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In The Back Of Your Head (PART 2) ;; Hard R
Full Header and Warnings
PART ONE
When they stepped into the dining room, a hush fell. Really, it shouldn't have been so noticeable since the room almost qualified as a hall and there were only four other people there. Spencer stared toward the end of the table for only seconds before looking down and trying to tug his hand away from Brendon. Apparently, Brendon still disagreed with Spencer's views on propriety and held fast.
"Frankie! How'd the cake come out?"
The guy with remarkably outrageous hair covered his eyes and groaned. "Brendon. Did you have to bring that up?"
A little guy across the table from that one was practically bouncing, waving a hand to shush the complaints. "Ray's just mad because he doesn't have my skills."
"What fucking skills? There's flour on the ceiling. The. Ceiling. How in hell does that even happen?"
There was a mousy looking fellow sitting beside Ray-with-the-hair who Spencer had almost forgotten was there. Spencer would have probably continued to forget his existence if he didn't raise a hand up off the table and shrug. "My fault. I scared the shit out of him." Even if he wasn't looking closely, Spencer thought he might be smirking; his eyebrows suggested a smirk, anyway.
Brendon was snickering quietly; Spencer turned wide, shocked eyes on him but Brendon waved off his concerns.
"I was looking for Gerard. It wasn't my fault Frank thinks this place is haunted."
"I never said it was haunted!" This Frank guy was almost in a full-on pout. Even though he didn't know him, Spencer could recognize the signs. Oddly enough, it seemed to be because Frank kept getting cut off before he could tell his flour and ceiling epic tale.
Ray scoffed. "Yeah, and that's why you get all bitchy if you're over here after dark and Bob has to come be your escort."
"Bob's to make sure I don't get attacked by rabid wolves or some shit between here and our house."
"Because we have a lot of rabid wolves around here," the last guy, this one with hair almost as interesting as Ray's even if it wasn't defying gravity and a sort of intense air about him, put in. "Yeah, I saw them following on Mike's heels one day. Sneaky fuckers. Don't make a sound." Hopefully, that was sarcasm, but Spencer didn't know enough about wolves and this guy's vocal inflection to make a judgment call.
"Gee did that. It's those sketches he keeps giving him," Mousey went on.
"I have to give them to someone," the not-Ray hair one sounded indignant. "And they're not even that damn scary. I'm blaming Bob for this one. Partially because he's not here and mostly because he told Frank I had prophetic dreams. So...what do you have to say to that, Mikey?"
"Bob's going to kick your ass when I tell him you said that." Mikey, process of elimination said this one had to be Mikey, looked sweet, Or, at least his almost-expression, did. It reminded Spencer of Ryan so much that his heart clenched for a second and he clung more tightly to Brendon's hand.
"Like you would," Gee started but didn't make it any further.
Frank opened his mouth, managed to get out the word "Bob" and then Brendon actually spoke over top of him. He pulled Spencer with him until Brendon could sit beside...Gee?...and Spencer had little choice but to sit beside him. He wasn't sure if he was thankful to be separated from someone who sketched monsters for fun or worried because he was on the end and anyone could come up to him without warning since his back was to the door.
"Spence, meet Gerard, Frank, Ray, and Mikey. Guys, this is Spencer." The way Brendon said his name made Spencer look at him sharply. He wasn't sure what he heard in the tone but the others seemed to understand.
Gerard leaned around Brendon at the same time Mikey handed Spencer a bowl of potatoes. It took him a moment to respond and realize there was a plate in front of him. He took the potatoes and spooned a small portion onto his plate as Gerard started talking.
"You were with Brendon for a long time, right? He said...there were four of you? I'm really fucking glad Beckett could come get you. It's too bad about your friends. I'm sure they're doing all right. Everything is working out for you two so I bet it's working out for them. Ow!" Gerard reached down to rub at his leg and the utterly unaffected expression on Mikey's face led Spencer to believe he'd kicked Gerard. Spencer appreciated the gesture. For a few moments, he watched Gerard and Mikey stare at each other; it was unnerving, the way they seemed to have a whole conversation through minute facial expressions on Mikey's part and slightly more exaggerated ones on Gerard's. Trying to decipher their mental dialogue kept Spencer's mind mostly away from the path Gerard's rant had tried to lead it toward.
It wasn't that he didn't like and/or want to talk about Ryan and Jon, which he didn't because it worried him so much. It was more that Gerard sounded so sincere, like he really believed what he said and wanted Spencer to as well. All things considered, it was a little heady when Spencer didn't even know who these guys were and was still trying to work out why he was in an actual dining room instead of a cramped cupboard type area with a meager meal. Brendon speared a piece of meat and dropped it on Spencer's plate, giving him pleading eyes until Spencer picked up his fork.
"Mikey and Gerard are brothers." Well, that explained a lot. "They live out by the fields with Frank. Ray and Bob have the place right beside them. I'll show you around outside tomorrow before my lessons."
"I think Pete's coming to get Spencer clothes tomorrow," Mikey all but whispered and Spencer looked up just in time to catch what he thought might be a blush before Mikey busied himself with his water glass. Gerard sounded like he was choking but Frank and Ray were laughing too loudly for Spencer to be sure.
Ray's hair bounced impressively as he explained. "Gerard has issues with Pete trying to steal his little brother no matter how many fucking times we tell him Pete has a Patrick and doesn't need a Mikey."
When Mikey made a little sound in the back of his throat, Frank started rambling about Patrick needing help keeping Pete in line and enlisting a trained professional. It all sounded like vague innuendo, designed to make Gerard splutter even more, to Spencer, but he never had an accurate grip on those types of things.
As everyone started gathering up plates, quite a while after Spencer finished, Spencer stood to help. Brendon snatched his plate away. "Relax. I'm going to check out what Frank did to the kitchen. I'll show you the music room or something after." Then he was gone, filing along behind Frank, Gerard, and Mikey. Ray was still standing by his chair, glaring toward the door that apparently led to the kitchen and muttering about what exactly Frank could do with his mixing bowls and a wooden spoon. It was now or never.
Spencer cleared his throat just as Ray took a step. Stopping, Ray turned and waited. This was the part that worried Spencer: finding information. He could ask Brendon, sure, but Brendon really wanted Spencer to trust the folks hanging around the house and Spencer didn't want to upset him. Plus, for all his grumbling about cleaning up Frank's messes, Spencer could hear the fondness in his voice. Ray seemed like okay people so Spencer sucked it up and forced the words out, stilted and awkward as they were.
"Um. So...you all...live here? Are...how...what...what do you do?"
Ray shrugged. "Depends who you're asking about." Nodding, Spencer asumed that was all the answer he was going to be given. "Gerard does art commisions for people in town. When everyone travels through for the summer holidays, he sells originals and things. Mikey helps Travie with the household accounts. Frank is mostly a nuisance, but Sisky's teaching him how to work with the horses. I mostly fix shit that everyone else breaks but I work out in the fields with Bob a lot, too; you'll meet him eventually. We have a pretty interesting garden going and we help with Bill's stuff."
Still trying to process all that information, Spencer's mouth started working of its own accord. "But...you actually work for Beckett? You're not..."
"Slaves?" Ray's voice dropped in volume enough for Spencer to note the change. "Not anymore. Gerard and Mikey were, until Pete stumbled across them. He didn't have the space for them to live with him, so Bill gave them a place here. Frank turned up trying to steal from the stables. Travie found me on a line headed for a merchant square at the docks. Picked me up because I didn't act ashamed when he looked at me; appreciated my character. Travie's good like that."
Not knowing what else to do, Spencer nodded and dug his nails into his palms until he knew there would be marks. So...all these guys were freed slaves. But. But if they were really free, then why were they still hanging around Beckett's place? What could they gain by staying? From the brief amount of time he'd spent here during dinner, Spencer could say he liked Ray; asking him that sort of thing was a bit too big for their limited interaction, though. Spencer tried to smile when Ray gave him a nod.
"Don't worry, kid. You'll get the hang of it." When Ray pushed through the door into the kitchen, Spencer could hear the cadence of Brendon's voice, quick and amused, followed by what sounded like Frank speaking just as speedily over him.
"Ray's right, you know."
Jumping, Spencer whirled around only to be met with a tall blond with icy eyes and a lip ring. Well. There was a lot Spencer could do with this, but he didn't know if he should start with how his chest tightened or the panic he was battling from the surprise of yet another new person.
"You must be Smith. Talk of the estate today. Pretty sure everyone thought Bren was making up all those stories of his."
Spencer growled, quietly and low in his throat. It couldn't be helped, not really; he'd never taken well to people insulting or picking on Brendon. "He wasn't."
"I can see that." This guy seemed at least unphased, mildly amused at most. He held a hand out and Spencer backed into a chair before he registered the intent. "Bob Bryar. I'm sure Frank has talked me up to glowing heights. Or lied a lot, it's sort of the same with him." He didn't seem too put out when Spencer kept staring at his hand as if it were barbed wire.
"Well, this isn't awkward," Bob raised his eyebrows, dropping his hand to slide into his pocket.
Before Spencer managed to work out what he was expected to say or do, Brendon was back in a flurry of motion. Spencer startled again as Brendon all but attacked Bob from the side. For a small guy, Brendon could usually put some force behind his tackles. Bob, apparently used to the treatment, stood his ground, wrapping an arm around Brendon and practically lifting him off the floor.
"Warning, Urie. We talked about this."
"Keeping you on your toes, Bryar. Someone has to." Brendon seemed to be vibrating, tiny shakes rattling through his limbs. They didn't seem to indicate pain or fear so Spencer didn't act, though he promised to stay vigilant around this guy. It didn't matter how nice Bob looked with an almost smile and bright eyes.
Bryar chuckled quietly, making Spencer's ears tune back in. "You being good? Not scaring the small children...or Siska with piano wire?"
"That was once. And Sisky asked for it."
"Says you."
Spencer couldn't help it, a scowl crossed his face. He was getting sick of always being the last person to show up somewhere, trying to navigate the intricacies of interpersonal relationships and connections. If he felt like being charitable, he'd admit it was a bit worse because Brendon was his friend first and he didn't like the way Brendon could seem so at ease in a place that Spencer couldn't figure out. Biting his lip, Spencer tried to communicate with Brendon through brainwaves and eyebrows. Either it was just a brother thing that worked for Gerard and Mikey or Spencer was out of practice since he hadn't seen Ryan in so long. Whatever the reason, Spencer couldn't seem to get Brendon's attention until he started fussing with the bottom of his own shirt, tugging at the buttons he wasn't accustomed to having.
Brendon finally caught his unease and practically jumped away from Bob to drape over Spencer's side; Spencer didn't try not to look smug. Bob, once again, looked uninterested in the whole thing.
"What do you think of Bob? He got stuck with me when Tom dropped me off, showed me everything."
"Until Patrick showed him the music room. Can't drag him away from it most of the time."
Oddly enough, Brendon ducked his head, almost blushing. He bit at his lip and looked up at Bob with bright eyes until Bob shook his head and reached out to squeeze Brendon's shoulder. "I'm going to fight with the hoodlums for dinner before Frank makes me protect him from poltergeists or some shit. Good to meet you, Smith."
Before Bob was even fully out of the room, Brendon was rambling on about something involving Bob and drums and tugging Spencer toward the stairs. At some point, Brendon must have decided Spencer needed a haircut, but Spencer was entirely too preoccupied to even know when that switch had come about. He let Brendon drag him into their room and position him sideways in one of the chairs so he could go to work on cutting most of the tangles out of Spencer's hair instead of trying to brush them out. Honestly, Spencer didn't care. Luckily, Brendon knew that and also knew not to be offended by Spencer's lack of verbal responses. He didn't say anything for probably half an hour, just letting Brendon cut and ramble or cut and hum, depending. Spencer tried to organize his thoughts and failed miserably before he went with the safest question.
"Who's Tom? If he bought you...where is he?"
Brendon paused, accidentally pulling a few strands of Spencer's hair before he let go and urged Spencer to turn. Cutting at the hair framing his face, Brendon looked focused but explained that Tom was one of William's friends who had also been friends with Jon. Apparently, he remembered Brendon from a couple visits he'd had to Saporta's and refused to finish his trip back to Beckett's without him. A few weeks after, he'd gone back to working the boats for Beckett's trading company, but he made sure Brendon was settled in first.
"I think he only left when I started spending more time with Bob than him. Tom's a lot like Jon, you'll like him. He was really careful with me, kept sort of...promising things until I actually believed him. It's...nice. That I knew someone when I came here. I know it's really confusing and I didn't explain it to you. I should do that. I mean, maybe not tonight? I'm sort of tired."
Maybe he should have been more interested in the Beckett story, but there was only one part of that whole explanation that stuck with Spencer.
"Tom knows Jon? Does he...know what happened? Has he been worried or..."
Stepping back to survey his work, Brendon moved Spencer to the mirror. It seemed to be a way to control the fidgetting Brendon had never learned to restrain, especially when he was nervous. Spencer stared at his reflection, fingers coming up to touch the ends of his now shorter hair. It wasn't as short as Brendon's, but Spencer liked it. It made him feel sort of...normal. Human. Average. Average was always good in Spencer's book. Forcing his eyes to move, Spencer caught Brendon's and tried to smile his gratitude.
Reaching out, Brendon pressed his fingers to Spencer's cheek, stepping up to lean his forehead against Spencer's shoulder. Immediately, Spencer raised an arm to wrap around Brendon's waist. When Brendon started speaking again, Spencer had almost forgotten his question.
"Tom's looking, I think. He's been asking around, sent someone up to where I thought we were when Ryan and Jon were taken but...he hasn't had any luck yet. Bill's sent some people. Pete probably has, too. He sent someone to look for you, but they were going in the wrong direction."
Spencer stiffened when Brendon's voice went sort of wistful and guilty. Turning witout letting go, Spencer got a hand between them and lifted Brendon's chin. "Bren. Not your fault. There wasn't...What were you supposed to do? It's not like we had maps and...we never made any promises. It's hard to stay together when you're-" Being bought and sold like cattle, Spencer thought but he didn't want to remind Brendon of that. If he didn't feel like a slave most of the time anymore, Spencer wasn't going to be the one to bring it up.
"But I should have made Tom take you then!" Pulling away in a flurry of motion, Brendon was pacing. It was a little faster than what Spencer would usually consider pacing, but the intent was clear. "Tom could have afforded it but I was freaked. I knew him but not well. And he was Jon's friend, not mine. I didn't know if he actually remembered me or if he just remembered my selling-points. I didn't know where we were going and...if it was going to be bad, I didn't want to drag you down with me. Which was stupid because caravans are almost worse than anything else. It was dumb. I should've...something. I shouldn't have...I'm really fucking sorry, Spencer. You don't-"
Brendon was working himself up into a frenzy and Spencer, for all he could handle beatings and near starvation, never learned to deal with a hysterical Brendon. When Brendon got like this, all Spencer could focus on was how badly he wanted to fix everything, even the things no one could control. Grabbing his arm, Spencer tugged Brendon toward one of the beds. "Fucking stop. You got me back, okay? You couldn't with Tom, I get it. I wouldn't have either. You had to feel out the situation. I get it."
Turning into his shoulder, Brendon snuggled up close until Spencer leaned sideways. When they were both settled on their sides, Spencer holding Brendon close and Brendon's fingers tangled in his shirt, Spencer went on. "Thank you. I don't get this place but...it's better. Just because you're here. And...we don't have Ryan or Jon, but...we have each other. You made them come get me. Brendon, you fucking...you saved me."
It felt weird to say, not untrue but strange. Brendon, who would have been annoyingly modest if Spencer didn't know he was completely sincere, shook his head to deny just what he'd done. Before he could start arguing, Spencer shushed him. He shifted around, getting comfortable and settling into the mattress. He shouldn't be tired, not when he'd spent so much of his time living on stolen moments of sleep and had already managed a nap that day, but his eyes were already drooping. When his eyes closed, right when Spencer was floating in that pleasant limbo between awake and asleep, he heard Brendon's voice.
"I needed you here. I talked about you every day."
Spencer wanted to say something back, wanted to ask what kind of things Brendon said, but Brendon cuddled closer. As he slotted an ankle between Spencer's and leaned over him, apparently snuffing out the oil lamp on the nightstand, Spencer let Brendon's warmth soak into him. The fatigue wouldn't let his eyes open again and Brendon was finally there, safe and solid. It was too hard to fight his exhaustion; Spencer didn't even try.
When he woke up some indeterminate amount of time later, the sun was streaming in through the impractically light colored curtains. Spencer always thought curtains in bedrooms should be thick and dark, sort of like at Saporta's but in less erratic colors. Rolling over, Spencer buried his face in a pillow, reaching out for Brendon before he even knew what he was reaching for. When he was met with cold sheets, he struggled up. His clothing was tangled around him and the room was empty. Allowing himself a total of ten seconds to panic, Spencer started looking around the room. There was a glass and pitcher on the table and a scribbled note in uneven handwriting that Spencer could recognize anywhere.
Teaching twins what sharps are. Could take a while. Breakfast in the kitchen. Or you can wait there for Pete. Patrick knows where to find me. - B
For no reason he could've explained, Spencer folded the note into his pocket and scratched at his hair. He cleaned up a bit, wearing the same clothes he'd slept in and made it almost through his second glass of water when there was a knock on the door. Remembering the manners his mother had once-upon-a-time drilled into him, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and opened the door. There were two short guys standing behind Bob, one peering around Bob's side in a critical way and the other glaring at the first one. Spencer thought he should just resign himself to not meeting one normal person at this place.
"I brought you a seamstress. Thank me later."
"Fucker! I'm not a seamstress! I'm an artist, okay, clothes just do my bidding." The creepy, staring one was practically bouncing and pushing his way around Bob at the same time to get at Spencer. Spencer took a step back and Bob grabbed the guy's shoulder.
"Pete. You freak him out and I'm sending Mikey and Patrick to town without you. You'll have to ride back by yourself. And I'll laugh." Except Bob, Spencer was willing to concede that Bob seemed fairly normal.
"You don't laugh." Pete waved a hand but approached Spencer more slowly this time. "Hi, Spencer. I'm Pete. I'm going to get you some clothes that aren't Bob's cast offs. It's going to be awesome. That's Patrick. He's why it's going to be awesome. He's my assistant or some shit."
"More like his babysitter," Patrick rolled his eyes and gave Spencer a little shrug. Bob let him by and sent a ghost of a smile toward Spencer.
"These...were yours? Why'd you give them to me?" Spencer probably shouldn't bother asking, it was just better that way. You don't look a gift horse in the mouth, which never made much sense to Spencer, but the connotation was the important part.
"Wasn't going to leave you in those shitty rags they sent you with." Even though he was mostly turned away, Bob looked back over his shoulder. There was something soft about his expression just then, something that Spencer didn't know the name for. "I didn't need them anymore, Smith. Don't freak out. You're welcome."
Blushing, Spencer stared at the carpet under his bare feet. "Oh. Yeah, right. Thank you..."
Pete's harsh laughter snapped Spencer's head up. "Touching as this is, I do have more important shit to get into today." A complicated set of hand gestures later and the door was closed behind Bob, leaving Spencer alone with Patrick and Pete. At least Patrick didn't seem too terribly strange. Yet.
Surprisingly enough, once Spencer got used to Pete's weird rambling and manic grins juxtaposed by Patrick's near constant eyerolling, things went pretty smoothly. Without actually being outside, Spencer couldn't work out how late in the day it was when Pete was finally satisfied with Spencer's repeated answers that he honestly didn't care if the slacks were gray or black or if his shirts were loose. Mostly, he just wanted buttons and shoes. The look Patrick gave him at that was a little worrying; it was hard to say what Pete would turn up with when he brought Spencer his actual "fall wardrobe" the following week.
Either way, they finally cut him loose and it became obvious fairly quickly that Spencer just didn't know what to do with himself. Still leery about wandering on his own, Spencer managed to beg Brendon's location out of Patrick. It got him a direct escort to the music room, so Spencer filed away the reaction to asking for help and turned a few corridors, descended some stairs and finally found himself leaning against a doorway. Beckett's music room was impressive, to say the least. Guitars, two mix-matched drum kits, an upright piano and a few other miscellaneous things covered the room, but Spencer hardly noticed.
Brendon, even when he was just running through the harmony of some basic piece a brunette about their own age was playing, captured Spencer's attention. It's not that Spencer had never seen Brendon play back at Saporta's, there was just something different about him when he was focused on showing someone else. When the girl missed a key, visibly wincing at the flat note, Brendon started chattering praise in a soft, supportive tone. A smile tugged at the corners of Spencer's mouth. The expression dropped, along with his gaze, when Patrick bumped their elbows gently and hummed a few bars like he didn't know he was doing it.
"He should be done soon. Sarah's only in for an extra session this week because of some society thing coming up. You can go in if you want."
Studying the scuff marks on the floor, Spencer shook his head at the whispered suggestion. Patrick reached out and squeezed his shoulder.
"All right then. Tell Brendon I came down but had to make sure Gerard didn't maim Pete with a paintbrush. I'll see you later?"
Spencer nodded, absently, still unsure what to do with questions that didn't seem like orders but could very well be the same thing. Commands weren't always forceful; suggestions could hold just as much meaning and even harsher punishments. Patrick's footsteps echoed a bit against the hardwood floors as he left, just loud enough to draw Brendon's attention when there was another lull in Sarah's playing. Glancing back, Brendon's face broke into a smile so bright Spencer almost couldn't look. He'd spent so long without Brendon around for Spencer to gawk at that he couldn't turn away either. It was a conundrum.
Sarah tapped a key impatiently and without any real pattern. Spencer wanted to stop her, give her a beat to follow; Brendon covered her hand instead. Spencer couldn't make out what he said, something about one more run through before he had to go for the day. Sarah frowned, turning to follow where Brendon's eyes kept darting to. Her entire body seemed to stiffen before she managed a smile, one that looked real. Without bothering to stop the way his brows furrowed, Spencer turned away. If he was careful, he could probably make it back to his bedroom without running into anyone. He'd been careful, reciting the path Patrick had lead backwards so he could remember it easily.
That should have helped him avoid everyone; no one seemed to hang around the personal quarters during the day. With the kind of luck Spencer had (that is to say, not much), running into McCoy in the hall just outside the corridor leading to the music room shouldn't have been such a surprise.
"Smith," he nodded.
"McCoy," Spencer countered, for lack of anything better. Silence fell and Spencer contemplated backing away, fidgeting under the scrutiny. He did neither, settling for staring at some point over McCoy's shoulder, some part of him still too proud to give in so easily,
Finally, McCoy cleared his throat. "I was just coming to find you. Bill's got a bath set up for you. We had one last night, but Brendon didn't seem like he was ready to let go of you yet."
More likely, Spencer hadn't been ready to let go of Brendon. Hopefully, the feeling was mutual; it seemed like it. "Hm," Spencer hummed, unsure what he was supposed to do now. On one hand, Brendon should be finished with his lesson soon enough; on the other, being seriously clean was something Spencer wasn't sure he could pass up. Squaring his shoulders and pulling himself up to full height, Spencer forced himself to meet McCoy's eyes. "Uh, and that's which way? I'm starting to think I need to draw a map of this place."
Chuckling, McCoy nodded down the hall and motioned for Spencer to follow. He kept his pace even with Spencer's, even when Spencer instinctively tried to fall behind. "They've been trying to draw a map up. Bill gave 'em the design layout and all that shit. Don't think it's worked for them. Brendon'd probably like the company finding all the hidden shit and Bob'd probably like the break from being his go-to tour guide or whatever he is."
Carefully, out of the corner of his eye, Spencer watched while McCoy talked about Brendon. There wasn't any malice in his tone and his expression seemed fond. It...was different but Spencer couldn't hate anyone who could talk about Brendon without looking exhausted, irritated, or superior. If McCoy liked Brendon, genuinely cared about him, Spencer was going to find it a lot harder to hate Travis on the principle of who was free and who wasn't.
Travis led Spencer down the backstairs, throwing him an apologetic look; this staircase had clearly just been closer. On the first floor, Travis turned them down a hallway off the kitchen, past the library and into what was possibly the largest bedroom Spencer had ever set eyes on. By virtue of having opened the door, Travis entered first but Spencer froze in the doorway. The place was massive, Spencer noted as he looked past the oversized, fluffy four-poster bed with its intricately carved redwood frame to dressers and chests of drawers, wardrobes, a desk...all probably filled with more things than Spencer could ever have imagined being able to own. Two doorways occupied the corners opposite Spencer; one leading into a sitting room with a chaise and armchair Spencer wanted to sink into and the other a bathroom, all gleaming porcelain and claw-foot utilities. Even from a distance, he could appreciate the grandeur and formality to everything.
There was no way in Hell he was walking in there, messing up the careful order (even though there were clothes scattered over a cedar chest and miscellaneous papers, journals, and pens littered the desk). This was a trick, had to be a fucking trick. They were just going to lure him in and find a reason to punish him for forgetting his place. He wasn't going to fall for that manipulation again; Spencer had learned that lesson all too damn well.
When Travis cleared his throat, Spencer took a step back. "I...don't think so. Do you think I'm fucking new to this? I see where this is going." If they were planning on punishing him for using a master suite, Spencer might as well give them something serious to whip him over.
Eyes rolled toward the ceiling, Travis shook his hair out and walked over to sit at the foot of the bed. "Come in, Spencer." He sounded weary, exhausted; Spencer almost felt bad for calling him out...almost. When Spencer didn't move for a few more eternal moments, Travis looked up to meet his eyes. "Bill wants you to use his quarters. The rest of them aren't sub-standard or some shit, but you get this many guys together and everything's a fucking dump. He wants to do something nice for you, give you a welcome. Just let him do it."
"Why should I?" The unspoken trust him still rang through the room, loudly.
Licking his lips, blowing out his cheeks on a sigh, biting the inside of his cheek, Travis had some weird internal drama then gave in. "Because he knows what it's like. Sort of, anyway. His mother did. He was too young to remember anything."
"Beckett was a slave?" Healthy skepticism was Spencer's usual default, but this was too preposterous for Spencer to be anything but completely disbelieving. William Beckett...he was proud, carried himself with certainty, and owned a hell of a lot of space. Slaves, even ones freed legally, couldn't make it this well. Huffing a humorless laugh, Spencer tilted against the doorway and crossed his arms. If Travis was going to try lying, he needed to do better than this.
"I get it. You don't believe me. It's not a story you hear everyday," Travis tugged at his sleeve before shoving to his feet. "Bill's mom, she was a slave once. Give you three guesses what kind. When she realized she was pregnant, she ran. Got caught. It was some fucked up shit, but they decided to keep her, train her kid to do whatever they wanted; it's not all that often they get slaves that early in life back east." His eyes sort of glazed over, like Travis had told this story, or heard it, more times than he needed to recite it. Still, he didn't seem unaffected, more like he wanted to go find Beckett and make sure he was holding up all right.
Something in Spencer's chest started to shift, tighten and throb hot and uncomfortable like when Spencer first asked what Brendon had done to get Beckett and Travis to come by the trading grounds for Spencer.
"When Bill was a few weeks old, she got herself lost, see. Stumbled away when no one was looking one night and hid out in a storage room for a shipping company. The next day, Mr. Beckett showed up. You'd have to ask Bill for the rest of it, but he took her in because she had a baby, actually paid her as his housekeeper, and eventually married her. Had papers forged for her and Bill. When he died, Bill got it all, the company, the stores, the title. All of it. Far as anyone knows, the wedding was shot gun and then she was hidden away until the baby was born, sickly. Once the kid got healthy, the Becketts debuted into society."
Spencer gaped and he was actually fine with calling it that, just this once. "What the fuck, man? That's out of some dime novel. That shit doesn't actually happen."
"Who do you think writes those?"
"Beckett writes erotic fiction for women?"
"Bill writes poetry and songs most of the time. But he's been known to buy a publishing company when he wants to publish anything else," Travis told Spencer, fond expression back on his face.
This was too fucked up and downright strange, needed a lot more processing than he had time for right now. A lot of things about Beckett made more sense, the whole reason behind all of this; it made sense if Travis was telling the truth. Spencer couldn't think of a reason someone would make up this much detail just to fuck with Spencer's head. Plus, they would have slipped up around Brendon by now and Brendon was shit with secrets; he'd have warned Spencer immediately, consequences be damned.
"So," Travis cleared his throat, spurring Spencer into standing straight again and coming back to the world outside his own head. "I'm just going to, uh...leave you along for a while. Want me to send Brendon down when he finishes with Sarah?"
Still distracted, Spencer must have nodded because Travis was leaving and squeezing Spencer's shoulder on his way past pulling him away from the door and into the room. When the room was silent and the rest of the world hidden behind the door, Spencer moved for the bathroom. There was no reason Spencer couldn't think deep thoughts and get clean at the same time. Taking a deep breath, Spencer slowly entered the bathroom. As he closed the door, he noticed the lock, a simple kind that slid into place, metal into a hole in the doorframe; a key wouldn't be able to open it; Spencer could actually lock himself in a room and know someone would have to break the door to get to him. Without hesitation, he threw the latch, a small thrill running through his veins at the sound.
He shed his clothes, folding them carefully into a pile before climbing into the water. At some point, it must have been heated, but it was room temperature now, room temperature and still perfect. He set about scrubbing away a layer of skin and more dust of the road that was probably more in his mind than on his body. By the time he ran out of soap, he felt amazing.
Time was relative, but sometimes you just have to wallow so that's just what Spencer was doing. His fingers were just getting wrinkled and Spencer was feeling fuzzy, warm and lethargic in a way he remembered from the times he sat in Saporta's garden with Brendon converting the stories Ryan insisted on retelling from his books into songs, voice quiet so only Spencer and he knew why they were laughing. He drifted for long moments, mind wandering into a haze as his fingers skimmed the water surrounding him and his toes tapped a steady beat against the foot of the tub, when he was startled by the door in the master suite unceremoniously hitting the wall. The room apparently had decent acoustics because the sound seemed to reverberate, even through the door. Slipping a bit in his rush, Spencer forced himself out of the water and was hoping the lock held while he jerked Bob's donated pants up his still damp legs.
It was uncomfortable, but it would have to do. Heavy footsteps were crossing the room and Spencer's breathing sped up, heart racing. He didn't have time to think, acting on instinct alone. Someone started pounding on the door, erratic staccato patterns that had Spencer rushing the window, shirt in hand. He was on the first floor with a locked door between him and whatever was happening on the other side.
"Smith! You better still fucking be in there, Spencer."
Momentarily, Spencer froze. Bob kept knocking, not trying the doorknob, not yet. With the window half open, Spencer tried to get a hold of himself. Bob was okay, right? Brendon had a good sense about people and he liked Bob. Plus, he hadn't seemed pushy or overly invested in Spencer...not until now. But Spencer had no fucking clue what his deal was, what there was in his history and no one should ever trust anything they don't know everything possible about.
"Spencer, if you left Brendon, I will hunt you down and fuck you up," Bob voice was clear but dropped at the end, softer and not meant for anyone else to hear. "If you already ran, I'm talking to myself. Fucking acting like Gerard."
Maybe it was the mention of Brendon or it could have been the ridiculous aside, but Spencer shook himself out of his stupor. Literally, he shook water out of his hair and nearly slipped again before he got the lock on the door undone. When he pulled it open, Bob nearly hit him in the face with another intended knock.
"Fuck, man. What took you so long?"
Spencer shrugged, meeting Bob's eyes or trying to, rather. Instead of looking anywhere near his face, Bob's eyes were on his chest, seemingly tracing the lines of water dripping down from his hair, over his shoulders. A blush was starting, Spencer's cheeks heating up so he shifted, hip out and arms crossed. To counter the blush he knew was going, Spencer broke out his best glare and waited until Bob glanced up. He had that same, almost amused expression that he always wore, the one that said he was in on the joke and you were missing something obvious. Spencer glared harder.
"You need something?"
"Brendon's looking for you," Bob shrugged. "He's having an episode about you being left alone to run out on him."
Rolling his eyes, Spencer started to pull on his shirt. "Like I would. He knows better."
"That's what I said."
Spencer did up the buttons as he shoved past Bob. "How would you know? I don't know you."
When Bob didn't say anything, Spencer kept walking. The door closed on Bob's reply, something sounding similar to "I see how you look at him." Either that was or wasn't what Bob said, but Spencer didn't stick around for clarification. Instead, he headed for the main staircase (just because he apparently could) and went to find Brendon.
Brendon found him first, a few doors away from the music room. Everything was quiet so Spencer assumed Sarah had already finished her lesson. Brendon practically flung himself at Spencer, hands clutching his sleeve while he hurried to pull Spencer closer. So what if they were a little co-dependent.
"I was looking for you. I thought you'd...well, I was looking for you." With his voice going soft around the edges, his short nails digging into Spencer's skin through the fabric of his shirt, Spencer knew Bob hadn't been lying. Somehow, Spencer had actually managed to make Brendon worry and that was unacceptable. Silently, he made a vow not to let that happen again.
Reaching over, Spencer gently pried Brendon's fingers away from his arm but kept a hold on Brendon's hand. Tugging a little, he made sure he had Brendon's attention. "Not going anywhere, Bren. Promise."
And the strangest part was, Spencer meant it. The part about not leaving Brendon behind, the implication of that, was a given; the part where Spencer meant he wasn't leaving the house...that was where Spencer's breath caught. He had no idea what was happening here, didn't know if he could trust anything Travis said or Beckett's mere existence. Ray and his whole group defied all sense, as well as the glimpses Spencer had had of Siska and Butcher. And Bob made Spencer a little uncomfortable at the same time that Bob was kind of fascinating for some reason Spencer would probably never figure out.
Ryan and Jon were still out there somewhere and Spencer wanted to know what Saporta would say about him when he finally got back to Beckett. Spencer was still worried, a little terrified actually, about what Brendon might have offered or even given away for Spencer to end up here but in the end?
In the end, Spencer knew he was going to give this place a chance. He'd figure it out, keep Brendon close and they'd figure everything out together. Maybe they'd run; maybe they would have to escape some day in the future. But for today? For right now? Spencer was forcing the cynical side of his brain to shut the fuck up because, it might sound crazy, but they were safe for the moment. There was time to work out everything else if he could just get out of his head for a minute and try.
And he was going to. For Brendon, so Spencer could keep him and not let anything tear them apart again.
Spencer squeezed Brendon's hand, fidgeting until he could take Brendon's hand properly and tug him toward the stairs, in the direction of some commotion that seemed to involve Gerard, Frank, and the Sisky person Spencer still hadn't met if all the names being yelled meant anything. Although Brendon looked a little shell-shocked since Spencer had, understandably, shown little to no interest in interacting with the other, he came followed Spencer easily.
"You're stuck with me this time," Spencer whispered, a bit belatedly. It wasn't a promise, but Spencer thought, just this once, he could actually have promised something and known he could keep it.
End
PART ONE
When they stepped into the dining room, a hush fell. Really, it shouldn't have been so noticeable since the room almost qualified as a hall and there were only four other people there. Spencer stared toward the end of the table for only seconds before looking down and trying to tug his hand away from Brendon. Apparently, Brendon still disagreed with Spencer's views on propriety and held fast.
"Frankie! How'd the cake come out?"
The guy with remarkably outrageous hair covered his eyes and groaned. "Brendon. Did you have to bring that up?"
A little guy across the table from that one was practically bouncing, waving a hand to shush the complaints. "Ray's just mad because he doesn't have my skills."
"What fucking skills? There's flour on the ceiling. The. Ceiling. How in hell does that even happen?"
There was a mousy looking fellow sitting beside Ray-with-the-hair who Spencer had almost forgotten was there. Spencer would have probably continued to forget his existence if he didn't raise a hand up off the table and shrug. "My fault. I scared the shit out of him." Even if he wasn't looking closely, Spencer thought he might be smirking; his eyebrows suggested a smirk, anyway.
Brendon was snickering quietly; Spencer turned wide, shocked eyes on him but Brendon waved off his concerns.
"I was looking for Gerard. It wasn't my fault Frank thinks this place is haunted."
"I never said it was haunted!" This Frank guy was almost in a full-on pout. Even though he didn't know him, Spencer could recognize the signs. Oddly enough, it seemed to be because Frank kept getting cut off before he could tell his flour and ceiling epic tale.
Ray scoffed. "Yeah, and that's why you get all bitchy if you're over here after dark and Bob has to come be your escort."
"Bob's to make sure I don't get attacked by rabid wolves or some shit between here and our house."
"Because we have a lot of rabid wolves around here," the last guy, this one with hair almost as interesting as Ray's even if it wasn't defying gravity and a sort of intense air about him, put in. "Yeah, I saw them following on Mike's heels one day. Sneaky fuckers. Don't make a sound." Hopefully, that was sarcasm, but Spencer didn't know enough about wolves and this guy's vocal inflection to make a judgment call.
"Gee did that. It's those sketches he keeps giving him," Mousey went on.
"I have to give them to someone," the not-Ray hair one sounded indignant. "And they're not even that damn scary. I'm blaming Bob for this one. Partially because he's not here and mostly because he told Frank I had prophetic dreams. So...what do you have to say to that, Mikey?"
"Bob's going to kick your ass when I tell him you said that." Mikey, process of elimination said this one had to be Mikey, looked sweet, Or, at least his almost-expression, did. It reminded Spencer of Ryan so much that his heart clenched for a second and he clung more tightly to Brendon's hand.
"Like you would," Gee started but didn't make it any further.
Frank opened his mouth, managed to get out the word "Bob" and then Brendon actually spoke over top of him. He pulled Spencer with him until Brendon could sit beside...Gee?...and Spencer had little choice but to sit beside him. He wasn't sure if he was thankful to be separated from someone who sketched monsters for fun or worried because he was on the end and anyone could come up to him without warning since his back was to the door.
"Spence, meet Gerard, Frank, Ray, and Mikey. Guys, this is Spencer." The way Brendon said his name made Spencer look at him sharply. He wasn't sure what he heard in the tone but the others seemed to understand.
Gerard leaned around Brendon at the same time Mikey handed Spencer a bowl of potatoes. It took him a moment to respond and realize there was a plate in front of him. He took the potatoes and spooned a small portion onto his plate as Gerard started talking.
"You were with Brendon for a long time, right? He said...there were four of you? I'm really fucking glad Beckett could come get you. It's too bad about your friends. I'm sure they're doing all right. Everything is working out for you two so I bet it's working out for them. Ow!" Gerard reached down to rub at his leg and the utterly unaffected expression on Mikey's face led Spencer to believe he'd kicked Gerard. Spencer appreciated the gesture. For a few moments, he watched Gerard and Mikey stare at each other; it was unnerving, the way they seemed to have a whole conversation through minute facial expressions on Mikey's part and slightly more exaggerated ones on Gerard's. Trying to decipher their mental dialogue kept Spencer's mind mostly away from the path Gerard's rant had tried to lead it toward.
It wasn't that he didn't like and/or want to talk about Ryan and Jon, which he didn't because it worried him so much. It was more that Gerard sounded so sincere, like he really believed what he said and wanted Spencer to as well. All things considered, it was a little heady when Spencer didn't even know who these guys were and was still trying to work out why he was in an actual dining room instead of a cramped cupboard type area with a meager meal. Brendon speared a piece of meat and dropped it on Spencer's plate, giving him pleading eyes until Spencer picked up his fork.
"Mikey and Gerard are brothers." Well, that explained a lot. "They live out by the fields with Frank. Ray and Bob have the place right beside them. I'll show you around outside tomorrow before my lessons."
"I think Pete's coming to get Spencer clothes tomorrow," Mikey all but whispered and Spencer looked up just in time to catch what he thought might be a blush before Mikey busied himself with his water glass. Gerard sounded like he was choking but Frank and Ray were laughing too loudly for Spencer to be sure.
Ray's hair bounced impressively as he explained. "Gerard has issues with Pete trying to steal his little brother no matter how many fucking times we tell him Pete has a Patrick and doesn't need a Mikey."
When Mikey made a little sound in the back of his throat, Frank started rambling about Patrick needing help keeping Pete in line and enlisting a trained professional. It all sounded like vague innuendo, designed to make Gerard splutter even more, to Spencer, but he never had an accurate grip on those types of things.
As everyone started gathering up plates, quite a while after Spencer finished, Spencer stood to help. Brendon snatched his plate away. "Relax. I'm going to check out what Frank did to the kitchen. I'll show you the music room or something after." Then he was gone, filing along behind Frank, Gerard, and Mikey. Ray was still standing by his chair, glaring toward the door that apparently led to the kitchen and muttering about what exactly Frank could do with his mixing bowls and a wooden spoon. It was now or never.
Spencer cleared his throat just as Ray took a step. Stopping, Ray turned and waited. This was the part that worried Spencer: finding information. He could ask Brendon, sure, but Brendon really wanted Spencer to trust the folks hanging around the house and Spencer didn't want to upset him. Plus, for all his grumbling about cleaning up Frank's messes, Spencer could hear the fondness in his voice. Ray seemed like okay people so Spencer sucked it up and forced the words out, stilted and awkward as they were.
"Um. So...you all...live here? Are...how...what...what do you do?"
Ray shrugged. "Depends who you're asking about." Nodding, Spencer asumed that was all the answer he was going to be given. "Gerard does art commisions for people in town. When everyone travels through for the summer holidays, he sells originals and things. Mikey helps Travie with the household accounts. Frank is mostly a nuisance, but Sisky's teaching him how to work with the horses. I mostly fix shit that everyone else breaks but I work out in the fields with Bob a lot, too; you'll meet him eventually. We have a pretty interesting garden going and we help with Bill's stuff."
Still trying to process all that information, Spencer's mouth started working of its own accord. "But...you actually work for Beckett? You're not..."
"Slaves?" Ray's voice dropped in volume enough for Spencer to note the change. "Not anymore. Gerard and Mikey were, until Pete stumbled across them. He didn't have the space for them to live with him, so Bill gave them a place here. Frank turned up trying to steal from the stables. Travie found me on a line headed for a merchant square at the docks. Picked me up because I didn't act ashamed when he looked at me; appreciated my character. Travie's good like that."
Not knowing what else to do, Spencer nodded and dug his nails into his palms until he knew there would be marks. So...all these guys were freed slaves. But. But if they were really free, then why were they still hanging around Beckett's place? What could they gain by staying? From the brief amount of time he'd spent here during dinner, Spencer could say he liked Ray; asking him that sort of thing was a bit too big for their limited interaction, though. Spencer tried to smile when Ray gave him a nod.
"Don't worry, kid. You'll get the hang of it." When Ray pushed through the door into the kitchen, Spencer could hear the cadence of Brendon's voice, quick and amused, followed by what sounded like Frank speaking just as speedily over him.
"Ray's right, you know."
Jumping, Spencer whirled around only to be met with a tall blond with icy eyes and a lip ring. Well. There was a lot Spencer could do with this, but he didn't know if he should start with how his chest tightened or the panic he was battling from the surprise of yet another new person.
"You must be Smith. Talk of the estate today. Pretty sure everyone thought Bren was making up all those stories of his."
Spencer growled, quietly and low in his throat. It couldn't be helped, not really; he'd never taken well to people insulting or picking on Brendon. "He wasn't."
"I can see that." This guy seemed at least unphased, mildly amused at most. He held a hand out and Spencer backed into a chair before he registered the intent. "Bob Bryar. I'm sure Frank has talked me up to glowing heights. Or lied a lot, it's sort of the same with him." He didn't seem too put out when Spencer kept staring at his hand as if it were barbed wire.
"Well, this isn't awkward," Bob raised his eyebrows, dropping his hand to slide into his pocket.
Before Spencer managed to work out what he was expected to say or do, Brendon was back in a flurry of motion. Spencer startled again as Brendon all but attacked Bob from the side. For a small guy, Brendon could usually put some force behind his tackles. Bob, apparently used to the treatment, stood his ground, wrapping an arm around Brendon and practically lifting him off the floor.
"Warning, Urie. We talked about this."
"Keeping you on your toes, Bryar. Someone has to." Brendon seemed to be vibrating, tiny shakes rattling through his limbs. They didn't seem to indicate pain or fear so Spencer didn't act, though he promised to stay vigilant around this guy. It didn't matter how nice Bob looked with an almost smile and bright eyes.
Bryar chuckled quietly, making Spencer's ears tune back in. "You being good? Not scaring the small children...or Siska with piano wire?"
"That was once. And Sisky asked for it."
"Says you."
Spencer couldn't help it, a scowl crossed his face. He was getting sick of always being the last person to show up somewhere, trying to navigate the intricacies of interpersonal relationships and connections. If he felt like being charitable, he'd admit it was a bit worse because Brendon was his friend first and he didn't like the way Brendon could seem so at ease in a place that Spencer couldn't figure out. Biting his lip, Spencer tried to communicate with Brendon through brainwaves and eyebrows. Either it was just a brother thing that worked for Gerard and Mikey or Spencer was out of practice since he hadn't seen Ryan in so long. Whatever the reason, Spencer couldn't seem to get Brendon's attention until he started fussing with the bottom of his own shirt, tugging at the buttons he wasn't accustomed to having.
Brendon finally caught his unease and practically jumped away from Bob to drape over Spencer's side; Spencer didn't try not to look smug. Bob, once again, looked uninterested in the whole thing.
"What do you think of Bob? He got stuck with me when Tom dropped me off, showed me everything."
"Until Patrick showed him the music room. Can't drag him away from it most of the time."
Oddly enough, Brendon ducked his head, almost blushing. He bit at his lip and looked up at Bob with bright eyes until Bob shook his head and reached out to squeeze Brendon's shoulder. "I'm going to fight with the hoodlums for dinner before Frank makes me protect him from poltergeists or some shit. Good to meet you, Smith."
Before Bob was even fully out of the room, Brendon was rambling on about something involving Bob and drums and tugging Spencer toward the stairs. At some point, Brendon must have decided Spencer needed a haircut, but Spencer was entirely too preoccupied to even know when that switch had come about. He let Brendon drag him into their room and position him sideways in one of the chairs so he could go to work on cutting most of the tangles out of Spencer's hair instead of trying to brush them out. Honestly, Spencer didn't care. Luckily, Brendon knew that and also knew not to be offended by Spencer's lack of verbal responses. He didn't say anything for probably half an hour, just letting Brendon cut and ramble or cut and hum, depending. Spencer tried to organize his thoughts and failed miserably before he went with the safest question.
"Who's Tom? If he bought you...where is he?"
Brendon paused, accidentally pulling a few strands of Spencer's hair before he let go and urged Spencer to turn. Cutting at the hair framing his face, Brendon looked focused but explained that Tom was one of William's friends who had also been friends with Jon. Apparently, he remembered Brendon from a couple visits he'd had to Saporta's and refused to finish his trip back to Beckett's without him. A few weeks after, he'd gone back to working the boats for Beckett's trading company, but he made sure Brendon was settled in first.
"I think he only left when I started spending more time with Bob than him. Tom's a lot like Jon, you'll like him. He was really careful with me, kept sort of...promising things until I actually believed him. It's...nice. That I knew someone when I came here. I know it's really confusing and I didn't explain it to you. I should do that. I mean, maybe not tonight? I'm sort of tired."
Maybe he should have been more interested in the Beckett story, but there was only one part of that whole explanation that stuck with Spencer.
"Tom knows Jon? Does he...know what happened? Has he been worried or..."
Stepping back to survey his work, Brendon moved Spencer to the mirror. It seemed to be a way to control the fidgetting Brendon had never learned to restrain, especially when he was nervous. Spencer stared at his reflection, fingers coming up to touch the ends of his now shorter hair. It wasn't as short as Brendon's, but Spencer liked it. It made him feel sort of...normal. Human. Average. Average was always good in Spencer's book. Forcing his eyes to move, Spencer caught Brendon's and tried to smile his gratitude.
Reaching out, Brendon pressed his fingers to Spencer's cheek, stepping up to lean his forehead against Spencer's shoulder. Immediately, Spencer raised an arm to wrap around Brendon's waist. When Brendon started speaking again, Spencer had almost forgotten his question.
"Tom's looking, I think. He's been asking around, sent someone up to where I thought we were when Ryan and Jon were taken but...he hasn't had any luck yet. Bill's sent some people. Pete probably has, too. He sent someone to look for you, but they were going in the wrong direction."
Spencer stiffened when Brendon's voice went sort of wistful and guilty. Turning witout letting go, Spencer got a hand between them and lifted Brendon's chin. "Bren. Not your fault. There wasn't...What were you supposed to do? It's not like we had maps and...we never made any promises. It's hard to stay together when you're-" Being bought and sold like cattle, Spencer thought but he didn't want to remind Brendon of that. If he didn't feel like a slave most of the time anymore, Spencer wasn't going to be the one to bring it up.
"But I should have made Tom take you then!" Pulling away in a flurry of motion, Brendon was pacing. It was a little faster than what Spencer would usually consider pacing, but the intent was clear. "Tom could have afforded it but I was freaked. I knew him but not well. And he was Jon's friend, not mine. I didn't know if he actually remembered me or if he just remembered my selling-points. I didn't know where we were going and...if it was going to be bad, I didn't want to drag you down with me. Which was stupid because caravans are almost worse than anything else. It was dumb. I should've...something. I shouldn't have...I'm really fucking sorry, Spencer. You don't-"
Brendon was working himself up into a frenzy and Spencer, for all he could handle beatings and near starvation, never learned to deal with a hysterical Brendon. When Brendon got like this, all Spencer could focus on was how badly he wanted to fix everything, even the things no one could control. Grabbing his arm, Spencer tugged Brendon toward one of the beds. "Fucking stop. You got me back, okay? You couldn't with Tom, I get it. I wouldn't have either. You had to feel out the situation. I get it."
Turning into his shoulder, Brendon snuggled up close until Spencer leaned sideways. When they were both settled on their sides, Spencer holding Brendon close and Brendon's fingers tangled in his shirt, Spencer went on. "Thank you. I don't get this place but...it's better. Just because you're here. And...we don't have Ryan or Jon, but...we have each other. You made them come get me. Brendon, you fucking...you saved me."
It felt weird to say, not untrue but strange. Brendon, who would have been annoyingly modest if Spencer didn't know he was completely sincere, shook his head to deny just what he'd done. Before he could start arguing, Spencer shushed him. He shifted around, getting comfortable and settling into the mattress. He shouldn't be tired, not when he'd spent so much of his time living on stolen moments of sleep and had already managed a nap that day, but his eyes were already drooping. When his eyes closed, right when Spencer was floating in that pleasant limbo between awake and asleep, he heard Brendon's voice.
"I needed you here. I talked about you every day."
Spencer wanted to say something back, wanted to ask what kind of things Brendon said, but Brendon cuddled closer. As he slotted an ankle between Spencer's and leaned over him, apparently snuffing out the oil lamp on the nightstand, Spencer let Brendon's warmth soak into him. The fatigue wouldn't let his eyes open again and Brendon was finally there, safe and solid. It was too hard to fight his exhaustion; Spencer didn't even try.
When he woke up some indeterminate amount of time later, the sun was streaming in through the impractically light colored curtains. Spencer always thought curtains in bedrooms should be thick and dark, sort of like at Saporta's but in less erratic colors. Rolling over, Spencer buried his face in a pillow, reaching out for Brendon before he even knew what he was reaching for. When he was met with cold sheets, he struggled up. His clothing was tangled around him and the room was empty. Allowing himself a total of ten seconds to panic, Spencer started looking around the room. There was a glass and pitcher on the table and a scribbled note in uneven handwriting that Spencer could recognize anywhere.
Teaching twins what sharps are. Could take a while. Breakfast in the kitchen. Or you can wait there for Pete. Patrick knows where to find me. - B
For no reason he could've explained, Spencer folded the note into his pocket and scratched at his hair. He cleaned up a bit, wearing the same clothes he'd slept in and made it almost through his second glass of water when there was a knock on the door. Remembering the manners his mother had once-upon-a-time drilled into him, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and opened the door. There were two short guys standing behind Bob, one peering around Bob's side in a critical way and the other glaring at the first one. Spencer thought he should just resign himself to not meeting one normal person at this place.
"I brought you a seamstress. Thank me later."
"Fucker! I'm not a seamstress! I'm an artist, okay, clothes just do my bidding." The creepy, staring one was practically bouncing and pushing his way around Bob at the same time to get at Spencer. Spencer took a step back and Bob grabbed the guy's shoulder.
"Pete. You freak him out and I'm sending Mikey and Patrick to town without you. You'll have to ride back by yourself. And I'll laugh." Except Bob, Spencer was willing to concede that Bob seemed fairly normal.
"You don't laugh." Pete waved a hand but approached Spencer more slowly this time. "Hi, Spencer. I'm Pete. I'm going to get you some clothes that aren't Bob's cast offs. It's going to be awesome. That's Patrick. He's why it's going to be awesome. He's my assistant or some shit."
"More like his babysitter," Patrick rolled his eyes and gave Spencer a little shrug. Bob let him by and sent a ghost of a smile toward Spencer.
"These...were yours? Why'd you give them to me?" Spencer probably shouldn't bother asking, it was just better that way. You don't look a gift horse in the mouth, which never made much sense to Spencer, but the connotation was the important part.
"Wasn't going to leave you in those shitty rags they sent you with." Even though he was mostly turned away, Bob looked back over his shoulder. There was something soft about his expression just then, something that Spencer didn't know the name for. "I didn't need them anymore, Smith. Don't freak out. You're welcome."
Blushing, Spencer stared at the carpet under his bare feet. "Oh. Yeah, right. Thank you..."
Pete's harsh laughter snapped Spencer's head up. "Touching as this is, I do have more important shit to get into today." A complicated set of hand gestures later and the door was closed behind Bob, leaving Spencer alone with Patrick and Pete. At least Patrick didn't seem too terribly strange. Yet.
Surprisingly enough, once Spencer got used to Pete's weird rambling and manic grins juxtaposed by Patrick's near constant eyerolling, things went pretty smoothly. Without actually being outside, Spencer couldn't work out how late in the day it was when Pete was finally satisfied with Spencer's repeated answers that he honestly didn't care if the slacks were gray or black or if his shirts were loose. Mostly, he just wanted buttons and shoes. The look Patrick gave him at that was a little worrying; it was hard to say what Pete would turn up with when he brought Spencer his actual "fall wardrobe" the following week.
Either way, they finally cut him loose and it became obvious fairly quickly that Spencer just didn't know what to do with himself. Still leery about wandering on his own, Spencer managed to beg Brendon's location out of Patrick. It got him a direct escort to the music room, so Spencer filed away the reaction to asking for help and turned a few corridors, descended some stairs and finally found himself leaning against a doorway. Beckett's music room was impressive, to say the least. Guitars, two mix-matched drum kits, an upright piano and a few other miscellaneous things covered the room, but Spencer hardly noticed.
Brendon, even when he was just running through the harmony of some basic piece a brunette about their own age was playing, captured Spencer's attention. It's not that Spencer had never seen Brendon play back at Saporta's, there was just something different about him when he was focused on showing someone else. When the girl missed a key, visibly wincing at the flat note, Brendon started chattering praise in a soft, supportive tone. A smile tugged at the corners of Spencer's mouth. The expression dropped, along with his gaze, when Patrick bumped their elbows gently and hummed a few bars like he didn't know he was doing it.
"He should be done soon. Sarah's only in for an extra session this week because of some society thing coming up. You can go in if you want."
Studying the scuff marks on the floor, Spencer shook his head at the whispered suggestion. Patrick reached out and squeezed his shoulder.
"All right then. Tell Brendon I came down but had to make sure Gerard didn't maim Pete with a paintbrush. I'll see you later?"
Spencer nodded, absently, still unsure what to do with questions that didn't seem like orders but could very well be the same thing. Commands weren't always forceful; suggestions could hold just as much meaning and even harsher punishments. Patrick's footsteps echoed a bit against the hardwood floors as he left, just loud enough to draw Brendon's attention when there was another lull in Sarah's playing. Glancing back, Brendon's face broke into a smile so bright Spencer almost couldn't look. He'd spent so long without Brendon around for Spencer to gawk at that he couldn't turn away either. It was a conundrum.
Sarah tapped a key impatiently and without any real pattern. Spencer wanted to stop her, give her a beat to follow; Brendon covered her hand instead. Spencer couldn't make out what he said, something about one more run through before he had to go for the day. Sarah frowned, turning to follow where Brendon's eyes kept darting to. Her entire body seemed to stiffen before she managed a smile, one that looked real. Without bothering to stop the way his brows furrowed, Spencer turned away. If he was careful, he could probably make it back to his bedroom without running into anyone. He'd been careful, reciting the path Patrick had lead backwards so he could remember it easily.
That should have helped him avoid everyone; no one seemed to hang around the personal quarters during the day. With the kind of luck Spencer had (that is to say, not much), running into McCoy in the hall just outside the corridor leading to the music room shouldn't have been such a surprise.
"Smith," he nodded.
"McCoy," Spencer countered, for lack of anything better. Silence fell and Spencer contemplated backing away, fidgeting under the scrutiny. He did neither, settling for staring at some point over McCoy's shoulder, some part of him still too proud to give in so easily,
Finally, McCoy cleared his throat. "I was just coming to find you. Bill's got a bath set up for you. We had one last night, but Brendon didn't seem like he was ready to let go of you yet."
More likely, Spencer hadn't been ready to let go of Brendon. Hopefully, the feeling was mutual; it seemed like it. "Hm," Spencer hummed, unsure what he was supposed to do now. On one hand, Brendon should be finished with his lesson soon enough; on the other, being seriously clean was something Spencer wasn't sure he could pass up. Squaring his shoulders and pulling himself up to full height, Spencer forced himself to meet McCoy's eyes. "Uh, and that's which way? I'm starting to think I need to draw a map of this place."
Chuckling, McCoy nodded down the hall and motioned for Spencer to follow. He kept his pace even with Spencer's, even when Spencer instinctively tried to fall behind. "They've been trying to draw a map up. Bill gave 'em the design layout and all that shit. Don't think it's worked for them. Brendon'd probably like the company finding all the hidden shit and Bob'd probably like the break from being his go-to tour guide or whatever he is."
Carefully, out of the corner of his eye, Spencer watched while McCoy talked about Brendon. There wasn't any malice in his tone and his expression seemed fond. It...was different but Spencer couldn't hate anyone who could talk about Brendon without looking exhausted, irritated, or superior. If McCoy liked Brendon, genuinely cared about him, Spencer was going to find it a lot harder to hate Travis on the principle of who was free and who wasn't.
Travis led Spencer down the backstairs, throwing him an apologetic look; this staircase had clearly just been closer. On the first floor, Travis turned them down a hallway off the kitchen, past the library and into what was possibly the largest bedroom Spencer had ever set eyes on. By virtue of having opened the door, Travis entered first but Spencer froze in the doorway. The place was massive, Spencer noted as he looked past the oversized, fluffy four-poster bed with its intricately carved redwood frame to dressers and chests of drawers, wardrobes, a desk...all probably filled with more things than Spencer could ever have imagined being able to own. Two doorways occupied the corners opposite Spencer; one leading into a sitting room with a chaise and armchair Spencer wanted to sink into and the other a bathroom, all gleaming porcelain and claw-foot utilities. Even from a distance, he could appreciate the grandeur and formality to everything.
There was no way in Hell he was walking in there, messing up the careful order (even though there were clothes scattered over a cedar chest and miscellaneous papers, journals, and pens littered the desk). This was a trick, had to be a fucking trick. They were just going to lure him in and find a reason to punish him for forgetting his place. He wasn't going to fall for that manipulation again; Spencer had learned that lesson all too damn well.
When Travis cleared his throat, Spencer took a step back. "I...don't think so. Do you think I'm fucking new to this? I see where this is going." If they were planning on punishing him for using a master suite, Spencer might as well give them something serious to whip him over.
Eyes rolled toward the ceiling, Travis shook his hair out and walked over to sit at the foot of the bed. "Come in, Spencer." He sounded weary, exhausted; Spencer almost felt bad for calling him out...almost. When Spencer didn't move for a few more eternal moments, Travis looked up to meet his eyes. "Bill wants you to use his quarters. The rest of them aren't sub-standard or some shit, but you get this many guys together and everything's a fucking dump. He wants to do something nice for you, give you a welcome. Just let him do it."
"Why should I?" The unspoken trust him still rang through the room, loudly.
Licking his lips, blowing out his cheeks on a sigh, biting the inside of his cheek, Travis had some weird internal drama then gave in. "Because he knows what it's like. Sort of, anyway. His mother did. He was too young to remember anything."
"Beckett was a slave?" Healthy skepticism was Spencer's usual default, but this was too preposterous for Spencer to be anything but completely disbelieving. William Beckett...he was proud, carried himself with certainty, and owned a hell of a lot of space. Slaves, even ones freed legally, couldn't make it this well. Huffing a humorless laugh, Spencer tilted against the doorway and crossed his arms. If Travis was going to try lying, he needed to do better than this.
"I get it. You don't believe me. It's not a story you hear everyday," Travis tugged at his sleeve before shoving to his feet. "Bill's mom, she was a slave once. Give you three guesses what kind. When she realized she was pregnant, she ran. Got caught. It was some fucked up shit, but they decided to keep her, train her kid to do whatever they wanted; it's not all that often they get slaves that early in life back east." His eyes sort of glazed over, like Travis had told this story, or heard it, more times than he needed to recite it. Still, he didn't seem unaffected, more like he wanted to go find Beckett and make sure he was holding up all right.
Something in Spencer's chest started to shift, tighten and throb hot and uncomfortable like when Spencer first asked what Brendon had done to get Beckett and Travis to come by the trading grounds for Spencer.
"When Bill was a few weeks old, she got herself lost, see. Stumbled away when no one was looking one night and hid out in a storage room for a shipping company. The next day, Mr. Beckett showed up. You'd have to ask Bill for the rest of it, but he took her in because she had a baby, actually paid her as his housekeeper, and eventually married her. Had papers forged for her and Bill. When he died, Bill got it all, the company, the stores, the title. All of it. Far as anyone knows, the wedding was shot gun and then she was hidden away until the baby was born, sickly. Once the kid got healthy, the Becketts debuted into society."
Spencer gaped and he was actually fine with calling it that, just this once. "What the fuck, man? That's out of some dime novel. That shit doesn't actually happen."
"Who do you think writes those?"
"Beckett writes erotic fiction for women?"
"Bill writes poetry and songs most of the time. But he's been known to buy a publishing company when he wants to publish anything else," Travis told Spencer, fond expression back on his face.
This was too fucked up and downright strange, needed a lot more processing than he had time for right now. A lot of things about Beckett made more sense, the whole reason behind all of this; it made sense if Travis was telling the truth. Spencer couldn't think of a reason someone would make up this much detail just to fuck with Spencer's head. Plus, they would have slipped up around Brendon by now and Brendon was shit with secrets; he'd have warned Spencer immediately, consequences be damned.
"So," Travis cleared his throat, spurring Spencer into standing straight again and coming back to the world outside his own head. "I'm just going to, uh...leave you along for a while. Want me to send Brendon down when he finishes with Sarah?"
Still distracted, Spencer must have nodded because Travis was leaving and squeezing Spencer's shoulder on his way past pulling him away from the door and into the room. When the room was silent and the rest of the world hidden behind the door, Spencer moved for the bathroom. There was no reason Spencer couldn't think deep thoughts and get clean at the same time. Taking a deep breath, Spencer slowly entered the bathroom. As he closed the door, he noticed the lock, a simple kind that slid into place, metal into a hole in the doorframe; a key wouldn't be able to open it; Spencer could actually lock himself in a room and know someone would have to break the door to get to him. Without hesitation, he threw the latch, a small thrill running through his veins at the sound.
He shed his clothes, folding them carefully into a pile before climbing into the water. At some point, it must have been heated, but it was room temperature now, room temperature and still perfect. He set about scrubbing away a layer of skin and more dust of the road that was probably more in his mind than on his body. By the time he ran out of soap, he felt amazing.
Time was relative, but sometimes you just have to wallow so that's just what Spencer was doing. His fingers were just getting wrinkled and Spencer was feeling fuzzy, warm and lethargic in a way he remembered from the times he sat in Saporta's garden with Brendon converting the stories Ryan insisted on retelling from his books into songs, voice quiet so only Spencer and he knew why they were laughing. He drifted for long moments, mind wandering into a haze as his fingers skimmed the water surrounding him and his toes tapped a steady beat against the foot of the tub, when he was startled by the door in the master suite unceremoniously hitting the wall. The room apparently had decent acoustics because the sound seemed to reverberate, even through the door. Slipping a bit in his rush, Spencer forced himself out of the water and was hoping the lock held while he jerked Bob's donated pants up his still damp legs.
It was uncomfortable, but it would have to do. Heavy footsteps were crossing the room and Spencer's breathing sped up, heart racing. He didn't have time to think, acting on instinct alone. Someone started pounding on the door, erratic staccato patterns that had Spencer rushing the window, shirt in hand. He was on the first floor with a locked door between him and whatever was happening on the other side.
"Smith! You better still fucking be in there, Spencer."
Momentarily, Spencer froze. Bob kept knocking, not trying the doorknob, not yet. With the window half open, Spencer tried to get a hold of himself. Bob was okay, right? Brendon had a good sense about people and he liked Bob. Plus, he hadn't seemed pushy or overly invested in Spencer...not until now. But Spencer had no fucking clue what his deal was, what there was in his history and no one should ever trust anything they don't know everything possible about.
"Spencer, if you left Brendon, I will hunt you down and fuck you up," Bob voice was clear but dropped at the end, softer and not meant for anyone else to hear. "If you already ran, I'm talking to myself. Fucking acting like Gerard."
Maybe it was the mention of Brendon or it could have been the ridiculous aside, but Spencer shook himself out of his stupor. Literally, he shook water out of his hair and nearly slipped again before he got the lock on the door undone. When he pulled it open, Bob nearly hit him in the face with another intended knock.
"Fuck, man. What took you so long?"
Spencer shrugged, meeting Bob's eyes or trying to, rather. Instead of looking anywhere near his face, Bob's eyes were on his chest, seemingly tracing the lines of water dripping down from his hair, over his shoulders. A blush was starting, Spencer's cheeks heating up so he shifted, hip out and arms crossed. To counter the blush he knew was going, Spencer broke out his best glare and waited until Bob glanced up. He had that same, almost amused expression that he always wore, the one that said he was in on the joke and you were missing something obvious. Spencer glared harder.
"You need something?"
"Brendon's looking for you," Bob shrugged. "He's having an episode about you being left alone to run out on him."
Rolling his eyes, Spencer started to pull on his shirt. "Like I would. He knows better."
"That's what I said."
Spencer did up the buttons as he shoved past Bob. "How would you know? I don't know you."
When Bob didn't say anything, Spencer kept walking. The door closed on Bob's reply, something sounding similar to "I see how you look at him." Either that was or wasn't what Bob said, but Spencer didn't stick around for clarification. Instead, he headed for the main staircase (just because he apparently could) and went to find Brendon.
Brendon found him first, a few doors away from the music room. Everything was quiet so Spencer assumed Sarah had already finished her lesson. Brendon practically flung himself at Spencer, hands clutching his sleeve while he hurried to pull Spencer closer. So what if they were a little co-dependent.
"I was looking for you. I thought you'd...well, I was looking for you." With his voice going soft around the edges, his short nails digging into Spencer's skin through the fabric of his shirt, Spencer knew Bob hadn't been lying. Somehow, Spencer had actually managed to make Brendon worry and that was unacceptable. Silently, he made a vow not to let that happen again.
Reaching over, Spencer gently pried Brendon's fingers away from his arm but kept a hold on Brendon's hand. Tugging a little, he made sure he had Brendon's attention. "Not going anywhere, Bren. Promise."
And the strangest part was, Spencer meant it. The part about not leaving Brendon behind, the implication of that, was a given; the part where Spencer meant he wasn't leaving the house...that was where Spencer's breath caught. He had no idea what was happening here, didn't know if he could trust anything Travis said or Beckett's mere existence. Ray and his whole group defied all sense, as well as the glimpses Spencer had had of Siska and Butcher. And Bob made Spencer a little uncomfortable at the same time that Bob was kind of fascinating for some reason Spencer would probably never figure out.
Ryan and Jon were still out there somewhere and Spencer wanted to know what Saporta would say about him when he finally got back to Beckett. Spencer was still worried, a little terrified actually, about what Brendon might have offered or even given away for Spencer to end up here but in the end?
In the end, Spencer knew he was going to give this place a chance. He'd figure it out, keep Brendon close and they'd figure everything out together. Maybe they'd run; maybe they would have to escape some day in the future. But for today? For right now? Spencer was forcing the cynical side of his brain to shut the fuck up because, it might sound crazy, but they were safe for the moment. There was time to work out everything else if he could just get out of his head for a minute and try.
And he was going to. For Brendon, so Spencer could keep him and not let anything tear them apart again.
Spencer squeezed Brendon's hand, fidgeting until he could take Brendon's hand properly and tug him toward the stairs, in the direction of some commotion that seemed to involve Gerard, Frank, and the Sisky person Spencer still hadn't met if all the names being yelled meant anything. Although Brendon looked a little shell-shocked since Spencer had, understandably, shown little to no interest in interacting with the other, he came followed Spencer easily.
"You're stuck with me this time," Spencer whispered, a bit belatedly. It wasn't a promise, but Spencer thought, just this once, he could actually have promised something and known he could keep it.
End
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See, now I'm all intrigued about your Gabe, and wish to know about his more-than-money issues. Does he gamble for people's freedom? Or divert money to a rebellion? MUST. KNOW. SEKRIT. PLANS.
I like your rambley reply, and I'm glad you liked mine. I always think the more you enjoy a fic the more you should say about it. "this was great" is nice to read, but HERE ARE TWENTY REASONS WHY THIS FIC WINS AT LIFE is better. :D
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GABE IS CRAFTY. I'm hoping to put it in the BBB but I will tell you that his accounts were fine; there are just some people who wanted to bring him down due to the, ahem, method in which he obtained the money (yeah, that's totally vague, isn't it?).
YES! Exactly that! Every time I read something I like, I end up writing a novella outlining the fic's awesome because I just can't contain myself (and I like rambling so I generally assume everyone else does haha).
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And then Ryland and Alex laid down the SMACK DOWN. And got revenge on those trying to fuck him up. Because Cobras stick together :D y/y?
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mfy! They've got his back. Especially Vicky-T. She definitely fucked some guys' shit up.