[That Spike had seen John, the real John, at his rotten core, and taken off while he still had a chance.
He picks up the joint, knowing full well he shouldn't, and sucks the calm deep into his lungs. Holds it there. Until his chest loosens up, and he can breathe out the pain, like so spiralling smoke, out of his body and into the air.]
It is me. There's nothing wrong with you. You were good. Better than I deserved.
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[That Spike had seen John, the real John, at his rotten core, and taken off while he still had a chance.
He picks up the joint, knowing full well he shouldn't, and sucks the calm deep into his lungs. Holds it there. Until his chest loosens up, and he can breathe out the pain, like so spiralling smoke, out of his body and into the air.]
It is me. There's nothing wrong with you. You were good. Better than I deserved.