Tyler's stopped saying "I love you" like some kind of grounding mantra, but when he does say it, he searches Dylan's face, eyes all Derek-y and sincere, making sure Dylan gets it.
And Dylan does, he does. Most days. It's just—love only goes so far, you know? Like, Dylan loves movies, but after fifteen hours of nothing but Netflix, he kind of wants to strangle himself. Or throw his laptop out a window, against a wall, something. And that's a weird impulse, right? It's not even new. Like, the urge to throw your phone into an ocean or something, even if you need your phone to survive, and also, pollution. Pollution is bad, you don't want your phone to cause, like, seagull genocide. Or texting and swimming, that's bound to be lethal. Poor guy loses focus, swims right into all the other junk people dump in the ocean. Condoms and broken bottles and those plastic ring things that hold six-packs together. And then the li'l dude just ends it all out of misery of what his home has become.
Watch Dylan just about start crying about that, next. He's so together, it's incredible.
Dylan's parents love him. He should call them, call his mom, he's terrible. Keeping them out of the loop like this, and if they find out—and not even from him? Dylan doesn't even want to think about it, how shitty that would be for them. And they'd see it as like some kind of personal failing, like it's their fuck-up, their fucked-up son is their fault, always. Even if that's insane, and they always did everything, offered everything, went above and beyond. And Dylan just, just turned out a turd anyway.
They'd be here like Tyler, camped out at his bedside, or—or moving him back home, swooping in and taking care of his whole life. And hugs and pep talks and meaningful looks, and finding him a therapist, or a million, and suddenly his life isn't his anymore, suddenly he's two years old and can't tie his own shoes anymore. But he can't, obviously, obviously can't hack adult life like every other guy his age manages it, like freaking sixteen year olds are managing it, the other Dylan, Sprayberry? He's got it all figured out already, he's like, super intense and motivated, just focusing on his goals and going after them, no doubts. Dylan can't even keep food down without medical intervention, so what are his parents supposed to do? Nothing?
Except yeah, he kind of—and it's awful, it's ungrateful, he's sick at himself, seriously, but—he kind of just wishes they didn't care at all. How insane is that? Like, just be like, "You'll work it out, I trust you," and leave it there, don't—but that's crazy. That's just off the reservation, Dylan's so fucking spoiled he can't even appreciate the people who've been devoting their entire lives to his failure of one.
Love, love, love.
Maybe people are just better off without it.
Tyler hates leaving, always looks so guilty about it. Sorry, D, sorry I'm an adult human being with real life shit to take care of sometimes. He's not even letting himself go to the gym anymore, or to a club, some party, some friend's couch. Just—work, hospital, sleep, work. He's gonna run himself right into the ground if he keeps this up, but he doesn't wanna hear it, refuses to give himself a second to breathe.
"I'm not at death's door," Dylan says. "This isn't a hospice. You can do other shit, you're not gonna lose me."
"I don't wanna do other shit," Tyler says. "I wanna be here. With you."
Heart-melting, right? Dylan's gonna turn into literal goo, one of these days. Except it's too much, y'know? Dylan can't buy anyone being that committed, that's not—that's not even human, anymore. Like, there's gotta be some side of Tyler resenting the hell out of Dylan, all this time. Maybe he's not even conscious of it, but it's gotta be there. And sooner or later it's gonna surface, somehow, and a cuddle session isn't gonna be enough to tamp it down again.
And it's stupid, because Dylan's not even making all these rules for him, making him sacrifice his whole life. He just thinks he has to, probably. That that's what love means. Or being a good Christian, who the fuck knows. Saint Hoechlin, martyr Hoechlin. Patron saint of the Energizer bunny, and coffee, and Red Bull, and falling asleep anyway, because there's only so much the human body can take, even if Tyler's determined to push it to its limits.
But Tyler's insecure about it, like, borderline clingy, which is ridiculous, but there it is. The second he gets some downtime, Dylan's phone lights up with texts.
Not that Dylan minds that, okay, it's as good a way to stop your brain shrinking from disuse as any. So they text, they text about—well, about Sterek, mostly, to be honest. Tyler's got a million little—head canons, Dylan thinks is the word, or phrase actually, unless that's something totally different, who knows. Like little, mini factoids about the characters, that could be true, just weren't ever actually said on the show. Like, Derek and Cora were always really close, out of all the Hales, so he took her loss the hardest, and then when he found her again, and she was like, this whole different person, he didn't know what to do. How to talk to her, anything. And it was kind of like losing her all over again.
No shit, Hoechlin just—came up with that. Out of nothing.
So obviously Dylan has to come back with some Stiles thing, like uh, like until Scott moved to Beacon Hills with his mom, Stiles didn't actually have any real friends. Like he had—he did social stuff, he was fine, but he just never really clicked with anyone, 'til then. Just kind of joked around nervously, and made his little videos, and—shit, shit, shit.
So, no. Not that.
Stiles' mom, his mom. Stiles' mom got sick, and he, he...
Dylan needs to call his mom.
Except he can't, he just can't. His fingers won't let him dial, his mouth won't let him speak. He's literally forgetting how to speak, as we... speak.
Stiles, Stiles. Stiles' dick. Stiles' dick decided he was gay wayyy before Stiles was ready to. And Lydia Martin was basically this perfect excuse to never actually make a move on anyone at all. Because he's saving himself for the queen, you know? Not that he was homophobic, it's just intimidating. Comes with a lot of shit, you know? A lot of judgment. And he wasn't actually getting any, so why even make it a thing until it was? Maybe it wasn't. Maybe he was just asexual. Or only affected by porn, not actually real people, so why even worry about it?
And then Derek Hale. Derek Hale's everything, his existence, was just this giant exclamation point to the contrary. And Stiles was like, shit. Now what.
Like, fine. It's just a physical thing, and it's never gonna happen. So just...
And then Derek Hale turned into a real person, with real shit, real feelings. And Stiles had real feelings for him, and what do you even do with that? Just constantly saving this guy's life, and getting saved, and going right back to being like, "What? I can't stand the guy, are you kidding?"
And banter, really fun, funny banter. At the most high-stakes moments.
And just wanting to keep him safe, wanting to fix his shitty life into something bearable.
And then the nogitsune, and not wanting Ty to see him like that, losing his mind like that.
And just wanting to avoid him, to never see him, never be made to hurt him, please.
And after, Stiles trying to get past it all, trying to get back to the way things were, and it's like Derek turned into this stranger, overnight. Just this, this vaguely familial acquaintance, that's it.
And there's Malia, instead, like this whole time all that shit was in his head, as unreal as one of his nightmares, and now he's awake, he's straight, he's up for it with this random girl he had sex with while they were both in a mental hospital, while he was possessed, and she was just coming out of hibernation.
Dylan, he feels like he knows Stiles pretty well, but maybe he doesn't. Maybe that's really what the dude would go for, if he was real. And Dylan's just piling all this irrelevant personal shit on top of it and creating this entire false persona for the guy that wasn't ever who he was meant to be.
It doesn't matter who he was meant to be, Tyler texts. Derek was supposed to be a bad guy. And 19. And then he wasn't. Nothing's definite.
19, jeez, Dylan texts back. makes the whole kate thing a lot darker
Too dark, Tyler responds. Especially the way it was played when she came back.
so that's why derek doesn't get an age, Dylan surmises. it's mtv, not hbo. gotta watch that rating
I figured, Tyler says. Could be wrong
imagine it, Dylan says. teen wolf, game of thrones style. they've already got the wolves, and the abuse, what are we missing?
Politics, Tyler sends.
um no, Dylan says. everyone wants power, will do anything to have it, mr i'm the alpha now
True, Tyler says.
just the chair then, Dylan sends. the throne thing
He can just imagine the pained look on Tyler's face, that Dylan doesn't know what the throne thing is called. He doesn't know the house names either, okay, unless it's Harry Potter. Shame, shame, shame.
Did we have dragons? Tyler asks.
jackson, Dylan offers.
He didn't fly, Tyler says.
and beacon hills isn't called westeros. it's a house of cards, look at it too hard and it all falls apart
I'm not spoiling you for House of Cards, Tyler says, which is hilarious.
dude, so not what I meant
I don't get why you want my opinions on something you haven't even seen, Tyler says.
i've seen enough, Dylan says. dog murder. brutal dog murder. i'm done
He's not supposed to be likeable, Tyler says. That's the whole point, he's complicated
nothing complicated about puppy murder, Dylan says. His heart tugs a little just thinking about it. Helpless sick puppies, how can you feel anything except protective about that? Like, if you have even a shred of humanity, or compassion, or just the absence of absolute shit-dickery where your emotions should be.
Star Wars starts with mass murder and you love it, Tyler points out.
because you're not following the murderer the whole time, Dylan says. there's actual good people to root for. it's not some soul-killing "intricacies of the human psyche/everyone is a depraved asshole deep down" bs. it doesn't make you miserable about the world. it's about hope
Awww, Tyler says.
shut up, Dylan sends back.
Things are almost okay, for a while. Good, even, sometimes. Which just might be the most insane part of it all—how used to being some spastic bedridden invalid Dylan is getting, that a little bit of sexytimes with his stupidly hot boyfriend is all he needs to feel like maybe things could be okay. Touching Tyler all the time, and him reacting, him needing that touch—Dylan gets a little drunk on it, sometimes.
So okay, things are good when Tyler's close, when they're together, but then he's gotta go. Some people still have actual lives, you know. Jobs, responsibilities. It's at least a two-hour drive from the hospital to set. Rumor is they'll be reshooting a bunch of stuff in studio next, and that'll be even further.
"And here I thought the Friday the 13th remake was early," Dylan jokes, and Tyler flashes a grin, but he's tired. He's tired all the time. Two hour commute and fifteen hour days, the dude's falling apart. Sometimes all he can do is crawl into bed with Dylan, kiss his cheek and settle in against him, before he's down for the night.
And that's always fun. Just this really fun reminder that while Dylan's practically getting bedsores from just staring at the ceiling all day, some people are actually productive members of society. Dylan's biggest accomplishment this week is the ability to retain soup rather than going The Exorcist for the millionth time. And without the meds, he probably wouldn't be able to do that, either.
So. Fun.
And when Dylan's tired? When Ty comes home and he's somehow not exhausted, and Dylan's wiped out from his super jam-packed day of aggressively not Googling himself? That's just embarrassing. And, and Dylan just referred to this shithole hospital as home, didn't he. Really, he's just firing on all cylinders, these days.
It's not a shithole, it's not. It's actually pretty well maintained. After the first couple days they got their own security in play to hold back the paparazzi, very cool. Dylan was not looking forward to those shots circulating. WOOF! 'TEEN WOLF' STAR LOOKS WORSE THAN WE'VE EVER SEEN HIM (PICS). No thank you. Not that Jesus by the door wasn't massive fun to banter with—Hey, Tyler, do you have a minute to talk about Jesus? I mean Hey-zuice, sorry. My bad.
Dylan's got jokes for days, absolutely. And making a massively no-nonsense dude like that break? So satisfying. But comes a point, a guy watching you stagnate for days at a time, where it just, all of it, just stops being funny. Like, at all.
Plus, sexytimes would definitely be at least twice as awkward with a third party present. Not that Dylan isn't full up on awkward as it is.
"You're so good," Tyler mumbles, when miracle of miracles, they both have enough stamina to actually do something other than cuddle. "Feel so good."
And falls asleep inside him.
He's apologetic in the morning, too much. Dylan doesn't wanna hear it.
"You need to slow down," he says. "Take a breath, okay? Take a day. I'll be fine for a day. Just sleep a full eight hours, or longer. Drink some wine, have a bath. Do you."
"I don't have time," Tyler says, already scattered, grabbing his wallet, his keys. His jacket, where's—oh, right. Things got exciting for a second there, now it's under the bed. "I'll text you. I love you."
He leans in for a quick kiss, and Dylan catches his mouth, works a little tongue in there. You know, just to wake him up a little. Make this a little less old married couple.
"You're trying to get me to leave you alone," Tyler says, looking a little lost in the best way, "and that's your closing argument? Mixed messages, D."
He's smirking.
"I'm a walking contradiction," Dylan says. "An enigma wrapped in a fortune cookie. Lucky numbers: 69, 69, 69."
"I really hate my job right now," Tyler says.
"Love you too," Dylan says.
Love, love, love.
Sometimes it's alright.