Muffled groans and cries for help echoed through the halls and chambers of Mordhaus; nothing new, given the prison and torture cells that lay deep beneath the surface. Nobody paid these sounds any mind, they had all grown accustomed to them, and they were as normal as the creaking of an old house in the wind. To Dethklok and the Klokateers, it was normal.

But then why had Skwisgaar Skwigelf awoken, gasping for air as sweat dripped from his paler than usual skin?

Something ams wrongs…

As the cold realisation seeped into his heart, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and, still panting, he wrenched the door open and pulled on the first shirt his hand touched as he ran down the corridors to where painful routine told him he would find the source of his unrest.

Toki's bedroom.

The door flew open, blowing a model aeroplane from the shelf where it had been sitting and sending it crashing to the floor. The sound, however, was almost completely lost against the desperate gasping and choked sobs coming from the wreck of a man crumpled up on the ground at Skwisgaar's feet.

"Toki!" He dropped down beside him, eyes wide as he gripped his friend firmly by the shoulders and heaved him upwards into a sitting position, head hanging between his knees. Panic attacks were far from news for the rhythm guitarist; a lifetime of abuse – both physical and emotional – had irrevocably etched them into his everyday life.

Unfortunately, no matter how many times he fell to the floor, clutching wildly at his chest and shaking like a leaf, they never got easier. Only worse.

There was, as usual, no way of knowing what had set this one off. Sometimes it was a memory, other times a smell from his childhood. The worst one so far had been when he had overheard Nathan yelling at the television, telling whatever mindless channel that was on that it wasn't good enough, and never will be. That had left some deep scars in the flesh of the Norwegian's palms.

As far as Skwisgaar could tell, this was a nightmare out of control. That would be much harder to get him to talk about, and so he made a note to ask the next day. For now, he would focus on keeping Toki from having a heart attack.

"Toki, breathes… Breathes for me…" Skwisgaar traced circles with the palm of his hand between the younger man's shoulder blades, soothing him as he choked back sobs, trying to calm himself. A shuddering hand swept along the floor, blindly seeking comfort, and upon finding the hem of Skwisgaar's shirt, clung onto it for dear life.

Eventually, as his breathing began to level out a little, Toki turned around, utterly exhausted, and wrapped his arms around the blonde's waist, letting the rest of his tears fall into his shirt, as Skwisgaar responded in kind, holding him tightly to his chest. Small noises still came from the suddenly frail form, although much less worryingly.

"Shhh, Toki. It's ams alright… I amnest leavings you…" It tore at his heart to see the closest thing he ever had to a brother in such agony. If he could take all the pain away, he would do so in a heartbeat.

Toki grew quieter, until Skwisgaar craned his neck to see his face, finding him to be fast asleep. He smiled sadly; he was growing used to Toki crying himself to sleep, a sad fact indeed.

As he heaved him up, bridal style, he thought to himself about how he could help, but, as every night, the only answer he kept coming back to was therapy. And they had already tried that.

Toki woke with a start, to find himself in the gloriously simple stone-and-bear-fur bed that could only belong to Skwisgaar. Blinking away the salty residue from the night's tears, he sat up. Skwisgaar himself was asleep, having passed out not-so-elegantly-sprawled across the parts of bed not being taken up by Toki.

He gently pulled himself from the bearskins and crept to the bathroom, intent on washing his face before heading for breakfast in the dining hall with the rest of the band.

"Toki…" Skwisgaar mumbled blearily as he sat up, rubbing at his eyes. Toki froze, and after a moment of hesitation, turned around.

"Skwisgaar… I…" This scene played out several times a month, and increasing in frequency and severity, but the awkwardness never went away. He was grateful, down to his soul, and they both knew that. The thank you was always more out of politeness than necessity, and so it always felt forced.

"It's ams okay… I'll sees you at breaksfast." He smiled warmly, and waited for Toki to leave the room before going about getting dressed for the day.