[ So - it's been a while since he and Nick have spoken. A couple of months, at least. The last time Derek saw Nick, he was setting up wards at Derek's old house - which is where Derek's still living, even if it's something of an unofficial arrangement. It's still kind of hard being back there, surrounded by memories of the life he had with someone who's gone now, so without asking, he decided to crash on Reggie's couch for a night or two until he really had the guts to clean the place out.
Which would be fine, if, like, Reggie lived alone. But he doesn't. So. Sorry for the intrusion. Sorry for intruding without asking. Sorry for everything.
It's, like, 3AM when Derek stumbles out of the spare room Reggie told him to crash in, head spinning and stomach churning. He can't fucking stand this place anymore? He's been here for an afternoon and a half and he's going insane. The earthy, floral scents, the underlying current of magic that makes him think of the woods and druids and Jennifer. His nose is too sensitive and all of this is too - prickly. Derek can't get to sleep, and rather than just climb out the window and bail like a normal person, he's gonna barge into Nick's room and give him shit for having things in his own home.
He just - like - shakes Nick awake, staring down at him, naked except for thin, grey sweats. His hair's sticking up in every direction, a clear case of bedhead, and there are shadows under his eyes that give away the fact that he is just super, super tired. ]
[In all honesty, Nick doesn't really mind Derek being here: Reggie likes him, and Nick likes to look at him, so it's fine. Besides, he knows it can't possibly last that long. Derek doesn't have the fortitude to deal with Nick's schedule (awake until two) and Reggie's (up to run at five or six). Or, at least, he's pretty sure.
What he didn't think was that Derek would wake him up in the middle of the night. Who does that?
Luckily Reggie is asleep, like the dead, and Nick looks over as he's shaken awake. His own hair is a mess, curls in every direction, and he's only wearing a pair of white boxer-briefs.
He looks at Derek. What the heaven?]
I'm awake, what is it boy, did Timmy fall in the well?
[ For a second, the wind dies in Derek's sails. The - audacity? The audacity. Nick just made a dog joke? Nick just made a dog joke. The audacity. Derek just gives himself a second of stunned, slightly frustrated silence, staring at Nick from the darkness like he wants to throw him in a big ol' garbage dump where he belongs. Unbelievable. Dog jokes. Unforgivable? Outrageous.
Anyway, he immediately stops giving a shit, shaking his head. He's not really trying all that hard to keep his voice down, but Reggie continues to just snore through all the bullshit going on around him. ]
You need to - package all of this. Make it all better. The-- that.
[ He gestures, vaguely, in the direction of his jar full of hands and whatever else Nick keeps around, even if those things are kept in another room. He sniffles, rubs his nose with the heel of his palm. ]
I'm gonna help you. Now. We're gonna go bury everything. Or - burn them. Case by case decision.
[He squints in the dark, trying to see what Derek is pointing at. Oh.]
I’m not burying the hands of glory. Or burning them.
[He sits up, then, he rubs his eyes a little.]
What time is it?
[It can not possibly be that late; Reggie isn’t up yet, and Moose is snoring just as steadily in his basket. Reggie used to try and take him running, but that didn’t take; he sleeps in his bed until Reggie leaves, at which point he nudges his way to snuggle with Nick.
So basically it means it’s too fucking early for this bullshit.
Nick looks at Derek.]
Do you do this as a hobby? Offer to burn down your friend’s shit?
Only when the shit in question seems wildly dangerous. You've got - magical shit - just - laying around.
[ Laying around in a house that's been specifically, magically warded against intruders. Magic that Derek knows the effectiveness of first hand. But. ... Still. Knowing that isn't going to stop him from pointing his finger at Nick, continuing to be bullshit. ]
What if we drown them? Weigh them down in the bath tub with concrete shoes. I won't be able to smell them if they're underwater.
[ Okay, well. There's movement, and movement is progress. If Derek wasn't tired and cranky, he'd definitely, definitely be on Nick's side here - Nick's been nothing but responsible with magic and potion ingredients and whatever the fuck else he keeps here, as far as Derek knows, going so far as to recruit backup and invest in security measures when he came back to Duplicity with an unexpected passenger. Derek has absolutely no reason to think he would be irresponsible with anything he's got in his room, and he only argued something along those lines because he's aware that saying "i know i'm crashing in your house without anybody's permission but i still want to make demands that cater to my weird werewolf needs at 3am" isn't the right way to handle things, either.
But. He's tired. And cranky. Tired enough to stare at Nick's tattoo like it's a magic eye pattern worth figuring out. He's got his own tattoo on display, too - guilt etched into his throat, still there from when they went to hell a few months back. LIES wasn't subtle with him.
He follows Nick to the counter, arms across his chest. ]
[And for this. He opens the jar - the smell is foul, they look foul, thickly wet and sticky, and even Nick doesn't like the way they smell. But he puts it on a towel, the "fingers" pointing up, curved like it's holding a ball, and then he wipes it off.
It still smells, and he lights a candle, setting it in the palm. The light is suddenly gone.]
Pick it up.
[If Derek does, he'll be able to see the light again.]
[ The... the candle goes dark. Derek startles on a very basic, animal instinct kind of level, like a dog seeing a magic trick for the first time. He wants to light his eyes up and see if Dope Werewolf Vision does anything to cut through spooky, magical darkness - but he wants to learn as much about Nick's horrible hand-flowers as he can, and he doesn't have to weigh the options for long to decide that following orders is gonna be the best way to go about that.
So - he does as he's told. He grabs the flower, nose wrinkling, and yeah, there we go, the candle's lit again. Derek hopes he's not, like, eternally cursed now, or anything. ]
Huh. Kinda sounds like an inconsequential use for a potent magical item.
[ But hey, witches gonna witch. Derek relinquishes the plant, wiping his hand off on his sweats and then giving his hand a tentative sniff. Unsurprisingly, it's still disgusting. God, cool, now he needs new skin. ]
Wouldn't have had to do that if they had a werewolf on staff. We can see in the dark, we can hear through walls. Less said about our senses of smell, the better.
[ He's - ah - complained about that enough today. ]
[Before he went to school. Before he banished her. Before she died. He doesn't want to talk too much about Amalia. Anyway.]
That's funny, though. Inconsequential use. How would you use magic? Sparingly? It's not like we're going to run out of it.
[Magic is just. A part of everyday life. A part of religion. Nick uses it for mundane reasons. He picks the candle up from the hand of glory and puts it back in the jar, and seals it up, and thinks about it. He opens the spice rack, and takes out the cinnamon, then dusts it over the top of the jar, and takes Derek's hand.
He puts that on top of the jar too, and brings his hands up over it. A moment passes - the spell is cast - the smell is gone.]
[ He looks at Nick like it's a mildly insane thing to ask. Magic's - dangerous, and the only person he genuinely, inherently trusted with it is Stiles, who by definition was only able to use it when it was good and helpful. He's not gonna elaborate if Nick doesn't ask, but he is gonna look ten years younger when a dusting of cinnamon and a few quiet moments is all it takes for the smell to be gone. Again, he's just... a dog, excited by a magic trick.
He breathes in as deep as he can, hand over his chest, then exhales. Another deep breath, in and out. He feels so much better. He gives Nick a few enthusiastic nods, which is a little at odds with the whole stern eyebrows and somehow-grumpy-jawline thing he's got going on, but then he reaches out and gives him an unnecessarily hard fistbump to the chest. Pow, right in the ribs. ]
[He says it without much judgement. Werewolves are different. Derek is a different kind of werewolf. He looks at Derek for a moment, considers him, takes his time. What kind of favor does he expect Nick to collect?
He won't go for something sexual. Is they're going to make out, he will just do it.]
Because I wouldn't. I don't trust magic. I don't trust people who use magic. You're barely an exception.
[ Nick's more than just barely an exception, Derek's just - being Derek. He's not saying any of this maliciously, or anything, he's just gotta be combative when he can be combative. Honestly, he also didn't have anything in mind for what Nick would owe him, he was just saying he's grateful - but he does narrow his eyes, mildly annoyed, when Nick calls in any old debts he might have. What's he talking about? Warding the house? Crashing here? Waking Nick up to do this in the first place? SEEMS FAKE ]
Okay, well. I owe you one thing, and you're on a ticking clock, here. You've got thirty seconds to come up with something before the deal's off. I'm not that grateful.
[He gives him a casual, easy look. Derek thinks that the debts he owes will never be collected. But Nick isn't quite that easy to get away from. He nods his head up a little.]
I mean... I'm staying in Reggie's house. It just happens to be yours, too.
[ Which is - technically probably not true? Nick's the dom, so. The place is probably literally in his name. Still, a witchy wizardy devil-carrying devil boy is implying that Derek is in his debt, and that is wildly ominous to someone who is a little spooked by magic. Derek doesn't like the feeling he's getting here.
So - he raises his hands a little, trying to look disarmed. ]
Just gonna cut this off at the pass. You're not getting my soul, if that's what you're after.
It's the other way around. This is my house, that happens to be Reggie's too.
[Nick was here first, so, strictly speaking. Anyway. He looks at Derek with a slight aura of disbelief; what the heaven would he do with a soul? He isn't the Dark Lord, he's just hosting - imprisoning? - the Dark Lord.]
Contrary to popular belief, souls are not really a viable currency. What exactly would I do with a soul?
[Witches are in the business of slightly more practical things.]
[ Derek rolls his eyes, looks at Nick like he thinks he's stupid, then makes a little wide-eyed half nod and sweeping hand gesture that could very generously be interpreted as "thank you for letting me crash here". He pushes on. ]
I don't know. Bind me as an eternal servant, or whatever. Get in my head and making me see and believe things that aren't real. It's a soul. I'm sure there's tons of things you can do with it.
Edited (wait grammar im tired shh) 2019-11-25 20:33 (UTC)
[Here they are, a pair of handsome young men wearing very little in the middle of the night, having an honest to god conversation about the things one can or cannot do with a mortal soul. Nick's soul was given to the Dark Lord a long time ago.
Anyway. He sits at the counter in one of the high top chairs.]
To bind you as my eternal servant, I would need your consent, and you to sign it in blood, but your soul probably wouldn't be necessary. And getting in your head to see things and believe things that aren't real? That's a really simple spell.
Wow, hey, that's the opposite of reassuring! Great work. Nick's making sense, of course - all Jennifer had to do was slit a few virgin throats to get the magic she needed to screw with his head and secure his loyalty, and he knows how powerful blood can be. Nick tells Derek not to worry, but. Come on, dude. Derek's visibly unhappy. ]
Derek opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. Closes it. Stares at Nick for a good long, long amount of time. Six seconds. Maybe seven. He stares, and he stares, and he stares, and he ultimately decides that - you know what? He's just gonna go home in the morning. Problem solved. ]
... So, yeah. Getting rid of that smell for me was a pretty cool trick.
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Which would be fine, if, like, Reggie lived alone. But he doesn't. So. Sorry for the intrusion. Sorry for intruding without asking. Sorry for everything.
It's, like, 3AM when Derek stumbles out of the spare room Reggie told him to crash in, head spinning and stomach churning. He can't fucking stand this place anymore? He's been here for an afternoon and a half and he's going insane. The earthy, floral scents, the underlying current of magic that makes him think of the woods and druids and Jennifer. His nose is too sensitive and all of this is too - prickly. Derek can't get to sleep, and rather than just climb out the window and bail like a normal person, he's gonna barge into Nick's room and give him shit for having things in his own home.
He just - like - shakes Nick awake, staring down at him, naked except for thin, grey sweats. His hair's sticking up in every direction, a clear case of bedhead, and there are shadows under his eyes that give away the fact that he is just super, super tired. ]
Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey.
[ Hey. Hey. Shake shake shake. ]
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What he didn't think was that Derek would wake him up in the middle of the night. Who does that?
Luckily Reggie is asleep, like the dead, and Nick looks over as he's shaken awake. His own hair is a mess, curls in every direction, and he's only wearing a pair of white boxer-briefs.
He looks at Derek. What the heaven?]
I'm awake, what is it boy, did Timmy fall in the well?
[He knows some mortal pop culture references.]
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Anyway, he immediately stops giving a shit, shaking his head. He's not really trying all that hard to keep his voice down, but Reggie continues to just snore through all the bullshit going on around him. ]
You need to - package all of this. Make it all better. The-- that.
[ He gestures, vaguely, in the direction of his jar full of hands and whatever else Nick keeps around, even if those things are kept in another room. He sniffles, rubs his nose with the heel of his palm. ]
I'm gonna help you. Now. We're gonna go bury everything. Or - burn them. Case by case decision.
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I’m not burying the hands of glory. Or burning them.
[He sits up, then, he rubs his eyes a little.]
What time is it?
[It can not possibly be that late; Reggie isn’t up yet, and Moose is snoring just as steadily in his basket. Reggie used to try and take him running, but that didn’t take; he sleeps in his bed until Reggie leaves, at which point he nudges his way to snuggle with Nick.
So basically it means it’s too fucking early for this bullshit.
Nick looks at Derek.]
Do you do this as a hobby? Offer to burn down your friend’s shit?
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[ Laying around in a house that's been specifically, magically warded against intruders. Magic that Derek knows the effectiveness of first hand. But. ... Still. Knowing that isn't going to stop him from pointing his finger at Nick, continuing to be bullshit. ]
What if we drown them? Weigh them down in the bath tub with concrete shoes. I won't be able to smell them if they're underwater.
[ Probably. ]
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[Except maybe the library in the Gray Room, but that’s because Nick warded that too, and because Dorian lives on the premises.
He gets up, though, gets the jar, carries it over and out of the room. Let poor Reggie sleep, for hell’s sake.
His tattoo is on full display; an inky, impossibly black series of elaborate geometrical bindings on his back.
He sets the jar down on the kitchen island.]
Besides, keeping a hand of glory outside of a warded space invites trouble.
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But. He's tired. And cranky. Tired enough to stare at Nick's tattoo like it's a magic eye pattern worth figuring out. He's got his own tattoo on display, too - guilt etched into his throat, still there from when they went to hell a few months back. LIES wasn't subtle with him.
He follows Nick to the counter, arms across his chest. ]
... What are they even for?
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[And for this. He opens the jar - the smell is foul, they look foul, thickly wet and sticky, and even Nick doesn't like the way they smell. But he puts it on a towel, the "fingers" pointing up, curved like it's holding a ball, and then he wipes it off.
It still smells, and he lights a candle, setting it in the palm. The light is suddenly gone.]
Pick it up.
[If Derek does, he'll be able to see the light again.]
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So - he does as he's told. He grabs the flower, nose wrinkling, and yeah, there we go, the candle's lit again. Derek hopes he's not, like, eternally cursed now, or anything. ]
I'm gonna throw up.
[ He's not. ]
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[Throw up, he means. He reaches out for the hand of glory, and once he takes it, the light goes out for Derek again.]
It's only illuminated for the holder. We weren't allowed to have them in school. The teachers used them for bed checks.
[Satan, the Academy. Nick misses it, even thought it was-
-even despite everything.]
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[ But hey, witches gonna witch. Derek relinquishes the plant, wiping his hand off on his sweats and then giving his hand a tentative sniff. Unsurprisingly, it's still disgusting. God, cool, now he needs new skin. ]
Wouldn't have had to do that if they had a werewolf on staff. We can see in the dark, we can hear through walls. Less said about our senses of smell, the better.
[ He's - ah - complained about that enough today. ]
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[Before he went to school. Before he banished her. Before she died. He doesn't want to talk too much about Amalia. Anyway.]
That's funny, though. Inconsequential use. How would you use magic? Sparingly? It's not like we're going to run out of it.
[Magic is just. A part of everyday life. A part of religion. Nick uses it for mundane reasons. He picks the candle up from the hand of glory and puts it back in the jar, and seals it up, and thinks about it. He opens the spice rack, and takes out the cinnamon, then dusts it over the top of the jar, and takes Derek's hand.
He puts that on top of the jar too, and brings his hands up over it. A moment passes - the spell is cast - the smell is gone.]
Better?
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[ He looks at Nick like it's a mildly insane thing to ask. Magic's - dangerous, and the only person he genuinely, inherently trusted with it is Stiles, who by definition was only able to use it when it was good and helpful. He's not gonna elaborate if Nick doesn't ask, but he is gonna look ten years younger when a dusting of cinnamon and a few quiet moments is all it takes for the smell to be gone. Again, he's just... a dog, excited by a magic trick.
He breathes in as deep as he can, hand over his chest, then exhales. Another deep breath, in and out. He feels so much better. He gives Nick a few enthusiastic nods, which is a little at odds with the whole stern eyebrows and somehow-grumpy-jawline thing he's got going on, but then he reaches out and gives him an unnecessarily hard fistbump to the chest. Pow, right in the ribs. ]
Yes. Nice. Owe you something. Name your price.
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[He says it without much judgement. Werewolves are different. Derek is a different kind of werewolf. He looks at Derek for a moment, considers him, takes his time. What kind of favor does he expect Nick to collect?
He won't go for something sexual. Is they're going to make out, he will just do it.]
You owe me more than one something.
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[ Nick's more than just barely an exception, Derek's just - being Derek. He's not saying any of this maliciously, or anything, he's just gotta be combative when he can be combative. Honestly, he also didn't have anything in mind for what Nick would owe him, he was just saying he's grateful - but he does narrow his eyes, mildly annoyed, when Nick calls in any old debts he might have. What's he talking about? Warding the house? Crashing here? Waking Nick up to do this in the first place? SEEMS FAKE ]
Okay, well. I owe you one thing, and you're on a ticking clock, here. You've got thirty seconds to come up with something before the deal's off. I'm not that grateful.
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[You can't alpha him, Derek.]
You're staying in my house.
[He gives him a casual, easy look. Derek thinks that the debts he owes will never be collected. But Nick isn't quite that easy to get away from. He nods his head up a little.]
Consider this one free.
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[ Which is - technically probably not true? Nick's the dom, so. The place is probably literally in his name. Still, a witchy wizardy devil-carrying devil boy is implying that Derek is in his debt, and that is wildly ominous to someone who is a little spooked by magic. Derek doesn't like the feeling he's getting here.
So - he raises his hands a little, trying to look disarmed. ]
Just gonna cut this off at the pass. You're not getting my soul, if that's what you're after.
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[Nick was here first, so, strictly speaking. Anyway. He looks at Derek with a slight aura of disbelief; what the heaven would he do with a soul? He isn't the Dark Lord, he's just hosting - imprisoning? - the Dark Lord.]
Contrary to popular belief, souls are not really a viable currency. What exactly would I do with a soul?
[Witches are in the business of slightly more practical things.]
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[ Derek rolls his eyes, looks at Nick like he thinks he's stupid, then makes a little wide-eyed half nod and sweeping hand gesture that could very generously be interpreted as "thank you for letting me crash here". He pushes on. ]
I don't know. Bind me as an eternal servant, or whatever. Get in my head and making me see and believe things that aren't real. It's a soul. I'm sure there's tons of things you can do with it.
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[Here they are, a pair of handsome young men wearing very little in the middle of the night, having an honest to god conversation about the things one can or cannot do with a mortal soul. Nick's soul was given to the Dark Lord a long time ago.
Anyway. He sits at the counter in one of the high top chairs.]
To bind you as my eternal servant, I would need your consent, and you to sign it in blood, but your soul probably wouldn't be necessary. And getting in your head to see things and believe things that aren't real? That's a really simple spell.
[A pause.]
But I wouldn't worry about any of that.
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Wow, hey, that's the opposite of reassuring! Great work. Nick's making sense, of course - all Jennifer had to do was slit a few virgin throats to get the magic she needed to screw with his head and secure his loyalty, and he knows how powerful blood can be. Nick tells Derek not to worry, but. Come on, dude. Derek's visibly unhappy. ]
I'm worried.
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You really don't have to.
It would upset Reggie. A lot.
[Which is. Probably also concerning, that Nick's check is Reggie Mantle.]
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Derek opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. Closes it. Stares at Nick for a good long, long amount of time. Six seconds. Maybe seven. He stares, and he stares, and he stares, and he ultimately decides that - you know what? He's just gonna go home in the morning. Problem solved. ]
... So, yeah. Getting rid of that smell for me was a pretty cool trick.
[ Topic change. He is dying inside. ]
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There's some tea that helps with sleep in the top tea tin. There's no wolfsbane in it.
[Which you know. It's important to not poison Derek.]
If you can't sleep.
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[ Just saying. No hard feelings. Besides, Derek's not all that tired - now that he's up, he'll be up until tonight. Dude doesn't sleep much. ]
I did want to talk to you, though. If you're not going back to bed any time soon.
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