[For Jacob] Debut

[better_yoda]

This is not where Stiles went to bed.

Bed being the operative word there, because there had been one—Nothing fancy, but more than adequate for sleeping and… probably other things, too, if Stiles ever actually gets around to those.

There's no bed now, adequate or otherwise, and Stiles thinks it pretty screwed up that his life has officially reached the point where, upon waking in a jungle in his jammies, his first thought is that someone, somehow turned him into a werewolf without his knowledge.

It's probably pretty screwed up, too, that Stiles just goes with it, stumbling gracelessly through underbrush as the panic steadily rises and then lodges in his throat. By the time he hits a pathway, barefoot and sputtering, leaves clinging to every part of his person as his arms attempt to flail them off like a Muppet, the anxiety has completely cleared away what was left of the cotton in his head.

This means he can look straight at the guy looming there on the boardwalk and immediately place him as Jacob Black.

So he's dreaming. That's a relief, because he was starting to think he'd been roofied and carried all the way to Mexico before his captors realized they'd grabbed someone of absolutely no value.

Stiles turns a wild eye to the trees on instinct, flotsam dislodging from his shirt and fluttering to the ground as he peers up, back, around both sides of the dude from Twilight. This is not unfounded paranoia, oh no. The night before his last big Spanish exam, Stiles been on the cusp of slipping his hand up Dream Lydia's shirt when Derek had sprung from the trees dressed like Pancho Villa and demanded that Stiles conjugate all forms of the verb morder. It had been utterly horrifying. Stiles still isn't over it.

"So, you're…" He turns his attention to Taylor Lautner with an abrupt swivel of his head and makes an aborted motion with both hands as he trails off. "What, Scott? That's what's going on here, right? You're bigger than he is, but it's sort of potato, potahto— Why are we in the jungle?"

Comments

[quileutejacob]

"Werewolves? There's a few," Jacob confirmed. "I used to be one, even, but it doesn't work on the island. I wish it did because it's boring as hell here without being able to phase."

Then again, it was nice not hearing Leah's every waking thought, so it was probably for the best.

"How do you know werewolves? Most people think we're imaginary."

[better_yoda]

"Yeah, I can see how that would be a bummer," Stiles says with a quick nod and a lift of his eyebrows. "Less fleas and people trying to kill you, though, so… maybe not a bad trade off—"

Stopping short, he rears back with an incredulous scoff. "What, I couldn't have been a werewolf?"

[quileutejacob]

"Didn't you just say you were the sane center in the weird storm? That doesn't usually say werewolf to me," Jacob said, grinning even wider. It was amusing and he couldn't really even put a finger on why, exactly. Mostly because it'd been a long time since he'd met anyone new and fresh to the island.

"Although I guess if the other people around you are, like, vampires or something, the werewolf would be the sane one."

[better_yoda]

"I could be the sane one in a pack of weird wolves," Stiles counters, mostly for the sake of his wounded pride. His pride is wounded a lot, though, so he should probably just get over it.

"I wasn't," he admits after a pause. "A werewolf. I could have been, though. I declined." If anything wins him sanity points in that whole crazy mess, surely that's it.

[quileutejacob]

Jacob arched a brow. "It's a choice, where you're from? Weird. We're just born this way."

Then again, his kind of werewolf didn't have anything to do with the moon or being bitten or all that crazy stuff but maybe this guy's did. "We just shape-change into wolves. It's been in my tribe for centuries."

[better_yoda]

"Yeah, I saw the movie," Stiles flippantly replies, brain still straddling that line between reality and fantasy and not quite parsing yet that the extremely tall boy before him is the place where the two meet.

"We have both," he continues, heedless. "You're infinitely more sane than both of the born werewolves I've known, so good job, man."

[quileutejacob]

"So, sane wolves are named Jacob so, what are insane wolves named? Something nice and romantic like Heathcliff or something?"

That had been a cartoon when he was a kid but Bella had informed him (with a smirk, no less) that Heathcliff was a character in Wuthering Heights, a book she and Edward apparently loved. Jacob...got the Cliff's Notes, barely passed the test and forgot it existed. It was better that way.

[better_yoda]

"Uh, Peter," Stiles replies, thinking this kid is perhaps weirder than he initially thought. "So, romantic if you're into nursery rhymes involving being locked inside pumpkins?" That's just the kind of thing Peter would do, too, the asshole.

"And, uh. Derek. That's with a D, for douche," he adds, drawing the last word out.

[quileutejacob]

"Ohhh. Must be related to Sam. I could try to do a little rhyme thing but school and werewolves doesn't really mix. It's kind of hard to concentrate on vocab when there's vampires breathing down your neck. Well. Not breathing, they don't breathe."

Jacob shrugged, awkward. "Do they have vamps where you're from?"