“Do you guys know where Ryan is?” Brendon asks at lunch.

They’re all crowded around the same metal cafeteria table they sit at every day. Will - of course - is safe in Travie’s arms, and Jon is eating whatever crap the old ladies served up today.

“Haven’t seen him all day,” Travis says unhelpfully.

“He’s probably just sick or something,” Jon guesses, “it’s not like no one here misses a day or two.”

“He seemed just fine yesterday,” Brendon sighs.

“Maybe he died.”

“Will!” Brendon shouts.

“What?” Will says defensively, “it could happen!”

Brendon groans and sits down beside Jon. He doesn’t notice the older boy’s slight smile as their legs brush.

“I’m worried, guys,” he whines.

“B, he’s probably caught a cold or something,” Travis tries, “happens all the time.”

“Maybe.” But Brendon’s still doubtful.


His cell phone probably rings about three times before Brendon wakes up enough to answer it. The clock reads 2:26 A.M., and he immediately knows who it is. But really? Two A.M?

“Ry?” he groans.

“Brendon…”  Ryan sobs on the other end.

Brendon’s eyes widen and he snaps up into a sitting position on his bed.

“Ryan, what’s wrong?!” he asks frantically, “why are you crying?”

“Brendon, I-” he pauses and Brendon can hear him choking on his own sobs, “I’m so hurt right now. My leg, I think it’s-”

“Is it broken? Where are you; Are you home?”

The sobbing on the other end becomes louder and it hurts Brendon to hear it.

“Yes. God, please, Bren, get me out of here!” Ryan cries. “I don’t want to be here anymore!”

“Okay, Ry, just stay where you are,” he says before realizing Ryan probably couldn’t move if he wanted to. “I mean, uh- I’ll be there in a few.”

“Window…” Ryan rasps.

“I know.”


Brendon pulls into Ryan’s driveway, confused at the darkness of the house. All the lights are off inside. He frowns, because Ryan’s dad would be home by now, but it’s not late enough for the windows to be dark.

He steps up to one of the windows and pulls it out of the frame easily, setting the glass aside. He crawls through the open rectangle in the wall and clicks on the lamp when he’s inside. Ryan’s sitting in the corner, one leg twisted awkwardly in front of him and the other pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped around it. Brendon wants to cry at the sight of it.

“Bren?” he murmurs.

“Oh, God, Ry,” Brendon breathes, “what the… what the hell happened?”

“My dad, he- well, he hit me and it wasn’t the first time and I couldn’t take it any more so-” Ryan pauses to take a deep, shaky breath, “so I went and found his handgun and- and- and oh my God, Brendon, I shot my dad!”

His whole body shakes as the sobs take over him. He grimaces as his broken leg slides against the carpeted floor.

“Y-you shot your…” Brendon stutters disbelievingly, “I didn’t think- wow.”

“It’s okay if you think I’m a freak or that I’m scary or-”

“God, no, Ryan,” Brendon gasps, “I could never- I love you. And I could never, ever think things like that about you.”

“You love me?”

“So much, Ryan.”

“I love you, too.”

“Well what a perfect setting for this exchange.”

Ryan laughs a little, but winces and sucks in air through his teeth when his ribs shake. Brendon sighs.

“Come on, Ry,” he says, “we should probably get you fixed up.”

Brendon moves to help Ryan get out to the car, but stops when he thinks of Ryan’s dad.

“What are we going to do about… Well, you know-”

“I framed it so it looks like he shot himself.”

“Ah…”


After the confusion of trying to figure out how to get Ryan out of the house and into Brendon’s car, and after the seemingly endless drive to the hospital, they finally drive up to the large, white building. Ryan does his best to ignore the increasing pain in his leg as Brendon helps him limp through the doors of the hospital. People in the waiting room glare at the two because considering Ryan’s appearance, they know that they’re definitely not getting any attention for a while.

A brunette nurse walks up to them quickly and greets them, “Hi, I’m Victoria. Broken leg? We can fix that.”

She shuffles around behind the front desk and returns with a clipboard of paperwork. She hands it to Brendon, along with a pen and a sympathetic glance.

“Must have been hard getting him over here like this,” she says, “anyway, we have one free doctor available for you, Mister…”

“Call me Ryan,” Ryan says.

“Alright!” she smiles, “And-”

“Brendon.”

“Mhm, Brendon, you’ll have to fill out those papers while Dr. Stumph takes some X-rays, alright?”

Brendon nods and begins to quickly work his way through the sheets. Victoria brings a wheelchair around and takes her time seating Ryan in a semi-comfortable position. She wheels him through white, double doors with a final reassurance of, “it won’t be long, I promise.”

Brendon fills out the paperwork while waiting for the kind nurse to return with information on Ryan’s condition. It’s not even ten minutes later when she emerges, a file in hand. She exchanges this file for the clipboard of forms.

“Open it, I’ll explain what’s going on,” she says. Brendon opens the folder hesitantly and bites his lip at what he sees.

“His left leg is broken, but I’m sure the two of you figured that out on your own,” she says, “but what you might not have known is that two of his ribs are fractured. Now, considering the hour, Dr. Stump recommended that we keep him for the night to let him rest.”

“Alright,” Brendon agrees, nodding. “When can I pick him up tomorrow?”

“Well, we’ll need time to get him some crutches and he’s going to need some time to get used to moving around with them,” she pauses and taps her lip, “so you’d be safe coming back around ten-thirty in the morning.”

Brendon’s not looking forward to spending the next twelve hours away from Ryan when he’s hurt like this, but the doctor knows best.

“Okay, I’ll be here then, I guess.”

Victoria flashes a warm smile and says, “he’ll be ready when you get here.”

“Thank you.”


Brendon wakes up to the harsh sunlight gleaming through his closed window. He glares at the clock upon opening his eyes and jumps when he realizes it’s 10:15. He’s going to be late!

He doesn’t bother to hop in the shower, just throws on some clothes, shoves a pop-tart in his mouth and rushes out the door after a brief “see ya” to his parents. They exchange concerned glances as the sound of the engine pierces the walls of the large house.

He drives as fast as he can, probably exceeding the speed limit once or twice during the drive. When he pulls into the parking lot of the hospital, his driving is so frantic that he almost hits an exiting car. He slams the door to the car shut and runs through the doors of the big building. Confused and irritated glances are thrown his way as he runs a hand through his tousled hair, slumping down in a hard, plastic chair.

Victoria steps out from behind the desk and calls, “Brendon Urie?”

Brendon jumps up and runs over to her, stopping on a dime directly in front of her.

“I’m Brendon. Where’s Ryan?” he presses.

Victoria’s laugh calms him down.

“Relax, Mr. Urie, he should be-”

A loud cry of frustration cuts her off and a the double doors that lead to the hallway are kicked open. Out steps an aggravated Ryan, frowning and trying to make his way to Brendon with his crutches and his wrapped up torso.

“I’m never coming here. Ever. Again,” he vows.

“Then you’ll have to stay safe, Ryan,” Victoria says, “you can’t be reckless and expect the best.”

Ryan sighs and motions to Brendon.

“Come on,” he growls, “let’s leave.”

With a final wave to Victoria, Brendon follows Ryan through the glass doors to the parking lot.

“How’re you feeling?” he says after a while.

“Restrained and hurt,” Ryan replies. He leans against one crutch and awkwardly lifts the hem of his shirt. “This thing is killing me. I can hardly move.”

He drops the shirt and wiggles on the crutches.

“And these pieces of crap, I’m never going to get used to these.”

“Well, you wont need them for too long.”

“Six weeks,” Ryan hisses, “six weeks of this cast and these crutches and this stupid thing around my chest. This will definitely be an un-fun experience. I’m never breaking another bone again.”

“Going against the odds, are we?” Brendon chuckles, hopping in front Ryan. “And you can’t guarantee a time period’s un-awesomness until it’s already happened. I’m pretty sure I could make your month and a half a bit more enjoyable.”

“How so, Urie?”

Brendon smirks and takes a step toward Ryan. He brings his hands up and holds Ryan’s face between them and Ryan smiles because he knows what’s coming. Brendon kisses him gently and grins widely as he pulls back.

“That’s how,” he says.

“Works for me,” Ryan sighs.


Brendon didn’t think mood swings were a side effect of the pain medication Ryan had been taking. Victoria had never mentioned it, and neither had Dr. Stumph. He even called to ask them if perhaps they’d left it out; they both said it wasn’t a result of the pills. But Ryan had definitely been showing some major bipolarity in recent days. It’s starting to freak Brendon out.

One particular bout of moodiness involved Ryan blaming Brendon for every misfortune in his life so far.

“It’s your fault my dad hit me! It’s your fault my leg is broken!” he shouts. “It’s your fault my mom left me, and it’s your fault I have to fucking live in New York. And you made me kill my dad!”

“Nobody made you do it, Ry!” Brendon yells back, “it was your own idea. Don’t you blame it on me!”

“I could be back home in Vegas if it weren’t for you and- and- just you!” Ryan spits. Suddenly, he bursts into tears and falls to the floor sobbing. “Why can’t you just understand how I’m feeling right now, huh? How come no one can see it?”

“Ryan,” Brendon sighs as he helps the crying boy to his feet. “I understand. That’s all I do, and I’m sick of understanding. We all need to be understood. You’re not alone, you know.”

“Then why does it feels so much like it?”

“Because you’re not letting anyone in.”