King of the Pumpkin Patch - Part 2
Part 1
They all knew his poetry already, of course, but they still cheered at his more elaborate lines, at broken bones and jealous orchards and less pathetic vines. Brendon’s eyes grew steadily rounder and rounder, and Ryan couldn’t quite tell if it was from awe or fright, not even when Brendon clapped his hands along with everyone else.
Spencer gave Ryan a slow nod. His eyes kept flickering back to Brendon, just like Ryan’s. “Brendon, are you ready?”
Brendon giggled a little, high-pitched and nervous, as he pushed to his feet. Ryan pretended not to notice the calming palm Jon settled on his back.
Ryan took the spot the boy had just vacated, wrapping his arms around his knees just like Brendon had. Even from this perspective, Brendon wasn’t particularly tall, and Ryan could see every drop of sweat gathered at the line of his hair.
“You may begin,” Spencer said, and Brendon shot him a panicked look.
“Okay. Poetry. Okay.” He blew out a sharp breath. “Here goes nothing.”
~
Poetry was not Brendon’s strong suit. He tried, that much was clear, tried hard to emulate Ryan’s meandering style, but he didn’t seem to have a lot of experience conjuring up words and definitely very little actually performing them, and the little bow he tacked on at the end was more than a little embarrassed.
“That was terrible,” he said, oddly cheerful. “Right, guys?”
Ryan’s creatures nodded, some more forcefully than others, and Brendon grinned at them all despite the flush on his cheeks before he turned to await Spencer’s verdict. Ryan’s lips twitched, and even Spencer looked like he was fighting back a smile.
“Ryan wins this challenge, then,” Spencer said. “Is everyone in accord?”
They all nodded, even Brendon, and while Ryan wanted to remind himself that this was only one of three challenges, he couldn’t help but feel a jolt of relief. Maybe hope, even. Maybe they actually had a chance.
Spencer carefully placed one of the three white stones by his right foot. “The second challenge will now begin,” he said. “Brendon, if you lose again, you will relinquish the contest.”
Brendon nodded gravely. “What’s the second challenge?”
Spencer cut a glance at Ryan. “Your majesty?” he said.
Ryan nodded. He knew what was coming, and so did his creatures. He could hear them shifting around in their seats, whispering to each other, tapping their toes to some inaudible beat. “The second challenge will be song,” he said.
Brendon’s eyes went wide. “We get to perform a song?” He whirled around to face Spencer. “Really?”
Spencer nodded gravely. He didn’t quite manage to hide his bemusement.
Brendon, to everyone’s surprise, broke out in a wide grin. “Oh man,” he said. “Oh man, oh man, oh man. I need to get something, from the house, I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t think you’re getting out of this challenge,” Spencer called after him, but Brendon had already disappeared past the briar bush, shoes drumming along the driveway.
“Can we disqualify him for stalling?” Gabe asked, the top of his head just barely brushing against the leaves of the apricot tree, unaware that William was lovingly decorating his hair with small twigs.
“We’re not disqualifying him,” Ryan snapped. “Spencer said it was fine.”
“Well if Spencer says,” Gabe said, rolling his eyes, but he kept his mouth shut until Brendon’s footsteps pounded across the driveway once more.
“Not right now, God,” they heard him yelling, right before he skidded back into view behind the blackberry thicket, a gigantic wooden… thing in his arms.
Ryan stared. His creatures stared. After a moment, Brendon’s grin died on his face.
“What?” he asked.
“What’s that?” Jon finally said.
Brendon looked down at the thing in his hands as if he’d never seen it before. “This is a guitar,” he said. “You guys don’t know what a guitar is?”
“It looks like firewood,” Frank said, edging closer.
Brendon drew the guitar against his body, arms wrapped around it protectively. “It’s not firewood,” he said. “It’s an instrument. You make music with it.”
“Can he do that?” Jon asked Spencer. “Use something to help him make music?”
Spencer pondered that over for a minute before he shrugged. “Don’t see why he couldn’t,” he said. “We’re still going to judge him on his singing.”
“It’s fine,” Ryan said, when Jamia opened her mouth to jump into the conversation. “I say it’s fine, and since I’m the one going up against him, my opinion is the only one that matters in this instance.”
Spencer cleared his throat noisily, and Ryan rolled his eyes. “The Master of Ceremony’s opinion also matter, of course.” Just not as much, was all.
“Enough stalling,” Spencer said prissily. “Your majesty, begin.”
Ryan rolled his eyes in Spencer’s direction, but obeyed. Singing wasn’t his greatest talent, but he did okay, muddling his way through one of their ancient songs, one everybody knew. None of his creatures were allowed to sing along, of course, but Bob tapped out the beat against the dry earth, and Ryan could definitely see Spencer’s foot twitching. He could do this. For the first time since that van rumbled up the drive, Ryan let himself believe that all this might actually turn out okay.
~
The applause when he was done wasn’t quite as loud as it had been after his poetry, but not as half-hearted as after Brendon’s last performance, so Ryan bore it with good grace when Suarez muttered something to Cassadee about Ryan choosing a champion for this part next time.
“Quiet,” Spencer chided. “Brendon, are you ready?”
“Fuck yeah,” Brendon said, and dragged his fingers over the strings.
~
Ryan had never even heard of the song Brendon chose, but he still had to admit defeat before Brendon even made it to the first chorus.
~
“Third challenge?” Brendon asked, cheeks flushed with exertion and pride as he pulled the guitar strap over his head.
Ryan shook his head. “Tomorrow,” he said, gesturing to where the sun was turned red on the horizon. “Tonight, we celebrate our victories.”
“But our victories were against each other,” Brendon said, frowning. “I thought we were rivals.”
Ryan rolled his eyes. “No one’s forcing you to stay,” he said testily, gesturing back at the house in an invitation for the boy to leave. Ryan wasn’t about to make anyone stay in his pumpkin patch if they didn’t want to.
Brendon quickly shook his head. “No, no,” he said, tongue tripping over the words, “nope. Staying ‘cause I like it, that’s me.”
“Wonderful,” Ryan said. He still sounded surly, he could tell, but Brendon grinned and punched him lightly in the side. He’d probably been going for the shoulder, but couldn’t reach that far. He was short, and ridiculous, and Ryan couldn’t quite remember why he had thought inviting him to stay would be a good idea.
He briefly entertained the thought of uninviting him, but then Frank unearthed a bottle of mead with a cry of delight, and Brendon laughed, and Ryan figured he could stay, for a bit.
In any case, Brendon leaned his instrument against the trunk of the apricot tree, and Ryan turned away from the still-flushed nape of his neck when Alicia called, “A little light, your highness?”
There was a mocking quality to the title, the way all of his creatures said it, but Ryan pretended not to hear it when he knelt down in the middle of the pumpkin patch, keeping his bony knees well clear of the large, rough leaves. Twilight was coming on fast, so even though there was still plenty of light to see by, Ryan stroked his hand down the side of one of the larger pumpkins, smiling with satisfaction when it began to emit a soft, warm glow.
“Oh wow,” Brendon said, almost kneeling on Ryan’s hand in his haste to come closer. “Did you do that? That’s insane.”
“Perks of the job,” Ryan said, wriggling his fingers at him.
“Oh man.” Brendon laughed. “If I win, am I going to be able to do that, too?”
Ryan shrugged. He wasn’t entirely sure, to be perfectly honest. He’d been King of the Pumpkin Patch for as long as he could remember. He had no idea whether it was something that came with the title, or one of Ryan’s personal quirks.
“You might want to rescue your gee-tar before the Alex’ get their hands on it,” Spencer remarked, shuffling by with another earthen bottle and a basket full of sweet, ripe plums.
Brendon turned and rushed over to his guitar, pushing into the fascinated group of boys to cradle the instrument to his chest and flee. He only paused when he was back at Ryan’s side, casting paranoid looks over his shoulder, and he kept the guitar close even when Lindsey invited him to sit with a wave of her four-fingered hand.
He immediately edged closer when Ryan sat down as well, one arm draped over a pumpkin. Spencer settled on Ryan’s other side, and Dallon next to him, the bark on his bare arms and neck creaking lightly.
Jon sat across from them, and it wasn’t long before he abandoned his conversation with the Butcher to turn greedy eyes on the guitar in Brendon’s lap. “Can I look at it?” he asked, holding out his hands like he was asking to cradle a baby.
Brendon eyed Jon’s claws with some trepidation, but he finally nodded, holding the instrument out by the neck. “Be careful with it,” he said. “It’s the only one I have.”
Jon nodded solemnly. He looked cautious enough, settling the guitar against his body the way they’d seen Brendon do, brushing the side of his thumb over the strings. The sound was metallic, and sharp, and it didn’t sound anything like when Brendon had played the instrument.
“If you press your fingers against the strings, up here,” Brendon said, “the notes change.”
Jon peered at him doubtfully, but Brendon just grinned and nodded his chin at the instrument. “Go on, try it.”
Jon did, cautiously, startling when Brendon’s words turned out to be the truth. He tried pressing down on different strings, and then on different heights on the instrument’s neck, and then different ones at the same time, and Ryan couldn’t stop staring at it, at him, at the way his fingers stumbled and tripped over the strings as he picked out a clumsy melody.
Somebody cheered when he was done, and Jon looked up, cheeks red, grinning. He said, “Hey, Ryan, you want to try?”
“Ryan?” Brendon asked.
Ryan smiled at him. It was, surprisingly, not very hard at all. “That’s me,” he said. “I do have an actual name, you know?”
“I wouldn’t,” Brendon said, shrugging, but his smile was brilliant.
“Here,” Jon said, holding the guitar out by the neck. “Try it, Ryan. It’s fun.”
Ryan did, carefully, his spindly fingers wrapping around the neck once and then half around again. It was lighter than he thought it would be, and it wasn’t very hard at all to prop it against his knee the way he had seen Brendon do.
Jon eyed him for a moment before he was distracted by Victoria’s ferocious laughter, and then it was just Brendon, watching Ryan with a soft smile on his face.
“Aren’t you worried?” Brendon asked. “Now that I know your name?”
Ryan looked down at his hands. He was smiling, but he couldn’t help it. “I think I’ll be okay.”
A warm, broad smile blossomed over Brendon’s face. For a moment, he simply sat there, smiling at Ryan, and then he suddenly clapped his hands together. “Do you want to try?” he asked. “I could teach you, if you wanted.”
“Teach me to play the guitar?” Ryan asked.
Brendon nodded happily. “I’ll pick something simple, I promise.”
“Will you now.” Ryan’s fingertips sounded odd when he drummed them against the wood. “I suppose you better get over here then.”
Brendon’s grin split his face. “Okay,” he said. “Okay,” and shuffled over, fingers settling on top of Ryan’s, his entire body pressed against Ryan’s side.
~
The stars had been out for quite a while by the time they finally said goodnight, and many of Ryan’s creatures were drooping, yawning behind their hands. Brendon, too, looked tired. But happy as well. He’d spent the night at Ryan’s side, so close Ryan could feel it when his body shook with laughter at someone’s joke or stilled in anticipation of a story’s punch line. He’d had mead, too, but not enough to do more than warm his cheeks, maybe put a little stumble in his step when he climbed to his feet.
“Don’t forget your guitar,” Ryan said, holding it out to him.
“Oh yeah.” The boy took it carefully. “Thanks, Ryan.” He smiled a little hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed, but Ryan only smiled in return.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Brendon said, and Ryan could feel his smile stiffen a little at the corners.
“Until tomorrow, Brendon Urie,” he said, and didn’t let himself stay and watch him go.
~
Tomorrow dawned bright and far too early for Ryan’s taste, the sky clear and brilliantly blue, the sun a relentlessly cheerful patch over the horizon. There had yet to be a sign of life in the house, but Ryan had barely settled on a pumpkin to wait when Jon came and rested his cheek against Ryan’s knee.
“Best of luck,” he said, quietly. His claws dug rhythmically into Ryan’s calves.
Ryan let his palm rest on top of Jon’s head for a moment before he pushed him back to meet his eyes. “Is Spencer awake?” he asked.
Jon nodded. “He said he’d be here soon,” he said. “Does the Brendon know when we’re starting?”
Ryan wasn’t sure, actually, but he assumed Spencer had filled him in. He was Master of Ceremony, after all.
He must have, because it wasn’t very long at all before Brendon arrived with sleep-bleary eyes, wearing a different shirt but the same pants as yesterday. “Hey,” he said with a brilliant smile. He scrubbed his palms over his bare arms. “It’s a bit chilly, huh?”
“It’s getting to be winter,” Ryan said absently. “The frost is coming soon.”
“Already?” Brendon asked.
Ryan didn’t get around to answering before Spencer strode over, raising his eyebrows. “Are you both ready?” he asked.
Brendon nodded happily, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “So ready,” he said. “What is it this time? Pumpkin throwing? A berry eating contest? Maybe a little arts and crafts?”
“A duel,” Spencer said blankly.
“A duel?” Brendon’s voice did a neat little flip. “Like, with swords and stuff?”
“Is there a different kind?” Ryan asked, but gently. He felt a little bad for Brendon, but, well, the rules were the rules.
“I’ve never used a sword in my life,” Brendon protested, with just a hint of a tremble in his voice.
“Neither has Ryan,” Jon assured him. “So you’re both going to be terrible, don’t worry.”
“Great,” Brendon said. He smiled broadly. “This’ll be a cakewalk, then,” he said, and released a shuddering breath.
“Okay,” Spencer said, happily enough, and produced two broadswords apparently out of thin air. They were huge and unwieldy, and Brendon staggered under the weight when he took hold of one of them.
“Shit,” he said. He gave Ryan a wide-eyed look. “Dude, I’m not sure I can actually lift this.”
“Then I suppose you’ll lose,” Spencer commented blithely. He turned away to pick his way through the growing crowd of spectators and settle on his pumpkin. “Everyone settle down,” he said. “Sit down and be quiet. Now, if you don’t mind.”
There was one white pebble by his right foot, one by his left, the third still sitting untouched in front of him. Ryan forced himself to concentrate on that. One more challenge. One more chance to save their home.
“Begin,” Spencer said, and Brendon barely had time to say, “Man, this is so much better than getting bitched at all day,” before Ryan swung his sword, aiming for Brendon’s neck.
Brendon, caught off-guard, parried clumsily, sword held at an awkward angle that was bound to hurt his wrists. They were close, so close, cheek to cheek and Ryan could feel Brendon’s ragged breath across his skin, see his wide open eyes. For the first time since Ryan met him, Brendon looked scared.
When Ryan eased up on the pressure, Brendon took a quick step back and cleared his throat, but he didn’t say anything. No little quip to lighten the mood.
Someone in their audience shifted uneasily, so Ryan brought his sword up again. So did Brendon, movements slow and semi-controlled, muscles bulging underneath the sleeves of his t-shirt in an attempt to hold the weapon steady. He was the one to attack this time, sword swinging slow and clumsy, but the impact of metal against metal still jarred Ryan’s very bones. His breathing was loud in his own ears, perspiration already gathering at the back of his neck, the sound of his shoes shuffling in the dust grating and harsh.
He sincerely doubted his fight had a lot of entertainment value, but his creatures were almost unnaturally silent, watching their every move with rapt attention. Ryan’s sword was almost too heavy to lift, his thin arms tiring quickly, and Brendon didn’t look to be faring much better. It took just about all of Ryan’s strength, but he managed to force Brendon back a step, and then another, until Alicia had to pull her boots out of the way to avoid tripping the boy.
Then Brendon bit his lip and suddenly, unexpectedly, threw himself forward. Ryan went to parry his blow only for Brendon to tear his sword back and send it flying at Ryan from the other direction.
Ryan just barely managed to get his blade between himself and Brendon. It hurt, though, the impact did, and the angle tore the sword from his grasp and sent it flying, thudding heavily on the ground and skidding to a halt at Joe’s feet.
The yard was silent.
“Oh wow,” Brendon said, with a hint of a smile. “I really didn’t think that would work.”
Ryan scowled. He hated losing to incompetent people.
“That’s great, Brendon,” Spencer said with an easy smile. “Now you just have to kill him.”
Ryan hastily pulled his foot back when Brendon all but dropped his sword. “Kill him?” he asked, voice flipping. “Nobody said anything about killing!”
“Those are the rules,” Spencer shrugged, and Ryan glared at him. He could at least sound a little bit more concerned. Ryan’s life was at stake here, after all.
“But I don’t want to kill him,” Brendon said, sounding utterly lost. He stood, shoulders slumped, tip of his sword digging into the soil, looking so young Ryan could hardly believe this had all been his idea. There was no way he would challenge someone this - innocent to become King of the Pumpkin Patch.
Spencer drummed the tips of his fingers against his lips. “Then Ryan is going to kill you,” he finally decided. “Ryan, get your sword.”
“A little bit of respect, please,” Ryan said, but he straightened his back and took his sword from Patrick with a gracious nod.
“Kill me?” Brendon asked, sounding quite a bit more afraid, but no less shocked.
“Well, yes.” Spencer spread his hands. “It’s a duel to the death. Either you kill him, or he kills you. There’s no third option.”
“But-” Brendon began. He barely managed to wrench his sword up in time to parry Ryan’s blow. When Ryan retreated, circling him carefully, he took a few hasty steps backwards. “But!”
“There’s really no use arguing about it,” Spencer said casually. “So you might want to save your breath.”
It was good advice, if a bit cruel; the brief respite had allowed Ryan to recollect his strength but unsettled Brendon enough that their fight had become horrifically one-sided. Ryan advanced, and Brendon retreated, doing his best to fumble his sword between himself and Ryan’s blade. He parried, once, twice, lunged sloppily a time or two, but it wasn’t long at all before Ryan managed to slip one of his long legs behind Brendon’s and trip him. Brendon stumbled backwards, into the watching crowd, dropped his sword, and sat down heavily between Mikey and Amanda, who both scootched as far away from him as possible.
“Okay,” Spencer said, while Ryan’s creatures held their breath. “Ryan, you know what you have to do.”
Ryan did. He raised his sword high, drawing back his arm, and then he made the mistake of meeting Brendon’s eyes, his big, dark, terrified eyes. Had he looked like that when Brendon had advantage over him? When Brendon had been in this position?
Brendon didn’t say anything. The pumpkin patch was deathly quiet, and Ryan would have heard every word, had Brendon chosen to plead. But he stayed quiet. He simply sat there, staring up at Ryan, eyes big and wet, lip quivering unhappily. It was pathetic, and Ryan dropped his sword with a sigh. “I’m not going to kill you,” he said.
Brendon’s eyes widened.
Spencer clicked his tongue sharply. He leaned back and folded his arms in front of his chest. “Well, one of you is going to have to kill the other, or we’ll be here until the end of time.”
“I’m still your king,” Ryan reminded him, with a sharp look that let Spencer know exactly how much Ryan didn’t appreciate his tone.
“Yes, your majesty.” Spencer dropped his eyes. He didn’t look very sorry, but Ryan was used to that from him. “But it’s a duel to the death. If you won’t kill Brendon, and Brendon won’t kill you, then the duel won’t end. The rules are very clear about this.”
“The rules, hm?” Ryan looked back at Brendon, who had deflated into a tiny ball. The Butcher had reached over to rub Brendon’s shoulder with furry fingers, and Amanda had Brendon’s hand clasped firmly between her own, and Brendon looked like he didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry.
“I’m King of the Pumpkin Patch,” Ryan said grandly. “I’m changing the damn rules.”
There ought to have been stunned silence, perhaps a round of applause. Instead, every single one of Ryan’s creatures began whispering to someone else, and the veins in Spencer’s forehead looked ready to burst.
“You can’t just ‘change the rules’ in the middle of the contest!” he protested.
“Are you questioning your King?” Ryan asked haughtily, and Spencer scowled but shook his head.
“It’s fine,” he muttered. “Whatever.”
Brendon choked on a laugh, and Ryan grinned when he reached down to offer him a hand. Brendon surprised him by going for a hug as soon as he was upright, wrapping his arms around Ryan’s skinny torso and burying his face in Ryan’s chest.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “For not killing me. Thank you.”
“You didn’t kill me either,” Ryan reminded him, sliding one hand into the hair at the back of Brendon’s neck.
They were pulled apart by Jon, who first curved himself around Ryan, claws digging into his back, before hugging Brendon with equal determination. Ryan caught Frank when he launched himself at him, and then Pete, and then he suddenly started laughing. Not too loudly, not too boisterous, but just enough to make Brendon glance over at him and smile.
~
What seemed like an eternity later, his creatures’ chatter had quieted but still not died down. Ryan extracted himself from a circle of Alex’ and fled over to the fence bordering the property, where he could sit and be alone and breathe for just a couple of minutes.
It was wonderful that the duel was over now, of course, wonderful that both he and Brendon had somehow made it out alive, but at the same time, didn’t that mean the end of the pumpkin patch? Brendon’s parents were going to tear up the grass and the brambles, chop down the trees in the orchard and fill in the dirty old pond at the far end of the property to make way for a shiny-tiled, shimmering pool instead. Ryan and his creatures were going to have to find somewhere else to go; flowers without a garden, leaves without branches, kings without a kingdom.
They were going to lose everything.
“Ryan, hey.” Brendon flopped down on the grass next to him. “What are you gazing at all soulfully?”
Ryan turned his head to meet Brendon’s eyes, smiling perfunctorily, but Brendon’s happy grin practically melted from his face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked suddenly. He sounded concerned, and almost scared. “Ryan, what is it?”
Ryan rested his cheek against his knee and gave Brendon a long look. “The pumpkin patch, Brendon,” he said. “What are we going to do? This is the only home we’ve ever known.”
Brendon chewed his lower lip. “Well, to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure you would have saved it by killing me, you know? My parents can be pretty harsh, but they wouldn’t just let that go.” He shrugged, smiling helplessly. “Humans don’t really work that way.”
“Great,” Ryan muttered. “So we were doomed from the start. That’s very reassuring, Brendon, thank you.”
Brendon sat up straight, startling Ryan upright as well. “Wait, wait,” he said. “Nobody said anything about being doomed.”
“But we are, Brendon,” Ryan insisted. “Unless you can pull a plan to save the pumpkin patch out of that guitar of yours, we are doomed.”
“Not necessarily.” Brendon lifted a stalling finger into the air. “I have an idea.”
“What kind of idea?” Ryan asked, but Brendon shook his head.
“Just. Let me work my magic, okay? Have a little faith.”
Ryan scoffed, but Brendon seemed too elated suddenly to pay him anymore attention, springing to his feet and dusting the soil from his knees and ass. He was still holding up his finger, grinning wide, and barely called out a goodbye before he stumble-rushed away to the house.
Ryan stared after him. He didn’t want to believe in Brendon and his idea just yet, but it was hard. Hard not to let that small glimmer of hope in his chest blaze into a full-fledged inferno. He wanted to believe that Brendon knew what he was doing. He really, really did.
“Are we really going to trust him?” Spencer asked, settling down at his side.
Ryan shrugged. His lips kept wanting to smile, no matter how often he fought them down. “He’s proved himself.”
“I suppose,” Spencer said. He hesitated. “I’m glad you didn’t die,” he said, nudging Ryan with his shoulder.
“Thanks for letting me know,” Ryan said snippishly. “I wasn’t sure for a moment.”
“You know I was rooting for you,” Spencer protested. “But I was supposed to be impartial, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Ryan reached over to ruffle Spencer’s hair, using his longer arms to his advantage when Spencer ducked away.
Spencer escaped after a moment, glaring, and Ryan let him go. His smile was slowly turning into a frown. It was a little strange, knowing that their fate was being decided, perhaps right this very second, and there was nothing they could do. There was nothing any of them could do.
They were all in Brendon’s talented little hands, now.
~
Despite his reassuring words, Brendon didn’t reappear until the next day, speaking loudly enough to be heard all the way from the house. He was earnestly reassuring someone - the mother, William announced from his vantage point in the apricot tree - but leading her steadily towards the pumpkin patch, and Ryan’s creatures disappeared from sight without him having to say a word.
“Careful,” Brendon said to his mother, her hand on his arm, as he pushed aside a couple of curious vines. “Careful with the pumpkin leaves, they break easily.”
His mother huffed, unaware of Spencer tugging Ryan out of sight behind the dog rose hedge with a hand curled around Ryan’s wrist.
“What are we doing here, Brendon?” she asked, stepping cautiously over a thorny blackberry tendril. “I’ve got lunch to prepare.”
“I know,” Brendon said. “This won’t take long. I hope.”
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Spencer breathed in Ryan’s ear.
Ryan couldn’t do anything but shrug, so he didn’t. “He almost became king of the pumpkin patch,” he pointed out. “We should have a little faith.”
“Yeah, because you lost against a human,” Spencer said, grinning, but the expression quickly dropped off his face when he caught Ryan’s bony elbow in the side.
“Almost lost,” he corrected tightly.
“Yes, your majesty,” Spencer said. He sounded like he was rolling his eyes, but Ryan didn’t look over. He was a king. He was above such pettiness.
In the meantime, Brendon had lead his mother over to the garden bench and urged her to sit down on the dilapidated wood, despite her doubtful look. “It’ll hold,” he assured her. “I promise, Mom. Just sit.”
She sat, carefully smoothing out her skirt but halting her movement when Brendon crouched down at her feet, looking up at her with an earnest expression.
She cleared her throat a little, and then again when Brendon reached up and caught one of her hands. “Honey, what is it?” she asked, offering him her other hand as well.
Brendon looked down at his feet for a moment before he looked back up. “I know I’ve been terrible lately,” he said, but he was grinning a little. “About the move, and in general.”
Mrs. Urie nodded. She said nothing to contradict him, but Ryan thought she looked almost - hopeful, somehow.
“And, well.” Brendon looked down at his knees. “And I didn’t want to admit it, at first, but I like it here. It’s nice, you know. Like it could be a home.”
She freed one of her hands to tuck a wayward lock of hair behind his ear. “I’m sorry we couldn’t pay more consideration to your objections, honey, but your father and I thought long and hard about this move.”
“Yeah, I know,” Brendon said. His jaw tightened for a moment, but then he breathed out, and Ryan could see his shoulders forcibly relax. “I know that, Mom.” He sucked in a deep breath and held it for a second before he said, “I wanted to ask you to leave the garden alone. Like, to leave it as it is.”
Her eyes went horrified-wide, and Brendon quickly went on, “I mean, trim it back a little, of course, make it look all nice and sh-stuff, but. Like, not completely flatten it? It’d have, like. Charm. I think it could be nice.”
Ryan could tell from the look on Mrs. Urie’s face that she wasn’t going for it, even before she shook her head. “That’s really not what we had in mind, Brendon,” she said.
Brendon gave her a hopeful look. “I know that,” he said. “But I think it’d be for the best, you know? I just - this place is special, can’t you feel it? We can’t just mow it down.”
She tightened her lips, clicked her tongue. “Brendon, baby, it’s just a garden.”
“It’s not just the garden!” Brendon said fiercely. “Not just a garden, I mean. Not to me.” His face smoothed out, though Ryan had the feeling it was deliberately done. “I really, really like this place, Mom, and I’m asking you to just leave it be. Please. For me.”
The woman was wavering, Ryan thought, looking down at Brendon. She looked confused, but not malicious. “They’re just weeds, Brendon,” she said.
Brendon ducked his head. “I know,” he said. “But I like it, you know? It makes me feel - at ease, I guess. Peaceful.”
“I thought you’d been less argumentative the last two, three days,” she conceded. Then she sighed, deep and loud. “I’ll have to talk it over with your father,” she said, but from the way Brendon started grinning, that was as good as a yes, and the woman looked like she knew it too.
“It can’t just be an indulgence, Brendon,” she said. “You’re going to have to take good care of it if we let you do this.”
Brendon laughed, delighted. “Maybe you’ll even let me get a dog, one day,” he said.
“How about you take care of your garden, first,” Mrs. Urie said. She was smiling, though, and Ryan could feel his heart unclench a little bit.
“I will,” Brendon said, jaw set fiercely.
The woman reached over to ruffle his hair. “I’m starting to get that,” she said. She smiled at him, long enough that Brendon started fidgeting with the tear at his knee, before she looked up at the sky. “I really do have to start getting lunch ready, though.”
“Do you need any help?” Brendon asked.
Her expression was startled, at first, but when Brendon simply knelt there, looking up with earnest eyes, it eased into a soft, fond smile. “I’m alright, honey,” she said. “But maybe you could check if your dad needs any help sorting out the attic.”
“I can do that,” Brendon said easily before he pushed himself to his feet and dusted off his knees with his hands. He reached up to tug a couple of blackberry vines out of the woman’s way when she made to push them roughly aside. “After you,” he said, grinning.
She smiled, charmed, unsuspecting, running her hand over Brendon’s shoulder when she passed him. Brendon took a moment to follow, letting his gaze wander over the seemingly deserted pumpkin patch. Then he grinned, sudden and startling but oh so bright, and even though Brendon couldn’t see him, Ryan smiled back just as wide.
~
The others were off somewhere, celebrating, passing bottles of mead around with elation. Ryan was going to join them in a minute, he was, but for now he was content to perch on the fence and watch the sun sink towards the hills, blushing crimson as she went. It wasn’t any different from the way she always did, nothing Ryan hadn’t seen hundreds and thousands of times before, but it felt different. Now that the pumpkin patch was safe, that he knew they were still going to have a home, even if only for a time, it felt different.
He heard Brendon’s footsteps long before he felt the presence at his side, the shuffle-step of his sneakers against the summer-hardened soil. He didn’t look over, not even when Brendon sighed.
“The sunsets are so colorful out here,” Brendon said. “I swear they never looked like this back home.”
Ryan shrugged. He’d never strayed far from the pumpkin patch, had barely even been past the fields surrounding the house on all sides. Every sunset he’d ever seen was a brilliant purple, a crimson red, a startlingly bright turquoise.
“Beautiful, though,” Brendon added after a while. Ryan was fairly sure the boy wasn’t actually looking at the setting sun, despite his words. He could feel Brendon’s eyes on him.
“So,” Brendon said after a while. “The pumpkin patch is saved.”
“For now,” Ryan said, even though even he couldn’t quite manage to feel hopeless at the moment. Eventually the Brendon would leave, and then maybe then his family would decide to destroy the pumpkin patch after all, or maybe one day he would stop caring about them and not bother to hold up his end of his agreement with his mother any longer, but that was ‘maybe’, it was ‘one day.’ It wasn’t now.
For now, the pumpkin patch was saved.
“For a very long time, if I have anything to say about it,” Brendon said.
He sounded so fierce, so determined, that Ryan turned his head and smiled at him. “You would have made a good king, I think,” he said. “You care a lot.”
Brendon shook his head fiercely. “I’m glad I didn’t win,” he said. “I don’t ever want to take something away from you.” He scowled at the mere thought, and Ryan quirked his lips and leaned over to cover Brendon’s fingers with his own.
Brendon fell silent at that, eyes firmly on their intertwined hands until Ryan pulled his back to fiddle with the buttons of his waistcoat. Then he suddenly rose up onto his tiptoes and pressed a quick, dry kiss to Ryan’s cheek.
“Ryan,” Brendon said. “Thank you,” he said, when Ryan blinked at him. Even in the fading light, Ryan could see him turning pink. “For this. For being my friend.”
“You’re welcome,” Ryan said, after a moment.
“I should go inside,” Brendon said. He hesitated for a moment, but then he smiled and pushed himself away from the fence. “Good night, Ryan,” he called, when he was almost out of sight, and then he was gone.
“Good night, Brendon,” Ryan said. He stayed on his perch, watching the sunset dye the sky in violent shades, fingers ghosting over the spot where Brendon’s lips had touched him, and smiled to himself.
Bonus Material