Lying Next to Me (The While You Were Sleeping AU) 1/3
Title: Lying Next to Me (The While You Were Sleeping AU)
Author: elucreh
Pairing: Spencer/Brendon, Ryan/Jon
Wordcount: ~17000
Summary: Christmas is hard for Brendon the lonely busker, but when the commuter he's had a crush on for months gets pushed from the El platform onto the tracks, his life is changed forever.
Notes: The plot belongs to Hollywood Pictures, the boys belong to each other, and the idea to combine them was Rachel's; hardly any of this is mine. Title from Mara Levi's "Homo Song," because it stuck. All details regarding the El are completely inaccurate. With thanks to liketheroad, shihadchick, tanisafan, and katrin for audiencing as we went, and to liketheroad for the beta. For harriet_vane, who is to blame for approximately half my fics. Happy holidays, my darling!
Brendon's mom used to tell him that she knew she was in love when his dad filled her soul with music.
Okay, really he tricked her into performing a duet in a ward talent show, but when he sang about love and longing and looked into her eyes, the whole audience and the gym in its Christmas trappings fell away and she couldn't do anything but sing back.
Brendon grew up in a family whose whole foundation was a soul filled with music, but when it turned out that his soul was made of music, and couldn't find room for anything else, not Christ or faith or salvation, he made himself walk out, guitar on his back and the couple of thousand from his mission fund in his pocket. He couldn't face telling his parents he didn't think he'd need anything more than music to make a home.
So far, music and he have managed pretty well. He found his old roommate, Shane, by playing the guitar in really interesting lighting (apparently) and when he was still living off his savings, busking on the El platform, the owner of the little station bakery came out and gave him hot coffee. The big man eyed him sternly while he drank it gratefully, and then offered him a job. So now Brendon works enough at Hot Stuff to pay his bills and get benefits, and when business is slow Zack still lets him go stand out front and play, so long as he uses a Hot Stuff mug to collect change.
It's a good life Brendon has, if a little lonely now that Shane's married and gone (even if he was nice enough to leave Brendon the dog). He has friends where he works, despite his vicious battles with Greta over who gets to busk when the bakery's empty.
And, of course, there's Hat Guy.
Hat Guy comes in during the lull between the breakfast/commuter crowd and the lunch/shopping crowd, about ten-thirty every weekday morning, and he's the most beautiful person Brendon has ever seen. Ever. He has fine, delicate bones and pale skin, and he has the world's most fantastic fashion sense.
Sometimes Brendon is on the register, and gets to hand over Hat Guy's medium coffee, black, and miniature loaf of French bread, but he likes it better when he out-pretties or out-pouts Greta and gets waved to the sidewalk out front where he can play slow, seductive rhythms or happy, flirty ones until Hat Guy comes up the sidewalk with his long legs and smiles at him. On his way out, Hat Guy will drop coins in Brendon's mug, always exactly sixty-four cents, his change from the bakery, and if he isn't in a hurry that day he'll smile again.
Someday, Brendon knows, Hat Guy will stop for more than a smile. He'll take Brendon's guitar and kiss him, and they'll introduce themselves and have a wonderful life together.
In the meantime, Brendon has a Christmas to celebrate. Christmas is important. And sure, he avoids a few things that would make Christmas a sad thing, like stockings that can't be hand-quilted by his mom when he was six, or peppermint bark, or caroling (caroling's no fun on your own, anyway), but they would defeat the purpose. Brendon starts right after Thanksgiving, putting together paper garlands to string around his apartment and picking out just the right gift for everybody he knows. Tiny finger-cymbals for Greta so she can dance and play at the same time, an apron for Zack that Brendon paints himself, a case of Shane's favorite beer and funky earrings to the Valdes household with an absolute mountain of baby toys, in case Tara forgets him while she is visiting her grandparents for the holidays.
Brendon bakes cookies, cutting out Santa hats and reindeer and holly, and frosts them thick and sticky in white and green, sprinkled with red sugar. There are more cookies than he could ever eat alone, and so the mats in front of the doors in his building sprout plates with a cheery label wishing people a happy holiday, and the kids from two floors up wave at Brendon from their snowman the next morning. (Gabe The Leering Landlord gives him a thank-you grope, too.)
Brendon puts on Christmas music and decorates his tree with glass balls and twinkle lights, determined not to think about the green-painted jar lids with his picture on them (Brendon, age six, two teeth missing; Brendon, age nine, The Year Of The Purple Glasses Frames) or the beautiful clay nativity ornaments that his older sister made in college. He sings along to "Jingle Bells" and "Deck the Halls" and "Have a Holly Jolly Christmas," sprinkling tinsel on his tree, and when there's nobody to sing the questions on "Must Be Santa," he hits the skip button on the CD player. Instead he scoops up Dylan from where she's eying the sparkles warily and dances her around the room to "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree," and pretends her yips of protest are singing along. (He shares his eggnog later to make up for it.)
Brendon has been enthusiastic in his Hot Stuff decorating, too, and Zack has been surprisingly indulgent--he even bought window markers for Brendon and Greta to cover their big front window in snowflakes and wreaths and candy canes. Brendon thought Zack might be filled with holiday spirit, but as it turned out, Zack was buttering him up for another reason entirely.
"Work Christmas?" Brendon can't quite believe what Zack is asking of him.
Zack gives him a pleading look. "Greta's high school band is coming back from college, Brendon. And my mom's gonna kill me if I'm not there this year. I'll be here for the evening shift, I swear."
Brendon sighs.
"Think of all the Christmas cheer you can spread!" Zack says. "You can give away a free cookie with every drink if you want to. And if nobody's buying you can play all the Christmas music you want."
Brendon can feel himself wavering, but--Christmas.
"Brendon--please. I wouldn't ask, but it's not like you're--"
Brendon cuts him off before Zack can make Christmas a sad thing, like the carolers Brendon didn't open the door to last night. "Fine. But you owe me. And I get to decorate the cookies from now until Valentine's Day."
"Done!" Zack picks him up in a bear hug. "Dude, thank you thank you thank you."
"Yeah, yeah." Brendon pretends he's carrying a grudge, but really, Zack's bear hugs cure a multitude of ills.
On Christmas morning, Brendon tries to wrap himself in the memory of Zack's hug like a blanket of Christmas cheer, but the effect wears off with too much use as he serves coffee and pastry to people who are in a cheerful hurry, wishing him a merry Christmas as they scoop up boxes of danish and cinnamon rolls for their hungry families, who are waiting for them at home beside sweet-scented trees and roaring fires. When the family breakfast crowd finally dies down around two, he gets out his guitar and goes to play in the front of the store, starting with "We Wish You A Merry Christmas" in a determined fit of jollity. He comes down through "We Three Kings" and "Mary, Did You Know?" all the way to "Christmas Shoes"--tearjerker and a lousy song to boot--a lot faster than he was hoping to, and for a few minutes he has to stop himself and get a grip, breathing in deep breaths and thinking happy thoughts.
He's playing a soft, sweet "I Heard the Bells" when a deep voice says, "Hey!"
His fingers still on the strings, and he looks up to see Hat Guy in a top hat decorated with holly and a thick snowflake sweater, hurrying up the sidewalk. "Merry Christmas!" he calls, waving as he walks by, and Brendon's mouth falls open unflatteringly.
Hat Guy keeps going, headed for a different train than his usual, and Brendon closes his mouth and smacks himself in the head.
"Happy holidays. Nice hat. Please smile at me every day for the rest of my life." Brendon can think of a thousand appropriate answers to that. Why didn't he say any of them?
He glances after Hat Guy, still embarrassed, just in time to see some dude in a ski mask pull Hat Guy close by his scarf and lift a wad of bills from Hat Guy's coat. The dude shoves Hat Guy's throat away from him just as Hat Guy is saying, "Hey, what--" and Hat Guy goes over the edge of the platform in a jumble of long limbs.
Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgod.
The mugger takes off and Brendon doesn't bother about him, just sets his guitar inside the door of Hot Stuff and bolts to the platform, thinking pleasepleaseplease be okay, pleasepleaseplease...
But he isn't. Hat Guy is lying half-on, half-off the track, his jauntily berried hat spinning slowly between the rails, his body frighteningly still. Brendon jumps down and tries to calm his heartbeat enough to hear his Scoutmaster's authoritative rumble in his head. Check the area, assess the situation, get help, do what you can.
Obviously, the first one is bad, very bad--Brendon isn't in any danger if he tries to help right this second, but he's pretty sure the train is due soon.
He tries to remember how to assess the situation--it doesn't look like Hat Guy has any broken bones, and his breath is leaving mist in the icy air, but he isn't moving. "Hey, are you okay?" He gets down and shakes Hat Guy's arm, but there's no response. Dubiously, Brendon puts his forefinger behind his thumb and stares at it for a moment. This feels even stupider now than it did in Scouts. He rolls his eyes at himself and thumps Hat Guy on the chest, hard. No response.
Brendon fumbles in his pocket for his cell phone, but a train whistle blows behind them, and there just isn't time.
"C'mon, dude, get up, please--"
But the train is coming, fast, and Brendon remembers the time there was a stray cat on the rails--the drivers just can't see anything this far down. He grabs Hat Guy by the lapels of his long green coat and tries to pull him off the rails, but Hat Guy is heavy for someone roughly the circumference of a toothpick, and the train is still chugging closer. Brendon panics and throws himself all the way down on top of Hat Guy and rolls, once, twice, under the shelter of the platform as the train rumbles by. He winds up on top again, trying not to panic, trying to breathe, and he's going to call 911, he is, just as soon as his heart stops racing and Hat Guy stops smelling quite so good.
*~*~*~*~*
The ambulance is just pulling away when Brendon hears his name being shouted in a panic. He turns around to see Zack shoving his way through the crowd, wild-eyed. "Brendon!"
"Zack, Zack, hey, I'm here!"
Zack pulls him close in a fast, hard hug, shoves him back just as abruptly to look him over. "You okay?"
Brendon smiles at him reassuringly. "I'm fine, Zack, this guy got pushed onto the tracks, I was just helping out."
Zack doesn't look noticeably reassured. "Anyone we know?"
"One of the regulars, the guy with all the hats?"
"Oh, really?"
Sometimes Brendon hates how he can't really hide anything. Like how he's blushing right now, for instance.
"And you were helping...how, exactly?"
"I, um. I kind of--jumped down and pulled him off the tracks?"
Zack's look speaks volumes.
"Shut up. Look, can I--?"
"Yeah, yeah, go play knight in shining armor, kiddo."
Brendon punches Zack in the arm and runs to catch the next train to the hospital. All the way there he daydreams about what an amazing story it could be, jumping off the platform, pulling his beloved off the tracks, finding him at the hospital, they fall into each others' arms, they kiss--
It's pretty pointless, as it turns out, because once he gets there he still doesn't know Hat Guy's name.
He's trying to negotiate with the nurse on the front desk when he sees the gurney with Hat Guy on it wheeling its way in from the emergency room, and he takes off across the lobby, following the orderlies to the elevator, where one of them stops him.
"Are you family, sir?"
"I--no, but I--"
"Family only."
"You don't understand--"
"Sorry."
The elevator closes almost on Brendon's nose, and he stands there forlornly watching the numbers climb to the fourth floor.
"We were gonna live happily ever after," he says softly.
A nurse taps him on the shoulder and smiles conspiratorially. "I can get you in."
By the time the elevator's come back for them, and the nurse has ushered him in with a soft pat to his arm, Hat Guy--hatless--is lying in a cool, dim room under the flicker of machinery lights, and suddenly Brendon realizes how stupid this is.
He still doesn't even know the guy's fucking name, for crying out loud.
"Knock, knock," a deep voice interrupts Brendon's staring.
He turns around to find a big blond man with a lip ring and a stethoscope, who smiles at him. "Mr. Ross is going to be all right," the doctor says reassuringly.
"Really?" Brendon says, and the doctor smiles.
"Really," he says.
He's just opening his mouth to continue when there's a sharp cry from the doorway; Brendon and the doctor both turn to see a pretty middle-aged woman standing there, obviously trying to control herself. She takes one hesitant step into the room, and then another, and then she just flies to Hat Guy's side, touching his face with shaky hands.
"Ryan," she says, softly--Ryan Ross, Brendon thinks-and then she starts to cry.
"Hey, Ginger, hey," a balding guy comes in, too, and goes to wrap his arms around her. Two teenage girls trail in behind him, looking worried. A short guy with a beard brings up the rear, his eyes focused on the still figure in the bed.
"He's gonna be okay," the man says. "Isn't he?" He gives the doctor a sharp look.
"He's in a coma," the doctor says. "But his brainwaves are strong, and his vital signs are healthy. I think he's going to be all right."
The woman-Ginger?--draws in a sharp breath. "Oh, thank God." She reaches out her hands to her-daughters?--and they hold on tight.
"How did this happen?" the man demands.
"He was pushed from the train platform," Brendon volunteers, and the entire room turns to look at him.
"Who are you?" the man asks, and his wife bumps him with her shoulder.
"Jeff! Don't be rude." She smiles shakily at Brendon. "Are you with the hospital?"
Brendon's just about to explain when the guy who was wheeling the gurney before shows up in the doorway. "Hey, buddy-" he says. "I know you wanna see your friend, but it really is family only."
Brendon tries to explain that, too, but the nurse who showed him where to go says, "He's his fiancée," and for just a moment all Brendon can hear is white noise.
When he comes back to himself, the room has erupted in confusion; the family's all looking at him like he has three heads, the nurse looks like he can't tell up from down, the doctor's trying to calm everybody down, and the orderly is trying to apologize.
The guy from the ambulance, who Brendon spent ten minutes trying to explain the situation to, shows up at the door and adds to the chaos by trying to make the nurse take Hat Guy's chart. He spots Brendon and waves. "You're the guy that saved his life, right?" he asks cheerfully. "Glad they let you in, I forgot to give the okay."
Brendon smiles weakly. The nurse's mouth has dropped open.
"You saved his life?" Ginger asks.
"I thought he was pushed from the platform," Jeff says.
"He jumped on the tracks," the orderly says.
"You jumped on the tracks?" one of the girls asks, her eyes like saucers.
"I-yeah," Brendon says helplessly.
"I'm so sorry," Ginger says, shaking herself free of her family and coming toward him. "You know how Ryan is about surprises, he only told us he had news--"
Brendon doesn't know what to do with this.
"I've been trying to get him to find a nice boy-I'm so glad he found you." She grabs Brendon in a hug and squeezes him tight. "Thank you so much." She presses a kiss to his cheek and lets him go.
As soon as Brendon can, he escapes to the nurse's station, where the nurse who helped him is sketching a zombie on an admissions form.
"Uh--why did you say that?" Brendon asks, and the nurse looks up.
"Say what?" He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and puts the pencil back against the paper.
"I'm not his fiancée."
The pencil skids.
"Then why did you tell me that you were?"
"I'm not-I've barely even spoken to him, what--"
The nurse looks almost as confused as Brendon feels. "But downstairs, you said--"
"Oh, god," Brendon groans, and runs his hand through his hair. "I was-I was talking to myself, I was--"
The nurse looks genuinely apologetic. "I'm sorry, I thought you meant--"
"I-it's okay, it's not your fault," Brendon says, and bangs his head on the desk of the nurse's station a couple of times.
"What am I gonna do?" he mutters, and the nurse makes a helpless noise and pets Brendon's hair.
*~*~*~*~*
Late that night, Brendon gives up on tossing and turning and throws his clothes on, slipping bare feet into his sneakers and grabbing a decent sweatshirt to throw over his pajama top.
The El is a little spooky this late, but Brendon knows most of the night security because they take turns on the day shift, and Zack "believes in keeping his property protected," which is just his way of pretending that he's not made of marshmallow on the inside and fond of giving coffee and cookies to anything standing around looking cold or hungry or overworked or lost or unappreciated. He waves to Matt, whose look of boredom momentarily lightens, and gets on the train. His knee jitters in time to the click-clacks of the wheels on the tracks, and he tries not to think about where he's going.
The ICU is quiet now, no patients being rushed in and out for tests and treatments, no friends or family passing one another in the hall on the way to the vending machines and nurses' station. Brendon nods to the unfamiliar nurse doing paperwork at the desk, takes a deep breath, and walks into Ryan's room.
Ryan's lying still, of course, his pale skin lit by the green lights of the machines. Hat Guy, Brendon thinks absurdly, because of course Ryan isn't wearing a hat now; he isn't even wearing anything around his neck, no skinny tie or necklace or scarf. It makes him look strangely vulnerable and alien under the low lights, and Brendon realizes all over again that really, he doesn't know anything about Ryan. Anything. All he knows is that Ryan likes hats, and even that isn't true while Ryan is in here, flat on his back in a plain hospital gown. This Ryan is a stranger.
God, what is he doing here?
Brendon almost just turns around and walks right out, let them wonder, let Ryan explain when he wakes up, if he ever does, but he remembers Ginger holding him so tight, remembers sitting in the waiting room for hours listening to them worry, and he can't walk out on them. Which means he owes Ryan an explanation.
He draws in a deep breath and blows it out, slowly. "Um. Hi."
Ryan breathes back at him, and Brendon fights down a hysterical giggle. Obviously, this is insane.
"This is nuts," he says, and he can hear the desperate whine in his own voice. "You know that, right? I've never even talked to you. I didn't even know your name. Which, hi, you don't know mine either, if you're Hat Guy I'm probably Spastic Busker or something, which is ridiculous, dude. We can't be engaged if you don't know my name, even I know that."
Ryan doesn't acknowledge the ridiculousness, but Brendon feels better for saying it aloud, all the same.
"So, um. I'm Brendon. Brendon Boyd Urie, I'm twenty-one years old and I have a dog named Dylan and I like music and video games and nakedness and--this is stupid. This is so stupid. Your family thinks we're engaged and I'm babbling my OKCupid profile."
Brendon gives up and slumps into the chair by the bedside, leaning his elbows on the mattress so he doesn't have to look at Ryan.
"I'm sorry, okay? I'm so, so sorry. I don't know how it happened, it just--did. And I just--I can't tell them, okay? Your mom, she hugged me and she was glad and--it's just, it's been--it's been a really long time since I had a hug from a mom.
"Do you--can you imagine that? Being so--alone, so lonely, that you'd do anything for a family? I mean, don't get me wrong, my friends try, but it's not the same. And this Christmas they're all off with their real families, and I'm--obviously, I'm spending Christmas in a hospital babbling to a guy in a coma." He laughs again, worn and unhappy, and puts his head down on the bed too.
"In the interests of full disclosure," he adds, mumbling into the mattress, "I guess I should tell you I've had a crush on you for three months. Your hats are awesome, and you have a really pretty smile."
Brendon sighs against the mattress and lets his eyelids drop closed.
*~*~*~*~*
Outside Ryan's door, Jon Walker bites his lip and walks away.
*~*~*~*~*
Brendon wakes up with an ache in his spine and a worse one in his neck, and it takes him about ten minutes to wake up enough to understand why. When he does, he springs up like a jack-in-the-box and nearly cripples himself leaping out of the chair. Shit, shit, shit, he totally fell asleep on Ryan's bed, like this whole crazy scenario isn't creepy enough already. Brendon never meant to become a stalker or anything, and how is this his life.
He looks at Ryan anxiously, but at least Ryan doesn't seem any worse for having shared bedspace with him. Tentatively, he reaches over and pats Ryan on the ankle--that couldn't be too creepy, right, just the ankle?
"Bye," he whispers, and turns to go, and runs smack into Jeff, who is just coming into the room, almost the whole family behind him.
"Brendon!" Ginger says, and smiles at him, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "The nurse didn't tell us you were here, have you been here all night?"
He smiles at her helplessly. "Yeah. I--I couldn't sleep, so I came to talk to him, and I guess I just kinda conked out right here."
"He looks better!" Crystal exclaims, peering over her mother's shoulder at Ryan's still form.
"I--I think so, a little, yeah." Brendon really has no idea what he should say to these people, still, and he sort of waves his hand around uselessly. "I should--go, I have to work--"
"Oh, hey, whoa there," Ginger says, refusing to let him tug free. "We want you to come and celebrate Christmas with us tonight."
Brendon stares at her.
"I mean," she smiles at him, "obviously, we were all a little distracted yesterday, and we didn't really get to do stockings and presents and turkey. And you didn't either, so you have to come and help us keep our spirits up."
"I--" Brendon starts, but luckily, Jackie interrupts him.
"You can meet Spencer, you haven't met Spencer yet!"
"Oh my god," Crystal agrees, eyes wide. "Spencer might kill us if you're not there tonight. I mean, obviously, he's going to kill Ryan--"
"Crystal," her mother hisses, darting a glance at the bed, "don't say things like that, not with--"
Jackie rolls her eyes. "Give it up, Mom, as soon as he's better Spencer's going to kick him to death and you know it."
"Now that we know it'll be on our heads, too, Brendon. You have to come." Crystal gives him puppy-dog eyes that are almost as pathetic as Greta's, and Brendon groans inwardly.
"I--"
"Give us your info, Brendon," Jeff says, smiling kindly at him, like he's used to stilling the whirlwind of crazy family. "We'll give you a call, let you know where to come." He pulls out a rubber-banded stack of business cards and hands over two. "Write your number and address on the back of one, the other one's for you. If you ever need a piccolo, let us know."
Brendon looks down at the Smith and Son, Fine Instruments and Instruction business cards, printed with guitar, saxophone, and musical notes, the address just a few blocks from Shane's new place. Jeff smiles at him encouragingly, and Brendon digs a pen out of his hoodie pocket to print his information. He hands it over and waves an awkward goodbye, turning to the elevator with a mental sigh of relief.
"Mr. Urie!" a voice calls after him, and he can't quite stop himself from groaning as he turns back.
There's a new nurse chasing after him with a box, a tiny guy with black hair and the shadows of tattoos beneath his scrubs. The box has a top hat sticking out of the top of it.
"Yeah?"
"Mr. Urie, this is what your husband had on him during the accident."
Brendon moans, driven beyond endurance. "He's not my husband."
"Sorry, your fiancée" The guy gives him such a sweet smile that Brendon can't snap at him any more. He takes the box and smiles weakly back, enough to make the nurse walk away.
"Oh, hey, you're Ryan's fiancée?" A tiny guy with a zillion tattoos and really big teeth has stopped on his way out of the elevator, and now he's following Brendon in as the door shuts.
Brendon groans inwardly. "I--yeah."
The tiny guy holds out his hand, and Brendon shakes it. There really aren't many other options, here.
"I'm Pete Wentz, Ryan's boss?"
"Oh, sure," Brendon says, and tries not to ask what Ryan does for a living. Obviously, Ryan's fiancée would know that.
"I'm so glad you two finally worked your shit out, man."
Oh, god. There's someone else. What the fuck, there's someone else, and why isn't he here getting Brendon out of this?
"You look just like I imagined, man, Ross's drunken ramblings are accurate, even when he's being an emo little wuss who won't speak up. I thought he'd never get you. Did you like the tattoo? I mean, he has a pretty lickable pelvis anyway, but that's gotta be tempting. I bet you can't keep your tongue off it."
Brendon can't stop himself. "The tattoo?"
"Oh, man, he didn't tell you it was about you, did he? I'll give him hell when he wakes up, promise. It's for you, man--a guitar pick because you taught him guitar, get it?"
Brendon has no idea what his face is doing, but Pete apparently translates it as "hey, personal!" or something, because he says, "Dude, sorry. I would say I'm not usually the kind of guy to go spilling his friends' personal details all over the fucking place, but that is totally untrue."
"No, it's fine--" Brendon gropes for something to say, but (thank God) the elevator opens, and all he has to say is, "This is my stop, so--"
"Cool, dude, I'll see you at the next office party." Pete waves as the elevator doors close on him, and Brendon breathes a deep sigh of relief.
*~*~*~*~*
Brendon fidgets his way through the morning rush, and he knows Zack is watching him as closely as he can.
When the traffic slows, Zack sends Greta out front without even giving Brendon the chance to bat his eyelashes, and shoves a hot coffee with two biscotti into Brendon's hand.
"No point in sending you out front today," he rumbles, pouring himself a cup, too. "I'm guessing your damsel in distress won't be coming in for a while."
Brendon makes a face at him and hands over a danish. "Considering he's in a coma, yeah, no."
"Oh, man, that sucks." Zack tears a piece of danish loose and dunks it into his drink. "That was totally your chance to make a play, and he still doesn't even know your name?"
"Yeah." Brendon crunches off a bit of biscotti. "I'm pretty sure he will, though."
"You gonna keep in contact?"
"Well...yeah. I don't think I've got a choice."
Zack gives him a sharp look. "Why's that?"
"His family thinks we're engaged."
There's a long silence. Zack stares at him. Brendon swirls his biscotti through the coffee and looks anywhere but into Zack's eyes.
"Brendon...."
"Yeah?"
"That is fucked up."
"Tell me about it."
"Yeah, no." Zack reaches over and stops Brendon's hand, still splashing the coffee in its cup. "I'm pretty sure that's your job."
*~*~*~*~*
When the cab pulls up in front of the house--tall and narrow and strung with Christmas lights--Brendon takes a deep breath and climbs out of the car, overtipping a little as he pulls the poinsettia from the back seat. He wraps his arms around the big plant and takes a deep, calming breath.
"Brendon!"
It's Jon from yesterday, bundled in long coat and a scarf that Brendon is pretty sure he recognizes from Hat G--from Ryan's neck, and it makes him smile to see how Jon must be part of the family, too.
"Hey, Jon."
"You made it, I'm glad. Come sit with me a minute."
"...okay." Brendon isn't sure where this is going, but he follows Jon to the porch steps and pulls his coat down over his ass to sit down.
"Ginger hates me to smoke in the house," Jon explains, pulling out a cigarette and lighting up. "Well, actually, she hates it when I smoke at all, so I try to do it out of her sight when I can. You want one?"
"Nah, never got the habit." Brendon offers him a self-deprecating grin.
Jon smiles back. "Really good D.A.R.E. program at your school?"
"Well--" Brendon looks down at his shoes, wiggles his toes a little. "My family was Mormon, actually, so there weren't any around to steal or anything. And then, when I got to town, I couldn't really afford to smoke, even if I'd wanted to."
"They were Mormon?"
"Are. Are Mormon. I mean, I assume. I haven't seen them in--a really long time." He bites his lip and wiggles his feet again. "They are and I'm--well, I'm not. That's the problem, really."
"I get it." Jon bumps Brendon's shoulder sympathetically. "Filthy habit, anyway, my mom's been trying to get me to quit for years."
"Where is she?"
"My dad took her to Mexico for the holiday," Jon explains. "Three weeks of bad water and white sand; that's why I'm back next door, I'm housesitting. Jeff and Ginger are letting me share their Christmas."
"So you don't live next door."
"Not anymore." Jon puts the cigarette to his mouth and puffs for a minute. "I grew up there, sure; Ryan and Spencer were my best friends when we were teenagers. I've been looking out for them since Ryan was twelve, can you believe that?"
Brendon cocks his head to one side. "Was he just really annoying until then?"
Jon laughs. "Nah, that's when they moved here. They started out in Vegas. Then Ryan's dad wrecked his car, driving home drunk one night, and Jeff and Ginger took him in--he and Spencer have been best friends since they were really little, you know? They came here to give him a clean start, he had a really hard time with his dad's death."
Brendon nods slowly; he remembers Ginger talking about Ryan, the worry in her voice like he was somehow more fragile than most people. It explains the last name, too.
"They're really amazing, you know? They gave up their whole life--jobs and friends and everything--just packed it all up and moved because this kid who wasn't even blood needed a new place to be. I mean, I was here for the aftermath, and Ryan was--god, Ryan was screwed up. He was really hard on them for a while, too, almost as hard as he was on himself. But they got him through it.
"I'd do anything for them, you know? Ryan's--" Jon stops, self-consciously, and Brendon watches the emotions chase across his face. Finally, he starts again, his voice lower, less sure. "Ryan's really important to me, a really good friend. And they did that for him, they loved him through it. I can never repay them for that. I would do anything to keep them from getting hurt."
Brendon swallows, thinking of Ginger squeezing his hand. "So would I."
Jon looks at him for a moment with a penetrating stare that Brendon finds a little intimidating. Then all of a sudden a broad grin breaks across his face, like he was never serious at all. "I believe you."
Behind them, the door swings open, freeing a burst of heat and the slightly-muffled trumpet of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."
Both of them turn to see Ginger beaming down at them. "Brendon! You came!" She reaches down to help him up, and pulls him into a hug. Brendon hugs back, hard.
"Jon, put out your cancer stick and come inside," she adds, disapproving, and Jon shrugs sheepishly as he climbs to his feet and gets his own hug, grinding the cigarette under his foot.
"Everybody, Jon and Brendon are here!" Ginger calls, pulling them into the hallway and tugging at Jon's scarf. Brendon soaks in the happy cries of the family as he slips out of his coat, and almost falls over when Jackie jumps him from behind, wrapping her arms around him.
They've missed dinner, but there are pies and half a dozen kinds of cookies on the kitchen counter, and eggnog and champagne in tall glasses. Brendon teases Crystal about the mistletoe-decorated picture of a boy on the refrigerator and gets into an argument about guitar strings with Jeff. Later, Ginger crowds them all into the living room with its glistening Christmas tree, and the twins takes turns passing out gifts. There are even a few for Brendon, gloves and chocolate and a box of colorful guitar picks that make him smile, but really, the joy of it is in hearing Jackie squeal about the concert tickets from her sister, seeing Ginger light up when she opens a velvet box with a sapphire brooch inside.
Later, they settle down to watch A Muppet Christmas Carol, and Jackie beams at Brendon when he can't help but sing "One More Sleep" with Kermit. By the time the Ghost of Christmas Present is singing about getting warm by the fire, everybody's singing along, and happiness glows in Brendon's stomach like a hot coal.
He slips into sleep as Scrooge asks the bunny to buy a big goose for the Cratchits, and only barely registers being tipped onto his side on the couch and covered with a blanket. He snuggles down into the worn cushions and sighs as somebody drops a kiss into his hair.
He isn't sure how much later it is when the creak of the door and the drift of cold air half-wake him from his dream.
"Sorry, Crys," a new voice rumbles. "I just didn't want to wake Mom, she's had a hard few days."
"Why are you back so late?" Crystal hisses. "You were supposed to be here hours ago, Spence!"
"The snow, Crystal, you don't want two brothers in the hospital, do you? How's Ryan?"
"No change."
Spencer sighs heavily. "I figured." Brendon can hear the chink of a heavy zipper and the slithery sounds of a coat sliding off.
"Who's on the couch, Jon?"
"Nah, Jon went home. Brendon fell asleep during the movie."
"Brendon? Who's Brendon?"
Crystal takes a deep breath and expels it. "He's Ryan's fiancée"
"He's what?"
Crystal hushes him furiously. "You'll wake him! I didn't want to be the one to tell you."
Spencer sounds bitter. "No kidding you didn't want to tell me. I didn't know he was that mad at me."
"You know he holds grudges."
"Yeah, but--"
"Spencer, I don't know, okay? I don't know why. And I don't think Brendon does either, so give him a chance, okay? He's awesome."
Brendon holds his breath.
"A chance," Spencer says, finally, which could mean anything.
"And don't eat my Pop-Tarts in the morning."
Spencer laughs, and their footsteps climb the stairs together.
Brendon has a hard time sleeping the rest of the night; in fact, he pretty much just tosses and turns until it's light and he has to get up for work. He calls a cab as quietly as he can, and slips into the bathroom to splash his face and stick his tongue out at his bedhead. When he gets out, there is a bearded man on the stairs.
Brendon drops his cellphone.
"Sorry, dude." The bearded guy smiles a little, although his eyes are still appraising, unkind; his voice is the voice from the night before. "Didn't mean to scare you."
Brendon ducks down to snatch his phone from the floor and hide his blush. "Um. No, it's fine. I--good morning, Spencer."
"Funny thing," Spencer says, meditative. "I don't remember meeting you."
"Well, you haven't." Brendon stands up and reaches for his coat. "I just--I know you from, you know, pictures, and stuff." Strictly speaking, that's true--there's a huge family portrait in the living room, for example.
Spencer nods gravely. "You're Brendon, right?"
"Yeah." They stare at each other for a minute, until the blessed cab honks outside.
"I have to go, but I--it was nice to meet you." Brendon jams his stocking cap onto his head and turns to go.
"Brendon--"
Brendon turns around, panicking. "Look, I know--"
"Hey," Spencer interrupts him, even, calm, like Jeff stilling a family storm. "I just wanted to welcome you to the family."
"Oh." Brendon stares at him for a minute, feeling his stomach settle. "Thanks."
He's still smiling as he ducks out the door.
Next
Author: elucreh
Pairing: Spencer/Brendon, Ryan/Jon
Wordcount: ~17000
Summary: Christmas is hard for Brendon the lonely busker, but when the commuter he's had a crush on for months gets pushed from the El platform onto the tracks, his life is changed forever.
Notes: The plot belongs to Hollywood Pictures, the boys belong to each other, and the idea to combine them was Rachel's; hardly any of this is mine. Title from Mara Levi's "Homo Song," because it stuck. All details regarding the El are completely inaccurate. With thanks to liketheroad, shihadchick, tanisafan, and katrin for audiencing as we went, and to liketheroad for the beta. For harriet_vane, who is to blame for approximately half my fics. Happy holidays, my darling!
Brendon's mom used to tell him that she knew she was in love when his dad filled her soul with music.
Okay, really he tricked her into performing a duet in a ward talent show, but when he sang about love and longing and looked into her eyes, the whole audience and the gym in its Christmas trappings fell away and she couldn't do anything but sing back.
Brendon grew up in a family whose whole foundation was a soul filled with music, but when it turned out that his soul was made of music, and couldn't find room for anything else, not Christ or faith or salvation, he made himself walk out, guitar on his back and the couple of thousand from his mission fund in his pocket. He couldn't face telling his parents he didn't think he'd need anything more than music to make a home.
So far, music and he have managed pretty well. He found his old roommate, Shane, by playing the guitar in really interesting lighting (apparently) and when he was still living off his savings, busking on the El platform, the owner of the little station bakery came out and gave him hot coffee. The big man eyed him sternly while he drank it gratefully, and then offered him a job. So now Brendon works enough at Hot Stuff to pay his bills and get benefits, and when business is slow Zack still lets him go stand out front and play, so long as he uses a Hot Stuff mug to collect change.
It's a good life Brendon has, if a little lonely now that Shane's married and gone (even if he was nice enough to leave Brendon the dog). He has friends where he works, despite his vicious battles with Greta over who gets to busk when the bakery's empty.
And, of course, there's Hat Guy.
Hat Guy comes in during the lull between the breakfast/commuter crowd and the lunch/shopping crowd, about ten-thirty every weekday morning, and he's the most beautiful person Brendon has ever seen. Ever. He has fine, delicate bones and pale skin, and he has the world's most fantastic fashion sense.
Sometimes Brendon is on the register, and gets to hand over Hat Guy's medium coffee, black, and miniature loaf of French bread, but he likes it better when he out-pretties or out-pouts Greta and gets waved to the sidewalk out front where he can play slow, seductive rhythms or happy, flirty ones until Hat Guy comes up the sidewalk with his long legs and smiles at him. On his way out, Hat Guy will drop coins in Brendon's mug, always exactly sixty-four cents, his change from the bakery, and if he isn't in a hurry that day he'll smile again.
Someday, Brendon knows, Hat Guy will stop for more than a smile. He'll take Brendon's guitar and kiss him, and they'll introduce themselves and have a wonderful life together.
In the meantime, Brendon has a Christmas to celebrate. Christmas is important. And sure, he avoids a few things that would make Christmas a sad thing, like stockings that can't be hand-quilted by his mom when he was six, or peppermint bark, or caroling (caroling's no fun on your own, anyway), but they would defeat the purpose. Brendon starts right after Thanksgiving, putting together paper garlands to string around his apartment and picking out just the right gift for everybody he knows. Tiny finger-cymbals for Greta so she can dance and play at the same time, an apron for Zack that Brendon paints himself, a case of Shane's favorite beer and funky earrings to the Valdes household with an absolute mountain of baby toys, in case Tara forgets him while she is visiting her grandparents for the holidays.
Brendon bakes cookies, cutting out Santa hats and reindeer and holly, and frosts them thick and sticky in white and green, sprinkled with red sugar. There are more cookies than he could ever eat alone, and so the mats in front of the doors in his building sprout plates with a cheery label wishing people a happy holiday, and the kids from two floors up wave at Brendon from their snowman the next morning. (Gabe The Leering Landlord gives him a thank-you grope, too.)
Brendon puts on Christmas music and decorates his tree with glass balls and twinkle lights, determined not to think about the green-painted jar lids with his picture on them (Brendon, age six, two teeth missing; Brendon, age nine, The Year Of The Purple Glasses Frames) or the beautiful clay nativity ornaments that his older sister made in college. He sings along to "Jingle Bells" and "Deck the Halls" and "Have a Holly Jolly Christmas," sprinkling tinsel on his tree, and when there's nobody to sing the questions on "Must Be Santa," he hits the skip button on the CD player. Instead he scoops up Dylan from where she's eying the sparkles warily and dances her around the room to "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree," and pretends her yips of protest are singing along. (He shares his eggnog later to make up for it.)
Brendon has been enthusiastic in his Hot Stuff decorating, too, and Zack has been surprisingly indulgent--he even bought window markers for Brendon and Greta to cover their big front window in snowflakes and wreaths and candy canes. Brendon thought Zack might be filled with holiday spirit, but as it turned out, Zack was buttering him up for another reason entirely.
"Work Christmas?" Brendon can't quite believe what Zack is asking of him.
Zack gives him a pleading look. "Greta's high school band is coming back from college, Brendon. And my mom's gonna kill me if I'm not there this year. I'll be here for the evening shift, I swear."
Brendon sighs.
"Think of all the Christmas cheer you can spread!" Zack says. "You can give away a free cookie with every drink if you want to. And if nobody's buying you can play all the Christmas music you want."
Brendon can feel himself wavering, but--Christmas.
"Brendon--please. I wouldn't ask, but it's not like you're--"
Brendon cuts him off before Zack can make Christmas a sad thing, like the carolers Brendon didn't open the door to last night. "Fine. But you owe me. And I get to decorate the cookies from now until Valentine's Day."
"Done!" Zack picks him up in a bear hug. "Dude, thank you thank you thank you."
"Yeah, yeah." Brendon pretends he's carrying a grudge, but really, Zack's bear hugs cure a multitude of ills.
On Christmas morning, Brendon tries to wrap himself in the memory of Zack's hug like a blanket of Christmas cheer, but the effect wears off with too much use as he serves coffee and pastry to people who are in a cheerful hurry, wishing him a merry Christmas as they scoop up boxes of danish and cinnamon rolls for their hungry families, who are waiting for them at home beside sweet-scented trees and roaring fires. When the family breakfast crowd finally dies down around two, he gets out his guitar and goes to play in the front of the store, starting with "We Wish You A Merry Christmas" in a determined fit of jollity. He comes down through "We Three Kings" and "Mary, Did You Know?" all the way to "Christmas Shoes"--tearjerker and a lousy song to boot--a lot faster than he was hoping to, and for a few minutes he has to stop himself and get a grip, breathing in deep breaths and thinking happy thoughts.
He's playing a soft, sweet "I Heard the Bells" when a deep voice says, "Hey!"
His fingers still on the strings, and he looks up to see Hat Guy in a top hat decorated with holly and a thick snowflake sweater, hurrying up the sidewalk. "Merry Christmas!" he calls, waving as he walks by, and Brendon's mouth falls open unflatteringly.
Hat Guy keeps going, headed for a different train than his usual, and Brendon closes his mouth and smacks himself in the head.
"Happy holidays. Nice hat. Please smile at me every day for the rest of my life." Brendon can think of a thousand appropriate answers to that. Why didn't he say any of them?
He glances after Hat Guy, still embarrassed, just in time to see some dude in a ski mask pull Hat Guy close by his scarf and lift a wad of bills from Hat Guy's coat. The dude shoves Hat Guy's throat away from him just as Hat Guy is saying, "Hey, what--" and Hat Guy goes over the edge of the platform in a jumble of long limbs.
Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgod.
The mugger takes off and Brendon doesn't bother about him, just sets his guitar inside the door of Hot Stuff and bolts to the platform, thinking pleasepleaseplease be okay, pleasepleaseplease...
But he isn't. Hat Guy is lying half-on, half-off the track, his jauntily berried hat spinning slowly between the rails, his body frighteningly still. Brendon jumps down and tries to calm his heartbeat enough to hear his Scoutmaster's authoritative rumble in his head. Check the area, assess the situation, get help, do what you can.
Obviously, the first one is bad, very bad--Brendon isn't in any danger if he tries to help right this second, but he's pretty sure the train is due soon.
He tries to remember how to assess the situation--it doesn't look like Hat Guy has any broken bones, and his breath is leaving mist in the icy air, but he isn't moving. "Hey, are you okay?" He gets down and shakes Hat Guy's arm, but there's no response. Dubiously, Brendon puts his forefinger behind his thumb and stares at it for a moment. This feels even stupider now than it did in Scouts. He rolls his eyes at himself and thumps Hat Guy on the chest, hard. No response.
Brendon fumbles in his pocket for his cell phone, but a train whistle blows behind them, and there just isn't time.
"C'mon, dude, get up, please--"
But the train is coming, fast, and Brendon remembers the time there was a stray cat on the rails--the drivers just can't see anything this far down. He grabs Hat Guy by the lapels of his long green coat and tries to pull him off the rails, but Hat Guy is heavy for someone roughly the circumference of a toothpick, and the train is still chugging closer. Brendon panics and throws himself all the way down on top of Hat Guy and rolls, once, twice, under the shelter of the platform as the train rumbles by. He winds up on top again, trying not to panic, trying to breathe, and he's going to call 911, he is, just as soon as his heart stops racing and Hat Guy stops smelling quite so good.
*~*~*~*~*
The ambulance is just pulling away when Brendon hears his name being shouted in a panic. He turns around to see Zack shoving his way through the crowd, wild-eyed. "Brendon!"
"Zack, Zack, hey, I'm here!"
Zack pulls him close in a fast, hard hug, shoves him back just as abruptly to look him over. "You okay?"
Brendon smiles at him reassuringly. "I'm fine, Zack, this guy got pushed onto the tracks, I was just helping out."
Zack doesn't look noticeably reassured. "Anyone we know?"
"One of the regulars, the guy with all the hats?"
"Oh, really?"
Sometimes Brendon hates how he can't really hide anything. Like how he's blushing right now, for instance.
"And you were helping...how, exactly?"
"I, um. I kind of--jumped down and pulled him off the tracks?"
Zack's look speaks volumes.
"Shut up. Look, can I--?"
"Yeah, yeah, go play knight in shining armor, kiddo."
Brendon punches Zack in the arm and runs to catch the next train to the hospital. All the way there he daydreams about what an amazing story it could be, jumping off the platform, pulling his beloved off the tracks, finding him at the hospital, they fall into each others' arms, they kiss--
It's pretty pointless, as it turns out, because once he gets there he still doesn't know Hat Guy's name.
He's trying to negotiate with the nurse on the front desk when he sees the gurney with Hat Guy on it wheeling its way in from the emergency room, and he takes off across the lobby, following the orderlies to the elevator, where one of them stops him.
"Are you family, sir?"
"I--no, but I--"
"Family only."
"You don't understand--"
"Sorry."
The elevator closes almost on Brendon's nose, and he stands there forlornly watching the numbers climb to the fourth floor.
"We were gonna live happily ever after," he says softly.
A nurse taps him on the shoulder and smiles conspiratorially. "I can get you in."
By the time the elevator's come back for them, and the nurse has ushered him in with a soft pat to his arm, Hat Guy--hatless--is lying in a cool, dim room under the flicker of machinery lights, and suddenly Brendon realizes how stupid this is.
He still doesn't even know the guy's fucking name, for crying out loud.
"Knock, knock," a deep voice interrupts Brendon's staring.
He turns around to find a big blond man with a lip ring and a stethoscope, who smiles at him. "Mr. Ross is going to be all right," the doctor says reassuringly.
"Really?" Brendon says, and the doctor smiles.
"Really," he says.
He's just opening his mouth to continue when there's a sharp cry from the doorway; Brendon and the doctor both turn to see a pretty middle-aged woman standing there, obviously trying to control herself. She takes one hesitant step into the room, and then another, and then she just flies to Hat Guy's side, touching his face with shaky hands.
"Ryan," she says, softly--Ryan Ross, Brendon thinks-and then she starts to cry.
"Hey, Ginger, hey," a balding guy comes in, too, and goes to wrap his arms around her. Two teenage girls trail in behind him, looking worried. A short guy with a beard brings up the rear, his eyes focused on the still figure in the bed.
"He's gonna be okay," the man says. "Isn't he?" He gives the doctor a sharp look.
"He's in a coma," the doctor says. "But his brainwaves are strong, and his vital signs are healthy. I think he's going to be all right."
The woman-Ginger?--draws in a sharp breath. "Oh, thank God." She reaches out her hands to her-daughters?--and they hold on tight.
"How did this happen?" the man demands.
"He was pushed from the train platform," Brendon volunteers, and the entire room turns to look at him.
"Who are you?" the man asks, and his wife bumps him with her shoulder.
"Jeff! Don't be rude." She smiles shakily at Brendon. "Are you with the hospital?"
Brendon's just about to explain when the guy who was wheeling the gurney before shows up in the doorway. "Hey, buddy-" he says. "I know you wanna see your friend, but it really is family only."
Brendon tries to explain that, too, but the nurse who showed him where to go says, "He's his fiancée," and for just a moment all Brendon can hear is white noise.
When he comes back to himself, the room has erupted in confusion; the family's all looking at him like he has three heads, the nurse looks like he can't tell up from down, the doctor's trying to calm everybody down, and the orderly is trying to apologize.
The guy from the ambulance, who Brendon spent ten minutes trying to explain the situation to, shows up at the door and adds to the chaos by trying to make the nurse take Hat Guy's chart. He spots Brendon and waves. "You're the guy that saved his life, right?" he asks cheerfully. "Glad they let you in, I forgot to give the okay."
Brendon smiles weakly. The nurse's mouth has dropped open.
"You saved his life?" Ginger asks.
"I thought he was pushed from the platform," Jeff says.
"He jumped on the tracks," the orderly says.
"You jumped on the tracks?" one of the girls asks, her eyes like saucers.
"I-yeah," Brendon says helplessly.
"I'm so sorry," Ginger says, shaking herself free of her family and coming toward him. "You know how Ryan is about surprises, he only told us he had news--"
Brendon doesn't know what to do with this.
"I've been trying to get him to find a nice boy-I'm so glad he found you." She grabs Brendon in a hug and squeezes him tight. "Thank you so much." She presses a kiss to his cheek and lets him go.
As soon as Brendon can, he escapes to the nurse's station, where the nurse who helped him is sketching a zombie on an admissions form.
"Uh--why did you say that?" Brendon asks, and the nurse looks up.
"Say what?" He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and puts the pencil back against the paper.
"I'm not his fiancée."
The pencil skids.
"Then why did you tell me that you were?"
"I'm not-I've barely even spoken to him, what--"
The nurse looks almost as confused as Brendon feels. "But downstairs, you said--"
"Oh, god," Brendon groans, and runs his hand through his hair. "I was-I was talking to myself, I was--"
The nurse looks genuinely apologetic. "I'm sorry, I thought you meant--"
"I-it's okay, it's not your fault," Brendon says, and bangs his head on the desk of the nurse's station a couple of times.
"What am I gonna do?" he mutters, and the nurse makes a helpless noise and pets Brendon's hair.
*~*~*~*~*
Late that night, Brendon gives up on tossing and turning and throws his clothes on, slipping bare feet into his sneakers and grabbing a decent sweatshirt to throw over his pajama top.
The El is a little spooky this late, but Brendon knows most of the night security because they take turns on the day shift, and Zack "believes in keeping his property protected," which is just his way of pretending that he's not made of marshmallow on the inside and fond of giving coffee and cookies to anything standing around looking cold or hungry or overworked or lost or unappreciated. He waves to Matt, whose look of boredom momentarily lightens, and gets on the train. His knee jitters in time to the click-clacks of the wheels on the tracks, and he tries not to think about where he's going.
The ICU is quiet now, no patients being rushed in and out for tests and treatments, no friends or family passing one another in the hall on the way to the vending machines and nurses' station. Brendon nods to the unfamiliar nurse doing paperwork at the desk, takes a deep breath, and walks into Ryan's room.
Ryan's lying still, of course, his pale skin lit by the green lights of the machines. Hat Guy, Brendon thinks absurdly, because of course Ryan isn't wearing a hat now; he isn't even wearing anything around his neck, no skinny tie or necklace or scarf. It makes him look strangely vulnerable and alien under the low lights, and Brendon realizes all over again that really, he doesn't know anything about Ryan. Anything. All he knows is that Ryan likes hats, and even that isn't true while Ryan is in here, flat on his back in a plain hospital gown. This Ryan is a stranger.
God, what is he doing here?
Brendon almost just turns around and walks right out, let them wonder, let Ryan explain when he wakes up, if he ever does, but he remembers Ginger holding him so tight, remembers sitting in the waiting room for hours listening to them worry, and he can't walk out on them. Which means he owes Ryan an explanation.
He draws in a deep breath and blows it out, slowly. "Um. Hi."
Ryan breathes back at him, and Brendon fights down a hysterical giggle. Obviously, this is insane.
"This is nuts," he says, and he can hear the desperate whine in his own voice. "You know that, right? I've never even talked to you. I didn't even know your name. Which, hi, you don't know mine either, if you're Hat Guy I'm probably Spastic Busker or something, which is ridiculous, dude. We can't be engaged if you don't know my name, even I know that."
Ryan doesn't acknowledge the ridiculousness, but Brendon feels better for saying it aloud, all the same.
"So, um. I'm Brendon. Brendon Boyd Urie, I'm twenty-one years old and I have a dog named Dylan and I like music and video games and nakedness and--this is stupid. This is so stupid. Your family thinks we're engaged and I'm babbling my OKCupid profile."
Brendon gives up and slumps into the chair by the bedside, leaning his elbows on the mattress so he doesn't have to look at Ryan.
"I'm sorry, okay? I'm so, so sorry. I don't know how it happened, it just--did. And I just--I can't tell them, okay? Your mom, she hugged me and she was glad and--it's just, it's been--it's been a really long time since I had a hug from a mom.
"Do you--can you imagine that? Being so--alone, so lonely, that you'd do anything for a family? I mean, don't get me wrong, my friends try, but it's not the same. And this Christmas they're all off with their real families, and I'm--obviously, I'm spending Christmas in a hospital babbling to a guy in a coma." He laughs again, worn and unhappy, and puts his head down on the bed too.
"In the interests of full disclosure," he adds, mumbling into the mattress, "I guess I should tell you I've had a crush on you for three months. Your hats are awesome, and you have a really pretty smile."
Brendon sighs against the mattress and lets his eyelids drop closed.
*~*~*~*~*
Outside Ryan's door, Jon Walker bites his lip and walks away.
*~*~*~*~*
Brendon wakes up with an ache in his spine and a worse one in his neck, and it takes him about ten minutes to wake up enough to understand why. When he does, he springs up like a jack-in-the-box and nearly cripples himself leaping out of the chair. Shit, shit, shit, he totally fell asleep on Ryan's bed, like this whole crazy scenario isn't creepy enough already. Brendon never meant to become a stalker or anything, and how is this his life.
He looks at Ryan anxiously, but at least Ryan doesn't seem any worse for having shared bedspace with him. Tentatively, he reaches over and pats Ryan on the ankle--that couldn't be too creepy, right, just the ankle?
"Bye," he whispers, and turns to go, and runs smack into Jeff, who is just coming into the room, almost the whole family behind him.
"Brendon!" Ginger says, and smiles at him, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "The nurse didn't tell us you were here, have you been here all night?"
He smiles at her helplessly. "Yeah. I--I couldn't sleep, so I came to talk to him, and I guess I just kinda conked out right here."
"He looks better!" Crystal exclaims, peering over her mother's shoulder at Ryan's still form.
"I--I think so, a little, yeah." Brendon really has no idea what he should say to these people, still, and he sort of waves his hand around uselessly. "I should--go, I have to work--"
"Oh, hey, whoa there," Ginger says, refusing to let him tug free. "We want you to come and celebrate Christmas with us tonight."
Brendon stares at her.
"I mean," she smiles at him, "obviously, we were all a little distracted yesterday, and we didn't really get to do stockings and presents and turkey. And you didn't either, so you have to come and help us keep our spirits up."
"I--" Brendon starts, but luckily, Jackie interrupts him.
"You can meet Spencer, you haven't met Spencer yet!"
"Oh my god," Crystal agrees, eyes wide. "Spencer might kill us if you're not there tonight. I mean, obviously, he's going to kill Ryan--"
"Crystal," her mother hisses, darting a glance at the bed, "don't say things like that, not with--"
Jackie rolls her eyes. "Give it up, Mom, as soon as he's better Spencer's going to kick him to death and you know it."
"Now that we know it'll be on our heads, too, Brendon. You have to come." Crystal gives him puppy-dog eyes that are almost as pathetic as Greta's, and Brendon groans inwardly.
"I--"
"Give us your info, Brendon," Jeff says, smiling kindly at him, like he's used to stilling the whirlwind of crazy family. "We'll give you a call, let you know where to come." He pulls out a rubber-banded stack of business cards and hands over two. "Write your number and address on the back of one, the other one's for you. If you ever need a piccolo, let us know."
Brendon looks down at the Smith and Son, Fine Instruments and Instruction business cards, printed with guitar, saxophone, and musical notes, the address just a few blocks from Shane's new place. Jeff smiles at him encouragingly, and Brendon digs a pen out of his hoodie pocket to print his information. He hands it over and waves an awkward goodbye, turning to the elevator with a mental sigh of relief.
"Mr. Urie!" a voice calls after him, and he can't quite stop himself from groaning as he turns back.
There's a new nurse chasing after him with a box, a tiny guy with black hair and the shadows of tattoos beneath his scrubs. The box has a top hat sticking out of the top of it.
"Yeah?"
"Mr. Urie, this is what your husband had on him during the accident."
Brendon moans, driven beyond endurance. "He's not my husband."
"Sorry, your fiancée" The guy gives him such a sweet smile that Brendon can't snap at him any more. He takes the box and smiles weakly back, enough to make the nurse walk away.
"Oh, hey, you're Ryan's fiancée?" A tiny guy with a zillion tattoos and really big teeth has stopped on his way out of the elevator, and now he's following Brendon in as the door shuts.
Brendon groans inwardly. "I--yeah."
The tiny guy holds out his hand, and Brendon shakes it. There really aren't many other options, here.
"I'm Pete Wentz, Ryan's boss?"
"Oh, sure," Brendon says, and tries not to ask what Ryan does for a living. Obviously, Ryan's fiancée would know that.
"I'm so glad you two finally worked your shit out, man."
Oh, god. There's someone else. What the fuck, there's someone else, and why isn't he here getting Brendon out of this?
"You look just like I imagined, man, Ross's drunken ramblings are accurate, even when he's being an emo little wuss who won't speak up. I thought he'd never get you. Did you like the tattoo? I mean, he has a pretty lickable pelvis anyway, but that's gotta be tempting. I bet you can't keep your tongue off it."
Brendon can't stop himself. "The tattoo?"
"Oh, man, he didn't tell you it was about you, did he? I'll give him hell when he wakes up, promise. It's for you, man--a guitar pick because you taught him guitar, get it?"
Brendon has no idea what his face is doing, but Pete apparently translates it as "hey, personal!" or something, because he says, "Dude, sorry. I would say I'm not usually the kind of guy to go spilling his friends' personal details all over the fucking place, but that is totally untrue."
"No, it's fine--" Brendon gropes for something to say, but (thank God) the elevator opens, and all he has to say is, "This is my stop, so--"
"Cool, dude, I'll see you at the next office party." Pete waves as the elevator doors close on him, and Brendon breathes a deep sigh of relief.
*~*~*~*~*
Brendon fidgets his way through the morning rush, and he knows Zack is watching him as closely as he can.
When the traffic slows, Zack sends Greta out front without even giving Brendon the chance to bat his eyelashes, and shoves a hot coffee with two biscotti into Brendon's hand.
"No point in sending you out front today," he rumbles, pouring himself a cup, too. "I'm guessing your damsel in distress won't be coming in for a while."
Brendon makes a face at him and hands over a danish. "Considering he's in a coma, yeah, no."
"Oh, man, that sucks." Zack tears a piece of danish loose and dunks it into his drink. "That was totally your chance to make a play, and he still doesn't even know your name?"
"Yeah." Brendon crunches off a bit of biscotti. "I'm pretty sure he will, though."
"You gonna keep in contact?"
"Well...yeah. I don't think I've got a choice."
Zack gives him a sharp look. "Why's that?"
"His family thinks we're engaged."
There's a long silence. Zack stares at him. Brendon swirls his biscotti through the coffee and looks anywhere but into Zack's eyes.
"Brendon...."
"Yeah?"
"That is fucked up."
"Tell me about it."
"Yeah, no." Zack reaches over and stops Brendon's hand, still splashing the coffee in its cup. "I'm pretty sure that's your job."
*~*~*~*~*
When the cab pulls up in front of the house--tall and narrow and strung with Christmas lights--Brendon takes a deep breath and climbs out of the car, overtipping a little as he pulls the poinsettia from the back seat. He wraps his arms around the big plant and takes a deep, calming breath.
"Brendon!"
It's Jon from yesterday, bundled in long coat and a scarf that Brendon is pretty sure he recognizes from Hat G--from Ryan's neck, and it makes him smile to see how Jon must be part of the family, too.
"Hey, Jon."
"You made it, I'm glad. Come sit with me a minute."
"...okay." Brendon isn't sure where this is going, but he follows Jon to the porch steps and pulls his coat down over his ass to sit down.
"Ginger hates me to smoke in the house," Jon explains, pulling out a cigarette and lighting up. "Well, actually, she hates it when I smoke at all, so I try to do it out of her sight when I can. You want one?"
"Nah, never got the habit." Brendon offers him a self-deprecating grin.
Jon smiles back. "Really good D.A.R.E. program at your school?"
"Well--" Brendon looks down at his shoes, wiggles his toes a little. "My family was Mormon, actually, so there weren't any around to steal or anything. And then, when I got to town, I couldn't really afford to smoke, even if I'd wanted to."
"They were Mormon?"
"Are. Are Mormon. I mean, I assume. I haven't seen them in--a really long time." He bites his lip and wiggles his feet again. "They are and I'm--well, I'm not. That's the problem, really."
"I get it." Jon bumps Brendon's shoulder sympathetically. "Filthy habit, anyway, my mom's been trying to get me to quit for years."
"Where is she?"
"My dad took her to Mexico for the holiday," Jon explains. "Three weeks of bad water and white sand; that's why I'm back next door, I'm housesitting. Jeff and Ginger are letting me share their Christmas."
"So you don't live next door."
"Not anymore." Jon puts the cigarette to his mouth and puffs for a minute. "I grew up there, sure; Ryan and Spencer were my best friends when we were teenagers. I've been looking out for them since Ryan was twelve, can you believe that?"
Brendon cocks his head to one side. "Was he just really annoying until then?"
Jon laughs. "Nah, that's when they moved here. They started out in Vegas. Then Ryan's dad wrecked his car, driving home drunk one night, and Jeff and Ginger took him in--he and Spencer have been best friends since they were really little, you know? They came here to give him a clean start, he had a really hard time with his dad's death."
Brendon nods slowly; he remembers Ginger talking about Ryan, the worry in her voice like he was somehow more fragile than most people. It explains the last name, too.
"They're really amazing, you know? They gave up their whole life--jobs and friends and everything--just packed it all up and moved because this kid who wasn't even blood needed a new place to be. I mean, I was here for the aftermath, and Ryan was--god, Ryan was screwed up. He was really hard on them for a while, too, almost as hard as he was on himself. But they got him through it.
"I'd do anything for them, you know? Ryan's--" Jon stops, self-consciously, and Brendon watches the emotions chase across his face. Finally, he starts again, his voice lower, less sure. "Ryan's really important to me, a really good friend. And they did that for him, they loved him through it. I can never repay them for that. I would do anything to keep them from getting hurt."
Brendon swallows, thinking of Ginger squeezing his hand. "So would I."
Jon looks at him for a moment with a penetrating stare that Brendon finds a little intimidating. Then all of a sudden a broad grin breaks across his face, like he was never serious at all. "I believe you."
Behind them, the door swings open, freeing a burst of heat and the slightly-muffled trumpet of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."
Both of them turn to see Ginger beaming down at them. "Brendon! You came!" She reaches down to help him up, and pulls him into a hug. Brendon hugs back, hard.
"Jon, put out your cancer stick and come inside," she adds, disapproving, and Jon shrugs sheepishly as he climbs to his feet and gets his own hug, grinding the cigarette under his foot.
"Everybody, Jon and Brendon are here!" Ginger calls, pulling them into the hallway and tugging at Jon's scarf. Brendon soaks in the happy cries of the family as he slips out of his coat, and almost falls over when Jackie jumps him from behind, wrapping her arms around him.
They've missed dinner, but there are pies and half a dozen kinds of cookies on the kitchen counter, and eggnog and champagne in tall glasses. Brendon teases Crystal about the mistletoe-decorated picture of a boy on the refrigerator and gets into an argument about guitar strings with Jeff. Later, Ginger crowds them all into the living room with its glistening Christmas tree, and the twins takes turns passing out gifts. There are even a few for Brendon, gloves and chocolate and a box of colorful guitar picks that make him smile, but really, the joy of it is in hearing Jackie squeal about the concert tickets from her sister, seeing Ginger light up when she opens a velvet box with a sapphire brooch inside.
Later, they settle down to watch A Muppet Christmas Carol, and Jackie beams at Brendon when he can't help but sing "One More Sleep" with Kermit. By the time the Ghost of Christmas Present is singing about getting warm by the fire, everybody's singing along, and happiness glows in Brendon's stomach like a hot coal.
He slips into sleep as Scrooge asks the bunny to buy a big goose for the Cratchits, and only barely registers being tipped onto his side on the couch and covered with a blanket. He snuggles down into the worn cushions and sighs as somebody drops a kiss into his hair.
He isn't sure how much later it is when the creak of the door and the drift of cold air half-wake him from his dream.
"Sorry, Crys," a new voice rumbles. "I just didn't want to wake Mom, she's had a hard few days."
"Why are you back so late?" Crystal hisses. "You were supposed to be here hours ago, Spence!"
"The snow, Crystal, you don't want two brothers in the hospital, do you? How's Ryan?"
"No change."
Spencer sighs heavily. "I figured." Brendon can hear the chink of a heavy zipper and the slithery sounds of a coat sliding off.
"Who's on the couch, Jon?"
"Nah, Jon went home. Brendon fell asleep during the movie."
"Brendon? Who's Brendon?"
Crystal takes a deep breath and expels it. "He's Ryan's fiancée"
"He's what?"
Crystal hushes him furiously. "You'll wake him! I didn't want to be the one to tell you."
Spencer sounds bitter. "No kidding you didn't want to tell me. I didn't know he was that mad at me."
"You know he holds grudges."
"Yeah, but--"
"Spencer, I don't know, okay? I don't know why. And I don't think Brendon does either, so give him a chance, okay? He's awesome."
Brendon holds his breath.
"A chance," Spencer says, finally, which could mean anything.
"And don't eat my Pop-Tarts in the morning."
Spencer laughs, and their footsteps climb the stairs together.
Brendon has a hard time sleeping the rest of the night; in fact, he pretty much just tosses and turns until it's light and he has to get up for work. He calls a cab as quietly as he can, and slips into the bathroom to splash his face and stick his tongue out at his bedhead. When he gets out, there is a bearded man on the stairs.
Brendon drops his cellphone.
"Sorry, dude." The bearded guy smiles a little, although his eyes are still appraising, unkind; his voice is the voice from the night before. "Didn't mean to scare you."
Brendon ducks down to snatch his phone from the floor and hide his blush. "Um. No, it's fine. I--good morning, Spencer."
"Funny thing," Spencer says, meditative. "I don't remember meeting you."
"Well, you haven't." Brendon stands up and reaches for his coat. "I just--I know you from, you know, pictures, and stuff." Strictly speaking, that's true--there's a huge family portrait in the living room, for example.
Spencer nods gravely. "You're Brendon, right?"
"Yeah." They stare at each other for a minute, until the blessed cab honks outside.
"I have to go, but I--it was nice to meet you." Brendon jams his stocking cap onto his head and turns to go.
"Brendon--"
Brendon turns around, panicking. "Look, I know--"
"Hey," Spencer interrupts him, even, calm, like Jeff stilling a family storm. "I just wanted to welcome you to the family."
"Oh." Brendon stares at him for a minute, feeling his stomach settle. "Thanks."
He's still smiling as he ducks out the door.
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