Stiles Stilinski (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hypercompetent) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2013-12-14 10:00 pm
hypercompetent) wrote in entrancelogs2013-12-14 10:00 pm
"and i'm--losing my freaking mind."
who; stiles stilinski (of the FUTURE!!) and you!
when; december 15th--the end of the event
where; anywhere in the mansion
rating; probably r
summary; crazycakes stilinski returns from the not so distant future, not so pleasant side effects included.
[ It's hard to tell the difference between waking and sleeping nowadays.
It's been a year since the core mission. A year. Stiles Stilinski was one of the main planners behind it--it was his baby, fostered in dark rooms around Wonderland, just trying to keep away from the Jabberwocky long enough to fling it into the Core and be done with it for good. He'd had a lot of hope for what could have happened when it was over--as bleak and as miserable as things had been, he could only imagine that Wonderland might be able to fix itself as time passed without the Jabberwocky there to render it apart.
And in what seemed like just seconds, anything he was holding onto--any hope, any optimism, the plan, his friends, Castiel--Meg--Allison--Derek, they were dead, and he didn't even have threads to hold onto them by, no hopes that they'd come back. He stopped functioning, like it was when his mom died, and when the Jabberwocky attacked the section of the mansion where he'd been staying, that had held his and Derek's stuff, he'd practically let it rip him into pieces.
By the time he came back, something wasn't right. There was this need, this deep ache in the bottom of his bones to find the Queen of Hearts, who'd been missing for so long, but it's hard to focus on that, hard to focus on anything, because everywhere he turns, there are ghosts of people he loved. Words melt off pages, panic seizes around his chest and clutches and he sees visions, screaming, blood, Derek, his dad, his mom, hands reaching into the darkness, grabbing at the vestiges of his sanity and eating them whole, until he's left quivering in the dark, screaming for people who aren't real, against forces that are trying to render him limb from limb, things he can't see.
There's no sleeping. Horrific nightmares catch him when he closes his eyes. His hands move on their own, scrawling on the mirrors, the walls, anything he can get his hands on wake up, wake up, wake up wake up--
And it's in one of those dazes that he does.
When Stiles' eyes open, he's staring at Wonderland--rather, the Wonderland of the past. It's...cheery in here, there are Christmas decorations, and confusion and horror flicker across his exhausted face as he looks across the hallway before he hears it again ("Look what it could have been without you, look what you did, look what you always do"--) and his hands clutch up to his ears, knotting fiercely in his dark brown hair, until he slams into the wall beside him in the main hallway and lets out a strangled scream. It can't last, it has to end eventually, he's going to just--he has to just wake up-- ]
{this is a catchall log! ie: if you don't want to respond to this prompt you don't have to! on the 15th it will be difficult to get stiles away from derek. on the 17th through the 19th, it'll be a little easier. His sanity will slip between the three days, more lucid on the 17th and less on the 19th. By the 20th, he'll have holed up in his room, uninterested in anything and anyone. 21st-23rd on the other hand will be mostly spent with pack or people from the future, and he can easily be pulled away during these three days, with a fairly decent level of lucidity. The 24th is his and Derek's day alone. }
when; december 15th--the end of the event
where; anywhere in the mansion
rating; probably r
summary; crazycakes stilinski returns from the not so distant future, not so pleasant side effects included.
[ It's hard to tell the difference between waking and sleeping nowadays.
It's been a year since the core mission. A year. Stiles Stilinski was one of the main planners behind it--it was his baby, fostered in dark rooms around Wonderland, just trying to keep away from the Jabberwocky long enough to fling it into the Core and be done with it for good. He'd had a lot of hope for what could have happened when it was over--as bleak and as miserable as things had been, he could only imagine that Wonderland might be able to fix itself as time passed without the Jabberwocky there to render it apart.
And in what seemed like just seconds, anything he was holding onto--any hope, any optimism, the plan, his friends, Castiel--Meg--Allison--Derek, they were dead, and he didn't even have threads to hold onto them by, no hopes that they'd come back. He stopped functioning, like it was when his mom died, and when the Jabberwocky attacked the section of the mansion where he'd been staying, that had held his and Derek's stuff, he'd practically let it rip him into pieces.
By the time he came back, something wasn't right. There was this need, this deep ache in the bottom of his bones to find the Queen of Hearts, who'd been missing for so long, but it's hard to focus on that, hard to focus on anything, because everywhere he turns, there are ghosts of people he loved. Words melt off pages, panic seizes around his chest and clutches and he sees visions, screaming, blood, Derek, his dad, his mom, hands reaching into the darkness, grabbing at the vestiges of his sanity and eating them whole, until he's left quivering in the dark, screaming for people who aren't real, against forces that are trying to render him limb from limb, things he can't see.
There's no sleeping. Horrific nightmares catch him when he closes his eyes. His hands move on their own, scrawling on the mirrors, the walls, anything he can get his hands on wake up, wake up, wake up wake up--
And it's in one of those dazes that he does.
When Stiles' eyes open, he's staring at Wonderland--rather, the Wonderland of the past. It's...cheery in here, there are Christmas decorations, and confusion and horror flicker across his exhausted face as he looks across the hallway before he hears it again ("Look what it could have been without you, look what you did, look what you always do"--) and his hands clutch up to his ears, knotting fiercely in his dark brown hair, until he slams into the wall beside him in the main hallway and lets out a strangled scream. It can't last, it has to end eventually, he's going to just--he has to just wake up-- ]
{this is a catchall log! ie: if you don't want to respond to this prompt you don't have to! on the 15th it will be difficult to get stiles away from derek. on the 17th through the 19th, it'll be a little easier. His sanity will slip between the three days, more lucid on the 17th and less on the 19th. By the 20th, he'll have holed up in his room, uninterested in anything and anyone. 21st-23rd on the other hand will be mostly spent with pack or people from the future, and he can easily be pulled away during these three days, with a fairly decent level of lucidity. The 24th is his and Derek's day alone. }
no subject
Swallowing down the lump of panic in his throat, he slumps forward, drops his head against his shoulder, and his entire body droops as he feels so small, empty and hollow but not panicking, not for now. He just wants to shrink into Derek's grip until he doesn't exist anymore--slowly, his fingers come free of his jacket, but his arms stay where they are, wrapped around him tight like he'll disappear if he lets go. ] I'm sorry.
[ It comes out again, voice in a low tremble, like that's all he can do is apologize. Like he did to his mom's grave, like he did to Scott when he told him what happened to Allison. I'm sorry. ]
no subject
The moment that he droops into him, his own body relaxes but doesn't pull away. He takes Stiles' weight easily-- it's not as if he hasn't noticed how thin he is, frayed at the edges as he is-- and slips his hands from his ears, slowly. They trace down his neck, keeping contact, before sliding along his shoulders so that he can wrap his arms securely around him. He bows his head forward a little, nosing into his brown hair and staying like that. ]
Don't. Just breathe, Stiles.
no subject
Stiles picked the tree. Dug the grave himself, until his palms were bleeding and he couldn't see straight, buried the body himself, asked Scott to scratch a triskele into the tree. He slept next to it that night, never bothered to clean the blood from his hands, in some kind of a vain hope that the Jabberwocky would swallow him whole, too. It'd been a year since then, but moving on was...
Well. It wasn't happening. Let's put it like that.
Slowly, he tries to calm himself down, deep breaths in time with Derek's chest, until the trembling has stopped a little bit, and he can muffle his face in the material of his shirt. ]