Gentle

Chapter 7

Prompts:  A blend of "person A helping person B through panic/anxiety attacks" AND "small 'shh, I'm here' when someone else is crying"

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"Breathe, honeybat, breathe."

Ericka could hear Drac's voice, but to her ears it sounded distant and warbled, as though her husband was speaking to her from under the water.

Her head felt fuzzy, her chest was tight, and the breaths she was taking were quick and shallow, the air barely even moving through her mouth. Her eyes were squeezed shut, the woman not wishing to open them for fear of seeing the vision she had conjured in her mind. Horrible images, ones that had only been mere moments away from becoming the reality she would've been living, and it haunted her horribly.

But he's NOT dead! A voice in the back of her mind urged her. But he COULD have been, another voice in her head reminded her. And it was that one that was louder and more repetitive than the other one, accompanied with terrible images of her husband, weakened and giving out his last breaths, betrayed and confused, and about to die while she only stood there and watched with her great-grandfather as the tentacles wove around his body tighter. He COULD have been dead. He could have been gone forever.

Because of YOU.

She felt tears brim in the corners of her eyes, a waterfall about to erupt, her body shuddering. She wasn't the only one who took note of her oncoming reaction. The figure next to her on the bed, the very one she feared would've met his end – her husband – did his best to console her, his words soothing, his touch on her shoulders gentle as he massaged them.

"Breathe, honeybat," he repeated. "Just breathe."

But she couldn't breathe. Her throat felt like it was closing up, unable to make any sound at all, and she knew she wouldn't be able to hold it in much longer. He hated to see her like this, but knew that it was best for her not to have it all bottled in. So, he shapeshifted into a wolf, cuddling up against Ericka as the anticipated sobbing commenced.

She cried for some time, the tears streaming freely from her eyes, wetting the rich black fur of her husband's canine form. Her hands buried themselves in the thick coat, stroking it in slow calming motions that eventually did help in steadying her racing heart from the memory of the night terror. He gently licked at her face, providing her the comfort with his hushed words, some sweet nothings, some words of encouragement, and some of them the phrase that truly allowed her to relax and feel whole again.

"Shh, shh, it's okay, my love. I'm here, sweetheart. I'm here."

And it was then, in a triumphant victory, that the suppressed voice inside her head gained the upper hand over the agitating one.

He's here.

He's NOT dead.

He's alive. And he's yours.

"Shh, I'm here. I'm here..."

Her husband continued to coo softly at her, his words better than any lullaby at that moment, lulling her back into the untroubled sleep she had been having when the nightmare had first seized her dreams. It didn't take long after that for her body to fall into an exhausted slumber, Dracula taking the opportunity to shapeshift back from the therapeutic pooch to his humanoid self. He sighed in relief, spooning her on the bed with his strong arms. He knew that she would be waking up again, and when she did, it would be in his comforting embrace, a security blanket to help her find peace in the night, giving her the love and care that she so always deserved.