Thanks to YMCMBYoungin13 suggestion, I decided to include a scene from 3x11.
"God, I'm never gonna get used to that," Liam said as he looked around their new surroundings. The overcrowded hallway of BHHS greeted them, and Scott listened among the students' voices for his friends.
"He's over there," Scott said, headed in the direction of Coach's office.
"Okay, well maybe we could just—we could go over there and . . ." past Lydia was interrupted by Stiles' phone beeping. "Oh god. What is it now?"
"It's from Isaac," Stiles said shakily after a moment. "Jennifer, she took—she has Allison's father. She took him. She's got all three now."
Lydia's face clouded with worry, she said, "There's still time. We still have time, right?" Noticing Stiles anxious distress, she prompted. "Stiles? You okay?"
Stiles turned around himself, showing obvious signs of detachment and anxiety. "What is it?" Lydia asked again, concern evident in her voice. "What's wrong? Stiles?"
As Stiles began to breathe heavily, he responded. "I think I'm having a panic attack."
Springing into action, Lydia carefully maneuvered him out of the crowded hallway and into the locker room.
"Oh no," present Lydia said, hastily following after the two.
"What does 'oh no' mean?" Malia asked.
Opening her mouth to respond, Lydia sighed and said, "You'll see."
"Just try and think about something else. Anything else," past Lydia said, kneeling on the floor of the locker room.
"Like what?" Stiles asked quietly, his breathing becoming faster.
"Happy things. Good things. Uh, friends, family." Noticing Stiles' incredulous look, she corrected, "Ugh, I mean not family. Oh god. Okay, just try and slow your breathing."
"I can't, I can't." Stiles brought a hand to his chest, gripping against the fabric of his shirt in an effort to calm down.
Lydia shushed him and gently put her hands on the sides of his face. "Stiles, look at me. Shh, look at me. Stiles." Seeing that his breathing wasn't calming down, Lydia impulsively leaned forward and kissed him.
"Stiles definitely didn't tell me about this," Scott said, his eyebrows raised as he looked at Lydia with a smirk.
"No, he didn't," Malia said sourly.
"How—how'd you do that?" Stiles asked, his breathing finally slowing down.
"I, uh, I read once that holding your breath could stop a panic attack. So, when I kissed you, uh. You held your breath."
"I did?" Stiles asked, still shocked over the situation.
"Yeah, you did."
"Thanks, that was really smart."
Malia turned to leave, and Lydia caught on her arm. "Malia, I was honestly just trying to calm him down. No underlying intentions whatsoever."
"It's cute that you still think that," Malia said wistfully. "Well, no use staying here all day. We should move on."
Silently, the pack walked out of the locker room and into new surroundings.
"Oh no," Scott muttered, noticing where they were. A bright, vibrant sign reading 'Motel Glen Capri' lit the dark night.
"There's no hope," a past version of Scott said, drawing the pack's attention toward the traumatizing scene. Seeing the alpha covered in gasoline and holding a flare caused Malia, Kira, and Liam to look toward Scott in alarm.
"What do you mean, Scott?" Alison asked. "There's always hope."
"Alison," present Scott muttered, his eyes glazing over in longing and sadness.
"Not for me. Not for Derek," Scott replied.
"Derek wasn't your fault. You know Derek wasn't your fault," the brunette tried to placate him.
"Every time I try to fight back it just gets worse. People keep getting hurt. People keep getting killed."
"Scott, listen to me," Stiles said, inching closer to the werewolf. "This isn't you. Alright? This is someone inside your head telling you to do this."
"Why are you doing this?" Malia asked, gesturing to the scene.
"Bad dose of Wolfsbane mixed with emotional trauma," Lydia replied, her eyes never leaving the scene.
"It all started that night," the boy said. "The night I got bitten. You remember the way it was before that? You and me, we were—we were nothing. We weren't popular. We weren't good at lacrosse. We weren't important. We were no one. Maybe I should just be no one again. No one at all." Scott's grip on the flare tightened.
"Scott, just listen to me," Stiles said. "You're not no one. Okay? You're someone. You're—Scott, you're my best friend. And I need you. Scott, you're my brother." Slowly, Stiles began inching forward. "Alright? So—so if you're gonna do this, then you're just gonna have to take me with you."
Looking down, the pack noticed that Stiles was now standing in the puddle of gasoline. Slowly, he loosened Scott's grip on the flare, tossing it haphazardly to the side.
"I never really thanked him for that," present Scott said.
"Come on," Malia said. "We should be getting closer."
Silently, the pack moved toward one of the motel rooms, only somewhat deterred when a large fire appeared near the bus.
"They were trying to warn you," Gerard's voice said. "It's electrified."
"Where are we?" Kira asked.
"I don't know," Scott replied, looking around the unfamiliar basement.
"What are you doing with them?" Stiles asked.
Upon looking further, Scott noticed that his friend had his old haircut. "This must have been during the Kanima incident," he narrated.
"At the moment," Gerard said, slowly walking down the stairs. "Just keeping them comfortable. There's no point in torturing them; they won't give up Derek. The instinct to protect their alpha's too strong."
"Okay," Stiles said. "So what are you doing with me? Because Scott can find me, alright? He knows my scent. It's pungent, alright, it's more like a stench. He could find me even if I was buried at the bottom of a sewer, covered in fecal matter and urine."
"Ew," Malia said.
"You have a knack for creating a vivid picture, Mr. Stilinski. Let me paint one of my own. Scott McCall finds his best friend, bloodied and beaten to a pulp. How does that sound?"
Scott narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists in anger.
"I think I might prefer more of a still life or landscape, you know." Gerard began walking closer, and Stiles backed up a few feet. "What—what are you like 90? Look, I can probably kick your ass up and down this room."
Stiles' assumption was cut short as Gerard punched him in the face, causing him to fall to the floor. Trying to get up, the boy was again hit into the ground. This uneven duel continued for a while longer, until Scott could barely contain his anger.
"Let's go," the alpha said shortly.