Finally watched the final episode of Teen Wolf and, honestly, the ending was quite different than how I'd expected it to conclude. It left so much questions and, looking back, the ending I'd originally anticipated when I first started watching the show is so much different than what I have recently just watched.
Oh, and some of the lines here are lyrics from Hamilton songs. Oh yeah, I don't own anything. I'm dirt poor.
Hence, this short, probably bittersweet idea for a one-shot was born. Enjoy!
Scott let out a nervous breath of air when he saw himself in the mirror, the sight of the pristine (and expensive) black tuxedo on him was obviously something he wasn't used to and he's pretty sure that he'll never get used to it because he's more of sweaters and jogging pants rather than fancy dress pants and crisp, white polo shirts.
But still, Scott thought to himself when fixed the suit's collar, trying to smile to ease the nervousness he felt and swallow down the lump he felt in his throat.
Still fixed on his nervousness and his being uneasy, Scott's head swiftly turned towards a noise from coming from the living room of his hotel room. "Stiles, you alright?" he called out wanting to know if his best friend was alright. All Scott heard was, however, a disgruntled and sheepish response from Stiles, saying he's got everything under control.
Scott shook his head. He couldn't leave Stiles without randomly finding himself in trouble or in a mess so grabbed the white pocket square Argent—Chris, Scott remembered the conversation he and the hunter had—gave him yesterday for the wedding before stepping out of the bathroom, not trusting his best friend's promise of keeping out of trouble.
Reaching the living room of the hotel suite, Scott scanned the room and listened closely to his surroundings, promptly hearing his best friend cursing at a non-stick pan. Sniffing around, Scott shook his head and smiled when he ran towards the kitchen and saw the mess his best friend made. Leaning against the door frame, Scott smirked at Stiles, who had clearly showered but was still in an undershirt and boxers, and watched his best friend try to clean (what seemed like) spilled ground pepper, ketchup, and steaming hot scrambled eggs, all on the kitchen floor.
"So, you've got everything control, huh," Scott eyes his best friend, amusement evident in his eyes as he saw the mess. "I'm really wondering what Lydia saw in you." It was a joke, of course. Both of them knew that because Stiles mocked anger and tried—and failed—to scoff indignantly Scott knew all of Stiles' personalities, even the unattractive ones, and even those weren't enough to repel Lydia Martin from his (often pizza-stained) best friend.
Stiles huffed at him, scooping the piping mess of scrambled eggs on the floor with his bare hands, his eyes widening at the heat. Scott laughed even louder, knowing well that his best friend had burned himself. Dumping it all on a clean plate, Stiles pointed an accusing finger at him. "Just so you know, Scotty, I did have everything under control," Scott glanced at the still sizzling frying pan, "I just had conflict of interest with gravity when I tried to flip the eggs over."
Scott raised a brow at this and immediately knew that Stiles was lying. His heartbeat was off and he wasn't even trying to cover it up. Scott immediately remembered the time when they were in Beacon Hills fighting off Monroe and the make-shift army. Stiles had recounted his tale of saving Derek from the FBI but soon, the truth came out: it was Derek who had to save his best friend.
After the whole war, they had a good laugh over that.
"And as for Lydia, my charming humor and good looks aside, she adores my persistence and diligence."
Still leaning against the door frame, Scott folded the pocket square before carefully tucking it inside his tuxedo's breast pocket. "Sure, Stiles," he said, a smile still on his lips. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, buddy."
Stiles ignored his last quip, gave a longing look at the plate piled with inedible scrambled eggs. Scott raised his brow when he heard Stiles' stomach rumble. Scott sighed as well, feeling his hunger catch up on him after the bachelor party ran late last night. Eventually, Stiles waved his hand in the air and grabbed the black suit carrier hanging over one of the dining chairs. "Eh, we can just grab some bagels from the cafe from the restaurant downstairs." Scott, however, stared unimpressed.
"Dude, I can't be late for this wedding!" he was getting antsy, really trying not to imagine the 10 different kinds of pain Malia would inflict upon him if he decided to pull a Barry Allen and be late. "Malia would kill me," looking around, Scott remembered that his mom sent him a text message earlier. Fishing his phone from his pocket, Scott flashed the screen at his best friend in hopes that it would be a motivation to dress himself up faster. "My Mom would kill me if I'm late to the wedding!"
Stiles, however, took his sweet time in dressing himself up as if he had all the time in the world. Scott felt helpless. "Come on, Scotty, live a little! And besides, they wouldn't dare start without the—" Scott didn't listen further to his best friend and decided to give him a look-down.
"Yeah, Malia wouldn't be too impressed with that." Stiles snorted, giving a comment of how Malia took the fun out of his best friend.
"Yeah, well, Malia isn't exactly the one losing—" Scott interrupted his best friend, cut him off before he could start with the whole 'losing my best friend' speech. Scott would always roll his eyes at that. He'd retort that Stiles wouldn't anyone with the wedding but his best friend would always stubbornly insist that he'd lose his second home with.
Still unimpressed, Scott felt his phone vibrate in his hand. Checking his phone while Stiles continued to ramble on and on about losing everything he knew since he was a child, he decided to flash the screen to his best friend. "Yeah, Lydia asking where we are," Scott had this flat tone to his voice in an effort to show Stiles how serious he was.
"Yeah, Lydia wouldn't really care about this thing, anyway." Scott raised a brow at this line.
"She planned this wedding down to the smallest detail and when she find out that we're going to be late, she'd kill us." Scott's lips quirked upwards when Stiles' shoulder noticeably tensed up, his eyes becoming distant in the fear of facing Lydia's wrath. "And knowing the Lydia Martin, she'd probably leave you out to sleep at your couch," Scott would have laughed at Stiles' expression if he weren't so pissed that he'd be late to the wedding.
But seeing Stiles' face, Scott decided to cut him some slack and handed him the blazer.
Grabbing his keys off the kitchen counter, Scott gave one last look at the mirror, tried to make sure his collar would stop sagging to a side. Breathing in deep, Scott all but dragged Stiles through the lobby of the hotel and into the nice SUV he'd receive as a gift from Peter Hale, a token of appreciation and of thanks for taking care of his daughter aftee everything that's happened.
Stiles was complaining the whole way to the venue like a three year old that Scott was forced to pull over at the nearest Big Belly Burger he could find in Central City, hoping that Stiles wouldn't make a mess of himself and of his car. But it was fun, Scott thought to himself wistfully as he chatted with Stiles, happy and somewhat carefree. It reminded him of the way things used to be before the madness that wracked their lives.
Before Gerard's final attack and Monroe's army.
Before the Nazi werewolf and the Wild Hunt.
Before the damned deadpool and the Dread Doctors and the Beast of Gevaudan. Before the damned nogitsune.
Before she died.
There was a pang of hurt and guilt that exploded in Scott's chest, he squirmed uncomfortably in the driver's seat as he waites for the traffic signal light to turn green. He breathed out in relief, though, as Stiles happily munched on his burger and pointed out random facts on buildings and structures as they passed them by, virtually unaware of how he felt.
Scott smiled and gave off a random comment aling the lines of entertaining the facts and trying to get his best friend to shut up, trying to play the role of a slightly annoyed best friend. In truth, he was so happy that Malia wasn't around because she'd know that something's wrong with him, she'd know that his chemo-signals are off and his heart beat would be evidence enough to prove that he'd be lying when she'd ask what's wrong.
After a few minutes of putting up with Central City's infamous traffic and Stiles' never-ending "Flash Facts", they finally managed to reach the venue. It was an adequately sized colonial townhouse, listening closely to the heartbeats inside, he turned to the backseats only to be greeted by the sight of his best friend and spilled fries.
Scott sighed as Stiles managed to grab the cup and sipped loudly from the straw. "Are you done?" Scott asked dryly, earning a cheeky grin in return.
"Yeah. Let's get in before Lydia murders us both." Scott managed a laugh before stepping out of the car, breathing in the crisp autumn air.
Running in after Stiles, he grabbed his best friend's shoulder. "Hey, Stiles, I just want you to know," Scott began, a serious expression maaking over his face. Stiles' eyebrows, though, furrowed together. "If Lydia does manage to kill us, I'm gonna hunt you." Stiles ended up laughing loudly and getting everyone's attention.
Then, however, Lydia came in, dressed in a bridesmaid gown, glaring daggers at him and Stiles. "You're late." She hissed at Stiles who froze, all of a sudden. Lydia looked like she had a thousand things to say, like she had a 4-hour sermon prepared just for the both of them when Mason called out for them. "You're both lucky the wedding's about to start," Stiles visibly let out a breath of relief as Lydia ushered them towards a room just outside the small room where the ceremony would be.
Lydia left, however, when Kira—she came back to the pack when Monroe's second wave of attack was targeted at the Skinwalkers in New Mexico—called for her to prepare the bride's bouquet after the second one went missing.
Stiles turned to him, grinning. "Missed a bullet," Scott was about to pat his best friend's shoulder when Lydia, mid-way up the stairs, turned around and continued to glare at them. Stiles gulped and Scott smiled cheekily.
"Stiles Stilinski," Lydia said in a menacingly low voice. "You are a dead man." Scott burst out laughing as Stiles' shoulders visibly slumped.
That was how they went on for the next few minutes under the floorboards creaked and Scott managed to pick up on a new, yet familiar heart beat. Scott turned to face the staircase and smiled at his Mom, beautifully dressed in white.
Scott couldn't but tear up a little. His Mom was getting married.
"You're so beautiful, Mom," Scott smiled as his mother went down the stairs to hug him. Offering his hand, the doors in front of them flew open and showed a packed room, ranging from Liam and Hayden to Coach Bobby who surprisingly cleaned up well.
It was a short walk to the altar, considering the small space, but Scott felt like it went on forever before he and his mom finally reached Argent, cleanly shaven and smiling brightly at them. Handing over his Mom's hand to Argent, who whispered a small thank you, Scott went on to stand by the hunter's side, to begin his role as the best man.
"I suppose I should start along the lines of 'we're gathered here today', right?" The minister, John Diggle, who was the Sheriff's friend, began, earning a few chuckles here and there. "But seriously, we're gathered here today to join in union, Melissa McCall and Christopher Argent. . ."
The ceremony began and yet Scott couldn't get himself to actually listen or participate, actually. It was all a blur because all he could register were names repeating in his head over and over again.
To join in union, the words were on playback in his mind, the voice of the minister was seemingly on loop. Scott tried pinching himself to snap himself out of this daze he was in but it was useless. He couldn't get the bitter twang off of his mouth and the guilt that pounded on his chest. He should be happy, he scolded himself.
Scott, however, breathed in relief when he realized that the scents of the flowers around him managed to mask his chemo-signals and the numerous heart beats around him would stop Malia and Liam from finding out what's wrong with him. And if they did, they could just mark it up on the wedding jitters and nervousness or whatever he could be feeling on his mother's wedding.
McCall and Argent, the names haunted him as a lump formed in his throat. He shook his head and wiped as the minister began to tell something, probably a story.
Back then, he probably would have never seen this day coming.
Back when Alliso was still alive. Back when they were still together.
In fact, he would have probably imagined this day differently, like different on so many levels. For starters, he wouldn't be the best man—he'd be the groom, and Stiles would have been trying to calm him down, probably jokingly promise him some dog treats as a reward if he'd stop trying to pace around.
Another major difference is that Natalie Martin wouldn't be the maid of honor, it would have been her daughter, Lydia. The wedding wouldn't have been in a small townhouse as well, considering how much his would-have-been bride wanted a garden wedding or a seaside one with the sun setting as the backdrop.
Lastly, Allison would be alive and she'd be his bride instead of a grave he'd visited before catching the plane to Central City. She would have been the one to toss the bouquet of flowers in the air, not the one given a flower arrangement in a basket in a cemetery.
She woukd have been beautifully dressed in white, and she'd have her father walk her down the aisle instead of him walking with his mother. She would have been the most beautiful bride he's ever seen, not dead and buried six feet under the ground.
Allison would have been his wife and he would have been her husband, and that would have been enough. She would have been alive and that would have been enough.
As quick as the ceremony started, it ended with a happily married couple and soon enough, Scott found himself holding up a glass of champagne and in front of a microphone. Everyone was looking up at him and Stiles was happily cheering him on.
"Speech, speech, speech!" Stiles continued to chant, managing to get some people to join him, and while Lydia was trying to get him to quiet down, her eyes held a certain light, and her lips were fighting off a fond smile. It was obvious that Lydia Martin was somewhat amused by her boyfriend's antics.
Tapping on the microphone, it gave off a painful thud that made all the supernaturals wince, but it wasn't enough to dampen anyone's mood as a smile was still on everyone's face. "I, er, toast to the groom, and to the bride, my mother, from your son, who will always be by your side." The happy couple smiled at him, his mother mouthing a thank you from their table.
Scott breathed in deep, obviously imagining the entire thing differently when he was still with Allison. It so different because he wouldn't be up on the podium, he wouldn't have been the one struggling to make a speech. It would have been a slightly tipsy Stiles, his best friend's words slurring, as he made a toast to them, to him and Allison.
To marriage to Allison.
It would have been him mouthing a thank you.
Clearing his throat, Scott smiled at his mother and his new step-father. "To your union," he raised his glass and everyone mirroed his words and actions. "And the hope that you provide. May you always be satisfied." Breathing in deep, he thought of Allison. "Because look around—look around—look at how lucky we are to be alive right now, and I know some people should who have been here with us, and that made this wedding so much more precious. We have to celebrate it for those who can't."
A small voice in Scott's head whispered menacingly, much like how the nogitsune would hiss. Like you, Scott McCall.
"Look at where we are and look at where we started. The fact that we're here is a miracle." With a stray tear running down his cheek, he wioed it away and smiled at everybody, at his mom and at Argent, especially. "Just be satisfied, that would be enough. To my Mom and to Chris!"
Everyone clapped as he went on his way towards his mom's table. "Thank you so much, honey." She whispered to him as she enveloped him in a warm and tight embrace. "That meant so much to me, Scott, thank you so much!" Scott let go of his mother and pressed a small kiss on top of her forehead.
Soon, he let go of his mother completely and went on to embrace Chris. "Welcome to the family, I guess," he chuckled, considering Chris was already part of his pack. He was already family long before the wedding.
Chris laughed and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Thanks, Scott." He said with a smile. "Thank you for everything."
Scott went back to his own table, and allowed himself a moment to imagine an alternate reality where it was his mother who gave a speech, that it was a speech about how first loves would last, of how he deserved that day, that he finally got the girl.
Glancing at the couple as they shared their first dance, Scott laughed when Malia took Lydia for a short dance. Scott gave a bittersweet smile and wiped another tear, before glancing at the table decoration. It had the A & M sprawled around, written using some sort of fancy calligraphy.
Scott was really happy with how things ended up. He was happily in a relationship with Malia, who smiled at him, inviting him to the dance floor. Standing up, he swayed along to the music with Malia. He was happy at how things came to be, and though it wasn't how he initially hoped it would be, he was happy.
"They're married, huh?" Malia clung to him as they danced. "Melissa and Argent."
Scott shook his head. "No," he said seriously, giving Malia a short kiss. "McCall and Argent." A small, content and satisfied smile rested on his lips. "It's not how I expected it to be. It's not who I expected them to be, but they're together and they're satisfied. That would be enough."