Stiles stared at Derek, his mouth gaping. "Are you fucking kidding me?!"
"Stiles? Calm down."
"Shut up! Don't you Stiles calm down me," the amber eyed man said with a snarl that would make any werewolf proud. "Nobody and I mean nobody! Nobody in the history of calm down has just calmed down after being told to simply calm down! Capiche?!"
"Okay," Derek said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "Relax."
Stiles's expression turned murderous. "Okay, Webster Thesaurus. I will say it again. Nobody in the history of relaxation has just relaxed after being told to simply relax!"
Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. "Stiles? Take a breath."
"Only one?" Stiles asked and then sucked in a breath.
When he didn't let it out again, Derek sighed. "Stiles, let it out."
Stiles didn't for nearly a minute and then exhaled loudly.
"Good," Derek said. "Now–"
"Oh, shut up!" Stiles snapped. "I don't need your help! Two words like calm down are not some fucking magic words that are going to immediately make me suddenly not panic. I hate it when people say those words. They only make it worse."
"How?" Derek asked, genuinely concerned but also desperate to fix the situation.
Stiles sighed. "It feels like it's more about them than me." His voice grew softer. "It's just-Sometimes, people will say calm down and then look around to see if anyone else is looking at them. It makes me feel like they care less about me being okay and more about making sure no one is staring at them."
Derek frowned and took a step towards his younger brother. "I'm sorry, Stiles. I wasn't trying to–"
Stiles nodded. "I know," he whispered.
"Good. Now, how can I help?"
"Hug?" Stiles asked, his arms outstretched. "Please Der-Bear?" he pouted, fluttering his eyelashes.
Derek snorted and pulled the younger man into a bear hug.
"Love you, Der-Bear."
"Love you too, Cubkins."
