* @ofantchild / closed flashback starter.
there were some things that were forgotten with the passage of time. specifies got murky, details slipped away, memories fractured - things happened. that was just how it was. but just as surely as how it was guaranteed that 95% of memories would never stay intact... there was still the 5% that would. the ones that’d be remembered in painful detail, always. scott had a lot of those. cassie’s death topped them all, still fresh, always would be. his divorce with peggy ( oh yeah, he WISHED he could forget all the details of that one ). meeting hope. cassie’s first word. putting on the suit for the very first time. cassie walking for the very first time. dying. ok - he didn’t remember that as much as he remembered being brought forward before he could, again... and what happened immediately after.
and then there was finn. for as long as scott lived, he would always remember how that boy had been introduced into his life.
it was a DUI. stupid. he hadn’t even realized that he was over the limit - though considering how often he was, those days, then it shouldn’t have been as big a surprise as it was. the cops had hauled his ass in and let him sober up in a jail cell, but all considered, it could have been a lot worse. as an avenger - not anymore, he’d said, not since life went to shit, but they hadn’t listened much to the past tense - he got some sort of free pass on account of heroism, and once morning had come, they’d let him out without issue. he hadn’t even had to call hope ( and boy had he spent a chunk of his night fearing that phone call ). there’d been paperwork, of course, but once it was done they had handed over his belongings and it was as he had been putting back on his old shabby watch ( the illusion of having his life together involved, it seemed, the wrinkled suit he’d slept in and scuffed shoes with a too expensive watch that had seen FAR better days ) that he had spotted through the glass of one of the many side offices the boy with messy black hair that’d change his life.
dramatic - sure, but it was TRUE. finn demski was a scrawny little thing, completely out of place in the setting of the station. even sitting in one of the straight backed chairs inside of the office, scott knew that if they’d been stood side by side, the kid would have maybe, JUST maybe reached his elbow. he was a slip of a boy in a way that didn’t seem quite right, and somehow, somehow, scott had found himself questioning the cop at the desk before him. twelve years old - that was the first shock. he looked so much YOUNGER than that, for some reason. brought in by social services. not saying much to anyone, though. neglected. neglected.
as he got the answers to all the questions he asked, scott had continued looking through the half glazed glass, finding it hard not to notice how the tired eyes with too dark circles and world wearied frown that he could see in his own reflection was mirrored in the image of the boy beyond. he was so young. so much younger than he’d thought. like cassie. he wasn’t sure which thought had prompted him to interrupt whatever his cop friend had been saying with the question that now, suddenly, seemed most important: what’s gonna happen to him? the guy was obviously sick of all the queries ( had probably been sick of them for a while, really, but scott hadn’t been looking to know ) and with a noncommittal and dismissive sound from the back of his throat had SHRUGGED.
he didn’t really know what he was doing, then. he didn’t know for a LONG time exactly what his plan had been, or was. way back then, right after cassie, right when his life had lost its meaning, scott had developed a terrible habit of doing things without much thought for the long run. he’d thank it, later, for how it brought finn to him. tucking his faded wallet into his back pocket along with his keys ( sans car ), scott had asked whether he could speak to the kid. he’d figured, if they cared about being good at their jobs, he wouldn’t be allowed. with another sound from the back of his throat, the cop had given another shrug and waved him through. scott had never looked back.
he knocked before entering - even though the door was wide open, like they’d really been keeping an eye on him. he’d thought it was the polite thing to do, and that finn had probably already had too much of his privacy invaded. moving to his side, slowly, and sitting in one of the chairs there, scott had let silence fall and settle for a little while before he’d cleared his throat, voice still heavy with the incoming hangover when he spoke up. “i’m scott.” he didn’t say hey. considering he’d already pulled up a chair, a greeting seemed a little LATE. “d’you know me?- i’m kind of an avenger.” kind of were the crucial words. KIND OF, when it suited. that part of his life was buried six feet down, with his daughter - he didn’t say it with hubris, or pride. he said it because if the kid knew him from the news, then it’d at least mean he’d associated him with something better than these cops. not by much, but... by a little. “from what i hear, you’ve had a pretty rough night too. i’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
