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Clancy doesn't even know why he feels so anxious, he just does. He can hear the Banditos outside, too many, too much. Too loud. His fingers curl around his ears, a futile attempt to block out the noise.
Clancy hasn't been sleeping.
All the Banditos know it. They see the dark circles around Clancy's eyes. He spaces out more often, too often, and they notice.
But they never mention it. It goes near unspoken among the Banditos, save for their attempts to relive Clancy of his duties every now and then, whether it's taking his guard duty shifts or his hunting shifts or anything else.
Nothing works. Clancy still doesn't sleep.
It's like his time in DEMA had hardwired his brain to think that sleep was a danger. Whenever he slept in DEMA, he would awake to one of the bishops, or worse, Nico, beating him in ways he refuses to remember. He only remembers the scars. It was a way to make him confirm, to obey. And it had worked. Clancy had played the role they forced upon him perfectly.
After returning, Clancy had been tired. Not a normal kind of tired, but a dreadful, bone-deep tired in ways he didn't even know were possible. He'd been led to his tent by Torch in a daze, practically collapsing into his sleeping bag once he entered. Torch had allowed him to rest for a long as he needed, but Clancy had insisted on being given duties as soon as possible.
He hadn't recovered, but he couldn't be a burden.
Silently, Clancy knows he's been doing too much. But he still doesn't understand why he's like this now. Nothing even happened to set him off.
He's supposed to be on hunting duty soon. The Banditos will notice he's not there. They'll either leave without him, or come search for him, the latter filling Clancy with terror.
They can't see him like this. They can't.
His breath hitches. His hands move to his hair, which he clutches tightly. The mere thought of leaving the tent made Clancy's skin crawl, and he curled up tighter at the idea of being forced to leave.
A rustling outside. Clancy jolts, his entire body flinching, before freezing, dread crawling through him, making his limbs feel heavy like lead.
The tent flap flips open, revealing Torch's bright face.
"Hey, Clancy-" Torch starts. Upon seeing Clancy's extremely visible distress, he freezes, face twisting into a mix of surprise and concern.
Clancy squeezes his eyes shut, clutching his hair tighter. The absolute last thing he'd wanted was for someone to enter his tent, let alone Torch.
Instantaneously, Torch steps into the tent. It's small; it can barely fit both of them in. He silently sits beside Clancy. Clancy's stomach starts to twist. Torch was never quiet.
He's upset he's upset he's upset he's upset-
Without warning, he can feel two hands close around his wrists.
"Don't do that." Torch whispers. "You're going to rip your hair out."
Clancy's grip loosens, and he lets Torch lead his hands away from his hair and on to the floor.
"Clancy." Torch whispers gently. "Look at me. Please"
Clancy obliges reluctantly, not wanting to upset Torch.
He's met with Torch's soft, kind face, his brows furrowed in concern.
"Hey." He whispers. "What's up?"
Clancy doesn't say anything; it feels like his throat's made of sandpaper.
His breathing quickens. He's going to upset Torch again. Like the useless being he is. God why is he so useless.
"Hey, hey, hey, focus on me." Torch whispers gently, moving Clancy's face so it's looking into his. "Breath. You're okay. You're safe."
Clancy tries to focus on Torch's soft voice, whispering gentle reassurances to him. Despite his growing anxiety, he breathes deeply. His breath comes out strained and jittery, but he's trying.
His breath slowly slows, and his anxiety epps away. It's still there, but it's more manageable now. Torch's hands stroke through his hair lovingly.
Fuck. He hadn't realized how much he'd wanted this.
"T-Torch, I-I-" Clancy starts. His voices comes how cracked and strained.
"Shhhh." Torch whispers gently. "It's okay. Comfort now, talk later. You clearly need it."
Clancy's breathing has returned to normal now, but he's still crying, his throat still feeling like sandpaper. Less so now, but still.
Without warning, Torch pulls Clancy into his lap, Clancy's head resting against Torch's chest. Torch's warm, a stark contrast to how utterly freezing Clancy feels. Torch wraps his arms around Clancy's freezing body, gentle, soft, kind.
"Just take it easy, alright?" Torch whispers. "I've got you. Don't worry."
"M' s-sorry." Clancy's hiccups. Torch frowns.
"What for?" Torch asks. "I don't mind looking after you."
Clancy stays silent, and so does Torch. The awkward silence only lasts a few minutes before it's broken by Torch.
"So....do you want to talk?" Torch asks. "It's okay if not."
Clancy freezes, unsure of what to say. All the anxiety bubbling within him is screaming at him to stay no. But Clancy is tired. He's been tired for weeks now, and he's unsure if he can go on like this any longer. So he nods.
Torch flashes him a kind, reassuring smile.
"I-its just, I don't even know, I've just not slept in weeks, I can't focus, I can't do anything without remembering my time in DEMA, and-"
"Shhhh, okay, darling, it sounds to me like you're overworked and stressed out, okay?" Torch whispers. "Take a break for a bit. None of the Banditos will mind."
Clancy nods. Deep down, he knows the Banditos would never hate him for taking a break. He sees the way they look at him. He knows they know. He knows they know he's suffering.
But, his anxiety tells him that they'll hate him. That he's a burden.
"Try get some rest, okay?" Torch whispers, walking over to Clancy's sleeping bag and gently placing him inside it. "I'll stay with you."
Clancy nods, already feeling the exhaustion take hold. He closes his eyes.
And sleeps better than he's slept in what feels like centuries.