[ Stiles' mouth is still sort of hanging open, and he shuts it with an audible click. That went better than expected. And to see Garou--?
Something in his heart squeezes at the thought, because that Jaeger was going to be his. If he did well in the drift today--if all the training and fighting he'd done with Derek since their very first match had prepared him well enough--then by the end of the week, he and Derek were going to be deployed. The PPDC needed bodies as much as it needed Jaegers, and there wasn't much time to sit and be prepared; he'd passed the field test and would learn anything he hadn't picked up from, oh, sharing a brain with a very experienced pilot, then go out to fight a giant monster that could decimate entire cities if they failed.
So, you know, no pressure.
Blinking a couple times at the request, he glances between Derek's state of dress and the door again, then nods. ] ...Uh, yeah. I don't think I've actually been out to see her yet.
[ Just peered through the glass at the repair ward before Cora started threatening him with power tools. ]
Cora has been barking after anyone that even tries. [ Yeah, Derek hasn't missed that in the least. But he's managed to slip in without her hounding him, but that's probably because he's the only certified ranger for the Jaeger thus far.
Reaching behind him, he closes the door before pulling his shirt off his shoulder and stepping into the hall proper. It's easy to step around Stiles-- which bares his back, showing the black whorls of the triskele between his shoulders and further circuitry scarring-- before he starts to pull the henley over his head and covers up again.
He didn't have any doubts that Stiles would do well in the drift. Maybe not today, depending on how well they both handled their baggage, but there would still be something there. Proof of their compatibility beyond their dialogues, beyond their easy banter when they're fighting, when they're talking, whenever they're around one another. Stiles can be a little grating at times, but it's fairly easy to remind himself that it's not as annoying as it really should be. ]
She threatened to brain me with a wrench. [ Stiles will pretend he was definitely watching Derek because he wanted to see his tattoo, not because he was incredibly good looking or anything. But his eyes catch on it and he frowns, trying to place the familiar symbol and where he'd seen it before--on a gravestone, in Beacon Hills, near his mother's grave.
Swallowing, he steps forward and shoves his hands into the pockets of his Garou sweatshirt, going at an even keel with Derek instead of walking before him. He's nervous to say the least, but the prospect of actually seeing Garou, nearly finished, is enough to quell it down, and he takes long strides to keep up, glancing at Derek's face for any sign of emotion as he walks. ] How does this practice drift work?
[ Amusement actually slips into his expression, something quietly fond, Derek snorts and rolls his eyes the slightest bit. ] Don't give her the chance, because she'd actually do it. [ His sisters don't half ass things-- none of the women in his family ever had-- but they could be fairly terrifying because of it.
If he notices Stiles' eyes tracking over tanned skin, he doesn't comment and doesn't react. His attention is more on straightening out his shirt, smoothing wrinkles away before he looks over at Stiles properly when he falls in step with him.
He can see the nerves there, but he can understand them. The thrill of meeting Garou for the first time had been a similar experience for him. Cocking his head to the side, he lets out a faint sound at the back of his throat as if considering his answer. It'd been so long since his last drift, and even longer since a practice, but... ] We get geared up in just the circuitry suits and practice helmets, and they'll hook us up to a similar system that the Jaegers operate on. There's just less of a chance of randomly setting off weapons.
I figured that when she hit me in the arm the other day. [ Rubbing his shoulder--because ow, that freakin' bruised--Stiles trails after Derek as they make their way down the hallway of the Shatterdome. He's been fending off stares from pretty much everyone all week long, and this is no exception, but Stiles' entire world has narrowed into a fine point on Derek. He has this way to hold his attention, like every word is just something to hang on, whether he's planning on listening to it or not.
Stiles shoves his hands in his pockets and peers towards the bay, chewing that over. It's about what he expected, but it doesn't do anything to quell the butterflies in his stomach. He's going to be drifting for the first time, with Derek of all people, and Cora's words ring in his head. Be ready. ]
That's probably a good thing. [ It does make him laugh a little, though. ] If anyone's going to accidentally set off a multimillion dollar weapon, it would probably be me.
The sad thing is, that's how she shows affection. [ Tone dry, Derek eyes him briefly as he rubs at his shoulder. To be fair, though, that's how most Hales show affection. They're a very physical clan, or what remains of them is, though Peter is a major exception as the incredibly uncomfortable uncle that lurks in the corners of the Shatterdome where you least expect him to appear.
Which leads to him wanting to steer Stiles clear of him, honestly, but his mind drifts from that thought. Because if he holds Stiles' attention, the same can be true of Derek's. He pushes that away, focuses on him and the upcoming drift. ]
Multimillion dollar walking nuke. [ He offers, face scrunching briefly before he slips into the Jaeger bay, timing it so that anyone at the entrance is too distracted to spot them before they're through. ] It'd be bad.
[ It comes out of his mouth before he really gets to think about it, but -- ] Is that how you show affection? Because dude, you must love me.
[ Oh god, awkward. Way to go, Stilinski. Clearing his throat and trying to ignore the fact that his ears are starting to burn, Stiles makes a wide gesture with his hands, and starts babbling about the Jaeger, about what Cora taught him about Loup Garou, and then they get through the bay.
It's Stiles' first real look at Garou, and he lifts his head to stare up at her in awe, at the emblem on her chest, the same one being worn on his, and feels something warm stir up inside of him. It may not have been his from the beginning, but it's his now. ] ...whoa.
[ Derek's eyebrows twitch upwards in response to the outburst, and he slowly turns his head towards him rather than answering. Given the throttling at the tryouts, and the practices they've been put through since, that might be an accurate assessment in comparison to how he acts with everyone else. (Also including Laura's offhand comments and sly smiles.)
But he is thankfully spared having to answer-- jokingly or otherwise-- by the appearance of Loup Garou in her station. Cora isn't anywhere to be seen (yet), and it seems for the time being that she's just standing at attention, waiting.
His heart clenches a little in his chest, and he starts to make his way over to the lift that the technicians and mechanics use to traverse the various levels of the Jaegers. ] One of the oldest Mach IV left, and she could still give all the remaining Jaeger out there a run for their money.
[ Thank god for the distraction of Garou, because he would have not been able to actually answer when Derek was looking at him like that. Head craned all the way back to stare at the jaeger in all its glory, Stiles' mouth drops open and he takes a few seconds to follow after Derek, heartbeat practically quadrupling as he realizes this is actually happening. He's going to drift.
When he enters the lift, long fingers reach out just enough to brush up against Garou's black calf, feel the cool metal under his fingers. Without them in it, it's just waiting, but it feels practically alive. Like it's ready to be their home. Stiles swallows a lump in his throat and grips at the bars as they ascend towards the Conn-Pod, and as they step out to get fully suited up, a grin starts to crack onto his face. ] Ohhh my god. Holy jesus, this is actually happening, oh my god.
Almost. [ Still, he isn't admonishing in the least bit. Derek's eyes stay on Garou as the lift rises, and he knows that they're pretty much bypassing much of the process required for suiting up, but it doesn't change the fact he can practically feel the adrenaline pumping into his veins as he remembers going to get geared up, the suits practically drilled into place around their bodies. They practically blended in with Garou, all dark blacks and dramatic reds. ]
You'll get to meet her, first, but then... [ A chuff, and he looks at Stiles from Garou. ] Time for the least favorite part for any ranger. [ The circuitry suits were necessary, though, as were the practice suits that were basically just lightweight pod suits. At least they weren't getting drilled in. ]
Won't take as long, but at least we won't be hooked up to her systems yet.
[ As they make their way past Garou and towards the practice area, Stiles recalls the couple of times he's been through the simulator. He'd been good at it--three times, three kills--but this was different. This was literally getting into someone else's head.
He complains his way through the circuitry suit, although it's feeling like he's mostly doing it to keep from freaking out. It's close fitted and feels more like a scuba suit than anything else, and Stiles is pretty sure that if this was a cartoon, you could legitimately see his heart beating out of it. But by the time it's time to drift, Stiles isn't talking anymore--and that's a clear sign of just how nervous he is. He bites his lip as he gets into the practice suit, standing ramrod straight as the workers prepare his spinal interface, and stares straight ahead of him, only hazarding a glance to look at Derek as he puts his helmet on, almost as if for confirmation--for safety. ]
[ Rather than telling Stiles to stop talking, though he can hear him from where he's getting geared up himself, Derek simply offers offhanded replies where they seem to fit the most. Otherwise, though, he goes through the motions-- despite the fact it's been something like eight years since he donned a suit-- and only makes his own complaint when he mutters (largely to himself) about how it used to be easier to get into the circuitry suit.
But after that, he goes quiet, chin tilted up as they get the chest plate in place and align the spinal interface. Out of the corner of his eye, he meets Stiles' gaze, though he doesn't say anything for a long time. As he accepts his helmet from the crew overseeing them, he moves to stand closer to his (albeit prospective) copilot, head bowed so he can put the helmet on and lock it into place. His shoulder presses close to Stiles', armor of the suit bumping in mute reassurance. ]
[ a voice comes over the communication not long after, as Stiles steps into the bootstraps that hold the leg mechanisms, gets a real look at the control panel. This part he knows--he's seen it in a thousand reenactments, studied it obsessively when he first started to consider the crazy idea of drifting someday. His fingers touch the controls as easily as Derek's might, until he's settled in.
preparing to initiate neural handshake in fifteen. fourteen.
Hazarding a glance across, he swallows down his nerves and mutters something to himself that suspiciously sounds like "well, no going back now" before the yellow fully drains out of his helmet and he's staring into what's about to become the drift. ]
With the familiar catch of the boots being held into place, Derek shifts his weight back and forth, side to side, as if getting himself properly settled where he stands. They're not going to be going anywhere, not with their first drift test, but it's hard not to fall back onto old habits, ensuring that he's locked in the Conn Pod rather than unsteady. Who knows what might creep up in the drift, after all. It's while he's distracted with the nostalgia factor that he spaces out as he goes through the motions of the controls, missing the better part of the countdown until he zones back in again.
five, four, three
And he can't help but look over towards Stiles, the yellow liquid cleared from his helmet and giving him an unobstructed view of his current companion. It strikes something in him, and even as they initiate the neural handshake he knows this isn't going to be easy. ]
[ The first thing is that the world just seems to go silent. It doesn't last long--maybe half a second--but it's startlingly different from Stiles' usual world, and wide brown eyes blink open as everything seems to take on a blue tone and he's running through memories. Suddenly, he's seeing things--what must be Derek as a young man, with his arm around a girl with brown hair, Laura, Cora as a toddler, his dad getting elected to Sheriff of Beacon Hills, meeting Scott at five years old, the first Kaiju attack on San Francisco, his mother, smiling and surrounded by kindergarteners.
For a minute, it's practically surreal. He can feel himself living Derek Hale's life the same way he must be living Stiles', but everything screeches to a grinding halt when he feels a sudden, agonizing burst of pain.
It's Derek, with Paige, in Loup Garou--claws wracking through the metal, rending flesh, Derek's hand on a knife, "I don't want to hurt anymore, please, Derek, please", and then the rising stem of panic so intense that he blinks out of it just long enough to achieve 100% compatibility. It's enough time to get them settled--to get Loup Garou's arms up, to punch a fist into a hand, to shoot Derek a look that's both terrified and thrilled all at once.
And any sigh of relief, any congratulatory notions from LOCCENT stop as Stiles is thrust into his own panic, pushed into the room where his mother died of complications and exposure to Kaiju Blue, of how they wouldn't let him see her in fear of him being infected. How his dad wasn't there.
Before he can really think about it, he's latched onto the memory, and his surroundings are a white hospital room, and a ten year old Stiles Stilinski is walking the hallways of the hospital, listening to the beeping of her heart monitor. It's the only sound in the room--and how it's suddenly slowing down. Stiles' eyes go wide and horrified and all the of the air gets punched out of his lungs--he's running, running for the room as fast as he can, lifting his hands--lifting his hands in real time, up into the air in a fighting position as they slam against the air--slam against the glass of her room, let me in, let me in, that's my mom, let me in-- ]
[ There's something interesting about the drift, something that Derek's always wondered about but never actually questioned-- the memories pass in a swirl of soft blue, sharp where the memory is the strongest, and he lets them pass by him one by one. A young Stiles riding shotgun in his father's patrol car, arts and crafts with a familiar face that almost shocks the veteran out of the handshake because he'd never made the connection, never realized, and there's--
Laura, Cora. His uncle after having just barely made it out of a fire that was started in a moment of weakness, when he could still feel the blood on his hands. (Garou's legs were battered, one barely held together after Knifehead's teeth tore through the thigh and left a smattering of sparks across Paige's thigh earlier on. He had to walk miles, upon miles, upon miles, but it was somehow easier than taking the emergency knife in his hand. Easier than having to hold Paige through her pain, until she asked him to finally end it so that she it didn't hurt anymore.)
Despite the whirlpool of pain, the honey and smoke that swirl together after he feels the burn of scars and wet, hot blood, Derek holds himself steady as they hear Mahealani over the comm link, repeating the somehow simultaneously droll and chipper AI voice as the neural handshake meets success. ]
[ And then Stiles catches sight of the RABIT and goes chasing after it.
He's seen people that've been poisoned by Kaiju Blue. They're everywhere on the coasts, slowly dying with no known cure. It's what brought Stiles here, and he knows it-- did a little snooping of his own, to be perfectly frank-- but it's a different thing completely to see it for himself. The blue of the drift gives way to something almost blindingly white, an exaggerated image of hospital sterility and the panic of loss. He can feel the bile in his own throat as if it's his memory, even as the tang of copper and the weight of ash linger with him.
But instead of waiting it out, instead of just trying to talk Stiles through it and standing back, he reaches out to the image that he sees-- ]
[ The beeping of the monitor's starting to slow down, and all Stiles can do is look left and right, look for his dad. He's not here, and Stiles is facing it at ten years old, looking at his mother through glass as her hand goes limp and the doctors are around her in hazmat suits, muttering about Kaiju Blue and death and Stiles hands hit the glass one last time and he lets out a hiccup and a sob, loud and painful and suddenly it's tunnel vision, and he's on the floor, wheezing so hard it physically aches, it hurts his lungs-- and he's wheezing in life, too, his vital signs spiking as his heart thumps so hard he can feel the echo of it in his head, and it's like breathing through molasses-- because his mother's dead, she's dead and he's all alone and she left him there.
Tears are streaming down his cheeks and he collapses to the ground and curls up in a ball on the floor, and the surroundings--and Derek--are barely background noise, because his whole world's just crashed down around his head and the doctor is scooping him up before he can say anything, and he's two seconds from throwing up, his mom is gone, she's dead, she was only trying to help and she's gone-- ]
[ It barely takes a moment for Derek to move, though he can't disconnect himself from the hookups until they're actually fully separated from the drift. But there's some limited capability there, and it's enough that he can move to where Stiles is hooked up, where he's not sure if he's still in the drift and with the memories that brought him spiraling through Wonderland. But it doesn't matter to him, as he drops heavily to his knees where Stiles has collapsed. He hefts him up, bracing a hand against his chest over the thin plate of the suit, almost as if hoping that if he presses close enough he'll be able to steady his thundering heartbeat.
Tucking Stiles against him while he waits out the technicians, silently willing them to hurry up so that Stiles isn't stuck chasing the RABIT, he reaches his free hand to find one of Stiles'. ] It's a memory, Stiles. You can't stay there, not when we need you here. So I need you to come back.
[ Funny, considering the press of his own memories lingering at the edges of the whitewashed ones that he's trying to bring the new ranger back from. And it hurts to watch, to see this kid that he's gotten to know since their dialogue going through so much loss as he once had. But all he can do is try to guide him through it, holding him steady as best he can. ]
[ Maybe it's the arms around him--maybe it's the pressure of his hand against his chest. Whatever it is, a part of the memory seems to slow, like the panic attacks that had wracked his body throughout his childhood. His father arrives in the memory, and the pained breathing changes from wheezing to soft, hiccuping sobs, mirrored in the real world as he shakes like a leaf and sobs into Derek's chest, because in his head he's screaming at his dad, where were you, she's gone, she's gone dad, she's gone.
But it breaks when his hand catches, when Stiles finds something real, something anchoring to his real life, and he chokes out a gasp as he finds his footing again and stares into the distance, absolutely wrecked and still shaking. And somewhere, in the back of his head, there's a voice that's telling him, you fucked that up, Stilinski.
That's the last time he'll be drifting, and he just knows it. His brown eyes come up to stare at Derek for a second, and he looks lost. ]
[ The second that they're cleared, that Stiles is free enough that they don't run a risk of backlash, Derek doesn't hesitate to tear off his own helmet. Paige's voice echoes after him, Kate's laughter ringing in his ears, but he just focuses on Stiles, hand pressing to his chest again before it reaches to undo the clasps on his own helmet. The drift was hard and fast, a literal crash course, and he's surprised that he can still breathe, himself. But he doesn't say anything, not for a moment, and instead looks at those wide, wet brown eyes that stare up at him.
Brief as the drift was, he saw Stiles. He was in his head, and he felt that panic and devastation. Knew it, from his own experiences. Bowing his head forward, he presses their foreheads together, squeezing tight at his fingers even through the confines of their suits. Whatever it takes to bring Stiles back down and anchor him in the now-- and he's not going to let go, even if Peter comes in drawling I told you so. This is his copilot. He's not losing another one. ]
[ His fingers curling against Derek's are the first actual sign of movement from Stiles after the drift, or at least the first physical one. The suit makes it awkward but he finds a grip until his knuckles are white and stares at him for a second more, looking over his face. He saw more of Derek--saw what had actually happened to his co-pilot--and when he chokes out his first spoken phrase, it's heavy, like he's speaking around a lump in his throat. ] I'm sorry.
[ It's not exactly clear what he's apologizing for--the drift, or maybe what he saw. But it's soft as can be, followed by a quiet swear as his other hand comes up to shift into his dark brown hair, ruffling it frustratedly. He ruined his only chance at drifting, probably made Derek look like a fucking laughing stock in the process, because he couldn't keep a grip on his memories. Because reliving his mom's death after living Paige's with Derek (even in flashes) had been something he thought he could stomach and he couldn't. Cora had been right--he brought a lot of his own baggage into the drift, too.
He takes in a shaky breath, though, trying to stay with Derek. In, then out. It's a little easier to breathe when the helmet's off, that much is certain. ]
First drift is always the hardest. [ Quiet as he is when he says it, Derek honestly means what he says. As far as he's concerned, Stiles didn't ruin anything. Sure as hell they both made a huge mess of the drift, but at the same time? They initiated full synchronization before things were thrown off balance. And who's to say who caused it to fall out of alignment in the first place? Stiles might have been hit the hardest, but even the old hand went into it knowing that it couldn't have gone perfectly.
So he just sits there with Stiles, slowing his own breathing down and holding Stiles until he calms himself down completely. They'll have to get off the floor eventually, but he doesn't have any intentions of moving any time soon.
Even as he tries not to think about reliving his own memories on top of seeing Stiles', learning more about him than he'd initially anticipated. So that was what Cora had meant, when she said that there would be something more there. But it's true, he really can feel the understanding between the two of them, especially as he keeps close contact with the teen, for both their comfort. ] I am, too.
H-ha. Tell me about it. [ He manages a shaky laugh, at least, and lets the hand in his hair drop to scrub over his face, wiping tear tracks and snot and trying to pretend that he didn't just go through one of the most emotionally jarring moments of his life for the second time, just minutes after seeing flashes of what was probably Derek's most emotionally jarring memory.
At least they had crappy lives in common.
He's quiet for a couple seconds as he listens to the sound of Derek's breathing. It's steady, and his hand is still clasped hard against his, and it's not until he's seemingly reached at least a normal level of oxygen that he slowly unclenches his hand, barely leaving their fingers connected as he starts to sit up a little. ] This is the point where I'm imagining someone's going to carry me back to K-Science by the scruff of my neck. What a freakin' joke I am.
[ Seeing his last moments with Paige was like ripping open an old wound, and it's true that the memory is his most jarring, but it's sad to say that Derek's got his fair share of them at this point. Carrying Stiles' with him? Not exactly that much of a burden, as far as he's concerned, and he shoulders it rather easily after having seen it. Claudia Stilinski had had beautiful hair, thick and dark like her son's, and it had started to fall out before she shaved it all off. They had tried chemo therapy to combat the sickness, but Kaiju Blue wasn't cancer.
It was a monster that man couldn't fight with another monster, the way they had built the Jaeger Program.
Rather than pulling away from Stiles-- though he lets him sit up from him-- he brings his free hand up and rubs it against his own face, not trusting himself. Whether it be from empathy or his own baggage, he's going to wager that he didn't get out of that stonefaced, himself. Still, something like a scoff of a laugh leaves him at that, and he rests there with their fingers loosely connected. ] I'd like to see them try. Immediate, 100% sync on first test. You're new, I'm eight years out of practice-- the fact that we had problems isn't surprising.
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Something in his heart squeezes at the thought, because that Jaeger was going to be his. If he did well in the drift today--if all the training and fighting he'd done with Derek since their very first match had prepared him well enough--then by the end of the week, he and Derek were going to be deployed. The PPDC needed bodies as much as it needed Jaegers, and there wasn't much time to sit and be prepared; he'd passed the field test and would learn anything he hadn't picked up from, oh, sharing a brain with a very experienced pilot, then go out to fight a giant monster that could decimate entire cities if they failed.
So, you know, no pressure.
Blinking a couple times at the request, he glances between Derek's state of dress and the door again, then nods. ] ...Uh, yeah. I don't think I've actually been out to see her yet.
[ Just peered through the glass at the repair ward before Cora started threatening him with power tools. ]
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Reaching behind him, he closes the door before pulling his shirt off his shoulder and stepping into the hall proper. It's easy to step around Stiles-- which bares his back, showing the black whorls of the triskele between his shoulders and further circuitry scarring-- before he starts to pull the henley over his head and covers up again.
He didn't have any doubts that Stiles would do well in the drift. Maybe not today, depending on how well they both handled their baggage, but there would still be something there. Proof of their compatibility beyond their dialogues, beyond their easy banter when they're fighting, when they're talking, whenever they're around one another. Stiles can be a little grating at times, but it's fairly easy to remind himself that it's not as annoying as it really should be. ]
C'mon.
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Swallowing, he steps forward and shoves his hands into the pockets of his Garou sweatshirt, going at an even keel with Derek instead of walking before him. He's nervous to say the least, but the prospect of actually seeing Garou, nearly finished, is enough to quell it down, and he takes long strides to keep up, glancing at Derek's face for any sign of emotion as he walks. ] How does this practice drift work?
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If he notices Stiles' eyes tracking over tanned skin, he doesn't comment and doesn't react. His attention is more on straightening out his shirt, smoothing wrinkles away before he looks over at Stiles properly when he falls in step with him.
He can see the nerves there, but he can understand them. The thrill of meeting Garou for the first time had been a similar experience for him. Cocking his head to the side, he lets out a faint sound at the back of his throat as if considering his answer. It'd been so long since his last drift, and even longer since a practice, but... ] We get geared up in just the circuitry suits and practice helmets, and they'll hook us up to a similar system that the Jaegers operate on. There's just less of a chance of randomly setting off weapons.
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Stiles shoves his hands in his pockets and peers towards the bay, chewing that over. It's about what he expected, but it doesn't do anything to quell the butterflies in his stomach. He's going to be drifting for the first time, with Derek of all people, and Cora's words ring in his head. Be ready. ]
That's probably a good thing. [ It does make him laugh a little, though. ] If anyone's going to accidentally set off a multimillion dollar weapon, it would probably be me.
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Which leads to him wanting to steer Stiles clear of him, honestly, but his mind drifts from that thought. Because if he holds Stiles' attention, the same can be true of Derek's. He pushes that away, focuses on him and the upcoming drift. ]
Multimillion dollar walking nuke. [ He offers, face scrunching briefly before he slips into the Jaeger bay, timing it so that anyone at the entrance is too distracted to spot them before they're through. ] It'd be bad.
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[ Oh god, awkward. Way to go, Stilinski. Clearing his throat and trying to ignore the fact that his ears are starting to burn, Stiles makes a wide gesture with his hands, and starts babbling about the Jaeger, about what Cora taught him about Loup Garou, and then they get through the bay.
It's Stiles' first real look at Garou, and he lifts his head to stare up at her in awe, at the emblem on her chest, the same one being worn on his, and feels something warm stir up inside of him. It may not have been his from the beginning, but it's his now. ] ...whoa.
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But he is thankfully spared having to answer-- jokingly or otherwise-- by the appearance of Loup Garou in her station. Cora isn't anywhere to be seen (yet), and it seems for the time being that she's just standing at attention, waiting.
His heart clenches a little in his chest, and he starts to make his way over to the lift that the technicians and mechanics use to traverse the various levels of the Jaegers. ] One of the oldest Mach IV left, and she could still give all the remaining Jaeger out there a run for their money.
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When he enters the lift, long fingers reach out just enough to brush up against Garou's black calf, feel the cool metal under his fingers. Without them in it, it's just waiting, but it feels practically alive. Like it's ready to be their home. Stiles swallows a lump in his throat and grips at the bars as they ascend towards the Conn-Pod, and as they step out to get fully suited up, a grin starts to crack onto his face. ] Ohhh my god. Holy jesus, this is actually happening, oh my god.
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You'll get to meet her, first, but then... [ A chuff, and he looks at Stiles from Garou. ] Time for the least favorite part for any ranger. [ The circuitry suits were necessary, though, as were the practice suits that were basically just lightweight pod suits. At least they weren't getting drilled in. ]
Won't take as long, but at least we won't be hooked up to her systems yet.
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He complains his way through the circuitry suit, although it's feeling like he's mostly doing it to keep from freaking out. It's close fitted and feels more like a scuba suit than anything else, and Stiles is pretty sure that if this was a cartoon, you could legitimately see his heart beating out of it. But by the time it's time to drift, Stiles isn't talking anymore--and that's a clear sign of just how nervous he is. He bites his lip as he gets into the practice suit, standing ramrod straight as the workers prepare his spinal interface, and stares straight ahead of him, only hazarding a glance to look at Derek as he puts his helmet on, almost as if for confirmation--for safety. ]
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But after that, he goes quiet, chin tilted up as they get the chest plate in place and align the spinal interface. Out of the corner of his eye, he meets Stiles' gaze, though he doesn't say anything for a long time. As he accepts his helmet from the crew overseeing them, he moves to stand closer to his (albeit prospective) copilot, head bowed so he can put the helmet on and lock it into place. His shoulder presses close to Stiles', armor of the suit bumping in mute reassurance. ]
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preparing to initiate neural handshake in fifteen. fourteen.
Hazarding a glance across, he swallows down his nerves and mutters something to himself that suspiciously sounds like "well, no going back now" before the yellow fully drains out of his helmet and he's staring into what's about to become the drift. ]
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With the familiar catch of the boots being held into place, Derek shifts his weight back and forth, side to side, as if getting himself properly settled where he stands. They're not going to be going anywhere, not with their first drift test, but it's hard not to fall back onto old habits, ensuring that he's locked in the Conn Pod rather than unsteady. Who knows what might creep up in the drift, after all. It's while he's distracted with the nostalgia factor that he spaces out as he goes through the motions of the controls, missing the better part of the countdown until he zones back in again.
five, four, three
And he can't help but look over towards Stiles, the yellow liquid cleared from his helmet and giving him an unobstructed view of his current companion. It strikes something in him, and even as they initiate the neural handshake he knows this isn't going to be easy. ]
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For a minute, it's practically surreal. He can feel himself living Derek Hale's life the same way he must be living Stiles', but everything screeches to a grinding halt when he feels a sudden, agonizing burst of pain.
It's Derek, with Paige, in Loup Garou--claws wracking through the metal, rending flesh, Derek's hand on a knife, "I don't want to hurt anymore, please, Derek, please", and then the rising stem of panic so intense that he blinks out of it just long enough to achieve 100% compatibility. It's enough time to get them settled--to get Loup Garou's arms up, to punch a fist into a hand, to shoot Derek a look that's both terrified and thrilled all at once.
And any sigh of relief, any congratulatory notions from LOCCENT stop as Stiles is thrust into his own panic, pushed into the room where his mother died of complications and exposure to Kaiju Blue, of how they wouldn't let him see her in fear of him being infected. How his dad wasn't there.
Before he can really think about it, he's latched onto the memory, and his surroundings are a white hospital room, and a ten year old Stiles Stilinski is walking the hallways of the hospital, listening to the beeping of her heart monitor. It's the only sound in the room--and how it's suddenly slowing down. Stiles' eyes go wide and horrified and all the of the air gets punched out of his lungs--he's running, running for the room as fast as he can, lifting his hands--lifting his hands in real time, up into the air in a fighting position as they slam against the air--slam against the glass of her room, let me in, let me in, that's my mom, let me in-- ]
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Laura, Cora. His uncle after having just barely made it out of a fire that was started in a moment of weakness, when he could still feel the blood on his hands. (Garou's legs were battered, one barely held together after Knifehead's teeth tore through the thigh and left a smattering of sparks across Paige's thigh earlier on. He had to walk miles, upon miles, upon miles, but it was somehow easier than taking the emergency knife in his hand. Easier than having to hold Paige through her pain, until she asked him to finally end it so that she it didn't hurt anymore.)
Despite the whirlpool of pain, the honey and smoke that swirl together after he feels the burn of scars and wet, hot blood, Derek holds himself steady as they hear Mahealani over the comm link, repeating the somehow simultaneously droll and chipper AI voice as the neural handshake meets success. ]
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He's seen people that've been poisoned by Kaiju Blue. They're everywhere on the coasts, slowly dying with no known cure. It's what brought Stiles here, and he knows it-- did a little snooping of his own, to be perfectly frank-- but it's a different thing completely to see it for himself. The blue of the drift gives way to something almost blindingly white, an exaggerated image of hospital sterility and the panic of loss. He can feel the bile in his own throat as if it's his memory, even as the tang of copper and the weight of ash linger with him.
But instead of waiting it out, instead of just trying to talk Stiles through it and standing back, he reaches out to the image that he sees-- ]
Stiles, I need you to come back to me.
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Tears are streaming down his cheeks and he collapses to the ground and curls up in a ball on the floor, and the surroundings--and Derek--are barely background noise, because his whole world's just crashed down around his head and the doctor is scooping him up before he can say anything, and he's two seconds from throwing up, his mom is gone, she's dead, she was only trying to help and she's gone-- ]
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Tucking Stiles against him while he waits out the technicians, silently willing them to hurry up so that Stiles isn't stuck chasing the RABIT, he reaches his free hand to find one of Stiles'. ] It's a memory, Stiles. You can't stay there, not when we need you here. So I need you to come back.
[ Funny, considering the press of his own memories lingering at the edges of the whitewashed ones that he's trying to bring the new ranger back from. And it hurts to watch, to see this kid that he's gotten to know since their dialogue going through so much loss as he once had. But all he can do is try to guide him through it, holding him steady as best he can. ]
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But it breaks when his hand catches, when Stiles finds something real, something anchoring to his real life, and he chokes out a gasp as he finds his footing again and stares into the distance, absolutely wrecked and still shaking. And somewhere, in the back of his head, there's a voice that's telling him, you fucked that up, Stilinski.
That's the last time he'll be drifting, and he just knows it. His brown eyes come up to stare at Derek for a second, and he looks lost. ]
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Brief as the drift was, he saw Stiles. He was in his head, and he felt that panic and devastation. Knew it, from his own experiences. Bowing his head forward, he presses their foreheads together, squeezing tight at his fingers even through the confines of their suits. Whatever it takes to bring Stiles back down and anchor him in the now-- and he's not going to let go, even if Peter comes in drawling I told you so. This is his copilot. He's not losing another one. ]
That's it-- just breathe with me, all right?
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[ It's not exactly clear what he's apologizing for--the drift, or maybe what he saw. But it's soft as can be, followed by a quiet swear as his other hand comes up to shift into his dark brown hair, ruffling it frustratedly. He ruined his only chance at drifting, probably made Derek look like a fucking laughing stock in the process, because he couldn't keep a grip on his memories. Because reliving his mom's death after living Paige's with Derek (even in flashes) had been something he thought he could stomach and he couldn't. Cora had been right--he brought a lot of his own baggage into the drift, too.
He takes in a shaky breath, though, trying to stay with Derek. In, then out. It's a little easier to breathe when the helmet's off, that much is certain. ]
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So he just sits there with Stiles, slowing his own breathing down and holding Stiles until he calms himself down completely. They'll have to get off the floor eventually, but he doesn't have any intentions of moving any time soon.
Even as he tries not to think about reliving his own memories on top of seeing Stiles', learning more about him than he'd initially anticipated. So that was what Cora had meant, when she said that there would be something more there. But it's true, he really can feel the understanding between the two of them, especially as he keeps close contact with the teen, for both their comfort. ] I am, too.
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At least they had crappy lives in common.
He's quiet for a couple seconds as he listens to the sound of Derek's breathing. It's steady, and his hand is still clasped hard against his, and it's not until he's seemingly reached at least a normal level of oxygen that he slowly unclenches his hand, barely leaving their fingers connected as he starts to sit up a little. ] This is the point where I'm imagining someone's going to carry me back to K-Science by the scruff of my neck. What a freakin' joke I am.
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It was a monster that man couldn't fight with another monster, the way they had built the Jaeger Program.
Rather than pulling away from Stiles-- though he lets him sit up from him-- he brings his free hand up and rubs it against his own face, not trusting himself. Whether it be from empathy or his own baggage, he's going to wager that he didn't get out of that stonefaced, himself. Still, something like a scoff of a laugh leaves him at that, and he rests there with their fingers loosely connected. ] I'd like to see them try. Immediate, 100% sync on first test. You're new, I'm eight years out of practice-- the fact that we had problems isn't surprising.
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