[ Stiles is pretty much beaming the moment the skin starts forming--his brown eyes fly over the moving lights, carefully cataloging every change and making sure that Derek's vitals don't ever change. They don't, marking it a success, and the droid basically preens as hair follicles sprout to match his other arm, as if there was no damage at all. ] You've been living in the stone age, man.
[ They've got everything these days--droids are programmed to do anything and everything, and hell, Stiles is a perfect example of that. There's a part of him that says how much he loves to work with them, but...that doesn't make any sense. He's starting to put together clues on who he might have been, or who he might know, or something--an engineer, maybe.
He shouldn't have known how to do what he just did. Stiles doesn't have any programming for engineering, but he knows, deep in his circuits (hell, in his bones) how to do it, which way his hands should go, how things fit together. It's weird and he doesn't want to think about it, because the more he figures out about himself, the more he knows he's gonna have to leave.
His smile softens a little bit, and Stiles' hand falls into his, unthinkingly. ] Good as new.
[ Slowly, Derek flexes his fingers as the flesh forms over his fingertips. The whorls of his fingerprints are almost fascinating to watch reform, because he's fairly certain he hasn't seen them there in quite some time now. They're foreign, in a way, but he eventually lifts his gaze to Stiles' face again. ] Only personally, apparently.
[ Once upon a time, maybe he'd have pulled his hand away. It wouldn't have been that long ago, in the grand scheme of things, but he still would have done it. Contact with people is one of the things he finds himself frequently avoiding it, especially at the hands-- there are so many bad memories attached to the touch-- and people have started to label him as a recluse.
Maybe he is. But he has his mystery droid, the one that's more human than anyone else he's ever met, who could leave at any point because he might remember who he is.
His fingers curl around Stiles', just that tiny bit longer but that much broader, and he practically relishes in the way that he can feel the actual pressure. The way he can feel the warmth of his circuitry against his, the friction of artificial skin together. ]
It's self repairing, for the most part. [ His thumb drifts across his palm for a second, slow and maybe a little purposeful, because he likes it, likes the feeling of artificial skin on skin, the sparks it sends into his system. He knows he shouldn't be able to feel those receptions, because pleasure receptors are just as new on the market as pain ones, but he has them, and now Derek does too.
Or, the pleasure ones, at least. He wasn't going to put in the pain ones--Derek's had enough struggle in his life. (Plus Stiles has a feeling this is not the first time he's unknowingly stuck his hand on an engine.)
But, especially with his arm fixed, Derek is a remarkable example of humanity. Droids can be anything, if they really want to be, and Stiles is an example of that, but human? Human is a step out of his grasp. A part of him thinks that he loves Derek, in the way that a droid shouldn't be able to, and another part practically begs the question of how much more he could if he were human.
How easy it would be for Derek to return it, that way.
Slowly, he pulls his hand out of his, fists them a little awkwardly in his lap. Stupid. ] That should fix all your problems.
If only I'd had that beforehand. [ There's no complaints about his touch, and he simply settles there, watching the movements of his thumb against his palm before he lifts his eyes up to look at him again. Derek doesn't think about the pain receptors, doesn't even realize that they haven't been reactivated. But it's Stiles-- if he ever notices, he wouldn't be surprised in the least bit. Because it's Stiles, and that's such a human explanation. That he doesn't want someone to experience pain, that he cares enough about someone that way that he would turn off their pain receptors.
But it's such a strange concept. He's an android, advanced as he is, but he's so ridiculously human. If he didn't know better, if he hadn't been in Stiles' insides himself, he would think that he truly was human. And that part is what gets him, even as he feels something tighten in his chest towards him.
They have constant arguments, stupid banter, quiet moments where they simply enjoy one anothers' company while Derek does repairs. They're so disgustingly domestic that it's so easy for him to forget that he's an android, and that he's not supposed to feel this way-- that neither of them are supposed to feel this way.
He lets Stiles draw his hand back, bringing his own up to rub at his wrist and feel along the synthetic skin. He nods, quietly, instead of saying anything for a moment.
But then he shifts his weight, sits upright, and cocks his head a little towards him. ] You know, I think we're overdue for going into town.
[ Stiles scoffs under his breath, a low "you think?", but for as huffy as it sounds, it's laced with something that could only be described as worry. It wasn't just a "who's going to take care of me" when he'd smelled the burnt bioskin--it was the actual, painful lurch of his heart and stomach that he may never see Derek again, may never hear him bark at him for something stupid or argue with him over answer technicalities on Jeopardy, never catch him flashing a gaze that was so warm that Stiles always thought he imagined it. That was terrifying, to the point of where he could feel his systems dangerously close to that overheat again, as if he was going to have a panic attack.
Everything was stabilized, now, and he tries to pretend that it had always been that way, that he was calm and as machinelike as he really should have been. Reconciling the side of him that he thinks might be human and the rest of him is difficult--there is no happy medium.
When Derek sits up, Stiles watches him carefully, keeping his gaze on his hand to make sure nothing goes wrong, but he speaks and his attention snaps back up towards his face, eyes flicking back from blue to amber and going comically wide. ] ...Seriously?
[ Deigning not to reply to the huffy response, Derek instead turns his attention back down to his hand as he considers it. They went from simply coexisting together in this somewhat volatile mix to actually being something like friends, to... something else. He doesn't know what they really qualify as, at this point, but it's not something that a lot of people would look well upon if they knew Stiles was not as human as he acts. There are those that "fall in love" with their droids, take things one step too far. Derek doesn't like people, makes it clear frequently, but he'd never considered that. Not once.
And then there's Stiles, who hums off-key to bad pop songs in the kitchen, who doesn't wait for the question to be fully read on Jeopardy before he answers, plays with his cat on the floor when he doesn't pay attention to either of them. Sleeps in his bed-- and actually sleeps, doesn't go into sleep mode where all of his systems ease to a halt but instead breathes and shifts and mumbles. Stiles is that real boy fairytales tell you about, stuck in the body of an android.
Derek lifts his eyes to catch his reaction, and he offers him an actual smile before he slips off the table and to his feet. ]
Dude--yes! Oh my god, that'd be friggin sweet! [ Jumping up in a jerk of his limbs, Stiles practically trips over himself to try and get up and grab another shirt that isn't totally splattered in oil-- trying to clean up after Derek's accident had not been an easy task--and he throws a grin over his shoulder as he tumbles into the dresser nearest to the bed. He doesn't really have any stuff of his own, so it's borrowing Derek's shirt for now, and he pulls a soft gray henley over his head before shuffling into a pair of shoes. ]
Can we go see a movie? Or like, go to the chop shop to look at parts, because I was working on this thing for Paige and I need-- [ He starts to list off a few absurdly complicated sounding parts, then jams his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, rocking backwards on his heels. ] No, I never wanna go, of course I wanna go now!
[ A bark of a laugh is startled out of him as Stiles trips over himself and goes to change his shirt, though Derek follows after him at a much more sedate pace to do the same. He pulls his original shirt over his head, covered in burnt marks and oil and grease as many of his work shirts are. He uses it to clean off his hands before tossing it over to where the hamper sits, and then ducks around Stiles as he goes to grab a pair of shoes to put on. While he sorts through his shirts, he absently makes a mental note to get Stiles some clothes of his own.
For as much as he likes how the droid looks in his things, he really needs his own if he's going to start sneaking him into the city more frequently. ]
We can go do whatever you want, Stiles. Just remember that we have to be careful. [ As he pulls on his own henley, he turns to look at him, reaching a hand out to tap the back of his knuckles against his chest. It feels completely human through the worn cotton, but he knows better. ] In case you're recognized in a bad way.
[ his enthusiasm is pretty damn unstoppable--stiles has literally never been out of this apartment, as least as far as he remembers. for all he knows, the rest of his life could be outside these doors, but the thought's sobering as much as it is exciting, because it would be...well, it'd be a strange life without derek in it. an unhappy one, certainly.
he didn't need a fancy mechanic to fix his parts when derek had done such a good job. but a part of stiles thought that derek needed someone to touch up his parts every once in a while, whether they were mechanic ones or normal ones.
stopping when he's pressed against, he snorts and rolls his eyes, grabbing his wrist with light fingers. ] Dude, I got this.
[ when he turns away, it's to rifle through drawers--he trots back to derek with a purple beanie and a pair of work glasses, which he pulls on and holds his hands out in a jazz hands motion. ] Indestructible disguise.
[ Mentally compiling all the things that could go wrong at all the places they could go to, he tries hard not to think that every single one of them could happen. They won't, they don't have that horrible of luck. But their luck is bad enough that at least three horrible things could very well happen.
Still, he's not going to dampen Stiles' spirits. He lets his fingers curl around his wrist, not pulling away as he would have in the first week of knowing each other. And as he turns away to go dig around-- when did he ever get a beanie?-- he just shakes his head and reaches to get his jacket.
Derek stares at him as he offers his jazz hands, and his eyebrows slowly raise. They've got this weird chemistry, but it's suddenly skyrocketed because there is just something about Stiles in those glasses that's attractive. But he shoves it down, rolling his eyes instead. ] Right, indestructible.
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no subject
[ They've got everything these days--droids are programmed to do anything and everything, and hell, Stiles is a perfect example of that. There's a part of him that says how much he loves to work with them, but...that doesn't make any sense. He's starting to put together clues on who he might have been, or who he might know, or something--an engineer, maybe.
He shouldn't have known how to do what he just did. Stiles doesn't have any programming for engineering, but he knows, deep in his circuits (hell, in his bones) how to do it, which way his hands should go, how things fit together. It's weird and he doesn't want to think about it, because the more he figures out about himself, the more he knows he's gonna have to leave.
His smile softens a little bit, and Stiles' hand falls into his, unthinkingly. ] Good as new.
no subject
[ Once upon a time, maybe he'd have pulled his hand away. It wouldn't have been that long ago, in the grand scheme of things, but he still would have done it. Contact with people is one of the things he finds himself frequently avoiding it, especially at the hands-- there are so many bad memories attached to the touch-- and people have started to label him as a recluse.
Maybe he is. But he has his mystery droid, the one that's more human than anyone else he's ever met, who could leave at any point because he might remember who he is.
His fingers curl around Stiles', just that tiny bit longer but that much broader, and he practically relishes in the way that he can feel the actual pressure. The way he can feel the warmth of his circuitry against his, the friction of artificial skin together. ]
Better than new.
no subject
Or, the pleasure ones, at least. He wasn't going to put in the pain ones--Derek's had enough struggle in his life. (Plus Stiles has a feeling this is not the first time he's unknowingly stuck his hand on an engine.)
But, especially with his arm fixed, Derek is a remarkable example of humanity. Droids can be anything, if they really want to be, and Stiles is an example of that, but human? Human is a step out of his grasp. A part of him thinks that he loves Derek, in the way that a droid shouldn't be able to, and another part practically begs the question of how much more he could if he were human.
How easy it would be for Derek to return it, that way.
Slowly, he pulls his hand out of his, fists them a little awkwardly in his lap. Stupid. ] That should fix all your problems.
no subject
But it's such a strange concept. He's an android, advanced as he is, but he's so ridiculously human. If he didn't know better, if he hadn't been in Stiles' insides himself, he would think that he truly was human. And that part is what gets him, even as he feels something tighten in his chest towards him.
They have constant arguments, stupid banter, quiet moments where they simply enjoy one anothers' company while Derek does repairs. They're so disgustingly domestic that it's so easy for him to forget that he's an android, and that he's not supposed to feel this way-- that neither of them are supposed to feel this way.
He lets Stiles draw his hand back, bringing his own up to rub at his wrist and feel along the synthetic skin. He nods, quietly, instead of saying anything for a moment.
But then he shifts his weight, sits upright, and cocks his head a little towards him. ] You know, I think we're overdue for going into town.
no subject
Everything was stabilized, now, and he tries to pretend that it had always been that way, that he was calm and as machinelike as he really should have been. Reconciling the side of him that he thinks might be human and the rest of him is difficult--there is no happy medium.
When Derek sits up, Stiles watches him carefully, keeping his gaze on his hand to make sure nothing goes wrong, but he speaks and his attention snaps back up towards his face, eyes flicking back from blue to amber and going comically wide. ] ...Seriously?
[ Stiles has never been out of this loft. Ever. ]
no subject
And then there's Stiles, who hums off-key to bad pop songs in the kitchen, who doesn't wait for the question to be fully read on Jeopardy before he answers, plays with his cat on the floor when he doesn't pay attention to either of them. Sleeps in his bed-- and actually sleeps, doesn't go into sleep mode where all of his systems ease to a halt but instead breathes and shifts and mumbles. Stiles is that real boy fairytales tell you about, stuck in the body of an android.
Derek lifts his eyes to catch his reaction, and he offers him an actual smile before he slips off the table and to his feet. ]
Seriously. We can go now, if you want.
no subject
Can we go see a movie? Or like, go to the chop shop to look at parts, because I was working on this thing for Paige and I need-- [ He starts to list off a few absurdly complicated sounding parts, then jams his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, rocking backwards on his heels. ] No, I never wanna go, of course I wanna go now!
no subject
For as much as he likes how the droid looks in his things, he really needs his own if he's going to start sneaking him into the city more frequently. ]
We can go do whatever you want, Stiles. Just remember that we have to be careful. [ As he pulls on his own henley, he turns to look at him, reaching a hand out to tap the back of his knuckles against his chest. It feels completely human through the worn cotton, but he knows better. ] In case you're recognized in a bad way.
no subject
he didn't need a fancy mechanic to fix his parts when derek had done such a good job. but a part of stiles thought that derek needed someone to touch up his parts every once in a while, whether they were mechanic ones or normal ones.
stopping when he's pressed against, he snorts and rolls his eyes, grabbing his wrist with light fingers. ] Dude, I got this.
[ when he turns away, it's to rifle through drawers--he trots back to derek with a purple beanie and a pair of work glasses, which he pulls on and holds his hands out in a jazz hands motion. ] Indestructible disguise.
no subject
Still, he's not going to dampen Stiles' spirits. He lets his fingers curl around his wrist, not pulling away as he would have in the first week of knowing each other. And as he turns away to go dig around-- when did he ever get a beanie?-- he just shakes his head and reaches to get his jacket.
Derek stares at him as he offers his jazz hands, and his eyebrows slowly raise. They've got this weird chemistry, but it's suddenly skyrocketed because there is just something about Stiles in those glasses that's attractive. But he shoves it down, rolling his eyes instead. ] Right, indestructible.