voluntaryapnea | 12. When the sun begins to shine/I hear a song from another time/And'll fade away

Yeah I have no idea what it was? And I don't aim to change that.

[Dean is still grinning when the switch happens and, with his unsophisticated flip phone, he doesn't notice on his end except a quiet beep. This thing shouldn't even be able to run streaming video, though, so if all it does is beep at him? He's gonna call it a win.

He does, however, raise an eyebrow at the mood switch. He's curious, but still in a pretty awesome mood all told.]

Yeah? Someone awesome? God, I heard Stephen got Scorpius, so you dodged a bullet there.

[He hesitates again, mostly because he isn't sure this should be Dean's problem at all. He isn't sure that telling him anything is actually going to help, and he hates that telling him might make his mood dim in a way he really doesn't want it to.]

Well, that's the thing. My inmate is...another version of you.

Oh, you are shitting me.

[He laughs it first, but yeah, then his mood takes an almost tangible turn for the serious. He stops smiling first, eyebrows pulling together in consideration. It's... a strange feeling, thinking about that. He's already heard about the new version of himself so he's spared that surprise, but now he can't help but remember when he was demoted during Tosh's takeover, and wonder how it would feel to find out that Stiles is responsible for him. He likes the kid, there are certainly worse options, but it's still... strange.

Of course, he doesn't try to look at it from the other side. He'd have been more comfortable being assigned Steph, Felix, instead of stuck hoping that Bruce and Trip would stick it out. There is, however, the instant temptation of that file. Dean promised Felix he wouldn't try to talk to himself, which this wouldn't be, but he knows the purpose was to prevent him getting sucked into meddling with it.

His time on the Barge is done. He got his deals. He saved his brother, his world. He's happier than he's ever been.

But goddammit he still wants to know, completely separate from the sudden realization that Stiles had been handed a good deal of information about him, too.]

Sorry. I uh... okay. How's that going so far?

[It is strange. It's strange for Stiles, even if he's managed to completely separate the two Dean's in his mind entirely now. He can only imagine how strange it must be for Dean and he can't help but wonder if he shouldn't have said anything at all.

And then yes, there's the other thing. That Stiles suddenly knows a lot more about Dean his friend than he ever has, and that's also weird, invasive, and kind of uncomfortable.]

Dude. No apologies necessary. [That, at least, is very sincere.] It's...pretty new? So we'll see how it goes.

[In the end it's the experience Dean has had n board the Barge that lets him if not convince himself that it's okay then to at least make a dent in it. So little there is sacrosanct, so little off limits between files, truth floods, memory floods, dream floods, breach families, and whatever else happens along to intertwine two peoples' lives before booting them back to reality, that he'd long since given up on keeping anything to himself. Old habits die hard and he's back in the real world, now, where people have to ask and memories are private.

The only reason Stiles didn't know most of that already is because he just wasn't around sooner. The hunter nods, but he's watching Stiles carefully now, with less intensity than his older counterpart but no less focus.]

I'll open the floor in a minute for anything I can do to help, but can I ask something? Will you answer me straight? I'm not sure how warden-inmate privileges work when you're talking to your inmate, technically.

Just one question. Just one thing I need to know.

[He notices the similarities in focus even if this Dean isn't glaring at him, isn't looking like he'd like to reach through the screen and strangle him with his bare hands.]

If you were anybody else, I'd say no. [And that's true. He's not about divulge any information about Dean that he's learned to anyone. But this is also Dean. And it's different.]

What's the question?

[Dean in any form doesn't trust very lightly, not easily; being reckless and being trusting are two separate entities entirely. Luckily, Stiles has just enough of it that Dean can make a go of it, that he believes him when he says he'd say no.

There are worse options. The hunter pauses to glance around as surreptitiously as possible, making sure his brother is still occupied in the cab, not looking at him or within hearing distance.

His expression is absolutely serious, the dark hazelgreen of his eyes even darker when he looks back. He tries to match his tone from before, but there's an inherent, utter importance to this need to know that he can't even hear, let alone hide.]

What happened to his Sam?

[Oh, Stiles knows just how separate those two things are. He tends toward reckless when it comes to his own life, and much less so when it comes to everyone else's, whether he trusts them or not. He exhales at the question. Somehow he figured that's what Dean wanted to know. Because if it was Scott...it's what Stiles would be asking.]

He uh -- ended up being Lucifer's host.

[He looks down, closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them again and looks back at Dean on the screen.]

[Dean knew it was bad. He had just enough memory from the self he'd been on that other Barge, just enough hints from Castiel, just enough belief in his family's luck and poor decision making combined. He'd been ready for it, he though, ready since he heard from Iris that the Dean aboard the Barge now hadn't even tried to find Sam, hadn't asked for him, hadn't tried to reach out to him.

He's not ready for that, though, and a deep, twisting kind of pain flashes through his face before Dean actually drops the phone to his side. His fingers are still visible around it, and the plastic of the phone creaks as he tightens his grip, but it takes him several moments before he pulls himself back together enough to talk.

The good mood from before is gone. He's more convinced, now, than ever that he did the right thing going to the Barge, stopping that from happening to his Sam, but he feels sick to think there's another Sam that ended up there anyway. His voice is flat if a little rough, his eyes steady.]

How can I help?

[Stiles feels it then -- the guilt. The shift in Dean's mood hurts in an almost physical way. He chews his thumbnail as he gives the other man time to absorb the bomb he's just dropped on him. He wishes Dean hadn't asked. Kind of wishes he'd never brought it up at all about his other self.

When Dean's image shows back up on screen, Stiles looks at him with a troubled expression. What he wants is to apologize.]

I don't know, honestly. Everything about the two of you is...pretty different. [A lot happened for the Dean who's currently on the Barge, that didn't happen for the Dean he's talking to. And those differences matter a lot.] I'm trying not to push him. Trying to be there without hovering or whatever.

[But Dean is made of sterner stuff than that, especially these days. John relied on him to keep the family together and that's what he did. Felix reminded him that when he shuts up and stops doubting himself, he's worthy of trust. He's good. Them and others were never easy on him, and even if it might have been kinder, in the end he is who he is because of it.

He is strong, and he does not regret asking. He wouldn't accept an apology for being told. A muscle in his jaw jumps, because if he does have a weakness besides Sam, it's his own self-awareness - but this is for Sam. For that other Sam. (He hates himself for knowing that he let it get this far, he'd yell at himself until he ran out of voice if he got the chance, but he does know this: if Stiles can give him even a hope of an advantage, Dean will do whatever it takes to get Sam back.

Which is, he realizes, part of the problem. He checks again for Sam, lowers his voice, returns his attention to Stiles. This is the part he really doesn't want his brother knowing.]

My second deal, the one Bruce gave me? Was the one I made to stop all this, I think. I didn't know what I was stopping, I just knew I didn't want any part of it, and I didn't want my brother anywhere near it. I knew it fucked us up, and wasn't great for anyone around us, either.

But that doesn't help much. I don't... [He pauses, chewing his lip, wracking his brain for anything remotely useful. It's hard. Harder than just not being the same, to try to find something that might hold true through anything if it's not Sam.]

Okay. Two things. Don't laugh if I sound like an idiot.

First - if you do end up needing to push, don't try to go toe to toe with me. Him. Not that I think you would, but it won't get you anywhere. You are not a bigger, harder asshole than John Winchester, and that means no one's been able to force me to respect 'em since then, and that's just me. I just get more stubborn, or if someone gets in my face, I start swinging if I'm riled enough. God only knows what he'll do.

Second, Sammy's your trump card. You want a reaction, that'll do it, but be careful: it might not be the one you want. Especially not... christ.

[He chews his lip as he listens. Somehow he doesn't think that getting Dean to believe that it can all be undone is going to be an easy feat. Possibly not even with some kind of proof.

He doesn't laugh. And he doesn't think Dean sounds like an idiot. He nods a little. No way in hell he'll try to go toe to toe with Dean. He might be getting better at fighting and self-defense, but he's not that good. And he doesn't really want to have to put any of it to use unless he really has to anyway.]

Yeah, it's a safe bet that I'm not gonna try and take him in any kind of physical confrontation.

[He lets out a breath at the comment about Sam. He figured Sam would be some kind of reaction-getter from what he read in Dean's file. But he doesn't want to throw Sam in his face, either. He can be cruel when he needs to be, but he's not that cruel. If he has to use Sam's name, it's going to have to be carefully and not casually.]

[He feels like an idiot, when he says any manner of ridiculous things at any other time with a completely straight face, without flinching. This is embarrassing. He slogs on anyway, shaking his head.]

No, not like that. I mean okay, that too, don't do that, but like... don't try to muscle me. Him.

Like... [He laughs then, finding his footing as he switches the topic ever so slightly to one side of himself, warming to his subject.] Okay, when I was paired with Cain, I tried to muscle him with my authority just one time: I took away his booze because I was pissed off.

He beat the ever loving shit out of me and Felix had to shoot him to get him off. That's what I mean: some inmates you can impress by flexing your stubborn. Cain wasn't one of 'em. I wouldn't be, either. I doubt I - he is.

Oh. That kind of toe to toe. Got it. [He rubs a hand over his face, leaning back in his chair. So keep trying to rein in his smart mouth, basically. That'll be a good exercise in self-control, he thinks.

He listens as Dean starts talking again. He isn't sure who Cain is, but he's definitely sure that taking away Dean's booze is a terrible plan. He's pretty sure all it will do is succeed in making the other man hate him a little more than he already does, and it's not like forced sobriety ever works for anyone anyway.]

Okay, so no flexing some faux power over him. What would help, do you think?

[The plan itself wasn't terrible: Cain needed to back off the whiskey some. It was Dean's graceless execution and the fact that he knows he was being petty about it that caused the problem. He's able to joke about it now, though, and he'd never been all that angry with Cain except for how hard it was to brush his teeth for several days, and the natural crankiness he fosters when he has to be woken up every two hours to make sure his brain hasn't swollen enough to put him into a coma.

And just that quickly, they're back to awkward.] Uhhh...

[Because Dean knows he's not the champion of healthy coping mechanisms, not by a long shot, and that's before Hell. He has no idea what the version Stiles is dealing with now has gone through, has no idea what would have helped if he'd just sat in that farmhouse and rotted along with his dead brother instead of finding a crossroads and forcibly putting it all back like it should have been. He'd wanted to be left alone. He hadn't wanted to eat, or talk, or be touched, or breathe. He'd wanted to burn the entire place down, wedge a knife into Jake's spine in turn, start punching and not stop until every bone in his hand was broken.

Somehow, he doesn't think any of that is helpful. Chewing his lip, he shakes his head, and squints at Stiles.]

I'd have to know more. I... [He blows out a breath, reaches up to rub the corner of one eye with his hand, as though having an excuse not to look will make it easier to admit somehow.] I don't... do well, losing people. I mean, I know no one does. I know it's not easy for anyone. But...

Most people don't go looking to sell their souls to avoid it, you know? Like, actually go searching for anything that'll take a deal for anything. I don't know how long that takes to get over. I didn't have to find out.

[He glances again over his shoulder, finds Sam's silhouette through the back window of his car, and remembers to be grateful for that again.]

[He feels bad for putting Dean on the spot like he is, but he can't pass up this opportunity if Dean can possibly give him something that will help inmate Dean. And truthfully even if Dean wasn't his assigned inmate, he'd ask anyway. Because even before he knew the whole history of what the guy has been through, he'd known it was a lot. That it's terrible. And the guy needs a break.

He feels something twist within him at Dean's words, though. I don't do well, losing people. That's something he can definitely relate to even if the losses are different, even if everything between his life and Dean's is different, that simple truth is at the heart of nearly every single thing Stiles does anymore. He knows how far he'll go to keep the people he loves safe. He knows it's not healthy. It isn't even noble. It's simply driven by outright terror. So he understands why Dean went to a crossroads and sold his soul in return for his brother's life.

If that had been a possibility back home, and if Scott or his dad or Lydia had died, he'd have done the same thing and the consequences be damned. Instead, he wound up on the Barge. And maybe if he can get through to inmate Dean, then maybe he can help him set things right the same way this version of Dean has.

He nods a little, twisting his fingers together.]

I'm glad you didn't have to. [Because the end result isn't pretty.] I'll figure it out. I'll help him.

[Dean - this Dean - will never forget the fact that it was dumb, stupid, plain, random luck that he got the Admiral instead of a red-eyed demon at that crossroads; that he was given a chance not only to save his brother, but to save his world. That he was given a chance to know the people he knew, to meet Felix, to get to have him now; that he never became the man Stiles has to figure out how to help, now.

Dean knows himself. He knows it won't be easy, wonders for just a moment if it will even be possible. The hunter opens his mouth to tell him that and abruptly, just that quickly, he knows what his answer has to be. He looks back at the screen, gaze steady and serious. He's not proud of this, not by a long shot, but he's sure of it.]

You'll never convince him to help himself. Ever. It's gotta be someone else. [It's gotta be Sam, he doesn't say, because in a way he already has; because he's not so sure it can only be Sam. Dean only knows that it can't be himself. Even the version of himself talking, now, to Stiles was never motivated to save himself if failing to do so would save someone else. If doing so meant he would have to live alone.

That, and this: he nods, then, and breaks the dour mood with a slow, crooked smile.]

You'll figure it out.

[He nods at his words. You'll never convince him to help himself. Ever. If Stiles has a type for friends? That is exactly the type he's drawn to. Scott, Allison, Lydia. Bucky, Steve, Peter Parker. Dean. There is a definite pattern of self-sacrificing here that is somehow heartening and depressing at the same time.

He smiles when Dean does. It's still so much of a relief to see that he's okay, that Sam is okay, that the Barge works. It'll be something he can hold onto when things get rough. And he has no doubts that they're going to get rough. With Dean, with others on the ship, with the floods. With the deathtoll. No one ever said the path of redemption would be an easy one to walk.]

You take care of each other. [He doesn't need to say it because he knows that's exactly Dean's intent.] And next time, I definitely want to meet this Starfleet boyfriend. [He grins.]

[Things will get rough, because they must get rougher to get better; Dean doesn't exactly believe this, but he believes in the sense of it. He believes why people say it: it's a way to get them through, to tell themselves it's all worth it. The truth is that sometimes it isn't worth it.

But sometimes it is. Dean's slow smile bursts back to full wattage at Stiles' words, not the least because finally there's another person that can appreciate that statement. Felix never really gets it when Dean geeks out over anything that is now commonplace for him, because he didn't grow up with Star Trek; now the hunter grins because effing Starfleet is awesome, almost as awesome as the man Stiles is unknowingly referring to now.]

God, right? I'll see if I can get him to take a few minutes off from helping run the goddamn Enterprise to talk. You'll love him. Entire repertoire of eyerolls. [Felix was around here somewhere, he knows, but he knows how the Barge works; Dean will get to talk to him at will, but his end of the connection may already have cut for the day.

And that just leaves Sam. The hunter wrinkles his nose.] "Each other?" I'm the big brother here. I do the taking care, he does the research and stays the hell outta the way.

[Dean missed him so much, like a lung or an arm, and now he razzes on him with the kind of assumed, profound fondness that only family that is also one another's best friend can claim. That doesn't mean he doesn't have room for other friends, though:] I meant it. You'll figure it out. Okay? If I had to be tied to someone, I'd be okay with it being you.

Edited 2014-08-29 05:40 (UTC)

[Stiles definitely believes it. Things get rough. Then they get rougher. What if it's agony now and just hell later on? he'd asked Morrell. She'd told him to just keep going. It's what he's been doing ever since. Things have kept getting worse and not better since then, but he's still wading through the treacherous waters. He isn't going to stop, even if ultimately it isn't worth it personally. He has to keep going because of his friends. Because of his dad. Because of Dean.

He watches Dean's expression change back to a bright smile once more and he can't help but grin back at him.]

Dude. The Enterprise. [He laughs at the mention of repertoire of eyerolls. Yeah, that definitely sounds like someone he can get along with pretty well. He smirks at Dean's comment about being the big brother. It reminds him of Bucky's protectiveness of Steve. Of his own protectiveness of Scott. He's willing to bet, though, that Sam is about as protective of Dean as Steve is of Bucky and Scott is of Stiles. It's just how these relationships tend to work.]

Yeah, I will. And thanks for the vote of confidence. It helps.

[It's the best Dean can do, to believe in someone completely from across the universe and time; it is also, luckily, his specialty. It's easy for him, who would and does spurn religion in any form but is still capable of blind faith strong enough to stand on when it becomes necessary. It's how he survived the Barge, and dragged several people with him who otherwise might not have found their footing on their own.

Some make it easier than others. Stiles is one of them. Dean still isn't certain how he would feel if it were actually him, but it isn't, so he can overlook that; and he wasn't lying: he's okay with it being Stiles. He likes to think he would be. The hunter's grin goes lopsided, fond. He'd ruffle the kid's hair, punch him in the shoulder, something if they were standing in front of each other, but as it is:]

Hang in there. And good luck. You're gonna need that, too.

12. When the sun begins to shine/I hear a song from another time/And'll fade away

Video ~~~> Private

Private

Private

Private

Private

Private

Private

Private

Private

Private

Private

Private

Private

Private

Private

Private

Private

Private

Private

Private

Private