A/N: So I did some research on panic attacks and epilepsy and how they can be linked in order to write this, but if you notice something that seems off, please let me know.
I can't seem to stop writing these two, send help. Reviews, as always, would be undeniably lovely.

Stiles was at school when it happened.

It hadn't happened in years, but in light of recent events, it wasn't all that surprising that it had happened again.

The fact that his father could have died the other night was most likely the main cause. He remembered how absolutely terrified he'd been in that moment, when Matt had knocked his father unconscious, and he'd been crawling on the floor, partially numb from the venom, in a desperate attempt to do something.

But still, Stiles had gone through the next school day with a surprising amount of normalcy (normal only in the sense that nothing very bad had happened, not normal as in "everyday teenage life normal" because that was definitely never coming back), so when it hit, he hadn't really been expecting it.

The hallway was empty as Stiles, expression grim, was putting books into his bag, preparing himself to discuss with Scott what the hell they were all going to do about the fact that a werewolf-killing family was on the prowl, Matt was missing, and Jackson (or, rather, the kanima) could still kill someone for all they knew. Oh, and there was also the problem that Scott had apparently put his faith in the craziest Argent, causing friction and distrust everywhere. Derek couldn't trust Scott, and obviously Scott had never trusted Derek. Naturally, Stiles was in the middle of the whole thing. The mediator. He sighed and shut his locker.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Stiles felt his breathing begin to quicken a bit and his heart begin to thud. He frowned, confused for a mere instant before realizing what was happening.

"Ohh shit," he murmured to himself as he put his hand against the locker, trying to keep himself from falling over. But the oncoming irrational trepidation that was bubbling up inside him would not cease and neither would the dizziness; his perspiring hand slid across the metal as if it was butter, and he leaned against it on his side, slumping over. His respiratory system battled for breath, fighting weakly against his body's reactions that struck him endlessly against his will.

"Stiles?"

He looked over quickly, still supporting himself against the locker, his body trembling. It was Erica, her normal sneer replaced with worry, coming towards him at a quick pace down the hallway.

"Pani…" he tried to say, but his breath was coming too fast now, and he was slipping onto the floor.

Erica sped up before breaking into a run, and, being a werewolf, was at Stiles' side in a second, her hand on his back. She appeared to know what it was at once. "Panic attack?" she asked.

Stiles tried to nod but only moved his head once; his control of his own movements was rapidly diminishing. Erica grabbed him by the shoulders, trying to get him up or at least get him to look at her.

"Stiles," Erica said, her voice wavering a bit, for the most part, calm. "Stiles, look at me. It's okay."

Stiles' head was bowed and he raised it, his breath coming in shakily and rapidly. The nausea was hitting him now, and for some reason his brain could not catch up to the situation. Why was Erica with him? Had she known, somehow? He felt her pull him up, and he leaned against her, his entire being still filled with an immense fear that had muffled every other sensation. It was horrible. His vision was unfocused; Erica was taking him somewhere, and the linoleum of the floor became tile. He closed his eyes as his body shook.

Something cool was being pressed against his face. Stiles opened his eyes and saw it was a damp paper towel. They had, somehow, reached the school bathroom.

"You need to breathe, Stiles," Erica insisted, pressing the relieving dampness of the towel on his forehead. Stiles reveled in the comfort, and knew what she was saying but could not seem to get his body to respond. She began to count as she breathed in slowly, and after a while, Stiles responded, feeling his heart rate slow considerably.

The attacks never seemed to last more than ten minutes at a time, and gradually (finally) it began to subside.

He looked to the mirror, steading himself by grasping the sink, and nearly started at his own appearance. His face was a ghostly white, covered in sweat. It reminded him of five years ago.

"How'd you…" Stiles trailed off, bringing his gaze to Erica, who was looking at him with something he couldn't place. "Have you had panic attacks before?"

"Before I was diagnosed with epilepsy," Erica explained, crossing her arms, "I had several panic attacks. That was before the seizures started. There was a connection." There was a beat of silence before she added, "You knew it was a panic attack. This wasn't your first time."

Stiles nodded, his mouth set in a thin line. "Yeah, uh. Back when my mom died, I used to get them. But I hadn't had any since. This was probably because of what happened with Matt. My dad almost- he could've-" Stiles' voice caught in his throat and he didn't continue. Erica simply looked down at the floor, her expression troubled. Stiles leaned against the sink, still feeling the aftermath of the attack in his bones; he was exhausted. There was something else that was bothering him. "Was that… was that a random coincidence that you were coming down that hallway?"

Erica brought her eyes up to his sharply, furrowing her brow. "I… felt it," she said quietly. "I felt that there was something wrong with you."

"How did you feel that-"

"Werewolves can sense when someone important to them is in trouble," Erica huffed, her arms still crossed over her chest in a defensive manner, almost as if she was embarrassed.

Stiles raised his eyebrows. He wasn't really expecting that, although he assumed it was something… wolf-y.

"Oh," he said simply, feeling a sudden rush of affection that he was both bewildered and sort of frightenedby.

"Don't read too much into it," Erica told him hastily, looking uncomfortable. "I can't always be around when you're going to freak out."

Stiles grinned in spite of himself. "Okay, okay," he said, letting go of the sink and raising his hands in mock-defeat. However, his unsteadiness had apparently not worn off, because he felt himself sway. In a heartbeat, Erica had him grasped by the shoulders.

"Look, I know being alone with a hot girl might be a lot for you, but try to stay conscious," Erica said playfully, smirking a little. Her eyes betrayed her concern.

"Hey, let's not forget who helped you when you were having a venom-induced seizure," Stiles quipped, grateful for her hold on him. "Oh, and, who stayed with you throughout that whole thing? That whole thing that involved… breaking bones and horrible black blood-" Stiles broke off with an exaggerated shudder.

Erica rolled her eyes. "You did," she said, putting his arm around her shoulders as they began to walk out into the hallway. "…Thanks."

"Well, thank you for this." Stiles shifted so he could walk normally, and Erica released her hold. They continued side by side in the school hallway, neither of them saying much, but both enjoying the other's company, and the temporary distraction from worrying about future peril.

Stiles wasn't sure if he would have another panic attack, and hoped avidly that he would not, but as he walked with Erica, he knew, at the very least, that he would have someone to count on.