Work Text:
Steven’s having a bad fucking week.
He’s had bad days before, sure, he’s had some very weird, very embarrassing days before, but nothing really compares to the realisation that a part of your life may be a lie.
Now Marc – Marc… the guy who he shares a body with apparently isn’t that news, assures him that no, his life is not a lie he’s just as real as he is but now - that’s not feeling like much comfort.
I mean really, is that even the biggest of his problems at the moment? He contemplates as he scans the next item of something Ancient Egyptian themed to be sold to a child, just last night (was it even last night???) he was certain he’d be killed by some monster sent by a cult leader, only to be saved by the guy living in his body, who apparently can transform into some moon-warrior.
Steven questioned Marc about the whole thing but only got vague responses of ‘don’t worry about it,’ ‘it’s easier not to know,’ and ‘I’ll protect us.’ Which… great, he seems very capable but not the kind of response that eases any anxiety.
And anxiety he has in bucketloads.
Just this morning he, of course, arrived at work late due to Marc being off doing… something, and Donna of course was very annoyed and then he spilt coffee over a visitor who was apparently very important and now… right now… he’s dropped the glassware.
Before he realises, Steven is on the floor, breathing fast and laboured and he doesn’t notice he’s crying until he feels the drops on his knees. In the back of his mind, he’s thankful no one is around but all he can think-feel-hear-see is the crushing weight on his chest as the glass on the floor reflects flickering light as if it’s laughing at him.
Gut-wrenching sobs tear out from between his lips as the stress of the last few days bear upon him, like a tidal wave the confusion, and terror, and despair take a grip on his heart and squeeze it for all it’s worth, all he can think is that there’s no end in sight, no freedom- from the hurt, the fear.
Distantly, he hears a voice, and he panics further, what if Donna or another co-worker were to stumble upon him in this state, what would they think? -useless, pathetic, idiot- as he cries out over the glittering glass painted with hieroglyphics taunting him, the voice sounds distorted, close yet far away as he sees his reflection staring back at him in one of the shards.
“Steven! Steven, it’s okay, I’m here” Over the tidal wave of -panic, terror- he hears Marc’s voice, his voice, but not his, and his reflection morphs into one of concern and care.
“Can you hear me, Steven?” He nods, distantly but with some awareness returning.
“Okay I need you to do as I say can you do that for me?”
“Y-yes, yes yes I can”
“I need you to focus on my voice and on my instructions, okay?” A nod, “Breathe with me, in…. in through your nose… out… in… out…”
Every breath is difficult, hitched and out of sync and it feels like he can’t do this but there’s Marc, strong and sturdy and safe and he swears he can feel his presence wrapped around like a warm hug, whispering words of encouragement as the cloud of pure panic starts to lift slowly from the edges of his awareness.
“How are you feeling?”
“I-, I’m okay, tha-thank you,” he’s on the floor, still shaking but out the other end of the panic attack, the glass is still shattered on the floor.
“Do you want me to take over? I can clean up and get us home?”
“Ye-yes please.”
He feels his consciousness pushed back to the fringes of his mind and suddenly he’s back in his apartment, sitting in a pile of cushions and blankets arranged in almost a fort-like fashion in front of the tv.
Orienting himself for a few seconds he notices a post-it note stuck to a light-brown teddy bear next to a mug of what looks to be hot chocolate.
‘Everything’s sorted out at work, I don’t think that Dorothy-lady was too impressed with my British accent but I’m sure she’ll forget about it tomorrow, I hope you like marshmallows <3 – M.S.’
‘P.S. the bear’s name is Samuels’
Picking up the mug and the bear, Steven relaxes into the blankets as the sounds of a nature documentary wash over him and he thinks that, maybe, things might be okay.