Dylan was currently sitting on the floor where he'd fallen, blissfully numb to the pain he should be experiencing thanks to a cocktail of meds he had been given upon discharge from medical. He'd squirmed around so his back was against the foot of John's bed and was tapping away at his phone replying to the volley of messages on his inadvertent voice post. Thankfully, Pepper's instructions meant the device was back to normal otherwise each of his replies would be more and more muddled thanks to the drugs really kicking in. As it was he had to really concentrate to type properly, the tip of his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth was testament to that.

He was so engrossed in his replies to May that he didn't realise he had company until the door closed behind them. Looking up he smirked slightly, "Come to babysit?"

"I have neither the patience nor the temperament," Derek said from the doorway, where he looked down at Dylan with a single raised brow. "Granted, that didn't keep my mom from making me do it when the cousins were over. For the record, though, I'm not doing any other babysitting things while I'm here other than trying to keep you alive."

He sighed and pushed away from the door, walking over until he stood in front of Dylan with his hand extended. "Are you just going to live there now, or do you want to be comfortable while you ride your high?"

“Your Mom probably wanted the little ones to learn an example from their cool older cousin.” Dylan tilted his head up to look at Derek, noting the raised brow and resting bitch face, but smiling in the wake of both. The younger man was still cute, despite the sour expression. “How’s my favorite camboy?”

His eyes tracked to the hand extended in his direction and he considered it for a moment. “My bed’s the other one.” He mumbled, as if that would make a difference to the offer of help, then took hold of Derek’s hand and tried to get his good leg under him so the werewolf wouldn’t have to take his whole weight. “Wish I had fast healing.”

A vicious thought lanced through Derek's head, but it was his own fault for bringing up his family. If I'd been an actual cool cousin, they wouldn't have d— His throat worked around a sudden tightness, but Dylan's remark cut right through, startling a laugh out of him. "Still raking in the cash using my sweet, hot body," he deadpanned as he easily pulled the other man to his feet. "See, I flaunt myself for the hungry masses, not the Jurassic ones. You should take a lesson from me."

He got his arm under Dylan’s, letting him use Derek's stability as a substitute for his own. Seemed like the least he could do after the assist in Medical when he first got there. "The healing is great, sure, but the pain is still there. I'd probably trade it if I could get some things back. But that's not how this works. Do you want to sit or lie down?"

For a split second there was something in Derek’s eyes which spoke of loss similar to his own, probably why he’d noticed; but it was gone the instant the younger man laughed. And wasn’t that an appealing sound? Though probably one not often heard by just anyone. “So like $50 for a flash of sweat beading on your abs? Or for you to drink a beer in a seductive way? Or to pour the beer over your abs? How does it work?”

He snorted at the jibe and shook his head, “M’not tasty enough for the dinos, so the masses probably wouldn’t be interested either.” Squinting across at his rescuer Dylan frowned, “Sorry you hurt.” The question refocused his attention and he weighed up each option. “Sit. I need to be able to get to the bucket if I feel sick.”

All of Dylan's jokes hit a little bit different with the faint thread of arousal mixed into his scent. Just like in Medical after he'd first come around, the timing was terrible, and there was no way in hell Derek was going to act on it. Even with all that in mind, he still couldn't seem to stop the words from coming out of his mouth. "I'd say you should give me fifty bucks to find out, but I'm equally as likely to give you a free preview. You know, as a repayment for your help when I got here."

It only took a minimal amount of maneuvering to get the injured party onto his own bed, so if there were any mishaps, it wouldn't be because of anything he had done. He was still close, hands on Dylan's shoulders to steady him, but it didn't keep him from smirking or shrugging. "Masses are kind of idiots, then. You look plenty delicious to me." God, Hale, keep it in your damn pants. Derek pulled back sharply just to put some distance between them and gave another shrug, quoting, "'Life is pain, highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.' Honestly, it's fine. And at least I don't need a bucket. Is your roommate all right with all this?"

"A freebie would more than repay me." Dylan laughed, feeling giddy on more than just the meds. Reciprocated flirting was always a buzz, probably why he'd tumbled into bed with Elizabeth back in his own time. Too bad she turned out bad; grimacing at the memory, he eased his grip on Derek's waist and let the other man help him settle. It took a moment for him to feel stable, even with his back against the headboard, so he was grateful for those warm hands on his shoulders.

"Ha, I may look delectable, but I bet I smell like a drugstore." The sudden withdrawal was met with a slightly baffled look before Dylan shrugged it off. He probably should have recognised the quote, but his brain was failing him at that moment. "John's pretty easy. Besides, I had to deal with his hangover, he can deal with my high."

Derek quirked a brow and then laughed yet again. What was it about this place that made him feel like he could be so free? Maybe it was the lack of responsibility and/or not being responsible for keeping anyone alive or having to hide who he was. The lack of hunters helped too. "It's not as bad as you think. You smell… happy. Maybe slightly horny." He could have smacked himself in the face for that. What was wrong with him lately?

First his stupid crush on Steve, and now he was pretty much hitting on a guy who was out of his mind on pain meds. Yet none of these thoughts kept him from sitting on the edge of Dylan's bed completely uninvited. "No roommate for me. It's probably for the best. The irony is that I need people around to survive—a pack—but I like living alone. I miss my loft. There's only so many times I can pace my room before I feel climbing the walls. I could do that too, but I'm not sure if Stark wants to deal with that kind of damage. Do you get like that? What do you do around here when you're not high as fuck?"

As the door opened, John only heard the tail end of the conversation between the two fine looking men sitting on the bed opposite his own. “Oh, the usual. Swimming, running, chatting up handsome blokes to come over and play. Anything to work up a sweat. Dylan’s quite active.” The tone, along with the smirk, was playful and wasn’t meant to be taken seriously.

John shoved his hands into his trenchcoat pockets, rocking on his feet slightly as he gave each bloke an unabashed look over and assessed the situation. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”

Derek's head snapped up and whipped around. He'd never heard or even smelled Dylan’s roommate show up, and it had been a very long time since anyone had been able to sneak up on him. To say he felt threatened would have been a vast understatement, especially considering the magic radiating off the guy. A growl filled the room.

“I read too.” Dylan chipped in before reacting to Derek’s sudden change in demeanor, “Whoa… Hey.” His hand carefully crept over the bedspread and patted the werewolf’s hip. “This is John, he’s the roommate. I keep saying he needs a collar with a bell. Creeps about like a cat, he’s a Warlock, but a good one. John, this is Derek.”

The werewolf was coiled tight like a high tensile cable and those impressive fangs were on display. The growl… Well, he shouldn’t really acknowledge what he thought about that just then. Inappropriate. Emboldened by his painkiller cocktail and his ease around the supernatural folk, he lifted his hand from Derek's hip and rubbed between his shoulder blades. “Easy.”

“Buy me dinner first, then we’ll talk about the collar.” John quipped back without pause to Dylan’s comment. His eyes, however, remained on Derek. An unreadable calm on his features.

“Derek, cute.” The response was as blase as his expression. John wasn’t threatened by the growl, quite the opposite actually, but he saw it for what it was. The wolf was defensive and possibly even protective of his new friend. “So, at the risk of sounding terribly mundane by repeating myself. Am I interrupting?”

Although the other man had no way of knowing, Dylan's hand landed right on his Triskele tattoo, which—combined with John's own non-reaction (and accent, let's not kid anyone)—effectively turned his threat response off like a light switch. It still took a second for the message to reach the wolf part of him, but the strain along his back and shoulders was already gone by the time his teeth retracted with a small shake of his head. Part of it was reassuring. He could still react to a possible threat in a way that could keep him alive. This place hadn't neutered him yet.

Of course, the rest of Derek was well on track to high color in his cheeks and a lot of internal squirming embarrassment. That wasn't at all how one treated a magic user, until one was sure of their intentions. His mother had taught him that, and he felt bad for forgetting. Stiffly, he shook his and mumbled a too-quiet, "No," and also a, "Sorry."

He had to stop himself from chuckling at John’s blase reaction to the angry werewolf, but he couldn’t quite contain the little snort of amusement at Derek’s embarrassment. “Aw, don’t worry.” He dropped his hand then, realising too late that he was still petting the man’s back. “Derek scooped me off the floor. I was just messaging May but I think I made her sad.” He blew out a breath, picking up his phone again and squinting at it, before offering it to John. “A mage said she could heal my leg. But, I reckon maybe not when I’m seeing sounds. What d’you think? Both of you.”

A light chuckle rumbled through the magician at the mumbled apology but he didn’t press the matter. While at times, John Constantine could be cruel, he wasn’t in the business of torturing those that didn’t deserve it. Derek had suffered enough embarrassment for the moment.

“Ah, I see.” John murmured in response to Dylan’s somewhat fumbled explanation. He took the phone and scanned over the comments, a thoughtful look crossing over his face when he came upon the comments with a mage.

“I haven’t met her.” John then handed the phone over to Derek to look. “I’d probably look into who she is and what she can do more before offering yourself to be patched up.”

Derek didn't even see the text exchange. No, he got one look at the picture accompanying the magic user's messages and practically shoved the phone into Dylan's chest. In what universe was it remotely fair to have two young women running around, looking exactly like his baby sister? His stomach twisted in a sick feeling that made him want to tear out of there and run into the woods and never look back. He sat where he was, though, frozen and wanting that soothing hand on his back, but either too choked up or stubborn to ask for any kind of comfort. A bitter laugh bubbled up from somewhere ugly inside him. "Dumb fucking luck," he muttered darkly. "If this is karma, it's a raging asshole."

Dylan let the phone hit him and slide down into his lap without trying to catch it, his features shifted into a frown at the cryptic words from Derek and he glanced up at John to see if he was similarly confused, while he let his hand gravitate back to that spot between the werewolf’s shoulders which seemed to calm him before. “I’ll tell her maybe tomorrow and we can do some research. If I can focus long enough… Now what’s this about karma’s asshole?”

Derek’s quick rejection of the phone brought a small frown to John’s face, curious about the reaction. The muttered words were not missed, and John guessed it might have something to do with the mage’s face. He was no stranger to doppelgangers, after all, he lived with one who shared a similar face to another bloke he knew.

“Good plan,” he murmured to Dylan, yet keeping his focus on Derek to see if they would get an answer.

"Cora," Derek breathed out, and it didn't get any easier the second time. "There are two girls, Cath and now whoever the magic user is—they both look like my kid sister." He laughed, sharp and bitter. "Not so much a kid anymore. Possibly only my sister in name only." His gaze flicked between the other two men, which was about the time he realized his back had curved into Dylan's hand again. He should have pulled away, but he sank into it with a sigh that felt like it came from his soul. "It's just another sad story in a sea of them around here. Doesn't matter anyway. Told you I was a terrible babysitter."

“Sorry…” The feeling of Derek’s warmth beneath the soft material of his shirt was a very pleasing tactile sensation, one which Dylan suddenly found himself acutely aware of, despite being a little fuzzy about everything else. “There are a lot of tragic histories here.” Dylan agreed, shaking his head, “I’m still alive so y’know, that was all you promised when you took the job.” Fidgeting the tiniest bit, he winced as a jab of pain caught his breath, then his brain circled back to what they were talking about when John first arrived. “I know I’m not a wolf, but we can always hang out when you want to climb the walls. It's not a pack but having company could help? John’s probably found the best bar in town by now.”

John understood the bitterness. His own sister - seven years older than him - didn’t want anything to do with him either. Not that he blamed her. Derek was right. It was just another sad story in a sea of them. Everyone seemed to have a past they’d rather not focus on the details of.

“Dylan’s right. You kept him alive. Can’t be too terrible.” John agreed, concerned a little when Dylan winced but not blaming Derek in the slightest for Dylan’s aches. His expression shifted when Dylan continued and mentioned a bar. “There’s several, actually. All depends on what you’re in the mood for.”

The discomfort bled through into Dylan's scent enough for Derek to pick up on it. For the second time in just a few days, he was twisting where he sat and reaching out and had closed his hand over the other man's leg, solidly against his thigh. The pain was faint, but it moved into Derek in strands of black that spidered up the back of his hand and up into his arm. He'd done it too much lately, but he was also stubborn and maybe just a little desperate to keep the friends he'd made here by any means necessary. "Werewolf," he reminded them both, probably unnecessarily. "I can't really get drunk. Or even buzzed. I'd still go, so long as we're not talking about some loud, trendy place that's always packed."

A slight hiss of surprise left him as Derek's hand landed on his thigh, and there was the weirdest sensation as the pain subsided even more. Seemingly absorbed by the werewolf in weird black lines. "Uh.. If you're feeling that instead of me, it's… I can take it back." His hand curled into the back of Derek's shirt, feeling that the entire situation was verging on weirder than even he was used to. Instead he jumped on the more mundane topic of bars and drinking tolerances. "So you're a natural born designated driver. Good to know." Dylan's face shifted into a grin which was darkly mischievous. "We'll find a non-trendy place."

Derek rolled his eyes and made grumbly noises, but it was all to hide just how pleased all of this made him. "If I see a single scarf being worn ironically, I'm out."