Um, so Spencer's a slave? And I'm apparently insane.
The Scooby Gang Gets All the Best Perks
[Panic!, Spencer/Brendon and Spencer/Jon, 2,887 words, NC-17]
At first, it's only little things; Spencer barely notices at all.
I have no explanation for this, none. This was intended to be all angsty, and then it became...crack. Heaps of thanks to disarm_d for betaing and supporting my seriously cracked out brain.
Friday
The girl is dressed all in black, her hair long and dark and falling across her pale face, which is actually quite pretty. Her bottom lip is pierced and her nails--Spencer notices as he signs the photo she holds out to him--are painted black as well. She's gazing at him with an unfocused adoration that's equal parts flattering and disconcerting (Spencer wonders, just for a second, if he should remind her that he's not Gerard Way, but whatever).
Before she moves down the line, she reaches out and presses something into Spencer's hand, something small and round, smooth. She's saying words Spencer can't quite make out over the roar of the crowd, and suddenly Brendon, who's seated beside him, grabs whatever it is out of Spencer's hand and says, "Don't take that, it might be, like, poisonous."
"Poisonous? It's a rock." Spencer takes the object from him, holds it flat against his palm. It's an opaque, purplish crystal of some sort, oval-shaped and lighter than it looks. He looks up to catch the girl's eye, but she's gone, pushed through the line by security.
Jon leans across Spencer and rubs his thumb over it. "Cool, we've got new age chicks now."
"I want a rock. How come I didn't get a rock?" Brendon pouts.
"What, who got a rock?" Ryan sounds slightly offended.
"The goth chick gave Spence a rock-crystal thingy." Again, Brendon grabs it from Spencer's hand and passes it over to Ryan, who holds it up with his thumb and forefinger, like it could possibly be parasitic. He raises an eyebrow at Spencer and hands it back.
"Uh, lucky you?" he asks with a smirk.
Spencer shrugs. "I guess."
"At least it's not a dead animal," Jon says. "Rocks are definitely more sanitary in the long run."
Spencer can't think on it for too long; there are fans waiting on him. He tucks the rock/crystal in his pocket and forgets about it for the rest of the night.
Saturday
At first, it's only little things; Spencer barely notices at all. They're sitting around playing Halo when Jon says, "I'm parched," and Spencer doesn't think twice about getting up and going straight to the fridge to get him a drink. It's no big deal, anyway, it's what any of them would do.
Then later in the day Brendon starts whining about a headache, and Spencer's suddenly offering him Tylenol and a bottle of water. Brendon blinks at him and says, "Wow, thanks. That was fast."
"And go lay down for awhile, you haven't had enough sleep lately," Spencer says, and it feels a little strange, like the words just sort of come out without him even having to think about them.
But Brendon just laughs, makes the usual crack about Spence being Panic Mom, and Spencer lets it go.
That night he gets a little upset when he finds Ryan reading in his bunk by light that's obviously way too dim to be good for his eyes, and Spencer tells him as much, begs him to get proper lighting.
Ryan sets his book down. "Um. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, but seriously, you're going to fuck up your vision if you keep this up. Go read in the living room." Spencer feels very, very strongly about this, a concern that's almost bordering on anxiety. The thought of Ryan squinting and ruining his corneas makes him fidget.
"I appreciate the sentiment, but it's not--"
Spencer grabs him by the arm and tugs him out of the bunk. "Please?" He takes Ryan's book and leads him into the living room, where he promptly stacks some pillows against the armrest and turns on the lamps.
Ryan just stands there, watching him. "You're sure you're okay?" he asks slowly, like he's speaking to a crazy person.
"I'll be better when your ass is on that couch."
"Alright, alright, god."
Spencer doesn't leave until he's certain Ryan is situated and comfortable. He feels incredibly pleased with himself.
Sunday
It starts getting weird when Spencer wakes up at the crack of dawn and immediately starts making breakfast for everyone. He makes coffee for Jon, sets out his favorite mug, and makes a separate pot of hot water for tea.
This doesn't worry him as much as his sudden knowledge of how to make the perfect chocolate chip waffles. He's never made waffles in his life, let alone chocolate chip ones; the waffle iron they have hasn't even left its box since Spencer's mom gave it to them on the last tour.
He sets the table--plates, silverware, napkins, juice glasses--and soon Brendon's stumbling into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and zombie-like, and he's halfway through pouring himself a bowl of Fruit Loops when he finally sees the stack of waffles on the counter.
"Holy shit. Do those have chocolate in them?"
Spencer beams. "Yup."
Brendon doesn't even question the fact that Spencer's being slightly Martha Stewart-ish; he collapses against him in a hug, like chocolate chip waffles are the greatest gift he could ever receive. Spencer is ridiculously proud of himself.
He's having a slight anxiety attack over not having any real oranges to make orange juice (and that, too, is cause for worry, because he's never made fresh squeezed orange juice before, either) when Jon comes in, spots Brendon sitting at the table with the waffles and the place settings, and says, "Did we get catered and I just didn't hear about it?"
"Spence made us breakfast," Brendon replies, mouth full. His plate's almost empty.
Jon gives Spencer a confused, yet happy look. "Oh. Thanks."
He hands Jon his mug, already filled with coffee. "My pleasure." Jon takes the mug and Spencer suddenly thinks the dark circles under his eyes can't be good, he needs to relax a little, maybe with a good backrub--
"Spencer Smith, there is most definitely something up with you," Ryan's saying. He's standing in the doorway of the kitchen, hands on his hips, looking at the waffles like they're possessed.
"Whatever it is, I don't care, it's fucking great," Brendon says, his fork finally scraping the bottom of his empty plate.
Monday
Spencer finally lets himself admit something's wrong when he passes Brendon's bunk early in the morning on the way to the kitchen (to make breakfast again, this time he's thinking crepes, if they have enough milk) and he's suddenly overcome with an urge to stop and pull back the curtain. He peeks inside, and while Brendon's asleep on his side, there's very obvious morning wood making itself known within the confines of his boxers.
It seems logical and perfectly legitimate for Spencer to crawl into Brendon's bunk and reach his hand inside his boxers and slowly jerk him to completion. It doesn't seem weird at all to feel accomplished and satisfied at the way Brendon gasps and arches under Spencer's touch, coming long and hot within a handful of minutes.
"Better?" Spencer asks.
"Mmmph," Brendon replies, his head dropping back against his pillow. "You, uh." He looks up at him, his face flushed and looking utterly perplexed. "Um, thank you?"
There's an uncomfortable moment when Brendon glances down at Spencer's crotch and Spencer realizes with a start that he's hard as well, but somehow it's not important. Well, it is, but there's nothing he can do about it. He wants to ask, wants to take Brendon's hand and cup it to himself, but he can't bring himself to do either. It's simply not possible.
So he climbs down from the bunk and goes to the kitchen without another word. He'll take care of himself later once breakfast is done and everyone's had a shower, because after all, he doesn't want to take all the hot water.
Tuesday
Spencer knows there's something going on, and he tries to make himself be concerned about it, but there're too many other things to be worried about, like Jon's slight limp when they're getting ready backstage, or Ryan's wince and painful blinking when he gets liquid eyeliner in his eye, or the way Brendon's voice is sounding a little scratchy tonight, like he might be getting a cold. He can't begin to concentrate on himself when he's got three other people who desperately need his constant attention.
The show drains him that night (it rained earlier in the day and the stage was still a little wet in places, and Spencer was so certain someone was going fall and break something) and he's exhausted when they get back to the bus. But he can't go to sleep until the rest of the guys are tucked in for the night, so to speak.
Once he's made sure Brendon and Ryan are asleep, he finds Jon on the couch watching an old Jimmy Stewart movie.
"Aren't you tired?" Spencer asks as he sits beside him.
Jon shrugs, not looking away from the screen. "Kind of, but I'm also wired for some reason. Can't shut my brain off, you know?"
At that moment Spencer's hit with an intense need to comfort and ease the loneliness he feels coming off Jon in waves. Somehow he knows there's a need for physical intimacy, and that it's his job to take of it, of Jon.
There's no hesitation, no lead-in; like yesterday morning with Brendon, Spencer feels completely natural leaning in and sliding his hand around the back of Jon's neck as he kisses him soft and slow on the mouth. Jon sucks in a startled breath through his nose, and then he sort of sighs and melts against Spencer. It lasts longer than Spencer intends, but it's Jon who deepens the kiss, and Spencer has no choice but to follow his lead.
Soon they break apart, gasping quietly in the dark room with only the silver flicker of the television. Spencer skims the tips of his fingers over the outline of Jon's erection in his jeans, and Jon whispers, "Wait."
"No, it's okay, I don't mind." You need this, Spencer thinks as he opens Jon's fly and goes to his knees on the carpet, tugging Jon's jeans down with him.
"Spencer, what? No, I--you can't--this isn't--"
"Sshh, I get it." The breathy sound of Jon saying oh as Spencer swallows his cock is incredible. It makes Spencer happy, knowing he's capable of making Jon let go of whatever sadness is lurking inside him, even for a moment. He's doing his duty well, and maybe he shouldn't be thinking of this as a duty, but he can't help it.
Spencer braces his hands on Jon's thighs and shivers when Jon cards his fingers through his hair. Then Jon shudders and comes, hard, desperately trying to warn Spencer off, but Spencer hangs on and swallows every bit. There was never any other option.
Jon collapses back against the couch, panting. "I think. Ryan's. Right," he gasps.
Spencer tilts his head at him, rubbing his hands over Jon's body, soothing the aftershocks. "What do you mean?"
"There's something up with you. You're--"
"Being helpful?"
Jon smiles weakly. "Not exactly."
Spencer knows he's right, he does, really, but at the same time he's crestfallen that his actions are being viewed in a suspicious way. "I just. I thought this was what you wanted. I was giving you--"
Jon sits up suddenly. "You gave me head out of pity?"
Spencer huffs. "No, no, it's just that--you're tired and lonely and this what you needed. And you feel better now, right?"
Jon looks at him for long, silent moment, his expression unreadable. "Spencer," he finally asks slowly, in the same dealing-with-a-crazy-person tone Ryan used on him earlier, "have you, um. Been 'helpful' with any of the other guys this week?"
"What, you mean this?" Spencer waves his hand in the direction of Jon's unzipped fly.
"Yes."
"Well, I guess. I mean, Brendon's always got morning wood, which makes it hard for him to sleep sometimes--"
"Oh, god." Jon rubs the heel of his palm against his eyes. "I knew it."
"It's not a big deal--"
"What are you making for breakfast in morning?"
Spencer pauses for only a second. "I was thinking eggs Benedict."
Jon's suddenly on his feet. He says, "I'm calling a band meeting right the fuck now."
"Soooo, what you're saying is, Spencer's our slave?" Brendon asks.
"Something like that." Jon sighs.
"Seriously?!" He looks over at Spencer and points at the television. "Turn it on."
"Brendon," Ryan hisses, but Spencer still gets up and does what he's told.
"Oh my god, no fucking way. Okay, go make me a smoothie."
Spencer's halfway to the kitchen when Jon says, "Spence, get back here."
Brendon pouts. "Why didn't we figure this out earlier? I could've made him do all sorts of cool shit."
"He's not a fucking Labrador puppy, Urie," Ryan says.
Spencer thinks he should be offended on several counts by this conversation, but all he can do is resist the urge to go get Ryan a blanket. He looks cold.
"Fine, then how do we fix it?" Brendon asks, sounding like he really doesn't want an answer.
Ryan gives him a pointed look. "It has to be that crystal thing he got on Friday, remember? He started acting weird right after that, and it's only gotten worse."
"But wait...if it is the rock, that means...oh, fuck." Spencer goes red at the thought of being some random fan's personal slave. "And, like, all of you touched it right after she gave it to me, and she was saying something I couldn't hear--"
Brendon laughs. "Dude, that's awesome, some fan cursed you! It's like an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer!"
"She didn't curse me, she tried to...harness me. Or. Something. God." Spencer buries his face in his hands. To think a fucking crystal could make him give out handjobs and blowjobs to his best friends at random. Wonderful.
"That's it, I'm telling Zack to make sure no one gives us anything at signings ever again," Ryan sighs.
"Do you think if we break the thing he'll go back to normal?" Jon sounds very sincere, and Spencer would laugh if the whole thing wasn't a fucking nightmare.
Ryan nods pensively. "Possibly. But how--"
"A sledgehammer?" Brendon supplies.
"Who the fuck has a sledgehammer on tour?" Spencer says in his bitchiest voice, because he's just shy of having a mental breakdown. Everything he's done in the past four days is starting to come back to him in vivid detail, like he's been in some sort of drugged, foggy stupor. He can barely look Jon and Brendon in the eye.
But, as luck would have it, Gabe has a sledgehammer.
"I don't even want to know," Spencer mutters as they all stand in the parking lot in a circle around the tiny purplish crystal.
William and Butcher join them, although they have no idea what's going on.
"Uh. It's a rock," William says like it's a newly discovered fact.
"It's a crystal some fan gave Spencer, and it's making Spencer be our slave," Brendon says, watching Jon handle the sledgehammer like it's the coolest thing ever.
Butcher's grinning. "Whoa, whoa, Spencer's your slave? For real? Can I get in on that?"
Spencer is seriously about two steps away from a homicide, and it would technically be manslaughter anyway since he's under the influence. Not that a defense of being controlled by some weird slave crystal would get him anywhere, but still.
"No," replies Jon calmly. "We're destroying it. Spencer is not a slave." He says it simply and politely, making Spencer kind of want to kiss Jon for real.
"Just get it over with, please." Ryan sounds bored, and Spencer smacks his shoulder.
Jon shifts his grip on the wooden handle and takes a deep breath. "Everyone stand back. On the count of three..."
When the sledgehammer comes down, the crystal shatters into a thousand tiny pieces, flying in every direction. They all stand in silence for a moment, looking at the crystal's remains.
Brendon looks over at Spencer and says, "Hop on one foot."
Spencer flips him the bird.
Jon lets out a loud breath and leans against Spencer in relief. "Thank Christ."
They walk back to their buses, Brendon sighing dramatically and bemoaning his loss ("I mean, how the hell am I supposed to get more handjobs out of him now?"), and Butcher yelling loudly over his shoulder, "I don't know what kind of crazy fucking fans you have, but I want some."
Spencer goes straight to bed and sleeps until well past noon the following day. He blinks awake to find Brendon standing beside his bunk with a mug of tea and a bagel. He holds them out to Spencer.
"It's blueberry!" Brendon says, gesturing to the bagel.
"No," Spencer replies, and rolls over. "No way."
"Please?! C'mon, just one more time, I swear, you don't even have to make me come--"
Spencer pulls the curtain shut. "Fuck off."
"See, Walker, I told you it wouldn't work," he hears Brendon yell into the living room.
"Does that include me, too?" Jon yells back.
Spencer says, loud enough for the entire bus to hear, "I hate you all."
[Panic!, Spencer/Brendon and Spencer/Jon, 2,887 words, NC-17]
At first, it's only little things; Spencer barely notices at all.
I have no explanation for this, none. This was intended to be all angsty, and then it became...crack. Heaps of thanks to disarm_d for betaing and supporting my seriously cracked out brain.
Friday
The girl is dressed all in black, her hair long and dark and falling across her pale face, which is actually quite pretty. Her bottom lip is pierced and her nails--Spencer notices as he signs the photo she holds out to him--are painted black as well. She's gazing at him with an unfocused adoration that's equal parts flattering and disconcerting (Spencer wonders, just for a second, if he should remind her that he's not Gerard Way, but whatever).
Before she moves down the line, she reaches out and presses something into Spencer's hand, something small and round, smooth. She's saying words Spencer can't quite make out over the roar of the crowd, and suddenly Brendon, who's seated beside him, grabs whatever it is out of Spencer's hand and says, "Don't take that, it might be, like, poisonous."
"Poisonous? It's a rock." Spencer takes the object from him, holds it flat against his palm. It's an opaque, purplish crystal of some sort, oval-shaped and lighter than it looks. He looks up to catch the girl's eye, but she's gone, pushed through the line by security.
Jon leans across Spencer and rubs his thumb over it. "Cool, we've got new age chicks now."
"I want a rock. How come I didn't get a rock?" Brendon pouts.
"What, who got a rock?" Ryan sounds slightly offended.
"The goth chick gave Spence a rock-crystal thingy." Again, Brendon grabs it from Spencer's hand and passes it over to Ryan, who holds it up with his thumb and forefinger, like it could possibly be parasitic. He raises an eyebrow at Spencer and hands it back.
"Uh, lucky you?" he asks with a smirk.
Spencer shrugs. "I guess."
"At least it's not a dead animal," Jon says. "Rocks are definitely more sanitary in the long run."
Spencer can't think on it for too long; there are fans waiting on him. He tucks the rock/crystal in his pocket and forgets about it for the rest of the night.
Saturday
At first, it's only little things; Spencer barely notices at all. They're sitting around playing Halo when Jon says, "I'm parched," and Spencer doesn't think twice about getting up and going straight to the fridge to get him a drink. It's no big deal, anyway, it's what any of them would do.
Then later in the day Brendon starts whining about a headache, and Spencer's suddenly offering him Tylenol and a bottle of water. Brendon blinks at him and says, "Wow, thanks. That was fast."
"And go lay down for awhile, you haven't had enough sleep lately," Spencer says, and it feels a little strange, like the words just sort of come out without him even having to think about them.
But Brendon just laughs, makes the usual crack about Spence being Panic Mom, and Spencer lets it go.
That night he gets a little upset when he finds Ryan reading in his bunk by light that's obviously way too dim to be good for his eyes, and Spencer tells him as much, begs him to get proper lighting.
Ryan sets his book down. "Um. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, but seriously, you're going to fuck up your vision if you keep this up. Go read in the living room." Spencer feels very, very strongly about this, a concern that's almost bordering on anxiety. The thought of Ryan squinting and ruining his corneas makes him fidget.
"I appreciate the sentiment, but it's not--"
Spencer grabs him by the arm and tugs him out of the bunk. "Please?" He takes Ryan's book and leads him into the living room, where he promptly stacks some pillows against the armrest and turns on the lamps.
Ryan just stands there, watching him. "You're sure you're okay?" he asks slowly, like he's speaking to a crazy person.
"I'll be better when your ass is on that couch."
"Alright, alright, god."
Spencer doesn't leave until he's certain Ryan is situated and comfortable. He feels incredibly pleased with himself.
Sunday
It starts getting weird when Spencer wakes up at the crack of dawn and immediately starts making breakfast for everyone. He makes coffee for Jon, sets out his favorite mug, and makes a separate pot of hot water for tea.
This doesn't worry him as much as his sudden knowledge of how to make the perfect chocolate chip waffles. He's never made waffles in his life, let alone chocolate chip ones; the waffle iron they have hasn't even left its box since Spencer's mom gave it to them on the last tour.
He sets the table--plates, silverware, napkins, juice glasses--and soon Brendon's stumbling into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and zombie-like, and he's halfway through pouring himself a bowl of Fruit Loops when he finally sees the stack of waffles on the counter.
"Holy shit. Do those have chocolate in them?"
Spencer beams. "Yup."
Brendon doesn't even question the fact that Spencer's being slightly Martha Stewart-ish; he collapses against him in a hug, like chocolate chip waffles are the greatest gift he could ever receive. Spencer is ridiculously proud of himself.
He's having a slight anxiety attack over not having any real oranges to make orange juice (and that, too, is cause for worry, because he's never made fresh squeezed orange juice before, either) when Jon comes in, spots Brendon sitting at the table with the waffles and the place settings, and says, "Did we get catered and I just didn't hear about it?"
"Spence made us breakfast," Brendon replies, mouth full. His plate's almost empty.
Jon gives Spencer a confused, yet happy look. "Oh. Thanks."
He hands Jon his mug, already filled with coffee. "My pleasure." Jon takes the mug and Spencer suddenly thinks the dark circles under his eyes can't be good, he needs to relax a little, maybe with a good backrub--
"Spencer Smith, there is most definitely something up with you," Ryan's saying. He's standing in the doorway of the kitchen, hands on his hips, looking at the waffles like they're possessed.
"Whatever it is, I don't care, it's fucking great," Brendon says, his fork finally scraping the bottom of his empty plate.
Monday
Spencer finally lets himself admit something's wrong when he passes Brendon's bunk early in the morning on the way to the kitchen (to make breakfast again, this time he's thinking crepes, if they have enough milk) and he's suddenly overcome with an urge to stop and pull back the curtain. He peeks inside, and while Brendon's asleep on his side, there's very obvious morning wood making itself known within the confines of his boxers.
It seems logical and perfectly legitimate for Spencer to crawl into Brendon's bunk and reach his hand inside his boxers and slowly jerk him to completion. It doesn't seem weird at all to feel accomplished and satisfied at the way Brendon gasps and arches under Spencer's touch, coming long and hot within a handful of minutes.
"Better?" Spencer asks.
"Mmmph," Brendon replies, his head dropping back against his pillow. "You, uh." He looks up at him, his face flushed and looking utterly perplexed. "Um, thank you?"
There's an uncomfortable moment when Brendon glances down at Spencer's crotch and Spencer realizes with a start that he's hard as well, but somehow it's not important. Well, it is, but there's nothing he can do about it. He wants to ask, wants to take Brendon's hand and cup it to himself, but he can't bring himself to do either. It's simply not possible.
So he climbs down from the bunk and goes to the kitchen without another word. He'll take care of himself later once breakfast is done and everyone's had a shower, because after all, he doesn't want to take all the hot water.
Tuesday
Spencer knows there's something going on, and he tries to make himself be concerned about it, but there're too many other things to be worried about, like Jon's slight limp when they're getting ready backstage, or Ryan's wince and painful blinking when he gets liquid eyeliner in his eye, or the way Brendon's voice is sounding a little scratchy tonight, like he might be getting a cold. He can't begin to concentrate on himself when he's got three other people who desperately need his constant attention.
The show drains him that night (it rained earlier in the day and the stage was still a little wet in places, and Spencer was so certain someone was going fall and break something) and he's exhausted when they get back to the bus. But he can't go to sleep until the rest of the guys are tucked in for the night, so to speak.
Once he's made sure Brendon and Ryan are asleep, he finds Jon on the couch watching an old Jimmy Stewart movie.
"Aren't you tired?" Spencer asks as he sits beside him.
Jon shrugs, not looking away from the screen. "Kind of, but I'm also wired for some reason. Can't shut my brain off, you know?"
At that moment Spencer's hit with an intense need to comfort and ease the loneliness he feels coming off Jon in waves. Somehow he knows there's a need for physical intimacy, and that it's his job to take of it, of Jon.
There's no hesitation, no lead-in; like yesterday morning with Brendon, Spencer feels completely natural leaning in and sliding his hand around the back of Jon's neck as he kisses him soft and slow on the mouth. Jon sucks in a startled breath through his nose, and then he sort of sighs and melts against Spencer. It lasts longer than Spencer intends, but it's Jon who deepens the kiss, and Spencer has no choice but to follow his lead.
Soon they break apart, gasping quietly in the dark room with only the silver flicker of the television. Spencer skims the tips of his fingers over the outline of Jon's erection in his jeans, and Jon whispers, "Wait."
"No, it's okay, I don't mind." You need this, Spencer thinks as he opens Jon's fly and goes to his knees on the carpet, tugging Jon's jeans down with him.
"Spencer, what? No, I--you can't--this isn't--"
"Sshh, I get it." The breathy sound of Jon saying oh as Spencer swallows his cock is incredible. It makes Spencer happy, knowing he's capable of making Jon let go of whatever sadness is lurking inside him, even for a moment. He's doing his duty well, and maybe he shouldn't be thinking of this as a duty, but he can't help it.
Spencer braces his hands on Jon's thighs and shivers when Jon cards his fingers through his hair. Then Jon shudders and comes, hard, desperately trying to warn Spencer off, but Spencer hangs on and swallows every bit. There was never any other option.
Jon collapses back against the couch, panting. "I think. Ryan's. Right," he gasps.
Spencer tilts his head at him, rubbing his hands over Jon's body, soothing the aftershocks. "What do you mean?"
"There's something up with you. You're--"
"Being helpful?"
Jon smiles weakly. "Not exactly."
Spencer knows he's right, he does, really, but at the same time he's crestfallen that his actions are being viewed in a suspicious way. "I just. I thought this was what you wanted. I was giving you--"
Jon sits up suddenly. "You gave me head out of pity?"
Spencer huffs. "No, no, it's just that--you're tired and lonely and this what you needed. And you feel better now, right?"
Jon looks at him for long, silent moment, his expression unreadable. "Spencer," he finally asks slowly, in the same dealing-with-a-crazy-person tone Ryan used on him earlier, "have you, um. Been 'helpful' with any of the other guys this week?"
"What, you mean this?" Spencer waves his hand in the direction of Jon's unzipped fly.
"Yes."
"Well, I guess. I mean, Brendon's always got morning wood, which makes it hard for him to sleep sometimes--"
"Oh, god." Jon rubs the heel of his palm against his eyes. "I knew it."
"It's not a big deal--"
"What are you making for breakfast in morning?"
Spencer pauses for only a second. "I was thinking eggs Benedict."
Jon's suddenly on his feet. He says, "I'm calling a band meeting right the fuck now."
"Soooo, what you're saying is, Spencer's our slave?" Brendon asks.
"Something like that." Jon sighs.
"Seriously?!" He looks over at Spencer and points at the television. "Turn it on."
"Brendon," Ryan hisses, but Spencer still gets up and does what he's told.
"Oh my god, no fucking way. Okay, go make me a smoothie."
Spencer's halfway to the kitchen when Jon says, "Spence, get back here."
Brendon pouts. "Why didn't we figure this out earlier? I could've made him do all sorts of cool shit."
"He's not a fucking Labrador puppy, Urie," Ryan says.
Spencer thinks he should be offended on several counts by this conversation, but all he can do is resist the urge to go get Ryan a blanket. He looks cold.
"Fine, then how do we fix it?" Brendon asks, sounding like he really doesn't want an answer.
Ryan gives him a pointed look. "It has to be that crystal thing he got on Friday, remember? He started acting weird right after that, and it's only gotten worse."
"But wait...if it is the rock, that means...oh, fuck." Spencer goes red at the thought of being some random fan's personal slave. "And, like, all of you touched it right after she gave it to me, and she was saying something I couldn't hear--"
Brendon laughs. "Dude, that's awesome, some fan cursed you! It's like an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer!"
"She didn't curse me, she tried to...harness me. Or. Something. God." Spencer buries his face in his hands. To think a fucking crystal could make him give out handjobs and blowjobs to his best friends at random. Wonderful.
"That's it, I'm telling Zack to make sure no one gives us anything at signings ever again," Ryan sighs.
"Do you think if we break the thing he'll go back to normal?" Jon sounds very sincere, and Spencer would laugh if the whole thing wasn't a fucking nightmare.
Ryan nods pensively. "Possibly. But how--"
"A sledgehammer?" Brendon supplies.
"Who the fuck has a sledgehammer on tour?" Spencer says in his bitchiest voice, because he's just shy of having a mental breakdown. Everything he's done in the past four days is starting to come back to him in vivid detail, like he's been in some sort of drugged, foggy stupor. He can barely look Jon and Brendon in the eye.
But, as luck would have it, Gabe has a sledgehammer.
"I don't even want to know," Spencer mutters as they all stand in the parking lot in a circle around the tiny purplish crystal.
William and Butcher join them, although they have no idea what's going on.
"Uh. It's a rock," William says like it's a newly discovered fact.
"It's a crystal some fan gave Spencer, and it's making Spencer be our slave," Brendon says, watching Jon handle the sledgehammer like it's the coolest thing ever.
Butcher's grinning. "Whoa, whoa, Spencer's your slave? For real? Can I get in on that?"
Spencer is seriously about two steps away from a homicide, and it would technically be manslaughter anyway since he's under the influence. Not that a defense of being controlled by some weird slave crystal would get him anywhere, but still.
"No," replies Jon calmly. "We're destroying it. Spencer is not a slave." He says it simply and politely, making Spencer kind of want to kiss Jon for real.
"Just get it over with, please." Ryan sounds bored, and Spencer smacks his shoulder.
Jon shifts his grip on the wooden handle and takes a deep breath. "Everyone stand back. On the count of three..."
When the sledgehammer comes down, the crystal shatters into a thousand tiny pieces, flying in every direction. They all stand in silence for a moment, looking at the crystal's remains.
Brendon looks over at Spencer and says, "Hop on one foot."
Spencer flips him the bird.
Jon lets out a loud breath and leans against Spencer in relief. "Thank Christ."
They walk back to their buses, Brendon sighing dramatically and bemoaning his loss ("I mean, how the hell am I supposed to get more handjobs out of him now?"), and Butcher yelling loudly over his shoulder, "I don't know what kind of crazy fucking fans you have, but I want some."
Spencer goes straight to bed and sleeps until well past noon the following day. He blinks awake to find Brendon standing beside his bunk with a mug of tea and a bagel. He holds them out to Spencer.
"It's blueberry!" Brendon says, gesturing to the bagel.
"No," Spencer replies, and rolls over. "No way."
"Please?! C'mon, just one more time, I swear, you don't even have to make me come--"
Spencer pulls the curtain shut. "Fuck off."
"See, Walker, I told you it wouldn't work," he hears Brendon yell into the living room.
"Does that include me, too?" Jon yells back.
Spencer says, loud enough for the entire bus to hear, "I hate you all."