heads down towards kansas
This has been sitting on my HD for a long while now and as much as I’ve gone back and worked on it, I think it’s never going to be the story I was planning. I kind of like it the way it is, though, so I thought why not. There’s two more things I have in there that I like way too much to simply throw out, so I’ll be putting them here as well.
The popularity of my OTP seems to be in low levels these days, but if there’s someone out there that still appreciates these dudes together, here’s half a story for you. Happy New Year!
when we get there
Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie | PG | 1671 words | Road trip fic. Title and cut text borrowed from a song by The Mountain Goats.
They set off on a Thursday at sunset. Brendon rolls down the window and feels the warm desert breeze on his face. He remembers the look on his parents’ faces, remembers not looking back or even saying goodbye to them, but it doesn’t matter now. Right there, he can only feel the wind and see Ryan smiling at the road like a promise. He closes his eyes and thinks, yes yes yes.
--
"This is not working," Brendon says, pulling off the highway and letting his head fall to his forearms, hands still firm on the steering wheel.
Ryan sighs on the passenger seat, pulling the glove compartment open and unfolding Spencer’s yellow map again. Brendon hears the shuffling of the paper and looks up, tries to take a peek at the instructions scribbled down in Spencer’s handwritting. He sighs as Ryan's finger follow a highlighted line across the sheet.
He closes his eyes again, says, "We got the wrong end."
"We might not be very far," Ryan says after a moment. He keeps tracing his finger idly over the map, reading Spencer’s instructions repeatedly to himself as Brendon throws his head back, rolling his eyes.
"Or we might be on the other side of the road, who knows," he says, a hint of angry sarcasm hanging on the edge of his voice.
They got lost somewhere in Utah and again in Oklahoma, fell asleep with the car parked on an abandoned gas station on the road to Texas, then Brendon gave up on sleeping in order to not let Ryan drive on his own. It wasn't much use, though, because now they were lost again, exhausted and running out of gas.
"We're not going to find out if we stay here." Ryan shrugs dismissively and analises the map once again. "If we continue, there must be some way back," he wonders and Brendon huffs, tired of that already.
The sun's starting to set down, the sky getting darker, and Brendon feels boneless against his seat, numb fingers and heavy head, memories of the last time he slept on something comfortable too far away to be comforting anymore.
“We’re finding a motel,” he says then, when Ryan sticks the map in front of his nose and before he can say anything else.
“I can drive if you’re tired,” Ryan offers, looking at him. “We can wait ‘til we get to Chicago, and then we take a day off at Jon’s to sleep.”
“And risk you driving us back to Sacramento instead?” Brendon shakes his head, grip tight on the steering wheel as he heads back to the road. “No, thanks.”
Ryan makes a face at that, folding the map and tucking it safely inside his pocket. “Fine,” he mumbles, “let it all out on me, like that’s going to help.” He looks out the window and away from Brendon, sighing.
Brendon huffs and keeps his back perfectly straight, arms stretched and eyes focused behind his red-framed glasses.
They fall into complete silence except for the low hum of the engine then, and after a couple of minutes, Ryan wishes they could get the signal to make the radio work there, or that Brendon would start singing like he did in Kansas. All he gets from him, though, is a tired, heavy exhale every once in a while. He stares out the window and lets the silence engulf him, rolls it all the way down for a bit of outside noise when it gets too heavy. The breeze is soft, blowing on Ryan’s face and brushing his hair back. He closes his eyes and kind of dozes off after he gets tired of staring at the never ending green fields, head resting on his hand and constantly drifting in and out of consciousness until Brendon lets out a louder sound. Ryan shakes himself awake and rolls the window back up, looks at him and notices the deep purple circles around his eyes. Brendon’s still focused on the road, looking exhausted and constantly moving his fingers as if he’s scared that he might fall asleep if he stops.
“Bren,” Ryan calls, voice a little low.
Brendon doesn’t reply, though, he just knuckles his eyes with one hand and Ryan wants to tell him to pull off so they can switch, wants to run his thumbs over Brendon’s eyelids and tell him to sleep. He doesn’t want it to be like that, doesn’t want Brendon to think this - Ryan - wasn’t worth it. It feels like Kansas all over again, after Brendon stopped singing, his words echoing quiet and piercingly inside Ryan’s head, that fear of him suddenly leaving growing on him again.
Brendon stays quiet and presses the small button on the dashboard, turning the radio on. He glances at Ryan quickly through the rearview mirror and Ryan meets his eyes briefly. He starts humming along with the faint sound that comes through the speakers then, drumming his fingers lightly on the steering wheel and focusing on the road again, as if telling Ryan not now.
Ryan rolls the window down again and sighs, quietly humming the song to himself.
--
The sky’s dark blue with the stars shining bright and far away when Brendon finally spots a motel sign. He pulls off and opens the door without a word, feels a little less tired just for the thought that he’s going to sleep in a bed and stretches his limbs out soundly. Ryan stays quiet, too, pulls their backpacks out of the backseat and stands there, waiting for him.
“Thanks,” Brendon mumbles, and it announces peace between the two of them, his voice actually sounding more tired than he thinks he is. “Do you mind sharing?” he asks then, when they’re inside, and Ryan shakes his head. It’s cheaper if they share the bed, and they only have a few dollars left until Chicago.
--
They don’t get a huge, comfortable bed, but it’s decent enough to fit the two of them and much more comfortable than the seat cushions of Ryan’s old car, so it’s on. There’s also a shower, and for that Ryan’s really glad: a bit of warm water and what’s left of the bar of soap they bought at a stop in Oklahoma and Brendon found inside his backpack.
Brendon is spread all over the mattress when Ryan gets out of the tiny bathroom, eyes closed and face peaceful, probably asleep. Ryan stops and stares, wrapping his arms around himself a little when he feels that urge to run his hands down Brendon’s body, smoothing the creases on his clothes and adding the right amount of pressure to relieve the tension from his muscles again. That strange fear sets heavily at the bottom of his stomach and he reaches for his backpack, rummages through his coat pockets until he finds the yellow map and clutches it tightly on his hand.
“Do we have any peanut butter left?” Brendon’s voice sounds soft and low, sleep-like, and Ryan is taken a little by surprise that he’s awake. He blinks and searches for his backpack. “I could use a sandwich right now,” Brendon adds.
Ryan retrieves an almost empty bottle of crunchy peanut butter and three slices of bread from Brendon’s backpack and nods. “We have enough for a sandwich and a half,” he says, reaching for his backpack again, “plus some cornflakes.”
“Sounds like dinner,” Brendon says, bringing himself up and sitting cross-legged on the bed, rubbing his knuckles against his eyes before looking at Ryan.
Ryan sits down next to him, dropping their food in the small space between them. Brendon smiles at him, tired but genuinely, and just like that that feeling’s gone and Ryan smiles back softly, a little relieved. He grabs a slice of bread and spreads peanut butter over it with a plastic knife, eyes down on the task in hand. He eats only a quarter of his sandwich and gives Brendon the other half, but Brendon shakes his head and makes him eat it all, shoving cornflakes into his mouth and chewing on them like it’s the most delicious thing he’s had in ages.
He smiles again when Ryan looks up, touches the left side of his own mouth to point out, “You’ve got peanut there.”
Ryan thumbs and licks it off, eyes darting back down quickly when Brendon keeps his eyes on him, tired expression taking up all of his face again. “Do you want to check the map again before we crash?” Ryan asks and grabs the crumpled yellow sheet, trying to distract himself from the feeling creeping back into him, making the tips of his fingers itch.
“No,” Brendon says, shaking his head slightly, “I checked with the dude downstairs, we’re not that lost, there’s a way back a few miles ahead.”
Ryan nods and, even though there’s no tension or anger in Brendon’s voice anymore, it still makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. He lies back against the hard pillow, busying his fingers with holding the map, and stares at the ceiling.
Brendon moves next to him, lying back next to Ryan and draping the thin blanket over them. Ryan adjusts himself and keeps staring at the cracked painting of the ceiling, listening to the low sound of their breathing.
“Hey,” Brendon calls after a moment, and Ryan feels his fingertips brushing against his hand as he pulls the map away from him “Can you turn off the light?”
He presses the light switcher and sets the room in half darkness, the moonlight still coming through the thin, dusty curtains. Brendon’s hand moves a little and Ryan shivers as it settles there, fingers curling slowly and almost unintentionally around his. It lasts only a few seconds, though, then Brendon’s fingers slip away and he turns on his side, presses his back against Ryan’s side.
“Good night,” he says softly and Ryan replies in a barely audible whisper, keeping his eyes open and feeling Brendon’s back move rhythmically with each breath he takes.
The popularity of my OTP seems to be in low levels these days, but if there’s someone out there that still appreciates these dudes together, here’s half a story for you. Happy New Year!
when we get there
Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie | PG | 1671 words | Road trip fic. Title and cut text borrowed from a song by The Mountain Goats.
They set off on a Thursday at sunset. Brendon rolls down the window and feels the warm desert breeze on his face. He remembers the look on his parents’ faces, remembers not looking back or even saying goodbye to them, but it doesn’t matter now. Right there, he can only feel the wind and see Ryan smiling at the road like a promise. He closes his eyes and thinks, yes yes yes.
--
"This is not working," Brendon says, pulling off the highway and letting his head fall to his forearms, hands still firm on the steering wheel.
Ryan sighs on the passenger seat, pulling the glove compartment open and unfolding Spencer’s yellow map again. Brendon hears the shuffling of the paper and looks up, tries to take a peek at the instructions scribbled down in Spencer’s handwritting. He sighs as Ryan's finger follow a highlighted line across the sheet.
He closes his eyes again, says, "We got the wrong end."
"We might not be very far," Ryan says after a moment. He keeps tracing his finger idly over the map, reading Spencer’s instructions repeatedly to himself as Brendon throws his head back, rolling his eyes.
"Or we might be on the other side of the road, who knows," he says, a hint of angry sarcasm hanging on the edge of his voice.
They got lost somewhere in Utah and again in Oklahoma, fell asleep with the car parked on an abandoned gas station on the road to Texas, then Brendon gave up on sleeping in order to not let Ryan drive on his own. It wasn't much use, though, because now they were lost again, exhausted and running out of gas.
"We're not going to find out if we stay here." Ryan shrugs dismissively and analises the map once again. "If we continue, there must be some way back," he wonders and Brendon huffs, tired of that already.
The sun's starting to set down, the sky getting darker, and Brendon feels boneless against his seat, numb fingers and heavy head, memories of the last time he slept on something comfortable too far away to be comforting anymore.
“We’re finding a motel,” he says then, when Ryan sticks the map in front of his nose and before he can say anything else.
“I can drive if you’re tired,” Ryan offers, looking at him. “We can wait ‘til we get to Chicago, and then we take a day off at Jon’s to sleep.”
“And risk you driving us back to Sacramento instead?” Brendon shakes his head, grip tight on the steering wheel as he heads back to the road. “No, thanks.”
Ryan makes a face at that, folding the map and tucking it safely inside his pocket. “Fine,” he mumbles, “let it all out on me, like that’s going to help.” He looks out the window and away from Brendon, sighing.
Brendon huffs and keeps his back perfectly straight, arms stretched and eyes focused behind his red-framed glasses.
They fall into complete silence except for the low hum of the engine then, and after a couple of minutes, Ryan wishes they could get the signal to make the radio work there, or that Brendon would start singing like he did in Kansas. All he gets from him, though, is a tired, heavy exhale every once in a while. He stares out the window and lets the silence engulf him, rolls it all the way down for a bit of outside noise when it gets too heavy. The breeze is soft, blowing on Ryan’s face and brushing his hair back. He closes his eyes and kind of dozes off after he gets tired of staring at the never ending green fields, head resting on his hand and constantly drifting in and out of consciousness until Brendon lets out a louder sound. Ryan shakes himself awake and rolls the window back up, looks at him and notices the deep purple circles around his eyes. Brendon’s still focused on the road, looking exhausted and constantly moving his fingers as if he’s scared that he might fall asleep if he stops.
“Bren,” Ryan calls, voice a little low.
Brendon doesn’t reply, though, he just knuckles his eyes with one hand and Ryan wants to tell him to pull off so they can switch, wants to run his thumbs over Brendon’s eyelids and tell him to sleep. He doesn’t want it to be like that, doesn’t want Brendon to think this - Ryan - wasn’t worth it. It feels like Kansas all over again, after Brendon stopped singing, his words echoing quiet and piercingly inside Ryan’s head, that fear of him suddenly leaving growing on him again.
Brendon stays quiet and presses the small button on the dashboard, turning the radio on. He glances at Ryan quickly through the rearview mirror and Ryan meets his eyes briefly. He starts humming along with the faint sound that comes through the speakers then, drumming his fingers lightly on the steering wheel and focusing on the road again, as if telling Ryan not now.
Ryan rolls the window down again and sighs, quietly humming the song to himself.
--
The sky’s dark blue with the stars shining bright and far away when Brendon finally spots a motel sign. He pulls off and opens the door without a word, feels a little less tired just for the thought that he’s going to sleep in a bed and stretches his limbs out soundly. Ryan stays quiet, too, pulls their backpacks out of the backseat and stands there, waiting for him.
“Thanks,” Brendon mumbles, and it announces peace between the two of them, his voice actually sounding more tired than he thinks he is. “Do you mind sharing?” he asks then, when they’re inside, and Ryan shakes his head. It’s cheaper if they share the bed, and they only have a few dollars left until Chicago.
--
They don’t get a huge, comfortable bed, but it’s decent enough to fit the two of them and much more comfortable than the seat cushions of Ryan’s old car, so it’s on. There’s also a shower, and for that Ryan’s really glad: a bit of warm water and what’s left of the bar of soap they bought at a stop in Oklahoma and Brendon found inside his backpack.
Brendon is spread all over the mattress when Ryan gets out of the tiny bathroom, eyes closed and face peaceful, probably asleep. Ryan stops and stares, wrapping his arms around himself a little when he feels that urge to run his hands down Brendon’s body, smoothing the creases on his clothes and adding the right amount of pressure to relieve the tension from his muscles again. That strange fear sets heavily at the bottom of his stomach and he reaches for his backpack, rummages through his coat pockets until he finds the yellow map and clutches it tightly on his hand.
“Do we have any peanut butter left?” Brendon’s voice sounds soft and low, sleep-like, and Ryan is taken a little by surprise that he’s awake. He blinks and searches for his backpack. “I could use a sandwich right now,” Brendon adds.
Ryan retrieves an almost empty bottle of crunchy peanut butter and three slices of bread from Brendon’s backpack and nods. “We have enough for a sandwich and a half,” he says, reaching for his backpack again, “plus some cornflakes.”
“Sounds like dinner,” Brendon says, bringing himself up and sitting cross-legged on the bed, rubbing his knuckles against his eyes before looking at Ryan.
Ryan sits down next to him, dropping their food in the small space between them. Brendon smiles at him, tired but genuinely, and just like that that feeling’s gone and Ryan smiles back softly, a little relieved. He grabs a slice of bread and spreads peanut butter over it with a plastic knife, eyes down on the task in hand. He eats only a quarter of his sandwich and gives Brendon the other half, but Brendon shakes his head and makes him eat it all, shoving cornflakes into his mouth and chewing on them like it’s the most delicious thing he’s had in ages.
He smiles again when Ryan looks up, touches the left side of his own mouth to point out, “You’ve got peanut there.”
Ryan thumbs and licks it off, eyes darting back down quickly when Brendon keeps his eyes on him, tired expression taking up all of his face again. “Do you want to check the map again before we crash?” Ryan asks and grabs the crumpled yellow sheet, trying to distract himself from the feeling creeping back into him, making the tips of his fingers itch.
“No,” Brendon says, shaking his head slightly, “I checked with the dude downstairs, we’re not that lost, there’s a way back a few miles ahead.”
Ryan nods and, even though there’s no tension or anger in Brendon’s voice anymore, it still makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. He lies back against the hard pillow, busying his fingers with holding the map, and stares at the ceiling.
Brendon moves next to him, lying back next to Ryan and draping the thin blanket over them. Ryan adjusts himself and keeps staring at the cracked painting of the ceiling, listening to the low sound of their breathing.
“Hey,” Brendon calls after a moment, and Ryan feels his fingertips brushing against his hand as he pulls the map away from him “Can you turn off the light?”
He presses the light switcher and sets the room in half darkness, the moonlight still coming through the thin, dusty curtains. Brendon’s hand moves a little and Ryan shivers as it settles there, fingers curling slowly and almost unintentionally around his. It lasts only a few seconds, though, then Brendon’s fingers slip away and he turns on his side, presses his back against Ryan’s side.
“Good night,” he says softly and Ryan replies in a barely audible whisper, keeping his eyes open and feeling Brendon’s back move rhythmically with each breath he takes.