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

[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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[He hopes that's acquiescence; Scott's fingers brush Stiles' hand again, curl in until he's just holding on. He can hold onto the pain. He understands it better, at least - he understands how to hold it, how long it stays, how long it affects him. It'll be okay, and he's trying to say that with his hand alone.]

Yeah, [he says, breathing an almost-laugh.] I noticed. Scorpius brought you here in time, though.

[It's as close as he can manage to acquiescence under these circumstances. He doesn't pull away even if he does swallow hard, his heart beating a little faster in his chest as the pain begins to subside. He hates that it means that Scott is in pain instead. Especially considering he did this to himself.]

Guess I...got lucky. [Again.]

If this is us being lucky, we need better luck.

[He smiles tiredly at Stiles - he's napped here and there, stolen a few minutes, sometimes sprawled on the examination table in the clinic, sometimes on one of the few empty beds in the infirmary. He's tired, but he can't let himself stop and crash yet.]

[He huffs out a laugh, squeezes Scott's hand a little and then pulls it away. It's enough. It's too much, probably. But the pain is at a tolerable level and he won't let Scott hurt himself if he can help it.]

You need to rest. Heard alpha werewolves need at least eight hours a night.

[He lets Stiles pull away. He knows he could take more, knows he could push, like he had when Isaac was in the hospital. But he can already feel it, like steel pooling in his stomach. He swallows it down, and figures out how to deal with it.]

That's funny, I heard the same goes for baseball bat carrying humans.

[When, in reality, is the last time any of them got a full eight hours of sleep in one consecutive setting? He doubts it's been anytime recent. He doubts it will be, for that matter.]

Hey, I'm in a bed. I rested. Probably for at least eight hours, right?

[Probably not in at least a year, and definitely not for another one.]

Maybe like four. If you were lucky.

Four's a lot!

[No. No, it isn't. But he's still betting it's much longer sleep than Scott's had recently.]

Four is definitely not a lot.

[There's a smile pulling at his mouth, though; Stiles would win that bet.] I'll take a break when I can. Turns out the examining table in the clinic is....kind of comfortable...

[He looks at Scott skeptically.]

An examining table isn't even comfortable for the hour long wait most doctors make you sit there for while they're off drinking coffee or playing golf.

It's not that bad with a pillow! [Look at this incredibly innocent face, how would anyone not believe this.]

[The puppy eyes make it hard for most people not to believe him, probably. Stiles isn't one of those people, however.]

Uh huh.

[Big, soulful brown eyes can get you far in this life.

Just not with Stiles. Scott ducks his head to hide a laugh.]

Okay, okay. I'll grab an empty bed tonight. Scout's honor. [Like they were ever scouts...]

[He can't help but smile when Scott ducks his head.]

I'm holding you to that, regardless of the fact that neither of us was ever a boy scout. [Besides. Scott's sincere enough he could have been a boy scout.]

[He could probably put some Boy Scouts to shame in the sincerity department.]

Right, I should probably try that on someone who hasn't known me my whole life.

[He could probably put most Boy Scouts to shame in that department. And a lot of other departments.]

Or you know. You could just try sleeping without having your arm twisted into it.

That sounds way too easy.

Okay Mr. True Alpha Must Always Do Things the Hard Way.

I miss the easy way.

Yeah. [He closes his eyes and lets out a breath.] You and me both, Scottie.

Remember when we thought home was boring?

[Scott watches him, speaking softly and huffing out an almost laugh. How could they ever have thought that? And how could they ever have let it change?

He reaches out to squeeze Stiles' shoulder lightly, getting ready to slip away. Stiles needs the sleep more than he does.]

I have...vague recollections of boringness at home. [He yawns and tries to open his eyes again, but his eyelids are just too heavy. He does smile faintly when he feels Scott squeeze his shoulder, but seconds later, he's slipped into unconsciousness again.]

[Scott watches him for a few seconds, a couple minutes, watches the steadiness of his breathing and the slackness in his face. He looks younger when he sleeps. He hopes that for once, there are no bad dreams pulling at his subconscious.

He only slips away when he's certain Stiles is asleep and comfortable, wishing he could just sit by his side. But there are other people to check on.]

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

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