If there was one thing Stiles noticed about this hellhole of a house was that...it was just that. Fao was being kept in a prison of his own guilt, his own memories, and the decrepit state of everything falling down around them should have been a metaphor for his escape instead of his capture. And Stiles knew that was exactly why he was being kept here, but it didn't make it any better. Every now and then, when the witch had been through the house, he'd go through and pick up broken glass, sweep aside things that would barely be a scratch to Derek but probably chipped away at his soul instead. Eventually that led him to thinking about the library, protected by wards even stronger than the ones Stiles could even dream about laying, and that made him formulate a plan.
So on his daily visits, which were starting to turn into overnights, which were starting to turn into weekends and then maybe even weeks at a time, Stiles started bringing things. He did it as quietly as possible, when Fao was off hunting, until he'd settled together what basically amounted to a nest. Old comforters from the Stilinski house, sheets, and two more personal items. One, a flannel shirt, one of Stiles' absolute favorites, well loved and well worn, carefully tucked in near the top. The second was a quilt that had been in the Stilinski family since Claudia had come into it. It was sewn with all of her love, and there was nothing that made Stiles feel more safe when he was younger than crawling under it and hiding from the world after she'd died.
Derek needed that a lot more than he did, now, he thinks. So, carefully setting down the last quilt, he leaves for the day, calling out his goodnights to Fao and heading home to see his dad.
It ended up being a week or so between his visit this time, as he'd been consumed with a massive project for school, combined with spending time with his dad, who looked a little more haggard than usual--Stiles couldn't help but think guiltily that it was probably his fault. It's late on a Friday when he finally treks out to the old house again, his bag slung over his shoulder, touching at the knot hole on the tree in the corner--where his runes were hidden, to keep the witch from finding them.
He drops his bag on the porch and looks around. Fao's usually here. ] Hello?
[ It wasn't as if Derek didn't notice the things that Stiles did.
But for a time, he hadn't quite realized what Stiles was up to when he was bringing things in. Of course he noticed it when there was a nest in the library, but he'd initially thought it was for Stiles, since he had his overnight stays rather frequently. It wasn't just the nest, though-- he noticed that he was cleaning up where he couldn't, his warped hands useless in repairs or simple tidying. He would come in from a hunt, from patrol, from whatever, and find that the foyer was neatened as much as it could've been for the state of the house.
And it all made the place feel a little less like a personal prison.
Especially when Stiles went home again. He was never upset about it, could understand why he went back home to his dad. But that didn't change the fact that it was lonely again, quiet in a way it hadn't been in years. Derek liked the quiet, liked the peace that came with it. Except, without Stiles there, the quiet had changed into something different. Something that almost hurt, really.
So the first thing he does, when he realizes that this is going to be one of the longer waits, is slip into the library. It's always been a sanctuary, even when the Hale estate wasn't in ruins, but now? Now he feels safe, feels like he's home again and not caged. (That isn't to say he can't leave the forest, but Stiles is right; it is a prison built from guilt.) Circling the nest that's been built for him, he ducks down so that he can slip under the topmost quilt, the one that he can practically smell the magic in.
That's how he is when Stiles arrives, actually asleep with his face tucked into Stiles' flannel, his hind legs and tail sticking out and the topmost corner of the quilt caught on an antler. ]
[ There's a rising bloom of panic in his stomach when he realizes he can't find him. The last time Stiles had left and didn't find the wolf at least waiting for him near the door, he'd been nearly beaten to death by the witch, and Stiles was almost sure his wards had gotten stronger, that there would be fewer and fewer chances for her to break into the house again. The forest was beyond his control, but by the time he'd gotten the chance to mark the trees instead of the inside of the house, in secret places instead of in the open, he'd built sort of a magic fence.
His footsteps quicken and Stiles darts up the front steps and hurries in the house, looking from left to right. There's no blood painting the floor this time, and immediately, he takes a step to the library, please please please let him be okay, please, please--
And that's when he gets the door open and is presented with a view of Fao's back legs and tail, sticking out of the quilt. The panic practically melts out of him as he lets out an audible sigh of relief, replaced with something warmer in his chest. Stiles crosses the room in a few steps and crouches down beside him, noting the way he's using his undershirt as a pillow and smiles a little, reaching out with soft, tentative fingers and stroking one of his huge ears. ] Comfortable, big guy? Usually you're down my throat in two seconds, scared me half to death.
[ Footsteps register, dimly, in his awareness but don't quite rouse him as much as they normally would. He doesn't exactly get a lot of sleep, but recently it's been rectified by the addition of the quilt-- and, he won't lie to himself, the undershirt-- so he's actually feeling rather rested. Like he's a human being (metaphorically) again. As the steps draw nearer, the faoladh doesn't feel like he's in danger. It's more like he can slowly draw himself back to full consciousness, without concern about suddenly snapping to full alert again.
A scent hits him, first some mix of fear and anxiety-- blood-sweet but bile-bitter at the same time-- before easing into sun-warmed and baked. There's something more to it, something that reminds him of the feeling that the quilt gives off, but he can't linger on it for long because the presence comes closer and is suddenly talking to him, touching him.
Cracking bright red eyes open, Derek doesn't move save for the way his ear relaxes in the direction Stiles strokes it, laying back as he looks up at him from where half of his face is buried against worn flannel. ] You're back.
[ And he will deny sounding pleased about that, pass it off as sleep fogging everything. ] Sorry. You haven't missed anything, though.
Back for the weekend. [ He gives his bag a little jostle--there are clothes in there, and something to do a water spell so he can brush his teeth and take a shower that's not outside in the biting January wind, along with his laptop and a wifi stick. Aside from leaving his warmer winter coat at home, he's pretty damn prepared to not leave for a few days.
There's something soft in his face as he looks the wolf over, kind of relieved that he's using the nest after all. It seems like he's been sleeping better lately--certainly since the first time with the night shade crown--and Stiles' grin goes fond at the edges as he scratches him behind the ear.
(And it doesn't go unnoticed, about his shirt. It makes something twist in his chest, and he has to fight it down so he can speak.) ] Good. [ With finality. ] You missed the Red Sox win the world series, I watched it with my dad. Neither of us were really that invested, considering we're Mets fans, so I think we just hate the Yankees so much we were hoping the Red Sox would win.
[ He laughs a little and drops down on his butt, letting out an involuntary shiver, then starts to dig in his bag. ] Brought you a present.
[ Eyes tracking to the bag as Stiles jostles it, Derek flicks his ears up but still remains rather stationary. The crisp air doesn't bother him, not when he's got such a combination of factors-- growing up in Beacon Hills, running hot, and having a winter coat attached to him-- but he's comfortable where he's laying, even if he's a little haphazard in his half-sprawl. The quilt is too small to cover all of him, so he simply opts to tuck his upper body mostly under it so he can curl up.
His eyes close and his ears relax as Stiles scratches behind one of them, though he doesn't try to go back to sleep. Stiles is back, and he hasn't seen him in a while. He has absolutely no intentions of dozing off again until he's talked to him for a while. A chuff leaves him, echoing with his more human laugh over whatever lets them speak to one another-- something he hasn't figured out yet, but doesn't bother trying to linger on too much-- before he's watching the teenager again.
He notices that shiver. ] I don't remember who we used to root for. [ His first actual movement is him lifting his head, letting the quilt slide down to broad shoulders so he can partially sit up. But it's also so he can bow his head forward, sniffing blatantly in the direction of his bag. ]
Hey, hey, hey, nose out of the bag! Stop werewolf peeking. [ Stiles bats at his nose lightly and holds the bag way up out of his way, so he'd have to lift completely off the quilts so he could get to it. Laughter lights up his eyes even as he's scolding him, and Stiles shifts around a little and sits down fully beside Derek, reaching into his bag and pulling out his Mac and the stick.
He sets it down quickly and jams his hands in his pockets while it's starting up, wiggling his nose and trying to keep warm. It's cold in here, what with the whole crushing lack of heating, electricity and giant gaping holes in many places in the walls, and he can barely imagine what would happen if it started to snow. ] I know it's been like ten years and all you probably remember of the internet is the---eeeeeee--kshhhh--- [ Imitating the dial up noise. ] But this is the future, and the future--aha.
[ The laptop lights up, the wifi stick turns on, and he opens Netflix. ] And the future comes armed with movies.
[ Nose scrunching, Derek opens his mouth as if he's going to bite Stiles' hand. But there's no intent in the movement, and he doesn't touch teeth to skin. Rather, it's more like a mock-bite that he offers close to his hand before the teenager is actually in his space. His ears flick up, and he watches him pull out the electronics, remembering his computer from when he brought it to write an essay when he remembered that the Hale house didn't exactly get wifi.
His ears swivel as Stiles imitates the dial-up noise, one cocking sideways and the other pinning back. It's exactly what everyone in the house did, back when they had a computer that worked-- it's still mostly intact, if melted to the floor in the corner they'd put it in. But then he notices the way Stiles wiggles his nose, and he shifts around.
Curling close to his back, he reaches around with his big head (avoiding knocking into him with his antlers) and catches the corner of the quilt gently in his teeth so he can pull it off himself and drop it over Stiles' head. It gives him a little blanket cloak, and hopefully he's warmed it with his body heat that it's a reprieve from the chill of the house. It has, in fact, snowed before, leaving a dust across the house. ] That's a lot of movies.
Netflix is the greatest invention of our time, and no one can convince me otherwise. [ Suddenly, there's this pressing feeling of warmth around his shoulders--more than just that of a blanket. It's the love from the quilt, the magic sewn into its very fibers, and he pauses and looks up at the wolf for a few seconds, while Netflix is loading.
Then, he returns the other corner of the blanket and brings it back around the giant wolf's shoulders. It's just barely large enough to cover them both, and that's after Stiles scoots in a little--he lays down on top of what's basically the nest in the space that's left, wriggling downwards on his stomach and leaving his laptop there, the only light in the dimming room. It's surprisingly comfortable, and he basically gives him a look that reads "are you coming down here or not" before he starts scrolling. ] What're your feelings on Tarantino. And I know he was around when you were, okay, Pulp Fiction is old as balls.
So it's a Blockbuster without you having to leave home. [ That's a solid indicator of when Derek was at his prime as a man, really. His eyes focus on the screen with keen interest, missing the look that Stiles sends his way. But as he moves around, his attention flicks back to him and he watches him move, feels the soft weight of the quilt across him.
A soft chuff leaves him, and he turns to lay on his stomach again. His tail flicks to the side, legs moving to frame Stiles' at one side as he lays close to him, sharing his warmth and getting comfortable. But he can't help the temptation of resting his head atop Stiles', never putting the full weight of it down as he peers down at the computer while his companion goes through movies. ] Reservoir Dogs is older.
Oh my god, dude, you're like a dinosaur. Blockbuster has been out of business for years. [ Stiles can't help but laugh, because the Blockbuster hasn't been open since before his mom passed away, and he grins, openly amused. It helps give him at least a sort of age for Fao, and the image of him watching VHS tapes is something he can't really get out of his head.
There's light pressure on his head as he realizes that Derek's using him as a chinrest, but he apparently doesn't mind. In fact, if you were looking carefully, you'd see his ears turning a little red. It's comfortable and warm, like being wrapped in about a thousand blankets, and the teenager flicks to Inglorious Basterds and clicks play. ] You've got a whole shitload to catch up on. I hope you're ready for enough fake blood to make Freddy Krueger queasy.
[ And if Stiles shifts in a little closer to him, well, he's just cold. ]
Really? [ There's a frown in his voice, but he doesn't sound particularly annoyed at being compared to a dinosaur. He knows he's been here for nearly a decade, and it means missing out on a lot, even if he could very well investigate the world outside the forest, but he knows better. Very little could excuse a giant beast bigger than a bear in the midst of a town he hasn't seen in ages. ] Probably because of this.
[ A small rumble builds in his throat and chest, vibrating a little where he's resting his head, something amused instead of ominous or threatening. He's comfortable, and doesn't want to move from where he's settled now. It puts them closer, letting them share the quilt easier, and it means that Stiles won't end up rattling from the cold. ] I don't seem to have a choice in the matter, anyways.
Exactly because of this. Why leave your house when the Blockbuster is literally in your house? It's awesome. [ Stiles hits play and wiggles a little underneath Derek, like he's getting comfortable, before crossing his arms and dropping his chin down on them so he can watch more comfortably.
This is sounding like a good weekend. Spending time with Fao and watching movies, maybe going through the spellbook again, touching up his runes. Honestly, it's so normal it's almost a little weird, that he's basically cuddling with the wolf beast who lives in the burnt out house in the middle of the forest.
(But Stiles kind of loves him a little, so maybe that's okay.) ] You don't. I mean, I guess you can pick the next movie if you want, but I'm educating your sorely lacking pop culture center.
Well if it's cheaper. [ Derek lets Stiles move around under him, but decides to shift somewhat himself before he gets too comfortable. He slips one foreleg/forearm underneath Stiles' crossed arms, pillowing him further before he curls the other in front of the first. He's essentially completely enveloping the human that's basically cuddled up to him, and it's the most comfortable he's been in years.
It's a good thing, he thinks to himself, that Stiles' wards are so much stronger now than they'd been in the beginning. Should Jennifer decide to return to interrupt a peaceful weekend, Stiles should be able to sense her before she even gets close enough to cause trouble. He just hopes she decides not to, because he... almost needs this, at this point.
(Needs Stiles, but he focuses on his words instead of that.) ] I wouldn't know what to pick in the first place. Spaceballs or something equally out there.
Aw, dude, I love that movie! [ Wow, Fao's got good taste in movies, too? It kind of brings up a weird thought, that in all actuality, he doesn't know that much about Fao. He doesn't even know the guy's name (but to be fair, Fao doesn't know his name either)--just that he was cursed by a friggin witch. It makes the cogs in his brain start moving, and he stares at the movie for a few minutes, chewing it over.
Stiles drops his cheek against the arm offered to him and chews it over, pondering. ] Do you have a favorite? Or had one, I guess.
Mel Brooks is the definition of funny. [ Which is saying something because Derek pretends to not have much of a sense of humor most of the time. Give him ten years of misery and it's pretty easy for it to disappear, until a certain quick-witted teenager weasels his way into the nooks and crannies of his life.
Eyes focused on the movie, head still resting on top of Stiles', he tracks the movements on the computer while Stiles seems to fall into silence for a little while. But he knows him by now, so he just waits him out while he watches the movie, ears perked forward with interest. ] I don't know. I used to read more than I watched TV or anything. I liked sports and action movies, though.
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no subject
If there was one thing Stiles noticed about this hellhole of a house was that...it was just that. Fao was being kept in a prison of his own guilt, his own memories, and the decrepit state of everything falling down around them should have been a metaphor for his escape instead of his capture. And Stiles knew that was exactly why he was being kept here, but it didn't make it any better. Every now and then, when the witch had been through the house, he'd go through and pick up broken glass, sweep aside things that would barely be a scratch to Derek but probably chipped away at his soul instead. Eventually that led him to thinking about the library, protected by wards even stronger than the ones Stiles could even dream about laying, and that made him formulate a plan.
So on his daily visits, which were starting to turn into overnights, which were starting to turn into weekends and then maybe even weeks at a time, Stiles started bringing things. He did it as quietly as possible, when Fao was off hunting, until he'd settled together what basically amounted to a nest. Old comforters from the Stilinski house, sheets, and two more personal items. One, a flannel shirt, one of Stiles' absolute favorites, well loved and well worn, carefully tucked in near the top. The second was a quilt that had been in the Stilinski family since Claudia had come into it. It was sewn with all of her love, and there was nothing that made Stiles feel more safe when he was younger than crawling under it and hiding from the world after she'd died.
Derek needed that a lot more than he did, now, he thinks. So, carefully setting down the last quilt, he leaves for the day, calling out his goodnights to Fao and heading home to see his dad.
It ended up being a week or so between his visit this time, as he'd been consumed with a massive project for school, combined with spending time with his dad, who looked a little more haggard than usual--Stiles couldn't help but think guiltily that it was probably his fault. It's late on a Friday when he finally treks out to the old house again, his bag slung over his shoulder, touching at the knot hole on the tree in the corner--where his runes were hidden, to keep the witch from finding them.
He drops his bag on the porch and looks around. Fao's usually here. ] Hello?
no subject
But for a time, he hadn't quite realized what Stiles was up to when he was bringing things in. Of course he noticed it when there was a nest in the library, but he'd initially thought it was for Stiles, since he had his overnight stays rather frequently. It wasn't just the nest, though-- he noticed that he was cleaning up where he couldn't, his warped hands useless in repairs or simple tidying. He would come in from a hunt, from patrol, from whatever, and find that the foyer was neatened as much as it could've been for the state of the house.
And it all made the place feel a little less like a personal prison.
Especially when Stiles went home again. He was never upset about it, could understand why he went back home to his dad. But that didn't change the fact that it was lonely again, quiet in a way it hadn't been in years. Derek liked the quiet, liked the peace that came with it. Except, without Stiles there, the quiet had changed into something different. Something that almost hurt, really.
So the first thing he does, when he realizes that this is going to be one of the longer waits, is slip into the library. It's always been a sanctuary, even when the Hale estate wasn't in ruins, but now? Now he feels safe, feels like he's home again and not caged. (That isn't to say he can't leave the forest, but Stiles is right; it is a prison built from guilt.) Circling the nest that's been built for him, he ducks down so that he can slip under the topmost quilt, the one that he can practically smell the magic in.
That's how he is when Stiles arrives, actually asleep with his face tucked into Stiles' flannel, his hind legs and tail sticking out and the topmost corner of the quilt caught on an antler. ]
no subject
His footsteps quicken and Stiles darts up the front steps and hurries in the house, looking from left to right. There's no blood painting the floor this time, and immediately, he takes a step to the library, please please please let him be okay, please, please--
And that's when he gets the door open and is presented with a view of Fao's back legs and tail, sticking out of the quilt. The panic practically melts out of him as he lets out an audible sigh of relief, replaced with something warmer in his chest. Stiles crosses the room in a few steps and crouches down beside him, noting the way he's using his undershirt as a pillow and smiles a little, reaching out with soft, tentative fingers and stroking one of his huge ears. ] Comfortable, big guy? Usually you're down my throat in two seconds, scared me half to death.
no subject
A scent hits him, first some mix of fear and anxiety-- blood-sweet but bile-bitter at the same time-- before easing into sun-warmed and baked. There's something more to it, something that reminds him of the feeling that the quilt gives off, but he can't linger on it for long because the presence comes closer and is suddenly talking to him, touching him.
Cracking bright red eyes open, Derek doesn't move save for the way his ear relaxes in the direction Stiles strokes it, laying back as he looks up at him from where half of his face is buried against worn flannel. ] You're back.
[ And he will deny sounding pleased about that, pass it off as sleep fogging everything. ] Sorry. You haven't missed anything, though.
no subject
There's something soft in his face as he looks the wolf over, kind of relieved that he's using the nest after all. It seems like he's been sleeping better lately--certainly since the first time with the night shade crown--and Stiles' grin goes fond at the edges as he scratches him behind the ear.
(And it doesn't go unnoticed, about his shirt. It makes something twist in his chest, and he has to fight it down so he can speak.) ] Good. [ With finality. ] You missed the Red Sox win the world series, I watched it with my dad. Neither of us were really that invested, considering we're Mets fans, so I think we just hate the Yankees so much we were hoping the Red Sox would win.
[ He laughs a little and drops down on his butt, letting out an involuntary shiver, then starts to dig in his bag. ] Brought you a present.
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His eyes close and his ears relax as Stiles scratches behind one of them, though he doesn't try to go back to sleep. Stiles is back, and he hasn't seen him in a while. He has absolutely no intentions of dozing off again until he's talked to him for a while. A chuff leaves him, echoing with his more human laugh over whatever lets them speak to one another-- something he hasn't figured out yet, but doesn't bother trying to linger on too much-- before he's watching the teenager again.
He notices that shiver. ] I don't remember who we used to root for. [ His first actual movement is him lifting his head, letting the quilt slide down to broad shoulders so he can partially sit up. But it's also so he can bow his head forward, sniffing blatantly in the direction of his bag. ]
no subject
He sets it down quickly and jams his hands in his pockets while it's starting up, wiggling his nose and trying to keep warm. It's cold in here, what with the whole crushing lack of heating, electricity and giant gaping holes in many places in the walls, and he can barely imagine what would happen if it started to snow. ] I know it's been like ten years and all you probably remember of the internet is the---eeeeeee--kshhhh--- [ Imitating the dial up noise. ] But this is the future, and the future--aha.
[ The laptop lights up, the wifi stick turns on, and he opens Netflix. ] And the future comes armed with movies.
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His ears swivel as Stiles imitates the dial-up noise, one cocking sideways and the other pinning back. It's exactly what everyone in the house did, back when they had a computer that worked-- it's still mostly intact, if melted to the floor in the corner they'd put it in. But then he notices the way Stiles wiggles his nose, and he shifts around.
Curling close to his back, he reaches around with his big head (avoiding knocking into him with his antlers) and catches the corner of the quilt gently in his teeth so he can pull it off himself and drop it over Stiles' head. It gives him a little blanket cloak, and hopefully he's warmed it with his body heat that it's a reprieve from the chill of the house. It has, in fact, snowed before, leaving a dust across the house. ] That's a lot of movies.
no subject
Then, he returns the other corner of the blanket and brings it back around the giant wolf's shoulders. It's just barely large enough to cover them both, and that's after Stiles scoots in a little--he lays down on top of what's basically the nest in the space that's left, wriggling downwards on his stomach and leaving his laptop there, the only light in the dimming room. It's surprisingly comfortable, and he basically gives him a look that reads "are you coming down here or not" before he starts scrolling. ] What're your feelings on Tarantino. And I know he was around when you were, okay, Pulp Fiction is old as balls.
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A soft chuff leaves him, and he turns to lay on his stomach again. His tail flicks to the side, legs moving to frame Stiles' at one side as he lays close to him, sharing his warmth and getting comfortable. But he can't help the temptation of resting his head atop Stiles', never putting the full weight of it down as he peers down at the computer while his companion goes through movies. ] Reservoir Dogs is older.
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There's light pressure on his head as he realizes that Derek's using him as a chinrest, but he apparently doesn't mind. In fact, if you were looking carefully, you'd see his ears turning a little red. It's comfortable and warm, like being wrapped in about a thousand blankets, and the teenager flicks to Inglorious Basterds and clicks play. ] You've got a whole shitload to catch up on. I hope you're ready for enough fake blood to make Freddy Krueger queasy.
[ And if Stiles shifts in a little closer to him, well, he's just cold. ]
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[ A small rumble builds in his throat and chest, vibrating a little where he's resting his head, something amused instead of ominous or threatening. He's comfortable, and doesn't want to move from where he's settled now. It puts them closer, letting them share the quilt easier, and it means that Stiles won't end up rattling from the cold. ] I don't seem to have a choice in the matter, anyways.
[ But he doesn't sound annoyed about it. ]
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This is sounding like a good weekend. Spending time with Fao and watching movies, maybe going through the spellbook again, touching up his runes. Honestly, it's so normal it's almost a little weird, that he's basically cuddling with the wolf beast who lives in the burnt out house in the middle of the forest.
(But Stiles kind of loves him a little, so maybe that's okay.) ] You don't. I mean, I guess you can pick the next movie if you want, but I'm educating your sorely lacking pop culture center.
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It's a good thing, he thinks to himself, that Stiles' wards are so much stronger now than they'd been in the beginning. Should Jennifer decide to return to interrupt a peaceful weekend, Stiles should be able to sense her before she even gets close enough to cause trouble. He just hopes she decides not to, because he... almost needs this, at this point.
(Needs Stiles, but he focuses on his words instead of that.) ] I wouldn't know what to pick in the first place. Spaceballs or something equally out there.
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Stiles drops his cheek against the arm offered to him and chews it over, pondering. ] Do you have a favorite? Or had one, I guess.
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Eyes focused on the movie, head still resting on top of Stiles', he tracks the movements on the computer while Stiles seems to fall into silence for a little while. But he knows him by now, so he just waits him out while he watches the movie, ears perked forward with interest. ] I don't know. I used to read more than I watched TV or anything. I liked sports and action movies, though.