The Storybook Hour, 7/8
Important! Starting in the last part, there are spoilers up through the finale of season three of Doctor Who. If you follow the show and have yet to see the end of that season, I recommend you wait on reading this. If you honestly don't care, then read on :D
Summary, disclaimers, notes, etc., can be found in part 1.
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 8
[ On the subject of acting stupid: ]
Ryan and Spencer's twenty-first birthday is boring.
...no really, it is! Brendon's excited and all, "Oh my god, oh my god, this is going to be awesome - you guys'll finally be able to legally drink!" and the Smiths just stare at him and ask, "Brendon. Does anyone actually pay attention to the legal drinking age?" because maybe Jon's been buying booze for them for years. Brendon loves it when Ryan drinks, because then he clings to Brendon a lot and burrows against him and that is the best thing EVER in Brendon's opinion.
"Alcohol tastes nasty," Ryan says, making a face. "I don't see what the big deal is."
Spencer glances between Ryan and Brendon. "...okay. We can do this. But I'm only doing it because you're a good kid, Brendon Urie. And you have to take care of him if he starts puking his guts out again." It nearly always happens, and Spencer thinks that maybe Ryan's physiology just can't handle alcohol. He worries that maybe he should just put his foot down and not let Ryan drink, ever (not that Ryan would ever complain), but, well. Brendon is a good guy, and Spencer just keeps hoping that one of these days Ryan will catch a clue and stop being so damned stupid.
Thus, the Smith brothers celebrate their twenty-first birthday with alcohol not because they want to, but because Brendon says they should. It's a good reason. Spencer feels like a veritable saint, he is so very selfless, agreeing to do this for Brendon's sake. He also might be more than a little tipsy right now, but it doesn't matter because he's in Jon's lap and Jon loves him. "You love me, right, Jon?" he asks affectionately, nuzzling Jon's neck, running his fingers through Jon's hair. In the morning Spencer will be absolutely appalled at his behaviour and oh so very glad that they're in Washington and far, far from home and anyone they know. Right now, however, he just wants to snuggle with Jon, who is his most favorite person in the world.
Except for Ryan, of course, because Ryan is his brother. But that doesn't matter right now because Jon still hasn't answered Spencer's question. Spencer pouts. "Jooon, why're you so quiet? Don't be quiet, Jon." Jon gulps. Apparently hard alcohol makes Spencer affectionate in ways that beer never does, and okay, Jon really isn't complaining. Or freaking out, because cuddling and Panic! kind of go hand-in-hand, whether it's groping-and-cuddling or completely platonic cuddling (of which Ryan and Brendon are the ultimate masters), so he's used to cuddling with Spencer. Only, um. Wow. Usually that's in the private of the car, as Spencer is prickly and not given to PDAs when they're in out and this is, um. Really, really nice. Particularly since a number of other people at the bar keep giving Jon jealous looks. Jon grins and wraps an arm around Spencer's waist, pulling him closer.
"Just thinking about how much I love you, Spencer Smith," he says, kissing Spencer lightly. At least, he means to kiss him lightly, really he does, but Spencer automatically deepens it and the next thing Jon knows they're giving most of the bar a really good show. Wow.
Elsewhere, Brendon is not having anywhere near so good a time. "Come on, Ryan," he wheedles, "you don't have to drink the whole thing, I'll share it with you." He bats his eyelashes a few times for good measure and offers Ryan the piña colada again. For the sixth time that evening. Ryan gives it a look of contempt.
"Someone has to stay sober enough to drive later," Ryan snaps, arms folded across his chest as he glares over at where Spencer acting like a complete idiot, plastering himself all over Jon. Spencer is a total traitor, he does not deserve to share a birthday with Ryan.
"Jon said he'd drive. Please? I bought it for you. I think you'll like it. It doesn't taste like beer at all, it's sweet and yummy." If Brendon had a better backbone, this would be the point where he'd take a sip and then kiss Ryan and share it with him. But he doesn't and he values Ryan's friendship way too much to ever do anything like that. But. But that doesn't mean he doesn't want to do it.
"God, Urie, alcohol isn't fucking soda pop," Ryan says, the disgust clear and obvious in his voice, on his face.
"Fine," Brendon snaps, because yeah, he really cares about Ryan, and yeah, Ryan is his best friend ever, but Ryan's also being a complete bitch and Brendon's just trying to be nice. Going out and drinking with your friends on your twenty-first birthday is what people do. (Except when Brendon turned twenty-one it was just him and Jon who went out and Jon bought him a drink and they played some air hockey and then they went back to the car after an hour or two, because really, it just wasn't much fun without Ryan and Spencer there too.) "Fine, be that way. Whatever," Brendon says, and he grabs the drink and downs half of it in one go, because even though he went into this evening planning to not get any more than slightly buzzed so that he'd be able to clearly remember each and every one of Ryan's adorable drunk antics, what's the point in if Ryan refuses to take even a sip?
"Fuck, Brendon, don't do that, you'll give yourself alcohol poisoning or something," Ryan says, and Brendon blinks owlishly at him from behind his glasses.
Brendon smirks. "You, Ryan Smith, are worried about me." Which Brendon thinks is awesome. Maybe he'll actually try for alcohol poisoning, and then Ryan will have to rush him to the hospital to have his stomach pumped, which, okay, ew, Brendon's heard from the TAI guys that that's really not pleasant at all and he actually doesn't want to do that, but he likes the idea of Ryan being his knight in shining armor. "You're my knight in shining armor, aren't you, Ryan?" he asks, leaning against Ryan and affectionately nuzzling his neck. "I want to be your damsel in distress."
Ryan sighs and rubs Brendon's back. This is nice. This is more what he's used to, Brendon cuddling up and being all dependent. It's weird when Brendon starts acting, well, older than Ryan. It still feels wrong to Ryan whenever Brendon actually acts like it, since he's so used to him being silly and childish and, well, Brendon. "...one sip," he says finally, because he feels guilty about making Brendon upset, and one sip can't hurt him, right? "But just the one. Alcohol always makes me sick, you know that. I don't want to be sick on my birthday."
"Okay!" Brendon chirps, and he hugs Ryan tight, burying his face against Ryan's neck and buzzing. Ryan squawks and jumps slightly in his chair and Brendon pulls back, laughing. Yeah. Yeah, this is more what Ryan's used to. "Drink, Smith," Brendon says, shoving the glass at him. "You said you would."
"God, you're such a spazz," Ryan mutters as he takes the glass and sips it carefully. It's... surprisingly sweet and light, with just a hint of alcoholic tang to it. "That's... not half bad," he concedes as he sets it down on the table.
"I asked the bartender to make it weak, seeing as how you're a lightweight and all," Brendon says, smiling encouragingly at Ryan as he worries his bottom lip between his teeth. Ryan can feel a flush creeping up his neck, because there's something adorable about that gesture, that look, and he wonders if other people in the bar think that he and Brendon- Ryan gulps. He wonders when the last time Brendon had a date. It's hard to see much of anyone when you're traveling all the time, and here's Brendon, stuck babysitting Ryan while Spencer and Jon make out for the benefit of the rest of the bar. It's a shame, really - Brendon would make a really great boyfriend for someone.
"You know," Ryan says tentatively as he hands the drink back to Brendon, "you don't have to stay with me. I can look after myself."
The smile immediately disappears from Brendon's face and he kind of just... deflates. "Are you. D'you want me to go?" he asks. "I mean. I thought you liked hanging out and. We're celebrating your birthday. Yours and Spencer's," Brendon babbles and he feels stupid and foolish and oh god, what if Ryan wants him to go so that Ryan can flirt with people? That is totally not on, other people are not allowed to flirt with Ryan, Brendon saw him first! "I mean, yeah Spencer's abandoned us for the greener pastures of Jon Walker, but that doesn't mean we can't have a good time, just the two of us. I like spending time with you." Brendon bumps his shoulder against Ryan's and smiles a little hopefully.
"No, I just. I thought, we don't go out very often. You might want to, I don't know, meet someone," Ryan mumbles, eyes flicking towards where Spencer and Jon are sucking face and immediately skittering away again. "That's all."
"Aww, Ryan Smith, that is so sweet," Brendon laughs, face lighting up and Ryan smiles back, because Brendon's smiles are seriously infectious. "Don't you worry about my love life," he says, flapping his hand at Ryan, "I can take care of that myself." Which means Brendon's perfectly content with pining over Ryan, just as long as it's clear that only he is allowed to pine over Ryan. (Not that Brendon is really pining or anything, understand, because Brendon thinks that Ryan is a great guy, and yeah, really hot, but it isn't as if he's in love with him. He just kind of really wants into his pants. And to cuddle with him. Which, okay, he already gets to do, but it would be kind of really awesome to cuddle and get into Ryan's pants. Wow, yes please, sign Brendon up for some of that.) He waggles his eyebrows and Ryan snorts.
"Well, if you say so," Ryan says with a shrug.
"Anyway. What kind of knight in shining armor would you be if you let me go off on my own amongst all the ravishers of the night who are intent on compromising my virtue?" Brendon asks with wide eyes. "You would be falling down on the job, I think." He laughs and finishes off the rest of his drink, because really, the idea of anyone being interested in compromising Brendon's virtue is kind of totally hilarious.
Ryan smiles, and it's that smile of his, the one that looks so easy to most people but Brendon knows is actually really hard to coax out of him in public like this. It's not often that Ryan is enough at ease to smile like that and oh, Brendon's breath catches in his throat for a moment. Ryan is too pretty for his own good. "Hey," Ryan says, bumping Brendon's shoulder companionably, "how's this? I'll take one sip of every different kind of drink you get tonight, okay? No matter how weird it looks or how obscene the name is."
The look Brendon gives him is one of pure and utter amazement. "Ryan, Ryan, you really do love me!" he proclaims as he hugs Ryan tightly. Then Brendon is out of his chair and on his way to the bar, no doubt intent on finding something horribly obscure and dangerous looking. Ryan kind of fears for his life, but he thinks the sacrifice is worth the look on Brendon's face just now.
The problem with Ryan's proposal, Brendon soon figures out, is that no matter how Brendon tries to arrange it, he ends up consuming way more alcohol than Ryan. Even if Brendon gets shots, it still doesn't work out, since the alcohol's so much stronger, Ryan makes faces at them. He doesn't like the strong taste of the undoctored alcohol, he likes fruity drinks, and Brendon's more than happy to oblige, because he likes fruity drinks too. And Ryan has a nice smile. He really likes Ryan's smile. "I really like your smile," Brendon says, nuzzling up against Ryan. He's just finished his - their - fourth drink, a midori sour, and it was really good. Ryan liked it so much he took two sips! Though Brendon thinks the first one might've been really small so maybe it didn't count.
Ryan snorts and rolls his eyes. "You're drunk, Urie."
"No I'm not! I am, mmmm, pleasantly tipsy. More pleasant than tipsy. Don't you think I'm pleasant, Ryan Smith?" Brendon is half-sprawled across Ryan's lap, and he bats his eyelashes up at Ryan, who laughs again and shakes his head, though the tips of his ears turn red.
"I still think you're drunk," Ryan says, fixing Brendon's glasses so they sit straight on his nose. "You ready to call it quits?" Jon and Spencer have finally - finally - broken apart for air, or something, though Jon looks very dazed and Ryan wonders if it's possible to get contact drunk, because Jon sure as hell doesn't look sober at the moment. Ryan sighs. He hopes they don't end up parked on the street overnight. They've been given weird looks on more than one occasion when they've all stumbled out of the car in the morning the few times they've done that in the past. People get weird about four guys sleeping together in the apparently cramped space in the back of a hearse, though really, Ryan can't understand why.
"Mmm, one more, maybe," Brendon says, straightening slowly and pulling himself out of Ryan's lap. "I'm gonna get you a White Russian. You'll like it. It's tasty with coffee!" Brendon giggles and stands up, swaying enough that he needs to grab the back of his chair to keep himself from toppling. Ryan scrambles to his feet and steadies him the rest of the way.
"Hey," Ryan says, wrapping an arm around Brendon's waist. "Maybe I better walk with you to the bar." He doesn't bother to remind Brendon that he doesn't really like coffee much of at all. If Brendon wants to get him a coffee-flavoured drink, he'll drink some of it, and he'll say he likes it, because then Brendon will smile. Ryan's a bit of a sucker for Brendon's smiles.
"You are such a gentleman, Ryan Smith," Brendon coos, leaning in and nuzzling his neck as they make their way to the bar. "I am so lucky to have you to look after me."
"Glad to know I'm appreciated. I hope you realize I'm never going to let you live down any of this, right?" Ryan jokes as he leads Brendon to the bar and orders his drink for him.
"Oi, hey, no," Brendon says with a frown as Ryan pays for the drink. "It's your birthday. You shouldn't be paying for drinks."
Ryan shrugs and picks up the glass with his free hand, the one that's not wrapped around Brendon's waist, resting on his hip. He sips slowly, considering the taste. There's a smoky flavor in there, but it's light, not anywhere near as strong as it is with straight-out coffee. It's actually not half bad he decides as he swallows and hands the glass to Brendon. "Think of it as a belated birthday present, since I couldn't buy you one back in April," he suggests.
Cupping the glass in both hands, Brendon stares at Ryan, his mouth a perfect O. "You are the bestest friend a guy could have," he says sincerely before drinking. He boggles at the glass slightly when he lowers it again. "Ryan Smith, you sly, sly devil," he says cheerfully, "you didn't tell him to cut down on the alcohol, did you?" Brendon snickers, because god, it would figure - here he's been buying weak drinks all night out of respect for Ryan's sensitive lightweight status (and, okay, also because he's trying really hard not to avoid getting stupid drunk), and now Ryan's gone and bought him one that's full-strength. "If I get drunk, it's all your fault," Brendon tells him solemnly. "You'll have to take full responsibility." He's half-way through his second sip, long and sweet and mmm White Russian, when it occurs to Brendon that oh, hey. Maybe Ryan had a point earlier. Maybe he is a bit past pleasantly buzzed and well on his way towards tipsy. Past tipsy? Not drunk. Probably. He thinks.
By the time Ryan is helping him out of the bar and into the car, Brendon is maybe having to reassess his situation yet again and oh, wow. Maybe he is drunk. Oops. Good thing he has Ryan to look after him and keep him from being stupid! "Ryan, Ryan, you won't let me do anything stupid, right?" Brendon asks, staring up at him with large brown eyes as he sits on the threshold of the car. "Right, Ryan?"
Sighing, Ryan steadies Brendon, and nods. God, how does Brendon get his eyes that big? It can't be natural or healthy. Brendon scrambles into the car the rest of the way, grabbing the front of Ryan's shirt at the last moment and pulling him in as well. They end up collapsed in a heap on the floor of the common room, Brendon giggling and Ryan struggling to untangle their limbs. This is made especially hard by the fact that Brendon keeps trying to hug him. "Brendon, that- that really isn't helping," he insists, but Brendon just laughs and shakes his head, hugging Ryan closer. Really, Ryan should be mad and annoyed and frustrated with him right now, but Brendon looks so happy, and it's hard to be mad at Brendon when he's happy. "Come on," he says as he finally struggles to his feet and hauls Brendon up, "let's get you to bed."
"Oooo, bed! Are you going to join me, Ryan Smith?" Brendon asks, batting his eyelashes.
"Of course, you ass. We share a bed."
Brendon apparently thinks this is the most hilarious thing ever, and Ryan gives up trying to understand the inner workings of the Urie mind and instead makes Brendon sit on the edge of the bed and works off his shoes. Something drops on his head, and Ryan makes an annoyed noise and pushes it off, glancing up to glare at Brendon. Who's taken off his shirt. Which, okay. Half-naked Brendon is something Ryan's totally used to, really, because they've been sleeping in the same bed for over two years and living together for more than three. You can't do something like that for that long without getting used to what the other person looks like half-naked. Only. Usually Brendon isn't all flushed and staring at Ryan like that. Ryan gulps and shifts uneasily, dropping the lilac-colored Converse in his hand.
"Ryan," Brendon says softly. "Ryan, Ryan, Ryan."
"What?" Ryan asks, annoyed and confused and ready to start glaring again.
"You're supposed to stop me from doing anything stupid," Brendon reminds him as he burrows under the covers, tugs at Ryan's arm, trying to pull him in. Ryan toes off his own shoes, pulls Brendon's glasses off, sets them on the nightstand, and crawls under the covers. He keeps his shirt on.
"Yeah, I guess," Ryan says with a shrug. He doubts he can keep Brendon from doing anything he really wants to do. Brendon is like a hurricane in that way. Or any number of other natural disasters Ryan could name.
"So that means," Brendon says as he leans forward, bumps against Ryan. "That means this isn't stupid." And Brendon kisses him.
Ryan's entire body goes stiff because, what? No, seriously, WHAT?? Brendon is kissing him. Brendon Urie is kissing him. What fuck is going on? None of this makes sense and Ryan can't figure it out at all and Brendon sighs softly against Ryan's lips, then smiles and snuggles against Ryan's chest, buries his nose in Ryan's shirt. "...what. The fuck, Urie," Ryan says deadpan, but Brendon doesn't say anything, he's already asleep.
Ryan doesn't get much of any sleep that night. He hears Jon and Spender stumble in, hears them snicker as they stagger down the hall, turn into their room. If he strains, he can hear a very-muffled moan shortly after, but Ryan doesn't strain. (He's infinitely glad they completely soundproofed Brent's room when they made it into a sometime-practice room, and that it sits between his and Brendon's room and the one Jon and Spencer share; there are certain things Ryan would rather not know about his brother). He's too busy thinking, too busy trying to figure out what the fuck is going on because, uh, his best friend got absolutely smashed and kissed him. After much consideration, Ryan finally decides that it'll be best to just ask Brendon in the morning. If anyone knows why Brendon would do something like that, it's Brendon himself, right? Right.
In the morning, Spencer is crabby, which is easily and quickly cured by Jon bringing him coffee. Brendon has such a hangover that he's unable to speak in anything other than very expressive grunts, which is... not so easily cured. Most of what Brendon says consists of complaints about how Ryan failed to take proper care of him the night before, letting him to sleep without forcing a gallon's worth of water down him first. Or at least that's what Jon says. The task of translating Grunt into English has fallen to him today because he has the most experience with Grunt (too much time around TAI and other bands during his formative years, he explains) and because he's in the best mood out of all of them.
"That's the only thing he's complaining about?" Ryan frets, bites his lip, forces himself to not bite his lip, and nearly drops the bowl he's getting out of the cabinet.
"That's it," Jon says with a shrug, though he's eyeing Ryan now, considering the way Ryan moves in a nervous, jerky around the kitchen. "Something happen between you two last night?"
"What? No. I just brought him back. And. Put him to bed. He was really out of it." Ryan shrugs. Everything's fine. Nothing to see here. Move along, folks. Jon nods slowly, and for a moment Ryan's afraid he's going to ask for more, but he doesn't, just sits there and drinks his coffee, smiling at Spencer over his mug. Spencer scowls back at him. Spencer's kind of amazing.
Once he's awake enough, Ryan volunteers to take first shift for driving while everyone else showers and gets dressed and okay, yeah, it's a total cop-out - he'll let Brendon sleep some more to recover. He'll avoid thinking about last night until he absolutely has to. Avoid thinking about what Jon and Spencer are getting up to in the back of the car while they have the run of it mostly to themselves. Ryan makes a mental note to disinfect the kitchen counter when they stop for lunch later.
Ryan pulls over after a few hours and they switch drivers, Jon taking over, Spencer sliding into the front seat next to him while Ryan and Brendon clamber into the back seat. They don't often ride with anyone in the back. It just... feels better for them all to be there. They're a team, they should stick together, keep each other awake and alert. Talk and laugh and do things!
Sometimes Ryan and Brendon work on songs when it's not Ryan's turn to drive, but neither of them is feeling particularly creative today, and Brendon kind of just groans and curls up against Ryan, who, after a few minutes of awkward internal debate, puts an arm around him. "Hey, Ryan," Brendon asks after a while, keeping his voice soft so as to not interrupt the conversation Jon and Spencer are having up front, "I didn't do anything stupid last night, right?"
"No," Ryan says, trying to keep his voice from sounding choked or weird or awkward. "Nothing stupid at all."
"Good," Brendon says with a yawn. He smiles up at Ryan. "I honestly can't remember anything after the third drink - there were more after that, right? Thought so. Good thing I had you to keep me out of trouble, hm?"
Something twists up inside of Ryan's chest, twists tighter and tighter and then suddenly - springs. Releases. All the tension flows out of him, and he relaxes. Brendon doesn't remember a thing, Brendon was seriously drunk last night, Brendon kissing him was a fluke occurrence. "Yeah," Ryan says, returning Brendon's smile, ruffling his hair. "Good thing."
[ Somewhere in the middle of Kansas, a blue box sits in the snow: ]
They're halfway across Kansas, on their way north, northeast, when Brendon leans forward in the front seat and presses his fingers against the windshield as he stares outside. A frown wrinkles his brow, and he breaks off from singing along with the song on the stereo. Spencer glances over, curious. "What is it? D'you hear something? Should I pull over?" Which is Spencer's way of asking if Brendon's picking up on some sort of psychic shout or something.
"No, it's." Brendon frowns some more, leaning even further forward, straining against his seatbelt as he stares out the window. Spencer follows his gaze, and it seems Brendon's focused on some sort of shed on the horizon.
"Is there someone in the shed?" he asks.
"It's really there, then?" Brendon asks cautiously, then bites his lip. "It's just. Okay, I know this is going to sound strange, but I could've sworn it wasn't there a minute ago. I know it could've been behind a rise or something, but the land's flat as a board around here."
"You think we should stop," asks Ryan from the back as he leans forward, arms resting on the seatback, chin resting on Brendon's shoulder.
"...probably? I mean. I might've just not noticed it right way, but..." But it's a rare day indeed that Brendon fails to notice something, particularly when they're driving across flatland and there's not much of anything about to distract him.
"But you don't think that's the case," Spencer concludes. They're coming up closer on the shed now, and Spencer can see that it really isn't so much a shed as a sort of large, boxy-looking telephone booth. Painted blue. It says POLICE along the top. Shifting gears, he slows down and pulls over to the side of the road about a hundred feet away. No sense in getting too close when they aren't quite sure what they're dealing with. Sure, it looks innocent enough, but Spencer's learned to be suspicious of innocent-looking things over the years. His paranoid streak has kept him alive so far, and he isn't about to abandon it now. And. And something about it looks familiar. Like something from a story or a dream, and Spencer's lips tighten into a thin line.
Brendon leans forward and switches off the iPod hooked into the stereo - Jon's, he thinks, but he isn't sure - detaching it. He opens the glove compartment and stashes the iPod there, then pulls out a four of slender, silvery rods and wordlessly passes them out to the guys. He gives Spencer two - Jon's in the back of the car, working on dinner while they drive, and Spencer'll give Jon his stun stick when he goes to get him. The stun sticks are actually a secondary precaution, something Ryan whipped up years ago so that they'd have something handy and fast if they needed it. They're pretty nifty in that the tip of one will knock out almost anything it comes in contact with for at least six hours (and the almost is only there because Ryan likes to be overly-cautious and is constantly warning them that just because they've yet to find a species that can withstand the stun stick doesn't mean that none exist). The main problem with them is that they don't have much reach, so you have to get up really close to use one, making them impractical weapons a lot of the time.
Gulping, Brendon scrambles out, Ryan right behind him, and they lean against the car as they wait for Spencer to get Jon. Always all four of them when dealing with something they don't expect, and yeah, sure, it's probably just an odd sort of telephone box in the middle of nowhere, it's probably not anything important, but. But they've gone into similarly innocent-seeming situations in the past and nearly ended up dead just because they went in unprepared since it didn't look that dangerous.
Spencer and Jon join them in a timely manner and without their hair all mussed up for once. Brendon would be surprised, only he knows that Spencer and Jon are professional and they know when it's important to keep their hands to themselves. Plus, it probably doesn't hurt that Spencer's pretty much in charge of these sorts of things, and he's always absolutely professional when it comes to kicking alien ass and defending the human race and all that good stuff. Brendon grins at them. "How's dinner coming, Jon?" he asks cheerfully as they walk towards the box, snow crunching under their boots.
"Alright. Spencer says we've got a mysterious appearing blue box?" Jon raises an eyebrow as he fiddles with the camera on the strap around his neck. Jon sort of obsessively documents every alien-related thing they do, and it kinda weirded Brendon out at first, but the info Jon's collected has save their lives over the years more times than Brendon can count.
"I think. Dunno. Looks like a phone booth." They're right up next to it now, and it really does look like that's all it is. The walls are wood, there's a phone in a box on the front, and it looks pretty normal.
Ryan studies the phone, frowning at it. "It's a fake. It's not connected to anything. Why put a dead phone on the outside of a phone booth?" He takes out his multipurpose tool and starts fiddling about with the phone, poking at bits of wire and playing with the components.
Trust Ryan to get distracted by a machine that's not working, Spencer thinks, rolling his eyes. "Maybe the inside's needed for something more important," he suggests, and tries the door. Unsurprisingly, it won't open. "Ryan, lend me your sonic," he says, but Brendon's already reaching over his shoulder and knocking on the door. "What the fuck, Urie?" he snaps at Brendon.
"Just seemed more polite than automatically trying to break in," Brendon says.
Spencer opens his mouth, no doubt ready to shoot back a scathing reply, when the door in front of him opens and a man in a suit smiles cheerfully at them. "Why hello," he says, "what can I do for you chaps?"
To his credit, Spencer doesn't even blink - the stun stick's in his hand and the tip's pressed against the stranger's neck so fast that Brendon can't honestly remember seeing Spencer move. The stranger slumps forward and Spencer and Brendon catch him, laying him on the grass. "Shit, Spencer," Jon whispers, eyes wide, "he didn't even try anything. What the hell?"
Kneeling next to the stranger, Spencer shrugs. "Not human. First to move is the one who's most likely to keep his head. Brendon, restraints please?"
Brendon rolls his eyes and binds up the man's wrists and ankles with the special restraints Ryan made for them. They supposedly restrain tentacles as well as arms and legs. Also feelers, claws, and wings. "You didn't have to do that," Brendon says peevishly. "He seems nice."
"Is that your professional opinion?" Spencer asks, which is his way of asking Brendon whether he's dipped into the guy's head or not.
He flushes and glances away slightly. "...he's got shields. No professional opinion."
Jon still isn't happy with the way things are going, and yeah, Brendon's kinda with him on this one because as strict as Spencer can be, he usually isn't this uptight with the ones that are friendly from the start. Jon says as much, and Spencer sighs and rubs his forehead. "Look. I just. I don't like blue boxes, alright?" he says. "It's just... something someone told me about, once. And I don't like them." He glances up at Ryan, who's still fiddling with the phone. "Ryan, can you leave off on that and put some sort of lock on the door? One that'll let us in, but not him? Something that can be taken off again." Ryan shrugs and nods, moving from the phone to the door. He knows when not to argue with Spencer about things, knows that this is one of those times.
The other three haul the man back to Belinda while Ryan fiddles with the lock on the box. Normally Spencer wouldn't want to bring a stranger inside Belinda, but, well. Normally they aren't in the middle of nowhere in the dead of winter. He does have some standards. Once in the car, Jon and Brendon escape to the kitchen, leaving Spencer to keep guard like some sort of peevish mother hen.
"So," Jon says as he turns the stove back on and puts a pot of half-cooked noodles back on a burner, "any idea what his issue with blue boxes is?"
"Your guess is as good as mine," Brendon says with a sigh. "It's the first time I've ever heard of it, and no, I am not going to try and rummage through his mind, so you just stop giving me that look, Jonny Walker. He's onto when I do that - he always starts showing thinking about you during sex, and much as I like you, that's not something I ever needed to see, ick." Well, at least not secondhand like that, Brendon mentally amends, but he thinks it very, very quietly because he likes life, and he doesn't want to lose his any time soon. Spencer can be a wee bit possessive, sometimes.
The stranger wakes up while they're eating dinner, and at first Brendon figures Spencer set the stun stick to a lower setting than usual, but then he sees how rigid Spencer's gone and he remembers Ryan's constant warning that there's every chance they'll one day find a species that isn't really affected by the stun stick. They all freeze when the guy sits up and groans, only they don't, because they're all simultaneously reaching for their phones. It's an automatic reflex, really. Brendon, ever the diplomat, clears his throat and speaks. "Hey. Look, we're sorry about the sudden knock out and everything, but you'll have to excuse us if we're a bit shoot now ask questions later at the moment. A giant crab tried to eat Jon a few days ago, and Spencer tends to be a bit twitchy after that kind of thing happens."
"Wow," says the man, shaking his head several times as if to clear it. "That's some doozy of a stunner you've got there. What is it? An Isher 500?" He smiles at them, and Brendon finds himself smiling back. He's relieved to see that he's not the only one - Jon smiles too, and even Ryan's lips twitch slightly.
Ryan flushes slightly and ducks his head. "No, um. I made them."
"Really? I'd shake your hand, only I seem to be a bit tied up at the moment," the man says. Ryan gulps and mutters something about how he's glad at least the restraints are working properly. Ryan doesn't like to make weapons and things, most of their gear is either defensive or relatively harmless, but that doesn't mean he's necessarily pleased when his stuff doesn't work the way it's supposed to. "So, who are you lot, then? I'd guess you were locals who're a bit upset about my trespassing or somesuch, only normally the locals around here don't go about with sophisticated stunning devices."
"Who we are isn't the important thing here," Spencer snaps, and the rest of Panic! jumps slightly in their seats, because yeah, they're used to Spencer being bitchy at times, but this. This is a bit intense even for him. Brendon shrinks slightly in his seat even though Spencer isn't directing his glare anywhere in Brendon's direction. Spencer can be scary when he's glaring. Hell, Spencer can be scary, period. "The important thing here," Spencer says slowly, obviously choosing his words carefully, "is whether you're the Doctor or not."
The man's attention sharpens, and though the smile doesn't drop from his face, his eyes narrow slightly. "I might be called that sometimes," he concedes.
Spencer nods. "I thought you might. Sarah Jane said you liked to travel in a blue box."
Now it's Ryan's turn to suddenly look interested, his head whipping around as he stares at Spencer. "Sarah Jane? What's she got to do with this? Spencer..."
The man perks up. "Sarah Jane Smith? Good old Sarah Jane. Do you know her, then? A fine, upstanding woman! Though, I can't think much of the company she's keeping if this is how they treat their guests."
"She's our cousin," Spencer says at the same time that Ryan blurts out, "She's my mother."
Spencer glares at Ryan. "Ryan, fuck. She's not your mother. God, I can't believe Dad never bothered explaining that to you."
Ryan returns glare for glare, and Brendon maybe surreptitiously sneaks around the table to hide behind Jon. Usually behind Jon is a good place to be when Spencer and Ryan go at each other's throats.
"She could be my mother," Ryan grumbles.
"No, Ryan. She really couldn't be," Spencer says with a sigh, rubbing his face. He suddenly feels sick to his stomach, and he pushes his plate away, unable to bear the sight of food at the moment. To the man - the Doctor - he says, almost conversationally, "Sorry about the restraints - couldn't be sure whether Sarah Jane'd spoken to you or not, and I wanted a chance to explain things to you before you tried anything." He stands, walks over, and releases the bindings on the man's feet, then helps him up. "You and I have business together, Doctor."
"Spencer, what-" Brendon begins, but Spencer shakes his head and takes the Doctor into Brent's bedroom, which is currently acting as their practice space while Brent's away at school. The door closes with a click, and Brendon and Jon both turn to look at Ryan with wide eyes.
"What?" Ryan snaps. "I don't know anything more than you do."
"Nothing," Jon says, and he starts clearing up the table. Brendon shakes his head, glances at Ryan, and suddenly flees into their room. Ryan's left feeling even more confused than before and sighs. Sometimes he just doesn't get people.
In the room he shares with Ryan, Brendon's dug Ryan's watch out of the nightstand and is curled up under the covers, cuddling it to his chest. He's not sure about what's exactly going on, but he has a pretty good idea that it has something to do with Ryan, and he's too antsy to ask Ryan to cuddle right now, so he's doing the next best thing. It sings softly to him in his mind, and Brendon croons back as reassuringly as he can.
In Brent's room, Spencer feels like he's having a minor breakdown. Or like he should be having one, but he can't because he's too wound up. "So," the Doctor says, glancing around the room, at the dismantled bed shoved up against the wall, the amps, Brendon's keyboard, Spencer's kit. The little, blue toy piano with its eight rainbow colored keys. "So, what can I do for you, Spencer?"
Spencer gulps and rubs the palms of his hands against his jeans. He doesn't want to say this, but. Doesn't need to say this, only. Ryan. He owes it to Ryan. "Sarah Jane," he starts, the stops, taking another deep, shuddering breath. He wishes Jon could be here right now, but Jon isn't a part of this, so. "When I was five, Sarah Jane left something with us, my family, for you."
The Doctor frowns, lifts his bound hands, taps his chin. "Oh?"
Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, opens them again, and nods. A quick, sharp movement. "It's. It's my brother," he says in a rush. "Ryan. He's. He has a."
The smile the Doctor gives Spencer is a kind one, a friendly one, and oh god, it's really hard to hate him when he smiles like that, but this is the man who's going to ruin Spencer's life, and Spencer absolutely refuses to like him, to trust him. "Is there something something wrong with Ryan? I'm sorry, Spencer, I'm really not that kind of doctor."
"There's nothing wrong with Ryan," Spencer snaps, hackles rising. He sighs, forces himself to relax. Being angry isn't going to help him here. Being angry will just make him miss things, make stupid mistakes. "Sorry. No. It's. That's what she left for you. Sarah Jane, I mean. Ryan." And then, then because it's been seventeen years, seventeen years of keeping it all bottled up inside, of stressing and worrying and babysitting and doing everything he possibly could to make sure no one ever noticed, no one ever asked, no one every even wondered, it all comes pouring out at once. "She left Ryan for you, because she couldn't really be a single parent, and he was just a little kid, and she knew Dad would kinda understand, and she figured it would be easier for Ryan to adjust, because I was there and we were about the same age, and we figured, we figured it would all be okay, he seemed normal enough. Only then, only then he started... started fixing things, making things. Learning."
Spencer starts pacing, trying to explain, to not sound like an idiot or a psycho or anything. At the same time, he's trying to make this man understand that Ryan's a person. A person with a family and friends and a life and the Doctor, the Doctor has no right to take that away, no matter what Sarah Jane thinks. "He can learn a new language in two months and speak it like a native. He can- You were complimenting him on the stun sticks. They're nothing, he was just bored and fooling around in the car one day and decided to make those; they used to be flashlights. He can make a phone out of a handful of crap he's bought at a cheap store, he built an engine that runs on vegetables when we were fifteen. He created an entire pocket dimension when he was trying to fix a coffee maker. It's just..." He shakes his head. He knows Ryan's a genius, everyone says so, even Andy. It always gets Spencer that Andy says it too, because Andy, well. Andy knows things about the universe.
"And it's not just machines," Spencer says, words coming quickly, running into each other in their hurry to escape, to get out, to break free. "It's words too. Words and music and. And he writes these songs, and they're nearly perfect and heartbreaking and wonderful and just. He doesn't realize how special it is, any of it, how strange or weird or unusual and that's fine, that's a part of who he is, but. But it isn't." Spencer can't say it, can't say, It isn't who he really is, because he doesn't want to believe that, doesn't want to believe that Ryan is anyone, anything other than his amazing baby brother.
The Doctor looks confused, like he really doesn't understand what Spencer's telling him, though he's trying hard to understand. "He sounds like a bright kid; you must be very proud of him," he says encouragingly. "I'm sorry, Spencer, I really don't know what Sarah Jane was thinking, leaving her little boy with your family and saying he's for me."
Spencer makes a disgusted noise and growls. "God, he's not Sarah Jane's kid, why does everyone always think that? She found him. She found him wandering around, lost and confused and probably no more than five years old, with nothing on him but the clothes on his back and a broken pocket watch in his hand and not speaking a lick of English or any other language she'd ever heard on Earth. She left him with us because she thought it would be safer, he'd be less likely to be noticed, and maybe she was a little scared of him too, I don't know. It's just. She said you'd know what to do about him, that we - my parents, my sisters, me - we should look after him, and love him, and raise him and if you ever turned up, we should hand him over to you, only-" and here's the thing, here's the part that's important, the part that this man, this Doctor, has to understand, even if he doesn't understand anything else Spencer's said, "-only I'm not letting you take him, not unless he wants you to, and then you aren't taking him, understand? He's going with you voluntarily, because fuck, he may be weird, and awkward, and dreamy, and maybe not even human, but he's still my brother. He's still my friend."
Sometime during Spencer's rant, the smile finally - finally - dropped off the Doctor's face, and now he's staring at Spencer with a sort of blank expression. "You said he had a watch," the Doctor says, and. And the look on his face, it's the same one Spencer's seen on Ryan's sometimes - distant, out of focus, not really there. Looking as if from very far away, like there's a great, unimaginable distance between him and Spencer, not just a few short feet. "With... a sort of fob attached to it? Old fashioned?"
Spencer nods, a short, quick jerk of his head and he. He suddenly feels badly for the man in front of him, because in all the time Spencer's dreaded this day, dreaded this happening because Ryan was his whole world for so long, before Brendon and Jon and the band, in all that time he's never stopped to consider that there might be someone else out there who needs Ryan just as much as he does. And, at the same time, it's not much of a surprise at all, because it's Ryan. It's Ryan and much as Spencer loves Jon (and god he loves Jon, he still can't believe it took him so long to realize it), in some ways Ryan's still the most important person in Spencer's life, because, well. Ryan's amazing.
"Brendon. Brendon said it sings sometimes. The watch, I mean," Spencer says, voice slightly broken.
"Brendon... He's the chatty one? With the glasses?" The Doctor sounds vague, distracted, and he's moved away from the wall, started walking towards Spencer and the door with an air of purpose to his stride.
"Yeah, that's him."
The Doctor nods, says, "Yes. Yes, he would hear it," and reaches for the knob on the door. Spencer's not surprised to see he's no longer wearing the manacles Brendon put on him earlier. Pausing in the doorway, the Doctor turns back slightly. "I have to talk to him. You understand that, right, Spencer? I have to. If there's another..." He trails off, and Spencer can't tell if it's hope or fear he sees in the other man's eyes. Maybe it's both.
They find Ryan and Jon in the common room, playing Guitar Hero and both of them failing spectacularly, though neither one seems to really notice, they're both so distracted. "Where's Brendon?" Spencer asks as he pushes past the Doctor and squeezes between Jon and the armrest. Jon puts an arm around Spencer's shoulders, and Spencer presses his face into Jon's hair, inhaling deeply. It helps, but Spencer still can't relax, is still all nerves.
"In our room. He had a freakout or something, and. He's in our room," Ryan says, setting down the controller and giving up all pretense of even trying to play the game. "Did you work things out?" he asks, glancing between Spencer and the Doctor.
"I need to talk to you, Ryan," the Doctor says, and Spencer wonders how can he sound so calm. "About where you come from. About your family, your parents."
Ryan's head whips around and he stares at Spencer, panic obvious on his face. "Are Mom and Dad-?" he begins, but Spencer just shakes his head, pressing closer to Jon.
"He means your real parents, Ryan. He knows about- about before. Before Sarah Jane found you."
"Probably," the Doctor cautions. "Can't say anything for sure yet, not until I've had look at this watch of yours."
"My watch...?" Ryan sounds a bit confused, and he automatically glances down at the watch on his wrist, silver colored metal with a thin, black leather band. A woman's watch, though he's never seemed to mind that. Stacey gave it to him when he turned eighteen. ("Now that you're an adult," she'd said, "you have to actually pay attention to time," and Ryan hadn't really understood, because he'd always paid attention to time.)
"Not that one," the Doctor says, and Spencer says, "The broken one, Ryan. The one you haven't fixed."
Ryan frowns and his eyes lose their focus for a moment. "That old thing? But that's ancient and broken, Spencer. It doesn't work." Jon raises his eyebrows in surprise at this, and Spencer can understand why, because usually if something's broken then Ryan's right there, fiddling with it, trying to fix it, to make it work again. It's part of who he is. That he hasn't fixed the pocket watch is unusual to say the least.
"You have it with you, right?" Spencer asks.
"Yeah, it's in the nightstand." It doesn't work, and Ryan dislikes being around broken things unless he's fixing them, but. He feels weird when the watch is too far away. When he isn't sure of where it is. He likes it handy. "I'll go get it," he says, standing and leaving.
The Doctor wanders around the room as they wait, almost unable to keep still. "He seems like a nice kid," he says conversationally to the room at large.
Spencer doesn't really feel like talking, so it's Jon who replies. "He is. A bit odd, but he's brilliant, and he really cares about things." Sometimes Jon thinks that Ryan's problem might be that he cares too much, doesn't know when to stop caring.
Passing the doors - small things that're just three feet high and stand two, two-and-half feet above the floor - the Doctor pauses and pushes one of the curtains aside, looking out at the snow covered countryside. "We're in your car?" he asks with surprise when he notices the tire tracks that lead right up to the doors.
"Dimensional pocket," Spencer mumbles. "Ryan accidentally attached it to the back doors of the car, so now it's-"
"-bigger on the inside than it is on the outside," the Doctor finishes, and it sounds like he's quoting something, though Spencer doesn't know what. Ryan would know, he reads so much. "You live in here? What are you four, then, a band?" the Doctor asks, perhaps because he remembers the instruments in the other room.
Something slips in Spencer's stomach and he wishes Ryan had heard that, because hardly anyone outside their small group calls them a band anymore. "Yeah," Spencer says, and he lifts his head to smile at the Doctor. "Yeah, we're a band. But we're on hiatus at the moment. Until our bassist finishes college." Which is only another five months away and fuck, what will they do if Ryan's not there anymore? Spencer pushes the thought away, refuses to think about it. "We tried just living in one place a couple years back - got a cabin in the mountains and everything, managed to stick it out for three months, but it was boring, so. We mostly stick to traveling."
Ryan comes back with his watch. Or rather, he comes back with Brendon, who's clutching the watch to his chest, refusing to hand it over. "Come on, Brendon," Ryan says, "just give it over. It's not even yours."
Brendon stops, ignores Ryan, jerks his head around to glare at the Doctor. "You can't have it," he hisses, and the rest of Panic! stares, because this isn't the annoyed chipmunk Brendon they're used to seeing when he's angry. This is... something else. Spencer presses closer to Jon, can feel Jon's arm tighten around him. "You can't have it," Brendon repeats. "It's Ryan's and I don't know where you get off, thinking you can just show up out of nowhere with your fucking blue box and freak out Spencer so much that he has to cling to Jon like that, but you can't have the watch, you can't have Ryan."
"Brendon," the Doctor says calmly as he crosses the room, cautiously approaches Brendon, "I just want to look at it. I'm not going to take it." Probably, the Doctor adds silently to himself behind his shields. Because if he finds it's the Master again (and he hopes it isn't, hopes he's really seen the last of him this time), there's nothing he won't do to keep that watch away from Ryan.
Brendon suddenly tears up, collapsing backwards against Ryan, who looks confused but catches him anyway. "You better not," Brendon hiccups. "It's just scared and lost, it just wants love." He doesn't hand the watch over, but his grip loosens enough that the Doctor can gently take it form him.
The Doctor's face is blank as he turns the watch over, looks at it. Takes out a pair of glasses and puts them on, studies the designs on the case. Finally, after what seems like hours to Spencer, though it's probably just been a few minutes, the Doctor speaks. "I came from a planet called Gallifrey, some two-hundred and fifty million light years from here," he says, voice calm, even. He's telling us a story, Spencer thinks, and a part of him asks why the word "came"? Shouldn't it be "come"? but he pushes the thought away. "On Gallifrey there were those of my people who were called Time Lords because they - we - had mastered the complexities of travel through time as well as space. For thousands of years we went all over this universe and others, between planets, between dimensions, between times. Sworn only to observe, never interfere. Some of us," he admits with a guilty but unrepentant look, "weren't so good at the last bit. Still aren't, I suppose. Am not."
He pauses, thinks for a moment, and clears his throat. "Anyway. This all went on for quite some time, and then there was a conflict. The last great Time War, between my people and another, the Daleks, a race bent on the destruction of everyone but themselves. The fighting stretched across space, spanned across time, going into both the past and the future, involving generations of different peoples from all over. Many died on both sides, as well as many who weren't even involved but were caught up in the chaos nonetheless. Entire civilizations, entire planets were destroyed, Gallifrey included. Wholesale slaughter and extinction, and though the Daleks were among those... exterminated... so were my people. All except for me."
The Doctor falls silent, staring down at Ryan's watch in his hands, oblivious to the world around him, to Jon and Spencer curled around each other on the couch. To Brendon and Ryan pressed against them, having sat down when the Doctor began speaking. Jon and Spencer and Ryan all have at least one arm around Brendon, who's just this side of hyperventilating, his eyes wide and full of shock and horror, and Spencer doesn't doubt that the Doctor accidentally dropped his shields while he was speaking. Brendon's not very good at filtering, never has been, and it's likely that he's just experienced each monstrosity the Doctor described as he recalled it. Spencer pulls Brendon closer and with him, Ryan. They all wait in silence for someone to speak, though Spencer has no idea what any of them can say - "Sorry about the genocide of your species, that must've really sucked," just doesn't seem appropriate.
Finally, Brendon straightens, pushes his glasses up, and asks, "What has any of that got to do with Ryan's watch? It's just one little watch, it's not like it can hold everything you lost inside it." He pauses, hesitates. "...can it?"
Laughing, the Doctor shakes his head. It's a sad, mocking laugh, though it's clear it's himself he's mocking, not Brendon. "No, not everything. But. A year ago, a few months ago, I found I wasn't the only Time Lord left after all. An adversary of mine, who calls - called - himself the Master, had managed to survive the chaos by disguising himself self using a device called a chameleon arch. The arch rewrote his DNA, hid his memories, made him into a human. When he regained his memories and everything else that had been hidden, the results were... well. Rather unpleasant to say the least. "
Brendon thinks he sees where this is all going, though a glance at the others shows him that they're still pretty much clueless. "He's not an alien," Brendon says suddenly, fiercely. "He's not. He's just. Just not complete. It's not the same at all."
"...Brendon?" Ryan asks, pulling back some to give him a questioning look. "What are you going on about?"
"When a chameleon arch takes out memories, takes out the essence of a Time Lord, it stores them in a fob watch with a perception filter around it so that people won't notice it. The perception filter is weak, though, it doesn't work on people who know what the watch actually is," the Doctor's eyes flick to Spencer, "or on people with telepathic abilities," and he glances at Brendon. "The chameleon arch isn't always able to hide all of a Time Lord's true nature, of course. Sometimes memories slip through, or abilities. Even when he was completely ignorant of his Gallifreyan side, the Master was able to construct truly amazing things, things that most humans would never even dream of."
Stepping forward, the Doctor hands the watch back to Brendon, who immediately cuddles it close to his chest, whispering soft, soothing nonsense to it. "All this said," the Doctor concludes, turning to look at Ryan, "I have good reason to believe you to be Time Lord, Ryan."
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 8
Summary, disclaimers, notes, etc., can be found in part 1.
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 8
[ On the subject of acting stupid: ]
Ryan and Spencer's twenty-first birthday is boring.
...no really, it is! Brendon's excited and all, "Oh my god, oh my god, this is going to be awesome - you guys'll finally be able to legally drink!" and the Smiths just stare at him and ask, "Brendon. Does anyone actually pay attention to the legal drinking age?" because maybe Jon's been buying booze for them for years. Brendon loves it when Ryan drinks, because then he clings to Brendon a lot and burrows against him and that is the best thing EVER in Brendon's opinion.
"Alcohol tastes nasty," Ryan says, making a face. "I don't see what the big deal is."
Spencer glances between Ryan and Brendon. "...okay. We can do this. But I'm only doing it because you're a good kid, Brendon Urie. And you have to take care of him if he starts puking his guts out again." It nearly always happens, and Spencer thinks that maybe Ryan's physiology just can't handle alcohol. He worries that maybe he should just put his foot down and not let Ryan drink, ever (not that Ryan would ever complain), but, well. Brendon is a good guy, and Spencer just keeps hoping that one of these days Ryan will catch a clue and stop being so damned stupid.
Thus, the Smith brothers celebrate their twenty-first birthday with alcohol not because they want to, but because Brendon says they should. It's a good reason. Spencer feels like a veritable saint, he is so very selfless, agreeing to do this for Brendon's sake. He also might be more than a little tipsy right now, but it doesn't matter because he's in Jon's lap and Jon loves him. "You love me, right, Jon?" he asks affectionately, nuzzling Jon's neck, running his fingers through Jon's hair. In the morning Spencer will be absolutely appalled at his behaviour and oh so very glad that they're in Washington and far, far from home and anyone they know. Right now, however, he just wants to snuggle with Jon, who is his most favorite person in the world.
Except for Ryan, of course, because Ryan is his brother. But that doesn't matter right now because Jon still hasn't answered Spencer's question. Spencer pouts. "Jooon, why're you so quiet? Don't be quiet, Jon." Jon gulps. Apparently hard alcohol makes Spencer affectionate in ways that beer never does, and okay, Jon really isn't complaining. Or freaking out, because cuddling and Panic! kind of go hand-in-hand, whether it's groping-and-cuddling or completely platonic cuddling (of which Ryan and Brendon are the ultimate masters), so he's used to cuddling with Spencer. Only, um. Wow. Usually that's in the private of the car, as Spencer is prickly and not given to PDAs when they're in out and this is, um. Really, really nice. Particularly since a number of other people at the bar keep giving Jon jealous looks. Jon grins and wraps an arm around Spencer's waist, pulling him closer.
"Just thinking about how much I love you, Spencer Smith," he says, kissing Spencer lightly. At least, he means to kiss him lightly, really he does, but Spencer automatically deepens it and the next thing Jon knows they're giving most of the bar a really good show. Wow.
Elsewhere, Brendon is not having anywhere near so good a time. "Come on, Ryan," he wheedles, "you don't have to drink the whole thing, I'll share it with you." He bats his eyelashes a few times for good measure and offers Ryan the piña colada again. For the sixth time that evening. Ryan gives it a look of contempt.
"Someone has to stay sober enough to drive later," Ryan snaps, arms folded across his chest as he glares over at where Spencer acting like a complete idiot, plastering himself all over Jon. Spencer is a total traitor, he does not deserve to share a birthday with Ryan.
"Jon said he'd drive. Please? I bought it for you. I think you'll like it. It doesn't taste like beer at all, it's sweet and yummy." If Brendon had a better backbone, this would be the point where he'd take a sip and then kiss Ryan and share it with him. But he doesn't and he values Ryan's friendship way too much to ever do anything like that. But. But that doesn't mean he doesn't want to do it.
"God, Urie, alcohol isn't fucking soda pop," Ryan says, the disgust clear and obvious in his voice, on his face.
"Fine," Brendon snaps, because yeah, he really cares about Ryan, and yeah, Ryan is his best friend ever, but Ryan's also being a complete bitch and Brendon's just trying to be nice. Going out and drinking with your friends on your twenty-first birthday is what people do. (Except when Brendon turned twenty-one it was just him and Jon who went out and Jon bought him a drink and they played some air hockey and then they went back to the car after an hour or two, because really, it just wasn't much fun without Ryan and Spencer there too.) "Fine, be that way. Whatever," Brendon says, and he grabs the drink and downs half of it in one go, because even though he went into this evening planning to not get any more than slightly buzzed so that he'd be able to clearly remember each and every one of Ryan's adorable drunk antics, what's the point in if Ryan refuses to take even a sip?
"Fuck, Brendon, don't do that, you'll give yourself alcohol poisoning or something," Ryan says, and Brendon blinks owlishly at him from behind his glasses.
Brendon smirks. "You, Ryan Smith, are worried about me." Which Brendon thinks is awesome. Maybe he'll actually try for alcohol poisoning, and then Ryan will have to rush him to the hospital to have his stomach pumped, which, okay, ew, Brendon's heard from the TAI guys that that's really not pleasant at all and he actually doesn't want to do that, but he likes the idea of Ryan being his knight in shining armor. "You're my knight in shining armor, aren't you, Ryan?" he asks, leaning against Ryan and affectionately nuzzling his neck. "I want to be your damsel in distress."
Ryan sighs and rubs Brendon's back. This is nice. This is more what he's used to, Brendon cuddling up and being all dependent. It's weird when Brendon starts acting, well, older than Ryan. It still feels wrong to Ryan whenever Brendon actually acts like it, since he's so used to him being silly and childish and, well, Brendon. "...one sip," he says finally, because he feels guilty about making Brendon upset, and one sip can't hurt him, right? "But just the one. Alcohol always makes me sick, you know that. I don't want to be sick on my birthday."
"Okay!" Brendon chirps, and he hugs Ryan tight, burying his face against Ryan's neck and buzzing. Ryan squawks and jumps slightly in his chair and Brendon pulls back, laughing. Yeah. Yeah, this is more what Ryan's used to. "Drink, Smith," Brendon says, shoving the glass at him. "You said you would."
"God, you're such a spazz," Ryan mutters as he takes the glass and sips it carefully. It's... surprisingly sweet and light, with just a hint of alcoholic tang to it. "That's... not half bad," he concedes as he sets it down on the table.
"I asked the bartender to make it weak, seeing as how you're a lightweight and all," Brendon says, smiling encouragingly at Ryan as he worries his bottom lip between his teeth. Ryan can feel a flush creeping up his neck, because there's something adorable about that gesture, that look, and he wonders if other people in the bar think that he and Brendon- Ryan gulps. He wonders when the last time Brendon had a date. It's hard to see much of anyone when you're traveling all the time, and here's Brendon, stuck babysitting Ryan while Spencer and Jon make out for the benefit of the rest of the bar. It's a shame, really - Brendon would make a really great boyfriend for someone.
"You know," Ryan says tentatively as he hands the drink back to Brendon, "you don't have to stay with me. I can look after myself."
The smile immediately disappears from Brendon's face and he kind of just... deflates. "Are you. D'you want me to go?" he asks. "I mean. I thought you liked hanging out and. We're celebrating your birthday. Yours and Spencer's," Brendon babbles and he feels stupid and foolish and oh god, what if Ryan wants him to go so that Ryan can flirt with people? That is totally not on, other people are not allowed to flirt with Ryan, Brendon saw him first! "I mean, yeah Spencer's abandoned us for the greener pastures of Jon Walker, but that doesn't mean we can't have a good time, just the two of us. I like spending time with you." Brendon bumps his shoulder against Ryan's and smiles a little hopefully.
"No, I just. I thought, we don't go out very often. You might want to, I don't know, meet someone," Ryan mumbles, eyes flicking towards where Spencer and Jon are sucking face and immediately skittering away again. "That's all."
"Aww, Ryan Smith, that is so sweet," Brendon laughs, face lighting up and Ryan smiles back, because Brendon's smiles are seriously infectious. "Don't you worry about my love life," he says, flapping his hand at Ryan, "I can take care of that myself." Which means Brendon's perfectly content with pining over Ryan, just as long as it's clear that only he is allowed to pine over Ryan. (Not that Brendon is really pining or anything, understand, because Brendon thinks that Ryan is a great guy, and yeah, really hot, but it isn't as if he's in love with him. He just kind of really wants into his pants. And to cuddle with him. Which, okay, he already gets to do, but it would be kind of really awesome to cuddle and get into Ryan's pants. Wow, yes please, sign Brendon up for some of that.) He waggles his eyebrows and Ryan snorts.
"Well, if you say so," Ryan says with a shrug.
"Anyway. What kind of knight in shining armor would you be if you let me go off on my own amongst all the ravishers of the night who are intent on compromising my virtue?" Brendon asks with wide eyes. "You would be falling down on the job, I think." He laughs and finishes off the rest of his drink, because really, the idea of anyone being interested in compromising Brendon's virtue is kind of totally hilarious.
Ryan smiles, and it's that smile of his, the one that looks so easy to most people but Brendon knows is actually really hard to coax out of him in public like this. It's not often that Ryan is enough at ease to smile like that and oh, Brendon's breath catches in his throat for a moment. Ryan is too pretty for his own good. "Hey," Ryan says, bumping Brendon's shoulder companionably, "how's this? I'll take one sip of every different kind of drink you get tonight, okay? No matter how weird it looks or how obscene the name is."
The look Brendon gives him is one of pure and utter amazement. "Ryan, Ryan, you really do love me!" he proclaims as he hugs Ryan tightly. Then Brendon is out of his chair and on his way to the bar, no doubt intent on finding something horribly obscure and dangerous looking. Ryan kind of fears for his life, but he thinks the sacrifice is worth the look on Brendon's face just now.
The problem with Ryan's proposal, Brendon soon figures out, is that no matter how Brendon tries to arrange it, he ends up consuming way more alcohol than Ryan. Even if Brendon gets shots, it still doesn't work out, since the alcohol's so much stronger, Ryan makes faces at them. He doesn't like the strong taste of the undoctored alcohol, he likes fruity drinks, and Brendon's more than happy to oblige, because he likes fruity drinks too. And Ryan has a nice smile. He really likes Ryan's smile. "I really like your smile," Brendon says, nuzzling up against Ryan. He's just finished his - their - fourth drink, a midori sour, and it was really good. Ryan liked it so much he took two sips! Though Brendon thinks the first one might've been really small so maybe it didn't count.
Ryan snorts and rolls his eyes. "You're drunk, Urie."
"No I'm not! I am, mmmm, pleasantly tipsy. More pleasant than tipsy. Don't you think I'm pleasant, Ryan Smith?" Brendon is half-sprawled across Ryan's lap, and he bats his eyelashes up at Ryan, who laughs again and shakes his head, though the tips of his ears turn red.
"I still think you're drunk," Ryan says, fixing Brendon's glasses so they sit straight on his nose. "You ready to call it quits?" Jon and Spencer have finally - finally - broken apart for air, or something, though Jon looks very dazed and Ryan wonders if it's possible to get contact drunk, because Jon sure as hell doesn't look sober at the moment. Ryan sighs. He hopes they don't end up parked on the street overnight. They've been given weird looks on more than one occasion when they've all stumbled out of the car in the morning the few times they've done that in the past. People get weird about four guys sleeping together in the apparently cramped space in the back of a hearse, though really, Ryan can't understand why.
"Mmm, one more, maybe," Brendon says, straightening slowly and pulling himself out of Ryan's lap. "I'm gonna get you a White Russian. You'll like it. It's tasty with coffee!" Brendon giggles and stands up, swaying enough that he needs to grab the back of his chair to keep himself from toppling. Ryan scrambles to his feet and steadies him the rest of the way.
"Hey," Ryan says, wrapping an arm around Brendon's waist. "Maybe I better walk with you to the bar." He doesn't bother to remind Brendon that he doesn't really like coffee much of at all. If Brendon wants to get him a coffee-flavoured drink, he'll drink some of it, and he'll say he likes it, because then Brendon will smile. Ryan's a bit of a sucker for Brendon's smiles.
"You are such a gentleman, Ryan Smith," Brendon coos, leaning in and nuzzling his neck as they make their way to the bar. "I am so lucky to have you to look after me."
"Glad to know I'm appreciated. I hope you realize I'm never going to let you live down any of this, right?" Ryan jokes as he leads Brendon to the bar and orders his drink for him.
"Oi, hey, no," Brendon says with a frown as Ryan pays for the drink. "It's your birthday. You shouldn't be paying for drinks."
Ryan shrugs and picks up the glass with his free hand, the one that's not wrapped around Brendon's waist, resting on his hip. He sips slowly, considering the taste. There's a smoky flavor in there, but it's light, not anywhere near as strong as it is with straight-out coffee. It's actually not half bad he decides as he swallows and hands the glass to Brendon. "Think of it as a belated birthday present, since I couldn't buy you one back in April," he suggests.
Cupping the glass in both hands, Brendon stares at Ryan, his mouth a perfect O. "You are the bestest friend a guy could have," he says sincerely before drinking. He boggles at the glass slightly when he lowers it again. "Ryan Smith, you sly, sly devil," he says cheerfully, "you didn't tell him to cut down on the alcohol, did you?" Brendon snickers, because god, it would figure - here he's been buying weak drinks all night out of respect for Ryan's sensitive lightweight status (and, okay, also because he's trying really hard not to avoid getting stupid drunk), and now Ryan's gone and bought him one that's full-strength. "If I get drunk, it's all your fault," Brendon tells him solemnly. "You'll have to take full responsibility." He's half-way through his second sip, long and sweet and mmm White Russian, when it occurs to Brendon that oh, hey. Maybe Ryan had a point earlier. Maybe he is a bit past pleasantly buzzed and well on his way towards tipsy. Past tipsy? Not drunk. Probably. He thinks.
By the time Ryan is helping him out of the bar and into the car, Brendon is maybe having to reassess his situation yet again and oh, wow. Maybe he is drunk. Oops. Good thing he has Ryan to look after him and keep him from being stupid! "Ryan, Ryan, you won't let me do anything stupid, right?" Brendon asks, staring up at him with large brown eyes as he sits on the threshold of the car. "Right, Ryan?"
Sighing, Ryan steadies Brendon, and nods. God, how does Brendon get his eyes that big? It can't be natural or healthy. Brendon scrambles into the car the rest of the way, grabbing the front of Ryan's shirt at the last moment and pulling him in as well. They end up collapsed in a heap on the floor of the common room, Brendon giggling and Ryan struggling to untangle their limbs. This is made especially hard by the fact that Brendon keeps trying to hug him. "Brendon, that- that really isn't helping," he insists, but Brendon just laughs and shakes his head, hugging Ryan closer. Really, Ryan should be mad and annoyed and frustrated with him right now, but Brendon looks so happy, and it's hard to be mad at Brendon when he's happy. "Come on," he says as he finally struggles to his feet and hauls Brendon up, "let's get you to bed."
"Oooo, bed! Are you going to join me, Ryan Smith?" Brendon asks, batting his eyelashes.
"Of course, you ass. We share a bed."
Brendon apparently thinks this is the most hilarious thing ever, and Ryan gives up trying to understand the inner workings of the Urie mind and instead makes Brendon sit on the edge of the bed and works off his shoes. Something drops on his head, and Ryan makes an annoyed noise and pushes it off, glancing up to glare at Brendon. Who's taken off his shirt. Which, okay. Half-naked Brendon is something Ryan's totally used to, really, because they've been sleeping in the same bed for over two years and living together for more than three. You can't do something like that for that long without getting used to what the other person looks like half-naked. Only. Usually Brendon isn't all flushed and staring at Ryan like that. Ryan gulps and shifts uneasily, dropping the lilac-colored Converse in his hand.
"Ryan," Brendon says softly. "Ryan, Ryan, Ryan."
"What?" Ryan asks, annoyed and confused and ready to start glaring again.
"You're supposed to stop me from doing anything stupid," Brendon reminds him as he burrows under the covers, tugs at Ryan's arm, trying to pull him in. Ryan toes off his own shoes, pulls Brendon's glasses off, sets them on the nightstand, and crawls under the covers. He keeps his shirt on.
"Yeah, I guess," Ryan says with a shrug. He doubts he can keep Brendon from doing anything he really wants to do. Brendon is like a hurricane in that way. Or any number of other natural disasters Ryan could name.
"So that means," Brendon says as he leans forward, bumps against Ryan. "That means this isn't stupid." And Brendon kisses him.
Ryan's entire body goes stiff because, what? No, seriously, WHAT?? Brendon is kissing him. Brendon Urie is kissing him. What fuck is going on? None of this makes sense and Ryan can't figure it out at all and Brendon sighs softly against Ryan's lips, then smiles and snuggles against Ryan's chest, buries his nose in Ryan's shirt. "...what. The fuck, Urie," Ryan says deadpan, but Brendon doesn't say anything, he's already asleep.
Ryan doesn't get much of any sleep that night. He hears Jon and Spender stumble in, hears them snicker as they stagger down the hall, turn into their room. If he strains, he can hear a very-muffled moan shortly after, but Ryan doesn't strain. (He's infinitely glad they completely soundproofed Brent's room when they made it into a sometime-practice room, and that it sits between his and Brendon's room and the one Jon and Spencer share; there are certain things Ryan would rather not know about his brother). He's too busy thinking, too busy trying to figure out what the fuck is going on because, uh, his best friend got absolutely smashed and kissed him. After much consideration, Ryan finally decides that it'll be best to just ask Brendon in the morning. If anyone knows why Brendon would do something like that, it's Brendon himself, right? Right.
In the morning, Spencer is crabby, which is easily and quickly cured by Jon bringing him coffee. Brendon has such a hangover that he's unable to speak in anything other than very expressive grunts, which is... not so easily cured. Most of what Brendon says consists of complaints about how Ryan failed to take proper care of him the night before, letting him to sleep without forcing a gallon's worth of water down him first. Or at least that's what Jon says. The task of translating Grunt into English has fallen to him today because he has the most experience with Grunt (too much time around TAI and other bands during his formative years, he explains) and because he's in the best mood out of all of them.
"That's the only thing he's complaining about?" Ryan frets, bites his lip, forces himself to not bite his lip, and nearly drops the bowl he's getting out of the cabinet.
"That's it," Jon says with a shrug, though he's eyeing Ryan now, considering the way Ryan moves in a nervous, jerky around the kitchen. "Something happen between you two last night?"
"What? No. I just brought him back. And. Put him to bed. He was really out of it." Ryan shrugs. Everything's fine. Nothing to see here. Move along, folks. Jon nods slowly, and for a moment Ryan's afraid he's going to ask for more, but he doesn't, just sits there and drinks his coffee, smiling at Spencer over his mug. Spencer scowls back at him. Spencer's kind of amazing.
Once he's awake enough, Ryan volunteers to take first shift for driving while everyone else showers and gets dressed and okay, yeah, it's a total cop-out - he'll let Brendon sleep some more to recover. He'll avoid thinking about last night until he absolutely has to. Avoid thinking about what Jon and Spencer are getting up to in the back of the car while they have the run of it mostly to themselves. Ryan makes a mental note to disinfect the kitchen counter when they stop for lunch later.
Ryan pulls over after a few hours and they switch drivers, Jon taking over, Spencer sliding into the front seat next to him while Ryan and Brendon clamber into the back seat. They don't often ride with anyone in the back. It just... feels better for them all to be there. They're a team, they should stick together, keep each other awake and alert. Talk and laugh and do things!
Sometimes Ryan and Brendon work on songs when it's not Ryan's turn to drive, but neither of them is feeling particularly creative today, and Brendon kind of just groans and curls up against Ryan, who, after a few minutes of awkward internal debate, puts an arm around him. "Hey, Ryan," Brendon asks after a while, keeping his voice soft so as to not interrupt the conversation Jon and Spencer are having up front, "I didn't do anything stupid last night, right?"
"No," Ryan says, trying to keep his voice from sounding choked or weird or awkward. "Nothing stupid at all."
"Good," Brendon says with a yawn. He smiles up at Ryan. "I honestly can't remember anything after the third drink - there were more after that, right? Thought so. Good thing I had you to keep me out of trouble, hm?"
Something twists up inside of Ryan's chest, twists tighter and tighter and then suddenly - springs. Releases. All the tension flows out of him, and he relaxes. Brendon doesn't remember a thing, Brendon was seriously drunk last night, Brendon kissing him was a fluke occurrence. "Yeah," Ryan says, returning Brendon's smile, ruffling his hair. "Good thing."
[ Somewhere in the middle of Kansas, a blue box sits in the snow: ]
They're halfway across Kansas, on their way north, northeast, when Brendon leans forward in the front seat and presses his fingers against the windshield as he stares outside. A frown wrinkles his brow, and he breaks off from singing along with the song on the stereo. Spencer glances over, curious. "What is it? D'you hear something? Should I pull over?" Which is Spencer's way of asking if Brendon's picking up on some sort of psychic shout or something.
"No, it's." Brendon frowns some more, leaning even further forward, straining against his seatbelt as he stares out the window. Spencer follows his gaze, and it seems Brendon's focused on some sort of shed on the horizon.
"Is there someone in the shed?" he asks.
"It's really there, then?" Brendon asks cautiously, then bites his lip. "It's just. Okay, I know this is going to sound strange, but I could've sworn it wasn't there a minute ago. I know it could've been behind a rise or something, but the land's flat as a board around here."
"You think we should stop," asks Ryan from the back as he leans forward, arms resting on the seatback, chin resting on Brendon's shoulder.
"...probably? I mean. I might've just not noticed it right way, but..." But it's a rare day indeed that Brendon fails to notice something, particularly when they're driving across flatland and there's not much of anything about to distract him.
"But you don't think that's the case," Spencer concludes. They're coming up closer on the shed now, and Spencer can see that it really isn't so much a shed as a sort of large, boxy-looking telephone booth. Painted blue. It says POLICE along the top. Shifting gears, he slows down and pulls over to the side of the road about a hundred feet away. No sense in getting too close when they aren't quite sure what they're dealing with. Sure, it looks innocent enough, but Spencer's learned to be suspicious of innocent-looking things over the years. His paranoid streak has kept him alive so far, and he isn't about to abandon it now. And. And something about it looks familiar. Like something from a story or a dream, and Spencer's lips tighten into a thin line.
Brendon leans forward and switches off the iPod hooked into the stereo - Jon's, he thinks, but he isn't sure - detaching it. He opens the glove compartment and stashes the iPod there, then pulls out a four of slender, silvery rods and wordlessly passes them out to the guys. He gives Spencer two - Jon's in the back of the car, working on dinner while they drive, and Spencer'll give Jon his stun stick when he goes to get him. The stun sticks are actually a secondary precaution, something Ryan whipped up years ago so that they'd have something handy and fast if they needed it. They're pretty nifty in that the tip of one will knock out almost anything it comes in contact with for at least six hours (and the almost is only there because Ryan likes to be overly-cautious and is constantly warning them that just because they've yet to find a species that can withstand the stun stick doesn't mean that none exist). The main problem with them is that they don't have much reach, so you have to get up really close to use one, making them impractical weapons a lot of the time.
Gulping, Brendon scrambles out, Ryan right behind him, and they lean against the car as they wait for Spencer to get Jon. Always all four of them when dealing with something they don't expect, and yeah, sure, it's probably just an odd sort of telephone box in the middle of nowhere, it's probably not anything important, but. But they've gone into similarly innocent-seeming situations in the past and nearly ended up dead just because they went in unprepared since it didn't look that dangerous.
Spencer and Jon join them in a timely manner and without their hair all mussed up for once. Brendon would be surprised, only he knows that Spencer and Jon are professional and they know when it's important to keep their hands to themselves. Plus, it probably doesn't hurt that Spencer's pretty much in charge of these sorts of things, and he's always absolutely professional when it comes to kicking alien ass and defending the human race and all that good stuff. Brendon grins at them. "How's dinner coming, Jon?" he asks cheerfully as they walk towards the box, snow crunching under their boots.
"Alright. Spencer says we've got a mysterious appearing blue box?" Jon raises an eyebrow as he fiddles with the camera on the strap around his neck. Jon sort of obsessively documents every alien-related thing they do, and it kinda weirded Brendon out at first, but the info Jon's collected has save their lives over the years more times than Brendon can count.
"I think. Dunno. Looks like a phone booth." They're right up next to it now, and it really does look like that's all it is. The walls are wood, there's a phone in a box on the front, and it looks pretty normal.
Ryan studies the phone, frowning at it. "It's a fake. It's not connected to anything. Why put a dead phone on the outside of a phone booth?" He takes out his multipurpose tool and starts fiddling about with the phone, poking at bits of wire and playing with the components.
Trust Ryan to get distracted by a machine that's not working, Spencer thinks, rolling his eyes. "Maybe the inside's needed for something more important," he suggests, and tries the door. Unsurprisingly, it won't open. "Ryan, lend me your sonic," he says, but Brendon's already reaching over his shoulder and knocking on the door. "What the fuck, Urie?" he snaps at Brendon.
"Just seemed more polite than automatically trying to break in," Brendon says.
Spencer opens his mouth, no doubt ready to shoot back a scathing reply, when the door in front of him opens and a man in a suit smiles cheerfully at them. "Why hello," he says, "what can I do for you chaps?"
To his credit, Spencer doesn't even blink - the stun stick's in his hand and the tip's pressed against the stranger's neck so fast that Brendon can't honestly remember seeing Spencer move. The stranger slumps forward and Spencer and Brendon catch him, laying him on the grass. "Shit, Spencer," Jon whispers, eyes wide, "he didn't even try anything. What the hell?"
Kneeling next to the stranger, Spencer shrugs. "Not human. First to move is the one who's most likely to keep his head. Brendon, restraints please?"
Brendon rolls his eyes and binds up the man's wrists and ankles with the special restraints Ryan made for them. They supposedly restrain tentacles as well as arms and legs. Also feelers, claws, and wings. "You didn't have to do that," Brendon says peevishly. "He seems nice."
"Is that your professional opinion?" Spencer asks, which is his way of asking Brendon whether he's dipped into the guy's head or not.
He flushes and glances away slightly. "...he's got shields. No professional opinion."
Jon still isn't happy with the way things are going, and yeah, Brendon's kinda with him on this one because as strict as Spencer can be, he usually isn't this uptight with the ones that are friendly from the start. Jon says as much, and Spencer sighs and rubs his forehead. "Look. I just. I don't like blue boxes, alright?" he says. "It's just... something someone told me about, once. And I don't like them." He glances up at Ryan, who's still fiddling with the phone. "Ryan, can you leave off on that and put some sort of lock on the door? One that'll let us in, but not him? Something that can be taken off again." Ryan shrugs and nods, moving from the phone to the door. He knows when not to argue with Spencer about things, knows that this is one of those times.
The other three haul the man back to Belinda while Ryan fiddles with the lock on the box. Normally Spencer wouldn't want to bring a stranger inside Belinda, but, well. Normally they aren't in the middle of nowhere in the dead of winter. He does have some standards. Once in the car, Jon and Brendon escape to the kitchen, leaving Spencer to keep guard like some sort of peevish mother hen.
"So," Jon says as he turns the stove back on and puts a pot of half-cooked noodles back on a burner, "any idea what his issue with blue boxes is?"
"Your guess is as good as mine," Brendon says with a sigh. "It's the first time I've ever heard of it, and no, I am not going to try and rummage through his mind, so you just stop giving me that look, Jonny Walker. He's onto when I do that - he always starts showing thinking about you during sex, and much as I like you, that's not something I ever needed to see, ick." Well, at least not secondhand like that, Brendon mentally amends, but he thinks it very, very quietly because he likes life, and he doesn't want to lose his any time soon. Spencer can be a wee bit possessive, sometimes.
The stranger wakes up while they're eating dinner, and at first Brendon figures Spencer set the stun stick to a lower setting than usual, but then he sees how rigid Spencer's gone and he remembers Ryan's constant warning that there's every chance they'll one day find a species that isn't really affected by the stun stick. They all freeze when the guy sits up and groans, only they don't, because they're all simultaneously reaching for their phones. It's an automatic reflex, really. Brendon, ever the diplomat, clears his throat and speaks. "Hey. Look, we're sorry about the sudden knock out and everything, but you'll have to excuse us if we're a bit shoot now ask questions later at the moment. A giant crab tried to eat Jon a few days ago, and Spencer tends to be a bit twitchy after that kind of thing happens."
"Wow," says the man, shaking his head several times as if to clear it. "That's some doozy of a stunner you've got there. What is it? An Isher 500?" He smiles at them, and Brendon finds himself smiling back. He's relieved to see that he's not the only one - Jon smiles too, and even Ryan's lips twitch slightly.
Ryan flushes slightly and ducks his head. "No, um. I made them."
"Really? I'd shake your hand, only I seem to be a bit tied up at the moment," the man says. Ryan gulps and mutters something about how he's glad at least the restraints are working properly. Ryan doesn't like to make weapons and things, most of their gear is either defensive or relatively harmless, but that doesn't mean he's necessarily pleased when his stuff doesn't work the way it's supposed to. "So, who are you lot, then? I'd guess you were locals who're a bit upset about my trespassing or somesuch, only normally the locals around here don't go about with sophisticated stunning devices."
"Who we are isn't the important thing here," Spencer snaps, and the rest of Panic! jumps slightly in their seats, because yeah, they're used to Spencer being bitchy at times, but this. This is a bit intense even for him. Brendon shrinks slightly in his seat even though Spencer isn't directing his glare anywhere in Brendon's direction. Spencer can be scary when he's glaring. Hell, Spencer can be scary, period. "The important thing here," Spencer says slowly, obviously choosing his words carefully, "is whether you're the Doctor or not."
The man's attention sharpens, and though the smile doesn't drop from his face, his eyes narrow slightly. "I might be called that sometimes," he concedes.
Spencer nods. "I thought you might. Sarah Jane said you liked to travel in a blue box."
Now it's Ryan's turn to suddenly look interested, his head whipping around as he stares at Spencer. "Sarah Jane? What's she got to do with this? Spencer..."
The man perks up. "Sarah Jane Smith? Good old Sarah Jane. Do you know her, then? A fine, upstanding woman! Though, I can't think much of the company she's keeping if this is how they treat their guests."
"She's our cousin," Spencer says at the same time that Ryan blurts out, "She's my mother."
Spencer glares at Ryan. "Ryan, fuck. She's not your mother. God, I can't believe Dad never bothered explaining that to you."
Ryan returns glare for glare, and Brendon maybe surreptitiously sneaks around the table to hide behind Jon. Usually behind Jon is a good place to be when Spencer and Ryan go at each other's throats.
"She could be my mother," Ryan grumbles.
"No, Ryan. She really couldn't be," Spencer says with a sigh, rubbing his face. He suddenly feels sick to his stomach, and he pushes his plate away, unable to bear the sight of food at the moment. To the man - the Doctor - he says, almost conversationally, "Sorry about the restraints - couldn't be sure whether Sarah Jane'd spoken to you or not, and I wanted a chance to explain things to you before you tried anything." He stands, walks over, and releases the bindings on the man's feet, then helps him up. "You and I have business together, Doctor."
"Spencer, what-" Brendon begins, but Spencer shakes his head and takes the Doctor into Brent's bedroom, which is currently acting as their practice space while Brent's away at school. The door closes with a click, and Brendon and Jon both turn to look at Ryan with wide eyes.
"What?" Ryan snaps. "I don't know anything more than you do."
"Nothing," Jon says, and he starts clearing up the table. Brendon shakes his head, glances at Ryan, and suddenly flees into their room. Ryan's left feeling even more confused than before and sighs. Sometimes he just doesn't get people.
In the room he shares with Ryan, Brendon's dug Ryan's watch out of the nightstand and is curled up under the covers, cuddling it to his chest. He's not sure about what's exactly going on, but he has a pretty good idea that it has something to do with Ryan, and he's too antsy to ask Ryan to cuddle right now, so he's doing the next best thing. It sings softly to him in his mind, and Brendon croons back as reassuringly as he can.
In Brent's room, Spencer feels like he's having a minor breakdown. Or like he should be having one, but he can't because he's too wound up. "So," the Doctor says, glancing around the room, at the dismantled bed shoved up against the wall, the amps, Brendon's keyboard, Spencer's kit. The little, blue toy piano with its eight rainbow colored keys. "So, what can I do for you, Spencer?"
Spencer gulps and rubs the palms of his hands against his jeans. He doesn't want to say this, but. Doesn't need to say this, only. Ryan. He owes it to Ryan. "Sarah Jane," he starts, the stops, taking another deep, shuddering breath. He wishes Jon could be here right now, but Jon isn't a part of this, so. "When I was five, Sarah Jane left something with us, my family, for you."
The Doctor frowns, lifts his bound hands, taps his chin. "Oh?"
Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, opens them again, and nods. A quick, sharp movement. "It's. It's my brother," he says in a rush. "Ryan. He's. He has a."
The smile the Doctor gives Spencer is a kind one, a friendly one, and oh god, it's really hard to hate him when he smiles like that, but this is the man who's going to ruin Spencer's life, and Spencer absolutely refuses to like him, to trust him. "Is there something something wrong with Ryan? I'm sorry, Spencer, I'm really not that kind of doctor."
"There's nothing wrong with Ryan," Spencer snaps, hackles rising. He sighs, forces himself to relax. Being angry isn't going to help him here. Being angry will just make him miss things, make stupid mistakes. "Sorry. No. It's. That's what she left for you. Sarah Jane, I mean. Ryan." And then, then because it's been seventeen years, seventeen years of keeping it all bottled up inside, of stressing and worrying and babysitting and doing everything he possibly could to make sure no one ever noticed, no one ever asked, no one every even wondered, it all comes pouring out at once. "She left Ryan for you, because she couldn't really be a single parent, and he was just a little kid, and she knew Dad would kinda understand, and she figured it would be easier for Ryan to adjust, because I was there and we were about the same age, and we figured, we figured it would all be okay, he seemed normal enough. Only then, only then he started... started fixing things, making things. Learning."
Spencer starts pacing, trying to explain, to not sound like an idiot or a psycho or anything. At the same time, he's trying to make this man understand that Ryan's a person. A person with a family and friends and a life and the Doctor, the Doctor has no right to take that away, no matter what Sarah Jane thinks. "He can learn a new language in two months and speak it like a native. He can- You were complimenting him on the stun sticks. They're nothing, he was just bored and fooling around in the car one day and decided to make those; they used to be flashlights. He can make a phone out of a handful of crap he's bought at a cheap store, he built an engine that runs on vegetables when we were fifteen. He created an entire pocket dimension when he was trying to fix a coffee maker. It's just..." He shakes his head. He knows Ryan's a genius, everyone says so, even Andy. It always gets Spencer that Andy says it too, because Andy, well. Andy knows things about the universe.
"And it's not just machines," Spencer says, words coming quickly, running into each other in their hurry to escape, to get out, to break free. "It's words too. Words and music and. And he writes these songs, and they're nearly perfect and heartbreaking and wonderful and just. He doesn't realize how special it is, any of it, how strange or weird or unusual and that's fine, that's a part of who he is, but. But it isn't." Spencer can't say it, can't say, It isn't who he really is, because he doesn't want to believe that, doesn't want to believe that Ryan is anyone, anything other than his amazing baby brother.
The Doctor looks confused, like he really doesn't understand what Spencer's telling him, though he's trying hard to understand. "He sounds like a bright kid; you must be very proud of him," he says encouragingly. "I'm sorry, Spencer, I really don't know what Sarah Jane was thinking, leaving her little boy with your family and saying he's for me."
Spencer makes a disgusted noise and growls. "God, he's not Sarah Jane's kid, why does everyone always think that? She found him. She found him wandering around, lost and confused and probably no more than five years old, with nothing on him but the clothes on his back and a broken pocket watch in his hand and not speaking a lick of English or any other language she'd ever heard on Earth. She left him with us because she thought it would be safer, he'd be less likely to be noticed, and maybe she was a little scared of him too, I don't know. It's just. She said you'd know what to do about him, that we - my parents, my sisters, me - we should look after him, and love him, and raise him and if you ever turned up, we should hand him over to you, only-" and here's the thing, here's the part that's important, the part that this man, this Doctor, has to understand, even if he doesn't understand anything else Spencer's said, "-only I'm not letting you take him, not unless he wants you to, and then you aren't taking him, understand? He's going with you voluntarily, because fuck, he may be weird, and awkward, and dreamy, and maybe not even human, but he's still my brother. He's still my friend."
Sometime during Spencer's rant, the smile finally - finally - dropped off the Doctor's face, and now he's staring at Spencer with a sort of blank expression. "You said he had a watch," the Doctor says, and. And the look on his face, it's the same one Spencer's seen on Ryan's sometimes - distant, out of focus, not really there. Looking as if from very far away, like there's a great, unimaginable distance between him and Spencer, not just a few short feet. "With... a sort of fob attached to it? Old fashioned?"
Spencer nods, a short, quick jerk of his head and he. He suddenly feels badly for the man in front of him, because in all the time Spencer's dreaded this day, dreaded this happening because Ryan was his whole world for so long, before Brendon and Jon and the band, in all that time he's never stopped to consider that there might be someone else out there who needs Ryan just as much as he does. And, at the same time, it's not much of a surprise at all, because it's Ryan. It's Ryan and much as Spencer loves Jon (and god he loves Jon, he still can't believe it took him so long to realize it), in some ways Ryan's still the most important person in Spencer's life, because, well. Ryan's amazing.
"Brendon. Brendon said it sings sometimes. The watch, I mean," Spencer says, voice slightly broken.
"Brendon... He's the chatty one? With the glasses?" The Doctor sounds vague, distracted, and he's moved away from the wall, started walking towards Spencer and the door with an air of purpose to his stride.
"Yeah, that's him."
The Doctor nods, says, "Yes. Yes, he would hear it," and reaches for the knob on the door. Spencer's not surprised to see he's no longer wearing the manacles Brendon put on him earlier. Pausing in the doorway, the Doctor turns back slightly. "I have to talk to him. You understand that, right, Spencer? I have to. If there's another..." He trails off, and Spencer can't tell if it's hope or fear he sees in the other man's eyes. Maybe it's both.
They find Ryan and Jon in the common room, playing Guitar Hero and both of them failing spectacularly, though neither one seems to really notice, they're both so distracted. "Where's Brendon?" Spencer asks as he pushes past the Doctor and squeezes between Jon and the armrest. Jon puts an arm around Spencer's shoulders, and Spencer presses his face into Jon's hair, inhaling deeply. It helps, but Spencer still can't relax, is still all nerves.
"In our room. He had a freakout or something, and. He's in our room," Ryan says, setting down the controller and giving up all pretense of even trying to play the game. "Did you work things out?" he asks, glancing between Spencer and the Doctor.
"I need to talk to you, Ryan," the Doctor says, and Spencer wonders how can he sound so calm. "About where you come from. About your family, your parents."
Ryan's head whips around and he stares at Spencer, panic obvious on his face. "Are Mom and Dad-?" he begins, but Spencer just shakes his head, pressing closer to Jon.
"He means your real parents, Ryan. He knows about- about before. Before Sarah Jane found you."
"Probably," the Doctor cautions. "Can't say anything for sure yet, not until I've had look at this watch of yours."
"My watch...?" Ryan sounds a bit confused, and he automatically glances down at the watch on his wrist, silver colored metal with a thin, black leather band. A woman's watch, though he's never seemed to mind that. Stacey gave it to him when he turned eighteen. ("Now that you're an adult," she'd said, "you have to actually pay attention to time," and Ryan hadn't really understood, because he'd always paid attention to time.)
"Not that one," the Doctor says, and Spencer says, "The broken one, Ryan. The one you haven't fixed."
Ryan frowns and his eyes lose their focus for a moment. "That old thing? But that's ancient and broken, Spencer. It doesn't work." Jon raises his eyebrows in surprise at this, and Spencer can understand why, because usually if something's broken then Ryan's right there, fiddling with it, trying to fix it, to make it work again. It's part of who he is. That he hasn't fixed the pocket watch is unusual to say the least.
"You have it with you, right?" Spencer asks.
"Yeah, it's in the nightstand." It doesn't work, and Ryan dislikes being around broken things unless he's fixing them, but. He feels weird when the watch is too far away. When he isn't sure of where it is. He likes it handy. "I'll go get it," he says, standing and leaving.
The Doctor wanders around the room as they wait, almost unable to keep still. "He seems like a nice kid," he says conversationally to the room at large.
Spencer doesn't really feel like talking, so it's Jon who replies. "He is. A bit odd, but he's brilliant, and he really cares about things." Sometimes Jon thinks that Ryan's problem might be that he cares too much, doesn't know when to stop caring.
Passing the doors - small things that're just three feet high and stand two, two-and-half feet above the floor - the Doctor pauses and pushes one of the curtains aside, looking out at the snow covered countryside. "We're in your car?" he asks with surprise when he notices the tire tracks that lead right up to the doors.
"Dimensional pocket," Spencer mumbles. "Ryan accidentally attached it to the back doors of the car, so now it's-"
"-bigger on the inside than it is on the outside," the Doctor finishes, and it sounds like he's quoting something, though Spencer doesn't know what. Ryan would know, he reads so much. "You live in here? What are you four, then, a band?" the Doctor asks, perhaps because he remembers the instruments in the other room.
Something slips in Spencer's stomach and he wishes Ryan had heard that, because hardly anyone outside their small group calls them a band anymore. "Yeah," Spencer says, and he lifts his head to smile at the Doctor. "Yeah, we're a band. But we're on hiatus at the moment. Until our bassist finishes college." Which is only another five months away and fuck, what will they do if Ryan's not there anymore? Spencer pushes the thought away, refuses to think about it. "We tried just living in one place a couple years back - got a cabin in the mountains and everything, managed to stick it out for three months, but it was boring, so. We mostly stick to traveling."
Ryan comes back with his watch. Or rather, he comes back with Brendon, who's clutching the watch to his chest, refusing to hand it over. "Come on, Brendon," Ryan says, "just give it over. It's not even yours."
Brendon stops, ignores Ryan, jerks his head around to glare at the Doctor. "You can't have it," he hisses, and the rest of Panic! stares, because this isn't the annoyed chipmunk Brendon they're used to seeing when he's angry. This is... something else. Spencer presses closer to Jon, can feel Jon's arm tighten around him. "You can't have it," Brendon repeats. "It's Ryan's and I don't know where you get off, thinking you can just show up out of nowhere with your fucking blue box and freak out Spencer so much that he has to cling to Jon like that, but you can't have the watch, you can't have Ryan."
"Brendon," the Doctor says calmly as he crosses the room, cautiously approaches Brendon, "I just want to look at it. I'm not going to take it." Probably, the Doctor adds silently to himself behind his shields. Because if he finds it's the Master again (and he hopes it isn't, hopes he's really seen the last of him this time), there's nothing he won't do to keep that watch away from Ryan.
Brendon suddenly tears up, collapsing backwards against Ryan, who looks confused but catches him anyway. "You better not," Brendon hiccups. "It's just scared and lost, it just wants love." He doesn't hand the watch over, but his grip loosens enough that the Doctor can gently take it form him.
The Doctor's face is blank as he turns the watch over, looks at it. Takes out a pair of glasses and puts them on, studies the designs on the case. Finally, after what seems like hours to Spencer, though it's probably just been a few minutes, the Doctor speaks. "I came from a planet called Gallifrey, some two-hundred and fifty million light years from here," he says, voice calm, even. He's telling us a story, Spencer thinks, and a part of him asks why the word "came"? Shouldn't it be "come"? but he pushes the thought away. "On Gallifrey there were those of my people who were called Time Lords because they - we - had mastered the complexities of travel through time as well as space. For thousands of years we went all over this universe and others, between planets, between dimensions, between times. Sworn only to observe, never interfere. Some of us," he admits with a guilty but unrepentant look, "weren't so good at the last bit. Still aren't, I suppose. Am not."
He pauses, thinks for a moment, and clears his throat. "Anyway. This all went on for quite some time, and then there was a conflict. The last great Time War, between my people and another, the Daleks, a race bent on the destruction of everyone but themselves. The fighting stretched across space, spanned across time, going into both the past and the future, involving generations of different peoples from all over. Many died on both sides, as well as many who weren't even involved but were caught up in the chaos nonetheless. Entire civilizations, entire planets were destroyed, Gallifrey included. Wholesale slaughter and extinction, and though the Daleks were among those... exterminated... so were my people. All except for me."
The Doctor falls silent, staring down at Ryan's watch in his hands, oblivious to the world around him, to Jon and Spencer curled around each other on the couch. To Brendon and Ryan pressed against them, having sat down when the Doctor began speaking. Jon and Spencer and Ryan all have at least one arm around Brendon, who's just this side of hyperventilating, his eyes wide and full of shock and horror, and Spencer doesn't doubt that the Doctor accidentally dropped his shields while he was speaking. Brendon's not very good at filtering, never has been, and it's likely that he's just experienced each monstrosity the Doctor described as he recalled it. Spencer pulls Brendon closer and with him, Ryan. They all wait in silence for someone to speak, though Spencer has no idea what any of them can say - "Sorry about the genocide of your species, that must've really sucked," just doesn't seem appropriate.
Finally, Brendon straightens, pushes his glasses up, and asks, "What has any of that got to do with Ryan's watch? It's just one little watch, it's not like it can hold everything you lost inside it." He pauses, hesitates. "...can it?"
Laughing, the Doctor shakes his head. It's a sad, mocking laugh, though it's clear it's himself he's mocking, not Brendon. "No, not everything. But. A year ago, a few months ago, I found I wasn't the only Time Lord left after all. An adversary of mine, who calls - called - himself the Master, had managed to survive the chaos by disguising himself self using a device called a chameleon arch. The arch rewrote his DNA, hid his memories, made him into a human. When he regained his memories and everything else that had been hidden, the results were... well. Rather unpleasant to say the least. "
Brendon thinks he sees where this is all going, though a glance at the others shows him that they're still pretty much clueless. "He's not an alien," Brendon says suddenly, fiercely. "He's not. He's just. Just not complete. It's not the same at all."
"...Brendon?" Ryan asks, pulling back some to give him a questioning look. "What are you going on about?"
"When a chameleon arch takes out memories, takes out the essence of a Time Lord, it stores them in a fob watch with a perception filter around it so that people won't notice it. The perception filter is weak, though, it doesn't work on people who know what the watch actually is," the Doctor's eyes flick to Spencer, "or on people with telepathic abilities," and he glances at Brendon. "The chameleon arch isn't always able to hide all of a Time Lord's true nature, of course. Sometimes memories slip through, or abilities. Even when he was completely ignorant of his Gallifreyan side, the Master was able to construct truly amazing things, things that most humans would never even dream of."
Stepping forward, the Doctor hands the watch back to Brendon, who immediately cuddles it close to his chest, whispering soft, soothing nonsense to it. "All this said," the Doctor concludes, turning to look at Ryan, "I have good reason to believe you to be Time Lord, Ryan."
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 8