Around mid Feb | The Station | PG-13 Late Night Commiserations
warningsJust mutual sadness
This wasn’t the first time in his life he’d struggled with insomnia. This was just the first time in a while that he’d dealt with it without Lydia. He’d have felt bad for having relied on her, except that Lydia being Lydia, she’d never taken no for an answer. But now she was gone, and he was left with two pets who seemed to spend ninety percent of their time sleeping just to mock him, and a roommate with a sleep schedule no better than his.
The problem with lying down in bed and trying to fall asleep was that his thoughts inevitably strayed right back to how alone he felt now that Lydia was gone. Even with Scott here, it wasn’t the same. It had been just the two of them for so long, and they’d begun to build a life together, however unconventional. Rather than face all that, he’d taken to doing whatever he could to avoid it.
He felt bad for having found any comfort in spending the time he had with Alex and the others, considering it had been because Dylan was gone and Alex was hurting. But that didn't change the fact that being in their company had chased away some of the loneliness for a while.
Which was what eventually made the decision for him. Grabbing his purple hoodie from its very intentional place on the floor, he pulled it on over the t-shirt pajama pants combo he’d put on to sleep.
He made his way downstairs, hoping to maybe find Alex at his drums, even if like any other sane person around here he should have been sleeping. Following the muted sound of a drum beat he poked his head around the door, stepping inside once he saw Alex sitting there. “Hey, man.”
So the great thing about having a building full of people with seemingly unlimited funds was, in Alex's opinion, that no only did the band have a studio space of their own, but they also were able to keep the little practice on in the Station itself. It made it a lot easier to sneak down and pound the drums when his brain did that fun anxiety thing where it unpacked every single bad thing he'd ever done since he could remember. And he could remember a lot. All the way back to kindergarten, and even flashes of preschool.
He knew he wasn't actually sneaking. Between Phil and Matt and their crazy ninja agent skills, they probably knew exactly when he'd left and where he'd gone. And he was eighteen, so it's not like he could in trouble for truancy or whatever it was when you were out past curfew. Yet another thing for his brain to turn over and over while he moved from one frenetic rhythm to another.
Really, the only reason he'd stopped ahead of Stiles' entrance was because of the flashing light Clint had thoughtfully installed for them way back. All someone had to do was step up to the door, and the band would get a visual alert. So he was already looking up at the door, and waved the sticks he had in one hand at his Friend-in-Pain while pushing his sweaty hair out of his forehead with the other. "Hey. That kinda night, huh? You wanna play or watch me?"
Stiles stepped further into the room, restless hands trailing over the door frame, the table he passed, through his hair only to mess it up further… “Et tu, Brute?” He doubted Alex was down here at this hour for kicks. Wasn’t kicks some kind of drum thing? Something to do with the bass drum, or a beat or something he’d read at some point. He couldn’t quite bring the information to the front of his mind, it was stuck back there somewhere in an over stuffed filing cabinet of useless trivia and facts about the supernatural.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he finally expanded on his non answer, stopping by the drums. He tapped one of the cymbals, only for the sound to be a lot louder than anticipated, and he gripped it with both hands to stop the ringing noise, the wordless ‘oops’ written all over his face.
“Maybe I’ll watch for a bit.”
It took a second for Alex's muzzy brain to parse the meaning of Stiles' reference, but he got there in a second. The fact that he half-snorted was probably a non-entity in this liminal space of should-be-sleeping time where things took on a sheen of unreality. His brain tried to spin up some witty Shakespearean retort, but all he got was the six minute mark of Led Zeppelin's Moby Dick.
Not helpful for conversation, but he'd already started tapping it against his leg.
The sudden sound didn't faze him in the slightest. Being in a band for so long meant hearing random notes or blasts noise so often that it may have startled him, but it didn't surprise him. That didn't make any sense. Fortunately it was all in his head. The rest of him was waving at the kinda ratty couch shoved up against the side of the room. Well, his had was, at least. It wasn't like he was doing a full body wiggle, because that would have been bizarre.
Cheese and crackers, he really needed to get out of his loopy mind.
Alex smiled and found he actually kind of meant it, even though it was small and more than a little sad and understanding. "Any requests?"
Stiles flopped onto one end of the couch at the wordless invitation, tilting his head back momentarily to consider the ceiling. This room felt different somehow. Maybe it was all the instruments occupying the space, or the soundproofing on the walls. Or maybe it was more that this was one of the few spaces he hadn’t been in with Lydia. His new room in Kitty’s apartment was the same. He bounced pretty rapidly between the opposing feelings of hating it and its general lack of her presence, and being grateful for it.
He returned that small smile with a pretty close match, shrugging again as he picked at the skin beside his thumbnail. “I don’t know, dude. Probably not a good idea to let me loose on your music choices right now, I’ll probably unironically pick a whole bunch of early 2000s emo.”
Despite everything, Alex's mouth twitched. "Fall Out Boy or My Chemical Romance?"
Just because he'd died in the late nineties didn't mean he hadn't been on a massive music education while they'd been in San Francisco with real life bodies. His thoughts drifted to Alex and Reggie. School would be over in just a few months. The mandated one, at least. Their teachers had been making noises about college and vocational schools, but Alex was pretty sure he knew what the guys would want to do.
His next question came bubbling out of him, catching him unawares. "Do you like your classes? Or, er, do you like being in school still?"
He gave a brief laugh, though his reply hinted at embarrassed. “I did go through the obligatory angry pre-teen music phase. Though I was more Eminem than My Chemical Romance.”
Alex’s question was a bit of a non-sequitur. “My classes?” He pondered the question for a second, wondering if the way to answer was in a now way, or a before way. That was how he defined his life now, after all. BL, or AL. Everything after Lydia, or after Lydia being gone - he needed to work on the acronyms - was underpinned by exhaustion and melancholy. Before Lydia, looking back, felt all bright and hopeful like a Disney movie. He hated himself for how little he’d acknowledged in the moment just how good things had been.
“They’re good. I mean. I haven’t been in a few weeks,” he tacked on the admission. “Kind of not doing well with the concentration thing right now. But they match up with what I want. Wanted, back home. The being in school part? I don’t know. I guess I don’t mind it. It doesn’t feel the same as high school did, anyway. Why? Thinking about next year?”
Alex opened his mouth, then shut it just as quickly. The 'why' still sat on his tongue, even though he knew the answer. It seemed kind of mean to make Stiles expand on his obvious misery. Downright cruel is what that would have been. His stomach clenched, thoughts turning to Dylan. And Willy. And the handful of guys he'd been pretty crazy about, only for them to drift out of his life for one reason or another. Weird how two of them were because either he'd been ripped out of a world or the other had. What was that quote about nickels? It didn't matter.
"I dunno. Maybe? Like a class or two? Don't get me wrong, I love the band, and I'm all in, a million percent. From here to a world tour and our third triple platinum album. But just, y'know, what if…?" Alex shrugged feebly, then chuckled. "Even if I took enough classes to become a— a Nobel laureate or something, it would only be the band for me. Just the drums and my friends."
Guilt dropped hot in his stomach and he looked at Stiles again. "Are you— Look, I'm super not trying to butt in or get all up in your bar-b-que, but is it okay that you haven't gone in that long? Like, you won't get kicked out or something?"
“Why can’t it just be for you, though? Going to college doesn’t mean you’re planning on ditching the band and your first three platinum albums. Just means you want to expand your own horizons. Learn to grow. I don’t know, other things stitched on throw pillows.” He understood not wanting to leave his friends, though. When he and Scott had been talking about their futures, Stiles had been all in on making a plan that saw them all sticking together. He’d been terrified that maybe he could lose Scott as a best friend. Lose him again, because it had already happened once. And if he lost him now? Stiles didn’t know if he’d be able to keep breathing. He was his last connection to home.
“What class would you take? If you could pick anything. Besides music, I mean.” Because he could see that answer coming a mile away.
The all up in his barbecue bit made him laugh, looking back over at Alex. He appreciated the concern for what it was, really. He sometimes let himself get maudlin and wallow in the feeling of being alone, which was crap. “It’s fine. It’s - well I’ve kind of been making that future Stiles’ problem. Poor guy has a lot on his plate. But I’ve only missed a couple of deadlines. I got in the last paper mostly on time. I don’t know how many classes you can miss before they start getting twitchy, though.”
All the things Stiles said could have basically been pulled directly from Alex's head, some verbatim. Yet the guilt of even entertaining the possibility clung like a greasy film in the inside of his brain. He knew the band would be nothing but supportive, but—but—but. As far as Alex's mind was concerned, there would always be a "but". He chewed on the inside of his cheek into it kind of hurt. It helped. Sometimes. Stiles also had the rare ability to know just the moment to say or ask something that would pull Alex back to the present, away from the dread of a nebulous future.
"Oh, uh, history, maybe? Like world history? Maybe not the dates, but just the events and their impact?" Wow, he did not know how to form a declarative sentence. "I like statistics, too. So that too. Maybe. Sometimes I start thinking about things that would help the band. I know we can trust Alexis, and Matt's always going to have our backs, but what if we ever meet people who just want to screw us over? So I think something like contract law would be good."
Okay, so he'd put more than a little thought into this. Right before Dylan had gone, they'd started talking about possibilities, and that's all they were. Except now any version where Dylan was also there was an impossibility. Alex played out a bullet-fast riff just to take the edge off the sharp stab of agony that had lanced through his heart.
On the other side of it, he forced his jaw to relax, took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. "Why do I get the feeling that you might already know someone who could probably get all that figured out for you if you even hinted at the possibility?"
“Oh yeah?” He perked up a bit when Alex mentioned history. He’d always been a fan. Or maybe that just stemmed from the incessant need to know. Everything. How things worked. How they were put together. Where people came from. Why they got into wars and how they became allies again. All of it. He kind of got it now how he’d managed to exhaust his dad when he was a kid. Even more so after his mom was gone. He shook the thought off, focusing back on the blond. “You should do it. Just give it a shot.”
The other part, about contract law, was practical, if boring. “If you decide to pursue law you’re gonna have to supplement that with something else, dude. That’ll suck the life right out of you.”
Alex’s impromptu drum solo had his brow furrowing in concern, wondering where his thoughts had taken him. But it seemed like he was no more interested in discussing the elephant (elephants?) in the room than Stiles was. Were they just ignoring that interlude, though? He didn’t actually know how to broach it, so he guessed they were.
He flapped a hand dismissively at the question he posed, though. “It’ll be fine. Sometimes you have to leave things alone for a while to sort themselves out." He was talking crap, but he had no idea how to just ask for help. He’d always sucked at it. Just to get Ben’s input on his paper he’d started with hypotheticals.
"Oh! Oh, no, no, no." Alex waved his hand so dismissively he almost lost his drumsticks. "No way, the law stuff is so firmly not me. I was just thinking about a class in contract law by itself. I could never do what Matt does." He almost said more, but he wasn't sure how many people knew about Matt's other incredible skills. And Phil, of course, was also some kind of crazy ninja agent. Next to them, he just felt like a bundle of anxiety that could also somehow play the drums.
A little voice that sounded like Julie reminded him that he couldn't live his life comparing it to others.
That was easier said than done most of the time.
And anyway, now was the time for focusing on Stiles. He'd come down here in the middle of the night, after all. Alex caught himself frowning as he looked at his friend and tried to smooth out his expression. "I don't… think that's how it works? But I'm down here playing drums at whatever o'clock, so I'm probably not the poster child for healthy life choices and reasoned decision making."
It took him a second to realize he'd started playing Black Parade very softly while he said all this—a call back to his earlier question. Yes, it was possible to play the drums softly. How else was he going to practice at 3 AM when he was still living at home eons ago? "I don't think I ever asked: are you studying what you would have at home? Man, this other dimension stuff gets weird."
“A class or two would be okay,” he acknowledged. “I’ll have to do a few. Criminal law, anyway.” Not contract law, which he maintained sounded soul destroying. But he didn’t need to beat him over the head with the point. “Something about that guy screams he is awesome at his job.” It was this kind of quiet confidence thing. The sort of vibes that Stiles knew he was incapable of projecting in almost any situation. His dad had always had it, too. Scott’s dad thought he had it, but with him it mostly translated as confused in a suit.
“Tried and tested method, dude.” Was that the expression? It sounded right. But like Alex said, whatever o’clock. And he didn’t like being the one responsible for making Alex frown that way. What he should have been doing was trying to cheer him up. “Reasoned decision making is overrated, anyway.”
It took him a little while to recognise the song, and that was probably only because they’d been on the subject earlier anyway. He was impressed anyone could make a song come to life with just the beat, let alone that quietly in the middle of the night. “Back home I was looking at an FBI internship at Georgetown. But that’s…a whole other lifetime and dimension ago.” That was the simple version.
“Criminology is the next best thing. I don’t know what I’ll do with it here, but it got to the point where Lydia and I both agreed we couldn’t -” He faltered then, but only for a second so he was taking the win - “couldn’t just put our lives on hold. Even with the weird other dimension stuff.” Because Alex was right about that. It was weird.
"Doing stuff off the cuff was pretty much the band's modus operandi before we found Julie, so hurray for being underrated! Like we were." Alex laughed—giggled, really, because it was that time of night/morning/whatever. "Look at me, making it relevant to your criminology stuff! I'm so cool. Said no one ever."
He watched Stiles when he went on, unable to imagine living the kind life that involved all the things his friend had witnessed and experienced for himself. And Alex probably only knew a tenth of it, if that. The tiny pause was enough to make his heart lurch—not for his own loss, but Stiles'. "It's good. It's good that you're trying. Sometimes I think it's all we can do. The future is never what we expect, and anyone who thinks they can truly control the outcome is just kidding themselves. Like, sure, you can make your own choices and control your own actions, but all the outside stuff? Yeah, we just can't know. And that's the worst part sometimes. All the time.
"I saw this word recently: catastrophizing. And that's when I realized: that's what's the inside of my head looks like 24/7. On some level, I'm always imagining the worst so I can plan for it. But just when I think I've made all these contingencies, something inevitably happens that I never even thought to factor in. I think—" Alex paused his playing to shove his hand through hair that had gone lank with sweat and a need for a good wash—"I think you might be like that too. Plans within plans within plans. Looking for the patterns to try to make sense of things. You'll be good at whatever you do. Y'know, despite whatever life might throw at you."
The reaction from Alex at his own little joke made Stiles smile, amused. There was something endearing about anyone finding joy in anything that trivial. “The way you guys go on it’s any wonder you managed to get to any gigs or whatever other band-related things you needed to do before she showed up,” he teased. They’d obviously done alright for themselves, though. Choices in late night snacks notwithstanding.
He appreciated the acknowledgement of the fact that he was still trying. Somewhere in amongst this feeling that he was entitled to be falling apart about all of this for a while, it meant someone still saw that despite that, he actually was making an effort. Even if it was just to honor what Lydia had wanted.
When Alex started talking about catastrophizing, Stiles found himself sitting up a bit higher as he listened because he was talking about things that he related to completely.
“You’re not wrong, man. Hypervigilance. That’s what the counsellor at school called it.” He’d always thought it was the ADHD, but throw in some dark Druids and a werewolf or two and it had gone off the charts.
He’d spoken to the doctor he’d been to here about it as well (minus the supernatural parts), but there was something different about hearing a friend describe perfectly what you were feeling. “Kind of uh…nice to know I’m not the only one.” And that he thought Stiles was going to do well, in spite of all that.
"Stumbling toward rock star status with sheer determination and a little dumb luck." Alex shot Stiles a quick grin. They really had worked their butts off, but there was no denying that some of their opportunities were down to pure chance. He played a little flourish and twirled his stick just because he could. Sadness still clung like a film to everything, but it was nice hanging out like this, engaging in quiet, deep conversations.
He nodded faintly, digesting this new word. It made a lot of sense, and sounded a lot nicer than the other one. "Plans within plans within plans," he said again, mostly muttered in undertone to himself. To Stiles, he said, with a crooked smile, "Yeah. It is kind of nice. And… you know you're always welcome here, right? And at the studio. You're pretty much one of us now."
“Isn’t that a self-actualisation thing? You think you’re rock stars, so you are?” Probably a massive oversimplification of a complex psychological concept. But he figured Alex would get what he meant. The fame stuff he couldn’t imagine wanting, but then he wasn’t passionate about music the same way they all were. He also couldn’t do that cool little move with the drumstick that Alex pulled off. There was definitely a level of inherent cool required in a person to manage that.
Being told he was basically one of them hit Stiles with an emotion he couldn’t put a name to. It was somewhere between moving and unexpected, or some weird combination of the both. Whatever it was, he was uncharacteristically stuck for words. “Thanks, man.” He finally managed. “I’ll remember that.”