Pretty Little Liars one shots

Salvage - Spanna

Not mine

Spencer is sitting on her Nana's old couch at the lake house, her head in her hands. She can't go back to the barn right now, she doesn't want to see Caleb's earnest concern, his eyebrows furrowing with worry over her. The first thing he'll do is ask her what's wrong, and that question is way too enormous right now. It's security footage and police line ups and hospitals and threatening fucking emojis and it's Toby and Hanna and engagement rings that reflect the light so brightly it's as if they want to give everyone's feelings the third degree. It's Alison with Rollins and the way trying to be happy for them makes Emily look a hundred years old and it's what if Aria really did murder Charlotte and she's too tiny to survive in prison and the thought of her crying on the red line makes Spencer want to just grab her and take her back to Iceland where they can live in a wooden house by the sea where no one will ever look for them and how she can't think about that now because Liam and Ezra and Caleb.

But most of all it's the weight of Hanna and Emily looking at her like she's the general again, the giver of orders, the maker of plans. Napoleon on his horse, saber poised to conquer Europe and flush out the new 'A' before lunch. And she can't do this again, she just can't, she's not over the last time, none of them are. It will crush her, she knows it will crush her, and if she lets him help her, it'll crush Caleb, too.

She's a Hastings, she's not going to cry. She leans back against the arm of the old sofa and the faint cloud of dust that's released still smells a little bit like her Nana's house, a mix of butterscotch and lima beans and warm hugs. Then she remembers that Hanna and Caleb have had sex on this couch, and sits upright again, feeling nauseous.

She wonders how many numbers she would have to dial to get a prescription. She scrolls down and finds Wren Kingston in her contacts. She imagines the rattle of an orange bottle in her hand. Valium to calm her down. Adderall to help sharpen her focus. Maybe some Oxy to get her to the part where it feels like it could all float away. He'd bring her the pills in person, she knows he would. Even if he's in London at the moment, he'd get on a plane. She calls Jason instead, but he doesn't pick up. She calls him two more times, finally leaving him a jittery message about being at the lake house and not being okay.

An hour later it's getting dark outside, and Spencer is still sitting on the couch, not moving, not even reaching over to turn on the lights. She hears a car outside, but she can't bother to muster the energy to turn her head.

The door opens and it isn't Caleb or Jason, but Hanna striding towards her, arms crossed and heels clacking over the wood floor. She flips on the lights and doesn't beat around the bush.

"What going on, Spencer?"

"How did you know I was here?"

Hanna sighs, dramatically, and sits down next to Spencer on the couch. She pulls a buzzing phone out of her purse.

"You stole Jason's phone?" Spencer asks, impressed in spite of herself.

"Borrowed," Hanna corrects. "It was a flirt and grab. Aria flirted, I grabbed."

"Did you find anything?" Spencer asks. "Is he a suspect?"

"Well, I suspect him of being useless," Hanna answers. "But he hasn't sent any weird texts or hired a hitman or googled how to kill someone and make it look like an accident, so he's in the clear for Charlotte. But don't change the subject - why are you going AWOL and calling Jason like he's your sponsor?"

Spencer doesn't answer, but Hanna keeps looking at her, determined to wait her out. After a full five minutes, Hanna gets up and starts piling logs in the fireplace. "What?" she huffs. "I'm not going to freeze to death while I wait for you to answer me."