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Tommy was lying in bed, cursing himself…again.
He should have been able to get out of bed. Really, he should have. Except for whatever reason, he physically couldn’t. Moving felt like pain and dragging bricks with every muscle twitch. Breathing felt weird, and he was lying in the dark because the lights hurt too much and he didn’t feel like throwing up. Nope, no thanks, not that day.
Sighing, he rolled onto his back, felt the ice pack slip a little further down his shoulders where it had been on his neck. Look at you. So useless. You can’t do anything worthwhile, you just sit there. And what do you even do? He knew he had some impressive accomplishments. His YouTube channel was a testament to that, all the fame he had was hardly anything to scoff at. Numbers and numbers and numbers, and yet…none of that mattered. You don’t even matter.
The door cracked open and someone walked over to sit down by him, mattress sinking under their weight. Thankfully, the door had closed, so all that came in was the little strip of daylight beneath where it hung over the carpet, reminding him that he was wasting the day loafing in bed. Phil’s hand ran over his forehead and Tommy glanced at him. “Hey, how you feeling?” He asked softly, and Tommy snorted before looking away.
“Functional.” Pog shifted her head onto his stomach. “Why are you tasking I feel perfectly fine.” She stubbornly refused to move, and Tommy sighed before running his hand over her ears and head. “Thanks, girl. I may not understand what you’re doing but I guess I’ll laze around—”
“You’re not lazing around, Tommy.” Phil scolded lightly, and Tommy glanced at him for a moment. His dad held his gaze, and Tommy sighed again after a moment. Reaching over, Phil ruffled his hair, “Come on, Tommy. You’ll be back on your feet in no time, I know it. And if you aren’t, that’s fine, too. Life may be a race, but you’re the only one running yours.”
“So I should be working harder.” When Tommy tried to get up, both Pog and Phil pushed him back down on the bed. “Come on, please. I need to stream today, people will wonder where I’ve gone!”
“And we’ll clarify for them. Mental and physical health is more important than streaming.” When Tommy stared at him, Phil’s expression softened a little, and he continued, “Just until you’re better, okay?”
Sighing, Tommy slumped back into the bed and sighed. “Fine.”
+++
Later in the day, Phil, Wilbur, Techno, and Tubbo were heading out to look at some drive-in Christmas lights.
“Are you sure you’re okay with us leaving?” Phil had asked, looking at Tommy critically with the look that said he knew Tommy wasn’t trying to worry them. Tommy had nodded, told them to go have fun, and that he was going to relax and watch Tik Tok compilations on YouTube of funny animals with Pog. Not too much, nothing too stressful.
Of course, somehow, he didn’t actually notice how hungry he was until the nausea hit.
Oh. Okay, guess I better get up and make something. Getting to his feet, he walked over and immediately had to pause in the kitchen entrance. Touching his head and wincing, he waited until he could see properly again and move without pain stabbing through his jaw. Sure, if he was clenching his teeth for a few moments, that was fine. He was fine, he was okay. He’d handled worse than this before, he just needed to stop being a baby and actually get back to moving around.
Come on, Tommy. Opening the freezer with more effort than could possibly be needed (seriously, why was it so hard? His hands were shaking so much), he looked for some waffles and finally managed to grab them out. Screw up. You’re so messed up. Look at you. You forget to eat and then you pass out because of it and then you’re going to have a panic attack.
Outside, there was some movement and Pog trotted over to the door for a moment. “Oh, girl, please don’t do that.” Tommy whispered, shoving some waffles in the toaster and getting out a plate to put some bacon on. His stomach clenched like it always did. You couldn’t even watch over your own blood sugar. How are you supposed to be able to make it on your own if you can’t even eat normally?
A short breath escaped him. The weird clenching feeling spread from his stomach to his chest and then his neck. Vaguely, he’d liken it to choking, but he wasn’t sure why. He just…
Pog’s slimy pink tongue wrapped around his fingers, and he glanced down. “O-oh.” Walking over to the sink, Tommy washed the slobber off of his hands. Pog’s paws landed on his hips and he grabbed onto the counter before slowly sliding to the ground. No sense falling to the ground (at least he wasn’t on the stairs, he didn’t feel like plummeting headfirst down them), but he still had to be careful. His vision started darkening. Oh, level’s loading. Sucking in a breath, he blinked a few times even though he couldn’t actually see the difference. Once, and he wasn’t sure what exactly had happened, his vision had gone black like it currently was, and he’d started jerking for no reason (his arms, his legs), and then he’d collapsed to the ground with the dining room chair he’d grabbed for support slamming down right beside him. As far as the doctors knew, it wasn’t seizures.
Hot Pog-breath washed over his face and he wrinkled his nose, reaching blindly for her face. “Hey, girlie.” Shoulders jerking, he sucked in a few breaths. “I’m good, I’m fine, I just—”
Passing out was weird.
He didn’t actually feel…real, he guessed that was one way to describe it. There really weren’t words for how it felt. One moment, he could be doing something, or maybe he’d very suddenly think it’s kind of hot in here while staring at the cinnamon toast. Or was it French toast? Maybe a cinnamon roll? He couldn’t remember anymore.
Either way, he’d be there, thinking about it being weird. Or sometimes there wasn’t really much of a warning, just a feeling and then he was out. That wasn’t the bad part. Usually, he didn’t remember that at all.
Waking up—that was the bad part.
Jolting out of the weird was I just dreaming feeling that pervaded every sense of his body and skin, Tommy sucked in a breath. Everything shot back in too quickly and not fast enough, the black haze around his vision fading in and out. Maybe later he wouldn’t remember it exactly, wouldn’t be able to perfectly describe it, but in the moment all he could feel was his heart in his throat as everything in him freaked out. Pog was on his legs, pressing down. He was lying on the floor.
Where were Phil and the others?
They’re at the thing. They’re at the thing they’re gone they have no idea you’re going to die you’re going to stop breathing or pass out again—soft fur brushed against his neck. Pog’s muzzle, easiest guess. Sucking in a breath, he reached up. Even with the tunnelling vision, he could see his hands shaking. I can’t call them. I can’t get up—I’m not going to be able to get up what if I can’t until they’re home?
What if they don’t come home? What if they die? What if they never come back or they decide to leave what if—his mind kept darting over all the different, numerous ways that Phil and the others could have left or even abandoned him. They don’t want you anymore. Why would they want you? You can’t even take care of yourself properly you just ruin everything you useless kid no wonder they didn’t want you and now Phil won’t want you either—
Sucking in breaths, he laid on the floor and stared up at the too-bright industrial lights in the ceiling. Pog’s head rested on his chest, trying to slow his breathing. Failure. You’re so pathetic, you can’t handle this on your own. Can’t handle a panic attack. You’re supposed to be a professional, you’re closer to being an adult than when you became a teenager. Gasping, he reached up and stretched his arms above his head. Everything seemed too in focus and yet he couldn’t focus on anything, which made no sense.
His breathing stuttered, he could hear the harsh sounds he was making even though it was less distinct and almost underwater. Come on, Tommy, breathe. Breathe.
I can’t breathe I’m dying I’m going to die this is it Phil and the others are going to come home and decide they don’t want me anymore. They don’t want me know that’s what they’re talking about they don’t like me—
I need to breathe I’m fine I’m just having a panic attack. Pog laid on his chest, trying to steady his breathing. Desperate and without really thinking, Tommy rubbed at the side of his arm, stopping when Pog’s muzzle tapped and rubbed against his arms. Gentle teeth latched around his hands, she was tasking. He knew that he knew that everything was fine Pog was with him—
But he was alone he was alone he was alone he had no one with him what would happen if something went wrong what if someone broke in what if he passed out? What if he didn’t wake up what if his blood pressure was too low? What if he couldn’t get back up when they needed him to be upright, would they just leave him on the floor? Would they just leave him there forever?
Squeezing his eyes shut, Tommy bit down on the back of his wrist without thinking and whimpering once.
+++
Phil knew something was wrong when he walked into the house with Tubbo, Wilbur, and Techno behind him, and Pog walked up without Tommy.
Of course he knew what that meant. Service dog with no handler, the handler was down and probably needed help. Considering Pog was actively trying to get his attention, grabbing the bracelets around his wrist and tugging, Tommy needed him. “Tommy’s down.” He murmured to Wilbur right behind him. Nodding, Wilbur made a signal to Techno and they both kept Tubbo back while Phil went into the kitchen on his own. Please don’t be a seizure please don’t be something serious. Please just let him be okay.
Tommy was lying on the floor.
Pog curled up on his stomach again, and he raised a hand to pet her. His fingers were shaking. Poor kid. “Hey, Tommy.” Phil said in a hushed tone, just loud enough for Tommy to hear him. Blinking, Tommy looked over and smiled weakly, still looking rather out of it. “Did you pass out?” Even with Pog on top of him and acting as a heat blanket, Tommy shivered once, teeth chattering as he replied.
“Yeah.” Nodding, Phil gently pulled Tommy’s head into his lap, touching around to feel for any bumps or other injuries he’d need to worry about. From the looks of it, Pog had probably gotten him down to the floor in time, maybe even before. Still, it couldn’t hurt to check.
And then Tommy started panicking again.
“Tommy?” Phil asked, noting the way his kid’s breathing was speeding up again. Is this the first panic attack or another one? Is he okay?
“I’m sorry—I’m sorry, I’ll get a handle on it, I swear I’m trying—” Tommy forced out, clinging to Phil’s sweater. “I—I’ll get a handle on it. I’ll get—I swear, I’ll get a handle on it—”
“Ssh, shh, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Holding him close, Phil gently stroked his hair and then ran a hand down to his shoulders. Tommy kept shivering, teeth chattering. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Come on, kiddo. Let’s get you somewhere to sit down and I’ll make you some hot chocolate, okay?” Tommy nodded and wrapped his hands in Phil’s sweater, burying his face a little bit. Tomorrow, Phil was going to regret it, but he slid an arm underneath Tommy’s knees and the other around his shoulders and then hefted him upright with a grunt. All my children are so leggy, he mused, carrying Tommy over to the couch in a few stumbling steps. Oof. I’m going to feel that tomorrow.
Pog jumped up beside Phil and Tommy, resting her head on Tommy’s lap as Phil held him closer, kissed his hair a few times. Appearing from the kitchen, Wilbur walked over with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate in his hands. Setting them down on the coasters, he touched Tommy’s shoulder and then leaned in to kiss his brother’s forehead. “You’re okay, buddy. Want Tubbo, Tech, and I in here?” Tommy nodded, and Wilbur disappeared for a second. Phil kept rocking him back and forth ever so slightly, reassuring him every so often.
“Hey, why don’t we watch a movie?” Against his chest, feeling very unlike the gangly sixteen-year-old he was, Tommy nodded. Rubbing a hand up his back, Phil waited and then indicated to Techno to put a movie in. Techno nodded, went about looking through them. “What movie do you want?”
“Something Christmas. Not Nightmare, though. Please. Or horror.” Tommy murmured. Nodding, Techno went about pulling out the old Claymation Rudolph and putting it in.
The movie went on, and they all kind of just…cat piled on the couch. Not dog-piled, cat-piled. There was a distinct difference. One involved both more contact and more dignity, and was generally a bit more comfortable because everyone could breathe. “You know, this movie is a lost treasure.” Tommy decided, sipping at the hot chocolate and then looking down. “Wilbur, did you put the sprinkles in to look like a murder scene on purpose?”
Throwing his arms up and jostling both Techno and Tubbo, who immediately moved to keep from spilling hot chocolate, Wilbur replied, “How was I supposed to know it would melt like that? Just because it looks like the Satan McFlurry doesn’t—I do not control the rate at which your hot chocolate summons a demon, Tommy.”
Laughing like he did while streaming, Tommy kicked his legs up and sipped from the hot chocolate. He wasn’t wrong. It did look a bit like a murder scene, the red sprinkles sliding through the whipped cream and looking rather…well, violent was the best way to describe it, even though it was whipped cream and sprinkles. Reaching over, Phil ruffled Tommy’s hair, laughing at the soft “hey!” he got in response.
“Anyone else have those clicky ankles?” Tubbo asked all of a sudden as they watched Rudolph on the ice floe. Before he replied, Techno didn’t even bother to look up from his phone. Phil wasn’t even sure he was actually watching the movie.
“Have you considered you might be a reindeer?”