TW: panic attack

Stiles shot up, air thick and foreign in his lungs. He clawed at his head as he screamed, dragging his legs up and kicking out. Deaf to Derek's voice, blind to his touch as he babbled incoherently. Everything flooding in: his mother, Scott, Allison, his dad, Derek, the girl, himself. Monster, monster, monster, monster.

Nightmares.

Dreams.

Truths.

It was all real. All strong and present right at the front of his mind. Derek hated him. Scott was back. His mom was bleeding to death. Allison was watching Isaac die her death. They blended together and split apart, the details muddling and twining, breaking into memories and realities of their own. Pounding on his skull and choking him. Twisting his gut. Hurting...

Everything.

And then feeling surged through him, everything was too much and not enough. And no words could pass through the thick haze of desperation and nonsense. Derek's hands felt like fire and his once-calming voice sounded feeble and annoying but Stiles couldn't find it in him to tell him so. His lungs begged him to breathe. His mind span. His thoughts pushed at his skin. Trying to break free.

He needed out. Needed Derek off. Needed silence and music and... air.

His hands were pulled away from his head, he fought the fingers around his wrists until they let go. Yanking his hands back, he pushed at his shirt, his chest. Hands shaking. Sounds echoing. The bang of a door. The voice of his dad.

The voice of his mom.

Scott.

The girl.

Himself.

Hands. Hands on him, again! Then a shout and they were gone. Had he shouted? Why had he shouted?

His stomach constricted. A voice sounded again and then there was a bowl and he was vomiting.

*****

This time when Stiles woke up, he wasn't on his bed. He wasn't even in his room. Pushing himself up, he looked around his living room. "Stiles, you're awake?" Derek said as he walked in, handed Stiles a glass of water and then sat down next to him. Stiles just nodded mutely, hands shaking as he lifted the glass to his lips, nearly dropping it several times. "Let me help you." Stiles shook his head and tried again.

"Ca-can you just... leave me alone for a few minutes?" his voice came out empty of emotion, Derek frowned but nodded and left.

Stiles ran a hand over his face. Was he actually awake? Everything had felt so real before...

Fingers. He needed to count his fingers.

One, two, three, four, five. He put the glass down on the coffee table. Six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Good. And he could remember the whole thing. When he was asleep he couldn't remember what had happened in the room before. So that was probably also a good sign. It was odd; remembering that he couldn't remember. But it meant that this was real.

After calming himself down a little more, he stood up on shaking legs and headed towards the kitchen, suddenly ravenous. Noah and Derek were stood talking quietly when he walked in. "Food," was all he said as he reached past his dad to open the cupboard and pulled out the half-empty bag of pasta, before grabbing a pan from another cupboard. When pasta spilled over the counter, he sighed.

Silently, Derek took the things from Stiles' hands and measured out enough pasta for one. Stiles didn't protest this time. As they waited for the water to boil, Stiles looked around the kitchen, allowing the familiarity of the place to soothe him.

"Stiles?" Derek asked, tentatively. Stiles tensed, reminded himself that it had just been a dream, that Derek had not really said those things.

"How long was I out for?"

"Thirty-six hours in total, you kept muttering but none of it made sense. What were you dreaming about?"

"It wasn't a dream. It felt so... real. But it was terrifying." He wiped furiously at his face.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not yet, I can't."

Derek nodded in understanding. "The Pack wants me to call them when you wake up. You okay with them coming over?"

"Yeah, I am, so long as they don't all come over at the same time." Derek smiled, poured the water into the pan and then left the room.

"Son, how are you feeling?"

"Not great; hungry, tired, sick. It was horrible, dad." He fell into his dad's offered arms, glad for the comfort.

"He didn't leave your side. He barely even slept. You know, he was really worried about you. We all were." Noah didn't need to tell Stiles who he was talking about, they both knew.

*****

The Pack all came by, alone or with their respective partners, to express their joy at seeing Stiles up and walking around as a human. Lydia, being the person she was, told him that she had organised a party for the next night. And despite how horrible he felt, he couldn't help but be excited.

*****

He spent the rest of the day curled up next to Derek after he'd spent an hour alone reminding himself that it was okay, everything would be okay. They barely spoke but, for once, Stiles didn't feel the need to.

Derek stayed over that night, at Stiles' request, and held him close when the images of blood and death and hate flooded in behind closed eyes.

*****

The next day, Lydia showed up on his doorstep with a bright smile. "Hey, Stiles! How're you feeling today?"

"A lot better than yesterday."

"I was hoping you would say that, I've bought something over for you to wear tonight." She followed Stiles into the living room as she talked, waving at Derek when she spotted him on the couch. "And I've got something for you, too, Derek. I assumed you stayed over here again." Derek caught the bag she chucked at him and grunted his thanks before heading upstairs to change.

"Tell me that what you got me isn't as revealing as I think it might be." Stiles pleaded.

"Okay. Stiles, what I got you is not as revealing as you might think." Lydia's eyes danced and her lips twitched upwards.

"Why does that not fill me with much hope?"

"Because you have trust issues. Now take this and go change, I need to see if there's any alterations or accessories that I will need to buy you before tonight."

Stiles threw his head back and groaned, drawing out Lydia's name for longer than necessary before saying, "I thought this was just gonna be The Pack, going out and having fun."

"It is."

"So, why all the clothes?"

"Because why not? Now quit complaining and go get changed. Oh, and find your fake ID, we're going to the club."

"Ugh, fine." Stiles took the clothes that were handed to him and went upstairs, wondering if his dad would be okay with the fact that they were going to a club.

He knocked on his bedroom door and waited for Derek's answer before he went in. "Hi," Stiles sputtered, pulling to a stop just inside his room. While what Lydia had given Derek didn't vary too far from what he normally wore, it did seem to fit him differently. A pair of black skinny jeans, a short-sleeved, grey henley with the top two buttons undone, and his trademark leather jacket. It all accented him beautifully.

The grey of his shirt contrasted his eyes and, for a moment, Stiles could've sworn that they sparkled. His hair (which had been a mess, thanks to Stiles playing with it whilst they read on the couch earlier) had been styled into a perfect quiff with some sort of product. Lydia must have given it to him as Stiles was sure that he had run out a while ago, and he hadn't bothered to get more since his hair sort of just did what it wanted now. But Derek had managed to get his to look like it was just naturally like that. And it was so fluffy. It had been so earlier, too, but even with gel in it, it looked soft. In a sharp contrast, his stubble looked rough, but it delicately rounded out his hard features.

The smirk that he usually wore had been stolen by a blinding, Hollywood smile that was aimed at Stiles. The sight made Stiles' heart melt and, now that he could no longer hide behind his necklace, he was sure Derek had noticed its change in tempo. Now he was certain that Derek's eyes were sparkling under his often-angry eyebrows, bright like christmas lights.

"Uh, I need to, umm," he gestured at the bag that was no longer in his hand. "Oh," bending down, he picked it back up and looked at Derek again. "I need to get, you know, clothes... on."

Derek chuckled, "Stiles, you know you just said that all out loud, right?" Stiles' heart stopped for a second, "Oh, and yes, Lydia did give me the hair gel."

"Well, fuck. Look, dude, I--" Stiles struggled to find an excuse, not wanting to make tonight awkward as this was supposed to be a celebration. Stiles wanted today to be good; having a nightmare and then waking up in a panicky mess was not how he had wanted his first day of being human to go and he definitely didn't want his second day to be bad, too.

But Derek cut him off, "Stiles, you don't have to apologise. Get changed, I'll come back in a few minutes." Stiles nodded, ducked his head, and stepped out of Derek's way of the door.

*****

Lydia had given him a black, tight fit, button-up shirt and worn skinny jeans with a black leather belt. Nowhere near as bad as what he had imagined. He used the product that Derek had left to at least try to do something with his hair; it had been so much easier when it was shaved.

He briefly wondered about going back to that, which led to him wondering what he would look like with waist-length hair... He shook his head, unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and went downstairs.

"Ugh, Stiles, no. Come here." Lydia took his hand and dragged him into better light, she fixed his hair and told him to tuck his shirt in. While he did, she unbuttoned another three buttons.

"Lydia..."

"What? You look good, trust me." Although Stiles did trust Lydia's fashion sense, he did up one of the buttons (leaving him with only three undone) and went to check his hair in the mirror, glad to see himself there. Wholly and completely himself.

"She's not wrong, you know?" Derek said, wrapping his arm around Stiles' waist from behind and looking him over in the mirror. "You do look good." Stiles shifted his feet and looked away when Derek met his eyes.

Tonight was going to be interesting.

*****

Noah was leaving for work just as The Pack began arriving. He stopped to talk to Stiles first, "You guys are going out today, right?"

"Yeah," Stiles replied.

"Okay, and do I want to know where and how you're going to get in?"

"Probably not..."

Noah sighed, "Just, have fun, okay? Relax, but don't do anything reckless."

"You're the best."

"You deserve a good night out, kid. But I don't want to see you in the station tomorrow morning."

"I know, I know." Stiles patted his dad on the shoulder before heading into the living room.