The suggestion to leave sounds like a really fucking excellent one, right up until the point that Johnny grabs him -

"Don't fuckin' touch me," he snarls, snapping out of the other man's grip so viciously he nearly topples over again.

No. No, he is not panicking. He is not. He is not panicking. The place is dark and blurry, that is fine and it has always been, his breathing is a perfectly acceptable rate, his heart is going at exactly the right amount of beats per minute that a heart should be going at given a fair amount of adrenaline, he is not shaking, not even slightly. He is not trying to shrug off the awful, clinging sensation of fingers wrapping around his arm, fuck he is fine, fine, he is fine, he is fine, he is fine.

Nathaira pushes her head beneath Rush's hand, forcing his fingers to stroke at the rough fur there. He almost reflexively lashes out at her too for initiating physical contact, but the feeling is - comforting, weirdly. He won't question that. He needs to get a handle on his breathing. He needs to get a handle on this. He can do that. He is not panicking.

"Go," Nathaira whispers. "We have to go."

Yes, they do. They have to go. They have to - fuck, he is shaking.

He is not panicking.