voluntaryapnea: (taking deep breaths)
Stiles Stilinski ([personal profile] voluntaryapnea) wrote2015-03-22 12:47 pm

26. I'm just a step away/I'm just a breath away/Losing my faith today/Falling off the edge today.



[Spam -- For the entire last week -- Open]

[It starts before Bucky's birthday party. The niggling anxiety that he can't quite shake, and he knows it has to be port-related, because that makes sense. He's not sure when he became the type of person that had to have something make sense before he believes it, and he's not sure he really is, because right now, he's not sure about much of anything.

He wanders through the days looking more and more tense and on edge as the week draws on. He's jumpy, paler than usual, eyes a little wild at first when he looks at anyone who says his name or bumps into him.

He thinks he's the one who killed Steve. Clementine. The others. But he can't get the words to leave his lips, can't force the confession out to anyone, and he thinks Void is controlling him so he can't do it.

By Saturday he's locked himself in his cabin, turned off the communicator, and instead of being in his bedroom (because he keeps seeing red strings all around, pinned to the walls and looped through a pair of scissor handles that are stabbed into his mattress), he curls up on the living room sofa, staring blankly at the turned off television. His face is drained of all color and he's rocking slightly.

We're going to destroy them all, Stiiiiiiles.

He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, covers his ears with his hands, unconsciously counting his fingers one at a time by feel.

He stays like that for the remainder of the day, ignoring any and all knocks on his door.

By Sunday, he still isn't looking at the network, is ignoring visitors, is sitting with his gun on the table in front of him. He knows what's happening now. It's too familiar. He can hear Void whispering in the back of his mind, and he knows it's only a matter of time before he's not in control anymore. Only a matter of time before Void takes over and starts causing the chaos and strife and pain, and he knows exactly the people that the nogitsune will go after first.

He feels nauseous as he picks up the weapon, hands shaking, sweat beaded on his forehead. His breathing is more shallow now, like a panic attack.

I can do this. I have to do this.

He turns the barrel around so it's pointed at his temple, his eyes closed, finger tense on the trigger.

He drops the weapon onto the floor and throws up on the carpet, body heaving violently as he claws his fingernails into the soft fibers. He's a coward. By eleven, he's decided on another course of action, but before he does it, he records a video to be sent out to the pack in an hour's time. He hopes they understand. He hopes they listen.]


[Private Video -- The Pack -- including Bucky and Steve -- Delayed for an Hour]

[He looks sick. He's sitting on the couch of his living room, eyes red and glassy from lack of sleep, from crying and throwing up.]

Please don't be mad. I had to, to protect all of you. I'm so sorry. Don't blame Dean. Don't throw him in Zero. I asked him to. I'm sorry.

[Spam -- Dean]

[Once the video is complete and ready to send in an hour's time, Stiles knows it's time to move. He manages to make it out of his cabin, ignoring anyone and everyone he sees on the way to his inmate's cabin. To the one person on the ship he believes will do what has to be done. He's gripping onto his dad's sheriff badge so tightly that his hand is bleeding, but he doesn't notice it.

He makes it to Dean's, and he's shaking, isn't sure how much longer he can maintain control because he can feel the nogitsune right there in his head, waiting to push him into the background. Waiting to usurp all of their lives again.

Stiles knocks loudly, teeth chattering together involuntarily.

He's going to die today.]


surfaceshine: (Puzzled)

[ Spam ]

[personal profile] surfaceshine 2015-03-22 07:27 pm (UTC)(link)
[By the time Stiles knocks, Dean is tossing his room - not in anger this time, but searching for any weapons he might still have left that he can bring to a proper fight against god knows what Zane even is. He'd rather a long distance weapon of some kind but barring that, he just needs something strong and sturdy, something that will do a lot of damage when - if - he gets a chance to take a shot. His temper is pulsing in his ears to the beat of his heart, and his gut is cold; he's ready to revisit some of the damage done to Clementine on this asshole, and he doesn't care now or ever if he goes down in the process.

Which, of course, is exactly when someone knocks on the door. He has a piece of a chair leg in his hand when he answers, just in case, but he still doesn't think to be more careful than that about pulling it open; his shoulders and back are straight, tensed, ready and he fills the doorway, scowling when he sees who it is.
]

What? [He gets the snarled question out before he registers that the kid... really doesn't look good. His grip tightens on his makeshift weapon and he's glancing him over, anger on hold while he searches for any visible sign of injury, for what the hell is wrong. Finding none he glances up and down the hallway, and then reaches for Stiles' shoulder, hauling him into the cabin to close the door. He looks like shit but he's at Dean's door, not the infirmary, and that's... well it might be suspicious, but Dean doesn't stop to think of that, not right now. He just reacts.]

The hell is going on?
surfaceshine: (Eyes of Truth)

[ Spam ]

[personal profile] surfaceshine 2015-03-24 06:51 am (UTC)(link)
[Dean, in his carved out camp of twitchy trauma survivors, knows what a panic attack looks like in the moments before it blows itself wide open; without thinking about it he shifts his hand up from Stiles' shoulder first to the side of his neck and, when he registers that his warden is shaking and the clammy coolness of his skin, immediately up to his forehead. He finally drops the chairleg onto the table so he can use his other hand to steady Stiles.

Before he can say anything else, eyes lingering on the badge, Stiles says that though and Dean's gaze snaps up to his. Once upon a time he would have refused outright, protested immediately without knowing anything else because he'd had enough of being asked to put people down that haven't done anything.

Now, his eyes narrow but his hands stay where they are. For now.
]

Why?
surfaceshine: (Intent)

[ Spam ]

[personal profile] surfaceshine 2015-03-28 06:00 am (UTC)(link)
[It doesn't make sense; Dean has dealt with possessed people enough to know that every case is slightly different, but some things are always the same. They are stronger than they should be, that much is true, but none of the rest of it. Stiles wouldn't be able to stand here now. He wouldn't be able to say as much. He wouldn't be able to break free long enough to ask for help like this. A few seconds, sure, maybe, but it would be a fight the entire time for control, and the demon would not allow it.

He tilts his head ever so slightly, then, because he remembers Scott. He remembers how useless the normally dogmatically helpful teenager is, how reluctant to tell anyone anything about how Clementine died, claiming not to know. How does a werewolf not know? How does a warden not know? Answer: if it was his best friend. Dean's eyes narrow. He only cars distantly about Steve's death; he cares much, much more about Clementine's.
]

Why do you think that? What else do you think you've done? [He's still insistent, still steady, but there's a slightly sharper edge to it now; a slightly tighter grip on Stiles' shoulders, anchoring him in place as well as in general.]
surfaceshine: (Gimme the Pie)

[ Spam ]

[personal profile] surfaceshine 2015-03-31 10:56 pm (UTC)(link)
[I told you, I can't fight it. My head feels like it's on fire, alright?

Dean couldn't say where the words come from; they were so long ago that he doesn't remember the context right away, can't say for sure what happened next. He remembers Sam begging him to stop him, to kill him, it's seared into his brain. He remembers that it felt worse than being gutted. That's all.

He hasn't gotten over it, since then. He's become more distant, accepted that it's necessary in the world he comes from, focused on nothing but killing Sam before Lucifer could use him to kill more people for over a year, but he never got over it. Not really. And this is how he knows: if Stiles came at him, right now, threw him against the wall or walked into an invisible one on the door, it would be different.

But he's not. He's begging Dean to help him and thinking he's talking sense. The hunter shakes his head, just once.
]

Again.

How did you get rid of it before? No one killed you, so what happened? Exorcism? I can do that.
surfaceshine: (He Ain't Heavy)

[ Spam ]

[personal profile] surfaceshine 2015-04-03 03:26 pm (UTC)(link)
Scott's useless right now.

[Dean says it immediately because he absolutely believes it, but with his focus on Stiles, it lacks the aggressive edge he's used when telling others that. Later, he'll recognize a flavor of helpless disappointment in it; mostly he's just pissed off about it. Here, now, it's the elimination of an option.

There's time for what, exactly, that means later. Right now Dean is trying to decide between keeping his grip in case Stiles' panicky resolve flips the other way into manic desperation, or moving to pick up something from the table, to do something about this. There's a part of him that still, even after everything, believes powerfully in the fact that if he can just get and keep his hands on something, on someone, that he can solve it.

It's not true, but he still hesitates here in the privacy of his cabin, with nothing else bearing down on them, with just this in front of them.
]

Look. I'm not going to put you down first, not if you're still yourself enough to ask me to. That's... for emergencies, or for rabid assholes.

And something's not right about that. Something's... demons don't do this. Unless they have to. Demons don't let you ask for help. [And they don't just walk into Dean's cabin.]
surfaceshine: (Let the Dead Bury the Dead)

[ Spam ]

[personal profile] surfaceshine 2015-04-09 06:21 am (UTC)(link)
[Dean's mental wheels aren't spinning anywhere near as fast as Stiles's obviously are, but he still gets a little traction when he sees something click for Stiles. Feels a little more confident. They might be closer to on the same page. They might have a shot.

The hunter abruptly shifts to pulling Stiles towards one of the benches at the table.
]

You are gonna sit down and breathe before you keel over. I'm gonna try something, see if it helps, see if anything changes. If not, we'll know it's not demonic, anyway.

[It shouldn't be demonic anyway, not in this cabin; but Dean keeps thinking about the way the exorcisms worked but not perfectly. He had to do the ritualistic equivalent of wiggling the edges of his grip in where he could get leverage, but the wards are static. They are what they are, solid and unchanging, and that is exactly what they're meant to be. They don't adapt, not like the spoken word, not like the mind of a seasoned hunter.

He nods to himself, and finally lets go to step back, ignores the way his own pulse is slightly faster, blames it on matching Stiles' fever pitch if he notices at all, not at accepting responsibility for someone else again. For all of that, his voice still comes out with all the assumed authority of an order.
]

Just sit tight and try to calm down. Try to focus. I need to know if anything changes. Got it?

[He's already moving for one of his repeatedly remodeled drawers along the wall, digging through the odds and ends there for his grease pencil and his rosary.]
surfaceshine: (Let the Dead Bury the Dead)

[ Spam ]

[personal profile] surfaceshine 2015-04-11 12:35 am (UTC)(link)
[It doesn't take him long; he's accumulated more odds and ends than most would suspect, but it doesn't do any good to have demon fighting materials if he doesn't know exactly where they are. Everything else can move around but his few makeshift weapons, these supplies, he can get to quickly.

He has the pencil and the beads in hand when he turns around.
]

A solution. [Hopefully, although Dean doesn't like to gamble on hope anymore, doesn't really have it to hang a plan on. Maybe more a process of elimination. Start here, follow the flow chart where it leads.]

Whatever's going on, if it's something that's following you around or trying to possess you, I'll find it. If not, we'll deal with it then. You ready?

[Once upon a time, this would've been reassurance; now it's just information, a point by point explanation of what's going to happen, a plan of action. There's nothing soft about the hunter, just steel steady and ready to step to the battle line.]
surfaceshine: (Intent)

[ Spam ]

[personal profile] surfaceshine 2015-04-11 08:30 pm (UTC)(link)
[Stiles isn't the only one to have that thought; it's occurred to Dean to ward some other rooms, although he doesn't have the materials to ward anywhere else as strongly as he has his own cabin. If he's here long enough, maybe, but for now he's stuck with what knowledge he has and what strength of will and belief is left to him. Belief is somewhat shaky these days; conviction, he still has.

As soon as Stiles gives him the go ahead, Dean doesn't hesitate: the Latin is probably familiar by now even for those that don't have it memorized, the opening lines definitive, resolute, the binding phrases stronger than the words in between - exorcizamus te, spiritus mundis, satanica potestas - but his eyebrows start drawing together the further he goes. There's something there, something he can feel the words catching on but not substantial enough to pull, like dragging his fingers through a spider web.

He stops halfway through, which is not something that happens often; Dean has been half-gutted before, bleeding out, and he still finishes the goddamn rite. But this is different. There's nothing to get a hold on, his thumb rubbing agitatedly over the junction of the rosary.
]

Do you feel anything? Hear anything different?
surfaceshine: (Intent)

[ Spam ]

[personal profile] surfaceshine 2015-04-12 06:59 am (UTC)(link)
[It should hurt. It should hurt like someone scraping out his soul from inside, though that agony fades quickly because the mind cannot comprehend it long enough to hold onto the memory of it; it should ache for at least a day afterward, like being forced through too small a doorway. Dean should be forcibly removing something that does not want to be removed. Instead, Stiles looks uncertain, looks better.

The hunter clears the last few steps to Stiles without stopping to think, just in case; he is not careful in grabbing hold of the boy's wrist and, indeed, inscribing the same sigil he did in Karazhan before glancing up, around, his eyes pinballing off his own protections.
]

That's not... [He steps back, shakes his head, his own confusion sloughing off before it can gain a hold and he is resolute once more. He crosses Stiles from where he's standing - forehead, sternum, shoulder, shoulder - and clips off a few more lines of Latin, all new this time, the grease pencil flipping agitatedly through the fingers of his free hand.

Then he nods, and the back of his hand is at Stiles' forehead again, apparently not noticing the automatic motion.
] How do you feel?
punched_hitler: [tfa] (pic#7991067)

[private video]

[personal profile] punched_hitler 2015-03-22 08:42 pm (UTC)(link)
Asked him to what, Stiles?
punched_hitler: ([tws] old uniform look up)

[private video]

[personal profile] punched_hitler 2015-04-07 05:35 am (UTC)(link)
[Yeah, Stiles, they kind of are.

Fortunately, by the time Steve's contacting Stiles, he knows what's going on. Barely.]


Good.

[He does breathe a sigh of relief. He's not stupid. He can make a few guesses at what you might have wanted him to do.]

You don't have to be sorry, if it's the thing I think it was.

I had one, too.
punched_hitler: [ta] (pic#7961324)

[private video]

[personal profile] punched_hitler 2015-04-12 12:55 am (UTC)(link)
Yeah.

Dean took care of it.

[Which, truly, he appreciates, even if Dean was kind of a dick about it, or at least about baiting Steve.]

But I didn't realize it was there until it was gone.
punched_hitler: ([tws] making a decision)

[private video]

[personal profile] punched_hitler 2015-04-13 12:38 am (UTC)(link)
I won't deny that he's good at what he does.

[Although that's a lot of things - and not all of them desirable to be good at.

But he is dedicated. And stubborn, which can be a good thing. Steve is grateful for his help.]


I should've, but... I thought I had a right to be so worked up over, well, everything.

Maybe that was the point, I don't know.
imfollowinghim: (Do you wanna build a snowman??)

private

[personal profile] imfollowinghim 2015-03-22 08:49 pm (UTC)(link)
What the fuck are you talking about?
imfollowinghim: (Let the sun fade out.)

private

[personal profile] imfollowinghim 2015-04-10 02:49 am (UTC)(link)
I'm fine.

[He's not, but it's not because of whatever these things are.

Well, not entirely, because fighting something you don't understand that's hurting people you care about isn't exactly fun.]


You're sure it's gone?
lydiascreams: (crying upset open sad scared)

[filter]

[personal profile] lydiascreams 2015-03-22 10:18 pm (UTC)(link)
[She's been feeling off all day. More than usual. It's not just the darkness that's bothering her. It's not just this thing around the Barge. She's also afraid. Terrified, really. But she doesn't know why.

It's not until later that day that she feels that pang she has started associating with death. Her stomach turns and for a few seconds, she can't breathe. She instantly reaches out for the communicator and scrolls through the feed. But there's nothing new.

Lydia knows it's bad, though. Worse than bad. It's strong, it's pack. Or worse.

She doesn't want to worry everyone, though, so she just leaves Stiles a quick message, asking him to tell her he's okay.

It only takes her a moment to grab her purse and throw the communicator inside, and then she's out of her room. Her eyes are wide, her heart is beating fast against her chest. It hasn't happened yet, she still has time. The voices are loud, anxious. And she's getting more and more afraid. What if there isn't enough time?

She closes her eyes for a moment, and listens to the voices, letting them guide her. And by the time she starts to walk, she's not in full control anymore. She's not seeing the people as she walks past them, she doesn't know where she is. But she still has time.

And then she hears his voice and it pulls her back instantly.

Please don't be mad.

Her stomach turns and she picks up the communicator, her eyes tearing up as soon as she sees him.

She knows now. She's sure even though she was trying so hard not to believe it.]


Stiles. No. [She shakes her head as she starts the video. And then she starts down the hall even as she talks to him. It's all automatic, all a pull. She doesn't even realize she's not headed toward his room.]

Stiles, please don't. Just-- listen to me. [There's still time.]
lydiascreams: (Stiles - hugs)

Spam

[personal profile] lydiascreams 2015-04-03 02:58 am (UTC)(link)
[She stills when she sees him, her entire body is shaking and she feels like she's gonna be sick her stomach is so tight. Her lungs hurt, like she's been trying too hard to breath and her face is red from crying.

It only takes her a second before she throws her arms around him. For a moment' she's not even crying or gasping for air. The only thing she feels is the shock and her heart beating hard against her chest.

And then, a moment later, she can breathe again.]


There was still time. [She mutters under her breath, starting to cry again but she doesn't even notice.]

Stiles. [She sobs quietly, tightening her arms around him.]

You're here.
lydiascreams: (Cry upset questioning)

Spam

[personal profile] lydiascreams 2015-04-08 11:54 pm (UTC)(link)
[Logically, she knows. She felt it for a few days now, but it wasn't strong enough for her to really be able to pick up on it. Still, when he tells her he wasn't thinking clearly, she knows what he means.]

It's gone, isn't it? [She whispers brokenly, because Stiles suddenly feels right again.

She lifts her head, and reaches up to cup his face, brushing her fingers over his skin gently, still making sure he's real. That this is real.]


It was that thing that made you do it, right? Tell me it was. [That it wasn't really him, that he wouldn't leave her, leave them. That he wouldn't hurt himself.]
lydiascreams: (Stiles - Kiss)

Spam

[personal profile] lydiascreams 2015-04-11 02:46 am (UTC)(link)
[She lets out the breath she'd been holding when he confirms it. And then she sniffs and tries to pull herself together some more.

She has a million questions. What was it? Is it anywhere else? How did Dean get rid of it? How did he get possessed again?

But she can't voice any of them. Instead, she just takes a deep breath as she holds his gaze for a second, then tiptoes and kisses him deeply. Her heart is still beating fast against her chest, tears running down her face. But all she cares about is that he's there.]
lydiascreams: (Stiles - open upset scared wide eyed)

Spam

[personal profile] lydiascreams 2015-04-12 08:59 pm (UTC)(link)
[She only breaks the kiss when she absolutely has to breathe. But she keeps her arms wrapped around his neck.

After a couple of deep breaths, she looks up at him again, without pulling away. She's feeling a little calmer, now. But not completely back to normal yet.]


I'm so sorry I couldn't figure out. That I couldn't stop it before it got to this. [He's alive, and she's so grateful. But it's not thanks to her.]
semifreakingnormal: (unless we go so let me show you)

[Private]

[personal profile] semifreakingnormal 2015-04-03 01:41 am (UTC)(link)
[If Scott was himself, he'd be hunting Stiles down. He'd be banging on doors, breaking them down, he'd find his friend because there has never been a time when Scott hasn't been there for Stiles.

Except this month. He hasn't been there this month, and it feels like he hasn't been there at all, for any thing. He's failing Stiles now, and that builds this lump in his throat that he can't swallow past, can barely breathe around, and all he can do is sit at the foot of his bed with his head in his hands. It takes so much effort to hit the record button on his communicator, and even then he can barely get himself to talk.]


Stiles, man, please - please don't be dead, okay, I need you - I need you, I'm sorry I wasn't...

[The lump gets too big and he chokes around a wet breath, dropping the communicator so he can put his head in his hands.]
semifreakingnormal: (you've always done the same for me)

[Private]

[personal profile] semifreakingnormal 2015-04-03 03:42 am (UTC)(link)
[He wants to go. He wants to go badly, but there is a terrible voice in the back of his thoughts, whispering to him all the ways in which he will screw up. The ways in which he will bring death and pain to the doorstop of everyone he has ever cared about.

He sucks in a sharp breath and holds it until all he can hear is blood beating in his ears. He doesn't want to exhale or fill his lungs. He just wants to vanish, so maybe he can just stop being a burden to them all.

But the important thing, he reminds himself as he finally lets out that breath, is that Stiles is alive. He fumbles the communicator, swallows hard.]


He'll keep you safe.

[Like Scott can't. Dean was the one to help Clementine, not Scott, and that eats him up inside but it also comforts him. Dean will look out for Stiles.]
semifreakingnormal: (Default)

Re: [Private]

[personal profile] semifreakingnormal 2015-04-17 05:51 pm (UTC)(link)
It's not--

[Scott cuts himself off, shaking his head and swallowing thickly. It doesn't feel like something Stiles can help with. This isn't like learning to control himself, it's not like almost killing Stiles after he was first bit - just his presence could be enough to ruin people.

But his sha is doubt, and now he's doubting everything - especially himself. It matches up with what Dillon is saying, and he let's out a shaky breath.]

Okay. I'll come.