Life Is Just A Ferris Wheel - Part One
Life Is Just A Ferris Wheel
Bands: Panic At The Disco, appearances by Empires, The Academy Is..., and Fall Out Boy
Pairing: Jon/Brendon
Word Count: 22,450
Rating/Warnings: Pg-13 for almost sex and character death
Summary: Jon stands up slowly from the bench where he was sitting; he flicks the hair out of his eyes as he starts to walk towards the old woman feeding the birds, trying to not look intimidating and not to trip over his feet as he places a hand on her shoulder, bracing himself for that little spark that always comes when he touches someone’s soul.
To be honest, Jon hates using the word soul. He hates thinking that he is responsible for people’s souls, but he hasn’t been able come up with a better term. Jon squeezes her shoulder gently in what he hoped was a reassuring way as her hand comes to rest on top of his and she turns to look at him, tears shining in her eyes.
“It’ll be okay Rachel, it is not a bad place that you are going to,” Jon murmurs softly and watches as she laughs lightly, causing a few tears to spill down her cheeks.
“I do not fear what is coming.”
Most of the time, things are not what they seem.
Take that woman over there sitting on the bench, the one feeding the birds? See the gentle smile on her face as the crumbs fall from her hand? Peaceful, isn’t she?
Only that serene look on her face and the slight limpness in her hand as the birds eat the crumbs that fall are telling Jon that there is no longer a life in that body. Well, that and the fact that her soul is standing in front of her with her hand placed against her chin and a gentle smile on her face. She looks the same, although the colours on her being aren’t quite as vibrant and she is a little less substantial. But you can’t see that can you? Jon can.
==========
Jon walked into his eighth grade classroom and looked around, taking in his new surroundings and looking at the familiar faces of his classmates.
“Good morning everyone!” Mrs. Wright stood at the front of the room with a smile on, small wisps of white hair falling from the bun at the back of her head and floating around her face. Jon was excited for this year; he actually really liked Mrs. Wright.
“We are going to start the year off sitting in alphabetical order just to make sure that I can get everyone’s names right. Sound good?” Jon’s eyes scanned the class room as she started to call out names; his name was always last so he was free to let his mind wander a little bit. He caught Tom Conrad’s eyes and grinned big. Mrs. Wright was his teacher and his best friend was in his class, this year was going to be sweet.
“And finally, Mr. Walker, you are going to sit at the second last desk in that row there. We will leave that last desk empty, just in case.” Mrs. Wright grinned at him and turned to the chalkboard. Jon’s brow furrowed in confusion. The last desk was going to be empty? But there was a boy sitting there already. Jon turned and walked towards his desk, thinking about maybe saying something, but he couldn’t think of what to say without sounding a little bit crazy.
Jon settled into his desk and tried to concentrate on what Mrs. Wright was talking about but his mind kept drifting to what she meant by leaving the desk empty.
Just before lunch time, Jon finally gave into the itch at the back of his mind that was drawing him to the kid in the so called empty desk. He looked like he was about eight years old, around the same age as his little cousin, the one who was fun to hang around with at family functions, if only because he was really good at video games. The boy had light brown hair that hung down around his ears and he wore a pale red shirt with faded blue jeans. Everything about him looked dull compared to his surroundings and Jon could see the fear that was shining in his eyes, the tears that looked ready to fall at any moment.
Jon turned back around and watched as Tom walked over with his lunch clutched in his hands, already calling out to Jon and asking if he had anything that he wanted to trade for a pudding cup.
At recess Jon looked around for the little boy but couldn’t see him anywhere, Jon shrugged it off and went to play with Tom. When the same thing happened for a few days Jon turned to Tom and asked why he thought the kid who sat behind him never came out to recess with them. Tom had turned and looked at him, quirking an eyebrow before laughing and punching him in the shoulder.
“Dude, aren’t we a little old for make believe?” Jon felt his breath catch in his throat and his eyes widen as he realized that Tom couldn’t see the kid. Jon watched the concern cross over Tom’s face before he forced out a laugh.
“Yeah, I guess so.” Jon ground out the words and forced a smile. Tom continued to stare at him, questions written across his face but eventually his chin dropped down slightly in a nod, accepting that for now that was all the answer he was going to get.
September and October rolled by and Jon kept trying to forget about the little boy in the desk behind him, hoping that he would just disappear, but there was no such luck. The more the class failed to acknowledge the little boy, the more Jon’s thoughts were drawn to him. It wasn’t until a few days after Thanksgiving that Jon stopped before he went out for recess and asked the boy if he was okay.
“I think... I think I died.” The voice was tiny and petrified as it stuttered past his lips. Some little part at the back of Jon’s brain started screaming that this wasn’t right, this couldn’t be real. The bigger part of his brain though, was filled with intense worry and a fierce sense of protection for this little boy that only he could see.
Jon reached out and placed his hand on the kid’s shoulder and a small jolt of electricity shot up Jon’s arm from where it connected with the boy’s shirt. He turned to look at Jon with wide eyes.
Suddenly there was a set of tiny arms wrapping themselves around Jon’s waist and the boy was sobbing into Jon’s shirt. “It’s been almost a year; I thought that I was alone!” Jon placed his hand on the boy’s head, the little jolt of electricity jumping again, and listened as he talked.
The little boy’s name was Mike and the last thing that he remembered was getting into the car with his mom last Christmas and heading to the store to buy a present for his new baby brother. As Jon waited for the tears to abide there was a growing pull in the cavity of his chest to go... somewhere. The flashes of carnival rides and the laughing faces of his brothers made Jon think of Navy Pier and it really made no sense but nothing was making sense anymore. The pull was growing into an ache the longer Jon stood there waiting. Finally he broke away from Mike promising that he would be right back. He found Tom and told him that he was going home with a stomach ache and to tell that to Mrs. Wright if she asked.
Running back into the classroom, Jon pulled on his coat and grabbed Mike’s hand again, the strange little shock that didn’t seem to be going away happened whenever Jon touched him. Jon walked through the streets of Chicago, heading away from his school. He walked in what he was pretty sure was the direction of Navy Pier, and every time he made a correct turn the ache in his chest eased a little bit more, and then a little bit more, until the Ferris Wheel was in sight and his chest was buzzing.
When they got to the base of the ride, Jon stood there not knowing what to do - the buzzing in his chest kept getting more and more intense as he waited for something to happen.
Jon watched as the air seemed to shimmer and shift to the right ever so slightly, just in front of the stairs that lead up to where you got onto the ride. Slowly an ornate wooden door started to materialize - the wood was dark and warm, carvings of deer running through the trees etched around the edges. There were dark metal slivers that threaded through the trees behind the deer, as if the wind were following them. Jon heard Mike suck in a breath of air as the door swung inwards revealing an insubstantial bridge that landed in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by a dense forest. The sky was dark but the stars wheeled overhead, spinning quietly across the sky but Jon couldn’t recognize any of the constellations.
“Do I need to go in there?” Mike’s voice was small again as he retreated behind Jon’s legs, fists bunching in the material of Jon’s coat as he peered around him to stare at the bridge.
“I think so...” Jon’s mouth fell open as the bridge solidified and he was struck with an intense desire to run across and see what secrets were hidden among the trees, to see what animals he could find hiding in the branches, to touch the tree trunks and see if they would whisper to him as he watched the stars dance through the sky. Jon watched as people slowly began to emerge from between the trees, materializing out of the darkness and making their way into the clearing to look at the two boys. Mike slowly eased out from behind Jon’s legs but he kept a white-knuckled grip on Jon’s jacket.
“Grandma?” Mike’s voice sounded through the still air and Jon watched as an elderly woman on the other side of the bridge smiled brilliantly and nodded as she opened her arms and motioned him towards her. Jon nodded silently and smiled hesitantly as Mike looked up to him with wide, questioning eyes.
Jon gave him a gentle push and watched as he broke into a run, clearing the bridge in a heartbeat and launching himself into his grandmother’s waiting arms. The woman’s smile softens and her eyes shone as she pressed a kiss to the crown of Mike’s head, swinging him slightly before setting him back on the ground and taking his hand, leading him into the trees. As the people disappeared back into the trees, the bridge started to fade and the door swung closed. The air shimmered again before everything shifted back to the left.
Jon stayed standing where he was, staring at the place where the door had been. Now in its place the sun was sinking towards the horizon.
When the sky was dripping with residue pinks and gold, Jon stuffed his hands into his pockets and started the walk home, dreading the cold and the fury of a terrified mother when he arrived.
The chill of night was biting at the skin on Jon’s face and the dark was pressing in around him as he walked through the door and into the front hall of his house. He had barely made it a step in when his mother made a startled sound and started to scream at him from the living room, her feet slapping against the floor as she ran towards him.
“Jonathon Jacob Walker, where the hell have you been?” Jon toed off his shoes as his mother reached the hallway; turning he looked at her with haunted and scared eyes. He watched as her shoulders sagged and all the anger left her body. She surged forwards and wrapped her arms around Jon as he buried his face in her shoulder and she rested her nose in his hair. Jon’s arms lifted to wrap tightly around her waist, tears burning in his eyes as she ran her hand possessively, protectively, across his back and down the back of his head. “Oh sweetheart... not you too...”
They both pretended not to hear the sobs that wrenched themselves from somewhere deep in Jon’s chest as he clutched at the soft material of her sweater.
==========
Jon stands up slowly from the bench where he was sitting; he flicks the hair out of his eyes as he starts to walk towards the old woman feeding the birds, trying to not look intimidating and not to trip over his feet as he places a hand on her shoulder, bracing himself for that little spark that always comes when he touches someone’s soul.
To be honest, Jon hates using the word soul. He hates thinking that he is responsible for people’s souls, but he hasn’t been able come up with a better term. Jon squeezes her shoulder gently in what he hoped was a reassuring way as her hand comes to rest on top of his and she turns to look at him, tears shining in her eyes.
“It’ll be okay Rachel, it is not a bad place that you are going to,” Jon murmurs softly and watches as she laughs lightly, causing a few tears to spill down her cheeks.
“I do not fear what is coming.” She turns fully to face Jon and places a gnarled hand against his cheek. The lines around her eyes deepen as she smiles kindly at him. “I am a very old woman, my children have children and they have children who have children. I have seen four generations and I have many grandkids and they make me very happy... but I have been waiting for fifteen years to see my Charles again.”
Jon smiles and takes her hand in his as they begin the walk to Navy Pier. He can’t say anything for certain but Jon is willing to bet that when they get to the bridge her Charles would be waiting on the other side to hold her hand again as they make their way into the trees.
Jon watches as Charles comes out of the trees with tears shining in his eyes. He approaches the other side of the bridge and calls Rachel across, pulling her into a tight embrace as soon as she has both feet planted on the grass.
For the first time in the nine years Jon had been helping people, he watches the two of them get younger as they approach the tree line, and for the first time, just before they disappear they turn around and wave at Jon. Rachel bears a striking resemblance to Bettie Page except with soft blonde hair. As she flashes Jon a dazzling smile she reaches one hand up to lay it against Charles’ face where it rests against her shoulder. Charles’ bright blue eyes shift up to Jon - happiness shining in them like Jon has never seen before. Charles mouths the words ‘thank you’ before pressing a kiss to his love’s cheek and guiding her into the forest.
Jon sits down right where he is and stares at the empty space, a fierce ache in his chest that he hasn’t felt since Cassie moved to California for school, effectively ending their relationship. When Jon stops being able to feel his toes he stands up and starts the walk to his apartment.
==========
When Jon started to rent his own place during university, he tried to pick a place close to Navy Pier, even though the train ride into class was longer and the rent was a little higher. But on days when he helps someone across the bridge, he is extremely grateful for it.
The days where Jon has to help someone cross only come about once a week but they drain him completely. One hour can feel like ten and the twelve steps from his front door to his couch can feel like a mile.
==========
Pressing the key into the deadbolt Jon unlocks the door to his apartment and slips inside, kicking off his flip flops and stumbling to the couch. He collapses onto the cushions and gropes for the remote, flipping through the channels to find something mind numbing as he tries to wind down.
Dylan mews as he jumps up and settles himself over Jon’s feet. Just as Dylan starts to purr there is a thump followed by a small cry.
Jon looks over the edge of the couch laughing as he looks at Clover; she had taken a flying leap trying to get up on the couch and hadn’t quite made it - Jon smiles and reaches down to pick up the small kitten and settle her on his chest. He sinks back into the cushions, his hand stroking over Clover’s fur as his eyes drift closed.
Jon wakes up a few hours later with the picture of Rachel clutched lightly in his hand. Whenever he has to help someone across the bridge, a picture of the person with their name in handwriting that looks eerily like his Grandmother’s scrawled across the back appears on his nightstand, propped up against the frame that houses a picture of him and Tom when they were six. They were both dressed up as Batman for Halloween because neither of them wanted to be Robin, and Jon thinks that it is a perfect representation of their friendship.
Jon had figured out that they came in the form of a picture because of his love of photography. For his mother it had appeared in small, neat writing in the margin of whichever book she is reading at the time. For his grandfather, it had been a place that would appear in his paintings.
Jon stands up from the couch and holds the picture tighter. He walks into his room and stands in front of the wall that holds all of the pictures that had appeared in the last few years. Jon walks forward and tapes the picture to wall, next to all the others.
Each face in the pictures peers out at Jon. He can place when and where he found every single person, and whether or not they had someone on the other side waiting for them. It is the ones who don’t that always take a little piece of Jon’s heart with them.
Jon sighs and turns away from the wall to try and get through his readings before tomorrow morning’s class. He grabs his music history book and sinks back into the bed.
Jon’s actually just like everyone else; he’s a twenty-two year old kid with stubble across his chin, wears ratty t-shirts, threadbare but loved sweatshirts and flip-flops. He’s in his third year of a photojournalism course and is barely scraping together enough money from his job at the coffee shop to keep up with his rent and his bills. But just like any other guy his age, he still has enough money to keep his fridge stocked with beer, odd trips to the bar with friends and dinner on Wednesdays with Tom, something that had become tradition when they were sixteen.
The whole helping the dead thing had put a lot of strain on his relationship with Tom even when they were still in high school. Countless times Jon had called Tom ten minutes before a movie to say that he couldn’t make it anymore, and no I’m sorry, I can’t tell you why.
So when Tom’s sixteenth birthday had rolled around Jon had bullied him into coming out to Hot Doug’s for dinner... and then bullied him into going again the next week and the next week until Tom had started showing up on his own. Eventually it reached the point where the whole rhythm of the week is thrown off if they miss dinner together; the guys at the restaurant even know their names and have come to expect them.
It kind of made romantic relationships difficult too - Jon disappears for hours at a time and without being able to tell them exactly why or where he had been. There’s also his wall of strangers, which tends to freak people out, and all that Jon had come up with when a guy he was seeing had actually confronted him about it was a mumbled, half assed excuse that they were subjects for class that he had really liked the composition of. The guy had kind of raised an eyebrow at him and gave him a whatthefuckever look. That was the last night that Jon had seen the guy.
Every time Jon gets a new picture he thinks about stopping, thinks about the life that he is missing out on, thinks about what he could have if he weren’t doing this. He thinks about the emotional toll that it takes on him every single time, but as soon as he thinks about the negative sides and what he could have, he thinks about the look on their faces when he shows up and speaks to them, saying that he is there to help. He thinks about the looks on their faces when they see someone they love on the other side of the bridge, how the fear in their eyes loses a little bit of the sharp edge that’s there when he meets them.
In the long run, it’s worth it.
==========
“Jon, you fucker, when are you gonna be finished? I’ve been sitting here for hours!” Tom groans and lets his head loll back in the seat, and Jon throws the rag in his hand at him.
“I’m done in half an hour, jackass. You do know you didn’t have to sit here through my whole shift, right?” Jon picks up another dishcloth and dries the mug in his hand.
“Yeah, I know, but then who would keep you company? Who would make fun of you for three hours straight?”
Jon adores the little bakery/coffee shop that he works in but there are days when they barely see any customers. Those are the days when he aches for something to do and washes the floor three times in a shift. Today is one of those days, and he’s tempted to jump the counter and go sit with Tom, just bullshit for the last half hour of his shift. Jon sets down the cup in his hands and is actually about to go and sit with Tom when the bells above the door jingle.
Jon looks up to see three guys walk in. The first guy has on a pair of bright red Risky Business Ray Bans, a button down shirt, jeans and despite the warm weather, two (three?) scarves tied around his neck. Dark hair flops across his brow and he has a small smile on his face that is directed at the second guy, who’s wearing a tight pair of jeans and a green band t-shirt that looks well loved. He has longer hair and a beard and as he steps up to the counter he obscures the third guy.
Jon grins at them. “What can I get you today?”
The guy in the red sunglasses stares up at the board, running his hand through his hair. “Can we get two large coffees, one black and one with one cream, one milk, and two sugars, a croissant and... Hey Brendon what did you say you wanted?” He turns to look at the third guy, this Brendon, and Jon catches his first glimpse of him as he looks up to the board. Jon’s heart may or may not stutter in his chest a little bit.
A smile blooms across Brendon’s face as he looks above Jon’s head, warm brown eyes shining behind a pair of red glasses.
“Um, could I get a large tea with honey in it and an oatmeal cookie?” Jon nods dumbly and punches in the order before turning to fill it. He looks up at Tom as he gathers together everything that he needs, to find Tom grinning at him, clutching his hands underneath his chin and fluttering his eyelashes at him. Jon flips him off before he finishes the order, and brings it to the counter.
“The total is seven sixty five.” Jon watches as the three guys turn to one another and lean into the centre, counting the change. When they seem to have totalled the amount in their hands, they all dive back into their pockets trying to come up with the remainder. When all that comes out is pocket lint and some guitar picks, they dump the change into Brendon’s hands and send him to the counter.
“We’re a dollar short so we’re not going to take the cookie.” He smiles sheepishly and dumps the change into Jon’s hand. Jon shakes his head and pushes the cookie towards him.
“Don’t worry about it.” Jon grins and reaches into the tip jar, pulling out a dollar bill and placing it in the register.
“Really?” His eyebrows shoot upwards and Jon nods, grinning, before rubbing his chin against his shoulder. “Thank you.” Jon waves him off and then turns to look back at Tom.
Tom grins and mouths the words ‘you like him’ at Jon, complete with more fluttering eyelashes and a hand flapping near his chin. Jon, being the mature twenty-two year old that he is, sticks his tongue out at Tom and spends the last ten minutes of his shift steadfastly ignoring Tom... and the shit that Tom keeps throwing at him.
==========
Jon looks at his watch and groans. He’s been sitting here for three hours. Groaning again, he lets his head fall into the crease of the book that he’s reading.
“Stupid fucking essay for the stupid fucking shitty course, how did I think that this course was going to be interesting?” Jon turns his head to rest his cheek against the cool page, and takes in the look of horror that the girl at the end of the table is giving him. He feels his face heat up and waves awkwardly before sitting up and carding his hand through his hair. He has a 3,000 word paper due in exactly thirty two hours, on the structure of fucking early baroque dances songs.
“ ‘Fucking kill me. Please.’ ”
“Sorry but I think I would go to jail for that.” Jon jumps as a familiar looking guy, slides into the seat beside him. The kid from the bakery, Brendon. A small smile plays across Brendon’s lips as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“I said that out loud?” Brendon nods and Jon feels his face blaze before he tips forwards and lets his head hit the book again. Jon hears a laugh flit past Brendon’s lips as he tugs at one of the books Jon has spread out across the table.
“‘English Court and Country Dances of the Baroque Period’?” Jon lets out a muffled groan into the book before muttering a yes and squeezing his eyes closed tighter, as he tries to ignore the essay looming in front of him. “Music 3760?” Jon shoots into an upright position and nods in amazement at the fact that he could possibly know that. “I’m in the same class, my name is Brendon.” He holds his hand out for Jon to shake, and Jon slips his hand into Brendon’s - just barely stopping himself before he says ‘I remember’ and makes a fool out of himself.
“My name is Jon.” Brendon grins and Jon feels himself smile back.
“What did you think of the professor dancing when we started into the later half of the period?” Jon laughs as he thinks about their somewhat dwarf-like professor who had hopped across the front of the lecture hall demonstrating a dance of the baroque period.
“It was the highlight of the course. I don’t know what made me think that I could possibly do well in this course. I don’t know why I thought it would be interesting. Then by the time I realized it wasn’t going to get any better I couldn’t drop it.” Jon grins and cards his hand through his hair again. In the back of his mind, Jon thinks about how if Tom were sitting next to him, he would be laughing as Jon’s nervous habits kept revealing themselves. Jon forces himself to keep his hands in his lap.
“You’re not a music major?”
“No, I’m photojournalism. I play bass though. I take it you are?” Jon watches as a light somewhere behind Brendon’s eyes flicks on.
“Yeah, I’m a piano performance major. But hey, do you want a hand with your paper? I just finished mine and I don’t have any plans for the rest of the afternoon.” He rubs a hand against the back of his neck and smiles from the corner of his mouth.
Jon falls in love. Just a little bit.
“I would love some help.” Jon beams and shows Brendon what page he had been working on.
“Really?” Jon laughs as Brendon finishes telling his story and nods. The books had been long forgotten and they were now sitting in the comfy chairs in one corner of the library exchanging stories. “I’m pretty sure that my friend Tom did something similar once except he was a lot less sober.” Brendon laughs and curls his legs under himself as he smiles. They had been talking for about two hours now and Jon had learned that the two guys in the bakery that day with Brendon had been his roommates Ryan and Spencer. Ryan’s an English Literature major and Spencer’s in sociology. The three of them are from Nevada and had met in high school. Brendon’s in his second year in music and although he is in school for piano he loves to sing.
Jon has also learned that Brendon makes little butterflies erupt in his stomach when he smiles.
“Do you want to go grab a coffee?” Brendon’s eyes look hopeful as he asks the question. Jon looks down at his watch, feeling his stomach drop slightly when what time it is sinks in.
“I would love to but I can’t, I have to meet my friend Tom in half an hour.” Jon watches as Brendon’s face falls and he scrambles to recover. “I can uh, I can give you my phone number though and we can meet for coffee or drinks next week, without you coaching an essay out of me. I owe you a drink at the very least for what you did today, I could quite possibly owe you my first born child.” Jon smirks slightly and Brendon smiles back before turning and digging into his backpack for a pen.
Reaching out, he clasps Jon’s arm and writes his number in neat handwriting along the inside of Jon’s wrist. Jon’s a little embarrassed to admit that it turns him on a fair bit more than it should to watch Brendon write his phone number down, with fingers curled around Jon’s palm.
Brendon pulls away and re-caps his pen, before he waves slightly and walks towards the exit of the building. Jon waves when Brendon turns around at the door, and smiles before walking out. Jon sighs, trying to ignore the way his stomach clenches as he gathers up his books and paper.
==========
Jon lays next to Tom on his living room floor, their feet propped up on the windowsill.
Tom had answered his door with the news that his roommates, Mike and Will, are gone for the weekend, so they wouldn’t have to share. Jon had grinned and followed him into the house, grabbing two beers from the fridge and then heading to the living room to settle into their usual spot for when Tom had gotten his hands on a good batch. They settled down on the plush carpet and put their feet up into the window.
Tom hands the joint to Jon and wiggles his toes against the dusk sky.
“So you spent the whole afternoon together in the library working on some paper?” Jon hears Tom reach for his beer and sit forwards slightly so that he can drink it without choking. Jon puts the joint to his lips and inhales, letting the smoke fill his lungs. He closes his eyes and passes the joint to Tom.
“Yep.” The word is tight and a few pitches higher than Jon’s normal speaking voice, as he tries not to breathe out so he can keep the smoke in his lungs. After a few seconds, Jon slowly breathes out watching the smoke curl up to the ceiling. “He helped me write my paper and then we just sat talking for a few hours. It was insane, one minute we were finishing up with the paper and the next thing I knew it was four hours later and we were talking like we had known each other our whole lives.” Jon turns his head to look at Tom and watches as his lips wrap around the joint. “He’s amazing, I don’t know how he knows what he knows about baroque dances, but thank whatever god was listening that he showed up right when he did and offered to help.”
“Why the fuck did you take that course?” The words are said on a long exhale of smoke before he passes the remainder of the joint back to Jon.
“I have no fucking clue...” - Maybe it was so I could meet him. Jon’s voice trails off and the rest of the thought finishes in his head as he pulls on the joint.
“You love him!” Tom’s laughing at him as he finishes the statement, the ‘o’ in love long and drawn out as he makes more fluttery eyes at Jon. Jon’s breath hitches as he’s inhaling smoke and he starts to choke. As he coughs and splutters, Tom’s laughter turns into hysterics and he’s rolling around on the floor, tears nearly streaming from his eyes.
Jon decides that he really needs to work on this whole inner monologue thing because it doesn’t seem to be working for him.
“Shut up dude.” Jon punches Tom in the shoulder and sits up placing the roach in the ashtray on the coffee table. Tom rolls onto his back, wheezing and clutching at his ribs.
“You totally do, you just won’t admit it.” Tom rolls his head to the side to look at Jon. Jon starts to fidget under his gaze for a minute before turning to look at Tom, eyes catching and Jon finds that he can’t look away. “If you like him I’m happy for you. It’s good to see you taking interest in someone again.” Tom grins, then smacks Jon on the chest with the back of his hand, the moment broken completely. “C’mon, time to get up. Pete’s band is playing tonight and he harassed me until I promised we’d go.”
==========
Jon stands in front of the coffee shop just off campus that Brendon had suggested, toe scuffing against the ground as he looks around for him. Sighing, Jon closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to will the butterflies in his stomach to disappear... or barring that, they needed to stay in his stomach instead of fluttering throughout his whole torso. Jon rolls his head and hops a little in place, trying to relieve some of the nervous tension humming through his body. He breathes in deeply once again; letting his shoulders relax when suddenly a hand touches his shoulder causing Jon to quite possibly yelp like a little girl.
Jon’s eyes shoot open and watches as Brendon’s eyes widen and he claps a hand over his mouth. Jon feels heat rise to his face as Brendon snorts behind his hand, valiantly trying to hide his laughter.
“I, ah...” Jon stammers as he forces his fingers through his hair.
“Don’t worry, that was a totally manly squeak.” Brendon laughs and Jon feels himself start blushing even more, but he grins and lets Brendon lead him into the coffee shop.
“What would you like to drink?” Brendon looks at Jon over his shoulder before they get to the counter and voices the question.
“Just a black coffee would be great.” Jon laughs at the face that Brendon makes, and then watches as he jogs up to the counter and started to chat with the barista. He watches the way that Brendon smiles at the girl, his eyes lighting up and his laugh sounding through the small shop. Jon’s eyes move to the curve of his spine and the shift of the muscles in his back as he pushes himself up on the counter to call back to someone else working in the back. Jon tears his eyes away and moves to sit in the overstuffed chairs that are tucked into one corner of the shop.
Brendon comes back to the table with two drinks and a plate covered in a sugary looking pastry.
“We need to fix this black coffee thing; if we’re gonna be friends you need to be a little more interesting than that with your drink choices.” Brendon laughs and Jon shakes his head as Brendon hands him his coffee.
“As opposed to, what is that? Iced tea?” Jon wraps his hands around the warm mug and chuckles as Brendon flops into the chair this is kiddie-corner to his. “Really? You’re gonna tease me for being boring when you bought an iced tea? Tut, tut.”
Brendon sticks his tongue out at Jon and takes a sip of his drink.
“Any particular reason for picking this shop?” Jon is always curious about why people pick certain places, not that he can ever discern anything about them from their choices but he likes to ask.
“I work here three days a week and I live just around the corner. I come here when I want to study away from Spencer and Ryan.” Jon nods and sips at his coffee trying not to burn his tongue. A vaguely familiar song clicks onto the speakers placed throughout the shop and Brendon grins. “And the girls working today love me and generally let me play the music on my iPod.”
“Dude is this Disney?” A light blush stains Brendon’s cheeks and he nods, shooting the girls at the counter a look that may have been an attempt at a death stare. “I love Aladdin; it’s seriously my favourite Disney movie.” Jon starts humming along and when he finds his place in the song, he starts to sing along softly to A Whole New World. Brendon throws his head back and laughs before beaming and starting to sing quietly along with Jon.
The people closest to them turn and stare at them briefly as they grow slightly in volume. Eventually most just shake their heads and turn back to whatever they were doing.
“Yeah, the Chicago hardcore scene is kind of like this incestuous pond, everybody knows everybody and has either dated, made out with, fucked or passed out in a bathtub with everyone else... it’s kind of unavoidable once you’re in there. You go in thinking that you’re going to avoid it but you really can’t.” Jon nods sagely and glances at his watch as Brendon laughs.
Jon finds that whenever he’s with Brendon, the time flies past him without even seeming to and now he’s running late for dinner with Tom.
“Fuck, I gotta run I’m late for dinner with Tom.” Jon scrambles out of his seat and feels his stomach clench a little bit at the frown on Brendon’s face. “Um, do you wanna, maybe, go see a movie on Friday night?” He runs a hand over the back of his head and watches a smile spread across Brendon’s face, as a blush rises on his.
“Why Mr. Walker, are you asking me on a date?” Brendon’s grin turns mischievous and Jon tucks his lower lip between his teeth as he nods, a smile tugging at his features. “I would love to.”
Jon walks through his front door and goes into his bedroom to get changed for dinner with Tom when he sees it sitting there on his bedside table. Sighing, he walks over and grabs the picture, sinking down to sit on the edge of his bed and flicking the lamp on. Jon looks down at the picture and feels his breath catch in his throat. The kid looks just like William when they had met in eleventh grade English class. He’s all gangly limbs and big eyes, a smile over taking his face as his eyes shine with what can be taken as laughter, but is most likely mischief. He’s sitting at a bus stop that Jon knows as the corner of Michigan Avenue and Washington Street, the top corner of the Cloud’s Gate glinting in the background.
In a moment of panic Jon flips the picture over to make sure that it’s not Bill’s name written on the back. The panic subsides when the name Christian is on the back of the picture in neat writing.
Sighing Jon picks up his phone and dials Tom’s number. He lifts it to his ear and listens to it ring twice before Tom picks up, offering a chipper hello.
“Dude, I am so sorry something came up and I can’t make it to dinner.”
“For real? Dude, what the fuck? This is like the fourth time this month that you’ve cancelled, I’ve only seen you once since Mike’s party and even then I dragged you out to Pete’s thing so we didn’t really hang out. What could possibly be so important that you have to cancel yet again?” Jon can hear the agitation in Tom’s voice and he feels a headache already forming behind his eyes; he hates lying to Tom.
“Just, something came up and I can’t make it okay? I’m sorry, I gotta go.” Jon hangs up the phone and grabs his coat, sprinting for the door before Tom gets the chance to call back. Jon locks the door and runs down the stairs just wanting to get outside into the night air. He lets his feet carry him along the familiar path to Millennium Park, blocking out the noise surrounding him and trying to push Tom from his thoughts.
The long walk feels like mere minutes before Jon finds himself at the corner of Randolph Street and Michigan Avenue. As Jon rounds the corner onto Michigan, he hears the scream of tires and the crunch of metal against metal, followed by the chime of shattered glass cascading across the pavement. Jon’s walk turns immediately into a run as he bolts down the sidewalk, dodging people who have stopped to gape.
Walking into the center of the intersection, he looks at the mangled cars and feels his chest seize. Jon turns and screams at the frozen onlookers to call an ambulance. It seems to be what was needed as the viewers suddenly surge into movement, cell phones appearing throughout the crowd as they dial 911. People rush past Jon to the cars, allowing him to sink quietly into the crowd. Jon makes his way forward, trying not to single himself out again as he walks towards the small two door car with the driver’s door completely caved in, a body hunched over the steering wheel. Something in Jon’s chest snaps and he starts moving on autopilot.
Jon exhales and watches as the pale figure emerges from the backseat of the car, his eyes not leaving wreck. Jon starts to walk forwards, just as the woman in the SUV that had hit the smaller car emerges reasonably unscathed, the people around Jon moving towards her, providing the distraction that Jon needs. All he has to do now is touch Christian and no one will be able see him.
He comes up behind the boy and lays his hand on his shoulder, the little spark shooting up his arm before the boy spins around. Jon’s chest tightens even further, there isn’t just a similarity between Christian and Will; they’re identical. Jon could have been looking at Will the day he met him.
“Hi.” The word is tight and forced as Jon tries to stop himself from going into hysterics; he usually arrives after everything happens, not while the wheels on the front of the car are still spinning. The kid gapes at Jon, mouth opening and closing as he struggles for words before flinging his hand out behind him to point at his body where it lay at an awkward angle in the driver’s seat, barely visible through the crumpled metal.
“I, sorry... I’m here to help.” Jon watches as the dark eyes widen and he pushes his hair out of his eyes with the back of his hand, a movement that Jon is pretty sure he doesn’t even realize he is doing. He nods and Jon’s chest tightens another notch, making it hard for him to breathe. Just like everyone else that Jon helped, Christian had this unquestioning belief in him. “Come with me.” Jon reaches out and put his hand on Christian’s shoulder, gently steering him around the people and heading towards Navy Pier.
==========
Jon opens the door to his apartment hours later, exhausted beyond anything he has felt before. The more that Jon had talked to Christian, the more he had been reminded of William. The kid was younger and more naïve, but Jon could have sworn that he was talking to Will about bands and the music he was writing and what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. The clench around his lungs and throat that he feels when he helps someone hasn’t eased since the moment he felt the shock that afternoon - if anything it has gotten worse.
His muscles are shaky and he feels empty.
Jon flicks on the light for his living room and nearly groans aloud as he sees Tom sitting on the couch; Dylan curled up on his lap and a look on his face that said he had been preparing for the last few hours for the fight that’s about explode.
“Please Tom, not right now. I can’t do this right now.” Jon’s pleading already.
“You fucking well can Jon! What the hell is up with you lately?” Jon feels himself taking a small sliver of comfort in the fact that Tom’s voice holds aggravation with a slight edge of worry instead of the fury that Jon was originally expecting.
“I can’t tell you.” The rest of Jon’s energy completely flees his body, leaving him to sag against the wall, the hand in his pocket running along the edge of the photo of Christian. “You can’t understand.”
“Tell me Jon; let me make the decision for myself.” There is a hint of a plea in Tom’s voice, and it breaks Jon a little bit more to hear it.
“I can’t.” Jon looks down at his shoes, scrubbing a hand through his hair.
“God damn it Jon! Would you just tell me?” Tom stands up quickly, upending Dylan who bolts towards the bedroom with an indignant meow.
“Even if I tell you Tom you wouldn’t believe me, so what the fucking point?” Jon can hear the exasperation in his voice, but he’s exhausted and he just wants to curl up in bed.
“Try me, Jon. I’m supposed to be your best friend and I know, I know! That you’ve been lying to me about whatever it is you’re doing for years.” Tom’s yelling and Jon can hear the raw hurt behind those words, the hurt that he’s positive Tom doesn’t mean for him to hear.
“You really want to know Tom?” Jon is yelling now too and it strikes him that they have never in their eighteen years of friendship screamed at each other like they are starting to. “I help the dead Tom.” Jon watches as Tom throws his hands up in the air.
“You know, I fucking wish that you would just tell me the truth! You don’t have to lie about it. I don’t care if it’s fucking heroin or crack, whether you’re doing it or selling it! I don’t care if you’re selling yourself to the highest bidder on the rougher side of town, just don’t fucking lie to me, Jon! I thought that you trusted me more than that!” Jon feels like tearing his hair out.
“You see? I fucking told you that you wouldn’t believe me!” Jon starts to pace back and forth across his small living room and watches as Tom crosses his arms over his chest. “Whether you believe me or not I help the dead cross over, I get the summons and I can’t ignore it! I have to help them! That’s why I keep disappearing.”
“I call bullshit Jon.” Tom is staring at him from underneath his bangs and his voice is filled with what sounds like contempt. That, more than anything, tears at Jon.
“Fine you don’t believe me? Come with me next time, come with me and I will prove to you that I am not lying about this!” Jon is yelling again, standing almost nose to nose with Tom.
“Fine! Maybe then you can stop lying to yourself and stop lying to me!” Tom shouts the words and pushes past Jon. He violently wrenches open the door and storms through, slamming it as hard as he can, rattling the windows along the walls surrounding the door frame.
Jon stares at the door for a minute before his legs crumple beneath him and he collapses onto the floor. His breath comes in wheezing gasps as he curls up into a ball and squeezes his eyes closed. Tom is his rock, his lighthouse and now he might have pushed it a bit too far and screwed up everything.
He gets his breathing back under control, but stays curled into a ball on his living room floor. Slowly he feels his muscles ease, a little bit at a time, as Dylan walks up and head-butts his shoulder with a small mewl before curling into the dip where his shoulder meets his neck and licks at the skin.
Jon feels his chest compress again, making breathing painful and he whispers to himself before exhaustion takes over and his body and pulls him into sleep.
“Fuck."
Part Two
Bands: Panic At The Disco, appearances by Empires, The Academy Is..., and Fall Out Boy
Pairing: Jon/Brendon
Word Count: 22,450
Rating/Warnings: Pg-13 for almost sex and character death
Summary: Jon stands up slowly from the bench where he was sitting; he flicks the hair out of his eyes as he starts to walk towards the old woman feeding the birds, trying to not look intimidating and not to trip over his feet as he places a hand on her shoulder, bracing himself for that little spark that always comes when he touches someone’s soul.
To be honest, Jon hates using the word soul. He hates thinking that he is responsible for people’s souls, but he hasn’t been able come up with a better term. Jon squeezes her shoulder gently in what he hoped was a reassuring way as her hand comes to rest on top of his and she turns to look at him, tears shining in her eyes.
“It’ll be okay Rachel, it is not a bad place that you are going to,” Jon murmurs softly and watches as she laughs lightly, causing a few tears to spill down her cheeks.
“I do not fear what is coming.”
Most of the time, things are not what they seem.
Take that woman over there sitting on the bench, the one feeding the birds? See the gentle smile on her face as the crumbs fall from her hand? Peaceful, isn’t she?
Only that serene look on her face and the slight limpness in her hand as the birds eat the crumbs that fall are telling Jon that there is no longer a life in that body. Well, that and the fact that her soul is standing in front of her with her hand placed against her chin and a gentle smile on her face. She looks the same, although the colours on her being aren’t quite as vibrant and she is a little less substantial. But you can’t see that can you? Jon can.
==========
Jon walked into his eighth grade classroom and looked around, taking in his new surroundings and looking at the familiar faces of his classmates.
“Good morning everyone!” Mrs. Wright stood at the front of the room with a smile on, small wisps of white hair falling from the bun at the back of her head and floating around her face. Jon was excited for this year; he actually really liked Mrs. Wright.
“We are going to start the year off sitting in alphabetical order just to make sure that I can get everyone’s names right. Sound good?” Jon’s eyes scanned the class room as she started to call out names; his name was always last so he was free to let his mind wander a little bit. He caught Tom Conrad’s eyes and grinned big. Mrs. Wright was his teacher and his best friend was in his class, this year was going to be sweet.
“And finally, Mr. Walker, you are going to sit at the second last desk in that row there. We will leave that last desk empty, just in case.” Mrs. Wright grinned at him and turned to the chalkboard. Jon’s brow furrowed in confusion. The last desk was going to be empty? But there was a boy sitting there already. Jon turned and walked towards his desk, thinking about maybe saying something, but he couldn’t think of what to say without sounding a little bit crazy.
Jon settled into his desk and tried to concentrate on what Mrs. Wright was talking about but his mind kept drifting to what she meant by leaving the desk empty.
Just before lunch time, Jon finally gave into the itch at the back of his mind that was drawing him to the kid in the so called empty desk. He looked like he was about eight years old, around the same age as his little cousin, the one who was fun to hang around with at family functions, if only because he was really good at video games. The boy had light brown hair that hung down around his ears and he wore a pale red shirt with faded blue jeans. Everything about him looked dull compared to his surroundings and Jon could see the fear that was shining in his eyes, the tears that looked ready to fall at any moment.
Jon turned back around and watched as Tom walked over with his lunch clutched in his hands, already calling out to Jon and asking if he had anything that he wanted to trade for a pudding cup.
At recess Jon looked around for the little boy but couldn’t see him anywhere, Jon shrugged it off and went to play with Tom. When the same thing happened for a few days Jon turned to Tom and asked why he thought the kid who sat behind him never came out to recess with them. Tom had turned and looked at him, quirking an eyebrow before laughing and punching him in the shoulder.
“Dude, aren’t we a little old for make believe?” Jon felt his breath catch in his throat and his eyes widen as he realized that Tom couldn’t see the kid. Jon watched the concern cross over Tom’s face before he forced out a laugh.
“Yeah, I guess so.” Jon ground out the words and forced a smile. Tom continued to stare at him, questions written across his face but eventually his chin dropped down slightly in a nod, accepting that for now that was all the answer he was going to get.
September and October rolled by and Jon kept trying to forget about the little boy in the desk behind him, hoping that he would just disappear, but there was no such luck. The more the class failed to acknowledge the little boy, the more Jon’s thoughts were drawn to him. It wasn’t until a few days after Thanksgiving that Jon stopped before he went out for recess and asked the boy if he was okay.
“I think... I think I died.” The voice was tiny and petrified as it stuttered past his lips. Some little part at the back of Jon’s brain started screaming that this wasn’t right, this couldn’t be real. The bigger part of his brain though, was filled with intense worry and a fierce sense of protection for this little boy that only he could see.
Jon reached out and placed his hand on the kid’s shoulder and a small jolt of electricity shot up Jon’s arm from where it connected with the boy’s shirt. He turned to look at Jon with wide eyes.
Suddenly there was a set of tiny arms wrapping themselves around Jon’s waist and the boy was sobbing into Jon’s shirt. “It’s been almost a year; I thought that I was alone!” Jon placed his hand on the boy’s head, the little jolt of electricity jumping again, and listened as he talked.
The little boy’s name was Mike and the last thing that he remembered was getting into the car with his mom last Christmas and heading to the store to buy a present for his new baby brother. As Jon waited for the tears to abide there was a growing pull in the cavity of his chest to go... somewhere. The flashes of carnival rides and the laughing faces of his brothers made Jon think of Navy Pier and it really made no sense but nothing was making sense anymore. The pull was growing into an ache the longer Jon stood there waiting. Finally he broke away from Mike promising that he would be right back. He found Tom and told him that he was going home with a stomach ache and to tell that to Mrs. Wright if she asked.
Running back into the classroom, Jon pulled on his coat and grabbed Mike’s hand again, the strange little shock that didn’t seem to be going away happened whenever Jon touched him. Jon walked through the streets of Chicago, heading away from his school. He walked in what he was pretty sure was the direction of Navy Pier, and every time he made a correct turn the ache in his chest eased a little bit more, and then a little bit more, until the Ferris Wheel was in sight and his chest was buzzing.
When they got to the base of the ride, Jon stood there not knowing what to do - the buzzing in his chest kept getting more and more intense as he waited for something to happen.
Jon watched as the air seemed to shimmer and shift to the right ever so slightly, just in front of the stairs that lead up to where you got onto the ride. Slowly an ornate wooden door started to materialize - the wood was dark and warm, carvings of deer running through the trees etched around the edges. There were dark metal slivers that threaded through the trees behind the deer, as if the wind were following them. Jon heard Mike suck in a breath of air as the door swung inwards revealing an insubstantial bridge that landed in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by a dense forest. The sky was dark but the stars wheeled overhead, spinning quietly across the sky but Jon couldn’t recognize any of the constellations.
“Do I need to go in there?” Mike’s voice was small again as he retreated behind Jon’s legs, fists bunching in the material of Jon’s coat as he peered around him to stare at the bridge.
“I think so...” Jon’s mouth fell open as the bridge solidified and he was struck with an intense desire to run across and see what secrets were hidden among the trees, to see what animals he could find hiding in the branches, to touch the tree trunks and see if they would whisper to him as he watched the stars dance through the sky. Jon watched as people slowly began to emerge from between the trees, materializing out of the darkness and making their way into the clearing to look at the two boys. Mike slowly eased out from behind Jon’s legs but he kept a white-knuckled grip on Jon’s jacket.
“Grandma?” Mike’s voice sounded through the still air and Jon watched as an elderly woman on the other side of the bridge smiled brilliantly and nodded as she opened her arms and motioned him towards her. Jon nodded silently and smiled hesitantly as Mike looked up to him with wide, questioning eyes.
Jon gave him a gentle push and watched as he broke into a run, clearing the bridge in a heartbeat and launching himself into his grandmother’s waiting arms. The woman’s smile softens and her eyes shone as she pressed a kiss to the crown of Mike’s head, swinging him slightly before setting him back on the ground and taking his hand, leading him into the trees. As the people disappeared back into the trees, the bridge started to fade and the door swung closed. The air shimmered again before everything shifted back to the left.
Jon stayed standing where he was, staring at the place where the door had been. Now in its place the sun was sinking towards the horizon.
When the sky was dripping with residue pinks and gold, Jon stuffed his hands into his pockets and started the walk home, dreading the cold and the fury of a terrified mother when he arrived.
The chill of night was biting at the skin on Jon’s face and the dark was pressing in around him as he walked through the door and into the front hall of his house. He had barely made it a step in when his mother made a startled sound and started to scream at him from the living room, her feet slapping against the floor as she ran towards him.
“Jonathon Jacob Walker, where the hell have you been?” Jon toed off his shoes as his mother reached the hallway; turning he looked at her with haunted and scared eyes. He watched as her shoulders sagged and all the anger left her body. She surged forwards and wrapped her arms around Jon as he buried his face in her shoulder and she rested her nose in his hair. Jon’s arms lifted to wrap tightly around her waist, tears burning in his eyes as she ran her hand possessively, protectively, across his back and down the back of his head. “Oh sweetheart... not you too...”
They both pretended not to hear the sobs that wrenched themselves from somewhere deep in Jon’s chest as he clutched at the soft material of her sweater.
==========
Jon stands up slowly from the bench where he was sitting; he flicks the hair out of his eyes as he starts to walk towards the old woman feeding the birds, trying to not look intimidating and not to trip over his feet as he places a hand on her shoulder, bracing himself for that little spark that always comes when he touches someone’s soul.
To be honest, Jon hates using the word soul. He hates thinking that he is responsible for people’s souls, but he hasn’t been able come up with a better term. Jon squeezes her shoulder gently in what he hoped was a reassuring way as her hand comes to rest on top of his and she turns to look at him, tears shining in her eyes.
“It’ll be okay Rachel, it is not a bad place that you are going to,” Jon murmurs softly and watches as she laughs lightly, causing a few tears to spill down her cheeks.
“I do not fear what is coming.” She turns fully to face Jon and places a gnarled hand against his cheek. The lines around her eyes deepen as she smiles kindly at him. “I am a very old woman, my children have children and they have children who have children. I have seen four generations and I have many grandkids and they make me very happy... but I have been waiting for fifteen years to see my Charles again.”
Jon smiles and takes her hand in his as they begin the walk to Navy Pier. He can’t say anything for certain but Jon is willing to bet that when they get to the bridge her Charles would be waiting on the other side to hold her hand again as they make their way into the trees.
Jon watches as Charles comes out of the trees with tears shining in his eyes. He approaches the other side of the bridge and calls Rachel across, pulling her into a tight embrace as soon as she has both feet planted on the grass.
For the first time in the nine years Jon had been helping people, he watches the two of them get younger as they approach the tree line, and for the first time, just before they disappear they turn around and wave at Jon. Rachel bears a striking resemblance to Bettie Page except with soft blonde hair. As she flashes Jon a dazzling smile she reaches one hand up to lay it against Charles’ face where it rests against her shoulder. Charles’ bright blue eyes shift up to Jon - happiness shining in them like Jon has never seen before. Charles mouths the words ‘thank you’ before pressing a kiss to his love’s cheek and guiding her into the forest.
Jon sits down right where he is and stares at the empty space, a fierce ache in his chest that he hasn’t felt since Cassie moved to California for school, effectively ending their relationship. When Jon stops being able to feel his toes he stands up and starts the walk to his apartment.
==========
When Jon started to rent his own place during university, he tried to pick a place close to Navy Pier, even though the train ride into class was longer and the rent was a little higher. But on days when he helps someone across the bridge, he is extremely grateful for it.
The days where Jon has to help someone cross only come about once a week but they drain him completely. One hour can feel like ten and the twelve steps from his front door to his couch can feel like a mile.
==========
Pressing the key into the deadbolt Jon unlocks the door to his apartment and slips inside, kicking off his flip flops and stumbling to the couch. He collapses onto the cushions and gropes for the remote, flipping through the channels to find something mind numbing as he tries to wind down.
Dylan mews as he jumps up and settles himself over Jon’s feet. Just as Dylan starts to purr there is a thump followed by a small cry.
Jon looks over the edge of the couch laughing as he looks at Clover; she had taken a flying leap trying to get up on the couch and hadn’t quite made it - Jon smiles and reaches down to pick up the small kitten and settle her on his chest. He sinks back into the cushions, his hand stroking over Clover’s fur as his eyes drift closed.
Jon wakes up a few hours later with the picture of Rachel clutched lightly in his hand. Whenever he has to help someone across the bridge, a picture of the person with their name in handwriting that looks eerily like his Grandmother’s scrawled across the back appears on his nightstand, propped up against the frame that houses a picture of him and Tom when they were six. They were both dressed up as Batman for Halloween because neither of them wanted to be Robin, and Jon thinks that it is a perfect representation of their friendship.
Jon had figured out that they came in the form of a picture because of his love of photography. For his mother it had appeared in small, neat writing in the margin of whichever book she is reading at the time. For his grandfather, it had been a place that would appear in his paintings.
Jon stands up from the couch and holds the picture tighter. He walks into his room and stands in front of the wall that holds all of the pictures that had appeared in the last few years. Jon walks forward and tapes the picture to wall, next to all the others.
Each face in the pictures peers out at Jon. He can place when and where he found every single person, and whether or not they had someone on the other side waiting for them. It is the ones who don’t that always take a little piece of Jon’s heart with them.
Jon sighs and turns away from the wall to try and get through his readings before tomorrow morning’s class. He grabs his music history book and sinks back into the bed.
Jon’s actually just like everyone else; he’s a twenty-two year old kid with stubble across his chin, wears ratty t-shirts, threadbare but loved sweatshirts and flip-flops. He’s in his third year of a photojournalism course and is barely scraping together enough money from his job at the coffee shop to keep up with his rent and his bills. But just like any other guy his age, he still has enough money to keep his fridge stocked with beer, odd trips to the bar with friends and dinner on Wednesdays with Tom, something that had become tradition when they were sixteen.
The whole helping the dead thing had put a lot of strain on his relationship with Tom even when they were still in high school. Countless times Jon had called Tom ten minutes before a movie to say that he couldn’t make it anymore, and no I’m sorry, I can’t tell you why.
So when Tom’s sixteenth birthday had rolled around Jon had bullied him into coming out to Hot Doug’s for dinner... and then bullied him into going again the next week and the next week until Tom had started showing up on his own. Eventually it reached the point where the whole rhythm of the week is thrown off if they miss dinner together; the guys at the restaurant even know their names and have come to expect them.
It kind of made romantic relationships difficult too - Jon disappears for hours at a time and without being able to tell them exactly why or where he had been. There’s also his wall of strangers, which tends to freak people out, and all that Jon had come up with when a guy he was seeing had actually confronted him about it was a mumbled, half assed excuse that they were subjects for class that he had really liked the composition of. The guy had kind of raised an eyebrow at him and gave him a whatthefuckever look. That was the last night that Jon had seen the guy.
Every time Jon gets a new picture he thinks about stopping, thinks about the life that he is missing out on, thinks about what he could have if he weren’t doing this. He thinks about the emotional toll that it takes on him every single time, but as soon as he thinks about the negative sides and what he could have, he thinks about the look on their faces when he shows up and speaks to them, saying that he is there to help. He thinks about the looks on their faces when they see someone they love on the other side of the bridge, how the fear in their eyes loses a little bit of the sharp edge that’s there when he meets them.
In the long run, it’s worth it.
==========
“Jon, you fucker, when are you gonna be finished? I’ve been sitting here for hours!” Tom groans and lets his head loll back in the seat, and Jon throws the rag in his hand at him.
“I’m done in half an hour, jackass. You do know you didn’t have to sit here through my whole shift, right?” Jon picks up another dishcloth and dries the mug in his hand.
“Yeah, I know, but then who would keep you company? Who would make fun of you for three hours straight?”
Jon adores the little bakery/coffee shop that he works in but there are days when they barely see any customers. Those are the days when he aches for something to do and washes the floor three times in a shift. Today is one of those days, and he’s tempted to jump the counter and go sit with Tom, just bullshit for the last half hour of his shift. Jon sets down the cup in his hands and is actually about to go and sit with Tom when the bells above the door jingle.
Jon looks up to see three guys walk in. The first guy has on a pair of bright red Risky Business Ray Bans, a button down shirt, jeans and despite the warm weather, two (three?) scarves tied around his neck. Dark hair flops across his brow and he has a small smile on his face that is directed at the second guy, who’s wearing a tight pair of jeans and a green band t-shirt that looks well loved. He has longer hair and a beard and as he steps up to the counter he obscures the third guy.
Jon grins at them. “What can I get you today?”
The guy in the red sunglasses stares up at the board, running his hand through his hair. “Can we get two large coffees, one black and one with one cream, one milk, and two sugars, a croissant and... Hey Brendon what did you say you wanted?” He turns to look at the third guy, this Brendon, and Jon catches his first glimpse of him as he looks up to the board. Jon’s heart may or may not stutter in his chest a little bit.
A smile blooms across Brendon’s face as he looks above Jon’s head, warm brown eyes shining behind a pair of red glasses.
“Um, could I get a large tea with honey in it and an oatmeal cookie?” Jon nods dumbly and punches in the order before turning to fill it. He looks up at Tom as he gathers together everything that he needs, to find Tom grinning at him, clutching his hands underneath his chin and fluttering his eyelashes at him. Jon flips him off before he finishes the order, and brings it to the counter.
“The total is seven sixty five.” Jon watches as the three guys turn to one another and lean into the centre, counting the change. When they seem to have totalled the amount in their hands, they all dive back into their pockets trying to come up with the remainder. When all that comes out is pocket lint and some guitar picks, they dump the change into Brendon’s hands and send him to the counter.
“We’re a dollar short so we’re not going to take the cookie.” He smiles sheepishly and dumps the change into Jon’s hand. Jon shakes his head and pushes the cookie towards him.
“Don’t worry about it.” Jon grins and reaches into the tip jar, pulling out a dollar bill and placing it in the register.
“Really?” His eyebrows shoot upwards and Jon nods, grinning, before rubbing his chin against his shoulder. “Thank you.” Jon waves him off and then turns to look back at Tom.
Tom grins and mouths the words ‘you like him’ at Jon, complete with more fluttering eyelashes and a hand flapping near his chin. Jon, being the mature twenty-two year old that he is, sticks his tongue out at Tom and spends the last ten minutes of his shift steadfastly ignoring Tom... and the shit that Tom keeps throwing at him.
==========
Jon looks at his watch and groans. He’s been sitting here for three hours. Groaning again, he lets his head fall into the crease of the book that he’s reading.
“Stupid fucking essay for the stupid fucking shitty course, how did I think that this course was going to be interesting?” Jon turns his head to rest his cheek against the cool page, and takes in the look of horror that the girl at the end of the table is giving him. He feels his face heat up and waves awkwardly before sitting up and carding his hand through his hair. He has a 3,000 word paper due in exactly thirty two hours, on the structure of fucking early baroque dances songs.
“ ‘Fucking kill me. Please.’ ”
“Sorry but I think I would go to jail for that.” Jon jumps as a familiar looking guy, slides into the seat beside him. The kid from the bakery, Brendon. A small smile plays across Brendon’s lips as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“I said that out loud?” Brendon nods and Jon feels his face blaze before he tips forwards and lets his head hit the book again. Jon hears a laugh flit past Brendon’s lips as he tugs at one of the books Jon has spread out across the table.
“‘English Court and Country Dances of the Baroque Period’?” Jon lets out a muffled groan into the book before muttering a yes and squeezing his eyes closed tighter, as he tries to ignore the essay looming in front of him. “Music 3760?” Jon shoots into an upright position and nods in amazement at the fact that he could possibly know that. “I’m in the same class, my name is Brendon.” He holds his hand out for Jon to shake, and Jon slips his hand into Brendon’s - just barely stopping himself before he says ‘I remember’ and makes a fool out of himself.
“My name is Jon.” Brendon grins and Jon feels himself smile back.
“What did you think of the professor dancing when we started into the later half of the period?” Jon laughs as he thinks about their somewhat dwarf-like professor who had hopped across the front of the lecture hall demonstrating a dance of the baroque period.
“It was the highlight of the course. I don’t know what made me think that I could possibly do well in this course. I don’t know why I thought it would be interesting. Then by the time I realized it wasn’t going to get any better I couldn’t drop it.” Jon grins and cards his hand through his hair again. In the back of his mind, Jon thinks about how if Tom were sitting next to him, he would be laughing as Jon’s nervous habits kept revealing themselves. Jon forces himself to keep his hands in his lap.
“You’re not a music major?”
“No, I’m photojournalism. I play bass though. I take it you are?” Jon watches as a light somewhere behind Brendon’s eyes flicks on.
“Yeah, I’m a piano performance major. But hey, do you want a hand with your paper? I just finished mine and I don’t have any plans for the rest of the afternoon.” He rubs a hand against the back of his neck and smiles from the corner of his mouth.
Jon falls in love. Just a little bit.
“I would love some help.” Jon beams and shows Brendon what page he had been working on.
“Really?” Jon laughs as Brendon finishes telling his story and nods. The books had been long forgotten and they were now sitting in the comfy chairs in one corner of the library exchanging stories. “I’m pretty sure that my friend Tom did something similar once except he was a lot less sober.” Brendon laughs and curls his legs under himself as he smiles. They had been talking for about two hours now and Jon had learned that the two guys in the bakery that day with Brendon had been his roommates Ryan and Spencer. Ryan’s an English Literature major and Spencer’s in sociology. The three of them are from Nevada and had met in high school. Brendon’s in his second year in music and although he is in school for piano he loves to sing.
Jon has also learned that Brendon makes little butterflies erupt in his stomach when he smiles.
“Do you want to go grab a coffee?” Brendon’s eyes look hopeful as he asks the question. Jon looks down at his watch, feeling his stomach drop slightly when what time it is sinks in.
“I would love to but I can’t, I have to meet my friend Tom in half an hour.” Jon watches as Brendon’s face falls and he scrambles to recover. “I can uh, I can give you my phone number though and we can meet for coffee or drinks next week, without you coaching an essay out of me. I owe you a drink at the very least for what you did today, I could quite possibly owe you my first born child.” Jon smirks slightly and Brendon smiles back before turning and digging into his backpack for a pen.
Reaching out, he clasps Jon’s arm and writes his number in neat handwriting along the inside of Jon’s wrist. Jon’s a little embarrassed to admit that it turns him on a fair bit more than it should to watch Brendon write his phone number down, with fingers curled around Jon’s palm.
Brendon pulls away and re-caps his pen, before he waves slightly and walks towards the exit of the building. Jon waves when Brendon turns around at the door, and smiles before walking out. Jon sighs, trying to ignore the way his stomach clenches as he gathers up his books and paper.
==========
Jon lays next to Tom on his living room floor, their feet propped up on the windowsill.
Tom had answered his door with the news that his roommates, Mike and Will, are gone for the weekend, so they wouldn’t have to share. Jon had grinned and followed him into the house, grabbing two beers from the fridge and then heading to the living room to settle into their usual spot for when Tom had gotten his hands on a good batch. They settled down on the plush carpet and put their feet up into the window.
Tom hands the joint to Jon and wiggles his toes against the dusk sky.
“So you spent the whole afternoon together in the library working on some paper?” Jon hears Tom reach for his beer and sit forwards slightly so that he can drink it without choking. Jon puts the joint to his lips and inhales, letting the smoke fill his lungs. He closes his eyes and passes the joint to Tom.
“Yep.” The word is tight and a few pitches higher than Jon’s normal speaking voice, as he tries not to breathe out so he can keep the smoke in his lungs. After a few seconds, Jon slowly breathes out watching the smoke curl up to the ceiling. “He helped me write my paper and then we just sat talking for a few hours. It was insane, one minute we were finishing up with the paper and the next thing I knew it was four hours later and we were talking like we had known each other our whole lives.” Jon turns his head to look at Tom and watches as his lips wrap around the joint. “He’s amazing, I don’t know how he knows what he knows about baroque dances, but thank whatever god was listening that he showed up right when he did and offered to help.”
“Why the fuck did you take that course?” The words are said on a long exhale of smoke before he passes the remainder of the joint back to Jon.
“I have no fucking clue...” - Maybe it was so I could meet him. Jon’s voice trails off and the rest of the thought finishes in his head as he pulls on the joint.
“You love him!” Tom’s laughing at him as he finishes the statement, the ‘o’ in love long and drawn out as he makes more fluttery eyes at Jon. Jon’s breath hitches as he’s inhaling smoke and he starts to choke. As he coughs and splutters, Tom’s laughter turns into hysterics and he’s rolling around on the floor, tears nearly streaming from his eyes.
Jon decides that he really needs to work on this whole inner monologue thing because it doesn’t seem to be working for him.
“Shut up dude.” Jon punches Tom in the shoulder and sits up placing the roach in the ashtray on the coffee table. Tom rolls onto his back, wheezing and clutching at his ribs.
“You totally do, you just won’t admit it.” Tom rolls his head to the side to look at Jon. Jon starts to fidget under his gaze for a minute before turning to look at Tom, eyes catching and Jon finds that he can’t look away. “If you like him I’m happy for you. It’s good to see you taking interest in someone again.” Tom grins, then smacks Jon on the chest with the back of his hand, the moment broken completely. “C’mon, time to get up. Pete’s band is playing tonight and he harassed me until I promised we’d go.”
==========
Jon stands in front of the coffee shop just off campus that Brendon had suggested, toe scuffing against the ground as he looks around for him. Sighing, Jon closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to will the butterflies in his stomach to disappear... or barring that, they needed to stay in his stomach instead of fluttering throughout his whole torso. Jon rolls his head and hops a little in place, trying to relieve some of the nervous tension humming through his body. He breathes in deeply once again; letting his shoulders relax when suddenly a hand touches his shoulder causing Jon to quite possibly yelp like a little girl.
Jon’s eyes shoot open and watches as Brendon’s eyes widen and he claps a hand over his mouth. Jon feels heat rise to his face as Brendon snorts behind his hand, valiantly trying to hide his laughter.
“I, ah...” Jon stammers as he forces his fingers through his hair.
“Don’t worry, that was a totally manly squeak.” Brendon laughs and Jon feels himself start blushing even more, but he grins and lets Brendon lead him into the coffee shop.
“What would you like to drink?” Brendon looks at Jon over his shoulder before they get to the counter and voices the question.
“Just a black coffee would be great.” Jon laughs at the face that Brendon makes, and then watches as he jogs up to the counter and started to chat with the barista. He watches the way that Brendon smiles at the girl, his eyes lighting up and his laugh sounding through the small shop. Jon’s eyes move to the curve of his spine and the shift of the muscles in his back as he pushes himself up on the counter to call back to someone else working in the back. Jon tears his eyes away and moves to sit in the overstuffed chairs that are tucked into one corner of the shop.
Brendon comes back to the table with two drinks and a plate covered in a sugary looking pastry.
“We need to fix this black coffee thing; if we’re gonna be friends you need to be a little more interesting than that with your drink choices.” Brendon laughs and Jon shakes his head as Brendon hands him his coffee.
“As opposed to, what is that? Iced tea?” Jon wraps his hands around the warm mug and chuckles as Brendon flops into the chair this is kiddie-corner to his. “Really? You’re gonna tease me for being boring when you bought an iced tea? Tut, tut.”
Brendon sticks his tongue out at Jon and takes a sip of his drink.
“Any particular reason for picking this shop?” Jon is always curious about why people pick certain places, not that he can ever discern anything about them from their choices but he likes to ask.
“I work here three days a week and I live just around the corner. I come here when I want to study away from Spencer and Ryan.” Jon nods and sips at his coffee trying not to burn his tongue. A vaguely familiar song clicks onto the speakers placed throughout the shop and Brendon grins. “And the girls working today love me and generally let me play the music on my iPod.”
“Dude is this Disney?” A light blush stains Brendon’s cheeks and he nods, shooting the girls at the counter a look that may have been an attempt at a death stare. “I love Aladdin; it’s seriously my favourite Disney movie.” Jon starts humming along and when he finds his place in the song, he starts to sing along softly to A Whole New World. Brendon throws his head back and laughs before beaming and starting to sing quietly along with Jon.
The people closest to them turn and stare at them briefly as they grow slightly in volume. Eventually most just shake their heads and turn back to whatever they were doing.
“Yeah, the Chicago hardcore scene is kind of like this incestuous pond, everybody knows everybody and has either dated, made out with, fucked or passed out in a bathtub with everyone else... it’s kind of unavoidable once you’re in there. You go in thinking that you’re going to avoid it but you really can’t.” Jon nods sagely and glances at his watch as Brendon laughs.
Jon finds that whenever he’s with Brendon, the time flies past him without even seeming to and now he’s running late for dinner with Tom.
“Fuck, I gotta run I’m late for dinner with Tom.” Jon scrambles out of his seat and feels his stomach clench a little bit at the frown on Brendon’s face. “Um, do you wanna, maybe, go see a movie on Friday night?” He runs a hand over the back of his head and watches a smile spread across Brendon’s face, as a blush rises on his.
“Why Mr. Walker, are you asking me on a date?” Brendon’s grin turns mischievous and Jon tucks his lower lip between his teeth as he nods, a smile tugging at his features. “I would love to.”
Jon walks through his front door and goes into his bedroom to get changed for dinner with Tom when he sees it sitting there on his bedside table. Sighing, he walks over and grabs the picture, sinking down to sit on the edge of his bed and flicking the lamp on. Jon looks down at the picture and feels his breath catch in his throat. The kid looks just like William when they had met in eleventh grade English class. He’s all gangly limbs and big eyes, a smile over taking his face as his eyes shine with what can be taken as laughter, but is most likely mischief. He’s sitting at a bus stop that Jon knows as the corner of Michigan Avenue and Washington Street, the top corner of the Cloud’s Gate glinting in the background.
In a moment of panic Jon flips the picture over to make sure that it’s not Bill’s name written on the back. The panic subsides when the name Christian is on the back of the picture in neat writing.
Sighing Jon picks up his phone and dials Tom’s number. He lifts it to his ear and listens to it ring twice before Tom picks up, offering a chipper hello.
“Dude, I am so sorry something came up and I can’t make it to dinner.”
“For real? Dude, what the fuck? This is like the fourth time this month that you’ve cancelled, I’ve only seen you once since Mike’s party and even then I dragged you out to Pete’s thing so we didn’t really hang out. What could possibly be so important that you have to cancel yet again?” Jon can hear the agitation in Tom’s voice and he feels a headache already forming behind his eyes; he hates lying to Tom.
“Just, something came up and I can’t make it okay? I’m sorry, I gotta go.” Jon hangs up the phone and grabs his coat, sprinting for the door before Tom gets the chance to call back. Jon locks the door and runs down the stairs just wanting to get outside into the night air. He lets his feet carry him along the familiar path to Millennium Park, blocking out the noise surrounding him and trying to push Tom from his thoughts.
The long walk feels like mere minutes before Jon finds himself at the corner of Randolph Street and Michigan Avenue. As Jon rounds the corner onto Michigan, he hears the scream of tires and the crunch of metal against metal, followed by the chime of shattered glass cascading across the pavement. Jon’s walk turns immediately into a run as he bolts down the sidewalk, dodging people who have stopped to gape.
Walking into the center of the intersection, he looks at the mangled cars and feels his chest seize. Jon turns and screams at the frozen onlookers to call an ambulance. It seems to be what was needed as the viewers suddenly surge into movement, cell phones appearing throughout the crowd as they dial 911. People rush past Jon to the cars, allowing him to sink quietly into the crowd. Jon makes his way forward, trying not to single himself out again as he walks towards the small two door car with the driver’s door completely caved in, a body hunched over the steering wheel. Something in Jon’s chest snaps and he starts moving on autopilot.
Jon exhales and watches as the pale figure emerges from the backseat of the car, his eyes not leaving wreck. Jon starts to walk forwards, just as the woman in the SUV that had hit the smaller car emerges reasonably unscathed, the people around Jon moving towards her, providing the distraction that Jon needs. All he has to do now is touch Christian and no one will be able see him.
He comes up behind the boy and lays his hand on his shoulder, the little spark shooting up his arm before the boy spins around. Jon’s chest tightens even further, there isn’t just a similarity between Christian and Will; they’re identical. Jon could have been looking at Will the day he met him.
“Hi.” The word is tight and forced as Jon tries to stop himself from going into hysterics; he usually arrives after everything happens, not while the wheels on the front of the car are still spinning. The kid gapes at Jon, mouth opening and closing as he struggles for words before flinging his hand out behind him to point at his body where it lay at an awkward angle in the driver’s seat, barely visible through the crumpled metal.
“I, sorry... I’m here to help.” Jon watches as the dark eyes widen and he pushes his hair out of his eyes with the back of his hand, a movement that Jon is pretty sure he doesn’t even realize he is doing. He nods and Jon’s chest tightens another notch, making it hard for him to breathe. Just like everyone else that Jon helped, Christian had this unquestioning belief in him. “Come with me.” Jon reaches out and put his hand on Christian’s shoulder, gently steering him around the people and heading towards Navy Pier.
==========
Jon opens the door to his apartment hours later, exhausted beyond anything he has felt before. The more that Jon had talked to Christian, the more he had been reminded of William. The kid was younger and more naïve, but Jon could have sworn that he was talking to Will about bands and the music he was writing and what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. The clench around his lungs and throat that he feels when he helps someone hasn’t eased since the moment he felt the shock that afternoon - if anything it has gotten worse.
His muscles are shaky and he feels empty.
Jon flicks on the light for his living room and nearly groans aloud as he sees Tom sitting on the couch; Dylan curled up on his lap and a look on his face that said he had been preparing for the last few hours for the fight that’s about explode.
“Please Tom, not right now. I can’t do this right now.” Jon’s pleading already.
“You fucking well can Jon! What the hell is up with you lately?” Jon feels himself taking a small sliver of comfort in the fact that Tom’s voice holds aggravation with a slight edge of worry instead of the fury that Jon was originally expecting.
“I can’t tell you.” The rest of Jon’s energy completely flees his body, leaving him to sag against the wall, the hand in his pocket running along the edge of the photo of Christian. “You can’t understand.”
“Tell me Jon; let me make the decision for myself.” There is a hint of a plea in Tom’s voice, and it breaks Jon a little bit more to hear it.
“I can’t.” Jon looks down at his shoes, scrubbing a hand through his hair.
“God damn it Jon! Would you just tell me?” Tom stands up quickly, upending Dylan who bolts towards the bedroom with an indignant meow.
“Even if I tell you Tom you wouldn’t believe me, so what the fucking point?” Jon can hear the exasperation in his voice, but he’s exhausted and he just wants to curl up in bed.
“Try me, Jon. I’m supposed to be your best friend and I know, I know! That you’ve been lying to me about whatever it is you’re doing for years.” Tom’s yelling and Jon can hear the raw hurt behind those words, the hurt that he’s positive Tom doesn’t mean for him to hear.
“You really want to know Tom?” Jon is yelling now too and it strikes him that they have never in their eighteen years of friendship screamed at each other like they are starting to. “I help the dead Tom.” Jon watches as Tom throws his hands up in the air.
“You know, I fucking wish that you would just tell me the truth! You don’t have to lie about it. I don’t care if it’s fucking heroin or crack, whether you’re doing it or selling it! I don’t care if you’re selling yourself to the highest bidder on the rougher side of town, just don’t fucking lie to me, Jon! I thought that you trusted me more than that!” Jon feels like tearing his hair out.
“You see? I fucking told you that you wouldn’t believe me!” Jon starts to pace back and forth across his small living room and watches as Tom crosses his arms over his chest. “Whether you believe me or not I help the dead cross over, I get the summons and I can’t ignore it! I have to help them! That’s why I keep disappearing.”
“I call bullshit Jon.” Tom is staring at him from underneath his bangs and his voice is filled with what sounds like contempt. That, more than anything, tears at Jon.
“Fine you don’t believe me? Come with me next time, come with me and I will prove to you that I am not lying about this!” Jon is yelling again, standing almost nose to nose with Tom.
“Fine! Maybe then you can stop lying to yourself and stop lying to me!” Tom shouts the words and pushes past Jon. He violently wrenches open the door and storms through, slamming it as hard as he can, rattling the windows along the walls surrounding the door frame.
Jon stares at the door for a minute before his legs crumple beneath him and he collapses onto the floor. His breath comes in wheezing gasps as he curls up into a ball and squeezes his eyes closed. Tom is his rock, his lighthouse and now he might have pushed it a bit too far and screwed up everything.
He gets his breathing back under control, but stays curled into a ball on his living room floor. Slowly he feels his muscles ease, a little bit at a time, as Dylan walks up and head-butts his shoulder with a small mewl before curling into the dip where his shoulder meets his neck and licks at the skin.
Jon feels his chest compress again, making breathing painful and he whispers to himself before exhaustion takes over and his body and pulls him into sleep.
“Fuck."
Part Two