As Ryan’s bruises begin to fade, Brendon’s are becoming more evident. William, Travis, Jon - even Pete are noticing. But they’re too afraid to say anything on the subject. So they keep their mouths tightly shut.

Even when Ryan stops apologizing for his violent actions, Brendon still thinks nothing of it. He pegs it as stress. Then he begins to think that Dr. Stumph and Victoria made a mistake about Ryan’s medication. Perhaps they had overlooked “violent tendencies” as a side-effect or something.

Some professionals, Brendon scoffs inwardly.

His cell phone rings in his back pocket; the words to Nirvana’s “Love Buzz” blaring from its tiny speakers. He picks it up and greets, “Hey, Ryan.”

“Hey, babe,” Ryan purrs on the other end. “Where are you right now?”

“Home, but-”

“You wanna come over today?” Ryan asks.

“Sure,” Brendon smiles. “But I was actually about to head out when you called me. So can you give me a bit?”

“Alright, but don’t be too long.”

“I wouldn’t keep you waiting for the world.”

Brendon flips his phone shut and stuffs it into his back pocket. As he grabs his keys, he calls, “Mom, I’m going out for a bit.”

He can hear his mom’s muffled voice sweetly replying, “Okay, sweetie. Call if you’re staying out late.”

Brendon offers a small “yeah” in agreement and then steps out into the driveway. He climbs into his car (“a Corvette, wow, Brendon”) and pulls out slowly. The drive to the hospital is shorter than he’d like it to be. As soon as he pulls into the crowded parking lot, he realizes that he probably should have made some sort of appointment. But it’s a bit too late for that as he walks through the door and steps up to the pearly white front desk.

He finds that Victoria isn’t there this time, filing papers like Brendon’s seen before. Today, it’s a young boy who can’t be much older than Brendon by the look of it. His soft-looking hair is hanging in his eyes, but he obviously can’t be bothered to care much as he’s focused intently on some complicated paperwork. Paperwork that isn’t going to help Brendon’s situation. So the high school student rings the tiny bell on the counter. It turns out to be louder than he thought it would be.

The boy behind the desk jumps and his pen flies out of his hand, onto the ground. He huffs and glares up at Brendon through his shaggy bangs. “Can I help you?” he grumbles.

“I’m looking for Victoria. Is she around?” Brendon asks.

“She’s sick.” Oh, the irony. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

Brendon glances at the boy’s small, plastic nameplate. Spencer.

“No thanks, uh, Spencer. Unless you know if Dr. Stumph is available.”

“I’m sorry, he’s with a patient right now.” Spencer retrieves his pen off the floor and pulls a notepad in front of him. “I can deliver a message for you, if it’s urgent.”

“Tell him I have a few question about Ryan Ross-”

“Oh, I know about him.”

He gets out of his chair and shuffles through some file folders behind the desk. After a moment, he returns with a file labeled Ross, George R. He opens the folder and reads, “Broken left leg, two fractured ribs?”

“That’s the one,” Brendon confirms.

“Well, what do you need to know?” Spencer presses, annoyed.

“It’s about his pain meds,” Brendon begins. “Do you know if it causes any… violent tendencies? As a side effect or…”

Spencer flips through the pages and pulls one out. He examines it carefully, humming quietly to himself as he reads.

“No,” he says finally. “Nausea, drowsiness. Nothing about violence.”

Brendon reaches for the paper and as he does so, his sleeve pulls up to reveal two dark purple bruises. Spencer bites his lip when he realizes why Brendon is curious about and violent reactions. But he keeps his mouth shut. It’s not his situation to speak on.

“Are you sure?” Brendon asks, pulling Spencer out of his trance.

“I’m sure. But if you think it best, you can request that he stop taking the meds. He only has one more week - not even - until the cast comes off.”

Brendon tugs his sleeve back down, most likely out of nervous habit. “Alright,: he sighs. “I’ll talk to Ryan about it.”

As he makes his way out the door, Spencer calls after him, “Good luck with Mr. Ross!”

Brendon stops in the doorway and sends an upset, almost angry glance back at Spencer.

“His name is Ryan,” he corrects sternly. “Mr. Ross is his father.”

***

The first thing Brendon notices as he pulls into Ryan’s driveway is that his crutches are poking out of the large garbage bin. He steps out of the car and knocks on the door three times, sending an anxious glance back at the disposed crutches every few seconds.

Ryan swings the door open, a frown set upon his lips. He has a weird, black boot over the cast on his leg. Brendon guesses that it enabled him to walk without the crutches.

“Where have you been?” Ryan demands.

“Calm down, Ry, I was just-”

“Where have you been?!”

Brendon flinches when Ryan shouts. His boyfriend shouting is never be a good thing, and it always ends badly. Very badly. He knows he’s stupid if he admits to visiting the hospital on Ryan’s behalf, so he carefully whispers, “I was out shopping with my mom.”

Ryan’s eyes narrow. He’s taking in the information cautiously. Eventually, he decides, “You’re lying to me.”

“What? No, I-”

He knows it’s coming. He can feel it and see it rushing toward him. Still, he doesn’t flinch. Just stands there as Ryan fist comes across his face harshly.

“I’m sick of your shit,” he hears Ryan fume.

Brendon whines as he’s shoved against a wall roughly. Ryan’s lips are close to his ear, moistening the skin with his warm breath.

“Love you,” he whispers before punching Brendon, hard in the stomach. Brendon splutters and falls to the floor when Ryan releases him. The older boy lands a final kick to Brendon’s gut before muttering a hushed “worthless” and stomping out the door. The last thing Brendon hears before blacking out is the loud revving of an engine. The final thing he thinks is that Ryan should not be driving in his condition. He could get hurt.

***

It’s about eight P.M. when Jon is much too bored. He texts Brendon once. Twice. No answer. So he decides he’ll just drive over to see him. It’s not a long drive, and Brendon’s parents love him, so he’s sure he won’t be a bother to anyone.

He grabs his keys and twirl them around his finger on his way out to his old, beat-up truck. The engine takes two tries before it starts, but when it does, it runs smoothly and the drive to Brendon’s place is quick and easy. He pulls into the driveway of the (much larger, nicer) house without noticing the absence of Brendon’s Corvette.

Before he even gets a chance to knock on the front door, it’s swinging open and Brendon’s mother is smiling at him brightly.

“Hello, Jon!” she greets warmly. “It’s nice to see you. How have you been?”

“It’s nice to see you, too, Mrs. Urie. And I’ve been good,” Jon replies.

“What can I do for you, dear?”

“I wanted to hang with Brendon for a bit. Is he here?” Jon asks, peering over Grace’s shoulder and around the corner.

“No, he took off a couple hours ago,” she sighs. “He said he’d call if he planned on staying out. Honestly, I’m getting worried.”

Jon’s brow furrows as he concentrates on where Brendon would be at this hour. He doesn’t have much of a social life, except for Travis, William, himself and-

Ryan. Jon grinned at Brendon’s mother and said, “Thanks, Mrs. Urie. I think I know where to find him.”

“Oh, Jon Walker, please bring my baby home safe!” Grace pleaded jokingly.

“Not a worry, ma’am. I’ll have him back in one piece.” Jon made a gesture as if he was tipping his hat and then ran back to his car. He waved to Mrs. Urie as he drove away and she smiled back enthusiastically.

***

When Jon pulls into Ryan’s driveway, he immediately notices that Ryan’s car is not taking up it’s usual space. In fact, it’s not even there. Brendon’s fancy, rich boy car is parked beside Jon’s old truck, but Ryan’s car is nowhere to be seen. Jon guesses they’d gone out on a date or something. But he finds it odd that they’d chosen not to take the nicer car.

He shrugs it off and hops out of his truck, smoothing down his jeans once he’s out. The front door is open when Jon gets up to it, and he freezes out of fear. He instantly thinks the worst. Someone snuck in and murdered the two of them and stole Ryan’s car. Then he hears a quiet groan and he flinches away from the entrance to the house.

The groan comes again, and it sounds familiar somehow. It’s when Jon realizes that it’s Brendon that he dashes inside without a second thought.

Once inside, he calls, “Ryan? Brendon? You here?”

There’s silence for a moment. Then more groaning, but nothing remotely coherent. Jon searches the house for the source of the pained noise and loses faith when he comes back into the main room. But then he sees a mess of brown hair littering the ground by the coffee table in the center of the room. He cautiously steps closer to it.

“Brendon?” he mumbles. “That you?”

The groaning comes again and Jon quickly rounds the corner of the large table. He gasps at what he sees. Brendon is lying on the ground, motionless for the most part. He’s clutching his stomach as if he’s been sick and there’s a dark bruise on his upper cheek. Jon immediately knows what’s happened, despite Brendon’s constant reminders of “I’m okay” and “I just tripped.”

“Oh, Brendon,” he sighs as he smoothes the boy’s hair. “What have you gotten yourself into?”

Just as he says that, Brendon grunts and shifts in front of Jon. He tries to lift himself, but he can’t and he falls back, his head landing in Jon’s lap. “What the fuck?” he mutters.

“Brendon.”

Brendon looks up at Jon and asks, “Where’s Ryan?”

“I don’t know,” Jon replied. “Why?”

“I have to apologize.”

Jon is outraged. Outraged at both of the stupid boys and outraged at everything that’s happened to Brendon so far and outraged at himself for not knowing. He wants to run around and throw things and shout, but he doesn’t. Because Brendon doesn’t need that. Not right now.

“If either of you have a thing to apologize for, it’s him for hurting you.”

“But he’s just-”

“No. It’s abuse, Brendon. And I won’t let it happen again,” Jon says sternly.

Brendon is quiet for a long time. Jon knows that he’s thinking about what he’s been told. And that he doesn’t know how to handle it, because he’d interpreted everything so much differently. Then there’s some quiet sniffling and Jon can feel Brendon shaking against him.

“You’re right, Jon,” Brendon whispers. “You are so right, and I didn’t even know it.”

Jon just sighs and pulls Brendon up and into a hug. Brendon winces at the squeeze, but he keeps quiet about his pain because Jon’s hugs are always perfect and he doesn’t want to lose this right now.

“Come on, B,” Jon says. “We should go.”

After getting off the ground, he pulls Brendon up with him and allows the younger boy to lean against him for support.

“Keys,” Jon demands.

“Pocket.”

Jon dips his hand into Brendon’s back pocket and pulls out his car keys.

“Hospital?”

“No.”

“Park.”

Brendon nods.

They leave the door open on their way out.