From the Ashes

Who: Mikey and Spencer
When: Monday morning (the 9th -- backdated)
Where: Mikey's rooms
What: Rude awakenings

The bed was really soft, and really warm. Spencer couldn't remember the last time he'd woken up on something like this, and he wasn't particularly interested in trying. It was a waste of enjoying the soft sheets and blankets pulled up high around him, nothing like the grimy pallet on the greenhouse floor that was his usual place of rest. He wasn't even that interested in working out what had happened. If this was the Death Eaters' idea of torture and imprisonment, he was living out the rest of the war here in style.

Also, someone was pressed up warm and comfortable against his back; comfortable, at least, until they shifted slightly, and Spencer groaned. "Ryan," he mumbled. "Watch the fucking elbows, seriously," and that, rather than a mysterious bed, was the thing that woke him up.

Because Ryan wasn't here, of course, hadn't been here for a very long time and also, despite the many complications Ryan fucking Ross had brought to Spencer's life, naked snuggling had not been one of them. Spencer squawked and shuffled backwards and away from the stranger as quickly as he could, rolling over to try and grasp some small idea of what the hell was going on.

WHO: Adam and Bob... and Nate... and Hayley...
WHERE: Bob's House of Pain, aka the Infirmary, a corridor, and Hayley's Office of Doom.
WHAT: The few, the proud, the memory-having.
WHEN: Friday afternoon (11/13)

While Adam was not a fan of Bob, he had heard a rumor, and that rumor was something to the effect of the following: Bob Bryar, nurse extraordinaire, retained his memory in a way that - sweet Merlin - so many other teachers had not. And man, did Adam ever need some sympathy. And possibly someone to put him out of his misery.

That was why he aimed toward the infirmary, anyway. Bob would have fun spells and potions and unctions and whatever else and he would understand why it was so damn hard to be adult-but-trapped-in-a-teenaged body. Also, Bob was probably swimming in his robes just as badly as Adam was. Adam couldn't remember being this short. And now he was. And it was weird. Even thinking "At Least I'm Not Patrick Stumph" didn't make him feel any better.

He burst into the infirmary. "Bryar! I need help!" he said, hoping that, well, Bob was around to witness his dramatic entrance. Otherwise it was a waste.