Work Text:
Nezha's uneven footsteps carried him across the sidewalk, his mind blurry with muddled thoughts. The words he had been told still rang in his mind, leaving the already uneasy foundations his peace was built on shattered in his wake, shards trailing behind him with every step he took. He could still hear his therapist's voice in his head, her cadence filled with sympathy, with a kind of special ache that went out to some of her most scarred patients.
"This is textbook for post-traumatic stress disorder."
The Deity placed a hand over his mouth, stifling the sounds of his ragged breathing. There was no way he was going to be able to break this to them without losing his mind. He'd spent so much time trying to pull himself together after what Heaven had done, struggled so hard to keep Mei, Red Son, and MK around.
It still didn't feel like enough.
Nezha took a sharp breath, then leaned against one of the outer walls of Pigsy's noodle shop. The abrasive edge of the concrete forced him to release the breath he had been holding. His beloved adopted father would have hated this piece of brutalist architecture with every fiber of his being. He would have lamented that the blocks of painted concrete didn't have any life to them, didn't have any soul to them. They were made for industrialization and not for the beauty that could come from truly having fun and enjoying the processes that came with constructing buildings. The entire notion sent a chill down Nezha's spine, as he, too, could feel how unwelcoming and how suffocating the concrete's presence as a foundational material could be.
Perhaps Yang Jian had taught him too well.
Regardless of all that, of all that had come before, of the blood, of the screams, of the silence afterwards, Nezha peeled himself away from the wall. His eyes shifted to the vivid hot pink that had been associated with him, that had been associated with his duties, with his work, with the pressure that had been placed on his shoulders since time immemorial; a real life Atlas holding the weight of far more than his body and mind could handle.
But he adapted.
He had to.
With a heart that weighed more than the world ever could, Nezha pushed open the doors, his breaths heaving the moment the scent of the air fresheners got to his senses. It was jarring, almost earth-shatteringly so, and it shook the very foundations that he had rebuilt mere moments ago.
Why did it feel like the world was ending?
The Deity braced himself on the doorway before his knees could buckle beneath him, saving himself precious time to collect himself, to save his mind from his own monsters, from his demons, from those damned memories. He flinched as the sound of a whip cracking almost filled his ears, and he could have sworn he could feel his divine ichor trailing down his back. The lashes had hurt, but they were nothing compared to the injuries that had resulted in the burn rings around his body. He kept those under lock and key, under a powerful glamor that only Yang Jian and Sun Wukong could see through.
He couldn't let the thunder in.
Red Son looked up from his phone when he heard Nezha grumble under his breath, in an ancient form of Mandarin, of course. (The variation was so old that Mei and MK didn't know anything about it.) As the fire Demon saw beads of sweat roll down Nezha's cheeks, alarm bells went off in his head. He had to do something, but what could he do that would help?
Well, something was better than nothing.
"Brother, you've returned. What news do you bear?"
Those words opened Nezha's eyes. The Deity almost wheezed, choking on his ragged, uneven breaths that threatened to suffocate him. How was he going to tell them? There was no easy way to. He might as well. As the Deity gathered what little he could of his composure, he vowed to speak, vowed to tell them.
Here and now.
"...my therapist diagnosed me with post-traumatic stress disorder."
Nezha bit his lip after those words left his mouth, leaving a foul, bitter taste on his palate.
Weak.
He was weak for this, wasn't he? That's what his fellow court officials would sometimes say behind his back, after all. He'd overheard them, seen the language they used when they referred to him in official documents. The punishments he was delivered were normal for the courts, right...?
Right?
And yet, he distinctly remembered his therapist calling those punishments 'torture'.
Maybe that's what they had really been. The golden rings around his body that would burn him in response to the sutra they were tied with had been... had been torture devices, hadn't they. As that realization dawned on the Deity, it felt like everything was falling apart. Everything he'd ever known, everything he'd been taught to believe.
Mei seemed to notice how he was quietly falling apart at the seams, but instead of confronting him directly, it was like she knew what else needed to be said, what she needed to remind him of.
"So? That doesn't mean you're any less fun." She swallowed a bite of noodles before continuing. "Your jabs and your teasing are comedy central, Nezha. I had no idea an 'oh-I'm-so-serious' guy could be... well, as entertaining as you are. We love to spend time with you, and we love you, too, Nezha, you're our friend, and whatever goes on your medical records doesn't have shit on that, you got that?"
Nezha was one of the most revered and respected War Deities to ever live, with an array of weapons and magics that had felled tens of thousands of Demons. He had a trail of blood, of death, of fire, and of rebirth in his wake. He left no survivors when he was given an order he wouldn't fight. Not a single soul escaped his wrath. He was one of the most levelheaded court officials to ever live, his will and his hatred tempered into endless spite and determination.
So why now, was he on his hands and knees, unable to see the world for the grief that stung his eyes? The grief that came from the simple fact that he was loved, the sheer devastation that came from that?
Why did they love him? Wasn't he a monster?
...or had he just been conditioned to believe that?
He blinked as Red Son gently picked up the ancient Deity's hand, holding it in his own, and did the same with the other one afterwards. His firm grasp demanded that Nezha look at him, meeting those fiery blue eyes in an instant.
"Breathe, brother. Breathe."
Nezha's composure didn't just break. It was ruined, utterly obliterated by the weight he had been carrying for so long, a weight that had finally slipped, enough was gone that it left him torn asunder, not knowing what to do with himself anymore.
"But I'm so fucking useless. All I've been able to do lately is be with you on your shopping trips and train MK."
Red Son sighed.
"That has nothing to do with it. You were there when I needed you, even if you couldn't do anything to stop what was happening. You were there, you were present, you were the brother I needed. You're patient, you're kind, you have an excellent fashion sense, heh, and it's embarrassing to admit this, but your hugs are my favorite. Whether you dry your tears now or later is up to you." Red Son wiped Nezha's eyes, that beautiful indigo of vulnerability lending itself well to his lavender shirt. The fire Demon wasted no time in rewarding the Deity for letting himself weep, for letting himself be weak, scratching behind his pointed ears. The purrs that resulted filled the small restaurant with the soothing noise.
When Nezha rose to his feet with Red Son's help, he was immediately beseeched by his younger brother, the fire Demon half his age, who he had managed to save from the same fate Nezha was met with. Nezha didn't get to keep his will.
Red Son did.
...maybe now he was free.
Nezha's breaths evened out, but the tears never stopped. They didn't need to. He intended to cry until he couldn't anymore, let the tears flow until they soothed his burn scars. The mere sight of the scars, of him letting his barriers down, it caused Mei to drop her chopsticks with shock and horror. Nezha only smiled weakly through the tears. It felt like this reopening of a wound gave it a new opportunity to heal properly, to soothe and clear the infection that had poisoned his heart and mind.
He grabbed onto Red Son, drawing a soft chuckle from the shorter immortal, who settled into holding onto his brother.
MK didn't know what to think. He knew shit was wack, but this was an entirely new level. He swallowed hard, then wiped sweat off of his cheek before making an offer Nezha could never refuse:
"Hey, uh... Nezha, do you want some noodles?"
It was incredible how such a small offer could evoke such a strong response. The Deity pulled away from his younger sibling, wiping his eyes so he could see. A soft, bittersweet chuckle escaped from him while he did so, because if they could still talk to him the same way as they always did in a time like this... well... maybe it would get better. Maybe he wasn't a monster, as the courts thought.
"Please. My favorite, if it's not too much to ask..."
"Of course it isn't. I'll go get my dad."
Yeah.
It was going to be okay.
He had another, better life to live now, one best spent with his new friends and newfound family.
He had a home now.