robinonadderall | The Formally Creepy Mansion

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The Formally Creepy Mansion | Thursday Evening

Stiles had not been having a good week, but he made a real effort to pull himself together by Thursday so he could work on giving Derek a good, drama-free birthday. He bought meat lovers pizza, how could it go wrong?

It could probably go wrong in a lot of ways, but Stiles wasn't trying to focus on that.

[For the birthday wolf! Up early 'cause I'm working the late shift, ugh]

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Why can't they just have a nice evening? Oh right, Beacon Hills.

"So, what? You're just going to pretend everything is fine?"

"What else can I do?" he asked. "Please, share your brilliant plan to make me normal again."

"Talk to someone." Oh god, that hurt to say. Because it's not like he could follow his own advice. BECAUSE HE WAS FINE, OKAY? FINE.

"Like a therapist?" he asked. "You want me to see a therapist for a problem caused by a mystical Druid tree stump?"

Yeah, go see if Hannibal is taking patients. This in no way could end badly.

"Or Kitty," Derek snapped. "Or your friends!"

Maybe him if you liked brooding silences, scathing sarcasm, and sad puppy eyes.

Hey! Hannibal was a nice guy!

"I don't see how that will help. I told you right from the start that there's no fixing this," Stiles told him. "I thought you said you weren't going to try to fix me."

As funny as Derek having frosting on his face was, it was kind of hard to take him seriously like that. So Stiles did the polite thing and reached up to wipe of the spare frosting with his thumb.

Derek's expression went blank for a moment as he remembered how to brain again. Like he was rebooting for that.

Then he scowled like Stiles had done it on purpose to throw him off. "I'm not trying to fix you." He kinda was. "You can't expect me to not want to help."

He wasn't actually heartless, after all.

"And I told you that you can't help," Stiles said, absently sticking his thumb in his mouth to get the icing off. "And Kitty should know that too, she was there when the whole thing was explained to me."

...

Derek hated you so much now.

"Would you still try to help her if she was the one dealing with it?"

"She's not the one dealing with it, I am," Stiles said, shaking his head. "I already asked her to kill me, I'm not about to make her feel worse by going into detail about my nightmares."

"Pretty sure that door is already open," Derek snapped.

For some reason talk about doors being opened and closed made Stiles very uncomfortable, although he wasn't quite sure why yet.

"And you think that sharing is going to help," he said, frowning. "You think that telling you guys that I dream about weird symbols and sign language that I don't understand is going to help. Or that the few good dreams I have are ruined by somebody popping up and telling me how worthless and pathetic I am. Or that lately I've been seeing people that should be dead and that more and more I keep being unsure if something is real or not. You think telling you that is going to fucking help something?"

"Better than nothing," Derek replied, shoving the remote at Stiles to pick a damn movie.

"Pick your own damn movie," Stiles said, shoving Derek's hand away and pushing himself up off the couch so he could leave. "Happy fucking birthday."

"Stiles!" Damn his inability to comfort people!

Stiles first instinct was to turn around and argue some more, but he pushed it aside in favor of flouncing. It was the mature thing to do. Or something.

Totally mature!

"Where are you going?" Yeah, that was the best he had. Who needed pesky emotions?

"Home!" Why couldn't you just let him flounce, Derek? He never got to get a good flounce. Mostly because of his inability to stop talking.

Well fine. He'd just spend his birthday watching bad things that reminded him of his family and clinging to his dog! Like a mature, responsible adult!

Derek just looked away, crossing his arms over his chest.

Oh god, the narrative can't even with theses two. Can't even.

Ugh that pissy little pose just made Stiles feel bad that they were fighting on his birthday. Even if Derek brought it on himself. Also Stiles didn't know when to stop talking.

"Derek--" Stiles trailed off and was silent for a few moments as he tried to figure out what he wanted to say. "I don't know how this is going to work if we keep fighting each other on this. I keep saying this is for life and it seems like you aren't going to accept that and...I don't know, I feel like sometimes you'd be happier if I wasn't around so you wouldn't have to see it."

"I don't want you to go away." That was stupid. Stop being stupid, Stiles. "I just--"

Ugh, words. He wasn't good at this.

Stiles crossed his arms over his chest and gave Derek a 'go on' look. Share away, Derek. Use your words.

You suck, Stiles. Just infer what he wasn't saying as positive.

Derek sighed, looking up at the ceiling. "You have people who want to help," he said, voice softening. "You don't have to be alone."

Stiles wanted to point out how ridiculous that was coming from Derek, but wisely kept his mouth shut. The sentiment was nice, and it had Stiles relaxing a little though he didn't move any closer.

"I know that," he said. "I just don't want you guys wasting your time on something that can't be fixed."

Yeah, two teenagers who routinely discussing leaving him to die in the road. Derek sure felt the support there.

"Then you're an idiot," Derek snapped, softness disappearing in a flash. "I'd give anything--"

He snapped his mouth shut, glaring down at the couch. That couch knew what it did to deserve it.

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