The Melting Pot Complex

Chapter Twenty-Nine ~ Virgil

{Possible trigger warnings: PANIC ATTACK, pain, swearing

Seriously y'all. Virgil has a full panic attack. Read at your own discretion.

If I miss something, I apologize and please let me know}

When they got back to the apartment Roman began to dramatically recount the events that had happened. Virgil snuck off into his room before they got to the parts that would get a reaction.

He blew out a huge breath as he closed his door, leaning against it. His heart was still pounding from what he'd done, and his entire body felt shaky, unstable. Like he was going to fall over any moment.

Virgil knew what was coming, and he wanted to be as secluded and physically safe as possible before it happened. He stumbled to his bed and crawled onto it, huddling himself up in the corner and tugging a blanket mostly over his body.

He tried to use the number exercises that he'd learned over the years.

Through the nose. In for four. One two three-

Virgil gasped sharply and squeezed his eyes shut, trying again.

Through the nose. In for four. One two-

He couldn't focus on it. Everything he heard was too loud, way too loud, and every sound grated on his ears painfully.

Keeping his eyes shut, Virgil clapped his hands over his ears and tried another breathing exercise. He counted to three slowly, over and over. Every time he hit three he inhaled, and every time he hit the next two he exhaled.

That didn't work either, because holding his hands over his ears amplified his erratic, panicky heartbeat. Virgil hunched in on himself as much as his sling would let him and stuffed part of his blanket in his mouth to muffle a half-frustrated, half-terrified scream.

He heard someone knock on his door and spat the blanket out, trying to manage a weak "f*ck off!" All that came out was a whimper.

Virgil screwed his face up, to the point where it hurt. He dug his fingernails into his palms as well, trying to use the pain as some form of distraction. He needed to drag himself out of this before one of his roommates came in and saw him.

He did not want them to see him.

Someone was calling his name but he couldn't figure out who it was. All the sounds he was hearing began to blend together and he couldn't focus, couldn't pinpoint one thing over another.

The door opened. Virgil flinched and yanked the blanket tighter around himself, ducking his head to try and hide.

"Virgil? Patton wants to- holy sh*t- what's wrong?"

Roman's voice sounded far away, like the two of them were standing on either side of thick glass. But at the same time it was too loud, and it hurt Virgil's head. He whimpered again and pressed himself harder against the wall.

The weight shifted on his bed and Virgil vaguely realized that Roman must have sat on the bed.

"Hey... can I touch your shoulder?"

He shook his head, flailing his good arm for a moment and shoving Roman's outstretched hand away.

The weight on the bed shifted again and Virgil muffled another cry with the blanket as he heard footsteps (still too loud, too loud and painful and knocking around in his head) moving away.

For a few moments there was some sort of silence, but a silence that felt like it was squeezing, binding him in place. Virgil tried to use his four seven eight breathing exercise again and punched the side of his thigh as he failed once more.

Then there was a hand on his shoulder, gently untucking him from the blanket. The person took his good wrist and carefully but firmly pulled him away from the wall.

Virgil forced himself to open his eyes a little and looked up. Patton smiled softly at him, and he didn't realize until his blurry friend gently wiped his cheek that he was crying.

"Roman, open the window."

Just seeing Patton cleared Virgil's head a little, but he still couldn't draw a full breath.

Patton lightly tapped his fingertips on the inside of Virgil's wrist slowly, like he was following his own slow heartbeat. "Can you hear me? Blink twice if yes."

Virgil forced his eyes shut and open again twice. Patton nodded.

"Okay. Can you find five things you can see? You don't have to tell me, just nod when you have."

Virgil dragged in a shaky, ragged breath. 

Five things: Patton's glasses, Roman hovering near the door, his mouse's battery light blinking red, a pen sitting on his desk, one of his shoes in the corner.

He nodded.

"Okay, good. Take a deep breath."

Virgil tried, then shook his head sharply as his chest rebelled against him.

"You're okay, you're okay. Let's keep going, four things you can touch. Focus on how they feel." Patton said quietly.

Four things: Patton's fingertips, still tapping a steady beat on his wrist, gentle and caring; the blanket that was still draped over his side somewhat, soft and warm; the strap of his shoulder immobilizer digging into his neck, a bit painful but manageable; his shirt under his other hand, an average cotton fabric blend that was soft enough that it didn't bother him to wear.

Virgil nodded again.

"Good. Lets take a deep breath together this time, ready?"

Patton inhaled slowly, and Virgil copied him. He didn't get quite as much of a breath as Patton, but he managed a full inhale and exhale.

"There you go. Now find three things you can hear, outside your head. I know there's a lot going on in there right now."

Virgil closed his eyes for a moment, trying to pinpoint sounds.

Three things: cars on the road outside, passing the window; Roman jacket rustling as he shifted from one foot to the other; the microwave in the kitchen going off.

He nodded, opening his eyes.

"Good. Another deep breath... good job." Patton smiled softly at him. "You're almost done. Two things you can smell."

Two things: a dampness coming from the window, like it was about to rain; Patton's lavender-scented shampoo.

Virgil managed the deep breath without prompting this time.

"Last thing..." Patton let go of his wrist as Logan walked into the room, carrying a mug. "One thing you can taste."

Virgil took the mug with shaking fingers, and his roommate helped him lift it to his lips to take a sip. 

One thing: warm apple cider, one of his favorite drinks.

"Thanks..." He managed softly once Logan had set the mug on his desk, voice scratchy.

{This was my first time writing a full panic attack. I've never experienced one, but I have a friend who has and she was willing to talk to me a little bit about how it feels. I know everyone's anxiety and panic attacks can be different but I hope this is at least somewhat accurate to what is considered the 'norm'}