Written for a prompt on tumblr: 'Sam has a panic attack (maybe bc someone asked him about the cage and it freaks him out but totally up to you) and Cas helps him through it and comforts him?'

WARNING - this fic contains descriptions of a panic attack, for which I used information from the NHS website. I apologise if I got anything wrong, please let me know if I did.

It's stupid, in the end. He lives his life around death and evil and horrors beyond most people's comprehension, and he's fine. Sure, sometimes he'll look at a body and think I know what that feels like. He'll remember the feeling of having his heart ripped out of his chest, or being boiled alive from the inside, or being crushed slowly and painfully until his heart finally gives out.

But that's fine. It helps, sometimes, to know. Empathy, and all that.

In the end, none of that's what gets him. Of all things, it's a godforsaken drawing that manages to tip him over the edge, to bring back every single painful memory he has of that time.

He's been researching for hours, shutting himself away in his room because Dean keeps wandering in and out of the library, and it's driving Sam insane. It's not his favourite place to work, but it'll do for the time being. At least in here, Sam can almost guarantee he'll be sleeping on a bed, rather than in one of the uncomfortable library chairs.

He's starting to wonder if he shouldn't just give up. They've both been at it for weeks, and they're still no closer to figuring out how to get rid of Lucifer. He sighs and rubs his eyes, attempting to refocus on the page.

And that's when he sees it.

It should be nothing. But the truth is, it's scary how accurate it is, right down to the shape of the bars. And Sam stares and stares at this imagine Cage, and he remembers.

His heart begins to constrict in his chest, his mouth going dry and his hands shaking. His vision blurs until all he can see is the Cage, the real Cage, and Lucifer's laughter rings in his ear, telling him just how much fun they're going to have today.

Distantly, he's aware of hands on his shoulders, his face, a voice telling him to breathe, but Sam can't. He tries to tell the voice this, but his lungs aren't working, and all he can manage is a few short pants.

Somewhere, the Voice starts counting. It's slow, and there are gaps between the numbers, and Sam's brain eventually connects the dots. He knows this game.

"One," he rasps, choking out the number. "Two."

The Voice seems surprised at first, but then it begins encouraging him, continuing to count. Sam follows as best as he is able and, slowly, he finds himself resurfacing. He blinks a few times, disoriented, then jerks back as he sees Cas's face hovering inches away from his own.

"Hey, Cas," he mutters, once he's managed to regain his senses enough to speak. "Sorry, I… What happened?"

"I came here to ask you a question, and you appeared to be experiencing a panic attack," Cas says. "I tried to help you based on an article I read on the Internet, which appears to have been successful. I have also removed what I perceived to be the source of your attack." He points to Sam's desk, which, Sam notices, is empty of books, Lucifer-related or otherwise.

"Thanks, Cas," Sam says, offering up a weak smile.

"Should I call for Dean?" Cas asks, still concerned.

Sam shakes his head, alarmed. "No, that's okay. Dean, uh… Dean doesn't need to hear about this, alright?"

Cas looks dubious, but inclines his head in assent. "You should get some rest."

"No, Cas, I'm fine -"

"Sam," Cas interrupts. "You need rest. The article was very specific."

Sam laughs, and, despite himself, nods and stands up, wincing as his back protests the movement. "You're right," he says. "Thanks again."

Cas smiles. "That's alright," he says. "I am relieved I could help, in any small way. Good night, Sam."

"Night, Cas."

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