Chapter Text
“Mom go away.” Scott mumbled underneath the covers when he heard the knock on his door.
“Not your mom dude and we’re coming in anyway.” Stiles, Scott’s best friend, said from the other side and barged in.
“We?” When he lifted his head he was already surrounded by eight different people in his shoebox of a bedroom, “What…why are you guys here?”
“This…this is an intervention Scotty.” Stiles slid the computer chair towards the bed and sat on it.
“I don’t need an intervention.”
“Au contraire you do.” This was Lydia. The strawberry blonde sat on the bed by his head and took the covers off of his head. Scott pulled them back then yelped when they were ripped off of him exposing his boxer and t-shirt clad body to them all.
“Guys! Leave me alone.” Scott crossed his arms and pouted. He was being petulant he knew this. He also didn’t care.
“Scott…it’s been a month. A month! You’re not allowed to be depressed anymore.” Isaac piped up.
“There’s no time limit on heartbreak Isaac.” Scott pointed out.
“There is when you’ve done literally nothing but mope.” Allison stated.
“Not true. What about all those new songs I wrote?”
“About sadness…and abysses and other dark, dark things.” Stiles said, “A girl at our show last week cried Scott. Bawled…full on wept.”
“Aren’t songs supposed to get people emotional?” Scott asked him.
“She said it felt like we wrapped her heart in a cocoon of sadness. We’re cocooning hearts in grief Scott. This has to end.”
“Preferably now…before the show tonight.” Lydia said.
Scott McCall was the lead guitarist and vocalist in a pop/punk band they had aptly named The Pack. It had started as a two man band called ScottnStiles, with Scott on acoustic guitar and Stiles on acoustic drum box, for the Beacon Hills High talent show freshman year (which they had won). Then they met Erica Reyes, a shy loner, who was a kickass piano player and later Cora Hale as the bassist. Lydia had become their manager and booked them in small clubs where they actually got paid. Allison, her girlfriend, liked to call herself the muscle which wasn’t all that far off since her Dad had taught her how to break a human arm in five different places. She mostly helped them move equipment and provided moral support. Boyd and Isaac (who were in some type of triad with each other and Erica which no one questioned) went to their shows and danced in the middle until everyone joined them.
They mostly played upbeat, dance tunes with the occasional ballad. That was unless Scott was in the off phase in the on again off again rollercoaster he called a relationship with Jackson Whitmore. Then it was mostly sad ballads with abstract metaphors about how much love hurt. This was the phase they’d been in for the past month after Jackson had dumped Scott…again…on his birthday.
“What do you guys expect me to do?” Scott mumbled.
“Snap out of it!” Cora went to him and shook him by the shoulders.
“Babe…not helping.” Stiles went forward and pried his girlfriend off of his best friend.
Scott was about to say something else when Allison squealed…loudly.
“Ali…sweetheart…I’m right here.” Lydia said and massaged her right ear.
“Sorry.” The brunette kissed her cheek, “but I just got a text that Triskelion is performing…tonight.”
Scott popped up. Triskelion was a local, underground punk band that performed secret shows (always masked) around L.A. and released E.P.s via tumblr. They were also Scott’s favorite band.
“Seriously? Last time we saw them was that summer two years ago remember?” Scott asked.
“The one where they all wore Flynn Rider masks. That was awesome.” Boyd said.
“Come on Scotty. What do you say?” Stiles asked.
“Get me an hour.”
A collective cheer echoed in the room.
“Wait…I can’t go.” Cora announced.
“What…why?!” Stiles exclaimed.
She sighed, “Derek is in town.”
“Grumps McGee? For what?”
She pointed a finger at her boyfriend, “Don’t let him hear you call him that. He’s in town for like two weeks. He broke up with another one of his girlfriends…or was it boyfriend this time? Whatever…point is Laura is out of town so she can’t keep him company so I have to.”
Derek Hale, Cora’s older brother, had left Beacon Hills for Los Angeles right after high school to become a famous musician. Now he worked as a bartender and popped up in Beacon Hills every so often.
“Just bring him along.” Boyd suggested.
“Oh no…if you thought Scott was depressing…adding Derek to the mix would be like creating a vortex of sadness that no one needs to be subjected to.” Cora said.
“Hey! I’m still here.” Scott protested.
“It’s either that…or you don’t come…and you have to come.” Stiles said and held her by the waist for emphasis.
She rolled her eyes, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”