Comfortember #8 - Afraid to Ask for Help and #21 - Anxiety Attack

Not Helping, DUM-E

Tony was trying to breathe. He'd been trying to breathe all day, but felt like there was a weight on his chest, pressing in. There wasn't a good reason for it. Nothing too disastrous was happening. No one was in danger. DUM-E had been squeaking as he moved all day, but otherwise, nothing was even bugging him that much. He was just anxious today. Really anxious. It's like his mind kept flashing stuff he was terrified of, but when he mentally turned to look and see what it was, it skirted behind a metaphorical wall. It stayed just out of sight, taunting him.

Pepper should be home later tonight. Hopefully not too late. She was pretty good at helping him relax. Well, when she wasn't mad at him for not doing whatever she'd been asking him to. Even that… he couldn't think of anything she'd been after him to do that he'd ignored. He knew he could be anxious without any real reason, but it had been quite a while since he'd experienced it. Maybe he should call Pepper. No, he didn't need to bother her with this. He just needed to keep things quiet and avoid anything too stimulating or triggering. That usually helped. What else did he have today? Peter was supposed to come over to work on his designs for that robotics competition coming up, but that wasn't pressing. Maybe he'd have him come tomorrow. Tony glanced at his watch. He wouldn't have left school yet.

Hey, kid. Okay if we table lab time and make it tomorrow instead?

If you need to, yeah. I can't come until 4 tomorrow though, because I have AcaDec

Everything okay?

Yeah, just feeling off. Not sure if I'm up to working this afternoon. We'll do tomorrow at 4.

Peter didn't respond.

For the next hour, Tony worked on mundane physical tasks around the lab, doing some oiling and maintaining most of the machines, even though he'd done that the month before. Busy work for his hands.

Everything was going okay, and he was keeping the anxiety at bay, when suddenly DUM-E, who had been following him around with a broom, like that was going to help out somehow, turned abruptly in his ineffectual sweeping, hitting the coffee maker and slamming it against the wall. Tony was on the ground nearly under it working on something, which meant it broke just above him, scattering him with glass and hot liquid at the same time as the crash.

Suddenly he was back in Afghanistan, crouching behind a rock as warm blood trickled down his face and dotted his hands. Even though technically he knew he wasn't there, and that he was safe in his lab, he couldn't clear the panicked sensation. Couldn't escape from the sense of pure dread that he was about to die. Time slowed and almost stopped. He felt like he was both breathing too slowly and also breathing impossibly fast.

Eventually he realized that he could hear a soothing voice through the fog, close to his head. Hands stroked lightly through his hair and down his temples, and though his body was lying on the hard floor of the workshop, his head was cradled in someone's lap. He slowly opened his eyes and stared up into the worried ones of his young protégé.

"Hey, there you are. Can you breathe with me?" Peter was breathing exaggeratedly, and Tony consciously struggled to slow his rate to match. "There you go."

After a minute or two of concentrating on his breathing, more real sensations came back to him. His arms were bent, his hands wrapped around Peter's forearms on either side of his head, holding them there. The boy didn't seem to mind. He could feel something digging into the back of his thigh. Probably the tool he'd been working with a few minutes… was it minutes? before. He could feel the slight breeze of the air vent above them on his face. He could feel a few sharp spots on his skin where he might have a little glass. He could hear DUM-E's worried beeping off to the side.

"It's okay, buddy. It was an accident. He's going to be okay," Peter reassured the upset robot.

"Pete," Tony finally managed to have enough oxygen both for breathing, and communication. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't coming today."

"Yeah. I just felt like I should anyway," the boy said softly. He almost wasn't a boy anymore, at 17, and easily the same height as Tony now.

"Maybe I should look at getting back on something for my anxiety."

"I think that might be a good idea," Peter said neutrally. Tony could hear the undercurrent of worry in his voice, though. "You want to try sitting up?"

"Uh, yeah. I can do that." Tony still didn't move. Peter was still hovering over him.

"You'll have to move if I'm going to get up," Tony said in slight exasperation.

"You'll have to let go of my arms if you want me to move," Peter replied, amused. Oh.

Tony sat up, and then eventually stood, with Peter hovering. Tony walked over and swiped a project up on his holo table, ready to jump into some work so he could try to forget about what just happened.

"Well, that's not happening," Peter said, firmly taking hold of his upper arm and steering him towards the workshop door.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" Tony asked the teenager, not fighting the pull on his arm yet.

"You and I are going to go upstairs, we're going to eat and drink something, and then we'll hang out on the couch with a movie until Pepper gets home," the kid said in a no-nonsense tone.

Tony sputtered, but didn't really have a response for that. He wouldn't have let Peter work around all that heavy machinery after an episode like that, either. He settled for a grouchy expression and giving Peter just enough resistance that he had to pull him slightly. Very much like a disgruntled 5-year-old, actually, he thought self-awarely.

Later, when Peter had made sure they were both fed, and they were sitting together on the couch watching Furious 7 (which Tony insisted was the best movie in the franchise), Tony found himself actually drooping a little on the couch.

"Tony, why don't you lay down?" Peter finally asked from his seat next to him.

"It's not even 7 o'clock," Tony protested in frustration.

"Panic attacks are exhausting," Peter replied. "Just rest for a while. May always made me do that after one," Tony looked at him sharply. They were definitely addressing that. Why didn't he know about that? "and I always felt better afterwards," Peter continued.

A little more cajoling and a little more super-strength nudging, and Tony found himself curled up under a blanket on the couch next to Peter. Man, the kid was pushy. Where had he gotten that from? Tony was sure he was just going to "rest," not sleep or anything. Who could sleep during all those car explosions on the screen, anyway?

But then he felt a hand stroking his hair again softly, scratching lightly at his scalp, like the kid had been doing when he was coming out of the attack, and his eyes slowly melted closed. He'd just rest them, too, for a minute. That's the last thing he remembered that evening.