Chapter Text
“One more, please.” His words slur as he pushes his glass forward, his whole body angled over the bar to keep from tipping backwards off the stool.
“That’s enough for tonight, father.” The barkeep says in a low tone. “Why not go sleep it off, hey?”
“More,” Oscar mutters, nudging his glass again. “One - one more, then I’ll go.”
He sighs. “Blood and Sand again?”
Oscar nods, watching hazily as the bartender makes his drink, unsubtle about the smaller amount of scotch he uses that he’d poured into previous glasses. Oscar hasn’t the mind to care. One more and he’d be able to stumble across the street, barely avoid getting hit by a car, and stumble into the camping cot he had set up in his office. His vision is already blurry as he gulps down half his drink in one go, the loudness of the bar dulled to a fuzzy interim, his mind separated from the outside world, his thoughts separated from his mind.
The thoughts of despair felt distant, as though running parallel to what he was consciously thinking - circling his brain like a train track, encouraging him to get on board.
He hears someone beside him, muttering something. It’s not to him, he doesn’t think - and if it is, he doesn’t care. He didn’t come here to listen to others' worries and concerns.
Anyone with half a mind should be able to see that he was not someone who could help people.
He feels a tap on his shoulder, hears his name being called. “Yes? What?” He tries to snap, but his mouth can barely catch up.
He looks over at the owner of said hand, barely noticing the strange colour of his pinkie, and his face is… distorted. He looks like someone Oscar used to know, but he can’t quite put his finger on who - probably someone from one of his sermons, or another regular he’d seen a handful of times. He was talking, Oscar realises - rambling on, but Oscar can barely hear him over the loudness of the bar, let alone make out the words. “I don’ know what you’re goin’ on about,” Oscar mutters, feeling the a thudding ache in his head as his vision swims. He closes his eyes, leaning down on the bar.
“Oscar, can you -” he hears, but nothing else registers.
He feels the ice-cold glass slide into his hand, and he puts it to his lips without a second thought.
The cool water is refreshing, but he struggles to take more than a few sips before he needs to rest his head once more.
“-Out of here,” he hears from the other side of the bar, and suddenly someone’s grabbing his arm and putting it across their shoulders, pulling him to his feet. He doesn’t even fight it. He’s not sure why he would.
When they’re finally out of the bar, Oscar half stumbling and half being dragged, the brisk air that hits his face is a shock to the system. The silence that greets them after the doors close doesn’t last, as a dull ringing in his ears decides to fill it.
“Is that better?” The stranger asks quietly, and Oscar groans and shakes his head. “No?”
His stomach turns, and he barely has time to warn the stranger before he’s spilling his guts onto the road. The stranger rubs soothing circles into his back as he does, and Oscar thinks about how he hasn’t felt another person's touch in months. He’d forgotten how warm it felt, to have another’s hand on you. That hair's width of connection that seemed so impossible to grasp until it was given.
The last time he could even remember being touched or held was - well. It was better not to think about him.
If he thought about him, he’d have gotten drunk for nothing. Hours of drowning out that night still did not seem to be enough to dampen the memory.
Losing his arm was one thing… Losing him had been entirely different.
The tears spring to his eyes before he could stop them, and the stranger offers hushed reassurances, with words he cannot make out through the ringing in his ears.
They manage to get across the road in one piece; it’s late enough that the cars are few and far between. The second he reaches the other side he eyes the lush green grass that waits for him, the cold comfort of earth beckoning him closer.
“No, no no-” he hears as Oscar swiftly descends to the ground, laying on his back as he breathes in the night air. He hears a sigh from above him, before finally the stranger lays down beside him.
The streetlights are too bright for him to be able to see the stars. He’d always found it to be a shame. He’d grown up in a place where the stars shone so brightly, you’d be mad not to believe in wishing upon them. A glittering sky that promised each and every child among him that hope was out there. A star for each of them.
He doesn’t realise he’s talking until the stranger asks him something.
“What?” He asks.
“Do you still wish upon the stars?” His voice is clearer now. A crisp English accent - something he’d usually pick up on, being surrounded by Americans most of the time - but at this current time, felt more normal than any alternative.
“Not a star to wish upon,” he answers, feeling the fugue state slowly begin to lift.
“They’re still up there, Oscar. Even if you can’t see them.”
“But I want to see them,” Oscar mutters. “It was the sight of them that sparked that hope in me.”
The stranger goes quiet for a moment. “What would you wish for now? If you could see the stars?”
Oscar hums. What would he wish for? An easy enough answer; just not one he wanted to talk about. “I once knew this man,” he starts, because apparently he did want to talk about it, “only for a few days, mind you. We barely knew one another. I -” he stops, trying to keep the dam from breaking. “He entered my life like a whirlwind. This… tornado of a person, bringing trouble with him wherever he went. I could barely keep my head on straight trying to keep up.” He laughs drunkenly, hands clamping down into the grass, pulling out tufts with his fingers. “My life was this… pitiful attempt at making up for my past misdeeds. I tried to help people - provide them with - with hope, with a way to keep on living when the world wanted to stamp them out. Can’t remember the last time I helped someone.” He mutters.
His sobering mind pleads for another drink. He didn’t want to think about him, he didn’t want to talk about him, he was just a blip in Oscar’s life - this beautiful, devastating, life changing, heart-breaking blip.
A blip he’d never see again.
His eyes blur with tears, the glow of the streetlights turning fuzzy in his vision, like a poor imitation of the stars' hopeful spark.
“Then I met him,” he continues, feeling the warm wet tears glide down his cheeks and drip into his ears. “He was this - this light in the darkness. Even though he had done terrible things - he was still… a good man.”
“Oscar…” he hears from beside him, but he can’t stop himself.
“He gave me purpose,” he continued through sniffs. “He was a wake-up call. A reminder that I was this - this - living, breathing person, not just a bundle of bad memories and bad choices wrapped in a priest's garb. A call that I have smothered ever since.” He tries to swallow around the lump in his throat, fresh tears spilling down his face. “I lost three things that night. My arm, my purpose, and him. All I have to remind me that he even existed is this - fucking stump where my arm used to be -”
“Oscar,” the stranger tries again, reaching for his hand, but Oscar bats it away. He didn’t want the touch of this person, whoever it was - he didn’t want anyone else’s touch. He longed to feel only one person’s arms wrap around him at that moment, and he had been gone for over a year.
“I just want to get him out of my head,” he whispers, covering his eyes with his arm to block out the starry street lamps that pulsated in his vision. “I just want to know - why he left me.”
The sound of crickets is all he can hear for a moment, a soothing noise that simmers his soul. He hears a car as it drives down the road, coming closer, slowing to a stop. A car door opens and closes, and he hears the soft tread of footsteps along the grass.
“Thank you for coming,” the stranger murmurs, “he’s in quite a state.”
The other man lets out a disapproving sound. “Let’s just get him in the car. You know, the car you took my keys from. I do hope you’ve brought them back.”
“Ah, well… About that…”
Another sigh. “We’ll discuss it later.”
Oscar groans as he feels two pairs of hands on him, pulling him to his feet; he’s tired, why can’t they let him just go to sleep? He was perfectly comfortable on the grass, staring up at the stars behind his eyes.
His head lolls forward as they get him upright, eyes barely capable of opening. He’s haphazardly placed in the backseat, any attempt at being made to sit upright swiftly failing. He’s eventually left to lay his head against the plush seats, the rumble of the vehicle letting him drift off with ease. He hears the strangers talking in the front seats, but the words just wash over him like a fine mist.