Do You See What I See? [two parts, 4,548 words]
Title: Do You See What I See?
Author: sexontoasties
Pairing(s): Jon/Spencer, background Brendon/Ryan
Rating: PG
Summary: After a tragic accident, Spencer is left blind. Christmas is coming up, and Jon helps Spencer move on and see the beauty of Christmas without actually, well, seeing it.
POV: Third Person
Beta: infrontofthesea and my fabulous friend Juliana
Disclaimer: All fake.
A/N: WHY DO I LOVE DISABILITY FICS SO MUCH? Ah, anyways, Merry belated Christmas!
The tree in the living room is real, and it sheds way too many pine needles but Jon’s willing to put up with the mess because Spencer said he wanted to smell the pine scent of it. He needs to smell it. To know it’s there.
Jon carefully picks up a strand of garland and wiggles the end in Spencer’s face, making the younger boy scrunch up his nose and fight back a sneeze. Jon laughs and winds it around his arm before going over to the tree and hooking it near the top, carefully wrapping it through the branches.
“What color did you get this year?” Spencer asks softly , running a hand through his hair and bringing his sock-clad feet up on the couch, stretched out and languid.
“Red,” Jon replies, touching the soft red fibers of the garland carefully.
“What kind of red?”
Jon ponders for moment, before saying, “Dark red. Like... like an apple, right before it goes rotten. Really deep, rich.”
“It sounds pretty.” Spencer’s voice is quiet, and Jon lets the rest of the garland fall to the carpet, walking over and kneeling in front of the couch,. He places his hand on Spencer’s thigh, and then reaches up his free hand to tuck a strand of hair behind Spencer’s ear.
“It’s very pretty,” Jon says, but he’s no longer talking about the garland. Spencer reaches up a hand and slowly extends it until his finger tips graze the scruff of Jon’s beard. Jon leans up, says, “I’m here, I’m here,” and helps guide Spencer forward until their lips touch.
--
It was rather tragic, really. It was quick, terribly painful. Spencer remembers how much it fucking burned. It felt like his eyes were on fire, and there was so much blood because of the chemicals and how they burned through the tissues of his irises, almost straight to his retina.
Accidents happen. That’s what the doctor’s told him. And it was stupid, really. Sometimes he blames himself. Sometimes he blames others.
He was volunteering as a student aid for a college histology class for community service hours to go on his resume. The class was working with silver nitrate that day.
The teacher asked Spencer to get it out and set viles up at each lab table, and then he could go home because he was no longer needed. That’s it. Spencer had texted Jon and made plans for lunch since he didn’t have to stay the whole class.
When he was reaching up into the cabinet to put the container back, he stumbled and bumped into the shelf, the silver nitrate slipping from his hands and sprinkling right into his eyes because apparently he’s a fucking idiot and didn’t screw on the cap all the way.
Maybe if he hadn’t been so fucking clumsy, or if he was just a tad less careless. Maybe none of this would’ve happened. Maybe he’d still be majoring in computer science. Maybe he’d still remember which shade of brown Jon’s eyes are.
--
Clover has seemed to have taken a sudden liking to Spencer, ever since the accident. She was always happy around him before, but once he lost his vision, it’s as if the feline also knew what had happened. She’s been almost scarily attached to him ever since. It’s nice, though. Spencer likes always having something warm and soft curled up on his lap while he’s watching TV, or following him around and rubbing against his legs when he’s home alone, letting him know that some one's there, that he’s not all by himself in that big house.
Currently curled up in his lap, Clover purrs softly as Spencer runs his hand along her back.
“Here Spencer, eat one of my cookies. I made them this morning and they’re awesome,” Brendon says, taking a cookie from the plate on the coffee table and placing it in Spencer’s hand.
Spencer sniffs the cookie, and it smells good, but he’s still slightly wary. “Ryan?” He asks, sort of for approval that whatever he’s holding is edible. He hears Brendon make an insulted noise.
“They’re good, Spencer. Why doesn’t anybody have faith in my baking skills!”
Spencer laughs, and then feels the other side of the couch sink as someone sits on it. “It’s okay Spence. They’re tolerable.”
“Ryan!” Brendon huffs, crossing his arms.
Ryan laughs and grabs another cookie. “Alright, alright. They’re actually really good. Happy?”
Brendon and Ryan continue to banter back and forth while Spencer quietly nibbles on his cookie between them. It actually is pretty good. It’s some sort of butterscotch chocolate chip cookie, and it’s chewy and warm in his mouth.
Spencer hears the front door open, and he turns his head towards the noise.
“Jon’s home!” Brendon exclaims, hopping off the couch to help Jon with the boxes he’s holding. “What’s in these boxes?”
“Just some old Christmas decorations and sweaters my parents gave me tonight after dinner.” He turns and walks towards Spencer, setting the box down on the ground before running a hand through Spencer’s hair. “They missed you. They wanted me to tell you Merry Christmas for them.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t go,” Spencer says quietly, feeling suddenly guilty.
Jon’s parents like Spencer, and Spencer likes them too. Tonight though, he had... another one of his episodes, as Brendon likes to call them.
Him and Jon were getting ready, and Spencer picked his clothes out himself and was sitting on the bed, waiting. When Jon came out of the bathroom and saw Spencer, he chuckled quietly and said, “Spencer, you’re wearing red skinny jeans with a yellow button down. I don’t think those are exactly the perfect match.”
Spencer’s throat had suddenly closed up and he ripped off the shirt and jeans, sitting on the floor half naked and shaking. “I can pick out my own fucking clothes,” he had said, stuck in a crazed state of denial. “I’m not incapable I’m not.” But he knew that wasn’t true and he knew he no longer had any independence. He needed Jon, and that scared him because first it was just mental, but now it’s for picking out his fucking clothes too.
Jon had come over and laid a hand on Spencer’s bare shoulder, but the younger boy shrugged him off. Jon had sighed and stood back up.
“I’ll be home at 10.”
Spencer had called Ryan over as soon as the front door shut.
Now, blinking his eyes slowly and face heating up in guilt, he angles his head towards his lap. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have freaked out.”
Jon shushed him and cupped Spencer’s face, running his thumbs under Spencer’s eyes. “It’s okay. I brought home some cupcakes my mom made. They’re white vanilla with butter cream frosting. Your favorite.”
Spencer smiles, “Love you.”
Brendon gags next to them. “Get a room, you saps.”
Spencer rolls his eyes. “Oh, like you and Ryan aren’t the same way.”
“We aren’t!” Brendon states. “We’re a manly couple. We eat dirt and fuck dr - “
“Okay, okay!” Jon butts in, cutting him off. “Who wants cupcakes?”
Brendon makes an excited noise and pulls Ryan off the couch towards the kitchen.
Spencer reaches out in the general direction of Jon, and Jon reaches his hand up and laces their fingers together. Spencer smiles and ducks his head, and Jon leans forward and says,
“I love you too.”
--
Spencer presses his palm against the window, and the glass is icy to the touch. He keeps his hand there until it goes numb.
“It’s cold outside,” Jon says, sitting next to Spencer on the little bench they have by the window. He removes Spencer’s hand and rubs it with his own, warming him.
“Is it snowing?” Spencer asks, eyes flitting around absently, hoping he’s looking in the general direction of Jon. Jon reaches up and angles Spencer’s head towards him.
“Not yet,” he says. “The weather says soon, though.”
“Do you think we’ll have a white Christmas?” Spencer asks hopefully, face lighting up just a bit. Jon smiles at him.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“I’ve never had a white Christmas before.”
Jon hums and scoots closer on the bench, reaching up and shutting the curtain over the window. The darkness surrounding Spencer’s being goes a little darker, and he closes his eyes, waiting.
“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know...”
Spencer goes red, but smiles nonetheless. “Really, Jon?” he asks quietly, teasing.
Jon just grins and continues singing, gabbing Spencer’s chin so he can stare into his cloudy blue eyes. He misses when Spencer could stare back, but he tries not to think about that too much.
Spencer turns his head away and touches the cold glass of the window again, finger tips turning red at the end. Jon scoots closer and presses his forehead to Spencer’s shoulder, warm and comforting.
“And may all your Christmases be white...”
--
They’re baking Christmas cookies when it happens.
Spencer’s goes to grab a cookie sheet from the counter, but accidentally grabs one the Jon just pulled out of the oven instead. He gasps and drops the sheet, freshly baked cookies scattering all over the floor. He clutches his hand, and tears well up in his eyes, frustrated.
“Spencer, are you okay?” Jon says, concerned, before hurrying over and gently inspecting the burnt hand. Spencer yanks his wrist out of Jon’s grip and turns in on himself, hand searing and turning pink on the palm already.
Jon steps forward again, hurt. “Spence, hey, it’s okay. It was just an accident - “
“No, Jon!” Spencer cuts him off, hissing through his teeth. “It wasn’t just an accident, okay? I put the damn stack of clean cookie sheets right there, and you moved them or something and this... this wouldn’t have fucking happened if... if...”
“Spencer,” Jon says again, sharply. “Spencer, it’s okay. You’re fine.” He steps forward and places a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, but the younger boy jerks away faster than he can blink, and his hip hits the corner of the counter. His hand fails out and knocks a metal bowl full of flour to the floor, the noise clattering loudly against the tile.
“Christ, Spencer, stop,” Jon says, voice cracking. “Calm down, why are you even - “
“Shut up!” Spencer yells. “Shut up shut up shut up.”
Jon goes quiet, and his eyes narrow. “It’s been a whole fucking year,” he says, and Spencer flinches because Jon never swears. Only when he’s reached his boiling point. “You need to move on.”
Spencer clenches his hands into fists, his burnt hand protesting in pain, but he just ignores it. “I’m fucking blind, Jon!” He yells. “I can’t just move on, okay? You don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t,” Jon says. “I don’t understand. But you know what? I don’t have to. I know that moving on isn’t easy, but right now... right now your refusal to fucking accept it, fucking just... I don’t know. Whatever you’re doing, it’s tearing us apart.”
The room goes quiet. Spencer reaches out a hand and grips the counter, flour coating his fingers. He looks down, but still says nothing. Jon sighs and rubs his forehead.
“I’m going over to Brendon’s,” He says quietly, leaning down and picking up the metal bowl. The flour is still all over the floor, but he’ll deal with that later. He’s exhausted right now.
He leaves without another word, and Spencer hears the jingle of car keys and then the slam of the front door. Spencer sinks down to the floor, sitting in a pile of flour, but he doesn’t care. He sits there, clutching his burnt hand that’s already started to blister, and cries.
--
When Jon comes home at 2 in the morning, the house of dark. He flicks on a light and takes off his jacket, tossing it over the back of the couch.
“Spencer?” He calls out softly. “I’m home.”
Jon just wants to curl up with Spencer and apologize and forget anything ever happened. They can get though this, he thinks. They will.
“Spencer?” He calls out again, a bit louder this time. He walks towards the kitchen, flicking on the light, and scans around the room. It’s still a mess, and his eyes stray towards the flour covered floor. His eyes widen when he sees Spencer sitting on the floor, head leaning against the side of the cabinet, eyes closed in sleep.
Jon kneels down and gently shakes Spencer awake. “Jesus, have you been sitting here the whole time? I’ve been gone for hours.”
Spencer blinks blearily and says, “Jon?”
“Yes, yes it’s me, I’m here.” Jon tugs Spencer until the younger boy falls into his chest, and Jon wraps him up close. “I’m sorry. I never should’ve left you here alone.”
Spencer shuts his eyes and holds his blistered hand tighter to his own chest. “I was scared to... to try and walk to the bedroom. I... I didn’t want to fall, I couldn’t see, I can’t see, I didn’t know where to go...”
“Shh,” Jon says, “it’s my fault, I’m sorry. Jesus I’m so stupid, why the fuck would I leave my blind boyfriend alone in a huge empty house for hours?”
Spencer doesn’t say anything, silently blaming but also silently thankful. Instead, he presses his injured hand to his face and hisses in pain, skin hot to the touch.
“Shit, okay, let’s get that cleaned up,” Jon says hurriedly, helping Spencer off the floor and guiding him to the bathroom. He sits him down on the toilet seat and rummages around for some burn cream and bandages.
“I’m such a douche,” Jon mutters under his breath, and Spencer feels terribly guilty again.
“Jon, Jon stop. You’re not a douche. I’m just an emotional asshole who yells at you way too much.”
Jon just shakes his head and kneels down in between Spencer legs. He gently grabs the burned hand and knits his eyebrows at the forming blisters. It looks painful, and Jon left him for hours with this throbbing on his hand.
He gently applies the cream, and Spencer’s hands are shaking slightly, anxiety just beginning to ooze away. After Jon applies the bandages, he gets up and takes Spencer by the elbows.
“C’mon,” he says, “Let’s go to bed. I’ll clean up the mess in the kitchen tomorrow.”
Jon walks them up stairs to the bedroom and helps Spencer out of his flour coated clothes. Once they’re both just in boxers, they climb in bed. Spencer burrows under the covers, and his eyes water just slightly.
He used to be independent. He used the be the rock in the relationship. He was opinionated and strong and not scared of anything. He was always the one who yelled at the pizza guy if he took more than 30 minutes. He was the one who wasn’t afraid to criticize Jon if he burnt the breakfast or didn’t make the bed right. He wasn’t afraid of standing his ground.
Now, he feels like he’s a step below every one else. He feels like he’s an underdog, and that he doesn’t even have a fucking right to state his opinion or stand up tall.
He’s not used to feeling helpless and vulnerable. He’s not used to having to rely on other for every single little thing. He feels like his whole sense of independence and being has been snatched away from him.
Jon looks over and notices Spencer red eyes and pinched expression, trying to hold back tears, and he scoots closer under the cover and tugs the younger boy close, until Spencer’s ear is resting against Jon’s heart.
“I heard on the radio while I was driving home from Brendon’s that it’s supposed to snow on Sunday,” Jon says quietly.
“Sunday is Christmas,” Spencer replies after a beat.
“Yeah, it is.”
“My first Christmas since...” Spencer trails off, and Jon holds him tighter.
“We’ll be fine. I promise.”
Spencer closes his eyes and tries his hardest to believe that.
Part Two >>