13.

[voluntaryapnea]

[Backdated to the last day of the latest flood.

Open Spam:]

[Stiles can still remember the last time he built a pillow and blanket fort. He and Scott were eleven and at the McCall household. They'd wanted to go camping, but it had rained and ruined their plans. Melissa had suggested they build their camp inside, and being Scott and Stiles, they'd taken her words very much to heart and dragged out every single pillow and every single blanket that the McCall's owned and within a couple of hours, they'd turned the living room into a giant fort.

It isn't exactly what Melissa had meant and she'd stared at them and at the monstrosity for about thirty seconds before shaking her head and vanishing up the stairs. Not surprisingly, that was one of her most common reactions to Scott and Stiles. At least building the fort had meant they weren't engaging into any kind of illegal shenanigans, and that had to count for something, right? Still.

This fort was much, much bigger and much more impressive than that one had been, but that could be because a majority of the Barge had been working on it for the past three days. He knows of course, that this isn't normal. It's some kind of flood, but it's engaging and relatively harmless and the mental break is kind of nice. He is stacking another pillow pile when he hears someone approaching and turns to see who it is.]

[Post-Flood Spam for Dean]

[It doesn't take long for Stiles to realize once he's out of his pillow-induced obsession that he hasn't seen Dean in a few days. Hasn't seen him anywhere. Hasn't heard from him at all. He knows Dean talked to Sam just a couple days prior to the fort-building flood, and he's not sure what to make of his radio silence.

What he does know is that the guy has to be hungry by now, so he stops by the mess hall and fills a tray with food before heading to Dean's door, knocking and waiting.]

[Private to Mason]

Hey, man. I sorta got wrapped up in that whole pillow and blanket thing and didn't ask. You okay?

[Private to Scott McCall]

Are you sure we can't kill him?

[Because honestly. Stiles is all for killing Jerry. He attacked three people Stiles cares about and Stiles actually loathes him.]

Comments

[Private]

[maced_eggs]

Why wouldn't I be okay?

[Private]

[voluntaryapnea]

[Stiles motions to his neck.]

I saw the bandages.

[His jaw tightens a little because he has a sneaking suspicion about why Mason has bandages on his neck.]

[Private]

[maced_eggs]

Ohh, right. Yeah. Had to get patched up, I really don't like not having my healing abilities.

Fuckin' asshole did this when I was only bending down to help him up. Do you believe that? I mean, yeah, I can see that kind of reaction if I were going to give him a kick in the balls, but all I did was offer to get him to the infirmary.

The fuck am I working to graduate for if every time I do something nice for someone, they kick you in the balls? Metaphorically speaking, of course.

[Private]

[voluntaryapnea]

[He nods. Mason doesn't mention Jerry's name, but it definitely sounds like Jerry to Stiles. Supposedly needing help is how he drew in Allison and Lydia, too.]

He is an asshole. A total asshole. But not everyone's a jackass. [Except a lot of people are. Hell, sometimes Stiles is one of them.]

Are there vampires in your world?

[Private]

[maced_eggs]

No there aren't any bloody vampires in my world. It's jus' regular, normal human fucking beings.

[spam]

[americasdirtiest]

[Mickey had thought that shit like imaginary forts were something he'd grown out of by the time he was about six; but although he's only vaguely aware of the term flood-affected, he knows that something has him in its grips right now. Like for once it might be fun, really fun, to put down the beer and guns and strip the pillows and blankets from his bed.

So here he is, 19 years old, and crawling past a blanket fort commando-style with a throw pillow in each hand and a genuine military backpack on his back. When he reaches the pillow outpost Stiles is working on, he ducks inside and stands, lifting his hands in the universal sign of surrender as Stiles turns.]

Same team, man.

[spam]

[voluntaryapnea]

[It is fun. It's a lot of fun. It's probably the most fun Stiles has had in months and definitely the most fun he's had on the Barge. He recognizes Mickey from the brief conversation they'd had when the guy first arrived. He'd made an impression on a lot of people, Stiles included.

He feels no wary annoyance now then, just grins at the idea of someone else being on Team Pillow, because that? That is important.]

We're going to kick Team Blanket's ass.

[spam]

[americasdirtiest]

[He's found that it's hard in life to not make an impression when you have the word FUCK tattooed on your knuckles. What's most surprising about the Barge is that people actually seem to... like him. He doesn't know Stiles well, maybe the kid would have even been one of the types he'd have bullied and terrorized back in school, but the dude just grins at him now and it's sort of a weirdly not terrible surprise.

He returns the grin with a cocky smirk and shrugs his backpack off, unzipping it to reveal the weapon he'd developed over at Bleu's fort: a pillow tied around the middle with a ragged green scarf, so it resembles a flail or bolas.]

You are now.

[spam]

[voluntaryapnea]

[Which is something he notices as he watches the other guy unzip his backpack. It isn't the first tattoo he's seen for sure; hell, he was with Scott when Scott got his -- both times. Granted. The first time he'd passed out. If he hadn't been flood affected he might have asked about it, but he doesn't right then.

He nods his approval of the weapon.]

Excellent.

[He turns to look at the fort he's been expanding for the last few hours.]

Right now I'm just fortifying. We need more pillows.

[spam]

[lydiascreams]

[Lydia has been taking this fort building stuff very seriously. Her room is definitely the most well-guarded room in the whole barge. She feels engaged, energetic and the best part of it all? In control. This is exactly what she needs after... well. After.

Not that she's thinking about Jerry, or Peter. Nope. None of that is even coming to mind because she's too busy planning and finding weaknesses.

You can tell she's serious about this too, because she's actually wearing shorts instead of dress.

Well, kind of. Her dress is almost like a shorts overall, flower printed, obviously and fit and flare. But it flares into loose shorts instead of a skirt, so it counts, right? Not a skort, though. Never a skort. Those things should be banned from existence.

As she approaches the portion of the fort Stiles is working on, her lips immediately purse into a thin line, and she's already analyzing his work.]

You need a better base.

[spam]

[voluntaryapnea]

[As per usual, Lydia looks stunning, even if he's kind of momentarily shocked when it dawns on him she's not wearing a skirt. That might be the first time he's ever seen her out and about in something besides a skirt or dress. A smile tugs at her mouth even as she analyzes his work and finds it lacking.

He's not surprised. He's not bothered, either. He cocks his head, though, and follows her gaze, studying it intently for a moment.]

And what do you suggest to strengthen it?

[spam]

[lydiascreams]

[The grin on her lips when he asks the question clearly means 'glad you asked!' because she's already crouching down next to him and unfolding a paper she has in her hand.

It's a very detailed drawing of the fort structure. Yes, it's all pillows and blankets, working together to make it perfect.]

This. Blankets around the pillows to keep it impenetrable.

[spam]

[voluntaryapnea]

[He shakes his head when she smiles like that, like she absolutely has all the answers he needs, and knowing Lydia, she probably really does. Still. He's pretty proud of what he's built so far. But he's always willing to listen to Lydia for ideas because she is their resident genius.

His eyes do narrow kind of comically when she mentions blankets though.]

Blankets aren't as good as pillows.

[Private]

[semifreakingnormal]

[It was a great few days, during the flood, battling each other with blankets and pillows - Scott had a lot of fun, even afterwards, and that's rare enough here that he's still appreciating it. Even given the subject matter at hand.]

No, we are definitely not killing him. He's already in jail! Like, double jail.

[Private]

[voluntaryapnea]

[It was fun. He still appreciates it even if now he's entirely focused on his upset with Jerry and he sighs at Scott's negation of murdering the vampire. He might also be pouting.]

Yeah, well he deserves it. Are you sure we can't keep him down there indefinitely instead of just a week? Because indefinitely sounds good to me.

[Private]

[semifreakingnormal]

[Scott flashes a quick smile and shakes his head.]

Maybe if it was real prison and not space prison. I'm pretty sure the door is supposed to open on its own after a week, anyway.

[Private]

[voluntaryapnea]

[He makes a face, then leans back in his chair, silent for a moment.]

If you guys hadn't gotten there when you had...

spam

[imfollowinghim]

[It's Bucky, who apparently has decided to wear one of the plaid shirts Stiles ordered for him with a pair of slacks, so you know. He still looks a little old fashioned, but more like a civilian and less like a soldier.

(It's nice, but at the same time, he feels exposed and kind of on edge, because it's way harder to hide two or three weapons on you like this, and his hyper vigilance hasn't really gone anywhere. At all.)

He's not affected by the flood, and is thus mostly just observing everyone else looking like a bunch of idiots with a sort of wry, maybe even a little fond amusement. He raises an eyebrow when he spots what Stiles' up to, but he looks less judgmental and more just like well, I guess this is happening, might as well go along with it.]

Having a good time?

spam

[voluntaryapnea]

[He relaxes as soon as he sees who it is. He grins when he realizes Bucky's wearing the flannel. It has to be more comfortable than the army uniform, even if it doesn't hide the amount of weapons that the uniform does.

He picks up on the amusement though he can't quite place why Bucky is amused. Or why he's not building.]

That depends. Are you Team Pillows or Team Blankets?

[A tiny smirk tugs at his mouth.]

spam

[imfollowinghim]

[It is more comfortable. Really. He just misses his sidearm and one of the two knives he usually has on him at any given moment.

(The other is stashed in his boot, because he's still only really got army footwear. So there's that.)]

I guess I used to be both. ["Used to be", coming from a guy who basically camps out on his best friend's floor on a modest couch cushion bed which sometimes dissolves into bickering about who's kicking who in their sleep.] Need a hand?

spam

[voluntaryapnea]

[Understandable. If Stiles could figure out a way to carry around his baseball bat without it being obvious, he'd totally do it.]

Always, man.

[He nods at the pillows he's been arranging and rearranging, trying to figure out how to best fortify the place. How does one best fortify a place with pillows?]

[surfaceshine]

[Dean is, of course, hungry. It's one of a thousand small, routine discomforts that he's completely desensitized himself to as a means to an end, as a survival tactic, because it's not exactly as though anyone can just run down the street to the grocery store anymore, or be sure of finding game where it should be, or having enough time to cook it after if there is. Nothing is certain anymore where Dean is from, except for the looming extinction of humankind as a free race.

He has also been doing his level best to be drunk, and not just because the entire world outside his cabin seems to have gone crazy, and not in a way he's sure what to do with anymore. He'd opened the door to head for the showers, squinted at the blankets stretching across the hallway, and felt the part of his mind that will always be a hunter already trying to put the pieces together before deciding to just close the door again. He had enough basic supplies in here to last him a few days under siege. The problem was he didn't have enough liquor.

So by the time Stiles is knocking on his door, Dean has been struggling with a much harder foe than the straightforward ache of injury or the curable ill of the morning after; if he hadn't had much more experience with this than anyone should have, he'd have sworn he was dying and, as a direct result, he'd been completely ignoring anyone trying to visit him or get in touch with him. After spending the majority of the day sprawled haphazardly on his bed, the hunter had been driven to his feet by his own restlessness and the conviction that somehow, he could outrun this if he just worked a bit harder at it. He heard the knock from where he'd managed to haul himself up the ladder in the center of the room to the crawlspace above the main, only room, too shallow for him to even stand upright in; Dean paused, listening, but not answering and also wishing he'd brought his trash can up with him.

Around here, even telling people to go away seemed like it was enough attention to invite them to continue trying to interact. So instead, he completely ignored whoever was trying to get in his face today, though he also knew the door was unlocked, that it didn't lock and he hadn't - wasn't sure he could, at this point - pushed the table up against it.

Oh well. One more thing he couldn't control. He pulled the box Anya had given him closer to where he was sitting on the floor, and ignored, too, the way it scraped loudly enough to be heard even from the hallway.]

[voluntaryapnea]

[He doesn't take it personally when Dean neither calls out nor comes to the door. He has a feeling he hasn't willingly seen anyone since the day the systems malfunctioned and they were all able to talk to people not on the Barge. He lets out a breath, balancing the tray a little better and knocking again.]

Hey, man. It's just me. [Not that Dean will be thrilled with that revelation either. He chews his lower lip for a second.] The flood's over. All the pillows and blankets are gone. And I come bearing food.

[Said food is a big greasy cheeseburger, fries, and a milkshake. Basically three food groups that he never allows his dad to eat from. He tenses a little at the thought of his dad. Who's recovering from a gunshot wound back home apparently. And sure, he and Parrish had both assured Stiles it wasn't a big deal, a shot to the shoulder and nothing too permanently damaging. Still. It's his dad. And his counterpart at home is apparently doing a really shitty job of keeping him safe. No surprise there, he thinks bitterly before shoving the thought away. Not the time.]

[surfaceshine]

[It's true that Dean hadn't willingly reached out to anyone or allowed anyone to reach out to him; he had even less reason, now, to trust that any of this was anything other than something wanting still more from him, though he couldn't answer what that might have been. He had stopped trying to figure out the motives of immortal, all powerful creatures a long time ago, and begun resisting across the board. Even that had been used against him, but at least in those cases, he hadn't been willingly complicit.

That didn't mean, however, that while he was here he didn't intend to take advantage of the basic necessities: he had no intention whatsoever of allowing himself to be weakened by hunger, to be laid low by dehydration, not when there were resources available for that. Alcohol withdrawal had done a number on him the past couple days but that was just pain, just illness: he could withstand that, he had before, he would again.

Food doesn't, exactly, sound like enough of a tradeoff to subject himself to visitors of any kind, and especially not his warden. It's ingrained habit to take advantage of a food source when it's available, though, and the logical knowledge that he isn't currently hungry but he could do with the supplies later that, several moments after Stiles announces any of this, the hunter finally adjusts his own position to be able to mostly see the door down through the hatch in the ceiling and calls:]

Leave it on the table. [His voice, as usual, is rough but more hoarse this time than usual; it is also, of course, the opposite of inviting.]

[voluntaryapnea]

[Stiles hasn't quite figured out how to stop trying to figure out people's motives. And motives of the supernatural. He's not sure his mind will ever allow for that really. He's too curious. If he's not careful, it'll probably either be what drives him over the edge or what kills him, if not both. He seeks answers, something he gets from his dad, mostly. He's usually good about finding them. About figuring things out. But some things and some people take a lot more time than others.

Dean's voice when he calls back doesn't sound -- well, it doesn't sound good. It sounds weak, and yes, uninviting, but that's something Stiles has faced with many people over the years. It's something he can live with, something he isn't really even bothered by.

He opens the door and glances around but doesn't see Dean anywhere. His eyebrows furrow as he stares at the ladder and then looks up. He's in the attic, apparently. Or as close to an attic as it gets on the Barge. Stiles isn't super fond of small, dark spaces these days, but he looks from the table to the ceiling again and shakes his head.]

It's a -- burger and fries. Milkshake. Wasn't sure what kind of shake you like so I went with chocolate. [Because doesn't everyone like chocolate?] You sure you don't want me to bring it up? [Because he's not sure what kind of shape Dean is currently in and if he can even manage to get back down right now.]