Archive of Our Own ^beta

Cisco only gets two minutes of silence before the gut feeling twisting in him forces his feet to follow HR to the guest bunker room.

He walks fast: he doesn't know why he's unsettled, but he is. There was something in HR's gaze, fleeting as it was.

He finds HR sitting on the edge of his cot, head hung low and shoulders hunched. He grips the frame of the cot, everything in him screaming tensetensetense.

"HR?" Cisco tries, almsot tiptoeing into HR's line of sight.

HR shivers once, swallows hard, head turning ever-so-slightly toward Cisco. He grips the cot tighter, knuckles going white.

Cisco studies his friend, sees the way his chest heaves a little, and lowers himself into a crouch.

HR's eyes squeeze shut, a few small, rasping gasps escaping him. Cisco can see how hard he's clenching his jaw, his shoulders hunched almost to his ears, now.

He touches HR's knee for a moment- just a brush of the fingers. HR doesn't respond, just keeps his eyes squeezed shut and breathes harshly, once, out of his nose, swallowing hard.

"HR, hey- can you talk to me?" Cisco tries again, soft as he can, moving to sit beside him instead.

HR just shakes his head, swallows again.

Cisco hesitates, carefully presses a hand between HR's shoulder blades, gentle but firm. HR grimaces almost immediately, shaking his head in quick, jerky movements.

His knee starts bouncing, and he ducks a little lower into himself, like he's trying to get away.

"No, n-" HR mumbles, raspy and trembling- one of his hands lets go of the cot and flails about for a long moment.

"Don'- get- too- too much," he rubs the back of his neck tentatively, scratching a little.

Cisco frowns but takes his hand back quickly, resigning himself to simply sitting next to his friend for now.

He watches as HR shakes his hands out again, like he's trying to flick water off, watches him shake his head again, over and over, blinking rapidly before squeezing his eyes shut again. HR huffs out three, four times, shaky and bursting out.

"What's going on?" Cisco asks quietly, brow furrowed when HR hums low in his throat, sounding distressed. "Are you sick?"

HR shakes his head after too many beats, his whole frame begining to shake, now. He grips the cot again with one hand, shaking the other one out, hard. He's started to rock himself back and forth a little.

"Buddy, you're shivering," Cisco points out, gently. "You sure you're not sick?"

HR nods, another harsh exhale escaping him. He clicked his tongue a few times, kicked his heel against the floor. Cisco studies him curiously as he curses under his breath, cheeks flushing.

"Just- ah. . . " HR trails off, clicking his tongue again. He snapped a shaking hand against the cot's frame, lifted it to cover half his reddened face. "Anxiety. . . anixety 't-ttack- Sorry-" he cuts himself off with a sharp gasp in, a groan escaping when he breathes back out.

Oh, Cisco thinks.

"Oh."

He is so far in over his head.

"Jus'. . . " HR slides his hand up to run through his hair, gritting his teeth. "Gimme- gimme minute."

"All good," Cisco tells him, almost automatically, though really he has no idea how he's supposed to respond to this- how HR needs him to respond to this.

Should he help? Should he leave? Was this serious enough for the medbay? Maybe he should get Caitlyn, she'd know what to do- more than him, anyway-

But then HR's hand suddenly shoots down to grip his chest, his breaths hitching a little worse than usual- concerningly quiet, but no less painful-looking-

And Cisco nearly tastes bile, the worry for his friend twisting his stomach into knots.

He desperately wants to help.

He takes a quiet, deep breath, face drawn in determination, and carefully takes HR's other hand into his own, holding his breath: ready to move.

But HR grips back, and Cisco breathes out silently in relief; the last thing he wants to do is make this any worse for his friend.

"How can I help?" Cisco asks after several moments, doing his best to sound as non-threatening as possible.

HR shakes his head again, blowing out a more controlled breath, shaky though it was.

"I- I don' know."

"You want me to keep holding your hand?"

HR nods, squeezing Cisco's hand again. "Jus' need to. . . to ride it out."

Cisco nods, filing the phrase away for later, and tries to sit very still. He hates that this feels awkward, doing this. But he's relieved it's helping.

"Sorry I can'-" HR starts, has to take a gasping breath in, "-can' help more."

Cisco frowns, gently knocking his knee against HR's. "What do you mean?"

HR sighs slowly, a little less shaky. He clicked his tongue, and Cisco watched his ears tint red again, watched his friend shake his head again, slowly this time. His grip lessens on his shirt and lifts it to run over his hair, covering half his face again.

"With- um. . . projects an' uh- other- other stuff," he pauses, taking a trembling breath in as his eyes slip closed. "Team Flash. . . y'know."

Cisco smiles a little, reassuring, "You're a part of Team Flash, HR. You help. You're our friend."

HR huffs, lips twitching up, "I forget, sometimes."

"I get it," Cisco reassures. "I'll keep reminding you."

HR smiles, soft and small, and knocks Cisco's knee back. His shoulders drop and his hand falls to rest in his lap. He breathes out, long and steady.

"Thanks," he whispers.

They sit in silence for a beat or two, before HR sucks in a breath, raises his head to look around the room.

"Looking for something?" Cisco asks, and HR nods. He shakes his free hand out, and something strange clicks in Cisco's brain.

"Your drumsticks?" he guesses, and HR smiles sheepishly, nodding again, free hand rubbing a thumb over his forefinger.

"C'mon- I think you left them in the cortex," Cisco says, tugging HR's hand.

They make their way to the Cortex, slow but steady, and Cisco makes sure never to loosen his hold on HR's hand.

Sure enough, they find HR's drumsticks on the divot right behind their main computers, and his friend sighs in relief, taking them gratefully and sliding one into his back pocket.

Cisco studies HR's haggard, tired face, the bags under his eyes; sees the way his gaze seem to wander aimlessly, like he's not quite all there- and makes an executive decision.

"C'mon," he says, tugging at HR's hand again. HR hums, following without a word.

He leads them to the kitchen, getting a water bottle from the fridge. He cracks the lid and makes sure HR takes a few sips before leading them away again.

They find the rec room easily enough, though it's often unused, and Cisco brings HR down to sit on the couch with him. He watches as the man twists and twirls and taps the drumstick between his fingers eyes glazed with exhaustion and staring straight into hazy space.

"Why do you do that?" Cisco asks, curious, and HR winces, gaze fleeting over Cisco's and hand stilling, dropping into his lap.

He flushes deep red, and Cisco frowns, squeezes HR's hand in reassurance.

"HR. . . " Cisco tries, trying in vain to catch his friend's gaze. "I'm sorry, you don't have to tell me. I just wanna know if I can help."

HR flush recedes, just a little bit, and he swallows, thinking. He opens his mouth, once, twice- but ultimately nothing comes out. He huffs out his nose, brow furrowing in what looks like frustration.

Cisco smiles softly at him, and tugs him closer. HR hesitates, but concedes, gingerly laying his head on Cisco's shoulder. When Cisco doesn't move or make a protest, he relaxes more, closing his eyes and breathing in deep.

Cisco slips his phone out of his pocket, listening closely as HR breathes back out. Smiles a little when it comes out steady and calm.

With no other context and a head full of questions and concerns, Cisco simply googles "twirling drumsticks a lot".

He sifts through multiple results about percussion, impressing beginner precussionists, DIY, and proper drumming technique- until he finally finds something helpful: a short post about "stimming".

He goes back to the search engine, types in "stimming", and nearly chokes at the sheer amount of results spit back out at him.

He scans them quickly, eventually deciding on a Harvard article. Might as well go to the top, right?

Immediately, his brain highlights several things: ADHD, anxiety, coping mechanisms, and that word "stimming", again- among other things.

He learns a lot in those few minutes, but in the end he turns to HR, asks, "ADHD?", and watches in satisfaction as HR starts a little, eyes wide and blinking up at him. He smiles, a little wider than before, and nods.

He looks relieved, like a huge weight has just been lifted from his shoulders, and Cisco smiles back at him, feeling relieved himself.

Next time- next time, when he walks in to see HR breathing short and shaky, hands flapping and leg bouncing furiously, eyes squeezed shut and unable to speak- Cisco will know what to do.

He'll research the very edges of every article he can find if that's what it takes.