[By contrast, Stiles was a regular Suzie Homemaker. He practically ran the Stilinski household; he knew all the bank account numbers, he knew his dad's pin number and the last four of his social, he could pay the bills and buy the groceries. He could do it all. It wasn't that his dad couldn't do any of these things, it was just that Stiles got to them before he had a chance, because the Sheriff was distracted with being the Sheriff. They'd set up a pattern, Stiles Suzie, Dad Sheriff, and Stiles didn't think he could handle staying in that house. An empty house that totally didn't need him. He wasn't ready. Not yet.
Stiles was so grateful for Scott's stupid face that he almost teared up when he saw him, seriously, we're talking burning emotional tears of total awkward. He swallowed them quickly, greeted his friend with a dude, and checked himself out. The nurses were seriously not pleased, since they wanted to do fifty more tests on Lightning Lad and they were so displeased by the night terrors and the fact that he answered all the counselor's questions as Luke Skywalker.
Stiles grinned and let his friend pull his duffle in, keeping hold of his lacrosse stick and his pillow. He was still tired, but he'd had a solid few hours thanks to a really strong sedative somebody stabbed into his arm. He didn't look quite so much like death. He hoped. He also hoped Lydia's visit was a dream. Otherwise it was horrifically embarrassing.]
It's almost like that. We are going to get so sick on cheetos and ramen.