Stiles Stilinski (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
voluntaryapnea) wrote2014-08-20 08:53 am
voluntaryapnea) wrote2014-08-20 08:53 am
12. When the sun begins to shine/I hear a song from another time/And'll fade away
Are you there, Yoda? It's me, Stiles Stilinski. [It would be so cool if Yoda actually answers. But he's mostly joking.] Seriously though. What's going on in your pocket of the universe? Universes? Whatever.
Private
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.
Private
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?
Private
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.]
Private
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.
Private
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.
Private
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.]
Private
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.
Private
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.
Private
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.