Into the Woods 2

[manipulant]

Two

His eyes slowly start to focus on objects solidifying out of white, and Spencer blinks a few times, shaking his head, til he can pretty much tell that he's standing inside the front hall of, great, another castle. Standing this time, that's nice.

Then he thinks of something, and glances down. "Fuck."

The dress is red this time, and expensive-looking. He groans and skims his hands over the beaded bodice of it warily, then notices that his fingers aren't splinted anymore, and seem to be functioning perfectly. He flexes them, just to test. Yep, good as new.

"This doesn't make the dress okay," he announces to the room and whatever else might be in there with him.

"Pardon?" comes a voice behind him. Spencer whirls around, ignoring the way the dress swishes, and raises his eyebrows at a mousy-looking man behind him.

"Oh. Um, nothing," Spencer says, tilting his chin. "Hello."

"Hello."

"...I'm Spencer," he offers, giving the man a tentative smile. "Er, is - "

"Yes, we're running a bit late this morning, I'm afraid," the man says, interrupting, gazing unhappily down at a scroll. "If you could follow me."

"I will if you tell me what I'm supposed to call you," Spencer says, raising his eyebrows expectantly, hands coming up to rest on his hips. "That was supposed to be an introduction, what I just did there."

"Hmm. They did say you were spirited." The man gives Spencer a mostly-approving look, which is equal parts skeevy and sort of gratifying. "Percival Jones, Page to His Majesty the King of - "

"Cool," Spencer says, nodding decisively. "So I'm going to call you Percy."

"If you must," Percy sighs, rolling the scroll up and tucking it under his shoulder. "The king will see you now."

"Oh." Spencer sighs and frowns a little, pushing his hair back off his face, running his fingers through it. "Great." He wonders, idly, which story they've landed in, and then he's distracted by the clack-clack-clack his feet are making on the marble floors, and he's blushing foolishly by the time he gets to the room the king's in. He follows Percy the Page in, and looks around curiously - this place is a lot more opulent than the last castle; it looks like Vegas. Like there should be waitresses in very little clothing wandering around, offering people cocktails.

"A-hem," the page says pointedly, staring at Spencer and making a tiny bowing gesture. Spencer glares, but does as he's told and manages a half-assed curtsy to the room in general, sort of towards the end of the room where, predictably, there's a big huge throne.

And then Spencer gives a little groan of relief, because Brendon wasn't even paying attention, he totally missed the curtsy. At the other end of the room, Brendon is lounging in the overcompensatory throne, plucking interestedly at what appears to be a cross between a balalaika and a sitar. Spencer can feel the tension seeping out of his back and shoulders.

"The milliner's daughter, Your Majesty!" Percy calls, sounding sort of put-upon as he scurries closer to the throne. Spencer watches, a little amused, as the man deftly plucks the instrument out of Brendon's hands and gives him a glare, nodding towards the other end of the room. Brendon looks up, and beams, his whole face lighting up as he sees Spencer.

"Well hey!" he yells, standing and clapping his hands together once, coming forward excitedly. He does this awkward little skip-hop down the floor, and Spencer barely manages to hold back his snort of laughter, ducking his head a little so Brendon can't see how wide he's smiling. God, seeing him is such a relief. "Spence! Hey!"

"Hey yourself," Spencer replies, a little more sedately. He waits until Brendon's less than a few feet away before he adds in an undertone, "Which story is this?"

"No clue," Brendon says, still grinning like an asshole. "Nice dress."

"Fuck you," he offers placidly. He glances down, and raises an eyebrow. "Nice tights, jackass."

Brendon looks down at himself and snorts. "Ross put me in worse," he shrugs. "They're kinda liberating."

Someone clears his throat next to them, and they both look over - Percy is staring at them with a scandalized expression on his face. "So...you're already acquainted," he says, words mottled and sticking in his throat oddly.

"Yeah," Spencer says coolly, folding his arms. He tilts his head to the side a bit and gives the man an icy smile, letting the silence stretch on, long and awkward.

"Yeah, I, uh," Brendon stammers, trying to pick up where Spencer dropped off. "I...was out riding. Like, a few months ago? And, um, fell off my horse, and Spencer was nice enough to let me stay at hi - her house til I felt better."

"Ah."

Spencer rolls his eyes for Brendon's sake, and then gives Percy a sickly little smile and bats his eyelashes ridiculously.

"So I take it that's when her father told you?" Percy asks.

"Uh?" Brendon looks just as flummoxed as Spencer feels, and they both stare at the man until he fidgets uncomfortably. "Told me what?"

"Er. That she can spin straw into gold, majesty," he says, looking at them both as if they're crazy. Which...Spencer concedes that the guy may have something there. "Hence the royal decree you gave yesterday that if it's true, you'd marry her." He turns and gives Spencer a slightly pitying glance. "We haven't been able to locate the milliner since, unfortunately."

Spencer frowns. "Wait, so. Brendon's going to marry me because my dad said I could spin straw into gold?"

"Er. Yes."

"Man, that's fucked," Spencer breathes, giving Brendon a horrified look. "What the shit, Bren, what the hell kind of priorities are those?"

"Dude, I didn't know, I just got here! What the hell is your dad doing, saying you can spin straw into gold and then skipping town?"

"I, ah," Percy interjects, holding up a finger. "There was a bit of material compensation for the information involved, I believe."

"You fucking paid him off." Spencer glares at both of them. "You paid him off before you knew if it was true or not. Awesome. Yeah, cool, great, so I'll just go turn vegetable into a mineral with my fucking magic wand - "

"H - She doesn't actually have a magic wand," Brendon says hastily, giving a horrified Percy a very wary glance. "She's just joking."

" - so that I can be married off to the first financially insolvent royal dicksmack who offers my con artist dad a shiny new goat. Fairy tales fucking suck, seriously," Spencer fumes. "Especially if you're the girl."

"I'm sorry," Brendon says, and he does actually look sort of guilty, which just serves to piss Spencer off more since it really isn't Brendon's fault they're both here. "I'll be the girl next time, okay?"

"Whatever, next time I'll probably get to be a troll," Spencer mutters mutinously, feeling his cheeks flush through. He rubs his hand over his arm awkwardly, fidgeting a little. "So, what, I just get to go stare at a bunch of straw until someone learns enough about science to know it isn't actually possible to change it to gold?"

"Ah," Percy says, looking apologetic. Spencer is immediately suspicious. "Not precisely."

Brendon glares at the guy. "What's that mean?"

"She, ah," Percy says, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he quails underneath the weight of their twin stares. "She has until tomorrow morning."

Spencer's stomach drops. "And then?"

Percy gives him a miserable look, and draws one finger across his throat.

Spencer blinks, and then turns to raise his eyebrows expectantly at Brendon. They stare at each other for a couple of seconds, and then Brendon finally cottons on and groans. He turns to the side a little, shoulders hunching up. "Oh hey, wait," he says, gesturing frantically to the gathered officials and guards for a second. "Don't lock 'im up, I'm the king and I'm ordering Spencer Smith to - "

Spencer hauls back and punches Brendon in the arm. Hard.

" - yeah," Brendon gasps, winded, automatically curling his hand over his arm, his eyes squeezed shut. "That."

"Dick," Spencer grumbles, folding his arms and fighting to stay at least somewhat collected (though his cheeks are a brilliant red) as he follows after the page, sweeping back towards the doors. He doesn't look back, but before the massive doors close behind him, he hears Brendon grumble something under his breath and then follow after.

Spencer doesn't want to think about the number of stairs the hapless servants of Brendon's castle had to walk to fill one of the topmost tower rooms with this much straw. Seriously, the tiny circular space is full to the ceiling in places; it looks like a barnyard version of Scrooge McDuck's swimming vault. He glances around in horror.

"Shit," Brendon mutters behind him. Spencer has the urge to punch him again, but lets it pass, feeling instead the familiar tugs of terror grip inside his stomach. "Shit, Spence," he says quietly.

"This sucks," Spencer mutters, just as much for his own benefit as for Brendon's. "Seriously, how am I - "

"I suppose we'll let you get to it!" Percy says brightly, clapping his hands together once before he turns and sees the looks both Brendon and Spencer are giving him and visibly deflates. "Oh. Ah - yes, well. I'll just. See to the plans for the feast tonight, shall I?"

"Good idea," Brendon says tersely. Spencer gives him a sidelong glance and sighs; Brendon's jaw is locked, his shoulders and fists both tensed into hard lines. He looks fucking pissed. "Don't count on me being there," he adds a second later.

"But your majesty - " Percy says, before self-preservation kicks in and he shuts his mouth. He nods and gives Spencer a watery smile before fleeing the room.

Spencer exhales, and doesn't even think before he's wrapping a hand over Brendon's shoulder, squeezing lightly. "Hey," he says, using his grip to haul Brendon back against him a little, try to make him calm down, "hey, breathe."

Brendon nods, a short, sharp movement, and leans back against him. "This fucking - what was that guy thinking? At the bookstore?"

"I don't know," Spencer says truthfully, kneading into Brendon's skin a little. "Maybe he didn't really know what was going to happen?"

"Maybe he hates our music," Brendon muses, slumping against him a little more, sighing as he tilts his neck to give Spencer's hand more room.

"Maybe he's James Montgomery's dad," Spencer supplies. He frowns, and then reaches up with his other hand to mirror his movements, rubbing small circles just above Brendon's shoulderblades. It's a habit they fell into during the blink tour, and Spencer feels the same weird grateful possessiveness that he felt then - it keeps Brendon from freaking out, but it also gives Spencer a chance to check out for a little while, not worry about anything else.

"Maybe," Brendon sighs after a few minutes, leaning back against Spencer, pliant enough that the back of his head is almost resting on Spence's shoulder, "maybe it's not real, maybe they won't actually. They can't seriously kill - "

"My fingers felt pretty broken last time," Spencer cuts in, his voice a little clipped, but he can't help it. He bites his lip, and then bullies Brendon into sitting down, spreading his ridiculous royal cloak on one of the piles of straw and then leaning back against it.

"M'sorry, Spence," Brendon says, looking so suddenly miserable that Spencer can't help sighing and tugging him in a little. "I don't know why all the shit keeps happening to you."

"Just lucky," Spencer replies, dry, as he props his head lightly on Brendon's shoulder. He sighs and closes his eyes as he feels Brendon's fingers start to slide their way through his hair, back to front. "Going to fall asleep," he warns him.

"Okay," Brendon replies, almost cheerful. "I probably will too."

Spencer huffs, and stifles a yawn that seems to have come out of nowhere. "Ugh, shit," he grumbles, shifting his legs out from underneath him, stretching a little, slumping against Brendon. "Cover up in the cloak," Spencer orders him. "Or else you'll get cold."

"Okay, mom," Brendon scoffs, snickering at the halfhearted frown and thump Spencer gives his thigh before he settles in. Spencer keeps his eyes closed, and does his absolute best to keep himself from thinking at all, and focuses instead on the rise and fall of Brendon's chest, the warmth of him, the gentle tug through his own hair, before he falls asleep.

"Spence."

Spencer frowns, and shifts.

"Spencer."

"God, what," Spencer hisses back, not opening his eyes.

"I think I know what story we're in," Brendon murmurs, close to his ear. Spencer's eyes fly open despite himself, and it takes him a few seconds to focus on anything other than the oddly comforting heat of Brendon's breath on his cheek, the way they're curled up underneath Brendon's gayass cloak together.

And then Spencer sees the other guy not ten feet from them, sitting cross-legged about five feet above the floor, and he lets out a thoroughly undignified shriek.

"Hey," the guy says. Brendon's too busy giggling at Spencer to really respond, and Spencer's too busy trying not to die from shock, so they all just stare sort of stupidly at each other for a few seconds.

"Um, hey," Brendon finally manages. And then he squints, and shifts a little closer, moving away from Spencer, who whimpers and curls the cloak up tighter around his shoulders - Brendon was letting in cold air, damn it. "Hey," he says, pursing his lips. "Aren't you - "

Spencer blinks. "Frank?"

The other guy - who is seriously, seriously Frank Iero, seriously - blinks back. "Huh?"

"You're not Frank?" It's not like Spencer or Brendon ever actually hung out with the guy, just a two-second introduction at awards shows over the years, but seriously.

"Um."

"...You don't have a brother or something, named Frank?" Brendon asks, boggling.

"Not that I know of," Frank says, laughing lightly. "I mean, I guess there's always a chance or something, right?"

Spencer stares at the guy some more, watches him fidget uncomfortably. "...So, right, I hear you've got a problem with some straw?" the guy - who is seriously Frank, Spencer is just going to have to call him Frank to keep from going completely crazy - says. "Needing to turn it into gold?"

Brendon glances over at Spencer, who's still too busy staring suspiciously at all of Frank's tattoos. Eventually, he nudges Spence. "Uh? Oh, yeah, straw into gold. Yeah." Spencer goes back to staring at the tattoos - he's pretty sure he saw an episode of LA Ink where Kat actually put that guy behind the drum set on Frank's arm.

"Well, it just so happens I can do that," Frank says, giving them both a self-satisfied little smirk, still hovering above them. Brendon gapes, but Spencer just looks (and feels) kind of annoyed.

"Are we talking about some sort of metaphor?" he asks, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow, not bothering to consider how not-tough he looks curled up with his only remaining bandmate under a red and purple fur cloak. "Some dumbass economics joke that only you're in on?"

Frank blinks, and then sneers, raising an eyebrow back. "No, I'm talking about turning all this fucking hay into fucking gold coins, is what I'm talking about. But hey, sorry to insult you. I guess I'll just let you get to it so they don't cut your pretty little head off in the morning, cool?"

Wait. Wait. Spencer's head tilts up, and he stares at Frank more intently - he knows this story. All of a sudden, he knows what they're doing. It's almost enough to make his head swim.

"No no! Not cool! Uncool! Opposite of cool!" Brendon interjects, waving his arms frantically, crawling up onto his knees. "He's just being a dick, we do seriously need your help."

"Dude, I know," Frank says, shrugging a shoulder, giving Brendon an almost-smile. "I was just fucking with you, don't worry." He hovers a little bit closer to the ground, and leans in, holding his hand out. Brendon pauses, and then breaks into a grin and reaches up to shake it. "Who the hell're you, anyway?" Frank asks.

"Oh. Brendon."

"What, the king?" Frank sits back and gives him a thoughtful look, and then laughs lightly, biting his lip, twisting the ring around. "The fuck are you doing here?"

"Long story."

"You're not supposed to be here, y'know."

"Yeah, but." Brendon glances over at Spencer, and exhales before he turns back to Frank. "Okay, apparently I'm kind of an asshole sometimes? And I'm not just going to, y'know, tell somebody 'oh hey make me a lot of gold out of this straw' and then just abandon them to it all night. You know?" he asks, looking up at Frank sort of desperately.

"Yeah, there's such thing as manners," Frank says solemnly, nodding his head a little.

Spencer can't help it, he starts snickering. "Were you going to hold my hair back when they cut my head off?" he asks, turning to face Brendon. "Because that'd be the gentlemanly thing to do."

"It's true," Frank agrees, smirking a tiny tiny bit, the very ends of his mouth curling up.

Brendon stares at him for a second, then gives him a small smile and nudges his elbow into Spencer's side. "Don't fucking joke about that," he murmurs, the smile wavering before it disappears and Brendon just starts looking worried again. Spencer huddles a little closer. "Anyway, I'm staying."

Frank nods, and then slaps his knees once with both hands, coming down to rest on the floor with a soft whump. "Sweet. More the merrier." He brings his hands up and rubs them together, looking a little devious for a second before he smiles brightly. "So before we start, we have to settle on a price."

Brendon frowns, and curls up against Spencer a little more, almost protective. Spencer takes a second to be really amused (and sort of touched, whatever, it's such a Brendon thing to do), and then gives Frank a narrow-eyed look. "What kind of price?"

"Well, the usual is your first-born son, but I'm thinking that's sort of out of the question what with you being a dude," Frank says, gesturing, "so I - "

"Wait, you can tell he's a dude?" Brendon says, shocked.

"Yeah," Frank says, giving Brendon a dubious look. "Wait, you can't?" He turns to give Spencer a baleful look. "What the hell kind of con are you trying to pull?"

"No, I know he's a guy. Jesus," Brendon says, gesturing frustratedly.

"Awesome, someone who knows I have a dick," Spencer breathes fervently. "Fuck, Frank, you're my new favorite person. Whatever you want, it's yours."

"Oh really," Frank leers.

"Hey!" Brendon squawks, cowering at the questioning looks both of them give him after. "Nevermind."

"Well it can't just be, like. A new set of sheets or something, it's got to be something big," Frank muses, gazing at them contemplatively. Then he brightens. "Hey! Do you have pets?"

"What." Brendon glares at him.

"No, I'm awesome with animals!" Frank says, flailing, incredibly animated all of a sudden. "Seriously, we have like a bond, it's fucking awesome. I have four dogs at home, and a cat! And a bird! Well, sometimes, it comes and goes. And a bunny!"

"I don't have any pets," Spencer says, frowning slightly, trying not to think about the dogs he lost in The Breakup. He can't help feeling guilty, though, at the way Frank visibly deflates by about six inches (and the guy is already short enough, those six inches are kind of crucial) at this news. "...Brendon does, though."

Brendon gasps and gives him this et tu, Brute look, hand clutching the cloak up to his neck. "No I don't!" he says shrilly. "Totally don't!"

"Liar," Frank says, almost gleeful, scooting closer towards them. "No, seriously, dog or cat?"

"You're not taking my pet!" Brendon says, voice getting progressively louder and more freaked out. Spencer swallows against a rising tide of guilty nausea in his throat, and twines arms around his waist. "No, fuck you," Brendon snarls, struggling against him, "fucking selling Bogart out, what the - "

"Bren, we know this one," Spencer murmurs, pressing his face into the crook of Brendon's neck, where Frank won't see his mouth and won't be able to overhear him. "I know this story. He won't get Bogart."

Brendon keeps struggling for a few seconds, then subsides, breathing hard and glaring at both of them, after Spencer pulls away enough to see him. "God. Fine," he scowls, folding his arms tight around his chest, hunching in on himself. "Seriously, though, fuck you. Get off me," he tells Spencer, shrugging away from him. "He's a dog, and his name is Bogart," he says to Frank, his voice going a little thick.

"Aw," Frank says, beaming. "Big or little?"

"...Little," Brendon says, shifting. "He's an Italian greyhound. So he's not, like. Tiny."

"No no, yeah, I get it," Frank says, and seriously, the guy is almost bouncing. Spencer's almost charmed. Or he would be, if he didn't know Brendon was almost vibrating with the urge to kill him. "All my dogs are really sweet, you don't need to worry. He'd totally get along with them, no problem."

"Great," Brendon says, flat, and after a tense few seconds, he sighs and slumps back against Spencer unexpectedly. "Well, if you're getting my dog, you'd better make damn sure this gold is good quality."

Frank snorts, and grins as he nods. "Fair enough. I'll get my stuff set up."

For some reason, Spencer's expecting a spinning wheel or a talking mirror, something fitting the general theme. What he's not expecting is for Frank to magically produce a soft case from behind one of the many (many many many) haystacks and pull out a white acoustic guitar. Beside him, he feels Brendon go still and then lean forward, and Spencer glances over at him and yeah, there's the hungry look in Brendon's eyes he was expecting.

"Nice," Brendon says underneath his breath, watching intently as Frank grabs a pick and starts tuning, leaning his head down close to the guitar, his eyes closing in concentration.

"I'm assuming you're talking about my fine instrument here," Frank says, his teeth still clenched around the pick, not opening his eyes though he does smirk a little.

"The guitar's good too," Brendon quips, breaking into a quick smile, and Spencer's torn between feeling relieved that some of the tension is leaving Brendon's shoulders and feeling irritated with the flirting.

Whatever, the last thing he needs is for Brendon to decide that he wants to set up camp in a fucking fairy tale to better get to know a troll that happens to look like Frank Iero. He's got shit to do. He has many pressing engagements back home (nevermind that a lot of them involve Pete Wentz, which is pretty fucking depressing to consider). He has bills that need paying on a monthly basis.

Spencer scowls and hunches in on himself a little, tugging Brendon's fucking stupid cloak around his bare shoulders. He fiddles with his skirt, smoothing it out, and then pulls his knees up and tucks his chin on them, watching Frank lure Brendon away from his seat beside Spencer, over to sit cross-legged beside him.

"It's about a steady tempo," he can hear Frank explaining, his eyebrows knitting together as he runs through several phrases of a song that isn't familiar. Off to their left comes a soft whishing sound, and both Spencer and Brendon freeze for a second. "It's okay, that's the straw changing," Frank explains. "It won't actually do it where anyone's watching, which fucking sucks when you get down to the last little bit," he says, making a face. "I have to play the last fifteen minutes with my eyes closed, usually."

"Cool," Brendon breathes, his eyes wide and appreciative.

Spencer watches, pressing his cheek to the knob of his kneecap, rocking forward and back a little in time to the tune Frank's plucking out. Beside him, Brendon's gazing intently at the way Frank's fingers move over the strings, and Spencer's seen that look enough times to know that Brendon's trying to memorize the chord progression, trying to think of little flourishes to add. He glances down, and can't help smiling a tiny bit as he watches Brendon's fingers twitch in his lap, restless.

Finally Frank gives Brendon a turn, and Spencer can't help a snort at the gleeful handflail Brendon gives him, before he launches into the same tune Frank was playing.

Spencer could close his eyes, he's seen this particular scene play out a dozen times before. Someone offering Brendon a turn on their guitar (or their accordion. or violin, or kazoo, or drumset), expecting to have to walk him through the steps. It's always the same: the combination of horror and amusement on their faces when Brendon just...picks it up and runs with it.

Sometimes, Spencer thinks, living with Brendon Urie is like living in a modern-day telling of Amadeus.

"No, yeah, A Minor," Frank says, gesturing towards Brendon's fingers on the frets. "Like - yeah, that," he says, perching back on his knees, tapping one foot lightly, pleased.

Brendon nods and keeps going, darting a quick glance over to Spencer, giving him a small, private smile that Spencer tentatively returns. "My tunes are gold, Spencersmith."

"The tunes you just stole, you mean," Spencer points out, turning his head so he can prop his chin on his knee again. He gazes evenly at Brendon, still smiling crookedly, something in his chest swelling awkwardly as both he and Brendon settle into the stare, neither one of them looking away.

Brendon used to pull this during practices, this Fast and the Furious shit where he would catch Spencer's eyes and keep them, both of them instantly locking into this stupid little competition to see who'd have to look down first to keep from flubbing his part of the song. They were generally pretty evenly matched, and a couple of times managed to get through an entire song like that, grinning at each other even as Ryan bitched them out after.

Brendon waggles his eyebrows and smirks provokingly, but Spencer just gives him a pitying smile in response and holds his gaze. It's not really a fair match, Spencer's not behind his kit after all. He blinks and bites at the corner of his lip absently, licking where the skin there is chapped and gross.

There's the twang and cross squawk of fingers slipping on strings, and Brendon grumbles a quiet fuck as he actually looks down at his hand, frowning at its betrayal.

"Ha," Spencer smirks, trying to tamp down the way he can feel himself starting to blush. He looks away then too, pushing his hair back off his forehead, the room suddenly seeming a lot bigger and darker now that that moment is over. His eyes slide over to Frank, who's watching them with this bemused little smile on his face, his arms folded. Frank raises an eyebrow at Spencer, who blushes more and ducks his head, shifting back against the hay.

"Okay, we're all suitably impressed," Frank says, trying to sound annoyed and failing entirely as he makes grabby-hands towards his guitar. Brendon huffs and hands it back over, looking sort of awkward and twitchy as he watches Frank resume playing. He glances over at Spencer after a minute or two, rubbing the back of his neck and offering him a sheepish smile.

Spencer rolls his eyes and jerks his head towards the empty spot beside him, smiling a little as Brendon scurries back over and settles down beside him. "Stop hogging the cloak," Brendon complains, tugging the end of it loose from where Spencer had tucked it around himself and curling in close. "Come on."

"God, be more of a stereotypical baby of the family," Spencer grouses, for appearances only since he shifts and pulls the cloak free, throwing it over the acute angle of Brendon's knees and legs. "Stop whining," he orders, dropping his shoulder a little just as Brendon moves to rest his head there. He fusses a few seconds more, arranging the cloak, and then gives him a longsuffering look. "Good?"

"Yup," Brendon says, giving him a beatific smile before he closes his eyes. Spencer rolls his eyes and then looks over at where Frank is cheerfully running through chords. Somewhere behind them is the whooshing sound of hay sliding over itself, changing into gold. The sound picks up, til it's almost as steady as the music Frank's actually playing.

Spencer sighs softly, fighting to keep still since Brendon's still draped all over him, and tries to move his arm a little, get the prickles out of it. Brendon grumps and shifts, but doesn't open his eyes as he presses the cold tip of his nose against Spencer's neck.

Spencer shifts uncomfortably, not quite liking the beady look Frank's giving them all of a sudden. The arm he'd managed to work across Brendon's back squeezes a little, instinctive, and Spencer works up a halfhearted glare for him.

Frank raises a hand, a pacific gesture, and goes back to playing. "He asleep?" he asks a few minutes later, not looking up from the guitar.

Spencer looks down, barely managing to make out the sweep of Brendon's dark eyelashes. "Brendon?" he asks quietly. He doesn't get an answer, so he nods to Frank. "Guess so."

"All tuckered out," Frank says simply, giving Spencer an unreadable look from under his eyelashes before he goes back to concentrating on the guitar. "So."

Spencer leans his head back against the straw, shifting it around til pieces stop poking him quite so hard. "So."

"Two guys."

"Apparently," Spencer says, rubbing a hand over his face tiredly. "But we didn't exactly know what we were getting into." He catches the amused expression Frank gives him at that, and hastily tacks on, "With the stories, I mean. ...Wait, shit, you know, right? About the stories? I mean, you know I'm not a girl, so I just figured - "

"Yeah, no, I know. The ones who are totally human don't, but most of us who are 'other' have some idea of what's going on," Frank assures him. "Given that I've gone through this exact same routine with quite a few people before."

"Ah," Spencer says. He can't think of anything to follow it up with, though, and goes silent and awkward.

"First time it's been two guys, though," Frank says conversationally, still looking down at the guitar, studious.

"Um."

"No, hey," Frank says, looking up, startling Spencer with the earnestness in his eyes. "It's cool. I - you can do that? Now?"

"Kind of?" Spencer replies, wincing when he realizes how unhelpful he must sound. Plus, Frank is staring at him with this really intense, almost desperate look in his eyes, and it's freaking him out a little bit. "It depends on where you live. In a lot of places, yeah, you can. In other places, still a big fat hell no."

"Huh." Frank goes back to playing the guitar, frowning. Spencer doesn't think it's entirely his imagination that Frank's strumming the strings a little bit harder, a little bit angrier than he was a minute ago. "But if some places allow it, eventually it'll be everywhere," he says practically, a few minutes later.

"Yeah, probably," Spencer agrees. He looks down at Brendon for a second and pushes a bit of straw away from his ear, then seems to recognize that whoa, hey, he's giving Frank totally the wrong impression. "But it's - I mean, it's not like that with me and Brendon. We're just friends."

Frank raises an eyebrow and looks Spencer over for a second. Actually, he looks Spencer and Brendon over, and then snorts. "Sure."

Spencer's cheeks flame. "No, seriously. He has a girlfriend."

Frank looks back up at that, his shoulders sinking a little as they gaze at each other for a second. "Dude," he murmurs, his voice full of sympathy.

"No, it's - " but suddenly Spencer really has no idea how to finish that sentence.

Okay, that's not true, he's finished that sentence half a dozen different ways to different people (Pete, Ryan, Shane). But for that one moment, Spencer's brain just...deserts him, and he finds himself unable to respond. His arm around Brendon tightens a little and Brendon mumbles something into his neck, and Spencer has to look away from Frank, quick and furious at himself. He concentrates really hard on a pile of straw about ten feet away.

"You're just really good at being a good friend, right?" Frank asks, his voice quiet and thoughtful.

Spencer takes a breath in, and holds it for two, three, four seconds. Then he lets it go. "Dude," he says, laughing a little, soundless, mirthless. "I am fucking amazing at it, you don't even know."

"Yeah I do," Frank replies immediately, giving Spencer that intent look again. He breaks into a smile, one that's sort of brittle, hard-looking. "I didn't always do this. I wasn't always...y'know, here." He stares at Spencer for a moment, long enough to make Spencer sort of uncomfortable and twitchy, before he just sets his guitar down and scoots closer to the two of them, leaning towards Spencer and dropping his voice even lower. "I reminded mine about anniversaries, okay? Anniversaries and birthdays and everything."

Spencer's eyes widen, locking with Frank's for a long moment before he exhales. "Shit, man," he manages.

"For real," Frank sighs, sitting back a little. "Fucking sucks." He reaches behind him, and picks the guitar up again, picking back up where he left off. "At least you're not at that point yet, right?"

"Nah," Spencer says.

"Just almost, right?" Frank asks, angling his guitar til it almost pokes Spencer in the arm.

"No, well," Spencer starts uncomfortably, shifting a little until Brendon grumbles in his sleep and Frank gives him an I'm not fooled look. "...I just make sure his bills get paid and I balance his checkbook. And sometimes shop for groceries for him? I mean, otherwise he'd fucking starve or eat his own foot to survive, he's kind of an idiot." Spencer pauses for a minute, and swallows. "And we always go Christmas shopping together because he says I pick out the best presents for his parents."

"Oh my god," Frank hisses, his expression gleeful, schadenfreude just rolling off of him in waves. "Dude, that's so pathetic, it's fucking awesome, holy shit. Fucking - Christmas presents, oh my god."

Spencer grins tiredly, resting his chin on Brendon's hair for a second. "Fuck you, now I'm not going to mention how one year I had to pick out a Valentine's Day present for a girl he was dating." He smirks, but otherwise doesn't respond as Frank dissolves into quiet, desperate giggles.

...It had been a really nice little ruby pendant necklace, what he'd picked out, but when it happened Spencer was nineteen and sad and not sure whether he liked boys or girls or both, so the whole experience had since taken on this feel of epic gloom and badness. What had happened was, he'd gone to some mall in Pittsburgh on tour while Ryan and Brendon were doing press, and he'd spent half of the two hours Zack had allotted him gazing miserably at cufflinks and watch fobs that Brendon would never think to buy for himself, or anyone else. Then he'd gone back to the bus, and gone to soundcheck, and after the show that evening, he'd wordlessly gone to TAI's bus and got absolutely shitfaced for the first time ever, so drunk that Beckett and Jon had to get him back to the right bus at the end of the evening. Ryan didn't talk to him for three days afterwards.

Spencer's smile fades as he remembers the way his eyes watered as he was puking into the bus toilet, the way Beckett patted his back and chuckled when Spencer swiped a hand over his eyes and cursed.

He rubs his eyes, and shuffles down a little, huddling under the cloak a bit more. He doesn't respond when Frank clucks his tongue and grabs his cloaked foot, giving it a squeeze.

"We few, we happy few," he quotes, giving Spencer a wry, lopsided smile. Eventually, Spence returns the smile.

"Look, don't get me wrong, Brendon's totally my best friend," he feels obliged to say. "And...y'know, as far as really shitty badly-thought-out crushes go, it's not terrible. He's pretty easy."

"Except for when he's not," Frank adds shrewdly, watching Spencer until he sighs and nods.

"Except for when he's not," he agrees. "...You didn't." He frowns, and gestures with his free hand. "I mean, I'm not." He huffs, exasperated with himself and with the confused look Frank is giving him. "You couldn't tell, could you?"

"Oh." Frank laughs a little. "Nah. I mean, I knew what I was looking for, so."

"Okay," Spencer says, a little ashamed of how intensely relieved he is. "So," he says, trying not to let the silence get too awkward, "tell me about yours."

"Aw, god," Frank says, grimacing. "It was so long ago, seriously."

Spencer raises his eyebrows and gives Frank his least amused expression, and waits. He doesn't have to wait long.

"He was - he wasn't my boss, but he was sort of. The guy with the plan?" Frank says finally, keeping his eyes focused on the guitar. "Just. Amazing, dude, seriously. His brain, it was awesome."

"Yeah, you loved him for his brains," Spencer replies drily.

"Some of us value that in a person," Frank says, gazing at Brendon pointedly, grinning at the way Spencer tucks him up closer, protective. "Anyway, who am I kidding, he was gorgeous. That was a lot of it." He snorts softly, plucking out a long, lingering note. "Stars in my fucking eyes, man."

"Did he ever figure it out?"

"I don't think so," Frank says, pursing his lips up for a second as he thinks about it. "I mean, I never told him. I was really good friends with his little brother - yeah," Frank says, shaking his head at the small hiss of sympathy Spencer gives. "Always liked a challenge, I guess."

"Obviously," Spencer agrees.

"Yeah," Frank sighs. "He was - yeah, anyway, it got to the point that I either had to leave or, y'know, jump on him. So I left." He pauses, his fingers stilling on the guitar strings. "He was so cool, seriously."

"Maybe you could go back," Spencer suggests, tentative. "For a visit?"

"Yeah, no," Frank laughs. "I'm good."

"No, really! You were friends with his little brother, you could - "

"Nah," Frank says, firm. "Sort of doubt he remembers me," he adds, looking sort of dejected.

"Yeah right," Spencer says, just as firm. "You should do it."

"Sure," Frank says idly, going back to playing music, obviously not taking Spencer's words to heart. Spencer sags back into the straw, frustrated. A long pause stretches out between them.

"I didn't mean - " Spencer starts, but then he's cut off by Frank's fingers suddenly slipping on the strings.

"Hey. Hey." His eyes are shining. "You'll run into him. He's - I don't know what order we're going in these days, but you'd know if you'd met him, seriously."

"Yeah?" Spencer says dubiously, not really sure where this is going.

"Yeah. So you could, like." Frank fumbles for words, gesturing frantically. "You could tell him hey? From me?"

"Well, yeah," Spencer says, sort of relieved that that's all Frank's asking. "Yeah, of course. What's his name?"

Frank winces, and looks down at the floor, his cheeks actually going pink. "...You'll know him when you see him."

Spencer blinks, and frowns. "Are you serious?"

"Dude, you totally will," Frank says, looking up, suddenly fierce. "He's sort of unmistakable, okay? Just - you'll know. And you can just say I said, y'know. Hey."

Spencer stares at him for a second, completely befuddled. "So, okay. Just to recap. I'm supposed to meet this guy, who I'll just know is like, the love of your fucking life, but you're not going to tell me his name or any distinguishing features other than he's really really cool. And you want me to give him a metaphorical 'do you like me check yes or no' note for you."

"Yeah, pretty much. He has black hair?" Frank offers, giving Spencer a hopeful smile. "Well, mostly black. It's usually black. Except for when it's blond."

Spencer stares at him. "You are a very strange little man."

Frank's smile vanishes, and is quickly replaced with a petulant scowl. "Says the guy wearing a dress and cuddling his best friend."

Spencer hates to admit it, but Frank does have a point, so he subsides. "Fine, okay, whatever. I will totally tell this possibly dark-haired but possibly blond one-hundred-percent cool guy of yours that you said hi. Good plan."

"Thanks," Frank says pleasantly. He gives Spencer a wide, cheesy grin and goes back to the guitar again. All around Spencer, the sift of morphing straw starts up again, and he watches Frank for a while, the rhythm of his fingers twisting over the strings. Despite the nap he took earlier, his eyelids are growing heavy - he supposes he's still trying to make up the sleep deficit from the Pea Incident.

"You miss him," he says finally, jaw cracking on a huge yawn on the last word. He stretches his legs and his back as much as he can, slouching back onto the straw, guiding Brendon's arm away from its awkward angle between them into a more comfortable drape across his own chest.

"Yeah," Frank says simply, not looking up.

"I'll bet he misses you," Spencer murmurs, one corner of his mouth quirking up tiredly, before he closes his eyes. Brendon is a warm, comfortable weight against his side, and Spencer can still smell traces of his shampoo, the fruity shit he bought one day just to make Spencer roll his eyes and ask why Brendon thought he needed more volume.

Spencer is hit by a wave of homesickness so hard it physically hurts. He wants their house, and Bogart, and Guitar Hero, and surfing. He wants to hear Brendon's fucking annoying alarm clock down the hall at ass o'clock in the morning. He wants tacos.

He settles for sighing, and pressing his cheek to the soft warmth of Brendon's hair, and listening to their breathing and Frank's guitar and the soft sound of straw shushing around them.

When he wakes, it's completely silent. Spencer winces at the light of the sun blaring in through the tiny windows, and wriggles down til the sun is out of his eyes. He's hot, skin tacky with sweat everywhere that the cloak or Brendon is draped over him.

"Mmf, fuck," Brendon groans, into his shoulder, turning his face away from the light too. "What time is it?"

"Oh here, let me check my convenient digital timepiece. I have no idea," Spencer grumbles, throwing an arm over his eyes, accidentally smacking Brendon in the back of the head. "Shit, sorry."

"Fucking...timepiece, what the fuck," Brendon mutters, snuffling against Spencer's skin for a second before he flops over and drapes Spencer's hand over his eyes. "Better."

"Mm?" Spencer stretches, back arching like a cat, popping in a couple of places before he settles back down and rubs his index finger in light, friendly circles against Brendon's temple, where he sometimes gets headaches. He snorts a tired, lazy laugh at Brendon's oh yeah baby, right there, just like that, the way he tilts his head into Spencer's touch.

The sound of a throat clearing makes them both freeze. Spencer opens his eyes and moves his arm a fraction, and gazes warily up at Percy. A second later, Brendon tugs Spencer's hand away from his face and stares as well. "Oh. Hi," Brendon says, propping up on his elbows and blushing faintly. Spencer waves lazily, and then rearranges his arm back over his eyes and tries not to smirk.

"I trust you slept well, majesty." Spencer snorts, and doesn't have to move his arm to imagine quite clearly the unimpressed look he's sure the page is shooting them. Brendon halfway manages to move up into a sitting position, only elbowing Spencer in the gut once. "And may I be the first to offer my congratulations on your betrothal?"

That's enough to get Spencer to open his eyes and deal with the morning. He frowns and sits up, stretching his back out, wincing at a couple of sore places - and then he notices the total absence of straw in the room and the way it's been entirely replaced by gold.

Seriously, fuck barnyard versions of the Scrooge McDuck swimming vault, now it looks like the real thing. Spencer's mouth actually falls open, and he stares so much he almost misses Brendon grinning and thanking Percy and elbowing him in the side.

"Uh? Oh. Yeah, thanks," Spencer says, distracted by how the sun keeps bending and reflecting off of every surface. "Holy shit."

"Yeah. Good job, Spence," Brendon says, elbowing him again, giving Spencer a significant look. His smile has faded, and Spencer blinks at him, still half-asleep, before he realizes oh, yeah, he's supposed to have turned the straw into gold.

"Well, y'know. We all have our talents," Spencer says, shrugging a shoulder modestly.

"Saving lives, one day at a time," Brendon supplies, scratching his chin, sharing a private smirk with him. "Anyway, so." He slaps his hands down on his knees once, and looks up at Percy expectantly. "We're cool?"

"Ah, sorry?"

"Everything's taken care of? No beheadings or anything?"

"Oh." Percy looks relieved. "No, sire, no beheadings. Though I have taken the liberty of booking consultations with the local bakers, florists, social planners, and tailors for this morning."

Brendon blinks. "Uh."

"...For the wedding, sire."

"Oh, right. Yeah, I. Sure. I'll be there," Brendon says dubiously, shooting Spencer a horrified look.

"Though I suppose if you wanted something more lavish, we could wait a bit, have a best-of-three scenario with the straw?" Percy muses, tapping the end of a short quill pen against his chin. "We could always use more gold."

Spencer opens his mouth to protest, because seriously? but Brendon beats him to it. "Don't get greedy," he snaps, pushing himself to his feet. "Ugh, I need a shower, I feel like things are starting to grow on me. And Froot Loops, fuck, I want Froot Loops," he groans, looking back at Spencer dolefully.

"Cinnamon Toast Crunch," Spencer muses, rubbing his cheek. "I miss Cinnamon Toast Crunch."

"Er," Percy says, looking at one of them and then at the other, and then back again. "I'll...tell the staff to start heating water for a bath?"

"Awesome," Brendon says. He reaches down to give Spencer a hand up, helping him negotiate the floofy skirts. "We're right behind you." He gives Percy his best maddeningly placid smile, one that doesn't flicker until he's bowed his way out of the room. Then, Brendon turns and gives Spencer a sheepish look. "Sorry."

"Yeah, this ordering people around thing must be really hard for you," Spencer says kindly, stretching his arms above his head and then scratching the back of his neck. "Poor guy."

"Yeah, fuck y - " Brendon starts, smiling a little, but then Frank pops out from behind one wall of coins and scares both of them half to death.

"Hey! Oh - shit, sorry," he says, grimacing as Spencer grumbles and tries to pry out of Brendon's death grip on his arms. "Sorry, man."

"It's all right," Spencer tells him, finally shaking Brendon's hand off his arm, frowning as he inspects the red mark on his skin. "Thanks for not scaring the shit out of the servants." He pauses, and thinks for a minute. "And for, y'know, turning the straw into gold."

"Yeah, seriously," Brendon says, finally recovered enough from shock to speak. "This is pretty impressive." Frank waves away the praise.

"Nah, man. Nothing."

"Hey," Spencer says, "what happens when there's nobody like us around? Does everything just stop, or - "

"We have a lot of down-time," Frank says simply, folding his arms and giving him a grin. "How d'you think I learned how to do this shit? I had a five-year apprenticeship with the last guy before he left and I inherited the whole thing."

"Sort of a Dread Pirate Roberts deal," Brendon says, nodding slowly.

Frank gives him a confused look, and then glances over at Spencer, who shrugs. "Okay," Frank says, noncommittal. "Anyway, so. I take it you're not going to make us go through two more nights of this, right?"

"Yeah, no, one's enough."

"Awesome. Swear to God, I'm developing carpal tunnel from this shit, it gets worse every time."

"You could take a break," Spencer says pointedly, raising an eyebrow at Frank. "Go on a road trip. I'll bet you've saved up some vacation hours."

Frank snorts. "Sure. Anyway, I'm just assuming here that King Brendon doesn't want to give up Bogart and that you guys have other places to be."

"I'm thinking it's about that time," Brendon agrees. "But thanks, for...y'know, being cool and letting me play your guitar and knowing Spencer has a dick."

"All in a day's work," Frank tells him, breaking into a grudgingly sweet smile as he elbows Brendon in the ribs. "Thanks for not being an asshole king," he says. Then he squawks and starts chuckling as Brendon scoffs and pulls him into a quick, tight hug, almost lifting him off his feet.

Spencer folds his arms tight around his chest, frowns down at his shoes for a second. "You could come with," he offers, wavering between being sort of excited for the next story and feeling sort of dejected at Frank getting left behind. "Y'know, tag along for the next few."

"I'm good," Frank says, reaching out to nudge Spencer's shin with one foot. "But I'm holding you to that thing," he says seriously.

"Thing?" Brendon asks.

"Yeah, I know," Spencer says, ignoring him, looking up at Frank, meeting his eyes and holding them. "I'll remember."

"Good." Frank gives him an unreadable look, then smiles a little. "So hey. Spence. I'll bet you your freedom and Brendon's dog that you can't tell me my name." The smile grows wider, mischievous, as Frank starts to shift his weight from one foot to the other.

Spencer can't help smiling back a little, his arms dropping to his sides. He can barely see Brendon hedging closer to him, til their arms are almost touching. "Okay seriously, you have a clone in another world and his name is Frank, but I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess - Rumpelstiltskin?"

"Oh no, oh no," Frank says, in a monotone that would almost impress Ryan (though he's still managing that cheerful, dangerous smile), "how did you ever guess. How dare you outwit me, blah blah blah, you vile harpy, I will have my revenge. Seriously, it was awesome meeting you guys, you take care of each other, okay?"

"Promise," Brendon says, reaching to put a hand just in the small of Spencer's back. Spencer totally ignores the smirk Frank gives him at that, and raises his eyebrows expectantly.

"Well?"

"Stop pretending to be impatient," Frank advises him, just as his feet leave the ground and he starts to hover again. "You're not fooling anybody." He seems to level off at about three feet above the ground, and crosses his legs, sitting comfortably in mid-air. "Also, my name is actually Frank. I guess technically you won before we even started." He gives Spencer the biggest, cheesiest shit-eating grin ever, and beside him, Brendon snickers.

"Oh, fuck y - " Spencer starts, before Frank just pops out of existence, a little wisp of smoke where he used to be. "Whoa, did - " he starts again, turning to talk to Brendon, who's suddenly gone too. Spencer blinks at the place where Brendon was. "Oh," he says, and then the world drops away into a field of white.

Three A