fic: winter's passing (2/2)
continued from part one
*
Another storm passes through, keeping them inside. Brendon finds the library and spends an hour perusing the shelves. It's an eclectic collection, ranging from tawdry romances to scientific tomes wider than his hand. Brendon's singing quietly to himself, a nonsense tune made of passing titles, authors, and other random words, when he feels something cold brush his hand.
Brendon looks down in surprise to find Blue sitting there, watching him. A second later the wolf licks his hand, rumbles a few odd noises at Brendon and finally whines. Crouching down, Brendon runs a tentative hand over the fur of Blue's neck. At this level, the wolf stands eye to eye with Brendon and it's a bit disconcerting. The wolf's eyes really are an astonishing shade of blue. He whines again and Brendon can't help it. If Jon can talk to the wolf without feeling like an idiot, so can he, "What is it, Blue, you bored too?"
"He wants you to keep singing." Brendon startles enough at Ryan's monotone that he nearly falls over, fingers clutching in fur.
"What?"
"He wants you to sing, he-" Ryan's not looking at him, but staring at Blue instead. The wolf's looking straight back, "-your voice, he, ah, likes it - likes it when you sing. So." Brendon's eyebrows rise; it's the first time they've exchanged words in nearly two days.
Before Brendon can respond Ryan turns away, leaving the doorway empty and Brendon confused. He's still staring at the empty door when Blue licks him. Brendon can feel slobber trickle into his ear.
"God, Blue, that's disgusting!" Another lick and Brendon pushes the wolf's snout away with a laugh, "Stop it! Ugh!"
A second later Brendon's flat on the floor, laughing as Blue attempts to cover his face with his drool. Brendon tries half-heartedly to protect himself, "Aaaaagh, stop it!"
Jon finds them then, totally unhelpful as he holds Brendon's hands to the floor and ruthlessly attacks each of Brendon's most ticklish spots. Blue takes complete advantage of having an ally and Brendon can barely breathe from laughing so hard.
*
The new snowfall leaves everything crisp, clean, and Brendon breathes it in. They're making their way back to the chateau, Ryan leading, Brendon and Jon behind him. Brendon watches as Ryan's stick figure flounders in the thick fall of snow. Blue doesn't seem to have any trouble, running ahead of them and then doubling back. Brendon envies the seeming effortlessness.
The splat of wet, slushy snow against the back of his head is unexpected.
"Hey!"
Jon's in the middle of patting another snowball together when Brendon turns around. Blue barks, delighted, and even Ryan lets out a laugh. It echoes around them and Brendon watches Jon smile at the sound, eyes crinkling at the edges.
Brushing past Brendon, Blue jumps up at Jon, nipping at the hand filled with snow. Jon pulls it away with a laugh. Blue turns and runs back toward Brendon with another bark. Jon lifts his arm while Blue runs around Brendon's legs; Brendon raises a protesting hand, "No. Jon, no, don't you da-"
He ends up with a mouthful of snow and Ryan's laughter rings even louder. He can only sputter as Jon says to Ryan, "Well, looks like we finally found a way to get Brendon quiet."
"Temporary, Jon, he's incapable of staying that way for long, I'm fairly sure." There's a moment of stunned silence before Jon bursts out laughing. Brendon wants to shout, grab Ryan and hug him, kiss Jon.
Instead, he makes a protesting sound, and turns a ridiculously pouty face to Ryan, "Who would serenade you with your morning tune, Ryan Ross? What then?"
Ryan just stares at Brendon for a moment, then smirks, "I don't know, Jon has a pretty nice voice."
Seriously, hugs are definitely in order."Now that's just mean, Ross, meanmeanmean."
Apparently Blue is in agreement because two seconds later, Blue clips the back of his knees and Ryan is on his ass in the snow. He sits there, stunned, before tossing a handful of snow in Blue's direction. The wolf side steps easily and huffs back.
With Ryan and Jon's laughter around him, Brendon is sure this is what home feels like.
*
The moon is full, high in the night sky. The curtains, drawn back, allow the pale silver light reflected off the snow to paint every inch of the room.
Jon's fingers trace low across Brendon's back, brushing the bottom edge of the scars that make it that far down. They're long-healed, but sometimes Brendon can feel the whisper of the whip in his mind.
Almost as if he knows what's going through Brendon's head, Jon asks, "Do you miss them?"
Jon's voice is quiet in the darkness, hesitant. Brendon curls in tighter against him and whispers, "I miss the thought of them, what they used to be before I-"
broke their hearts
"-became someone they couldn't love."
Jon's hand tightens against his skin, bringing Brendon impossibly closer until all he can smell, all he can feel is Jon. Against the skin of Jon's shoulder he says, "Now ask me if I ever regret leaving, Jon Walker."
There's a moment's hesitation before-
"Do you ever-"
"No- " Brendon slides a leg between Jon's and feels him arch up into the touch, "-no, I don't."
There isn't anything, Brendon thinks, that will ever make him regret this. He can live with that.
****
It's almost a year before Ryan actually sees Spencer change.
They're in the sitting room, Ryan regaling Spencer with Sir Beckett's latest outrageous public flirtation with the town smith's wife, Greta, "Seriously, Spencer, I swear Morris was half a tick away from dumping William headfirst into the cooling barrel-" when Spencer doubles forward with a gasp.
"Spencer?" Ryan reaches a hand out, but his friend jerks away and stumbles to his feet. "Spence, what is it?"
"You need to go, Ryan." He can hear Spencer's breath quickening, hear the pain lacing the words. Ryan reaches out again, only to be cut off with a rough, "Now." Spencer drops to his knees, curling in on himself in a way that's all too familiar.
Ryan swallows hard and considers it, walking out the door while Spencer shifts into another form. He's never really seen it happen; watching would make it real in a way he's never let himself contemplate.
There's really no choice, though, and he slides down in front of Spencer.
"I won't-" he curls his hands tight around Spencer's shoulders, feels the skin give under his nails, "I'm not leaving, Spencer."
Skin and bone shift under his palms, but Ryan doesn't move. He watches pain and fear swirl through blue eyes, but he glimpses something else. And as the wolf, fully formed, tucks his head under Ryan's chin, he lets himself call it hope.
****
There's a bay window in the music room. It's one of the most sought after seats in the entire chateau. Even the wolf, on occasion, has snapped at someone attempting to take his place on the blue cushion there.
The spot is open when Jon wanders into the room one afternoon and he sits down. The place is quiet today, more so than normal and Jon thinks he should go look for Brendon. Ryan will show up when he remembers his guests. Jon laughs at how Ryan's face is always a little shocked whenever he or Brendon catches him unawares. Spencer, of course, is asleep in the far wing.
Just then a sharp bark draws his attention out the window where Brendon and Blue are playing in the snow. Another figure steps into the frame and Jon is surprised to see Ryan. Ryan is, well. He's as much an enigma as Spencer. More so, in the fact that at least Spencer is very forward when you speak with him. It's not until Brendon's playing the piano that Jon gets a glimpse of what Ryan hides behind his books and silence.
Almost as if he can sense Jon's thought, Ryan looks up at the window. He smiles, raising a hand in greeting. Jon can feel his face crease in a wide grin - maybe not so hidden after all - and raises a hand to wave back.
A snow ball whizzes past Ryan's head and his attention is immediately diverted into dodging further attacks. All three disappear around the corner.
After a while, Jon feels his eyes grow heavy. A few minutes later, he's fast asleep.
*
He wakes to Ryan sitting near his feet, journal in his hands. When Jon shifts, Ryan looks up, his pencil stilling. A small smile accompanies his "Good nap?"
Jon pushes up, noticing the blanket draped over him for the first time. He twists his fingers in it absentmindedly and smiles back at Ryan. "Mmmhmm. Have fun outside?"
Ryan grimaces but Jon can see the smile at the edge of it, "Brendon is very, ah, energetic."
Jon laughs and Ryan finally smiles fully. "But it's good for-" there's the slight hesitation that Ryan has before he always says, "-Blue." It makes Jon wonder, for perhaps the millionth time, what exactly Ryan called the wolf before they came.
Jon just hums in agreement again. Sitting forward, he nudges Ryan's shoulder with his own, nods down at the book in Ryan's lap, "Anything good?"
Ryan looks down at his hands like he'd forgotten it was there, "Oh! I don't. Maybe?" He acts like he wants to show Jon, but aborts the motion.
"You could-" Ryan looks down at the journal again and seems to make a decision, turning to face Jon more fully. He hands the journal to Jon, "-you can look if you'd like?" It's tentative, almost wary.
Jon smiles at Ryan again which seems to relax him a bit. He can feel Ryan's eyes on him as he flips through it. He randomly catches phrases spun the world on her fingernails, a wonderful caricature of intimacy. From the corner of his eye he can see Ryan's hand twisting in the blanket near Jon's leg. He rests his own hand atop Ryan's, stilling the nervous movement and continues reading.
Jon finishes one page, only to flip to another and then another. There's an ebb and flow from beginning to end, the first lines harsher and pointed forked tongues selling false sermons, the further back, more fantastical, more image-rich feathers everywhere. He can see exactly when they appeared at the chateau the piano knows something I don't know, nearly blushing at the little deaths in musical beds.
Jon comes to the last page, the words Ryan was working on as he slept it looks like the end of history as we know it he can't help but ask, "Does he know?"
Jon doesn't look up, but Ryan's hand tenses under his.
back to the street where we began
"Ryan? Does Spencer know how you feel?"
"I don't-Spencer's my best friend, Jon, he knows I care about him."
back to the room where it all began
"Yeah, but does he know you're in love with him?"
"That's-" Ryan stands up, reaching for his journal, "-We're not like you. Not like you and Brendon, we're not." It hurts Jon more than he'd like to admit, the tone of Ryan's voice. It makes him want to lash out, just a little. He grabs Ryan's wrist and tugs, catching Ryan unaware. Ryan stumbles, catching himself on the seat with a knee.
Ryan's eyes are panic-wide and desperate. His face is really, really close to Jon's.
"Wouldn't you like to be, Ryan, feeling as good as lovers can you know?" Jon doesn't know why he's pushing. Doesn't know exactly why he looks down at Ryan's mouth. They're so damn close.
Ryan's voice is ragged, "Jon-"
Blue suddenly flies through the doorway, dragging his dirty blanket. Brendon's quick to follow, stumbling through the doorway with a laughing shout, "Blue! Come back here!"
The wolf slides to a stop in front of the bay window, Ryan having pulled immediately away when the ruckus started. Jon looks at Blue, whose head is tilted. He's studying Jon with those wicked blue eyes and Jon would swear the animal knows what nearly happened.
Brendon launches himself at the piano and begins playing a rousing, fast-paced tune. Ryan, not looking back, strides over to join him. Blue just continues to stare at Jon. He must see the confusion in Jon's eyes because a moment later, he whines and steps close to the seat. He tucks his head near Jon's hand and whines sympathetically.
Jon doesn't know what the hell is going on anymore.
*
"Why haven't you spoken with Brendon?"
Jon watches Spencer turn his face way in the dark corner of the room, "It's been nearly a month and you've yet to meet him. Did he offend you in any way?" Brendon's a little overwhelming at times, Jon knows.
"God, no, Jon. No, that's-" Spencer's struggling for words.
"Blue really likes him, " Jon interjects, without knowing why.
Spencer huffs, "Yeah, I know." There's something in Spencer's voice, but Jon can't decipher it.
"Then what is it, why haven't you talked to him?" Jon is starting to hate the look that Brendon gets on his face every time he starts a sentence with 'Spencer says-'.
"No. No, it's just-" Jon can hear the hesitation. "Someone hurt him."
Jon stiffens.
"Shit, not you, Jon. Someone, someone else. Someone he knew, right?" Jon doesn't know what to say to that. Brendon's past isn't his story to tell and he's debating how much to say when a voice answers for him.
"My father whipped me after he caught Jon and me asleep together in the loft one afternoon." Brendon's voice is quiet in the half darkness, but carries perfectly over the tiled floor.
Jon's grip on the arms of his chair tightens until his knuckles protest. He can feel his teeth grind together. Spencer listens in silence, and although the room is dark, Jon knows he's staring right at Brendon.
"My family is very religious; he thought he could beat the sickness out of me." Brendon laughs mirthlessly. "It didn't work the first time. Nor the second or third."
Jon's fingers start to ache, "Brendon-"
"Jon hates it when I defend them, you know." His voice is closer now, right behind Jon. "But they were only doing what they thought was right for me." Brendon rests his fingertips against the top of Jon's hand, soothingly.
"Bullshit."
Spencer's voice is rough and Jon's gaze jerks away from Brendon's face. "Bullshit, " Spencer repeats, voice low, nearly a growl. Jon can see his eyes flash blue in the light of the fire, "Love doesn't justify treating your son like-"
"Spencer, stop it."
Ryan stands like a thin shadow in the doorway.
It's like some clichéd tableau, Jon thinks absently, all the players gathered for a grand revealing. Instead, Ryan just says, "Let it go, Spence, " his voice tired. Jon watches them stare at each other. Spencer looks away first. Ryan sighs then and turns from the room, disappearing into the darkness. Jon can feel Brendon, curious but unwilling to ask. Silence settles over the room.
Later, Jon wonders how, Spencer, who always, always knows when someone is coming, let both Brendon and Ryan slip in unnoticed.
****
The skies are intent on drowning everything the day they put Ryan's father into the ground.
Ryan can't help but think that it's a little too late, that the liquor got there first and he chokes back a cough of laughter. It isn't a pretty sound. Several people from town glare at him and the priest looks over as well, but continues.
As they lower the casket, Ryan tosses his rain-battered flower down and thinks, I will never be that weak. He looks over and the wolf is there, shadowed by the edge of the forest. Ryan tries not to think about how those words sounds like a plea, even in his own head.
When he gets back to the chateau, Spencer's waiting at the door. He's in human form, and Ryan knows that the change back was too soon, that Spencer will pay for it later. But he can't really be sorry, not when solid, strong arms wrap around him. Spencer's grown in the last year, broadened across the shoulders. The wolf stands nearly at Ryan's waist these days.
Maybe it can be strong enough for the both of them.
****
Ryan stands in the shadow of the door, watching Brendon tuck a blanket around Spencer's sleeping form. Brendon traces a finger across Spencer's brow, smoothing the hair behind his ear and Spencer's eyes flutter. Ryan holds his breath. Brendon sits on the floor across from Spencer's chair, his back against the couch. His head rests against the arm of the sofa and he watches Spencer sleep. He's quiet, more still than Ryan's seen him since they arrived. It's a bit unsettling.
A movement catches at the corner of his vision. Turning, he sees Jon standing there, watching him. They stare at each other until Ryan can't take it, and shifts his gaze back to the scene in the parlor. Brendon hasn't moved at all.
Brendon's too still, Spencer's too exhausted, Jon's too close and Ryan has no idea where his calm little world has gone. He stumbles away into the darkness. It's not fair, he and Spencer have spent years settling into a semblance of normality and these two strangers - not strangers whispers through his mind - have intruded into that.
*
Jon is messing around with an old guitar Brendon found abandoned in an old linen closet. Tuned and oiled, it's found its way into Jon's hands more often than not this week. Ryan sits at the desk, writing. Jon keeps glancing over, but Ryan's attention is for nothing but the journal in front of him.
A shout of laughter pulls Jon's attention out the window in time to see Brendon dash by, Blue close on his heels. Jon watches them disappear around the end of the chateau, the corners of his mouth edging down.
"He's getting too thin," Jon mutters. It's not the first time he's voiced his concern over Blue's waning weight, but Spencer dismisses it each time with a hand wave and 'winter weather'. Standard or not, Jon can still count Blue's ribs from the window.
"Spencer hasn't been eating well lately." Ryan's voice is off-handed and unfocused. He's not really paying attention, Jon knows.
Jon looks up, about to correct Ryan but pauses. Spencer has been getting thinner. He watches Ryan, listens to the scratch of pencil across paper. A frown creases Ryan's brow and he scribbles out a couple of words, replacing them with something that brings a faint curve to his lips.
Jon looks back out the window, fingers tripping across guitar strings and thinks.
*
"Wait, wait, play that again."
Jon looks up, startled out of his thoughts. Ryan is staring at him, at his hands. When Jon doesn't respond, Ryan slides his chair back and walks over to him. "Please-"
"It's just something I was playing around with, Ryan, it's nothing solid. Actually, I was thinking of changing the bridge-"
"No!" Ryan looks embarrassed at his exclamation, but doesn't take it back. "You should leave it be. The way it is now, it's-" Ryan looks away, a faint blush stealing over his cheeks. Jon continues playing, curious.
Ryan stands abruptly, before Jon can respond. He doesn't move more than a couple of steps away before turning back. Jon watches Ryan's fingers, those long, slender digits stained with ink, fidget against the houndstooth pattern of his pants.
"Ryan?"
"I'm sorry for the other day. I had no right to speak to you like that." Ryan's gaze is fixed on Jon's hands, still absentmindedly moving across strings. Jon stops, keeping quiet, but Ryan refuses to look up. The silence stretches out until Ryan says abruptly, "Brendon's spending a lot of time with Spencer lately."
The words aren't accusing or angry, but Jon can't quite determine the underlying emotion. He's about to ask if that's a problem when Ryan beats him to it. "Doesn't it bother you?"
"Why?" Jon tilts his head to the side, studying Ryan, "Does it bother you?"
"No," he shakes his head, "no, of course not. I'm glad, actually." Ryan sits next to Jon, seemingly poised for flight at the edge of the cushion. Once again the silence slides around them. Jon breaks it this time, reaching out to lay a hand gently on Ryan's shoulder, "You're worried about Spence, right? Do you know why he isn't eating well?"
There's no answer and Jon tightens his fingers a little, "Ryan?"
"I don't know." There's a pause, Ryan turning his face away, but leaning into Jon's touch a little more. "He's not sleeping much anymore either."
"Do you have any idea what could be wrong? Any idea at all?" Ryan shakes his head and Jon does his best not to notice his fingertips sliding into soft curls. He can feel the movement when Ryan swallows hard, the reverberation against his thumb when Ryan says, "He's not talking to me, spends all his time with Brendon." Ryan finally looks up at Jon, "Or you. But he won't talk to me. He hasn't really hidden anything from me in years, but now-" a shoulder shrug, "-he refuses to tell me what's wrong."
"Ryan-," Jon pauses, uncertain, "Spencer and the wolf, Ryan, maybe-"
"Will you play it again, that melody?" Ryan interrupts, a quiet desperation underneath the monotone. Jon's hand tightens, and he slides a thumb across Ryan's coarse cheek. Ryan settles into the touch once again, but his body is strung tight, rigid with tension.
His voice is so soft, Jon barely catches it.
"Please."
****
Keltie is sunshine and laughter with gold hair and long, slender limbs. Ryan doesn't know exactly what to do, he's never met anyone like her before.
"You'll always choose him, Ryan. You can't not." The words aren't even accusing, only matter-of-fact and a little sad. He doesn't know what to say, really, "I'm sorry, it's...complicated." That's a massive understatement, but the truth, which he knows she appreciates.
"Love always is, Ryan." Keltie smiles up at him and he can see the sheen in her eyes. His throat tightens at her words.
"I promised him, Kelts, I promised I wouldn't leave him there alone. That's all, I can't break my word." She tilts her head to the side and he wonders if she can hear how hard he's trying to convince the both of them.
The carriage horses are becoming restless, Ryan can hear their hooves shuffle in the dirt but he can't look away from Keltie's wide brown eyes, the slight disappointment he can see there.
"Keltie-"
She throws her arms are his neck, interrupting him. The words are muffled and choked with tears, but he hears them, hears her whispered I wish you happiness, Ryan Ross. A quick kiss to his cheek and she's gone, the carriage door shut before he can reply.
A lonely howl echoes across the air as he watches her carriage disappear down the road.
****
There's a crispness to the air that Brendon finds beautiful, and he wishes that he could show it to Spencer. He notices a spot of green further up the hill and makes his way closer, excited at the prospect of a hint of warmer weather.
Brendon stills suddenly, he can feel eyes on him but they don't feel like Blue. Turning his head slowly toward the tree line, he sees it - a mountain lion, less than fifteen feet away. Its amber eyes, so similar to Ryan's, are dark.
Hungry.
She's bone thin, but Brendon can see the muscles shift under the skin. They stare at each other and Brendon can barely breathe. From the corner of his eye, he sees the thin sliver of white misting in the air, proof that he is still breathing. He can feel his heart crashing against his chest and wonders vaguely if she can hear it as well, if she knows how terror has frozen him. Her ears flicker, flatten a little but that's the only movement between the two of them. He'll never make it, he knows, if he tries to run.
The cat leaps and Brendon closes his eyes.
-Jon smiling at him, laughing-
-Blue waiting at Jon's feet in the kitchen-
-firelight reflected in amber eyes-
-fingers tracing the scars on his back-
-Ryan laughing in the snow-
He needs more time.
*
Ryan can't get Jon's melody out of his head. He needs to talk to Brendon, show him the words he's written. He needs to do it now.
Letters crumple into one another, the parchment clutched in his hand as he goes searching.
*
Brendon feels something brush against his chest, but it's not from the direction that he expected. The momentum pushes him sideways and he lands hard in the snow. His eyes open to see Blue and the mountain lion rolling over and over in the snow, flashes of snapping jaws and razor sharp claws. Brendon shouts Blue's name in surprise.
Blue turns his eyes to him and barks once, sharp. Brendon watches in horror as four long slices appear across his shoulder. The wolf growls and turns back into the fray. Blood begins to stain the snow, the fight going so fast Brendon can barely follow it. He should run back, get Ryan, a rifle, anything, but he can't seem to move.
For all that the fight seems to last forever, it's over in a single instant - Blue latches onto the soft underside of the cat's jaw and in a spray of blood, it's laying still in the snow. Blue turns to Brendon then, namesake-eyes brilliant against the deep red stain of his muzzle. A soft sound resonates in his throat as he steps toward Brendon. He stumbles, legs clumsy, and Brendon whispers his name this time, soft across the snow.
Blue collapses.
It's like the world starts again to Brendon. He can hear the whistle of the wind through the trees, feel the cold seeping into his clothes, the stutter of his heart as he scrambles across the snow toward the injured animal. Faintly he hears a continuous chant of nonononono before he realizes that it's his own voice. It's too scared to be his, too weak. There's so much blood, he can feel it slide along his skin as he curls his arms under Blue. Somehow Brendon struggles to his feet and staggers back towards the castle.
"Come on, boy, come on. We've got to get you back. Ryan'll fix you right up-" His voice breaks as Blue licks at his arm, "-come on."
It's taking too long. He can feel the wolf's heart beat against his skin, slowing.
"Dammit, Blue, you gotta hold on, okay? Who else is going to help Jon with breakfast, huh? And make Ryan laugh-" A sad whine and Brendon's legs nearly give out. He tightens his hold. "Please? Please, Blue, you have to hang on-"
He's not going to make it. Brendon can feel his arms trembling against the weight of the wolf, his skin slippery with blood. There's a wetness streaking his cheeks, his sight is starting to blur. Distantly he hears the way his voice is pleading, with the wolf, with anyone who will listen -
Please hold on, just a little longer.
*
He doesn't hear it at first.
"Brendon?"
When he looks up, it's to Ryan standing there, eyes wide. The wind is whipping his hair into his eyes and Brendon thinks inanely, we need to cut his hair. He shakes the thought away, taking another unsteady step forward.
"Brendon, what-?"
He can tell the exact moment that Ryan sees past the blood and cold, sees what he's holding. Who he's holding. He watches golden eyes widen even further, watches the confusion slide into fear. Brendon wants to say something, but the words get caught as the wind carries the one word he's totally not expecting.
Spencer.
**
"That's not possible, Ryan!"
Ryan doesn't know how he's breathing, knows that if he tried to stand right now, his legs wouldn't hold him. He'd collapsed the second they'd made it to the music room, carrying Blue between them.
There's a hand on his shoulder and Brendon's voice cuts through the haze of SpencerSpencerSpencer that's screaming through his mind at the moment. It cuts through, but he's not really listening. The hand squeezes tighter and Ryan swings around, knocking it away. He's surprised at the hoarseness of his voice when he snarls, "Either help me, Brendon-" another towel soaked through, "-or get the fuck out of the way."
The blood keeps flowing and Ryan wants to scream, but he's afraid he won't stop once he starts.
Ryan barely registers Brendon's knees hitting the floor beside him. It's not until Brendon makes this sound, this noise that he finally looks up. Brendon's brown eyes are wide, caught with Blue's, with Spencer's. Ryan knows that Brendon believes him now.
Blood slides slick across his fingers and Spencer's eyes close.
"Spencer." Ryan can barely hear over the sound of his own heartbeat, pounding so loud in his ears. "Spencer, please." The wolf's chest is still rising, too slow between breaths. Ryan can fill something inside breaking, and he needs-
Jon. Ryan needs him; Jon makes everything slow down, always makes the noise in his head flow instead of crash. "Go find Jon," he snaps at Brendon, grabbing another towel. Instead, Brendon reaches out, gripping Ryan's forearm and whispers, "Ryan, stop."
"Dammit, Brendon-" Ryan tries to pull his arm back, "-go get Jon. Now!"
Brendon refuses to let go. Instead, sliding an arm around Ryan's chest. He tugs at Ryan, pulling him back. Away from the wolf, away from Spencer. Ryan struggles against the hold, cursing at Brendon. A whimper catches both their attention and when they look down, Spencer's eyes are once again open. This time, though, they're hazy, unfocused. The wolf's breathing is slow, laboured.
Dying.
Brendon tightens his hold and Ryan shouts at him, tries to twist out of his grip again. But Brendon just wraps his other arm around him and Ryan yells louder.
"What the hell is going-"
**
"-on?!"
Jon doesn't realize how hard his grip on the doorframe is until he lets go, until he can feel the ache in his fingers.
Both Ryan and Brendon's faces are lifted up towards him, but Jon can tell even from here that Ryan's not really seeing him. And Brendon-
Jon once swore that he'd do everything possible to never see the level of sorrow that's written so clearly across Brendon's face again.
"Jon," Ryan's voice is a whisper, so raw that his own throat aches at the sound. For a moment, Ryan's vision clears and he looks straight at Jon. Then his gaze drops and Jon's automatically follows.
His legs nearly give out.
"What-?" There's so much blood.
Brendon's voice breaks through, "He's. There was a, um, a mountain lion? By the edge of the forest. I shouldn't have gone. I know I shouldn't have gone by myself. But Blue-" Brendon's breath catches and Jon knows he's got his bottom lip caught between his teeth, knows without looking back up. Brendon doesn't continue.
Jon's watching when the last breath shudders out, when the body finally stills. He hears the low wail that Ryan releases and watches as Ryan sags back against Brendon, loose, like a doll whose strings have been cut. He slides down the wall, turning his head away.
"I'm sorry," Brendon chokes out on a whisper, "I didn't. Spencer. I, I didn't know. I'm so, so sorry."
Jon can't watch Brendon cry, he just can't. So he buries his face against his knees and lets his own tears soak into the material of his pants.
*
The sun goes down and with it, the temperature. At one point, Brendon attempts to move Ryan, but he refuses to leave. They fall asleep, eventually, and Jon watches until his own eyelids grow heavy, too heavy to keep open.
The room falls to darkness and Jon sleeps as well.
****
When Ryan crawls under the table, it's already occupied by another child. For a moment he's certain it's a girl and ew, but then the other kid looks up. He's got the brightest blue eyes Ryan has ever seen, bluer than the summer sky even. He grins at Ryan and Ryan can't help but grin back.
"Lookit what I found!" The boy holds his hands out, cupped together, toward Ryan. Cautious, he leans forward. Inside there's a tiny greenish brown frog. Ryan's eyes widen, he hasn't seen one outside of his books at home. It's pretty neat.
"Wanna hold him?" Without waiting for an answer, he transfers the frog into Ryan's hands, guiding his hands gently closed so it doesn't jump away.
"M'Spencer. Spencer James Smith," he raises one hand, fingers spread wide, "the Fifth!" One hand stays wrapped around Ryan's cupped hands as he asks, "What's your name?"
He can hear his father calling for him, voice faint in the distance. He's supposed to carry a stupid ring down to his silly cousin, but he doesn't want to do it. He wants to stay here.
"Ryan, it's Ryan."
****
Spencer wakes slowly. His body aches, the muscles stiff and sore. It comes back in a jumble of mismatched flashes of images, smells, tastes. Sheer terror. Fantastic pain. Ryan's screaming. Brendon's confusion. Jon's acceptance.
He can smell them, the briny sting of Ryan's tears, the stench of blood. He's cold, but warmth radiates from the bodies nearby. He can smell Jon not far, too far, away. Spencer wants to open his eyes, needs to open them. His fingers ache to reach out, to touch.
There's sunlight on his face, he can feel the warmth of it, the brightness shines orange against the back of his eyelids.
He opens his eyes to light.
[posted in main journal here on 12/01/09]
[x-posted here on 12/01/09 and here on 12/22/09]