A/N: I've finally arrived with some Sparia. Now, this one-shot is a little gloomy, not gonna lie. But I was gunning for soul-crushing yet wistful melancholy. So get ready for that. Though I can promise you that nobody dies in this one.

Anyway, for equally gloomy background music (if you're so inclined to have some), may I suggest the "Mr. Sandman" cover by SYML? It's what I was listening to when I had this idea :)

Mr. Sandman

Bring me a dream

Make her the cutest that I've ever seen

Give her two lips like roses and clover

And tell her that her lonely nights are over

Spencer sat, like a martyr bowing her head in the last prayer before execution, with her elbows on her knees and her fists pushing against her temples. She watched her bare toes tapping out an anxious, uneven rhythm, absently wished she could shed her ironic argyle cardigan without pissing Charles off, and she tried to swallow the bile in her throat as she thought about the horrific events of the past few days. Her body still tensed on occasion, muscles spasming at random intervals, and her grip felt sickeningly weak. That had her thinking nerve damage. Her head hurt something fierce, too, the love child of sleep deprivation, gnawing hunger, and physical torture, and her thoughts had the frustrating tendency to slip through her fingers like water. She wondered if her brain was fried, and felt uneasy at the thought that Charles had stolen her ability to think straight. Though, if she was lucky, something good might come out of potential brain damage: maybe she'd just forget the entire experience.

Choose one or all will suffer

Her hands, pale and trembling, curled into loose fists as they rested on the metal table before her. A velcro cuff on her wrist, prongs pressing into already bruised patches of skin, wires looping around her fingers. The hairs on her arms, the back of her neck, were standing up, and she could practically taste the electricity in the air.

Choose one or all will suffer

Familiar faces stared up at her from inside the crisp white edges of polaroids. Her friends—cold, stark fear in each of their mascara-rimmed eyes. Spencer supposed her own portrait looked similar, though she could hardly remember the blurry camera hovering above her as gloved hands tilted her face this way and that. Drugged, that's what had happened. She'd been given her first glass of water in days and it had been drugged. And now she was here and there were three switches in front of her to choose from.

Choose one or all will suffer

5… 4… 3… 2…

They had learned quickly how unpleasant the shocks were, how painful it was to hear not one but three agonized voices scraping through the hallways. Normal kids knew plenty of things about their best friends—secrets, crushes, signature lipstick colors—but the four of them got the unique experience of memorizing the exact pitches of each other's screams. Spencer squeezed her eyes shut, breath eeking out in a wheeze as some primal part of her took over. Her hand darted out without her permission, palm clumsily flipping a switch, and she got to hear one of those screams once again:

Aria.

God, no. Not Aria.

Tiny, dark circles materialized on the carpet between her feet, and it took Spencer a moment to realize that she was crying. She hated crying in this place, so wary was she of being watched all the time. Nevertheless, tears lost their grip on her lashes and plummeted to the floor, or they clung to her cheeks, ran over her jaw and down her neck and into the collar of her shirt. A sob choked her. Her muscles spasmed again.

Then, like clockwork, the ever-present hum of machinery went silent. The lights shut off, enclosed her in a coffin of semi-darkness, and the air went so deadly quiet that she could practically hear her heart beating in her chest. When she sniffled it sounded like a gunshot. She heard the tiny but audible click of the locks on her door disengaging, and a gust of moving air wrapped briefly around her as her door swung slightly ajar. The hallway beyond was lit with red emergency lights.

Usually, she would take this time to explore, make a mental map of the place just in case they ever had a real chance to escape. Now, there on the edge of her bed, she sat still. Tired. Stripped of her very last shreds of will. Recent events had taken a lot out of her, and there was a new, heavy feeling riding on her shoulders. One that whispered in her ear that it would take a miracle for them to escape. And if they did get out... what damage would they have to recover from? Should they even try?

"Spencer?" It was a tiny, hoarse voice. Spencer's heart flipped in her chest, then cowered at the reminder of what she'd done. But Aria's voice could still make her smile, so there was that. She lifted her head, a parody of her old grin twitching on the corners of her lips, and felt like a fraud as she tried to put on a brave face. Aria returned her smile in her own phony way, her silhouette backlit by red, then hesitantly padded further into the room. Spencer noticed that the polish on her friend's toenails was completely chipped away. Spencer had been there to watch her paint those... what day had it been? Ali's trial, maybe? And they had still looked good at their macabre prom, remained intact those miserable days they spent outside. Just how long had they been locked in their rooms? Days? Weeks? Spencer found that she couldn't remember.

"Spence? Are you awake?"

Aria's voice drifted over to Spencer, who had been lying awake since they'd all tucked into their sleeping bags or curled up under blankets. The others had fallen asleep quickly, but, unbeknownst to everyone else, Adderall was still turning the cogs in Spencer's brain, crawling under her skin in an unconsolable itch, forcing her to watch the backs of her eyelids instead of a smear of dreams.

"Yeah," she breathed, hearing Aria shift in her sleeping bag.

"I really can't sleep. Do you want to go outside with me for some fresh air?"

Spencer was already rising from the floor, slipping on her glasses and grabbing for her hoodie. She needed to move. "Sure."

They both tiptoed through the Hastings' barn and slipped out the door, bare feet freezing on the cool stone pathway. Moonlight shone through the trees, night animals chirped and cooed, and the air was instantly calming in its embrace. Spencer sucked it in gratefully, glancing at Aria as they began a silent stroll through the yard.

The shorter girl was staring at the grass between her painted toes as they walked, and she gnawed anxiously on her bottom lip, her brow furrowed. She was the very picture of worry.

"Hey. Are you... you okay?" Spencer cringed at the sound of her own rough voice. "I mean, relatively speaking."

Aria nodded, but she didn't look very okay. She'd been dressed up like Spencer had, though Aria's ensemble included a leather jacket and black-and-white striped tights. It was so very Aria but so very off, overshadowed by the state of the girl. She looked haggard and sleepless, dark rings standing out under her eyes. She trembled. Her chapped lips were set in an uncomfortable twist. It was a sight from Spencer's nightmares, but she had to remind herself that at least Aria was upright and walking, even if all the spirit had been flushed from her eyes and all the confidence had been stripped from her posture. She looked so painfully fragile, so unlike Aria that Spencer felt a violent, writhing knot of rage in her stomach. If they ever found out who Charles was, she'd kill him herself.

Spencer averted her gaze, a hand flying to her mouth and her teeth automatically biting at her thumbnail. Her heart was pounding way too fast, whether from the drugs or Aria's closeness, she couldn't tell. She ran a shaking hand through her mussed hair in an effort to straighten it. "So. Is everything okay?"

Aria pulled up short at the question and Spencer paused too, turning to look back at her. She waited as Aria blew out a heavy breath, and chewed at her nail as she watched a myriad of emotions flash in the shorter girl's eyes. Absently, she realized what she was doing and jammed her hands into her hoodie pockets.

"No, not really," Aria finally admitted. She hesitated a moment, and Spencer could practically see her weighing her words. "My parents are… in a bad place. It's nothing important, really. I just… can't stop thinking about what it means."

Spencer shrugged, licked her lips. Her mouth was so dry. "It's obviously important if you can't stop thinking about it."

"Yeah, well..." Aria lifted a shoulder, eyes filling with tears. "It's my dad, he…" She shook her head suddenly, dragging the back of her hand across her cheeks. "Actually, I don't—I can't really talk about it."

"It's okay," said Spencer, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around the other girl. "Just remember that I'm here for you if you need me."

"I'm sorry." Spencer dropped her gaze to the floor, felt the tears well up again. "For everything."

Suddenly, Aria was kneeling in front of her, grabbing her wrists and pulling the pillars of her arms away from her head. Hands curled themselves around her own, and Spencer sighed at the feeling of Aria's thumbs brushing her palms. "I'm sorry, too."

Aria's arms tightened around her back, prolonging the hug, and Spencer thought this was better than any of her father's proud shoulder squeezes or her mother's fleeting embraces. These arms soothed her, reminded her that things weren't all bad. Her tense muscles relaxed as she inhaled Aria's scent—something like incense or turpentine, and another layer of some mysterious perfume that she couldn't pin down. Aria's hair was soft against Spencer's cheek and her chin was warm on Spencer's shoulder. It was all so perfect, and Spencer decided she could stay there forever if Aria would let her.

"Spence?"

"I-I never meant to hur-hurt you, Aria. I..." Spencer was cut off by a racking sob, and Aria rose from her crouch to sit on the edge of the bed beside her, her arms slipping around Spencer's waist. She rested her head on Spencer's shoulder, then laid back, pulling the taller girl with her. They ended up in a tangle of limbs, Spencer burying her face in Aria's neck, holding on tight. Aria's hand stroked soothingly at her hair, and she could feel the vibrations in her throat as Aria began to hum the sweetest of melodies. Spencer closed her eyes, let herself be lulled, even as she shook with sobs and her body ached with exhaustion.

But Aria was pulling away all too soon, looking up at Spencer as she did and smiling the smallest of smiles.

"Thanks, Spence."

Spencer grinned back at her, nervously adjusting her glasses, face flaring with heat. "No problem."

Aria shivered then and wrapped her arms around herself. It was a cold night, and she hadn't brought a jacket out with her. Spencer looked at Aria's t-shirt and thin pajama pants and bare feet, and she shrugged her own hoodie off.

"Here," she said, offering it to Aria.

The smaller girl took it gratefully, pulling it on even though the sleeves swallowed her hands. Spencer hadn't grown into her lanky arms yet. "Thanks."

A beat passed, Spencer taking in Aria's doe eyes with their dilated pupils, the end of her nose red from cold, her cheeks slowly flushing as she returned Spencer's gaze. And all of a sudden, Aria was stepping closer once more, reaching up, the sleeves of the hoodie bunched around her wrists, and she grabbed Spencer's face and yanked her down so their lips met.

Spencer gasped into Aria's mouth, her eyes widening, though they quickly fluttered shut at the pleasant sparking in her chest. The kiss was clumsy, and vaguely Spencer realized this was her first. She wondered if it was Aria's too, but the thought was gone almost as soon as it came, her mind swept up in strawberry chapstick and soft lips and the slight, lingering scent of mint toothpaste on Aria's breath. Somehow Aria's hands had moved to the back of her head, fingers knotting in her hair, and Spencer rested light, trembling fingertips on Aria's back. Their noses brushed. Spencer's knees felt weak. And then it was over.

Time slid away, and all she could focus on was Aria's touch, Aria's voice. Until the song finally came to a close and things snapped back into place.

Aria's lips disappeared and Spencer found her head dipping to reclaim them, though nothing was there. Her eyes snapped open as Aria's hands slid down her neck and then retracted, became swallowed in fabric once more. They both attempted to catch their breath for a moment before Spencer pulled Aria into another hug.

"I really don't know what I'd do without you, Spence." Aria's breath on her neck was warm, and Spencer smiled.

"I don't know what I'd do without you either," Spencer replied. "I love you, Ar."

"I love you, too."

They pulled back and grinned at each other for a long moment, Spencer reaching to twirl a strand of Aria's hair between her fingers, admiring the pink streak.

Finally, she pulled her eyebrows together. "Should we… Where do we go from here?"

"I don't know," Aria said quietly. "I'm not… I don't want things to change right now. "

Spencer pulled back to look at Aria. Her best friend's hair was colored with pink streaks again, but this time the circumstances were vastly different. This time a masked psycho had cut and dyed it for her, forcing her back in time. Yet her face was unmistakably different, hardened and matured beyond her years, her hazel eyes dull and bloodshot. The only remaining sliver of her youth was a fear in her eyes reminiscent of a child. A kid with thousands of nasty, bloodthirsty monsters under her bed.

And Spencer knew that feeling all too well. It was hiding under her blankets away from the prying eyes behind a blinking red camera light. It was wishing for her parents to rescue her as she screamed her throat raw. It was throwing away all concern about manners as a tray of food was slid through the slot at the bottom of her door. It was curling in the fetal position on her bedroom floor as she slowly began to succumb to insanity. It was being too young and growing too old all at the same time.

Three minutes were almost up, and Aria had to get back to her room before the generator came on.

Trying not to feel too heartbroken, Spencer dropped the strand of Aria's hair and took a step back, nodding. It was probably for the best anyway. They both had a lot to juggle. "So maybe?"

"Maybe," Aria confirmed. "Later. If we're both single when everything lightens up, we'll see where it goes. Pinky promise?"

They linked pinkies, and Spencer leaned forward to leave a kiss on Aria's forehead. "Pinky promise."

"You have to go," breathed Spencer. They were still so close that their noses were touching.

"I don't want to." Aria's eyes misted over, and her words broke as they fell past her lips. "I don't want to go back to that room, Spencer. I don't want to be alone again."

"You can come back tomorrow night." Spencer's face was still wet with tears, but she felt oddly relaxed. Like she was floating. Held aloft by Aria's arms. "I think… I think we'll be alright until then."

Aria bit her lip, nodded. An almost relieved smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Okay. I'll come back tomorrow."

Spencer lifted her hand from Aria's back, brought it around to just below their chins, her pinky raised. Her tongue felt clumsy in her mouth. "Pinky promise?"

"Pinky promise." Aria linked their pinkies, locked them together for one unbreakable moment, and their lips brushed before both of them instinctively moved forward. Aria rolled her onto her back amidst the kiss, crushed their promise between their chests, sealed it, and Spencer slipped her free hand beneath Aria's shirt, traced her spine. The kiss was wet, tasting of salty tears and desperation, and it almost hurt with how chapped both of their lips were. Then they were breaking apart, and Spencer wrapped her arms around Aria one last time, rested her chin atop that streaked raven head. Aria's lips tickled at her collarbone as she murmured, "I love you, Spence."

"I love you, too," Spencer whispered, pain lancing through her chest as Aria slipped away.

She pressed her shaking hands to her eyes as Aria's weight lifted from the bed, the heels of her palms trying to block out the pain of such an unsure goodbye. Maybe they'd be forced to hurt each other again tomorrow. Maybe their masked tormentor had something even worse planned. Maybe they'd be too injured to move. Maybe the doors would stay locked when the generator shut off. Maybe Charles would be waiting in that red-tinged corridor. Or maybe they'd simply be killed. Forever left hanging in maybes and what ifs and unkept promises.

When Spencer opened her eyes again, her room was empty. Aria was gone, her footsteps receding down the hall. A moment later, the hum of the generator returned. Spencer settled into her mattress, tried to sink back into that sleepy, peaceful silence from before, but it wasn't the same without Aria.

She flinched as the bedroom door swung shut, locking her back in solitude.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this one! So it turns out all the little blurbs I wrote needed a ton of polishing, but there might be one more that'll be postable before Semi-Functional is back. We'll see :D

Please leave a review and give me some feedback! (Or just rant about how Sparia is the greatest ship. That's also welcome lol)