a sensation of falling (eventual gsf) - part 3
master post | to remember, i | to remember, ii | to dream | to move, i | to move, ii | to wake | fanart | fanmix
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[to dream: night terror]
Although he'd never admit it, Spencer still loves the nights that he gets to watch Brendon perform. He loves how Brendon just becomes so much more on stage. He shines so much brighter, harder than any other of the performers.
Spencer's not the only one to have noticed this, there have been others. Audrey, of course, but there was one night Spencer remembers, where Fitz ejected an older gentleman who'd been a little too insistent on seeing Brendon. Although Spencer knows that Brendon isn't a complete innocent, there are still pieces of him that are more fragile than anyone but Spencer knows. He'll do anything to protect that, futile as it is with his inability to actually interact with these dream worlds.
Also, it's only in that place, his dreams, that Spencer will every truly admit to himself how beautiful he finds Brendon.
He never really examines this feeling too closely, the same way he never examines the strange turning of his stomach when he's there to see the way Ryan gazes at Colleen while she twirls around their living room. Or the way he can't seem to swallow when Jon curves his hand around Cassandra's cheek every morning.
Spencer's spent many of the last few years watching from curtain-side, watching Brendon grow, transform into the man that stands on the stage tonight. Brendon's portion of the show always draws the biggest crowd; it always takes the girls a good ten minutes to pick up all the roses that land at his feet after the last bow.
Rouge has darkened both Brendon's cheeks and lips and Spencer carefully avoids staring, makes sure to look at Brendon's kohl-rimmed eyes as he passes by, heading toward his dressing room.
"Awesome show, B," Spencer says, following him down the hallway. His words are echoed similarly by Greta, the group's piano accompanist. Their bassist, Christopher, runs by, slapping Brendon on the back with an enthusiastic shout. He takes a moment to tug at one of Greta's golden curls and then races off again, shouting nonsense. Brendon grins and Spencer deliberately looks away, looks down in time to see the way that Greta's hand brushes Brendon's. That's new and okay, so the wall's kind of interesting, regardless of the fact that he's seen it a million times before and the dark wood hasn't really changed at all in the last two years.
Dammit. He thought he was over this--this thing. He's got Haley now and she makes him smile, makes his skin itch and his heart beat faster.
Spencer's attention swings back to Brendon and Greta just in time to see him kiss her cheek, to watch Greta blush prettily and walk away, a smile peaking over her shoulder as she heads further down the hallway. Spencer goes back to ignoring the turning in his stomach and slips into the dressing room behind Brendon before the door closes.
He nearly runs into Brendon (not really, but still even after all these years, Spencer treats his dream worlds like his real one. and really, who's to say they're not?) when he stops abruptly not two feet inside the room. Over Brendon's shoulder, Spencer can see that there's another person in the room, seated in Brendon's makeup chair.
That's unusual.
Not the fact that Brendon has an admirer, no, there's many a female that have come knocking at Brendon's door after a performance. Women of all ages and status, in fact; however, Fritz usually dispatches them away from Brendon's stuttering thank-yous and blushing embarrassment in a quick fashion, before they get through the door. All of a sudden it hits Spencer that he's seen hide nor hair of Brendon's rather large self-appointed bodyguard tonight. That's fairly strange as well and Spencer feels a vague unease roll around his stomach.
In bed, Spencer rolls over, restlessly pushing at his covers.
The man seated in front of them is handsome. In the back of his mind, Spencer notes the lean frame, how the stranger's fingers rest elegantly over the ends of the chair's arms. A brilliant red scarf curls around his neck, the ends tucked inside a dark coat. The man's eyes are dark, shadowed by the velvet hat that sits at a jaunted angle on his head. His attention is so intent on the stranger, that when Brendon speaks, Spencer very nearly jumps out of his skin.
"Hello, sir. Is there something I can help you with? Are you looking for someone?"
Brendon's always at the most polite when he's unsure of a situation, when he's confronted with someone he doesn't know. He's also a bit clueless, even at eighteen, and Spencer can't help but roll his eyes, "He's here for you, dumbass."
Fitz may let the girls get a knock on the door, or a word in, but he's always hauled the male admirers away before Brendon knew there were any. Except for tonight. This makes Spencer curious and maybe a little more anxious because even if this isn't his time period, he can tell expensive clothing as well as the next person. And this guy is dressed to the nines, the smell of money rolling off of him. Rich people are used to getting what they want, Spencer thinks.
The man rises, stretching a hand out towards Brendon, and smiles. Spencer wants to reach out to catch at Brendon's sleeve, stop him from moving any closer, but he knows better. Spencer can touch and feel, but it never affects anything. He's spent years working around that, but tonight is the first night it's truly troubled him. And there's no reason for it, that he can tell. Just a sense of unease that's made a home in his belly.
Spencer's hands scramble over his comforter, the material twisting through his fingers. He frowns.
"Alejandro Marroquin, at your service." He takes Brendon's hand and Spencer's gaze narrows as the grip lingers. "I heard an angel sing tonight and I thought I would come see if I could catch it." The corner of his mouth tilts up in an inviting half-smile as he wraps his other hand around their joined hands.
Spencer mumbles 'creeper' under his breath, frowning as Brendon blushes behind his makeup and replies, "No angel, sir, just me." Mr. Marroquin is more than happy to sit there and hold Brendon's hand. Spencer coughs loudly, for all the good it will do. "Geez, Bren, buy a fuckin' clue already."
Unsurprisingly, no one pays attention and Spencer curses Fitz's absence.
Something wakes Crystal and after a moment, she realizes it's coming from the next room. She can hear her brother's voice through the wall. Curious, she gets out of bed to check it out. A few minutes later, Jackie trails a few steps behind her.
"Spence?"
Spencer's getting a little pissed off. Fitz is still a no-show and their 'visitor' is barely a half-step behind Brendon as he moves around the room. Sitting down, Brendon's smile is a little nervous as he spreads the make-up remover cream over his face and grabs a towel to wipe it off. He misses the naked predatory appreciation that flashes across Marroquin's face.
Spencer doesn't.
Growling, he moves in closer. "Don't even think about it, asshole." Neither of the room's occupants give any indication they've heard. Spencer doesn't really care. A vague thought of going to find Gerard flashes through his mind, but he doesn't really want to leave Brendon alone.
Brendon rises and nearly runs into Marroquin, the man is standing so close. "Uh, sorry," Brendon mumbles in apology before sliding around him and heading behind the privacy screen set up in the corner of the room.
"So, how long have you been with the show?" There's a faint accent marking the words.
Brendon answers and Spencer scowls as their visitor follows Brendon's shadowed movements through the screen. Marroquin's hands run over the items on the table as he asks a few other vague, inane questions. Long fingers linger on the towel Brendon had thrown down earlier, and Spencer watches as he lifts his hand, rubbing some of the cream between his thumb and forefinger.
"Jesus fucking Christ, you are so creepy," Spencer mutters. Louder, "Brendon, hurry the fuck up, let's go find Fritz. Hell, I'll even take Gerard right now."
Brendon finally steps out from behind the privacy screen, head down as he works on the top few remaining buttons on his clean shirt. Before Spencer can move, Marroquin's there, sliding his greasy fingers under Brendon's.
"Hey!" Spencer says loudly. "That shit's not cool, dude."
Startled, Brendon takes a step back. "That's okay, I, um. I got it, thank you." Spencer sees his eyes glance toward the door.
He thrashes in bed, shouts again and suddenly Ginger is there, a hand to his shoulder, trying to wake him. "Spencer, honey, wake up."
Nothing.
"Spencer."
Marroquin apparently notices too because he steps in again, the two of them standing nearly chest to chest. Brendon's face flushes and he tries to step around, but Marroquin refuses to give any ground. Spencer reaches out, but nothing happens when grabs Marroquin's shoulder.
"Sir, please," Brendon grits out. There are hands on his wrists now and he tugs against the hold. Spencer curses, where the hell is Fritz?
Brendon is wiry, but Marroquin has height on him and with one good jerk, Brendon stumbles into him. A second later, Marroquin's mouth is on Brendon's. Spencer might have laughed in another situation at the dumb-founded look on Brendon's face, at the way his body goes absolutely still in shock. Now, though, he just hollers for Gerard, the muffled roar of the crowd drowning the sound out. There's a flash of tongue and Brendon starts struggling in earnest. He pulls back, trying to break Marroquin's hold. A shout gets him a hand over his mouth for the effort, so Brendon bites it.
Marroquin's face twists in pain and anger, the look ugly on his face. A split second later, he backhands Brendon. The sharp crack of skin against skin is shocking in the small room.
Spencer feels the first sign of real fear go through him then and when Brendon lifts his gaze, he sees it echoed in Brendon's eyes.
Spencer's fingers scrabble at whatever they touch - the covers, his mother's housecoat - his hands are everywhere, frantic. Jeff tries to hold them down, but Spencer just fights harder. Jackie starts crying, quietly.
They're a tangle of limbs, Brendon struggling to break loose and Marroquin refusing to let him go. They turn, switching places to the sound of tearing cloth. All of a sudden Brendon yelps, stumbling back half a step. Spencer watches as a bright red drop splatters on the floor. When he looks up, there's a line of blood welling up across the back of Brendon's hand. They both stare at it.
Marroquin's eyes are a bit wild, but the small knife in his left hand is steady. Spencer watches Brendon swallow hard before he says softly, "Please, sir-"
"Alejandro." Spencer notes inanely that the accent is thicker now, like he had to work to smooth it out earlier. Brendon nods, placates, "Alejandro." He gestures slowly at the chairs in the corner and another drop of blood rolls off his hand. Spencer doesn't know what to do.
"Let's, let's just-" Brendon tries a small smile and Spencer stares at the corner of his mouth. The skin there is starting to swell. "Why don't we sit down?"
Marroquin is reluctant, keeping one hand around Brendon's wrist even as he lets him take a step toward the seats. A few steps and they're closer to the door. Spencer sees the shift in the line of Brendon's body, knows what he's going to do before it happens.
He moves forward. "Brendon, don't-"
"I should get us something to drink-" Brendon moves toward the door, too quickly, and Marroquin reacts with a sharp pull and a loud, "No!"
When Spencer thinks about it later, as the scene repeats over and over in his nightmares, it's always in slow motion: the way Brendon stumbles, how Marroquin's own balance is thrown by his knee-jerk reaction.
The small, startled sound Brendon makes after they crash into the door.
Marroquin steps away and Spencer watches as a dark stain appears, rapidly growing as the liquid soaks into the material of Brendon's shirt. Blood, Spencer realizes.
Brendon's blood.
He screams.
Ryan, startled, drops his teacup. The fine China shatters in a million pieces.
Jon stumbles and the axe glances off the stump of wood, sliding left into the ground.
They all flinch at the sound. Crystal's voice breaks on her brother's name even as Ginger shakes his shoulders, hard, trying to wake him. Her own voice holds the beginnings of desperation.
Spencer can't seem to move. Something hits the floor near him, but it's not until it rolls to a stop against his foot that he jerks his gaze away from Brendon. He looks down.
The blade is long, slender. Red stains the length of it and Spencer starts shaking.
A frantic rush of Spanish finally makes it through the haze in his head and he spins around in time to see Marroquin clambering out the window. Spencer takes a step after him, but Brendon makes another small noise and he whips back around. Brendon's breath sounds wet and he slumps back against the door. A second later, his knees seem to give away and he slides down to the floor. There's a smear of blood, a bright splash of color, on the door.
Brendon's face is pale, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. Spencer rushes forward, yelling for Fritz. For Gerard. Anyone. There's another rush of applause through the walls.
"Goddammit, Brendon." Spencer goes to his knees. "You're in the way." Leaning against the door, Brendon's blocking the exit. Not that Spencer would be able to get the damn door open anyway. "Fuckfuckfuck. Where the hell is everyone?" His hands hover over Brendon, hesitant to actually touch. To make it real.
And then he remembers the window.
He's halfway to his feet when Brendon whispers, "Don't go." Spencer stumbles back to his knees in shock.
When he turns to look, Brendon staring straight at him.
Spencer goes absolutely still for a moment and his mother's voice trembles as she whispers his name.
Brendon's staring at him.
Like he can see him.
Spencer scrambles back to his side, watching as Brendon's eyes track him. "Brendon?"
The corner of his mouth tilts up in response, and Brendon opens his mouth to say something, but coughs instead. Blood stains his lip and Spencer just stares. It's not until Brendon tries to shift, a small, pained murmur accompanying the effort, that he moves. Brendon's breathes are getting shorter and harder to take, Spencer notes. He racks his brain, trying to remember any first aid. He puts his hand over the wound in Brendon's side-pressure's good, right?-but it just spills over his fingers. It's just the same as always, only now Brendon's watching as he fails to be able to do anything.
Under his fingertips, Brendon's breath stutters and Spencer looks up. Long, dark lashes are making shadows against the paleness of his skin and Spencer whispers, "Brendon."
No response. Spencer drops his head to Brendon's shoulder. The material gets damp and Spencer realizes that he's crying.
"Bren, please."
There's a soft touch to his cheek and he raises his head. Brendon's fingertips rest against his skin. He can feel them, plain as day.
"You've really pretty eyes," Brendon says. The words are quiet, barely a breath against Spencer's face. He opens his mouth to say something, what he doesn't know, when Brendon gives him a small smile and closes his own eyes.
A second later, his hand falls away.
He comes out of the dream abruptly, sitting straight up in bed, Brendon's name fading in the room. His parents are beside him instantly, questions tumbling over each other. The twins stay huddled a few feet from the bed, staring warily. Spencer doesn't answer as their voices echo around him. It all sounds so very far away. Ginger smoothes a hand over his head and asks in a quiet voice, "Spencer?"
He doesn't answer, barely even hears her really. He doesn't hear anything but Brendon's last breath in his ears.
Doesn't see anything but the blood on his hands.
~*~
[fade to black: anhedonia]
Brendon dies in a Thursday dream and Spencer doesn't sleep for the next two days. His appetite is non-existent and it's not until his mother's voice breaks on a please halfway through Sunday breakfast and he looks up to see something like fear in her eyes that he actually does more than just push the eggs around on his plate. It tastes like nothing, but her shoulders lose some of their tension.
He's upstairs later that day, laying in bed and staring blankly up at his ceiling when he hears Haley's voice. He listens to the creak of the stairs, doesn't turn his head when the door is pushed open. When his mom says quietly, "Haley's here, honey," he just rolls onto his side, away from the door. A moment later, it closes. Spencer listens to the quiet murmur of voices, then to the front door shutting. He waits for the sound of a car engine, but instead, his phone beeps. A new text message. A second one follows a few minutes later. The driveway remains silent.
His phone rings, Candy. A last ditch effort, Spencer knows. Haley hates talking on the phone. It goes off three more times before he hears the engine come to life. Spencer turns the phone off and goes back to staring at the wall.
*
That night, sheer exhaustion takes control and Spencer falls asleep. An hour and a half later, he wakes up screaming.
*
There are deep circles under his eyes Monday morning, but he's already awake and showered by the time his parents stumble into the kitchen. Vaguely Spencer realizes that it's kind of creepy that he's just sitting there when his dad flips on the light and jumps a little when he spots Spencer. A deep sigh follows, but he doesn't say anything to Spencer, just sets a cup of coffee down in front of him a few minutes later.
He can hear his parent arguing upstairs after breakfast, his mom's voice rising in frustration. Later, she says she's taking him to school and he doesn't argue. He doesn't know what she tells the principle, or what gets passed onto his teachers, but they don't say anything about how he looks. He can hear some of the students whispering, but he can't really bring himself to care.
He's standing there, staring into his locker trying to remember what class he's supposed to have next when there's a touch to his shoulder. He jumps, knocking the hand away. It's Haley and he sees the hurt in her eyes, but can't make himself say anything other than a hoarse, "Sorry." She just nods, digging her teeth into her bottom lip.
At lunch, she and Brent flank him like guards. He sits there, unresponsive, while they try to hold a conversation like nothing's happened. Like Brendon isn't dead. But they don't know Brendon because Brendon only exists in his dreams. In his head. Like he's not real.
Spencer calmly pushes away from the table, ignoring Haley calling his name. He barely makes it to the bathroom before he throws up.
He does his best to avoid both of them after that.
*
Brent climbs through his window a few days later. It's something that he hasn't done since they were thirteen, when he broke his arm slipping on a weakened branch. Spencer doesn't move, continues to stare at the wall. Brent slides down to the floor, directly in his line of sight. There's enough ambient light that Spencer knows Brent can tell he's awake. They stare at each other in the dark for a while until Spencer's eyes start to droop. He fights it, doesn't want to see it all again. Doesn't want to wake up screaming like he has almost every night.
Doesn't want Brent to see that, any of it.
It's hard though, after a while, to fight the exhaustion. He can feel Brent's gaze still on him when he eventually slips into unconsciousness. He wakes a few hours later, the sun slowly brightening his room.
Brent's gone, but when he rolls over to look at the clock, Spencer sees the photo. Propped up against the lamp, it's the two of them, around ten years ago. They've got their arms around each other's shoulders, wide grins for the camera.
Spencer stares at for a few minutes, then reaches over and flips it face down on his night stand.
*
Two and a half weeks into waking the entire household up at least once a night, Spencer's parents take him to a psychologist. He'd been recommended by the school's counselor after Spencer had passed out in 6th period gym. He remembers that Mrs. Casey was the first person he'd seen after waking up in the nurse's office. She been staring at him with some mix of pity and curiosity and he'd just closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see it.
And now he's sitting in a plush, leather chair. It's comfortable, the kind that you sort of sink down into, surrounding you on all sides. Dr. Blackinton is sitting opposite him in a similar chair. He's tall, with miles of arm and leg. A pair of black, thick-rimmed glasses are starting to slide down his nose as he reads. There's a file folder open on his lap and Spencer wonders fleetingly what his parents have told the doctor.
Blackinton raises his head, eyes sharp behind his glasses. "So. Nightmares, huh?"
Spencer presses back into the chair, letting the cool leather pull him in. He doesn't say anything for the next 45 minutes.
*
He's in the band hall late one afternoon, practicing with the drum line. Graduation is coming up and the band director wants something completely different from what they've done before. It's harder than usual and Spencer has to actually concentrate to keep up the driving sound.
There's this moment when the rhythm, the pounding, is all he can hear. Everything seems to fade away-the blood, the terror, the sleeplessness-just settles into the background as he focuses on the beat. It's literally the most peaceful moment he's had in weeks.
Jackie's in the middle of telling some ridiculous story that night at dinner when Spencer interrupts with, "Can I have a drum kit?"
His sister turns to glare at him but drops her gaze a second later. She bites her lip, and Spencer kind of hates himself. Both of the girls barely look at him anymore, hardly know how to talk to him. He opens his mouth to apologize when Ginger says, "I don't know, Spencer. That doesn't seem very practical. You've only got a couple weeks of school left. And you'll be going to college soon, it's not something you can put in your dorm room."
She frowns down at her plate. "Unless you've changed your mind? About going to Chicago?" There's a bit of hope in her voice, but Spencer just responds, "I've got enough cash left, I can buy it myself."
James sets his fork down, placing a hand on his wife's shoulder. "There's no need for that, Spencer. You should keep your money." He watches his dad run his hand down his mom's back and hates himself just a little bit more. "We were thinking of something a bit more practical, like a small fridge, but if you want a drum set-" He gives Spencer a small smile and a nod. "Then a drum set it is."
He manages to choke out a small thank before the silence settles in again, the silverware against plates the only sound. After a few minutes, Spencer's dad clears his throat and asks Jackie to finish her story. Spencer keeps his gaze on his plate as she hesitates. It's not very long until her voice rises in excitement.
*
"I hear you got some drums," Dr. Blackinton-Ryland, please-asks at their next session. Spencer nods. Drumming is a fairly safe subject. Ryland continues, "Man, I used to be in a band, back in college." His eyes kind of glaze over a little, remembering something, and Spencer blurts out, "Really?" before he can stop himself.
Swinging his gaze back to Spencer, eyes bright, Ryland grins. "Oh yeah, Pleasure Ryland. We were pretty sweet, not gonna lie. Had a keytar and everything." Spencer snorts out a laugh before he can stop himself and Ryland's smile widens.
Spencer looks down at his hands for a moment and when he lifts his gaze, Ryland's smile has softened, expectant.
"Can you make me not dream?" Spencer whispers, swallowing hard. "Please?"
*
The pills make him feel normal again. Mostly. At least now he can sleep the whole night through, granted it's not usually more than five or six hours. But he doesn't have to worry about waking up in cold sweats; doesn't have to watch his sisters slide around him like he's a disease they're afraid to catch; doesn't have to look at his mother's eyes, red-rimmed and scared. No, now he wakes up and can breathe.
The images start to fade, never so sharp anymore.
Graduation comes and goes.
Summer is hot in Vegas, as usual. Spencer spends most of it working at the Smoothie Hut or in the garage on his drums. He still doesn't eat much, but at least now he remembers to. The drumming and loss of appetite means he drops all the baby fat that's been hanging on since puberty. That's something at least, he thinks.
Brent comes over with his bass a couple times a week and they'll jam for several hours. Afterward, they'll head upstairs and play Guitar Hero for a while. All of Spencer's first-person shooters and similar games gather dust underneath the TV, and he'll catch Brent looking at them sometimes. Finally one evening, Spencer just sends them all home with Brent.
Frowning, Brent looks up. He opens his mouth and Spencer panics for split second. They've still never talked about what happened to Spencer. He realizes in that instant it's still too fresh, too real and he mumbles something about running errands for his mom and pretty much flees the room. Brent never tries to ask again.
*
He and Haley fall back into some semblance of a relationship. He loves her, he does. But even before, there was that part of him he held back from her. Now it feels like that divide is even bigger to Spencer. He knows that it's his fault, that Haley's just waiting for the time when he'll talk to her. He can see the worry, the questions she always wants to ask but doesn't.
The thing is, Haley's not all that patient. She never has been and so they've argued more in the last month than they have since they've known each other. Spencer can't seem to make her understand that he can't, won't, talk about it.
So they argue and apologize, over and over again. She watches him take the pills and he knows she hates it.
*
It's late in the evening, the sun starting to set. It's three days until he heads for Chicago and there are boxes littered around his room. He can't find his pills.
"Can't you just not--not take them tonight?" Frustration laces Haley's voice.
Spencer looks at her over her shoulder, frowning, "Hales, we've talked-"
"About it, I know." Arms crossed, she looks away.
Sighing, Spencer turns his attention back to looking for his pills. "Where the hell are they?" He pulls too hard on on the night stand drawer and it drops to the floor, contents scattering. "Fuck."
"Spencer-"
There's a soft touch to his shoulder and he swings around, knocking her hand away. "Damn it, Haley, I've told you!"
She steps back, eyes wide.All the anger dissipates instantly at the look on her face. He scrubs a hand over his face and slumps down on to the bed. His voice is ragged when he says, "Hales, I. I'm sor-"
"Shh." She sits down next to him on the bed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He leans into it and tucks his face into her neck. Her skin is always so soft, always smells so good. Breathing in deeply, he mutters a soft sorry anyway. Her fingers tangle in his hair and she tugs them both down until they're lying face to face on his bed.
The muted murmur of the televisions drifts up from downstairs. He can hear his sisters arguing somewhere in the house, and everything seems like normal again. Everything but him. He watches Haley watch him and whispers, "I do love you. You know that, right?"
She smiles sweetly at him, but he can see a sadness in her eyes. It makes his throat tighten and he closes his eyes to block it out. It seems like he's always running away.
After a while, the tension settles out of his body and he can feel himself slipping into sleep. He tries to force his eyelids open, to sit up and find his medication, but they're so heavy and Haley's fingertips are tracing soft over his cheeks, reassuring. Soothing.
For the first time in nearly three months, Spencer falls asleep without his pills.
The hallways are quieter than Spencer remembers them being. He makes his way toward the library, but Ryan isn't there.
Unable to help himself, he glances up. Elegy is in its same location, a thin layer of dust covering it. Spencer brushes his fingertips along its spine, but the dust remains undisturbed and he turns away. Moving by the desk, he glances down and something catches his eye.
Last Will & Testament. Ryan's father's name is written below that line. Spencer just stands there in shock, a million questions running through his head. When had happened? And how was Ryan taking it?
Spencer's head snaps up at the sound of voices, raised and urgent. Several servants rush past the library a second later, arms full of sheets.He scrambles around the desk to follow. He can't really understand what's going on, but he catches the word Mistress Ross. Colleen.
His stomach drops.
When he stumbles into the foyer, Bob has one hand on Ryan's shoulder, the other tight around his upper arm. It wraps nearly all the way around.
"I'm sorry, Master Ross. We-" Spencer recognizes Charlotte, one of the younger maids. She's crying. Her voice barely above a whisper, but loud enough that Spencer hears it clearly when she says, "We lost them both."
Ryan crumples and Bob slides to the ground with him, pulling Ryan into his chest as he starts shaking.
This isn't happening, Spencer thinks. Wake up, please let me just wake up. He stumbles back out of the room--
-and nearly trips when his foot catches in a deep rut on a dirt road.
No, nononono. He doesn't want to be here either, recognizing the setting immediately. Raising his head, he sees a figure coming down the road; watching as it comes closer, as a familiar face comes into focus. Spencer can feel the sadness in the slight limp as Nicholas walks closer.
"Nicholas!"
Jon's shirt brushes his sleeve when he runs by and Spencer want to catch his arm, stop him. But even as he reaches out, Jon's past him, arms wrapping his friend up in a bone-crushing hug. Spencer watches as Jon takes a step back, hands still on Nicholas' shoulders. He grins, asking, "Good to have you back! When's the rest of the gang coming?
"Jon," Nicholas swallows hard, staring down at his feet. The smile slips off Jon's face. His voice is low, rough, when he asks quietly, "Tommy?"
"I couldn't-" Nicholas shakes his head. "I couldn't get there in time. They were both-" He looks back up and shakes his head again, unable to finish.
Spencer closes his eyes against the pain in Jon's face, but he can still see it. Still hear Ryan's choked sobs. It's too much.
It's still too much.
"Spencer, wake up, please. Spencer." Haley's voice is choked and when he opens his eyes, her tears are the first thing he sees. He reaches up, fingertips catching on the wetness coursing down her cheeks. "Hales?"
"You wouldn't wake up." There's still a bit of panic in her eyes. "You-you were shaking in your sleep and I tried. But you wouldn't wake up and then you started crying." He touches his own face and she's right, there are tracks of tears on his face. "Spencer, what's going on? Is this what happens when you don't take those pills?"
"No," he answers truthfully. "I usually wake up screaming." She looks horrified. "Spencer." He reaches out for her. She flinches back and he drops his hand.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. Her fingers are white, she's gripping her hands together so tight. Spencer wants to reach out, want to curl them in his own hands, but he doesn't. "I didn't know. I'm sorry."
"I never told you." He finally sits up. "Didn't want you to know."
"What is it, Spencer? What goes on when you sleep?" And this is it, this is where Spencer should tell her. But he opens his mouth and finds that he can't. She must see it in his eyes because she smiles at him, sadness in her trembling lips as she whispers, "I'm sorry," a final time. A moment later she's gone, slipping out the bedroom and leaving Spencer there alone on his bed.
He's not really surprised when, three days later, she doesn't come to tell him goodbye. She'd already done it.
*
They're halfway to Chicago, his parents talking softly in the front and his sisters sacked out in the back row, when Spencer finds it. He'd been digging through his backpack, looking for some gum. It's a CD, and Spencer recognizes Brent's handwriting instantly. Even if he hadn't, the picture on the cover is the same one he'd set on the Spencer's night stand so many months ago.
He runs his fingers over the title, Friendship Never Dies (Ten Year Reunion Mix), before tucking it safely back into his bag, next to his pills.
to move, i
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
[to dream: night terror]
Although he'd never admit it, Spencer still loves the nights that he gets to watch Brendon perform. He loves how Brendon just becomes so much more on stage. He shines so much brighter, harder than any other of the performers.
Spencer's not the only one to have noticed this, there have been others. Audrey, of course, but there was one night Spencer remembers, where Fitz ejected an older gentleman who'd been a little too insistent on seeing Brendon. Although Spencer knows that Brendon isn't a complete innocent, there are still pieces of him that are more fragile than anyone but Spencer knows. He'll do anything to protect that, futile as it is with his inability to actually interact with these dream worlds.
Also, it's only in that place, his dreams, that Spencer will every truly admit to himself how beautiful he finds Brendon.
He never really examines this feeling too closely, the same way he never examines the strange turning of his stomach when he's there to see the way Ryan gazes at Colleen while she twirls around their living room. Or the way he can't seem to swallow when Jon curves his hand around Cassandra's cheek every morning.
Spencer's spent many of the last few years watching from curtain-side, watching Brendon grow, transform into the man that stands on the stage tonight. Brendon's portion of the show always draws the biggest crowd; it always takes the girls a good ten minutes to pick up all the roses that land at his feet after the last bow.
Rouge has darkened both Brendon's cheeks and lips and Spencer carefully avoids staring, makes sure to look at Brendon's kohl-rimmed eyes as he passes by, heading toward his dressing room.
"Awesome show, B," Spencer says, following him down the hallway. His words are echoed similarly by Greta, the group's piano accompanist. Their bassist, Christopher, runs by, slapping Brendon on the back with an enthusiastic shout. He takes a moment to tug at one of Greta's golden curls and then races off again, shouting nonsense. Brendon grins and Spencer deliberately looks away, looks down in time to see the way that Greta's hand brushes Brendon's. That's new and okay, so the wall's kind of interesting, regardless of the fact that he's seen it a million times before and the dark wood hasn't really changed at all in the last two years.
Dammit. He thought he was over this--this thing. He's got Haley now and she makes him smile, makes his skin itch and his heart beat faster.
Spencer's attention swings back to Brendon and Greta just in time to see him kiss her cheek, to watch Greta blush prettily and walk away, a smile peaking over her shoulder as she heads further down the hallway. Spencer goes back to ignoring the turning in his stomach and slips into the dressing room behind Brendon before the door closes.
He nearly runs into Brendon (not really, but still even after all these years, Spencer treats his dream worlds like his real one. and really, who's to say they're not?) when he stops abruptly not two feet inside the room. Over Brendon's shoulder, Spencer can see that there's another person in the room, seated in Brendon's makeup chair.
That's unusual.
Not the fact that Brendon has an admirer, no, there's many a female that have come knocking at Brendon's door after a performance. Women of all ages and status, in fact; however, Fritz usually dispatches them away from Brendon's stuttering thank-yous and blushing embarrassment in a quick fashion, before they get through the door. All of a sudden it hits Spencer that he's seen hide nor hair of Brendon's rather large self-appointed bodyguard tonight. That's fairly strange as well and Spencer feels a vague unease roll around his stomach.
In bed, Spencer rolls over, restlessly pushing at his covers.
The man seated in front of them is handsome. In the back of his mind, Spencer notes the lean frame, how the stranger's fingers rest elegantly over the ends of the chair's arms. A brilliant red scarf curls around his neck, the ends tucked inside a dark coat. The man's eyes are dark, shadowed by the velvet hat that sits at a jaunted angle on his head. His attention is so intent on the stranger, that when Brendon speaks, Spencer very nearly jumps out of his skin.
"Hello, sir. Is there something I can help you with? Are you looking for someone?"
Brendon's always at the most polite when he's unsure of a situation, when he's confronted with someone he doesn't know. He's also a bit clueless, even at eighteen, and Spencer can't help but roll his eyes, "He's here for you, dumbass."
Fitz may let the girls get a knock on the door, or a word in, but he's always hauled the male admirers away before Brendon knew there were any. Except for tonight. This makes Spencer curious and maybe a little more anxious because even if this isn't his time period, he can tell expensive clothing as well as the next person. And this guy is dressed to the nines, the smell of money rolling off of him. Rich people are used to getting what they want, Spencer thinks.
The man rises, stretching a hand out towards Brendon, and smiles. Spencer wants to reach out to catch at Brendon's sleeve, stop him from moving any closer, but he knows better. Spencer can touch and feel, but it never affects anything. He's spent years working around that, but tonight is the first night it's truly troubled him. And there's no reason for it, that he can tell. Just a sense of unease that's made a home in his belly.
Spencer's hands scramble over his comforter, the material twisting through his fingers. He frowns.
"Alejandro Marroquin, at your service." He takes Brendon's hand and Spencer's gaze narrows as the grip lingers. "I heard an angel sing tonight and I thought I would come see if I could catch it." The corner of his mouth tilts up in an inviting half-smile as he wraps his other hand around their joined hands.
Spencer mumbles 'creeper' under his breath, frowning as Brendon blushes behind his makeup and replies, "No angel, sir, just me." Mr. Marroquin is more than happy to sit there and hold Brendon's hand. Spencer coughs loudly, for all the good it will do. "Geez, Bren, buy a fuckin' clue already."
Unsurprisingly, no one pays attention and Spencer curses Fitz's absence.
Something wakes Crystal and after a moment, she realizes it's coming from the next room. She can hear her brother's voice through the wall. Curious, she gets out of bed to check it out. A few minutes later, Jackie trails a few steps behind her.
"Spence?"
Spencer's getting a little pissed off. Fitz is still a no-show and their 'visitor' is barely a half-step behind Brendon as he moves around the room. Sitting down, Brendon's smile is a little nervous as he spreads the make-up remover cream over his face and grabs a towel to wipe it off. He misses the naked predatory appreciation that flashes across Marroquin's face.
Spencer doesn't.
Growling, he moves in closer. "Don't even think about it, asshole." Neither of the room's occupants give any indication they've heard. Spencer doesn't really care. A vague thought of going to find Gerard flashes through his mind, but he doesn't really want to leave Brendon alone.
Brendon rises and nearly runs into Marroquin, the man is standing so close. "Uh, sorry," Brendon mumbles in apology before sliding around him and heading behind the privacy screen set up in the corner of the room.
"So, how long have you been with the show?" There's a faint accent marking the words.
Brendon answers and Spencer scowls as their visitor follows Brendon's shadowed movements through the screen. Marroquin's hands run over the items on the table as he asks a few other vague, inane questions. Long fingers linger on the towel Brendon had thrown down earlier, and Spencer watches as he lifts his hand, rubbing some of the cream between his thumb and forefinger.
"Jesus fucking Christ, you are so creepy," Spencer mutters. Louder, "Brendon, hurry the fuck up, let's go find Fritz. Hell, I'll even take Gerard right now."
Brendon finally steps out from behind the privacy screen, head down as he works on the top few remaining buttons on his clean shirt. Before Spencer can move, Marroquin's there, sliding his greasy fingers under Brendon's.
"Hey!" Spencer says loudly. "That shit's not cool, dude."
Startled, Brendon takes a step back. "That's okay, I, um. I got it, thank you." Spencer sees his eyes glance toward the door.
He thrashes in bed, shouts again and suddenly Ginger is there, a hand to his shoulder, trying to wake him. "Spencer, honey, wake up."
Nothing.
"Spencer."
Marroquin apparently notices too because he steps in again, the two of them standing nearly chest to chest. Brendon's face flushes and he tries to step around, but Marroquin refuses to give any ground. Spencer reaches out, but nothing happens when grabs Marroquin's shoulder.
"Sir, please," Brendon grits out. There are hands on his wrists now and he tugs against the hold. Spencer curses, where the hell is Fritz?
Brendon is wiry, but Marroquin has height on him and with one good jerk, Brendon stumbles into him. A second later, Marroquin's mouth is on Brendon's. Spencer might have laughed in another situation at the dumb-founded look on Brendon's face, at the way his body goes absolutely still in shock. Now, though, he just hollers for Gerard, the muffled roar of the crowd drowning the sound out. There's a flash of tongue and Brendon starts struggling in earnest. He pulls back, trying to break Marroquin's hold. A shout gets him a hand over his mouth for the effort, so Brendon bites it.
Marroquin's face twists in pain and anger, the look ugly on his face. A split second later, he backhands Brendon. The sharp crack of skin against skin is shocking in the small room.
Spencer feels the first sign of real fear go through him then and when Brendon lifts his gaze, he sees it echoed in Brendon's eyes.
Spencer's fingers scrabble at whatever they touch - the covers, his mother's housecoat - his hands are everywhere, frantic. Jeff tries to hold them down, but Spencer just fights harder. Jackie starts crying, quietly.
They're a tangle of limbs, Brendon struggling to break loose and Marroquin refusing to let him go. They turn, switching places to the sound of tearing cloth. All of a sudden Brendon yelps, stumbling back half a step. Spencer watches as a bright red drop splatters on the floor. When he looks up, there's a line of blood welling up across the back of Brendon's hand. They both stare at it.
Marroquin's eyes are a bit wild, but the small knife in his left hand is steady. Spencer watches Brendon swallow hard before he says softly, "Please, sir-"
"Alejandro." Spencer notes inanely that the accent is thicker now, like he had to work to smooth it out earlier. Brendon nods, placates, "Alejandro." He gestures slowly at the chairs in the corner and another drop of blood rolls off his hand. Spencer doesn't know what to do.
"Let's, let's just-" Brendon tries a small smile and Spencer stares at the corner of his mouth. The skin there is starting to swell. "Why don't we sit down?"
Marroquin is reluctant, keeping one hand around Brendon's wrist even as he lets him take a step toward the seats. A few steps and they're closer to the door. Spencer sees the shift in the line of Brendon's body, knows what he's going to do before it happens.
He moves forward. "Brendon, don't-"
"I should get us something to drink-" Brendon moves toward the door, too quickly, and Marroquin reacts with a sharp pull and a loud, "No!"
When Spencer thinks about it later, as the scene repeats over and over in his nightmares, it's always in slow motion: the way Brendon stumbles, how Marroquin's own balance is thrown by his knee-jerk reaction.
The small, startled sound Brendon makes after they crash into the door.
Marroquin steps away and Spencer watches as a dark stain appears, rapidly growing as the liquid soaks into the material of Brendon's shirt. Blood, Spencer realizes.
Brendon's blood.
He screams.
Ryan, startled, drops his teacup. The fine China shatters in a million pieces.
Jon stumbles and the axe glances off the stump of wood, sliding left into the ground.
They all flinch at the sound. Crystal's voice breaks on her brother's name even as Ginger shakes his shoulders, hard, trying to wake him. Her own voice holds the beginnings of desperation.
Spencer can't seem to move. Something hits the floor near him, but it's not until it rolls to a stop against his foot that he jerks his gaze away from Brendon. He looks down.
The blade is long, slender. Red stains the length of it and Spencer starts shaking.
A frantic rush of Spanish finally makes it through the haze in his head and he spins around in time to see Marroquin clambering out the window. Spencer takes a step after him, but Brendon makes another small noise and he whips back around. Brendon's breath sounds wet and he slumps back against the door. A second later, his knees seem to give away and he slides down to the floor. There's a smear of blood, a bright splash of color, on the door.
Brendon's face is pale, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. Spencer rushes forward, yelling for Fritz. For Gerard. Anyone. There's another rush of applause through the walls.
"Goddammit, Brendon." Spencer goes to his knees. "You're in the way." Leaning against the door, Brendon's blocking the exit. Not that Spencer would be able to get the damn door open anyway. "Fuckfuckfuck. Where the hell is everyone?" His hands hover over Brendon, hesitant to actually touch. To make it real.
And then he remembers the window.
He's halfway to his feet when Brendon whispers, "Don't go." Spencer stumbles back to his knees in shock.
When he turns to look, Brendon staring straight at him.
Spencer goes absolutely still for a moment and his mother's voice trembles as she whispers his name.
Brendon's staring at him.
Like he can see him.
Spencer scrambles back to his side, watching as Brendon's eyes track him. "Brendon?"
The corner of his mouth tilts up in response, and Brendon opens his mouth to say something, but coughs instead. Blood stains his lip and Spencer just stares. It's not until Brendon tries to shift, a small, pained murmur accompanying the effort, that he moves. Brendon's breathes are getting shorter and harder to take, Spencer notes. He racks his brain, trying to remember any first aid. He puts his hand over the wound in Brendon's side-pressure's good, right?-but it just spills over his fingers. It's just the same as always, only now Brendon's watching as he fails to be able to do anything.
Under his fingertips, Brendon's breath stutters and Spencer looks up. Long, dark lashes are making shadows against the paleness of his skin and Spencer whispers, "Brendon."
No response. Spencer drops his head to Brendon's shoulder. The material gets damp and Spencer realizes that he's crying.
"Bren, please."
There's a soft touch to his cheek and he raises his head. Brendon's fingertips rest against his skin. He can feel them, plain as day.
"You've really pretty eyes," Brendon says. The words are quiet, barely a breath against Spencer's face. He opens his mouth to say something, what he doesn't know, when Brendon gives him a small smile and closes his own eyes.
A second later, his hand falls away.
He comes out of the dream abruptly, sitting straight up in bed, Brendon's name fading in the room. His parents are beside him instantly, questions tumbling over each other. The twins stay huddled a few feet from the bed, staring warily. Spencer doesn't answer as their voices echo around him. It all sounds so very far away. Ginger smoothes a hand over his head and asks in a quiet voice, "Spencer?"
He doesn't answer, barely even hears her really. He doesn't hear anything but Brendon's last breath in his ears.
Doesn't see anything but the blood on his hands.
~*~
[fade to black: anhedonia]
Brendon dies in a Thursday dream and Spencer doesn't sleep for the next two days. His appetite is non-existent and it's not until his mother's voice breaks on a please halfway through Sunday breakfast and he looks up to see something like fear in her eyes that he actually does more than just push the eggs around on his plate. It tastes like nothing, but her shoulders lose some of their tension.
He's upstairs later that day, laying in bed and staring blankly up at his ceiling when he hears Haley's voice. He listens to the creak of the stairs, doesn't turn his head when the door is pushed open. When his mom says quietly, "Haley's here, honey," he just rolls onto his side, away from the door. A moment later, it closes. Spencer listens to the quiet murmur of voices, then to the front door shutting. He waits for the sound of a car engine, but instead, his phone beeps. A new text message. A second one follows a few minutes later. The driveway remains silent.
His phone rings, Candy. A last ditch effort, Spencer knows. Haley hates talking on the phone. It goes off three more times before he hears the engine come to life. Spencer turns the phone off and goes back to staring at the wall.
*
That night, sheer exhaustion takes control and Spencer falls asleep. An hour and a half later, he wakes up screaming.
*
There are deep circles under his eyes Monday morning, but he's already awake and showered by the time his parents stumble into the kitchen. Vaguely Spencer realizes that it's kind of creepy that he's just sitting there when his dad flips on the light and jumps a little when he spots Spencer. A deep sigh follows, but he doesn't say anything to Spencer, just sets a cup of coffee down in front of him a few minutes later.
He can hear his parent arguing upstairs after breakfast, his mom's voice rising in frustration. Later, she says she's taking him to school and he doesn't argue. He doesn't know what she tells the principle, or what gets passed onto his teachers, but they don't say anything about how he looks. He can hear some of the students whispering, but he can't really bring himself to care.
He's standing there, staring into his locker trying to remember what class he's supposed to have next when there's a touch to his shoulder. He jumps, knocking the hand away. It's Haley and he sees the hurt in her eyes, but can't make himself say anything other than a hoarse, "Sorry." She just nods, digging her teeth into her bottom lip.
At lunch, she and Brent flank him like guards. He sits there, unresponsive, while they try to hold a conversation like nothing's happened. Like Brendon isn't dead. But they don't know Brendon because Brendon only exists in his dreams. In his head. Like he's not real.
Spencer calmly pushes away from the table, ignoring Haley calling his name. He barely makes it to the bathroom before he throws up.
He does his best to avoid both of them after that.
*
Brent climbs through his window a few days later. It's something that he hasn't done since they were thirteen, when he broke his arm slipping on a weakened branch. Spencer doesn't move, continues to stare at the wall. Brent slides down to the floor, directly in his line of sight. There's enough ambient light that Spencer knows Brent can tell he's awake. They stare at each other in the dark for a while until Spencer's eyes start to droop. He fights it, doesn't want to see it all again. Doesn't want to wake up screaming like he has almost every night.
Doesn't want Brent to see that, any of it.
It's hard though, after a while, to fight the exhaustion. He can feel Brent's gaze still on him when he eventually slips into unconsciousness. He wakes a few hours later, the sun slowly brightening his room.
Brent's gone, but when he rolls over to look at the clock, Spencer sees the photo. Propped up against the lamp, it's the two of them, around ten years ago. They've got their arms around each other's shoulders, wide grins for the camera.
Spencer stares at for a few minutes, then reaches over and flips it face down on his night stand.
*
Two and a half weeks into waking the entire household up at least once a night, Spencer's parents take him to a psychologist. He'd been recommended by the school's counselor after Spencer had passed out in 6th period gym. He remembers that Mrs. Casey was the first person he'd seen after waking up in the nurse's office. She been staring at him with some mix of pity and curiosity and he'd just closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see it.
And now he's sitting in a plush, leather chair. It's comfortable, the kind that you sort of sink down into, surrounding you on all sides. Dr. Blackinton is sitting opposite him in a similar chair. He's tall, with miles of arm and leg. A pair of black, thick-rimmed glasses are starting to slide down his nose as he reads. There's a file folder open on his lap and Spencer wonders fleetingly what his parents have told the doctor.
Blackinton raises his head, eyes sharp behind his glasses. "So. Nightmares, huh?"
Spencer presses back into the chair, letting the cool leather pull him in. He doesn't say anything for the next 45 minutes.
*
He's in the band hall late one afternoon, practicing with the drum line. Graduation is coming up and the band director wants something completely different from what they've done before. It's harder than usual and Spencer has to actually concentrate to keep up the driving sound.
There's this moment when the rhythm, the pounding, is all he can hear. Everything seems to fade away-the blood, the terror, the sleeplessness-just settles into the background as he focuses on the beat. It's literally the most peaceful moment he's had in weeks.
Jackie's in the middle of telling some ridiculous story that night at dinner when Spencer interrupts with, "Can I have a drum kit?"
His sister turns to glare at him but drops her gaze a second later. She bites her lip, and Spencer kind of hates himself. Both of the girls barely look at him anymore, hardly know how to talk to him. He opens his mouth to apologize when Ginger says, "I don't know, Spencer. That doesn't seem very practical. You've only got a couple weeks of school left. And you'll be going to college soon, it's not something you can put in your dorm room."
She frowns down at her plate. "Unless you've changed your mind? About going to Chicago?" There's a bit of hope in her voice, but Spencer just responds, "I've got enough cash left, I can buy it myself."
James sets his fork down, placing a hand on his wife's shoulder. "There's no need for that, Spencer. You should keep your money." He watches his dad run his hand down his mom's back and hates himself just a little bit more. "We were thinking of something a bit more practical, like a small fridge, but if you want a drum set-" He gives Spencer a small smile and a nod. "Then a drum set it is."
He manages to choke out a small thank before the silence settles in again, the silverware against plates the only sound. After a few minutes, Spencer's dad clears his throat and asks Jackie to finish her story. Spencer keeps his gaze on his plate as she hesitates. It's not very long until her voice rises in excitement.
*
"I hear you got some drums," Dr. Blackinton-Ryland, please-asks at their next session. Spencer nods. Drumming is a fairly safe subject. Ryland continues, "Man, I used to be in a band, back in college." His eyes kind of glaze over a little, remembering something, and Spencer blurts out, "Really?" before he can stop himself.
Swinging his gaze back to Spencer, eyes bright, Ryland grins. "Oh yeah, Pleasure Ryland. We were pretty sweet, not gonna lie. Had a keytar and everything." Spencer snorts out a laugh before he can stop himself and Ryland's smile widens.
Spencer looks down at his hands for a moment and when he lifts his gaze, Ryland's smile has softened, expectant.
"Can you make me not dream?" Spencer whispers, swallowing hard. "Please?"
*
The pills make him feel normal again. Mostly. At least now he can sleep the whole night through, granted it's not usually more than five or six hours. But he doesn't have to worry about waking up in cold sweats; doesn't have to watch his sisters slide around him like he's a disease they're afraid to catch; doesn't have to look at his mother's eyes, red-rimmed and scared. No, now he wakes up and can breathe.
The images start to fade, never so sharp anymore.
Graduation comes and goes.
Summer is hot in Vegas, as usual. Spencer spends most of it working at the Smoothie Hut or in the garage on his drums. He still doesn't eat much, but at least now he remembers to. The drumming and loss of appetite means he drops all the baby fat that's been hanging on since puberty. That's something at least, he thinks.
Brent comes over with his bass a couple times a week and they'll jam for several hours. Afterward, they'll head upstairs and play Guitar Hero for a while. All of Spencer's first-person shooters and similar games gather dust underneath the TV, and he'll catch Brent looking at them sometimes. Finally one evening, Spencer just sends them all home with Brent.
Frowning, Brent looks up. He opens his mouth and Spencer panics for split second. They've still never talked about what happened to Spencer. He realizes in that instant it's still too fresh, too real and he mumbles something about running errands for his mom and pretty much flees the room. Brent never tries to ask again.
*
He and Haley fall back into some semblance of a relationship. He loves her, he does. But even before, there was that part of him he held back from her. Now it feels like that divide is even bigger to Spencer. He knows that it's his fault, that Haley's just waiting for the time when he'll talk to her. He can see the worry, the questions she always wants to ask but doesn't.
The thing is, Haley's not all that patient. She never has been and so they've argued more in the last month than they have since they've known each other. Spencer can't seem to make her understand that he can't, won't, talk about it.
So they argue and apologize, over and over again. She watches him take the pills and he knows she hates it.
*
It's late in the evening, the sun starting to set. It's three days until he heads for Chicago and there are boxes littered around his room. He can't find his pills.
"Can't you just not--not take them tonight?" Frustration laces Haley's voice.
Spencer looks at her over her shoulder, frowning, "Hales, we've talked-"
"About it, I know." Arms crossed, she looks away.
Sighing, Spencer turns his attention back to looking for his pills. "Where the hell are they?" He pulls too hard on on the night stand drawer and it drops to the floor, contents scattering. "Fuck."
"Spencer-"
There's a soft touch to his shoulder and he swings around, knocking her hand away. "Damn it, Haley, I've told you!"
She steps back, eyes wide.All the anger dissipates instantly at the look on her face. He scrubs a hand over his face and slumps down on to the bed. His voice is ragged when he says, "Hales, I. I'm sor-"
"Shh." She sits down next to him on the bed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He leans into it and tucks his face into her neck. Her skin is always so soft, always smells so good. Breathing in deeply, he mutters a soft sorry anyway. Her fingers tangle in his hair and she tugs them both down until they're lying face to face on his bed.
The muted murmur of the televisions drifts up from downstairs. He can hear his sisters arguing somewhere in the house, and everything seems like normal again. Everything but him. He watches Haley watch him and whispers, "I do love you. You know that, right?"
She smiles sweetly at him, but he can see a sadness in her eyes. It makes his throat tighten and he closes his eyes to block it out. It seems like he's always running away.
After a while, the tension settles out of his body and he can feel himself slipping into sleep. He tries to force his eyelids open, to sit up and find his medication, but they're so heavy and Haley's fingertips are tracing soft over his cheeks, reassuring. Soothing.
For the first time in nearly three months, Spencer falls asleep without his pills.
The hallways are quieter than Spencer remembers them being. He makes his way toward the library, but Ryan isn't there.
Unable to help himself, he glances up. Elegy is in its same location, a thin layer of dust covering it. Spencer brushes his fingertips along its spine, but the dust remains undisturbed and he turns away. Moving by the desk, he glances down and something catches his eye.
Last Will & Testament. Ryan's father's name is written below that line. Spencer just stands there in shock, a million questions running through his head. When had happened? And how was Ryan taking it?
Spencer's head snaps up at the sound of voices, raised and urgent. Several servants rush past the library a second later, arms full of sheets.He scrambles around the desk to follow. He can't really understand what's going on, but he catches the word Mistress Ross. Colleen.
His stomach drops.
When he stumbles into the foyer, Bob has one hand on Ryan's shoulder, the other tight around his upper arm. It wraps nearly all the way around.
"I'm sorry, Master Ross. We-" Spencer recognizes Charlotte, one of the younger maids. She's crying. Her voice barely above a whisper, but loud enough that Spencer hears it clearly when she says, "We lost them both."
Ryan crumples and Bob slides to the ground with him, pulling Ryan into his chest as he starts shaking.
This isn't happening, Spencer thinks. Wake up, please let me just wake up. He stumbles back out of the room--
-and nearly trips when his foot catches in a deep rut on a dirt road.
No, nononono. He doesn't want to be here either, recognizing the setting immediately. Raising his head, he sees a figure coming down the road; watching as it comes closer, as a familiar face comes into focus. Spencer can feel the sadness in the slight limp as Nicholas walks closer.
"Nicholas!"
Jon's shirt brushes his sleeve when he runs by and Spencer want to catch his arm, stop him. But even as he reaches out, Jon's past him, arms wrapping his friend up in a bone-crushing hug. Spencer watches as Jon takes a step back, hands still on Nicholas' shoulders. He grins, asking, "Good to have you back! When's the rest of the gang coming?
"Jon," Nicholas swallows hard, staring down at his feet. The smile slips off Jon's face. His voice is low, rough, when he asks quietly, "Tommy?"
"I couldn't-" Nicholas shakes his head. "I couldn't get there in time. They were both-" He looks back up and shakes his head again, unable to finish.
Spencer closes his eyes against the pain in Jon's face, but he can still see it. Still hear Ryan's choked sobs. It's too much.
It's still too much.
"Spencer, wake up, please. Spencer." Haley's voice is choked and when he opens his eyes, her tears are the first thing he sees. He reaches up, fingertips catching on the wetness coursing down her cheeks. "Hales?"
"You wouldn't wake up." There's still a bit of panic in her eyes. "You-you were shaking in your sleep and I tried. But you wouldn't wake up and then you started crying." He touches his own face and she's right, there are tracks of tears on his face. "Spencer, what's going on? Is this what happens when you don't take those pills?"
"No," he answers truthfully. "I usually wake up screaming." She looks horrified. "Spencer." He reaches out for her. She flinches back and he drops his hand.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. Her fingers are white, she's gripping her hands together so tight. Spencer wants to reach out, want to curl them in his own hands, but he doesn't. "I didn't know. I'm sorry."
"I never told you." He finally sits up. "Didn't want you to know."
"What is it, Spencer? What goes on when you sleep?" And this is it, this is where Spencer should tell her. But he opens his mouth and finds that he can't. She must see it in his eyes because she smiles at him, sadness in her trembling lips as she whispers, "I'm sorry," a final time. A moment later she's gone, slipping out the bedroom and leaving Spencer there alone on his bed.
He's not really surprised when, three days later, she doesn't come to tell him goodbye. She'd already done it.
*
They're halfway to Chicago, his parents talking softly in the front and his sisters sacked out in the back row, when Spencer finds it. He'd been digging through his backpack, looking for some gum. It's a CD, and Spencer recognizes Brent's handwriting instantly. Even if he hadn't, the picture on the cover is the same one he'd set on the Spencer's night stand so many months ago.
He runs his fingers over the title, Friendship Never Dies (Ten Year Reunion Mix), before tucking it safely back into his bag, next to his pills.
to move, i