Chapter Text
It was the last thing Scott expected when he finally gave in and headed down to the bar that evening.
He had been doing good so far too,keeping his head when he felt like screaming or running. He was usually pretty good at dealing with stressful situations. But after today,being surrounded by people he’s never met before but they’ve heard so much about him,being told how great his dad was,how great of a dad Rafael had been. It was too much. They wanted stories from him,perhaps a nice anecdote about a family vacation, or maybe a humorous holiday story. Maybe even a time Scott had gotten a pep talk from him after losing a particularly hard sports game,or being shot down by a pretty girl he had asked out to prom. None of which Scott had to tell. Perhaps Rafael’s other son, Michael, did -- Scott’s ten year old half brother .
He was just thankful he wasn’t expected to give a speech of some sort. Scott hadn’t even wanted to come to the damn funeral,his mom sort of guilted him into it. He was an adult and she was still using her Jedi mind tricks on him. He didn’t go to the reception in the end though,he was putting his foot down on that. As soon as the casket was lowering into the ground he was out of there,loosening his tie as fast as he could and hailing a taxi to take him back to his hotel and away from his stepmom, Susan , and her need to try to treat him like he was her own son. He has a mother,okay. And for a while.his dad had had her too. And she’s a great mom and a wonderful person. So why wasn’t she enough? Why weren’t they enough for Rafael?
So he gave in and walked straight back to the bar as soon as he walked in through the door when he got back. There was nothing special about his hotel other than it was cheap, or cheap for DC. Susan had tried to put Scott up at their place, his dad’s place ,but there was no way Scott was staying in his dead father’s house, with his dead father’s stuff, and his dead father’s family. Scott bought his own cheap ass economy plane ticket,and he paid for his own cheap ass hotel. He didn’t want anything from these people,he hadn’t even wanted to meet them or know of their existence.
The place had a feeling of history when you first set your eyes on it, but not the kind of history that you took precautions and care to preserve. It felt like something that use to be beautiful once upon a time,till something better came along,and now it was forgotten. Seen now as some old maid collecting dust on a shelf. You could tell there were different parts added on from the discoloration of the bricks. Only the lobby,bar,and first six rooms were the originals from the early 1900s,darkened with age. Those were actually the nicer parts. Scott’s dress shoes tapped on the stone floors, it was still early,not enough of a chance for the bar to be full of people chattering and glasses clinking. But it was open,and that was most important part.
The bartender, was unloading boxes of some unrecognizable ale,perhaps from a local brewery,but he did pause when Scott came up to the bar. He looked to be in his early thirties,handsome and ruggedly polished with clear eyes. He reminded Scott of Peter Hale,a sleazy guy his mom had dated once when Scott was still in high school. Scott almost had to do a double take.
The bartender arched an expected brow when Scott just stood there staring at him. “Hey,this ain’t no peep show,kid. Ya gona order summin or not?” The voice was more definitely not Peter Hale.
Scott shook his head,trying to clear it and function like a human being again. “Uh,beer. Whatever is cheapest.” He nodded,making a grab for his wallet.
“You gonna haveta be more s’pific than that,kid. A’our beers cheap as ass.” The bartender sounded annoyed and done with him already.
“I don’t care,” Of course when Scott finally gave in it would have be a complicated process,”Whatever. Just pour something and I’ll take it.”
The bartender gave him a once over and gave what seemed like a shrug before ducking down and pulling up a long neck amber bottle. He popped the top and set it in front of Scott before moving away to return to his work. He hadn’t even tried to card Scott.
The bottle was dressed in an emerald green label with what appeared to be a gray,winking,long snouted horse on it. The name of it was in some foreign language,maybe German,but at least it looked cold and frosty. Scott sighed and grabbed it,rolling his fingers over the slick,chilled glass. Small pleasures,he supposed. Scott didn’t normally drink,even though he had just turned twenty-two. It reminded him too much of his dad,why his dad had left to begin with. That was one thing no one he had said anything about the Great Rafael McCall since he had been here in DC. Amazing father and husband,outstanding FBI agent that served and died for his country,impeccable citizen and PTA member.
No one spoke of the alcoholic that was on a never ending search for the meaning of life in the bottom of a bottle. For what his dad had put him through today,Scott thought he deserved at least one himself. So he raised his bottle a little and toasted...he toasted the stupid winking horse on it and took a sip,already thinking about packing up and taking the next flight out of here back to California. Except, as soon as the alcohol reached his taste buds he was certain as to why there was a horse on the label. It was like he just guzzled horse piss tainted with straw after it had been ot in the sun fermenting for two months. What the hell was wrong with Germans?!
Scott choking and sputtered,his eyes watering. He had to turn his head so he didn’t make a mess coughing anything up on the bar,the bartender already didn’t seem to like him. He rubbed at his eyes when he could breathe again,and a blinding flash of red caught his gaze,causing him to close them again. Scott used the sleeves of his suit jacket to wipe at his face before he could open his eyes again. Though he almost wished he hadn’t.
The smile was the first thing he could process,a smile he hadn’t seen in years -- four years,two months,and eleven days to be exact.But who was counting. It wasn’t as big as Scott was use to,but it was still there. Sitting in a backless halter dress and looking right back at him.
Stiles .
Scott felt like had missed a step running down a flight of stairs. Stiles was sitting across from him at the bar...how...had he been there the entire time? Did Scott really walk past him when he came in? Scott had the vivid image of a powder blue Jeep driving off, stuffed to the brim with everything Stiles owned in the world, the left brake light burned out. That had been the last time Scott had seen Stiles or that Jeep.
“Been drinking long,Scotty?” Came an amused comment from the ghost of someone Scott knew once upon a time.
That voice. Just as Scott remembered. Soft but tangible, tangy when breathed hot against his ear, horse when it came from below on its knees. So beautiful it still narrated Scott’s dreams to this day.
“Scott?”
There it was again, but this time it was closer.
So close .
Scott got himself to focus back and instantly regretted it, because now Stiles wasn’t across the bar anymore,no,he was right in front of him. Right in front of him in that gorgeous dress that barely fluttered around Stiles’ knees. God, red always had looked best on Stiles. Scott could see Stiles’ jewel colored eyes were lined with bronze and covered in that smoky eye shadow stuff. Stiles looked dressed for some ritzy evening,what was he doing in this shithole in the middle of the day?
Stiles looked worried,he was doing that cute brow furrow thing that almost meant he wasn’t thinking of anything good. He watched Stiles grab his beer bottle and take a whiff of the contents, face going sour.Why hadn’t Scott been smart enough to do that?
“Osioł Poncz? Why would you willingly drink Jackass Punch?” Stiles shook his head,pushing the bottle away.
“You know German?” Was the first real thing Scott could get out,still watching Stiles’ every move. Scott wanted to reach out and touch him, make sure Stiles wasn’t just some mirage brought on by a psychotic break from the stress of the day or even the rank beer.
Stiles’ lips glossy lips turned up a bit, Scott wondered if this whole thing was really entertaining from a third person’s point of view. Maybe he’ll laugh or possibly cry later when he could really think about it.
“Polish.”Stiles reminded, though something in his eye lost a little bit of its humored shine. “Next time ask for a brand you know,unless you really were suicidal. That stuff should have been outlawed after WWII. It was made to be cheaper than moonshine.”
Scott wanted to ask how Stiles knew that,even if Stiles had had grandparents in Poland he would visit every summer till they died when he was in middle school. Scott also had no idea how he even still remembered that,why did he remember that now ?
“Stiles.” There, Scott finally said his name. It was real,he was acknowledging it.
And he watched Stiles’ face change too, watched Stiles understand the gravity of the situation. And something under Scott’s skin crackled, did Stiles really think he could just come over here and they’d talk like old friends just catching up? They’d have a few drinks (non-Polish horse/donkey ones) and share some laughs? Stiles was the one that killed any chances of that.
“Scott.” Stiles replied somberly, taking a seat next to Scott and crossing his milky, mile long legs,strappy gold heels hitting against the stool. Toes painted the same shade of red as Stiles’ dress glinting in the low bar light. “Can’t remember the last time I saw you in a suit. Looks good on you. In DC for business?”
“Funeral.” Scott grunted. He didn’t owe Stiles any kind of sugar coating, and after the day he had he was gonna be as blunt as he damn well pleased. That and listening to Stiles try to do small talk with him, try to be sweet with him will legitimately make Scott want to scream. It seemed to work, though,judging by the way Stiles seemed to pause and his eyes widen a fraction. And maybe Scott took a little glee in it, and if that made him a bad person then so be it.
“All the way out here?” Stiles’ voice was softer now, laced with sympathy, and probably a dash of pity. Just like every single person Scot had come up to to him at the funeral. But Scott also knew the gears in Stiles’ head were turning, curious but hesitant.
“Yep.” Was all Scott answered with. It was his business, and Stiles lost all rights to know Scott’s business four years ago. He just wished he had an actual drink in front of him so he had something to do that wasn’t just staring at Stiles. Because fucking hell, it shouldn’t be fair that Stiles just pops up looking just as good, if not better, than the last time Scott saw him. And on probably one of the suckiest days of Scott’s life too.
Stiles seemed to have gotten the hint that Scott wasn’t going to offer up anything else because he was now getting the bartender’s attention again. Scott listened to Stiles order two scotches on the rocks. There was an odd click and Scott turned his head in time to catch Stiles pull out a few bills from a small gold tasseled clutch. Seriously, where the hell was Stiles going? Or where had he come from ?
Scott noticed (automatically, and against his will) that the liquor in the glasses that were set in front of them was the same color of Stiles’ eyes, a particular shade that still haunted his dreams as well, even last night. You’d think it really would have been enough to turn him off any kind of amber distilled spirits.
Stiles did a good job of acting like he didn’t notice Scott trying not to stare at him. He just pushed one of the glasses towards Scott and picked up the other himself, tilting it towards Scott. “Should we toast to whoever you’re here for?”
It sounded like a backwards way of trying to weasel information from Scott without outright asking who it was Scott just watched get lowered into the ground to become worm food. It was a lot more tact from Stiles than Scott was use to, but Stiles had never needed it for Scott before. And if he had been around, or if they were still talking, Scott knew he would have told Stiles about his dad as soon as he had heard the news himself.
“You might regret that.” Scott warned, swirling his glass, but making no effort to meet it with Stiles’. Scott could see that curious glint in Stiles’ eyes only shine that much brighter, he knew Stiles was running the possibilities of who it could be through his head.And, yeah,maybe Scott was enjoying this a little bit too. He wondered how long he could drag this out before Stiles snapped and just asked right out who the hell it was that died.
And then Stiles’ face changed, something akin to moderate horror dancing across it. “It’s not..I mean, you and Melissa hadn’t moved out here and…” He trailed off
And it had taken Scott a second before he caught onto what Stiles getting at. “No! No,no,no,mom is fine. She’s still back in Beacon Hills. Still alive and awesome.” But god, what a thought, she was Scott’s only parent left now. And when she went...Scott wouldn’t know how he would survive that. Scott felt his throat threaten to close up for reasons that had nothing to with Poland or their beer.
Stiles looked to have visibly deflate with relief, sipping at his unclinked glass like he needed it. Scott wanted to ask if Stiles would have come to the funeral if it had been his mom. He wanted to ask how the hell would anyone be able to get ahold of him to let him know? Maybe that was part of Stiles’ relief,that he really hadn’t missed anything. But then what would have given Stiles the right to have even come? He hasn’t spoken to anyone since he left besides a few sparsely placed phone calls here and there in the beginning before nothing at all.
Of course Scott knew, though. He knew that if anything like that had happened...if anything were to happen to his mom, it would be Stiles he immediately would want to talk to or lean on. The old Stiles, the Stiles that was always there, that had been Scott’s best friend and first love. And Scott hated how true he knew that urge would be. He hated looking at this Stiles in front of him and wanting that now. Scott threw his head back and swallowed a good amount of his liquor as well, wishing it was something stronger, like lighter fluid or napalm.
“It was close, though.”He found himself saying, lips loosening by liquor. It was an instant regret/reward as soon as Stiles’ eyes were back on him. And did that him a selfish person for missing being the center of Stiles’ attention? Wanting to do anything to keep Stiles right there with him, no more outside world. A familiar feeling that use to be a constant when they were alone together. “My dad.” Scott finally answered,downing the rest of his drink and holding the now empty glass up to signal the bartender. Scott knew the guy was listening, Scott saw him flinch at the admission, probably regretting trying to kill Scott earlier with that horse piss in a bottle.
Scott purposely didn’t watch Stiles’ reaction, he didn’t need it engraved in his brain like the rest of this conversation would be. But Stiles was silent either way, a foreseeable thing really, Stiles was pretty much there going through the fights and the divorce along side Scott. Just as Scott bad gone through Claudia’s illness and death right with Stiles.
“I suppose that explains what you’re doing here.” Was the first thing Stiles said once Scott’s glass was refilled.
A safe comment. One to measure how to react without really saying anything right or wrong. Stiles really had learned a few things, seemed to have gained a filer. Scott wasn’t too sure how to feel about that. It all just felt like too much. Maybe this was what really drove his dad to drink, just the quantity of everything , and you can only swallow so much before you’re gagging and choking. Yeah, why was Stiles so calm? Why wasn’t he swearing or claiming Rafael had it coming? Or that Scott was obviously better off without him? He was just sitting there , looking impeccable and gauzy, making Scott want to touch him, and giving him an indifferent comment on Scott’s dead asshole of a father. Scott was really going to start screaming.
“What are you doing here, Stiles?” Scott erupted, everything in him shattering. He couldn’t even remember why he had held everything back to begin with. As if he owed Stiles some modesty when Stiles managed to learn to gain some of his own. “You-you just show up here out of the blue, here . And come over here,and sit down to have drink like we’re old friends. Old friends who still talk to each other. Or maybe even friends who at least send each other a fucking christmas card!”
By now, the nosey bartender had slowly inched his way close again, eyes down on the same glass he’s been cleaning for the last five minutes. Which was just great, Scott really wanted an audience when he finally blew up and lost his shit. He glared at the guy when he saw the bartender looking Scott’s way out of the corner of his eye, like he was waiting to see if Scott would continue. But he miraculously found something else to pretend to clean when he noticed he had gotten caught.
Scott let out a long breath, eyes closing, and he realized his hands were held tight in fists on the bar. He needed to gear himself up for turning back at Stiles, prepare himself for that blase look of indifference Stiles now seemed to have adopted. Or maybe Stiles would look affronted for Scott even calling him out on his shit. Was he even still there? It got awfully quiet right next to him, maybe Stiles chose to leave. Good, Stiles was really great at walking away from things he couldn’t handle, and Scott appeared to be one of those.
When Scott could get himself to finally chance what kind of mess he had just stepped in, he was shocked, Stiles was also getting really good at doing that to Scott too. Not only was Stiles still there , but he was staring down at his glass pensively and...dare Scott think it, but there looked to be a hint of guilt there on that beautifully painted face. It was the first sign of wavering or anything not depicting easy nonchalance Scott had seen on Stiles’ face all night.
Stiles chose to clear his throat, still not meeting Scott’s eye when he answered, “I work here.”
And Scott didn’t know why it was so hard to wrap his head around it. Maybe because, in his mind, in that last image of Stiles he had, it didn’t add up to a dingy hotel in DC. Stiles had told Scott he needed to leave the day of John’s funeral, the last day everything Scott knew worked exactly the way he understood. So he did, and Scott just let him because he had thought it was what Stiles needed, something that was more than Scott. Really, he didn’t know why he never thought Stiles would never leave the west coast. He could have traveled the world a couple times over by now, and DC could just be a temporary rest stop before he kept going. Just because they ran into each other again didn’t mean Stiles would just decide to come back home. This wasn’t some chick flick with a happy ending guaranteed in two hours. No matter how much Scott wished it was.
“Oh.” Was the only genius response Scott could come up with. He was having an interesting day, creativity died faster than his dad today.
“Oh?” Stiles snorted, chancing a glance at Scott.
Scott was failing to see the humor here.
“No asking what am I doing working here? In this hotel of all places? Or how I went from Beacon Hills to DC?”
Scott gave a shrug, not sure why he wasn’t asking either. Why wasn’t he asking what Stiles was doing in a place like this dressed like that ? Maybe because he still wanted to hope this was a dream later, so it would hurt less when he went over single detail and nitpick every word used. Details made it harder to deny plausibility. And a part of him didn’t want to know the answers to those kind of questions. “ You were always the nosey one between us.” He answered evenly. “Or you use to be.” Scott added.
Again, Stiles stared at him or a long moment, like he was trying to see into Scott’s soul. And by now,after all this time, Scott wondered what Stiles would see there, if Scott even had one left after this week.
“You’ve changed.” Was what Stiles eventually stated after he seemed to summize what he was staring at, going back to practiced sips of his drink
And Scott...Scott just couldn’t believe him. Stiles had the gall to say that about Scott ? Did the guy not own a mirror anymore? Scott want to punch him, scream every profanity he’s ever thought about Stiles since he’s left, let Stiles know the pain he’s felt. Scott wanted to ask Stiles how he could just leave and forget all about him.
So Scott just nodded, twisting to slip off his stool, “Yeah, I have. I had to.” He answered, pulling out his wallet again and throwing a couple bills down to cover their drinks. It was the only thing Stiles was getting out of him. “I have an early flight in the morning. Take care, Stiles.” He bid, hands in his pockets as he shuffled past towards the exit.Scott really didn’t plan on looking back. He had said his peace, and now it was his turn to leave with Stiles watching him go. He would go and count this as closure, never to look back on DC for multiple reasons now.
But something made him turn his head over his shoulder, drink in the breathtaking sight Stiles made once more. “You look really pretty tonight.” He whispered, then on his way once more. Scott knew there was no way in hell he was sleeping tonight.