Rock-a-Bye Baby part 2/4
Title: Rock-a-Bye Baby part 2/4
Type: Bandom, MPreg
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon, bonus side Jon/Spencer
Word Count: ~29000
Time: three months
Rating: NC-17
Author's Note: This. Is pretty much completely self-indulgent. I have no excuse for myself. Be warned that there is indeed mpreg so if you really can't handle that, then you must turn away. Oh, god, if you found this by googling yourself and don't know what mpreg even is. Please leave. Please. hopefulgenius is the person I worship for her mad beta skill. Adore her. She is forever my favorite.
ETA: It has come to my attention that Rock-a-Bye Baby has been plagiarized twice now. I'd just like to encourage everyone to please notify the author any time you believe their work has been plagiarized. I also want to say thank you to the people who have notified me about these instances. It means a lot to us. Stay awesome, guys :)
Summary: "It’s a normal day in the House of Urie-Ross-Smith-Walker, more commonly known as The Bus."
After one more full day (and two more huge tubes of blood that Brendon passes out over), a nurse comes in and tells him that they can’t find a problem. “But Dr. Shelley still seems very worried, Mr. Urie. She’s hesitatingly letting you leave and is going to continue with the tests. She prescribed an anti-sickness medicine for the vomiting and a mild antibiotic just in case. She also requests bed rest for at least one more week.”
“One week? But I’ve already been out of commission for three days.” The fans are going to murder him in his sleep for making them pay sixty dollars a pop for those tickets now. He’s sure that they’re going to be refunded, but he doubts that’ll be any consolation to them. Crap. “I don’t even think we’re supposed to be in this city right now.”
Jon says, “We were supposed to leave for New York yesterday.”
“But we can cancel those shows as quickly as we cancelled the last one.” Spencer leans against Jon’s side, not smiling in a very deliberate way.
The nurse looks down at Brendon’s chart, her eyes scanning the page. “Dr. Shelley would like me to tell you that she’s only letting you leave because we’re filling up all the rooms more quickly than usual and we can’t afford to take up space for an unsure thing. She says she wants me to threaten you with calling the Health Department and making false accusations if you leave the city this week.”
Brendon blinks. “Did I just get blackmailed?”
The corner of Spencer’s mouth twitches up. “I like this doctor.”
“But what if I have to? I don’t live in this city; what if something comes up?” Brendon protests. He doesn’t like being strapped down like this.
The nurse flips the page and reads some more. “She said you would make that argument and that she wants you to know that she’s serious. She’ll call the Health Department on your… uh… ass.”
Jon laughs hard. Ryan and Spencer grin.
Jon throws an arm around Brendon’s shoulder, tousling his hair fondly. “Tell Dr. Shelley that Brendon isn’t going anywhere for the next seven days. We’ll chain him to his bed if we have to.”
Brendon squawks, but Spencer agrees and that’s that.
***
Brendon despises his bed. The others won’t let him leave it other than to move to the couch for the television or to go to the bathroom. He hasn’t seen the sun in forever and he’s about to come apart, he can feel it.
Some of being on bed rest is cool. No one makes him make food or go get it; hell, no one even makes him get up for his own food. They bring it to him and let him eat it in bed. He doesn’t throw up all night anymore thanks to the anti-sickness pills, and that is totally awesome except that it means he has more energy.
He is going to die if someone doesn’t let him move outside of the bus within the next day or so.
He’s playing goldfish with Jon when Ryan’s sidekick rings. After he looks at the ID he puts it on speakerphone. “Hey, Dr. Shelley.” Brendon glares at the phone. Ryan looks at him reprovingly. “What’s up?”
“Don’t panic, all right? I need you to bring Brendon back to the hospital immediately. I,” she pauses and takes a deep breath that statics over the phone, “I might have found something in the blood tests.”
Ryan and Brendon look at each other and Ryan says, “We’ll be there in ten. Five.”
***
Brendon’s shaking the entire ride to the hospital. He hasn’t been scared up to this point, not really. He’s always been impeccably healthy, has never even broken a bone before. He can’t remember the last time he was sicker than a cold or a sore throat.
Ryan’s driving and concentrating way too hard on the road to actually be paying attention to it. He keeps cutting in front of people and blowing straight through stop signs. At a red light, he finally stops long enough to take Brendon’s hand.
“Ryan,” Spencer says evenly from the back seat, “getting us killed on the way to the hospital is not going to make Brendon better faster.”
“Sorry,” Ryan mumbles, still intensely watching the road. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey, Brendon,” Jon says from beside Spencer, “you’re gonna be fine.”
Brendon smiles as best he can into the rearview mirror. “Yeah.”
***
Dr. Shelley meets them in the front lobby, Brendon’s chart in hand. He wonders if it’s just him or if the chart has gotten substantially thicker in the five days it’s been since he was last at the hospital.
“Thank you for coming so quickly,” she says. Her eyes are bright and there’s a line between her eyebrows like she’s been concentrating a lot recently. She turns, her lab coat puffing out behind her and gestures toward them. “I’d like it if Mr. Ross and Mr. Urie followed me. Mr. Smith, Mr. Walker, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to stay in here and wait. The room we’re going to is fairly small and Mr. Urie might need some room to breathe.”
The color in Brendon’s face drains completely. The only thing that keeps him up at that moment is Jon’s hand gripping his shoulder.
Spencer pats his back. “We’ll be right here when you get back.”
Jon nods, grinning his biggest grin. “Right here. You’ll be fine.”
Brendon doesn’t want to leave them. If something happens and he’s… if he’s… not okay, he doesn’t want to find out without Jon’s lazy smile and bear hugs. He doesn’t want to know if Spencer isn’t going to be there with his calm, quick mind and unshakable stability. He forces himself not to reach out to them as they go through the door into the main hospital and grabs Ryan’s hand instead.
Ryan squeezes gently, like he knows what Brendon’s thinking. Brendon looks away, ashamed, and Ryan leans toward him. “Hey, no. I’d want them too.”
Brendon’s arms are around Ryan’s neck before he even knows he wants to hug him and he holds on tight. Ryan hugs him back as hard as he can in the middle of the hospital’s hallway.
Ryan’s never been one for public displays of affection and Brendon knows that this must be an act of desperation. Ryan is scared too. Brendon’s grip on Ryan tightens and he buries his face in Ryan’s shoulder.
“Excuse me.” Brendon unwillingly looks up. Dr. Shelley is standing a few feet away from them, holding a door open. “Mr. Urie, Mr. Ross, this way.”
Brendon has to tear himself off of Ryan and can’t smile at Dr. Shelley as he passes her, even if none of this is her fault.
“Please lie down on the table here and lift your shirt to your chest, Mr. Urie.” She pats a paper covered table. “And, Mr. Ross, you may have a seat over there if you want.”
Ryan looks at the two chairs in the corner. “Can I just hold Brendon’s hand instead?”
“Of course.”
Brendon smiles gratefully at Ryan. Ryan takes his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Go lay down, Brendon.”
Brendon does, pushing his shirt up to mid-chest. The paper on the bed crinkles loudly and the room is honestly too quiet for something so noisy.
Dr. Shelley gets a machine from the corner of the room, rolling it up to the side of the stretcher. “All right, everyone, this is a Doppler ultrasound machine. It sends high level frequency sounds through you and gives us an image of your insides here.” She taps a small screen on the machine. “Any questions?”
Both Brendon and Ryan shake their heads. Dr. Shelley smiles. “All right then. Mr. Urie, I’m going to spread some jelly on your stomach to help the machine work. It’s going to be cold, but it shouldn’t hurt.”
She squirts the jelly onto Brendon’s stomach and his muscles flutter beneath it. It’s freezing but not that bad so Brendon waits quietly and tries not to fidget. Dr. Shelley flips a switch and the machine hums to life. She presses what she calls a transducer down across the jelly and a static filled, black and white image fills the screen. A soft, pattering sound fills the silence and Dr. Shelley’s jaw drops. “Oh,” she whispers to herself. “Oh, my God.”
“Dr. Shelley,” Brendon stares at the screen, unable to breathe, “what’s wrong?”
Dr. Shelley shakes her head and keeps watching the screen, moving the transducer. She stops when the pattering reaches its loudest point. “Mr. Ross, would you please hold this for a minute?”
Ryan nods. Dr. Shelley hands off the transducer to him and goes to a white phone on the wall, picking it up. Without preamble she says, “I need an obstetrician in Room 127 ASAP.”
Brendon looks up at Ryan with wide, fearful eyes. He’s terrified and wishes someone would tell him what’s happening. His hand is shaking, even with Ryan’s so tight around it. “Obstetrician?”
Ryan doesn’t look away from the screen. He’s so still, every part of him. Even his mouth barely moves when he speaks. “A baby doctor.”
Brendon feels cold and sick. “What?”
Another woman comes in, this one with straight, dark brown hair, a stark contrast to Dr. Shelley’s blond curls. Dr. Shelley grabs the woman’s hand and pulls her over. “This is Dr. Marie Blake,” she introduces her quickly before taking the transducer back and turning to Dr. Blake. “Marie, what do you make of this?”
Dr. Blake stares at the machine and opens her mouth, looks at Brendon, and closes her mouth again. After a moment, she asks, “May I?” and takes the transducer from Dr. Shelley. She moves it across Brendon’s stomach slowly, carefully, and finally stops when the static is more black than white. “Helen, I. I can’t believe what I’m seeing.”
“What?” Brendon asks, his voice small. He can feel the bile rising in his throat and his breathing is coming fast, too fast. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Congratulations, Brendon,” Dr. Shelley says softly. “You’re going to have a baby.”
Brendon sits up and Ryan dives for a wastebasket near the door. Brendon barely has time to shove his face into the trashcan before he throws up.
***
“If it was going to happen to anyone,” Spencer says, his voice muffled between his hands, “it was going to happen to Brendon.”
Jon and Spencer had taken the news fairly well, as well as could be expected anyway. Brendon was relieved that no one laughed when Dr. Shelley and Dr. Blake made the announcement. He would have probably gone into hysterics. He still might go into hysterics. This is insane.
Mostly, though, he’s just tired. After throwing up he’d felt drained of everything, almost numb but not numb enough to smother the terror quickly tying a knot in the center of his chest.
Dr. Shelley and Ryan had helped him lay down once everything was out of his stomach. They’d tried to clean up the jelly, but he’d gotten it everywhere and they couldn’t get all of it out of his shirt. He feels sticky and uncomfortable. He wants to go home and go to sleep and forget today ever happened.
Dr. Blake is talking now. She sounds like she’s grasping at straws trying to explain how this happened. She seems utterly fascinated by Brendon’s “situation” as she keeps calling it and he’s starting to feel like a science project.
He vows never to use anything tested on animals again. He knows too well how a lab rat must feel.
“This is a major medical breakthrough,” Dr. Blake continues. “It completely throws me for a loop and I can only imagine what the medical community would say once they got wind of it. There has to be some sort of quasi-uterus and genetic mutation or… something, I can’t even think right now.”
Spencer went rigid the moment Dr. Blake said breakthrough. “You understand, of course, that this can’t get out. To anyone.”
“We don’t like suing people,” Jon says offhandedly, smiling his languid little smile. Brendon’s never noticed before, but Jon’s super casual manner is scary when used in a certain context. It’s almost hitman-esque. Or like a freaky serial killer out to eat your heart or wear your skin or something.
“Of course not,” Dr. Shelley assures them before Dr. Blake can open her mouth. “We wouldn’t dream of breaking doctor-patient confidentiality. Especially in such a delicate situation.”
“Thank you.” How can Jon be that cool? He can threaten people and be friendly at the same time. Are you born like that or do you, like, train for it or what? “We really appreciate it.”
Dr. Blake sighs wistfully. “Still, this is amazing.”
Brendon doesn’t like Dr. Blake. She seems to mean well enough, but he gets the feeling that she would only be too happy to scream to the world her new discovery if he so much as hints at a possible okay. He plans on telling the guys later so he doesn’t have to see her again.
“I get how weird this is, trust me,” Ryan says, the first words he’s spoken since they were told that… since they were told. “But now what?”
“That,” Dr. Shelley says, “is up to Brendon.”
Hearing his name, Brendon looks up. “What?”
“Mr. Urie, I know that this has to be an information overload right now, but it’s critical that we act now no matter what you decision may be.”
Brendon isn’t stupid. He knows what the doctor is saying; he just can’t seem to wrap is mind around it. “What?”
“Brendon,” Dr. Shelley’s eyes connect with his, “if you plan on terminating this pregnancy, then you need to do it soon before the fetus grows much more for your own health. A baby is essentially a parasite and I doubt your body is equipped for such an undertaking on its own. If you plan on seeing the pregnancy through, then we need to put you on vitamins and hormones quickly to keep both of you in as healthy a condition as possible. I’m not saying that you have to make these decisions now, but they need to be made soon.”
Brendon’s head hurts. This is too much, all of it is too much. In the past week he has passed out on stage, been in and out of the hospital, gotten yelled at by all of his bandmates, thought he was dying, and found out that he was pregnant. And now he has to decide if he wants to stay that way too? Can’t a guy get a break?
He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “What do you think I should do, Dr. Shelley?”
“Brendon, I’m not really supposed to-”
“No, please. I want your opinion.”
She pauses. When she speaks, the words are slow and carefully thought out. “As a researcher, I’d love for you to continue the pregnancy. Studying it and the birth would be amazing. As a doctor, I have to tell you that the risks are incredible. The likelihood of the fetus coming to term at all is tiny. It’s only as big as a poppy seed and can be wiped out with a couple pills at this stage. As a person, I have to say that it’s completely your call. The rest is up to you, Brendon. In no way should you feel pressured by anyone in this room to keep the fetus or to abort it. You’re the one who will have to live with the result of your decision.”
Breathing is getting hard again and Brendon is starting to get light-headed. Most of him is saying to have the fetus aborted. It’s the smart thing to do, even the right thing. No child deserves to be born like this, with everything against them. He’s only a kid himself most of the time, not to mention the fact that his career, the perfect job of his dreams, is still at its climax and he rarely sees his own condo anymore. How is he supposed to raise a baby like that?
Right. Getting an abortion is the best choice. It’s the only choice, really.
“I,” and then he stops. His mouth completely loses its ability to function. He can’t do it. Brendon can’t say that he wants to stop this pregnancy. He knows that if he did, he would feel like he’d just murdered his child. His and Ryan’s baby.
“Ryan,” he opens his eyes and holds out his hand.
Ryan takes it and kneels down so that they’re at eye level. “Yeah, Brendon?”
Ryan’s face is carefully blank and Brendon thinks that he appreciates it, but isn’t positive. “Ryan,” he repeats, “I want this baby.”
Something flicks across Ryan’s face, over his mouth, in his eyes, but it’s so fast that Brendon can’t decipher what it means. “Are you sure?”
“That sound on the ultrasound machine, it was the baby’s heartbeat. That was our baby’s heartbeat.” His voice cracks. His explanation is so weak, so pathetic, but it’s the soft beat of the tiny heart on the ultrasound speakers that won’t get out of his head and he doesn’t know what else to say. “I want this baby more than anything.”
Ryan leans forward and kisses his forehead. “Okay.”
***
Dr. Blake completely takes over after that. She’s like a kid in a candy store except that instead of begging for lollipops, she wants every test known to man performed on Brendon. Once she’s taken enough blood to feed a small clan of vampires, she prescribes hormones, a prenatal vitamin, and morning sickness pills.
Brendon runs out of the hospital as soon as she lets him. Ryan has to check him out because Brendon can’t even wait that long to leave. His arms are achy and bruised from needles and he’s still sticky with jelly and he wants to go home.
Now.
He waits impatiently in the passenger’s seat of the car. Spencer and Jon follow him, sliding into the backseat. He’s about to ask one of them to drive up to the front of the hospital and pick Ryan up (he doesn’t trust himself to drive) so they can leave already when he notices that Jon’s giving Spencer money.
Whoa, lots of money.
He blinks. “What the hell?”
“We made a bet a long time ago, when I first joined Panic,” Jon explains, his face set in a grim expression.
“And Jon just lost two grand,” Spencer adds smugly, his palm outstretched as he waits for Jon to empty his wallet. When he finally runs out of bills, he looks up at Spencer pleadingly. Spencer just smirks. “We accept all major credit cards too, Walker.”
“Oh.” Brendon shifts around in his seat, curiosity getting the better of him. “What was the bet about?”
Spencer starts counting bills, carefully folding each out. “Who tops in the Ryden dynamic.”
If Brendon could have died right there he would have. Instead, he settles for trying to climb over his seat to strangle Jon and Spencer.
***
“We have to call Pete.”
Brendon winces visibly, but doesn’t look away from his Gameboy. He’s known since he passed out that Pete would have to know what was going on. The amount of money they were losing on unplayed shows and bad press had to be enormous. Brendon had changed a glance onto LiveJournal for their fans’ opinions earlier that morning. Many of the older fans were frantic about his health, which was sweet but creepy since they didn’t know him personally. Unfortunately, the pre-teens were throwing fits.
“this iz ratrted,” one wrote, “$60 clams n i got nuthin!!! Bden betre get up or get uot of showbiz!!”
One that particularly stung was a comment on YouTube where someone insisted that he’d been lip-synching. He watched the video of himself passing out and he can’t understand what they’re talking about. When he hits the floor in the video, his voice stops, the end.
He’s seen pictures of himself coming out of the hospital on the front of the tabloids. They are picking apart how thin he looks and have pictures of him six months ago to emphasize the amount of weight he’s lost. ‘Manorexia’ is splashed in bright red and yellow letters across several major gossip magazines.
How stupid do you have to be to make up a word like manorexia?
Anyway, someone needs to talk to Pete and tell him their side of the story. But Brendon so doesn’t want to. He groans. “Don’t make me.”
“We have to.” Ryan’s mouth settles into a thin line as he checks his sidekick for the millionth time in the past few days. “He won’t stop texting me.”
“Turn off your phone.”
Ryan looks at him incredulously.
Brendon pouts. “Well, I turned mine off.”
“Brendon.”
“Fine, fine.” Brendon turns off his Gameboy and crawls over Ryan’s lap, lying across it like a cat in need of scratching. “Put him on speaker phone. There’s no way I’m telling him by myself.”
Ryan nods and presses four on speed dial. Pete, Patrick, and Spencer’s mom are the only ones outside of the band on his speed dial. Brendon prides himself on being number two. Spencer is ahead of him, but he can deal with that.
Pete picks up on the second ring. “Ryan Ross, care to tell me why your boyfriend is on the cover of the magazine in front of me right now?” He doesn’t sound mad at all, or even particularly worried. Pete’s voice is smooth and very calm, too calm, and Brendon is willing to bet Patrick is somewhere nearby, cushioning all parties from Pete’s (more than) occasional bitchiness. Thank God for short strawberry-blondes.
“He’s-”
“-a dumbass. Yeah, I know.” Brendon rolls his eyes up at the ceiling. He’s never going to live this down.
Ryan pats his stomach reassuringly. “I was going to say sick, but that too.”
Pete snorts. “Yeah, I gathered that much from the photos. Why haven’t any of you fuckers been answering your phones? I’ve been trying to get a hold of all of you since Brendon’s blackout.”
The way Pete says ‘Brendon’s blackout’ sounds like the words should be in capital letters. “Brendon’s Blackout.” Brendon repeats. “Is that what the kids are calling it, Pete?”
“Shut up, Brendon. What the hell happened to you, man? I don’t know if you realize this or not, but passing out on stage isn’t a trend that a frontman should get into.”
“Twice, Pete. Twice.” Brendon glares at Ryan’s phone. “I don’t exactly call that a trend. And the first time wasn’t even my fault, if you didn’t catch that memo.”
“And this time?”
Brendon’s eyes land on Ryan. He shrugs and Ryan sighs. “Brendon was really sick and didn’t tell anyone. He says we were too busy for him to care about medical attention.”
“In his defense,” Patrick’s voice is distant, but clear, “it’s not like he’s the only one on the label who does that, Pete.”
“Why, Patrick, are you implying something?” Pete’s voice is distant too, now, like he’s holding the phone away from his mouth.
“No. Anyway, ask him what the doctors at the hospital said. Do you want mustard on your sandwich?”
“Mmhm. What would I do without you, Patrick?”
“Make your own damn sandwiches.”
Pete’s voice comes back loud and smiling. “Patrick wants to know what the doctor said.”
Brendon tenses and Ryan’s hand glides up his stomach and back down past his hip bones in wide circles. He thinks Ryan’s mean for going that far past his hips without going further.
“Pete,” Ryan says, “you need to sit down for this.”
“Shit, what’s wrong with Brendon?”
“Sit down and I’ll tell you, Pete.”
“Is it, like, cancer or something? Shit, tell me it’s not something like that.”
Brendon looks down at his stomach and splays a hand over the flat surface. There’s not even extra thickness there, no indication whatsoever of the baby, but he imagines he can feel the baby’s heartbeat against his palm. “Well, it’s an abnormal growth, I guess. Not exactly cancer, but.”
He imagines the baby kicking at his insides for calling him an ‘it’ and an abnormal growth in the same sentence. He feels a little guilty but wonders how the baby got Spencer’s bad attitude. Probably by osmosis, poor baby.
Pete doesn’t say anything for a second. Then, “What?”
“You’re not going to believe this, but I swear it’s true, Pete.” Ryan takes a deep breath and says it carefully. “Brendon is pregnant.”
There’s a loud clatter as the phone hits the floor. Brendon can hear shuffling in the background and Patrick asking Pete if he’s okay.
When the phone is picked up again, it’s Patrick’s voice that says, “Hello?”
Brendon tosses his head back and laughs.
Ryan coughs to stop himself from laughing like a maniac. “We told him to sit down.”
“I think he’s in shock. Pete, are you okay? What the fuck did you tell him?”
“Sit down, Patrick.”
Patrick huffs. “I am sitting.”
“Brendon’s pregnant.”
The phone hits the floor. Ryan laughs so hard he collapses across Brendon’s stomach.
The baby likes Ryan’s laugh; Brendon can just tell.
***
July: Month Three
Ryan doesn’t ask Pete or Patrick to keep the pregnancy a secret. It goes without saying that anything that happens in FBR/DD stays in FBR/DD. Keeping it from the other people in the circle though? Pete couldn’t do it if his life depended on it.
Ryan is tempted to turn off his phone like Brendon suggested, but can’t bring himself to do it.
He’ll admit it. He’s addicted to technology. There should be techno-rehab.
Since there isn’t, Ryan has to keep his phone on. Way to go, logical fallacies.
Ryan has two hundred seventeen texts, most of which are Pete teasing him, seventy-four missed calls, and twenty three unheard voicemails. He wonders what Brendon’s phone has to be going through right now. Out of curiosity, Ryan turns on his boyfriend’s sidekick for ten minutes. It doesn’t stop buzzing the entire time.
Ryan quickly turns it off and stuffs it under a pillow on Brendon’s still unused bunk for good measure. “Brendon,” he calls into the front of the bus where the kitchen-like thing is, “don’t turn on your phone.”
Brendon’s head pops up from behind a corner and he’s chewing something rather loudly. “How come?”
Ryan shakes his head. “Just don’t do it.”
Brendon laughs and disappears back behind the corner. When he returns, his arms are full of food, mostly of condiments, and he dumps them on Ryan’s bunk before crawling up beside him. “How bad is it?”
“Pretty bad.” Ryan eyes the random food. He’s never liked people eating in his bed, too many crumbs, but he figures he can let this one slide. “What are you eating?”
Brendon looks at his bounty and begins lining items up in no particular order. “Everything.”
“I see that.” Ryan stares at a huge jar of mayonnaise. “Brendon, you hate mayonnaise. You barely let us keep it on the bus.”
Brendon picks up the jar, unscrews the lid and dips his finger in the thick white paste. Ryan can’t believe it when Brendon scoops it out and eats it. Brendon closes his eyes and hums contentedly. “S’good.”
Ryan remembers once going to a restaurant that put mayonnaise on Brendon’s sandwich accidentally. He’d almost gotten sick, and that was just from one tiny bite.
Hell, Ryan likes mayonnaise just fine and he couldn’t eat it right off his finger. “That’s… weird.”
Brendon shrugs and dips his finger in again. “So what is everyone saying?”
Ryan can only watch in horror and disgust as Brendon continues to eat. “Mostly everyone is asking how it happened and if Pete was lying to them. Gabe and his people say congratulations and are asking when the baby is due. Apparently, they plan on kidnapping him and dubbing him The Littlest Cobra.”
Brendon stops eating with his finger half in his mouth. “Wha?”
Ryan nods and reaches for a half-gone can of Pringles. “Yeah. We’re not letting him baby-sit.”
Brendon’s eyes follow the Pringles. It’s hard for Ryan to ignore his longing glances, but he succeeds for the most part. Finally Brendon says, “Are you gonna eat all of those?”
Ryan pops one into his mouth. “Yes. Why? You already ate half.”
“I was going to eat the rest of the cookie dough ice cream with them later.”
“That’s Spencer’s ice cream.” Why is it that Ryan is less opposed to Pringles and ice cream than eating Spencer’s food? “You got pistachio, remember?”
“But I ate that, like, three days ago,” Brendon whines.
Ryan rolls his eyes. “Brendon, you only got it last night. And Spencer might kill you for messing with his ice cream.”
“Spencer loves me,” Brendon says pointedly, “unlike some people.”
Ryan pats his knee. “Come on. You know Jon loves you just fine.”
“Ryan.”
“You ate Spencer’s ham sandwich yesterday, Brendon. I’m trying to save your life here.”
Brendon huffs and jams his finger back into the mayonnaise jar. “Look, it’s not my fault I’m always starving anymore.”
Ryan looks down at Brendon’s stomach. It’s still pretty flat, as flat as it was before Brendon lost all the weight in the beginning, anyway. Ryan has always been the eater on the bus, but ever since Brendon got the morning sickness pills he’s been eating everything in sight. Ryan can’t figure out where he puts it all. He eats another chip in contemplation. “You aren’t showing yet.”
Brendon’s hand drops to his stomach. “Dr. Shelley said I wouldn’t until I hit my second trimester in a couple of weeks.”
That’s so close and Brendon refuses to miss anymore shows. (Both Dr. Shelley and Ryan had thrown fits over Brendon performing in his condition, but Brendon was insistent and he would just die if he couldn’t start singing again.)
They have to hurry and finish the tour before Brendon starts gaining weight or someone’s going to say something. No one would guess the reason for Brendon’s weight, but the press would still be relentless about it. And if Brendon wants to stay out of the limelight when he’s more baby than Brendon then he’s got to keep attention off himself.
Ryan sighs. This baby is going to just be a bunch of trouble until it’s born, he knows it. After it’s born too, probably.
Ryan holds out the Pringles, a gift of silent consolation that Brendon takes with a winning grin. “I love you, Ryan Ross.” He pops a chip into his mouth and hums again. “Baby says he loves you too.”
He nods and watches Brendon eat.
***
When Dr. Shelley had first given Brendon the hormones, she’d warned him about potential side effects. They mostly consisted of weight gain (already going to happen anyway), hair growth (whatever, he’s a guy), and emotional outbursts.
Brendon is hoping that that’s why he feels like Ryan isn’t on board with the whole baby thing.
He tells himself that it’s an unfair assumption. Ryan has been nothing but supportive since Brendon’s decision to keep the baby. He’s given over his food, gone out for midnight shopping trips, and rubbed his back when he was in front of the toilet again after forgetting to take his medicine. He’s been by Brendon’s side every step of the way.
But there are times when Brendon catches Ryan watching him, watching his stomach, and he doesn’t look amazed or adoring or even fond. Granted, soft looks from Ryan are rare, but shouldn’t there be something more than a completely blank expression on his face?
Brendon pushes the thought away and locks it in a trunk somewhere in the back of his mind. Ryan is just being Ryan. It’s not his fault.
Brendon repeats this to himself until he feels like shit for thinking Ryan would ever not want the baby. But the feeling doesn’t stop. He needs to know. But he can’t ask Ryan. It would seem like an accusation and Brendon couldn’t do that.
So he asks Spencer instead.
“I don’t know what he thinks, Brendon,” Spencer replies with a shrug as he helps set up his kit for tonight’s performance. “It’s Ryan. How could I?”
“You’ve been BFF forever, Spence,” Brendon pleads quietly. Ryan is somewhere backstage getting ready, but Brendon isn’t sure how long that will take. “He’s got to have said something.”
Spencer twirls one of his drumsticks over his knuckles and shakes his head. “He hasn’t talked to me about it.”
Brendon’s eyebrows draw together in frustration; he’s starting to feel frantic. “Nothing? Not even a “this is so fucking weird”?”
“He’d have been right, but no.”
Brendon hands wring at his shirt. “Are you- ?”
“Brendon,” Spencer cuts him off, suddenly stilling his drumstick, “he hasn’t talked to me. If he feels anything in particular about this thing then he’s keeping it to himself.”
His hands knot harder and a lump plants itself firmly in his throat. He swallows hard in an attempt to speak past it. “Oh.”
Brendon tries not to look like he feels, like he’s going to cry or punch a wall or maybe both at the same time.
Any response other than nothing would have been better than this. If Ryan had secretly been ecstatic over the baby then that would have been awesome. If Ryan didn’t want anything to do with the baby, that would have been sad but okay too. Brendon would understand. He wouldn’t have an abortion, but he wouldn’t have to expect anything from Ryan either.
Spencer finally looks up from his kit and seems startled. Then he says, “Oh,” and he gets up to gather Brendon into a hug.
Brendon clings like he’s going to die if he doesn’t.
“He’s just confused,” Spencer mumbles into his hair.
Brendon agrees. Spencer could have said the sky was hot pink and Brendon would have agreed.
“All of us are, okay? It’s not even like accidentally getting your girlfriend pregnant. Boys are supposed to be a sure thing, you know? Safe, uncomplicated.”
Brendon laughs tiredly. He always feels so weird anymore, like he doesn’t fit in anywhere, like his skin fits too tight or he’s too lanky. Awkward. “I’m such a freak.”
Spencer hugs him tighter. “You were a freak way before you got pregnant.”
Somehow that makes Brendon feel a little better. He sniffles. “I love you, Spencer Smith.”
Spencer breaks the hug and smiles a little, touching Brendon’s elbow reassuringly. “You should go talk to him.”
The guilty feelings come back full force and Brendon lowers his gaze. “I can’t. He’s been really nice about it and that would ruin everything.”
Spencer slides back behind his kit and begins tapping out a beat Brendon doesn’t recognize. “All the stress you’re keeping in is bad for the baby.”
Fear grips Brendon quickly and he already knows that the baby is going to be his eternal weak spot. His hand slides over his abdomen. It’s softer, squishier than it’s ever been. Brendon bites his lip. “I’ll ask.”
***
Brendon tries to wait for the right time to bring the situation up to Ryan. He knows it’s going to be tough no matter what, and he doesn’t want to make everything worse by screwing it up.
So, for the next few days, Brendon lies in wait. He’s as nice as he can possibly be to Ryan, not bothering him when he’s reading, keeping his stuffed animals out of Ryan’s side of the bunk, bringing Ryan drinks and food and not taking any even if he wants just one bite of that peanut butter so bad he’d sell his iPod. He’s determined to be a perfect angel.
Ryan doesn’t buy it. Two days of this, and Ryan grabs his wrist, yanking him back into a small restroom at a gas station they stop at for more gummy bears. He locks the main door behind himself and stays in front of it, like he’s trying to keep Brendon from bolting. “Okay, what the hell is wrong now?”
Brendon tries at innocent ignorance. “What?”
Ryan snorts. “Come on. If I have to keep you locked in this bathroom until you tell me, I will.”
Brendon looks longingly over Ryan’s shoulder at the door. “Not right now. It stinks in here.”
Ryan’s hand settles over the door’s handle for extra security. “Now is as good a time as any. Besides, there’s no way I can deal with you acting like Suzie Homemaker one more day.”
Brendon’s hands run through his hair and float down to his stomach. Ryan’s eyes follow them and light up with knowledge. “Is it okay?”
“He is just fine.” Brendon is tired of people talking about the baby like he isn’t there or like he doesn’t have his very own heartbeat or anything. Still, the emphasis on ‘he’ might have been more biting than he’d meant it to be.
Ryan’s eyebrow arches. “Got a problem, Brendon?”
“Yes,” Brendon hisses back. He hasn’t been angry about this at all. He respects Ryan’s indifference. It’s not Ryan’s responsibility to care about the baby. But Brendon is hurt now and he wants to lash out. “I’d greatly appreciate it if the baby was a person rather than a thing to you. Do you think you can manage that despite your complete indifferent fucker-ness right now?”
Ryan bristles and his eyes flash; the affect is dulled a little by the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom, but it’s still powerful and intimidating. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Come on, Ryan. It’s not exactly like you’ve been cooing at my stomach or anything.” Brendon lowers his voice a little, but it burns like acid in his mouth.
Ryan’s jaw tightens. “I’m trying to be okay with this whole thing. I’ve been doing everything you ask, getting you all the stuff you want, making sure that you’re taking all your medicines. What else could you possibly want from me?”
It’s infuriating that Ryan’s voice hasn’t risen at all and it’s taking everything for Brendon not to scream. Count to ten. Deep breath out, deep one in. Repeat. Repeat.
Repeat.
Brendon forces his shoulders to relax. “I don’t want all the stuff, Ryan. I don’t know.” He bites his lip hard. “The truth.”
“About?”
Deep breath in. “How you feel about everything.” The baby. Us. Me.
“The truth?” Ryan’s chin rises a little, defiant when there’s nothing to defy. “Are you sure?”
Brendon nods. “I can’t deal with having to guess anymore.”
He prepares himself for the worst. He has to force his eyes to stay on Ryan’s face.
Deep breath out.
“I think,” Ryan starts slowly, “that this is possibly the worst decision we’ve ever made. I think you’re being selfish. The baby’s quality of life probably isn’t going to be great. I think this could ruin our careers. I think that you aren’t ready to raise a kid because you still are one. I think you’re thinking about buying baby clothes and fixing scraped knees, not crying all night or who gets up for it this time. I think this could kill you and you made a bad decision based on an emotional response to the baby’s heartbeat. I think this is weird and that I can’t do it. I’m not a father type. I think this entire thing is a mistake.” The last sentence is almost a whisper, but the words are strong and Brendon knows he’s telling the truth.
Brendon’s eyes hurt, and he leans back against the sinks because his knees feel weak. He honestly thought he was ready for this. He honestly wasn’t.
He clears his throat. “Yeah. Okay, I get it.”
Ryan sighs. “Brendon, don’t.”
His hand raises to silence Ryan. “No. It’s okay. I think it’s weird as hell too. I do get it. But I can’t hurt him.” He drops his head. “I can’t.”
Ryan quietly watches him, listens to his controlled breathing.
Everything is silent and broken for a few minutes until Ryan looks at his watch. “Five minutes late. We were supposed to meet at the bus.”
“Okay.” Brendon forces himself to stand. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Ryan unlocks and opens the door. “Hurry. Everyone’s waiting.” Then he leaves.
Brendon turns back to the sinks. He stares into the mirror above them at his reflection. He looks normal, maybe a little bloated in the tummy but fairly normal. Not particularly like his heart is about to tear out of his chest or like he’s completely miserable.
He counts it as a win.
Deep, shaky breath in.
***
Brendon splashes water on his face and quickly returns to the bus, smiling ear to ear. He doesn’t talk to anyone as he walks straight through it, into the bunks.
He sleeps in his own bunk for the first time nearly since the tour began and clings to his oversized stuffed tiger.
***
The tour comes to a close as Brendon slides into the bottom half of month three with the baby, and just in time too. Where he’d been able to stay fit and trim before, he’s rapidly gaining weight now. He tries to wear hoodies on stage, but people seem to notice anyway. Some are okay with his hipbones not sticking out anymore. Others are furious. Brendon isn’t sure why.
Either way, the tour ends, and they’re flying home to Vegas at last. Brendon isn’t excited like the others are.
Nothing’s been the same since his fight with Ryan. They both actively avoid being together and that makes even the already small chance of running into each other nearly miniscule.
Ryan still tried to be nice to him at first. He brought Brendon food and left enough room on the couch for Brendon to sit beside him, but Brendon couldn’t do it. He still hurts.
He misses Ryan though.
Going home. To Brendon, all it means is going to an empty condo, his, and being alone. He won’t even get to see Ryan in dressing rooms or on stage now.
Brendon feels lost and lonely. He taps out the guitar’s beat blasting in his headphones and tries not to think about landing.
***
When they’re getting their bags in the terminal, Jon suddenly hugs Brendon tight and says, “You can come stay with us if you want.”
Brendon’s, “Okay,” is muffled in Jon’s sweatshirt. He quickly adds, “I’ll be fine,” though because Jon and Spencer haven’t been living together long, and it’d be like disturbing honeymooners.
He wishes he didn’t have to be polite.
***
Brendon’s radio, television, and computer are on at all times now. It’s just too quiet without someone else to talk to.
Before, even if he and Ryan weren’t dating last time he was home, they were always around each other. They stayed at each other’s houses and met at movies and just hung out. Sometimes they were with Spencer too and possibly Jon if he flew in for a visit, but more often than not they were alone.
Now, Brendon yells Jeopardy questions to Alex Trebek and tries to figure out who did it when Law and Order comes on just to fill the silence. It doesn’t help much, but Brendon likes to pretend it does. He has to hide his sidekick from himself, just so he won’t bug Jon and Spencer. Or call Ryan.
Occasionally, Jon calls him on the landline and asks if he wants to play guitar hero. Brendon leaps at the chance for human contact, but can’t put himself in it all the way. Once, after Brendon’s lost eleven games total, Jon throws up his hands. “What the hell, man? I mean, I know I kick your scrawny ass at this, but eleven times?”
Brendon jumps at him to tackle him to the floor in a wrestling fit. Jon does fall over, but instead of kicking Brendon’s ass, he cushions him from hitting the floor. “Baby,” Jon reminds him, pointing to his stomach.
Brendon looks down at the growing bump beneath his t-shirt. “Oh.”
“Jon, what the hell are you doing to Brendon?”
Brendon squirms away from Jon and looks up sheepishly at Spencer. “I wanted to wrestle.”
Spencer rolls his eyes and sips on the freshly made coffee in his hands. When Brendon makes eyes at it, he smirks over the rim of his mug. “Caffeine is bad for the baby.”
Brendon frowns and, for a brief moment, he resents the baby for taking away everything. He took away Ryan, he took Jon rough-housing with him, and now he’s taking begging for Spencer’s coffee too. It’s already made him sick and worn him out. Eventually he’ll get huge. It sucks, okay. This whole thing sucks. He doesn’t want to do this anymore. He wants to run around and play and cuddle. And-
Oh.
Oh, no.
Oh, fuck.
He scrambles up and almost tumbles over in the rush.
Alarmed, Spencer grabs for his arm to steady him, nearly spilling his coffee all down the front of his shirt. “What the hell? Are you okay?”
Brendon shakes Spencer off. His eyes are wide, showing too much white, and he’s shaking his head. “Ryan was right. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.”
Jon gets off the floor and helps steady Brendon. “Hey, what? I mean, yeah, probably, but what?”
Brendon shakes his head and pulls away. “I have to go. Fuck, I have to talk to Ryan. I have to. Fuck, I have to go.”
Jon reaches for Brendon again, but he darts away from Jon’s grasp. “Sure. Are you okay to drive though? I could-”
Brendon shakes his head and waves his hand at them. “No, I. No. I’ll be back. Uh, later. I have to go.”
“Brendon-”
The door slams shut behind him.
Part 3
Type: Bandom, MPreg
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon, bonus side Jon/Spencer
Word Count: ~29000
Time: three months
Rating: NC-17
Author's Note: This. Is pretty much completely self-indulgent. I have no excuse for myself. Be warned that there is indeed mpreg so if you really can't handle that, then you must turn away. Oh, god, if you found this by googling yourself and don't know what mpreg even is. Please leave. Please. hopefulgenius is the person I worship for her mad beta skill. Adore her. She is forever my favorite.
ETA: It has come to my attention that Rock-a-Bye Baby has been plagiarized twice now. I'd just like to encourage everyone to please notify the author any time you believe their work has been plagiarized. I also want to say thank you to the people who have notified me about these instances. It means a lot to us. Stay awesome, guys :)
Summary: "It’s a normal day in the House of Urie-Ross-Smith-Walker, more commonly known as The Bus."
After one more full day (and two more huge tubes of blood that Brendon passes out over), a nurse comes in and tells him that they can’t find a problem. “But Dr. Shelley still seems very worried, Mr. Urie. She’s hesitatingly letting you leave and is going to continue with the tests. She prescribed an anti-sickness medicine for the vomiting and a mild antibiotic just in case. She also requests bed rest for at least one more week.”
“One week? But I’ve already been out of commission for three days.” The fans are going to murder him in his sleep for making them pay sixty dollars a pop for those tickets now. He’s sure that they’re going to be refunded, but he doubts that’ll be any consolation to them. Crap. “I don’t even think we’re supposed to be in this city right now.”
Jon says, “We were supposed to leave for New York yesterday.”
“But we can cancel those shows as quickly as we cancelled the last one.” Spencer leans against Jon’s side, not smiling in a very deliberate way.
The nurse looks down at Brendon’s chart, her eyes scanning the page. “Dr. Shelley would like me to tell you that she’s only letting you leave because we’re filling up all the rooms more quickly than usual and we can’t afford to take up space for an unsure thing. She says she wants me to threaten you with calling the Health Department and making false accusations if you leave the city this week.”
Brendon blinks. “Did I just get blackmailed?”
The corner of Spencer’s mouth twitches up. “I like this doctor.”
“But what if I have to? I don’t live in this city; what if something comes up?” Brendon protests. He doesn’t like being strapped down like this.
The nurse flips the page and reads some more. “She said you would make that argument and that she wants you to know that she’s serious. She’ll call the Health Department on your… uh… ass.”
Jon laughs hard. Ryan and Spencer grin.
Jon throws an arm around Brendon’s shoulder, tousling his hair fondly. “Tell Dr. Shelley that Brendon isn’t going anywhere for the next seven days. We’ll chain him to his bed if we have to.”
Brendon squawks, but Spencer agrees and that’s that.
***
Brendon despises his bed. The others won’t let him leave it other than to move to the couch for the television or to go to the bathroom. He hasn’t seen the sun in forever and he’s about to come apart, he can feel it.
Some of being on bed rest is cool. No one makes him make food or go get it; hell, no one even makes him get up for his own food. They bring it to him and let him eat it in bed. He doesn’t throw up all night anymore thanks to the anti-sickness pills, and that is totally awesome except that it means he has more energy.
He is going to die if someone doesn’t let him move outside of the bus within the next day or so.
He’s playing goldfish with Jon when Ryan’s sidekick rings. After he looks at the ID he puts it on speakerphone. “Hey, Dr. Shelley.” Brendon glares at the phone. Ryan looks at him reprovingly. “What’s up?”
“Don’t panic, all right? I need you to bring Brendon back to the hospital immediately. I,” she pauses and takes a deep breath that statics over the phone, “I might have found something in the blood tests.”
Ryan and Brendon look at each other and Ryan says, “We’ll be there in ten. Five.”
***
Brendon’s shaking the entire ride to the hospital. He hasn’t been scared up to this point, not really. He’s always been impeccably healthy, has never even broken a bone before. He can’t remember the last time he was sicker than a cold or a sore throat.
Ryan’s driving and concentrating way too hard on the road to actually be paying attention to it. He keeps cutting in front of people and blowing straight through stop signs. At a red light, he finally stops long enough to take Brendon’s hand.
“Ryan,” Spencer says evenly from the back seat, “getting us killed on the way to the hospital is not going to make Brendon better faster.”
“Sorry,” Ryan mumbles, still intensely watching the road. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey, Brendon,” Jon says from beside Spencer, “you’re gonna be fine.”
Brendon smiles as best he can into the rearview mirror. “Yeah.”
***
Dr. Shelley meets them in the front lobby, Brendon’s chart in hand. He wonders if it’s just him or if the chart has gotten substantially thicker in the five days it’s been since he was last at the hospital.
“Thank you for coming so quickly,” she says. Her eyes are bright and there’s a line between her eyebrows like she’s been concentrating a lot recently. She turns, her lab coat puffing out behind her and gestures toward them. “I’d like it if Mr. Ross and Mr. Urie followed me. Mr. Smith, Mr. Walker, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to stay in here and wait. The room we’re going to is fairly small and Mr. Urie might need some room to breathe.”
The color in Brendon’s face drains completely. The only thing that keeps him up at that moment is Jon’s hand gripping his shoulder.
Spencer pats his back. “We’ll be right here when you get back.”
Jon nods, grinning his biggest grin. “Right here. You’ll be fine.”
Brendon doesn’t want to leave them. If something happens and he’s… if he’s… not okay, he doesn’t want to find out without Jon’s lazy smile and bear hugs. He doesn’t want to know if Spencer isn’t going to be there with his calm, quick mind and unshakable stability. He forces himself not to reach out to them as they go through the door into the main hospital and grabs Ryan’s hand instead.
Ryan squeezes gently, like he knows what Brendon’s thinking. Brendon looks away, ashamed, and Ryan leans toward him. “Hey, no. I’d want them too.”
Brendon’s arms are around Ryan’s neck before he even knows he wants to hug him and he holds on tight. Ryan hugs him back as hard as he can in the middle of the hospital’s hallway.
Ryan’s never been one for public displays of affection and Brendon knows that this must be an act of desperation. Ryan is scared too. Brendon’s grip on Ryan tightens and he buries his face in Ryan’s shoulder.
“Excuse me.” Brendon unwillingly looks up. Dr. Shelley is standing a few feet away from them, holding a door open. “Mr. Urie, Mr. Ross, this way.”
Brendon has to tear himself off of Ryan and can’t smile at Dr. Shelley as he passes her, even if none of this is her fault.
“Please lie down on the table here and lift your shirt to your chest, Mr. Urie.” She pats a paper covered table. “And, Mr. Ross, you may have a seat over there if you want.”
Ryan looks at the two chairs in the corner. “Can I just hold Brendon’s hand instead?”
“Of course.”
Brendon smiles gratefully at Ryan. Ryan takes his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Go lay down, Brendon.”
Brendon does, pushing his shirt up to mid-chest. The paper on the bed crinkles loudly and the room is honestly too quiet for something so noisy.
Dr. Shelley gets a machine from the corner of the room, rolling it up to the side of the stretcher. “All right, everyone, this is a Doppler ultrasound machine. It sends high level frequency sounds through you and gives us an image of your insides here.” She taps a small screen on the machine. “Any questions?”
Both Brendon and Ryan shake their heads. Dr. Shelley smiles. “All right then. Mr. Urie, I’m going to spread some jelly on your stomach to help the machine work. It’s going to be cold, but it shouldn’t hurt.”
She squirts the jelly onto Brendon’s stomach and his muscles flutter beneath it. It’s freezing but not that bad so Brendon waits quietly and tries not to fidget. Dr. Shelley flips a switch and the machine hums to life. She presses what she calls a transducer down across the jelly and a static filled, black and white image fills the screen. A soft, pattering sound fills the silence and Dr. Shelley’s jaw drops. “Oh,” she whispers to herself. “Oh, my God.”
“Dr. Shelley,” Brendon stares at the screen, unable to breathe, “what’s wrong?”
Dr. Shelley shakes her head and keeps watching the screen, moving the transducer. She stops when the pattering reaches its loudest point. “Mr. Ross, would you please hold this for a minute?”
Ryan nods. Dr. Shelley hands off the transducer to him and goes to a white phone on the wall, picking it up. Without preamble she says, “I need an obstetrician in Room 127 ASAP.”
Brendon looks up at Ryan with wide, fearful eyes. He’s terrified and wishes someone would tell him what’s happening. His hand is shaking, even with Ryan’s so tight around it. “Obstetrician?”
Ryan doesn’t look away from the screen. He’s so still, every part of him. Even his mouth barely moves when he speaks. “A baby doctor.”
Brendon feels cold and sick. “What?”
Another woman comes in, this one with straight, dark brown hair, a stark contrast to Dr. Shelley’s blond curls. Dr. Shelley grabs the woman’s hand and pulls her over. “This is Dr. Marie Blake,” she introduces her quickly before taking the transducer back and turning to Dr. Blake. “Marie, what do you make of this?”
Dr. Blake stares at the machine and opens her mouth, looks at Brendon, and closes her mouth again. After a moment, she asks, “May I?” and takes the transducer from Dr. Shelley. She moves it across Brendon’s stomach slowly, carefully, and finally stops when the static is more black than white. “Helen, I. I can’t believe what I’m seeing.”
“What?” Brendon asks, his voice small. He can feel the bile rising in his throat and his breathing is coming fast, too fast. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Congratulations, Brendon,” Dr. Shelley says softly. “You’re going to have a baby.”
Brendon sits up and Ryan dives for a wastebasket near the door. Brendon barely has time to shove his face into the trashcan before he throws up.
***
“If it was going to happen to anyone,” Spencer says, his voice muffled between his hands, “it was going to happen to Brendon.”
Jon and Spencer had taken the news fairly well, as well as could be expected anyway. Brendon was relieved that no one laughed when Dr. Shelley and Dr. Blake made the announcement. He would have probably gone into hysterics. He still might go into hysterics. This is insane.
Mostly, though, he’s just tired. After throwing up he’d felt drained of everything, almost numb but not numb enough to smother the terror quickly tying a knot in the center of his chest.
Dr. Shelley and Ryan had helped him lay down once everything was out of his stomach. They’d tried to clean up the jelly, but he’d gotten it everywhere and they couldn’t get all of it out of his shirt. He feels sticky and uncomfortable. He wants to go home and go to sleep and forget today ever happened.
Dr. Blake is talking now. She sounds like she’s grasping at straws trying to explain how this happened. She seems utterly fascinated by Brendon’s “situation” as she keeps calling it and he’s starting to feel like a science project.
He vows never to use anything tested on animals again. He knows too well how a lab rat must feel.
“This is a major medical breakthrough,” Dr. Blake continues. “It completely throws me for a loop and I can only imagine what the medical community would say once they got wind of it. There has to be some sort of quasi-uterus and genetic mutation or… something, I can’t even think right now.”
Spencer went rigid the moment Dr. Blake said breakthrough. “You understand, of course, that this can’t get out. To anyone.”
“We don’t like suing people,” Jon says offhandedly, smiling his languid little smile. Brendon’s never noticed before, but Jon’s super casual manner is scary when used in a certain context. It’s almost hitman-esque. Or like a freaky serial killer out to eat your heart or wear your skin or something.
“Of course not,” Dr. Shelley assures them before Dr. Blake can open her mouth. “We wouldn’t dream of breaking doctor-patient confidentiality. Especially in such a delicate situation.”
“Thank you.” How can Jon be that cool? He can threaten people and be friendly at the same time. Are you born like that or do you, like, train for it or what? “We really appreciate it.”
Dr. Blake sighs wistfully. “Still, this is amazing.”
Brendon doesn’t like Dr. Blake. She seems to mean well enough, but he gets the feeling that she would only be too happy to scream to the world her new discovery if he so much as hints at a possible okay. He plans on telling the guys later so he doesn’t have to see her again.
“I get how weird this is, trust me,” Ryan says, the first words he’s spoken since they were told that… since they were told. “But now what?”
“That,” Dr. Shelley says, “is up to Brendon.”
Hearing his name, Brendon looks up. “What?”
“Mr. Urie, I know that this has to be an information overload right now, but it’s critical that we act now no matter what you decision may be.”
Brendon isn’t stupid. He knows what the doctor is saying; he just can’t seem to wrap is mind around it. “What?”
“Brendon,” Dr. Shelley’s eyes connect with his, “if you plan on terminating this pregnancy, then you need to do it soon before the fetus grows much more for your own health. A baby is essentially a parasite and I doubt your body is equipped for such an undertaking on its own. If you plan on seeing the pregnancy through, then we need to put you on vitamins and hormones quickly to keep both of you in as healthy a condition as possible. I’m not saying that you have to make these decisions now, but they need to be made soon.”
Brendon’s head hurts. This is too much, all of it is too much. In the past week he has passed out on stage, been in and out of the hospital, gotten yelled at by all of his bandmates, thought he was dying, and found out that he was pregnant. And now he has to decide if he wants to stay that way too? Can’t a guy get a break?
He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “What do you think I should do, Dr. Shelley?”
“Brendon, I’m not really supposed to-”
“No, please. I want your opinion.”
She pauses. When she speaks, the words are slow and carefully thought out. “As a researcher, I’d love for you to continue the pregnancy. Studying it and the birth would be amazing. As a doctor, I have to tell you that the risks are incredible. The likelihood of the fetus coming to term at all is tiny. It’s only as big as a poppy seed and can be wiped out with a couple pills at this stage. As a person, I have to say that it’s completely your call. The rest is up to you, Brendon. In no way should you feel pressured by anyone in this room to keep the fetus or to abort it. You’re the one who will have to live with the result of your decision.”
Breathing is getting hard again and Brendon is starting to get light-headed. Most of him is saying to have the fetus aborted. It’s the smart thing to do, even the right thing. No child deserves to be born like this, with everything against them. He’s only a kid himself most of the time, not to mention the fact that his career, the perfect job of his dreams, is still at its climax and he rarely sees his own condo anymore. How is he supposed to raise a baby like that?
Right. Getting an abortion is the best choice. It’s the only choice, really.
“I,” and then he stops. His mouth completely loses its ability to function. He can’t do it. Brendon can’t say that he wants to stop this pregnancy. He knows that if he did, he would feel like he’d just murdered his child. His and Ryan’s baby.
“Ryan,” he opens his eyes and holds out his hand.
Ryan takes it and kneels down so that they’re at eye level. “Yeah, Brendon?”
Ryan’s face is carefully blank and Brendon thinks that he appreciates it, but isn’t positive. “Ryan,” he repeats, “I want this baby.”
Something flicks across Ryan’s face, over his mouth, in his eyes, but it’s so fast that Brendon can’t decipher what it means. “Are you sure?”
“That sound on the ultrasound machine, it was the baby’s heartbeat. That was our baby’s heartbeat.” His voice cracks. His explanation is so weak, so pathetic, but it’s the soft beat of the tiny heart on the ultrasound speakers that won’t get out of his head and he doesn’t know what else to say. “I want this baby more than anything.”
Ryan leans forward and kisses his forehead. “Okay.”
***
Dr. Blake completely takes over after that. She’s like a kid in a candy store except that instead of begging for lollipops, she wants every test known to man performed on Brendon. Once she’s taken enough blood to feed a small clan of vampires, she prescribes hormones, a prenatal vitamin, and morning sickness pills.
Brendon runs out of the hospital as soon as she lets him. Ryan has to check him out because Brendon can’t even wait that long to leave. His arms are achy and bruised from needles and he’s still sticky with jelly and he wants to go home.
Now.
He waits impatiently in the passenger’s seat of the car. Spencer and Jon follow him, sliding into the backseat. He’s about to ask one of them to drive up to the front of the hospital and pick Ryan up (he doesn’t trust himself to drive) so they can leave already when he notices that Jon’s giving Spencer money.
Whoa, lots of money.
He blinks. “What the hell?”
“We made a bet a long time ago, when I first joined Panic,” Jon explains, his face set in a grim expression.
“And Jon just lost two grand,” Spencer adds smugly, his palm outstretched as he waits for Jon to empty his wallet. When he finally runs out of bills, he looks up at Spencer pleadingly. Spencer just smirks. “We accept all major credit cards too, Walker.”
“Oh.” Brendon shifts around in his seat, curiosity getting the better of him. “What was the bet about?”
Spencer starts counting bills, carefully folding each out. “Who tops in the Ryden dynamic.”
If Brendon could have died right there he would have. Instead, he settles for trying to climb over his seat to strangle Jon and Spencer.
***
“We have to call Pete.”
Brendon winces visibly, but doesn’t look away from his Gameboy. He’s known since he passed out that Pete would have to know what was going on. The amount of money they were losing on unplayed shows and bad press had to be enormous. Brendon had changed a glance onto LiveJournal for their fans’ opinions earlier that morning. Many of the older fans were frantic about his health, which was sweet but creepy since they didn’t know him personally. Unfortunately, the pre-teens were throwing fits.
“this iz ratrted,” one wrote, “$60 clams n i got nuthin!!! Bden betre get up or get uot of showbiz!!”
One that particularly stung was a comment on YouTube where someone insisted that he’d been lip-synching. He watched the video of himself passing out and he can’t understand what they’re talking about. When he hits the floor in the video, his voice stops, the end.
He’s seen pictures of himself coming out of the hospital on the front of the tabloids. They are picking apart how thin he looks and have pictures of him six months ago to emphasize the amount of weight he’s lost. ‘Manorexia’ is splashed in bright red and yellow letters across several major gossip magazines.
How stupid do you have to be to make up a word like manorexia?
Anyway, someone needs to talk to Pete and tell him their side of the story. But Brendon so doesn’t want to. He groans. “Don’t make me.”
“We have to.” Ryan’s mouth settles into a thin line as he checks his sidekick for the millionth time in the past few days. “He won’t stop texting me.”
“Turn off your phone.”
Ryan looks at him incredulously.
Brendon pouts. “Well, I turned mine off.”
“Brendon.”
“Fine, fine.” Brendon turns off his Gameboy and crawls over Ryan’s lap, lying across it like a cat in need of scratching. “Put him on speaker phone. There’s no way I’m telling him by myself.”
Ryan nods and presses four on speed dial. Pete, Patrick, and Spencer’s mom are the only ones outside of the band on his speed dial. Brendon prides himself on being number two. Spencer is ahead of him, but he can deal with that.
Pete picks up on the second ring. “Ryan Ross, care to tell me why your boyfriend is on the cover of the magazine in front of me right now?” He doesn’t sound mad at all, or even particularly worried. Pete’s voice is smooth and very calm, too calm, and Brendon is willing to bet Patrick is somewhere nearby, cushioning all parties from Pete’s (more than) occasional bitchiness. Thank God for short strawberry-blondes.
“He’s-”
“-a dumbass. Yeah, I know.” Brendon rolls his eyes up at the ceiling. He’s never going to live this down.
Ryan pats his stomach reassuringly. “I was going to say sick, but that too.”
Pete snorts. “Yeah, I gathered that much from the photos. Why haven’t any of you fuckers been answering your phones? I’ve been trying to get a hold of all of you since Brendon’s blackout.”
The way Pete says ‘Brendon’s blackout’ sounds like the words should be in capital letters. “Brendon’s Blackout.” Brendon repeats. “Is that what the kids are calling it, Pete?”
“Shut up, Brendon. What the hell happened to you, man? I don’t know if you realize this or not, but passing out on stage isn’t a trend that a frontman should get into.”
“Twice, Pete. Twice.” Brendon glares at Ryan’s phone. “I don’t exactly call that a trend. And the first time wasn’t even my fault, if you didn’t catch that memo.”
“And this time?”
Brendon’s eyes land on Ryan. He shrugs and Ryan sighs. “Brendon was really sick and didn’t tell anyone. He says we were too busy for him to care about medical attention.”
“In his defense,” Patrick’s voice is distant, but clear, “it’s not like he’s the only one on the label who does that, Pete.”
“Why, Patrick, are you implying something?” Pete’s voice is distant too, now, like he’s holding the phone away from his mouth.
“No. Anyway, ask him what the doctors at the hospital said. Do you want mustard on your sandwich?”
“Mmhm. What would I do without you, Patrick?”
“Make your own damn sandwiches.”
Pete’s voice comes back loud and smiling. “Patrick wants to know what the doctor said.”
Brendon tenses and Ryan’s hand glides up his stomach and back down past his hip bones in wide circles. He thinks Ryan’s mean for going that far past his hips without going further.
“Pete,” Ryan says, “you need to sit down for this.”
“Shit, what’s wrong with Brendon?”
“Sit down and I’ll tell you, Pete.”
“Is it, like, cancer or something? Shit, tell me it’s not something like that.”
Brendon looks down at his stomach and splays a hand over the flat surface. There’s not even extra thickness there, no indication whatsoever of the baby, but he imagines he can feel the baby’s heartbeat against his palm. “Well, it’s an abnormal growth, I guess. Not exactly cancer, but.”
He imagines the baby kicking at his insides for calling him an ‘it’ and an abnormal growth in the same sentence. He feels a little guilty but wonders how the baby got Spencer’s bad attitude. Probably by osmosis, poor baby.
Pete doesn’t say anything for a second. Then, “What?”
“You’re not going to believe this, but I swear it’s true, Pete.” Ryan takes a deep breath and says it carefully. “Brendon is pregnant.”
There’s a loud clatter as the phone hits the floor. Brendon can hear shuffling in the background and Patrick asking Pete if he’s okay.
When the phone is picked up again, it’s Patrick’s voice that says, “Hello?”
Brendon tosses his head back and laughs.
Ryan coughs to stop himself from laughing like a maniac. “We told him to sit down.”
“I think he’s in shock. Pete, are you okay? What the fuck did you tell him?”
“Sit down, Patrick.”
Patrick huffs. “I am sitting.”
“Brendon’s pregnant.”
The phone hits the floor. Ryan laughs so hard he collapses across Brendon’s stomach.
The baby likes Ryan’s laugh; Brendon can just tell.
***
July: Month Three
Ryan doesn’t ask Pete or Patrick to keep the pregnancy a secret. It goes without saying that anything that happens in FBR/DD stays in FBR/DD. Keeping it from the other people in the circle though? Pete couldn’t do it if his life depended on it.
Ryan is tempted to turn off his phone like Brendon suggested, but can’t bring himself to do it.
He’ll admit it. He’s addicted to technology. There should be techno-rehab.
Since there isn’t, Ryan has to keep his phone on. Way to go, logical fallacies.
Ryan has two hundred seventeen texts, most of which are Pete teasing him, seventy-four missed calls, and twenty three unheard voicemails. He wonders what Brendon’s phone has to be going through right now. Out of curiosity, Ryan turns on his boyfriend’s sidekick for ten minutes. It doesn’t stop buzzing the entire time.
Ryan quickly turns it off and stuffs it under a pillow on Brendon’s still unused bunk for good measure. “Brendon,” he calls into the front of the bus where the kitchen-like thing is, “don’t turn on your phone.”
Brendon’s head pops up from behind a corner and he’s chewing something rather loudly. “How come?”
Ryan shakes his head. “Just don’t do it.”
Brendon laughs and disappears back behind the corner. When he returns, his arms are full of food, mostly of condiments, and he dumps them on Ryan’s bunk before crawling up beside him. “How bad is it?”
“Pretty bad.” Ryan eyes the random food. He’s never liked people eating in his bed, too many crumbs, but he figures he can let this one slide. “What are you eating?”
Brendon looks at his bounty and begins lining items up in no particular order. “Everything.”
“I see that.” Ryan stares at a huge jar of mayonnaise. “Brendon, you hate mayonnaise. You barely let us keep it on the bus.”
Brendon picks up the jar, unscrews the lid and dips his finger in the thick white paste. Ryan can’t believe it when Brendon scoops it out and eats it. Brendon closes his eyes and hums contentedly. “S’good.”
Ryan remembers once going to a restaurant that put mayonnaise on Brendon’s sandwich accidentally. He’d almost gotten sick, and that was just from one tiny bite.
Hell, Ryan likes mayonnaise just fine and he couldn’t eat it right off his finger. “That’s… weird.”
Brendon shrugs and dips his finger in again. “So what is everyone saying?”
Ryan can only watch in horror and disgust as Brendon continues to eat. “Mostly everyone is asking how it happened and if Pete was lying to them. Gabe and his people say congratulations and are asking when the baby is due. Apparently, they plan on kidnapping him and dubbing him The Littlest Cobra.”
Brendon stops eating with his finger half in his mouth. “Wha?”
Ryan nods and reaches for a half-gone can of Pringles. “Yeah. We’re not letting him baby-sit.”
Brendon’s eyes follow the Pringles. It’s hard for Ryan to ignore his longing glances, but he succeeds for the most part. Finally Brendon says, “Are you gonna eat all of those?”
Ryan pops one into his mouth. “Yes. Why? You already ate half.”
“I was going to eat the rest of the cookie dough ice cream with them later.”
“That’s Spencer’s ice cream.” Why is it that Ryan is less opposed to Pringles and ice cream than eating Spencer’s food? “You got pistachio, remember?”
“But I ate that, like, three days ago,” Brendon whines.
Ryan rolls his eyes. “Brendon, you only got it last night. And Spencer might kill you for messing with his ice cream.”
“Spencer loves me,” Brendon says pointedly, “unlike some people.”
Ryan pats his knee. “Come on. You know Jon loves you just fine.”
“Ryan.”
“You ate Spencer’s ham sandwich yesterday, Brendon. I’m trying to save your life here.”
Brendon huffs and jams his finger back into the mayonnaise jar. “Look, it’s not my fault I’m always starving anymore.”
Ryan looks down at Brendon’s stomach. It’s still pretty flat, as flat as it was before Brendon lost all the weight in the beginning, anyway. Ryan has always been the eater on the bus, but ever since Brendon got the morning sickness pills he’s been eating everything in sight. Ryan can’t figure out where he puts it all. He eats another chip in contemplation. “You aren’t showing yet.”
Brendon’s hand drops to his stomach. “Dr. Shelley said I wouldn’t until I hit my second trimester in a couple of weeks.”
That’s so close and Brendon refuses to miss anymore shows. (Both Dr. Shelley and Ryan had thrown fits over Brendon performing in his condition, but Brendon was insistent and he would just die if he couldn’t start singing again.)
They have to hurry and finish the tour before Brendon starts gaining weight or someone’s going to say something. No one would guess the reason for Brendon’s weight, but the press would still be relentless about it. And if Brendon wants to stay out of the limelight when he’s more baby than Brendon then he’s got to keep attention off himself.
Ryan sighs. This baby is going to just be a bunch of trouble until it’s born, he knows it. After it’s born too, probably.
Ryan holds out the Pringles, a gift of silent consolation that Brendon takes with a winning grin. “I love you, Ryan Ross.” He pops a chip into his mouth and hums again. “Baby says he loves you too.”
He nods and watches Brendon eat.
***
When Dr. Shelley had first given Brendon the hormones, she’d warned him about potential side effects. They mostly consisted of weight gain (already going to happen anyway), hair growth (whatever, he’s a guy), and emotional outbursts.
Brendon is hoping that that’s why he feels like Ryan isn’t on board with the whole baby thing.
He tells himself that it’s an unfair assumption. Ryan has been nothing but supportive since Brendon’s decision to keep the baby. He’s given over his food, gone out for midnight shopping trips, and rubbed his back when he was in front of the toilet again after forgetting to take his medicine. He’s been by Brendon’s side every step of the way.
But there are times when Brendon catches Ryan watching him, watching his stomach, and he doesn’t look amazed or adoring or even fond. Granted, soft looks from Ryan are rare, but shouldn’t there be something more than a completely blank expression on his face?
Brendon pushes the thought away and locks it in a trunk somewhere in the back of his mind. Ryan is just being Ryan. It’s not his fault.
Brendon repeats this to himself until he feels like shit for thinking Ryan would ever not want the baby. But the feeling doesn’t stop. He needs to know. But he can’t ask Ryan. It would seem like an accusation and Brendon couldn’t do that.
So he asks Spencer instead.
“I don’t know what he thinks, Brendon,” Spencer replies with a shrug as he helps set up his kit for tonight’s performance. “It’s Ryan. How could I?”
“You’ve been BFF forever, Spence,” Brendon pleads quietly. Ryan is somewhere backstage getting ready, but Brendon isn’t sure how long that will take. “He’s got to have said something.”
Spencer twirls one of his drumsticks over his knuckles and shakes his head. “He hasn’t talked to me about it.”
Brendon’s eyebrows draw together in frustration; he’s starting to feel frantic. “Nothing? Not even a “this is so fucking weird”?”
“He’d have been right, but no.”
Brendon hands wring at his shirt. “Are you- ?”
“Brendon,” Spencer cuts him off, suddenly stilling his drumstick, “he hasn’t talked to me. If he feels anything in particular about this thing then he’s keeping it to himself.”
His hands knot harder and a lump plants itself firmly in his throat. He swallows hard in an attempt to speak past it. “Oh.”
Brendon tries not to look like he feels, like he’s going to cry or punch a wall or maybe both at the same time.
Any response other than nothing would have been better than this. If Ryan had secretly been ecstatic over the baby then that would have been awesome. If Ryan didn’t want anything to do with the baby, that would have been sad but okay too. Brendon would understand. He wouldn’t have an abortion, but he wouldn’t have to expect anything from Ryan either.
Spencer finally looks up from his kit and seems startled. Then he says, “Oh,” and he gets up to gather Brendon into a hug.
Brendon clings like he’s going to die if he doesn’t.
“He’s just confused,” Spencer mumbles into his hair.
Brendon agrees. Spencer could have said the sky was hot pink and Brendon would have agreed.
“All of us are, okay? It’s not even like accidentally getting your girlfriend pregnant. Boys are supposed to be a sure thing, you know? Safe, uncomplicated.”
Brendon laughs tiredly. He always feels so weird anymore, like he doesn’t fit in anywhere, like his skin fits too tight or he’s too lanky. Awkward. “I’m such a freak.”
Spencer hugs him tighter. “You were a freak way before you got pregnant.”
Somehow that makes Brendon feel a little better. He sniffles. “I love you, Spencer Smith.”
Spencer breaks the hug and smiles a little, touching Brendon’s elbow reassuringly. “You should go talk to him.”
The guilty feelings come back full force and Brendon lowers his gaze. “I can’t. He’s been really nice about it and that would ruin everything.”
Spencer slides back behind his kit and begins tapping out a beat Brendon doesn’t recognize. “All the stress you’re keeping in is bad for the baby.”
Fear grips Brendon quickly and he already knows that the baby is going to be his eternal weak spot. His hand slides over his abdomen. It’s softer, squishier than it’s ever been. Brendon bites his lip. “I’ll ask.”
***
Brendon tries to wait for the right time to bring the situation up to Ryan. He knows it’s going to be tough no matter what, and he doesn’t want to make everything worse by screwing it up.
So, for the next few days, Brendon lies in wait. He’s as nice as he can possibly be to Ryan, not bothering him when he’s reading, keeping his stuffed animals out of Ryan’s side of the bunk, bringing Ryan drinks and food and not taking any even if he wants just one bite of that peanut butter so bad he’d sell his iPod. He’s determined to be a perfect angel.
Ryan doesn’t buy it. Two days of this, and Ryan grabs his wrist, yanking him back into a small restroom at a gas station they stop at for more gummy bears. He locks the main door behind himself and stays in front of it, like he’s trying to keep Brendon from bolting. “Okay, what the hell is wrong now?”
Brendon tries at innocent ignorance. “What?”
Ryan snorts. “Come on. If I have to keep you locked in this bathroom until you tell me, I will.”
Brendon looks longingly over Ryan’s shoulder at the door. “Not right now. It stinks in here.”
Ryan’s hand settles over the door’s handle for extra security. “Now is as good a time as any. Besides, there’s no way I can deal with you acting like Suzie Homemaker one more day.”
Brendon’s hands run through his hair and float down to his stomach. Ryan’s eyes follow them and light up with knowledge. “Is it okay?”
“He is just fine.” Brendon is tired of people talking about the baby like he isn’t there or like he doesn’t have his very own heartbeat or anything. Still, the emphasis on ‘he’ might have been more biting than he’d meant it to be.
Ryan’s eyebrow arches. “Got a problem, Brendon?”
“Yes,” Brendon hisses back. He hasn’t been angry about this at all. He respects Ryan’s indifference. It’s not Ryan’s responsibility to care about the baby. But Brendon is hurt now and he wants to lash out. “I’d greatly appreciate it if the baby was a person rather than a thing to you. Do you think you can manage that despite your complete indifferent fucker-ness right now?”
Ryan bristles and his eyes flash; the affect is dulled a little by the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom, but it’s still powerful and intimidating. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Come on, Ryan. It’s not exactly like you’ve been cooing at my stomach or anything.” Brendon lowers his voice a little, but it burns like acid in his mouth.
Ryan’s jaw tightens. “I’m trying to be okay with this whole thing. I’ve been doing everything you ask, getting you all the stuff you want, making sure that you’re taking all your medicines. What else could you possibly want from me?”
It’s infuriating that Ryan’s voice hasn’t risen at all and it’s taking everything for Brendon not to scream. Count to ten. Deep breath out, deep one in. Repeat. Repeat.
Repeat.
Brendon forces his shoulders to relax. “I don’t want all the stuff, Ryan. I don’t know.” He bites his lip hard. “The truth.”
“About?”
Deep breath in. “How you feel about everything.” The baby. Us. Me.
“The truth?” Ryan’s chin rises a little, defiant when there’s nothing to defy. “Are you sure?”
Brendon nods. “I can’t deal with having to guess anymore.”
He prepares himself for the worst. He has to force his eyes to stay on Ryan’s face.
Deep breath out.
“I think,” Ryan starts slowly, “that this is possibly the worst decision we’ve ever made. I think you’re being selfish. The baby’s quality of life probably isn’t going to be great. I think this could ruin our careers. I think that you aren’t ready to raise a kid because you still are one. I think you’re thinking about buying baby clothes and fixing scraped knees, not crying all night or who gets up for it this time. I think this could kill you and you made a bad decision based on an emotional response to the baby’s heartbeat. I think this is weird and that I can’t do it. I’m not a father type. I think this entire thing is a mistake.” The last sentence is almost a whisper, but the words are strong and Brendon knows he’s telling the truth.
Brendon’s eyes hurt, and he leans back against the sinks because his knees feel weak. He honestly thought he was ready for this. He honestly wasn’t.
He clears his throat. “Yeah. Okay, I get it.”
Ryan sighs. “Brendon, don’t.”
His hand raises to silence Ryan. “No. It’s okay. I think it’s weird as hell too. I do get it. But I can’t hurt him.” He drops his head. “I can’t.”
Ryan quietly watches him, listens to his controlled breathing.
Everything is silent and broken for a few minutes until Ryan looks at his watch. “Five minutes late. We were supposed to meet at the bus.”
“Okay.” Brendon forces himself to stand. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Ryan unlocks and opens the door. “Hurry. Everyone’s waiting.” Then he leaves.
Brendon turns back to the sinks. He stares into the mirror above them at his reflection. He looks normal, maybe a little bloated in the tummy but fairly normal. Not particularly like his heart is about to tear out of his chest or like he’s completely miserable.
He counts it as a win.
Deep, shaky breath in.
***
Brendon splashes water on his face and quickly returns to the bus, smiling ear to ear. He doesn’t talk to anyone as he walks straight through it, into the bunks.
He sleeps in his own bunk for the first time nearly since the tour began and clings to his oversized stuffed tiger.
***
The tour comes to a close as Brendon slides into the bottom half of month three with the baby, and just in time too. Where he’d been able to stay fit and trim before, he’s rapidly gaining weight now. He tries to wear hoodies on stage, but people seem to notice anyway. Some are okay with his hipbones not sticking out anymore. Others are furious. Brendon isn’t sure why.
Either way, the tour ends, and they’re flying home to Vegas at last. Brendon isn’t excited like the others are.
Nothing’s been the same since his fight with Ryan. They both actively avoid being together and that makes even the already small chance of running into each other nearly miniscule.
Ryan still tried to be nice to him at first. He brought Brendon food and left enough room on the couch for Brendon to sit beside him, but Brendon couldn’t do it. He still hurts.
He misses Ryan though.
Going home. To Brendon, all it means is going to an empty condo, his, and being alone. He won’t even get to see Ryan in dressing rooms or on stage now.
Brendon feels lost and lonely. He taps out the guitar’s beat blasting in his headphones and tries not to think about landing.
***
When they’re getting their bags in the terminal, Jon suddenly hugs Brendon tight and says, “You can come stay with us if you want.”
Brendon’s, “Okay,” is muffled in Jon’s sweatshirt. He quickly adds, “I’ll be fine,” though because Jon and Spencer haven’t been living together long, and it’d be like disturbing honeymooners.
He wishes he didn’t have to be polite.
***
Brendon’s radio, television, and computer are on at all times now. It’s just too quiet without someone else to talk to.
Before, even if he and Ryan weren’t dating last time he was home, they were always around each other. They stayed at each other’s houses and met at movies and just hung out. Sometimes they were with Spencer too and possibly Jon if he flew in for a visit, but more often than not they were alone.
Now, Brendon yells Jeopardy questions to Alex Trebek and tries to figure out who did it when Law and Order comes on just to fill the silence. It doesn’t help much, but Brendon likes to pretend it does. He has to hide his sidekick from himself, just so he won’t bug Jon and Spencer. Or call Ryan.
Occasionally, Jon calls him on the landline and asks if he wants to play guitar hero. Brendon leaps at the chance for human contact, but can’t put himself in it all the way. Once, after Brendon’s lost eleven games total, Jon throws up his hands. “What the hell, man? I mean, I know I kick your scrawny ass at this, but eleven times?”
Brendon jumps at him to tackle him to the floor in a wrestling fit. Jon does fall over, but instead of kicking Brendon’s ass, he cushions him from hitting the floor. “Baby,” Jon reminds him, pointing to his stomach.
Brendon looks down at the growing bump beneath his t-shirt. “Oh.”
“Jon, what the hell are you doing to Brendon?”
Brendon squirms away from Jon and looks up sheepishly at Spencer. “I wanted to wrestle.”
Spencer rolls his eyes and sips on the freshly made coffee in his hands. When Brendon makes eyes at it, he smirks over the rim of his mug. “Caffeine is bad for the baby.”
Brendon frowns and, for a brief moment, he resents the baby for taking away everything. He took away Ryan, he took Jon rough-housing with him, and now he’s taking begging for Spencer’s coffee too. It’s already made him sick and worn him out. Eventually he’ll get huge. It sucks, okay. This whole thing sucks. He doesn’t want to do this anymore. He wants to run around and play and cuddle. And-
Oh.
Oh, no.
Oh, fuck.
He scrambles up and almost tumbles over in the rush.
Alarmed, Spencer grabs for his arm to steady him, nearly spilling his coffee all down the front of his shirt. “What the hell? Are you okay?”
Brendon shakes Spencer off. His eyes are wide, showing too much white, and he’s shaking his head. “Ryan was right. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.”
Jon gets off the floor and helps steady Brendon. “Hey, what? I mean, yeah, probably, but what?”
Brendon shakes his head and pulls away. “I have to go. Fuck, I have to talk to Ryan. I have to. Fuck, I have to go.”
Jon reaches for Brendon again, but he darts away from Jon’s grasp. “Sure. Are you okay to drive though? I could-”
Brendon shakes his head and waves his hand at them. “No, I. No. I’ll be back. Uh, later. I have to go.”
“Brendon-”
The door slams shut behind him.
Part 3