Work Text:
“Hey, bro.”
Cold. Clinical. Stewy does well to mask his disappointment - he had been poised to offer something, anything: a deliberately stiff hug, a clap on the shoulder. Too many watchful eyes for anything more. That isn’t to say Stewy is surprised. He knows the words behind Kendall’s frosty greeting - don’t touch me, don’t look at me too long, please, I can’t take that right now. So, Stewy keeps up the suave, pompous schtick, conjuring up his best sympathetic pout and debonair exclamations of “so sorry for your loss”, all with one eye trained on Kendall, hoping to find the right moment to get him alone.
When Stewy had heard the news, his thoughts immediately spiralled into predictions of elated sparkly Logan fancams on Twitter, celebratory discounts on Scotch at Whole Foods, “Ding-Dong! The Witch is Dead” at number one on iTunes, a la Margaret Thatcher. So, this is the way the world ends - not with a bang, but with a heart attack in an airplane toilet.
Finally, after a shamefully long while on Stewy’s part - the end of which was heralded with a pang of guilt - his thoughts landed on Kendall. Had he been with Logan? Had he been alone when he heard? Was he already off getting high right now? Should he call?
Eventually, Kendall finds his way to Stewy in the sitting room off the main foyer. Hands restrained purposefully in his pockets, as they had been for most of the morning. Stewy wondered if it was to hide them shaking. Or to keep himself from breaking something.
“Hey,” Stewy tries, testing the waters, like someone approaching a startled horse.
“Hey, dude,” Kendall offers, his voice deep, gaze downcast. The bags under his eyes are like bruises.
Stewy offers his palms in bewilderment, at a loss. He sighs audibly, then once again. “Little fucking bastard.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Kendall presses his lips together tightly like he’s scared of what might come out next.
“I thought he’d be like my dad,” Stewy keeps his voice low. “Ninety-five and just started suing the neighbour.”
He tilts his head to look at Kendall’s face, almost a reflex at this point. Kendall had always been a little shorter than him and had a nasty habit of bowing his head to the floor when unsure of himself. Maybe in prayer. Begging for mercy.
“What was it?”
“Uh, embolism. Pulmonary.” Kendall, predictably, keeps his eyes glued to the floor.
Stewy furrows his brow and casts his eyes upward in mock confusion.
“Because I heard he saw your Pierce business plan and choked laughing.”
Kendall manages a breathy laugh at that, a smile pushing at the corner of his mouth. His eyes find Stewy’s for a moment, and he smiles wider, looks away, and laughs again.
“You fucking prick.”
“Uh-huh,” Stewy teases. It’s fun; easy. He knows Kendall will be writhing at the false sympathy permeating the air, so Stewy offers an olive branch in the form of normalcy.
Then, Kendall’s smile stays frozen for a moment too long before his eyebrows pull together in sadness. It’s a sight Stewy hates that he’s seen too many times to count. Kendall rocks between his feet, edging towards Stewy like he’s asking permission, and Stewy grants it before the plea comes in.
“Hey, hey,” he reaches out a hand to Kendall’s shoulder. He continues his slow approach, still not looking at Stewy. “C’mon.”
Stewy slides the hand on Kendall’s shoulder round the back of his neck and pulls the other up to his upper arm, reeling him in. He welcomes the soft thud of Kendall’s forehead against his shoulder, smells the aftershave on his skin, feels his body trembling, pressure building with nowhere to go.
“S’alright,” he offers, though his voice tilts upward at the end like he’s asking a question.
Kendall heaves in a breath, steadying himself, and Stewy squeezes his eyes shut at the sound, turning his head to rest his cheek against Kendall’s hair for a moment. He suddenly remembers they’re not alone, and Kendall apparently comes to the same realisation simultaneously, jerking his head up and blinking furiously.
“Hey,” Stewy claps him on the shoulder a few times, keeping up the platonic appearances. Kendall sucks in another breath.
“So, uh,” Kendall comes back to himself, digging his knuckles into his eyes to sweep away the wetness there that he hadn’t allowed to fall. “Listen. You gonna do the board call from here?”
He’s trying to be steely, but his voice is thick and he’s breathless. He sniffles defiantly.
“Mm-hm, uh… here, or car.”
“’Cos, there’s uh…,” Kendall finds it within him to look Stewy in the eye. “There’s a piece of paper. With me on it. That dad said it should be me.”
“Oh. Okay. Wow.” Stewy barely suppresses the smile forming at his lips. Of course, it’s Kendall. It was always going to be Kendall.
“Can you swing in for me?” Kendall pushes. “You know me, you know my flaws.”
Understatement of the century, Stewy thinks.
“It’s short term,” Kendall goes on, shrugging his shoulders in mock humility.
“I mean, you’re really selling me right now? I mean…” Stewy drops his voice lower and glances around for onlookers. Of course, Ken is propositioning him to vouch for his coronation the day after his fucking dad dies. “Uh, I guess, y’know, my pubes got a little singed the last time I went with you, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah. Well, yeah, that was a different … different thing.”
Meaning, last time, they were trying to kill Kendall’s dad, but this time Kendall’s dad beat them to it.
“For my family, I had to back down,” Kendall looks up at Stewy for the next one: “There was no card he wouldn’t play against me.”
Fuck. Did Logan know? Stewy just stares.
“Do you even fucking like the deal?” He switches tact.
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
Bullshit.
“Look. The deal has to happen,” Kendall isn’t letting up. “We can’t live in a haunted house. I have plans with the sibs. We’ll take news, maybe fuse with Pierce, but, y’know, it’ll be a feather in my cap. To bring in the deal.”
“And you can bring it home?” Stewy asks quickly, before remembering himself and this whole clusterfuck of a situation.
Kendall’s dad is probably still in the morgue and they’re talking business strategy.
“Dude. Ken,” he huffs out a laugh, incredulous, and bows his head to hold Kendall’s gaze, reaching his hands out again to grab his arms, a desperate attempt to bring him back to Earth. “Is your fucking head on straight?”
“I’m twin track. I’m dead but I’m alive.”
Jesus.
“Yeah?” Stewy softens his voice, a final pitch to give Kendall an opportunity to act like a normal person. “Dive into work?”
“Dude, what are we gonna do? Sit in the dark and drink Laphroaig?”
No joy. Alright, Stewy will play ball.
“And,” he smirks. “What’s in it for me, Ken?”
Kendall looks lost again, like somehow he wasn’t expecting this question. “I don’t know, man. Maybe do a solid for your oldest pal the day after his dad died?” Kendall’s voice tightens again. “How about that?”
Of course, it was Kendall. It was always going to be Kendall.