There's a reason for all the noise. With Stiles, there's a reason for everything. Everything he does has a meaning, even if it is vague and buried underneath layers of sarcasm and wit and clumsiness. But there is always a reason.
There's a reason why he never stops talking. Why he always seems to be rambling on about something, or asking dumb questions that he usually already knows the answers to.
It's because he's afraid of the silence.
~O~
Nine years ago, a boy sat in a chair beside a hospital bed. In the bed lay his mother, connected to the machines and the tubes and the wires that were keeping her alive. He sat in his chair and he colored in his Star Wars coloring book; outside of the lines because this particular boy didn't like to follow the instructions. He was in the midst of coloring in Han Solo when…
"Stiles." A voice whispered. It was raspy and dry but somehow still gentle and soft.
Stiles' head jerked up in the direction of the voice. A thin, frail hand reached out, palm up, asking to be taken. Stiles stood up and stumbled over to the edge of the bed.
"Hi Mommy." He said softly, taking his mother's fragile hand in his tiny ones.
She smiled. "Stiles." She repeated. He loved the way the word sounded when she said his name. It was warm, gentle, safe. Even now, as she clung to her sanity in this horrible hospital bed in this horrible place that made Stiles want to cry and scream and run as far away as his little legs could take him.
But he stayed.
He stayed because no one else would be there if he left. His dad was at work and he didn't have any other immediate relatives. So if he wasn't there, who would be?
"Stiles, I need you to promise me something. Okay?" she said. Her voice shook and her breathing was labored. Her eyes kept slipping up into her head and it seemed to take all her strength to keep them on her only son, who was nodding in compliance.
"I need you to take care of your daddy for me. He's going to be very sad when I'm gone." Tears had welled up in both of their eyes. Stiles shook his head and furrowed his eyebrows.
"No…" he whispered. "I ca—"
"Listen to me Stiles. I know you can do it. You are the strongest little boy I have ever met. I love you with all my heart. But I have to leave. I have to go now." She paused and caught her breath. She squeezed her son's tiny hand in hers and gave him a weak smile. "I love you Stiles. I love you. I'm so sorry. I—"
Her voice caught in her throat. She took a few more labored breaths before everything went silent.
Stiles couldn't hear anything. He couldn't hear the beep of the flat line on the heart rate monitor. He couldn't hear the doctors and nurses run in, shouting. He couldn't hear them as they told him to step back. He just stared at his mother through tear-blurred eyes, unable to comprehend anything other than the fact that his mom was gone…and she was never coming back.
He felt someone lift him up and begin carrying him to the waiting room, and that's when he started screaming. Emotion washed over the little boy like a tidal wave. He was crying and screaming and yelling for his mom, for his dad, for anyone. The sound of his own voice was the only thing that kept him grounded…it was the only way of knowing whether or not this was really happening. So Stiles screamed. And screamed. And screamed.
~O~
Nine years later, and the screaming only came with the nightmares. The scene would play over and over in his head. Over and over, he would watch his mother stop breathing right in front of him. Over and over he would scream her name, unable to accept the fact that she would never be able to answer him. Over and over, he would lose a piece of himself in that hospital room.
So there was a reason. There was a reason why this hyperactive boy never seemed to run out of energy. There was a reason why he never stopped talking…rambling about the stupidest things to anyone who would listen, even if it was just to himself in the middle of the night.
It's because the silence is terrifying.
With silence comes uncertainty. And if there is one thing that terrifies Stiles the most, it's uncertainty. Stiles fears not knowing. He is terrified by the idea of fear and the strength it can have on a person. So he pushes it aside. He brushes it under the rug until the fear becomes too much for him to hide. And he breaks. He shatters into a million pieces. He allows the fear to take him, but only for a few seconds. For a few seconds, Stiles is powerless to his own fear. Fear is Stiles' lunar eclipse. He loses all of his power, all of his strength, and he becomes merely a boy who is afraid of the world he lives in.
The talking, the endless sarcastic banter, the stupid jokes and the dumb questions… they're all just defense mechanisms. They're all just ways of protecting himself from the horrible and the sickening. Without them, he would be vulnerable. He would be helpless. He would be nothing.
Because what everyone forgets is that Stiles is only human. He can only do so much before his body gives out and he needs saving. He is the boy who runs with wolves. But he's fragile. He's breakable. He spends so much of his time trying to figure out how to save everyone that he forgets that sometimes he's the one who needs to be saved.
So he talks. He cracks jokes. He asks questions to which he already knows the answer to. He uses the humor and the sarcasm to mask the cracks and the dents in his armor. He uses it to cover up the pain and the fear and the hurt. He uses it to hide the fact that, more often than not, he's terrified. Because he knows, that if he has to listen to the silence pounding in his ears any longer…
It would be too much for his fragile mind to handle.