling, I need help, and still-- STILL-- when he mentioned Aderall my brain and my heart immediately wanted to bolt. Like, what the hell else did you think he was going to suggest, numbskull?

So next steps are getting a brain scan/EEG, to make sure I don’t have any other brain issues they need to worry about, and then I’m starting a low dose of Adderall, which is faster acting than some of the other options. By the neurologist’s words, I could be seeing improvement by the end of next week.

Your questions in your first ask are all anxiety, plain and simple (and guess how ADD can sometimes present in adult women? Ding ding ding! Anxiety).

A specialist will be the best person to help you, so even if they can’t a) they may at least be able to tell you what it isn’t, b) can point you in a new direction, and c) at least you’re taking steps to help yourself-- which is huge.

Lately I’ve come to suspect that the school fear about “overmedication” is an early split from what eventually became the anti-vaxxer movement, and fuck those guys. And keep in mind-- our conversation here is not about the virtues of forcing kids to sit still in a classroom for 7-8 hours a day, and the need for medication to help them do so. We are adults, struggling to exist as adults. If there is a tool out there to help us function more easily, we are entitled to use it, just as we are entitled to use anti-depressants or pain-relief.

(And PS if you’re wondering if you’re an attention-seeking narcissist, you’re not a narcissist, because narcissists don’t think about that sort of thing. I’ve had similar concerns seeking therapy and that came straight from my therapist’s mouth, so)

If you do seek help for it, I can warn you right now that it’s going to be a mixed bag of emotions. Yes, it’s a relief, to have a name and reason for why you/your brain does X, but at the same time? I had a cry session last night because if the diagnosis is correct, then-- I’ve been fighting it for twenty-plus years. Twenty years where my potential has been throttled by a condition I wasn’t aware of. Twenty years I’ll never get back.

And that’s heartbreaking.

The one thing about my appointment with the neurologist that sticks in my craw is something he asked me towards the end as we were wrapping up. He asked me “Why did you wait so long to get help?”

He meant it good-naturedly, and I was still reeling and dealing with the anxiety of everything suddenly happening quickly, so I didn’t claw his eyes out right then and there. But it still rankles even now.

I’m sorry, how in the world was I supposed to know that my wandering brain and hyperfixation on writing and skating (the only two activities in my life I can focus on with zero distraction), wasn’t NORMAL? My doctor asks for my weight every goddamn visit but at no point has she ever asked me how my focus is. No one ever asked me how many times I need to go back to my apartment in the morning to get the keys/sunglasses/breakfast I keep forgetting.

No one ever asked me how many times a week I forget my wallet in my other bag. Until my visit yesterday, no one ever asked me how often I talk over someone before they’re finished speaking, or finish their sentences for them. No one ever asked whether I fidget in meetings or if I can hold a goddamn conversation without my brain spooling out to think about that one story/movie/figure skating program/”if I have my protein bar early and skip the late session at the rink I can go to that one place I like for dinner tonight I think I’ll get the fish”.

So, someone please tell me how I was supposed to recognize any of this as not normal.

Long story short, here’s my takeaway: If you are struggling with anything that impairs your ability to function on a basic level, you deserve to seek treatment. If you read something online about a condition that rings true to you and your experience, you have every right to mention it to your doctor.

You deserve to live at your full potential.

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