Stiles (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
skybluejeep) wrote2014-06-24 08:57 am
skybluejeep) wrote2014-06-24 08:57 am
The Dream - TuShanshu Summer Event.
He really hadn't expected to get much out of the ritual. And honestly, he didn't really have much of anything in terms of 'personal item that would survive being immersed in water.' Because he's not putting his phone, his 3DS or his iPod in there, thank you very much.
But his little bonsai azalea that Derek had given him? That would probably suffice. Or at least, one little branch of it. He's not stupid enough to immerse the whole pot. Poor little plant would drown! He did it at high noon, laughed along with the other Foreigners who'd been there, chatted a little with the friendly Kedan in attendance.
That night, he'd gotten the shock of his life. Well, dreaming shock, anyway.
Since coming to Keelai almost a year ago now, Stiles had often had dreams of his father. He'd woken up every time in a sour, depressed mood. He was still desperately homesick, after all. But those dreams were simply that; dreams. Disjointed, careless images thrown up by his unconscious brain. This, however...this was a thing that was in an entirely different class.
"Dad?"
He's in the police station in Beacon Hills, wearing the outfit he'd had on when he'd first arrived on the turtle. He can feel the water squelching in his shoes, from the flood in Derek's loft the night Boyd had died. He feels waterlogged and exhausted, flung back in his own personal timeline to that fateful night. And he's pushing the door to his father's office open after calling his name.
His father looks up from his desk, his own eyes rimmed with red, fatigued with reading over too many reports. But the exhaustion vanishes, replaced with a genuine smile.
"Hi, son. You look like you took a shower with your clothes on. You okay?"
In his dreams, his father had always melted away, vanished before he could get a word in. But now, he was here, and speaking to him, and looking at him. Like it's actually happening. Like it's real. Stiles doesn't even realize he's propelling himself forward, circling the oak desk quickly, and crashing into his father for a tight, tight hug.
His arms feel solid enough, and the surprise on his face is genuine. But then Stiles is just clinging to his father like he's going to vanish at any second. Which is probably the case. As always between them the real emotions aren't spoken aloud, don't show on their faces. But they're in that hug, fingers curling into his father's uniform shirt, the press of his sharp badge cutting into Stiles' chest. His father seems to understand that something weird is going on, and holds his son steadily, letting him shake it out.
"Hi, dad." His voice is surprisingly steady, for all that his body is trembling hard. He has no idea how much longer this vision reality will last, and he doesn't want to spend a second wasting any time. "I love you."
"...I love you too, son."
The sheriff is the one who finally pulls back, putting both hands on Stiles' shoulders, studying him intently. Stiles feels like he's still looking up at him, in spite of the fact that they're about the same height now.
"Talk to me. What's got you so spooked?"
Stiles has always lied to his father. Lied to him about his activities, about Scott's werewolf status, about his involvement with the supernatural shit show that is Beacon Hills. He's built a tower of lies on the foundation of keeping this man safe. But here, in this dream, the lies all fall away, leaving him helpless to keep the truth in check.
"I haven't seen you in almost a year," he says, not really believing the words coming out of his mouth. "And I miss you every single day."
Sheriff Stilinski blinks, cocks his head at his son, and leads him into his chair. The chair behind the desk, not the one in front of it. When Stiles was little, he used to sit in that chair, pretend he was the sheriff, play with the radio and a toy gun. Sitting in this chair makes him feel like he's seven years old again, before his mother died, before everything went to hell.
"Okay, start at the beginning. You haven't seen me in a year? What do you mean?"
His father is treating him like a flighty witness, and it makes Stiles wince a bit. He doesn't need the third degree right now, he just needs his father. So he starts babbling angrily, the truth pouring out of his mouth. He needs to vent his frustration.
"I mean that for the last year, I've been stuck on the back of a giant turtle! Stuck fighting a ridiculous war against an ancient pain in the ass evil that makes Voldemort look like Mickey Mouse. I've been dragged into another world, with hardly any possessions to my name, and watched people come and go out of my life with no control over it! If I didn't have Derek with me, I'd go totally fucking insane."
"...Wait. Derek Hale? Is with you on the back of a giant turtle?"
Stiles rolls his eyes, because of course his father would fixate on that.
"Yes! Guess what, he's my boyfriend, too. And it doesn't even matter that you know that, because this is just a dream and I'll wake up soon and you'll be gone again!"
"Okay, okay. Calm down." The sheriff's hands are back on his shoulders, and he's really studying Stiles now, trying to figure out the nonsense coming out of his mouth. "I'm a little confused, son. I just saw you this morning, before you went to school. So from my point of view, it hasn't been a year at all. Okay? Now, I need you to be honest with me. Have you taken anything tonight?"
"...You think I'm on drugs?"
"Well..."
Stiles flings his arms up, slapping his father's hands away, and bolts up out of the chair to pace the office. Great. He finally opens up, pours out the truth, and his father doesn't believe him.
"I'm not on drugs! Sometimes I wish I were! It'd make things make a hell of a lot more sense, to be totally honest. I could blame the last year of my life on a freakin' hallucination and wake up in a wetpack somewhere. But no, this is really my life, and I'm trying to tell you the truth!"
In his frustration, tears well up in his eyes, and he furiously blinks them back. This is why he didn't tell his father anything, ever. Because he wouldn't believe.
"Stiles. Okay, calm down. Tell me again, from the beginning. Tell me everything you remember. In as close to chronological order as you can."
Seeing the sincerity on his father's face, the willingness to be heard, Stiles relaxes again, and slumps back down in the chair. He starts spilling his guts. About everything. From Scott being bitten to the Kanima to the Alpha pack, to his arrival on Tu Vishan. He does leave out some pertinent details (because even in a very lucid dream, Stiles isn't spelling out his sexual life to his father), but the overall story is intact. It feels like it takes the better part of an hour to get it all out, and his father listens patiently. He interrupts once or twice to get some minor clarifications, but otherwise lets Stiles speak.
By the end, Stiles feels weirdly drained and weirdly elated. Like a weight has been lifted off his back, like Atlas dropping the world and stretching his shoulders.
There's a long silence, as Sheriff Stilinski absorbs it all. And then he speaks again.
"I think I get it. I believe you, son. There's something going on, and I want to help you. Okay? I believe you."
Stiles lets out a long sigh, and nods his head once in acceptance. Because his father believes him, and wants to help.
"I don't think there's anything you can do, dad. Unless you have some sort of government issued magic wand that'll yank me and Derek back home tonight. Oh, and Rapunzel, too. I don't want her going back to her world. She'd be in a lot of trouble."
His father snorts a laugh.
"Only you could have a relationship with a girl from a fairy tale, Stiles."
"Yeah, I know. But she's totally cute."
"I thought you were in love with Derek?" The sheriff's wry comment says volumes about how he doesn't exactly approve of this. Stiles snorts in return.
"I am. I totally am. But I still care about her. Don't start on that part, okay?"
"Okay. So...how do we get you home for good?"
"I don't know, dad."
The sheriff nods once, and then kneels in front of his son, concern radiating from his expression.
"All right. I'm gonna ask you to trust me, son. If this is what you say it is, and you're stuck somewhere I can't get to you, I need you to believe that I'm going to do everything I can to get you back home."
"You won't remember this." That's the frustration, this is simply a vision generated by his own brain, useless and pointless and leading him nowhere at all.
"I will never forget about you, Stiles. Ever. Do you hear me?"
Stiles is overcome with emotion, and for once in his life can't speak. He just nods his acceptance to that, biting the inside of his cheek to ground himself.
"Good. Then let's just take what time we have here, for now. C'mere."
His father pulls him into another hug. It's slightly awkward at the angle they're both at, Stiles' knees pressing into his father's stomach, but it's his lifeline right now.
"Thanks, dad."
"You're welcome. I love you, kiddo."
"I love you too, dad..."
***
Stiles wakes up the next morning feeling numb. Was that dream a blessing? Or a curse? Right now, he really can't tell. But he's taking one thing from it, one precious thing. His father will find him. Somehow. Someday. He'll be able to go home.
"
But his little bonsai azalea that Derek had given him? That would probably suffice. Or at least, one little branch of it. He's not stupid enough to immerse the whole pot. Poor little plant would drown! He did it at high noon, laughed along with the other Foreigners who'd been there, chatted a little with the friendly Kedan in attendance.
That night, he'd gotten the shock of his life. Well, dreaming shock, anyway.
Since coming to Keelai almost a year ago now, Stiles had often had dreams of his father. He'd woken up every time in a sour, depressed mood. He was still desperately homesick, after all. But those dreams were simply that; dreams. Disjointed, careless images thrown up by his unconscious brain. This, however...this was a thing that was in an entirely different class.
"Dad?"
He's in the police station in Beacon Hills, wearing the outfit he'd had on when he'd first arrived on the turtle. He can feel the water squelching in his shoes, from the flood in Derek's loft the night Boyd had died. He feels waterlogged and exhausted, flung back in his own personal timeline to that fateful night. And he's pushing the door to his father's office open after calling his name.
His father looks up from his desk, his own eyes rimmed with red, fatigued with reading over too many reports. But the exhaustion vanishes, replaced with a genuine smile.
"Hi, son. You look like you took a shower with your clothes on. You okay?"
In his dreams, his father had always melted away, vanished before he could get a word in. But now, he was here, and speaking to him, and looking at him. Like it's actually happening. Like it's real. Stiles doesn't even realize he's propelling himself forward, circling the oak desk quickly, and crashing into his father for a tight, tight hug.
His arms feel solid enough, and the surprise on his face is genuine. But then Stiles is just clinging to his father like he's going to vanish at any second. Which is probably the case. As always between them the real emotions aren't spoken aloud, don't show on their faces. But they're in that hug, fingers curling into his father's uniform shirt, the press of his sharp badge cutting into Stiles' chest. His father seems to understand that something weird is going on, and holds his son steadily, letting him shake it out.
"Hi, dad." His voice is surprisingly steady, for all that his body is trembling hard. He has no idea how much longer this vision reality will last, and he doesn't want to spend a second wasting any time. "I love you."
"...I love you too, son."
The sheriff is the one who finally pulls back, putting both hands on Stiles' shoulders, studying him intently. Stiles feels like he's still looking up at him, in spite of the fact that they're about the same height now.
"Talk to me. What's got you so spooked?"
Stiles has always lied to his father. Lied to him about his activities, about Scott's werewolf status, about his involvement with the supernatural shit show that is Beacon Hills. He's built a tower of lies on the foundation of keeping this man safe. But here, in this dream, the lies all fall away, leaving him helpless to keep the truth in check.
"I haven't seen you in almost a year," he says, not really believing the words coming out of his mouth. "And I miss you every single day."
Sheriff Stilinski blinks, cocks his head at his son, and leads him into his chair. The chair behind the desk, not the one in front of it. When Stiles was little, he used to sit in that chair, pretend he was the sheriff, play with the radio and a toy gun. Sitting in this chair makes him feel like he's seven years old again, before his mother died, before everything went to hell.
"Okay, start at the beginning. You haven't seen me in a year? What do you mean?"
His father is treating him like a flighty witness, and it makes Stiles wince a bit. He doesn't need the third degree right now, he just needs his father. So he starts babbling angrily, the truth pouring out of his mouth. He needs to vent his frustration.
"I mean that for the last year, I've been stuck on the back of a giant turtle! Stuck fighting a ridiculous war against an ancient pain in the ass evil that makes Voldemort look like Mickey Mouse. I've been dragged into another world, with hardly any possessions to my name, and watched people come and go out of my life with no control over it! If I didn't have Derek with me, I'd go totally fucking insane."
"...Wait. Derek Hale? Is with you on the back of a giant turtle?"
Stiles rolls his eyes, because of course his father would fixate on that.
"Yes! Guess what, he's my boyfriend, too. And it doesn't even matter that you know that, because this is just a dream and I'll wake up soon and you'll be gone again!"
"Okay, okay. Calm down." The sheriff's hands are back on his shoulders, and he's really studying Stiles now, trying to figure out the nonsense coming out of his mouth. "I'm a little confused, son. I just saw you this morning, before you went to school. So from my point of view, it hasn't been a year at all. Okay? Now, I need you to be honest with me. Have you taken anything tonight?"
"...You think I'm on drugs?"
"Well..."
Stiles flings his arms up, slapping his father's hands away, and bolts up out of the chair to pace the office. Great. He finally opens up, pours out the truth, and his father doesn't believe him.
"I'm not on drugs! Sometimes I wish I were! It'd make things make a hell of a lot more sense, to be totally honest. I could blame the last year of my life on a freakin' hallucination and wake up in a wetpack somewhere. But no, this is really my life, and I'm trying to tell you the truth!"
In his frustration, tears well up in his eyes, and he furiously blinks them back. This is why he didn't tell his father anything, ever. Because he wouldn't believe.
"Stiles. Okay, calm down. Tell me again, from the beginning. Tell me everything you remember. In as close to chronological order as you can."
Seeing the sincerity on his father's face, the willingness to be heard, Stiles relaxes again, and slumps back down in the chair. He starts spilling his guts. About everything. From Scott being bitten to the Kanima to the Alpha pack, to his arrival on Tu Vishan. He does leave out some pertinent details (because even in a very lucid dream, Stiles isn't spelling out his sexual life to his father), but the overall story is intact. It feels like it takes the better part of an hour to get it all out, and his father listens patiently. He interrupts once or twice to get some minor clarifications, but otherwise lets Stiles speak.
By the end, Stiles feels weirdly drained and weirdly elated. Like a weight has been lifted off his back, like Atlas dropping the world and stretching his shoulders.
There's a long silence, as Sheriff Stilinski absorbs it all. And then he speaks again.
"I think I get it. I believe you, son. There's something going on, and I want to help you. Okay? I believe you."
Stiles lets out a long sigh, and nods his head once in acceptance. Because his father believes him, and wants to help.
"I don't think there's anything you can do, dad. Unless you have some sort of government issued magic wand that'll yank me and Derek back home tonight. Oh, and Rapunzel, too. I don't want her going back to her world. She'd be in a lot of trouble."
His father snorts a laugh.
"Only you could have a relationship with a girl from a fairy tale, Stiles."
"Yeah, I know. But she's totally cute."
"I thought you were in love with Derek?" The sheriff's wry comment says volumes about how he doesn't exactly approve of this. Stiles snorts in return.
"I am. I totally am. But I still care about her. Don't start on that part, okay?"
"Okay. So...how do we get you home for good?"
"I don't know, dad."
The sheriff nods once, and then kneels in front of his son, concern radiating from his expression.
"All right. I'm gonna ask you to trust me, son. If this is what you say it is, and you're stuck somewhere I can't get to you, I need you to believe that I'm going to do everything I can to get you back home."
"You won't remember this." That's the frustration, this is simply a vision generated by his own brain, useless and pointless and leading him nowhere at all.
"I will never forget about you, Stiles. Ever. Do you hear me?"
Stiles is overcome with emotion, and for once in his life can't speak. He just nods his acceptance to that, biting the inside of his cheek to ground himself.
"Good. Then let's just take what time we have here, for now. C'mere."
His father pulls him into another hug. It's slightly awkward at the angle they're both at, Stiles' knees pressing into his father's stomach, but it's his lifeline right now.
"Thanks, dad."
"You're welcome. I love you, kiddo."
"I love you too, dad..."
***
Stiles wakes up the next morning feeling numb. Was that dream a blessing? Or a curse? Right now, he really can't tell. But he's taking one thing from it, one precious thing. His father will find him. Somehow. Someday. He'll be able to go home.
"