who's left
see? fic, I promised. inspired by the june 12 prompt at
we_are_cities (read: the best). also matches #234 at a softer world (also best). there's an author's note at the bottom, too.
who's left
(1151 words) // (g-ish): p!atd gen; spencer-centric
The way Spencer sees things, he’s lucky every time he gets into a car and it doesn’t crash. He should be thankful that every time he comes home there’s still a place to come home to. That when he turns the corner onto his street his house isn’t engulfed in flames, his family huddled in fire blankets across the road.
Spencer had started thinking in the form of disasters when he was nine, the year his puppy (Millie) had gotten hit by a jeep speeding past their lawn. Somehow, seemingly miraculously, the vet had been able to revive Millie. Now when he comes home, he returns to a full-grown dog, always petting her for a good half hour before he even thinks of unpacking.
This realistic outlook (not fatalistic, never fatalistic; simply practical) began to become a problem when he started touring. Before, he’d managed to hide it, never telling his mother the main reason he made sure to hug her tightly every time he saw her, made sure to kiss all his sisters on the cheek before he left again. On tour, though, in a bus that seemed huge at first and since living in it has shrunk, it was impossible to hide his chronic worrying.
He’d text his girlfriend saying, “Hey, what’s up?” hoping it’d also mean “Are you okay?” and “You haven’t died of radon poisoning since yesterday, right?” He’d call Patrick and talk about shoes and ask how his latest production outfit was going, praying that Patrick understood he was also supposed to answer the unspoken things: “Pete and Joe and Andy didn’t get caught in a tragic L accident, did they?”
Because it wasn’t okay to ask people if their apartment had somehow been flooded or if a tornado had torn a tree out of the earth and flung it into a semi passing on the highway that then subsequently barreled into the Starbucks they’d been drinking a grande Chai Tea Latte in. (What? That could totally happen. At least, it could from what Spencer knows about tornados, being from Nevada.)
So when he gets a call somewhere between midnight and dawn the third night they’re off the Nothing Rhymes with Circus tour, Spencer wakes already worried, scenarios spinning. When he sees Ryan’s name flashing on the screen, he stops breathing for what feels like hours.
What if Ryan got hit by a drunk driver in that new, flashy car? What if he’d indeed decided to up and visit Jon in Chicago and his plane had become a heap of sinewy metal somewhere in Kansas or Missouri?
Wait. Then why would Ryan be calling?
Oh God. What if it’s Brendon? Or Jon? What if one of them is dying in some hospital bed or already dead in airplane wreckage and it was some backwoods farmer that called the police and the fire department and probably the marines to say that a meteorite or an alien spaceship had crashed in his field?
Spencer’s already reaching for the jeans he discarded earlier when he answers, still breathless. Ryan’s monotone throws him off. How can Ryan be so calm about this? One or both of their best friends could be dead and he’s all, “Did I wake you up? Sorry, man. How are you?”
“I’m fine,” Spencer croaks, trying to calm his heart, focusing on inhaling. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine mostly. Listen, though, I--” And Ryan’s cut off by something in the background. Spencer can dimly hear Brendon’s voice interrupting.
“Me too!”
Ryan sighs, continues, “We, Brendon and I, we were wondering if maybe you wanted to, like, come hang out? We can watch movies or play video games or even jam a little, just. Please?”
“We’ll make it worth your while!” Brendon calls, and Spencer knows Ryan’s flinching because that was loud even in his ear.
“It’ll be a total sleepover party thing, and you’re invited, Spencer Smith.” And yeah, Brendon’s wrestled the phone from Ryan now, his voice is closer when he says, “We’ll stay up all night and eat junk food and drink soda and tell scary stories and play truth or dare and whatever you want!”
“Brendon, it’s already--” Spencer checks his clock, “three in the morning. Night’s almost over.”
Brendon sounds exasperated when he says, “Then we’ll just keep rocking into the morning. There’s no rule against that, is there? If there is, I won’t tell if you and Ryan don’t. Loose lips and all that, you know? So are you coming? You should come. You really, really should. Ryan’s lonely and I miss you, too. It’s bad enough Jon’s not here, don’t deprive us of your greatness, too.”
“Put Ryan back on.”
Spencer hears Brendon’s sigh and a “he wants to talk to you again” before Ryan’s voice filters through. “Sorry, Spence.”
“It’s cool, don’t worry. Are you guys at your place, or what?”
“Yeah, I,” Ryan says, and his voice drops lower. Spencer can hear Brendon humming something from farther away; Ryan’s left the room. “I couldn’t do it again. Last time we were home I stayed here alone, you know? You remember, I know you do, and it just. It’s not right, Spence, not after being with you guys all the time.
“I called Brendon an hour ago and woke him up, and he was here in like five minutes. And now we’re calling you, because it doesn’t feel right without you here.”
Spencer nods, knowing Ryan’ll take his silence as that. “Yeah, alright. I’ll come over. Just give me a little while to wake up and all that.”
“Thanks, man,” Ryan says, and even though it’s still a drawl, Spencer can hear the smile in his voice. He can also hear Brendon crooning with victory in the background. “And hey,” Ryan goes on, “I’m not. I’m not lonely, okay? I just miss you idiots.”
Spencer grins this time. “Us idiots miss you, too, you know. I’ll be over in twenty.”
And the way Spencer sees things, it’s okay to relax for a little while. Okay to let Brendon jump him into a hug the minute Ryan opens the door. Okay to not worry about the crick Ryan will have in his neck if he falls asleep watching The Goonies at that angle on Brendon’s shoulder. He lets himself put impending doom and natural disasters out of his mind and just forget for a little while, dozing off on Brendon’s other side, letting himself fall asleep to Brendon quoting the entire movie softly.
Somewhere in the back of his head, though, Spencer knows he’ll be calling Jon as soon as he wakes up to check in, making sure that the inevitable fall of the Sears Tower hasn’t happened yet. But that’s even okay a little bit, because Spencer’s always going to worry about the people he loves, and he’d rather worry for no reason than have the reason.
___________________________________________________________________________
thank you first.
this overall idea was mine, through&through. thinking in disasters and wondering in ultimatums is what I do best.
I have a question for all of you. do you know of anywhere to post original fiction where it's actually worth it? if not, is anyone else interested in starting something?
edit, one more thing: this was a long time in coming. I wrote it months ago and only just brought myself to post it.
we_are_cities (read: the best). also matches #234 at a softer world (also best). there's an author's note at the bottom, too.
who's left
(1151 words) // (g-ish): p!atd gen; spencer-centric
The way Spencer sees things, he’s lucky every time he gets into a car and it doesn’t crash. He should be thankful that every time he comes home there’s still a place to come home to. That when he turns the corner onto his street his house isn’t engulfed in flames, his family huddled in fire blankets across the road.
Spencer had started thinking in the form of disasters when he was nine, the year his puppy (Millie) had gotten hit by a jeep speeding past their lawn. Somehow, seemingly miraculously, the vet had been able to revive Millie. Now when he comes home, he returns to a full-grown dog, always petting her for a good half hour before he even thinks of unpacking.
This realistic outlook (not fatalistic, never fatalistic; simply practical) began to become a problem when he started touring. Before, he’d managed to hide it, never telling his mother the main reason he made sure to hug her tightly every time he saw her, made sure to kiss all his sisters on the cheek before he left again. On tour, though, in a bus that seemed huge at first and since living in it has shrunk, it was impossible to hide his chronic worrying.
He’d text his girlfriend saying, “Hey, what’s up?” hoping it’d also mean “Are you okay?” and “You haven’t died of radon poisoning since yesterday, right?” He’d call Patrick and talk about shoes and ask how his latest production outfit was going, praying that Patrick understood he was also supposed to answer the unspoken things: “Pete and Joe and Andy didn’t get caught in a tragic L accident, did they?”
Because it wasn’t okay to ask people if their apartment had somehow been flooded or if a tornado had torn a tree out of the earth and flung it into a semi passing on the highway that then subsequently barreled into the Starbucks they’d been drinking a grande Chai Tea Latte in. (What? That could totally happen. At least, it could from what Spencer knows about tornados, being from Nevada.)
So when he gets a call somewhere between midnight and dawn the third night they’re off the Nothing Rhymes with Circus tour, Spencer wakes already worried, scenarios spinning. When he sees Ryan’s name flashing on the screen, he stops breathing for what feels like hours.
What if Ryan got hit by a drunk driver in that new, flashy car? What if he’d indeed decided to up and visit Jon in Chicago and his plane had become a heap of sinewy metal somewhere in Kansas or Missouri?
Wait. Then why would Ryan be calling?
Oh God. What if it’s Brendon? Or Jon? What if one of them is dying in some hospital bed or already dead in airplane wreckage and it was some backwoods farmer that called the police and the fire department and probably the marines to say that a meteorite or an alien spaceship had crashed in his field?
Spencer’s already reaching for the jeans he discarded earlier when he answers, still breathless. Ryan’s monotone throws him off. How can Ryan be so calm about this? One or both of their best friends could be dead and he’s all, “Did I wake you up? Sorry, man. How are you?”
“I’m fine,” Spencer croaks, trying to calm his heart, focusing on inhaling. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine mostly. Listen, though, I--” And Ryan’s cut off by something in the background. Spencer can dimly hear Brendon’s voice interrupting.
“Me too!”
Ryan sighs, continues, “We, Brendon and I, we were wondering if maybe you wanted to, like, come hang out? We can watch movies or play video games or even jam a little, just. Please?”
“We’ll make it worth your while!” Brendon calls, and Spencer knows Ryan’s flinching because that was loud even in his ear.
“It’ll be a total sleepover party thing, and you’re invited, Spencer Smith.” And yeah, Brendon’s wrestled the phone from Ryan now, his voice is closer when he says, “We’ll stay up all night and eat junk food and drink soda and tell scary stories and play truth or dare and whatever you want!”
“Brendon, it’s already--” Spencer checks his clock, “three in the morning. Night’s almost over.”
Brendon sounds exasperated when he says, “Then we’ll just keep rocking into the morning. There’s no rule against that, is there? If there is, I won’t tell if you and Ryan don’t. Loose lips and all that, you know? So are you coming? You should come. You really, really should. Ryan’s lonely and I miss you, too. It’s bad enough Jon’s not here, don’t deprive us of your greatness, too.”
“Put Ryan back on.”
Spencer hears Brendon’s sigh and a “he wants to talk to you again” before Ryan’s voice filters through. “Sorry, Spence.”
“It’s cool, don’t worry. Are you guys at your place, or what?”
“Yeah, I,” Ryan says, and his voice drops lower. Spencer can hear Brendon humming something from farther away; Ryan’s left the room. “I couldn’t do it again. Last time we were home I stayed here alone, you know? You remember, I know you do, and it just. It’s not right, Spence, not after being with you guys all the time.
“I called Brendon an hour ago and woke him up, and he was here in like five minutes. And now we’re calling you, because it doesn’t feel right without you here.”
Spencer nods, knowing Ryan’ll take his silence as that. “Yeah, alright. I’ll come over. Just give me a little while to wake up and all that.”
“Thanks, man,” Ryan says, and even though it’s still a drawl, Spencer can hear the smile in his voice. He can also hear Brendon crooning with victory in the background. “And hey,” Ryan goes on, “I’m not. I’m not lonely, okay? I just miss you idiots.”
Spencer grins this time. “Us idiots miss you, too, you know. I’ll be over in twenty.”
And the way Spencer sees things, it’s okay to relax for a little while. Okay to let Brendon jump him into a hug the minute Ryan opens the door. Okay to not worry about the crick Ryan will have in his neck if he falls asleep watching The Goonies at that angle on Brendon’s shoulder. He lets himself put impending doom and natural disasters out of his mind and just forget for a little while, dozing off on Brendon’s other side, letting himself fall asleep to Brendon quoting the entire movie softly.
Somewhere in the back of his head, though, Spencer knows he’ll be calling Jon as soon as he wakes up to check in, making sure that the inevitable fall of the Sears Tower hasn’t happened yet. But that’s even okay a little bit, because Spencer’s always going to worry about the people he loves, and he’d rather worry for no reason than have the reason.
___________________________________________________________________________
thank you first.
this overall idea was mine, through&through. thinking in disasters and wondering in ultimatums is what I do best.
I have a question for all of you. do you know of anywhere to post original fiction where it's actually worth it? if not, is anyone else interested in starting something?
edit, one more thing: this was a long time in coming. I wrote it months ago and only just brought myself to post it.