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Stiles has always said that he is the opposite of a fancy car, that he can go from 60 to 0 in two-point-five seconds. It’s a joke, of course, but one rooted in truth. Everyone is used to seeing him when he is on, when he can barely get his mouth to move fast enough to keep up with his brain. What most of them don't see is the inevitable crash once his body finally gives out. They all laugh when he tells them that he doesn't get tired, but it is more or less true. He can't even begin to count the number of times he's woken up sprawled out on his keyboard or with the hard corner of one of his textbooks digging into his side. He's always careful not to get comfortable when he is cooking any later than about 5pm, and he doesn't dare turn the stove on after 10, for fear of falling asleep and burning down the house.
(He'd almost said as much to Derek one time when the werewolf had climbed through his window just after midnight, but he'd bit his tongue at the last moment and offered only food that didn't require cooking. Not that Derek had taken him up on the very generous offer, just growled at him and demanded his help.)
The doctors he went to see weren't sure if Stiles' on-or-off sleeping methods were a side effect of the Adderall or if they were just a part of who Stiles was, but they assured his father that unless he started exhibiting the symptoms of narcolepsy or insomnia, there was nothing to worry about. Stiles never tells his dad about the nights he stays up until 2 or 3 in the morning, knowing that Scott does the same and it is more likely to be caused by his being a teenager than by whatever his sleep thing is. His father has enough to worry about as it is, and Stiles isn’t about to add to it with something that he feels is perfectly normal.
***
Despite the tension caused by Matt’s sudden death and the fact that he hasn’t really slept for days on end, Stiles doesn’t really feel the exhaustion until he’s having to lie to his dad one more time, knowing that there’s no way he can explain everything. The only reason his dad isn’t grilling him about in-depth details is because he’s distracted by a combination of rage and relief, and Stiles knows it isn’t going to last long. He cleans himself up as best as he can, not bothering to avoid the sore spots, then drops onto his bed, hoping that sleep will actually solve things for once.
He doesn’t get the chance to find out, not once Lydia walks into his room. The feeling of exhaustion still gnawing at the edges of his mind has him lashing out at her, and when she storms out of the room to go save Jackson, he knows that he won’t be able to sleep until he once again throws himself into the middle of the supernatural shitfest that all of their lives have become. So he chases after her and talks her into letting him give her a ride. He’s pretty sure the only reason she agrees is because he knows everything - where they’re going, what they’re likely to find, and the best ways for a human to survive even without super healing abilities. At the moment, he’ll take what he can get, so he opens the passenger door for her, even going so far as to give her a stern look when she doesn’t buckle up right away.
The whirlwind of Lydia saving Jackson through the power of twue wuv drains the nervous, heightened energy out of him and by the time Jackson’s firmly established as a kanima no longer, Stiles is exhausted again, the ache even deeper in his bones this time. He dawdles enough to determine that Derek apparently has no interest in speaking to Scott (and judging by the looks the Alpha’s throwing, Scott’s done something to piss him off again), then drags his friend over to the Jeep. He can hardly ignore Lydia and Jackson at that point, so he pulls a blanket out of the back and tosses it to Jackson, then offers both of them a ride home. Jackson looks like he’s about to sneer, but Lydia accepts with genuine gratitude, so Stiles just gestures them to the back seat.
By the time he gets home, Stiles is ready to drop into his bed and sleep for hours on end. His dad looks concerned, undoubtedly wondering why he’s been gone for almost an hour when he said that he was just giving Lydia a ride home. Stiles handwaves it away with a weak explanation of her still needing a shoulder to cry on. He knows that his dad will be distracted soon enough with Jackson’s body disappearing from the hospital morgue and the undeniable signs of violence at the warehouse, so it’s not like he’ll be checking Stiles’ story with Lydia anyway. His dad does gesture for him to go upstairs after a long hard look, so Stiles takes it as a win and drags himself up to his bed, only taking a few moments to change into actual pyjamas, not the well-worn shirt and track pants that he’d pulled on what felt like days ago.
And then he tosses and turns and can’t sleep, despite the heaviness that presses down on every part of him. He can’t stop thinking, can’t turn his brain off no matter how much he wants to. It’s not the usual mad scramble, though, it’s like being dragged through molasses made of all his worst memories from the past few months. He manages to push aside the image of Peter’s burned throat being torn out by Derek only to plunge right back into what he’d hallucinated at Lydia’s party. Three separate times, he gets up and tries to distract himself on the internet, doing everything from looking up cute cat pictures to watching mindless music videos to trying to lose himself in comedy sketches. Each time he tries to go back to bed, the memories start again, threatening to pull him under.
The sun is just beginning to shine, the soft reds and pinks of dawn painting his walls, when Stiles falls back into his bed for the fifth time. His eye catches on the pile of jewelry on his dresser and the flat-screen beside it, and the image of Lydia almost laughing and smiling despite herself replaces that of Jackson nearly killing her. Then he thinks about his dad telling him that he’d been a hero during the game, looking honestly proud and happy for the first time in far too long. Filled with warmth, Stiles feels his body relaxing into the bed, and he promises himself that he’ll do more to make his friends and his dad smile, regardless of whatever werewolf nonsense comes next. After all, without them, the rest becomes irrelevant.