#(AHHHH SORRY DWIGHT KNSJSJD)

[gunslinginnhogtyin]

"You're okay, you're at home, you're in bed."

Late Night Panic Attack. // @arcanescholxr

“No—n-no—I’m not, I’m—“ Butch stammers, frantically looking around. A hand moves to brush through his own hair; he pushes it back, digging his fingers into his sandy blonde locks and pulling as if stressed, squeezing his eyes shut.

“T-That thing, it’s…” He wheezes, trying to catch his breath. He doesn’t know what he’s trying to say, in fight or flight mode since he’s still stuck in his nightmare state. All he knows is he’s being attacked, assaulted, trapped. His hand moves to grip the wrist of the hand that’s placed itself reassuringly upon his shoulder, maybe a bit tighter than he would have ever grabbed Dwight out of fear.

“Don’t touch me! I’m not… I can’t—“ words fall out of his mouth in a nonsensical mesh in between heavy breaths. His heart beats fast and when his eyes find Dwight in the dark, there’s a brief spark of recognition in his eyes… it snaps him back to reality, but his mind is still racing, the horrors of things his mind had conjured up still dancing in his brain, taunting him and his feelings. His fear hadn’t left him quite yet, but his grip on Dwight’s wrist loosens until it releases him completely, retracting that hand back to his chest in shock.

“S-Sorry… sorry I—sorry… I jus’ need… a smoke an’—an’ some whiskey, an—“ Butch is already stumbling as he climbs out of Dwight’s bed, hands reaching for something on the night stand but not finding it. Instead, he accidentally knocks the lamp over and thankfully it doesn’t break. Oh god, what had he done?

“Sorry—fuck… I can’t…”