Look I made a fic - over the course of like 5 days and it was a month ago because I needed something to do that I wasn't having hella writer's block or computer overheatingness over oops -A-

But anyway...dark fic with N and illness and it's set in the Harmoniashipping universe with mild mentions of rape, so. Yep. Nothing particularly heavy here though, so it's readable enough for some people I hope. (Look at me I got sucked into the harmoniashipping vortex and now mental N fics are an outlet for when I'm upset about something hurhur)

Enjoy? Enjoy. Or scramble for the back button. Your call.

For N, there were sometimes mornings where he woke up and felt sick, and he threw up. Then there were mornings where everything was spinning, and he couldn't breathe, or he cried, or he couldn't get out of bed, or he had sweated through his clothes, or there were times when he woke up very early and just started screaming and couldn't calm down for what seemed like forever, even when Zorua ran and hid and Lillipup timidly came up and nuzzled against him, trying to comfort him.

These mornings seemed to grow closer and closer together as time went on.

He couldn't remember the dream that started it, but that was in his waking life at most. He still went through torture, through a blurry, horrifying loop of the same thing each time it happened. Out of the few times that Anthea or one of the dutiful grunts had rushed in there because he was screaming at nearly the crack of dawn, they'd ask what was wrong. And N couldn't even answer them, because if they knew, daddy would hurt them, he'd hurt him. Fear ran in waves through him as the words stayed stuck in his throat; he could only imagine the confusion he'd caused his sisters and the grunts. They looked concerned, but like they had been a little detached from the emotion itself. He wasn't sure what part of it was a mask they'd learned to wear, and what their true feelings were. Whatever the answer, though, they were always a little too quick to leave once they were convinced that he was alright.

It all only made him feel more miserable as he tried to fall back asleep, and N hated it. He hated it so much, and he hated himself.

The self-hatred would flood through every ounce of his being every so often, an unpredictable thing that hit him like a train. It came and went again and again, eating away at him. He refused the thought that his father had planted that feeling in his mind, because it was just too much for him to think of. The weight of the idea made his whole world spiral out of control until he had no choice but to accept the fact that daddy had made him feel so bad every day, made him throw up and wake up with fevers and chills and tears on his face and-

N tore at his hair, urging himself to stop flashing back. But the pain piercing his scalp only reminded him of daddy, piling on more distress.

No no no no no no-

He'd screamed and thrown his head back, cracking it against the halfpipe, then he'd blacked out.

Things were fuzzy for a while after he woke up, but he was able to note that his head hurt, there was blood on his thighs, and he was on the floor of a different room, covered in sweat, his mouth too dry for him to be able to speak.

N was careful not to make the same mistake again.

Things grew worse as N grew more sleep-deprived; he always had trouble remembering things from just hours ago, he couldn't hear his friends' voices anymore, and he didn't eat. Concordia and Anthea would have to come in and give him water and saltines and make sure that he kept those down. He didn't like being babied, he couldn't stand the nightmares, and he couldn't fix the things that were making him fall apart.

He would typically stare at the ceiling from his bed when he couldn't do anything else, watching the battered toy plane circling and letting his mind wander. The nice doctor with the strange hair had smiled at him and told him to get plenty of rest, but he knew that something was being hid from him when the doctor left and talked with daddy. N laid there, silent, as they spoke at a near whisper outside of his door. Something about he was getting sicker, and "you need to stop and step away from him" from the doctor and "I'll leave him to Concordia and Anthea" from daddy. N felt a small surge of worry, because if he had an illness like a cold or the flu, then he could get them sick. Something in his mind told him that it wasn't an illness like that, though.

He drifted off after he heard the fading sound of footsteps going down the hallway.

Things were shifting from better to worse constantly, and N usually either seemed on the verge of death, or close, but not nearly close enough to getting better. He'd sleep, drink a little water, try to talk to his sisters with a hoarse voice, and have the same nightmare, day after day. Even though daddy had stopped raping him after the doctor talked to him, he knew it would happen again when he got better, if he did. He was just too sick to be daddy's doll at the moment. Part of him didn't want to get better, because death, or being sick forever, even, would be an escape from the very thing that had driven him to the state that he was in.

He felt like a caged, dying pokémon. That had to be what it was like.

To see what day it was, N used to check the little green calendar on his wall, which was hanging right by his bed. One day, though, he noticed that the calendar had been taken off of the wall. It wasn't under his bed, or anywhere in his room that he could see. When he asked Concordia or Anthea what day it was, they hardly replied, and when they did, they would give him a vague answer like "Thursday" or the occasional "I'm not sure" (which he didn't quite believe). N didn't push for more answers, however.

Sometimes, though, he just felt the need to jump up and grab their shoulders and scream at them, scream that he needed more help than food or pills, that he needed the nightmares to stop and that they had to at least try to help him. But he couldn't. He was too weak, too afraid. He was fine, right? As long as he told himself so, nothing was wrong.

The nightmares seemed to grow all the more cruel when he tried to think that way. And Concordia and Anthea didn't seem to see it, and that was the most painful thing of all, something he seemed to loathe himself even more for.

Slowly, though, he began to heal. He couldn't stand, and he still felt hot, so he had to push Zorua and Lillipup away from him. He'd screamed at Darumaka for trying to get under the covers once, then he'd started crying and frantically apologizing to the creature. He knew that he wasn't going to be completely better until the fever was gone, but he could sit up without getting dizzy, and he could talk, and he could look all over the room from his bed, which made him a little happier. The calendar still wasn't up, he could see. So he asked what month it was.

It was June, Concordia had told him. If N remembered correctly, he'd fallen very ill around March. He felt a little guilty with himself for all the time he'd lost just being bedridden, but he pushed that aside in favor of his ability to walk around the whole room, twice, without feeling sick. His body was healing. Daddy had let him heal. He loved that he would do something like that for...

N froze in his tracks, nearly falling onto his toy box.

No. No, no, no, no.

He...couldn't be better, because that meant the doctor would tell daddy that he was fine, and whether he told him to stay away from N or not, this time he wouldn't be taken seriously, because N wasn't on the verge of death anymore. Daddy would come in again, and he'd rape him, because N was strong enough to live. It wasn't right to be ill, and it caused him equal pain to be healthy, because he was a target to be broken down. He couldn't escape the castle, the nightmares, or daddy.

N toppled and crashed against the toy chest, pulling at his hair and choking on his own breath.

His voice was there, in the room, even though it wasn't. His hand was on his shoulder, his shoe knocking into N's back, his mouth on his neck, and before he knew it, he was being shoved into the ground as another hand reached down...N screamed at the delusion, unable to catch his breath or move from the ground, because the imaginary daddy was crushing him, then pounding into him wildly, choking him. Killing him.

N realized at that moment that he truly couldn't ever escape. The nightmares were creeping into the daytime, and daddy was going to return, and the terror would consume him completely by the time he was finished with him. His body was fine after it was given some time to stop struggling and finally learn to function again, but it would inevitably be broken again in an endless cycle. His mind, on the other hand, would never, ever fully heal.

I do not possess the ability to write a short fic apparently

I do way too many psychological angst fics even though this is only the third one I've posted - I've written a hell of a lot more because they're way too fun for some reason ._. I need to finish one of my lighter fics with N not being insane

Fun fact: Ghetsis and N's ship name using the Japanese ship-naming style is GeeEn. (Pronounced Gay N trolololol)

Review? Maybe?