text | » and now my dreams are nothing like they were meant to be «

[blackfly]

Hold on, slam the breaks and put your finger on the rewind button here for a second because okay. Okay? Okay. I can kind of believe in the whole bestowed with supernatural abilities things for reasons (which we need not get into,) but like - it's the interdimensional travel that's getting me here. I'm - I'm seeing names? I'm seeing names. Certain names. And I can't be the only one who sees these names and feels like I'm freaking out just a bit. What do you do when you meet your idols? Didn't someone say you should never meet your idols? Oh my God. I can meet my idols.

Getting back on track. Dimensions. Multiple. Crossing? Sharing. Hyperventilating. No speaking of bikinis.

How is nobody else freaking out? How are we all asking weirdly vague questions and not being like "Oh my God, I just saw [*Barney the Dinosaur] in Whole Foods"? (*Name changed to protect the identity of probable space smugglers, Crusaders in Capes and other miscellaneous HEROES and LEGENDS from my CHILDHOOD. Adolescence? And well, who am I kidding, a lot of my teen years.)

Am I hallucinating? I don't have six fingers so this can't be a dream. I'm not dreaming. This is real.

I also really really really really really think I'm going to need to know where to get an ADHD script filled now because I really really really really think I'm going to need it.

Comments

[blackfly]

Read my textual lips: no, not gonna do your job for you.
It was so easy for you back home? What's the diff here.

[calloused]

My job. My job? My "job".
This is insane. I'm trying to help you, you idiot.
You're seriously goading me into hunting you down? The big guy with the sharp teeth and the glowing eyes? The man who has expressed on more than one occasion that he doesn't like you?
This seems like a good idea to you?

[blackfly]

You are not making me feel any safer telling you my location there, bud.
Scooooott would've found me by now. Tsk, tsk.

[That's a lie, he'd be moping over Allison.]

[calloused]

[ or making out with her while people are dying. ]

I can't believe you're making me do this the hard way.

Fine.
I'll see you soon.
Don't get anyone arrested while I'm gone.

[blackfly]

[Still mad about being hung up on in the midst of Kanimafest.]

That was ONE TIME and I'm PRETTY SURE we said sorry

[blackfly]

We said sorry, right?

[calloused]

[ pointedly: zero response.

It takes a few hours to track Stiles down, and the streets of Heropa are unfamiliar to Derek which is what holds him back the most. It's far brighter and just a shade more optimistic here than it ever was in Maurtia Falls, with tall buildings just being tall buildings rather than distractions for the seedy, crime-filled alleys they stand beside. Derek's out in the heat until sunset, irritated by the stupid fucking airport security garbage he had to go through at the porter as someone Unsettled, and all the sunshine and all the people is just-- it's all starting to piss him off more than he can deal with.

He tracks Stiles' scent back to his house and doesn't bother sneaking in like he might have back home. He climbs the side of the building two steps at a time and busts the lock on Stiles' window, maintaining eye contact with him through the glass as he does it. The window creaks in a way it really isn't supposed to when he swings it open, and for a second Derek just - stares, hanging on the windowsill, before he finally throws his leg over the gap and heads inside. He's still in a bad mood. The bad mood hasn't worn off yet. ]

Screw you.

[ good start ]

[blackfly]

[To say Stiles has "a few hours of peace" before Derek shows up would be a bold faced lie, because from the first span of ten minutes since his unanswered text - he's been sitting in a cold chill of wondering if Derek was closer. If Derek could seek him out as fast as he could the new kid in the locker rooms. But without his meds or a lot of the things he could've used to anchor himself into concentrating, Stiles is just left browsing the network and reading up on old Majority Reports to acquaint himself with the world in between breaks to spin in his spinny desk chair until he feels nauseous.

He needs a white board or something in his room, but in the meantime he's taken to taping up a few sparse sections of ruled paper with hand written notes to his east most facing wall and sitting back to regard them. Just a jumble of words he thinks should mean something, notes to take notes on, trigger words like 'OTO' and 'Lachesis'. He's annoyed he doesn't have a laptop, scrolling on his cracked phone screen and chewing on his nail between tiny paragraphs of text.

The latest bout of spinning is abruptly stopped by Stiles slamming down his palm (and missing twice,) against his desk in a scramble for the brakes when he sees a figure at his window. His heart thuds and the world's on tilt when he finally puts his feet down, recognizing Derek's figure and making awkward eye contact with him as he busts his way in.]

Uh, hey - oh, I can open- ah, nevermind. You got it.

[He scratches at the back of his neck and stands slowly, like he's not sure if he should be up on his feet or stepping back behind his chair just to have something between him and the still oddly ominous figure of Derek Hale. But the tension's not too bad and quite frankly, it's nice to see him. With no Scott, no Lydia, no Dad and no anybody... He feels a little less alone just seeing one familiar face. Even if it's one that's often hard to read and often just steeled behind the guy's own defenses.

With a click of his tongue and two fingerguns directed Derek's way:]

Heyyyy. Sup?

[calloused]

[ Sup, Stiles asks, once Derek's managed to wrangle himself inside and shut the broken, creaky window behind him. There are papers on the floor and Derek's not subtle in how he surveys the mess, quietly wondering how Stiles managed to be such a hurricane to his bedroom after being here, for like, a day, but thankfully, he doesn't comment. He knows the piece of shit well enough by now to know that there's probably - a system, to everything he's seeing here. He spies the word Lachesis on the wall by Stiles' desk and that's enough confirmation for him.

Derek's got a duffel bag swung around his shoulder, made of black canvas and uncomfortably heavy in a way he doesn't seem to notice. He heads inside and drops it on Stiles's bed, opening it up and fishing through whatever's inside. Tall and broad and beard-scruffy as he is, it might not be intimidating so much as just kind of - awkward, the way he rifles through his things in silence, Stiles standing somewhere off behind him and presumably not knowing what to do as this giant asshole makes his home here. Derek doesn't seem to care. Derek doesn't seem to care at all? Derek doesn't... Derek doesn't care. It's awkward. Everything's awkward. ]

Here.

[ He found what he was looking for, apparently. He doesn't know what Stiles likes, but for some reason Derek wanted to - ah, how can he justify this to himself in a way that won't make him look like he cares about Stiles - he wanted to do something welcoming? He's got gummi snakes, pringles, gatorade and soda, a large, expanded collection of snacky bullshit tucked away under his laptop, some wires and a spare change of clothes. He's pretty sure teenage humans like to eat like dumpsters, and he pelts whatever Packet Of Whatever he gets his hand on at Stiles's chest with just a little too much force. ]

Sit down. Eat.

[blackfly]

Ye- ah, just make yourself at home. Maybe next time... use a door.

[Stiles just kind of stands there, lifting a hand as if to gesture before thinking better of it and simply rubbing his chin with it instead. Derek and a duffel bag is an interesting combo, and curiosity is bleeding through him so he cants his head side to side to catch a peek of what's going on. Edges closer, unable to not be intrigued. Doesn't know what to make of it but you know, not looking gift horses in the face.

Not unlike a dog uncertain of its territory, Stiles reaches forward to snatch up another bag of gummi worms and retreats back to his chair; sitting down and ripping the bag he was handed open with his teeth and letting the second full of starbursts sit in his legs after he pulls them up to cross under him on the chair's seat.]

Thanks. You sure did... bring a lot of stuff, it's almost as if you're moving in or something Haha...

[Ha?]

[calloused]

Just until you're settled.

[ That's a yes, apparently. ]

Or until you make me fucking murder you.

[ Hm. Derek stares at Stiles for minute or two too long, somehow still all spooky and mean even when he's surrounded by candy in the late afternoon light. It must be pretty unnerving to have somebody watch you eat, but Derek doesn't seem to care. He just - watches Stiles as he picks through his gummi worms, contrasting all of Stiles' high-energy emoting with just nothing. It takes a second or two before he diverts his attention back to the bed and starts going through the rest of his shit, unpacking food and setting it on the mattress for later.

He fishes out his laptop and sets it up, then just - sits on Stiles' bed, legs crossed and expression stony. It doesn't look like he's going to engage with Stiles anymore; he's happy just sitting with a too-small laptop in his lap looking like an angry troll, typing slower than most people type at 22 as he messages a friend and apparently just browses this version of America's reddit. A few minutes pass. And then a few minutes more. He talks again, eventually, looking up from the screen to stare at Stiles. ]

How are things... feeling... so far. For you. Here.

[ hm. ]

[blackfly]

[Stiles sits, slowly chewing gummi worms and sucking one up into his mouth while making eye contact with Derek. Derek the creepy wolf he's a little too used to, to whom he raises his brows in a little bit of a 'well?' gesture before giving his head a tiny shake. Keep being you, crazy wolf diamond. Keep being you. However, could not be you on his bed because...]

Things are okay. Adrenaline high's run off but I've been keeping busy.

[The two of them can both see the wild scrawl that surrounds them. Stiles leans over one arm of the chair, looking down to see what's sticking to the wheel of said chair after he'd rolled it backwards a bit. Gonna have to re-write that note.]

You really going to just - move in here? Nooot a whole lot of room and honestly, I'm not sure sharing the bed's gonna work. I'm an aggressive big spoon and you're like - huge. I don't jetpack, either? So it's just not going to work.