#also i cannot wait for fred and nuggs to interact teehee. bacon and eggs!

[angie-long-legs]

Pentious joining Angel on the bed barely made a dent in the spider's awareness, his words of reassurance passing straight through him with little impact. It wasn't until the claws of the serpent made contact with his own trembling fist that his head snapped up to meet the eyes of his companion, his own wide and startled while Pen's were... perhaps not calm, but solemn and steady. Responsive. Angel, much as it pained him to admit, needed help, and Sir Pentious was offering it to him.

The moment the pressure of Pen's hand on his own lifted, Angel reached out instinctively to follow it. Disregarding the soggy towel that he had been stroking in an attempt to self-soothe, two of his hands grasped the snake's in a tight, desperate plea.

The warm, surprisingly soft (clawed tips aside) hands of Sir Pentious proved a far more effective grounding tool than the sad, used towel, Angel found, still staving off choked breaths in handfuls. His friend's words were a touch easier to focus on now, as though their physical connection through Angel's squeezing hands offered some form of psychic link.

Following basic instructions was the extent of Angel's capability, as things stood, so he was relieved that Pentious was keeping things simple. Straight-forward as his suggestions were, the task of slowing his breathing felt impossible. Clutching his friend's hand like a lifeline and still half-convinced something was terribly wrong, Angel attempted a shuddering inhale.

His breath stuttered as he did his best to hold it before the serpent instructed the exhale and he blew out all his air like a deflating balloon. Immediately, he gasped another breath, this time succeeding in holding it a little longer. The next exhale was not quite so rapid - steadily, he followed along with the serpent's pattern and encouraging words until his breathing unwound like a coil relaxing, measured and tolerable as his heart rate slowed in tow.

Exhausted, the spider dropped his head to rest against his hands, still holding Pen's insistently. His body was still aching, but at least he no longer felt as though his heart was about to pop. He vaguely heard Sir Pentious mention something about his "pet" to a nearby egg, a softness overcoming him at the thought of his dear piggy.

"Sorry," Angel managed to mutter shamefully, his head still bowed. "I mean... thank you. I... didn't mean ta... I didn't mean any a' this," he heaved out. His mind was still hazy, but at least he seemed to be able to communicate.

Angel simply shook his head at the offer of a fresh towel, inexplicably attached to the damp one he was holding. The worrisome task of undressing was ramping up his nerves to the point where they had begun to breach his barrier of numbness, further refined by his steady ascent into cognitive normality. It was senseless, the way he was clinging to the damp rag as though it offered some form of comfort or protection. He was now thinking rationally enough to know it was silly. However, his instincts were non-negotiable: his body wanted something to hold, something to hide behind, and he did not possess the mental strength to deny it such a dismal mercy.

As his eyes flitted to the clothes stacked neatly beside him, he was grateful for his companion to once again turn his back, granting Angel acceptable privacy. He shivered - his physical discomfort was becoming less bearable with every passing minute, and his sodden attire soaked up the cold like a damp sponge. His instincts clashed furiously with his mind's tentative encouragement to take care of himself, rendering him frozen in place.

It was a few moments before Angel could summon the strength to sit up, fighting the wave of anxiety that told him this was a bad idea. His heart hammered in his chest as he reached for the top button of his blazer, trembling fingers rolling the button between them restlessly.

This is bad. This is dangerous. Stop.

Finally shirking the damp blazer from his shoulders, Angel's shivering only became more pronounced. The typically brazen spider pulled the damp towel around him, shielding himself from view despite the rare absence of eyes on him. As he began to peel off the lower half of his clothing, clammy and clinging, his chest seemed to tighten and his throat constricted with unforgiving intensity.

Spurred on by mounting panic, Angel quickened the pace at which he was undressing, his vision spotting as he felt around for the discarded towel and made some hasty attempts to dry his exposed fur. It wasn't a thorough job by any means, but the fear of being so vulnerable provoked him to value speed over efficacy. It didn't matter that he was still somewhat damp as he pulled on the dry clothing Sir Pentious had left him - it was a hundred times better than stewing in the clothes that were soaking wet.

With said damp clothing kicked to the end of the bed, Angel shuffled backwards until his back pressed up against the pillows, pulling his knees up to his aching chest. The tightness hadn't lifted, nor did his heart show any signs of slowing. In fact, his breathing was becoming increasingly rapid, so much so that it felt as though the air had been punched from his lungs, each inhale a fevered gasp for oxygen. He rubbed at his chest anxiously as his vision began to go white once more, another hand instinctively reaching for the towel for some sensation of familiarity. Everything felt wrong, his body wasn't working... what the fuck was happening to him? Why couldn't he breathe?

"Pen," he choked out, clawing at his chest as though attempting to slow his heart by reaching inside and wrapping a hand around it. "Pen. I can't breathe."