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Heaving breaths, limbs shaking and numb, tears pouring and pouring and pouring. It was too hot and too cold all at once. Everything was black.
What was happening to him?
He felt like his eyes were rolling around the back of his head and eyelids fluttering as his body felt weak and detached and falling--
Something pressed up against his back. “Petey?” The voice screeched at him yet still seemed so far away, rattling inside his head. “Peter?”
He tried to respond, he really did, but his throat was too tight and he knew that if he were to open his mouth and try to form words nothing but incomprehensible sobs would come out and choke him in his own despair and hopelessness.
“Pete?” A second voice joined the first, softer in its tone. “Hey Pete, you can come back. It’s safe.”
No, no, no. It was not safe. It did not feel safe and it never will feel safe because he just lost the one thing in the world that ever made it safe--
“Breathe with me, Pete. You need to come back.”
He vaguely registered two warm things--they felt like hands--wrapping around his own, fingers pressing lightly against his wrists, sending his pulse echoing through his bones. Another set of warm things--this time full arms--wrapped around his body and rubbed circles on his skin. (He duly noted that they were trying to ground him, getting him to sense the world again.)
“There we go, Pete,” the voice mumbled, close to his ear. He could feel a breath on his cheek. “Just follow my voice, okay? We’re going to bring you back safe and sound, okay?”
He tried to nod--really, he did--but his neck was so limp, resting against the person’s chest behind him, that he just slightly tipped his head downward.
The other voice chuckled, “Attaboy.”
Carefully, the arms rearranged him to be cradled in someone’s lap and then enveloped him in a gentle yet firm and loving and supportive hug. It was warm and nice and…
Secure. Safe.
He hasn’t felt that in a long, long time.
He took a deep, controlled breath.
He floated in this space, not daring to open his eyes if it meant that he would have to stop all of it.
The voices above--of the two different versions of himself--were idly chatting to each other, tones calm and light and friendly and safe.
He noted that he was resting on Peter 2, for his body rumbled slightly every time he spoke. Peter 3 sat nearby, hugging his waist and running a hand comfortingly through his hair.
Peter let a small, timid smile form on his face as he took another deep breath.