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.*･｡. WAITING FOR SUPERMAN .*･｡.
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001.
AFTER FINDING
LYDIA (AGAIN!)

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——

    If there was one thing that annoyed Lois Lane — asides from her incredibly unfortunate, yet to others quite humorous, comic book conundrum of a name — it was being dragged out of bed in the morning. At six in the morning, to be precise.

And obviously, the only person dumb enough to do such a thing, was the hyperactive boy that went by the name of Stiles Stilinski.

Not only destined to be her best friend since long before either of them were even born, but the kid that also happened to be her neighbour of six long years in the house directly to the right of her own. On the left was the home of Mr Burns — the two not to be mistaken — whom was the close-to-death OAP that only withered his years away, with nothing short of a burning hatred for the pair of so-called delinquents that lived within a measly five yards of not only him, but one another. He honestly hated Stiles Stilinski and Lois Lane and they often liked to act as though they didn't know why.

But, they did.

Once upon a childhood, Lois and Stiles had pranked the elderly man in an innocent (sometimes malicious) game of knock and run. It had been harmless, at the time.

   What twelve year olds expected such a sight?

   Lois and Stiles had. They had even come prepared for it.

   He had tumbled out of the house in nothing but a pink bathrobe and a floral shower cap, that day, waving his walking stick through the air in the midst of his rage. Unfortunately, their laughter had been heard and the two were caught hiding in his rose bushes — snorting and giggling away, as though they had filmed the whole thing. Which they had done, but no one else knew that.

That tape was hidden and stuck to the back of Lois' wardrobe, a spot that no one would ever think to look, and they planned on playing it at the man's inevitable funeral to lighten the mood.

Of course their punishment for the whole scenario had been a two year long restraining order after three weeks of trimming his hedges, and a lifetimes worth of glares and hostility, but it had been a good idea at the time. They were children, after all. Rather than painting a picture or going to the park when they got bored, they had decided to reek havoc.

   From pranks on the neighbours, stalking Noah Stilinski's calls from the police department and getting caught, to dragging Scott McCall into the mess they made and throwing themselves under the bus and conveniently leaving him to become a werewolf the night before sophomore year. They were always getting into some sort of trouble, because that was how Stiles and Lois worked. It was easy to come up with the worst ideas when there were two of you, because no one could tell you that you were wrong. Well, no one other than Scott who sometimes tried to persuade them that it was a terrible idea but got sucked into it, anyway. But he tried; it was the thought that counts, right?

And ever since Lois had moved to Beacon Hills for a new start, Stiles had made it his personal mission to torture her endlessly like the great best friend that he was. Now that they saw each other everyday, it gave him a constant opportunities to irritate her.

Not terribly, but enough to ensure that he got a good laugh out of it.

    "Time to get up, Lo!" He yelled in a voice that was far too loud for the girls comfort, and he began to yank at her bed sheets with too much force, knowing fully well it would irritate her. Stiles let out a laugh when she covered her head.

Lois groaned, her voice muffled by the pillow she had chosen to smother her face. If he couldn't see her, then perhaps he would leave, or at least give her an extra five minutes. That was her logic and it had seemed fool-proof, until he yanked the cushion away and she was too tired to snatch it back. "No!"

    "Get up!"

    "Go away!"

"Nope!" The boy snorted loudly. He was evidently amused by the pathetic attempt she had made as his fists collided with the patch of mattress only meters away from her head, and he snickered as her body jumped and jolted with each thump. Stiles was having a great amount of fun. He shouted a second time, purposely louder than the last, and gave her loosened pony tail a playful yank, "I said get your ass up, Lois Lane! Get moving!"

Unfortunately for Lois, this was a daily occurrence.

   She doubted it would end, any time soon. As long as she lived next door to Stiles, she would be dealing with this every single day, just like she had for years.

    "And I said, leave me alone!" She hissed venomously, words laced with anger, "Who the heck even let you in, Stilinski?"

    "The fairies did—! God, did you forget I have a spare key?"

Ignoring one of his many irritable comments, and boy were there a lot, the brunette buried herself deeper into the mound of duvets and blankets, hoping that it would bring her to safety and that the living spawn of Satan would eventually give up. She wanted to be left alone. Today of all days, was certainly not the right one to tick Lois off and he knew that. Stiles knew it. Yet there he was, still gracing her with his presence. Wonderful. She wanted to hit him.

    "I'm not in the mood," Lois said, "Close the door on your way out, alright? It'd be much appreciated."

    "Today is a day for new doors to open!"

    "What does that even men?"

    "Dunno— read it in Scott's bathroom. Melissa's motivational."

   Moaning, irritated, the girl searched for another pillow.

    "Come on! Superman isn't going to come if you mope around in bed all day, Lois. School awaits! So, you—" Stiles smirked as his fingers curled around her thighs, feeling her freeze.

    "Stiles—no! Don't you dare!"

     "—are coming with me!"

A scream left Lois' lips as her back came in contact with that laminate flooring, a decor decision that she was now starting to regret ever having made. A deafening crack bounced against the walls, echoing through her room, and she cringed. Sharp pains shot their way up her spine and to the nape of her neck while a numb sensation dancing along her tailbone. What was worse than the sudden collision with the ground and the ache in her muscles, however, was the weight of the boy that was now sprawled on top of her and crushing her ribs.

The two remained silent for a moment. Both were processing what had happened and acknowledging the shock. His face was obnoxiously close to hers, either hand one side of her head, and it was very uncomfortable.

   Nonetheless, a smirk played on his lips as they stared each other down. Lois probably would have been fazed by the close proximity, or lack thereof, had she not have been in the current position with him more than once. As much as she hated to say it, and she really hated to say it, this had all happened before.

It was common for Stiles to beat her to the ground when they were young, in both a metaphorical sense and a literal.

   Their petty conflicts had often wound up in someone getting hurt and landing on some sort of flooring that was not nice on the skin.

At the age of eight, Stiles had fallen on top of Lois during a race to the bathroom when she had been on one of her many trips to the Stilinski home. While running behind the winning girl, he had yanked at her wrist in hopes that she would slow down and he could take the lead. But his lanky frame had underestimated the original move and instead of simply slowing her down, they had both toppled and landed in the same position as the current.

That was the day that the Stilinski boy had stolen her first kiss; he had wanted it to be with someone who cared, with someone who thought that she was special — because she was.

   Eight year old Stiles was a sweetheart, admittedly, but it didn't mean that Lois hadn't punched him in the nose afterwards.

    "Get off me, Stilinski!"

   He guffawed, fist in his mouth.

   "Jeez! How much do you eat?" Lois yelled, ignoring his childish giggles. It seemed that he found their situation hilarious, where as she was very tempted to rip out his eyes with her bare hands alone.

A second groan escaped the girl as he rolled off her feeble frame, pressing his hip into her — quite full — bladder on the way. Stiles spluttered as he fell into another round of laughter, and he had made it clear that he enjoyed the idea of causing his friend blatant pain and injury. When they were little, it was different. Though, in her opinion, they were no longer as young and small as they used to be. Now, when Stiles' nearly-six foot frame landed upon her smaller, it tended to hurt a loy more than it used to.

    "I eat as much as I want to, and still have a magical body to show for it." He informed her with a taunting grin, watching as the expression on her face morphed into one of frustration, "How much do you eat?"

"Are you calling me fat?" She seethed, "How dare—"

    "Get showered!" Stiles interrupted with a snort, pulling himself from the ground and gently kicking her in the side. The teenager retorted by simply flipping him the bird, to which he had rolled his eyes and finally exited the room. She was close to throwing a shoe.

   When he had definitely left, Lois glanced at the duvet strewn across her floor and the items that had been knocked from her night stand.

Lois huffed, "...asshole."

She mumbled a variety of curses and colourful words to herself, not bothering to even stand from her place on the ground before peeling off the shirt that she had worn through the night. It was fair to say that it needed a wash, having been drenched in a layer of sweat due to the terrors that had plagued her dreams. Not that it was anything new, honestly.

The nightmares had been reoccurring since she was nine.

Shaking her head, a frown etched on her lips, Lois swatted away the tides of grief and guilt before they had succeeded in drowning her then and there.The sting of her heart grew harsher, the rate of her pulse fell shallower, and the memories began to nip their way back to her thoughts. Stiles had momentarily managed to prevent the immediate tidal wave that usually consumed her after a very restless nights sleep, but now that he had left her alone, the pent up emotions had time to consume her.

On this one day in particular, however, the torture was always unbearable. Everything was amplified and even seven long years later, the same dagger in her heart burned an endless flame.

Last night, Lois had dreamt that on that very day she had actually drowned. The nightmares never usually got that far.

With the continuous pain demanding to be felt and the loss of sanity breaking at the seams, the girl mentally prepared herself for the day ahead: long and laborious. If the world was on her side, for once in her sad excuse of a life, perhaps it wouldn't be as bad as it had been every other year.

Lois could only hope.

——

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