Vacancy Signs

Chapter 2: In the in-between

Trigger Warnings: Description of panic attacks, masturbation, and mentions of death.

They haven't spoken to one another since the night before, but it's an easy silence. Loose and light. The trek through the never-ending woods is quiet, nothing save for the skittering of animals and the crunching of twigs beneath their boots. It's in these surprisingly quiet moments that Liam finds himself thinking of home again and how far they still have left to travel before reaching it.

It's a depressing thought; one that makes his chest feel tight, like his ribs are trying to strangle his heart. He's put off thinking about his family and friends for weeks, didn't have time to think about it with the constant arguing between himself and Theo, and the evading of the living dead. They've been on the road for weeks, maybe months, Liam's not too sure, but he thinks it's nearing the end of August. He worries about his parents, and wonders if they're still among the living. He wonders about the pack too, he knows they're strong and resilient, but even they can fall.

Images of Beacon Hills being overrun by ravenous hordes of the dead flicker like a horror movie through Liam's mind. He can see his parents' lifeless eyes, their hands stretched out towards any signs of life, ready to rip it to pieces in order to satiate their unending hunger.

He stops walking, hands trembling at his sides. The images come faster. Ones of Mason and Corey, of Scott and Stiles, and Malia and Lydia. All of them were dead, but still lumbering around, bodies rotting day after day.

He can't breathe.

"Liam?"

His fingers are starting to go numb.

"Liam," He hears Theo repeat, he sounds so far away. Like Liam's slipping under ocean waves. Like he's drowning. Liam can't respond, his throat feels like it's closing. His heart is pounding too fast, and he worries in an abstract sort of way that it's going to fly from his chest. He clutches at it through his shirt, trying to keep it where it belongs, trying to slow its rapid rate.

Hands are grabbing at him, large and warm, forcing him down into a crouched position. There's a steady tapping against his left palm, his name is called over and over in between soft murmurs of reassurance.

"Liam. Liam, come on listen to me," Theo says. "Count the taps, Little Wolf."

Liam realizes belatedly that the tapping on his palm is Theo's fingers. He taps against Liam's skin three times in quick succession, then two times slowly, four times quickly, once slowly. Liam counts them, and tries to find a pattern, but there isn't one. He sucks in as deep a breath, tries to focus on the feeling of Theo's fingers against his palm.

"That's it, Dunbar," Theo's voice is soft. "Keep breathing and counting."

His chest feels less constricted like it's expanding; like it's allowing him to breathe. A fog around his head is lifting, thoughts clearing, becoming less muddled, let frantic, and scattered. His heart begins to slow, steadily back to its normal pace, but his hands are still trembling.

"What just happened," Liam asks when he feels like he can talk again without it coming out shaky. He feels weirdly exhausted, like he's run a marathon, but there are no aching muscles, just bone-deep weariness.

Theo sits in the grass across from him, watching Liam with wide careful eyes. "You were having a panic attack."

"Oh," Liam says dumbly.

So that's what one of those feels like.

"I don't like them" Liam murmurs more to himself than to Theo. The chimera chuckles, it sounds different than his usual laughter; oddly relieved.