spencertized

Listen to the Wind (Masterpost)

spencertized — Sat, 17 Mar 2012 09:33:07 GMT

Title: Listen to the Wind
Author: Indy hesmagicandmyth
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ryan/Spencer, pre-Ryan/Spencer/Brendon
Word Count: 24,500
Summary: When Brendon brings the unconscious man he finds during a blizzard into his home, he suspects the man may be a slave, but there's no way he could have predicted any of the things that unravel simply by allowing the stranger in to sit next to his fireplace.
Warnings: Mentions of sex slavery, abuse, and related issues. Mentions of deaths of nonspecific characters by hanging and fire.
Author Notes: I'd like to thank my mixer Cinco cincodemaygirl who terrified and excited me all at once when I decided to write for this collection of songs. A big thanks to my darling friend Kallleigh aholelabledlove for letting me bounce weird ideas off of her for months and at all random hours of the day and night and also for hooking me up with my beta. And a HUGE thank you to Rachel glo_starz_fics, my darling, wonderful beta, who apparently can edit at the speed of light more than once and still make me look good. All of you have made writing this story a pleasure. I hope it makes you as happy as writing it has made me.

The Mix

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Listen to the Wind- Part Three

spencertized — Fri, 16 Mar 2012 05:53:38 GMT

Listen to the Wind

They had cooked all day Christmas Eve. Brendon, Jon and Tom all following Cassie’s directions more than anything. Once, when they took a break to let the yeast rise and the ham roast, Jon took a look at the bandages that Brendon had applied to Ryan’s feet.

“It looks as if he did a fine job,” Jon told Ryan with a cheerful smile. “Are they feeling any better than when he first did this?”

“A little, Sir,” Ryan had replied and Jon had had to lift Ryan’s head with gentle fingers.

“Brendon tells me,” Jon spoke in Spencer’s direction, “that you have scarring. I’m a doctor and when we get to Ashbourne, I’ll see what I can do about them. I have a number of lotions, ointments and exfoliates that may help to reduce their appearance. Ryan too.”

Spencer hadn‘t thought about going to Ashbourne until Jon said that, but the idea suddenly seemed a little intimidating. He wasn‘t going to Ashbourne as he‘d come to Wildelow. There would be no hiding by cover of forest and darkness. No sneaking past guards or soldiers. He could travel into Ashbourne just like any other person would- by horseback or by wagon and no one could stop him. Ryan however, Ryan they‘d have to hide. No one knew where he had come from and they wouldn‘t hesitate to take him right back to Caoldale should they recognize him.

“Thank you,” Spencer replied, distractedly. “May I ask you something, Doctor?”

“Anything you’d like,” Jon answered.

“Is there any chance you know if there is a Ryan missing from anywhere near where I’m from in Ashbourne?”

Jon sighed. “I’m afraid not. I’m afraid you’re the only person I’ve ever known of to have been in such a heartbreaking tale. Your family, you know, is wealthy. They’re good people, kind and honest. They help a lot of poorer people in the area, support the orphanage where Brendon and I grew up. When you disappeared, I’ve been told that they offered quite a steep reward for anyone who could return you home to them.”

“I don’t remember them,” Spencer said solemnly. “I have very few memories of my life before being a slave. I don’t even have many memories of that. You block out what you can.”

Jon nodded, “That’s normal. It’s a defense mechanism your mind creates to protect you, keep you from remembering and reliving things that have scared or hurt you.”

Ryan sighed sadly from next to Spencer. He’d remained quiet much of the day. It was almost as if he didn’t know his place now that he and Spencer were no longer equals. Spencer had kept their hands locked and kept Ryan by his side, but it didn’t change how Ryan felt about anything.

*==*==*==*

“You mean you can’t see anything?” little Willa asked as she stood directly in front of Spencer.

“No ma’am,” he replied. “Not anymore.”

“But your eyes are open,” she pointed out quickly. “They look like they can see me.”

“Willa, stop bothering Spencer. He’s our guest.” Cassie scolded.

Willa pouted. “But Muma, he said he can’t see me and he’s looking at me.” She sidled up closer to Spencer and bent down right in front of him. “You even can’t see me like this?”

“I even can’t see you like that, Miss Willa,” Spencer replied with a slight smile on his lips. “But I know you must be right in front of me because I can feel your breath on my face when you talk.”

“Willa!” Cassie called again, this time with Jon echoing her. “Leave Mr. Spencer alone.”

“She’s fine, Mrs. Walker,” Spencer assured warmly.

It was all Ryan could do not to push her away and demand that no, she was not “fine;” she was taunting. Spencer had to squeeze Ryan’s hand and assure him that she wasn’t like the children who had hurt him before. She hadn’t played any cruel tricks on him. She had simply never met someone who was blind before and was curious, as any child would be.

Suddenly, Tom swooped in and scooped her up and away from Spencer. “Why don’t you go tell Uncle Brendon about the things you’ve been learning with your letter blocks?” he asked before tickling her into giggling fits.

“Relax,” Spencer breathed into Ryan’s hair. “I’m fine.” Ryan just rested his head against Spencer’s shoulder and waited for dinner.

*==*==*==*

Christmas morning seemed to fly by. The tree was tied up with caramels and fruits and sugar plums and pecans, but soon enough, they’d eaten at least half of it. There were tiny wooden people Brendon had carved out in his spare time this past autumn and tiny furniture to go with them. Willa was delighted. She had thrust one of them into Tom’s hand and taken yet another over to Spencer and Ryan and demanded that they play with her.

“Can you play?” Willa had asked Spencer, concern in her voice at the prospect of someone not being able to play, but Spencer smiled back at her.

“I’ll try.”

Even Brendon had joined them at one point, trying to help guide Ryan and Spencer along in the ways of play. It was something Brendon had never considered someone wouldn’t know how to do, but he figured when the childishness was forced out of someone, it was hard to get it to return. Spencer and Ryan had given it there best shots though and Willa had been pleased. Spencer’s character had been the baby anyway so it hadn’t required him to do a lot. Ryan’s character had been named Angeline. Willa was quite convinced that Angeline was a fairy so Ryan had mostly spend time making her fly above the others and take care of the baby while it was sleeping as he assumed a fairy godmother would do. Tom and Brendon seemed to deem it appropriate as well because neither one said a word.

When the Christmas festivities were over that evening, the family didn’t wait around a few days at Brendon’s house like they usually did. Instead, they packed up their things and loaded them back onto the wagon. It had been decided that Brendon would go with them to Ashbourne to return Spencer to his family. Spencer had vowed that he would go nowhere without Ryan. Brendon had suspected as much, but he hadn’t expected that they would care if he came along or not. However, the two boys had been adamant Brendon went with them.

Brendon bundled them up in extra blankets of his and everyone except Tom and Jon settled into the back of the covered wagon. Spencer was still holding onto an orange he had received that morning and Ryan still clung to an apple. They had both squirreled away walnuts and chestnuts in their pockets. No one had said anything about the fruits and if anyone had noticed the nuts, they hadn’t said anything about those either.

As they traveled down the bumpy roads, Willa grew tired. “Tell me a story, Muma,” she’d asked.

“You tell me a story, Willa,” Cassie had replied, but Willa had only whined a sleepy response.

“You know what I can do without seeing?” Spencer asked Willa and she looked at him expectantly.

“I can tell a story,” he assured. “Would you like that?”

Willa nodded and squealed with delight as Ryan leaned into Spencer and closed his eyes. He loved hearing Spencer tell stories. It’s one of the only things he remembers about Spencer being young. Spencer used to read to him. It should have been a hint all along that Spencer came from an intelligent background, but until now, it hadn’t crossed Ryan’s mind.

He listened to Spencer’s soothing voice until he fell asleep, and by the time he was asleep so was Willa. Brendon helped Spencer to rearrange things until they could comfortably place Ryan so that he was lying down and then Spencer lay down next to him, curling in close to keep them both warm under their blankets. Brendon tucked the blankets around them tightly and sat back. It would take three days to reach their destination. They had to sleep sometime.

Brendon hadn’t even noticed he’d drifted off until he was awoken by some loud unfamiliar voices. They must have been at the Wildelow-Ashbourne border because the patrol house was not far from them and giving off a warm glow through the windows, lighting up the snow outside them on the ground. Even in the dim lights, Brendon could see there was less snow there than there had been at his home.

“What’s in the back, gentlemen?” a voice asked and Brendon’s heart started racing. Spencer started to stir, but Brendon leaned down to whisper between them, “Stay asleep. Don’t move.” Cassie smiled at Brendon and placed Willa down in between the two. When Willa slept, she usually slept through earthquakes and tidal waves so it was no surprise that she didn’t so much as stir when Cassie placed her down between Spencer and Ryan. Brendon gave her a questioning look, but she shrugged it off.

Suddenly, there was a man climbing onto the back of the wagon and peering in with a lantern held out. Brendon held his breath and tried his best to remain calm.

“Merry Christmas, Sir,” Brendon greeted when the man surveyed the back. The patrolman held the lantern out over Spencer, Ryan and Willa, but when he noticed the sleeping child, he pulled it away quickly so as to not wake her. He looked once more at Cassie and Brendon before jumping down from the wagon edge.

“Happy Christmas,” the patrolman told them as he stepped aside. “Carry on safely. Stay warm.”

Jon and Tom both nodded at him as they spurred the horses back into action.

*==*==*==*

The trip after that was easy. Jon looked in a few of the obvious places: centers of villages, trading posts, general stores, but he didn’t see any signs for Spencer or Ryan. A few times, he even tried small talk with the store employees asking if they’d heard about that market that had burned down in Caoldale, but most of them only shook their heads or commented on how unfortunate it must be for them. No one seemed to know anything about runaway slaves.

Spencer and Ryan didn’t leave the wagon unless they were near the forest and it was after nightfall. Despite the lack of posters, no one seemed to think walking around and making a show of themselves was the best idea either- not that anyone thought Ryan and Spencer were the types to make shows of themselves.

“We’ll be there by daybreak,” Tom told little Willa one night when she was snuggled down next to a sleeping Cassie. “Try to get some sleep, okay?”

“Will you tell me a story?” she asked, but Tom shook his head.

“I have to drive us there. But I bet someone else will be happy to tell you a story.” Tom smirked at Brendon and turned back around toward the horses.

“Ryan’s turn,” Willa decided, pointing right at the boy. “You tell me a story!”

“I uh,” Ryan started and shook his head. “I’m horrible at stories.” He glanced down at Spencer who was sleeping soundly next to him and frowned.

Brendon said, “Here,” and rummaged around in his bag before pulling out a book containing a collection of fairy tales and moving the lantern closer to Ryan. “Just read one of these. They’re short.”

Ryan didn’t even reach to take it. He looked at Brendon, then back at the book and then back to Spencer. “I- I-” Ryan shook his head at Brendon. He paused a moment and took a deep breath. “I can’t use that,” he finally told his lap.

“The book’s easy. It’s for children,” Brendon told him, well aware he read better than many people did.

Ryan still didn‘t take it. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t-” He shook his head and didn’t finish his statement.

It was the first time Brendon noticed that the air was milder where they were. He suddenly felt hot and pushed his covers side. Suddenly the wagon was too small and cramped. Brendon needed out.

“You can’t read at all?” he managed to ask.

Ryan shook his head tightly. He wasn’t sure why he was embarrassed. Most slaves had never been taught to read, many were even prohibited from learning by law. Still, he could feel his cheeks getting warmer.

Brendon placed the book down and reached in his bag again. He scrambled around a bit before he pulled out what he’d been searching for and then placed a small writing booklet and a steel nib pen on his lap. He retrieved a small glass jar of ink and asked Ryan to hold it carefully as he dipped his pen tip into it and began to write on the first empty page of the booklet.

Ryan thought that if Brendon were about to show off his intellect he was going to be pissed, but instead Brendon wrote down four letters side-by-side and turned the booklet around to Ryan.

“Do you know what this says?”

Ryan looked at it for a moment, but shook his head no.

“That’s your name,” Brendon told him. Ryan’s finger reached out to touch the word, but his fingertip smeared the still-wet ink. “Careful,” Brendon warned. “Here, try this.” He held out the pen to Ryan and said only, “You try to write it underneath there.”

Something in Ryan’s mind felt a sense of pride just in picking up the pen. He held it a little funny, but Brendon didn’t think it was a big enough deal to try to correct. Willa peered over at Ryan slowly copying the strokes onto the paper and then looked to Brendon and asked, “Are you going to teach Ryan like he goes to your school?”

“I can teach him if he wants,” Brendon answered readily. “You know I can.”

Ryan stopped the pen and looked up at Brendon questioningly.

“I’m a schoolmaster,” Brendon supplied. “At least, I am when it’s not winter holidays. This is what I teach everyday.” Ryan’s eyes widened and Brendon laughed. “Did you think most grown men carried around a collection of children’s fairytales in their bags?”

Honestly, Ryan didn’t know what men read. All he knew was that he’d never been given the education or permission to do so himself.

“I’ll teach you, if you want,” Brendon offered and he took the booklet back to admire Ryan’s first try at writing his name. “We can start right now.”

Ryan was nodding rapidly and moving to sit closer to Brendon in the small wagon before Brendon had even comprehended his answer and could make room for him.

*==*==*==*

The Smiths didn’t believe what Jon was telling them until he brought Spencer, flanked by Ryan, Brendon, and Jon’s whole family, right into the foyer of the Smith manor. Ginger Smith didn’t have to look twice to know the boy who entered her front door was her son.

Spencer was mostly silent, allowing his mother and sisters to hold onto and cry over him. He didn’t let go of Ryan’s hand the whole time. It didn’t seem real. They were all so happy, yet still to him, they were strangers.

What time had allowed him to remember of his childhood was minimal. He had a few memories, but nothing that brought to mind any of his family’s faces. Now they were nothing but faceless voices weeping over him. Spencer wasn’t sure anyone had ever been so happy to see him before except Ryan when one of them had been hurt or taken away for too long. Nothing like this- with delighted voices and joyful tears and the multitude of hugs.

Spencer wondered what Jon had told them of his past, if he’d told them where he’d been all these years, if it would cause them to act differently toward him.

“In my mind you’re still nine years old,” Mrs. Smith told him as she brushed hair back from his face. “You’re still supposed to fit in my arms and not reach my shoulder and instead you’re now taller than I am,” she sniffed as she tried to wipe her eyes on a handkerchief. “And you look so beautiful, Spencer. I didn’t think this day would ever come.”

Ryan, who stood only a step behind the ordeal, squeezed Spencer’s hand. Even Ryan, who’d seen Spencer at some indefinitely lower points in his life, wouldn’t have said Spencer was looking particularly “beautiful” at that moment. In fact, he was looking rather pitiful after traveling those weeks in the snow and ice and not having fully recovered yet. But Ryan wasn’t about to contradict a mother during a reunion with her long-lost son. Ryan was content to stand there and let Spencer’s family have all the time they needed to get their feelings out.

At least, he was until Mrs. Smith looked over Spencer’s shoulder and asked hesitantly, “Ryan?”

*==*==*==*

Brendon outright refused to take the reward money.

“Young man, I don’t think you understand what you’ve done for this family,” Mr. Smith had said to him after dinner.

“Sir, I-” Brendon shook his head, “I didn’t do anything heroic. I just found someone out in the cold and brought him inside. You would have done the same.”

“Spencer’s been missing for ten years, Mr. Urie,” Spencer’s father said. “Every night for ten years, my wife and I have gone to bed wondering where our son is, if he’s safe, if he’s even alive. Tonight is the first time since he was taken that we can sleep knowing he’s safe in his room.”

“He’s not the same person you knew,” Brendon warned. “I didn’t know him then, but I can assure you, Sir, that he’s changed dramatically. Some really bad things have happened to him. Some people-” Brendon shook his head, “I wish I could have brought him back to you a little more whole.”

“The reward money isn’t for bringing him back ‘whole;’ it‘s just for bringing him back at all.”

Brendon still shook his head slowly. “I still can’t take it. If you want to repay me, give Spencer and Ryan plenty of space and let them feel safe here.” Brendon made sure he made his point very clear, his voice very emphatic, “Let them be themselves before you try to make them into your ideal family members. They have to be allowed to remember who they are. Let them do that.”

*==*==*==*

Brendon was allowed to go up to Spencer’s room later that evening. The house was mostly dark and only the warm glow of candles around the room lit it up. The thick curtains were pulled closed and Ryan lie curled up into Spencer’s side on the bed, but when Brendon knocked both boys sat up almost instantly, Ryan moving to get off the bed, but Spencer held him back with a strong hand around his wrist.

“It’s just me,” Brendon spoke through the door and they breathed easier.

“It’s unlocked,” Spencer called back as he settled back down against the pillows.

Brendon closed the door behind him and walked over toward the bed. The room was still set up like that of a child, but Brendon guessed he should have figured as much.

The full story had come out just before dinner. Spencer and Ryan had been kidnapped as children, stolen by a poorer servant’s family and were only supposed to have been held for ransom, but once the ransom was paid they were sold to a slave caravan traveling east. The servant, his family, and anyone who had helped had been found out and rounded up, locked away in a prison where many still were, but none of it had brought the boys home.

Ryan hadn’t been a part of Spencer’s family exactly. His father had been a servant in the household temporarily and when Ryan’s mother, a young slave girl, became pregnant, he found new work before anyone discovered the child was his. He’d never acknowledged Ryan, but Ryan’s mother had loved her son dearly and had done all that she could for him. Because of how well she did being a mother, Mrs. Smith had allowed her to help in the nursery when Spencer was young. She’d brought Ryan along to the playroom each day and the two boys had subsequently grown up close to one another. It explained why both Spencer and Ryan couldn’t remember a time far enough back in their lives that the other wasn’t there. It also confirmed what Ryan feared - Spencer may have been free, but Ryan had only traded one master for another.

“I just wanted to check on you both. Find out how you were settling in on your first night.” Brendon smiled warmly.

After meeting so many new people, Brendon’s voice was a welcomed familiarity. Ryan curled back into Spencer’s side carefully and motioned for Brendon to sit down on the foot of the bed. Spencer wanted Brendon to get comfortable before he spoke.

“They made Ryan a place in-” he pointed off in the direction of where he was speaking, but Spencer was loathe to say, “slave quarters.”

“Spence-“ Ryan started, but Brendon understood.

“Just tell them you’d rather have him with you,” Brendon explained easily. “I’m sure they’d understand. They’re good people, Spencer. I’ve never heard Jon say a single negative word about them and on top of that, they dearly love you. You just have to give them a chance. Just say you want Ryan to stay with you and don‘t worry about it.”

Spencer and Ryan both nodded, but neither said a word. Brendon was trying to help, but he didn’t understand the way their minds worked- how nothing could be that simple to them. Both were sure they couldn’t remember the last time one of them had asked for something and they weren’t going to start asking for things tonight.

*==*==*==*

Nothing was broken, except maybe Spencer’s ribs. He wasn’t sure how many stairs there had been, but he was positive he’d missed every last one of them.

He lie there a minute, on polished wood, wondering where he’d landed before the unmistakable noise of footsteps began to be heard. He scrambled up and held onto the wall, trying to regain his bearings. His head felt somehow disconnected. He must have been so busy focusing on the pain thrumming through him that he forgot to pay attention to how close the footsteps were coming until someone reached out and placed a hand gentle on his face. Spencer flinched away instinctively.

“Are you okay?” a soft voice asked. “Your lip is bleeding.”

Spencer couldn’t help the way his whole body shook. He’d seen slaves awaken masters before, had seen how they were punished. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew this situation was different, but for the most part it felt all the same.

Someone else joined the girl, asking, “Everything alright, Jacqueline?” This time Spencer heard the approaching footsteps.

“Oh, come. Sit down,” the other voice said and Spencer was fairly positive these were his younger sisters. They lead him over to a chair, soft and upholstered.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Spencer said quietly.

Jacqueline hushed him. “It’s nothing.” Then, “Crystal, wet a cloth for his lip, please.”

Spencer refrained from clutching his side. He’d been in worse pain before. Another person found them, wherever they were, and Spencer heard a sizzling sound as someone poked at a fire and it came to life, larger than it had been just moments before. The person was probably a slave, tending to the fires at such a late hour with no qualms about it, but Spencer would have felt more comfortable knowing for sure. He would have felt more comfortable being able to see how the slaves were treated in the house. His house, his mind kept saying. His home. After all, that’s what they’d all told him, “Welcome home.”

“We’ll have to teach you your way around before you go wondering about on your own,” one of his sisters said as she sat down next to him and began dabbing his lip with a cool, wet cloth. Spencer reached out and took it from her. “I’ll take you on a tour through the place tomorrow if you’d like. We can do that until you learn your way around it.”

“Then you won’t have to worry about those wretched stairs,” the other sister added as she came closer. “Did you hurt yourself anywhere else? We can call Dr. Walker.”

Spencer considered lying. Slaves never told anyone when they were hurt. But Spencer wasn’t a slave here and he knew that, although changing his way of thinking was going to take much longer than a few hours. Still, the idea of Jon, someone he knew slightly better, was more comforting.

Spencer said, “Yes, if you don’t mind,” and whoever had been in the room attending silently to the fire left just as quickly to fetch Jon.

“What were you even doing out of bed?” Jon asked as he pressed his stethoscope to Spencer’s chest.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Spencer replied, rubbing his eyes and slumping a little. Jon push a little on Spencer’s shoulder and Spencer corrected his posture.

“Is that a euphemism for ‘Going to check on Ryan’?” Jon asked. He moved his stethoscope to Spencer’s back and listened again. Spencer didn’t say anything.

A frown formed on the doctor’s face. “Your breathing sounds horrible in here,” Jon told him. “Have you been sick?”

Spencer laughed and Jon clearly heard the wheezing sound in it. Jon wasn’t sure if he should be more surprised that Spencer actually laughed or that he hadn’t caught that Spencer was sick before. Spencer had traveled in the wilderness for at least three weeks in the dead of winter. He most likely hadn’t been well enough to make the trip to Ashbourne even if it had been by covered wagon.

“Brendon was treating it,” Spencer replied. “It’s much better than it was. It just sort of came back with the travel from Wildelow.”

“It’s not better,” Jon mumbled, seemingly more to himself than to Spencer.

“It’s better than it was,” Spencer repeated softly. He felt he had to stick up for Brendon after all Brendon had done for him. “It doesn’t hurt to speak anymore.” Jon seemed satisfied with that. Instead of arguing that Brendon wasn’t exactly a doctor Jon switched topics.

“Want me to take you to Ryan?”

Spencer shook his head. “No, no. I wasn’t thinking. We shouldn’t wake him.”

Jon laughed lowly to himself, but said nothing other than, “Your room then?”

Spencer nodded eagerly. “Please.”

*==*==*==*

The next day, Spencer had to wait until Brendon visited to even feel somewhat at ease. No one had brought up Spencer’s mishap from the night before and everyone mostly catered to him, but he still felt so out of place. He couldn’t remember ever being in a manor of that size without having been there to be locked away in some room out of sight until use. And it wasn’t that he minded the people catering to him, it was just that he’d rather them simply guide him a bit so he could do things himself. On top of that, he still hadn’t met back with Ryan since they’d been parted the night before and now it was nearing noon.

“Brendon,” Spencer had said a little desperately when he finally came over to the Smith’s manor. He surprised even himself when he reached out and gripped at Brendon’s forearm. He’d been aiming for Brendon’s shoulder, but he’d take what he could get. “Have you seen Ryan?”

“What do you mean?” Brendon asked as he helped take Spencer’s arm and gently steered him into a room away from the main part of the house and potentially eavesdropping family members.

“They took him to-” Spencer bit him tongue. They were slaves. Or well, he had been and Ryan still was. It’s what they were and Spencer was sure it hadn’t always been that hard to say before. For some reason now it just seemed so much more degrading to say it without referring to himself with Ryan. Spencer changed his words to, “I should be with him.”

“He’s resting,” Brendon told Spencer softly. “Jon’s supposed to go by after lunch and remove his bandages. He should be mostly better, we think. You want me to take you to him?”

“Please,” Spencer said and it sounded like more of Spencer’s heart was in that one word than anything Brendon had heard him say before.

“Come with me,“ Brendon directed as he placed a hand lightly on Spencer’s bicep and guided him toward the side door of the house.

When they were rejoined, Ryan and Spencer embraced as if one of them had returned from war. Brendon turned away at first, but after a second or two, he couldn’t keep his eyes from watching them in his periphery.

Ryan and Spencer held each other while Spencer apologized for something that was mostly out of his control.

“What happened to your lip?” Ryan asked as Spencer settled back on Ryan’s small bed. Ryan’s bed was considerably less comfortable than his own, Spencer noted with a small grimace, but he considered that it was promising that Ryan had his own bed.

“I don’t know my way around the house,” Spencer admitted.

“Oh,” Ryan replied and placed his finger lightly below the cut on Spencer’s lip. He moved forward a bit, but then seemed to think better of it. He glanced at Brendon in the doorway nervously.

“I uh-,” Brendon waved his hands down at his sides as if he weren’t sure what to do with them and then turned away. Over his shoulder he said, “I won’t watch.”

Ryan took a breath to seemingly gather his courage before he pressed a quick kiss to Spencer’s lips. Almost as soon as he pulled back, Ryan considered how strange it was to not feel uncomfortable kissing Spencer now that Spencer was a free man, but it wasn’t. When he turned back around, Brendon noted that neither boy seemed out of the ordinary after the kiss so it was most likely not the first time it had happened.

“I have to find a way to keep you with me,” Spencer said softly and Ryan only made a soft humming noise in agreement.

*==*==*==*

That night, Spencer didn’t fall down the stairs, but he didn’t expect anyone to be awake to catch him either.

“Can I do anything for you, Sir?” a voice spoke and Spencer froze. “I’m Patrick,” the voice said, getting closer. “I um, I work for your family. I’ve been here most of my life. I can probably help you with anything you need.”

At first, Spencer didn’t respond. He gently put his hands down from the lock he’d been trying to figure out on the side door.

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

“Not tonight,” Patrick laughed cordially. “Tonight, I was awake already.”

“Oh, you were- last night?” Spencer make a face.

“I went and retrieved Dr. Walker for you, yes,” Patrick confirmed. Spencer nodded. Spencer heard what sounded like a ceramic mug being set aside before Patrick said, “I’ll show you how the door works if you’d like. It has three locks on it. Rather complicated ones. They aren’t- They’re not meant to bar anyone out. Don’t think that. It’s quite the opposite actually. Your family had complicated locks placed on all the doors after you were taken. I think they just felt safer that way.”

Spencer moved his hands back up to the lock with which he’d been toying around. “You’re a slave?” he asked cautiously.

Spencer wouldn’t ever know how much Patrick wished in that moment that Spencer could see him. Patrick grinned at him a second before replying.

“I live here by a contract that I have no control over. I oversee some of the work that gets done here. I don’t receive a salary for it.” He didn’t sound upset, just honest.

Spencer’s face looked clouded and troubled, but Patrick continued.

“However, I have been here since I was young and not once have I been ‘punished’ or ‘reprimanded’ in any way that you seem to have been in your lifetime.”

Suddenly Spencer was acutely aware of the amount of skin that showed from his short sleeved pajamas and collarless neckline.

“Your family aren‘t those kind of slave owners. And they will take care of your friend you’re so worried about too,” Patrick added. Spencer shook his head immediately, wanting to keep Ryan out of the equation, but Patrick just laughed kindly again. “That’s where you’re going, isn’t it?

Spencer shook his head quickly. “I just can’t sleep so-”

“So you’re going to the slave quarters?” Patrick asked. Spencer looked guilty. “Stay here. I’ll go get him for you. I’m dressed warmer than you are.”

Patrick didn’t tell Spencer that when he found him Ryan had been sleeping under his bed rather than on it. He supposed there were some things to which they would have to adjust. It wasn’t his place to tell anyway. Spencer just thanked him and allowed Ryan to lead them back upstairs.

Once in bed next to one another, it didn’t take either of them very long to fall asleep.

*==*==*==*

“Help me out with something,” Jon told Spencer and Ryan the next evening. “Help me convince Brendon to take the money your family is offering him and to move out here to Ashbourne with us.”

Spencer and Ryan both looked surprised, but Jon noted they looked excited as well.

“That would be wonderful,” Spencer remarked and Ryan nodded next to him.

“He told me he couldn’t leave the schoolhouse in Wildelow, but I have a feeling he’ll have a harder time telling you no,” Jon admitted with a sly grin and the boys only nodded more.

Convincing Brendon turned out not to be so hard after all. Spencer and Ryan merely had to request it with small pouts on their faces. If Spencer perhaps said once that they felt more comfortable with Brendon around, well, no one was going to repeat it. Brendon was a soft-hearted person and always had been so he promised possibly just to see the smiles that lit up Ryan and Spencer’s faces.

“But you’ll have to let me finish the school year,” Brendon commented before anyone could celebrate. “I can’t abandon my students halfway through the year. They‘ll be expecting me back after winter break.”

“You’ll be back soon then at least?” Spencer asked.

“The year ends early so the students can help their families on their farms during most of Spring. We never have classes once the ground begins to thaw so really, it will only be a few weeks that I’m gone- ten or twelve maybe. You won’t miss me too much, right?”

Spencer and Ryan imagined they’d actually miss Brendon a great deal, but they shook their heads and kept a positive attitude.

“It doesn’t take a letter too terribly long to reach me in Wildelow. You should uh,” he hesitated, “have Jon write to me for you. Let me know how things fare while I’m away.”

“Write us too,” Spencer insisted. Ryan made eye contact with Brendon and nodded his head just a little toward the door. Brendon seemed to understand that Ryan wanted to speak to him privately and nodded back. They’d get a chance to speak later. Right now, Brendon thought they should probably all go and tell the Smiths the news.

*==*==*==*

The day after the new year, Brendon took one of the Smiths’ horses and tied his belongings onto its back.

He hugged Jon tightly and then Cassie, Willa and Tom before walking over closely to Spencer and Ryan. He didn’t want to leave them even for a short season, but he knew there wasn’t much else he could do in their given situation. The Smiths would certainly not want Spencer to go back with Brendon and leave them again just yet, even if they knew he was safe, and everyone knew Ryan intended to stay by Spencer’s side no matter where he went.

Ryan had barely left Spencer’s side since the night Patrick had intervened and brought Ryan into the manor. The next morning, Mrs. Smith had gone in to wake Spencer and found Ryan sleeping next to him. She had only smiled sadly before asking a sleepy Spencer if he would be in favor of moving Ryan’s quarters into the house. Spencer wasn’t fully awake yet so he wasn’t even sure how he managed to reply, “Couldn’t Ryan just stay in this room with me?”

They’d given Ryan his own room across the hallway from Spencer’s but, for the most part, Ryan had done just as everyone suspected he would and stayed in Spencer’s room far more than his own. Spencer laughed at the thought of Ryan having a room of his own for the first time in his life and essentially opting out of it, but Spencer knew he couldn’t blame him. After so long together they weren’t meant to be separated.

“I’ll see you soon, yeah?” he asked with a small smile and Ryan and Spencer returned it. He held out his arms and was surprised when Ryan fell into them so easily. Brendon hugged onto his tiny frame tight enough that Ryan could feel secure, but loose enough that he didn’t feel trapped.

“Thank you,” Ryan whispered.

Brendon got the feeling that Ryan didn’t say thank you very easily or often and immediately Brendon hugged him a little tighter, but Ryan seemed okay with it.

When he pulled back, Spencer stood there hesitantly. Ryan nudged him forward just a little and Spencer and Brendon met in a gentle, soft hug. It was nothing like the one Brendon had gotten from Ryan only a moment before. Still, this one felt just as honest. Spencer had been roughly handled before and this hug was sensitive and tender. Spencer had been locked in before and the hug didn’t make Brendon feel confined. Brendon patted gently on Spencer’s back and he hoped it showed Spencer the difference between himself and the way he’d been treated by others before because, if nothing else, Brendon figured it took a lot of trust for someone who couldn’t see you to allow himself to be surrounded in your arms.

Brendon knelt down to Bogart who sat patiently between Ryan and Spencer. “I’ll see you in Spring too,” he told the terrier. “Take care of these boys.” Bogart jumped up so that his forepaws were on Brendon’s knees and tried to lick at Brendon’s face. “And watch that tongue. If I find out you’ve licked my friends away while I was in Wildelow, I’m not going to be impressed.” Bogart kept right on reaching to lick Brendon and finally Brendon bent his head down just a little so Bogart could reach his face.

“Spencer and Ryan will look after him. Spoil him most likely,” Jon commented and Brendon knew that as well. Spencer just picked up Bogart and started scratching a little at his stomach.

“Do me a favor, Jon,” Brendon replied, standing up with a grin. “Make sure Spencer and Ryan get spoiled enough as well until I get back to do it myself.”

They all looked around with bittersweet smiles as Brendon turned and mounted the horse. He only looked back once to wave fondly and everyone watched as he rode down the long driveway. The Smiths’ house was going to feel like a foreign place for a while, but Spencer and Ryan were sure that once Brendon got back they could all settle in properly. They were sure that somehow the three of them could make it feel right. And when Brendon was out of sight, Ryan grabbed Spencer’s hand and led him back inside.

Epilogue

Brendon kept an eye on Ryan as he searched through the Smith’s family library. It wasn’t that Ryan wasn’t allowed free rein of the library. Brendon just enjoyed watching what he did when we was given the opportunity to pick up any book, to learn anything therein, nothing withheld from him.

Ryan had been searching through the titles for the past fifteen minutes or so, occasionally pulling one out from the shelf and searching through the pages for illustrations.

“Brendon,” Ryan called softly, holding out a book he’d found. Brendon hadn’t realized that Ryan even knew he was standing there so he was a little surprised, but he shouldn’t have been. Even Spencer could usually tell when someone was nearby. Brendon figured the heightened sense of awareness was residual from years where alertness had been a necessity.

“Yes, Ryan?” he asked back just as calmly.

“Does this book have a dragon in it?”

Brendon didn’t expect them to, but as soon as the words reach him, they sent a pang through his heart. Ryan sounded so hopeful; he sounded so young, so innocent.

The book Ryan held out read “The Epic of Cadmus” in gold lettering across its otherwise dark green cover.

Brendon smiled, “You want a dragon book?”

Ryan shrugged, but kept the book held up a little. “When Spencer and I were little, our favourite story was one about a princess and she went missing and so her family tries to find her and one brother has to fight a dragon…” Ryan trailed off.

Brendon walked a few paces over and took the book from Ryan. He pursed his lips a little and opened it to the middle.

“And they built some houses,” Ryan kept on, as if the more he told, the better the chances were that Brendon would recognize the story.

“I don’t know this one,” Brendon said after a second. He flipped to another section and smiled, “But there is a part about a dragon here.” Ryan’s face lit up. It wasn’t like when Brendon smiled, but it was a lot for Ryan.

“Does it eat any travelers?” Ryan asked, craning his neck to look up at Brendon, but Brendon snapped the book closed.

“I don’t know if it eats any delicious travelers, but I bet it will be exciting to find out,” Brendon declared before extending his hand down to Ryan. Ryan took it and Brendon helped him stand back up. “We’ll read it and see. And if it’s not the one you’re thinking of, I’m sure there are plenty more books with dragons in them in this library and we can surely find it.”

Ryan just blinked at him a little and Brendon extended his arm out a bit. “Shall we take this outdoors then, Mr. Ryan?”

Ryan nodded and gently reached out to take Brendon’s arm and allow him to lead the way.

“I found one!” Ryan called out when they were only halfway through the golden field that separated the orchard from the house.

Bogart barked excitedly, but Spencer called out instead, “Did you get Brendon?”

“You think I’d let you two enjoy a day like this without me?” Brendon called back, spreading his arms out and enjoying the gentle breeze. The summer was coming to an end, but the days were still long and warm and for much of the time that Brendon had been back with them in Ashbourne, the three of them had spent time out in the fields or in the orchard or even by the river as opposed to spending it cooped up inside. Spencer and Ryan had lived enough of their lives inside and, with such balmy weather, it was hard to give up the freedoms of the outdoors now that they’d gotten them.

“It doesn’t have any pictures so I’m not exactly sure,” Ryan told Spencer once he reached him. “Something about it just looked familiar and Brendon said it did have a dragon in it so we can always hope it‘s the right one.” Ryan settled himself down on the blanket next to Spencer and reached for the tea pitcher they‘d brought out with them earlier.

“Are you going to help me read it, Ryan?” Brendon asked as he settled down next to them. Ryan swallowed and looked wide-eyed at Brendon.

“I uh,” Ryan began and then looked at Spencer for a bit. He’d never read in front of Spencer, only in front of Brendon and usually when Spencer was taking a nap or spending time with his family. Ryan was still fairly new to reading and Brendon should know he wasn’t ready to read anything of this measure, but when he looked at Brendon, Brendon looked expectant and when he looked at Spencer, Spencer looked excited. “Maybe a little,” he decided.

“You start it,” Spencer encouraged. “I want to hear what you‘ve learned.”

Ryan placed the book in his crossed-legs and opened it to the first chapter. The page looked a little daunting with all of its words and no illustrations besides a fancy versal letter beginning the first paragraph. Ryan reached out with his hands on both sides and soon, one of his hands was on the knee of both Spencer and Brendon.

That was new too. Ryan and Spencer had begun initiating contact with Brendon that he was sure they didn’t do with other people. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it yet, but it wasn’t negatively, he was positive of that.

Added: Ryan pulled his hands back just a second later and held the book with his fingertips pressed to the edges to keep the pages from fluttering in the breeze. He took a deep breath. Spencer reached over and placed his hand on the small of Ryan’s back and Brendon placed his on Ryan’s knee in case Ryan should need a little extra moral support.

Ryan began decently. Occasionally, he paused and softly sounded out a word or had to ask Brendon for help, but for the most part, he did well. He read about a lovely cliff by the edge of the sea where there were beautiful children playing and vibrant wildflowers growing everywhere. He read about a princess with golden hair and rosy cheeks and her brothers who chased after butterflies.

Ryan handed the book to Brendon when he reached a good stopping point.

“I like it when you read,” Spencer told Ryan pulling him closer. “You read all the descriptions and it’s like I can see it. I see where you’re talking about, imagined in the same way you have to.”

Brendon began the next part and Ryan rested his head against Spencer’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

-

Listen to the Wind- Part Two

spencertized — Fri, 16 Mar 2012 05:50:56 GMT

Listen to the Wind

Ryan woke up in the middle of the same night, overheated and itchy. His feet felt as if they were on fire and when the first thing he saw was the flames in the hearth, he had a small panic attack before he realized it wasn’t actually touching him.

Spencer was still awake and instantly reached out for Ryan when he heard his quickened breathing. “Ry?” he asked and Ryan grasped onto his hand tightly. Spencer felt like the only solid thing in his swimming mind.

Ryan struggled to sit up and throw aside the covers Brendon had so neatly wrapped him in, but once he managed, he sat panting on the rug a moment before either boy said anything.

“I thought I was being burned,” Ryan whispered at first. Spencer wasn’t sure if Ryan was whispering because it was night or if his voice was really that hoarse. He simply squeezed Ryan’s hand for support. When Ryan was far enough out of the bleary state he‘d awoken in, he leaned on Spencer heavily. Ryan had never been a particularly heavy person, but Spencer knew he should feel sturdier than he did and he reached both arms out from his blankets to wrap around Ryan’s thin frame.

Ryan murmured, “How did I get here?”

“Brendon found you,” Spencer said as if it should be obvious. “Said he found you out by the woodpile. Thought you were dead. Your lips and fingernails were blue and your feet were frostbitten.”

“It’s impossible to keep them dry without some kind of shoes,” Ryan lamented softly. He reached down to run his hands over the reddened skin. He jerked back swiftly and sighed. “They feel like they’re on fire.”

Spencer squeezed his arms around Ryan’s body a little tighter before saying, “Well, your feet always have been ridiculously big. Maybe we could get Brendon to cut off the most damaged parts and they’ll be normal sized when he’s done.”

It took Ryan a second to realize Spencer was joking with him. When he did, he didn’t comment on it exactly; only said, “He must be being good to you for you to be comfortable.”

That reminded Spencer and he pulled back his hand and reached into his pocket. In it were the bread scraps and mostly dried carrots that he’d tried to give Ryan through the window the night before and also a bit of potato that he’d sneaked earlier at dinner. “They probably taste like they’ve had an abundance of pocket seasoning on them now, but they should still be edible.”

Ryan sat up and all but snatched the pieces of food from Spencer’s hand. He shoved a piece of stale bread into his mouth and was fitting another piece in with it when he looked at Spencer. “You’ve eaten?”

“I’ve eaten plenty. You enjoy it,” Spencer assured as Ryan chewed hurriedly.

The piece of potato was almost past his lips when he spoke around his mouthful, “We should save some.”

“I have more,” Spencer replied. “One pocket for you. One pocket in case we end up needing it.” Ryan seemed to take the news slowly before consuming the potato at a more acceptable pace, though not by much.

“Something took the food I had hidden for us,” Ryan whispered. “I had put aside some of the corn we’d gotten, but I guess some animals like corn too. It was gone when I went back. That’s why I left you. I had to try to find us something to eat. I didn’t know anyone would find you. I figured I’d get food and be back before too long. I came back with some pecans, not many, but it was all I could get. The snow had gotten terrible and when I returned you weren’t there. I thought you‘d been found.”

Ryan was trembling. He wasn’t even eating the carrots in his hands. He was holding them very tightly and leaning on Spencer again. Spencer had his arms locked around Ryan securely, letting him take in his presence more than anything.

“I’m here,” Spencer finally said. “I’m here. You’re here. And Brendon doesn’t know. He thinks I live around here and got lost in the blizzard.”

“You’re dressed in farm help clothing,” Ryan commented. “He must be dense.”

“Sir, you must be mistaken. Can’t you see I am finely dressed?” Spencer replied with a small smile and Ryan returned it. Blind or not, he was pretty sure Spencer could tell it was there.

*==*==*==*

Ryan watched Brendon care for his feet the next morning. Brendon rubbed a creamy lotion in to them as he attempted to drag a story out of Ryan.

“And you’ve been of age how long, George?” he asked as he lathered more cream into the palms of his hands.

“Two months, Sir,“ he replied. “I just wish I’d turned of age during the springtime instead. It must be easier to find work then and room and board should be much simpler to come by with a little money to pay in return. You‘re the first person who’s been willing to take in someone so meager and bothersome.”

“I assure you, George” Spencer spoke as if he knew Ryan no more than any other man in town, “Brendon has taken in more troublesome guests than yourself.”

“Nonsense, James. You’ve been a splendid guest to have around,” Brendon claimed before turning to Ryan. “You should have knocked and asked to come right in,” Brendon grinned. Brendon’s smile lit up his whole face, his eyes, his entire countenance. “I don’t have much to offer and I make a poor host, but I wouldn’t leave someone out in the cold either. Look at James, here. I didn‘t know him either, but the man needed some shelter during the blizzard last week and he‘s staying until the weather is better. As long as you‘re half as polite as he is, my home is open.”

Ryan’s face told Brendon he was grateful so Brendon made sure to look away before he admitted anything to him. “When I first found you,” he said sheepishly, “I thought you were a runaway slave.”

If Brendon had been watching, he would have seen Ryan’s complexion pale, but Brendon was focused on the strips of linen he had prepared to wrap around Ryan’s feet, ashamed that he’d thought Ryan so lowly when in fact he and Ryan had come from such similar backgrounds they were practically the same. Next to him, Ryan caught his stammer before it escaped his mouth and took a second longer to compose himself before he replied.

“I look that bad, huh?” was all he said, making himself force a smile that he hoped looked less like baring his teeth than he felt it probably did.

Brendon looked up a moment and made himself smile in return, feeling some of the embarrassment from his mistake seem to settle in him. He took a moment to pull a fresh breath of air into his lungs before going back to his work on Ryan‘s bandaging.

“I came of age in the spring,” Brendon said when he finally returned to the conversation. “I just didn’t grow up here in Wildelow and the Ashbourne orphanage doesn’t immediately rid themselves of anyone who’s turned eighteen. I was allowed to find proper work first.”

“You’re from Ashbourne?” Ryan asked and Brendon nodded. Ryan only said, “I think I must have gone there when I was young. Sometimes I think I vaguely remember it.”

Brendon knew enough of his own childhood as an orphan that he didn’t inquire anymore into Ryan’s.

*==*==*==*

The next day Brendon made porridge for breakfast before announcing, “I suppose if we want to eat dinner tonight with any reasonable amount of seasoning on it, I should go to the store. Think the two of you can manage the place on your own for a short while?”

“I uh-” Ryan began, but Brendon kept talking.

“And my brother should be here soon. I’m not sure if he’ll be getting in today or tomorrow, but if he comes while I‘m gone, just tell him I said everything’s on him to care for.” Brendon made a face and grabbed his coat. “Otherwise, you shouldn‘t have to worry about a thing.” He tugged on his coat, pulled on his boots and opened the door before adding with a smile, “And if Bogart tries to get you to let him outside, tell him to forget about it.”

He had left right after lunch and had only been gone a few hours, but the winter sun set early so it was dusk by the time Brendon walked back up the icy path toward his small cabin. The long walk home had given him time to process the things he‘d discovered while in town, but his head was still in a flurry.

He stopped on the porch, hoping he hadn’t made too much noise climbing the steps. He knew what he’d probably find, but the sight still seemed to make him chilled inside in a way that the weather around him couldn’t.

Through the window, he could see his guests were curled into one another’s sides. They sat with their backs to the hearth, leaning against it and speaking softly to one another. Bogart slept in Spencer’s lap and Ryan kept a hand steadily smoothing over the dog’s head and ears. Both of their heads were inclined a bit toward one another and Ryan’s was almost resting on Spencer’s shoulder as Brendon had not seen anyone do before in public display. He noticed Spencer’s arm wrapped around Ryan’s waist and almost couldn’t drag his eyes away from the gentle way they seemed to simply mold around one another. Their legs were out straight, pressed against one another at their thighs and calves and separating before their feet where Spencer had been careful not to get too near to Ryan’s bandages. They looked more comfortable than Brendon had known either of them to look in the short time he’d known them and suddenly an overwhelming feeling of sadness washed over him.

Brendon’s eyes watered and he wasn’t sure if it was from the sight or the cold wind breezing past him. He stepped back from the window and took a deep breath of the icy air. Then he tightened his grip on the small, brown paper bag he held in his hand before setting it down at his feet to find the key. Brendon cringed and he made himself clearly jolt the lock around a bit before fitting the heavy key all the way in to the keyhole. Even once he had done that, he still had to rest his forehead against the door and regain his composure for a moment before he could bring himself to enter the house.

Brendon had worked hard to get to where he was. His life hadn’t been an easy one and though he’d always been provided for as a young boy, life at the orphanage had been far from ideal. He’d not known a lot about life and had experienced even less. Everything Brendon had, he’d worked for and was proud to call his. While others may not view his lifestyle or possessions as much, Brendon knew his riches and he didn’t part with them easily. His options in life had always seemed so limited, but the right paths had, at least, usually been clearly laid out for him to take and Brendon had taken every one of them.

He stood up straight and shivered before he gripped the front door handle and pulled it open.

As Brendon expected, inside the house his two guests sat a few feet away from one another. Spencer scratching the neck of a now awake Bogart and Ryan staring into the fire. Neither were speaking, but the feeling of contentment they both tried to force was so obvious Brendon hated to even consider if he would have fallen for it had he not known better.

Brendon closed the door firmly behind him and Ryan looked up and nodded a bit in greeting as Bogart made his way to his master. Brendon ignored the terrier and stood inflexibly before both his guests, gripping his bag tightly and not removing his coat or boots. His heart was beating wildly, but his face was steadfast and his voice was even when he said to them, “So, you lied to me.”

Ryan and Spencer both looked startled and their bodies instantly tensed.

“You do know each other, after all,” Brendon continued firmly.

Spencer cleared his throat before Ryan could and replied, “We do a bit now, yes. We‘ve spent the day together after all.”

“Actually, James and I are getting along quite well,” Ryan added, trying to sound as convivial as he could instead of showing how scared Brendon knew he must be inside.

Still, the name set Brendon off and before he even knew what was happening he was all out yelling at his trembling guests, “Don’t lie to me, Ryan!” he ordered and took a step closer to them both, “I know the truth about you! About you and Spencer! You both lied!” His free hand was raised and his eyes were dark. “After I took you in and trusted you in my house, you do this to me? Do you know what the penalty for this is? Do you have any idea? Did you even care?”

Brendon hadn’t even realized his voice was raised so loudly until it registered that his guests were no longer seated near the hearth as they had been, but were instead both in front of him, kneeling with their heads down by his snowy boots.

He could see that they were shaking and Brendon knew this time that the cold had nothing to do with it. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. Bogart sat beside him and sent him a sad, pathetic look before Brendon’s eyes watered over and he couldn’t see him anymore. He wiped them quickly and made himself turn around and take his coat off. He hung it by the door and then went to work removing his boots. Behind him, not a noise was made.

When he was settled, Brendon turned back toward Spencer and Ryan. He stepped directly back in front of them before gently settling himself down cross-legged in front of them. Bogart stepped closer as well, taking the opportunity to lick at Spencer’s hair before Brendon shooed him away.

From this close, Brendon could see the little things he’d missed before. Their skin was unhealthy from malnourishment. They both had scars creeping up their necks from underneath their shirts. Their hair was cut a bit haphazardly and their clothes were much thinner than he‘d initially thought. Both of them had their hands out, palms flat down and placed up by their heads. Scars wrapped about all four of their wrists from numerous restraints cutting into them in the past. And at this angle, the light reflected just enough to see the light bruising of a handprint left around Spencer’s throat. It was mostly healed, but Brendon knew what he was looking for now enough to not be able to un-notice it even if he tried.

Brendon sighed heavily and reached out to his terrified guests. Both of them jumped when his hands fell gently on their shoulder blades and Brendon was sure he felt his heart break when their shuttering bodies resonated into his fingers.

“It’s okay,” he whispered and tears suddenly slipped down his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

Spencer nor Ryan dared to move. Brendon wasn’t even sure if they were breathing.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he told them as softly as he could manage. “I’m not going to hurt either one of you.” Brendon lifted his hand from Spencer’s back a little and moved it to his shoulder. “James, Jame- Spencer, please,” he sniffed, “Look at me. I mean, uh, just, just lift up. I’m sorry.”

Hesitantly, Spencer lifted his head enough to be facing Brendon fairly directly.

Brendon wiped his eyes quickly. He smoothed his hand from Ryan’s back to his shoulder and gingerly tugged for Ryan to sit up as well. Ryan did as directed, but kept his face downward, watching Brendon’s hands as they returned to his lap and Brendon wrung them together nervously.

“I’m sorry,” Brendon apologized again with a waver to his voice. “I’m just scared. I didn’t mean to yell. I’m sorry.”

Puzzled expressions covered Spencer and Ryan’s faces. Something about that statement seemed backwards.

“They have signs up for you both in town. A lot of them, actually.” Brendon swallowed and looked them over as if he were seeing them for what they were for the first time, “Apparently, you two are worth a great deal of money.”

They were both rather remarkably striking boys. It wasn’t the first time Brendon had noticed, but it was the first time he’d truly thought about it. Neither boy was built or very toned, but were instead both lean and most likely would have made poor farm hands in the conditions they were in. Brendon felt he should have noticed Ryan’s feet weren’t tough enough to have been those of even an average boy his age, but were instead the feet of someone who hadn’t had the opportunity to use them often. Someone had paid a great deal of money for these two to work in more “delicate” situations and according to the signs in town, someone was willing to pay a great deal to have them back.

“They said you’re missing from Caoldale. That’s- that’s a good ways from here. Did you walk?”

Ryan and Spencer nodded mutely.

Brendon didn‘t even take time to try to consider it. Of course they‘d walked. Other forms of transportation would have been too dangerous and the risk of being caught that way would have been even greater than staying in the house of a poor stranger three provinces over.

“Who is this man that wants you back? How long have you belonged to him?”

Ryan looked up with his eyes and Brendon was startled by how he, someone who had never owned a slave, knew the look in Ryan’s eyes was asking permission to simply speak. Brendon couldn‘t help the way his hands reached out and braced themselves on the arms of both Spencer and Ryan.

“Please, talk to me. I want to know the truth.”

Spencer spoke up first. “Three years, I think, or close. We were gifts to him when he took over his father‘s estate. He owns nearly half the province, which affords him anything he wants. He has half a dozen other pleasures.”

Pleasures. Brendon knew that’s what bed slaves were usually called, but it was hard to see Spencer and Ryan like that now that he’d already considered them common freedmen. The word “Pleasures” seemed to suggest there was something magical about them or that they contained the ability to make it so that any man who so much as looked at them would be powerless against his desires for them. But Brendon had looked at them many times and up until that moment, he’d never thought about them naked. In fact, he was sure he was only imagining them that way now because that was how they were always presented in the advertisements, in the markets, in clandestine places Brendon had heard of before but had certainly never been himself. He shook his head free of the thoughts.

“Those aren’t your clothes,” Brendon said as the revelation dawned on him.

Ryan shook his head tersely and lowered his eyes again.

“Where were you headed?” Brendon asked Ryan directly as he sensed that Ryan must have been leading the duo.

Ryan only shrugged. “Anywhere. Far away. You were never exactly a part of our plans.”

“I would imagine not,” Brendon replied shortly. “The market only burned three weeks ago. You’ve been making great progress. Who would have thought you‘d be discovered this far from the market in Caoldale? Besides the one who put up those posters in town. Obviously someone knew you were smart enough to make it all this way.”

“We weren’t at the market,” Spencer told him, “The market is just near where we lived. The blaze made everyone run out without thinking clearly. There was little security and we were able to get away.”

Brendon nodded a bit to himself and seemed to take it all in. It hadn‘t settled with him yet- the idea that he was harboring runaways. He was sure he‘d never broken the law before. In fact, he‘d done everything he could to keep on their good side so that he could maintain his job and keep himself well-provided for. He looked over at Bogart who was sitting a few feet behind the slaves looking concerned. Brendon had to admit that it had been nice having someone besides just the dog in the house, but the company most likely wasn‘t worth the expense of his freedom. Even worse, he felt helpless. There was no way to rectify the wrongdoings immediately.

“Well, you’re here now regardless,” Brendon said, taking a deep breath and standing up. “And there’s nothing we can really do about that tonight. Don’t just stay there on your knees. That won’t change anything.”

Both Spencer and Ryan got to their feet awkwardly. Ryan tried to breathe through the pain of the pressure on the frostbitten areas of his soles, but Brendon didn‘t seem to notice and Ryan wasn‘t about to show weakness when it so quickly could be used against him.

Before, when Brendon had thought they were free men, they had felt safer around him. The laws protected free men and Brendon couldn’t have hurt either of them without serious consequences. Now, they knew all too well how the law protected them. The only protection it held for them was that if Brendon were to hurt them in a way that they could no longer perform their duties to their master, he would have to repay their master for his labor losses. Spencer was a walking testimony to the fact that their master would still allow a slave with considerable damage to continue in his everyday work as if nothing were wrong. They doubted anything Brendon would possibly do to them wouldn’t stop them from having to work as usual once they were returned to Caoldale.

“Give me time to think,” Brendon told them both before walking across the open room to the stove area and starting to prepare for dinner.

“Let me help you,” Ryan said as he began to make his way over to where Brendon was adding more pieces of wood to the stove.

“Sit down, Ryan. You’re going to make your feet worse,” Brendon said. He didn’t raise his voice, but his words were firm and Ryan knew an order when he heard one.

“I could-” Spencer began, but Brendon laughed despite himself.

“You could do what? You can’t see anything!” Brendon snapped.

Both boys seemed to cower back a little and sink into the floor next to one another. They linked hands and waited silently with their hearts beating so loudly they weren’t sure they could have heard anything had one of them even decided to speak, but no one said a word anyway.

*==*==*==*

It was hours before Brendon came over and sat plates of food down in front of them on the floor. He left and returned a moment later with hot drinks for them all before settling down onto the rug.

“I know people usually use a table for this sort of thing,” he commented, “But alas, we are below other ordinary expectations here tonight. Why bother with that one?”

Ryan and Spencer only waited patiently for Brendon to say more. They weren’t sure of their places anymore and silence seemed the best option in such an uncertain circumstance.

They ate in complete silence as well, but when Brendon had cleared the dishes, he didn’t wash them as usual. Instead, he went back over to the hearth and sat down near the two runaways.

“Spencer, come here,” he spoke and Spencer immediately knelt down a little and moved toward Brendon’s voice. Brendon grabbed his arm and guided him into a sitting position in front of him with Spencer’s back facing him before he took a deep breath. “How long have you been pleasures?”

“Since we were small,” Spencer began as if it were no big deal, “I guess we were-”

“I don’t really want to know,” Brendon cut him off. “I’m not sure why I asked that. That was stupid.”

Brendon reached down and pulled Spencer‘s shirt up from where it was neatly tucked into his trousers. Ryan looked down. They were at Brendon‘s disposal now. He could do whatever he wanted. Ryan had learned well enough from past experiences what could happen if he tried to intervene. He knew better than to even attempt anything, but that didn‘t mean he had to watch either.

Brendon raised Spencer’s shirt up to his shoulders and Ryan glanced up at Spencer‘s face. Spencer looked resigned. It was nothing they weren‘t used to, it was just something from which they’d hoped they‘d finally escaped.

Then Brendon ran his hand slowly across Spencer‘s back. No one said anything, but Brendon let out a defeated sigh. That’s when Spencer realized where Brendon was touching. He was running his fingers along the freshest scars left across Spencer’s back from his master’s games. The freshest scars were over a month old, but they were still pink and puffy around the edges. Brendon pulled Spencer’s shirt back down.

“You too?” he asked Ryan, but it didn‘t really make much of a difference at that point. Brendon backed up from Spencer’s personal space and looked lost. “They were supposed to be all old marks, faded by years and something I couldn’t do anything about,” he expressed miserably. “If they’d been old, had a former master given them to you, I could just return you to this man in Caoldale with a clear conscious.”

Brendon had known nothing could be that easy, but it only made it worse when Ryan reached out slowly for Spencer, his fingers creeping over the back of Spencer’s hand until Spencer flipped it over and let Ryan lock their fingers together. Brendon watched openly.

“I’ve never had a slave,” Brendon began, “Not out of some arrogant idea that I’m too good for them or some novel one that the entire industry should be done away with. Given the extra income it would require to sustain a slave, I most likely would go about getting one. As it is, I’ve just never been able to afford such a thing nor would I, at the present time, have much use for one. But I would imagine that if I did own one, that I’d have to grow callous before I could see them as someone I could hurt to get what I wanted out of them. I‘ve watched you two. Spencer a lot, but even you, Ryan, quite a bit these last few days. Mostly I watched you because I didn‘t trust you.” Brendon huffed a small mocking laugh to himself. “But I’ve watched you and learned about you and I’m not sure about a lot of things, but I know for sure that we’re the same. We feel the same things and want the same things.”

Ryan would have interrupted, said that he most likely wanted far less than Brendon presumed, but he felt it wasn’t his place to cut in on whatever Brendon was trying to tell them.

“And I, if I were in your place, would feel frightened right now. Hell, I feel frightened just being in my place, but I know that you two must be terrified.”

Terrified was probably the best way to describe it because what they felt was far beyond frightened. Ryan felt his brow furrow and suddenly it was hard to swallow. He looked over to Spencer who was clenching his jaw and looking somewhere between scared and utterly crushed.

“And I don’t want you to feel that way,” Brendon told them. His voice changed into almost a soft, concerned tone when he spoke. “I don’t want you to be scared here or around me. And,” he motioned toward Spencer as if Spencer could see him and then looked Ryan in the eyes, “I don’t want you to go back somewhere where I know that’s all you’re going to feel.”

Spencer and Ryan held their breaths and said nothing. Brendon wasn’t sure they understood so he clarified. “I’m not sending you back.”

There was no noise besides the snaps of the fireplace and the ragged sounds of Ryan and Spencer’s breathing. Somehow Brendon had imagined more hugging and less awkward silence when he’d played this out in his head. Despite the lack of emotion from the two, he didn‘t let himself get discouraged.

“I’ll help you get wherever you want to go or at least to get out of Wildelow safely,” Brendon said, “But we have to be very careful. If anyone finds out- finds out who you are, finds out that I’m helping you- it’ll be back to where you came from and this time I’ll probably end up with you or on some chain in a field or mine somewhere down south. The penalty for hiding you is slavery myself, but the penalty for running away is-”

“-hanging,” Spencer finished.

Brendon blanched. The penalty was whipping, branding, and the stocks; he was sure of this.

“Our master has enough money. He doesn’t need us. Slaves who run away are given a second chance, but we‘ve tried to run away once before. The second time, a slave isn’t considered worth the trouble. We’ve seen it happen before. He only wants runaways back so he can deal with them himself.”

“But, but-” Brendon sputtered, “He’s willing to pay all that money for you back. Surely you must mean something to him. He must want to keep you-”

“He’s rich,” Ryan whispered. “He’s very, very rich. He paid for the return of his favourite pleasure this past spring. He’d allowed her even a third chance, but after he’d found her trying to break free the last time, he had her hung like any other runaway. Her children watched.”

“Children?” Brendon’s eyes were wide. “Were they his children?”

Ryan scoffed before Spencer replied, “Children born to pleasure women are fatherless. They were sent to the market that same day and he brought home a new pleasure in exchange for them.”

Spencer and Ryan both had their heads lowered as they spoke. Brendon felt sick. He couldn’t help but to imagine if that was what they would look like if they were hanged- heads sagging down and bodies very still. The only things missing were the ropes around their necks, cords lapping over scars from previous punishments.

“Look at me, “Brendon said when he couldn’t stand the mental image any longer. He sounded more resolute than he had expected himself to be and both boys raised their heads. “I’m not sending you back. You’re safe from him. You don’t have to be cautious of me or worried that I’m going to turn you in. You can sleep soundly, okay?”

Both nodded ever so slightly before hoof beats and bells were heard coming down the way toward Brendon’s house. Instantly, a huge grin broke out across Brendon’s face. “Jon and Cassie are here!” he announced with excitement that would rival that of a child’s.

Ryan and Spencer were both wide eyed though.

“Calm down. They’re good people,” Brendon assured, “We’ll just tell them you’re my guests. Other friends who’ve come for Christmas.”

Their faces looked skeptical.

“Oh, don’t even act like you two can’t spin stories!” Brendon warned. “We’ve got this handled. They‘ll be gone in a few days and they won‘t suspect a thing.”

*==*==*==*

Warily, Ryan walked on his knees over to the window and sat below it, listening carefully as Brendon greeted the guests. Ryan needed to know exactly what Brendon was going to say to these strangers about him and Spencer. He had to know precisely what story to play along with and the extent of the details Brendon would give them. He needed to know how safe they were with these people and that all rested on how easily they would believe Brendon, buy in to his story. For this to work their stories had to match seamlessly. The freedom they’d worked so hard for was now within reach and whether they’d be able to reach out and grab it or have it snatched from their grips was hanging solely in their ability to sell this story to Brendon’s relatives.

The greetings sounded innocent enough. Brendon’s voice was high-pitched and excided as he bound down in the snow to welcome them. Ryan was fairly certain it didn’t sound as if Brendon had just discovered runaways in his house only earlier that evening or that he was in fear of all three of their lives. Then he took a deep breath and tilted his head so his ear was as close to the glass pane as possible as Brendon began to explain the situation.

“I have two friends staying with me this year, but they’re sleeping in front of the hearth so the loft is still open for all of you,” Brendon rambled as he helped Tom get the packages off the wagon. Cassie peered out of the back and offered Brendon a cheerful smile, but she kept still as little Willa slept settled in her arms.

“My goodness, she’s getting so big,” Brendon spoke gleefully and he craned his neck up to get a better look at his niece. “Doesn’t seem as if she should be five years old yet.”

Ryan blinked in surprise. Was that it? Was that really all Brendon was going to say about them? No one was going to question him about it or anything? It all seemed much too easy.

“And she grows like a weed,” Jon interjected. “I tell her to stop and she shoots up even further overnight.”

“She’s up to my waistline now,” Tom added ruefully, but smirked right after. “How’ve you been since last winter?”

Brendon smiled, “Still making no money and spending most of my spare time with a dog, I‘m afraid. My children, however, are doing well. Or at least they were last I saw of them. They’re shooting up like little weeds too.”

Ryan’s brow turned quizzical. He looked to Spencer across the room and whispered, “Has Brendon mentioned anything to you about children a family? Does he have a wife we know nothing about? He just mentioned his children to them.”

Spencer shook his head. “I’d ask, but first I’d have to admit you’re an eavesdropper and second, it may be a sad story. And third? If we were really his friends we’d already know that.”

Ryan huffed a bit and turned back toward the window.

Back outside, Jon extended his arms toward Cassie who placed Willa, blankets and all, in them and laughed as Jon became instantly weighted down by her limp form.

“She’s sleeping like a doll,” Cassie admired, but Jon turned to Brendon and made an exasperated face.

“A sack of bricks is more like it,” he corrected and Cassie shook her head. Brendon extended his free hand up to his sister-in-law and Cassie took it graciously as she climbed out of the wagon.

“I’ll be back to get the tree and to put the horses and everything away,” Tom assured them and no one replied, knowing Tom would take care of things.

“My guests,” Brendon warned as they walked toward the house (and inside, Ryan’s attention perked and his heart sped up), “are . . . um.” Brendon stopped on the top step and seemed to try to find his words. Ryan realized then that Brendon had brought the conversation nearer to the house with the hope that they would actually overhear it after all. It made something settle a little in Ryan’s stomach that had been churning since they’d been found out.

“They didn’t have anyone else to spend Christmas with so I told them they could spend it with us. They promised not to impose, but I uh, I couldn’t just let them-”

“I’m sure they’ll be delightful to have around, Brendon,” Cassie said with a smile and Brendon was reminded of how much he loved his family coming to visit. Jon’s family were all of the relatives that Brendon knew, but he was sure he was more blessed than some people who had a whole household of relatives packed in tightly and arguing and complaining about one thing or another.

When Brendon made sure to take a few seconds fumbling with the door handle, Ryan shuffled back over to Spencer and the hearth. Something about the idea of Brendon protecting them made him a delight to see when he walked back through the door. It made it easy for Ryan to grin at him as if they were truly the friends Brendon claimed they were.

“Jon,” Brendon introduced once they were inside and everything had been settled into place, including little Willa on a stuffed mattress in the house’s small loft. “This is my dear friend James and seated next to him is my good friend George. They‘re only here for the free sugar plums.”

Spencer and Ryan both smiled slightly and Spencer even held out his hand to the area where he knew Jon was standing. “How do you do, sir?” he asked and Jon took his hand and shook it before stepping over to Ryan to do the same.

The boys greeted back kindly, but Ryan would be lying if he said he didn’t think the way Jon looked at them was a little suspicious. Jon had looked at Spencer at first as a stranger, but almost immediately, he’d looked back as if he were trying to determine where he’d seen him before. It set Ryan on edge. Jon and Cassie seemed friendly enough, but Tom had walked in a few minutes later with a small fir tree for the table and even though he spoke to everyone as another member of the family, Ryan had no problem discerning what Tom really was. Unlike Brendon, Ryan knew a slave when he met one.

*==*==*==*

They had stayed awake, tying little ribbons to the tree limbs and cutting out paper stars and decorations for ornaments until late. Brendon had made coffee and the group had mostly been quiet, content to listen to the brothers exchange stories of things they’d missed over the last year. Jon and Brendon wrote letters to each other a few times throughout the year, but they only saw each other for the winter holidays. Generally, it meant there was much to catch up on and Ryan was relieved that it meant he and Spencer didn’t have to delve into another fabricated story about who they were or how they’d ended up at Brendon’s for Christmas when most people would have done whatever they could to be home with their families.

Brendon’s nimble hands kept cutting out small stars and snowflakes before passing them to his brother. Ryan had caught Spencer almost smiling to himself as he threaded ribbons through the small holes Jon was putting in the paper trimmings and Ryan was tying the ribbons before passing them to Cassie who placed them on the tree appropriately. Tom was mostly sitting there drinking up all the coffee as far as Ryan could tell, but no one seemed to mind.

At first, it surprised Ryan that Tom wouldn’t have to do some of, if not all of the work, but then he considered that this was the family’s Christmas tree. In homes where Ryan and Spencer had been kept before, they’d known slaves to be struck just for touching the tree so it made sense that even though this one wasn’t anywhere near as fancy or large as the homes where that had happened, that Jon maybe still didn’t want a slave to touch it. Ryan wondered how Jon would react if he knew the truth about him and Spencer.

Another thing that kept Ryan’s mind unsettled was the fact that Jon could not seem to keep his eyes away from Spencer. Every time Ryan so much as glanced at him, Jon seemed to be trying to hide the fact that he’d just been watching Spencer. Something in Ryan’s stomach churned at the thought. Jon had come a long way to get there for Christmas. Even though it was the opposite direction, Ryan had no doubt that wanted signs for them could have been posted between Brendon’s house and Ashbourne. If they’d posted them three provinces over in Wildelow, chances were that they’d continued posting them right on into Ashbourne as well.

When the tree was finished, or as finished as it would be before Christmas Day, they all said their partings and bid each other goodnight. Jon, Cassie and Tom climbed the ladder to the small loft and Brendon looked over and gave his two remaining guests an encouraging smile. The loft was open so there wasn’t anything Brendon could say that someone up there couldn’t still hear, but he hoped the message would carry all the same with the smile.

Ryan smiled back a little and the two boys went to settle on their pallets by the fireplace. Brendon breathed deeply as he retired to his room and closed the door. It had been an exciting day to say the least and there was nothing he wanted more at the moment than sleep.

Ryan however, had just been settling in a few feet away from Spencer when he’d glanced up into the loft to find Jon and Tom watching them back carefully. Both seemed to be watching them with intent and for a moment, Ryan was sure it was obvious on his face that he was panicking inside. He tried to school his face into a cordial smile and nod goodnight, but he had a feeling it looked as forced as it felt.

Ryan took a deep breath and went to whisper to Spencer that he didn’t think they were safe anymore, but about that time, Spencer made a familiar noise softly across the wooden boards on the floor. It sounded like the mixture between a rub of his fingertip and a scratch of his fingernail back and forth across the floorboards. It had been a comfort for them for years. It was a sound they had decided to use when they’d been much smaller, a sound that one could use and the other could respond with even when they couldn’t see each other or couldn’t speak. If one scratched lightly on a surface, the other could hear it and make the same sound back. If one listened closely enough, the sound could be heard across rooms and through walls. That way, no slave trader, no overseer and no master had to know what they were doing, but Spencer and Ryan could sleep better, rest easier knowing that despite distance the other one was safe.

Ryan understood what Spencer was trying to do. Spencer was trying to calm him down. Ryan hadn’t even said a word about how sick he felt over the house’s new additions, yet Spencer had been able to read something Ryan was giving off enough to tell that he was uncomfortable. Spencer had looked out for Ryan all of their lives and Ryan wanted to cry as he settled down into his pallet and tried to forget about everything long enough to sleep. He needed to be rested in case they had to make another getaway. Steadily, Ryan reached his finger over to the wooden boarded floor and softly scratched back.

*==*==*==*

Brendon was sure he’d been asleep no less than half an hour when he awoke to Ryan crawling persuasively onto his bed. He would have thought he was dreaming if not for the fact that Ryan was trying to act as if he were not in pain from having just walked on his frostbitten feet to get there. Dream-Ryan would probably be sexier than that, Brendon thought. Ryan pulled back the covers on Brendon’s sleeping body and reached to push up his shirt. The small fire that had been in the room was down to embers and smooth skin was barely visible through the tiny beams of moonlight that came through the small window above Brendon’s bed, but it was enough for Ryan to know where he was aiming. He leaned down and tentatively began to place soft kisses on Brendon’s abs and waist, trailing lower until he reached the top of Brendon’s thin, cotton trousers. Without a moment wasted, Ryan placed his fingers under the upper band and began to tug them down. It took a second for Brendon to wake up enough to figure out what was going on, but once the cool air hit, his mind was alert enough to push Ryan away, even if the first bit of contact pushed Ryan’s head more into Brendon’s bare crotch than away from it.

“What are you doing?” Brendon sputtered as he sat up and pulled his trousers back up in one swift motion.

“Please,” Ryan whispered. His body was held back a little more than before, but despite being hoarse, his words were bolder than Brendon would have expected from someone as seemingly fragile as Ryan. “What do you want? I’ll do anything, please.”

Brendon blinked and rubbed at his eyes a moment. It was possible he missed something in the time he’d been asleep, but he doubted it. Mostly, he was just sure of the fact that his guest who he barely knew had just climbed into bed with him and began making uncomfortable advances on him in his sleep.

“What happened?” Brendon managed to ask because surely something had set this off. Ryan hadn’t previously displayed any signs of being unable to control himself sexually.

“I’ll do anything. Just, please,” Ryan was still saying and Brendon had to reach out and grab his shoulders. Ryan cowered in on himself as Brendon reached forward and it made Brendon feel horrible even if he were doing nothing to feel guilty over.

“Ryan, Ryan, talk to me,” Brendon spoke and Ryan tried to take a deep breath to calm himself down. His body was shivering either from the chill in Brendon’s room or from fear, Brendon wasn’t sure.

“I have to protect Spencer,” Ryan managed to get out, but by that point tears had managed to surface and spill down onto his cheeks. “I’ll do anything you want. Just tell me,” Ryan spluttered out and made a shaky motion toward his body. “I’ll do whatever you want me to. Just promise me you won’t turn us in, Brendon, please, Sir. I‘ve-”

“Ryan, we’ve been through this. I’m not turning you in,” Brendon spoke calmly. His even tone sounded so grounding interjected with Ryan’s shaking one. “I gave you my word.”

“Jon knows,” Ryan told him and Brendon’s eyes widened.

“How?”

“I don’t know, but he does. He knows and-”

Somehow the dam holding back Ryan’s emotions seemed to break and suddenly everything was spilling forth- the truth along with tears, snot, and hiccups. Ryan wasn’t exactly the attractive boy he’d been just moments before, but Brendon didn’t try to comfort him. He could tell Ryan was trying to say something important.

“I’ve worked too hard and I’ve come too far to get us killed now. I told Spencer- I told him when we left that I would take care of him. He’s always taken care of me. He’s done everything for me for years. Always done everything for pathetic, weak Ryan. He’s looked after me if I‘ve been hurt or unwell, given me his food, even taken a few of my punishments. It’s my turn to look after him. He hasn’t always been blind. He’s only been that way since Summer.” Ryan gasped a bit and his eyes went wide as he tried to explain while choking on sobs. He was beaten one day and they hit his head really hard. Harder than usual and then he said his sight kept flashing in and out and a few days later he couldn’t see anything at all.” Ryan was wiping his eyes with his long fingers, but it wasn’t doing much good at this point. “When the family’s children came over for the harvest holidays, they made fun of him and played games that left him with welts and bruises all over his body and I knew they’d be back for the winter holidays. I knew I had to get him out of there or it would just happen again. I had to take care of him this time. And when I told him we could get away, he said to go without him. He said I was in better shape than he was so I should escape while I still had the chance. He said he would slow me down and we’d be caught. And I made a promise-”

Ryan had to stop to catch his breath and Brendon took the opportunity to reach and get a handkerchief from the dresser for Ryan’s face.

“I made a promise to him,” Ryan continued once he was much more put together, “that I would look after him. I’m not- I can’t let anything happen to him now. If we get sent back we’re dead, and then instead of saving Spencer I got him hanged. I can’t repay him like that. He deserves better.”

Ryan’s voice broke on the last bit and Brendon wanted to reach forward and hug him, but when he moved forward Ryan pulled back.

“Jon won’t turn you in,” Brendon whispered. “I don’t know how he’s going to handle me harboring runaway slaves, but I promise you, he isn’t going to turn you in. I gave you my word that I’d help you get out of Wildelow and I will and I don’t mean in chains.”

Ryan nodded, but his whole body froze the moment there was a knock on Brendon’s door. Brendon seemed to freeze up as well before Jon’s voice was heard saying, “Everything okay in there, Bren?”

The house was only two rooms. They should have known they couldn’t be that loud without waking someone, but no one could have known that Jon would have such exceptionally poor timing.

“Let me handle this,” Brendon whispered to Ryan. Ryan nodded nervously. Brendon got up and wrapped a sheet around Ryan’s shoulders before opening the door to his brother. Jon looked right past Brendon into the dark room to see Ryan sitting incriminatingly on Brendon’s bed.

“I need to tell you something,” Jon whispered to his brother in the doorway before looking past Brendon. “George, would you give us a moment alone please?”

Ryan nodded and moved to get up, but Brendon spoke up for him. “No, Jon, he needs to stay, I think.” Jon and Brendon eyed each other quietly for a moment. Jon looked dark from Brendon’s view, but Brendon was partially illuminated by the firelight across the open room. He hoped he didn’t look as unsure of himself as he felt.

“These men-” Jon started, then lowered his voice, “These men that you have staying with you. You introduced them as your friends. Do you know anything about them?”

Brendon took a deep breath. “I know enough,” he countered.

“You know where they’re from? Their pasts?”

“I do. Jon, they told me.” Brendon motioned into the room behind Jon where Spencer slept soundly. “They aren’t hiding anyth-”

“What are they even doing here?” Jon asked, his voice rising and more force behind it than Brendon had expected.

“They’re having Christmas,” Brendon replied. He shrugged a bit as if to say there was no other way to answer. It seemed obvious enough. “They’re having a good Christmas. With us.”

“A good Christmas with us? That one out there?” Jon motioned over his shoulder to where Brendon had just gestured. Ryan hoped they weren’t waking Spencer. “Christmas here? How did they even end up here, Brendon? This is huge!”

“I know! I know!” Brendon replied, trying to hush his brother. His hands were up and his palms were out toward Jon’s chest as if to get him to settle down. Jon took a step back.

“How long have they been here? Haven’t you even told anyone?” Jon accused and began pacing a bit in front of Brendon’s door.

“Told anyone?” Brendon cried and surely, if everyone had had not been before, they were awake now. “Why would I tell anyone Jon!”

“Oh, I don’t know Brendon!” Jon was yelling back now too. “Maybe because many people have been looking for them! Maybe perhaps because it’s the right thing to do! Perhaps even because you need the money?”

Brendon looked horrified. This wasn’t the reaction he’d expected from Jon at all. He and Jon could usually agree on almost anything of consequence.

“I couldn’t send them back,” Brendon finally confessed. “I just couldn’t send them back, okay?”

Spencer was awake and sitting up now, his arms and legs all folded up close to him as if to draw as little attention to himself as possible. Tom was peering down the ladder from the loft, watching the confrontation. He hadn’t heard Jon yell in a long time.

“Why not? Brendon, there’s no logic in that whatsoever! They belong back with-”

“No, no!” Brendon was shaking his head and his hands had become quite animated to go with his words. “I promised them that I wouldn’t send them back and I’m not going to and I’m not telling anyone they‘re here either! If we send them back now, they’re just going to get hurt, or worse end up dead somewhere, and I can’t sleep at night knowing I did that to someone. I refuse to do it! They’re in my house and they came to me for help and I’m not sending them anywhere or turning them over to anyone!”

Jon watched Brendon for a moment. In the middle of his declaration, Brendon had taken a few steps out into the open room toward Spencer. He kept glancing at him as if he were going to have to throw himself in front of him to protect him. A few feet off, Jon stood looking at Brendon with the most perplexed look Brendon had ever seen on him.

“Brendon,” Jon asked after he’d lowered his voice. “Brendon, what are you talking about?”

Brendon looked around his own home as if he were lost in it or had never seen it before. “I didn’t know their backgrounds when they came to me,” he said more calmly. “I just knew they needed my help. I may not be a doctor like you, but I remember enough that I can help people who need me. That‘s all I was doing. Then when I found out the truth, I wasn‘t dealing with strangers anymore. I was dealing with my friends. And I couldn‘t send them back. I don‘t care if it‘s the right thing to do or the legal thing to do. I have to help them. I promised I‘d help get them out of Wildelow so they‘d be safe.”

Jon’s brow creased. “Why wouldn’t they be safe? Is someone after them?”

Now it was Brendon’s turn to look puzzled. He tried to start a number of different sentences, cutting each one short and getting more and more frustrated with himself, before Ryan sighed from the doorway of Brendon’s bedroom. He made his way carefully over to Spencer and sat down next to him, reaching out and taking Spencer’s hand. Spencer grasped his back tightly.

Ryan looked resigned. “Just tell him, Brendon. It’s okay. Don‘t let us come between you.”

“What else do you want to know?” Brendon asked as he walked over to stand near to Spencer and Ryan. From where he stood, he could see Cassie awake in the loft and holding a scared little Willa.

“Who is after them?” Jon asked, “Someone bad?”

“The master they ran away from,” Brendon said sadly. “He’s not like you with Tom. He’s abusive and cruel and they have the marks to prove it.”

“Master,” Jon mumbled to himself in an awed voice. Then he stepped closer to the rug where the three all waited and pointed to Spencer, forgetting that it made no difference. “Are you not Spencer Smith? From the Smiths of Ashbourne?”

Ryan looked at Spencer and Spencer’s face flashed over with a confused expression. “I uh-” he replied, “I honestly don’t know.”

“Ashbourne?” Ryan asked, but it was Brendon who looked the most baffled.

“The family you work for?” Brendon asked Jon and Jon nodded eagerly.

“Are you not the son that went missing from the Smith family in Ashbourne a decade ago? Spencer?”

“My name is Spencer,” he replied. “But I don’t know this family. I’ve been a slave since I was-”

“You’re nineteen? Twenty?” Jon asked and Spencer nodded.

“Are you saying you know his family?” Brendon asked in disbelief. He dropped down next to Spencer and Jon followed to sit near to them as well.

“I know his family, yes” Jon nodded. “I know them quite well. I’m their doctor. And they want him back very much.”

Ryan was looking at Spencer as if trying to take it all in. Spencer turned toward Ryan and Ryan caught him in a hug. “You have a home,” Ryan whispered into his hair and Spencer just held onto him tightly.

Brendon wanted to hug them both as well, but held himself back. He knew what it was like to finally have a home, but he figured to Spencer and Ryan this was something more, something he wasn’t a part of. And when he crawled back in bed a little while later, he fell asleep with the image of Ryan and Spencer embracing one another tightly in his head.

Continue to part three.

Listen to the Wind- Part One

spencertized — Fri, 16 Mar 2012 05:36:26 GMT

Listen to the Wind

When the exhibition in Caoldale burned, it started at the end with the slave market. Before the fire sparked, it was the early hours of the morning and the moon had already set. It wasn’t until the flames had risen that anyone was able to see much of anything and by that point, most of the fair was in ruins. Fine art and valuables had been destroyed, supplies had been consumed and almost all of the slave stock held there had been wiped out. Whatever slaves hadn’t been suffocated by smoke inhalation or burned alive had escaped or were in too poor a condition to profit from.

The slave drivers whose particular caravans had been at the trading posts at the time of the fire had left town a day or two later without their supplies of slaves, money to show for them or any leads as to how or by whom the fire had been set.

There were rewards for leads and rewards for slaves caught and returned to the market, but most of the townspeople knew the slaves weren’t runaways and that they had gone up in ashes instead. Except for two slaves. Two of them they knew for sure were not dead. Two of them had most certainly escaped.

*==*==*==*

Brendon called Bogart back from the door for the third time that evening, but the terrier only glanced back at him before continuing to paw at the wood. Brendon sighed as he stood up from where he was reading and shuffled to the window.

“I don’t see anything out there, Bo,” he told the dog, but Bogart ignored him in favour of pawing and whimpering.

The truth was, Brendon did see something through the glass. He saw more snow than he’d seen in all the years since he’d moved to Wildelow. Wind was whipping up flurries that beat relentlessly on the windows and sent loud shrills around the small cabin. Beyond that, he saw a blue-black darkness where the road should have been. Brendon was certain it was still there, but he was also confident it wouldn’t be properly recovered until spring. Mostly though, he just saw icicles hanging from the edges of his porch roof and sheets of icy flakes billowing down. As a child living in a sea-side town, Brendon would have considered the spectacle of snow like this fierce or captivating, but after moving to Wildelow, he only saw winters as miserable.

Bogart whined low and placed his nose pitifully at the crease of the doorframe.

“Look,” Brendon told the dog as he opened the door just a bit and snow whizzed in at them. “It’s a mess. You don’t want to go out there.” No sooner than Brendon had gotten the words out of his mouth, Bogart had wriggled his way through the small opening and out into the blizzard. “Bogart!” Brendon yelled, trying to reel the animal back in, but it was futile. In seconds the terrier had dashed out into the snow and under the wooden porch, barking madly. “Bogart!” Brendon called again, but the only response was growling and a series of sharp, angry barks.

From where he stood there was no way Brendon could see beneath the porch. So, with a huff and a few muttered curses, he yanked his boots and wool coat on and went out after the animal. Outside the wind blew violently and snow clung to Brendon’s clothes and hair.

“Bogart!” he yelled again as he stomped down the steps. The icy particles that hit his eyes as he rounded the porch made them water and tears slid down his cheeks and were quickly blown away. The only sign of the dog was loud growling coming from beneath the edge of the porch. Brendon swore that if Bogart had led him out in this weather over a frozen fox he was going to be thoroughly outraged.

When he got to the side of the porch near Bogart, he bent over to peer underneath and immediately saw what all the fuss was about. Underneath the wooden slats that comprised the porch on Brendon’s modest cabin was a raised area of only perhaps two feet. Usually it would be fairly dark beneath it, but today the snow surrounded it and kept it illuminated. And in the middle, up against the base of the house, was a boy.

“Bogart!” Brendon called, a little softer this time. The dog had looked at him once before continuing to bark at the boy. “Bogart!” Brendon all out yelled once something occurred to him: the boy wasn’t moving. He wasn’t startled by Bogart’s scare tactics. He wasn’t upset by his hiding place being found out. He wasn’t even bothered by the weather. Instantly Brendon dropped to his knees and pulled Bogart away. He knelt down lower and reached for the boy, drawing him out by a hand clutched into the fabric he wore around his body. (Brendon couldn’t exactly call it a shirt.)

Up closer, Brendon shivered and let out a sigh of relief. The boy was breathing. Still, he was unconscious and Brendon didn’t even take a second to think things through before he was trying his best to haul the boy’s dead weight up into his arms. He was lighter than Brendon expected, but still heavy. Brendon wasn’t a very large man and though this boy seemed average-sized, he was still bigger. He appeared to be considerably taller and of a slightly more muscular build. Peering at him from this short of a distance told Brendon he was older than he first suspected as well - late teens maybe. Brendon tried to walk with him in his arms, carefully feeling every step solidly so as to not slip up or drop him. The steps were the worst part, but Brendon took them steadily and took a deep breath when he stepped off the last icy one. They made it onto the porch and through the front door much more easily. He almost got them stuck in the doorframe and Bogart almost tripped him as he ran under his feet into the cabin, but eventually Brendon got them all inside safely. He all but dropped the boy by the fireplace before returning to shut the door and lock it tightly.

It was quieter inside but Bogart was still barking. Brendon trod his snowy feet across the floor and back over to the fireplace, swatting Bogart away from the unconscious stranger. There was no way Brendon could go for a doctor in this weather and certainly no way a doctor would come to them. Instead, Brendon tried to think of what his mother would have done in a situation like this.

Brendon’s mother had passed away when he was thirteen and his older brother had cared for him until he’d been old enough to be out on his own. Thirteen seemed forever ago now, but what he did remember of her was that she was always a comforting presence to be around. Brendon headed to his bedroom and got the spare pillow from his bed. He placed it neatly under the boy’s head before going back for the stack of blankets he kept folded in a wooden chest at the foot of his bed.

In no time, he had the boy swaddled almost as tightly as a baby and lying comfortably on the rug. The fire cracked and popped and Brendon snapped out of the daze he’d fallen in to staring at the stranger. Where had he come from? Brendon couldn’t help but wonder. And why was he hiding? The clothes he was wearing seemed to suggest a field worker, but, at least from what Brendon could see, he looked well provided for and no scars, brands, or collars were visible so that assumption didn’t seem to make sense exactly.

When Brendon was certain that he’d done all he could for his strange guest, he went over to the chair by the table and sat down to take his boots off. Bogart stayed and sniffed around the unconscious boy but, after a few licks to his face, he apparently deemed him acceptable to stay because he curled up on the floor not far from him and kept watch.

Brendon had set his boots back by the door and shed his coat. He had to clean up all the water through the house from where snow had come off his boots and melted. Bogart got up and came to see what Brendon was doing with a rag on the floor.

“You probably saved him, you know?” Brendon told the terrier. Bogart only looked at Brendon and wagged his tail. “You’re gonna help me look after him, right?” Bogart kept watching Brendon as if he were taking in the conversation until Brendon held out his hand and said playfully, “C’mere,” and Bogart bounded into Brendon’s arms.

“Good dog,” Brendon assured him as he scratched down his ears and back. “Good dog.”

*==*==*==*

Brendon was playing guitar and waiting on his potatoes to boil for dinner the next evening when Spencer awoke by the fireside. Brendon was across the room by the table and wouldn’t have noticed except that Bogart barked once and almost startled him into missing a chord.

Spencer was sitting up - not completely, but a bit - and seemingly dazed as he peered around the room. Brendon stood up immediately and reached for the pocketknife he‘d just used to cut his guitar strings short. He glanced over at Spencer, then back down at the knife. He wondered if he should take it with him, maybe keep it in his hand, but then he figured if he had brought the stranger into his house that he'd sealed his fate already if this boy turned out to be a mass murderer or anything.

Brendon walked over cautiously to Spencer and waved a bit, shyly, hesitantly. Spencer made no reply except to start coughing violently out of nowhere. He struggled to get his arms free of the tightly bound blanket, but couldn’t focus on them for the wracking coughs and the effect they were having on his entire body.

Brendon raced to get him water and returned, holding the cup to Spencer’s lips. He knew the water was freezing; it had sat by the window most of the day. He just figured it didn’t matter what temperature it was when someone was coughing too much to properly catch their breath.

When Spencer finally soothed his throat enough to breathe properly, Brendon took the mug back to the small kitchen table. "Um," he cleared his throat from where he stood and the boy startled a little and turned his head Brendon's direction. "Hello," Brendon started.

Spencer said nothing.

"I um, I found you," Brendon continued, his voice obviously unsure of his words. "I'm trying to help you. Don't move." He came over again and dropped to his knees by the boy, seeming to startle him a little. Brendon cringed. "Sorry." Still no reply. "I brought you in from under my porch. It was freezing out there. I thought you were dead." He helped Spencer to get his blankets off from around him so his arms would be free. "You really scared me at first."

Spencer nodded a bit, more as if he were processing the information rather than responding to Brendon in any way.

“I'm so sorry," Brendon suddenly sputtered, a bit of a nervous laugh to his voice. "I'm so terribly impolite. My name is Brendon. What's yours?"

The man's brow furrowed for only a second before he replied hoarsely. "James." He cringed at the sharp pain the words sent up his throat.

Brendon noticed his voice immediately. “Let me get you something warm to drink,“ he mumbled before he jumped up and hurried over to another table by the kitchen area window. He picked up a kettle, pouring some warm tea for the boy before returning to him. He knelt down carefully near Spencer and held out the cup. “Here you go. It’s still very hot, but the warmth should help your throat.”

For a second, Spencer did nothing. Then slowly he untangled his hand from the blanket and reached in the direction of Brendon’s voice. That’s when Brendon noticed something he hadn’t before. Spencer couldn’t see him.

Later, Brendon would feel guilty that his first feeling was one of relief, but for now, the idea that this stranger was blind was comforting. It meant that his presence put Brendon in less danger. The night before Brendon hadn’t slept a bit, afraid of what might happen if this boy he didn’t know awoke in his home and wasn’t a nice person after all but maybe an escaped prisoner, a thief or murderer perhaps. Brendon’s fears weren’t ungrounded all that much anyway. He had found Spencer hiding under his porch and Spencer had to be hiding from someone.

Once Spencer had taken a few small sips (all his throat would allow him, really), he set the cup down next to him on the wooden planks of the floor.

“Where are you from?” Brendon asked, thinking maybe a little background information would help ease his paranoia.

Spencer shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

Brendon looked confused for a moment. He went to ask about perhaps how to contact Spencer’s family to make sure they knew he was safe, but Spencer interrupted him before he could say anything.

Spencer’s voice was still hoarse, but he didn‘t cringe as much when he said, “Where am I?”

“You’re in my home,” Brendon replied. “You’re in my home in Wildelow. By my fireplace.”

For a second Spencer’s face looked surprised. Then he schooled it back in to something disinterested. Brendon couldn’t read anything else from it and wasn’t sure what he’d said that had caused that reaction in the first place.

“Thank you for doing this,” Spencer said honestly. Brendon smiled a little and some tension seemed to be letting loose a little in this shoulders. Spencer coughed a few more times, a thick, wet, disgusting sound before adding weakly, “You didn’t have to.”

“It’s not a problem. I’ll uh, make us some soup, yes?” Brendon offered. He didn’t wait for a response, just got up and went over to the stove. He had to think a bit. This stranger had told him nothing besides a name. No information that might help Brendon gage what type of person he may be or why he may have been hiding. Brendon still wondered if perhaps he was an escaped slave, but he hadn’t panicked when Brendon had found him and Brendon hadn’t seen any marks of ownership. He wasn’t even sure who would keep a blind slave anyway or what use one could possibly be. Even if this boy were just traveling, why not with someone to guide him or a horse at least to keep him on some path? Brendon shrugged the thoughts away. It wasn’t his place to pry into the boy‘s background. His place was just to help out this stranger until he was recovered.

“Thank you,” Spencer said when Brendon placed a warm bowl of broth into his hands some minutes later. He sipped it carefully, taking a deep breath to get a strong whiff of the aroma it gave off. “This is enough really. I didn’t mean to interrupt your life and inconvenience you as I’m sure I must be-”

Spencer was cut off by Brendon saying, “Oh, no. You haven’t inconvenienced me at all. In fact, I have no plans for at least a few more weeks. I appreciate you being here to break up the frozen monotony.”

Spencer turned to set his gaze in the direction of Brendon’s voice over at the small table. “Farmer?” he asked.

Brendon smiled, “Not really, no. But I work seasonally much like one. I’d like to think if I were a farmer, I could afford to make the place look a little more appealing.”

Spencer smirked a bit sadly, “I can’t see it,” he reminded him.

Brendon ducked his head a little and replied, “Well, it’s a tidy place, but it’s a mess in other ways like, um, when the wind blows strongly you can feel it through the panes of the windows. It blows out candles occasionally. And the fireplace fire even darts around crazy-like and then there’s things like the lock on the door is old and it worries me sometimes that it wouldn‘t hold if I really needed it to. Little things mostly.”

Spencer’s head turned a few ways as if he were trying to figure out where the door might be. He had a vague idea since he knew the sides of the room based on what Brendon had done - made broth in one place, sat in a chair on another side to play guitar, and the fireplace was most likely against one so that didn’t leave a lot of options.

Brendon saw him and figured out what he was doing. “The door, right?” he asked and Spencer looked down, a bit embarrassed that he couldn’t just see where something as simple as the door was. Brendon didn’t let it bother him. He kept his coffee mug in hand as he walked over to the door and stood in front of it. “It’s over here,” he told his guest. “I had a time getting through it with you in my arms. Almost dropped you actually.”

Bogart jumped up from where he’d been lying and pranced over to the door excitedly, jumping up and pawing at Brendon’s leg.

“You have a dog?” Spencer smiled, surprised how easily he‘d recognized a noise he hadn‘t heard in so long, but the sound of tiny paws on hardwood floor was unmistakable.

“His name’s Bogart,” Brendon replied as he picked up the terrier and carried him over to Spencer. “He’s a Jack Russell and he always thinks it’s a good time to go outside. That’s how we found you yesterday actually. Bogart knew you were out there.” Brendon sat down near Spencer and held out the puppy a bit. “Say hello to James, Bo.”

Bogart did as told and happily went to see Spencer now that he was awake and Brendon felt so comfortable around him. Bogart jumped up, bracing his little body on Spencer’s arm and almost making him spill his coffee. Spencer almost wanted to laugh and the idea pleasantly surprised him.

“Hello,” he greeted the dog, setting down his drink carefully on the other side of his body and reaching for the puppy. “It’s very nice to meet you, Sir,” Spencer spoke politely and Bogart licked at his hands. “Thank you very much for finding me out in the cold.”

“He just knew you were out there and I had no idea. I let him out or, well, he squirmed his way out when I opened the door, and ran right to you under the porch. He just knew you were under the porch. I guess he heard you get under there or something because he’s much too small to see out the windows or anything. It was crazy and just-” Brendon waved his hand in a shaky, wave to indicate what he meant before remembering his guest couldn’t read hand motions any better than he could find doors. Brendon shook his head and added, “How did you get under there anyway? Certainly there must be better shelter nearby. Did you try to knock and I didn’t answer?” He couldn’t imagine that he would have missed someone knocking, but he was a deep sleeper and the winds had been strong so he couldn’t be sure.

“Well, I um -” Spencer replied, but stopped for a moment and seemed to collect his thoughts. “I usually know the path. I stay on it and I’m fine, but with the snow and the ice . . . I slipped.” He paused and licked his lips, then nodded once. “Yeah, and then I couldn’t find the path I was on. You know, the path I have memorized. It was snowed over. And, well, I was freezing and I just crawled for a bit, trying to stay out of the blizzard ‘till I found somewhere to hide. I didn’t know it was your porch.”

Brendon grinned. “I’m glad Bogart and I could be of some help. Do I need to contact your family and let them know you’re safe?”

“Oh, no,” Spencer replied quickly. “I, uh, I live alone.”

Brendon nodded. “Think the weather will let up by Christmas? Then you could get to any family you may have further off at least in time for the holidays next weekend.”

“Hmmm…” was all Spencer replied. Brendon wasn’t sure if that was affirmative or negative.

*==*==*==*

Brendon was pretty sure Spencer was lying to him. For three days they did little more than sit around in peaceful silence. Brendon had taken the chance to read to Spencer a bit and he’d played him a bit of guitar. He’d provided Spencer with a constant supply of warm honey, insisting that he drink it down every half-hour or so and sometimes even adding what smelled like garlic, but Spencer wasn’t about to complain because he was coughing considerably less. Mostly, they’d stayed in a comfortable tranquility.

Spencer played with Bogart and Brendon went about whatever it was that Brendon did when trying to busy himself during the winter holidays- mending clothing, scribbling limericks, playing music and doing sketches. He usually played a bit more with Bogart, but it seemed cruel to take the only form of entertainment Spencer seemed to have from him. Spencer had learned where he could toss the ball and Bogart would fetch it and return it to his lap. Brendon spent plenty of time just watching them. It would have been creepy if Spencer had seen him, but Brendon figured what Spencer didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

On the third day, in the middle of whatever Brendon was playing on a cheap harmonica, Spencer suddenly spoke up. “Was I alone?”

Brendon stopped his tune and looked to his guest. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you. What was that, James?”

Spencer moved his lips, but no sound came out. He floundered for a second before saying, “Nothing, just, uh, you play well. I like it.” Then he looked down with a slight scowl on his face. Brendon watched him with concern for a second, but then seemed to find his manners.

“Thank you,” he replied, “My brother taught me.”

*==*==*==*

Every night, Brendon slept in his bedroom while Spencer was left on a soft pallet by the hearth. Some nights Bogart slept curled up next to Brendon, but some nights he couldn’t be bothered to move off the rug near Spencer.

On the fourth night there, the only peaceful one since Spencer had arrived, Spencer awoke to light tapping on the window. He could hear it clearly and knew it was coming from the window over the kitchen counter. Knowing the origin of the taps didn’t put him at ease though. Mostly, it just put him on edge. Unfamiliar things still did that to him. He’d just been getting used to Brendon and the area of the house that Brendon used as a parlor. He’d not ventured over to the kitchen when it was safe and he didn’t plan on doing so now, not when he didn’t even know his way around over there and there was something uncertain making noises.

He turned his head in the direction of the noise anyway and it stopped. A second later, a new noise began- almost a mix between a rubbing and scratching sound against the wood frame of the window. It took all of three seconds for a peace like he hadn’t felt in much too long to settle over Spencer’s body. He stood up from his pallet and took a step. He was thankful Bogart had gone with Brendon this evening and wouldn’t be there to trip him up as he tried to follow the noise.

Then at once the window opened. There wasn’t a squeak or anything, but Spencer heard it clearly.

“Spencer!” the voice called, quiet and desperate.

“Ryan,” Spencer spoke through his huge grin. “Ryan, Ryan, Ryan…”

“Careful,” Ryan told him. “There’s a table just a bit in front of you. Move to your right.”

Spencer took a deep breath. “Ryan,” he spoke again.

“Shhh,” Ryan whispered. “Just follow my voice.”

Spencer reached his hand out in front of his body carefully as if to feel for objects in his path. “I’m coming.”

“You’re getting closer. Don‘t run into that stool near your right foot.” Ryan spoke softly and Spencer maneuvered to follow the instructions. Then, all at once it seemed, Ryan’s frozen hand reached out and grabbed onto Spencer’s outstretched one.

Both boys let out shaky breaths and held on tightly to one another. The kitchen window, as Spencer discovered, was much too far over the counter to get a proper hug in, but just touching Ryan at this point seemed to do wonders for them both.

“I didn’t know where you’d gone. I thought someone might’ve found you,” Spencer spoke in a hushed, distressed tone.

“I thought the same when I came back and you weren’t where I left you.” Ryan whispered.

“Under the porch?” Spencer asked accusingly, but he had a smile on his lips.

“Protected, I thought,” Ryan corrected.

“You’re freezing,” Spencer noted and rubbed both of his hands against the hand he had of Ryan’s. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be alright,” Ryan assured. “I’ll be fine. How are you? Is he being fair to you?”

“I think I’m safe here for now.” Spencer said honestly, but he wondered if Ryan was only telling him what he wanted to hear so he asked more. “Have you eaten anything?”

“I’ll find something tomorrow,” Ryan replied which told Spencer he obviously hadn’t eaten anything in a day or two, possibly more, possibly since they‘d been separated.

“No, no,” Spencer sputtered, “Hold on, I’ll- I’ll find you something.” In the darkness, Spencer turned one way in the kitchen and then the other before turning back to Ryan. “Do you see anything? A pantry or jars or anything?”

“Spencer,” Ryan hissed, “Don’t risk it. You’re safe. Don’t risk anything.”

“But, Ry,” Spencer responded, a determined expression on his face. “You can’t just not eat. Help me out please.” He took one hand off of Ryan’s and began to move it carefully down the counter around the washbasin, but when he reached the end, he was unprepared for the jar Brendon had left setting there.

“Spence!” Ryan warned, but it was already too late. The ceramic jar hit the ground with a loud shattering noise and, all at once, Ryan jerked his hand away from Spencer’s and slammed the window closed. Spencer felt hollow. He heard Brendon in the next room and suddenly a hot-cold sensation ran through his body. He had nowhere to hide it and no way to explain why he’d been over there at all.

“James?” Brendon was heard calling sleepily as he opened the door from his bedroom and stepped out. His hair was mussed and his eyes tired, but he’d still grabbed the small knife he kept in his bedroom. He was relieved to see there was no need for it.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer immediately answered. “I’m so sorry.”

“James, oh,” Brendon spoke when he saw what the clatter had been. “It sounded much worse than this when I awoke.”

“It was an accident, Sir. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Spencer felt sick and less safe than he had during his entire time with Brendon thus far.

“It’s alright,” Brendon promised. “It wasn’t much. Just a simple jar of sugar. It wasn’t even half-full.”

Spencer still held his breath until he was sure Brendon wasn’t going to hit him.

“Were you trying to get some water?” Brendon questioned and Spencer heard something heavily scrape against the counter as Brendon picked it up. “The pitcher is on the other side of the wash basin.”

Spencer felt the sick feeling dissipate a little and the nerves in his shoulders loosened slightly. “Thank you,” he told Brendon instead of saying, “yes.” He felt it was better not to lie completely about what he’d been doing, but agreeing with Brendon wouldn’t hurt anything.

Brendon poured Spencer a mug of water and then one for himself and both men stood there silently drinking.

“When I first brought you in,” Brendon began after he finished his water and sat the mug down. “I thought I may wake up to find you had robbed me.”

“I wouldn’t. Sir, I- Brendon, I wouldn’t ever rob you.” Spencer told him and Brendon nodded even though he knew Spencer couldn’t see it.

“I know that now,” Brendon continued, “But at first, you were just a stranger and I wasn’t sure. When I wake up, I immediately assume the worse. I think it’s because I live alone and it’s something those of us alone constantly worry about. Now that you’re here, I- I fear less.”

“I wouldn’t be much help if someone were to try to rob you,” Spencer said. He felt a little guilty for trying to take something of Brendon’s to give to Ryan, even if Ryan had been in grave need of it.

“Don’t underestimate yourself,” Brendon laughed lightly. “You do usually walk the roads on your own. I think there’s more you could do if you set your mind to it.”

*==*==*==*

The second night Ryan appeared at the window, Spencer had stayed awake, prepared for him.

Ryan tapped lightly and Spencer was pushing his covers aside and standing up, trying to remember his way to the window without running into or tripping over anything. He managed to make it too. The only thing that he forgot to account for was Bogart.

Ryan and Spencer had barely gotten the window open and clasped hands before Bogart was up on his feet and jumping around barking. He yapped once, twice, then started growling in Ryan’s direction.

“Spence,” Ryan rasped weakly before extracting his cold hand from its lock with Spencer’s. “It’s not worth it,” he managed over the noise of the terrier. Spencer could tell Ryan’s voice was hoarse and he reached to quickly retrieve the bits of bread and carrots that he’d pocketed earlier when he was fairly sure Brendon wasn’t paying attention, but Ryan didn’t even give him time. He jerked his hand back again and slammed the window closed just as Brendon opened the door from his bedroom.

Spencer shoved the pieces of bread and carrots back into his pocket and they were gone before Brendon’s eyes even cleared enough to focus. As soon as Ryan was out of sight, Bogart settled down, growling only slightly until giving it up to lick up breadcrumbs that Spencer had dropped.

“Bogart, what’s the matter with you?” Brendon asked as he ambled over to the dog and guest.

“He’s upset about something. He scared me,” Spencer stammered. It wasn’t a complete lie. He had startled Spencer when he first barked at Ryan.

“Bogart, what is it?” Brendon asked, kneeling down to the terrier’s level and looking around a bit. Bogart looked back toward the window again and yapped once more for good measure. Brendon laughed a little to himself. “Stop looking at that window. There is no way you are going outside tonight. We‘re going back to sleep.” He looked at Spencer and stood up. “I’m sorry he woke you. He’s a crazy animal sometimes.” And with that, he scooped Bogart up and carried him off to the bedroom.

*==*==*==*

The afternoon after the Bogart incident, Brendon was putting away the morning dishes when he called over his shoulder to Spencer. “I’m going to go out back to get more firewood. I have it already chopped and stacked up against my shed near the tree line in the back. It’s not far. I won’t be gone long. I‘m just going to take Bogart so he can get some energy out of his system.”

Spencer agreed and before too long Brendon was out the door and Spencer was left alone by the fireplace. Spencer wondered if Ryan was keeping an eye on the place, if he would tap on the window while Brendon was gone or if the woodpile was perhaps too close of a distance to be safe for him to risk coming now. Spencer wished he could look out the window and calculate simple things like spacing.

He wondered how long until Brendon came back. He wondered how he’d finally get away without Brendon wanting to stay in touch or wanting to help him home. Sitting in front of the hearth with nothing else to do, Spencer decided it was going to drive him crazy. He settled back on his pallet and blinked a few times, his mind reeling and his ears trained to listen for Ryan’s tapping, just in case.

*==*==*==*

Brendon walked out the back door and stepped down the few steps he had leading to the ground there. He hadn’t had the time to build a porch in the back yet and the house had only come with the front one. Summertime was usually very busy for him even after a long day’s work. The evening load didn’t let up very much. His only free time was parts of autumn and winter and often then it was too cold or there were still other things to be done. Brendon supposed in the line of things he needed to do about his cabin, the porch was not a priority he should worry about before he fixed the windows or the doors. Right now, his only priority was getting more wood in the house to keep everyone warm.

Brendon looked out across the half-acre backyard and to the tree line. There, there was a small wooden shed where Brendon kept a few tools, a garden hoe, a few shovels, a handheld plow and such. He had also had a horse in a single stall there back when he’d first moved into the cabin, but he’d since gotten rid of her.

Brendon squinted more at the snow and the sun‘s reflection off it than the actual sunlight, but it hurt his eyes nonetheless. He shielded his eyes and glanced at where Bogart was running around a tree in the distance. “I hope you fall in a hole and get covered in on top with snow!” Brendon called to him, laughing to himself as he trekked along the yard.

When he got close enough, he could see something lying near the woodpile and sped up his pace. It was hard to run in his boots and in the snow, but he did his best. Bogart even noticed and raced to catch up. Brendon stopped once he got close enough, but Bogart didn’t. He ran right up to the object in question and Brendon could see immediately when Bogart realized what it was. The dog tensed and seemed to settle down, leaning down and sniffing instead. Brendon stared at the boy.

“Get away from him,” Brendon said sternly and unlike finding Spencer, Bogart moved right away. It must have been something in Brendon’s voice, but Bogart didn’t even try to bother him when he knelt down to get a closer look at what he was dealing with.

The boy was spread out, not curled up like Spencer had been, and he looked pitiful- poorly fed, poorly dressed, poorly kept in general. Brendon reached and moved one of the boy’s hands a bit, noting that his nails were blue. His lips were blue too. But after checking for a moment, Brendon was sure he felt a pulse.

“Where are they coming from?” Brendon asked Bogart who was watching the boy intently. Bogart took it as permission to sniff carefully again at the stranger’s foot and that’s when Brendon noticed that the boy had no shoes. His feet had been wrapped in cloth, but they were soaked cloths and it was still below freezing out. Brendon tucked the boy’s arm into his side and drew his other arm in too while trying to gage how he was going to carry the lanky creature. Once he tried to pick him up though he realized it would be much easier than he’s initially thought. It felt as if the boy’s body were hollow and all Brendon might be carrying were some wet rags covering his body instead.

He hefted the boy’s body until he was sure he had it and began to trudge inside without another thought about firewood. Bogart followed obediently and soon the two had made it back to the house.

Brendon was taking the stairs when the eyes of the stranger opened ever so slightly and tried to take in what was happening. Brendon only said, “I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you,” before they closed again.

*==*==*==*

It seemed like a lifetime from the time Brendon shuffled in with his arms full to the time he had his new guest all situated and swaddled by the fire, but once Brendon returned to his firewood voyage, Spencer practically flew over to the other side of the hearth to check that it was Ryan. A flood of relief washed over his when he grabbed the familiar hand, but a new fear crept through him as well. Without his eyes, he couldn’t see for himself how Ryan was doing and going off of what Brendon had said when he’d found him didn’t do much to comfort Spencer either.

“Ryan, you’d better goddamn live through this you skinny bastard,” Spencer breathed as he held Ryan’s frozen hand. “I tried to get you to eat something.”

Ryan slept by the fire and didn’t reply at all and Spencer reluctantly pulled away and settled back into place when he heard Brendon coming back with the wood.

*==*==*==*

“His feet are looking better already,” Brendon murmured to Spencer late that evening. “That’s good. Earlier, I wasn’t sure how bad they were, but he obviously hasn’t had them in this condition very long. A little warm water and care should fix them up with no problems.”

“How do you know these things?” Spencer asked. He made sure to sound half-interested, as if it didn’t make a difference to him if this newly acquired guest had ruined his feet or not, but inside Spencer was desperate to know exactly what state Ryan was in and if Brendon really had the ability to care for him like he was claiming.

“Eh,” Brendon paused where he was holding the bowl of warm water and looked at his hands. “Well, my mother wasn’t exactly what you’d call an honourable lady. She had my brother, Jon, with one man and two years later she had me by another- a sailor, I believe. Both of our fathers either never knew we were here or else never cared.”

Brendon stopped in his words just long enough to start swabbing Ryan’s reddened, frostbitten feet with warm water again before seeming to find rhythmic comfort in his work. Spencer was turned toward him and Ryan as if he could actually see what Brendon was doing and when Brendon was washing at Ryan’s feet rather mindlessly, he started back on his story.

“Our father’s- they might’ve even had proper families of their own or better standards to live up to or such. I’ve not given it much thought since I was quite young. But our mother, well, she didn’t want us either. She had too wild of a lifestyle to give it up and nurse infants. And she died in childbirth of her next child anyway. We never even met that one if it made it. Maybe there was a father still around. But Jon and I were left with the orphanage in Ashbourne. It’s actually not a large orphanage, not like the one here in Wildelow. They were decent to us, taught us, and when I was old enough I was told I had done well enough in my studies that the doctor wanted me to help with his practice. He tried to teach me, but in the end I only lasted a few weeks. My stomach can’t handle the site of copious amounts of blood, it turns out. My brother, however, became an apprentice there as well and actually did quite well for himself. Earned enough money to send himself to medical school and he’s the personal physician to a wealthy family in Ashbourne now. Takes care of their large household and slaves and all their worker‘s families and such. Lives in his own house on the family’s extensive property. He’s coming down for Christmas, if the weather permits. I fully expect we’ll see him in a day or two.”

Spencer was kind enough not to bring up Brendon’s choice of words, but Brendon cringed immediately and almost apologized. He was still getting used to how things must be for Spencer. Instead of repenting his poor choice of words, he just hoped the moment would pass them by and finished his story quickly.

“The things I know- medical things- are only the few things that I learned in the month or so I was apprenticing for the doctor.”

Spencer nodded. “I guess we’re both in good hands then,” he commented with a content look on his face and Brendon smiled down at the bowl of water.

“I hope so.”

Continue to part two.

spencertized — Tue, 21 Dec 2010 07:10:33 GMT

So, I(Kelsey), have decided that instead of making a new post for every little tiny drabble that I write, instead, I just made a tumblr. It has tags for every pairing and will have many pairings that I normally don't write. Feel free to comment.
The Fall Of The Author

Bandom Birthdays Masterlist

spencertized — Sun, 12 Sep 2010 06:01:51 GMT

Bandom Birthdays (and those close to bandom)

January:
5 (1987)- Pat Brown
6 (1984)- Jonathan Cook
8 (1988)- Adam T. Siska
8 (1987)- David Ryan
8 (1983)- Disashi Lumumba-Kasongo
8 (1976)- Jenny Lewis
12 (1995)- Ramona Wright (daughter of Tré Cool)
13 (1989)- Alex Johnson
13 (1984)- Nathaniel Motte
13 (1982)- Michael Pedicone
14 (198_)- Jerry Pierce
14 (1988)- Vinny Vegas
15 (1988)- Sonny Moore
15 (1985)- Duncan Johnson
18 (1988)- Mike Gentile
18 (1980)- Jeff Lett
19 (1988)- Paul DiGiovanni
20 (19??)- K Dirty
20 (1984)- Victoria Asher
26 (1886)- Seth Johnson
27 (198_)- Michael Runion
29 (1982)- Adam Lambert
31 (2009)- Keaton Lazzara (son of Adam Lazzara)
31 (1987)- Marc Stewart

February:
1 (1990)- Pat Kirch
1 (1986)- George Ciukurescu
6 (1975)- Adam Kaultenhauser
7 (1980)- William Tell
8 (198-)- Misha Safonov
8 (1985)- Jeremy Davis
8 (1985)- Bob Morris
9 (1981)- James "The Rev" Sullivan (DOD: 12-28-09)
11 (1991)- Christofer Drew
11 (1988)- Caleb Turman
11 (1985)-William Beckett
11 (1984)- Matt Good
12 (1988)- Greta Morgan Salpeter
14 (199_)- Ricky Postiglione
15 (1980)- Conor Oberst
15 (1980)- Matt Hoopes
16 (1990)- Garrett Nickelsen
17 (1972)- Billie-Joe Armstrong
21 (1982)- Chantal Claret
23 (1982)- Jamia Nestor Iero
24 (2009)- Hero Lumumba-Kasongo (son of Disashi Lumumba-Kasongo)
24 (1983)- Matt McGinley
25 (1985)- Bryan Donahue
25 (1982)- Bert McCracken
27 (1980)- Cyrus Bolooki
28 (1969)- Pat Monahan

March:
1 (1981)- Chad Gilbert
6 (198_) -Loren Brinton
9 (1970)- Shannon Leto
10 (1977)- Matt Rubano
13 (1976)- James Dewees
14 (1989)- Cash Colligan
14 (198_)- Sonny Antonelli (He has a last name?! Yes, this is The Cab's Sonny.)
15 (1988)- Chris Lent
15 (1973)- John "Beatz" Holohan (DOD: 10/31/05)
15 (1972)- Mark Hoppus
18 (1979)- Adam Levine
18 (19__)- Jason Tate
19 (19__)- JT Woodruff
20 (1982)- Nick Wheeler
21 (1988)- Jared Monaco
28 (1995)- Joseph Marciano Armstrong (son of Billie Joe Armstrong)
28 (19__)- Matt Nathanson
29 (1999)- Atiana de la Hoya (step-daughter of Travis Barker)
30 (198_)- Annie Monroe
31 (1982)- Ryland Blackinton

April:
2 (1979)- Jesse Carmichael
5 (1985)- Joshua Randall
5 (19__)- Kevin Lyman
6 (1981)- Alex Suarez
6 (1982)- Michael Guy Chislett
8 (1989)- Alex DeLeon
9 (1977)- Gerard Way
10 (1987)- Darren Wilson
11 (1997)- Estelle Desiree Dirnt (daughter of Mike Dirnt)
11 (1979)- Chris Gaylor
12 (1987)- Brendon Urie
17 (1988)- Maika Maile
21 (1988)- Zack Merrick
24 (1985)- Travis Clark
24 (1983)- Tyson Ritter
24 (1982)- Kelly Clarkson (I've been a fan of hers for nearly a decade. You can't tell me not to put her on my birthday list.)
26 (1989)- Nate Flynn
27 (1984)- Patrick Stump
30 (1976)- Amanda Palmer

May:
1 (1987)- Austin Bello
1 (198_)- Chris Faller
3 (1983)- PJ DeCicco
4 (1987)- Nate Novarro
4 (1984) -Will Pugh
4 (1981)- Dallon Weekes
4 (1972)- Mike Dirnt
6 (1967)- Mark O'Connel1
8 (198_)- Tom Schleiter
9 (1986)- Danny Duncan
9 (1979)- Pierre Bouvier
10-(198_)- Justin Richards
13 (1979)- Mickey Madden
13 (19__)- Zack Hall
15 (1983)- Joe Pepper
18 (1988)- David Blaise
19 (1984)- Tom Conrad
22 (1979)- Lyn-Z Ballato-Way
23 (1970)- Matt Flynn
24 (1985)- Shane Henderson
25 (1976)- Justin Pierre
27 (2009)- Bandit Lee Way (daughter of Gerard and Lyn-Z Way)
31 (1980)- Andy Hurley

June:
1 (2008)- Amelie Olivia Weekes (daughter of Dallon Weekes)
1 (198_)- Dennis Wilson
3 (1977)- Jesse Johnson
4 (1990)- Zac Farro
5 (1979)- Pete Wentz
8 (1983)- Anthony Dilonno
11 (2007)- James Bleu Walker (son of Butch Walker)
12 (1988)- Dave Melillo
13 (1980)-Rivers Cuomo
16 (1986)- Brendan Walter
18 (1988)- Jack Barakat
18 (1985)- Brooks Betts
19 (1986)- Jeremy Lenzo
20 (1979)- Will Noon
26 (1989)- Christian Climer
27 (1988)- Drew Thomsen
28 (1986)- Z Berg
28 (1989)- Alex Marshall
29 (1978)- Sam Farrar

July:
2 (19--)- Aaron Rothe
2 (19--)- Johnny Minardi
4 (1983)- Andy "The Butcher" Mrotek
4 (1983)- Ben Jorgensen
6 (1982)- Nic Hudson
7 (1981)- Brian "Synyster Gates" Haner
11 (1986)- Derek Sanders
11 (198_)- Ryan Luciani
14 (1986)-Danny Stevens
15 (2002)- Ava Elizabeth DeLonge (daughter of Tom DeLonge)
15 (1977)- Ray Toro
19 (1982)- Nash Breen
20 (1980)- Mike Kennerty
23 (1980)- Josh Partington
28 (1988)- Nick Santino
31 (1981)- Matt "M. Shadows" Sanders
31 (1976)- Joshua Cain

August:
4 (1988)- John O’Callaghan
6 (1981) -Travie McCoy
6 (1984)- Eric Roberts
7 (1985)- Gavin Phillips
9 (1981)- Anthony Raneri
12 (1985)- Jimmie Deeghan
12 (19__)- Matt Thiessen
16 (2006)- Jonas Rocket DeLonge (son of Tom DeLonge)
16 (1985)- Ryan O'Connor
24 (1985)- Kyle Burns
24 (1978) Darren Robinson
27 (198_)- Jay Enriquez
28 (198_)- Joey Thunder
28 (1989)- Cassadee Pope
29 (2010)- Cherry Marie and Lily Rose Iero (daughters of Frank Iero)
29 (1980)-David Desrosiers
30 (1986)- Ryan Ross
30 (1984)- Dan Young

September:
1 (1984)- Joe Trohman
2 (1983)- Jake Bundrick
2 (1987)- Spencer Smith
3 (1982)- Andrew McMahon
3 (1979)- Tomo Miličević
4 (1985)- Jack Marin
4 (1977)- Ian Grushka
6 (1978)- Tony Thaxton
7 (198_)- Eric Ronick
7 (1969)- Jimmy Urine
8 (1986)- Alex Garcia
8 (198_)- Pink (I know she's not bandom, but she's friends with Butch Walker, Shut up.)
9 (198_)- Eric Hehr
9 (1985)- Martin Johnson
9 (1977)- Brian Schechter
10 (1980)- Mikey Way
12 (1998)- Jakob Danger Armstrong (son of Billie-Joe Armstrong)
13 (1988)- Kennedy Brock
17 (1985)- Jon Walker
22 (1981)- Adam Lazzara
24 (1983)- Ryan Seaman
29- (1989)- Elliot James
29 (1988)- Ian Crawford
29 (1987)- Hunter Thomsen
29 (1987)- Josh Farro
29 (1981)- Steve Klein

October:
2 (1986)- Andy Horst
4 (1983)- Matt Black
5 (1978)- James Valentine
8 (1985)- Bruno Mars
9 (2003)- Landon Asher Barker (son of Travis Barker)
9 (1982)- Kevin Sanders
9 (1979)- Alex Greenwald
11 (2008)- Brixton Michael Dirnt (son of Mike Dirnt)
11 (1979)- Gabe Saporta
12 (2007)- Genevieve Dylan Beckett (daughter of William Beckett)
12 (1979)- Jordan Pundik
13? (198_)- Bryan Dawson
15 (1981)- Nick White
16 (1985)- JD Perry
17 (1989)- Jess Bowen
22 (1985)- Andy Soukal
22 (1981)- Casey Calvert (DOD: 11-24-07)
22 (1976)- Jon Foreman
31 (1981)- Frank Iero
31 (198_)- Misha Lazzara (wife of Adam Lazzara)
31 (198_)- Max Steger

November:
5 (1987)- Kent Garrison
6 (1981)- Graham Colton
7 (1986)- Shaant Hacikyan
8 (1984)- Alicia Simmons-Way
9 (19__) Dan Griffith
14 (1980)- Brian Ireland
14 (1975)- Travis Barker
14 (1969)- Butch Walker
17 (1983)- Dan Duszynski
18 (1984)- Jonathan "Johnny Christ" Steward
20 (2008)- Bronx Mowgli Wentz (son of Pete Wentz)
20 (1975)- Davey Havok
25 (19__)- Mike Shea
26 (1988)- Blake Harnage
27 (1985)- Jersey Moriarty
28 (1973)- Jade Puget
29 (1984)- Nick Murray

December:
1 (1980)- Shane Valdez
3 (1986)- Sean Foreman
3 (1984)- Mike Carden
4 (1989)- Alex Lipshaw
9 (1972)- Tré Cool
10 (1979) - Micah Carli
11 (1981)- Zack "Zacky Vengeance" Baker
13 (1975)- Tom DeLonge
14 (1987)- Alex Gaskarth
17 (1989)- Taylor York
17 (1984)- Tennessee Thomas
18 (1990)- Sierra Kusterbeck
18 (1987)- Rian Dawson
18 (1982)- Sean Van Vleet
24 (2005)- Alabama Luella Barker (daughter of Travis Barker)
26 (1971)- Jared Leto
27 (1988)- Hayley Williams
30 (1986)- Tim Klepek
30 (1983)- Nick Scimeca
31(1982)- Bryce Avary
31 (1979)- Bob Bryar

Birthday's I'd like to know:
Jake Sinclair (Butch Walker & The Black Widows)
Mike Mogis (Bright Eyes)
Nate Walcott (Bright Eyes)
Clutch Page (Something Corporate)
Jack's Mannequin (besides Andrew)
Matthew Taylor (Motion City Soundtrack)
Daniel Pawlovich (Valencia)

Note: If you can help me fill in any blanks or know any band members I should add, go ahead and let me know (but you have to provide the birthdays, not just the band member's name). I'll be happy to add anyone I feel deserves to be added. Also, if I've made any mistakes let me know and I'll fix them.

Also, keep in mind, that I cannot possibly listen to every band in this ridiculous scene. If you have an addition for me, I do not approve them based on whether or not I listen to their music. I approve them based on whether or not they belong on the list.

People will be added to the list. People will most likely not be erased.

Last update: March 16, 2012

Covers All Alike

spencertized — Thu, 22 Jul 2010 08:04:38 GMT

Title: Covers All Alike
Author: Indy hesmagicandmyth
Beta: China! tw_love (Thank you, dear.)
Rating: G (They're children!)
Pairing: gen or very g-rated Ryan/Spencer/Brendon
POV: 3rd.
Summary: The Elves and the Shoemaker!AU
Disclaimer: I'd like to think if I owned any of this, I'd be richer and pay to have a chauffeur. Idea from The Brothers Grimm. Title taken from a quote by Guillaume de Salluste Du Bartas.
Author Notes: Written back in January at 4am.
Idk why I didn’t switch Ryan and Spencer’s history and I have no idea where Jon is. I think I had envisioned him as one of the guys with Brendon, but it never mentions him so idk. Anyway, here Brothers Grimm, I ruined your fairy tale.

The scissors squeaked as Ryan and Spencer watched their father cut the last pieces of leather into the pattern he needed. Wind whipped under the door and the boys shivered and huddled next to each other.

“How will we buy more, Papa?” little Ryan spoke with wide brown eyes peering questioningly at his father. He knew the leather his father had placed before them on the table was the last bit he had left and business at the cobbler’s humble shop had been so terrible that there was no money left to buy any additional supplies.

Ryan‘s father looked away from the work and at his sons with a very serious manner. “You leave that up to the good Lord,” he told them before placing the thread and a needle next to the freshly cut material. Ryan and Spencer looked solemnly at one another, but said nothing.

“It‘s getting late, you two,” their father spoke as he set his old wire-rimmed glasses aside. “Why don‘t you run along upstairs? It‘s nearly bedtime.”

The boys knew better than to complain or argue so they stood up and circled around the table to hug their father goodnight. He held them both closely and kissed the tops of their heads before they scampered off up the stairs and into the above quarters where they lived.

“Don‘t forget your prayers!” he called after them before he heard the closing of the door that separated their home from the little shop. Wind swirled around the place, rattling the front window a bit and seeming to come right through the walls into the already cold shop. They hadn’t had the money for extra kindling and he hadn’t had the time to go out of the city to cut some himself. They used the only firewood they had in the upstairs compartment so it could heat their bed sheets, their bath water, and their dinner all.

The man sat there for a moment just looking at the things he’d placed before him on the table. He’d been a cobbler all his life and though the shoemaking trade hadn’t always been the wealthiest line of work, it had never left the family so desolate either. He looked around the mostly bare shop, trying to come up with anything left that he could possibly sell, but when he came up with nothing, he left the materials on the work table and headed on upstairs. Tomorrow, he would make the shoes and after that was a mystery.

***

Ryan and Spencer cuddled up, curling into little balls to keep warm and snuggling under the covers until only the tops of their heads poked out. They always slept with one of each of their hands intertwined and the other hands wrapped around each other’s middle. A shared pillow, a straw mattress and a blanket patched in more places than not wasn’t really enough for them, but it was all they had and they could make do.

Their father watched them both sleeping as he ate a bit of bread and his wife sat at the tiny window. He knew he’d have to find some way to care for them, but it seemed putting them to work at such young ages was cruel. They were both bright boys and deserved to be able to learn a bit more of their studies before they’d have to work. Nine and ten were too young of ages to do any serious work anyway. Still, the idea seemed the only prospect left available to the family.

“I won‘t send them to work in any factories,” he stated and his wife looked over at her husband. “I know it would probably be better pay, but I‘ve heard too many stories of workers in those places. Too many diseases and too many harsh rules for young boys.”

Their mother sighed and looked at her children. To her, the boys were still the same as they had been the days she’d first seem them. She still remembered holding Ryan in her arms, his tiny hand curling around her fingertip, the way his face had looked so astonished the first time he’d sneezed, the first steps he’d taken across the wooden floor just feet from where she now sat, the way he’d always hid in her layers of clothing when a stranger came to visit. Spencer she had learned abut later. Ryan had been almost three-years-old when Spencer had come to live with them. Spencer’s mother was Ryan’s aunt and had moved far away when she’d gotten married. The first news anyone heard of a child came when an elder in the church knocked on the Ross’s door one evening and had to tell them the news. They learned that Spencer’s parents had both died of plague, but young Spencer had shown no signs of it. At the time, the family had been decently provided for by the cobbler’s work and it seemed like the only choice to take Spencer in. The two had been brought up as brothers ever since.

She sighed and looked at her boys as well. They slept so soundly, so confident in their parents’ abilities to take care of them. A tear slipped down her face as she thought of them having to provide for the family. But until the cobbler’s business improved, she too could think of nothing else.

***

Ryan and Spencer were still sleeping pressed close to one another when their father arose to begin his work. The day had barely come about and the sun was just beginning to light up their surroundings when he dressed himself and said his morning prayers. With a somber look at his sleeping wife and a loving look toward his boys, he opened the door to the little shop and went down the stairs to finish his last pair of shoes.

It was only a couple of minutes later when Ryan and Spencer awoke to the delighted sounds of their parents. Once they’d rubbed the sleep from their eyes, they saw what their parents were holding and waving about- a pair of perfectly crafted shoes.

“Did you make those, Papa?” Spencer asked sleepily, not daring to crawl from the warmth of the bed yet. The shoes looked exceedingly well crafted and even though the cobbler did very proper, honest work, Spencer was sure these were the best shoes he had ever created.

“That‘s just it, dear boy,” the cobbler announced, “I didn‘t make them at all!” Ryan and Spencer’s faces both puzzled and then they looked at one another in surprise.

“Who made them?” asked their mother and the boys nodded together.

“Well, I-” the man laughed, “I don‘t know!” But it was obvious from the way he said it that he was absolutely delighted nonetheless. The shoes were perfect- every stitch, every hammer stroke had made them into near artwork. The cobbler looked more closely at the shoes, but the materials were indeed the same ones he’d sat out the evening before. Now there was nothing left to do, but to sell them.

Ryan and Spencer’s father placed the shoes in the store window and by noon, they had sold. The family all laughed jubilantly as they looked at the money they had made. It had been quite more than any usual pair of shoes would make and with it, the man was able to purchase enough materials for two more pairs of shoes.

***

“Try it again, Papa! Try it again!” Ryan and Spencer cried happily as they crowded around their father after he’d cut the leather. “Put them back on the table! Let‘s see if they‘re magic too!”

“Now, now,” their father told them as he placed the leather pieces down and went to get the thread, “Nobody said it was magic.”

“Then how do you explain it?” Spencer asked. He looked at the leather, picking it up and examining it closely.

“The Lord‘s just looking out for us, Spencer.” his father replied and Spencer sat down the leather.

“God made the shoes?” Ryan asked, perplexed.

The cobbler smiled at the boys. “I don‘t know any more than you do,” he told them.

“But you‘re going to leave them out just in case it happens again, right?” Spencer asked and his father nodded.

“I will this time,” he assured them, enjoying the amusement that sparkled in the boys’ eyes. “But don‘t be let down if we have to make these in the morning.”

Ryan and Spencer nodded, but honestly, they hoped it would happen again and even asked God for it in their bedtime prayers.

***

“Boys,” their mother woke them the next morning. “Why don‘t you go check downstairs?”

That was all it took for Ryan and Spencer to scramble out of their warm bed and dart down to the shop in their pajamas. The cobbler, who had really already gone down to the shop that morning, smiled at his wife. He didn’t know who was helping them and making the shoes, but he didn’t think he would ever be able to repay them, not only for providing in their time of need, but for the happiness that their blessing seemed to bring the boys.

“Papa! Papa! Mama!” they called as they raced back up the stairs, both holding brilliant new pairs of shoes.

***

This went on for some time and each evening, the cobbler and his sons would leave out the materials and in the morning new shoes were always ready for them to sell. There was never an error in any stitch on a shoe, every design perfectly created. Not a morning passed that the family didn’t wake up to some newly produced shoes that seemed to create themselves.

With such well-made shoes, the cobbler could afford to charge enough to buy the things they needed most- like extra kindling and cloth for blankets. And in time, the small shop’s business was flourishing and little Ryan and Spencer’s only real work was when they helped their father by sweeping the floors or shining the “magic shoes.” (Ryan and Spencer always insisted they were made by magic, even if they didn‘t tell their father this so often.)

After a few months, Christmas was fast approaching and with all the enchanting things going through the boys’ heads, they thought of one more magical thing besides silver bells and gumdrops- the magical shoes.

“Let‘s us stay up and watch!” little Ryan begged, tugging playfully on his father’s arm. “Let us see who makes the shoes for us!”

“Please, Papa!” Spencer chimed, “We‘ll be the quietest we’ve ever been! We won‘t disturb them.”

With all their excitement, the cobbler finally agreed and asked Ryan and Spencer to hide in the corner behind some curtains there so they would not be seen and discourage whoever had been helping the family. The boys promised over and over to do their best to not be seen and that evening, they ate their supper, said their prayers and crept downstairs to wait.

***

It was midnight and Spencer had fallen asleep on Ryan’s shoulder by the time the doorknob started to jostle. Ryan shook his head a little more awake and shook Spencer quickly. Both boys watched in complete silence as the door unlocked and began to open. Without a further sound, in crept four beings.

Ryan and Spencer blinked their eyes a few times to take in what they were seeing. What appeared to be four older boys and one younger boy all stood in the little shop. They were average sized, but thin, with bright eyes and pale, flawless skin and much to Ryan and Spencer’s delight each one had pointed ears. But what surprised the boys the most was that all of them were naked. The creatures all shivered once inside and then with a few impossibly quiet whispers to one another, each one of them picked up the materials and began to get to work.

Ryan and Spencer watched as they worked with the hammers that seemed to barely make a sound as they pounded away on the leather and their nimble fingers that stitched each thread impeccably and with speed like the boys had never seen before.

Then, when the shoes were finished, the company all inspected their handiwork quickly before setting them right where they’d found the materials. Then they whispered once more to each other and all slipped back out the door and into the cold, locking the lock behind them.

***

Needless to say, the cobbler and his wife didn’t believe them when Ryan and Spencer tried to explain what they’d saw.

“Elves, Mama!” Spencer announced, “With pointed ears and everything!”

“And they made the shoes and left them just like we found them!” Ryan added.

The cobbler and his wife exchanged looks that clearly said that both of them believed Ryan and Spencer must have fallen asleep and either dreamed the nonsense or else woken up later only to realize they’d missed the real helper and made up a story to their liking instead.

“They unlocked the door!” Ryan exclaimed, “From the outside!”

“And they sneaked into the shop!” Spencer piped.

“Then they picked up the things that we left out!” Ryan proclaimed.

“And they made the shoes perfectly!” Spencer rang out.

“They were really quick!” Ryan announced.

“And they mess up not once!” Spencer declared.

“And they didn‘t have any clothes on!” the boys giggled in unison.

Now a wild imagination was one thing, but both boys seemed pretty adamant about these so-called elves. So real in fact, that their parents had no choice but to go along with it, even if they didn’t fully believe them.

***

A few days before Christmas, Ryan and Spencer had still not stopped talking about the things they had seen. They begged their mother for gifts to give to the helpers and eventually they settled on making them some clothes. It seemed only right for the family to help out the ones that had helped them so much and also, they all had to agree that gallivanting around without any clothes on seemed rather indecent.

By Christmas, they all had helped create four decent outfits with trousers and shirts, hats and stockings and their best made shoes. Even though they had guessed at the sizes, Spencer and Ryan thought they’d done and good job. Then on Christmas Eve, instead of materials for shoes, they placed out the outfits and a bit of fruit for a snack and Spencer and Ryan hid to watch them receive their gifts.

***

This time both boys were wide away when the door unlocked and the stealthy elves hurried into the little shop. They watched as the elves curiously examined the clothes placed out on the table. Then, a huge smile spread over one’s face as he shimmied the shirt right over his head, followed quickly by the trousers. The three other boys all watched him dress, then quickly all of them snatched up the clothes in front of them. Quiet laughter could be heard as they all marveled over the gifts. The smallest elf held his clothes up to him and twirled around sprightly.

He hurried into the trousers when something else seemed to catch his eye- the bowl of fruit. He stopped and set aside the other clothes, reaching for a bit of grapes with a wild excitement in his eye. Instantly, he snatched them up and waved them in front of the other, older elves seeming to say, “Look!” and he was so excited he made a high pitched excited meep! right before popping a succulent grape into his mouth. He set them back down and tried to fit himself into his stockings, tripping around a bit as he got them on.

The elves seemed so happy and Ryan and Spencer were so caught up in watching them, that they forgot to stay silent and allowed themselves to laugh lightly at the elves’ excitement. Almost as soon as the sounds left their lips, the elves perked up- smiles gone and bodies tense for a split second before they were all but running out the door.

All except for the smallest one. No, he was still tripping over his stockings trying to get them on and scurry after the other elves at once.

“Wait!” Spencer called, “Wait!” and hurried out from their hiding place. The little elf darted, but found himself cornered in a flash. He dashed under the display table and curled up, ducking his head down and placing his hands over his eyes. Ryan and Spencer both crouched down next to the table and peered under.

“You don‘t have to be afraid,” Spencer whispered to him.

“We‘re nice,” Ryan added. “We made you presents.”

The elf’s whole body shook as he hid and the trembling only became worse once the door to the upstairs opened and the boys’ parents shuffled down them.

“What‘s going on?” their mother called.

“What‘s the shouting?” added their father.

“An elf! We caught one!” Ryan exclaimed.

“What in the name of saints,” their mother gasped as they reached the boys and knelt down next to them.

Sure enough, there under the table was a half-clothed boy, shaking and shivering and scared out of his mind as he hid in his hands.

“Why, he‘s scared to death! What did you boys do?” their mother asked, but Ryan and Spencer just shook their heads.

“They heard us laughing,” Ryan replied. “We didn‘t mean to scare them. Honest!”

Their mother nodded and reached out to the elf, placing a hand on his bare shoulder. “It‘s alright,” she told him softly, even as he shied away from the touch immediately. “My boys are good boys. They‘re not going to hurt you.”

The elf didn’t move until Ryan scuffled a little closer under the table and whispered, “You know, we can still see you with your eyes closed.”

The little elf finally peeked out of a crack between his fingers.

“Hello,” Ryan smiled. “Why are you hiding?”

Spencer stood up and hurried back over to the table and returned a few second later with the articles of clothing the elf had let go of in the confusion and the handful of grapes.

“Um, here,” he said, offering them back to the elf. “You dropped these.”

The elf just eyed them through his fingers for a moment, before he slowly reached out one hand. He pulled his hand back before he actually reached Spencer so Spencer placed the items on the ground between them and the elf snatched the shirt up immediately.

“Put it on! See if it fits!” Ryan cheered and the elf slowly held out the shirt to examine. It took a minute, but he did slip it over his head and with the exception of the sleeves being a little long, it fit very nicely.

The boys squealed excitedly as both reached out, trapping their new friend in a hug. The elf froze, terrified, but Ryan and Spencer didn‘t seem to notice.

“What‘s your name?” Spencer asked once they’d released him from the hug. “I‘m Spencer and this is Ryan and those are our mother and father.”

The elf glanced around at them all, but eventually looked at Spencer and whispered quickly, “Brendon.”

***

It took a lot of convincing, but somehow they managed to get Brendon out from under the table and upstairs into their house. It had to do mostly with the cobbler telling him it was warmer and he could take the fruit upstairs too.

Brendon sat in the corner with Ryan and Spencer on either side, all sharing a blanket over their shoulders and eating the fruit.

“We told you it was magic,” Spencer grinned, an obvious pleased look on his face. “It was really elves and everything!”

“I‘ve never met a real elf before,” Ryan told Brendon, reaching out and touching the tip of Brendon’s pointed ear.

Brendon ducked down a little on instinct, but didn’t scurry away. Ryan just smiled and Spencer looked Brendon over.

“I like him!” he announced. “I think we should keep him!”

Brendon’s eyes suddenly got wide and worried and the boys’ mother laughed. “Don‘t you think he probably has his own family somewhere, Spence?” she asked and little Brendon seemed to relax some.

Eventually, he got up the nerve to reach out and touch the curve of Ryan’s ear too. The concept of rounded ears was just as foreign to him as pointed ones were to Ryan obviously.

“You make our shoes?” Ryan asked as Brendon ran his fingers along the non-pointed back of Ryan’s ear and Ryan giggled.

Brendon pulled back and ducked a little like he was in trouble. His eyes were wide and apologetic as he glanced up at Ryan.

The boy just smiled back. “We like them.”

“You helped our shop!” Spencer added happily.

“You- you like them?” Brendon whispered.

“Like them?” Spencer asked.

“We LOVE them!!” Ryan supplied before Spencer had the chance.

“They‘re fantastic!!” Spencer piped quickly. “Everybody wants them!”

Little Brendon kept looking between the two boys with all of their excitement. Then he looked down at his hands holding a purple grape and his cheeks turned rosy.

“I didn‘t make all of them,” he admitted, still speaking very quietly. “My friends made most of them. They’re bigger and they work faster than I do.”

“We’ll have to thank them as well,” the cobbler spoke up from nearby and Brendon cringed a little.

“I don‘t think they‘ll be back,” he told them, almost scared of their reactions. The shoes had made all of them so happy it seemed and he didn‘t want to anger them now.

“Why not?” Ryan asked.

“Well,” Brendon spoke softly and ran his fingers along the seam of his new trousers, “They‘re really shy.”

“We noticed,” Spencer agreed dimly. “We didn‘t mean to scare them away.”

“Elves don‘t really talk to humans usually,” Brendon admitted timidly. “They don‘t usually even see them.”

“Well, why not?” Spencer questioned. He looked curiously at Brendon who shrugged a little and placed a grape in his mouth. He sat there chewing a little bit before he answered.

“I don‘t know,” he admitted. “No one ever told me that.”

“Will you still come by, Brendon?” Ryan asked, his little face worried that Brendon would say no, but Brendon looked excited and looked down bashfully as he nodded.

“If you want me to.”

“Oh, we‘d love that very much!” Spencer cheered and the boys’ mother smiled as well.

“You‘re welcome to come over any time you‘d like,” she assured the elf and Brendon grinned.

***

The three older elves never returned, but true to his word, little Brendon was there every night. Sometimes Ryan and Spencer waited up for him. Sometimes they fell asleep waiting. Sometimes, they just left Brendon a note that said he could join them upstairs if he wanted. Eventually, Brendon even got brave enough to go upstairs and wake Ryan and Spencer up.

Night after night, week after week, month after month, and year after year, the three boys spent their nights in each others’ company becoming the best of friends and the best of workers. Brendon taught the boys the finest of ways about shoemaking and in return, Ryan and Spencer helped Brendon with making his own clothes so that years later when Ryan and Spencer owned the shoe shop, they would still have the best shoes money could buy and so that years later, no little elf would ever go without a decent outfit.

And Ryan and Spencer were pretty sure that even their friendship with Brendon and all their accomplishments were nothing if not magic.

XO

spencertized — Wed, 12 May 2010 04:57:53 GMT

Title: XO
Author: Kelsey cardenlovah
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Gabe/William
Summary: Taken from the fact that William's favourite Fall Out Boy song is "XO."
Warning: William's underage ass. (He's 16 at the time.)
Disclaimer: Not mine, they still belong to Pete. (I haven't obtained them yet. It really sucks.)

Gabe calmed down the crowd, taking a quick look over the big crowd, all there for Midtown. He smiled, motioning for his band mates to start up the next song as he spotted the young boy in the back of the venue. He mouthed something, too fast for it to be recognizable. But the boy got it.

-«»-«»-«»-«»-«»-

“Hey,” Gabe murmured, slinking up behind the young boy he had seen in the audience earlier that night.

“Hey,” the boy turned, Gabe’s hands on his hips. Gabe raised his eyebrows and the boy nodded. “Yeah, You talk to Pete?” William asked, his young face trusting Gabe.

“Yeah, but it may take a little more convincing,” Gabe replied steadily, keeping an eye on the rest of the fans to make sure that he and the young boy weren’t spotted.

“Whatever it takes,” William agreed automatically, desperate.

“Come on then,” Gabe grabbed the boy’s wrist, pulling him off to the Midtown bus. William followed the older guy onto the bus and to the back lounge. William didn’t see anyone else on the bus, as the band were probably meeting fans and the crew probably loading merch and equipment. Gabe leaned back against the wall, pulling William into a quick kiss before the boy went down on his knees. William licked his lips and unzipped the older man’s washed out jeans, pulling them down to his ankles. William looked up through his hair, meeting Gabe’s eyes just for a second before he licked his lips again and took Gabe’s cock into his mouth. Gabe moaned at the warm wet sensation, his hands finding William’s hair. William tried to open his throat, knowing that in a second Gabe was going to push harder. The first few times they had done this, William had gotten sick when Gabe pushed harder or bucked into his mouth, but he’d been working on getting better at this, and was pretty sure he could take it this time. William tried to swallow, ignoring the sight gag reflex as Gabe went further into his throat.

“Fuck,” Gabe gasped, bucking into the boy’s mouth. William accepted it, moving his tongue along the underside and making Gabe moan again. Gabe tangled his fingers in the boy’s hair, pulling hard as he got a warm feeling in his stomach. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Gabe murmured, panting hard as the feeling took over and he came. William swallowed all of it, moving his tongue around Gabe’s cock through his orgasm. “Fucking hell, you’ve gotten better,” Gabe murmured as he pulled the boy up and kissed him. William looked at Gabe, his eyes questioning.

“I said I’d get you on the tour, right?” Gabe replied. Gabe stood there a few minutes longer, calming himself down and fixing his clothes with William just standing there beside him. “Wanna come to the after party?” Gabe asked, his eyes finally meeting the younger boy’s. William grinned.

“Fuck yeah,” he smiled. This was the first time Gabe had invited him to stay longer, and even if it was just so they could fuck later, William was going to take it. Gabe nodded and stood up fully, no longer leaning against the wall and motioned for William to follow. William followed him off the bus, then around the back of the venue where some of the other band members and crew were.

“Who’s this?” Rob asked, approaching William and Gabe.

“William,” Gabe replied, “he’s coming to the after party,” Gabe stated. William watched as Rob just nodded and walked off. As much as William wanted to tell himself that Gabe didn’t do this to a different person in every city, how the rest of Midtown were just shrugging it off didn’t help him believe that.

“You ready to go, Gabe?” one of the security guys asked and he nodded as he looked at William. Gabe lead William to a SUV that was waiting and they both climbed in. The rest of Midtown soon piled in also and the car started off down the road. Gabe slid his hand in between William’s thighs in the dark car, and William closed his eyes breathing deeply to try to not get hard. The band members laughed and carried on among themselves, leaving William feeling alone, but leaving his mind to focus on not getting too turned on by the hand running up and down his thigh. Soon they pulled up outside of a club and they all got out, walking up to the door. Gabe let all the others go in first, then showed his ID. The bouncer nodded and Gabe pulled a few bills from his wallet out of his pocket, slipping it to the man.

“He’s with me,” Gabe stated, grabbing William’s wrist and walking in. Gabe pulled the boy to the restroom, stopping him once they were inside. “First, don’t leave my side. It’ll be easier to stay out of trouble that way. Second, if you want a drink, tell me, I’ll get it. Third,” Gabe looked up and down the boy, “Just try to look and act older than you are. For my sake, please,” Gabe finished.

“Okay,” William agreed. Gabe smiled then kissed the boy quickly on the lips.

“Come on,” Gabe led the younger boy out of the bathroom then to the bar, ordering two drinks. The bartender handed them over and Gabe thanked him, stepping away from the bar and handing one to William. William took it with a smile, then took a sip of it, trying not to grimace as he swallowed. Gabe laughed as he finished his drink, taking William’s and setting it down on the counter and dragging William out to dance. They stayed at the club for about an hour until Gabe got bored and told his security that they were leaving. He’d had had a few drinks, and William had had only the few sips that he had taken when they first got there. Gabe quickly dragged the young boy out of the club.

Where are we going?” William asked, stopping Gabe by grabbing his arm.

“Hotel,” Gabe murmured, pressing a kiss to the boy’s mouth before he started walking down the sidewalk. William followed him, and they arrived at the hotel a few minutes later. Gabe decided to use the stairs, stumbling up them as he went. Every time he stumbled and saw William, he’d smile and press a kiss to the boy’s lips. William just smiled, following Gabe to the third floor, where Gabe pulled a keycard from his back pocket. He opened the door after a few tries and pulled William into the room. Gabe pushed William against the wall, kissing him hard and grinding against him.

“Fucking hot,” Gabe murmured against the sixteen-year-olds mouth. Gabe hastily moved the boy over to the bed, pushing him down and crawling on top of him. He pulled off William’s shirt, then his own. Gabe sloppily kissed down the boy’s chest , then got to his pants, unzipping them and fighting the tight material off. Gabe sucked on the boy’s hip, licking the skin before pulling away to remove his own pants. He moved back up, kissing William forcefully and grinding their hips together.

“Fuck,” Gabe moaned, reaching down to his packet’s pocket to find a condom. He rolled it onto his cock before reaching up to stick his fingers in William’s mouth. William ran his tongue around the digits, trying to make sure they were as slick and wet as possible. Gabe pulled his fingers from the boy’s mouth and spread William’s legs. He ran his fingers down and pressed at William’s entrance, making the boy gasp.

“Shit,” William murmured, trying to ignore the sharp burn of two of Gabe’s fingers pressing past the muscle of his entrance. Gabe moved his fingers around, scissoring them inside the young boy. William closed his eyes, biting his lip hard as he pushed back against Gabe’s fingers. William moaned as Gabe’s fingers brushed up against his spot then Gabe pulled his fingers out. “Fuck,” William gasped a the emptiness and panted. Gabe spit in his hand and rubbed it on his cock, then pulled William’s legs up on his hips and pressed in. William gasped again, trying to relax but failing horribly. He opened his eyes to blink away some tears, but closed them a moment later as Gabe thrust in again.

“Fucking hell, you’re hot,” Gabe murmured, kissing the boy’s mouth again. Gabe came a few thrusts later, moaning as he did. He pulled out then laid beside William, running his hand down to grip William’s cock. William thrust into his hand a few times, a moan falling from his lips as he came too. Gabe kissed the boy sloppily then relaxed and passed out a minute later.

-«»-«»-«»-«»-«»-

“Hey, kid, wake up,” Gabe murmured, shaking the boy. William turned over and blinked blurrily up at Gabe. “You need to leave,” Gabe told him, throwing his clothes to him. William sat up, noticing Gabe was already dressed and starting to pull on his own shirt.

“Gabe?” William asked as he stood up to get his pants on. Gabe stopped what he was doing and looked at the boy. “Please,” William begged.

“Don’t worry about it,” Gabe instructed. “Just…write your number down.” William, once he was dressed, found the small pad of paper and pen provided by the hotel and scribbled down his phone number. Gabe took it from him when he was done and tucked it in a side pocket of his suitcase. “I’ll have someone call you to inform you on when tour starts,” Gabe stated. “Now, get out.” I’ve got a bus to catch in ten minutes and this room is supposed to be empty.”

“Thanks,” William murmured, checking himself in the hotel mirror before opening the door and leaving in a hurry to get back home before his parents suspected something.

Gabe took a quick look around the hotel room to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything,, spotting a condom wrapper on the floor. He briefly wondered what had happened the night before, but shook it off and quickly left the room.

-«»-«»-«»-«»-«»-

William was sitting on the small couch in their dressing room, just thinking about everything that had happened lately. He was on tour with Fall Out Boy and Midtown and it was a dream come true. William smiled, standing from his seat to go see where the rest of his own band were. He opened the door, almost running into the boy who looked to be on his way into the room.

“Congrats, you’re the cockslut of the tour,” Sisky murmured, pushing past William angrily.

“What?” William asked, confused. “What are you talking about?” Sisky glared at him.

“Ask Gabe, you seem to be pretty close to him,” he muttered in reply. William stood there for a moment before leaving the room to find Gabe.

“Why would you tell everyone?!” William yelled, shoving the Midtown singer from behind. Gabe turned around and William shoved him again.

“William!” Gabe yelled back, grabbing the boy’s wrists and pinning him against the wall. “The fuck? Look, you wanna talk? That’s fine. But don’t you dare fucking push me,” Gabe gritted to the boy. William breathed heavily, glaring at Gabe. “Let’s go talk on my bus,” Gabe suggested, pulling the boy’s wrists to lead him. William stopped, jerking his wrist away.

“I’m not going to your bus with you,” William replied, angrily. They stood their ground, both boys measuring up the other.

“Then what do you want to do, ‘cause I’m not fighting you. Fucking say what the problem is,” Gabe stated.

“Why did you tell everybody,” William asked, his voice quieting more and evening out.

“Tell everyone what?”

“How I got on this tour.”

“I didn’t,” Gabe replied.

“Then how does everyone know?”

“I don’t know,” Gabe replied.

“Sure you don’t,” William scoffed, turning sharp and stalking away from him. Gabe turned around and stood there confused.

-«»-«»-«»-«»-«»-

William kept his distance the next few days, staying away from everyone except his band. And even they weren’t happy with him. He spent these days trying to apologize to his band. Sisky was angry though. He really expected William to be better than that- to let them get into this business on their own, not by sucking the right dicks.

A few states later, William was again sitting on a couch in their dressing room, alone, when there was a slight knock on the door before it opened slowly. Gabe walked in, closing the door behind him. William glanced up, but sighed and looked back down to his notebook when he saw who it was.

“We need to talk,” Gabe stated, taking a very close seat next to William. William huffed but didn’t stop writing. “William,” Gabe called, throwing his arm around the boy’s shoulder and resting his chin on the boy’s shoulder also. “Put it down. Let’s talk,” Gabe murmured softly into his ear. William reluctantly put the notebook aside and looked at Gabe, a hurt look in his eyes. “I found out how everyone heard,” Gabe offered. “Pete Wentz has a big mouth,” Gabe murmured. “I told Pete because Pete and I tell each other everything. We’re really close. And he accidentally said it out loud, because it’s not a big deal to him. A lot of people sleep with people to get big. Especially to get to Pete. It’s not anything big to him, but a lot of them still don’t get anywhere,” Gabe explained. “But William, you have so much potential. You’re gonna make it somewhere if you don’t give it all up now I promise.”

“But everyone already knows now. What’s the point?” William looked at Gabe, defeated.

“Everyone doesn’t know. The fans don’t know. Only the people on this tour know, and we’re good at forgetting,” Gabe smirked. They were quiet for a moment before Gabe spoke up again, this time more serious, and quieter.

“Were you a virgin?” he asked. William bit his lip and he nodded a ‘yes.’

“Do you remember it?” William asked, but very quietly, afraid of the answer. Gabe’s eyes darkened as he shook his head ‘no.’

“But I wish I did,” Gabe added when he saw the disappointment in William’s gaze. “I’m sure you were beautiful,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to William’s cheek.

“Were you sore?” Gabe asked, smirking fondly as he played in the boy’s hair.

“For days,” William replied, a slight laugh at the cocky arrogance in Gabe’s posture.

“Don’t regret it. You got what you wanted, right?”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure it was worth it now,” the eighteen-year-old murmured.

“William, I didn’t pick you because I pitied you. At first, yeah, I did it because you were pretty. William, my god, you’re fucking gorgeous,” Gabe laughed, shaking his head. “But you had so much determination and you wanted it. And…” Gabe paused, the look on his face showing that he was battling on what to say. “And, I like you. Like, everything about you confuses me, but I love it. I found myself looking forward to Chicago shows, just because I knew you would be there. Damn, I like you, William, like, really like you. Not just your body, but everything. I want from you than just a casual fuck,” Gabe laughed quietly, trying to lighten the mood. “Fuck, I talk too much,” he murmured when William didn’t speak.

“So, like…a real relationship?” William questioned, unsure and quiet, afraid he’d jinx it or something.

“Do you know anything about me?” Gabe asked sarcastically. William showed a slight smirk, a look of ‘oh, you definitely don’t want to know how much I know about you’ but somehow still looked worried. “I sleep with a different guy every night. I enjoy having fun and not being tied down. I can’t handle someone expecting me to miss them or wanting me to call them every night before they go to sleep. Half the time I pass out drunk before I even realize that the night is over. I kiss random people that just so happen to look pretty in the light they’re standing in. And I don’t want to hurt you like that. Like it or not, Midtown is ending. And I have no fucking clue what I’m going to do. But your band can go so far. I don’t want to hold you down either. Love doesn’t want me, but I’ll take a chance if you want to….Say something before I keep talking nonsense shit,” Gabe pleaded, trying to shut himself up.

“W-who wouldn’t want to be with you?” William murmured. “You’re Gabe Saporta.”

“Is that a yes to a relationship?” Gabe laughed, quietly.

“Um…maybe,” William scrunched up his face.

“Let’s give it a try for this tour, and just see where we go,” Gabe smiled. William met his eyes, the younger’s eyes trusting. “But you can’t hate me when I fuck something up,” Gabe quickly threw in, smiling. “Good?”

“Good,” William smiled, his eyes shining brightly.

“Alright,” Gabe grinned. William blushed over, realizing how stupid he must look with such a big grin on his face. But Gabe didn’t care. Just made him blush harder by pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Choose love or sympathy, but never both.

The Reasons All Have Run Away

spencertized — Fri, 30 Apr 2010 09:10:19 GMT

Title: The Reasons All Have Run Away
Author: Indy hesmagicandmyth
Rating: PG
Pairing: Either Ryan/Spencer or Ryan/Brendon. (It works either way.)
POV: Either Brendon or Spencer. The 'You' is obviously Ryan.
Summary: You stood there with your wet bare feet and looked up at the treetops and announced you wanted to play house. (Trans!fic.)
Disclaimer: I own nothing and I'm broke.
Author Notes: I also just want to say that since the Bright Eyes song that inspired this is a very personal song for Conor Oberst and family, that I'm not making light of the situation at all. My deepest feelings go out to all of them over what happened.
Also, I don't know why I originally did that with the text. If it bothers you too very much, copy the text and put it in a Word document and fix it or something. I wrote it this way to try to emphasize certain things and because it's mine and I can.

There was a creek and a few trees that grew up along where we used to play.
You were no more than six, I guess, when you stood up and stepped your bare feet out of the water and onto the banks. You grimaced at the mud between your toes, but you loved going
barefoot.

You stood there with your wet bare feet
And looked up at the treetops and announced you wanted to play house. I was only five and I was skeptical, but you said easily, “I‘ll be the mom and you be the dad and we‘ll use Shotgun to be the baby.”

Shotgun, as it turned out, was a great dog, but a bad baby, so
next time we played I sneaked one of my sister’s dolls from her room and brought it to you. You brought pearls from your mother, but you didn’t have to sneak them. Your mother had died when you were three. All you had to do was not wake your father as he slept in his recliner and you quietly let yourself out the back door.

I didn’t understand it, but when you had that string of pearls in your hand
and you showed up at the creek , you looked so excited. I helped you with the clasp as you fit them around your neck, the way your fingers lingered over them and you sighed contently.
And the way you cradled that doll.

You and I brought handfuls of dandelions
and placed them in the middle of a stump and had mud pies and grass salad for dinner. Then you sang the doll lullabies and kissed her plastic cheek. She had a grassy bed next to ours. I remember originally wanting it closer to the creek, but the leaves there you were nearly certain were poison oak so you moved the bed area to further away. It wasn’t a big deal. The beds were just spots in the grass, but you laid down next to me and kissed me quickly.

At the time, it barely crossed my mind that we were both boys.
No one was there to judge our kiss. And you were playing a girls role. And we were just
pretending.

°°°°°°

It was the summer after my eighth birthday
when you and I escaped to the field near the creek. We didn’t play house anymore, but you’d never stopped wearing those pearls. You were upset because your father wanted you to grow out if the stage where you asked to wear your mother’s things. You loved those pearls and you wrapped them around your wrist a few times and vowed they’d always be yours.

We laid in the warm grass
and you made yourself dandelion bracelets to go along with the pearls. You said the yellow reminded you of a bird your mother owned when you were younger. You guessed when she died, your father gave it away or set it free because you didn’t have it anymore.

I asked if you missed her
and you shook your head. You said she was in heaven and in heaven she could have all the birds that she wanted. Anything she wanted. That’s how you knew she was okay and happy. You said quite certainly that was why you were never afraid of dying.

°°°°°°

You were eleven or twelve when I followed you
into your house after fleeing the rain. You lead me to the kitchen, but your cordless phone was missing so we ventured into your parents’ bedroom and used the one on the dresser. I called my mom to tell her I was staying with you till after the rain stopped.

It wasn’t until I hung up that I noticed the locks on some of the drawers.
When I asked you why they were there, you told me it was nothing, but even in my naiveté, you sounded
so fragile.

When we pulled out your top drawer in your room
and dragged out Connect Four and Jenga, I didn’t tell you that I saw the pictures you tried to hide swiftly,
but I still remember your smiling face on that self-taken Polaroid and the way your mother’s dress
had sleeves that were too long for you.

°°°°°°

You didn’t even have a license yet
when you left your house screaming. You told your father you were never coming back,
but even as you got into his car and backed out of the driveway, I didn’t believe you.
You left so fast and you were so angry, I don’t know if you even saw me standing there.
I don’t think it was your anger that blinded you though. I think it was the tears I saw you wiping away as you started down the street.

°°°°°°

I always expected to see you again.
Even though you’d left home and never glanced back and I’d gone to high school and college in that same lonely town. I always thought we’d cross paths again.

That doesn’t mean I was at all prepared,
as I sat in a bar in the city some ten years later, for a stranger near me to walk up in a sleek black dress and order a drink. I didn’t bother to look at the woman until her hand reached out to pay and a
pearl necklace was wrapped around her wrist
familiarly.

I turned around quickly
to look at the stranger and you-
you weren’t at all what I expected.

°°°°°°

“Excuse me,”
you spoke and you said it so quietly I had to read your lips.
Then you slipped through the crowd, leaving your drink at the bar.

“Ryan!” I called,
but you had ducked into the restroom. When I reached the door, the sign on it seemed to be
taunting me.

°°°°°°

You hid in that damn restroom all night,
so I sat outside until the bar closed and you crept out.

“Ryan,” I spoke
when you reached your car. You spun around so fast and you probably felt
cornered.

“That‘s not my name
anymore,” was all you replied.
You sounded scared. Terrified.

“I just want to talk.”
I raised my hands to show my innocent intentions.
“Please?”

°°°°°°

I guess you trusted me
more than you thought because you told me to follow you and led me back to
your place.

“You- you want coffee?”
you asked after you got the door open and left me standing in your foyer. You went to start the coffee maker and I peered into your den. A white cage set in the corner with a few
yellow birds perched in it.

You returned
with two mugs a few minutes later and handed one to me before you toed off your heels and climbed barefoot onto the sofa. You reached and pulled your hair down and it fell in
loose curls around your shoulders.
Then you looked at me hesitantly like my heart wasn’t beating,
I have found you, I have found you.

You motioned for me
to sit down, and when I did,
it felt like home.

There's No Such Thing As A Miracle

spencertized — Sun, 27 Sep 2009 05:50:59 GMT

Title: There's No Such Thing As A Miracle
Author: Kelsey cardenlovah
Rating: pg-13 for mentions of death
Pairing: Gen, off-screen Gabilliam and Ryan/Brendon/Shane
POV: 3rd
Summary: Based of the Boys Like Girls Lyric "I found out there's no such thing as a miracle."
Disclaimer: I don't own William or Gabe. (And normally I would put here that William having a child is debateable, but it's not now!)
Author Notes: My sister and I often exchange random prompts, and the lyric was one she gave me. Normally we try to write just drabbles, but many turn into standalones, or as I accidentally said the other day, "Drabbalones." Enjoy and comments are love!

William knocked on the door in front of him, waiting for it to open. A moment later the door swung open and the boy froze, looking at William.

“Hey, Ryan,” William greeted, biting his lip as he waited for Ryan to reply.

“Bill,” Ryan said simply. “Why are you here?” William stood there, silent for a moment.

“I-I don’t know,” William stuttered, shaking his head. “I’m-I’m sorry. I’ll just go,” he finished, turning and heading back to his car.

“Bill,” Ryan called out, stopping him. “Come in.” William turned looking at his old friend. “Come in,” Ryan repeated.

“You sure?” William asked with a confused look.

“Yeah,” Ryan smiled as William walked back to his door and Ryan lead him into the living room.

“You okay?” Ryan asked, sitting down on the loveseat, William on the couch. William stared at him for a moment before a tear ran down his cheek and he shook his head ‘no.’

“Did Gabe do something? Are you guys still together?” Ryan asked, worried about his friend.

“Yeah. H-he’s great. It’s not Gabe,” William wiped his tears away with his hand, but more came.

“What’s wrong?” Ryan asked, still worried.

“We wanted a child,” William explained. “And we adopted one.” Before William could continue, the front door of the house opened and two loud boys started through the house.

“One moment,” Ryan said, standing and heading to the door of the room and meeting the two boys there. He kissed both of them, then quietly said something. The taller one with curly-ish hair smiled at William then placed his hand on the shorter boy’s waist as he murmured something to Ryan. The shorter boy was bouncing on the balls of his feet, curiously watching Ryan, his eyes occasionally flicking to William. At the same time, the three boys nodded, making an agreement. Ryan again kissed both of them and the two boys turned and walked away much quieter then they had come. William heard the front door close as Ryan sat back down.

“Sorry, that was Brendon and Shane,” Ryan explained. “They’re um, my boyfriends.”

“You didn’t have to cancel your plans with them,” William told him carefully, but he slightly smirked at the difference between him and Ryan. Whereas he and Gabe wanted a child, Ryan and Brendon wanted another boyfriend.

“It’s okay. I’m gonna catch up with them later. You can continue what you were saying,” Ryan smiled. Another tear ran down William’s face as his mind traveled back to what he was saying and he looked at the ground.

“We adopted a daughter,” William choked. “And she got cancer. We prayed for a miracle for months,” William coughed as more tears came. “But we found out there’s no such thing as a miracle,” William choked back tears. “She started rejecting the chemo and we lost her two weeks ago.” William wiped away even more tears and Ryan stood up, walking briskly over to him and pulling his friend into a hug. When William had ran away three years ago to be with Gabe, Ryan had missed his friend a lot, but knew he was happier with Gabe. Now his friend was back, but heartbroken, and Ryan couldn’t help but want to fix it.

“Did you tell your parents?” Ryan asked, his fingers playing in the boy’s hair.

“I went to their house, my mom opened the door, asked if I was still with Gabe, closed the door in my face when I said ‘yes.’” William explained.

“Why’d you come back?” Ryan asked.

“I just needed to get out of our house for a while. Everything there reminds me of her. Gabe’s still there, cleaning it out and trying to sell the house. Then we’re going to buy a different one,” William explained, stopping several times.

“Where are you going while you’re here?” Ryan asked, still holding his friend.

“I don’t know,” William admitted.

“Stay here,” the other boy requested carefully. “We’ve got plenty of room and Shane and Bren would love to meet you,” Ryan begged. “I’ve missed you being here.”

“You sure?” William asked.

“Most definitely,” Ryan stated. “But right now why don’t you come with me to meet up with Brendon and Shane. We’re going bowling. Come kick our asses and take Brendon’s ego down,” Ryan laughed quietly. “He always wins.” William smiled for the first time in months as he kissed his friends cheek.

“Thanks,” William laughed.

spencertized — Sat, 16 May 2009 06:35:42 GMT

Title: El Cuerpo
Author: Kelsey cardenlovah
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Gabilliam, Slight Alex/Nate
POV: 3rd
Summary: William can't pass his Spanish test without a little help from his friends.
Disclaimer: I know William's trying to learn Spanish? But Gabe and William didn't know each other in high school, so clearly this didn't happen.
Author Notes: Um..I had my Spanish test today. I did not have Gabe Saporta help me. This is what we call a tragedy. But hopefully I still did well. Feel free to point out any mistakes and please comment! <3

“Fuck it! I hate Spanish!” William cursed as he threw his pen on the ground next to his book and fell backwards, lying on the carpet.

“Excuse me?” Gabe asked, walking in and cocking a hip as he looked at his boyfriend on the ground.

“Not like, Spanish people or anything, more like…” William paused, “I’m just going to fail my Spanish test tomorrow.” Gabe knelt down beside the boy and looked at the book.

“This is so easy,” Gabe commented.

“You’re Spanish, of course you think that!” William rolled his eyes at his boyfriend. Gabe sighed and crawled up his boyfriend’s body.

“La boca,” Gabe murmured, kissing the boy on the mouth. Gabe nodded to the boy and William repeated him.

“Mouth?” William asked. Gabe nodded and kissed him again.

“La boca,” Gabe kissed the boy again and smiled. “Los brazos,” Gabe murmured, pulling the boy’s arms around his neck and kissing his forearms.

“Arms,” William smiled, “los brazos.”

“Bien,” Gabe smirked, “las piernas.” William giggled as Gabe pulled his legs up around his waist then struggled before standing and carrying him to his bedroom.

“Legs,” William giggled as Gabe laid him on the bed. “Las piernas.”

“Sí,” Gabe kissed the boy’s lips again, then looked at him questioning.

“La boca,” William grinned as Gabe nodded and crawled on the bed over his boyfriend.

“Los manos,” Gabe said, kissing the palm of William’s hand. “Hands.”

“Los manos,” William said, lacing one hand with Gabe’s.

“Camiseta, pantalones,” Gabe murmured, as he pulled William’s shirt over his head, then started working on his pants.

“Seriously? This is how you plan on making me remember Spanish?” William laughed as Gabe pulled off his own pants and let them join William’s on the floor.

“Sí, seriamente,” Gabe murmured, smiling as he pulled the boy‘s boxers off leaving him completely naked. “El pene,” Gabe laughed as he ran his wrapped his hand around William cock and William bit his lip before letting out a quiet laugh.

“Not on the test, Gabe,” William panted, biting his lip again. Gabe laughed then gently ran his finger’s up the boy’s sides and onto the boy’s mouth.

“Los dedos,” Gabe murmured as he slipped his fingers into William’s mouth. William sucked on the fingers for a second before running his tongue all the way around them, getting them all wet before Gabe slipped them out.

“Los dedos,” William murmured, laying his head back on a pillow and spreading his legs, waiting. “fingers,” William gasped as Gabe ran his fingers around the boy’s entrance. “Oh, fuck.” William panted as Gabe slipped his fingers into the boy’s entrance.

“What’s mouth?” Gabe asked, pressing his lips briefly to William’s then pulling away and stilling his fingers, waiting for an answer.

“La..” William panted, thinking. “La boca. Please move.”

“And legs?” Gabe asked, slightly moving his fingers inside the boy then stopping again for the answer.

“La piernas,” William murmured, pushing against Gabe’s fingers as Gabe scissor them inside the boy.

“Bien. What’s mano?” Gabe asked, finding William’s prostate with his fingers then pulling his fingers out when William bucked up and moaned loudly.

“Oh, fuck...uh, hand,” William groaned. “Please,” William whined.

“La espalda,” Gabe said, “What is it?”

“I don’t know. You haven’t said that one,” William panted, looking pleadingly at Gabe.

“Back,” Gabe murmured. “Espalda is back. El pie is foot.”

“Espalda is back. Pie is foot,” William panted. “Please, now, Gabe.”

“Remember those,” Gabe commented, smirking. Gabe leaned over to William’s dresser and pulled a condom out of the drawer then leaned back over his boyfriend. Gabe put the condom on then made sure William’s legs were securely around his waist. “Ready?” Gabe asked, smiling.

“Fuck yeah,” William replied, waiting impatiently for Gabe. Gabe carefully pushed in then leaned down to kiss the boy.

“Fingers,” Gabe asked, stilling inside the boy.

“Dedos,” William grunted, gasping as Gabe quickly pulled out and thrust back in.

“Foot.”

“Pie,” William gasped.

“Bien. Brazo,” Gabe panted, thrusting in again and hitting William’s prostate dead on.

“Arm,” William screamed, and Gabe was very glad that William’s parents weren’t home.

“Espalda,” Gabe grunted, thrusting into his boyfriend roughly.

“Back,” William moaned, throwing his head back with his mouth open. “Fuck, Gabe, I’m gonna - Gabe.” Gabe ran his hand down the boy’s side and kissed his neck.

“Come then,” Gabe whispered, licking the boy’s neck.

“Fuck,” William arched his back, coming all over their chests and Gabe’s hand.

***

William filled in the last blank and quickly looked over the test, checking his answers and trying to will his boner to go away before he had to get up to turn the test in. William sighed and pulled down his hoodie before standing and walking up to the table where his teacher sat and the test was to be turned in.

“May I use the restroom?” William whispered, placing his paper on the stack. The teacher nodded, not even looking up and William quickly thanked him before heading out of the room and to the bathroom. “Fuck,” William murmured to himself as he reached the bathroom door. One of the stall doors opened and Nate walked out, his cheeks flushed and hair messed up.

“Wow,” William laughed, “Alex help you learn Spanish?” But before the end of the question, Alex walked out of the stall, cheeks also flushed and sweaty.

“Um, good luck,” Alex murmured to Nate as he walked past and William laughed fully. Nate blushed fiercely.

“I’m obviously not the only one. I’ll leave you alone,” Nate smirked as he quickly fixed his hair in the mirror and walked out. William blushed back before quickly going to occupy the empty stall. Fucking Spanish.

~El Fin~

Penny For Your Thoughts

spencertized — Mon, 13 Apr 2009 05:00:28 GMT

Title: Penny For Your Thoughts
Author: Kelsey cardenlovah
Rating: G
Pairing: gen
Summary: Pennies, puppies and other stuff like that.
Disclaimer: Not real, but I bet Singer wishes it were.
Author Notes: Just wrote this after discussing it one day. It should come true. Singer would like it.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Cash asked as he picked up a penny off the parking lot they had just stopped in for the night’s show.

“I want a puppy,” Singer made a pouty face, but took the penny and stuck it in his pocket.

***

“That’ll be 11.94,”the cashier told Sonny and he paid for his food and the cashier gave him back his change. Sonny looked at the change then held out his hand with the nickel and penny to Singer.

“Nickel and penny for your thoughts?” he asked, smirking.

“I really want a puppy,” Singer said then took the change and stuck it in his pocket.

When they got back to the van that night, Singer stuck the change into a side pouch in his suitcase before climbing into the van with the others.

***

“Penny for your thoughts?” Ian asked, picking up a penny from the stage when they walked on stage for sound check.

“I want a puppy,” Singer said, then stuck the penny in his pocket and turned to his microphone to start the sound check.

***

“Penny for your thoughts?” Marshall asked, holding out a penny that he had just picked up from the venue’s floor to Singer.

“I wanna puppy,” Singer pouted, taking the penny and sticking it into his pocket.

***

William smiled from across the room and started walking toward the younger boy.

“Alex! Long time no see. What’s up?” he asked, smiling to the younger boy. Alex shrugged and William sat there for a second then reached in his pocket and pulled out a penny. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“I want a puppy,” Singer pouted, then smiled to William as he stuck the penny in his pocket.

***

“Penny for your thoughts?” Singer’s mom asked, smiling at her son as she picked up a penny from the sidewalk and handed it to him.

“I want a puppy,” he pouted. She smiled, good naturedly at him as they kept walking down the street. When Singer got home he emptied the pouch form his suitcase into a jar and smiled before going to find something else to do.

***

“Penny for your thoughts?” Cassadee asked, smiling at Singer.

“I want a puppy,” Singer smiled as he took the penny and stuck it in his pocket then continued talking to the girl and the rest of her band.

***

“Penny for your thoughts, dude,” Mike tossed a penny toward Singer and Singer caught it and stuck it in his pocket.

“I want a puppy!” Signer called back, smiling.

***

“Penny for your thoughts?” Travis asked, handing Singer a penny. Singer opened his mouth to speak but Travis spoke before him. “You want a puppy.” Singer grinned and nodded.

***

“Pennies for your thoughts,” Gabe called, tossing a whole roll of pennies to Singer and Singer smirked as he caught them.

“I want a puppy!” Singer called back and Gabe smiled.

“Me too!”

***

“Penny for your thoughts?” Jon asked, handing a penny to Ian.

“Singer wants a puppy,” Ian said, then handed the penny over to Singer who was sitting beside him, talking to Brendon.

***

“Penny for your thoughts, Dollar for your insides,” Pete said, handing Singer a dollar and penny.

“I don’t want to give my insides away, but I’ll take the money,” Singer smiled, and put it in his pocket. “And I want a puppy.”

***

“Penny for your thoughts,” Logan said, smiling as she hugged Singer.

“I want a puppy and I’m happy to see you,” Singer smiled back, hugging her.

*** A year later

Singer counted the rolls then sat them down and wrote the total down on a piece of paper. Johnson glanced at the paper then reached in his pocket.

“Don’t forget tax,” he whispered, smiling. Singer beamed up at him and took the five dollar bill that Johnson was handing him.

“Thanks.”

***

“Are you sure that’s the one you want?” the lady asked, looking at the puppy in the cage.

“Yes,” Singer beamed at the little puppy yelping in the cage as the lady opened the cage and pulled it out. She carried it to the front and he paid with the money he had just got from exchanging the change for dollars at the bank.

***

Singer walked into the house and smiled. “I’m home,” he called, smiling as he heard his sister come running.

“Alex!!!” she yelled running to him before she spotted the moving bundle in his arms and her eyes got wider. “Puppy!”

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked, pulling out a penny from his pocket that was left over.

“I like your puppy,” she smiled and took the penny before reaching out to the puppy. The puppy yelped and happily licked her hand.

“I like him too.”

Sand In Your Shoes

spencertized — Wed, 18 Mar 2009 02:46:07 GMT

Title: Sand In Your Shoes
Author: Kelsey cardenlovah
Rating: G
Pairing: Gavin Phillips/Dan Young (This Providence)
POV: 3rd
Summary: Beaches are hot. Dan is hot. They go nicely in this story...
Disclaimer: Not how Gavin and Dan met. Not how the song was written. Not a bit real.
Author Notes: GO.BUY.THE.NEW.THIS.PROVIDENCE.ALBUM.NOW!

“Just go talk to him already,” David sighed from where he was sitting on the couch in the living room in the rental house that he shared with his best friend Gavin and boyfriend Andy.

“I don’t even know him!” Gavin defended, but didn’t take his eyes from the boy walking down on the beach.

“Yeah, but you’ve been watching him for the past hour. You should feel like you know him from watching him that long.” Andy commented from beside his boyfriend.

“Shut up,” Gavin sighed still watching the boy.

“You really should go,” David commented then looked back down to the computer in his lap. The room was silent for a few more minutes with only the sounds coming from David typing.

“Alright, I’m going!” Gavin sighed with his forehead wrinkled as he stood up and headed for the door. Both David and Andy smirked then watched as Gavin slipped on flip flops and walked out the door.

“When you’re only eighteen and you’ve got nothing to lose,” the boy sang loudly to himself then sighed and kicked some water as a wave rushed up to wash over his feet again as he walked down the beach. “Damn, I why can’t I come up with more lyrics!” the boy sighed heavily then kicked more water. “When you’re only eighteen and you’ve got nothing to lose,” the boy sang again, then kicked more water.

“And you’re living the dream with the sand in your shoes,” Gavin said, just loud enough for the boy to hear him. The boy spun around, surprised at the other voice, and blushed.

“Um, hi,” the boy said.

“Hi, and, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Gavin commented walking closer.

“No, it’s just, - uh- I didn’t see anyone come out here,” the boy replied, blushing again. And Gavin could get high from this boy’s accent. Or maybe he already is, he just doesn’t realize it because he’s already high from the beauty of his face.

“You write lyrics?” Gavin asked smiling as they walked closer together.

“Uh, yeah, it’s kind of just a pastime. Or, my parents wish it was. I kind of want to be a singer, but that’s unlikely,” the boy admitted, again blushing and looking down this time so his pretty dark brown hair covered his face.

“No, you’re actually pretty good,” Gavin commented back, smiling.

“Uh, thanks,” the boy blushed but smiled at Gavin. “Are you from around here?”

“No, my friends and I are just down here for a few weeks for the summer, we‘re from Seattle,” Gavin said. “Actually, we’re trying to promote our band some here.” he admitted, smiling. “And actually, we’re looking for a lead singer if you’re interested.” Gavin added as a second thought. He surely wouldn’t mind being around this boy’s voice all the time.

“I’m from here, but my family recently moved to Washington. I’m here visiting old friends that I had to leave. And thanks on the band thing, but I wouldn’t want to join without you talking to your band mates some,” Dan smiled.

“They wouldn’t mind. They’re actually up in our rental house right now. I could go get them if you want to meet them. Or um, we could all meet up tomorrow or something,” Gavin offered, smiling.

“Uh, um, I guess. Sure, Tomorrow would be fine,” Dan said.

“Okay, one thing first.” Gavin said before he left to go get David and Andy.

“Yeah?” the beautiful Australian accent rang clear.

“What’s your name?”

“Dan. Yours?”

“Gavin. Um, could you give me your number so I can call you tomorrow?”

“Um, I don’t have a pen, uh-”

“Um, here. Write it on my arm,” Gavin said, handing Dan a sharpie from his jeans pocket. At this point, Gavin was glad that they had had a show earlier that afternoon and he had a sharpie in his pocket.

“Okay.” Dan carefully wrote the numbers on Gavin’s arm before smiling up at him. “Thanks.” Dan blushed again.

“No problem. I’ll call you tomorrow. Gavin smiled and turned to walk back to their rental house. Right before he made it off the beach he heard the boy start singing again.

“When you’re only eighteen and you’ve got nothing to lose, and you’re living a dream with the sand in your shoes. Falling in love is easy, it’s easy to do. When you’re dancing on the beach where the water meets your feet, And a cool ocean breeze is fighting the heat. I said, falling in love is easy, it’s easy to do, it’s easy to do, I’m falling for you.”

Keep Tossing Rocks At Your Window

spencertized — Wed, 18 Mar 2009 01:20:04 GMT

Title: Keep Tossing Rocks At Your Window
Author: Lindsey hesmagicandmyth
Rating: G
Pairing: Andy Horst/David Blaise (This Providence)
POV: 3rd
Summary: It's a drabble. It won't take you two seconds to read it and find out.
Disclaimer: Yeah, right. I totally own two boys from the other side of the country and I keep them in a shoebox under my bed. Get real. Overused lyrics from We The Kings.
Author Notes: Go buy This Providence's new album "Who Are You Now?" out today (if you haven't already, that is).

A tiny rock hit the window for the sixth time since midnight and Andy sighed, turning over in his bed and trying to ignore the small sound each one made. Another tapped against the window and the stone hit the ground.

Andy remained still.

When the eighth rock hit the window lightly, Andy smirked slightly, but didn’t make an effort to get up.

And he waited. But no stone hit the window.
So he waited some more.
But no pebbles disturbed him again.

After a few minutes of silence, he sat up and looked toward the window. His brow wrinkled and he pushed the covers off himself, standing up and slipping his feet into flip flops.

When he stepped out the back door, he could see the boy in the branches of the old tree that leaned from the yard next door and over the fence into Andy‘s yard.

Andy walked to right under the branch the boy was on and looked up at him. He wrinkled his nose a little and smiled, “Were you just gonna give up?”

David sighed exaggeratedly and looked up the moon above them. “Nope. Just ran out of rocks.”

“You enjoying it up there or do you wanna come inside?”

David smiled and looked back down to Andy. “You have to ask?”

Andy held his arms up and braced them as David grasped Andy’s hands to support himself and hopped down from the tree.

“Come on, isn’t it time you were in bed?” Andy laughed as they walked back toward the house.

David shook his head and reached to open the door. “Shut up, it’s not me who was awake waiting for pebbles to hit my window.”

Andy just grinned and nodded David into the house ahead of him.

Deafening Silence- Chapter One

spencertized — Wed, 04 Feb 2009 19:10:00 GMT

Title: Deafening Silence
Author: Lindsey hesmagicandmyth
Rating: Overall, probably PG-13
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon, side of Gabe/William and Jon/Spencer
Summary: A slave!fic that takes place in Europe in the 1600s(ish).
Disclaimer: None of the guys are really slaves and even if they were, they belong to Pete so none of this is true. Title stolen from Mayday Parade (well, kind of).
Author Notes: This may or may not have been inspired by some BDSM fic that I read with a collar involved. I have a weakness for collars. This fic however has nothing to do with BDSM.
And when I said I'd try to have the fist chapter up by Friday, I really meant allow me to leave my notebook containing the story at work over the weekend and then allow LJ to close when I do go to post it and all that jazz. So, how is mid-Wednesday for you?

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Ryan sat down his cards and sighed, “I should stop playing against you, Mike. You‘d think I‘d learn.”

“A Ross never learns.” Mike laughed back. “Or at least, you never have,”

“I owe you,“ Ryan muttered with a shake of his head as he pushed a few gold coins toward his friend. He stood up from the table, reaching for his overcoat. “I owe you.”

“Yeah, you owe me,” Mike agreed with a smirk. “Big.”

“Oh, fine..” Ryan sighed overdramatically, “Take Billiam. I should replace him anyway.”

“You selling him?” Mike asked, looking horribly confused.

“Not on your life, Carden.” Ryan grinned at the slave on the floor by his feet and picked up the leash connected to his collar. “William’s the best slave a man could ever own.” he complimented and William stood with the movements of the leash.

“I’ll pay the rest to you next time I see you,” Ryan promised Mike, “But right now, I’ve got to get downtown before everything’s picked over. People to see.” he said with a playful raise of his eyebrows.

“Yeah, yeah” Mike nodded, “Just don’t gamble against any of them!” he called after the two as they exited the parlor.

“Why are we going downtown? Are you filling Brent’s place?” William asked once they were on the road.

“Well, I was just going to help Gabe pick out a few slaves to help with his latest building project, but if you see a slave that just catches your eye as a replacement, let be know.”

William nodded, “Deal.” It didn’t offend him to hear Ryan refer to himself or any of the others as slaves. It’s what they were and they knew it. To them, it felt much the same as referring to the workers in the city as shoemakers and blacksmiths. It’s not an insult if it’s a fact.

Ryan and William only regretted the term on the rare occasion that they visited the slave market and saw it carved into the sign on the iron fence that kept the market outside the city. It was that rare occasion that William always remembered the difference- there were no markets selling shoemakers or blacksmiths.

“Gabe!” Ryan called across the loud, boisterous sounds of the market- sounds
they tried their best to block out: families crying inconsolably as they were sold apart, whips cracking down over bare skin, the angry yells of slave drivers, and other things that would keep William up at night.

“Can we hurry please?” William asked his master.

“Of course,” Ryan replied as Gabe approached them with his favored slave at his heels.

The taller man grinned when he’d walked closer. “And how are you two gentleman this afternoon?”

“I’m not a gentleman.” William mumbled as a blush swept lightly over his cheeks.

“Don’t tell me what you are or are not, “Gabe pretended to order. “If you act like a gentleman, then you are one.”

“How many?” Ryan asked, ignoring them and motioning toward the caravans nearby. Gabe looked out over the different slave drivers and their pathetic stock.

“Three?” he spoke, half question, half statement. William looked somewhat disappointed so Gabe retried his answer, “Maybe four.” And William looked slightly happier.

“Alright then,” Ryan nodded to himself, walking off with William in the direction of a caravan that looked to have the most slaves available.

“Come on, Nate,” Gabe said, tugging the leash of the boy behind him and both following Ryan.

“Need some who can work and not put up a fight,” Ryan informed the slave driver when he’d gotten close enough to talk to the man. He looked around the group of slaves. It seemed all of them were thin and half-starved, not even close to being healthy enough to work like they should, but Ryan didn‘t argue because none of the market’s slaves had looked decent in months. Every mass of them brought through were just as starved as the next. “Young, strong workers. We’re building.” Ryan said like it would make a difference.

The slave driver motioned to one of his workers. “224.”

Instantly the other man went and removed the shackles from the ankles of a young, thin boy. Ryan and Gabe glanced at one another and then the merchandise they were being offered. This was the best in stock?

Gabe shrugged and circled the boy, looking him over carefully. He wasn‘t necessarily paying attention to his red hair or half-tattooed arms, but more his structure and whether or not he figured he‘d hold up under pressure. “You’ve got all of your teeth?” he asked.

The boy deemed “224” opened his mouth to show his potential owner a full set of teeth.

“Can you work hard?”

“Yes, m’ lord,” his words returned unconvincingly.

Gabe nodded and looked over to the slave driver. “I need three more like this one.”

The man nodded and listed off a few more numbers to his men, resulting in six boys like “224” being dragged from their places in the masses to a small line-up in front of the two masters.

Gabe looked over one boy as Ryan looked over the next.

Fairly quickly, Gabe approved the first boy. He was shorter in stature than the one he’d picked the moment before, but he looked like he might be stronger. Not to mention, his arms were covered in tattoos, which seemed to give the idea that he was tougher than he appeared to be. Still, it was hard for anyone to look too tough with their ribs showing and dirt caked in their light brown hair (it could possibly even be blond if they washed it). Gabe decided though that his face was kind enough and his face seemed resigned so he’d do.

Ryan approved the boy next to him, “153” as the tattoo on the side of his waist said. His ribs showed too, but his arms were equally covered in different intricate patterns of ink, and he didn’t seem to want to put up a fight. Not to mention, his jet black hair and lightly tanned skin made him stand out just enough that Ryan thought he was pretty enough to need to keep.

Then Gabe pointed out a boy on the other end of the line. “Ry-” he motioned his friend over and gestured toward the boy.

The slave in front of them was average height, lean build, and rather young- still a teenager if they had guess. He had curly dark brown hair that fell just a little below his shoulders, and what appeared to be a once rather toned torso…before the food had been withheld from him long enough to dissolve much of the appearance he‘d probably once had.

“This is a worker?” Gabe asked the slave driver skeptically.

“He is now,” the gruff man replied sharply, causing Gabe and Ryan to glance knowingly at one another. This boy had never seen a day of work outside of his master’s bedroom.

“I’m not looking to work one of them to death,” Gabe spoke sternly to the slave driver. “I don’t like this market and I don’t want to have to come back soon.” He reached up to feel the slave boy’s arm and the boy shied away, scared of the swift movement. Gabe, Ryan, William, and Nate all shared in their look of disapproval. “Is he going to be able to work or not?”

“He’ll work just fine,” the driver promised and Gabe motioned for the boy to join the other three slaves he’d chosen.

The remaining boys in the line were ordered back to their places where they could be reshackled. William’s face fell as he watched them, as the one with flowers tattooed to his left arm saw Gabe pay for the boys he’d chosen. If William had of blinked, had of not paid as close attention, he would have missed it, but he didn’t. The slave boy blinked and a single tear hit the dusty ground beside his bare feet.

“Ryan-” William whispered and his master turned his attention to the direction he saw William staring. “That one?”

Ryan trusted his slave’s judgment enough to stop the man placing shackles on the boy’s ankles.

“Excuse me,” he called, “bring that one back over here. Let me see him.”

The man led the slave back over to the potential customer and Ryan sighed.

“Teeth?” he questioned and the slave looked up and opened his mouth, but Ryan didn’t pay very much attention to his teeth. All he saw were big, brown eyes and lush, light pink lips, dark brown hair falling over the slaves face some.

“How much?” Ryan asked immediately. William smiled, pleased with himself as Ryan reached into his pocket for his money.

The boy, according to his waist’s tattoo- 289, looked down at his feet now free, but didn’t fight when the cheap rope was placed around his neck. He was captive, and he was used to it. After all, he’d never known any different.

Ryan’s hand held firmly to the rope’s end all the way home, afraid the boy would try to make a run for it and when they reached the edge of the Ross property, Ryan reached and unclasped the leash from William’s collar.

“Run ahead and tell Patrick to heat water for a bath. One for me and you and one for our newcomer.”

William nodded and headed briskly for the house. Ryan watched him with a small smile, then turned to his newest purchase.

“What’s your name? I mean, surely it’s not some number really.”

A hollow voice spoke up, but the boy never took his eyes off the path in front of them, “It’s Brendon.”

“Brendon.” Ryan responded. “Yeah, that’s better than a number. Where are you from, Brendon?”

The slave’s brow furrowed a moment. He had to answer. Had to, but… “The coast?” he answered, but it sounded more like he was asking, trying to tell if that was a sufficient answer.

“How old are you?” Ryan asked.

Brendon flipped out a few fingers hastily by his side as if he were counting before finding the nerve to ask, “It it April?”

“April starts next week.” Ryan told him gently.

“I will be twenty-two in early April.”

“I turned twenty-two this past August.” Ryan volunteered as if Brendon cared about his new master’s birthday.

When the house come into view, Darren was out drawing in the horses. A smile spread across Ryan’s face and he looked at Brendon in the darkening sunset. “Do you like animals?”

“They’re fine.” Brendon replied, expecting to be told he’d be sleeping with them or something.

“Can you lead horses, feed, groom, train them?” Ryan asked.

Brendon paused a moment and took his eyes off the path to look at the field and stable in the distance. “I- I probably could, but I don’t know how really. I haven’t worked with animals since I was ten or so, I guess.”

Ryan nodded, more to himself than to Brendon before commenting, “We used to have another slave working in the stables with Darren, but when my father passed away this past year, he freed him and I was left to take over the estate and find someone to help Darren. You shouldn‘t have any problems getting along with him. He‘s lived here seven, eight years, I think and so he should be able to show you around just fine.”

Brendon didn’t say anything, just looked back at his feet and followed Ryan to the house. William opened the door when Ryan and Brendon reached the side entrance.

“Thank you,” Ryan told the boy at the door and Brendon had to look up to double check that there was a collar around William’s neck. He’d been enslaved for nearly twenty-two years and no master had ever told him thank you for anything. Brendon wondered what it took to be worthy of a thank you from this new master.

Ryan walked with Brendon and William to a room toward the back of the house.

“Ryan,” Patrick greeted with a smile, “Marshall and Ian are heating your bath.” He reached and took Ryan’s coat for him. “Should Greta-”

“Yeah-” Ryan nodded, taking his coat from Patrick and handing it to William. “On your way back, tell Greta to get materials ready and bring a measuring tape.”

When William nodded and was gone, Ryan turned back to Patrick.

“This is Brendon,” he spoke and Patrick held out his hand to the new arrival.

“Patrick,” he informed and Brendon nodded until he saw Patrick reach next to his side and take his hand to shake. Brendon felt the hand around his firmly and brought his eyes up slowly to check around Patrick’s neck, but was startled at what he found - no collar.

“I’ll leave him with you,” Ryan spoke to Patrick and Patrick nodded.

As Ryan left, Patrick latched the door . “So you’re filling in for Brent now?”

Brendon looked down, “The stables?” he asked weakly.

“Yes, that’s right,” Patrick responded, checking the temperature of the water he had heating over the fire. “How long were you with the caravan?”

Brendon thought, “Since last summer, m’ lord.”

“Patrick,” the servant quickly corrected, “Call me Patrick. I’m not your master.”

Brendon nodded again.

There was a soft knock on the door and Patrick opened the door to a blond girl with a smiling face.

Brendon didn’t understand when Greta first went to work, making small talk and measuring him- the length of his arms, the distance from his waist to the floor. When Greta told him his clothes would be ready tomorrow, Brendon took a moment to process it all. New clothes. He’d never had new clothes. Slaves don’t receive new clothes. And these would be personal, tailored to fit Brendon. His mind whirled until Greta had gone and Patrick had filled the tub with warm water.

He brought soap, a sponge, and a large towel to the side of the bathtub and motioned for Brendon. The slave slowly stripped himself of the filthy rags he’d been wearing as trousers for the past few months and stepped toward the tub.

Instantly, tears rose to his eyes and his body shuttered as his cold skin became surrounded by the steaming water.

Patrick picked up the sponge and soaked it before applying soap and quietly beginning to wash the grimy filth from Brendon’s body.

Brendon closed his eyes, focusing on the warmth around him and the gentle washing of the sponge on his back and shoulders.

Patrick washed the boy thoroughly until William brought clothes.

“Darren’s,” he told Patrick and was gone.

And as Brendon was redressing himself, marveling at the scent of soap remaining on him, it occurred to him that in order for him to be borrowing Darren’s clothes that either Darren was sitting naked somewhere or that Darren had more than one set of clothes.

When he finished dressing, Patrick pulled two chairs up near the fire. “Take a seat. Ry- Master Ross will be here eventually.”

It did take a while- probably half an hour, but Brendon passed the time just fine- staring into the fire, smelling his hands, nearly wondering over his fingernails now that Patrick had scrubbed them clean, and sitting in a chair. It had been years since he’d sat anywhere but the ground.

Brendon was pulled from his examination of his bare, clean feet by a grinning Patrick. “I almost forget this,” he spoke as he held a small brush in front of Brendon.

The slave’s brow knotted as he took the little brush.

“It’s for your teeth,” Patrick filled in.

Brendon couldn’t say he was crazy about the slimeygritty feeling of the paste or for its saltyminty flavor, but the feeling of his teeth afterward kept his tongue pleasantly entertained until Ryan returned to the room.

Any high the boy may have been on vanished however, the instant he saw the leather strap in Ryan’s hand. Patrick nodded toward Ryan and left the room, the door closing firmly after him. Ryan moved to occupy the seat Brendon had previously waited in And the boy knew his role. He moved quickly, kneeling at Ryan’s feet on the hardwood floor.

Gently, Ryan lifted his new purchase’s head, sliding the stiff, black leather around his neck.

Brendon’s heart felt heavy as he heard the small padlock click closed. He’d been there before, trapped by something so small. It was a lonely and hollow feeling to think about, but when a master still had their hands on his neck, Brendon couldn’t help himself.

“Is that okay?” Ryan asked softly, as if Brendon might be skittish.

Brendon thought, wanted to shout no, that it wasn’t okay and that he was supposed to be free, but he didn’t. He just took a deep breath and considered the collar. He could feel it, but he had plenty of room the breath, to gasp even, so he nodded. “Yes, master.”

“Alright,” Ryan spoke firmly. “My name is Ryan Ross. This is my estate and it’s run by my word and rule. There are on average only seventy slaves. You sleep in the slave quarters, eat there, work where I assign for ten years. You work faithfully for ten years and you buy your freedom. Cause trouble and I add time to your stay. Do you understand?”

Brendon’s mind lingered over the fact that Ryan’s hand was still gently pressed against the collar and Brendon’s neck. He wasn’t sure if a master had ever touched him except to strike him.

“Yes, master,” he replied. “Thank you.”

“Patrick will show you to your quarters,” Ryan informed, standing up and motioning for Brendon to stand. “Have you eaten?”

Brendon had learned to ignore hunger, but at the mention of food his eyes gained a spark and his mouth watered.

“N-no, master.”

“I’ll see to it that Patrick gets you something left from dinner.”

Ryan unlatched the door and the servant was waiting. Patrick reached and attached the leash in his hand the Brendon’s collar.

“Get him something to eat, please,” Ryan told the other man. “William and I are going to bed.”

Brendon let his mind take in Ryan’s last line to Patrick- “William and I” and “bed.” Brendon decided if that was what it required for a “thank you” from his new master that he was no longer interested and he let Patrick lead him to the slave quarters.

Deafening Silence- Prologue

spencertized — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 20:34:35 GMT

The Back Button Is Your Friend

spencertized — Fri, 02 Jan 2009 09:53:12 GMT

Title: The Back Button Is Your Friend
Author: Kelsey cardenlovah
Rating: G
Pairing: Alex Suarez / Nate Novarro
POV: Alex Suarez
Summary: Is the Back Button really your friend?
Disclaimer: If you got here by Googling your name or the name of someone you know, consider what is most likely behind the cut. This means, Suarez, feel free to look. Nate's dad, feel free to press back and then, you know, back again until you are far, far away from this page.
Author Notes: Just a drabble that made us laugh at 4 in the morning.

I pulled up a story of me and Nate. There were few of these and they were normally good. I quickly read through the top, you know, the writer, the rating, the summary, then the disclaimer.

“If you got here by Googling your name or the name of someone you know, please remember, the back button is your friend.” I read to myself. But the back button would take me away from this glorious story! The back button is not my friend, I decided. There were some footsteps behind me and I glanced back to find no other than fucking Nate Novarro.

The back button is my friend! The back button is my friend! The back button is my friend!

I quickly pressed the back button several times before a head rested on my shoulder and a small laugh came out.

“Why are you reading about Gabe and William’s sex life?” Nate asked, slightly laughing. “I know enough about their real sex life that I don’t ever need to read any of the made up stuff about them online,” he stated, still giggling, head still rested on my shoulder. The back button is your friend! My mind told me again and I clicked it once again. Nate died out laughing as the page before that showed up. Cobra Slashship.

Fuck. He laughed, then rested his head back on my shoulder.

“You are such a loser,” he smirked. I smiled at him as he sat down beside me.

“Shut up, Novarro, you know you like it. You just wait until no one’s around to read it,” I smirked then hit the forward button to get back to the story of me and him that I was reading as he turned on the TV. His eyes stayed on it for a few moments but I saw them wonder back to my screen, trying to be discreet about it. A smile came across his face and he rested back against me.

“I haven’t read that one, but if it’s any good, we’ll try it out later,” he smirked, then quickly got up and left the lounge, smirking. That loser!

“Oh, then we will definitely try this one,” I smirked and murmured to myself. Definitely.