Stiles Stilinski (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
voluntaryapnea) wrote2014-07-26 11:25 am
voluntaryapnea) wrote2014-07-26 11:25 am
Entry tags:
- allison argent,
- as if i had a soul to steal,
- bucky barnes,
- emotional tether,
- feel it pull me underneath,
- flood: last laugh,
- game: tlv,
- i can hurt you from inside,
- i think her death it must be killing me,
- life is but a dream,
- like the sun came out,
- lydia martin,
- not just a girl,
- nothing in this world i wouldn't do,
- scorpius,
- scott mccall,
- srsly needs something better than a bat,
- the devil within,
- there's still poison in our veins,
- will graham,
- you still got me
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.]
[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.]
spam
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
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
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?
spam
Sorry buddy, Bucky has spent a literal lifetime forcing people who are too stubborn to admit they'd almost died back into bed, so he moves forward to stop Stiles from sitting up so quickly, there's a good chance it's all just muscle memory and instinct kicking in.]
Not after hearing that, I'm not. Don't pop your stitches.
spam
Okay, no. Not really. He doesn't resist when Bucky pushes him back down against the pillows but he makes a face.]
I'm all right. Have you heard from Steve? He okay?
spam
He's fine. I think he's still looking for the asshole who started all of this. [And Bucky wants to be out there with him, and get this over with, but he also wants to find out who murdered Helena.] How's Scott?
spam
He looks over at Bucky for a moment.]
Yeah that...sounds about right for Steve. [He knows the only reason that Scott isn't out there looking is because there are so many patients flooding the infirmary and Jack can't do it all.] He's -- [He waves a hand around and sighs.] All over the place, taking people's pain and generally not taking care of himself or sleeping at all.
spam
(Let's be honest, he was on that list already anyway.)
But there's one thing he's a little more distracted by than Scott not sleeping.]
Is it hard on him, doing that? Taking people's pain? [It's not exactly a superpower he's had a lot of experience with, and he doesn't really remember Steve being able to do it when they'd been all swapped around.]
spam
He purses his lips at the question, then sighs, nodding slightly and looking down at his hands.]
Yeah. It drains him. He recovers a lot faster than most people, but it still hurts him. [He knows Scott will keep doing it though, because Scott would prefer to be in pain himself than see someone else suffer. It's just who Scott is. Stiles loves him for that, even if he also hates that Scott doesn't take care of himself like he should.]
spam
He scrubs a hand over his face, tries to wake himself up a little more. It doesn't really work, and he just seems kind of worn out. Which is stupid, because he's been through worse and he's seen worse, and he's done worse, and just because this is a different kind of fight doesn't mean he should be this worn down after a couple days.
(Maybe it's because there'd been so much down time. He'd let himself go soft.)]
I can try and talk to him. You think he'd sit still if I told him you need some company, or would that just make it worse?
spam
He watches Bucky for a moment, concern on his face. Not just for his best friend, but for Bucky, too, now.]
Well then he'd just worry more about me. It's sort of a Catch 22 in this situation. [He sighs and rests his head on the pillows.] But for the record, you should also try and get some rest, man.
spam
I'm fine. This is nothing. [Although he's not sure how seeing the results of cannibalism ranks on the list of every other horrible thing he's ever seen and done.
(He's been spared that particular horror thanks to staying relatively far away from the eastern front, but he's heard rumors. Enough to know he's really fucking glad he's not Russian.)]
Can I get you anything?
spam
If you say so. Nah. I'm okay for now.