thirty-ninth jump;

[ataraxites]

CHARACTERS: Any and all.
LOCATION: Gravity Couches and beyond.
WARNINGS: Maybe some swearing, or even some violence, and more than likely some implied (and possibly explicit) nakedness.
SUMMARY: Another month, another jump, another round of new faces.
NOTES: A feeling of deep dread greets you as you stumble out of the gravcouch, strong enough to hold you still for a long moment, searching your surroundings for the source of your wariness. Nothing becomes apparent, only your fellow passengers waking up. Eventually you gather the resolve to pick yourself up and start moving, the feeling fading slowly as you progress through routine.

New arrivals will find messages spraypainted across their lockers telling them not to follow their tattoo numbers, and instead to find a room on Floors 001-010.


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There's a breathing tube jammed down your trachea, and you're suspended in a tube of clear blue fluid. Upon registering your level of consciousness, the gravity couch drains the fluid surrounding you and retracts the breathing apparatus; the doors in front of you open, and you're deposited on the floor of a stark, sterile medical bay.

ＹＯ́Ｕ̴ ̧Ａ̨ＲＥ ＮＯＴ҉ ̷ＡＬＯ̨ＮＥ҉

There are others who have come before you, others who are awakening beside you. Some may be familiar to you, perhaps even friends. Others have much less amiable plans. Some are merely alien and inexplicable, but there are always those who might mean you harm.

After you catch your breath and your vision returns, you notice a number on the inside of your forearm. Maybe it's a familiar number. Maybe it means something. Maybe it's just a number. But the number—completely unique to you—is a tattoo, and it does not come off.

If you enter the room adjacent to the medbay, you will find a small locker with your number on it, surrounded by rows upon rows of identical lockers. Inside, you will find a few of your personal items, a communications device, and a ship's uniform in your exact size. The comms device is fully powered and connects directly to the ship's network; it's your only means of communication beyond physical conversation. Upon turning the device on, a neutral, automated voice will say, "Please take the blue lift to the passenger quarters." Any other attempts at communicating with the rest of the network are met only with static.

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Comments

[righteously]

[The snort, the tension, has Dean's brow knitting unhappily for a minute. The urge to return tension with tension, gruff attitude with gruff attitude, is so damn strong right now, he's got to remind himself he was probably a gigantic asshole to this guy in a previous life. He's not gonna accomplish anything by repeating the same story over again and expecting different results, so he shakes his head after a second.]

Alright, uh-

[Derek has no idea how difficult it is to start this conversation without sounding insane, without not making any sense, without being a total douche. The challenge is real.]

Where I came from-

[He begins finally, fingertips fanning out absently.]

You seemed to have pretty good control over the whole... thing.

[He gestures vaguely, because saying werewolf or making allusions to the moon in a completely unsubtle way in a public space where anyone could be listening is just plain stupid. Especially if Derek's still in the lunar closet.]

But for a couple other people, that wasn't exactly the case. A few people got mauled, one or two got killed, and since we're all stuck in close-quarters with a handful of you guys, I need to know- is that even an issue here? What's the deal?

[Considering they're not being orbited by a freaking moon, do werewolves on the ship still change once a month?]

[altercate]

[ it's the question derek was expecting, the one no one's asked in a long while. hearing it like that, it at least puts him on steadier ground. he knows how to argue this. ever since he arrived, derek's tried to keep everyone safe, werewolves and humans alike. this isn't a difficult assurance to make, even if derek's no longer strictly part of the problem. ]

We aren't all the same. But there's a good number of us, and we change on the empty corridors and lock ourselves up when we need to.

[ and sometimes even when they didn't, the way isaac had. derek's always had more faith in isaac's anchor than isaac did. ]

You don't need to worry about it. [ derek finishes, before huffing a grim laugh. ] Worry about everything else up here that's trying to kill us.

[righteously]

[A frown tugs at his lips and he shifts back, sighing through his nose. Not necessarily because there are werewolves aboard that still actually change, but because he's just not getting the logic behind this crap. There's no moon, how in the hell- and what if their... monthly cycles or whatever sync up and happen to fall during the middle of a jump? Do they change inside those pods? How does this even work?

The odds of him ever getting any real and concrete answers to most of that crap are a firm 0, and that's frustrating as hell.]

I can worry multitask.

[He responds flatly, something like resignation in his voice. Derek's not wrong, though. Between the creepy texting assholes putting the moves on to whatever's lurking in the shadows of the hallways, there's definitely a bigger issue at hand than a half dozen werewolves trying to play house. Still, if being proactive manages to keep any accidents at bay, it'd be irresponsible of him not to at least put in a little effort.

He shrugs.]

You know what you're dealing with better than I do.

[He admits with a bob of his head.]

But if things ever get outta hand, call me sooner rather than later, alright? [Preemptively, he holds up a hand.] Just- things happen. Human, werewolf, whatever, people screw up, situations get messy, and nobody wants anyone getting hurt. On either side. Keep my number on standby, is pretty much all I'm asking for here.

[altercate]

[ dean's not really alone in that frustration. derek's been here for thirty jumps, and hasn't made any progress on that front. there aren't answers. none that anyone can find, just endless theories that may or may not be wrong. derek doesn't waste his time sharing them. the reality is that everyone shifts, everyone feels the pull of the moon. there's no escaping it, just managing it as they can. ]

Call you to do what?

[ derek asks slowly. there's not anything outright accusing in his voice, just skeptical. he's earned that, he thinks. he's earned the right to be wary of hunters in general, and dean winchester in specific. maybe not this dean winchester, but with derek, actions tended to speak louder than words ever could. ]

I need to know what you're planning on doing before I bring you in to help me with any of them.

[ aka if dean's going to come in guns blazing, then his chances of involvement were slim to none. derek wants some kind of reassurance there. ]

[righteously]

[Derek's question carries an understandable wariness, and Dean doesn't even slightly shy away from this part of the conversation.]

Whatever it takes to get things under control.

[He answers seriously, fully aware that they both know what it could mean. That if push came to shove and lives were at stake, yeah, he was more than willing to put down the thing that threatened those lives.

That doesn't mean he's just here to threaten to kill a bunch of freaking teenagers. Back in Wonderland, Ruby had been a friend of his. They'd worked together with the resistance, she brought him dinner from the diner when he got too wrapped up in strategy crap, hell, she was just a good person. A good person with an unfortunate lack of control over her change the first time, a good person who managed to slaughter and devour James Potter, who managed to injure a handful of innocent and relatively defenseless residents. Lucky for them, death wasn't as permanent there.

They don't have that luxury here, and while Ruby might have been a friend, she was also an undetainable threat to every human life she came across when she changed. He'd kill her if it came down to that, she'd probably even ask him to, but that doesn't mean he'd want to.

In other words, it's not his go-to solution. Not anymore, not like it was when he was twenty-something and stupid, ready to put down anything that smelled like wet dog.]

Detainment's the best first resort. Loose wolves, accidents, whatever, if we can get an action plan in place for incidents, we won't need anything bigger than that. I get that most of them on board are kids, trust me, I'm not itching to shoot them right off the bat. It's not off the table if shit hits the fan, but it's last case scenario.

[If he lied about that, they'd both know he was full of shit. Why bother? At least this way, honesty might win him a few points.]

[altercate]

[ what matters in this moment is the absence of sheer, blind hate derek had seen with the argents. it's the fact that he looks at dean's face and there's nothing in it of kate, nothing like what her expression had been when she'd stood over him, stood over scott. he'd seen flickers of that in dean, the way he talked about things supernatural.

he doesn't see it here. it's not enough to broker unwavering trust, not yet, but it's something. it's just enough to ease the tension out of derek's body, to have him sighing.

there's no real way to deny derek may eventually need the help. so long as he's up here like this, painfully human and lacking both bark and bite, he's not going to be able to handle every werewolf related issue. if something gets away from them, they'll need something. someone. derek knows that. ]

There's no killing. You'll be thrown in the brig for it.

[ the only deterrent derek offers for the moment, forcibly keeping his hands on his thighs, keeping from picking at the bandage and calling attention to it. ]

We're not going to give you a reason to do that. But if I need your help, I'll find you.

[ it's sincere. it's as sincere as derek can possibly be. ]

[righteously]

[ Dean can hate, Dean can hate with a fury that probably surpasses the argents, fueled by decades in hell with a knife in his hand. Lately, though, the older he gets, the less he can muster up the energy for it. His life has become a slow burning fire of bitterness, and there isn't really even any of that directed at Derek either. Just the world weary determination to do his duty, softened by exposure and experience. Somebody might call it wisdom, though Dean doesn't feel particularly wise even at the best of times.

Maybe he's just too tired to be a shitty person.

He can't help but to huff something of a tiny laugh when Derek mentions the brig. First off, if killing a werewolf to prevent multiple lives earns him a life sentence in space jail, it's a price he's willing to pay. Second off, he'd be impressed if any jail actually managed to hold him for longer than a couple weeks without round the clock supervision. Then again, it's not like he'd be able to get very far if he broke out, so. Fair enough.

The answer's good enough for him for now. Whether or not Derek's being honest remains to be seen, but it's not like Dean can get a damn contract signed in blood or something, so he nods solemnly.]

Alright.

[He agrees, lips pursing together.]

I'll take your word on that.

[Which is about the best thing they've got in a place without currency.

And on that note, there's nothing left to be said. He pushes up from his chair, sliding it politely out of the way.]

Good luck with your, uh-

[He nods vaguely at the bandage Derek's been so keen to keep on the DL this whole talk. Sorry, bro, he definitely noticed. At least he wasn't douchey enough to ask about it.]