Into the Woods 3b

[manipulant]

Gerard blinks. "What."

"Yeah, I. ...Yeah?" Brendon fumbles, raising his eyebrows. He realizes he shouldn't feel this incredibly awkward or this incredibly guilty, like he's totally letting Gerard Not-Way down by having the temerity to have this really awesome girl who lets him kiss her. He frowns, and feels more fucked-up than normal, and squeezes his arms tighter around his chest.

Gerard's face darkens, and all the candles in the cottage sputter out. Brendon blinks, and peers into the half-light of the room, all shadows and brief patches of pale light. "Well, congratulations," Gerard drawls, turning his back, heading to the kitchen.

Brendon winces as he hears Gerard's coffee mug slamming down onto the windowsill, and then he frowns and tries to reason with himself - there's no reason he has to feel bad about this. Gerard made a mistake, and Brendon told him he had, and he had done so nicely. What the fuck. "Hey, gosh, thanks," he says sarcastically. "I really appreciate it."

Gerard's roots are starting to show white. It's weird, actually, like watching stop-motion film except in real time. Like watching someone grow old in front of him. "You don't know how people get here, then?" Gerard asks, whirling around, black fabric catching in the movement and billowing out. Brendon suspects that the hoodie-cloak-thing is growing, he watches the jagged edges of it writhe and slip across the floor. "You don't know why you and Spencer were sucked in?"

"Yeah, I know why," Brendon replies, pissed-edging-to-freaked-out, watching the edges of the material slink closer to the cage. "A psychopath in a bookstore gave us the book and we totally fell for it, because while we are pretty smart dudes on our own, together Spencer and I have the combined intellectual prowess of...something really stupid, I don't know. A goat."

Gerard just stares, long enough to make Brendon seriously uncomfortable. "Wow, you really don't put much stock in self-analysis, do you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Brendon yelps, stung.

"It means that you obviously have no idea why you do things," Gerard explains, and he would sound almost kindly if he didn't still have death in his eyes, like was seriously trying to talk himself out of doing Brendon physical harm. His hair has turned fully back into the white-silver color, which makes his eyes and his cheekbones and basically everything about his face look gaunt and white and terrifying.

"I know why I do things!"

"Bullshit, you do." Gerard stalks over to the cage, settling down in a crouch a few feet from it, eye-level with Brendon suddenly and his eyes are boring holes into Brendon's head. "Believe me, I know about this. I've been there."

"Yeah?" Brendon recoils a little, but then catches himself, and glares right back at Gerard, not letting himself flinch. "Sounds to me like you haven't been much of anywhere, actually."

"Oh." Gerard pulls a mock-pout. "Oh, ow. Okay, I meant that I used to date girls because that way I could stare at Frank as much as I wanted and if someone caught me, I could always just say 'no way, I have a girlfriend, man!'" He raises his voice up for the last part, into a mealy-mouthed squeak just leaking disdain. "Oh, or I could say that I was just thinking about painting him, or drawing him, or that the composition of him and the background was really intriguing." He laughs a little, remembering. "God, I had so many excuses for wanting to get him naked, seriously."

Brendon just stares at him, completely at a loss for what to say. His throat is dry, and it hurts to swallow. "Um..."

"You know that sometimes I'd get drunk just so that he'd come and take care of me?" Gerard says, frowning, having to reach inside his cloak for his cigarettes, fumbling one of the packet and lighting it with slightly-trembling fingers. He takes a long, deep drag and holds it for a second, before he continues, smoke leaking out of his mouth as he speaks. "I was so...it wasn't even just wanting him, at that point, I fucking. God, I loved him. He's so amazing, you don't even." He trails off and tilts his chin up, examining the cigarette in his fingers before he casts a sidelong glance at Brendon. "You and Spencer, you've known each other for years, right?"

"Well, yeah - "

"Work together too, don't you?"

"Um. Yeah, but - "

"And there used to be more of you, didn't there, but now it's just the two of you and god, you just have no idea how tightly you cling to him, do you?" He smiles a little, wry, and there's a darkness, a twist to the expression that makes Brendon's skin prickle. "You have no idea how you look at him. Like he's the only thing in the world that matters."

Gerard shrugs, and sucks on the cigarettes again, exhaling a plume of smoke. "It's kind of beautiful, actually," he admits. "Fucked up, but. The sort of thing I wish I could paint."

"I." Brendon can feel the blood draining out of his face, feel his hands starting to shake a little. "Look, shut the fuck up, you don't know what we've been through."

"Yeah," Gerard laughs, humorlessly, "I do. Been there, remember? And he takes care of you, doesn't he? Not like your girlfriend does," he says, "he doesn't get the fun stuff. He takes care of all the boring day-to-day shit for you, doesn't he? He reminds you when - when the trash is full, and when it's your parents' birthdays, and you fucking let him and you doodle in your journals and have big ideas and you have no fucking clue how bad it would hurt to lose him, do you?"

"Fuck you," Brendon breathes, eyes wide, hunched up against the corner of the cage. "I almost did. I almost fucking did, I thought I had - "

"So you went and you got a girlfriend, didn't you," Gerard says, a mean little smile curling across his face, "because god help you if you had to be alone with yourself, if you had to pull yourself up out of the hole you found yourself in - "

"Fucking shut up, Gerard, god - " Brendon chokes. His eyes are starting to sting, shit, and any minute Spencer's going to walk back in the door and wonder what the fuck is going on, and oh shit, shit.

"Think about it," Gerard says, his voice little more than a whisper, still staring right at Brendon. "Can you even imagine it? Him not being there, for when you want to do something fucking ridiculous at two in the morning and nobody else would get why, or when you need to make sure you're not going fucking crazy and he's the only one who could possibly be a good judge since he was there too?"

Brendon swallows, and shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut to try to get Gerard's stare out of his brain. All it does is take him back to the worst times, the shitty practice space in Vegas, the completely silent "boys' nights out" in South Africa, the times he spent curled up on Shane's couch, convinced tomorrow'd be the day things finally blew up.

He thinks about Spencer deflecting Ryan's attention for long enough to let Brendon get his cool back when he was trying to wrap his mouth around the lyrics for Sins for the first time. The water bottles and Red Bulls that Spencer could find on their bus when no one else could, and how they'd shared a room all through Africa, fuck Zack's lottery system. Spencer's hand on his back or his shoulder just when he was about to say something unforgivable during those last few "practices."

He thinks about Spencer, sprawled like a cat on his shitty futon in that first apartment in Vegas, complaining about the lack of air-conditioning; Spencer sprawled on the sofa in the bus lounge, complaining about the lack of air-conditioning; Spencer sprawled on the sofa of their house, complaining about how Brendon totally cheated on that Guitar Hero battle. Spencer's quick smile and the way he tries to smother it before anyone catches him at it, the way he could always say just the right thing to make Ryan realize he was being an ass, the way his eyes looked when he realized he couldn't, anymore.

"Fuck," Brendon says, sucking a breath deep into his lungs and holding it there, curling his knees up protectively. He drops his head down on them, and exhales it slowly. "Oh. Fuck." He shudders, and bangs his fist down on the ground beside him, swallowing thickly. "Shit, I was doing such a good job of not thinking about this anymore, goddamn it, Gerard."

There's a small sound near him, fabric skritching over wood, and Brendon doesn't lift his head up until there's the feeling of a hand pressed to his shoulder. He starts, and tilts his head enough to see - Gerard's in the cage with him, crowded in beside him, looking sort of apologetic. "Brendon."

"Maybe leave me the fuck alone for a minute," Brendon suggests, his voice thick as he drops his head back down. He exhales raggedly, and shivers a little as Gerard moves his hand up to rub the back of his neck.

"Hey," Gerard says, squeezing his shoulder. "Look, I'm sorry. I know I can get a little..."

"Scary?" Brendon supplies.

"I was gonna go for 'intense,' but whatever." There's a small pause, and a sigh, and Brendon feels himself being pulled into an awkward, gangly hug. He's tense for a second, but then he decides to just go with it, and he sags down into Gerard's hoodie. It smells like cigarettes and oranges and unwashed hair, but it's oddly comforting anyway. "Yours stayed," he says simply. "So you've already got one up on some of us, right?"

"His best friend left," Brendon mutters, the words half-lost in Gerard's clothes. He can feel Gerard duck down, the heat of his breath against his cheek, but he can't make himself shift up and speak clearly. "His best friend. For, like, forever. I couldn't - I didn't know how to compete with that. I didn't really think I should, you know?" He frowns, and turns his head a little so he can breathe, resting his head on what he assumes is Gerard's shoulder. "It's. ...Okay, long story short, I grew up in a house where pretty much everything was sacred. Or off-limits. And then I grew up and found out that, y'know, almost nothing is, but Spencer and Ryan were always Spencer and Ryan and they were always the one thing that actually was." He laughs, and gestures with a hand. "You know. Sacred and off-limits and everything. I don't know."

"So...what, they were fucking?"

Brendon rolls his eyes and huffs. "No, dickbag, jesus. I'm saying that kind of because of me - and other shit, but a lot of it was me - the one best, most constant thing in Spencer's life busted up and I'm still trying to figure that shit out. Also he might be harboring resentment or something, I don't know."

"I'm not hearing much about your permanent heart-eyes for him, though," Gerard remarks placidly, reaching over to tweak Brendon's nose. Brendon bats his hand away and glowers up at him, but privately, he's not very annoyed. He hasn't had anyone do that since his brothers and sisters left home - let him cuddle up, and tease him, without the threat of seriously getting his ass kicked. "I'm just hearing a lot of self-fulfilling prophecy bullshit about your star-crossed love."

"Christ," Brendon breathes, tilting his head up to look at the ceiling, laughing at himself quietly. "Dude, the hearteyes are probably the second most constant thing in Spencer's life, not that he knows it," Brendon admits. "It sort of...god, this sounds pathetic, but it sort of doesn't even register anymore, not even for me," he laughs. "And by now, we've friend-boxed each other so hard that it's a moot point, you know?" He shrugs a shoulder. "Just, sometimes I have flare-ups."

Gerard snorts, and squeezes Brendon's shoulder, and is silent for a moment. "Okay, storytime," he says finally, scootching up close, tilting his head so it's touching Brendon's. "So Frank and I used to have this part-time gig as musicians in this little town called Bremen. There were...costumes involved, I don't know, the prince there is fucking insane and had a hard-on for Mikey for a while. I don't want to talk about it."

"Wow, this is a great story," Brendon says seriously. "I'm feeling really enlightened." Gerard pinches his side, and Brendon yelps and frog-punches his thigh, and there's a thirty-second scuffle where they both try to get in vicious pinches and slaps before they settle back down comfortably.

"So anyway, Frank and I were working together and I was a total fucking mess. I don't - I can't even." Gerard frowns, and takes a moment to gather his thoughts. "All right, as you might have guessed from the windowpanes, I used to drink. A lot. Like, a lot a lot, like there are meetings for this, a lot. And so Frank had to pick up all the slack that I was just, y'know, dropping, because I could barely fucking walk half the time, and I didn't even see it, I didn't even see how much I was taking advantage of him, how much I was fucking relying on him, until the rest of the guys had left and we were out of a job. And then one morning - one afternoon, really - I woke up, and Frank was gone, too.

"That was fucking fun, let me tell you, going from being a drunk with a job and an unpaid personal assistant to a drunk with no job and no prospects and a broken heart. Mikey put up with me for a while, but even he has his limits, and we had this huge blowup one night, and I just."

Brendon turns and looks up at Gerard, whose lips are pursed up. His eyes are a little red, too, so Brendon manages to snake an arm around him and squeezes, hooking his chin on Gerard's shoulder. He's not sure, but he thinks that that's the hoodie rubbing up against his arm like a contented cat. "Hey. You're okay."

"Well, yeah, now," Gerard says, expelling a breath with a laugh, giving Brendon this brittle little smile. "I wasn't then, I just - stormed into the woods and found this cottage and it was empty so I piled it full of all the booze I could carry and just holed up. I was going to just...I don't know, I wanted to die.

"Didn't fucking work, though, I just made myself so sick that if I even tried to drink I'd throw up, and so I decided to just stop. Because, y'know, what was I even doing with my life, right?" He gestures a little, and reaches into his hoodie, rooting around for a second before he finds his cigarettes and produces them. He wordlessly hands the pack to Brendon, who considers it for a second and then takes one, because what the hell. "So," he says, taking the last one out of the pack and popping the empty cardboard out of existence before he lights both his and Brendon's with a snap of his fingers. "So, I got sober and got the job offer and stayed. Redid the windows with the bottles," he says, pointing to them. "As a reminder. But you know what the bitch of it is?" He pauses, and laughs, eyes actually shining with mirth for a second before he continues. "I did all of this mostly because I wanted Frank - well, and Mikey - to be proud of me again. I stopped drinking, I started being a real person, I started bathing occasionally. I've held down a job for more than six months, man, which is seriously impressive, for me. And I'm so fucking terrified of finding Frank and telling him. I just. Shit, I haven't been able to do it."

Gerard shrugs a bony shoulder. "Anyway, my point is, I've fucking wasted years of my life because I've been shit-scared of going after what I want. And what do I have to show for it, but a house made of various types of death and visitors who occasionally try to roast me? Being too scared of what you want to even go after it is fucking ridiculous."

Brendon considers this for a minute, and takes a drag off his cigarette, letting the smoke fall in a thick plume out of his mouth. "Okay, point taken. And I'm glad you got sober," Brendon tells him. "That's tough, and awesome." He considers his cigarette, and then takes one more drag and hands it over to Gerard, who tsks at the waste of good tobacco but makes it disappear. "But I gotta say, no wonder you're crazy as fuck, man," he says kindly, giving Gerard another squeeze. "You're living in, like, an art installation of all your worst life decisions."

Gerard snorts as well, and starts chuckling, almost soundless. "Aren't we all?" He takes a long drag off his cigarette and sighs heavily, the smoke rushing out and dissipating quickly into the room.

Brendon watches Gerard's hand splay wide as he brings the cigarette back up to his mouth, puffing on it like pantomime silent movie star. He doesn't know why, but suddenly Brendon has this perfect fucking image of a tiny kiddie Gerard gesturing and practicing with one of his mother's unlit cigarettes, studying himself and his dramatic hand gestures in the bathroom mirror. And after that, he can't help it, he seriously can't. He starts giggling, and presses his face against Gerard's possessed hoodie. "Oh, the humanity!" he wails, muffled, flailing his outside arm dramatically. "The unbearable lightness of being, man!"

"Huh?"

Brendon peeks up at Gerard, who's giving him a thoroughly confused look. He pouts, and lolls his head back on Gerard's shoulder despondently. "You don't understand my pain. My deep, sensitive man-pain. I have to go write some very moving song lyrics now. I might draw sad pictures on my face. You don't know."

"Shut up," Gerard says, though Brendon can feel his shoulders starting to shake with laughter as he starts trying to push Brendon of of him. "Oh my god, fucking shut up, that's it, I'm never sharing anything with anyone ever again."

"You're a rock! You're an i-i-i-island!" Brendon retaliates, lifting his head up enough to give Gerard a wide grin. He clings like a limpet, not letting Gerard shrug him off, grabbing onto his flailing arms and tugging them back around himself. "Islands can cuddle, what the fuck."

"You've taken my poor fragile feelings and crushed them. Like, like eggshells," Gerard tells him matter-of-factly, obviously attempting to hide his smile.

"Sad eggshells. Eggshells that have had the egg sucked out of them, so now they're hollow," Brendon adds cheerfully.

"Seriously, I'm like. I'm fucking broken on the inside now. Awesome."

"My work here is done," Brendon tells him solemnly. Finally, Gerard's composure falters, and he starts laughing gleefully, this weird honking noise that cracks Brendon up, so that when Spencer finally wanders back in with two buckets full of water a few seconds later, he gives them both a confused look before he heads toward the kitchen.

"Do I want to know?" he asks, giving them both his best weary, longsuffering frown.

"I broke Gerard," Brendon tells him happily, hugging Gerard's head. "Like an egg."

"A hollow one," Gerard reminds him, poking him in the side. "I'm a fucking Faberge, all right?"

"Like a hollow, sort of goth-y Faberge egg," Brendon amends easily. "With lots of feelings."

Spencer regards them calmly for a minute, and nods. "Sounds about right."

"Fuck you both," Gerard says, finally tugging away from Brendon enough to magic himself out of the cage. "Ha."

"No fair," Brendon pouts, giving Gerard the best hangdog expression he can muster. "No fair, having magic and stuff." Gerard gives him a smug little smile, and flips him off as he moves over to the kitchen, helping Spencer tilt the bucket of water into the pot on the stove. The candles all re-flame simultaneously, making the three of them blink for a second before they get used to the light.

"Shut up or I won't give you any noodles," Gerard tells him, mostly unfazed. "Drink your coffee."

"You gave him coffee? Seriously?" Spencer asks, genuine alarm in his voice.

"Hi, I'm right here," Brendon says loudly. "I can actually hear you, how about that."

"I didn't say you couldn't," Spencer tells him, as he rolls up his sleeves. "Is there soap somewhere in here?" he asks Gerard, looking around the cottage in dismay.

"Um," Gerard says, looking flummoxed. "Yeah, somewhere."

Spencer gives him a thoroughly disgusted stare. "Dude, seriously, you have all this magic and you can't just...make all the trash and gross go poof?"

"He's not Mary Poppins, Spence," Brendon says, still a little miffed about the coffee comment. He's not a six-year-old, for fuck's sake.

"I...guess I could? But honestly I don't even notice it until someone new's in the house," Gerard admits, hunching his shoulders up and looking embarrassed. "Plus, I think I'm supposed to have something for people to, y'know, actually clean up."

"This is all a fucking elaborate ruse just to get free housekeeping, isn't it," Spencer says, voice flat.

"You caught me."

"Put soap in this," Spencer orders, pointing to the bucket.

Gerard rolls his eyes, but waves his hand at the bucket, which is suddenly filled with suds.

"Thank you," Spencer says primly. "Now, go and sit on the sofa and try not to make any messes, this is going to be fucking difficult enough."

Gerard gives Spencer an indignant glare, and Brendon worries for a second that Spencer's about to be turned into a frog or something (and the Frog Prince is a fairy tale Brendon doesn't really want to think about living. Unless they were in New Orleans, that could be pretty sweet). However, a moment later, Gerard just rolls his eyes and goes to sit near Brendon obediently, giving him a rueful little smile. "Pushy," he whispers to Brendon, who starts snickering quietly.

Thirty-one games of I Spy, twelve games of tic-tac-toe, and one inadvisable thumb war later, the kitchen and dining area are spotless and Gerard and Brendon are both nursing sore thumbs. Spencer, red-faced and sort of sweaty and with a manic look in his eyes, is glaring determinedly at the den area. Specifically, the bookshelves.

"If you touch them, I will kill you," Gerard tells him again, glowering mutinously from his vantage point on the sofa. "I have them arranged."

"Just let me dust them," Spencer wheedles, making a face as he runs one finger across the second-to-top bookshelf and his fingertip comes away grey. "Seriously, look at that."

"It's just dust," Gerard points out.

"It's like half an inch of dust." Brendon clarifies.

"Half an inch of dust. Which you're breathing in," Spencer says, giving them both a disappointed look. Brendon would dearly love to point out that it makes him look like his mother, but he doesn't really feel like getting his ankle re-broken just now.

Gerard rolls his eyes. "Well shit, you've really driven home the danger of this situation, fuck knows I don't want to be inhaling any harmful materials daily. That might damage my healthy pink lungs."

"Fuck you, you dust them, then."

"I'll dust them," Brendon offers, giving them both a hopeful smile. "It's my turn to clean anyway, and I'm getting really bored and stiff from being stuck in here."

"That's what she said," Gerard muses, before looking deeply horrified at himself. He turns to Spencer and glares for a few more seconds, just for spite, before he squints his eyes at the bookshelf and all the books are suddenly a lot cleaner. "There. Better?"

"Yes. Thank you." Spencer folds his arms and scowls.

"I mean, I'm just saying," Brendon tells the room mournfully. "I'm just saying, I've been a very patient, nice guy, and I would like to get out of the man-cage now. I don't really think that's too much to ask."

"Fucksake," Gerard grumbles, and he waves his hand towards Brendon, who suddenly falls over backwards when the cage disappears.

"Hey!" Brendon squawks, sitting back up, rubbing the back of his head before he realizes oh, hey, freedom. "Hey!" he says again, happily, rushing to stand up. "Oh my god," he groans, stretching his arms above his head, swinging them down in a wide arc to touch his toes. "Oh my god, standing. Standing on two feet is the greatest. No wonder our ancestors evolved."

"How's your ankle?" Spencer asks, not looking away from his glaring contest with Gerard.

Brendon tests it out, moving his foot around in a circle, both ways, jumping up and down gingerly on both feet. "Feels pretty good."

"Good." Spencer rolls his eyes and gives up, wordlessly conceding defeat to Gerard as he looks over, carefully inspecting Brendon before he nods, approving.

"Noodles," Gerard decides, getting up off the sofa now that Spencer's at a stopping point and Brendon's mobile again.

"I just got the fire going, the water isn't boiling y - " Spencer starts, but Gerard sighs and taps the handle of the pot, not bothering to comment as the water instantly starts to boil. "Right," he manages lamely, sinking down onto the sofa, closing his eyes for a second.

"All tuckered out," Brendon croons, sinking down beside him and throwing his legs over Spencer's lap. Spencer grunts and drops his arm over Brendon's legs, slouching over until his head's resting on Brendon's shoulder, but he otherwise doesn't respond. Brendon turns to rest his cheek on warm hair, steadfastly ignoring the way Gerard is smirking and waggling his eyebrows their way.

"Hey. Don't go to sleep," he warns Spence, wrinkling his nose and spluttering as a stray piece of hair gets in his mouth. "Gonna eat soon."

"Yeah," Spencer mutters, obviously already near to dozing, from the way he slurs the word out. Brendon rolls his eyes and threads an arm across the back of the sofa, twisting his hand so he can run it through Spencer's hair slowly.

"Look at you, lying to me," Brendon murmurs, the corner of his mouth against Spencer's head. Spence makes an apologetic noise, but doesn't contradict him, and Brendon jumps a little at the sudden press of the cold tip of Spencer's nose to his neck. "Dick," he grumbles, giving Spence's hair a tug.

"...Should I put in squash? I think they're still good," Gerard calls from near the stove, looking dubiously at a couple of yellow squash he's holding up in one hand.

"If you want," Brendon tells him, careful not to talk too loud, since Spencer's breathing is starting to fall into the shallow cadence it always hits when he's just dropping off. He thinks about how he should probably get up, and help with the noodles, but he glances down at the sweep of Spencer's eyelashes, his closed eyes, and admits to himself that it's not going to happen. "Look, seriously, you could just make plain noodles and it'd be awesome."

"Gross, I'm not eating plain noodles," Gerard says, matter-of-fact, giving Brendon a sneaky sidelong look. "And I promise I'm not going to make you eat something that's disgusting. I'm a good cook."

"Okay." Brendon's lack of confidence must be evident in his voice, because Gerard rolls his eyes.

"You just sit there and look pretty and keep pretending you're not cuddling, and I'll do dinner, deal?" he says, gesturing threateningly with a wooden spoon.

"Not cuddling," Brendon mutters mutinously, wrapping his arm more securely around Spencer's shoulder, tugging him in til Spencer snuffles and drapes over him, one arm moving around his middle.

"No, not at all," Gerard says, gazing unblinkingly at the tangle of Brendon and Spencer until Brendon flips him off and shuts his eyes for a moment too. He's not tired, not in a way that will actually let him sleep, but it's easier for him to focus on the easy rhythm of Spencer's breathing and the songs Gerard keeps humming under his breath as he works.

Brendon listens to the small clatters as Gerard keeps throwing stuff into the dinner pot, and he strokes the soft, downy hair behind Spencer's ear, and tries not to think about how everything in him feels still, and happy, and sweet.

He drifts, not really asleep but certainly not conscious enough to hold a conversation, for howevermany minutes it takes Gerard to figure out his noodles and his vegetables and the combination thereof. He doesn't bother opening his eyes, though, until he's hit by the tail-end of a pepper. It drops into his lap, and Brendon gives Gerard a disgruntled look, stretching a little. "What was that for?"

"It's almost done," Gerard tells him, stirring the pot on the stove with single-minded focus, even as the table behind him sets itself.

Brendon watches the plates and cups hover in the air before setting down precisely, and then he shakes his head and reaches down to shake Spencer's shoulder. "Spence. Wake up, food's ready."

Spencer frowns and bats at Brendon's hand, curling up against him a little tighter. "'k off," he grumbles, sliding his forehead down onto Brendon's shoulder.

"Nope," Brendon tells him, pinching his arm lightly. "Food. Noodles, Spence, you like noodles."

"Your mom likes noodles," Spencer mumbles, shaking his head but pulling back a little, still refusing to open his eyes.

"You're right, she does," Brendon agrees, reaching one hand up so he can pinch Spencer's nose closed. That only lasts a second, though, because Spencer darts his tongue out to swipe across Brendon's wrist, and Brendon yelps and lets go.

"Ha," Spencer says, stretching lazily, finally opening his eyes to give Brendon a triumphant little smirk. Brendon glares, and pokes a finger in his stomach, watching, satisfied, as Spencer curls up around his middle protectively, like a potato bug. "Douche," Spencer mutters. Then he turns to look over his shoulder. "Hey, d'you want help?"

"No, I think it's done," Gerard says, gazing down at the pot bemusedly. "It's...it's not usually this green."

"What sort of green are we talking, here?" Brendon asks warily. "Like, leafy vegetables green, or radioactive nuclear waste green?"

"I dunno," Gerard says, shrugging and spooning the contents out onto plates, letting them hover over to the table on their own. "A sort of green it usually isn't. It tastes good, though, I did a taste test!" he assures them, with a wide-eyed, earnest look that Brendon doesn't have the heart to make fun of.

"Maybe we'll get superpowers," Spencer mumbles groggily, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips til they lose the heavy-lidded sleepy look. He stretches, his body a long line that Brendon doesn't stare at, and rocks up into standing. "Dibs on flying."

"Hey, no fair," Brendon says, pouting up at him. "Flying's the best."

"You could have telekinesis," Gerard offers, studiously avoiding Brendon's eyes, concentrating on putting the finishing touches on the table. "Then you could read people's thoughts."

"Telepathy is reading people's thoughts," Spencer corrects, a little too quickly to be believed. He seems to realize this, and gives them both a hunted look. "Telekinesis is when you can move shit with your brain. It's totally normal that I know this. Shut up."

"No, yeah, totally normal," Gerard tells him, amused. "I think you're totally normal for knowing that, Spencer." And then he gives Spencer a wide, big-eyed, incredibly unsettling smile.

"Thank you," Spencer says, and immediately looks at the floor.

Brendon rolls his eyes, and risks a quick glance at Spencer, who's still attempting to recover from his outburst of geekery, thank god. (He's looking a little bit flushed, though, and for a second Brendon is worried that he's running a fever. He doesn't want to see the cure Gerard has in store for that.) "Yeah, no," he says firmly. "I would...teleport. Apparate." He gestures with a hand. "The 'beam me up Scotty' shit."

"Oh, that'd be good," Spencer muses, stretching and then standing up, slapping at Brendon's hand when Brendon whines and tries to pull him back down so he can lean on him some more. "You could beam us back home." He stuffs his hands in his pockets and lopes over to the table, wincing at the food on the table and helping Gerard clear off the stove.

Brendon sighs and lolls his head back against the sofa for a while, gazing at the two of them together. Gerard and Spencer both seem to be competing in an unspoken bad posture contest, and Brendon sort of wants to go over there and thump Spencer in the middle of the back til he stands up straight.

However, he settles for watching them fondly, watching Spence scrub a pot until Gerard rolls his eyes and snaps his fingers and the pot's clean. He smirks a little at the glare Spencer gives Gerard, and then feels his stomach twist in an old, mostly unenjoyable way.

Pete told him once, back during their NRWC days, that getting a crush on a bandmate was pretty much inevitable. It was what you did after you got the crush that really mattered. "You grow up. You get the fuck over yourself and you get the fuck over him and you do not fuck things up, anymore than you already have," Pete said, staring down at his hands, watching them shake as he shredded the back cover of one of Ryan's APs.

Which was, oddly, pretty sound advice to be coming from Pete Wentz.

Brendon took it to heart, and it did help after a while. After a while, he retrained himself to look ahead during interviews instead of at the others for validation, he got laid a few times, he got a tattoo. He kept his eyes on the floor, or on the press, or on the crowd. It got easier not to look over for smiles, nods, laughs. It got easier not to put just a little more private emphasis on the laughs and grins he got from Spence.

Sometimes, though, something can jar him back into being seventeen and stupid, feeling like he'll fucking die of it when he watches Spencer do something completely unremarkable and completely beautiful. Right now, it's Spencer tilting his forehead towards Gerard's, the two of them talking in hushed voices near the sink, grinning. Brendon can see just the side of Spencer's smile, and the last rays of the sun are red and pink through the kitchen window, and Brendon wants suddenly, wants so badly to hold onto this and never leave, even though it isn't his.

He sucks in a breath and stands, stretching and walking the perimeter of the den area to give himself time to fucking get it together before he goes over to join them. He notices Spencer muttering something about Frank said and Gerard looking delighted, and then the two of them go quiet and happy and Spencer's stomach growls, and the three of them sit down to eat.

Gerard's food really is fucking neon green, but he's right, it does taste good. And after the tours they've been on, Brendon really can't say he hasn't eaten weirder.

"Oh my god, I'm going to die," Brendon whimpers, pushing his bowl away and rubbing a hand over his stomach. "M'going to die of so much food."

"Turned out pretty okay," Gerard nods, slowly pulling his spoon out of his mouth, licking it spotless. "I wish I'd been paying more attention, because fuck if I know what made it that color," he sighs.

"If we sprout feathers in the next couple of hours, I know who I'm blaming," Spencer says evenly, though he's totally cleaned his bowl as well, he's not fooling anyone.

"No!" Gerard yelps, stung. "Fuck no, man, I wouldn't." He blinks, and bites his lip, and gives Brendon a sheepish sidelong glance. "...I mean, at least not knowingly. And feathers are totally hard to do, you can't just mix characteristics from species like that without knowing it."

Brendon snorts, and leans down to rest his head on the table, groaning at the sudden change in position. "Seriously. Dying."

"Well, you ate like half the pot," Spencer points out. Brendon can hear him push his chair out, and then the clank and clatter of the dishes being gathered.

"It was so good," Brendon protests, lifting his head up to give Spencer a hangdog look. Spencer's unfazed, however, and continues gathering the dishes. Brendon gets up and wobbles a little (from the food, not from his ankle) and heads over to the sofa, sinking down onto it with a relieved moan.

"Oh hey," Gerard says, sitting up a little, giving them both a startled look, "I made one of you clean and I made one of you eat too much!"

"...Yeah?" Brendon says, raising his eyebrows in a silent prompt.

"That's, like." Gerard's shoulders deflate a little. "That's basically my job description. But I actually did it this time, holy shit."

The three of them share bemused little smiles, and then Spencer starts doing the dishes, and gives Gerard a look when he makes vague protesting noises. Gerard's a quick study, though, and he subsides easily, coming to sink down on the sofa beside Brendon, who's used to letting Spencer do dishes. "It makes him feel needed, or something," Brendon confides in a stage whisper, tilting his head towards Gerard a little. "I think he secretly wants to be Donna Reed."

"I'm not the one in a dress right now," Spencer points out, from where he's dunking a plate in soapy water.

"I'm sorry you're jealous of my dress," Brendon shoots back.

"I'm sorry you'd rather live in squalor than clean some plates."

"I'm sorry you think a couple of dirty plates is squalor."

"I'm sorry I'm not as into botulism and food poisoning as you are."

"I'm starting to rethink this whole shoving me into an oven thing," Gerard cuts in, rubbing his chin absently. "I might be down with it, depending on how long you guys wanna keep this up."

There's a small pause.

"I'm sorry your attempts at conversation made Gerard contemplate suicide," Brendon tells Spencer, sighing sadly.

It's well past sunset by the time Brendon and Spencer manage to convince Gerard that they don't need to stay the night. "I just turned the pallet! And it's new, I got it last summer! And Alicia washed the blankets only like a month ago!" he protests, giving them both a mournful look. Brendon can practically hear Spencer's cringe behind him, and he pats Gerard's shoulder manfully.

"Dude, we'll be fine. And I do sorta want to get out of this dress sometime in the near future," Brendon reminds him, gazing ruefully down at the total wreck that is his pinafore.

"The colors are all wrong," Gerard agrees, and Brendon actually can't tell if he's joking or not. "And you - oh." He stills, and then a huge smile breaks out all over his face. Brendon recoils a little, leaning back into Spencer, but before either of them can respond, Gerard hops off the sofa and does this weird little loping skip to the door, swinging it wide open. "Hey!"

At the door, with his hand still poised to knock, is a guy who looks like he might have more elbows and angles than even Ryan. "You know I hate it when you do that," he mutters, giving Gerard a dour look as he shuffles inside and starts unwinding an extralong scarf from around his head.

"This is my brother!" Gerard beams, waving a hand at the guy. "Mikey, this is Brendon and Spencer. Brendon's the one in the dress." Both Brendon and Spencer wave, confused.

"Hey," Mikey says, totally unruffled, as he finally gets to the other end of the scarf. He deposits what must be at least twenty feet of fabric into the nearest chair, and reaches out the still-open door to drag in a big linen bag. "Alicia says she's not doing your laundry anymore until you finish the portrait of Winston."

"She always says that," Gerard scoffs. "Anyway, it's almost done, I just can't get the texture of his fur to look right."

"Um," Brendon says, raising his hand up to interject a very necessary what the fuck, but Spencer silently reaches for his hand and pulls it back down, shooting him a don't ask or we'll never get out kind of look.

The two not-Way brothers bicker for a little bit more in the doorway, and then they simultaneously reach some sort of unvoiced truce - Mikey picks up the huge bag of clothes and tosses it like a beanbag into Gerard's bedroom. Brendon can hear Spencer's small noise of approbation, and he knows his own eyes have just gone a little bit wide. Gerard goes to try to scrounge up something for Mikey to eat, and Mikey comes and perches (like a bat, Brendon thinks - maybe it runs in the family) on the back of the chair opposite the sofa, giving him and Spencer a curious - though thoroughly unimpressed - look.

"So. Two guys, huh?"

Brendon can feel his face flushing.

"So. Not human, huh?" Spencer shoots back, tilting his head and giving Mikey his best unfazed look back.

Mikey smiles a secret little smile at them, and then curls his lip up on one side then the other, tonguing the suddenly really visible fangs where his incisors should be. The hand Spencer has on Brendon's arm tightens, and Brendon edges between the two of them a little.

"Neat," he says, shooting for "amiable."

"Gee's usually run his visitors off by now. Or they've tried to cook him," Mikey observes, fixing Brendon with a very blank, somehow very unsettling look.

"We haven't tried to cook him," Brendon assures him. "Spencer cleaned the cottage and I...um, I provided entertainment, and we had dinner, and now we're getting ready to leave. That's all."

"Huh." Mikey looks around, his eyebrows quirking as he takes in the lack of gross coating the surfaces of the house, and when he turns back to them, there's almost something like acceptance in his expression. "Okay." Spencer's hand relaxes on Brendon's arm, and Brendon exhales slowly, and Gerard finally comes back with a bowl of something that looks distressingly like raw meat.

"They're nice," Gerard tells him, thumping Mikey on the shoulder as he hands the bowl over. Mikey makes a face and sniffs the contents, then starts to delicately pick at them. "Frank liked them."

Mikey looks up sharply. "They saw Frank?"

"Yeah, he's cool," Brendon chimes in enthusiastically. "He let me play his guitar."

Mikey's eyebrows shoot up into his hair, and he exchanges glances with Gerard, chewing thoughtfully. There's a complicated waggling of eyebrows from the both of them, and Brendon loses interest after half a minute - he's spent the last five years trying to figure out eyebrow conversations between Spencer and Ryan, and he's never had any luck.

Eventually, they settle whatever issue it was they were discussing, and Gerard sighs. "Fine," he grumbles, shoving off the sofa and heading towards the front door. "Back in a minute," he warns, mostly in Mikey's direction, and he closes the door behind himself.

"What," Spencer says, flat.

Mikey rubs a hand over his face, looking really tired all of a sudden, and Brendon remembers how he's the only one who saw Gerard at his worst. "How was Frank?"

"He's in love with Gerard," Brendon says quickly, sort of startled at himself afterwards. "Um. He talked to Spencer about it." He glances back at Spencer, who gives him a gee, thanks kind of glare.

"Yeah, duh," Mikey grumbles, propping his chin in his hand, resting his elbow on his knee. "They've been so fucking stupid about each other for years, you don't even know."

"He said he might go visit," Spencer pipes up. "After we leave."

"Yeah?" Mikey's eyebrows quirk up again, just a little, and he looks down at his half-eaten bowl of carnage with something akin to surprise in his eyes. "Huh."

"So...yeah," Brendon says, feeling sort of wrong-footed. There's obviously something to this conversation he's just not getting, but a look back at Spencer shows him to be just as confused, so really -

"So like," Mikey starts, interrupting Brendon's train of thought. "Gerard sort of sucks at this part and since you didn't try to char-broil him, I'm gonna do it." He reaches up and pushes a few tendrils of hair behind his ears, and Brendon's struck by the family resemblance and by how dead Mikey really does look - too-white and shadowed and bony. "To get out, you have to go in," and here he gestures towards the open windows looking out into the forest, "and not everything in there is as much of a pushover as Gee is."

"I'm not a pushover!" Gerard shouts from the other side of the door. Mikey just rolls his eyes at the two of them.

"Seriously, there's some fucked-up shit."

"Cheshire cats?" Spencer asks solemnly, and Brendon has to quickly look down at his hands to hide his grin.

Mikey gives Spence a cool look. "The only reason I'm not eating you right now," he says calmly, "is that my brother likes you."

"We really appreciate that, by the way," Brendon hurries to interject, elbowing Spencer in the stomach as he does.

"Yeah, no problem. Just I'm telling you to be careful out there, so, y'know. Be careful. Look out for each other. Don't wander off where the other guy can't see you."

"No, yeah, we totally have a buddy system worked out," Brendon assures him, helpful. "Buddy?" He holds up his hand.

Spencer doesn't even miss a beat; he reaches up and grabs Brendon's hand. "Buddy." Favorite, Brendon thinks to himself, beaming at Mikey.

Mikey blinks at them slowly, like a cat deciding whether or not it really wants to go to the trouble of getting up and pouncing on a mouse. "Seriously, don't let it go too long without checking in, all right?"

"We won't," Brendon promises, looking up at him, barely flinching as Mikey regards him for another long moment.

"Okay," he says finally, then he leans back and calls towards the door, "Talk's over now, you can stop eavesdropping."

"I wasn't eavesdropping," Gerard protests, in the two seconds it takes for him to open the door and stumble back inside. Brendon snickers as both Spencer and Mikey give him matching who do you think you're fooling stares, and Gerard heads over to his tiny pantry and produces a basket and starts throwing stuff inside. "I found the lantern; you'll need it. It's on the front step. And this is for your breakfast tomorrow, just in case, and - Mikey, did you see where that water skein went?"

"God," Mikey snorts, dropping his head to his chest, snickering softly. "No, I haven't seen it."

"I don't think you need to worry about it," Brendon tells them, feeling sort of guilty for taking Gerard's stuff. "We usually just...pop in and out of the stories when they're finished."

"Yeah," Gerard and Mikey both say, equally dubious. "...Well, just in case," Gerard follows up finally, giving them both a vaguely sick-looking smile.

Mikey finds the water skein, and fills it from the well, and Spencer manages to persuade Gerard that they really, really don't need hand-churned butter or another two loaves of bread in the basket he's packed for them. "And make sure he actually cleans every once and a while," Spencer orders Mikey, frowning a little at both of them, hands on his hips. "Or he's going to get tapeworms and die."

"Okay, okay," Mikey says, looking hunted, folding his arms tight across his skinny chest.

"Like hell I am," Gerard says, suddenly looking fierce and sort of determined. "I'm going to go visit Frank. And make out with him, maybe?" He looks pale, but sort of hopeful, at the idea.

Brendon whoops and throws his arms up, victory-style, and Spencer gives Gerard an encouraging grin, but Mikey just scowls even more. "The mental image of the tapeworms was less scarring, actually."

"So much making out," Spencer assures him.

"And probably happy naked dick-touching times!" Brendon tacks on cheerfully, pleased at the way Gerard's eyes threaten to fall out of his head at the prospect.

"Thanks for that," Mikey sighs, pushing all of them out the front door, so they can at least stand around and be awkward outside, that's a step closer to their eventual goal of leaving.

It's like it hits all of them at once that shit, Brendon and Spencer are both going to just walk into the black, seriously foreboding-looking forest looming over them on all sides, and they're probably never going to see this Gerard, or this Mikey, again. Gerard sucks a breath in and squeezes his hands together in front of his chest painfully, and Mikey scuffs the toe of his boot into the ground, making a series of small divots. Brendon glances over, and even Spencer is shifting from foot to foot, avoiding everyone's eyes.

"Whatever," he huffs, before he all but tackles Gerard in a hug. He doesn't mind the way Gee squeaks, or how it takes him a couple of seconds to catch on and actually hug back, because once he does, Gerard kinda clings. "Thank you," Brendon says, shocked to find himself actually choking up a little.

"You too," he hears Gerard mumble. Brendon exhales, sort of shaky, and Gerard pats his back kindly, and Brendon just...really really hopes he finds Frank and the two of them work it out, he hopes it so much his heart hurts.

He can hear Spencer and Mikey talking to each other quietly a few feet away, exchanging tips on emotional reticence or whatever, and eventually he and Gerard are all hugged out. Brendon's barely pulled away before Gerard lunges for Spencer and pulls him into an equally fierce hug, and Brendon can't help chuckling at Spencer's look of total shock, before he glances over and notices Mikey watching his brother and Spence with a curious expression.

"Um, thanks for the talk," Brendon tells him, wishing his apron had pockets so he could have somewhere to put his hands. As it is, they're just sort of flailing awkwardly.

"You're welcome," Mikey tells him, giving him a tiny, tiny smile. And then he glances, lightning-quick, over at Spencer and Gerard again and Brendon decides - he takes a couple of steps forward and snakes his arm around Mikey's skinny middle and gives him a hug too.

It's totally normal, except for how Gerard was like a furnace and Mikey's kind of like hugging a tree. He doesn't respond for the longest time, until finally Brendon feels bony arms come up and squeeze him just a little too tightly. Brendon's pleased at his progress, until a few seconds later he realizes Mikey's mouth is tilted down kind of close to his neck, and he's sucking in long, deep breaths like he's inhaling -

Brendon squeaks and pushes away, giving Mikey a filthy look as he goes to join Spencer, who's picked up the lantern and the basket and is watching, amused, from a few feet away.

"I'm telling Alicia," Gerard says to his brother primly, though from the twitch in his lips he's obviously trying not to laugh. Mikey just shrugs his shoulders and gives Gerard a flash of a guilty smile, and Brendon huffs and snakes his arm under Spencer's, hiding behind him a little.

"Well." Spencer glances behind them, towards the forest, and then gives the brothers a small wave. "See you later."

"Yup. Be careful," Mikey reminds them.

"Bye," Gerard says, his voice going a little croaky, his eyes red-rimmed and shining suspiciously brightly, all of a sudden. "I'll tell Frank you said hi."

"Good," Spencer says, since Brendon seems to have lost the ability to speak. The wrenching feeling in his stomach is exactly like the one he had as they were driving to Maryland, when he was watching Vegas grow smaller and smaller in the van's rear-view mirror until it vanished into the orange rock of the desert completely. Behind Spence, he takes a shaky breath, and leans his forehead against his shoulderblade for a second.

Spencer seems to get it, because a moment later Brendon feels fingers twining against his, Spencer's free hand taking his, using it to turn and draw him away, down the path from the cottage. He can hear Gerard managing another squeaky goodbye, but Brendon can't look back this time, he can't, so he waves goodbye over his shoulder.

Spencer's hand is warm and dry and holding tight, and Brendon doesn't look back til the forest's almost swallowed them whole and he can barely make out the lights from Gerard's cottage windows. Brendon's throat works against the knot forming there, and it must show in his face, because Spencer gives his hand a friendly squeeze, turns to look at him with nothing but fondness on his face.

"Come on," Spencer tells him kindly, and with a tug, Brendon follows him down, deeper into the night and the woods and the wild.

Four and Five A