laography | you could be my ever after

Sort of like a cockroach. [ With no bite to his words, Derek just tilts his head a little so that it's his temple against their hands, looking more directly at Stiles as he regards him. He's tired, more emotionally than physically, and there's a fire burning under his skin again. A painful reminder that he was the one that brought a demon into his home, into the lives of his pack, and he was the reason they had been snuffed out when they'd done nothing wrong. They'd simply lived on the outreaches of Heaven's kingdom, worked with angel and man and so-called monster with no prejudice in their blood.

Laura would have liked Stiles, he thinks. Peter's little girl, too, probably. His little cousin Jacob would have thought he was a riot, while his parents would have probably questioned his general behavior but found him funny. It would've been easy for him to keep up with pack, keep them all guessing even while he ran with them.

But Kate ensured that it would never happen, and he can only guess at how his pack would react to the boy that Derek has been trying to figure out ever since they met.

And Kate almost took him, too. The thought makes him sick, and his fingers tighten a little around Stiles' as he tries to push it away. Push away the thought of Stiles screaming for Kate to kill him, to stop and just kill him. Not that she would ever have listened, not in the way that he'd want her to have. ]

You were too quiet, and you smelled awful. [ His nose crinkles, though otherwise his expression remains fairly even and calm. ]

I always smell awful. [ It's hard to watch. He's not a mind reader, he doesn't have Derek's senses, can't smell his emotions, but right now he doesn't need to. Stiles is observant, always has been--he can feel the way his hand twitches around his own, see the crinkle of his nose, the expression in his light eyes. It's like nothing he's ever seen before, especially out of Derek of all people, and when his hand tightens, Stiles returns the favor. It's not much, but it's something, a tether. Something to keep him here instead of adrift in the memories that must have had to do with her. ]

It's kind of my job as a sweaty teenage boy. [ It's so much more than the stupid banter. It's the way he won't drop his gaze from Derek's, the way his hand threads through his like a lifeline. Yeah, he's in a shitload of pain--demon possession isn't exactly a walk in the park--but this is so much more important. ]

You smelled like sulfur and blood. [ Derek doesn't want to talk about this. ] And smoke.

[ But he does anyways. He looks at Stiles as he speaks, low and quiet and private, and he lets the words come out of his mouth. It's hard to do, but he does it anyways because there's just something about Stiles that's different, always has been. He's not sure what it is, isn't sure he'll ever figure it out, but it's Stiles regardless.

Something about the light in his amber brown eyes, he thinks.

He anchors himself in his touch and his voice and his eyes, in the way that the warmth of his scent returns from the toxic thing that Kate had made it. ]

Good thing I don't, anymore. [ That comes out a little unsure--he's trying to be reassuring, but he's not Scott, he's not all puppy eyes and touchy feely. No, he's just Stiles, the kid with more limbs than sense and more snark that sympathy. But he wants to say the right thing, wherever it's hiding. He wants to make the look in his eyes--beaten, broken--go away.

He tightens his fingers a little, trying to keep his gaze steady. His dad always taught him the best way you could be sincere was to hold someone's eyes. ]

Promise I'm not gonna go around wearing eau d'demon ever, so I think you can safely say that's the end of that assault on your nose.

I think it'd be an understatement for me to say I'd really prefer it if you didn't. [ There's an agreement there-- it is good that he doesn't-- but he's mostly focused on reassuring Stiles just as much as he's trying to reassure him. Even as he keeps eye contact with him, expression quiet and tired but softer than any he gives most people around him. It's not one he ever thought he'd give Stiles, but here he is now, holding onto him with more relief than he ever thought he'd feel again. ]

Prefer the intricacies of 'sweaty teenage boy' over the stink of sulfur, really. It suits you more. [ But there are so many intricacies to Stiles' scent, and he could break them down in the best way he can describe if someone asked him to. There's so many identifiers, so many smells that are exclusive to him in their combinations. ]

[ His nose wrinkles and he rolls his eyes, a quiet snort escaping him as he finally breaks the gaze, closing his eyes for a second. He should fall into silence, should let this go, but he can't, not with so many questions on the tip of his tongue, so many condolences. Was it true? Did he really--did she really--? And all those questions about being attached...

He lost his mother and he remembered what it felt like, how he heard so many people saying sorry it stopped mattering, and it takes him chewing his cheek before he can think of something less invasive to say.

It's kind of terrifying how alike they are, some days. He can remember the crushing guilt from his mother's death without even having to try. ]

Most people have the distinct preference of "Stiles, get the hell away from me", so I'm totally taking that as a compliment.

[ As Stiles closes his eyes, Derek keeps his on his face-- scans it, takes in every mark, the upturn of his nose, the way his lashes fall over his cheeks, the curve of his mouth-- as if trying to commit it to memory. But in actuality, he's reassuring himself that this is Stiles. When he opens his eyes, they won't be full of ink and nothing else, just warm like whiskey.

Under all the guilt, something in him relaxes when he sees his eyes as they should be. ]

Funny how that changes, isn't it.

[ At one point, that might've been his view on the teenager. Grating and confrontational, snarky with what had originally been asinine comments to Derek. But then, there'd been a shift between them. The similarities slowly came to light, and they'd found a steady rapport with their humor and stupid banter. He still isn't sure what exactly caused it, but he's...

Well, he's a little thankful for it. ]

It sounds like you like me or something. [ Rolling his head across the pillows, he lifts his mouth in a lopsided smile, banter familiar and not at all influenced by a pair of inky, dark eyes. From here he can see Derek well enough--it's weird to imagine the fact that he's. Leaving his duty, technically.

To spend time with Stiles. ]

Admit it, I totally grew on you. I'm adorable. [ He's gladly latching onto that for a distraction, relieved to have something else to focus on--even so, his grip on Derek's hand hasn't loosened, and maybe it's just, for once, his actions speaking volumes more than his stupid words. ]

You're something, all right. [ And that, that finally gets Derek to smile a little. It's one where his mouth quirks down more at the corners than it does up, and he chuffs faintly. This time, though, it's not quite as hollow as earlier. Instead, there's some amount of humor behind it as he looks down at Stiles. ]

Fungus, maybe. [ Bringing his free hand up, he frames Stiles' own on the other side, enclosing it in warmth and reassuring himself further. He's all right, and Derek will make sure that he stays that way.

He's a man of action over words, so being anchored the way he is speaks absolute volumes to him. ]

[ Derek's smile makes his shoulders wilt a little, and he returns the favor, the same downward facing smile his dad always said made him look like his mom. He did something right, apparently, and there's an undeniable whoosh of feelings that come up as Derek's other hand covers his. It's weird but it's not...unwelcome, definitely not unwelcome, and he drops his head back against the feather pillows again, letting the warmth of the heavenly host and the feeling of Derek's hands around his own push away the constant ebb of pain. ]

Yeah? Well, like a fungus, I think the only way you're getting rid of me is throwing me away. There's no killing me at this point. I'm invincible. [ Now he's just being a doofus, but that's okay. ]

I don't know, I have a good seventy pounds at least on you. I could chuck you pretty far, pretty easily.

[ But even as he says it, Derek is examining their hands together, slowly unthreading their fingers so that he can ghost calloused fingertips down across the length of Stiles' arm. They brush over the bandages that his aunt and Scott's mother put in place, feather light and carefully gentle as he follows the exact course that his dirk had taken in Kate's control.

It will heal, better than it would in the middle kingdom, but that doesn't change the fact that it happened.

Still, his expression remains soft and a quiet sort of amused, even as his eyes fall half-shut and stay on the stark white of gauze over fair skin. ]

I'll come back. [ That he says with certainty, even though his expression flickers as Derek releases his hand. He doesn't have enough time to worry, to ponder what did I say wrong, before his fingers are giving him goosebumps up his arm. He tracks the path with his eyes, following his gaze the entire time before blurting out-- ]

--I'm fine. [ How many times can he say it? How many times can he repeat it. He's fine, there's nothing to be upset about. He's not worth it--never will be. ]

I'm more than sure of that. [ His expression does falter a little there, as Stiles blurts out the words that are an attempt to reassure. But in the time that he's gotten to know Stiles, there's an undercurrent to why he says it. Maybe he can't pinpoint every reason, but he's not stupid and he's not blind or deaf. Stiles acts a certain way, a way that can get a little self-depreciating if you're observing.

Lowering his head, he bumps his nose into Stiles' palm, a decidedly canine action as it turns his face against his long fingers. He can feel his pulse in his hands, feel the wear that books and swords alike have on his skin, feel the warmth of life that was almost lost. ]

You are.

[ That gets a little chuff of laughter out of him, enough to crinkle his eyes and show his teeth--a much more Stiles grin than anything that's been shown in the past twelve hours, and he shakes his head. ] Really doing a great job at dispelling all the guard dog jokes right now.

[ But he turns his hand to cup his cheek, feel the burn of stubble against his palm, real and rash and familiar, and hell, it's nice to actually feel something of his own volition, instead of what the demon deigned might be nice. He's seen enough blood in the past twelve hours to account for nightmares for the next year, and something as simple as thumbing at the stubble near his ear is a firm reminder that he's gonna be okay. ] Good boy.

At this point, they're not exactly farfetched. [ A low rumble leaves him, his hand settling careful and light over the bandages of Stiles' arm, the other curling at the back of his wrist. Closing his eyes, the corner of his mouth actually twitches upwards a little at the praise-- sarcastically honest, as Stiles is wont to be-- and his shoulders shake with a quiet laugh.

Tired, quiet, but still another laugh. Stiles has a way of getting them out of him. ] I don't think I really mind anymore.

[ Rubbing his cheek a little into Stiles' palm, he opens his eyes again, still sugarglass clear as he looks at him. ]

Don't let them get to your head, your ego'll get frisky. [ There's something weirdly intimate about this entire situation--it's not at all unwanted, or anything like that, but it's definitely...weird. He meets Derek's gaze and draws his mouth closed, exhaling and staring right back at him ~~in one of those canon Meaningful Looks~~.

His thumb brushes over the arc of his cheekbone for a second as Derek leans into him, and he furrows his brow. He's not sure what to say that's not going to come out in a bunch of gibberish. Thank you, he's sorry, why are you looking at me like this? ]

[ The first thing to come to mind-- it's fine, there's enough to balance it out-- gets bitten back, because there's a bitter, smoke-filled attachment to that thought. Instead, he just twitches his eyebrows upwards in silent amusement, as if questioning Stiles for the poor jokes that he's giving him. Though, to be fair, he is laughing at them. If he didn't encourage him by laughing, then they'd peter out faster.

But he does laugh, more than he used to. And he jokes back with him, less sardonically and threateningly.

The look on his face shifts a little, though, as Stiles' brow furrows. Becomes a silent inquiry of what? in response to his own expression. ]

[ Where is he going to start. ]

Uh.

[Nailed it.

Mentally wincing at his own stupidity, Stiles gingerly pushes himself up into a sitting position, leaning over a little so they're closer together. It hurts, but he just feels better about himself (less babied, maybe) if he's actually up and sort of moving. His hand leaves Derek's face when he gets up, but he brings it back, almost like he's not even thinking about it, like it's something to hold onto. ]

...thanks, I think. [ Is that what he wanted to say? Close enough. ] I know you hate it when Castiel calls you heroic and stuff, so maybe you'll react less groan-y if I say it, I dunno, but. Y'know you're...totally right where you belong. We've got some pretty cool people in the Middle but not a lot of people would fight off one of their demons to get rid of someone else's.

[ His shoulders shrug, a tiny motion, but he locks his gaze back on Derek's. ]

[ Letting Stiles pull away so he can sit up, Derek straightens a little, himself. His hands slip away from his wrist and arm, essentially giving them back to the moving teen, but he's surprised when his hand comes back up to cup his face again. It doesn't show visibly, beyond the way that he stills so as not to disturb where his fingers settle along his jaw into the press of his stubble.

A slow blink passes over his face as he listens to Stiles speak, and he almost seems to fluster a little with the mentioning of being called heroic. Castiel barely gets away with it, and he's been his best friend since the angel found him and gave him a purpose again. But Stiles saying it, that manages to strike a chord in him.

Not as hard and heavy as what he says before he shrugs, and all he can do is bring his hand up to cover Stiles', fingers curling around his as he presses it against his cheek. ]

Even if-- [ His voice is thick, and he takes a moment to swallow, purse his lips into a thin line, before he speaks again. ] Even if it wasn't her. Even if it was some errant demon out to get a leg up on the rest of the echelon, I would have gotten it out of you.

[ He doesn't even get a chance to enjoy the fact that Derek looks flustered (holy shit, what, Derek Hale has more emotions than pissy and pissier ), because his hand's up around his own and he's talking like that, and christ, Stiles needs a minute to swallow the butterflies in his own throat.

He's got Dean, who watches over him like an older brother, Scott, his best friend, Lydia, who doesn't even know his name. None of them have ever spoken to Stiles quite like this, like he's literally the most important person in the world, and it hits him so hard he can't reply immediately beyond staring at him. ]

's what kind of makes you a hero, dude. [ Holy shit. ]

I'm not a hero. [ This is an argument that he and Castiel have gotten into more than once-- though to an outsider the tones don't exactly convey 'argument'-- and it's one that he always has an immediate reaction to. It's almost kneejerk at this point, even with what remains of his family and pack, and it takes just Stiles saying it for the response to come out. But it's even and calm, all while he regards Stiles for a second. ]

Especially with you. [ This isn't exactly how he expected Stiles waking up to go, but who is he kidding. His life is unpredictable without the sixteen year old bundle of bad ideas that somehow work out in the end and a too-fast mouth. ] It's actually sort of selfish with you.

Okay, how the hell is saving my life selfish. Your definitions are kind of screwed up, maybe you should consult a dictionary.

[ Derek, you're so weird. Like beyond weird. He was going to take his hand away, but now it's being held there, and the statement stole his interest, instead. He cocks an eyebrow at him, regarding him right back, skepticism bright in his honey brown eyes. ]

And for that matter, a lot of people'd probably see me dying as kind of a blessing so maybe you are kind of an anti-hero. [ Wait is he babbling. He's totally babbling. ]

Because for some deranged reason that isn't the case anymore. Because you are fucking infuriating on any given day, but I've gone from wanting to strangle you to scruffing to just--

[ His fingers twitch against Stiles' where they're settled, and he lets out a low sound-- almost a growl, but not quite. It's not frustrated enough for it, but more exasperated. With both Stiles and himself. He wants to know when this happened, when Stiles managed to find a place under his skin when he was least expecting it and had been trying to keep people out for years. ]

I don't want to lose you.

[ Huh.

He blinks slowly, trying to process that information. Derek, Derek Hale, guard dog of the Heaven Kingdom, technical enemy to his own ("technical", as if Dean wasn't absolutely head over heels for Castiel), just said he didn't want to lose him. In fact, that sounded a lot like--

No, no way. Something warm curls in his gut and he leans forward a little, enough that their foreheads are touching, and turns his mouth up in a grin, lopsided. ]

Told you I'm not dying that easy.

[ Waiting for Stiles to process his words, Derek actually fights to not fidget-- he doesn't normally fidget, it's such a Stiles thing to do-- but then he's got the human squire with the big mouth and sharp eyes leaning into his space. He doesn't pull away, but rather brings his free hand up as if to reach out and touch him. There's hesitation for a moment, fingers starting to curl in the air as if he's going to draw away, but...

But he reaches to settle his palm across the pulse of his neck, fingers wrapping around to the back of his neck as he looks back at him. A small huff of a laugh escapes him suddenly, and he offers him his own lopsided smirk. ]

You're tenacious but not invincible. [ He tips his head a little closer to him, brushing their noses together and coming so close that he can breathe Stiles in. ] But I'm not going to let anything happen to you.

you could be my ever after

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goddamnit stop being cute

Are you looking in a mirror Stiles.

shoosh no

Uhm yes.

uhm no

Don't argue.

i play stiles it's my job to argue

pushes over

oomph

STILES...

haters gon' hate

SIGH

You love it.

For some reason.

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	Once upon a time This place was beautiful And mine But now It's just a bottom line Barely comes to mind But ever after was mine