robinonadderall | The Formally Creepy Mansion

Entry tags:

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]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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.

Stiles jerked his head up because Derek didn't need to finish that sentence in order for him to get the idea of it. It was a pretty huge thing to say, and Stiles stupidly hadn't thought Derek cared that much. And wasn't that something to think about? Maybe he'd finally be able to figure out what pretty much everybody else knew when it came to Derek's feelings.

Or maybe not. Because Stiles wasn't going to acknowledge Derek said that right now. Things were awkward enough.

"I'm sorry. I know that you're frustrated, and probably feeling helpless," he said. "I feel like that too. And scared."

It was the crippling sense of guilt that did it. Because, as we know, literally everything bad that happens in Beacon Hills is Derek's fault. He probably killed your mom, Stiles. While starting World War II. Maybe causing an oil spill too.

Damn it, Derek.

"You don't want to be alone. Trust me," he muttered, attempting to set the couch on fire with the power of his glare. Because that was Derek's thing. Soul crushing loneliness was his thing.

Ow, Stiles' heart. He was really failing at this birthday thing. "You're not alone either."

Just put on a movie about buddy cops sticking it to the man and they can pretend that this never happened. God, Stiles.

And, let's be honest, he was just waiting for that other shoe to drop with the people on this island. "Only if I stay here," he said, getting that mask back into place so that rebuilding those fun emotional walls could happen. "Talk to Kitty. Or Scott. You've got a pack now. They'll help you."

"What if I want you to help me?" he asked.

"Probably better options," Derek pointed out. Because the alternative was a sweeping 80's power ballad about love.

"Ignoring the fact that I don't want help at all--" Because he was convinced nothing would help. "--you are just as qualified to help than they are. More than Scott, even, considering he and Allison are going through the same thing I am. They can't even help themselves."

You hang out with people who have been saved by the power of friendship and ~love~ and don't believe this? C'mon now, Stiles.

Derek looked away at that. Because ouch for pointing out how much he couldn't help himself.

Stiles sighed. "You know, I really wanted you to have a good birthday."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject