fairies (not detectives)
May. 26th, 2010 10:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sailorstkwrningOkay. So, as all y'all may have noticed, my favorite genre to write in is crack. I started this one in January of last year, then somewhere around May I got distracted by tentacles. (Which, by the way, is languishing at just under 6K, but I'm finishing that one, come hell or high water.) Anyway, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sinsense also bravely read this one and said many useful things; I've tinkered with it quite extensively as a result, and any errors are entirely my fault.
Summary: LOL HONEY I SHRUNK (MOST OF) THE BAND. Yeah. Just under 4K of P!aTD go on vacation and all of them except for Brendon get accidentally tiny-sized. As far as I am aware there should be no triggery content.
Brendon frowned at the row of spices, tapping his fingers at the edge of the label marked "ground cloves." He was sure he had seen cinnamon somewhere on the spice rack the night before. He replayed the evening in his head, trying to make the memory come clearer.
They had played a surprise, secret show, and played some new stuff. The kids had been insane. Afterwards, Spencer had gone and borrowed two of the meanest looking venue security guys so they could out for a while to sign things. Afterwards they had stopped for curry, but didn't stay at the restaurant because they hadn't had showers yet. Brendon had been so hungry he ate his dinner during the truly terrifying ride back to where they were sleeping. When they had finally stumbled out of the van, Jon had said something about wanting hot chocolate. Ryan had – tripped? stubbed his toe? -- fallen over, anyway, trying to open the door.
Spencer, cranky and over-tired, had pulled Ryan up, muttering under his breath about the smell and cats and why were the goddamn bowls back, he had gotten rid of them that morning, what the fuck? The dude who had brought them up from the venue had started in on a story, something else about milk. Brendon had gotten a little lost in the dude's accent. He'd understood the kill, maim, destroy expression on Spencer's face perfectly well, though. Brendon liked the venue dude and didn't want him to die, but no matter what Brendon said, he had just kept talking. He finally got the message when Ryan pretended to fall asleep standing up, head between Spencer's shoulder blades and fingers tangled in his belt loops.
After all of that there had only been a tiny bit of milk left in the fridge. Brendon had tried to help Jon find cinnamon, but, he was remembering now, they hadn't seen any. Actually, Brendon wasn't sure if Jon even got his hot chocolate. His last memory of the evening was sitting down on the couch to wait for Ryan to get out of the shower.
"You suck," Brendon said to the spice rack.
Brendon scrubbed at his face with his hands. He had woken up early, mostly naked, alone, cold, and hungry. There had been no hot water in the shower – there had barely even been a shower – and when he got out he had no clean clothes.
Brendon would have just stayed naked, but it was too cold. So he had found a pair of pants and a shirt that were not too gross and gone looking for food. He had been relieved where there was coffee in the cabinet. There was also a thing that looked like a pitcher but claimed to be a coffee maker. Brendon had followed the instructions very carefully but something had gone wrong. All he got in the end was hot water and coffee grounds all over himself and the ceiling. Brendon was not looking forward to explaining the stain to Spencer.
What he had not found was the rest of his band. Ryan and Spencer had not answered when he knocked on their door, though in fairness he had not knocked very loudly. Jon had not been in the shower or anywhere else that Brendon could see, but his empty camera case was on the kitchen table.
That was kind of strange, since Jon usually took everything with him when he went out to commune with artistic-looking flowers, but not particularly worrying. Ryan and Spencer had probably gone along for the walk, or to get groceries, or coffee they hadn't had to make themselves.
Brendon had texted them all to tell them they sucked for leaving him behind and that they could make it up to him with candy. After considering his food options, one of which was leftover curry, Brendon had made himself some oatmeal. Milkless and now – he glared at the spice rack – cinnamon-less oatmeal.
Brendon sighed, got a bottle of orange juice out of the fridge, and went in to the living room to eat front of the tv. He flipped the channels until he found something animated and pulled the blanket on the back of the couch down over his knees. The cottage was quiet, peaceful, even; much better than a hotel. Brendon ate his oatmeal in tiny bites, sucking on the dry bits between sips of juice. When he was finished he but the bowl down and snuggled into the cushions. Ten minutes later he was asleep.
The next time he woke up it was because someone was pinching him. He growled and batted at the offended spot and something jumped on his fingers. Brendon registered small, spiky and soft and screamed, flailing his hands around trying to get it off. Whatever it was latched on tighter and then bit him and Brendon fell off the couch attempting to get away from his own hand. When he hit the floor, the creature – Brendon still had his eyes closed - let go of his finger. Then he felt something scrabbling at his forearm under his sweater and started screaming in earnest.
"BRENDON!" Someone was calling him. They sounded like they were yelling and that they were simultaneously next to him and very far away. They also sounded like Jon. "BRENDON, STOP! HOLD STILL! WE CAN'T GET HIM WHILE YOU'RE FREAKING OUT."
Him? Brendon thought, startled into stillness. The thing under his sweater scratched him. Brendon felt the cuff of his sweater move up his arm, and then nothing. He managed a ragged breath and opened his eyes.
There was a tiny person staring up at him. A tiny person that looked like Jon Walker. He was even carrying a camera. He was also waving at Brendon. There two more tiny people next to him. They looked a lot like Ryan and Spencer, right down to the matching ferocious glares.
Brendon took another breath and raised his head to squint at the kitchen window. It was mostly sunny outside, and the world was still in color. Brendon glanced down at his own hands and concentrated really hard on making them invisible, but nothing happened. He looked back at the tiny people. The tiny people scuttled backwards to peer at Brendon from behind a table leg.
"Hello?" Brendon said. He was pretty sure he could hear his heart pounding.
The first tiny person frowned exactly the way Jon did when Ryan got a chord wrong, then took a couple of steps forward. Brendon willed himself to be still. The tiny person came closer, hands raised like he was dealing with a wild animal. Or like he was a child who wanted to be picked up.
Brendon hesitated before extending his hand, palm up and fingers curled in like he was greeting a strange dog. The tiny person smiled and tugged on Brendon's fingers until Brendon uncurled them. Then he climbed into Brendon's palm, landing in a surprisingly warm tangle of limbs. He stood up and beckoned to the other tiny people, who ran over and hauled themselves up while Brendon did his best to not start hyperventilating. When they seemed to be settled, Brendon raised his hand to his eyes.
"Bden," the tiny person said, and Brendon almost dropped them.
"Jon?" he whispered when he got his breath back, and the tiny person nodded. "What -"
Brendon stopped, completely unable to finish the thought. He looked down at the other tiny people – Spencer and Ryan - and squeezed his eyes shut briefly. When he opened them, they were all still there.
"Apparently brownies are real," Jon said.
Up close Jon looked exhausted. Spencer seemed to have a black eye, and Ryan was a disheveled wreck. They were all covered in dust, which Brendon was sure accounted for at least half of the ferocity of Spencer's expression.
"Yes, Jon. Brownies are real. Brownies are delicious," Brendon said, not sure what dessert had to do with anything.
"What the fuck happened to the ceiling in the kitchen?" Ryan asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Why the fuck are you three inches tall?" Brendon snapped, irritation pushing some of the terror away.
"I told you we should have stayed in a hotel," Spencer said, punching Jon in the shoulder.
"I was fine with a bed and breakfast in the village," Jon said, slapping at Spencer's head.
Spencer responded by growling low in his throat and shoving Jon into Brendon's curled fingers. Ryan ducked out of the way with a shrill distressed noise and scrabbled for a hold on Brendon's bracelets. Brendon hastily put his other hand underneath the one they were in and stood up.
Jon took his camera off, jammed the strap over Brendon's middle finger and launched himself at Spencer. Ryan made another high-pitched noise and wrapped himself around Brendon's thumb.
"Put me down," Ryan said. "Brendon, you fucker, put me down right now."
Spencer and Jon rolled into Brendon's other hand in a knot of snarling, flailing limbs and Ryan bit Brendon's thumb for emphasis. It took every ounce of Brendon's self control not to shake him off.
"Motherfucker," Brendon said, squeezing Spencer and Jon into immobility with one hand and depositing Ryan on the couch with the other.
Ryan dropped to his knees and tipped over onto his face. Spencer or Jon punched Brendon's palm and Brendon opened his fingers, startled and a little guilty. Spencer and Jon sat up, still glaring at each other.
"Excuse me, but what the fuck?" Brendon asked, carefully settling Jon's camera into Jon's arms.
Spencer stood up, one hand squeezing tight on the tip of Brendon's pinkie.
"Brownies the magical creature, not brownies like dessert, asshole," Spencer said. "Fuckface here tried to take a picture of one last night –"
"After douchebag over there made him mad by throwing his dinner out," Jon cut in. "Not that I knew that at the time –"
"Not that I did either, cockmunch," Spencer snapped. "It wasn't like anyone left us a note saying please don't throw away the bowl of rotten milk by the door, that's for the fairy who lives in the kitchen."
Brendon blinked a couple of times, trying to take it all in. Spencer sat back down and leaned against Brendon's cupped fingers. Jon seemed to be busy fiddling with his camera.
"Fairy," Brendon repeated, turning to look at Ryan. He had moved so he was sitting in the middle of the couch cushion, curled up in a tight ball.
"Fairies," Jon said, stressing the plural. "There were two of them."
"And they only live in the kitchen?" Brendon asked. His brain was stuck on fairies.
"As far as we know," Spencer said, scowling when Jon pointed the camera at him. "I didn’t really get time for an in-depth interview before Jon scared the shit out of them."
"They would never have noticed the camera if you hadn't screamed like a little girl when you saw them," Jon said, flicking Spencer off with one hand and taking his picture with the other.
Spencer rolled on to his knees and crawled forward like he was going to tackle Jon again. Brendon sighed and picked Spencer up with his free hand. Having them moving around on his palms was like having a handful of bugs. Spencer wriggled and squawked in his fingers but Brendon ignored him. His band was three inches tall because of fairies. He kind of needed a moment to adjust to that idea.
"Brendon, put Spencer down!" Ryan yelled from the couch, jumping to his feet. He had his arms out like he was balancing on a skateboard.
Brendon cupped the hand full of Spencer against his chest. Spencer kicked him a couple of times then stopped moving. Brendon could still feel him breathing, though, rapid little puffs of warm air against his shirt. Jon opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then closed it again, his face settling into a wary expression.
"Brendon!" Ryan repeated, fists clenched at his side.
Brendon deposited Jon on the cushion next to Ryan and rubbed his empty hand over his jeans. Spencer's breathing seemed to be evening out, which was reassuring. Ryan crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Brendon.
"So, how do we fix you?" Brendon asked.
Spencer made an irritated noise that Brendon felt more than heard. Ryan sat down on the couch and put his head in his hands. Jon shrugged at Brendon and patted Ryan's head absently. Brendon waited patiently for a moment or two, and when they didn't say anything he walked into the kitchen and looked around carefully. He did not see any lurking fairies.
"Hello?" he called out. "Is anyone there? Hello, fairies?"
He wondered if the fairies had proper names. Maybe he was being rude. He was about to apologize when Spencer made another noise and kicked his palm again. Brendon moved his hand out and up so that they were almost eye-to-eye.
"Never mind the fucking fairies," Spencer said. "Ryan, Jon and I tried our phones and they don't work. You have to call Pete and -"
"Pete is on a babymaking cruise in the Mediterranean," Brendon said. "Also, how is he going to fix it? Does he have fairies in his kitchen, too?"
Spencer turned an interesting shade of red, and Brendon put his hand back against his chest to muffle the shouting. Then he took a slow walk around the kitchen, checking all of the fairy-sized hiding places he could see. All he found was some dried out pieces of pasta, three raisins and some coins.
"Okay," Brendon said, mostly to himself, then walked back to the living room and crouched down in front of the couch.
The first thing he noticed was that Jon was missing. Ryan was still there, curled up on his side and apparently asleep.
"Jon?" Brendon whispered, dropping to his knees. He cleared his throat and tried again, louder.
Spencer kicked his hand and Brendon set him on the cushion next to Ryan.
"JON!" Brendon called out, his stomach suddenly full of dread.
Ryan woke, flailing, and knocked Spencer to his knees. They all stared at each other for a minute, and then Spencer got to his feet and picked his way to the back of the couch. He stopped at the back edge of the cushion and knelt down. When Brendon leaned in to get a better look, he saw Jon hanging on to a loose thread with one hand and waving his camera at them with the other.
Brendon put a hand down and scooped Jon out. Jon made an apologetic face and Brendon kissed the top of his head before pressing him against his still-pounding heart. Jon made a small squashed noise, and Brendon loosened his grip but didn't put Jon down.
"Don't ever do that again," Brendon said, when he thought his voice would probably be steady.
Jon made another squashed noise. Brendon felt a whispery pressure on his knee; when he looked down, Spencer was teetering on the edge of the cushion, waving his arms in the in the direction of Brendon's leg. Ryan was behind him, hanging on to Spencer's belt. Brendon reached down and grabbed them before they could fall. Ryan started screaming and kicking as Brendon brought them up to eye level, and then Spencer started wriggling too, probably trying to get away from the noise.
Brendon flailed a little, brain and hands jammed with conflicting impulses, then dropped all three of them into his shirt pocket. Ryan went quiet. Brendon shifted forward so his hands were on his thighs. He could feel them rustling around in his shirt, little hands and feet poking and prodding at his chest through the thin material. He closed his eyes and took slow breaths, waiting for the adrenaline rush to wear off.
When Brendon finally opened his eyes and looked down, Ryan and Spencer were huddled in a knot in one corner of his pocket. On the other side, Jon was reaching for the edge of the pocket, looking like he was thinking of ways to escape.
"Stop," Brendon muttered, flicking his fingers against Jon's belly until he let go and fell back against Spencer.
Jon scowled at him. Brendon pulled a face back at him, then pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose and sighed. He was all sweaty, and his chest felt strange and tight. He didn't know what to do next. Inside Brendon's pocket, someone pinched his nipple.
"Ow, fuck off," Brendon snapped, pulling his shirt away from his chest with one hand.
When he looked down, Jon was peering up at him, his arms hooked over the top edge of Brendon's pocket. Brendon picked him carefully and brought him up to eye level. Jon was really, really dirty and his hair was sticking up in three different directions. A shower, Brendon thought. That's what they need.
"I'd like to get down now, please," Jon said. "Just put me on the kitchen counter."
"In a minute," Brendon said, dropped Jon back into his pocket.
Someone kicked him several more times, but Brendon ignored it. He went to Ryan and Spencer's room first, took a few bottles from Ryan's stash of hotel toiletries, and went into the bathroom. The actual shower was obviously out, and the bowl of the sink was suddenly enormous. He considered the cup on counter, then decided it was both too deep and too gross.
Brendon grabbed a couple of washcloths off the towel rack and went back out to the kitchen. He set the washcloths on the counter and went through the cabinets until he found the mugs. He took a small one out and filled it with hot water from the tap, then pulled the miniature toiletries out of his pocket and set them next to the mug.
"Okay," he said, scooping all three of them out of his pocket. "Bath time. Who wants to go first?"
They stared at him for a minute, then all of them started yelling at once. Jon jumped up and started waving his arms to emphasize his point, and almost fell out of Brendon's hand in the process. Brendon caught him and set him on the counter, then put the other two down next to him. Ryan sat down on the counter and put his head between his knees. Spencer crossed his arms and glared at Brendon. Jon put his camera down and stripped before Brendon could say anything. Then he tried climbing the side of the mug.
Brendon saw it start to tip and grabbed the handle before it fell over. Jon danced back a step then redoubled his efforts, hauling himself over the rim and falling in with a small splash.
Brendon uncapped the bottle of shampoo and held it to the rim of the cup. It was gloppy enough that some of it spilled into the water before as Jon leaned forward to grab a handful. Brendon tipped it back quickly, apologizing, but Jon waved him off, grinning, and swirling the mess into a froth of bubbles with his free hand. Brendon watched him duck under the water twice without incident, then turned back to Ryan and Spencer. They were still glaring at him. Brendon clamped down on his irritation – it wasn't like it was his fault they were three inches tall, but starting a fight wasn't going to help – and looked out the window until the splashing to stopped. Brendon pulled Jon out of the mug, rinsed him off under a dribble of cold water, and wrapped him in a washcloth to dry.
Brendon had barely gotten clean hot water in the mug before Ryan stripped down and tried to jump in. Brendon caught him before he fell in the sink – and down the looming, open drain – and dropped him into the water. He came up spluttering and yelling, but settled down as soon as Brendon brought the shampoo over to the edge of the cup.
Spencer went last, and, it seemed to Brendon, took the longest. After a few minutes of contemplating his nails, Brendon put Jon in his pocket, then pushed the mug as far back from the edge of the sink and the counter as he could and started scavenging in the cabinets for food he could make small enough for them to eat. He found some ancient juice boxes and slightly stale crackers.
Jon wrinkled his nose at the first bite; Ryan either didn't notice or was too hungry to care, and consumed three whole crackers and several gulps of juice before curling up next to Jon in the folds of a washcloth and seeming to fall asleep. Spencer ate more slowly, but still managed to put away four whole crackers before lying down next to Ryan. Brendon ran his fingertips over their bodies, reassuring himself that they were still warm and breathing under the guise of smoothing out fabric wrinkles. Ryan coughed and sighed and curled closer to Spencer. Jon rubbed his nose and started to snore.
"We'll be fine," Brendon said softly, mostly to himself, as he moved to gather up their tiny clothes to wash them in the sink. "We'll figure something out. Somebody here has to know how to fix this."
**
Brendon settled a pinkie on Ryan's back and began to rub in slow circles. Sometimes that would put Ryan to sleep. Ryan relaxed a fraction. Brendon switched from rubbing Ryan's back to scratching it gently and not five minutes later he was rewarded with Ryan whuffling softly against his neck.
**
The next morning Brendon woke up to Spencer pacing the length of his sternum. He took a moment to locate Ryan and Jon – they were still asleep in the hollow of his collarbone – before he brought a hand up to rub his eyes. Spencer started talking, but he was too far away for Brendon to hear anything. Brendon scooped Spencer up and deposited him next to his ear.
**
Spencer curled up in Brendon's palm, one hand clutching at a trailing string from one of Brendon's bracelets. His eyes were closed, but Brendon was pretty sure he wasn't sleeping. Brendon petted him with a fingertip until Spencer sat up, then smoothed Spencer's hair off his face, his stomach tightening when he felt a faint dampness under his fingertip. Spencer kept his eyes fixed on his knees. Brendon rubbed his back some more, then kissed the top of his head. Spencer continued to refuse to look at him.
Brendon stretched his fingers out briefly and sighed. Spencer didn't react. Brendon moved to stand near the sink, and lowered his hand to the counter so Spencer could climb off. Spencer grabbed another trailing bracelet string and lay back down, facing away, his head resting on the pad of Brendon's palm.
"Do you want to go and be on the couch with Ryan and Jon?" Brendon asked.
Spencer curled into a tighter ball. Brendon rubbed his own face with his free hand and started humming Three Little Birds, as much for his own benefit as for Spencer. He was halfway through the second verse when he saw something very, very small run by the toaster.
sinsense also bravely read this one and said many useful things; I've tinkered with it quite extensively as a result, and any errors are entirely my fault.Summary: LOL HONEY I SHRUNK (MOST OF) THE BAND. Yeah. Just under 4K of P!aTD go on vacation and all of them except for Brendon get accidentally tiny-sized. As far as I am aware there should be no triggery content.
Brendon frowned at the row of spices, tapping his fingers at the edge of the label marked "ground cloves." He was sure he had seen cinnamon somewhere on the spice rack the night before. He replayed the evening in his head, trying to make the memory come clearer.
They had played a surprise, secret show, and played some new stuff. The kids had been insane. Afterwards, Spencer had gone and borrowed two of the meanest looking venue security guys so they could out for a while to sign things. Afterwards they had stopped for curry, but didn't stay at the restaurant because they hadn't had showers yet. Brendon had been so hungry he ate his dinner during the truly terrifying ride back to where they were sleeping. When they had finally stumbled out of the van, Jon had said something about wanting hot chocolate. Ryan had – tripped? stubbed his toe? -- fallen over, anyway, trying to open the door.
Spencer, cranky and over-tired, had pulled Ryan up, muttering under his breath about the smell and cats and why were the goddamn bowls back, he had gotten rid of them that morning, what the fuck? The dude who had brought them up from the venue had started in on a story, something else about milk. Brendon had gotten a little lost in the dude's accent. He'd understood the kill, maim, destroy expression on Spencer's face perfectly well, though. Brendon liked the venue dude and didn't want him to die, but no matter what Brendon said, he had just kept talking. He finally got the message when Ryan pretended to fall asleep standing up, head between Spencer's shoulder blades and fingers tangled in his belt loops.
After all of that there had only been a tiny bit of milk left in the fridge. Brendon had tried to help Jon find cinnamon, but, he was remembering now, they hadn't seen any. Actually, Brendon wasn't sure if Jon even got his hot chocolate. His last memory of the evening was sitting down on the couch to wait for Ryan to get out of the shower.
"You suck," Brendon said to the spice rack.
Brendon scrubbed at his face with his hands. He had woken up early, mostly naked, alone, cold, and hungry. There had been no hot water in the shower – there had barely even been a shower – and when he got out he had no clean clothes.
Brendon would have just stayed naked, but it was too cold. So he had found a pair of pants and a shirt that were not too gross and gone looking for food. He had been relieved where there was coffee in the cabinet. There was also a thing that looked like a pitcher but claimed to be a coffee maker. Brendon had followed the instructions very carefully but something had gone wrong. All he got in the end was hot water and coffee grounds all over himself and the ceiling. Brendon was not looking forward to explaining the stain to Spencer.
What he had not found was the rest of his band. Ryan and Spencer had not answered when he knocked on their door, though in fairness he had not knocked very loudly. Jon had not been in the shower or anywhere else that Brendon could see, but his empty camera case was on the kitchen table.
That was kind of strange, since Jon usually took everything with him when he went out to commune with artistic-looking flowers, but not particularly worrying. Ryan and Spencer had probably gone along for the walk, or to get groceries, or coffee they hadn't had to make themselves.
Brendon had texted them all to tell them they sucked for leaving him behind and that they could make it up to him with candy. After considering his food options, one of which was leftover curry, Brendon had made himself some oatmeal. Milkless and now – he glared at the spice rack – cinnamon-less oatmeal.
Brendon sighed, got a bottle of orange juice out of the fridge, and went in to the living room to eat front of the tv. He flipped the channels until he found something animated and pulled the blanket on the back of the couch down over his knees. The cottage was quiet, peaceful, even; much better than a hotel. Brendon ate his oatmeal in tiny bites, sucking on the dry bits between sips of juice. When he was finished he but the bowl down and snuggled into the cushions. Ten minutes later he was asleep.
The next time he woke up it was because someone was pinching him. He growled and batted at the offended spot and something jumped on his fingers. Brendon registered small, spiky and soft and screamed, flailing his hands around trying to get it off. Whatever it was latched on tighter and then bit him and Brendon fell off the couch attempting to get away from his own hand. When he hit the floor, the creature – Brendon still had his eyes closed - let go of his finger. Then he felt something scrabbling at his forearm under his sweater and started screaming in earnest.
"BRENDON!" Someone was calling him. They sounded like they were yelling and that they were simultaneously next to him and very far away. They also sounded like Jon. "BRENDON, STOP! HOLD STILL! WE CAN'T GET HIM WHILE YOU'RE FREAKING OUT."
Him? Brendon thought, startled into stillness. The thing under his sweater scratched him. Brendon felt the cuff of his sweater move up his arm, and then nothing. He managed a ragged breath and opened his eyes.
There was a tiny person staring up at him. A tiny person that looked like Jon Walker. He was even carrying a camera. He was also waving at Brendon. There two more tiny people next to him. They looked a lot like Ryan and Spencer, right down to the matching ferocious glares.
Brendon took another breath and raised his head to squint at the kitchen window. It was mostly sunny outside, and the world was still in color. Brendon glanced down at his own hands and concentrated really hard on making them invisible, but nothing happened. He looked back at the tiny people. The tiny people scuttled backwards to peer at Brendon from behind a table leg.
"Hello?" Brendon said. He was pretty sure he could hear his heart pounding.
The first tiny person frowned exactly the way Jon did when Ryan got a chord wrong, then took a couple of steps forward. Brendon willed himself to be still. The tiny person came closer, hands raised like he was dealing with a wild animal. Or like he was a child who wanted to be picked up.
Brendon hesitated before extending his hand, palm up and fingers curled in like he was greeting a strange dog. The tiny person smiled and tugged on Brendon's fingers until Brendon uncurled them. Then he climbed into Brendon's palm, landing in a surprisingly warm tangle of limbs. He stood up and beckoned to the other tiny people, who ran over and hauled themselves up while Brendon did his best to not start hyperventilating. When they seemed to be settled, Brendon raised his hand to his eyes.
"Bden," the tiny person said, and Brendon almost dropped them.
"Jon?" he whispered when he got his breath back, and the tiny person nodded. "What -"
Brendon stopped, completely unable to finish the thought. He looked down at the other tiny people – Spencer and Ryan - and squeezed his eyes shut briefly. When he opened them, they were all still there.
"Apparently brownies are real," Jon said.
Up close Jon looked exhausted. Spencer seemed to have a black eye, and Ryan was a disheveled wreck. They were all covered in dust, which Brendon was sure accounted for at least half of the ferocity of Spencer's expression.
"Yes, Jon. Brownies are real. Brownies are delicious," Brendon said, not sure what dessert had to do with anything.
"What the fuck happened to the ceiling in the kitchen?" Ryan asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Why the fuck are you three inches tall?" Brendon snapped, irritation pushing some of the terror away.
"I told you we should have stayed in a hotel," Spencer said, punching Jon in the shoulder.
"I was fine with a bed and breakfast in the village," Jon said, slapping at Spencer's head.
Spencer responded by growling low in his throat and shoving Jon into Brendon's curled fingers. Ryan ducked out of the way with a shrill distressed noise and scrabbled for a hold on Brendon's bracelets. Brendon hastily put his other hand underneath the one they were in and stood up.
Jon took his camera off, jammed the strap over Brendon's middle finger and launched himself at Spencer. Ryan made another high-pitched noise and wrapped himself around Brendon's thumb.
"Put me down," Ryan said. "Brendon, you fucker, put me down right now."
Spencer and Jon rolled into Brendon's other hand in a knot of snarling, flailing limbs and Ryan bit Brendon's thumb for emphasis. It took every ounce of Brendon's self control not to shake him off.
"Motherfucker," Brendon said, squeezing Spencer and Jon into immobility with one hand and depositing Ryan on the couch with the other.
Ryan dropped to his knees and tipped over onto his face. Spencer or Jon punched Brendon's palm and Brendon opened his fingers, startled and a little guilty. Spencer and Jon sat up, still glaring at each other.
"Excuse me, but what the fuck?" Brendon asked, carefully settling Jon's camera into Jon's arms.
Spencer stood up, one hand squeezing tight on the tip of Brendon's pinkie.
"Brownies the magical creature, not brownies like dessert, asshole," Spencer said. "Fuckface here tried to take a picture of one last night –"
"After douchebag over there made him mad by throwing his dinner out," Jon cut in. "Not that I knew that at the time –"
"Not that I did either, cockmunch," Spencer snapped. "It wasn't like anyone left us a note saying please don't throw away the bowl of rotten milk by the door, that's for the fairy who lives in the kitchen."
Brendon blinked a couple of times, trying to take it all in. Spencer sat back down and leaned against Brendon's cupped fingers. Jon seemed to be busy fiddling with his camera.
"Fairy," Brendon repeated, turning to look at Ryan. He had moved so he was sitting in the middle of the couch cushion, curled up in a tight ball.
"Fairies," Jon said, stressing the plural. "There were two of them."
"And they only live in the kitchen?" Brendon asked. His brain was stuck on fairies.
"As far as we know," Spencer said, scowling when Jon pointed the camera at him. "I didn’t really get time for an in-depth interview before Jon scared the shit out of them."
"They would never have noticed the camera if you hadn't screamed like a little girl when you saw them," Jon said, flicking Spencer off with one hand and taking his picture with the other.
Spencer rolled on to his knees and crawled forward like he was going to tackle Jon again. Brendon sighed and picked Spencer up with his free hand. Having them moving around on his palms was like having a handful of bugs. Spencer wriggled and squawked in his fingers but Brendon ignored him. His band was three inches tall because of fairies. He kind of needed a moment to adjust to that idea.
"Brendon, put Spencer down!" Ryan yelled from the couch, jumping to his feet. He had his arms out like he was balancing on a skateboard.
Brendon cupped the hand full of Spencer against his chest. Spencer kicked him a couple of times then stopped moving. Brendon could still feel him breathing, though, rapid little puffs of warm air against his shirt. Jon opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then closed it again, his face settling into a wary expression.
"Brendon!" Ryan repeated, fists clenched at his side.
Brendon deposited Jon on the cushion next to Ryan and rubbed his empty hand over his jeans. Spencer's breathing seemed to be evening out, which was reassuring. Ryan crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Brendon.
"So, how do we fix you?" Brendon asked.
Spencer made an irritated noise that Brendon felt more than heard. Ryan sat down on the couch and put his head in his hands. Jon shrugged at Brendon and patted Ryan's head absently. Brendon waited patiently for a moment or two, and when they didn't say anything he walked into the kitchen and looked around carefully. He did not see any lurking fairies.
"Hello?" he called out. "Is anyone there? Hello, fairies?"
He wondered if the fairies had proper names. Maybe he was being rude. He was about to apologize when Spencer made another noise and kicked his palm again. Brendon moved his hand out and up so that they were almost eye-to-eye.
"Never mind the fucking fairies," Spencer said. "Ryan, Jon and I tried our phones and they don't work. You have to call Pete and -"
"Pete is on a babymaking cruise in the Mediterranean," Brendon said. "Also, how is he going to fix it? Does he have fairies in his kitchen, too?"
Spencer turned an interesting shade of red, and Brendon put his hand back against his chest to muffle the shouting. Then he took a slow walk around the kitchen, checking all of the fairy-sized hiding places he could see. All he found was some dried out pieces of pasta, three raisins and some coins.
"Okay," Brendon said, mostly to himself, then walked back to the living room and crouched down in front of the couch.
The first thing he noticed was that Jon was missing. Ryan was still there, curled up on his side and apparently asleep.
"Jon?" Brendon whispered, dropping to his knees. He cleared his throat and tried again, louder.
Spencer kicked his hand and Brendon set him on the cushion next to Ryan.
"JON!" Brendon called out, his stomach suddenly full of dread.
Ryan woke, flailing, and knocked Spencer to his knees. They all stared at each other for a minute, and then Spencer got to his feet and picked his way to the back of the couch. He stopped at the back edge of the cushion and knelt down. When Brendon leaned in to get a better look, he saw Jon hanging on to a loose thread with one hand and waving his camera at them with the other.
Brendon put a hand down and scooped Jon out. Jon made an apologetic face and Brendon kissed the top of his head before pressing him against his still-pounding heart. Jon made a small squashed noise, and Brendon loosened his grip but didn't put Jon down.
"Don't ever do that again," Brendon said, when he thought his voice would probably be steady.
Jon made another squashed noise. Brendon felt a whispery pressure on his knee; when he looked down, Spencer was teetering on the edge of the cushion, waving his arms in the in the direction of Brendon's leg. Ryan was behind him, hanging on to Spencer's belt. Brendon reached down and grabbed them before they could fall. Ryan started screaming and kicking as Brendon brought them up to eye level, and then Spencer started wriggling too, probably trying to get away from the noise.
Brendon flailed a little, brain and hands jammed with conflicting impulses, then dropped all three of them into his shirt pocket. Ryan went quiet. Brendon shifted forward so his hands were on his thighs. He could feel them rustling around in his shirt, little hands and feet poking and prodding at his chest through the thin material. He closed his eyes and took slow breaths, waiting for the adrenaline rush to wear off.
When Brendon finally opened his eyes and looked down, Ryan and Spencer were huddled in a knot in one corner of his pocket. On the other side, Jon was reaching for the edge of the pocket, looking like he was thinking of ways to escape.
"Stop," Brendon muttered, flicking his fingers against Jon's belly until he let go and fell back against Spencer.
Jon scowled at him. Brendon pulled a face back at him, then pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose and sighed. He was all sweaty, and his chest felt strange and tight. He didn't know what to do next. Inside Brendon's pocket, someone pinched his nipple.
"Ow, fuck off," Brendon snapped, pulling his shirt away from his chest with one hand.
When he looked down, Jon was peering up at him, his arms hooked over the top edge of Brendon's pocket. Brendon picked him carefully and brought him up to eye level. Jon was really, really dirty and his hair was sticking up in three different directions. A shower, Brendon thought. That's what they need.
"I'd like to get down now, please," Jon said. "Just put me on the kitchen counter."
"In a minute," Brendon said, dropped Jon back into his pocket.
Someone kicked him several more times, but Brendon ignored it. He went to Ryan and Spencer's room first, took a few bottles from Ryan's stash of hotel toiletries, and went into the bathroom. The actual shower was obviously out, and the bowl of the sink was suddenly enormous. He considered the cup on counter, then decided it was both too deep and too gross.
Brendon grabbed a couple of washcloths off the towel rack and went back out to the kitchen. He set the washcloths on the counter and went through the cabinets until he found the mugs. He took a small one out and filled it with hot water from the tap, then pulled the miniature toiletries out of his pocket and set them next to the mug.
"Okay," he said, scooping all three of them out of his pocket. "Bath time. Who wants to go first?"
They stared at him for a minute, then all of them started yelling at once. Jon jumped up and started waving his arms to emphasize his point, and almost fell out of Brendon's hand in the process. Brendon caught him and set him on the counter, then put the other two down next to him. Ryan sat down on the counter and put his head between his knees. Spencer crossed his arms and glared at Brendon. Jon put his camera down and stripped before Brendon could say anything. Then he tried climbing the side of the mug.
Brendon saw it start to tip and grabbed the handle before it fell over. Jon danced back a step then redoubled his efforts, hauling himself over the rim and falling in with a small splash.
Brendon uncapped the bottle of shampoo and held it to the rim of the cup. It was gloppy enough that some of it spilled into the water before as Jon leaned forward to grab a handful. Brendon tipped it back quickly, apologizing, but Jon waved him off, grinning, and swirling the mess into a froth of bubbles with his free hand. Brendon watched him duck under the water twice without incident, then turned back to Ryan and Spencer. They were still glaring at him. Brendon clamped down on his irritation – it wasn't like it was his fault they were three inches tall, but starting a fight wasn't going to help – and looked out the window until the splashing to stopped. Brendon pulled Jon out of the mug, rinsed him off under a dribble of cold water, and wrapped him in a washcloth to dry.
Brendon had barely gotten clean hot water in the mug before Ryan stripped down and tried to jump in. Brendon caught him before he fell in the sink – and down the looming, open drain – and dropped him into the water. He came up spluttering and yelling, but settled down as soon as Brendon brought the shampoo over to the edge of the cup.
Spencer went last, and, it seemed to Brendon, took the longest. After a few minutes of contemplating his nails, Brendon put Jon in his pocket, then pushed the mug as far back from the edge of the sink and the counter as he could and started scavenging in the cabinets for food he could make small enough for them to eat. He found some ancient juice boxes and slightly stale crackers.
Jon wrinkled his nose at the first bite; Ryan either didn't notice or was too hungry to care, and consumed three whole crackers and several gulps of juice before curling up next to Jon in the folds of a washcloth and seeming to fall asleep. Spencer ate more slowly, but still managed to put away four whole crackers before lying down next to Ryan. Brendon ran his fingertips over their bodies, reassuring himself that they were still warm and breathing under the guise of smoothing out fabric wrinkles. Ryan coughed and sighed and curled closer to Spencer. Jon rubbed his nose and started to snore.
"We'll be fine," Brendon said softly, mostly to himself, as he moved to gather up their tiny clothes to wash them in the sink. "We'll figure something out. Somebody here has to know how to fix this."
**
Brendon settled a pinkie on Ryan's back and began to rub in slow circles. Sometimes that would put Ryan to sleep. Ryan relaxed a fraction. Brendon switched from rubbing Ryan's back to scratching it gently and not five minutes later he was rewarded with Ryan whuffling softly against his neck.
**
The next morning Brendon woke up to Spencer pacing the length of his sternum. He took a moment to locate Ryan and Jon – they were still asleep in the hollow of his collarbone – before he brought a hand up to rub his eyes. Spencer started talking, but he was too far away for Brendon to hear anything. Brendon scooped Spencer up and deposited him next to his ear.
**
Spencer curled up in Brendon's palm, one hand clutching at a trailing string from one of Brendon's bracelets. His eyes were closed, but Brendon was pretty sure he wasn't sleeping. Brendon petted him with a fingertip until Spencer sat up, then smoothed Spencer's hair off his face, his stomach tightening when he felt a faint dampness under his fingertip. Spencer kept his eyes fixed on his knees. Brendon rubbed his back some more, then kissed the top of his head. Spencer continued to refuse to look at him.
Brendon stretched his fingers out briefly and sighed. Spencer didn't react. Brendon moved to stand near the sink, and lowered his hand to the counter so Spencer could climb off. Spencer grabbed another trailing bracelet string and lay back down, facing away, his head resting on the pad of Brendon's palm.
"Do you want to go and be on the couch with Ryan and Jon?" Brendon asked.
Spencer curled into a tighter ball. Brendon rubbed his own face with his free hand and started humming Three Little Birds, as much for his own benefit as for Spencer. He was halfway through the second verse when he saw something very, very small run by the toaster.
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no subject
Date: 2010-05-27 08:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-27 10:38 pm (UTC)