It's like everything was happening at once, quickly but in slow motion. It was hard to explain. Kind of like when you run on a treadmill and then get off, how you feel like you're moving faster than you actually are. Except this was happening in my brain. Things were skipping, other things taking way too long to play out. Was this a panic attack? A panic gripped me to the core, squeezing around my rib cage and making its way through that gaps in the bones, moving right to my heart to nestle in. I was shaking uncontrollably, my phone gripped in one hand and the flashlight in the other. Tears made their way down my face, as uncontrollable as the shaking. I was honestly surprised I hadn't fallen over for how spastic it was. This had to be a panic attack, unless this was just some weird process that my body was doing to get rid of all my pent-up emotions that I hadn't known I was holding. There were spots dancing across my vision, and the only way I could tell was because they would block out sections of silver light that I knew was there before. Sounds were a bit garbled and hard to catch what was going on, but I could make them out for the most part, and that was what matter. I could tell for the most part what was going on.

Sounds suddenly bombarded my brain. I could hear the sound of a motorbike hitting gravel and snapping branches at the same time. Well, they were happening all at once and it was really hard to make out which sound came first, but the branch-snapping one continued and became louder and louder. Well, at least I think it did. I couldn't really tell, with it moving all around. I stooped down, putting all my weight to my waist to keep my balanced. Still shaking, I lowered my head into the gap between my chest and knees, covering my head with my hands as quickly as possible. The sounds didn't sound like a good thing, more like a horror movie thing. A crash. Something chasing after me; I wasn't moving, so chasing wouldn't be the right word. Hunting would be. It was coming directly for me.

"Natalie!" The voice was all over the place, changing pitch and moving around; but I knew it was Scott. It had to be. He was the only person that knew where I was, or even my name for that matter. There was a select few of people that actually had cared to remember my name, the only two of which being my mother and Melissa. My name was just tossed around by other people and didn't really hold any meaning to them, other than a student or a patient. "Natalie!" he yelled again. I knew he was looking for me, but I wasn't going to move. I was going to stay put, not moving a muscle, the exception being my shaking. I didn't have control of the muscles that were making me do that.

The voice was close, and the branch snapping had slowed to a stop. Something touched me and I flinched, tightening into my protective stance a little more, if that was even possible.

"Natalie."

The voice was soft and close, and it was the only thing that I heard that wasn't garbled from the panic attack. I could make it out clearly, and it lingered in my mind for a moment like it was seeping into every crevice my brain had to offer. I slowly lifted my head up, moving my hands off my head equally as slow, to reveal the face of Scott that was pinched with worry.

"Are you okay?"

Those words. The same words. The same words as before... It took me a second before I nodded at his question, bringing my hands to rest in my lap. I probably looked doe-eyed right now, having been completely terrified. I had just scared myself up a monster. But it was over now. I didn't feel utterly terrified, and the visual and sound effects from the panic attack were slowly fading away.

Scott scanned me over, like he was making sure that I was completely okay and absolutely nothing had gone wrong. When he was completely sure I was okay and unharmed, he took one of my hands and led it over his shoulder. He moved in his crouching position, so he had leverage on one foot, and then picked me up, bridal style. I gripped the collar on the back of his shirt for dear life, as I was not anticipating that. The words "you don't have to" formed in my brain but never physically made it out of my mouth. I felt like my brain had turned to mush and I was now just a shell that couldn't process words and situations, only little movements.

He moved forward, towards the direction of my truck and his motorbike. Well, at least I was pretty sure we were heading in that direction. I don't even know how he could see out here, it was so damn dark. I would have a hard time managing, even with my flashlight. I'd probably end up getting even more lost than I had been when I had called Melissa.

.

Scott had gotten us back to the little gravel parking lot, and he set me down on my feet. Apparently he had completely ditched his bike when he came to find me, because it was overturned and a little bit buried in the gravel. I was still shaking a bit, but more likely from the cold now than anything else. He was standing close, as if him being nearby gave some sort of emotional support that would stop me from lapsing into another panic attack.

"I can take you home, or to the hospital if you want."

"Uh, home would be good. I'm going to the hospital tomorrow anyway."

"Okay. Mind if I drive? You seem a little shook up."

"No, yeah, go right ahead. You can just throw your bike in the back."

A blue jeep suddenly appeared out of nowhere and skidded into the parking lot like the person had turned at the last minute, just now seeing the parking lot. It sent dirt and gravel flying, and the wheels fought for traction before it came to a complete–and abrupt, I might add–stop. Someone jumped out, not even bothering to turn off the engine or close the driver's side door.

"Scott! Is she okay?" A person ran from the car yelling, and almost tripped in the process. He. The person was a he.

"Stiles–"

"What happened? Did anyone find her?" He began circling me, and I leaned away from him each time he took a step. I wouldn't be surprised if he lifted up my arms and moved my head, because the way he was walking and looking me over suggested he was looking me over for bruises and bite marks. He returned to his rapid-fire questions shortly after he began to walk around me. "Derek? The Argents? Lydia–" He ran a hand over his face, slowing his walk slightly. "Wait, it can't be Lydia, she's not dead."

"Stiles–"

"And most importantly–"

"Stiles!" Stiles paused in his walk and turned to looked at Scott. "How did you even know we were here?"

"Uh, went to your house. You weren't there, so I tracked the GPS on your phone. You know, you should really lock your bedroom window. Also you may or may not find a broken lamp when you get home. Heh, sorry about that." He looked over his shoulder at me, momentarily pointing a thumb in the same direction. "Nice truck by the way."

"Thanks..?" Where had this kid come from? I hadn't seen him before and knew completely nothing about him, other than his name was Stiles. Stiles? What kind of a name is Stiles? But by the way the two interacted, and the whole hey Scott I broke into your house and broke a lamp thing, I assumed they were friends. Okay, more like best friends. They conversed a bit more, but I heard nothing of what they said because they were speaking in furious whispers.

A coughing fit suddenly seized me out of nowhere, at first little ones, but they slowly progressed into bigger, more painful ones. I doubled over, holding my stomach. This was exactly why Melissa had given me the inhaler; in my last week of life, my lungs would start giving up, not wanting to work properly and provide me with much-needed oxygen. I moved the hand that was on my stomach across the big pocket on my sweatshirt, but I could find it. I lost my inhaler. Between gasps and coughs, I managed a "shit". As the coughing fit continued, I slowly lowered to the ground with each cough and gasp until I was on my hands and knees, one hand still on my stomach. Scott and Stiles were above me, and both clearly panicked. I knew if I didn't get sufficient air into my lungs soon, I'd end up passing out.

"What is it, is she having an asthma attack?"

"Lungs. My mom said something about her lungs. Uh, she had a tumor or something."

"Anything else that could help us?"

"She gave her an inhaler."

"What do we do?"

"Treat it like an asthma attack. Best chance we have right now. If she had the inhaler, she would've used it by now."

I could see spots again before me. That wasn't a good sign. I heard someone running away from me and a series of noises I didn't recognize, and then the footsteps came back. Something was shoved in front of my face and I took it, instantly knowing that it was an inhaler by the feel of it. I shook it, even though I was pretty sure Scott had already done so. I pressed down the canister that contained the life-giving air so hard I thought I might break the thing and breathed it in. I coughed for a little bit after that, but in all my breathing returned to normal. I was able to stand up with the help of both Scott and Stiles, each one lifting me up by an arm. I felt drained. Even more drained than usual. I guess my body had decided to take its turn down the hill of death.

"Is that...normal?" The question came from Stiles. He sounded a little concerned, like I had coughed up blood and guts.

"No, not normal," I said. "Well, actually, probably normal from here on out."

The two helped me to the passenger side of the truck, Stiles opening the door and Scott helping me in. The latter asked free first to help him put his bike in the back of the pick-up, and it hit the bed of the truck with a small metallic thunk. Scott hopped into the driver's side and I handed him the key, which he jammed into the ignition and twisted to start the car. Stiles ran over to his jeep and hopped in, slamming the door. Scott backed out and drove right up to Stiles's window.

"Stiles, you should probably follow us, in case anything else happens," Scott said, and Stiles grinned.

"Good thing I just so happened to have this with me." He pulled up a thing that looked like an upside-down jar in the low light. He flipped a switch and a red light began sweeping around. "Cool, eh?" He reached his hand out the window and stuck it on the top of his jeep. "Police escort, at your service."

I wanted to laugh, but I didn't have the energy to, so I just told the two my address. Stiles took the front, and Scott follow him.

.

"Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"I lost the inhaler your mom gave me; she's going to kill me. I had it for one day."

He smiled slightly, and I wasn't exactly sure why. I judged that it wasn't best to ask why, so I kept quiet the rest of the ride home.