Henry Spencer and Guilt sat alone in a blank room, the former saying nothing while the latter whispered memories of past mistakes into his ear.
Conversations with Shawn had become so one-sided that Henry could have been talking to a brick wall. His hazel eyes always looked past his old man's, body language screaming that he'd already dismissed whatever it was Henry had yet to utter, fingers tapping impatiently as he waited for his father to finish, to the point where he wanted to grab his son by the shoulders and desperately scream in his face "I'm trying to help you, you idiot!"
Guilt's whispers heightened to a sickening drawl - helping. That's what he always called it, to make himself feel justified. But the truth was he had built the wall between them, brick by brick, lesson by lesson, slathered with arguments that held the barricade tight like glue. And now his only son was dying and as he sat in the waiting room of the hospital trying to remember how to live, all he could hear was "He should have felt like he could talk to me."
But regret couldn't return the blood to Shawn's veins.
So Henry prayed.
Author's Chapter Notes:
I sat down to write a completely different idea and this happened instead. Ratings apply because this turned out pretty angsty and . . . sad. Sorry in advance. XD
Chapter End Notes:
I turned out liking this way more than I thought I would, for being a last-minute project. So yay XD
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