Chapter Text
He's overworked himself. Again. And he's having freaky dreams.
That's the only sane explanation.
"Uhm, man, you're freaking me out." The guy says, fidgetting more than he's ever seen anyone who wasn't Posey fidget. Fidgeting even more than Posey, actually. Which is impressive.
He should talk. Should try and make conversation with the guy, see if that triggers the dream sequence into dissolving.
"Don't." He says, then. The guy's eyes go even wider than they'd been before. "Keep calm. Please. I'm not capable of dealing with this. I want to wake up."
"You can't deal with-- You want to-- Oh, God, seriously?" The guy looks up at the ceiling, bringing his hands to his shorn head. "What. The. Hell."
Okay, maybe that wasn't the best thing to say. But he's always been a little tactless, so whatever else he would've come up with would've surely had the same effect on... Okay, he probably has to man up and stop calling him 'the guy'.
Whatever else he would've come up with would've probably had the same effect on Stiles.
Stilinski.
The character he plays on Teen Wolf.
A fictional show about shirtless werewolves. And the hunters they sometimes date.
Oh God, let this be a dream and let him wake up, now.
When it's been an hour since he woke up here and he still isn't waking up, he starts panicking a little.
He's not that sensitive when he's panicking.
"So, what you are saying is," Stiles breathes in and out, slowly, before going on "that I don't exist, that my whole universe doesn't exist. And that we are characters from a TV show."
Dylan nods, resisting the urge to tug his hair a little.
"You must be on the good stuff, man." He stares at him for a second or two before asking, "anyway, what's your name?"
This is unreal. This is... Augh, he just doesn't know enough words to describe what this is, in addition to weird and frankly creepy.
"Well, Mr. I-come-from-another-universe?"
"Dylan." He answers, finally, because if Stiles keeps asking in increasingly annoying ways (the way Dylan's got a dead certainty that he will), Dylan's going to snap and punch him.
And that would be weirder than seeing him standing in front of himself, that'd be punching his own face, and causing pain to someone he's created.
Mother of God.
"Okay, Dylan. That's a nice name." He almost smiles at how narcissistic that is, but the situation is just too entirely fucked up to even enjoy that. "Dylan, do you remember how you ended up in my room?"
"No." He answers, in all honesty.
The last he can remember is wrapping up the last scene of the night and getting into a cab with Hoechlin, making their way towards the apartment. That's it.
He's still racking his brain for any useful information when Stiles' phone starts ringing.
"Is anybody dying? Because if nobody's been shot with a thousand wolfsbane bullets right on their pretty werewolf ass, it can wait. I'm having a situation of my own." He falls silent, abruptly, looks at Dylan. "Oh, shit."
"What?" He asks, curiosity taking the best of him.
"Do you, by any chance," He closes his eyes and pinches his nose with the fingers of his left hand. "Happen to have a buddy called Tyler Hoechlin?"
What. No.
"I'll take your gaping mouth as an enthusiastic 'yes'." Stiles says, and then keeps talking to whoever is on the phone with him. "Yes, yes. I've got one too." He smiles a little, tiredly. "Bring yours and I'll show you mine."
Dylan just stares at him, mind a constant reel of 'holyshitholyshitholyshit', stomach roiling painfully.
After Stiles hangs up, they don't have to wait long for Tyler and whoever he ended up with to reach them. It takes them fifteen minutes. Maybe even less. Stiles sits next to him for half that time, asking him about Tyler, about the rest of the cast, about whether thee's been anything strange that he hasn't been able to explain.
When siting next to each other starts making everything too unbearably strange, Stiles coughs and goes for his macbook. Tripping twice over his feet.
He's silently freaking out for the rest of the wait, while Stiles puts himself to work and starts researching alternative realities, wormholes, several physics terms that go way over his head and any and every single Dylan O'something he can find on the Internet.
When the door to the room opens somewhat violently, he curses his own stupidity. Of course it would be like this, all fucked up symmetry.
"Dylan." Tyler says, with eyes a little frantic and his voice higher than he's ever heard it, when he and Derek freaking Hale enter Stiles' room. Through the door. "Oh, man, thank God it's you here with me and not, well, Colton or Tyler."
Stiles talks right over Tyler, directly at Derek.
"Man, did you pick my lock?" Is what he asks from his desktop chair, ignoring the fact that there're fucking doppelgängers of themselves standing right in the same room as them. "Please tell me you didn't pick my lock. That would cross the ever blurry line between being creepy and being a damn stalker. And I'm so not ready to take that step on our relationship. Not one for commitment yet. Of any kind."
"No, I didn't pick your lock, you moron." Derek growls, and oh God, he's a scary mother fucker. Scarier than Tyler's ever been able to play him. And Tyler is good. "You forgot to lock the damn door."
"I'm pretty sure I didn't forget to--"
"You did." Derek interrupts him, the growling growing thicker, more menacing, and distinctly less human. Chills run down his spine. Literally.
Stiles only rolls his eyes, saying "Okay, Derek, I forgot to lock the door. I'll start being more careful."
Dylan might be a little impressed by Stiles. Because he might or might not have wanted to piss himself in fear.
It's not as humiliating as it could've been, because judging by Tyler's face, they are pretty much on the same boat.
"Who is he?" Derek asks, then, nodding at Dylan, who suppresses the urge to cringe, or cower.
"Oh! This is Dylan O'Brien." Stiles answers, all fake cheer and over the top enthusiasm. "He's an actor who apparently plays me on a TV show called Teen Wolf. That is just like the eighties movie with Michael Fox, y'know, only darker and edgier." He stops, then adds, "and I'm going to assume that you don't know this, either. That guy over there? The one that you've probably already scared into eternal nightmares? He is Tyler Hoechlin. Who's an actor in the same show and plays, surprise surprise, you."
The look in Derek's face is sort of priceless.