take all you can from me

I have become absorbed by another fandom...

2009-09-26T20:57:15Z

I HEART MERLIN right now for realz.

What does your Birthdate mean?

2009-09-13T20:29:08Z

You Are a Brain

You excel at anything difficult or high tech.

In other words, you're a total (brilliant) geek.

It's difficult for you to find people worth spending time with.

Which is probably why you'll take over the world with your evil robots!

Your strength: Your unfailing logic
Your weakness: Loving machines more than people
Your power color: Tan
Your power symbol: Pi
Your power month: July

What Does Your Birth Date Mean?

Blogthings: Quizzes and Tests and Memes, Oh My!

You are in my blood like Holy Wine - My first Pinto drabblefic :-)

2009-06-12T01:30:48Z

Title: Bright and Burning
Author:jumpmybones
Summary: The original prompt was, "Pinto. VERY rough sex, jealously, bruises, delayed orgasms, the works."
Notes: Written for the trek_rpf_kink anon meme.
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not true. Not Mine. etc etc.
Authors Note: Hmm, I'm not too sure what to make of my first forage into Pinto-land. It didn't come out as well as I intended. I did my best and I hope you enjoy it at least.

***

The end of the promotional tour is winding towards its end and the guys (Karl and John) decided they should all have a couple of drinks at some bar that Chris doesn’t even remember the name of, if he bothered to learn it at all.

Chris is leaning up against the bar next to Anton, sipping from his glass of scotch. They haven’t seen John or Karl since they came inside. He lazily watches Zach as he laughs, feeling the familiar stirring of desire as the slow easy grin he knows intimately, spreads across Zach’s lips. He’s sitting at a small table with Zoe and Simon and some guy Chris has never seen before. Judging by the slightly bemused and uneasy looks on Zoe and Simon’s faces, they have no idea who he is either. The blond guy is pressed tightly against Zach’s side, clearly flirting.

Chris is not usually a jealous person. But the guy is being obvious and goddamn it; it’s Zach. And Zach isn’t even discouraging the guy, who, if he doesn’t get his hands off his boyfriends’ hip, is going to find himself with a face full of Chris’ fist. Zach just smiles at the guy, touching his elbow to emphasize some point he appears to be trying to make.

He knows that Zach is his, that he belongs to Chris, just like he belongs to Zach. He knows it like he knows the graceful arch of his throat, the dip of his collarbone and the curve of his ear. But it does nothing to stop the white hot spark of jealousy in his belly as he watches them from across the room.

Ever since they met, Zach has been able to bring out the best and worst in him. He doesn’t even know if Zach is being intentionally naive about the guy’s intentions or if he’s consciously encouraging him. It’s starting to piss Chris off. The jolt of jealousy has grown to a fiery burn, smouldering just beneath the surface. Outwardly at least, he remains calm.

Anton is telling him some story but Chris isn’t really listening, too busy cataloguing each one of Zach’s casual touches. His own face feels hot with rage, fingers trembling around his glass, alternately loosening and tightening his grip. It almost breaks under his hand just like Zach will if he doesn’t stop trying to make him jealous soon.

He isn’t angry at Zach per say, he’s angrier that Zach would let someone touch him who isn’t Chris.
As if only now just noticing the heat of Chris’ gaze, Zach inclined his head towards him. He catches Chris’ stern, hard gaze with deep brown mischievous eyes, swimming with amusement and something deeper; hunger and lust.

Chris’ eyes narrow as he watches Zach’s tongue dart out, swiping quick across his bottom lip. It glistens tantalisingly in the lowly lit bar. Chris feels his breath catch in his chest. Zach knows even the littlest things that can make him go from zero to blindingly hard in seconds.

Zach turns slowly back to the guy, who is now rubbing his thumb in small circles against the inside of Zach’s wrist.

‘Teasing little shit,’ Chris thinks.

That’s the last straw before the burning in his stomach reaches critical and he’s off towards their table with a quick apology to Anton.

Zoe watches him approach with a mixture of apprehension, at the irate expression on his face and gratitude. The guy had obviously been making her feel uncomfortable. He doesn’t spare them much thought even as Simon smiles at him. They won’t mind much. They all know about the two of them.

Zach’s back tenses in anticipation as he feels the heat of Chris standing behind him, not touching. He wants to feel Chris tight against him, wants to rub against him and feel his hard cock digging into his ass. He relaxes immediately, goes totally pliant as Chris’ hand wraps tight around his arm, fingers digging hard into his skin. He hopes they’ll leave bruises he can touch later.

He distantly hears Chris speaking but he’s not paying attention anymore. He doesn’t even spare a glance at Tom as he follows Chris’ hard grasp on his arm all the way out of the bar. He can’t even feel guilty about using him to get the hot, angry, bruising sex he’s been wanting because it’s going to feel so good.

::

The ride in the Cab to the hotel they’re staying at is silent. Zach knows Chris won’t say anything to him. He’s ridged beside him; not touching, vibrating anger and restraint. It makes Zach shiver with anticipation.

He knows he’s going to get what he’s been pushing for and he doesn’t want to wait. He loves to feel it when Chris lets go with him and just loses it, until he can’t stop pounding into his ass, so hot and hard that it hurts so good.

Zach starts to twitch and wriggle uncomfortably in his seat. He’s so hard it hurts just at the thought of Chris marking him, fucking his ass. Without even looking at him, Chris moves his hand, resting it firmly on Zach’s upper thigh, restraining. He bites his lip stifling his almost whimpers at the heat of Chris’ palm so close to his dick.

::

It’s a good 10 more minute before their cab pulls up outside their hotel. Chris passes the driver a couple of bills. His hand finds its way to Zach’s arm like a homing beacon. No one seems to pay them any attention as Chris leads him all the way through the hotel to his room.

They’re through the door and before Zach can even blink, his back is suddenly against the cold wood, wrists pinned to the door above him in a firm grip and Chris is pressed up tight against him, mouth on his in a furious kiss. Chris bites at Zach’s lips, drawing a gasp from the older man. He pushes his tongue past those warm pliant lips, licking into his mouth, tasting. Zach just opens up for it, twirling their tongues together and groaning.

Pulling back he growls softly in Zach’s ear, laughing as Zach’s mouth tries to chase after his, lips bitten red and spit slick. Nibbling the skin just behind his ear, Chris starts sucking kisses there and biting the skin until it feels tender. Zach knows that no matter how angry Chris is now, afterwards he’ll spend hours licking him everywhere in apology.

Chris is furiously hard against him. He can feel the heat of it through the layers of their clothes. He whines low in his throat at how much he wants that cock inside him, knows how amazing it feels in his hands, his mouth, his ass.

For the first time since they’d left the bar, Chris spoke, voice gone deep and gravelly...angry, “what the hell were you doing at that bar Zach? Trying to make me jealous?” he asks, letting Zach’s hands drop to his sides.

Chris pulls at Zach’s shirt so roughly, desperate to get at the beautiful skin beneath, that it starts to rip. Throwing the shirt onto the floor behind him, he licks back across Zach’s lips before moving back downwards. So much of Zach’s blood was rushing down south that he struggled to think.

“Hmm?” Chris hummed, nipping his way down Zach’s chest, tonguing at his nipples, biting at the pebbled flesh. He strokes his fingers along the skin just above the waist of Zach’s jeans, light and teasing before biting so hard at his sternum that he broke the skin. Chris let the blood pool there for a moment before licking it away.

He looked up, catching Zach’s eyes as he sucked at the abused flesh. “Or are you just so desperate to get fucked that you’d let any guy shove his dick up your ass? My dick’s not good enough for you anymore?” The words were harsh but the hurt shining behind them was so devastating, that Zach almost couldn’t breathe for a reason that wasn’t all the lust coursing through his body.

“No, love your cock,” Zach struggled to speak through his panting, running his hands through Chris’ hair, “fucks me so good. Always want you.” Zach groans, body jolting at the unexpected touch as Chris cups his cock through his jeans, rubbing his thumb along the length.

“Thought so,” Chris growls, rubbing his cheek against the bulge of Zach’s jeans, mouthing at the course fabric, “you smell so good and you’re all mine.”

“Yours,” Zach breathes in return, hands’ scrambling for purchase against the doorframe as Chris roughly unbuckles his belt, tugging the jeans down his thighs. He sucks at the head of Zach’s dick through cotton boxers already wet with precome. Zach gasped, throwing his head back, eyes blown wide.

Chris smirked at the reaction. Picking himself up, he licked at Zach’s neck. Tasting sweat and salt, he sucked the delicate skin into his mouth, numbing the flesh before biting down, feeling Zach wriggle against him.

“Go to my room. I want you naked on my bed,” he said, voice hard.

“God,” Zach cursed, hurrying into the room on wobbly legs.

::

Chris walked through the door to his room sans shirt, belt unbuckled with his jeans halfway down his hips. He has to stop and admire the sight before him.

Zach was lying down, his long gorgeously naked body on display, spread across the white sheets, face buried in the mound of pillows, the only outward sign of nervousness. He looked up at Chris as he entered the room, breathing deeply at the look he saw on his face.

“Come here,” Chris says, pointing in front of him as he sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling his jeans and boxers all the way off.

Zach quietly slid to the floor in front of him. Settling himself between Chris’ legs, he gently stroked the smooth skin of his inner thighs. He could feel himself get even harder at the smell of Chris, the sight of his cock standing proud and perfect from his body. He liked this part, loved getting his mouth on all that silky smooth skin.

“I’m going to let you suck my dick. You’d like that wouldn’t you? If you’re good enough I’ll even let you have some slick when I fuck you,” Chris purred, threading his hands through Zach’s hair.

“Please,” Zach whispered breathless, letting Chris’ hands guide him forwards. He licked lightly at the tip, tasting musk and precome. Fitting his mouth around the tip he sucked, chasing after the taste of Chris – A taste he’d learned to crave.

Chris sucked in a sharp breath above him, not taking, not yet.

Zach licked all around Chris’ dick, getting everything good and slick before swallowing right down to the base and humming, satisfied. He bobbed up and down, nice and fast, flicking his tongue along the underside and twisting just above the head and sucking hard. Zach had quickly become addicted to the little hitches in Chris’ breathes and his low moans. He did everything he could to hear them.

The feel of Chris’ hands clenching tight in his dark hair is the only warning he gets before he thrusts forward, hard all the way into Zach’s mouth and down his throat. Surprised, Zach choked suddenly before hurrying to relax his throat.

“God, I love the way your throat just cradles me all tight, fluttering around me. Fuck Zach,” Chris crooned and Zach hums, sending white hot pleasure straight to his balls.

Zach’s hands strayed down to tug at his own dick, needing some friction before Chris’s voice, hard and unyielding stopped him, “no Zach. Don’t you dare touch yourself. You get to come when I say you can.”

Balling his fists to stop himself just ignoring Chris, he concentrated on the way Chris was just fucking into his mouth, hard and perfect. Being used, being for Chris is everything. Chris stops mid-thrust, breathing heavy.

Eyes open and lips stretched wide around so much slick skin, Zach gladly lets Chris drag him the rest of the way down his dick and just hold him there, nose pressed into course pubic hair. He swallows deep, hollows his cheeks and just sucking contentedly.

“You love choking on my dick don’t you? – shitshitshit – God, Zach!”

Then Chris is pulling him off his dick and Zach just wants to whine in complaint. He does. Chris reaches down and squeezes at the base of his dick. “Phew, you were gonna make me come,” he chuckles, “can’t come until I’ve fucked you.”

And then suddenly Zach doesn’t mind so much. He smiles, lips fucked out, cherry red and sways up onto the bed on his hands and knees without even being told.

He twists his upper body around to watch Chris fumbling through his bag for lube as he climbs onto the bed behind him. He shivers all over and tilts his ass up as Chris licks down his spine, nibbling at knobbles of bone.

Without warning two lube-slick fingers are pushing inside him without ceremony. He cries out, body clenching in surprise pleasure at the intoxicating feeling of being penetrated. Like a branding, Chris bites at his shoulder blade, twisting fire right down his spine. Chris is twisting his fingers inside, teasing, not deep enough, not where he needs them and Zach feels like crying.

“F-fuck me! Nngh – Just make it slick. I need you inside Chris. Please. Just inside.”

And that’s it. Grunting, Chris pushes inside, feeling thick and huge as his ass stretches. It burns but God he loves it, being split open on Chris’ dick.

Chris stops pushing half way inside of him just shy of grazing his prostrate. He just goes still, grinning smug as Zach whines and try’s to wriggle back further on his dick. He doesn’t get half an inch before Chris’ fingers clamp around his hips, digging deep, holding him still.

Two can play at this game...Zach thinks self-satisfied, clenching his inner muscles and rocking as much as he can, grinning at the hurt sounding groan Chris gives. YES! Zach mentally cheers as he feels Chris start to move, feeling the sweet drag against his insides before he realises Chris is actually pulling out.

“Well, if you don’t want-“

“No!” Zach shouts throwing his hands behind him, clawing hard at the younger mans thighs and ass, “come on. Just fuck me. Pleasepleaseplease...” His pleading cut off with a guttural cry as Chris thrusts sharply, all the way inside, balls pressed tight against Zach’s ass.

He thrusts hard again, rocking his hips hard but not thrusting this time. He grinds his dick all along Zach’s insides, continually grazing his prostrate. Each rock of their hips sends sparks of pleasure and pain all the way to Zach’s cock, hanging heavy between his legs, dribbling precome and bouncing as Chris starts thrusting hard again.

“God you’re so tight and hot inside Zach. Don’t know how you stay so fucking tight. Can you come like this? Just from having your tight ass fucked. Bet you can.”

Chris grabs roughly at Zach’s thighs spreading them wider, “Come on baby. Spread those thighs wider. Open up for me.” He pounds into Zach at a brutal pace, the sharp slap of skin on skin loud and frenzied in the room.

“Shit. God. Harder! Fuck me harder,” Zach shouts, almost frantic now with the need to come, spiralling him higher and higher. Chris picks up the pace, slamming Zach back against him as he thrusts.

Falling forward, his face in the pillows, breathing harsh, Zach reaches back, grasping his ass cheeks. He spreads them wide so Chris can see himself fucking into Zach, his hole pink and messy, clinging to every inch of his dick.

Slicking his index finger with lube, Chris hesitates only for a second before pushing it in alongside his dick and just like that Zach comes, spurting hot and slick into the sheets under him. He keeps up the movements of his hips, jagged and fucked out, urging Chris to come as he continues fucking into him.

“Fuck fuck. Ggh,” Chris curses, so close to the edge with Zach coming around him, clamping down hard on his dick.

“Come on Chris, Fucking Come. I wanna feel you come inside me.” Zach urges.

“Gonna. Gonna feel it.” Chris promises, losing all rhythm, thrusting rough and uneven as he finally...finally starts to come.

Zach arches his back, pulling Chris forward into a sloppy kiss, groaning at the slick feeling in his ass as Chris slides out.

Flopping onto the bed, Chris pulls Zach down beside him, nuzzling the bites at his throat as contentedly they both drift into sleep.

-end-

how can I live like this....

2009-05-15T03:35:47Z

I can't stay awake much longer...It's 4 in the morning (in my own little time-zone of my bedroom.)

...

...

...

...I'm tired...

My download is now at 14.2%. Come on Spn!

My lovely lovelies

2009-05-15T03:27:13Z

I NEED THE SPN FINALE NOW!!! I NEED IT LIKE I NEED TO BREATHE.

THIS DOWNLOAD WANTS ME TO DIE!

I was unfortunately unable to resist the lure of the lovely spoilers but now I don't want to wait for the damn download. It's at times like this I really wish I didn't live in the UK. Grrr. I'm all flail-ey with the love.
Apart from House, Supernatural has been the only other season finale that I've been angsting over...so much. Sam and Dean have to be all happy and ridiculously in love with each other again. I have to see it.

jumpmybones @ 2009-03-11T16:56:00

2009-03-11T16:57:02Z

stability?

Ramble ramble ramble with scrambled eggs.

2009-03-11T02:40:18Z

Gah...I miss Supernatural like I miss baking totally awesome (If I do say so myself) chocolate chip cookies. Mmm yum. I haven't been able to see an episode in what feels like forever. I'm in need of my fix of Sam and Dean. My insane urge to lick them still has not gone away darn it. But I did start watching season 1 again so I guess I'm not totally deprived. Jensen Ackles just looks sooo damn young its slightly weirding but totally hot. Every time I see a picture of him I just want to hug him.

God, I just started thinking about Doctor Who again....but dammit David Tennant why are you leaving us? I ask myself this all the damn time. I just seem to want to keep him like a pet and constantly working...The world would be such a better place. I'm a bad bad person and from what I've learnt, a harsh task master.

It has been discovered (by me) that I am an awesome friend. btw ^__^ OR a really crappy friend who thinks they are amazing. But what do I know? huh? For anyone who cares, I do know I'm annoying and a needy affection craving needy person. I could go into so much detail but then It'd look like I'm coasting for some sort of comment on how nice I am. see? needy.
I'm going to take a lot of time out putting songs and photos and videos on my friends new mp3/mp4 player while she is in Australia. (I'd have loved to go with her but I'm liable to melt in the heat.) It doesn't seem like much but I'm way to much of a perfectionist and I know I'm gonna spend soo much time wracking my brains for all songs I've heard her mention. But it is a great big chance to worm my way into making her listen to all the things I've told her to listen to, time and time again. (example: The Hush Sound.) I feel like such a genius right now.
At least I know where I'm going on the photo section...lots and lots of The Quinto (Zachary.)

I'd love to make a big rambling rant about House (md) right now but alas, I feel I have already rambled too much for tonight.

P.S. Gah, I really want a custom layout for my LJ, something pretty and flowly but alas I am terrible at such things and have resigned myself...how fickle fate is...

PCA

2008-11-11T03:51:21Z

VOTE!! Come on you know you want to. Please :D

Stars and Hail Stones: A Doctor Who/Panic at the Disco Crossover Series. Episode 1

2008-10-21T05:48:39Z

Series: Stars and Hail Stones: A Doctor Who/Panic at the Disco Crossover.
Title: Tick -Tock to the Clockwork Drums
Author: jumpmybones
Rating: Up to R/NC-17
Pairing: Slight Doctor/Brendon
Series Summary: A Doctor Who Series. 13 Episodes of Adventure, Exploration and some fun thrown in. After the loss of Donna the Doctor needs a new companion for the challenges ahead - and why have one woman when you can have four guys? A Doctor Who/Panic at the Disco crossover series.
Story Summary: Panic at the Disco can't shake off the ominous feeling in their stomachs as the end of the tour approaches. A mysterious and deadly ticking draws even nearer. And Brendon gets fed Smarties by a skinny British man in a camel coloured coat.
Disclaimer: This is not mine. (well, the storyline maybe.) Doctor Who belongs to the BBC and Panic at the disco belong to themselves.
Author Notes: Credit to bemusedconfused for help with ideas and the AWESOME queensheep for being my beta - Seriously so much love.

They'd always lived for this life. Lived for the lights, the sounds, the people and the screams of the crowd.

Brendon was always sure, afterwards, that he never could have dreamt about what was waiting for him. The exquisite worlds that would be laid before his feet - the heroic beauty he would find in a man with no name - what he and his friends would find within themselves. Not even with all the time in the universe could he have dreamt of it all.

As the early morning sunlight of Las Vegas streamed through the window blinds, Brendon, Spencer, Jon and Ryan were awake, sitting huddled together. The four friends and band mates squeezed around the small tour bus kitchen table, limbs squashed tight against each other. Their heads were bent close, talking animatedly, though their limbs were heavy and slow, about the concert they would be playing later that same day. It was the final show of the tour and they and the crew were planning an extra special event for the hometown show.

A multitude of papers covered in frantic scribble and text type lay scattered across the wooden surface of the table, torn and bent where they had been thumbed through. Pop-tart pastry crumbs steadily fell onto the papers as Brendon munched his hot-fudge-sundae-flavoured treat, smiling happily at each of his friends in turn. A steady, quiet stream of chatter could be heard from outside the bus as members of the crew hurried past, juggling cups of coffee and equipment and props.

Ryan flipped through the papers - dusting off the crumbs - and chewed on his lip. The band's vision for the show had to be perfectly portrayed, and the devil was in the details after all.

Brendon saw Ryan's eyes move from the papers before him to watch Brendon's leg bounce up and down energetically. Brendon made himself stop, knowing Ryan would only start to snap if he continued.

He ran his hand through his hair. They had all been getting more agitated as the tour began to draw to a close, the pressure for a new album and playing their asses off every night finally getting to them. But he couldn't help feeling that it hadn't been like this last time - couldn't shake off this feeling in the pit of his stomach.

What had caused the feeling was the ominous ticking that the band had been hearing separately, late into the night, for the last week or two. Brendon in particular was creeped out by the noise. He had stopped sleeping, and they all knew it. He'd never stopped believing in the things that go bump in the night as some adults do; never let go of the spark that childhood and innocence brings.

Ryan on the other hand was convinced Gabe Saporta had paid the tour guys to freak them out.

Spencer patted Ryan's arm calmingly as Ryan scowled at the wall. Spencer kept peace between them all, heading off bitch fits and arguments before they turned into fights - although he could produce a pretty good bitch fit himself. Somehow they could all breathe a bit more easily when Spencer was around. In secret, Brendon believed that it was because Spencer was a little bit magic and he could fix anything with his smile. Well. Technically, it wasn't so much of a secret seeing as Brendon shared all his ideas about Spencer's clandestine elf heritage with Jon. In the strictest confidence of course. So strict that Gabe and Bill Beckett had also been sworn to secrecy.

Jon leaned forward to steal last bit of Brendon's pop-tart. Brendon begrudgingly let him get away with it - but only because Jon ruffled his hair, and Brendon was a sucker for that - and Jon stood up, heading towards the bunk area to fetch his flip-flops and sunglasses. Brendon stared longingly at the now-empty pop-tart box. He only looked away when the bus door squeaked open to reveal Zack standing there, long-suffering grin permanently fixed in place.

"Come on you guys, time to go. It's the last show today - you're not staying in the bus all day."
***
The sun was almost blinding outside. Brendon was extremely glad to be wearing sunglasses. The familiar warm sunlight and unique Nevada smell enveloped him. It made him think home, and there was a comfortable smile on his face. Spencer and Ryan had the exact same smile.

As they wound through vans and other crew members towards the venue, he grinned at the warm smiles and familiar greetings sent their way. The band had made the point of getting to know the people who worked so hard to make their shows so brilliant. It was pretty damn rewarding when the crew really bonded together behind the band, pushing each other to work harder to bring the show off.

Hopping through the back entrance of the venue, Brendon smiled at the guys already hard at work bringing in the lighting equipment and the rigging and doing stuff that he didn't really try to understand.

He'd tried to learn about the electrical and pyrotechnic side once. An old tech on the last tour tried to teach him how to program the consoles, but Brendon had just become too frustrated at not being able to do even the simplest parts. In aggravation he'd kicked the wall and bruised his toe. Spencer had shaken his head and given Brendon a hug, reminding him his job was his band, not the fire and lights. After that he'd kept to his instruments and let the techs get on with their jobs.

Of course, it never stopped him from asking if he could climb on the rigging.

It was considerably harder to keep to his instruments whenever he caught sight of one of the newer lighting technicians on the team, though – a tall British man with the most enthusiastic smile Brendon had ever seen.

About halfway through the tour, the production manager had disappeared. The band had found a strange doll where last he'd been seen. A few days after that, they'd quite literally bumped into the new technician.

Brendon was pretty sure Ryan would never forget that day. They had been heading to the bus after a sound check in Phoenix, when Barry had jumped down from one of the support structure's self climbing towers. He landed right in front of Ryan, who'd squealed and been knocked back. Barry hadn't even noticed he'd hit Ryan.

He had been wearing a dark brown suit with purple pinstripes, a long camel colour coat and red Converse - a very strange outfit for a lighting tech. He was almost as skinny as Ryan but he managed not to look lanky. He'd tucked his hands in his trouser pockets and turned around, completely surprised to see them right behind him, and Ryan lying on the floor. They'd all been completely struck down by his intense brown eyes widening in shock and apology.

Brendon had also been struck by the strong desire to touch the man's hair.

Barry had smiled at them, then looked down at Ryan. "Why are you lying on the - I'm sorry, terribly rude of me. I'm Barry - the new lighting technician. You must be Panic at the Disco! It's nice to meet you Brendon Urie, Spencer Smith, Jon Walker and Ryan Ross," he'd said, carefully pronouncing their names - almost as if he was testing them on his tongue. Ryan had scowled as Barry looked down at him again. "You might want to get off the floor," Barry had said kindly, "it's dirty down there."

Ryan had jumped to his feet, still glaring.

"You're British!" Brendon had exclaimed excitedly, ignoring Ryan's pointed look. The lighting technician had then turned to Brendon, grinning happily back at him.

"And you're American!"

After that first night, much to Ryan's chagrin and everyone else's amusement, they had been running into Barry more often than any other crew member - often at strange times, in strange places. But this never much fazed Brendon. He took whatever opportunity he had to distract Barry from his work, asking him questions about anything and everything.

But the best thing, Brendon had quickly decided, was that Barry gave him Smarties every time he saw him. If there was an ultimate way to Brendon's heart it was through candy and being awesome – just ask Jon Walker.

Ryan once asked what the hell Brendon liked so much about the stupid lighting guy. Brendon's reply had been fast and enthusiastic. "Are you kidding? He's amazing. I can't ask a question he doesn't know the answer to. He knows everything, Ryan - everything!"

"But don't you think he's got to be pissed off with all of your questions already?" Ryan put his hands on his hips.

"No way!" Brendon exclaimed, a shocked expression breaking across his face. "Barry totally loves me. He gives me sweets - and you're mean for doubting his awesomeness."

Brendon suspected that Ryan was secretly annoyed that he was receiving less attention from him - and pissed off that he was no longer the number one authority on everything in Brendon's books. Not to mention no one ever got away with making Ryan Ross fall over and look stupid.

Brendon just went back to arranging his Smarties in a rainbow.
***

Show time was a few hours away. As usual Spencer was to be found at his drum kit, warming up. He was drumming out short measured hits on a tom-tom when he heard it.

Tick-tick-tock. Tick-tick-tock.

"Okay, you son of a bitch, cut it out now or I'll shove these sticks where the sun don't shine!"

The ticking slowed down until it stopped completely. Something suddenly whirred in the silence. It reminded Spencer of an electric whisk - but more electronic. The whirring too began to slowly fade, and with it went the sound of retreating footsteps.

"That's right, you stay away!" he yelled to the empty arena, feeling like a complete idiot. Gabe and Bill Beckett had gone too far this time.

***

Just ten minutes after sound-check had ended, Brendon dashed off to pick up his Smartie rainbow before some lowlife rainbow hater ate them, then tried to find someone who would let him hang out with them.

He couldn't find anyone.

Spencer was drumming and disturbing him was like waltzing up to a very hormonal skunk. (He'd been sprayed by a skunk when he was younger. It had not been fun. Spencer might actually hit him. Also not fun.)Ryan was off doing something with artistic... monkeys? Fabric? Probably fabric. He never really paid much attention when Ryan went off on a tangent. It was much safer just to nod and make 'hmm'ing sounds. Brendon had pretty much given up hope on training Jon Walker to his every command, although he could live with the dream. Yeah, he was sure no one would ever be able to contain Jon's gruff but lovely bearded manliness.

Something confused him, though. Brendon was convinced that everyone flounced when no one was looking - Barry totally agreed; he even flounced for Brendon's benefit - right, so how could Zack flounce off somewhere without them knowing? Zack was glued to them like...glue. One time he even followed them into the bathrooms at a rest stop. This was unZack-like and Brendon didn't like it.

The world really didn't make sense to Brendon. All he wanted was to chillax with his friends before the show and eat his Smarties, which were by now melting in his pockets. But no, he was being condemned to alone time. Just like Zack disappearing was unZack-like, alone time was unBrendon-like.

That being said, he was actually quite tired. But having become a master of the tour circuit prank war, Brendon knew that napping around the venue was actually quite a foolish thing to do if you didn't want to end up handcuffed naked to something. He had learned.

So it was the tour bus for him. Zack would probably kill him for wandering off alone. But Zack had gone off first - flounced off first - and Brendon was obliged to get his own back.

Off to the bus he went. It wasn't hard to miss, with its bright purple flowers running along the side. The area was alive with the crew scurrying about like bugs - like in that kids' movie Brendon loved, A Bug's Life. Maybe he'd watch that when he got to the bus. The scurrying, however, suited him nicely - everybody was too busy to notice him.

He smiled, slipping between two guys easily as they rushed past him carrying cables and the fake magenta grass he assumed Ryan had insisted on.

He was in no hurry. He strolled along, tasting the atmosphere around him, the excitement in the air. He smelled the distinct stench of oil and grease from the vans. It reminded him of when his father used to work on his car on Saturday mornings. People seemed to thin out around him until he was virtually walking by himself in silence. Brendon thought about how he never really liked silence. He much preferred listening to the day to day sounds around him or the gentle thrum of music. A complete lack of sound was unnatural. It seemed almost awkward for a world that was so loud and bustling with life. Almost by accident he found himself beginning to whistle a falsely bright tune just to fill the void of silence.

An odd whirring static noise from a van close behind him interrupted him. As he turned to look for the sound, it stopped. He couldn't help but feel pleased that he wouldn't need to investigate it. But from the corner of his eye, Brendon swore he saw a flutter of camel colour material fluttering away. He frowned and blinked slowly, once, twice and rubbed at his forehead, massaging his temples until the ache faded. He needed that nap.

From the moment Brendon pushed through the bus door, it just didn't feel right. He was sure someone had moved his tour photo album he had been looking at last night, for one. The whole atmosphere on the bus was off. He felt uncomfortable and his skin itched as if someone was staring right at him and he really didn't like it. People were always watching him when he was on-stage, their eyes burning into his skin with admiration and raw energy - but this felt different. It felt... cold. Blank.

You're being stupid, he told himself.

Spencer would tease him for indulging his over-active imagination just like the time when he'd accidentally told him that the shadows drifting across his bunk curtain at night looked like monsters. It had gone on for days. But in the end Spence let him crawl in with him and they shared manly Spencer cuddles – so, not everything about it was bad.

Grabbing his orange heart-shaped cushion and Ryan's iPod from the couch, he dashed into the back and slid into Jon's bunk, yanking the curtain across. Jon's bunk was such a nice place for naps because Jon never tidied it. It smelled like him and was always littered with his shirts, looking almost like a special nest he'd built.

He curled into the mess of covers and clothing and tucked his arm under the pillow. He tried to put the strange feeling behind him. Pushing one earphone in his ear, he starting flipping through Ryan's music, settling for some classic Beatles to soothe him into sleep.

Tick... tick... tic-k.

No, no, no, no, no. Brendon grimaced, squishing the heart cushion in his too-tight grasp. Drawing a shaky breath in, he sat up and yanked the earphones from the iPod. He needed to listen.

The ticking continued, grating slowly past, second by second, growing louder in the small room.

It was only noise - but he knew he couldn't shake it off. Someone was here, inside the bus. He could feel it, this presence. Fuck didn't seem powerful enough of a word to describe his thoughts. His palms began to sweat, goose bumps breaking out along the bare skin of his arms. Right now he didn't care what Ryan and Spencer thought about Saporta and Beckett. This wasn't a silly prank - it just wasn't. He had never been this scared in his life.

It was so close now and getting closer all the time. It was right outside the bunk, so clear, so loud and ominous.

He couldn't look.

He screwed his eyes shut tight, fisting his hands tightly into the material of one of Jon's shirts. The hair stood up on the back of his neck as he tried to go completely still. He thought he sensed a hand reaching towards the edge of the curtain as if he was watching it from someone else's viewpoint. He held his breath, waiting.

"Hey!" a male voice shouted.

Brendon heard that unusual whirring noise again, then nothing.

He breathed out.

He heard the drag and swish of the bunk curtain opening but didn't open his eyes. He didn't want to see, but his skin felt warmer, more lived in. Cool, gentle fingers lightly touched his brow, then his cheek leaving the skin there tingling.

"Brendon, open your eyes."

"Barry?" Brendon gasped, snapping his eyes open to see the lighting technician's serious expression. There was something about Barry's eyes that captivated him – they were so old and sad, swirling with wisdom and emotions hidden away. Brendon very much wanted to know who this man was.

Barry smiled at him.

"What just happened?"

"What are you talking about? You were sleeping. Nothing happened. Come on, Zack asked me to fetch you."

"Why?" He asked feeling slightly stupid about it.

Barry only offered him his hand, wriggling his fingers suggestively. Brendon, suddenly happy, grinned and grabbed the proffered hand, threading their fingers together intimately. He allowed Barry to pull on his hand, and he pulled back, squeezing warmly.

As he emerged into the growing dusk, Brendon felt himself relax. "It's show time."

***
"Where the hell were you?" a familiar bulky man shouted. Zack strode though the last-minute prep crew, who seemed to part like the Red Sea before him. Brendon could see the lanky figure of Ryan Ross following, his mop of boyishly-cut brown hair distinctly visible over the top of Zack's head. Zack was grumbling to himself, something about being a glorified babysitter, and Ryan was practically sauntering behind him, sunglasses perched high on his face and a silent, authoritarian grin stretching his lips.

Brendon laughed to see the looks on the crew's faces as they glanced at each other. Ryan's guitar tech started humming the funeral march under his breath as he deliberately crept past.

He squeezed the long fingered hand in his grasp and pulled Barry towards his approaching friends. He didn't miss the faint press of Barry's thumb running across the back of his hand. It felt nice. But their fingers untwined, hands dropping away from each other through Brendon's sudden giddiness. He saluted the air. Whatever he had been feeling before had been washed away like footprints by the wearing of time.

"I'm here now, Zack," Brendon sighed good-naturedly as Zack stopped in front of him, Ryan just behind him. "Those glasses make your glare look stupid, Ross."

In response, Ryan pushed the sunglasses up on his forehead raising a sculpted eyebrow, letting the silence speak for him. Wandering off during the approach of the biggest end of show that they'd done? That was a definite no-no. Brendon poked his tongue out.

"All right Urie, where the hell have you been?" Zack repeated, ignoring Brendon's affectations.

"Sleeping," he said simply, shrugging his shoulders as if it explained everything.

"You could've napped in the dressing room," the bodyguard reminded him, "but never mind. Both of you, scat, now. We don't have a long time before the first band goes on."

"Jeez, you'd think I'd killed someone with the way he's acting," Brendon joked to Barry. When no response was forthcoming, he turned - and found nothing but thin air. "Huh? Barry?" He spun round in a circle, confused. "Where did he go?" he asked sadly.

Zack looked confused too. "Who?"

"Barry. He said you sent him to pick me up from the bus. He..." saved me? Brendon trailed off. It sounded stupid, even to him - but he believed it. Ryan sniffed and pursed his lips, stubbornly remaining silent. Obviously he was thinking about his dirtied clothes from when Barry knocked him to the floor. Ryan prized his clothes.

"I didn't send anyone to go find you, Bden. I should've," Zack told him. He herded them towards the dressing room with great big flapping arm motions. He looked like a chicken.

Brendon protested. "But he said-"

"It doesn't really matter right now Brendon. You've got a show to do," Zack said, cutting Brendon off.

"But why would he lie?" Brendon muttered to himself, ignoring the look Ryan shot at him. Ryan hated it when people muttered or talked to themselves.

It was irrational, but he felt betrayed by the tech and hated himself slightly for it. He felt like he knew Barry... but he didn't know him – not really.

Truth be told, though, he wanted to know him.

***

The atmosphere was palpable from the moment the fans streamed into the venue. It was thick with sweat and excitement and anticipation but with an undercurrent of something else. Something foreign - something deadly. Ignoring it, they cheered and sang with the opening bands, jumping and dancing to the music, but held back their real energy for Panic at the Disco. The circle seats were packed and everyone was screaming, ecstatic to be there.

The air began to warm as the bodies on the floor moved, shifting against each other to the beat of the drums and guitars. The air was hazy with the heat and anticipation, almost like smoke, thousands of eyes glinting in the stage lights.

The stage was far beyond anything Ryan and the guys had attempted before; wild but beautiful. The windmill was back, a sedentary red tower in the distance next to the drum kit. Its trellis blades turned tiredly. Green vines wrapped around the drum dais itself, clinging as if they had grown over time and become a part it. Bright and pretty wild flowers curled and wrapped around the bands' microphone stands, consuming them in flush tones and hues. Deep ruby grass sprawled across the stage floor, long and unruly. Sunflowers sprang up, bright and tall.

The crowd screamed and continued to scream. "Panic! Panic! Panic!"

The whole arena faded to black, lights dimming until you couldn't even see past the end of your nose. The fans quietened and silence hung in the still air. Barely a beat passed before cheers and screams split the dark.

Through the shadows, the band could be seen making their way on stage. The piano intermission tune began and the screams only grew louder.

The music cut into the opening twang of We're So Starving.

As though someone flicked a switch, the stage burst with light, silhouetting each member in purple and white. Spotlights roamed around the crowd.

Brendon bounced to the microphone and tore off his fake moustache. The words burst out of him like they always did, eager to escape and play among the fans, his voice washing over everyone with ears to listen.

Flowers bumped his nose and the air began to fill with flashes. A backdrop of strange, unfamiliar constellations hung high behind the performers and fans. Stars burned in its blackness - just as the band burned their movements across the stage.

Especially Brendon.

He was a blur of red and black as he played, working the audience like the maestro he'd become as they launched into Rabbits. Jon rocked back and forth with the music, fingers gliding over the fret board as Spencer thrashed at the drums, his body fluid. Ryan glowed under the light and admiration of the fans. They sparkled on the velvet backdrop like real stars sparking light in the night; like pictured nebulae, the interstellar clouds seemed almost alien and poetic in their stunning multicoloured spectrum of shapes.

All through Lying, whenever he got the chance, Brendon fingered the black silk garter he wore as an armband to hysterical screams and wolf whistles. He glanced at the side to Ryan. They grinned at each other in pure happiness as more flashes dotted their vision and girls threw their glow sticks onto the stage.

Picking one up and balancing it on his head, Jon leaned into the microphone as he introduced them, flexing his bare feet, curling his toes in the soft red grass.

The music continued to flow, pounding through the veins of everyone there.

During Camisado, as Brendon grabbed a quick drink of water, he caught his first sight of the life sized puppet men propped up in the corner of the stage. Had he seen them before? Their wigs were cascading curls, old-fashioned and horrid, with hideous red smiles stretching across their porcelain masks. He noticed Spencer and Jon giving them weird, confused looks as well.

Ignoring the strange feeling inside of his chest, he flew into She's A Handsome Woman with Ryan, plucking furiously at his guitar. But he continued to steal glances at the puppets.

He danced his way to Spencer's drum riser and peeked to the side. The puppet men sat still, ominously unmoving -

- a foot forward from where they were before.

Fuck no. Puppets don't move by themselves.

Taking a deep breath, Brendon cocked a worried eyebrow toward Spencer receiving a confused nod in return. But there was nothing they could do, so he turned back to face the crowd.

The lights dimmed slightly as they went into Nine in the Afternoon. Their hearts felt so light whenever they played this song - like they might actually float from their bodies. Brendon was so caught up singing that he missed the surprised gasps from the people in the pit below him.

A plastic arm yanked him back and sharp saw-knives pressed against his throat.

The music broke off with a harsh screech of Ryan's guitar. Somehow he knew what it was that held him – he could smell the musk of period clothes through the sweat of the venue. The puppets. They were real. They were real.

They could all hear it – the faint tick-tock of clockwork. Where was it coming from? The puppets themselves? Were they making it?

All hell broke loose in that moment. Scared screams cut through the arena, echoing, shrill, off the surfaces. Brendon was dragged backwards to the drum riser. The knives were almost cutting into his throat now; he didn't dare to breathe too harshly. Rough mechanical arms pulled at his body, forcing him to spin around with a blur of coat and hair.

His eyes focused through the terror and he could finally see them. The puppet men were – wicked, menacing, like something out of those damn period costume dramas Ryan not so secretly watched on the tour bus.

They stood in a semi-circle, stretching out to either side of the one that was holding him. Brendon faced Spencer, Ryan and Jon, whose backs were pressed against the riser.

Spencer looked so angry and Brendon totally understood why, even if he was scared out of his boots right now. The drummer held his sticks like weapons, forcing Ryan behind him - protecting him like he had all their lives. Brendon knew if these guys tried anything, Spencer would protect him just as surely as he was protecting Ryan. He just hoped Spencer would be fast enough.

Every single fan was silent. When Spencer spoke with all the authority his voice could muster, it echoed through the whole arena even though he had no microphone. "Let Brendon go, you fucking psychos! What the hell do you want with us?"

The puppet to Brendon's left shuffled forward with stilted, robotic movements. Was that one the leader? Grinding clockwork growled with every move it made. It swung its arm forward so suddenly that Brendon's bandmates tried to jerk backwards. Instead they slammed into the drum riser, making it shake. It pointed its horrifying set of saw knives at Spencer, the blades stopping just a bare inch before his skin. Brendon knew how that felt.

"You are compatible."

Jon looked sick at the sound the puppet's monotonous crackling voice. "What does that mean?" he asked, pale.

"You are compatible," it repeated. "You will come with us."

"Like hell we will." Ryan piped up bravely from behind Spencer, glaring at the puppet men.

Brendon breathed slowly through his nose. He tried to look across the stage.

He choked. Several crew members were lying still, scattered across the floor and upon equipment like rag dolls. Unconscious - or dead - Brendon didn't want to know.

"You are compatible," the leader said again.

"Stop saying that!" Spencer exclaimed.

The leader moved closer to Brendon's band, its clockwork ticking again. "You will come with us - or you will die."

The puppet man holding Brendon edged his whirring, rotating, sharp saw closer to Brendon's neck to prove their point. Spencer's eyes widened. Three other puppets moved forward, drawing their weapons as well, and Brendon felt a sharp jolt of worry in his stomach. Were they going to die at the hands of clockwork eighteenth century robots?

Shouts rung out from the still-silent crowd as a man appeared out of nowhere, his long coat billowing around him as he swung down from the rigging. The mysterious man pointed a blue glowing device which whirred that familiar sound he remembered from the bus at the puppet holding Brendon captive.

The device was strangely reminiscent of a screwdriver.

The puppet groaned, grinding gears shuddering to a halt before it fell forward like a wind-up toy. Brendon only just got away in time.

He threw himself at Spencer, Ryan and Jon and chanced a peep at his saviour. "Barry?"

The spotlights swung to shine brightly on the man in question as he dusted himself off. Barry winked at the band and faced the host of puppet men, who were ignoring their fallen comrade in favour of pointing their weapons at Barry.

"Wow," Barry exclaimed, cheerfully. He spun in a joyous circle on the thick red grass, arms outflung and head tipped back. Just as quickly as he started spinning, he stopped, and stared at the leader of the puppets. "It's you!" he cried, clapping his hands together. "It's been a long time since we met, hasn't it? Well, longer for you than for me, I'd wager. Mr. Thick Thick Thickity, Thick-face from Thick-town, Thickania." There was a strange edge to his voice. "Last time I saw you, you were trying to steal the brain of Madame du Pompadour to fix your ship," he said, popping his p's, "and I stopped you! Well," he tipped his head, "me and Rose. And Mickey, I suppose, good ol' Mickey Smith."

Barry's expression grew colder, his voice hardening.

"So, what I don't understand, what I really don't understand is what are you doing here? In Las Vegas, twenty-first century Earth? Thirty-first century is far better, height of the First Great and Bountiful Human Empire and all that. Vegas is so beautiful then - all that you can do there, all that excitement. Marvellous banana daiquiris there with just a hint of quinto juice. This?" he emphasised, spreading his arms again and gesturing around him. "This place is a nursery compared to the future... ah, but you're not here to take in the show, are you? You're here for these boys. Am I right?" Barry smirked at the puppets. "Oh, I think I am. But what do you want from them? That's what I don't really understand."

The puppets stood silently, their weapons still aimed at Barry.

Barry snarled. "Tell me! What do you want with them?"

"Answer him!" Spencer shouted at them.

Surprisingly, they did. "They are compatible," the leader ground out. "They are correct and they will come with us."

Barry looked confused. "What?" He practically squeaked. He scratched the back of his head and scrunched his face up. "Compatible for what? What do you mean they're correct?"

"Barry? What's going on? What's happening? What are these things?" Brendon asked, worried.

Barry slid the painted mask and wig off to reveal the transparent head-shaped casing beneath. It was filled with golden cogs and gears, whirring away and glistening in the stage-lights.

"They're clockwork androids, Brendon. That's all they are," he assured him. "Just cogs, gears and wheels ticking away. Well... I say cogs and gears. Throw in a short range teleporter, scanner, saw knives and a tranquilliser or two, and that's really what makes them up." He pulled the device he'd used earlier out of his jacket pocket - the device like a screwdriver - he held it towards the clockwork droid's head. It glowed blue and shrieked, and the clockwork in the droid ground to a halt.

Spinning round on his heel with a proud grin, Barry strolled back to the band. He was apparently ignoring the rest of the clockwork droids. "Handy thing, this is," he smiled, waving the device he's used in front of the band, who couldn't seem to move. "Sonic screwdriver! Made it myself - well, mostly - and guess what setting jams clockwork?" He waited for an answer but no one volunteered.

Eventually, Ryan got his voice working. "Erm... four?" he asked, sounding unnaturally timid.

"Four? No," Barry scoffed. "Four hundred and forty two! Great number, four-four-two – sacred to the Jetarians, you know. I went to Jetaria once, brilliant planet – they have cats with four ears, can you believe it? And this brilliant waterfall. But, oh."

Barry's dopey grin dropped from his face as he looked at Spencer, who was looking at the androids.

"What are you doing now?" he demanded as he turned back to the clockwork androids. "There's no point in it at all. I am the Doctor and you will not touch these boys." He spoke with authority and arrogance, and Brendon knew that he'd obey that voice anything it commanded him. Barry - the Doctor? - went on. "What do you want with them?"

The clockwork droids had closed tighter around them. They parted at these words and a small clockwork droid in the shape and clothes of a female child entered the semi circle. Her blonde wig, pony-tailed to perfection, bounced around her mask. Its mask?

"They're perfect," it said. But its voice was different, not metallic or monotone. The voice of a real girl child.

"Perfect?" Jon said to the little android. "We're far from perfect. What do you want us for?"

"They're perfect," she repeated, bringing a small doll out from behind her.

The Doctor swore in some strange language, curving his body with the guttural sound of his words. It sounded like he was swearing, anyway. "That's what you want them for. You want to alter their genetic structure and turn them into dolls – but why? It's impossible. You're an android. The technology you're made from is nowhere near capable of simulating human emotions and won't be for thousands of years. Why?"

"They're perfect." She was stuck on some kind of loop.

"That's what's been happening to the people who've been disappearing from the crew! You've been turning them into dolls. But with what?" the Doctor asked himself, running his hands through this hair, messing it up even more. "It must be some kind of tissue compression tool... only to find out they weren't compatible. But these boys are exactly what you're looking for and that leaves us with a great bid stinking problem because this is wrong and I'm going to have to stop you."

"We cannot be stopped," a tall, male clockwork droid off to the side said.

"Oh, no," the Doctor said, looking triumphant in the glowing stage lights. "I already have stopped you! I closed the time windows that brought you here! You can't go back - and now you have no point. Not anymore. Don't you get it?" he asked, laughing. "You're useless now; you have no purpose."

The Doctor, and everyone else, watched for the androids' reactions. The grinding gears of the clockwork seemed so loud in the stuffy air of the venue as they waited. Brendon could hear the crowd, breathing together as they waited too.

The droids flopped forward, lifeless, as if a switch had been flipped. Their gears ceased grinding and ticking. It was like they'd jammed up.

All except the little girl. She was standing still.

"They're perfect," she repeated again. She sounded alone, and scared. Was it possible for androids to have emotion?

"What's happened to her? Why didn't she die like the others?" Spencer asked, approaching the Doctor.

The Doctor glanced at him. "She's not like the others," he said quietly. Crouching down to face the clockwork girl, he pulled off the mask she was wearing. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he sighed as he looked upon the small figure with sad eyes. His face so tired, all of a sudden.

"Is that a...?" Ryan wondered, intrigued and disgusted.

"Yes," the Doctor told him solemnly. "The clockwork droids carved up her brain to use as part of their machinery - but they had to follow her last command."

Brendon's chest tightened. "Can't you help her?"

He shook his head. "No. I wish I could but she's already dead -"

"But she's speaking," Jon said.

"Not really," the Doctor said. "It's a telepathic loop, an echo of her last thought." He tapped a flashing light on the side of her neck. "Stored here. She'll keep repeating those words until she runs down or her gears stop - but that, I can help her with." He pulled his sonic screwdriver from his pocket.

Ryan spoke up. "Setting number four hundred and forty-two, right?"

Smiling slightly, the Doctor pointed the screwdriver at the light on her neck. In a flash of blue light and whining noise, the gears in the girl's mechanical body gummed up like the others had.

Finally, the ticking faded.

The room felt to the bandmates as if it was empty. The silence hung in the air like a thick white sheet. The bodies of the crew and androids scattered across the stage were too much for Brendon to look at.

"There," is all the Doctor said, and the venue suddenly filled with cheers. They'd all absolutely forgotten about the show and the crowd - everything. It didn't matter, though. The fans assumed it was a mid-show performance, a treat for the last show of the circuit, and who could blame them – Panic at the Disco were all for the theatrics. The crew members who had been lying on the floor began to wake, shaking their heads and standing with the help of the rest of the crew. All of the broken android bodies were carried off the stage.

Brendon sighed sadly as Ryan hurriedly motioned for them to perform a bow. All he wanted to do was talk to Barry, or the Doctor, or whoever he was. He wanted to erase the sadness and sympathy from his saviour's face. The Doctor was slyly edging off-stage, and Brendon headed after him - but Ryan bumped into him. "We're finishing the show," the guitarist said simply, picking up his instrument again.

Shrugging Ryan away, Brendon moved for side stage. He called over the noise. "Barry?"

The Doctor turned around. He motioned for Brendon to go back on stage, grinning widely. His eyes were still so sad. "Enjoy the moment, Brendon Urie. It's all yours."

Looking towards the raucous crowd, a fire licked at Brendon's body, flooding him with excitement and adrenaline. When he looked again, the Doctor had disappeared.

Sighing, he picked up his guitar to take centre stage once again. He didn't see the Doctor peek out from behind a dark curtain to watch When the Day Met the Night.

Part two

The Master wants a Hippopotamus [Doctor Who vid]

2008-10-09T20:18:34Z

Title: The Master wants a Hippopotamus for Christmas
Music: I want a Hippopotamus for Christmas
Made by: jumpmybones
Details: 2:50s

Mash Game: Predict Your Future at eSPIN-the-Bottle

2008-10-05T04:02:18Z



		I will marry Brendon Urie.
		After a wild honeymoon, We will settle down in Rome in our fabulous House.
		We will have 2 kid(s) together.
		Our family will zoom around in a Blue Bently.
		I will spend my days as a Assassin, and live happily ever after.

Stars and Hail Stones: A Doctor Who/Panic at the Disco Crossover Series. Episode 1

2008-10-03T01:58:24Z

Part one

Ryan had to shout over the dying noise of the crowd. "So no one ever noticed the crazy psychopathic mechanical killers following us around at every show? Barry said they were the ones who caused the crew to start disappearing, and that's been happening for almost a month now."

"I just thought they were your idea," Jon told him. Spencer laughed, agreeing.

Ryan huffed at them. There was no way he was going to tell them that he quite liked their unique connection to his artistic view – not now anyway.

Spencer rolled his eyes. "Don't be like that, Ryan. It does seem like something you'd think has artistic merit," he argued, reaching out and hauling Brendon into a one-armed hug. "Ain't that right, B?"

But Brendon didn't seem all that interested at the moment.

He shrugged, slipping away from Spencer's side. He seemed reluctant to walk at his friends' leisurely pace. He wanted to get showered as soon as he could and then find the man on his mind, the man with the hedgehog hair and the so-sad eyes. Most of all, he needed to know this wasn't just a dream. "What happened out there guys, really?" he asked.

Jon only shrugged. "Hell if I know," he admitted, smiling. "But we're alive. That's enough, isn't it?" he asked, not really believing himself.

He didn't really expect an answer. He didn't receive one.

***

They found a note pinned to their dressing room door written in elegant but erratic spidery writing.

‘I find that the desert is a perfect place to lose yourself - and maybe find what you're looking for.’

It was signed with a bizarre series of interlocking circles which seemed not be resemble any kind of script they'd ever seen. It was beautifully alien.

Spencer crossed his arms. "Well. That's fucking cryptic."

***
They found a note pinned to their dressing room door written in elegant but erratic spidery writing.

I find that the desert is a perfect place to lose yourself - and maybe find what you're looking for.

It was signed with a bizarre series of interlocking circles which seemed not be resemble any kind of script they'd ever seen. It was beautifully alien.

Spencer crossed his arms. "Well. That's fucking cryptic."

***

"I can't believe we're doing this." Ryan kicked the back of the seat unhappily. "Travelling into the desert in a van that has no air-conditioning and with no idea where we're going."

Brendon took his eyes off the empty, bitumen road stretching out in front of them. "Even you wanted answers, Ryan."

It was early the next morning that they'd set off, crammed into Brendon's old purple van. They'd slept the night at Spencer's house, sprawled across the living room and trying to decide exactly what had happened. What they were going to find on this road trip, they didn't know. The strange man - Barry? The Doctor? - that had saved them?

Whatever they were going to find, they just knew that for some strange reason they had to do this. Brendon was so determined to find Barry he would have gone anyway, and in their defence, Spencer, Jon and Ryan wouldn't let him go on his own - but that wasn't the only reason they were heading out.

The sun was now high in the midday sky, throwing down Nevada heat upon the metal roof of the vehicle. The scraggly brush barely cast a shadow as they sped past, rolling along the now uneven dirt road. The dust and dirt seemed so thick and abundant through the open windows; Brendon could taste it, gritty and choking at the back of his throat. But they couldn't close the windows - they had no air conditioning.

The bare expanse of Rocky Mountains glowed red and pink on the far horizon. As Brendon drove over a particularly large bump, the car shuddered under the strain, sending the water Jon was drinking all down his shirt. Spence sat in the passenger seat, gripping the car door tightly but still managed to look cool and at ease despite his reddening face.

Ryan tried again. "We don't even know what we're looking for."

"We'll know when we see it," Brendon said with an air of finality in his voice. He was so sure.

Ryan grumbled as they flew over another bump. "We shouldn't have let you drive." Pushing his sunglasses further up his nose, he reached for a bottle of water. "Gah," he cried as this time water sloshed all over his clothes. Jon snorted, his own shirt not as wet at Ryan's. Panic's guitarist was finally frustrated to the point of action. "That's it, Brendon. No more. Pull over - I'm driving."

Sighing like the most put-upon person in the world, Brendon mercifully slowed down pulling off into the lay-by. Cutting off the engine, he reached round himself unbuckling his seatbelt but made no move to get out. He simply rested his forehead against the steering wheel. Despite being handled by him the cheap plastic wheel was surprisingly cold against his skin. He couldn't understand how Ryan could be annoyed at a refreshing splash of water.

Ryan was already out of the car and was now tapping on the car door, jerking his thumb in the direction of the back-seat. "Brendon, it's my turn."

He looked up from the steering wheel and smiled, apologetic. "I'm sorry, Ryan. I'm just so frustrated with - "

"Hey, what's that?" Spencer asked, pointing into the distance. He'd climbed out just after Ryan had, glad to get out of the hot box. Scrambling out of the car excitedly, Brendon, Jon and Ryan followed the direction of Spencer's finger.

They could see a large blue box standing stationary three hundred feet in the dusty distance. There was nothing surrounding it. They all shielded their eyes against the sun's glare; it was difficult to make out but it was definitely a big, blue box and it was there in the middle of the desert. They weren't imagining it.

"Who'd leave something like that out here?" Spencer asked out loud, reaching for his duffle bag.

"It doesn't matter! This is what we've been looking for. It's him – it's Barry." Brendon told them. Again, he was so sure. Nothing would convince him otherwise.

"Somehow Brendon," Jon said gently, "after all of this, I doubt his name is actually Barry. Just be wary, okay?"

"Okay, Jon," Brendon sang, bouncing over to him for a quick hug. "I'm glad you care about me. Ryan doesn't," he said, sending an annoyed look at Ryan. "You're the bestest manly man with the bestest beard. Apart from Spencer of course, but I know you understand. Let's go then." His usually bouncy, good mood was back in full force. Grabbing his duffle, a large square sunglasses and a lollipop, he made to go forward in the direction of the box but was held back by Ryan.

"I'm not walking all the way over there. What if he's dangerous? Get in the van."

"But -"

"In the van. Tell him, Spencer."

"It'll be quicker if we drive," the sensible drummer said.

So they piled back into the car, this time with Spencer behind the wheel. Pulling out of the lay-by, they drove off the road and over towards the box, swerving a little to avoid some of the cacti. As they approached they saw a man, the Doctor to be precise, lounging outside the box in a pink deck chair. He was shaded by a big green umbrella sticking out of the ground.

They parked a few feet from the man and hopped out. The first thing that struck them was that desert dust clung dusky to the material of his bright red Converse shoes. Converse! Brendon practically skipped towards him. When he got closer, Brendon could see that he held a tall frosted glass in his hand and was grinning happily at them behind his own sunglasses.

"Hello," he said, waving at Ryan who was looking decidedly grumpy all of a sudden. "Banana daiquiri?" he offered, indicating his drink. "It's made with bananas all the way from the groves at Villengard. Can't I tempt you? Bananas are good – loads of potassium."

Not waiting for their answers, he stood and headed to the box. It was a dark blue panelled box with a dormant light on its top. The top two panels on each side were made with frosted glass and around its rim, it said Police Public Call Box in white capital letters. The Doctor caressed one of the panelled sides lovingly - weird - before swinging the door inwards with a loud creak and ducking inside.

"What's he doing inside a box?" Spencer asked, scratching his beard thoughtfully. They didn't really have time to speculate before the door opened again and the doctor walked out balancing a tray with four glasses, holding the door open with his hip. He appeared unaware of their confused expressions. They took the glasses he offered him, wordless and hesitant. Brendon, who trusted Barry even though he couldn't say why, was the only one to take a slip.

"Yum," he exclaimed, smiling happily at the doctor. "It's good. Try, it guys." Jon was game enough try anything once and taking drinks from a strange man in the middle of the desert definitely counted as a good thing to try in the Walker book. He shrugged and drank from the tall glass, licking his lips afterwards. And to be honest, he wasn't much of a cocktail man - that was more Ryan's scene - but the daiquiri was definitely the best he'd ever tasted.

Brendon looked around before shrugging and plopping down on the sandy ground, ignoring the heat on his arse. Jon and Spencer followed his lead cautiously, but Ryan stood standing, not daring to get dirt on his clothes.

"How?" Spencer started, and, inspired, then kept going. "What? Where? Who are you, really?" He whispered this last like it was a secret piece of information and for all they knew, it was.

The Doctor idly fingered the drink he was holding, lightly wiping away the condensation clouding the glass with his index finger. "I'm the Doctor," he told them, sliding the glasses back into his hair to look at them properly. The light of the sun caught his eyes making them flash brightly in the shadow of the police box.

"The Doctor? That's not a real name. Doctor Who?" Ryan asked again in astonishment. He'd never met someone who couldn't just give a proper answer. It angered and intrigued him.

"It's just the Doctor."

"The Doctor?" Jon repeated, perplexed. Placing his drink on the ground, he looked at Brendon, who, unusually silent, was staring down into the yellow mixture in his glass. "What are you a doctor of, exactly?"

"Everything really. Well," he said, and dipped his head in a way that made Brendon grin, "everything except actual medicine, surprisingly." The Doctor grinned back at Brendon. "But I'm a quick study."

"Huh. So..." Brendon said, captivated by the Doctor's eyes. "If your name is really the Doctor and you're not really a lighting technician," and he shook his head, confirming this, "then what were you doing on the tour?"

The Doctor laughed, bouncing on his feet. "People going missing? Weird dolls turning up? And strange accidents? Equipment was malfunctioning and it all centring around four people." He pointed at each of them in turn. "It's shouting 'something is wrong'! You humans," he smiled fondly, "even when things are going on in front of your faces, you still try and rationalise it. There's probably a name for that."

"The way you said 'you humans'," Spencer began. "It kind of sounds like you're saying you aren't." He laughed lightly, flicking the hair that had fallen into his eyes.

The Doctor turned his grin on the drummer. "I'm not."

"Not what?" Jon said, his eyebrows scrunching up in confusion.

"Not human," he clarified, looking so completely serious that Spencer abruptly stopped laughing and Brendon choked on his drink.

"But you look human. How can you not be human?" Ryan argued.

"Well I'm happy to say I'm not. Appearances can be deceiving, you know? You, for example, look like a little girl who just got back from her first show with your eye-liner has smudged like that - although I don't see a girl going out to a gig dressed like you. But we can leave that bit out of my analogy. Oops, I'm being rude again," he added, but didn't apologise.

"If you're not human, what are you then?" Spencer asked, seeing as Ryan was suddenly too involved in checking his face in his compact mirror. Spencer couldn't believe it - aliens! Real fucking aliens! Well, a real fucking alien. Wow. Seriously!

"Time Lord," he said simply, scuffing his shoe against the ground.

"How do we know? How are you different from a human?" Ryan huffed.

"You boys are a curious bunch. I like that. That's a pretty complicated question, though. You know. The usual, two hearts, larger brain, advanced respiratory system, etcetera etcetera. It all gets rather boring, especially when you get down to the nitty gritty stuff."

Brendon stood. "Two hearts? Can I?" he asked, motioning towards the doctor's chest. It seemed like a very odd request and even weirder was that the Doctor gave a small nod of consent.

He moved forward. Placing his hands on the doctor's shoulders, he leaned in, resting the side of his head against the Doctor's chest. He could feel the Doctor's small sigh, and smiled at the rhythmic double beat of both hearts. Listening carefully, he tapped the Doctor's shoulder lightly - tapped along with the beating he heard. He felt the Doctor's hands sliding into his hair. For a minute they all thought he was going to bring Brendon closer before he gently pulled him out of his personal space.

"Why'd you leave? After you saved us, why did you go?" Brendon asked. He very nearly didn't want to hear the answer.

The Doctor leaned against the police box and stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets. "I'm a traveller," he told them. "I never stay in the same place too long. I don't stick around for the clean up. It's too messy with all those questions. There's a whole universe to explore! All those planets, creatures and times, all those different horizons. No - too many questions - it's best to move on."

"Oh." Brendon was crestfallen at the Doctor's words. "I guess we're probably holding you up then."

The Doctor's expression became shadowed for a moment, obviously dealing with some inner turmoil, before he settled on an anxious smile. "Like I said, there's a whole universe to explore. You could... you could come with me?" he suggested.

"Come with you? Really?" Brendon asked, surprised. Hope hitched his lips. As much as the glimpse into the Doctor's world had scared him, it had also set a fire in him, in all of them. He wanted to see all these things the Doctor could show them, could teach them.

"If you want," the Doctor hastened to add. "All of you," he gestured to Ryan, Spencer and Jon. "But I'll understand if you don't."

"Are you joking?" Brendon was shocked at how the Doctor thought he'd be able to refuse. "Of course we want to come with you! Don't we?" He looked at his friends. They were obviously excited but restraint and caution lined their expressions.

"But Brendon," Ryan started. "What about our career? The tour is over but we're expected to write a new album soon. And what are we going to tell our friends?" He knew that Brendon hated to be held back from doing the things he wanted to do. He simply hated being responsible and Ryan didn't like to be the one to remind him. Spencer was usually so much better at it.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," the Doctor told them before Brendon had the chance to look too depressed. "I didn't forget to mention that my ship is also a time machine, did I?" He grinned sweetly at their shocked faces as the sadness was simply erased. "Off we go, then?"

The doctor patted the side of the police box again, disappearing inside with a creak of the door. Are we supposed to wait here for him? Brendon thought as they stood staring at the blue box. The police box was surely too small for them to follow him inside. How long did he expect them to wait for him?

"Should we knock on the door?"

No sooner had the words left Brendon's mouth did the door creak open again and the Doctor peered outside, blinking at them. "Aren't you coming?"

"But Doctor. Why are we going inside a box? Surely we can't all fit in there." Spencer tried to reason with him.

The Doctor grinned indulgently. "Get in here," he laughed.

Brendon grinned as well. "Well, guys?" He pushed the door inward.

They walked into not a small claustrophobic space, but into a huge dome-shaped chamber. It glimmered golden, with organic-looking support columns stretching up to meet the roof. Roundels built into hexagonal recesses ran all the way round the room. "Wow," Brendon whispered, admiring the circular console in the centre of the room. The console was divided into six control panels with a central column reaching to the ceiling. All the buttons were glowing green. It seemed almost impossible in its enormity – it shouldn't fit inside that small box but apparently it actually could.

"It's bigger on the inside," Ryan's stunned voice said from somewhere behind Brendon. The amazed gasps from the other two were echo-y in the large room.

The metal grating of the floor clattered as Brendon walked further up the ramp to the centre of the room.

The Doctor was sitting on the flight seat, heels propped up against the console, arms folded behind his head. He looked very sure of himself. The smugness was slightly annoying - but endearing all the same. The console had a more thrown together look than Brendon would have expected, being a space ship and everything. And the closer he looked he noticed bits of junk from various eras hooked up to the console. He assumed they were being used as makeshift controls. He even noticed a bicycle pump and a small bell.

The whole place seemed to be humming happily, and Brendon had the most wonderful feeling that it was alive.

"Very impressive Doctor," Spencer announced as he leaned against the railings that ran some way around the room. "Tell me: just how is it bigger on the inside?"

The Doctor jumped from his seat. Bouncing over to the console, he fondled one of the control panels. Glancing up over the console, he grinned at them, the green glow, casting his youthful face in light. "My ship happens to be dimensionally transcendental. The inside and outside exist in separate dimensions, a key discovery of my people." Noticing his new companion's befuddled expressions, he looked sheepish for a moment. "Basically think about how a large object can appear to fit into a small one if the large object is further away. And you know, you're the first person in a long time to ask 'how'," he said happily.

"Oh, okay," said Spencer, blushing a little. "But... how?"

"Trust me, you don't want me to go any further. It's bigger on the inside. Let's leave it at that, eh?" Running around the console to stand in front of the guys, the Doctor stretched his arms out wide, gesturing around him. "Gentlemen, Welcome to the TARDIS. Time and Relative Dimension in Space. T. A. R. D. I. S."

"Doctor, I can feel something in my head." Jon told him.

They could all feel it. It was almost like a physical presence pressing against his mind, Brendon decided. It felt odd – kind of like something had brushed gently at his thoughts.

"That's the TARDIS. She must like you guys already! Eh, old girl?" The Doctor asked, directing his question towards the console.

The room seemed to hum louder at that.

"The TARDIS is alive?" Brendon said.

As he said this he could feel the distinct impression of elation in his body - but completely separate from his own emotions. It seemed the TARDIS was happy that they were on board. He got the distinct impression that the Doctor hadn't been happy in a while and that she was glad they both had some company.

"A sentient being, is the TARDIS, but awful temperamental when she feels like it. Right, well, enough of the talking! Where's the adventure? The unknown? We can't just stand around here all day. Off we go!" Spinning to face the console, the Doctor spun what appeared to be a glass paperweight and set to work. "You better hold on to something. This could be a bumpy ride." The central column began pumping up and down, green light pulsing throughout the room as the hum of the TARDIS grew louder.

"Where do you wanna go? Your first trip, your choice." The Doctor shouted happily as he continued running round the console, pulling levers, twisting knobs, pushing buttons and all number of other devices.

"Erm...Mars?" Ryan asked, unsure of anywhere else they could choose.

The Doctor stopped running suddenly near the scanner attached to the console with a manic glint in his eye and a mirthful grin on his face. The TARDIS was rattling now, shaking in every direction as if it was banging and crashing its way through space as it rolled through the time vortex. Brendon clutched at the TARDIS' glowing console. He saw Jon jolted backwards into the flight seat. Ryan was already on the floor, sliding in the direction of the door, clinging to one of the support struts as Spencer grasped at the railings struggling to stay on his feet.

"Oh I was thinking somewhere...further!"

***

Out in the desert heart, the area was filled with the sound of the dematerialisation sequence. The TARDIS pulsed in and out of sight, eventually disappearing from view, leaving Brendon's clunky purple van alone in the sand.

***

End of Episode 1 ^_^

Insanity Kings [s/a]

2008-09-28T23:44:38Z

Title: Insanity Kings
Author: jumpmybones
Rating: R
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
Summary: An interlude from the same universe as 'Death's Hanging around this Town'. We learn something about what happened to Ryan when he has turned and what might have interested William Beckett in him?
Warning: Vampires and mentions of blood. 16-Candles fic.
Disclaimer: Not true. I do not own anything accept the story idea.
Author Notes: This is a quick ficlet. 2,159 words. Thanks to bemusedconfused

“I don’t see how they should be able to get away with it William – They continue to hunt us, murder us. Yet you still play with Wentz like a doll,” Brendon whispered heatedly, pressing forward on Beckett’s desk, baring his fangs, his words lisped in his anger, “he needs to be made an example of. It isn’t fair!” His fingertips were turning white with the pressure of his hands. The wood started creaking gently, tightening with stress in places under the force of Brendon’s strength.

Like a crack of lightening, Beckett was up and Brendon’s head and neck were snapping back with the force of his backhand. “You’re forgetting your place Brendon,” Beckett reminded him sternly. Sitting back behind his desk, he laced his fingers together in front of his face, leaning his elbows on the mahogany wood, “your childish indignation and anger have always been a hindrance to your progress, as has your desire to take the things that you want without caution.” As he spoke, Beckett began rearranging the objects on his desk into straight lines and right angles, aligning them and looking very bored with the situation.

The stunned vampire gasped involuntarily at the shock of the force that sent his stumbling backwards. He chuckled, fingering his bottom lip. Brendon pulled his hand away, blood glistening on the pale skin or his long fingers. He flicked his tongue over the cut on his lip licking away the blood as it already began to nit back together. His brow then creased in anger and confusion as he stared at Beckett. He didn’t understand why William would smack him. He didn’t generally show acts of violence unless he was making an example of his power in the presence of other dandies around. Silent manipulation was more Beckett’s style. “After what happened to Ryan-“

“Wentz had nothing to do with it. You know that sometimes when a vampire is turned under extreme circumstances and their bodies have suffered much abuse, it can put pressure on the brain – Sometimes until it breaks, sometimes they go insane. Humans are fragile creatures. You should have seen this,” Beckett spoke, elongating his words, stretching them out like dauntingly slow music, “what you did was foolish.”

Brendon twisted his head to face Beckett full on, his eyes switching, darkening until they were almost black. “No it wasn’t. What I did was save him.” He growled, making no move to conceal the volume of his voice. He began stalking up and down room, glancing back at the other vampire every few seconds, shaking his head. Beckett followed the movement of Brendon’s feet as he walked back and forth along the clean expensive carpet of his room in one of the Dandy safe houses. “Jon agreed with me.” He spat, suddenly becoming unable to restrain his emotions.

“Jon is a sentimental fool.” Beckett moved around his desk with restrained elegant steps. Leaning against the beautifully carved wood, he crossed his legs self-importantly. “You should have let him die. It would have been the merciful thing."

“No,” he denied, clicking his fingers, the snapping and cracking of the joints sounding loudly within the room, “unless you forgot William, we don’t do mercy.”

Beckett hummed in agreement. Raising his head, he gazed over Brendon’s shoulder smiling lightly. “Looks like someone found their way out of Bed.” He commented, flicking his eyes between the doorway and the agitated vampire closest to him.

“Brendon?”

Brendon span on his heel to face the young vampire, “Ryan,” he said, his hair twirling through the air with the speed of his movement. He looked momentarily angry. Walking from the shadowed part of the room and further into the light, it twisted his features into an expression of concern. Until it was the only thing showing on his forever youthful face.

“Ryan? You should be in bed. What are you doing up?” There was kindness in his voice he rarely every showed anyone. Ryan was leaning against the doorframe, dressed clumsily in his dandy attire. His shirt was buttoned up messily, uneven and missing buttons. His pinstripe trousers were wrinkled, belt unbuckled and his black waistcoat hung off his frame. His dark hair was ruffled in all directions, uncombed and greasy. He stared absently into the mirror on the wall, watching his own vacant eyes. He looked wistfully up at the art deco ceiling and began humming a sad tune, wringing his fingers together nervously. “Ryan?” Brendon asked again, ignoring the impatient drumming off Beckett’s fingers against his desk.

“Oh why do you bother Brendon? I don’t see the point.” Beckett told him as he watched Brendon walk toward. “Your attempt is not working. You should abandon it. It doesn’t do well to have him running around defiling the dandy reputation.”

Brendon growled at Beckett’s words. He couldn’t tell him what to do with Ryan – Beckett didn’t have that right. Ryan was his childe. “Ryan? What’s wrong? Look at me.” Brendon told him, manoeuvring Ryan’s chin so he was staring into his honey eyes. Ryan bit down on his lip, ripping open the skin with sharp fangs. The skin around his eyes crinkled worriedly. The artificial light sparkled in his eyes, bringing light and childish innocence. He whimpered sadly, a lonely and painful sound, grabbing tightly at Brendon’s waistcoat. His hands clutched so tight the metal buttons left imprints in his skin. He buried his face into the crook of Brendon’s neck, his fangs grazing the skin and Brendon let him do it.

“Where were you Brendon?” Ryan mumbled into his skin, still clinging, trying to bury himself in Brendon’s body. “I couldn’t see you in my dreams. I was so scared. I thought Mr Sun took you away from me.” He whispered, sliding his fingers desperately into the ends of Brendon’s dark hair, bringing their foreheads together.

“No one can do that Ryan. I’m here.” Brendon said quietly secure in Ryan’s ear; pushing forward to fit their lips together, barely kissing, breathe mixing together, ghosting against each other’s lips. Ryan pulled back from Brendon, gasping terrified he curled his fingers further into the material of Brendon’s waistcoat, eyes wide and unfixed. “Ryan? What is it?”

His fingers loosened at the sound of Brendon’s voice, his face relaxed and he smiled lazily, turning his eyes on Beckett. “Oh yes. I can see it now,” he whispered, circling his finger across the brass button of Brendon’s waistcoat. “Home. Here with me in the burning eternity of time,” his voice broke then, filling with awe and wonder, “as it marches past, terrible and destructive as a storm crashing against the edges of the world.” Still staring at Beckett, Ryan reached with a single finger, tracing it gently down Brendon’s cheek, unable to stop the words, as if they spilled from him unwanted, “but alive, so alive, spinning its unreachable web across sunsets and horizons, too far for anyone but gods to achieve.”

“Curious.”

“What’s curious William?” Brendon asked, wrapping his own impeccably elegant coat around Ryan’s shoulders, bundling the younger vampire into his side. He turned Ryan’s head away with careful fingers softly ghosting through dark hair. Beckett’s gaze had mutated into something predatory, something eager at Ryan’s words. Brendon knew Beckett. No matter how much Beckett believed he was above everything, Brendon knew. He knew it would be a mistake to let him run his analytical eyes over Ryan’s expression, grabbing and stealing, pieces of Ryan’s mind and the horror that now lay within.

“Curious that you would dare lie to me in such a way Brendon,” he said, pushing himself gracefully off the desk, running his gaze over the huddling companions. He seemed at ease, calm. His voice was slow and careful as he spoke. “I know you have done. Do not deny it. However I am feeling generous with my mercies tonight. You told me that he spoke nonsense, barely making any sense, but his words...” He broke off in a shuddering breath. “He speaks with such power. Yes...”

As he spoke, Beckett paced around the room, ghostly touches of idle fingers across stationary objects – The nonchalance of his actions betrayed by the intensity of interest in his voice. He broke of then. Reclaiming the high backed leather seat behind his desk, he curled his hands together, nodding to himself. “Yes,” he repeated softly, as if slowly coming to a decision. His eyes dragging up Brendon’s frame to lock their gazes again, “we shall see. You may go.”

-------

The door to Brendon’s Dandy suite swung open cracking loudly against the beige wall and in came the man in question, guiding Ryan in front of him. The room fluttered into light as Brendon clicked the light switch, drawing closed the heavy curtains and closing the door with his foot.

“Come on Ryan, sit down. Let’s get you in to bed.” Brendon suggested, leading Ryan to sit on the edge of the bed. Ryan followed Brendon’s gentle touches, staring off to the side at a painting hanging on the wall. It showed a bridge a night time, dark water, black as night flowing calmly underneath. The moon reflected in the water lit by streetlamps still and silent chasing the wind of the water and the brilliance of the moon.

Brendon removed the waistcoat from Ryan’s slim chest, stroking gently across the wrinkled material of his shirt. Kneeling in front of Ryan now, Brendon moved to his shoes and slowly began unlacing them, nuzzling the skin of Ryan’s throat.

“I see the stars and the moon,” Ryan whispered, the words vibrating against Brendon’s lips as he continued to kiss his throat, undressing him ready for bed, “they’re so beautiful. They burn in my mind, so fierce and scorching. They shine upon the ink blank canvas. They’re pretty in the night. They sparkle like broken glass, but so small, too insignificant for our eyes to comprehend. But not me, I see the raw power and beauty of the burning lights of inhuman souls, so lost, so far from home.” He wrestled against Brendon now, grabbing fretfully at Brendon’s face and arms, staring into his face with awed eyes. “Can we bring them back Brendon? Can we bring the sweet lights home?”

Clearly alarmed by the desperateness of Ryan’s voice, Brendon soothed at Ryan’s shoulders, trying to get him to lie down. “Of course we can Ryan,” he shushed, stroking lightly through his hair, “We’ll do anything you want but first you have to sleep. You remember what happens when you don’t sleep, don’t you?”

“No. The stars tell me I shouldn’t or they’ll do bad things.” Ryan whimpered, whispering into Brendon’s ear, frightened like a young child afraid of the monster under the bed. Brendon frowned to himself. He hated to use his ability as a mesmerist against Ryan but the condition of Ryan’s mind made it a necessary tool in protecting him. He reached forward with his mind. Prodding at Ryan’s consciousness, he projected the command. ‘You will lie down and relax and you will not fight me on this’

Looking trustfully up at Brendon through half lidded eyes, Ryan laid back against the mound of pillows turning his face into the material, sighing out through his nose. He hummed, reaching a hand out for Brendon – Who curled up behind him, moving his finger rhythmically down his flanks. The silence hung comfortably between them until Ryan turned over. Clutching at Brendon’s clothes once again, he glanced around worriedly, eyes flying around the room as if looking for something.

“They lied to me; they whispered in my ear, told me secrets,” he murmured into Brendon’s chest, burying in close. “They said dreadful things. They told me you’d abandon me in the darkness – All alone. So alone. Crying to the night.” He cried, feeling Brendon’s fingers rubbing at the spot behind Ryan’s ears.

“They did lie Ryan. I was so obsessed with you, I still am. I’m not going to abandon you.”

Ryan giggled then, low and long, running his fingers up Brendon’s leg like a spider. “I want to play with them. Make them hurt, make them scream, make them bleed. Pretty stars, terrible stars – They’re liars!” He shouted the last part, his voice echoing off the walls, half muffled by Brendon’s clothes. “Their blood will stain the sky red, dripping like rain on the sidewalk. And then the world will fall in flaming triumph to the sound of victorious drums. Hell on Earth. And then we will laugh at humanity as it burns. Brendon, my sweet Brendon – we shall watch, as kings. ”

“Kings you say?”

“Mmm,” He hummed, lying against Brendon, resting his head on his chest and curling his fingers into Brendon’s shirt. “The world will shudder at our pleasure.” He mumbled, closing his eyes and drifting into sleep.

Brendon laid there long after Ryan had drifted off, unable to sleep with the sun down, feeling the tick of the night drifting by.

fini

'Death been Hanging around this town' [Complete]

2008-08-25T22:07:18Z

Title: Death's hanging around this town [Complete]
Author: jumpmybones
Rating: R for violence and maybe sexual content
Pairing: Pete/Patrick, Brendon/Ryan and light Jon/Spencer
POV: 3rd Person
Summary: I'm not sure there's an ultimate summary..so here's a snipet
The outside sounds of the night world, a mixture of laughter and screams seemed to drown out under the sharp, shrill ringing that had begun creeping into Patrick’s ears.
Disclaimer: Not True. I am making no profit from this story...It is for my own enjoyment.
Warnings: Vampires, Angst, Violence, Blood etc ^_^
Author Notes: 16-Candles fic...It didn't turn out like I wanted - but I'm moderately happy with it. Be warned it came out a bit...stereotypical. Let me know what you think...
Dedication: This ones for everyone that enjoys reading this story.

Part one

Pain.

Undeniable and white hot.

“Patrick!”

Sweat and Blood – Plastered thick to his burning skin, seeping through his dirt caked clothes, still slick in places, dried stiff in others.

“It’s going to be alright Patrick.”

Cold arms are wrapped around him, holding him bridal style against a body. The chill of the firm arms holding him tightly, seem to sizzle and hiss against the heat pouring from him...burning.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay. Everything’s fine.”

The tap-tap of light feet beat out a rhythm on the ground, racing against the wind. It whips against his skin, rushing over him, stinging.

“Just a little bit further. Hold on.”

His whole body vibrates, helpless. The shaking and rattling of his bones as his body tries to run on empty. The arms clasp tighter...the footsteps rise to maddening, inhuman speed.

“I’m- We’re going to take care of you. You’ll be as good as new. Just don’t die.”

Silence.

The sound of doors almost flying off their hinges rings everywhere. The raging, stinging all consuming pain, rises to fever pitch – Then nothing, no pain, no feeling. And it happens again and again. Round and round like the Carousel at a fairground.

“Andy! Andy Help me, please. He won’t stop bleeding. Oh God, please.”

There are the sounds of other voices, of his slow breathing and the rushing of feet. There are other arms carrying him now, gentle and hurried to an empty table, colder still.

Blood slides down his skin again...wet, as his clothes are pulled, sticky from his body opening his wounds. Everything begins to fade out again. Voices, pain, all feeling starts echoing outwards, reverberating until he’s pretty sure there’s going to be nothing left, only the one voice that he thought he’d always be able to hear...always be near.

“Everything is going to work out. It will. It is.”

Darkness...Total emptiness.

Then all there is is the sensation of being dangled off the edge of a cliff, of hanging in mid air above a deep, never-ending chasm, above nothingness – Then of falling, fast and heavy as a stone into a lake. He feels expectation curling around in his body, filling all the spaces he’d never knew were empty. He waits...waits for the thwack of his body hitting the ground, the breaking bones, the blood pooling in his eye-sockets, dripping steadily from his nose and mouth. But there’s nothing but weightlessness and the sound of a voice – A familiar voice, vibrating around him, through every fibre of his being.

“Please don’t die Patrick. Please don’t leave me.”

‘Oh,’ Patrick thinks, ‘I’m not dead yet...I’m dying.’

‘If I choose to let go...’

“Please Stay.”

But now there’s Light.

Light starts to replace the darkness, pooling in strong, almost corporeal beams from the corners of what Patrick had begun to think was a nightmare. But it wasn’t a nightmare...It was a battle. The light and darkness seemed to grapple around him, pushing and pulling against each other in waves, curling and winding in spirals and jets, like vines. – Fighting for ground in his mind, to be his choice.

‘What do I do?’

‘Fall into the darkness once again to fight for my life? Or be consumed by bright light, warm within my soul?’

‘To die would be an awfully big adventure.’

“We need you Patrick. You can’t leave me.”

Darkness.

***

“Patrick’s a strong person Pete. He’ll be back with us in no time.”

“Hmmm,” Pete mumbles, resting his hand on Patrick’s, ignoring the demon’s bloodlust inside him, chewing against his senses, demanding its fill.

***

“I won’t let him die Joe.”

“But Andy, what are we going to do about the dandies...should we get out of town for Patrick’s sake?” Joe asks, from the bottom of Patrick’s bed.

Pete growls loudly from Patrick’s right side, before Andy can reply, “the dandies won’t get away with this...Beckett isn’t going to walk away from this. Not Urie, Ry-Ross of any of them and neither are we. Is that clear?”

All that followed was silence. No one dared to speak.

***

“He’s healing Pete. It shouldn’t be long before he wakes up. You should go fix the blend...It’s been two days without it and we don’t want you to end up draining Patrick dry. Not right after what’s happened.” Joe says from his position propped up against the doorway, caution in his eyes.

“I wouldn’t do that Joe...I couldn’t...not to Patrick.” Pete tells him, his voice low, gravelly.

“You don’t know that Pete...You just don’t know.”

Pete growls low in his throat like he always does when he’s irritated but doesn’t say anymore. Joe leaves him to think, returning to help Andy work on his sparring.

In the end, Pete heads into the kitchen, head down, ignoring the satisfied look Andy and Joe share.

***

“It’s been ages Andy...It’s been too long. Why isn’t he waking up?” Pete asks voice steady but no more than a whisper of words – too afraid of the gentle quiver he might hear.

“He will wake up Pete. He will, trust me.” Andy speaks softly, grasping Pete’s shoulder, steadily and firm.

“But what if he doesn’t?”

***

A kiss, placed wet on his fore-head.

A hand clutches his un-injured one, desperate.

“I love you...”

***

Pain. He feels pain again, a dull aching pain, throbbing through his body after so long searching in the darkness, trying to follow distant voices.

It’s warm. Wherever he is, it’s warm and he feels eternally grateful. There’s a hollow relief in the fact that he’s laying in a warm bed, quilt thick and fluffy, semi-comfortable underneath him. He still feels unclean and dirty in the room. It is terribly bright as his eyes flutter open...it’s his room. He was at base. How did he get here? He’s not quite sure what happened to him, can’t really remember anything past the dandies trying to kill him.

Ryan.

Ryan had bitten him, tried to kill him...Ryan was a vampire...Ryan was a dandy. Ryan had enjoyed his pain, gotten off on it, even...with Urie.

Patrick groans. He feels sick, feels betrayed all over again.

Like a crack of lightening, he remembers Jon breaking his fingers, feels the sickening crack of his bones and white hot pain all over again. But Pete had saved him? He felt sure Pete brought him here. But he’s alone in the room. He can hear the others talking from downstairs but can’t make out any specific words. He doesn’t want them knowing that he’s wake...not yet. He wants to get his head sorted out first.

Patrick’s body felt stiff as he tried to move. Pain shot through his neck as he stretched to see the alarm clock. Groaning again, Patrick started examining himself. His neck was bandaged from just under his chin to the tops of his shoulders. They already itched incessantly and he swore he felt blood beginning to seep through. He imagined blood soaking across the bandage, like a red rose blossoming in spring. His picky and ring finger were bandaged together with a wooden board acting as a type of splint. Gently pulling back a fold of his covers, Patrick saw that both knees were bandaged tightly up, Andy’s handiwork. He noted, with interest the amount of cuts and bruises littering his body. He traced the fingerprint marks Ryan left on his arms and chest, feeling revulsion bite him like a venomous snake.

It’s was exhausting to almost die, Patrick realised, as he lay back against his pillows. He wanted to let his eyes slip shut again and sleep the sleep of the dead but damn it if his bladder hadn’t woken up when he did.

Cringing as he slowly and carefully swivelled round in his bed, Patrick grabbed onto the side of his bedside cabinet, trying to keep his neck still. He definitely didn’t want, what felt to him, to be a set the sharp daggers, to dig and stab at his skin again. The guys were still in deep conversation so he felt it was safe. Taking a deep breath, Patrick sat up, hissing at the exertion. His feet now touched the cold hardwood floor, flexing them; the cold surface seemed to sooth him. But the deep ache wouldn’t vanish.

‘Taking a piss shouldn’t be this difficult’

Grabbing tightly to a table with both hands, Patrick pulled himself to his feet, arm muscles straining, his breath coming in hard spurts. He growled lightly to himself, as he swayed, feeling desperately light-headed and unsteady. Reaching for his head, Patrick took one arm away from the side-table without realising. An instant later, his mistake hit him as his legs gave out, sending him sprawling to the floor. The loud thwack reverberated around in his ears as his body hit, sending shockwaves of pain through his muscles and shocking up his synapses.

“Fuck!”

The voices stopped abruptly. Patrick could hear a single pair of footsteps, scrambling up the staircase, quick and agile, followed by two louder, and slower pairs. The door crashed open and an anxious faced Pete stood there framed in the light of the hall. Eyes quick to focus on Patrick he growled at him in warning. Stubborn as always, Patrick curled his legs up to his chest attempting to roll to his knees.

Pete hissed at Patrick this time, a sharp, high noise that sounded suspiciously like an angry territorial feline. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he snarled, moving toward Patrick, incensed at his lack of respect for his position as ‘leader’. Ignoring the approaching vampire, Patrick reached up to grasp the door handle, leading to the bathroom. He whimpered as the tender flesh of the wound in his neck stretched tight, throbbing intently.

Pete seemed so angry as he scooped Patrick from the floor, that he barely heard him moan, body painfully tense. He didn’t even take notice of Joe and Andy, as they appeared in the door, trying to push through. He could feel them, he was aware of everything that was going on, even down in the street but he couldn’t see past his sudden and ardent fury at Patrick.

He dropped Patrick not un-carelessly onto the bed, so his body bounced on the blankets. Tearing away to the other end of the room, Pete paced back and forth, erratic, fangs fully extended in a menacing gesture, unknown to him in his capricious state. He watched Andy give him a wide berth, walking over to the bed. While Joe stepped forward, face to face with him. But Pete stared past him, towards Patrick, as he tried to push himself up again so he could lock horns with Pete.

Patrick had dealt with all of his moods and he couldn’t let this drop. He nudged Andy away, wheezing lightly as he stared eye to eye with Pete hotly, despite his weakened state.

Pete’s insides blazed red hot with indignant rage ‘How dare he?’ He thought to himself, eyes darkening to a charred mahogany colour. “What the fuck did you think you were doing Stump?”

“Pete.” Andy exclaimed, voice quiet.

“So Patrick? Are you going to tell me what the hell you were thinking? Or were you just being a douche? Cause I can see that being a possibility,” Pete growled, voice mounting in pitch and bitterness.

“At least I’m not the one being a douchebag. You’re the one fucking fighting with me when I’m injured.”

“I’m being a douchebag?” Pete asked in disbelief, mouth curling into an almost snarl, “it’s not my fault you almost died Patrick...died. If I didn’t turn up when I did, you would be dead.”

Patrick fell silent, his eyes falling to the ground. Breath stolen from him, his shoulders slouched as he curled in on himself, making him small. He could see that Pete was angry, even a blind person could. But Patrick could see something else hovering in Pete’s eyes that he couldn’t quite make out. Or he didn’t want to know what it was, but either way, he felt shame prick at his stomach and he couldn’t look anymore.

“You would be dead! Dead!” Pete shouted, voice rising to a roar by his last word. The anger, which was at first, as searing as flame, seemed to unfurl in his gut, as something new crept through his muscles like ice, desperation. Watching the familiar line of his best friend’s back curl in the way he always did, if not a little bit hesitantly, Pete wasn’t able stop himself from darting forward.

Shoving Andy to the side and into Joe, Pete ignored how the spike of fear in Patrick’s breathe twisted his heart. He grasped Patrick’s upper arms tightly. Bending down to look into his face, Pete shook him, his eyes wide, and pupils dilated, desperate, “now you listen to me...that was fucking selfish Patrick. Don’t you ever do that again...Don’t you ever.”

Pete shook him again, a growl making its way into his voice, “don’t you ever!”

The trepidation in Patrick’s eyes shone so bright, and it was directed at him. Pete fell backwards with a whimper. Patrick’s fear scared Pete so much that he couldn’t look...couldn’t stand being the cause of it. Scuttling backwards across the floor on his ass, Pete backed into a darkened corner of the room. Curling into himself, he covered his face with his hands whining as if he was wounded.

“Pete?” Andy asks, hesitantly making his way to Pete’s balled up form, “Pete. Are you alright?” But Pete didn’t seem to be able to hear him, not over the noises he was making, the growl of unintelligible words and whining. “Pete!” Andy said, louder this time than before.

Patrick sat silent, bathed in the light of the moon. Absolutely still, he watched Pete grip his face in his hands. He could see Pete’s nails digging into the skin of his cheeks and forehead, so deep they cut. He watched the blood smear as Pete shifted to keep everything in the room visible. He watched Pete watch him, blood tears dribbling tracks down his face. The worst part about vampires crying is that you can’t hide it. It’s there for everyone to see. Unbecoming, as the dandies say.

Pete’s eyes shifted from Patrick through the gaps of his fingers to Joe quickly, then to watch Andy as he reached out with a steady hand to touch his shoulder. Flinching from the pressure on his shoulder, Pete growled at him to ‘stay away.’ Falling back slightly away from him, Andy held his hands out in a surrendering gesture, glancing sideways at Joe. Silently conversing with each other, they almost missed Pete’s instant dash towards the window, clothes and skin a complete blur. It was almost like magic, the speed and strength which vampires were able to move with, sometimes so fast that even trained human eyes were unable to follow. They knew there was a drainpipe bolted just to the left of the window which Pete could easily use to climb up to the roof, where they were unable to follow him without a lot of difficulty.

Patrick shifted forward on his bed, quietly calling Pete’s name this time. His sounded so sombre, so earnest, reaching forward with an uncertain hand, that Pete paused. He stood there, leg bent at the knee, foot resting on the window edge, staring through the half-open window, unable to look at Patrick. It was a blatant lie that vampires were cursed to never be able to see their own faces again, because he could. He could see himself reflected in the glass, blood smearing in gruesome trails across his face, features carefully blank. For however long he stood there waiting for something from Patrick, he watched himself, noting all the slight changes to his appearance. It was only for a second, a tiny insignificant moment, but Pete was positive that his reflection moved. It moved on its own, an insane grin staining its mouth, his mouth. – dripping red with blood that he himself could never steal from a person. And this Pete winked at him, slow and purposefully before falling away into his own face once again.

“Pete,” Patrick called again, voice more unsure, “Pete I’m sorry, talk to me.”

Pete flexed his thigh muscles, climbing up on the window ledge and perching there. He turned towards Patrick. “I’m sorry.”

***

‘Now that’s never happened before,’ Pete thought to himself, attempting to shake the experience from his mind. But he found he couldn’t quite let it go, knew somewhere that he never would. The cruel expression his face had taken. That evil mask that had so easily slipped down over his reflection frightened him so much more than anything had done in his life. He knew what it was, of course he did – Would have had to be extremely dim not to realise what he was seeing was a part of him...his demon. It clutched at his mind as a child would clutch at a teddy bear, refusing to let go, to be forgotten.

A chill which had nothing to do with the weather, worked its way down Pete’s spine. If he could still feel the cold, the biting wind whipping around him would sting at his skin. It blew at his hair, twirling around his head in messy waves, falling into his eyes as he sat there, still. The fading night hung around him, a blanket of clearing darkness, except for the still lights twinkling in the windows of distant buildings.

No matter how much Pete always tried to clear his mind, to let himself be in control, it was always there. The nagging feeling would always remain – The knowledge that he was dangerous. No matter how much control over himself that he gained, there would always be that part of him that scared his friends, which kept them for looking him in the eye every now and again. It wasn’t like he didn’t see the looks they gave him sometimes, because he did. He saw the fear in Patrick’s eyes earlier, couldn’t have imagined it. Despite how Patrick will swear down later that he wasn’t scared. It was there.

It’s in the powerful emotions that a restrained vampires undoing lies. Indulging in these emotions and allowing them to become a part of you, leaves a little opening for the demon seed to work in. He’d felt his hunger and rage rise up along his spine earlier as Patrick lay there dying. Pete swore to himself that he would never let that happen again, if he could help it. But generally making promises like that was useless.

He would send them away to protect them if he could. They worked and fought for their lives every night beside him hunting vampires, hunting the dandies. But if he sent them away he’d be alone. He knew he never wanted to be alone. Alone, with the whispering voice – his yearning voice full of temptation. There would be no one there to occupy his thoughts and he’d fall.

Pete thought about how easy it would be to remain sitting on the roof while the sun came up, while it peaked over the buildings casting everything it touches in a warm glow. It would be painful; feeling your body burning away, your bones set ablaze and reduced to ashes, but he would be free. The constant battle with his demonic instincts would be over. No more hungering for his friend’s blood. No more nightmares about sinking his teeth into the pale column of Patrick’s neck.

But that would mean no more Patrick. If his heart was still beating, he knew it would be beating a little faster at the thought. Try as he might to work up the will to cast aside his pathetic undead excuse of a life, he could never force himself to leave Patrick behind. Not even for Patrick’s own good. He couldn’t. Pete was selfish. He was, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He wanted Patrick with him for as long as Patrick would have him.

“Pete! Get your ass down here! The sun will be up soon, as you well know,” Patrick shouted from the window Pete had used to escape. He didn’t sound any different, he sounded like pure Patrick, sharp wit and a quick kick up the butt. That was their get out clause, things would be forgotten. Pete was forgiven and things could go back to normal. But for the life of him he couldn’t let it lie like that.

Grinning to himself, Pete shouted back, “hey ass! What if I want to see the sun again?” He waited, straining his ears to hear Patrick breathing over the screech of the wind.

“Then I’m coming up there to drag you kicking and screaming back inside. I love you but I will kick your ass. I don’t care if you are a vampire! I get best friend privileges.”

“Alright, alright, you convinced me.” Getting to his feet, Pete quietly climbed back down the building, coming face to face with Patrick at the open window. Patrick was leaning lightly out the window watching Pete with his kind thoughtful eyes. The bandages were still tightly wrapped round his neck, reminding Pete oddly of the mummy in the old style horror films he used to watch during his childhood – back when he was so desperate to be the brave ‘warrior’.

Pete moved forward to climb through the window but Patrick stood defiantly still, watching from his position at the window. Their faces were mere inches from each other. So close the Pete could see the flecks of his eyes, he could see the beginnings of a smile on his lips. He couldn’t stop his own smile or the next words to pass his lips, “hey Patrick...”

“Yeah?” He breathed so softly that Pete barely felt the air against his skin.

Leaning forward, Pete brushed his lips against Patricks, breathing in his contented sigh. Pete knew from the moment that his chapped lips touched Patrick’s soft, warm ones that there was no chance in hell he would give this up. Breaking away from the intimate kiss, barely a brush of lips, but meaning so much more. Pete smiled moving to whisper in Patrick’s ear, he joked, “If my heart was still beating, it’d totally be beating for you...”

Patrick laughed; throwing his head back happily as he finally took a step to the side to let Pete climb through the window. As soon as Pete landed on his feet, grinning manically, hip cocked in that sure, almost arrogant tilt of his, Patrick made his move. He wacked him lightly round he head, swearing after Pete as he sprinted downstairs to the basement, “ass!”

fini

A/N: I might try to write a short peice for the dandies reaction to part one, maybe. I'm not to sure when it'd get done if I do.

Guess What!!

2008-07-17T21:11:57Z

OK...As of right now...I'm planning to write a epic Panic at the Disco and Doctor Who crossover fic with a friend of mine!
I'm so excited about it! I loved reading Keeping Time by akire_yta And I just couldn't stop thinking about writing one of my own! I can't wait! It's in the planning stage right now...because we're going to create a whole series worth of episodes/parts from scratch (with interludes) and there's alot to work out!! So my brain is working on overload on ideas.
So so so so Excited about it!
^____^

Where you Belong [s/a]

2008-07-12T01:55:04Z

Title: Where you Belong [s/a]
Author: </a></b></a>jumpmybones
Rating: PG
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
POV: Brendon
Summary: I loved you with everything I had. I know you loved me...Life can be so cruel.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Author Notes: A quick little ficlet I wrote a long time ago. It's quite soppy, so be warned ^_^

~~~~~

I love it when your smile shines through the cloudy days, brightening my life and blessing it with your own. It means so much to me when we’re alone together and you just hold me in your arms, singing a lullaby. My dreams are filled with you. The warmth of your body keeps me alive at night. You keep me living and breathing without even trying. If I didn’t have you, I wouldn’t be sane.

You can make every part of me ache by just being who you are. You’re perfect to me. Everything about you is amazing, from how you thread your fingers through my hair, to how you say you love me. You shine, brightest in a room made of diamonds. I radiate towards you, no matter where you are. Your soul screams for love and I want to give it to you so much. I need to love you over and over again until you push me away.

The sound of your voice sends shivers down my spine as you whisper sweet nothings in my ear. Your breath on my neck shapes a caricature of pure love in our minds and hearts. I can’t remember a time where I’ve never adored you with every fibre of my being. I can’t imagine a tiny figment of my life that you haven’t transformed with your skilled hands.

I was nothing until I met you. I was just a geeky pre-teen blow-out with no dream to speak of. I had no one to worship in the cold and starless nights, until our lives melded together. Now all I see is your star, the one I picked out for you, that night on the hill. The night you said you’d never leave. The night we became whole for the first time. The night that I realised life was worthless without you.

I was alone, and then you came. I had no one and then I had you. You were the best gift that God ever gave me and I thank him every night for you. When I was lost, you were there to guide me home. A home I embraced with all my soul, you are my home. I couldn’t feel anything worth feeling, until you held my hand in yours. When I was hopeless, you stayed with me. You held me for hours and hours, until night turned into day and I had hope again.

If I could crawl into your body, I would. I ache to be closer to you than anyone. You are so much better than I am. Your worth is greater than mine. Yet you value my life above your own. What did I do to deserve you’re heart? I didn’t. But you gave it to me anyway.

I couldn’t always see. I hurt you. That is something I wished to never do. I couldn’t stand to see, so I made myself not. I blocked out what he did. I hid from your screams. You called out for me and I couldn’t save you. I was never strong enough. I couldn’t even save you…how can I save myself? – I can feel my heart and soul cracking into tiny pieces, splitting apart beyond repair. Only you can fix me. Only you.

You promised you would always be there to build me up again when I fall apart. I promised to always love you to the end. We made vows to be together forever, not to be torn apart by anything. So why am I frayed at the edges, where your body should be? I’m coming unglued. I’m breaking!

There’s always a beginning to every end, a new page to turn - Blank and ready to scribble your dreams on. Your page turned too early too fast. I hope you’re alright. I want you to be happy. Wherever you are I will find you and bring you home with me. I will go wherever you go without a second thought. If I don’t have you, I have nothing left to live for.

You’re always with me even when you’re not. No matter what anyone say’s. I can still feel you here, lying beside me, wrapping your arms around my body, keeping out the cold. Hold me close in your arms so I don’t have to cry. You’re still here, even though I can’t see. I’m blind without you, please stay. I know you’re here. I know it. I know with everything I have inside me, that you will stay, because you promised and you don’t break promises.

Being so close and not being able to hold you kills me. If you’re there why can’t I touch you? I need to hold you, like you’re holding me. Is this my punishment? – Having you gone but still here…haunting me. Holding what I could have in front of my eyes, if only I could be brave. I will be. I’ll be brave for you. I won’t fear the end because I know you’ll be there, waiting for me. I won’t abandon you, Ryan…Not again.

No one can love you like I do, and no one ever will.

Is this what you felt? – Your body growing cold…shutting down…life slipping away from you? Blood slowing in your veins? Eyes becoming weary and this pain – Oh God! The pain flowing through your muscles, agonising every inch of you until death takes a grip…

If I close my eyes I can see you there – Smiling your gorgeous smile, reaching out for my hand. Your eyes warm my cold soul as you take me into your arms.

“This is where you belong, Brendon. You’re home…with me.”

jumpmybones @ 2008-07-12T02:08:00

2008-07-12T01:24:49Z

Title: Hidden Behind Plastic [1/1]
Author: jumpmybones
Rating: PG
Pairing: Brendon/Spencer and mention of Gabe/William
POV: 3rd Person
Summary: “Aww, Spencer has an itty bitty crush on the blind boy?”
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Author Notes: A quick little ficlet I wrote over the weekend...dedicated to bemusedconfused

“Spencer!”

A familiar pair of voices chorused at him from down the other end of the crowded corridor, “Spencer Smith! Hold up Spencer! We wanna talk to you.” He turns, silently ducking the outstretched arm of Pete Wentz to watch the approaching boys twist and turn, dodging the busy teenagers as they scramble to get out of the school.

Against his best wishes, Spencer can’t stop the small grin from settling on his lips. William and Gabe stop before him, Beckett still somehow hanging from Gabe’s arm, head resting in the crook of his neck.

“Where you heading to so fast Spencer?”

“It’s none of your business Saporta. I just wanna get ho-“ Spencer breaks off, staring at someone from behind William and Gabe, mouth open slightly, obviously in awe. Brendon had walked out of an open door at the end of the corridor, stick in hand as the last few people trickled through the main school doors.

Glancing over his shoulder, Gabe chuckles loudly, grabbing Spencer’s arm with his free hand that isn’t wrapped round William’s waist. “You’re so obvious Spencer...But at least he can’t see you perving on him.”

“Aww, Spencer has an itty bitty crush on the blind boy?” William’s laughter trickles out at Spencer’s cold gaze. “No I don’t and I am not perving on him! For fuck’s sake Gabe, don’t be such a smart ass," he hisses, not for the first time in his short life cursing the affection he holds for his friends. He ignores Gabe’s sarcastic rebuke, not even looking at them as he watches Brendon slowly walk his rehearsed route down the corridor, slowly tapping out a beat with his stick, dark glasses perched on his nose.

“Look at him Gabey...He’s not even listening to us,” William says nudging Spencer lightly in his side, cutting through his Brendon haze.

“I am. I heard that. Listen. I should go you guys. Yeah I- I need to go,” Spencer splutters. Blurry eyed and alert Spencer quickly looked for the exit, as Brendon drew closer, cocking his head lightly to the side looking intent at the sound of their voices.

Spencer spins around, heading for the front doors faster than before. He’d taken no more than a few quick strides before, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Gabe’s leg sticking out. But it was too late; Spencer tripped forward, sending him tumbling into poor Brendon, knocking the both of them over onto the floor.

The air forced out of his lungs, he gasped, suddenly aware of a weight on top of him. Spencer opened his eyes, sucking air in as he realised he’d crashed into Brendon, knocking his sunglasses off his face. He couldn’t help it...He stared at him. Brendon’s mahogany eyes sparkled with shock and fear, unfocused but beautiful.

“I-I-I- Oh my God I’m so sorry,” Spencer gasped, “I tripped over...” He glanced to the side in time to see Gabe and William exit the double-doors. “I’m just so sorry.”

Brendon’s eye’s snapped shut, crawling off Spencer, he fumbled around with frantic hands. “My glasses? Can you...?” He stops, feeling Spencer slip his glasses onto his face, “oh, thank you, erm...Spencer, is it? I couldn’t help hearing you talk to your friends.”

“Erm, yeah...I’m Spencer. I’m so sorry about knocking you over,” Spencer says helping Brendon to his feet on shaky legs, “I feel terrible.”

Brendon shakes his head, smiling widely in the direction of Spencer’s voice, “It’s alright. I’m fine, you’re fine, so it doesn’t matter. Oh by the way, my name’s Bre–“

“Brendon Urie,” Spencer finishes, grinning at Brendon’s confusion, head cocked slightly to the side, brow furrowed, “I was at your piano recital with my friend Ryan. He really loves to watch you play. You’re amazing.” Spencer tells him, lightly biting his lip. Well he didn’t lie, did he? He just didn’t mention that it was him that dragged Ryan to watch Brendon play. Not the other way around.

Brendon makes a pleased sound in his throat, rocking back and forwards on his feet, twirling his stick like a baton. “Well thank you Spencer,” Brendon smiles, reaching a hand out to touch Spencer’s shoulder. Bouncing forward a few steps, Brendon tugs Spencer into a quick hug, his breath hot against the skin stretched tight on Spencer’s collar bone. Spencer sighs as Brendon steps back, bouncing on the balls of his feet once again.

“It was really nice to meet you Spencer, but I should probably get going, my mum gets worried if I’m late home, with you know...” Brendon trails off, tapping his glasses by way of explanation.

“Right...yeah. No I understand. If you want, I could-, no never mind. It doesn’t matter,” Spencer says, touching Brendon’s shoulder lightly, “I’ll just go.”

“Wait,” Brendon blurts out, grabbing Spencer’s wrist as he drew away, “What were you going to say?” He smiles lightly, looking so open and trusting that Spencer can’t stop himself tucking a stray hair behind Brendon’s ear, even as his eyes go wide behind his sunglasses. Spencer asks himself why Brendon needs to hide his blind eyes behind tinted plastic.

“I was going to say that I-, I could give you a lift home if you want. I’ll totally understand if you don’t. I just thought that it’d be quicker than you walking now I’ve made you later than normal and your mum wouldn’t have to worry if I drove you home on time. Plus it looks like it’s about to rain. But never mind...It doesn’t matter. I’m probably acting like a complete idiot right now. I don’t even know why you’d...“ Spencer rambles, twisting his hands awkwardly until Brendon smiles, reaching forward with shaking hands, searching. He brushes his fingers down the sides of Spencer’s face, thumb tracing his bottom lip.

“What are you doing?” Spencer whispers, breath warming Brendon’s cold thumb. He leans back slightly, but Brendon follows him, moving forward slowly, cautious. Grasping Spencer’s face with both hands lightly, Brendon leans forward and whispers, “kissing you,” before closing the distance between their lips.

Well...I must do something...

2008-05-17T21:42:19Z

SPENCER!!! SEE THE SPENCER!!

(clicky clicky to enlarge)

I'm afraid the Spencer has to end...I own far to little photo's of Spencer *sighs*

Last Train Home [1/1]

2008-05-13T00:03:50Z

Title: Last Train Home [1/1]
Author: jumpmybones
Rating: PG-13
POV: 3rd
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
Summary: Ryan and Brendon are coming back from war...
Disclaimer: Not True. No way.
Author Note: It's a quick war ficlet. Title from The Lost Prophets. Enjoy.

'Hear the words I sing, Wars a horrid thing, so I sing sing sing, ding a-ling a-ling'
-Baldrick (Blackadder)

The wind whips in through the open window as the train speeds along the tracks. Ryan doesn’t notice as the icy wind hits his face, cheeks reddening, rosy against alabaster skin. He doesn’t care as his hair blazes around his head like a Catherine wheel, chocolate brown in the dim light. He doesn’t care because he’s finally going home.

Home, he reminisces silently. Another place....another world entirely. So different from the hell he’d spent the last 2 years fighting in, risked his life in.

As colours rush past the window in a blur of green, orange and red, a silent figure sits down beside him. Ryan smiles from the corner of his mouth, tucking his legs in towards his chest, arms clinging to his skinny knees through his uniform. He’s still insecure, still twitchy; he knows the crashing of the shells is to blame – The flying dirt and metal, and the rain...the blood. A hand wraps around his arm, journeying slowly down across the skin of his arm to clasp his hand, fingers entwining, tenderly.

“Aren’t you going to look at me Ryan Ross?”

Ryan hums gently in reply, cocking his head to lean back against a warm chest, still staring at the sky. The sun slowly began to peak out from behind the clouds, bright in its shiny glory. The clouds seemed like whispers of song, gliding serenely across the cerulean sky. All was golden, blissfully quiet, at peace with each other. War was, after all, over. Even the skies were celebrating; hanging banners of victory fluttering in the boundless expanse of colour and American hope.

“It’s finished Brendon. It really is over,” Ryan whispers, not daring to speak too loud for fear that this would disappear before him, only to be a dream.

Brendon clasped Ryan’s hand tightly in his, leaning forward to place a light kiss to the crown of his head, “Yes, it’s done. But at least this war did some good.”

Ryan chuckled grimly, “yeah? What good?” he asked, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling, voice tired and heavily sarcastic. He curled around in the circle of Brendon’s arm, tucking his head in the crook of Brendon’s neck, breathing heavily.

Brendon leaned forward. He breathed in the scent of Ryan’s hair, lightly stroking patterns on his back...patterns that took the shape of hearts. When he spoke, his words were breathy in Ryan’s ear, quiet as if sharing a secret, “It brought me to you.”

Ryan sighed to himself, happiness sparking unabashed in his heart for the first time in months. They’d never said the words. It was always left in the air, unsaid. But Ryan knew in his gut that if he didn’t say it now he never would. Feeling his stomach flutter uselessly, Ryan pulled back to stare into Brendon’s mahogany eyes. “I love you,” he spoke intensely, voice wavering with the truth of every word, so heart-felt his eyes began to tear.

Brendon cupped Ryan’s face between his hands, thanking the lord that they were alone in the train compartment. Wiping away the lone tear that tracked its way down Ryan’s cheek, he leaned forward pressing a sweet, open mouth kiss against Ryan’s lips, “I love you too Ryan.”

“What happens now?” asks Ryan hopefully, resting his fore-head against Brendon’s their noses brushing affectionately, lips inches apart.

“Now? Now we go home,” Brendon says plainly to Ryan’s confused face, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

“How can anywhere be home? I don’t know where home is anymore. We can’t go back, not when we’ve just found each other.”

“It’ll be home because you’re with me.”

End.
so? Comments? please... ^_^

And want of thought is death [1/1]

2008-05-07T17:03:56Z

Title: And want of thought is death [1/1]
Author: jumpmybones
Rating: Pg-13
Pairing: Brendon/Spencer
POV: 1st person
Summary: Things will never be the same again.
Disclaimer: Not true. I am making no profit from this. It is for my own enjoyment.
Author Notes: This is a quick ficlet that sprang from my head. 10 minute job...sorry - It might not be any good. I hope you understand. Death fic... Title from a poem by William Blake. Photo belongs to *xElenielx on deviant art.com. Enjoy.

~~~~~~

The air seems stiller now...more quiet...empty. The laughter has gone, stolen away with the chill of winter...its frost freezing the ground like hardened steel, like our hearts. The light left us and went with you. Things will never be the same. The band...It’s over. We can’t do it without you. We can never go back and I can’t move on.

How can we when you aren’t there to hold us? You were our family and we were yours and I’m so sorry. It’s my fault. I never wanted you to see me like that. I never meant to hurt you.

‘Spencer please...wake up. I love you.’

It all keeps twisting through my mind. The things I wish I’d told you will haunt me. I should have tried harder to make you stay. I should have tried harder to make you believe how much I loved you. I didn’t and now it’s done. It’s over.

I miss you so much.

Goodbye.

The cult of Spencer's Beard

2008-05-06T21:08:26Z

The Cult of Spencer's Beard Meme

It's totally open to what you wanna do...fanart, fics, comments, photos. I just had this major brain spazzum in which Spencer's beard is the centre of awesome with it's own sexual potency and horde of servant ~~girls~~ guys... It totally stemmed from a joke about marriage to Spencer's beard and a fight to the death between Brendon and Pete over the love of the beard ^_^

A friend of mine defined the cult of Spencer's beard as: Love and worship of Spencer's beard, control by the waves of animal magnetism emanating for it. Sufferers...sorry followers are willing to do anything for the service of Spencer’s beard, and they find it abnormally sexy... (Yes...we have much time on our hands...)

Go forth and dedicate yourself to the way of 'The Beard' ^_^

jumpmybones @ 2008-04-19T00:45:00

2008-04-19T00:47:20Z

Well, well, well...It is the weekend.

I have very little homework (all is right with the world) despite the fact that I should revise...I really should. It's important and I know it is - It's my future.
But right now I'm waiting for a book of mine in the mail...'Letters of a lost Generation'. It seems really interesting to me and I suppose I get to class reading it as revision. It being the Letters between Vera Brittain, her fiance, brother and friend during the great war and my synoptic English Literature exam being on the typicality of literature written during and about that War. Score! Or it will be when I get it.

Does anyone find that they really like reading War Literature...I did! especially the good poetry. I love Wilfred Owen - especially Dulce et Decorum est and Strange Meeting. < The book of the same name by Susan Hill is amazing...showing such all-encompassing friendship in a time of fear, shells, blood and dirt. In fact that's one of the books I based my coursework on...Strange Meeting and Regeneration and the way's the writers portrayed Relationships between Men in the Great War. I got an A for that! Yay! After slaving away for absolutely ages and sweating blood. Re-writes and re-writes. I bloody well deserved that. Although I wish some of my friends were able to further improve theirs. I felt like a total dick with that A...an utter bastard.
But, yes I have an overactive guilt/inferiority complex and it kicks my ass.

On a brighter note...all my scars have faded except for two or three on the back of my hand...

I'm going to finally start the final installation of my Confessions story, well I guess later on today or tomorrow and maybe the 16-candles fic...Oooo I don't bloody know. Too much. A breakdown is imminent :)

But today was a good day at least! I got to take a nice long nature walk with a few of my friends and a little adventure thrown in for the fun of it. I have pictures! Granted not very good ones, but what can ya do?

Sepia kicks ass!

There's my jacky friend (sometimes I really think she's a bird)

I think most of us were scared of falling in the water or getting caked in mud (it's happened to me :))

I don't know how many days I used to spend lazing around in summer. ^_^

Sepia again! Have you noticed I have a fetish?

Oops - angry red person!

Why yes...I am the man (girl) behind the camera...
Well I can safely say no one fell in any water. ^_^ Overall, a very productive school day. ;)

It's such a shame to think that no one will probably ever read this. I've never been much of an exhibitor. but it's nice to get it out.
All my love,
LauraPanda
<3

p.s. Remember love is found in the most unlikely places...look inside yourself and those closest to you and you'll find a love strong enough to best even death itself...You'll be remembered...
Trust me.

Spencer Smith and the Case of Brendon "The potted plant" Urie [standalone]

2008-04-06T08:01:30Z

Title: Spencer Smith and the Case of Brendon "The potted plant" Urie [standalone]
Author: jumpmybones
Rating: R?
Pairing: Spencer/Brendon
POV: 3rd
Summary: Spencer declares himself cursed on Saturday morning at 7:30am, two days after coming off tour. Spencer knows he’s cursed alright, because he wakes up to find Brendon sitting on his breakfast bar, wearing what appears to be mickey mouse boxers and bright paint smeared across his bare chest in swirling designs.
Disclaimer: Not True. I am making no profit from this story...It is for my own enjoyment.
Author Notes: This is a quick story I just finished. I apologise for it's crapness. ^_^ But I hope you enjoy it anyway.
Dedication: This ones for everyone that reads this story.

~~~

Spencer declares himself cursed on Saturday morning at 7:30am, two days after coming off tour. He knows it’s been an awesome two days so far, hanging out with his family, laying in bed away from Ryan’s constant need to recite the pro’s of bohemia n life. But oh yes Spencer knows he’s cursed alright, because he wakes up to find Brendon sitting on his breakfast bar, wearing what appears to be mickey mouse boxers and bright paint smeared across his bare chest in swirling designs. And oh yes, he’s eating Spencer’s waffles with Spencer’s special syrup. Spencer isn’t amused.

Now it’s not that he doesn’t like Brendon, he loves the boy but not this early in the morning and in his kitchen. Spencer kinda, sorta, really regrets giving Brendon a key to his house. “This is a major violation of the misuse of the key statute laid down by Ryan, Lord of band judgement himself. Brendon Urie, how do you plead?” Spencer asks, cocking his hips toward Brendon.

“Guilty,” Brendon says sliding down from the counter, “but now that you’re up you can help me. Spencer, I’m trying to recreate my image.”

“Huh-uh,” Spencer breathes, not really all that interested in what Brendon’s saying. He can’t help but look at the dried swirling paint, cracking from the heat of Brendon’s skin. He hopes that there’s no paint on his furniture. He’d spent 5 days shopping for it with Ryan, at Ryan’s command before finally picking something out that Ryan deemed Good Enough. Spencer remembered not speaking to him for 2 whole days and cohering Brendon into kidnapping hobo for a few hours.

“Is that non-toxic paint?” Spencer asks, moving to the sink where Brendon has apparently made him a shit load of washing up.

“Oh yeah, it’s non toxic,” Brendon says, picking at a flaky piece of red paint on his arm, completely ignoring Spencer’s frustrated Damn. “Ryan did it for me last night before he said I should go pester you for help.” Brendon continues beaming at Spencer, hopping over to him at the sink. “I wanna be a Superhero!” He shouts, punching Spencer’s shoulder lightly in jest. Spencer makes a note to have a talk with Ryan about sending hyper lead singers to his house for ‘Superhero training’

Spencer silently presses a sponge into Brendon’s hand and walks out of the room, ignoring Brendon’s look of confusion.

Spencer spends the morning in his practise room, drumming the whole ‘Take this to your grave’ album, twice with a little Hawthorne Heights thrown in. He’d always been a great admirer of Andy Hurley. He wonders how he puts up with his Pete and Joe’s antics. Although Spencer admits it must help having a Patrick to share the burden with. In his opinion, everybody should have a Patrick but Pete’s stubborn and won’t share Patrick’s DNA for cloning.

Spencer believes himself to be in constant a struggle with the rest of his band. Between keeping Jon from encouraging Brendon to do things, like trying impossible and not to mention made-up skateboarding moves and making sure Ryan remembers to eat when he’s concentrating to heavily on something, Spencer’s sure he might be going insane. For 5 minutes, he managed to convince himself that the Brendon from this morning, who is trying to create a Superhero alter ego, was some sort of weird hallucination his brain had come up with.

This is before he remembers that this is Brendon he’s thinking about and dismisses his prior theory. Spencer supposes that after his drumming session he should get a shower and then call Brendon to apologise for being a bitch, even if his idea was completely stupid.

Later on in the day as Spencer’s coming out of his brief drum hibernation, he’s intent on eating his way through a tub of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey ice-cream. But instead he finds Brendon wearing an apron that he’s never seen before. It’s says ‘stop looking at my tits’ on it but that’s beside the point considering what he’s seeing. Brendon is cleaning? He’s Cleaning Spencer’s already immaculate kitchen but Spencer supposes it’s the thought that counts.

“Erm...I thought you were going home.” Spencer says, not really questioning, just stating. Brendon just hums gently to himself, low in his throat. Spencer’s not sure if he should feel his cheeks heat up at the sound but doesn’t pay it much attention when Brendon gets up, hugging Spencer tightly around his middle, hands wetting Spencer’s shirt further.

Spencer doesn’t hug back though, although he does make a non-committal sound. He’s still annoyed about Brendon eating his waffles. It’s not like Brendon hasn’t spent most of the time on tour being taught the importance of Spencer’s waffles. Ryan even once told Brendon when he first joined the band, that it was one of the missing commandments, ‘Thou shalt not eat Spencer’s waffles’ but that it didn’t make it into the final draft of the bible.

But Brendon didn’t believe Ryan. That was until Spencer had smacked him round the head and didn’t speak to him for a week when Brendon tried to test Spencer’s love and possessiveness of his waffles.

“Don’t be mad at me Spence...the waffles were calling to me. Besides I went and brought you some more so you can’t be angry anymore.” Brendon says.

Spencer stubbornly decides to stay silent as Brendon breathes into the crook of his neck. But Spencer does hug Brendon back because he doesn’t want to be a bitch towards Brendon 2 times in one day. He refuses point-blank to think about why he suddenly cares about being a bitch towards Brendon. It’s never bothered him before.

“Thank you.” Brendon mutters, hugging Spencer tighter.

Spencer’s going to try and help Brendon with his Superhero character and maybe a costume idea. After two days of Brendon pouting at him and his constant hugs, they’ve come to an unspoken agreement so subtle that Spencer’s not quite sure how it came about. Brendon’s nothing but unsubtle. But as they’re watching late night TV, Brendon turns to Spencer and tells him that he’s thinking his superpower should be the manipulation of Shadows.

“I could be Brendon “The Shadow” Urie! Just think about it Spence...how cool would that be?” He says, shifting around on the couch and laying his legs across Spencer’s lap. Spencer hums, thinking to himself.

“If you were a superhero you wouldn’t include your real name in your superhero name Bren” Spencer says, rubbing Brendon’s calves in small circular motions with his palms. Brendon had been digging his heels into Spencer’s thighs for the last 5 minutes so the logical solution Spencer had was make Brendon relax. It had nothing to do with the heat of Brendon’s legs against his own he tells himself. Spencer was almost certain of this.

“Oh yeah, I didn’t think of it like that.” Brendon says struggling with Spencer for control of the remote. Spencer knows he would have won if Brendon hadn’t bit at his shoulder. Changing the channel to a wildlife documentary, Brendon settles back down, propping himself half against the couch and half against Spencer. They sit in a comfortable silence, watching the socialisation of monkeys before either of them says anything else.

“Besides you’d be more like Brendon “The potted plant” Urie if anything.” Spencer tells him.

He counts it as a blessing that Brendon only blinks up at him before sinking more than snuggling further into the couch cushions.

Now Spencer’s a patient man at the best of times, but never has he found, in the face of Brendon Urie. Brendon hasn’t left Spencer’s house for the past week. Not even to go round to his place to change his clothes. He keeps wearing Spencer’s and he hasn’t mentioned his superhero idea at all.

“They smell like you.” He says when Spencer asked him.

Spencer doesn’t ask him again. Brendon’s silent as well. Saying nothing is comfortable for both of them and Brendon only flops down next to Spencer, snuggling up against him, wriggling his head underneath Spencer’s arm. Leaving almost everything including explanations and reasoning unsaid –Brendon leans into Spencer, breathing a soft LoveyouSpin in his neck.

As the film they were watching ended and the titles began to roll, casting the room in dark light, Brendon touched Spencer’s hand. He squeezed Spencer’s fingers lightly in his as Spencer got up, walking upstairs and into his bedroom.

The next day when Spencer wakes up and comes down the stairs, Brendon isn’t sitting in the kitchen eating the waffles Spencer begrudgingly lets him eat. He isn’t watching cartoons in the living room, being devoured by Spencer’s earthy brown couch. Spencer can’t find him in the rec room or the practise room/studio. He checks the upstairs rooms and the shower.

It takes 3 minutes for him to realise Brendon’s not anywhere in the house –Spencer can’t find the reason for the uneasiness pooling in the bottom of his stomach. He doesn’t know how to explain the feeling of emptiness that has crept up along his side where Brendon normally plasters himself.

So Spencer rings Ryan.

The phone rings 7 times. Spencer knows this because he counted them. Just as the phones about to ring for the eighth time Ryan answers.

“Ross here.”

Spencer releases the breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding. “Ryan. It’s Spencer.”

“Yes I know. I do have your number Spence. This is the first time you’ve rang me in a week. The fuck dude?”

“Been busy,” Spencer says as a way of explanation, “now, don’t get mad Ryan and don’t set Hobo on me. I think I lost Brendon. Now I’m pretty sure that my couch couldn’t have eaten him but that’s not for certain.”

Ryan, jerk that he is, brayed out a laugh loudly into Spencer’s ear. “Brendon’s here with me and Hobo couldn’t hurt you too badly...”

Spencer huffs into the phone. He seriously wished he’d reconsidered ringing Ryan before he dialled the number or that he had the guts to hang up on him without worrying that Ryan would deal out some sort of retribution (which would probably involve Pete and a bunch of late night embarrassing calls). “I notice you don’t discount the possibility of my couch eating someone. But seriously, Brendon’s there? Why’d he leave? Is he alright? I don’t-, you know what? Never mind. I’ll call you.”

Not waiting for a response that he knew would be sarcastic (because seriously, that’s the way they do things); Spencer hangs up, chucking the phone into one of the chairs. He ignores it as his body clenches sadly when no one rings him back.

Spencer systematically doesn’t think about Brendon while he’s in the shower. He doesn’t think about water sliding down Brendon’s skin or Brendon’s warm breath against his neck. And he definitely doesn’t think about Brendon’s body rubbing slick against his own. If you suggested to him that he came gasping Brendon’s name, Spencer would kick you in the leg and call you crazy.

He ignores all his calls for the next 4 days only going out for food once or twice. Ryan ends up outside Spencer’s door, just Ryan. There wasn’t any Brendon with him. Spencer pretends not to pay attention to Ryan as he curses him out for changing his locks, Don’t be such a bitch. Ryan even threatens to tell Pete and get him and Patrick to get on a plane and turf Spencer up and out of his house.

After Ryan left, but not before shouting at Spencer through his door for 20 minutes and threatening to smash one of his windows to get in, Spencer calls Jon in Chicago.

They talk for hours about everything and anything. Jon avoids any mention of Brendon and for that Spencer is thankful. Jon suggests getting a new pet since Haley and he broke up and she’d taken the dog.

“You need someone in your life that will always love you and wag its tail happily when it sees you.” Spencer got the feeling that Jon wasn’t just talking about a new pet.

The fifth day, Spencer gets up and heads to the pet store. After almost the whole day when the sun is just starting to hide behind the horizon, he returns home with a Border terrier puppy he’d named Muffin and a bunch of dog stuff. He’d gone all out, buying a dog bed and carry basket, a grooming kit, two leashes, feeding bowls, dried and fresh dog food, a shit load of dog toys, weekly dog training lessons, a bright multicoloured collar and a doggie hammock he couldn’t resist buying. He can’t help but be stupidly proud of his purchases. He’d remembered when Ryan had got Hobo. Ryan hadn’t brought anything practical, just toys. Brendon had ended up buying Hobo her collar and he and Jon had brought the rest as a welcoming present. But he didn’t want to think about Brendon right now. Not when it had started hurting to think about him.

Pushing open the door to his home, Spencer sets Muffin down onto the floor. “Here it is Muffin, your new home.” She barks happily bounding off into the room, sniffing excitedly at everything in the room before moving onto the next. Spencer laughs to himself as Muffin comes back in, rushing up to sniff at his legs, jumping up on her hind legs and pawing at his knees.

“You hungry girl? Or do you want to finish your exploration?” Spencer asks, scratching lightly behind her folded ears. He watches Muffin as she cocks her head to the side, almost like she understood him. With what Spencer calls a doggie snuffle (a sneeze really, but he’s always preferred snuffle), Muffin darts across the room and up onto the couch, twirling round and round in a small circle before flopping down against the cushions.

“Just don’t let the couch eat you, okay Muffin?” Spencer says. Grabbing his bags, he sets about putting all the dog stuff away. He sets the dog bed to the side of the couch, draping it with numerous dog blankets. Muffin had raised her head to watch Spencer as he did this, giving him a look that clearly said Are you crazy? I’m not sleeping there. She huffs at him before laying her head back down.

“I can see we’re going to have trouble about this,” Spencer says, “Oh well. We’ll work on that later.” He moves into the Kitchen, busying himself with putting out Muffin’s dog bowls and hanging up her leashes.

Deciding to forgo eating anything for himself, Spencer strolled back into the living room, snuggling up with Muffin on the couch and falling asleep.

Spencer finds himself being jerked awake by the phone ringing and Muffin tugging on his pant leg. On his scale this only ranks at about slightly annoying. He’d been having a good dream in which he and Brendon had fucked in maple syrup. “Alright Muff. I’m up. I’m up.”

Grabbing the phone, he walks through the kitchen to open the back door, Muffin following at his heels. Kicking the door open, he watches as Muffin trots outside, barking and sniffing at the uncut grass as she goes. Spencer smiles at the picture, finally answering the phone, not looking at the caller display.

“Hello?” He says, cursing when the person on the line answers.

“Spencer James Smith! That no way to talk to your boss and the guy who gave your band its record deal in the first place. You’ve prejudged me Mr Smith.” He says but Spencer can hear the smile behind his voice.

“Sorry Pete. What can I do for you this night?” Spencer asks moderately kindly. Despite what everyone else may think, he and Pete have a really good friendship, in and out of decaydance and fuelledbyramen.

“A sorry won’t cut it Spencer. You’ve wounded me terribly. How can I live my life after this?” Pete says mock hurt, voice breaking out in laughter.

“Let me talk to Patrick. I can always get more sense out of him.” Spencer says, always keeping his eye on Muffin. He remembers how Ryan felt when Hobo got out. Pete coughs down the phone, clearing his throat.

“No can do Smith. Patrick’s not here.” But Spencer’s known Pete long enough to know when he’s point-black lying, which is surprisingly not a lot of the time.

“You’re lying to me Pete Wentz. Patrick’s always there.”

“I do not lie. Bending and manipulating the truth is more my style and Patrick’s busy right now.” Pete says laughing heartily at Spencer’s Ewwww, “He’s working on a song for Madonna – We’ve gone up in the world.” Pete’s just as good as the panic boys at sarcasm and Spencer finds himself glad that Pete was there to guide them at the beginning and that he’s still there for them. “Get your head out of the gutter Spencer Smith...unless that’s where your head wants to be, you naughty boy.”

Spencer starts to tap his foot, he barely gets annoyed but he doesn’t want Pete taking the piss out of him. “Pete...that’s just no. What the hell?” If Pete wasn’t laughing before, he definitely is now, full and throaty into Spencer’s ear. He just can’t help but smile.

“But seriously. Jon told me you got a new dog.”

“How they hell does Jon know? I haven’t told anyone yet. Not even my mum.” Spencer asks, scratching his bearded chin, worried that his friends may have him under surveillance. He tells this to Pete who of course laughs.

“Dude stop it, you’re gonna make me piss my pants soon. Although it won’t be long before Ryan tells me he does want you followed, if you don’t get in touch with him soon.” Pete sighs, seriousness setting in along with his amusement, “He says he’s just pissed cause you changed your locks and didn’t give him a key but he’s worried about you Spin. Everyone is.”

Spencer snorts, startling Pete with its abruptness. “Bullshit Pete. I call your bluff and Ryan’s only upset because he’s taking the lock changing as a personal offence. Don’t insult my intelligence.” Spencer can hear Pete’s quiet sigh across the miles separating them and starts to feel incredibly defeated.

“Your mum even got in touch with me Spencer – The mum that you make sure to ring every day on and off tour. Jon’s called me every day that you don’t talk to him, Brendon even more than that...” He trails off at my short gasp, knowing that he’s touched on the problem. Brendon had rung Pete every day to try and get Spencer out of his funk but he won’t even ring Spencer himself? That hits a nerve in Spencer, defeat sinking further in his stomach. Pete, of course, knows this now, because that’s just how Pete is. He knows things without being told them.

“Spin?”

“I just. I dunno Pete. I just don’t.” Muffin bounds in through the door, stopping to sniff at Spencer’s legs, licking his bare foot carefully, before slowly heading back inside. Spencer watches sadly as she glances back at him before making herself comfortable in her doggie bed. Spencer feels infinitely worse, knowing that his dog is special and intuitive.

“About your dog – Jon told me he mentioned to you about getting a new one and he knew you would because he gives awesome suggestions. Everyone listens to Jon, seriously Spencer.” He can feel Pete smile cautiously down the phone line.

“Her name’s Muffin. I’m sorry but what did you ring for Pete? I’m kinda tired.” He’s being rude, he knows this but Pete seems to understand.

“Yeah, alright. Jon’s flying out to Vegas tomorrow evening and Patrick and I are heading out with him. We thought we’d all have a nice get-together and since you have the biggest house... We thought it’d be nice if you hung out with us...plus you could introduce us to Muffin.” Pete says, waiting for Spencer to respond. Spencer knows that usually Pete would poke fun at Muffin’s name and for that he’s grateful.

“I-I suppose that’d be okay. I’ve missed you, Patrick and Jon. Are Andy and Joe coming?”

“Great! Spencer, fucking Great! You’re amazing dude and I promise we won’t trash your house. But no – Andy and Joe are heading for this star wars convention.” The teasing in his voice is clear. “I should get going Spence. Patrick wants me to listen to this riff. I’ll see you soon dude.”

Pete’s gone soon before Spencer starts missing his voice. The dial tone buzzing in his ear, Spencer takes a deep breath, clicking the talk button and tapping in Brendon’s number.

The phone rings before Spencer hears Brendon’s voice on the line “Hey, this is Brendon.”

“Hi Bren its Spence-“ He can’t finish before he hears Brendon’s voice again and oh fucking yes, it would be his fucking answer machine.

“I’m can’t come to the phone right now. I’m probably off having fun with Ryan or fucking him, hehe. Leave me a message after the beep...beep...not really, after the actual beep. I might get back to you. See ya.” Brendon’s recording stops speaking and Spencer hears the automated beep. Spencer thinks quickly about leaving a message before his mouth cuts in and he finds himself speaking. He doesn’t recognise his own voice, so small and hurt. He doesn’t think he’s ever sounded like that.

“It’s Spencer. You probably know Pete’s decided to use my house as a get-together arena on Friday so I’ll probably see you then. I hope you’re having fun with Ryan, I really do. I’m happy for you. Don’t bother getting back to me. I won’t be answering my phone.” Spencer hangs up, calmly puts the phone back in the living room. He feels tears building in his eyes but he rubs them away, making them red and bloodshot. He knows it’s probably just a joke but fuck, he doesn’t know how to feel. He just hurts.

Muffin looks up at him from her bed as he sits on the couch, holding back tears through sheer force of will. She hops back up onto the couch. Front paws on both side of Spencer’s chest; she licked his cheek and collapsed on top of him.

Spencer’s phone rings from his bedside table for the 6^th time in 10 minutes. Muffin is curled up at the bottom of his bed growling softly in her sleep. It’s Brendon again. He’s been calling Spencer, Spencer’s assuming since he heard his message but right now he doesn’t care. He’s pissed and he’s tired and he’s fed up of being strong.

It’s Thursday afternoon and Spencer’s just coming back from taking Muffin for a walk. It had been a struggle getting her not to pull against her leash. She appeared to be so eager to see more of the world from her small perspective that Spencer didn’t have the heart to pull of the leash too hard. She enjoyed sniffing at lamp posts as they passed them and the colourful flowers in people’s gardens.

Spencer hadn’t felt any better when he got up in the morning. His body felt sore and tired, but being able to concentrate on Muffin and what she needed made Spencer feel better – He became more able throughout the morning to forget about his own problems.

They’d stopped by the park closest to Spencer’s 3 bedroom house to watch the young children playing their ball games on the grass. Well Spencer watched the kids playing football, while Muffin barked at them, straining on her leash, wanting to chase after the ball.

But as Spencer approached his home, what he saw put a positive damper on his returning spirits. Muffin must be able to sense her new master’s unease because she perked up, going on alert as they approached. She stopped trying to pull against Spencer, preferring instead to walk close, just in front of him. He saw a small hooded figure hunched over on his front porch, back resting against his front door. It looked distinctly Brendon Urie-like.

He was looking downward, only when seeing Spencer’s distinct shoe type move closer and doggie paws did Brendon (Spencer was right) look up. He smiled happily up at Spencer, before motioning to the house behind him. “I thought you were...Can I come inside?”

“No. But I would like to go inside. Please move.” Spencer says, not daring to look at Brendon, choosing instead to stare past him and at his door knocker.

“Ryan says you need to stop being a hermit.” Brendon tries, instead of moving away from the door like Spencer asked him to.

“Yeah well you can go fuck Ryan for all I care Brendon Urie!” Spencer ends up shouting, trying to move around him toward the door. But Brendon’s as tactful as ever. He grabs hold on both of Spencer’s forearms pleading with Spencer to just listen to what he had to say, as Spencer reached for his keys. But this is obviously where both Spencer and Muffin draw the line. She starts growling and yapping at Brendon, biting down on his pant leg and yanking at it. Only when he almost trips over her does he realise how hard his had been gripping Spencer’s arms.

Brendon lets go as if he’s been burned, backing away two paces. “I’m sorry Spencer. I just wanted you to listen to me.”

Rubbing his arms where Brendon had gripped him, Spencer finally looks at him, really looks. Brendon is paler than he was when Spencer last saw him, hair flatter and eyes noticeably duller. He looks so sad and defeated that Spencer wonders if he looks like Brendon does, just so down. Pulling Muffin with him, he turns away from Brendon. Forcing his hand to turn the key in the lock, he ushers Muffin in. Putting his keys back in his pocket, it’s the hardest he’s had to fight with himself to leave the door open for Brendon to follow him.

Taking Muffin’s leash off, she looks at him almost as if she’s assessing his decision and deciding whether she should take action herself. Obviously deciding to trust Brendon she jumps up onto the couch, settling down in her spot. Spencer’s surprised for the first time how much he already loves her. He heads into the kitchen as he hears the door click shut, not wanting to see if Brendon had come inside. Spencer hears Muffin growl lightly in warning and feels more secure, knowing his dog is a way better guard dog than Hobo is.

“So that’s your dog.” Brendon states from behind him. Still not turning around to look at Brendon, Spencer goes to the sink where he’d left some plates and cutlery waiting. Turning on the hot water, Spencer taps his fingers against the counter before saying, “yep that’s my Muffin.”

“Did I ever tell you the first dog my parents had was called Muffin?” Brendon asks, coming closer. Spencer knows this because he can feel the warmth of Brendon’s body so close to his, he can smell the scent that’s a little bit of sugar and strawberry and distinctly Brendon.

“No...you didn’t.” Spencer says, fighting to get his voice to come out normal as Brendon slides his hand under Spencer’s shirt. His hot palm touches the skin of Spencer’s lower back lightly, barely a caress against his cold flesh – But it’s enough to make Spencer’s breath shaky. Spencer really wants to get angry at Brendon for just turning up in his life 4 or 5 years ago and making him feel so many things. He can’t seem to gather that steam and knows he won’t when Brendon slides his hand round, rubbing the skin of his belly lightly.

Brendon leans forward, breath hot, ticking Spencer’s ear. “I’ll always be your potted plant.” Spencer shuts his eyes feeling Brendon’s heavy breathing down his neck. Nipping and nibbling at the skin of Spencer’s neck, Brendon brings his hand down to rest at the buttons of Spencer’s jeans.

“So...I kinda love you Spencer Smith.”

It may be the hottest thing that he’s ever heard. So Spencer can’t help echoing Brendon’s words, truth filling every single one of them. Brendon licks at the shell of his ear turning him around so they’re facing each other.

Spencer doesn’t mind admitting it’s the best kiss he’s ever had.

xxx

Fin

There so thank you for reading.
I very much appreciate it...I hope you enjoyed reading.
Until next time...
Much love,
Laura

Creeping up the Backstairs. 05

2008-04-04T19:15:25Z

Title: Creeping up the Backstairs 05
Author: jumpmybones
Rating: R
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
POV: Ryan's in this chap
Summary: Overall Summary. Brendon wakes up from a dream with strange new feelings towards Ryan. Is it love? Is it lust? Does Ryan feel the same way? or will Brendon fall from the new heights that his feelings have taken.
Disclaimer: Not True. I am making no profit from this story...It is for my own enjoyment.
Author Notes: Hey. I decided to go back before I reveal why Brendon is so scared and explore what happened to Ryan when Brendon was unconscious and how he was feeling ^_^ So sorry I'm a tease. But I hope you'll like this part.
Dedication: This ones for everyone that reads this story (as is every single part - always will be.)
Previous Parts: [1][2][3][4]

So...here it is...the 5th Chapter.
Takes place right at the end of [3] Here's what Ryan was feeling after Bren passed out...

xxx

“Jeez Ryan...What the hell is going on?” Spencer gasped at me as Brendon’s struggling body collapsed against us with a defeated squeak. If the small sound wasn’t enough to make my heart twinge painfully in my chest, the lone tear streaking down Brendon’s cheek surely was.

“I don’t...I only wanted to talk to him. He was...oh god Spencer what have I done? This is entirely my fault.” I tell them, voice level despite the obvious guilt wrapping round my stomach, squeezing tightly. I trace my fingers down my cheeks, brushing lightly where Brendon had so delicately dragged the rose petals across my face last night. And how do you treat him? “He should hate me”

“But he won’t...Brendon can’t hate anyone. It’s not in his genetic make-up,” Spencer reasoned grasping my wrist in a Spencer manner (loose and comforting). Sharply he nodded, “Jon.”

Jon’s grip is firm and soft as he obeys Spencer’s unspoken orders, lifting Brendon up and into his arms mindful of the gash in his forehead. “Right, so the hospital? Preferably we should take a car...cause I don’t think I can carry Brendon all the way. He’s a lot heavier than you would think,” Jon huffs, kicking me gently in the leg in a ‘hey buddy. Snap out of it’ way.

Spencer who seemed to have disappeared for a moment (without me noticing) hurries back into the room. “I called Zack. There’s a car outside waiting for us. I’m driving so let’s get going.” Jon stumbles past Spencer and out of the bus, diligently ignoring his state of undress.

“Grab some clothes Spence? Can’t walk around in our boxers can we?” He shouts over his shoulder, voice echoing and breathless.

“They’re already out there...I’m way more efficient than you guys are.”

Turning towards me Spence shoves a clean cloth into my hand with a smile “You’re riding in the back so you can look after Brendon,” I open my mouth to argue but Spence shakes his head slowly, “Don’t argue with me. You care so much Ry. I can tell...Do you? You know?” He hesitates, switching from foot to foot.

“What? Do I...?” I ask, not really paying attention to what is going on around me.

Spence goes still, placing his hand on my shoulder, squeezing lightly. I know this gesture – he wants me to pay attention fully “...Love him?” My mind jolts as my heart flutters restlessly. Love Brendon?

“I-I don’t know Spence. I haven’t thought about it...He-He makes my heart do star jumps and Just now – When he looked at me so scared – I felt so helpless, like I was hanging in mid-air, 25 ft above the ground. I felt like I could drop any moment, just go crashing to the ground. I don’t know what that is Spencer...”

I feel the weight of Spencer’s other arm on my shoulder, the warmth of his palm seeping comfort through my shirt like a blanket. “That sounds an awful lot like love to me”

“I just...We should go Spence. We can’t just waste time while this is happening to Brendon,” I grit out, allowing Spencer to pull me with him into a one armed hug, his face nodding against my neck.

“You’re right dude. Come on lets go get lover boy all fixed up” He jokes, pulling me with him through the bunk room, snatching our phones along the way. Fumbling around on the bus steps I push Spencer ahead of me, catching a glimpse of Brendon in the back of the car (that appeared out of nowhere almost like magic).

He’s laid out peacefully in the car’s cream leather interior, head perched on the head rest, pillow crammed under his cheek for extra comfort. Contrary to his body’s calm demeanour, Brendon’s eyes flit back and forth rapidly under his eyelids, the only sign being their constant flutter. He’s leaning heavily against the door window, warm puffs of breath fogging clouds on the clean glass. I can’t believe this is all happening because of us, our failure to behave like adults. Brendon’s never really been an adult in my eyes though, so I guess it is my fault. He’s always reminded me more of a small child than an adult. A child who always stuffs way too many chocolate chip pancakes into his mouth and still attempts to smile, cheeks packed full like a squirrel – A child that crams enough sweets to fill a sweet shop away in his slim body, until he can’t handle the enormous sugar rush, bouncing around the room. I don’t know how many times one of us has had to sit with him after a night because he feels too sick to sleep. The sides of my mouth curl into what could be said to be a smile at the memories.

From the corner of my own eyes, I catch a glimpse of Jon leaning behind the car door, mostly hidden from us, shuffling into a pair of jeans, bare feet visible under the car. Spencer doing the same, crams a hat down on his ruffled hair barely containing a huff at the state he can feel it in, mussed and knotty.

“You know Ryan...getting into the car is the next best step,” Spencer grins at me just standing there looking through the window at Brendon as he pulls open the driver’s door, “You’re lucky you’re still wearing your clothes. It’s cold out here.” Jon laughs with him, nodding to himself as he climbs in the passenger side next to Spencer.

I scramble into the back, careful not to jog Brendon as I twist and turn, getting comfortable. I sit beside him, too scared to touch encase he comes to and starts freaking out again. His slow breathing becomes palpable in the silence of the car, the only other sound being the tapping of Spencer’s fingers at the steering wheel.

“Everything’s going to be alright Ryan...”Spencer says over the sound of Brendon’s breathing, which by now is filling my eardrums. I don’t answer. I can’t. So I nod, staring at my fingernails. Impulsively I start picking at them. I know everything will be alright. The hospital will treat Brendon and he’ll be alright. It’s after that that I’m worrying about. It’s the unknown that is scaring me. Brendon will be so angry at me...He’ll feel so betrayed. I know he will because anyone would. But even after that...I don’t know how we’ll be able to work together...live together. He might not even talk to me anymore because let’s face it – He didn’t want to be placed at the hospital anyway, but that’s where we’re going right now...

“Maybe we should head back and just call a doctor to the bus to stitch him up”

“We’re almost there Ryan and we don’t know any of the doctors here in Atlanta. Mike gave Spencer directions to the hospital and if we tried to turn back we’d probably get lost.” Jon reasons, reaching behind to pat my knee.

“But Brendon doesn’t-“

“Ryan!” Spencer half cries half huffs at me in sudden annoyance. An annoyance that I have only seen directed at me once or twice in all our years of friendship. I’m a little hurt to tell the truth. “Brendon will just have to be mad at us for this. We can’t help it. It was an accident. He might even have concussion, this is the best choice.”

The ride fades into silence again. I never really noticed.

---

The looming tower of a hospital, wings upon wings of medical wards, stands high in front of us as we park near the A+E entrance. It started raining not long ago. Sheets of rain pour down to the ground in waves, again and again in uniform, the constant patter as it hits the car roof and window seems just miserable.

The A+E appears less than busy as we hurry inside, Brendon clutched in Spencer’s arms this time, still out cold. Jon and I rush ahead to the lady at the counter who seems just as miserable as I am at the moment.

“Excuse me miss. We have a bit of an emergency.” Jon tells her, only to have her sneer at him, huffing, all cocky and snooty.

“Well this is ‘accident and emergency’...It’s not like we’re selling newspapers,” Her face is really pissing me off right now, let alone her voice, “So what is your emergency?”

Ignoring her rudeness, which is so much better than I can do, Jon says evenly “Our friend cut his head open and he’s passed out. We need to see a nurse or a doctor. He’s-”

“So does everyone,” She sighs waving her hand to the chairs, “You’ll have to wait.” But I can’t wait. We can’t wait. Without even bothering with our reply, she turns back to her computer screen flicking her hair. Jon’s eyebrows scrunch in frustration. I can practically see Spencer scowling at her from behind us.

“But miss there is a complication. You see our friend-“

She seems not to be listening to us and fire starts to burn in my gut. Jon is being way to nice. She spins round in her swivel chair, surprise etched across her face at the loud crash. No knowledge of how it happened, I had slammed my fist down on her desk jarring folders and stationary to the floor. I don’t have an explanation for the sudden white hot anger that spirals out of me. But it does.

“Now you listen to me. You haven’t even asked for our names. Our Friend is deathly afraid of hospitals and unless you want to deal with a lawsuit, I suggest you get him a doctor and out of here as soon as possible. Now do you understand that? Or do I have to contact our lawyer?”

Her eyes widen slightly. She nods all silent and slips off her seat disappearing down a corridor. I huff out a breath turning round to see both Jon and Spencer staring at me.

“Well I never thought I’d see that happen. She looked like she’d seen a train wreck Ry...But I’m glad you did it cause I would have and that wouldn’t have been good for Brendon.” Spencer grins at me, nodding to Brendon’s head leaning against his shoulder. “You know you were right Jon...Bren is a lot heavier than he looks. It’s a good workout this.” He explains, bouncing Brendon gently up and down in his arms, pulling a face.

I smile at him, a small blush creeping along my cheeks as my full behaviour sinks in. “I’ll take him Spence. Pass him here; I’m a lot stronger than you think.” Spencer’s smile is warm and bright as he gently transfers Brendon’s body bridal style into my arms, supporting him under his thighs and back, gently resting his head against my chest. The weight of Brendon limp in my arms is comforting and scary in a way I can’t describe. His vulnerability is unsettling in the way his body has suddenly become to me. I rest my chin against the top of his head, hair tickling my lips.

Jon starts to laugh with such force that he has to hunch over to grab at his stomach. The people in the room turn to us with strange looks on their faces. I scowl at Jon as he struggles to rein in his breath from the amused shudder it had become.

“What the hell is so funny Jon?” Spence asks him with weary eyes, “Now isn’t the best time to get a fit of the giggles.”

“I’m sorry guys. I just had this image of Ryan as ‘The Hulk’...all green with veins pulsing.”

Spencer’s eyebrows raise disbelief. “Really Jon? Ryan would never be caught wearing that outfit.”

Jon sighs this time, shaking his head in disappointment at mine and Spencer’s lack of enthusiasm. “Brendon would understand the brilliance of my idea.”

All our eyes turn to Brendon’s now pale face.

The woman at the desk returns with one of the on-call doctors. I still don’t notice anything other than Brendon’s pale face.

---

Dr Steel leads us to one of the curtained off rooms, asking us to pop Brendon onto the examination table. Brendon shivers at the chill of the table as it makes contact with exposed skin, groaning before falling quiet again.

“Well...let’s have a look at that cut nice and quickly shall we?” He asks, pulling on his white surgical gloves with a snapping sound. Even Jon jumps at that. Dr Steel leans close to the cut on Brendon’s forehead, gently pushing and pulling at the gash. “Looks like that’s going to need stitches, usually we would be able to get away with butterfly stitches but because it’s a head wound so we’re probably going to suture.”

Humming to himself the doctor reaches for his mini-torch. Lifting Brendon’s right eyelid he shines it quickly in his eye checking the reaction of his pupil. Repeating with the other eye, Dr Steel turns back to us nodding his head reassuringly. “He may have a minor case of concussion. We can get him all fixed up now. Let me just get a nurse and we can get about doing those sutures.”

He disappears momentarily, returning with a young woman trailing behind him. “Now I understand that Brendon has a phobia of hospitals. I would suggest that after this has all blown over, you set him up with a therapist. Nosocomephobia being the most common phobia often significantly impacts and can restrict the quality of life. Your friend really shouldn’t be satisfied with living with fear. I hope you will consider this.”

Jon and Spencer nod continuously in agreement as Dr Steel talks. But I can’t stop glancing at Brendon. His hand keeps twitching now and again and his head rolls gently from side to side. I gulp, hissing to the doctor as Brendon groans this time, but more real and significant than before.

“Doctor, I think Brendon’s waking up.”

Doctor Steel moves quickly over to Brendon as he moans in pain, eyes flicking open. “Hello Brendon...How nice to meet you finally.” Brendon turns over, somehow managing to roll off the table limbs flailing. Wobbling shakily to his feet he looks around, eyes flickering from Jon to Spencer to me to Dr Steel, the nurse before finally settling back on me wide and hurt. Doctor Steel moves towards Brendon smiling kindly.

Brendon, pulling his gaze to Dr Steel’s approach, backs up against the wall, his body taught, head shaking back and forth frantically. “No please...get away. Please leave me alone” He pleads voice high, cracking with fear.

“You need to calm down Brendon. Let’s compromise for your own good. We don’t want to have to use force...I know you’re scared. There’s no need if you calm down.” The doctor says his voice lower than before.

Brendon obviously can’t concentrate on what is being said. He weeps, sliding down the wall into a ball, covering his face with his arms. “Go away,” He yells, slightly muffled by his arms. I feel helpless standing here, just standing here watching Brendon curling tightly upon himself, shaking, sweat shining on his skin.

He’s mumbling to himself, an endless babble of “goawayleavemealonepleasegoaway.” I can’t tear my eyes away from the sight. Dr Steel touches Brendon’s knee softly and all hell breaks loose. At the sudden pressure, Brendon lashes out, kicking at the doctor as he tries to grab hold of Brendon’s arms. “GO Away!”

The Doctor, being bigger and meatier than Brendon, forces Brendon’s arms onto the floor at his sides shouting for more nurses. Brendon’s painful thrashing becomes too much for me to watch. I move forward, dodging Spencer’s arms as he reaches for me knowing exactly what was going to happen. Pushing through the arriving nurses I grip at Dr Steel’s arms pulling at them, frantic.

“Leave him alone. You’re hurting him!” A shudder runs through Brendon’s body, torso and limbs practically rattling against the Doctor’s grip. I can see tears clouding Brendon’s eyes as he stares at me crying again, his limbs flying uncontrollably.

“Ryan please helpmeplease...Ryan.” Putting all my weight behind it, I wrestle Dr Steel’s right arm from Brendon’s wrist.

“Stop, don’t hur-“Before I can finish my sentence, Brendon’s fisted wayward hand hits me forcefully in the mouth with a refined snap and a whole lot of pain. Cupping my bleeding lip, I watch helplessly as Dr Steel injects a sedative into Brendon’s arm. He stops struggling immediately, eyes shocked, skin tightening around his face. Crawling across the floor, I grab Brendon’s hand, surprised as he grasps me around my waist laying on top of my body, tears soaking into my shirt. His body seems to unwind beneath my hands as the sedative does its job.

“It’s alright Bren. Go to sleep”

“I don’t wanna...You were supposed to protect me Ryan. You prom-“He breaks off yawning, “-ised. But you...” Brendon’s eyelids flutter shut for a second before looking at me, all sleepy eyed and calm. “I’m sorry Ry...I’m gonna...” he starts, voice slow and calm. Balling his fists, he rubs tiredly at his eyes before dropping his arms back into my body, “...go to sleep.”

Brendon’s eyes flutter shut once more, hiding his ebony eyes before his whole body goes boneless, peaceful, snoring lightly into my shirt. Running my fingers lightly through Brendon’s hair, I feel my eyes watering up. Brendon seemed so lost, slipping into the medical induced sleep. A bunch of nurses take Brendon from me, prying my hands forcefully from his waist. They lift him onto the examination table so the doctor can stitch up his wound – The thing that caused all this fucking trouble in the first place.

The tears prickling behind my eyes finally slip forward, falling down my cheeks. This time I notice. I feel the warm presence of Jon and Spencer behind me. One of their hands rubs at my back, it feels like Jon. Spinning round and away from Brendon’s sleeping body, I bury myself in their arms, crying like never before into Spencer’s neck, not even minding if the whole world saw.

“You’re right Spencer...I do love him.”

XXX

There we go. Likey?
I had a complete spazz about his chapter when I was writing it.
I almost got rid of the entire thing...but I was talked down from my proverbial window ledge... ^_^
Right so...more soon...hopefully *crosses fingers*
...If I can balance it with revision for my a-level exams (only roundabout 2/3 months left :S.)

much love,
Laura

Grrr

2008-04-04T17:34:10Z

Just Grrr!!

I'm sooo pissed off! I have way to much work piling up on-top of me. There's 4 days left of my Easter holiday's. I have to do a shed load of work (which includes, 2 Essays, a bunch of Exam Questions in...wait for it - A-Level Chemistry!, two sociology sections to make notes on and a 40 mark question.)

But I so want to start the 2b chapter of my panicfic - Confessions (I need to get it done or at least started...) :(

I've started way to many fics. Everythigns going on and I can't pay attention to all of them right now and pay my A-Levels the attention they need at the same time...My Exams are coming up and It's completely stressing me out good and proper. I can't fail these exams - If I do...fuck I won't get into my university...and that'll be my English LIt with creative writing course gone. More about that later...

So I'm not a happy bunny...I finally got my Deluxe Version of Panic at the Disco's - Pretty. Odd. in the mail yesterday but so far...no time to sit and watch/ ogle has occured in my schedule. *cries* This kid looks as sad as I feel...Her eyes just make me wanna hug her...

I thought holiday's are supposed to be relaxing...Oh well...I'm off to rip my hair out!
cheers!