voluntaryapnea

[Audio -- Open]

[The comm clicks onto audio and there's a moment of silence before a familiar voice -- albeit more tired than usual -- makes an announcement that it's clear he'd rather not be making. Because he'd rather not be making it.]

Dean's in a coma.

[He pauses, rubs a hand over his eyes tiredly as he looks down at his inmate, unconscious in bed and purses his lips.]

I'll let everyone know when he's awake again unless he does it first.

[He shuts the comm back off and sinks into a chair beside Dean's bed, closing his eyes.]

[Spam -- Open]

[He's exhausted. His body aches. He wants to crawl into bed and sleep for the next week. He won't, of course, because he has things to do. People to check on. But he's in dire need of his Adderall because he's been without it for a month. On the list of things that he'd needed, that they'd all needed on the other barge, Adderall hadn't even made the list. His mind is racing with thoughts and he can't seem to be able to focus on any one thought for another.

He's back on the regular barge, and he needs to find Scott and make sure he's okay. He needs to find Lydia and make sure she's been okay. Allison, Kira, Isaac, Erica, Needy, Bucky, Steve. Hell, even Jackson. He needs to check on all of them and see for himself they're all right. Rest isn't going to happen until he's made the rounds.

But medication first. He makes his way down the steps toward the seventh floor and his room. He can be encountered in any of the stairwells, or the seventh floor corridor.]

[Spam -- Closed to Lydia]

[He slips his key into the door and unlocks it, pushes it open even as he rubs the back of his neck. He freezes instantly, gaze locking on Lydia's form as she sits on the edge of his bed. He lets out a shaky breath and closes the door behind him, letting his hands drop to his sides.]

Hi.

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[That's supposed to be the end of the conversation. It's supposed to be done. In his own Stiles-way, he'd vented his disgust at Mickey and dismissed him. But he isn't anticipating Mickey's words and he tenses, turning to look at him. There's nothing he wouldn't do if he felt he had to, to protect Scott and Lydia and Allison and now Kira, too. Others probably, now, as well. But.

But.]

One of those girls is the reason I'm here in the first place. And if I killed an innocent person to expedite getting my deal to save her life, she'd be pretty damned pissed at me.

So what? Who gives a shit if she'd be pissed at you? She'd be alive.

[He's not, truthfully, sure what Ian would think if he knew about this. Would he be angry or touched? But Ian barely wants to look at him now, and if Mickey has a choice between that being out of moral anger or out of suicidal depression, he'd rather the one that keeps Ian alive to judge him.]

She's going to be alive anyway. I don't have to kill someone else to do that. I just have to be patient and do what I came here to do.

[He shakes his head a little.]

You think I don't get it? That I didn't want to take the easy route? Stuff like this, life and death...it's not supposed to be easy. It's never supposed to be easy.

Who the fuck said it was the easy way out? It was the smart way. Here you can be patient. Here you can do the good cop thing. Over there? That's a whole lot of waiting for nothing.

[He feels like he already knows what Stiles is going to say to that, because everyone else already has. He heads it off with a roll of his eyes.]

And don't tell me blah blah blah, they were comin' to get us, 'cause you had no way of knowing if that was really gonna happen and how long it would take. None of us did. Face it, Stilinski: all that happened is the rest of you got lucky and I didn't. Congratu-fucking-lations.

[He doesn't know why he's arguing it. He doesn't know what he wants at the end of this. For Stiles to forgive him? To be his friend? No. Maybe he just wants to make sure that whatever he's going to go down as, it's really him.]

Edited 2014-11-14 23:28 (UTC)

[Except it wasn't smart at all, but Stiles just stares at him passively, unimpressed by his ranting. Mickey is right about one thing: they had no way of knowing over there if their barge was coming back.]

No. We didn't know. I'm not even going to pretend like I did. [He purses his lips, then shrugs a shoulder.]

But if you were really so convinced you did the right thing over there, you wouldn't be standing here trying so damn hard to justify it to me.

[His words are matter of fact. Flat.]

Edited 2014-11-16 01:01 (UTC)

[He grits his teeth, frustration boiling over. That's not the point -- why can't Stiles see that?]

That's not what I'm doing.

Sure.

[His tone suggests he believes that about as much as he believes that Mickey is actually the Admiral in disguise.]

Are we done here? I have an inmate to check on. You know, need to see if he's recovered from being stabbed in the metaphorical back.

[For a second, he looks like he might just haul off and hit Stiles, too. He takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring, but he holds himself back.]

Fine. Whatever. Fuck you, anyway. Enjoy having your fucking shower back.

[He almost, instinctively, starts to reply with a comment about not dropping the soap, but it's too harsh, too not who he wants to be anymore. He heads away without responding at all, and he doesn't look back.]

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