Categories > TV > Power Rangers > Mad
Mad
It burned like ice, creeping up his back, but that is okay. Bearable. Physical pain is all about dissociating yourself from it, locking it off from your brain and soldiering on. Not that ignoring it made it go away; Ryan wasn't stupid. Closing his eyes and blocking his ears was suicide.
Of course, sitting in his room, staring at that TV screen, watching his baby sister and the rangers was murder. Manslaughter by negligence, at least, and it hurt. Problem was, that pain, the glossed over wince in Dana's eyes or Carter favoring his right leg, wasn't physical. It was all mental. Mental pain was stronger than physical and all contained in the brain. Ryan was at a loss as to how stop it.
Harder still. The wait. Every second in his morph, every minute in the cockpit of the Max Solarzord, just a blink of his eyes and it could be curtains. The icy creep up his back is okay. The maddening questions of now? When? Soon? are not.
He burned like the fires he was paid to thwart. Ryan winces, feeling Carter's fingertips brush over the cobra. It hurts because the snake is angered; it feels good because Carter is warm. Shirtless, on his stomach in the hospital-issue bed, Carter isn't Dad or Dana and that feels good. He's worried but not patronizing.
Carter traces the area from the cobra's fangs to Ryan's neck and comes to the grim conclusion. Once more and that's it. A quick brush, and nothing. But his hand lingers above Ryan's skin and it's almost as maddening, the wait for Carter's touch is almost as maddening as the wait for the cobra's killing blow.
One of the lesser alarms; fire in a residential area. Ryan gets his short-term wish. Carter's hand comes down, firm, reassuring, squeezing his shoulder. Close to his neck Ryan feels rather than hears the words, "You'll beat it." Carter's voice is strong and confident.
And it is not fear that makes Ryan's knees weak.
It burned like ice, creeping up his back, but that is okay. Bearable. Physical pain is all about dissociating yourself from it, locking it off from your brain and soldiering on. Not that ignoring it made it go away; Ryan wasn't stupid. Closing his eyes and blocking his ears was suicide.
Of course, sitting in his room, staring at that TV screen, watching his baby sister and the rangers was murder. Manslaughter by negligence, at least, and it hurt. Problem was, that pain, the glossed over wince in Dana's eyes or Carter favoring his right leg, wasn't physical. It was all mental. Mental pain was stronger than physical and all contained in the brain. Ryan was at a loss as to how stop it.
Harder still. The wait. Every second in his morph, every minute in the cockpit of the Max Solarzord, just a blink of his eyes and it could be curtains. The icy creep up his back is okay. The maddening questions of now? When? Soon? are not.
He burned like the fires he was paid to thwart. Ryan winces, feeling Carter's fingertips brush over the cobra. It hurts because the snake is angered; it feels good because Carter is warm. Shirtless, on his stomach in the hospital-issue bed, Carter isn't Dad or Dana and that feels good. He's worried but not patronizing.
Carter traces the area from the cobra's fangs to Ryan's neck and comes to the grim conclusion. Once more and that's it. A quick brush, and nothing. But his hand lingers above Ryan's skin and it's almost as maddening, the wait for Carter's touch is almost as maddening as the wait for the cobra's killing blow.
One of the lesser alarms; fire in a residential area. Ryan gets his short-term wish. Carter's hand comes down, firm, reassuring, squeezing his shoulder. Close to his neck Ryan feels rather than hears the words, "You'll beat it." Carter's voice is strong and confident.
And it is not fear that makes Ryan's knees weak.
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