Pinky Promise [standalone]
Title: Pinky Promise
Author: xstockpiledmmrs Anna
Rating: R [drugs ; swearing]
Pairing: Ryan / Brendon
POV: Third
Summary: He gave Ryan this miracle powder, a quick fix to make him feel better, to feel on cloud nine.
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. I wish the boys did, but... you know how it is.
Ryan can’t fucking breathe. He can’t fucking breathe at all right now. Brendon just walked out of the door, slamming it behind him enough to make the walls shake. In the corner of the room, there’s broken shards of glass where a picture of them in a frame fell. It almost was like it went in slow motion. Brendon’s face stern and serious as he swung the door shut, the shudder of the walls and the frame unhooking from its nail and sliding to the ground before crashing, and that’s when everything was back to regular speed.
To normal.
Ryan sobs as he pulls himself up from the floor. He hadn’t gotten up when Brendon had pushed him over, yelled, shouted, screamed at him.
He kind of wants to know what he did wrong, but he can’t remember. His mind his fogge dup and he’s dizzy, the room spinning in colors of orange and green and he really wants to throw up right now.
Ryan stumbles to the bathroom, heaving himself to the floor and barely making it to the toilet in time to hurl.
Oh yeah. He remembers now. He had been snorting up a few lines when Brendon came home.
But Ryan, he can’t even remember why he started doing the cocaine. He thinks maybe it was one of the techs when they were on the Honda Civic Tour. Yeah, that one guy. With the big hair. He had been the one who caught Ryan freaking out and stressing, destroying the dressing room with no one there to help him.
Except that tech guy.
He gave Ryan this miracle powder, a quick fix to make him feel better, to feel on cloud nine.
Ryan hiccups, ripping a piece of toilet paper off the roll and blowing his nose before throwing it into the toilet, flushing away the contents of his stomach. He collapses against the tub, knowing he looks like fucking shit. He giggles as he thinks of what Will would say to him right now. Something about being totally wasted.
Yeah, he doesn’t mind touring with Beckett, because he’s a good time. He’s a trip, that guy. Ryan didn’t mind smoking pot with him and the Butcher after a show. Neither did Brendon.
But maybe the cocaine was too much.
He just doesn’t understand, is what Ryan decides. If Brendon loved him, he’d understand that Ryan needed that shit like a… like a-oh, now he can’t even think of a-what were they called?
“I need another line,” Ryan says out loud, swiping his mouth with the back of his hand and standing up, having to take a moment to catch his balance. On his way out of the bathroom, he can see the difference, the way he’s changed since his first high in… well, the town before Anaheim. Was that Las Vegas? Ryan can’t remember.
His face is sunken in, pale and pasty. He has bags under his eyes and his hairs just… limp. Ryan doesn’t understand how Brendon didn’t figure it out before.
Ryan just shrugs, because really, who gives a swimming fuck? Or maybe it was flying fuck. He’s just going to use swimming for now. He makes his way back to the coffee table, dropping to his knees. Fortunately for him, he still has a bag hidden under the couch, so he’s good for another few days. Well, no.
Probably just like... an hour.
Ryan snorts up two more lines, smiling in a daze as he leans back against the couch, content and happy and fucking high. And then he just sort of decides… fuck it. Fuck Brendon. He was a shitty fuck anyways. He didn’t care about Ryan, just himself. He never wanted to do anything fun. That’s what drove Ryan crazy.
Besides, Brendon didn’t understand that Ryan needed to be consoled every now and then. He stressed because he hated being judged. Sending his lyrics out to the world was hard, especially in the form of a song for crtics to rate and eat. Wait. Since when do critics eat songs?
“Since they fucked me over,” Ryan mumbled, throwing a pillow lazily across the room, just because. Because he fucking good.
Ryan starts giggling uncontrollably as an image of an obese naked woman with Spencer’s head pops up in his brain, and it’s so goddamn funny. He rolls onto his back he’s laughing so hard, tears falling from his eyes as he laughs even harder, choking on his breath.
“Oh, fuck, Ryan.”
He giggles as he’s lifted up into strong arms, and Ryan just sort of goes for a pair of big, lips -oh wow, they look like porn star lips-, and pushes his mouth against them, biting on them, sucking on them, pushing his tongue past them before he’s knocked away by a hand on his forehead.
“Fuck, Ryan, stop it.”
Ryan’s face lights up, like, literally. It just seems to brighten, because it’s Brendon. And didn’t Brendon just leave saying he wasn’t going to come back? Yeah, that’s what Brendon said. Or at least, Ryan thinks that’s what he said. But maybe he just imagined it.
Ryan squirms as Brendon tucks him under the blanket in their bed, running his hand through his hair caringly.
“I’m going to help you through this, okay, Ry? You’re going to get over this.”
“Over the rainbow?” Ryan asks before giggling and bursting into a chorus of ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’, his voice cracking because his pitch is too high.
“No, dickhead,” Brendon says with a sigh, pushing his mouth shut so he’d stop singing. “You’re probably fucking addicted, so I’m going to help you quit.”
“Can I quit, too?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Kick ass!”
“Go to sleep, Ryan.”
“I’m hungry.”
“Go. To. Bed.”
“Make me.”
“I will.”
“How?”
“Like this.”
“OW, FUCK! Those were my baby makers!”
“Shut the fuck up and sleep, you addict.”
“Fucker. Fuck you, dickface, asswipe, poophead.”
Brendon rolls his eyes, getting up and leaving the room, shutting the door. Ryan figures that he’s probably going to lock it somehow, because they were gay and had locks on the doors from the outside, so he doesn’t bother getting up. He’s kind of sleepy anyways.
--
“Where’s my fucking shit, Bren?”
“I got rid of it!”
“I NEED THAT!”
“You don’t need it, Ryan. Now sit down and eat.”
“Brendon, where are they? I need a fix.”
“I don’t care.”
“I hate you!” Ryan huffs and grabs his plate of food, throwing it at the ground. He hates this. He wants his cocaine, and he wants a fix. There’s no way Brendon found it all, no way. He hid it all good.
Ryan storms off to the bedroom, tugging open the closet and starting to search for his box, the box where he stashed must of the cocaine. When he finds it, it’s all gone. It’s all fucking gone.
And Ryan really needs a fix.
--
Ryan finds himself hurling into the bucket next to the bed again, moments after he’d just hurled. He’s sweating like crazy, but he’s fucking cold, and he’s shivering. He can’t stop shaking. He can feel Brendon pressed up against his back, shushing him and holding his hair back, wiping his mouth off and making him blow his nose with a tissue.
He can’t even remember anymore when the withdrawals started, but Brendon was there from the start, helping him get by. It’s hard, but they’re doing it. Ryan’s getting by. He still wants his fix though. That’d making him really happy.
But he sort of wants to make Brendon happy at the same time.
--
“You’re going to make it through, baby.”
“Pinky promise?” Ryan asked in a hushed tone, wiping sweat from his forehead as Brendon held him close, kissing the back of his head and his neck, rubbing soothing circles on his stomach.
“Pinky promise, promise.”
Ryan reached his hand down, grabbing Brendon’s and linking their pinkies together tight. You can’t ever break a pinky promise, you just can’t. If you do you go to Hell. That’s what Ryan told Spencer back when he was in the second grade.
So Ryan’s making Brendon pinky promise, so that he knows he’ll make it through.
He has to make it through.
After all, he’s just being an overdramatic diva.
Doing drugs, going crazy.
That’s what Brendon says he’s famous for.
But not anymore. Ryan’s going to break past that, and he’s going to show Brendon that he won’t fuck up… as much.
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
so... this is what i come up with in half an hour or so when i'm bored... for some reason i just felt like writing about ryan as a druggie, and well, this is what came out. i don't know if anybody even like, understands it. i don't even think i do. i just added in the pinky promise, and then that became the title. i don't know why, it just.. did. i didn't know what else to put.
oh, and to anyone following my other story 'you're all i've got tonight', i had all the way up to chapter 9 complete, and i'm currently finishing chapter 10, which is pretty much an epilogue. i'll start posting once that's finished. sorry, i just... forgot to post because of school and it slipped my mind completely. :\
comments?
Author: xstockpiledmmrs Anna
Rating: R [drugs ; swearing]
Pairing: Ryan / Brendon
POV: Third
Summary: He gave Ryan this miracle powder, a quick fix to make him feel better, to feel on cloud nine.
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. I wish the boys did, but... you know how it is.
Ryan can’t fucking breathe. He can’t fucking breathe at all right now. Brendon just walked out of the door, slamming it behind him enough to make the walls shake. In the corner of the room, there’s broken shards of glass where a picture of them in a frame fell. It almost was like it went in slow motion. Brendon’s face stern and serious as he swung the door shut, the shudder of the walls and the frame unhooking from its nail and sliding to the ground before crashing, and that’s when everything was back to regular speed.
To normal.
Ryan sobs as he pulls himself up from the floor. He hadn’t gotten up when Brendon had pushed him over, yelled, shouted, screamed at him.
He kind of wants to know what he did wrong, but he can’t remember. His mind his fogge dup and he’s dizzy, the room spinning in colors of orange and green and he really wants to throw up right now.
Ryan stumbles to the bathroom, heaving himself to the floor and barely making it to the toilet in time to hurl.
Oh yeah. He remembers now. He had been snorting up a few lines when Brendon came home.
But Ryan, he can’t even remember why he started doing the cocaine. He thinks maybe it was one of the techs when they were on the Honda Civic Tour. Yeah, that one guy. With the big hair. He had been the one who caught Ryan freaking out and stressing, destroying the dressing room with no one there to help him.
Except that tech guy.
He gave Ryan this miracle powder, a quick fix to make him feel better, to feel on cloud nine.
Ryan hiccups, ripping a piece of toilet paper off the roll and blowing his nose before throwing it into the toilet, flushing away the contents of his stomach. He collapses against the tub, knowing he looks like fucking shit. He giggles as he thinks of what Will would say to him right now. Something about being totally wasted.
Yeah, he doesn’t mind touring with Beckett, because he’s a good time. He’s a trip, that guy. Ryan didn’t mind smoking pot with him and the Butcher after a show. Neither did Brendon.
But maybe the cocaine was too much.
He just doesn’t understand, is what Ryan decides. If Brendon loved him, he’d understand that Ryan needed that shit like a… like a-oh, now he can’t even think of a-what were they called?
“I need another line,” Ryan says out loud, swiping his mouth with the back of his hand and standing up, having to take a moment to catch his balance. On his way out of the bathroom, he can see the difference, the way he’s changed since his first high in… well, the town before Anaheim. Was that Las Vegas? Ryan can’t remember.
His face is sunken in, pale and pasty. He has bags under his eyes and his hairs just… limp. Ryan doesn’t understand how Brendon didn’t figure it out before.
Ryan just shrugs, because really, who gives a swimming fuck? Or maybe it was flying fuck. He’s just going to use swimming for now. He makes his way back to the coffee table, dropping to his knees. Fortunately for him, he still has a bag hidden under the couch, so he’s good for another few days. Well, no.
Probably just like... an hour.
Ryan snorts up two more lines, smiling in a daze as he leans back against the couch, content and happy and fucking high. And then he just sort of decides… fuck it. Fuck Brendon. He was a shitty fuck anyways. He didn’t care about Ryan, just himself. He never wanted to do anything fun. That’s what drove Ryan crazy.
Besides, Brendon didn’t understand that Ryan needed to be consoled every now and then. He stressed because he hated being judged. Sending his lyrics out to the world was hard, especially in the form of a song for crtics to rate and eat. Wait. Since when do critics eat songs?
“Since they fucked me over,” Ryan mumbled, throwing a pillow lazily across the room, just because. Because he fucking good.
Ryan starts giggling uncontrollably as an image of an obese naked woman with Spencer’s head pops up in his brain, and it’s so goddamn funny. He rolls onto his back he’s laughing so hard, tears falling from his eyes as he laughs even harder, choking on his breath.
“Oh, fuck, Ryan.”
He giggles as he’s lifted up into strong arms, and Ryan just sort of goes for a pair of big, lips -oh wow, they look like porn star lips-, and pushes his mouth against them, biting on them, sucking on them, pushing his tongue past them before he’s knocked away by a hand on his forehead.
“Fuck, Ryan, stop it.”
Ryan’s face lights up, like, literally. It just seems to brighten, because it’s Brendon. And didn’t Brendon just leave saying he wasn’t going to come back? Yeah, that’s what Brendon said. Or at least, Ryan thinks that’s what he said. But maybe he just imagined it.
Ryan squirms as Brendon tucks him under the blanket in their bed, running his hand through his hair caringly.
“I’m going to help you through this, okay, Ry? You’re going to get over this.”
“Over the rainbow?” Ryan asks before giggling and bursting into a chorus of ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’, his voice cracking because his pitch is too high.
“No, dickhead,” Brendon says with a sigh, pushing his mouth shut so he’d stop singing. “You’re probably fucking addicted, so I’m going to help you quit.”
“Can I quit, too?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Kick ass!”
“Go to sleep, Ryan.”
“I’m hungry.”
“Go. To. Bed.”
“Make me.”
“I will.”
“How?”
“Like this.”
“OW, FUCK! Those were my baby makers!”
“Shut the fuck up and sleep, you addict.”
“Fucker. Fuck you, dickface, asswipe, poophead.”
Brendon rolls his eyes, getting up and leaving the room, shutting the door. Ryan figures that he’s probably going to lock it somehow, because they were gay and had locks on the doors from the outside, so he doesn’t bother getting up. He’s kind of sleepy anyways.
--
“Where’s my fucking shit, Bren?”
“I got rid of it!”
“I NEED THAT!”
“You don’t need it, Ryan. Now sit down and eat.”
“Brendon, where are they? I need a fix.”
“I don’t care.”
“I hate you!” Ryan huffs and grabs his plate of food, throwing it at the ground. He hates this. He wants his cocaine, and he wants a fix. There’s no way Brendon found it all, no way. He hid it all good.
Ryan storms off to the bedroom, tugging open the closet and starting to search for his box, the box where he stashed must of the cocaine. When he finds it, it’s all gone. It’s all fucking gone.
And Ryan really needs a fix.
--
Ryan finds himself hurling into the bucket next to the bed again, moments after he’d just hurled. He’s sweating like crazy, but he’s fucking cold, and he’s shivering. He can’t stop shaking. He can feel Brendon pressed up against his back, shushing him and holding his hair back, wiping his mouth off and making him blow his nose with a tissue.
He can’t even remember anymore when the withdrawals started, but Brendon was there from the start, helping him get by. It’s hard, but they’re doing it. Ryan’s getting by. He still wants his fix though. That’d making him really happy.
But he sort of wants to make Brendon happy at the same time.
--
“You’re going to make it through, baby.”
“Pinky promise?” Ryan asked in a hushed tone, wiping sweat from his forehead as Brendon held him close, kissing the back of his head and his neck, rubbing soothing circles on his stomach.
“Pinky promise, promise.”
Ryan reached his hand down, grabbing Brendon’s and linking their pinkies together tight. You can’t ever break a pinky promise, you just can’t. If you do you go to Hell. That’s what Ryan told Spencer back when he was in the second grade.
So Ryan’s making Brendon pinky promise, so that he knows he’ll make it through.
He has to make it through.
After all, he’s just being an overdramatic diva.
Doing drugs, going crazy.
That’s what Brendon says he’s famous for.
But not anymore. Ryan’s going to break past that, and he’s going to show Brendon that he won’t fuck up… as much.
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
so... this is what i come up with in half an hour or so when i'm bored... for some reason i just felt like writing about ryan as a druggie, and well, this is what came out. i don't know if anybody even like, understands it. i don't even think i do. i just added in the pinky promise, and then that became the title. i don't know why, it just.. did. i didn't know what else to put.
oh, and to anyone following my other story 'you're all i've got tonight', i had all the way up to chapter 9 complete, and i'm currently finishing chapter 10, which is pretty much an epilogue. i'll start posting once that's finished. sorry, i just... forgot to post because of school and it slipped my mind completely. :\
comments?