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Raz is hyperventilating.
He’s not exactly sure when it started, but somewhere between Sasha explaining the new (actually licensed!) brain tumbler and his third apple juice, his breathing got out of control.
It’s just- Raz is good at the practical aspects of Psychonauts work. The exciting stuff; the stuff that makes it into the comics.
But he’s been falling behind in other sections of his classes- the technical stuff, like neurons and chemical imbalances and all that science jargon. How the devices they use work, and more importantly, how they don’t.
It makes enough sense to Raz for him to fight mental monsters and reprogram brains, and for so long that’s been enough for him to get by on, but now… well. Sasha certainly seems to think this stuff is important, if his enthusiasm in ranting about it is any indication. He’d probably drop Raz as his apprentice in a heartbeat if he knew how badly Raz is screwing up his studies.
So, ergo, Sasha can’t find out. Fake it ‘till you make it, right?
Sasha hasn’t noticed his distress yet, which is great. Raz’s got this. He’s fought down plenty of panic attacks before, both his own and other people’s. Piece of cake.
Raz curls his fingers into his thighs, hard enough to bruise. The cold tile floor of Sasha’s lab isn’t nearly as grounding as he’d like it to be.
“Razputin? Are you paying attention?”
Fuck. Raz swallows, forcing his expression into something that’s hopefully mildly pleasant. “I-” his voice cracks. Try harder, idiot. “Uh, yeah, definitely! Why wouldn’t I be? Go on, sir, I'm ready to learn any super-secret Psychonauts info you're willing to teach me.”
His voice is too-fast, and way shakier than normal, but Sasha seems satisfied. It’s kinda fun hanging around someone with terrible social awareness after a lifetime of Raz having his family force themselves into every facet of his life.
Still, his stomach sinks when Sasha says, “It's not exactly secret, but great. Because I’m sending you in. Prepare yourself.”
“Wait, what,” Raz says, ripped out of his own anxieties and forced into an entirely new one.
Unfortunately for him, Sasha is already aiming the brain tumbler at his head.
Raz stumbles back as the light flashes, and then he’s dropping into the Collective Unconscious.
It looks… weird. Or, weirder than normal. Dark. Colors are flashing at the edges of his awareness, muddy auras that obscure the doors when Raz looks directly at them.
He squints, turning his head from side to side. Yup, the doors are still there, they’re just only visible in his peripheral vision. Weird.
His mind’s door, however, stands out in his vision, unobscured by the auras. Black, iridescent sparks lap at the edges of the frame, as if trying to claw their way out.
Well. That’s not helping his hyperventilation problem.
“Razputin? What are you waiting for?” Sasha’s words echo around him, in that slightly hollow-sounding tone that sounds outside of the astral plane have. “Make sure your mindscape is accessible with the new machine.”
“Right, right,” Razputin says. Hesitates a second. “Uh, Sasha?”
“Yes?”
“What would happen if, say, someone ventured inside their own mind during a moment of significant mental distress?” There’s a beat of silence, so Raz quickly tacks on, “Like, as a hypothetical.”
Sasha hums, thoughtful. “Well, hypothetically… the mental realm shapes itself based on feelings and thought processes, so depending on the level and cause of the distress, a person’s mind could weaponize itself against them, incorrectly identifying its host as a threat. It’s why we Psychonauts train for years before attempting to mold our own mental spaces. Why do you ask?”
Raz shrugs, then remembers Sasha can’t see him. “No reason. I’m heading in.”
He steps towards his door, ignoring the inky darkness that taints it.
Something is very clearly wrong here, but fighting malfunctioning brains is what Raz does best. Even in the worst case scenario, all Raz will have to do is Psi-Blast some stuff. Probably.
His lungs are hurting from the reduced oxygen intake, but the promise of solving the problem via brute-force helps ease it, at least for the moment.
He steps through the door.
The world shifts, colors and darkness blurring together before reforming, a world constructing itself before Raz’s eyes.
Despite the crushing pressure in his chest, there is a second where all Raz can feel is pure wonder. This is what he loves. What he was born to do.
And then that moment passes, and Raz is standing in a melting circus tent.
Those same black particles, iridescent at the edges, are mangling every available surface, from the walls to the floor to the freaking asymmetric bars.
“Holy shit,” Raz yelps, stumbling back. Okay, maybe ‘melting’ is the wrong word. Black tar pulls at his feet as he tries to back away.
It also kinda smells like rotting meat, which is annoying. Stupid meat circus trauma. Guess they missed some of that in the clean-up.
“Language,” Sasha says in his head, sounding so much like Milla that Raz would laugh if he weren’t busy trying not to drown on dry land. “Wait. What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Um,” Raz manages to get out. The ground is sticking to him, trying to drag him down, and the whole world burns to look at, shimmering tar seeming to distort when his eyes rest for more than a second. “Something is- I can’t-”
There’s nothing to grab onto that isn’t also coated in the mystery substance, and Raz isn’t interested in finding out what it feels like on his bare skin.
Out of options, he forms a levitation ball to stand on. His legs are shaking, much like the rest of him.
Oh god. Oh god he can’t breathe. He’s going to fall. It’s only a matter of time.
“Razputin? Razputin, please respond.” Sasha’s voice is urgent, the average person’s version of frantic. Raz wonders how long he’s been calling his name. He can’t muster up a response, though. If he stops staring at his footing, he might fall, and he can’t fall, he can’t. “Hold on, I’m pulling you out.”
The world shifts again.
The change from balancing on a ball of psychic energy to standing on solid (real) ground is a jarring one at best, and Razputin decides to shock both of them by immediately turning to throw up.
Sasha, who had been approaching him, freezes with a noise not dissimilar to a cat getting stepped on.
Fair enough. The sound of puke hitting the tile floor isn’t exactly an enjoyable one.
“S-sorry,” Raz mumbles. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his glove. His breaths are still coming fast, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, and suddenly it’s all he can do to stay standing.
To his surprise, Sasha doesn’t immediately quarantine the entire lab. He carefully skirts around the disaster zone, but his priority seems to be getting to Raz.
Huh. Weird.
“I-I just, just need a minute, I can- clean that-” Raz tries to take a breath, but he can’t hold it, the air all leaving him in a rush. Sasha’s going to figure it out. He’ll know that Raz isn’t good enough to be here, that it was all instinct, that-
Sasha sets a hand on his shoulder, gingerly, as if unsure it’ll be welcome. When Raz doesn’t react, Sasha leads him a few steps away, forcing him down onto a chair.
Sasha’s computer chair, Raz realizes distantly. That’ll be a pain to disinfect.
“Breathe with me,” Sasha says. He’s kneeling in front of Raz, nearly putting them at eye level. Sasha inhales deeply, an exaggerated motion. He lets it out at a snail’s pace, using his fingers to tap the rhythm of it against Raz’s knee.
“I- can’t.” The word comes out embarrassingly close to a wheeze, but Sasha’s patient expression doesn’t falter.
“You can. Focus on me, alright? Don’t let your thoughts distract you.”
“O-okay.”
Sasha continues to breathe slow, visibly moving his whole body for emphasis. The beat of his fingers stays steady. One, two, three, four, in; one, two, three, four, five, out.
Raz makes the mistake of looking up once, when he’s begun breathing more evenly. He can’t see Sasha’s eyes behind his glasses, and apparently that’s all it takes to send him into another spiral.
He squeezes his eyes shut after that.
Sasha being disappointed in him is a later problem. Right now, Raz just needs to not throw up again. That might actually be the last straw. Plus, Sasha must at least be fond enough of Raz to help him, rather than leave him to his own devices. That’ll have to be enough.
After a while, Sasha stops tapping, and Raz realizes he’s breathing normally. He doesn’t dare open his eyes.
Still, he has to ask. “Am- am I in trouble?”
“Trouble?” Sasha’s voice doesn’t betray anything besides confusion. “Why would you be?”
“Because, I… made a mess of your lab?”
“You’d hardly be the first,” Sasha answers, but doesn’t elaborate, trailing off instead. “Raz… that wasn’t a hypothetical question earlier, was it.”
It’s phrased as a question, but Sasha doesn’t say it like one. Raz winces.
He opens his eyes to find Sasha staring at him, as impassive as ever.
“Um. No.”
Sasha hums. “Would you like to talk about what upset you?”
“I- I get a choice?” Raz asks, wringing his hands together out of sheer habit.
He kinda figured that Sasha would just frame this whole thing as a ‘matter of national security’ and demand answers until Raz fessed up or provided an adequate lie. It certainly wouldn’t be the strangest thing to happen to Raz during Psychonaut training.
Sasha’s face softens. It’d be imperceptible if not for the slight lowering of his eyebrows. “There is always a choice, Razputin. You do not have to confide in me.”
“Oh.” Raz swallows. His mouth tastes like bile. “What happens if I say no?”
Sasha tilts his head, pondering it as he would any scientific theory. “I doubt you’ll confide in anyone else, so I suppose the issue will either fester and harm you in the long run, or you will find a way to compartmentalize it. And, on a more personal note… I would worry.”
“About me?” Raz blurts out, dumbfounded.
Sasha raises a brow at him.
Raz laughs, a little hysterically. “Right, who else. Sorry.”
When was the last time someone worried about his mental issues? The meat circus, maybe?
Alright. Screw it. Here goes.
“I was worried.” Raz doesn’t have a follow-up planned, but Sasha just nods, waiting for Raz to elaborate. Emboldened, Raz continues, “You were… saying a lot of things, and I wasn’t really getting it? I’m, uh. Not understanding a lot of this technical stuff in class, too. Lili’s been trying to help me, but we’re not taking the same courses, and-” Raz huffs out a breath, fighting the urge to run his hand through his hair. That would involve taking off his hat, and he’s sure it’s a sweaty mess by now. “Anyway. It’s hard. I feel like I’m… whatever.”
Suffocating. Falling.
Drowning.
Sasha waits another second, clearly waiting for Raz to expand on that thought, but Raz doesn’t. Refuses to, in fact. He’s been honest enough for today. For the whole year, actually.
He crosses his arms over his stomach, hoping to convey that.
For once in his life, Sasha takes the hint. “Is that all?”
It rings dismissive. Raz chances a nod anyway.
Sasha grabs his shoulder again, firm this time. “Razputin. You can always ask me to explain concepts in detail. Or any senior Psychonaut, for that matter. We are here to help you succeed.”
“I- really? Wouldn’t that get annoying?”
Sasha lets out a weird raspy noise, and it takes Raz a second to process that it’s a laugh. “Yes, really. I have been told that I have a… predilection for in-depth explanations. Perhaps to an unhealthy degree.”
“So…” Raz squints his eyes, younger sibling instincts rearing their ugly head. “I could come and bother you, like, whenever? And you’ll help me?”
Sasha’s grip loosens. “Okay, I think you might be taking this too literally. But yes. I am happy to provide you with any knowledge I can.”
“I… wow. Thanks.”
“Of course.” Sasha stands, offering Raz a hand up. Raz takes it, mostly because all his limbs still feel like jello.
“Um,” Raz says, looking around the room. Sasha withdraws his hand and wipes it on his jeans, which Raz has long since learned not to be offended by. “I’ll go find a mop. Ford has some extras, I bet.” Damn old man owes him that much.
“I’ll obtain the cleaning solutions,” Sasha offers, accompanying him to the door. “Oh, and Raz?”
Raz looks over his shoulder, having already started down the hallway. “Yeah?”
“Psychonauts Headquarters offers a wide variety of SSRIs and other anxiety medications. I suggest that you at least consider taking advantage of them. I promise you, it is nothing to be ashamed of.”
Sasha takes off in search of bleach before Raz can get another word in. Which, admittedly, would be easy for anyone, because Raz is a bit speechless at the moment.
Whatever. He can figure out if he has an anxiety disorder later. Time for a mop.