Freaks [7/20]
Title: Freaks [7/20]
Author: spazzyskittles/Tiffany
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon, Jon/Spencer
POV: 1st (Ryan's)
Summary: An accident lands Ryan in the hospital, and he meets Jon, who tells him of a mysterious patient on their floor. There's something not quite right about him, but then again, there's something not quite right about Ryan as well.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Panic at the Disco. This is all just a by-product of an overactive imagination.
Author Notes: This is a completed story and will be updated every other day. Thanks to my beta pinkkchocolate, I couldn't have done it without you.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6
Chapter 7
Spencer enters, and he drops a paper bag onto the table across the room. When he takes a seat and pulls out a sandwich, I give him a look. He sighs, digs around in the bag, and pulls out a second sandwich, which he tosses to me.
“Gracias,” I say with a nod. Hospital food really can’t beat a good roast beef sandwich. I take a bite and taste the sharp but pleasant taste of horseradish. I’m already a few bites into the sandwich when I say with a half-full mouth, “I talked to a nurse today, said everything went okay with Jon’s surgery.”
Spencer swallows and looks up at me with wide eyes. “Really?”
I nod after I swallow my own mouthful. “Yup. He’s going to be fine.”
I watch him shut his eyes and sigh. When he opens them again, he says, “I have to see him.”
“In a few days, he should be back in his room.”
Spencer shakes his head. “No, I want to see him now.”
“They won’t let you, Spencer. He’s in the ICU, immediate family only. You know that.”
He pounds his fist angrily onto the table and quickly rubs his eyes, frustrated. I frown and scramble off my bed to shuffle awkwardly over to him. I place an arm around him and kiss his hair, and he relaxes into my touch. “Sorry,” I hear him mumble.
“That’s alright,” I say and move to the empty chair next to him. I need to change the subject; he can’t dwell on something he can’t do anything about. “So anything going on with work?”
“Same old same old,” he says as he gets up to grab my half-eaten sandwich for me from the table by my bed. Spencer works at a small music store in the drum department. “I actually sold a kit today.” He plops the sandwich in front of me, and I resume eating as I listen to him talk.
“But otherwise, it’s been really slow. Even this cool kid who comes in all the time hasn’t been in for a while. But this one annoying guy came in and just would not leave, and it wouldn’t have been so bad if he was actually good, but he sucked.”
Pretty soon, Spencer is back to normal. Anything to do with drumming usually focuses him, keeps him from worrying. I think it has to do with how drumbeats are regular. There’s always some sort of timing to follow, even when it doesn’t seem like it at first. Once, he said to me that drums are constant, and I got what he meant. It’s nice to have something you can rely on.
Spencer always has a ton of work stories so I let him go on about what he’s been doing at work. I hardly ever go in there though, only when I need to. I mean, I want to since the guitars always seem to call my name whenever I do go in there, but there would just be too much attention on me and nobody wants that.
“So what have you been doing?” Spencer asks as he crumples up his sandwich wrapper. I’d finished my own sandwich a while ago, having wolfed it down hungrily.
I blink as I realize that the conversation has gone back to me again. “What?”
“Well,” he says, “I’m not here all the time, and Jon’s been gone since yesterday. Have you just been reading all day?” I bite my lip nervously, and Spencer notices. Of course he does. “No?” he asks.
“I’ve, uh, just been hanging out with one of the other patients.”
Spencer laughs. “Well, well. Making friends, I see. Told you.” I roll my eyes, but, if he noticed, it doesn’t appear to have affected him. “So who is this person? When do I get to meet him?”
“Why? Want to flirt with him too?” I ask in the most joking tone I can muster, but it’s hard when you’re this close to being caught. Spencer cannot know about Brendon. I repeat, cannot. If Jon didn’t think not saying anything to Brendon about my face was a good idea, Lord knows what Spencer would think. I mean, the kid’s known me for years. I think to say he would be disappointed with me would be an understatement. And no way would Spencer play along. No fucking way. The minute he finds out about Brendon would be the minute the whole protective bubble around us would pop.
Spencer gives me a look. “Ha ha,” he deadpans. “No, really.”
“He’s just this guy,” I try.
He’s not having it. “Ryan, could you be any more vague?”
I sigh. “He just… There was an accident, and he wasn’t talking to anyone when he got here. But he for some reason wants to talk to me. Doesn’t seem to want to talk to anyone else, though.” Okay, that’s true. I just left some key parts out of it.
Spencer gets a concerned look on his face. “Must be tough on him, poor guy.” He then grabs my hand and offers me a smile. “But it’s great that you’re talking to him, Ry. And you can give him the one thing I couldn’t give you: empathy. You know what it’s like to be in his position, you know how scared he must be, how lost he must be feeling. That’s wonderful that you’re talking to him, Ryan.”
I swallow hard because I’m sure if Spencer knew the whole story, he wouldn’t think it was all that “wonderful”. I just nod and offer him a forced smile.
-----------------------
“So have you gotten any visitors?” I ask Brendon later in the day, even though I pretty much know the answer.
He presses his lips together until there is just a line for a moment, and then he mutters, “No.”
It appears to be a sore subject, but I can’t help my curiosity. I press him further, though a bit tentatively. “Well, what about your friends?”
“I guess they’re busy,” he mutters quietly, his head dipping low. Then a humorless laugh escapes his mouth. “Goes to show that it’s only when you really need your friends that you find out who your real ones are.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek angrily, his words hitting close to home. I mean, do I know the validity of that statement or what? The fact that Brendon’s feeling those feelings that were so familiar to me in middle school makes my heart ache a little for him. I squeeze his hand in what I hope is a reassuring way, and he gives me a half-smile. It doesn’t really fit his face the way a toothy grin does.
“Um, what about your friend who brought you here?” I ask because at least he would come to visit Brendon.
He scoffs. “Pete? Probably doesn’t have the balls to come around.” Brendon sighs before saying, “Look, can we not talk about this right now?”
“Sure,” I say softly. I guess I’ve interrogated him enough.
A silence passes over us, and without us talking, I’m more aware of the weight of his hand. Finally, his voice breaks through the silence. “It gets really boring during the day.”
I blink. “Hmmm?”
“I can’t really watch TV. It’s hard to figure out what’s going on without being able to see. And I haven’t left the room because… well, I can’t yet. A therapist is supposed to come by later to show me how to get around though.”
“Yeah?” I say, and he smiles, probably having heard the smile in my voice.
“Yeah. I might be able to visit you.”
“I’d like that,” I whisper without thinking. I feel heat rise to my cheeks at the blaringly honest statement.
Another silence passes over us, and I can tell there’s something weighing on Brendon’s mind. He wants to say something, I just know it. “What are you thinking, Brendon?”
There’s a pause, and then he quietly says, “What do you look like?”
I’m thrown by the question, panic taking over as my heart starts to beat quickly. What do I say? Hi, my face is fucked up?
“Um… I-I…” I stutter.
Brendon can probably hear the agitation in my voice, so he says quickly, “Like, I mean, what color is your hair?”
Okay, deep breath. I can answer that. “Brown.”
“Like my hair or lighter or…” he trails off.
I take another breath. “Lighter, like sort of mousy brown.”
He nods, bites his lip, and then asks softly, “What about your eyes?”
“Brown too.” Before he can say anything else, I add, “Sort of light though, almost hazel.”
“Like honey?” And there’s something in his voice that gives me chills as his words ring through the air.
“Yeah, I guess,” I answer him.
He nods, mostly to himself, and then mumbles, “I wish I could see them.”
“There’s nothing special about them,” I say, my voice wavering a little bit.
“I doubt that,” he says, and I can feel the heat in my face return and intensify.
“Sorry for all the questions. I just… I’m kind of lost without my eyes. I have a picture of you in my mind, and I just want to know if it’s accurate.”
I give my lip a tiny nibble, a nervous habit that I’ve always had but that has worsened since meeting Brendon. “It’s okay,” I mutter, even though it doesn’t really feel okay.
“You’re upset,” and it’s not a question but a statement. “I can tell, your voice is all shaky.”
He seems to have me cornered, so I mumble, “I just don’t really like talking about myself.”
“Why?” Brendon asks. “You’re great.” And with a quirk of his lips, my stomach flip-flops. It’s almost too much to handle.
Before I have a chance to stutter my way through an unthought-out response, the door flies open, and I instantly take my hand back and shift so that the bad side of my face is away from the door. I notice Brendon frown as a nurse walks in.
“Ryan? I thought I’d find you here. It’s time for your afternoon dose of antibiotics.”
I nod and mutter a thank you to her, and she leaves. Gingerly, I get up off the seat and pick up my crutches. “See you later?” I ask Brendon, and he nods.
His goodbye is quiet, and I rush out of the room as quickly as I can on my crutches. I don’t stop until I get to my room where I shut the door firmly behind me, and I let out a trembling breath.
I’m so fucking stupid. So, so stupid. I fucking like him. Like really like him. And he doesn’t know who I really am. He thinks I’m great, and I’m not. Not even close. I’m a shitty person for keeping things from him, and I’m hardly lovable anyway.
My breaths are coming out in heaving pants, so I try to calm myself as much as possible. I’ve never felt anything like this before, and it just scares the shit out of me.
I bring my hand up, the one that normally rests in Brendon’s hands when we’re together, and I find that it’s shaking ever so slightly. I ball it up into a fist to still it before taking a hold of my crutches again and making my way over to the bed. When I get on it, I hook myself up to the IV as carefully as I can because my hand is still shaking, and I press the button to start the drip. I lay back on the bed, and I calm myself down so that eventually I’ve actually fallen asleep.
----------------------
A/N: Sorry, it's a bit late and I didn't get to answering comments on the last chapter. I kind of got drunk last night to ring in the new year so I hope you can forgive me. But thank you to everyone who commented and is enjoying this story, love you all!
Author: spazzyskittles/Tiffany
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon, Jon/Spencer
POV: 1st (Ryan's)
Summary: An accident lands Ryan in the hospital, and he meets Jon, who tells him of a mysterious patient on their floor. There's something not quite right about him, but then again, there's something not quite right about Ryan as well.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Panic at the Disco. This is all just a by-product of an overactive imagination.
Author Notes: This is a completed story and will be updated every other day. Thanks to my beta pinkkchocolate, I couldn't have done it without you.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6
Chapter 7
Spencer enters, and he drops a paper bag onto the table across the room. When he takes a seat and pulls out a sandwich, I give him a look. He sighs, digs around in the bag, and pulls out a second sandwich, which he tosses to me.
“Gracias,” I say with a nod. Hospital food really can’t beat a good roast beef sandwich. I take a bite and taste the sharp but pleasant taste of horseradish. I’m already a few bites into the sandwich when I say with a half-full mouth, “I talked to a nurse today, said everything went okay with Jon’s surgery.”
Spencer swallows and looks up at me with wide eyes. “Really?”
I nod after I swallow my own mouthful. “Yup. He’s going to be fine.”
I watch him shut his eyes and sigh. When he opens them again, he says, “I have to see him.”
“In a few days, he should be back in his room.”
Spencer shakes his head. “No, I want to see him now.”
“They won’t let you, Spencer. He’s in the ICU, immediate family only. You know that.”
He pounds his fist angrily onto the table and quickly rubs his eyes, frustrated. I frown and scramble off my bed to shuffle awkwardly over to him. I place an arm around him and kiss his hair, and he relaxes into my touch. “Sorry,” I hear him mumble.
“That’s alright,” I say and move to the empty chair next to him. I need to change the subject; he can’t dwell on something he can’t do anything about. “So anything going on with work?”
“Same old same old,” he says as he gets up to grab my half-eaten sandwich for me from the table by my bed. Spencer works at a small music store in the drum department. “I actually sold a kit today.” He plops the sandwich in front of me, and I resume eating as I listen to him talk.
“But otherwise, it’s been really slow. Even this cool kid who comes in all the time hasn’t been in for a while. But this one annoying guy came in and just would not leave, and it wouldn’t have been so bad if he was actually good, but he sucked.”
Pretty soon, Spencer is back to normal. Anything to do with drumming usually focuses him, keeps him from worrying. I think it has to do with how drumbeats are regular. There’s always some sort of timing to follow, even when it doesn’t seem like it at first. Once, he said to me that drums are constant, and I got what he meant. It’s nice to have something you can rely on.
Spencer always has a ton of work stories so I let him go on about what he’s been doing at work. I hardly ever go in there though, only when I need to. I mean, I want to since the guitars always seem to call my name whenever I do go in there, but there would just be too much attention on me and nobody wants that.
“So what have you been doing?” Spencer asks as he crumples up his sandwich wrapper. I’d finished my own sandwich a while ago, having wolfed it down hungrily.
I blink as I realize that the conversation has gone back to me again. “What?”
“Well,” he says, “I’m not here all the time, and Jon’s been gone since yesterday. Have you just been reading all day?” I bite my lip nervously, and Spencer notices. Of course he does. “No?” he asks.
“I’ve, uh, just been hanging out with one of the other patients.”
Spencer laughs. “Well, well. Making friends, I see. Told you.” I roll my eyes, but, if he noticed, it doesn’t appear to have affected him. “So who is this person? When do I get to meet him?”
“Why? Want to flirt with him too?” I ask in the most joking tone I can muster, but it’s hard when you’re this close to being caught. Spencer cannot know about Brendon. I repeat, cannot. If Jon didn’t think not saying anything to Brendon about my face was a good idea, Lord knows what Spencer would think. I mean, the kid’s known me for years. I think to say he would be disappointed with me would be an understatement. And no way would Spencer play along. No fucking way. The minute he finds out about Brendon would be the minute the whole protective bubble around us would pop.
Spencer gives me a look. “Ha ha,” he deadpans. “No, really.”
“He’s just this guy,” I try.
He’s not having it. “Ryan, could you be any more vague?”
I sigh. “He just… There was an accident, and he wasn’t talking to anyone when he got here. But he for some reason wants to talk to me. Doesn’t seem to want to talk to anyone else, though.” Okay, that’s true. I just left some key parts out of it.
Spencer gets a concerned look on his face. “Must be tough on him, poor guy.” He then grabs my hand and offers me a smile. “But it’s great that you’re talking to him, Ry. And you can give him the one thing I couldn’t give you: empathy. You know what it’s like to be in his position, you know how scared he must be, how lost he must be feeling. That’s wonderful that you’re talking to him, Ryan.”
I swallow hard because I’m sure if Spencer knew the whole story, he wouldn’t think it was all that “wonderful”. I just nod and offer him a forced smile.
-----------------------
“So have you gotten any visitors?” I ask Brendon later in the day, even though I pretty much know the answer.
He presses his lips together until there is just a line for a moment, and then he mutters, “No.”
It appears to be a sore subject, but I can’t help my curiosity. I press him further, though a bit tentatively. “Well, what about your friends?”
“I guess they’re busy,” he mutters quietly, his head dipping low. Then a humorless laugh escapes his mouth. “Goes to show that it’s only when you really need your friends that you find out who your real ones are.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek angrily, his words hitting close to home. I mean, do I know the validity of that statement or what? The fact that Brendon’s feeling those feelings that were so familiar to me in middle school makes my heart ache a little for him. I squeeze his hand in what I hope is a reassuring way, and he gives me a half-smile. It doesn’t really fit his face the way a toothy grin does.
“Um, what about your friend who brought you here?” I ask because at least he would come to visit Brendon.
He scoffs. “Pete? Probably doesn’t have the balls to come around.” Brendon sighs before saying, “Look, can we not talk about this right now?”
“Sure,” I say softly. I guess I’ve interrogated him enough.
A silence passes over us, and without us talking, I’m more aware of the weight of his hand. Finally, his voice breaks through the silence. “It gets really boring during the day.”
I blink. “Hmmm?”
“I can’t really watch TV. It’s hard to figure out what’s going on without being able to see. And I haven’t left the room because… well, I can’t yet. A therapist is supposed to come by later to show me how to get around though.”
“Yeah?” I say, and he smiles, probably having heard the smile in my voice.
“Yeah. I might be able to visit you.”
“I’d like that,” I whisper without thinking. I feel heat rise to my cheeks at the blaringly honest statement.
Another silence passes over us, and I can tell there’s something weighing on Brendon’s mind. He wants to say something, I just know it. “What are you thinking, Brendon?”
There’s a pause, and then he quietly says, “What do you look like?”
I’m thrown by the question, panic taking over as my heart starts to beat quickly. What do I say? Hi, my face is fucked up?
“Um… I-I…” I stutter.
Brendon can probably hear the agitation in my voice, so he says quickly, “Like, I mean, what color is your hair?”
Okay, deep breath. I can answer that. “Brown.”
“Like my hair or lighter or…” he trails off.
I take another breath. “Lighter, like sort of mousy brown.”
He nods, bites his lip, and then asks softly, “What about your eyes?”
“Brown too.” Before he can say anything else, I add, “Sort of light though, almost hazel.”
“Like honey?” And there’s something in his voice that gives me chills as his words ring through the air.
“Yeah, I guess,” I answer him.
He nods, mostly to himself, and then mumbles, “I wish I could see them.”
“There’s nothing special about them,” I say, my voice wavering a little bit.
“I doubt that,” he says, and I can feel the heat in my face return and intensify.
“Sorry for all the questions. I just… I’m kind of lost without my eyes. I have a picture of you in my mind, and I just want to know if it’s accurate.”
I give my lip a tiny nibble, a nervous habit that I’ve always had but that has worsened since meeting Brendon. “It’s okay,” I mutter, even though it doesn’t really feel okay.
“You’re upset,” and it’s not a question but a statement. “I can tell, your voice is all shaky.”
He seems to have me cornered, so I mumble, “I just don’t really like talking about myself.”
“Why?” Brendon asks. “You’re great.” And with a quirk of his lips, my stomach flip-flops. It’s almost too much to handle.
Before I have a chance to stutter my way through an unthought-out response, the door flies open, and I instantly take my hand back and shift so that the bad side of my face is away from the door. I notice Brendon frown as a nurse walks in.
“Ryan? I thought I’d find you here. It’s time for your afternoon dose of antibiotics.”
I nod and mutter a thank you to her, and she leaves. Gingerly, I get up off the seat and pick up my crutches. “See you later?” I ask Brendon, and he nods.
His goodbye is quiet, and I rush out of the room as quickly as I can on my crutches. I don’t stop until I get to my room where I shut the door firmly behind me, and I let out a trembling breath.
I’m so fucking stupid. So, so stupid. I fucking like him. Like really like him. And he doesn’t know who I really am. He thinks I’m great, and I’m not. Not even close. I’m a shitty person for keeping things from him, and I’m hardly lovable anyway.
My breaths are coming out in heaving pants, so I try to calm myself as much as possible. I’ve never felt anything like this before, and it just scares the shit out of me.
I bring my hand up, the one that normally rests in Brendon’s hands when we’re together, and I find that it’s shaking ever so slightly. I ball it up into a fist to still it before taking a hold of my crutches again and making my way over to the bed. When I get on it, I hook myself up to the IV as carefully as I can because my hand is still shaking, and I press the button to start the drip. I lay back on the bed, and I calm myself down so that eventually I’ve actually fallen asleep.
----------------------
A/N: Sorry, it's a bit late and I didn't get to answering comments on the last chapter. I kind of got drunk last night to ring in the new year so I hope you can forgive me. But thank you to everyone who commented and is enjoying this story, love you all!