BBB ;; Void & Null [Part One]
Jun. 13th, 2011 10:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bootsonPrologue
[Part One]
The fieldhouse was quickly becoming Spencer’s worst enemy. Sure, it was his to do with as he pleased, since Brendon didn’t seem to have any opinions other than what type of furniture he wanted, but furniture was going to be the least of their worries if Spencer couldn’t make the damn house inhabitable.
The roof had been an easy enough fix once Spencer got Ray to get him a new ladder from town. Now the bane of his existence was the warping around the door and all but one window.
“Fuck this,” he muttered, kicking the doorframe harder than necessary. He’d need new lumber for the whole door, probably the bedroom windows and sitting room floor, as well.
Maybe today would be the day he got up the nerve to ask for something. Maybe.
Probably not.
Half a year in and Spencer was still going through Bob just to get new drumsticks and Brendon to get Patrick to get Pete to make Spencer new shoes when his were damaged in the flood that hit last month. Actually, that last one had worked out pretty well. It got Spencer his favorite light gray loafers with dark gray accents. They were fucking amazing, even if he was ruining them in an effort to abuse his fieldhouse.
“Piece of shit.” Spencer kicked the doorframe again, just for good measure. He was working himself up into a rant when he heard a soft chuckle behind him. Slowly, purposefully precise, Spencer turned, hip cocked and a scowl cemented in place.
“Give it up, Smith. Just tell Bill you need some new shit.” As always, Bob looked almost amused by Spencer’s best glare.
Something about that, even when Spencer first came to Beckett’s, always made Spencer want to blush and get all coy. Which was ridiculous since Spencer didn’t do the shy thing; that was Brendon’s forte. Still, Spencer liked the way Bob looked at him. Just to be contrary, Spencer tried to deepen his frown.
Lips twitching, Bob cleared the four steps up the small porch in two strides. Dropping a hand to Spencer’s shoulder, Bob started to turn him toward the main house. Spencer could have resisted but didn’t have a reason to. Bob only ever came to drag him away when it was time for dinner.
“You’re not getting anything fixed until Bill gets you a new door or something. Have Ray do it. He’s going fucking stir crazy since the fields are done for the season, anyway. I’m about to make him live with Frank and Gerard, trade him for Mikey. Save Mikey’s sanity so he doesn’t have to hear them anymore.” Bob laughed but Spencer couldn’t echo it.
Spencer knew his house was a work in progress. He just wanted out of the main manor before Beckett came to his senses and took it back. The room he shared with Brendon was great and everything, but it was small and there were always too many people wandering the corridors or lounging in stairwells.
The pervasive fear was no longer a constant, general state of mind, but Spencer needed time to remember where and who he was in this new environment. The relative quiet and extra privacy a house would provide should, hopefully, give Spencer what he wanted… needed.
Trying to rein his thoughts in, Spencer shrugged. “Maybe I’ll make you buy everything. You haven’t been to town in a while.”
Bob groaned low in his throat. “Don’t. I’ll rebuild your shack from the ground up if you send Ray instead.”
Spencer couldn’t help his small grin. One of the running jokes on the estate was Bob’s hatred of going anywhere that meant buying anything. For a minute, Spencer was proud that he knew that. Even if he didn’t know anything else about Bob, not really. All Spencer knew was that wherever Bob had come from, he knew how to be free in ways Spencer couldn’t begin to understand.
Spencer wasn’t sure where he’d come from, didn’t know how to go about asking Bob for his history since that’s not something you did with freed slaves; no one wanted to be reminded of the years spent fighting for basic necessities and catering to even the most deranged, embarrassing, and ridiculous whims of a master.
“Spencer, are you even on this continent right now?” Bob’s voice jarred Spencer out of his head a lot faster than most things could.
Physically shaking himself, Spencer looked up, shocked at how close the manor was. “Yeah, yeah. Just thinking about all the shit I need to do. Maybe I’ll break down and make Brendon help.”
Bob snorted. “Since when does Brendon know how to build things? The kid’s a damn genius with anything he can make into an instrument, but I have some serious fucking reservations about his ability to repair structures.”
If it were anyone else, Spencer would be indignant on Brendon’s behalf. This was Bob though. Plus, Spencer had to admit, if only this once, that Brendon might be a prodigy and pick up things really quickly, but he never had been one to parse out the mechanics of creating something that involved wood and nails.
“Fair point. Don’t let him hear that though.”
The glint in Bob’s eyes said he’d keep this small confidence between them. Spencer bit his lips and busied himself with getting into the questionable chaos that was the interior of the house in the early evening.
There was a lot of shouting, hoots of laughter ringing out, loud and lilting. That was probably Frank and Brendon doing… whatever it was they did. Even if Frank was still mostly a stranger, Spencer had learned fast that it was always better for your sanity and general well-being if you didn’t get involved.
“Welcome to the circus,” Spencer muttered, a phrase Ryan and he had always used when things started to get rambunctious around Saporta’s. Ignoring the now familiar and always painful twinge in his gut when he thought of Ryan, Spencer let himself be rocked by Bob’s shoulder knocking into his.
“Ever been to a real one?” Bob asked, direct and in a tone that suggested Bob wasn’t expecting an answer. That was usually Bob’s way, the reason Spencer didn’t mind spending increasing amounts of time with him.
For long moments, Spencer stared at the expensive decorations scattered around the foyer without seeing them.
“Yeah. When I was a kid. My sisters… ” Spencer couldn’t remember the last time he’d told someone about his family, not without the cover and security of darkness and thick blankets, nothing breaking the silence except his voice and maybe the wind and insects outside the windows. “My mother used to read books to us every evening after dinner. The girls, they loved this biography she had about some tightrope walker or something. I mostly just wanted to see the freaky stuff and the animals.”
Hell, maybe he’d been the one obsessed with acrobats. It’s not like he actually remembered, not really, not anymore. The thing was, it was a long time ago. Spencer wanted to remember, wished he could go back and tell himself so many things, what would be his last memories of his family and where not to be when. If he could just go back - well, things wouldn’t be like they were now.
Not that things were so terrible, for the moment. He had the promise of Brendon’s constant presence as a distraction, and Bob’s brand of encouragement - careful touches and soft expressions - when Brendon wasn’t around. It was a weird look on Bob; he always had things going on in his head and he didn’t let that out all that often, especially on his face. Unless he was irritated or angry; Spencer could relate.
“Were there tigers?”
“Hell no. They had some cows with extra udders and boars with extra tusks and shit. Biggest let down ever.”
“Fucking sucks, man,” Bob told him, with feeling.
“Right? Broke my ten-year-old heart.”
Huffing a soft laugh, Bob gave Spencer a real grin, complete with crinkling eyes, and holy shit. Something tugged at Spencer’s chest, something he pushed back with a vengeance.
He didn’t, however, stop Bob from throwing an arm around his shoulders as they headed toward the dining room. When they walked in, Siska was trying to wrestle something shiny out of Butcher’s hands while Gerard tried to convince Mikey of something apparently involving a lot of red and beige… Again, Spencer tried not to pay too much attention as he slid into a seat right on the edge of the action.
As soon as Brendon noticed Spencer and Bob take their seats, Bob’s right in the center of the fray between Ray and Carden, Brendon detached himself from some complicated game involving a string he was playing with Travis. Brendon flung himself into the chair beside Spencer, nearly sliding off the seat and half into Spencer’s lap before Spencer caught him.
“Hey, Spence,” Brendon beamed, bright like always. “How goes the renovation?”
Spencer shrugged. “We’ve got to replace the main door. I’m thinking I’ll make Ray do it.”
“Fucker!” Ray called across several people. He pointed a fork at Spencer to punctuate his point. “I don’t know what you’re saying, but you’ve been around Bob too long for me to trust a damn thing you say.”
Spencer smirked back, making his tone as level as he knew how. “Whatever, Toro. I know I’m your favorite.”
“Those’re fucking fighting words, man!” Frank shouted, practically jumping out of his seat to wave an accusing finger at Spencer only to stop halfway through and hand down a bowl of vegetables that Spencer and Brendon couldn’t reach. “Ray’s already pledged his undying love to me.”
Mikey snorted and coughed instead of outright cackling, which is what Spencer thought was more appropriate. “Yeah, no. That’s Gee.”
Everyone started to settle back into their seats and wander off when they needed to; it was one of the things Spencer liked most about being here. Food was being passed around, or snatched if the insults Butcher was throwing at Beckett were any indication.
Things never really got quiet but no one was shut out, either. Most of the conversation bounced from serious topics about what so-and-so needed from town to light-hearted commentary on someone’s manhood. Spencer liked that he’d gotten to know these people well enough to know that none of it was in spite. Somehow, they all got along most of the time and if there was fighting going on - Brendon swore that happened a lot with Frank and Siska for whatever reason, “clash of personalities or some shit” according to Bob - it was usually kept out of the way of everyone else.
Or, at the very least, it was kept far away from Spencer. There was no denying that most people were still a little wary around Spencer, careful and trying so hard to get him to trust and/or like them, Beckett especially. Spencer wanted to give them that…but something about being treated differently seemed counterproductive and kept Spencer from really trusting most of them.
Brendon started babbling about some cave he was trying to find with Siska; Bill had mentioned his father taking him there to explore when he was a child, and the boys had latched onto it immediately. So far they weren’t very successful, but it hadn’t been a deterrent yet. All the exploring they had accomplished was giving Brendon conversation material about moss on oak trees and rock formations or something. It sounded like gibberish, this string of directions that Spencer couldn’t make sense of because he was still too leery about wandering that far from the main house.
It didn’t really matter; Spencer didn’t care what Brendon said so long as he was talking and reminding Spencer that he was there.
“What?” Brendon asked, his lips twitching into an awkward half-smile. “What are you staring at, Spencer Smith?”
“Nothing,” Spencer promised, shaking his head.
How was he supposed to tell Brendon that sometimes Spencer just needed to stare at him? Brendon looked a little ridiculous with his ivory button-down and crooked blue polka-dotted bow tie. He was still the most amazing thing Spencer had seen in... longer than he cared to think about.
There had been a month or so where Spencer was alone in the traveling sales house and could only see Brendon’s face behind his eyelids. The acting out Spencer had done and the cages he’d almost reveled being thrown into were still phantom whispers through his mind so often that Spencer couldn’t stand not being able to watch Brendon laugh, talk, sing… Hell, Spencer kind of liked waking up in the middle of the night with Brendon’s quiet humming or escalating snores. Whatever meant that Brendon was there.
“I’m just… watching you.”
Brendon leaned over, his shoulder against Spencer’s, and reached for the croissant on Spencer’s plate. “Do we need to talk about manners again? I thought we had you housebroken.”
Shaking his head, Spencer ignored the way Beckett and Travis seemed to quiet at that. But they didn’t understand, didn’t get that the rules were different among slaves, especially Brendon and Spencer.
“Yeah, Bren, you can try to talk me through appropriate table behavior again.” He sent a pointed look toward where Siska was taking up two chairs (one with Butcher still on it) so he could lean across the table and steal things from Beckett’s plate when the serving bowl was closer.
“Losing battle, Brendon,” Bob called down, giving them a wry look.
Brendon just scrunched his nose and stuck his tongue out, nearly knocking over his water glass and trying to grab it without looking away from Bob.
Ducking his head, Spencer laughed quietly. Brendon reached down to squeeze his knee, the type of reminder Brendon was always trying to give Spencer, more promises that he didn’t have to hide.
“Anyone heard from our capricious friends from up north?” Beckett asked, mostly still chewing.
There were murmurs, most of them saying “no” but there was someone saying something about a letter or what-the-hell-ever. Spencer didn’t care. He didn’t have any friends up north, not unless that’s where Jon and Ryan ended up. But for all Tom’s searching, Brendon said they still didn’t know shit.
Spencer tuned it out and ate his potatoes until it was late enough to talk Brendon into going to their room to goof off for the rest of the night. When Brendon tugged Bob up the stairs with them and begged for a story, Spencer rolled his eyes at Bob but didn’t otherwise complain. Bob’s constant presence was one of the easiest things Spencer had to adjust to.
**********
Spencer was halfway through fixing the main house’s front steps when the sound of wheels and hooves on the rock lane leading to the stables caught his attention. For a few moments, he just stared at the splintering step was trying to mend.
He hated, absolutely detested the way his heart sped up, racing as his palms began to sweat. There was no reason for him to be so nervous, but he didn’t think they were expecting anyone, and new people were... tricky.
Carefully, maybe a little shakily, Spencer pulled himself to his feet and did the only thing he really knew how to do anymore: find Brendon.
His first shot was the music room, always a good bet when trying to track Brendon down. His last lesson had ended about twenty minutes ago; Spencer had spoken to Cassadee on her way out to meet her carriage.
Spencer had to concentrate on walking at a normal pace instead of running down the hall the way he wanted to. As expected, Brendon was still tinkering around with a guitar when Spencer reached the hallway, the sound drifting through the air since Brendon didn’t appreciate feeling locked up in one room unless he was sleeping or with Spencer or Bob.
Trying his very damnedest not to seem too ridiculous and wretchedly terrified, Spencer tapped out a staccato beat against the wall beside the door. Brendon looked up quickly, his smile immediate. The expression fell as soon as he caught a glimpse of Spencer’s face. Maybe Spencer needed to spend a bit more time working on keeping his facial expression blank if he was this easy to read.
Unless it was only Brendon who could read him; Spencer thought he might be okay with Brendon knowing him that well.
“What’s wrong?” Even as he asked, Brendon was setting the guitar to the side and moving across the room. “What is it? Has something happened?”
Each question was a tad more frantic than the one before it, and Spencer knew he needed to stop that. There was no reason for Brendon to be in a panic just because Spencer still hadn’t figured out how to deal with people he didn’t see every day.
“Just… someone’s here. I wondered if you had a lesson I didn’t know about? Sarah have a recital or something?”
“Sarah doesn’t have another recital for a few more months right now.”
Spencer should have known that; he heard Brendon talk about his schedule and what was going on with his students on a daily basis. “Hm,” he nodded, blanking his face as much as possible.
Sensing his discomfort, Brendon laid a hand on Spencer’s arm, lightly gripping just above his elbow. “Spence. Seriously, what’s going on? Did… something happen?”
Glancing down, feeling his cheeks heat, Spencer tried to shrug but his shoulders felt too rigid and heavy. Trying to appear more nonchalant, he tugged at the cuffs of his brown shirt with the ivory pattern he’d picked just because it made Brendon smile.
“Just… someone’s here? I think. I heard…I just wondered if you knew someone who was supposed to be coming?”
Even though he didn’t move, not really, Spencer could see the gears turning. Brendon was alert, trying to reason things out. Thankfully, that was what made Spencer ease up on the embarrassment. If Brendon needed time to process, then it was perfectly acceptable if Spencer needed the same thing.
“Come on,” Brendon said suddenly, slipping his hand down to link his fingers with Spencer’s. “We’ll go see what is going on. It’s probably just some business thing of Bill’s. They’ll probably be in the office by the time we even get out there.”
After a month or so, Spencer had stopped relying on Brendon to lead him through everything. As he had acclimated, realized no one was actively trying to make him anxious, Spencer stopped needing the metaphorical handholding.
Sometimes, when something random happened to remind Spencer who held his papers, the literal version was nice. Besides, if Brendon was touching him, then Spencer knew where he was. If something happened, when things finally took a turn for the worst and got bad, Spencer would be able to keep up with Brendon if he was close. When the tables turned and they were pulled out of this house or Beckett started actually behaving like a real master instead of a semi-distant acquaintance, Spencer would be able to get Brendon out. No matter what, Spencer wasn’t letting Brendon go this time. Come Hell or high water, they were sticking together.
So what if that thought made Spencer grip Brendon’s fingers a little tighter? Brendon just squeezed his hand in return.
When they reached the end of the hall, pulling open the heavy oak door, they realized something really was happening. There were voices coming from the entrance hall where no one ever spent an extended amount of time. Sharing a look, Spencer and Brendon soldiered on into the unknown, finding most of the staff greeting two new additions; Travis was actually laughing at some guy Spencer vaguely remembered seeing a photograph of on the one trip he’d been persuaded to take to Pete’s place in town.
Brendon started to hunch his shoulders, closing in on himself the way he did when he was unsure of his place, the same mannerism he’d slipped into every single time a buyer stopped to inquire on his papers and skill set while they were still in the travelling sales house. His fidgeting was escalating, Brendon tugging at his suspenders, pulling one side down off his arm even if the other was stuck because Spencer wasn’t giving his hand back.
Spencer hadn’t seen that reaction in a while, and it annoyed him enough to have him squaring his shoulders in counterpoint, back straight and head held high.
Maybe if he didn’t act like he was owned, no one would catch on. That hadn’t actually worked before, and Spencer had taken more than one beating for being “too proud for his station in life” but he’d never actually been able to give up what little bit of pride the trainers, masters, traders, and slave managers hadn’t been able to find and beat or berate out of him.
Seconds away from clearing his throat and garnering the sort of attention he should have been trying to avoid, Spencer glanced behind the small crowd and met Bob’s eyes. Bob gave a slight nod, but Spencer couldn’t bring himself to smile, nod, or even shrug in return.
Bob jerked his head toward the kitchen and Spencer understood the implicit command in that... or, well, not command because Bob didn’t demand things; it was more of a silent request. Whatever it was, Spencer gave Brendon a tug, leading the way toward the deserted room. There was something steaming in a pot on the stove, but it didn’t seem to be boiling yet so Spencer didn’t bother to check if it was charred or edible.
Before Spencer could say anything, Bob was carefully prying Brendon away. Spencer made an aborted movement to grab onto Brendon again until he saw Bob wrap both arms around Brendon’s shoulders and sigh against his hair.
“How you doing, Bren?”
Brendon shrugged and mumbled something too low and muffled against Bob’s shirt for Spencer to parse out.
“They’re lawyers, friends of Bill’s. They only come out when they have good news or Bill has some emergency issue with a contract that didn’t go through.”
Comforting as that should have been, Spencer still remembered the last time he had seen lawyers in a master’s home. When the lawyers showed up at Saporta’s, it hadn’t taken long for them to send the tax collectors to gather all the slaves into a line with shackles and heavy chains, hitting first and asking questions later.
He couldn’t stop the small shudder that rocked through his body, spine tingling with the cold. Goosebumps rose on Spencer’s arms and he bit down on his lip. Giving in to the impulse, Spencer reached out to grasp at Brendon’s shirt. Unfortunately, he was too far away to touch anything other than air. Stupid fucking feet, Spencer thought; if they would just listen to his commands, Spencer could be letting Brendon burrow into his chest, offering as much relief as he would be taking from the gesture.
“Fucking hell, Smith,” Bob rumbled, catching Spencer’s wrist. He let go of Brendon and turned so Brendon was tucked into one side and Spencer could be pulled against the other. “They’re just lawyers, what’s so scary about them?”
“Lawyers were there the day… when we were sold to the traveling sales house,” Spencer forced out between gritted teeth.
Bob’s arm tightened, but when Spencer glanced up, there was confusion written on his face. They hadn’t given up the whole story. Correction, Spencer hadn’t told anyone, even Bob, anything. Brendon may have but Brendon also had this uncanny ability to talk without saying a damn thing.
“Seized by the government for Saporta’s tax debts,” Brendon mumbled, voice a little thicker than usual.
“Blackinton tried to buy us back but... I don’t know. I guess he could only take Victoria with him,” Spencer added.
Brendon must have nodded; Spencer felt Bob’s shirt move. “She was free anyway. Probably just had to take her papers in.”
Neither of them pointed out that Jon was also technically free and his contract had stated he’d work off his debts with Saporta. He’d still been taken with the rest, shoved in line with Brendon, Spencer, and Ryan. He’d still been bought by the same little princess who had paid for Ryan with her daddy’s money.
Bob...growled. Or something. It wasn’t really a human sound, not a hmph or sigh. “It’s lucky that even mattered.”
For a few seconds, Bob held on tighter. Spencer felt a calm start to settle in. If Bob was there...maybe they’d be okay. He looked like he could fight, had a gruff exterior. No one at Saporta’s had really been like that. Suarez had talked a big game, but Spencer was convinced the freeman didn’t know how to take a punch.
Finally, Bob pushed them away, slowly, carefully. Brendon made a little whimpering noise and reached out to take Spencer’s hand. Spencer held on, grip too tight. Shockingly enough, Bob didn’t move them far, only an arm’s length away. They were still close enough that he could hold onto each of their shoulders, keeping them in a sort of misshapen triangle.
“No one is taking you again, got it?” He was so... earnest. It made Spencer start a little. “Whatever happens, Bill isn’t letting them take you away. And you both know I fucking won’t.”
Spencer frowned at how absolutely emphatic Bob sounded. Buying into the reassurance would be so fucking easy, but Spencer hadn’t survived this long as a slave by relying on blind hope.
“Okay, Bob,” Brendon whispered, glancing at Spencer to include him in the response.
Blind hope had always been more Brendon’s thing, anyway. At least he still had that optimism in him, even after he’d been everything from a stable slave to a little girl’s living doll to being considered the same level as the dogs some teenager had forced him to live among. Spencer envied Brendon’s ability to still see the bright things. There was no way in Hell he was letting anything take that away.
Bob opened his mouth, forehead wrinkled like he was gearing up for a rant, when Butcher burst in. Seriously, Spencer had never been so glad to see Butcher; the inexplicable name was off-putting enough for Spencer to generally avoid him.
“Urie, c’mon. There are people who want to meet you!” He was hitting them with the full force of his half-insane grin, and Spencer wanted to smile back but... lawyers were here and they wanted something from Brendon.
Hell. Fucking. No.
“Um.” Brendon looked around a bit wildly, his nails starting to bite into Spencer’s palm.
“Not without me,” Spencer put in with more defiance than he knew he could muster.
“Us,” Bob corrected, giving Butcher a look that dared him to complain.
Laughing, he waved a hand and shrugged. “Too fucking much, guys. Bill wants them to talk to Spencer anyway. And no one’s leaving you out,” he muttered to Bob. “Like you’d let us. Fucking guard dog tendencies.”
What? Spencer almost asked, but Butcher was vanishing into the dining room and Bob was starting to usher Spencer and Brendon in that direction so Spencer focused on making sure he stepped into the room ahead of Brendon, blocking him from view for as long as possible.
Beckett was practically bouncing, hands waving as he talked to the guy Spencer recognized from the picture, plus another one with a beard and hair that made him look a little nuts. Spencer tried not to glare, honestly, but these guys looked suspicious.
Well, okay, the first one kind of reminded Spencer of Jon, and the other was just strange.
Fucking traitor Bob cleared his throat. Travis nudged Beckett and nodded toward the doorway, all while rolling his eyes at Beckett’s antics.
“Bden! Spencer Smith! Sit, sit,” Beckett told them in what Siska was forever calling his regal heir voice. Spencer didn’t trust anything that had the word heir in the title, or masters who were this enthusiastic about a slave’s appearance. Never mind that Beckett’s mother had apparently been a slave once. The lose-lose situation Spencer put Beckett into was an unavoidable consequence of Beckett still holding his papers.
Metaphorically.
Although, Beckett was holding some sort of papers in his fluttery hands. And he wanted to see Brendon. Was he going transfer ownership? Were the lawyers, these two new additions who looked normal even though normal was so often misleading, here to finish up a transfer of Brendon to... someone? Or was this about transferring Spencer. Was Beckett just going to use this time to apologize to Brendon for sending his friend away?
Shit. Spencer should have tried harder. Should have been more open and faked the trust better. Shouldn’t have scowled so much and spent so much time working on that fucking house Beckett had promised them.
Spencer was working up to a real tantrum. Typical.
“Guys, seriously.”
“Just do it so he’ll shut up. He has a surprise,” Siska muttered. He sounded amused, though.
Spencer moved for the seat closest to the door, taking Brendon with him. Beckett got all flaily again and kept begging them closer until Brendon was to Beckett’s right and Spencer was on Brendon’s other side. The lawyers were across from them. It was difficult, but Spencer managed not to kick them under the table.
“Okay. Okay, okay, okay,” Beckett started. He motioned toward the lawyers, the clean cut one first. “This is Joe Trohman and that’s Andy Hurley. They’re, well, Bob told you, right? My attorneys. They have something for you, Brendon.”
He was almost talking too fast for Spencer to keep up but he managed.
Brendon shifted, reached out for Spencer under the table. “Um. Yeah, hi. So. Right. What is it?”
Someone squeezed Spencer’s shoulder; he didn’t have to look to know it was Bob. He must have done the same thing to Brendon because Brendon’s shoulders lost a tiny bit of tension. His eyes, however, continued staring at the wall between these Joe and Andy characters.
Beckett looked about to start again, but Joe cut him off. “The big surprise is...well, here.” He wrestled a stack of papers away from Beckett and slid them across the table to Brendon. “All those need to be official is your signature at the bottom.”
“You can,” Andy put in, cutting his eyes to the side in apparent embarrassment. “You can read and write? Sometimes I know they don’t teach slaves...”
Without Spencer’s express permission, Spencer’s leg kicked out.
“Fuck!” Andy reached down, wincing. “Sorry. I, yeah, I didn’t mean...just, sorry. Right. That was rude.”
“This is what happens when you spend too much fucking time with Pete. I tried to tell you fuckers this but does anyone list-”
“Gee,” Bob snapped. “Shut up. Brendon, what is that?”
Spencer seconded the question, even though Bob sounded like he already knew. Nothing was making sense. No one wanted slaves to sign things, not really. Sometimes it might happen if they were being given some sort of special privilege; Ryan had talked about that. In exchange for being allowed to walk the gardens on the third master’s estate, he’d had to sign something saying if he did so during the day or wandered out of the designated paths, he’d be sold to a brothel after having a leg broken.
Understandably, Spencer didn’t trust masters who let slaves sign things.
“Spence,” Brendon started. “I. Bill, really? You’re serious?”
“Brendon, what?” Spencer asked, tugging the papers away. Brendon was clutching them so hard they were starting to rip in places.
Beckett was grinning like the crazy person he was. “Yeah. Yeah, you didn’t think I was just going to keep you, right? I mean, you can stay here as long as you want. Keep giving lessons out of the music room, whatever. But if you wanted to go... you could.”
“What, now?” Spencer asked, but was paying more attention to the sheaf in his hands.
There was an official seal at the top, the kind that only came on government notices. He scanned down, through the legalese that might as well have been Greek. More nonsense Spencer didn’t understand. Finally, the line that had Spencer losing his breath.
On this day, October 03, the Baronet William Eugene Beckett II of Santi Manor, Southern Shepherdville County, releases ownership of one Brendon Boyd Urie. As enacted through this emancipation, the enslaved is released from all duties, debts, and/or servitude placed upon him by Baronet Beckett or our lordship.
More words covered the subsequent pages but there were signatures, the scrawl of people with titles like Magistrate Berg and Honorable Judge Greenwald, followed by Beckett’s with Travis’ over the witness line and Trohman and Hurley’s above the designated notary lines.
Apparently, it was a giant pain in the ass to free someone.
And Beckett had still freed Brendon. Which. What?
“Spence,” Brendon whispered, prying his papers away and holding a pen above the line marked emancipated.
His hand was shaky, but his name was still legible. As soon as his pen moved from the paper, the whole table erupted. Everyone was yelling, hollering, trying to get at Brendon to hug him. Hell, even Bob swung Brendon around in a tight circle. That probably had more to do with the direction Brendon forced on him with the power of his near tackle, but still.
Everything was loud and celebratory, everyone talking at once. But Spencer. He was frozen in his seat.
This shouldn’t be a shock. On his very first fucking day there, Ray had told Spencer Beckett had freed him. Beckett had freed all of them: Ray, Frank, Bob, Gerard and Mikey (even if Pete had actually found the last two). Travis had sworn Beckett’s mother was a slave, a runaway, and that Beckett wasn’t actually a Beckett by blood.
Spencer shouldn’t be nearly as surprised as he was.
He must have been staring at nothing too long, holding his breath or gasping or... whatever he was doing during his whole existential crisis. There was a light touch on his shoulder. When Spencer looked up, Beckett was in Brendon’s vacated seat.
“Yeah?” It was more of a cough than a word.
Beckett grinned. He flipped his hair out of his face and nodded. “They’re working on yours. It’s... a process. Joe and Andy have to do a petition and then we have to meet with a judge who sends it to the Western Counties for a magistrate that’s willing to sign off. But we’re working on it. You get this, too.”
In all his watching, his suspicious staring, Spencer had never seen Beckett look so... sincere. There was something like hope in his eyes, like he was asking Spencer to just trust him, just this once, on this one thing.
“I...Um.” Spencer couldn’t get the words out. Turning, just a little, Spencer saw Brendon. He was practically glowing with excitement, bouncing from one person to the next just to drape over their shoulders and, suddenly, it was easy. “Thank... you. Thank you.”
Staring down, letting his hair fall in his eyes, he tried to cover the smile he felt taking over. Maybe he wasn’t free, not yet, maybe even not ever, but Brendon was. And that... well.
Before Beckett had a chance to do more than squeeze Spencer’s forearm, Brendon actually threw himself into Spencer’s lap.
“Spencer. Fucking. Fuck. I’m... this. I’m free. Spence.” Brendon was smiling all over the place and it was fucking gorgeous. Spencer would beg, cheat, steal, borrow, maim, and kill to keep Brendon this happy forever.
Even with everyone there, general bedlam happening with everyone pulling out cakes (probably not one of Frank’s since the kitchen was intact and Ray hadn’t had an aneurysm yet), all vying for Brendon’s attention. Even with all of the goings-on, Spencer gave in to one tiny thing he hadn’t even acknowledged that he wanted.
He ran a hand through Brendon’s hair, pulling just a bit, just enough that he could lean in and press their lips together. Feel that smile. Keep the memory.
Brendon may have gasped, Siska definitely whistled, but there was no awkward pause or resistance. Spencer pressed his fingers into the small of Brendon’s back, leaning up to sustain the touch as Brendon’s arms wrapped around his neck. It didn’t last long, not long enough, but when Brendon pulled away to lean their foreheads together, he was still smiling.
Cutting his eyes to the side, Spencer caught Bob watching, wearing a real smile for once. And that, all of this... well. It was more than enough.
**********
Celebrating Brendon’s official emancipation took up most of the night. There was a larger variety of food than they usually bothered making for one meal, but Siska and Butcher had tried to make everything they knew Brendon liked. Brendon was on air all through dinner, humming when his mouth was full and singing when it wasn’t. Someone broke out a few of the guitars and Travie gave Brendon something called an autoharp as a congratulations present.
Brendon had let go of Spencer to hug Travie for roughly ten minutes before he settled back into his seat. Bob laughed and flicked the strings, giving Brendon a one-armed hug when Brendon shoved his hand away from the new instrument.
Tearing Brendon away from his new toy was nearly impossible; Spencer didn’t even try, not until it was far later than any of them usually stayed up. They climbed the stairs a little bleary, still laughing at a story Butcher had been yelling to them on the stairs - he’d only been two steps behind but insisted they couldn’t hear him.
They pushed into their room still rambling nonsense at each other, mocking Butcher’s half-sentences and nonsense phrases. Their routine was natural at this point: Brendon pulling the drapes closed, Spencer stoking the fire so they wouldn’t freeze in the night, Brendon struggling out of his suspenders and hopping around to kick off his shoes without actually unlacing them. Spencer chuckled, folding his clothes as he tugged them off and pulling on one of the nightshirts Brendon was forever making fun of.
Spencer fell back onto his bed, not bothering to turn down the covers. By the time Brendon was down to his underwear, Spencer was half asleep.
“Spencer, Spencer Smith, do not go to sleep on me yet!” Brendon jumped on Spencer’s bed, landing on his knees and making Spencer bounce.
Chuckling softly, Spencer rolled to his side and propped himself up on one arm. He looked at Brendon with bleary eyes, blinking to bring him into focus. “‘M awake.”
“Good. Because,” Brendon drew out the second syllable. “I am a free man, Spencer. Fucking free. Can you believe it?” He didn’t sound like he could, the shock of it still holding strong.
“Yeah,” Spencer nodded, forcing himself to wake up. “You deserve it.”
Brendon ducked his head, looking up through his eyelashes. Spencer’s stomach dropped out. His breath caught a little in his throat at the warm, happy glow in Brendon’s cheeks.
“So do you,” Brendon whispered. He leaned down, pressing their foreheads together and going a little cross-eyed to keep looking at Spencer.
Spencer laughed. “You’re such a dork.”
When Brendon nodded, their noses brushed. “But you love it, right?”
The tiniest of shifts pressed their lips together. It wasn’t really a kiss, more just a brush of lips with the promise of more. “Yeah. I kind of really do.” Spencer barely recognized his voice, soft and rough.
Brendon smiled, wide and bright, but it softened until he could press his lips to Spencer’s for a proper kiss. It was a little dry, their lips catching in a way that would be uncomfortable if Spencer wasn’t stuck on the fact that he was kissing Brendon. Spencer pulled away enough to lick his lips and when they met again, the slide was easier.
Spencer reached up, hooking a hand behind Brendon’s neck to get a little more leverage. Brendon brought his hands up to frame Spencer’s face, idly brushing his fingers against Spencer’s beard. Spencer hummed and then Brendon was surging forward. Without his hands holding him up, Brendon overbalanced. He fell against Spencer’s shoulder, forcing their lips apart and Spencer to drop down on his back.
They stared at each other for a couple seconds before Spencer started snickering and Brendon outright laughed. Spencer ran the hand he still had on Brendon’s neck down his back, pulling him down. Still giggling - a fresh wave of giddiness coming over each of them whenever they started to calm down - Brendon settled against Spencer’s side, hooking an ankle between Spencer’s.
Spencer got a little preoccupied, his smile softening. Brendon’s skin was smoother than he expected. There were a few spots that felt different under his fingertips, scars he’d seen a thousand times but never tried to think about, never wanted to consider how badly Brendon had been hurt. Not that it mattered now; no one could hurt Brendon like that again.
Brendon darted forward, pressing a kiss to the tip of Spencer’s nose. Spencer wrinkled it and huffed a laugh.
“Hey. Want to try that again?” Brendon asked, going for sassy and coming across something closer to gleeful.
“I don’t know.” Spencer stared up at the ceiling. He bit his lip to hide his smile but still heard it in his voice. “I’m pretty tired. Think it’s worth it?”
“I’m always worth it. Don’t even fake like you doubt me.” Brendon rested his head on Spencer’s shoulder, kissing slowly up Spencer’s neck.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say.” Spencer meticulously slid his hand along Brendon’s side, finding the spot right above his hip to dig in his fingers.
“No tickling!” Brendon squirmed in the most interesting way, trying to shove Spencer’s hand away. “No fair!”
He was still laughing when Spencer caught his lips again. Spencer didn’t waste any time, slipping his tongue out to trace Brendon’s lips. Brendon opened for him immediately, meeting each of Spencer’s moves with a counterpoint of his own. Both of them were a little careful, but that just made the kisses the sweetest thing Spencer had probably ever felt.
Spencer had never felt so... light. There was this floaty feeling in his chest that threatened to bubble out of his throat and make him pull away. Spencer held it down, more interested in keeping his mouth on Brendon’s. Brendon didn’t seem to mind, breaking away to take a deep breath but moving back in before he’d even finished inhaling.
Brendon’s hand was wrapped in the front of his shirt, the other idly playing with Spencer’s hair; Spencer’s hands were aimless, roaming Brendon’s skin. It was amazing and Spencer would have been happy to do this forever and never leave the room.
But it was late and Spencer really was extremely tired. He was fighting off a yawn with every hasty breath and Brendon’s kisses were becoming more unfocused. His grip on Spencer’s shirt loosened and Spencer’s caresses lingered longer. Spencer moved down to kiss Brendon’s chin, suck at the pulse in his throat.
Brendon groaned softly, the sound turning into a yawn. Spencer laughed, pressing one final open-mouthed kiss to the corner of Brendon’s mouth. He pulled back, yawning as Brendon blinked at him.
“We should sleep.”
“Yeah,” Brendon agreed easily, burying his face against Spencer’s chest. “Get the lamp?”
Spencer sighed, so very put upon. Brendon bit his collarbone, and Spencer tried not to let on how that one sharp feeling went straight through his body like lightning. It was a struggle, but Spencer managed to reach the oil lamp on his bedside table without displacing Brendon too much.
Brendon hummed his thanks when the room dimmed, everything slightly orange due to the fire burning across the room. He was already half out of it and, with the way his eyes kept taking longer and longer to blink open, Spencer wasn’t far behind. Spencer cupped the back of Brendon’s head and closed his eyes.
“Goodnight.” For once, Spencer actually meant it.
Part Two
The fieldhouse was quickly becoming Spencer’s worst enemy. Sure, it was his to do with as he pleased, since Brendon didn’t seem to have any opinions other than what type of furniture he wanted, but furniture was going to be the least of their worries if Spencer couldn’t make the damn house inhabitable.
The roof had been an easy enough fix once Spencer got Ray to get him a new ladder from town. Now the bane of his existence was the warping around the door and all but one window.
“Fuck this,” he muttered, kicking the doorframe harder than necessary. He’d need new lumber for the whole door, probably the bedroom windows and sitting room floor, as well.
Maybe today would be the day he got up the nerve to ask for something. Maybe.
Probably not.
Half a year in and Spencer was still going through Bob just to get new drumsticks and Brendon to get Patrick to get Pete to make Spencer new shoes when his were damaged in the flood that hit last month. Actually, that last one had worked out pretty well. It got Spencer his favorite light gray loafers with dark gray accents. They were fucking amazing, even if he was ruining them in an effort to abuse his fieldhouse.
“Piece of shit.” Spencer kicked the doorframe again, just for good measure. He was working himself up into a rant when he heard a soft chuckle behind him. Slowly, purposefully precise, Spencer turned, hip cocked and a scowl cemented in place.
“Give it up, Smith. Just tell Bill you need some new shit.” As always, Bob looked almost amused by Spencer’s best glare.
Something about that, even when Spencer first came to Beckett’s, always made Spencer want to blush and get all coy. Which was ridiculous since Spencer didn’t do the shy thing; that was Brendon’s forte. Still, Spencer liked the way Bob looked at him. Just to be contrary, Spencer tried to deepen his frown.
Lips twitching, Bob cleared the four steps up the small porch in two strides. Dropping a hand to Spencer’s shoulder, Bob started to turn him toward the main house. Spencer could have resisted but didn’t have a reason to. Bob only ever came to drag him away when it was time for dinner.
“You’re not getting anything fixed until Bill gets you a new door or something. Have Ray do it. He’s going fucking stir crazy since the fields are done for the season, anyway. I’m about to make him live with Frank and Gerard, trade him for Mikey. Save Mikey’s sanity so he doesn’t have to hear them anymore.” Bob laughed but Spencer couldn’t echo it.
Spencer knew his house was a work in progress. He just wanted out of the main manor before Beckett came to his senses and took it back. The room he shared with Brendon was great and everything, but it was small and there were always too many people wandering the corridors or lounging in stairwells.
The pervasive fear was no longer a constant, general state of mind, but Spencer needed time to remember where and who he was in this new environment. The relative quiet and extra privacy a house would provide should, hopefully, give Spencer what he wanted… needed.
Trying to rein his thoughts in, Spencer shrugged. “Maybe I’ll make you buy everything. You haven’t been to town in a while.”
Bob groaned low in his throat. “Don’t. I’ll rebuild your shack from the ground up if you send Ray instead.”
Spencer couldn’t help his small grin. One of the running jokes on the estate was Bob’s hatred of going anywhere that meant buying anything. For a minute, Spencer was proud that he knew that. Even if he didn’t know anything else about Bob, not really. All Spencer knew was that wherever Bob had come from, he knew how to be free in ways Spencer couldn’t begin to understand.
Spencer wasn’t sure where he’d come from, didn’t know how to go about asking Bob for his history since that’s not something you did with freed slaves; no one wanted to be reminded of the years spent fighting for basic necessities and catering to even the most deranged, embarrassing, and ridiculous whims of a master.
“Spencer, are you even on this continent right now?” Bob’s voice jarred Spencer out of his head a lot faster than most things could.
Physically shaking himself, Spencer looked up, shocked at how close the manor was. “Yeah, yeah. Just thinking about all the shit I need to do. Maybe I’ll break down and make Brendon help.”
Bob snorted. “Since when does Brendon know how to build things? The kid’s a damn genius with anything he can make into an instrument, but I have some serious fucking reservations about his ability to repair structures.”
If it were anyone else, Spencer would be indignant on Brendon’s behalf. This was Bob though. Plus, Spencer had to admit, if only this once, that Brendon might be a prodigy and pick up things really quickly, but he never had been one to parse out the mechanics of creating something that involved wood and nails.
“Fair point. Don’t let him hear that though.”
The glint in Bob’s eyes said he’d keep this small confidence between them. Spencer bit his lips and busied himself with getting into the questionable chaos that was the interior of the house in the early evening.
There was a lot of shouting, hoots of laughter ringing out, loud and lilting. That was probably Frank and Brendon doing… whatever it was they did. Even if Frank was still mostly a stranger, Spencer had learned fast that it was always better for your sanity and general well-being if you didn’t get involved.
“Welcome to the circus,” Spencer muttered, a phrase Ryan and he had always used when things started to get rambunctious around Saporta’s. Ignoring the now familiar and always painful twinge in his gut when he thought of Ryan, Spencer let himself be rocked by Bob’s shoulder knocking into his.
“Ever been to a real one?” Bob asked, direct and in a tone that suggested Bob wasn’t expecting an answer. That was usually Bob’s way, the reason Spencer didn’t mind spending increasing amounts of time with him.
For long moments, Spencer stared at the expensive decorations scattered around the foyer without seeing them.
“Yeah. When I was a kid. My sisters… ” Spencer couldn’t remember the last time he’d told someone about his family, not without the cover and security of darkness and thick blankets, nothing breaking the silence except his voice and maybe the wind and insects outside the windows. “My mother used to read books to us every evening after dinner. The girls, they loved this biography she had about some tightrope walker or something. I mostly just wanted to see the freaky stuff and the animals.”
Hell, maybe he’d been the one obsessed with acrobats. It’s not like he actually remembered, not really, not anymore. The thing was, it was a long time ago. Spencer wanted to remember, wished he could go back and tell himself so many things, what would be his last memories of his family and where not to be when. If he could just go back - well, things wouldn’t be like they were now.
Not that things were so terrible, for the moment. He had the promise of Brendon’s constant presence as a distraction, and Bob’s brand of encouragement - careful touches and soft expressions - when Brendon wasn’t around. It was a weird look on Bob; he always had things going on in his head and he didn’t let that out all that often, especially on his face. Unless he was irritated or angry; Spencer could relate.
“Were there tigers?”
“Hell no. They had some cows with extra udders and boars with extra tusks and shit. Biggest let down ever.”
“Fucking sucks, man,” Bob told him, with feeling.
“Right? Broke my ten-year-old heart.”
Huffing a soft laugh, Bob gave Spencer a real grin, complete with crinkling eyes, and holy shit. Something tugged at Spencer’s chest, something he pushed back with a vengeance.
He didn’t, however, stop Bob from throwing an arm around his shoulders as they headed toward the dining room. When they walked in, Siska was trying to wrestle something shiny out of Butcher’s hands while Gerard tried to convince Mikey of something apparently involving a lot of red and beige… Again, Spencer tried not to pay too much attention as he slid into a seat right on the edge of the action.
As soon as Brendon noticed Spencer and Bob take their seats, Bob’s right in the center of the fray between Ray and Carden, Brendon detached himself from some complicated game involving a string he was playing with Travis. Brendon flung himself into the chair beside Spencer, nearly sliding off the seat and half into Spencer’s lap before Spencer caught him.
“Hey, Spence,” Brendon beamed, bright like always. “How goes the renovation?”
Spencer shrugged. “We’ve got to replace the main door. I’m thinking I’ll make Ray do it.”
“Fucker!” Ray called across several people. He pointed a fork at Spencer to punctuate his point. “I don’t know what you’re saying, but you’ve been around Bob too long for me to trust a damn thing you say.”
Spencer smirked back, making his tone as level as he knew how. “Whatever, Toro. I know I’m your favorite.”
“Those’re fucking fighting words, man!” Frank shouted, practically jumping out of his seat to wave an accusing finger at Spencer only to stop halfway through and hand down a bowl of vegetables that Spencer and Brendon couldn’t reach. “Ray’s already pledged his undying love to me.”
Mikey snorted and coughed instead of outright cackling, which is what Spencer thought was more appropriate. “Yeah, no. That’s Gee.”
Everyone started to settle back into their seats and wander off when they needed to; it was one of the things Spencer liked most about being here. Food was being passed around, or snatched if the insults Butcher was throwing at Beckett were any indication.
Things never really got quiet but no one was shut out, either. Most of the conversation bounced from serious topics about what so-and-so needed from town to light-hearted commentary on someone’s manhood. Spencer liked that he’d gotten to know these people well enough to know that none of it was in spite. Somehow, they all got along most of the time and if there was fighting going on - Brendon swore that happened a lot with Frank and Siska for whatever reason, “clash of personalities or some shit” according to Bob - it was usually kept out of the way of everyone else.
Or, at the very least, it was kept far away from Spencer. There was no denying that most people were still a little wary around Spencer, careful and trying so hard to get him to trust and/or like them, Beckett especially. Spencer wanted to give them that…but something about being treated differently seemed counterproductive and kept Spencer from really trusting most of them.
Brendon started babbling about some cave he was trying to find with Siska; Bill had mentioned his father taking him there to explore when he was a child, and the boys had latched onto it immediately. So far they weren’t very successful, but it hadn’t been a deterrent yet. All the exploring they had accomplished was giving Brendon conversation material about moss on oak trees and rock formations or something. It sounded like gibberish, this string of directions that Spencer couldn’t make sense of because he was still too leery about wandering that far from the main house.
It didn’t really matter; Spencer didn’t care what Brendon said so long as he was talking and reminding Spencer that he was there.
“What?” Brendon asked, his lips twitching into an awkward half-smile. “What are you staring at, Spencer Smith?”
“Nothing,” Spencer promised, shaking his head.
How was he supposed to tell Brendon that sometimes Spencer just needed to stare at him? Brendon looked a little ridiculous with his ivory button-down and crooked blue polka-dotted bow tie. He was still the most amazing thing Spencer had seen in... longer than he cared to think about.
There had been a month or so where Spencer was alone in the traveling sales house and could only see Brendon’s face behind his eyelids. The acting out Spencer had done and the cages he’d almost reveled being thrown into were still phantom whispers through his mind so often that Spencer couldn’t stand not being able to watch Brendon laugh, talk, sing… Hell, Spencer kind of liked waking up in the middle of the night with Brendon’s quiet humming or escalating snores. Whatever meant that Brendon was there.
“I’m just… watching you.”
Brendon leaned over, his shoulder against Spencer’s, and reached for the croissant on Spencer’s plate. “Do we need to talk about manners again? I thought we had you housebroken.”
Shaking his head, Spencer ignored the way Beckett and Travis seemed to quiet at that. But they didn’t understand, didn’t get that the rules were different among slaves, especially Brendon and Spencer.
“Yeah, Bren, you can try to talk me through appropriate table behavior again.” He sent a pointed look toward where Siska was taking up two chairs (one with Butcher still on it) so he could lean across the table and steal things from Beckett’s plate when the serving bowl was closer.
“Losing battle, Brendon,” Bob called down, giving them a wry look.
Brendon just scrunched his nose and stuck his tongue out, nearly knocking over his water glass and trying to grab it without looking away from Bob.
Ducking his head, Spencer laughed quietly. Brendon reached down to squeeze his knee, the type of reminder Brendon was always trying to give Spencer, more promises that he didn’t have to hide.
“Anyone heard from our capricious friends from up north?” Beckett asked, mostly still chewing.
There were murmurs, most of them saying “no” but there was someone saying something about a letter or what-the-hell-ever. Spencer didn’t care. He didn’t have any friends up north, not unless that’s where Jon and Ryan ended up. But for all Tom’s searching, Brendon said they still didn’t know shit.
Spencer tuned it out and ate his potatoes until it was late enough to talk Brendon into going to their room to goof off for the rest of the night. When Brendon tugged Bob up the stairs with them and begged for a story, Spencer rolled his eyes at Bob but didn’t otherwise complain. Bob’s constant presence was one of the easiest things Spencer had to adjust to.
Spencer was halfway through fixing the main house’s front steps when the sound of wheels and hooves on the rock lane leading to the stables caught his attention. For a few moments, he just stared at the splintering step was trying to mend.
He hated, absolutely detested the way his heart sped up, racing as his palms began to sweat. There was no reason for him to be so nervous, but he didn’t think they were expecting anyone, and new people were... tricky.
Carefully, maybe a little shakily, Spencer pulled himself to his feet and did the only thing he really knew how to do anymore: find Brendon.
His first shot was the music room, always a good bet when trying to track Brendon down. His last lesson had ended about twenty minutes ago; Spencer had spoken to Cassadee on her way out to meet her carriage.
Spencer had to concentrate on walking at a normal pace instead of running down the hall the way he wanted to. As expected, Brendon was still tinkering around with a guitar when Spencer reached the hallway, the sound drifting through the air since Brendon didn’t appreciate feeling locked up in one room unless he was sleeping or with Spencer or Bob.
Trying his very damnedest not to seem too ridiculous and wretchedly terrified, Spencer tapped out a staccato beat against the wall beside the door. Brendon looked up quickly, his smile immediate. The expression fell as soon as he caught a glimpse of Spencer’s face. Maybe Spencer needed to spend a bit more time working on keeping his facial expression blank if he was this easy to read.
Unless it was only Brendon who could read him; Spencer thought he might be okay with Brendon knowing him that well.
“What’s wrong?” Even as he asked, Brendon was setting the guitar to the side and moving across the room. “What is it? Has something happened?”
Each question was a tad more frantic than the one before it, and Spencer knew he needed to stop that. There was no reason for Brendon to be in a panic just because Spencer still hadn’t figured out how to deal with people he didn’t see every day.
“Just… someone’s here. I wondered if you had a lesson I didn’t know about? Sarah have a recital or something?”
“Sarah doesn’t have another recital for a few more months right now.”
Spencer should have known that; he heard Brendon talk about his schedule and what was going on with his students on a daily basis. “Hm,” he nodded, blanking his face as much as possible.
Sensing his discomfort, Brendon laid a hand on Spencer’s arm, lightly gripping just above his elbow. “Spence. Seriously, what’s going on? Did… something happen?”
Glancing down, feeling his cheeks heat, Spencer tried to shrug but his shoulders felt too rigid and heavy. Trying to appear more nonchalant, he tugged at the cuffs of his brown shirt with the ivory pattern he’d picked just because it made Brendon smile.
“Just… someone’s here? I think. I heard…I just wondered if you knew someone who was supposed to be coming?”
Even though he didn’t move, not really, Spencer could see the gears turning. Brendon was alert, trying to reason things out. Thankfully, that was what made Spencer ease up on the embarrassment. If Brendon needed time to process, then it was perfectly acceptable if Spencer needed the same thing.
“Come on,” Brendon said suddenly, slipping his hand down to link his fingers with Spencer’s. “We’ll go see what is going on. It’s probably just some business thing of Bill’s. They’ll probably be in the office by the time we even get out there.”
After a month or so, Spencer had stopped relying on Brendon to lead him through everything. As he had acclimated, realized no one was actively trying to make him anxious, Spencer stopped needing the metaphorical handholding.
Sometimes, when something random happened to remind Spencer who held his papers, the literal version was nice. Besides, if Brendon was touching him, then Spencer knew where he was. If something happened, when things finally took a turn for the worst and got bad, Spencer would be able to keep up with Brendon if he was close. When the tables turned and they were pulled out of this house or Beckett started actually behaving like a real master instead of a semi-distant acquaintance, Spencer would be able to get Brendon out. No matter what, Spencer wasn’t letting Brendon go this time. Come Hell or high water, they were sticking together.
So what if that thought made Spencer grip Brendon’s fingers a little tighter? Brendon just squeezed his hand in return.
When they reached the end of the hall, pulling open the heavy oak door, they realized something really was happening. There were voices coming from the entrance hall where no one ever spent an extended amount of time. Sharing a look, Spencer and Brendon soldiered on into the unknown, finding most of the staff greeting two new additions; Travis was actually laughing at some guy Spencer vaguely remembered seeing a photograph of on the one trip he’d been persuaded to take to Pete’s place in town.
Brendon started to hunch his shoulders, closing in on himself the way he did when he was unsure of his place, the same mannerism he’d slipped into every single time a buyer stopped to inquire on his papers and skill set while they were still in the travelling sales house. His fidgeting was escalating, Brendon tugging at his suspenders, pulling one side down off his arm even if the other was stuck because Spencer wasn’t giving his hand back.
Spencer hadn’t seen that reaction in a while, and it annoyed him enough to have him squaring his shoulders in counterpoint, back straight and head held high.
Maybe if he didn’t act like he was owned, no one would catch on. That hadn’t actually worked before, and Spencer had taken more than one beating for being “too proud for his station in life” but he’d never actually been able to give up what little bit of pride the trainers, masters, traders, and slave managers hadn’t been able to find and beat or berate out of him.
Seconds away from clearing his throat and garnering the sort of attention he should have been trying to avoid, Spencer glanced behind the small crowd and met Bob’s eyes. Bob gave a slight nod, but Spencer couldn’t bring himself to smile, nod, or even shrug in return.
Bob jerked his head toward the kitchen and Spencer understood the implicit command in that... or, well, not command because Bob didn’t demand things; it was more of a silent request. Whatever it was, Spencer gave Brendon a tug, leading the way toward the deserted room. There was something steaming in a pot on the stove, but it didn’t seem to be boiling yet so Spencer didn’t bother to check if it was charred or edible.
Before Spencer could say anything, Bob was carefully prying Brendon away. Spencer made an aborted movement to grab onto Brendon again until he saw Bob wrap both arms around Brendon’s shoulders and sigh against his hair.
“How you doing, Bren?”
Brendon shrugged and mumbled something too low and muffled against Bob’s shirt for Spencer to parse out.
“They’re lawyers, friends of Bill’s. They only come out when they have good news or Bill has some emergency issue with a contract that didn’t go through.”
Comforting as that should have been, Spencer still remembered the last time he had seen lawyers in a master’s home. When the lawyers showed up at Saporta’s, it hadn’t taken long for them to send the tax collectors to gather all the slaves into a line with shackles and heavy chains, hitting first and asking questions later.
He couldn’t stop the small shudder that rocked through his body, spine tingling with the cold. Goosebumps rose on Spencer’s arms and he bit down on his lip. Giving in to the impulse, Spencer reached out to grasp at Brendon’s shirt. Unfortunately, he was too far away to touch anything other than air. Stupid fucking feet, Spencer thought; if they would just listen to his commands, Spencer could be letting Brendon burrow into his chest, offering as much relief as he would be taking from the gesture.
“Fucking hell, Smith,” Bob rumbled, catching Spencer’s wrist. He let go of Brendon and turned so Brendon was tucked into one side and Spencer could be pulled against the other. “They’re just lawyers, what’s so scary about them?”
“Lawyers were there the day… when we were sold to the traveling sales house,” Spencer forced out between gritted teeth.
Bob’s arm tightened, but when Spencer glanced up, there was confusion written on his face. They hadn’t given up the whole story. Correction, Spencer hadn’t told anyone, even Bob, anything. Brendon may have but Brendon also had this uncanny ability to talk without saying a damn thing.
“Seized by the government for Saporta’s tax debts,” Brendon mumbled, voice a little thicker than usual.
“Blackinton tried to buy us back but... I don’t know. I guess he could only take Victoria with him,” Spencer added.
Brendon must have nodded; Spencer felt Bob’s shirt move. “She was free anyway. Probably just had to take her papers in.”
Neither of them pointed out that Jon was also technically free and his contract had stated he’d work off his debts with Saporta. He’d still been taken with the rest, shoved in line with Brendon, Spencer, and Ryan. He’d still been bought by the same little princess who had paid for Ryan with her daddy’s money.
Bob...growled. Or something. It wasn’t really a human sound, not a hmph or sigh. “It’s lucky that even mattered.”
For a few seconds, Bob held on tighter. Spencer felt a calm start to settle in. If Bob was there...maybe they’d be okay. He looked like he could fight, had a gruff exterior. No one at Saporta’s had really been like that. Suarez had talked a big game, but Spencer was convinced the freeman didn’t know how to take a punch.
Finally, Bob pushed them away, slowly, carefully. Brendon made a little whimpering noise and reached out to take Spencer’s hand. Spencer held on, grip too tight. Shockingly enough, Bob didn’t move them far, only an arm’s length away. They were still close enough that he could hold onto each of their shoulders, keeping them in a sort of misshapen triangle.
“No one is taking you again, got it?” He was so... earnest. It made Spencer start a little. “Whatever happens, Bill isn’t letting them take you away. And you both know I fucking won’t.”
Spencer frowned at how absolutely emphatic Bob sounded. Buying into the reassurance would be so fucking easy, but Spencer hadn’t survived this long as a slave by relying on blind hope.
“Okay, Bob,” Brendon whispered, glancing at Spencer to include him in the response.
Blind hope had always been more Brendon’s thing, anyway. At least he still had that optimism in him, even after he’d been everything from a stable slave to a little girl’s living doll to being considered the same level as the dogs some teenager had forced him to live among. Spencer envied Brendon’s ability to still see the bright things. There was no way in Hell he was letting anything take that away.
Bob opened his mouth, forehead wrinkled like he was gearing up for a rant, when Butcher burst in. Seriously, Spencer had never been so glad to see Butcher; the inexplicable name was off-putting enough for Spencer to generally avoid him.
“Urie, c’mon. There are people who want to meet you!” He was hitting them with the full force of his half-insane grin, and Spencer wanted to smile back but... lawyers were here and they wanted something from Brendon.
Hell. Fucking. No.
“Um.” Brendon looked around a bit wildly, his nails starting to bite into Spencer’s palm.
“Not without me,” Spencer put in with more defiance than he knew he could muster.
“Us,” Bob corrected, giving Butcher a look that dared him to complain.
Laughing, he waved a hand and shrugged. “Too fucking much, guys. Bill wants them to talk to Spencer anyway. And no one’s leaving you out,” he muttered to Bob. “Like you’d let us. Fucking guard dog tendencies.”
What? Spencer almost asked, but Butcher was vanishing into the dining room and Bob was starting to usher Spencer and Brendon in that direction so Spencer focused on making sure he stepped into the room ahead of Brendon, blocking him from view for as long as possible.
Beckett was practically bouncing, hands waving as he talked to the guy Spencer recognized from the picture, plus another one with a beard and hair that made him look a little nuts. Spencer tried not to glare, honestly, but these guys looked suspicious.
Well, okay, the first one kind of reminded Spencer of Jon, and the other was just strange.
Fucking traitor Bob cleared his throat. Travis nudged Beckett and nodded toward the doorway, all while rolling his eyes at Beckett’s antics.
“Bden! Spencer Smith! Sit, sit,” Beckett told them in what Siska was forever calling his regal heir voice. Spencer didn’t trust anything that had the word heir in the title, or masters who were this enthusiastic about a slave’s appearance. Never mind that Beckett’s mother had apparently been a slave once. The lose-lose situation Spencer put Beckett into was an unavoidable consequence of Beckett still holding his papers.
Metaphorically.
Although, Beckett was holding some sort of papers in his fluttery hands. And he wanted to see Brendon. Was he going transfer ownership? Were the lawyers, these two new additions who looked normal even though normal was so often misleading, here to finish up a transfer of Brendon to... someone? Or was this about transferring Spencer. Was Beckett just going to use this time to apologize to Brendon for sending his friend away?
Shit. Spencer should have tried harder. Should have been more open and faked the trust better. Shouldn’t have scowled so much and spent so much time working on that fucking house Beckett had promised them.
Spencer was working up to a real tantrum. Typical.
“Guys, seriously.”
“Just do it so he’ll shut up. He has a surprise,” Siska muttered. He sounded amused, though.
Spencer moved for the seat closest to the door, taking Brendon with him. Beckett got all flaily again and kept begging them closer until Brendon was to Beckett’s right and Spencer was on Brendon’s other side. The lawyers were across from them. It was difficult, but Spencer managed not to kick them under the table.
“Okay. Okay, okay, okay,” Beckett started. He motioned toward the lawyers, the clean cut one first. “This is Joe Trohman and that’s Andy Hurley. They’re, well, Bob told you, right? My attorneys. They have something for you, Brendon.”
He was almost talking too fast for Spencer to keep up but he managed.
Brendon shifted, reached out for Spencer under the table. “Um. Yeah, hi. So. Right. What is it?”
Someone squeezed Spencer’s shoulder; he didn’t have to look to know it was Bob. He must have done the same thing to Brendon because Brendon’s shoulders lost a tiny bit of tension. His eyes, however, continued staring at the wall between these Joe and Andy characters.
Beckett looked about to start again, but Joe cut him off. “The big surprise is...well, here.” He wrestled a stack of papers away from Beckett and slid them across the table to Brendon. “All those need to be official is your signature at the bottom.”
“You can,” Andy put in, cutting his eyes to the side in apparent embarrassment. “You can read and write? Sometimes I know they don’t teach slaves...”
Without Spencer’s express permission, Spencer’s leg kicked out.
“Fuck!” Andy reached down, wincing. “Sorry. I, yeah, I didn’t mean...just, sorry. Right. That was rude.”
“This is what happens when you spend too much fucking time with Pete. I tried to tell you fuckers this but does anyone list-”
“Gee,” Bob snapped. “Shut up. Brendon, what is that?”
Spencer seconded the question, even though Bob sounded like he already knew. Nothing was making sense. No one wanted slaves to sign things, not really. Sometimes it might happen if they were being given some sort of special privilege; Ryan had talked about that. In exchange for being allowed to walk the gardens on the third master’s estate, he’d had to sign something saying if he did so during the day or wandered out of the designated paths, he’d be sold to a brothel after having a leg broken.
Understandably, Spencer didn’t trust masters who let slaves sign things.
“Spence,” Brendon started. “I. Bill, really? You’re serious?”
“Brendon, what?” Spencer asked, tugging the papers away. Brendon was clutching them so hard they were starting to rip in places.
Beckett was grinning like the crazy person he was. “Yeah. Yeah, you didn’t think I was just going to keep you, right? I mean, you can stay here as long as you want. Keep giving lessons out of the music room, whatever. But if you wanted to go... you could.”
“What, now?” Spencer asked, but was paying more attention to the sheaf in his hands.
There was an official seal at the top, the kind that only came on government notices. He scanned down, through the legalese that might as well have been Greek. More nonsense Spencer didn’t understand. Finally, the line that had Spencer losing his breath.
On this day, October 03, the Baronet William Eugene Beckett II of Santi Manor, Southern Shepherdville County, releases ownership of one Brendon Boyd Urie. As enacted through this emancipation, the enslaved is released from all duties, debts, and/or servitude placed upon him by Baronet Beckett or our lordship.
More words covered the subsequent pages but there were signatures, the scrawl of people with titles like Magistrate Berg and Honorable Judge Greenwald, followed by Beckett’s with Travis’ over the witness line and Trohman and Hurley’s above the designated notary lines.
Apparently, it was a giant pain in the ass to free someone.
And Beckett had still freed Brendon. Which. What?
“Spence,” Brendon whispered, prying his papers away and holding a pen above the line marked emancipated.
His hand was shaky, but his name was still legible. As soon as his pen moved from the paper, the whole table erupted. Everyone was yelling, hollering, trying to get at Brendon to hug him. Hell, even Bob swung Brendon around in a tight circle. That probably had more to do with the direction Brendon forced on him with the power of his near tackle, but still.
Everything was loud and celebratory, everyone talking at once. But Spencer. He was frozen in his seat.
This shouldn’t be a shock. On his very first fucking day there, Ray had told Spencer Beckett had freed him. Beckett had freed all of them: Ray, Frank, Bob, Gerard and Mikey (even if Pete had actually found the last two). Travis had sworn Beckett’s mother was a slave, a runaway, and that Beckett wasn’t actually a Beckett by blood.
Spencer shouldn’t be nearly as surprised as he was.
He must have been staring at nothing too long, holding his breath or gasping or... whatever he was doing during his whole existential crisis. There was a light touch on his shoulder. When Spencer looked up, Beckett was in Brendon’s vacated seat.
“Yeah?” It was more of a cough than a word.
Beckett grinned. He flipped his hair out of his face and nodded. “They’re working on yours. It’s... a process. Joe and Andy have to do a petition and then we have to meet with a judge who sends it to the Western Counties for a magistrate that’s willing to sign off. But we’re working on it. You get this, too.”
In all his watching, his suspicious staring, Spencer had never seen Beckett look so... sincere. There was something like hope in his eyes, like he was asking Spencer to just trust him, just this once, on this one thing.
“I...Um.” Spencer couldn’t get the words out. Turning, just a little, Spencer saw Brendon. He was practically glowing with excitement, bouncing from one person to the next just to drape over their shoulders and, suddenly, it was easy. “Thank... you. Thank you.”
Staring down, letting his hair fall in his eyes, he tried to cover the smile he felt taking over. Maybe he wasn’t free, not yet, maybe even not ever, but Brendon was. And that... well.
Before Beckett had a chance to do more than squeeze Spencer’s forearm, Brendon actually threw himself into Spencer’s lap.
“Spencer. Fucking. Fuck. I’m... this. I’m free. Spence.” Brendon was smiling all over the place and it was fucking gorgeous. Spencer would beg, cheat, steal, borrow, maim, and kill to keep Brendon this happy forever.
Even with everyone there, general bedlam happening with everyone pulling out cakes (probably not one of Frank’s since the kitchen was intact and Ray hadn’t had an aneurysm yet), all vying for Brendon’s attention. Even with all of the goings-on, Spencer gave in to one tiny thing he hadn’t even acknowledged that he wanted.
He ran a hand through Brendon’s hair, pulling just a bit, just enough that he could lean in and press their lips together. Feel that smile. Keep the memory.
Brendon may have gasped, Siska definitely whistled, but there was no awkward pause or resistance. Spencer pressed his fingers into the small of Brendon’s back, leaning up to sustain the touch as Brendon’s arms wrapped around his neck. It didn’t last long, not long enough, but when Brendon pulled away to lean their foreheads together, he was still smiling.
Cutting his eyes to the side, Spencer caught Bob watching, wearing a real smile for once. And that, all of this... well. It was more than enough.
Celebrating Brendon’s official emancipation took up most of the night. There was a larger variety of food than they usually bothered making for one meal, but Siska and Butcher had tried to make everything they knew Brendon liked. Brendon was on air all through dinner, humming when his mouth was full and singing when it wasn’t. Someone broke out a few of the guitars and Travie gave Brendon something called an autoharp as a congratulations present.
Brendon had let go of Spencer to hug Travie for roughly ten minutes before he settled back into his seat. Bob laughed and flicked the strings, giving Brendon a one-armed hug when Brendon shoved his hand away from the new instrument.
Tearing Brendon away from his new toy was nearly impossible; Spencer didn’t even try, not until it was far later than any of them usually stayed up. They climbed the stairs a little bleary, still laughing at a story Butcher had been yelling to them on the stairs - he’d only been two steps behind but insisted they couldn’t hear him.
They pushed into their room still rambling nonsense at each other, mocking Butcher’s half-sentences and nonsense phrases. Their routine was natural at this point: Brendon pulling the drapes closed, Spencer stoking the fire so they wouldn’t freeze in the night, Brendon struggling out of his suspenders and hopping around to kick off his shoes without actually unlacing them. Spencer chuckled, folding his clothes as he tugged them off and pulling on one of the nightshirts Brendon was forever making fun of.
Spencer fell back onto his bed, not bothering to turn down the covers. By the time Brendon was down to his underwear, Spencer was half asleep.
“Spencer, Spencer Smith, do not go to sleep on me yet!” Brendon jumped on Spencer’s bed, landing on his knees and making Spencer bounce.
Chuckling softly, Spencer rolled to his side and propped himself up on one arm. He looked at Brendon with bleary eyes, blinking to bring him into focus. “‘M awake.”
“Good. Because,” Brendon drew out the second syllable. “I am a free man, Spencer. Fucking free. Can you believe it?” He didn’t sound like he could, the shock of it still holding strong.
“Yeah,” Spencer nodded, forcing himself to wake up. “You deserve it.”
Brendon ducked his head, looking up through his eyelashes. Spencer’s stomach dropped out. His breath caught a little in his throat at the warm, happy glow in Brendon’s cheeks.
“So do you,” Brendon whispered. He leaned down, pressing their foreheads together and going a little cross-eyed to keep looking at Spencer.
Spencer laughed. “You’re such a dork.”
When Brendon nodded, their noses brushed. “But you love it, right?”
The tiniest of shifts pressed their lips together. It wasn’t really a kiss, more just a brush of lips with the promise of more. “Yeah. I kind of really do.” Spencer barely recognized his voice, soft and rough.
Brendon smiled, wide and bright, but it softened until he could press his lips to Spencer’s for a proper kiss. It was a little dry, their lips catching in a way that would be uncomfortable if Spencer wasn’t stuck on the fact that he was kissing Brendon. Spencer pulled away enough to lick his lips and when they met again, the slide was easier.
Spencer reached up, hooking a hand behind Brendon’s neck to get a little more leverage. Brendon brought his hands up to frame Spencer’s face, idly brushing his fingers against Spencer’s beard. Spencer hummed and then Brendon was surging forward. Without his hands holding him up, Brendon overbalanced. He fell against Spencer’s shoulder, forcing their lips apart and Spencer to drop down on his back.
They stared at each other for a couple seconds before Spencer started snickering and Brendon outright laughed. Spencer ran the hand he still had on Brendon’s neck down his back, pulling him down. Still giggling - a fresh wave of giddiness coming over each of them whenever they started to calm down - Brendon settled against Spencer’s side, hooking an ankle between Spencer’s.
Spencer got a little preoccupied, his smile softening. Brendon’s skin was smoother than he expected. There were a few spots that felt different under his fingertips, scars he’d seen a thousand times but never tried to think about, never wanted to consider how badly Brendon had been hurt. Not that it mattered now; no one could hurt Brendon like that again.
Brendon darted forward, pressing a kiss to the tip of Spencer’s nose. Spencer wrinkled it and huffed a laugh.
“Hey. Want to try that again?” Brendon asked, going for sassy and coming across something closer to gleeful.
“I don’t know.” Spencer stared up at the ceiling. He bit his lip to hide his smile but still heard it in his voice. “I’m pretty tired. Think it’s worth it?”
“I’m always worth it. Don’t even fake like you doubt me.” Brendon rested his head on Spencer’s shoulder, kissing slowly up Spencer’s neck.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say.” Spencer meticulously slid his hand along Brendon’s side, finding the spot right above his hip to dig in his fingers.
“No tickling!” Brendon squirmed in the most interesting way, trying to shove Spencer’s hand away. “No fair!”
He was still laughing when Spencer caught his lips again. Spencer didn’t waste any time, slipping his tongue out to trace Brendon’s lips. Brendon opened for him immediately, meeting each of Spencer’s moves with a counterpoint of his own. Both of them were a little careful, but that just made the kisses the sweetest thing Spencer had probably ever felt.
Spencer had never felt so... light. There was this floaty feeling in his chest that threatened to bubble out of his throat and make him pull away. Spencer held it down, more interested in keeping his mouth on Brendon’s. Brendon didn’t seem to mind, breaking away to take a deep breath but moving back in before he’d even finished inhaling.
Brendon’s hand was wrapped in the front of his shirt, the other idly playing with Spencer’s hair; Spencer’s hands were aimless, roaming Brendon’s skin. It was amazing and Spencer would have been happy to do this forever and never leave the room.
But it was late and Spencer really was extremely tired. He was fighting off a yawn with every hasty breath and Brendon’s kisses were becoming more unfocused. His grip on Spencer’s shirt loosened and Spencer’s caresses lingered longer. Spencer moved down to kiss Brendon’s chin, suck at the pulse in his throat.
Brendon groaned softly, the sound turning into a yawn. Spencer laughed, pressing one final open-mouthed kiss to the corner of Brendon’s mouth. He pulled back, yawning as Brendon blinked at him.
“We should sleep.”
“Yeah,” Brendon agreed easily, burying his face against Spencer’s chest. “Get the lamp?”
Spencer sighed, so very put upon. Brendon bit his collarbone, and Spencer tried not to let on how that one sharp feeling went straight through his body like lightning. It was a struggle, but Spencer managed to reach the oil lamp on his bedside table without displacing Brendon too much.
Brendon hummed his thanks when the room dimmed, everything slightly orange due to the fire burning across the room. He was already half out of it and, with the way his eyes kept taking longer and longer to blink open, Spencer wasn’t far behind. Spencer cupped the back of Brendon’s head and closed his eyes.
“Goodnight.” For once, Spencer actually meant it.
Part Two
