Imagine Cassian helping you through a panic attack before Aldhani.
this was meant to be up ages ago but i had a busy week so thank you for waiting! it was also meant to be short but we passed 1k easily idk. maybe i love him too much?
warnings: anxiety, panic attack.
requested by: anon
written by: archie
this is inspired by @yournewwriter‘s gentle prompts: helping through panic/anxiety attacks.
He rolled over in his hammock, hoping to resume his rest before the operation tomorrow, but the swinging of his whole body kept him awake instead.
And that damn sniffling. Shuffling, rustling of things.
There’d be no rest with that racket.
A scowl weighted his face as he gave a biting whisper into the dark. “Will you quiet?”
A gasp. “S-sorry, I didn’t know you were awake.”
“How could I not be?” he murmured to himself. He needed his rest. Too much of this mission relied on him. He was the only one who knew how to pull the freighter out of the garrison, and he was the only one to come into this late. Adrenaline would only take him so far- he needed to be in best shape.
But the sniffles wouldn’t ease, filling the air with raggedy breaths. He left it a moment. He counted to ten. He waited to see if they would calm, but when they didn’t…
He sighed and pulled himself to sit, eyes narrowed to the smaller shape beside his hammock. He was ready to spit a command, grouchy as he could possibly be, but all that energy dissipated as soon as his eyes grew accustomed to the Aldhani starlight.
There you were, curled up, eyes wide as you peered up at him, clearly startled within an inch of your life. A bag lay half packed before you, fabrics and weapons strewn everywhere, eyes red and puffy from crying.
You’d been nothing but good to him when others had borderline punished him for even showing his face. You’d had the courage to be the approachable, even friendly presence for him to share questions about the mission with, without any worry of judgement or telling the others.
So now, seeing you like this, so visibly distressed… It pulled at a chord inside him.
“Hey,” his voice shifted away from accusing, almost leaning towards gentle. “What are you doing?”
“S-sleep, Clem,” your voice wavered, “It’s nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing. Is- is that my shirt?” He leant over the edge of the hammock, careful not to tip it over as he pointed to a bunched up garment half in the packed bag. “Will you miss me that bad?”
A half-hearted snort of laughter. He grunted as he pulled his legs out of the hammock, letting them dangle over the side as he rubbed the slumber from his eyes. Then, he simply watched.
He watched you bat at the tears that rolled from your eyes, visibly too ashamed to even meet his gaze, halted in your rushed packing. He knew everything he needed to know.
“Is running away really the answer?”
He paused. Then he nodded, sucking on his teeth. He let that hang in the air, but noticed you’d stopped packing. You just sat there now, beneath the cosmic light, trying to even your laboured breath. “Where will you go? To the locals? They won’t have you.”
“I’ll get off this horrible planet.”
He just waited. He could feel it building again, the pressure in your mind. Your thoughts whirred by quicker and quicker, getting jumbled and confused, and he could read it in your breathing.
But it didn’t stop growing. He wondered how much oxygen was in your brain by now, far too oversaturated to be working properly, and the energy escaped your lips with a strained cry, muffled by your hands to your mouth.
He knew he needed to say something— you were spiralling. “It’s normal to be scared. Nervous. I’d be worried if you weren’t.”
But his words just bounced off you. A storm was building inside your head and it closed around you, tightening your lungs, dizzying your mind.
So much rode on this mission, and it was crazy. It was literal suicide. You’d be dead this time tomorrow— no, it wouldn’t even take that long. You had nothing but hours left on your clock, and if you didn’t get yourself together, you’d pull down everyone with you.
All that was left was to go. They’d know how to pick up your slack, they’d know how to make it go smoothly. But what if they didn’t? What if your leaving cemented them into their graves?
Your hands paused in the frantic stuffing of the bag. You hadn’t even realised you’d attempted packing again, your body on autopilot, not even feeling like your body. Like you were outside of it, trembling, dizzy.
A warmth on your hand. “Put it down. It’s okay.”
Your trembling gaze struggled to focus on the dimly lit form beside you. “C-clem?”
“We’re going to be just fine. You are going to be just fine.”
Your eyes grew bleary from the tears that dripped uncontrollably, not even needing blinks to fall, and you struggled to keep them fixed on him, your attention being called to the many frantic corners of your mind.
He shuffled where he sat, his comfort on the cold ground coming second to the comfort he needed to offer you. He’d dived down from the hammock to gain your focus, and he’d try to be your calm in the storm.
So, he took your cheeks instead. He made you look at him, his thumbs brushing your under eyes, though it was useless. Your tears fell at a steady rate, your lungs fixed into flight mode, but he kept your attention. Even that was a blessing against your brain.
“Look,” he hushed, “Look at me. Focus on me. Okay? Focus.”
It was so hard to steer your thoughts towards him, but his unmistakable beauty made it easier. The stars above lit his face with a cosmic glow, barely visible to be seen, but they caught his eyes just right. Maker, they’d be beautiful beneath The Eye.
Almost without permission, your breathing started to mellow. It remained uneven, fighting for the occasional gasp, but the ache in your chest alleviated beneath his firm, safe gaze. “That’s it,” he soothed, “I’m here. You’re here, with me.”
He took your wrist from where it’d frozen on the bag and placed your palm to your heart. He pressed it there, a thumb on the back of your palm, tapping in slow dual beats.
He was painting a rhythm for your heart to follow. Only now, with this closeness, this intimacy that you hadn’t even dreamt of for months, you could never reach a resting heartbeat.
His eyes remained determined, but gentle. “See?” he whispered amongst the darkness, “You’re alright.”
“But we won’t be,” your brain spilled out before you even registered.
He gave a slow sigh. He looked into those panicked, glistening eyes, and raised a knuckle to brush away the droplet of pain sat beneath your lashes. And then he spoke softly, but deliberately. “Maybe. I won’t lie to you, this could go terribly,” he couldn’t help his quiet chuckle at the likelihood. “Or we could land a massive blow to the Empire. …But that won’t happen without you there.”
“I just know I’m gonna mess up-“
A burst of fire. “I’ll handle it! I’ll look after you, clean up any ends. But we need you, or we won’t get out alive.” He softened, a hand setting on your shoulder with a firm squeeze that dissolved your thoughts. “Don’t condemn us.”
You watched his face. Those brown eyes told you he was sure. He’d cover you; he had the mind able to adapt on the spot. If you did mess up, he’d be there to help. You’d be fine.
You gave out a shaky breath with a nod. Only now did you realise quite how tired you were.
“Good,” he clasped his hand on your shoulder once more and turned to the haphazardly packed bag, tugging his shirt out. “We survive and you can have this.”
You gasped, cheeks flaring pink in the darkness as you shook your hands in dismissal. “No no, I didn’t even realise-“
He hopped back into his hammock, the swaying of it just visible in the starlight. “Excuses. Sleep now, if you can.”
And with that, he rolled over and squeezed his eyes shut, willing sleep to come to him, but he couldn’t help listening to the rustling of fabric as you unpacked the bag once more, with a gentle “Thank you, Clem,” slipping into the air.
Things were going to be just fine tomorrow.
