Apprehension
A/N: I was looking at a few pages of AGENCY by JediAnnSolo and figured I'd write something small, which means I'm back on my bs. Loosely based on Day 3, Act 3, pages 25 and 26, Graduate, and a bit of a headcanon.
TW: Panic attack.
"Fuck," Shadow mumbled as he walked out of earshot of Mei and Sandy. All this time, he had told himself that he would handle it and maybe he wasn't a complete dumbass for getting his client involved. Naturally, he had proved himself wrong.
He stopped as a group of people walked by him, deciding to hang back while Krystal was in the middle of a forming group and light conversation grew. They asked about Fox and Marcus, and he watched as she tried to keep it together.
It wasn't fair. They were almost the same. He knew she was different, special in the way he was, the way the Institution told him he was, and it wasn't fair that they had different outcomes. Krystal didn't deserve to destroy herself just because Mei convinced her—No. No, that wasn't right to push his own emotions on someone else who was suffering. But maybe they weren't so different after all.
Maybe they were both just trying to keep it together as Shadow's thoughts turned to his time at the Betterment Institute. It was less than great when he was there and, frankly, worse when he had left to live in a neighborhood more packed than a can of sardines. At least he had Rune. That had to—
Do you actually think you can live among society with this type of immense, supernatural disconnect from everyone else?
As long as no more accidents happen, you never have to walk into that building again.
But he did, or at least indirectly caused one and thought he had it under control but he didn't. Added to the fact that he could possibly send himself back made him feel nauseous. It felt like he couldn't breathe.
Shadow took in slow, deep breaths careful not to start hyperventilating and draw attention to himself. That was the last thing he needed or wanted. He just had to stay calm. Deep breaths.
He looked at his hands, counting his fingers, faded stitches, anything to keep himself busy. He remembered after they had finished implementing his inhibitors and the only person he actually liked was the doctor who helped him change his bandages each week. She was nice enough to him.
Enough to calm him down during moments like this. When his anxiety became too much and he just felt. . .sick. Ten years and he hadn't seen her face since. Maybe he would if he went back. Problem was, he felt like he shouldn't, didn't want to, and it was a mistake. It was just a mistake.