mcr fic! with cameos by patd and pete wentz's house!
bones
brian x bob preslash
r for swearing
authornote: title stolen from the song by the same name, performed by the band "little big town". cut text comes from the same song. it's quite excellent, if i do say so myself. also, please know that this is just a little bit of ridiculousness inspired by a picture i drew. i may post that later, idk. enjoy! ♥
Brian doesn’t even realize he’s different until he hits fourteen. He gets invited to his friend Billy’s birthday party, and his parents tell him he’s not allowed to go because it’s the week preceding the full moon. Brian rants and rails and promises that he’ll be fine. Hell, he’ll even wear the stupid silver bracelets and necklace this month, if they’ll just let him go. They don’t cede the point, though, and so Brian has to give his gift to Billy between classes on Friday while he scuffs the toe of his shoe against the tile and grudgingly explains that he won’t be able to make it that night.
Billy accepts Brian’s present with a shy grin and says that it’s all right, they can just hang out another time. Brian grins back and says that’d be great.
After fifth period, one of Billy’s not-so-nice friends, a wiry moron named Eric, stops Brian in the hall, shouldering him against the row of lockers. Sneering, Eric spits, “Aw, little Schechter can’t come? Why’s that? Period cramps too bad?”
Brian rolls his eyes and rubs his shoulder and grunts, “Shut up, Eric.”
“Hey,” Eric continues, throwing his hands up in a gesture of mock-mercy, “don’t worry. It happens to all the girls like you.”
Brian doesn’t get along with Eric on the best of days, and between his shitty science class and the fact that he’s still fuming about how he can’t go to Billy’s party, every single syllable pouring past Eric's lips is grating against Brian's already tender temper. Clenching his hands into fists so hard that his knuckles turn white, Brian snarls, "I said shut up, you moron."
Scoffing, Eric puts on a faux-wounded face, and continues, "Now, Brian, that's unladylike conduct. You're never going to land a boyfriend if you keep acting like such a bitch."
Since he was small, Brian has always prided himself on his patience. He rarely lashes out, and when he does it isn't usually too intense. But it's four days until the full moon and Brian's hormones are completely fucked because of it, and he's already furious at the world besides. Before he knows it, he's growling deep in his throat and lunging at Eric, swinging. Eric fights back, and he's on the wrestling team so he's a better fighter than Brian, easily, but Brian sees red and something inside of him just snaps.
It takes three security guards to pull him off of Eric, who's bleeding pretty badly and screaming, "You're a fucking psycho, Schechter!" The principal doesn't ask any questions, like why Brian's eyes have shifted from their usual cool blue to an acidic yellow, or why he'd been trying to get at Eric's jugular. He just calls Brian's parents, who don't offer any explanation, just apologies upon apologies.
It's the next morning, when Brian's parents don't take him to school but tell him to start packing up all his things instead, that he finally looks in the mirror and doesn't see just another fourteen year old kid.
*
Being a tour manager is tough, sometimes, with all of the extra precautions that Brian has to take to make sure nobody gets hurt - be it himself, the bands he's touring with, the techs, whoever he might accidentally run across should things not go according to plan - but it's what he's passionate about so he sucks it up and does his very best regardless of his little...condition. That's what his parents call it, anyway; a condition. It's genetic, so Brian supposes that's accurate, but it's hardly normal.
They have medication and other inhibitors and aids specifically manufactured for others suffering from the same ailment, but Brian knows it's still fucking strange. That it skips generations in his family doesn't help much. Brian's the first fully lycanthropic Schechter since the late 1800s, even though some of his uncles have tendencies, and when he underwent his first transformation his parents both nearly had heart attacks.
It's better now, with the organic pills that he takes daily, and the silver jewelry he never leaves home without. At least he only becomes an actual wolf on the night of full moon, rather than the whole week. And even then, as long as he's wearing the cuffs and collar - what he calls the necklace-bracelet combo he's had since he was three - the animal tendencies are subdued, so he can curl up, perfectly docile, and sleep through it. The only time he'd ever forgotten the cuffs and collar he'd trashed the hotel room he was staying in, but luckily he hadn't been able to open the door. He passed the destruction off as a wild party, the rest of the guys patted him on the back and assumed the exhaustion and slight nausea were caused by too much alcohol, and everyone forgot about it.
Sometimes, though, it'd be nice not to have to lie and have the tour techs think he's an antisocial asshole when he begs off early on a party night.
*
Touring with My Chemical Romance is different than any other tour that Brian has ever done, mostly because all five of the guys function as such a distinctive unit. They're like a family, all laughing and joking and getting up into everyone's personal space. It's a little bit worrisome right at first, because Brian has some very distinctive reasons why he doesn't let anyone in on his personal business, but they never push and they never pry, and slowly Brian starts to get used to Frank's feet in his lap and Gerard's head on his shoulder.
The only time they ask why he rooms alone, Brian tells them it's part of his managerial privileges, and they laugh and let the lame answer slide. Bob gives him a curious look out of the corner of his eye, and Brian flushes a little, the hairs at the nape of his neck standing on end for a split second. Bob just smirks and shakes his head fondly, shouldering his bag and heading toward the elevator in Frank's wake.
Once they're all clustered in front of the elevator doors, Brian turns to gather his own luggage, letting out a sigh of relief as he does so. Despite the fact that if anyone would be cool with knowing the truth, it'd be the My Chem guys, Brian's gotten so used to keeping it a secret and he gets sick to his stomach when he thinks of anyone ever finding out.
*
There's a week long break between the Europe and American legs of the tour, and Pete Wentz invites the guys to come hang out in L.A. After a particularly difficult time in Germany, the guys all decide that some sunshine and lazy pool days are just what they need to relax before embarking on the next circuit. Brian tags along at Gerard's insistence - "You're part of this band, too, Schechter, now stop being a candyass and come with us." - and ends up staying in Pete's guest house with Bob and Ray.
One Thursday night, the guys from Panic at the Disco come over. They're all dressed like they've been shoplifting from 1970's thrift stores, but that's not the part that Brian notices. What he notices is the familiar, slightly musky smell wafting off their bassist. Walker, Brian's mind supplies, though he isn't entirely sure.
Walker's eyes widen when he enters the room and he searches the faces of all the people present, eyes only widening more when they come to land on Brian. Brian shifts his weight, swallowing uncomfortably, completely oblivious of the look that Bob's shooting between him and Walker, and when Pete asks who wants to go pick up the pizzas, Brian immediately volunteers. He knows it's probably a little weird, considering Brian generally hates to drive unless he has to, but he hopes everyone just assumes he's being polite. His heart jumps into his throat when Walker stands, stretches, and lazily offers to go with.
*
"So," Walker starts, drumming his fingers against the windowsill, feet propped up on the dashboard.
Brian glances over, immediately returning his eyes to the road, and clears his throat. "So?" he echoes, and hopes he doesn't sound as defensive as he thinks he might.
Walker doesn't say anything in response, so Brian looks over when they pull up to a red light. Walker's grinning slyly, eyes kind despite the sharp, dark corners of his smile.
"Come on man, you don't need to be all coy," he states. "We're all friends here." He pauses for a moment, the light on his face shifting from a deep red to a vibrant green. Brian tears his eyes away and swallows harshly.
"Besides," Walker adds, voice low, "I can smell it all over you, dude. You fucking reek of wolf."
Brian feels all the color drain from his face, and when he opens his mouth to respond, nothing comes out. He presses his lips into a thin line and doesn't say a word, hoping the white-knuckle grip he has on the steering wheel will do his talking for him.
"It's okay, you know," Walker murmurs as they're pulling into the parking lot of McEnroe's Pizza. He pats Brian lightly on the shoulder and finishes, "I'm in the same boat as you." He smiles when he opens the door to the pizzeria and slowly, hesitantly, Brian smiles back.
*
Having someone who knows is helpful, if Brian's being completely honest. Walker will text him in the mornings, asking if he's okay, and on the rare occasions that he doesn't Brian will send a text instead. They don't really complain, because they've both lived with it for long enough by now that they know whining isn't useful in any way, shape or form.
One day, though, Walker texts him: don't u get lonely?
Brian stops to think for a long moment before responding: yeah, I guess. not often, though. mostly the nights right before the moon. do you?
He doesn't know why he starts to feel guilty when Walker texts back: no not really, spence and ry like 2 make me watch corny 50s movies & sometimes bden plays fetch. The guys come into the lounge, laughing, and for the first time in his life Brian can't meet their eyes.
*
One morning, Brian lumbers onto the bus and fixes himself a cup of coffee, curling up at the front lounge table and nursing it while the band groggily makes their way out from the hotel. Bob slides onto the seat across from him, munching on a piece of toast with jam and sipping at his own coffee.
"Hey," Bob greets, and Brian offers him a half-hearted smile in response. He didn't sleep well the previous night, despite having taken his medicine and wearing the cuffs and collar, and exhaustion is tugging at his eyelids. A few moments of silence pass and then Bob asks, "Are you okay, man?"
Brian glances up, surprised, and when he smiles this time it's real. "Yeah," he lies. "I'm fine. Just tired."
Bob grunts in response, and it's so normal that it startles a chuckle out of Brian. Bob arches an eyebrow at him and Brian just shakes his head and sips his coffee. He's a little bit lost in thought so he doesn't notice the tiny quirk of Bob's lips hidden behind his own cup.
*
"How's Walker?" Bob asks one night, flopping down next to Brian where he's sitting on the couch in the back lounge of the tour bus. Brian has his laptop balanced on his knees while he reads through an e-mail that his mom sent, requesting an update of the tour so far and Brian's well-being.
"Hm?" Brian responds, glancing up at Bob with a curious gaze. "He's fine. Haven't talked to him in awhile."
"Oh," Bob states, but that's all he offers, so Brian shrugs and goes back to the paragraph where he was detailing the week Frank spent stealing Gerard's underwear and leaving poorly worded love notes in their place.
*
After Walker's texts, Brian spends a few days briefly flirting with the idea of telling the band, but in the end he decides he's better off keeping it to himself. He's fairly certain that Bob's the only one who even suspects that there's something up, and even then Brian's pretty sure Bob's thinking more along the lines of "Brian-has-a-crush-on-Panic's-bassist" levels of weird rather than "my-manager's-a-werewolf" levels of weird. If Brian maybe likes the slightly jealous looks Bob will shoot his direction when he gets a text from Walker, he hasn't mentioned it to anybody. And if a tiny, almost inconsequential part of the reason Brian decides to keep his secret just that is because he doesn't know if he can take it if Bob hates him for it, well, he doesn't see how that's anybody's business but his own.
*
Everything goes positively wonderfully until about two weeks before the tour is over, because of course Brian's good luck cuts out at the worst possible moment. He's been running around patronizing Gerard and keeping Frank's temper from blowing up and dealing with a lot of strange and totally unexpected technical problems, and when Brian gets stressed out, he starts to forget things.
It's been years since Brian's forgotten anything to do with his condition, so he figures that's why the one night he actually does forget it's a big, fucking huge deal.
The bus is tooling down the freeway, sun just barely inching toward the horizon, when he realizes. His cell alarm buzzes in his pocket, and when he fishes it out the note flashing on the screen makes his blood run cold. It reads: Suit up for night!
Brian's hands are shaking when he slides it back into his pocket. His terror must be written all over his face, because Bob and Frank start to ask what's wrong. Brian waves them off and promises that everything is fine and excuses himself to go to the restroom. He splashes some of the water from the sink on his face and stares at himself in the mirror, taking deep breaths.
"It's fine," he murmurs, over and over, and after a few minutes the heavy, horrified beating of his heart has dulled to a more appropriate speed. He's been taking his meds, so all he has to do is put on the cuffs and collar and tell the guys he's going to bed early. As long as they don't pull the curtains back - and they're usually good about leaving him alone when he's sleeping - everything should be fine. It's two days until the actual full moon, anyway, so he's not going to transform completely.
"You can do this," he promises his reflection, "and everything will be okay." He takes another deep breath, holding it for ten seconds and then releasing it slow, before he steps back into the tiny hallway.
He starts to panic again after he digs through his smaller duffel bag twice and doesn't see hide nor hair of the necklace or the thick bracelets. Scrubbing a hand through his hair and glancing toward the windows - thank God the sun is still fully above the horizon - Brian gnaws his lower lip and tries to remember what he did with the jewelry that morning. He'd been in a rush after Gerard waking him up at ass o'clock in the morning to go grab Starbucks and have existential chats over muffins, and he'd only barely had time to grab them off the nightstand when he was throwing all his shit into his suitcase.
His suitcase. Brian's eyes go wide as he remembers jamming the jewelry into the front-most pocket of his suitcase, which is currently in the luggage compartment of the bus with all the rest of the suitcases and some of the musical equipment.
"Shit," Brian hisses, and presses the heels of his palms to his eyelids. Even if he can convince the driver to stop the bus on the side of the highway so he can dig through all the luggage to find his suitcase, it still won't be in time for him to put the chains on before he starts to change. It won't be enough time for him to hide.
"Shit, shit, shit," Brian curses, over and over, making his way to the front of the bus as quickly as possible without looking frantic.
"Hey," he says, as kindly as possible, once he reaches the driver's chair. The man grins and says hello and Brian pushes on, "So, I know it's kind of a strange request, but we need to stop as soon as possible. I just realized I left something super important in my suitcase."
The driver frowns a bit and says hesitantly, "The next rest stop isn't for another seventy miles."
Brian squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose. "It doesn't have to be at a rest stop," he replies calmly. "We just need to pull over ASAP and I need to get something from my suitcase." He locks eyes with the driver and adds, "I need to have it like, five minutes ago or things are going to get ugly."
The driver glances thoughtfully out his window, checking to see if the shoulder here is wide enough for them to stop, and he shakes his head apologetically. "I don't think I'm going to be able to without us getting hit," he offers slowly.
Brian resists the urge to grab the wheel from the man and force them off the road, but only just barely. There's the thrumming feel of discontent buzzing beneath his skin, and the sun is just starting to sink under the horizon.
"Damn it," Brian curses to himself and walks toward the kitchen, pacing between the cabinets for a few brief seconds before he reaches into his pocket for his phone. He dials Walker and lifts it to his ear, tapping his foot impatiently while it rings and ignoring the ever-so-slight burning sensation starting to spread through his jaw.
"'lo?" Walker greets.
"Jon," Brian says, and it comes out more relieved than Brian expected. There's a burst of laughter from the back of the bus, where the guys are still playing Halo, and Brian lowers his voice, continues. "I have a serious problem."
"What's up, man?" Walker inquires, and Brian thanks the heavens that it's a few hours earlier wherever Walker happens to be at the moment.
"I'm on the bus," Brian says.
"Shit," Walker responds.
"Yeah," Brian would laugh if it wasn't such a dire situation. "Want to know the best part? I left my cuffs and collar in my fucking suitcase."
There's a long moment of silence before Walker whispers, "Oh fuck, Brian. Do they, I mean, you haven't told them, have you?"
Brian shakes his head and then, when he realizes that Walker can't actually see him, replies weakly, "No, they don't know."
"Well, you have to tell or-"
"I can't tell them!" Brian hisses, rubbing absently at his sternum, which is tingling and burning like his jaw, now.
"I don't think you have much of a choice there, buddy," Walker shoots back, and Brian fights the urge to snarl at the phone. He's not an animal. He knows he's not an animal. He clings to that thought desperately as he puts together a response.
"You don't get it," he half-whispers, and he sounds more pleading than he's ever heard himself sound before, "they can't know. I can't tell them, they'll hate me."
There's the sound of Walker shifting and then a voice that Brian thinks might be the drummer - Smith? - comes onto the phone.
"Brian?" he asks. For a split second, searing anger flashes across Brian's mind, because how dare Walker share Brian's secret, even if it is just with his band.
"What?" Brian snaps.
"Jon tells me you're in a bit of a bind," Smith says coolly, and Brian laughs, harsh and unamused.
"Understatement of the fucking century," he growls, and pops his jaw. It itches and that means he's that much closer to changing and blowing all the fucking cover that he has. Brian's lucky he outgrew hyperventilating when he was around sixteen, or else this already awful situation could be a lot worse.
"Tell Bob," Smith states matter-of-factly.
Brian splutters for a second before hissing, "You've got be fucking kidding me."
"Schechter, think about it," Smith continues, choosing not to comment on Brian's rudeness, which Brian knows he'll probably be thankful for later. "If any of the guys in your band can handle this, it's Bob."
"Apparently you people don't understand what 'I can't tell them' means," Brian mutters. Smith is silent for a moment, and Brian can almost hear the cold bitchiness in the lack of sound. There's a peculiar little dinging from the back lounge, and then Smith speaks again.
"Okay, there, you don't have to tell him."
Brian narrows his eyes. "What did you do, Smith?"
"Sent a text, Schechter. Have a good night."
The line goes dead and Brian very nearly throws his phone to the ground in a rage when all of a sudden he hears footsteps coming from the direction of the back lounge. He freezes where he's at, praying against all odds that the next thing he hears won't be Bob's voice.
Of course, one of Brian's prayers actually coming true would make his life too easy, so of course it's Bob, sounding very confused when he says, "Hey, uh, Brian? Spencer told me to come check on you?"
"I'm fine," Brian grits out, making sure to keep his back to Bob. He's leaning over the counter and that tingling sensation is all over and he just wants to claw at his skin until it all comes off, but he manages to hold back. He knows he's probably shaking, and he hopes that Bob will take the hint and drop it even though he knows his friend better than that.
"You don't look fine," Bob states brusquely, hand settling lightly on Brian's shoulder. He squeezes slightly, urging Brian to turn around, and the latter wrenches out of Bob's grasp, taking a few steps forward before muttering, "Don't touch me," and then "I'm fine, I promise, just go away."
"Brian - " Bob starts, and Brian's resolve starts to crumble, just a little bit, because the aching deep in his bones and the weird stretching he can feel in his teeth is something he never gets used to no matter how many times he experiences it.
"Please," he snarls, and he could punch Smith's lights out right now. "Please leave." It's getting harder to concentrate, and his brain keeps pressing the fact that there's a human - an enemy - right behind him and it's starting to throb painfully behind Brian's temples. He's about fifteen seconds from causing a fight, and he knows that won't end well.
"Hey," Bob says, "what's up?" Brian grimaces and turns and Bob instinctively steps back. Brian bristles at that and narrows his eyes at Bob.
"What's up is that I need the silver chains from my suitcase now or I'm going to have a hard time trying not to eat all of you," he snaps, and it's not entirely the truth because even when he's been at the mercy of the wolf, Brian has never really had the urge to eat a human being. Mostly he chases rabbits and spends the night exploring the wilderness, but Bob doesn't need to know that. Bob doesn't need to know that Brian is part wolf at all except that Smith felt the need to make Brian's decision for him. Brian's waiting for Bob to either throw a punch or start screaming for help, but Bob doesn't do either, just stands there for a long, painful moment before taking a step forward. Brian tenses.
"You're not going to eat me," Bob states, not the slightest waver of doubt in his voice.
"I might," Brian growls, and he can feel the sharp points of teeth against his upper lip and he inwardly cringes - he must look like some kind of monster, at this point.
"You won't," Bob replies. He smells like prey, and Brian tells him so. He also tells Bob not to come any closer because the wolf will take it as a threat. Bob's brow arches at that, but he doesn't listen. He takes another step and Brian surges forward and -
Bob must be faster than Brian thought, because before he knows it, both his arms are twisted behind his back and he's pulling at them hard enough that he's almost yanking his own bones out of the sockets.
"Calm down," Bob murmurs, voice low in Brian's ear. Brian snarls and tries to break free of Bob's grasp one more time, but he's way stronger than he looks, too. Not that Brian's exactly got super-strength right now. In fact, since he's still undergoing the night's transformation, he's probably actually weaker than he would be even in his normal human state.
"Let go," Brian yelps, and the desperation in his voice echoes through his chest, his heart beating loudly in his ears. "Let go of me, get off!" His voice isn't rising much, but it's enough that Bob notices.
"Don't think so," Bob says. He pushes Brian forward and Brian stumbles, growling. "Quit it," Bob orders, with a sense of finality that makes Brian think Bob would be smacking him on the nose with a newspaper if he had one handy.
Brian stops growling but he's still scowling and baring his teeth. The wolf can't stand the fact that it's being dominated by a human and Brian knows he's probably going to start panicking soon. He twists in Bob's grasp again, letting out a pathetic whimper when Bob's grip only tightens. It's downright embarrassing, is what it is, because while Brian knows he's never been an alpha, he still feels like he should be the one in charge while Bob writhes uncomfortably.
Bob shoulders the door to the bathroom open and pushes Brian inside, taking his neck and gently - though forcefully - steering him until he's on his stomach on the tiled floor with Bob on his back. And to top it all off, he's growling again. Great. Bob flicks the light on and calls loudly, "Gee?"
"What?" comes Gerard's reply from the back lounge.
Brian senses rather than sees Bob rolls his eyes, and he wiggles a bit, testing Bob's control. Bob doesn't budge and the dominant side of Brian gives up, lying still. "Come here!"
There are shuffling, scuffing noise and then Gerard raps on the door to the bathroom.
"This better be good, Bryar, or I'm blaming you for my loss at Halo."
Bob snorts. "Whatever. I need you to do me a favor."
"Kay, what?"
"Tell the driver to stop as soon as he can, and bring me the silver chains from Brian's suitcase. They're in the - " he nudges Brian's back and Brian huffs and remains silent. Cuffing him upside the head, Bob repeats, "They're in the -"
Brian snarls and finishes, "Front pocket. There's three."
"The front pocket, Gee. There should be three of them."
Gerard hesitates for a minute before asking, "Okay, I know I'm going to regret this, but why do you need Brian's jewelry?"
"Because," Bob responds, and he sounds positively cheerful which only serves to piss Brian off more, "Brian needs them. And then he has something important he wants to tell all of us."
Gerard wanders off, muttering something under his breath that sounds like, "Fucking crazy band." A few minutes pass and then the steady movement of the floor beneath them comes to a stop.
Brian shifts again, trying to move so that he can get up onto his elbows and throw Bob off. Bob laughs from above him and tenses up. Brian grunts and flops back down.
"Nice try, Fido, but I'm like twice your size," Bob chuckles. They lapse into silence, Brian listening to the cars passing by and the faint beating of Bob's heart, the louder thud of his own.
Finally, Gerard tromps back onto the bus and knocks on the door. "All right man, I got the chains."
"Cool," Bob says, "now, open the door a little and hand them to me, okay?"
"Uh, okay?" The door inches open with a squeak and then it's clicking shut again, Bob thanking Gerard as it does so. Brian winces when Bob clasps the silver chain around his neck, but the minute the metal touches his skin the burning sensation cools and Brian's muddled mind becomes a little bit less foggy. Bob smells less like a challenge and more like a redheaded drummer, while Brian suddenly realizes that he's been acting like a moron. His cheeks flush a little, and he clears his throat.
"I'm uh, you can let me go," Brian murmurs quietly. "Sorry I sort of, you know, flipped out?" He hates that it sounds like a question, but that's the best it's going to get. He waits patiently while Bob deliberates, though he can't suppress a grin when Bob says, "Fine, but one wrong move and I'm putting you in your kennel for the night."
"Deal," Brian agrees with a hesitant chuckle. Bob stands, slowly, and Brian stretches, still laying down. "Fuck you're a heavy son of a bitch," he complains, rising to his feet and keep his eyes trained anywhere but Bob. Bob reaches out and drops the bracelets into his hand and Brian offers sheepishly, "Thanks," before clasping each of them.
The awkwardness in the air is so thick that Brian can almost taste it, and he glances off to his right, searching for the right words to say. This proves to be a pretty damn bad idea, though, since the mirror is right beside him. Brian's face falls when he sees what he looks like. He's not that much different, really, but it's enough to cause most normal human beings to run screaming in the other direction. His sideburns are maybe a little longer than usual, which is saying something, and his hair is thicker, coarser. His eyes are vibrant yellow and his ears are pointed, though not necessarily much larger than usual. The teeth are probably the most startling part, his upper canines sharper than normal while his lower canines are long enough at this point that they poke out over his upper lip when he closes his mouth. Brian jumps when Bob squeezes his upper arm, staring with wide eyes, waiting for the backlash that still hasn't come.
Bob crosses his arms over his chest and arches an eyebrow. His hair is long and the parts that aren't hidden under his beanie curl down around his shoulders. He's smirking, and before Brian can say anything, let alone apologize, he offers, "You know, you're kind of a lame werewolf."
Brian feels the corners of his mouth quirk upwards and he says softly, "Sorry to disappoint."
Bob shrugs. "I forgive you," he states, and Brian knows he means it for more than just the fact that Brian is a less-than-stellar example of a legendary monster. Brian starts to say thank you but he's interrupted by a loud pounding on the bathroom door.
"You guys better not be having kinky bathroom sex!" Frank shouts, and then starts giggling hysterically. Brian snorts into his hand when Bob yells back, "Yeah, you're just jealous you weren't invited!"
"Shut up, Bryar, what does Brian want to tell us?"
"Hold your damn horses, Iero, and give the man a minute, Jesus." Frank wanders off grumbling, "Fine, fine, two minutes," under his breath and Brian shoots Bob a thankful look.
"We're not going to like, freak out, you know," Bob offers quietly. Brian looks up at him and nods, once, hesitantly. "I mean," Bob continues, stepping forward, "you might destroy Gerard and Mikey's childhood dreams, but whatever, that was bound to happen someday, right?" When Brian looks up, he's smiling, and Bob's smiles are so rare and totally awesome that Brian can't help but grin back.
"I mean, you're still Brian," Bob supplies, reaching out to ruffle Brian's hair. Brian wrinkles his nose and reaches up to smooth it out again. "C'mon," Bob says, jerking his shoulder at the doorway. "We have memories to destroy."
"With an invitation like that how can I refuse?" Brian responds sarcastically, absently touching the bracelets and letting out an inward sigh of relief at the cooling sensation emanating from them.
He goes into the lounge after Bob, standing very still while all the rest of the guys stare. He's conscious of Bob at his shoulder, stoic and supportive as always.
"Well, shit," Gerard says. Mikey blinks.
"Told you we picked the right tour manager, Gee," he mutters. "Can we go back to our game now?"
Ray chuckles at that and instantly the tension breaks. Frank actually whoops with excitement while Gerard beams and Mikey smirks. Bob actually leans over and chuckles into Brian's shoulder, and Brian thinks, Why didn't I do this sooner?
He makes a mental note to send a thank you to Smith later, but his phone buzzes in his pocket and there's a text from a number he doesn't know that simply reads: see. told u it'd be fine.
Brian grins, and for the first time in forever, he feels normal.
brian x bob preslash
r for swearing
authornote: title stolen from the song by the same name, performed by the band "little big town". cut text comes from the same song. it's quite excellent, if i do say so myself. also, please know that this is just a little bit of ridiculousness inspired by a picture i drew. i may post that later, idk. enjoy! ♥
Brian doesn’t even realize he’s different until he hits fourteen. He gets invited to his friend Billy’s birthday party, and his parents tell him he’s not allowed to go because it’s the week preceding the full moon. Brian rants and rails and promises that he’ll be fine. Hell, he’ll even wear the stupid silver bracelets and necklace this month, if they’ll just let him go. They don’t cede the point, though, and so Brian has to give his gift to Billy between classes on Friday while he scuffs the toe of his shoe against the tile and grudgingly explains that he won’t be able to make it that night.
Billy accepts Brian’s present with a shy grin and says that it’s all right, they can just hang out another time. Brian grins back and says that’d be great.
After fifth period, one of Billy’s not-so-nice friends, a wiry moron named Eric, stops Brian in the hall, shouldering him against the row of lockers. Sneering, Eric spits, “Aw, little Schechter can’t come? Why’s that? Period cramps too bad?”
Brian rolls his eyes and rubs his shoulder and grunts, “Shut up, Eric.”
“Hey,” Eric continues, throwing his hands up in a gesture of mock-mercy, “don’t worry. It happens to all the girls like you.”
Brian doesn’t get along with Eric on the best of days, and between his shitty science class and the fact that he’s still fuming about how he can’t go to Billy’s party, every single syllable pouring past Eric's lips is grating against Brian's already tender temper. Clenching his hands into fists so hard that his knuckles turn white, Brian snarls, "I said shut up, you moron."
Scoffing, Eric puts on a faux-wounded face, and continues, "Now, Brian, that's unladylike conduct. You're never going to land a boyfriend if you keep acting like such a bitch."
Since he was small, Brian has always prided himself on his patience. He rarely lashes out, and when he does it isn't usually too intense. But it's four days until the full moon and Brian's hormones are completely fucked because of it, and he's already furious at the world besides. Before he knows it, he's growling deep in his throat and lunging at Eric, swinging. Eric fights back, and he's on the wrestling team so he's a better fighter than Brian, easily, but Brian sees red and something inside of him just snaps.
It takes three security guards to pull him off of Eric, who's bleeding pretty badly and screaming, "You're a fucking psycho, Schechter!" The principal doesn't ask any questions, like why Brian's eyes have shifted from their usual cool blue to an acidic yellow, or why he'd been trying to get at Eric's jugular. He just calls Brian's parents, who don't offer any explanation, just apologies upon apologies.
It's the next morning, when Brian's parents don't take him to school but tell him to start packing up all his things instead, that he finally looks in the mirror and doesn't see just another fourteen year old kid.
*
Being a tour manager is tough, sometimes, with all of the extra precautions that Brian has to take to make sure nobody gets hurt - be it himself, the bands he's touring with, the techs, whoever he might accidentally run across should things not go according to plan - but it's what he's passionate about so he sucks it up and does his very best regardless of his little...condition. That's what his parents call it, anyway; a condition. It's genetic, so Brian supposes that's accurate, but it's hardly normal.
They have medication and other inhibitors and aids specifically manufactured for others suffering from the same ailment, but Brian knows it's still fucking strange. That it skips generations in his family doesn't help much. Brian's the first fully lycanthropic Schechter since the late 1800s, even though some of his uncles have tendencies, and when he underwent his first transformation his parents both nearly had heart attacks.
It's better now, with the organic pills that he takes daily, and the silver jewelry he never leaves home without. At least he only becomes an actual wolf on the night of full moon, rather than the whole week. And even then, as long as he's wearing the cuffs and collar - what he calls the necklace-bracelet combo he's had since he was three - the animal tendencies are subdued, so he can curl up, perfectly docile, and sleep through it. The only time he'd ever forgotten the cuffs and collar he'd trashed the hotel room he was staying in, but luckily he hadn't been able to open the door. He passed the destruction off as a wild party, the rest of the guys patted him on the back and assumed the exhaustion and slight nausea were caused by too much alcohol, and everyone forgot about it.
Sometimes, though, it'd be nice not to have to lie and have the tour techs think he's an antisocial asshole when he begs off early on a party night.
*
Touring with My Chemical Romance is different than any other tour that Brian has ever done, mostly because all five of the guys function as such a distinctive unit. They're like a family, all laughing and joking and getting up into everyone's personal space. It's a little bit worrisome right at first, because Brian has some very distinctive reasons why he doesn't let anyone in on his personal business, but they never push and they never pry, and slowly Brian starts to get used to Frank's feet in his lap and Gerard's head on his shoulder.
The only time they ask why he rooms alone, Brian tells them it's part of his managerial privileges, and they laugh and let the lame answer slide. Bob gives him a curious look out of the corner of his eye, and Brian flushes a little, the hairs at the nape of his neck standing on end for a split second. Bob just smirks and shakes his head fondly, shouldering his bag and heading toward the elevator in Frank's wake.
Once they're all clustered in front of the elevator doors, Brian turns to gather his own luggage, letting out a sigh of relief as he does so. Despite the fact that if anyone would be cool with knowing the truth, it'd be the My Chem guys, Brian's gotten so used to keeping it a secret and he gets sick to his stomach when he thinks of anyone ever finding out.
*
There's a week long break between the Europe and American legs of the tour, and Pete Wentz invites the guys to come hang out in L.A. After a particularly difficult time in Germany, the guys all decide that some sunshine and lazy pool days are just what they need to relax before embarking on the next circuit. Brian tags along at Gerard's insistence - "You're part of this band, too, Schechter, now stop being a candyass and come with us." - and ends up staying in Pete's guest house with Bob and Ray.
One Thursday night, the guys from Panic at the Disco come over. They're all dressed like they've been shoplifting from 1970's thrift stores, but that's not the part that Brian notices. What he notices is the familiar, slightly musky smell wafting off their bassist. Walker, Brian's mind supplies, though he isn't entirely sure.
Walker's eyes widen when he enters the room and he searches the faces of all the people present, eyes only widening more when they come to land on Brian. Brian shifts his weight, swallowing uncomfortably, completely oblivious of the look that Bob's shooting between him and Walker, and when Pete asks who wants to go pick up the pizzas, Brian immediately volunteers. He knows it's probably a little weird, considering Brian generally hates to drive unless he has to, but he hopes everyone just assumes he's being polite. His heart jumps into his throat when Walker stands, stretches, and lazily offers to go with.
*
"So," Walker starts, drumming his fingers against the windowsill, feet propped up on the dashboard.
Brian glances over, immediately returning his eyes to the road, and clears his throat. "So?" he echoes, and hopes he doesn't sound as defensive as he thinks he might.
Walker doesn't say anything in response, so Brian looks over when they pull up to a red light. Walker's grinning slyly, eyes kind despite the sharp, dark corners of his smile.
"Come on man, you don't need to be all coy," he states. "We're all friends here." He pauses for a moment, the light on his face shifting from a deep red to a vibrant green. Brian tears his eyes away and swallows harshly.
"Besides," Walker adds, voice low, "I can smell it all over you, dude. You fucking reek of wolf."
Brian feels all the color drain from his face, and when he opens his mouth to respond, nothing comes out. He presses his lips into a thin line and doesn't say a word, hoping the white-knuckle grip he has on the steering wheel will do his talking for him.
"It's okay, you know," Walker murmurs as they're pulling into the parking lot of McEnroe's Pizza. He pats Brian lightly on the shoulder and finishes, "I'm in the same boat as you." He smiles when he opens the door to the pizzeria and slowly, hesitantly, Brian smiles back.
*
Having someone who knows is helpful, if Brian's being completely honest. Walker will text him in the mornings, asking if he's okay, and on the rare occasions that he doesn't Brian will send a text instead. They don't really complain, because they've both lived with it for long enough by now that they know whining isn't useful in any way, shape or form.
One day, though, Walker texts him: don't u get lonely?
Brian stops to think for a long moment before responding: yeah, I guess. not often, though. mostly the nights right before the moon. do you?
He doesn't know why he starts to feel guilty when Walker texts back: no not really, spence and ry like 2 make me watch corny 50s movies & sometimes bden plays fetch. The guys come into the lounge, laughing, and for the first time in his life Brian can't meet their eyes.
*
One morning, Brian lumbers onto the bus and fixes himself a cup of coffee, curling up at the front lounge table and nursing it while the band groggily makes their way out from the hotel. Bob slides onto the seat across from him, munching on a piece of toast with jam and sipping at his own coffee.
"Hey," Bob greets, and Brian offers him a half-hearted smile in response. He didn't sleep well the previous night, despite having taken his medicine and wearing the cuffs and collar, and exhaustion is tugging at his eyelids. A few moments of silence pass and then Bob asks, "Are you okay, man?"
Brian glances up, surprised, and when he smiles this time it's real. "Yeah," he lies. "I'm fine. Just tired."
Bob grunts in response, and it's so normal that it startles a chuckle out of Brian. Bob arches an eyebrow at him and Brian just shakes his head and sips his coffee. He's a little bit lost in thought so he doesn't notice the tiny quirk of Bob's lips hidden behind his own cup.
*
"How's Walker?" Bob asks one night, flopping down next to Brian where he's sitting on the couch in the back lounge of the tour bus. Brian has his laptop balanced on his knees while he reads through an e-mail that his mom sent, requesting an update of the tour so far and Brian's well-being.
"Hm?" Brian responds, glancing up at Bob with a curious gaze. "He's fine. Haven't talked to him in awhile."
"Oh," Bob states, but that's all he offers, so Brian shrugs and goes back to the paragraph where he was detailing the week Frank spent stealing Gerard's underwear and leaving poorly worded love notes in their place.
*
After Walker's texts, Brian spends a few days briefly flirting with the idea of telling the band, but in the end he decides he's better off keeping it to himself. He's fairly certain that Bob's the only one who even suspects that there's something up, and even then Brian's pretty sure Bob's thinking more along the lines of "Brian-has-a-crush-on-Panic's-bassist" levels of weird rather than "my-manager's-a-werewolf" levels of weird. If Brian maybe likes the slightly jealous looks Bob will shoot his direction when he gets a text from Walker, he hasn't mentioned it to anybody. And if a tiny, almost inconsequential part of the reason Brian decides to keep his secret just that is because he doesn't know if he can take it if Bob hates him for it, well, he doesn't see how that's anybody's business but his own.
*
Everything goes positively wonderfully until about two weeks before the tour is over, because of course Brian's good luck cuts out at the worst possible moment. He's been running around patronizing Gerard and keeping Frank's temper from blowing up and dealing with a lot of strange and totally unexpected technical problems, and when Brian gets stressed out, he starts to forget things.
It's been years since Brian's forgotten anything to do with his condition, so he figures that's why the one night he actually does forget it's a big, fucking huge deal.
The bus is tooling down the freeway, sun just barely inching toward the horizon, when he realizes. His cell alarm buzzes in his pocket, and when he fishes it out the note flashing on the screen makes his blood run cold. It reads: Suit up for night!
Brian's hands are shaking when he slides it back into his pocket. His terror must be written all over his face, because Bob and Frank start to ask what's wrong. Brian waves them off and promises that everything is fine and excuses himself to go to the restroom. He splashes some of the water from the sink on his face and stares at himself in the mirror, taking deep breaths.
"It's fine," he murmurs, over and over, and after a few minutes the heavy, horrified beating of his heart has dulled to a more appropriate speed. He's been taking his meds, so all he has to do is put on the cuffs and collar and tell the guys he's going to bed early. As long as they don't pull the curtains back - and they're usually good about leaving him alone when he's sleeping - everything should be fine. It's two days until the actual full moon, anyway, so he's not going to transform completely.
"You can do this," he promises his reflection, "and everything will be okay." He takes another deep breath, holding it for ten seconds and then releasing it slow, before he steps back into the tiny hallway.
He starts to panic again after he digs through his smaller duffel bag twice and doesn't see hide nor hair of the necklace or the thick bracelets. Scrubbing a hand through his hair and glancing toward the windows - thank God the sun is still fully above the horizon - Brian gnaws his lower lip and tries to remember what he did with the jewelry that morning. He'd been in a rush after Gerard waking him up at ass o'clock in the morning to go grab Starbucks and have existential chats over muffins, and he'd only barely had time to grab them off the nightstand when he was throwing all his shit into his suitcase.
His suitcase. Brian's eyes go wide as he remembers jamming the jewelry into the front-most pocket of his suitcase, which is currently in the luggage compartment of the bus with all the rest of the suitcases and some of the musical equipment.
"Shit," Brian hisses, and presses the heels of his palms to his eyelids. Even if he can convince the driver to stop the bus on the side of the highway so he can dig through all the luggage to find his suitcase, it still won't be in time for him to put the chains on before he starts to change. It won't be enough time for him to hide.
"Shit, shit, shit," Brian curses, over and over, making his way to the front of the bus as quickly as possible without looking frantic.
"Hey," he says, as kindly as possible, once he reaches the driver's chair. The man grins and says hello and Brian pushes on, "So, I know it's kind of a strange request, but we need to stop as soon as possible. I just realized I left something super important in my suitcase."
The driver frowns a bit and says hesitantly, "The next rest stop isn't for another seventy miles."
Brian squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose. "It doesn't have to be at a rest stop," he replies calmly. "We just need to pull over ASAP and I need to get something from my suitcase." He locks eyes with the driver and adds, "I need to have it like, five minutes ago or things are going to get ugly."
The driver glances thoughtfully out his window, checking to see if the shoulder here is wide enough for them to stop, and he shakes his head apologetically. "I don't think I'm going to be able to without us getting hit," he offers slowly.
Brian resists the urge to grab the wheel from the man and force them off the road, but only just barely. There's the thrumming feel of discontent buzzing beneath his skin, and the sun is just starting to sink under the horizon.
"Damn it," Brian curses to himself and walks toward the kitchen, pacing between the cabinets for a few brief seconds before he reaches into his pocket for his phone. He dials Walker and lifts it to his ear, tapping his foot impatiently while it rings and ignoring the ever-so-slight burning sensation starting to spread through his jaw.
"'lo?" Walker greets.
"Jon," Brian says, and it comes out more relieved than Brian expected. There's a burst of laughter from the back of the bus, where the guys are still playing Halo, and Brian lowers his voice, continues. "I have a serious problem."
"What's up, man?" Walker inquires, and Brian thanks the heavens that it's a few hours earlier wherever Walker happens to be at the moment.
"I'm on the bus," Brian says.
"Shit," Walker responds.
"Yeah," Brian would laugh if it wasn't such a dire situation. "Want to know the best part? I left my cuffs and collar in my fucking suitcase."
There's a long moment of silence before Walker whispers, "Oh fuck, Brian. Do they, I mean, you haven't told them, have you?"
Brian shakes his head and then, when he realizes that Walker can't actually see him, replies weakly, "No, they don't know."
"Well, you have to tell or-"
"I can't tell them!" Brian hisses, rubbing absently at his sternum, which is tingling and burning like his jaw, now.
"I don't think you have much of a choice there, buddy," Walker shoots back, and Brian fights the urge to snarl at the phone. He's not an animal. He knows he's not an animal. He clings to that thought desperately as he puts together a response.
"You don't get it," he half-whispers, and he sounds more pleading than he's ever heard himself sound before, "they can't know. I can't tell them, they'll hate me."
There's the sound of Walker shifting and then a voice that Brian thinks might be the drummer - Smith? - comes onto the phone.
"Brian?" he asks. For a split second, searing anger flashes across Brian's mind, because how dare Walker share Brian's secret, even if it is just with his band.
"What?" Brian snaps.
"Jon tells me you're in a bit of a bind," Smith says coolly, and Brian laughs, harsh and unamused.
"Understatement of the fucking century," he growls, and pops his jaw. It itches and that means he's that much closer to changing and blowing all the fucking cover that he has. Brian's lucky he outgrew hyperventilating when he was around sixteen, or else this already awful situation could be a lot worse.
"Tell Bob," Smith states matter-of-factly.
Brian splutters for a second before hissing, "You've got be fucking kidding me."
"Schechter, think about it," Smith continues, choosing not to comment on Brian's rudeness, which Brian knows he'll probably be thankful for later. "If any of the guys in your band can handle this, it's Bob."
"Apparently you people don't understand what 'I can't tell them' means," Brian mutters. Smith is silent for a moment, and Brian can almost hear the cold bitchiness in the lack of sound. There's a peculiar little dinging from the back lounge, and then Smith speaks again.
"Okay, there, you don't have to tell him."
Brian narrows his eyes. "What did you do, Smith?"
"Sent a text, Schechter. Have a good night."
The line goes dead and Brian very nearly throws his phone to the ground in a rage when all of a sudden he hears footsteps coming from the direction of the back lounge. He freezes where he's at, praying against all odds that the next thing he hears won't be Bob's voice.
Of course, one of Brian's prayers actually coming true would make his life too easy, so of course it's Bob, sounding very confused when he says, "Hey, uh, Brian? Spencer told me to come check on you?"
"I'm fine," Brian grits out, making sure to keep his back to Bob. He's leaning over the counter and that tingling sensation is all over and he just wants to claw at his skin until it all comes off, but he manages to hold back. He knows he's probably shaking, and he hopes that Bob will take the hint and drop it even though he knows his friend better than that.
"You don't look fine," Bob states brusquely, hand settling lightly on Brian's shoulder. He squeezes slightly, urging Brian to turn around, and the latter wrenches out of Bob's grasp, taking a few steps forward before muttering, "Don't touch me," and then "I'm fine, I promise, just go away."
"Brian - " Bob starts, and Brian's resolve starts to crumble, just a little bit, because the aching deep in his bones and the weird stretching he can feel in his teeth is something he never gets used to no matter how many times he experiences it.
"Please," he snarls, and he could punch Smith's lights out right now. "Please leave." It's getting harder to concentrate, and his brain keeps pressing the fact that there's a human - an enemy - right behind him and it's starting to throb painfully behind Brian's temples. He's about fifteen seconds from causing a fight, and he knows that won't end well.
"Hey," Bob says, "what's up?" Brian grimaces and turns and Bob instinctively steps back. Brian bristles at that and narrows his eyes at Bob.
"What's up is that I need the silver chains from my suitcase now or I'm going to have a hard time trying not to eat all of you," he snaps, and it's not entirely the truth because even when he's been at the mercy of the wolf, Brian has never really had the urge to eat a human being. Mostly he chases rabbits and spends the night exploring the wilderness, but Bob doesn't need to know that. Bob doesn't need to know that Brian is part wolf at all except that Smith felt the need to make Brian's decision for him. Brian's waiting for Bob to either throw a punch or start screaming for help, but Bob doesn't do either, just stands there for a long, painful moment before taking a step forward. Brian tenses.
"You're not going to eat me," Bob states, not the slightest waver of doubt in his voice.
"I might," Brian growls, and he can feel the sharp points of teeth against his upper lip and he inwardly cringes - he must look like some kind of monster, at this point.
"You won't," Bob replies. He smells like prey, and Brian tells him so. He also tells Bob not to come any closer because the wolf will take it as a threat. Bob's brow arches at that, but he doesn't listen. He takes another step and Brian surges forward and -
Bob must be faster than Brian thought, because before he knows it, both his arms are twisted behind his back and he's pulling at them hard enough that he's almost yanking his own bones out of the sockets.
"Calm down," Bob murmurs, voice low in Brian's ear. Brian snarls and tries to break free of Bob's grasp one more time, but he's way stronger than he looks, too. Not that Brian's exactly got super-strength right now. In fact, since he's still undergoing the night's transformation, he's probably actually weaker than he would be even in his normal human state.
"Let go," Brian yelps, and the desperation in his voice echoes through his chest, his heart beating loudly in his ears. "Let go of me, get off!" His voice isn't rising much, but it's enough that Bob notices.
"Don't think so," Bob says. He pushes Brian forward and Brian stumbles, growling. "Quit it," Bob orders, with a sense of finality that makes Brian think Bob would be smacking him on the nose with a newspaper if he had one handy.
Brian stops growling but he's still scowling and baring his teeth. The wolf can't stand the fact that it's being dominated by a human and Brian knows he's probably going to start panicking soon. He twists in Bob's grasp again, letting out a pathetic whimper when Bob's grip only tightens. It's downright embarrassing, is what it is, because while Brian knows he's never been an alpha, he still feels like he should be the one in charge while Bob writhes uncomfortably.
Bob shoulders the door to the bathroom open and pushes Brian inside, taking his neck and gently - though forcefully - steering him until he's on his stomach on the tiled floor with Bob on his back. And to top it all off, he's growling again. Great. Bob flicks the light on and calls loudly, "Gee?"
"What?" comes Gerard's reply from the back lounge.
Brian senses rather than sees Bob rolls his eyes, and he wiggles a bit, testing Bob's control. Bob doesn't budge and the dominant side of Brian gives up, lying still. "Come here!"
There are shuffling, scuffing noise and then Gerard raps on the door to the bathroom.
"This better be good, Bryar, or I'm blaming you for my loss at Halo."
Bob snorts. "Whatever. I need you to do me a favor."
"Kay, what?"
"Tell the driver to stop as soon as he can, and bring me the silver chains from Brian's suitcase. They're in the - " he nudges Brian's back and Brian huffs and remains silent. Cuffing him upside the head, Bob repeats, "They're in the -"
Brian snarls and finishes, "Front pocket. There's three."
"The front pocket, Gee. There should be three of them."
Gerard hesitates for a minute before asking, "Okay, I know I'm going to regret this, but why do you need Brian's jewelry?"
"Because," Bob responds, and he sounds positively cheerful which only serves to piss Brian off more, "Brian needs them. And then he has something important he wants to tell all of us."
Gerard wanders off, muttering something under his breath that sounds like, "Fucking crazy band." A few minutes pass and then the steady movement of the floor beneath them comes to a stop.
Brian shifts again, trying to move so that he can get up onto his elbows and throw Bob off. Bob laughs from above him and tenses up. Brian grunts and flops back down.
"Nice try, Fido, but I'm like twice your size," Bob chuckles. They lapse into silence, Brian listening to the cars passing by and the faint beating of Bob's heart, the louder thud of his own.
Finally, Gerard tromps back onto the bus and knocks on the door. "All right man, I got the chains."
"Cool," Bob says, "now, open the door a little and hand them to me, okay?"
"Uh, okay?" The door inches open with a squeak and then it's clicking shut again, Bob thanking Gerard as it does so. Brian winces when Bob clasps the silver chain around his neck, but the minute the metal touches his skin the burning sensation cools and Brian's muddled mind becomes a little bit less foggy. Bob smells less like a challenge and more like a redheaded drummer, while Brian suddenly realizes that he's been acting like a moron. His cheeks flush a little, and he clears his throat.
"I'm uh, you can let me go," Brian murmurs quietly. "Sorry I sort of, you know, flipped out?" He hates that it sounds like a question, but that's the best it's going to get. He waits patiently while Bob deliberates, though he can't suppress a grin when Bob says, "Fine, but one wrong move and I'm putting you in your kennel for the night."
"Deal," Brian agrees with a hesitant chuckle. Bob stands, slowly, and Brian stretches, still laying down. "Fuck you're a heavy son of a bitch," he complains, rising to his feet and keep his eyes trained anywhere but Bob. Bob reaches out and drops the bracelets into his hand and Brian offers sheepishly, "Thanks," before clasping each of them.
The awkwardness in the air is so thick that Brian can almost taste it, and he glances off to his right, searching for the right words to say. This proves to be a pretty damn bad idea, though, since the mirror is right beside him. Brian's face falls when he sees what he looks like. He's not that much different, really, but it's enough to cause most normal human beings to run screaming in the other direction. His sideburns are maybe a little longer than usual, which is saying something, and his hair is thicker, coarser. His eyes are vibrant yellow and his ears are pointed, though not necessarily much larger than usual. The teeth are probably the most startling part, his upper canines sharper than normal while his lower canines are long enough at this point that they poke out over his upper lip when he closes his mouth. Brian jumps when Bob squeezes his upper arm, staring with wide eyes, waiting for the backlash that still hasn't come.
Bob crosses his arms over his chest and arches an eyebrow. His hair is long and the parts that aren't hidden under his beanie curl down around his shoulders. He's smirking, and before Brian can say anything, let alone apologize, he offers, "You know, you're kind of a lame werewolf."
Brian feels the corners of his mouth quirk upwards and he says softly, "Sorry to disappoint."
Bob shrugs. "I forgive you," he states, and Brian knows he means it for more than just the fact that Brian is a less-than-stellar example of a legendary monster. Brian starts to say thank you but he's interrupted by a loud pounding on the bathroom door.
"You guys better not be having kinky bathroom sex!" Frank shouts, and then starts giggling hysterically. Brian snorts into his hand when Bob yells back, "Yeah, you're just jealous you weren't invited!"
"Shut up, Bryar, what does Brian want to tell us?"
"Hold your damn horses, Iero, and give the man a minute, Jesus." Frank wanders off grumbling, "Fine, fine, two minutes," under his breath and Brian shoots Bob a thankful look.
"We're not going to like, freak out, you know," Bob offers quietly. Brian looks up at him and nods, once, hesitantly. "I mean," Bob continues, stepping forward, "you might destroy Gerard and Mikey's childhood dreams, but whatever, that was bound to happen someday, right?" When Brian looks up, he's smiling, and Bob's smiles are so rare and totally awesome that Brian can't help but grin back.
"I mean, you're still Brian," Bob supplies, reaching out to ruffle Brian's hair. Brian wrinkles his nose and reaches up to smooth it out again. "C'mon," Bob says, jerking his shoulder at the doorway. "We have memories to destroy."
"With an invitation like that how can I refuse?" Brian responds sarcastically, absently touching the bracelets and letting out an inward sigh of relief at the cooling sensation emanating from them.
He goes into the lounge after Bob, standing very still while all the rest of the guys stare. He's conscious of Bob at his shoulder, stoic and supportive as always.
"Well, shit," Gerard says. Mikey blinks.
"Told you we picked the right tour manager, Gee," he mutters. "Can we go back to our game now?"
Ray chuckles at that and instantly the tension breaks. Frank actually whoops with excitement while Gerard beams and Mikey smirks. Bob actually leans over and chuckles into Brian's shoulder, and Brian thinks, Why didn't I do this sooner?
He makes a mental note to send a thank you to Smith later, but his phone buzzes in his pocket and there's a text from a number he doesn't know that simply reads: see. told u it'd be fine.
Brian grins, and for the first time in forever, he feels normal.