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"God, I need to change," Alex groans, sweeping her hair back and setting down her bag heavily on the corner of the couch. "It's so hot in here. Winn, can you open a window?"
"Course." Crossing the room, Winn drops his own bag on top of Alex's and undoes the latch on the window, pushing it open. He stands there for a second, welcoming the cool breeze on hot skin, feeling it comb neatly through his hair, calming him. A nightmare the night before had left him jittery and jumpy all day, so this is a welcome change. Sighing, he turns back round, meaning to settle himself on the sofa for a few minutes before he starts helping with game night preparations, but apparently he chooses to do so at precisely the wrong moment.
Alex is taking off her utility belt, which she usually does in the locker rooms after work. It seemed she'd forgotten this time, though, in her hurry to get home, and the swift, easy motions she uses are familiar, too familiar, and it makes Winn feel a bit sick and sends a shiver down his spine. He sucks in a sharp breath and closes his eyes, turning back to the window.
"What's your problem?" Alex comments. "I'm not getting naked, dude."
Winn shakes his head. "I know," he says quietly, trying to think of literally anything else other than what seeing Alex take her belt off had made him think of. He's not thought about that stuff in a very long time, and there's no way in hell he's about to start now. As if to spite him, his back tingles unpleasantly as those same swift motions replay themselves independently in his mind.
God, what a stupid thing to get triggered over. He still hates that word, triggered- makes him sound like he's damaged, crazy, fragile. Which he isn't. That said, it's been a long time since he'd last seen someone take their belt off, and that last time was probably the worst of them all.
"Thanks for helping me organise stuff," Alex unknowingly interrupts his little spiral. Winn manages to snap himself out of it and whips around, a false smile plastered on his face.
"It's no problem. We never really hang out as just us. You want me to put the pizza in now or later?" He asks, deliberately rummaging through the bag of shopping on the kitchen island so he doesn't have to look at her. Inwardly, Winn is congratulating himself on his acting, because his insides are now churning a little bit and the scars on his back feel like they're pulsing, but he's forced his hands to stop shaking and a winning smile blocks out all of the above, so that even Alex hasn't noticed anything too off.
Alex makes an 'I dunno,' sound, so Winn twists again to face her but just as quickly wishes he hadn't. She's standing in the middle of the carpet, stance relaxed and absently scrolling through her phone with one hand. This shouldn't be alarming, in any way, she almost looks domestic. But she's swinging her belt from the other hand, not even paying attention, and this sends a jolt of panic straight to Winn's heart.
He hates that. He really, really hates that. After all these years you'd think he'd have gotten over it, but apparently not; because he's weak and he's scared and it's pathetic. His breathing quickens, and suddenly the swinging belt isn't Alex's familiar utility belt, but hard, rough leather.
No, no, no- why now? There's nothing about the situation that's even remotely dangerous. It's late in the afternoon, summer air drifting in from the open window, bright blue skies touched with gold already. It's calm and bright and warm, and yet Winn is already in the throes of a panic attack. He can't take his eyes off that damn belt, either, and he has to clutch the edges of the countertop to make sure he doesn't just fall over.
"Hey, wait, Winn? You good?" Alex asks, having looked up from her phone. "I just texted Kara, she said she's been caught at work for a little bit, so we have a bit more time on our hands."
Winn can't respond. His entire body already hurts from being tensed so hard. He can't move, he can't breathe, he can't tell her anything. He can't even look at her, hyperfocused on the belt in her hand and it's every movement.
"Dude, breathe. You're okay, I promise," he hears Alex say, and assumes she's finally noticed his panic. He sees her toss her phone onto the sofa, but she doesn't seem to think about her belt as she walks towards him, free hand outstretched.
"No! No, don't- Please, don't-" Winn cries, his body finally kicking back into action as he scrambles to get away from it. His vision swims and suddenly Alex's hands are rougher, burlier, more callused, and a whole lot meaner.
Suddenly he's twelve years old again, on the floor of his second foster home. He's crying. Sobbing. He's screaming, too, with every lash of the belt that strikes his bare back. Winn can feel his own blood dripping down his skin, but he's more focused on trying not to let it get on the carpet, because that will only mean more punishment. Someone is shouting, too, but he can't hear properly over his own screams and the pain exploding across his entire body. His brain has gone a little foggy from the pain, just a little blurry round the edges. All he knows now is the burning wounds, the searing skin, the screams and the shouts and the crimson blood.
"You're not my kid. Don't think I won't just return you if you keep this up, you little brat- be grateful you actually have a roof over your head!"
What had he even done? He doesn't remember anymore, too distracted by the sickening crack of the belt on his skin. He's just thankful he isn't being punished with the metal end anymore.
Please don't. I'm really sorry. I won't do it again. Just please stop. It hurts.
"Excuse me? What was that?"
It hurts. Please stop.
"Don't you dare speak to me like that- I'm not your daddy. I've got firm bets you're gonna turn out just like him, too. A little psycho-" strike- "deranged and deluded-" strike- "You already look jus' like him."
I'm not a psycho. My dad is in jail. I'm not like him. Please stop.
"You don't talk to me like that! Good boys are seen, and not heard. You'll mind to keep your mouth shut or see if I don't just give you back."
Another strike. And another, this one viciously tearing open an almost healed wound. The next is the last, but it's the hardest. Across his shoulders, down his back, stopped only by the loose waist of his trousers. The perpetrator stomps away angrily, leaving little Winn curled up on the floor, bleeding and sobbing. His chest heaves and he pushes himself into a sitting position. The pain is so intense it nearly makes him black out, but he forces himself through it anyway: if he doesn't get out of here, he'll stain the carpet, and this will just happen all over again.
Whatever Gods Winn had prayed to at the time seemed to have taken pity on him for once, for a few days after that, he'd been removed from that home permanently. Yes, shipped off to another, treated like he's worth little more than his small bag of possessions, but out of there. No more belts. It had taken him months to be able to sleep properly on his back again. Years to be able to put a belt on.
Winn is crying now, too, but he's not on the floor- not completely, at least. His back is up against something hard, which makes him hurt, and his knees are curled into his chest, his head buried in his arms, and there's someone next to him gently rubbing his shoulder. That's slightly unnerving in itself. After a beating he's always left alone to clean up his own mess, there shouldn't be anybody with him. He looks up.
Tears are obscuring his vision for the most part. He blinks- this is Alex's home. Alex isn't beating him. She'd never do that.
"Winn?"
That's him. That's his name. He has to make himself answer to it, turning very slowly to look at who's next to him. Alex. Soft, warm, safe Alex.
"Are you back?" She asks carefully.
Back. Back from where? Winn's confused as to why he's so abruptly back in Alex's space, and he's sore, only just realising how his body aches and his throat hurts, how hot tears stick to his skin. There's crescent moon shapes on each of his arms- nail marks. A couple of the longer or more ragged ones have drawn blood. He just stares at them numbly. "What happened?" He tries to say, but it comes out hoarsley and almost whispered.
"I'm going to help you up, alright?" Alex tells him, preparing him for the arm around his waist and the hand on his shoulder hoisting him up off the floor. She helps him stagger over to the couch where he collapses slightly, curling himself up tightly in the corner. For a moment she disappears, but she's back again a second later with a glass of cold water. Winn just stares at it. Numb. Tired. Aching. Gingerly, Alex sits down next to him.
It's silent for a little while as Winn comes into himself a bit more, slowly regaining a bit more awareness. Eventually his head feels like it's been screwed back on properly, even though it still pounds with every pulse, and he tries his luck again. "Alex, what happened?"
Alex takes a deep breath. "I think you had a bad panic attack. Do you remember what caused it? Did anything cause it at all?"
Winn stares blankly at the coffee table. "No... That was- I've not had a flashback that bad in ages." His throat hurts as he talks, so he swallows some water. It doesn't do much. Had he been screaming?
"Hold on, a flashback? What triggered it?" She asks, leaning forward a bit. Winn leans back, just out of habit. She gets the message and scoots backwards a bit to let him breathe, the silence between them so loud and yet so quiet.
He's quiet for a long time, to the point where Alex thinks he's not going to answer.
"The belt."
"The- my belt?"
He nods slowly and lets his breathing deepen, even though his chest still aches. Alex doesn't pry into this, for which he's kind of grateful.
"How long?" He asks suddenly, lifting his head to meet her eyes. He doesn't know how much time has passed, he doesn't know what he's meant to be feeling, he doesn't know why he hurts so much. So many unknowns make him feel anxious, but maybe Alex can answer some of them.
"...Almost half an hour," she replies, almost guiltily. "Any longer and I was going to consider sedating you. Or calling J'onn, to come calm you down. You looked like you were in so much pain..."
She sounds almost like she's going to cry. Oh, what a sharp turn this afternoon has taken. Winn nods again, solemnly. Apologetically. This is all his fault.
"I'm sorry," he says brokenly.
"No. No, it's not your fault," Alex replies firmly, putting a comforting hand on his foot. Winn shrugs.
It's nearly fifteen minutes before either of them say anything else. Alex thinks he nearly falls asleep. It's not surprising, he must have completely worn himself out; terrifying to watch, even more terrifying to live. The way he'd been yelling, pleading, crying... She's half desperate to know what he'd been seeing, half hopes she never has to know. Everything had been going so well: they'd laughed in the elevator coming up here, it had been easy and light coming into the apartment, dumping their bags, opening the window. Mere minutes later Winn had been curled up on the floor, screaming at Alex to please stop. Please stop what, though, she doesn't know.
I'm sorry.
It hurts.
I'm not a psycho.
His words seem to reverberate around her head, chilling her to the bone. Panic attack, flashback, whatever Winn had just experienced, it had to have been something truly awful.
"It was your belt," Winn says suddenly. Alex turns her head to look at him, but says nothing. "I saw you take it off."
"You had a flashback... because I took my belt off?"
It seems so mundane, but Alex doesn't like the way this seems to be heading. She knows about his time in foster care, but only from that one conversation over those kryptonite shields. He'd never gone more in depth than that.
"Last time I saw- last time I saw someone take off their belt and... and like, swing it, like that, was when-" he starts to stammer, shaking his head like he doesn't want to remember, like he can't force the words past his throat.
"When?" Alex coaxes gently.
"When."
There's a pause. Not long, but she raises an eyebrow in confusion. He doesn't see this because once again he's blankly focused on the space above the coffee table.
Winn stands abruptly, turns his back to her and pulls his t-shirt over his head. "When."
Alex brings her hand to her mouth to stifle her gasp. She'd had suspicions Winn was treated less than properly in his foster homes, but this is beyond anything she'd imagined. Long, horrible, jagged scars criss cross his back, from his shoulders all the way down to his waistline. Belt lashes. There's even indents on his spine and his shoulder blades that had to have come from the buckle.
"Winn..." she whispers, feeling queasy.
It hurts.
"They did that to you?"
Please stop.
"Oh, my God..."
I'm sorry.
Winn shrugs his shoulders and sniffs, quite purposefully avoiding eye contact as he puts his shirt back on. He takes a long drink of water before settling back on the couch, and though it doesn't really do much to quell his sore throat, it gives him an excuse not to answer any questions for just a few more seconds. He sets the glass down again and settles back into the corner of the couch, opening up his arms. Alex shifts closer, but doesn't touch him.
He stretches out further, reaching for her. Slowly she begins to comply, and soon the pair of them are cuddled up together. Alex regrets ever asking: he'd relived that trauma, right there in her apartment, and for a moment, he'd been terrified of her. She swears to herself to look deeply into Winn's personal file, find out who'd hurt him like that, and kill them with her bare hands. She might not be allowed to do that, actually, but she can certainly beat them to within an inch of their life and throw them into the dingiest cell in the Desert Facility. Alex is too busy dwelling on this to realise how still and how quiet Winn has been, and it's only when she notices that they'd never even put the pizza in that she realises he's fallen asleep in her arms. A small part of her is touched. Touched that, after his episode, he'd still felt safe enough with her to fall asleep. To let himself be so vulnerable.
God knows he needs the sleep. Even Alex is yawning, drowsily browsing her social medias by the time Kara flies in the window, and she finds herself glad that there's nobody else at the game night tonight: a slow, quiet night with just the three of them and maybe a movie afterwards sounds like just what all of them need right now.