Waiting for the Sky to Fall [4/10]
Previous.
* * *
Tuesday
* * *
12.01am
Ryan's phone buzzes with a text message; it's Jon, wishing him a very happy 'proper' birthday, and telling him to check his email when he wakes up. He's left a bunch of Xs and Os after that, and Ryan feels unaccountably warmed by that, by Jon being his (usual, Ryan had always thought, until this week, but maybe it is a little unfair to expect Jon to be perfect all the time- he's certainly no saint himself) considerate, thoughtful self. Jon's maybe not given to the big gesture with quite the same enthusiasm as Brendon, but he likes to show his feelings in a lot of small ways.
He's just flipping his phone shut, amused that Jon thinks he'd have been asleep already -- he and Spencer always stay up to see the beginnings of their birthdays, they've been doing it since they were old enough to successfully fool Spencer's mom into thinking they were asleep without giving the game away by giggling -- and then it vibrates again; something that's gone straight to his voicemail.
Ryan sneaks downstairs, perfectly soundless, and boots the computer up again, grinning helplessly as he listens to Brendon sing for him. He maybe listens to the voicemail three times in a row and then saves it, but that's between him and Sprint, and none of anyone else's business. He and Jon hadn't lingered in the chat after Brendon had signed off so abruptly -- it's something they haven't actually talked about yet, but they all feel a little bit awkward in twos, and it hadn't seemed fair to continue what was a serious and relatively important discussion without him.
His email blinks at him; a couple of new messages just in the time since he'd signed off an hour ago. There's a couple of LJ comments, the usual spam, an e-card from someone he doesn't know all that well, and an email with attachment from Jon. He deletes the spam unopened, and then methodically reads the comments, and the other card first. It's not exactly saving the best for last, it's- okay, it really is. He wants to ride the anticipation, not know for a little bit longer, but once he's cleared out the rest of his inbox, he opens up Jon's email. It's short and sweet, nothing over the top, just- very Jon. He knows there's a stupid smile on his face, and it just gets bigger when he opens the zipped folder attached at the end.
There's a picture of him and Spencer, Ryan's arm slung loosely around Spencer's shoulders as he tries to scowl at Jon through a rueful smile. It's a really good candid -- Ryan has a fair amount of pictures with Spencer, but not many from more recently, and none that Jon has taken, especially not with his good camera that he doesn't dare bring out too often, not given the frequency with which they wind up caught up in some kind of slayer business that tends to involve property damage and fucking up perfectly good clothing, let alone fragile personal belongings.
The second picture is much lower quality, camera-phone fuzzy, and Ryan recognises it after a second as one from Spencer's phone; Brendon and Ryan chasing Jon -- still on two feet and wearing jeans, if not his shirt -- around the cemetery, arms outstretched in their best zombie impressions. It had been a really quiet week, and they wound up laughing themselves sick, making up ridiculous songs about needing "braaaaaaaaaains, brains, sweet morsels of braaaaaaaaains," and what Brendon claimed would be their Top 40 hit, "Brain bits, brain bits, brain bits RULE!" Bob claimed they'd made enough noise to scare off actual zombies, but hadn't done more than laugh at them himself. Ryan saves both pictures to his pics folder, and then logs off again. Jon's email had promised hard copies to follow, so he didn't actually need to try and print them himself, and even if his first class isn't until eleven, it'd be nice to actually get to sleep long and late for a change.
* * *
10.20am
Ryan has another message on his voicemail when he wakes up; Spencer this time. Spencer sounds tired, which is normal, and... something else. He's probably still all pissy about Bob. Right now, Ryan can't entirely blame him. It's not that he doesn't believe Jon, it's just... the past seems to be coming back to haunt them all at the moment. Spencer wishes him a happy birthday, bitches him out for having the nerve to be two years older than him right now and not having to be getting up early for school. He doesn't sing -- Spencer never sings, not if he can't hide his voice under someone else's, which Ryan thinks is a pity, since Spencer's voice isn't bad -- but he does pause right before hanging up and adds, "oh, and by the way, Ry? Mom wants you over for dinner this week. She asked what you'd want for a present, and so there's a nice shiny set of GHD straighteners waiting for you over here. I even talked her out of the pink ones."
Ryan can't help himself, he grins stupidly for a minute, and then makes a face, because it's belatedly dawned on him that he's going to be copping even more harrassment from Spencer's sisters about that -- their unofficial adoption of him as a second brother also means that they feel bound to tease him just as much as they do their actual brother, and when they get started, they're merciless.
He grins again, tosses his textbooks into his bag, and heads out the door for his classes. Looks like maybe today isn't going to suck.
* * *
5.58pm
Bob rings the doorbell exactly on time. Spencer isn't surprised. He's been sitting in the living room, tapping out a rhythm on one thigh, for the past ten minutes. He basically leaps up when he hears the chime, runs to the door before anyone else can get to it - his parents are in the kitchen, ostensibly making the spaghetti but really just talking in low voices, and his sisters are upstairs.
“Hey,” Spencer says kind of awkwardly when he's opened the door.
Bob smiles at him, same as always. He's holding a bouquet of flowers in reds and yellows. “Hey,” he says back, and leans down a little to kiss Spencer on the cheek. His expression changes when he straightens, eyes a little wide and focused behind Spencer, who glances over his shoulder. His mom is standing there, looking weirdly neutral, with arched eyebrows.
“Mrs. Smith,” Bob says. He sounds pretty composed, Spencer's sort of impressed. Bob extends the hand holding the flowers. “I'm Bob Bryar, it's nice to finally meet you. I brought these for you.”
“Call me Ginger. Thank you,” she adds, taking the flowers from him. “I'm glad to meet you as well.”
“Come on,” Spencer mutters, intending to show Bob into the living room.
Before he can turn, Bob reaches out for his hand. Spencer looks up at him, and can't stop himself from smiling. When he looks back at his mother, her face looks normal again, nicer than Spencer thought he had any right to expect. “I'll just put these in some water,” she says.
Spencer sits next to Bob on the couch, dropping his hand but making sure they're close enough that they could touch. “You okay?” he asks, even though he thinks Bob is probably doing the best out of anyone. Before Bob can answer, Spencer's dad comes into the room.
Bob stands, strides over and extends his hand. “Bob Bryar, sir. It's good to meet you.”
“Jeff Smith.” He shakes Bob's hand, but - well, his expression isn't weird or neutral; Spencer's seen this I'm-trying-not-to-look-pissed face often enough.
Ginger bustles in as Bob sits back beside Spencer and Jeff seats himself on the other side of the room. Bob's flowers are now in a vase, and she sets them carefully down on the table under the window. “Can I get you a drink?” she offers.
“Just a water,” Bob says.
“Are you sure?” Ginger asks. “We have soda, or beer-” Spencer doesn't know if that's a genuine offer - if it had come from his dad, it would certainly be meant as a test. Ginger's offered him and Ryan drinks a few times - last Christmas, Ryan's graduation - but Ryan always says no, knee-jerk reaction, and Spencer has to stand in solidarity with his best friend.
“I'm driving,” Bob says. “Water would be great.”
Crystal and Jackie file down from whatever they'd been doing, and are sort of weird and subdued. Spencer's glad his mom had explained things to them earlier, he really didn't want to have to come out to them, too. From what they've said - well, from what they haven't said - Spencer thinks Ginger threatened them with death or, like, no TV and no internet for a month if they made fun of him for being gay.
The whole dinner sort of goes like that - Spencer feels awkward, the girls are quiet, and Jeff is barely short of hostile. Bob is very, very polite, and not even in a stilted way - Spencer can hardly tell that it's taking effort for him not to swear.
The only surprising part is Ginger's reaction. As far as Spencer can tell, his mom loves Bob. She hasn't asked about his lip ring even once (Spencer had been as worried about the piercing as he had been about any of the rest of it), and unlike Jeff, none of her questions for Bob seem to be veiled references to their age difference. By the time she busts out the photo albums over dessert, Spencer's pretty sure she likes Bob better than she likes Spencer.
* * *
6.16pm
Brendon knocks on Jon's door, but walks in without waiting for a response. "I come bearing groceries," he calls while toeing off his shoes, his hands occupied with white plastic bags filled with taco fixings and snack foods, all the supplies healthy growing boys need to keep their processed sugar levels as high as humanly possible (or superhumanly; whatever, Jon doesn't turn his nose up at Doritos, which is all Brendon asks for in a dude anyway).
Jon ducks out of the kitchen and puts his hands on Brendon's shoulders, kissing him briefly before saying anything or giving Brendon the chance to put his shopping down. "Hey," he says with a smile. Even if there hadn't been about eight million charming things about Jon, Brendon would still be a sucker for him, just because Jon always looks so damn happy to see Brendon, even happier when it's Brendon and Ryan.
Speaking of which. "Where's Ryan?" Brendon asks, too busy leaning into Jon's neck to look at him.
"He had to pick up some books for his classes," Jon says, easing his grip a bit so Brendon can step back if he wants to. Brendon doesn't want to; he spent years not getting to touch as much as he wanted, he's taking advantage of being allowed as long as he can. "How was school?"
"Fine," Brendon says, which is not a lie. School is kind of a nothing, it's what he does during the day till he can be with his band or his friends or his boyfriends (who are mostly all the same people). He goes because he has to, and because it makes a convenient excuse to be out of the house - right now his parents think he's at jazz band orientation. "Are Spencer and Bob coming over?" he asks, because he doesn't want to go through all that with Jon, or have to tell stories about his day - most of which boil down to going to class and people ignoring him.
There's a pause before Jon says "Uh, no," and Brendon looks up at that - takes a step back so he can see Jon's eyes and set down the groceries, finally, on the dusty rug at the door. "Spencer didn't -" Jon cuts himself off.
Brendon frowns. "Is something wrong?"
"No," Jon replies, picking the bags up and heading back to the kitchen. Brendon trails after him. "Well, maybe?" He sighs. "I sort of don't know how much I can say."
"Yeah, you really have to say more than that," Brendon tells him. He's trying not to freak out. They're not supposed to have secrets like this, and especially not anymore.
"Bob's going over to Spencer's for dinner with his family."
Brendon can feel his eyebrows shoot way the fuck up. "What? How did that happen? Do they know..."
"They know Bob and Spencer are seeing each other, or whatever," Jon says, pulling an onion out of the bag and setting it carefully on his cutting board. "Spencer's mom caught him sneaking into the house yesterday and I guess he thought it would be better to explain that part than the bit where he hunts vampires."
"Slays," Brendon corrects, and then, "Why didn't he say anything? We had band practice yesterday and he didn't say anything."
"Bren," Jon says, putting a knife down beside the onion and coming back over to Brendon, pulling him in. "He came out to his parents and he was freaking out. And I don't think he wanted to bug you about that."
"Yeah, okay," Brendon says, because... yeah, okay.
"And don't tell Ryan, at least not right away? I'd like him to have a nice birthday for a while." Jon sounds apologetic, which Brendon definitely gets. Hiding something about Spencer from Ryan is taking your life into your hands, but there's no way this news won't upset him.
"Sure," Brendon agrees, and then, "Should we get started on dinner?" But Jon's looking up, alert in a way Brendon is pretty sure means Ryan's at the door.
* * *
7.28pm
Bob can feel the weight of four sets of eyes - with varying degrees of hostility - all through dinner. It's not his first time playing to an unfriendly audience; the Watchers' Council aren't exactly known for being the most welcoming ever, so he knows to check himself carefully, trying his damnedest not to swear or drip spaghetti onto himself, and generally to seem like a good influence.
Sometimes it's five sets of eyes on him, though at least Spencer's aren't antagonistic for what seems like the first time in days. He even actually smiles at Bob a couple times. Bob has to admit to himself, he's missed Spencer's smile.
Despite Spencer's loud protests, Bob is more than willing to look through old photo albums when Ginger suggests it. Spence tries to hide his face, but Bob can't help grinning at some of the pictures. He'd been pretty fucking cute. Ryan's in a bunch of them too. Nothing in them contradicts Bob's original suspicion that Ryan's not entirely human, but he isn't about to bring it up again, especially not in front of people who (hopefully) still know nothing about Spencer's extracurricular activities.
It doesn't take very long for Spencer to get fed up with this display. "Mooooom," he says. It's - well, it's about the most teenager-ish Bob has ever seen Spencer, and he might worry except that he still whines at his own mother like that. "Can I talk to Bob alone?" Spencer asks. "Please?"
Ginger gives Bob a hard once-over. Bob tries to exude an air of I won't do inappropriate things to or with your son. "Sure," she says. "You boys can go off to Spencer's room."
"The door stays open," Jeff adds sternly. Bob hopes he isn't blushing. He never got that kind of protective treatment at home, though he has been on his own since he was Spencer's age, and before that he wasn't exactly the most popular kid at school. Besides that, he's pretty sure Spencer wants alone time to talk about the slaying and not for kissing, and that isn't something Bob would have to hide from his mom.
Bob's doing his best not to look too curious about Spencer's room -- it is the first time he's been in there, and his fingers are itching with the urge to run over the CDs on the shelf, to look too closely at his books and posters and the other regular debris of teenage boyhood. He's a little worried it might seem weird if he's too interested, regardless of the fact that Spencer's been in his house more times than he can count, and has started leaving some of his shit around Bob's room, even. Of course, the problem with that plan is that then his gaze just winds up fixed on Spencer, remembering how it feels to touch him.
"Um," Spencer says. "We should- we never really got to talk yet about the thing. Uh. With My Chem and all."
"I'm not exactly sure what's going on," Bob says, hands in pockets because he's not sure what else to do with them. And, right, duty calls. He has to focus on the job. "Mikey wasn't all that - he's psychic, he's, like, a precog, and he goes into these sort of trances. He was in one of them when he called me, so he wasn't all that coherent."
"Okay, what do you remember him saying?"
"There's... someone's following them around, and they're collecting weird shit. He gave me what I think is a partial list, and it matched more or less the details Brian managed to email through to me," Spencer makes a face which Bob interprets as his opinion of the source, and Bob vows privately that to hell with honesty, he's just never ever going to admit to Spencer that he and Brian had been kind of on-again-off-again friends-with-benefits ever since they'd broken up. He doesn't think that news is ever going to go down well.
"I've been tracking some of the more obvious hints on the internet and through the records I have access to, but I haven't found much of anything yet," he went on, shrugging. He'd normally be a bit further through the research stuff by this point, but things have been kind of hectic. And if whatever's out there is actually following the guys around -- Bob remembers some of the crazier obsessed fans he'd seen in the past and flinches -- then they're not in town yet and it's not like there's much they can do in the meantime anyway.
"Which doesn't mean much, does it?" Spencer says, resigned, because god knows as much as he hates to do it, Bob's had to let him out in the field with incomplete information more often than not.
"Yeah," Bob admits, scratching behind his ear, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Fuck, if he'd been this bad at concentrating on the task at hand he'd never have made it through his training, let alone been able to run a sound board. "I'm going to keep going, see what else I can turn up that might be related, at least. Maybe make a few more phone calls."
"Okay, well, that's - yeah, you focus on the research. And we'll get more information..." Spencer trails off halfway through his sentence and says "Bob, what is it? You're looking at me all-" because Bob can't stop staring at his mouth.
"Spencer," he says, and he knows his voice sounds low and gravelly. He can see Spencer shiver. It's - okay, Bob knows he's dipped into his sex voice. "Spencer, walk me out now and say goodnight."
Bob doesn't really expect Spencer to just blindly take any order -- even one as innocuous as that -- lying down, and he's not disappointed because Spencer just says "Why?"
"Because otherwise I'm going to end up doing something to you that I really, really don't want your mother walking in on. Which she would." Spencer doesn't dispute the accuracy of that statement. Ginger has radar, it didn't take Bob more than ten seconds of meeting her to figure that out himself. "I'm pretty sure she's already planning to dice me up and feed my balls to a pack of harpies," Bob continues.
"Oh, no, she likes you," Spencer says cheerfully, and shit, his hand is on Bob's thigh, and Bob's pretty sure Spencer's sister -- one of them, he's not sure which yet -- was outside like a minute ago, and it's not like slayers tend to be the most well-balanced individuals around, but Spencer must be insane, and Spencer is still talking, and entirely failing to reassure Bob in the slightest, "don't worry. Besides, you know as well as I do that the closest pack of harpies is way out in California. I'd be more worried about the dog if I was you."
"Remind me again why we're, uh-"
"Screwing around?" Spencer suggests brightly.
"Dating," Bob corrects over the top of him and then goes red anyway and smacks Spencer's hand off his leg. "Behave. We're still trying to persuade them to let you out later this week, remember?"
"Fine," Spencer sighs, and stands up. And then, with what Bob hopes like hell is an exercise of his slayer senses to confirm there's no one else upstairs right then, he shoves Bob back against the wall by the door and kisses him, body pressing hard up against Bob all the way. Bob kisses back for approximately eleven seconds before remembering where they are, and then Spencer's pulling away and heading down to the door anyway. "C'mon," he calls over his shoulder, and Bob has to jog to catch up. Jeff and Ginger are downstairs, and definitely using the full scope of parental telepathy to make sure he doesn't have any questionable thoughts about their son's backside as he follows him down the stairs.
"It was really nice to meet you," Bob says when they get back to the living room.
"You too," Ginger says. She sounds cheerful. Jeff doesn't say anything, but he's at least not actively glaring. "You'll come over again, right?"
"Any time," Bob says sincerely. "But I was actually - some friends of mine are going to be in town this week, they're in a band I used to tour with, and I was hoping Spencer could come with me to their show on Thursday. I know he's grounded, but I don't know when there'll be another chance for him to meet my friends."
"I don't think that's a great idea," Jeff says, frowning.
"Please?" Spencer asks. "It's practically my birthday!"
Ginger and Jeff exchange a look. Jeff's frown doesn't go away, but Ginger says, "You'd have him home by midnight?"
"Of course," Bob says, mentally crossing his fingers - he definitely means to, but emergencies are sort of, well, routine in their line of work.
"Ryan will be there, too," Spencer offers.
"I never thought I'd be expecting Ryan to be the one taking care of you," Ginger says ruefully. Spencer makes a sound of protest. "You can go," she says. "Bob, you'll come pick him up?"
Bob is pretty sure that's code for him getting another grilling, but there's probably no getting out of it. And, fuck, he probably deserves it. "I'll see you then," he says.
"I'll walk you to the door," Spencer breaks in, and then steps outside with him when they get there. "I'll try to sneak out later to patrol," he says in a low voice. "But it'll have to be after my parents are asleep."
"Yeah, totally," Bob says. And then, "Hey are we - are we okay? Are you still mad at me?"
Spencer takes a moment before replying. "We're okay," he agrees. Bob thinks he might be - not lying, but at least exaggerating. He's going to take it for now, though.
"Okay," Bob says, then leans in to kiss Spencer lightly, and fuck any parents or sisters or neighbors who might be watching. "I'll talk to you soon."
* * *
8.20pm
Once they've finished dinner, Jon ushers Ryan and Brendon into the living room to, uh, hang out before he busts out the cupcakes he made that afternoon. (It took forever, too - Jon would never have been able to bring himself to eat the first batch, even in wolf form when he's a lot less picky about food.) The kitchen is pretty cosy, but Jon hasn't figured out a way three people could comfortably make out in it. He's actually devoted a fair bit of energy to working that out.
However, the couch in the living room is plenty comfortable, and they are all well acquainted with it by now. Brendon is sorting out all of their limbs to his preference - going so far as to raise Jon's arm and drape it over Ryan's shoulders - and Jon is wondering whether he should try for subtle or just start kissing Ryan's neck (and maybe it's a little telling, or fucked up or something, how much Jon likes his boyfriends' necks, but he does, and it's not like either of them are complaining) when Ryan says "I just thought Spencer and Bob would have been here."
Jon takes that as a sign and doesn't lean in. Ryan had actually asked about them when he first arrived, but Brendon had said "Just us tonight," and distracted him while Jon finished up the food prep as quick as he could. There are reasons Jon is kind of crazy about Brendon, and his unexpectedly devious mind is right up there.
There are reasons he's crazy about Ryan, too, and Jon would be lying if he said Ryan's friendship with Spencer wasn't on the list. Jon knows something about the devotion and co-dependence involved in being a best friend.
"They sort of had plans," Jon says, and steels himself for what he knows is to come. He glances at Brendon, who is tilting his head and not saying anything, certainly deliberately. "They were actually having dinner with Spencer's family tonight."
Ryan blinks. "What," he says, and it's not really a question.
Jon feels like a jackass, even though he knows it's not his fault Spencer keeps coming to him about this. Not his fault that Spencer won't go to Ryan, either. "His mom caught him sneaking in yesterday morning, that's why she'd been calling that night. And I guess he said he was at his boyfriend's. So she wanted to meet Bob."
"And he told you about it." Ryan sounds flatter than Jon's ever heard before.
"And he told me about it."
"It's not a big deal, Ry," Brendon puts in, and Ryan looks totally betrayed as he turns.
"He told you, too?"
"No, Jon told me this afternoon," Brendon says evenly. "But we knew you'd be upset and didn't want to wreck your birthday."
"Of course I'm upset," Ryan says. A stranger wouldn't be able to tell from his tone of voice, but Jon definitely can. "Why wouldn't he come to me about it?"
Jon bites his lip, but Brendon is apparently (unsurprisingly) a lot braver than him about the elephant in the room. "Because of your dad," he says, running a hand through Ryan's hair. Brendon's posture looks strangely loose beside Ryan, who's holding himself impossibly stiffly. Jon wonders how he looks beside the two of them. "He didn't tell me because of my parents, and he didn't tell you because of your dad," Brendon continues. "He's Spencer, and he didn't want to upset us. You know how he is."
"He should have told me," Ryan says.
"Probably," Jon agrees, if only because he hates being the bearer of bad news. "But he wanted to protect you."
"He needs to quit that," Ryan mutters, and then "I need to call him."
Jon and Brendon exchange a look as Ryan goes to grab his cell. He's back a minute later, looking at the phone like it's failed him. "Spence didn't answer," he says. "Let me just, I need to text him."
"He will when he gets a chance, he's probably still busy. Hey, come on," Jon says, trying to sound soothing as he tugs Ryan back down onto the couch. They've only got so long tonight; he has to work tomorrow morning, Brendon has school and Ryan has class. More importantly, Ryan and Brendon both have parents who are expecting them home at a reasonable hour. After what happened to Spencer they're all a little jumpy about pushing their luck with curfews right now.
Ryan lands, a little undignified but not unwilling, half on Jon's lap. Brendon shoots Jon a smile and then leans over Ryan. He looks a little wolfish, actually, and lucky both he and Ryan are pretty small, because most of their weight is resting on Jon right now. Not that Jon's complaining, snaking a hand onto Ryan's thigh and not even trying to pretend he isn't watching avidly as Brendon and Ryan kiss. They're sort of wriggling on top of him, which feels fucking great, and Jon's working his free hand between them when there's a loud knock on the front door.
Jon sags back into the couch and takes a selfish moment to scream inside the privacy of his own head. He knows who it is, recognises the knock, even, let alone the evidence of his senses. Ryan and Brendon aren't going to take this well, and he'd just got them both calm and happy. Someone hates him, and he's pretty sure the bastard's name is Murphy.
Brendon just looks at him, uncertain, and Jon hates so much to be putting that look on his face. "Who-?" he asks, because sometimes they like to pretend it's a party trick, that Jon's just really good at guessing if it's the Avon lady (there's something about the combination of powder, wax and plastic that makes them kind of unmistakeable), the pizza guy, really persistent evangelists or Spencer trying to sneak up on them, and not something he can do as easily as breathing.
"It's them, isn't it?" Ryan says flatly, scrambling out of Jon's lap, and Jon misses his weight acutely. "Your friends."
Jon reminds himself not to look ashamed or pissed off -- because he's not, he shouldn't be, they're his friends just like Spencer and Bob are; they're just... significantly more awkward. "I'm sure it's important, Ry," he says, getting up to let them in. "They wouldn't bother us at home otherwise." Ryan's hackles go down just a fraction when Jon says home, and he can't help the tiny glad lift of his heart to notice that. He's been quietly working hard to get Brendon and Ryan to consider his apartment a second home, to make it comforting and welcoming for them; he knows they're not exactly ready to share it with him all of the time, and he's getting massively ahead of himself even to consider that already, he knows it, but, well. He's wired to be a committed guy, and he made up his mind about just what exactly he wants a long time ago now. The only question is, always- is that what they want?
* * *
8.55pm
"Sorry," Tom murmurs as they troop in past Jon, kicking shoes into the pile by the door. "It's fine," Jon murmurs back, just as quietly, and brushes his hand over Tom's wrist for emphasis. They're all tactile, it's a pack thing, and he's pretty sure that Ryan and Brendon aren't likely to misinterpret that slight a touch, at least. They're just lucky they'd met in public and human-shaped on Sunday; the usual pack greeting after a long absence tends to involve a lot of licking and the kind of juvenile wrestling matches that either look like a vicious fight or something really, really obscene. Occasionally both at the same time.
He points them to the couch and the floor, variously -- Ryan and Brendon have shifted onto the armchair, the two of them fitting easily into the single space, and Jon seats himself at their feet, leaning back against four bony knees. The message isn't subtle, and every person in the room gets it. Some of them look happier about it than others.
"So we've got confirmation that your slayer's who he says he is," Max starts, eyes distant as he goes into lecture mode. Jon can feel Ryan tense up, immediately defensive, and he'd be the same himself; he told them, he vouched for Spencer, but in their position he can't blame them for wanting to check, just in case. "Which means we can tell you a bit more about why we're here."
"And?" Brendon asks impatiently, when Max pauses a little bit too long.
Max looks awkward. Sean has the grace to look sheepish, Ryan and Al are doing their best to pretend to be wallpaper, and Tom is the one who throws himself on the metaphorical grenade.
"And we can tell you," he repeats with emphasis. "Not, um. Them. Right now, that is." Tom's expression implies that if he had his way that would be "never", but he's maybe a little oversensitive. Tom's had some bad experiences.
"Are you fucking serious," Ryan says, nowhere near quietly enough for this audience.
"What's the matter, kid?" Tom asks dangerously, with something that is definitely a baring of teeth and not at all a smile. Jon couldn't be fucking prouder that Ryan doesn't even flinch.
"It's all very growly and macho of you to walk in like you run this town," Brendon says, and he sounds like normal, vibrant and strong and passionate, but Jon can feel his knee shaking and he knows it's rage fuelling that, that Brendon is a breath away from losing his own temper, and it's going to be ugly if he does. Right now, though, right now he's on fire, and Jon leans back into him, letting his weight ground him, letting his body speak in silent support. "But we actually live here, and we care about what happens in this place, and since I don't exactly see you guys out there almost every single night making sure that there's nothing scary in the dark for all us kids, then as far as we're concerned you should either shut the fuck up or let us help."
There's silence, and Ryan and Al redouble their furnishings impressions. Max does his best to join them, looking vaguely embarrassed, and Tom and Sean conduct a rapid-fire argument entirely without words. Jon waits; if they settle down he'll let it go, but one more crack like that and he's going to speak up. And by speak up, he means take it out of Tom's hide. They've settled more than one disagreement the hard way in the past, and Jon might be a lone wolf these days but it doesn't mean he's going to let his pack walk all over him and his.
"Sorry," Sean says again, and "Sorry," Tom mutters ungraciously. Jon figures they're going to wind up having a talk sooner or later, he can't exactly put it off much longer himself. And he knows it's not entirely Tom's fault that things are strained; people who basically run away from home and send a letter once a month or so don't have much of a Get Out of Jail Free card themselves. He should probably have tried to clear more of that up before letting Ryan and Brendon get involved, because while he's pretty sure he's going to get mocked from all sides for being involved with two guys who can't even grow beards yet, it should be a lot more good-natured than it feels right now.
"PMS?" Jon suggests dryly, and Brendon chokes.
"Shouldn't that be PLS?" Ryan asks, dangerously innocent, and Jon bites his lip rather than giggling, which is what he actually wants to do. He kind of loves it when Ryan's bitchy, so long as he's not the target.
"Funny," Tom says, but his lips are twitching too, and shit, it's not like any of them haven't heard that joke before -- they can change at will normally, but a full moon forces it, and some people get more short-tempered in the middle of that particular cycle than others. Not that Jon would be naming names, or anything.
"Okay," he goes on, giving in with the minimum of ill grace. "We've been getting reports out in Chicago that there've been some wild animal attacks, lately. And some violent stabbings with no known motive, major post-mortem soft tissue trauma, all the sorts of serious alarm bell ringing that no one likes to see. And added to some of what's been coming up in the cards," Tom makes another face there which expresses everything he thinks about fortune telling and all that kind of business quite eloquently; Jon kind of agrees most of the time but the upper echelons of their crowd do like to take tradition seriously, "it seemed like one of our people was maybe in trouble down here."
Jon blushes and drops his eyes to the carpet at that. It's pretty clear why it's the five of them who've come out now, and not anyone else. They'd been worried. He can't exactly blame them.
"So we're out here, kind of nosing around, seeing if anything should drop into our laps," Sean picks up the thread, letting Tom go back to picking threads from the arm of Jon's couch, looking as awkward as Jon feels. "I mean, the timing was actually pretty good -- we've got a opening spot at a gig on the weekend, so we've got a ready excuse to be here in the first place, if anyone starts asking questions."
"You're actually playing now?" Jon interrupts, a little shocked. He hadn't heard that yet himself.
"Mmm," Tom says, noncommittally, and waves for Jon to let it go for the moment.
"Anyway, so imagine our surprise when we run across you lot in a cemetery," Al says, because they'd put that together belatedly, too, "all nosing around where tasty little humans shouldn't normally be. All mixed up in our business. And then we find our Jonny all tucked up in your little group, human all over him, and, well, we've learned to be cautious." He makes a c'est la vie gesture, and smiles. "Seemed like a good idea to figure out the lay of the land before we gave away all our secrets."
Jon is mostly just hoping that the other two didn't quite catch the 'all over him' part; it's perfectly normal and useful phrasing for werewolves, and he would smell like the two of them these days, doesn't think anyone like him could miss it on him, but it does still sound a bit insulting, even if that's not how Al had meant it. He rolls his head back on his neck as if he's stretching and watches Ryan and Brendon through half-closed lashes. They seem to be warming to the guys a bit now, which is good; normally Jon would have been looking forward to throwing this group together to see what would happen, and hopefully they'll be able to stay in town long enough afterwards to jam, too -- he has a feeling that music might be enough of a bond to get them all over some of the early bumps.
"So you're after whoever's been dumping bodies out in the desert," Brendon says, putting it all together, looking enlightened and a bit macabrely fascinated.
"Basically."
"So how can we help?" Ryan asks practically.
Sean's smile is sympathetic and genuine. "Right now? Try not to hold it against us when we say that mostly we just need to borrow Jon for a bit. He's a good tracker, and we could use the assist. There's definitely another wolf around town -- we found some week-old markings last night, which means we're on the right track at least -- and if we can catch up with him, we can probably get some more information there. Maybe help him out if he's the one in trouble."
Ryan shifts around in the chair, tucks his legs up under himself and leans more heavily on Brendon for just a fraction of a second. "Actually... it's getting late and we should probably go," he says, but it's definitely nothing like as pissy as he was earlier, so Jon's willing to take this as a win.
"I'll walk you out," he offers, standing up so that they can get up as well, letting them take a hand each so he can pull them to their feet. They hover at the threshold for a long minute, tangled up in a threeway hug that's only a fraction tighter than usual, and Jon kisses Brendon, hot and lingering, and then Ryan, soft and deep, and then leans his cheek against Ryan's barely scratchy chin to watch them kiss in turn. "I'll see you tomorrow," he says quietly, squeezing their hands as they step out and away.
"Text me when you get back home," Ryan calls, from the sidewalk by Brendon's car, and Brendon seconds him immediately, "me too!"
"For sure," Jon says, waving like a giant dork, because, yeah, they'll worry.
He stands at the door until Brendon's around the corner and out of sight with a flash of brake lights, and then heads back inside, perching cross-legged on the coffee table, eyeballing them all in turn. "So what part didn't you mention yet?" he asks calmly, because he knows them and they definitely weren't telling him everything in front of the other two.
Sean and Tom exchange another speaking look, but it's actually Ryan who spills the beans. "There's a unicorn somewhere out here."
* * *
Next.
* * *
Tuesday
* * *
12.01am
Ryan's phone buzzes with a text message; it's Jon, wishing him a very happy 'proper' birthday, and telling him to check his email when he wakes up. He's left a bunch of Xs and Os after that, and Ryan feels unaccountably warmed by that, by Jon being his (usual, Ryan had always thought, until this week, but maybe it is a little unfair to expect Jon to be perfect all the time- he's certainly no saint himself) considerate, thoughtful self. Jon's maybe not given to the big gesture with quite the same enthusiasm as Brendon, but he likes to show his feelings in a lot of small ways.
He's just flipping his phone shut, amused that Jon thinks he'd have been asleep already -- he and Spencer always stay up to see the beginnings of their birthdays, they've been doing it since they were old enough to successfully fool Spencer's mom into thinking they were asleep without giving the game away by giggling -- and then it vibrates again; something that's gone straight to his voicemail.
Ryan sneaks downstairs, perfectly soundless, and boots the computer up again, grinning helplessly as he listens to Brendon sing for him. He maybe listens to the voicemail three times in a row and then saves it, but that's between him and Sprint, and none of anyone else's business. He and Jon hadn't lingered in the chat after Brendon had signed off so abruptly -- it's something they haven't actually talked about yet, but they all feel a little bit awkward in twos, and it hadn't seemed fair to continue what was a serious and relatively important discussion without him.
His email blinks at him; a couple of new messages just in the time since he'd signed off an hour ago. There's a couple of LJ comments, the usual spam, an e-card from someone he doesn't know all that well, and an email with attachment from Jon. He deletes the spam unopened, and then methodically reads the comments, and the other card first. It's not exactly saving the best for last, it's- okay, it really is. He wants to ride the anticipation, not know for a little bit longer, but once he's cleared out the rest of his inbox, he opens up Jon's email. It's short and sweet, nothing over the top, just- very Jon. He knows there's a stupid smile on his face, and it just gets bigger when he opens the zipped folder attached at the end.
There's a picture of him and Spencer, Ryan's arm slung loosely around Spencer's shoulders as he tries to scowl at Jon through a rueful smile. It's a really good candid -- Ryan has a fair amount of pictures with Spencer, but not many from more recently, and none that Jon has taken, especially not with his good camera that he doesn't dare bring out too often, not given the frequency with which they wind up caught up in some kind of slayer business that tends to involve property damage and fucking up perfectly good clothing, let alone fragile personal belongings.
The second picture is much lower quality, camera-phone fuzzy, and Ryan recognises it after a second as one from Spencer's phone; Brendon and Ryan chasing Jon -- still on two feet and wearing jeans, if not his shirt -- around the cemetery, arms outstretched in their best zombie impressions. It had been a really quiet week, and they wound up laughing themselves sick, making up ridiculous songs about needing "braaaaaaaaaains, brains, sweet morsels of braaaaaaaaains," and what Brendon claimed would be their Top 40 hit, "Brain bits, brain bits, brain bits RULE!" Bob claimed they'd made enough noise to scare off actual zombies, but hadn't done more than laugh at them himself. Ryan saves both pictures to his pics folder, and then logs off again. Jon's email had promised hard copies to follow, so he didn't actually need to try and print them himself, and even if his first class isn't until eleven, it'd be nice to actually get to sleep long and late for a change.
* * *
10.20am
Ryan has another message on his voicemail when he wakes up; Spencer this time. Spencer sounds tired, which is normal, and... something else. He's probably still all pissy about Bob. Right now, Ryan can't entirely blame him. It's not that he doesn't believe Jon, it's just... the past seems to be coming back to haunt them all at the moment. Spencer wishes him a happy birthday, bitches him out for having the nerve to be two years older than him right now and not having to be getting up early for school. He doesn't sing -- Spencer never sings, not if he can't hide his voice under someone else's, which Ryan thinks is a pity, since Spencer's voice isn't bad -- but he does pause right before hanging up and adds, "oh, and by the way, Ry? Mom wants you over for dinner this week. She asked what you'd want for a present, and so there's a nice shiny set of GHD straighteners waiting for you over here. I even talked her out of the pink ones."
Ryan can't help himself, he grins stupidly for a minute, and then makes a face, because it's belatedly dawned on him that he's going to be copping even more harrassment from Spencer's sisters about that -- their unofficial adoption of him as a second brother also means that they feel bound to tease him just as much as they do their actual brother, and when they get started, they're merciless.
He grins again, tosses his textbooks into his bag, and heads out the door for his classes. Looks like maybe today isn't going to suck.
* * *
5.58pm
Bob rings the doorbell exactly on time. Spencer isn't surprised. He's been sitting in the living room, tapping out a rhythm on one thigh, for the past ten minutes. He basically leaps up when he hears the chime, runs to the door before anyone else can get to it - his parents are in the kitchen, ostensibly making the spaghetti but really just talking in low voices, and his sisters are upstairs.
“Hey,” Spencer says kind of awkwardly when he's opened the door.
Bob smiles at him, same as always. He's holding a bouquet of flowers in reds and yellows. “Hey,” he says back, and leans down a little to kiss Spencer on the cheek. His expression changes when he straightens, eyes a little wide and focused behind Spencer, who glances over his shoulder. His mom is standing there, looking weirdly neutral, with arched eyebrows.
“Mrs. Smith,” Bob says. He sounds pretty composed, Spencer's sort of impressed. Bob extends the hand holding the flowers. “I'm Bob Bryar, it's nice to finally meet you. I brought these for you.”
“Call me Ginger. Thank you,” she adds, taking the flowers from him. “I'm glad to meet you as well.”
“Come on,” Spencer mutters, intending to show Bob into the living room.
Before he can turn, Bob reaches out for his hand. Spencer looks up at him, and can't stop himself from smiling. When he looks back at his mother, her face looks normal again, nicer than Spencer thought he had any right to expect. “I'll just put these in some water,” she says.
Spencer sits next to Bob on the couch, dropping his hand but making sure they're close enough that they could touch. “You okay?” he asks, even though he thinks Bob is probably doing the best out of anyone. Before Bob can answer, Spencer's dad comes into the room.
Bob stands, strides over and extends his hand. “Bob Bryar, sir. It's good to meet you.”
“Jeff Smith.” He shakes Bob's hand, but - well, his expression isn't weird or neutral; Spencer's seen this I'm-trying-not-to-look-pissed face often enough.
Ginger bustles in as Bob sits back beside Spencer and Jeff seats himself on the other side of the room. Bob's flowers are now in a vase, and she sets them carefully down on the table under the window. “Can I get you a drink?” she offers.
“Just a water,” Bob says.
“Are you sure?” Ginger asks. “We have soda, or beer-” Spencer doesn't know if that's a genuine offer - if it had come from his dad, it would certainly be meant as a test. Ginger's offered him and Ryan drinks a few times - last Christmas, Ryan's graduation - but Ryan always says no, knee-jerk reaction, and Spencer has to stand in solidarity with his best friend.
“I'm driving,” Bob says. “Water would be great.”
Crystal and Jackie file down from whatever they'd been doing, and are sort of weird and subdued. Spencer's glad his mom had explained things to them earlier, he really didn't want to have to come out to them, too. From what they've said - well, from what they haven't said - Spencer thinks Ginger threatened them with death or, like, no TV and no internet for a month if they made fun of him for being gay.
The whole dinner sort of goes like that - Spencer feels awkward, the girls are quiet, and Jeff is barely short of hostile. Bob is very, very polite, and not even in a stilted way - Spencer can hardly tell that it's taking effort for him not to swear.
The only surprising part is Ginger's reaction. As far as Spencer can tell, his mom loves Bob. She hasn't asked about his lip ring even once (Spencer had been as worried about the piercing as he had been about any of the rest of it), and unlike Jeff, none of her questions for Bob seem to be veiled references to their age difference. By the time she busts out the photo albums over dessert, Spencer's pretty sure she likes Bob better than she likes Spencer.
* * *
6.16pm
Brendon knocks on Jon's door, but walks in without waiting for a response. "I come bearing groceries," he calls while toeing off his shoes, his hands occupied with white plastic bags filled with taco fixings and snack foods, all the supplies healthy growing boys need to keep their processed sugar levels as high as humanly possible (or superhumanly; whatever, Jon doesn't turn his nose up at Doritos, which is all Brendon asks for in a dude anyway).
Jon ducks out of the kitchen and puts his hands on Brendon's shoulders, kissing him briefly before saying anything or giving Brendon the chance to put his shopping down. "Hey," he says with a smile. Even if there hadn't been about eight million charming things about Jon, Brendon would still be a sucker for him, just because Jon always looks so damn happy to see Brendon, even happier when it's Brendon and Ryan.
Speaking of which. "Where's Ryan?" Brendon asks, too busy leaning into Jon's neck to look at him.
"He had to pick up some books for his classes," Jon says, easing his grip a bit so Brendon can step back if he wants to. Brendon doesn't want to; he spent years not getting to touch as much as he wanted, he's taking advantage of being allowed as long as he can. "How was school?"
"Fine," Brendon says, which is not a lie. School is kind of a nothing, it's what he does during the day till he can be with his band or his friends or his boyfriends (who are mostly all the same people). He goes because he has to, and because it makes a convenient excuse to be out of the house - right now his parents think he's at jazz band orientation. "Are Spencer and Bob coming over?" he asks, because he doesn't want to go through all that with Jon, or have to tell stories about his day - most of which boil down to going to class and people ignoring him.
There's a pause before Jon says "Uh, no," and Brendon looks up at that - takes a step back so he can see Jon's eyes and set down the groceries, finally, on the dusty rug at the door. "Spencer didn't -" Jon cuts himself off.
Brendon frowns. "Is something wrong?"
"No," Jon replies, picking the bags up and heading back to the kitchen. Brendon trails after him. "Well, maybe?" He sighs. "I sort of don't know how much I can say."
"Yeah, you really have to say more than that," Brendon tells him. He's trying not to freak out. They're not supposed to have secrets like this, and especially not anymore.
"Bob's going over to Spencer's for dinner with his family."
Brendon can feel his eyebrows shoot way the fuck up. "What? How did that happen? Do they know..."
"They know Bob and Spencer are seeing each other, or whatever," Jon says, pulling an onion out of the bag and setting it carefully on his cutting board. "Spencer's mom caught him sneaking into the house yesterday and I guess he thought it would be better to explain that part than the bit where he hunts vampires."
"Slays," Brendon corrects, and then, "Why didn't he say anything? We had band practice yesterday and he didn't say anything."
"Bren," Jon says, putting a knife down beside the onion and coming back over to Brendon, pulling him in. "He came out to his parents and he was freaking out. And I don't think he wanted to bug you about that."
"Yeah, okay," Brendon says, because... yeah, okay.
"And don't tell Ryan, at least not right away? I'd like him to have a nice birthday for a while." Jon sounds apologetic, which Brendon definitely gets. Hiding something about Spencer from Ryan is taking your life into your hands, but there's no way this news won't upset him.
"Sure," Brendon agrees, and then, "Should we get started on dinner?" But Jon's looking up, alert in a way Brendon is pretty sure means Ryan's at the door.
* * *
7.28pm
Bob can feel the weight of four sets of eyes - with varying degrees of hostility - all through dinner. It's not his first time playing to an unfriendly audience; the Watchers' Council aren't exactly known for being the most welcoming ever, so he knows to check himself carefully, trying his damnedest not to swear or drip spaghetti onto himself, and generally to seem like a good influence.
Sometimes it's five sets of eyes on him, though at least Spencer's aren't antagonistic for what seems like the first time in days. He even actually smiles at Bob a couple times. Bob has to admit to himself, he's missed Spencer's smile.
Despite Spencer's loud protests, Bob is more than willing to look through old photo albums when Ginger suggests it. Spence tries to hide his face, but Bob can't help grinning at some of the pictures. He'd been pretty fucking cute. Ryan's in a bunch of them too. Nothing in them contradicts Bob's original suspicion that Ryan's not entirely human, but he isn't about to bring it up again, especially not in front of people who (hopefully) still know nothing about Spencer's extracurricular activities.
It doesn't take very long for Spencer to get fed up with this display. "Mooooom," he says. It's - well, it's about the most teenager-ish Bob has ever seen Spencer, and he might worry except that he still whines at his own mother like that. "Can I talk to Bob alone?" Spencer asks. "Please?"
Ginger gives Bob a hard once-over. Bob tries to exude an air of I won't do inappropriate things to or with your son. "Sure," she says. "You boys can go off to Spencer's room."
"The door stays open," Jeff adds sternly. Bob hopes he isn't blushing. He never got that kind of protective treatment at home, though he has been on his own since he was Spencer's age, and before that he wasn't exactly the most popular kid at school. Besides that, he's pretty sure Spencer wants alone time to talk about the slaying and not for kissing, and that isn't something Bob would have to hide from his mom.
Bob's doing his best not to look too curious about Spencer's room -- it is the first time he's been in there, and his fingers are itching with the urge to run over the CDs on the shelf, to look too closely at his books and posters and the other regular debris of teenage boyhood. He's a little worried it might seem weird if he's too interested, regardless of the fact that Spencer's been in his house more times than he can count, and has started leaving some of his shit around Bob's room, even. Of course, the problem with that plan is that then his gaze just winds up fixed on Spencer, remembering how it feels to touch him.
"Um," Spencer says. "We should- we never really got to talk yet about the thing. Uh. With My Chem and all."
"I'm not exactly sure what's going on," Bob says, hands in pockets because he's not sure what else to do with them. And, right, duty calls. He has to focus on the job. "Mikey wasn't all that - he's psychic, he's, like, a precog, and he goes into these sort of trances. He was in one of them when he called me, so he wasn't all that coherent."
"Okay, what do you remember him saying?"
"There's... someone's following them around, and they're collecting weird shit. He gave me what I think is a partial list, and it matched more or less the details Brian managed to email through to me," Spencer makes a face which Bob interprets as his opinion of the source, and Bob vows privately that to hell with honesty, he's just never ever going to admit to Spencer that he and Brian had been kind of on-again-off-again friends-with-benefits ever since they'd broken up. He doesn't think that news is ever going to go down well.
"I've been tracking some of the more obvious hints on the internet and through the records I have access to, but I haven't found much of anything yet," he went on, shrugging. He'd normally be a bit further through the research stuff by this point, but things have been kind of hectic. And if whatever's out there is actually following the guys around -- Bob remembers some of the crazier obsessed fans he'd seen in the past and flinches -- then they're not in town yet and it's not like there's much they can do in the meantime anyway.
"Which doesn't mean much, does it?" Spencer says, resigned, because god knows as much as he hates to do it, Bob's had to let him out in the field with incomplete information more often than not.
"Yeah," Bob admits, scratching behind his ear, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Fuck, if he'd been this bad at concentrating on the task at hand he'd never have made it through his training, let alone been able to run a sound board. "I'm going to keep going, see what else I can turn up that might be related, at least. Maybe make a few more phone calls."
"Okay, well, that's - yeah, you focus on the research. And we'll get more information..." Spencer trails off halfway through his sentence and says "Bob, what is it? You're looking at me all-" because Bob can't stop staring at his mouth.
"Spencer," he says, and he knows his voice sounds low and gravelly. He can see Spencer shiver. It's - okay, Bob knows he's dipped into his sex voice. "Spencer, walk me out now and say goodnight."
Bob doesn't really expect Spencer to just blindly take any order -- even one as innocuous as that -- lying down, and he's not disappointed because Spencer just says "Why?"
"Because otherwise I'm going to end up doing something to you that I really, really don't want your mother walking in on. Which she would." Spencer doesn't dispute the accuracy of that statement. Ginger has radar, it didn't take Bob more than ten seconds of meeting her to figure that out himself. "I'm pretty sure she's already planning to dice me up and feed my balls to a pack of harpies," Bob continues.
"Oh, no, she likes you," Spencer says cheerfully, and shit, his hand is on Bob's thigh, and Bob's pretty sure Spencer's sister -- one of them, he's not sure which yet -- was outside like a minute ago, and it's not like slayers tend to be the most well-balanced individuals around, but Spencer must be insane, and Spencer is still talking, and entirely failing to reassure Bob in the slightest, "don't worry. Besides, you know as well as I do that the closest pack of harpies is way out in California. I'd be more worried about the dog if I was you."
"Remind me again why we're, uh-"
"Screwing around?" Spencer suggests brightly.
"Dating," Bob corrects over the top of him and then goes red anyway and smacks Spencer's hand off his leg. "Behave. We're still trying to persuade them to let you out later this week, remember?"
"Fine," Spencer sighs, and stands up. And then, with what Bob hopes like hell is an exercise of his slayer senses to confirm there's no one else upstairs right then, he shoves Bob back against the wall by the door and kisses him, body pressing hard up against Bob all the way. Bob kisses back for approximately eleven seconds before remembering where they are, and then Spencer's pulling away and heading down to the door anyway. "C'mon," he calls over his shoulder, and Bob has to jog to catch up. Jeff and Ginger are downstairs, and definitely using the full scope of parental telepathy to make sure he doesn't have any questionable thoughts about their son's backside as he follows him down the stairs.
"It was really nice to meet you," Bob says when they get back to the living room.
"You too," Ginger says. She sounds cheerful. Jeff doesn't say anything, but he's at least not actively glaring. "You'll come over again, right?"
"Any time," Bob says sincerely. "But I was actually - some friends of mine are going to be in town this week, they're in a band I used to tour with, and I was hoping Spencer could come with me to their show on Thursday. I know he's grounded, but I don't know when there'll be another chance for him to meet my friends."
"I don't think that's a great idea," Jeff says, frowning.
"Please?" Spencer asks. "It's practically my birthday!"
Ginger and Jeff exchange a look. Jeff's frown doesn't go away, but Ginger says, "You'd have him home by midnight?"
"Of course," Bob says, mentally crossing his fingers - he definitely means to, but emergencies are sort of, well, routine in their line of work.
"Ryan will be there, too," Spencer offers.
"I never thought I'd be expecting Ryan to be the one taking care of you," Ginger says ruefully. Spencer makes a sound of protest. "You can go," she says. "Bob, you'll come pick him up?"
Bob is pretty sure that's code for him getting another grilling, but there's probably no getting out of it. And, fuck, he probably deserves it. "I'll see you then," he says.
"I'll walk you to the door," Spencer breaks in, and then steps outside with him when they get there. "I'll try to sneak out later to patrol," he says in a low voice. "But it'll have to be after my parents are asleep."
"Yeah, totally," Bob says. And then, "Hey are we - are we okay? Are you still mad at me?"
Spencer takes a moment before replying. "We're okay," he agrees. Bob thinks he might be - not lying, but at least exaggerating. He's going to take it for now, though.
"Okay," Bob says, then leans in to kiss Spencer lightly, and fuck any parents or sisters or neighbors who might be watching. "I'll talk to you soon."
* * *
8.20pm
Once they've finished dinner, Jon ushers Ryan and Brendon into the living room to, uh, hang out before he busts out the cupcakes he made that afternoon. (It took forever, too - Jon would never have been able to bring himself to eat the first batch, even in wolf form when he's a lot less picky about food.) The kitchen is pretty cosy, but Jon hasn't figured out a way three people could comfortably make out in it. He's actually devoted a fair bit of energy to working that out.
However, the couch in the living room is plenty comfortable, and they are all well acquainted with it by now. Brendon is sorting out all of their limbs to his preference - going so far as to raise Jon's arm and drape it over Ryan's shoulders - and Jon is wondering whether he should try for subtle or just start kissing Ryan's neck (and maybe it's a little telling, or fucked up or something, how much Jon likes his boyfriends' necks, but he does, and it's not like either of them are complaining) when Ryan says "I just thought Spencer and Bob would have been here."
Jon takes that as a sign and doesn't lean in. Ryan had actually asked about them when he first arrived, but Brendon had said "Just us tonight," and distracted him while Jon finished up the food prep as quick as he could. There are reasons Jon is kind of crazy about Brendon, and his unexpectedly devious mind is right up there.
There are reasons he's crazy about Ryan, too, and Jon would be lying if he said Ryan's friendship with Spencer wasn't on the list. Jon knows something about the devotion and co-dependence involved in being a best friend.
"They sort of had plans," Jon says, and steels himself for what he knows is to come. He glances at Brendon, who is tilting his head and not saying anything, certainly deliberately. "They were actually having dinner with Spencer's family tonight."
Ryan blinks. "What," he says, and it's not really a question.
Jon feels like a jackass, even though he knows it's not his fault Spencer keeps coming to him about this. Not his fault that Spencer won't go to Ryan, either. "His mom caught him sneaking in yesterday morning, that's why she'd been calling that night. And I guess he said he was at his boyfriend's. So she wanted to meet Bob."
"And he told you about it." Ryan sounds flatter than Jon's ever heard before.
"And he told me about it."
"It's not a big deal, Ry," Brendon puts in, and Ryan looks totally betrayed as he turns.
"He told you, too?"
"No, Jon told me this afternoon," Brendon says evenly. "But we knew you'd be upset and didn't want to wreck your birthday."
"Of course I'm upset," Ryan says. A stranger wouldn't be able to tell from his tone of voice, but Jon definitely can. "Why wouldn't he come to me about it?"
Jon bites his lip, but Brendon is apparently (unsurprisingly) a lot braver than him about the elephant in the room. "Because of your dad," he says, running a hand through Ryan's hair. Brendon's posture looks strangely loose beside Ryan, who's holding himself impossibly stiffly. Jon wonders how he looks beside the two of them. "He didn't tell me because of my parents, and he didn't tell you because of your dad," Brendon continues. "He's Spencer, and he didn't want to upset us. You know how he is."
"He should have told me," Ryan says.
"Probably," Jon agrees, if only because he hates being the bearer of bad news. "But he wanted to protect you."
"He needs to quit that," Ryan mutters, and then "I need to call him."
Jon and Brendon exchange a look as Ryan goes to grab his cell. He's back a minute later, looking at the phone like it's failed him. "Spence didn't answer," he says. "Let me just, I need to text him."
"He will when he gets a chance, he's probably still busy. Hey, come on," Jon says, trying to sound soothing as he tugs Ryan back down onto the couch. They've only got so long tonight; he has to work tomorrow morning, Brendon has school and Ryan has class. More importantly, Ryan and Brendon both have parents who are expecting them home at a reasonable hour. After what happened to Spencer they're all a little jumpy about pushing their luck with curfews right now.
Ryan lands, a little undignified but not unwilling, half on Jon's lap. Brendon shoots Jon a smile and then leans over Ryan. He looks a little wolfish, actually, and lucky both he and Ryan are pretty small, because most of their weight is resting on Jon right now. Not that Jon's complaining, snaking a hand onto Ryan's thigh and not even trying to pretend he isn't watching avidly as Brendon and Ryan kiss. They're sort of wriggling on top of him, which feels fucking great, and Jon's working his free hand between them when there's a loud knock on the front door.
Jon sags back into the couch and takes a selfish moment to scream inside the privacy of his own head. He knows who it is, recognises the knock, even, let alone the evidence of his senses. Ryan and Brendon aren't going to take this well, and he'd just got them both calm and happy. Someone hates him, and he's pretty sure the bastard's name is Murphy.
Brendon just looks at him, uncertain, and Jon hates so much to be putting that look on his face. "Who-?" he asks, because sometimes they like to pretend it's a party trick, that Jon's just really good at guessing if it's the Avon lady (there's something about the combination of powder, wax and plastic that makes them kind of unmistakeable), the pizza guy, really persistent evangelists or Spencer trying to sneak up on them, and not something he can do as easily as breathing.
"It's them, isn't it?" Ryan says flatly, scrambling out of Jon's lap, and Jon misses his weight acutely. "Your friends."
Jon reminds himself not to look ashamed or pissed off -- because he's not, he shouldn't be, they're his friends just like Spencer and Bob are; they're just... significantly more awkward. "I'm sure it's important, Ry," he says, getting up to let them in. "They wouldn't bother us at home otherwise." Ryan's hackles go down just a fraction when Jon says home, and he can't help the tiny glad lift of his heart to notice that. He's been quietly working hard to get Brendon and Ryan to consider his apartment a second home, to make it comforting and welcoming for them; he knows they're not exactly ready to share it with him all of the time, and he's getting massively ahead of himself even to consider that already, he knows it, but, well. He's wired to be a committed guy, and he made up his mind about just what exactly he wants a long time ago now. The only question is, always- is that what they want?
* * *
8.55pm
"Sorry," Tom murmurs as they troop in past Jon, kicking shoes into the pile by the door. "It's fine," Jon murmurs back, just as quietly, and brushes his hand over Tom's wrist for emphasis. They're all tactile, it's a pack thing, and he's pretty sure that Ryan and Brendon aren't likely to misinterpret that slight a touch, at least. They're just lucky they'd met in public and human-shaped on Sunday; the usual pack greeting after a long absence tends to involve a lot of licking and the kind of juvenile wrestling matches that either look like a vicious fight or something really, really obscene. Occasionally both at the same time.
He points them to the couch and the floor, variously -- Ryan and Brendon have shifted onto the armchair, the two of them fitting easily into the single space, and Jon seats himself at their feet, leaning back against four bony knees. The message isn't subtle, and every person in the room gets it. Some of them look happier about it than others.
"So we've got confirmation that your slayer's who he says he is," Max starts, eyes distant as he goes into lecture mode. Jon can feel Ryan tense up, immediately defensive, and he'd be the same himself; he told them, he vouched for Spencer, but in their position he can't blame them for wanting to check, just in case. "Which means we can tell you a bit more about why we're here."
"And?" Brendon asks impatiently, when Max pauses a little bit too long.
Max looks awkward. Sean has the grace to look sheepish, Ryan and Al are doing their best to pretend to be wallpaper, and Tom is the one who throws himself on the metaphorical grenade.
"And we can tell you," he repeats with emphasis. "Not, um. Them. Right now, that is." Tom's expression implies that if he had his way that would be "never", but he's maybe a little oversensitive. Tom's had some bad experiences.
"Are you fucking serious," Ryan says, nowhere near quietly enough for this audience.
"What's the matter, kid?" Tom asks dangerously, with something that is definitely a baring of teeth and not at all a smile. Jon couldn't be fucking prouder that Ryan doesn't even flinch.
"It's all very growly and macho of you to walk in like you run this town," Brendon says, and he sounds like normal, vibrant and strong and passionate, but Jon can feel his knee shaking and he knows it's rage fuelling that, that Brendon is a breath away from losing his own temper, and it's going to be ugly if he does. Right now, though, right now he's on fire, and Jon leans back into him, letting his weight ground him, letting his body speak in silent support. "But we actually live here, and we care about what happens in this place, and since I don't exactly see you guys out there almost every single night making sure that there's nothing scary in the dark for all us kids, then as far as we're concerned you should either shut the fuck up or let us help."
There's silence, and Ryan and Al redouble their furnishings impressions. Max does his best to join them, looking vaguely embarrassed, and Tom and Sean conduct a rapid-fire argument entirely without words. Jon waits; if they settle down he'll let it go, but one more crack like that and he's going to speak up. And by speak up, he means take it out of Tom's hide. They've settled more than one disagreement the hard way in the past, and Jon might be a lone wolf these days but it doesn't mean he's going to let his pack walk all over him and his.
"Sorry," Sean says again, and "Sorry," Tom mutters ungraciously. Jon figures they're going to wind up having a talk sooner or later, he can't exactly put it off much longer himself. And he knows it's not entirely Tom's fault that things are strained; people who basically run away from home and send a letter once a month or so don't have much of a Get Out of Jail Free card themselves. He should probably have tried to clear more of that up before letting Ryan and Brendon get involved, because while he's pretty sure he's going to get mocked from all sides for being involved with two guys who can't even grow beards yet, it should be a lot more good-natured than it feels right now.
"PMS?" Jon suggests dryly, and Brendon chokes.
"Shouldn't that be PLS?" Ryan asks, dangerously innocent, and Jon bites his lip rather than giggling, which is what he actually wants to do. He kind of loves it when Ryan's bitchy, so long as he's not the target.
"Funny," Tom says, but his lips are twitching too, and shit, it's not like any of them haven't heard that joke before -- they can change at will normally, but a full moon forces it, and some people get more short-tempered in the middle of that particular cycle than others. Not that Jon would be naming names, or anything.
"Okay," he goes on, giving in with the minimum of ill grace. "We've been getting reports out in Chicago that there've been some wild animal attacks, lately. And some violent stabbings with no known motive, major post-mortem soft tissue trauma, all the sorts of serious alarm bell ringing that no one likes to see. And added to some of what's been coming up in the cards," Tom makes another face there which expresses everything he thinks about fortune telling and all that kind of business quite eloquently; Jon kind of agrees most of the time but the upper echelons of their crowd do like to take tradition seriously, "it seemed like one of our people was maybe in trouble down here."
Jon blushes and drops his eyes to the carpet at that. It's pretty clear why it's the five of them who've come out now, and not anyone else. They'd been worried. He can't exactly blame them.
"So we're out here, kind of nosing around, seeing if anything should drop into our laps," Sean picks up the thread, letting Tom go back to picking threads from the arm of Jon's couch, looking as awkward as Jon feels. "I mean, the timing was actually pretty good -- we've got a opening spot at a gig on the weekend, so we've got a ready excuse to be here in the first place, if anyone starts asking questions."
"You're actually playing now?" Jon interrupts, a little shocked. He hadn't heard that yet himself.
"Mmm," Tom says, noncommittally, and waves for Jon to let it go for the moment.
"Anyway, so imagine our surprise when we run across you lot in a cemetery," Al says, because they'd put that together belatedly, too, "all nosing around where tasty little humans shouldn't normally be. All mixed up in our business. And then we find our Jonny all tucked up in your little group, human all over him, and, well, we've learned to be cautious." He makes a c'est la vie gesture, and smiles. "Seemed like a good idea to figure out the lay of the land before we gave away all our secrets."
Jon is mostly just hoping that the other two didn't quite catch the 'all over him' part; it's perfectly normal and useful phrasing for werewolves, and he would smell like the two of them these days, doesn't think anyone like him could miss it on him, but it does still sound a bit insulting, even if that's not how Al had meant it. He rolls his head back on his neck as if he's stretching and watches Ryan and Brendon through half-closed lashes. They seem to be warming to the guys a bit now, which is good; normally Jon would have been looking forward to throwing this group together to see what would happen, and hopefully they'll be able to stay in town long enough afterwards to jam, too -- he has a feeling that music might be enough of a bond to get them all over some of the early bumps.
"So you're after whoever's been dumping bodies out in the desert," Brendon says, putting it all together, looking enlightened and a bit macabrely fascinated.
"Basically."
"So how can we help?" Ryan asks practically.
Sean's smile is sympathetic and genuine. "Right now? Try not to hold it against us when we say that mostly we just need to borrow Jon for a bit. He's a good tracker, and we could use the assist. There's definitely another wolf around town -- we found some week-old markings last night, which means we're on the right track at least -- and if we can catch up with him, we can probably get some more information there. Maybe help him out if he's the one in trouble."
Ryan shifts around in the chair, tucks his legs up under himself and leans more heavily on Brendon for just a fraction of a second. "Actually... it's getting late and we should probably go," he says, but it's definitely nothing like as pissy as he was earlier, so Jon's willing to take this as a win.
"I'll walk you out," he offers, standing up so that they can get up as well, letting them take a hand each so he can pull them to their feet. They hover at the threshold for a long minute, tangled up in a threeway hug that's only a fraction tighter than usual, and Jon kisses Brendon, hot and lingering, and then Ryan, soft and deep, and then leans his cheek against Ryan's barely scratchy chin to watch them kiss in turn. "I'll see you tomorrow," he says quietly, squeezing their hands as they step out and away.
"Text me when you get back home," Ryan calls, from the sidewalk by Brendon's car, and Brendon seconds him immediately, "me too!"
"For sure," Jon says, waving like a giant dork, because, yeah, they'll worry.
He stands at the door until Brendon's around the corner and out of sight with a flash of brake lights, and then heads back inside, perching cross-legged on the coffee table, eyeballing them all in turn. "So what part didn't you mention yet?" he asks calmly, because he knows them and they definitely weren't telling him everything in front of the other two.
Sean and Tom exchange another speaking look, but it's actually Ryan who spills the beans. "There's a unicorn somewhere out here."
* * *
Next.