2015.09.12 - My Demon, the Bodyguard

*In which Stiles is grumpy, Lance is overprotective, and the two of them come to terms with Stiles having been attacked by a werewolf. Sappiness ensues.*

Somewhere in Oregon

As car trips go, this one's on the awkward side.

Ever since Stiles and Lance left Podunkville, Oregon--okay, that's not the town's real name, but Stiles couldn't be bothered to remember it--things have been a bit... tense. Stiles only partly understands why. His memory of what happened was all... hazy.

He decided to drive up north on his own to try to leverage information from Jason Christopher Lupus by offering him sensitive information. Scott had been held up, so Stiles took the opportunity to drive up on his own... without telling Derek or Lance that he'd decided to go by himself. And then, at a pit stop in Oregon, he'd been attacked by a werewolf and bitten badly. It should have killed him, probably, but for some reason he was okay. And when he woke up, Lance was there.

And now they're driving up north in the car together.

Lance hadn't wanted Stiles to continue, but he'd stubbornly insisted, and so Lance had decided to accompany him to keep him safe. And so they've been driving along in silence for a while now, in the dead of night, headed along Highway 101 towards Washington.

"It's my turn. Pull over at the next stop." Lance sits in the passenger seat, fiddling with the radio and trying to pick up something. Once he finds a classical station -- suitable enough -- he sits back and folds his arms over his chest, a good bit like a certain werewolf Stiles might mention by comparison.

Lance has been very different in mien and attitude, but Stiles being put in danger might have a lot to do with that. And while they haven't had exactly the talk that Lance probably wants to, he was firm in his ultimatum: he either comes along, or he carries Stiles home forcibly.

Not really much of a choice for Stiles, who is the type that goes to do something when he feels he has to.

So, awkward, quiet road trip with an obviously seething demon lord and a disoriented teen! These are the days to remember.

Stiles casts Lance a look of mild frustration, as though he wants to argue, but instead he just frowns and, soon enough, when a rest stop comes up, he takes the exit and pulls over into the parking lot. He glances over at Lance, sighing, and says, "Y'know, I'm good to drive. You don't need to treat me like I'm a little kid or made of glass or whatever." But then he undoes his seat belt, turns off the engine, and goes to open the door so they can switch places.

"Use the rest area if you need to." Lance slides out of the seat and stretches, looking around. If Stiles had hoped not to be fussed over and even babied a little, perhaps, his hopes are probably dashed by that directive. But the demon doesn't appear to be brooking any defiance at the moment, for whatever reason. He strolls casually around the jeep.

Stiles shoots Lance a *look*, but finally he just turns to go, grumbling softly, "Sure, *dad*." He's not even sure why he resents the suggestion. It made total sense! He's just feeling... odd. And frustrated. And for some reason, he feels like Lance is here just to *watch* him, not because he wants to be. Stiles doesn't understand that, and he's generally feeling grumpy and put out after the werewolf incident... so maybe that's all it is. He vanishes into the restroom for a while, taking care of his personal business.

Lance has far greater things to worry about than Stiles being irritated at him helicoptering. And for one, he definitely is keeping a more active presence inside Stiles, different from usual but probably not exactly detectable. He's not peeping, per se, he's just...more aware of what's happening to Stiles. After what happened, he's not about to let him just go around unobserved. This little road trip was irresponsible enough.

Stiles returns after a while, and before he climbs into the Jeep he goes to the back, getting into his backpack and removing his shirts. He changes into a fresh shirt and his red hoodie, rather than the flannel he'd been wearing, and then closes the back hatch. He heads around to the side of the Jeep, climbing into the passenger seat, and then reaches up to pull his seat belt on, buckling in. Folding his arms across his chest, he glances over to Lance. "Well, anything else I forgot to do?"

"I dunno, did you make sure to wipe and then wash your hands afterwards?" Lance offers a little grin, trying as he might to lighten the mood at least a little bit. He's not the best in the world at being stern with Stiles, although he's well aware he has every right to be at the moment. Still...he's read things, as he keeps doing, to research these relationship things, and he doesn't want to seem *too* smothering.

Stiles snorts at that, but it's with a tone of mild humor, and he relaxes some. He drops his arms to his knees, lightly drumming his fingers, and looks back over at Lance. Cracking a small smile, he says, "Pretty sure I remembered that part, yeah." Looking back out the window a bit, he says, "Well. Should we get going again?" He wants to talk to Lance about all this, but it's still a jumble in many ways. He feels something between them that needs to be addressed, but he's hardly even sure what it might be.

Lance holds out his hand with an expectant smile. After a short time, he quietly clears his throat. "Keys," he prompts, hopefully, as he waits for them to be handed off to him. He doesn't have a set yet and they just switched places.

Blinking some, Stiles says, "Oh." He digs in his pocket, then hands them over to Lance. "Took 'em by habit, I guess. Meant to leave 'em in the ignition." He shakes his head a little. Keys. Always opening and closing things. He waits for Lance to start the car and get moving before he says much else, though he does clearly feel a little sheepish about forgetting to give them to him.

Lance takes the keys and starts up the jeep, getting himself acquainted with driving it, with the way it's laid out and all again. He adjusts what he needs to adjust, and then they're on the road. He's a good driver, but definitely a bit faster-paced than someone might expect, especially given how protective he's been. But then, he probably also has enhanced reflexes and all.

As they go, he glances over to Stiles once or twice.

Finally, at some length, Stiles says, "So... are you pissed off at me, or what? I mean, I'm guessing you probably talked to Derek. And if you did, *he's* definitely pissed." He lifts his shoulders then drops them, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "I'm glad you're trying to be nice and supportive and... everything... but, c'mon. If you're gonna get pissed, just... get it out. I hate waiting."

"You know you fucked up." Lance keeps his eyes on the road ahead, even though he probably could just drive and not even worry about that. Telekinesis and everything. "What's the use in me yelling at you or trying to make you feel worse?" It's very casually put out there, though it's also understandable. Since he is what he is, after all, he's probably more used to just being out with whatever whenever it's relevant and letting the rest speak for itself.

Stiles bristles at this statement, and he lets out a frustrated noise from deep in his throat. "That's just it. All I did was what *anyone* does any time! I was on a road trip. People do it every day. How was I supposed to know some psycho werewolf would pounce me when I went to pee?" Of course, he does realize that he didn't exactly communicate with Derek or Lance or most of the others what his plans were, either.

"You didn't communicate. You didn't let anyone know about this road trip, which 'anyone' does. It's a basic preparation for it." Lance rests his hand atop the wheel. "You didn't let anyone know where you were. You didn't let anyone know *why* you were going. If any of these things had been done, it's likely this would've turned out very different. Look, even *demons* let each other know about this stuff. It's pretty basic."

Stiles slumps in his seat as much as the belt will let him, and he sets his jaw in frustration. He can't really argue with Lance's logic, and for a long few moments, he doesn't try. Then, finally, he just blurts, "I wanted to prove I could do it by myself, okay? I wanted to show everyone that they didn't have to protect me all the time, that I could *handle* it." He folds his arms across his chest again, though this time it's more to suppress a shiver than to show his indignation. Looking out the window, he says in a quieter voice, "Obviously, I was wrong about that part."

Lance lets the next few moments pass in silence between the two of them. He just listens to the quiet strings on the radio. It's not the best reception, but it's the best they're going to get between the other options they have. There's something kind of amazing about it; it's so lonely on this stretch, but they're at least together. The music makes it seem more solitary though.

"You wanted to show yourself you could do it," Lance comments, voice quiet and tone gentle. "But in your eagerness, you kind of rushed it."

Stiles rubs his hands up and down along his arms, despite it being perfectly warm in the Jeep. "Yeah, I did," he admits, looking down. He ends up staring at the radio. The only thing he'd splurged on in the whole stupid Jeep was a police scanner, so he had no fancy stereo or anything. But the music was nice, if a little haunting right now. He's silent for a while.

Then, in a very soft voice, he finally murmurs, "I'm sorry."

Lance has no real response for a time, again. Just silence from him as the beautiful yet admittedly haunting music fills the air between them, but faintly. Which probably makes it all the more ghostly. "I forgive you," he answers, at last, barely louder than the song playing. It's Bach's "Air". He doesn't follow it up with an explanation on why it's so hard for him to even get that out, or what the other emotion washing in and out of his eyes means. The rest of the conflict never finds its way into the light. It's just there.

Lance seems to be feeling much the same way. It takes him a little bit to respond, again. There's deep breathing and sighing and in general a fairly massive effort not to just become a blubbering mess, because he knows that's not what Stiles needs right now and it's also not what he needs. He can allow himself the luxury of releasing his emotions later.

At last, Lance does finally say something. "Feeling guilty isn't going to help anything," he carefully replies. "If you learn from the experience, you do it smarter next time. *That* is something good."

"Maybe I learned," Stiles says quietly. "I kinda hope I did. But that's not gonna make it better." He looks over to Lance, frowning, and says, "We can make it better, right? I... need you to believe that. That we can." His voice has a bit more strength, now, as if something's subtly changed. He no longer seems as vulnerable, as fragile. Instead, there's a sense of something waking up in him, an emotion that had been too buried under other things now asserting itself.

In spite of everything, he feels protective. Of Lance. Of Derek. Of all of them.

Lance glances over and smiles. It's not really forced, at least not now. But it is only one of a sea of strong emotions he's dealing with at the moment. His eyes gleam just when the light catches them, and it could very well be an illusion, but he turns back to look ahead before it can really be examined to any degree. "Of course we can. You dork."

That brings a grin, warm and real, to Stiles' face. "Well, good then," he says with a little laugh, a sound of pure relief. "Because otherwise, I'd have to... I dunno. Freak out or something." He lightly reaches over to rest a hand on Lance's thigh. "We'll make everything okay. I promise. Okay?"

Lance places his free hand on it, looking down with the smile returning. He glances over to Stiles, then back ahead of them. "Okay." And then, just a beat or two later, "And you get a really scary demon bodyguard for a while until then!" It's so cheerful how he notes it. Oh yes. He's in this for the long haul.

Stiles smirks a little. "Guess I'll just have to get used to that. Wonder how I'll manage?" he says, but in a tone of good humor. His smirk even grows back into a grin. "Does this mean I have to be Whitney Houston? I don't think I'm gonna pull off singing that song."

"It's okay, we'll get you a Ringo song." Lance chuckles to himself. There are *some* things he knows, even if the whole dimension of this relationship stuff is new to him. Maybe for once he'll be in a place where he can show off his strengths rather than so many shortcomings and no information.

Laughing softly, Stiles says, "I love when you're reasonable." He gives Lance's leg a gentle squeeze. "And," he says very deliberately, "I love you. Lots."

Lance takes the hand and lifts it up to his lips, kissing at the fingers and giving a little squeeze before lowering both hands to rest on his thigh again. "I love you. I can't say it enough. I mean...I know you *know* it, but...I feel like I should still say it as much as possible."

*"And I-eeee-I, will always looove yooou..."*