Fic: How Did I Get Here? (PG) [pt. 2/2]
Author: rufus
Dramatis Personae: PaTD, MCR, cameos by others.
Title: How Did I Get Here?
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Absolutely never happened, not ever.
Word count: 17,427 in 2 parts
Warnings: Bodyswap, possibly some *handwaving*, canon-wise.
A/N: With thanks to sinsense for beta-reading this monster twice; any remaining mistakes are my own. (And, er, this is my first bandom fic.) Title from Talking Heads' Once in a Lifetime, because I am terrible at titles.
Part 1
As it turned out, what Gerard meant by "let's go for a walk and talk about this" was "let's smoke cigarettes on the front porch and talk about Star Wars". Strangely, arguing about several things, including the (wholly imaginary, in Spencer's opinion) creepiness of Ewoks made Spencer feel a little less frightened. He couldn't say the same for Gerard, whose eyes got wider and hand gestures got more dangerous and flaily the longer they talked. Spencer was also pretty sure Ryan was going to kill him extra hard for having a conversation with Gerard Way without him.
"Cute, not scary," Spencer repeated, settling down against the porch railing, wondering if Gerard knew where Bob kept his cell phone.
"Teddy bears with spears, all kinds of wrong," Gerard said kind of weakly. He offered Spencer a cigarette.
"No, thanks," Spencer said, rubbing at his face. There was a headache building behind his eyes that didn't bode well for the rest of the day.
When he looked up again, Gerard's faintly terrified expression had been replaced by one of frank disbelief. Not sure how else to respond, Spencer ventured a smile, and then Gerard announced they were going to Starbucks. Spencer bit his lip, torn between anxiety at the further delay and relief at the prospect of coffee, milky and sweetened the way god intended, then followed him off the porch and down the street.
The store was full when they got there, even though it was still kind of early. Spencer was in line, half reading about fancy coffee beans, half revising his No really, I'm Spencer, and I need to get back to my band speech when he heard it: a muffled gasp, some muttering, and the distinctive swish-click of a camera being removed from a purse.
Gerard, who was a few steps away contemplating a row of mugs, heard it too. Spencer was vaguely surprised at the alarm in Gerard's face when he turned around, though. It was just a couple of old people, and they weren't even really all that close. The girl with the camera was still standing at least three feet away, and everyone else on line looked more half-asleep and irritated than anything else. Spencer sighed heavily and ran a hand through his (Bob's) hair, then gave the girl a "hold on" gesture with one hand and beckoned Gerard closer with the other hand. (Gerard came quickly enough but his eyes, if anything, got wider, which was puzzling. Spencer it filed away for future reflection.)
"Okay," Spencer said, once Gerard was settled against his side, his fingers, Spencer noted, wrapped tightly in the waistband of Spencer's pants, as if Spencer might need to be held back.
"You want one of you with us?" Spencer asked when she lowered the camera.
Gerard and the girl looked at him like he'd started speaking Chinese, and then at each other. The girl bit her lip and Gerard shrugged one shoulder, almost apologetically, and beckoned her over with his free hand. Before Spencer could ask them what the fuck the problem was, she had corralled one of her friends to act as photographer and was moving to stand between them.
Spencer straightened his shoulders, narrowing his eyes against the flash, and attempted a smile. Meanwhile, Gerard and the girl seemed to be having an intense conversation about hamsters, of all things. Spencer flexed his fingers and sighed, and it came out a little louder and sulkier than he had intended. Gerard shot him a look that seemed almost relieved, and luckily the girl didn't seem to be upset either. Which, thank fuck for that, because that was all Spencer needed, headlines on fucking Buzznet about Bob Bryar being mean to My Chem fans. Christ.
"Good luck with everything," Gerard said, and the girl flushed pink.
"Thanks, you too," she whispered, and slipped away.
"Okay," Gerard said slowly, tilting his head back and giving Spencer another sharp look, but whatever he had been going to say next was forestalled by his phone going off.
"Hello?" Gerard said into the receiver. "What? Who? Oh . . . uh-huh. What did you - okay, yeah - well, Bob and I are here, at the Starbucks? Yes, the - anyway, we just took some pictures with this girl, she has a dwarf hamster, two of them - no, not with her in the Starbucks, Ray - and Bob was really sweet, he asked her if she wanted extra pictures, like, actually with us."
Spencer scowled and hunched his shoulders forward, inexplicably embarrassed for the second time that morning. Gerard paused, and moved his hand as if he were smoking a cigarette.
"Yes . . . yes . . . what? Do you - okay, two chocolate chip muffins and a soy latte for Frank, got it. Okay - ten minutes, maybe? - yeah, okay," Gerard said, the end of the sentence crawling up into a nervous giggle, and hung up the phone.
"That was Ray," Gerard said, his voice dropping to almost a whisper as they approached the counter. "Apparently he just got off the phone with someone who claimed to be Jon Walker from Panic at the Disco, who said he had a Bob Bryar on his bus, and wanted to know if we had a Spencer Smith in our possession."
"Oh?" Spencer managed, busy trying not to stagger and barely aware Gerard was ordering Spencer's drink as well as everyone else's.
He fixed his eyes on the back of Gerard's head and tried to concentrate. Jon had called, not Pete, so maybe Ryan hadn't called Pete. And Jon had said they had Bob, so it had been a direct swap. But why hadn't Ryan called? Was he missing, too? Had they (oh god, oh god) all swapped except for Jon?
"He - thank you - thought that was kind of weird," Gerard said, before handing Spencer a cup, taking the other cup and the bag of muffins from the wide-eyed barista and heading towards the door. "Because, you know, it was kind of funny at first, good joke, or whatever, but Walker sounded really -" Gerard broke off and waved the bag of muffins in the air.
Spencer nodded, his stomach lazily rolling itself into a knot. It was not Jon's job to deal with band crises, it was Spencer's; more importantly, it was Spencer's job to not cause band crises. He took a sip of his coffee, and this time it was hot, bitter, and vile, and he spit it out on a nearby rosebush without stopping to think about it.
"Bob?" Gerard said and Spencer squeezed his eyes shut. Suddenly he did not have the strength to say I'm Spencer one more time.
"Too hot," he muttered instead, and Gerard made an understanding noise.
Gerard didn't say anything after that, just hummed softly to himself as they made their way up the street, and Spencer took advantage of the relative quiet to revise his plan. Clearly he had to talk to Jon, somehow, and Ryan, assuming Ryan was still there and not trapped in someone else's body. Talking to Jon meant finding a phone, any phone, and a quiet place to have a conversation -
Gerard cleared his throat, jolting Spencer out of his thoughts, and Spencer realized they were in front of the house again.
"You know you can always, like, talk to me, right?" Gerard said, his voice low and urgent, his expression possibly a little angry underneath a lot of scared. "I mean, I might freak out a little bit, or whatever, but I - I'm better than I used to be, right? And if it's about me, or like, something I did, or - or something Mikey did - well then I definitely want to fucking know, motherfucker, because -"
"It's not about you," Spencer said quickly. "Or Mikey. Neither of you did anything, I mean, as far as I know, because I don't know who did do anything, just that I have to find some way to undo it, and quickly. I am not Bob, this is not my body, and I need to get back to my body before soundcheck."
Gerard's eyebrows descended into a puzzled frown and opened his mouth to say something, but then Spencer heard the low scrape of wood on wood. When Spencer looked towards the sound, Ray was standing in the doorway, watching them from the porch. He was wearing the baby again, and when his eyes landed on Spencer, he looked sort of sad and worried.
"Mikey and I cleaned the bus out, and I started the laundry," Ray said, shifting his gaze to Gerard. "Everyone else is at the grocery store."
"His latte is going to get cold," Gerard said not looking away from Spencer's face, his voice a little higher than it had been earlier. "Did you give him a list?"
"I gave Alicia all three lists," Ray said. "Also, your mom called. She talked to Mikey but she still wants you to call her, something about the PAC Center -"
"PAC - oh, okay," Gerard said, finally looking away, his shoulders rolling forward.
Gerard went in the house, and Ray looked at Spencer as if he expected him to come in as well; Spencer shook his head and sat down on steps, wincing at the pointedly quiet way Ray let the door close. After a minute Spencer set the cup of horrible coffee down on the step and curled forward so his head was resting on his knees. The steps were still a little cool under his hands, but the sun was warm, and there were birds chirping in the trees. He could smell fresh-mowed grass and something heavy and floral, something wet and green and completely unlike the desert. None of it distracted Spencer from the horrible feeling that he was going to be stuck this way forever, or the knowledge that he was officially completely out of his depth and had no idea how to fix it.
He was focusing on taking deep breaths when the door opened again and a hand settled on his back and began rubbing in slow circles. Spencer jerked his head up, surprised, and found Mikey Way sitting next to him, a bottle of water in his lap, a couple of pills in the palm of his other hand. He was also a lot to deal with up close, but something about his expression made Spencer feel a little bit less wretched.
"Are they really mad at me?" Spencer asked, hoping he didn't sound as pathetic to Mikey as it did to himself. Mikey blinked at him, and the hand on Spencer's back went still, but didn't disappear.
"Ray and Gee?" Mikey asked, tilting his head towards the house. "No, they're not mad at you."
Spencer ducked his head, trying to parse Mikey's inflections, and Mikey patted his back a couple of times, then eased away. Spencer put his hands back down on the step and waited. He realized he was trying to tap out his part of Mad as Rabbits when his (Bob's) wrists protested. Spencer pulled his hands back up against his body and sighed.
"Oh, hey, Ray said it was time for you to take these, " Mikey said, decanting the pills into the hand Spencer hastily held out and handing Spencer the water bottle. "Also, we put the rest of your stuff in the guest room for right now. There's a band meeting later, and then we might watch a movie, but Frankie'll take you home afterwards."
Spencer nodded absently (band meeting, oh god) and squinted at the pills in his hand. Two of them were Flintstones vitamins (one Betty and one Pebbles), but the third one was small and white, and he had no idea what it was for. He bit his lip and glanced up at Mikey, who was busy lighting a cigarette.
"Sorry, Gerard got the last Bam-Bam," Mikey said, settling back on one elbow and stretching the other arm out briefly. Spencer stared at him, nonplussed. "You want a cigarette, dude?"
"No, thank you," Spencer said, smiling a little at Mikey's startled expression. "What's the other pill for?"
"I thought Gerard was yanking my chain, but no, you really did quit smoking," Mikey murmured as if Spencer hadn't spoken, his expression shifting from puzzled to rueful understanding. "Oh, dude, no wonder you're all fucked up. Okay -"
"Mikey, what is the white pill for?" Spencer tried again, opening and closing his fingers for added emphasis.
Mikey paused mid-drag and gave Spencer a long, searching look before gesturing at Spencer's wrists.
"Is it going to fuck me up if I take it?" Spencer asked, and Mikey just blinked at him.
Spencer decided he would take that as a yes, and slid the pill into the pocket of Bob's hoodie. He took the vitamins, though, and drank the water. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Mikey was watching him, and his expression was surprisingly hawk-like.
"Do you know where Bob keeps his phone?" Spencer asked when the silence had gotten kind of uncomfortable. "Because I need to call Jon, and - "
"You don't know where your phone is," Mikey interrupted, his tone suggesting it wasn't so much a question as a statement of facts.
"No," Spencer said, the pounding behind his eyes increasing in intensity, his voice rising slightly. "I know exactly where my phone is. My phone is on my bus with my guys heading towards the venue where we - they - have to play, tonight. Assuming they didn't all get turned into other people, which is kind of a possibility right now."
Spencer paused and tried to take a deep breath. His hands were shaking again and his chest felt tight and strange. Calm, he reminded himself, calm, professional.
"I know it's there because Bob is using it to send you fuckers text messages," Spencer continued, inhaling sharply as spasms of pain rolled through one hand, then the other. He never wanted to be old ever, seriously. "So if you could please just tell me where the fuck Bob's phone is I'll call Jon back and tell him I'm not dead and find out where Ryan is, I mean, assuming Jon knows where Ryan is, because if he got traded too he could be anywhere - "
"All right," Mikey said softly, his expression shifting from hawk-like to smooth as glass, his fingers coming to rest, but barely, on Spencer's forearm. "Come on, let's go inside, okay?"
Spencer swallowed carefully and heaved himself upwards, staggering a little from the unfamiliar weight. Mikey caught his elbow easily and righted him, half-hugging him as he did so. Spencer fought the urge to lean into the bony, almost-familiar embrace, to just close his eyes and put his head down on Mikey's shoulder, just for a minute. What the fuck is the matter with you? shrieked a voice in the back of his mind. He's not Ryan, you don't even know this guy.
"We'll figure it out," Mikey said as they climbed the stairs, though it seemed to be mostly directed at himself. "Everything's going to be fine."
Spencer was not so sure about that, but he followed Mikey into the house anyway.
**
As it turned out, one of the bills in Spencer's pockets was a twenty; after a brief tussle with himself, Bob used it to buy a greasy egg and sausage sandwich, real coffee, and a couple of bags of candy. He had a feeling he was going to need peace offerings, and he hoped either the Gummi Bears, the Sour Patch Kids or the Reese's Pieces would do the trick.
The sandwich Bob ate immediately upon leaving the mini-mart. When he finished he went back and picked up two more, plus some hashbrowns and a bottle of soda. He had forgotten that being twenty meant being so hungry all the time. He went and sat on a nearby bench to eat the rest of the food and drink the coffee, sipping slowly and savoring it, even though it was kind of disgusting.
Afterwards Bob wiped his hands off on Spencer's jeans and pulled out Spencer's Sidekick; there were still no new texts from anyone Bob actually knew. He rolled the device back and forth in his hands, thinking, then tapped out four variations on Still trpped in Smith's bdy, fckers, whr the fck r u? ps. G yr stll nt drnk. When he was done he stood up and walked around the parking lot a couple of times, being sure to keep the bus in sight. After his second pass Bob noticed there was a picnic area and decided to see if he could get away with just hanging out there for the last ten minutes. It was nice out, he was pretty sure no-one had recognized him yet, and save for two people old enough to be his grandparents and a blonde girl drinking a Slurpee, the picnic area was deserted.
"Hey there, big boy," the girl said when Bob got close, throwing him a warm look over her sunglasses as she turned to face him. "So, tell me, do you come here often?"
Bob paused in the act of unscrewing the top of the bottle of soda to stare at her, and she grinned at him, her eyes crinkling up at the edges, her shoulders twitching with silent laughter. Bob grinned back at her; she was pretty, and, Bob could not help but notice, had very nice breasts.
He got the cap off the soda and took a swig, watching her from behind his eyelashes as he did so, wondering if she knew who he - who Spencer - was; if she did, she was being really cool about it. Bob lowered the soda bottle, jammed his free hand in his pocket and tried not to notice the amused looks they were getting from the old people.
"So," Bob drawled, "what's your sign, beautiful?" and she was off again. Bob took another drink of soda and decided maybe being twenty for the day wasn't so bad after all.
"Why don't you come and sit," she said when she recovered, patting the bench next to her. "You can -"
"For the honor of Greyskull!" Brendon shouted, and that was all the warning Bob got before Brendon landed on his back and wrapped his arm around Bob's neck.
Bob grunted and rocked forward with the impact, and for a split second considered dumping Brendon on his ass. The girl and the old people were watching, though, so Bob just sighed and held still while Brendon got settled. He wasn't much heavier than Frank, but he was longer, and also bonier.
"Is it that time already?" the girl asked, her face settling into sober lines, and Bob blinked a couple of times.
"Sam has announced last call for pork rinds," Brendon said solemnly. The girl pulled a face as she stood up.
"Don't forget we're schooling your asses at hacky-sack in two hours," she said as she walked past them in the direction of the buses. Bob felt one of Brendon's knees dig into his ribs, trying to turn Spencer to follow her.
Bob hmphed at him and locked his knees, because he wasn't a fucking horse. Brendon curled closer, and sighed into Bob's shoulder. The old people turned away. Bob reached back with one hand, trying to get a grip on Brendon in order pull him off.
"Turn around and walk towards the bus," Brendon said, in a sharp, unexpected tone that made Bob drop his hand and start moving automatically. "Good. Now listen to me, because Zack is totally ready to tranq you and go to the hospital."
"What?" Bob said, and stopped. It was really difficult having a conversation with someone who was clinging your back. "Tranq me? With what? And what the fuck for?"
Brendon made an irritated noise and bonked his head off of Bob's shoulder.
"Spencer -"
"Bob."
"Bob, fine, whatever," Brendon said, squeezing his knees together again. Bob reluctantly started walking. "He has - stuff - in the first aid kit, I don't know. Also, um -" he paused, and Bob felt his fingers tap on Bob's shoulder. "You have four inches and, bare minimum, fifty pounds on everyone but him. We're trapped on a bus, and you seem to have gone insane."
Bob stopped walking to let that thought that sink in.
"And yet you decided now was a good time to come and jump on me while I was talking to a hot chick," Bob said, and Brendon squeezed him forward again.
"Spencer has a girlfriend, and the hot chick is Greta, who you - who Spencer - regards as a third baby sister, and I could see you scoping her out from the other side of the parking lot. Also, you didn't hit Ryan this morning, I was pretty sure you weren't going to deck me." Brendon paused and flexed the muscle in his arm that was lying across Bob's throat in a way that might have been thoughtful, but Bob was pretty sure meant don't think I won't drop you if I have to.
"Anyway, Ryan doesn't do well in hospitals, so here's the plan: when we get inside, we're calling your guys again, only this time you're going to talk to them," Brendon said, leaning around Bob's shoulder to push the code into the touchpad on the side of the bus. "And -"
"The fuck, Smith?" Zack said when the door opened, looming over them suddenly, his voice low and tight.
Bob had spent enough time around harried tour managers and/or security dudes to recognize the set of Zack's shoulders. They were saying I can't hit you, but I sure would like to. His face was oddly relaxed and friendly, almost amused, but there was anger and little fear in his eyes.
"Look, dude, I'm Bob Bryar, and I just got here today," Bob said. "I'm not fucking with your boys on purpose, man. Believe me, I want out of this body as much as they want Spencer back. Now let me in so I get on that, okay?"
Zack's eyes widened slightly, and Bob saw his gaze move from Bob's face to Brendon and back again, his fingers curling and uncurling against the palms of his hands. The anger in Zack's expression was receding a little, but the alarm had ratcheted up a few notches. I'll buy you a bottle of whiskey too, Bob thought, winding the plastic handles of his bag full treats around his fingers and climbing the stairs, being careful not to run Brendon into anything.
When he turned to look at the lounge, Ryan and Jon were sitting on one of the benches, and two guys wearing black hoodies (one had crazy hair, the other one didn't) were sitting on the other one. Ryan was curled into Jon's side, but the expressions on the rest of their faces suggested that they had probably just been talking about Bob, or rather, about Spencer. Brendon dismounted with a showy little wave of his hands and went to sit next to Jon.
"Hi," Bob said, suddenly not sure he'd have enough peace offerings to go around, and stepped out of the flip-flops.
"Hey, Spencer," said one of the dudes in black hoodies, and Bob suppressed a sigh. Right.
"Bob Bryar, actually, but I'm just visiting temporarily," he said, stretching his toes out in the rug. "Who are all of you people?"
Crazy Hair's eyes widened a fraction as the silence in the room grew slightly louder and heavier. Bob heard Zack coming up the steps, and wondered if he was about to be tranq'd. Zack stopped in the kitchen, though, arms crossed over his chest, and glared at them. Bob wondered for a moment if he was their Brian as well as their Worm (and if not, who was their Brian?) and then decided to ignore him in favor of pulling the bag of Reese's Piece's open. Jon took a handful when Bob tilted the bag towards him, but none of the others seemed interested.
"You don't recognize any of us," said Normal Hair, his voice flat with disbelief, and Bob shrugged one shoulder.
"I can tell you're not, like, civilians, dude, but . . ." Bob trailed off, trying to remember if he maybe he had met any of them before at Warped or an awards show or something. But no, there was nothing doing. He shook his head and made an apologetic face.
"I'm Justin, from Motion City Soundtrack," said Crazy Hair, and Bob nodded, vaguely certain he'd seen that name on Ray's iPod as well.
Normal Hair crossed his arms over his chest and glared, then muttered "Sam, Phantom Planet."
"Nice to meet you all," Bob murmured, and promptly forgot their names. "So, Jon, I hear I'm supposed to call my guys?"
"Ray wouldn't tell me whether or not they have Spencer," Jon said. "He just kind of talked a lot about the stresses of touring affecting people in weird ways and it being important to be gentle with yourselves and each other, and know when it's time to take breaks."
"Sounds like Toro," Bob sighed, and tugged Spencer's Sidekick out of his pocket.
"He told me Pete probably knows someone who could, you know, help us out," Jon continued. "Which - I probably should have called Pete first. I mean -"
"You still can do that, you know," Normal Hair said sharply.
"Wouldn't want to disturb the man on his honeymoon if we don't have to," Bob said with deliberate mildness, giving the guy a look that Bob hoped conveyed give the kid a break, asshole.
"That's not until next weekend," Ryan whispered, uncurling a little, and Bob saw Brendon's fingers slide up to Jon's neck and rub gently.
Bob hmm'd at them, then flipped the phone open and dialed Gerard's number. It rang twice before Gerard picked up, and Bob could tell from the silence that greeted him that Gerard was somewhere between annoyed and totally freaked out. Bob really could not blame Gerard for that at all, though it was tempting.
"Motherfucker," Bob said mildly, knowing Gerard's eyes were going wide on the other end. "You fucking believe in unicorns, but not this?"
Gerard made a spluttering noise, and Bob closed his eyes while he pinched the bridge of his (Spencer's) nose between his fingers.
"What's my Polyjuice question, Gerard?" he asked, and someone further down the bus made a small startled noise. Bob opened one eye and glared at everyone he could see. "Shut up, like you fuckers haven't had to have that conversation, too. Fucking Frankie and his -"
"Prom," Gerard said, sounding only a little bit breathless and slightly tinny, as if he had switched the phone to speaker. "What happened on the morning of your prom that made a dramatic difference in your plan for the evening?"
"My damned date woke up with the motherfucking chickenpox," Bob said, and saw Brendon's face twitch as if he were fighting a laugh. Gerard, on the other hand, sounded like a he might be on the edge of hyperventilating. "Do you have me on speaker? Can Ray hear this?"
"Yes," Gerard said, and Bob heard some clanking, and a muffled voice that might have been Mikey. "Yes, but how -"
"Lucky guess," Bob said, even though it wasn't, and longed for a cigarette. "Now let Ray or Mikey ask me the back-up question, Gerard."
There was some more clanking, a couple bursts of static, and Bob quite distinctly heard Mikey say give Ray the motherfucking phone, douchebag.
"On The Used's most recent tour," Ray said, only squeaking a little, and the knot in Bob's stomach unraveled all at once. "Where did Jepha keep his emergency back-up grown-up clothes?"
"Inside Dan's kick drum, which got locked into the tech bus after every show," Bob replied, and for a moment all he could hear was Ray breathing.
"Bob? It's . . . you're with Panic at the Disco?" Ray said, sounding sort of baffled, and Bob hauled off and kissed Spencer's phone, he was so relieved.
"Yes, Ray, you asshole," Bob said, raising his eyes when he felt a hand brush over his wrists. Jon was standing in front of him, eyes wide and dark, mouthing . . . oh, right, of course. "Is Spencer with you? Can you put him on the phone?"
"I - " Ray paused, and Bob had barely managed to put the phone on speaker when his own voice came out of it. He was so startled to hear himself it took him a moment to absorb what he (Spencer) was actually saying.
"Ryan? Jon? JON! Can you - JON!" Spencer was also starting to sound a little hysterical, and Bob didn't protest when Jon grabbed the phone out of his hand and started walking towards the back of the bus while talking into it, Ryan and Brendon hot on his heels.
Everyone else on the bus, he realized, was staring at him as if he had actually busted out a wand and turned a rat into a teacup. Or at least nearly everyone; Crazy Hair (Jerome? Jared?) looked like his birthday might have come a little bit early.
"Okay," Zack said, drawing the word out as he moved closer to Bob, his fingers curling in and out of fists. "So, you're Bob, and Spencer is - where, exactly? How the fuck do we get him here?"
"He's in Jersey," Bob said, as Brendon re-emerged from the bunks and walked towards Bob, trailing Ryan and Jon. "They're at Frank's, so -"
"Ray wants to talk to you," Brendon interrupted, holding out the phone, relief and amusement both visible on his face.
"I'm fine," Bob said after he took it, hoping to head a Ray-interrogation off at the pass. "I'm eating real food and no-one's Chihuahua has tried to use me as a chew toy. Now put the kids in the car and come up here and get me."
"But -okay - wait, where is here?" Ray said. Bob heard himself talking again (that was never going to not be weird) and then Ray coughed a little and sighed. "Spencer says you should be in Connecticut?"
"Connecticut?" Bob asked, tucking the phone under his jaw, and Jon nodded.
"I'll give him directions," Zack said from behind him in a tone that suggested an argument would result in a broken nose, and Bob handed over the phone.
**
"Okay," Ray said, turning around to look at the back seat. "Are we ready? Do we have everything? Who has the snacks?"
Frank shifted around in the seat next to Spencer, and held up a bag of wasabi peas. In the front seat, Mikey waved a bag of Doritos over his head. Spencer wriggled down as much as he could and closed his eyes. Then Gerard started humming under his breath. Spencer replayed his conversation with Jon in his head as a way to calm down.
We're fine, Spencer, was the first thing Jon had said, his voice gentle and steady. Confused, sure, and maybe a little freaked out - okay, maybe a lot freaked out, because, trading bodies? Seriously? That doesn't fucking happen, dude. But we're okay. Are you okay?
I'm fine, Spencer had said, clutching the phone to his ear and trying to absorb Jon's calm through the airwaves while simultaneously trying to not let on that he did not believe Jon for a minute and also that he was not okay. He had the distinct feeling Jon was not fooled, but - being Jon - was cool enough to not call him out. Instead he said Ryan wants to talk to you, okay? and hand the phone over without waiting for an answer.
Spencer? Ryan had said, his voice almost too low to be heard, and the knot in Spencer's stomach had pulled that much tighter. Where does your father keep his Penthouses?
You know he only has Playboys, Spencer had said, smiling in spite of himself, remembering the day they had found the damn things. And they're in the garage, under the extra paint for the girls' room.
Ryan had made a small noise, not quite a gasp, and said Spencer again, but more firmly. Yes, Spencer had said, pressing the fingers of his free hand against the base of this throat in an attempt to contain his hammering pulse with brute force. It's me, I promise. I'm so sorry, I -
It's okay, Ryan had said, shhh, shhh, it's okay. Brendon, what - Spencer had heard sounds of a scuffle, and then Brendon had said Shut up, Ross, Bob got two questions - Spencer, what thing did I buy off eBay right before we left for our first headlining tour?
The Nirvana t-shirt with the seahorse babies, Spencer had said, moving his fingers up to his eyes. He did not add, And when you sleep in it, that means you're homesick and I have to keep an eye on you. There was a brief silence and then Brendon had started burbling at him. Are you okay? Does it feel weird? How are you going to change back? The I don't fucking know, okay, was barely out of Spencer's mouth when he had felt a hand settle on his shoulder and squeeze gently.
When he had looked up, he had found Ray regarding him carefully, biting his lip, and it had occurred to Spencer that he had snatched the phone away from Ray kind of quickly, and that Ray probably wanted to talk to Bob for longer than five seconds. Sorry, he had mouthed at Ray. Brendon, he had said into the phone, his voice as firm as he could make it, Brendon, give the phone back to Bob, okay? Ray needs to talk to him.
"iPod?" Gerard asked from the other side of Spencer, doing something that made him jam a pointy elbow into Spencer's ribs.
Spencer sat up and opened his eyes in time to see Mikey lift something black off the front seat and wave it in the air.
"Directions to the venue?" Spencer said, because that was what was actually important here.
Frank snorted, and Mikey held up a piece of paper covered in Ray's neat, loopy writing. Spencer let his head fall back against the seat again and shifted around trying to find a position that didn't make his knees ache.
"Brian is going to meet us there, and we'll stop for coffee in an hour," Ray said, looking right at Gerard. "Meanwhile, everyone has their keys, their phone and has been to the bathroom?"
Are you serious? Spencer thought as Ray turned around to face the front, but he noticed Ray didn't start the car until he'd gotten a Yes, Mom from all of the guys. Spencer just sort of waved at him, mainly because not even Frank had been able to find Bob's phone.
Spencer made himself keep his eyes open for a while, just to make sure Mikey was actually following Zack's directions and they were going the right way, but eventually he drifted off, lulled by the movement of the car and Frank and Gerard having a whispered argument about Superman.
When he woke up again, it was because the car had stopped. Frank was asleep on one of Spencer's shoulders, and Gerard had crashed out on the other. Mikey was curled over the iPod in the front seat, but Ray seemed to have disappeared. Spencer looked around carefully, noting that they seemed to be in a parking lot, and oh, yes, there was his bus. Spencer worked a hand free to rub at his face and tried to sit up, wondering what had happened to coffee time. He had a feeling between dealing with his still throbbing headache and peeling his band off the ceiling, he was going to need some serious caffeine.
"You slept through coffee," Mikey said, twisting around and handing Spencer a cup, and Spencer wondered if he had said that last part out loud. "We got you some, though. With milk and sugar this time - Gerard called Jon and asked how you like it."
"Thanks," Spencer said, and took a careful sip, then another, trying not to burn his tongue.
"Ray and Brian are talking to Zack, so we can get inside without, you know, causing a stampede," Mikey continued, his mouth twisting up into a faint smile.
Spencer hmm'd in agreement and drank some more coffee, savoring every milky sweet mouthful. A minute or two later Mikey's phone rang, and ten minutes after that, Ray was herding them all through one of the stage doors, towards the familiar clatter of soundcheck.
Well, the mostly familiar clatter of soundcheck; apparently Spencer's day could get worse, because someone that was not him was playing the hell out of Moby Dick on Spencer's drums. From the sound of things, Spencer's traitorous bandmates had joined in as well, or at least two of them had; he could hear the bass, but only one guitar.
The guitar dropped out and the drums picked up speed; Spencer frowned and walked faster, his sense of the wrongness of the whole situation increasing with each step he took. He was almost to the stage door when he felt a hand on his elbow, stopping him and pulling him back at the same time. He turned, the What the fuck? already forming in his mouth, and was met with Gerard giving him a startlingly fierce look and motioning at him to be quiet.
"He hasn't been able to play like that for a while," Ray murmured, sounding sort of apologetic. Spencer refused to be mollified, and tried wrenching his arm away from Gerard.
"Shhh, if he sees us he'll stop," Mikey whispered, grabbing hold of Spencer's other arm, effectively preventing his escape.
Isn't that kind of the idea? Spencer thought, turning as much of his body towards the stage door as he could. He stops, we swap back, I play the show like I'm supposed to -
The guitar line changed, dropped, changed again, and finally stopped altogether, leaving only the drums. Ray made a small, startled noise of (possibly) pleased recognition, and when Spencer looked over Mikey was grinning broadly and Frank was headbanging. After a minute the tune shifted; when Spencer heard the opening notes of All Apologies he decided enough was enough. Indulging Bob was one thing, but Brendon would play Nirvana all afternoon if left unattended.
He wriggled away from Mikey and Gerard and yanked the door open. Brendon launched into the bridge and Spencer stomped towards the stage, his pace gradually slowing in the face of the novelty of being able to watch Brendon and Jon play from the front. Spencer couldn't find Ryan anywhere, at first, but just when he thought his stomach might actually come out of his nose he saw of a familiar narrow, hunched figure sitting in the aisle between the two rows of seats in front of the stage. Then Spencer got a good look at - himself - behind the kit and the room began to spin.
"Woah, dude, no passing out, you're a bitch to lift." Mikey's hand was warm on his back, but his voice seemed to be coming from a long way away. Spencer grabbed for the back of the nearest seat and did his best to obey.
The music stopped abruptly, and when Spencer raised his head, he found Ryan standing a in front of him, looking sort of . . . bewildered and nervous, Spencer decided, as if he were facing a wild animal and wasn't sure whether or not it would bite. Which was better than Spencer had expected -- he had been braced for enraged -- but also intensified the ache in his stomach, because Ryan hadn't looked at him like that since Spencer was five. Jon, who was still wearing his guitar, had one hand curled loosely around Ryan's right wrist, thumb moving slowly over his pulse point, and Brendon was holding the other one.
There were more people hovering in the background; Spencer could see Zack, clearly carefully blank-faced, standing next to a tiny, dark haired dude covered in tattoos (Brian?), who was wearing a long-suffering expression. Beside them, Greta looked sort of amused and sort of exhausted, and Justin and Sam were standing next to her, their heads cocked to one side. Spencer's own body (Bob) was still on the stage, looking down at all of them, smiling broadly, arms loose at it's (his?) side.
"Took you assholes long enough," Bob said, not sounding that angry; his grin broadened when Gerard made an outraged noise. "You better not have fucked up my body, Smith."
"What, you mean more than it already is?" Spencer said, a surge of irritation restoring his equilibrium. "More like you had better not have fucked up my body, Bryar. I'd like to be able to use my wrists when I'm old - "
"So does one of you need to, like, close your eyes and wiggle your nose?" Frank cut in, and Spencer heard someone snort.
"Did anyone try Finite Incantatem?" Justin asked, sounding both thoughtful and a little bit sarcastic.
Spencer felt more than heard everyone in the room inhale, and held very still. Thirty seconds later, still in Bob's body, Spencer forced himself to unclench his fists and think. There had to be a way to get back into his own body.
"You could - click your heels three times?" Sam offered, chewing on his lip. "Though if you end up in Kansas, we're really screwed."
"No," Gerard said, absently, like he was thinking. "No, that won't work, it's not that kind of story -"
At that, everyone in the room started talking, and Spencer pressed his fingers against his eyes and struggled to breathe past the sudden agonizing tightness in his chest. After a minute he felt a familiar hand on his shoulder and then another one rubbing against the back of his neck and his face, and forced his eyes open. Ryan was a lot closer to Spencer than he had been before, and his expression had shifted into concern.
"Hi," Spencer said, wincing a little as his voice wobbled. "I didn't mean to do this, I swear -"
"Shut up," Ryan said, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Spencer, pulling him down against his body.
The angle was all wrong and Ryan felt even bonier than usual, but Spencer didn't care, he rested his head on Ryan's shoulder and wrapped his arms around Ryan's waist and held on. They stood like that for a minute or two, Ryan rubbing Spencer's back and murmuring comforting nonsense into Spencer's ear while Spencer listened to everyone else have a heated discussion about the mechanics of magic on I Dream of Jeannie and Bewitched. Then Spencer felt a hand settle on his back.
When he looked up he found Jon (guitar-less, finally) standing next to him, and Brendon a few paces away, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Spencer eased back, unwilling to completely let go of Ryan, and pulled Jon in against his chest with one arm. He felt both larger than usual and oddly small and twitchy, but he smelled like he was supposed to smell, like Old Spice and the bus and perhaps an undertone of pot, and that helped Spencer to breathe, too. When Spencer raised his head again a few moments later, Brendon was still shifting in place, and Zack and the tiny tattooed guy were giving them all narrow, considering looks.
"C'mere, Bden, it's okay," Ryan said, beckoning with his free arm, and Spencer remembered Brendon was skittish with strangers.
"It really is me in here, Brendon," Spencer said, rubbing Jon's back gently, and Jon shifted over towards Spencer's other shoulder, leaving a pocket of space behind him.
"Not for long it isn't," Bob said, his (Spencer's) voice crackling through a stage mic making them all jump. "Right, so we're all in agreement over here -"
"Since we are bound and determined to pretend that no-one has had a psychotic break and needs to go to the hospital right now," Sam broke in.
" - and we're going to go with the Freaky Friday model," Bob continued, apparently unruffled. "What were you thinking about when you went to sleep yesterday?"
Spencer blinked at him, trying to summon hazy memories. Ryan and Brendon both flushed pink. Ryan dropped his arms and turned around, and Jon shifted around as well, his back still pressed against Spencer. Spencer didn't have to look down to know he was wearing a puzzled frown.
"I wasn't - I wasn't thinking about anything," Spencer said. "I was tired and I didn't feel well because we were in traffic, and - oh-"
Ryan and Brendon both looked at the floor, shoulders hunched. Jon made a noise in the back of his throat that was half inquisitive and half scolding.
"Oh?" Bob repeated, in a tone that was probably meant to be encouraging. Spencer wondered briefly if his voice always sounded like that or if Bob had special powers of making everything sound menacing.
"I wanted to sleep on something that wasn't moving," Spencer said, straightening up and stepping around the rest of his band on his way to the stage to grab what was (probably) Brendon's mostly full beer. "And I wanted to be old enough to buy what I needed to do this."
He tipped the bottle over Brendon's head just long enough to get his hair wet, then set it back on the stage. Brendon's expression flashed from vaguely embarrassed to pissed off and back again, and Spencer was sure he saw relief in Ryan's eyes for a moment.
"Oh my god," Gerard muttered. When Frank started giggling into his hands, Spencer decided he didn't dare look at anyone he had to actually work with and/or sleep next to for the next couple of months.
"What about you?" Spencer asked, pulling Brendon to him to kiss the top of his head in apology and sop up some of the beer with his (Bob's) sleeve. "What did you want to do?"
"Play the drums and have it not hurt." Bob crossed his arms over his chest, and suddenly Spencer understood what Ryan was talking about when he said Spencer had a killer bitch-face.
"All right, so now you have to - what, sleep again?" Ray said into the uneasy silence that followed. "Will a nap work, or does it have to be a full night?"
"We could try napping," Bob said, and Spencer almost giggled, watching his own face settling into a slightly irritated expression as Bob noticed that Brendon rubbing his hair dry on Spencer's chest.
"Is there anything to actually sleep on in here?" Mikey asked. "Because -"
"There's couches in the green room," Zack cut in, easing past Greta. "Two of them."
"Alrighty then," Bob said, hopping down off the stage. "C'mon Spencer, let's go the green room."
"We're all going," Ryan said, curling his fingers around Spencer's left hand and tugging him away and out the door, Jon, Brendon and the others trailing in their wake.
**
"I'm staying," Gerard said, as Bob settled down against the cushions.
"But you'll keep him awake," Mikey said, and Bob thought he detected a hint of whine.
Bob let them argue about it for a while, kicking at the slightly whiffy blankets that Crazy Hair had produced from one of the busses and shifting the pillows around until he was content with the nest he had made for himself. Across the room, Spencer seemed to be doing the same thing - or, more accurately, Ryan was fussing around doing it for him. The other two were sitting on the floor, playing one guitar between them, and apparently conducting some sort of sing-along.
"Who wants to sing me a song?" Bob asked, when became clear Ray was too involved in his conversation with Brian and Zack to prevent Frankie from getting dragged into Mikey and Gerard's argument.
"We didn't bring our guitars," Mikey said, sounding sort of surprised, like he would normally think to bring his bass on a roadtrip, and Bob gave him a steady look.
"What do you want?" Gerard asked, dropping neatly to the floor by Bob's head, looking happier than he had since they first arrived. "I could try some Tom -"
"Pogues," Frank cut in, and they all turned to look at him. "Puts him out every time."
"What? How - " Bob began, but then Gerard launched into the first verse of Fairytale of New York, with Frank and Mikey right behind him, and Bob had no choice but to settle down on the pillows and close his eyes; he was asleep by the time they were halfway through Dirty Old Town.
**
"Brendon," Spencer said, when Ryan finally stopped fiddling with the blankets and sat down on the edge of the couch. "I heard that chord. Play Colors of the Wind and die, motherfucker."
"But -" Brendon began, and whatever he had been going to say ended in an injured squeak. Spencer suspected Ryan had kicked him.
Jon made a thoughtful noise in his throat, and the next thing Spencer heard was the opening bars of Stairway to Heaven. He sighed into his pillow, but didn't tell them to stop. It was soothing, and with his eyes closed and Ryan's hand on his shoulder, Spencer could almost pretend that they were humoring him while he was ill, or something else completely normal.
"Sleep, Spencer," Ryan said, and Spencer obediently let the music pull him under.
**
One town over, a streetlight flickered and burned out, and several geese flapped up into formation from the bank of a pond. A couple of people made wrong turns in shopping malls; one of them went to the hardware store when he had meant to go to the nursery, but the other one got to the craft store just fine. And, at the back of a pawn store, a battered old Gibson played the first three bars of Paradise by the Dashboard Light. The clerk, who was alone in the shop, sold it to the next person who came in, not bothering to tell them he was pretty sure it was possessed.
**
Bob woke up slowly, counting his aches as he drifted; when he was sure they were all present and accounted for, he opened his eyes. For the second time that day, he found himself practically nose to nose with Brendon Urie.
"Nnnargh, fuck off," Bob said, and Brendon rocked backwards, his eyes going wide. He landed with an audible thump, but that didn't wake Ryan and Jon, who had apparently fallen asleep on the floor next to him.
Bob sat up slowly, gave himself a gentle shake, and ran a hand through hair that was, in fact, his own hair. He could see Brian and all of his guys on the other side of the room: Frank seemed to be dozing on Ray, who was watching Spencer; Mikey and Brian were both busy with their Sidekicks, and someone had found Gerard some pens and paper.
"Spencer?" Brendon asked, and Bob shook his head, suddenly aware he was nearly vibrating with the need for a cigarette.
"Gerard," Bob called out, grinning when they all spun around to look at him. "You got any smokes?"
"Jesus H. Christ on a motherfucking cracker. Get over here right now, Bryar," Brian said, and Bob did as he was told.
**
Spencer woke up to the faint snick snick of cards and the sound of Brendon and Ryan hissing at each other. He could also hear Jon wuffling sleepily somewhere nearby, probably on the floor. Spencer lay still for a minute, enjoying every inch of him that didn't throb or ache, then opened his eyes.
"Spencer?" Brendon said, and Spencer nodded as he pushed himself upright.
"M'back," Spencer said, rubbing his face. "Where's -"
The rest of his thought got lost as both Ryan and Brendon surged up into his lap in a storm of bony knees and elbows. When they were finally settled on either side of him, Spencer woke Jon with a strategic (but gentle) toe to the ribs.
"You're home?" Jon asked as he unfurled himself and rolled up face Spencer, curling his hands around Spencer's knees. Spencer nodded at him. "How do you feel?"
Spencer yawned and made a face, his brain still fuzzy from the nap. He could see the tiny tattooed guy and Zack talking on the other side of the room, but MCR seemed to have vanished. Ryan poked him in the stomach and Spencer gently smacked him in the back of the head. Jon just grinned at them and squeezed Spencer's knee.
"Hungry," Spencer said, and yawned. "My Chem left already?"
"Went to get pizza and coffee," Jon said, his grin widening. "Ray said to tell you that pesto on pizza is gross, but I think Frank wanted to try it."
Ryan snorted into Spencer's shoulder and Spencer turned his head to press his nose into the top of Ryan's head. Ryan burrowed closer but was silent, and Spencer patted his rib awkwardly, not sure what to say. Then the door to the green room popped open and Ray Toro walked in holding four large flat boxes, trailing the rest of MCR.
"Dinner!" Brendon exclaimed and bounced off the couch. Jon gave Spencer's knee a final squeeze and stood up; Ryan stayed until Bob came and loomed over them, two plates of pizza in his hand.
"You all right?" Bob asked, and Spencer nodded as he took his plate of pizza. He didn't know what to say to Bob, either. Somehow I'm sorry didn't seem like quite enough.
"Brian still wants us to go to the hospital," Bob said when they had both gotten through their first piece of pizza. He sounded about as excited by the idea as Spencer felt.
"Sorry," Spencer said, as Bob picked up another slice of pizza. "I really am, I didn't -"
"'sokay, dude," Bob murmured. "It was kind of weird, but, you know, shit happens. I didn't get set on fire this time, it's fine. Did you do anything I need to know about?"
"I, uh, let a fan take your picture?" Spencer offered, remembering how much it had freaked Gerard out. "I was out with Gerard and, well - "
"Yeah," Bob said, and Spencer thought he might have heard a chuckle in there somewhere. "I, ah -" Bob paused and ducked his head. "I maybe talked to Greta a little."
Spencer squinted at him, trying to figure out how talking was a problem, Spencer talked to Greta every day, and then he saw the faint pink tinge to Bob's face and it all fell into place.
"Oh," Spencer said, wondering if his eyes were as wide as they felt. "You didn't -"
"No," Bob said, and coughed low in his throat. "Brendon got all She-Ra on me."
"Brendon - what? She-Ra?" Spencer said, but he was laughing by the time Bob got to the end of the story.
Dramatis Personae: PaTD, MCR, cameos by others.
Title: How Did I Get Here?
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Absolutely never happened, not ever.
Word count: 17,427 in 2 parts
Warnings: Bodyswap, possibly some *handwaving*, canon-wise.
A/N: With thanks to sinsense for beta-reading this monster twice; any remaining mistakes are my own. (And, er, this is my first bandom fic.) Title from Talking Heads' Once in a Lifetime, because I am terrible at titles.
Part 1
As it turned out, what Gerard meant by "let's go for a walk and talk about this" was "let's smoke cigarettes on the front porch and talk about Star Wars". Strangely, arguing about several things, including the (wholly imaginary, in Spencer's opinion) creepiness of Ewoks made Spencer feel a little less frightened. He couldn't say the same for Gerard, whose eyes got wider and hand gestures got more dangerous and flaily the longer they talked. Spencer was also pretty sure Ryan was going to kill him extra hard for having a conversation with Gerard Way without him.
"Cute, not scary," Spencer repeated, settling down against the porch railing, wondering if Gerard knew where Bob kept his cell phone.
"Teddy bears with spears, all kinds of wrong," Gerard said kind of weakly. He offered Spencer a cigarette.
"No, thanks," Spencer said, rubbing at his face. There was a headache building behind his eyes that didn't bode well for the rest of the day.
When he looked up again, Gerard's faintly terrified expression had been replaced by one of frank disbelief. Not sure how else to respond, Spencer ventured a smile, and then Gerard announced they were going to Starbucks. Spencer bit his lip, torn between anxiety at the further delay and relief at the prospect of coffee, milky and sweetened the way god intended, then followed him off the porch and down the street.
The store was full when they got there, even though it was still kind of early. Spencer was in line, half reading about fancy coffee beans, half revising his No really, I'm Spencer, and I need to get back to my band speech when he heard it: a muffled gasp, some muttering, and the distinctive swish-click of a camera being removed from a purse.
Gerard, who was a few steps away contemplating a row of mugs, heard it too. Spencer was vaguely surprised at the alarm in Gerard's face when he turned around, though. It was just a couple of old people, and they weren't even really all that close. The girl with the camera was still standing at least three feet away, and everyone else on line looked more half-asleep and irritated than anything else. Spencer sighed heavily and ran a hand through his (Bob's) hair, then gave the girl a "hold on" gesture with one hand and beckoned Gerard closer with the other hand. (Gerard came quickly enough but his eyes, if anything, got wider, which was puzzling. Spencer it filed away for future reflection.)
"Okay," Spencer said, once Gerard was settled against his side, his fingers, Spencer noted, wrapped tightly in the waistband of Spencer's pants, as if Spencer might need to be held back.
"You want one of you with us?" Spencer asked when she lowered the camera.
Gerard and the girl looked at him like he'd started speaking Chinese, and then at each other. The girl bit her lip and Gerard shrugged one shoulder, almost apologetically, and beckoned her over with his free hand. Before Spencer could ask them what the fuck the problem was, she had corralled one of her friends to act as photographer and was moving to stand between them.
Spencer straightened his shoulders, narrowing his eyes against the flash, and attempted a smile. Meanwhile, Gerard and the girl seemed to be having an intense conversation about hamsters, of all things. Spencer flexed his fingers and sighed, and it came out a little louder and sulkier than he had intended. Gerard shot him a look that seemed almost relieved, and luckily the girl didn't seem to be upset either. Which, thank fuck for that, because that was all Spencer needed, headlines on fucking Buzznet about Bob Bryar being mean to My Chem fans. Christ.
"Good luck with everything," Gerard said, and the girl flushed pink.
"Thanks, you too," she whispered, and slipped away.
"Okay," Gerard said slowly, tilting his head back and giving Spencer another sharp look, but whatever he had been going to say next was forestalled by his phone going off.
"Hello?" Gerard said into the receiver. "What? Who? Oh . . . uh-huh. What did you - okay, yeah - well, Bob and I are here, at the Starbucks? Yes, the - anyway, we just took some pictures with this girl, she has a dwarf hamster, two of them - no, not with her in the Starbucks, Ray - and Bob was really sweet, he asked her if she wanted extra pictures, like, actually with us."
Spencer scowled and hunched his shoulders forward, inexplicably embarrassed for the second time that morning. Gerard paused, and moved his hand as if he were smoking a cigarette.
"Yes . . . yes . . . what? Do you - okay, two chocolate chip muffins and a soy latte for Frank, got it. Okay - ten minutes, maybe? - yeah, okay," Gerard said, the end of the sentence crawling up into a nervous giggle, and hung up the phone.
"That was Ray," Gerard said, his voice dropping to almost a whisper as they approached the counter. "Apparently he just got off the phone with someone who claimed to be Jon Walker from Panic at the Disco, who said he had a Bob Bryar on his bus, and wanted to know if we had a Spencer Smith in our possession."
"Oh?" Spencer managed, busy trying not to stagger and barely aware Gerard was ordering Spencer's drink as well as everyone else's.
He fixed his eyes on the back of Gerard's head and tried to concentrate. Jon had called, not Pete, so maybe Ryan hadn't called Pete. And Jon had said they had Bob, so it had been a direct swap. But why hadn't Ryan called? Was he missing, too? Had they (oh god, oh god) all swapped except for Jon?
"He - thank you - thought that was kind of weird," Gerard said, before handing Spencer a cup, taking the other cup and the bag of muffins from the wide-eyed barista and heading towards the door. "Because, you know, it was kind of funny at first, good joke, or whatever, but Walker sounded really -" Gerard broke off and waved the bag of muffins in the air.
Spencer nodded, his stomach lazily rolling itself into a knot. It was not Jon's job to deal with band crises, it was Spencer's; more importantly, it was Spencer's job to not cause band crises. He took a sip of his coffee, and this time it was hot, bitter, and vile, and he spit it out on a nearby rosebush without stopping to think about it.
"Bob?" Gerard said and Spencer squeezed his eyes shut. Suddenly he did not have the strength to say I'm Spencer one more time.
"Too hot," he muttered instead, and Gerard made an understanding noise.
Gerard didn't say anything after that, just hummed softly to himself as they made their way up the street, and Spencer took advantage of the relative quiet to revise his plan. Clearly he had to talk to Jon, somehow, and Ryan, assuming Ryan was still there and not trapped in someone else's body. Talking to Jon meant finding a phone, any phone, and a quiet place to have a conversation -
Gerard cleared his throat, jolting Spencer out of his thoughts, and Spencer realized they were in front of the house again.
"You know you can always, like, talk to me, right?" Gerard said, his voice low and urgent, his expression possibly a little angry underneath a lot of scared. "I mean, I might freak out a little bit, or whatever, but I - I'm better than I used to be, right? And if it's about me, or like, something I did, or - or something Mikey did - well then I definitely want to fucking know, motherfucker, because -"
"It's not about you," Spencer said quickly. "Or Mikey. Neither of you did anything, I mean, as far as I know, because I don't know who did do anything, just that I have to find some way to undo it, and quickly. I am not Bob, this is not my body, and I need to get back to my body before soundcheck."
Gerard's eyebrows descended into a puzzled frown and opened his mouth to say something, but then Spencer heard the low scrape of wood on wood. When Spencer looked towards the sound, Ray was standing in the doorway, watching them from the porch. He was wearing the baby again, and when his eyes landed on Spencer, he looked sort of sad and worried.
"Mikey and I cleaned the bus out, and I started the laundry," Ray said, shifting his gaze to Gerard. "Everyone else is at the grocery store."
"His latte is going to get cold," Gerard said not looking away from Spencer's face, his voice a little higher than it had been earlier. "Did you give him a list?"
"I gave Alicia all three lists," Ray said. "Also, your mom called. She talked to Mikey but she still wants you to call her, something about the PAC Center -"
"PAC - oh, okay," Gerard said, finally looking away, his shoulders rolling forward.
Gerard went in the house, and Ray looked at Spencer as if he expected him to come in as well; Spencer shook his head and sat down on steps, wincing at the pointedly quiet way Ray let the door close. After a minute Spencer set the cup of horrible coffee down on the step and curled forward so his head was resting on his knees. The steps were still a little cool under his hands, but the sun was warm, and there were birds chirping in the trees. He could smell fresh-mowed grass and something heavy and floral, something wet and green and completely unlike the desert. None of it distracted Spencer from the horrible feeling that he was going to be stuck this way forever, or the knowledge that he was officially completely out of his depth and had no idea how to fix it.
He was focusing on taking deep breaths when the door opened again and a hand settled on his back and began rubbing in slow circles. Spencer jerked his head up, surprised, and found Mikey Way sitting next to him, a bottle of water in his lap, a couple of pills in the palm of his other hand. He was also a lot to deal with up close, but something about his expression made Spencer feel a little bit less wretched.
"Are they really mad at me?" Spencer asked, hoping he didn't sound as pathetic to Mikey as it did to himself. Mikey blinked at him, and the hand on Spencer's back went still, but didn't disappear.
"Ray and Gee?" Mikey asked, tilting his head towards the house. "No, they're not mad at you."
Spencer ducked his head, trying to parse Mikey's inflections, and Mikey patted his back a couple of times, then eased away. Spencer put his hands back down on the step and waited. He realized he was trying to tap out his part of Mad as Rabbits when his (Bob's) wrists protested. Spencer pulled his hands back up against his body and sighed.
"Oh, hey, Ray said it was time for you to take these, " Mikey said, decanting the pills into the hand Spencer hastily held out and handing Spencer the water bottle. "Also, we put the rest of your stuff in the guest room for right now. There's a band meeting later, and then we might watch a movie, but Frankie'll take you home afterwards."
Spencer nodded absently (band meeting, oh god) and squinted at the pills in his hand. Two of them were Flintstones vitamins (one Betty and one Pebbles), but the third one was small and white, and he had no idea what it was for. He bit his lip and glanced up at Mikey, who was busy lighting a cigarette.
"Sorry, Gerard got the last Bam-Bam," Mikey said, settling back on one elbow and stretching the other arm out briefly. Spencer stared at him, nonplussed. "You want a cigarette, dude?"
"No, thank you," Spencer said, smiling a little at Mikey's startled expression. "What's the other pill for?"
"I thought Gerard was yanking my chain, but no, you really did quit smoking," Mikey murmured as if Spencer hadn't spoken, his expression shifting from puzzled to rueful understanding. "Oh, dude, no wonder you're all fucked up. Okay -"
"Mikey, what is the white pill for?" Spencer tried again, opening and closing his fingers for added emphasis.
Mikey paused mid-drag and gave Spencer a long, searching look before gesturing at Spencer's wrists.
"Is it going to fuck me up if I take it?" Spencer asked, and Mikey just blinked at him.
Spencer decided he would take that as a yes, and slid the pill into the pocket of Bob's hoodie. He took the vitamins, though, and drank the water. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Mikey was watching him, and his expression was surprisingly hawk-like.
"Do you know where Bob keeps his phone?" Spencer asked when the silence had gotten kind of uncomfortable. "Because I need to call Jon, and - "
"You don't know where your phone is," Mikey interrupted, his tone suggesting it wasn't so much a question as a statement of facts.
"No," Spencer said, the pounding behind his eyes increasing in intensity, his voice rising slightly. "I know exactly where my phone is. My phone is on my bus with my guys heading towards the venue where we - they - have to play, tonight. Assuming they didn't all get turned into other people, which is kind of a possibility right now."
Spencer paused and tried to take a deep breath. His hands were shaking again and his chest felt tight and strange. Calm, he reminded himself, calm, professional.
"I know it's there because Bob is using it to send you fuckers text messages," Spencer continued, inhaling sharply as spasms of pain rolled through one hand, then the other. He never wanted to be old ever, seriously. "So if you could please just tell me where the fuck Bob's phone is I'll call Jon back and tell him I'm not dead and find out where Ryan is, I mean, assuming Jon knows where Ryan is, because if he got traded too he could be anywhere - "
"All right," Mikey said softly, his expression shifting from hawk-like to smooth as glass, his fingers coming to rest, but barely, on Spencer's forearm. "Come on, let's go inside, okay?"
Spencer swallowed carefully and heaved himself upwards, staggering a little from the unfamiliar weight. Mikey caught his elbow easily and righted him, half-hugging him as he did so. Spencer fought the urge to lean into the bony, almost-familiar embrace, to just close his eyes and put his head down on Mikey's shoulder, just for a minute. What the fuck is the matter with you? shrieked a voice in the back of his mind. He's not Ryan, you don't even know this guy.
"We'll figure it out," Mikey said as they climbed the stairs, though it seemed to be mostly directed at himself. "Everything's going to be fine."
Spencer was not so sure about that, but he followed Mikey into the house anyway.
**
As it turned out, one of the bills in Spencer's pockets was a twenty; after a brief tussle with himself, Bob used it to buy a greasy egg and sausage sandwich, real coffee, and a couple of bags of candy. He had a feeling he was going to need peace offerings, and he hoped either the Gummi Bears, the Sour Patch Kids or the Reese's Pieces would do the trick.
The sandwich Bob ate immediately upon leaving the mini-mart. When he finished he went back and picked up two more, plus some hashbrowns and a bottle of soda. He had forgotten that being twenty meant being so hungry all the time. He went and sat on a nearby bench to eat the rest of the food and drink the coffee, sipping slowly and savoring it, even though it was kind of disgusting.
Afterwards Bob wiped his hands off on Spencer's jeans and pulled out Spencer's Sidekick; there were still no new texts from anyone Bob actually knew. He rolled the device back and forth in his hands, thinking, then tapped out four variations on Still trpped in Smith's bdy, fckers, whr the fck r u? ps. G yr stll nt drnk. When he was done he stood up and walked around the parking lot a couple of times, being sure to keep the bus in sight. After his second pass Bob noticed there was a picnic area and decided to see if he could get away with just hanging out there for the last ten minutes. It was nice out, he was pretty sure no-one had recognized him yet, and save for two people old enough to be his grandparents and a blonde girl drinking a Slurpee, the picnic area was deserted.
"Hey there, big boy," the girl said when Bob got close, throwing him a warm look over her sunglasses as she turned to face him. "So, tell me, do you come here often?"
Bob paused in the act of unscrewing the top of the bottle of soda to stare at her, and she grinned at him, her eyes crinkling up at the edges, her shoulders twitching with silent laughter. Bob grinned back at her; she was pretty, and, Bob could not help but notice, had very nice breasts.
He got the cap off the soda and took a swig, watching her from behind his eyelashes as he did so, wondering if she knew who he - who Spencer - was; if she did, she was being really cool about it. Bob lowered the soda bottle, jammed his free hand in his pocket and tried not to notice the amused looks they were getting from the old people.
"So," Bob drawled, "what's your sign, beautiful?" and she was off again. Bob took another drink of soda and decided maybe being twenty for the day wasn't so bad after all.
"Why don't you come and sit," she said when she recovered, patting the bench next to her. "You can -"
"For the honor of Greyskull!" Brendon shouted, and that was all the warning Bob got before Brendon landed on his back and wrapped his arm around Bob's neck.
Bob grunted and rocked forward with the impact, and for a split second considered dumping Brendon on his ass. The girl and the old people were watching, though, so Bob just sighed and held still while Brendon got settled. He wasn't much heavier than Frank, but he was longer, and also bonier.
"Is it that time already?" the girl asked, her face settling into sober lines, and Bob blinked a couple of times.
"Sam has announced last call for pork rinds," Brendon said solemnly. The girl pulled a face as she stood up.
"Don't forget we're schooling your asses at hacky-sack in two hours," she said as she walked past them in the direction of the buses. Bob felt one of Brendon's knees dig into his ribs, trying to turn Spencer to follow her.
Bob hmphed at him and locked his knees, because he wasn't a fucking horse. Brendon curled closer, and sighed into Bob's shoulder. The old people turned away. Bob reached back with one hand, trying to get a grip on Brendon in order pull him off.
"Turn around and walk towards the bus," Brendon said, in a sharp, unexpected tone that made Bob drop his hand and start moving automatically. "Good. Now listen to me, because Zack is totally ready to tranq you and go to the hospital."
"What?" Bob said, and stopped. It was really difficult having a conversation with someone who was clinging your back. "Tranq me? With what? And what the fuck for?"
Brendon made an irritated noise and bonked his head off of Bob's shoulder.
"Spencer -"
"Bob."
"Bob, fine, whatever," Brendon said, squeezing his knees together again. Bob reluctantly started walking. "He has - stuff - in the first aid kit, I don't know. Also, um -" he paused, and Bob felt his fingers tap on Bob's shoulder. "You have four inches and, bare minimum, fifty pounds on everyone but him. We're trapped on a bus, and you seem to have gone insane."
Bob stopped walking to let that thought that sink in.
"And yet you decided now was a good time to come and jump on me while I was talking to a hot chick," Bob said, and Brendon squeezed him forward again.
"Spencer has a girlfriend, and the hot chick is Greta, who you - who Spencer - regards as a third baby sister, and I could see you scoping her out from the other side of the parking lot. Also, you didn't hit Ryan this morning, I was pretty sure you weren't going to deck me." Brendon paused and flexed the muscle in his arm that was lying across Bob's throat in a way that might have been thoughtful, but Bob was pretty sure meant don't think I won't drop you if I have to.
"Anyway, Ryan doesn't do well in hospitals, so here's the plan: when we get inside, we're calling your guys again, only this time you're going to talk to them," Brendon said, leaning around Bob's shoulder to push the code into the touchpad on the side of the bus. "And -"
"The fuck, Smith?" Zack said when the door opened, looming over them suddenly, his voice low and tight.
Bob had spent enough time around harried tour managers and/or security dudes to recognize the set of Zack's shoulders. They were saying I can't hit you, but I sure would like to. His face was oddly relaxed and friendly, almost amused, but there was anger and little fear in his eyes.
"Look, dude, I'm Bob Bryar, and I just got here today," Bob said. "I'm not fucking with your boys on purpose, man. Believe me, I want out of this body as much as they want Spencer back. Now let me in so I get on that, okay?"
Zack's eyes widened slightly, and Bob saw his gaze move from Bob's face to Brendon and back again, his fingers curling and uncurling against the palms of his hands. The anger in Zack's expression was receding a little, but the alarm had ratcheted up a few notches. I'll buy you a bottle of whiskey too, Bob thought, winding the plastic handles of his bag full treats around his fingers and climbing the stairs, being careful not to run Brendon into anything.
When he turned to look at the lounge, Ryan and Jon were sitting on one of the benches, and two guys wearing black hoodies (one had crazy hair, the other one didn't) were sitting on the other one. Ryan was curled into Jon's side, but the expressions on the rest of their faces suggested that they had probably just been talking about Bob, or rather, about Spencer. Brendon dismounted with a showy little wave of his hands and went to sit next to Jon.
"Hi," Bob said, suddenly not sure he'd have enough peace offerings to go around, and stepped out of the flip-flops.
"Hey, Spencer," said one of the dudes in black hoodies, and Bob suppressed a sigh. Right.
"Bob Bryar, actually, but I'm just visiting temporarily," he said, stretching his toes out in the rug. "Who are all of you people?"
Crazy Hair's eyes widened a fraction as the silence in the room grew slightly louder and heavier. Bob heard Zack coming up the steps, and wondered if he was about to be tranq'd. Zack stopped in the kitchen, though, arms crossed over his chest, and glared at them. Bob wondered for a moment if he was their Brian as well as their Worm (and if not, who was their Brian?) and then decided to ignore him in favor of pulling the bag of Reese's Piece's open. Jon took a handful when Bob tilted the bag towards him, but none of the others seemed interested.
"You don't recognize any of us," said Normal Hair, his voice flat with disbelief, and Bob shrugged one shoulder.
"I can tell you're not, like, civilians, dude, but . . ." Bob trailed off, trying to remember if he maybe he had met any of them before at Warped or an awards show or something. But no, there was nothing doing. He shook his head and made an apologetic face.
"I'm Justin, from Motion City Soundtrack," said Crazy Hair, and Bob nodded, vaguely certain he'd seen that name on Ray's iPod as well.
Normal Hair crossed his arms over his chest and glared, then muttered "Sam, Phantom Planet."
"Nice to meet you all," Bob murmured, and promptly forgot their names. "So, Jon, I hear I'm supposed to call my guys?"
"Ray wouldn't tell me whether or not they have Spencer," Jon said. "He just kind of talked a lot about the stresses of touring affecting people in weird ways and it being important to be gentle with yourselves and each other, and know when it's time to take breaks."
"Sounds like Toro," Bob sighed, and tugged Spencer's Sidekick out of his pocket.
"He told me Pete probably knows someone who could, you know, help us out," Jon continued. "Which - I probably should have called Pete first. I mean -"
"You still can do that, you know," Normal Hair said sharply.
"Wouldn't want to disturb the man on his honeymoon if we don't have to," Bob said with deliberate mildness, giving the guy a look that Bob hoped conveyed give the kid a break, asshole.
"That's not until next weekend," Ryan whispered, uncurling a little, and Bob saw Brendon's fingers slide up to Jon's neck and rub gently.
Bob hmm'd at them, then flipped the phone open and dialed Gerard's number. It rang twice before Gerard picked up, and Bob could tell from the silence that greeted him that Gerard was somewhere between annoyed and totally freaked out. Bob really could not blame Gerard for that at all, though it was tempting.
"Motherfucker," Bob said mildly, knowing Gerard's eyes were going wide on the other end. "You fucking believe in unicorns, but not this?"
Gerard made a spluttering noise, and Bob closed his eyes while he pinched the bridge of his (Spencer's) nose between his fingers.
"What's my Polyjuice question, Gerard?" he asked, and someone further down the bus made a small startled noise. Bob opened one eye and glared at everyone he could see. "Shut up, like you fuckers haven't had to have that conversation, too. Fucking Frankie and his -"
"Prom," Gerard said, sounding only a little bit breathless and slightly tinny, as if he had switched the phone to speaker. "What happened on the morning of your prom that made a dramatic difference in your plan for the evening?"
"My damned date woke up with the motherfucking chickenpox," Bob said, and saw Brendon's face twitch as if he were fighting a laugh. Gerard, on the other hand, sounded like a he might be on the edge of hyperventilating. "Do you have me on speaker? Can Ray hear this?"
"Yes," Gerard said, and Bob heard some clanking, and a muffled voice that might have been Mikey. "Yes, but how -"
"Lucky guess," Bob said, even though it wasn't, and longed for a cigarette. "Now let Ray or Mikey ask me the back-up question, Gerard."
There was some more clanking, a couple bursts of static, and Bob quite distinctly heard Mikey say give Ray the motherfucking phone, douchebag.
"On The Used's most recent tour," Ray said, only squeaking a little, and the knot in Bob's stomach unraveled all at once. "Where did Jepha keep his emergency back-up grown-up clothes?"
"Inside Dan's kick drum, which got locked into the tech bus after every show," Bob replied, and for a moment all he could hear was Ray breathing.
"Bob? It's . . . you're with Panic at the Disco?" Ray said, sounding sort of baffled, and Bob hauled off and kissed Spencer's phone, he was so relieved.
"Yes, Ray, you asshole," Bob said, raising his eyes when he felt a hand brush over his wrists. Jon was standing in front of him, eyes wide and dark, mouthing . . . oh, right, of course. "Is Spencer with you? Can you put him on the phone?"
"I - " Ray paused, and Bob had barely managed to put the phone on speaker when his own voice came out of it. He was so startled to hear himself it took him a moment to absorb what he (Spencer) was actually saying.
"Ryan? Jon? JON! Can you - JON!" Spencer was also starting to sound a little hysterical, and Bob didn't protest when Jon grabbed the phone out of his hand and started walking towards the back of the bus while talking into it, Ryan and Brendon hot on his heels.
Everyone else on the bus, he realized, was staring at him as if he had actually busted out a wand and turned a rat into a teacup. Or at least nearly everyone; Crazy Hair (Jerome? Jared?) looked like his birthday might have come a little bit early.
"Okay," Zack said, drawing the word out as he moved closer to Bob, his fingers curling in and out of fists. "So, you're Bob, and Spencer is - where, exactly? How the fuck do we get him here?"
"He's in Jersey," Bob said, as Brendon re-emerged from the bunks and walked towards Bob, trailing Ryan and Jon. "They're at Frank's, so -"
"Ray wants to talk to you," Brendon interrupted, holding out the phone, relief and amusement both visible on his face.
"I'm fine," Bob said after he took it, hoping to head a Ray-interrogation off at the pass. "I'm eating real food and no-one's Chihuahua has tried to use me as a chew toy. Now put the kids in the car and come up here and get me."
"But -okay - wait, where is here?" Ray said. Bob heard himself talking again (that was never going to not be weird) and then Ray coughed a little and sighed. "Spencer says you should be in Connecticut?"
"Connecticut?" Bob asked, tucking the phone under his jaw, and Jon nodded.
"I'll give him directions," Zack said from behind him in a tone that suggested an argument would result in a broken nose, and Bob handed over the phone.
**
"Okay," Ray said, turning around to look at the back seat. "Are we ready? Do we have everything? Who has the snacks?"
Frank shifted around in the seat next to Spencer, and held up a bag of wasabi peas. In the front seat, Mikey waved a bag of Doritos over his head. Spencer wriggled down as much as he could and closed his eyes. Then Gerard started humming under his breath. Spencer replayed his conversation with Jon in his head as a way to calm down.
We're fine, Spencer, was the first thing Jon had said, his voice gentle and steady. Confused, sure, and maybe a little freaked out - okay, maybe a lot freaked out, because, trading bodies? Seriously? That doesn't fucking happen, dude. But we're okay. Are you okay?
I'm fine, Spencer had said, clutching the phone to his ear and trying to absorb Jon's calm through the airwaves while simultaneously trying to not let on that he did not believe Jon for a minute and also that he was not okay. He had the distinct feeling Jon was not fooled, but - being Jon - was cool enough to not call him out. Instead he said Ryan wants to talk to you, okay? and hand the phone over without waiting for an answer.
Spencer? Ryan had said, his voice almost too low to be heard, and the knot in Spencer's stomach had pulled that much tighter. Where does your father keep his Penthouses?
You know he only has Playboys, Spencer had said, smiling in spite of himself, remembering the day they had found the damn things. And they're in the garage, under the extra paint for the girls' room.
Ryan had made a small noise, not quite a gasp, and said Spencer again, but more firmly. Yes, Spencer had said, pressing the fingers of his free hand against the base of this throat in an attempt to contain his hammering pulse with brute force. It's me, I promise. I'm so sorry, I -
It's okay, Ryan had said, shhh, shhh, it's okay. Brendon, what - Spencer had heard sounds of a scuffle, and then Brendon had said Shut up, Ross, Bob got two questions - Spencer, what thing did I buy off eBay right before we left for our first headlining tour?
The Nirvana t-shirt with the seahorse babies, Spencer had said, moving his fingers up to his eyes. He did not add, And when you sleep in it, that means you're homesick and I have to keep an eye on you. There was a brief silence and then Brendon had started burbling at him. Are you okay? Does it feel weird? How are you going to change back? The I don't fucking know, okay, was barely out of Spencer's mouth when he had felt a hand settle on his shoulder and squeeze gently.
When he had looked up, he had found Ray regarding him carefully, biting his lip, and it had occurred to Spencer that he had snatched the phone away from Ray kind of quickly, and that Ray probably wanted to talk to Bob for longer than five seconds. Sorry, he had mouthed at Ray. Brendon, he had said into the phone, his voice as firm as he could make it, Brendon, give the phone back to Bob, okay? Ray needs to talk to him.
"iPod?" Gerard asked from the other side of Spencer, doing something that made him jam a pointy elbow into Spencer's ribs.
Spencer sat up and opened his eyes in time to see Mikey lift something black off the front seat and wave it in the air.
"Directions to the venue?" Spencer said, because that was what was actually important here.
Frank snorted, and Mikey held up a piece of paper covered in Ray's neat, loopy writing. Spencer let his head fall back against the seat again and shifted around trying to find a position that didn't make his knees ache.
"Brian is going to meet us there, and we'll stop for coffee in an hour," Ray said, looking right at Gerard. "Meanwhile, everyone has their keys, their phone and has been to the bathroom?"
Are you serious? Spencer thought as Ray turned around to face the front, but he noticed Ray didn't start the car until he'd gotten a Yes, Mom from all of the guys. Spencer just sort of waved at him, mainly because not even Frank had been able to find Bob's phone.
Spencer made himself keep his eyes open for a while, just to make sure Mikey was actually following Zack's directions and they were going the right way, but eventually he drifted off, lulled by the movement of the car and Frank and Gerard having a whispered argument about Superman.
When he woke up again, it was because the car had stopped. Frank was asleep on one of Spencer's shoulders, and Gerard had crashed out on the other. Mikey was curled over the iPod in the front seat, but Ray seemed to have disappeared. Spencer looked around carefully, noting that they seemed to be in a parking lot, and oh, yes, there was his bus. Spencer worked a hand free to rub at his face and tried to sit up, wondering what had happened to coffee time. He had a feeling between dealing with his still throbbing headache and peeling his band off the ceiling, he was going to need some serious caffeine.
"You slept through coffee," Mikey said, twisting around and handing Spencer a cup, and Spencer wondered if he had said that last part out loud. "We got you some, though. With milk and sugar this time - Gerard called Jon and asked how you like it."
"Thanks," Spencer said, and took a careful sip, then another, trying not to burn his tongue.
"Ray and Brian are talking to Zack, so we can get inside without, you know, causing a stampede," Mikey continued, his mouth twisting up into a faint smile.
Spencer hmm'd in agreement and drank some more coffee, savoring every milky sweet mouthful. A minute or two later Mikey's phone rang, and ten minutes after that, Ray was herding them all through one of the stage doors, towards the familiar clatter of soundcheck.
Well, the mostly familiar clatter of soundcheck; apparently Spencer's day could get worse, because someone that was not him was playing the hell out of Moby Dick on Spencer's drums. From the sound of things, Spencer's traitorous bandmates had joined in as well, or at least two of them had; he could hear the bass, but only one guitar.
The guitar dropped out and the drums picked up speed; Spencer frowned and walked faster, his sense of the wrongness of the whole situation increasing with each step he took. He was almost to the stage door when he felt a hand on his elbow, stopping him and pulling him back at the same time. He turned, the What the fuck? already forming in his mouth, and was met with Gerard giving him a startlingly fierce look and motioning at him to be quiet.
"He hasn't been able to play like that for a while," Ray murmured, sounding sort of apologetic. Spencer refused to be mollified, and tried wrenching his arm away from Gerard.
"Shhh, if he sees us he'll stop," Mikey whispered, grabbing hold of Spencer's other arm, effectively preventing his escape.
Isn't that kind of the idea? Spencer thought, turning as much of his body towards the stage door as he could. He stops, we swap back, I play the show like I'm supposed to -
The guitar line changed, dropped, changed again, and finally stopped altogether, leaving only the drums. Ray made a small, startled noise of (possibly) pleased recognition, and when Spencer looked over Mikey was grinning broadly and Frank was headbanging. After a minute the tune shifted; when Spencer heard the opening notes of All Apologies he decided enough was enough. Indulging Bob was one thing, but Brendon would play Nirvana all afternoon if left unattended.
He wriggled away from Mikey and Gerard and yanked the door open. Brendon launched into the bridge and Spencer stomped towards the stage, his pace gradually slowing in the face of the novelty of being able to watch Brendon and Jon play from the front. Spencer couldn't find Ryan anywhere, at first, but just when he thought his stomach might actually come out of his nose he saw of a familiar narrow, hunched figure sitting in the aisle between the two rows of seats in front of the stage. Then Spencer got a good look at - himself - behind the kit and the room began to spin.
"Woah, dude, no passing out, you're a bitch to lift." Mikey's hand was warm on his back, but his voice seemed to be coming from a long way away. Spencer grabbed for the back of the nearest seat and did his best to obey.
The music stopped abruptly, and when Spencer raised his head, he found Ryan standing a in front of him, looking sort of . . . bewildered and nervous, Spencer decided, as if he were facing a wild animal and wasn't sure whether or not it would bite. Which was better than Spencer had expected -- he had been braced for enraged -- but also intensified the ache in his stomach, because Ryan hadn't looked at him like that since Spencer was five. Jon, who was still wearing his guitar, had one hand curled loosely around Ryan's right wrist, thumb moving slowly over his pulse point, and Brendon was holding the other one.
There were more people hovering in the background; Spencer could see Zack, clearly carefully blank-faced, standing next to a tiny, dark haired dude covered in tattoos (Brian?), who was wearing a long-suffering expression. Beside them, Greta looked sort of amused and sort of exhausted, and Justin and Sam were standing next to her, their heads cocked to one side. Spencer's own body (Bob) was still on the stage, looking down at all of them, smiling broadly, arms loose at it's (his?) side.
"Took you assholes long enough," Bob said, not sounding that angry; his grin broadened when Gerard made an outraged noise. "You better not have fucked up my body, Smith."
"What, you mean more than it already is?" Spencer said, a surge of irritation restoring his equilibrium. "More like you had better not have fucked up my body, Bryar. I'd like to be able to use my wrists when I'm old - "
"So does one of you need to, like, close your eyes and wiggle your nose?" Frank cut in, and Spencer heard someone snort.
"Did anyone try Finite Incantatem?" Justin asked, sounding both thoughtful and a little bit sarcastic.
Spencer felt more than heard everyone in the room inhale, and held very still. Thirty seconds later, still in Bob's body, Spencer forced himself to unclench his fists and think. There had to be a way to get back into his own body.
"You could - click your heels three times?" Sam offered, chewing on his lip. "Though if you end up in Kansas, we're really screwed."
"No," Gerard said, absently, like he was thinking. "No, that won't work, it's not that kind of story -"
At that, everyone in the room started talking, and Spencer pressed his fingers against his eyes and struggled to breathe past the sudden agonizing tightness in his chest. After a minute he felt a familiar hand on his shoulder and then another one rubbing against the back of his neck and his face, and forced his eyes open. Ryan was a lot closer to Spencer than he had been before, and his expression had shifted into concern.
"Hi," Spencer said, wincing a little as his voice wobbled. "I didn't mean to do this, I swear -"
"Shut up," Ryan said, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Spencer, pulling him down against his body.
The angle was all wrong and Ryan felt even bonier than usual, but Spencer didn't care, he rested his head on Ryan's shoulder and wrapped his arms around Ryan's waist and held on. They stood like that for a minute or two, Ryan rubbing Spencer's back and murmuring comforting nonsense into Spencer's ear while Spencer listened to everyone else have a heated discussion about the mechanics of magic on I Dream of Jeannie and Bewitched. Then Spencer felt a hand settle on his back.
When he looked up he found Jon (guitar-less, finally) standing next to him, and Brendon a few paces away, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Spencer eased back, unwilling to completely let go of Ryan, and pulled Jon in against his chest with one arm. He felt both larger than usual and oddly small and twitchy, but he smelled like he was supposed to smell, like Old Spice and the bus and perhaps an undertone of pot, and that helped Spencer to breathe, too. When Spencer raised his head again a few moments later, Brendon was still shifting in place, and Zack and the tiny tattooed guy were giving them all narrow, considering looks.
"C'mere, Bden, it's okay," Ryan said, beckoning with his free arm, and Spencer remembered Brendon was skittish with strangers.
"It really is me in here, Brendon," Spencer said, rubbing Jon's back gently, and Jon shifted over towards Spencer's other shoulder, leaving a pocket of space behind him.
"Not for long it isn't," Bob said, his (Spencer's) voice crackling through a stage mic making them all jump. "Right, so we're all in agreement over here -"
"Since we are bound and determined to pretend that no-one has had a psychotic break and needs to go to the hospital right now," Sam broke in.
" - and we're going to go with the Freaky Friday model," Bob continued, apparently unruffled. "What were you thinking about when you went to sleep yesterday?"
Spencer blinked at him, trying to summon hazy memories. Ryan and Brendon both flushed pink. Ryan dropped his arms and turned around, and Jon shifted around as well, his back still pressed against Spencer. Spencer didn't have to look down to know he was wearing a puzzled frown.
"I wasn't - I wasn't thinking about anything," Spencer said. "I was tired and I didn't feel well because we were in traffic, and - oh-"
Ryan and Brendon both looked at the floor, shoulders hunched. Jon made a noise in the back of his throat that was half inquisitive and half scolding.
"Oh?" Bob repeated, in a tone that was probably meant to be encouraging. Spencer wondered briefly if his voice always sounded like that or if Bob had special powers of making everything sound menacing.
"I wanted to sleep on something that wasn't moving," Spencer said, straightening up and stepping around the rest of his band on his way to the stage to grab what was (probably) Brendon's mostly full beer. "And I wanted to be old enough to buy what I needed to do this."
He tipped the bottle over Brendon's head just long enough to get his hair wet, then set it back on the stage. Brendon's expression flashed from vaguely embarrassed to pissed off and back again, and Spencer was sure he saw relief in Ryan's eyes for a moment.
"Oh my god," Gerard muttered. When Frank started giggling into his hands, Spencer decided he didn't dare look at anyone he had to actually work with and/or sleep next to for the next couple of months.
"What about you?" Spencer asked, pulling Brendon to him to kiss the top of his head in apology and sop up some of the beer with his (Bob's) sleeve. "What did you want to do?"
"Play the drums and have it not hurt." Bob crossed his arms over his chest, and suddenly Spencer understood what Ryan was talking about when he said Spencer had a killer bitch-face.
"All right, so now you have to - what, sleep again?" Ray said into the uneasy silence that followed. "Will a nap work, or does it have to be a full night?"
"We could try napping," Bob said, and Spencer almost giggled, watching his own face settling into a slightly irritated expression as Bob noticed that Brendon rubbing his hair dry on Spencer's chest.
"Is there anything to actually sleep on in here?" Mikey asked. "Because -"
"There's couches in the green room," Zack cut in, easing past Greta. "Two of them."
"Alrighty then," Bob said, hopping down off the stage. "C'mon Spencer, let's go the green room."
"We're all going," Ryan said, curling his fingers around Spencer's left hand and tugging him away and out the door, Jon, Brendon and the others trailing in their wake.
**
"I'm staying," Gerard said, as Bob settled down against the cushions.
"But you'll keep him awake," Mikey said, and Bob thought he detected a hint of whine.
Bob let them argue about it for a while, kicking at the slightly whiffy blankets that Crazy Hair had produced from one of the busses and shifting the pillows around until he was content with the nest he had made for himself. Across the room, Spencer seemed to be doing the same thing - or, more accurately, Ryan was fussing around doing it for him. The other two were sitting on the floor, playing one guitar between them, and apparently conducting some sort of sing-along.
"Who wants to sing me a song?" Bob asked, when became clear Ray was too involved in his conversation with Brian and Zack to prevent Frankie from getting dragged into Mikey and Gerard's argument.
"We didn't bring our guitars," Mikey said, sounding sort of surprised, like he would normally think to bring his bass on a roadtrip, and Bob gave him a steady look.
"What do you want?" Gerard asked, dropping neatly to the floor by Bob's head, looking happier than he had since they first arrived. "I could try some Tom -"
"Pogues," Frank cut in, and they all turned to look at him. "Puts him out every time."
"What? How - " Bob began, but then Gerard launched into the first verse of Fairytale of New York, with Frank and Mikey right behind him, and Bob had no choice but to settle down on the pillows and close his eyes; he was asleep by the time they were halfway through Dirty Old Town.
**
"Brendon," Spencer said, when Ryan finally stopped fiddling with the blankets and sat down on the edge of the couch. "I heard that chord. Play Colors of the Wind and die, motherfucker."
"But -" Brendon began, and whatever he had been going to say ended in an injured squeak. Spencer suspected Ryan had kicked him.
Jon made a thoughtful noise in his throat, and the next thing Spencer heard was the opening bars of Stairway to Heaven. He sighed into his pillow, but didn't tell them to stop. It was soothing, and with his eyes closed and Ryan's hand on his shoulder, Spencer could almost pretend that they were humoring him while he was ill, or something else completely normal.
"Sleep, Spencer," Ryan said, and Spencer obediently let the music pull him under.
**
One town over, a streetlight flickered and burned out, and several geese flapped up into formation from the bank of a pond. A couple of people made wrong turns in shopping malls; one of them went to the hardware store when he had meant to go to the nursery, but the other one got to the craft store just fine. And, at the back of a pawn store, a battered old Gibson played the first three bars of Paradise by the Dashboard Light. The clerk, who was alone in the shop, sold it to the next person who came in, not bothering to tell them he was pretty sure it was possessed.
**
Bob woke up slowly, counting his aches as he drifted; when he was sure they were all present and accounted for, he opened his eyes. For the second time that day, he found himself practically nose to nose with Brendon Urie.
"Nnnargh, fuck off," Bob said, and Brendon rocked backwards, his eyes going wide. He landed with an audible thump, but that didn't wake Ryan and Jon, who had apparently fallen asleep on the floor next to him.
Bob sat up slowly, gave himself a gentle shake, and ran a hand through hair that was, in fact, his own hair. He could see Brian and all of his guys on the other side of the room: Frank seemed to be dozing on Ray, who was watching Spencer; Mikey and Brian were both busy with their Sidekicks, and someone had found Gerard some pens and paper.
"Spencer?" Brendon asked, and Bob shook his head, suddenly aware he was nearly vibrating with the need for a cigarette.
"Gerard," Bob called out, grinning when they all spun around to look at him. "You got any smokes?"
"Jesus H. Christ on a motherfucking cracker. Get over here right now, Bryar," Brian said, and Bob did as he was told.
**
Spencer woke up to the faint snick snick of cards and the sound of Brendon and Ryan hissing at each other. He could also hear Jon wuffling sleepily somewhere nearby, probably on the floor. Spencer lay still for a minute, enjoying every inch of him that didn't throb or ache, then opened his eyes.
"Spencer?" Brendon said, and Spencer nodded as he pushed himself upright.
"M'back," Spencer said, rubbing his face. "Where's -"
The rest of his thought got lost as both Ryan and Brendon surged up into his lap in a storm of bony knees and elbows. When they were finally settled on either side of him, Spencer woke Jon with a strategic (but gentle) toe to the ribs.
"You're home?" Jon asked as he unfurled himself and rolled up face Spencer, curling his hands around Spencer's knees. Spencer nodded at him. "How do you feel?"
Spencer yawned and made a face, his brain still fuzzy from the nap. He could see the tiny tattooed guy and Zack talking on the other side of the room, but MCR seemed to have vanished. Ryan poked him in the stomach and Spencer gently smacked him in the back of the head. Jon just grinned at them and squeezed Spencer's knee.
"Hungry," Spencer said, and yawned. "My Chem left already?"
"Went to get pizza and coffee," Jon said, his grin widening. "Ray said to tell you that pesto on pizza is gross, but I think Frank wanted to try it."
Ryan snorted into Spencer's shoulder and Spencer turned his head to press his nose into the top of Ryan's head. Ryan burrowed closer but was silent, and Spencer patted his rib awkwardly, not sure what to say. Then the door to the green room popped open and Ray Toro walked in holding four large flat boxes, trailing the rest of MCR.
"Dinner!" Brendon exclaimed and bounced off the couch. Jon gave Spencer's knee a final squeeze and stood up; Ryan stayed until Bob came and loomed over them, two plates of pizza in his hand.
"You all right?" Bob asked, and Spencer nodded as he took his plate of pizza. He didn't know what to say to Bob, either. Somehow I'm sorry didn't seem like quite enough.
"Brian still wants us to go to the hospital," Bob said when they had both gotten through their first piece of pizza. He sounded about as excited by the idea as Spencer felt.
"Sorry," Spencer said, as Bob picked up another slice of pizza. "I really am, I didn't -"
"'sokay, dude," Bob murmured. "It was kind of weird, but, you know, shit happens. I didn't get set on fire this time, it's fine. Did you do anything I need to know about?"
"I, uh, let a fan take your picture?" Spencer offered, remembering how much it had freaked Gerard out. "I was out with Gerard and, well - "
"Yeah," Bob said, and Spencer thought he might have heard a chuckle in there somewhere. "I, ah -" Bob paused and ducked his head. "I maybe talked to Greta a little."
Spencer squinted at him, trying to figure out how talking was a problem, Spencer talked to Greta every day, and then he saw the faint pink tinge to Bob's face and it all fell into place.
"Oh," Spencer said, wondering if his eyes were as wide as they felt. "You didn't -"
"No," Bob said, and coughed low in his throat. "Brendon got all She-Ra on me."
"Brendon - what? She-Ra?" Spencer said, but he was laughing by the time Bob got to the end of the story.