Ryden Oneshots

Baboons and the Quest for the Last Pop Tart

Ryan Ross was completely enveloped in his favorite Chuck Palahniuk book when Brendon bounded into the room.   Ryan quickly tried to finish the paragraph he was on - he knew that there was no point trying to read with Brendon there.  Especially since the younger boy was bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet and yelling “Ryan, Ryan” repeatedly.

“Give me a fucking second,” Ryan mumbled, his eyes blurring as he thankfully finished his sentence and marked his place before Brendon threw himself down on the couch next to the guitarist.  

Setting his book down on the table in front of him, Ryan turned to face Brendon who was now stretched out on the couch, his feet lying across Ryan’s lap.  “Okay, what is it?  What’s so important that I can’t finish my book?”

Brendon pouted at Ryan’s less than excited tone.  What he had to say was exciting, exhilarating, life-altering, in fact.  “I’m not gonna tell you until you ask me really nicely.”  Brendon grinned and raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“That’s okay, I’ll be fine without knowing.”  Ryan calmly pushed Brendon’s feet off his lap, grabbed his book, and continued reading.

Brendon glared at Ryan.  “It’s one thing to not want to hear my news, but the pushing of the feet was uncalled for.  I don’t think I want to share my news with someone so mean anyways.”

Ryan’s only response was the turning of a page.  

Brendon let out a frustrated noise.  “Come on!  How can you not want to know?”  Ryan shrugged, his eyes never leaving the page.

“That’s fine.  I’ll share my news with someone who will appreciate it.”  Brendon straightened himself on the couch in order to provide the most support for his diaphragm and yelled as loudly as he could, “Jon Walker, love of my life, heart of my hearts!  Come and let me regale you with a tale!”  Brendon glanced over at Ryan to see how he would react to such a public announcement of adoration.  Nothing.  Brendon frowned.

Jon popped his head in.  “Don’t encourage him, Jon,” Ryan said, still not looking up from his book.

“How could I refuse?  He rhymed and everything.”

Brendon beamed and hurriedly got up and pushed Jon into the chair facing opposite the couch. 

Jon good-naturedly let Brendon sit him down.  “So what is this important story?”

“How kind of you to ask, Jon,” Brendon said brightly.  “It’s actually a dream.”

“Dreams can tell you many things, young Brendon.”  

“It was the coolest, most fucked up dream ever, Jon Walker and I must share it with you.”  Brendon glanced over at Ryan who still had his book in his hand, but from the way that his head was cocked, Brendon could tell that Ryan was putting more energy in listening more to him than reading his pretentious novel.

Brendon grinned.  “I was walking down the street when I saw our tour bus.  It looked exactly like this,” Brendon spread his arms wide, gesturing to his surroundings, “but everything was made of candy.  Like a mixture of the Hansel and Gretel house and Willy Wonka’s.  It was fabulous.  All that candy.”

Brendon’s eyes grew as he explained all the different types of candy that inhabited this fairytale bus.  “Chocolate and cotton candy and caramel.  Mmm”.

Ryan scoffed and Brendon snapped out of his trance.  “What?”

“I just don’t think that is the ‘coolest, most fucked up dream ever,’” Ryan replied as he abandoned his book once more.  “It’s just a dream about candy.”

“I doubt that you’ve ever had a dream that was cooler than that.”  Brendon stuck his tongue out.

“First off, shut the fuck up Brendon and put your tongue back in your mouth.  And secondly, I’ve had dreams way more fucked up than yours.”  

Jon raised his eyebrows.  “Really?  You must tell us then.  I will be the judge to who has the best dream.”

“What does the winner get?”  Brendon asked.  “Can it be the last pop tart.  Cause Ryan always eats the last pop tart.”

“Well you always eat the other seven.”  Ryan shot back.

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“You can’t prove it.”

“Of course I can,” Ryan grinned, “how else do you think your ass got that big?”

Brendon’s mouth fell open.  “Shut up, my ass is amazing.  You love my ass!”

“Boys, boys.”  Jon interrupted, “Enough talk about Brendon’s apple bottom.”

“Hey!” Brendon said indignantly. 

Jon shrugged.  “Just calling it like I see it.  Moving on… I have decided.  The prize for the best dream will indeed be the last pop tart.  Okay Ryan, lets hear your dream.”

“Fine.  Brendon and I were walking down the street and I stopped to tie my shoes.  When I finished and stood up I saw that we were surrounded by baboons.”

“Baboons?  Dude, that’s so gay.”  Brendon laughed.

Ryan ignored him.   “There were hundreds of baboons and Brendon and I couldn’t get out.”  Ryan looked over at Jon, “Um, that’s it.”

Brendon was giggling madly on the couch.  “Dude, Ry, baboons.”

Ryan hit Brendon’s shoulder and looked expectantly over at Jon.  “So, do I win?”  Ryan asked as Brendon grabbed his shoulder and whined in faux pain.

Jon bit his bottom lip thoughtfully.  “Did I ever tell you guys that I’m a follower of Freud.”

Brendon stopped rolling around on the couch.  “Dude, what does you liking a sex therapist have to do with our contest?”

“You idiot, Freud also did dream interpretations.”  Ryan rolled his eyes.  “Like symbolic meanings and stuff.”

Brendon’s eyes lit up.  “Oh!  Jon Walker, can you read dreams?”

Jon shrugged.  “I have a dream book.”  

Brendon was clearly impressed.  “That is so cool.  I want a dream book.  A really big one with lots of dreams and stuff about dreams and dream stuff.”

“Okay….”  Jon said, a smile pulling at his lips.

“What does my dream mean?”  Brendon asked excitedly.

“It means that you eat too much candy, watch too much Tim Burton, and are insanely fucked up.”

Brendon inhaled sharply.  “Wow, Jon Walker.  That is so right.  You really can tell dreams!  What does Ryan’s mean?”

Jon hesitated.  “I don’t know if I should say.”

Ryan furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.  “What do you mean?  Why shouldn’t you say?”

“It’s just a little personal.”

Brendon grinned.  “Now you have to tell!”  He left the couch and started tugging on Jon’s arm.  “Come on, tell us!”

Jon shook his head.

Ryan sighed, “Oh, for fuck’s sake just tell us already.”

“If you’re sure.”  Jon looked Ryan directly in the eyes, trying to make him take this seriously.

“It’s just a fucking dream.”  Ryan scoffed.

Jon shrugged.  “Okay.”  Brendon rejoiced.  “Baboons represent repression, more specifically sexual repression.”  Jon paused as both Ryan and Brendon looked confused.  “Basically, you want to fuck the shit out of Brendon but you won’t acknowledge it.”

Both Brendon and Ryan were silent.  Jon thought it was kind of nice, the bus being quiet like this.  After a couple of seconds Brendon found his voice.  “Wow, Ryan, you totally deserve that pop tart.”