*-*-*

— Group Message [Deanie, Charlie, Kevin] —

[12:40] Sam:

Guys I have a problem

A really big problem

[12:41] Charlie:

What did you do?

[12:41] Kevin:

I like the implication that if there's a problem, it's Sam's fault.

[12:41] Deanie:

whatd you do old man

[12:42] Sam:

I lost my fiancée?

[12:42] Charlie:

????????

[12:42] Deanie:

you lost Snap Pea?????? the fuck?????

[12:43] Sam:

I don't know, she got upset and ran off and I think she went outside but I can't find her

We were on our way to go by her room to get her coat before we went out for lunch

And then we ran into Miloslavskaya and after that Paige ran away

And I heard the courtyard door, you know the creaky one on the west side

[12:44] Kevin:

She ran outside without her coat?

[12:44] Sam:

That's why I'm worried

[12:45] Deanie:

jesus fuck what an idiot who goes outside without a jacket when its like this

[12:45] Charlie:

We can help you look for her!!! Right guys??

[12:46] Kevin:

Yes of course!

[12:46] Charlie:

And Prince Dean if you find her do us a favour and don't call her an idiot. I don't think it'll help.

[12:46] Sam:

Thank you all so much

[12:47] Deanie:

do you think im stupid??? i KNOW that Badbury

[12:47] Kevin:

Please save the name-calling for after we find Princess Mains.

[12:48] Deanie:

yeah ok whatever

***

*Paige's P.O.V.*

"Answer, answer, please, please answer," Paige whispers into her phone, curled into a ball and rocking back and forth as she stares at the screen. Ringing, it says. Call to: homobipboa, duration 0:05. Five seconds of ringing. It feels like it's been five hours.

"Hey, it's Bela!" a cheerful, pre-recorded voice announces from the speaker, and Paige's heart sinks. "Looks like I missed your call, so leave a message if you want! Bye!"

There's a beep.

"Hey," she says hollowly. "Sorry to bother you. It's just—been a bad day. Can we call, when you get a chance?"

By the time she hangs up, her fingers are numb. It takes her a minute to notice, though, because she feels numb in general like she's not really here and this entire day is just a bad dream. Maybe she'll wake up in her bed back inside the castle any minute now and shudder but brush it off—hell, maybe she's going to wake up in her bed, the one in Panitan Castle, and the entire engagement will have been nothing but a prolonged, detailed nightmare.

'And if she wasn't what I or what Ruritania wanted, I would have already broken off my engagement,' she hears Sam say again, so confident and poised and assured, and another violent shudder wracks her body.

"I'm not what they want," she whimpers into her hands, shivering. "I'm not, I'm not, I'm not, I'm too weak and I'm broken and stupid and fucked up in the head and I can't do this!"

The ground she's sitting on, somewhere in the large palace courtyards, is next to a frozen fountain, in a hollow between two bushes. She's curled up in a ball with leaves and twigs poking her back and frigid snow beneath her, but she doesn't care. This secluded area is the closest thing she could find to something similar to home, the gardens at Panitan, but she still feels like she can't breathe like there are shards of glass in her throat.

And she can't call Maddy back. She can't, she can't—

'And if she wasn't what I or what Ruritania wanted, I would have already broken off my engagement.'

—she's not strong enough, she's not good enough, she's a failure and she's going to singlehandedly be the reason the alliance falls apart, and because of that, she can't possibly face her family now. There is a very real, not-entirely-irrational possibility that she's just ruined everything by having a very unfortunately timed panic attack and probably offending Sam in the process, and it's all her fault and it's terrifying.

See, it's a terrible cycle of spiralling thoughts that goes like this:

One. She's not good enough.

Two. That's an irrational thought, provided by her extremely unhelpful anxiety disorder. It's not true, because it's not her fault that her brain is messed up and not okay.

Three. She has an anxiety disorder. Her brain is messed up and not okay.

Four. Someone without an anxiety disorder and with a properly functioning brain would be better than her at just about everything.

Five. She's not good enough.

The real difficulty, apparently, is reconciling attempts at having self-worth and self-forgiveness with the harsh realities of the demands of literally everyone else and the weight of the world. It would be a lot easier to be patient with herself if she wasn't so afraid of her own anxiety problems fucking everything up, ironically.

"I was doing so well," she whispers into the stillness, breath fogging in front of her. It's so cold. She can't stop shaking. "I was doing so well, it's not fair, why did this have to happen today?"

The best (worst) part is, she knows Sam didn't mean it like that. Sam was just trying to defend her, but on hearing those words, something in Paige just... broke. Her heart sank so fast she nearly burst into tears on the spot, unable to cope with the overwhelming feeling of 'I'm a fraud I've fooled them all into thinking I'm not useless but I'm a fraud, I'm a fraud, I'm a fraud!'

Fuck, it's cold out here.

She looks up at the impossibly blue sky, not a cloud in sight, and wishes the sunlight was warm. As it is, it's like it's mocking her, shining down on such a freezing day. Then again—there's something about having the cold blow right through her and knowing this can't be good for her that's satisfying, in a sick, twisted sense.

Her phone buzzes and she immediately grabs for it with numb, pale, fumbling fingers, hoping desperately that it's Bela, 'please, please'—but it's only Sam, and as soon as she sees "3 unread messages" her anxiety spikes again.

Not yet.

She can't deal with this yet.

She just has to breathe.

The frigid air makes her throat hurt and her eyes water, and she half-wonders what it would be like if her tears froze to her skin, but she's more numb than anything now, not really shivering as much anymore. It's kind of like she gave up on that or something, too exhausted after the ordeal of, well, of having a panic attack.

Bzz-bzzz. 4 unread messages from Sam Winchester.

She turns her phone face down in the snow and buries her face in her hands. They're cold, and it almost makes her flinch away from her own touch.

Bzz-bzzz.

"Shut up," she begs, and in a fit of desperation she grabs her phone and puts it on silent instead of vibrate. Then she hesitates, because what if Bela calls her and she doesn't pick up? She—she can't—no. No, Bela is busy right now, obviously, and the only person trying to contact her is the one she's terrified to talk to.

She leaves the phone on silent.

Minutes drag by like molasses, and Paige keeps her face pressed into her hands, eyes closed. She's just trying to breathe now, counting slow one, two, three, fours as she inhales and exhales air cold enough to make her cough. The worst of the panic is over, and she can feel herself settling into the slow, numb spiral into a depressive episode like sinking into the familiar arms of a lover. She's just too tired to fight it off.

In, two, three, four...

What was she thinking? She can't do this. She's a failure to her family and they should have known that but they love her and it makes them blind to her flaws. She should have been able to be honest with them, should have been able to tell them I can't do it, I'll mess up, but ...

Out, two, three, four...

She wanted to be good enough. She wanted to prove herself wrong, wanted so many things, but she's nothing special and she doesn't belong here.

In, two, three, four...

Are those footsteps, crunching in the snow? No matter. They fade into the ambience of everything else, and she pays no more attention.

"Princess Mains? Oh, thank god, there you are!"

Paige jerks in surprise, head snapping upright as Lady Bradbury comes running toward her from around the corner. She's bundled up in a nice scarf and coat and has a cloak thrown over her shoulders, too, the dark fabric contrasting sharply with her long red hair, and she looks so worried.

"L-Lady Bradbury," she greets, wincing at the crack in her voice. Fuck, she probably really looks like a mess. Reaching for her empathy, she tries to focus it inward, forcing her fear and sadness away and replacing them with... nothingness. Emptiness. She knows how to deal with emptiness. But she finds herself hesitating.

She... oh, fuck her, her pathetic ass doesn't want to lock her emotions away because she's tired of handling everything alone and she wants someone to see and ask if she's alright and comfort her. But this is really not the time and place!

To her surprise, Lady Bradbury unclasps her cloak and settles it around her shoulders with a dramatic toss. It's surprisingly warm, warm enough she jolts in surprise.

"We've been worried sick," she says, her voice low and kind as she ties the clasp under her chin. "Prince Sam said you ran off outside and asked us to help find you—come on, it's freezing. Let's go in, okay?"

She isn't really giving her much of a choice, her hands gentle but firm on her wrists as she pulls her to her feet and starts leading her away. She barely has the presence of mind to remember her phone is sitting on the ground too, grabbing it without a word and stuffing it into her pocket.

To her credit, Lady Bradbury doesn't say much until they've crossed through the connected courtyards and reached the palace again. She just leads Paige indoors, quick and quiet, and then sighs.

"I'll call Sam," she says. "He's worried—"

"No," Paige begs, eyes wide. "No, don't. Please." I'm not ready to face him yet.

Lady Bradbury purses her lips, phone in hand. "Everyone will keep on looking for you if I don't let them know I found you," she says, clearly conflicted. "How's this. I'll tell them you're with me, and I'll tell Sam you don't want to talk to him yet. Okay?"

Paige hesitates for a long moment, clutching the cloak around herself. It must be enchanted with a heating charm, because it's warm, warm enough to make her realize just how cold she's been, breaking through the numbness and making her shiver helplessly.

"We'll go sit somewhere nice and warm and private," Lady Bradbury tries, her brows knitting together with concern. "And if Sam tries to talk to you before you're ready I will toss him out a window. I can do it, you know."

A heartbeat passes. Two.

"Okay," Paige breathes. She doesn't really have much other choice, does she?

*-*-*

— Group Message [ice ice baby, pudding n pie, angry kitten princeling] —

[13:09] Charlie:

found her

[13:09] ice ice baby:

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THANK GOD.

Is she okay????? Where are you?? I'll be right there

[13:10] Charlie:

Nope! You sure as hell will not!

She's a wreck and she doesn't want to talk to you right now. Give her some time.

[13:11] angry kitten princeling:

lmao old man u just got shut tf down

[13:11] pudding n pie:

There's a time and a place, Prince Dean.

[13:12] angry kitten princeling:

shut up kevin

@Charlie what happened to Snap Pea

[13:13] Charlie:

Not sure. She's not talking much.

Kinda just staring at the hot chocolate I gave her.

Again, give her some time.

***

*Charlie's P.O.V.*

"What happened?" Charlie asks softly, kind of afraid to disturb the silence but desperately curious. Princess Mains hasn't said a word since she led her back to her rooms, just nodding mutely when she told her to go change into dry clothes while she rummaged through Paige's kitchenette and quietly accepting the mug of hot chocolate she pressed into her hands. Something is wrong, that much is obvious, but she has no idea what.

Princess Mains takes a deep, shaky breath. "I..." she tries, her voice barely audible. "I just... I can't," and she shrugs helplessly, staring down into the mug. Charlie's chest aches. She wants to help, she really does, but she doesn't know how, and it's killing her.

"You can't what?" she prods after a moment, keeping her voice as gentle as she can. Talking about things helps, right? Usually, when she's upset she likes to vent to whoever will listen (which usually ends up being Princess Harvelle via very long text messages). Hell, maybe she should ask Jo what to do. Couldn't hurt. ...Later, though.

Princess Mains just shakes her head helplessly, looking very small and very forlorn under the blankets she's piled around her. Charlie wonders if she would accept a hug right now. She looks like she needs it.

"...Can I hug you?" she asks tentatively. She hesitates but nods, and she uncrosses her legs, hops up from her perch on the armrest, and crosses the rug to wrap her arms around Charlie tightly.

"Thank you," she whispers. "I'm sorry for being ... like this." There's a ghost of a chuckle there, the textbook definition of self-deprecating laughter.

"It's perfectly alright," Charlie reassures, petting the top of her head in what she hopes is a soothing manner. "Everyone has bad days."

"N-no, that's... not what I meant," Princess Mains mumbles. She's still shivering, good lord. Maybe she should get under the blankets and try to share some body heat?

"What did you mean, then?" she asks, electing to save the question of whether cuddling would be okay for after she gets some words out of her. This is the most words she's said since Charlie found her, pale and trembling, in the snow by the fountain in the western courtyard. She was hiding under a bush, for crying out loud! What was she supposed to do?

"I—I had..." Another deep, shaky breath, as if she's steeling herself for what she's about to say. Charlie keeps petting her (surprisingly) soft hair. "I had a really bad panic attack, that's all."

"Oh," Charlie says. That... that does make sense, from what she knows of panic attacks. "Oh, no. I'm sorry."

How the hell do you comfort someone after they've had a panic attack? She wonders frantically. 'Holy shit, I don't know what I'm doing at all!'

"It's okay," Princess Mains whispers, and she winces, because perhaps I'm sorry was the wrong thing to say after all. The only real response to I'm sorry tends to be it's okay, but...

"It's not okay," she contradicts weakly. "I mean—that's really shitty, you know? Uh, pardon my language, I guess—but I'm just, I don't know. What I'm trying to say is, you're my friend and something had you really upset, and that's not okay, yeah?" She pauses. "...Did Sam do something?"

By the way Princess Mains stiffens, she knows she's hit a nerve.

"He... said something that upset me," Princess Mains admits. "I—I don't want to say what. I don't want to talk about that with anyone but him, and I don't—I don't feel ready to talk to him yet."

"That's alright," Charlie consoles. "Um... how are you feeling now?"

"Cold," Princess Mains says immediately, a humorless smile flickering across her face.

That... wasn't the kind of how are you feeling she intended, but she can go with it.

"Yeah, you're still shaking," she murmurs. "I'm almost scared you got yourself hypothermia... okay. I know it's kind of awkward, but, um..."

This is a lot more awkward to explain than it is to actually do. With a short sigh, Charlie pulls her sweater over her head and drops it aside, and as Princess Mains watches, bewildered (she seems tired and numb and confused, and that's not helping her suspicions that she might have mild hypothermia), she unpeels the blankets from around her and then slips in next to her, wraps them both up tightly, and Charlie slides her arms around her waist.

"Sorry," she says, pressing herself against Paige's side and pulling her halfway into her lap. "I know this is awkward, but I'm warmer than you are, so..."

"That's—that's okay," Princess Mains mumbles. She takes a tentative sip of hot chocolate, then puts the mug aside on the table with an apologetic look, probably because her hands shaking too much to trust herself to hold it. Or maybe she just can't drink right now. Charlie tries to increase contact between herself and her back, and Paige sighs softly. "I'm sorry for making you go to all this trouble, Lady Bradbury."

"Call me Charlie," she murmurs against her shoulder. She's still shaking, god... "Please. We're friends, right?"

"Oh," Princess Mains says quietly. "Um. Yeah."

Charlie sighs and tries her best to slowly rub warmth back into her shivering body. Unfortunately, she's not that much warmer herself. She's always run cold, and slow circulation means her hands and feet are still kind of cool to the touch. And in this circumstance, she's doing hardly anything. If only she knew fire elemental spells, she'd have her core temperature up in a jiffy! But that's not where her talent lies.

Actually though, that gives her an idea. She doesn't know fire elemental magic, but she knows someone who does...