Dylan O'Brien Imagines

New Haven Police Department-Thomas

Requested by Thomas2921

Thomas's POV

After taking down Ava Page, defeating Janson, beating WICKED, and losing Newt and Teresa, things slowly started to get back to normal. Those of us who survived built our own community. Even though things slowly started to get better, I couldn't.

I couldn't stop thinking about everything that I've lost. It took me a while to get better physically, but I haven't quite gotten there mentally. And I haven't talked to anyone about it.

Besides, what was I supposed to say and who was I supposed to say it too?

"Thomas? You okay?"

I looked up to see Y/N, my partner, sit down at her desk across from mine. "I'm fine," I stuttered.

"No, you aren't."

I looked back up at her to see her sending me a knowing look. I sighed before going back to reading through a file. The entire time we sat and read through files, I could feel Y/N continually watching me.

When I needed a break, I headed to the station's gun range. Since everything has calmed down, I've needed a way to let out my anger. So, I started shooting guns. It started out with me shooting empty cans in an alley and eventually led to me joining the New Haven Police Department.

I put the gun on the counter and took off my headphones and safety glasses. I sighed as I pressed my hands to the counter and tried to take a deep breath.

My panic attack picked up the longer I stared at the gun. Images and memories flashed into my mind. My breath sped up as my visions blurred.

"Please, Tommy, please."

"Thomas?" I thought I heard someone panic. I shook my head, still struggling to catch my breath. I felt the person grab my shoulders and turn me around. I looked up, my eyes barely able to focus on Y/N's concerned face.

"Y/N," I stuttered, barely able to get her name out.

"I'm here," she said gently. My eyes widened as she reached up and gently held my face in her hands. I reached up and grabbed her wrists, not pulling her hands away from my face.

"Breathe, Thomas," she said gently. "Just breathe. Focus on me and match my breathing."

I didn't look away from her as I did as she said and tried to match her breathing. Soon, my breathing was back under control and my anxiety attack had stopped.

"How did you do that?" I asked softly.

"Well," she cleared her throat, finally dropping her hands from my face. "As everything was going on, I started having really severe panic attacks. My mom always held my face, making me focus on her, and having me match her breathing. She taught me that when you're about to have an attack, focus on your breathing. It worked for me so I figured it would work for you."

"Thank you, Y/N."

"You're welcome," she said, smiling at me. She hesitated before adding, "And when you're finally ready to talk about what caused your panic attack, you know where to find me."

* * * * *

A few days later, the police department caught wind of a group of people causing problems in the old city. The old city was where the WICKED headquarters used to be. Ever since the day Newt and Teresa died and we escaped, that whole part of the city has been closed off.

Now, Y/N and I were about to head back there. The closer we got to the old WICKED headquarters, the more my anxiety built. I tried to remember Y/N's advice and slow my breathing.