traumahouse | [log] stiles&bob

Entry tags:

[log] stiles&bob

The hallway was long. Doors and windows into rooms lined the walls, as well as bright, cheerful pieces of art scattered about, trying to keep it from feeling overly sterile. But it was a hospital, it felt sterile anyway.

Or, it would, if there wasn't something else in the air. Stiles knew exactly what it was.

"No, no, nononono," he said quickly as he started moving to doors and opening them up, yelling at any kids, staff, and family members he saw that they needed to run. They needed to get out. He didn't say why, they wouldn't believe him. He knew they wouldn't. Stiles just hoped the sheer panic in his voice and face would tell them what they needed to know.

That's when the fire alarms started to go off and the screams began.

The lights began to flicker once in a while and he could see smoke and a glow coming from around a corner. He could hear laughter and footsteps getting closer to the hallway he was on. A blast of fire shot out and hit the nurse's station at the intersection of the hallways and Stiles immediately held up a hand, trying to use his power to put the fire out like he always could, but it wasn't working. "No, no, no... FUCK."

And then Stiles's worst nightmare came into view.

Dressed in black, skin paler than humanly possible except for the dark bags under his eyes, and blood smeared across his chin from where he clearly just fed, stood... Stiles. But it wasn't really Stiles at the same time.

"Heeeey, buddy," the vampire said, a flash of his fangs visible as he spoke, and a cruel smirk spreading across his face. "Can't get the powers up all of a sudden?"

And with that Stiles couldn't help it. He started backing back down the hallway. He needed to get away from this version of him, but he knew the speed the vampire could move at and he didn't want to take his eyes off him.

But Stiles knew there was nothing he could do. He couldn't save these kids. He was the reason they were all dead.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Bob doesn't remember falling asleep, but suddenly he finds himself in the too-familiar all-white hallway of a hospital. For a long, sprawling moment, he doesn't realize this isn't just his own dream-slash-memory he's reliving.

At least, until he hears a voice he's already growing used to hearing. Though he's never heard him plead like that, and it's a little jarring to hear now, in the blank, white emptiness.

Bob follows the sound of that voice, screaming and desperate now, and watches his new friend throwing doors open left and right. The fire alarms are unexpected– everything in this scene is, right now, really– he jumps at the sudden, piercing noise, hands clamping over his ears in response.

In his haste to run from... the other him, Stiles practically barrels right into Bob, who reaches out to steady them both, "Hey, hey, hey– what is this? What's going on?"

Edited 2025-08-20 20:51 (UTC)

Stiles didn't expect to run into anyone in the hallway. There shouldn't have been anyone in the hall yet. There never had been before.

Startled and tense, he spun around, eyes wide, half expecting it to be the other him having zoomed around behind him, or Allison, or something like that. But it was... "Bob? What're- How're-" His hand started to come up, almost like he was going to put it on his cheek or neck or something? But instead he caught himself and redirected it to grab his upper arm. "You're not supposed to be here. You weren't here for this. You have to run."

It might be a dream, or a memory, or a mix of both, but Stiles didn't even want to see a dream Bob get hurt.

But from the other end of the hall came Stiles's voice again - this time with a tint of a sneer and humor in it. "Nah, man. Don't run. Stay. Hang out. Join the fun." And then that creepy, creepy laughter as he continued walking steadily towards them.

"No, but I–" he doesn't get a chance to say anything else, actually, because the other guy comes stalking around the corner and Bob can't help but whip his head around to stare at him. It's uncanny, really, staring at this other version of his new friend.

He shakes his head, deciding not to even acknowledge him. He turns back to the Stiles right in front of him, "I-I think this is a dream... you just have to wake up."

Stiles nods, gripping Bob's shoulders in his hands as he squeezes his eyes shut. "It has to be. I didn't know you when I- when this happened." wake up wake up wakeupwakeupwakeup he started chanting to himself in his head.

The vampire was approaching , carelessly tossing fireballs into each hospital room he passed, not being bothered in the slightest by the screams that followed. "You can't stop me, Stiles," he taunted. "You never could."

"wakeupwakeup WAKE UP."

And then he did.

Stiles's eyes shot open and he took a deep, gasping breath. And then another. And another. Oh shit, he was going to hyperventilate wasn't he? He was going into another panic attack. Whelp, there went that five month streak.

Whenever Stiles forces himself awake, it pushes Bob out of the mental space he'd been inhabiting. He jolts awake next to him and hisses softly, yanking his hand away from where it had landed on Stiles' knee. Even through the pajama pants he was in, he felt nearly hot enough to actual burn something.

"Sti.. hey, no, no..." he scrubs a hand over his face, still trying to orient himself in his body, and in the world. "Hey, look at me," he shifts onto his knees and moves in front of him. "Are you looking? At me... not through me..." His voice is firm, but not sharp or harsh or mean.

It might have taken a moment, but eventually Bob's voice cut through to him. He turned to face him, eyes focusing on his friend. "Bob?" he asked, voice sounding breathless--even though he was still breathing hard--and somewhat scared.

But it was Bob, he was here. Stiles looked around his room, seeing that it was his room, not the hospital. Not that children's ward. That meant he was awake now, right? If only someone would inform his panic attack that he was awake.

Knowing how he got when he had these nightmares and how many times he's accidentally burned people when he woke up, he took a moment to lower his body temperature before lunging forward and squeezing his arms around Bob's neck and shoulders in a tight hug.

"Yeah," he nods at the question of his own name. He watches as Stiles tries to orient himself and is completely caught off guard when he finds himself with the other man clinging to him tightly.

The reaction, at least, is automatic to just circle his arms around him in return, "Hey... it's okay," he has no idea if that's actually true, but what else is he supposed to say? "I got you." He knows how this feels, even if it's for entirely different reasons.

Stiles's grip around Bob might actually tighten slightly when he feels his friend's arm wrap around him in return. Eyes squeezed closed, he tilts his head down a bit so he's pressing his eyes and forehead against the curve of Bob's neck.

It was part hiding and part trying not to cry.

He started holding his breath after each inhale, counting to five in his head to try to calm he panic attack some, but after a minute or so he finally speaks. But he doesn't pick up his head so it's just slightly muffled since he's more or less saying it to Bob's collar bone. "Sorry. Uh. Nightmares."

Bob squeezes back in kind, hoping that it's a grounding feeling more than anything else. When he buries his face against him, Bob moves one hand up to cup the back of his head, just holding him as close as possible. Any further and he'd probably be crawling into Bob's skin.

He'll sit like that as long as the other man wants to, honestly. "You don't have to explain, but... I get it." He doesn't know how to explain he wasn't just part of his dream, but he was actually... in it?

That doesn't even make sense in his own head and he knows what the hell he means, so he doesn't even want to try to figure out how to make it make sense outside of his head. Instead, he just slowly cards his fingers through Stiles' hair in what he hopes is a comforting manner.

Okay, the fingers in his hair were helping. They were relaxing--as much as they could be when he was trying to pull himself out of a panic attack--and that was one of the perks of getting too lazy to get regular haircuts.

After a couple more minutes he sighed and pulled back some. "Uh, sorry I... all but climbed in your lap there," he said a bit awkwardly. Honestly, it wasn't like it was the first time they touched or anything. For some reason they actually ended up kinda... curled up together a lot? Which Stiles was not complaining about. It was nice to have that extra comfort.

"I... um... I have PTSD," Stiles said, reaching up to tap himself on the side of his head. "Among other things. But that's the worst one. And it leads to some recurring nightmares--" Memories, but he wasn't going to say that part. "Usually it's pretty much the same thing every time. But it was... different this time."

He can feel Stiles starting to relax a bit and he's just glad it all seems to be helping somehow. He keeps combing his fingers through his hair until he seems to be calm enough to pull away. "S'okay," he says with a little shrug. "I don't mind, honestly." It's nice to be the steady one for someone else for once?

"Oh, okay," he only barely manages to refrain from saying 'that makes sense' because of what he'd seen in that dream. But he doesn't want to have to explain that yet, if he doesn't have to. "If we're sharing diagnoses... I'm bipolar, so..." another shrug, and he looks at him, his expression soft, "Do you wanna talk about it?"

With a slight groan, Stiles flopped over so he was laying down with his head on his pillow again. "You sure about that?" he asked. reaching up to rub at his eyes for a moment. He knew that putting up with someone who had occasional nightmares and everything was bad enough, but it had to be even worse to deal with someone who could accidentally set you on fire or send you flying across the room with a thought.

Stiles sighed and let his hand drop to rest on his chest. He opened his eyes to look up at Bob. There wasn't an ounce of judgement in his face though, mostly just exhaustion and stress but maybe some understanding, too. "One of my exes--Ian--he had bipolar disorder," he started, shrugging one of his shoulders a little. "He denied it though, even with a diagnosis, so you're already ahead of the game there."

But at the question of talking about it he shook his head. "Not tonight, at least?" He knew he should probably talk to him about his past--at least some of it--at some point. For reasons. But he just didn't feel quite up to it that night.

"Yeah, why not?" he shrugs a little. He doesn't know those particular risks exactly, but it wouldn't really change his opinion. He'd probably be fine anyway?

Bob scoffs a laugh, "I don't know how anybody could deny it, I... definitely can't," he shakes his head, shifting to lay down again, on his side facing Stiles, his head propped on one hand.

He nods a little, "Fair," he'd never be the one to push someone to talk about things they don't want, or aren't ready, to talk about. "We can talk about something else...? Or just...try to go back to sleep?" He doesn't care, really, he'll sleep late regardless so he'll roll with whatever option Stiles chooses.

"I'm just... a hell of a mess." Stiles let out a laugh then, but it was definitely the kind that wasn't happy. He was a mess. But at least he was a little less of a mess than he used to be?

Looking up at Bob, he was about to say something about Ian living in delulu land and the drugs sure didn't help--either of them, actually--but he ended up accidentally distracting himself from that with a stray thought. Maybe it was his mind trying to distract himself from his nightmares, or from his awful memories. Could have been just trying to get usual anxious-but-not-quite-as-tormented state.

Either way, apparently that brain-to-mouth filter hadn't fully kicked back in yet cause that stray thought came straight out of his mouth instead of staying in his head where it belonged. "I like your smile." Sure, it wasn't like he had a giant smile on his face then or anything, but there was a little bit of one when he scoffed? Stiles's brain was a mystery sometimes.

Realizing what he just said, Stiles's eyes went a little bit wide. "Uh..." Nope. Apparently he had no more words. So he just rolled over to lay face down in his pillow.

"Wanna know a secret?" he leans in slightly and whispers conspiratorily, "So am I." And Bob doesn't even really have the rights to say he's not just as much of one as he always has been. Not yet.

Stiles seemed like he wanted to say something, but what came out of his mouth was unexpected. By both of them, apparently, if the way Stiles reacts seconds later is anything to judge by. "Thanks..." he says, biting his lip; he's not great at accepting compliments, so he's awkward about it when it happens.

"It's... okay," he huffs softly. "you don't have to hide."

"What? No- I'm not hiding." Not only was Stiles hiding, but his voice was muffled as he talked into his pillow. "I'm fiiiine."

He wasn't hiding to the point of using his TK to pull his blanket out from behind him and up over his head. Even though he wasn't cold and almost never slept under a blanket any more. See? Not hiding. Just... personal blanket fort.

Besides, to Stiles's ears Bob sounded kinda unsure? So maybe he weirded his new buddy out. But not in his usual 'Oh that's just Stiles, he's always been kinda weird' way. And Stiles liked him--he didn't want to freak him out or anything.

“And a terrible liar,” he says, lips twitching into a small smile, watching the blanket slowly slip over his head. Part of him wants to yank it back, but… the rest of him hates the idea of taking the choice away from him.

Instead, he just settles for poking at the lump of blanket next to him. “Where’d you go? Come back.”

"Excuse me?" Stiles flipped back onto his side (which, when added to the rolling he did before just scooted him a little closer to Bob but he was ignoring that) and pulled the blanket off if his head. "I'll have you know I'm an excellent liar," his hand came out from under the covers next, but just to poke Bob in the center of his chest. "I just... you know. Save the good ones for more life-or-death type situations.

He sighed then, dropping his hand back onto the bed but not kicking the blanket off the rest of the way. "Sorry about that though. I get the word vomits sometimes? Stuff comes out without me meaning for it to." Stiles shrugged one shoulder then. "I wasn't trying to like... skeeve you out or anything."

“Could’ve fooled me,” he teases, a slight smirk on his face. He laughs at the poke to his chest and playfully swats his hand away. “How do lies and life-or-death situations go together exactly?”

He tilts his head a little, “Who said I’m skeeved out?” He certainly doesn’t remember saying anything like that.

Stiles couldn't help the slight grin that tugged at the side of his mouth at the playful teasing, and out of spite reached out to poke him again. "It helps keep people out of the life or death fray most of the time. Hell, my dad didn't know werewolves were real until after I'd been dealing with them for a couple years, and he's the sheriff. Scott's mom found out a lot sooner, but Scott's legitimately an awful liar." The last thing Stiles had wanted was for something to happen to his dad.

But he shrugged one shoulder again. "I don't know, man. You don't always need to listen to me. My brain just expects the worst-case scenario most of the time."

Bob snickers and bats his hands away again— this cycle might continue a few times if Stiles keeps badgering him, until Bob finally catches his hand in his own; it’s a brief thing, he lets go after a second or two.

He shifts to lay on his back, but keeps his face turned toward the other man. “John and Melissa are great. You guys were… really lucky to have them.” His lips pull into a small, tight smile briefly before it disappears again.

“Well, I’m not, for the record,” he says, “so don’t worry about it.”

Stiles was about to go back to poking at him, just to be annoying, when he noticed Bob's tension up a bit. "Yeah, we were," he admitted, watching Bob carefully. "I didn't get it back then, but now I think they were both trying to make up for being single parents? My mom died when I was 10 and Scott was even younger when his dad got thrown out. That piece of shit."

Frowning slightly and forever unable to actually stay completely still, instead of poking at Bob some more Stiles began to fiddle a bit with the hem of Bob's short sleeve. Honestly, he didn't even realize he was doing it until he finally looked away from Bob's face and down at his own hand, but instead of pulling it away this time he just kept messing with it. The mood tonight was really a rollercoaster. "Hey, thanks, by the way," he said simply, almost like he was talking to that sleeve. "I'm uh... usually stuck in my panic attacks a lot longer than I was tonight. I don't know how but you got me out of it pretty easy."

“A good single parent is better than a shitty couple any day,” and he believes that wholeheartedly; maybe if his mom had left his dad things would have been different? But he can’t know that for sure. Maybe she was always going to be an addict, the same way his dad was always going to be abusive.

Stiles may not notice, but Bob does— his eyes drop to watch the other man fidget a little with his sleeve, but he never moves to stop him; he doesn’t mind, it’s kind of nice. “I’m just glad I helped… I’m pretty good at making things worse a lot of the time…”

"Yeah, I won't argue with you about that." Stiles had seen plenty of bad parents in the past, or the result of bad parents. He wasn't friends with Isaac but his dad was trash, Scott's dad was trash, the Gallaghers he met were a mess, and so were the Milkoviches. "You can share my dad if you want. Scott already does. And you can also share Mrs. M."

Perking a brow, Stiles tilted his head up so he could get a better look at Bob. His fingers stilled but he didn't let go of the sleeve. "You're kidding, right?" he asked, confused by his statement. Maybe even downright incredulous. "I don't know, dude. You seem pretty good at getting my ADHD ass to calm down. Until tonight I hadn't even had a nightmare since you got here." And that was saying something. Usually while it was every several months between panic attack inducing dreams, it was only a couple days between regular nightmares.

Edited (Forgot words!) 2025-08-25 09:54 (UTC)

He smiles softly, “Thanks… And are you sure Scott is going to be as willing to share his mom?”

“What?” He asks, a confused frown on his face; his features shift into obvious surprise. “Really?” He glances over at him carefully. “Do you… usually have them more often?” he wants to ask what they’re about, but it doesn’t seem like a good idea, so instead he just fidgets with his own fingers, twisting them together.

"Scott'll be fine, don't worry. If there's anyone in this world I know better than myself it's him," Stiles grinned back at Bob then. Dammit. He did like Bob's smile.

But then Stiles's grin turned a bit sad as he let his head plop back onto the pillow, shrugging one shoulder in the process. "Yeah. I mean, the panic attack ones? They're usually just a couple times a year. But just general regular nightmares are usually like... every couple nights. And this was the first any kind of nightmare I've had since you got here." Stiles fingers started twisting in the fabric of Bob's sleeve again as he looked away from his friend. Not that there was anything in his room worth looking at, he knew it all like the back of his hand. But he was slightly embarrassed by his nightmares. And admitting them.

“Okay, I’ll take your word for it,” he chuckles softly.

He frowns a little at that information. He doesn’t like that— isn’t sure where the intensity of that thought comes from— but boy can he relate. “Nightmares suck…” he grumbles softly. “So, do you prefer to wait it out or to be woken up?”

"Definitely wake me up," Stiles said, nodding. "I hate getting stuck in them and I can't always wake myself up well." He would have been incredibly stuck tonight if he hadn't dreamed Bob was there with him, at least. Which was still weird-- he never usually had any differences in his memory-dreams. Not even when he had a boyfriend. They were never involved in his dreams.

“Yeah, same…” he nods his agreement. “It’s hard for me to tell, sometimes, you know… what’s real and what’s just what my brain cooks up for funsies.” Not really lucid dreams, he can never control anything in his own dreams.

He tries and fails to stifle a yawn. “Sorry,” he mumbles, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Do you feel like you can go back to sleep? Or do you need more distraction first?”

Yawning himself cause of how contagious those damn things were, Stiles adjusted his pillow under his head a bit. "Yeah, I can probably go back to sleep now," he said simply, grinning a bit at Bob. "I meant it, though. You are good at relaxing me." There were many, many times when after a nightmare Stiles was completely unable to get back to sleep for the rest of the night, but here he was, confident he would be able to drift off again with little issue. "Sorry for waking you up, but thanks anyway."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[log] stiles&bob

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

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject