Word: Unreality

...

It took Derek longer than he'd care to admit to realise that the place he was in wasn't real. One second, he was smiling at Laura and Cora across from the Hale's dining table, and in the next, he was falling off his chair at the unreality of the situation. He was filled with a cold and horrid realisation that this wasn't real, it wasn't possible.

"Is everything all right, dear?" Talia asked, her face a bit too smooth as she rested her hands on Laura and Cora's shoulders, smiling at him with lips that were too red.

His mother had only worn lipstick on special occasions, never around the house for something as simple as a family dinner. While she might've said that a family dinner was a special occasion, Derek knew that his mother would never have made it a formality; it would have been too much like a chore for her laid-back nature.

"Where am I?" Derek asked, standing and shifting, ready to protect or defend as needed. "Where's my pack?"

"We're right here, Der-bear," Laura said, her eyes too green and without the familiar specks of blue.

"We're your pack, Derek," Cora added, smiling at him too warmly.

This wasn't real. His mother and Laura were dead, and Cora had never smiled at him like that. He snarled at them, swiping across the table to get rid of their images, their awful and wrong caricatures of his family.

Talia's face stayed blank as she grabbed Derek's arm, her fingers as sharp as her red-lipped smile. "Now, now, that's no way to treat your family, is it, Der-bear?" she asked, sickeningly sweet as she bent his arm back, skin tearing under her hands, his bones creaking and muscles tearing, blood dripping.

He let out a howl of pain, collapsing to his knees.

"Derek!" a familiar voice called, and Derek wanted to call out, to tell Stiles to stay away, because what if he was like his not-family as well? He wasn't sure he could handle the fake expressions coming from his anchor too.

Stiles skidded into the room, eyes widening. "Holy shit. Your family's creepy, dude. Oh god, don't do the neck thing," he added, wincing when Talia's head started to turn towards him.

"How did you get here, young man?" Fake-Talia asked, her grip tightening on Derek's arm until it felt like she was clutching bone instead of flesh.

"Oh, y'know, the usual things: love, magic, and a shit-ton of illegal substances."

"Stiles. Get out," Derek said, gritting his teeth.

"Yeah, fuck that idea. Do you know how long it took me to get in here? Oh, shit," Stiles swore, barely dodging Cora's claws.

"What's... What's going on?" Derek snarled as fake-Talia lifted him bodily into the air by his bloodied arm.

"Fucking genies, man. Or djinn. Hey, what's your correct term? Do you prefer a title? And is it djinns or is djinn like fish with the plural thing?" Stiles asked, a bat appearing in his hands a moment later.

Derek vaguely remembered the research they'd been doing. People in town had been disappearing without rhyme or reason, far beyond the usual people leaving town or runaways, and Stiles had come to the conclusion that it was due to paranormal reasons. Derek had been on his way to Stiles' apartment to hear about his latest findings when he'd pulled over to help three women who'd broken down on the side of the highway. He'd sent a text to Stiles to let him know he'd be late, so Stiles must have come looking for him.

He watched for a second as Stiles beat fake-Cora back with his bat. It took a moment for Derek's fuddled mind to grasp the idea that it was a dream-like world that he could affect accordingly. He glowered down at fake-Talia and snarled again, kicking out at her, even as he reminded himself that this wasn't his actual mother. Fake-Talia dropped him and fake-Laura advanced on him, her eyes still wrong and her fangs on display as she snarled at him.

Derek fought the best he could, trying to use the dream to his advantage, but Stiles had better practice with these sort of things, and as soon as fake-Cora was trapped in a block of cement (her glower was almost right), he turned on Laura and Talia. Less than a minute passed before they were subdued, both trapped rather than killed. Talia roared in anger from the chain that held her up against the wall, her face twisted and so far beyond what his mother ever looked like that Derek couldn't believe he'd ever fallen for the deception. Laura was struggling in a pit of quicksand, working far faster than actual quicksand in real life.

Stiles concentrated for a moment and a brand new wall installed itself in the middle of the old Hale dining room, blocking out the screams and cries.

"Ready to get out of here?" Stiles asked Derek with a grin.

"Hell yes. How do we do that?"

Stiles' expression turned to a wince. "You've got to wake up."

"What's so bad about that?" Derek asked.

"Because you have to die. Sort of like a fucked-up version of Inception. Actually, Inception might be worse because that inclination was still there after Mal woke up. Hmm, toss up on that one."

"Will this conversation finish faster if I die in the dream?" Derek deadpanned.

"You're so funny," Stiles said sarcastically.

"How did you find me, you know, in the real world?" he asked curiously.

"Well, your car's easy to spot. Finding you lying in a ditch was not a fun experience though," Stiles added. "You text me to say you'd be late, then you didn't answer your phone a minute later when I called about dinner."

Derek knew that Stiles would've been panicking for however long it took to find him. He pulled Stiles close to hug him firmly. "Sorry for worrying you, Stiles."

"Yeah, you'd better be. Now hurry up and wake up, I'm hungry," he said, pulling away.

Derek frowned. "How do I die in a dream?"

"Let's try painlessly. And no blood. Maybe it's more the shock though?" Stiles mused, and as the thought occurred to him, a cliff began to form beneath their feet, the house fading away behind them easily.

"Hitting the ground's not bloody and painful?" Derek asked.

"Well, usually, people wake up before they hit. So I've been told, at least," Stiles said, peering over the edge. "Think that's high enough?"

"I don't like this," Derek muttered.

Stiles took his hand and squeezed, trying to look comforting. "We'll go together?" he prompted.

Derek nodded and stepped a bit closer to the edge, clutching Stiles' hand tightly. Something niggled in the back of his mind, but he couldn't quite catch the passing thought. He looked down, the drop terrifyingly long considering how much he hated heights, and then he looked to their clasped hands. The thought finally struck him, other things falling into place, and Derek let go of Stiles' hand abruptly.

"Four."

"Hmm?" Stiles asked, looking at him with a frown.

"There's four moles on the back of your hand. Not five."

Stiles' frown deepened and he held his hands out in front of him, finger splayed wide. "Damn. There's so many moles on this kid, it's hard to keep track of them all. I suppose we're going to have to do this the hard way then?" he asked, rolling his eyes.

Derek stepped back away from the cliff's edge. Now that he was concentrating on Stiles instead of his family, instead of fighting for his life, Derek could see that he had too many moles, his hair was shorter than it had been in some time, and his eyes weren't even the right shade of warm honeyed whiskey.

"Oh well; I guess this means I'll just get more pleasure out of it," fake-Stiles said with a twisted grin, an axe appearing in his hand.

Before he could even lift the axe, fake-Stiles' body began to distort and shimmer. They both looked down at the flickering, the fading, and fake-Stiles' eyes widened in desperation and abstract horror, starting to raise the axe in one last-ditch attempt to kill Derek -

- Derek woke up with a gasp, his eyes wide and heart pounding wildly in his chest as the remnants of his nightmare began to fade.

Stiles was kneeling on the side of the road beside him, looking relieved and worried at the same time. Derek took a moment to focus on Stiles' moles, hair, eyes, and then sighed in relief. Everything was as it should be, and he collapsed back when it seemed like they didn't need to run for their lives.

"What happened?" he asked, his mouth dry.

"No idea. I've been trying to wake you up for the last ten minutes! Then I squished this weird bug thing that was on your forehead and you somehow woke up."

"Bug thing?" Derek echoed, pulling a face as he wiped off his forehead, remnants of goo and squished bug coming off on his sleeve. "Genies are bugs?"

"That was a genie?" Stiles asked. "Are you sure? 'Cause it was kinda tiny and gross-looking, and not so much of the 'phenomenal cosmic powers' kind of genie I was expecting."

"Well, it called itself a genie when it turned into my loved ones and tried to kill me, so, I guess so."

"I was way off with my research," Stiles said, frowning. "I'm going to have to edit the section on genies because the bestiary is seriously wrong about them."

Derek let Stiles help him out of the ditch and back to his car. Before he could get in, Stiles tugged on Derek's hand.

"You're meant to kiss me when we survive something. Even if it's a weird little bug that's the most disappointing genie in the world," Stiles added.

That's what had been wrong in his dream, Derek realised, then pulled Stiles close to kiss him. Stiles immediately wrapped his arms around Derek's neck and kissed him back.

Derek felt the response to his anchor curling in his chest, just as it always did whenever they were close enough, and he knew that anyone - genie or otherwise - that attempted to mimic Stiles would pale in comparison to the real man in his arms.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!