Archive of Our Own ^beta

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The sun heated leather of the car seat feels uncomfortably sticky against his skin. He's been sweating like a hog despite the cool spring breeze filtering through the open window, sweat trickles down his forehead, it's probably the handy old sweater or his frayed nerves getting to him. He resolutely avoids acknowledging their destination, fixating instead on the passing scenery. The scenery shifts endlessly beyond the car window, His eyes fixated on the clouds, the sky, sporty cunts on their bikes or literally anything else besides his dick of a sister.

Theon can feel her eyes slide from the road and bore holes into the back of his head ever so often. He almost snaps and tells her to keep her eyes on the damm road. But he doesn't. Stubbornly refusing to look or speak to her like some petulant child. She sighs and she sounds so bone-deep dead tired Theon almost feels guilty. 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵. Maybe he'd feel worse if she hadn't teamed up with Jeyne fucking Poole to strong-arm him into seeing a shrink.

"Come on Theon, do at least one session. What could it hurt?" Her voice is surprisingly gentle for who Asha is as a person. Theon could think of a Billion reasons why this is an awful idea. Ranging from 'it's a waste of time and money' all the way to 'pleasepleaseplease don't make me talk about it don't make me relive it I just want to forget'. He doesn't say anything cause half of his reasons don't make any sense and would be easily rebuked knowing Asha and the other half makes him sound downright pathetic. Theon, stubborn and prideful, refuses to give her the satisfaction of an answer.

Asha's frustration eventually boils over, as it always does. But to her credit, she waited for a good 4 full minutes for a response. her voice laced with exhaustion as she breaks the taunt silence " Are ye gonna say anything?". Asha's voice rises slightly, tinged with a hint of frustration and resolve. "You told Jeyne you would go, Theon. You made a promise. Don't break it." And of course, she'd play the trump card. Jeyne Fucking Poole. She's been using Jeyne Poole as some kind of finishing move in arguments for the past month or so, till it culminated in the conversation which brought both of them here. The flashback of that disaster of an interaction bounces around in his mind. Theon still can't believe how they cornered him like that when he was sleep deprived and not thinking straight, making him agree to stupid shit like this knowing he'd give in.

Theon is suddenly distinctly aware that if he keeps playing mute she might really snap and yank on his greasy overgrown hair or kick him out of the still-moving vehicle. He wouldn't put it past the crazy bitch. He takes a moment to decide on a mild and bland porridge response, wouldn't want her to forget how much he isn't into this and even the looming threat of being launched out of the car wouldn't make him pretend to sound happy about the messed up situation. He decides to go with a "...yeah whatever." It conveys his lack of enthusiasm without embarrassing him perfectly after he sees her shoot him a look through the mirror. Theon's surrender is met with a fleeting glance of triumph from Asha in the rearview mirror, a small victory in their ongoing battle for his well-being. The absurdity of that still kind of baffles him. The Asha who used to pick on him for everything under the sun, who poured lemonade on his bed and spread around that he pissed himself to anyone that would listen, now verbally wrestling him about his well-being of all things. Yeah sure, she might be the most likely in the Greyjoy family to ...care for a lack of better word, but even then the whole thing is very out of character. Most of their interactions consisted of getting trashed at a pub and getting the occasional pat on the back which was her way of saying "I see you, theon". But ever since the whole...incident it's like she thinks he'll shatter from bumping his knee on the coffee table. She's still rough, but every now and again she'll do something too... coddling for Theon's tastes.

This whole thing is frankly ridiculous. Theon has always been a fucked up, broken snail shell of a person. and he's managed to hobble through life for 27 long, arduous years without any intervention or 'care'. Sure, there's been people who've tried. A fling or situationship here or there, deciding that they have what it takes to fix Theon Greyjoy of all people. And even the most persistent, self-righteous ones eventually give up. They become bitter. Tell him he's 'beyond help' or 'seriously fucked up'. Like he didn't warn them In the fucking beginning about who he is. Even Robb. Robb Stark who he thought would be with him forever and ever. Although somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it wouldn't last. Nothing ever truly lasts for Theon Greyjoy. Didn't make it sting any less though. Even thinking about it now, Theon feels the vaguest dull stab in his chest. That one far away buried memory resurfaces for a moment and all he can see is Robb's eyes filled with fury in a way he's never seen before, at least not directed at him. He shakes the memory away.

Anyway, the point being, he's been fine for the past life time, and even 𝘩𝘦 can't ruin him thoroughly enough for him to bare his soul to some stranger while knowing they're not only judging him in the moment while wearing that mask of patience and understanding that isn't half as good as they think but with their coworkers, and their family all in the hopes they somehow manage 𝘧𝘪𝘹 him. He fucking refuses to become some anecdote to be used at the dinner table decked with meatloaf of some well-off asshole shrink. He can already hear the whole fucking thing in his head. the condescending tone of an imaginary voice recounting, "𝘰𝘩 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱-𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦..." supposed confidentiality be damned. And no amount of sleepless nights, lack of appetite, mild panic attacks when he sees someone with pale grey eyes, or he sees a reddish pink truck, or any small thing really could make him see a so-called professional. Well, not willingly at least.

Theon picks absentmindedly at the skin around his remaining fingers while they drive by a pedestrian crossing sign bedazzled by a spray-painted dick.
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The building is difficult to find. tucked away between streets and other offices. We take a path that leads through a green area and we pass through a run-down gate till we reach it. The building itself looks a lot more pristine than the surrounding area. Its tall glass doors have a small block of text and a childish teddy bear icon imprinted on them. We do a fair bit of traveling through hallways, asking random secretaries for directions and a grey and narrow elevator before reaching floor 4b. the small waiting room has tawny chairs spaced away from each other and mundane cream-colored walls. there are a couple of paintings with vivid jamlike colors that blur together. Theon fingers twitch a little inside his pockets once he notices the one person in the waiting room. She's a middle-aged woman, worry lines etched into her blank face. She's dressed elegantly, with gloved hands and a pin-straight back. Her black hair is in a perfect chignon bun. She's clutching a sage Kelly bag but that's the only sign of her not being a wax statue. Her gaze is empty. A void where signs of her soul should be. He turns away.

We take a seat closer to the door than the opposing miniature window and sit in the stagnant air of the waiting room until a lady wearing a polite but unwelcoming smile comes to get us. She brings us to a small office at the end of the floor and has a small chat with Asha, their voices blur and mesh together in a small part of Theon's head. It's unassuming, a small plaque next to the door describes the use of the office, and a small crooked frog sticker hides the name on it. There is no keyhole. Asha gives him a deep and strange look before speaking. "I'll be right by the door. these rooms probably have some kinda soundproofing so, either scream loud enough or make a run for it." She shuffles a few paces away after nudging him a little. a sigh escapes Theon's nose before he pushes the copper lever down and enters the dreaded office.

Theon steps through and the door silently closes behind him. He looks around for a bit. Its spacious, a small open window is visible behind a pair of sheer curtains. a green rug in the center with three armchairs set up in a wide triangle. a small desk and laptop, office-like setup is tucked away in the corner of the room. a man in a dress shirt green sweater combo has his back turned in the swivel chair facing the office setup. He swivel turns and Theon sees his face.

It's certainly different. But it's definitely him. Robb's face is staring back at him. He looks older in a more mature kind of way, happier since he's last laid eyes on him. He stiffens and doesn't move. Doesn't make a single sound. Robb doesn't react at all besides the most minuscule twitch. His face gives the illusion of openness. an easy soft smile on his face. Theon's tongue might be fused to the roof of his mouth with the way he thinks he might just die or vomit if he tried to speak. Robb's lips part and Theon feels the sudden itch crawl up his spine telling him to flee. to run far far away and tell Asha and Jeyne Pool that 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵. Or scream as loud as his lungs can manage until Asha busts down the door and drags him out of this stupid building, the gate and back to the car, back to the apartment- "Hello! you must be..." He takes a quick look at the folder in his hands, "Theon! It's nice to meet you. My name is Robb Stark, your brand-new psychologist! You can call me Robb or Stark if you'd like, whatever you're most comfortable with." Theon almost feels like he was mistaken. Like this is simply a lookalike, with the same name, the same face, the same deep green eyes, and fiery red hair. And it's not like Robb is reacting to who he is. And maybe Robb doesn't care anymore. Not in the sense of some form of forgiveness, a 'let us start over, a clean fresh start' but more in the way where Theon has been fully erased. All those years of worming his way in every edge, nook, and crack of Robb's being has been scrubbed completely clean over the course of the years apart.

He can play along. He always knew that eventually, things would end between him and Robb. Maybe not in the explosive way that it did, but still. Nothing ever lasts for Theon. Every state, person, and feeling is fleeting, no matter how eternal or permanent it feels. And as much as he wished that he could've sewed Robb to his skin, or absorbed him into his very being it simply wasn't possible. It's not the first time he's come face to face with a ghost of a past time, so he'll be fine. He doesn't matter to Robb, clearly. So Robb doesn't matter to him. He feels a little irked at the lack of reaction though. And that bitterness solidifies the decision that he won't run away, or flee. He won't, no matter how out of character that might be for him. His hands clench and shake in his pocket.

He takes a seat in one of the armchairs as Robb takes a seat in the opposing one.

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Chapter Text

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The session could've gone a lot worse, all things considered. Theon dragged his feet as he walked through the doors of a tiny night store. It has a neon sign and a black cat poster by the door and it's managed by an elderly fellow named Ben Beesbury. It was unclear whether he was blind or not, -𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘶𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘴𝘬, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘢 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘦𝘵- but plenty of people called him Blind Ben.

Briskly walking in the aisles while keeping an eye on anyone in the store -𝘯𝘰𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺- and the entrance while picking up chips and a tub of salted caramel ice cream Theon dissected the session. He's glad that the store is entirely deserted, he doubts he could handle being in someone else's presence right now. picking at the skin surrounding his thumbnail, it's a giant mess of flaky half ripped and slightly burned tissue by now as he looks at the bottles of Absolut while gnawing on his lips.

He replays every single sentence Robb uttered trying to decipher any hidden meaning. A subtle message, a code of how Robb feels, and what he's thinking. But there's nothing. Nothing except for the slight pause when their eyes first met.

The session felt more like a casual interview than anything else. But occasionally he felt his throat close up and his eyes turn glassy when he kept eye contact and he'd have to turn his eyes away from Robb. to the floor, to the fidget toys on the table, anywhere else really. He really hoped Robb hadn't noticed. He'd spent most of his time doing his absolute best not thinking about anything that happened in the before.

A few times he had slightly spaced out. Robb had asked a question -𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵'𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦- and waited a couple of seconds before breaking the sudden silence. "Would you like a glass of water Mr. Greyjoy?" the voice breaking him out of his trance as he swallowed. Theon had picked at the skin of his hands inside the large pockets and said "No.. uh thank you." it had come out wrong and squeaky. Theon almost cringed at how out of use his voice sounded and curled slightly inward.

If Robb noticed his discomfort or inner turmoil, he showed no sign of it. Smiling pleasantly and writing things down without looking away all too frequently.

The Before is everything before he woke up in that stiff and antiseptic-smelling hospital bed with Asha squeezing one of his arms. And having something so vivid, something of the past in the flesh before him, made him want to either curl up under the table or bolt right out of the office.

Over time, and with the professional air Robb held it was surprisingly easy to pretend not to know him. He tried telling himself that maybe Robb didn't recognize him, he'd changed rather drastically appearance-wise since the last time they saw each other. But he knew that Robb knew exactly who he was. He had his name, his date of birth, in that dumb beige folder of his. He most definitely knew. A small pit of bitterness that sat heavily at the bottom of his stomach and the pigheaded stubbornness that was only recently making a comeback were keeping him glued firmly to his armchair.

The whole thing itself was skin-deep at best. Theon was worried over nothing. Robb asked about his hobbies, his sister, his interests, how he's been sleeping and eating, and if there were any expectations or goals he had for this therapy - 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 -, While occasionally jotting some things down on a notepad attached to a grey clipboard. Like anything about theon has changed since they last spoke, like he didn't know the answer to every single question he asked.

His fingers twitched with the impulse to snatch it out of Robb's hand to see what he was writing, to get the good-natured laugh out of Robb that spilled out of him whenever he did something dumb or impulsive or rude.

"𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘦"

But he knew that all he would be met with is an uncomfortable silence. Perhaps a "Would you mind handing me my notepad back Mr. Greyjoy?" -𝘔𝘳. 𝘎𝘳𝘦𝘺𝘫𝘰𝘺?- in that uncomfortably soft and pacifying tone. (𝘙𝘰𝘣𝘣 𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 '𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘰𝘯' 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵) so instead he sat in silence and occasionally made some noise to show he was listening while Robb told him about what exactly it was that he did and what his job entailed. And after explaining what precisely therapist confidentiality extended to, a date for their next appointment was set.

Theon had walked out of that strangely spacious office with his hands still lightly shaking in his pockets. Asha didn't say anything except study his face for a while and eventually told him they'd stop by the night store to pick up some of that ice cream he likes. He felt a small spark of anger in his chest at being treated like a child, getting a lollipop after a doctor's appointment. But he did really like salted caramel, and he felt too lightheaded to shout about it.

He can imagine how pale and shaken up he must've looked. He should be glad that Asha didn't immediately start interrogating him. The full situation hit him in full force while descending the stairs of the clinic. His legs shook a little and he started feeling more and more lightheaded. His breathing was a little uneven. Another appointment? A therapy session. that he won't be able to get out of if the glint in Asha's eyes is anything to go by. That will probably be a whole lot less skin-deep than this one. With his therapist who also happens to be Robb Stark.

𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘙𝘰𝘣𝘣.

He gripped the handrail as he tried to appease himself. Wouldn't do any good to have a meltdown on a flight of stairs that isn't inside the comfort of the apartment. He supposes he could simply refuse to expand or delve deep into anything. I mean, how many so-called patients (𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴? 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘴? 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘴?) actually spill their guts by the second appointment? he might be able to stretch it out a little to show that he tried before calling the whole thing off. and then he could finally get back to wasting away in Asha's apartment.

With a plan of action in mind, he felt a little calmer, less like he was about to keel over and crack his head open at the bottom of a flight of stairs. though deep down he knew it probably wasn't going to be that simple. Theon has never been particularly lucky. In anything really.

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Asha had driven them back to the apartment to drop off the groceries but also chased him out to go take a walk "at least for 20 minutes Theon, stretch your legs a little" she'd said before shoving him outside wrapped in a fluffy black parka despite it not being all that cold.

he'd been rather snappy and irritable and apparently in Asha's mind, walking around could help with that. -𝘖𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘮-. This is why Theon is currently speed walking and avoiding getting close to people while he does a few rounds around different blocks. He knows that when he gets back Asha will check his step count, otherwise, he would be smoking on a park bench right about now.

Kicking a few loose pebbles on the sidewalk as he does, and keeping a vigilant (𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘪𝘥) eye out for... well anything or anyone suspicious really. Perhaps staring at a few pale-eyed men a little too intensely judging from the uncomfortable and confused expressions. And giving a wide berth to anyone walking around him. 15 minutes in and he hears a strangely familiar voice behind him, it's been a while since he's heard it. accompanied by a second, even more, familiar voice. The moment he recognizes it he breaks out in a cold sweat. He wants to run. To hide.

And this time he does.

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