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Newt had suffered through some pretty bad days, like, in general. There'd been a Tuesday one time, and it had been shit. There had also been a bit of a nightmare one not all that long ago, with actual fucking monsters and knives shoved up his nose. That one had been next level awful, would not recommend. The whole brain melting thing before and after that one was just… cherry on top. Zero out of ten.
So yeah, bad days. Newt was a fucking expert at bad days. He was the person who got called in to judge bad days and rate them on a scale of Shit to Apocalypse. He was the highest fucking authority on the subject, PhD.
This particular bad day had started with a neurologist. Newt did not like the neurologist. He was a hard-ass, dead-eyed bastard with no fucking soul who clearly gave less than no shits about people anymore. He knew his shit, and that was frustrating because Newt couldn't even put the fucker in his place. Fucking dickhead expert. Newt fucking hated him.
The neurologist, who had a name that Newt had exactly zero desire to remember, looked at them like they were fascinating. Also like they were complete fucking morons who couldn't be trusted with metal cutlery. Well, Newt especially got that look; Hermann mostly warranted the narrowed eyes and the ‘I thought you would be smarter than that’ tone. Dick.
Super dick, because the attitude of doom made Hermann think of his shitheel dad, which in turn made him go all belly up. Newt couldn't blame him, not when he could literally feel the absolute tsunami of awful in Hermann's head, but also not cool. It made Newt fume, both in general and on Hermann's behalf, because nobody should make Hermann feel that way. Ever.
So yeah. Neurologist: super dick. Newt hated him on principle, and he hated him even fucking more when the bastard decided to seperate them. Newt was so not about that, because he already felt like hot shit in general; he did not need the anxiety of where the fuck is Hermann on top, thanks ever so.
Dick neurologist didn't care in the fucking slightest, of course. Apparently he had tests that required Newt and Hermann to be in separate rooms, or something. Newt hated it. He had been poked, prodded, jabbed and medicated plenty already; he was absolutely, categorically fucking done with people all over him. Especially when ‘people’ was some turd that he couldn't stand.
Newt had possibly been a teeny bit of a prick to the neurologist. He certainly hadn't behaved himself, because dickhead had stolen Hermann and that was so not cool. Even though Newt could absolutely still feel Hermann in his brain (where he should be, fuck you Doctor Cock), the physical lack of him was awful. Newt already felt gross, the absolute last thing he needed was no Hermann and anxious on top.
Doctor Cock wanted so many tests, too. Newt hated tests, and he couldn't fucking stand being forced to sit still. The fact that his stupid head was all messed up and he couldn't actually get up without an attack of the pukes? So much worse. Newt was already fucking done before they started.
He felt like a damn lab rat. He'd been examined, poked, blinded by a penlight, moved in about a thousand different directions, turned on his fucking head and asked more invasive questions than he had ever been asked in his life. Then he'd been wired to all manner of horrible machines, been ordered to hyperventilate until he got dizzy and had the most horrific strobe lights flashed at him when he already had a fucking headache. Ugh.
And after all that? Fucking MRI! Newt did not want an MRI, especially not when he was awake and fucking aware of every agonizing second of it. Stupid machine was cold, for a start, and the horrible assless gown thing he'd been forced into did exactly zero to keep him warm. Also fucking exposed way too much of him when he was already feeling super vulnerable.
The nurses, at least, looked really fucking apologetic about the whole situation. Newt wasn't actually mad at them, because they were clearly super done with the fucking Cocktor as well. Dude had taken over their Infirmary and was bossing them about. Newt wasn't that type of doctor, but even he knew better than to piss off the nurses. Nurses were scary.
Also scary: being shoved in the MRI without anything to take the edge off. Apparently Prickface wanted Newt's readings or some shit, so zero sedation allowed. Newt was so not about that, especially when the fucking head clamp of doom came down and left him with nothing but a teeny slit to look through. A teeny slit and a little viewing mirror that did fuck all for Newt, because without his glasses he was too blind to actually see anything. God.
Newt had maybe had a bit of a panic attack in the MRI. He'd managed to stay still some-fucking-how, but it had been a struggle. The whole lot of Hermann in his head had been horrible, because Hermann had been freaking out about Newt's freakout, but also the only thing that kept Newt half way together. It was a mess.
Newt had been so fucked up by the time they dragged him back out of the stupid machine. Like, fucked up to the extent that he'd kind of just… flopped onto his side and puked all over the floor. And himself. He had absolutely also managed to puke all over himself and it had been awful.
One of the nurses had come to rescue him, because apparently the neurologist did not deal with puke. Too professional for that, or something. Newt was actually kind of glad for the reprieve, even if it did mean a mortifying wash from a terrifyingly competent woman. It was just… a lot.
Too much, probably, because by the time all that was over, Newt was done. He was so fucking done, and on edge, and he felt like shit to boot. Stupid neurologist clearly thought Newt was all of the crazy, and there was a whole lot of distress from the Hermann zone in Newt's head.
That was maybe why, when the horrible dead-eyed bastard told him in no uncertain terms that he needed some time apart from Hermann lest he become codependent, Newt flipped his fucking lid. Absolutely volcanic level shit, meltdown of the ages, screaming nightmare level lid-flip. The sort of howling nightmare meltdown that Newt hadn't had since he was twelve.
Fuck it all, fuck Newt's life and especially fuck the stupid neurologist. Fuck him in the ear with something pointy, because Newt. Was. Done.
~*~
Hermann was well used to challenging medical appointments. He had suffered through more than he could count, over the years, and as such had built up something of a tolerance. That wasn't to say he in any way enjoyed them, because he most certainly did not, but he was typically able to cope.
The expert that had been summoned to examine Newton, and by extension Hermann, was a… challenging man. The sort of man who had clearly seen too much and done too much, over an extended period of time. The sort of man who focused on results, rather than the individuals those results were supposed to benefit.
Also similar enough in tone and manner to Hermann's father that it prompted a rather undesirable reaction. Hermann was well aware that he didn't act favourably around a certain type of man, especially when the man in question was in a position of perceived authority. He was uncomfortably prone to the level of emotional shutdown that meant he would do exactly as he was told, no matter the consequences. When someone who triggered the part of Hermann's brain that whispered ‘father’ said ‘jump’, Hermann jumped. Questions such as ‘how high’ and ‘where’ were not permitted.
Hermann hated that he did it. In the cold light of day, with only himself for company, he was able to rationally think up arguments and ways to manage his reactions, but the very second he was faced with someone who reminded him of his father? Absolute obedience, regardless of his opinion on the matter at hand or the damage obedience would cause him.
It was worse, now, because Hermann was intimately aware of the absolute ruin obedience had nearly brought upon him. The Marshal, in his infinitely nihilistic wisdom, had told Hermann to shut up and let Newton die, and Hermann… Hermann very nearly had. He had done as he was told, because he was told, and his only spark of rebellion had been to go in with him.
Put simply, the entire situation to date could be blamed solely on the fact that Hermann was pathologically unable to stand up for himself, when faced with a certain type of man. Newton had nearly died, nearly lost his mind because Hermann was too much of a bloody coward to say no. It was- unacceptable. And something that would likely haunt Hermann to the day he died.
Also unacceptable; the forced separation for tests. Hermann was too exhausted, embarrassed and ashamed to particularly care what was done to him, but Newton was in very obvious distress from the start. This was nothing like a gentle excursion to the Mess and back, with Tendo for company, and the both of them knew it. Newton especially was not in a very good frame of mind about being forced at the moment, and it showed.
“Are you okay, doc?”
Hermann's tests had been over blessedly quickly; apparently the majority of his readings had been captured on the night the Breach closed, and the unpleasant neurologist had been able to examine them at leisure. Unfortunately that meant Newton was trapped for the foreseeable future, alone, while Jenny kept Hermann company.
“Not particularly, no.” What was the point in lying to one's nurse? Hermann had learned recently that such things rarely worked, and often led to unnecessary suffering. “Newton is… he's… in difficulty.”
Jenny, who was perched on a stool beside Hermann's wheelchair, sighed. “I have Liv keeping an eye on him, but- yeah. I get you. Just between us, Mr Expert is a bit of a prick. I can't imagine Newt is all about that.”
“He… no. There's something… something of a feedback loop between us, at the moment.” It was difficult to get his words organised, when Hermann's negative feelings were constantly amplified by Newton's panic.
“Yeah, we did tell the guy that would happen. But what do we know, right? Nurses are idiots. Clearly Mr Expert in there knows best, because he's a consultant and has read your file.”
Hermann hadn't actually witnessed their ‘expert’ pull rank on the nurses, but he had definitely heard him give slightly less than courteous orders. Hermann was well used to that particular attitude, and conditioned to respond accordingly but he could absolutely understand why it chafed. Especially when the Shatterdome medical team had been working together in a warzone for years and were incredibly competent.
“I can't imagine that particular attitude is appreciated.” Hermann had a headache. He probably had a headache because Newton had a headache, and therefore could do exactly nothing to get rid of it by himself.
“Not even a little bit. Don't piss off the people who cook your food, don't piss off your nurse, etcetera. Add to that he's got one hell of an attitude and is messing up my patients; nah. He can get lost.” Jenny looked, as Newton would say, so done.
On top of the steadily increasing headache, unrelenting anxiety and overall feeling of impending doom, Hermann was starting to get nauseous. He wasn't entirely sure if it was his feeling, but that hardly made it any less unpleasant. “He seems… uh. Jaded.”
Jenny shrugged her shoulders. “Aren't we all, doc? I get it, Neuro’s had it shit since the Drift became a thing, and the ‘experts’ killed a lot of people for the sake of the planet. I'm Neuro, and let me tell you I've seen things, but when you stop giving a shit about your patients it's time to go.”
Hermann was probably fairly jaded himself. He was also having a terrible time organising his thoughts when Newton's mind had devolved into a tornado of negative feelings. “...will he be staying long, do you think?”
“Absolutely not. He's come for a consult, to make sure there's nothing we're missing that's going to jump out and fuck you both up. We also needed advice on medication for Newt, which is his speciality.”
Medication was certainly important. Newton was already prescribed a number of fairly high risk drugs, and the idea of adding something for seizure control on top made Hermann slightly nervous. Add to that Newton's propensity for mismanagement… well. Hermann could absolutely see why an expert would be beneficial, even if that expert was a fairly repugnant person.
“Hey.” A hand on his shoulder; Hermann jumped, all sparks and a feeling that something was about to happen. Trapped. Stuck in the dark. Pinned down, and something was coming to get him-
“Hermann. Take a breath.” Jenny. That was Jenny.
Hermann took a breath; it was surprisingly challenging. It felt like he was under pressure, under water, under ground and the monster was coming-!
“I've got you. It's okay. You're safe.” There was a hand. Steady. It gave his back a firm rub; up and down, slow. “Breathe.”
Commands; Hermann was good at following orders. He did as he was told, because he was told, and for once it helped. Probably because the person who gave the order was trusted, and kind. Somebody on his side, not the enemy. Not father.
Hermann took a breath, then another. His head was all panic and static, one person in two places, but it was just a little bit easier to sort it all out when he could breathe. The overwhelming feeling that he was stuck was slowly fading, but it left cold sweat and greasy nausea in its wake.
“Here, just in case.” A basin was placed on his knees. Hermann wasn't entirely sure why, but the nurse perched beside him seemed to know what she was doing.
A glass of water appeared next; it was cold, and coated in a layer of condensation. Hermann found the feel of it in his hand surprisingly grounding. He didn't drink any, because he felt really quite sick and oh, that was what the bowl was for…
“It’s okay; Newt didn't do so well in the scanner, is all. Liv's got him sorted.”
Hermann gagged, but it wasn't his nausea. The duality made him dizzy; cognitive dissonance, horrible. Nothing came up, but the threat of it lingered like a warning. He felt- not well. Cold, overwrought.
“I- why is this necessary…?” Newton's mind was churning away like a bloody dynamo, storing energy, building up to something. Hermann could feel it like a storm on the horizon, an overtaxed elastic band, just waiting to snap and ricochet.
“I know, but I've got you.” Platitudes; Hermann was quite aware that they would probably be forced to suffer for an indeterminate amount of time yet, and she could do exactly nothing to help. At least she didn't make up some lie to try and appease him; he wouldn't have been able to stand it.
He could barely stand it as it was, because Newton's mind was right on the knife edge of something horrible, and the mess of negativity spilling over onto Hermann was enough to rob him of all reason. He knew what was happening, at least, he had a bloody good idea of what the problem was, but the crash of thoughts made it impossible to think. Impossible to fix it, or put it into words when the overwhelming awfulness of it was in his head.
All Hermann was able to do was wait, and feel as the band snapped, the wave crested, and everything went nuclear.
~*~
When Newt was frustrated, angry, or overwhelmed, he tended to cry. He'd always been like it, and he'd always hated it, because when he was so fucking done that his emotions spilled out all over the fucking place his stupid body made it look like he was sad.
“I am not upset! I'm not upset you stupid fucking shitheel dick!”
Newt was not sad. Newt was furious and he wanted to hit someone. His frustrations had reached terminal velocity, thermal runaway engaged and Newt blew up then melted down like fucking Chernobyl. He was so overwhelmingly, catastrophically done that nothing mattered.
He was on his feet. He wasn't sure how he got there, because standing had been a bit iffy for a while, but rage went a long fucking way towards counteracting the vertigo. Up felt good, just as much as it felt horrible, because up meant some of the rampant, savage energy that had overtaken him had somewhere to go.
“ Don't touch me! Go away!” There was someone in his space. Someone he didn't like, or want anywhere near him. Newt wanted to hit, wanted to bite and scream until everything stopped.
Fucking person, fucking doctor who Newt hated with every last fiber of his being, was talking. English. English was useless because Newt had fucking lost his shit and only German would do. Newt wasn't even sure if he was speaking English, but he didn't fucking care.
Fucking piece of shit doctor was clearly trying to get Newt to calm the fuck down, sit the fuck down, but that wasn't going to happen. Newt wasn't going to stop until someone made him.
Asshole was also fucking patronising as shit. Newt could hear his fucking tone, even if most of the words he was saying just- fell out of his brain. He didn't need to hear to understand.
“Yes, I am having a fucking emotion; I do that! Back the fuck off and leave me and my emotion alone!” Newt was right in the corner, all pressed up against the wall, and the fucking threat wasn't leaving.
The guy got closer, and Newt lashed out. He wasn't exactly steady on his feet, and he staggered a bit; enough that the fucking doctor was able to get out of the way. Newt screamed a bit, because he couldn't even vent his frustrations by hitting something because his stupid body was shit.
“My emotion doesn't like you you absolute- you absolute- horrible fucking asshole! Go! Away!”
His legs gave way, and he hit the ground hard. It hurt, but in a distant sort of way; fight or flight or flee was running rampant in him, and Newt couldn't really feel anything but the tsunami. He couldn't function, couldn't cope, and words were just- gone. Too much, too hard.
Newt slammed his hands over his ears, screwed his eyes tight shut, and screamed.
~*~
“Okay! Out, out, out right now! I got this!”
Newt was in a corner, in a ball, and he was not going anywhere. His voice had given out along with the rest of him, and everything hurt.
“Olivia, go get Hermann please.”
Hermann. Newt… Newt wanted Hermann. Needed him.
“Hey.” German. Familiar. Safe, sort of. Newt knew that voice. “Hey, Newt.”
Newt didn't move. He wasn't even sure if he could move. He… hurt. And everything felt horrifyingly empty. He listened, though.
“It's just Jeth. You know me, and I'm not going to come over there until you tell me it's okay.” That voice was calm. Not bothered. Used to dealing with Newt's shit. It… helped.
Newt's glasses were fucking gone again, and he was crying so hard that he couldn't see anyway. He shut his eyes, and rolled up even tighter. On his side, on the floor, backed up and trapped; bad memories. It felt like something was coming to eat him.
“The nurses have gone to get Hermann for you. He's okay. You're okay.”
Newt… he wasn't okay. He hadn't been okay for months, and all the shit had come to a fucking head and he'd just- snapped. He wasn't even a little bit okay, but it was also familiar; too much, all built up like a pressure cooker. Meltdown.
“You don't have to say anything. I know it's not normally something you can do, when this happens. I'm just going to sit all the way over here and talk to you.”
Words were impossible. English was impossible, but Jeth could speak German just fine. He was like Newt; spoke it first and translated on the fly.
“I had time to video call my daughter this morning. First time in a little while; she's a bright girl, and can always tell when things aren't looking good. Things are now, though, and it was- wow. Like nothing else. She's never been safe, before now.”
Little girl in a photograph; hearing aids and wisps of ginger hair come loose from a plait. Newt had seen the pictures in the break room.
“I don't know when they'll let us go home, but the fact that we can is something else. Whole world of opportunity all of a sudden; I can take her places. Take her to the ocean and not look for monsters on the horizon.”
The monsters were gone. Even the ones that lurked, waiting in Newt's head were far away. There was a Wall around him, to keep them out. He was… not safe, but nearly.
“Now we've just got to do something about the state of the place. I want her to grow up in a world that's clean. Not toxic.”
That was the thing. Clean for the monsters was toxic for Newt. But also vice versa. The Earth had been terraformed, made fucking perfect for the invaders, but it didn't have to stay that way. Everyone had come together to fight , but the fight was different now. Clean up the shit so if there were monsters left to come back, the atmosphere was poison.
“Toxic.” Newt was- he was all scattered parts, not a real person, but he could think. It was all he could do, some days.
“Toxic?” Not exactly a question, not pushy, but the echo helped. It made it easier to get his brain to tick over.
Newt was… curled up, ready for an attack, but he could think, just about. “We… it's… everything was too clean, so they went away.”
They went away. They left for millions of years because the Earth was poison. “They… they only came back… because we made it perfect for them.”
“I'm listening. I'm listening, Newt.” It was nice, when someone listened. Not very many people had, at least not recently.
“Terraformed it for them. They're, mm… they're short on time. Locusts.”
The monsters, insects with too many limbs and too many eyes; they ate and ate and ate until there was nothing left. When there was just a skeleton and a dying sun, they moved on. “We’ve gotta make it… too much hassle.”
“How would we do that?” Curious. Interested. Someone who actually seemed to want to hear what Newt had to say.
“Clean it.” Newt could see it, in his head. “If we clean it they can't live here. They'll go… somewhere else.”
The things that had tried to crawl into Newt's head were parasites. Make the host body unpalatable and they would move on; they couldn't survive without a host planet, and the planet they had was fucked. They would have to move on, or risk annihilation. It's what Hermann had done; he'd made Newt's brain so fucking hostile to them that they lost their grip.
“You think we can stop them coming back.”
Newt didn't even know if they had survived, because alien bug monsters were still alive, and a bomb was a bomb was a bomb. Nuclear detonation right in the face, right where they ripped a hole in the fabric of space-time had to hurt… still. They might have.
“Mm. Yeah.” Everything hurt and Newt's head was all… shattered into pieces, but that never really stopped his ideas. Never had done, but it tended to stop people listening when the person who had the ideas had just thrown himself on the floor and screamed himself hoarse.
“Meltdowns are irrelevant; your ideas always have merit.” Hermann!
Newt unwound a bit, because that was Hermann. They'd been all- all pulled apart and Newt needed to fix it. He was in so much pain, and the floor was all the wrong way round, but Newt didn't care. He fucking clawed his way over so he could put his head on Hermann's knee.
“I've got you.” Hermann sounded wrecked, but he was there. He even slid the wheelchair’s footplates back, so Newt could slot into place between his knees. “It's alright.”
It wasn't, but Newt always felt safer with Hermann there. Even when his head was all fucked up and everything was awful, Hermann seemed to know how to help. “Not.”
“It will be.” Gentle hands, that shook just a little, sifted through Newt's hair. It was… grounding. Newt was all numb inside, but at the same time in so much pain, but Hermann was- he was Hermann. Not going anywhere.
“Never. I absolutely refuse to go anywhere, you hear me?” An ultimatum; Hermann, laying down the law. “This bloody experiment stops, because what might suit normal people won't work for us. It stops. Now.”
“It stops.” That was Jeth. Doctor, but trustworthy. “No more attempts at picking apart the knot you two have tied yourselves into. We're done.”
Hermann was a Wall around Newt; breaking him down would break them both. Newt couldn't cope with that. “Please. Please just… enough. It hurts.”
“I'm not going to lie to you.” Jeth sounded steady. Honest. Newt appreciated that, because he could tell when someone lied to him. “There's a few things we need to do, readings that we can only get when you're in your own space, but that doesn't have to be now. It can wait.”
It could wait forever, as far as Newt was concerned. He didn't want to be seperate, but there was all… biological. Seizures, things that could happen to him if they didn't know triggers. But there were other things that triggered his issues which he couldn't fucking cope with right now.
“Later.” Hermann's gentle hands, his capable but careful hands, cradled Newt's head like it was precious. Not all… messed up and prone to gross emotional explosions. “For now, the most we have to do is get you off the floor.”
The floor was hard, cold and uncomfortable. Newt was maybe still a bit disconnected from himself, disassociated, but the way everything hurt was slowly creeping back. His ribs were howling at him, bad enough that he felt like he couldn't breathe, but that could easily have been the panic. He felt… broken. Like the only thing holding all the pieces together was Hermann and his strong, steady hands.
“Would you let me give you some pain relief, before we get you back to bed?” Jeth again. Newt knew him, and trusted him. Not the same as Hermann, but enough.
“I-” Newt's body felt all… weird. Not his. The pain was his but the body wasn't. It had been like that for such a long time, as the walls closed in on him. “Yeah. Just… I know…”
Little pouch of medication. Hermann had it, because Hermann was probably the only person Newt actually trusted to use it. He knew the medics had similar shit, and this was the situation, this was what it was for.
“Consent is important.” Hermann’s hand found the back of Newt's neck and squeezed. “Remember?”
Not Newt's memory, but it was there. Newt, sick, manic, mid OD and crazy, but still Hermann had asked him. Hermann had asked, even when it was just… illusions. He cared enough to give Newt a choice, when Newt didn't actually have the capacity to refuse.
“I guess… if… I know I'm crazy. I know I need… I need to chill the fuck out because I'm- I'm all messed up and it hurts and I might hurt someone if they hurt me…”
Newt didn't want to hurt anyone, but he knew what he was like. If he was scared enough, if he felt trapped, he lashed out. He had already, when the doctor with his horribleness had come too close.
“I know. There's nothing wrong with needing a little help, to keep yourself calm when things have gone awry.” Hermann sounded so reasonable. He sounded reasonable because he was. He had the memories to prove it; he had watched as Newt, drowsy and compliant, had his teeth sorted. He knew that Newt sometimes needed help to calm down, and that was… normal.
“Normal for us isn't the same as normal for everyone else. For the longest time I thought that was a failing on our part, but I was mistaken.” Hermann felt comfortable in his skin in a way that he hadn't before. Newt- the feeling kind of blew his mind a bit, second hand.
“They can… I mean. If there's… medicine or whatever. I consent.” Newt didn't want to be drugged into a drooling zombie, but he trusted Hermann. If Hermann wasn't ashamed, then Newt could just- take what he needed, even if normal people could have done without.
“I'm not going to sedate you into unconsciousness.” Jeth was… close. Newt opened his eye to watch him, but didn't do much else. He wasn't exactly comfortable, all folded up on the floor with his head in Hermann's lap, but he was safe. No need to move.
“Gonna sedate me a bit, though.” Newt could absolutely see the syringe full of fucking drugs in Jeth's hand, but… normal for Newt. Things he needed, no shame.
A nod. “I am. This is the sort of pain relief that will make you drowsy, because I don't want to hurt you when we get you back to bed, but I also don't want to scare you.”
Newt had been so scared for so long that it was kind of hard to remember what it felt like before. He offered up his arm, and the little port thing that they put drugs down; trust. He could trust, because Hermann had hold of him and wasn't about to let go.
Whatever was in that syringe was powerful. It felt hot, and strange, as it trickled up Newt's arm. It turned his blood to syrup, made everything slow as it pumped around, and it took away the pain. It was tiredness made liquid, but not actually sleep; he was awake, but everything was wound down and quiet.
He settled, all peaceful nothiness and the absence of pain. The recrimination, the destructive self narrative that usually came after a really messy meltdown was just… muted. He didn't tend to use the drugs he had, for when his head was fucked, because- because…
“You deserve to have whatever helps. You don't need to punish yourself, not for this. Not for anything.” Hermann always could ferret out what the issue was, even before he stormed into Newt's head like an invading army and planted his fucking flag.
“Property of Herms. Like the moon, but less… dusty, not American, either. Kind of empty like it, though.”
Newt had no idea what his brain was going on about, but he also didn't care. It was surprisingly easy to do as he was bid; to let the faceless but familiar people around him get him back to bed. Thoughts were hard, and wandering, but that was fine.
It was better, when Hermann climbed into the bed beside him. Their little universe of two, binary stars and comfort that only they could understand. Newt felt strange, and half asleep, but that was fine. It was fine because Hermann wouldn't let anything happen to him, and it was okay, to just… not be ashamed.