The thing is, it didn’t even hurt. It was just a light slap, something to grab his attention. The shock comes from the way Donghyun grabs his face afterwards, not harshly but still crossing so many boundaries that he wasn’t aware he needed to set in the first place.
Shotaro yanks the hand away from him with his own, looking at the man with wide eyes. Donghyun hardly looks surprised, if not a bit confused at his reaction.
“What?” He asks.“You can’t do that,” Shotaro blurts out without thinking. Donghyun looks like he’s going to get angrier for a moment before he pauses and nods.
“I can,” He says patiently, as though explaining something to a toddler.
shotaro finds himself the target of a manager with less-than-well-meaning intentions. the few people close to him witness his slow but steady downfall into despair and isolation.
Warnings: description of racing thoughts (and self deprivation) during a panic attack (you gave me angst and I am very sorry... but I had this idea for weeks)
“But it’s my fault right?”
The city was in shambles after what happened with the White Bone Spirit, but it was slowly being rebuilt. It was rebuilt once before and it could be rebuilt again.
That’s what MK told himself as his thoughts drifted from the sparring match he was currently engaged in, and that’s the last thing he thought before a powerful kick from the Monkey King landed smack dab in his stomach and send him careening into a tree. He broke the tree in half and landed in the side of the mountain, groaning and kicking himself for letting his mind distract him again. The third time this match, damn it, he had to do better! He needed to BE better!
“OK, bud, I think we need to call it a day,” Wukong said as he landed in front of him, reaching out to grab him by the shoulders and yank him from his new rock home. “It doesn’t look like you-”
“NO!” MK startled himself with his yell, watching as Wukong’s eyes widened in surprise before he narrowed his gaze in suspicion and confusion. “No, no I can train!” Shit, Wukong did say he was loud instead of confident all those months ago didn’t he? Was he just loud again? “I have to train, Monkey King, I have to just give me another chance please I can do better-!”
He was still just loud, he could feel how loud he was being and knew his mentor could tell. He could feel his heart beating in his ears and his head felt light and he needed to be stronger stronger faster and there was ice in his chest and his ears were ringing and the city was in shambles and it was his fault and he was breathing breathing breathing and the city was in shambles and it was his fault and he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t breathe there was blue everywhere and it was his fault he needed training after Macaque and he left it was his fault HE LEFT HIS FAULTTHECITYWASINSH-
“MK!” His eyes snapped open (when had he closed them?) and he came to the sudden realization that he was on the ground. Kneeling in the dirt with his head on Monkey King’s shoulder. His cape was gone (was that what he felt over his back?). His chest hurt, breathing wheezy and tight. “MK, you’re ok, you need to breathe with me. Breathe in and out like this, ok?”
Wukong breathed in slowly, held his breath, then breathed out slowly. Off beat rhythm repeated until MK followed suit. They sat there breathing for... well, Mk didn’t know how long. The light was different, time had passed, and his chest and head ached. He realized he had started crying at some point and that his hands were shaking and tingly and one of his wrists had a monkey tail wrapped around it.
“You’re ok, MK,” Wukong soothed softly, bringing up his hand to ruffle his hair gentler than the Monkie Kid could ever remember. “You’re ok. We’re going to go inside and eat something and not do anything else for a bit.”
“But it’s my fault right?” MK said shakily, voice hoarse and painful to hear. Was it from crying or did he scream earlier? “It’s my fault..”
“No,” Wukong rebutted, firmly but gently. “No, whatever it is, and I know this isn’t because of training today, it wasn’t your fault. No.” Shaking his head he picked up MK (was he always this careful with him?) and began to carry him to the small house that replaced his old palace. “We can talk about this in a bit. Right now just breathe for me. Then eat. Then we’ll go from there.”
Jax jackson imagine? One where y/n is a new member of legends and is trying to prove worthy of it. She has no powers but can fight very well and is on this mission bc her family isn't all too close to her so it's sort of an escape. However she has extreme anxiety but is really good at hiding it until one day Jax finds her having an panic attack in a corner trying to not be seen bc she doesnt want the team to see her as weak? Also she has a massive crush on Jax.. only Jax can't seem to see it.
Just a quick warning as a just in case: This imagineinvolves a panic attack.
The Legends hadpicked you up when you helped them to stop a dinosaur from attacking your hometown. You didn’t realise that this kind of thing was an average day for them,but it had intrigued you enough for you to follow them away from the issue andfind out what they were doing. Sara had questioned you, pressed you even morewhen you told her that you wanted to help, but eventually she’d relented.
You were stilltrying to find your footing with them, still trying to make a name for yourselfamongst them besides just being the newbie.
You’d been doing sowell, keeping the worries at bay by focusing on other things. The littletechniques that you’d learnt over the years to quell the anxieties had beencoming in handy, and most of them you could do without anyone noticing.
But this mission,the whole thing with ghosts, with having no time to think, it had crushed you.
Your breathing wasragged. It felt as though someone were constricting your chest. Everything wasgoing wrong. You tried to focus on the feeling of the rough wall under yourhand, but to no avail. Despair had hold of you. There was no way out of this.
‘Hey.’ A voice, ahand placed gently on your back, startled you. You jumped around, but anyfighting instincts that you usually relied on seemed to have faded in yourpanic. ‘Woah, are you all right?’
It was Jax. You couldsee the concern behind his eyes, see him trying to figure out what was goingon.
‘It’s all right,’he said softly, something appearing to click. He rested his hands on your shoulders,forced himself to be in your eye line. ‘Breathe with me.’
You shook yourhead, desperately wanting to tell him that it was all right. That he should goand help the others. You hadn’t wanted anyone to see you like this, see youwhen you felt at your weakest despite knowing that it wasn’t a weakness. Leastof all him.
‘In,’ he said, overexaggerating his own breathing. ‘And out.’
You tried to copyhim, but your mind was reeling still.
He continued, voicefirm and grip on your shoulders a steadying pressure.
Eventually youmanaged to force yourself to breathe with him, forced yourself to focus on theact of breathing. It was difficult, but with Jax there it was a little easierthan you could have hoped for.
It took time, thesethings always did, but slowly you caught your breath, felt the panic receding alittle.
‘There we are,’ hesaid when you were breathing carefully. He still didn’t let go of you though.‘What happened?’
You looked awayfrom him. You had a crush on him, and admitting something like this to himworried you. What if he thought it was a weakness? What if he told the team andthey thought you weren’t fit to help them? This was your escape. Your familyhad never been close, and having this little makeshift family of Legends had helpedwith your panic attacks and anxiety in general.
‘Panic attack?’ heasked softly.
You looked at himsharply.
‘I had a few aftermy accident,’ he admitted softy. ‘But I found something to focus on, to helpwith them.’
You nodded, feltyour shoulders sinking a little.
Jax’s hands slippedaway, but one of them moved to take your hand, gave it a squeeze. ‘Come on.We’ll face this together.’
You let out a shakybreath. ‘Thanks, Jax,’ you said, focusing on the physical contact, needing itto distract your thoughts so you didn’t spiral into another panic attack.
‘Anytime,’ he toldyou, and there was something about the earnestness behind his voice thatstartled you a little. ‘I’m here for you whenever.’
You nodded, unableto find the words to explain your gratitude.
He smiled,apparently understanding nonetheless. ‘Coffee’s on you,’ he said, causing youto blink at him. Was it possible that he felt the same way about you? Youweren’t sure, but it was a start at least. You just wished it could havehappened under slight less worrying circumstances; but he was there for you,and you were happy about that at least.
This is a fill of this prompt from the awesome wolfprompts.
It's 2k words long and just a rambling mess. I'm not even sure if it really fills the prompt but yeah, sorry it kind of got away from me...Quickly. Um..unbeta'd and unedited. So there are likely to be mistakes sorry about that.
Some triggers are in this fic i think: injury, blood, fire, homophobia (literally talked about in passing), beginning of a panic attack. Jungle gets blown up so read at your own risk, yeah? This is about Stiles but there aren't any funny one liners or flailing cause you know injured?
Its kind of crap...like definition of crap. But its mine so...also grammer and proper usage of words (especially but and and) mean nothing to me so if they mean something to you just save yourself the heartache. This is my first time answering a prompt, writing a fanfic, and putting my writing somewhere people can read it. Please go easy on me. I'd love some constructive criticism, but I'm not above saying that all useless negative criticism will be completely disregarded. So if you don't like it I'm sorry darling you'll have to go and cry about it else where. Um...yeah without further ado:
"Anonymous asked: warnings for violent homophobia. The jungle is firebombed one night when Stiles and Danny are inside. Amidst the panic and inferno, Stiles does his best to get an injured Danny out, even though he's hurt too, but they get trapped in the building caught by debris. A panicked pack arrives at the scene."
It came in waves.
Pain. A lot of pain and every where at once. He couldn’t feel his right arm to well like it was just past having fallen completely asleep. He’d always wondered what happened if you let a limp fall asleep for to long, and who even came up with the idea to call it that anyway? Like some guy just sat on his calf to long and decided on “well my leg fell asleep” versus “well shit my leg feels all tingly except you know I can’t really feel it at all”.
Stiles could feel his legs though. When his brain told him to move them they did, hurt like a bitch, but they worked. And his left arm seemed to be okay but his right? That…shit.
He whimpered as he moved his neck to look at his arm and saw the blood and muscle and possibly bone of his shoulder. Shit, shit.
Now that he’d seen it he could smell it. Blood: coppery, tinny, sceptic. He couldn’t help but gag on the smell. To much though, the action caused his brain to shake and his lungs to fill with soot. Black and thick in the air Stile’s could feel it on his exposed skin, the tips of his eyelashes.
Fucking, fuck. Breathe Stilinski, He told himself. Just breathe.
“Danny!” Stiles screamed a moment later. Where was Danny? They’d been together near the edge of the dance floor opposite side from the bar. The bar which was now on fire. Bottles of alcohol setting the whole side of the place on fire. “Danny!”
No answer, not that Stiles was honestly expecting one. He couldn’t hear very well everything muffled and foggy. Like someone had stuffed his ears full of cotton. Sitting up was impossible. Opening his eyes was barely possible so sitting up was.
“Stiles?”
The voice as soft, or loud. The person could have been screaming honestly.
“Danny!” Stiles tried again. Forcing his eyes open. Met with the torn sleeve of his borrowed shirt. He’d lost a stupid bet with Danny, Scott, and Isaac. Had to wear this monstrosity: floral, borderline neon, shiny, silk-polyester blend. The thing was hideous, God awful. And stupid. And he’d never have another stupid bet in his life. He’d never hear the stupid cat calls of his stupid friends again. He’d never see Scott’s stupid fucking puppy dog eyes telling him it was okay and he loved him no matter what, he’d always assumed Stiles was bisexual. He’d never have another argument with Isaac, and shit did the guy even know what he meant? They were friends right? Maybe, Stiles loved the guy, he was no Scott sure but he…he was his friend and he’d never fucking know it. And Danny, his friend Danny. They were going to fucking die here.
It came all at once.
“Danny!” Stiles screamed again pushing himself up on his good arm. Gripping his head when his vision shook. “Danny!”
“Stiles!” The voice called back. To the… to the right. Stiles turned, slowly this time not wanting to black out. Everything was darkness except what was lit up by flames. Blackness would have been better. People, a lot of people crying and screaming. Bloody, broken, sobbing.
A few women’s shrieks found their way to his ears. There weren’t many women in Jungle tonight. Honestly he could only remember the engagement party. Eight or so women out for a bride’s last hurrah somewhere she wouldn’t get hit on to bad. Danny had known one of the women, he’d dragged Stiles to the table. They’d talked to them. Stiles had danced with the maid of honor. Oh Go.
“Stiles!” The voice screamed this time. Screamed in pain and hope and trying.
“Danny!” Stiles screamed back moving so he was on his hand and knees. “Danny!”
Moving toward the voice careful of the glass and wood.
“Stiles?” The voice asked. Muffled. Stiles could see Danny’s hand reaching out from under a large piece of what might have been drywall or sheet rock something.
“Danny,” Stiles sobbed somehow moving his right arm enough to rest is hand in Danny’s. He felt his friend squeeze it so at least it wasn’t a total lose. The pain…though the fucking pain caused by the action. Stiles had to remember how to breathe, he tasted blood from biting on his lip.
“Stiles, please-“
“Shh, just shh Danny,” Stiles ordered pulling his hand back. He shoved, with the good arm, at the dry wall. Once, twice, three times. Sparks and embers flying off as it hit the dirty floor with a thud. “Danny?”
“Stiles,” Danny croaked looking up at Stiles. His left leg was a mess, a huge gash in his stomach and his right arm was covered in burns, but he was alive. He was okay.
“Hey man,” Stiles cooed wincing when Danny grabbed his right hand again. Stiles was kneeling over the other man now trying to smile at him. To reassure him. “We uh-I’m gonna get us out of here okay-shit!”
Stiles ducked, covering Danny as a piece of ceiling fell a few feet away. Yep, time to go. Time to fucking go now. It was getting to him. It all was getting to him. The smells, the screaming, the crying.
“You go. I don’t think I can walk,” Danny said with a groan.
“Shut up,” Stiles answered pushing himself up and blinking. He shook his head a bit trying to get some of the ash out of his eyes-and nose and mouth.
“Stiles please just-“
“Shut the hell up, God I’m not leaving you dude so don’t,” Stiles said reaching down with his good arm and pulling Danny up by his. It took a minute, a lot of groaning and almost screaming but somehow they were standing. Standing in the middle of the burnt out shell formerly known as Jungle watching people running and scrambling and crying and screaming and dying. Watching a lot of people dying.
“Entrance is that way,” Danny spoke quietly, to quietly.
“No, no up, get up,” Stiles begged pushing Danny up on his left shoulder causing Danny to blink and nod. They made their way toward where the entrance was. They could do this. Stiles was half dragging Danny but they could do this. They would do this. They would make it out and breath in clean fresh air. They’d make it out and then they could collapse and sob and scream in pain.
He had to make it out, Danny looked on the verge of death. His eyes half closed, when he did walk it was stumbling. The gash on his stomach scared Stiles. It looked deep enough for his insides to come outside and it was still bleeding. Bleeding a lot.
Stiles barely remembered what had even happened. One minute they were dancing, laughing. Danny was trying to get Stiles to go over to some guy and the next minute. Loud. Booms, just booms. And screaming. God, the night and the screaming. It was hot so fucking hot. The smoke made it so hard to breath. Danny was coughing. Stiles might have been too.
Stiles was helping Danny over a fallen beam and then blackness.
“Stiles! Stiles! Wake up! Come on, come on!”
“Danny?”
“Shit, oh thank God,” Danny’s voice sounded different. When Stiles opened his eyes, Danny’s face looked different. It was dirty blacked with soot but his cheeks and lines down them. Dirty tear tracks.
“Did we get out?” Stiles asked looking up then groaning. The ceiling was on fire so…no. Not out than.
“Something happened. Someone bombed the place, Stiles wake up!” Danny was sobbing now. Sobbing into the ugly horrific stupid shirt.
“Shhh, Danny I’m good,” Stiles assured. He was too. Waking up this time was clearer. More painful but clearer. They weren’t where they’d been before. They were further back toward the middle of the dance floor. Stiles could feel his legs were…asleep. He looked down and choked back a sob. A large piece of something covered his legs. In fact he and Danny were curled together in a sort of cage of something. The way the debris had fallen around them was trapping them. Trapping them in a literally burning building. Stiles could feel the panic attack but he couldn’t give into it.
He could feel the lack of oxygen to his brain but he shut it down.
“Talk to me,” He ordered Danny who looked shocked.
“Wha-“
“Talk to me, I-I can’t think I’m going to have a panic attack. Talk to me!” Stiles ordered again. He didn’t know why he thought it would work. Didn’t know if it would but suddenly Danny was talking a mile a minute. Lacrosse, Ethan, Jackson-and Lydia, Scott and Stiles, being gay, hot it was so hot-sorry. Finstock, fucking Greenburg. Stiles’ leaned his head onto Danny’s shoulder taking in ragged breaths.
“I’m sorry Danny-“
“Shhh, Stiles, shh-“
“No I mean it, I’m sorry I tried and-and I’m so sorry we were so close. So close, fuck. I can’t breathe, Danny can you breathe?”
“No, Stiles no I can’t,” Danny coughed. Stiles nodded. “We’re friends you know?”
“I know.” Stiles agreed. Shit this was it wasn’t it? Danny was making sure they were friends. They were going to die here. They were going to die in a guy club that got bombed twice. They were going to be examples for Liberal media and gay-rights movements. They were going to be martyrs and shit. His dad, God his poor father would have to put up with all that shit. Scott would have to take care of the sheriff now. Shit, shit sh-
It was so hot. So fucking hot. And quiet. He could faintly hear Danny sobbing over him, calling his name. But it was getting cooler it was getting cooler and the screams were dying away. And that was all Stiles wanted.
He barely registered the roar that boomed over all the noise. Barely registered that he knew it. He knew it so well.
“Stiles!” His voice hit his ears over and over. As the world got colder and colder. He couldn’t open his eyes now no matter how much he wanted to, they were just to heavy.
“Come on, you take him I’ll take him,” A voice was saying. Then he could feel Danny’s hand move away from where it had been petting his hair. No, that wasn't right, Danny couldn't go. They were friends. He had to stay he had to help Danny.
“No please, Danny! Danny!”
“Stiles I got you. I got you Stiles!” Someone was talking to him closer now. Close like Danny had been when it started getting cold.
“Danny!” Stiles sobbed.
“Scott has Danny, Stiles it’s okay. Shhh,” Derek. Derek was talking to him, holding him.
“Scotty?” Stiles asked. Scott couldn’t be here, he’d get hurt, he’d die. He’d die like Stiles was dying.
“Yeah Scott has Danny, we’re gonna get you out,” Derek’s voice was reassuring and soft. So soft Stiles had never heard his voice like that. So soft and worried, but soft. It was okay Derek had him he could just go to sleep now.
“Wake up! Wake the fuck up! Wake up or Scott is going to bite you and you’ll be stuck being a fucking werewolf. Wake up!”
“Shit-“ Stiles eyes opened half way to look up at faces. A lot of faces. Derek, Scott, Lydia, Kira, Isaac.
“Move! Get out of the way! Stiles!” His dad’s voice was there now and Stiles turned toward it but hand on his face stopped him. The faces were all gone replaced by one. Just one. Just his dad. His his father’s eyes filled with tears.
The next time his eyes opened he was in a hospital bed. It was bright and white. But filled with balloons and stuffed animals (wolves he might add, someone had bought him every stuffed wolf known to man and he was not amused) and flowers.
“Stiles? Oh my God, Stiles,” Lydia’s voice. Lydia’s soft beautiful voice. He would almost die in a gay club and wake up to the most people woman in the world kissing his face. Such was his life. “I thought we’d lost you.” Each word spoken between kisses. Who was this person and where was his Lydia? Not that he was complaining mind you- “I can’t lose you too.”
This was not the last time he heard this. Not from Lydia, Scott said it too. They both repeated it often when visiting Stile’s hospital bed. When they thought he was asleep. Derek visited too choosing mostly to stand against the wall opposite the bed and engage in a staring contest with Stile’s injured shoulder.
Stile’s didn’t see Danny for three full weeks. They were both in physical therapy. When they saw each other they hugged then sent each other looks saying to never speak of this again.
They didn’t find out what had happened for a while. Or Stiles’ didn’t. His dad wouldn't allow it. Some homophobic idiots had thought it a good idea to bomb a gay club. They’d had some explosives and a plan and ideas. The sheriff had put the cuffs on one personally, after punching him in the face. All in all it was a good day.
Stiles was sitting on the bleachers now, the sun hot on his face. His left leg was in a cast and his right arm was in one as well as a sling. His shoulder wrapped in complicated bandages. His eyes were closed as he listened to the sounds coming from lacrosse field. Someone sat next to him.
“Stiles.”
“Danny.”
Stiles opened his eyes to watch Danny taking in deep breaths. Clean, air.
When he was fully healed Stiles spent a lot of time walking in the preserve where it was quiet and clean. Far away from the Hale house. In the woods where nothing smelled like smoke and blood. Nothing sounded like bombs or screams.
He spent his time with Scott, who hated letting him out of his sight. Time with Lydia, who was constantly kissing him now that that option had almost been taken from her. Time with Derek, who was quieter but didn't treat Stiles any differently than he had before, thankfully. Time with his dad, who sometimes just liked to stare at him. Time with Danny, although no more than before.
Stiles laid back on his bed running his hand through Lydia’s hair. She was tracing her fingers over a scar on his shoulder before snuggling in closer.
Sometimes he could still feel the heat of the building with the fire burning the place down around him. Sometimes he couldn’t sleep because of the screaming. Sometimes he saw Allison in his dreams.
She was sitting next to Danny in that debris cage, petting Stiles’ hair and letting Danny rest on her shoulder.
