09. But I crept into your heart/You can’t make me disappear/Til I make you

[voluntaryapnea]

[Day One -- Open Stairwell Spam]

[Stiles is in the stairwell outside the second floor. There's a small gash in his leg where he's been gauged by one of the psycho bumper cars, but he's barely even aware of it now. He's too worried about what's happening, about what kind of danger his friends are in. And really, the cut isn't that big of a deal. He's soaking wet from the flooded hallways of the fifth floor where he'd gone looking for Lydia, but he can't complain about that either. There had been rafts floating down the hall on that floor, but his gut told him that it wasn't safe. That he shouldn't trust them, so he didn't. He's hoping to bypass the third floor where the piranhas are, because really? No thank you. He'll pass on that if possible. But if turns out that's where someone he cares about is, that's where he'll end up.

Allison's room is on the second floor, and so is the infirmary. He's hoping that Allison is safely in the infirmary. He's not betting on it, because it's Allison and she's going to do what she can to help anyone who needs it. She won't just be sitting idle. It's not who she is. And maybe it's selfish of him to hope otherwise. Right now he has his priorities. He knows Scott is okay, knows that Jack is with him and okay. He worries about the others. Lydia, Allison, Needy. Bucky and Steve. Andrew. Cassel, Daneca. Peter. Dean. Sure, some of them are super-powered, but he's seen before during this kind of thing how little that matters. He hopes that Scott at least has an inhaler with him if he needs it this time. He hopes he doesn't need it.]

[Day One -- Hall of Mirror -- Open to Will Graham + Later to Scorpius]



[He finds himself in a corridor that seems alarmingly longer than usual and he honestly doesn't know if it's because it is longer than normal or if it's because the hall is covered in creepy ass fun house mirrors. Once upon a time these kinds of mirrors had amused him, and he vaguely remembers he and Scott being in one at a carnival when they were younger, mocking each other's distorted images.

It's less amusing now and a hell of a lot more unsettling. Especially when he catches a glimpse of himself in one of them and there's a dark smirk on his face for the briefest of moments and his heart leaps as he spins around in a circle, looking around anxiously because that isn't him -- it's the nogitsune.]

[Day One -- Voice Post for Lydia + Spam for Scorpius]

[He is alone, surrounded by hundreds of images of himself, brief glimpses of a him that is not quite him smirking, laughing. The anxiety he was feeling earlier has come back full force. That's when he sees it -- Void -- clear and in front of him, eyes dark, mouth twisted into a dark smile that he recognizes as the bringer of death. Without hesitation, Stiles raises his bat and slams it into the mirror, shattering the glass. He doesn't care about seven years of bad luck. It doesn't even cross his mind.

It's a futile action, because Void just appears in the next one, laughing at him.

"You think it's that easy to be rid of me? Your divine move doesn't matter here. You're never going to be free of me. I'm going to kill them. I'm going to kill all of them, Stiiiiiles. And you're going to help me."

"Like hell," he retorts, shattering that mirror, too, face drained of all color.

"I'm gonna start with Allison. Always with Allison. And then Lydia. And finally your best friend is going to have no choice but to do the one thing that will stop me. Do you think he can do it this time?"

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut and swings again, shattering more glass, pulling in panicked, shuddering breaths as he tries to tell himself it is just this place. That it's messing with him, that it's not real, that Void is gone, trapped back home in a box made from the Nemeton.

"Do you want to save your friends, Stiiiiles? You know the one way that you can."

"Stop," he whispers, clutching onto his bat tightly with one hand.

"Make me," Void whispers, circling around behind him in the mirrors and then beside him, in front of him. All around him. Everywhere. "You have more friends here, don't you, Stiiiles? I can't wait to destroy all of them!"

A tear streaks down his paler than usual face but he makes no effort to brush it away, reluctantly opening his eyes and staring at Void in the mirror. Stiles' gaze darts to a broken shard of glass on the floor, long and jagged. He swallows heavily and he hears the voice -- his own, but not really -- chuckle. He lets go of his bat, lets it clatter to the floor and reaches for the shard, clutching it in his hand tightly, feeling the sharp edges cut into his skin as his heart begins beating faster.

"It isn't a katana, Stiiiiles. But it'll do if you have the guts."

Months of terror flash through his mind in seconds, make his fingers curl more tightly around the glass as he presses it against his stomach. He catches sight of the other version of Void -- the version that isn't him, that's wrapped in bandages -- in one of the mirrors behind him, his teeth bared and mouth open wide, waiting.

He plunges the glass as deeply as he can, pain shocking his system as he falls to the floor amidst the rest of the broken glass. His communicator hits the ground beside him and distantly he wonders if it's broken. He doesn't realize that it's clicked on in a private voice feed for Lydia.

He passes out shortly later, blood pooling around him on the ground, coldness settling on his body as he waits for the darkness to take him for good this time.]



[Day Two -- Infirmary -- Open Spam]

[Everything hurts. Is it supposed to hurt after you die? he wonders distantly. He should have asked Dean when he had the chance, he supposes, but too late now.

He opens his eyes, wincing as he tries to sit up a little and figure out what's going on.]

Comments

[mirrortouch]

[ He doesn't see what Stiles is seeing, but that's probably to be expected, if not just because - well, the hallway alone shifts and shakes as if he's on a fun-house ride; water sluices down the walls and as he walks the hall, black shadows follow behind him in each of the mirrors. They're distorted, they wisp behind themselves as though made of smoke, and they have starkly available antlers above their heads.

Every time he turns back, they dissipate as though never there. He finds himself turning back an awful lot.

So much so that he nearly crashes into Stiles entirely - same height, more wiry build; Will would peg him as teenage, upwards of sixteen, seventeen. Their backs bump - Stiles both distracted by his own image and Will too paranoid to walk without making sure he's not being followed. He inhales sharply and whips back around, grasping harshly at Stiles' arm. He gives him a once-over and his eyes bore into Stiles' own. ]

What is it, what are you doing here? [ He almost sounds panicked, suspicious - what are you doing here, this is my hallway. ]

[voluntaryapnea]

[He isn't expecting anyone else to be there -- except he sort of is. But the person he turns to see doesn't have his face, isn't covered in bandages, either. In fact he doesn't recognize him at all, doesn't remember seeing him before, and the man has a tight hold of Stiles' arm and despite his anxiousness, he narrows his eyes.

Touching and being touched isn't something he's ever had issues with, but he doesn't appreciate being grabbed by someone he doesn't know, either. He yanks his arm back, but lets the annoyance fade at that, looking back at the mirrors.]

Looking for my friend.

[mirrortouch]

[ His hand stretches and slowly curls as he pulls it away from Stiles, a part of him wondering why he's manhandling a teenager but a resounding, much larger feeling of assuming the worst of people - things. Dangerous times and all.

He'd breathed in this stuff all through his sleep, and he'd hardly found himself leaving the level. Between that and Hannibal's tea, he's ultimately gone for. ]

Is this your friend?

[ His finger reaches out, taps against one of the mirrors. ]

I'm the only one here. [ For now, for now. ] Who - [ He mops a hand over his face, nothing feels right. ] Who are you really?

[voluntaryapnea]

[It's not the first time Stiles has been manhandled by a long shot. It won't be the last. At least the guy doesn't throw him into the wall or smash his head into anything? Some distant part of his brain that isn't riddled with fear is grateful for that, at least.

He watches the man reach out and tap against a mirror.]

No. [The reflection isn't his friend. It isn't him either. He sees movement from the corner of his eye and turns quickly, but not quickly enough to see where the nogitsune has gone.]

Allison. Allison Argent is my friend. She lives -- she lives on this floor. Have you seen her?

[He turns to face the man again, watches him rub his face.]

I'm Stiles.

[mirrortouch]

[ Allison, Allison, on this floor. He knows this floor and its occupants, to some extent, but there's only a handful he's come across and learned. Allison.

The last flood. He'd met a man, about this kid's age. He paints by numbers, and he tries: ] Alan? [ Curiously, a shot in the dark. ]

Stiles. [ He looks back over his shoulder momentarily, and then quickly back at Stiles, and says distractedly: ] Will, it's. I'm Will Graham.

[ It's - he doesn't have the time again. He's lost in it. ]

You see them too, don't you?

[lydiascreams]

[Lydia has been hearing things for days now. Music, laughter, shrieks. She's seen a few other people mentioning it though, so she doesn't think this is banshee-related stuff. If anything, she's fairly sure it's flood-related. Just like the mirror barge had given them warnings before they clashed. And if it is a flood, there is nothing they could do about it either way.

But then she sees the Joker's message and she wishes she hadn't ignored the warnings. Her bad feelings suddenly become a lot stronger, and it's not just a feeling. She heads for the stairs, she needs to find the pack. Allison especially. She hasn't dealt with something like this before. But also Stiles and Scott.

Instead of heading up to the second floor to find her best friend, though, she finds herself being pulled down. Toward Stiles' floor. She might not have enough time. So she pulls her communicator and starts the feed.]

Stiles? Stiles, where are you?

Voice

[voluntaryapnea]

[He hears her voice in the distance and he's not really sure if it's a hallucination, a trick of the nogitsune's, or if she's really talking to him. His eyes are tired. Too tired to try and keep open, and his body is cold, and he feels numb.]

Lydia?

Voice

[lydiascreams]

Stiles, where are you?

[She knows she's repeating herself, but she doesn't care. This is what is the most important at the moment. Finding him.]

Are you okay?

Voice

[voluntaryapnea]

[What he is, is sorry. It's not a guilt that ever really goes away, but maybe...maybe now it will. Maybe this is just him getting what he deserves. Righting a wrong. Fixing things.

His voice is ragged and tired when he speaks.]

I'm sorry.

[Spam]

[keeps_a_cool_head]

[Scorpius has decided he's not a fan of this latest change to the Barge. Already frustrated at having all his plans interrupted for this nonsense, he scours the Barge in search of both Crichton and Derek. He can find neither.

Still, that isn't to say his searches are entirely fruitless. He halts in the hall of mirrors, breathing slowly and cautiously, wary of unseen toxins in the air.

What was that up ahead?

Striding forward, he keeps pace with the reflections sending the subject straight back at him. It was the boy - Stiles - who had teamed up with Crichton, who Powers had told him only days ago that he had attempted to destroy the Aurora chair.

What was he doing lying on the floor?]

[Spam]

[voluntaryapnea]

[He's in and out of consciousness, barely aware of his surroundings. Distantly he thinks he hears footsteps approaching and he tries to speak, but his tongue is far too heavy for that now. The word seppuku floats through his mind and his fingers twitch in the bloody pool beneath him.

His breathing is shallow and the effort it takes to keep doing it hurts, glass still embedded in his stomach.]

[Spam]

[keeps_a_cool_head]

[Scorpius kneels down beside the body, the blood pressing up against his black leather suit. He feels Stiles for a pulse and finds one, but it's weak. The boy won't last long without medical attention.

Scorpius isn't someone who kills for the sake of killing. If a death is pointless, why commit to it? Stiles' dying won't benefit him, but maybe his life will.

He sets one hand against the boy's stomach just above the wound, and begins figuring out just how to remove the glass in one piece. It's going to take precision not to simply rip more coming back out, and he can't do it quickly for fear of breaking the glass.

So it's with agonizing slowness he begins to pull the glass out, staying the bubbling blood as much as he can. There wont' be much time before the kid starts to go into shock, but he can't fathom moving a body with glass still embedded in it]

[Spam]

[voluntaryapnea]

[Stiles isn't someone who would kill for the sake of killing, either. There are circumstances in which he would if it came down to it, if he had to. If he had to to protect someone he cares about. He's known that for a long time.

A pained noise escapes him at the light pressure on his stomach. He wonders idly as he tries to open his eyes, if this is how Scott felt when he twisted that blade in his stomach. He tries to reach up to stop whatever's happening, but the movement only increases the pain.

His teeth begin to chatter and nausea sweeps over him, but he definitely doesn't have the energy to throw up. A tear slips from behind his eyelashes and rolls down his cheek.]

Infirmary spam

[semifreakingnormal]

[Scott's there when he wakes. Of course he is. He couldn't do anything less - and he's been tearing his hair out angry that he hasn't done more. He should have been out there, he should have stopped Stiles. He should have--

Those thoughts get shoved aside bodily when he sees Stiles' eyes open, and he straightens in his chair.]

Hey, there you are.

[He manages a smile, even a small one, and reaches out to rest his fingers against his friend's arm. He remembers what happened with the nogitsune, but he's not going to let bad memories of a crazy fox spirit deter him from helping.]

Infirmary spam

[voluntaryapnea]

[It takes him a moment to realize he's not actually dead. That he's in a bed. He's not surprised that the first face he sees belongs to his best friend. A quick glance tells him that Scott is physically okay and that's enough to make him rest his head back against the pillow.

He lets his eyes close once more at the familiar sound of his voice. His own throat feels scratchy and raw and he opens his mouth to speak, turning his head to the side when he feels Scott's fingers brush against his skin. He jerks his head up when he realizes what he's doing.]

Don't. [It's a pained plea.]

Infirmary spam

[semifreakingnormal]

Stiles, please.

[The strain in his voice is clear, but Scott pulls away, just for a few seconds, fingers hovering.]

I can take it. Let me help you.

[He couldn't stop Stiles. Couldn't get to him. Had to just react and beg Jack to save him, please, don't let him die. This is all he can do.]

Infirmary spam

[voluntaryapnea]

[He hears the strain and he squeezes his eyes shut tightly. All he can think about is the last time. When he'd forcibly taken pain from Scott, used it to strengthen himself. To cause more damage. To hurt more people.]

I forgot. To cover my face like you said.

spam

[imfollowinghim]

[Bucky hasn't much slept since this kicked off, and while he knows it's going to hit him like a ton of bricks sooner rather than later, he feels fine now. Really.

Mad as hell and ready to throttle the Joker and whatever psycho got Helena with his bare hands, but fine. He can sleep when it's over.

Or maybe he'll turn up in the infirmary sometime on the third day after dropping off Mason to check on Helena, only to find out Stiles is in here too. Without having anywhere else to go for the time being, there's probably no harm in taking a seat next to his bed for a couple minutes in hopes he'll wake up or something.

Anyway, Bucky's definitely not napping while doing so, nope. He's just resting his eyes.]

spam

[voluntaryapnea]

[Aside from the first day of this chaos, sleep is pretty much all Stiles has really done. Then again, when you hallucinate and stab yourself and have to get a bunch of stitches to keep your insides from falling out, there's not much else to do, he supposes.

He doesn't wake up immediately when Bucky sits down. Scott's been there a lot, and Jack's been checking on him regularly. After awhile though, he does open his eyes, and it takes a moment to focus his gaze on Bucky's face. If he's not asleep, he definitely looks like he's asleep.

He wonders if the older man is okay and he glances around but doesn't see any sign of Steve being there. Hopefully that means he's just out hero-ing and not that he's injured or trapped or something.]

spam

[imfollowinghim]

[Bucky's fine. He's been through worse, and there's a good chance he'll be through worse again, too, and if he's learned to take short naps where he can, when he can, it's probably a good thing.

But he's not actually really sleeping now, so maybe thirty seconds after Stiles wakes up, Bucky's blinking and rubbing a hand over his face, almost shaking himself like he was about to fall asleep, but caught himself at the last moment. His gaze almost immediately focuses on Stiles, and while he's not frowning at him, there's definitely a worried crinkle to his brow and an irritated pull to his mouth.]

What happened to you?

spam

[voluntaryapnea]

[Naps are good. Short ones, long ones. Actually any kind of sleep is good, especially when it comes to the Barge.

He smiles just a little at Bucky and gives a one-shouldered shrug, dropping his gaze to the blanket covering him. He lets out a breath.]

Some kind of hallucinatory gas in the hall of mirrors. Wound up stabbing myself. [He rolls his eyes, rubbing a hand over his face and moves, struggling to sit up a little.] What about you? You're okay, right?

[day two - infirmary spam]

[theresalwayshope]

[As he tries to sit up, a delicate, bandaged female hand slides over his shoulder, long fingers curling over it to press him back down with a firm strength that identifies the owner well before her face comes into his line of vision. Her smile is fond and gentle, her eyes too bright with unshed tears...and rimmed in red from tears that have fallen previously.

Her voice is soft, but brooks no argument.]

You're in the infirmary, you're hurt, and you're not moving. Lie back down.

[day two - infirmary spam]

[voluntaryapnea]

[He knows, without question, who the hand belongs to, and just like that he knows this isn't some kind of weird dream. He's also not dead, apparently, even if it sorta feels like he should be. He lets Allison push him back down against the mattress and he exhales, a shaky breath as he lifts his gaze to look up at her. His chest tightens painfully at the sight of her red-rimmed eyes.]

Hi.

[day two - infirmary spam]

[theresalwayshope]

[That one little word feels like proof he's really okay...that he's himself, that he can just say 'hi' like that after stabbing himself in the hall of mirrors...it's just so Stiles, and Allison ignores the single tear that slides down her cheek as she smiles and carefully perches on the edge of his mattress so she can look down at him. The hand on his shoulder slides away, instead wrapping around his nearest hand just to hold on...to feel him, warm and alive and able to hold her hand right back.]

When you're all healed up? I just might slug you for scaring me like that. [She laughs a little, but it's trembling and watery with sheer relief.] You have until then to convince me not to, 'kay?

[day two - infirmary spam]

[voluntaryapnea]

[Oh god. She's crying. Because of him. Again. But she's also kind of smiling in that trying not to cry kind of way and he struggles for a moment, trying to figure out what to say or what to do. He's always at a loss as to what to do when someone aside from Lydia or Scott cries, because he knows instinctively how to comfort Lydia, and he's known Scott forever and it's just different. He does squeeze her hand when she takes it though.]

When I'm healed up, you can definitely slug me. That's a thing that should happen.