Phenomenon (1/?)
Title: Phenomenon (1/?)
Author: silver_kamoku (me)
Fandom: Panic! At the Disco
Rating: PG (this chapter)
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
POV: 1rst Person Ryan
Summary: Ryan has his suspicions about Jon concerning Brendon. Whether it is just some sort of sick paranoia, or if something horrible actually happened to Brendon remains to be seen. Pre-split. Pretty.Odd.-centered. Really weird plot line.
Disclaimer: Completely fabricated from the catacombs of my brain.
Warnings: This whole fic is really weird to me. I can totally understand if you're reading along and you absolutely hate it! But please, don't flame me? Just click the back button. :) Thank you. The whole fic is at least 50k words at the moment. I have to type it up from the handwritten form, though. Kind of like suspense/violence. If that is not your thing, do NOT proceed. Unbeta'd.
Title: Phenomenon (1/?)
Author: silver_kamoku (me)
Rating: PG (this chapter)
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
POV: 1rst Person Ryan
Summary: Ryan has his suspicions about Jon concerning Brendon. Whether it is just some sort of sick paranoia, or if something horrible actually happened to Brendon remains to be seen. Pre-split. Pretty.Odd.-centered. Really weird plot line.
Disclaimer: Completely fabricated from the catacombs of my brain.
Warnings: This whole fic is really weird to me. I can totally understand if you're reading along and you absolutely hate it! But please, don't flame me? Just click the back button. :) Thank you. The whole fic is at least 50k words at the moment. I have to type it up from the handwritten form, though. Kind of like suspense/violence. If that is not your thing, do NOT proceed. Unbeta'd.
It was that Monday when I first noticed the strange way in which Jon would not make eye contact with me. It wasn’t very hard to notice because usually Jon is really open and laid back, but on this particular day, he was jumpy and never seemed to relax completely. None of us had energy. When was the last time we all had some solid sleep? A month? Two? A year? That is why it felt so wrong to see Jon pacing back and forth in my flat’s kitchen at 7:00 A.M. All four of us were camping out here, in L.A. for the three days during which we will play two different shows and make a TV appearance.
I had bought this place in hopes that Keltie would ask to move in with me at some point. Screw that. Poor girl deserves better. Anyway, it is a small, one bedroom, one bath place that perches in a hill that overlooks the beach. I’m rich; I won’t deny it. It’s not like I bought a mansion, anyways.
So, we all suck at cooking, except for Jon, so it wasn’t too weird for him to be making us breakfast. He normally whistles or hums as he adds pepper to the scrambled eggs, or stirs whatever concoction he decided sounds good. However, it was not the case today. The silence that hung in a cloud around Jon was almost unsettling enough to put you on edge. Something about his eyes weren’t right, either. They moved like a squirrel, out of sync with his body and twitchy. Maybe it isn’t normal for me to notice things like this, but when one of your best friends is acting oddly, it hardly escapes your attention. This new aura that Jon was emitting bugged me in a way that annoyed, and I had to do something. Break it, somehow. I don’t know. Anything! I sat, “reading” the newspaper in the small dining area, which was viewable from the modest kitchen because of a large, square cutout of the wall. This house really was designed for couples. I sigh loudly, fold and set the down the paper, before stretching my arms up and back, lengthening my torso. This drew Jon’s gaze from the sizzling of the stovetop.
“Still tired, Ross?” Jon asked, in a voice that sounded more sinister than teasing. He didn’t even look up from the orange he was violently screwing into a juicer.
“No, actually,” I say, standing, “I slept as hard as a dead man.”
Jon didn’t laugh. He just kept squeezing another orange half while hiding a grin. The pull of Jon’s lip gave me the chills. I really did sleep well. Why was Jon so pleased to hear that? My thoughts were interrupted by Spencer, wandering in sleepily from the living room that was just around the corner from the dining area slash large view window.
“Mornin’,” he intoned, yawning and not bothering to cover it. His beard was downright unruly. I held in my laughter, knowing that I at least had lots of scruff to take care of. That is, if I felt like it. Might as well keep the same look for a while, though. I’d better shave before the TV appearance, in that case. Spencer and I sleep in the living room on the couch cushions because Brendon and Jon are guests in my house. Spencer is more like family. Not that we’re not all very close. That’s just how I organized us in my tiny abode.
I never share a room with Brendon, anyway, for whatever reason. He hugs too much, I think, then laugh out loud. Jon doesn’t turn from where he’s dividing portions, (oh, how domestic), but Spencer quirks an eyebrow at me as he scratches his belly through the old, grey high school shirt he donned as pajamas. It was a shirt for the swim team, not that he was ever a part of it. I vaguely remember a brunette crush he had in junior year that would have owned a Piranha Girl’s Swim Team shirt. The clinking of my cheap plates brought me back to the real world. I observe the meal Jon had prepared. My stomach growls in approval as Jon sinks into the chair to my right, Spencer being directly in front of me, and Brendon’s empty chair to my left.
“Where’s Bren?” I asked, innocently, as I reach for a glass of pulpy orange froth.
“Oh, he is sleeping in,” Jon says, too casually as he inhales a thick cup of black coffee. Probably a fix of his from his barista days. I am mildly amused at my own lame joke. That is, before I take in Jon’s words. Brendon doesn’t sleep in. Never. In fact, the one and only time that I can ever remember that happening was when he and I were passed out on a pull out sofa after having drunk a little too much the first tour we took in Europe. Let’s just say, we were ambushed with cameras the next morning that belonged to mischievous members of FallOutBoy.
“Is he okay?” Spencer asked, brows knitted together. He was probably thinking the same things I just was.
“Oh yeah, he’s just tired because we stayed up all night playing endless sessions of truth of dare,” Jon joked. I saw Spencer flinch and look into his mug of coffee.
“Okay…” I replied. There was this feeling in my stomach like someone cookie-cuttered a hole in the bottom. I non-purposefully made eye contact with Spencer, who looked more awake than he had just a minute ago.
“Maybe I should check on him…”I started.
“No!” Jon roared. Spencer and I must have looked started, because Jon lowered himself back into his chair and changed his voice to something more airy and quirky. “Brendon said not to let anyone wake him because if he doesn’t get enough sleep, he’ll be a crabby man, and no one wants to see a crabby man on TV.”
I chuckled, imagining Brendon, laying sleepily on my white, silk sheets and mumbling this to Jon at one o’clock in the morning. Jon nodded, seeming pleased by my reaction. We continued eating, or more like wolfing. Never underestimate the power of three hungry males in the morning. Or something.
There was a hasty exchange when we finished, in which Jon tried to clear our plates and do the dishes, but I fought him for it. I won in the end, and ran the hot water in the sink as I guided apple-scented soap over various eating utensils with a new sponge. Jon and Spencer are in the living room, folding the sheets and blankets that Spencer and I had used as bedding. I smile to myself, thinking of the scene. Some days, it just feels so good to know that things are clean. I stare out the kitchen window to the sparkling waves beyond as I dry the dishes with a towel. There is a tingling in my chest, as well as my fingertips and toes. This air is the freshest I’ve ever breathed, despite the smog-infused tang. Perhaps it is even that quality of air that I crave over others; I never was much into things being too perfect. I hear the sound of my Wii starting up in the living room. Slamming the dishes into the cabinets, I rush to the said room.
“You can’t use my Wii without inviting me to play,” I quipped at them, resisting the urge to pout. Spencer patted a spot on the floor to his right, his left already being occupied by Jon. I grab the nun chuck, my unease settling a bit. Nothing is wrong with Jon, Spencer or Brendon. It is just my stupid creative mind placing scenarios in my head. I sigh and launch into the game. It is only when I think I hear pitiful little cries and moans coming from an unknown source does my unease return.
Darkness. Darkness and pain. So much pain that the word itself does not seem to be a good descriptor. Types of pain that I didn’t even know were possible to have. Flashes of my memory kept happening, almost as clear as hallucinations and I steeled myself from crying out. Little whimpers escaped instead. I begged in my mind for him not to hear and return…that would be the worst…god….no!
It was noon when panic started creeping up my spine again. It felt hot, like a stove. Had I really forgotten about Brendon? Shouldn’t he be awake by now? Brendon never sleeps this many hours at a time.
“Ryan?” Spencer is looking at me, eyes big and blue, pupils resembling the thinnest dot that a sharpie can make.
“What?” I ask, not realizing that I dropped the Wii controller to the ground.
Spencer looked at me like I was a mental patient, “You just suddenly stopped playing and dropped that.”
“Oh,” I was genuinely surprised as I looked from the paused game screen to Jon and Spencer’s worried eyes. Ice blue and foresty brown-green gazed at me.
“Um…” I stood, “I left my vitamins in the bathroom. Can’t forget to take them, or I could get sick.”
I gestured to the staircase. Spencer nods, accepted this excuse. I suppose that I do get kind of spacey when my mind is focused and worried about something. Jon, however, is looking at me intently, mouth drown into a line. I might be over reading things, but his eyebrows seem to tilt inwards and down. In anger? I ditch the spiders in my stomach and fly up the staircase.
The bathroom is connected to the bedroom, but there is an outside door, too. Screw my vitamins. It is true that I often get sick during tours, and I take vitamins to boost my immune system to avoid it, however, I just really have to see Brendon.
I won’t deny that we have a strange friendship. Maybe I am a bit addicted to him in some semi-sick way. He is always full of surprises and perhaps that is what intrigues me. Especially because his brain to mouth filter is entirely broken. Not to mention how he is a graceful klutz. I snigger at the thought, picturing him tripping over his own microphone stand, eyes wide, arms pin wheeling, and somehow landing on both feet again. Not that that has to do with my Brendon obsession or the cloudy feeling I get while watching him move in any context, but I was excited to see him.
My body activates on its own and grips the glass doorknob to my room, sweeping the door open wide. The curtains are drawn, dark and heavy like a mauve night sky. The only light is flooding in from the doorway, in which I stand, white and warm like the sun. For a second, I really do think that Brendon is still asleep. Relief fills my every pore; he is lying under the soft, blue duvet, glasses on the nightstand.
That is when I notice how the pale sheen that his skin is supposed to emit is marred by red, angry patches, mixed into the sickly seaweed-colored swill. The bruises are more purple in some places, and dark like a liver. The thought and sight makes my stomach roll in waves. I sink to my knees because they are suddenly made of air, and the form on the bed shifts. I can tell, even from here, that he is trembling. Perhaps, even drifting in and out of consciousness. That’s when my sense of smell returns, and hard. The invasive iron tang paints my nasal cavities, as well as my tongue, and rot slides down my throat. I force back my gag reflex, refusing to hurl. My mind starts to echo loudly, a word, along with a deep maroon color. Blood. Blood. Then I think, Brendon. Blood plus Brendon. I leap from the ground, and shoot myself across the room to the bed, curling my fingers under the duvet and shucking it like a spider web in my face. I would have removed the sheets as well, but they were glued to a naked, hundred-forty-five pound body with a red paste. I must have started screaming a while ago, because I only go lucid when Spencer’s soft arms are pulling me back from the bed, where I had been smearing my hands in gore, trying to feel for something. My eyes rolled back in my head as I attempted to look Spencer in the eye. Flesh, warmth, a pulse, anything. I don’t know. The skull that belongs to me is starting to feel like a thunderstorm: loud, overburdened and windy. As my vision gets grainy and black, I faintly feel the vibrations of Jon’s slightly accented voice, calling Brendon’s name as if he could hardly believe it himself. And I believed him in that moment.
Fingertips. These were not his, but my body screamed for them to stop touching me, anyway. As if I could move. As if I could stand up to him. Finally, they were wrenched away, and I was back in darkness. Stillness. That lasted for a while before light flooded the place, and uncountable numbers of hands and fingertips were splayed across my body this time, some ripping away my skin, and others bruising my back. I ascended into the air, wondering if I were finally dying. But, there was no way death could hurt this much. Sound and light was filling my brain like a cup of empty water, but I was not processing it. Next thing I knew, air was being pumped into my lungs and all of my senses completely fled.
A/N: If you read it, would you leave a comment? Thanks!