ficlet: This is Halloween
Meh, okay guys, well, I'm posting something I wrote, even though it's cheating, because I wrote it a few weeks ago. Oh well. At some point I'll kick myself into gear again.
Title: This is Halloween
Word Count: 2,981
Rating: PG
Pairings: None explicitly, mainly because Brendon spends most of the time as a four-year-old. Implied Brendon/Ryan?
Disclaimer: No guys, seriously, this is 100% true, didn't you know?
Summary: Brendon turns into a four-year-old just before Halloween.
Notes: This really came about because
monanoche and I were discussing how cute Brendon must've been as a toddler, we flailed a lot, and then I jotted this down. It's like cotton candy--sickly sweet with no substance. Just so you know. Don't read this looking for great literature, or great characters/dialogue/whatever. This is all self-indulgent.
This is Halloween
Ryan’s pretty sure the only reason Brendon turns into a four-year-old is because they tell him that they’re not going trick-or-treating for Halloween, no way.
It’s a valid assumption. After all, it’s the next morning that they wake up to a naked little boy jumping up and down on the sofa and singing I Just Can’t Wait to be King at the top of his lungs. That’s actually the first clue that it’s Brendon.
The second is the way that when the other three crowd into the doorway and stare, the little boy launches himself across the room calling, “Morning hugs!” and clings to their knees, each in turn, with a cherubic smile and wide brown eyes peering up at them. For a minute they just stand there in shock, until finally Spencer says, “…Brendon?”
“Spenther!” Brendon yells, and Ryan can already tell he’s going to have a headache by the end of the hour. “Spenther! I have to pee!”
Spencer arches an eyebrow at the naked child who is still firmly attached to his leg, and Ryan whispers to him, “Do you think he’s house trained?” Spencer just rolls his eyes at Ryan and says, “Okay, um, Brendon, go for it.”
Then Brendon gets all quiet. “Will you come?” he asks, “There might be monsters, and you’re totally like a superhero, like Batman, and they wouldn’t do anything mean if you were there, so can you come please?” Spencer, of course, goes with him.
This leaves Ryan and Jon to stare at each other in shock. Finally Jon scrubs a hand through his hair and says, “Huh. He’s….”
“Yeah,” Ryan agrees, because there isn’t much else to say.
“Good thing we’ve got a couple days off, just in case. I’m going to make eggs for breakfast,” Jon says, and that’s that. Brendon is four and Jon is making breakfast.
When Spencer and Brendon reemerge from the bathroom, Brendon is hitched up on one of Spencer’s hips, giggling and clinging to his neck. “I didn’t miss at all!” he announces proudly, and Ryan laughs despite himself, because Brendon at four is ridiculously adorable, with just as much energy as normal Brendon, and even more in love with the world.
“Good job, little man,” Jon says from by the stove, turning and holding out his arms so Spencer can deposit Brendon into them. Jon lifts him up under the armpits and spins him so that Brendon screams in delight, kicking his tiny feet and holding his arms out like he’s flying. Finally he slows down, and says, “Hey, you should get some clothes on so if you spill breakfast you don’t get icky.”
Spencer snickers, and Jon says, “Don’t start with me, Smith. Icky is a real word.”
Brendon pipes up, “I want Ryan to help me get dressed!”
“Apparently little Brendon has no taste,” Ryan overhears Spencer whisper to Jon, but Jon clearly hasn’t forgiven him yet, because he whispers back, “Sweatbands, Spencer. Sweatbands.”
Ryan, for his part, squints at Brendon, who has squirmed out of Jon’s arms and onto the ground, and is now grabbing for Ryan’s hand, trying to tug him towards the bunks. “Come on,” he insists, and Ryan just has to go. The kid is naked, he has to.
Once they’re sitting in Brendon’s bunk, suitcase open before them, Ryan picks through it dubiously. None of Brendon’s stuff regressed with him, like Ryan had hoped it would (he would never, never tell anyone, but the thought of Brendon’s sneakers and pea coat in small form had been an exciting prospect).
“I wanna wear my dino pants,” Brendon says at last, when Ryan’s started to wonder if they’re going to need to make an emergency stop at Target and send in a trustworthy roadie.
“Um,” he says carefully, “You have…dinosaur pants?”
“Yeah!” Brendon enthusiastically starts digging into the duffel, and from the bottom finally produces a wrinkled, but clean, pair of boxers that is covered in cartoon dinosaurs with hearts for eyes. Ryan presses his hand to his mouth and reminds himself to tease Brendon about this later, when he would get it.
Instead, he just says, “Yeah, okay,” and helps Brendon step into the shorts. They come right down to his ankles, and Ryan has to secure them with one of Spencer’s sweatbands tied around his waist. “Wait here a sec,” he tells Brendon, slipping over to his own bunk.
When he returns, he’s clutching a handful of scarves. He has the vague idea that he could put together a kind of shirt, or vest, knotted intricately around Brendon so that he looks suave and sophisticated. Brendon takes one look and his eyes light up.
“Capes!” he yells, jumping on Ryan’s lap and kissing Ryan’s cheek. Stunned, Ryan just replies, “Uh…yeah. Capes.”
He helps Brendon tie a red and white cowboy handkerchief around his neck, and then Brendon takes off into the other room, calling, “Jon, Jon, now I can save the world like Spenther!”
Jon is an evil traitor, because he’s the one who tells Brendon that tomorrow is Halloween. Brendon’s eyes get really wide and he says, “Can we go trick-or-treating? Please?” Ryan is all set to say no, and Spencer looks dubious, but then Brendon’s lower lip starts to stick out, and no way are they going to say no to that. Besides, hopefully he’s going to be back to normal tomorrow anyway.
When they tell him yes, Brendon cheers and runs into the other room, and immediately the rest of them start arguing about what to dress him as. Before they can really start getting into it, though, Brendon shows up again with a pencil and paper, hands them to Ryan, and climbs onto the sofa. He’s so excited that he almost falls off, but Jon grabs him and hauls him into his lap.
“Okay,” Brendon says, “Okay, Spenther is going to be Batman. Or Superman. No, Batman. Ryan, Ryan, are you writing this down?”
Ryan snorts, but does. He’s kind of disappointed. Spencer in bright blue tights would have been hilarious.
“And Jon is going to be a bear. But he’s a nice bear, okay? A nice one that gives hugs and-oh! Oh, Jon, do you want to be Smokey?” Brendon stands up on the couch, Jon still steadying him, and strikes a pose with his skinny little chest stuck way one and one hand stabbing up into the air. “Only you can prevent forest fires!” he pronounces, and Spencer starts laughing so hard that he almost cries.
“I’d love to be Smokey the Bear,” Jon replies, coaxing Brendon to sit back down, and petting his hair. With a perfectly innocent grin (which is obviously fake, Ryan knows it), he asks, “What’s Ryan going to be?”
“Me first,” Brendon says, but he’s quieted down, looking absolutely bashful. In fact, his face is slowly going red, and Ryan wonders what that means for him. “I’m gonna be Mickey Mouse,” Brendon says, pride winning out for a second as he puffs out his chest again. Then he blushes even harder and adds, “And Ryan could be Minnie, maybe.”
This time, Spencer actually has to leave the room.
Ryan finds him later, while Jon is watching Aladdin with Brendon, who keeps jumping up to act out scenes and sing along. It’s too sickeningly cute for Ryan to stay in the same room, so instead he wanders into the bunks, climbing in with Spencer.
“You’re an asshole,” he announces, and Spencer just grins.
“I think Brendon’s got a cru-ush,” he sing-songs, and Ryan punches him in the arm.
“You’re a pervert,” Ryan retorts, “he’s like four. Besides, you’re the one he keeps making go to the bathroom with him. And Jon’s like…his best friend ever.”
Spencer shrugs knowingly, and Ryan feels like hitting him again, but doesn’t. “Okay,” he says, “So where are we going to get costumes?”
They exchange glances, and then say in concert, “Pete.”
“Yo, Ross, what’s up? How are the orgies?”
Ryan flips off the phone. “On hold. Brendon is currently four years old, and we all need Halloween costumes by tomorrow.”
To his credit, Pete doesn’t even sound phased. “I’m on it,” he assures Ryan, and then, “Pass the phone along to Bden, yeah?”
Although he thinks it’s a supremely bad idea, Ryan goes out into the kitchen and says, “Brendon? You remember Pete? He’s on the phone.”
Brendon yells, “PETE!!!!” so loudly that Jon looks pained, and launches himself towards Ryan and the phone, grabbing for it covetously.
“No,” Ryan says sternly, “You need to be sitting down.”
Obediently, Brendon clambers back onto the couch, and Ryan reluctantly hands over his Sidekick and retreats to the kitchen. Brendon cradles it carefully and brightly says, “Hi, it’s Bden.”
Jon crosses the room to lean his head on Ryan’s shoulder. “What a fucking cute kid,” he whispers, as Brendon vibrates in place on the couch from the effort of not running around, and smushes the mouthpiece right up against his lips to shout excitedly, “You’re bringing a DOGGY when you come?”
Ryan shrugs, but privately, he agrees. It should probably be illegal or something, how cute and endearing Brendon is right now.
“Also,” Jon whispers, mouth right next to Ryan’s ear, “He says you guys are going to get married like Aladdin and Jasmine when he’s old enough. He thinks six is a good age for marriage.”
Ryan’s whole band sucks. Except it’s hard to hate Brendon right now, when he’s four, and swinging his legs so his heels hit the couch, and telling the phone, “No, they’re all awesome. Jon’s my best friend and we watched Disney. Spencer’s my other best friend and he keeps the monsters away…..no, Ryan is too. He’s so pretty and nice. We got dressed together today.”
Ryan is going to catch hell from Pete later, he knows, but he doesn’t really care right now. He pulls his hat down a little lower, though, and says, “Okay Brendon, let me talk to Pete again.”
Brendon looks up, startled, and then whispers really loudly, “Okay, Petey, I have to go, don’t tell Ryan what I said.” Then, more loudly, he announces, “Okay, Bden says bye!” and hands the phone off to Ryan again.
“Not a word,” Ryan tells Pete, but Pete starts giggling anyway.
“Ryan Ross, you’re so pretty, will you get dressed with me? Or undressed?” he manages to get out before Ryan hangs up on him.
As promised, Pete shows up the next morning from who-knows-where, coffee clutched in one hand, and Hemingway’s leash in the other. When Brendon hears Jon say that Pete’s there, he shrieks in delight, throwing the bus door open and bounding down the steps in his too-big boxers. Luckily Spencer is about two steps behind, grabbing Pete’s coffee and pulling it to safety as Brendon says, “Peeeeeeeeeeete! And a doggy!!!”
Pete’s grinning so hard that his face looks like it must hurt as he kneels down and sweeps Brendon into his arms in a princess-style carry. He lets go of Hemingway’s leash and directs him up the stairs onto the bus with his knees so he can concentrate on Brendon, tickling his side so that Brendon laughs and laughs, face pinking.
“Hey, Bden,” he says, and Brendon gasps out, “Pete, Pete, stop! Stop!”
Eventually Pete does, asking, “You want to go see Hemmy while I bring in the costumes?”
“Yeah!” Brendon wriggles until Pete sets him down, rushing into the bus lounge where Hemingway is drinking water out of a metal bowl that Jon filled for him. When he sees Brendon shyly edging towards him with one hand outstretched, he whuffles, snorts, and trots forward. For a moment child and dog stare at each other, and then Hemmy starts enthusiastically licking Brendon’s face with his huge tongue.
“Ew! Hemmy, ew!” Brendon says, but he’s giggling again, and throws his arms around Hemingway’s neck, rolling them both onto the carpet and pressing their foreheads together.
Pete comes in a minute later, hauling a rather large box. “Costumes,” he says seriously, “And I’m coming with you guys.”
Spencer raises an eyebrow, and polishes off Pete’s coffee.
No one asks where he’d gotten them. It seems better not to.
Brendon insists on them all getting ready at about four o’clock in the afternoon. Pete didn’t skimp-he has full on makeup for all of them, along with perfect costumes. Ryan refuses any and all photos-he is wearing a fucking polka dot skirt, for god’s sake-but at least they are all pretty much unrecognizable once Pete’s through with them. Brendon sidles up to Ryan and whispers, “You look really pretty,” and Christ, he is a cute kid.
They have Mac and Cheese and sliced apples and Capri Suns for dinner at 5:30, and then put on another movie so Brendon will just calm down until it gets a little darker. He sits with his head on Pete’s knee, and his feet propped on Spencer’s lap, with Jon rubbing his hair from the other side of Pete (but careful not to disturb his mouse ears).
Ryan feels a little better about his own costume because Pete is going fully in drag.
It looks realistic, too. He makes a damn pretty girl.
(“Batman needed a sexy sidekick,” he’d told Ryan earlier, as he rolled on black stockings and leered at Spencer. Spencer hadn’t commented, and Ryan really didn’t want to know what he thought of that.)
Finally, at 6:30 they deem it dark enough. Brendon is up in a flash, grabbing the plastic pumpkin that Pete had brought along with the costumes, and the other boys follow him to the door. The plan is to take Pete’s car into the middle of a random neighborhood and park, then take Brendon around there for awhile.
It works out really well. Brendon is so excited each time he gets to press a doorbell and yell, “Trick or treat!” The people at the doors all get the same soppy smile when they see him, too. Ryan wants to tell them that he may be cute, but when he’s full-sized they’re all going to regret the candy bars being packed into the pumpkin. None of his band can figure out where he hides his Bedazzler, to steal it.
It doesn’t take long at all before Brendon starts drooping a bit. Ryan takes pity and carries the pumpkin, because it’s getting too heavy for him, and then Jon swings Brendon up into his arms, letting Brendon’s little feet dangle on either side of his waist, and his arms hang over Jon’s shoulder while he rests his face against it.
“M’not tired,” he says in between yawns, “I’m just resting a little, okay guys?”
The rest of them share amused glances, and Pete says, “Well, B, Hemmy’s getting pretty tired. Mind if we head back so he can sleep?”
Brendon looks grateful, pillowing his head more firmly against Jon. “K,” he agrees, and they head back to Pete’s car.
Once they’re back on the bus, Brendon apparently gets a second wind, and he upends the bucket of candy onto the carpet, carefully sorting through and putting like candies with like. Pete locks Hemingway into the back lounge so he won’t eat anything he shouldn’t.
“What’re you doing?” Spencer asks.
Happily, Brendon replies, “Putting the right ones together. Want one?”
Spencer accepts a Twix, and then points to the plain Hershey’s chocolate bars, separate from everything else. “What about those?” he inquires.
“Those are for Ryan,” Brendon explains, continuing to sort as though it’s just that obvious.
Once all the candies are laid out, he gathers up all the Hershey’s bars, holding his shirt by the edges so that it acts like a basket and he can take all the chocolates at once with him to Ryan. Ryan’s in the back lounge bonding with Pete over some lyrics, but they both look up when Brendon comes in, his pale stomach visible.
“Hi Pete,” he says, not waving so he won’t drop the candy. More quietly he says, “Hi Ryan, I got you something.”
Ryan is stupidly touched when a cascade of chocolate hits his lap. “Thanks,” he tells Brendon, reaching out to ruffle his hair, and Brendon grins, obviously pleased that he did a good job.
“Welcome,” he says, “I know you like them best.”
Brendon’s starting to look tired again, so when Jon joins them, Ryan has a silent eyebrow conversation with him, and then Jon says, “Hey Bren, you want a story in bed?”
“Yes,” Brendon says, scrambling off the couch and over to Jon, holding out his arms to be lifted up. “Will you and Pete tell it? You’re good storytellers.”
Jon looks to Pete, who shrugs, and then says, “Yeah, sure.”
Brendon grins, and then comes back long enough to kiss Hemingway’s head and Ryan’s cheek before disappearing into the bunk area with one hand in one of Pete’s, and the other clutching Jon’s pant leg.
It’s after eleven when a tiny hand pulls open Ryan’s bunk curtain, and god is he glad he wasn’t jerking off, or something. Squinting, he says, “Yeah, Brendon?”
Brendon looks even smaller now, dressed for bed in one of his T-shirts, which he practically steps on every time he tries to walk. “Can I come in with you?” he asks quietly, “I had a nightmare, and I couldn’t find Spencer in his bed.”
Ryan makes a mental note to kill Spencer later, but for the moment just pulls back his covers and lets Brendon clamber in.
“You okay?” he asks, settling back down and pulling the tiny, tiny form against him protectively.
“Yeah,” Brendon says, sound muffled by covers. Ryan is kind of stupidly pleased that Brendon came to him at all.
He’s more pleased in the morning, when Brendon is Brendon again.
Especially because he’s still only wearing that shirt.
Title: This is Halloween
Word Count: 2,981
Rating: PG
Pairings: None explicitly, mainly because Brendon spends most of the time as a four-year-old. Implied Brendon/Ryan?
Disclaimer: No guys, seriously, this is 100% true, didn't you know?
Summary: Brendon turns into a four-year-old just before Halloween.
Notes: This really came about because
monanoche and I were discussing how cute Brendon must've been as a toddler, we flailed a lot, and then I jotted this down. It's like cotton candy--sickly sweet with no substance. Just so you know. Don't read this looking for great literature, or great characters/dialogue/whatever. This is all self-indulgent.
This is Halloween
Ryan’s pretty sure the only reason Brendon turns into a four-year-old is because they tell him that they’re not going trick-or-treating for Halloween, no way.
It’s a valid assumption. After all, it’s the next morning that they wake up to a naked little boy jumping up and down on the sofa and singing I Just Can’t Wait to be King at the top of his lungs. That’s actually the first clue that it’s Brendon.
The second is the way that when the other three crowd into the doorway and stare, the little boy launches himself across the room calling, “Morning hugs!” and clings to their knees, each in turn, with a cherubic smile and wide brown eyes peering up at them. For a minute they just stand there in shock, until finally Spencer says, “…Brendon?”
“Spenther!” Brendon yells, and Ryan can already tell he’s going to have a headache by the end of the hour. “Spenther! I have to pee!”
Spencer arches an eyebrow at the naked child who is still firmly attached to his leg, and Ryan whispers to him, “Do you think he’s house trained?” Spencer just rolls his eyes at Ryan and says, “Okay, um, Brendon, go for it.”
Then Brendon gets all quiet. “Will you come?” he asks, “There might be monsters, and you’re totally like a superhero, like Batman, and they wouldn’t do anything mean if you were there, so can you come please?” Spencer, of course, goes with him.
This leaves Ryan and Jon to stare at each other in shock. Finally Jon scrubs a hand through his hair and says, “Huh. He’s….”
“Yeah,” Ryan agrees, because there isn’t much else to say.
“Good thing we’ve got a couple days off, just in case. I’m going to make eggs for breakfast,” Jon says, and that’s that. Brendon is four and Jon is making breakfast.
When Spencer and Brendon reemerge from the bathroom, Brendon is hitched up on one of Spencer’s hips, giggling and clinging to his neck. “I didn’t miss at all!” he announces proudly, and Ryan laughs despite himself, because Brendon at four is ridiculously adorable, with just as much energy as normal Brendon, and even more in love with the world.
“Good job, little man,” Jon says from by the stove, turning and holding out his arms so Spencer can deposit Brendon into them. Jon lifts him up under the armpits and spins him so that Brendon screams in delight, kicking his tiny feet and holding his arms out like he’s flying. Finally he slows down, and says, “Hey, you should get some clothes on so if you spill breakfast you don’t get icky.”
Spencer snickers, and Jon says, “Don’t start with me, Smith. Icky is a real word.”
Brendon pipes up, “I want Ryan to help me get dressed!”
“Apparently little Brendon has no taste,” Ryan overhears Spencer whisper to Jon, but Jon clearly hasn’t forgiven him yet, because he whispers back, “Sweatbands, Spencer. Sweatbands.”
Ryan, for his part, squints at Brendon, who has squirmed out of Jon’s arms and onto the ground, and is now grabbing for Ryan’s hand, trying to tug him towards the bunks. “Come on,” he insists, and Ryan just has to go. The kid is naked, he has to.
Once they’re sitting in Brendon’s bunk, suitcase open before them, Ryan picks through it dubiously. None of Brendon’s stuff regressed with him, like Ryan had hoped it would (he would never, never tell anyone, but the thought of Brendon’s sneakers and pea coat in small form had been an exciting prospect).
“I wanna wear my dino pants,” Brendon says at last, when Ryan’s started to wonder if they’re going to need to make an emergency stop at Target and send in a trustworthy roadie.
“Um,” he says carefully, “You have…dinosaur pants?”
“Yeah!” Brendon enthusiastically starts digging into the duffel, and from the bottom finally produces a wrinkled, but clean, pair of boxers that is covered in cartoon dinosaurs with hearts for eyes. Ryan presses his hand to his mouth and reminds himself to tease Brendon about this later, when he would get it.
Instead, he just says, “Yeah, okay,” and helps Brendon step into the shorts. They come right down to his ankles, and Ryan has to secure them with one of Spencer’s sweatbands tied around his waist. “Wait here a sec,” he tells Brendon, slipping over to his own bunk.
When he returns, he’s clutching a handful of scarves. He has the vague idea that he could put together a kind of shirt, or vest, knotted intricately around Brendon so that he looks suave and sophisticated. Brendon takes one look and his eyes light up.
“Capes!” he yells, jumping on Ryan’s lap and kissing Ryan’s cheek. Stunned, Ryan just replies, “Uh…yeah. Capes.”
He helps Brendon tie a red and white cowboy handkerchief around his neck, and then Brendon takes off into the other room, calling, “Jon, Jon, now I can save the world like Spenther!”
Jon is an evil traitor, because he’s the one who tells Brendon that tomorrow is Halloween. Brendon’s eyes get really wide and he says, “Can we go trick-or-treating? Please?” Ryan is all set to say no, and Spencer looks dubious, but then Brendon’s lower lip starts to stick out, and no way are they going to say no to that. Besides, hopefully he’s going to be back to normal tomorrow anyway.
When they tell him yes, Brendon cheers and runs into the other room, and immediately the rest of them start arguing about what to dress him as. Before they can really start getting into it, though, Brendon shows up again with a pencil and paper, hands them to Ryan, and climbs onto the sofa. He’s so excited that he almost falls off, but Jon grabs him and hauls him into his lap.
“Okay,” Brendon says, “Okay, Spenther is going to be Batman. Or Superman. No, Batman. Ryan, Ryan, are you writing this down?”
Ryan snorts, but does. He’s kind of disappointed. Spencer in bright blue tights would have been hilarious.
“And Jon is going to be a bear. But he’s a nice bear, okay? A nice one that gives hugs and-oh! Oh, Jon, do you want to be Smokey?” Brendon stands up on the couch, Jon still steadying him, and strikes a pose with his skinny little chest stuck way one and one hand stabbing up into the air. “Only you can prevent forest fires!” he pronounces, and Spencer starts laughing so hard that he almost cries.
“I’d love to be Smokey the Bear,” Jon replies, coaxing Brendon to sit back down, and petting his hair. With a perfectly innocent grin (which is obviously fake, Ryan knows it), he asks, “What’s Ryan going to be?”
“Me first,” Brendon says, but he’s quieted down, looking absolutely bashful. In fact, his face is slowly going red, and Ryan wonders what that means for him. “I’m gonna be Mickey Mouse,” Brendon says, pride winning out for a second as he puffs out his chest again. Then he blushes even harder and adds, “And Ryan could be Minnie, maybe.”
This time, Spencer actually has to leave the room.
Ryan finds him later, while Jon is watching Aladdin with Brendon, who keeps jumping up to act out scenes and sing along. It’s too sickeningly cute for Ryan to stay in the same room, so instead he wanders into the bunks, climbing in with Spencer.
“You’re an asshole,” he announces, and Spencer just grins.
“I think Brendon’s got a cru-ush,” he sing-songs, and Ryan punches him in the arm.
“You’re a pervert,” Ryan retorts, “he’s like four. Besides, you’re the one he keeps making go to the bathroom with him. And Jon’s like…his best friend ever.”
Spencer shrugs knowingly, and Ryan feels like hitting him again, but doesn’t. “Okay,” he says, “So where are we going to get costumes?”
They exchange glances, and then say in concert, “Pete.”
“Yo, Ross, what’s up? How are the orgies?”
Ryan flips off the phone. “On hold. Brendon is currently four years old, and we all need Halloween costumes by tomorrow.”
To his credit, Pete doesn’t even sound phased. “I’m on it,” he assures Ryan, and then, “Pass the phone along to Bden, yeah?”
Although he thinks it’s a supremely bad idea, Ryan goes out into the kitchen and says, “Brendon? You remember Pete? He’s on the phone.”
Brendon yells, “PETE!!!!” so loudly that Jon looks pained, and launches himself towards Ryan and the phone, grabbing for it covetously.
“No,” Ryan says sternly, “You need to be sitting down.”
Obediently, Brendon clambers back onto the couch, and Ryan reluctantly hands over his Sidekick and retreats to the kitchen. Brendon cradles it carefully and brightly says, “Hi, it’s Bden.”
Jon crosses the room to lean his head on Ryan’s shoulder. “What a fucking cute kid,” he whispers, as Brendon vibrates in place on the couch from the effort of not running around, and smushes the mouthpiece right up against his lips to shout excitedly, “You’re bringing a DOGGY when you come?”
Ryan shrugs, but privately, he agrees. It should probably be illegal or something, how cute and endearing Brendon is right now.
“Also,” Jon whispers, mouth right next to Ryan’s ear, “He says you guys are going to get married like Aladdin and Jasmine when he’s old enough. He thinks six is a good age for marriage.”
Ryan’s whole band sucks. Except it’s hard to hate Brendon right now, when he’s four, and swinging his legs so his heels hit the couch, and telling the phone, “No, they’re all awesome. Jon’s my best friend and we watched Disney. Spencer’s my other best friend and he keeps the monsters away…..no, Ryan is too. He’s so pretty and nice. We got dressed together today.”
Ryan is going to catch hell from Pete later, he knows, but he doesn’t really care right now. He pulls his hat down a little lower, though, and says, “Okay Brendon, let me talk to Pete again.”
Brendon looks up, startled, and then whispers really loudly, “Okay, Petey, I have to go, don’t tell Ryan what I said.” Then, more loudly, he announces, “Okay, Bden says bye!” and hands the phone off to Ryan again.
“Not a word,” Ryan tells Pete, but Pete starts giggling anyway.
“Ryan Ross, you’re so pretty, will you get dressed with me? Or undressed?” he manages to get out before Ryan hangs up on him.
As promised, Pete shows up the next morning from who-knows-where, coffee clutched in one hand, and Hemingway’s leash in the other. When Brendon hears Jon say that Pete’s there, he shrieks in delight, throwing the bus door open and bounding down the steps in his too-big boxers. Luckily Spencer is about two steps behind, grabbing Pete’s coffee and pulling it to safety as Brendon says, “Peeeeeeeeeeete! And a doggy!!!”
Pete’s grinning so hard that his face looks like it must hurt as he kneels down and sweeps Brendon into his arms in a princess-style carry. He lets go of Hemingway’s leash and directs him up the stairs onto the bus with his knees so he can concentrate on Brendon, tickling his side so that Brendon laughs and laughs, face pinking.
“Hey, Bden,” he says, and Brendon gasps out, “Pete, Pete, stop! Stop!”
Eventually Pete does, asking, “You want to go see Hemmy while I bring in the costumes?”
“Yeah!” Brendon wriggles until Pete sets him down, rushing into the bus lounge where Hemingway is drinking water out of a metal bowl that Jon filled for him. When he sees Brendon shyly edging towards him with one hand outstretched, he whuffles, snorts, and trots forward. For a moment child and dog stare at each other, and then Hemmy starts enthusiastically licking Brendon’s face with his huge tongue.
“Ew! Hemmy, ew!” Brendon says, but he’s giggling again, and throws his arms around Hemingway’s neck, rolling them both onto the carpet and pressing their foreheads together.
Pete comes in a minute later, hauling a rather large box. “Costumes,” he says seriously, “And I’m coming with you guys.”
Spencer raises an eyebrow, and polishes off Pete’s coffee.
No one asks where he’d gotten them. It seems better not to.
Brendon insists on them all getting ready at about four o’clock in the afternoon. Pete didn’t skimp-he has full on makeup for all of them, along with perfect costumes. Ryan refuses any and all photos-he is wearing a fucking polka dot skirt, for god’s sake-but at least they are all pretty much unrecognizable once Pete’s through with them. Brendon sidles up to Ryan and whispers, “You look really pretty,” and Christ, he is a cute kid.
They have Mac and Cheese and sliced apples and Capri Suns for dinner at 5:30, and then put on another movie so Brendon will just calm down until it gets a little darker. He sits with his head on Pete’s knee, and his feet propped on Spencer’s lap, with Jon rubbing his hair from the other side of Pete (but careful not to disturb his mouse ears).
Ryan feels a little better about his own costume because Pete is going fully in drag.
It looks realistic, too. He makes a damn pretty girl.
(“Batman needed a sexy sidekick,” he’d told Ryan earlier, as he rolled on black stockings and leered at Spencer. Spencer hadn’t commented, and Ryan really didn’t want to know what he thought of that.)
Finally, at 6:30 they deem it dark enough. Brendon is up in a flash, grabbing the plastic pumpkin that Pete had brought along with the costumes, and the other boys follow him to the door. The plan is to take Pete’s car into the middle of a random neighborhood and park, then take Brendon around there for awhile.
It works out really well. Brendon is so excited each time he gets to press a doorbell and yell, “Trick or treat!” The people at the doors all get the same soppy smile when they see him, too. Ryan wants to tell them that he may be cute, but when he’s full-sized they’re all going to regret the candy bars being packed into the pumpkin. None of his band can figure out where he hides his Bedazzler, to steal it.
It doesn’t take long at all before Brendon starts drooping a bit. Ryan takes pity and carries the pumpkin, because it’s getting too heavy for him, and then Jon swings Brendon up into his arms, letting Brendon’s little feet dangle on either side of his waist, and his arms hang over Jon’s shoulder while he rests his face against it.
“M’not tired,” he says in between yawns, “I’m just resting a little, okay guys?”
The rest of them share amused glances, and Pete says, “Well, B, Hemmy’s getting pretty tired. Mind if we head back so he can sleep?”
Brendon looks grateful, pillowing his head more firmly against Jon. “K,” he agrees, and they head back to Pete’s car.
Once they’re back on the bus, Brendon apparently gets a second wind, and he upends the bucket of candy onto the carpet, carefully sorting through and putting like candies with like. Pete locks Hemingway into the back lounge so he won’t eat anything he shouldn’t.
“What’re you doing?” Spencer asks.
Happily, Brendon replies, “Putting the right ones together. Want one?”
Spencer accepts a Twix, and then points to the plain Hershey’s chocolate bars, separate from everything else. “What about those?” he inquires.
“Those are for Ryan,” Brendon explains, continuing to sort as though it’s just that obvious.
Once all the candies are laid out, he gathers up all the Hershey’s bars, holding his shirt by the edges so that it acts like a basket and he can take all the chocolates at once with him to Ryan. Ryan’s in the back lounge bonding with Pete over some lyrics, but they both look up when Brendon comes in, his pale stomach visible.
“Hi Pete,” he says, not waving so he won’t drop the candy. More quietly he says, “Hi Ryan, I got you something.”
Ryan is stupidly touched when a cascade of chocolate hits his lap. “Thanks,” he tells Brendon, reaching out to ruffle his hair, and Brendon grins, obviously pleased that he did a good job.
“Welcome,” he says, “I know you like them best.”
Brendon’s starting to look tired again, so when Jon joins them, Ryan has a silent eyebrow conversation with him, and then Jon says, “Hey Bren, you want a story in bed?”
“Yes,” Brendon says, scrambling off the couch and over to Jon, holding out his arms to be lifted up. “Will you and Pete tell it? You’re good storytellers.”
Jon looks to Pete, who shrugs, and then says, “Yeah, sure.”
Brendon grins, and then comes back long enough to kiss Hemingway’s head and Ryan’s cheek before disappearing into the bunk area with one hand in one of Pete’s, and the other clutching Jon’s pant leg.
It’s after eleven when a tiny hand pulls open Ryan’s bunk curtain, and god is he glad he wasn’t jerking off, or something. Squinting, he says, “Yeah, Brendon?”
Brendon looks even smaller now, dressed for bed in one of his T-shirts, which he practically steps on every time he tries to walk. “Can I come in with you?” he asks quietly, “I had a nightmare, and I couldn’t find Spencer in his bed.”
Ryan makes a mental note to kill Spencer later, but for the moment just pulls back his covers and lets Brendon clamber in.
“You okay?” he asks, settling back down and pulling the tiny, tiny form against him protectively.
“Yeah,” Brendon says, sound muffled by covers. Ryan is kind of stupidly pleased that Brendon came to him at all.
He’s more pleased in the morning, when Brendon is Brendon again.
Especially because he’s still only wearing that shirt.