A Million Ways To Fall - Pt. V
In lieu of band practice for a few days, Spencer, Ryan and Jon made the executive decision to drive up to LA with Brendon for his meeting with the mysterious Dr. Pierson. Jon was calling it a band-bonding experience, Spencer was calling it a way of making sure Brendon’s potential doctor wasn’t a psycho, and Ryan wasn’t calling it much of anything. He just looked at Brendon and said, “I’m coming with you,” and that was that.
They met at Spencer’s place early Friday afternoon, stuffed their bags into the trunk of his car (all but the one carrying Hobo, which Ryan pulled into his lap as soon as he climbed into the front seat), waved goodbye to Haley and started on their way.
“I feel like I should warn you guys that I’ll have to piss, like, every twenty minutes,” Brendon said as they pulled out onto the street.
“Luckily there are some empty water bottles under the seat,” Spencer teased.
The drive wasn’t all that long. It was made longer by the numerous stops Brendon needed for them to make, and by the fact that a few times Jon and Ryan wanted to stop to check out really crazy tourist traps that Brendon had forgotten even existed since the last time he’d made this trip. After one particularly long stop, Jon and Ryan came back from wherever they’d disappeared to, giggling to each other over nothing, and Brendon felt a pang of jealousy.
“You guys are so high,” he said morosely, and they looked at him a little guiltily. He couldn’t get high anymore. He couldn’t drink anymore, either. His friends were going to have amazing times together and he was going to be getting fat and even more pregnant.
He was barely even a month into this thing and already he was sick of it. But Jon cuddled with Brendon in the backseat and Ryan sang softly along with the radio for the rest of the drive and that made it all a little better.
Eventually they got to Pete’s place. They weren’t staying with him, but they wanted to say hi and drop Hobo off before going to their hotel. He answered the door with a smile that dimmed a little when he caught sight of Brendon. He hadn’t apologized for being a dick, not yet, and he probably wouldn’t. He looked contrite, though, and held on a little too long and a little too tight when Brendon moved forward to hug him.
They hung out with him for a while and he told them everything he knew about Dr. Pierson, which wasn’t much. Eventually the conversation shifted, heading in a more normal direction. Pete babbled a little bit about married life while Jon and Spencer shared amused and significant looks, and then he mentioned some of his upcoming projects and gushed about Patrick’s and mentioned plans for a new album. It was nice and easy until Pete asked if they had any idea what they were doing about the band yet; that wasn’t a subject any of them were ready to address.
“We haven’t talked about it,” Ryan said quickly.
“But we’re not breaking up,” Brendon added, more for his own reassurance than for Pete’s.
“Well, of course not!” Pete said loudly, forcing a grin, and they changed the subject quickly.
Maybe it was Brendon’s imagination, but after that a little bit of tension settled over him, Jon, Ryan and Spencer. Back at the hotel, Brendon hesitated to say anything to the guys for fear of prompting another fight or another slide into the awkward stage they had found themselves in right after getting the news. They all stood a little uncomfortably in the hallway between their rooms, exchanging looks, poised to go their separate ways but unmoving all the same.
Pete’s question had aroused some of the worry Brendon hadn’t been able to shake that maybe this was the beginning of the end. But, he thought, glancing at Ryan’s downcast eyes and Spencer and Jon’s placid expressions, they were here. They weren’t running, they were sticking by him. Brendon wasn’t going to push them away and they weren’t going anywhere and that eased the concern.
Brendon said, “I’m glad you guys are here,” ducking his head and chewing on his bottom lip.
“Like we could be anywhere else,” Spencer said. “Like we’d want to be anywhere else.”
Brendon flashed him a grin and then let himself be pulled forward into a hug that started with Spencer’s arms around him and ended with Jon squished against his left side and Ryan fitted half against his right and half against his back. Someone, Ryan, pressed his lips to Brendon’s temple and someone else, Jon, said, “we love you, don’t forget it.”
That night, Brendon slept fitfully, nervous about meeting the doctor, worried about what they might find out. He was up in the middle of the night to throw up, like usual, and when he walked out of the bathroom feeling wan and worn out, Ryan made a big deal of moving his comforter aside.
“Get in here,” he said, when Brendon ignored the hint.
Brendon crawled into bed with him and sighed softly when a long, spindly arm gathered him in and tugged him back against a strong chest. Ryan tucked Brendon’s head under his chin and didn’t say anything, just rubbed slow circles into the hot flesh of Brendon’s belly until Brendon finally, finally eased into a deep and quiet sleep.
The next morning consisted of breakfast, quietly freaking out and watching Jon and Spencer not so quietly freaking out, although they kept their concerns mostly to each other. Brendon was watching them exchange rapid-fire whispers instead of paying attention to the Saturday morning cartoons on the TV. Spencer and Jon were way more entertaining, even if the occasional look of fear or confusion was making Brendon’s stomach twist tighter. Ryan was the only one who seemed cool, calm and collected, but he was completely absorbed with texting someone, probably Keltie, so there was no real way of telling.
By the time they were piling into Spencer’s car and making their way to see Dr. Pierson, Brendon was ready to turn right around and go back home. He didn’t need a doctor. No doctor meant that if there were any complications, he, at least, wouldn’t know about it. Brendon was beginning to believe firmly in the whole ‘ignorance is bliss’ thing. But Spencer was driving and he didn’t turn around and when they got to the hospital, Ryan didn’t let Brendon hesitate next to the car for very long.
“It won’t be that bad,” Ryan told him, a hand wrapped firmly around his wrist.
Brendon didn’t know if that was entirely accurate. The last time he’d been in the hospital he’d come out of it pregnant, so fuck only knew what was going to happen this time. But he let himself be tugged inside and into the elevator. Spencer and Jon had gone from whispering to sharing unreadable looks. Ryan glared at them a couple of times, like he could tell that the cryptic silence was wreaking havoc on Brendon’s nerves, but that didn’t stop them.
Pete was already there when the doors slid open. They could see him sitting in the otherwise empty waiting room just down the hall. He was thoroughly engrossed in one of the magazines from the side-table next to him but he looked up suddenly, a smile playing around the edges of his mouth.
“Hey,” he said when they got into the waiting room. He rose to his feet and led Brendon to the receptionist’s desk where he had to sign in and fill out paperwork.
The nurse at the desk, at least, was nice. She didn’t seem phased by Brendon’s presence. Brendon thought that maybe she had no clue what he was there for, but as soon as she took the papers from him she was rambling about how they’d started to prepare for Brendon’s case and he was in good hands.
“These are some of the best doctors in the world,” she told him. “They deal with abnormal pregnancies every day.”
“Not this abnormal,” Brendon said, crossing his arms over his chest.
She just smiled at him and said, “I’ll be right back.”
She left with the paperwork and Brendon sat in the uncomfortable seat in between Ryan and Spencer, waiting. Spencer kept one hand in between Brendon’s shoulders, steady and warm, and told Jon to read to him from Sports Illustrated. Jon rolled his eyes but obliged, his voice low and quiet while he read about draft choices and predictions for the upcoming football season. Brendon leaned his head against Ryan’s shoulder and didn’t move except to answer Shane when he started texting to ask how it was going.
Eventually the nurse came back out and said, “okay, Brendon.”
Brendon hesitated. He felt glued to his chair, frozen in his seat, and he probably would have refused to stand up at all if Ryan hadn’t gotten to his feet first.
“Come on, I’m coming with you,” he said, reaching down and tugging at Brendon’s elbows.
Brendon let Ryan pull him up and, amid encouraging looks from Jon, Spencer and Pete, they went back.
_._
The meeting wasn’t actually that bad. Ryan was kind of embarrassing, since he actually took notes, but Dr. Pierson was a nice, strange old man who didn’t seem intimidated by the fact that he was working with a pregnant boy. He didn’t exactly calm Brendon down, but he didn’t scare him off, either. He just rattled off some facts and statistics and other scientific shit about pregnant males in the animal kingdom (most of them having been inseminated and observed in labs, so Brendon was still an anomaly since he’d done this the natural way).
Dr. Pierson also talked about possible explanations for Brendon’s condition, most of which made Brendon’s head hurt. It was all told in the kind of medical jargon that Brendon only vaguely recognized from his biology class sophomore year; most of it still managed to sound like a foreign language. At the end of it, Dr. Pierson was straight-forward about the risks inherent in Brendon’s pregnancy and let them know that he would do everything he could to make sure Brendon and baby made it out healthy and whole.
Brendon couldn’t lie and say he didn’t greatly appreciate the sentiment.
“See,” Ryan said absently as they left the doctor’s office with a list of prenatal vitamins for Brendon to take and the name of the midwife in Vegas who was going to be working with them, “that wasn’t so bad.”
Brendon glanced sideways to see Ryan studying his notes carefully. It was a pretty bizarre sight because Ryan was not a note-taker. He wasn’t particularly concerned with semantics at any time, which was why he couldn’t remember to pay his bills and he constantly forgot what he was supposed to be doing halfway through doing it. Brendon figured Spencer had probably put him up to the task, possibly under threat of death, and it was a little sweet that Ryan had tried so hard.
“Guess not,” Brendon answered, even though Ryan was right.
Ryan hummed in acknowledgement but didn’t look up until they got out into the waiting room. Pete, Jon and Spencer all jerked to their feet. Their faces were shaped in nearly identical expressions of worry, like they expected Brendon to have bad news.
“It’s okay,” Brendon said, holding his hands up, “I think I’m gonna live.”
Spencer rolled his eyes but his body relaxed. Ryan walked over to hand him the notes and Brendon shared a small smile with Jon.
A second later, the whole world tilted as Brendon was pulled into an impossibly tight hug. Pete buried his face in Brendon’s neck and didn’t move, which wasn’t so much unusual for Pete as it was awkward for Brendon.
“Jesus, Pete,” Brendon gasped, shifting in the arms around him until he could make it into a proper hug.
“Dude,” Pete said quietly, “you’re gonna have a fucking baby.”
Brendon tightened his hold on Pete and wanted to laugh. It was the closest thing to an apology that Pete was going to give and it was completely sincere. The awe in Pete’s voice settled warm and thick in Brendon’s belly and he thought yeah, yeah I am gonna have a fucking baby. And then he did laugh because he couldn’t help it.
Pete gripped Brendon even tighter (which was practically impossible), and muffled his own giggles into Brendon’s skin.
_._
Being pregnant didn’t make Brendon fragile and it didn’t make him a girl, but he couldn’t convince anybody else of that. They were playing another festival in Europe, one in Japan, and then it was off to Australia for a few tour dates. Now that Brendon knew what was going on with his body and could take care of himself better, he didn’t feel like he needed everyone worrying about him.
It didn’t matter what he said, though, nobody seemed willing to let him out of their sight. Spencer harped about the vitamins in London, Jon harped about the diet in Japan and Ryan was constantly draping his scarves around Brendon’s neck to keep him warm (in the middle of fucking summer, Jesus) and putting him to bed early in Australia.
They watched him like hawks onstage and whenever Brendon decided to bounce around even a little, Ryan or Jon were right there beside him, herding him back to the microphone with their shoulders. Brendon spent more time staring at them in exasperation than any kind of fondness, and he wasn’t surprised when Shane mentioned the reaction it was getting.
“The crazies are starting to think you hate Ryan and Jon,” Shane said. “Also, there might be some theory floating around about, like, BDSM but that could just have been the fanfiction.”
Brendon was sitting cross-legged on his hotel bed in Perth, watching Spencer flip through channels and text at the same time. It was an amazing feat.
“Spencer has really dexterous fingers,” Brendon said absently, adding, “and what the fuck, why are you reading the fanfiction?”
“To inform myself,” Shane said vaguely. “Shut up, I was bored. Anyway, do you hate Ryan and Jon? Is the band breaking up? Are you their pet? Wait, wait, here’s the big question: do they make you wear a collar and call them ‘sir’?”
Brendon laughed and almost rolled off the bed. Spencer looked up sharply and Brendon waved a hand at him.
“What?” Brendon said, still giggling.
“Inquiring minds want to know, dude,” he said, and Brendon rolled his eyes.
“Whatever, they’re just trying to make sure I don’t, like, fall and break my neck on stage or something,” he said.
“That’s nice of them,” Shane said, but in a way that indicated he was in full agreement with Jon and Ryan’s plan and wouldn’t be on Brendon’s side if he complained about how they were totally smothering him and his baby. “How are you, anyway? Like, with the you-know-what?”
Brendon glanced at Spencer, who was now fully absorbed in his sidekick with a ridiculous Haley-smile on his face. He lowered his voice and fell back against the pillows.
“You can call it a baby,” he said, and even though he was keeping his voice down, Spencer glanced up again.
His eyes darted down to Brendon’s midsection, which his t-shirt was clinging to rather unattractively, and Brendon watched his smile soften into something a little confused and a lot awed. It was the way his whole band was looking at him nowadays. It was way better than a few weeks ago, when they could barely look without staring openly, trying to make sense of something that so obviously didn’t make any sense at all.
It was still a little unnerving, though. Every so often, backstage or on the way to the venue or during soundcheck, Brendon would catch a pair of eyes on him and they were just . . . gazing. That was the only way to describe it. When they were caught they all looked away quickly, like they hadn’t realized they were doing it. Brendon kind of knew how they felt. He’d added an extra thirty minutes to the time it usually took him to get ready, and not because he needed it but because he always ended up staring into the mirror for a while, shocked and afraid and confused.
Brendon watched Spencer’s eyes move back to the screen of his phone, albeit a little slowly, and realized that Shane hadn’t said anything in response.
“Shane?” Brendon said, and there was a sharp gust of air over the line, a sigh.
“Yeah, sorry,” he said. “That’s just kind of weird, still.”
Brendon laughed a little self-consciously. “What, the baby?”
“I dunno, it’s more the word. You don’t say it much,” he said.
This was actually true, which Brendon hadn’t really considered until now. Sometimes it slipped out, and he made himself think the word every day, but he really didn’t say it all that often and nobody else said it around him much. Not in everyday conversation. Not even in the increasingly frequent ‘are you taking care of yourself?’ conversations.
“Anyway,” Shane said, jerking Brendon’s attention back to the phone, “how are you and baby?”
The words came a little awkwardly and Brendon could feel himself blushing. He wondered if he’d ever stop feeling so weird about it and decided that he probably wouldn’t.
“Good. We’re good,” he said.
He was only assuming; it wasn’t like his baby was all that big yet, but he would be able to tell if something was wrong, he was sure. He didn’t know how he was sure, but he was.
“Good,” Shane said. “So, quick question.”
“Shoot.”
“What would I have to do to get you to let me film you in the family way?”
Brendon blinked up at the ceiling. “Um, what? Like . . .” He trailed off, unsure of how to even finish that sentence.
“Like a documentary, dumbass,” Shane said affectionately, “that’s all. And it wouldn’t be for anybody or, you know, I’m not planning on selling it to the Discovery Channel or something. I just want to. I think it would be cool to have later. Video evidence of the most bizarre nine months of your life.”
“I’m pretty sure the actual baby will be enough evidence,” Brendon pointed out, but he was thinking about it and Shane was quiet on the other line while he considered.
It wasn’t a problem of not trusting Shane. Brendon knew Shane wouldn’t do anything with the tape to hurt him or incriminate him. It was more a matter of having this on tape at all. Brendon wasn’t really in denial about it, but that didn’t mean he was ready to embrace the idea, either. Everything he did, he did for the health of the baby and because Dr. Reid had told him to. It wasn’t . . . he wasn’t excited about it. He wasn’t running out looking at paint colors for a nursery or, hell, even thinking about the fact that his apartment with Shane didn’t actually have one. It was the consequence of a mistake Brendon had made and he was living with it.
Having it immortalized on film would only make it harder.
“Come on, Brendon,” Shane wheedled, “please? It’ll be totally awesome. My masterpiece.”
Brendon sighed and figured he could suck it up and besides, he kind of liked it when Shane was behind the camera. He got this crazy focus that was fun to watch, and he was great at what he did.
“Fine,” Brendon said, “why not?”
Shane crowed and Brendon rolled his eyes, but that didn’t stop him from smiling fondly. When he glanced up, Spencer was staring at his face, eyebrows raised. Brendon raised his own back and Spencer smirked, the look of someone who knew something someone else didn’t, and went back to the TV.
_._
Things calmed down once they got back to Vegas. Brendon spent the first two days back alternating between sleeping, playing with Dylan, and letting Shane film him doing really boring shit.
“I’m not that entertaining,” Brendon pointed out as he made a peanut butter and sugar sandwich (he blamed Keltie for his sudden and painful addiction to them, and Shane for being a midnight-grocery-store-running enabler).
“You’re pregnant,” Shane shot back. “I think that’s enough to hold anyone’s attention.”
Brendon shook his head and licked peanut butter off of his finger. “Yeah, no, you’re seriously filming the world’s most boring home videos.”
Shane didn’t seem to mind, but Shane was an artist behind a camera and he saw the world differently. What Brendon thought was inane, Shane probably thought was some kind of magical moment that could be intercut with another to make something interesting and engaging to watch. Brendon wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he liked being Shane’s favorite subject so he didn’t really mind, although sometimes he tried to liven up the days and Shane would roll his eyes and tell him not to worry about it.
Shane was all about Brendon just being himself. Brendon wasn’t sure how to tell him that with everything that was going on, he didn’t know exactly who that was anymore.
There wasn’t much time for Brendon to figure it out. He wasn’t busy anymore; there was a tour to plan and the VMAs to prepare for, but beyond that Brendon’s days were pretty wide-open. It was more the pressing issue of who to tell that was consuming Brendon’s thought process. It was a tough question that Brendon didn’t have enough energy to focus on himself.
There was a list on the refrigerator that Shane got a nice, close-up shot of on the Wednesday that Brendon stuck it up.
“These are the people who know about Brendon,” Shane said, picking up the pregnancy-video narration. “Tell us about the list.”
Shane swung the camera toward Brendon, who shrugged and stared at the slip of paper on the fridge.
“It’s going to get a lot longer ,” he said.
It was quiet for a moment. When Shane spoke, his voice was soft and serious. “Are you gonna tell your parents?”
Brendon sighed and avoided glancing over. “I’m gonna have to eventually. I just . . . don’t really want to.”
Brendon didn’t say anything about how he was pretty sure that would be the last conversation he’d ever have with his parents. Gay or not, he wasn’t going to be repentant about what he’d done. He wasn’t going to fall on their mercy and let them tell him all about how this pregnancy was a punishment from God and all he had to do was ask for forgiveness and never take another dick up the ass again and it would all be okay.
That was bullshit. Maybe getting pregnant was some kind of punishment for Brendon’s stupidity, and maybe he wasn’t ready to even think the word ‘gay’ and claim it, but there was no way in hell Brendon was going to be able to ask a God he was pretty sure he didn’t believe in for forgiveness. Mistake or not, fuck up or not, Brendon couldn’t do it.
There were rules in the Church about the gay thing. Brendon knew what they were and he knew that Shane knew what they were. Shane was the first and only person Brendon had ever explained them to. He didn’t have to tell the camera that when he told his parents he was pregnant and explained the situation to them, he was as good as saying goodbye.
They both already knew it.
“Pete mentioned telling some of our friends,” Brendon said eventually, changing the subject. “And, like, Jon wants to tell Cassie because they tell each other everything. And we’ll have to tell Zack before the next tour starts.”
Brendon sighed and stared at the list, at the names on it, and hated to imagine it growing. He didn’t want people to know, but he was going to have to tell some of them and Pete had promised to handle the rest.
Shane walked forward and rested his hand on the back of Brendon’s neck, the camera off and set aside for the moment. He didn’t say anything, just stood close to Brendon and offered quiet support. Brendon melted into the touch and tried not to think of how the words were bound to stick to the roof of his mouth and the back of his throat. His stomach twisted and he focused on the warmth of Shane’s touch until he could breathe easily again.
_._
Ryan and Jon and Spencer were stoned. They were so, so very stoned and Brendon couldn’t smoke up, probably wouldn’t be able to smoke up for a very long time, and he was not happy about it. They were sitting in some small Italian restaurant that Ryan had discovered and while his friends were busy being high and loading up on carbs, Brendon was picking at a salad and thinking morosely of the meeting with his midwife earlier that week.
All in all, it hadn’t gone badly, but Brendon now had multiple lists of acceptable foods and beverages, helpful websites and books, numbers to call in case of an emergency, tips on baby-proofing the apartment (which, according to her, was much too small for a family, anyway; somewhere between her rummaging through the fridge and cupboards and rattling off scary information about hormones and What To Expect Over the Next Eight Months, Brendon didn’t quite get across to her that there was no ‘family’ to speak of, just him and the baby, if he kept it, which was still not something he was ready to think about) and other things.
Brendon had to eat healthy and he knew that. He wasn’t stupid. The problem was, apparently the fruits and vegetables he occasionally nibbled on, the ones that Haley and Spencer and Ryan were keeping him stocked up on, weren’t enough. It was like being eleven-years-old all over again with all of the rules about keeping his body a clean temple of the Lord, except now he was keeping it clean for an entirely different reason.
Theresa the Midwife (as Shane called her), wasn’t actually that bad. She was a massively tall and wide woman, but she had soft eyes and a warm smile. She was strict, though, and doubly-so with Brendon who was already some kind of ticking time-bomb.
“With all of the unknown factors surrounding your pregnancy, one of the only ways we can really work to ensure your safety and the safety of your baby is to keep you both healthy,” she’d said.
So, an even more regimented diet it was with no caffeine and no alcohol and no smoke and that was why Brendon couldn’t help eyeing Jon and Ryan’s wine glasses enviously, and that was also why he couldn’t help but hate them for smoking up when they knew he couldn’t.
Brendon poked at a crisp piece of lettuce and then speared it with his fork. “I hate being knocked up,” he said.
Spencer leaned into Jon and giggled. “Dude, you’re barely even pregnant yet. What are you gonna do when you’re, like, the size of a barge?”
Jon started humming low under his breath while Brendon glared at Spencer and Ryan picked up the tune easily enough, adding his own voice to it. Even without the words, the song was distinctly recognizable. Brendon glared at both of them, too.
“Is that ‘Gaston’? Are you humming ‘Gaston’?”
Brendon loved that song. He was trying to be pissed off here, but he loved that stupid song and his stupid stoned friends were grinning at him like they knew he couldn’t stay mad when there was Disney to be sung.
Ryan warbled, “no one fights like Gaston,”
“douses lights like Gaston,” Jon joined in.
Spencer grinned and sang, “in a wrestling match nobody bites like Gaston.”
They stared at Brendon, they always left him the fucking girl parts, and he crossed his arms and tried to ignore their wagging eyebrows and wide-wide eyes. Ryan leaned forward, elbows on the table like the wicked heathen he was, and said, “Brendon.”
Brendon closed his eyes and scuffed his toe against the floor and sighed.
“For there’s no one as burly and brawny,” Brendon sang flatly, and Jon, Ryan and Spencer smiled.
“As you see I’ve got biceps to spare,” Jon sang, flexing his biceps.
Ryan nodded gravely and reached across the table to squeeze the muscle.
“Oh, hey,” Ryan said. “You are pretty burly and brawny, Jon,” he said, squeezing again.
Jon’s eyes twinkled. “I know, right?”
Spencer laughed, his head falling to Jon’s shoulder. Brendon watched them and rolled his eyes but he couldn’t stay annoyed for long. He loved them too much, loved them whether they were sober or not, but mostly he loved them when they could be like this. Dorks in arms.
“This isn’t gonna change, is it?” Brendon asked before he could stop himself.
Three pairs of painfully familiar eyes looked up at him. Ryan nudged their shoulders together.
“I don’t know. Change happens,” he said slowly.
Brendon sighed and rolled a cherry tomato around the edge of his plate. “But us. This.”
“Does it matter?” Jon asked, and Brendon looked up to see him with his serious face on, eyes grave, mouth set. “Does it? I mean, you know we’re not going anywhere. So does a little change really matter in the long run?”
Having a kid was a pretty big change and they all knew it, but Brendon looked around the table at his best friends and realized that as long as he had them, he would be okay. Spencer smiled his brightest smile and plucked a cucumber from Brendon’s plate with his fingers.
“Stop killing our buzz, Brendon,” he said, extending the food with raised eyebrows, “and don’t worry so much.”
Brendon leaned forward to take the cucumber slice into his mouth. “I can’t help it,” he said around his chewing.
Ryan tipped his head over onto Brendon’s shoulder and said, “we’ll be here to worry with you. That’s not going to change.”
Jon and Spencer nodded and Brendon bit his lip and looked back down at his salad.
“Eat,” Ryan said without lifting his head.
“Oh, hey, you know what we should do?” Jon said, lighting up and dispelling the tension hanging over the table with natural ease.
“What?” Spencer asked.
“Ice cream and Spinal Tap.”
Brendon grinned and said, “we do that all the time.”
Jon smiled back and flicked a stray strip of napkin at him. “I know.”
Previous
Next
They met at Spencer’s place early Friday afternoon, stuffed their bags into the trunk of his car (all but the one carrying Hobo, which Ryan pulled into his lap as soon as he climbed into the front seat), waved goodbye to Haley and started on their way.
“I feel like I should warn you guys that I’ll have to piss, like, every twenty minutes,” Brendon said as they pulled out onto the street.
“Luckily there are some empty water bottles under the seat,” Spencer teased.
The drive wasn’t all that long. It was made longer by the numerous stops Brendon needed for them to make, and by the fact that a few times Jon and Ryan wanted to stop to check out really crazy tourist traps that Brendon had forgotten even existed since the last time he’d made this trip. After one particularly long stop, Jon and Ryan came back from wherever they’d disappeared to, giggling to each other over nothing, and Brendon felt a pang of jealousy.
“You guys are so high,” he said morosely, and they looked at him a little guiltily. He couldn’t get high anymore. He couldn’t drink anymore, either. His friends were going to have amazing times together and he was going to be getting fat and even more pregnant.
He was barely even a month into this thing and already he was sick of it. But Jon cuddled with Brendon in the backseat and Ryan sang softly along with the radio for the rest of the drive and that made it all a little better.
Eventually they got to Pete’s place. They weren’t staying with him, but they wanted to say hi and drop Hobo off before going to their hotel. He answered the door with a smile that dimmed a little when he caught sight of Brendon. He hadn’t apologized for being a dick, not yet, and he probably wouldn’t. He looked contrite, though, and held on a little too long and a little too tight when Brendon moved forward to hug him.
They hung out with him for a while and he told them everything he knew about Dr. Pierson, which wasn’t much. Eventually the conversation shifted, heading in a more normal direction. Pete babbled a little bit about married life while Jon and Spencer shared amused and significant looks, and then he mentioned some of his upcoming projects and gushed about Patrick’s and mentioned plans for a new album. It was nice and easy until Pete asked if they had any idea what they were doing about the band yet; that wasn’t a subject any of them were ready to address.
“We haven’t talked about it,” Ryan said quickly.
“But we’re not breaking up,” Brendon added, more for his own reassurance than for Pete’s.
“Well, of course not!” Pete said loudly, forcing a grin, and they changed the subject quickly.
Maybe it was Brendon’s imagination, but after that a little bit of tension settled over him, Jon, Ryan and Spencer. Back at the hotel, Brendon hesitated to say anything to the guys for fear of prompting another fight or another slide into the awkward stage they had found themselves in right after getting the news. They all stood a little uncomfortably in the hallway between their rooms, exchanging looks, poised to go their separate ways but unmoving all the same.
Pete’s question had aroused some of the worry Brendon hadn’t been able to shake that maybe this was the beginning of the end. But, he thought, glancing at Ryan’s downcast eyes and Spencer and Jon’s placid expressions, they were here. They weren’t running, they were sticking by him. Brendon wasn’t going to push them away and they weren’t going anywhere and that eased the concern.
Brendon said, “I’m glad you guys are here,” ducking his head and chewing on his bottom lip.
“Like we could be anywhere else,” Spencer said. “Like we’d want to be anywhere else.”
Brendon flashed him a grin and then let himself be pulled forward into a hug that started with Spencer’s arms around him and ended with Jon squished against his left side and Ryan fitted half against his right and half against his back. Someone, Ryan, pressed his lips to Brendon’s temple and someone else, Jon, said, “we love you, don’t forget it.”
That night, Brendon slept fitfully, nervous about meeting the doctor, worried about what they might find out. He was up in the middle of the night to throw up, like usual, and when he walked out of the bathroom feeling wan and worn out, Ryan made a big deal of moving his comforter aside.
“Get in here,” he said, when Brendon ignored the hint.
Brendon crawled into bed with him and sighed softly when a long, spindly arm gathered him in and tugged him back against a strong chest. Ryan tucked Brendon’s head under his chin and didn’t say anything, just rubbed slow circles into the hot flesh of Brendon’s belly until Brendon finally, finally eased into a deep and quiet sleep.
The next morning consisted of breakfast, quietly freaking out and watching Jon and Spencer not so quietly freaking out, although they kept their concerns mostly to each other. Brendon was watching them exchange rapid-fire whispers instead of paying attention to the Saturday morning cartoons on the TV. Spencer and Jon were way more entertaining, even if the occasional look of fear or confusion was making Brendon’s stomach twist tighter. Ryan was the only one who seemed cool, calm and collected, but he was completely absorbed with texting someone, probably Keltie, so there was no real way of telling.
By the time they were piling into Spencer’s car and making their way to see Dr. Pierson, Brendon was ready to turn right around and go back home. He didn’t need a doctor. No doctor meant that if there were any complications, he, at least, wouldn’t know about it. Brendon was beginning to believe firmly in the whole ‘ignorance is bliss’ thing. But Spencer was driving and he didn’t turn around and when they got to the hospital, Ryan didn’t let Brendon hesitate next to the car for very long.
“It won’t be that bad,” Ryan told him, a hand wrapped firmly around his wrist.
Brendon didn’t know if that was entirely accurate. The last time he’d been in the hospital he’d come out of it pregnant, so fuck only knew what was going to happen this time. But he let himself be tugged inside and into the elevator. Spencer and Jon had gone from whispering to sharing unreadable looks. Ryan glared at them a couple of times, like he could tell that the cryptic silence was wreaking havoc on Brendon’s nerves, but that didn’t stop them.
Pete was already there when the doors slid open. They could see him sitting in the otherwise empty waiting room just down the hall. He was thoroughly engrossed in one of the magazines from the side-table next to him but he looked up suddenly, a smile playing around the edges of his mouth.
“Hey,” he said when they got into the waiting room. He rose to his feet and led Brendon to the receptionist’s desk where he had to sign in and fill out paperwork.
The nurse at the desk, at least, was nice. She didn’t seem phased by Brendon’s presence. Brendon thought that maybe she had no clue what he was there for, but as soon as she took the papers from him she was rambling about how they’d started to prepare for Brendon’s case and he was in good hands.
“These are some of the best doctors in the world,” she told him. “They deal with abnormal pregnancies every day.”
“Not this abnormal,” Brendon said, crossing his arms over his chest.
She just smiled at him and said, “I’ll be right back.”
She left with the paperwork and Brendon sat in the uncomfortable seat in between Ryan and Spencer, waiting. Spencer kept one hand in between Brendon’s shoulders, steady and warm, and told Jon to read to him from Sports Illustrated. Jon rolled his eyes but obliged, his voice low and quiet while he read about draft choices and predictions for the upcoming football season. Brendon leaned his head against Ryan’s shoulder and didn’t move except to answer Shane when he started texting to ask how it was going.
Eventually the nurse came back out and said, “okay, Brendon.”
Brendon hesitated. He felt glued to his chair, frozen in his seat, and he probably would have refused to stand up at all if Ryan hadn’t gotten to his feet first.
“Come on, I’m coming with you,” he said, reaching down and tugging at Brendon’s elbows.
Brendon let Ryan pull him up and, amid encouraging looks from Jon, Spencer and Pete, they went back.
_._
The meeting wasn’t actually that bad. Ryan was kind of embarrassing, since he actually took notes, but Dr. Pierson was a nice, strange old man who didn’t seem intimidated by the fact that he was working with a pregnant boy. He didn’t exactly calm Brendon down, but he didn’t scare him off, either. He just rattled off some facts and statistics and other scientific shit about pregnant males in the animal kingdom (most of them having been inseminated and observed in labs, so Brendon was still an anomaly since he’d done this the natural way).
Dr. Pierson also talked about possible explanations for Brendon’s condition, most of which made Brendon’s head hurt. It was all told in the kind of medical jargon that Brendon only vaguely recognized from his biology class sophomore year; most of it still managed to sound like a foreign language. At the end of it, Dr. Pierson was straight-forward about the risks inherent in Brendon’s pregnancy and let them know that he would do everything he could to make sure Brendon and baby made it out healthy and whole.
Brendon couldn’t lie and say he didn’t greatly appreciate the sentiment.
“See,” Ryan said absently as they left the doctor’s office with a list of prenatal vitamins for Brendon to take and the name of the midwife in Vegas who was going to be working with them, “that wasn’t so bad.”
Brendon glanced sideways to see Ryan studying his notes carefully. It was a pretty bizarre sight because Ryan was not a note-taker. He wasn’t particularly concerned with semantics at any time, which was why he couldn’t remember to pay his bills and he constantly forgot what he was supposed to be doing halfway through doing it. Brendon figured Spencer had probably put him up to the task, possibly under threat of death, and it was a little sweet that Ryan had tried so hard.
“Guess not,” Brendon answered, even though Ryan was right.
Ryan hummed in acknowledgement but didn’t look up until they got out into the waiting room. Pete, Jon and Spencer all jerked to their feet. Their faces were shaped in nearly identical expressions of worry, like they expected Brendon to have bad news.
“It’s okay,” Brendon said, holding his hands up, “I think I’m gonna live.”
Spencer rolled his eyes but his body relaxed. Ryan walked over to hand him the notes and Brendon shared a small smile with Jon.
A second later, the whole world tilted as Brendon was pulled into an impossibly tight hug. Pete buried his face in Brendon’s neck and didn’t move, which wasn’t so much unusual for Pete as it was awkward for Brendon.
“Jesus, Pete,” Brendon gasped, shifting in the arms around him until he could make it into a proper hug.
“Dude,” Pete said quietly, “you’re gonna have a fucking baby.”
Brendon tightened his hold on Pete and wanted to laugh. It was the closest thing to an apology that Pete was going to give and it was completely sincere. The awe in Pete’s voice settled warm and thick in Brendon’s belly and he thought yeah, yeah I am gonna have a fucking baby. And then he did laugh because he couldn’t help it.
Pete gripped Brendon even tighter (which was practically impossible), and muffled his own giggles into Brendon’s skin.
_._
Being pregnant didn’t make Brendon fragile and it didn’t make him a girl, but he couldn’t convince anybody else of that. They were playing another festival in Europe, one in Japan, and then it was off to Australia for a few tour dates. Now that Brendon knew what was going on with his body and could take care of himself better, he didn’t feel like he needed everyone worrying about him.
It didn’t matter what he said, though, nobody seemed willing to let him out of their sight. Spencer harped about the vitamins in London, Jon harped about the diet in Japan and Ryan was constantly draping his scarves around Brendon’s neck to keep him warm (in the middle of fucking summer, Jesus) and putting him to bed early in Australia.
They watched him like hawks onstage and whenever Brendon decided to bounce around even a little, Ryan or Jon were right there beside him, herding him back to the microphone with their shoulders. Brendon spent more time staring at them in exasperation than any kind of fondness, and he wasn’t surprised when Shane mentioned the reaction it was getting.
“The crazies are starting to think you hate Ryan and Jon,” Shane said. “Also, there might be some theory floating around about, like, BDSM but that could just have been the fanfiction.”
Brendon was sitting cross-legged on his hotel bed in Perth, watching Spencer flip through channels and text at the same time. It was an amazing feat.
“Spencer has really dexterous fingers,” Brendon said absently, adding, “and what the fuck, why are you reading the fanfiction?”
“To inform myself,” Shane said vaguely. “Shut up, I was bored. Anyway, do you hate Ryan and Jon? Is the band breaking up? Are you their pet? Wait, wait, here’s the big question: do they make you wear a collar and call them ‘sir’?”
Brendon laughed and almost rolled off the bed. Spencer looked up sharply and Brendon waved a hand at him.
“What?” Brendon said, still giggling.
“Inquiring minds want to know, dude,” he said, and Brendon rolled his eyes.
“Whatever, they’re just trying to make sure I don’t, like, fall and break my neck on stage or something,” he said.
“That’s nice of them,” Shane said, but in a way that indicated he was in full agreement with Jon and Ryan’s plan and wouldn’t be on Brendon’s side if he complained about how they were totally smothering him and his baby. “How are you, anyway? Like, with the you-know-what?”
Brendon glanced at Spencer, who was now fully absorbed in his sidekick with a ridiculous Haley-smile on his face. He lowered his voice and fell back against the pillows.
“You can call it a baby,” he said, and even though he was keeping his voice down, Spencer glanced up again.
His eyes darted down to Brendon’s midsection, which his t-shirt was clinging to rather unattractively, and Brendon watched his smile soften into something a little confused and a lot awed. It was the way his whole band was looking at him nowadays. It was way better than a few weeks ago, when they could barely look without staring openly, trying to make sense of something that so obviously didn’t make any sense at all.
It was still a little unnerving, though. Every so often, backstage or on the way to the venue or during soundcheck, Brendon would catch a pair of eyes on him and they were just . . . gazing. That was the only way to describe it. When they were caught they all looked away quickly, like they hadn’t realized they were doing it. Brendon kind of knew how they felt. He’d added an extra thirty minutes to the time it usually took him to get ready, and not because he needed it but because he always ended up staring into the mirror for a while, shocked and afraid and confused.
Brendon watched Spencer’s eyes move back to the screen of his phone, albeit a little slowly, and realized that Shane hadn’t said anything in response.
“Shane?” Brendon said, and there was a sharp gust of air over the line, a sigh.
“Yeah, sorry,” he said. “That’s just kind of weird, still.”
Brendon laughed a little self-consciously. “What, the baby?”
“I dunno, it’s more the word. You don’t say it much,” he said.
This was actually true, which Brendon hadn’t really considered until now. Sometimes it slipped out, and he made himself think the word every day, but he really didn’t say it all that often and nobody else said it around him much. Not in everyday conversation. Not even in the increasingly frequent ‘are you taking care of yourself?’ conversations.
“Anyway,” Shane said, jerking Brendon’s attention back to the phone, “how are you and baby?”
The words came a little awkwardly and Brendon could feel himself blushing. He wondered if he’d ever stop feeling so weird about it and decided that he probably wouldn’t.
“Good. We’re good,” he said.
He was only assuming; it wasn’t like his baby was all that big yet, but he would be able to tell if something was wrong, he was sure. He didn’t know how he was sure, but he was.
“Good,” Shane said. “So, quick question.”
“Shoot.”
“What would I have to do to get you to let me film you in the family way?”
Brendon blinked up at the ceiling. “Um, what? Like . . .” He trailed off, unsure of how to even finish that sentence.
“Like a documentary, dumbass,” Shane said affectionately, “that’s all. And it wouldn’t be for anybody or, you know, I’m not planning on selling it to the Discovery Channel or something. I just want to. I think it would be cool to have later. Video evidence of the most bizarre nine months of your life.”
“I’m pretty sure the actual baby will be enough evidence,” Brendon pointed out, but he was thinking about it and Shane was quiet on the other line while he considered.
It wasn’t a problem of not trusting Shane. Brendon knew Shane wouldn’t do anything with the tape to hurt him or incriminate him. It was more a matter of having this on tape at all. Brendon wasn’t really in denial about it, but that didn’t mean he was ready to embrace the idea, either. Everything he did, he did for the health of the baby and because Dr. Reid had told him to. It wasn’t . . . he wasn’t excited about it. He wasn’t running out looking at paint colors for a nursery or, hell, even thinking about the fact that his apartment with Shane didn’t actually have one. It was the consequence of a mistake Brendon had made and he was living with it.
Having it immortalized on film would only make it harder.
“Come on, Brendon,” Shane wheedled, “please? It’ll be totally awesome. My masterpiece.”
Brendon sighed and figured he could suck it up and besides, he kind of liked it when Shane was behind the camera. He got this crazy focus that was fun to watch, and he was great at what he did.
“Fine,” Brendon said, “why not?”
Shane crowed and Brendon rolled his eyes, but that didn’t stop him from smiling fondly. When he glanced up, Spencer was staring at his face, eyebrows raised. Brendon raised his own back and Spencer smirked, the look of someone who knew something someone else didn’t, and went back to the TV.
_._
Things calmed down once they got back to Vegas. Brendon spent the first two days back alternating between sleeping, playing with Dylan, and letting Shane film him doing really boring shit.
“I’m not that entertaining,” Brendon pointed out as he made a peanut butter and sugar sandwich (he blamed Keltie for his sudden and painful addiction to them, and Shane for being a midnight-grocery-store-running enabler).
“You’re pregnant,” Shane shot back. “I think that’s enough to hold anyone’s attention.”
Brendon shook his head and licked peanut butter off of his finger. “Yeah, no, you’re seriously filming the world’s most boring home videos.”
Shane didn’t seem to mind, but Shane was an artist behind a camera and he saw the world differently. What Brendon thought was inane, Shane probably thought was some kind of magical moment that could be intercut with another to make something interesting and engaging to watch. Brendon wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he liked being Shane’s favorite subject so he didn’t really mind, although sometimes he tried to liven up the days and Shane would roll his eyes and tell him not to worry about it.
Shane was all about Brendon just being himself. Brendon wasn’t sure how to tell him that with everything that was going on, he didn’t know exactly who that was anymore.
There wasn’t much time for Brendon to figure it out. He wasn’t busy anymore; there was a tour to plan and the VMAs to prepare for, but beyond that Brendon’s days were pretty wide-open. It was more the pressing issue of who to tell that was consuming Brendon’s thought process. It was a tough question that Brendon didn’t have enough energy to focus on himself.
There was a list on the refrigerator that Shane got a nice, close-up shot of on the Wednesday that Brendon stuck it up.
“These are the people who know about Brendon,” Shane said, picking up the pregnancy-video narration. “Tell us about the list.”
Shane swung the camera toward Brendon, who shrugged and stared at the slip of paper on the fridge.
“It’s going to get a lot longer ,” he said.
It was quiet for a moment. When Shane spoke, his voice was soft and serious. “Are you gonna tell your parents?”
Brendon sighed and avoided glancing over. “I’m gonna have to eventually. I just . . . don’t really want to.”
Brendon didn’t say anything about how he was pretty sure that would be the last conversation he’d ever have with his parents. Gay or not, he wasn’t going to be repentant about what he’d done. He wasn’t going to fall on their mercy and let them tell him all about how this pregnancy was a punishment from God and all he had to do was ask for forgiveness and never take another dick up the ass again and it would all be okay.
That was bullshit. Maybe getting pregnant was some kind of punishment for Brendon’s stupidity, and maybe he wasn’t ready to even think the word ‘gay’ and claim it, but there was no way in hell Brendon was going to be able to ask a God he was pretty sure he didn’t believe in for forgiveness. Mistake or not, fuck up or not, Brendon couldn’t do it.
There were rules in the Church about the gay thing. Brendon knew what they were and he knew that Shane knew what they were. Shane was the first and only person Brendon had ever explained them to. He didn’t have to tell the camera that when he told his parents he was pregnant and explained the situation to them, he was as good as saying goodbye.
They both already knew it.
“Pete mentioned telling some of our friends,” Brendon said eventually, changing the subject. “And, like, Jon wants to tell Cassie because they tell each other everything. And we’ll have to tell Zack before the next tour starts.”
Brendon sighed and stared at the list, at the names on it, and hated to imagine it growing. He didn’t want people to know, but he was going to have to tell some of them and Pete had promised to handle the rest.
Shane walked forward and rested his hand on the back of Brendon’s neck, the camera off and set aside for the moment. He didn’t say anything, just stood close to Brendon and offered quiet support. Brendon melted into the touch and tried not to think of how the words were bound to stick to the roof of his mouth and the back of his throat. His stomach twisted and he focused on the warmth of Shane’s touch until he could breathe easily again.
_._
Ryan and Jon and Spencer were stoned. They were so, so very stoned and Brendon couldn’t smoke up, probably wouldn’t be able to smoke up for a very long time, and he was not happy about it. They were sitting in some small Italian restaurant that Ryan had discovered and while his friends were busy being high and loading up on carbs, Brendon was picking at a salad and thinking morosely of the meeting with his midwife earlier that week.
All in all, it hadn’t gone badly, but Brendon now had multiple lists of acceptable foods and beverages, helpful websites and books, numbers to call in case of an emergency, tips on baby-proofing the apartment (which, according to her, was much too small for a family, anyway; somewhere between her rummaging through the fridge and cupboards and rattling off scary information about hormones and What To Expect Over the Next Eight Months, Brendon didn’t quite get across to her that there was no ‘family’ to speak of, just him and the baby, if he kept it, which was still not something he was ready to think about) and other things.
Brendon had to eat healthy and he knew that. He wasn’t stupid. The problem was, apparently the fruits and vegetables he occasionally nibbled on, the ones that Haley and Spencer and Ryan were keeping him stocked up on, weren’t enough. It was like being eleven-years-old all over again with all of the rules about keeping his body a clean temple of the Lord, except now he was keeping it clean for an entirely different reason.
Theresa the Midwife (as Shane called her), wasn’t actually that bad. She was a massively tall and wide woman, but she had soft eyes and a warm smile. She was strict, though, and doubly-so with Brendon who was already some kind of ticking time-bomb.
“With all of the unknown factors surrounding your pregnancy, one of the only ways we can really work to ensure your safety and the safety of your baby is to keep you both healthy,” she’d said.
So, an even more regimented diet it was with no caffeine and no alcohol and no smoke and that was why Brendon couldn’t help eyeing Jon and Ryan’s wine glasses enviously, and that was also why he couldn’t help but hate them for smoking up when they knew he couldn’t.
Brendon poked at a crisp piece of lettuce and then speared it with his fork. “I hate being knocked up,” he said.
Spencer leaned into Jon and giggled. “Dude, you’re barely even pregnant yet. What are you gonna do when you’re, like, the size of a barge?”
Jon started humming low under his breath while Brendon glared at Spencer and Ryan picked up the tune easily enough, adding his own voice to it. Even without the words, the song was distinctly recognizable. Brendon glared at both of them, too.
“Is that ‘Gaston’? Are you humming ‘Gaston’?”
Brendon loved that song. He was trying to be pissed off here, but he loved that stupid song and his stupid stoned friends were grinning at him like they knew he couldn’t stay mad when there was Disney to be sung.
Ryan warbled, “no one fights like Gaston,”
“douses lights like Gaston,” Jon joined in.
Spencer grinned and sang, “in a wrestling match nobody bites like Gaston.”
They stared at Brendon, they always left him the fucking girl parts, and he crossed his arms and tried to ignore their wagging eyebrows and wide-wide eyes. Ryan leaned forward, elbows on the table like the wicked heathen he was, and said, “Brendon.”
Brendon closed his eyes and scuffed his toe against the floor and sighed.
“For there’s no one as burly and brawny,” Brendon sang flatly, and Jon, Ryan and Spencer smiled.
“As you see I’ve got biceps to spare,” Jon sang, flexing his biceps.
Ryan nodded gravely and reached across the table to squeeze the muscle.
“Oh, hey,” Ryan said. “You are pretty burly and brawny, Jon,” he said, squeezing again.
Jon’s eyes twinkled. “I know, right?”
Spencer laughed, his head falling to Jon’s shoulder. Brendon watched them and rolled his eyes but he couldn’t stay annoyed for long. He loved them too much, loved them whether they were sober or not, but mostly he loved them when they could be like this. Dorks in arms.
“This isn’t gonna change, is it?” Brendon asked before he could stop himself.
Three pairs of painfully familiar eyes looked up at him. Ryan nudged their shoulders together.
“I don’t know. Change happens,” he said slowly.
Brendon sighed and rolled a cherry tomato around the edge of his plate. “But us. This.”
“Does it matter?” Jon asked, and Brendon looked up to see him with his serious face on, eyes grave, mouth set. “Does it? I mean, you know we’re not going anywhere. So does a little change really matter in the long run?”
Having a kid was a pretty big change and they all knew it, but Brendon looked around the table at his best friends and realized that as long as he had them, he would be okay. Spencer smiled his brightest smile and plucked a cucumber from Brendon’s plate with his fingers.
“Stop killing our buzz, Brendon,” he said, extending the food with raised eyebrows, “and don’t worry so much.”
Brendon leaned forward to take the cucumber slice into his mouth. “I can’t help it,” he said around his chewing.
Ryan tipped his head over onto Brendon’s shoulder and said, “we’ll be here to worry with you. That’s not going to change.”
Jon and Spencer nodded and Brendon bit his lip and looked back down at his salad.
“Eat,” Ryan said without lifting his head.
“Oh, hey, you know what we should do?” Jon said, lighting up and dispelling the tension hanging over the table with natural ease.
“What?” Spencer asked.
“Ice cream and Spinal Tap.”
Brendon grinned and said, “we do that all the time.”
Jon smiled back and flicked a stray strip of napkin at him. “I know.”
Previous
Next