OTA; various locations and times

[mensrea]

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: )

Comments

[mensrea]

[ 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. ]

[viduation]

[ 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?

[mensrea]

[ 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. ]

[viduation]

[ 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?

[mensrea]

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.

[viduation]

[ 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.

[mensrea]

Oh my god, you did not just say that.

[ Groaning histrionically, he pulls his knees to his chest and buries his face into them. It’s a good thing that Derek has enhanced hearing; the rest of Stiles’ words are muffled, buried against the cloth of sweatpants. ]

What if a satellite picked that up? Like, Google Earth decided to update their databases. Anyone who zooms in will see some weirdo in leather dragging a kid to a car. This is so—

[ Stiles pauses, frowning. ]

Carried me how? [ he demands, hoping to god for an answer like “over my shoulder” or “fireman’s carry.” ]

[viduation]

Oh my god, [ Derek repeats, not quite under his breath. as though in defeat, he slumps forward. regret is a weighty burden to bear. melodramatic as he might feel, however, he faces Stiles with a flat, impassive expression, lip just curling - like this should be obvious. he's been granted a choice between mortification, or poking at Stiles. it's not a difficult decision to make. ]

In my arms. Like a child.

[mensrea]

I hate you so much right now.

[ Defeated, Stiles unfolds from his balled-up position to sprawl once more in the passenger seat. Abject misery in a teenager is always impressively dramatic. He feels more mortified by the mental image of Derek holding him bridal carry than by the memory of most his high school experiences. It just seems so grossly unfair this would happen. Derek is the one person he’s been trying to convince, to prove to that Stiles can handle himself. And yet here they are, shortly after the guy apparently toted him around like some lightweight Victorian lady who fainted because her bodice was too tight or something. There’s no way he’ll ever live this down. ]

Why did you even bother? [ he demands, embarrassment hot in his belly and sharpening his tone unwittingly. ] Did I bump into you? Dent your car? What?

[viduation]

[ Derek's patience is as transient as British weather. eyes rolling upwards, he stares at the roof of the car as though it will grant him to will to endure the heavy weight of Stiles' mortification. his hands curl tight on the wheel like he's imagining throttling someone. eventually, he tips his head, eying Stiles significantly. you're an idiot, his expression seems to say, as it often does around Stiles, and I hate you.

still, the prospect of answering has his shoulders rolling uncomfortably. he gaze flicks away, evasive, before he stares back at Stiles with no small measure of defiance. ]

Put your weight on your feet, [ he says, flatly. ]

[mensrea]

What? [ Balking, he eyes Derek warily. ] Why?

[ Yet, despite the questions and despite the pain he can already feel, Stiles does what he’s told. Hands planted on either side of the seat, he pushes himself up so he can put weight on his feet. An ugly grimace contorts his countenance swiftly, and then he is gingerly lowering himself down once more. God, he hopes that he didn’t sprain an ankle. The pain is unpleasant, but he remains silent, refusing to acknowledge it any more than he has to while in Derek’s presence. ]

Okay, but that so doesn’t answer my question.

[viduation]

[ though initially satisfied that the message has been received, it turns out - of course - that things - Stiles, namely - won't be that simple. Derek mutters low and incredulous, before eventually turning his head to face Stiles again, face pinched by frustration. he gestures wildly at him, mostly in the direction of his feet before his hand waves towards his head as well like that too is in question because, really, how can one person be clever and yet so dumb? ]

Should I have just let you wander around?

[ THESE ARE ANSWERS, HE IS ANSWERING YOUR QUESTION!! ]

[mensrea]

Uh, most people would have, yeah.

[ Stiles takes a moment to ball up his shirt’s long-sleeve in a hand, then blearily rub at his eyes with it. Tonight’s adventure is definitely going to take its toll on him later. Squinting, he checks the time on the car’s dashboard. ]

I mean, who the hell would stop to help some random guy without shoes, wandering the streets after 2:30? No one. Except other weirdos.

[viduation]

You're not some - oh my god, [ he drags his hands down his face. entertaining the idea of kicking Stiles out of his car is somewhat heartening. rather helplessly, he shakes his open hands at the windshield, like it's got the answers. ]

I thought you were cursed, Stiles! [ pinching the bridge of his nose, he heaves another sigh and tries for further patience. ] Do you recognize where we are?

[mensrea]

[ The exasperated confession only elicits silence from Stiles, who turns to scrutinize Derek in sharp consideration. He already knows why the werewolf helped him. It comes as no surprise to him that the big bad wolf actually makes for a really terrible villain. But while Stiles is capable of reading the other man better now, he’s still determined to push. Someone has to. If Derek doesn’t start learning to communicate, his pack is doomed. ]

Nope, [ he responds, not even bothering to pretend to study the area. Instead, he just keeps regarding Derek. ] Let me get this straight. You decided to help out a guy who was potentially cursed? What if it spread to you too?

[viduation]

[ Derek looks at him with some measure of betrayal in his eyes, because Stiles doesn't even make an attempt to work with him, or obey him, and maybe he hasn't threatened him enough. ]

A curse, Stiles, not a goddamn cold. [ at least, usually, these things aren't contagious. truthfully, he hadn't even considered the possibility before, but he already wants to throttle Stiles enough without admitting as much. ] Now, am I taking you somewhere or leaving you on the sidewalk?

[mensrea]

[ Sighing through his nose, Stiles makes himself comfortable in the passenger seat. (Honestly, it’s not very difficult to do; the car is ludicrously comfortable.) Then he rolls his head onto his shoulder and gives Derek a look. That’s all the answer the werewolf is going to get. ]

[viduation]

[ returning that look with a stare, Derek huffs out a long, furious breath. awful at communication he may be, but the temptation to shove him in the boot of the car is almost palpable. ]

What is your problem. [ it's a question, really, but the tone almost says otherwise. ]

[mensrea]

Don’t got one, [ comes the response around a mouthful of yawn. ] Thanks for helping me out, big guy.

[ And he means it. ]

[viduation]

[ there's a flat kind of sincerity there, Derek thinks, but he eyes Stiles suspiciously all the same, waiting for a punchline that doesn't come. with a rough sigh, he eases up marginally. he glances at Stiles, and then starts the car up again, moving down the road undirected.

after some time spent in silent consternation, he tosses his phone towards Stiles. ]

Take my number.

[mensrea]

[ When the car begins to cruise down the road, Stiles is distantly surprised by his own inclination to nod off. Either he trusts Derek more than he initially realized, or he’s still punch-drunk from the somnambulism. Regardless, he doesn’t ask where they’re going; Stiles is content to sprawl gracelessly in the passenger seat and watch streetlights pass by with hooded eyes. The cell phone tossed into his lap stirs him from his sleepy trance. ]

M’kay, [ he mumbles readily, adding a “STILES” contact with his number and then texting himself. If Derek looks at his text messages later, he’ll see one to Stiles with just a smile emoji. ] And now you’ve got mine. Don’t send me any nudes though, dude.

[ But even exhausted as he is, Stiles takes a moment to glance through the alpha’s other text messages. He’s not surprised by how few Derek has, with most of them pertaining to meeting times and places. The only person who appears to have had actually conversations with the guy…is someone named Laura. Blinking, Stiles sits up a bit straighter. The last text message from Laura was months ago, despite most of the conversations prior to that one having been daily, or at least weekly. ]

[viduation]

[ deciding not to justify that with a retort, Derek instead gives another eyeroll and says nothing. at least, for a few long moments. gaze sliding to the side, he notes that Stiles is taking far more time with his cell than was apparently necessary.

it takes less than a breath for him to spy what Stiles is doing, and then he's snatching his phone out of his hands. he fixes him with a sharp look, just a little incredulous, even if he shouldn't be, because really - this is Stiles. ]

Really?

[mensrea]

[ Stiles makes no attempt to hold on to the phone; once the werewolf snaps into action, he meekly surrenders it without so much as an apology or a guilty look. Even the incredulous rebuke is ignored. Wide awake now, the teenager studies Derek’s profile in heavy, considering silence. He doesn’t believe in coincidences. The Laura from the text messages must be the same Laura who survived the fire—Derek’s older sister. Which begs the question… ]

Is she a werewolf too? [ he asks, and it’s the wrong question, but the only one he feels brave enough to ask right now. ] Your sister. Laura.

[viduation]

[ the beginnings of a glance away are immediately severed; Derek's focus snaps back to Stiles. a visceral anger is uncurling in his gut, rising in his chest like an animal, but Derek - Derek finds himself swallowing it down. even he realizes that begrudging Stiles this much is unfair and unnecessary. snooping in his phone or not, it's not like his family were low profile back home.

so, facing forwards again, Derek jerks his chin in a nod. it seems the only answer, until - ] Yeah, she was.

[mensrea]

[ Was. With a sharp, audible exhale, Stiles falls silent. There's no mistaking what that past tense means. He gives Derek a minute, then bites the bullet. ]

What happened?