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

[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?

[viduation]

[ he'd expected absolutely nothing less from Stiles, but still the question has him narrowly avoiding hissing a breath in response. his knuckles whiten against the steering wheel. he does not look at Stiles. when the words come, they're hard edged and tense, but there's an underlying weariness there, a sigh that never quite escapes, enough to say, perhaps, that it's been a while. ]

She was murdered. Here.

[mensrea]

[ There is no visible reaction to this information, but that’s only because Stiles had suspected and braced himself for the answer. So, the entire Hale family was burned alive in their home. Of the three survivors one is alive, one is comatose, and one was murdered. Tragedy seems to dog every step of Derek Hale’s life, prompting him to wonder if the man is cursed. ]

Vampires? [ he asks, and maybe it’s rude, maybe it’s wrong—that he doesn’t go through the motions of offering stale consolations. But Stiles has always personally hated them, and suspects Derek may have heard them enough in the past decade to last a lifetime. ]

[viduation]

[ it's a small kind of mercy, maybe. Derek isn't sure. Derek has faced sympathy lately from plenty of sources, hushed up as the murder - murders - may have been, but while he hasn't begrudged it, it never sits right in him. he's poorly equipped to handle it, to say the least, like he has slow fingers and a handful of water draining away, like he's trying to keep blood in a wound with paper.

Stiles gets to the point, and that's easier, Derek thinks. he shakes his head. ]

Not likely. [ he might have left it at that, but Stiles is almost certainly going to snoop for details, and it's probably safer if he gets them here and now. ] Wasn't exactly done in their style.

[mensrea]

You don’t know who did it, [ Stiles surmises incredulously, now turning to stare at Derek. ] Oh my god, dude. How long ago was this!?

[viduation]

[ the words drive him to defensiveness; Derek hears an accusation in them that he has become intimately familiar with, and it's hard to bear. ]

No, I don't. [ his sigh is ragged, part-snarl. ] It happened in April. She was ripped in half.

[mensrea]

[ April? This April? Holy crap. That's...that's right around the time that they first met. Well, at least, met properly. Stiles reflects on that encounter in a new light, skin crawling. "If you don't want to end up as an obituary tomorrow you'll go. Now." Holy crap doesn't even cut it. ]

Any leads? [ he asks, quiet. ]

[viduation]

[ it's a change in tone that Derek doesn't think about, but appreciates. it takes the suggestion from Stiles' voice. the understanding that Derek hears isn't reassuring, but it's the lesser of evils. shoulders slumping, he shakes his head. ]

None. [ his voice has turned low and soft, too, a gruffness that's half-stuck in his throat. it's hard to admit, and it sounds it. ]

[mensrea]

[ Stomach churning in a moment of empathy, Stiles looks down at his lap in an unconscious need to give Derek some measure of privacy. ]

Where...where'd you find her?

[viduation]

Redbridge, [ he says, his voice rough, made ragged with old, well-worn grief and something that sounds like shame. sorrow exhausts him, no matter how used to it he's become. ] Our territory. Few days after we stopped hearing from her.

[ sharply, he sighs. he doesn't need to tell Stiles this, and usually that would make him keep his mouth shut, but he doesn't doubt that it'll come out soon enough. ]

Then it was the alpha. Less than a week later.

[mensrea]

[ The nuance of raw grief, so familiar to him, permeating that soft, low voice shakes him. Before he can overthink it, he reaches over the console wordlessly and grasps Derek’s shoulder. A gesture of solidarity, the physical contact light and easily shaken off should the man reject it. But Stiles does not retract his hand, not yet. While he hesitates to offer comfort unbidden, the depth of what Derek has lost is only just dawning on him. It merits action of some kind, and this is all he can give at the time being. ]

[viduation]

[ a flicker of tension runs through his shoulders at the contact, but for the moment, Derek doesn't shrug it off. brows twisted, mouth set; his expression is guilty when he tilts his head to glance at the hand. it is unwelcome, he thinks, he doesn't want sympathy or pity or comfort, doesn't need it - and yet, he eases marginally under Stiles' steady hand.

well, at least Stiles knows now. this reduces the chance of awkward, painful conversation down the line, so Derek tries to reason. but as the quiet stretches, it grows harder and harder to bear, and Derek is bewildered and lost in the face of gentle, kind, contact. acknowledgement of his loss makes it all the harder to ignore the things he lives with every day; the tightness in his chest, the needle-sharp pain in his throat.

awkwardly, he moves his hand into his jacket - a small move, but enough to shake off Stiles' touch. it serves a greater purpose, however; it's not the greatest of lead-ins, but it'll get them off the topic and besides, it had been Derek's intention in the first place, before he'd spied Stiles wandering down the street. ]

Here. [ he's holding out what looks like an ordinance survey map of the city. if Stiles opens it, he'll find that the different counties have been carefully outlined and labelled with the relevant factions. there are areas shaded with hand-drawn lines, marks made along certain roads and in specific areas, singling out points of importance, of danger, of interest. much of the map's original text has been scrawled over with notes, sometimes from two different hands. ]

It's up to date, [ he says, and there's still a gruffness in his voice that it sounds like he's attempting to plow through. ] For now.

[mensrea]

[ For Derek to even allow this much—chest too tight, Stiles tries not to dwell on the implications. His hand falls aside easily at the movement, fingers flexing in the empty air between them. There’s an expression of mild, curious wonder on his face now; he hadn’t thought himself capable of extending this kind of comfort to someone like Derek Hale. When the folded piece of paper is shoved toward him, he snaps out of his reverie and takes it. Initially, Stiles doesn’t understand what the other man wants him to do. Point out where his grandparents live? ]

Uh…cool.

[ Then he realizes that it has been painstakingly detailed with notes. Fascinated, he all but buries his face into the map. This would be so handy. Like, he doesn’t even know how he’s managed without this for so long. Stiles opens his mouth, about to ask if he can keep the map, and finally understanding dawns. ]

Whoa. Derek…is this for me?

[ Mingled with the audible incredulity in his tone is smug delight, because he already knows the answer. ]

Dude.

[viduation]

[ as he drives, Derek's gaze repeatedly flicks back to the sight of Stiles poring over the map, brow furrowed with a rare sense of trepidation. Derek doesn't exactly offer those around him anything with great frequency, especially not outsiders, and the position he's put himself in is weird enough that all the hairs rise on the back of his neck. he doesn't respond to the question, and it's partially out of embarrassment; the lingering, youthful awkwardness that surrounds what might be considered a kind gesture.

thankfully, Stiles gets the message, as Derek had presumed he would. Derek huffs through his nose, and the sound is warmed by an edge of humour. ]

I don't need it anymore, and you refuse to take a hint, so use it. [ he has no doubt that Stiles will do just that, but saying anything else felt too familiar, too amicable. ]