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Until this year, Scott would have ranked the worst Christmas vacation of his life as the one where he had to stay with his dad.
His dad had forgotten he was supposed to be there, and he’d ended up at Mrs. Banks's house next door reading because she didn’t have a tv. She’d made them frozen turkey dinners that they’d eaten on trays in the living room while she listened to old Christmas music and smiled at him sadly.
She’d been nice.
He’d missed his mom. And Stiles. And maybe even his dad.
This year there’s an Allison-shaped hole in his heart, Stiles is avoiding him, and Derek won’t answer any phone calls.
This year Scott sits in his own living room with a book open on his lap.
Their own tv is still broken.
The absolutely last thing he expects is a text message from an unknown number reading nothing more than “Happy Christmas.”
He presses the buttons to call the number out of boredom more than anything else.
He isn’t surprised to hear Deucalion’s accented voice on the other end of the line.
Or at least not as surprised as Deucalion sounds.
“I hadn’t expected you’d ring.”
“I hadn’t expected you’d text.”
Deucalion chuckles. “Why did you?”
“Why did you?”
“I believe we have reached what Marin would call an impasse.”
Scott bites his lip. Answers with the truth. “I was bored.”
“Ah.”
“It’s your turn to answer now.”
“I don’t believe I agreed to those terms.”
Scott realizes he’s smiling. That he’s enjoying a conversation with Deucalion.
“Well, that is usually how conversations work,” Scott points out.
“Hmmm.”
Scott sighs. It is kind of nice to have someone to talk to. “Are you alone?”
Deucalion makes an indecipherable noise. Something between a laugh and a huff, difficult to understand over the phone.
“Are you?”
Scott’s face feels warm when he realizes how that might have sounded. “My mom usually has to work holidays. Stiles is. He’s around but not really. Kira went back to see family in New York, and Lydia dragged Malia to some fancy thing who knows where.”
“So we’re both alphas without a pack.”
“Not everyone has to kidnap their pack,” Scott mutters. “If I needed them, they’d be here.”
If he told them he needed them.
Spending Christmas alone is not an emergency. It’s not the first time, it won’t be the last.
As if on cue, there’s a knock at his door.
Scott recognizes Stiles’s heartbeat and his own leaps. He hadn’t wanted to pressure Stiles to come around- but he’s thrilled he’s here.
“It does appear so,” Deucalion says softly. “Thank you for calling, Scott.”
“Merry Christmas, Deucalion.”
Scott ends the call and leaps to his feet.
Stiles is standing outside the door with a shy grin on his face a Tupperware container in his hands.
Scott opens the door. “Since when do you knock?”
Stiles's smile wavers. As though he wants to say: “since I shoved a sword through your gut.”
Scott pulls him into a hug. He’d endure a million swords to feel Stiles in his arms, safe, alive, breathing.
Stiles pushes his way into the house after the hug.
“Are those Grandma Gajos’s Christmas cookies?”
Stiles matches his grin. It’s less strained this time. “It’s tradition, right?”
Scott smiles, something warm swelling inside him. “Right.”