"Stilinski!"

Stiles jerked awake and blinked without really seeing anything until Finstock came into focus. The dream was still floating around his brain and it was difficult to concentrate, not that that was anything new these days, even with his Adderall.

"Sorry," he mumbled, doing his best to force his brain into gear.

Finstock frowned at him, but surprisingly said no more and just continued with the class. That was, until the end: "Stilinski, a moment of your time."

Stiles dragged himself to the front of the class rather than the door and prepared to be yelled at.

"What's up, kid?" Finstock asked and shocked him.

"Um."

"You look like you haven't slept in a week, actually, make that two," Finstock said. "Have you gotten into something you can't handle?"

Finstock was worried about him, Stiles realised he had to look bad.

"Insomnia," he said, because he couldn't be bothered to pretend, "ever since my dad ..." and he trailed off.

It wasn't quite the truth, but he couldn't exactly tell the coach he was having vivid dreams about darkness and wolves that just seemed to suck the energy right out of him every night.

"What do you have next period?" Finstock asked, without commenting on that.

"Math, Mr Lyle," he replied, not sure where the conversation was going.

He really did not expect Finstock to wave a set of keys under his nose.

"What?" his brain couldn't cope with such weird behaviour at the best of times so right then it had no hope.

"The keys to my office," Finstock told him. "If you move out the chair and the ball box it's very comfortable. I will tell Lyle you are on special assignment with me for the next hour. Get some sleep, Stilinski, before you fall over and break something. Bring the keys back when you're done."

It took him a couple of seconds to process that.

"Thank you," he said and Finstock dropped the keys into his hand.

"But, Stilinski, if anything else is touched, your ass is grass."

"Yes, coach," he said and shuffled out.

When he made it to Finstock's office, he pulled out the chair and the ball box, set his phone for ten minutes before the next class and then sat down, putting his feet on the box. He went out like a light as soon as he remotely relaxed.

As he opened his eyes onto whiteness he wanted to cry. It was the same every time; he fell asleep and he woke up in the white place. He was on a white dais surrounded by a black moat and he could see the nemeton in the distance. There was always a white wolf as well. It had started in the distance even further away than the nemeton, but this time it was standing next to him on the dais. It looked at him with eyes as white as its fur, just slightly ringed in red and he collapsed to his knees beside it.

He was so exhausted. It felt like he hadn't slept properly in weeks. Ever since he, Scott and Allison had sacrificed themselves he had been having dreams. At first he had just felt a little tired, but over the last week it had been getting worse. They weren't even nightmares, it felt as if he was living two lives and never resting.

The wolf nudged against his face, urging him to look up. He was so tired all he wanted to do was lie down, but the wolf was insistent. When he finally lifted his head he saw another wolf, far off, past the nemeton, and this one was black. It seemed familiar somehow, but he didn't know why. The white wolf leaned into him, supporting him as he sagged, but he did not take his eyes off the black one.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, because he just felt so lost.

Sound lanced through his head, so loud he thought his ears would burst and he was thrust back into the real world. It took him a few seconds to realise it was only the alarm on his phone and he blindly reached out to turn it off. It couldn't have been that long, but he already knew time in the white place and time in reality were entirely separate things. Dragging himself up, he felt worse than before he had tried to sleep. His limbs were like lead, his thoughts too slow and too fast in alternate blocks and he was swimming in a sea of fatigue.

"Give keys back," he said to make sure he knew where he had to be going.

It took more effort than he wanted to admit, just to keep that straight in his head. By the time the bell rang he had just made it to Finstock's classroom and he stood there swaying as the tide of the freshman class broke over him.

"Stilinski," Finstock said as soon as the man caught sight of him hovering in the doorway, "you look worse than you did before and I didn't think that was possible."

"Coach," he said, holding out the keys.

He was supposed to be stepping forward, he knew that, but he just didn't seem to be able to find the energy. Everything around him was kind of shiny where he was looking and going dark on the edges. It made him feel very surreal and it was only as everything moved far too fast that he realised he was pitching forwards. Mercifully everything went black before he hit the ground.

"Stilinski," he heard someone saying, "everyone calls him Stiles."

"Stiles, Stiles, can you hear me?" someone closer asked and he felt something being put over his face.

He did his best to reply, but all that came out was a mumble that never had a chance at being real words.

"Well done, Stiles," the someone said, "do you think you can open your eyes for me?"

He tried, he really did, but his eyelids were so heavy and every time he managed to flick them open they fell back closed too quickly. It was frustrating and he desperately wanted to do as he was asked, but it was so hard.

"Hey, it's okay," the person told him, "you're doing fine. Just relax for me and breathe, the oxygen will help make everything clearer."

"Do you know if he's ingested any substances?" another voice asked from further away.

"Stilinski's always been clean," Finstock replied. "He said he's been having trouble sleeping. His father is the sheriff and you must have read about the disappearances; the kid's been different since then, but it's been worse over the last week."

"People don't usually collapse from insomnia," the other voice said.

"Stiles," the person looking after him grabbed his limited attention, "I'm just going to put an IV in your arm. You're showing signs of dehydration so that should help. It will sting a little, but I've numbed the area so it won't for long."

The warning didn't really help, he still grunted as the needle went in, but the paramedic, he decided it had to be a paramedic, was right, it didn't last long.

"He's set up," his carer said.

"Right," the other one replied, "let's get him to the hospital. Thank you Mr Finstock."

Something jostled and there was a click and then the sensation of more motion. Stiles wasn't really with it enough to figure out exactly what was happening, but he knew they were moving. He didn't even have enough brain power to worry about where.

"Stiles!"

At that sound his brain woke up a bit. His thoughts screamed alpha before they informed him it was Scott and his body tried to respond on pure instinct. He even managed to open his eyes in time to just about make out Scott's worried face.

"Hey, aren't you Melissa McCall's son?" his paramedic asked.

"Yes," Scott replied, "what's wrong with Stiles."

"That's what we're hoping to find out at the hospital," the other paramedic said.

"Look," Scott said, "I'm his best friend, can I ride along, I can help with contacting his dad and everything?"

"I don't know..." one said.

"The kid opened his eyes for him," the other countered quickly, he was definitely Stiles' favourite, "and his mom's a friend."

There was silence for a while and Stiles let his eyes drift closed again.

"Okay," was the eventual agreement, "just keep out of the way, okay?"

"Sure," Scott said and when a warm hand settled on his arm Stiles felt a little better.

His confused thoughts were only just ticking over and at the touch they settled on, 'pack, alpha, safe', and it never occurred to him he really had no reason to be reacting like that since he wasn't a werewolf. He fell asleep with Scott's hand on his skin and, for once, he didn't dream.