semifreakingnormal | ( 012 ) Ω ( Video )

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( 012 ) Ω ( Video )

[He's been back about an hour, just sitting in his room. It's not that he doesn't want to be here. He does. He needs to be here, to make things right again, and still all he wants is to rewind the clock, to go back to weeks ago, before their darkness spilled out into the world. Everything had looked bright. Okay. And now...

Now he understands why Stiles didn't want him to go back. Nothing will be like it was. Not until he saves Allison.

And he can't do that by letting people think he isn't here. He gets up, splashes water on his face, stares at himself in the mirror until he thinks his expression is normal. It's close enough. Drying off, he goes back to sit on the bed and picks up the communicator. When it clicks on, he smiles, and it's still Scott underneath, even if it's not quite as bright. He's older, though, only a year but it feels longer. His hair is shorter, he looks stronger. He's trying to hide the rest, and doing a decent job of it. But only decent.]

Hey, guys. I'm back.

[He waves his free hand. Semi-awkward Scott McCall is still under the new haircut! And is that a tattoo peeking out from under his left sleeve?]

So, did I miss anything good? I think...I was a troll, the last flood. How long ago was that?

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[Allison's dead.]

[Cassel doesn't believe it. He doesn't want to believe it. It's absurd, to think that the girl Scott was going on and on about before could possibly just not be alive anymore. Somehow, from his description, Cassel fell a little bit in love with her too. Thought that maybe someday he'd meet her. Maybe someday they could be friends. Someone like Allison Argent could be friends with someone like him.]

[But Allison is dead; Scott is not lying. Even if Scott was the type to lie, Cassel can tell he's not lying now. It sounds like his voice is trying to crawl back up his throat. Cassel wishes that he didn't have to hear that sound from his friend, not now, not ever.]

[He doesn't know who Aiden is. He doesn't care, right now. The loss of Aiden isn't what's making Scott teeter on the verge of tears.]

I'm sorry.

I know it doesn't change anything. I know. But I am.

I really wish you could get wasted, man.

[Do you need anything, he wants to ask - do you want anything, but he wouldn't know what to give. You're among friends.]

[You can bring her back.]

[Someone like Allison Argent would have liked him. He'd have charmed her, and she'd have liked him despite her initial misgivings. Even after she lost her mom, even after things changed - he would have had fun with her here, watching her meet the friends he'd made, watching them get along. It would have been good.

Scott manages a little smile, thin lipped and strained. None of this is fair. None of this is right. Allison should be alive, she should still be at home and smiling. She should be - she should be holding hands with Isaac, they should all be figuring out that weirdness, learning to be okay with it, but they're not.

They can't. Not until he does what he has to, here.

Scott scrubs at his face, nods.]

Yeah, me too. Daneca thought it might be possible, if I had enough. But no offense dude, I don't like Campari nearly enough to try.

Scott . . .

[He doesn't know what to say. He has never mastered this aspect of friendship - he's no good at comfort. He would wrap his arms around Scott if he was here and hug him, despite any protests. But his friend isn't here, he's locked away somewhere all alone, or ideally with Stiles, but even so - not with Cassel.]

[Cassel, who wonders how long he's been shouldering this alone, how much worse it hurts when there's no one there to hurt with him.]

[He swallows.]

Yeah. Campari's pretty shitty.

Are you - is she your deal?

Sorry - I shouldn't ask. But I just - [hate seeing you like this.]

[He smiles, just a little. Tight lips that give way to a not completely steady jaw, and he gives up as the wobble sets in, drops his head and draws in a sharp breath.]

She's my deal.

[She used to be his everything. He practically idolized her, but more than that, he loved her. It's been months since they broke up, they started...they finally started moving on, but he's never going to have enough distance from her that this won't hurt, and hurt badly. She was Allison Argent. She shouldn't be referred to in the past tense.]

I couldn't do anything for her, when she...I need to do something.

Yeah. I know you do.

[He figured.]

[He sucks his teeth, leans back in his seat, and stares at the ceiling. After a long moment of silence, he gives in and just says the pathetic, transparent thing.]

Ilia missed you.

[It makes him smile, even if there's a pained little edge to it.]

I think I promised shots when I left. She's going to hate me all over again.

[Which really means, can I come over?]

Whatever. Cats get over shit quickly.

Get over here before we get overheard.

Then whisper, dude. [But he smiles, kills the feed and pockets his device.

It's less than a minute by the time he reaches Cassel's door. Sometimes werewolf speed is great. He knocks, already trying to tune out some of the more overwhelming Barge smells.]

[Cassel opens the door as soon as Scott knocks, grabbing him by the shoulders and staring at him sharply for a moment before shoving him into the room. It's messier than usual, as though he's been looking for something, or has lost the ability to give a fuck about cleanliness.]

[Ilia is perched on the pillow of Cassel's bed, like a fucking king, which he is.]

You look less fucked-up up close.

[Scott stumbles a little with the abruptness of it, and when he catches sight of Ilia, he puts his hands up in a typically 'I am unarmed' and 'nice kitty' gesture before turning to Cassel. That cat is a problem.]

Thanks...?

[He sits on the other bed, looking up at Cassel.] It's been a few days anyway. Since...[He shrugs. A few days isn't really enough.]

[He snorts softly, collapsing onto his bed and gesturing at the opposite bed, the desk, wherever.]

A few days or a few more isn't going to make that much of a difference. Sorry, I know that's not what you're supposed to fucking say, but. That's the truth.

If you feel grief right, it's like someone carved a hole in your side and you're trying to patch it up with thin air. Time doesn't make as much of a difference as people think it does.

[He lets out a soft, hollow laugh, curling his hands together between his knees.]

That's exactly how it feels.

No offense, dude, but you suck at this.

I never said I didn't.

Hey, Scott.

[He tips his head to one side.]

Would it be, like, totally weird if I gave you a hug?

[He smiles, and it's a little pained, but genuine, too. Scott shakes his head.]

No. Maybe don't make a habit of it, though.

[Who is he kidding, hug him all the time.]

Yeah. No, I totally won't.

[He might. He's been told he gives good hugs, since he started giving hugs.]

[And this one he's been ready for since he first saw Scott on the network, all busted up on the inside and trying to hide it. Of all the people he knows, Scott is unequivocally the most deserving of hugs.]

[Cassel sits next to Scott on the other bed and wraps his arms around him tightly, squeezing. He doesn't mind being close, not anymore - not close to people he trusts. Resting his chin on Scott's shoulder, he closes his eyes, pats his back a little.]

[He doesn't say it's okay, or that it's going to be. Because it's not, and it won't. He's just there, quiet.]

[After a minute, he does say,] I won't tell if you gotta cry.

[Scott is good about hugs. He's good about touch in general: it's proof that you're there and proof that you're care, and he likes tangible proof. His arms come up to wrap around Cassel, and he laughs only a little at Cassel's offer. Only a little because he was making a concerted effort not to let his eyes grow wet. It's only half working.]

I'd totally deny it.

[His voice is thicker than he wants it to be, but that's okay. Cassel won't tell.]

Yeah, I know.

[Cassel sniffs. It's a sympathy sniff, shut up.]

You and your big macho wolfy ways. Big wolves don't cry.

You're not crying, anyway. So it doesn't matter.

[He could say something smarter. Something cool and empathetic and meaningful. But that's not the kind of person he is, and he's never had it in him. Instead he just hangs on and talks like a dumbass. Call it a gift.]

Exactly.

[His throat is tight, though, and his vision blurs just a little. Maybe he is crying. He doesn't care. They don't need big speeches or anything but this, really.

Cassel's gift is that he's solid, he's here, he's alive. And Scott has learned not to take that for granted in his friends.

Eventually, he coughs or sniffs, and claps Cassel on the back before pulling away. He's not okay, but he will be. He will be. If he tells it to himself often enough, it will become truth.]

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