How the West Was Won (1/4)
How the West Was Won
Band(s): Panic at the Disco, with a few guest spots from MCR, TAI and others.
Pairing(s): Spencer/Bob, Brendon/Ryan/Jon
Word Count: 33 400.
Rating/Warnings: R (some violence and sexual content)
Summary: Spencer really wishes that "sorry, I had to slay this vampire" was an excuse he could actually use for not having finished his homework. It's not like it's not true. (AU in which the Panic boys are still in high school, and Spencer finds out he's destined to be a Slayer, a la the Buffyverse.)
Author Notes: Thanks to the Big Bang mods for putting this together, and major thanks to katrin for holding my hand the entire way and telling me to write more, and more, and asking what happens next, and to elucreh who somehow betaed this entire thing overnight, even though she had to invent an entire new shorthand with which to wrangle my grammatical missteps. You guys are legends, thank you. Title from REM, who kept telling me things I needed to hear, and rather a lot of mythology adapted from the Jossverse as appropriate.
Fic:
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Bonus Features:
Music mixes by inkjunket and fishchan912.
* * *
It's an even bet as to who's more shocked, the first time Bob Bryar meets Spencer Smith.
Spencer would never in a million years have thought that, well, firstly that vampires were actually real, or secondly that he had some mystical destiny to slay them. Not that he gets to find that out right away, either. Initially, it's more like hi, this weird dude grabs him on his doorstep and starts talking at him, and don't think he hasn't seen a hundred and one scary movies that start out this way. As tempted as he is to dart back inside, slam the door and phone the cops, he's meant to be going to band practice, and okay, the guy is taller than him and everything, but Spencer's pretty sure he can take him, or at least run the hell away if he needs to. Besides, there's just something about him.
(Bob just can't believe that he's finally been called up as a Watcher, and his Slayer turns out to be a boy.)
"You are Spencer Smith, right?" he asks, and Spencer is pretty sure that even the most enthusiastic college isn't going to send some guy who looks like he should be serving drinks at the campus bar out to shill for them, and it's not like his grades are that good anyway.
"Maybe," Spencer says shortly, and hits the sidewalk, heading for his grandma's house.
"Look," the guy says earnestly, "I know this sounds nuts, but- this is really important. I've been- I'm Bob, Bob Bryar, and I was sent here to find Spencer Smith. All I know is oldest kid, blond, goes to Bishop Gorman, and," he looks sharply at Spencer, almost like he can see right through him - and Spencer does not, absolutely does not shiver just a little, even under the blue sky and with the summer heat bouncing off the concrete - and goes on to say very precisely, "he or she's probably been having some pretty weird dreams lately. Which is why I'm here."
"What, you're like some kind of sleep specialist?" Spencer asks skeptically, and he's definitely sweating, and this is kind of the most ridiculous conversation he's ever had in his life.
"More like a vampire expert," Bob replies, not all that loudly, and Spencer has a sudden flash memory of the dream he had last night, an ugly face full of teeth coming straight for him, and he definitely goes pale, and the guy - Bob - looks triumphant for a split second, because, yeah, for a guy who's grown up in Vegas, Spencer's poker face leaves a lot to be desired.
"You have got to be fucking kidding me," they both say, and then look confused.
"Are you sure you're not a girl?" Bob asks, once he's sure Spencer isn't going to take off on him, and he looks completely pathetic, and if Spencer was a less awesome human being (and hadn't been friends with Ryan his whole life), he would've been tempted to hit him.
"Pretty sure. For, you know, seventeen years or so now."
"And you don't have a sister?"
"Well, yeah, but I'm the only Spencer Smith who lives here. I'm pretty sure my mom would've told me if I had some twin sister chained up in the attic or something."
"I guess, just- it's always been girls," and this Bob guy looks at him, and Spencer can see him tracking the outfit; the light-coloured hoodie that, okay, yes, was from the girls section in the department store, and he can see the comment forming right there in the back of his throat, and Spencer sets his heels and stiffens, so ready to just get the hell out of there and away from this guy already, but then Bob doesn't say anything insulting at all, just forces himself to loosen up a little and says, "Okay."
That's all he says, "Okay, so this is the deal," and even though Spencer will never, ever afterwards be able to explain why, he doesn't turn his back on this guy and run, he follows him down the street to the brightly lit and well-populated shops (because Spencer listens to his instincts, but he's also not completely stupid, thanks), and hears him out.
* * *
It takes a while for Bob to explain, firstly because he seems to choose his words carefully - Spencer thinks wildly that, okay, sure, he probably doesn't get much of a chance to make a good first impression, because the one that he has is more like 'stalker' - and secondly because all of Spencer's cynicism and doubt kick in again before he's even halfway through his mocha, and he doesn't even try to hide the skepticism.
Because, seriously, this guy cannot be for real. If he was anyone else he'd think it was someone trying to pull some kind of stupid prank on him, but he can't think of anyone who would bother doing that to him, and besides, it's not as if he's going to have some kind of hilarious tv-worthy reaction to this. Because, really. Vampires? Right. Like he hasn't seen that movie.
"No, really," Bob says again, and it's not like Spencer believes him, because clearly he's nuts (and oh god, maybe Spencer is too, there's a frightening thought), and he doesn't understand why he hasn't run screaming yet, except instead they're slouched in a quiet corner of the coffee shop, and this guy is talking to him, and he should be creeped out, but he's so earnest and part of Spencer - the part that isn't scared shitless at the idea that this might actually be legit - part of him wants to believe him.
"Look. Just meet me out at Forestville tonight, okay," Bob asks, sighing, "I'll prove it to you then."
Spencer feels his lips turn up in a bit of a sneer, he can't believe he was so close to actually believing this. "Meet you in the deserted graveyard after dark? Right. And I bet you want me to come alone, too. You know what, I've seen this movie, I've read this book, I don't need the lesson the hard way. Sure you didn't want to offer me candy as well? I don't think so, Bob." And Spencer gets up and does walk out, not even noticing the stares from the barista, the other people in the shop.
Bob doesn't look after him, just lets his head fall onto the table with a painful thud as he mutters "Why me, shit."
* * *
Spencer is totally late for band practice.
Ryan is really not happy, and makes no bones of letting everyone know it.
Brendon and Brent do their best to divert attention, but nothing either of them can do is really covering for the fact that Ryan just about has steam coming out of his ears - it's Spencer, Spencer is the most ultimately reliable person Ryan knows, Spencer is never late and more importantly, he has never actually refused to tell Ryan why if he is - or that Spencer is completely failing to keep anything like a regular tempo, even with the metronome.
They run through a couple of songs, and when Brent tentatively suggests that maybe they give it a rest for the night - the neighbors will certainly appreciate it, Ryan thinks sourly - and, like, "go get some sodas or movies or something," they all agree embarrassingly fast. Spencer opens his mouth as if he's about to protest, or excuse himself, or something, and Ryan bites his lip before he says something else. He's far too self-aware to not know that this is maybe a time when he could make a bad situation worse, and as much as it sucks, he's going to have to wait for Spence to say something first.
Brendon throws himself into the driver's seat of his van and taps impatiently on the steering wheel while they sort themselves out, and the silent battle of wills between Ryan and Spencer over who gets to sit in the front seat (and resist the urge to grab the wheel if Brendon gets particularly flamboyant in his gestures) and who doesn't have to squash into the back gets resolved unexpectedly when Brent climbs into the passenger seat without even calling shotgun.
It's completely against the standing rules, but Ryan appreciates the gesture, especially now that he's cooled down enough himself to see the way that Spencer is still tensed up, even more than he has been lately, and, okay, yeah, something is not right with this picture. Spencer looks like he hasn't really been sleeping, and insomnia has been Ryan's gig for years now, he knows the symptoms, and that's not at all in the normal Smith Operating Procedures. Ryan is so not letting him get away with this a single day longer, he decides, and feels a little better right away, even though it's not like he has any idea how to actually go about doing that.
Ryan belts up - Brendon nags worse than anyone's mom if they don't, and it's not like Ryan really wants to end with hideous facial injuries from hitting the seat or the windscreen anyway - and slumps back against the door, fiddling with his cuffs as he thinks.
Brendon doesn't manage to get them more than a few blocks before the crappy radio is creeping up in volume, and he sings along cheerfully, and Ryan tries not to think too hard about how he knows for a fact that he's tapping the gas pedal in time with the bass. There but for the grace of god, Ryan adds, mentally, and when Brent grabs the oh-shit handle as they take a corner, all three of them automatically catcall, and when he meets Spencer's eyes, Spencer just gives him a quick look that is 'okay, fine, sorry' and 'I'll tell you later' and 'don't worry, Ryan' all at the same time, and then they're laughing and arguing over whether the John Malkovich movie Ryan is pushing for is worth it, or if it's just going to be a pretentious waste of time.
Brendon seconds Ryan's choice, argues with Spencer for two minutes and then they swap sides and argue it back the other way, right up to the counter, and Ryan just hangs back and grins, because his band, seriously.
* * *
They end up watching the movie back at Spencer's place - his mom is usually pretty zen about a pack of teenage boys descending with little warning, and she fends them off with cookies (from a packet, but come on, cookies, like anyone is going to complain, especially if they don't want a lecture on how if they want home-made every single day they're perfectly capable of baking them themselves, boys) and kicks them out of her kitchen and promises dinner later, if they're hungry and their parents don't mind them staying over.
Ryan doesn't really stop to second-guess himself before asking cautiously, "Hey, Spence, um, mind if I stay-" and Spencer shrugs, nods, and says "Sure thing, Ry," as if they were never glaring daggers at each other an hour ago. It's a little close to taking advantage - because Ryan knows Spencer will always, always let him stay, will let him get away with more than he should sometimes, maybe, but the more he sneaks looks at Spencer, out of the corner of his eye, and from over Brendon's shoulder where they're squashed onto the basement couch, the more he thinks that it's a good cause.
The movie isn't even half over when Spencer - curled up in front of the couch, arms tucked under the pillow he's propped up on - drifts off to sleep entirely, and Ryan and Brendon share a quick rueful grin over his head. Their grins fade, fast, when Spencer shifts in his sleep, face screwed up in an expression that isn't the slightest bit peaceful, and moans. It's not the sort of moan that you could make fun of your friends for later, there's nothing silly or even kind of sexual about it. It's high and breathy and sounds kind of fearful, and even though the sound chokes off almost immediately, it's suddenly the only thing Ryan can hear, the movie dialogue receding, his pulse pounding in his ears, tense with uncertainty.
It's not just- he's a little embarrassed, sure, because you're not meant to hear other people sound like that, or not with an audience at least, and maybe it would be different if it was just Ryan, but there's Brent, and Brendon, and Ryan can't help himself at that, meets Brendon's eyes again, and Brendon looks just as freaked, as frozen as he does. Spencer's knotting himself into a ball at their feet, teeth in his lip and shoulders straining, and- they should wake him up, or something, right?
Ryan tucks his feet under himself and reaches down, and it feels harder than it has any right to do to make himself do that much, and his hand is a bare inch above Spencer's shoulder when he shoots back to sudden wakefulness, one hand moving almost impossibly fast to bat Ryan's hand away from his body, and the only reason Ryan doesn't get hit is that his reflexes kick in just in time to pull back, setting him off balance and tipping sideways on the couch.
Spencer sits bolt upright, eyes wide and huge in the dim room, rolling up onto his knees so that he's facing the three of them on the couch, staring from Ryan to Brendon to Brent, and for just that split-second Ryan can see he doesn't recognise any of them, still half-caught in his dream, and then awareness floods in, followed by shock and the sort of crushing embarrassment that Ryan is all too familiar with.
"Fuck, fuck, Ry, I'm sorry, did I- I wasn't expecting, um," and Spencer trails off and scrubs his hands wearily over his eyes, looking poleaxed and not a little horrified.
"He's speedy like a fox," Brendon offers, clearly trying to soothe, and yeah, he's got one hand rubbing over the back of Ryan's neck, thumb digging into the space between his neckbones and shoulder, and he's nudging his toe against Spencer's side like an overgrown friendly puppy, and Ryan lets himself lean against Brendon, just a little. Just for a second.
Spencer doesn't look particularly soothed, he just looks- wild, and freaked still, and it makes Ryan's throat ache.
"Um, bad dream, I guess," he says, and then a bit less shakily, "Hey, do you guys mind if we do this, I dunno, later-?" and the last fraying yard of tension sort of snaps then, as they all leap on the excuse as if it was an invitation. Brent excuses himself to head home for dinner, and Brendon slides bonelessly off the couch and onto the floor beside Spencer, careful not to touch him (Ryan's throat aches a little more, at that) and asks quietly if he wants them to stay or not.
Spencer just opens his mouth, clearly changes his mind, looks almost defeated and says, "Yes, please."
Dinner is subdued, despite their best efforts to put on a normal face, and after they all help to clear the table and load the dishwasher, Spencer's dad just says something fond and indulgent about teenagers and waves them off again.
They move up to Spencer's room without any clear discussion of the choice - and it seems almost wrong that the sun's still up, light flooding the rest of the house and the cicadas buzzing angrily from the trees. Spencer drops heavily onto his bed while Ryan and Brendon take their usual poses on desk and chair respectively, and he plays with his laces in silence for a minute or two.
"So, this guy stopped me on the way to practice this afternoon," he starts, finally, and it's so not even remotely close to anything that Ryan would've ever expected him to say then that he makes some kind of completely undignified noise. Brendon, who clearly has no sense of occasion, snickers at him, tries to hide the grin under a cough and his sleeve, and Spencer just rolls his eyes at them both and keeps talking.
"And, okay, it was really kind of weird, and we ended up talking down at the coffee house for a while, and I thought he was just messing with me, but- I've been having these dreams lately, and I think- I dunno, maybe he can help me."
Brendon gives Ryan a look that point-blank demands, 'you're the best friend, you say something!' and Ryan says sort of helplessly, "Spence, are you saying you want to, um, go pick up guys at a club, or something? It wouldn't bother me at all, I mean- you're- I- just, um, don't you think it might be safer to try guys our age first?"
Spencer just stares blankly at him for a second. "Ry- what the hell? Oh my god, did you think I was coming out to you?"
Ryan stares back. "It sounded like it! What did you expect us to think?"
Brendon mutters something under his breath that might bear some resemblance to "who needs to, this is the straightest band this side of Queen," but then again it might not and both Ryan and Spencer ignore him with equally stiff dignity.
"I was going to ask," Spencer says in defeat, "if you guys could give me a ride to where I'm meeting him, and then I can talk to him some more and maybe figure out what the fuck is going on. Ry, if you still want to stay over you could just stay here, I-"
"No way, Spence," Ryan replies, because, seriously, what did Spencer think he was, "I'll come with you."
"He said I had to come alone- and yeah, I know what you're thinking, and I said the same thing to him, but it's okay, I think. He seemed like a decent guy."
Ryan keeps his private thoughts about that to himself, and follows Spencer and Brendon down the stairs. They're getting back into Brendon's van when Bren asks "so, where exactly are you meeting this guy again?" and it's damned lucky for everyone that Brendon drives a shitty car with a motor that's not exactly brand new, because when Spencer admits "Forestville", Ryan's disbelieving curse of "Are you fucking kidding?" (Spencer is meant to be the sensible one!) is swallowed up by the exhaust.
* * *
It's just starting to get dark - or, at least, as dark as Vegas gets - as Brendon pulls into the drive leading into Forestville cemetery. The gates are barred and locked, and the three of them exchange looks, because, well, it's a cemetery. It's inherently creepy, especially at night.
"Spence, are you sure-?" Ryan asks, curling his hands so his fingernails dig in to the seat belt, hidden under his palm. If he needs to, he can be out of the car in a second to follow Spencer (or drag him back, he's really not sure what he'd rather do). Just about every single bone in his body is screaming 'bad move bad move bad move,' disturbed on a level that he doesn't think he's usually conscious of.
Spencer stops halfway out the door, and looks back at them, face pale under the flickering interior light. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Just, like, wait here? I won't be long, I guess."
He jogs over to the side of the drive in the pool of light under the overhead floodlight, sneakers muffled on the asphalt and scales the fence with a grace that Ryan sure doesn't remember him having in gym class or on the jungle gyms in elementary school, even. Spencer's been filling out, getting smoother and more sure in his body lately, though, and - that evening's dismal practice aside - it's been showing in his playing, too.
* * *
Spencer drops lightly to the thin grass of the cemetery proper, steadies himself with a hand on the wall, and then looks around to get his bearings. His pulse is thudding along steadily, faking nonchalance just as well as the rest of him. Even as he sees a figure that looks (so much as he remembers, at least) vaguely Bob-shaped over by a stand of young pines and lopes towards him, his mind is running circles around the whole thing. Thinking 'seriously, this is bullshit. This isn't happening. There's no such thing as vampires. There's not. There's totally a logical explanation for everything, and it's not like Scully was always wrong, right?' and then despite it all, despite the fucking scary-ass dream that had him nearly hit Ryan of all people two hours ago, he sort of distracts himself by trying to remember back through enough reruns of the X Files to a time when Scully was actually definitely for sure right and Mulder was clearly smoking the good stuff. He's a little disconcerted when Bob kind of looms up out of the darkness and says "Hi. Wasn't sure you were gonna show, Smith. Good to see you." And Spencer hasn't actually thought of anything yet, but then that's why the internet exists and he can totally check when he gets home.
...if he, you know, gets home. Regardless of what he told Ryan and Brendon, the jury is sort of still out on the 'Bob as potential axe murderer' thing.
"So. You wanted to meet me, you said you'd explain what the hell is happening to me. I'm here, so... start talking."
Bob looks a little taken aback. "You sure don't waste any time," he observes.
Spencer just barely - only just barely, and only because it is so fucking cliched and he has more class than that - resists the urge to lean on a handy tree and tap his watch.
"Look, are you for real? Because, seriously, if you're messing with me-"
Bob looks completely serious again, and it makes something in Spencer's gut go tight and hot, nerves and anticipation, something both familiar and deeply uncomfortable at the same time. "Oh, I'm for real. And I think you're about to be signing on as a true believer yourself any minute now."
Spencer frowns, because if this is a new angle for the Jehovah's witnesses, well- it has originality, that's for sure.
"Here," Bob says, and slaps something solid and wooden into Spencer's palm, unhurriedly shifting his hand so that he's curled Spencer's fingers around it before he's quite realised that Bob is right in his personal space, but he moves so smoothly - Spencer's mind catches and hitches on that for a moment, because, seriously, Bob practically melted right out of his reach, and that's not normal either. "You're probably gonna need that in a minute," Bob goes on, and a tiny glint catching in the reflected light of moon and stars (and a fuckload of casinos) means Spencer notices that, hey, he has a lip ring. Which he's chewing on.
Spencer takes a totally embarrassing moment to reflect on just how hot that is (and how, okay, so maybe he could've admitted something else to Ryan and Brendon this afternoon after all, but it's not like it's any great secret anyway, really. It's not like he's in the market for a boyfriend or anything like that, so who even cares anyway, right?), and consequently, he misses everything right up to the moment when Bob spins away from him with a strangled curse, and the world goes into some kind of crazy slow motion and his reflexes take over.
He ducks in advance of a barely felt movement of air at the back of his neck, pivoting on one foot and leaning his weight back into a long retreating step. There's- there's a thing standing right where he had been, incongruously formal clothing under a hissing face, screwed up with dull eyes and what look like way too many teeth, brow prominent like in those Neanderthal drawings they'd studied in school, and it's reaching for him. He couldn't say how he knows, but it's hungry and for the first time in his life, Spencer has a gut-deep appreciation of just what that whole food chain business is about.
"No," he whispers, and the thing clearly hasn't spent much time around teenagers lately, because it growls "begging isn't going to help you, boy" and the thing is... Spencer wasn't. There is no fucking way something that looks like a bad special effect out of an eighties movie is getting its teeth into him. Not for a second.
"I don't think so," he says more evenly, and okay, maybe he should've said something snappier, but fuckssake, he's not Batman, and he doesn't have five guys to work out the most torturous pun for the situation, so it's going to have to do, and he slides smoothly forward into a lunge, his right hand coming up over his shoulder and aims the stake - because that's what Bob's handed him, a wooden stake, and the part of his brain not busy freaking the fuck out or in denial notes absently that it has the kind of balance he looks for in a good pair of sticks. There's a flicker of confusion on the vamp's face and then he's hitting a nauseating resistance for just a second, and then the thing explodes into dust at his feet, clothes and all.
All the coordination goes out of his system in a rush, and Spencer sits down hard, fighting the urge to throw up. Did he-? He just killed something, and it turned into dust, and what the fuck is going on?
"What the fuck is going on?" Spencer asks, for what feels like the hundredth time.
Bob settles himself on the ground by Spencer - again, a carefully judged distance away, and looks clearly relieved.
"That was a vampire."
"No shit," Spencer interrupts bitchily, because, seriously, duh. Bob kind of doesn't even blink.
"A vampire who had just risen, and was about to go out on the town hunting. You stopped him. Like you were meant to. Like you were born to." And somehow, Bob doesn't look as weird spouting what sounds like B movie dialogue as Spencer thinks he should. It's like part of him was just waiting to hear this, and is nodding its head in agreement, yes. Of course, that doesn't mean that Sane, Sensible, 21st Century Spencer is going down without a fight.
"You know how ridiculous that sounds, right?" he asks.
"You're asking me that? What kinds of smoke and mirrors d'you think are in my budget, Smith," Bob asks, clearly rhetorically, gesturing to his beat-up docs and clean-but-clearly-vintage punk t-shirt. "You just saw a vampire turn to dust, right in front of you. Uh. All over your shoes, actually," he observes, and Spencer takes that as his cue to look down and- yeah. His shoes are filthy, and if he even thinks about where that dust came from he's going to have to toss them out and never wear them ever again, which would be a crime against good shoes and goddamnit, Spencer is so not okay with all of this.
"Can we just- talk about this like normal guys, and not go into all the foreboding mystical woo woo shit?" he asks, a little pathetically, and Bob barks out a laugh.
"We're not normal guys, though, Spencer. Or. I'm a normal guy. You're a slayer."
Spencer thinks there really should've been some kind of dramatic crash of cymbals there, but instead all there is are the cicadas screaming away from the bushes.
"One girl- guy, in your case, and believe me, that's unprecedented - in all the world to stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. And even if we weren't sure at first, that little move there confirmed it. You're up, kid."
They are clearly going to have to go over all this again some time later, because Spencer figures he's only catching one word in five, buzzing a little with adrenaline, and also he's pretty sure that Bob had just called him a girl again.
"Can I get more than just the Cliff Notes version?"
Bob stands, extending his arm to help Spencer get back on his feet, and leads him over to his car - a beat-up looking Honda, parked at the back entrance to the graveyard. "Can you meet me after you're finished with school tomorrow? I can sit you down, give you the whole Discovery Channel lecture series. It'll make a bit more sense then, I think. Right now you should get home, catch up on a bit of sleep. The dreams should taper off a bit now that you're actually out there doing what you're meant to, but... pay attention to them anyway. It seems like you guys get a little precog wired in sometimes, and any kind of warning about what's coming is going to come in handy."
"Why are you doing this?" Spencer manages to ask, and it's not the most obvious question, but it's about all he's got left right now, and shit, Ryan and Brendon have got to be worrying by now, and if he's not careful they'll have called the cops on him, or worse, come looking. He thinks about that thing going after his friends, and goes hot and cold all over, a disconcerting blend of rage and fear washing through him. No. No way, never.
Bob smiles at him one more time, and it's almost sad, in a way, which is just the fucking confusing cherry on top of this entire cake of incomprehensible crazytimes, and says, "I'm your Watcher. Guess what I do?"
"Quoting Kevin Smith movies is not actually going to make me feel better about all of this," Spencer deadpans back, except he's lying, because it kind of does, a little. "See you tomorrow, I guess, then," and he follows the boundary fence to the corner, heading back the long way towards Brendon's car. For some reason, he doesn't really feel like cutting back across the graveyard right then.
* * *
Spencer gets back to the entranceway to find Brendon and Ryan walking little circles on the concrete drive in front of the car, looking in opposite directions, clearly waiting for him. Ryan's got his phone in his hand and he's flipping it open and closed in a nervous tic which reinforces to Spencer just how close they must've come to freaking out and calling someone. Honestly, he's not sure whether the police or his parents would be worse.
"Spence!" Brendon yells, and looks relieved, bounding over to tug him back to the car, shoving him into the back seat and turning to glare at Ryan, who's not exactly dawdling himself, climbing into the front seat with Brendon and twisting around as soon as the door's slammed to stare at Spencer.
"So what was all of this about, Spencer?" Ryan asks, deadpan as usual, and it overlaps with Brendon's "dude, seriously, you're filthy, did you fall down a hole or something?", the question tossed over his shoulder as he reverses out of the drive at only marginally unwise speeds.
"Um," Spencer replies because he hasn't actually come up with a very good cover story at all, and that's something else he should probably ask Bob about tomorrow. Why shouldn't Ryan and Brendon know, anyway? He has a feeling the answer to that question is probably something like "how would you like a tour of Nevada's most charming mental health institutions?" or maybe the whole Men In Black "a person is smart, people are stupid" spiel, but... it's Ryan and Brendon. If there's anyone else in the world who would believe him, it's them.
Of course, if there's anyone else in the world who'd think they had to get involved and would maybe get hurt-- Spencer thinks back to how he'd felt when he thought they could've ended up facing that vampire, and bites his lip. He can't tell them. Not right now, anyway.
"It was- I tripped on something, a gravestone I guess, didn't even rip my jeans though, so it's fine. And we just talked a bit, Bob's- the guy I met, he seems like he's aboveboard."
Ryan sounds a little strangled, "Spencer, he wanted to meet you at a graveyard. Normal people go to coffee shops."
"He needed to show me something," Spencer says, and he can see in the rear-vision mirror that Brendon is opening his mouth to ask what, and Ryan is just frowning unhappily, and this sucks, and he just slouches back into the upholstery, letting his head thunk onto the window and his eyes close. "Look, I'm kinda tired, can we talk about this later, guys? I just want to go home."
"Sure," Brendon says quietly, and drops them both back at Spencer's, waving through the window and waiting till they've got the front door open before he drives off, and it's only when Ryan follows him inside and under the splash of lighting in the hall that his mom's left on for them that Spencer notices the knees of Ryan's jeans are just as gritty and dust-coated as his own. Like Spencer maybe wasn't the only one who climbed that wall tonight, because he sure doesn't think that Brendon and Ryan have stopped dancing around each other enough yet to have been doing anything else that would be leaving those kind of marks.
He swallows down the questions crowding his tongue - did you see, what did you see, are you okay? - and just heads straight for his bedroom, cracking his neck a little, trying to stretch out the residual soreness from weeks of broken sleep.
Ryan curls up on the cot beside his bed in equal silence, and Spencer hits the light switch, leaving them both in the dim wash of light sneaking through the edges of his curtains from the streetlight outside. He kind of wants to curl up against the wall, his back to everything and everyone and just not think at all, but he can't quite let himself do that, and Ryan is just looking at him, hair flattened messily against the pillow.
The words sneak out before he can stop himself, the whisper far too loud in the sleeping house. "Did you-" and Ryan just shakes his head, the whites of his eyes almost glowing as he doesn't drop Spencer's gaze for a second, "Leave it for the morning, Spencer. You're exhausted."
They hold the look for a couple seconds longer, a wordless discussion, no need to actually ask, and just as the first shiver of reaction shakes Spencer from toes to fingertips, Ryan unwinds himself from his blankets and slides in beside him, pulling the spare blankets over the both of them, tucking his angles against Spencer's side, the way they always seem to fit. He ducks his head against Spencer's shoulder, and Spencer can feel the thin cotton of his t-shirt ripple as Ryan huffs a few warm breaths against him.
"Your nose is cold," he observes almost steadily, and Ryan just ducks his head to press his pointy chin and pointy nose even harder against Spencer's shoulder, and says, "Shut up", and feeling unaccountably better, Spencer lets his eyes drift closed one last time and does just that.
* * *
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Band(s): Panic at the Disco, with a few guest spots from MCR, TAI and others.
Pairing(s): Spencer/Bob, Brendon/Ryan/Jon
Word Count: 33 400.
Rating/Warnings: R (some violence and sexual content)
Summary: Spencer really wishes that "sorry, I had to slay this vampire" was an excuse he could actually use for not having finished his homework. It's not like it's not true. (AU in which the Panic boys are still in high school, and Spencer finds out he's destined to be a Slayer, a la the Buffyverse.)
Author Notes: Thanks to the Big Bang mods for putting this together, and major thanks to katrin for holding my hand the entire way and telling me to write more, and more, and asking what happens next, and to elucreh who somehow betaed this entire thing overnight, even though she had to invent an entire new shorthand with which to wrangle my grammatical missteps. You guys are legends, thank you. Title from REM, who kept telling me things I needed to hear, and rather a lot of mythology adapted from the Jossverse as appropriate.
Fic:
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Bonus Features:
Music mixes by inkjunket and fishchan912.
* * *
It's an even bet as to who's more shocked, the first time Bob Bryar meets Spencer Smith.
Spencer would never in a million years have thought that, well, firstly that vampires were actually real, or secondly that he had some mystical destiny to slay them. Not that he gets to find that out right away, either. Initially, it's more like hi, this weird dude grabs him on his doorstep and starts talking at him, and don't think he hasn't seen a hundred and one scary movies that start out this way. As tempted as he is to dart back inside, slam the door and phone the cops, he's meant to be going to band practice, and okay, the guy is taller than him and everything, but Spencer's pretty sure he can take him, or at least run the hell away if he needs to. Besides, there's just something about him.
(Bob just can't believe that he's finally been called up as a Watcher, and his Slayer turns out to be a boy.)
"You are Spencer Smith, right?" he asks, and Spencer is pretty sure that even the most enthusiastic college isn't going to send some guy who looks like he should be serving drinks at the campus bar out to shill for them, and it's not like his grades are that good anyway.
"Maybe," Spencer says shortly, and hits the sidewalk, heading for his grandma's house.
"Look," the guy says earnestly, "I know this sounds nuts, but- this is really important. I've been- I'm Bob, Bob Bryar, and I was sent here to find Spencer Smith. All I know is oldest kid, blond, goes to Bishop Gorman, and," he looks sharply at Spencer, almost like he can see right through him - and Spencer does not, absolutely does not shiver just a little, even under the blue sky and with the summer heat bouncing off the concrete - and goes on to say very precisely, "he or she's probably been having some pretty weird dreams lately. Which is why I'm here."
"What, you're like some kind of sleep specialist?" Spencer asks skeptically, and he's definitely sweating, and this is kind of the most ridiculous conversation he's ever had in his life.
"More like a vampire expert," Bob replies, not all that loudly, and Spencer has a sudden flash memory of the dream he had last night, an ugly face full of teeth coming straight for him, and he definitely goes pale, and the guy - Bob - looks triumphant for a split second, because, yeah, for a guy who's grown up in Vegas, Spencer's poker face leaves a lot to be desired.
"You have got to be fucking kidding me," they both say, and then look confused.
"Are you sure you're not a girl?" Bob asks, once he's sure Spencer isn't going to take off on him, and he looks completely pathetic, and if Spencer was a less awesome human being (and hadn't been friends with Ryan his whole life), he would've been tempted to hit him.
"Pretty sure. For, you know, seventeen years or so now."
"And you don't have a sister?"
"Well, yeah, but I'm the only Spencer Smith who lives here. I'm pretty sure my mom would've told me if I had some twin sister chained up in the attic or something."
"I guess, just- it's always been girls," and this Bob guy looks at him, and Spencer can see him tracking the outfit; the light-coloured hoodie that, okay, yes, was from the girls section in the department store, and he can see the comment forming right there in the back of his throat, and Spencer sets his heels and stiffens, so ready to just get the hell out of there and away from this guy already, but then Bob doesn't say anything insulting at all, just forces himself to loosen up a little and says, "Okay."
That's all he says, "Okay, so this is the deal," and even though Spencer will never, ever afterwards be able to explain why, he doesn't turn his back on this guy and run, he follows him down the street to the brightly lit and well-populated shops (because Spencer listens to his instincts, but he's also not completely stupid, thanks), and hears him out.
* * *
It takes a while for Bob to explain, firstly because he seems to choose his words carefully - Spencer thinks wildly that, okay, sure, he probably doesn't get much of a chance to make a good first impression, because the one that he has is more like 'stalker' - and secondly because all of Spencer's cynicism and doubt kick in again before he's even halfway through his mocha, and he doesn't even try to hide the skepticism.
Because, seriously, this guy cannot be for real. If he was anyone else he'd think it was someone trying to pull some kind of stupid prank on him, but he can't think of anyone who would bother doing that to him, and besides, it's not as if he's going to have some kind of hilarious tv-worthy reaction to this. Because, really. Vampires? Right. Like he hasn't seen that movie.
"No, really," Bob says again, and it's not like Spencer believes him, because clearly he's nuts (and oh god, maybe Spencer is too, there's a frightening thought), and he doesn't understand why he hasn't run screaming yet, except instead they're slouched in a quiet corner of the coffee shop, and this guy is talking to him, and he should be creeped out, but he's so earnest and part of Spencer - the part that isn't scared shitless at the idea that this might actually be legit - part of him wants to believe him.
"Look. Just meet me out at Forestville tonight, okay," Bob asks, sighing, "I'll prove it to you then."
Spencer feels his lips turn up in a bit of a sneer, he can't believe he was so close to actually believing this. "Meet you in the deserted graveyard after dark? Right. And I bet you want me to come alone, too. You know what, I've seen this movie, I've read this book, I don't need the lesson the hard way. Sure you didn't want to offer me candy as well? I don't think so, Bob." And Spencer gets up and does walk out, not even noticing the stares from the barista, the other people in the shop.
Bob doesn't look after him, just lets his head fall onto the table with a painful thud as he mutters "Why me, shit."
* * *
Spencer is totally late for band practice.
Ryan is really not happy, and makes no bones of letting everyone know it.
Brendon and Brent do their best to divert attention, but nothing either of them can do is really covering for the fact that Ryan just about has steam coming out of his ears - it's Spencer, Spencer is the most ultimately reliable person Ryan knows, Spencer is never late and more importantly, he has never actually refused to tell Ryan why if he is - or that Spencer is completely failing to keep anything like a regular tempo, even with the metronome.
They run through a couple of songs, and when Brent tentatively suggests that maybe they give it a rest for the night - the neighbors will certainly appreciate it, Ryan thinks sourly - and, like, "go get some sodas or movies or something," they all agree embarrassingly fast. Spencer opens his mouth as if he's about to protest, or excuse himself, or something, and Ryan bites his lip before he says something else. He's far too self-aware to not know that this is maybe a time when he could make a bad situation worse, and as much as it sucks, he's going to have to wait for Spence to say something first.
Brendon throws himself into the driver's seat of his van and taps impatiently on the steering wheel while they sort themselves out, and the silent battle of wills between Ryan and Spencer over who gets to sit in the front seat (and resist the urge to grab the wheel if Brendon gets particularly flamboyant in his gestures) and who doesn't have to squash into the back gets resolved unexpectedly when Brent climbs into the passenger seat without even calling shotgun.
It's completely against the standing rules, but Ryan appreciates the gesture, especially now that he's cooled down enough himself to see the way that Spencer is still tensed up, even more than he has been lately, and, okay, yeah, something is not right with this picture. Spencer looks like he hasn't really been sleeping, and insomnia has been Ryan's gig for years now, he knows the symptoms, and that's not at all in the normal Smith Operating Procedures. Ryan is so not letting him get away with this a single day longer, he decides, and feels a little better right away, even though it's not like he has any idea how to actually go about doing that.
Ryan belts up - Brendon nags worse than anyone's mom if they don't, and it's not like Ryan really wants to end with hideous facial injuries from hitting the seat or the windscreen anyway - and slumps back against the door, fiddling with his cuffs as he thinks.
Brendon doesn't manage to get them more than a few blocks before the crappy radio is creeping up in volume, and he sings along cheerfully, and Ryan tries not to think too hard about how he knows for a fact that he's tapping the gas pedal in time with the bass. There but for the grace of god, Ryan adds, mentally, and when Brent grabs the oh-shit handle as they take a corner, all three of them automatically catcall, and when he meets Spencer's eyes, Spencer just gives him a quick look that is 'okay, fine, sorry' and 'I'll tell you later' and 'don't worry, Ryan' all at the same time, and then they're laughing and arguing over whether the John Malkovich movie Ryan is pushing for is worth it, or if it's just going to be a pretentious waste of time.
Brendon seconds Ryan's choice, argues with Spencer for two minutes and then they swap sides and argue it back the other way, right up to the counter, and Ryan just hangs back and grins, because his band, seriously.
* * *
They end up watching the movie back at Spencer's place - his mom is usually pretty zen about a pack of teenage boys descending with little warning, and she fends them off with cookies (from a packet, but come on, cookies, like anyone is going to complain, especially if they don't want a lecture on how if they want home-made every single day they're perfectly capable of baking them themselves, boys) and kicks them out of her kitchen and promises dinner later, if they're hungry and their parents don't mind them staying over.
Ryan doesn't really stop to second-guess himself before asking cautiously, "Hey, Spence, um, mind if I stay-" and Spencer shrugs, nods, and says "Sure thing, Ry," as if they were never glaring daggers at each other an hour ago. It's a little close to taking advantage - because Ryan knows Spencer will always, always let him stay, will let him get away with more than he should sometimes, maybe, but the more he sneaks looks at Spencer, out of the corner of his eye, and from over Brendon's shoulder where they're squashed onto the basement couch, the more he thinks that it's a good cause.
The movie isn't even half over when Spencer - curled up in front of the couch, arms tucked under the pillow he's propped up on - drifts off to sleep entirely, and Ryan and Brendon share a quick rueful grin over his head. Their grins fade, fast, when Spencer shifts in his sleep, face screwed up in an expression that isn't the slightest bit peaceful, and moans. It's not the sort of moan that you could make fun of your friends for later, there's nothing silly or even kind of sexual about it. It's high and breathy and sounds kind of fearful, and even though the sound chokes off almost immediately, it's suddenly the only thing Ryan can hear, the movie dialogue receding, his pulse pounding in his ears, tense with uncertainty.
It's not just- he's a little embarrassed, sure, because you're not meant to hear other people sound like that, or not with an audience at least, and maybe it would be different if it was just Ryan, but there's Brent, and Brendon, and Ryan can't help himself at that, meets Brendon's eyes again, and Brendon looks just as freaked, as frozen as he does. Spencer's knotting himself into a ball at their feet, teeth in his lip and shoulders straining, and- they should wake him up, or something, right?
Ryan tucks his feet under himself and reaches down, and it feels harder than it has any right to do to make himself do that much, and his hand is a bare inch above Spencer's shoulder when he shoots back to sudden wakefulness, one hand moving almost impossibly fast to bat Ryan's hand away from his body, and the only reason Ryan doesn't get hit is that his reflexes kick in just in time to pull back, setting him off balance and tipping sideways on the couch.
Spencer sits bolt upright, eyes wide and huge in the dim room, rolling up onto his knees so that he's facing the three of them on the couch, staring from Ryan to Brendon to Brent, and for just that split-second Ryan can see he doesn't recognise any of them, still half-caught in his dream, and then awareness floods in, followed by shock and the sort of crushing embarrassment that Ryan is all too familiar with.
"Fuck, fuck, Ry, I'm sorry, did I- I wasn't expecting, um," and Spencer trails off and scrubs his hands wearily over his eyes, looking poleaxed and not a little horrified.
"He's speedy like a fox," Brendon offers, clearly trying to soothe, and yeah, he's got one hand rubbing over the back of Ryan's neck, thumb digging into the space between his neckbones and shoulder, and he's nudging his toe against Spencer's side like an overgrown friendly puppy, and Ryan lets himself lean against Brendon, just a little. Just for a second.
Spencer doesn't look particularly soothed, he just looks- wild, and freaked still, and it makes Ryan's throat ache.
"Um, bad dream, I guess," he says, and then a bit less shakily, "Hey, do you guys mind if we do this, I dunno, later-?" and the last fraying yard of tension sort of snaps then, as they all leap on the excuse as if it was an invitation. Brent excuses himself to head home for dinner, and Brendon slides bonelessly off the couch and onto the floor beside Spencer, careful not to touch him (Ryan's throat aches a little more, at that) and asks quietly if he wants them to stay or not.
Spencer just opens his mouth, clearly changes his mind, looks almost defeated and says, "Yes, please."
Dinner is subdued, despite their best efforts to put on a normal face, and after they all help to clear the table and load the dishwasher, Spencer's dad just says something fond and indulgent about teenagers and waves them off again.
They move up to Spencer's room without any clear discussion of the choice - and it seems almost wrong that the sun's still up, light flooding the rest of the house and the cicadas buzzing angrily from the trees. Spencer drops heavily onto his bed while Ryan and Brendon take their usual poses on desk and chair respectively, and he plays with his laces in silence for a minute or two.
"So, this guy stopped me on the way to practice this afternoon," he starts, finally, and it's so not even remotely close to anything that Ryan would've ever expected him to say then that he makes some kind of completely undignified noise. Brendon, who clearly has no sense of occasion, snickers at him, tries to hide the grin under a cough and his sleeve, and Spencer just rolls his eyes at them both and keeps talking.
"And, okay, it was really kind of weird, and we ended up talking down at the coffee house for a while, and I thought he was just messing with me, but- I've been having these dreams lately, and I think- I dunno, maybe he can help me."
Brendon gives Ryan a look that point-blank demands, 'you're the best friend, you say something!' and Ryan says sort of helplessly, "Spence, are you saying you want to, um, go pick up guys at a club, or something? It wouldn't bother me at all, I mean- you're- I- just, um, don't you think it might be safer to try guys our age first?"
Spencer just stares blankly at him for a second. "Ry- what the hell? Oh my god, did you think I was coming out to you?"
Ryan stares back. "It sounded like it! What did you expect us to think?"
Brendon mutters something under his breath that might bear some resemblance to "who needs to, this is the straightest band this side of Queen," but then again it might not and both Ryan and Spencer ignore him with equally stiff dignity.
"I was going to ask," Spencer says in defeat, "if you guys could give me a ride to where I'm meeting him, and then I can talk to him some more and maybe figure out what the fuck is going on. Ry, if you still want to stay over you could just stay here, I-"
"No way, Spence," Ryan replies, because, seriously, what did Spencer think he was, "I'll come with you."
"He said I had to come alone- and yeah, I know what you're thinking, and I said the same thing to him, but it's okay, I think. He seemed like a decent guy."
Ryan keeps his private thoughts about that to himself, and follows Spencer and Brendon down the stairs. They're getting back into Brendon's van when Bren asks "so, where exactly are you meeting this guy again?" and it's damned lucky for everyone that Brendon drives a shitty car with a motor that's not exactly brand new, because when Spencer admits "Forestville", Ryan's disbelieving curse of "Are you fucking kidding?" (Spencer is meant to be the sensible one!) is swallowed up by the exhaust.
* * *
It's just starting to get dark - or, at least, as dark as Vegas gets - as Brendon pulls into the drive leading into Forestville cemetery. The gates are barred and locked, and the three of them exchange looks, because, well, it's a cemetery. It's inherently creepy, especially at night.
"Spence, are you sure-?" Ryan asks, curling his hands so his fingernails dig in to the seat belt, hidden under his palm. If he needs to, he can be out of the car in a second to follow Spencer (or drag him back, he's really not sure what he'd rather do). Just about every single bone in his body is screaming 'bad move bad move bad move,' disturbed on a level that he doesn't think he's usually conscious of.
Spencer stops halfway out the door, and looks back at them, face pale under the flickering interior light. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Just, like, wait here? I won't be long, I guess."
He jogs over to the side of the drive in the pool of light under the overhead floodlight, sneakers muffled on the asphalt and scales the fence with a grace that Ryan sure doesn't remember him having in gym class or on the jungle gyms in elementary school, even. Spencer's been filling out, getting smoother and more sure in his body lately, though, and - that evening's dismal practice aside - it's been showing in his playing, too.
* * *
Spencer drops lightly to the thin grass of the cemetery proper, steadies himself with a hand on the wall, and then looks around to get his bearings. His pulse is thudding along steadily, faking nonchalance just as well as the rest of him. Even as he sees a figure that looks (so much as he remembers, at least) vaguely Bob-shaped over by a stand of young pines and lopes towards him, his mind is running circles around the whole thing. Thinking 'seriously, this is bullshit. This isn't happening. There's no such thing as vampires. There's not. There's totally a logical explanation for everything, and it's not like Scully was always wrong, right?' and then despite it all, despite the fucking scary-ass dream that had him nearly hit Ryan of all people two hours ago, he sort of distracts himself by trying to remember back through enough reruns of the X Files to a time when Scully was actually definitely for sure right and Mulder was clearly smoking the good stuff. He's a little disconcerted when Bob kind of looms up out of the darkness and says "Hi. Wasn't sure you were gonna show, Smith. Good to see you." And Spencer hasn't actually thought of anything yet, but then that's why the internet exists and he can totally check when he gets home.
...if he, you know, gets home. Regardless of what he told Ryan and Brendon, the jury is sort of still out on the 'Bob as potential axe murderer' thing.
"So. You wanted to meet me, you said you'd explain what the hell is happening to me. I'm here, so... start talking."
Bob looks a little taken aback. "You sure don't waste any time," he observes.
Spencer just barely - only just barely, and only because it is so fucking cliched and he has more class than that - resists the urge to lean on a handy tree and tap his watch.
"Look, are you for real? Because, seriously, if you're messing with me-"
Bob looks completely serious again, and it makes something in Spencer's gut go tight and hot, nerves and anticipation, something both familiar and deeply uncomfortable at the same time. "Oh, I'm for real. And I think you're about to be signing on as a true believer yourself any minute now."
Spencer frowns, because if this is a new angle for the Jehovah's witnesses, well- it has originality, that's for sure.
"Here," Bob says, and slaps something solid and wooden into Spencer's palm, unhurriedly shifting his hand so that he's curled Spencer's fingers around it before he's quite realised that Bob is right in his personal space, but he moves so smoothly - Spencer's mind catches and hitches on that for a moment, because, seriously, Bob practically melted right out of his reach, and that's not normal either. "You're probably gonna need that in a minute," Bob goes on, and a tiny glint catching in the reflected light of moon and stars (and a fuckload of casinos) means Spencer notices that, hey, he has a lip ring. Which he's chewing on.
Spencer takes a totally embarrassing moment to reflect on just how hot that is (and how, okay, so maybe he could've admitted something else to Ryan and Brendon this afternoon after all, but it's not like it's any great secret anyway, really. It's not like he's in the market for a boyfriend or anything like that, so who even cares anyway, right?), and consequently, he misses everything right up to the moment when Bob spins away from him with a strangled curse, and the world goes into some kind of crazy slow motion and his reflexes take over.
He ducks in advance of a barely felt movement of air at the back of his neck, pivoting on one foot and leaning his weight back into a long retreating step. There's- there's a thing standing right where he had been, incongruously formal clothing under a hissing face, screwed up with dull eyes and what look like way too many teeth, brow prominent like in those Neanderthal drawings they'd studied in school, and it's reaching for him. He couldn't say how he knows, but it's hungry and for the first time in his life, Spencer has a gut-deep appreciation of just what that whole food chain business is about.
"No," he whispers, and the thing clearly hasn't spent much time around teenagers lately, because it growls "begging isn't going to help you, boy" and the thing is... Spencer wasn't. There is no fucking way something that looks like a bad special effect out of an eighties movie is getting its teeth into him. Not for a second.
"I don't think so," he says more evenly, and okay, maybe he should've said something snappier, but fuckssake, he's not Batman, and he doesn't have five guys to work out the most torturous pun for the situation, so it's going to have to do, and he slides smoothly forward into a lunge, his right hand coming up over his shoulder and aims the stake - because that's what Bob's handed him, a wooden stake, and the part of his brain not busy freaking the fuck out or in denial notes absently that it has the kind of balance he looks for in a good pair of sticks. There's a flicker of confusion on the vamp's face and then he's hitting a nauseating resistance for just a second, and then the thing explodes into dust at his feet, clothes and all.
All the coordination goes out of his system in a rush, and Spencer sits down hard, fighting the urge to throw up. Did he-? He just killed something, and it turned into dust, and what the fuck is going on?
"What the fuck is going on?" Spencer asks, for what feels like the hundredth time.
Bob settles himself on the ground by Spencer - again, a carefully judged distance away, and looks clearly relieved.
"That was a vampire."
"No shit," Spencer interrupts bitchily, because, seriously, duh. Bob kind of doesn't even blink.
"A vampire who had just risen, and was about to go out on the town hunting. You stopped him. Like you were meant to. Like you were born to." And somehow, Bob doesn't look as weird spouting what sounds like B movie dialogue as Spencer thinks he should. It's like part of him was just waiting to hear this, and is nodding its head in agreement, yes. Of course, that doesn't mean that Sane, Sensible, 21st Century Spencer is going down without a fight.
"You know how ridiculous that sounds, right?" he asks.
"You're asking me that? What kinds of smoke and mirrors d'you think are in my budget, Smith," Bob asks, clearly rhetorically, gesturing to his beat-up docs and clean-but-clearly-vintage punk t-shirt. "You just saw a vampire turn to dust, right in front of you. Uh. All over your shoes, actually," he observes, and Spencer takes that as his cue to look down and- yeah. His shoes are filthy, and if he even thinks about where that dust came from he's going to have to toss them out and never wear them ever again, which would be a crime against good shoes and goddamnit, Spencer is so not okay with all of this.
"Can we just- talk about this like normal guys, and not go into all the foreboding mystical woo woo shit?" he asks, a little pathetically, and Bob barks out a laugh.
"We're not normal guys, though, Spencer. Or. I'm a normal guy. You're a slayer."
Spencer thinks there really should've been some kind of dramatic crash of cymbals there, but instead all there is are the cicadas screaming away from the bushes.
"One girl- guy, in your case, and believe me, that's unprecedented - in all the world to stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. And even if we weren't sure at first, that little move there confirmed it. You're up, kid."
They are clearly going to have to go over all this again some time later, because Spencer figures he's only catching one word in five, buzzing a little with adrenaline, and also he's pretty sure that Bob had just called him a girl again.
"Can I get more than just the Cliff Notes version?"
Bob stands, extending his arm to help Spencer get back on his feet, and leads him over to his car - a beat-up looking Honda, parked at the back entrance to the graveyard. "Can you meet me after you're finished with school tomorrow? I can sit you down, give you the whole Discovery Channel lecture series. It'll make a bit more sense then, I think. Right now you should get home, catch up on a bit of sleep. The dreams should taper off a bit now that you're actually out there doing what you're meant to, but... pay attention to them anyway. It seems like you guys get a little precog wired in sometimes, and any kind of warning about what's coming is going to come in handy."
"Why are you doing this?" Spencer manages to ask, and it's not the most obvious question, but it's about all he's got left right now, and shit, Ryan and Brendon have got to be worrying by now, and if he's not careful they'll have called the cops on him, or worse, come looking. He thinks about that thing going after his friends, and goes hot and cold all over, a disconcerting blend of rage and fear washing through him. No. No way, never.
Bob smiles at him one more time, and it's almost sad, in a way, which is just the fucking confusing cherry on top of this entire cake of incomprehensible crazytimes, and says, "I'm your Watcher. Guess what I do?"
"Quoting Kevin Smith movies is not actually going to make me feel better about all of this," Spencer deadpans back, except he's lying, because it kind of does, a little. "See you tomorrow, I guess, then," and he follows the boundary fence to the corner, heading back the long way towards Brendon's car. For some reason, he doesn't really feel like cutting back across the graveyard right then.
* * *
Spencer gets back to the entranceway to find Brendon and Ryan walking little circles on the concrete drive in front of the car, looking in opposite directions, clearly waiting for him. Ryan's got his phone in his hand and he's flipping it open and closed in a nervous tic which reinforces to Spencer just how close they must've come to freaking out and calling someone. Honestly, he's not sure whether the police or his parents would be worse.
"Spence!" Brendon yells, and looks relieved, bounding over to tug him back to the car, shoving him into the back seat and turning to glare at Ryan, who's not exactly dawdling himself, climbing into the front seat with Brendon and twisting around as soon as the door's slammed to stare at Spencer.
"So what was all of this about, Spencer?" Ryan asks, deadpan as usual, and it overlaps with Brendon's "dude, seriously, you're filthy, did you fall down a hole or something?", the question tossed over his shoulder as he reverses out of the drive at only marginally unwise speeds.
"Um," Spencer replies because he hasn't actually come up with a very good cover story at all, and that's something else he should probably ask Bob about tomorrow. Why shouldn't Ryan and Brendon know, anyway? He has a feeling the answer to that question is probably something like "how would you like a tour of Nevada's most charming mental health institutions?" or maybe the whole Men In Black "a person is smart, people are stupid" spiel, but... it's Ryan and Brendon. If there's anyone else in the world who would believe him, it's them.
Of course, if there's anyone else in the world who'd think they had to get involved and would maybe get hurt-- Spencer thinks back to how he'd felt when he thought they could've ended up facing that vampire, and bites his lip. He can't tell them. Not right now, anyway.
"It was- I tripped on something, a gravestone I guess, didn't even rip my jeans though, so it's fine. And we just talked a bit, Bob's- the guy I met, he seems like he's aboveboard."
Ryan sounds a little strangled, "Spencer, he wanted to meet you at a graveyard. Normal people go to coffee shops."
"He needed to show me something," Spencer says, and he can see in the rear-vision mirror that Brendon is opening his mouth to ask what, and Ryan is just frowning unhappily, and this sucks, and he just slouches back into the upholstery, letting his head thunk onto the window and his eyes close. "Look, I'm kinda tired, can we talk about this later, guys? I just want to go home."
"Sure," Brendon says quietly, and drops them both back at Spencer's, waving through the window and waiting till they've got the front door open before he drives off, and it's only when Ryan follows him inside and under the splash of lighting in the hall that his mom's left on for them that Spencer notices the knees of Ryan's jeans are just as gritty and dust-coated as his own. Like Spencer maybe wasn't the only one who climbed that wall tonight, because he sure doesn't think that Brendon and Ryan have stopped dancing around each other enough yet to have been doing anything else that would be leaving those kind of marks.
He swallows down the questions crowding his tongue - did you see, what did you see, are you okay? - and just heads straight for his bedroom, cracking his neck a little, trying to stretch out the residual soreness from weeks of broken sleep.
Ryan curls up on the cot beside his bed in equal silence, and Spencer hits the light switch, leaving them both in the dim wash of light sneaking through the edges of his curtains from the streetlight outside. He kind of wants to curl up against the wall, his back to everything and everyone and just not think at all, but he can't quite let himself do that, and Ryan is just looking at him, hair flattened messily against the pillow.
The words sneak out before he can stop himself, the whisper far too loud in the sleeping house. "Did you-" and Ryan just shakes his head, the whites of his eyes almost glowing as he doesn't drop Spencer's gaze for a second, "Leave it for the morning, Spencer. You're exhausted."
They hold the look for a couple seconds longer, a wordless discussion, no need to actually ask, and just as the first shiver of reaction shakes Spencer from toes to fingertips, Ryan unwinds himself from his blankets and slides in beside him, pulling the spare blankets over the both of them, tucking his angles against Spencer's side, the way they always seem to fit. He ducks his head against Spencer's shoulder, and Spencer can feel the thin cotton of his t-shirt ripple as Ryan huffs a few warm breaths against him.
"Your nose is cold," he observes almost steadily, and Ryan just ducks his head to press his pointy chin and pointy nose even harder against Spencer's shoulder, and says, "Shut up", and feeling unaccountably better, Spencer lets his eyes drift closed one last time and does just that.
* * *
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