Serotonin- Dream smp x shy M!reader

-Childhood memories-

Warning: panic/panic attacks

Okay, so, sorry if this chapter isn't up to scratch, lately I've been going through a bit of writers block and ect and I've been really struggling to write paragraphs, it was going to be longer but my fingers and brain just said n a h. Either way, I hope y'all can all still enjoy this chapter, next time I'll try to write an extra long chapter for y'all!

The next few hours were a blur, maybe it was better that way. The tears may have been drying at this point but his breathing had far from steadied. He couldn't put together enough coherent thoughts to process his surroundings or who the figures were, holding and cradling him in their arms, combing their fingers soothingly through his h/c locks at a steady pace so as to not disturb Y/n anymore. He stared blankly up at the ceiling with red puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks, his pupils dilated and glossy from sobbing and wailing seemingly endlessly, fueled by a panicked adrenaline which rattled his skull and clawed at his throat until his voice felt raw and hoarse.

God he probably looked pathetic. He always did.

Y/n whimpered, watery sobs echoing in his throat and escaping from his lips as he clinged to the figures which held him affectionately in their arms. He was gasping greedily for oxegen, it refused to stay in his lungs, it felt like his consciousness was slipping between his fingers and out of his grasp, no matter how hard he tried to hold on. The feeling made him go lightheaded. Y/n knew he should have, but he couldn't calm himself. Couldn't catch his breath. His body contorting and squirming with a heavy discomfort but weak physical frame which weighed his movements down to more of a sluggish wriggling that was easily restrained by the people who held him in a gentle manner.

Tommy's pov

Now I was never usually in a scenario where I couldn't find my words, but no matter how many times this happened to Y/n it always left me completely speechless. I guess I had the most distant memory of it happening for the first time when I was about five or six, Y/n couldn't have been any older than ten at the time.

He came home early from school that day. It had been relatively peaceful up until then. I was sat in the living room with the tv on, laying on my stomach with my legs in the air swinging back and forth with delightful, childish entertainment. Mum had entered in through the front door rather abruptly, doing her best to guide Y/n in with her. Dad kept me strictly away from Y/n as they walked him upstairs and into their bedroom, I say walk, it was more like a drowsy stumbling now that I think about it.

I remember following after them, keeping a good distance to avoid being sent away as I climbed the stairs and subtly crept up to the door of my parents room. I hadn't got a good look at Y/n until then.

There were bandages. Everywhere.

They hugged his face and arms and shielded most of his face from my sight. And his hair... it looked like it had been cut? No, it had been ripped out, it was uneven and unruly and plastered to his cheeks and bandages where they were drenched with tears. Y/n was clinging on to our mum like his life depended on it and his breathing was so heavy I could hear it from where I stood peeking through the doorway. It was a watery sort of choking hyperventilating concoction which echoed off the walls and heavily polluted this serene little homely setting of the house we lived in.

We locked eyes for a moment. It was only for a moment. Across the room and blurred by tears. But I don't think I'll ever forget the pure unshaken terror in Y/n's eyes that day. Something had truly shaken him to his core, he generally looked like he thought he was going to die. It was the kind of raw fear you'd only usually see once in your lifetime... yet I had the pleasure of seeing it every other year or so.