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Seamus Finnigan (openbottle) wrote in finnigans_rpg,

Recognizing the flailing and shallow gasps as Not Good - and possibly signs of worse to come - Seamus dropped to his knees on the mattress, and then stalled. Usually, he'd clamber over to Dean, grab him and wrap around him and remind him of the real time and place. Would Dean recoil from the touch? Or, worse, would he force himself to endure it? Seamus couldn't bring himself to find out - didn't want to face either option. Coward. The word flashed across his mind like sheet lightning. He dropped back on his haunches, loose fingers hanging from loose hands, loose wrists, loose shoulders. "Okay," he said. "Okay."

Without intervention, Dean's breathing wasn't getting any easier. For a moment - for the first time - Seamus wondered if he should go get Susan. Maybe Susan could sit with Dean, maybe her strength would calm him down. And then Dean seemed to fall over himself, back onto the mattress. "Careful," Seamus said automatically. "Focus on breathing first, yeah? When you've got that under control, then you can move." The words would have been perfectly acceptable on any other day - would have had just the right hint of joking so that Dean knew Seamus wasn't worried - and if Seamus wasn't worried, things couldn't be that badly wrong, right? Now, though, the words sounded cold to Seamus's ear. Harsh. He hadn't meant them that way, and Godric only knew how they actually sounded, but they felt all wrong, divorced from physical contact and delivered as if Seamus were a stranger, an intruder.

Seamus lurched off the bed again. "Breath in," he said, counting to five in his own head as he looked around for Dean's self care box. "Breath out." He found it in its usual place, moved it to the bed. His fingers explored the familiar objects inside, pulling out a few that might be useful, rejecting anything that was remotely related to himself. "Breath in," he continued, pushing the presents off the bedside table and setting up Dean's candle. "Breath out." He pulled a picture of Susan and Shadow - soaking wet both - from the box. "This is new," he murmured. "Breath in?" The last instruction rose as a question while he tried to see - without moving from his space on the floor - if Dean were doing better.