Into the Woods 4/5a

[manipulant]

Four and Five

The lantern puts out a glow with about a four-foot circumference, which is totally enough room for both of them, provided Spencer doesn't mind not having much of a personal space bubble.

"If I wasn't used to it by now, I never would be," Spencer sighs, much put-upon, but Brendon doesn't pay much attention - he's too busy hopping over nefarious tree roots and making sure neither one of them runs into spiderwebs because gross, seriously, that is the worst feeling ever.

"There's a root there," Brendon tells him, pointing it out helpfully.

"Thanks," Spence murmurs, frowning and reaching for Brendon, wrapping a hand around his arm and pulling him in a little, back into the light. "Doing okay?"

Brendon rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine. Dude, it's only been like. Two hours since we left, you're not allowed to start freaking out yet."

"Mikey said to keep checking in. So, I'm checking in," Spencer says mulishly, shifting the basket from one arm to the other.

"Here, let me take it," Brendon huffs, snagging the basket and tucking it into his elbow. "Want some water?" he asks, beginning to rummage through the contents interestedly. "Ooh, hey, there are apples. You want an apple?"

"Nah," Spencer says, glancing around them, squinting up at the night sky. "Jesus, you can't even see any stars anymore."

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep," Brendon quotes, dropping his voice, intoning the words like he's trying to be James Earl Jones. Or a reader on NPR. He snags an apple from the basket and crunches into it, giving Spencer a squinty smile when Spence shines the lantern on him.

Spencer frowns, but otherwise doesn't respond to the apple-eating. They walk along in silence for a couple of minutes. "But you have promises to keep?" he asks, finally, sounding resigned.

Brendon snorts, and takes another huge bite of apple, chomping and swallowing noisily (mostly because he knows Spencer sort of hates it). "And miles to go before I sleep, Smith the Fifth. And miles to go, before I sleep," he leers.

Spencer quirks an eyebrow. "That's a pretty radical interpretation of that poem," he observes.

"Everything I do is pretty radical."

"Yeah, you're a teenage mutant ninja turtle," Spencer agrees wearily.

Brendon can't help it, the theme song from the cartoon pops out of some corner of his brain that hasn't been used since he was seven, and he starts humming. "Heroes in a half-shell," he sings, mostly to himself. "Turtle power. Oh, hey, dibs on being Michelangelo."

"Well, yeah," Spencer scoffs, giving him an unsurprised look. "Addicted to pizza, with impulse control issues. Who else would you be?"

Brendon glowers, and tries to kick at Spencer's shin. "Yeah, well, you're Raphael. Teenage asshole ninja turtle."

"I'm okay with it," Spencer decides a moment later. "He had the red eyemask. I could rock a red eyemask."

"Promise me you'll do a show like that, next tour," Brendon demands, grinning at the prospect.

"Yeah, sure," Spencer agrees easily, reaching to snatch the apple out of Brendon's hand, taking a huge bite. He hands what is basically the core back to Brendon, with a beatific smile, and the next minute and a half is punctuated by Spencer chewing thoughtfully.

Brendon tries not to let his thoughts wander, but - he's in a dark forest and they've been talking about turtles that happen to be ninjas, and there aren't four of them anymore, it's only him and Spencer.

Brendon sighs quietly.

Spencer gives him a sidelong glance, and a small, rueful smile. "Jon's Donatello?" he guesses. Brendon nods miserably, and doesn't protest when Spencer holds his arm out, he just goes in for the offered cuddle.

"Ryan'd be a shitty Leonardo, though," Brendon muses a few seconds later, his words muffled against Spencer's shoulder. They're still walking, albeit slowly and sort of unsteadily.

"Ryan can be Splinter."

Brendon pauses, and chuckles, nosing Spencer's arm and eventually pulling back to look at him. "That works. Hey, you should give me a piggyback ride." Brendon pouts at the face Spencer pulls at him. "Just for a few minutes! And then I'll totally hold all the stuff and save all the apples for you, promise!"

In response, Spencer sighs and takes the basket from Brendon before gesturing for him to hop up. Pleased at how he didn't have to argue, Brendon scrambles up as easily as he can, trying not to elbow or knee Spencer in any soft places. It only takes them half a minute to get situated; they're old pros by now.

They compromise by making Brendon hold the basket and the lantern - it goes out in front of them so Spencer can see. Brendon keeps up his litany of pointing out problematic branches and twigs and roots and - occasionally - a very pretty or crunchy-looking leaf.

Approximately five minutes pass, long enough for the shadows of the trees to shift over them. Somewhere, high above where they can't see, the moon is out - it's bright enough that every now and then they can see patches of the forest floor beyond the lantern, moonlight reflecting off the trees. "Okay?" Brendon asks suddenly.

Spencer turns to try to look at him, and fails. "Okay," he assures him, squeezing the hand that's holding up his left thigh.

Brendon squirms, and then leans close enough that his chin is basically hooked on Spencer's shoulder, and he starts singing I've Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts in a deep, sepulchral voice.

"Shut up," Spencer grumbles, though he can't help breaking into quiet laughter as Brendon insists on finishing the verse, at least. Pleased, Brendon rests his cheek on Spencer's shoulder for a second.

And then, something starts pinching the inside of his leg, banging against it, hard.

"Ow," Brendon hisses, squirming again, trying to get away from whatever it is that's hurting him. "Ow, Spence, hang on," he says, wincing, whacking Spencer's arm to get him to hold still. "Jesus, something's poking me in the leg." He pauses in his attempts to slide off. "That's what sh - "

"Yeah, okay, just get off," Spencer says, his teeth gritted together as he tries to hold still so Brendon can get down. Brendon finally manages to scramble off, having only put himself in mortal danger of getting his junk accidentally punched once or twice, and he whirls around, folding his arms to glare at Spencer -

- and Spencer takes one look at him and starts laughing uncontrollably.

"What?" Brendon asks, frowning deeply. "What's going on?"

"Oh my god," Spencer says, and fuck, he's almost giggling. "How did you not notice?"

Brendon glares at him, and then notices that Spencer's yodeling pants are - well, gone. "Hey, your yodeling pants," he says sadly, gazing at the nondescript work trousers that have taken their places. "Your yodeling pants are gone." He looks back up, and blinks. "Spence."

"Yeah, well, you've got on - "

"Spence, you have a beard again!"

Immediately distracted from whatever it was about Brendon that was threatening to make him piss his pants, Spencer puts a hand up to his face, and it lights up when he encounters the facial hair Brendon remembers from home. (It sends a quick, lightning-bolt pang of homesickness running all through him.) "Sweet," Spencer breathes, tilting his chin up so he can inspect for encroaching neckbeard.

"You're clear," Brendon says. "You still have a neck."

"Good," Spencer says, pleased. He turns shining eyes back on Brendon, their corners crinkling as he starts to smirk. "Did you know you're wearing a red cape?"

"What?" Brendon immediately looks down, and groans - somehow it's even worse than before. He's wearing a fucking...well, what looks like a babydoll dress (no corset or stays this time, thank fuck) with a bright fire engine red cape over it, and fucking ankle socks with ruffles and shiny shoes. "Shit, I look like a pedo's wet dream," he grouses, trying to tug the cape over his bare knees.

"Bow chicka bow," Spencer agrees, his attention drawing away from Brendon's scandalous outfit to inspect his own new gear. "Hey!" he says suddenly. "Hey, I have an axe!"

"An axe?" Brendon lifts his eyes up, frowning at the old wooden-handle axe that Spencer's holding like a sword in his right hand. "Huh."

"An axe and..." Spencer inspects the rest of his pockets and the toolbelt hanging around his waist, "a compass and what looks like an old tape measurer."

"Fancy," Brendon says, give him a thorough once-over. "You also have a pretty unfortunate hat."

Spencer instantly raises a hand to his head and pulls the hat off, inspecting it and then wrinkling his nose. "Ugh."

"Hey, I'm wearing a red cape and a nightgown. Things could be worse," Brendon points out, scowling again. He glares around at the trees surrounding them, and tries to ignore a sudden urge to stamp his foot. "Awesome. Little Red Riding Hood, awesome."

"Don't worry, little lady," Spencer says, swinging the axe around in a circle with his wrist, trying to make good on his earlier claim that he's fucking Donatello. "I'm totally going to rescue you. With my woodcutting skills."

Brendon snorts, and he can feel the frown on his face starting to lessen, despite himself. "Who knew that all that dedicated wrist exercising would come in handy, one day," he taunts, swinging the lantern between them idly, cocking a hip and playing up his new role a little.

"I did," Spencer says solemnly, grinning at Brendon from below his lashes, chin ducked down as he reholsters the axe. Brendon's throat closes up a little, which totally explains the small, strangled sound he makes. "I knew all along, those long hours of perfecting my technique would totally pay off."

"Hours, huh?"

"Yep." Spencer looks back up, and smirks. "Hours."

"You should have shared with the class," Brendon manages, tilting his chin, giving Spence a severe look.

"Oh really." Spencer's eyes snap, even in the low light of the lantern. "You - "

A growl, low and inhuman and menacing and not far away, cuts off their painful attempts at flirting, and Brendon watches as Spencer's eyes go wide and scared. "Was that..." he starts, but Brendon shakes his head.

"Not me," he says, taking a step forward, reaching for him unconsciously. Spencer takes his hand and holds it tight, grabbing for the axe again and drawing it out, holding it like a weapon in his free hand. "I, um. What is it?"

"We're in Little Red Riding Hood," Spencer reminds him, his voice dropping to a whisper as another, louder, meaner growl emanates from the woods behind them. Brendon can't really tell where it's coming from - the sound seems to bounce off of the trees surrounding them, echoing and traveling up and up and just growing bigger.

"Oh," Brendon breathes, squeezing his eyes shut for a second, opening them again and huddling into Spencer a little. He squints as his eyes adjust to the lantern light just below him - for a second there he thought he saw...

"Spence," he manages, his voice catching in his throat and dying. Spencer looks at him, and immediately looks in the same direction, and takes a step back at the way the lantern is reflecting light in two points not far away. Two points, growing closer. Two white eyes.

"Shit," Spence breathes, before he yanks on Brendon's hand, hard. "Shit, Bren, run."

Spencer's pushed Brendon out in front of him but is keeping a hand on his back, for which Brendon is thoroughly grateful since it mostly keeps him from falling over or freaking out about Spencer being eaten. There's the rush of wind in his ears as Brendon runs, and runs and runs, sprinting through the trees, barely keeping up with the tiny winding path now that the lantern is flickering and guttering wildly from being jostled so much.

Behind him, he can hear Spencer's panting, and behind that, there's the bowel-rattling sound of leaves rustling, a few more footfalls than can be attributed to the two of them. Brendon squeezes his eyes shut for a second as the air is split around them by an earth-shaking howl. "Oh god," he gasps, almost stumbling on a fallen branch, but Spencer's there, holding him up, pulling him back up into standing and basically hauling him back into running, so that now they're side by side.

He's not sure, but he thinks that the small gust of air on the back of his ankles suddenly is warmer than it should be. "Shit," he whimpers, unable to keep himself from darting his hand out, grabbing onto Spencer's sleeve.

"Tree," Spencer gasps, just before the fallen log comes into view in the lantern light, and they both barely clear it, Brendon using it as a springing-board to jump a few feet out ahead. Somehow he manages not to let go of Spence, and he pulls, sending them careening off the path a little bit, into the trees, just as something dark and huge whooshes by.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck, Brendon thinks, his mind a blind, searing blank of terror as he and Spencer crash through the underbrush. He can feel twigs and brambles cutting into his knees, his shins, but it's a shadow of real sensation, everything in his body is concentrating on moving him faster, fasterfasterfaster, tugging Spencer along as he dodges tree branches and slides down carpets of leaves, stumbling and almost cartwheeling over a small cliff before Spencer grabs his cloak and pulls him back, pulls him back into all-out sprinting. Behind them, there's a crash, and then another crash, and a pained yowl.

"It fell in," Spencer manages, looking back and giving Brendon a panicked look, one that Brendon hoped he'd never have to see again, and he grits his teeth and just moves faster, unable to take the time to analyze why he's suddenly as pissed off as he is scared.

He finally manages to steer them back up, onto the path, and for a long few minutes there's just the sounds of him and Spencer running, their footbeats and their panted breaths. Brendon's lungs are searing him, red-hot pain working up and out to his throat, his arms, every part of him, and he's starting to realize he can't keep up this pace forever.

"Spence," he gasps, but then he fucking trips over a tree-root, fucking story of his life, and the lantern goes flying out of his hands and crashes against a tree-trunk and they're both thrown into almost pitch-darkness. "Oh, shit," he whimpers.

Spencer accidentally yanks him forward, and falls as well, unable to stop moving in time. He groans, and halfway picks himself up as he crawls over to Brendon. "Okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Brendon whispers shakily, grabbing for him, sitting up. The next few seconds are a haze of shaking hands, panted breaths as they check each other over, make sure nothing's broken, check in. "Sorry, I'm sorry," Brendon breathes, his chest hitching, as Spencer picks them both up. "The lantern."

"It's okay," Spencer assures him, both hands on his back, clutching at him. "It's...it's good, now it can't track us from the light. We just have to be quiet."

"Okay," Brendon whispers, clinging to Spencer for a second, unable to move his hands from Spencer's shoulder, his hair, where they've dug in. For a few seconds they just stand there, silent, trying to quiet their breathing and get their eyes used to the dark before they move again. Brendon can feel Spencer's heart beating wildly against his chest, he realizes suddenly, and he can feel Spencer's breath against his cheeks. He closes his eyes and swallows. "Hey, um." The hand on his back is rubbing comforting circles, the same thing Spencer does after shows. "Hey, I."

"Can you see now?" Spencer asks, cutting him off. Brendon opens his eyes and realizes hey, yeah, he can totally see Spencer's outline, the faint glitter of his eyes.

"Yeah," Brendon says, biting his lip against the wry smile that wants to crop up at that. Yeah. "You?"

"Yeah. Let's...just move slow, okay? Want me to go first?"

Brendon rests his cheek against Spencer's shoulder for a second, and nods. Eventually they ease out of clinging, and Spencer starts moving down the edge of the path, nearer to the trees, glancing back every few seconds to make sure Brendon's okay, Brendon's right there with him.

Brendon clings to him, a deathgrip on his hand and the other twined in the back of his shirt. They inch along, one step at a time, til Brendon can't see where they dropped the lantern anymore.

Above them, the moon is high and full and he keeps catching glimpses of it, slivers between the branches of all the stretching trees. Brendon shivers and huddles up next to Spencer, really wishing his clothes hadn't morphed into something so short for this story. Spencer's busy hiding them behind a tree, peeking his head out around it as he scans the forest for signs of danger.

Brendon would laugh if he wasn't sure the move was actually necessary.

He creeps with Spencer from one tree to the next, pretty sure that if anyone were able to watch them, they'd look like two characters on an old cartoon. Brendon doesn't even care, though; in front of him, Spencer isn't breathing so hard anymore, and when he turns around to check on Brendon, his eyes have lost the abject terror Brendon saw in them not long ago, replaced instead by a more familiar determination.

Ten, fifteen minutes go by. Brendon's shivering has ratcheted up to sort of constant, but he's not about to bring any attention to that, so long as they're still stuck in the woods among trees and things that want to eat them. He shudders once, hard, and clutches onto Spencer's arm a little tighter than he had.

"You okay?" Spencer asks as he turns around, giving Brendon a concerned look.

Brendon nods, but his teeth start chattering traitorously, and Spencer tsks and wraps both arms around him, rubbing his arms for warmth. "Bren," he murmurs, sympathy in his voice. "Here, hang on."

Brendon whimpers quietly as Spencer lets go, but otherwise doesn't respond, and just leans on him while Spencer shifts and shrugs his arms out of his coat. "Now you'll get cold," he grumps, barely above a whisper, but Spencer just shakes his head.

"I have on a big huge sweater, I'm not cold," he breathes, curling back around Brendon, wrapping the huge coat around his middle, tying the sleeves off around his waist. It takes everything in him for Brendon not to groan at the relief of having his legs covered, and then Spencer ducks down and fastens the toggles together where he can, and holy shit, after a few minutes Brendon can almost feel his calves again.

"You're a genius and I love you," Brendon whispers before he thinks, leaning in against Spencer before he can talk himself out of it. Spencer hesitates, tenses for a second or two, before he wraps his arms back around Brendon and they stay like that for another minute or two, letting Brendon warm up. Eventually Bren pulls away a little, tugging his hood up onto his head and giving Spencer his best all-business look. "Okay, I'm good."

"You sure?" Spencer murmurs, his breath still a hot burst against Brendon's cheek. It makes him shiver, and he ducks his head for a second before he nods. "Okay," Spencer says, reaching to grab for Brendon's hand, squeezing it comfortingly. "We're still gonna go slow."

Brendon nods, and reaches down to tie Spencer's coat around his waist tighter, and takes his hand again, squeezing it til their knuckles are white and bloodless. They start moving again, cautiously, slowly, and Spencer wordlessly points out potential trip hazards and the next trees they're going to move to.

Brendon follows along silently, biting hard on his lip to keep his teeth from rattling, ridiculously grateful that at least in this story, he wasn't wearing any sort of heel. Spencer accidentally shuffles through a pile of leaves, and the noise echoes off the trees around them. Brendon sucks in a breath and smacks his thigh, frowning and gesturing to the forest floor.

Wincing as he nods, Spencer pauses, huddling them up against the nearest tree, waiting to see if there's any fall-out.

"...Do you think we lost - " he begins, but Spencer shakes his head, gives him an urgent look.

"Don't say it," he hisses. Brendon gives him a quizzical look, but doesn't have it in him to really confront this new weird issue Spencer's somehow found time to develop, so he shrugs a shoulder and waits, til Spencer starts moving again.

They pick their way from tree to tree, staying within sight of the path, moving as quietly as they can across the forest. At one point an owl hoots sleepily high above their head, and Spencer jumps so high than Brendon quickly has to clap a hand over his mouth to muffle his giggles. The unamused look Spencer gives him just makes him laugh harder, until he's teary-eyed and shaking with it, and Spencer's smiling a bemused little smile as well. "Okay?" Spence asks, when it looks like he's tapering off.

Brendon nods, and sniffs, and wipes his eyes. "I won't let the owls get you," he whispers, grinning as Spencer rolls his eyes. They take off again, winding their way from one tree to the next, for an interminable amount of time.

The trees all look the same, is the problem. And Brendon knows they're following the path, and everything, but it's just. ...It's boring, the same pattern of look-run-hide-wait, look-run-hide-wait, repeated over and over and over until he just wants to smack his head into the next tree, for the novelty. He doesn't do well with repetition, patterns, holding steady - that's why he gave up the drums.

Not that Brendon isn't, y'know, enjoying this whole experience, being wrapped up in various ill-fitting clothes and not being able to walk like a normal person since Spencer's coat is wafting around his ankles like a bell made out of scratchy fur. Or that Spence keeps being weirdly solicitous, which means he's pretty much always got a hand on Brendon, somewhere. Not that Brendon isn't just totally relishing how his teenage crush has clawed its way back up to the forefront of his mind and his brain keeps blanking out for a few seconds every time Spencer pushes him up against a tree and hovers over him.

Because, y'know, obviously it's every guy's dream to be dressed up like Little Red Riding Hood in a forest at night, trying desperately not to pop a boner because his best friend keeps looming, added alongside the constant danger of being eaten by a big huge wolf. Brendon frowns and wishes he could kick something, but of course he can't, because the wolf might hear and then he might get killed. He's pretty sure other rock stars don't have to deal with this shit.

He keeps quiet, seething silently about the unfairness of the situation, and how slowly they're progressing, until Spencer shushes him for the fourth time for fucking stepping on a leaf, and then Brendon loses it. "Dude, it has been like an hour," he hisses, not as quietly as he could. "An hour and the wolf hasn't shown back up."

"Shut up," Spencer hisses, darting glances around them skittishly, and fucking - if Brendon hadn't already had enough of Spencer's constant low-level paranoia, he fucking has now.

He gives Spencer a filthy look, and stomps back over to the path (as much as he can stomp, considering how the coat around his middle is restricting his movements). He turns and gives Spencer the widest, fakest smile he can manage, and does jazz hands and shimmies a little for about ten seconds, before he just flips him off and continues walking down the path, hunching in under his hood.

He feels better, weirdly enough. He attributes it to the jazz hands.

After a couple of minutes of walking, Spencer reappears at his side, arms folded tight around his midsection. Brendon glances over at him from under the hood, and makes a face at Spencer's supremely pissed-off expression. "Mature," Spencer mutters.

"Sorry I didn't want to play James Bond anymore," Brendon shoots back, crossing his own arms, kicking at a convenient twig in his way. They walk like that for a few minutes more, both their own little contained units, and slowly Brendon feels all the self-righteous anger he'd been building up beginning to seep away. He chances a quick look over at Spencer, and bites his lip.

Spence just looks...really young, and dejected, despite the sudden reappearance of the beard. He's kicking his toes against the leaves that have wandering onto the walking path, and Brendon can see how his shoulders are hunched up around his ears. The sweater he's wearing reminds Brendon forcefully of that henley Spence spent pretty much the entire last tour bumming around in, and all of a sudden he's homesick and guilty-feeling and still sort of pissed off.

But mostly he just wants to make Spencer stop looking like that.

Brendon frowns a little, and then sidles up to him and slides an arm around his middle, leaning his head on Spencer's shoulder while they walk. "Sorry," he mutters, squeezing the arm around him. "I'm a dick sometimes."

Spencer gives him a wary little look, and then sighs and puts his arm around Brendon's shoulders after a couple of seconds, pulling him in. "Maybe I was a little too James Bond," he admits grudgingly, his mouth pressed to the fabric of Brendon's hood.

"Maybe," Brendon says, patting his side. "I think I saw you do a tuck and roll at one point. I'm just saying."

"Did not!" Spencer squawks, forgetting to whisper for a second, and then he looks around at the trees guiltily, like they're going to judge him. "Anyway, you did jazz hands."

"And they were amazing," Brendon tacks on, digging his fingers between Spencer's ribs, smirking as Spence squirms and tries to get away. "Amazing jazz hands."

"Sure," Spencer says, obviously humoring him. "Best jazz hands ever. Never to be equaled."

"Thanks," Brendon replies, holding his free arm out wide, taking in the praise as his due. After half a minute of walking like that, he has to drop his arm, needing the hand to hitch up Spencer's coat around his waist. He's fiddling with it, trying to figure out how to tie the sleeves around himself one-handed and mostly failing, as he starts talking again. "So, when the sun's up, d'you want to - "

He cuts off, startled, as Spencer tightens his grip on Brendon's shoulders, clutching high on his arm. Brendon looks up, and curls back a little - there, in front of them, the forest suddenly drops away into a clearing.

The moon is shining down on it, bright, and the clearing is at the very trough of a valley, surrounded by trees and hills on all sides. The pathway they're on winds right through the middle.

The phrase "sitting ducks" comes to mind.

"We can just," Spencer starts, frowning nervously, his eyes darting around the perimeter of the clearing, "we can just keep to the edges, go around with the trees."

Brendon frowns, and squints, and takes a couple of steps forward. "I don't think it's..." he starts, before trailing off, squirming out of Spencer's grip as he goes forward to inspect. He gets right up to the edge of the clearing, til he can feel the white-blue rays of moonlight touching lightly over his skin, his cape. He tilts his head up to it, for a second, lets it sink in.

Then he looks down, and gingerly tests the grassy ground with his foot.

It sinks right in, almost to his ankle.

Squawking softly, Brendon tugs his foot free with a squelch, and watches as water quickly fills the hole his shoe made in the marsh. Great. He stomps back to Spencer and turns, gazing back out at the clearing with a fierce scowl on his face. "It's a fucking lake," he hisses, folding his arms. "A fucking lake."

"It...what?"

Brendon can't help how his hands flail a little. "It's a lake! It's not grass or a clearing, it's all fucking water and there's just grass growing in it! It tried to eat my foot!"

"But...the path goes through it," Spencer says, frowning.

"Dude, didn't you see Lord of the Rings?" Brendon asks, exasperated. "It's like with Gollum and the dead people in the water."

"Oh." Spencer pauses. "Shit, that part was creepy, I'd almost forgotten about it."

"Yeah." Brendon huffs, and leans against Spencer a little, still glowering at the clearing and hating everything it stands for. "Fucking...fuck, man."

"Well...okay," Spencer says feebly, gesturing towards the trees. "So we just...go around."

Brendon's still staring out at the clearing, glowering like it's offended him on a deeply personal level, chewing on his lip. "No, y'know?" he finally says, canting one hip to the side, knocking it with Spencer's. "Let's just. Fuck going around, I'm tired and I don't want to get my legs cut to fuck more than they already are. We can just be quiet and fast and get across it, right?"

Spencer gives him a dubious look, and then peers out over the clearing again. "Dude. ...Brendon, I don't know. That's - "

"We haven't even heard the wolf for forever," Brendon wheedles, raising his eyebrows and pouting faintly. "I think we can do it."

Spencer's still gazing out at the clearing, at the little pale path snaking right down the middle of it, straight and narrow and right in the open. "Dude, that's." He rubs a hand over his face, and laughs silently. "Bren, this is such a bad idea, seriously."

"We'll just be really quiet," Brendon argues, giving Spencer the widest, saddest eyes he knows how to make. "And it'll be like. Four times faster, seriously, and we'll get to the other side and I'll let you be James Bond for hours. Okay?"

Spencer gives him a long, hard look. Then he sucks his teeth, and looks back out towards the clearing, still frowning a little. "Hours?" he asks, sounding resigned. His eyes are still a little troubled, so Brendon can't really feel very victorious for having made him cave. He reaches out to rub Spencer's arm.

"Yeah, hours, promise." Brendon squeezes his arm, and then bends down to start undoing the coat from his waist - he'll never be able to run in it. "It'll be okay, Spence."

"Okay," Spencer says, not sounding quite convinced as he crouches down to help Brendon with the toggles. He hands the coat up to Brendon, who shrugs it on over his cloak, not bothering to stick his arms through the sleeves. "You're going first," Spencer orders. "And don't wear the hood, it's too bright. Don't run, just walk fast, and don't look back, okay?"

The first thoughts that flit through Brendon's mind are vaguely to do with Orpheus and Lot and pillars of salt, but those aren't exactly encouraging, so he shoves them away. He reaches for Spencer's hand, since it's helped them both stay alive thus far, and he squeezes it gently. "In bocca al lupo," he murmurs to Spence, who laughs a little - it's the same phrase Brendon's high school band/drama teacher used to say, before any performance began. Brendon still says it before shows, just before they go on. Into the mouth of the wolf.

What happens next is: nothing.

Brendon holds onto Spencer's hand and deftly avoids every twig and puddle. They both make it out onto the path, out where it's just built-up sand and dirt in a glorified swamp, and the two of them hunch over a little, trying not to attract too much attention as they scurry along.

After only a couple of minutes, they're halfway across the lake. And even though he knows it's stupid, Brendon has to stop, he has a stitch in his side from hunching over and it feels like it's threatening to invade one of his lungs. "Owww," he breathes, trying to rub it out. From behind him, Spencer reaches for and takes the basket, and pulls up as well.

"Cramp?" he asks, sucking in a breath.

"Yeah," Brendon groans softly, twisting and stretching to try to alleviate the pain. He glances back at Spence, who's red-cheeked and darting his eyes everywhere, looking for potential trouble. "You okay?" he thinks to ask suddenly.

"Yeah," Spencer says, turning to give him a slightly surprised look. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"That's good," Brendon nods, and he reaches into the basket for the skein of water Gerard insisted Mikey put in there. He uncaps it and takes a long swig, and then hands it over to Spencer, who's still checking things out, staring down the path the way they came, daring something to happen. "Drink," Brendon orders, trying to look fierce when really, he just wants a nap.

Spencer huffs and takes the water, gulping it down noisily, before he takes the cap from Brendon and puts it back in the basket. Brendon furrows his eyebrows at him, and pouts. "Did you leave me any?"

"A little bit," Spencer tells him, with a wry, lopsided grin. "If you get thirsty, we're surrounded by a lake."

"Dude, this is the dead-people lake from Lord of the Rings. No fucking way am I drinking from it," Brendon flares, flailing his arms a little, horrified at the very idea. "I'd get the plague and die."

"Jesus, Bren, I saved you some water. Settle down," Spencer hisses, tugging Brendon's arm back down, frowning at him. "Spaz."

"Yeah, well. Dead people water," Brendon hisses, totally justified in his tiny freak-out there and nobody will ever, ever be able to tell him differently.

Spencer just looks at him for a second, long enough for Brendon to start fidgeting. "Okay," Spencer sighs, putting his hands on his hips for a second, twisting to look all around them. "Guess we'd better start again."

"Yeah, probably," Brendon sighs, taking the basket back from Spencer, ignoring his protests and grabby-hands. "You have an axe, I want a prop," he tells him severely, clutching the basket to his chest. "Mine."

Spencer glances down at the axe on his belt, and subsides, taking it out of the holster and lovingly caressing the handle. "Yeah. I got the best prop."

Brendon blinks, and is uncomfortable with how jealous he suddenly is of the axe handle. "Stop being creepy with your axe, it's inanimate."

"We understand each other," Spencer protests, holding the axe to him. "You're just jealous."

"The axe will never love you back," Brendon informs him sadly, patting his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"We don't need your - " Spencer starts, but he's interrupted by a thin, wailing howl.

They both immediately turn, eyes searching til they spot it - there, on the edge of the lake, at the end of the path from which they've just come, is a huge mass of fur and teeth and glittering eyes.

"Fuck," Brendon breathes, backing up a step into Spencer, just as the wolf snarls, and begins to bound down towards the path, hurtling in their direction. He's aware of Spencer already tugging on his arms, pulling him into movement, before he can pull his eyes away.

"Shit, oh shit," he hears Spencer pant, as they both pound down the path, running like fuck for the other side of the lake, where the path gets swallowed up again by trees. They're so close, seriously so close. "If my last fucking words are about an axe handle, I swear to god - "

"Less talking, more running," Brendon orders, passing him and grabbing on his shirt to try to get him to hurry up. He breaks one of Spencer's cardinal rules and looks back, and almost chokes on his breath - the wolf is gaining, rocketing towards them with bared teeth. It lets out a snarl that Brendon can feel rattling in his bones, and he turns back around just in time to almost trip over his own feet, not taking into account the way the turf would change as soon as they made it out of the lake.

Spencer runs into him with a small oof, and they barely manage to stay upright, mostly because Spencer doesn't let his momentum take them down and just uses it to pull Brendon up and careen further down the path, looking for a place to hide.

Brendon holds onto him for dear life, squeezing his eyes shut for a couple of seconds, letting Spencer sprint them along until he feels - oh god. That's breath on his legs, and Brendon whips his head around just in time to see the wolf lunge for him.

He shrieks and darts out of the way, into Spencer, who nearly crashes into a tree - but Brendon's legs are still whole, the wolf missed, it missed, it's still right behind them, fuck.

Brendon can feel his breath welling up in his chest on a sob, but he's panting too hard for it to get out. He shoves Spencer higher up on the path and looks back, at the wolf that's seriously just - oh fuck, just half a step behind, four times the size of both him and Spence. He can see its tongue lolling out of its mouth, the way its teeth are wet, the way its eyes don't actually have pupils, they're just a solid white.

He recoils, and puts on a burst of speed, and is struck by a germ of an idea - quickly, Brendon turns and fucking hurls the basket at the wolf, watching as the contents come spilling out in just enough time to crack and break all over its snout.

There's an earsplitting roar, and Brendon shouts his relief as the wolf stops, swiping at it nose, trying to get Gerard's leftover soup out of its fur and its eyes. He keeps running, but watches, lagging behind Spencer a little to see just how effective his plan was.

"Brendon," Spencer shouts, sounding fucking pissed. Brendon whips his head around guiltily, waves to Spencer, who's about twenty feet up. "There are houses!" he says, pointing up ahead, around a curve of trees that Brendon can't see past. "Hurry the fuck up!"

Brendon nods and starts running again, biting his lip and putting on speed as he hears another howl behind him, a low, rumbling growl as the wolf pounces back onto the trail. Brendon realizes, his body going cold, that what he's really just managed to do is piss the wolf off.

"It's up, it's up," he shouts, waving for Spencer to start again, but Spencer just fucking stands there like an asshole, waiting for Brendon to catch up before he starts running again, like he fucking wants to get eaten. "Asshole," Brendon manages, before the tearing pain in his lungs means conversation is out and the two of them just have to run.

When he can focus on things other than the wolf behind them and the way his hips and legs are really starting to hurt from running so hard, Brendon notices that Spencer's right - he can see smoke in the near distance, dark shadows that might mean other people, shelter. They just have to hold out til they can -

"Shit," he gasps, nearly stumbling forward, caught and then jerked forward by the grip Spencer had on his hand. "What did - did I catch on a bramble?" he gasps, trying to catch a quick glance behind him.

"Don't - " Spencer starts, but it's too late - Brendon catches up the end of his cape, and stares at the gnarled ends from where something bit it. He looks up, and realizes Spencer's staring in horror over Brendon's shoulder, and then he feels a hot, damp burst of breath on the back of his neck.

Oh, Brendon thinks. He closes his eyes.

Four and Five B