Chapter Text
“You all packed yet?”
Specs jumps at the sound of Tucker’s voice. He’s dragged back into reality, into his bedroom. Tucker is in the doorway, with a hot pocket in his hand. Right. Specs was supposed to be packing, not staring off into space with his thoughts.
“Er- no.” Specs replies, looking over at Tucker.
The room is a goddamn mess, and Specs is all too aware of it. Clothes are strewn about, books are left open on his dresser. His suitcases, at least two, are both open and laying on the floor, one lid wide open. And here he is, sitting on his bed with nothing packed.
“Do you need my help?” Tucker offers, and Specs mulls over it. On one hand, he’s fairly confident he can do it on his own. But on the other hand, it would be nice to get some help. So he accepts his associate’s offer. Tucker steps into the room, and looks at the floor. He’s stepped on a pile of Specs’ laundry.
“Dude. Are you sure you’re handling things well?” He asks, looking at him. Specs wants to lie, he wants to tell Tucker he’s fine and it’ll blow over soon. But, something inside him won’t let him. A voice inside his head is telling him to tell Tucker what’s going on. So, he relents.
“No.” He’s not able to get the word out before a tear manages to slip from his eye.
Tucker’s across the room in a flash, arms squeezed around him in a bear hug. He feels the air being knocked from his lungs, and he doesn’t try to complain. He feels himself melt into Tucker’s touch. He’s not sure how long the hug lasts, but he feels a little bit sad when Tucker pulls away.
“Just tell me what you want to pack and I’ll do it.” He says while taking a bite from his hot pocket, and Specs lets a sigh loose. He hates this, he feels so helpless. Elise told him it was okay to feel like this, but he still doesn’t think he should be feeling this shitty.
“Guess we should start with clothes,” Specs shrugs, and the two waste no time picking shirts for Specs to wear on his trip. Specs also packs the only suit he has, even though he feels if he pretends it didn’t happen, he wouldn’t have to.
They make quick work of packing clothes, and they move on to packing general stuff. They finish faster than expected, and Specs feels guilty about just laying in bed.
“When’s your flight again?” Tucker asks through a mouthful of hot pocket. He sits on Specs’ bed, and looks over at him expectantly. Specs can feel Tucker’s eyes boring into the back of his head, watching him.
Specs is staring at himself in the mirror, and he realizes just how shitty he looks. He has dark circles around his eyes, and bags to match. His eyes are puffy, accented with how red they are. His hair is unkempt, and his glasses are smudged. “Jesus, Steven. You’re a royal disaster.” the voice in his head says, and he has to agree.
“It’s in the morning.” Specs replies, flatly. Though saying it out loud kind of lets the situation feel a little too real. And he hates that more than anything.
Silence. The only sound he can hear beyond his own breathing is Tucker’s chewing.
A low hum sounds from Tucker's throat.
"And you're ready for it?"
Specs knows Tucker is just concerned about him, but part of him feels antsy. He doesn't exactly enjoy being questioned.
He takes a deep breath and spins on his heel to face the other man.
"I think so." He says, voice shaking. Tucker gets up, shoving the remainder of his snack into his mouth. He comes over and hugs Specs tight.
They stay in the embrace for a long time. Specs buries his face into Tucker's shoulder, struggling to keep his tears inside. Tucker, almost sensing something, lifts Specs’ head by his chin. He slowly but gently takes off Specs’ glasses, sliding them into his own shirt’s collar. Then, he lets Specs’ head rest in the crook of his neck.
Specs fails to keep it in. He ends up spilling, tears slipping out and stinging his cheeks. He tries to muffle his cries, pressing his face harder into Tucker’s shoulder. He can feel Tucker’s hands begin to rub circles between his shoulder blades. Tucker’s fingers find their way into Specs’ hair, and he just sobs.
He isn’t sure how long he stands there, crying. But Tucker holds him through it all.
Tucker eventually pulls away and claps Specs on the back. "Get some rest. You'll need it." He says, cleaning Specs’ glasses and gently placing them back atop his nose.
He walks out of the room, and Specs can feel the days of restless sleep catching up to him. He really realizes how exhausted he actually is. Stifling a yawn, he just barely manages to get himself into his pajamas before he crawls into bed. He’s asleep before his head hits his pillow.
* * *
"Take care of yourself, Steven. I know it's going to be difficult, but you don't want to make yourself feel worse."
Elise is helping him take his luggage out to the van, and the air is crisp. The sun is barely visible in the horizon, and the sky is painted with orange and red.
"I will." Specs says as he lifts his suitcase into the trunk. Tucker is in the driver's seat, watching. Specs feels something stir inside him. “We'll hold down the fort while you're gone.” Tucker adds, encouragingly.
Specs and Elise get his suitcases squared away in the trunk (Specs double checks to make sure they’re closed), and Specs crawls into the front with Tucker. He sets his backpack down at his feet, and rests his head on the windowsill.
The drive to the airport is quiet, and Specs just stares out the window. He's exhausted, to say the least. Maybe he can nap on the plane. At some point, Tucker switches on the radio, and he begins singing along to whatever’s come on. Elise chuckles to herself in the back.
When they arrive at the airport, Specs crawls out from the front and pops the trunk. As he's retrieving his suitcases, he feels arms snake around him from behind and squeeze. And then another pair. He finds himself unable to resist, and he leans into their touch.
"Don't forget to call us." Elise says, and Specs can feel her fingers running through his hair.
"Tell your brother I said hi." Tucker adds, patting Specs on the back as best as he can.
He lets them hold him for a while. He has to admit, it's very nice. He wishes he could stay here like this forever, but he has a plane to catch.
They pull away, and he hugs Elise again. "I will." He says, not wanting to let go.
He tears away from her, and she reaches up to wipe a tear from his eye. He hadn't realized that it had slipped out. She gives him a small smile, and he returns it.
He grabs his suitcases and backpack, and heads off into the airport.
He stops and gets some food before he heads to the gate, since he has some extra time to kill. It's not really anything major, just a quick meal from a food court restaurant. But it's still food in his stomach. He really needed to eat something, anyway.
Boarding the plane and getting to his seat doesn't take long, and soon enough, it's time for takeoff. He watches out the window, feeling a sense of sadness stir in his stomach.
He spends the flight napping (it's very refreshing after he’d tossed and turned all last night), watching a movie and reading. It calms his nerves, and he almost forgets why he's flying out to his hometown.
The plane touches down, and he hops off. He grabs his luggage, and heads out into the early morning. He's still drowsy, and he can't seem to blink away his sleepiness. The air is still, and the breeze plays with his hair.
His phone buzzes, and he pauses to answer it.
It's a text from Tucker, asking if he touched down okay. Specs replies that he's landed safely, and on his way to his brother's place. Slipping his phone into his back pocket, he hails a cab.
* * *
The cab pulls up to the familiar apartment complex, and Specs is quick to pay the driver. He speeds away, leaving Specs and his suitcases outside. He hauls them inside, dragging them up the stairwell. He gets a strange look from a random man, but ultimately ignores him. He doesn’t care enough for it.
He reaches the right floor, and inhales deeply. He almost wants to leave, check into a hotel. Maybe if he ran and hid in a hotel, it would all cease to be reality. He could spend this trip by the pool or something. But, guilt immediately washes over him. He can’t do that. He has to face this.
So, he heads down the hall.
Specs reaches his brother's door, and knocks. There's no response. Specs adjusts his glasses and tries again. Still, no response. He's starting to wonder if David is even home when the door flies open and he's stumbling backwards. David's arms are wrapped around him and his face is buried into Specs' neck.
"Steven! God, I missed you!" David chokes out, and Specs realizes that his brother has been crying. "Good to see you too, big brother." Specs says.
They stand in the hall, wrapped in each other's arms for an indeterminate amount of time. David pulls away, and Specs finally gets a good look at his brother.
David looks like shit.
He looks like he hasn't slept in years. His eyes are dull, and his shirt is dirty. His hair seems to be matting, and it's very messy. There’s faint marks of tears on his cheeks. Somehow, he looks even worse than Specs. It’s clear David’s barely been taking care of himself.
"Jesus, Dave. You look like shit." Specs breathes, vocalizing his thoughts before he can stop them. David lets out a soft chuckle. "I know." He says, a pained smile playing across his lips.
Specs feels his heart constrict. He knows they're both taking this hard, but David's clearly taking it worse. If he’d known sooner, he wouldn’t have waited to fly back home. He feels horrible.
David thumps Specs on the back, and turns on his heel to head into the apartment. Specs follows him, and closes the door behind him.
Inside David’s apartment, he can see a few piles of cardboard boxes stacked on top of each other. Some are wide open, and some have been taped shut. He notices that all of them have hastily scribbled words on them.
There's a few containers of takeout scattered across David's apartment. There's a pile of dishes filling the sink, and trash hastily stuffed into the bin. There's a few boxes of Chinese food as well.
“Sorry it’s a mess, man. I’ve been cleaning out his apartment and…” David’s voice shakes as he trails off. Specs can hear him sniffle. But, David takes a deep breath and composes himself.
“Do you need any help?” Specs finds himself offering, before his brain has time to catch up with his mouth. He’s not sure if he’s actually ready for that, but he figures it would probably help him somehow.
David looks surprised as well, but he shrugs. “Only if you want to.” He says, and Specs thinks about it. Two pairs of hands make swift work, after all. Plus, it might help with closure. Specs can’t remember the last time he was at Adam’s apartment.
"Tomorrow?" David asks, looking at Specs with a look that asks - no, begs - him for help. Specs feels a pang of sadness in his heart.
"Tomorrow." Specs nods, smiling.
Then, he turns to face David's sink, and his eyes comb over the empty Chinese cartons scattered across the counter. He runs a finger across the edge of a plate.
"David?" He asks, looking over his shoulder. David's flopped down on his couch, cigarette in his mouth. "Mm?" He vocalizes, fumbling with his lighter.
"When was the last time you did the dishes?"
David pauses, eyes wide. He looks like a dog caught doing something it wasn't supposed to.
"Um. A while ago?" He offers with a sheepish grin, and Specs sighs, fingers to his temple. He’s silent as he studies the dishes. They look dry, and the food looks to be crusted on. Specs finds his nose crinkling at the thought. He sighs and begins gathering the containers, and he can see David’s eyes widen.
“Steven, y’don’t have t-”
A low rumble interrupts David, and he looks down at his stomach, his ears reddening.
“Hungry?” Specs asks, and David nods.
“If you want to order out, that Chinese place down the street knows me very well right now.” David offers, but Specs shrugs him off. Instead, he opens David’s fridge. “Steven?” David asks, cautious. Specs shakes his head. “How long has it been since you cooked something, Dave?”
“You don’t have to, man.” David repeats, but Specs won’t let it go. He lowers himself to his knee, and goes through David’s fridge.
“No big deal. I don’t mind cooking.” Specs says, grabbing a couple things.
“Are you sure? I could order us pizza or something.” David says, pulling out his phone.
Specs freezes, and he ponders it for a moment.
He and Tucker do the same thing. They argue over who wants to cook that night, and then they end up ordering takeout. It’s even worse when they’re in their college dorm, or around finals. That’s when their dorm really becomes messy. They always play hunter, ninja, bear to decide who cleans up the dorm that week. It’s usually Tucker, because his moves are always predictable.
“Y’know. Chinese does sound good, but only if you agree that I’m allowed to cook here and there.” Specs says, returning everything but a can of soda. David laughs, and Specs can’t help but smile. He’s missed that sound more than he’d ever admit.
“You drive a hard bargain, baby brother.” David chuckles, voice non-serious.
They order Chinese, and huddle up on David’s couch together, watching some random game show that had come on. Specs helps David clean the dishes (he has to annoy him, which he’s grown to master), and then it’s off to bed.
Specs fishes his phone out from his pocket as he wiggles out of his pants, letting it ring as he slips into the pajamas he brought with him.
Elise answers on the second ring, as Specs is tugging on his shirt.
“Steven! How’s it going so far?” She asks, and Specs hums. “It’s going. I mean, I did just arrive. We ate dinner and he just went to bed. I’m about to hit the hay myself, actually.” He replies, taking his glasses and wiping them with his shirt.
There’s sharp noise on the other end, and then he can hear crunches.
“We miss you already, bro.” He hears Tucker speaking up, and Elise laughs. “We do.”
He grins, picturing the scene in his head. Elise, curled up in the center couch. Warren asleep on one side, his head on his paws and his tail tucked between his legs, and Tucker on the other, his head in Elise’s lap as he munches away on what Specs thinks is chips. It’s a sight he’s witnessed many times. Usually, in fact, he’s in Warren’s place, asleep with Elise’s fingers in his hair.
It makes him think about dogs.
Specs can see Tucker being a big dog. Something like a saint bernard, maybe? They’re big and lovingly friendly, to the extent of his knowledge. He’s never seen a saint bernard, actually. Nor has he even had a dog, since his father was allergic. The only real experiences he’s had with them were the next door neighbor’s husky, clients’ pets and Warren.
If Tucker was a big clumsy mutt, would that make Specs a smaller dog? Would he be akin to a terrier or some kind, or would his nimbleness decree him a cat, since he’s light on his feet? He’s not sure.
But it’s not important right now, he muses.
He, Tucker and Elise talk well into the night, and Specs is smiling by the time he finally drifts off to sleep.