Freaks [21/23]
Title: Freaks [21/23]
Author: spazzyskittles/Tiffany
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon, Jon/Spencer
POV: 1st (Ryan's Brendon's)
Summary: An accident lands Ryan in the hospital, and he meets Jon, who tells him of a mysterious patient on their floor. There's something not quite right about him, but then again, there's something not quite right about Ryan as well.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Panic at the Disco. This is all just a by-product of an overactive imagination.
Author Notes: This is a completed story and will be updated every other day. Thanks to my beta pinkkchocolate, I couldn't have done it without you.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20
Chapter 16B - Brendon (takes place at the end of Chapter 16)
Tick. Tick. Tick.
I feel like I’m going insane.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Where is he?
Tick. Tick. Tick.
I feel like they put an analog clock in my room on purpose, so that I could hear time pass even when I couldn’t read a clock. The bandages are back on, still healing and all. But that clock. With every tickticktick, it makes fun of me, laughs at me, makes me feel more alone than I’ve felt in the last couple of weeks.
I reach for the special hand-held device that they brought me a while ago and taught me how to use. My fingers drag along the plastic until I feel the bump indicating the call button. I press it and wait patiently. All I can do right now is wait.
There’s a soft knock and then I hear a voice say, “Yes, Brendon? It’s Martin.” I realize that it’s one of the male nurses on the floor.
“What time is it?” I ask him. “Ryan was supposed to come by this afternoon, after his physical therapy session.”
There’s a soft sigh, barely noticeable, but I notice. There’s a lot in that sigh, and I can sense the next words out of his mouth. “It’s seven.”
Ryan was supposed to be done at four. If he was going to come by at all, he would’ve been here hours ago. Even Martin knows that I’ve been stood up. “Oh,” I mumble. “Thank you.”
“Can I get you anything else?” he asks, voice sympathetic.
I’m about to turn him away when I remember something. Ryan never gave me his phone number, but Jon gave me his own before he left. Maybe he can help me track him down. If anything, I might feel less lonely because, Jesus, isn’t this a shitty feeling?
“Now that you mention it,” I say, “there’s a slip of paper with a number on it right by the phone.” At least that’s where Jon said he was going to put it. “Will you help me call the number on it?”
“Of course, Brendon,” he says as I hear him move to pick up the piece of paper. A weight is dropped into my lap, and it feels like the phone. Running my fingers along the buttons, I reacquaint myself with where the buttons are. It’s a simple phone, only twelve buttons, so it’s not too difficult.
Martin reads off the numbers on the paper slowly, waiting to make sure I’ve pressed the correct button, but I’ve gotten better at this, so I get it right on the first try. I put the phone to my ear just as Martin places a hand on my shoulder and says, “I’ll let you have your privacy.”
Jon picks up just as the door closes. “Hello?” he says cheerfully, and it lifts my spirits a little.
“Jon, it’s Brendon,” I say, attempting to match his light-hearted tone.
“Brendon, how are you?” he asks.
“I…” I trail off because I can’t exactly figure out how to answer his question.
“Are you alright?” Jon asks tentatively.
I sigh, rubbing my temple. “No, I’m not.”
“Tell me what’s wrong, Brendon,” he says quietly.
I try to swallow it all down because, if anything, it’ll be a bitch to switch out my bandages, but I can’t help it. It’s breaking through.
“I don’t know where Ryan is,” I tell him in a quiet voice. “He was supposed to be here hours ago, and he hasn’t called.” My voice is starting to get thick.
“Were you going to try to see him today? Like, see him?” he asks.
“Yes.” My bandages are starting to feel damp. Dammit. “I wanted to so badly,” I confess.
“Brendon,” he whispers, and the sadness in Jon’s voice triggers a sob that I can’t hold back any longer. This is just downright shitty. “Shh,” he whispers. “Don’t cry.”
“He fucking disappeared on me,” I let out. “After everything, why would he do that to me?”
A pause. “As fucked up as it sounds, Brendon, Ryan probably has his reasons.”
“You mean, you think it’s okay?” I exclaim.
“No, it’s not,” Jon says in his calm, even tone, and it’s starting to piss me off because I deserve to be upset. “He’s hurting you, and that’s not alright at all.”
“I need to talk to him! He needs to explain these reasons.”
“I can’t give you his number, Brendon.” I can hear the genuine regret in his voice, but it just makes me even angrier.
“Why the hell not?”
“He made me promise to… stay out of things.”
This is getting frustrating. “Well, screw that! I thought you were my friend, Jon.”
He growls in frustration. “You are my friend, but so is Ryan. You have no idea how much this hurts me to do, but if I do something, it might make things worse.”
“Worse how?”
“Brendon, Ryan doesn’t trust easily at all. For whatever reason, he chooses to confide in me, and if I break his trust, it’ll just screw his trust issues up even more.”
My voice is no longer angry because now it’s just hurt again. “And why doesn’t he trust me?” I ask quietly. “He trusts you, but not me.”
“You’ve got to understand, Brendon. Very few people have given him reason to trust. Certain… circumstances have forced him to assume the worst in people. It’s how he survives. That’s all he’s trying to do, Brendon. Survive.”
“Circumstances? What could possibly-”
“If he hasn’t shared it with you, it’s not my place,” he interrupts. He sounds awfully sorry to say it, but that doesn’t keep me from feeling just horrible.
“Brendon, he likes you. He really does, but you like him back, and I think that’s scaring the shit out of him. It’s because he likes you so much that he’s afraid to… show himself to you.”
I sigh sadly. “Yeah, I understand that.” Because I do, a little. Putting yourself out there is hard, and he hasn’t told me much, but I still can tell he’s only just beginning to pick up the pieces of his own personal tragedies.
“Okay,” Jon says, sounding a bit relieved. “Look, you’re always welcome to talk to me whenever you want. And when Ryan’s done sorting out his shit, you’ll find him again.”
He sounds so sincere that it makes me believe him. “Thanks.”
“Anytime, man.”
“I’ll talk to you later,” I say, feeling a bit less alone but still a little shitty.
“Alright, Brendon. Take care,” Jon says, and I hang up.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
I hate waiting.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
But I fucking love him. Is that stupid?
Tick. Tick. Tick.
I hear a commotion out in the hallway right outside my door.
“He’s my son, and I demand-” Wait, that voice sounds familiar, though it’s slightly muffled.
“Ma’am, please calm down. It’s getting late and-”
“I don’t care. I need to see him.” A second later, the door flies open. “Brendon!”
“Mom?” I ask, though I can hardly believe it.
“Yes, dear. I’m here now,” she says quietly, taking my hand. Her hands are cold, and my fingers slip against her wedding ring.
“Where have you been?”
“Your father and I have been in Prague. You know, he had to work, and I decided to come along. When we came home, Graziella gave me the messages from the hospital, and we got down here as soon as possible,” she explains.
“We? Where’s Dad?”
“He’s… parking the car. He should be here soon.” Her voice sounds uncomfortable, and I scoff.
“Really? He’s actually coming in? What happened to not being his son anymore?” I ask angrily.
“Sweetie, he didn’t mean it,” she says softly, sounding a little worried. “He cares about you. I mean, we’re here, right? He’s just… going to need some time getting used to… things.”
“Yeah,” I say, though I really don’t think so. Wordlessly, she gives my hand a squeeze and gently pushes my hair out of my face.
“Son,” I hear another, lower, voice say from the door, “it’s your father.”
“I thought I didn’t have a father,” I mutter. An awkward silence fills the room.
“Now, Brendon, don’t talk about any of that. We’ll… take care of you.”
Author: spazzyskittles/Tiffany
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon, Jon/Spencer
POV: 1st (Ryan's Brendon's)
Summary: An accident lands Ryan in the hospital, and he meets Jon, who tells him of a mysterious patient on their floor. There's something not quite right about him, but then again, there's something not quite right about Ryan as well.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Panic at the Disco. This is all just a by-product of an overactive imagination.
Author Notes: This is a completed story and will be updated every other day. Thanks to my beta pinkkchocolate, I couldn't have done it without you.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20
Chapter 16B - Brendon (takes place at the end of Chapter 16)
Tick. Tick. Tick.
I feel like I’m going insane.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Where is he?
Tick. Tick. Tick.
I feel like they put an analog clock in my room on purpose, so that I could hear time pass even when I couldn’t read a clock. The bandages are back on, still healing and all. But that clock. With every tickticktick, it makes fun of me, laughs at me, makes me feel more alone than I’ve felt in the last couple of weeks.
I reach for the special hand-held device that they brought me a while ago and taught me how to use. My fingers drag along the plastic until I feel the bump indicating the call button. I press it and wait patiently. All I can do right now is wait.
There’s a soft knock and then I hear a voice say, “Yes, Brendon? It’s Martin.” I realize that it’s one of the male nurses on the floor.
“What time is it?” I ask him. “Ryan was supposed to come by this afternoon, after his physical therapy session.”
There’s a soft sigh, barely noticeable, but I notice. There’s a lot in that sigh, and I can sense the next words out of his mouth. “It’s seven.”
Ryan was supposed to be done at four. If he was going to come by at all, he would’ve been here hours ago. Even Martin knows that I’ve been stood up. “Oh,” I mumble. “Thank you.”
“Can I get you anything else?” he asks, voice sympathetic.
I’m about to turn him away when I remember something. Ryan never gave me his phone number, but Jon gave me his own before he left. Maybe he can help me track him down. If anything, I might feel less lonely because, Jesus, isn’t this a shitty feeling?
“Now that you mention it,” I say, “there’s a slip of paper with a number on it right by the phone.” At least that’s where Jon said he was going to put it. “Will you help me call the number on it?”
“Of course, Brendon,” he says as I hear him move to pick up the piece of paper. A weight is dropped into my lap, and it feels like the phone. Running my fingers along the buttons, I reacquaint myself with where the buttons are. It’s a simple phone, only twelve buttons, so it’s not too difficult.
Martin reads off the numbers on the paper slowly, waiting to make sure I’ve pressed the correct button, but I’ve gotten better at this, so I get it right on the first try. I put the phone to my ear just as Martin places a hand on my shoulder and says, “I’ll let you have your privacy.”
Jon picks up just as the door closes. “Hello?” he says cheerfully, and it lifts my spirits a little.
“Jon, it’s Brendon,” I say, attempting to match his light-hearted tone.
“Brendon, how are you?” he asks.
“I…” I trail off because I can’t exactly figure out how to answer his question.
“Are you alright?” Jon asks tentatively.
I sigh, rubbing my temple. “No, I’m not.”
“Tell me what’s wrong, Brendon,” he says quietly.
I try to swallow it all down because, if anything, it’ll be a bitch to switch out my bandages, but I can’t help it. It’s breaking through.
“I don’t know where Ryan is,” I tell him in a quiet voice. “He was supposed to be here hours ago, and he hasn’t called.” My voice is starting to get thick.
“Were you going to try to see him today? Like, see him?” he asks.
“Yes.” My bandages are starting to feel damp. Dammit. “I wanted to so badly,” I confess.
“Brendon,” he whispers, and the sadness in Jon’s voice triggers a sob that I can’t hold back any longer. This is just downright shitty. “Shh,” he whispers. “Don’t cry.”
“He fucking disappeared on me,” I let out. “After everything, why would he do that to me?”
A pause. “As fucked up as it sounds, Brendon, Ryan probably has his reasons.”
“You mean, you think it’s okay?” I exclaim.
“No, it’s not,” Jon says in his calm, even tone, and it’s starting to piss me off because I deserve to be upset. “He’s hurting you, and that’s not alright at all.”
“I need to talk to him! He needs to explain these reasons.”
“I can’t give you his number, Brendon.” I can hear the genuine regret in his voice, but it just makes me even angrier.
“Why the hell not?”
“He made me promise to… stay out of things.”
This is getting frustrating. “Well, screw that! I thought you were my friend, Jon.”
He growls in frustration. “You are my friend, but so is Ryan. You have no idea how much this hurts me to do, but if I do something, it might make things worse.”
“Worse how?”
“Brendon, Ryan doesn’t trust easily at all. For whatever reason, he chooses to confide in me, and if I break his trust, it’ll just screw his trust issues up even more.”
My voice is no longer angry because now it’s just hurt again. “And why doesn’t he trust me?” I ask quietly. “He trusts you, but not me.”
“You’ve got to understand, Brendon. Very few people have given him reason to trust. Certain… circumstances have forced him to assume the worst in people. It’s how he survives. That’s all he’s trying to do, Brendon. Survive.”
“Circumstances? What could possibly-”
“If he hasn’t shared it with you, it’s not my place,” he interrupts. He sounds awfully sorry to say it, but that doesn’t keep me from feeling just horrible.
“Brendon, he likes you. He really does, but you like him back, and I think that’s scaring the shit out of him. It’s because he likes you so much that he’s afraid to… show himself to you.”
I sigh sadly. “Yeah, I understand that.” Because I do, a little. Putting yourself out there is hard, and he hasn’t told me much, but I still can tell he’s only just beginning to pick up the pieces of his own personal tragedies.
“Okay,” Jon says, sounding a bit relieved. “Look, you’re always welcome to talk to me whenever you want. And when Ryan’s done sorting out his shit, you’ll find him again.”
He sounds so sincere that it makes me believe him. “Thanks.”
“Anytime, man.”
“I’ll talk to you later,” I say, feeling a bit less alone but still a little shitty.
“Alright, Brendon. Take care,” Jon says, and I hang up.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
I hate waiting.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
But I fucking love him. Is that stupid?
Tick. Tick. Tick.
I hear a commotion out in the hallway right outside my door.
“He’s my son, and I demand-” Wait, that voice sounds familiar, though it’s slightly muffled.
“Ma’am, please calm down. It’s getting late and-”
“I don’t care. I need to see him.” A second later, the door flies open. “Brendon!”
“Mom?” I ask, though I can hardly believe it.
“Yes, dear. I’m here now,” she says quietly, taking my hand. Her hands are cold, and my fingers slip against her wedding ring.
“Where have you been?”
“Your father and I have been in Prague. You know, he had to work, and I decided to come along. When we came home, Graziella gave me the messages from the hospital, and we got down here as soon as possible,” she explains.
“We? Where’s Dad?”
“He’s… parking the car. He should be here soon.” Her voice sounds uncomfortable, and I scoff.
“Really? He’s actually coming in? What happened to not being his son anymore?” I ask angrily.
“Sweetie, he didn’t mean it,” she says softly, sounding a little worried. “He cares about you. I mean, we’re here, right? He’s just… going to need some time getting used to… things.”
“Yeah,” I say, though I really don’t think so. Wordlessly, she gives my hand a squeeze and gently pushes my hair out of my face.
“Son,” I hear another, lower, voice say from the door, “it’s your father.”
“I thought I didn’t have a father,” I mutter. An awkward silence fills the room.
“Now, Brendon, don’t talk about any of that. We’ll… take care of you.”