voluntaryapnea | 11. Sometimes all our thoughts are misgiven/Ooh it makes me wonder

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11. Sometimes all our thoughts are misgiven/Ooh it makes me wonder

[He's still kind of reeling from the fact that he's been assigned to be Dean's warden. The file arrived at his door hours ago, and Stiles, who isn't by any means known for his ability to sit still for long, has been staring at it ever since. He hasn't touched it other than to lay it on his desk. He's chewed all of his nails down to the quick but he doesn't even realize it.

This isn't what he was expecting. He wonders if the Admiral has any idea what he's doing. It isn't the first time he's wondered that since his arrival almost six months ago. He draws in a breath and lets it out slowly, not taking his eyes off the file as he leans over and rests his elbows on his knees. He wonders why he was picked to be Dean's warden. Of all the people on the ship -- who are older, more qualified, many of whom had done the warden-ing thing already -- he can't help but second guess this decision.

He closes his eyes for a moment, then picks up his comm device, hesitating for a second. God he wishes his dad was there right then to give him some advice. But Stiles has always tried to follow his instincts, and that's what he does now.]

[Private to Babs]

So that security thing you were talking about awhile ago? I think I'm gonna need that.

[Private to Dean]

Hey.

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[Dean hasn't been waiting for this day since he arrived. He wasn't even convinced it would ever happen, that he'd be here long enough, that anyone was telling the truth about it, not really. He hadn't bothered to worry about it, not even when Anya warned him about the files. Having his life read by strangers isn't new to him. Having people know secrets they can't possibly know isn't new.

It's just been a long damn time, and besides. This setup is ridiculous. Wardens? Inmates? Files of wrongdoings? Dean's never heard of anything like it, which means it's either complete horseshit, or...

Or it's real.

What he does know is that this may not be the first time someone's peeked into his life, but he's not any more willing to put up with it this time. Doesn't mean he wants anyone here knowing any of it. Doesn't mean he's playing the game. So he waits to see what the kid will do and, when it's a fairly neutral, fairly casual, extremely short message?

He answers in kind. Sober, but definitive:]

Don't.

[Truthfully it's pretty much the reaction Stiles is expecting from Dean. Sure he'd been hoping he's wrong about that, but clearly he's not. Still. He and Dean have had several conversations that have gone just fine -- if not stellar. None of them have ended in violence or even spoken threats, and he counts that as something positive. Still. He doesn't try to tell himself that anything about this is going to be easy.

It isn't going to be.

But Stiles also isn't someone who gives up on people easily. At least not anymore he isn't. Maybe this whole situation had started because of the chaos back home, wanting to fix everything that had gone so horribly wrong, but it's become more than that now. Now he probably cares too much. He pauses at Dean's short answer, chews again on his thumbnail.]

I just thought we could meet for a drink.

[Dean waits while Stiles hesitates, expectant and dismissive in the way of someone accustomed to leading absolutely. He'd liked the kid well enough, for whatever that was worth; he's learned it isn't much in the long run, and all it would have eventually meant us Dean would have tried to make his death quick if it came to that.

But it's come to this, and now Dean knows this kid with the nightmares and the ADD has a file with everything he's ever done in it, and all he had to do was open the folder. The hunter doesn't know for sure what all is in there, of course, or generally speaking if this is all some elaborate trick or hoop, but he knows by now to expect the worst. That's all his luck is good for anyway.]

I'll tell you like I told Kennedy: I'll make this real easy on you. Stay outta my face, I'll stay outta yours until one of us gets the boot. We're not friends. I don't need to sit there and drink with you while you tell me what a horrible fuckup I am, and all the shit I did wrong.

We can handle that just like this, if you're hellbent on it, but you should go in knowing I'm not interested.

[Stiles almost forgot that Dean had been assigned a temporary warden -- of course he'd sorta been recovering from a near death experience at the time, and he makes a note to talk to Kennedy. He doubts Dean said much to him beyond what he just said to him. Still, the insinuation that Stiles wants to tell Dean what a fuckup he is kind of catches him off guard. It says a lot to him and he eyes the folder sitting on his desk, and sits up, exhaling.]

Okay so first of all, I have zero interest in saying anything like that to you or anyone else around here. And...secondly. I know you're not interested. I get that. But I'm not here to be your enemy, man.

[He pauses, looks at the model Impala set on his desk.]

We don't have to talk about anything. [Yet, anyway. He's willing to give Dean plenty of time. To try and build up a level of trust. And that's going to be a lot harder than it sounds. On his best day, Stiles struggles with trusting most people, and Dean...Dean is even beyond that. He doubts Dean trusts anyone on the ship.]

But if there's stuff you need or want, I can try and help out with that cause...that's sorta what I'm here for, too.

[Dean, for his part, is more or less calm. He certainly sounds it, anyway, not bothering to rile himself up with his little mini speech. He listens to Stiles, and has absolutely no interest in believing him or trusting him. However, the sheer naivete in his new warden's reply makes something glaringly obvious - or, really, opens up two possibilities, but only one fits the scenario Dean is operating under suspicion of.

His voice is flat, and not a little wary. He didn't tell Archie anything, and he doesn't trust anyone - not just on the Barge, but anywhere. Not anymore. He can't, and Stiles should know why, but he doesn't. ]

You haven't read the file.

[He knows -- both from the other version of Dean who'd been on the ship when Stiles first arrived, and from the conversations he's had with this Dean -- that he is perceptive. It's a trait they share, even if Stiles is still honing his own skills of deduction.]

No. I haven't.

[This more than anything makes Dean immediately and openly suspicious.]

Why?

[He rubs a hand over his face, considering his words carefully, because he knows this is important. Knows this could either potentially make or break this very tentative warden-inmate bond. He goes with honesty.]

Because if our situations were reversed I wouldn't be thrilled with someone knowing everything about me without earning the right to know about all of it. Because a person isn't just the things they've done in the past.

[He's right, of course; Dean can't disagree with that answer, but it's also pretty standard decency. Not that the hunter has had much experience with standard decency in quite some time, either receiving or giving, but there was a time he tried. There was a time he would have considered himself a decent guy.

If he's warmed up any with the honesty, though, it shows not at all.]

Let's start with what it is you think would ever earn you the right to know half the shit I've been told is in those files?

[There are a lot of people on the ship whose files he probably wouldn't have hesitated to read. He doesn't have a lot of moral qualms about invasion of privacy when it comes to the majority. A few people he does feel a sense of -- not exactly protectiveness of, per say -- but more respect for, perhaps, than others. And maybe his respect for Dean is misplaced because he was friends with the other version of Dean, or maybe it's because he can sense how deeply Dean's mistrust in everyone goes, but whatever it is, it's a courtesy he wouldn't extend to most.]

I honestly have no clue. My plans these days tend to be a lot more of the fly by the seat of my pants kind than anything.

[Mostly because he or someone close to him is in some kind of life-threatening danger and he doesn't have the time to really plan things out. He operates on instinct most of the time anymore. Sure once upon a time he'd had a ten -- and then a fifteen year plan of wooing Lydia Martin and ending up with some kind of happily ever after. He doesn't believe in that kind of thing anymore really.]

Charming.

[His tone, of course, suggests the answer is anything but, though this is not specific to Stiles' plan or lack thereof. Dean is not someone willing to be charmed anymore.

Then of course there's the other thing, because Dean might have let the externally passive act slide when they were two sleepless people living on the same ship, but now Stiles has leverage over him. Power. Now, whether Stiles ever chooses to use it or not, Dean is at his mercy.

He'd make it hard on him if he tried to use that power, of course, and there are those who have said they won't stand by and watch it happen; historically, however, Dean hasn't had much luck with either of these things, so he's not relying on that.]

And how long am I supposed to believe this little experiment is going to last before you get sick of waiting for your deal, or I piss you off, or you need something to hold over my head to get me to behave? That file's gonna be pretty damn tempting to a kid in your position.

[He shrugs even though Dean can't see him. He isn't aiming to be charming. He doesn't know crap about being charming. Scott is charming. Stiles is...Stiles.

Stiles isn't offended by the question even if it sounds more than a bit accusatory. He's been offered power before -- the kind of power that Scott has. The kind that Scott never wanted to begin with. He turned it down flat. These days he's torn between wishing he'd taken the bite and thankful that he didn't. Wishing he had because if he had, the Nogitsune never would have been an issue to begin with. Glad that he didn't because at the end of the day, he doesn't want to be a werewolf or a nogitsune or a banshee or any thing else. He just wants to be himself.

He doesn't want leverage over Dean. Doesn't want it over anyone else either, with the possible exception of Peter Hale, but that's a whole separate issue. But Dean doesn't know that.]

I think we both know that there's no way I can answer that question that's gonna put your mind at ease. I could sit here and tell you it's because you don't know me and if you did you'd feel better, but that'd be a lie. You'd probably feel worse, actually.

[Blunt honesty here.]

I'm no saint. Pretty far from it. But as far as my deal goes...there's three other people on this ship working for the same thing I am. So it's not all on me. It's not all about the deal for me.

Saints don't exist.

[Dean snaps this, because for a moment, for one white hot, painfully sharp moment, he hates Stiles. He hates that there are people here working towards the same goals as he is, that he gets to have his friends, that there's someone else to share his load; Dean barely even remembers what that's like, barely remembers a time when he didn't have the fate of every human left alive crushing down on his shoulders, but he feels the absence of it every day. It is the one thing he's never found a way to cope with, and for that moment, he begrudges every single soul that has never had to try.

He never wanted this, either. He just wanted to be Dean Winchester, whoever the hell that was, and now they'll never know. Now he's the Righteous Man, Michael's Sword, and he wasn't strong enough for either. Dean snorts, shakes his head, and makes a decision.]

I'm not interested in playing guessing games. Of any kind. Read the file.

When you're done, if you haven't asked to be re-paired or the douchebag running the show hasn't allowed it, tell me where we're meeting.

[It would be different, he thinks, if there were only one copy of the file, if he could get hold of it or just kill Stiles and be able to bury it definitively. But there isn't, and so the only way he can see to take that particular leverage off the table is to stop caring about it. Does it really matter, anyway? Is there anything at all he's done in his life that it matters if anyone else knows about? Sure, he doesn't want to talk about it, but is Stiles knowing going to change that Dean made a deal for his brother that damned the world? Is it going to change that the apocalypse is his fault? Is it going to take away the blood on his hands, innocent or trusting or otherwise?

Is no one knowing about it going to make Dean a better, stronger, more worthy person? No. And maybe it'll get one person, at least, to leave him the hell alone.]

I don't care. [He hangs up, hopefully before Stiles can recognize the unexpected quaver of fear in his voice for what it is.]

Edited (typooosss) 2014-08-17 21:23 (UTC)

[Well. That went well, he thinks with a sigh as he hears Dean hang up on the other end of the comm. He purses his lips and rubs a hand over his neck before shutting off his own comm and eying the thick file on his desk. It feels wrong. He second-guesses himself though, at Dean's permission -- no. At his command. He picks it up, lets it rest on his knees for a long time before he moves to sit on his bed with it.

He draws in a breath, wondering when exactly he became the kind of guy who hesitates before reading people's personal files. He's read his dad's personal files. But that's because he has to take care of his dad. Has to keep him safe.

Isn't that sort of his job here, too? To keep Dean safe? To help him? Somehow it doesn't comfort him that much, but he begins to read anyway. He pours over the file for hours and barely gets halfway through before he has to take a break, getting up and pacing the room for awhile to try and rid himself of the nervous energy that's built up within him. The pacing doesn't help -- it never does, but it's a habit that he's never been able to break. He flexes his fingers before sitting back down and picking up where he's left off.

It's a lot to absorb. The totality of Dean's life -- the written chronicle literally in his hands -- is not at all like reading a random autobiography. He closes the file, wishing he already had someplace safe to lock it away just in case. He hasn't had problems on the ship, but he knows others have, and he doesn't want to risk any of the information getting out to anyone. He lets out a breath, looks around and then picks up the file. He moves to his closet and buries it beneath a stack of ancient comic books he hasn't touched since he was fourteen. It isn't great, but right now it's the best that he can do.

Stiles rocks back on his heels, staring blankly down at the floor for a long moment before rising to his feet once more and moving to pick up his comm device.]

So. How about that drink? [He uses the same tone now that he did before, voice betraying nothing of what he's read and now knows.]

[In his cabin, Dean has already started. He's lower than he'd like for this kind of thing, but it's not like he's ever been given his preference in anything before, not like he's surprised he doesn't get to start now. He'll make do. He always makes do. He's been done with his current stockpile of whiskey for an hour, trying to decide between waiting it out, finding something else to do, or asking Iris for more.

He doesn't let himself think about Stiles and what's in the file, but he's running out of options for distracting himself from it; every time his attention turns that way, his throat feels tight and his heartbeat speeds up a little. It's exhilaration - finally, someone else will know it all, if it's all there, finally someone else might understand - and terror - someone else will know, he doesn't think there's anyone left that knows all of it, doesn't know if he'll survive it. He considers, again, finding Stiles' cabin and shooting him, taking it, but it's not a permanent solution and that stays him.

It's not something he even wants to do, not when he stops to look at it. He doesn't want any of it.

He swallows when his communicator beeps, but he doesn't hesitate. It's obvious he's already started, but his voice is characteristically harsh, blunt and impatient. He can't say no, this time, because now he definitely needs that drink.]

Where.

[He picks up on the fact that Dean has already been drinking, and he forces himself to push away thoughts of his dad's issues with alcohol because it was a long time ago and because while eventually it's something he'll probably have to address with Dean? It won't be for a long, long time. The drinking is only a symptom of a lot more trouble. It isn't like he hadn't already recognized and known that.

He doesn't hesitate when he hears Dean's voice, though, either.]

The Pub.

Edited 2014-08-20 01:10 (UTC)

Be there in five.

[Dean isn't entirely sure he wants to do this in public, and he's pretty sure it means he's going to have to be on his best behavior so he doesn't get banned from the pub in the future, but fuck it. Just. Fuck all of it. It's outside of his control anyway, he might as well get some goddamn alcohol out of the deal.

He's slept in the past couple days, at least, and he's not too far gone when he shows up at the pub; as good as sober, really, if anyone were to ask him, which they won't. He left his heavy jacket and his weapons behind, though the empty thigh holster is still there because it makes him feel a little better.

He doesn't try to talk. He meant every word he said. Unfortunately, that includes wanting the drink.]

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