#this is implied unknighted dream but cass/eugene is strictly platonic

[love-killed-the-superstar]

forgot to post this here yesterday, but day 2 for cassandra appreciation week! tw: panic attack

CASSANDRA APPRECIATION WEEK DAY 2 - BRAVERY

Cassandra has always considered herself to be brave. Not fearless, of course. Things can be scary. Drowning, for instance, is terrifying. Being swept beyond the shores, losing sight of everything, reaching out for a hand to pull her from the deep and into the air again so she can finally breathe, only for nothing to come – all terrifying.

That feeling still comes and goes, especially so now that she's back in Corona after straying so far from everything she's ever known, but she finally has a label to put to the feeling.

Anxiety.

She got pretty good at hiding the anxiety attacks on the road, sneaking out of the caravan to scream into a hollowed out tree trunk while trying to use the technique Rapunzel had taught her to conquer her fear, going through the steps of polishing armour but being unable to even say the words because of how erratic her breathing was...

But here in Corona after the fact, with everyone watching her every move, it's getting harder and harder to find privacy in these moments when something triggers this overwhelming feeling. Sometimes it's just a throwaway line about how absolutely fucked up some of the buildings are in Old Corona because of the black rocks (it's her fault, and back then she was glad of it – what kind of a fucking monster–?). Sometimes it's just the realisation that all eyes are on her and things might never go back to normal again, and wasn't that what she wanted? Why does it choke the air from her lungs like this?

Cass never wanted anyone to find out, but once her knees have buckled and the air supply has been cut off, it's clear to her that she's past the point of no return. The only choice is to ride it out, trying to remember that she almost certainly won't die from this no matter how dreadful it feels. That's how Eugene finds her today, on her hands and knees as her breath comes in short gasps and her head is swimming with panic and fear and self-loathing that she just can't seem to fight.

“Cass!” He's at her side, fear on his face as loud as the uniform he's wearing. He reaches over to squeeze her shoulder, tries to force her to look at him because it's scaring him, seeing her lose control like this. The demon she's fighting in this moment has no spiralled horns, no ancient power; but the grip it has on her, painful and overbearing, is all too similar. “Cass, can you hear me? What's wrong?”

She tries to speak, but no words come out, another gasping breath seizing her. The tremors through her body are unrelenting, rolling earthquakes beneath her skin that make it hard to hold herself upright. Cass wants to tell him that she'll be fine soon, and to just turn around and leave for half an hour, pretend he didn't see a thing – but how can she ask that of him and expect him to follow through? He's as stubborn as a mule, and it's not a quality that she's always appreciated. Right now, she decidedly doesn't.

Eugene makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and moves closer, forcing himself into her line of sight.

“Cass, please, talk to me. Tell me what's wrong.”

The walls of her throat are closing in, but mercifully she manages to push out two words to downplay the whole situation. Unfortunately for her, saying “I'm fine” with all the vocal strength of a newborn kitten doesn't reassure Eugene like she had hoped.

“Oh, come on! Cass, you are not fine. You can barely breathe! Is this an asthma attack? An allergic reaction? I don't know how to distribute first aid!”

In a calmer time she might have made some sly comment about how a captain of the guard should be able to tell the difference between a physical ailment and the shell-shock of a fellow soldier. But this isn't a calmer time, so she just shakes her head.

“Okay, okay. Uhh, okay. What to do – breathing! When, when Lance panics we, we take deep breaths together, so, uh – count in with me, okay, Cass? One, two, three – and breathe. One, two-”

“Stop,” Cass manages to say in between shallow gulps of air, “just-”

“Ah-ah-ah!” Eugene sticks a gloved finger in her face and she wrenches her head away, glowering at him. “Stop talking. No talking until you're breathing normally.”

Anger spikes through her at that, some petty, defiant part of her wanting to tell him to get off his high horse. Regardless, she starts to breathe with him, feeling her head growing clearer as she follows his voice. Her eyelids are too heavy from the sudden exhaustion of the panic attack hitting like a brick, but hearing him talk, along with the solid grip of his hands on her shoulders, anchor her to the earth.

“You're doing good,” he murmurs at one point, once he can hear her erratic breathing growing steadier. “You're taking back your breath, that's good. Great job.”

Cass doesn't remember him ever taking this kind of tone with her before. It digs at her wrong, being so defenceless. Even if she weren't so tired she doubts that she'd be able to meet his gaze.

They keep breathing. Time passes. He's still here.

“Want to talk about it?” he asks quietly, once her breathing has finally slowed.

“I wouldn't be... able to put it into words,” Cass admits, still panting slightly. She feels kind of ridiculous right now; clammy and shaky and with all of her insecurities laid out in front of him. If her legs weren't so wobbly she would take off in a heartbeat.

“Does this happen a lot?” continues Eugene, and she can feel his hands flex nervously against the tightness of her shoulders, his thumb skimming along just to evoke some kind of response, to know she's not tuning him out. “The trembling on the floor and struggling to breathe while crying, and all that?”

Shit, she was crying? Weakly, she reaches up to wipe at her face.

“If I say yes, would it... be a big mistake?”

“No. No, I don't think so.” The skimming stops, and his hands slowly pull away. The loss of touch almost feels like the tether holding her in place is close to snapping, and she'll get pulled up into space and carried away from all of this. But then he moves in for a hug and she finds herself stiffly in his arms, the embrace kind of awkward and disjointed. “Do you consider it a mistake if we care about you, Cass?”

She shrugs limply and avoids his last question.

“This just happens. Recently it's been happening... more.” As weird as the sensation of being hugged by Eugene is, a tether is a tether.

“You should have told someone. Rapunzel, or... or me. You know we just want to help, right?”

“But I don't need you to worry about me, Eugene. I – I shouldn't need you to. I'm supposed to be brave.”

“That's some bullshit, you're the bravest person I know!” he exclaims, so casually it's almost dismissive. “I don't really think that courage can be measured based on how sound of mind somebody is, anyway. Some of the bravest people in existence are batshit crazy, and people's struggles get watered down when they're being written into folk tales.”

“Well, I think it's a little early for that.”

“I don't, Feldspar's already written a historically inaccurate play about the moonstone ordeal, I'd say you're halfway there already.”

Cass cracks a weak smile. “And that's only the stuff that's been made common knowledge to the public.”

Eugene gasps. “Right! If people find out you've been dating my girlfriend – nay, the future reigning monarch of Corona – you'll be cemented in folklore for sure! That settles that, we'll throw a banquet and you can stage a dramatic declaration of stealing Rapunzel away–”

“There's no way I'm doing that.”

“Look, how else are we going to turn you into a legend that transcends time, huh? Seriously, I'm all ears.”

It's dramatic and overly cheesy and definitely how Eugene would do it, that's for sure. As Eugene spins more tales of how Cass can build on her questionable legacy with something equally as bold and poetic, Cass leans against him, drained. The last waves of panic settle within her.

Maybe the sensation of drowning will be easier to bear, knowing there's someone on the shore to spot her.