Work Text:
As we walk, the issue itches.
but
you won't talk; you have poise.
You won't talk. You're “God-forsaken”.
We f e e l this void of silence between us,
'cause
we always fillthevoid with noise.
You don't mind the moat of red.
I want to draw a bridge with stitches.
Yes, I'm desperate 'til I'm dead.
Close the dam. Don’t play coy.
It's not about our beds;
God, I hate Freud.
This is amateur;
we're no longer boys.
Yes, I meant what I said;
the chaos always makes
me anxious,
but
I miss us.
---
Spencer never had a problem openly condemning parents who shouldn’t be parents. Spencer’s parents are great. They care. So, so much. They’re responsible. They ran a tight ship, with ups and downs as unrelenting as the ocean tide, but they caught each other none the less. And one day, Spencer will be a great parent because they've taught him how to handle so much responsibility and to care so much. Or so he always dreamed.
Conversely, people who take on the responsibility of other, dependent people, when they can't fucking handle it, or don’t want to, always made him irate, even as a grubby, little kid himself. As a nurturer and leader by nature, he was often frustrated, and surrounded with friends who require his support because their parents are dipshits. It’s ironic, the way giving a shit brings the shit to you. It’s also why his pro-choice stance was never a perspective he had to consider, knowing what being unwanted and unplanned does to a child. He’s been an ever-present witness for almost the entirety of his own childhood.
Presently, he's witnessing what it did to his closest friend, or someone who used to be his best friend, but has drifted away in the traumatic waves of one such, fucked up childhood. Anger he knows is really cold terror boils in Spencer’s veins as Ryan brushes him off time and time again, like a bad habit. The stranger ghostly wearing Ryan’s skin claims wounds scab when left alone, but he knows better than to risk infection out on sea. When his words are denial, and when they are admission, are anyone's guess, but Spencer doesn't want to lose two people.
Wishing he had the that same insight of Brendon, he can only wonder how the acrid glimpes he's heard lead him astray similarly. He feels helpless watching his new closest friend follow Ryan down, unwilling to let the boy drown alone when his own parents never cast out the life-saver he once so desperately needed. Nothing if not naïve, Spencer thinks Brendon puts too much faith in love, as if Spencer’s love had ever been enough for Ryan. Brendon’s parents' love would have been enough for him, though Spencer thinks it shouldn't be. He won't be Orpheus to Ryan's spectre, but who's to say if fate allows either of them live. If it was a choice or not, he's leaving them behind, fading quickly, perhaps takking Brendon like foam to water. In the immense betrayal, what mutiny is there to fight but an incorporeal disease?
And while Spencer might be the captain of this ship, the greatest sea-farers are only navigators with experience enough to survive the all-consuming waters below. Spencer can only keep their minds grounded for so long. Although he’s always managed to steer them clear of danger and bring his crew to safe shores, it's still a gambling game of spending the least amount of days out on sea. It’s been far too long since they’ve spotted land in sight. The skies are dark, and the wind blows in ill-favor.
Spencer may never have hesitated to condemn Ryan’s father’s for not caring enough to fight his irresponsible addiction, but these days, he finds himself losing a battle to growing alcoholism because the responsibility of his closest friends is too much.
And he simply cares too much,
to watch them drown sober.