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

[voluntaryapnea]

[Stiles wonders how his dad would react to the idea of vampires being a real thing when he's only recently started accepting the idea of things like werewolves and kitsunes. He chews his thumbnail, shrugging a little at Dean's skeptical look. Mythology and theories surrounding it are weird sometimes. But it's not like asking Jerry will pan out to be very helpful.

He's not even sure the mirror thing matters that much except it bugs him and he wants to know why the vampire doesn't have a reflection.] There's also a theory about most mirrors containing some kind of silver in them but I kinda doubt that applies here either.

[The question that Dean asks next makes his face pale a little, especially when he adds the explanation for the question. Though he wonders if it's really all that different from what Derek had done once upon a time back home with Erica and Isaac and Boyd.]

Yeah. They're fine. They didn't turn and they're not dead.

[surfaceshine]

[Dean only cares about the reflection in so much as it's a clue to what he really is, or what kind of vampire he is. That's the part he's always hated: supernatural creatures are so picky. They have to be identified exactly right, killed exactly right, or there's just a world of hurt waiting on the other side of a botched hunt.

He tips his head to acknowledge the bit about mirrors and silver - it's an idea, one of the ones with a question mark after it instead of a line through it on his mental list - but doesn't get distracted. From that, anyway: he picks up the shake without seeming to notice he's done it. Having something else to focus on besides how shitty he feels, both physically and mentally, is enough for the time being, though he gives the shake a dubious look after he takes a drink of it and puts it down again, his gut twisting in otherwise unacknowledged protest.]

We need to find out why he's biting. If he's that weak or if he's doing something else.

If the bite does something else, like gives him access for possession or influence. That's as important as finding out how to put him down.

[It's not, Dean would say if he knew. It's not different at all.]

[voluntaryapnea]

[And Stiles just like having the knowledge. Likes finding the answers. There's something within him that enjoys the challenge of figuring things out. And while he's been more than willing to take out a monster causing problems, Scott's way of dealing with other supernatural creatures is as different from Dean's as it gets. Stiles loves Scott for his optimism. For his willingness to see the possibility of perpetual light at the end of the tunnel. For his belief that everyone can be saved.

Everyone can't be saved. But Stiles also strongly desires to help his best friend keep that belief as long as possible. It's part of what makes his best friend who he is. But he's also willing to do what his best friend can't. He already has blood on his hands and Scott doesn't. So if and when the time comes -- and he knows it will eventually -- he'll do what he has to. He holds his breath at the mention of possession and influence.]

Like thrall.

[Which he does have serious concerns about when it comes to Lydia, especially, considering it's happened before.]

[surfaceshine]

[The reference Dean has for that is too far in his own past, and not that complete: Sam never believed everyone could be saved, not on the supernatural side of the coin. He just wanted to save some of them. Dean had fought him on it, capable of optimism only insofar as it applied to those directly around him; in the end, though, he's practical. Too practical for most people to stomach, especially now.

The hunter nods, but misses the way Stiles reacts. He's rubbing the bridge of his nose, trying to think.]

You said he was shot full of arrows. What were they made of? How many, and where did they hit?

What finally stopped him?

[voluntaryapnea]

[Stiles operates on various levels. He doesn't want to see anyone innocent harmed or killed. But he's not going to cry over someone he doesn't care about or be overly sad if it's someone he doesn't know or if it's someone he doesn't like, either. He's definitely not going to be upset about the death of someone who's hurt people he cares about.]

Military grade titanium arrowheads. About half a dozen. I think they were all to his arms, but I'd have to doublecheck with Allison on that. Two other wardens showed up as backup and hauled his undead ass down to Zero.

[surfaceshine]

[Dean makes a wordless sound of acknowledgement in his throat, finally picks up the burger, puts it down before he takes a bite and pushes the plate away for now.

Christ, why can't he think straight? Dean nods.]

Okay. Maybe I will talk to her.

[Probably not, though. That sounds suspiciously like interaction with other people, and he's already chafing at Stiles' presence.

It's about here, too, that he remembers he doesn't really have a reason to care, fingertips digging into the corners of his eyes as if that will help anything.]

Good luck with your research, anyway.

[voluntaryapnea]

[There's worry in his eyes as he watches Dean push the plate of food away.]

Do you need to go to the infirmary? [His voice is quiet, uncertain.]

[surfaceshine]

[There's a part of Dean that bristles at the concern, as graceless at accepting it now as ever he was. It gets bogged down in the nauseous part, though, blunting the edge of the frown he turns on Stiles.]

The fuck are they supposed to do for me there?

[voluntaryapnea]

Dude, I don't know. You look like you're about to hurl or something.

[His own frown deepens.]

I could go see if there's soup in the kitchen.

[surfaceshine]

If I hurl, I hurl. It's just...

[He rubs at the corners of his eyes again, impatient but without the energy to back it up.]

This is what happens. That's all. Drink and then stop and then this. Christ, it's not like I can die.

[voluntaryapnea]

[He's hungover. Stiles isn't sure how he missed the signs. He considers Dean for a moment.]

You're probably dehydrated. Have you ever tried burnt toast?

[surfaceshine]

[He's past hungover; hangovers he can more or less function through, at least enough that he can think straight.

This is something that would kill him if he'd ever had the fortune to have access to, and opportunity to, drink as heavily as he has been in the past couple days before he came here. He snorts without looking up.]

You know, I was gonna, but I can't find where I stored the fucking toaster.

[voluntaryapnea]

[He rolls his eyes at the sarcasm.]

It was pretty much an offer on my part. There's a toaster in the kitchen.

[surfaceshine]

And I thought I pretty much told you to get lost.

[He'd meant it then and he means it now, but it still comes off more as rote than with any teeth to it.]

[voluntaryapnea]

Yeah, one thing you'll learn is that I'm terrible at following directions.

[Just ask anyone who's ever met Stiles, really. Teachers, friends, his dad. He does head for the door though.]

I'll be back with toast.

[surfaceshine]

[Dean doesn't bother arguing; for one, he's not quick enough, not like this. For two, even he knows it's not worth the effort, at least not right now. He drops his head into his hand and closes his eyes, stays leaned like that for several minutes, and argues with himself about whether he should just go back to drinking or hold his ground for the next 24 hours at least.

He hasn't, exactly, lost by the time Stiles gets back. He has, however, moved from bench to bed, stretched out haphazardly across it on his stomach, face buried in the stiff, colorless covers. He's not asleep - not remotely - but neither does he react to the door opening and closing again.]

[voluntaryapnea]

[He hesitates when he sees Dean's now laying down. When he doesn't react to Stiles returning to the room. He's not sure if he's asleep or not, so he's as quiet as possible as he sets down the plate of toast, as well as the cup of hot tea. Beside that, he deposits two aspirin, and a bottle of water. He looks at Dean with worried eyes before heading toward the door once more.

He'll check on him again in a few hours.]