*awkwardly slips back into this fic*

Sorry I haven't updated for a while! I've been very involved in other things (mainly dragons and roleplaying), but I'm getting back to writing this story. Figured I'd post a one shot since I'm currently rewriting the next part of the Mountain Air arc (and who knows how long that'll take). I wrote this a long time ago, actually, for my friend Julia on Tumblr, but I went back in and added more substance to it. I hope it's not too disjointed.

Anyway, plenty of angst here. Hope you enjoy!

He was floating, drifting, hovering in space with nothing to anchor him down, nothing to hold onto. Panic began taking over his mind, flashing red. His breathing was rapid and labored and his heart beat faster and faster, pounding an erratic staccato against his ribcage, and he couldn't hear anything over the blood pounding in his ears. Arms reached out in all directions, flailing, fingers desperately seeking out something solid. But there was nothing. Only emptiness.

He was alone. So alone.

This had happened two or three times before. He would be walking around the house and bravely let go of the wall, only to become disoriented and lost. Lost, in his own house. And then he would panic because everything was just…gone. He was floating in a black abyss and he didn't know which direction to go, had absolutely no bearings at all. It was so unnerving.

And frustrating.

Because he was scared. Being helpless made him that way. What would happen when he started going outside, to shops or the park or the mall? What if whoever was with him left, and he suddenly found himself all alone? He wouldn't know where to go, and he'd be stuck standing in a stream of people and calling for someone without knowing if they could hear him.

That thought alone just made his panic worse. So he did the only thing he could. Sat down on the floor, gasping like a fish out of water and curling into himself. So hard to catch his breath. He grasped his aching head in his hands and waited for someone to come find him. He'd just wanted to find the couch, damn it! Why was this so hard?!

It wasn't long before he heard footsteps. "Jack?" Rapunzel.

The footsteps pounded all over the floor as she searched for him. He knew when she'd found him, because her feet paused and there was a faint but sharp intake of breath. "Jack!"

Suddenly her hand was touching his shoulder, and he flinched violently.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Rapunzel said, her fingers beginning to rub circles on his back. "Are you okay?"

"No!" he snapped. "I…I…I can't get around my own house without freaking out. How am I supposed to be okay?"

"It's all right, Jack. You're still learning—"

"But it's my house! It shouldn't be this hard! I just—aaah." He stopped as a wave of pain seared through his head and bent over, pressing his palm into his eye. Stupid headaches. They never went away.

"Come on, you should lie down," Rapunzel said softly, pulling gently on his arm.

But he couldn't bring himself to stand. "This is so stupid, Rapunzel. I can't even make it to the couch by myself."

He could almost feel her frowning at him. "The doctor said it would take some time. It's normal."

He knew that, but it didn't help. Frustration was building up rapidly in his chest, like water pent-up in a dam, until finally it became too much and broke. His back hitched with a sob and he didn't even care enough to be embarrassed about it. "This is so stupid!"

"Shh, shh. It's okay. It's gonna be all right." The slender girl wrapped her arms around him lovingly and pulled his head to her shoulder, fingers running through silky locks of chocolate-colored hair.

He hadn't cried about it yet. Told himself he wasn't going to, because it wouldn't help anything and he didn't want to appear any weaker than he already did. Rapunzel kept telling him he needed to, though. And it turned out that she was right. She usually was about such things. He'd been telling himself he wasn't upset about what had happened, even if it was obvious to everyone that he was. It was just easier to feign apathy, to shut off all emotion. It was how he coped. People kept telling him it wasn't healthy, but he shrugged those comments off.

Well, it didn't really matter. That method was completely failing him now anyway.

He had a feeling that Rapunzel knew this had been coming for some time. She seemed calm, prepared to deal with the sudden meltdown. If he hadn't been so exhausted and frustrated and angry about everything, he probably would've been embarrassed by that. But in that moment, all he felt was gratefulness for her presence.

The floral smell emanating from her, the softness of her sweater, her sweet voice and gentle touch served as assurance that he wasn't alone. He wasn't. She was there. She was there to take care of him, to make sure he didn't have to do this by himself.

Feelings warred and collided inside. Relief that he had her, comfort in knowing that he wasn't on his own, humiliation that he needed help to accomplish what should be simple tasks, frustration that those tasks were impossible now. And anger that everyone treated him like a helpless child who couldn't take care of himself.

Even more anger at the realization that he actually couldn't take care of himself. Not anymore.

He hated being so dependent on others all the time. He hated the headaches that never went away. He hated having to relearn things that he hadn't given a second thought to before losing his eyesight. He hated that his life had been put on pause until he did. And he hated that the people he cared about had to put their lives on pause, too, because of him.

But at that particular moment, he tried not to think about all the things he hated. Instead he focused on the things that he loved, the things that made him feel safe. Primarily the person that was currently holding him, humming a song by the Weepies—"Not Your Year." How appropriate.

He nuzzled into her hair, breathing in the scent of it. Smelled like that orchid shampoo she used. Of course it did. What else would it smell like?

Smells were important now—he found himself paying closer attention to them. They were familiar and orienting, something to anchor him to a world that he couldn't see anymore.

Focusing on her smell helped him to finally catch his breath. And once he did, the fear left. The tears dried. And he was finally in control again. Her presence was assuring, emboldening.

You don't have to do this by yourself. Words he'd been told again and again by his friends. It wasn't until that moment, in all his weakness and vulnerability, that he actually took them to heart.