It didn’t care if he was the smartest person in the world.

It didn’t care that shit had been slung at him again and again and again.

It didn’t care that I hated it more than anything else in the world.

It just pulled him down, wrapping itself around him, smothering him. He felt cold, but he was slick with sweat, and I was frozen, like this was the first time all over again, like I was a lost teenager and he barely came up to my waist, and he was looking up at me, begging me without speaking to make it better, to make it go away.

We’d been alone then.

We weren’t now.

Otter crouched next to us, pressing his forehead near the Kid’s ear, and he was whispering, his breath hot against my fingertips. He was saying I know you can hear me and You’re safe here, you’re home and you’re safe and Breathe with me, okay? You just need to breathe with me. Otter’s gaze darted quickly over to me, and I did the only thing I could. I followed along with him.

“That’s it,” I said, voice hoarse. “That’s right. We’re here, okay? We’re here. And you’re gonna breathe with me, okay? That’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna breathe in. Hold it. And then you’re gonna breathe out. Hold again. And we’ll do it as long as you need to.”

“I c-c-can’t.”

“You can. And you will. It’s hard, I know. And it won’t feel like you can actually do it, but I know you can. You hear me? I know you can.”

And he did. Eventually.

We sat there, slumped on the floor, giving him space but making sure he knew we were still there. He breathed in and we counted. He breathed out and we counted. It went on and on like that for a while.

And it did end. It always did. That was the fucked-up thing about it. It would end, but it could always come back. It was a quick fix. Nothing more.

His skin had a little color to it once his throat loosened enough for him to breathe erratically.

“Can I have some water?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Otter said. “I’ll get it. Be right back.”

He rubbed the back of my head as he stood and disappeared into the kitchen.

“Shit,” the Kid muttered, rubbing his hands over his face. “Shit. Fuck. God-fucking-dammit.” He knocked his head against the door, hard.

“Hey,” I snapped at him. “Don’t do that. You’re going to make things worse.”

“I thought… dammit. I thought I was getting better. I thought I could—” His voice broke as he shook his head.

“It’s okay. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. Okay? I promise you. We’ll figure it out.”

He laughed bitterly, and I tried not to recoil. I’d never heard him make a sound like that before. “We’ve already figured it out,” he said, and it was like he was mocking me. “I’m fucked-up in the head, Papa Bear. Or hadn’t you heard?”