the one i'm not really ready to give up on yet

[sailorstkwrning]

i feel like I should award this story some sort of special prize for getting jossed twice, and the first jossing making it more plausible, not less. It's another one I started last winter, showed to sinsense, and then put aside, possibly due to school.

Then Panic split. This actually made it make sense, as it was a band-reuniting fic, with some bonus h/c thrown in. (The working title was, for a time, "Highly Unlikely Warped Tour".) So, meanwhile, life goes on, stuff happens, etc etc, and then Bob departs from MCR, jossing me again, and also creating a (possibly minor) problem. In the sense that a Bob + Brendon friendship was supposed to be a key subplot. I gave serious thought to using it for BBB, but then I decided canon was too unsettled and also there was just too much potential for sad.

(re: BBB, for those of you as may be wondering: the detective fairies, along with tentacles, puppies and West Texas, is on my list to write this summer.)

In any case, here's some bits and pieces from what has now been re-titled You Could Always Sell Any Dream To Me:



The phone rings at 3 AM. Spencer answers it more out of habit than anything else. He has a lot of friends who are perpetually oblivious to timezones. He barely gets through mumbling a greeting before the person on the other end starts talking.

Or rather, shouting. It's Ryan, and he's hysterical. He's yelling something about Brendon being dead. Brendon is, as far as Spencer knows, deeply asleep in Spencer's guestroom. Spencer can hear him snoring (but not wheezing) over the baby monitor on the bedside table. Spencer holds the phone away from his ear and stares at it, wide awake and totally confused. He turns the volume down a few notches before he brings it back to his ear.

"Ryan," he says. "Ryan, what the fuck?"

"Is he dead?" Ryan asks again. "Just - just tell me. When were you going to tell me? Or were you going to make me find out from motherfucking Rolling Stone again --"

"I - no, he's not dead. He's - why are you calling me about this at 3 AM?" And what are you on? Spencer wants to ask, and doesn't.

"I went to the hospital like always and he was gone and -"

"What?" Spencer says. To the hospital? Like always?

"-in the movies that always means they're dead. There's always the empty bed and the music and the billowing curtain - and - and his bed wasn't empty, but - "

"Ryan," Spencer says, and Ryan goes quiet. "He's not dead."

Ryan takes a deep breath. "Can I talk to him?"

"What, now?" Spencer says, because as far as he knows, Ryan and Brendon haven't spoken in years.

"Please, Spencer," Ryan says. "Please. Just for a minute."

Spencer stretches his fingers out over the coverlet. He thinks about saying no -- Brendon needs to rest -- but in the end he doesn't.

"All right," Spencer says, and extricates himself from the covers. "Hold on a second."

Ryan breathes gaspily in his ear, and Spencer wonders where he is, if he just lost his shit in public. If TMZ is going to be on his doorstop (again) the next morning, wanting confirmation of Brendon's untimely demise.

"Hey, Ryan, where are you?" he asks, nudging some laundry out of the way with his foot on his way out into the hall.

Ryan is quiet for a little too long. Spencer wonders if its because he doesn't want to say In a bar.

"In your driveway," Ryan practically whispers.

Spencer freezes with his hand on Brendon's doorknob. He can still hear Ryan breathing on the other end of the phone.

"Do you - do you want to just come in? And see him?" Spencer asks. He's not sure he wants Ryan in the house, but he does know he doesn't want to wake Brendon if he doesn't have to.

"I didn't -- I don't --" Ryan stops. There's another long silence. "Yes. If - if I can."

"Hold on, I'll come down and let you in." He turns the phone off and walks down the stairs, skimming his fingers over the rail.

Spencer opens the door. Ryan is sitting on the porch swing, shoulder hunches, one hand pressed against his face. His hair is loose and spilling over his shoulders, the gold highlights in his curls gleaming in the light. Spencer clears his throat and Ryan looks up. His eyes are red and his face is splotchy, but his expression is, for a moment, sharp and focused.

"Come on," Spencer says, stepping back. "He's upstairs."

Spencer is startled and kind of pleased when Ryan kneels down to take his boots off before he follows Spencer up the stairs. Spencer knocks on Brendon's door, then opens it slowly. Brendon is, as Spencer expected, completely crashed out.

"See?" he says to Ryan, moving out of the way. "Totally alive."

Ryan steps closer to the bed and leans in. Brendon hrrmphs in his sleep and rolls over. Another minute passes; Ryan doesn't move. Spencer is about to say something when Brendon opens one eye and sees them. To Spencer's surprise, he doesn't seem especially shocked to find Ryan staring at him. He rubs his face and wrinkles his nose and yawns hugely.

"Is it time for medicine again?" Brendon asks, looking at Spencer like Ryan isn't there.

"No," Spencer says, wishing he had gotten a little more sleep.

He looks at Ryan, who has straightened up a fraction, then back at Brendon. He has no idea what to say. Ryan smooths his hands over his coat and sits down at the foot of the bed. Spencer can tell he's deliberately holding very still.

"Was I being loud?" Brendon asks, shifting his feet out of Ryan's way, and Spencer just stares at him.

"What? Why did you wake me up? Did you have a bad dream, Spencer?" Brendon seems genuinely concerned. "Come sit down, you can tell me about it, if you want to."

He pats the bed next to him and that's it, Spencer can't take it anymore. He doesn't know what Brendon is doing but it's freaking him out. He's willing to referee a shouting match if it means Brendon will acknowledge Ryan's presence.

"Ryan is sitting on the end of the bed," Spencer says. "He came to see you."

"Wait." Brendon says, his voice suddenly much sharper, more awake. He twists to stare at Ryan, who is now contemplating his knees. "You can see him too?"

Spencer definitely needs more sleep for this conversation.

"Yes," he manages. "Yes, Brendon, I can see him too, because he is here, in your room, sitting at the end of your bed."

"I'm real, Bren," Ryan says, not looking up. "I told you before, it's really me." He pauses. "And I'm really glad you aren't dead. Again."

"It really was you," Brendon says softly. "Not the codeine. The whole time?"

"The whole time," Ryan confirms.

Spencer clears his throat and they both look at him. He crosses his arms over his chest and waits. Brendon cracks first.

"I thought I was hallucinating, from the drugs," he says, still looking at Ryan, his fingers clenched in the sheets.

"I told you you weren't," Ryan says, tilting his head up. "I told you a couple of times."

"Yeah, well, you also told me that Jessica Simpson and Billy Corgan got married by Elvis at the Little White Wedding Chapel and PeeWee's Playhouse is back on the air," Brendon says, finally looking up at Spencer.

"Um." Spencer is trying not to laugh now. "Those things also happened while you were, uh -"

"Fucked up?" Brendon supplies, arching one eyebrow, then turns back to Ryan. "You really came to see me every day."

"Yes," Ryan says, a tinge of irritation creeping into his tone. "And I meant everything I said to you, too."

Brendon looks down at his knees, and Spencer wonders if maybe he should leave them alone.

"I should go," Ryan says, standing up. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"It's fine," Brendon murmurs. "I meant everything I said to you, too."

"Okay," Ryan says. Spencer can see him pulling himself together. "I should - Z's waiting, in the car."

"Oh," Brendon says. "Tell her I said hey."

"I will," Ryan murmurs, wiping at his face with the back of his hand.

"Do you -" Spencer begins, then stops, trying to figure out where he was going with that idea. "Does she want to come in? Have some coffee?"

"It's late," Ryan says quietly.

"More like early," Brendon says, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I think I'd like some coffee, actually."

"All right," Ryan says. "I'll go and get her."

Spencer moves so Ryan can get past him. He waits until he hears the door open and close before he rounds on Brendon.

"Hallucinating?" he says. "Really? And you didn't say anything?"

Brendon pushes himself up off the bed and pulls his bathrobe on. Spencer leans against the doorjamb and waits.

"It wasn't a bad hallucination," Brendon finally says. "Like, it wasn't scary. It helped, actually, talking to him."



"Your boys seem a little tense," Bob said when Brendon had settled down at the table.

Brendon made a thoughtful noise and dunked a carrot in the mound of hummus on his plate. Bob sucked down a mouthful of Coke, wondering if maybe he'd gone too far. Maybe they weren't talking about it. Mikey had said things were weird -

"It turns out I'm really awesome at asshole bingo," Brendon said, tugging at his bangs with one hand.

"Asshole bingo," Bob repeated, not sure if he was allowed to laugh.

Brendon squinted up at him briefly, then picked up another carrot. Bob waited while he scooped up a dollop of hummus. Brendon looked like he might be fighting a smile, but Bob couldn't really be sure. He turned the words over in his head. Asshole bingo.

"It's okay," Brendon said, softly. "You don't have to act like you don't know."

"Don't know what?" Bob asked, now genuinely confused.

"Bob," Brendon said, lowering his hands to the picnic table, his gaze steady and direct even though his cheeks were flushed pink.

Bob looked back at him. When the silence got to be loud, Bob ate a couple of carrots. Brendon shifted in his seat, and Bob saw his jaw set.

"All Mikey said was that you hadn't been feeling well," Bob muttered. "And we spent the last couple of months driving around Europe in a goddamned bus. Sorry I wasn't able to follow your fuckin' press, or whatever."

Bob picked up a sprig of broccoli, irritation coiling low and lazy in his shoulders. When he looked up again, Brendon was squinting at him thoughtfully. Bob arched an eyebrow at him.

"I had double pneumonia," Brendon said, stretching his arms out in front of him. "I collapsed in a grocery store in LA."

Bob made a mental note to slap Mikey in the back of the head the next time they were in the same place.

"And," Brendon continued, clearly warming to his topic, "I had 10 jumbo-sized cans of green beans, five packages of burrito tortillas, three tins of cashews and two family-sized bottles of Robitussin in the cart."

"That's a lot of green beans," Bob offered, biting his lip against inappropriate laughter.

"They were for Spencer's fucking dogs," Brendon said, picking up another carrot. "Naturally I hadn't shaved for a couple of weeks and it was laundry day, so I was wearing the rattiest clothing I own."

"Shit," Bob murmured, and Brendon made a no kidding face at him.



Brendon wakes up in the middle of the night, not quite sure why. The bus is mostly quiet. He lies in his bunk for a while, music on low, trying to sync his breathing with Jon's and go back to sleep, but it's no use. He's awake. Brendon goes out into the front lounge first, then out to sit on the steps of the bus. They're in the middle of a field and it's really dark. He can hear someone playing a guitar somewhere nearby, but Brendon doesn't recognize the tune. Periodically muffled exclamations of surprise and bursts of laughter float up from between the busses. Brendon stretches his hands, listening, debating with himself about going out to find a party. He wants a drink, and a cigarette. Maybe just a cigarette.

He gets up and pulls a fruit roll-up out of the cabinet instead. He peels the plastic off and rolls it back up tight, then nibbles at it, worrying the folds with his teeth until he's covered in sugary drool. It tastes more like plastic than strawberries, but he forgets to want a cigarette while he's eating it. After a while Brendon starts to feel tired again and he heads back inside. He stops to wash his face and hands, which somehow makes him sleepier. He's heading for his bunk when he notices a light under the door of the back lounge.

Brendon goes back to investigate, scrubbing at his eyes with one hand. He's expecting to find Spencer passed out in front of the computer again.

Instead he finds Ryan perched on the edge of the bed, acoustic in his lap, both hands pressed to his face. He's sounds like he's struggling to breathe. Brendon sort of freezes. He knows - Spencer laid out the basic story, Jon filled in some details, and Brendon's seen Shane's footage - that Ryan went from being kind of a mess to a complete disaster while Brendon was sick. Ryan seems to be better now, maybe, but every time Brendon tries to bring it up, Spencer and Jon change the subject.

Brendon crouches down at Ryan's feet. He puts his hands on the guitar, slowly, not too much pressure. Ryan breathes a couple more times, and it sounds like it probably hurts.

"Hey," Brendon said, softly.

Ryan doesn't seem to hear him.

Brendon tugs at the guitar and Ryan doesn't fight him, lets Brendon ease it away and set it on the floor. Brendon puts his hands on the bed, not wanting to crowd Ryan and not sure what to say. He wonders if he should go and get Spencer, but he knows if Spencer isn't already here, that means he's finally getting some real sleep.

Ryan takes another ragged breath, and Brendon decides to take the risk of hugging him. He kneels up and puts his hand on Ryan's hip - delicately, ready to yank them back if Ryan so much as twitches - and Ryan collapses against him, knocking them both off balance and onto the floor. Brendon barely manages to avoid landing them on Ryan's guitar. Ryan is totally silent, but Brendon can feel him shaking.

"It's okay, baby," he says, squeezing Ryan gently. "It's okay."

Ryan stays quiet, and Brendon doesn't say anything else. For all of their 3 AM chats, Brendon really doesn't know what's going in Ryan's head or his life. Instead he just rubs Ryan's back until he stops trembling. When Ryan's breathing starts to slow like he might be falling asleep, Brendon shifts around and drags him up to the bed, curling next to him when Ryan won't let go of him.



"And then, okay, this other chick shows up with a motherfucking chandelier," Nate said, give his small bongo a couple of extra thumps for emphasis.

Matt paused mid-riff to roll his sticks over his fingers, bouncing the tips against the side his cymbals.

Spencer hid a yawn in the curve of his shoulder. There was a dull ache nesting in his shoulders under the fast-fading haze of alcohol, but he wasn't ready to give in to it quite yet.

"Shut up, she was carrying it over her shoulder like Rambo. In the middle of the fucking night in Times Square." Nate took a swig of his beer, and then picked up the pace. "Fuck you if - hey, Jon. Grab that other djembe, dude," he said, gesturing at a nearby drum with one of his sticks.

"Naw, man, I'm cool," Jon said, and Spencer felt warmth near his back but not on it.

"Is it that time?" Spencer asked. Nate shifted the pace to something slower and heavier.

"I think it might be," Jon murmured. "I can -"

"One second," Spencer said, adding a beat to the existing rhythm. Matt's snares made a querulous noise, but Nate downshifted again, rolling them to an easy stop.

Spencer tugged his t-shirt loose and tried to wipe his face, but it was too thin and damp to do any good. He twisted around and grabbed for Jon's shirt, wincing a little as the burn in his shoulders curled through his hips and knees. Jon made a small grossed-out noise and tried to get away. Spencer grabbed a handful of fabric and swabbed it over his neck. It still smelled a little like laundry, and he laughed when Jon gave him a noogie.

"Fight! Fight!" Sisky called out from the bunks, but softly, and Spencer remembered why Jon had come to get him.

"It's definitely that time," Spencer said, mostly to himself, and heaved himself upwards.

"You okay?" Jon asked, squinting up at him. Spencer could hear the should we just stay? in his voice.

Spencer yawned in his face and shrugged. They were three, maybe four buses over from their own. They'd managed longer distances in worse shape. Jon pulled a face at Spencer's beer-breath and turned to walk back through the bunks to the front lounge. The steady thump thump of the drum circle picked back up as Spencer followed him.

The first thing Spencer noticed was Ryan, out cold in Travis' lap, shoes off and one hand curled in the collar of Travis' shirt. Brendon was peering at Spencer owlishly from his perch on Bill's knee.

"There are extra bunks," Bill said, waving a hand towards the back of the bus as if it were his own.

Spencer yawned again, thinking about it. He couldn't remember if they had a radio interview in the morning or the next day. Spencer squinted at Brendon as if that might help him remember, but Brendon was already on his feet and fumbling for Ryan's shoes. Jon poked Spencer in the side, gently, and Spencer took a step towards Travis, who was already draping Ryan's coat over Ryan's shoulders. Spencer leaned forward and stretched his back out, vaguely regretful at the prospect of waking Ryan up. None of them had been sleeping very well, but Ryan had been having an especially hard time getting used to the road again. Spencer was surprised when Travis scooted forward and swayed upwards, holding Ryan close and tight against his chest.

"I've got him, it's cool," Travis said, tilting his head towards Brendon, who had sat back down on Bill and was rubbing his eyes with his free hand.

Spencer blinked and frowned, trying to work out the logistics of getting Travis back to his own bus without waking Zack up. Someone would have to - and then -

"You got everything?" Disashi asked from near the door, and Spencer realized he also had his coat on.

"Yeah," Jon said, holding out a hand to Brendon and prodding Spencer forward until they were at the front of the bus.

"Good night," Bill called out. Spencer waved back at him, feeling a little dizzy as he picked his way down the stairs.

"Two stars to the right, and straight on 'til morning," Jon said to Travis before forcing Brendon to give up Ryan's shoes and both his and Ryan's bags.

Travis grinned broadly and stuck his elbows out. Disashi took one; Jon pushed Brendon towards Spencer and took the other. Ryan coughed and stirred, and they all let go while Travis hummed and swayed until he settled.

"Cold," Brendon said, headbutting Spencer, and Spencer could tell he was trying to whisper.

The others were already walking ahead of them. It sounded like Travis and Disashi were singing. Spencer picked Brendon up and slung him over his shoulder, ignoring his muffled squawk of protest.

"Put me down, asshole," Brendon said, wriggling around and kneeing Spencer in the chest.

Spencer staggered and smacked Brendon's ass at the same time. Brendon yelped and started flailing, and the next thing Spencer knew he was landing hard on the gravel of the parking lot, Brendon's pointy elbows jammed into his chest.

"Ow, goddammit, motherfucker, what the fuck?" Spencer said, when he could talk again. He wrapped one arm around Brendon's ribs to keep him from moving. That was the key to successful Brendon-wrangling, not letting him get away. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah -- are you?" Brendon sounded a little breathless himself. "Dude, I'm sorry, I didn’t -"

"Fuck off, I'm fine," Spencer muttered, settling back to wipe the gravel out of his knees one at a time. It stung, but it didn't feel like he was bleeding or anything.

Brendon sighed heavily and rested his head on Spencer's shoulder. Spencer rubbed his back absently; Brendon wasn't shivering yet, but he probably would be soon. He felt a brief spike of anxiety that they had been careless and not noticed Brendon was out without a jacket.

"Tired, Spencer," Brendon said into his shirt. "Want to go home. Want my bed. Want my dog."

"Half-way there," Spencer said, shifting forwards and gathering himself to stand up.

Brendon snorted softly then started singing the rest of the verse under his breath, pressing the chords into Spencer's chest with his fingers. Spencer hummed along for a moment then pushed Brendon away and got to his feet. He waited until the world stopped swinging in lazy circles to reach down and grab Brendon's hand to haul him up.

"We need a tennis ball," Brendon said, shuffling forward to rest his head on Spencer's chest again.

Spencer frowned down at him for a moment before deciding he was too tired to try and make sense of it. He squinted out at the rows of dark, silent buses, looking for his landmarks. Brendon shifted, as if he might make a break for it, and Spencer curled an arm around his shoulders.

"We're on the left somewhere, by Unrestrained Cheese and their stupid Airstream," Brendon murmured, lifting Spencer's arm up and away. "Come on."

"No, Jon said -" Spencer began, but Brendon just grabbed his hand and yanked him along, ignoring his protests.

One ruined clothesline, two dead-ends and three sets of surprised lovers later, with no Airstream in sight, Spencer slipped on a patch of wet, muddy grass and they both fell down again. Brendon made an irritated noise and kicked at Spencer's shins. Spencer kicked him back, then sat up and brushed more gravel out of his knees. He thought about having a tantrum. He also considered curling up and falling asleep on the ground. It was cold and kind of clammy but the buses behind them blocked the worst of the wind.

"No, Spencer, no sleeping yet, you have to take me to bed," Brendon said, his voice echoing in the darkness.

"Oh my god," Spencer said to no one in particular, and a light went on in the back of a nearby bus.

"Shh, Spencer, it's late," Brendon said, punching Spencer in the shoulder. "People are sleeping, we have to be quiet!"

Spencer was getting ready to hit him back when Jon walked around the side of one of the buses, the dim light from the windows making the hollows of his face look deeper than they were. He smiled when he saw them, and Spencer made a small, relieved noise.

"Over here, Sashi," Jon called out. "I was starting to think I'd lost you." His tone was gentle, but Spencer could hear the reproof underneath. "Are you guys okay?"

"Spencer knocked me over," Brendon said, yanking his hand free of Spencer's grip. Spencer didn't have to look at him to know he was pouting.

"Fuck you, I didn't do it on purpose, I slipped on the fucking grass." Spencer normally knew better than to have these kinds of arguments, but his knees were really starting to hurt, and he was wet from his ass to his ankles. "You were the one who fucking got us lost, asshole."

Brendon made an outraged noise and rolled up onto his knees. Spencer was scrabbling in the grass for something to throw at him when Jon grabbed the collar of Spencer's shirt and tugged him back so he was leaning against Jon's legs. Spencer struggled forward, and Jon shifted so that Spencer was pinned between his knees.

"Enough," Jon said, softly, but with enough of an edge that Spencer dropped the handful of mud he had been holding and sagged against Jon's thigh.

Jon hmm'd in the back of his throat, and Spencer felt a hand smooth over his hair in an inquisitive manner.

"Tired," Spencer muttered, rubbing at his eyes with his clean hand. "Wet. Brendon's a fucker."

Jon made a soft sympathetic noise and petted Spencer's hair again. Spencer pulled his knees up and watched Sashi wrestle Brendon onto his back, half-wishing he could get someone to volunteer to carry him home, too. When Brendon was settled, Spencer shifted around until he got his feet under him and stood up. He stumbled into Jon, who caught him by the arms and steadied him.

"Ready?" Jon asked, sliding his hand down to curl his fingers around Spencer's. Spencer shrugged one shoulder and let himself be led away.

By the time they got home, Spencer was fully awake and his whole body felt like it was on fire. They found Travis sitting on the lawn chair that Zack kept outside the bus, smoking a cigarette. Ryan was still in his lap, and apparently still asleep.

Astonishingly, Ryan didn't wake during the festival of hissing and elbow-throwing that was required to get them all in the door and up the steps. Once they were inside, Travis picked his way through the piles of paper and instruments in the front lounge, humming under his breath. Spencer followed him, internally reviewing the state of Ryan's bunk. They had meant to change the sheets earlier, and he had a vague memory of stripping the mattress -

"Now we're golden," Travis said, and that was all the warning Spencer got before Travis set Ryan down in Spencer's top bunk.

Before Spencer could say anything, Travis had pulled the coverlet up over Ryan's shoulder and eased Ryan's jacket loose. Ryan frowned and grumbled in his sleep and Travis ran a hand over the curve of Ryan's ribs, settling him.

"I can't get low, knee's busted again," Travis murmured, glancing over at Spencer.

"Oh," Spencer said. Suddenly his head felt really heavy. "I mean, thank you. Do you - we have some beer, I think, in the fridge?"

"Naw, baby, I'm good," Travis said, his smile broadening, and pulled Spencer into a brief, tight hug. "We're gonna head out, actually. You know Sashi gets cranky if he doesn't get his beauty sleep."

"I do not," Disashi said, ducking his head as he came through the door, Brendon still clinging to his back and Jon trailing behind them.

"Oh, so that was someone else who almost took my head off yesterday when I didn't change the filter in the coffeepot?" Travis said as Brendon slid off of Disashi and wobbled towards his bunk.

Disashi flipped Travis off. Travis' grin got even wider. Spencer sat down on Ryan's sheetless bunk and rubbed at his face some more. The aches in his knees had sharpened into scraping pains, and he was kind of afraid to take his pants off. Disashi settled against the doorjamb, his elbow on Jon's shoulder.

"Don't forget, you're gonna kill it tomorrow," Travis said, reeling Brendon in to press a kiss against the side of his head. "I bet they're gonna give you main stage."

"Sure they will, at 11 AM," Brendon said, mostly into Travis' chest, then wriggled away and started taking his shoes off.

"Better than not at all," Travis murmured. He leaned over to press a kiss onto the top of Ryan's head, high-fived Jon, and he and Disashi were gone.

Jon followed them into the front lounge. Spencer rested his head on his hand and listened to Brendon sing to himself as he undressed, tapping out a possible supporting beat when he heard an opening. His lower back was throbbing, but he couldn't quite bring himself to do anything about it. Spencer realized Jon had come back when he heard more familiar humming slide in under Brendon's voice.

"That's good, guys, right?" Brendon asked, breaking off mid-verse. "We could totally use that for something."

Spencer paused mid-tap and tilted an ear towards Ryan. All he could hear was muffled sleep noises. Spencer glanced back at them briefly. Jon was blank-faced; Brendon looked sort of surprised and hopeful.

"We'll run it by Ryan in the morning," he said, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose.

"Yes," Jon said. His tone was mild, but it brought Spencer's head up.

Jon lips quirked up into a smile, but his eyes revealed nothing. He handed over a glass of water and two pain pills. Spencer took them down in one swallow, then drank the rest of the water slowly, exhaling as the empty, sick feeling in his stomach eased.

"He seems to be -- better," Brendon murmured into the silence. "A little bit."

"Yeah?" The bunk creaked when Jon leaned against it. "What about you, how are you feeling?"

Spencer stood up and started peeling his clothes off. He swore quietly when the fabric peeled away from his knees. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Brendon drinking his own glass of water, the overhead lights highlighting the jut of his ribs and the narrow curve of his thighs. He was still too thin, and too pale.

"I'm fine," Brendon said, tugging a ratty t-shirt out of his bunk and over his head. "Spencer might need some band-aids, though."

A rustling noise came from Jon's general direction and Spencer shuffled around for a better look. There were two small boxes under Jon's arm, and a packet of antiseptic wipes in his hand. The light made the scattering of gray in his hair shine brightly. Brendon's bed creaked as he climbed in and curled up under the covers.

"Spiderman or Cinderella?" Jon asked. "I think all of the Ariels are gone."

"What happened to all the Batmen?" Spencer muttered, sitting down; his knees were kind of a mess, he could see that now.

Jon shrugged, and handed Spencer the antiseptic wipes. Brendon started humming the tune again, though in a different key. Spencer focused on it as he cleaned his knees, relaxing into the familiarity of the moment, if not the music.

"Gonna be fine," Jon said, when Spencer took the bandages and spread them carefully over his knees.

Spencer frowned, not sure if Jon meant Spencer's knees, Brendon, or something else, but when he looked up Jon was already headed back out to the front lounge. Spencer half-yawned, half-laughed into the back of his hand and flopped down on the bare, squeaky bus mattress. He pulled Ryan's lumpy coverlet over his shoulder and drifted off to the sound of Brendon's steady breathing.