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Musicians/Music Groups Fan Fiction >> Panic! At The Disco

The following is a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

Please see the Terms of Service for more information.

 

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The Devil's Water
By blasphemy

 

He had no intention of this happening. Spencer had never wanted it to go down like this. This was not what he wanted, not what he expected at all. Needless to say, this is what he received. Spencer Smith, drummer extraordinaire, blue-eyed bombshell, and best friend to Ryan freaking Ross, got back a little more than for what he paid.

Obviously, that was a con.

A slit in the curtain, wedges light into the dark bus bunk and he decides he should have just gone back to the room. The light isn't blinding but it is a nuisance because Spencer, in his gloom and stubborn idiocy, does not want to see the sun anymore.

His eyes are half closed and he can feel the drug coursing through his veins rapidly. He shudders impulsively and licks his bottom lip, attempting to moisture them. A ragged sigh comes from his lips, a sound intensified by the silence outside of the curtain. It was a horrible idea... a stupid, ignorant idea...

His eyes roll to the back of his head and he realizes that he could die tonight. He could die and no one would notice for a few hours because he told them all he was going to sleep. No one notice because they were all in the living room, watching Aladdin for the millionth time and chatting it up with their newest addition, Jon Walker.

A smile twitches Spencer's lips upwards. Finally, he conjures up the last of his strength and pulls the needle (filthy, no doubt) out of his veins and chucks it towards the edge of his bed. He does this because just as quick as he realized that no one would notice his death until later tomorrow, he realized that Ryan would be more angry and more hurt than he'd ever been. Spencer can't do that to Ryan because that boy has already been through too much.

<s>Who's to say he won't change his mind later?</S>

With his pasty white, freezing cold, trembling hand, Spencer rips the curtain open to meet a sudden pair of olive eyes. He gasps in surprise. Not Spencer, the olive-eyed boy.

Spencer's almost sure he's complete stranger just until the boy steps out of the direct light and Spencer can see all of his features. Smooth brown hair, sharp brown eyes and pink lips partly open in an 'o'. Spencer smiled at him, casually nodding and greeting the boy, "'Sup, Jon?"

Jon was taken back from the question. He hadn't expected Spencer to seem so light about it. After all, the blonds' eyes were sunken in, skin pale and dark and his eyes were blistering blue. It was so freaking obvious that Spencer had been in his bunk shooting up. The fact that there was a needle on the floor next to his bunk with dried blood on the tip didn't help at all.

Uncomfortable in this painfully obvious situation, Jon decided he didn't like that Spencer had made him so uncomfortable so quickly. He stepped towards the blue eyed boy and crossed his arms over his chest, "Why do you shoot up?"

Spencer's jaw tightened suddenly. Jon should not have twisted the needle like that. "None of your business, Walker."

"Well, I'm making it my business," Jon retorted quickly.

Spencer narrowed his eyes at the Chicagoan and sat up in the bunk, swinging his legs off the side. "I don't see why."

Jon looked at the floor for a moment. "Does <i>Ryan</i> know you do this?"

Spencer's heartbeat quickened. "No, I don't see why he has to be informed, either."

Jon raised an eyebrow, glaring at the drummer menacingly, "Really! You have naught an idea why <b>your</b> best friend should know you're a fucking <i>junkie</i>!"

Spencer rose from the bunk and covered Jon's mouth with his palm to muffle the last words. Jon ran his tongue down Spencer's middle finger and Spencer grimaced, pulling his hand away. Jon spit on the floor and turned back to glare at him. "If you don't tell Ryan I will."

"You don't know Ryan like I do! You can't just tell him things out of the blue!" Spencer exclaimed weakly.

Jon waited for him to continue. If he wasn't, then...

Spencer slunk back to the floor and near the needle, drawing his knees up to his chest and burying his head between them, his forearms around his head to cave himself in. "You can't tell Ryan, Jon. He'll take it horribly." Spencer looked up at Jon, expecting a glare, and said gloomily, "You can't tell Ryan."

Jon sighed. The horribly somber look on Spencer's baby-like features cracked his spirit in two and he slipped on the floor next to his newest band mate. Desperately attempting to kill any sign of awkwardness, Jon threw his arm over Spencer's shoulder and pulled him closer. Spencer took this as a truce and rested his head on Jon's chest, rocking himself slowly in the bassist's arms.

They spent all of Spencer's high curdled together on the floor and by the time that had passed, Spencer had fallen asleep. Jon shook him awake and led him back to his room in the back of the bus with the bed. Creeping into the mattress, Jon removed his shirt and jeans, replacing the jeans with red and blue flamboyantly stripped pajama pants.

Spencer stood awkwardly and drowsily until Jon tossed him a black and white patterned pair so he wouldn't have to go back out there with his eyes still sunken in. Spencer changed rapidly and slid into the sheets, warm and beckoning.

Laying next to someone who was short of a stranger, Spencer turned in the darkness and said Jon's name quietly. Jon turned swiftly to look at the other boy. With the light coming in from the window behind Jon's back, Spencer's eyes were moonlit and enticing. It made him want to reach out...

"Help me," he muttered helplessly.

Jon rolled his eyes, irritated at the younger boy all of a sudden.

"How do you want <i>me</i> to help <b>you</b>?"

"You said it yourself. It's not fair that I never told Ryan and it's not fair that I haven't stopped. I use the needle and worry about Ryan but by then it's too late. Eventually, it's going to be too late to even think about him. I need help, Jon. I need you to help me."

The brunette never responded. Instead, rolled on his side, away from the other's eyes.

-

Every night that Jon caught Spencer with the needle (which was one too many), he threatened to tell Ryan. By the time that Spencer didn't even need it anymore (because he had Jon), both knew that was an empty threat.

Every night that Jon caught Spencer with the needle (which was stupid ridiculous amount) he rocked Spencer to sleep. By the time that Spencer didn't even need it anymore (because Jon was there to make his heart race), both knew their sleeping habits weren't just because of the heroin.

Tonight would have been a perfect example. Spencer was looking healthy again.

True, he had lost a significant amount of weight but with Jon's help, he managed to maintain a healthier weight. His eyes, once intense blue were now inexplicable. If the color managed to stay in tact when the boy was under the influence, then his image was only enhanced when he was finally clean. His skin was brighter and softer (Jon would know), his blond hair was richer (wouldn't Jon know it!). Overall, Spencer was healthy.

Tonight would have been the perfect example. Jon was weak in the knees at every smile.

There was something about this boy he had not planned to develop. A kinder heart... a weaker spot. With every beat that Spencer played on those drums, Jon swore he fell harder.

It was inexplicable. It was undeniable... and tonight, Jon would explain it.

Tonight would have been the perfect example.

The two were sprawled on Jon's bed, staring at the pattern on the ceiling and muttering a useless conversation about sponges when Jon stopped talking. Spencer turned to look at him, concerned. "Jon...?"

Jon turned to look at his blue eyed companion and bit the cutical on his thumb then spoke. "Do you like me?"

Spencer raised an eyebrow. "Of course I do, why wouldn't I?"

Jon shook his head, dissatisfied. Then in a rapid voice mumbled, "No, not like that. I mean <b>like</b> me, like me."

Spencer sat up slightly and stared hard at the coffee brown bed sheets. Jon wished he could read his thoughts. His throat had gone dry and his heart seemed to still. Finally, Spencer shifted and bit his lip, looking back at Jon.

He barely even heard the respond because his heart had started pounding in his ears.

 

The preceeding was a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

Please see the Terms of Service for more information.

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