Disclaimer: I obviously do not own Suits or TeenWolf. If I did well...Let's just leave it at that.

Harvey paced in the waiting room and stared at the clock for the millionth time. How could have things gotten so wrong so quickly? And more importantly, what was taking so long? It felt like he was waiting for days. He has lived with a list of things added to his conscience, but this case was entirely different. What if Stiles had some serious brain damage done onto him? He was already informed that he had ADD, and if it was serious then he'd have to live knowing that because of him he made an innocent kid mentally ill.

Mike and Donna stared at him as he paced back and forth. Both of them were still shocked from the previous chaotic event. And to see Harvey so worried was still foreign to Mike. There were times where Harvey had shown that he cared for Mike by saving his bum multiple times, but still the way he screamed…

"I'm sure the doctor will be out any minute." Donna said, breaking the tension.

Mike felt guilt wash over him. If anything he should have been the one thrown into a glass wall. After all, he felt that he had been the one to upset that psychopath. "Look Harvey, I'm sorr-"

Harvey stopped pacing. "Don't even go there Mike."

"But it's my fault." he continued.

"No it's my fault. Did you bring him to the firm? Did you tell him to enter into that room?"

"I did." Donna murmured. If she hadn't given those files to Stiles (heh.)then none of this would have happened.

"Enough with the 'it's my faults', alright? That boy is my responsibility, so quit trying to take the blame, both of you." Seriously, were they saying this to try and make him feel better? Because it clearly wasn't working.

"Mr. Specter."

Harvey turned around and saw the doctor approach. Finally, he thought. If he'd have to wait another minute...

"How is he?" Harvey asked anxiously, hoping the answer would be a positive one.

The doctor smiled. "He's a very strong lad. He has a concussion but not too bad, and we've managed to take out all the pieces of glass off him. Surprisingly it is nothing serious. You are his…"

"Father," he informed.

Donna and Mike looked at each other. You could tell they were thinking the same thing. Is Harvey serious or he just wants to see Stiles and needs an excuse? They do look strangely alike in features, so it's natural to assume.

"Right this way then." The doctor said and led them down the hallway. He opened the door revealing a mummified, hyperactive teen that had no charge left within him.

Stiles' head was wrapped in white cloth and he was sleeping, but not peacefully. He was pale and his arms were wrapped as well and small bruises covered his face. He looked completely lifeless and drained as if he were in a coma, but thank the Lord he wasn't.

"Jeez kid..." Harvey whispered and sat down in the chair on Stiles' left. If a man points a gun at you, you have a hundred and forty-six other options than getting shot. But what if the gun wasn't pointed at you? What if it was pointed at someone else? In this case, the gun was pointed at Stiles and Harvey never saw it coming. This was his entire fault.

Donna stood beside Harvey and placed a hand on his shoulder, and Mike stood on the other side of the bed pouting like a puppy. They all watched his chest rise up and down as he breathed. He wished Stiles would open his eyes.

"Harvey were you serious back there?" Mike asked, though a part of him apprehensively guessed the answer.

Harvey was silent for a minute then answered, "Yes." In a tone that was barely audible, but everyone heard it crystal clear. Neither Donna or Mike spoke after that, nor asked how. They were too stunned to utter a word. Mike had once joked about there being a little Harvey Specter wearing a three piece suit, but he wasn't serious. His boss was in no way shape or form parent material!

After an hour or two; Harvey told them to go home and that he would call later. Having no choice, Donna and Mike exited together still shocked and curious as ever. Harvey would soon tell them everything, well her everything, yet it killed Donna because she was always the first to know.

Stiles slowly opened his eyes and groaned at the bright light above him. What happened? He felt so weak and his whole head felt as if it were on fire. It felt like someone banged a hammer then threw glass…wait a minute. The word glass definitely sounded familiar. What was even more familiar was the shape he saw in front of him.

"'Ey 'arv'y," he murmured drowsily, recognizing who it was.

"Stiles," Harvey breathed and immediately sat up straight. "You look like hell."

The teen groaned in agreement and lolled his head side to side shielding his eyes from the world. "Looking comes with feeling, my friend."

Stiles sighed and looked up at the ceiling aimlessly. "I hate hospitals," he suddenly whispered.

It was true. Ever since the car accident he hated everything that had to do with hospitals. The sirens, the blood, and his mother's lifeless eyes that remained open, still haunted him in his sleep. Plus, they made him feel abnormal because something was always wrong with him. Whether it was something physical, mental, or emotional it was all messed up. He was a mess.

Harvey stared at the bandaged teen. Something in him wanted to ask why or what happened before, but silenced his heart. Even though he only knew him for a month or two he could see something buried under the smile that Stiles flashed every now and then. He did it when they first met, when he felt like crap yesterday morning when he woke him up, heck even when Stiles was on the floor with shards of glass sticking in his flesh and a huge, bloody gash on the side of his head the kid still smiled! But Harvey could read him. Harvey could read anybody. It was his job.

"Get better and we could leave." He said, crossing his left leg over his right knee casually.

Images flashed in his mind and Stiles bit his lower lip trying to keep his emotions under control. He has to get out of here. August 14, the day of the accident replayed in his mind and no matter what he can't push his mother's scream out of his head. You see, the thing that sucks most about being Stiles is that he is messed up in the area he'd sacrifice anything not to be; his mind. It's one thing to have a heart ache and another to be constantly tormented by your thoughts. He would pick heart ache any day.

"Harvey, can we get out of here?"

He thought about it 'till Stiles added, "Please?" A little bit more desperately. Luckily the doctor was right outside when he left the room.

"How long does Stiles have to stay?"

"Not long." The doctor replied. "Why, is he uncomfortable?"

"Yes." Harvey said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Who the hell is comfortable in hospitals?

"Well I suppose," he said rummaging through some papers, "he can leave. Right now comfort and rest is all that matters Mr. Specter. I will be right back with the release papers."

While the doctor strolled away, Harvey popped back into the room. Concern swelled in his chest when he saw Stiles' back arched, bowing his head, while hold onto one of the rails attached to his bed.

"You're not supposed to be up-" He suddenly stopped in his tracks. Stiles' back was heaving up and down, hands shaking, and his breathing terribly uneven.

Nononono, get a grip before he sees you, he thought. The last thing he needed was for him to have a panic attack in front of Harvey, of all people!

The bloom of concern grew into a tree inside his chest. What was going on?

"Stiles!" he cried and ran to the hyperventilating boy.

Stiles' wet, wide, glossy, eyes fixed onto the identical brown ones in front of him. This was not happening. His panic grew more when he suddenly stopped breathing altogether. Harvey panicked as well, but thanks to the years of being a fine lawyer he worked well under pressure. Moving the boy was sure as hell going to be painful for him, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Harvey grabbed his calves, and as soon as he pulled Stiles to the edge of the bed, Stiles' body screamed in pain. Ignoring the stifled scream that can from Stiles's discolored face, Harvey cradled Stiles' head onto his chest. He started to take long exaggerated inhales and exhales.

"Breathe Stiles…that's it…" he said in between breaths.

Stiles exhaled all the air in his lungs and his breathing slowly evened. Color regained in his face as the red seeped away. He closed his eyes and clutched the hem of Harvey's shirt, listening to his heartbeat. A child like gesture, but it was what he needed most at the moment. Sometimes his mother would do this for him. Back then when she was still alive, he didn't get panic attacks of course, but it was a comforting gesture that he always cherished.

Harvey placed his hands on Stiles' shoulders and gently pushed him back, eyes never leaving him. After a long, intense, awkward, silence he broke it. "What the hell was that?" he asked angrily. When Stiles didn't answer Harvey grabbed his chin and tilted upwards, so his eyes would lock onto Harvey's dark ones. Harvey asked again even though he knew what it was, and when Stiles didn't answer once more he asked a different one. "Why didn't you tell me about this? Why didn't they tell me about this?" (A/N: He is referring 'they' to the foster people)

He flinched under Harvey's voice. "They never knew." Stiles whispered. He tried to break the intense eye contact by tugging his face away, but Harvey just tightened his hold.

"Why?"

The question was so simple, but the answer so harshly true. Why hadn't he told anyone?

Because telling someone wouldn't make them go away.

"Is everything alright?" a voice said.

They both turned to see the doctor. Just before Harvey was about to speak Stiles clutched his arm in a death grip, eyes pleading not to tell of what just happened. He looked at those desperate eyes, debating whether or not to spill. If he did then maybe they'd have to stay at the hospital even longer. So he kept his mouth shut.

"Everything thing is fine. We're just getting ready to leave." Harvey answered.

"Well then here are the papers." He said, handing them to Harvey. "Remember to get lots of rest Stiles and take your meds. Goodnight to the both of you." he took off.

Harvey sighed heavily and took out his pen scribbling quickly on the clipboard.

Stiles felt his panic subside a little bit and he savored this little peace he had, for he'd have to face the wrath of Harvey later. What was he to do or say? No one but Scott knew of his panic attacks and he was grateful that his best friend left him alone about it.

Stiles's feet made contact with the cold floor as he slowly stood up cracking a couple joints in his stiff back. He hung on to the rail and steadied himself. The world seemed to be slightly spinning.

Harvey looked up from the now signed papers and stood up. "Can you walk?"

Stiles nodded in response. He felt like complete and utter crap, as if he were waking up with the worst type of hangover. Oh how he longed for his soft bed and warm blanket's.

Slowly stepping out of the room, Harvey watched like a hawk, and placed a hand on Stiles' back guiding him outside the hospital. Ray opened the door for them seeing that Harvey was heavy handed. Harvey mentally noted to give him a raise. Ray truly had perfect timing.

Stiles slowly sat in the car, as did Harvey. He was so exhausted. All he wanted was sleep, wonderful dreamless sleep, in his soft bed.

Harvey looked out into the dark city, deep in thought. What was Stiles panicking about? He had an experience with panic attacks once when his father died, and all the guilt in the world came crashing down onto his shoulders, but that was it. However, something in the look Stiles gave told him that this was not his first. Panic attacks are devious things. They sneak up on you when you're at your most vulnerable state. Harvey knew this and so did Stiles. Stiles knew the feeling more though, because of having much 'practice'.

Harvey snapped out of his thoughts when he felt something nudge against his knee. He looked down to see Stiles' head in his lap, clearly getting comfortable. He heard himself sigh in annoyance, but slowly found himself smiling a moment later. Mike one time leaned against his shoulder asleep after they visited a client late one night, but in the end Harvey elbowed him awake and he started muttering drowsily about the can opener. Chuckling at the memory, he traced the moles on Stiles' face with his finger, carefully avoiding the bruises. Stiles clearly found it soothing when he scooted closer to Harvey. He always argued with people on how they were 'birthmarks' and not 'moles'.

Ray smiled through the rear view mirror at the touching scene before him. Harvey blushed slightly and looked out the window again. This did not mean he cared…okay fine maybe a little.