Stiles Stilinski | Teen WolfalotofadderallSeptember 25 2012, 23:00:10 UTC
[Stiles' head hurt.
Running. Blinding pain. Darkness. No, the darkness came before. Running in the dark. Blinding pain. More darkness. Why was he running? Lacrosse? No, he never plays lacrosse. And they have stadium lights. Why was he running? Danger. Pain. Dark.
But it wasn't so dark anymore; there was light behind his eyelids. Still pain, in his temple, but not as bad as before...he'd been knocked out. Running from danger, knocked out. This wasn't shaping up well at all.
Stiles cracks open one eye, pupils dilating to accomodate the sudden light. Something's touching him. No, someone. He's on a bed...and it's not his.
Oh this was not good at all.
Well, then again it might be. Maybe he got drunk and lucky at the same time. Stiles tries to focus on the figure holding him...
The man has to be at least 23, which makes this completely illegal...and judging from the way their legs are tangled Stiles is definitely banking on illegal.
Oh God, he's been kidnapped. That would explain the running. The pain. FuckHe tries not to move. He
( ... )
What? [Stiles frowned, confused. So he had set Peter on fire. Vivid images of the night filled his mind and Stiles almost gagged, closing his eyes.]
Do you hurt/threaten people often?
[The teen waited a moment before standing up, reaching out towards the door hesitantly. He set down the razor - because obviously the shaving cream was the smarter of two options for a weapon, naturally - and pressed up against the door, opening it a tiny sliver, half-expecting Sam to rush the door and attack him.]
What? No. [Okay, so he sounds a little indignant, and possibly a little hurt at that.] It was shortly after I changed. I wasn't sure I'd be able to control it.
[He's standing in the living room, every line of his body radiating tension and upset.] We just never got rid of the knife.
I don't get it. Why is Scott still a werewolf if Peter's dead?
[Stiles sticks his arm out first, brandishing the shaving cream threateningly. It's actually more humorous than anything else. The bruise on his temple is a lovely shade of violet, and Stiles winces as he pushes the box towards himself with his foot, eyes flickering down and back up to Sam when he sees that there actually is a knife in the box.]
Scott didn't kill him. I'm still a little hazy on what happened. You and the rest of the pack don't exactly talk about that night.
[And Sam flinches at the terrific bruise on his temple.] There's no going back for him. He's a wolf, same as me. Derek's the new alpha and we're.. [He looks away. They had been close, in love, and now he didn't know what in the hell they were.]
That night was last night. How long was I out? [He doesn't even remember what exactly had happened - setting Peter on fire, then running and the blow. He doesn't know what happened in between - hunters?]
We're what? [They were in love...Stiles just didn't remember it at the moment.
Stiles picks up the knife carefully, watching Sam for as much of the time as he could. He sniffs the blade, brow furrowing when he finds that it really is wolfsbane.] Either you're an idiot or you've got a death wish. One cut from this thing can kill you. [Not that Stiles would try to kill Sam without being provoked. The knife makes him feel better, if a little uneasy.]
I know. But it should also tell you that I'm serious about not wanting to hurt you.
[Sam keeps his distance even if all he wants to do is get closer. He won't crowd him, won't scare him.] That was a few months ago from what I've picked up from the others.
[The other question is one he doesn't really want to answer. So he tries to dodge it.] We're close. You've come over on more than one occasion to do research and check out the books Bobby brings on monsters, weres and anything else that tends to go bump in the night.
A few months? [Stiles gapes at Sam, hand clenching around the knife.] What the hell is going on?
[Stiles feels a little dizzy, but he just inches behind the bathroom door a little bit, leaning against the doorframe. He still has the shaving cream in his other hand, ready for action.]
...I think I can guess why we don't talk about it. [For Stiles, the way it had been before was his reality, at the moment. Steeped in terror and confusion and violence; Peter had pretty much kidnapped him in what felt like only a few days or so ago.]
You took a pretty good shot to the head. [Sam gestures at the bruise on his temple.] It jarred your memory, you've lost some time.
[Keeping his movements slow and easy, Sam indicates the picture on the bookshelf.] That's Bobby, the one in the middle there. He all but raised me and Dean.. that's him, my brother Dean. He's got a library on the occult you'd love to get your hands on. You two have been trading emails and research.. probably shortly after Derek became the alpha.
He was the one that directed me to Beacon Hill, to you.
[Stiles watches Sam suspiciously, eyes flickering back and forth between the man and the picture he'd noticed earlier. Bobby. Dean. Stiles is getting a weird sense of De Ja Vu, and it's not helping his nerves.] Why did you come to me?
My dad's the Sheriff. [Stiles reminds Sam, though if they're friends, Stiles is guessing he probably already knows that. Whatever. Stiles pushes open the door a little bit more. He'd like to freaking sit down but there's no way he's doing that unless Sam is at least 5 feet away. Preferably six.]
Right. Okay...Peter didn't bite me, did he? [Stiles thinks he'd feel it if he were a werewolf but he's a little disoriented.]
A wendigo was chasing you. Peter's been gone a long time, something else was after you. [Sam's careful to keep the entire room as well as the bed between them. His nostrils flare, dragging in the familiar scent of Stiles everywhere. The pillows, blankets, the blue shirt he kept stealing]
I know he is. [Sam's smile is brittle] No.. he didn't bite you. You're all right and very human.
What's a wendigo? [Stiles mutters, mostly to himself. He slowly moves a step into the room, watching Sam the entire time. He's not moving, which is good, but being a werewolf, this distance isn't really enough to stop him.]
Good. He creeped me out. [Stiles edges towards the desk, though the bed would probably be more comfortable. He's kind of questioning what kind of friendship they have, because the position he woke up in wasn't exactly platonic. At least, he wouldn't do that with Scott so...
Stiles reaches the desk and sits on the edge, loosening his death grip on the knife into simply a firm one. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out, trying to stay calm and rational.]
Big and nasty. Lots of teeth. You helped us track it down so we could make sure no one else got hurt.
There's some aspirin in the medicine cabinet if you need it. [Stiles doesn't remember him. Doesn't remember laughing in his arms, Sam pulling him in and kissing him breathless. None of it and it makes Sam ache, his wolf wanting to rise up and keen.
[But Stiles is his anchor and he drags in a slow, measured breath.] The rest of the pack shouldn't be much longer.
...I'm fine. [He obviously isn't, but Stiles isn't stupid enough to accept drugs from somebody he didn't know. Especially with everybody in the entire town trying to kill him and Scott...or that was what he was remembering, anyway.
Yes, his memories are gone but...being in this room. Staring at Sam, seeing that picture; Stiles had a niggling feeling in the back of his mind, a really eerie feeling, actually. It made him uneasy, but he tried to ignore it.]
The pack? What...Derek has a pack? [Stiles frowns, wondering who could possibly be in Derek's pack.] Two people doesn't count as a pack.
No you’re not. You took a hell of a crack to the head. [Worry is evident in every line of his body as he stands in the doorway. He wants to go to him, bury his face in his neck, comfort and soothe his distress.] Please, just sit down. After that night, the pack grew. There are more of us, especially since the truce with the Argents. No more hunting so long as Derek can keep the pack under control and no one gets hurt.
I know you don’t remember me, but I swear, I’m not going to hurt you. You’re too important to me. You.. you’ve kind of become my anchor.
I'm fine. [He's sitting on the edge of the desk, about as comfortable as he's willing to get right now.]
Who else is a wolf? Or is Derek just gathering werewolves from random parts of the country? [He doesn't know how he knows Sam isn't local, but he does.] Truce? With the Argents? I wish.
I'm your... [That makes sense. Waking up in Sam's apartment, curled into his arms...legs tangled together. He's making assumptions, but the only other anchor he knew of around Peter's time was Scott and Allison...Sam's attractive, oh yeah, but Stiles can't help but be a little horrified at the idea of breaking another law.] Oh my God, that is so illegal.
Running. Blinding pain. Darkness. No, the darkness came before. Running in the dark. Blinding pain. More darkness. Why was he running? Lacrosse? No, he never plays lacrosse. And they have stadium lights. Why was he running? Danger. Pain. Dark.
But it wasn't so dark anymore; there was light behind his eyelids. Still pain, in his temple, but not as bad as before...he'd been knocked out. Running from danger, knocked out. This wasn't shaping up well at all.
Stiles cracks open one eye, pupils dilating to accomodate the sudden light. Something's touching him. No, someone. He's on a bed...and it's not his.
Oh this was not good at all.
Well, then again it might be. Maybe he got drunk and lucky at the same time. Stiles tries to focus on the figure holding him...
The man has to be at least 23, which makes this completely illegal...and judging from the way their legs are tangled Stiles is definitely banking on illegal.
Oh God, he's been kidnapped. That would explain the running. The pain. FuckHe tries not to move. He ( ... )
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Do you hurt/threaten people often?
[The teen waited a moment before standing up, reaching out towards the door hesitantly. He set down the razor - because obviously the shaving cream was the smarter of two options for a weapon, naturally - and pressed up against the door, opening it a tiny sliver, half-expecting Sam to rush the door and attack him.]
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[He's standing in the living room, every line of his body radiating tension and upset.] We just never got rid of the knife.
Reply
[Stiles sticks his arm out first, brandishing the shaving cream threateningly. It's actually more humorous than anything else. The bruise on his temple is a lovely shade of violet, and Stiles winces as he pushes the box towards himself with his foot, eyes flickering down and back up to Sam when he sees that there actually is a knife in the box.]
Reply
[And Sam flinches at the terrific bruise on his temple.] There's no going back for him. He's a wolf, same as me. Derek's the new alpha and we're.. [He looks away. They had been close, in love, and now he didn't know what in the hell they were.]
Reply
We're what? [They were in love...Stiles just didn't remember it at the moment.
Stiles picks up the knife carefully, watching Sam for as much of the time as he could. He sniffs the blade, brow furrowing when he finds that it really is wolfsbane.] Either you're an idiot or you've got a death wish. One cut from this thing can kill you. [Not that Stiles would try to kill Sam without being provoked. The knife makes him feel better, if a little uneasy.]
Reply
[Sam keeps his distance even if all he wants to do is get closer. He won't crowd him, won't scare him.] That was a few months ago from what I've picked up from the others.
[The other question is one he doesn't really want to answer. So he tries to dodge it.] We're close. You've come over on more than one occasion to do research and check out the books Bobby brings on monsters, weres and anything else that tends to go bump in the night.
Reply
[Stiles feels a little dizzy, but he just inches behind the bathroom door a little bit, leaning against the doorframe. He still has the shaving cream in his other hand, ready for action.]
...I think I can guess why we don't talk about it. [For Stiles, the way it had been before was his reality, at the moment. Steeped in terror and confusion and violence; Peter had pretty much kidnapped him in what felt like only a few days or so ago.]
Who's Bobby?
Reply
[Keeping his movements slow and easy, Sam indicates the picture on the bookshelf.] That's Bobby, the one in the middle there. He all but raised me and Dean.. that's him, my brother Dean. He's got a library on the occult you'd love to get your hands on. You two have been trading emails and research.. probably shortly after Derek became the alpha.
He was the one that directed me to Beacon Hill, to you.
Reply
[Stiles watches Sam suspiciously, eyes flickering back and forth between the man and the picture he'd noticed earlier. Bobby. Dean. Stiles is getting a weird sense of De Ja Vu, and it's not helping his nerves.] Why did you come to me?
My dad's the Sheriff. [Stiles reminds Sam, though if they're friends, Stiles is guessing he probably already knows that. Whatever. Stiles pushes open the door a little bit more. He'd like to freaking sit down but there's no way he's doing that unless Sam is at least 5 feet away. Preferably six.]
Right. Okay...Peter didn't bite me, did he? [Stiles thinks he'd feel it if he were a werewolf but he's a little disoriented.]
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I know he is. [Sam's smile is brittle] No.. he didn't bite you. You're all right and very human.
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Good. He creeped me out. [Stiles edges towards the desk, though the bed would probably be more comfortable. He's kind of questioning what kind of friendship they have, because the position he woke up in wasn't exactly platonic. At least, he wouldn't do that with Scott so...
Stiles reaches the desk and sits on the edge, loosening his death grip on the knife into simply a firm one. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out, trying to stay calm and rational.]
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There's some aspirin in the medicine cabinet if you need it. [Stiles doesn't remember him. Doesn't remember laughing in his arms, Sam pulling him in and kissing him breathless. None of it and it makes Sam ache, his wolf wanting to rise up and keen.
[But Stiles is his anchor and he drags in a slow, measured breath.] The rest of the pack shouldn't be much longer.
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Yes, his memories are gone but...being in this room. Staring at Sam, seeing that picture; Stiles had a niggling feeling in the back of his mind, a really eerie feeling, actually. It made him uneasy, but he tried to ignore it.]
The pack? What...Derek has a pack? [Stiles frowns, wondering who could possibly be in Derek's pack.] Two people doesn't count as a pack.
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I know you don’t remember me, but I swear, I’m not going to hurt you. You’re too important to me. You.. you’ve kind of become my anchor.
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Who else is a wolf? Or is Derek just gathering werewolves from random parts of the country? [He doesn't know how he knows Sam isn't local, but he does.] Truce? With the Argents? I wish.
I'm your... [That makes sense. Waking up in Sam's apartment, curled into his arms...legs tangled together. He's making assumptions, but the only other anchor he knew of around Peter's time was Scott and Allison...Sam's attractive, oh yeah, but Stiles can't help but be a little horrified at the idea of breaking another law.] Oh my God, that is so illegal.
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