A/N: Since I couldn't think of a way for Dutchy and Spot to be even in the same general area together in canon, this one will be AU and modern. Why? Because it can be.

--

Tonight was prom. Senior prom. In true 80s-Duckie-minus-that-annoying-twit-Molly-Ringwald fashion, they were all going alone.

"Stop filming me!" Skittery complained, splashing beer from his bottle onto the lens of Snitch's ever-present camera.

Dutchy laughed. He knew that his friend was aggressively anti-prom and was only going because he was forced. Skittery's solution, as it seemed, to his prom problem was to get drunk. Very drunk. The others were probably going to get tanked that night as well although they'd at least wait until the after party at David's house. Speaking of David, the boy had yet to emerge from the bathroom where retching noises kept being emitted.

Dutchy felt like puking himself. He wanted to admit to the one boy he loved more than anything how he felt. However, said boy wouldn't show up until the after party since A: he didn't go to the school and B: although he was Jack's boyfriend (Jack being the only officially "out" senior at their school), Jack had stuck with their pact to go stag and refused to get a guest slip. So he had to wait. The thought alone was enough to send him into the bathroom to join David in a puking party.

"I said stop filming me!" Skittery repeated, splashing the lens again.

"Hey!" Snitch dropped to his knees and started wiping his precious camera with his discarded street clothes.

"Hay is for horses," Jack said dismissively. "Besides, you were only filming our feet and faces."

He jumped to his feet and stuck his tongue out. "It's a gritty documentary."

"It's a home movie!" he shot back.

Snitch glared and went back to shooting Skittery just to aggravate him.

"Stop it!" he demanded. "Stop filming me!"

"Film me!" Jake and Bumlets shouted in unison, mugging for the camera.

Dutchy shook his head in laughter. Race tapped the face of his watch.

"Hey guys," he reminded. "Time. Let's go."

They all started to bustle out as Jack tapped lightly on the door. "Davey, move it."

Everyone's answer was the sound of feet pounding followed by the wet, coughing sound of vomiting.

--

Dutchy dangled his feet into the chlorinated water of the Jacobs' pool. As he had predicted, everyone was sufficiently inebriated. Skittery especially since he had been drinking pretty much since three in the after noon. He, Bumlets and Snitch were apparently searching for an electric razor so they could give him a Mohawk. He predicted a sad, sad morning after.

The only two abstaining from drinking were himself and David who, once again, was puking in the bathroom. There were jokes of "morning sickness" floating around. He wasn't drinking because he wanted to be sober when he told Spot how he felt. However, that oath was getting harder to maintain as he watched him and Jack have a tongue-heavy reunion having not seen each other in three whole days.

Dutchy sighed and even contemplating getting a beer from Snitch's cooler but he refrained once he noticed something going on between Jack and Spot. As they broke apart, Jack whispered something into his ear. Spot listened for a couple minutes before punching him in the stomach.

"Asshole," he snapped before stomping away.

Jack was doubled over in pain but was trying to get him to stop. Without even thinking of what he was doing, Dutchy hoisted himself out of the water and followed him.

--

He found him angry and smoking at the edge of the lawn.

"Spot?"

He looked up angrily. His look read nothing but 'what the hell do you want?'

"Uh…what's wrong?"

He expected to be fed the 'none of your damn business' line but, to his surprise, Spot sighed and kicked a rock.

"Jacky-boy broke up with me, that's what's wrong," he leaned against a tree and blew smoke into the night. "Said that he and Jacobs had been fooling around behind my back for a month now. Guess I should've seen it coming. Jack never could keep it in his pants."

Well, that certainly explained David's nervous regurgitation. He had to know of Jack's "coming clean" plan and didn't want his head beaten in.

Dutchy's mouth went dry. Admitting his feelings now would make him seem like an ass wanting him on the rebound. Now he wished he had gotten a drink.

He had to do something though. Spot stamped out his cigarette. Without thinking, Dutchy leaned forward and hugged him. To his surprise, Spot hugged him back.

--

A/N: Yeah…still not Spottery but keep your pants on. I still have no inspiration for it. But if you give me some, I'll love you forever. And a big thanks to Queen of Doom for the suggestion!