Panic Attack

Derrien felt strange being in the apartment alone, to be frank. Harvey was away at her house half the time nowadays, and sure, Derrien was used to it, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. Part of him wondered how he’d fare living on his own. He’d always considered himself independant, but recent feelings were contradicting that notion. 

Currently, he was bored. He was neglecting his homework in favor of doodling Batman, because when he’d texted Alex for what to draw, that’s what she’d told him. 

It was to that scene Chester had arrived to. The speed with which the door was shut was what first caught Derrien’s attention. When he didn’t see his dad come into the living room, he was sure what was happening. He got up calmly and put his stuff on the coffee table and walked down the short hall to where Chester was, still in the entrance, back to the door and clearly having a panic attack.

“Hey, dad, you’re home now. You’re safe,” he started, long-since familiar with how this went. Something must have happened at work to set him off. It wasn’t really helpful for Derrien to pry, though. “Try to breath, please. You’re safe.”

Chester nodded, trying to hold his breath for a few seconds at a time. Derrien came closer, put a hand on his dad’s arm as if asking permission, and Chester responding by pulling him into a hug while he fought to calm his breathing. 

“It’ll be over soon,” He said. 

They stayed like that. Derrien’s dad was still much bigger than he was, even though Derrien was fully-grown, now. He always felt safe in his arms. He wished he could return the favor, but he always felt so incapable. Maybe it was just that he wished his dad wasn’t upset like this in the first place. It wasn’t fair. 

Eventually, Chester was able to breathe again. Derrien had no doubt he still felt bad, of course. When he let go, Derrien asked if he wanted some juice, which was normal procedure for these types of things. He led him by the arm to their small kitchen space, poured him a glass and put a straw in it, and settled in next to him as he raised it with shaking hands. 

His dad was a tactile person, Derrien knew. He learned best when he worked with his hands, and he would be easily distracted by textures and tastes. If he was trying to fix something, or move furniture or make school lunches and one of the boys asked him a question, it would take him a few seconds to stop and process what he’d been asked. So when he really needed to be distracted, Derrien got him a drink with a straw and leaned against him and sometimes drew patterns on his arm, if it was really bad. 

This would be easier if Harv had been with them. 

“Sorry,” Chester whispered, snapping Derrien from the beginnings of his angry thoughts. 

“Nothing to be sorry for, dad,” He replied. Chester felt bad about making his sons take care of him, Derrien knew. He really wished he wouldn’t. It wasn’t his fault. “I love you.”

Chester moved to pull him into another hug, resting his lips on the top of Derrien’s head. He stayed like that for a few seconds, because he had difficulty speaking when he was well and truly upset. 

“I love you, too.” He finally found the words, voice still quiet and a little strained. He gave Derrien’s arm a squeeze and pulled away. “I-I feel alright now.”

He nodded and tried to give him a soft smile. 

“By the way, did I tell you about the new art teacher already?” 

Lucky him at least something interesting had happened at school that day. Chester shook his head, and wasn’t looking away, which was a good sign. So Derrien told him about the new teacher, who was clearly fresh out of college, but at least didn’t make borderline-racist remarks in class like the last one. Hopefully she would grade more leniently, too. That slipped into talking about how he was feeling about his classes, and what sorts of projects he’d been working on, and when Chester decided he was late on preparing dinner, Derrien joined in (though neither of them were particularly good at food either way.) He finally got his dad smiling again.