undergrounds | OTA; various locations and times

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OTA; various locations and times

A) One’s An Incident

“—listen to me!”

Somewhere near you, whether it’s at the park or on the sidewalk or in the café or riding the tube, there is a young man engaged in a heated conversation. The identity of the person he’s arguing with may not be readily obvious to those without supernatural hearing; the discussion is taking place over the phone. Should you attempt to tune Stiles out, it’ll quickly prove fruitless. His voice rises in volume the longer he’s on the call.

“I’m telling you, it’s fine. …No! I’m not sending you a picture of it. There’s nothing to see! …No. …No. It was just an accident, okay!?”

Distractedly, Stiles turns in your direction. There is an ugly, swollen bruise taking up half his face, clearly the work of someone’s fist. You may be able to infer that this is what the fight is about.

“—oh my god, don’t. You were the one who shipped me off here. You don’t get to pull that card on me, not now. …Dad. …Dad. Would you— …Would you just TRUST me for once!?”

Whatever his father responds with, it elicits an immediate reaction from Stiles. Expression twisting miserably, he seems to lose all energy for continuing the exchange. His voice is wooden, weary.

“Fine. I gotta go. …Yeah, I will. …Alright. Love you too.”

The call ends. Maybe you make eye contact with Stiles awkwardly. Maybe you decide to talk to him. Maybe you try to pretend you hadn’t overheard.

“Sorry about that,” he says to you, light and cheery. His smile is tight. “You know how it is. My old man always has to get his say in.”

B) Two’s A Coincidence

If you venture to the library, you’ll likely find Stiles buried nose-deep in an oversized tome. He’s piled high a wall of literature around him, to the point where it might be difficult to see him from the front. The titles of the books? All on mythology and mythical creatures. On occasion, a particularly interesting passage has him muttering under his breath and jotting down a few notes in his journal. Feel free to pull up a chair and harass him; he could use a break.

C) Three’s A Pattern

Guess who just drove his shitty used bicycle into you or your vehicle? This guy. Eyes wide, he hastily stammers out an apology, then loses his balance. Both bike and boy crash to the ground in a mess of whizzing gears and muffled groans. Maybe he took you down with him.

D) Four’s A Warrant

Night in London isn’t kind to humans—not that that’s ever stopped Stiles from exploring the city at inappropriate hours. However, there’s something different about the young man tonight as he wanders the streets aimlessly. For one, he’s clad only in a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants and a long-sleeve shirt with no shoes in sight. He doesn’t even have his trusty lacrosse stick on him! If you get close, you’ll see the unfocused, glassy fog to his eyes. Hopefully your intentions are well-meaning. Or maybe you’re looking for an easy snack. Either way, Stiles doesn’t seem to be in a position to argue.

( If you prefer brackets over prose, I’ll follow suit! PM me if you’d like to plot out a specific starter for your character! c: )

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"sugar it is." she adds a good heaping to his coffee, pushing it towards him. Nancy, meanwhile, takes hers black.

"no- I work nights, so there's no need to fret." she had her own schedule. did what she needed when she wanted. no usual client had called for her services during the day today, so she was free. "I'm just glad you're safe."

[ His body does not recognize the position that it is in—curled up in someone’s arms, something that he might have experienced with his mother long ago, but something since forgotten in the wake of his father’s awkward, stiff substitutes. Confused, Stiles makes an attempt to push away from whatever is holding him in place, to get his legs back under him again. The struggle weakens as Derek carries him, until eventually he seems to accept the fold of his limbs. He would have been content to drift off into a true sleep like that, but then he’s shifted once more. The car’s seat, while undeniably comfortable, is at odds with his reawakened instinct to recline. So he slides down onto the cramped floor area, between the seat and the glove compartment. Those long legs have no room to stretch, and he makes a grumpy huff. ]

Quiet your mouth, [ he mutters, each word slow and absent, like Stiles is unaware he’s even responding. ] …s’cold out here.

No it isn't, [ Derek says, the retort automatic and more sulky than he's comfortable with. drawing back, he glowers at Stiles' form, curled into the bottom of his car as he is, and sighs heavily. why is he even talking to him? this is stupid. to express such feelings, Derek mutters an oh my god and prods him hard in the ribs for the sake of his own integrity. ]

Get up, [ he says, but he's not expecting a reaction, which is why even as the words come he's bending again to curl his hands under Stiles' arms. lifting him up into the chair again, he finds himself having to plant a hand on his chest just to stop him from slithering away again. conflicted emotion be damned; he hates him. after a too long moment of standing there at a loss, he yanks the seatbelt across Stiles' body and hooks him in, hoping it's enough to keep him in place. that done, he takes one more look at him, scrutinizing, worrying, before closing the door and heading around to the driver's side.

he sits down. shuts the door. sighs heavily. Kenzi will at least have a better idea than him of what to do, he realizes, with no small amount of relief. destination in mind, he starts the car. ]

[ Restrained by the seatbelt, Stiles is now unable to properly slide boneless the way his body seems to desire. He fidgets restlessly, twisting this way and that, until the seatbelt loosens around him enough to allow a wider range of movement. Not even a minute later and he’s slumping over the center console, chin hooked on the werewolf’s shoulder. His eyelids have started to droop, gaze leveled sleepily at the driver side window beyond Derek’s profile. ]

Scott’s like a toaster oven, [ he slurs softly. This is the first time he’s used his best friend’s name in front of Derek. ] Werewolf space heaters, should be on the market. We could make millions.

Shut up. [ is the response, though there's an uneasy softness in Derek's tone. honestly, there's something kind of eerie about the way Stiles murmurs against him, the way his eyes remain open but unseeing. he attempts to shrug him off to no avail, largely because the action lacks all the force it might usually hold. even to Derek, that doesn't feel fair. he has to be careful.

not that that stops him putting a hand to Stiles' shoulder and shaking him again. Scott, his mind says, putting a name to an idea, but right now Derek isn't sparing much thought for other werewolves. he releases his shoulder, giving him a nudge back towards the passenger side, but Stiles merely slumps against his shoulder again. once more, Derek sighs. ]

You've gotta be kidding me. Stiles.

[ it's not going to work, but he's trying anyway. ]

[ Derek’s continued concern and compassion cost him. Shaken out of the propped-up position against the other man, Stiles is gradually pulled down by the weight of his unsupported head—until he is comfortably lying on his right side over the center console, head cradled by the alpha werewolf’s lap. ]

Can’t sleep without my pillow. [ Frowning, he nuzzles a thigh as if kneading it. ] It still smells like home.

[ And after inhaling, he breathes out a sigh before finally drifting off. ]

[ there's a momentary relief that comes from the feeling of Stiles' chin finally vacating his shoulder, but momentary is the key characteristic of it. Stiles droops across him and Derek lets out a 'hey' in reprimand, before Stiles slumps all the way over and effectively flops into his lap. Derek tenses, then sighs, then huffs a breath. far from the first time tonight, he thinks goddammit Stiles.

after a moment of deliberating how best to deal with this, and attempting to shuffle his thigh away from Stiles' face without jolting him too much, Derek takes a hold of his shoulder once again. his eyes flick down to him as he drives. it only makes the whole thing weirder. ]

Yeah? Well, waking up would be a great idea, Stiles. Really helpful. [ his voice is low, the words softer-spoken than usual, because he's speaking to himself. pushing Stiles' body back up, he splays his hand across his chest to keep him from wandering. he's proving to be as stubborn now as he's ever been, which means that Derek is pretty convinced he'd immediately return to his lap. and he absolutely does not need that right now. ]

[ The somnambulism episode has officially ended. He slips seamlessly from one state of consciousness to another, truly asleep for the first time in over an hour. So when Derek pushes him off and away, he abruptly snaps awake with a violent jerk. Stiles stares at the windshield, heart racing from being startled, and tries to make sense of what he’s seeing. His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, brown eyes darting from the scenery passing by to Derek beside him to his own reflection in the rear view mirror. ]

Wh—?

[ Hissing, he suppresses a cringe as he becomes aware of a dull, throbbing pain in his feet, especially the right. A sharp spike of anxiety rockets through him, gripping him ruthlessly until he can’t breathe, and he reaches out with both hands to grab something, to ground himself. One seizes the handle above his head, while the other digs into the side of Derek’s seat. ]

What the sh—? Derek!? What are you doing!?

He gets a blank stare for the reference. Sorry, Stiles, her pop culture knowledge is kind of lacking. She hasn't seen Star Wars, either.

"Oh, so like the police?"

That she's familiar with, and she leans back on the table, swinging her legs idly. "So if I did something stupid, like shift in front a human, and they found out, I'd get arrested?"

"No, not a professor, although I could be by now I'm sure," he said, vain as always, "Merely an enthusiast. And I'm quite fond of that little topic you're looking up, as well."

[ Derek doesn't need to hear the shift in Stiles' voice to know that he's changed, that he's awakened. it's spoken to him in his heartbeat, his breathing, the sharp scent of panic. snatching his hand back, Derek stares between the road and Stiles. later - probably soon, actually - he'll be mortified. right now, he has larger concerns; namely, Stiles. the best way to run damage control careens through his mind. ]

What am I doing?! What are - [ - and completely misses the mark. seething at himself, Derek stares down the road, and sighs. that, he'll admit, was unfair. he looks at Stiles again, his gaze hard and flat, earnest. ]

You were wandering down the street completely out of it. What the hell happened?

Well, I mean. They did if you were in Detective Conan?

"It depends on the court, really. In the old days, sometimes fae would get thrown out for getting too close with a human, depending on their rank. In general, it's best to avoid pissing off the King and Queen of your court. And of course any sort of insurrection... well, the point is, you wanna try and avoid getting tossed out if ya can."

[ There is a simple answer to the demand. Yet Stiles remains wildly, deathly unsettled by his unexpected surroundings. He doesn’t quite manage to process the situation clearly. With the nervous tension of an animal, he looks around the car. ]

Pull over, [ he says, voice cracking, and he fumbles to rip off the seatbelt. ] Pull over!

Alright! [ it's bitten out, Derek keeping a tenuous grip on his own temper. as he slides the car to the pavement, however, he reaches out one-handed to take a hold of Stiles' wrist. his intent is merely to keep him there, and his hand is firm but not as vice-like as its been. he seldom feels a real need to explain himself, his actions, but right now - right now his jaw is clamped against them. he shakes his head, sighing, and makes an effort to keep the tension from his voice, to sound authoritative but calm, steady. ]

Listen to me. I saw you walking down the street. Like - this, [ he gestures to Stiles' rumpled state of dress. ] You wouldn't respond to anything. You don't remember how this happened to you?

His hand claps itself on Stiles's upper arm when they very nearly take out a pair of octogenarians, audibly grunting his agitation... but taking the moment to squeeze muscle that he hadn't been allowed to properly appraise before now. And he keeps infuriatingly quiet with his judgment, too, just leaving the other to wonder when he draws his hand back.

"I don't care if you're upset. If it's something serious then I'll consider changing my mind, but if you were actually bothered by my wanting to get to work and not just being overly sardonic as is your only defense, I'd say you were acting like a little bitch." Why are his legs suddenly so much more tired.

Cue him looking over Stiles's shoulder. "... I could punch you now but this makes for good exercise, so I'll just do it another time instead."

[ The hold on his wrist has him instinctively yanking away, though the meager few inches he gains is credit only to the fact that Derek is being gentle with him. Despite the swell of anxiety, he doesn’t react out of fear. Stiles may not trust the werewolf, but he does trust that Derek isn’t interested in hurting him. Right now however, he’s desperate to climb out of the camaro’s small enclosed space, to breathe in fresh air and regain autonomy over his body. Listen to me. And, chest heaving silently, he does. ]

I… [ Blinking, he glances down at his sweatpants in confusion. ] I was…walking—?

[ A beat. Another. Then, finally, Stiles is slumping in agitated relief. ]

I was sleepwalking, [ he groans, reaching up with a hand to rub at his face tiredly. ]

[ Derek isn't sure if it's gratification or gratitude, the feeling that sparks in him when Stiles relents, yields. he sags, lets out a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding, and then releases Stiles, trusting that he's not about to bolt. he's not stupid enough for that, sure, but that isn't what comes to Derek's mind then.

as an afterthought, he rolls down the window, perhaps in answer to Stiles' heaving breaths. he doesn't take his gaze off him, however, studying him with close and concerned scrutiny.

which then becomes surprise. ]

You - [ he squints out at the dark street as though it's somehow to blame, then looks again at Stiles. ] That was sleepwalking.

[ he turns his frown on Stiles again, dubious. ] This has happened before?

... Oh my god. Apollo's the perfect picture of a facepalm before he heaves another sigh, popping open his wallet and handing the money over. Luckily it's not much, fairly cheap, but it's the rental that Stiles will have to worry about.

One the money's taken care of he swings the duffle bag around his shoulder, opening the top and pulling out a tracksuit. He's not part of the school's physical classes at all, but they gave him one anyway.

"I was going to buy a desk and fridge for my office, among other things. I can drop you off wherever or you can come along, it's up to you. Uh... be right back, though."

The clerk is kind enough to point Apollo to the restroom, and it takes Apollo a record amount of time before he comes out in dry clothes and drops his wet suit into a bag for the clerk to take away. What a fucking day.

[ Stiles makes the connection almost immediately, cautiously reaching out to snatch up his cell phone and pocket it—as if that’d prevent her from possessing it again. ]

Right, so. We’ll stick to playing cards for now. Oh. Hey! By the way.

[ Grabbing a candle, he holds it up to his face and stares straight ahead where he is imagining her to be. ]

The name’s Stiles. Probably should have introduced myself sooner.

[ A cool, light breeze sweeps through the vehicle and Stiles inhales deeply, appreciative. Now that he’s narrowly avoided a potential panic attack, he’s able to get a hold of himself. It’s slow going, of course—Stiles feels as if he’s been struck by a train, exhausted and aching all over, the tremors of anxiety and confusion releasing him gradually. He’s too weary for sarcasm, failing to chime in with a dry quip at Derek’s enlightenment. ]

Yeah. After my mom—

[ Expression twisting, he turns away to stare out the passenger side window. His reflection looks back at him, miserable. ]

It’s happened before. This is the second time in the past week.

[ He’ll need to talk to his grandparents about it, maybe install some heavy locks or alarms. ]

[ Wow, rude. Stiles' caution is admittedly understandable - it's not like their conversation started off on a friendly note - but it still gets a small frown. She wasn't planning on damaging his phone. Much.

But she perks back up at the question, and it's not long until the planchette begins moving yet again. 'Aradia. It's better late then never. And now I know what to remember.'

That... sounded less ominous in her head. ]

[ reduced to staring, Derek finds his mouth slip open in the unpleasant ripple of shock. it's brief, the open and unguarded vulnerability, but for a moment he grieves, in the visceral, heart-wrenching way that almost has him forgetting how to breathe.

snapping his mouth shut, he looks away again, and maybe there's a degree of understanding, even empathy in this - Stiles needs, deserves some modicum of privacy, and even if Derek might usually scoff at that, he relents.

he continues with an odd, gruff softness. ]

But it doesn't usually happen like this. [ at least, that's what he's getting from the little Stiles told him. ] So why now?

Nope, it doesn’t, [ comes the agreement, tone far too light and belied by the stiff lock of his jaw. ] And I have no idea why, big guy.

[ Except that isn’t true. Stiles has his suspicions; he simply sees no reason to share them with the other man. Why would he? They aren’t friends. They’re hardly even acquaintances. Mouth thinning, Stiles glances at Derek askance before hurriedly returning his attention to the car interior. That’s when he’s struck by a thought. ]

Wait a sec… Is this—? How’d I end up in here? In the car.

[ Derek doesn't need to hear Stiles' heartbeat to suspect a lie, but he lets it pass with nothing more than a fleeting sharp stare. whether it's curiosity or concern - Derek is hesitant to accept either - he understands why it might go unanswered.

he's distracted from wondering, anyway, by the question. turning another stare on Stiles, he looks at him like he's unsure whether or not he's kidding. ]

I carried you.

Stiles takes a moment to shoot Nancy a brief text, ascertaining that she isn’t actually roadkill. The very idea of it has him tense, because she’s one of the few people he feels like he has genuinely connected to in London. Weird, considering their first meeting. Mouth quirked, he glances over at Cooper with a narrow kind of scrutiny.

“What, people question your word a lot or something?”

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OTA; various locations and times

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