LOST SOULS!
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
nothing short of a tragedy.

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WARNING: contains underage drinking.
be responsible, kiddos :)

THE JOURNEY TO FRANK DOLOREM'S HOUSE HAD QUITE THE DEMORALISING EFFECT ON ADRIAN MARTIN AS HE TREKKED HIS WAY THROUGH THE ROADS, STREETS AND FOREST'S HE NEEDED TO CROSS IN ORDER TO GET THERE. He had regretted not asking his mother for a lift around the halfway point of his journey, realising - despite how much stamina he may have from lacrosse - he was losing valuable time on foot. Not to mention the fact that Frank's home was seemingly in the middle of nowhere, tucked away in an overlooked forest where it stood alone. In broad daylight, one may have seen it in a more peaceful viewpoint; but the dark aura of the night currently did it no favours in providing a homely, welcoming vibe.

Adrian wondered why a man would want to live in a place so misplaced from society, but he didn't have to think long and hard until he soon understood the reason why. He just wanted to hide away, hoping that would bring him some form of peace, solitude until the war came back from him like a lamb for slaughter. Suddenly, the thought of living alone didn't seem so strange to Adrian.

Alone. Did Frank live alone? If so, how long had he been in the company of one? Adrian always wondered how one's sanity would hold up when you have no one but yourself to accompany you. Was it comforting? Because, if so, Adrian wouldn't mind getting some of that for himself right about now.

No. Adrian's mind made his hand halt from its raised position to knock on the house's wooden door in dire need of a new paint job. Frank has a son - mother told you that. He wouldn't be alone . . . he'd be with your half-brother.

"Shit." Adrian cursed as he stepped away from the door, bringing both hands up to his fiery red locks so they could run through them in an act of releasing the stress he inwardly felt. The realisation of this being his first contact with his real dad and half-brother just hit him like a ton of bricks all at once. How would it look if he just suddenly marched in, claiming Frank could be in a great deal of danger? For all he knew, Frank may not even want to see him.

He may not even remember him.

It doesn't matter. Adrian had to tell himself, letting a deep breath escape him. It's the right thing to do, no matter who it is. If Stiles' dad -

The redhead stopped mid-thought, biting down hard on his lip. He was surprised the metallic taste of blood didn't stain his tongue when he did so. His eyes closed, exhaling through his nose. The flashbacks from all the words he had said came flooding back to him. Did he regret them? Maybe. He wasn't quite sure what to feel about his words just yet. All he knew was that right now, sadly, Adrian had to admit this would be a lot easier if he had the frantic Stilinski with him right now; offering his annoying ramblings as a form of distraction.

He was reminded of his phone still tucked in the safety of his back pocket, his fingers twitching closer to the denim fabric of his jeans. His teeth's hold on his lip tightened. Maybe I could -

Adrian let out a small yelp when he was suddenly shoved forwards onto the hard ground, narrowly missing the stone concrete placed at the front of the house. He twisted his body round only to immediately be faced by the butt of a shotgun, his yelp from before evolving into a yell of panic.

"Who are you? What are you doing in front of this house?" A rough voice bellowed from the other end of the weapon, shoving the butt further into the young boy's chest. "Speak!"

"I - I'm looking for Frank! Frank Dolorem! I was told he lived here!" Adrian had his hands up in a sign of surrender, knowing now wasn't the time to be a smart aleck.

"Who? Who told you?!" The voice's sudden rise in volume was like an abrupt bang of a drum, thudding Adrian's eardrums as he flinched.

"Wha - I don't know!" Adrian's words were released shakily, backing further into the house door he had been knocked close to. He was scared, yes, but something told him saying his mothers' name wasn't right in this situation. Well, it felt like that until the gun's safety was clicked off.

The teen's blood rang ice cold, only seeing the gun's firing holes to face and plead desperately with. "Don't get smart with me now, boy. Tell the name. Now!"

"I'm telling you, honestly, I don't know!"

"I'm gonna count to three. And, if a name doesn't slip out of your mouth, I swear you will have a bullet hole between your eyes!" The masculine voice didn't back down. Of course, it wouldn't. Adrian felt his lungs tighten in his rib cage at the gruesome thought that this may not be the first time someone wandering through these woods had stumbled into a situation like this. I mean, no one would be walking around with a gun purely for decoration purposes! "One!"

"I mean no harm!" Adrian still had his hands up, shaking and breathless.

"Two!" The gun drew closer.

"I just wanted to see Frank, make sure he was okay!" The redhead's voice cracked. He would've found it rather embarrassing had he not understood why it suddenly broke: out of fear.

"Three!" Adrian's body rumbled from the vibration of the growl-like tone lacing the man's voice, his body growing cold whilst it nipped with the spikes of fear that shot through his body.

"He's my dad!"

The gun didn't go off.

Adrian's tongue felt one size too big in his mouth as a thick silence coated them, the night wind merely whispering as it passed by. His green eyes bore into the shotgun as if they were another set of eyes, unwilling himself to blink in fear that, when he did, they wouldn't ever open back up again.

There is movement on the mysterious man's part, a fiddle. The gun shifts, the teen's breathing no longer existent for a few seconds of utter torture. Adrian's stomach clenches. This was it.

The gun is suddenly swept away from his face.

Adrian never really believed in faith, in god. Those things lurked too close to divinity for his taste. He often saw the world in terms of probability with a "shit happens. It's just how the cards fall" kind of attitude. But even if he had to admit that if there was a god, it was smiling down on him nonetheless right now.

Adrian looks up, and is met with the owner of the rough, threatening voice. The man looked older than he probably was, his face wearing his wrinkles like a timeline of errors and trauma. His green eyes are wide, pupils set in a miosis state. His wrinkled, aged hand trembled with the weapon clutched between his veiny fingers, lowering it down to naturally rest in a carrying position. Adrian slowly lowers his hands, cautiously.

"Who brought you here?" The man no longer shouted, as if Adrian had shot his own bullet at him; striking something. By now, Adrian had took the shift in body language and tone to his advantage, getting back up to his two feet. They never lost eyes on one another. "I won't ask again."

Adrian, not in the mood to have his life threatened again, sighed. "I - I'm Adrian. Adrian Martin." He felt the man before him release a shaky breath. "My mum told me this was where Frank lived. I - I didn't mean to cause any alarm."

The older man stepped closer, his mouth hung open - but not enough to be counted as agape. One hand left his weapon of defence, reaching up towards Adrian's face. He didn't touch him, as if some force field was holding him back; causing his hand to shake the more it flew high, grasping at thin air.

"Adrian," Tender was the whisper released, flowing smooth like honey through both their ears. It was soft, caring, and Adrian's body almost took it in as comforting. But his mind knew better. Comfort should not come from a gun, especially if it is a human who wields it.

Adrian stepped away, catching the man off guard. The stranger showed a glimpse of confusion behind his eyes, but it was quick; a flash, if you will. "I told you who I am." The Martin boy spoke strongly, straightening up in the act of masking his fear and broadening his chest. "Now it's your turn."

The stranger chuckled, the sound weak and throaty; the years of speaking wearing it down, seemingly. He sounded tired, looked the part too. Adrian would have almost mistaken him for some poor, defenceless, homeless man if it weren't for the shotgun still in his hands.

"Well, I guess I shouldn't be so offended. Can't really blame you for forgetting your old man when age and time have been so cruel to us, can I?"

The world stopped spinning for Adrian, his heart punching his chest. Their matching green eyes seemed to mirror one another as the young boy had his eyes zapped into the pit of realisation; the world starting back up like a fixed machine. The man before him lifted his lips up in a small smile at his reaction. "I . . . I - oh god. I don't know what to say." Adrian admitted, his breathing shaky yet mistakable enough to be categorised as light, awkward laughter - which it could've actually been, now that he thinks about it.

"You don't have to right now. Just give your old man a hug." Frank chuckled - genuinely chuckled - as he lifted one arm to bring the boy in, holding him close as Adrian's chin went to his shoulder. The hug was rather awkward at first, given that the receiver of it didn't act to reciprocate the gesture. The hold just felt so foreign to him, so bizarre . . . yet he soon felt it.

The warmth. The tension of his bones easing from the human touch. The shakiness in his legs reducing to a numbed feeling; one that was caused when one was too high on euphoria to feel anything other than the tips of their fingers. And, right now, all Adrian could feel was the worn, vintage, jacket he had now gripped between all ten of his fingers as he clung onto the hold of his father; his real one.

A sudden prod against the side of his ribcage brought Adrian back to reality, his whole entire body freezing up at the sight of the shotgun directed near his body. Thinking fast, the boy jumped back as far as he could; almost tripping over the concrete steps of the home once again.

Frank was startled at first, confusion spilling in his eyes until he caught sight of what the boy was staring at with complete and utter horror. "Ah," he released an awkward chortle, looking down at the weapon himself. "Sorry about that. You just gave me quite the fright when I saw you in front of my house, that's all."

"Why do you even have that thing?" Adrian asked, his face scrunched up in a judgemental state.

"Oh." Frank suddenly smiled, pointing down to the string-like belt around his waistcoat. There, hung a single, dead bird; it's lifeless eyes making Adrian's body feel tight and unsettled. "caught this little guy this morning. Took me the whole day to find one of these pesky things." When Frank looked back up, his eyebrows furrowed at his son's paled face. "You alright, son?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. It's just -" Adrian swallowed, lowering his gaze to the hard ground. "I'm just not a fan of dead things."

Much to his surprise, Frank humoured him with a laugh; patting him on the back. "You and me both." He walked past him, looking happier now as he stopped by his door and turned back to face the boy who he had just finished pointing a gun at only moments ago. "Please, come in."

Adrian knew he shouldn't. It was late, and it was clear Frank was in no sign of danger and could protect himself well enough; but Adrian still couldn't help but feel tempted from the offer. He didn't exactly feel like going home right now, given that his mother and sister would both be home. And he knew going to his second option, Stiles' house, would most likely be a recipe for disaster. For all he knew, he may not even be welcomed into the said household anymore.

Adrian Martin was, however, welcome in the Dolorem household - and that seemed good enough for just now.

❚ ❚ ❚

"You're taller than I expected." Frank absentmindedly spoke as he worked on getting the kettle boiling, Adrian looking up from where he sat at the little kitchen table all snug in the corner of the small room the rather petite house had to offer. "Lost some of your freckles too, I see. Your mother must've been upset. She loved them. Used to send you to sleep every night by gently drawing lines with her finger to connect them as if they were constellations."

Adrian smiled at the thought, his green eyes lighting up with the gain of knowledge he had gotten. His mother rarely ever told him tales of his childhood years, and - for the most part - Adrian had always been relieved she didn't; saving him from any moments his present self would cringe at. But it was nice to hear the little odd story from time to time. "She did?"

"Oh yeah. All the time. Never put you to sleep without doing it." Frank brought over two cups of tea, the beverage immediately heating up their night-air coated hands. "How is your mother by the way? I haven't heard from her in ages."

Adrian quickly stopped the big sip he was taking, his thirstiness from his rush here just now catching up on him. "Oh yeah. She's good." He nodded, drumming his fingers against the handle of the mug.

"I wrote her letters. Did she happen to get any of them?" Frank seemed to lean forward in his seat, as if sitting only a metre away from one another would make him miss something important being shared.

"Um, yeah, she did." Adrian awkwardly answered, biting the corner of his lip. He thought of lying, but he had done enough of that already for tonight. "That's how I first found out about you. I found them; in her drawer."

Frank seemed to deflate at his answer, and Adrian couldn't blame him. For a split second, the young boy expected him to be overcome with anger, lash out, yell at him, and kick him out of his house. But he didn't do any of that. Instead, he just let out a broken sigh after awhile. "I suppose that makes sense. My constant absence did cause her terrible trouble and heartache in the last remaining years of our love. I tried to keep in touch after she left, but she clearly didn't want to rekindle our flame. I'm surprised she kept the letters, honestly."

Adrian frowned, remembering just how many laters his mother had stashed away and kept secret for oh so many years. "She seems to still care a lot about you." He softly confessed, raising his head so his saddened eyes could level with Franks'. "Why didn't you at least try to visit us though? To visit me? And be in my life so I could remember you?"

"I wanted to. Believe me, I really, really wanted to." Frank openly admitted, a hand reaching up to scratch at his greying stubble. "But, your mother was hard to contact. And, I knew getting her back would prove to be hopeless in the end when we find ourselves stuck in the same lifestyle she liked to refer to as toxic." His words tasted sour, causing him to take his first sip of tea; only to pull away and look at it with a grimace like he thought it would be an entirely different taste experience.

"She did say you were secretive." Adrian mumbled, not making eye contact. He felt awkward, which was understandable given that it was their first meeting; but I guess the young Martin always hoped he and his father would be the great exception.

"And maybe I was, but it was because I wanted to protect her." Frank mused, nodding most likely to himself as he stared out into space; both veiny hands wrapped around his cup. "That's what you do when you love someone. You face your troubles alone."

Adrian felt his lips tumble down like a crashing wave, his eyes turning solemn. His father was right for the most part, but it still felt wrong agreeing in some ways. Which was why he shrugged. "Maybe that's what upset her. She'd rather you face your troubles with her than without her by keeping her in the dark."

"She couldn't help." Frank was quick to shake off the suggestion, as if his mind refused to even share the idea with his brain. "It's always going to be a solo problem." He exhaled, looking down with his wrinkled face wearing down in a long frown.

Adrian studied his facial expressions. In ways, he understood what his father was meaning; unfortunately for reasons he shouldn't have to understand it with. The supernatural. It's strange how you can relate to a person, despite the reasons being - most likely - completely unrelated.

"What about you?" Frank's voice asking him something fought back his thoughts, the two males now looking at each other. "How are you doing in the love department? Got yourself someone special yet?"

The young boy ran his tongue over his lips at the question, his hands tightening around the cup with a strength forceful enough to crack it. He felt his palms grow hot with heat as they began to feel slick with sweat caused by the anxious and vexatious feeling the question brought. "It's complicated." It was his most silent and short reply yet, but it still spoke so much volume.

"Ah." Frank gave him a nod of complete comprehension, reaching out to pat his son on the shoulder once more. Adrian tensed at the action momentarily, before he calmed and returned to his slumped posture once more. "I understand, son. Your mother and I went through a lot of "it's complicated" stages."

While the sentence was meant to bring comfort, Adrian couldn't help but notice how dread flooded in his stomach when he fully digested the words. His mother and real father weren't together anymore, and it seemed like it wasn't too pleasant of a split either given how hurt Natalie still appeared when speaking of him. So, if they did go through what Adrian himself was currently going through . . . would that mean things would only end the same way? "Oh."

"Who broke up with who?" Frank bluntly grilled, causing his son to give him a look of mild confusion. He shrugged in response. "Your mother was always the one to start the arguments."

"Um, I - I guess it was both of us." Adrian didn't seem confident in his answer, the words slipping off at a slightly higher octave that you would use when unsure; like it was a question rather than a statement.

"What was it about?" Frank took another sip, his eyes showing no source of sympathy for his son's situation just yet. Adrian didn't take it too personally. He just guessed that to be the lack of connection and bonding time between him and his real father kicking in.

The young boy was immediately brought back to Motel California, and all the terrors that had occurred during their horrible stay. Almost nothing went right that night, Stiles and Adrian's co-operation being one of many.

"It's hard to explain to someone." Adrian shrugged, biting his tongue to hold himself back from spilling everything about the supernatural. The redhead was honestly tired of keeping the most difficult part of his life a secret. He wanted to talk about it, vent, shout and scream it all out in frustration; yet he never could. The only time he could talk about it was with Scott and the others, and - most of the time - that almost always ended up with more threats being brought up. So, he normally just remained silent about it. "No one outside of our tight-knit friend group really understands."

Frank Dolorem's laugh caught his son off guard once again, the older man leaning back in his chair as the wrinkles flowing from the side of his eyes became more present with laughter. "Oh, boy, do I know that feeling." He paused, side-eyeing his son slyly. "You weren't bad in the sack though, were you?"

Adrian's body shut down mid-sip, almost forgetting to breathe as he went into a coughing fit; slamming his fist down on his chest to see himself through the struggle. Frank just let out a short giggle, offering no help whilst the redhead calmed himself down enough to speak legible sentences. "Um, we - we never had . . . you know," Adrian trailed off, his skin crawling with humility as he tightened his grip on his cup.

"Oh." Was all Frank gave his son, nodding along as he looked down at his swirling cup of tea. "I see." His eyes then lightened up, nudging Adrian with twinkling eyes to indicate it was a friendly, joking gesture. "Because no son of mine is going to be bad in that department. I'll tell you that right now."

Adrian could only plaster on a miniature smile, nodding as his thoughts hit on a new topic. "What about Seth?" His green eyes caught onto Frank's posture stiffening, causing him to fear he had spoken out of turn. "Will - Will I ever get to meet him?"

"Ah, Natalie told you about him, I see." Frank mumbled, licking his lips after taking a rather long sip. "Did she tell you anything else?" He folded his arms, looking Adrian dead in the eye.

The young teen couldn't help but feel the difference in the gaze, like it was on a whole new level of hidden emotions swirling behind his green pupils. Adrian's body shifted tensely in his seat. "N - No. She just told me that he was a nice kid and was around a lot when I was little."

At his response, Frank loosened up. His wrinkled face twisted up in a tight-lipped smile. "That's nice." His words didn't seem to match his body language as the old Dolorem bent down for another sip of his drink before stopping, turning to the boy beside him with a curious look. "How old are you?"

"Sixteen - nearly seventeen."

"You drink?" Frank wonders, his unkept brows furrowing as he lowers his head like they were discussing something secretively in public.

"Um . . ." Adrian did think of lying, but - once again - remembered he sought to, at the very least, tell the truth once this night. "Yeah, I - I do." His words come out gritted, like a wince, towards the end; fearing the reaction of his real dad. He knew people in his life had their fair share of concerns when they noted the boy's deep dependence on alcohol, so it was never something Adrian felt pride in revealing to new people in his life. Heck, he hardly ever reveals it in general to people.

"Great." The young teen was thrown off guard tremendously when Frank slapped a hand on his shoulder, getting out of his seat with his cup in hand. "Let's go out. I know a good pub not too far from here."

Adrian's face remained lost and puzzled as he watched his dad walked over to his sink and dump the remaining contents of his drink out. "But I won't be able to get in."

"Sure you will. I know the guys that work in the place very well, they're cool. Plus, I'm sure you can pass as eighteen." Frank sized him up and down, shrugging his shoulders plainly as he went to grab his coat.

"Are you sure?" Adrian asked, getting up nonetheless. He knew he didn't really have a choice in the matter, but something in the back of his head told him to stop and think for once.

"Of course I am, son." Frank had never sounded so sure throughout their entire conversation than now, perking up the more his mind seemed to swim around the idea. "Why?" He turned to face the teen finally, giving him a funny look. "You don't fancy a drink with your old man?"

Adrian took his time in answering. He thought about it both ways. He wanted to do it, but he also knew that doing so would mean he would be in a state of vulnerability he preferably - on the rare occasions it occurred - liked to be in by himself.

A few drinks wouldn't hurt, Adrian. His brain told him, pushing the craving. The burning sensation of alcohol ghosted over his tongue, making the inside of his mouth water. Yeah. Just a few drinks.

A few drinks, and then he would go home and sleep. Yeah. That's exactly what he'll do.

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Adrian threw his head back as another shot swam down his throat, the now empty glass slamming down on the pub bar's counter soon after. A pair of hands immediately went to his shoulders, the redhead turning to face Frank Dolorem; who was grinning ear-to-ear. "There weeeeee goooooo! 'Dat's my boyyyy!" They chuckled to themselves, swaying slightly on their barstools as the eldest took another swing of his almost-empty glass of beer. "Man, you sure do know how to take a hit. You put Seth to shame." He chuckled, tipping his head back.

Adrian could only weakly chuckle, his head dipping with the threat of landing on the table with a hard thump if he were to take another drink. His head was aching, but he didn't mind. He welcomed the pain as long as his emotions walked out.

Adrian Martin felt nothing but euphoric in this moment, the pub lights above him looked like one of those beautiful star visuals you would see in movies; and he often found himself giggling like a little school boy at the sight.

"We should do this with him next time." Adrian proposed, leaning over to take a drink from his father's glass whilst he was busy ordering another round of shots for them. "I wanna meet him."

"God no!" Frank released a hoarse chuckle as he slouched further against the bar, his head almost touching the wooden table. "That boy couldn't have fun out in a place like this even if he tried. He was always so uptight, very rule-bound. That was his mother's affect, I can tell you that."

"Where is he now then?" The redhead gulped, his throat burning from all the drinks consumed. Was it going to hurt in the morning? Absofuckinlutely. Did he regret it? Absofuckinlutely not. "Does he liv' with you?" He dragged, his 'v' sounding more life a weak 'f'.

Frank's whole expression seemed to drop at the question, his face shattering before his son's eyes. "Used to, but not anymore." Someone slid a new round of shots their way, Adrian sending them a quick "thank you" whilst his father blanked them and wordlessly reached for one of the glasses.

Adrian frowned in discountenance at the change of mood within his father, his ginger brows furrowing as he turned a bit more in his seat to face the man. "Why?"

Frank shook his head feebly, waving a sloppy hand. "It's a tale for another time, son." Adrian felt guilty for ruining his mood, his lips opening to apologise for any memories he may have reconciled. However, a laugh - Frank's laugh - beat him to it as he downed the first shot of the new batch in one go. "Man, I can't remember being this happy since Natalie."

"I know the feeling." Not wanting to ruin the surrounding atmosphere again, Adrian forced out an agreeable laugh. His face soon twisted as if he bit into a lemon when he took a new glass for himself and swallowed it down his system, making his tummy swirl and throat burn. "Being broken up with sucks."

"You'll feel like that for awhile, son." Frank answers, patting his back whilst his attention remained glued on the glasses in front of them. "Best not to dwell on it."

But Adrian couldn't help it. Even in his drunken state, his mind refused to let go of the one thing he wanted to forget tonight. He was beginning to question why he was so keen on getting a hefty amount of alcohol in his system. Was he missing Stiles enough to drink or was he drinking enough to miss Stiles?

Either way, Adrian Martin's thoughts were completely sober for the Stilinski boy.

"You're thinking about them, aren't you?" Frank's voice echoed around his head, Adrian raising his head up from the table groggily. He didn't even remember resting his head down until he lifted it.

Again, there was no use lying. Adrian's heart was no longer hungry, meaning he had no more lies to feed. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."

"Well, don't." Frank forthrightly ordered, throwing his head back while another drink went down. He slammed the glass on the table, licking his lips to savour the poisonous yet addictive taste. "Control yourself. We men can't let our emotions get the better of us. Because once you let them free, bam!" He claps his hands together loudly, making Adrian jump. "You're falling for them all over again. And once you're falling . . . you're falling alone."

"What if lack of emotion ruined the relationship in the first place?" Adrian hoarsely quizzed, his green orbs piercing into the empty, little glass in front of him.

Frank gave his son a blank stare. "They told you that, didn't they?" He watched as his son froze, then shrugged as an answer with an incoherent mumble. The older man scoffed, substituting his empty drink for a fuller one. "Natalie used to say the same thing."

"I just - something feels wrong." Admittedly, Adrian would have to blame his words of honesty on the alcohol. His sober side would've fought against the words, but he had drunk too many to filter himself. "I don't know what though."

"I can tell you." Frank answered, Adrian's dilated pupils lighting up at the sound as his whole body perked up. The older man slammed his palms flat on the table, looking at the teen with a Cheshire Cat-like smirk. "You haven't gotten enough of the hard stuff down ya. I think we need to go stronger."

At that moment, Adrian's stomach churned in warning. The redhead's body wouldn't be able to handle much more, but Adrian didn't want to stop. He wanted more, because he hoped that with every glass he downed . . . the longer he would be able to detach his mind from reality.

"Bring it on."

❚ ❚ ❚

Stiles let out a heavy breath as he ran his fingers through his longer brown locks, thankful for its growth. Ramming his hands through nothing but a buzzed head would've given him nothing to grip onto as he sighed out words of both stressed and angered thoughts.

He sat by his desk, drooped in his chair as he stared into nothingness with everything weighing heavily on his mind.

He had changed his shirt since walking into the house, feeling the strange need to get the item off of his body as soon as possible. It lay crumpled in one of his many drawers, where it would remain out of sight for as long as Stiles could help it. He didn't want to see it, he didn't want to wear it. Not when all the article of clothing gave him was memories of the boy who had left him alone, standing on his doorstep with nothing but an empty driveway to comfort him whilst his heart breaks.

Stiles wanted to feel anger towards Adrian, to start cussing him out like he would normally do to everyone that stirred a reaction from him - which was admittedly a lot of people. He wanted to feel perfectly fine, maybe a little hurt as that was expected . . . but he never wanted to feel like this; especially when he didn't know if the person on the other end was going through the same torment.

Stiles would be damned if he said he didn't feel incredibly hurt from the situation, and did want to be held in this moment of time. Yet, the only person who he wanted his arms around . . . was the one who rejected them in the first place.

Scott had hectically picked up his phone call, Stiles noticing a fair amount of loud background noise coming through on the other end of the line. His best friend told him the hospital was a full house tonight, the victims of a ten-car pile-up were receiving minimal help due to the ER attending not answering their pages: meaning no one could get ahold of them.

Not wanting to stress the werewolf out even more, Stiles told the busy teen to call him back if anything happens and he would be right over. It sounded terrible, but Stiles was kind of hoping that something would happen tonight; just so his mind would be forced to focus on that rather than what Adrian Martin would be doing right now.

The Stilinski boy wasn't stupid, he knew his boyfr - well, ex-boyfriend well enough and he could sense when something was off with him from the get-go. He was obviously bothered by something when he arrived. But What? Stiles may never know.

"Son," a short knock tapped against his bedroom door before it swung open, revealing Noah Stilinski still in his work uniform. He looked tired, overworked; but so did everyone these days. Beacon Hills was a very tiresome town. "do you want to just order takeout for dinner?"

"Mhm." Stiles shortly hummed back in reply, his head resting on his arms as his hazel-eyes locked on his phone; fingers itching to press the home button and see if any new messages had came in. He knew there was none - he would've heard it - but he had nothing better to do at this point with his whole body feeling ten pounds heavier.

Noah instantly sensed a difference in his boy, causing him to lean a bit more into the doorframe as he asked. "You okay?"

"Adrian and I broke up." Stiles didn't fancy playing the lying "I'm fine" game tonight, because he knew his dad wouldn't believe it. It would all lead to the same thing, admitting total heartbreak.

His dad was silent for a few beats before he murmured something unintelligible - most likely to himself - and walked over to his son. He set his hands on the young boy's shoulders, immediately noticing how tense they were as he rubbed them. "What happened?" Was all he asked as he comforted the boy.

Stiles was glad his dad didn't give him the expectable "I'm sorry" because that wasn't something he wanted to hear. To be honest, the only person he wanted to hear those two words from was from a person who has hardly ever said those words in his entire life. "We got into a fight. I went over to his place to try and talk things over, but it just escalated, I guess." Stiles' voice was hoarse as he kept his gaze on the phone as if it were a face, zoning out and placing himself back to the front of the Martin household where he was left and discarded like he meant nothing. "I - I told him I loved him, Dad. He didn't say anything back."

Noah didn't have to look at his boy to know the exact expression painted on his face, the visual making him close his eyes for a short moment as he exhaled quietly. "He loves you, son." He told him with full honesty, rubbing his back whilst slowly nodding.

"No, he doesn't." Stiles denied, stuffing his hands into his chocolate-brown locks. "You didn't see the look in his eyes."

"That was most likely fear, son." When the young Stilinski froze at the words, Noah further elaborated. "Not for you though, but for what you make him feel."

"That doesn't make any sense." Stiles shook his head, not even trying to understand or entertain the thought.

"Yes it does. Listen, love is a powerful thing - but it can also be quite scary." The sheriff nodded through his wise words, hands still planted on his son's broad shoulders. "You're both scared, just in different ways."

"How? How is he scared?" Stiles exclaimed, his hands now moved on from his hair to his face. "I thought we were doing good. I just - You get these doubts once in awhile."

Noah hummed in reply. "We assume others show love the same way we do - and if they don't, we worry it's not there." He told the boy, noticing how Stiles went rigid again as he sighed. "Look, I may not know the full workings of your relationships, but I do know this. That boy does love you, Stiles . . . he's just afraid to admit it to himself just now."

"I don't want him to be afraid though, Dad. I can't do that to him or myself." Stiles sighed, the weight of his relationship feeling heavy on his shoulders. His eyes grew heavy, causing him to close them solemnly for his next words. "Maybe it just wasn't meant to work out."

Noah could only give his son a sad smile, giving him a good, comforting pat on the shoulder. "You'll work it out. You both will."

Stiles didn't reply, his silence being enough for his father to understand and walk away to leave him in peace. As soon as the young Stilinski heard his bedroom door gently close, his head went back to being shoved in his hands. Only this time . . . Stiles could feel and taste the slick, wet, salty tears that leaked from his face and now soaked his palms.

How long the young teen cried for could not be determined. Stiles Stilinski had no grasp over the concept of time until his phone rang, showing him the digits of the late, nightly hours.

Even through his tears, Stiles could make out Scott's name and picture displayed on his screen. He quickly reached for it, making sure to wipe his eyes and clear his throat before accepting the call. "Hey, Scott. What's up?" His voice still sounded hoarse and emotional, but Stiles hoped his best friend would write it off.

And, thankfully, Scott did. Unfortunately, it was because they had far bigger problems on their hands.

"I need you and your dad at the hospital. Now."

❚ ❚ ❚

Adrian made yet another horrific sound as he spewed out all the drinks he now regretted consuming, his body fully submitting to the toilet in the dirty, manky pub bathroom he had practically scrambled to.

Frank was nowhere to be seen. After reuniting with a couple of peers who offered the old man a freshly lit cigarette, it was clear to Adrian it was an offer his father couldn't refuse. The old Dolorem had invited the young teen to tag along but, by that time, the drinks had already made good progress in coming back up.

So now, here he lay broken, limp, sick, and still completely and undeniably heartbroken . . . not that he would ever admit that, of course.

Adrian thanked his lucky stars that no one had interrupted his puking session and left him alone. Well, at least he thought he was alone for a good amount of time.

"Funny. I thought Adrian Martin was good at keeping down his alcohol."

What came as a reply was another round of drinks splurging back up, the young teen letting out a deep breath as he closed his eyes whilst staying slumped against the toilet seat. He knew he definitely wasn't a pleasant sight to be looking at, but he didn't care. After all, who was here wasn't really there. "Get out of my head, man."

Toby Valack hummed in reply, tilting his head as if a thought had just came to him. "I would, if I was in your head that is." The blonde watched the redhead blank him completely, causing a heavy sigh to escape his slim chest. "You still don't believe I'm real, do you?"

"You died that night, Toby. I - I watched your body get buried six feet under." Adrian slowly croaked out, blinking rapidly to stop his tears whilst seeking control on his voice. You won't break. You can't. "You're gone. You're dead."

"Well, you're not wrong there." Toby agreed, his accented voice sounding detached for a split moment before it went back to normal; snapping back into focus. "But not everyone seems to stay completely dead in Beacon Hills, Adrian. Surely you would know that."

"Why do you think I'm in a pub?" Adrian snapped, his tight posture loosening as he exhaled hopelessly. "Whatever. No point arguing with someone who isn't even here."

"You can believe what you want to believe, Adrian, but I am here." The Valack boy told him, his arms crossed as he leaned against the bathroom stall casually. "I'm here to protect you."

"Done quite a shit job then, haven't you?" A weak, forced chuckle escaped the redhead as he pushed himself off of the toilet, a hand still resting on the rim of the seat as he leaned his head back to rest on the stall wall.

"To be fair, you haven't been the easiest of clients." Toby retaliated, a light giggle soon echoing through the bathroom. The familiar noise made Adrian close his eyes; his face twitching in a sign of pain. It's funny how things with joyful intent can affect someone completely different when placed in a different circumstance.

"Why even try then?" Adrian honestly asked, the genuine question causing his friend to look at him with those same doe-like eyes of innocence that made the Martin boy feel sick to his stomach, because his green eyes could give nothing but sins and apologies back. "Why waste your time protecting someone who didn't even try to protect you in the first place?"

Toby appeared taken back by the boy's openness with him, a frown etched onto his face as he looked away from him to think. "To be honest, I don't really have a complete answer for you there." He looks back to his friend, a small smile that could be verging on a smirk now tugging at the corners of his pink lips. "I just can't seem to get rid of you, Adrian. Couldn't get you out of my life even if I tried."

"You should've tried." Adrian croaked out directly, his sight blurry with a wave of salty tears gathering in his eyes ready to be leaked out. He sniffled. "I was horrible to you, Toby. I didn't deserve any kindness you threw my way. And . . there's not a day that goes by where I don't think of what could've been had I just stopped to listen to you. You needed me . . . and I just ignored you." Adrian was now the one to look distant as he stared at the open space around them, his mind creating all the visuals needed as he whispered. "What kind of friend even does that?"

Silence hung between them like a thick veil, the two boys recalling all their nights spent before two became one; and life completely screwed them over. Toby pursed his lips, being the first to speak after a minute or so passed. "You were busy with Stiles and everything else. I get it." He mumbled, Adrian catching the boy's knuckles turning a snowy white as he gripped at his shirt sleeve. "Besides, now that I think about it, I don't think there was anything you could've done." He let his words hang there for a moment, taking a deep breath in and out through his nostrils before speaking again. "This most likely would've been my fate one way or another."

"No." Adrian had never been more quick to deny something as he wagged his head, gaining the attention of the blonde. "No, I should've listened. I should've been there for you." He leaned back against the wall, sighing with tremendous disappointment that he only felt for himself. "And when I tried to bring you back, I couldn't even do that. A Necromancer who can't even bring back the dead. How ridiculous is that?"

"In ways, you did succeed." Toby admitted, the redhead looking back up at a whiplash-threatening pace. "Had you not opened the door, Adrian, you wouldn't be able to see and speak with me now."

The Martin could feel his neck ache from his quick reflex, not that he cared in that moment, of course. He had already messed up his body enough tonight that not even being set on fire would faze him. "Really?"

When Toby Valack caught sight of the glimmer of hope that danced within the forest green eyes of the teenager, he gave him a stern look. A look he normally gave the boy when scolding him. "But that doesn't mean you should've opened the door in the first place. That was beyond dangerous, Adrian. You could've died."

"Would've been worth it if it meant you got to live." Adrian slurred, both boys gazing at each other with such intensity that they almost forgot they were presently having this conversation in a dirty bathroom stall in the pub. "I would choose you over me any day, Toby. Always."

Toby's breath reached Adrian's ears, the redhead noting that it was quivering as the boy's eyes faded to an emotion he was too oblivious to understand. "Don't say that, Adrian." He came closer, crouching directly opposite him now as his hands reached out to hold the boy's shoulders. Adrian shivered at the touch, closing his eyes at how real it all felt. Toby seemed to notice, but he didn't remove his hands. "You don't understand Necromancy entirely yet, Adrian. It's so much more complicated than you think."

"Well, considering I almost died doing it - "

"No, not just that." Shaking his head, Toby's hands moved up until they lightly rested at the beginning of Adrian's neck; as if he needed the boy to be looking directly into his dark-brown eyes to see just how much his irises swirled with worry and seriousness for him. "Adrian, death is a complicated thing in itself. You possess a power that creates a great imbalance to the world. With a power like yours . . . you're very valuable, Adrian."

The Martin boy frowned in complete confusion, eyebrows furrowing. "What do you mean?"

"If a Necromancer is powerful enough to succeed in bringing back the dead, the subject chosen never comes back the same person. They're completely controlled; like a slave in many ways." Toby told him, his gain of knowledge on his supernatural species shocking the boy he was currently holding. "Adrian, you cannot just raise someone from the dead . . . you can control them too."

"So . . . if I did succeed in bringing you back," the redhead trailed off, treading carefully with his words in hopes it gave his mind enough time to catch up to all the information he was learning in such a short space of time. He starting to wish he was just a tiny bit more sober now for this conversation.

"You would have complete control over me." Toby finished for him, nodding as he delicately breathed out. "Plus, the dead need to stay dead. Necromancer's would expose too much of the supernatural to the oblivious part of the world. There's a reason your kind is so rare." The blonde then smiled sadly at him. "So, at the end of the day, I'd just go right back to the grave."

"Please don't say that word." Adrian hurriedly begged, his fingers curling until he felt his nails harshly digging into his palms as he shook his head. "I don't want to think about you in . . . that . . . not when I know it's my fault." He looked down. He had to. The boy couldn't look into the his best friend's eyes for any longer. Because every time he did, it felt like being stabbed.

But, for that reason, Adrian felt like he had to look. Like he owed it to his dear friend to feel a pain similar to what he felt the day he lost his life. He just wanted his pain to sink in as deep as the Valack boy's fatal wounds.

"Hey," hands suddenly touching his cheeks took him greatly by surprise, his head being raised and held up tightly so it was eye-to-eye with Toby Valack's. They were very close, their foreheads skimming each other's a few times as they could hear their breaths beginning to sync. "What happened wasn't your fault. It never was." Tears now began to gather in Toby's eyes, the boy not even trying to fight them back as they created wet streaks on his pale skin. "Please don't blame yourself."

"Why can't I just forget you?" Adrian mumbled, hurt lining every word as he sniffled; both of them beginning to have tear-stained cheeks now. "I'll never be able to look at your face again without seeing you in that open casket. You're not even real."

Toby didn't fight his words this time, instead just giving him a choked up smile that hurt both of them to give and receive. "Some things mean too much to people to be forgotten."

"You don't get it. Pain makes people change." Adrian painfully cried, going to look down when he broke; but Toby kept his head held high so they were still at eye level. "And, if I didn't like who I was before . . . what type of monster am I becoming now?"

"You're not a monster." Toby assured, shaking his head with a deep sniffle as he held onto the boy's face with urgency and a great need to just hold him tight and never let go. "You're just Adrian."

"What's the difference?"

"A monster is something that people fear. And, Adrian, nobody fears you." When the young Valack saw doubt and uncertainty cloud his best friend's eyes, he spoke again. "Trust me, I know what defines a monster, Adrian. You're far from it."

"How can you know? You're just a subconscious part of my brain that's trying to convince me." Adrian fought, his hands reaching up to grip the wrists of the blonde boy in order to free himself from his hold. Toby wouldn't let go, making the redhead connect eyes once more. "I know what the real Toby would think of me now. And I don't blame him for thinking those things, because he's dead, he's buried in that coffin, lifeless, six feet under because of me. So why would he still care enough to protect me after everything I've done? Why care so much for me when - "

A pair of soft, feathery lips caught his own, his remaining words being caught with it. A sound of mushed surprise escaped him, the sound creating a gentle vibration between the two connected lips.

The kiss was unlike anything he had ever encountered. It felt like kissing the clouds with the way Toby would skim his lips smoothly across his. Frozen was all Adrian could be as his eyes initially shut from shock at the very sudden, unexpected action, only to open up again to see that what was happening was really happening. It was all real.

Toby Valack, his best friend, was kissing him.

The kiss was soon broken by the blonde who initiated it, his breathing fanning the redhead's face like a gentle wind as he laid his forehead on his; a peaceful smile gracing his kissed lips. "When are going to get it through your dumb little head?" He released one of those ill, halfway-to-tears chuckles; his brown eyes opening to reveal it was coated with a glossy look of tears ready to be wept. "I'll always care for you, Adrian. From beginning to end."

"Toby . . ." Adrian was rarely ever lost for words, but this felt like he would need an entire dictionary to get his speech back as his mind ran circles around him.

"You don't have to say it. I know." Toby mumbled as his soft hands slowly dragged down until they were no longer holding the young boy's face, going back down to his lap. "You love Stiles. I always knew you did, I just -" his words trailed off as did the volume in his voice, his next words barely audible. "I just hoped that maybe one day you'd look at me . . . like you look at him."

"I - I don't understand." Adrian whispered, that being all he could manage as he spoke through his pursed lips caused by the kiss from the shying boy. "You - You seemed happy for me when I got with Stiles. Why . . . Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I knew nothing would change. It's just what you do for people you care about. You become so stupidly selfless that you pretend it doesn't hurt." Toby brokenly admitted, his hands beginning to shake.

"I - I don't want to hurt you, Toby. I still don't, but," Adrian bit his lip. He couldn't say it. He didn't have the heart to. Instead, he only sighed. "You wouldn't want to be with me anyways. I'm too fucked up to love, Toby. I lost Stiles . . . I lost him for good."

Silence came in the form of a heavy river one would drown in, both suffocating equally as they are completely submerged. It took a little while longer until someone parted the tide for them. "You have to be willing to lose in these things - in love - in life - in everything you'll ever do." Adrian looked up when he heard the words, his body feeling heavy as he gripped the toilet seat tighter. "But that doesn't mean you can't win once again. One loss doesn't define you, Adrian."

Adrian surprisingly managed to chuckle, hoarseness flowing through his drained voice. "You make it sound like it's some stupid lacrosse game."

Toby hummed a laugh at the thought, shrugging limply. "Maybe - in the oddest of ways - it is. Love is kind of like a game, after all. You win some, you lose some." His brown eyes find his friend's green ones, that same glimmer of encouragement still reigning strong within them. "It just depends on how many times you try, how many times you take the risk and play."

"Geez, I thought you didn't like lacrosse." Adrian laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls as he could feel his body grow heavy; as well as his eyes.

Toby mirrored the laugh, his one a lot more angelic and light-hearted. "I still showed up to every one of your games though, didn't I?"

"Yeah," Adrian softly spoke, giving the boy a smile just as soft as his voice. "you always did. Never properly thanked you for that. It really meant a lot to me."

The comment caused a pink hue to appear over the young Valack's face, the boy shyly looking to the dirty ground. "It did?"

"Obviously. You were there before I started to actually get good at the sport." Adrian slipped in another sly laugh, feeling himself becoming more drowsy; his words getting harder to pronounce without slurring them all together.

Toby couldn't help but giggle at the memories. "Remember that time you gave Coach Finstock a black eye because you threw a ball and it hit him directly in the face?" The two boys bursted out laughing loudly at the fond memory, recalling the big bruise on the teacher's face and the look of fear plastered on both their childish. "You did kind of suck. Not gonna lie."

"Yeah, I know. T - Thanks, Toby." Adrian whispered as he felt his eyes grow drowsy, opening and closing when he didn't even remember doing so. He was falling asleep, his body suddenly catching up with his large consumption of alcohol. He was going to black out. "I'm really sorry . . . for everything."

"Shut up. Don't do that to yourself." The mood suddenly changed from softly joking with one another, to a serious one still handled with a gentle undertone. The The Valack boy quietly shushed him, running a nimble hand through the red locks of his friend as he gave him a worried look that he hoped to hide within a friendly smile. "You're so exhausted, Adrian. I think it's time you head out of this place."

"Yeah, I know. I'm," a loud yawn interrupted the redhead's speech, his words gaining a new, sleepy slur. "I'm just going to rest my eyes here for a bit though."

Toby immediately rushed out protests, but Adrian was already halfway out of it as his head slumped to the side until his cheek found a comfortable enough place to rest on his shoulder. A part of Adrian wanted to find the strength to get up and leave the building, knowing it would be better for him in the long run. "Adrian -"

"You're still going to come back, right?" Adrian groggily asked as his body slowly began to shut down, fighting with all it had to say what the redhead felt needed to be said. "I - I don't want you to hate me, Toby. You're my best friend . . . I can't loose you too."

Toby Valack's hands stilled from where they laid on the young boy's chest after trying to shake him awake, his attempts hopeless in the grand scheme of things. Pulling away, the blondes fingers curled into his palms; fighting back the itch he felt to hold onto the redhead as he slowly slipped into the world of unconsciousness.

It seemed as if Adrian's body would remain restless until it got a satisfactory response, so the young Valack felt hurried as he let his lips move before his mind ever could. "I'm not going anywhere, Adrian. We're stuck with one another for good now. 'Gotta protect each other like we did when we were kids."

Adrian gave a subtle smirk at the thought, his teeth poking out through his lips as he indolently nodded. "Kids, huh? I like that idea." He agreed, his stomach no longer feeling as tight with the knowledge that the boy right in front of him held no bad feelings towards him. And - for Adrian - that's all he could hold onto for right now. "Goodnight, Toby."

The teenage blonde managed half a smile that - unbeknownst to the sleeping redhead - was managed at the expense of great pain. "Goodnight, Adrian."

And, as Toby continued to run his frail hands through his now sleeping best friend's red, fiery hair, he realised that their story was nothing short of a tragedy; and he had damned himself by being so foolish as to fall in love with someone that death can touch but never properly grasp.

A U T H O R. N O T E
me coming back, writing this shit and doing the bare minimum after not updating for months only to most likely leave for another few months:

lol i'm kidding . . . or am i???
i'll be like pennywise. i'll come and annoy you all in the next twenty-seven years xox

all jokes aside, sorry for the long wait. the chapters are getting increasingly longer and longer, so it's taking me more time.
i hope you all don't mind these long chapters, i can't help myself sometimes.

thank you all for your support, it means the world to me xxx
remember to stay safe, my lovelies, and follow covid guidelines :)

thank you for reading!
love you all!

GIF MADE BY ME !
━ R O S C O E O B R I E N
( 10k words )