you can run on for a long time...

BUT ( s o o n e r ) OR ( l a t e r ) God'll cut you DOWN. indie derek hale roleplay blog \\ semi-selective // pre-season four

[epiloguetm]

dead & gone so long  |  derek

[awolfinamask]

→‌     camden            !

       CAMDEN’S HANDS SCRUB OVER HIS FACE. he’s still reeling a little from the reality of actually being back in beacon hills. after a couple years at war, and an incomprehensible amount of time held hostage, and another nine months in a rehabilitation facility, it doesn’t quite seem real. none of this seems real, which is perhaps why he has chosen to take a minute on the curb, as opposed to persevering in order to consume even more information  —-  he’s close to information overload.  ( nine months, and camden’s father didn’t pick up the phone once. )

      the voice is unfamiliar, but the nickname, the simple shortening of his name, something that used to be so common in his high school days, is something he hasn’t heard in years. in fact, the last time he heard it was probably during ten-year-old isaac’s goodbye. ever since then, it’s been, lahey this, private that. his head snaps towards the sound, eager to find the owner of the voice. cerulean eyes land on familiar hazel ones that don’t quite seem to belong to the body they’re in, but upon further inspection, camden begins to find similarities between this man and the boy he grew up with. the nose is the same, and the furrowed brow is the same, and the voice  —-  it may be a little deeper and a little gruffer, but…

    “derek?” he barks out a laugh in surprise and quickly scrambles to his feet, grinning at the man before him. “shit, man. you, like… grew up.”

     DEREK’S INCREDULOUS EXPRESSION MELTS entirely when camden says his name. the laugh that accompanies it has derek taking a half-step forward, like his body can’t wait to further confirm that this is, in fact, CAMDEN. and there’s a very real and wide grin that spreads over his face, and his eyes light up. it’s like the california sun is just a little brighter, standing outside the station. ( the station—where so many hearts have been broken, where so much death and destruction have wracked the residents of beacon hills. the station, now, is someplace good, and he’s thankful for it. ) 

     derek can’t help but smile, can’t help but scoff—but chuckle in disbelief. there’s something that makes him feel absolutely giddy about seeing camden again. it’s been so long, it’s almost as if derek is reverting back to a way he hasn’t been since high school—since BEFORE paige died, really. there’s just so much RELIEF, here. derek is safe with cam, and it’s a kind of safety he genuinely thought he’d never feel again.

     “you’re still wearing that stupid jacket, huh?” derek quips. he opens his arms and pulls cam into his chest. he squeezes the back of cam’s neck briefly but comfortingly and buries his smile in his shoulder. when he pulls away, he’s still beaming. “what are you DOING here?”

[stilesism]

lights out.   |   awolfinamask

[awolfinamask]

→    ‌         stiles             !

         XIUHCOATL SNORTS IN RESPONSE to derek’s indignant response, and they casually leap onto the kitchen island to perch there, as though they aren’t in the middle of a fight to the death with an alpha werewolf. they lounge back on their hands and watch calmly as derek stares at them, squinting  —-  they assume that he’s struggling to see through the head injury; stiles is doing a good job of keeping quiet. they grin slowly, and lean forward to get a better look, resting their elbows on stiles’s thighs, letting their hands hang between their knees.

        blood drips from the pinkie finger extended from the closed fist.  –  I.

       “i’m not the one who grows fangs and claws and monstrous sideburns,” they reply late, but pleased with themself nonetheless. “at least i was a human, once upon a time.  —-  you weren’t.”

       they remain still for a long moment, something that stiles could never do, and then reaches behind them for the disregarded knife, eyeing it carefully, before they lick the remaining blood directly from the blade, eyes closing as though the taste is to die for. reflexively, they close the fist that stiles is controlling, and shake it out, as though there’s a cramp in the muscles.  –  they think nothing of it.

      sighing dramatically, they twirl the knife between their fingers and purr, “y’know… this kid isn’t usually my type. i much prefer petite blondes.  —-  but! when he followed me, i thought that was pretty ballsy, and when he tried to fight me? in this body? i thought that was…” honorable? courageous? “–pathetic. kid practically asked for it.”

          DEREK SWALLOWS HARD OVER THE DRY PAIN IN HIS THROAT. he inhales quietly, slowly but surely regaining his composure. he watches with careful eyes as stiles’s crimson hand changes shape. it’s a slow and shaky movement as the pinky unfolds and points at the floor. it’s as if it’s... unstable, almost: a glacier moving forward, pressing against the opposing force of the land it slices through. half of derek’s psyche writes off that movement as the demon getting further acclimated in stiles’s body. the other half—the part NOT driven by logic, but by intuition and instinct—tells him it’s safe to believe this motion is an oversight on xi’s part. that inkling of hope in derek’s throbbing chest is confirmed when xi wrings stiles’s hand out like a dishcloth. something larger is going on here, and derek can sense it. 

          his expression hard and knowing, the wolf props himself up on his elbows. xi runs stiles’s mouth as derek grimaces at the pain woven into his vertebrae. a fleeting thought passes through the channel of his mind and he hopes inwardly that injuries sustained by demons don’t have some kind of hoax on them. this is going to be significantly more difficult if his body isn’t healing as he’s fighting, as he’s moving forward. he knows they’re just getting started. 

          “yeah, y’know,” derek says, pitching forward with a grunt to push himself up off the ground. he has one hand on a denim knee and the other pressed to the floor of the loft for support. he swallows again, groans softly as he stands.

          “y’know, MY MOTHER ALWAYS TOLD ME NOT TO PLAY WITH MY FOOD.” 

          he manages to sarcastically raise his eyebrows, coming off as far more sturdy than he feels. he knows that this act is the most important thing right now, though——the more xi is distracted, the easier it will be for stiles to gain control. playing into xi’s thirst to conquer an impressive creature is a risky move, but he’s done it before. he needs to bring it home now, and a pseudo alpha werewolf power trip is going to be what has to happen next. so derek shrugs his jacket off his shoulders and tosses it seemingly haphazardly onto his bed to cover the book. 

          “not because it was  c r u e l   or   h e a r t l e s s  , ” derek continues. he straightens out his shirt and dusts himself off, then meet’s xi’s eyes again. “but because it gives them a chance to GET AWAY.”

[stilesism]

lights out.   |   awolfinamask

[awolfinamask]

→‌              stiles               !

       THE CHALLENGE INTRIGUES XIUHCOATL, and they wonder if perhaps derek has finally unleashed himself, finally ready to fight back. the hands gripping xi’s upper arms are weaker than anticipated, and they begin to question whether they underestimated him, or if he was simply pulling punches. and then they’re gliding across the floor, and the wall impacts their spine. they growl in pain and frustration, and they note that if derek had thrown much harder, stiles’s spine would have been broken.  good to know.

        as they get to their feet, they press the heel of their palm to their temple, grimacing just a little, before letting out another growl. “don’t YOU start,” they spit, referencing stiles, who seemed to be causing a little pain – or at least some pressure – just by fighting against them. shaking their head quickly, they meet derek’s gaze again and make their way towards him again, their hips swaying slightly with confidence. they move just slightly faster than stiles can, and they wrap a hand around derek’s throat once again, using more pressure than the first time. they use the leverage to lift derek and let him fall to the ground on his back, their hand not losing contact with his throat once.

       “d’you know… i know everything he knows. i know what you want him to know. i know that your girlfriend burned your whole family to death, and i know that you tore out the throat of the only family member you had left,” they spit in his face, “now… where’s THAT derek? where’s that monster?”

       they use their grip on his throat to lift his head and send it right back into the ground; the sound of his skull bouncing off the loft floor making stiles cringe, even from the recesses of his own mind.

       “and STILES,” they purr, drawing out the word unnecessarily, “well… he’s just a lost cause. it’s gotta be rough being the only useless friend, huh?  —-  and then he goes and gets possessed.  what kinda luck is that?”

      with one final squeeze against derek’s throat, they let him go and rise to their full height again and begin to saunter away towards the kitchen again, hands crossed behind their back in a show of faux-serenity. if derek looks closely, he’d be able to see that while one hand is holding the wrist of the other, the other hand is in a fist, excluding the index finger, which is separate, and bent at the knuckle.  X. stiles is as quiet in the back of his mind as possible, focusing all of his energy on controlling just one hand.

          DEREK’S BREATH IS GONE.  he lies on his back, all but tearing his lungs apart in an attempt to fill them with oxygen. as he gasps for air, he worries how much more his respiratory system can realistically handle. a pain radiates outward from his shoulder blades, down his spine, to pool in his lower back. it’s hot: a fresh, white pain. something’s off, somewhere. the alpha groans and sputters. he grabs stiles’s wrist, HARD. 

          “you’re the monster here,” derek croaks. he gasps sharply. “not ME.” 

          and if he was dizzy BEFORE, derek is completely dazed now. the reverberation of the floor against his cranium is disorienting, jarring—enough that he becomes confused. he forgets, just for a moment, where he is, what he’s doing, why he feels the way he does. his whole world spins on an axis he can’t find as he stares blankly up at the ceiling of the loft, trying to find his breath. ( and trying to find his brain. )

         inside the cavity of his skull, which suddenly seems too big for his mind to fit comfortably inside, his brain rattles, vibrates. his ears buzz. and derek can hear the echo of xi speaking, but he can’t make heads or tails of what’s actually being said. he’s lost, for the time being. drunkenly, derek directs his vision to the figure in the kitchen, and he’s struck by an overwhelming sense of dread. 

          then he remembers. he watches xi as he floats away from him. the wolf tries to focus, tries to think, tries to conjure up a plan to get the book into his hands. he tries to anticipate the next inevitable attack, either on himself or on stiles, and—... huh.

          derek squints and winces. his vision is so blurred right now that he can’t tell if it’s the blow to his head or not, but stiles’s finger looks contorted. nobody walks like that—rests their hands like that; demon, human, wolf, they just... don’t. 

[epiloguetm]

dead & gone so long  |  derek

[awolfinamask]

→            camden           !

          AS SOON AS CAMDEN STEPS FOOT OUT OF THE CAB, he’s met with the sight of his old house, all boarded up, and just a few years shy of being completely dilapidated. a frown creases his brow, he throws a glance to his left and to his right, double checking that he’s at the right house, and he turns to hand the driver a handful of bills. he wanders closer to the property slowly, eyeing the mailbox closely  —- still says LAHEY.   ( camden isn’t sure whether or not that is a good sign. )   he swallows the anxiety beginning to rise in his throat, and moves towards the front windows, attempting to remove the boards, to no avail.

          he should have known that it was weird that his superiors couldn’t contact his family to tell them of his non-death.

         with a sigh of defeat, he hauls his duffel bag farther up on his shoulder, and begins his walk into town, his feet navigating the streets he grew up on as though he had never left. he finds himself slowing as he nears the sheriff station, and he takes a moment to sit on the edge of the sidewalk, his feet in the road, his duffel dumped casually beside him. elbows rest on his knees as he stares out across the street, attempting to quell the anxiety bubbling in his chest.           does he even want to know?

         DEREK SLAPS A TEN DOLLAR BILL down on the table, grabs his jacket hastily off the back of his chair, and abandons his freshly poured coffee in its mug. he’s in such a rush, he almost leaves his phone behind, but grabs it clumsily on his way out. he ducks out of the café and heads down the street, following a block behind the figure he believes to be a lahey. he’s older, if it’s him, which bodes well for the possibility of it really being camden. his hair is cut differently, but he walks the same way, holds himself the same way, and—if derek is remembering correctly—the man he’s trailing after is wearing the jacket talia gave him at his graduation party. 

          still, after all of the signs, derek still isn’t sure it’s camden—isn’t sure it can be him. and, honestly, after everything beacon hills has thrown in his path... an apparition of a friend he thought he’d lost somewhere in the fire of his life isn’t such a far stretch. but when, finally, the man stops and sits himself down on the curb outside the station, derek catches a sideview of his face. he swallows hard, blinks, and leans forward, disbelief etched into his face. 

          “—cam...?”

[stilesism]

lights out.   |   awolfinamask

[awolfinamask]

→‌            stiles            !

         XIUHCOATL IS NOT IMPRESSED by the strength derek is currently using against them. the alpha is still holding back, still too hesitant, still reluctant to hurt the fragile-boned boy. it’s almost admirable, almost honourable  —-  almost heroic, they think in a sort of patronising manner, head tilted to one side as though they find it… cute.

        and then there it is! derek’s eyes are glowing red, and they know that he’s moments away from giving in entirely. their own eyes glow with mischief, and the dance in the direction of the abandoned knife, pooling a small puddle of thick, red blood on the counter-top, to match the trickles running down derek’s throat. as the alpha begins to taunt them, xi grins in response, tightening their grip for a long moment, before stepping away entirely, allowing their eyes to cloud over black once more, but this time it doesn’t dissipate; it remains thick and dark and haunting. they’re grinning wide enough to show almost all of stiles’s teeth, and their stance is ready to pounce.

       “you think i’m hiding behind a mask?   —-   that’s RICH,” they spit back. “i’m just using this boy as a meat-suit, which is about as useful as he’ll ever be.   and we ALL know it !”

       with that, they make a dash for the alpha, clutching the front of his shirt in both hands, and whirling to thrust him in the direction of the nearest wall, immediately releasing one hand to send it flying right back to connect with the alpha’s jaw. their grin is still firmly fixated on their features, to an unsettling degree, never wavering once.

      “hit me with your best shot, pup.”

          DEREK ABSORBS THE BLOW.   he finds himself grounded in the pain, in the ache radiating through his skull. the pain is familiar. the smell of stiles’s blood on his skin fuels him, drives his eyes to center again on xi’s expression—on the pooling black where amber irises should’ve been. xi is so dark, so unwilling to allow even the moonlight to glint off of the blackness. and until now, derek had been able to see stiles in every move xi made. he could see him underneath, lingering, some semblance of self there on his features—behind his eyes, someplace, even when none of his movements belonged to him. but now? it’s only xi—it’s only derek and his anchor and a demon. not hurting stiles is no longer an option if derek is going to save him, and he sees that now. 

          luckily for both stiles and derek, though, anger is his anchor. anger is a place where he can see clearly, where he can think rationally, where he can act deliberately, despite any initial impulse. and right now, he knows xi is HERE for this. he knows he’s playing into what they want, but something has to give. at least if derek is the driving force here, there won’t be knives involved, he rationalizes. stiles will heal from bruises. he’ll heal from broken hands. from broken ribs. from—

          derek stills. he directs his attention back to xi and forcefully takes hold of stiles’s arms. his fingers grip the vessel’s lower biceps, the space right above the crook of his elbows, and he bares his teeth. he feels the anger, feels the dread. i’m sorry, stiles. derek clears his throat with a growl, but his voice still comes out as if it’s being raked over rocks. 

          “—‘s that all you GOT?” 

          and he hurls stiles’s body across the loft. he watches as it slides smoothly across the floor to collide with the far wall. it’s now or never, he knows. they’re in the endgame now. the wolf strides forward across the loft toward xi and remembers the book on the bed, but he doesn’t approach it. not yet. he has to find a way to subdue xi long enough to find a ritual he’s only hoping is disclosed in that book. he considers the phone in his pocket, but knows xi will disarm him before he can even get scott on the line, so he does what he can. HE BUYS TIME. 

          “you think you know me? think you know him?” his voice is gritty and broken. 

          “YOU DON’T.”

[stilesism]

lights out.   |   awolfinamask

[awolfinamask]

→           stiles             !

         XIUHCOATL WATCHES DEREK CAREFULLY, relishing in the way that the alpha begins to shut off – but, when their taunts don’t garner the response they’re looking for, they offer a petulant sigh, accompanied by what could be a shadow of a pout. they bring the knife to eye level and inspect it closely, humming as though in deep thought. they move and twist the knife in front of their eyes, watching as the blood trickles and sprays flecks on the floor and congeals in the wooden handle.

        “what i want, derek, is a little entertainment,” they answer simply, using the knife to gesture vaguely through the air between them. then, another sigh is thrown derek’s way as x asks, “are all of the boy’s friends this dull? or do you think i can get one of them R I L E D   U P ?” taking a confident step towards the alpha, they add, “or… maybe we can squeeze some fun out of you yet.”

       they let the words hang in the air for a moment, before they toss the knife carelessly to one side and instead step right up into derek’s personal space, their hand snaking around his throat. leaning in towards his ear, they murmur, “whaddya say, wolf? do you think anyone around here’ll be any FUN?   —-   or… will i have to start KILLING PEOPLE?” the hand around derek’s throat flexes for a moment, loosening its grip for just a split second  —-  definitely not xiuhcoatl’s call. they frown for a brief second before gritting their teeth and doubling down on the pressure around the alpha’s neck.

       stiles is eerily quiet in the back of his own mind; he has been since xi begun to talk about others.

      after a brief moment of thought, and a shallow dive into the boy’s mind reveals another piece of delicious information. “the sheriff? you don’t say. well, that’s… interesting.  –  maybe i should pay HIM a visit, huh derek?”

         DEREK IS SURPRISED AT THE SUDDEN STRENGTH exhibited in stiles’s grip. the force applied is more than what he should be physically capable of, and he knows it. the pressure on his throat—the sudden change in the air—is more than enough to jar him, to bring him back into his body. derek’s eyes widen in dread and his teeth grind down on each other. his canines dig into his lips as he thrashes against the pressure on his airway. he desperately attempts to pry stiles's hand from its place, seemingly immovable, cemented to his neck. 

          then the pressure lets up, just for a moment, and derek gasps. quickly pooling phlegm gags him and he drags in a gravelly breath with impressive force. ( it makes an awful sound. ) he presses both hands into stiles's chest, pushing hard, firmly, on his shoulder blades. derek is conscious of injuring him, despite xi’s determination to strangle him. and, speak of the demon, xi tightens up again, and derek can't breathe. the blood from stiles's hand is dripping down his throat, cold against his skin—too cold for it to be blood, and yet... 

          “no,” he grinds out. “sho-ow yourself, you—...ba-astard.” he tries to swallow but he chokes and gasps again. his feet slide against the tile, and finally—FINALLY—he gives in. he eyes xi, and lets his eyes go red one more time. he smiles, a wide grin, and he lets the rage in. 

          "gonna hide behind a mask?” he taunts. 

                                                                       “come OUT and PLAY.” 

[stilesism]

lights out.   |   awolfinamask

[awolfinamask]

→  ‌          stiles             !

          STILES STAGGERS FORWARD INTO DEREK’S ARMS like he’s the only lifeline the boy has.  ( he is ! )  he has NEVER been good with blood, but now? it’s gushing out of him like he’s never seen before, and the pain alone is enough to make him feel faint. somewhere, in the back of his mind, he’s cursing himself for being so pathetically human. he’s gasping and groaning with each and every breath, trying to keep his knees from buckling entirely under his weight. and then there’s relief! stiles notes the ease in pain before he processes derek’s veins turning black against his skin. ( he thinks that maybe he might cry in relief ! )

        and then derek is requesting his attention  —-  and stiles swears, if this wasn’t life or death, he’d be berating the alpha for not listening to him  —-  first throwing his name out in a similar tone to the one he usually uses when barking stiles’s name  –  a healthy mix of panic and desperation; stiles rarely hears his name without it, these days.  ( in a different situation, it would have made stiles chuckle bitterly. ) but now, there’s no time for reprieve as derek presses him for information, for the name of the demon inside his body. he scours his brain for any trace of the name, anything at all that can give derek a hint as to how to get this thing away from them, but comes up short.

          “no, NO !” he cries, screwing his eyes shut in an attempt to stop xiuhcoatl from taking over again. “xi—-” he growls through the gutteral sound that tears from his throat with the effort of trying to hold them off, and his eyes flash open just in time to meet derek’s gaze, before they drown in liquid darkness once more, and a smirk dances across his features.

        “come on, derek,” they purr, slipping out of derek’s grasp to lean against the refrigerator, “you should really stop underestimating me.  —-  and, while you’re at it, i’d suggest you stop overestimating the boy, too.” with that, they twist the knife one more time, before snatching it from the wound in their hand and twirling it casually between their fingers. “he’s not strong enough to help you beat me. he’s just a boy  —-  a human boy, at that. completely expendable.    ——    truly, i don’t understand why you even care !  i mean, from the boy’s memories, you don’t even seem to like him very much.”

          STILES’S FACE CONTORTS as he searches for the information derek asked for. the wolf, in sheer desperation, grips the boy’s wrist tighter. derek angles stiles’s face towards him, his thumb pressed to his cheek. derek wants to say so much, wants to ask so much, but all he can do is sit there with his wild heart slamming itself against his ribcage like a battering ram. think, he wills stiles. think, please. FIND it.

          and then he’s crying out no, NO! and derek has to fight back tears pricking at his eyes. and it really isn’t personal—it isn’t, it’s that stiles is collateral damage. losing stiles will be another death on his back. losing stiles will be one more person he couldn’t protect. one more person he should’ve been able to keep safe. one more person gone because of his prideful rise to power. one more fuck-up. one more mistake that can’t be unmade. one more reason to stay awake at night. one more familiar face mangled and warped by death. and derek’s chest burns. he blinks to clear his vision. 

          the alpha cradles stiles’s face in his palm, veins on both hands now gone dark and inky. maybe if he can take away enough pain, he can help stiles find the name of the demon... and then—and then—

          —and then he’s gone again.

          as xi moves away from him, echoing in his head, derek hears stiles’s cries. he hears them as he watches xi dig the knife into stiles’s palm again, and derek feels numb, disoriented. his arms feel too light. his hands are empty. reality stuns him into a dissociative state. unconsciously, he rests his back against the island, and he stares out ahead of him as xi taunts him. then he looks at his palms. he’s bloodied with crimson stains that don’t belong to him. 

          and derek is afraid.

          he looks up at xi, wan, already tired.

          “what do you want?” he asks. “why are you here?”

[stilesism]

lights out.   |   awolfinamask

[awolfinamask]

→           stiles              !

          DEREK’S GASP ONLY FURTHER PROVES XIUHCOATL’S THEORY.  —-  he’s far too righteous to let a squishy human die. at least… this squishy human. at the sound, xi twists stiles’s lips into a smirk so slimy it’s almost a grimace; especially on stiles’s innocent features. their fingers flex and dance on the handle of the knife, and they maintain’s eye contact with derek, watching every tic and change and falter. oh, how they love this. the panic, desperately masked by makeshift anger —- it’s xi’s favourite kind of pantomime.

          they watch carefully as derek inches closer, narrowing their eyes in response to his shots in the dark. it’s always interesting, xi thinks, to witness how people respond to them.  most people tend to just scream and beg.  ( but, then again, most people are HUMAN. ) their eyes flash with delight.

        “oh – you want to know that the boy’s alive?” they’re almost salivating now, with their next move handed to them on a plate by the alpha. “are you SURE about that?” they ask, with faux-concern, twisting the knife in the wound made on the boy’s palm. “just remember, derek, you asked for this.”

        with that, the demon recedes into the background of stiles’s mind, idling just below the surface, as the boy comes out  H O W L I N G  in pain. his eyes are screwing shut and his knees buckling beneath him as he grips onto his own wrist in an attempt to quell the pain. he allows himself only a brief moment to himself, leaning against the kitchen island to keep himself upright as he makes desperate eye contact with the alpha. “derek,” he almost growls, gritting his teeth against the pain, “RUN.”

       DEREK BREAKS.   watching the blood drip through stiles’s fingers had weakened him, sure, but the sound–––God, the SOUND–––that erupts when xi retreats... it wrecks him. ALL BETS ARE OFF. it’s as if derek has been in a stupor until this point: he understood what was happening, the situation, all of it, entirely in the abstract. nothing was concrete–it seemed like a vision, something that could’ve been construed entirely by an overactive brain. but when derek sees the pain, hears the pain... when he sees the absolute terror in stiles eyes, he can’t keep it together. he buckles. 

         he pitches forward, legs like fire underneath him, to catch stiles in his arms. he cradles him against his shoulder and instinctively tries to take his pain away, gripping stiles’s wrist over his slender hand. his veins darken, and he hisses a bit. THERE’S SO MUCH BLOOD. the wolf searches stiles’s face with fervor, shakes his head, closes the mouth that had fallen open. he can’t digest what’s going on, not really, but he know he has to act. a burst of air escapes his lips, then his words tumble forward in a slur. 

         “stiles, i need a NAME! a name,” he says panickedly. he doesn’t remember much from the horror stories that peter used to tell him, but he remembers that much–that a name can go a long way. “i need you to tell me a name. FOCUS!” he holds stiles’s face in one hand, forces him to meet his eyes. and he’s there. he’s there. derek’s eyes widen.

        “STILES!” 

[stilesism]

lights out.   |   awolfinamask

[awolfinamask]

→‌           stiles           !

        STILES IS SCREAMING, STILL. cries of concern for derek’s safety mixed with pleading with xi, to just leave, to leave derek alone and get far out of town. his pleas, of course, fall on deaf ears. x isn’t listening, and is in no mood for negotiation. in fact, derek’s demands cause the demon to scoff callously, twirling the knife between their fingertips. the smirk on their face disregards any hint of frustration though  —-  derek is playing right into their hands. in an all-too-quick motion, xi has the tip of the knife pointed at stiles’s abdomen, the tip resting just hard enough on the skin to make an indent an accidental slip, and it could be fatal.

       “ah - ah - ah !  not so fast, wolf,” xiuhcoatl PURRS, “i don’t think I wanna play nice either.  —-  not anymore… not when you’ve been so RUDE to me.” they grin sadistically, digging the tip of the knife deep enough to cause pinpricks of pain, but not yet deep enough to cut the skin – at least not through stiles’s shirt.

     as though noticing it for the first time, xi’s eyes flicker towards the spiral staircase leading up, and curiosity piques. “does that lead to the roof? i wonder —- how does a one-hundred-pound boy survive from a height this tall?   —— see, my gut tells me he doesn’t.

          “OR !” x continues, monologuing like a bad bond villain, stiles quips. “what if we see what happens to a soft, weak little human body when we RILE UP A WEREWOLF!”

         they hum thoughtfully, twirling the knife again as they begin to meander around the loft idly once more, truly enjoying their invasion. almost absently, as though they aren’t aware of what they’re doing, they begin to drive the blade of the knife into stiles’s palm. “what do you think, derek? would the boy survive an attack from YOU?”

          DEREK AUDIBLY GASPS when the knife touches stiles’s abdomen. it’s an involuntary sound—one he knows shows undeniable vulnerability—and he hisses inwardly at himself, then he directs his attention back to xi. he watches wordlessly as the knife presses into stiles’s cotton shirt. he is absolutely still as xi’s eyes wander to the staircase and they taunt him. beads of sweat form at the base of derek’s neck. stiles is so fragile, so soft, with bones SO easily breakable, like that of a bird, and suddenly, derek’s jacket is too tight on his arms—on his chest—and he takes a short breath, softens, and withdraws momentarily. 

         “demons don’t PLAY nice,” derek grinds out. he sounds solid, and he’s relieved long enough to shake his head at xi. “i know you  t h i n k  you have nothing to lose,” he says, moving forward again, carefully. “but you’re wrong.” 

          and everything in him wants to charge, to tackle xi, to see if he can at least keep them pinned long enough to restrain them, somehow. but derek holds back. he waits for a plan to come to him. ( operating on impulse never works well for him, he’s learning. ) had this happened a year ago, he’d’ve attacked already, but he’s learned patience and deliberation from scott and from lydia and from stiles. so he waits. he takes another breath and hopes his voice comes out as strongly as he thinks it will. 

          “you expect me to believe he’s alive?” derek ventures. the ghost of a smile passes over his face—one that’s more nervous than anything, but he knows it’ll be perceived as suggestive, even playful. it’ll be perceived as one of those smiles that alphas tend to give when they’re power-hungry. and this is a risky move, he knows, but stiles is already in the line of fire, and derek isn’t sure what else he can do right now. 

          “p r o v e   i t   to me,” he says, tilting his chin toward the demon. “show me he’s alive.”

[rppanda]

Send a number to find my muse...

Sleeping at a table.

Singing in private.

Attempting to kill a spider, and failing.

Crying laughing.

Doing something embarrassing.

Getting chores done.

Loopy with lack of sleep.

Post-wisdom teeth removal.

Hiding a broken object.

Covered in blood.

In a fit of anger.

Throwing a tantrum.

Hiding in a closet.

Stuck somewhere with your muse.

Muffling their cries.

On a swing-set alone.

Feeling lonely.

Cuddling their pillow.

Staring at your muse.

Recovering from throwing up.

Stabbing a body repeatedly.

Somewhere they’re not supposed to be.

Screaming by themselves.

Holding a wound.

Dead.

[awolfinamask]

[ 📲 • sms ] —— i s2g i’m punching you so hard the next time i see you.

[ 📲 • sms ] —— 

[awolfinamask]

[ 📲 • sms ] —— you take forever and a day to reply.

[ 📲 • sms ] —— crazy concept: try calling. 

[stilesism]

lights out.   |   awolfinamask

[awolfinamask]

→            stiles            !

         ONE OF STILES’S EYEBROWS QUIRK IN INTRIGUE as xiuhcoatl registers the anger resonating from the alpha in waves. they actually lick their lips in response, savouring how delicious his anger feels. once again, they roll their shoulders contentedly, and wander idly towards the kitchen, this time slipping around the island to enter the kitchen fully, fingers dancing in mid-air as they look around as casually as they possibly can. their eyes light up as they find what they’re looking for  —-  a block of nice, shiny, SHARP knives.

        as derek bellows across the loft, x spins quickly to inspect the situation. stiles is beginning to scream as loudly as he possibly can inside of his own head, and xi begins to let out a growl of their own, before they cut themself short, eyebrows raising in feigned innocence.

       “oh, no…” they whisper, their expression one of shock and sadness, “stiles, i’m not going to let him hurt you  —-  i promise.”  behind their back, the reach for one of the knives and hold it firmly in one hand as they advance on the angered wolf once more.  “no, don’t be scared. he won’t hurt you.”

        x knows as well as stiles does that stiles’s fear is for derek’s safety rather than his own  —-  poor, self-sacrificing bastard.  but that doesn’t mean they can’t attempt to convince derek otherwise, does it?

          IN XI’S PRE-OCCUPATION with derek’s anger, they turn stiles’s back to the wolf for a moment. derek pounces on the opportunity and manages to silently slip the book he needs from its home on the shelf. with shocking dexterity, he replaces it with american gods. silently and almost impossibly quickly, he places the leather-bound book on the mattress where the novel once was. he eyes the cover of it, then returns his gaze to xi, hoping they won’t notice the difference. derek tracks them as they find the knives. he swallows hard, and again, his stomach drops, this time to his knees. 

          don’t hurt him, he thinks. wolves heal. stiles doesn’t. scott would never forgive derek for not protecting stiles, and he’d never forgive himself for not being there to fight off the demon with the alpha. the sheriff would never understand what happened either, would never hear an alternate reality where derek wasn’t to blame. the wolf would be tried for murder, on top of everything else. ( and apart from that, derek would never forgive himself. stiles is a kid: an innocent wrapped up in a mess of a situation he has no control over. losing paige was enough blood on his hands for a lifetime. he can’t do it again. )

          the sound that erupts from xi makes the hairs on derek’s arms stand up. the accompanying words are no more relieving, much to derek’s dismay. he doesn’t know what to think, or what to do. he’s working with what he’s got, and what he’s got is an active, pending threat. it wouldn’t take much for xi to lethally injure stiles with that knife, and all of them know it. derek feels it, the danger. his only solace is that the growl that tore from stiles’s chest sounded genuine, and derek believes that xi speaking aloud to stiles isn’t a strategic device. he’s in there. he could be okay. hypothetically.

          the alpha moves closer to xi, away from the book. his face begins to warp. he shifts. 

          “put it. down,” he growls, narrowing his crimson eyes. “i TOLD YOU, i don’t PLAY NICE.”

[stilesism]

lights out.   |   awolfinamask

[awolfinamask]

→‌‌            stiles             !

          XI SMIRKS IN AMUSEMENT as derek challenges them once again. now it’s their turn to move. hands still lounging casually in stiles’s pockets, x begins to stroll around the loft at ease, taking in the shelves of books, the single side of the bed that has been slept in, the single coffee cup on the island  —-  derek seems to be just as much of a hermit as stiles thinks he is. they wander absently over to the bed and pick up the book on the nightstand, flicking through the pages with no intent to do anything but disturb derek’s items.

         “well, no…” xi replies truthfully, spinning on their heel to face the alpha once again, “that would be no fun, derek.   —-  you really have no idea about me, do you?” they sigh woefully, and toss the book onto the bed as they stroll back towards the centre of the loft. “i have access to the boy’s memories. i know what you are, and yet i’m still here,” they respond, with a joyful lilt to their tone. “do you think i’m looking for an easy fight?”

       derek’s final warning sends a shiver of excitement down xi’s spine, and they make it known with a physical shiver and a yelp of delight, mischief glinting in stiles’s eyes, “now you’re talking. tell me more, wolf boy.”

          DEREK STANDS RIGIDLY as xi moves toward his bed, toward the shelves. he feels entirely lost, out of his element. with other wolves, other monsters, the fight would’ve been over by now. possession, however, offers an entirely other array of concerns. how do you destroy a monster when you can’t harm the body it resides in? especially when that body is so... human? the alpha knows his options are limited, and that he has to move quickly, before xi does something that can’t be undone. yet, here he stands, several yards between he and the demon, plotting a move.

           as xi tosses his copy of american gods onto the mattress, derek’s eyes find the bookcase. he scans quickly over titles he’s read and re-read, and there—there!—the fourth book from the end, is what he’s looking for. it takes everything in him to suppress the relief in his stomach. that release of pressure is quickly replaced with rage. it’s as if he has half a bottle of whiskey swimming in his abdomen.

          do you think i’m looking for an easy fight?

          “i think you’re looking for me,” derek says. he sees how much xi gets off on the fury rattling his frame, so he lets it in. he lets it take over, juuust for a moment—juuust as a distraction. his eyes flash red. he growls, deep, from his chest.

          “I WON’T ASK AGAIN,” he roars. “let him go,                                                                   or i’ll rip your FUCKING throat out.”

[stilesism]

lights out.   |   awolfinamask

[awolfinamask]

→‌‌          stiles             !

          XI RAISES AN EYEBROW SLOWLY; a challenge. regardless, their stance remains rigid and unbothered by the alpha’s circling, and an amused smirk stretches over their lips as derek speaks, however confident the wolf may sound. “now… that’s where you’re wrong, derek.  —-  i know that you’re derek hale, brother of laura, son of talia. nephew of peter, who seems like a DELIGHT, by the way,” they respond joyfully, now turning slowly on the spot to keep eye contact with derek as he moves. “the hale pack is, apparently, important. and yet, i don’t see any little werewolf betas running to save you or the boy.”

          they pause for a moment, rifling through stiles’s memories like a trashy tabloid, before adding, “oh, and an alpha too! it must be my lucky day.”

           x juts out their lower lip in a show of faux hurt as derek spits threats in their direction. they come to a standstill once more, all traces of amusement falling away from their face as they glower at him, clenching their own jaw as they do so. “y’know, derek, you’re not very good at the whole,” they gesture vaguely in the air around them, “niceties thing.  —-  you might want to tell the SHERIFF to appoint a new welcoming committee.    ——–   how about we play nice? for the boy’s sake.”

          DEREK STOPS.   his blood runs cold when x mentions laura. it freezes over when his mother’s name rolls out of stiles’s mouth. it’s when peter is mentioned that derek realizes just what he’s looking at. the odor of sulfur should’ve given it away, he knows, but he always thought that demons were made-up entities: stories to scare kids into going to bed on time. he figured it was legend, like urban myths—like angels or saints or god himself. and somehow, he thinks it’ll take more than a line of salt to stop this motherfucker. 

          somewhere in the loft, derek knows there’s a book his father gave him. it’s bound in dark leather, sealed with the family crest. there has to be something in there that would help exorcise x from stiles’s frame. there are spells, tricks, tips, personal accounts of who knows how many unknown entities. there are articles on poisons, on their respective antidotes. there are endless pages of botanical studies, various notes, drawings, diagrams—it was like the family textbook. he prays it didn’t find its way out of the loft: that it’s still somewhere in his bookcase and not in the vault. getting to it now would be difficult, he knows, but finding the information he needs with a demon on his back... that’d be the hardest part. 

          “i hope you don’t expect me to roll over on my belly,” derek growls. he tilts his head to the left, sizing up the demon. he listens. smirks. 

          “i don’t play nice. DON’T test me.”

[awolfinamask]

about why.   |   stilesism

[awolfinamask]

→·            stiles           !

             AND IT’S AT THIS POINT THAT STILES BEGINS TO FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE.  the discomfort is mild  –  it stems almost entirely from his own actions; probing too far with the questions and getting the whole truth should be expected by now. but he didn’t take into account how off-kilter it would feel to hear derek speak so honestly and so candidly. to him, of all people. he rolls his shoulders just a little, and shuffles from foot to foot, toeing at the floor in an attempt to distract from the sincerity in the room. he even moves away, busying himself with whatever is closest to him, which just so happens to be rearranging a perfectly neat stack of papers.

            ‘ selfless, ’  he scoffs under his breath, shaking his head to himself.  ‘ i’m not selfless, ’  he adds, a little louder, this time directly pointed derek, even though he most likely heard the first sneer.   ‘ but who’s gonna keep you both alive if i don’t? ’   this is asked with a chuckle; he needs derek to know he’s kidding; he needs derek to roll along with the sarcasm,    just break the tension,    he almost can’t BREATHE  !    he swallows down the awkward tension and spins on his heel to face derek once more,  ‘ you got it.  —-  you can trust me. ’

          IT'S UNCLEAR WHETHER DEREK IS MORE OR LESS UNCOMFORTABLE AFTER STILES SPEAKS AGAIN.   he respects stiles's attempt to break the tension, but he can't help but retaliate with a glare. he doesn't even mean it, not really. this is about as much as he could’ve asked for from stiles, given the nature of the conversation. ( and of course, the ONE person he elects to trust is also the most difficult person to have a conversation with. )

          ‘ yeah, ’ derek scoffs. ‘ the kid that got thrown in the taffy puller is gonna protect the pack. ’ the quip is dry, but he allows a half-bitter half-smile to the floorboards as he lowers himself into a chair. he lifts his head to meet stiles’s eyes momentarily, then he sighs and drops his head into his hand. his palm is cool against his forehead. 

          ‘ don’t make a big deal out of this. please. ’ 

[stilesism]

lights out.   |   awolfinamask

[awolfinamask]

→‌              stiles                 !

         X STAYS PLANTED FIRMLY TO THE SPOT as derek begins to advance; they aren’t afraid, and they want him to know that. there isn’t so much as a hint of fear or hesitance in their expression or their stance; they are completely rigid.   —-   stronger than stiles has ever been, they note. their spine straightens just a fraction, stacking the vertebrae on top of each other carefully, nudging their shoulders backwards, they puff out their chest in the direction of the alpha. the boy’s voice is alive and kicking in the back of the demon’s head, louder now than when xi first entered. they wonder absently if he’s gathering strength with time, or due to the figure stood in front of them, at xiuhcoatl’s mercy.

         “that, derek, is a good question,” they reply easily, allowing a contented sigh to slip from their lips. “what do YOU think i am?”

          a quick scan of stiles’s memories reveals exactly what xi had anticipated, and they’re grinning gleefully as they reveal the truth  ——  “you’ve never met anything like me before.”

         DEREK CONTINUES TO MOVE FORWARD.   he takes what at least appears to be a confident stride toward xiuhcoatl, carefully observing the changes in stiles’s body language. and that’s all it is now: a body. stiles has become a vessel. he doesn’t belong to himself, even if he is in there, and frankly, derek’s not entirely sure he is. the wolf stares down the barrel of a loaded gun, searching for any sign of familiarity. he fears stiles is somewhere he can’t reach—that he’s irretrievable, even if he can somehow manage to save his body from the creature inhabiting it. 

        “you don’t know me,” derek says. he sounds more sure of himself than he is as he saunters around stiles’s frame, circling methodically. claws threaten to show themselves, to prick from his fingertips as stiles’s spine cracks. derek can’t help but flinch inwardly at how loud the popping sound is. 

         “i’ll figure you out,” he spits. “i’ll kill you if you hurt him.” 

         derek bares his teeth, clenches his jaw. his fangs peek over his bottom lip. he has absolutely no idea what he’s going to do next. stiles is so breakable, so fragile, so young—he’s practically a kid. he’s still gangly, pale: his slender limbs extend in every direction like the hands of a compass. to see them so controlled and manipulated makes the wolf’s stomach turn over. what are his options here? how can he get rid of this... thing? without killing stiles? ( was it even possible? )

          “one bruise. one pulled muscle, and i swear to  G O D   i’ll fucking kill you.”