Lams stuff

Chap. 6 Storm

A/N: Let's keep this fucked up tradition going, shall we? 
TRIGGER WARNING: this chapter is about Alex a ptsd-ish panic attack. If this is a trigger, than I suggest staying clear of this chapter. I made this as accurate as possible(along with a few artistic liberties).
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John's POV
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Alexnder didn't seem like he was...well, there. Yes, his body was sitting beside me on the thin bed we shared, but Alexnder seemed to be in some other place than here. Not in a sense that he's dead per say, just...somewhere else.
I watched Alexnder as he absently stumbled through his words, his eyes were out of focus, his mouth barely moving. Alexander was facing away from me and towards the window. I shifted my position to see from his angle. Nothing much. The only thing that caught my attention was a cluster of big, grey storm clouds overhead. I peered over at Alexnder, I opened my mouth to ask him what was going on, but no sound came out.
Alexander was hyperventilating, his eyes were wide, his back was arching as if he were shrinking.
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Alexander's POV
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I turned my head to look out the window.
To see the menacing clouds.
To hear the rushing of wind and rain together in a grim harmony.
I wrenched my gaze away from the awful site, to see John giving me a concerned look. I assured him I was fine, but I knew he'd never believe me. Not after hearing my voice shake. Not after seeing tears build in my eyes.
Still hyperventilating, I my best to tried to stand up. I felt my legs violently shake beneath me, my hands trembling. My legs felt like long, brittle sticks, just waiting to break from under me. My mind felt fuzzy, like it was being wrapped around in a strip of animal fur. I could feel each short strand rubbing against my brain.
I clambered into my chair at my writing desk. My place of comfort.
John was bombarding my with questions.
"Alexander, are you alright?" "Alexnder, you look ill, why don't you rest?" "Alexander what's wrong, is it the storm?"
I didn't answer. I found that my lips were too heavy to move.
I felt John's presents, before I felt him palace his hands on my shoulders. I know that he meant well, but I didn't like it at all. I couldn't hear what he said. I heard it as though it was underwater. I reached open my lips and cried, "LET GO OF ME!!"
John gasped, but obeyed without hesitation. I heard him step back.
I heard a loud clap of thunder. I covered my ears, screamed in fear, and just like that, I was forced into the nightmarish hell of my past.
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I don't know when this happened, of what I was doing before it. All I remember if the fearful screams, swirling wind, the distinct stench of gunpowder. An ever rising sea full of mangled bodies and debris. Stealing one last glimpse of my brother as he was swept away by the angry waves. Not allowing myself to cry in order to conserve water.
A huge wave crashed over me, hurtling me into the filthy sea. I struggled and failed to stay up. The brown water engulfed my chest, then my shoulders, my neck, the back of my head, and the rest of my face.
Air...
I can't breathe..
I need air...

I started hearing a voice, saying things like, "Alexander, what's wrong?" "Alexnder, where are you?" Alexander, you need to come back." "Alexander, I want to help."
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It took me a while before I realized that the voice wasn't my own, but in fact John's.
It took me a wile for me to fade back into reality.
Once I did, I became aware of my extremely fast heart beat, wet tears streaming down my face, my fast, shallow breaths...I felt like I was choking. I flung back my head and quickly undid my cravat. I gritted my teeth and inhaled as much air as possible.
I looked back down and to my left to see John kneeling at my level, his hands resting on his knees.
I saw him open an inviting hand next to mine. He wanted me to hold it. I looked at it and up at John. I hesitantly placed my violently quivering hand to place my palm on his. He gently wrapped his long fingers between mine.
"Now, what can I do to help you?", he asked, gently, rubbing the pad of his thumb on the back of my hand. I could see poorly disguised fear in his eyes. I didn't blame him.
I paused, but finally answered between sobs.
"I-I d-don't kn-know.."
"Hmm...", John hummed. "Would you like some water?"
I pressed my lips together and shrugged. He stood up and filled a glass of water from the pitcher at the windowsill. He walked back to me, but not before closing the curtains. He kneeled down in the same spot he did before and handed me the glass. I tried and failed to steady my still quivering hand, but took the glass anyways. I hesitated as I carefully raised up the glass to my lips.
What if I choke? What if I can't swallow? What if my hand shakes so much, all of the water spills on the carpet and John...what if he gets mad at me...
John seamed to read my mind and answered, "it's alright, Alexander. It won't it hurt you."
I gave him one last look before I let the cool liquid slide down my throat.
"Thanks.." I muttered. I took another sip.
"You're welcome, Alexnder.", he sighed, "Are you feeling any better?"
It was then when I realized the storm had passed, though my heart was still racing, and I was still hyperventilating, I did feel better.
"A little..."
John smiled, "Good...you scared me for a minute."
"Me t-too..."
I pulled him into a hug and squeezed him as tight as my limp arms would allow me to, John did the same, but more gently. I buried my face in his chest, I felt his lips pull into a smile as his buried his nose in my hair.
There was a content sort of calmness around us. It helped relax me enough to realize how tired I was. John helped to support my weight as my still incompetent legs stumbled over to our bed. We changed into our nightclothes and got into our bed. John held me close to his chest, like he wanted nothing more than to protect me from the outside world.
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The next day, it was almost as if nothing ever happened. John didn't make fun of me. He never called me weak. John didn't tell anyone. He never pressured me to talk about last night. He didn't brag to others about how good of a person he was for taking care of me. He gave me a level of respect that I didn't know was possible for someone like me.

"John?"
"Hm?", he hummed, looking up from his book.
"I love you."