17. Feel it comin' in the air/Hear the screams from everywhere

[voluntaryapnea]

[Open Spam]

[He's always liked the woods. Practically grew up in them back in Beacon Hills with Scott. Years spent climbing trees and camping, other times spent fishing with his parents before his mom got sick and died, before his dad developed a bit of an alcohol problem and became a workaholic. The woods don't bother Stiles. Neither does only having two days worth of supplies. He no longer needs Adderall, so the lack of the drug in his system means he actually has a healthy appetite. That's the other great part about being a werewolf -- it means he can hunt his food when it runs out. And he knows from experience that the woods are full of perfectly edible creatures he can catch easily. If there's a pond or a river, he can fish.

He'll get by.

It's Lydia that he's currently worried about. He knows the rest of the pack hates her, that they won't lift a finger to help her even if she gets hungry. She hates them just as much. But with everyone being split up, it means that Scott will have a better chance at killing her -- again, or that someone else will try. He needs to find her first.

He straps the backpack to his back and sets off. The familiar sounds of nature are all around him, louder than he's used to. He keeps his comm in his jeans pocket in case Scott or Lydia try and reach him that way. For now he's content to use his enhanced senses to seek out the one he's looking for.]

Ooc: Stiles is affected by the event -- he's much more twisted and dangerous than the Stiles from the regular barge. Feel free to run into him over any of the days from the event!]

Comments

[surfaceshine]

Maybe the other Dean would do better to be more of a nervous man, stuck in the middle of a bunch of people out for his blood. Maybe this is the same Dean Stiles has always known, for a given quantity of the same. Either way, when he looks up and sees who it is, his smile is immediate and broad and not the least bit threatened.

It's also not the slightest bit sincere. It does happen to be the demon that belongs here, but he still doesn't care much for any of the werewolves, no matter which side of the divide they're on.

"Why? Even if I did, it wouldn't have anything to do with you, now would it?"

[voluntaryapnea]

He's wary of Dean, but not exactly scared. Overall, he's made efforts to stay out of the way of certain individuals. Other than the occasional snark-filled exchange, Dean is one he's avoided. He might be more powerful now than he was as a human, but he's not stupid, either. Demon trumps werewolf the way that werewolf trumps vampire.

He returns the smile, and it's as insincere as Dean's is.

"Not at all. Idle curiosity," he responds, keeping his distance even though he cocks his head.

[surfaceshine]

"I'd point out the problem with curiosity, but I hear dogs don't have that problem," he replies flippantly, still smirking.

There are three of what used to be squirrels neatly spitted over the fire; their pelts and guts are nowhere to be seen. He has, apparently, done this before. Now he reaches forward to turn them from where he's perched on a log he dragged over for the purpose, but feigns looking around.

"All alone, sparky? Or am I going to be needing more chow?"

[voluntaryapnea]

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Always with the dog jokes, but you're the one who was chasing squirrel." Once upon a time he'd taken great amusement in that very thing, but that was before he'd been a werewolf.

"It's just me." For now anyway. Until he finds Scott or Lydia.

[surfaceshine]

"You can thank me for saving you the trouble later." Dean's been accused of far worse, by far worse, and he doesn't even hesitate; not at the verbal riposte, anyway.

He tilts his head, stopping his faux search with his eyes on Stiles again. He's not sure he believes it. Werewolves - these werewolves anyway - travel in packs. It might just be Stiles now, but more won't be far behind, and demons might trump one wolf but he's not stupid enough to get caught in the center of a whole group of them.

Not unless it's his idea. He kicks another log with one foot abruptly, but it's big enough that it doesn't do more than roll over once before stopping again. His smile is downright inviting.

"Pop a squat. Someone might as well get some use out of 'em." Dean, after all, doesn't need to eat and when he does choose to do so, crispy forest critter isn't at the top of his list.

[voluntaryapnea]

Stiles eyes him for a moment, then shrugs and moves forward, dropping down on the log Dean kicked and setting his backpack down on the ground beside him. There are several other wolves on the barge, but the only one that Stiles really cares about is Scott. He doesn't really like or care about Isaac, merely tolerates him for Scott. Erica he's sort of friendly with for old time's sake but he's ambivalent to her otherwise. Then there's Jackson and Allison -- both of whom he hates for various reasons.

The idea of pack is somewhat of a foreign concept to Stiles. He's not all that interested in it.

"Do you ever eat?" he asks Dean, glancing at him sideways and arching his eyebrows. He doesn't recall ever seeing him do so.

[surfaceshine]

Dean's smile shifts to a caricature of tolerant, the kind one would turn on a younger brother if it reached his eyes at all; it still looks natural on him. He eats, but only when he needs to pave the way to a more relaxed conversation. Humans don't even realize how much more they trust someone that sits down to lunch with them and then talks around a cheek full of food.

"I don't need to," he admits, because Stiles might not be someone he'd confide in, but there's no harm in admitting to something that makes him more formidable. "But it's still fun."

Dean's pack has always been very small, and he would do anything - anything at all, including everything he does here - for them. For Sam. He's finally managed to kill the part of himself that feels guilty about that, and now he doesn't even hesitate. His mind, his path, his end goal is clear.

Dean moves the makeshift spit off the fire, whatever spare fat was on the creatures spitting with heat, and picks up the stick he'd been using to stir the fire to prod the remaining fuel back into a pile. "And here, it draws people to me instead of me wasting time traipsing around looking for them," he continues, attention on what he's doing, but he can still see the young werewolf from the corner of his eye. "Just once you'd think this asshole could take us somewhere nice, you know?"

[voluntaryapnea]

It does look natural on him. Stiles doesn't really know much of Dean's story, but he knows that Dean isn't human. Still, all of the other non-human things he's come into contact with have still needed to eat. To feed. Even the nogitsune feeds of chaos and pain. He grimaces slightly at the thought of Kira, watching as Dean tends to the fire and the meat.

He nods at the confirmation that he doesn't have to eat, and he glances at him sideways. "And it still tastes good?" He assumes that's what Dean means by eating being fun. He personally appreciates food on a whole new level that he used to. Then again, he didn't use to have much of an appetite most of the time.

Stiles' end goal is clear, too, though he hasn't shared it with anyone. He's going to save Scott's life. His Scott.

He smirks at the comment. "You mean like a nice penthouse suite on the beach with a great view of the ocean?" Because that'd be nice. "Seen any of the infiltrators yet?"

[surfaceshine]

"Sure. I still remember," he replies honestly, returning a slightly queer sidelong look. His soul has ashed black on him, sometimes he gazes out from behind his own eyes, and sometimes there's sulfur stinging his nose and copper-bright grit on the back of his tongue, but he still remembers food. Other things too, but food is the easiest, the most acceptable.

Of course he still remembers.

And he remembers that yeah, that does sound nice. He grins, snaps off the end of the spit with one of the squirrels on it, and holds it out to Stiles.

"Didn't know you were signing up for an 80s sci-fi movie, did you?" Because really, infiltrators? What's next, infidels? Orders to seize them? Honestly. "Of course I have. They're being ridiculously obvious. You haven't?"

[voluntaryapnea]

He wonders how long Dean's been a demon, or if he's always been one. He doesn't know much about demons, though he once met and killed a demon werewolf. He's pretty sure there are numerous differences.

Stiles glances at him and takes the spit with a nod. "Thanks." He breaks off a piece of the crispy critter and pops it into his mouth, chewing and then smirking.

"A couple. Not real interested in the little game the Admiral's set up personally," he admits.

[surfaceshine]

Dean watches Stiles chew for a moment, one eyebrow raised in - approving, but nonetheless - mild surprise that he actually accepted it. He wonders for a moment if werewolves are just that resilient to anything that might have been in it, with the exception of mountain ash.

Then again, isn't Dean the same? He smirks, props the remaining spit and its contents against another rock beside him.

"That include if you get orders to be interested in it, pup?"

[voluntaryapnea]

There are other things that could hurt him, even kill him. Wolfsbane, mistletoe. Truthfully though, Stiles just doesn't care that much one way or another. If he dies, the death toll will bring him back and if it doesn't, it doesn't.

He considers the question for a moment as he chews, a distant but thoughtful expression on his face. "If Scott wants to play the Admiral's game, I'll play," he says after a few long moments of silence. He's pretty sure Dean already knows that, though.

"But so far I haven't heard from Scott at all. I'm not even sure he's out here."