itstopped | Re-Entry 15: Video/Spam

Re-Entry 15: Video/Spam

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[It was a very good weekend with a very bad ending for Felix, which might be why he's back to smoking in front of the camera again. The collar of his shirt is unbuttoned as well, although he otherwise seems as composed as usual.]

Do any of you know why you're here?

[He pauses, then smirks ruefully.] For once, I'm not trying to sow dissent. I don't need you to tell me what kind of monster the Admiral is. I'm just... wondering what you think it is he thinks you need to change, and...

Well, no and. Just that.

[Private to Claire Bennet]

Could I ask you a question?

[Private to Trip, Racetrack, Barbara, Charles, separately]

I have something to tell you. [He glances away from the screen for a second, worry -- or something worse -- flashing in his eyes.] I... think I might really be a traitor this time.

If you're receiving this message-- [A tacit, almost wordless admission that there are others involved here, multiple victims.] --it's because I've been gathering information on you. My resources have been... limited, but I've compiled a detailed file that contains more or less everything you've said on any public or warden-only filter, and in some cases, in private communications as well.

I honestly thought that, given my... my history, I was doing what was best for myself and for the ship, but I realize now that I was wrong. I take full responsibility for my actions.

[Spam for Dean]

[Felix had left the room as soon as Dean had, the night after the flood, and he's been laying even lower than usual ever since. It's not that he wants to stay away, not this time -- he's just assuming that Dean wants nothing to do with him, and as much as he already misses him, he doesn't want to provoke a confrontation when he has nothing more to say in his own defense and no particularly convincing argument to make Dean take him back.

Honestly, things seem to go better for him when he avoids conflicts, anyway.

Unfortunately, though, he actually needs some things from the room, so he tries to pick a time when he suspects Dean won't be around. He still has the key, so he slips inside quietly and starts collecting his things, with every intention of leaving the key behind and no further trace of himself.]

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[The question has an odd effect on Dean. He feels the familiar, choking desperation trying to sink its claws into what stability he has left, feels the mortar flaking, and that's what this was about for him to begin with. His expression darkens slightly - a little bit of anger, a little bit of that hurt they've been trading off all night, but no shock, no fear. Just a white-knuckled kind of determination that always turns up in him when the chips are down.]

You say grow the fuck up, Dean. You say be an adult, Dean. Figure it out, Dean, because it's not your choice.

You say if you really want me to do what I want, Dean, then let me do what I want, not what you think I should want. That's what you say.

[It's news to him that Dean wants him to do what he wants to do, he thinks but doesn't say. He doesn't say anything for a minute; just looks at him, tense, drawn in on himself just a little bit in that trapped-animal way that tends to bode trouble. This isn't fair, he thinks, too, and it's amazing how much something he was desperate to reclaim a few minutes ago can feel so much like blackmail right now.

But maybe he's lying to himself again to say he didn't know this would happen. He'd known this was a mistake, getting serious like this. How many times had he thought to himself that he should break it off before now? In LA. After the robot flood. After Dean had died. He'd known it would come to something bad in the end.

Then again, he wasn't the only one. He leans forward a bit, combative, voice low and contained.]

I've never made any secret, not even for a moment, of what my plans would be in the event that I was ever allowed to make plans of my own again. And frankly, you're right: it's not your choice, but let's be honest -- it's probably not mine, either. Even if I change my mind, there's still every chance that the Admiral will get in the way of things.

But if that doesn't happen... You've known from the start what I wanted, Dean, and you knew about this, and you did choose.

I'm not saying I don't share some of the responsibility, and I'm not saying you have to figure it out alone, but... why would you choose a dying man?

I know that. I've known that.

[Dean has to stop there for a moment, though, staring steadily back at Felix; he wants to say he didn't choose, but that's not true. He remembers deciding to make a conversation out of it after the flood in which his alternate self shot down Felix's alternate self. He remembers deciding not to let Felix sabotage them both after Silent Hill. They've been friends almost from the start, that wasn't a choice, and if the rest of it couldn't be considered entirely to be one either, he certainly hadn't allowed them to drift apart like maybe they should have.

And he wants to say that the realization he's come to over the past couple months was always there, that he never hoped to change Felix's mind somehow, that he wasn't lying to himself about that hope. But he has been, less so now than when they started, but still selfish, still stubborn. He has always wanted Felix to do what he wants. He'd just also been hoping, selfishly, that it would include Dean, too.

Which is not something he thinks he has to say; he hadn't meant to use their relationship remotely like blackmail, although he's aware that that's how it must have come off. Adding that would make it intentional and if ever it was, it was never to hurt Felix. His eyes search Felix's darker gaze, and he says the only absolutely true thing he can think of.]

Because why not? I mean, goddammit, don't we both get to be happy, even a little? If you have to be here, if this is how I get what I need, and we can make each other happy for that time, then why the hell not?

It's not like it would've been easy for me if we'd just stayed friends. It's not like I never cared before we started screwing around. But this way... I'd be lying to say I haven't been hoping you'd change your mind, but that's not what I meant just now. It's worth it. We've been worth it.

Yeah, I chose to be here, and I want you here with me for as long as you are, and I don't regret that. And I... I hope you don't, either, or that I make you regret it, because I don't and I never will. And I know... I know that someday, one way or another, you won't be here, and I'm going to have to accept that, somehow, but why not.

Why the fuck not you?

It's different for me. You know it is. I mean-- yes, that's what I was thinking, too, that at least I could have something, and... and I didn't stop it when it became more than that, but...

[He hesitates, licks his lips.] But I don't have to regret it. I won't have to deal with the aftermath. And I understand how selfish that is, I do, but I...

[He shakes his head and looks away, pressing a hand to his mouth, fingers curled into a fist. It is selfish, and that's exactly what he wants: to be selfish, to get the rest he's earned and earned over again by being here. To escape the pain, if he can't be spared it.]

You should have found someone who wouldn't do this to you. That's why.

Don't.

[Dean's voice is immediate and firm, but he's not angry; he's not going to be the one that holds selfishness against other people, not when he's the one it affects most greatly, anyway. Because yes, that's Felix's choice, and no one should get a say in that but him; but Felix was Dean's choice, and he's not about to back off it now.

And then there's the other thing:] Don't you start trying to go easy on me now.

Yeah, I knew from the start how this was gonna end. I did it anyway. I've got my reasons, and they've changed a bit, but that doesn't change any of it. I knew. I wanted you anyway.

If you're having second or third or fourth thoughts now, that's one thing, but... you're the one who reminded me that the easy path is only the best one if it's also the right one - I have never once doubted that I made the right choice. End of story.

[Felix doesn't know what to say in response to that. It's partly the same reason as before: this is still confusing and frustrating, still hurtful, still a little terrifying, this idea that by getting the rest he's so craved ad so needed he's somehow dooming Dean to crumbling a little further... It's partly that what Dean's saying now doesn't change any of that, and partly that nothing feels like quite enough in the face of such a simple, powerful statement: I have never once doubted that I made the right choice. Felix knows what he could say -- what he could easily say, because he's so choked up with love for the man sitting next to him right now that it's making the pain all that much worse -- but it would be easy, even if he's never said it, and it's not enough.

A kiss, too, doesn't feel like enough. Or that it would be misunderstood, somehow, that he wouldn't be able to put the right feelings into it. In the end, he unfolds himself and turns back to Dean, and just does the simplest thing he can think of. He slides his hands up Dean's neck, twists them into his hair, and pulls him gently forward until he can rest his forehead against Dean's, and then he sinks forward against him with every ounce of exhaustion he feels. It's its own kind of statement: whether he's having second or third or fourth or fifth thoughts, it doesn't matter, because this is home in its own way.]

[Dean had been telling the truth: the concern that he's crumbling is legitimate. But he's also become accustomed to people - to Felix - expecting more from him and, because of this, sometimes he can be more. The cracks Felix had been so concerned about are back out of sight, now, Dean's attention intent and unwavering, as if he can believe the good things into existence for them. As if he's never been more sure of anything in his life.

That's not true, either, not entirely, because when Felix continues not saying anything Dean is certain he said something wrong, that this entire conversation has turned everything on its ear. He still can't regret it. He can't regret showing Felix what he did, both good and bad, won't take back what he said. He's taking a breath to try to break the stalemate, say something, anything, he doesn't know when Felix takes it out of his hands.

Felix's fingertips slide over his bare skin and, shiver running out and down his spine, Dean knows it's going to be alright. For now, anyway, somehow it's going to be alright. Felix is sagging against him and Dean feels like he can breathe again so he does, eyes closing partway, breathing into the same space where their foreheads are leaned together; his own arms come up and if Felix is gentle, Dean isn't.

He tightens his arms securely around Felix, pulling him close and tight unapologetically, shifting in his position so they can settle more completely against one another. He doesn't let go or ease up, as if he can keep Felix safe here by sheer force of will, as if he can just hang onto him indefinitely. He'll let Felix stay there as long as he needs to, as long as he will; Dean is done, he thinks, wasting both of their time trying to keep him at arm's length.]

I'm sorry. [His voice is low, the exact middle of the road, halfway between sincere apology for all the things he's done wrong or that have hurt Felix - scaring him, pushing him away, keeping this from him, putting this on his shoulders - and using one set of words to mean another. Sorry because he loves Felix and he can't be sorry for that. He won't.]

[He shifts with him, curls into him, head falling to burrow into the crook of his neck, arms wrapping tight around him then, and for a while his only reply is to shake his head at the apology. It's his fault -- so much of it is, including the reason they haven't spoken since Tuesday, and even if he can admit Dean is hurting him, he can't deny that he's doled out his fair share of harm at this point.

This is, of course, the thing that's wearing at him so, eating at him so, the very reason he's been and on some level still is so eager to die: because caring about anything seems to necessitate pain, both giving and receiving wounds no matter how hard he tries not to, and if he's learned anything this past year it's that he's never going to be able to stop caring. Too much. He's not even sure why he still tries so hard to work himself to collapse, except that it's one of the only three ways he knows how to fall asleep at all. And this, too: he loves Dean, the Dean he knows, too much, so much that he doesn't always know how to cope with it when his image of his Dean Winchester is shaken.

It's true that he doesn't know what to do with a Dean that's cracking inside. He does need him to be more than that, at least for a little while. He needs Dean to hold him, because no one else he's ever loved like this ever has.

Except this is where they are, and this is what they do have, and he promised not to hide from the truth anymore.

He's quiet for a time, so still that he could almost have fallen asleep if his eyes weren't open. Eventually, he lets out an almost silent sigh and gives the back of Dean's neck a rub, shifting back just enough to make it easier to talk without muffling the sound.]

We can still help each other, for now. You've been helping me, and... I can't say I'll be very good at it, but... there must be something I can do.

[The Dean under Felix's hands now is the same Dean as he's always been; as far as Felix and the Barge are concerned, anyway. He came here wounded and barely holding together, but no one knew him well enough to see. By the time anyone did he'd learned to plaster over the new cracks, to shore up the new weaknesses, because he's had his eye on the prize at the end the entire time and it's been enough to keep him moving forward, anyway.

And it's not always fake. It is in his nature to be warm and light-hearted, confident and sure, and yes, even a pompous ass. He does his best work on holding himself together when other people need him to, and he knows that, he's known it for longer than anyone would be able to guess. He's never questioned that Felix needs him. That's part of why it's so easy for him to cross the gap between them whenever Felix needs it, to make time, to push closer. It's just what he does.

Most would think that it's unusual, how still and steady Dean holds while Felix stays curled up against him, unmoving except for the slow path of his fingers from time to time brushing a slow, soothing trail over Felix's skin, his hair, over the fabric of his clothes under Dean's hands. But this is just more of the same from when they share a bed the night through, Dean gravitating to draping an arm here, tangling their feet together there, burying his face in the back of Felix's neck and wanting to keep contact even in sleep. It steadies him, too.

Felix pulls back and Dean opens his eyes more fully, tilting his head just enough to be able to meet his lover's eyes, skin prickling under the attentions of Felix's fingers. The corner of his mouth tugs, amused by the caveat, and he does consider it before answering as honestly as he can.]

You already have been. Really. [That sounds... like it sounds. Like a blow-off, or an easy out, or maybe an outright lie. He tries again, although he meant that at its simplest.] You were one of my first friends here, fresh off losing Sammy. And yeah, we're a pain in each others' ass, but... when I've asked, you've been here.

[Felix is notoriously reticent, and it is unusual, not just to the casual observer but objectively so, how long he stays this time. Longer, in fact, than he's entirely comfortable with, long enough that Dean's warmth starts to overwhelm a little, that things start to feel a little claustrophobic. But whatever Dean is saying, it does sound like a blow-off, and... this is something he can do, now that he really thinks about it. Dean is always trying to touch, seeking out contact, and while he's been slowly wearing Felix down on the subject, he could do more. He'll do more, he thinks.

It's a compromise, but it doesn't feel like a sacrifice -- not when he knows what he's asking from Dean in return. He doesn't answer out loud, but his own lips quirk in response, either accepting the correction or dismissing it without argument. Instead, he draws him down into the kiss he'd put off earlier, light and soft, a promise he doesn't need to put into words this time. Because it's true: he has tried, at least, to be around, whether or not Dean says please. He may not be able to say he'll stay forever, but he can say this much. He's here now. He can keep being here now.]

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Re-Entry 15: Video/Spam

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