Dylan O'Brien Imagines

Is this a Panic Attack?// Stiles

"There's a passage in our reading that I'd like to go over in more detail, who would like to come up and read aloud for us?" Mr. Yukimura says at the beginning of the class. "Mr. Stilinski, how about you?"

Throughout the day, Stiles has been off. Distracted. 

"Oh, uh maybe someone else could." Stiles eyes dart around nervously. 

"Everyone participates in my class, Mr. Stilinski."

"Okay." He says nervously, getting up and going to the front of the room to the podium thingy that holds our history book.

He got up there, you start writing down notes from the page, expecting Stiles to read but he didn't. You looked up, seeing Stiles breathing heavily, mumbling things to himself. 

"Stiles? You okay?" You ask, dropping your pen. 

He ignored you, his breathing becoming heavier.

"I think I should take him to the nurse." You said, getting up and going over to him. He puts an arm around your shoulders, yours around his waist, helping him out. 

He goes into the locker room, splashing water on his face before falling against the wall.

"Stiles, look at me. Is this a panic attack?" You ask, sitting in front of him. 

"It's a dream, it's a dream. This is just a dream." He holds his head in his hands. 

"No, Stiles it's not. This is real. You're here. You're here with me," You said scooting closer towards him. "Okay, what'd you do? How do you tell if you're awake or dreaming?"

"Your fingers," he breathes. "You count on your fingers. You have extra fingers in your dreams."

"Okay, okay. How many do I have?" He looks away. "Hey! Stiles, look at me. Come on, Stiles. Count with me. Look at my hands and count with me."

You hold up his fingers with yours. "C'mon, one."

You get to about 6 before he starts to count along, getting to 10. 

His breathing has slowed a little bit, but he was still panting. 

"What the hell is happening to me?" He asks, wiping the tears from his face.

"We'll figure it out. You're going to be okay." You take his hands in yours. 

"Am I? Are you?" He looks at you. "Y/n, you're seeing your dead parents. Scott can't transform. And I'm straight losing my mind. We can't do this. We can't-we can't help Malia. We can't help anyone."

Stiles wasn't the kind of person to have meltdowns a lot, so this meant something.

"Stiles, look at me, I'm right here, and I can promise you that things are going to be okay," you put both hands on either side of his face. "Everything is going to be okay as long as you have me."

He nods, pulling you into his chest. 

"We can always try Stiles." You sigh in his chest. "Always." 

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