Trigger warning for panic attack - also side note to the guest who left the drugged Barry prompt in the reviews for this story - i wrote it! It's Arrow to the Rescue (yes, horrible title, i know, i cringe) - not sure it's what you had in mind, but it's there. So anyway, here's the chapter and if you're reading any of my other stories you know i've been gone for like a month but now I'm posting everything so long story short i should have another chapter up after this one very soon, so here you go.

"Oliver, I can't breathe!"

Oliver fumbled with the phone, tried to turn on the lamp next to his bed. He finally gave up on that and just got up and hit the light switch.

"What?" Oliver said, "Barry?"

"I can't breathe!" he said again – the voice over the phone was high and terrified, rapidly deteriorating. "I called Caitlin and Felicity but they didn't pick up and I can't breathe, I can't breathe, and it's starting to hurt again – I-I – Oliver I can't –" There was a sharp gasp " – I can't breathe." His voice cracked at the end, shook like he was close to tears.

"Alright, calm down," Oliver said. He started pulling clothes out of the suitcase he had. "You can breathe fine. You just feel like you can't. Take deep breaths."

Oliver heard shaky breathing on the other end, but it was coming gasps and starts.

"Slowly," Oliver said.

"I can't get in air that way," Barry said desperately.

"Yes you can," Oliver said firmly.

"It –"

"Barry, you are hyperventilating. You feel like you can't breathe because you're not breathing properly, not because you can't get air. Take deep, slow breaths."

The shaky breathing filled the line again and Oliver threw on a shirt, pulled a pair of jeans up.

"Keep going – that's better, good," Oliver said, hearing it flatten out at least a little.

"I can't stop vibrating."

"You're just shaking," Oliver said, "tremors."

"But I – I can't stop."

"It's OK," Oliver said, "it will go away."

"It hurts again."

"Keep taking deep breaths," Oliver said, "did you get some ice?"

"N-no."

"Go get some ice."

He heard movement in the background, grimaced when he heard his breathing slip back to trembling gasps.

"Barry, deep breaths. Slower."

Barry made a noise in his throat, but then the movements stopped.

"It's all up my back," Barry said, his voice tight.

"Just hold the ice somewhere it hurts – your shoulder or your side – focus on something else. Focus on me. What happened?"

Barry paused. "Had a nightmare," he muttered.

"Do you want to tell me what it was about?" Oliver pulled on his shoes.

"No."

"Then talk to me about something else. Or put on the TV. Something to distract you."

"TV," Barry said. "I still – I still can't breathe," he said after a moment, and Oliver could hear his frustrated breathing, gasping and going too fast.

"You can breathe. You just need to do it slower."

"I can't."

"Yes you can."

"And it hurts."

"You have to calm down and distract yourself, then it will go away."

"What if it won't?"

Oliver closed his eyes, half wanted to call him out on the childish "what if" response, but there was a terror there behind the words.

"It will," he reassured him.

"My heart – feels like –" he choked off, gasping again.

"Barry," Oliver said, "you're having a panic attack. You need to focus on taking nice, slow, deep breaths, and on sitting still, relaxing your muscles. It will go away."

"This doesn't feel like a panic attack," he said hurriedly, and even as he said it they came out laced with panic.

"It is," Oliver said.

"It doesn't – it doesn't feel like before – on the table or – or in the room – it feels – it's – I just can't breathe –"

"You're in a different setting. It's going to feel different. You are still having a panic attack, and panic attacks do not last forever. Sit down on the couch, focus on the TV and on slowing your breathing. Don't tense your shoulders, and relax your arms. Lean back."

"But why does it feel like there's no oxygen?" he asked desperately.

"Because you're breathing in too fast – you're taking shallow breaths, so you aren't replenishing your air supply like you should, and your nervous system is in overdrive, so it's telling your lungs that you need more oxygen than you actually do. If you slow down your breathing, it will activate your parasympathetic nervous system, and help stop the panic – and I promise you, you'll feel like you can breathe again."

"Every time I try –" another gasp, "feels like I'm drowning."

"Do it anyway. Nice and slow – easy. You're at your apartment right now, right?"

"Yeah."

"OK. I only have the motorcycle so –"

"No – don't – I mean, I – I need to talk to someone."

"I'm going to hang up," Oliver said gently, "and I will be at your apartment in fifteen minutes. But I want you to call Felicity and Caitlin again, and if they don't pick up then try Iris or Joe, OK?"

"O-OK," Barry said, not sounding very sure.

"Good," Oliver said, "I'll be right there, Barry. Deep breaths, alright? I'll be there in just a minute."

"OK… bye," Barry said.
"Be right there."

Oliver hung up, grabbed his jacket, and left the hotel room.

LLLLLLLLLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

When Oliver got to Barry's apartment, the door unlocked, he found Barry sitting on the couch, straight up and rigid, and shaking. He was on the phone, but he hung up once Oliver entered the room.

Oliver sighed. "What's going on, Barry?"

He was staring down, shaking, eyes glassy.

"I can't feel my hands." His voice came out quiet, drawn tight, but mumbled.

Oliver took his hands in his. They were freezing, blood flow probably cut off. His face was horribly pale too

"Or my toes."

"Just relax," Oliver said, "you're OK. Everything's OK."

"My face too."

Well that would account for the paleness. Oliver put his hands on his arms, rubbed reassuringly.

"It's OK," he said in a steady, calm voice, "It will go away."

"Can't breathe."

"Look down, Barry," he said, "look at your chest, your stomach." Barry did, leaned back and looked down. "See," Oliver said, "Up and down. You're breathing."

Barry blinked, took in a deep breath and watched as his chest rose with the intake. He let it out again.

"That's it," Oliver said, "Nice and slow. Watch. You're still breathing."

Oliver didn't know how long he sat there, on the ground in front of Barry, one hand on his knee, the other his arm, while Barry watched his chest rise and fall over and over again. It clearly grounded him, but he looked dazed at the same time.

Eventually Oliver sat on the couch next to him and Barry just kept watching. His breathing evened out slowly. Barry was listening to Oliver, who kept repeating phrases about how he was fine, he was safe, that he was breathing, but he didn't really hear the words. The tone of voice calmed him though, was steady and soothing.

"I don't feel good," Barry mumbled after a while.

"Your back still hurt?"

"I…" Barry didn't know. It didn't hurt like before, but he felt numb, achy and exhausted, but absolutely unable to sleep. "I dunno," he mumbled.

Oliver found the ice he had, wrapped in a Ziploc baggie, and took it away.

"Do you want to go back to bed?"

"No."

"What do you want?"

"I don't know."

"Do you want something to drink?"

Barry nodded.

Oliver came back with a cup of tea, handed it to Barry. He took a sip.

"I don't feel good," he repeated.

"What doesn't feel good?"

"I don't know."

"What do you feel?"

Barry shrugged. Numb. Lost. Hurt. Dazed. Confused. Scared. Everything.

"I want to go to bed."

"Why don't you get up then," Oliver said, already starting to stand, "and I'll sit with you for a bit."

Barry shook his head.

"I'm not going to bed."

Oliver paused. "You want to go to bed?"

"Yes."

"But you aren't going to."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to."

Oliver stared at him. "Barry, you're not making sense."

No, Barry wasn't making sense, but he wasn't really concerned with making sense at the moment. He wasn't really sure what he was concerned with, maybe he wasn't concerned with anything.

"I don't feel good."

Oliver sighed, reached over to rub circles on his back. "Yeah, kid, I got that."

"I really don't feel good."

"Do you feel sick?"

"Yeah."

"Do you feel like you're going to throw up?"

"Mmhm."

"Are you going to throw up?"

"No."

"Do you want something to eat?"

"No."

"What makes you feel sick?"

Barry shrugged. "I don't feel good."

And they were back to that. Oliver felt like slapping his palm against his face.

"Barry," Oliver said, "I want you to get up, and come with me."

Barry looked up, confused, but when Oliver stood up, he followed him. Oliver pointed to the bed. "Lie down," he said.

Barry did. He pulled the blankets around him, but stayed sitting up. Oliver left, and came back with the tea and a box of crackers.

"Eat these," he said, handing it to him. Barry picked at them absently.

"Can you tell me what the dream was about?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Well, if you're not going to tell me, then I really think you should try and go back to sleep now."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I can't."

"Why can't you?"

"It'll happen again," Barry mumbled.

"What happen again?" Oliver said.

Barry fumbled with his hands around the cup of tea, sunk a little lower. "Nightmares."

"You have to sleep, Bar."

"I know."

"Do you want me to stay until morning?"

"I'm not sleeping."

"You're numb, Barry. Either you sleep or you talk to me."

"No."

Barry looked straight ahead and Oliver sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose again. There was no stubborn anger in his voice, no frustration, not even any pain – it was just flat, respondent.

"Lie down, Barry," Oliver said.

And Barry did. He did whatever Oliver said as long as it wasn't sleep or talk. Oliver took the tea and the box of crackers.

"I don't feel good," Barry mumbled.

"You'll feel better if you sleep," Oliver said.

"No I won't."

"Why not?"

"I'll have nightmares again. I'll wake up and panic. I won't be able to breathe, and then I'll get sick like this, and I'll have to stay home from work, and then I'm home all day, and I can't be home all day, because I'll keep thinking and thinking and I don't wanna think at all."

"Why don't you want to think?" Oliver asked.

"It hurts."

"The training?"

"Thinking."

"Does it hurt to think now?"

"Yes."

"Is that why you're keeping yourself all numb right now?"

Barry frowned. "No," he said, "I'm not…"

"Maybe not on purpose," Oliver said, "but you won't talk to me, and you won't sleep, so you've gotten yourself stuck in a rut."

"I donwanna think," Barry mumbled.

"It's OK to be upset, Barry," Oliver said, "getting upset won't make the actual thing any harder. It's OK to be scared and worried and to not want to go."

"I don't wanna talk about it," Barry muttered again.

"I know you don't," Oliver said, "but you'll feel better after."

"Everyone always says that," Barry muttered, "but it doesn't work."

"Really? Because you always seem a whole lot better after you talk to Felicity."

Barry looked down, didn't say anything.

"Do you want me to get Felicity for you?" Oliver asked, "would you talk to her?"

Barry shook his head.

"It's OK if you do," Oliver said, "you don't have to talk to me."

"No," he said, "don't wanna talk at all."

Oliver sighed, reached across to put his hand over Barry's forehead. "You're shutting down again, Barry," he said, "it's not good for you. You'll feel better once you talk or sleep or scream or something."

Barry just looked at him.

Oliver sighed. "Why do you think you don't feel good, Barry?"

"Because I had a panic attack."

"Because you had a panic attack and then started blocking everything out."

"I don't wanna talk about it, Oliver."

"You can't lock everything in your head, Barry."

"I'm not," he said obstinately.

"Then tell me what happened. Or what you're feeling."

"I feel sick."

"Yeah, you've mentioned that."

"I feel sore."

"You probably just stressed yourself out. You need to rest."

Barry hesitated. When he spoke again it was a whisper. "I'm afraid of nightmares."

"I'll wake you up if you have a nightmare."

"Won't matter."

"You can't stay awake all the time, Bar. We're going to work on stuff, and I promise the nightmares will stop, but for now you still have to sleep, even if they wake you up sometimes."

"I don't want to."

"I know, Bar. I know they're awful, but you still have to sleep. I'll be right here in case it happens again."

Barry paused. "You'll stay?"

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, Barry, I'm sure."

Barry took in a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize to me."

Barry started to tremble. "I don't think I can fall asleep."

"Well why don't you just try," Oliver said, "lying down and resting will be good for you anyway."

Barry was quiet for a couple minutes, but he kept opening his eyes, squirming, fidgeting around. Oliver didn't say anything about it though, instead he just kept a hand on his arm, reassuring, grounding, while Barry moved and shifted and tried to get comfortable.

"Oliver," he finally said in a soft voice.

"Yeah?"

"I…" He swallowed dryly. "I-I keep seeing it."

"Think about something else."

"I c-can't."

"Yes you can. Think about your favorite book, TV show. Replay it in your mind. Or a conversation you had. Think about what you're going to do tomorrow – what you'll say when you see Iris next, what you think will happen in a new movie coming out."

"I keep seeing it."

"Concentrate."

"I can't, Oliver."

Oliver sighed, turned. "Then tell me about it," he said.

Barry shook his head. "I d-don't – I don't want to talk about it, Oliver. I don't – I don't want to think about it so I don't want to talk about it be-because –"

"I know, Bar," Oliver said, "but if you're going to think about it anyway, then you should talk about it."

Barry was quiet again. "Fire," he said softly.

Oliver cringed. "Yeah?"

"I… I wanted to stop."

"Mmhm?"

"And the Reverse Flash was there… my mom… back in the house, except… except there was fire and I – I couldn't move... I got – I – I –" He broke off, took in a shuddering breath.

"It's OK, Barry," Oliver said gently. "It was just a dream. That was a long time ago, and there was no fire. You're OK."

"I know," he said, sucking in another breath, "but – but it… I guess it's not really… not really that scary… but it looked… I just keep seeing the fire, and… and my mom, and I… I used to get them, afterwards, and I don't… I really don't want to go through that again – I – I really – I just keep seeing the fire around her, around me – and I know it's not real, but… I just – I was terrified – in the dream – absolutely… just… terrified – and I can't – it's like it's still there… and I ke- I keep se-seeing it."

"It's alright, Barry. That sounds awful, but there's no fire, and that all happened a long time ago. I know it's awful, and it's sad, but there's no reason to be afraid of it. You're OK. When you see the fire, just… imagine it as something else. It's your brain – turn it into a campfire… or a candle, or… a fireplace, or something nice, something comforting."

Barry was breathing hard, but he went quiet again. A few minutes later he had his eyes closed. He tossed and turned and fidgeted around for another half hour or so, opening and closing his eyes, Oliver always with one hand on his arm or shoulder, before he fell asleep again. Oliver sighed, only then lying down himself.

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