Hey all! Sorry for my prolonged absence from fanfiction - this fandom especially. School's been catching up with me lately. :P Anyways, this is the follow-up to 'Scarred' and 'Different.' This is basically a oneshot about the nightmares Will is described having in both stories.

Please read the A/N at the bottom; it is extremely important.

Will sighed to himself as he burrowed deep under his covers.

He didn't know how he had expected that everything would instantaneously go back to normal after he returned from Skandia. It was a miracle that he had returned home at all, really. But somewhere along the line, he had managed to make himself believe that upon their return, it would be just as if Skandia had never happened.

He was wrong.

He had never escaped. The nightmares followed him wherever he went, haunting him, reminding him of his past, his present, his future as a slave. The mark on his shoulder seemed to burn painfully on occasion, taunting him. He had long ago locked his emotions away, deciding that it was better to remain unfeeling—but now he felt as though he were trying to break out of a prison that he himself had created; that had once protected him from harm, and now only kept him from those he loved. He was imprisoned within a cage of his own timidity, trying desperately to free himself.

The nightmares, he thought, were probably the worst. He was no stranger to physical pain, having endured it so often recently. He knew that his 'fight or flight' instincts would go away with time and care, and that he would eventually be back to his usual mischievous, cheerful self.

But the nightmares…

Will shivered involuntarily. His memories would never leave him.

He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, so that if someone were to glance into the room (as Halt often did) he would appear to be sleeping. Not that he was, of course.

Despite himself, he felt his eyelids beginning to grow heavier. He'd had a long day, after all, and the only thing he had to keep him from falling asleep was his fear of doing so. The sound of voices downstairs slowly faded as he drifted into unconsciousness.

Will sighed to himself. He swished the last of the dishes around in the cold seawater and stood, stretching the cramped muscles in his back. It had been a long day, and he'd gone through the whole thing with a throbbing headache from Erak's fist the night before. He sighed again, wondering whether things would have been different if they had been able to get away from the bridge before... All this happened. Not that this was the first time his thoughts had wandered in this direction. And he already knew the answer.

He gathered up the sack of dinnerware and headed for the sorry-looking group of huts in the center of the island. He knew from experience that if one remained at the water's edge for too long, the quiet that inevitably followed a rowdy meal would settle so thickly in the air that it seemed like fog. Already, he could feel its depressing fingers reaching towards him—the voices coming from the main hut were already fading, and the only sound was soon the clanking of the dished as he hauled them across the island.

Will frowned, stopping suddenly. Something was out of place. He thought for a moment, worrying away at his lip as he pondered the feeling. Then he shook it off. Ever since their capture, Will's senses had been heightened to the point where every little sound set him on edge. And, after all, one couldn't afford to relax in a world where you were constantly surrounded by enemies. But this wasn't worth worrying about.

Will craned his neck, looking up at the rapidly darkening night sky. He estimated that it was roughly eight o'clock. "Should be getting back," he muttered. And with that he started off once more.

The walk was lonely. The moon was obscured by clouds, and as the night grew darker, Will found himself having to take increasingly long amounts of time picking his footing on the rocky landscape. He leaned down, trying to determine whether or not to step on the rock before him, when a strong hand reached out and grabbed his wrist.

Will's first instinct was to cry out, but a hand that smelled of grease and sweat and stale drink was immediately clamped over his mouth. He twisted from side to side, mentally cursing his inattention, and was instantly rewarded with a hard kick to the shins.

"No funny business," a voice growled. Will froze. Slagor.

Slagor grabbed the sack of dishes and set it quietly on the ground, taking great care to make sure that the tin didn't rattle. He took his hand off of Will's mouth and began rummaging in his pocket. Will opened his mouth, when Slagor cut him off.

"You say one word, boy, and I'm gonna whip your skin right off your back." Will stiffened, knowing that he would carry out the threat, regardless of what Erak said. "Not that I won't anyway," Will heard Slagor mutter. Will felt a shiver of fear run up his spine as he realized that he had truly made a dangerous enemy last night, and that not even Erak could protect him now. And he was positive that he didn't want to be up against Slagor on his own.

Slagor pulled out a rough cloth and wrapped it around Will's head so that it covered his eyes. Will winced as Slagor tied the knot—the tightness sent waves of aching pain through his eyes. He raised his eyebrows and the blindfold slipped down a little, lessening the pain slightly.

Slagor grabbed Will's shoulders and spun him around. The action took Will by surprise, and he could feel dizziness overtaking him as he was spun in circles.

Slagor suddenly grabbed one of his arms and dragged him off. Will immediately saw that his plan had been successful—he couldn't tell which way they were going. He was, however, confident that they weren't heading towards the safety of the huts.

"Faster," Slagor said under his breath, apparently having seen something that Will hadn't. When Will didn't respond, Slagor shoved him onto the hard ground. Will bit his lip as he fell hard onto a sharp rock. Slagor hauled him onto his feet and pulled him away. Will felt warm blood sliding down from a long cut on his leg.

They walked for what seemed like forever. Will limped along as quickly as he could behind Slagor, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his leg. Somehow, he doubted that Slagor would be merciful if he collapsed on the spot.

Finally, they reached their destination. Will heard Slagor mumble something. Then he shoved Will forwards. Expecting to fall, Will was surprised when a strong hand grabbed his arm and jerked him up. Someone loosened his blindfold, and it fell to the ground. Will found himself looking up into the grinning eyes of one of Slagor's crewmen. He looked behind him, trying to get a glimpse of the huts to get his bearings, but they were concealed behind a large, rocky outcrop, and his sense of direction had been totally destroyed by Slagor.

Another one of Slagor's crew grabbed his other wrist and held his arm away from his body. The other guard did the same. Will found himself helpless, his arms held outstretched, before a man who did quite possibly want him dead.

Will swallowed.

"Down," Slagor said in a silky voice, and Will was jerked to his knees as his captors pulled him to the ground. He struggled, desperately trying to get away, but the Skandians had viselike grips. Slagor smacked him on the back of his head. "Be still," he said. Will stopped struggling.

Slagor was pacing.

"You don't want me as an enemy, you know," he said softly, so that Will had to strain to hear him. He laughed softly. "Though I suppose it's already a bit too late for that." He began to walk in a circle around Will.

"I should have known… I should have foreseen it. Everyone says that you Rangers have a strange union with the bow… And the saxe." He slid his own similar knife threateningly from its scabbard. Will recognized too well the hissing sound of metal on fleece and shuddered. "I did not, however, know about your… Mystic union… With cutlery." He laughed mockingly. His men joined in.

"Still, I suppose that when one is completely helpless, anything will do."

Will grimaced. He knew that the Skandian was baiting him, trying to make him angry. He was determined not to let him have any sort of satisfaction.

"Of course, there's no Jarl to protect you now…"

With a swiftness that contradicted his size, the man sprang at Will with the knife. It missed the place at which it had been aimed—right between his eyes, Will realized with sick irony. Instead of taking his life, it merely opened a gash on the right side of his face. Will could feel the blood flowing down it, could feel the terrible pain. He gasped and felt blood run into his mouth. Tasting metal, he spat it out. Slagor laughed at him.

"Not so brave now, are you?" he asked softly. Will glared at him. The Skandian was tempted to back away at the hatred in those normally bright brown eyes, but realized that this would be a mistake. Instead, he attempted to reassert his own dominance in the situation by stepping even closer to the helpless apprentice. Will twisted his arms, knowing that his chance of surviving the encounter was slim. Slagor drove his booted foot hard into Will's ribs, making him cry out at the unexpected, flaring pain.

"I said, be still!" he barked.

Will sagged to one side, his breathing short and shallow. Each breath was painful. He suspected that at least one of his ribs was broken.

With difficulty, he pulled himself upright. Slagor glanced down at him and attempted to raise an eyebrow. Will thought wistfully of the days back in Redmont, where he all too often found himself lying on the ground with Halt above him, raising one eyebrow. Yet though the expression was almost always snarky, or disbelieving at best, his eyes unfailingly held a small twinkle of amusement. Here, Slagor's held nothing of the kind.

He kicked out at Will again, this time aiming for his head. With some difficulty, Will ducked. He felt Slagor's leg whistle over his head and winced.

Slagor stood back and eyed Will with quite a bit of interest. He was completely helpless. He was injured. And yet, he was still fighting. As the thought crossed his mind, Will picked up his head and glared at him, complete defiance in his eyes. And Slagor snapped.

He stepped closer to Will, slowly and menacingly. "You will come to regret that." Will felt his blood run cold. And then the longest night in his life began.

Slagor was not like most enemies. Most enemies would have been overcome with rage and knocked their victims unconscious within the first few blows. Slagor, unfortunately, was both cleverer and crueler. His blows were varied, never in the same place, never from the same direction. Will was eventually forced to stop trying to evade them.

He winced as Slagor's foot slammed into his leg. Waves of pain flared through the injured limb. Slagor stepped back as he always did between blows, allowing Will time to feel the maximum amount of pain. Then, just as the pain began to dull, another one was already on its way.

He cried out in pain as another of Slagor's powerful punches found its mark, this time falling once again on his injured ribs. The corners of Slagor's mouth twisted upwards in a sadistic sort of smile. He drove his fist forwards once again. Will twisted his head just in time, and it slammed into the side of his head rather than into his face. The impact set his ears ringing, and he had the feeling that if he opened his tightly closed eyes, he would see stars.

"We're going to have to do something about that," Slagor mused to himself. Will difficultly pulled himself out of his pain-induced stupor and forced himself to listen. "Erak or his crew might hear it."

It took Will a moment to grasp the significance of the sentence. He barely even noticed the use of the word it; he was now so used to being treated as an object by the members of Slagor's crew that he hardly noticed it. But the sentence itself…

He felt Slagor pull a rough cloth—his former blindfold—over his mouth, forming a gag. He didn't even bother fighting—what was the use? He thought dully. He was clearly going to die anyway.

From then on, things became one big blur in Will's mind. Blows rained down on him from all directions. He opened his mouth multiple times to cry out, but no sound came out. Eventually, he hung limply in the arms of his captors, unable to do anything but await the next blow.

Later on, he remembered one moment in particular where Slagor, overcome with rage, unsheathed his dreaded knife once more and made a long, painful gash down his inner forearm, next to the vein. Will could feel the point of the saxe digging into his skin, moving slowly up his arm. The knife slipped, and as Will attempted to cry out, he began to wonder whether or not Slagor was drunk.

Faintly, he thought he saw his master's face. Those familiar dark brown eyes were filled with worry, much like they had been after the Kalkara attack. Then the image was gone, and all that Will could see was pain—which was silly, he reasoned; one couldn't see pain. But it was there, and so he had seen it, and felt it.

Dimly, as if hearing it through a long tunnel, he thought he heard his mentor's concerned voice. "Will!"

Will became aware that he was going to fall into unconsciousness. He didn't quite know how he knew, only that he was certain.

"Will!" It was Halt's voice again, only it was louder, and more frantic. "Wake up—WILL!"

That's odd, Will thought. How did Halt get here, and why isn't he helping?

Slagor grabbed for the knife once more and Will opened his mouth to attempt to scream—

~~He sat up suddenly, shaking and covered in cold sweat. "H—Halt?" he said fearfully, as if worried that his master would disappear. Halt nodded. Will sat still for a moment getting his bearings. His chest was heaving. He was trembling uncontrollably. And he was terrified.

Without warning, he threw himself into Halt's arms. Halt tensed at the unexpected contact, then relaxed as he soothed his apprentice.

"It's alright, it's over now, you're safe," Halt murmured comfortingly. Will buried his face in Halt's cloak. Halt was surprised to feel the boy's shoulders heaving with great, wracking sobs of relief. He patted Will's shoulder awkwardly, unused to dealing with this sort of thing.

Gilan slipped quietly out of the room. He bumped into the figure in the doorway on his way out. Before he could even start in surprise, Crowley grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the room, leaving master and apprentice together for some much-needed time alone.~~

—Continued in Scarred—

EXTREMELY IMPORTANT A/N:

I would like to thank everyone out there who has reviewed and favorited these stories. I put a lot of hard work into this little trio, and I must say, I was delighted with the response from you guys. Thank you all so much!

I would also like to say that, as far as I know, this is the LAST installment in my little angsty mini-series. If you have any other ideas or missing moments pertaining to this topic that you would like me to write, please drop me a review or a PM. I love writing these things, and will be glad to hear any of ideas you guys have.

Again, thanks for being so dang awesome everyone!

-Phinneas McCheeser-