dial drunk
inspired by "dial drunk" by noah kahan. if you know the song, you know how much angst is about to happen. @backtobl4ck thank you for encouraging me ;)
Word count: ~1k
A/N: PAINNNNNNN. Frederick is very very proud of himself.
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The shifting flashes of red and blue police lights in his rearview mirror yanked Rowan from his half-unconscious stupor back into reality. The siren caught up with him seconds later, piercing through the fog of intoxication clouding his senses. Fuck, how much had he drunk? How many empty bottles littered the floor of his kitchen?
Hadn’t he sworn, months ago, to lock the alcohol away? Hadn’t he promised someone he loved more than life itself that he would stop drinking to forget?
Even though he had, that someone had broken him so badly he’d gone for the liquor cabinet, grabbed bottles at random, and poured the alcohol down his throat until the burn faded into numbness and the agony of the evening faded into the liquor-induced fog. Then he’d climbed into his pickup and left–he had to get the fuck away, clear his head. Part of him wouldn’t care if he drunk-drove himself off the side of the road, if he crashed and burned and died a nameless drunk.
Guided by the police cruiser behind him, Rowan pulled off to the side of the road and stopped, keeping his hands on the wheel. A police officer got out of the cruiser and walked up to his door.
“Open the door, son.” The officer’s deep, calm voice was familiar, even through the haze of alcohol and anguish blurring his mind.
Blearily, Rowan threw his pickup into park, set the parking brake, unlocked his door, and opened it. “Have my li-licensh’ here, sir,” he slurred.
“Rowa, I don’t need your license.” Ah fuck, just what he needed–Rhoe Galathynius finding his daughter’s boyfriend–ex-boyfriend now–drunk driving down Main to get the hell out of town after a breakup that shattered both of them into a thousand tiny shards.
“Sh-sir?” Rowan was confused.
“You’re drunk, Rowan.” Rhoe’s voice remained infinitely patient. “I have to take you in for the night, son.”
Son. The endearment stabbed a barbed spear straight through the raw ruins of Rowan’s heart. Groggily, he shut off his engine, stepped out of the truck, and would have fallen on his face if Rhoe hadn’t caught him.
“Here.” Rhoe steadied him. “Come on, son. It’s just for the night; you’ll be able to go home once you’ve sobered up.” Holding open the back door of the cruiser, he nudged Rowan inside. “You get one emergency call.”
“Aelin!” Rowan blurted.
“What?”
“Aelin,” he repeated, hoarsely. “My call.”
Unidentifiable emotions flashed across Rhoe’s fatherly face. “Okay.” He handed Rowan his phone. “Go ahead.”
Rowan tapped Aelin’s icon, heard her ringtone start to sound, and waited. And waited. And waited. And waited.
“Th-this is Aelin.” Her voice–raw, rough, and creaky the way it was after she’d been sobbing–crackled through the phone.
“Fireheart?” Rowan choked out.
Click. Beep.
She hung up.
Blindly, Rowan grabbed for his phone, but Rhoe held it out of his drunken reach. “I’m sorry, son.”
“Please,” Rowan begged, tears spilling out of his eyes. “Le’mme try again, sir, fuck, I swear I’ll cooperate.” His voice broke. “She–I–I need–she’ll call back, I swear.”
Grief and empathy shone in Rhoe’s kind eyes. “I can’t. I’m sorry, son.”
“Fuck!” Rowan buried his head in his hands. “Please!”
Rhoe’s strong hand rested on the younger man’s shoulder. “Why do you want to do this to yourself?” he asked, gently. Rowan could hear the muted pain in the older man’s words, the deep love Rhoe had for his daughter and for the man she loved, and he knew how much it must tear the man up to arrest his daughter’s boyfriend for drunk driving and then end up going home to a broken, emotionally bleeding version of his daughter.
“S’done,” Rowan slurred, his vision blurring so badly he just wanted to close his eyes and sleep until the pounding in his head went away.
Rhoe let out a soft sigh. “Stay here, son.” He left the back door open, stepped aside, and spoke to his patrol partner in a low voice for a few minutes. When he returned, he helped Rowan out of the cruiser instead of closing the door and heading off to the jail like Rowan thought he’d do. “I’m going to need your keys, son.”
Rowan blinked. “Huh?”
“Your keys.” Rhoe held out his hand, huffing out a short breath at Rowan’s complete confusion. “I’m going to drive you home in your truck, son, but I’ll need your keys to drive.”
“Oh.” Fumbling a little, Rowan handed over his keys. Rhoe unlocked the pickup, helped Rowan up into the passenger side, buckled his seatbelt, closed the door, and went around to the driver’s side. A moment later, they were back on the road, headed towards Rowan’s house. “Sir?”
“Hmm?” Rhoe glanced towards him, his face illuminated in the amber wash of the traffic lights.
“I-I’m sorry.” Rowan closed his eyes and sank back into the passenger seat. “I’m so sorry.”
Rhoe was quiet for a long few moments. “Lock the cabinet back up, son,” he finally said. “It won’t do anything good for you.” He reached Rowan’s house, pulled into his driveway, parked, helped Rowan out of his truck, and walked him into his house. “Son.”
“Yeah?”
Rhoe pressed Rowan into a brief, tight hug. “Don’t beat yourself up too badly.” He closed the front door, leaving Rowan alone in his house once again.
Rowan made it into the kitchen, shuffling slowly with his hand on the wall to guide him and keep himself upright, and swore at the sight of the bottles on the counter and the floor. So many. Maybe that was partially because of his hazy vision, but still–so many.
He left the kitchen. He’d deal with that mess…later. Right now, he needed sleep.
He only made it as far as the living room couch before his legs buckled and he half-collapsed onto the couch, barely remembering to kick off his shoes before he flopped down on his side, closed his eyes, and tumbled into the sweet black oblivion of drunken sleep.
The last thing he saw before deep sleep claimed him was Aelin’s heartbreakingly beautiful face, her stunning eyes lined with tears, her soft, broken plea for him to “just leave” spilling from her lips.
~~~
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