Sandpaper & Silk | Spencer/Ryan/Brendon | PG-13
Title: Sandpaper & Silk
Author: fatal_overdose
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: GSF? It's kind of Spencer/Ryan/Brendon, Ryan/Brendon, Ryan/Jon.
Summary: Spencer says, “We’ll find a way.” Post-apocalype AU? It's sort of just werid.
Disclaimer: Never happened, I don't own anything, etc.
Notes: I fail at life. Also: we_are_cities sept 16 07. X-posted. Sorry for overlap.
When they’re kids - young, too young to be going off by themselves, maybe six or seven or eight years old - they venture into the trees behind Ryan’s house. They’re not really supposed to, they know that, but there was no set rule and Ryan likes to explore, to control the things they see and the places they go, so they do it anyway. Ryan’s mom even makes them sandwiches to take for lunch, just to get them out of the house so she can clean, cook, take care of the house before Ryan’s dad gets home.
It’s kind of like a forest, even though it’s Nevada, but that’s all they really know to call it. There are trees and bushes and shrubs, vines that cling to the tree trunks, winding their way up into the forbidden heights of the leaves and limbs. Farther in, away from civilization and rough hands, there are wildflowers and saplings, low to the ground and in danger of being trampled. They stop and poke at the petals, velvety soft under their young fingers, and they’re careful not to break anything.
They travel deeper and there is the sound of singing birds, and then trickling water. Ryan gets excited and jumps along the path, humming a song and stopping at intervals to wait for Spencer to catch up, picking through the maze of thorns and low branches. It turns out to be a river - or, more accurately, a stream. It’s not very deep and the water is bright, clear blue. Along the bottom there is sand and pebbles flow through, catching in the current and being carried away. Spencer stops them and suggests they turn back; they don’t know how to get home and it looks like it might rain.
The sky isn’t actually cloudy, but Ryan nods and lets Spencer lead him back to safety. Ryan memorizes the path and the next time he gets Spencer alone at his house, they go into the forest again to find the river. They arrive quicker this time because Ryan rushes them, tells Spencer there’s more he wants to see, and since Ryan doesn’t get to do this much, Spencer only sighs and goes along with it.
They follow the path of the river that day, Ryan hopping along the rocks that litter the shallow edges while Spencer stays back a few feet, but not too far just in case Ryan falls. If Ryan were to fall, he wouldn’t be in any danger because the water isn’t even a foot deep; he won’t drown that easily, but knowing that Spencer is there makes him feel better. Except, the farther they go, the deeper the water gets. It turns darker with depth (but it always stays clear) and then. Then, there is a bridge.
It’s old - so very, very old - and it looks strong and sturdy but they know better. Spencer stops Ryan with a firm grip on his wrist as he’s about to step onto the first board, pulls him back and says, “It’ll probably break. It’s not safe.” Ryan would fight back, but then he spots something through the gaps of the wood. It’s red and just beneath them, so he pulls free of Spencer’s grip and goes around the side of the bridge, jumps down the ledge that seems very high but really isn’t.
Under the bridge, there is a boy, sitting in the water in khaki shorts and a red shirt. His hair is dark - black - and is sticking up at odd angles, though it’s not wet. He notices them immediately and beams at them, says, “I’m a troll! If you want to pass, you have to - er.” The way he’s looking at them with big brown eyes and a smile gapped from lost teeth, he looks more like a puppy than any mystical creature.
Spencer says, “Uhm, we don’t want to - ”
Ryan takes interest, though, like he does to very few things, and he steps forward towards the boy. He doesn’t hold out his hand to help the kid out of the water, but he stands close enough that if the boy really needed help, he could offer it. He says, “Aren’t you cold? You’re all wet.”
The boy shakes his head - kind of like the dog Spencer compared him to inside his head - and keeps grinning happily at them, hands splashing at his sides. “Nope! The water’s warm. Want to come in with me?”
“We can’t,” Spencer says quickly. He judges the distance between himself and Ryan. If he needs to, he can pull Ryan away by force, but Ryan’s shoes are wet, now that he thinks about it. His mom would probably notice that, so maybe he should let Ryan drown and just run.
“Oh.” The boy looks outrageously sad in a matter of seconds, lower lip jutting out into a pout. He sighs and stands up, watching the water run down and drip-drain out of his shorts. “I’ll just go home then, I guess. There’s nothing to do out here.” He smiles sadly at Ryan and turns, pulling himself up on the edge of the bridge, beneath the handrail. He ducks between the panels and then sticks his head back out to look down at them. “Will you come back tomorrow?”
Spencer says, “No,” but Ryan says, “I’ll try.” The kid grins and Ryan hastily asks, “How far away do you live?”
“Past those trees. It’s pretty far.” He points out across the bridge to more trees on the other side. He grins at them again, the gaps in his teeth still there, childish and adorable in a way that would make Ryan’s mother comment about other children the way she never did about her own son. He runs off then, yelling, “See you!” over his shoulder as his feet pound on the wood.
Ryan and Spencer watch until he’s gone, lost again in the forest on the other side.
Spencer finally says, “Come on, let’s go.”
-
Spencer is at his own house the next day, but Ryan’s father is at work and Ryan’s bored, so he leaves his mother and trudges through the trees until he finds the river. When he gets to the bridge, the boy is already there, sitting between some of the panels with his legs dangling over the side, feet kicking restlessly out in front of him, then back, under him, then out again.
Ryan crawls up to sit next to him. They’re silent for a while, the kid throwing rocks from a pile into the river. They watch as the rocks catch in the sand, and then wash free in the current, drifting away with the rest of the waves. He hands a rock to Ryan and says, “Do you want to try?” Ryan nods and throws the rock as hard as he can and it goes further than any of the kid’s. They never find it in the current because it was too far off to begin with.
“You’re mad,” the boy says softly, handing Ryan another rock.
Ryan shrugs and throws again, his arm aching as his muscles pull back when he goes too far. The rock splashes in the distance and the kid hands him another rock. “I’m not really mad,” Ryan says, throwing the rock until it gets lost in the glare of the sun. They hear it splash, far off. “I’m just kind of - angry.”
“It’s the same thing, isn’t it?” He hands Ryan another rock and swings his legs happily.
Ryan doesn’t answer. Instead, he says, “I don’t think my dad likes me very much.” He frowns at the water as he throws another rock.
“I’m sure he does,” the kid says eventually. “I like you just fine.”
Ryan smiles at that, and the next rock he throws lands close enough for them to follow. They keep going after that, taking turns until the pile runs out. The boy stands up then and stretches. He stares out at the water for a few idle seconds before he says, “I have to go now. My babysitter always falls asleep, but I bet my brother will go looking for me and I won’t be there, so he’ll wake her up.” He leans down quickly and presses his lips to Ryan’s, soft and chaste, close-mouthed because they’re young and that’s all they know.
“See you tomorrow?” Ryan nods and watches him walk off, until -
“Hey, wait, what’s your name?”
“Maybe I’ll tell you tomorrow!” The boy says, and then he waves and disappears into the trees.
Ryan walks home with his fingers pressed against his lips.
-
He goes back the next day, but the boy isn’t there.
He never says anything to Spencer about going back. When Spencer asks, he just says that he stayed home and helped his mom bake a cake.
Spencer doesn’t seem to believe it, but it isn’t brought up again, and they don’t go back to the bridge.
-
The road they’re on isn’t paved. To their left, there is a river; to their right, just trees. The sun is high above them, warming their skin in a way that is comforting and blinding, all at once. They speak in soft voices of home. Home is ahead of them now. To their right, past the trees, there is nothing but destruction. Fires burning and even though they’re away from the screaming and the fear, it still rings deep within them - memories.
They come to a bridge and the older one - taller, slighter - he smiles. The wind blows ashes from the fire through the trees and it sticks in their hair. They pull ashes away from each other, smiling softly and keeping their pace steady. As they pass the bridge, the younger whispers, “I love you not.”
One of them shared a kiss on that bridge many, many years ago. Twelve years, if anyone is counting. Twelve years and memories still linger, still burn bright behind eyes and really, those memories will never be forgotten. Their hands brush and without hesitation they lace their fingers, holding on tight. When he looks back - the older one, with hair hanging in his face - he can still see that little kid sitting under the dock. He says, “I love you, anyway.”
One, two, three.
Nostalgia.
-
They walk for hours until the sun sinks below the horizon and darkness is imminent. They are miles from where they came from, but it’s not far enough. Never enough. They have to stop, though, at least for the night. In the distance, there’s a figure by the edge of the river, the shadow of a fishing pole and a bucket visible through the haze of color. When they get close, he hears them and turns, smiles.
“You too?” He asks, looking back to reel in a catch. Once the fish is safely in his bucket, he stands up straight and looks at them, still smiling. “There have been quite a few people passing through today,” he lifts his arms and stretches, joints popping. He bends and picks up the bucket, fish slopping pitifully in the water inside. Looking at them, grinning, face sincere, he says, “It’s late. Do you need a place to stay?”
They do, so they say yes. He takes them inside and makes them coffee, cooks fish and has enough to feed everyone. A cat prowls around under the table and there’s even enough scraps to fill its dish when they’re all finished. They sit around the table after, the room lit by candlelight, and they talk about the day because if they don’t, they never will, and that won’t make things better; it won’t make them less true.
Fires broke out through the city, through the suburbs and the country and the states. There are no longer any state lines, though, because there are no people to determine them. “We’re lucky,” Jon says, watching them. “The entire area of the river was saved because people around it aren’t greedy. I live here alone and I only take what I need. I don’t sell the fish. They’ve done nothing to deserve it.”
There’s something about him that is different - good different; there’s nothing bad about this guy - and it’s comforting, in a way. They stay up late into the night, talking in quiet voices about the days to come and what they have to do to get their lives back on track. “I’ll stay here,” Jon says. “This is my home. I won’t leave it, not for anything.” Ryan and Spencer exchange silent glances.
Finally, Spencer’s having trouble keeping his eyes open so Jon says, “I have one extra bed. I hope that’s okay.”
It is, and they fall onto it gratefully, burrowing under the blankets and falling asleep with their hands clasped.
-
Ryan wakes up to the smell of coffee and the morning breeze, blowing in through the window and smelling suspiciously unlike smoke. It’s better, he thinks, while he sips his coffee, porcelain mug heavy in his hands. When Jon leaves to do his daily things - fishing and getting water and checking the surrounding area for victims and phoenix feathers - Spencer comes into the room. They sit in a comfortable silence for a while, staring out the window and drinking coffee.
Jon’s house is more like a cottage than anything. It’s small, but it’s homey and it’s comfortable and it’s enough. It’s perfect, and suits Jon well.
“We’re going to stay for a while,” Spencer finally murmurs. He slips a hand to the back of Ryan’s neck, rubbing, soothing. “A few days, then we’ll keep going.” Ryan tilts his head up and Spencer kisses him. Ryan whimpers and his eyes slip closed, easy with the early morning. He opens his mouth and sighs and Spencer deepens the kiss, just barely, before pulling back and stepping away.
Ryan watches him thoughtfully, going back to sipping from his mug. “Do you,” he finally says, “Do you want me to - for him?”
Spencer hums and palms his cup, holding it close. His eyes staring out the window, he says, “If you want to.”
Ryan nods, and Spencer leaves him alone to think by himself.
-
They’re all sitting outside, watching the river, when sunset comes around. It’s nice and quiet, the sky blending orange and pink and red, until there’s a crash and then a flock of birds fly hastily from their refuge in a tree. When they all turn to look, there is a heap of fabric on the ground, and then there is a groan and a body emerges, standing up and dusting off.
Jon goes over to check him out, but Spencer stays back, wary. Ryan pulls on his wrist, reassuring, and Spencer deflates some, backs up and doesn’t look as much on edge. Jon laughs across the way and the guy laughs too, flashing a smile. Then they’re walking over, chatting aimlessly. When they’re close enough, they can see that the guy has dark, dark hair and bright, alert brown eyes and a fierce smile, all shining white teeth and he’s not one bit scary.
Ryan stares for a very long time, something pricking at the base of his skull, reminding him of something he can’t seem to think of.
He finally forgets it, thinking he’ll either eventually remember or decide he’s wrong.
His name is Brendon and he’s on his own for the whole journey. He’s been traveling for two days now and needs a place to stay for the night. He’s vegetarian and doesn’t have much money because his parents kicked him out and then a week later, the fires started and now he doesn’t have a home or a family, but he’ll be okay. When they introduce themselves, Spencer doesn’t seem to be worried about it, but Brendon stares at Ryan for a long while, eyes glazed as he sorts through memories behind his irises.
It’s nothing, though, and they all go inside for the night to eat. Jon says, “Well, there’s the sofa - ” so Brendon sleeps outside in a tree, hanging his sleeping back from some sort of hooks and making a hammock. Spencer looks kind of impressed, but he can’t see well in the dark and mutters about learning tomorrow. But, now, they sleep.
-
Ryan sneaks quietly through the house, eyes not working in the complete darkness. He feels around for the walls but mostly remembers the floor plan, so he avoids the squeaky floorboards and goes around the tables he could accidentally kick. Jon’s door is quiet and the hinges don’t protest, so he enters unnoticed. Jon is lying on the bed, his back to the door, and Ryan isn’t sure if he’s asleep - can’t tell from his breathing.
He walks forward and crawls onto the bed, and when the mattress sags under his weight, Jon looks over his shoulder and spots him. Ryan’s heart beats faster, but he doesn’t stop, just crosses the distance between them and when he’s close - so close, knees pressed against Jon’s back, his hands fisted in the side of Jon’s t-shirt, bent low with their lips almost touching - Jon says, “You don’t have to do this,” and Ryan kisses him.
He does anyway.
-
In the morning, Spencer offers to make breakfast so Jon can get things done early and Brendon can figure out his plans. Brendon’s tree thing had gone alright, except that his back hurt and he very possibly had a spider bite. Ryan had crawled into bed with Spencer just before the sun came up, muttering something about being cold and wanting waffles for breakfast.
By the time Ryan gets out of bed, bleary-eyed with mussed hair, Spencer has enough waffles to feed an army and Jon is back from checking the surrounding area for more Brendons. He slumps into a chair and eats in silence while Brendon talks animatedly. Jon is telling a story about some old friends and a fishing trip when Spencer cuts in and says, “Hey.”
Ryan looks up for the first time and catches Spencer staring at him. The room goes quiet and Spencer says, “Are you okay?”
Ryan nods, looking back down at his plate, poking at some waffle squares. “Just tired.”
“We’re leaving tomorrow,” Spencer supplies and Ryan nods again. “Brendon’s going to come with us.” Ryan flicks his gaze over to Brendon, but doesn’t protest. He doesn’t want to.
“I’ll always be here, if you guys need me,” Jon says soberly after a few minutes.
They nod because they know that, and they all look sad because it won’t be close enough.
-
It’s quiet when they leave because they leave early, up with the sun and the birds and out of Jon’s way by the time the sun has warmed everything. There’s still a hint of smoke in the air, rolling in from the distance, but they won’t have any trouble with fires on the way. Not now. Brendon drags along behind them, staring at his feet and scuffing at the ground until Spencer turns and tells him to hurry up; if they’d wanted to leave him, they would’ve left him days ago.
It’s a lot happier after that, with Brendon talking about anything and everything. It makes everything seem a little easier. They get to a point where the river forks and they have to decide on going left or right. They sit down for lunch to discuss it and Brendon laughs, leaning across Spencer to feed Ryan a strawberry. It’s quiet, after, but it’s not awkward. It’s comfortable, like that’s the way things should be.
They decide to go right because they don’t have to cross the river and they also want to keep walking towards the sun. Brendon turns around a lot to see what they’re walking away from. At one point, he stops and they almost run into him, but he points and behind them, far, far away, there is a could of black and brown and grey, smoke from the fires. It’s drifting up and starting to fade at the edges, but it really spells out the destruction for them, and their pace is steadier after that.
-
They stop late into the night and Spencer makes a fire, even though it’s warm and they really don’t need it. It’s a signal, they all know, to see how far they’ve gone. How far they are from Jon. Spencer falls asleep first, exhausted, and Ryan sits by his side, petting his hair and whispering soothing words. From across the fire, Brendon looks at him for a long time before asking, “Have you ever been on a bridge?”
Ryan stares at him, startled. Brendon looks calm so Ryan adopts the idea and he looks back down at Spencer, drifting his fingers between strands. “Yes,” Ryan says quietly. “Once, when I was younger, but not since then.”
Brendon hums his response and nods, rocking back and forth where he sat, legs pulled to his chest. He says, “I’ve been on bridges before. Lots of times.”
And that’s it.
-
They kiss the next morning when Spencer goes to find something to carry water in to put the fire out.
Brendon pushes him against a tree and kisses him, slips one leg between Ryan’s thighs and all Ryan can do is gasp and open for him, muttering, “Fuck.” Spencer can tell something happened when he comes back, just by looking at Ryan - his lips are swollen, wet and bright red. Not to mention the blush creeping over his cheekbones. But Spencer doesn’t look mad; he just looks smug, and maybe a little jealous. He’s - something.
Their trip won’t take much longer.
-
Spencer thinks they’re halfway there when they’re at the end of their second day. Brendon and Ryan sit closer together and they all sort of huddle, because three is better than two is better than one. They keep thinking over everything that happened, the fear and the fire and the screams and all the innocent people and all the people that were so far from innocent and deserved it all. No matter how they look at it, it’s a strange new story every time.
“We’ll dance, someday,” Brendon says. He has all these weird saying with all these hidden meanings and while it was annoying at first, now it’s just good to have something to think about. “I want to show you something,” Brendon says a while later, and leads Ryan off into the trees. Spencer is asleep when they get back, but the next morning he can see the black on black on purple on blue of bruises showing from under Ryan’s t-shirt.
That day, as they go further towards home, they’re like a car crash. Spencer doesn’t want to look, but he can’t help staring.
-
The place they find is an abandoned cottage, slightly bigger than Jon’s, and a lot taller. There’s a window up near the roof on the front, and it looks like there could be a loft. Ryan would like that a lot. They investigate the place for a while, hang around outside until it’s dark and they’re sure no one’s coming back. There’s some furniture, but it’s old and some of it can’t be used.
Brendon gets excited and starts babbling and Spencer looks sideways at Ryan, grinning. Ryan doesn’t say anything so Spencer grabs the back of Brendon’s neck, hauls him closer and kisses him until he shuts up. Brendon pulls at their clothing, pulls them closer together until they can’t go any further. When Brendon pulls back, it’s to look at Ryan with dark eyes and say, “It was you - at the bridge, those days.”
Spencer looks a little confused, finally, for the first time. Ryan sighs and nods, accepts it, and says, “Spence, share.” They tumble down, later, onto one bed, exhausted. They lie pressed together for unneeded warmth, and for other reasons, like the hands that are hooked over Ryan’s hip, clasped and not letting go.
-
“I’m going to send a letter to Jon!” Brendon says and then he spends all day writing the perfect letter.
“We don’t have a way to send it,” Ryan points out, late into the night when everything is lit by candles.
Spencer says, “We’ll find a way.”
-
They find Brendon outside the next morning, with the few things he owns packed together. It looks like they’re lucky they caught him, but Ryan’s pretty sure he was waiting for them, anyway. “I should go. I shouldn’t - stay. I - ”
“No,” Spencer says, grabbing Brendon’s wrist and holding him still, holding him there. “No, this is where you belong.”
-
Author: fatal_overdose
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: GSF? It's kind of Spencer/Ryan/Brendon, Ryan/Brendon, Ryan/Jon.
Summary: Spencer says, “We’ll find a way.” Post-apocalype AU? It's sort of just werid.
Disclaimer: Never happened, I don't own anything, etc.
Notes: I fail at life. Also: we_are_cities sept 16 07. X-posted. Sorry for overlap.
When they’re kids - young, too young to be going off by themselves, maybe six or seven or eight years old - they venture into the trees behind Ryan’s house. They’re not really supposed to, they know that, but there was no set rule and Ryan likes to explore, to control the things they see and the places they go, so they do it anyway. Ryan’s mom even makes them sandwiches to take for lunch, just to get them out of the house so she can clean, cook, take care of the house before Ryan’s dad gets home.
It’s kind of like a forest, even though it’s Nevada, but that’s all they really know to call it. There are trees and bushes and shrubs, vines that cling to the tree trunks, winding their way up into the forbidden heights of the leaves and limbs. Farther in, away from civilization and rough hands, there are wildflowers and saplings, low to the ground and in danger of being trampled. They stop and poke at the petals, velvety soft under their young fingers, and they’re careful not to break anything.
They travel deeper and there is the sound of singing birds, and then trickling water. Ryan gets excited and jumps along the path, humming a song and stopping at intervals to wait for Spencer to catch up, picking through the maze of thorns and low branches. It turns out to be a river - or, more accurately, a stream. It’s not very deep and the water is bright, clear blue. Along the bottom there is sand and pebbles flow through, catching in the current and being carried away. Spencer stops them and suggests they turn back; they don’t know how to get home and it looks like it might rain.
The sky isn’t actually cloudy, but Ryan nods and lets Spencer lead him back to safety. Ryan memorizes the path and the next time he gets Spencer alone at his house, they go into the forest again to find the river. They arrive quicker this time because Ryan rushes them, tells Spencer there’s more he wants to see, and since Ryan doesn’t get to do this much, Spencer only sighs and goes along with it.
They follow the path of the river that day, Ryan hopping along the rocks that litter the shallow edges while Spencer stays back a few feet, but not too far just in case Ryan falls. If Ryan were to fall, he wouldn’t be in any danger because the water isn’t even a foot deep; he won’t drown that easily, but knowing that Spencer is there makes him feel better. Except, the farther they go, the deeper the water gets. It turns darker with depth (but it always stays clear) and then. Then, there is a bridge.
It’s old - so very, very old - and it looks strong and sturdy but they know better. Spencer stops Ryan with a firm grip on his wrist as he’s about to step onto the first board, pulls him back and says, “It’ll probably break. It’s not safe.” Ryan would fight back, but then he spots something through the gaps of the wood. It’s red and just beneath them, so he pulls free of Spencer’s grip and goes around the side of the bridge, jumps down the ledge that seems very high but really isn’t.
Under the bridge, there is a boy, sitting in the water in khaki shorts and a red shirt. His hair is dark - black - and is sticking up at odd angles, though it’s not wet. He notices them immediately and beams at them, says, “I’m a troll! If you want to pass, you have to - er.” The way he’s looking at them with big brown eyes and a smile gapped from lost teeth, he looks more like a puppy than any mystical creature.
Spencer says, “Uhm, we don’t want to - ”
Ryan takes interest, though, like he does to very few things, and he steps forward towards the boy. He doesn’t hold out his hand to help the kid out of the water, but he stands close enough that if the boy really needed help, he could offer it. He says, “Aren’t you cold? You’re all wet.”
The boy shakes his head - kind of like the dog Spencer compared him to inside his head - and keeps grinning happily at them, hands splashing at his sides. “Nope! The water’s warm. Want to come in with me?”
“We can’t,” Spencer says quickly. He judges the distance between himself and Ryan. If he needs to, he can pull Ryan away by force, but Ryan’s shoes are wet, now that he thinks about it. His mom would probably notice that, so maybe he should let Ryan drown and just run.
“Oh.” The boy looks outrageously sad in a matter of seconds, lower lip jutting out into a pout. He sighs and stands up, watching the water run down and drip-drain out of his shorts. “I’ll just go home then, I guess. There’s nothing to do out here.” He smiles sadly at Ryan and turns, pulling himself up on the edge of the bridge, beneath the handrail. He ducks between the panels and then sticks his head back out to look down at them. “Will you come back tomorrow?”
Spencer says, “No,” but Ryan says, “I’ll try.” The kid grins and Ryan hastily asks, “How far away do you live?”
“Past those trees. It’s pretty far.” He points out across the bridge to more trees on the other side. He grins at them again, the gaps in his teeth still there, childish and adorable in a way that would make Ryan’s mother comment about other children the way she never did about her own son. He runs off then, yelling, “See you!” over his shoulder as his feet pound on the wood.
Ryan and Spencer watch until he’s gone, lost again in the forest on the other side.
Spencer finally says, “Come on, let’s go.”
-
Spencer is at his own house the next day, but Ryan’s father is at work and Ryan’s bored, so he leaves his mother and trudges through the trees until he finds the river. When he gets to the bridge, the boy is already there, sitting between some of the panels with his legs dangling over the side, feet kicking restlessly out in front of him, then back, under him, then out again.
Ryan crawls up to sit next to him. They’re silent for a while, the kid throwing rocks from a pile into the river. They watch as the rocks catch in the sand, and then wash free in the current, drifting away with the rest of the waves. He hands a rock to Ryan and says, “Do you want to try?” Ryan nods and throws the rock as hard as he can and it goes further than any of the kid’s. They never find it in the current because it was too far off to begin with.
“You’re mad,” the boy says softly, handing Ryan another rock.
Ryan shrugs and throws again, his arm aching as his muscles pull back when he goes too far. The rock splashes in the distance and the kid hands him another rock. “I’m not really mad,” Ryan says, throwing the rock until it gets lost in the glare of the sun. They hear it splash, far off. “I’m just kind of - angry.”
“It’s the same thing, isn’t it?” He hands Ryan another rock and swings his legs happily.
Ryan doesn’t answer. Instead, he says, “I don’t think my dad likes me very much.” He frowns at the water as he throws another rock.
“I’m sure he does,” the kid says eventually. “I like you just fine.”
Ryan smiles at that, and the next rock he throws lands close enough for them to follow. They keep going after that, taking turns until the pile runs out. The boy stands up then and stretches. He stares out at the water for a few idle seconds before he says, “I have to go now. My babysitter always falls asleep, but I bet my brother will go looking for me and I won’t be there, so he’ll wake her up.” He leans down quickly and presses his lips to Ryan’s, soft and chaste, close-mouthed because they’re young and that’s all they know.
“See you tomorrow?” Ryan nods and watches him walk off, until -
“Hey, wait, what’s your name?”
“Maybe I’ll tell you tomorrow!” The boy says, and then he waves and disappears into the trees.
Ryan walks home with his fingers pressed against his lips.
-
He goes back the next day, but the boy isn’t there.
He never says anything to Spencer about going back. When Spencer asks, he just says that he stayed home and helped his mom bake a cake.
Spencer doesn’t seem to believe it, but it isn’t brought up again, and they don’t go back to the bridge.
-
The road they’re on isn’t paved. To their left, there is a river; to their right, just trees. The sun is high above them, warming their skin in a way that is comforting and blinding, all at once. They speak in soft voices of home. Home is ahead of them now. To their right, past the trees, there is nothing but destruction. Fires burning and even though they’re away from the screaming and the fear, it still rings deep within them - memories.
They come to a bridge and the older one - taller, slighter - he smiles. The wind blows ashes from the fire through the trees and it sticks in their hair. They pull ashes away from each other, smiling softly and keeping their pace steady. As they pass the bridge, the younger whispers, “I love you not.”
One of them shared a kiss on that bridge many, many years ago. Twelve years, if anyone is counting. Twelve years and memories still linger, still burn bright behind eyes and really, those memories will never be forgotten. Their hands brush and without hesitation they lace their fingers, holding on tight. When he looks back - the older one, with hair hanging in his face - he can still see that little kid sitting under the dock. He says, “I love you, anyway.”
One, two, three.
Nostalgia.
-
They walk for hours until the sun sinks below the horizon and darkness is imminent. They are miles from where they came from, but it’s not far enough. Never enough. They have to stop, though, at least for the night. In the distance, there’s a figure by the edge of the river, the shadow of a fishing pole and a bucket visible through the haze of color. When they get close, he hears them and turns, smiles.
“You too?” He asks, looking back to reel in a catch. Once the fish is safely in his bucket, he stands up straight and looks at them, still smiling. “There have been quite a few people passing through today,” he lifts his arms and stretches, joints popping. He bends and picks up the bucket, fish slopping pitifully in the water inside. Looking at them, grinning, face sincere, he says, “It’s late. Do you need a place to stay?”
They do, so they say yes. He takes them inside and makes them coffee, cooks fish and has enough to feed everyone. A cat prowls around under the table and there’s even enough scraps to fill its dish when they’re all finished. They sit around the table after, the room lit by candlelight, and they talk about the day because if they don’t, they never will, and that won’t make things better; it won’t make them less true.
Fires broke out through the city, through the suburbs and the country and the states. There are no longer any state lines, though, because there are no people to determine them. “We’re lucky,” Jon says, watching them. “The entire area of the river was saved because people around it aren’t greedy. I live here alone and I only take what I need. I don’t sell the fish. They’ve done nothing to deserve it.”
There’s something about him that is different - good different; there’s nothing bad about this guy - and it’s comforting, in a way. They stay up late into the night, talking in quiet voices about the days to come and what they have to do to get their lives back on track. “I’ll stay here,” Jon says. “This is my home. I won’t leave it, not for anything.” Ryan and Spencer exchange silent glances.
Finally, Spencer’s having trouble keeping his eyes open so Jon says, “I have one extra bed. I hope that’s okay.”
It is, and they fall onto it gratefully, burrowing under the blankets and falling asleep with their hands clasped.
-
Ryan wakes up to the smell of coffee and the morning breeze, blowing in through the window and smelling suspiciously unlike smoke. It’s better, he thinks, while he sips his coffee, porcelain mug heavy in his hands. When Jon leaves to do his daily things - fishing and getting water and checking the surrounding area for victims and phoenix feathers - Spencer comes into the room. They sit in a comfortable silence for a while, staring out the window and drinking coffee.
Jon’s house is more like a cottage than anything. It’s small, but it’s homey and it’s comfortable and it’s enough. It’s perfect, and suits Jon well.
“We’re going to stay for a while,” Spencer finally murmurs. He slips a hand to the back of Ryan’s neck, rubbing, soothing. “A few days, then we’ll keep going.” Ryan tilts his head up and Spencer kisses him. Ryan whimpers and his eyes slip closed, easy with the early morning. He opens his mouth and sighs and Spencer deepens the kiss, just barely, before pulling back and stepping away.
Ryan watches him thoughtfully, going back to sipping from his mug. “Do you,” he finally says, “Do you want me to - for him?”
Spencer hums and palms his cup, holding it close. His eyes staring out the window, he says, “If you want to.”
Ryan nods, and Spencer leaves him alone to think by himself.
-
They’re all sitting outside, watching the river, when sunset comes around. It’s nice and quiet, the sky blending orange and pink and red, until there’s a crash and then a flock of birds fly hastily from their refuge in a tree. When they all turn to look, there is a heap of fabric on the ground, and then there is a groan and a body emerges, standing up and dusting off.
Jon goes over to check him out, but Spencer stays back, wary. Ryan pulls on his wrist, reassuring, and Spencer deflates some, backs up and doesn’t look as much on edge. Jon laughs across the way and the guy laughs too, flashing a smile. Then they’re walking over, chatting aimlessly. When they’re close enough, they can see that the guy has dark, dark hair and bright, alert brown eyes and a fierce smile, all shining white teeth and he’s not one bit scary.
Ryan stares for a very long time, something pricking at the base of his skull, reminding him of something he can’t seem to think of.
He finally forgets it, thinking he’ll either eventually remember or decide he’s wrong.
His name is Brendon and he’s on his own for the whole journey. He’s been traveling for two days now and needs a place to stay for the night. He’s vegetarian and doesn’t have much money because his parents kicked him out and then a week later, the fires started and now he doesn’t have a home or a family, but he’ll be okay. When they introduce themselves, Spencer doesn’t seem to be worried about it, but Brendon stares at Ryan for a long while, eyes glazed as he sorts through memories behind his irises.
It’s nothing, though, and they all go inside for the night to eat. Jon says, “Well, there’s the sofa - ” so Brendon sleeps outside in a tree, hanging his sleeping back from some sort of hooks and making a hammock. Spencer looks kind of impressed, but he can’t see well in the dark and mutters about learning tomorrow. But, now, they sleep.
-
Ryan sneaks quietly through the house, eyes not working in the complete darkness. He feels around for the walls but mostly remembers the floor plan, so he avoids the squeaky floorboards and goes around the tables he could accidentally kick. Jon’s door is quiet and the hinges don’t protest, so he enters unnoticed. Jon is lying on the bed, his back to the door, and Ryan isn’t sure if he’s asleep - can’t tell from his breathing.
He walks forward and crawls onto the bed, and when the mattress sags under his weight, Jon looks over his shoulder and spots him. Ryan’s heart beats faster, but he doesn’t stop, just crosses the distance between them and when he’s close - so close, knees pressed against Jon’s back, his hands fisted in the side of Jon’s t-shirt, bent low with their lips almost touching - Jon says, “You don’t have to do this,” and Ryan kisses him.
He does anyway.
-
In the morning, Spencer offers to make breakfast so Jon can get things done early and Brendon can figure out his plans. Brendon’s tree thing had gone alright, except that his back hurt and he very possibly had a spider bite. Ryan had crawled into bed with Spencer just before the sun came up, muttering something about being cold and wanting waffles for breakfast.
By the time Ryan gets out of bed, bleary-eyed with mussed hair, Spencer has enough waffles to feed an army and Jon is back from checking the surrounding area for more Brendons. He slumps into a chair and eats in silence while Brendon talks animatedly. Jon is telling a story about some old friends and a fishing trip when Spencer cuts in and says, “Hey.”
Ryan looks up for the first time and catches Spencer staring at him. The room goes quiet and Spencer says, “Are you okay?”
Ryan nods, looking back down at his plate, poking at some waffle squares. “Just tired.”
“We’re leaving tomorrow,” Spencer supplies and Ryan nods again. “Brendon’s going to come with us.” Ryan flicks his gaze over to Brendon, but doesn’t protest. He doesn’t want to.
“I’ll always be here, if you guys need me,” Jon says soberly after a few minutes.
They nod because they know that, and they all look sad because it won’t be close enough.
-
It’s quiet when they leave because they leave early, up with the sun and the birds and out of Jon’s way by the time the sun has warmed everything. There’s still a hint of smoke in the air, rolling in from the distance, but they won’t have any trouble with fires on the way. Not now. Brendon drags along behind them, staring at his feet and scuffing at the ground until Spencer turns and tells him to hurry up; if they’d wanted to leave him, they would’ve left him days ago.
It’s a lot happier after that, with Brendon talking about anything and everything. It makes everything seem a little easier. They get to a point where the river forks and they have to decide on going left or right. They sit down for lunch to discuss it and Brendon laughs, leaning across Spencer to feed Ryan a strawberry. It’s quiet, after, but it’s not awkward. It’s comfortable, like that’s the way things should be.
They decide to go right because they don’t have to cross the river and they also want to keep walking towards the sun. Brendon turns around a lot to see what they’re walking away from. At one point, he stops and they almost run into him, but he points and behind them, far, far away, there is a could of black and brown and grey, smoke from the fires. It’s drifting up and starting to fade at the edges, but it really spells out the destruction for them, and their pace is steadier after that.
-
They stop late into the night and Spencer makes a fire, even though it’s warm and they really don’t need it. It’s a signal, they all know, to see how far they’ve gone. How far they are from Jon. Spencer falls asleep first, exhausted, and Ryan sits by his side, petting his hair and whispering soothing words. From across the fire, Brendon looks at him for a long time before asking, “Have you ever been on a bridge?”
Ryan stares at him, startled. Brendon looks calm so Ryan adopts the idea and he looks back down at Spencer, drifting his fingers between strands. “Yes,” Ryan says quietly. “Once, when I was younger, but not since then.”
Brendon hums his response and nods, rocking back and forth where he sat, legs pulled to his chest. He says, “I’ve been on bridges before. Lots of times.”
And that’s it.
-
They kiss the next morning when Spencer goes to find something to carry water in to put the fire out.
Brendon pushes him against a tree and kisses him, slips one leg between Ryan’s thighs and all Ryan can do is gasp and open for him, muttering, “Fuck.” Spencer can tell something happened when he comes back, just by looking at Ryan - his lips are swollen, wet and bright red. Not to mention the blush creeping over his cheekbones. But Spencer doesn’t look mad; he just looks smug, and maybe a little jealous. He’s - something.
Their trip won’t take much longer.
-
Spencer thinks they’re halfway there when they’re at the end of their second day. Brendon and Ryan sit closer together and they all sort of huddle, because three is better than two is better than one. They keep thinking over everything that happened, the fear and the fire and the screams and all the innocent people and all the people that were so far from innocent and deserved it all. No matter how they look at it, it’s a strange new story every time.
“We’ll dance, someday,” Brendon says. He has all these weird saying with all these hidden meanings and while it was annoying at first, now it’s just good to have something to think about. “I want to show you something,” Brendon says a while later, and leads Ryan off into the trees. Spencer is asleep when they get back, but the next morning he can see the black on black on purple on blue of bruises showing from under Ryan’s t-shirt.
That day, as they go further towards home, they’re like a car crash. Spencer doesn’t want to look, but he can’t help staring.
-
The place they find is an abandoned cottage, slightly bigger than Jon’s, and a lot taller. There’s a window up near the roof on the front, and it looks like there could be a loft. Ryan would like that a lot. They investigate the place for a while, hang around outside until it’s dark and they’re sure no one’s coming back. There’s some furniture, but it’s old and some of it can’t be used.
Brendon gets excited and starts babbling and Spencer looks sideways at Ryan, grinning. Ryan doesn’t say anything so Spencer grabs the back of Brendon’s neck, hauls him closer and kisses him until he shuts up. Brendon pulls at their clothing, pulls them closer together until they can’t go any further. When Brendon pulls back, it’s to look at Ryan with dark eyes and say, “It was you - at the bridge, those days.”
Spencer looks a little confused, finally, for the first time. Ryan sighs and nods, accepts it, and says, “Spence, share.” They tumble down, later, onto one bed, exhausted. They lie pressed together for unneeded warmth, and for other reasons, like the hands that are hooked over Ryan’s hip, clasped and not letting go.
-
“I’m going to send a letter to Jon!” Brendon says and then he spends all day writing the perfect letter.
“We don’t have a way to send it,” Ryan points out, late into the night when everything is lit by candles.
Spencer says, “We’ll find a way.”
-
They find Brendon outside the next morning, with the few things he owns packed together. It looks like they’re lucky they caught him, but Ryan’s pretty sure he was waiting for them, anyway. “I should go. I shouldn’t - stay. I - ”
“No,” Spencer says, grabbing Brendon’s wrist and holding him still, holding him there. “No, this is where you belong.”
-