(no subject)
title: A Fable About Bringing Home Strays
fandom: Bandom (The Young Veins, Panic! At The Disco)
word count: 1343
rating: pg
summary: “Why is there a tiny cat biting my finger?”
warnings: Minor scientific impossibility
notes: Christmas present ficlet for zeenell, who made one of the things on my wishlist come true and sends the very best Christmas cards. Massive thanks to ipreferaviators for the beta job--the fact that my sentences make sense is thanks to her.
It’s not exactly perfect timing, but it’s Jon, so Ryan isn’t surprised when he climbs back into the van with a furry little bundle held against his chest. He’s even less surprised when it meows. He could try reasoning with Jon, try to be responsible or something. Really, though, fuck that. He pats the passenger’s seat, says, “You’re lucky I’m the only one awake,” in a low voice, and also, “Have you picked a name yet?” Because it’s Jon, and of course he’s named his new friend already.
He gets a grateful smile and an, “I’m thinking ‘Spike’” in reference to the tiny orange and yellow striped scrap of fuzz.
Fair enough, Ryan thinks.
…
They’ve switched seats in the night, and Jon is driving rather than keeping an eye on little Spike. Ryan is asleep when the bright, early morning quiet is shattered by a shriek (Ryan thinks Andy is going to regret that later). Ryan can guess the reason for it, though, anyway. Sure enough, it’s followed-up by, “Why is there a tiny cat biting my finger?”
Ryan looks back and sure enough, Spike is attached by the teeth to the base of Andy’s littlest finger and the side of his hand. What’s surprising, what makes the nervousness in Andy’s tone seem more sensible is the fact that there are tiny blood droplets around the punctures, and the hand is starting to look worryingly pale. Drawing on fuzzy memories of instructions for first aid working at the animal shelter, Ryan sleepily reaches back a row and put a finger on either hinge of the tiny jaw, forcing it open and turning the kitten around to face him where he’s twisted around the back of his seat at an awkward angle. What he sees makes him start and nearly drop the tiny creature.
“Jon,” he asks, worry creeping into his voice, “Did your cat have red eyes when you found it?”
…
Andy’s worried about rabies, but Jon is adamant that that isn’t it. Spike’s eyes had shifted from red to rusty brown to a more cat-common golden color within three minutes of detaching her from Andy’s hand. The fangs three times longer than the rest of her teeth are harder to explain away, but Jon is pretty sure they’re not a symptom of rabies, anyway. Ryan suggests that they take both bandmate and kitten to the nearest emergency room to check it out (he figures someone should at least try to be sensible, and Jon and Andy are too closely invested, one of the Nicks is asleep and the other nearly is), but the idea is shelved when Nick White sleepily points out that testing an animal for rabies requires killing it--didn’t they see that episode of The Office?
Spike at this point is curled up in a little ball on the floor between Ryan and Andy, purring loudly. Looking at her, none of them can really imagine letting her be killed for a disease that it doesn’t particularly look like she has. Even if she is pretty creepy as cats go. Anyway, they don’t have time to stop if they want to make the show tonight, so they decide to be very careful about letting Spike too near their hands and drive on.
…
After the show they come back to the van and Spike is crying. Before they went on, Jon had ducked out to the nearest convenience store which, by a stroke of luck, had actually had cat food, so they’re prepared, but Spike won’t touch the dried kibbles. Ryan doesn’t blame her, but Jon is baffled. He’s had plenty of cats and never once has one of them turned up their nose when he fed it. Andy makes a joke about his blood only being able to tide a kitten over for so long, but Ryan is starting to feel uneasy. Still, he agrees with the others that Spike might just be shy--they’ll leave her food out over night and see if she eats anything when no one’s looking.
…
Ryan wakes up to an odd, tingling pain in his arm and a warm, vibrating weight against his side. He cracks an eye, trying not to panic, and sure enough, there’s Spike, little tiny kitten paws kneading against his forearm, purring like a motor and sucking Ryan’s blood through one of the big veins on the underside of his arm, and seriously, how the hell had Andy been so calm about this yesterday morning? This is terrifying.
Terrifying enough that he feels justified sitting up and ripping his arm away. Spike mewls pitifully and licks at the upholstery where a drop of blood has fallen, and honestly, “That’s it! Pull over. Please. Please pull over.” To Ryan’s surprise, they do. He scrambles over the seat and out the door, shutting it tight behind him and leaning heavily against it, and this is as far as he’d planned, but the puncture in his arm is still bleeding sluggishly and his whole hand is filled with pins and needles as the blood comes rushing back.
Ryan is a little scared and a lot tired, and when he reaches into his pocket for his phone, he finds himself punching in a number that isn’t on his speed-dial anymore, a number he almost didn’t program in when he got his new phone. He’s glad he did, now--he’d never have remembered the number out here on his own.
…
“Spence?”
The response takes a moment, and when it does, it sounds tired. “What’s up, Ryan?”
His brain debates pleasantries versus the value of brevity, but his mouth is apparently racing about ten steps ahead, because he says, almost against his will, “Jon adopted a vampire kitten.”
Spencer laughs, which isn’t exactly the reaction Ryan was going for, but then he asks, “Wait, aren’t you guys still on tour?” And yes, exactly, that’s one of the grievances Ryan wanted to air.
“Yes, we are still on tour, which means I am trapped in a van with a cat that keeps biting us.”
“Wait, you were serious? I thought it was just a--a what-you-call-it, an albino cat or something. Don’t they call the albino squid ‘vampire squid’?”
“I don’t know, all I know is that I woke up and this kitten had its fangs in my arm and was drinking my blood.” It is possible that Ryan is a little hysterical.
Another pause, and then, “Ryan. You know you can call me any time, right? You don’t need to make kittens into monsters to have a reason.”
“I’m not making it up! Sorry, I’ll let you go, I just didn’t know--I woke up and she was biting me--”
“Hey. Hey, I’m sorry, I believe you, okay?” another pause and then, “Did you try scolding her?”
“What?”
“The cat. If you want to train cats out of doing something, you’ve got to, like, spray water at them, or scold them or something if they try, right?”
“You think we can train her out of drinking our blood?”
Ryan can almost hear the shrug in Spencer’s voice. “I’m really not an expert. This is the first vampire kitten I’ve ever heard of, and I’m still having trouble with the idea of its existence. I mean, I guess if she needs to feed on blood she’ll have to get it somewhere else--maybe you could buy some raw meat or something? But Ryan, you don’t have to take on the care and feeding of vampire-kitten, you know. You could just let her go.”
Ryan can’t help it, he’s appalled at the suggestion, “But she’s so little! Someone could find her who’d hurt her. Just ‘cause she’s kind of weird.”
He thinks he hears Spencer mutter, “Weird and bloodthirsty,” but he ignores it. Spencer hasn’t seen Spike with her tiny paws and her yellow stripes and delicate little fangs. If he had, he’d understand. Ryan says goodbye and climbs back into the van, eager to ask Jon when they can stop somewhere and get a spray bottle.
Now with a sequel here
fandom: Bandom (The Young Veins, Panic! At The Disco)
word count: 1343
rating: pg
summary: “Why is there a tiny cat biting my finger?”
warnings: Minor scientific impossibility
notes: Christmas present ficlet for zeenell, who made one of the things on my wishlist come true and sends the very best Christmas cards. Massive thanks to ipreferaviators for the beta job--the fact that my sentences make sense is thanks to her.
It’s not exactly perfect timing, but it’s Jon, so Ryan isn’t surprised when he climbs back into the van with a furry little bundle held against his chest. He’s even less surprised when it meows. He could try reasoning with Jon, try to be responsible or something. Really, though, fuck that. He pats the passenger’s seat, says, “You’re lucky I’m the only one awake,” in a low voice, and also, “Have you picked a name yet?” Because it’s Jon, and of course he’s named his new friend already.
He gets a grateful smile and an, “I’m thinking ‘Spike’” in reference to the tiny orange and yellow striped scrap of fuzz.
Fair enough, Ryan thinks.
…
They’ve switched seats in the night, and Jon is driving rather than keeping an eye on little Spike. Ryan is asleep when the bright, early morning quiet is shattered by a shriek (Ryan thinks Andy is going to regret that later). Ryan can guess the reason for it, though, anyway. Sure enough, it’s followed-up by, “Why is there a tiny cat biting my finger?”
Ryan looks back and sure enough, Spike is attached by the teeth to the base of Andy’s littlest finger and the side of his hand. What’s surprising, what makes the nervousness in Andy’s tone seem more sensible is the fact that there are tiny blood droplets around the punctures, and the hand is starting to look worryingly pale. Drawing on fuzzy memories of instructions for first aid working at the animal shelter, Ryan sleepily reaches back a row and put a finger on either hinge of the tiny jaw, forcing it open and turning the kitten around to face him where he’s twisted around the back of his seat at an awkward angle. What he sees makes him start and nearly drop the tiny creature.
“Jon,” he asks, worry creeping into his voice, “Did your cat have red eyes when you found it?”
…
Andy’s worried about rabies, but Jon is adamant that that isn’t it. Spike’s eyes had shifted from red to rusty brown to a more cat-common golden color within three minutes of detaching her from Andy’s hand. The fangs three times longer than the rest of her teeth are harder to explain away, but Jon is pretty sure they’re not a symptom of rabies, anyway. Ryan suggests that they take both bandmate and kitten to the nearest emergency room to check it out (he figures someone should at least try to be sensible, and Jon and Andy are too closely invested, one of the Nicks is asleep and the other nearly is), but the idea is shelved when Nick White sleepily points out that testing an animal for rabies requires killing it--didn’t they see that episode of The Office?
Spike at this point is curled up in a little ball on the floor between Ryan and Andy, purring loudly. Looking at her, none of them can really imagine letting her be killed for a disease that it doesn’t particularly look like she has. Even if she is pretty creepy as cats go. Anyway, they don’t have time to stop if they want to make the show tonight, so they decide to be very careful about letting Spike too near their hands and drive on.
…
After the show they come back to the van and Spike is crying. Before they went on, Jon had ducked out to the nearest convenience store which, by a stroke of luck, had actually had cat food, so they’re prepared, but Spike won’t touch the dried kibbles. Ryan doesn’t blame her, but Jon is baffled. He’s had plenty of cats and never once has one of them turned up their nose when he fed it. Andy makes a joke about his blood only being able to tide a kitten over for so long, but Ryan is starting to feel uneasy. Still, he agrees with the others that Spike might just be shy--they’ll leave her food out over night and see if she eats anything when no one’s looking.
…
Ryan wakes up to an odd, tingling pain in his arm and a warm, vibrating weight against his side. He cracks an eye, trying not to panic, and sure enough, there’s Spike, little tiny kitten paws kneading against his forearm, purring like a motor and sucking Ryan’s blood through one of the big veins on the underside of his arm, and seriously, how the hell had Andy been so calm about this yesterday morning? This is terrifying.
Terrifying enough that he feels justified sitting up and ripping his arm away. Spike mewls pitifully and licks at the upholstery where a drop of blood has fallen, and honestly, “That’s it! Pull over. Please. Please pull over.” To Ryan’s surprise, they do. He scrambles over the seat and out the door, shutting it tight behind him and leaning heavily against it, and this is as far as he’d planned, but the puncture in his arm is still bleeding sluggishly and his whole hand is filled with pins and needles as the blood comes rushing back.
Ryan is a little scared and a lot tired, and when he reaches into his pocket for his phone, he finds himself punching in a number that isn’t on his speed-dial anymore, a number he almost didn’t program in when he got his new phone. He’s glad he did, now--he’d never have remembered the number out here on his own.
…
“Spence?”
The response takes a moment, and when it does, it sounds tired. “What’s up, Ryan?”
His brain debates pleasantries versus the value of brevity, but his mouth is apparently racing about ten steps ahead, because he says, almost against his will, “Jon adopted a vampire kitten.”
Spencer laughs, which isn’t exactly the reaction Ryan was going for, but then he asks, “Wait, aren’t you guys still on tour?” And yes, exactly, that’s one of the grievances Ryan wanted to air.
“Yes, we are still on tour, which means I am trapped in a van with a cat that keeps biting us.”
“Wait, you were serious? I thought it was just a--a what-you-call-it, an albino cat or something. Don’t they call the albino squid ‘vampire squid’?”
“I don’t know, all I know is that I woke up and this kitten had its fangs in my arm and was drinking my blood.” It is possible that Ryan is a little hysterical.
Another pause, and then, “Ryan. You know you can call me any time, right? You don’t need to make kittens into monsters to have a reason.”
“I’m not making it up! Sorry, I’ll let you go, I just didn’t know--I woke up and she was biting me--”
“Hey. Hey, I’m sorry, I believe you, okay?” another pause and then, “Did you try scolding her?”
“What?”
“The cat. If you want to train cats out of doing something, you’ve got to, like, spray water at them, or scold them or something if they try, right?”
“You think we can train her out of drinking our blood?”
Ryan can almost hear the shrug in Spencer’s voice. “I’m really not an expert. This is the first vampire kitten I’ve ever heard of, and I’m still having trouble with the idea of its existence. I mean, I guess if she needs to feed on blood she’ll have to get it somewhere else--maybe you could buy some raw meat or something? But Ryan, you don’t have to take on the care and feeding of vampire-kitten, you know. You could just let her go.”
Ryan can’t help it, he’s appalled at the suggestion, “But she’s so little! Someone could find her who’d hurt her. Just ‘cause she’s kind of weird.”
He thinks he hears Spencer mutter, “Weird and bloodthirsty,” but he ignores it. Spencer hasn’t seen Spike with her tiny paws and her yellow stripes and delicate little fangs. If he had, he’d understand. Ryan says goodbye and climbs back into the van, eager to ask Jon when they can stop somewhere and get a spray bottle.
Now with a sequel here