#tagging is annoyin for them both :sob:

[bepoucorp]

redraw of that art meme on twitter

[turtle-steverogers]

Departed Chap 1

This was originally on my ao3 but i’m impulse posting it here YEET (ima put all the chapters under #departed)

Ship: Slow burn Sprace

Warnings: Domestic Abuse mentions

It had been a long fucking day. Well, a long fucking week really between midterms and work at the Tae Kwon Do studio he instructed at, but today especially had dragged on and Spot Conlon was ready to take a hot shower and sleep. But of course, nothing was ever that simple. His evening plans were quickly squashed by the sound of weak knocking on his apartment door. Spot groaned and pulled himself up from his comfortable position on the couch, reluctantly unbolting the door and opening it. He was about to reprimand the person knocking for bothering him at eleven o’clock on a Friday night, but hastily shut his mouth when he took in the person in front of him.

“Race? What the fuck.” Spot said, his voice coming out a little louder than he meant it to. Antonio “Racetrack” Higgins, his best friend of five years, was standing outside his apartment door, nursing a bloody nose and several hand-shaped bruises on his exposed arms.

Race locked eyes with Spot, his gaze tired and annoyed, “Canya not raise your voice? My head hurts.” He mumbled, then shouldered past Spot and proceeded to kick off his shoes.

“Sorry,” Spot murmured, still trying to grasp the situation as Race gingerly laid himself on the couch, “But uh, you gonna tell me what happened?”

“No, I’ma sleep.” Race grunted.

“Racer, ya can’t just come to my apartment covered in bruises and blood and expect me not ta-”

“Sean, I know. I promise I’ll explain tomorrow, but I’m so exhausted and I really don’t wanna be awake right now.” Race said, his eyes already closed.

“Okay, but you are talkin’ tomorrow,” Spot said, finally moving away from the door, “Also, no sleep yet. Your face is bloody as fuck and you are not sleepin’ on my pillows like that.”

Race groaned and didn’t move, “Spottie…”

“Nope, c’mon, at least clean up,” Spot persisted, “You don’t even gotta get all the way up, just clean off ya face.”

There was a small pause and for a moment Spot wondered if Race had stubbornly started to fake sleep, then he heard a small, “Fine.”

Spot wet a paper towel in the kitchen sink, then quickly retrieved an extra pair of sweatpants from his bedroom.

“Here,” he said, handing both things to Race, who took them lying down, “Clean off and get changed, I’ll grab ya some blankets.”

Race didn’t reply and Spot watched for a moment as he pulled himself into a sitting position, wincing as he did so. He really did look like shit. Blood was covering the front of his shirt and there was a bruise on his jaw that Spot hadn’t seen before.

“Spot, I uhh, I appreciate you checkin’ me out, but could I have some privacy?” Race said, a tired smirk coloring his features.

“Oh,” Spot said, snapping out of his reverie, “Yeah, yeah sorry.”

He left to dig some sheets out of the hallway closet and was just gathering a pillow when he heard a small whimper then, “S-spottie? Couldya help?”

Spot turned to see Race with his jeans halfway off. The sweatpants were crumpled at his side.

“My chest is kinda, uh, bruised and my abilities ta move are compromised…” He continued, not making eye contact with Spot.

“Oh! Yeah, ‘course.” Spot said, making his way over to Race and sitting beside him. He carefully lifted Race’s legs into his lap and pulled off his pants off completely, then began to pull the sweatpants onto his legs.

When they reached his mid thighs, Race cleared his throat, “I can get ‘em from here.” He said, blushing slightly.

“Ya sure?” Spot asked as he watched Race struggle to pull them up farther, “Dude, lemme see your chest.”

Race paused his action, then swiftly pulled the sweatpants up the rest of the way, taking deep breaths after, presumably to stop the pain in his torso.

He paused for a moment, toying with the hem of his shirt before shaking his head, “My chest is fine, well, not entirely fine, but no ribs are broken. I checked. Can I please jus’ sleep?”

Spot sighed, “Fine, I’ll stop houndin’ ya.” He studied Race’s face for a moment longer before standing and grabbing a discarded sweatshirt from the chair nearest to him and handing it to Race.

“Here, so you don’t gotta wear a bloody ass shirt all night.” Race took it, but made no move to put it on, “If ya need anythin’ in the night, just shout. Night Race.”

“Night, Spot.”

XXX

The next morning, Spot woke up to the sound of the coffee maker turning on. He climbed out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweats. When he entered the kitchen, Race pulled another mug out of the cabinet.

“You’re movin’ around better,” Spot observed, noticing that Race had changed into the sweatshirt he had given him the night before.

Race only grunted in reply, busying himself in pouring coffee for the two of them. Once he was finished, he handed Spot a mug, then sat himself at the kitchen counter. Spot sat down across from him and worked on adding sugar to his cup.

Spot startled slightly when Race spoke quietly, “It’s never gotten this bad before. I mean, she’s always been harsh in her words and maybe a slap here or there, but she was drunk and I was annoyin’ her I guess and next thing I knew she was comin’ at me with a bottle and...” He trailed off, closing his eyes to compose himself.

Spot looked at him in shock. Race could only be talking about one person- his girlfriend, Melissa. They had been dating for a little over a year and at first, their relationship had seemed perfect. But then, Race would stop coming to group hang-outs, and when he did come, he seemed nervous. He would leave early and never seemed to participate as much as he used to. Spot had suspected this was Melissa’s doing for a while, but he never could have imagined it going this far and never brought it up. Though, given Race’s current condition, he wish he had.

Race continued, “I dunno what to do, Sean. I haven’t been able ta breathe in that relationship for a while, but now I’m suffocatin’.”

“Break up with her, you don’t gotta stay in that situation.” Spot said, softly.

Race looked up for the first time, fear evident in his eyes, “No! No I can’t-that would jus’ be..I mean she’d find me and- no I can’t.”

Spot’s eyes flicked down to Race’s hands, noticing for the first time that they were shaking. Race must have seen Spot looking, because he cleared his throat and gripped his mug tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

“Alright,” Spot sighed, “We can talk more about this later, alright?”

Race didn’t say anything, but he didn’t object, so Spot took that as a yes.

“Are ya hungry? I could make pancakes.” Spot suggested.

Race shrugged, then nodded, “With blueberries?”

Spot scoffed, “‘Course. It’s not like ya’d eat ‘em without.”

Race smiled slightly into his mug, “I hate how well ya know me.”

Spot chuckled lightly and said, “That’s jus’ the price of friendship, buddy,” before turning to his cabinets to get out the ingredients for the pancakes. It was mostly quiet for a few minutes while Spot cooked, save for the sound of their coffee mugs clinking and Race humming to himself. However, the comfortable quiet was interrupted by Race’s phone ringing.

“Shit,” Race muttered to himself.

“S’it Melissa?” Spot questioned, turning around to place the plate full of pancakes on the countertop.

“Yep,” Race said, distractedly. He sighed, then picked up the phone, standing up from his seat at the counter as he did so.

“Yeah?” Race said, meekly into the phone. Immediately, shouting could be heard from the other end of the phone and Spot watched in concern as Race flinched and drew his shoulders up to his ears, “I’m sorry- I said I’m sorry. No- I-I’m out right now. O-okay. Y-yeah. I’ll come back now. I- Melissa, no. I said I’d come-please.”

Spot could feel his heart break as he watched his best friend transform into a stuttering mess. After a few more seconds of Melissa’s audible shouting and Race trying to get a few words in, the call was ended. Race slumped back down in his chair and put his face in his hands.

“I’m not letting you go back there, Race.” Spot said, gently, yet firmly.

“I-” Race cut himself off as his voice cracked, and Spot was surprised to see his shoulders start shaking with what he presumed were tears. He’d only ever seen him cry once before, and they had both been drunk. He jumped into action when Race’s cries turned to sobs, quickly making his way around the counter so he could carefully rub a hand up and down his arm to ground him.

“I-I don’t know w-what ta do, Spottie,” Race choked out.

“We’ll figure this out, Racer, I promise.” Spot said, soothingly, although his heart was in his throat. It scared him to see his best friend breakdown like this.

“I’m scared,” Race whimpered.

“I know, I’m right here.”

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