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dontlookforme00 · 7 months

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Morrotober, Oct 3. Dream / Sleep. "Let me close my eyes."

[TW for insomnia, and a description of a panic attack, and loss.]

Morro was exhausted.

It was no surprise, it was nothing new. Morro could no longer remember a day he hadn't been exhausted, it was simply all he knew.

But such is the nature of exhaustion to be painfully aware of it, to have its ball and chain biting at your ankle, to have it linger just behind your eyes. Constant.

There was nothing to be done. Morro avoided thinking about it, because it wouldn't do him any good. Ghosts couldn't sleep, and that was that. This was the price he paid for being a part of the Pre-eminents plan, and though he knew it was worth it, he still cried inside for a reprieve. He cried out for a chance to relax his unfeeling body.

But it wasn't possible to relax a muscle if it was never really tensed. He couldn't escape it.

On and on the days had led, the months, the years. Moments in the Cursed Realm were never boring, something was always happening. Morro wondered how much longer he could go on. Surely, forever. His body was incapable of collapse, and some part of him hated that.

Though, every time he remembered why he was doing this, every time he heard the voice of the Pre-eminent and every time he felt her presence, he was invigorated. He would grin wildly and freely.

The apprehension and responsibility of his role was nothing short of his lifeblood.

It made him forget the spinning of exhaustion, and instead gave him purpose.

Sometimes, she'd go days without talking to him, without talking to any of the generals. Morro couldn't help but wonder what was so important as he found ways to fill his time. He'd train, he'd fight, he'd give orders and he'd sit and watch from the darkness. None of these ghosts were warriors yet, not like him. They were ordinary scum, who'd done things horrible enough in their lifetimes to end up here.

They were pathetic, and useless.

It was no wonder the Pre-eminent had chosen him. She was the only destiny that mattered now, anyways. Bigger plans than him were in motion.

And yet, she still left him in silence for weeks on end. The exhaustion would creep back up, forcing its way into the cracks of his being, blurring the edges of his vision. Planting aching into his bones. And he'd find himself sitting on the edge of his prison, trying so hard to not think about the way he couldn't feel his breaths, nor the hands he dug into his scalp, nor the way closing his eyes did nothing to dim the light.

He'd find himself remembering times from his life–in flashing memories, like on the reflection of a river– times like when Wu would tuck him into bed and he'd fall asleep slowly and carefully. With the weight of the blanket keeping him safe.

If only he'd cherished those days more, if only he'd known how much harder things would get.

Morro was driving himself insane.

He kept trying to imagine he was that child again, on the bed, so sure and so confident, and so readily falling asleep. But no matter how hard he pretended, the Cursed Realm had tainted his mind.

Closing his eyes did nothing. He could still see the murky green of the floor he sat on, wisps of grey trailing past his feet. He tensed harder, curling in on himself and clenching his jaw. Morro pressed his palms against his eyes to no avail.

It wasn't fair! He wanted nothing more truly than to be able to close his fucking eyes! Why couldn't the Pre-eminent grant him this one wish? Was he so unworthy? When would this hell pay off?

When would he be free-? He shoved the thought away as soon as it spoke, but its message lingered. He reminded himself that as long as he served his Mistress, he was freer than he had ever been with Wu. That, he knew.

Although, he could admit to himself that he would sell his soul a second time just to be able to experience the unchallenged calm of slumber.

Was he shaking? Was that possible?

He couldn't panic. He wouldn't panic. He wouldn't think of the fact that he had no way of knowing how much longer he'd have to live like this. Wouldn't think about the fact that he could be stuck in here for decades more–

He was definitely shaking. He tightened his grip on the roots of his hair, now having curled in on himself completely. Nobody could see his face, and it was a damn good thing. Because he was sure that he looked as insane as he felt.

"Let me close my eyes." The growl came out high-pitched, pained, yet desolate nonetheless. He didn't know why he let it escape. He didn't know who he was begging to. It wasn't like anybody could hear him.

Morro grit his teeth and swore, trying to gather himself back. But he couldn't seem to untangle his arms, couldn't seem to untense his tremoring limbs. He was falling apart. "Please." He whined. "Let me close my eyes. Let me close my eyes. Let me close my eyes, oh my fucking-.." The tearless sobs became more erratic as he truly comprehended that there was noone there to listen. Nor care.

Morro could still hear the endless cacophony of screeching in the cages, and he couldn't help but think that despite all his power, he was just as imprisoned as the ones in chains.

"Morro?" A haunting voice, rasped by screams. It was Bansha.

Morro jumped, falling back. He sprung back and covered his face with his hands before he could even look at her. He tried to muffle his panting.

Their silence was taut in the air.

Fuck. Bansha? Of all people? The only fucking one with enough authority to snitch on him? To really make this all for nothing?

All Morro could do was pray that the jealous bitch had enough self decency to pretend she'd never seen anything. His hands were still trembling, like a child, like a fucking child. And he could still see the ghostly green of Banshas presence reflecting off the ground, even if he wasn't facing her.

He knew he was supposed to say something. He knew he was the loud one, the cocky general, the ecstatic child, the threat. He was the arrogant one. He was supposed to talk.

But his tongue failed him, for once in his life. At the very worst time.

Even though she still stood there, he could feel the panic wash over him yet again, the lack of sleep, the hopelessness, the unsettling sense of being caged. He needed to leave this conversation, before something horrible happened.

Morro shifted so that his line of vision peeked through the fallen strands of his hair, he saw Bansha.

She was, as usual, almost entirely unreadable. The mask, and hood, and all the tattered robes that she'd been Cursed with served her well here. Her spectral eyes glinted as she narrowed them, slowly looking over Morro. Morro prepared to leap up and shove past her, but then she spoke again, in that same, crackling voice. "Are you…"

He tensed as a thousand possible endings to that sentence ran through his head. Are you crying? Are you really so weak? Are you really so pathetic?

"...okay?"

Morro felt himself freeze. He sat there for a good few seconds. Then, he looked up at her, not caring to swipe the hair out of his eyes.

They looked at eachother, and he still couldn't read her. He knew she was probably tricking him, but the initial shock was still affecting him.

Something in the air began to shift, he could've sworn that he could feel as he shrunk in his clothes, became nothing but a weeping little boy on the side of a street. As some impossibly tall, unimaginably wise adult stood over him.

He didn't like it.

Morro shot to his feet, shoving his face up to hers, forcing her to take a few paces back, as he stole them off her. "What did you just say to me?" He challenged, desperate to destroy this power imbalance that he'd imagined himself.

Her eyes didn't change, simply cautiously searched his. "Morro, please."

He was still shaking. He was still tired. Snapping at her didn't take the bite off his creeping, seeping, sickly fatigue.

Bansha must've watched the exhaustion creep back into the depths of his eyes, as he fought to keep up his violent facade. Slowly, he stood down. Her face did not change once.

Morro turned away, not daring to give away any more than he needed to. "Morro.." her wailing voice was low, like the scratching of a cat at a door. There was something familiar about it. Morro didn't know why she wasn't ridiculing him.

"I know we're not friends. I know we never will be. But I can promise you that we'll both make it out of here."

Morro was still.

He didn't understand. He wiped away some imagined itch on his face, eyes darting back and forth between Bansha and the ground.

Was she… speaking badly against the Pre-eminent? More importantly, was she trying to comfort him? Bansha? He was so aware of how his breaths passed through him. He was still shaking. He was still not asleep. But maybe… maybe she was right.

If she believed they could get out of here, maybe it was true. An opinion outside of his warped, delusional perception seemed endlessly more plausible.

Morro watched the mist hiss past him, faint wailings of agony echoed through the walls.

And he nodded. He didn't look, but he knew Bansha saw.

Even if he didn't believe it, maybe he could just cling on. Cling on to the promise that he wouldn't be condemned here forever. Maybe, deep down, he needed that reason to keep going.

Morro looked up at Bansha, feeling strangely thankful that he couldn't cry anymore. He stared up at her, where she looked right back at him. And they both understood that they had to survive a little longer.

------○------

[Timeskip, to a revived morro au.]

Morro jolted awake, calming his breathing within seconds. He'd been dreaming, some sort of nightmare. Nothing he could recall.

He was sat on a sofa, the room in complete darkness apart from the stark, flashing lights of the television in front. Its rays seemed to bounce off every corner of the room, back and forth and back and forth. He could barely make out what was even going on.

Morro groaned, and lifted up a hand to block out the light from his eyes. That was when he realised that Lloyd was asleep, leaning his head on Morro.

Morro managed to suppress his instinct to throw the boy off, and instead made himself relax. He wouldn't be the one to wake Lloyd.

How the hell had anybody fallen asleep with this thing on, anyways? Morro grabbed a remote, carefully, and turned it off after mashing a few buttons. The darkness afterwards was so plain that it was relieving. Silence rang in his ears, but he didn't quite mind.

Morro leaned his head back against the sofa, trying to remember what nightmare had been so bad that it had woken him.

Lloyd's breathing was slow, and low. His warmth unsettled Morro.

That position couldn't be comfortable for Lloyd's neck. Morro found himself worrying– no, that was stupid– Morro found himself wondering. Wondering about whether or not Lloyd would appreciate a blanket.

Ah, fuck it. He grabbed one from the opposite side of the sofa, and draped it over Lloyd. Then stilled again.

…Bansha. She'd been there, in his dream. He was almost certain of it.

Morro didn't like to think of Bansha, for obvious reasons. She reminded him too much of far too many bad things, despite the fact that she might've been the only alright thing in the entire Cursed Realm. Sometimes.

He couldn't help himself. Morro found himself thinking back to any times they'd talked. He'd been forgetting things like that recently, and he wanted to preserve her memory. Because despite all that she did, she was the only one who comforted him— wasn't she? Even though he definitely didn't deserve it at the time, the little shit that he'd been, she was the only one who saw past his exterior and cared.

Morro weeped internally for every day that his younger self had spent in that hell. He wished he could've gotten those days back, he wished he could've spent them growing up instead.

He remembered something she'd said, a long, long time ago. She'd promised that they'd both make it out alright, no matter what.

Morro stared into the dark of the room, his mind slow, and wandering. Reminiscent. Melancholy.

Well, look at him now. Falling asleep watching shows with the chosen one he'd sworn to destroy. In a normal living room, with normal furniture around them, warm air in his lungs.

And he knew he was safe here.

It was a bittersweet thought. After all that, her promise had come half true. He'd never really believed it.

Morro wished he knew what had happened to Bansha. He wished he could help her the way that the ninja has eventually saved him. He wished he could repay the favour. It seemed unfair that he was alright, and she was lost.

Maybe that debt would never be repaid. He'd probably never know. But maybe he owed his life now to her, and she'd never even know. That thought made him smile.

And so, comforted by the mere thought of what had been but a scrap of kindness in the dark, Morro closed his eyes.

He slept for every night that he had spent painfully awake, and for every night that those he left behind would miss.

#whoaaaa HEY I MAY BE 5 MINUTES OVERTIME BUT IDC.#ninjago #lego ninjago #morro ninjago #ninjago morro #morro #my writing #ninjago fanfic #ninjago fanfiction #morrotober #morrotober 2023 #oct 3 #NO I. DID NOT BETA READ THIS WE DIE LIKE MORRO !!!#also did anyone catch the short chonny jash reference cough

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