fic: the ministers of new zealand
the ministers of new zealand
panic gen
notes: au of what could have been. unbetaed. i don't know.
ryan spends approximately seven and a half hours a day playing minesweeper and when people ask him if he love his job he says, "yes. of course, yes."
the truth is, ryan doesn't hate his job. not like paul two cubes over who has half the office betting on which day he'll come in shooting.
though, it's not like ryan really likes his job either. it's a job: it pays the bills, gives him something to do during the day, and most importantly gives him paid time off so that he can help out with spencer's new band.
ryan really only hates his job when that vacation time runs out and he's stuck listening to paul, even from two cubicles down, tapping his pencil for eight hours straight, only stopping for lunch, while spencer is touring the pacific northwest in a piece of shit van.
this year ryan's gone through his vacation unexpectedly fast; it's only april and he's already used all but two days, both saved for his aunt's third wedding in june.
-
the tour is the band's second and a half, the four shows with say anything last november counting for the half, and spencer's sixth. and a half. it hasn't been as bad as the others, no accidents, screaming fights, or fist fights to speak of.
plus, they've only broken down once and for the piece of shit they're driving, spencer's pretty sure that's a miracle.
this tour is tiny, slightly bigger than the first, but still small enough that they're playing to barely half full venues. the ministers of new zealand are second on the play list and that too is an improvement. spencer almost feels like this could be it, the right person could see them and like them and well.
he calls ryan after every third or fourth show. to check in and let him know that he's still alive because ryan might not worry exactly, but he's had enough people disappearing from his life that spencer's not about to add his name to that list.
so he calls ryan and they don't talk about anything really. not until the night, a tuesday, spencer thinks stupidly, that ryan mentions brendon. just sort of off the cuff and barely there, but spencer can't follow what he says after that, something about work and the chick at the starbucks across the street who looks exactly like this girl he went to highschool with.
spencer can still remember the day brendon left, the four of them standing stony-faced in his living room. all of them so young and all spencer'd been was mad. his chance at fame slipping away and brendon wasn't even trying.
for spencer it was the difference between going on a mission, something he knew brendon didn't really want to do, and spending the rest of his life as a musician. for spencer there shouldn't have been the need for an actual choice.
he knows better now.
spencer also remembers the way brendon had looked, shoulders hunched in on himself as they'd all said goodbyes. his face had been pale and his mouth set in an unhappy tilt.
that's the brendon he's remembering now.
"wait. what. what did you say?" spencer asks and ryan huffs a little, says something about how he's really sure this guy at work is going to come in one day with a gun. and he's only told spencer that a few dozen times so spencer doesn't feel too bad when he says, "no, christ, ryan. brendon."
"you haven't heard anything i said since brendon?" ryan's tone is huffy and spencer rolls his eyes, makes some sort of noise to imply that he totally heard, really, before saying, "come on, ryan."
ryan huffs, a burst of static against spencer's ear, before he finally just says, "he's back."
-
brendon pretty much hates being back home, back in his parent's house, back in his old room that hasn't changed for the last two years. he wishes for a brief second that he was still in the middle of nowhere, ohio, where he seriously should have stayed.
he'd thought about it, renting out his tiny little room there until he could find his own place. but then his mom had gotten that tone, the disappointed one that makes brendon cringe and feel like the worst son ever. the one that made him finally break down and agree to going on a mission when it looked like touring wasn't working out.
and really she hadn't even said anything, not much anyway. talked about his oldest sister's kids, the youngest looking exactly like brendon did at that age. how unfortunately he seemed to act the same way too.
he's pretty sure she could have said nothing and brendon would still be here, moving uncomfortably through a room full of every family member that lives within driving distance. their influence is stifling, and brendon really wishes, not for the first time, that he hadn't come home.
when he finally escapes up to his room, manages a charming smile and some excuse about being tired, brendon softly shuts the door, presses his forehead against it for just a minute, just to catch his breath.
his room is the same mess he left it and there's a part of brendon that's sure his mother never cleaned because she missed him. and this way, when he came home she could bitch at him to clean it up. just like before.
the first thing that catches his eye when he turns around is his old cell phone. dusty from going unused for so long, brendon's surprised the damn thing even turns on. he's not so surprised to see that ryan, spencer, and brent are the top three in his recent calls list, the number he's called each of them maxed out at a hundred.
for a minute brendon lets himself think of how it could have been. if he had stayed. if they had kept playing, kept touring. if they had kept working their asses off.
it's a few too many ifs, though, and brendon ignores the way his fingers itch for a guitar, wondering instead what they're doing now.
-
brent hasn't talked to spencer, ryan or brendon since just after brendon left. the three of them sitting in a tiny little mexican place, authentic, it boasted, and talking awkwardly about whether they should keep going, find someone else.
he can still see hear the way ryan said, "no. i think, no," and see spencer's tight little nod.
brent hasn't talked to any of them since and nothing even happened. they didn't fight and he doesn't hate them. there was just never really any urgency to pick up the phone and call them and after a while it fell to the back of his mind, something he remembered at inconvenient times and told himself he would do later.
but they hadn't ever called him and after a couple weeks, a month, it seemed easier to let it go. forget that life, those friends.
two years and brent's a little surprised when his mom tells him that brendon's back in town, says she ran into mrs. urie at the store and he's been back for a day or two. brent just nods and he's not suprised when they don't call now either.
panic gen
notes: au of what could have been. unbetaed. i don't know.
ryan spends approximately seven and a half hours a day playing minesweeper and when people ask him if he love his job he says, "yes. of course, yes."
the truth is, ryan doesn't hate his job. not like paul two cubes over who has half the office betting on which day he'll come in shooting.
though, it's not like ryan really likes his job either. it's a job: it pays the bills, gives him something to do during the day, and most importantly gives him paid time off so that he can help out with spencer's new band.
ryan really only hates his job when that vacation time runs out and he's stuck listening to paul, even from two cubicles down, tapping his pencil for eight hours straight, only stopping for lunch, while spencer is touring the pacific northwest in a piece of shit van.
this year ryan's gone through his vacation unexpectedly fast; it's only april and he's already used all but two days, both saved for his aunt's third wedding in june.
-
the tour is the band's second and a half, the four shows with say anything last november counting for the half, and spencer's sixth. and a half. it hasn't been as bad as the others, no accidents, screaming fights, or fist fights to speak of.
plus, they've only broken down once and for the piece of shit they're driving, spencer's pretty sure that's a miracle.
this tour is tiny, slightly bigger than the first, but still small enough that they're playing to barely half full venues. the ministers of new zealand are second on the play list and that too is an improvement. spencer almost feels like this could be it, the right person could see them and like them and well.
he calls ryan after every third or fourth show. to check in and let him know that he's still alive because ryan might not worry exactly, but he's had enough people disappearing from his life that spencer's not about to add his name to that list.
so he calls ryan and they don't talk about anything really. not until the night, a tuesday, spencer thinks stupidly, that ryan mentions brendon. just sort of off the cuff and barely there, but spencer can't follow what he says after that, something about work and the chick at the starbucks across the street who looks exactly like this girl he went to highschool with.
spencer can still remember the day brendon left, the four of them standing stony-faced in his living room. all of them so young and all spencer'd been was mad. his chance at fame slipping away and brendon wasn't even trying.
for spencer it was the difference between going on a mission, something he knew brendon didn't really want to do, and spending the rest of his life as a musician. for spencer there shouldn't have been the need for an actual choice.
he knows better now.
spencer also remembers the way brendon had looked, shoulders hunched in on himself as they'd all said goodbyes. his face had been pale and his mouth set in an unhappy tilt.
that's the brendon he's remembering now.
"wait. what. what did you say?" spencer asks and ryan huffs a little, says something about how he's really sure this guy at work is going to come in one day with a gun. and he's only told spencer that a few dozen times so spencer doesn't feel too bad when he says, "no, christ, ryan. brendon."
"you haven't heard anything i said since brendon?" ryan's tone is huffy and spencer rolls his eyes, makes some sort of noise to imply that he totally heard, really, before saying, "come on, ryan."
ryan huffs, a burst of static against spencer's ear, before he finally just says, "he's back."
-
brendon pretty much hates being back home, back in his parent's house, back in his old room that hasn't changed for the last two years. he wishes for a brief second that he was still in the middle of nowhere, ohio, where he seriously should have stayed.
he'd thought about it, renting out his tiny little room there until he could find his own place. but then his mom had gotten that tone, the disappointed one that makes brendon cringe and feel like the worst son ever. the one that made him finally break down and agree to going on a mission when it looked like touring wasn't working out.
and really she hadn't even said anything, not much anyway. talked about his oldest sister's kids, the youngest looking exactly like brendon did at that age. how unfortunately he seemed to act the same way too.
he's pretty sure she could have said nothing and brendon would still be here, moving uncomfortably through a room full of every family member that lives within driving distance. their influence is stifling, and brendon really wishes, not for the first time, that he hadn't come home.
when he finally escapes up to his room, manages a charming smile and some excuse about being tired, brendon softly shuts the door, presses his forehead against it for just a minute, just to catch his breath.
his room is the same mess he left it and there's a part of brendon that's sure his mother never cleaned because she missed him. and this way, when he came home she could bitch at him to clean it up. just like before.
the first thing that catches his eye when he turns around is his old cell phone. dusty from going unused for so long, brendon's surprised the damn thing even turns on. he's not so surprised to see that ryan, spencer, and brent are the top three in his recent calls list, the number he's called each of them maxed out at a hundred.
for a minute brendon lets himself think of how it could have been. if he had stayed. if they had kept playing, kept touring. if they had kept working their asses off.
it's a few too many ifs, though, and brendon ignores the way his fingers itch for a guitar, wondering instead what they're doing now.
-
brent hasn't talked to spencer, ryan or brendon since just after brendon left. the three of them sitting in a tiny little mexican place, authentic, it boasted, and talking awkwardly about whether they should keep going, find someone else.
he can still see hear the way ryan said, "no. i think, no," and see spencer's tight little nod.
brent hasn't talked to any of them since and nothing even happened. they didn't fight and he doesn't hate them. there was just never really any urgency to pick up the phone and call them and after a while it fell to the back of his mind, something he remembered at inconvenient times and told himself he would do later.
but they hadn't ever called him and after a couple weeks, a month, it seemed easier to let it go. forget that life, those friends.
two years and brent's a little surprised when his mom tells him that brendon's back in town, says she ran into mrs. urie at the store and he's been back for a day or two. brent just nods and he's not suprised when they don't call now either.