The day had been so hectic. Alex had been tossed from patient to patient with barely any time to breathe – so many sick kids and terrified parents, terrified kids with blasé parents, and quiet kids with shit-ass parents that Alex's nerves were frayed to the bone. Pulling into the driveway, he took a second to just sit, lean his head back and stare at the ceiling, taking deep breaths through his nose, exhaling out his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut then forced them open again, touching his pulse in his neck and willing it to chill the fuck out.
It happened, after the particularly hell days, and the mediocre ones, and some of the slow ones. That moment where he just couldn't pull himself together and his chest felt fuzzy. But it wouldn't exactly do to have a fucking panic attack in his driveway, so he breathed in and blew out one more time, then climbed out of the car, leaning heavily on the door frame as he pushed himself up.
At least he was home, and he could finally get some sleep, and… repeat the process tomorrow. Sometimes he wondered why he did this to himself.
His plans were shot to hell about 5 minutes later as he went to reach into the fridge to grab some juice and nearly dropped the bottle as a scream tore through the house. Not even bothering to close the refrigerator door, he sprinted in the direction of Jackson's room – he recognized the voice – threw the door open and stopped.
Jackson was panting, arm covering his eyes but dark stains on his sheets showing that he was crying, and Alex could just make out Charles Percy's name through the mumbled gibberish coming out of the other man's mouth. He was asleep, not being murdered, but Alex was still frozen in the door frame as a belated epiphany came to him. Percy had been Jackson's best friend.
Jackson let out another cry, and Alex stepped into the room, turning on the light and closing the door behind him. He walked over to Jackson's bed and knelt beside it, reaching out to touch Jackson's arm. "Hey, man, wake up, it's over," he whispered, frown etching itself into his face.
Jackson didn't even stir, he just mumbled a series of "no, no, fuck,"s in a steady stream that sliced Alex to the bone.
Alex gripped Jackson's arm a bit harder, and shook. "Hey, Avery, wake the hell up," he said, firmer, and Jackson's breath caught.
"Hey, c'mon Jackson," Alex continued, moving his other hand to hold Jackson's shoulder, and Avery's eyes flew open. "Hey, dude, it's okay, you were just having a nightmare-" Alex's words were cut off as Jackson let out a loud groan, and clenched his eyes shut. His breathing quickened, chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow bursts.
Alex cursed and bit his lip, made a quick decision and moved to sit on the bed, removing his hands from touching Jackson in any way but also staying close. "Avery, breathe, you're okay. It's over, you're fine."
Jackson rolled over onto his stomach and pulled his knees up to his chest, head buried in his pillow, breathing rapidly. Alex hesitated, then put a cautious hand on his back. "Tell me if you want me to fuck off but you… really look like you need someone right now."
"Don't leave," Jackson gasped between painful breaths, and Alex nodded, cementing his touch on Jackson's back.
"I won't," Alex promised. "You're fine. We've all had our share of nightmares, Avery, you don't have to be alone if you don't want to - the harder thing is actually being alone if you do want to, in a house full of nosy assholes like our roommates. Hey, just breathe, okay? You're okay, I promise, i promise, just breathe."
They sat like that for a while, Alex jabbering about nonsense as Jackson slowly regained control of his breathing and began chipping in, small sobs punctuating his sentences as he rode out the aftershocks. At some point, Alex looked over and found Jackson asleep, more peaceful than he was when he'd walked in. Alex gave a half grin to nobody and let his own eyes close, telling himself he'd let Future Alex deal with any consequences.
Which was how Cristina and her camera phone found them the next morning.