Chapter Text
It starts as a kind of... antsy feeling. That's how he knows it’s coming.
A fluttering in his chest. Palpitations.
There’s a tightening of his stomach muscles.
Then there’s a heat, which comes in waves. Vasomotor symptoms.
The fluttering in his chest rapidly increases. Tachycardia.
Then adrenaline, which he can actually feel begin to pulse through his veins, feel them stiffen and constrict as it does. Hormones. Fight or flight.
That's when the lump in his throat becomes overwhelming. Like a fist, suffocating him. Globus pharynges.
He starts gasping for air but he's not getting any. Dyspnea.
Suddenly his vision is blurring, burnt around the edges, and moving. Tunnel vision. Sorry, Kalnienk.
He clasps at his chest, desperately trying to such oxygen into his malfunctioning body.
Somewhere in the distance he can hear Scott calling to him but he can't hear his words over the loud thumping of his own heart rate.
Panic Attack. There’s no scientific term for that. There’s also no cure. Or nothing that’s worked for Stiles.
He pushes back out of his chair, the legs screeching across the cheap linoleum floor of his maths room. He's not sure, perhaps the chair falls behind him. He is sure of course that everyone in the class is staring at him. He can hear the teacher’s voice somewhere too but he ignores it, using the remaining inch of vision he still has left to locate the class room door he bolts from the room, then the school.
His feet hit hard on the Tarmac of the sidewalk and his arms flail to try and keep him balanced but the attempt is futile and his top half is going faster than his bottom and suddenly there's no ground beneath his feet and with a sickening crash he hits the floor and the world goes black.
The first thing he is aware of is a voice. Not of concern.. anger?
As his hearing becomes clearer he realizes its two voices, and they're not aimed at him.
He screws up his face and tries to open his eyes but a harsh yellow electric light stares straight back at him, burning like needles into his eye sockets right through it feels to his brain. So he shuts his eyes again and tries instead to focus on the voices.
"Just for a few days" that's Scott, he's doing his typical 'loud whisper'.
"No. No way. I can do it alone"
Stiles frowns. Derek?
"No" Scott growls, sounding rather.. wolf. “We’re a pack. We’re stronger that way. No more solo missions.”
There's a pause and Stiles is sure he can actually hear Derek thinking. Not the words.. just a buzzing of that stubborn brain trying to find a way out of whatever it is Scott's proposing.
"No!" He finally snaps back firmly. "No! No no no no no no no!"
It's a while later Stiles comes around again. This time when he tries to open his eyes thank god someone has switched that damned light off.
His eyes scan the room, careful not to move any other part of his body for fear of what's happened to him. The last thing he remembers is being in class…
It's dark and familiar. Steel beams line his vision. He eases his head to the left only to spot what looks like a.. rail car?
How hard did he hit his head?!
Instinctively he sits bolt upright in panic, which is ultimately a terrible life decision, the only type Stiles makes. White light burst behind his eyelids and a wave of heat swallows him as he vomits on the ground below.
"Oh my god, you're cleaning that up" Derek's unimpressed drawl echoes off the warehouses steel walls.
"Whatever" comes Scott's voice from nearby.
Stiles lurches forward again, his stomach completely rejecting everything he'd eaten that day and more apparently because he hadn’t eaten breakfast in weeks and even the smell of the canteen food churned his stomach these days. Apparently you could live of Cheetos and Mountain Dew. Well no, on second thoughts maybe that was why he was being sick.
"Seriously? Why is he here? Why couldn't we have gone to yours?"
Derek is moaning.
"Shuttup, what if he's seriously concussed!"
"I doubt we'd see the difference" Derek mumbles crossly.
Gripping the edge of the couch with one arm he holds up the other to them. "Er hello, I am here"
His skull literally feels like at being drilled and he still feels nauseous but his stomachs now well and truly empty even if the muscles can’t relax.
"Not my choice" Derek throws his arms in the air earning a stern glare from Scott.
His expression softens as he turns to Stiles, the concern evident through the mask of a smile. "You okay buddy?"
Stiles sits up straight, massaging his forehead. "Yeah, just the Kilimanjaro equivalent of headaches but I’ll live."
Scott crouches down just in front of him, resting a hand on Stiles knee, to reassure him or balance himself or both.
"No I mean, are you okay?" He emphasizes the last word to stress its importance. Stiles had just blacked out in class, smacked his head, and woken up in Derek's basement. The last thing he wanted right now was a therapy session from his best friend. And yeah no he definitely wasn’t okay.
"Sure" he laughs nervously. "I'm fine! You know me. Stiles. Fine. Always.. fine…"
Scott looks up at Derek, who's stood a little back, with raised eyebrows as if Stiles had just proved his point somehow.
Derek purses his lips, shakes his head once, then again. He then huffs out a frustrated breath and rolls his eyes aggressively and steps forward taking his turn to address Stiles, slightly more condescendingly than Scott had.
"You don't feel.. stressed? Anxious?"
What is going on here? Is this an intervention? Stiles looks between the two of them, his heart rate picking up. "What? No!" he says much too fast. He’s not even fooling himself.
"Stiles it's okay" Scott tries to sound reassuring but Stiles just glares at him.
"I'm fine! What are you on about?"
"We're just trying to help you!"
Suddenly Stiles feels angry. What do they want from him? Why is he here? Why the hell had Scott gotten Derek involved?
"Well whatdoyouwant me to say?" He snaps. "Everyone I know is a werewolf, or worse, and I can't tell anyone and the last few months I've nearly died about five times. My best mate has a girlfriend and never has time for me my dad has to work his butt off nearly 60 hours a week because the captain of the lacrosse team killed most of the police force and he’s trying to redeem himself because I got him fired as that very captain has a restraining order against me and I always seem to be at the crime scene of every crime in town yes of course I'm stressed out and anxious!"
He’s panting by the time he finishes and he can feel his cheeks are flushed but my god it’s such a relief to have that off his chest because he hasn’t spoken to anyone for a long time.
Derek's shoulders slump, he nods once at Scott and wanders off across the warehouse, naturally he must leave the room if anyone even mentions feelings.
Scott gets up and drops down on the couch next to him. He’s silent for a while, trying to find the words, because what do you say for that.
“I’m sorry”
Stiles gets up. “No. Don’t apologise. Its my own fault and it doesn’t help. Look I’m going, I’ll see you tomorrow at school”. He lifts his backpack up and slings it over his shoulder and heads out without another word.
When he’s gone Derek returns and hops up onto a table opposite Scott who’s still on the couch. “Remind me again how taking him on a mission is gonna be good for anyone?”
“He just needs to get away for a bit. He’s still feeling guilty about his dad.. and I was reading about Panic Attacks and some people say a change of scenery..” he trails off.
“Panic Attacks?”
Shit maybe he shouldn’t have… but Derek would realize sooner or later.
It’s Scott’s turn to pick up his rucksack and head for the door. “Look Derek, just do it, please. It will be good for him. Good for both of you to spend a bit of time together, you have by far the worst relationship out of all of us.”
“It could be dangerous? This Alpha is strong”
“Stiles is clever”
“He’ll need a fake I.D to get in the bar?”
“Get one” Scott smiles, shaking his head and heading home. Well, to Allison’s.
Okay, so he had no idea what he was doing and maybe this was a terrible idea but he had to do something before… he didn’t even want to think of where Stiles was headed.
He swallowed. Crap. They had to fix Stiles. They needed him, they all did. He just didn’t notice.