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"This," Gale ground out, his voice teetering on a fine edge between appalled and amused, "is entirely your fault."
For once, Astarion would have to agree, though not willingly. And certainly not aloud.
"If you had waited," the rogue grumbled, "and let me do my job instead of skipping ahead like a godsdamned numpty–"
"Skipping?!"
"–then I wouldn't have tripped the trap!"
"I wasn't the one who stepped on the pressure plate, was I? And I distinctly recall hearing a rather damning 'oh shit' in your voice before the walls began to close around us."
There was probably some humor to be found in the situation, Astarion thought to himself. Maybe he'd look back at it later and have a good laugh. But right now, he'd been sandwiched between unforgiving stone walls and Gale's warm body with only a few inches to spare, moments away from a claustrophobia-induced panic attack, and he couldn't find a fucking thing funny about it.
"Guys?" A familiar voice echoed from somewhere further down the stone corridor. "I think we've found the mechanism, but…"
"Just say it, Wyll: it's not in great shape," Shadowheart grumbled, sounding entirely done with the situation as well as all of them. "The stupid thing is falling apart. We may need to get creative if we want to get you out of there without making things worse."
Astarion laughed, the sound high-pitched and not entirely sane as it rang down the ancient hall. "Oh, joy. This is exactly what I needed today."
There was a whisper of movement against his back, and Gale awkwardly patted his arm. "Keep a stiff upper lip," the wizard said. "We survived, and our friends are still out there, willing and able to help us. We just need to remain patient."
That’s easy for you to say. Gale isn't bothered by tight spaces. He never had to spend a century trapped in a cold, dark tomb, starving and helpless, completely at the mercy of the sadistic monster who got off on finding new ways to torture and maim. Gale had no idea how such profound silence and hunger could leave one's mind crumbling until it could no longer distinguish between hallucination and reality.
The only thing keeping Astarion from totally losing his mind was the fact that the ancient trap seemed to have malfunctioned, leaving them caught in a tight pocket of space and cruelly teasing them with a gap to freedom that was far too narrow for either of them to fit through.
That gap reflected the faintest hint of the light from their companions' torches, held somewhere in a safer portion of the dungeon. Just enough to let his darkvision work. Just enough to prove he wasn't trapped and forgotten.
But still, his mind wrestled against old memories, floundering in the rising tide of panic that threatened to drown him. Slapping a hand against the stone, Astarion began to rock and wriggle his body toward the torchlight as if he could somehow force his body through the gap by sheer force of will.
"Astarion?"
"I need to get out of here," the vampire growled, and no, that was not the sound of panic rising in his voice, thank you very much. His fingers curled against the stone, nails starting to give and splinter as he scrabbled, trying to haul himself deeper into the opening.
His heart didn't beat, but he could almost feel it pounding in his chest.
Lungs that didn't work as intended heaved and burned for air.
A stomach that no longer craved anything but blood twisted and heaved, threatening to disgorge its contents.
Too tight, I can't take this, I'll never do it again, I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry–
A warm hand landed atop his own fumbling fingers, giving him a little squeeze before curling around his fist and gently but firmly drawing it back toward them. "We will be out of here soon enough. Wyll is clever enough to fix the mechanism, I'm sure. And short of that, I do not doubt Karlach can beat it into submission."
The vampire's muscles wound tighter and tighter, his body trembling, his growing distress trying to snarl and claw its way out of his chest like a wicked, feral thing. He yanked at the hand caught in Gale's grasp, hissing–
"Shhhh." Gale squeezed his hand again, his voice uncharacteristically soft as it reached Astarion's ears. "It will be alright, my love. Do you remember what Halsin taught you back in the Underdark, when we took a tumble off the edge of that cliff and got stuck on a tiny ledge for a few hours?"
The wild part of his mind urged him to snarl, to slap the other's stupid hand away, to keep clawing his way to freedom, but the gentle voice and the warmth of the other's body reached for the small point of rational thought not bound by his panic and cocooned it someplace cozy.
This was Gale. His silly, somewhat exasperating, yet still incredibly patient wizard. The one who knew about the cracks that threatened to rend him asunder but handled them with care instead of prying them further apart for his own advantage. He carefully drew Astarion closer, completely unconcerned by his sharp teeth and claws and words as he tilted a pointed ear toward his own chest.
The body beneath Astarion's cheek was warm, its heartbeat thumping steadily, the sound soothing.
Gale is here.
Gale is safe.
Astarion shakily nodded, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the visual evidence of his entrapment. Words didn't come easy, but he eventually managed to spit a few out. "Breathing. Counting."
"Yes, that's right." The wizard took a deep breath and slowly let it out again, just as Halsin had instructed Astarion before when anxiety threatened to devour his entire existence. "Breathing, counting, and tapping when it all gets too overwhelming. So just stay with me, and we'll do it together, alright?"
And Gale began to talk. It's not like it was hard; the man loved the sound of his own voice. Gale babbled on about some pointless stories of his youth, of misadventures with Tara, of his mother's favorite recipes, his voice a soothing mumble against the top of Astarion's head.
Astarion burrowed himself as deep as he could into that soothing warmth, the content of the wizard's words not nearly as important as the sentiment behind them.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Gale says it’s okay.
Numbers bounced through his mind like the jittery hops of a frightened rabbit, and Astarion lost track of his place more times than he could count. But each time he felt his body coiling up as if to flee, Gale began a steady drum of his fingers against the side of his ribcage, just enough of a distraction to ease Astarion's emotions back down again.
Everything will be alright.
Gale's chatter hummed in his ears like the soothing drone of a beehive, like a warm blanket for his thoughts. His scent reminded the vampire of evenings spent curled up together, a mixture of wood smoke, old parchment, fresh sweat, and a hint of soap rather than the damp, mold-ridden atmosphere of the decaying dungeon that sought to crush him.
He's… calm. Safe.
Somehow, the wizard managed to become a welcome port of refuge from the stormy chaos of anxiety, and Astarion clung to him like a barnacle as he waited for the waves to still again.
Astarion had no idea how long they stood like that. Time seemed to melt into an indiscernible sludge while the vampire put all his energy into mentally detaching himself from their current predicament.
It wasn't until he heard a sharp click and the deep, earthy protest of archaic machinery rumbling to life that he realized their salvation might be at hand.
"Ah, there we are," Gale murmured, pressing a kiss against a nest of dusty, pale curls. "All it took was a little patience, and our wonderful friends have pulled through to rescue us from our own trap-riddled hubris. I daresay we'll even be out of this dungeon in time for supper."
As the promise of freedom arrived and Gale's words lingered in the air, Astarion felt his distress reduce even further. He didn't want to acknowledge it, didn't want to admit how tightly he had been wound, or how much he still clung to Gale for reassurance. But the shift was undeniable: his breathing began to slow, and with it, the sharpness of the world around him softened to become less threatening.
"You know," Astarion murmured, his voice still unsteady but tinged with a familiar dry sarcasm, "I hate to admit it, but you're rather good at this." He didn't lift his head, but the faintest quiver of his lips betrayed the guarded compliment. "I'm more used to the 'toughen up, you're fine' kind of consolation."
Gale chuckled, the sound warm and reassuring. He adjusted his hold, his arms firm but gentle, as if giving Astarion space to move whenever he was ready. "I try to be many things, Astarion, but I'll admit that 'stoic and emotionally distant' isn't usually one of them. Besides," he added, his tone going light and almost playful, "your little slip-up earned us a break and a quick cuddle, didn't it? I'm not about to complain about that."
"Oh, you arse." The vampire petulantly thumped a palm against Gale's chest, finally relaxed enough to raise his face and half-heartedly scowl up at him. "You are never going to let me live it down, are you?"
Gale offered him with an affectionate, knowing smile, totally unfazed by the other's faux displeasure. "Of course not, love." With one last reluctant rumble, the walls that had kept them trapped finally began to creep apart to their former positions. "But let's save such banter for later. I believe our companions have finally seen fit to release us from our rocky prison, and I, for one, am in dire need of some freedom and fresh air."
A soft breath escaped Astarion's lips, and he couldn't quite suppress the half-smile that formed on his face.
As soon as the gap grew wide enough to let them pass, the two men moved quickly forward, eager to leave the oppressive weight of the dungeon (and Astarion's minor breakdown) behind. Apologies and relieved conversations filled the air as the group unanimously decided to call it a day, eager to return to the entrance and retreat to an evening of promised rest.
And when they re-emerged into the daylight, the warmth of the sun cascaded over Astarion's face in a comfort that was almost as gratifying as the fingers that gently tangled with his own.