Part Two- Monster

Modern AU. Trigger warning: drugs, addiction, slash (nothing sexual, just a gay relationship), language, talk about suicide, dark themes. This is way darker than the first chapter. Please skip if it might trigger you.

"Ever since I could remember
Everything inside of me
Just wanted to fit in (Oh oh oh oh)
I was never one for pretenders
Everything I tried to be
Just wouldn't settle in (Oh oh oh oh)
If I told you what I was
Would you turn your back on me?
And if I seem dangerous
Would you be scared?
I get the feeling just because
Everything I touch isn't dark enough
If this problem lies in me
I'm only a man with a candle to guide me
I'm taking a stand to escape what's inside me
A monster, a monster
I've turned into a monster
A monster, a monster
And it keeps getting stronger." -Imagine Dragons

"Hello?" Spot was not really in the mood to talk, so he hoped this phone call would not take long.

"Sp-spot?" Racetracks voice was shaky.

"Yeah."

"I-I-"

"What's wrong?"

"I dunno. I feel sick. And I can't walk. Everyone left and I'm stuck here, I'm kinda freaking out, Spot, I can't think clearly…"

"Where are you? Who were you with?"

"I'm in this-this old warehouse thing. Some- friends. Kind of. Oh god…" Spot heard a gagging noise.

"Hold on. You're drunk, aren't you?"

"I don't know. Probably."

"What's going on? Please don't tell me you're doing drugs."

Race didn't answer, confirming what Spot had feared.

"Racetrack!"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry Spot. Please don't freak out. Please, really I need help right now… I'm really sorry…"

He sounded close to tears, and afraid that Spot would hang up at any moment, leaving him like most everyone else in his life had.

Spot sighed.

"We'll talk about this more later. What happened?"

"I- I made someone mad. He was a lot bigger than me, and he sort of- hurt me. A little. But I'll be okay. I just need you to come get me."

"Ok. Ok, do you know the address or anything?"

"Yeah. It's close to my work. Further down the street, where a lot of the buildings are empty. It's got this dirty green sign that says something about a clothing warehouse."

"Ok. I'll be there as soon as I can."

They were silent for several minutes as Spot threw on shoes and hurried to start his car.

"Spot?"

Racetrack asked timidly.

"What?"

"Are you going to break up with me?"

His voice sounded so pitiful and broken, full of sadness and fearful expectancy. Spot could imagine him with the look on his face that people make when they think someone's about to hit them.

"What?! No! Why would you ask that?"

"I just thought- I dunno- that maybe you're really mad at me now and you don't want to date someone as fucked up as me…"

"Racetrack… I'm not planning to leave you anytime soon. I'm not going to pretend that I'm not disappointed in you, but you've had to deal with a lot of pain in your life. You need help, and yeah, so you turned to some really unhealthy mechanisms in an attempt to get help, but that's okay. I'm gonna help you get better. We'll be okay."

"Are you sure- I mean- you don't hate me?"

"Never. I could never hate you."

Racetrack didn't answer. After a while, Spot was driving on the street racetrack had mentioned and saw an old, closed up building with a faded green sign.

"Ok, I think I'm here. Where are you in the building?"

"O-ok."

Racetrack's voice sounded choked, like he'd been crying.

"I'm upstairs."

"K. I'm gonna hang up. I'll see you in a minute."

"Okay."

Spot parked his car on the side of the road and hurried to find a way in. There was a side door in the alley with a broken lock. Spot headed inside. He found a staircase pretty quickly and headed up.

"Racetrack!" he shouted.

"Here." he heard a muffled yell. He entered the room he heard the noise from, but at first it seemed empty. Until Race called out again.

"Over here, Spot."

There was an almost undetectable closet that Spot could now see a shadowed figure crouched in.

"Why are you in the closet?"

"Why do you think everyone left? Police. They ditched me, but I know my way around this place, and I managed to crawl up here and hide. I wasn't found. Obviously."

"Police?! Racetrack, what am I going to do with you?"

"How about, get me out of here and take me home so I can sleep for a week?"

Spot chuckled.

He came closer to Race and turned on the flashlight app on his phone so he could see better.

"Wow. Racetrack, I admit, it's near impossible to make you look like shit, but I think you met your match."

Racetrack was leaning against the wall. He was pale, there were dark purple circles under his eyes, and he was covered in sweat and some blood and bruises as well. There was vomit on the floor next to him (and some on his clothes too) and he was shaking. He looked like he'd been beat up, and like he hadn't eaten or slept in days- all of which had the possibility of being true.

"Was that a compliment or an insult?"

Spot forced a smirk to hide his shock at seeing his boyfriend like this.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Spot knelt down next to Racetrack.

"You look slightly more than 'a little hurt'. Can you move?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Probably can't walk too well though."

"That's okay."

Spot put his hands under Racetrack's arms and pulled him up as gently as possible. He pulled Race's arm over his shoulder and Race leaned most of his weight on Spot as they slowly walked downstairs and to Spot's car.

They drove in silence for most of the way. Race was looking sicker and sicker by the minute.

Finally, he covered his mouth with his hands and bent over.

"Spot…" he muttered.

"No puking in my car!"

"I can't-"

"Just hold on, I'll pull over."

Spot did, and Race stumbled out of the car and to the side of the road, where he practically collapsed and started vomiting into the grass. Nothing came up but a bit of liquid, but he didn't stop for several minutes. When he finally did, Spot helped him back up and into the car. His eyes were wet, whether from watering or tears, Spot couldn't tell.

"I really hate myself right now."

"I'm not going to argue. You haven't made smart choices."

Race looked down at his hands in his lap and said nothing. Spot wasn't sure what to do.

"Sorry. I wasn't trying to be mean."

"No-no- it's ok. Not your fault. I really do deserve this."

"Don't say that."

"Why not?"

Spot hated that he had no answer.

"Exactly. It's my fault I got beat up, it's my fault I got myself addicted, and it's my fault that I felt like I needed that in the first place."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I dunno. I mean, I made an active choice to start drinking and doing drugs. I decided that I needed a convenient escape from my pain, and I was too much of a coward to kill myself, so this is what I did instead. My entire life, I've been living on this path of self-destruction. I don't know why. I don't know why I'm always nervous and paranoid, or why I almost committed suicide in high school, or why I sometimes have weeks on end when I can't feel anything but emptiness and tiredness. But I know why I had to call you in the middle of the night so you could come drag my ass out of an empty warehouse and take care of a puking, hurt, crossfaded failure of a boyfriend."

They had reached Spot's apartment, and were sitting in his driveway.

"I don't think it was cowardice not to kill yourself- seems pretty brave to me, to choose not to give up on living even though your life is shit."

"Yeah. Because I'm clearly being so brave and noble, vomiting and crying in a closet at two a.m."

"Don't be like that. You're braver than you think. And also, you're not a failure of a boyfriend. You're the best friend and boyfriend I've ever had."

"Don't be a fucking liar, Conlon. It's not attractive."

Racetrack seemed to be getting angry, so Spot didn't answer, getting out of the car instead and walking around to help Race, who pushed him away.

"I'm fine. I can walk."

He tried to do so, too, but only made it about 10 feet before almost falling over. Spot caught him however, and Race consented to put his arm back over his boyfriend's shoulder.

But instead of just letting Race lean on him, Spot put his other arm under Race's legs and picked him up, bridal style.

"Hey! Put me down."

"Nah."

"Asshole."

Spot chuckled as Racetrack pulled a key out of Spot's shirt pocket, where he knew Spot kept it, and opened the door for Spot, as his hands were obviously full.

"Aw, this is romantic, isn't it? Like we're getting married or something."

Race grinned as Spot tried to ignore the heat in his cheeks.

"Yeah, you're right, you would be the girl. You even like to cook, and dance- say, is there something you aren't telling me?"

It was Race's turn to blush now, but he also grinned, giving a ridiculously dramatic suggestive wink.

"Don't you think you'd have noticed that by now?" he waggled his eyebrows. Spot laughed.

"You have a point."

Spot walked to his bedroom, not bothering to turn any lights on the way, and set Race down on his bed.

"Well, cleaning you up is going to be fun."

"Just strip me and put me in the shower. Easy as pie, and I'm sure you won't mind the view."

He winked again and Spot rolled his eyes.

"You're in a good mood."

"You have that effect on me."

"How adorable."

"I am, aren't I?"

Spot smiled but had a worrying thought.

"Hey, are you just pretending? Because I'm not down with that. Hiding your emotions doesn't help."

Racetrack scowled.

"Great job killing the mood."

"I want an answer."

"I'm really tired. Are you letting me sleep here?"

"What do you expect me to do, leave you by yourself? I'd probably find you dead in the morning."

Race winced.

"Yeah. Probably."

That made Spot narrow his eyes.

"Alright, you're definitely not getting away with that. What's up?"

"I don't know. I'm tired. I'm in pain. Under all my drugged stupor and jokes I'm probably really depressed, because I was before, that's why I went to that rave in the first place. I'm sort of afraid that once I'm sober I'm going to be really hopeless again. I'm so tired of that feeling. I hate myself more and more every day. If I wasn't with you, it's safe to say that I very likely would have been dead by morning. I know all of my coping mechanisms are unhealthy and dangerous. But it just feels so much healthier to be happy and normal, then to go for days without sleeping because I'm afraid of my dreams, or to constantly wonder if my friends would even notice if I was gone. That's the danger of addictions. They feel so good that you never want to quit, even if you know how."

Spot didn't know what to say, so he crawled onto the bed next to his boyfriend and simply held him- ignoring the vomit and sweat and blood. If all he could do was hold Racetrack and try to keep his head above water until he was strong enough to swim, then he would hold him as tightly as he could, and never let go.

What else could he do?