hyperactive | ic contact || deerington.

[Logan watches him go and come back, eying him just as warily for a few beats like he's not sure what to expect here. If the kid's bringing more trouble to his doormat, he doesn't want it. But he also doesn't want any more charity, because it makes him feel itchy under the collar - like this kid's a good kid and now he's fucking sucked into another person's sphere of influence here. He almost wishes Stiles hadn't yet found a cigar, because - damn, he wants to reach out for them. But he doesn't. He stays lounging back on the sofa, eyes intent.]

Not if you're going to get on my case about it. Or act like a doctor, a nurse or anybody else who thinks they know best.

[ oh, okay, okay. okay, good. this is working. the hunger in logan's eyes, the salivation. he's a dog and these smooth, mellow cigars are prime cut steaks. stiles' heart does a little jump when he realizes he might actually be able to weasel some information out of logan here, but the guilt is almost crushing enough that he kind of wants to just give him the cigars without prying into his life too much. almost. ]

I just want to know what you're dealing with. I found out a few things about how death works here, and I guess I'm just...

[ ... he gestures with his hands, trying to find the words. he guesses he's just hoping things will be advanced enough here for logan to get help? he's hoping there's something here he can do? he's hoping he isn't actually making friends with a dying guy? stiles, frustrated, drops his hands, slapping them against his thighs. ]

Okay, okay, okay, there might be some light nagging if we go down this road, maybe a generous sprinkling of concern over this cake baked with worry, but you're three times the size of me and probably really comfortable with the idea of punching me in the head. So. It's not like I'm gonna be able to boss you around here, right?

[Red flags should be going off for Logan and they are, pretty much. This kid's already thinking five steps ahead for his future here and Logan's almost irked that he's including him in it. Why can't people just let an old man secluded himself away in privacy, until his dying day? Everyone's busting in and expecting shit of him. Laura spoke about the same idea, same concept, that death's not permanent and... maybe this Deerington place'll have something that can help. He obliged her, so - here he is, obliging Stiles.

He looks away, rather than keep eying the cigars he can just about taste.]

I've got an implant in me that can't be removed. It's toxic.

[That's a really vague way of covering it but hey - he's not lying?]

No good solution to be found. Not worth talking about. Now give me a cigar.

[ an implant? stiles is starting to understand why logan is as private about all of this as he is - nobody likes talking about their surgeries, and if something was embedded in logan to either save his life or get him killed, that's a pretty fucking heavy thing to bring up. must have led to a lot of suffering, too, dealing with that kind of infection for so long. stiles doesn't really blame him for wanting to shoulder whatever he's shouldering alone.

but. ]

What kind of implant?

[ one question gets one cigar. stiles holds out the first, clutching the other three cigars to his chest. he's never been good at letting people wallow in their own bullshit, and nothing screams i'm wallowing quite as loudly as the intense denial of a second chance in a whole new fucking universe where death is confirmed to be incredibly flexible. he's not gonna shy away if he can help it. ]

[He leans forward to take the first cigar, realizing he's at an interesting junction here where Stiles still has the power by means of having two more cigars to bait him along with. Logan leans back, satisfied for a second at finally having one in his hands and he smells it in a way that's pretty familiar with picking apart cigar quality. It could be better, but he's not about to whine over it. This way he isn't digging into his good stash any time soon.]

It was experimental.

[Not really a great answer, but he's leaning for his bag - rummaging for a lighter he knows he has while simultaneously lamenting the fact he can't so easily cut off the end of his cigar. Zippo in hand, he leans back and just... hesitates on the next step, as if he's thinking about the question more than he really is.]

And not something I like talking about.

[ there's a brief, brief second where stiles thinks to himself, what, like wolverine? - but the thought fades as quickly as it arrives, staying completely fucking disconnected to the guy in front of him. stiles runs his hand over the back of his neck, throwing a second cigar logan's way. it lands on the cushion he's sitting on, rolling down and resting against his leg. ]

Okay.

[ next cigar. stiles chews his bottom lip, really mulling this over. he's not going to push logan to talk about shit he doesn't want to talk about, even though he thinks getting on his case about this experimental implant might be the best way for him to figure out how to help him - so he jumps to the next best thing. gathering information so he can try and find short term relief for the guy. ]

How badly does it hurt? The - the coughing, like the fit you had here - how often does that kind of thing happen?

Edited 2020-02-12 08:37 (UTC)

Kid, why don't you just hold on to that question for later. Might think of something better to ask in the meanwhile.

[He doesn't want to answer this - and he's giving Stiles an out to hold out on him, keep another IOU in the form of an owed question. Also not so subtly trying to tell him to stop poking at sore and literally open wounds right now, because he really doesn't want to reflect on the shit he's already suffering through. He pushes to get up from the couch, less to walk away from this and more to head into the kitchen to look for a knife bigger than the piece of shit in his bag.

The tin can goes nuts and he's not sure why he's surprised, but he scowls at it like he is, before retreating back to the living space a moment later with a cut cigar in his mouth, freshly lit. Totally what a dying man with lungs that eke blood's certainly supposed to do, right? He sits back down, but more to the edge of the sofa cushion this time.]

That or ask something else.

[ stiles, naturally, wants to argue - the more detail logan goes into about his symptoms, the better chance stiles is gonna have of finding someone who might be able to fix him. he's annoyed, it's there on his face, but logan doesn't seem to give a shit, seeing as he just walks off and heads into the kitchen. stiles watches him go and thinks about pushing, like always, but - but at the same time, if logan had sat him down and grilled him about his nightmares, stiles probably wouldn't have been half as patient. reluctantly, stiles knows to take the loss as a loss. ]

... Okay.

[ he's got other questions in mind, a dozen different hypotheticals he can dress up as innocent curiosity instead of genuine worry and concern. instead, stiles just watches logan rake around in the kitchen, leaning back against his arm of the sofa and waiting for this asshole to quit fucking around and join him again. once logan sits, stiles takes a long, deep breath and goes for a gimme. he doesn't offer a cigar for this one, partially because he doesn't think that logan should be smoking them, but. hey, he started it. ]

Where'd you grow up?

[He's eying Stiles for a moment as he takes a drag from his cigar, getting used to the taste of it with a surprisingly comforted sigh. Lighter tossed back onto his satchel, Logan slowly leans back again to drape his arm over the back of the sofa and to sink into it to enjoy his cigar - keeping silent for a long minute as he so often does.]

You asking where I was born or where I've spent most of my time?

[Just childhood? Adolescence? It's been a while since his teen years, Stiles.]

Northern Canada. You?

[ stiles isn't sure what he's asking, really, so he shrugs, non-commital. both work, either work. logan says he's from canada and stiles is-- pretty fucking amused, honestly. there's this impish smile on his face that he does his best to bury, but hiding it only makes him smile even more. he shouldn't find that so funny, but - canada, really? this tough guy's from canada? that is the absolute last place he would have guessed. ]

California. Not anywhere cool, though. More overcast woods and high crime rate than sunny beaches and hot people. Well, no, that's not fair. Everyone is unfairly attractive in Beacon Hills, excluding yours truly.

[ still, he plays it off without comment, even though the urge to make jokes about how logan must've been pretty fucking far north if he absorbed all the cool frostiness of perpetually winter weather and none of the stereotypical politeness he'd probably get further south. ]

Is Canada home for you? Or - do you live somewhere else now?

[God, he just scowls the way anyone Canadian scowls when someone is poking fun at said Canadianism. Like maybe they say pop instead of fizzy drinks like those strange, upside downers in Australia do. Maybe they drink bagged milk. What do you care, Stiles? Jerk. Jerkist Jerkism. He looks away after that, zoning out after the word California as that was all the answer he needed, kid.]

Lived by the border in Mexico for a while. Worked in the States.

[live, laugh and loving it up in a smelting plant.]

You really don't have anyone else you can call a friend here? Nobody?

[ Stiles doesn't know much about Australia, but he does know that Oli can get fucked. He was also kind of waiting for Logan to get tired of talking to him and shut him out, so now that it's happening, he just sighs through his nose and tells him to just be grateful he learned as much about this guy as he did in the small window of opportunity afforded to him. He's mildly annoyed by the question, but... he's not gonna, like, lie. ]

You gonna stop checking in on me if I do?

[ Because yeah, he does, but he likes Logan. Okay, well, that's not strictly true, but he's worrying about him a lot, and he doesn't want to be completely removed from this guy's life the second he finds out about Derek or Amara. ]

That'd be the plan.

[Does he mean it? Not really, because he's rolling his eyes - still unsure if this kid's got it in him to have other people to depend on, and even if he does, Logan still feels obliged to being around. Something about thinking Stiles is kind of a bug catching idiot who's asking for trouble.]

It'd be nice to know you have someone else to babysit you, time to time.

[ Right. Whether Logan means that or not, Stiles is clearly pretty pissed with the answer, flicking his tongue against the inside of his lip and sighing, short and fast, like an annoyed shihtzu. He puts his feet up on the edge of his seat, then drops one leg out, hard and fast, heel hitting the floor with a thud. He folds his arms over his stomach and he's generally just... restless. Moody. ]

I've had some pretty amazing babysitters, dude. Tara did so much of my math homework for me in middle school. Way too soon to start sharing a job title with her.

[ You're not my babysitter, in other words. He's not offering Logan the luxury of knowing there are other people in his life looking out for him, but that's just out of spite, if anything. ]

You couldn't even do your own homework? Really proving to be self-sufficient here, kid.

[A little jab, that old thing resembling a personality slipping through the aged and bitter old cracks. He wants to get his shit and leave, maybe get the goods to Laura tonight too - but it just feels... weird leaving Stiles alone? Because he really, really, really doesn't think this kid's got anyone else. And he's not giving Logan reason to think otherwise. So. He does the adult thing:]

You eat anything before you handed it over? Like - for dinner. You eat dinner?

[ Ha, ha. Stiles holds onto being annoyed for a few seconds longer before breaking a little, smiling despite himself. That childish urge to dig his heels in and hold out on Logan doesn't really last, now that the guy's fussing over how much he's eaten and generally acting worried about whether or not he's okay. Stiles gives the answer he always gives - ]

I'm fine.

[ - and lets his guilt eat away at him enough to make him talk. He scratches his fingers through his hair and shrugs with one shoulder, throwing the last of the cigars on the table for Logan to just snatch up for himself if he wants to. ]

Someone named Amara was going to show me some safe places to stay. There's another guy here I know from home, too, so.

[ He's absolutely not going to go with Amara and he spends more time worrying about Derek than letting him take care of him, so no real gain here, but Logan doesn't have to know that. ]

Someone from home? That a good thing or a bad thing?

[You know, echoing an earlier conversation they had with a tilt of his head. He recognizes Amara's name and well, Logan might think she's good people but she's also not the type of people he'd figure Stiles would stick around. Doesn't think the kid would deal well with fingers floating in whiskey or whatever.]

[ Yeah, there's already been a pretty grizzly death at Amara's hand that's made its way into Stiles' frequently reoccuring nightmares, so while he might like the lady, he's not exactly jumping over hurdles to hang out with her. Logan parrots his own words back to him and Stiles doesn't really take the time to call him out on it like he should. ]

Complicated. Not in a back from the dead way, just...

[ He thinks he's from Derek's future, and that's problematic for a number of reasons that are pretty hard to explain. Stiles gestures with his hands like he's got spiderwebs on his fingers, or something, all itchy and annoying. ]

I just know some things he doesn't. I don't know how to tell him about it. And before you jump down my throat and call me a hypocrite - I am gonna tell him about the important shit. Just... figuring all of that out, still.

Oh, right. So you get to jump down my throat but I'm not allowed to jump down yours.

[Logan feels a bit better now that he knows Stiles is a dirty hypocrite - curbs some of the barbs on him as he stares across the table at Stiles and cocks a brow. Just one little brow raise to say hypocrite before Logan's lounging back again and having a smoke. There are a few avenues he could drift into here...]

The guy I was talking about, he's not from my timeline. So the fact he doesn't survive it doesn't really matter. Would you want to know your alternate universe self dies? No point.

[So it's different, he wants to say.]

What do you have to tell him?

[ Oh, cool, we're factoring alternate universes into the mix? Stiles kind of freezes up when Logan drops that on him, staring in silence for a second or two while he rapidly catalogues that new information to memory. Shiny new existential crisis to poke at later when he's alone with his problems. Always love getting those.

Still, Logan's acting more and more relaxed, and that's putting Stiles at ease, too. At ease enough to make him open up a little, when ten minutes ago, or maybe even five, he would've just kept making jokes and lobbing insults and blowing everything off. ]

Oh, man. Where do I start? Skyfall just came out for me, so I've gotta tell him how good it is. I don't know if he's a big James Bond fan, but - Daniel Craig, am I right? Amazing casting. Solid acting in all three of his films.

[ He needs to warn Derek about deaths to come, about the loss he'll deal with. About the woman he's seeing, about how she can't be trusted - there's a laundry list of tragedies to bring up, and Stiles is just... yeah. Struggling.

But again - Logan's getting him to open up a little, so... ]

No, uh - I've just lived through some things that he'll wanna change, if he has the foresight. That's all. And...

[ A pause. Stiles runs his hands together, dropping both feet to the floor and hunching over, elbows on his knees. He looks at Logan like he's not sure if he wants him to say anything, or - if he wants him to just keep quiet, but - either way, he forges ahead. ]

Uh - I'm sick, so. I need to tell him that, just 'cause it's not something I'm gonna be able to hide while I'm here. Don't want to freak him out if he finds me at my worst and doesn't see it coming.

Edited 2020-02-15 07:55 (UTC)

What kind of sick?

[Logan's not about to get preachy with it because then he'd be a startling hypocrite but... well, Stiles is young. Far younger than Logan, who's really at the end of his nearly two hundred year old rope. If there's something to be done for the kid, through medicine or other treatment - he's going to want to look into that while neglecting it for himself.

His eyes are a little more keen, looking Stiles over. Like he's trying to pick it apart, even though he can't. Even if he had his senses, he doesn't really know that there'd be much to pick up on in terms of the scent of sickness.]

[ That's what Logan's honing in on? Not on his cool Skyfall commentary? Stiles twists his mouth to the side like he really would've liked to rank all his favorite Bond films, but fine, whatever. ]

Uh, it's called...

[ There's a bit of a rasp to his voice now, like it's difficult to get this out, but he's not-- upset, he's just kind of dealing with a lump in his throat while he puts this into words for someone other than Scott. He scratches his eyebrow with his thumb while he talks, keeping casual. ]

Uh - frontotemporal dementia. Same thing that killed my mom. It's the only kind of dementia that can hit teenagers. Your brain, uh...

[ Stiles frowns, dropping his hands, leg starting to bounce. He was gonna go into detail, really break down the symptoms and the science of what he's going through, but he's not sure that would comfort Logan the way he can trick himself into pretending it comforts him. Stiles just kinda gestures with his hands, bringing them together - indicating shrinking. ]

I was getting an MRI when they got me here. Brain's already started to atrophy, so. I kinda struggle with reading, sleeping, retaining information, things like that. Still early days, but I figure it's something he's gotta know about.

[Logan's quiet for a long moment after that, exhaling an upward plume of smoke as the word dementia dances through his head. It's rather unfair, the idea of a kid like this dealing with something so sudden and all consuming. And it reminds Logan of Charles like a bullet to the chest, sobering him from any levity and making him solemn and quiet as he sits forward again to rest his elbows on his legs.]

There are medications for dementia. Aricept, Gala... Gala-whatever.

[He snaps his fingers, but the word doesn't come to him, ironically. There were a lot of medications that for a time, helped Charles but nothing consistent. Nothing permanent. Nothing so accessible that it was a real option, aside from the shots they gave him to mellow him out. And that was only to keep him from killing everyone around him.]

Were you on any of those?

Galantamine...?

[ Stiles isn't exactly taken aback by Logan almost successfully namedropping alzheimer's medication - he looks old enough to have lived through a parental death or two - but he's pretty relieved that this is his reaction. Better than a bunch of awkward apologies or guilty pity.

Still - he shakes his head. ]

No - I only just got diagnosed. We haven't had time to talk options.

[ He literally showed up here in his hospital gown, so. Yeah. Still - for someone so early on in this process, Stiles is talking like he knew his diagnosis was coming. Kind of hard to miss the signs when you've already lived through them once. ]

Yeah, that's the shit.

[He makes a grunting noise as he mulls it over, looking at Stiles' face again as if he is trying to see into his head. It's not really anything Logan's going to be able to help with, but it is something he's got a slight bit of experience with. Charles went through a lot and it was magnified due to the state of his mutation - the effects he had on the world around him made him so, so dangerous. This is different, he again falsely assumes, because Stiles can't really hurt anyone like this. But he could potentially hurt himself.]

Recently lost a father figure... so I know the doses, if we were to find anything like it. People've been talking about a city they were in before, some version of Maine. If we get back there, through riding the fucking Hindenburg or whatever...

[Sorry, Titanic salt. Everything here is ridiculous.]

There's gotta be someone who can check you out. Prescribe something.

ic contact || deerington.

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