laography | the wolves will change

[It's a school night, and a quiet one at that--Stiles' dad is off on patrol, and the teenager is sitting cross legged on the couch, bent over what appears to be a chemistry book, with his phone sitting beside him. Even most of his friends were silent today, no distractions for him to not do his homework by (after he chided Scott into doing his own instead of going to Allison's house), and it had let him get into a state of hyperfocus.

The knock startles him so hard he knocks his phone off the table, and Stiles blinks, staring blearily at the still running television in front of him before trying to snap back, mentally. His dad's out and wouldn't knock. It's either a salesman of some kind--too late at night, no.

So it's probably Scott. Getting up, he claps his book shut and makes his way across the room, complaint already on his lips.]

Scott, I told you, I can't do a homework meet tonight, I've got to actually, y'know, get work done--[As he opens the door, he freezes. Number one, he would never, ever, ever expect Diana Hale to actually knock on his front door. Two, holy freakin' god.]--Diana.

What the hell are you--[It's kind of a startling image (mentally, he notices his red sweatshirt, so that's where that ended up, oh god, he's so not complaining at all) and his eyes track from her pale face down to the blood on the ground.] Holy god! What the hell happened to you--stop bleeding on the front porch, Jesus, get inside!

[So much for homework.]

[ Staring blearily at Stiles, Diana can't help the tick of a flinch in her expression at his voice, focus painfully sharp as the poisoning sets in. It's the only place she can go to-- turning to the Argents for help would be suicide for so many reasons, and she can't go to anyone else's houses to lay low simply by virtue of the fact that she simply just can't risk the hunters following her to them.

Stiles is known and safe, loathe as she is to admit to it at times. The hunters will at least be deterred by the fact that she's turning to the sheriff's son for the meantime, until she can recover and do something about them. (Or turn them over to Chris Argent, really.)

She looks up at him, eyes bright red and pupils constricted, fingers curled tight to hold the hoodie shut at her collar as she tries to keep a bout of nausea down. ]

Hunters-- not Chris or. [ Bringing her other hand up higher from where it's still poised after knocking on the door, a strange concept she'll snort at later when she's not miserable and everything is in such painful clarity and contrast for her, she covers her mouth to keep from retching. ]

... shot.

Jesus frickin Christ.

[It's not the most eloquent reaction, but almost immediately, his brain shifts into action mode--he catches the way she can barely move her arms and ducks down a little, grabbing her under the knees and picking her up, princess style. It's not like she's that heavy, really--it's not two hours in a pool--and he can already feel the blood seeping in under his fingers, but he kicks the door shut with his foot and hurries across the living room to the couch, talking a mile a minute to try and get everything taken care of.]

What do you need, was it wolfsbane--of course it was wolfsbane, life just can't be fair like that, is everyone okay? Was it just you? Where the hell did they come from and why didn't they talk to the Argents, what the fuck. [It's mostly just rambling to himself as he kneels again, setting her down and jumping up to grab the tiny brown box they'd jacked from the Argent house months ago--it had become Stiles' Werewolf Emergency Kit, because a regular first aid kit definitely wouldn't suffice. No one could say he wasn't prepared. Stiles Stilinski is always prepared.

When he comes back, he sits down on the table and looks at her leg, then back at her, trying not to make a face as he goes to roll up her pant leg. He's worried and angry and confused and jesus freakin christ, she stole his sweatshirt, she likes him enough to steal his sweatshirt, and now is really not the time for that, so Stiles just tries not to throw up himself at the very beginning sight of the bullet wound, turning his vision pointedly towards the ceiling.] Hoooly god.

Stiles--

[ The world spins just a bit too much for her liking, and Diana immediately releases the hoodie to snatch hold of the back of his shirt as if she's holding on for dear life, stop the ride she wants to get off. Her voice is strained and almost a snarl, but it's at the movement and dizziness that rolls over her in waves. With the way her leg is throbbing, she can feel how she bleeds in heartbeats when she shifts the painful focus from outside herself to in.

She waits until she's been put down to try and answer, covering her mouth with both hands and groaning in quiet misery. The world resettles, and she doesn't feel like she's going to pass the fuck out or throw up her insides completely. Carefully, her movements return stiffly, and she works her way out of the worn jacket she always has. But the hoodie remains for the time being, and she turns her attention to Stiles as he returns to her. ]

Mm. Just me. I made Isaac stay in the house until I lead them away-- he should be at Scott's now. The... I don't know, but they don't follow the Code. I brought it up.

[ Her entire body goes tense as he rolls her jeans up, and she digs her fingers into the couch cushions enough that she accidentally pierces one side of one. ]

What are you going to do, drag your bleeding limbs across the carpet? Yeah, no. [It's not really that angry sounding or anything when he does finally drop her off--he just rolls his eyes and gets resettled with the kit, opening it and reaching for one of the bullets. It's much easier to focus on this, the stupid medical part, and Stiles cracks it open, letting the wolfsbane fall into his hand and collecting it on the table.

He digests her information while he's lighting a match, making it spark wildly in front of him before grabbing the ashes, and grunting, "'s good", then taking a deep breath, and holy God, he can't do this. Oh god. Okay, focus. Focus. The bullet wound is disgusting but they're lucky enough that it went through ("lucky") and that he doesn't have to reach in there and try to dig it out (again), and so all he has to do is put this...y'know. In there.]

I hate my life. [It's just muttered, barely, and he reaches out across her for, surprisingly, her hand--not for herself, really, but for him. And when he latches on, he inhales deeply and shoves the ashes forward, pressing his fingers into the hole and trying to pretend everything he was feeling (blood and sinew and muscle and bone) was something considerably different than what it definitely was.]

[ In her nausea and misery, Diana grunts out a "yes" before she lets herself be taken care of. It's awful and she hates it, but at least now there's someone there that she can go to in cases like these. When they first met, the fact that both Scott and Stiles were a little iffy on helping her had been a low blow. To be fair, she could understand where their reluctance came from. Didn't make it any different at the time.

Now, she doesn't quite feel any less on edge. But she feels safer, if only for the time being. Coming here wasn't a last choice.

Watching Stiles work, eyes bleary but still blood red and in sharp focus, she makes a confused sound as Stiles takes her hand. But then she looks up at his face, and turns her hand over properly in his to take it. He's a teenager-- this is a lot to be asking of him, when he's lived a damn simple life. But of course he couldn't the moment he ran into Diana. ]

Join the club. [ It's all she gets in, before her body shoots up straight where she's sitting, body rigid in an attempt to keep from struggling. Her grip is even tighter, a pained snarl leaving her as she digs the heel of her work boot into the floor to try. Jesus Christ. (Towards the end of the snarl, it peters out a little into a low and rumbling whine, pained and unhappy.) ]

Edited 2013-02-18 19:22 (UTC)

[Maybe grabbing onto her wasn't the smartest idea, in retrospect--it had been an anchoring gesture for himself and now it was definitely becoming a very painful one for Diana, which, okay, totally fine, but jesus christ, ow. When he finally is able to tear his fingers away, he covers the hole with his hand for a second, smearing blood against her pants leg, then finally pulls it away, fingers curling tightly against hers on the other side until he can feel her nails digging into his skin. Sure, it hurts, but at least it's not claws.

Stiles barely winces at the snarl--it's not directed at him, it doesn't really matter--but he doesn't relax his grip until it peters out, and then, only then, does he squeeze his eyes back open and look down. The wound is--still disgusting, yep--but smoking a little, which means it's healing.]

Frickin' werewolves. [Creepy as hell. Finally breathing, he shifts back just a little on his heels, thinking back to the information she'd given him.] Are they gone? I can text Allison, see if she can't go out there and be our liason...

[ It's never claws, despite the fact that she'd been amidst partial shifting at various points ever since being poisoned. Diana's eyes stay red, even as she stares up at the ceiling and clenches her jaw to silence herself, teeth grinding and back arching upwards. A more minor reaction, compared to the vet's office, but similar in her movements. It's awful and she hates every moment of this, but at least they weren't as laced with aconite as they could've been.

As past bullets have been.

Her grip slowly relaxes as she feels the wound start to patch itself up, slow and steady as the wolfsbane is worked out of her system. The pain doesn't leave, but at least the blackness in her veins slowly starts to dissipate. That much is a relief, really, because it means the slow spread upwards and into her heart has been stopped. ]

Don't know. I don't think they followed me. [ She starts to ease back onto the couch, wincing as she does and shoulders hunching in the sweatshirt. ] Not here, anyways. Too many people. So telling the Argents in general...

[ Would probably be a good idea. ]

Edited 2013-02-18 19:41 (UTC)

[It's hard to watch her writhing on the couch like that for a myriad of reasons, but Stiles keeps an eye on her anyway, his hand still laced against her tight grip. It's a rare thing to see Diana vulnerable in any way shape or form, and as she finally returns a little more to normal, it occurs to him how small she looks in his sweatshirt, how small she looks in general. It's a new light and one that's only been cast a few times for him, and as he starts to put away the remnants of their disgusting venture, he swipes a cloth out of the kit and wipes up some of the blood around the now slowly healing wound, carefully rolling her pants leg down a little more as it closes up.]

Got it. [There's a second of silence as he pulls out his phone and texts Allison quickly, shutting it again and sliding it into his pocket.] God, I hope no one followed you here, because not even I'm about to count on myself as the last line of defense.

[Although it makes him wonder why she decided to show up here of all places.] Was Scott busy or something? His mom could've probably done this with a lot less screaming.

[ Muscles in her leg flinching a little at his touch, Diana stays still otherwise once he goes to focus his attention there. Her hands, freed from needing to anchor themselves somewhere, slowly slip into the pockets of the sweatshirt, which is warmed by her aconite fever and yet smells... well, the entirety of her surroundings smells safe. There's no other way to put it, by this point. The Stilinski house became familiar surprisingly fast, between knowing Stiles himself and entering it when the Sheriff wasn't around. So she lets herself relax, just a little more, and looks at him with clearer eyes, still alpha red. ]

I'm not sure they'll try anything at the house of the town sheriff. [ There's confidence, but it's partially bravado and a dash of hope on top of actual belief.

Blinking at him, slowly, as she processes the question, she shakes her head. ] No. Sending Isaac to Scott and then going to them would've been stupid, they could've followed me back to all of them. It's safest to be here, where they most likely won't follow and where you are.

Gee, thanks. I didn't realize my life'd become a supernatural teen romance novel. [It's the last bit that gets him--"where you are"--and he quietly finishes rolling down her pant leg, chewing that over for a second. It's kind of nice to feel useful--it's not something that happens to him in the pack that often, and he ruffles his hand through his hair, a little sheepishly. Diana does so many things he's not even a little emotionally ready to handle. Looking emotionally and physically vulnerable, wearing his sweatshirt, and saying that he matters is kind of one of them.]

Dad's not coming home tonight, so you can stay as long as you want. I'll sleep on the couch, I guess. [The things he does for ridiculously pretty women.] And hopefully, my dad's Bad Boys effect'll keep em busy until Allison can intervene.

Your life was always a teen romance novel. [ Diana comments dryly as she decides to ignore the stickiness that comes from gunky blood on the inside of her pantsleg, as well as some of the sick blackness that'd oozed out with it. There's still a taste of bile roiling in her stomach and at the back of her mouth, but she knows she can hold it in for now. Instead, she can focus her attention on Stiles as she takes in what her senses tell her. What he tells her.

Stiles has been a fascinating study since day one. She's still trying to figure him out. ]

You don't have to do that, Stiles. [ Why was someone being this nice to her? She's still trying to figure it out. ]

Minus the romance. [Grumble grumble. Absentmindedly, he notes the faint red stain on her pants and wrinkles his nose, starting to get up--the least he can do is grab a t-shirt for her to sleep in or something, right. Maybe he has a pair of pants that are decently clean, even. Either way, he can't imagine wanting to sleep in your blood soaked pants, because oh my god, ew--

And then she says that, and he blinks.]

What, get my dad to flash his lights?

[ She rolls her eyes at him, as they bleed from red into colorless again once she feels she has control of it again. There's no real anger to anchor her there, not when she's coming down from a disoriented version of it. There's just frustration at what's been dealt to her, and a wish that she could keep it from being given to the pack, too. ]

Sleep on the couch, idiot. I'll be fine.

Fine like getting up and leaving or fine like you can actually sleep in your own bed tonight with another human being in it, because if it's the first one I'm going to make you stay here somehow. Some way. I dunno how yet, but you are not going out there and walking around when you're hella zombified and there's a hunter waiting around to eat you for breakfast, probably literally.

[Obviously it's an empty threat, because seriously, Diana could kick his ass with her hands tied behind her back, but you know what, he's got his masculinity to hold onto here. ]

Fine like I'd prefer getting up and leaving fine, and I could very well make it that kind of fine because there's very little you could actually do. [ Diana's tone remains dry in response to his rambling, and she shifts forward to get up onto her feet. Her leg is still throbbing, but at least it's not gushing blood slowly with every beat of her heart. ]

But since you're being so nice about it, I won't. Take it how you will, but I'm not making you sleep on the couch.

[It takes about half a second for him to cross the room towards her, ducking his shoulder the little inch or two to let her use him as a crutch. Stiles can't help it--he was trained to be a gentleman at an early age by his mother and his father combined, and he's seriously not about to let a woman in need go by herself, even if said woman could (and probably would, let's be honest here) knock his ass on the ground before he can even blink for doing so.

He rolls his eyes a little but it's good natured, and he, with her hopefully attached, starts to make his way towards the stairs.] What can I say, I'm an angel.

[And internally freaking out a little. Oh my god.] And did anyone ever remind you that this is my house, okay, I'm pretty sure there's some sort of law that says you can't make me do anything. [But he's just being a smartass and he almost immediately regrets saying it, fuck, he probably just totally ruined that.

Damn it.]

[ Though she lets out a disgruntled sound at his assistance, Diana isn't as annoyed as she actually would've been months ago. She can tough through anything, has dealt with worse on her own, but it's... Nice, to not have to bear things alone. Confusing from someone that isn't blood family, and scary when that thought is associated with Stiles. She hooks her arm around to grip onto him, fingers curling close to his neck.

It's comfortable and easy, and a little terrifying.

Stiles doesn't quite screw anything up, but he still gets a quick pinch on the scruff of his neck in retribution. ]

[Stiles rolls his eyes, head motion so included, as Diana grumps at being helped. Whatever, there's nothing wrong with getting some help once in a while, particularly when you've just been shot. Stiles is a paragon of good behavior, thank you very much.

Helping her up the stairs, Stiles turns the corner towards his room, wincing a little at the pinch and warning, teasingly,] I will drop you on your cute little werewolf ass and leave you here to suffer. [Not that he actually would, but. Mentally he redacts the cute from that sentence (dumbass) but by the time he thinks about it it's already gone, and instead, he helps her over to the bed and sits her down, then lets go and ambles towards his dresser to try and find a t-shirt and maybe a pair of gym shorts so she doesn't have to keep wearing that disgusting pair of pants.]

[ So used to Stiles and his empty warnings and banter, Diana lets him lead her along. She winces when they start up the stairs, but otherwise manages to keep her expression calm as they get to the top floor. This floor she's more familiar with, and Stiles' room moreso, so she finds herself relaxing further as they go. ]

No, you won't.

[ Settling on his bed, she leans back a little so that she can undo her belt and jeans while his back is turned. She needs to get the pants off, before the blood and sickness seeps in and starts to stink more. Shimmying them off, she folds them and sets them on the floor with the bloody portions tucked in. That out of the way, she goes to take off her tank and the sweatshirt, sitting there in her underwear without much concern.. ]

Edited (AS NOT ADD SWYPE) 2013-02-18 23:05 (UTC)

I totally could if I wanted tohmygod.

[The last thing he was expecting--and really, he should have been expecting it--was to turn around and find Diana half freakin' naked sitting behind him. He covers his eyes with the lacrosse shirt he'd grabbed, cheeks flaring scarlet red.]

Dude, seriously?! Believe me I am all for the lack of clothes but man you could warn me first! I didn't realize this was that kind of in the same bed together, you're kind of way too hurt for that and it's gonna hurt me a little bit to actually tell you no, so--

[NERVOUS BABBLING]

You wouldn't want to.

[ Carefully rocking up to her feet, wobbling with a moment of dizziness, Diana approaches him while he's covering his face. Reaching up, she takes the shirt from him so she can pull it over her head. They aren't that far off in height, but the shirt is big on him in general so it's big on her. Not enough to cover her thighs completely, but she personally doesn't mind it.

Stiles is entertaining to watch. ]

Stiles.

[He keeps his eyes firmly closed, thank you very much, head tilted up to the ceiling to keep from looking, because he is a gentleman.]

What?

Down boy.

[ Favoring one side over the other, she makes her way around him to dig through his things and steal a pair of shorts to step into. One leg is fine, but the other has her moving slowly and a little uncomfortably. Thankfully the wound at least isn't bleeding anymore, and won't any time soon. ]

Not something you have to concern yourself with today.

[You get the biggest eyeroll in the history of ever, complete with him dropping his head backwards and rolling it back to the front, finally opening his eyes. It's easy enough to see that she's still having trouble, and Stiles shadows ~~hovers~~ over her a little bit, making sure she doesn't need any help. Eventually, though, he steps a little back and drops his pants, taking off his shirt to change, too. What is his life. Is this really happening right now.]

...Today?

[eyebrow wiggle]

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