"So, what is it you said you do?" Rodney asks, glaring at Mr. Urie, who sits across from him at the table. "I seem to have missed you telling us your current job."
Mr. Urie bites down, hard, on his potato, and chews, mulling over an appropriate answer. "I'm unemployed at the moment," he explains, after swallowing. "What about you? I've heard they pay pretty well for men who hit kids nowadays."
Rodney's eyes narrow, Mrs. Urie groans, and Brendon laughs into his dinner. He never thought he'd say it about a parent, but damn, his dad is cool. Rodney, however, doesn't seem to think so. "Excuse me? What the hell are you on about?"
"What I'm on about," Mr. Urie replies, through gritted teeth, "is the issue of you hurting my son. If I ever find out that you've laid another finger on him, then I'll --"
"Where's the proof for this, exactly?"
"I have Brendon's word for it, and I'm going to take that over anything you have to say."
"Your son, who you obviously know so much about when you're travelling all the time, is rude, obnoxious and --"
"Can we please not discuss this whilst Brendon's in the room?" Mrs. Urie interrupts, looking upset at the situation. "We can talk about this later, okay?"
"Mom," Brendon complains, rolling his eyes. "I'm eighteen, I think I have the write to listen to a conversation that's about me."
"Look, I just don't think it's appropriate to --"
She cuts off, however, as there's a knock on the front door. Everybody exchanges a startled look, wondering who would be knocking at eight in the evening. "I'll get it," Brendon says, quickly, eager to avoid more awkward conversations. He leaps to his feet, and heads into the hallway, humming to himself.
What he could really do with, now, is seeing Ryan. Getting away from all of the stress of parents and arguments and awkwardness, and just be able to curl up somewhere warm with him, and be told that everything's fine. In fact, he might even ring him, just to hear the sound of his voice, he resolves, just as he opens the door.
He freezes the moment he sees who's been knocking, however.
"What the fuck?" he asks, loudly.
Ryan is stood - well, just about standing - in the doorway. But it's not the same Ryan that he saw a few hours ago. He's shaking, violently, and his hair is all messed up, and he's smothered in bruises, and oh, God, there's water and blood soaked into his clothes - a huge amount, in fact, so much that Brendon's sure it can't be coming from the boy himself.
"Ryan?" he whispers, just about unable to move. "What - what --"
"Brendon," Ryan moans, voice trembling, and he stumbles forward. Brendon catches him, swiftly, and the boy buries his face into Brendon's neck, actually crying, and Brendon can feel horror and shock billowing liberally in himself. "She's - she's d-dead, and --"
"Dead?" Brendon asks, sharply. "Who?"
"My dad and her were arguing as usual, because he fucking beat me up for sm-smashing a fucking glass by accident and he was f-fucking drunk, and I w-went and locked m-myself in my room. Then he sl-slammed out and I could hear her crying, then she r-ran a bath - but this was like, th-three hours ago, and she wasn't out, s-so I went to check on her and - and --"
Brendon feels sick as Ryan breaks off, to let out a choked sob, his fingers twisting themselves into Brendon's t-shirt. Brendon holds him, close, to himself, closing his eyes, feeling hot tears rising, not wanting to hear the rest, but knowing that he has to.
"- and then she - she was in the bath, and there was so much f-fucking red, and I tried to get her out but sh-she was already c-cold. She f-fucking slit her - her wr-wrists. I don't know what the hell I'm g-going to do, because my mom is f-fucking dead, and --"
"Brendon?" comes a curious voice from behind him, and he glances back to see that all three adults have come into the hallway to see what the commotion is. Mrs. Urie shares a look with her ex-husband, and then steps closer to the two teenagers. "Did I just hear that right? Ryan's mother's, well, committed --"
Ryan lets out another moan, his whole body shaking, and Brendon bites his lip to try to stop himself from crying. He has to be strong. He has to be there for Ryan. He half-pulls Ryan through the hallway, kicking the front door shut behind him, and takes him to the living room. He sits him down on the settee, and kneels in front of him, wondering what the fuck he's supposed to do, and why the hell the world is lashing out upon his boyfriend in the cruellest way possible.
"Ryan?" he asks, softly, and slips his fingers underneath the boy's chin, titling his face upwards slightly. Ryan meets his gaze - his eyes red and swollen - and Brendon just wants to get rid of everything that's ever hurt him, even though he knows he can't. "You can stay here, okay? You can't go back there. My mom will ring the police and you can live here for as long as you need to, okay?"
"I think you should be asking your mom before you --" Rodney begins, but Mr. Urie cuts him off with a sharp, "Of course it's okay for Ryan to stay, don't be an asshole."
Mrs. Urie tentatively crouches down next to Brendon, gazing at Ryan with an overly protective, concerned expression. Brendon can see why. Ryan is looking at his knees, covered in blood and bruises, his hair all in his eyes and stuck to his cheeks. Brendon's never seen anything so heartbreaking in his life.
"Ryan, honey," Mrs. Urie whispers, and Ryan looks up at her. "You stay here for as long as you need to, okay? You can sleep in Brendon's room. I'll go and ring the cops now."
"T-thanks," Ryan manages to mutter, and she heads to the kitchen to ring them. Brendon takes his shaking hands, steadying them, and leans up to kiss him, softly, on the lips. He just wants to help him, but he has no idea how.
"Everything will be okay, I promise you," he whispers, fervently. "I know that it won't be, for a while, with your mom gone, but you're not alone anymore. I don't care what happens, I'm sticking by you, and your dad is never going to be able to hurt you again, okay?"
"I-I'm s-sorry for being a b-burden," Ryan mumbles, looking around helplessly, his voice still stuttering in the aftermath of his tears. "I-I just h-have nobody else t-to go to."
"You're not a burden," Brendon tells him, sharply. "You never have been, and you never will be. I told you that I love you, and that means that you can come to me whenever, okay? God. You're so - you should be freaking out, not apologising. Don't apologise for this. It isn't your fault, at all."
Ryan shakes his head, succumbing to tears again. Brendon quickly wraps his arms around him, pulling him close, and Ryan's arms curl tightly around his neck. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I love you," Brendon whispers, into his ear, feeling the first hot, uncontrollable tears stain his own cheeks.
"I l-love you so fucking much," Ryan chokes in response. "Th-thank you, thank y-you. For j-just being here."
"I'll always be here," Brendon promises, not caring in the slightest that his dad and Rodney are in the room. "Okay? I'll always be here for you."
"Right, the cops are going to go to your house," Mrs. Urie says, coming back into the room. She looks a little shaken, but, like Brendon, more concerned for Ryan than anything else. "Do you want anything to drink? To eat? Do you need to go to the hospital?"
"I'm n-not that b-badly hurt," Ryan tells her, quietly, as Brendon lets him go, giving him room to breathe. "I just kind of. I m-mean, is it okay if I j-just go to b-bed?"
"Of course it is," she tells him, firmly. "We don't have a spare one free, but --"
"He can share mine," Brendon says, without hesitation. His mom seems to want to say something on the matter, but she doesn't, instead nodding. "Come on. We'll go now. Unless you'd rather be alone?"
Ryan shakes his head. "N-no, I really, really d-don't want to be alone."
Brendon presses another, quick kiss to his lips, and then stands up, holding his hand out. "Right. We'll go now, okay? You can sleep for as long as you want."
Ryan nods, mutely, and takes Brendon's hand. As they get to the doorway, however, he stops, and looks at Mrs. Urie. "Thanks. I really appreciate you l-letting me stay."
Mrs. Urie gives him a sad smile, and then they leave, making their way up to Brendon's room. Ryan's still trembling, but not quite as severely, and Brendon just wants to go and find Mr. Ross and murder him. At the same time, he just wants to be here for Ryan, because if he can help even a little, it'll be worth it.
Once they're in Brendon's room, Ryan sinks onto the bed, all of the life seemingly having gone out of him. He stares at the floor, miserably, as though his mind is somewhere else than in the room, and Brendon bites his lip. He's never had to deal with somebody like this before, somebody so in shock.
"Um, you can borrow a t-shirt to sleep in. Your clothes are a bit, well. A bit --"
"Blood stained," Ryan laughs, helplessly, shakily. He pulls his t-shirt over his head, depositing it on the floor, and then does the same with his jeans. He shivers, once he's done so, and so Brendon quickly fishes a baggy t-shirt out of his drawers and hands it to him.
He pulls it over his head, and then crawls into the bed, looking just about ready to curl up and die. Brendon takes off his glasses, quickly changes - usually, he sleeps with nothing on, but he figures boxers and a t-shirt would be more appropriate right now - and slips under the covers.
One arm automatically slips around Ryan's waist, the other stroking his cheek, softly. "Just sleep," he whispers, as Ryan shudders a little in the aftermath of his tears. "Just go to sleep and forget for a little while. I'll be here when you wake up, I promise."
Ryan sniffs, loudly, and closes his eyes. Brendon tightens his grip around the boy's waist and murmurs comforting words, hoping that he's doing okay. All he wants - more than anything else - is for Ryan to be happy. Then, maybe, he can be happy, too.
*
Brendon is woken, five hours later, by Ryan kissing him.
He lets out a small groan of consciousness, and his eyelids flutter open. Ryan is pressing his lips to Brendon's, firmly, as though trying to make sure he's tangible. Brendon blinks a few times, and the memories of the evening before wash over him, causing him to wince.
"Ryan?" he asks, as the boy breaks the kiss. "Are you okay?"
"Thank you," Ryan whispers, his voice thick with tears. "Just - just thank you. I nearly - I nearly --"
"You nearly what?" Brendon prompts, more than a little concerned.
"I nearly took all of my lithium in one go," Ryan replies, and Brendon can just make out, through the darkness, tears streaming onto the pillow. "I nearly fucking left, f-for good. Like, I nearly --"
"You nearly what?" Brendon deadpans, and he sits up so quickly he gets a head rush. "You what? Ryan, you can't - Jesus - you can't --"
"I - I didn't," Ryan says, sitting up, as well, and putting his arms around Brendon's neck, burying his face into his chest "I didn't, because I couldn't do it to you. I don't give a fuck about me or my dad or anybody else. But I - I didn't want to hurt you."
"Thank fuck," Brendon chokes, closing his eyes tightly so as to keep the tears in. "Thank fuck. If you go, I'm coming with you, you know? So, fuck, you've got to stay, okay?"
"I'm going to," Ryan promises, and Brendon wants nothing more than to believe him. "I swear, I'm not going to leave you."
Brendon just holds him close, and never, ever wants to let him go.