Ryden Oneshots 【2】

The Danger of Martha Stewart Living (2)

They all thought they were safe now; Ryan hadn’t so much as touched a frying pan or shovel in weeks. The coast seemed clear; whatever the hell had gotten into Ryan had worked its way out. So when Jon and Spencer showed up at Ryan’s for what was supposed to be a writing session, they had no reason to expect anything else.

First, no one answered the door, which really isn’t that unusual, so Jon and Spencer just let themselves in (And, really? Ryan needs to remember to lock his doors, seriously.) But what is weird is that Brendon didn’t immediately pounce on them once they stepped through the door; his car is parked in the driveway, so obviously he is here. Then they hear the muffled shouts. They follow the noise to Ryan’s bedroom; the door is slightly ajar.

“No, Brendon. Move to the left. No, the left!”

“My left or yours?” Brendon’s question was breathy, strained.

A sharp exhale. “My left is your left. Just put it in already!”

A thud reverberated through the wall.

“Yes, there!”

Spencer pushes the door open. Brendon is standing on Ryan’s bed, two nails gripped between his lips, a painting balanced precariously against the wall and his elbow, hammer dangling from the other hand.

Ryan looks at them in surprise, “Oh, hey. When did you two get here?”

“Just a little bit ago,” Jon answers, kicking his shoes off and climbing onto the bed to help Brendon hold the picture up.

“Thanks,” Brendon mumbles around the nails between his gritted teeth. Spencer raises an eyebrow; that can’t possibly be sanitary.

“What is going on here?” Spencer asks Ryan, watching Jon and Brendon try to hang the painting levelly.

“Decorating. The house just felt too mundane.” Ryan squints and turns his head to the side, “No, it’s not centered. Brendon, it needs to move back to the right.”

Brendon thumps his head against the wall, “Then you come up here and move it. We’ve been doing this for an hour, Ryan. My arms are killing me.”

“Fine, I will. Just hold the nail for me, okay?” Ryan climbs onto the bed as well, “Spence, you and Jon can go get set-up; we’ll be there in a few.”

As Jon is settling himself into the couch with his bass and Spencer is raiding Ryan’s fridge in an attempt to find some sort of beverage that isn’t a Capri-Sun, a dull thump and a loud “Fuck!” echoes through the house.

“Oh, shit! I’m so sorry!”

* * *

Somehow, and no one’s really sure how, Ryan managed to get the nail stuck in Brendon and the hammer through the picture. Luckily, the nail wasn’t –too far stuck in Brendon. It was just, enough to… stay there on it’s own… and bleed, a lot. But Ryan’s pretty sure that he can patch Brendon up; he’s gotten pretty good at this first aid stuff in the past few months.

Spencer slumps down into the couch, burrowing closer to Jon, “Ugh, why is my best friend such a walking disaster?”

“Another one of life’s great mysteries. Like how veganizing chocolate chip cookies makes them taste worse than cow poop.” Jon grins at Spencer. He leans down to press his forehead to the top of Spencer’s head. Spencer lets out another groan.

“Oh, hey. We’re out of Cheerios. And we’re going to need more toilet paper. So, store run after this, okay?” Spencer turns so their foreheads match up. Jon’s eyes meld into an ogre eye that takes up most his face.