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"What do you mean she's just gone? Why didn't you wake us up?!"
"There was nothing to be done right away Myka." Leena tried.
"But we still could've looked for her! We could've looked up her credit card, or something!" Pete added.
Artie's head spun, taking in the scene and unable to say a thing. They were angry, of course they were, but they had no idea the horror they'd just dodged. They had no idea what had happened, they had no clue that he had watched the light drain from Pete's eyes as he spasmed and choked on his own blood and his hands went cold in Artie's grip. The image would haunt him for the rest of his life, and now his- well not his- but sort of- his responsibility- Claudia, might too.
"Are you just going to sit there? I mean hello? Answer us!"
"I… what?"
"What is wrong with you this morning?" Myka questioned. When Artie couldn't come up with an answer, Pete slapped a hand on his shoulder and shook him.
"Earth to Artie, are you in there?" He chuckled, trying to lighten the intensity of the silence. Artie just stared, unable to move.
Pete's hands were warm. They were solid and alive, and he was breathing. His smile was as carefree as ever, as if he hadn't just survived the man who tried very hard to end his bloodline in particular. The heat began to rise to his cheeks from the fear suddenly rushing back, the look of terror, and the blood spattering covering his chin and teeth flashing before him.
Everything was fine, but it wasn't. If the evil wasn't in him, and Leena's vision was anything to go by, then he had caused something that couldn't be undone. Every reality, every chance, he failed them. He failed Myka, he never could do exactly right by her, and got her family involved. He failed Pete, he got him killed. He failed Mrs. Frederick, and Leena, and Steve, the warehouse, his own father, Joshua, and Claudia, by god the one thing he truly thought he could possibly save for good.
"Artie? Artie, take a breath." Leena called out.
Her voice was echoing, in fact no, his ears were ringing. Why were they ringing? Was he being affected by something? His head shot around, but nothing looked different. Nothing smelled any different, there was no visual blur. Nothing except the eyes burning into him as if he was five again and in trouble at piano practice. It only made him think of Claudia more, always making jokes about his age. Even right before she got crushed and buried in her own personal tomb-
Artie stood in a rush, knocking over the chair he had been sitting in with a loud clatter. He couldn't vocalize, it was like his throat was closing. For a moment he tried to run through his family tree mentally to any history of allergies, but his brain was fogging up too, like hot breath on a window that he couldn't wipe away to look through. All their hands were on him now, too many, too much touching- touching was uncomfortable, too tight, too-
"Artie!" Pete yelled.
Artie shoved, not caring in the moment which person he had actually pushed and unable to truly tell who it had been anyway. He took off at a jog, voices following behind, as he ran towards the one place they may give him solitude. They'd follow him to the warehouse, they'd follow him to the car, they'd follow him to the end of the goddamn earth, but they would never follow him into the bathroom.
He only barely managed to lock the door before they could get to him. It had been lucky they even considered slowing down and hesitating, hence why he chose it. It was the last rational thought that passed through his mind. The images replayed, hot blood on his fingertips, cold hands losing circulation, Walter's last moments rewritten, the bomb and the tears in H.G.- Helena's eyes. His warehouse, his- fuck it, his family, and Claudia, the one he now thought of as his daughter, and by god he would never, ever say that out loud. All of them mangled and broken, if not now, later. He would always fail them.
"Artie!" Pete yelled. A hand smacking the door startled him into a sound of surprise, more like a yelp from a wounded dog. God, it was a miracle Trailer even survived the blast. Had he been with them, with Artie-
"Deep breaths, there you, we got you." Pete said quietly, grabbing Artie's hands. When had he gotten on the floor? When had they gotten in?
The questions started not to matter anymore, as he found the more pressing issue to be the tingling in his face and limbs. Myka was holding her fingers to his neck, and he registered she was checking his pulse. Was he dying? Was he finally getting done in, not by an artifact, but by a heart attack? They always did make jokes about his snacking habit, and Claudia- god, she said he'd worry himself to death. But if he finally passed away, if the curser died, would the cursed, would Claudia, be free?
"Artie, listen to me.” Leena said firmly. The dizziness hit like a train, sending him reeling backwards as Pete grabbed him and kept him from flopping against the cold tile floor. When he regained his sense of up and down, Leena was holding one of his hands, the other in Myka's.
"There you go. Feel my aura, feel my words. Understand them. Take a deep breath." She said softly, echoing around him like he was in a dream. Artie gasped for air, and it was as if he was pulled above water.
His senses returned in a rush, all at once and far too forcefully. His forehead and body were damp with sweat, but he felt cold. His hands were shaking and his feet and fingers still felt numb and tingly. His breathing was out of control, panting and gasping in the deadly silence, enveloping him in his shame.
"We're here, we've got you. It's okay Artie, you're safe." Myka said gently, squeezing his hand. His eyes flitted towards hers, and he realized he couldn't hold her gaze, his eyes darting all over too. He finally managed to settle on staring at someone's hand, trying not to tear his gaze away. Who's hand was that?
"Deep breath in…. hold it." Leena commanded. He tried, whining a pathetic sounding note as it rushed out of his control again.
"You've got this Artie, we believe in you. Try again, real big in… hold it." Pete said. Pete. That's who was behind him. He was practically laying in Pete's lap. Pete's hands were the ones around his waist, keeping him sitting upright. Pete's hands- his- his waist- right against where Pete was stabbed-
"I'm- mm- s-sorry-" Artie tried, between heaves for air. Myka scrambled from his side and for a moment he thought she'd completely gone, until she was shoving a paper bag against his mouth.
"Breathe Artie. Try to blow out, big out breaths." Leena instructed. His heart was going to stop any moment, he was sure of it. He could hear them now even more clearly, as Leena shook her head and mumbled about the breath holding being too soon, and Myka started to recount facts about something. He could hear, not piece it together.
"Hey listen to me pal, you gotta get that breathing under control, okay? We need our Artie, and you're safe. We’ve got you. You’re going to be okay, we promise.” Pete started.
"Yes, what he said, we're right here okay? You're at Leena's, the warehouse is safe, we're safe, you're safe. There's nothing to apologize for." Myka added.
He wanted to believe it. He wanted more than anything in this moment to just relax against Pete and be embraced by Myka and ignore everything; his problems, the artifacts, the world-that-wasn’t, Claudia, and the guilt. If he let them be in charge, just for once, what would the relief feel like? His legs had stopped tingling. When had that happened?
"If it would help, we could maybe give him some space? I mean the guy gets antsy when you go for a handshake and I'm spooning him." Pete spoke up. He was right, he was completely on the money, but the thought of Pete vanishing made him gasp again, reaching out blindly and grabbing Pete's sleeve tight.
"Don't." Artie managed. It was all anyone had to hear.
The girls moved together, Myka crowding into his side and rubbing soothingly up and down his arm, while Leena kept the paper bag against his mouth and with one hand and his hand in the other. Pete from somewhere behind was rubbing his chest in a circular pattern slowly, one, two, three, and Artie tried to breathe to it. In, hold, out. Pete began to hum, something out of tune and lacking most of the words that he probably couldn't remember and slowly, exceptionally, ridiculously slowly, the feeling began to return to his face and hands.
"We won’t go anywhere. We’re right here beside you, okay? You’re doing great Artie, slow, big breaths." Myka said, smiling at him gently. Why was everything so blurry?
"I-I don’t get it. Can’t we do more? He’s suffering." Pete said worriedly.
"This isn’t like him. There not really anything we can do that won’t be too much. Sometimes you can shock the body out of these, but I don’t want to push his face into cold water with him breathing like that.” Leena shook her head. Artie snapped towards her, shaking his head, and they all sat up straighter.
"Hey, you back? You with us Artie?" Pete asked.
The tears were the first thing he noticed his mind slowly sank its way back into his body. He hadn't really been focused on his visual too hard what with the lack of oxygen. His eyes were blurry and burning, and his nose was stuffed up under the paper bag. His stomach twisted uncomfortably, nausea settling in from the hyperventilation. His palms were wet with sweat, just like his forehead, and his ribs were already beginning to hurt from the lactic acid buildup in his body from going crisis mode. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, finally hit with the final symptom. Mortal embarrassment.
"Any chance you'll forget that?" Artie croaked. Leena removed the bag, smiling at him and dabbing his forehead off with the hand towel from by the sink. She'd normally be upset with him for using it that way, but judging by the look of grief and fear slowly lifting, he hadn't to assume it was alright this time.
"Not a chance." Myka spoke up, squeezing his arm lightly.
"Mykes is right papa bear, we are not gonna skip past this."
"God." Artie muttered with as much hate as he could muster, getting a laugh out of Myka. He turned towards Leena slightly, if for no other reason than to not face Myka. Leena staring at him threw him off. Could she sense it? Could she see the pain- no, not just pain, the aura of change? The fact that he was misplaced out of time, the evil that he had come to sow?
"Artie, come back, come on. Look at us." Myka shook him lightly, snapping him back out of it. He was already beginning to breathe heavy again at the thoughts. Pete shifted behind him, leaning out and trying to look him in the eye, and the images flashed again for a moment. Pete's bright, eager eyes, always annoyingly chipper like a puppy wanting a treat, were worried, but not dead, not lifeless. Not anymore. If he was going to even attempt to act normal, he had to focus on that.
"So… what was that? I mean, are you okay now? Was Myka right?"
"About what?"
"Ahh, Pete it's- it's not important."
"No, no it is. I don't want our magic warehouse wizard to kick the bucket yet, okay?"
"Claud-" Artie steeled himself, biting past the bitterness and fear that the name instilled in his chest, "Claudia always said I was going to worry myself to death. Guess she was right. Should we go to the hospital?"
"It’s okay Myka, we need to tell him. It wasn't your heart, Artie you were having a panic attack." Leena spoke up.
Artie could feel his mind short circuit for maybe the third time this morning, maybe the hundred thousandth time in general. The words didn't click in his mind. Sure he was… antsy, maybe. A bit high strung sometimes, overly cautious, anxious- well sure, maybe. Claudia liked to call him manic sometimes. But that word just didn't click, 'panic' was so strong, and weak. It was something far too clinical, too close to a real world issue that couldn't be fixed by throwing it into a spark bag.
"No, no no no, I'm- I-I must have just gotten a bit ahh- oxygen starved from- from yelling at all of you to stop bickering. You know, you start gasping and then you can't stop, it's just- it's a totally natural- it’s like asthma. We can move on." Artie tried, shifting to start to get up. The dizziness hit him hard and fast, and he flopped back into Pete's chest with a groan.
"You need to rest, just for another couple of minutes. Your heart rate was around one hundred seventy, and you weren't properly breathing. You'll need a minute to catch up." Leena explained, gently pushing him to stay still. Pete's hand found his, trying to keep him still probably. For a moment he considered throwing him off, but the fear of the chilled dead hands flashed through him, and he squeezed his hand back. Myka took his other hand again, trying to pull him back to the present by running her nails gently over the back of his palm.
"Did you know you didn't yell at us?" She asked. Artie's eyebrows furrowed, and she tried not to smile.
"You stood up, and you kind of made a little bit of noise, but it wasn't words." Myka said gently.
"Yeah, and then you threw Leena on the floor."
"Pete!"
"What? He did."
"I wasn't going to bring that up! He's- he needs… just a second to breathe." Myka scolded him, trying not to make Artie run if her words got too flowery and close to affectionate for him.
"Oh, oh my god, I-I'm so sorry. Did I- are you hurt? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Artie. I didn't land that hard, I just stumbled back and tripped on the chair leg. I landed on my backside, I'm okay. I promise." Leena smiled. Artie nodded, covering his face with his hands. Stupid fears, stupid memories, stupid situation that he caused-
"I need out. Now."
"Wha- whoa, why? Artie?" Pete questioned, trying to hold him back.
"If I don't get out of here, I'm going to keep-" His jaw clenched shut. He couldn't tell them anything. He couldn't risk their lives again. He had to get them out, he had to find a way to-
"You know… my dad was always kind of… closed off. He wasn't great at helping me when I was going through things. And whenever I had nightmares and I'd run into their room at night, my mom always comforted me. But sometimes I'd keep having the nightmares. I'd go right back to sleep and it would just start back up. My dad figured out that if you woke the brain up a bit more, sometimes it could stop it completely. So every so often, on really terrible night, he'd get up and get me a mug of hot chocolate and order me to the living room. He'd turn on the old black and white channel playing a show about a sheriff and his deputy-"
"Andy Griffith?"
"Yeah, you know it?" Myka smiled.
"Yeah, it came out when I was, ehh- I'd guess roughly… twelve?" Artie chuckled.
"Yeah, duh Myka. Artie's like seventy, he probably knows it all by heart."
"Pete, if you say 'duh' one more time, I am going to tweeze your eyebrows in your sleep, again. Got it?"
"Damn, alright. Yeah let's not do that. Why not go after Artie, he's got hairs that started growing back when Barney Fife was- ow!" Pete yelped, pulling himself and Artie sideways as Myka pulled at his arm hair with her fingers. Artie groaned as his stomach was swayed too quickly, and from beside them Leena tried not to laugh.
"We grew up watching it. It is a classic, okay, like 'I Love Lucy'. Just because it was on doesn't mean Artie would know it any better than we would, and we know it and we're not seventy."
"Yeah, but the difference is I'm right. Artie, how old are you big guy?"
"Sit me back up and maybe I'll tell you." Artie grimaced. Pete made a hissing noise of regret and gently pulled Artie back against his chest, and he sighed as he relaxed back once more. He wouldn't be caught dead using Pete as a chair normally, but even he wouldn't lie to himself that feeling a very alive Peter Lattimer and staying still wasn't soothing right now.
"Have none of you read my file thoroughly enough to know this?" Artie asked.
"I know it. And I know Myka knows it." Leena smiled.
"How do you know that?"
"Your aura is… smug." She chuckled.
"Wha- am I the only one who doesn't know?"
"Yeah, because you've forgotten." Myka grinned.
"Would you like to guess?" Artie spoke up.
"You're gonna let me guess? And not have consequences?"
"Let's just say I'm feeling… lenient." Artie grumbled.
"Alright! Hey, okay, so if Andy Griffith was on when he was twelve, and that came out in… I don't know, nineteen fifty… no no no, fifty sounds too late though. Nineteen…"
"Getting there." Artie nodded.
"Thirrr…"
"Treading dangerously."
"rrForrrtyyy… I don't know. Forty… let's guess forty five. So he would be… sixty… nine! Hey HEY hey! Bow chika WOW wow."
"For a straight man, you never cease to amaze me." Artie rolled his eyes.
"Wha- hey. Women like to sixty nine. I like to sixty nine, okay? It's not my favorite, but-
"PETE!" "PETE!" "PETE!"
"Okay, alright. Did I at least get close?"
"NO! I am not sixty nine! And why would you talk about sixty-nineing with me in your lap?! I am sixty four! Do you think I'd look this young while developing stress lines and a full grey head from putting up with you at sixty nine?!"
"…Well, you'd look great for your age."
"I cannot believe you." Myka snorted.
"I'm done." Leena said, throwing her hands in the air and standing up. The more Myka laughed, Pete began to laugh. Artie's body bounced against his chest, and he felt the grin pulling at his lips despite trying not to.
"You are actually the worst." Myka laughed.
"Pete, I wouldn't trade you for… the- the world. I- I wou-… I won't. I won't." Artie swallowed nervously. He hadn't meant it that way, but the fear jumped to the front of his mind anyway. Myka stood quickly, quick enough to break the spell.
"The reason I mentioned the hot chocolate was that we could go get some? Or make some? And then set out to work on finding Claudia. She's a big girl, I’m sure she’ll be okay until then. We're all worried but we did just go through a full day of hell. Maybe… maybe Leena's visions are just stress related." Myka said, taking hold of Leena's arm.
He could spot a tell miles away. It wasn't subtle that Myka was trying to get her to agree, or at the very least not argue. He could read them with the same precision Myka read literature. It didn't mean he didn't want to agree. To just have a minute to breathe after nearly sixty hours awake and a massive panic attack would be wonderful. Even now, in such a ridiculous position, he was starting to get too sleepy to fight it.
"How are we going to find her? How are you three going to work on it? And where's H.G.?"
"She was using the durational spectrometer to rewind around the warehouse and see if there were any clues there. I called her as soon as I found out, and she was already there, so it worked out. To be honest, I think maybe she should stay behind."
"What? Why? We just got her on the team again and now you don't want her here?" Pete asked.
"No, no it's not that. It's just, I mean Artie needs at least a little bit of time to rest, and Helena is trained in Krav maga. She could guard him if we have to go anywhere."
"Yeah, but she's also really smart, and you know, hate to give that to her, but she is. She's a genius. If we need anyone on our side, it's her." Pete waved a hand. Artie sighed. He had no idea how right he was. He didn't remember just how smart she'd been twelve hours ago now.
"You’re right, both of you, but she’s also not exactly tech savvy. How about we just go one step at a time? You two bring everything we need to research Claudia's movements from the warehouse, I'll stay with Artie and make some drinks. Come back and we'll regroup." Leena offered.
"Ahh, actually. Can I have a tea?" Artie asked. He looked up to see Myka glaring daggers in Pete's direction, both telling him not to and daring him to say something about wanting cocoa more than tea.
"That's a good idea. Something with lavendar will be relaxing." Leena smiled, opening the bathroom door wider and stepping away. He could see the damage now, the doorframe shattered from where Pete busted it.
"Let us help you to the bed, come on." Myka offered.
"No. No no. I am sixty four but not senile sixty four. I can walk." Artie muttered, pushing away from Pete and standing. His knees protested, as did his back, making him groan heavily and stumble. The pain in his ribs from the hyperventilating wasn't as bad when he was sitting down. Before he could protest, Myka grabbed one arm and Pete grabbed the other.
"Just because you're not decrepitly old, doesn't mean you don't deserve care. Just shush and let us walk you, it'll take less time that way." Myka smiled. He wanted to argue. He wanted to scream about the embarrassment, or crawl into a hole and hide away. Instead he gave in, swaying his weight, leaning on his family for now. They could figure this out. Even if he had to lie about why it was happening.