voluntaryapnea | 11. Sometimes all our thoughts are misgiven/Ooh it makes me wonder

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11. Sometimes all our thoughts are misgiven/Ooh it makes me wonder

[He's still kind of reeling from the fact that he's been assigned to be Dean's warden. The file arrived at his door hours ago, and Stiles, who isn't by any means known for his ability to sit still for long, has been staring at it ever since. He hasn't touched it other than to lay it on his desk. He's chewed all of his nails down to the quick but he doesn't even realize it.

This isn't what he was expecting. He wonders if the Admiral has any idea what he's doing. It isn't the first time he's wondered that since his arrival almost six months ago. He draws in a breath and lets it out slowly, not taking his eyes off the file as he leans over and rests his elbows on his knees. He wonders why he was picked to be Dean's warden. Of all the people on the ship -- who are older, more qualified, many of whom had done the warden-ing thing already -- he can't help but second guess this decision.

He closes his eyes for a moment, then picks up his comm device, hesitating for a second. God he wishes his dad was there right then to give him some advice. But Stiles has always tried to follow his instincts, and that's what he does now.]

[Private to Babs]

So that security thing you were talking about awhile ago? I think I'm gonna need that.

[Private to Dean]

Hey.

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[Dean would agree, if he knew; it's ironic that he broke in Hell, he picked up the knife and he enjoyed it and he slaughtered his way through a world unaware yet that it was dead, but none of that is what makes it hard to think or breathe or move. None of that is what made him feel like nothing at all that he does is worth the struggle, that none of it will come to any good, that none of it will make a difference.

No, that moment, that failure, is much, much more recent. That failure is in the file too, he's sure, but he's not going to highlight it. He's not going to expose any more of his weaknesses than already has done. Instead, he focuses again on the similarities to shake himself out of it - Dean has been out of his depth his entire life, too, it feels like sometimes, and for years he hadn't let that stop him or slow him down. Not until the odds were too heavily stacked for anything less than complete, utter, futile failure.

And there's... not the optimism, but the stolid, stubborn refusal to recognize defeat when he's looking at it. Dean stares back, weighs the words, and finally - finally - reaches for the bottle to pour himself a drink.]

Then I'm sorry about your deal. You might've had a chance.

Do we even need to talk about all the other rubberneckers around here? You talked about any of this with your buddy? [He doesn't consciously think about when he and Sam, then he and Cas, then he and Chuck would have talked about any challenge they were all facing; but it's still second nature, still a foregone conclusion in his mind, because that's what happens when two people are so close they don't even think twice about being involved in each others' lives.]

[Stiles can identify with that to a degree, because as horrified as he was by his actions -- controlled by something that wasn't him -- some part of him had also enjoyed it. Had felt powerful, fearless. Invincible. But it had been momentary. It isn't something he dwells on, doesn't want to think about that being one of the reasons the Admiral has paired them up, doesn't want to acknowledge it.

By nature, Stiles isn't optimistic to the degree that Scott is. He isn't optimistic about things going well, but he's also acted as the spark of belief to ignite magic and had it work. It's a strange sort of contradiction. But he is stubborn. He doesn't give up easily when it matters. And this absolutely matters. He just nods as Dean tells him he's sorry about his deal. He's fine with it, knows that the lack of optimism on Dean's part is about Dean rather than Stiles.

He watches as Dean pours himself a drink and he pours himself another as well, nodding at him.]

We can, sure. So far no one's said anything to me about it. [He shrugs. It's only been a few hours, but he's still kind of surprised given the number of people that are insinuating themselves into Dean's life here the way he has. Overall, if anything, Stiles has been more passive about it than others. He suspects the questions will start flying in his direction in the near future, though.] But if they do, I'm not gonna say anything. Nothing we talk about or that I know about is anyone's business unless you want it to be. And that goes for Scott, too. But Scott won't ask.

[The same way that Stiles hasn't asked about Jack's business. It isn't that he doesn't care, because he likes Jack. But Jack isn't his inmate, and questioning Scott about it feels wrong. He knows Scott has the same amount of respect and restraint -- if not more so.]

You say that like this is the sort of place that gives you a choice.

[Like any place is, really, but he's done a little research and he's heard some things. And then, of course, there's his own experience, the things demons can pull out of their hosts' minds as they make themselves comfortable, the things other people here can find out by knowing someone who isn't, wasn't, him.

He knocks back the first drink, pours a second, drops it back gratefully too before slowing down on the third. This he raises off the table but just holds in one hand for now, watching the liquid pool around the glass as he turns it in front of him and chews his lower lip in what would, in anyone else, be thoughtful consideration.]

What I'm saying is that a hard line across the board isn't really realistic, is it?

[Point. The idea of not being in control of his own actions or words again is -- unsettling at best. He grimaces and takes a drink before setting his glass down in front of him, watching as Dean pours himself glass after glass of liquor until he finally stops and stares at it.

Stiles exhales.]

Okay, that's fair. [As fair as things got anyway.] I won't tell anyone anything unless there's some kind of flood and I literally can't do anything about it.

[Dean doesn't even register the word fair. It's not fair, because Stiles knows more now than he should, and there's no way to guarantee that knowledge stays where it should be: with Dean. And it might be true that people deserve whatever warning they can get, that maybe they'd listen to it coming from Stiles if not from Dean, and that Dean himself had this same potential to spread the information through the same means.

Promises are great. Promises were currency, once. Promises mean precisely nothing to him anymore, and so he glances up from the glass and does the only thing he knows how to enforce discipline: by making consequences for failure clear.]

You realize that if I hear something I know I didn't put out there, and I can trace it back to you, I'll kill you right? [This is not hyperbole or exaggeration, nor does he put any kind of emphasis on it. It's just what will happen, signed and sealed.] I don't really care if you come back, but it won't be pleasant.

Just making sure you understand where we're at.

[No. In a lot of respects, that isn't fair. Then again, most things weren't. He doesn't doubt the truth behind the threat. He has read the file. He knows Dean's not kidding around. But neither is Stiles. He has no intention of willingly telling anyone anything he knows. He's good at keeping secrets. Always has been.

He's also pretty used to threats to his life, which is why he doesn't flinch or waver, even if he does trust this version of Dean less than he trusts Derek Hale, and...that's not saying a whole lot. It isn't the genuine threat to his life that's troubling. It's the knowledge that if Dean does kill him, Allison will come after Dean. And if not Allison, then probably Bucky. Either way, it won't be pretty for anyone involved, and he does not want to have anymore blood on his hands. So he simply nods.]

We're on the same page.

[That, of course, is the trap of caring about people, of having people that care about you. They're bound to your actions, to your life, to your goals and your consequences. Dean isn't remotely unaware of this fact, that he'd be making enemies, that those enemies might come after him, that by defending himself or countering their attacks he might make Stiles an enemy as well. That it's all one vicious, bloody cycle, rolling unstoppable downhill and bound for nowhere good.

Unfortunately, this is all Dean's life has been. He tried to escape it, he had people he cared about once, and none of it made any difference in the end, so he's stopped trying. Bring them on. He'll handle them or he won't, and there's nothing he can do about it but what he's already done.

Dean drains his current glass and sets it on the table, reaches for the bottle.]

Good. We done here? [It's not so much a question, even though there's a question mark on the end of it.]

[Stiles is positive that Dean knows he'll be making a lot of enemies if he kills Stiles. It's another reason that Stiles knows he's going to have to tread lightly with the man. Because Dean doesn't need anymore enemies. He needs people he can lean on and trust, even if it takes a long time for him to do so. Not making enemies is a good first step, though.

He nods slightly at the question and puts the cap back on the bottle of Jack Daniels.]

Yeah, I think so.

[Dean doesn't even consider people in terms of whether he can trust or lean on them anymore; everyone is an enemy, or will be. The only choice left to him is how close to let them get, how willing he is to be wrong about how much of a liability they are. In most cases, it's not much.

In Stiles' case, Dean has no choice that he can see, not yet. He's watching, but the wardens here have resources he simply doesn't, ones he can't outright take; his best strategy right now is to do his best to sit tight and wait. Everything fucks it up sooner or later. He just has to be watching when it happens.]

Good. [The hunter stands, then, and takes the bottle with him. When he turns back it's not to ask permission to take it.] You're probably better off burning that file. Don't say I didn't warn you.

[Stiles watches Dean rise and pick up the bottle, heading for the door and then pausing to turn back. He nods, blowing out a breath at the hunter's suggestion and then leaning back in the booth. He stares at the bottle of Jack Daniels for a long time after Dean leaves.

As first meetings since being paired up went, he can't say this one was bad, really. It could have gone worse. He could have ended up with a concussion or a broken nose or arm or even wound up dead. He knows Dean isn't thrilled or impressed. He knows the hunter isn't interested in being friends or spilling his guts to Stiles, or anyone else. He knows Dean doesn't want any part of this. And he also knows it's going to be a hell of a long road ahead.

Good thing he's got his mom's stubborn streak in his genetic makeup.

He's pretty sure he's going to need it.]

Edited 2014-09-05 20:36 (UTC)

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11. Sometimes all our thoughts are misgiven/Ooh it makes me wonder

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