Stiles Stilinski (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
voluntaryapnea) wrote2014-07-19 12:53 pm
voluntaryapnea) wrote2014-07-19 12:53 pm
Entry tags:
- allison argent,
- and a bargain must be made,
- anything but gently down the stream,
- bucky barnes,
- bucky has a phd in psychology,
- dean winchester,
- emotional tether,
- feel it pull me underneath,
- game: tlv,
- i think her death it must be killing me,
- i think we ran out of time,
- life is but a dream,
- like the sun came out,
- lydia martin,
- not just a girl,
- richard riddick,
- there's still poison in our veins
08. When I Wake Up I'm Afraid/Somebody Else Might Take My Place
[Around one in the morning, people on the seventh floor, and people on the Barge who have super hearing abilities might have been awakened to the sound of terrified, nightmare-induced screaming from Stiles' room.]
[Spam for Lydia Martin]
[He is in the dark, the way he always is when it begins. He can feel how quickly his heart is beating and while he knows it's not physically possible for it to beat right out of his chest, right now it's hard to remember that.
"Everyone has it, but no one can lose it. What is it, Stiiiiles?"
No, no, no. This is supposed to be over with. He has been free from Void for weeks, or so he'd thought. But there's no mistaking the deep, gravelly voice.
"We're going to destroy them all, Stiles. One by one."
He shudders, trying to ignore it even as he closes his eyes because feels hot breath against his cheek, knows it's right there, waiting to make its move. Waiting to take over and finish what it started. He can't let it. He can't. But it's too late because he watches himself do things he never wanted to do. He watches himself stab his best friend with a sword. Watches himself bludgeon a kid from his geometry class with a tire iron. Watches himself set up a bomb to send to his dad. Watches an arrow impale Coach Finstock in the stomach. Watches Scott cradle Allison's lifeless body in his arms.
He screams. He screams loudly, terrified and horrified but his dad is not there to wrap him up in arms and assure him that he is okay, that everything is okay. Everything is not okay. It's the landing that wakes him. He hits the floor hard, gasping for breath, tears staining his cheeks as he struggles to free himself from the Nemeton's vines -- except it's not really vines from the Nemeton -- it's his bedsheets and he's tangled, constricted and he feels like he's suffocating. He claws at the material with very human finger nails, scratching marks into his own skin in desperation to get loose. He finally manages to escape and he has to get out of the room.
He flings himself out the door and lurches toward the stairs, scrambling as though he's being chased. He is shaking violently, sweat and tears staining his paler than usual skin as he makes his way toward the fifth floor. He doesn't even realize where he's going until he's standing at Lydia's door.]
[Open Spam]
[Later that day finds him still shaky and while he's much less visibly upset than he was when he arrived at Lydia's early that morning, he's still pale. There are dark circles under his eyes, though not as dark as the ones that Void had left behind after he'd been possessed. One can find him at the CES, running through a forest -- the Beacon Hills Preserve for those who are familiar with it. It is a concentrated effort on his part. He doesn't like running very much, but it feels like what he needs to do. Like if he stops it's only a matter of time before his nightmares catch up with him again. Like it's only a matter of time before Void takes over, even if Void is gone now.
It's never really over.]
[Spam for Lydia Martin]
[He is in the dark, the way he always is when it begins. He can feel how quickly his heart is beating and while he knows it's not physically possible for it to beat right out of his chest, right now it's hard to remember that.
"Everyone has it, but no one can lose it. What is it, Stiiiiles?"
No, no, no. This is supposed to be over with. He has been free from Void for weeks, or so he'd thought. But there's no mistaking the deep, gravelly voice.
"We're going to destroy them all, Stiles. One by one."
He shudders, trying to ignore it even as he closes his eyes because feels hot breath against his cheek, knows it's right there, waiting to make its move. Waiting to take over and finish what it started. He can't let it. He can't. But it's too late because he watches himself do things he never wanted to do. He watches himself stab his best friend with a sword. Watches himself bludgeon a kid from his geometry class with a tire iron. Watches himself set up a bomb to send to his dad. Watches an arrow impale Coach Finstock in the stomach. Watches Scott cradle Allison's lifeless body in his arms.
He screams. He screams loudly, terrified and horrified but his dad is not there to wrap him up in arms and assure him that he is okay, that everything is okay. Everything is not okay. It's the landing that wakes him. He hits the floor hard, gasping for breath, tears staining his cheeks as he struggles to free himself from the Nemeton's vines -- except it's not really vines from the Nemeton -- it's his bedsheets and he's tangled, constricted and he feels like he's suffocating. He claws at the material with very human finger nails, scratching marks into his own skin in desperation to get loose. He finally manages to escape and he has to get out of the room.
He flings himself out the door and lurches toward the stairs, scrambling as though he's being chased. He is shaking violently, sweat and tears staining his paler than usual skin as he makes his way toward the fifth floor. He doesn't even realize where he's going until he's standing at Lydia's door.]
[Open Spam]
[Later that day finds him still shaky and while he's much less visibly upset than he was when he arrived at Lydia's early that morning, he's still pale. There are dark circles under his eyes, though not as dark as the ones that Void had left behind after he'd been possessed. One can find him at the CES, running through a forest -- the Beacon Hills Preserve for those who are familiar with it. It is a concentrated effort on his part. He doesn't like running very much, but it feels like what he needs to do. Like if he stops it's only a matter of time before his nightmares catch up with him again. Like it's only a matter of time before Void takes over, even if Void is gone now.
It's never really over.]
[Tether Spam]
With a deep breath, she closes her eyes for a second and tries to listen, in case there's something going on that she might need to pick up on.
Although she hears no sounds, she sees one particular face in her head. So she focuses on him and she knows what must be happening.]
Stiles.
[Even as she mutters his name to herself, she's already getting up from the bed to find her robe and slippers.
She hasn't been checking on him as much as she should have since Allison got there. She knows she should have paid more attention but between all the events that happened, the latest flood and spending as much time with her best friend as she possibly can without making it obvious to her that she just needs to be around her, Lydia failed to check on Stiles.
But she's changing that now. She's just about to head to his room when she opens the door and finds him standing right outside.
Her eyes widen in surprise and then she takes a good look at him and her stomach drops. Apparently, she was right.
Lydia wraps a hand around his and pulls him into her room wordlessly.]
[Tether Spam]
His breathing is shallow and he drops down into the chair by her bed and buries his face in his hands.]
Sorry. I'm sorry.
[Tether Spam]
No. It's okay, Stiles.
[She brushes her hand over his hair as she sits down on the edge of her bed, but leans forward toward him instantly, lifting one of her hands to cover the hand he has over his face.]
I was on my way to see you. I'm glad you're here.
[Tether Spam]
You were on your way to see me?
[It takes him a moment to work through his own sense of disorientation, and then it dawns on him that she probably felt him. The tether, and her Banshee abilities. He breathes out slowly, curling his fingers around hers wordlessly as he nods in understanding.]
[Tether Spam]
Did you have a nightmare?
[She keeps her voice quiet and brushes her other hand over his arm soothingly. She wants to distract him, get him away from the feelings the nightmare has left over. To help him focus on something else. But she knows it won't be easy. ]
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And is cut off with a very human voice barking-]
Easy! You dumb dog. Easy. Is it a squirrel-- no, I hear him now.
[And the clink of a strong leash being attached to a harness.
Stiles will come on them in a minute if he keeps going, a man and a ... well, not actually a dog? Dog-ish. A jackal the size of a great dane with glowing eyes. Mismatched glowing eyes. One red, one blue. It mitigates the 'undead monster dog' thing a little because it looks pretty goofy.]
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The animal beside the man is huge -- not as huge as Peter Hale in his werewolf form, but big enough. And his eyes are different colors and glowing. He barely reacts to the strange sight. He does, however, slow down even more and then pause when he's a few feet away. He knows better than to approach an unfamiliar animal, whether it's leashed or not. And he doesn't recognize the man.]
Hey.
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Don't mind this asshole. We in the way of your run?
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No, you're fine. [He dares to take a step closer.] I'm Stiles.
Re: Spam
Down. [That's to the dog.]
Wait. [That is, too. Once the dog is lying down, Riddick takes a measured step forward and offers his right hand; his left has the leather leash securely around it.]
I think I've seen you around at breakfast-- that's my shift in the kitchen.
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(And someday, he'll really understand what it's like to be in this spot, to feel like you're never going to be far enough from what you did to ever feel safe, to better, or whole.)
Bucky goes running a lot, and not even because he's damaged - he is, he knows he is, but this isn't really about that. He just likes staying in shape, keeping active and moving, because he needs to be ready to go at a moment's notice, and this helps.
He's in his Commandos uniform, and knows there's someone else in here - he's heard their footsteps for a while, enough to know it's only one person and they're not in trouble or in a particular hurry, really - but doesn't realize it's Stiles until he's actually behind him. And then - because he's a scootch - he speeds up a little to pass him and shoots him a quick grin.]
On your left.
[Except hey, wait, Stiles actually looks a little rough, so he takes a couple more steps just because of momentum and then slowly to a halt, turning around quickly to actually look at him.]
What happened?
spam
The only times that Stiles normally runs is during lacrosse, or when Coach is making them do cross country to stay in shape for lacrosse, or when he's literally running for his life. But now, it just feels like the thing to do. Because he doesn't know what else to do.
He hears someone approaching from behind, and it isn't the first person he's seen in here today. He's relieved to see that it's Bucky this time. Bucky pretty much knows all of it -- good, bad and ugly -- and he doesn't feel as much need to pretend everything's fine when it isn't. He stops when Bucky does and leans over, rests his hands on his knees so he can catch his breath.]
Just -- nightmares. Literally fell out of bed. [Screaming. Good times.]
spam
Unsurprisingly.
So he definitely looks sympathetic, and figures it's a good thing Stiles fessed up instead of trying to act like nothing was bugging him. He might have let it go before he had the story, but now that he does, well. Bucky's always had a hard time just walking away from people who are clearly in over their heads.
Well, person. But people, too.]
How long've you been out here?
spam
Stiles glances at his watch and then looks back up at Bucky.]
About thirty minutes. Not too long yet. You?
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Bucky shrugs in response.]
Maybe an hour. You mind company?
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[ Spam ]
Here, where Iris turned him loose after he paid the toll of a minimum of fussing she pretended she wasn't doing, it's much more peaceful than there anyway. It's not why he's in here, of course, so much as he's still trying to work out where, exactly, "here" is and what the rules are. Sure, people have explained them to him, but he's long past being able to trust the judgment of others, especially in matters of the afterlife. If he's letting the sunlight and the warm afternoon breeze - warm enough that he's shed his military jacket, though he carries it with him anyway - sink into his skin and loosen the ever present tightness in his chest at the same time, well, he'll never tell.
In point of fact he's standing under a tree full of dark, purple-black berries amongst the branches when he catches sight of movement; it's automatic to step away from where he'd pulled down one of the branches, to put his back to the trunk of the tree and his front to the possible incoming threat, though he's not any more openly hostile than normal.
In fact he raises his chin a little, recognizing Stiles as he jogs into view on the narrow path, though he doesn't call out or otherwise offer a greeting. Just acknowledgement for now.]
[ Spam ]
Stiles has never needed many people in his life, has never even really wanted many people in his life, and he's never tried to conform to whatever other people wanted from him. The people in his life that matter the most have always accepted him for who he is and that's all he's ever cared about.
He spots Dean up ahead, and nods back to him in acknowledgement of his acknowledgment. He does wonder how Dean's doing now, as it's been a few days since he last saw him. He wonders if he's figured out the Barge yet. He wonders if Dean still believes it's some form of afterlife. He pauses, because he's been running for awhile, and he needs to take a break anyway.]
Hey.
[ Spam ]
Boy were they wrong.
Investigation is an ongoing process, one he's not too keen on being terribly obvious about, although his apathy isn't entirely disingenuous; he'd wonder, if he knew, just how after life a state of existence needs must be before it counts as an afterlife, because Dean is pretty sure he's long past his limit. If this isn't the afterlife, he's really not sure what other people are expecting.
He glances Stiles over with a blatantly critical eye, relaxes his own stance a little as though he might go back to what he'd been doing anyway, but he doesn't. Not yet.
Instead:] You look like shit. [Because Dean, currently but infrequently sober and still not quite all there behind his eyes, is absolutely one to talk.]
[ Spam ]
If Dean had withdrawn, Stiles would have let him, and gone back to running. But as usual these days, Dean surprises him by speaking.
He eyes the man with a less critical appraisal, but his gaze is full of skepticism.]
Is this where I say pot, meet kettle?
[ Spam ]
[This Dean states firmly, meets Stiles' return glance with a steady, uncompromising stare and does not acknowledge either the irony or the skepticism even a little. After all, Dean knows why he looks like shit: life does that to a man, especially his. Stiles, though, is too young to look that ragged.
Not that Dean believes this with any kind of conviction; misfortune doesn't exactly give a damn about age before it decides to drop in, and he knows that. It's just habit, to think the young are or should be somehow safer than the old, one he could do with breaking. That or he just hates it, but that's nothing special: he hates a lot of things.]
Let me guess: it's the adderall again. Makes it hard to know when to stop before you pass the fuck out.
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[pack spam]
Every day she wasn't doing her part was one more day that something could change...that maybe he could be taken away from them again.
She was finally getting a little claustrophobic in the gym, so today Allison was in the CES for a run. It felt more open, at least, but the longer she ran, the more she realized she was starting to recognize it.
She was about to take out her comm and see if Scott was in the CES for a run of his own when she caught a flash of color through the trees. Turning, she followed it, emerging onto a new path in just enough time to nearly plow straight into Stiles.]
Jesus! Stiles, I--
[She was laughing, a hand on his arm to keep them both from going down...then she saw his face.
And suddenly it was her first night all over again.]
Stiles? [She peered into his face...then pulled him close without thinking, tugging him in as she wrapped her arms around his neck in a fierce hug, running a hand over his hair soothingly.]
Hey...c'mere...
[pack spam]
Allison's sudden arrival catches him off guard, and she grabs his arm at the same time that he reaches for hers to keep them steady and in the end neither of them end up falling, thankfully. His eyes are a little wider now and he wonders how long she's been in there without him realizing it.]
Sorry! I didn't --
[And then she's hugging him and he shuts his eyes, wrapping his arms around her, in return. He's starting to get used to the hugging -- both from Allison and Lydia these days. He lets out a breath, relaxing a little, because for one more moment at least, Allison is there, safe and alive.]
I'm okay. Just -- didn't sleep that well.
[pack spam]
She had no idea what was happening to Isaac, and immediately forces herself to forget him...even Scott, even Lydia, just for this one moment, because Stiles needs her.]
Tell me why. [A small smile crosses her face.] I know I'm not Lydia, but...I'm here to protect you, no matter what might be out to get you.
[She gives his shoulders a fond squeeze, then reaches up to tap the middle of his forehead.]
Even if it's just your own brain...tell me about it.
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Had a nightmare. [He looks down for a moment. Really it should have been plural. Nightmares. ] I'm sure you have a pretty good guess what about.
[pack spam]
If he wasn't really sick, that should have stopped...right?
She knows it's stupid, she still has nightmares. Not that she shares them, but they all come to visit her in her sleep, now and again: Kate, Jackson, Gerard, Deucalion, Kali...
...Boyd, Erica...they aren't occasional visitors, though. Those two, she sees in her dreams every single night. Sometimes Derek even joins them...sometimes it's Isaac. Sometimes she's killing him, too.
She understands the root of the sort of nightmares he's got to be having...but she's still worried.
She nods, though, her features softening not with sympathy, but with empathy.]
I do. [She wants to admit to sharing them, her own version of them...but the words won't fit themselves onto her tongue, so she looks down and tries different words.]
Do they ever come for you? In your dreams...the people you hurt.
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