All Our Yesterdays
Chapter 3
Txt Rec: OMW!
Txt Rec: Not long now.
Txt Sent: Are you texting while driving?
Txt Rec: Maybe.
Txt Sent: Stop.
Scott stood as patiently as he could; there would be little point in getting angry at Stiles over this, though part of him really wanted to be angry. He had been very conscientious on when he got to the apartment after he had finished lunch with his father. He wanted to have enough time to reconnect with Stiles and not give the impression that he was only here to get information. Stiles had called him when he had first arrived at the apartment to tell him he was running late, but if Scott didn’t mind he could wait in the hallway.
The clock in the hallway was slipping past a quarter after eight. Any moment now, Scott believed the other tenants of the building were going to call the police on the creepy werewolf lurking in the hallway. The old woman in apartment 312 kept opening the door, seeing Scott in the hallway, and then closing the door again. No smile or wave from him seemed to put her at ease.
Scott glanced at his watch. He would give Stiles thirty seconds before he would go to the car and wait there, but luckily the elevator opened to dramatically reveal an overburdened Stiles, who somehow balanced a grocery bag, two take-out bags, his house keys, his car keys, and a briefcase. Several of these objects threatened to completely escape his control as he jogged down the hallway, but Stiles managed to keep all of them off the floor.
“Here.” Scott stepped forward and took the bag of groceries and one of the bags of take-out food. He made himself smile. He had to remember it was Stiles being Stiles, not Stiles being Rafael.
“I want you to know that I could strangle people. I could grab them by their necks and cut off every ounce of air to their lungs.” Stiles vented his irritation at Scott and the walls of the apartment building’s hallway. “I told every single person in the office that I had to be out of there by at six. I called the take-out place at five and told them I would be there at six thirty. I didn’t get out of the office until I was supposed to be at the takeout place. On the way home, I had to stop and pick up toilet paper because I’m out, and every aisle I went down, I remember something else I needed. I got stuck in traffic, the take-out place didn’t have the food ready, and I couldn’t find a parking space in the lot of my own building. Right now, I could garrote most of downtown San Francisco without remorse.”
Stiles finally got the right key from the right keychain into the door and let them into his darkened apartment. With a shoulder, he turned on the light. He was already half the way to the kitchen when he noticed that Scott was stuck in the doorway. “Uh. Hold on there.” Placing the take-out and the briefcase down, he walked over and broke the mountain ash line.
Scott tried his best to keep his face neutral. Stiles’ need to protect himself against his species tended to make him uncomfortable. Stiles knew this.
Stiles looked up at him and frowned slightly. Even though the world had kept them apart for so many years, he could read Scott almost better than anyone. “I … I’m sorry about the lateness. And the ash.”
Scott accepted the offered apology with a nod. “Good.” When they were children, they had seldom apologized to each other because an apology made what they had done real. Back then, if they could just act as if whatever had happened to make them angry with each other had never happened, then it was as if it had never happened, and everything was just as good as it had been before. But when they became adults, it didn’t work anymore. Neither Scott nor Stiles had the patience or the time for hurts to just vanish on their own. They had their own lives now and each of those lives came with its own demands.
Scott had been able to call Stiles when he needed his help; that had never changed. But while they were fighting a war together, it hadn’t left a lot of free time to spend on the weekend hanging out as they used to do. Even when Monroe’s crusaders weren’t shooting at him or he didn’t have a crucial exam, Scott frequently had to deal with admiring alphas or suspicious alphas or suspicious and admiring alphas and that took time. Diplomacy could be as draining as fighting; he couldn’t put Stiles first anymore.
It was a mutual failing. For the last two years, Stiles had worked out of the FBI field office in San Francisco. He had originally planned to work in Sacramento, but that had been thwarted by inter-office politics. Even after that, he had planned to commute between Beacon Hills and the city, but it turned out to be ridiculously impossible. Agents worked when agents needed to work, and Stiles in his dedication would frequently put in ten to twelve hour days. The three-hour trip between Beacon Hills and San Francisco was just too much. He was far enough away that he had to make an effort to visit, but too close to have a ready-made excuse.
They had only managed to see each other in person three times in those two years, even though Scott believed neither consciously wanted their friendship to wither. It might not have been as strong as it once was, but the foundations weren’t gone because they had worked at it. They worked at it by playing games over the internet even if they had a dozen other things to do it. They worked at it by calling each other up regularly, even in the middle of the night when both of them just wanted to sleep. When they were physically together, they tried to shut out the thousands of distractions that could come between them. They had even taken a course on what Mason had called ‘active listening.’ They knew they couldn’t afford to assume everything was alright between them anymore. They couldn’t take what they had for granted.
And because they had done this, they were still friends. They weren’t as close as they were in high school, where they could spend hours on meaningless conversation and not worry if they were boring the other person. They couldn’t have a screaming fight and then act the next day as if nothing had happened. There wasn’t space in the lives for that, but they were still friends. Because they wanted to be.
And it didn’t mean that they couldn’t get irritated with each other. Scott, no matter his mission, did not appreciate waiting in an apartment building hallway for an hour and a half. This wasn’t the first time Stiles had been unreasonably late and it wouldn’t be the last time. Stiles threw himself into his job as he had been throwing himself into everything since they had met in the sandbox.
“Let’s say that tonight we eat like civilized people at the dining room table I paid way too much money for!” Stiles piped up, once more heading deeper into the apartment. Scott followed dutifully. He knew where the dining room was.
The over-priced table was covered with files and boxes that looked to be something Stiles had smuggled home from work. “Oh.” Stiles said sheepishly. “I forgot about that stuff. Couch and TV trays it is.”
Scott couldn’t help but notice that there were at least a half-dozen boxes shoved in the back of the dining room. Even after two years, Stiles still hadn’t fully unpacked. He shook his head and went out to join him.
Stiles’ apartment wasn’t like Scott’s apartment back in Beacon Hills. His mom would no doubt say that at least Stiles’ apartment looked like someone lived there. Apparently, to her, an apartment wasn’t really a home unless it was cluttered with things like pictures or nick knacks or unread magazines or whatever the hell you were supposed to clutter up an apartment with. According to his mother, his apartment was Spartan, like his life.
Stiles’ apartment, on the other hand, had found new ways of expounding on the concept of clutter. Aside from the unpacked boxes from his move back from the East Coast, there was a significant accumulation of things stored on every available. It wasn’t to the level of hoarding, yet. He was supposed to have purchased a few filing cabinets to store them in, but he seemed to never have gotten around to it.
Stiles had settled on the couch and had turned the baseball divisional championships on. The Chinese food he had brought home smelled really delicious. “This is the good stuff, cooked the way it would actually be cooked in China.” He gave them names but Scott didn’t recognize them. “There’s two orders for you of this really, really spicy kind of savory beef dish, and something vegetarian for me.”
“You’re a vegetarian now?” Scott asked, curious about the change.
“No. I’m an omnivore with the best of them, I just like Buddha’s Delight. Tell me what you think of it.” He held up chopsticks and fed him some of his dish.
They watched the game and chatted lazily during it and more intensely during the commercial. Scott gave the rundown on the sheriff and his mom and the rest of the pack.
“So.” Dinner had been eaten, the game was in the seventh inning stretch, and Stiles folded his hands over his stomach. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
“I didn’t come down just because I want something from you,” Scott protested lamely placing the remains of the Chinese food on the end table. “And, well yeah, I do want something from you, but …”
“I’m not busting your ass, Scotty. When we do see each other face-to-fact, you usually give me a lot more warning. You’re not the most spontaneous dude anymore. Given how busy we’ve both been, I’ll take what I can get.”
Scott bit his lip. “I don’t want to make you feel like I’m using you.”
“You are using me, but that’s okay, because I understand that you wouldn’t use me unless you absolutely needed to.” Stiles chuckled. “It’s also okay because I like to be useful. I’ve always liked that.”
“It’s not okay for me to use you.” Scott protested this earnestly. “You’re more than that to me.”
“Hey, Scotty, why didn’t I go to your birthday party?” Stiles countered with a non sequitur.
“I … don’t know.” Scott took a wild guess. “Because you had a case?”
“I didn’t go because I didn’t think about it until it was too late. I scheduled an entire operation for the same weekend, when I’ve known about your mom’s surprise plans for months. It wasn’t because I hate everyone in Beacon Hills and try to find any excuse not to go; it’s because I get so focused on what’s happening right in front of me that I forget what’s going on elsewhere. It’s a bad habit, but it’s mine. You weren’t mad that I wasn’t there, were you?”
“Not really. I didn’t want a party.” It was the truth.
“So, there’s no harm no foul. In the end, what’s important isn’t that we spend time together in the right way or at regular intervals. What’s important is that when you admit that you only came down because you needed something that you keep that puppy-who-peed-on-the-carpet look on your face. Because that means you care what I think of you, and that’s all I really need. Even if your mom’s right, and you’ve permanently lodged a stick up your ass.”
“I … what?” Scott parsed the last few words of Stiles’ speech. He sighed meaningfully. “She got to you as well.”
“She started sending me very detailed e-mails of your determination to live like a monk. Dude, if what she says is true, she’s got a point. When’s the last time you went on a date?”
“I’ve been on dates.”
“That’s an evasion.” Stiles put a mark an imaginary scoreboard. “You didn’t say who and when. I’m not going to bust your balls about it, because I’m concerned more with your happiness than scoring points.”
Scott and Stiles stared at each other for a minute. Finally, Stiles smiled. “But, yeah, I am totally going to bust your balls over it.”
Scott had been hoping this strip would give him a break from well-meaning nagging. “Well, don’t. Can we save that for later?”
“We can do business first. We’ll save the heart-to-heart chats for later. Because I really think we’re due for one.” Stiles replied seriously.
“Yeah. That sounds good to me.” It did not sound good at all, but he was right. There was a tension behind Stiles’ eyes and he knew it matched the tension behind his own.
Stiles rubbed his hands. “So what can the best agent in the FBI do for his second favorite alpha?”
Scott raised an eyebrow in mock skepticism.
“Okay, the best agent in the FBI who’s ever been kidnapped by the Wild Hunt?”
Scott nodded. “We’ll allow it. And what’s this about second favorite?”
“I love you like a brother and you’ve got the cutest red eyes I’ve ever seen, but Mariel is still the tops.” Stiles clutched his chest. They had met Mariel on a mission soon after they had both turned twenty-five. “I would die for her.”
“Mariel wanted to have you killed because she was afraid your work would reveal us to the Bureau. I nearly had to fight her over it.”
“Doesn’t matter. She’s awesome.” Stiles burst out laughing. “So, what’s the prob, alpha-buddy-of-mine? Nothing I won’t do for you.”
“I need to find Theo.”
“Well, fuck.” Stiles scowled at Scott from the other side of the couch.
Stiles would never like Theo. He would never trust Theo. He would always want everyone he cared about as far away from Theo as possible. It wasn’t that Stiles didn’t know how Theo had helped during the Ghost Rider crisis or with the war against Monroe’s crusaders. It wasn’t that Stiles didn’t believe in rehabilitation, it was that he simply could not forgive the tactics Theo had employed against the pack.
Theo hadn’t just been an enemy; he had been an enemy who had taken advantage of the darkness that Stiles hid within. He had used that advantage to undermine Stiles’ relationships with his father, with Scott, and with Malia. The scars Theo left would never go away, and Stiles would remember each and every one of them until the day he died.
Scott waited for his friend to scowl a little less, before he launched into why he had to find Theo. He explained the medical emergency. “I am going to do what I can to help. Right now, that means warning Theo.”
“You are helping. You’re there for Corey.” Stiles argued. “That doesn’t mean you need to spend your free time tracking down the guy who tried to murder you.”
“It will make me sleep better, and it’s …” Scott took a deep breath, because he knew this was going to cause difficulty with Stiles. “It’s the right thing to do. Theo needs to know.”
“You don’t owe Theo anything,” Stiles said firmly. “You’ve done more than enough for that sociopath. If he gets sick, he’s smart enough to find the right type of doctor on his own.”
Scott frowned. Stiles had never spent much time near Theo after Liam had brought him back from whatever realm the Skin-walkers had put him in.
“He’s made an effort to change. He helped when he could have ran. That deserves some consideration.”
“Good behavior that has to be purchased is not actually a sign of growth as a human being.” Stiles leaned back on the couch, satisfied with that pronouncement. “You know how much that guy bugs me.”
“I know. You also know how much of a bleeding heart I am.”
The scowl that had almost disappeared from Stiles’ face returned in full force. “I do. It’s going to get you killed, even as it’s ruined your life.” He pushed himself up off the couch. “But since I’ve been a beneficiary of your bleeding heart, and I already opened my mouth and stuck my foot in it by promising help, let’s get this over with.”
Scott felt a stab of guilt. He’d ruined their evening. “You don’t have to start on this tonight, Stiles.”
“I don’t need to start. I already know where Theo is.” Stiles muttered to himself. “As if I’d lose track of that fucker.” Stiles went down the hallway where the bedrooms were. He made sufficient money to rent a three-bedroom apartment in a nice part of San Francisco. Those weren’t cheap. Scott always thought that he had chosen such a large place to live because of when Claudia would be able to come visit him.
Scott followed him down the hallway and was surprised that one of the doors had been seriously changed since the last time he was there. It had a keyed deadbolt and a built-in combination lock. It was like something that you’d find in a high-security area, not on a spare bedroom. “What is this?”
The guest bedroom was no longer a guest bedroom. It was a work room? A nerve center? A sanctum? Three of the walls had been covered with gigantic whiteboards. Below them were tables with trays for material to be processed and sorted and filing cabinets to store older data. In the center of the room was a top-of-the-line computer set up.
Scott studied the walls. There was one with people he recognized as being enemies. There was one filled with people he didn’t recognize. And there was one covered with pictures and notations about the pack and its allies. “Stiles, what is this?”
Stiles turned his head around as he headed toward the enemies board. Theo’s picture was there. “Oh. Someone has to keep track of all this stuff.”
“How long have you been doing this?” Scott’s eyes traveled to the pack’s board. He had notations across it. They were … extensive.
“What makes you think I’ve ever stopped doing it?” Stiles shrugged eloquently.
Scott closed his eyes for a moment. He counted backwards, silently, down from ten. “To this extent?”
Stiles sat down and pulled up the computer. “Don’t worry. I’ve got all of this in hard copy just in case I get hacked and have to crash the system.” He started looking through files. “Look, if you’re worried about security I’m not going to let the Bureau see this stuff and I certainly don’t want our enemies to see this stuff. That’s why I don’t tell anyone about it. If our enemies catch me and can get me to talk then they don’t need this material.”
Scott walked around the rooms looking more closely. “There are people’s names here. People’s addresses. People’s phone numbers. Their places of employment.”
“Well, duh. You can’t keep track of people if you don’t have basic information on them.”
Scott closed his eyes. “Dude …”
“Here we go. Theo Raeken is living on State Road 54 about three miles north of Van Horn, Texas. He works as a security guard for Blue Origin.”
“Blue … Origin?” Scott had never heard of it.
“It’s a spaceflight company created by the owner of Amazon.” Stiles chuckled to himself. “No, you don’t have to worry about chimeras in space. He’s working on one of the secured gated entrances. You know, those gates in the movies where the guards either get shot or fooled. I suppose that Theo might be better at it than most security guards, so Bezos will be happy for that.”
“How … how do you know all this?”
“I have access to databases in my work and there are slow days at the office. I discovered his social security number years ago.” Stiles shrugged.
Scott tried to keep whatever it was he was feeling off his face. While Stiles double checked the information, Scott focused on the allies’ board. He found his name. All the information was current and up to date. He found Lydia’s name, and it was the same, but there was a number that he didn’t recognize.
“Whose number is this?” Scott asked tapping the board with his finger.
“Uh.” Stiles said as he craned his neck. Scott heard his heartbeat skyrocket. “Just a contact’s.”
“A contact?” Scott asked with a growing sense of dread. “In Massachusetts? Listed under Lydia’s name?”
Stiles grunted an assent.
“So who would answer if I called this number?” Scott tried for the third and last time.
Stiles simply pretended he didn’t hear. Scott left the room and went to the kitchen. He knew where it was, and he knew what he would find there.
He dug out one of those artisanal beers that Stiles had bought for him. He sorted through the myriad bottles to find one that he knew Stiles would like, fished some club soda out of the refrigerator, and poured Stiles a whiskey and soda.
There was no easy way to put this. Stiles drank a lot. He didn’t drink to the point of falling down drunk and he didn’t drink so much that it interfered with his work but Scott had long since known that he had at least one drink a night. Stiles liked to call himself a high-functioning alcoholic. He probably was, but Scott didn’t like the way he seemed to wear it as a badge of honor.
Lydia had told him that this habit had begun right after he had finished at the academy. He had been stressed and lonely at his posting, so he started taking the edge off with alcohol.
Stiles came into the kitchen with a folder. “I’ve downloaded a digital copy to your phone.”
“Thank you.” Scott handed him his mixed drink.
“I don’t know why you think you need to go talk to Theo. I meant it when I said you don’t owe him anything.” Stiles handed him the folder.
“That’s right. I don’t owe him anything. I’m not doing this because I feel obligated to do so. I’m doing this because … well, because … because what I chose to do with my life only means something if I keep doing it.”
Stiles looked at him for a moment. “What?”
“How many times have I asked my pack and our allies - including Theo -- to risk their lives for strangers when fighting Monroe’s people?”
“A lot.” Stiles shrugged. “You didn’t force us. You never forced us.”
“But still, I risked their lives for strangers because I knew what it would feel like to be hunted. I knew what it would feel like to be scared and running for their lives. This is the same thing. Theo may not know that’s he sick. He may not know what’s happening. No matter what he’s done, I know what it feel like to have something affect your life and not have any understanding of it.”
“Scott, you can’t save everyone …”
“Says the FBI agent with three commendations for ‘conspicuous bravery.’”
“Touché.” Stiles mimed the hit. “I’ve already sent a digital version to your account. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding him.”
“Thank you, Stiles.” He took a drink from his beer. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but …”
“Everything after the ‘but’ is horseshit.”
“Stop quoting Game of Thrones to me.”
“I will never stop quoting Ned Stark, dude.”
“Stiles. This is serious.” Scott felt the mantle of command slip back over him like an old coat. He should shut his mouth, go out into the living room, and get Stiles to put in the newest game for the PlayStation 6. He didn’t need to do this, but his conscience pricked at him. He’d ignored the obvious problems with Stiles. They hadn’t talked about why he had moved back to California. They hadn’t talked about Lydia.
“What’s serious?” Stiles was still ignoring the problem until went away.
“You’re spying on the pack.”
Stiles rolled his eyes. “I don’t think keeping tabs counts as spying. I can’t protect any of you if I don’t know what’s happening.”
Scott put his beer on the counter. “Do you understand why I might be a little freaked out by what I just saw? It looks like you’ve spent more time ‘keeping tabs on’ your friends than actually spending time with your friends.”
“I can’t help what I feel.” Stiles started to back away subconsciously. “Any more than you can fucking relax, Jesus Christ.”
“You can’t help what you feel, but you can stop yourself from acting on it. You can talk to someone …”
“Like you talk to people about your problems, Mr. I-Don’t-Deserve-a-Life McCall?” Stiles was angry, but he wasn’t retreating any longer. He must have sensed that this was going to happen no matter what.
“What’s the number next to Lydia’s name?”
They locked eyes. Scott hoped Stiles saw not an angry alpha but a determined alpha. Stiles had to answer. “It’s our next-door neighbors.”
“God. It’s her next-door neighbors.” Scott shook his head. “Why do you have her next-door neighbor’s phone number?”
“My daughter lives there!” Stiles exclaimed.
“That doesn’t make any sense. If there was a problem, Lydia would call you. Spill it, Stiles. We talked about honesty.”
Stiles frowned and fidgeted. “I pay the teenage son to call me if Lydia screams.”
“That doesn’t explain why you have their number on your board.”
“Because sometimes I like to check in with them to make sure everything’s okay. I don’t keep the number in my phone in case I lend it to someone who might recognize. I didn’t realize you would notice it on the board.”
“You’re spying on her.” Scott knew he sounded like he was judging Stiles. Because he was.
“I’m watching out for her!” Stiles snapped, defensively.
Scott let a current of anger run through his voice. Lydia was his friend, too. “This is why she divorced you, Stiles. You know, when we hang out and you get drunk - which has been every time we hang out since you came back to California - you keep asking me why. I keep telling you why, but you don’t seem to remember what I say.”
“I remember.” Stiles gritted.
“Then what do I need to say to get you to understand that this type of behavior is exactly what tore you two apart?
“I don’t see any correlation.” Stiles turned away as if to walk away, but then suddenly drained his entire drink in one gulp and tossed the glass into the sink where it shattered. “She divorced me because I’m selfish. She divorced me because I’m a coward. She divorced me because I was a bad husband and a bad father. I know the reason; why can’t anyone understand that?”
“You don’t get it. You say you’re selfish and you say you’re a coward; but only half of that is true.” Scott sighed in frustration. He couldn’t think of the words to make him understand. “It’s you, Stiles. It’s always you.”
Stiles blanched and nearly dropped his glass. Scott hadn’t thought that what he said was particularly mean, but somehow he had struck a nerve.
“I don’t believe you’re a bad person. Lydia doesn’t believe you’re a bad person. I don’t think any single one of our friends think you’re a bad person. But that doesn’t matter, does it! You feel like a bad person, and that’s the only thing that matters. Because, if you’re a bad person, you can get away with doing shit like this.”
Scott went into the cupboards and poured out another glass. He didn’t know why he did it. “It’s always you -- what you feel is more important than anything else going on. You can spy on your friends because you feel that you have to protect them. It doesn’t matter that it’s creepy and invasive. Because your feelings give you the right to do things that no one else gets to do. You listen in on phone calls, you read mail, you hack e-mail accounts, you micromanage people’s diets, you spy on your ex-wife, because you feel that you have to.”
Stiles was breathing heavily. He was angry, but Scott could tell it was not direct at him. “Well, fuck me for wanting to make sure the people I love are safe!”
“Yes.” Scott said it with a firm determination. “Fuck you.”
That brought Stiles up short.
“You were strangling her. She told me this. When you were first married, the attention was flattering. She admitted it fed her ego to have someone so consumed with her well-being. She also thought, that as you two grew older, you would adjust. You’d learn to trust her judgement and her ability to look after herself. But you didn’t. You got worse. And then she had Claudia and you went nuts.” He poured Stiles another drink.
Stiles’ eyes were blazing. His brow furrowed.
“Don’t look at me like that. She told me how you bugged the nursery. She told me how she would find you standing in the room in the middle of the night for hours watching over your daughter. She told me that she knew it was over when she couldn’t wait for you to have a business trip so she could breathe.”
The fire went out of Stiles’ eyes. He started pleading. “You know what’s out there. You know all the ways that someone could take them from me. And you don’t even know about the human scum that slither about the world. I can’t change who I am; if I see something, I have to do something.” He took a deep breath. “I couldn’t bear to lose them. Either of them.”
“But you have lost them, Stiles.” Scott sighed. It was cruel of him to say. He held a beer in one hand and the whiskey and soda in the other. “Lydia had to choose between keeping you happy and keeping herself happy. You couldn’t change, and that’s something I’m going to have to carry for the rest of my life.”
Stiles lifted his arms in confusion and squinted. “What the hell? You have to carry it?”
“I’m your best friend. I’ve been your best friend for your entire life. And I let you cross the line with me, time and time and time again. The line between love and possession. I let you take your emotions out on me even when it was unfair of you to do that. When it hurt. And I never said anything. And by never saying anything, I let you think that if someone loved you, they’d let you do that.” Scott extended the glass to Stiles. He didn’t take it.
“Remember the first Friday after I was bit? Remember when you, and only you, knew what I was and what I could do? Remember even after I told you that I was angry, you started digging into my backpack to cancel my date with Allison.”
Stiles looked ashamed. “That was …”
“I’m not bringing this up to punish you, but you did stuff like that all the time. You seem to think that if you cared for someone, that’s the only thing that matters, so you’d steal my phone or stand up to angry werewolves or beat me up. I let you do that because you were upset, even when I understood that it was dangerous. I let you think it was okay for you to do things like that if you were upset enough. And I …”
Stiles slammed his hand down on the island in the kitchen so hard the plates rattled. “Okay. You can stop right there. You aren’t responsible for my actions. Okay, so maybe I do get carried away. If I do, that’s on me. Maybe I did ruin my marriage with Lydia. If I did, that’s on me. You, on the other hand, have to fucking stop this perfect alpha shit.”
“I’m hardly ...”
Stiles sneered. “No, you’re not. You’re not supposed to be, but try to tell Martyr McCall it’s not his fault! You think I don’t know what you’re doing? You think I don’t know that you … “He hiccupped. “You son of a bitch. Standing there offering me absolution, because you think you failed me. You … fucking dumbass.”
Stiles lunged at Scott. Scott didn’t move, but the blow didn’t come. Stiles snatched the drink out of his hand and threw it at the cabinets. The glass shattered, spreading glass as the alcohol ran down the sides.
Stiles stared at it and then got a paper towel and started cleaning it up with his back to Scott. “We’re so fucked up.” He let out a soft sob.
Scott didn’t know what to say, so he reached over and grabbed him by the shoulders. He pulled him into a hug. He could feel the water build up at the corner of his eyes, but he refused to let himself cry. “Maybe we are.”
“It was years … it’s been years. I thought we’d get better. We were supposed to get better.” Stiles rubbed his face. “But we’re not going to get better, are we?”
Scott didn’t answer, which was an answer. He felt it down in his gut; they weren’t going to get better.
“Do you mind … do you mind if I just cry a little bit.”
Scott shook his head. He just sort of sat down, bringing Stiles to sit on the floor of the kitchen with the broken glass and the spilled whiskey.
Stiles whispered to him. “I do. I spy on them. Because I miss them. I miss them so much, and I ruined it.”
They spent a half-hour on the floor the kitchen. Then Scott got more drinks and got both of them into the living room. The couch is comfortable, and they watched bad television until they fell asleep next to each other as they used to do when they were children.