#anyway i got inspired reading patrick melrose and i've been super anxious the past couple days and this is a product of that

[aprettystrangeblog]

Grounding

A self-indulgent comfort fic.

Word Count: ~2150

Tags/Warnings: #panic attack, #anxiety, #intense kinda dissociation or whatever you wanna call this, #generally triggering themes

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He couldn’t see.

He couldn’t breathe.

And he couldn’t hear anything except a, a... a horrible wailing ringing in his ears and a voice and some far-off noise that vaguely sounded like terrified sobbing.

Was that him? Was he crying?

Somewhere in the nightmarish sea of black he registered that his face was streaming with tears, but his face didn’t feel like his own as he reached up to rub at his cheeks. Was his mouth producing that awful wailing sob? He wished it would stop. Why couldn’t he stop.

The room was swimming around him. There was nothing to hold onto, nothing to stop him from flying away into the void; the world was spinning too fast and everything was blurry and he desperately clung to the arms of the chair he was slumped on the floor next to. Let the world try to drag him away.

No, let me go. Let it end.

What was real? Am I real? I’m dying, no, I’m living, no-- I’m a star and I’m going to explode into trillions of specks of dust--

His heart was leaping out of his chest. Any second it was going to burst through his ribs and shatter his fragile body. Any second now his vision would fade away fully. Any second now this would be over. Any second now, any second. Let me die let me die let me DIE ALREADY--

“Tony…”

A voice reached through the sea.

“Tony!”

His vision swam before him, the floor beneath him still spinning. In a moment of absurdity, he noticed for the first time how very, very blue the carpets in this room were. Beautiful.

“Tony, you’re panicking. Tony, listen to me. Concentrate on my voice. This is just a panic attack, nothing more.”

Tony gasped, eyes seeing nothing, seeing everything, seeing horrors and memories and things no one should ever have to see or relive or live through at all--

“No.. n-n-no sh… sh-h-h-it…” he sobbed, gulping down a mouthful of salty tears and only managing to succeed in choking on them. How poetic, he managed to think to himself.

“Tony. I need you to concentrate on my voice, okay? It’s me. It’s just me, Stephen. Listen to my voice, okay?”

Stephen’s face swam into focus in front of him, and Tony met his eyes, suddenly mesmerized by the perfect oceanic color of them. He let himself drown in those eyes, allowed himself to be lost in that sea of compassion and worry. So much better than the black sea of panic. Aqua, aqua… Stephen.

“Good. Focus on me. There you go.”

Stephen’s voice was steady, calm. It tethered him to reality like a rope, light a ray of light cast from the heavens on a dying man.

“I’m... must, be dying,” Tony gasped, his entire body shaking. Maybe it wasn’t the room spinning after all.

“You’re not dying. You’re not in any danger. You’re here with me in the living room, and you’re safe.” Stephen’s voice washed over him like the clean sheets back on his bed he loved to snuggle down in. Keep talking, Stephen, hold me here, keep me real!

“Nothing is going to hurt you, Tony. You’re alright. This is just a panic attack. It will pass.”

“Scared-- world, end, my heart-- Stephen, saw you,” Sob. “Saw you, dying, and, me, I’m, I’m, mm-”

“Shhh,” Stephen murmured, and Tony’s eyelids fluttered, vaguely registering how Stephen was gripping his shoulders to steady him.

“Okay. Keep listening to my voice. We’re going to take some deep breaths now, alright? Stay with me Tony. Ready? Breathe in, slowly.”

Tony sucked in a breath and immediately choked on it, coughing furiously as tears flew everywhere. Stephen’s strong arms wrapped around his body, keeping him from falling forwards.

“It’s okay. Let’s try again. This time, breathe in through your nose. Slowly, on my count. One, two, three-- breathe in.”

Tony slowly breathed in, trembling, his forehead finding a spot on Stephen’s shoulder to rest.

“Good. Keep breathing in. Four, five, six, seven, eight. You’re doing great, Tony. Okay, hold in that breath for a moment.”

Tony held it. The room had ceased spinning, but his own shaking was making him dizzier by the second. His head swam as he nuzzled into Stephen’s neck, trying to steady himself, trying to hold on.

“Now breathe out through your mouth. One, two, three, four-- that’s it, let it out-- five, six, seven, eight.”

Tony let out the air he’d been holding, a massive tremor running through his body. Stephen’s hand was rubbing his back soothingly, and Tony imagined it was rubbing away the shaking, the tremors, the terror.

“Keep breathing in time with me, okay? That’s all you need to do right now. Hold onto me and breathe.”

Tony did as instructed. He could feel Stephen’s steady heartbeat through his shirt, pulsing along in time with his breaths. Keep breathing. Just breathe.

“Breathe in… breathe out.”

In, out.

“Focus on the air you take into your lungs.”

Said air was musty, but it was air, and it smelled like tea and Stephen and life. He wasn’t dying. He was living.

“Picture the air you’re breathing. Focus on it, down to the last molecule of oxygen. Concentrate on it as you take it in through your nose.”

Tony’s eyebrows knitted together, the stubborn part of his brain vaguely registering how ridiculous this was. But his heartbeat was slowing, and he was breathing, and he was going to be okay.

“That air’s traveling to your lungs now, off to be absorbed into your cells, to be carried to every corner of your body. To keep you living, to give you life and oxygen and hope.”

Tony kept breathing, kept listening. He was alive.

“Your body is incredibly, Tony. You’re a miracle of the stars and the universe! You’re a force of nature and a product of millions of years of chance and fate and luck. And here you are, breathing in the same air as me, sitting here in the living room, seeing, hearing, living. Breathe in, breathe out. In, out.”

Tony’s body shuttered again, and suddenly he felt very limp. He gulped back the last of the tears and slumped against Stephen, feeling relieved when he felt the pair of strong arms wrap around him again, holding him up.

“There you go, relax, it’s okay to go limp. Panic attacks are exhausting. Let yourself be still, sweetheart. Just breathe, and recover. I’m here. You’re safe. Nothing is going to hurt you. You’re in the present and everything’s alright now.”

Breathe. In, out. A wave of calm washed over him as Stephen rubbed his back again, one steady hand supporting his neck. Tony concentrated on the feeling of Stephen’s fingers, imagining them leaving trails of light and love and peace across his body. It was an oddly comforting picture, and he let out a small relieved whimper as his shoulders drooped.

Stephen’s lips pressed to the side of Tony’s head, gentle, loving. Stephen was holding him and he was here, he was safe. It was okay. A few moments passed, and finally the room was in focus again, and things felt real and solid.

“Do you think you can talk? Do you need a little while longer to calm down?” the sorcerer asked gently.

“I, I… can talk,” Tony croaked out in a whisper, throat aching from sobbing.

“Okay. You don’t have to respond to me, but keep listening to my voice, okay?”

Tony nodded, slumping tiredly into Stephen’s arms. It was almost too much effort to simply do that.

“Alright. I need you to open your eyes, if you have them closed. Give yourself a moment.” Stephen paused to adjust himself, helping Tony to sit up a little. “Now, look around. List off five things that you can see. Describe them, if you’d like. What’s around you?”

“You,” Tony breathed, and a ghost of a smile haunted his face as he could feel Stephen’s shoulders shake with a chuckle. “You… your, your robes. They’re a dusty shade of blue today. Your cloak is p-p-pooled around you on the floor.”

“Good. What else?”

“The… window. It’s afternoon. There’s sun streaming in through it. There’s a patch of light on the floor. It’s… beautiful.”

“Mhm, it sure is.”

“And there’s… you dropped your ring there, on the carpet, a few feet away. I never noticed how it sparkles in the sun. The engravings on it are… so detailed, I hadn’t paid enough attention to it before…”

“One more thing?”

“Uhh… the… the chair. I was sitting on it earlier. It’s that old leather one you read in at night. I curl up in it when I feel anxious, because it reminds me of you, and it smells like the books you drag in from the sanctum’s library.”

Stephen smiled softly, giving Tony a pat. “Good. Concentrate on your surroundings. You’re here. You’re real.” He took another breath in time with Tony’s. “When you’re ready, I want you to focus on sounds now. Tell me some things you can hear.”

Tony paused, gulping down another breath of air.

“The clock?” he mumbled. “The grandfather clock in the corner. It chimes on the hour. It’s behind right now. The ticks sound off.” He closed his eyes, searching instead with his other senses. “I can hear… I can hear us breathing in tandem. That’s, really comforting, when that happens. I can hear your heartbeat. It’s slower than mine, but mine’s, mine’s getting slower.”

“It is. That’s proof you’re calming down. You’re doing great, keep it up!”

Tony nodded, his eyes still closed. In, out.

“I can hear the breeze outside, and your papers on the table rustling. There’s a car horn outside, and someone in a couple rooms over is listening to music, right?”

Stephen chuckled again. “We’ll tell them to turn it down later.”

That earned a croaky laugh from the shorter man, and the sorcerer only hugged him tighter.

“Okay. What can you feel? What are you touching right now? Describe it.”

Tony rubbed his cheek against Stephen’s shoulder, frowning in concentration.

“Your robes. They’re worn out linen. A little rough, but still soft to the touch.” He reached out, brushing against the floor. “...the carpet. It’s the plush kind. Really soft. There’s always bits of torn up paper on it.”

“You do have a habit of tearing up things.” Another croaky chuckle from Tony. “Okay. Last thing. Can you tell me anything you smell? Taste?”

“Salt. There’s tears down my face,” Tony mumbled, reaching up to wipe them away. “Um… I can smell books on your robes, and dust, and amber and pine.” He lifted his head up, eyes bleary but clear. He searched for Stephen’s lips, finding them after a moment with his own, pressing their mouths together for just a moment.

“...and you taste like tea…” he whispered, pulling back just enough to talk again.

Stephen smiled, wrapping his arms underneath Tony. “Alright, alright. That’s enough, silly. Time enough later for kissing-- just rest now, okay? I’m going to help you up, we’ll go sit on the couch. You can have my mug of tea.”

Tony nodded wearily, holding his arms out to Stephen. The sorcerer helped him to stand on his feet, Tony’s legs wobbling dangerously beneath him; thankfully the couch was only a few steps away, and he eagerly slumped down onto it as soon as Stephen allowed him to.

The warmth of his arms left him for a few moments as Stephen stooped over to fetch his mug of tea from the table, and then he was back to gently press it into Tony’s hands.

“Drink some fluids and sit back,” he instructed gently, settling himself down on the couch next to him. When Tony’s hands were gripping the mug, and the tea was in no danger of spilling, the sorcerer held out his hand and make a short whistling noise. The Cloak sprung up from off the floor and floated up behind them, gently settling around Tony’s shoulders and draping into his lap, making sure to keep its touch gentle and non-threatening.

Tony smiled-- actually, genuinely smiled. And then suddenly he was exhausted and tired and all the life seemed to have gone out of him again, but he was here. He was safe. And Stephen’s arms were around him again, and there was nothing to fear, nothing to be frightened of. He wasn’t going to die or crumble apart into the wind. Not today, not now, not ever.

“Get some rest, if you feel comfortable,” Stephen murmured into Tony’s hair, supporting the man slumped sleepily against him. “I promise that no nightmares will come to you. I swear it. Sleep,” he encouraged softly, stroking a hand over Tony’s shoulders rhythmically, back and forth and back and forth. Rocking him gently in his arms.

And before he knew it, Tony was asleep.

#stephen has that kind of Therapy Voice and ya'll can't tell me any different #ironstrange #strangeiron #doctorman #stephen x tony #tony stark #stephen strange #doctor strange #iron man #anyway i got inspired reading patrick melrose and i've been super anxious the past couple days and this is a product of that #writing #mischief manages