Into the Woods 8

[manipulant]

Eight

Spencer's already running when he comes back to himself. For a second he's full of nostalgia for the Pea episode that started everything off, but then he remembers the corset and the broken fingers and thinks ahahaha, no. He glances down and mentally fistpumps at the suit of armor he's wearing (hot and heavy, but still better than a dress). Then he thinks about Brendon, and gets - seriously - the stupidest smile on his face, he sort of wants to punch himself, but he can't stop.

But. Brendon. Spencer knows that he's acting like a high school sophomore with his first requited crush thing happening, but he is so smug about life. He and Brendon finally got a portion of their shit together, and all it took was their band falling apart and them having to rely solely on each other while going on tour and then trying to make a new album and then being unwittingly transported inside a magical book of fairy tales. Yeah, he's pretty proud of them.

Plus, Brendon tastes good. And the sounds he makes when he's kissing Spencer are, like, equal parts ridiculous and so fucking hot Spencer can barely stand it, which is a pretty good metaphor for the existence of Brendon Urie, period.

Then he thinks about getting back home and seeing Bogart and doing all their laundry, and somewhere in the haze of homesickness and anticipation that follows, Spencer has a thought about Sarah that cuts through all of his daydreaming pretty fucking quickly. He pauses, stops jogging even, propping his hands up on his hips as he looks around at the village lanes and houses around him, and has a massive attack of guilt.

He likes Sarah. She's a genuinely cool girl who makes Brendon happy, and now he's become the subject of a post-Panic Ryan Ross song, and none of these things really sit very well with him. Plus, Spencer realizes, a thread of anxiety beginning to stitch its way into his stomach, he doesn't really know Brendon's intentions regarding himself and the girlfriend back home. He could just be an "It's Complicated" status change to the facebook profile Brendon doesn't have.

Which - Spencer is all for people doing what they want to do, so long as they do it honestly, but he knows that a casual, open thing isn't really something he's up for. His whole unrequited thing (that might actually have been requited for a while now? huh) for Brendon has left him with a lot of experience in being a fifth wheel and feeling vaguely alone in a crowd. He'd prefer going back to that, rather than trying to deal with the jealousy and competitive streak he knows would crop up if he had to share Brendon.

Plus, he's invested a good chunk of time into developing a lot of creeper-like daydreams where he and Brendon are...not boyfriends, so much as they're bandmates who live together and are kind of stupid about each other and fuck each other and no one else. He'd hate to have wasted all of that effort.

Spencer rubs a hand over his face and thinks Oh, hey, beard! which lifts his mood infinitesimally. The village around him looks deserted, which is instantly alarming, and Spencer quickly turns around, checking out all sides to make sure there aren't any fucking demonic wolves, or other things that look like they want to eat him.

He's clear. He can still see the entrance gate to the village, though, and the huge, heavy tangle of brambles that form a high wall (seriously, like ten stories of thorns and brambles, easy) around the perimeter of the city. Spencer gazes up at it for a little bit and frowns, worrying about where this whole story is going. He doesn't want to get caught up in any Silent Hill bullshit.

After walking around for about ten more minutes, Spencer registers that he's thirsty, and the chain mail and suit of armor he's wearing start to get fucking heavy. Spencer looks around til he sees a squat building with a tavern sign sporting turkey and bread and a pint glass on the front of it, and hurries toward it. He pushes the door open and glances around, and his shoulders sink even more. "Awesome," he mutters.

The tavern is fully stocked, which is good - at least he'll manage to get a drink - but everyone in the place is slumped on their seats, or sprawled across the bar counter, or propped on a stack of boxes. Everyone looks...well, just asleep. There isn't any blood anywhere. No blood is definitely a plus.

Spencer goes to poke the closest person, and he snorts and shifts, slumping over til his forehead hits the bar with a clunk. A few seconds later, the guy starts to snore.

So. Nobody is dead, everybody's just asleep.

The whole town is asleep.

The whole town that's surrounded by a 100-foot-high wall of thorns.

Fuck.

Spencer flat-out whimpers (it's not like anyone's going to hear him, anyway) and rakes his fingers through his hair, squeezing handfuls of it nervously. As he drags his hands down, they knock against the broad side of a fucking huge sword he's carrying on his back, and Spencer's breathing quickens a little. At least he's not unarmed.

His hands are shaking, kinda, so he goes over behind the counter and finds a semi-clean mug and wipes the half-inch of dust out of it. He thinks better of the huge barrels of beer (because he has no idea how long the contents have been there, and he doesn't feel like going blind. ...Again). He heads out of the tavern, out the back door, and finds a well.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Spencer clanks over to it and lowers the bucket down. When he pulls it back up, the water inside is clean and, when he dunks the mug in, miraculously cold. Spencer drains it, and two more, before he dumps a mugful over his head.

After he sets the mug down, Spence walks around the corner of the tavern, through the tiny alleyway between it and the next building, and looks around and up.

It only takes a minute of searching - there, maybe half a mile on the other side of the city, is a smallish castle with a very very very tall tower. Spencer groans softly.

Right.

He thinks for a few minutes, and then presses his lips together into a tight, thin line, and starts shucking off the leg guards and footcovers and...basically anything that he's wearing that's metal and restricts his movement. When he's down to the chain mail and breastplate and vambraces, Spencer stops and goes to drink another mug of water (the temperature has to be pushing 90, it's fucking disgusting how sweaty he is already).

Once he can almost feel the water sloshing around in his stomach, Spencer leans against the well and stares in the direction of the tower, frowning. It's striking him as a little bit too easy, waltzing up to the castle and climbing up the tower.

Well, he's got his sword.

Spencer reaches for the mug one more time, just to get enough water to pour against the back of his neck, shivering as the water trickles down his back. He feels a little bit better for it, but still, the absolute silence of the village is making him think of Omega Man and 28 Days Later and neither of those things are doing much to make him less jumpy.

At least there aren't zombies in Sleeping Beauty. ...He's pretty sure there aren't zombies in Sleeping Beauty. Fuck, there better not be zombies in Sleeping Beauty.

Spencer sighs and stands again. He can't really justify hiding behind a tavern in a comatose town anymore; plus, Brendon's stuck at the tip-top of that tower across the city, and he will be until Spencer gets his act together and manages to get there. So, there's some motivation.

After dawdling for a few more minutes, straightening his chain mail and breastplate and kinda really wishing he still had his phone so he could take some pictures of him looking like a ridiculous extra from Medieval Times, Spencer moves out of the back of the tavern, sidling out of the alley and keeping close to the buildings as he starts moving in the direction of the castle, and Brendon.

It's the weirdest fucking thing - Spencer's been hyper-vigilant about making sure to watch his back and all, but every now and then he gets the feeling something is watching him.

He's still trotting through the town, passing by people who are passed out on top of carts, or slumped against pyramids of fruit. Even the animals are affected - dogs are curled up, snoozing peacefully in doorways and underneath carriage wheels. He sees a cat sprawled on a windowsill, its tail twitching idly as it dreams. It's covered with a layer of dirt and dust.

The stalls in the marketplace are still pristine, though. Nothing is rotted or spoiled, all of the apples and cabbages and eggs look fresh and new. Weird.

After he passes through one group of stalls, Spencer has to stop and examine. It's too much for him to ignore.

He sidles up to a fruit merchant and watches the owner snore, slumped over his coin box. The stacks of oranges are inviting and remind him forcibly of Gabe, and Spencer's fingers itch with the urge until he just gives in a lifts one from the top of the stack, wriggling his short nails under the peel until it starts to give way.

There's a rustle somewhere behind him, and Spencer whirls around, glaring at the empty marketplace around him.

Seriously, this is getting fucking old. He goes back to attempting to peel the orange, and manages to get a good foothold, tearing away a piece of peel about as big as his pinky, before he smells...weird, it smells like sulfur.

Spencer bites his lip, and frowns down at the orange - is it evil? Are there evil oranges in Sleeping Beauty? Is it a fire and brimstone orange sent to destroy him? - before he notices that the air around him is getting a little hotter than it should. It's already hot outside, but fuck, all of a sudden he is boiling, and everything around him kind of smells like the two days a year that Vegas teachers would actually have to turn on the baseboard heating in school, and - shit. Shit.

There's a flash of scaly red, and a sickening swooping sound of wings beating the air, and Spencer barely manages to drop his orange and fucking run for it before the stall and the street behind him explode.

There's a wave of heat and air, displaced by the force of...whatever it was, and then the noise. Spencer's thrown off his feet, knocked into a convenient cart full of turnips as he feels the impact and the roar of destruction, in every part of him. As soon as his legs work again, Spencer scrambles out of the cart and flat-out runs down the lane, hopping over the occasional buyer or seller as he hears more fires and blasts starting behind him.

Spencer barely manages to clear one building before the windows all shatter, bursting out into the street in a shimmery hail of glass. The air around him is starting to go thick with smoke and ash, and Spencer dodges down into an alley just as he feels a sharp burst of heat at his back.

He runs, and runs and runs some more, twisting through alleyways and tripping over everything because he's got to keep one eye on the sky above the buildings, he's got to keep the tower in his sight.

It's still getting closer.

He makes a sharp turn right and almost gets roasted - a wall of fire blows down right in front of him, and Spencer falls back on his ass, actually knocked backwards by the force of the heat. He still can't even fucking see what's causing this, which is the worst part of all, right behind almost getting caught on fire. Spencer rubs his face (good, he still has eyebrows) and hauls himself up and books it down the other way, away from the wall of fire, deeper into the alleys and back ways until he begins to feel like a lab rat in a maze.

He's still looking up when he sees it - Spencer stops in the middle of an alley, completely dumbfounded, as he watches a fire-red, opalescent dragon circling just above the town. He watches as it dives down a few streets away, its scales and wings catching the sun, and lets a stream of fire from its mouth.

Fuck, this is - it's not even playing fair. Spencer shivers and watches it flap its huge wings a couple of times, pushing itself back up higher, making lazy figure eights in the sky as it drops its head and scans the streets for - shit.

Spencer ducks under an awning, but not fast enough. He hears the beat of the wings, the rush of air and the acrid smell of fire, and he sprints down the street just before he feels another blast of scorching heat behind him. Shit, it's tracking Spencer.

Fuck, fuckfuckfuck, he can't fucking - it's a motherfucking dragon. Spencer has a sinking suspicion he's being played with, like a cat plays with its food, and he considers just stopping and finding a way onto a roof and going out in a blaze of...well, probably just a blaze, but shit, the tower is so close now. And Brendon's waiting for him, and he can't just. He has to try.

Spencer keeps running, dodging carriages and sleeping horses and fireballs as he gets into what must be the administrative portion of the city. There are less market stalls and more white columns and expensive-looking powdered wigs around him, and Spencer barely manages to duck behind a very ugly marble statue of three men on horses before the street around him explodes in fire. There's a hail of rubble and debris, and then the cloud of smoke and ash rolls past him, and then Spencer hears this terrifying hawklike scream rip through the air above him. He ducks down instinctively, and peers through the smoke and ash until he sees red wings circling just above him.

The castle is, seriously, straight ahead. Spencer rubs the soot and ash out of his stinging eyes and blinks furiously, setting his jaw just before he scurries back to his feet and sprints towards the castle gates, using the sleeping guard and stationary carriage as stepping-stones to vault over the high stone wall surrounding it.

Right into some more ten-foot-tall bramble bushes.

He fucking hates brambles.

Spencer snarls and doesn't waste time - he grabs the sword on his back with both hands and yanks, until it comes out of the sheath and slices down through the air and all of the branches that are clinging to him. It's heavy as fuck and it's kind of unwieldy, but fuck if he cares, Spencer is running on pure adrenalin and rage, and he's perfectly happy to do some banzai pruning with his big fucking sword. He slices it in front of him like a very big, very pointy scythe, and watches with satisfaction as a whole lot of brambles tumble to the ground.

He makes quick work, forging through the thorns and slicing away at the branches until, after only a few minutes they start to clear away, circling to the far side of the castle before they weave halfway up the tower. It leaves just a fifty-yard dash between him and the main entrance of the castle.

Spencer's breath dies in his throat - there's the slow, ominous beat of wings flapping above him, and another shrill scream from the dragon, but seriously, what choice does he have? Spencer shudders and sheathes his sword, and waits til he sees the dragon circling away. Then he darts forward, running as fucking fast as his legs can possibly go, watching the doors get closer and closer.

And then there's a huge rush of air, and Spencer barely manages to stop in time before the dragon drops to the ground in front of him, creating a minor shockwave and making him stagger and fall.

They regard each other for a couple of seconds, before the dragon rears back on its legs and screams again. Spencer can't help it, he claps his hands over his ears, feeling the pressure building in his head. It's so loud, so loud, he can't move it's so loud.

It only lasts a few seconds, but Spencer can barely shake it off after the dragon shuts its beak. He moves sort of sluggishly, trying to get the ringing out of his head and his ears, barely managing to keep his balance as he moves a little to the side. Fuck, he's going to die, he's going to die, he's going to fucking die.

He staggers and lurches forward on an unseen branch, and Spencer topples to the ground in an ignominious heap just as the dragon breathes a hot plume of fire in his direction. Had he been standing, still, he'd have been burned to ash, so Spencer figures that he shouldn't be too ashamed of himself for being sort of clumsy.

While the dragon is busy roasting the ground and the briar bushes behind him, Spencer scrambles forward, managing to crawl around the dragon and past it before it lets up. It looks around, obviously trying to search out his charred remains, and when it finally finds him, getting to his feet on the other side of it and the castle, it lets out another ungodly shriek. Spencer puts his fingers in his ears and keeps moving, not letting himself be stuck in position, until he's seriously so close to the castle doors, he can see the bolts in the big huge hinges.

And then a big huge red wing comes out of nowhere and fucking sweeps him up, knocking him a good fifteen feet into the air and forty feet off course. Spencer lands hard on his elbow, jarring every single part of him, it feels like, and he barely manages to roll over before the wing comes back down, smashing into the ground with so much force it makes a foot-deep divot in the earth.

He gets to his feet and reaches behind him, grabbing his sword and pulling it out in front of him. Which - seriously, what the hell is he doing? He's in a band. Spencer is perfectly aware that he has about as many genuinely useful life skills as a pot of noodles, and nowhere on that short list is the phrase "good with a sword." It's mostly just "good with lists" and "can smoke a lot of marijuana at a time."

Whatever. Spencer scowls fiercely as he faces off with the dragon, and tries to project an aura of badass. The dragon doesn't seem incredibly impressed, though, and Spencer barely manages to get out of the way before it belches out another jet of fire, setting the grass and the brambles alight.

Spencer runs again, sprinting to get back to where he was. It's trying to keep him from the castle, he's realized; it must know that that's where he's headed. Spencer almost manages it this time, but he feels the shift of air just before another wing comes and knocks him out of the way again. He turns quickly, closes his eyes, and slices as hard and as fast as he can with his sword.

He can feel it hit something, tear into something that barely manages any resistance, and then he hears the dragon's roar. He opens his eyes and glances up and shouts triumphantly - there's this big fucking hole in the dragon's right wing. He did that.

It takes him all of three seconds to realize that what he's really just done is piss the dragon off - Spencer barely manages to avoid its quick lunge, and he can seriously see the saliva drip off its teeth as they nearly make contact with his shoulder. He yelps and starts toward the doors again, ducking another swipe of a wing. He actually manages to grab hold of the knocker on the front, and he gives it a hard tug, managing to open the solid oak a few inches before a clawed foot swipes his legs out from under him.

Spencer hits the ground hard, and rolls onto his back. The sky above him is blue and edged with curling grey smoke, and Spencer barely manages to get a hand on his sword and swing up when he sees teeth and blood-red eyes lunging for him.

Spencer closes his eyes and holds his breath, and feels a sharp shudder travel all through him as his sword hits something, slicing through it hard and deep, grating against bone and cartilage and fuck knows what else before it all actually gives way.

It is, bar none, the fucking grossest thing he has ever felt in his life.

The smell of sulfur and iron hits him then, and Spencer gags and opens his eyes a little, groaning as he sees the meat and gristle of the dragon's open neck about eight inches from his head. There's the white of exposed bone, and Spencer swallows down bile as he notices severed cords and veins, dripping lymph and blood sluggishly now, having spilt most of it on him and the doors in a huge splatter as soon as the sword hit.

While he's really glad the dragon was dumb enough to basically impale itself on his sword, did it have to do it so close to him?

A drop of blood plops down on his cheek, still warm, and Spencer shudders and rolls over, shuffling awkwardly out from beneath the dragon carcass (which he killed! He totally just killed a dragon! He'd tell all his friends, but they'd assume he was high!) before he struggles to his feet and tugs at his sword. It makes a hideous squelching noise, and then a dry shhhhink like nails on a chalkboard as it scrapes over bone, and then Spencer has his sword back.

He sheathes it, and pokes the dragon with his foot a couple of times, just to make sure. And then he takes a moment to breathe, and try to get the stink of dragon blood out of his nose. And then he goes back to opening the door. It seems a lot less exciting, now that there isn't a dragon trying to keep him from doing it.

Spencer slides in between the doors just as soon as he's opened them far enough to get through, and they quickly slam closed behind him, startling him a little. The air inside the castle is blessedly cool, and Spencer glances around at the dim light before he notices a large, open archway connecting the main foyer to the tower. He can see a spiral staircase beginning on the far wall, and Spencer runs for it, his legs sort of shaky as he comes to the steps and looks up.

It makes him sort of dizzy, how far up they go. And he's already pretty fucking tired, and just. Shitfuck, man, when he gets home, he isn't going to exercise for a year.

Spencer sighs, and thinks of Brendon and how Brendon is going to be so overwhelmed with appreciation that Spencer fucking killed a dragon and hauled his ass up eight million stairs to rescue him that he'll just. Dedicate the rest of his life to giving Spencer lots of orgasms. Yeah.

He grumbles a little about fucking Stairmaster, and then he starts climbing.

It is precisely as boring and tiring as he figured it would be.

He gets about halfway up before he decides to give up smoking forever. Seriously, his lungs, they were not meant to hurt in so many ways. And he's not that out of shape, he's been doing the whole surfing thing, but god. His lungs and his shins and basically every part of him that needs to be moving is on fire.

Twenty feet later, Spencer passes a thin, long window and realizes the castle is on fire, too.

The fucking dragon, he figures out half a minute later, after the immediate panic has set in and he's started sprinting up the stairs again, shin splints and burst lungs be damned. The dragon kept setting all the briar bushes on fire, and the tower is covered in them, briars crawling up all the sides until Spencer had spent most of his time in town thinking the tower was actually painted green.

And now the briars are on fire, and apparently that fire is quickly spreading, because every time Spencer passes a window, he can see smoke and the bright lick of flames barely pushing up into sight. Shit.

Spencer keeps running, vaulting the stairs two and three at a time until he feels like he might pass out, but he's so close to the top. He can see how the stairs jut out from the wall at the very top, spiraling in tight and close until they just disappear into a trapdoor at the very top of the ceiling. On the other side of that door, he thinks to himself, to keep himself from stopping, is Brendon.

Spencer tries hard and eventually manages to swallow, and he glances out of the next window just long enough to gauge the flames, how they're maybe about ten feet away now, before he keeps on.

The tower seems to be ventilated enough to be keeping most of the smoke out of the windows, which is good, he thinks. Mostly, though, Spencer just runs, tripping over his feet in his attempt to get to the top before the fire does. He can smell them now - the burning leaves and branches, an oddly sweet, bitter smell that sets his teeth on edge.

And finally he's at the top, pushing with his shoulders against the trapdoor at the top of the staircase, shoving and cursing until he manages to coax it open a few inches. Then he sets his shoulders and twists, getting his legs underneath him and shoving up with all of his body, basically, until the door gives way and crashes open, swinging up and back with so much force that it bangs several inches off the floor when it hits.

Spencer crawls up onto the wooden floor of the tower room and gasps, choking on air for a few long minutes as he tries to keep his lungs from just collapsing in on him. Seriously, the room is spinning. He's never doing that again.

He lies there for a few minutes before he even tries to pull himself up, having to wait until the room isn't moving at all. When he finally does, he pushes up onto his knees and slumps over to the bed in the center of the room, laid out like a fucking shrine. And - yeah, as he suspected, there's Brendon on top of it, his eyes shut and a peaceful look on his face.

There's a chair next to Brendon. Spencer wonders who used to sit in it, before the castle and the rest of the town fell asleep, but he doesn't wonder for long - he drops down into it, resting his forehead against the soft mattress for a little bit, not really caring that he's getting the sheets underneath him completely soaked from his sweat.

Eventually, he stops panting. He manages to turn his head a little, til he can see Brendon's profile without lifting his head at all. Spencer understands that it's a testament to how dumb he is, but even though there are tendrils of smoke starting to wisp through the tower windows, and even though he's fucking exhausted and covered in dragon guts, he's still sort of thrilled at the opportunity to watch Brendon sleep.

Spencer breathes, and watches him for a bit, and he's so tired and brain-dead that he sort of forgets what he needs to be doing, for a while. He reaches up to shake Brendon's shoulder, to try and get him awake so they can see if they can make it down the stairs before the entire tower catches on the fire and the roof caves in, before he remembers - oh, right, Sleeping Beauty.

Spencer snorts and drags himself up into sitting, propping himself up on his elbows, hovering over Brendon. "Hi," he tells him, lucid enough not to look for an answer. Spencer reaches up to twist some of Brendon's hair through his fingers, watching as it sifts through slowly, sort of entranced.

And then - okay, yeah, he can hear the crackle and sizzle as the brambles catch fire around them, time to stop procrastinating - Spencer ducks down and presses his dry, bitten-raw lips gently to Brendon's. He sighs against his cheek, and then pulls away, and waits.

And...waits.

Spencer blinks.

What, he thinks to himself, darkly, before he frowns a little and presses his lips against Brendon's mouth again, less of a kiss and more of an emphatic statement, a punctuation to the whole episode. "...What," he says aloud, when Brendon still doesn't move afterwards.

There are flames licking in through half of the windows now, and Spencer can feel his cheeks going red, both from the heat and from frustration. "Fucking...Brendon," he snaps, reaching up to shake Brendon's shoulder again, thumping him lightly. "Brendon, come on."

Brendon's eyes stay closed, and Spencer can't believe this. He seriously can't fucking believe - "Brendon," he says, loudly, into his ear. "Hey. Hey. Look, I don't know if you care, but the room is kind of on fire and I don't want to die, so if you could just fucking..." he tries to shift Brendon off of the bed, tug him up into his arms and just get him on the floor at least, but he can't get a good grip and anyway Brendon seems to suddenly weigh eight thousand pounds, so he just scrabbles his fingertips uselessly at Brendon's sides. "Brendon," he tries again, his voice starting to get shrill and panicky and fuck, fuckfuck, what the hell? What the fuck?

"What the fuck?" Spencer shouts, his hands going shaky as he hears the roof start to creak above them. "Oh my god, what the - " He tries again to pull at Brendon, who's still sleeping, damn it, his eyes closed and his mouth solemn while the smoke is pouring into the room now, fuck. Spencer whimpers and presses his mouth to Brendon's again, starting to freak the fuck out. "Pleasepleasepleaseplease," he whispers, "please, Brendon, come on."

Smoke's starting to rise up through the floorboards now, too, and Spencer watches it with growing horror, crawling up out of the chair and onto the bed with Brendon, curling over him protectively. Fuckload of good that'll do, they're at least ten stories up, and when the floor goes...

Spencer shivers, and rests his forehead to Brendon's chest, hearing his heart beat faintly over the growing roar of the fire. He snarls out a wordless protest, his hands fisting in Brendon's shirt. "God," he finally manages, pressing his face into Brendon's shoulder, "damn it - why, why isn't it, it should fucking work," he wails. "I kissed him, come on." God, all he can smell is smoke, now. "This isn't fair," he shouts, against Brendon's chest, mouthing the words against his shirt as he just holds on, "it's fucking - what do you want, it's love, it's true fucking - "

And then it hits him. He's just the supporting character in this story, despite all the dragon slaying. It's still Brendon's story, and Brendon will wake up when - well.

Apparently, when someone other than Spencer gets there for him.

Spencer can't quite swallow the sob that wells up in his throat, it nearly chokes him. "Shit," he manages, keeping his forehead against Brendon's chest - he can feel it going up and down with each breath. "Oh, shit, Brendon," he says, his face crumpling up miserably, before he crawls up and presses his cheek to Brendon's. "I'm so sorry." And he is, he fucking is, it's not just - wow, he really wishes he was anyone else right now. He really wishes he was - well. Someone who could make it work.

He shudders hard, and presses his face into Brendon's shoulder for a few seconds before he can actually look up, look at Brendon's face for a few seconds. It's - kind of painful, but Spencer's heart twists because oh fuck, he just. It's Brendon. He looks sweet and serious and about thirteen years old when he sleeps, and Spencer loves him. Stupid, heart-stopping, all-encompassing, true fucking love, right here on the bed below him. And it won't wake up.

He reaches out and presses his thumb gently against the swell of Brendon's bottom lip, and leans down to kiss there, barely brushing their mouths together. And then he stays there, breathing against Brendon's mouth for a second, closing his eyes because. Well. It would be really, really nice if this were the last thing he knew.

And then he feels fingers sliding over his back, and Spencer jerks and pulls back, and when he opens his eyes, Brendon is looking right at him. Spencer stares.

"Mmm, hey," Brendon says, giving him a sleepy little grin, stretching underneath him. Spencer gapes some more, his breath getting caught somewhere in his lungs, and he quickly reels through a diverse list of reactions, ranging from pouncing on Brendon's still half-asleep form to fist-pumping because TRUE FUCKING LOVE to wailing a little more because they're about to fucking die. "Hey, Spence."

"Hey," Spencer says stupidly, still staring at him. Brendon slides his hand up Spencer's back, and tilts up to kiss him again, fitting his mouth comfortably over Spence's for a few long, precious seconds, and fuck what Spencer thought before, he wants this to be the last thing he knows.

"God, I was having this really weird dr..." Brendon trails off, and Spencer feels Bren's fingers claw into his back. "The roof is on fire." His voice is tense, weirdly calm. "Is...did you know the roof is on fire?"

"Um, yes?" Spencer says feebly, still sort of reeling. "And the floor."

"Oh." Brendon cranes to look over Spencer's shoulder, and sucks in a terrified breath. "Oh, um."

"There was a dragon," Spencer tells him, realizing belatedly that that's sort of less than helpful. "I killed it."

"But not before it set the roof and floor on fire," Brendon points out, crawling closer to Spencer, curling up as tight to him as he can get. Underneath them, the floor is starting to buckle, and just then a part of the roof comes crashing down, burning merrily.

"I fucking killed a dragon for you," Spencer says irritably, grabbing for Brendon and tugging him in a little more, tucking his left leg closer up on the mattress. "With a sword."

Brendon shivers and presses his face into Spencer's shoulder, huddling in as another piece of the roof falls in. "But not before it set the roof on f - ooh, hey, are you wearing chain mail?"

"Uh, yes?"

"Hot," Brendon says, sounding way too impressed. He slides a hand up Spencer's side appreciatively.

"I was a lot sadder about us dying before you woke up," Spencer grumbles. His arms tighten around Brendon, though, as the floor shakes and sways, and he thinks probably he was wrong.

"We never got to have sex, you could be sad about that," Brendon breathes, reaching up to clutch at Spencer's shoulders as the floor, the whole tower, it seems, groans and trembles. "I was really, really - ohfuck," he gasps, crawling into Spencer's lap as the whole floor tilts down a few inches. There's a gap, they can see, and in between the slats of barely-holding-together board they can see...several stories of the spiral staircase. "Shit, Spence."

"Don't look," Spencer tells him, tucking Brendon's head into his shoulder again, gathering him up close. "It's okay, just hold on, it'll be - "

"Fucking liar," Brendon snaps, reaching up to fist at Spencer's hair nervously, as the floor creaks and groans. "Oh, god."

"It's okay," Spencer says, shuddering and huddling down into Brendon now, shaking. "It's okay, it's not real, it's a fucking fairytale and we're about to wake up. And I'm going to do the laundry and you're going to take Bogart for a walk and none of it's - "

"Shit," Brendon says on a sob, as the floor pitches forward, knocking them a few inches closer to the hole that's just growing bigger and bigger. "Shitshit, Spence, oh fuck."

"It's not real," Spencer insists, pressing his mouth to Brendon's ear, kissing it desperately. "We're going to wake up and be happy, you hear me?"

"...Yeah," Brendon says, shaking violently, even his voice trembling. "Yeah, we'll go surfing," he manages. "And you'll make dinner because you keep insisting I can't cook - "

"You can't cook," Spencer protests.

" - and we'll watch Law & Order until we fall asleep. Or have sex."

There's a huge crash, and the floor shakes and jolts - Spencer figures most of the roof just crashed to the floor, and he sucks in a painful-sounding breath. "Shit. ...Yeah, Law & Order and sex, and we'll - "

"Spencer," Brendon says, voice small and kind of - oh, fuck, Spencer can't handle it - sad. "Spence, I."

Spencer shudders and nods, turning his head, finding Brendon's jaw with his lips and following it up, until he's found Brendon's mouth and stays there, kissing him feverishly. Brendon sucks in a huge breath and kisses back just as fiercely, til Spencer's lips almost hurt, but oh god Brendon tastes the same and he smells good (what little Spencer can smell, over the smoke) and he's warm and alive in Spencer's arms and Spencer can't help, he has to see, just a little. He opens his eyes just a crack, and chokes, pulling away.

"Oh, thank fuck," he gasps, watching joyfully as the fringes of the world edge into white. "Brendon."

"What?" Brendon manages, his eyes still squeezed shut tight, his face miserable. Spencer feels his gut wrench, and he can't help it, he has to kiss Brendon again.

"It's fading, it's going white," he says quickly, lips still against Brendon's mouth. "Open your eyes."

Brendon shakes his head, and Spencer frowns a little, holding him close as the floor that hasn't disappeared still lurches underneath them. "Seriously?" Brendon asks.

"Yeah. It's almost - yeah."

"Thank God," Brendon gasps, shuddering and butting his cheek against Spencer's. "Thankgodthankgodthankgod," he breathes, mouth moving against Spencer's skin.

Spencer shivers, and feels his stomach drop as, underneath them, the last of the floor finally gives way. He feels Brendon's arms tighten on him, and he hears Brendon's quick gasp, and then he feels himself start to fall, just before everything, including him, is absorbed into white.

Nine A