"My name is Stiles, and I'm not an alcoholic, but my mother was killed by one. Drunk driver," Stiles said robotically. It'd been years since he'd been to an Al-Anon meeting. He used to sneak out and come to them in high school: his dad probably thought he was going to a party, or to be a third wheel on yet another epic Scott and Allison romantic adventure.

Stiles made sure his dad never found out what he was doing.

He sat and listened to the stories of the other dozen or so people. Some were teens, like he had been at first, but most of them were adults easily a decade or more his senior. They all talked about a drunken friend, or a relative. One man talked about his wife's drunken rampages and tried to hide his split lip by biting on it. He reminded Stiles of Lydia, so Stiles stopped looking at him.

Whenever the introductions finished, Stiles had always chosen to be a silent participant. He didn't experience the horror that these people did. His dad stopped drinking after his mom died. His dad stopped a lot of things, but thankfully he never stopped loving his son.

When the session leader came to Stiles, he did try to speak this time. He managed to get out half of a syllable before his voice broke and he waved for the next person to take over.

He has been hoping that saying the words aloud would help, that they'd make his thoughts concrete. Voicing his concerns with a room full of strangers who had silently promised to not judge each other should have been easy. It was proving to be one of the hardest things in his life. It was impossible.

The only thing Stiles could do was to sit there and try his best to not go insane from the doubts eating away at the meagre confidence he's tried to instill in himself that morning. Words had failed him when he'd needed them most, and he wondered if that was a sign.

A woman was speaking, she was blonde and pretty and vaguely familiar. She was talking about her friend or boyfriend whose father had beat him when he was growing up and how all through high school and the following years he was a drunk. He thought her name was Erin, but he wasn't sure. She said her friend was celebrating three months of sobriety, but that she felt guilty because she had doubted he would even last that long.

If he were honest to himself, Stiles had no right to be at this meeting. Alcohol barely played a role in his troubles. He was leeching off of these people, using their misery to make himself feel better. If only it were working as well now as it did when he wasn't old enough to vote.

The rest of the meeting was spent going through the motions: smiling when the people around him smiled, frowning when they frowned. Then they broke for the complimentary doughnuts and coffee. Stiles remained seated.

"The jelly-filled ones go fast," the blonde woman from before said as she sat next to Stiles as gave him a small smile. "This must be your first meeting. I know we already did introductions, but I'm Erica."

"Stiles," he returned with a limp wave. "It's not my first meeting, just my first one in a long time. I thought I had moved on, but clearly I haven't."

"Forgive me for prying, but you said your mom died? Let me offer my condolences," Erica said sympathetically. "Listen, why don't I go get you a coffee? Consider it a welcome to the club gesture. Do you want a doughnut, too?"

"Just coffee will be fine, thanks," Stiles answered warmly. Erica stood and walked to the refreshments table. He couldn't help but watch her.

She returned with a coffee in each hand and a cruller in her mouth. Stiles accepted the hot drink and thanked the woman. Erica bit off the end of her doughnut and offered a close-lipped grin.

"Since you didn't want to share with the group, do you want to talk one-on-one? We don't have to if you don't want to, but it helps," Erica told him. "I've been doing this for a year now, myself."

"It's not so much that I don't want to share, as it is that I shared. My mom was killed by a drunk driver. Some British guy: they never told me his name, but I do know he was legally blind. I guess he could still see, just not well. So even if he were sober, he never should've been driving. He got fifteen years with the possibility of parole. I got a dead mother. It doesn't seem like a fair trade."

"That's putting it lightly," Erica agreed awkwardly. She quickly finished her doughnut, looking as if she had nothing else to say.

They drank their coffee, a few moments of silence between them interrupted by the chatter of the others in the room. Stiles wasn't sure if they were just breaking or if people were loitering to avoid going to their toxic home lives.

"So, your roommate is an alcoholic?" It wasn't the best icebreaker, but it was the one Stiles had available.

"Recovering alcoholic. He was never violent or anything, but he hit rock bottom and tried to kill himself. I'm the one who found him. I had to shove my fingers down his throat to try to make him vomit while waiting for 911 to pick up," Erica sniffed as tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She preemptively wiped them with the sleeve of her jean jacket, smearing her eye liner. Stiles said nothing about it. "I'm just glad that he's doing okay. That was six months ago."

At this, Stiles cocked his head. "But I thought you said he was three months sober."

"I did," Erica nodded. "Stiles, listen, I would never say that you don't belong here, but you haven't ever seen someone hit rock bottom. It's a terrifying thing. I still cry about it. And he knows I come to these meetings. He's never come with me, but I'm the one who took him to his first AA meeting. Our other roommate, he didn't realize how bad it was until the suicide attempt. I've offered to bring him to meetings, but he says he doesn't need them. I hope he's right."

"Damn," was all Stiles could say before an alarm clock started buzzing. The few that hadn't already left did so glumly, realizing that they had lost one of the few safe places in their lives until the next week. Erica and Stiles walked out together, both still brandishing half-empty Styrofoam cups of coffee.

"So, will you be back next week?" Erica asked Stiles. They stepped out of the building and into the sunshine.

"I might," he told her. "It depends on work. I don't exactly have a set schedule."

She placed her free hand on Stiles' forearm and gave yet another smile, though this one was big and cheerful. "Well, I hope you do. You look like you need someone to talk to."

Stiles just stood there in shock as Erica released him and power walked over to a dark blue van. Two men sat in the front seats waiting. For a moment, Stiles allowed himself to wonder whether the black one or the white one was the drunk. Then he shook his head and began walking in the direction of the nearest bus stop.

TW

"Why did I think introducing you two was a good idea?" Scott groaned before burying his face in arms.

"You didn't, Scrubs. Remember? Allison is the one who stole your phone and demanded we meet," Braiden pointed out as she looked up from Allison's phone long enough to see the top of her boyfriend's head.

Allison liked Braiden. She was pretty, funny, had a job, and seemed to like Scott for Scott. It was good to finally see him moving on from her. Not that she thought he was still hung up on her, but it was getting pretty pathetic to have him lounging around the apartment all the time: that was her gig. Or it was before Lydia became her new roommate. How long was it gonna take to catch Jackson?

"Come on, Scott, if it weren't for us getting together, you never would've gotten that new suit for the funeral tomorrow," Allison noted calmly. She had only met Derek a few times, but she was aware that Braiden knew him quite well.

"I had a suit that would have worked just fine," he grumbled, his arms muffling his words.

"You asked me if you could wear you prom tux to a wedding, Scott," Allison reminded him. "Your silver tux. From when you were five years younger and twenty pounds lighter."

"I am not fat, Allison!" Scott cried as he looked up the exact same moment the waitress walked over with their drinks. Allison fought back a giggle as she took her sweet tea.

When the waitress walked away, presumably to get their food or serve another table, Scott glared at Allison as she tried to not bust a gut.

"I never said you were fat, Scott, but you aren't a high school athlete anymore," Allison snickered.

Sitting next to Scott, Braiden put an arm around his shoulder and her free hand on his chest. "It's okay, Scrubs, I like my men with a little meat on their bones."

"I'm going to the bathroom, you character assassins."

"You didn't use that correctly!" Allison teased as he stormed off. Then she looked to Braiden and shrugged. "He'll get over it."

"You tease him a lot?" the woman asked, an amused look on her face as she leaned over the table to continue watch Scott's retreat. "Damn, but he has a nice ass. I know you're gay because no straight woman would ever give that up."

"Oh, Scott told you I'm a lesbian?" Allison didn't know why she was shocked, but she was. It wasn't like she was in the closet.

Braiden quirked an eyebrow. "Well, he had to give me some sort of explanation as to why he still lived with his high school sweetheart."

"That is a long and complicated story I'll let him tell you. This is about whether or not I approve of you," Allison winked. "So far, I do: just for the record."

"That's good to know," Braiden toasted as she raised her glass of horchata. "I swear, this stuff is so much better when it's homemade, but the restaurant stuff beats the heck out of the mix they sell in stores."

"I had horchata a couple times in Mexico. It was... different," Allison commented cautiously. "I don't like rice milk, so I was only able to sort of enjoy it. The Hispanic people I know love it, though. I guess I'm just too white."

"Tch, you white people do love to be bland. I grew up with this stuff. My dad is half-Mexican and half-Dominican. Moved to California from New Jersey right out of high school where he met my mom who had moved here from Louisiana. She's Creole. So I had A LOT of different foods growing up," Braiden explained casually, though Allison tried to remain just as cool. "Allison, are you okay?"

"Yeah," she nodded a little too quickly. "My family is French, I think. Or, at least, my dad's side is. My mom is probably Scottish because she was a redhead. I never bothered to learn."

"It's okay to talk about my not being white, Allison. Lighten up. Besides, you're half-ginger and these days that's worse than being black from what I hear," Braiden snorted, which encouraged Allison to relax. "Listen, just try not to be a racist bitch around me and we're cool, okay?"

"Okay, we're cool," Allison agreed as she held her tea out. Braiden clinked her glass against it. "So, what do you do for a living? Scott wouldn't tell me when I grilled him."

"My brother is a vet, and I kind of work for him feeding the animals and such. He wanted me to go to school to be a vet or at least a technician, but that just wasn't in the cards for me. I want to be a writer. In fact, I have a blog that gets about five hundred individual hits a week."

"Groovy," Allison said before taking a drink. "What's the name of your blog?"

"Look, I didn't tell Scott, so I won't tell you. It's one of those things I have a pseudonym for," Braiden answered defensively. "I'll just say that I like what I do."

"I can respect that. It's not like I'm some great career woman," Allison said. "I mean, I'm a college dropout working as a janitor in a public radio station. I don't think you can go any lower than that without working fast food. Not that I'm better than fast food workers, but you know what I meant."

"Yes, I know what you meant," Braiden snorted again. "At least you went to college. I graduated from high school and decided I didn't need a degree. What's the point in spending tens of thousands of dollars on a writing degree when people are making millions on poorly written drivel?"

"I hope that's a dig on Twilight," Allison laughed.

"It was actually directed at The Hunger Games, but Twilight applies, too." Braiden shrugged and took a drink of her horchata.

Allison's jaw dropped open it shock, but she made a production of pushing it back in place. "Seriously? I loved The Hunger Games. Katniss kicked so much ass!"

"Meh," Braiden shrugged with disinterest. "Kickass female lead or not, the first book bored me to tears. Never bothered with the sequels or the movies."

"Hipster," Allison teased with a grin.

"You take that back!" Braiden proclaimed with feigned offence. Then she snorted into her drink, spilling some on the table. She was wiping it up when Scott returned.

He smiled at the two women, which made Allison suspicious.

"What did you do?" she inquired with distrust dripping from her voice.

"Can I just say that you aren't the only one who can embarrass somebody?" Scott replied with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Braiden tapped Scott on his shoulder. "What did you do, Scrubs?"

He just whistled. Allison recognized the tune and turned pale. "You didn't. You bitch."

"What?" Braiden asked Allison as she poked Scott in the arm.

She got her answer in the form of two waitresses and one waiter walking toward them. Each waitress held a cupcake in hand and the waiter was leading them in song.

Scott just raised his eyebrows and waited for the birthday congratulations to end.

TW

"That was mean," Braiden reminded Scott again as they bid Allison farewell. "It was really, really mean."

"It was funny," Scott argued with a good-natured grin. "Besides, you got a free cupcake."

"I like Allison." Braiden wrapped an arm around Scott's waist, hand settling on his hip. He leaned into her, arm wrapped around her shoulder. "I can see why you fell for her."

Scott cleared his throat and looked up at the sky overhead. "I love Allison, but I haven't been in love with her for years. We've been over this."

She shook her head and licked her lips. "I know, Scrubs. Chill. Nobody is saying you're hung up on her. Besides, I'm more her type than you are."

"I'm the one she dated all through high school," Scott pointed out, not knowing why.

"Then Allison is gonna find herself a nice, sexy, short Latina some day. But you are my dorky, short Latino and you will just have to accept it," Braiden warned before snorting again.

"I'm not sexy?" Scott whined with faux concern.

"Let me get back to you on that," Braiden winked. She untangled herself from Scott and started walking in the direction opposite of Allison. "So, just to double check, I'm picking you up tomorrow morning at ten?"

"Yeah. I'm working the night shift tonight so I can get home around seven. Should be enough time to eat and shower. I couldn't get anyone to cover on such short notice, but one of the girls did switch shifts. By the way, I have to cancel our date Saturday."

"We never had a date for Saturday."

"Oh, then I'll have to call my other girlfriend and cancel," Scott retorted cheekily. Braiden playfully smacked his butt.

"First of all, I'm your girlfriend now? And second, when I said you're my dorky Latino, I meant it."

"You're not my girlfriend, you're mi corazon," Scott told Braiden before leaning in to kiss her again. She returned the gesture, burying one hand in Scott's hair and pulling him closer with the other.

They broke apart and Braiden looked into Scott's eyes. "You wouldn't call me a fool if I told you that I love you, even though we've only had one official date?"

"I could have sworn we had two dates under our belts, but you are the furthest thing from a fool. Te amo mi querida."

"I don't remember you begin this swarthy before. Or multilingual," Braiden noted, her hot breath beating on Scott's lips. "Are you trying to seduce me?"

Scott leaned forward and whispered in Braiden's ear. "Would it work if I told you that is exactly what I am doing?"

"How far do you live from here? Because I know that I'm quite the walk away," Braiden informed Scott as she put a hand on his chest and pushed back, putting some space between them and breaking the moment. "And I still want to know how I never picked up on you speaking Spanish before."

"It's about a ten minute walk, and I almost never use my Spanish skills in public. There tends to be disapproving stares."

"Well, you can always speak that beautiful tongue around me, Scrubs. I took French in high school, so I have no idea what you're saying, but it sounds delicious when you say it. And you have ten minutes to get your apartment empty so I can put your tongue to work on other things."

"Si, Jefe!" Scott shouted happily before calling Stiles.

TW

Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat and knocked on Danny's door. Danny was always home. He was always willing to listen to Stiles. Stiles just hoped that was still the case.

The door opened a crack and Danny stuck his head out the door. "Hey."

There wasn't a trace of unpleasantness in Danny's voice, so Stiles took it as a positive sign. He needed as many as he could get after how he'd treated the man. "Can I come in? Scott is bringing his new lady friend by to have sex and... And we need to talk about the other day."

"You mean when you called me a cunt and threw me out of your place?" Danny posited without only a hint of annoyance in his voice. He sighed and looked back into the empty apartment before opening the door. "Get your ass in here."

"Sure," Stiles thanked Danny as he slipped past him. He stopped in the middle of the room and watched Danny close the door. Danny walked past Stiles without a word and sat on the couch. It was an action both expected and deserved. Stiles followed and, when he wasn't reproached, sat next to the other man. "I've been an ass."

"I can't disagree with that," Danny nodded as he fiddled with his PlayStation controller. He didn't turn on the system.

There was a long stretch of silence as Stiles wracked his brain for the right words to say and Danny did his best to remain patient. Neither man looked at the other.

"I suppose I've been an asshole longer than I was willing to admit," Stiles finally said. Danny didn't look at him, but he did put the controller down. "This relationship, our relationship, it's still new and exciting and I enjoy the hell out of it, but I've been awful to you. And not just the other day.

"When we first got together, I didn't tell you I was dating Derek. And when it came out I was seeing both of you, I told you that I wasn't choosing."

"We agreed to that. That we'd be casual," Danny confirmed in a strained voice. He really was doing his best not to start yelling. Stiles doubted that Danny would ever realize how much he appreciated that. "I told you I was fine with it. And I was."

"But we weren't casual, Danny. I hung out at your place. We had some fairly heavy make out sessions."

"It sounds so high school when you put it that way," Danny cringed as he finally looked at Stiles. His eyes were unreadable.

"You have a better way to put it?" Stiles asked with crossed arms.

Danny sighed, his shoulders sagging in defeat. "Continue."

"Right, right, it was unfair of me to say one thing and do another. Derek and I were barely anything. Then he died, and I started acting weird with you. With everyone, really, but especially with you. You deserve to know why."

"Does this have to do with why you and Lydia hate each other so much? Because after she got done with you she called me and started cursing up a streak." Danny allowed a flash of a grin to play at his lips before they fell back to a passive frown.

Fingers toyed with the hem of his pants as Stiles spoke. "Maybe. I know why Lydia hates me, and I don't blame her at all. Our relationship was toxic as hell and we were mentally and emotionally abusive to each other. I never laid a finger on her, but I think what I did to her left marks a lot deeper than anything Jackson ever did. I just think we moved too fast, she moved in after we dated for a month or so. I don't remember."

"This sounds lovely," Danny groused. Even though Danny had every right to behave how he was, Stiles still found it grating his nerves. He missed the guy who bought him a scarf even though he knew Stiles would never wear it.

"I'm a lovely guy," Stiles offered, but Danny didn't return the quip. With a shake of his head, Stiles found himself ready to continue. "Anyway, Derek died and I started telling myself, for no real reason, that when it came down to it that I was going to pick him over you when the time came to choose."

"That is a lovely thing to hear from the guy you're dating," Danny groaned as he wiped his face with his hands. "You really are quite the catch."

Stiles chose to overlook the sarcastic addendum.

"I self-sabotage, Danny. I'd already picked you, I just hadn't realized it. But Derek died and I did what I do best: I screw myself and everyone around me over. Scott and Allison have picked up the pieces of my self-esteem I don't know how many times, but this time they didn't. You did. By just being there, even when you didn't want to be there, you were the one. You were my one."

"Stiles..." They both waited for a handful of heartbeats, but Danny didn't have anything else to say.

"I don't think I ever told you that my mom died. She was killed by a drunk driver when I was a kid. No prolonged suffering, no wasting away from cancer, she just died without warning. Like Derek did. And I don't want to play at being a shrink, because I'd be terrible at it, but I think that's why it hit me so hard even though I barely knew the guy."

Stiles palms were sweaty and he wiped them on the leg of his pants. His eyes burned and his throat began to dry, but he pressed on.

"Derek was nothing more than a guy I talked to a few times. He could have been, but it's a non-issue now. The issue is how I've been the shittiest guy on the planet to the greatest one. I took out my frustrations with Lydia on you and I wish I hadn't. There's nothing that will take away what I said or did."

"There isn't," Danny agreed calmly. "But there is one thing that will make it better."

"Forgiveness?" Stiles asked.

Danny's hand was warm on Stiles' cheek. A thumb brushed away tears that Stiles hadn't even realized were falling.

"Forgiveness," Danny repeated with a warm smile. "Look, I'm like you. This is all new and messy and absurd, but I like you most of the time. If you can work on the asshole thing, I can work on forgiving you. In the future, you can do the same for me. Because I can guarantee that when you do see my carefully hidden inner bitch, you won't like it."

"You? A bitch? I just can't see it," Stiles laughed with relief as he placed his hand on Danny's. "But it's a deal. There's just one more thing I should tell you, since I'm being super honest right now."

"Oh, god, you aren't trans are you?" Danny retracted his hand, but a smile was on his face. "Because I'm fine with people being who they are, but I need a penis when I have sex with a guy."

"No," Stiles laughed heartily. "That's good to know, I guess, but no. There is one other guy you should know about. His name is Tyler."

"You were dating a third guy? Dammit, Stiles," Danny said as he shook his head.

"Nah, Tyler happened well before I met you or Derek. He was the first guy I ever got involved with, and he was almost the first guy I slept with," Stiles assured Danny. "We met online right after I broke up with Lydia. We did the cyber dating thing, then I flew out to Virginia to vacation with him and it was a disaster.

"My second or third night there, we were going to have sex and I freaked. He wanted me to bottom and I had no idea what I was doing and I had a panic attack. Tyler held me and talked me through it, but we never consummated. I thought we were fine, that we were just going to take it slow, but my last night there Tyler told me I wasn't ready to be with another guy. I thought he was being an asshole, but I think he was right."

"So, you've never slept with another guy?"

"That's what you got from that?" Stiles laughed. It was so ridiculously obvious a question he didn't know why he hadn't expected it. "I've fooled around with guys, but there's never been penetration. God, that's embarrassing to admit out loud, but whatever."

"So, are you ready?" Danny wondered idly as he grabbed Stiles by the wrist.

Stiles blinked. "Are you wanting to have sex right now? After I pour my heart out to you? Yes. Yes, I am."

"Then I'm gonna have to be the one to give you blue balls," Danny told Stiles. "Sex isn't that important to me. I have porn for that. I just want to make sure that you're here emotionally. Because if I'm going to invest any further into this mess, I need to know that you are, too. Because I have a feeling we somehow skipped several important steps in the dating rulebook tonight."

"I'm your boyfriend whether you like it or not," Stiles saluted, making Danny chuckle.

"You are such a dumbass," the man told Stiles with a cheesy grin before leaning in to kiss him.