Wilhelm feels like he's held together with a rubberband that's about to snap apart. Or maybe he's always felt this way — at least since Erik's death, a length of time that feels eternal despite the freshness of his grief. But now, with the nightmare churning to the surface all these fears, picking at all his insecurities like scabs, it's suddenly much harder to pretend that he isn't.

Ches's reassuring hand on his shoulder is what steadies him through the next cycle of breaths, still rough but slowing through his efforts to get in control. At the same time that he tries not to think of his brother, he also clings to the bit of comfort that comes with the thought of Erik crouched down beside him. He rubs at his chest as if the tightness there can be undone like a knot. He keeps his eyes squeezed shut, afraid to find that shadowy figure looming over him again.

After a long moment, Wilhelm manages, "How can you be so calm?"

He doesn't mean for it to sound like an accusation. But words backed by strong emotions can launch with more force than intended.