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The feeling hits him out of nowhere. It's been building in him since weeks ago, a sort of lump in his throat and some shortness of breath. Right now it's hitting him in full force.
It's like his lungs decided to stop working, his throat closing up on its own. His chest aches, pain sparking at every attempt to breathe. He tries to suck in air though his mouth, and it catches against his throat, as if stuck, and he forces himself to take rapid, short breaths, each refusing to fill his lungs. He clenches his hands into fists in frustration. All it does is hurt him.
Stephen clenches his eyes shut, works his jaw, willing his tears not to escape. He takes in another breath, it fails, and he chokes, feeling his body tingle at yet another failed attempt. His heart beats rapidly, like a hummingbird trapped in a cage, and he feels a little lightheaded.
Something is going on. Is it the heart? The lungs? It must be that.
Stephen reaches out infuriatingly shaky fingers to the phone on his bedside table, and just as he has it in his hands, it slips to the edge and drops to the ground. He curses, his whole body trembling now.
It feels painful to move. His chest hurts at even the slightest shift. That fact makes it all the more difficult for him to reach down, blindly grasping around as his fingers search anything resembling his phone. He finds it, and nearly drops it again with how much his hands are trembling. His eyes burn as the screen lights up, but he doesn't care. He manages to input his password after three failed attempts and a rather loud curse, and immediately goes to his contacts to search for Anthony Stark.
He considers calling, but words feel far away from him right now. Instead he tries to type a text.
Help me.
He feels grateful for whoever created autocorrect. He sends the text in. When his phone doesn't ping within the next second, he types in another.
Hurry. Help. Please.
This time a reply comes in not even a millisecond later.
Stephen? What's wrong?
His phone drops to the bed with a soft thump as his chest throbs, a sort of pain that has him doubling over, and the movement pushes his phone to the edge of the bed. It drops to the ground. He curses, albeit internally, as his throat feels too tight to let any words out.
A second or two passes as he tries not to sob, his phone buzzing repeatedly on the floor, and then several knocks bang on his door.
"Stephen? Stephen! Are you in there?" It's Tony. Stephen barely manages to say a thing, and what comes out instead is a wheeze. "I'm going in."
The door swings open, and Tony searches around frantically, before his eyes land on Stephen's body laying on the bed.
"How'd–" Stephen says in between wheezing breaths, and the single word feels like it took every effort to let out. "How'd you get– get here?"
"Wong portalled me over." Tony rushes to his side. "What is it? What's wrong? Tell me what's wrong, Stephen."
Stephen is gasping now, and he feels tears finally escaping, but tries to contain them by clenching his eyes shut.
"Make– make it stop."
"You need to tell me what's wrong first, Stephen," Tony says, hastily. "Make what stop? Tell me."
"Can't–" Stephen growls in frustration as his lungs refuse to take in the air he desperately sucked in, "Can't breathe–"
He opens his eyes and looks up at Tony. Something like realisation appeared in Tony’s eyes.
"Please," Stephen says, pride be damned. He claws at the pain in his chest. "Please make it stop."
"Stephen…" Tony's eyes are soft. Stephen thinks that doesn't help with anything.
"I can't… Please, make it stop. Help me. Make it…"
A sob escapes him that's out of his control. Tony helps Stephen sit up, and Stephen lets him, moving them to recline against the headboard. His eyes search frantically into Tony's eyes, silently pleading at him to do something, anything, to stop the pain. Tony places a hand on Stephen's shoulder, cradles his chest with the other, and leans Stephen's body into his own with Stephen's head on his shoulder.
"Stephen, breathe in with me, okay?" he says calmly, "In through the nose, out through the mouth."
"What? How–"
"Just do as I say," Tony says sternly, and Stephen obliges. "In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slowly."
Stephen tries, fails, and tries to stifle a whine. He tries again. When the air finally goes through his throat and into his lungs, it rattles against his chest painfully, and he goes into a coughing fit. It goes on for a moment, one painful cough to another.
Stephen slams a fist to his own chest out of frustration, growling, cupping his own mouth with his other hand in desperate hopes that it'd stop everything.
"Do not do that!" Tony grabs at Stephen's arm and pins them on his lap. "Trying to stop breathing won't work. Now try again," Tony says. "Slow and steady. Breathe with me. Slowly, Stephen. Please, let me help you."
Tony's tone is near pleading now. He exaggerates his own breathing, inhaling and exhaling heavily. Stephen tries again, over and over, following Tony's surprisingly helpful breathing, and this time it's better. He manages to gasp in a breath, as little air as his constricted throat allows, and with minimal pain.
"Good," Tony praises him, "Again. Slowly, Stephen."
He sucks in another breath, and his throat loosens up a bit enough to let more air in. It feels like the most relief he's had in far too long.
"That's it," Tony swipes a hand through Stephen's sweaty curls, pulling it back from his damp forehead. "That's it, Stephen. In through the nose, out through the mouth."
Stephen manages a few short, steady breaths, before the beating of his heart slows back to normal and the pain in his chest slowly fades. He still feels lightheaded and a little shaky, but the hand patting his head soothes him. Tony reaches his other hand to tangle their fingers together, making sure to be careful with Stephen's hand, and rubs his thumb over the scars. He lifts it up to plant a gentle, soft kiss.
"You're okay, Stephen," he whispers, "It's alright."
Stephen closes his eyes and leans more of his weight to Tony. He feels so tired. He breathes in and out, steadily, head clearing.
"Thank you," he lets out, voice croaky. Tony's hand traces down the small of his back and stops at the base, pushes him forward to hold him tighter. He kisses the top of Stephen's head.
They’re quiet for a moment, enjoying each other’s warmth, before Stephen breaks the silence.
“How did…” he says, but trails off.
Tony purses his lips for a moment.
“You were having a panic attack, Stephen.”
Stephen freezes, visibly tensing, trying to process the words.
“Me?” Disbelief coloured his voice.
Tony looks at him for a moment, and then huffs out a soft chuckle. There is a hint of sadness to it.
“I was the same the first time,” Tony admits. “It… hits you out of nowhere. Sometimes when you’d least expect it.”
Tony sighs, leans down to bury his face in the crook of Stephen’s neck. His breath sends a shiver through Stephen’s body.
“It’s okay, Stephen,” he says, voice muffled, “You’re okay now. You’re safe.”
Stephen finds himself at a loss of words. He doesn’t know what to say in response, so he doesn’t. Instead he lets Tony hold him, basking in his warmth and focusing on the way their hearts beat in tandem.