rewind and replay
(or, six times jon and spencer didn’t end up together, and one time they did)
1904 words
authored: sugarcubeworld
pg-ish
unbeta’d


I.
“It’s over,” Jon says on a cold November morning, tugging at the sleeve of his jacket, looking at anything but Spencer. And, fuck, Spencer just finished his Music Theory class—he just thought they were going out for a coffee. Not… not this. He knows things haven’t been going well lately, but—

When Jon drops his still-full cup of coffee in the trash can and walks away without waiting for a response, Spencer doesn’t go after him. He’s not in a clichéd high school relationship, and he sure as hell isn’t part of a romance flick. All he is is alone, kept company only by his breath in the chilly winter air.

II.
It’s when he sees the Caller ID flicker off the screen that he finally looks at Jon. Jon’s eyes are now a little walled-off, and the foot and a half between him and Jon suddenly feels suffocatingly close; claustrophobic.

“So,” Jon says, fingers splayed over the hotel bedsheets, but not under Spencer’s shirt. Not anymore.

“Yeah, she found out,” Spencer says, careful not to let any emotion slide under his words.

“But Cassie—”

“Haley’s different, Jon,” Spencer grits out, clutching his Sidekick so hard his knuckles turn white.

He retreats to his own bed that night. By morning, he hasn’t gotten any sleep. He’s been too haunted by what-ifs and Haley’s tear-filled voice.

III.
It’s only been a couple days into the tour when Brendon drags the rest of the band to the The Academy Is… bus, chattering excitedly about pot and alcohol and some guy stripping because he was dragged into some bet. Spencer wrinkles his nose when he steps onto the bus, hit by the staggeringly-strong smell of weed and whiskey. He wonders what he’s gotten himself into when he sees the guy Brendon must’ve been talking about, shirtless and stumbling about with his pants around his ankles.

“Spence, Spencer,” Brendon slurs about half an hour later, ice clinking in the empty glass he’s holding. “You’re totally missing out on all the fun. You and Ryan, so… so… not having fun. Even Brent’s having fun, come on!”

“I’m having fun, just without the alcohol and nakedness,” Spencer protests, looking warily at the still-capped bottle someone handed him ten minutes ago.

“That’s a lie, Spence, that’s a dirty lie,” Brendon says gravely, clutching Spencer’s arm for support. “There is no such thing as fun without Butcher stripteases.”

“I’m sure it’s possible.”

Brendon gasps, sounding deeply offended. “You’re a fun ruiner, that’s what you are, Spencer Smith!” And then, louder, “William! Spencer is ruining all my fun!”

A tall, lanky guy with messy brown hair and wildly disproportionate limbs comes up and wraps himself around Brendon, plastic cup dangling in his hands. “We can’t have that, can we?” William asks, barely slurring, before handing off the cup. A short guy with dark hair and a scruffy beard soon appears by William’s side.

“Oooo, another one of those straight-laced kids,” the guy says, winking at Spencer. Spencer blinks. The new guy quickly sees the bottle Spencer was holding, and his face lights up. “Oh, hey, I’ll totally take that off your hands!” And as soon as the guy says this, the bottle is whisked away from Spencer’s loose grip, and the guy was running off to someone calling “Jon!”

Later, Ryan hurriedly ushers Brent and Spencer off the bus, saying something about “retreating into some goddamn sanity, finally,” dragging a flailing Brendon behind him. Jon smiles at him as he leaves, and Spencer finds his mind caught on that image for a while, lingering behind as he falls asleep. However, when Spencer wakes up to the sounds of Brendon’s retching as Brent groans miserably, Jon’s been completely forgotten.

IV.
It’s possible Spencer’s maybe a little drunk when he comes back to the bus. Since Ryan’s been Pete’s latest boy-toy, Pete’s wanted to spend as much time as possible with Ryan. Spencer’s known about Pete having Nefarious Plans for a while, so he tries to accompany the two whenever possible, because as a Best Friend, it is job to protect Ryan’s Virtue.

(And, yeah, Spencer knows he’s drunk when he starts to randomly capitalize everything.)

Spencer’s plan kind of utterly fails, however, because when Pete’s “totally business-only, seriously,” meet-up turns into a drinking binge, he gets even more drunk than Ryan. So that’s how Spencer ends up stumbling onto the bus, still laughing breathlessly at some stupid joke Pete made when Jon steadies him.

Jon looks mostly amused, but his expression has an underlying edge of concern as he looks at Spencer. “Hey,” he says, “isn’t it my job to get totally drunk off my ass?”

“S’not anyone’s job,” Spencer argues. “I totally have getting drunk rights.”Jon laughs a little at that, and Spencer scrunches up his face, trying to shift in Jon’s arms to get comfortable. But then Spencer looks up, and Jon is right there, all smiley and pretty and… and beardy, so it makes total sense for Spencer to lean up, just that little bit.

It only takes a second for Spencer to brush his lips against Jon’s, and then Jon makes this noise, like he wants to maybe tilt his head and catch Spencer’s lips again. But then Jon shoots back, arms crossed protectively. When he speaks, he sounds a little broken, and he says, “Spence, Spencer, I can’t, the band—and you, and you… you’re drunk, Spencer, and I don’t want—well, I do, but you’re so, so drunk, and the band is probably one of the most important things in my life—” and with that, Jon runs off, leaving Spencer intoxicated and confused and disappointed on the floor.

What Spencer doesn’t know, as he picks himself up later, is that Jon’s still in his bunk, clutching his pillow and concentrating on taking deep breaths.

V.
It’s movie tonight on the tour bus, and Ryan’s curled in a ball in front of the couch, Jon’s sprawled out on one end, and Spencer sits at the other. They’ve just finished settling in when Brendon comes bounding into the room, holding a copy of Chicago. “We should totally watch this, guys!” Brendon says, not even waiting or a response before popping the DVD in the player.

Even before the actual movie starts, Brendon cuddles up to Jon in front of the television, fitting himself into all the empty spaces. Ryan will vocally insult the movie the entire way and Brendon will get extremely emotionally invested for the first hour, but will become bored and distracted later and start toeing at Ryan’s hair. Jon will just smile, taking it all in, and let Brendon cuddle even closer when it should be physically impossible. Spencer will just roll his eyes at his entire stupid band, and try to enjoy the movie.

The thing is, something in Spencer pulls every time he sees Brendon shift, nuzzling closer. Jon just laughs, draping an arm around Brendon’s waist. By the time The Cell Block Tango comes on, Spencer’s still sitting at his end of the couch, but Brendon and Jon are comfortably sprawled. Spencer’s watching the two out of the corner of his eye when, suddenly, Brendon jumps up. “Jon! Which of the cellmates would I be?”

Ryan snorts, saying, “You’d be a cellmate that ends up getting killed.”

“Not true! I’m secretive. Ninja secretive. They’d never catch me!”

“Then you wouldn’t be in the prison in the first place.”

Brendon chooses to ignore Ryan’s comment, and instead tries to prowl his way up Jon’s body. “I want to be the arsenic one. Can I be the arsenic one?” But Brendon’s foot catches inside the couch, and he flails, losing his balance before toppling over Jon.

“Ow! Fuck, Brendon, those are my ribs,” Jon says, laughing again, before shoving Brendon off the couch.

“What, am I shunned? Do you not love me anymore?” Brendon asks, putting on a pout full-power.

“Nope,” Jon says.

“Fine! Ryan loves me, don’t you? Don’t you, Ryan?” Brendon questions, throwing himself around Ryan instead. Ryan just rolls his eyes, but Spencer figures he just doesn’t have the heart to shove Brendon off.

And then, Jon turns his head a bit, grinning at Spencer like he’s trying to include him in the fun. That thing in Spencer wrenches harder, and he has to tear his gaze away and back towards the television, palms scrubbing at his jeans nervously.

As Spencer watches the story unfold across the screen, he doesn’t notice Jon’s smile faltering, doesn’t notice the way he flexes his fingers before he announces that he’s going to go get soda, does anyone want some? Spencer doesn’t notice that when, as Jon comes back with the cans gathered in his arms, how Jon looks at him right back.

VI.
It’s the day of the funeral, and Spencer can hardly think as he looks at the shiny black coffin in front of him. The contrast of the red and white roses on it looks beautiful and picturesque, the perfect photograph Jon would’ve wanted. But the formality, the formality that the closed coffin portrays is so unlike Jon. So, so unlike him.

Screech.

As people find their seats, Spencer can only retreat into his thoughts. It had been one of those days on the tour bus, the kind where Ryan doesn’t speak to anyone, doesn’t abandon the pen scratching across paper for anything. The kind where Brendon retreats into himself, and is likely to lash out. The kind where Spencer’s so exhausted, yet so wound-tight, that he flinches away when Jon touches his arm.

Scream.

Jon blinks, but lets his arm drop suddenly to his side, turning away for a moment. When he speaks, it’s a little distant. “I’m going out. Maybe snapping a few pictures?” Spencer doesn’t know if Jon’s inviting him to go out as well, or not. Instead, Spencer just nods. He hears, but doesn’t see the door close.

Thump.

And the one thing he can’t get out of his head:

Crash.

“Mr. Smith, this is the Northwestern Memorial Hospital. There’s been an accident…”

VII. (or, the one time they got it right.)
It’s after a show that Jon comes up to Spencer. Everything’s swirling in a mess of post-show adrenaline, and there’s Jon, half-smiling as he presses two fingers to the inside of Spencer’s wrist as he says, “You were really good out there.”

Spencer gives him a grin back, one that’s stupid and goofy and really too-big. “You weren’t too bad, either.”

Jon replies, “Thanks,” and that leaves the two of them staring at each-other, beaming like idiots. Suddenly, Jon’s grabbing Spencer's shoulders, and pushing himself up by his toes until he’s level with him. Jon says, offhandedly, “I hate your fucking growth spurts,” and then, “hi.”

Spencer swallows, moving his hands up to Jon’s sides almost unconsciously. “Hey yourself.” And, oh god, Jon is so, so close and Spencer knows Jon isn’t drunk, knows it isn’t just the adrenaline.

Jon moves a hand up to Spencer’s neck, pressing his nose to the hollow of Spencer’s cheek. “Hey, hey, I’ve got a secret.”

“Yeah?” Spencer asks breathily.

Jon pulls back, looks at him, and shit—Jon’s eyes are so dark, pupils blown. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

And then—then he is, and it’s so good. Spencer tilts his head, moving his hands up Jon’s back, wishing he could put the whole moment on pause.