The One Where Ryan Ross Hates Cowboys.

It all starts with an innocent question.

“Why are there so many cowboy movies?”

Ryan glances at the singer, making a disgusted face before shrugging.

“I don’t know, who cares? Cowboy movies suck,” he replies, and Brendon freezes.

“…no they don’t. Ryan, you can’t tell me that you hate cowboy movies. No one hates cowboy movies. Westerns are in the heart and soul of every-“

“I hate cowboy movies. In fact, I hate cowboys in general. Always have, always will,” Ryan interrupts. Brendon gapes at him.

“That’s such a lie! You can’t tell me you’ve never wanted to be a cowboy before!”

Ryan shrugs.

“I haven’t. And also, I’m not watching that movie.”

Brendon glances over at his band mate, narrowing his eyes and clutching the DVD case to his chest protectively.

“Yes you are,” he replies quickly, and Ryan shakes his head.

“No. I’m not. Brendon, put it down. How about we get Star Wars? Or Fight Club? I bet there’s Fight Club here,” Ryan offers, and Spencer snorts loudly from the next aisle of the near-empty movie rental store.

“I’m pretty sure no one, me included, can stand to watch Fight Club again,” he says, laughing. “Brendon, what movie do you have?”

“True Grit! Paul Rae is in this, okay? I just wanted to see Paul Rae. And cowboys! And guns! And horses!” Brendon pauses, frowning. “Spencer, can I have a horse? Will you buy me a horse?”

“I’ll buy you a horse!” Jon chirps from the science fiction aisle, and Brendon grins stupidly.

“Gonna name him Trace Cyrus,” he decides. Spencer looks at him, amused.

“Why would you na-“

“Who’s Paul Rae?” Ryan demands, frowning. “Is he someone I know?”

“I…” Brendon shrugs, smiling sheepishly. “I have no idea. It just says he’s in it.”

Ryan rolls his eyes and plucks the DVD case from Brendon’s hands.

“We’re not watching stupid fucking cowboy movies,” he snaps, and walks off to put it away. Brendon frowns.

“Jon?”

Jon’s head pokes over one of the DVD shelves, and he arches an eyebrow.

“Yes, my dearest Bden?”

“Help me find Brokeback Mountain?”

Jon grins.

“Absolutely. Hurry, we’ll rent it before Ryan comes back.”

~•~

“I hate cowboys,” Ryan complains, arms folded across his chest and mouth twisted into an unhappy scowl. “They’re fucking stupid.”

“What makes them stupid? They’re heroes!” Brendon argues, and Jon nods.

“They save the town from being taken over by villains who insist on robbing the saloon!” he adds.

“Yeah, and they also have stupid accents, stupid clothes, stupid hats, stupid horses with stupid names, and stupid girlfriends who always seem to be in some sort of stupid trouble,” Ryan replies, sighing discontentedly. Brendon gasps.

“Ryan Ross! Did you just insult a cowboy’s dress sense?”

Jon smiles.

“Don’t you own one of those stupid hats?” he asks from the floor.

Ryan kicks him.

“No I don’t, shut the fuck up,” he hisses, and walks into the spare room of Spencer’s house without further complaints.

The movie, Brendon decides, is only the best movie to ever exist. Gay cowboys are badass.

And he didn’t even cry at the end. Really. He didn’t. It wasn’t even that sad. He totally toughed it out.

~•~

“And Brendon fucking cried when the…what was his name…that dude…well, I’ll just call him Faggot Number One. But fucking Brendon, he cried when Faggot Number One died!” Jon snorts, unable to stop laughing. Brendon frowns.

“I did not!”

“He did! Ryan, Ryan, your senseless hatred of cowboys made you miss it!”

Spencer frowns.

“Ryan, you made me stay in the bedroom and miss it!” he accuses, and Ryan rolls his eyes.

“Brendon cries at every movie, we’ll see it again. Put on Old Yeller,” he suggests, and Brendon gapes at him.

“Old Yeller is a tasteless film full of sadness and fuzzy doggies that deserved to live, Ryan!” he protests, but Jon and Spencer have already run off to the living room. Ryan smiles victoriously.

“You’re stupid,” Brendon pouts, sighing. Ryan blinks at him.

“You’re childish.”

“Your notebook has pink swirls!”

“You shoot rainbows out your fucking ass!”

“I do not!”

“You do too! You just fucking watched Brokeback Mountain!”

“It was a beautiful film!”

“About homosexual cowboys!”

“You should know all about those, seeing as you are one!”

“What the fuck makes me a gay cowboy?”

“Your fashion sense!”

“I never have been, and never will be a cowboy!” Ryan explodes. “Cowboys are fucking dumb!”

He storms out of the room, and Brendon doesn’t see him for the rest of the night.

Even when they watch Old Yeller, which is sad, because Ryan always cries at that movie too, and Brendon wanted a shoulder to sob on.

Spencer just flicks him in the forehead.

~•~

“Spencer? Spencer Smith, I need you!”

Spencer doesn’t look up from the book he’s reading.

“Spencer! Spencer! Hurry, look at me! It’s so super important!” Brendon insists, and Spencer rolls his eyes before looking up at the singer.

“Yes, Brendon?”

Brendon smirks.

“If I said I want your body now, would you hold it against me?”

Spencer sighs, going back to his book.

“Please stop singing pop songs at me.”

Brendon huffs.

“But I’m bored! And Jon says I’m not allowed to go home until he does, and that’s…on Friday. What day is it? How many days until Jonny Walker is returning to Pete Wentz’s kingdom?”

“Two days, it’s Wednesday,” Spencer replies without looking at him. “And it’s hardly Pete’s kingdom. William Beckett lives there, too. And so do half of our other friends.”

“So? Pete’s the best, he owns the world.” Brendon scoots up towards Spencer, and then loudly sings, “He owns my heeeeeart!”

“He’s going to own your vocal chords in a minute, because I’m going to rip them from your throat and mail them to him in a box.”

Brendon laughs.

“He already owns my vocal chords. We have a contract, remember?”

Spencer groans.

“Can you just go bother Ryan?”

Brendon shakes his head.

“No can do, Sheriff Smith. That man’s mopin’ in his room, I reckon. He ain’t been all too pleased with me lately, seein’ as he can’t ‘preciate no cowboy folk like we obviously is. ‘S sad, he’d be the prettiest darn cowboy in this here town.”

Spencer ignores him.

“Spencer? Spencer I have a question.”

“Go ask Ryan,” Spencer hisses, and his tone is sort of intimidating (even cowboys know when to leave the Sheriff to his readin’!), so he finds Ryan in the kitchen, talking to Jon.

“Ryan?”

Ryan stops mid-sentence and looks at him, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yeah?”

Brendon grins.

“I challenge you to a face off at high noon, outside the saloon. This town ain’t big enough fer the two of us, cowboy, and I’m darn sure me and Trace’ll have enough time to gun ya down and ride off into the sunset to rope some cattle.”

Ryan blinks, and Jon sputters in the background.

“Please go away.”

“I accept your challenge, Brendon!” Jon almost cackles. “But don’t get yer girl involved in this here face off, I don’t want a stray bullet hittin’ ‘er in her pretty little head. Ya hear that, Ryan? Stay inside that saloon, it won’t be too darn long until one of us is dead, and the other runs the town.”

“Yeah Ryan, make sure y’all stay with Sheriff Smith, he’ll prolly be readin’, that’s what he been doin’ when he sent me here to challenge y’all to a face off.”

Ryan frowns.

“I hate both of you with such a fiery passion,” he spits, and walks out of the room. Brendon stares after him and sighs. What’s so bad about cowboy talk?

Suddenly, something wraps around Brendon’s arm. He glances over to see that Jon’s made a tiny lasso out of the string Spencer keeps in the drawer in case he needs to sew up another hole in one of his fancy shirts (no wonder him and Ross are friends. Such women, seriously).

“Looks like I’ve gotcha, cowboy,” he chuckles, and Brendon stares off into the distance, wondering how he’d been as careless as to get caught.

“Damn you, Stupid Cowboy Jon!” Brendon laughs, pulling at the tiny lasso that’s around his wrist. Jon’s eyes narrow.

“That’s my cowboy name?”

Brendon nods.

“Then what’s yours?”

Brendon frowns, thinking for a moment, before grinning.

“Brokeback Brendon, duh! To honor the death of Faggot Number One!”

Jon laughs so hard he cries.

~•~

“Ryan.”

“No.”

“Ryan, please.”

“I said no.”

“Ryan!”

“No.”

“Ryan oh my god Jon has a third nipple hurry look at me I caught it in a jar!”

“…no.”

“Ryan I’m going to burn you.”

“And I’ll extinguish myself and kick your ass, this isn’t the Sims.”

“It should be.”

Ryan looks up, exasperated.

“What do you want?”

Brendon smiles slowly, bringing a piece of paper into view.

“You know what’s awesome?”

Ryan sighs.

“What?”

Brendon hands him the paper.

“When your drummer has been best friends with your guitarist since the beginning of time, and you look through the pictures in his basement and find photographs from past Halloweens,” he says, grinning. “You were a fucking cowboy, Ryan Ross. You ruled this town before any of us!”

Ryan scowls, throwing the picture back at him.

“No I didn’t.”

“Ryan Ross, you’re a deputy!” Brendon squeals, unable to hold back laughter.

“No. I’m not. Nor will I ever be. I didn’t even pick that costume; it was one of Spencer’s old ones. And the bigger kids made fun of me and stole all my candy anyway, and Spencer’s mom sent me home because I cried.” Ryan sighs, going back to texting on his sidekick. “It was so stupid.”

Brendon feels his eyes widen.

“Ryan, that’s why you hate cowboys!” he explodes. Ryan arches an eyebrow.

“I’m pretty sure it’s just because cowboys are fucking lame,” he shoots back. Brendon shakes his head.

“No! You like psychological shit, right? It makes sense! You’ve linked cowboys with childhood trauma!”

“Not really,” Ryan sighs, putting his head in his hands. “You’re giving me a headache; can you and your psychological cowboy theories go bother someone else?”

“Nope, Spencer already sent me to you, and Jon’s had enough of me, I think,” Brendon laughs. Ryan frowns.

“So have I,” he mutters, and Brendon slides up next to him, throwing an arm around his shoulders.

“Don’t you worry there, Deputy, me ‘n the Sheriff ‘n Stupid Cowboy Jon’ll keep y’all safe. And if those men come back here thinkin’ they dun gonna steal yer candy again, I reckon I could rough ‘em up a little for ya,” he chuckles. Ryan rolls his eyes.

“Whatever you say,” he mumbles. Brendon smirks.

“Still think you’d make a damn pretty cowboy,” he says, and Ryan sits up, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Still think you shoot rainbows out your ass, fucker,” he replies, and Brendon laughs.

“You’re still about as flamboyant as I am, Deputy Let’s-Watch-Moulin-Rouge,” he laughs, pressing his lips to Ryan’s cheek. “Ride with me into the sunset, Ross.”

“This isn’t Brokeback Mountain,” Ryan says, attempting to keep the annoyance in his tone.

“We need to avenge Faggot Number One’s death!” Brendon gasps dramatically. “We’ll make the sequel; it’ll be called Homosex: The Movie.”

Ryan rolls his eyes, leaning his head onto Brendon’s shoulder again and letting his eyes fall shut.

“You’re such a fucking idiot.”

Brendon grins.

“I reckon it doesn’t bother you darn near as much as ya pretend it does, Deputy.”

Ryan laughs, sighing.

“I reckon you might damn well be right,” he replies.

Brendon smiles.