voluntaryapnea | 25. Release me from this curse I'm in/I've been trying to maintain/But I'm struggling

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[Hours after being returned to the Barge, Stiles is still trying to pull his thoughts together and struggling to do so. Physically he feels fine. But every now and then he catches a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. Any time he turns to look and see who or what it is, it vanishes quickly. He wants to chalk it up to the lack of sleep at the port.

Truthfully he's worried. Fleeting as it is, he's familiar with this sensation. This things aren't quite right feeling that's settled into his chest as he goes to check on Lydia in the infirmary, and then Dean at his room.

He checks in with Kira on the network, thankful she's now awake, and then goes to check in on the still coma'd Allison. Goes to check in on Scott and Liam. He makes his rounds on the Barge, rubbing tiredly at his eyes.

The feeling doesn't leave him as he grabs food from the cafeteria, sitting alone at a table because he doesn't feel like looking for someone to sit with.

Something isn't right.]

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[He knows Dean isn't asking how many days he'd spent at Scott's house while his mom was sick. He wouldn't be able to answer that with any amount of accuracy if it was what was being asked. He couldn't begin to guess. He glances over at Dean briefly, rubs the back of his neck.]

Two and a half years. I was eight when she died. [He looks away again, expression growing distant again. He chews his thumbnail.]

I was with her when...

[He exhales.]

Dad was working. Out on a call. A car accident. There was a girl that -- she was trapped in the car and she wasn't going to make it. He didn't want to leave her there, to die alone.

[How noble, Dean thinks, doesn't say. It wouldn't be a compliment. The truth is that Dean isn't sure how he feels about any of that whatsoever. Losing Mary - hell, losing his entire family had happened in a moment. He hadn't had time to miss them until it was too late, he had plenty of slack to hang himself with afterwards knowing if he could have been just a little faster...

He stiffens a little when he finally finds the context, because he lost Sam in a moment that first time, but he's been losing him slowly for years, right in front of his eyes. His lips thin, because he's not remotely stupid enough to say it's the same thing and even if it were, this isn't the kind of parallel he'd draw between them. It's not one he'd want drawn.]

Just you?

Yeah.

[His voice is quiet and he stares at a spot on the wall.]

Until the nurses came in anyway, when the machines went off. They didn't let me stay in the room after that. But she was already gone anyway.

[There wasn't a reason to stay there, even if he hadn't realized it at the time. Even though one of the nurses had to drag him out of her room kicking and screaming at the top of his lungs.]

That blows.

[It's the first honest thing he can think of to say; it's as meaningless as I'm sorry, of course, it can't change anything, but it falls out of his mouth anyway. He could be more specific, apologize for seeing it in the opera hall, for his dad deciding some other girl was more important than his family, that he's had to learn to live with it. He could offer condolences, which he would mean, but not enough for a mother.

It's this last that brings him around to the response he does want to give, the question he does want to ask - or maybe just the piece that makes the least sense to him. He swallows, closes his eyes so he can focus on stringing together more words at a time.]

You still think this place - the Admiral - is the answer? To what you need?

Yeah.

[He definitely won't disagree with the sentiment. It does blow. But it's part of his life that's long ago and far away, usually tucked back into a dark corner of his mind that he doesn't pull out to look at except on rare occasions. This time hadn't been his choice.

And he thinks he understands why Dean's asking that question now. He purses his lips, lets out a breath.]

Yeah. I think it's still the only thing I can do. [Because he can't go back now. Not with so much at stake.]

Mm.

[The answer just makes Dean feel tired; he knows he should push back against it, repeat the arguments he's already tried, find the way to word it so that Stiles will listen and go home, so he won't repeat Dean's mistakes. So he won't continue letting things like that place and the dreams and the Joker's gas happen to him because he thinks it will be worth it in the end.

So he won't save everyone he's trying to save only to kill them again one, five, ten years from now when all this comes to a head. Dean is dead certain he is right. The apocalypse is the one constant left in his life and it scorches anything that dares to try to survive it.

His gut twists, either in empathy or with whatever unnatural malaise has gripped hold of it, and he swallows carefully, as carefully does not move. This is when he realizes he doesn't have to do any of that: it's the coward's way out, but Dean has known almost as long as he's known the word for it that he is definitely a coward. He does not open his eyes.]

I need to not be conscious.

[He watches Dean, half expecting a fight, and not sure what to think when he doesn't get one. It's worrying. Then again he knows Dean isn't feeling that great, and that probably goes a long way toward explaining why his inmate isn't trying to argue with him about it right now.

He nods a little, pushing himself away from the door.]

I'll go so you can rest. [He pauses, hesitating for a moment.] I can check with the infirmary and see if there are sleeping pills if you think it'd help you rest better.

[Dean's lips twitch, bemused and a little nonplussed by the offer. He keeps being a dick to Stiles. Stiles keeps trying to help him anyway. He doesn't get it.

This time he does slit his eyes open, finds his warden with his dull gaze.]

Not a problem, right now. Exorcisms... takes a lot to do that many.

I'm good.

[Nauseous, worn through, cut up, and still alone, but it's the closest he can come to good right now so he'll take it.]

[He nods, looking like he wants to ask something -- or more than one something, given who he is, and he does want to ask more things about exorcisms and Latin and the symbol that Dean had drawn on Lydia and him before, but those questions will wait.]

Okay.

[He picks up Dean's communicator and moves it closer to him.]

Just in case you change your mind, give me a holler.

[They are, one and all, questions Dean would answer much more readily than anything about himself; his knowledge is fair game. His life is not.

This time when Stiles is patronizing, Dean rolls his eyes vaguely, closes them again.]

Dude. Stop. [Firm, and if it's lacking the harshest edges - if it sounds a little like something familiar and well worn in its exasperation - it's because he's always been bad at being sidelined by his own limitations.] Go away.

25. Release me from this curse I'm in/I've been trying to maintain/But I'm struggling

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