Pure × Isaac Lahey

37.

      Scott took the papers, a smile playing on his lips as Kira attempted to shrink into oblivion and took her seat. He held back a warm laugh, going around to the next row and sliding into his desk.

      "All right, everyone." Mr. Yukimura grabbed the room's attention, ready for class to begin. "Let's get started. We were just talking about internment camps and prisoners of war. 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?" Ken scanned the room, eyes falling on the only one who couldn't do the task. "Mr. Stilinski, how about you?"

      "Oh, uh..." Stiles hesitated, "maybe someone else could."

      Ken, however, wouldn't let up. "Everyone participates in my class, Mr. Stilinski."

      "Okay," Stiles mumbled in agreement as he rose from his seat and went up to the podium.

      A fog seemed to lace Stiles, the black and blue letters slipping out of place and redurring the page blank.

     Scott looked up from Kira's research, eyes falling on a ghostly pale Stiles. He stood, concern on his face. "Stiles? You okay?"

      Stiles gripped the podium heavily, unable to catch his breath.

     Scott took Stiles's shoulder, looking to Mr. Yukimura. "I shouldn't take him to the nurse's office." He steadied Stiles, quickly taking him out of the room.

      "Scott!" Elora skidded around the corner of the hallway, nearly as out of breath as Stiles. "I felt like something was wrong." She was touching her heart as she caught up to them, her connection to the trio increasing with every falter.

      "What do we do?" Scott quickly asked, hanging onto Stiles.

       Elora glanced down both halls, "A bathroom, we need to get him somewhere no one will interrupt. We have to calm him down."

      Scott lead them deeper into the school, Stiles letting go of Scott as they reached the men's bathroom near the back of the building.

      Stiles' focus bounced around the room, unable to catch his breath as his head spun in a million different directions.

      "Stiles, look at me, man," Scott nervously said. "Is this a panic attack?"

      Lunging forward, Stiles gripped the edges of a sink as he stared into his sweating reflection. "It's a dream, it's a dream. This is just a dream."

      "No it's not," El urged. "This is real. You're here. You're here with us, Stiles."

      Stiles, however, was losing it.

      "How do you tell if you're awake or dreaming?" Scott questioned with a rapid heartbeat, needing Stiles to snap out of it.

      "Your fingers," Stiles said through heavy breaths. "You count your fingers. You have extra fingers in dreams."

      "Then do it," Elora stressed as she and Scott stood on either side of the panicking boy.

      "How many fingers do I have?" Scott asked, holding up a finger. "Hey! Look at me. Come on, Stiles. Look at my hands and count with me."

      Stiles forced himself to turn, "One..." he panted through, "two."

      "Keep going, Stiles," said El as she put a hand on his shoulder and softly squeezed encouragement.

      "Three, four."

      "Five," Scott told him before going to the other hand.

      "Six," breathed Stiles, "seven."