Like Suicide, Only Softer - pt. two

[ericasaur]

Wednesday. Therapy session number two. Brendon can’t say he’s very excited after last week. He walks into the office and takes a seat, fully intending to not give her any answers at all this time. She looks stressed, like she’s had a long day.

“Hi, Brendon, how are you?” she asks tiredly.

“Fine,” he says shortly.

“So,” she says, going into therapist-mode. “I noticed you’ve been spending quite a lot of time with your roommate, Ryan?” she asks. He doesn’t really see what this has to do with anything.

“Yeah, so? We’re friends,” he shrugs. She smiles that secretive smile that he hates.

“It’s good to know you’re both getting along so well,” she nods, scribbling on that fucking clipboard. “I saw you at lunch today,” she starts casually, and Brendon thinks, oh great, because he knows all too well that if she was watching him at lunch then she knows he ate nothing more than two bites of a sandwich.

“And?” he prompts, swallowing.

“You’re not eating, Brendon.”

“Yes, I am,” he says too quickly. But he’s not lying. He is eating, maybe not as much as they’d like, but it’s a hell of a lot more than he used to. “I’m just - I don’t get very hungry,” he shrugs, slumping farther into his seat. She’s looking at him doubtfully, clearly unconvinced.

“I think I’m going to have to have a nurse start monitoring your meals,” she says, writing something down. Brendon sits up straight in his seat, gaping at her.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says disbelievingly. “That’s ridiculous! I am eating, ask Ryan!”

“The mood swings, that’s one thing right there that tells me I’m right,” she raises an eyebrow.

“They aren’t mood swings, they’re just my reaction to you being a fucking moron!” Brendon snaps.

“Calm down,” she says, gesturing for him to sit back. “Brendon, you have to understand that I only have your best interest in mind here.” Brendon scoffs, rolling his eyes. Like he hasn’t heard that before.

“You don’t care about me, you’re just doing your job,” he says bitterly. Not that he gives a damn who does and doesn’t care about him.

“That’s not true,” she says gently. “Brendon, I want to help you. I want you to overcome all the obstacles you’ve had to face. You had to grow up very fast, and you don’t even know what it’s like to have a normal life,” she stresses, and honestly, she isn’t doing a whole lot to make him feel better about himself.

“Look,” he starts angrily. “I -”

“Dr. Clark,” a nurse bursts into the room, breathing hard, obviously having just ran there. “It’s Gerard again,” she says. Dr. Clark sighs, rubbing her temples with her fingers as if she’s dealt with this many times before.

“I’ll be right back,” she says to Brendon, getting up and following the nurse quickly out of the room and shutting the door behind her. Brendon twists back around in his seat and slumps down again. It’s not that Dr. Clark is someone he doesn’t like - it’s mostly just doctors in general that he doesn’t like, and she’s always saying these things that make him feel miserable, even though he’s sure she doesn’t mean to. He doesn’t exactly want to be reminded of his past, let alone tell her about it. It’s not going to help him get over it. It’s not. Brendon works differently, and he gets over things by forgetting about them, pushing them out of his mind. Nobody understands that.

After five or so minutes, Brendon starts getting bored, so he gets up and looks around. They are various framed documents hanging on the wall behind Dr. Clark’s desk, nothing too interesting. He picks up a picture sitting on her desk and examines it to see an image of Dr. Clark and a little blonde girl who Brendon assumes is her daughter. He places it back on the desk with a bored sigh, darting his eyes around the room. They land on a big file cabinet beside the desk.

Curious, Brendon makes his way over to it. He automatically opens the one at the bottom labeled ‘Q-Z.’ Of course, they’re the patient’s file, as he’d thought. He scrolls through them until he finds ‘Urie, Brendon.’ He takes it out, flipping it open to see a number of pages with his picture paper-clipped to the front. As he flips through them, he also notices that Dr. Clark has made copies of her notes on him and added them to his file. He doesn’t know how much time he has so he quickly walks over to the copier by her computer and makes a copy of his files, one page at a time. His heart is pounding with the adrenaline rush that you get whenever you’re doing something you shouldn’t be doing, but he wants to know what she’s been saying about him, so he continues to make the copies.

When the last page finishes, he folds them up and puts them in the pocket of his hoodie, swiftly placing his file back into the cabinet. He’s about to close it when one file that is slightly sticking out catches his attention. ‘Ross, Ryan.’ He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, but his curiosity gets the better of him, so he pulls the file out and opens it. He immediately notices that Ryan’s file is at least twice the size of his own, filled with papers and notes and pictures. Brendon knows he’s violating Ryan’s privacy, but he doesn’t stop.

The first page clearly tells about his conditions:

Ryan Ross, age nineteen, admitted at the age of fifteen for:

- Paranoid / disorganized / catatonic schizophrenia

Patient’s other conditions include:

- Severe anxiety

- Panic disorder

Many severe phobias are present including:

- Aichmophobia (needles)

- Astraphobia (thunder & lightning)

- Claustrophobia (confined spaces)

- Isolophobia (solitude; being alone)

- Ligyrophobia (loud noises)

- Agoraphobia (open spaces - specifically open water in this patient’s case)

Patient history:

Ross developed and was diagnosed with schizophrenia at the age of thirteen. At the time, he lived with his mother, his only remaining family. Upon discovering Ross’ condition, his mother-

Brendon stops reading when a sound on the other side of the door attracts his attention. He shuts the file and puts it back in place, closing the drawer as quietly as he can, and then darts back to his chair just as Dr. Clark opens the door. His heart is pounding in his chest right now.

He had no idea Ryan had so many problems. He can’t even imagine what it was like for him to be alone before Brendon came here. He must’ve felt scared all of the time. Maybe he’s scared even now, alone in their room.

“Sorry, Brendon,” Dr. Clark says, sounding more than exhausted. “Why don’t we just let that be it for today, alright? I have a lot to do,” she says. And well, she doesn’t have to tell him twice. He nods, standing up and bounding over to the door, eager to get back to his room.

When he gets back, Ryan is, of course, in his bed reading. He smiles when Brendon enters, dropping his book and sitting up straight. “How did it go? Any better than last time?” he asks.

“We didn’t talk much,” Brendon shrugs. “She had to go deal with Gerard or something.” He doesn’t even think about mentioning that he went through Ryan’s file. There’s no telling how Ryan would react to that.

“That’s good. Hey, um,” Ryan starts, twisting his hands together in his lap and biting his lip. “Do you wanna maybe watch a movie in the lounge?”

“Yeah, sure,” Brendon agrees easily, and Ryan relaxes back into a smile, hopping off his bed and following Brendon out.

The lounge is pretty much empty, with the exception of a skinny boy with glasses sitting in the corner reading a comic book. Ryan and Brendon claim a big couch in the back. “You can pick the movie,” Brendon offers, settling back into the cushions. Ryan walks over to the selection of DVDs stacked up on a shelf near the TV, scanning over them before choosing one. Brendon isn’t paying much attention, instead watching the way Ryan instantly curls into himself, pulling his legs close and wrapping his arms around them.

When Brendon finally looks at the screen, he’s a bit surprised to see Donnie Darko playing. He darts his eyes cautiously to Ryan. “Um, isn’t this movie about-”

“Yep,” Ryan interrupts, staring unwaveringly at the screen. Brendon closes his mouth, staring for a second longer before turning back to the screen. He’s always liked this movie. It’s kind of fucked up, a little confusing when you watch it for the first time, but it makes you think.

Brendon eventually finds himself sprawled out on the couch with his legs over Ryan’s, but Ryan doesn’t seem to mind. He’s been drawn into the movie, watching as Donnie burns the house down. His mind flares with memories; fire, smoke, the smell of flesh - not something he likes to think about. Although sometimes when he’s feeling particularly vengeful, the memory brings comfort. He blinks his eyes back into focus when Ryan pokes him.

“What?” Brendon asks, clearing his throat.

“I said are you ever going to answer my question?” Ryan repeats.

“What question?”

“What you’re here for,” Ryan answers, looking imploringly at Brendon. And Brendon really wants to tell him, he does. But he’s not ready for Ryan to find out how crazy he really is.

So he stays silent.

* * *

Ryan doesn’t give up on his quest to find out why Brendon’s there; he continues to question him about it every single day, and Brendon is running out of ways to avoid answering the question. He went through the copy he made of his file. Apparently Dr. Clark thinks he’s ‘a very disturbed young man with violent tendencies.’ Well, she’s not entirely wrong.

He isn’t avoiding Ryan per se, but he’s not exactly making his presence known either. He’s in their room, lying on his bed reading, when Ryan walks in with a determined look on his delicate face. It’s kind of endearing.

“Brendon, why are you here?” he asks, standing in front of Brendon’s bed with his hands on his hips. Brendon looks up, taken aback.

“Um, because I felt like reading?” he says stupidly, and Ryan makes an impatient noise.

“You know what I mean,” he stresses, giving Brendon a hard look. Brendon sighs, setting his book aside and closing his eyes for a moment. He knows he can’t avoid the question any longer. As much as he’s dreaded it, it’s time to be honest.

“Here,” Brendon says, reaching into the drawer by his bed and grabbing the copies he made of his file before handing them to Ryan. “My file,” he explains upon Ryan’s confused look. Ryan slowly sits down beside Brendon, looking hesitant. “Go on,” Brendon urges, nodding to the papers. Ryan bites his lip, looks down, and Brendon’s insides are a mess as he looks down at his own papers:

Brendon Urie, age eighteen, admitted at the age of eighteen for:

- Bulimia/Anorexia nervosa

- Attempted suicide

Brendon swallows around the lump in his throat when he hears the sharp inhale from Ryan as he reads the words, his grip on the papers tightening.

Patient’s other conditions include:

- Depression

- Anxiety

- Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

Patient history:

Patient is a victim of sexual and physical abuse as a child by his father, who was later arrested and sentenced to ten years in prison. Patient’s father was released from prison early after only five years and was later killed in a house fire in the Urie’s home. Bulimia started with the patient when his father was released from prison and has been present ever since.

Ryan puts down the papers, reading no further, and looks at Brendon with sorrowful eyes. Brendon looks down, still unsuccessful in swallowing down the lump.

“Oh my god, Brendon,” Ryan whispers. “I’m so sorry.” He tentatively places a hand on Brendon’s shoulder, squeezing. And Brendon doesn’t want to hear pity and apologies. He’s heard them his whole life and he knows they’re worthless.

“When I was a kid,” Brendon starts, staring off into space and ignoring Ryan’s sympathy. “I was the happiest kid in the world. My family was perfect,” he laughs bitterly. “And then when I was seven, my dad raped me for the first time.” He hears a choked sound come from Ryan at the bluntness of his words, the hand on his shoulder tightening. “He told me that it was ‘what good boys did for their fathers’. I cried but he wouldn’t stop,” he shrugs, his voice sounding emotionless and hollow. Brendon’s never talked about this out loud, to anyone, other than when he told his mom. “It went on for three years. He started hitting me too, because I started fighting him. I would try to get away and he’d hold me down, slam my head into the floor, anything to keep me there. He raped me over and over until I was ten and finally told my mother,” he says. His voice sounds a little scratchy now from the emotion that it lacked before finally seeping in. Ryan looks horrified, to say the least.

“Brendon…”

“And I told my mom,” he continues. “She immediately called the cops, and of course there was physical evidence of everything, so he was put in prison. My mom divorced him. But I never could forget about what he did to me,” Brendon shakes his head, still staring at a space on the wall. “I had nightmares about it - I still do, every night. He got out of jail when I was fifteen. He came back, trying to be in my life again. I couldn’t take it, seeing him like that, acting so normal like he hadn’t completely ruined my life.” Brendon draws in a shaky breath, accompanied by Ryan’s own shallow ones. “I stopped eating because I needed something to control in my life,” he laughs, not at all a happy sound. “Nothing was going right and I wanted to be able to decide what happened to me for once, so I just stopped eating. And having that power over myself,” he says, finally meeting Ryan’s teary eyes, “that was the best part. It felt good seeing how far I could push myself; how long I could go without eating before I passed out. But then I started getting too thin and my mom noticed,” he says quietly.

Ryan is tense beside him, still keeping a hand on him and biting his lip.

“She forced me to go to the hospital, and I was hospitalized. I got out eventually but I still didn’t eat. It was easy enough to hide it from her. But then one day my dad showed up, and my mom was out,” he recalls. “He kept saying all this bullshit about being a new person and about how he was changed and how sorry he was for what he did to me,” Brendon laughs. “I couldn’t take hearing it anymore.” He looks right at Ryan with a smile on his face and laughter bubbling from him. “So I knocked him out with a vase and set the house on fire,” he laughs again. Ryan’s mouth drops open, his eyes widening in shock as he realizes that Brendon is serious… and he’s laughing about it. “I killed my dad,” he says, and the way his voice is so eerily calm gives Ryan chills.

“I killed him,” he continues, “and I totally got away with it.” He starts laughing again. Ryan is staring at him crazily, wondering where this side of Brendon came from. “I told the cops he was trying to hurt me and a candle got knocked over, and they bought it. Nobody knows but you now,” he says, his laughter finally subsiding. He feels weirdly relieved having told somebody about what he did. Now maybe he won’t have to keep it so bottled up anymore. It doesn’t cross his mind that Ryan will tell; he knows he won’t.

“Of course, that didn’t make my problems go away,” he continues, staring at the floor. “I still wanted to fucking die. My life was still shit. So I tried to make it go away,” he says softly. “I took some pills, but my mom found me in time and took me to the hospital,” he shakes his head, sounding regretful. Ryan realizes that Brendon sounds regretful because he may still want to be dead. And as scary as the thought is, Ryan kind of gets that. No, he definitely gets that.

“And so here I am,” Brendon sighs, looking at Ryan simply, like he didn’t just confess to murdering his father.

“I…” Ryan starts, sounding not sure what to say. “I should probably be scared, but I’m not?” he says, an upward inflection at the end. He laughs a little nervously, still chewing at his lip.

“It’s not like I’m going to hurt you,” Brendon says, and he means it. He’s started to care about Ryan, he wouldn’t hurt him. Ryan gives him a little smile, and Brendon really thought he’d be freaking out about this, but he seems weirdly calm knowing that Brendon’s a murderer.

“I didn’t think you would,” Ryan says softly, moving his hand from Brendon’s shoulder to his knee. “I, um,” he scrunches his eyebrows. “I - I trust you,” he says, sounding like it’s hard for him to say. Brendon can see why - Ryan doesn’t trust anyone.

“You know what would be good?” Brendon says, glancing at Ryan. “If we could just not talk about this. I really hate thinking about it.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ryan agrees, handing Brendon the papers back. “For the record though,” he pauses before going back to his bed, “I really am sorry that happened to you.” He sounds so sincere that Brendon doesn’t even think twice before believing him. He starts to turn around again, but stops. “I, um. I really wanna tell you something, but… but I-I can’t,” he stutters, looking worrisome.

“Why not?” Brendon frowns. “You just said you trusted me.”

“No, I do, it’s just… if I tell you why I can’t then you’ll think I’m crazy,” he whispers. Brendon smiles amusedly.

“Ryan, if I were going to think you were crazy, don’t you think I already would have by now?” he jokes. Ryan smiles a little before it disappears again.

“He won’t let me tell you,” he admits quietly. Brendon wonders who ‘he’ is for a split second before he realizes Ryan means his ‘voice’.

“Oh,” Brendon breathes. “Why?”

“He says I can’t or he’ll make me do things, and I can’t, Brendon,” he says pleadingly. “He’s so awful sometimes, and I’m just really scared.” Brendon stands up and without thinking about it, wraps his arms around Ryan.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay,” Brendon soothes. “I’ve got you, it’s okay.” Ryan clings to him, breathing harshly into his neck. “Come here,” Brendon says, pulling Ryan down onto his bed with him. He’s only trying to be friendly, but his stomach twists strangely at this new closeness between them.

“I’m just tired of being scared all the time, Brendon,” he admits, fisting his hands in Brendon’s shirt.

“I know, I know,” Brendon mumbles, rubbing Ryan’s back. “I promise it’ll be okay.”

He hopes it’s not an empty promise.

* * *

Brendon can tell something bad happened as soon as he walks out of his room the next day to go to dinner. There are nurses running around everywhere and people whispering to each other. He makes his way into the lounge, surprised to see it filled with people and buzzing with conversation. He spots Beth helping a patient nearby.

“Hey,” he says to her, and she looks up. Her hair is messy and her clothes are unkempt - she’s clearly been busy.

“Oh, hi, Brendon,” she greets quickly.

“What’s going on?” he asks. “Why is everyone running around?” He looks pointedly at the people freaking out, bombarding the nurses with questions. Beth sighs, runs a hand through her frizzy hair, and finishes helping the patient with whatever he needed before turning back to Brendon.

“Someone got seriously injured, and we don’t know if they’re going to make it,” she says quietly, leading Brendon to a less crowded area of the room.

“What happened?” Brendon asks. “Was it someone on this floor?”

“No, no, nobody you know, but,” she stops, chewing on the inside of her lip. “Well I might as well tell you now. Okay, do you remember Gerard?” she asks. Her face is the kind of face you have right before you tell someone really awful news - that almost-cringe.

“Yeah,” he answers. It couldn’t have been Gerard, because he’s on this floor.

“Last night, he… well, he stabbed another patient,” she discloses to him in a near whisper.

“What?” Brendon says loudly, his eyes going wide because oh my god, he knew that guy had a serial killer vibe.

“Shh!” Beth shushes him, looking around frantically. “We don’t know exactly what happened, or why he even did it, but he apparently stole a knife from the cafeteria and stabbed the patient with it three times in the stomach. We’re lucky he’s even still alive,” she shakes her head sadly.

“Man, that guy has issues,” Brendon says, ignoring the fact that he killed his own father, but he feels no guilt over that whatsoever.

“Yeah, well now he’s been put in solitary confinement. He has no access to any patients and he’s not allowed out of his room for now,” she explains.

“Wait, you mean he’s not going to jail?” Brendon asks incredulously. He’d sure be in jail if anyone knew that his father’s death was not an accident.

“Well, with special cases like these, no. Gerard is completely mentally unstable. He can’t understand that what he did is wrong,” Beth says, sighing in frustration when another patient calls her over. “I need to get back to work,” she says, giving Brendon’s shoulder a pat before walking off.

“Hey,” a small voice says, and Brendon turns around to see that kid, Frank.

“Uh, hey,” Brendon says to the small, short boy. “Wait, I thought you didn’t talk?”

“Um, I don’t usually, but,” he bites his lip, obviously frustrated. “They won’t tell me what’s going on,” he almost whispers. He sounds so sad that Brendon almost wants to hug him or something. “I know what Gerard did… but where is he? I just. I really need him,” he begs. Brendon has no idea why Frank’s chosen him of all people to speak to, but he knows that he’s not going to like what he’s about to tell him.

“They, um,” Brendon clears his throat. “They put him in isolation,” he says almost apologetically. “He can’t have any visitors.” Brendon knows what’s going to happen before it even does. He sees Frank’s eyes widening, his bottom lip shaking the slightest bit, and then the first tear emerges and falls down his face. God, why is everyone always crying around Brendon?

“But. But I need him,” he says through his now shaky voice. “I can’t - I can’t be by myself. He’s the only friend I have.” There are steady tears flowing now, his eyes red and puffy, but he’s not making any noise.

“I’m, um, I’m sorry,” Brendon offers weakly. If there’s something he sucks at, it’s consoling people.

“Thanks for telling me,” Frank says, letting out a sob and walking away. Brendon watches him go sadly. It’s not fair. He’s a nice guy.

He walks down the hall and into the elevator, back on his way to the cafeteria now.

When he gets there - after sharing the elevator with the creepiest old woman he’s ever seen in his life that kept asking ‘where’s Katelyn?’ - Ryan is already at their table, and he already got Brendon’s food. Brendon sits down, glancing at the full tray of food before grabbing a grape off of it and nibbling on it. Ryan’s watching him steadily, unlike usual, and oh right, that’s because he knows now. Great.

“Don’t start this,” Brendon says sharply, throwing down a roll that he’d picked up. Ryan flinches, obviously taken aback.

“What?” Ryan asks timidly, looking hurt at Brendon’s tone.

“Ryan, just because you know now doesn’t mean you get to watch what I’m eating just like every-fucking-body else,” Brendon snaps. Why does everyone else care so much what he does with his own fucking body?

“I… I mean, I just don’t want you to get sick, that’s all,” he says. Brendon scoffs, so Ryan hurries to continue. “I can’t believe I never noticed, but you’ve hardly eaten since you’ve been here.” Brendon’s heard that so many times. ‘You’re so skinny! You need to eat more! I never see you eat!’ He wishes it would just stop.

“You don’t understand, okay?” he tells Ryan. “It’s the only thing that keeps me sane.”

“I’m not trying to control you,” Ryan assures him, looking worried, “I just- what if you hurt yourself? I don’t want that to happen,” he says in a small voice. Brendon, of course, has heard this so many times, but when Ryan says it… it’s the first time he actually believes it. So, with one last glance at Ryan’s worried eyes, he hesitantly picks up the roll again and eats a small piece.

“I’m eating, okay?” he tells Ryan, who has a smile forming on his face. Brendon knows that he wouldn’t under any circumstances do this for anyone else.

“Good,” Ryan mutters, looking down at the table, but he’s still smiling. Brendon just fakes his own smile and tries to keep the food down.

They keep up small talk throughout dinner, like always, but Brendon feels different now. He doesn’t normally have that tingly feeling in his stomach around Ryan. And he also doesn’t normally try so hard to make him smile.

A patient walks by just as Ryan is standing up, bumping into him.

“Get out of my way,” the guy snaps.

“You ran into me, Dallon,” Ryan mutters, rolling his eyes. He told Brendon about Dallon. He’s basically an asshole who’s here because he beat up his girlfriend and claimed that he had mental problems to avoid going to jail.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” he asks, turning back around with a smirk. “Drown me?” Brendon frowns at the weird remark, and Ryan goes eerily still, his eyes fixed on Dallon with a glare that Brendon never wants directed at him.

“What did you say?” Ryan’s voice rings out cold and harsh, completely unlike his usual soft monotone. His mouth does that twitch, and Brendon’s figured out what it means when he does that. It means he’s hearing the ‘voice.’ Ryan shoves Dallon suddenly, with strength that Brendon wouldn’t have guessed Ryan could muster, and Dallon falls backwards, staring up with wide eyes.

“God, I forgot you were a fucking schizo,” Dallon snarls, standing back up, and that just pisses Ryan off more. He lunges at Dallon, hitting him and clawing at him. Brendon tries to pull Ryan off, but Ryan throws a careless fist to his face, effectively causing him to stagger back. A doctor approaches, yelling for Ryan to stop.

“Get off him, Ryan!” he yells, pulling him away. Ryan tries to get out of his grasp, but he’s doing nothing but struggling uselessly. Dallon is lying on the floor, clutching his stomach and coughing, while Brendon is rubbing his aching jaw where Ryan hit it.

“Come on, I need him sedated,” Dr. Burns says when Ryan won’t stop struggling.

“No, no, no, please!” Ryan cries, struggling harder. “Please don’t!” His breathing goes erratic when he sees a nurse pull out a needle.

“Wait, stop!” Brendon interferes. “Don’t, please. Look how terrified he is,” he points out.

“Brendon, stay out of this,” Dr. Burns warns.

“No, look, I can calm him down, just-” he grabs Ryan, pulling him until the doctor lets go, and Ryan practically falls into Brendon, sobbing and shaking.

“Ryan, it’s okay,” he murmurs, rubbing his back. “Just calm down, it’s okay.” Gradually, Ryan stops shaking and gasping, until he’s just breathing hard. Again, the doctor is amazed by how easily Brendon is able to calm Ryan.

“Maybe if you actually tried to calm him down instead of just sticking a needle in him every time, it wouldn’t be so bad,” he says shortly to him before taking Ryan and heading back to their room.

* * *

Back in their room, Ryan doesn’t say anything. He just walks over to Brendon’s bed and sits on it, leaning against the wall and clutching Brendon’s pillow. Brendon walks over and takes a seat beside him, sighing.

“I’m so sorry I hit you,” Ryan says quietly, glancing at Brendon’s bruised jaw.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m fine,” Brendon waves him off.

“He just made me so mad, I just.” Ryan stops with a frustrated huff, closing his eyes. “It all started when I was thirteen,” Ryan starts out of nowhere. Brendon sits up straighter. Is Ryan finally going to tell him everything? “That’s when I developed schizophrenia. Long story short, my mom couldn’t handle it. She didn’t want a crazy kid,” he says, trying to sound unaffected, but Brendon can hear the hurt. “So she left me.”

“Left you?” Brendon repeats.

“She literally drove me to an orphanage and told me to get out and then drove away with me chasing the car and crying,” he says bluntly, and Brendon gapes. What kind of mother could do that to her child? Especially to someone like Ryan.

“God, Ryan, I’m-”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Ryan interrupts timidly, clearing his throat and continuing. “Anyway, I have no idea where she went. They never found her. But I was put into a foster home after that. I went from one home to the next because nobody wanted to deal with me,” he says bitterly. “But then there was this one family. Mr. and Mrs. Conner and their seven-year-old daughter, Ally. They were always nice to me, and they understood about my condition.”

“Ally ended up being like a real little sister to me,” he bites his lip, blinking hard. “For the two years I lived with them, she was my best friend,” he confides. Brendon can already sense that this story is going to be heartbreaking. “One day we were playing in the woods. We’d play hide-and-seek there a lot,” he shrugs. “And I couldn’t find her anywhere. I was starting to get really worried because it had been nearly half an hour that I’d been looking for her.” He pauses to take a deep, shuddery breath. “I found a creek, and Ally was walking so close to the edge, and fuck, I knew she would fall before it even happened.” Brendon can see tears falling down Ryan’s face now. “She fell in, and I couldn’t move. I just watched while she screamed and tried to keep her head above the water. But I was frozen in place, and I was trying to move, I really was, because I would have given my life for her, but I was fucking paralyzed to that spot. I couldn’t get my voice to work. I couldn’t do anything, and it was all my fault that she died,” Ryan chokes out, finally stopping and collapsing into Brendon’s side, soaking his shirt with incessant tears.

“She’s gone, Brendon,” he cries, his tiny frame shaking. “I just let her die, and then my foster parents sent me back. The orphanage sent me here and- I just don’t have anyone anymore.”

Brendon’s never been so angry for another person in his whole life. If he knew where Ryan’s mother was, he’d fucking kill her, because all of this is her fault, and he doesn’t think she really deserves to be alive.

“Ryan, it wasn’t your fault,” Brendon stresses. “You couldn’t control what happened. You wanted to help her, but you couldn’t. You can’t blame yourself for that.” Again, Brendon doesn’t know shit about making people feel better, but he has to at least try. He has to try for Ryan. “And you do have someone. You have me,” he says, brushing Ryan’s hair back. “You have someone that actually cares about you,” Brendon says a bit quieter, his stomach twisting.

“No, nobody cares about me,” Ryan shakes his head, pulling back from Brendon.

“Yes, I-”

“No, you’re lying,” Ryan insists, tears still falling. He starts pulling on his hair.

“Ryan, stop,” Brendon says softly, pulling Ryan’s hands from his hair. “Ryan,” he repeats, but Ryan keeps shaking his head.

“No, you just-”

“Ryan,” Brendon interrupts, desperate to do something to calm him down. He doesn’t know what else to do, so he does the only thing left. He kisses him. It’s hard at first, Ryan making a surprised noise and going rigid. Brendon worries for a moment that it was a bad idea, but then slowly, Ryan relaxes into him, his lips moving and his hand skittering across Brendon’s chest. And Brendon is kind of mind-blown by how much he realizes he’s wanted this. It was never a thought that was apparent in his mind, but it’s like suddenly it’s the only thing in his mind. Ryan Ryan Ryan. Ryan’s lips. Ryan’s tongue sliding in his mouth. Ryan’s soft cheeks and Ryan’s long fingers clutching Brendon’s shirt.

Just Ryan.

And before he knows it, Brendon is lying down on his bed with Ryan on top of him, kissing him breathlessly and sliding his hands up Brendon’s shirt. And honestly, Brendon never pegged Ryan as being this animated. He guesses it’s because he just needs somebody right now.

Ryan makes his way down Brendon’s neck, alternating between hard kisses and tentative kitten licks. And god, Brendon wants more, but he’s supposed to be the one making Ryan feel good, so he swiftly flips them over, catching Ryan off-guard. He takes a moment to look him over. He’s not crying anymore. He’s actually kind of smiling.

“Are you… are you okay with this?” Brendon asks, cupping Ryan’s face.

“I like you,” Ryan replies simply, his smile widening. Brendon smiles back, leaning down and kissing him again. The kissing is heavy again for a few minutes, tongues tangling and gasps mixing together, but then Ryan whimpers, and not the good kind. He pulls his mouth away, whispering, “Stop, please.” Brendon is hurt for a minute, thinking that Ryan was telling him to stop, but then he realizes he’s not talking to him. “Not now,” Ryan pleads. Brendon decides the best thing to do is distract him, so he kisses him again before leaning back and undoing Ryan’s pants. Ryan’s obviously conflicted over whether to pay attention to Brendon or the voice in his head, but when Brendon gets his hand around his dick, Ryan whimpers in the way that Brendon wants him to.

“Bren- wh-”

“Shh,” Brendon shushes, leaning down and flattening his tongue on the head of Ryan’s cock. Ryan’s whole body jerks, his hands immediately going to Brendon’s hair.

“Oh, oh,” he breathes, obviously never having felt anything like this before. Brendon realizes a little late that that must have been Ryan’s first kiss too. He likes the thought of being his first everything.

Brendon closes his eyes and hollows his cheeks around Ryan’s cock, swallowing him down as far as he can. He’s mindful of his teeth as he bobs up and back down again, using his hand on what his mouth can’t cover.

“Brendon, god,” Ryan murmurs, his hands tightening in Brendon’s hair, eliciting a pleased moan from Brendon around Ryan’s cock. “Fuck, you’re good at that,” he whimpers. Brendon lets his tongue flick over Ryan’s slit, teasing, over and over until Ryan is practically writhing on the bed, begging. “Please, god, please,” he moans when Brendon starts to lower his mouth onto him again. Brendon gives one more playful lick before taking the head into his mouth once more, sucking almost softly and running a hand up Ryan’s abdomen. Brendon knows Ryan is still hearing the voice, because he’s not completely relaxed, and every time Brendon glances up, Ryan is shaking his head or mumbling to himself.

He just wants to make him feel better, and to make him not so fucking sad anymore, or lonely. He doesn’t want him to feel like that anymore. He keeps his mouth moving at a steady pace, groaning every time the hands in his hair tighten. He finds himself pushing his hips into the mattress, trying to get some kind of friction, because the sounds Ryan is making are turning him on a ridiculous amount.

He knows Ryan’s close, so he pulls off, looking up at him through lust-clouded eyes. “Ryan,” he says hoarsely, and when Ryan looks, Brendon puts his hands on Ryan’s stomach, leans back down and takes his cock into his mouth again, and waits for him to get the hint. Ryan’s eyes kind of widen, and he thrusts his hips experimentally, his cock slipping further into Brendon’s mouth. Brendon nods, signaling that it’s okay, and Ryan knots his fingers in his hair, holding his head in place while he bucks his hips forward, fucking Brendon’s mouth.

Ryan makes sure not to be too rough, afraid of choking Brendon, and his thrusts become erratic with the building pleasure in the pit of his stomach. “God,” Ryan groans, the multiple sensations of Brendon’s mouth and his hands roaming over him bringing him closer to the edge. He moans louder when Brendon’s nails scratch gently down his stomach. “Brendon,” he says quietly as he comes hard in his mouth, still clutching his hair and riding it out. He moans quietly one more time before stopping, loosening his grip on Brendon’s hair but not letting go just yet, running his hands through it and smoothing it down.

Brendon swallows what’s left in his mouth, crawling up and meeting Ryan’s mouth halfway for a kiss. He’s painfully hard at this point, nearly to the point of coming just from getting Ryan off, but he’s not focusing on himself right now.

“Hey, why don’t you sleep here tonight,” he suggests in between kisses. Ryan smiles against his mouth, nodding, and slides his hand down to Brendon’s pants, trying to undo the button. “Oh, um, don’t worry about me,” Brendon stops him. “You don’t have to.”

“No, hey, let me,” Ryan murmurs, latching onto Brendon’s neck and simultaneously sliding his hand into his pants. Brendon lets his eyes close, lets himself be kissed. His hips rock gently in time with Ryan’s hand stroking over his dick, and he drops his head into the crook of Ryan’s neck, breathing hard against it.

It doesn’t take him very long to come at all with Ryan’s spindly fingers wrapped tight around him. He bites down on Ryan’s neck, moaning into it until he finishes. Ryan removes his hand, wiping it on the sheets, and wraps himself around Brendon, looking sleepy and sated.

The mood is too good to interrupt with talking, so instead, Brendon just pulls the blanket over them and goes to sleep.

* * *

Brendon doesn’t realize until the next morning that he’s made a terrible, terrible mistake. He stares at Ryan in his bed, breathing deeply and still asleep, and he feels awful. Ryan was upset last night, and Brendon totally took advantage of him. He needed someone to listen and to just be there for him, not blow him. Brendon knows from experience that sex and emotional instability shouldn’t go hand in hand.

So when Ryan wakes up, stretches with a sleepy smile, and leans over to kiss Brendon, Brendon can’t do anything but pull away. Ryan draws back quickly, his smile fading. “What?” he asks worriedly.

God, Brendon doesn’t want to do this.

“Look, Ryan,” he starts, and Ryan is immediately filled with dread by the tone of his voice. “Last night, um. That- that shouldn’t have happened,” Brendon says quietly, not meeting Ryan’s uncomprehending gaze.

“Why not?” Ryan asks immediately, sitting up and looking accusingly at Brendon. “What did I do wrong?”

“God, nothing, you’re- you’re perfect, it’s just,” Brendon sighs, biting his lip because he knows this won’t go well. “I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that. You were upset, and that’s not what I should have done.”

“But you weren’t,” Ryan protests. “I wanted to, Brendon.”

“I know, but you don’t get it. It’s not you-”

“I see,” Ryan interrupts quietly. “So what, you get what you want from me and then that’s it?” he asks incredulously. “You don’t even like me, do you?”

“What? No, Ryan, listen-”

“No!” Ryan yells, getting off the bed. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to you lie to me! I can’t believe you just used me like that!” He brings a hand to his face, clawing himself a little.

“It’s not like that!” Brendon stresses, standing up as well. “I do like you, but-”

“Bullshit!” Ryan laughs bitterly. “I thought you cared about me.” He turns around and starts to open the door.

“Ryan, please listen,” Brendon tries, but he’s already out the door. Brendon sits back down, putting his head in his hands and sighing.

Fuck.

* * *

Ryan avoids Brendon after that, for days. Every time Brendon’s in their room, Ryan isn’t. And if he passes him in the hallway, Ryan just hangs his head and keeps walking. And Brendon feels like the biggest fucking jerk in the world. Ryan completely misunderstood him though. He does like him. He really does, but he knows that Ryan can’t help but automatically assume the worst about everything.

So Brendon decides to confront him, to make him understand. He waits around until when he knows Ryan will be in their room, and then he goes.

When he walks in, even though Ryan is sitting on his bed with his back turned, he tenses, the muscles going still under his shirt.

“Ryan,” Brendon starts in a pleading tone. “Ryan, please, just-” he cuts himself off when he gets close enough to see what Ryan’s doing. “Ryan, what the fuck?” he says devastatingly. There are tears running down Ryan’s face and when Brendon looks down at his arm, all he sees is red. There is a row of angry, thrashing cuts along his arm and wrist, blood pouring out of them. They’re obviously deep, and Brendon’s never felt this anguished in his entire life. “What are you doing?” Brendon says angrily, snatching the pocket knife from Ryan and throwing it down.

“I just hate myself, Brendon,” Ryan cries silently. “I don’t want to exist anymore. You were the only person I had and you don’t want me, so what am I supposed to do? I can’t keep living my life like this, because it’s completely pointless,” he says, and a violent shudder runs through his body. Brendon realizes he really needs to stop the bleeding.

“Fuck, Ryan,” Brendon chokes out, grabbing Ryan and dragging him into the attached bathroom. This is all Brendon’s fault. He can’t believe he made Ryan do this to himself. He made him want to die. “God, you idiot, what would I have done if you’d killed yourself, huh?” he asks, and Ryan just stares at the ground.

“I doubt you would have cared.”

Brendon looks up at the uncharacteristic deadness in Ryan’s voice. He takes a minute to look at his face and god, he looks absolutely heartbroken. And it kind of breaks Brendon’s heart knowing that he caused that look.

“Ryan,” he says softly, taking his face into his hands. Ryan looks at him with pitiful, hurt-filled eyes and Brendon just kisses him. Ryan lets out a dry sob, wrapping his arms around Brendon’s neck and pulling him closer. There’s blood everywhere and Brendon can feel it but he doesn’t care. He pulls Ryan up to sit on the counter, holding onto his waist tight and kissing him once more before dropping his head to Ryan’s neck and just hugging him. “You can’t do that to me,” Brendon says, his voice cracking. “You can’t hurt yourself like this.”

“You can’t keep hurting yourself either,” Ryan replies gently, running his fingers over Brendon’s hipbone that’s protruding more than it should. Brendon doesn’t want to answer. He can’t promise something that he knows is a lie.

“Let me fix you,” Brendon sighs, grabbing Ryan’s arm and wiping the blood off carefully with a wet towel. Ryan bites his lip to keep from wincing, and Brendon presses the towel down to try and get the bleeding to stop. “God, I’m sorry you thought I didn’t want you,” Brendon says. “I really do care about you.”

“Sorry for not believing you,” Ryan murmurs, leaning his head on Brendon’s shoulder. Brendon takes the towel off, cleaning the wounds one more time and then bringing Ryan’s arm up to trail his lips over the cuts, pressing small kisses here and there. “You know, for a psycho killer you’re really kinda sweet,” Ryan laughs. Brendon wiggles his eyebrows playfully, giving Ryan a small smile. He’s the first person that’s been able to make Brendon smile in so long.

Once Brendon’s got Ryan all patched up, he grabs his hand and leads him back to their room, into Ryan’s bed. Their lips just kind of end up together without another thought. They lie down, Ryan slightly on top of Brendon, and the kisses are heated and full of passion, sending shocks into Brendon with every slide of Ryan’s lips against his own. And when Ryan slides his tongue in, Brendon moans at the taste of him, opening his mouth greedily and sucking on his tongue. He’s never been more turned on by mere kissing in his life.

“Brendon,” Ryan pants, breathing hotly on his neck, “Need you,” his voice cracks. Brendon slides Ryan’s shirt off, tossing it aside and running his hands over the warm skin. Ryan goes to take Brendon’s shirt off, but Brendon flinches, holding it down. “What?” Ryan asks, concerned.

“I, um,” Brendon swallows. “It’s just… I don’t want you to see me,” he whispers, and then Ryan gets it.

“You’re perfect,” Ryan assures him.

“No, no I’m not,” Brendon wipes away the single tear that had gathered in the corner of his eye. “I’m disgusting.”

“You’re perfect to me,” Ryan smiles at his own cheesy words, attempting to take off the shirt again, and Brendon lets him this time, but keeps his hands hovering there, as if ready to yank it back down if he gets the urge. Ryan pulls it off and throws it down, and he’s kind of shocked by what he sees.

Brendon is skinny, that much is obvious, but it’s so much worse without clothes. Ryan runs a finger over every rib sticking out, down onto the sunken-in, nearly nonexistent stomach, and onto his hipbones. He looks like he hasn’t eaten in months.

“Bren,” Ryan says, a look more than despondent on his face. Brendon just looks away, ashamed, and Ryan doesn’t want that. He leans down, pressing a kiss to Brendon’s scarily visible collarbone, making his way down and kissing over his ribs before stopping on his stomach. Brendon reaches for him, pulling him up and crashing their lips together again, unbuckling Ryan’s belt. Ryan leans back to take his pants off, and Brendon hesitantly starts undoing his own.

Ryan slides them off for him, throwing both pairs onto the floor. He tries not to make his staring at Brendon’s emaciated body obvious, but it’s kind of difficult.

Brendon rolls them over, not saying a word before shedding Ryan’s boxers. He thinks about blowing him again, because he liked that, but then he gets a better idea.

“Turn around,” he tells him.

“Why?” Ryan asks hesitantly.

“Just, trust me,” Brendon smiles, and Ryan turns over slowly. Brendon runs his hands down Ryan’s back and over the small swell of his ass. He leans down, running his tongue over the small of Ryan’s back and feeling him shiver. He pushes on the inside of Ryan’s thighs until he spreads his legs, and Brendon squeezes his  ass, spreading him apart so he can lick over the ring of muscle, teasing around it but not pushing in yet.

“Jesus, is that your tongue?” Ryan asks breathlessly. Brendon laughs, answering with another broad lick. “Oh, wow, okay,” Ryan exhales, pushing back against Brendon now. Brendon licks around his entrance, getting him wet, before pushing his tongue in. “Oh, fuck,” Ryan moans, pushing his ass back. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Brendon smiles at how enthusiastic Ryan’s being, remembering for future reference that he definitely likes this.

He licks inside of him, rolling his tongue slowly and with purpose, before sliding it in deeper, as deep as he can get it. Ryan is making frequent sounds now, whimpering and swearing left and right. Brendon removes his tongue, licking on the outside again and giving an experimental suck. Ryan’s back arches off the bed and he moans, “Brendon.”

Brendon sits up, receiving a whine from Ryan, and wipes his mouth, crawling back up and accepting the kiss that Ryan initiates. “God, that was,” Ryan shakes his head, unable to think of an acceptable word. He groans into Brendon’s mouth, biting on his lip.

“Fuck me,” Brendon says suddenly, and Ryan freezes. He pulls back with wide eyes.

“What?” he says, choking on air.

“Fuck me, please,” Brendon asks, his hands moving endlessly over Ryan’s soft skin.

“I, um. Bren, are you sure?” Ryan asks quietly, looking concerned. And yes, of course sex is always going to terrify Brendon on some level. How could it not? But he can’t always be scared.

“I want to, really,” Brendon smiles.

“Well, um. I- okay?” Ryan agrees, laughing a little. Brendon rolls so he’s underneath Ryan, and he wills himself to relax as Ryan removes his boxers. “You don’t have to be self-conscious,” Ryan murmurs softly, “You’re beautiful.”

Brendon doesn’t even have time to smile because suddenly Ryan’s kissing him again. The taste of Ryan is still in his mouth, and it’s something he doesn’t think he could forget.

Brendon grabs Ryan’s hand, bringing it to his mouth, and sucking on his fingers. Ryan’s breath hitches at the sensation, his eyes going half-lidded just from watching Brendon’s tongue move in-between the digits. Brendon can’t think about anything but how fucking good Ryan’s perfect, long fingers are going to feel inside him. He releases his hand, guiding it down. Ryan gets the hint and tentatively brings a finger to press against Brendon’s entrance, biting his lip and leaning down to kiss Brendon when he slides it in.

Brendon makes a soft sound, pushing down on Ryan’s finger. The first one always feels good, but there’s always that feeling of more, now.

As if reading his mind, Ryan slides in another spit-slicked finger alongside the first, and Brendon winces a little at the slight sting of the stretch. When Ryan pushes his fingers in as far as they can go, Brendon writhes, barely keeping a moan at bay because he was absolutely right about this being really fucking good. Ryan spreads his fingers, stretching Brendon more with long strokes.

When he adds a third finger, Brendon almost doesn’t even notice the pain because at the exact same time, Ryan crooks his fingers, rubbing over that bundle of nerves that makes Brendon moan out loud, shoving his ass back onto Ryan’s fingers. “Right there, fuck,” he says, sounding out of breath. Ryan complies, pressing against that spot over and over until Brendon can’t take it anymore. “Stop, I need- now,” he rushes out, and Ryan quickly pulls his fingers out. Brendon glances at the bedside table, spotting a bottle of lotion and grabbing it. “Here,” he tosses it at Ryan, who squeezes out a small amount before throwing it down.

Ryan rubs the lotion over his cock, biting his lip and breathing through his nose. “Come on,” Brendon urges, lifting his hips for emphasis. Ryan presses the tip of his cock to Brendon’s ass, takes a deep breath, and pushes in all at once. Brendon chokes on a breath, clenching his hands in the sheets and willing himself to relax.

“Are you okay?” Ryan asks, his voice tight while he’s obviously trying to restrain himself from pushing forward.

“Yeah, yeah, keep going,” Brendon breathes. Ryan pulls back a little and pushes forward again, trying to loosen Brendon’s muscles. He keeps his thrusts shallow and smooth, not wanting it to be too much too fast. Brendon pulls him down for a kiss, now starting to rock back against his cock. “Fuck, Ryan,” Brendon whispers against his shoulder, closing his eyes and letting himself be fucked.

Ryan’s movements become sloppy suddenly, and he whimpers. “No, no please, go away,” he whispers. Brendon’s stomach sinks.

“Ryan, hey,” Brendon places a hand on his cheek looking at him directly. “Ignore him, okay? Focus on me, just block him out.” He holds the side of Ryan’s neck with one hand and his waist with the other, rocking back against him and never taking his eyes away.

“I can’t,” Ryan chokes out, still pushing into Brendon but slower now. “He never goes away unless I do what he says,” he admits.

“What is he telling you to do?” Brendon asks, trying to keep up with Ryan’s rhythm at the same time.

“To hurt you,” Ryan whispers, a tear falling down. “He keeps telling me to claw you, and make you bleed, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

Brendon swallows, thinking fast, or maybe not thinking at all when he blurts, “Claw me.” He can see the question in Ryan’s eyes so he continues. “Do it, come on. Claw me, make him go away. Don’t let him ruin this,” Brendon pleads. Ryan’s crying, leaning his head on Brendon’s chest and trying to keep his hips moving. “It’s okay, Ry, do it.”

Ryan slides a hand around to Brendon’s shoulder, rubbing it at first, before pushing his nails into the skin and dragging them down. It’s not hard enough to bleed; Brendon doesn’t even flinch - actually, he shudders, surprised to find himself groaning and pushing his ass down hard onto Ryan’s cock. He rolls them over suddenly so he’s on top of Ryan, riding him. Ryan understands and brings both of his hands to Brendon’s shoulders before clawing down his back, hard. Brendon moans, sinking down onto Ryan’s cock and throwing his head back. He actually… he likes it. Ryan figures this out and continues, moving his hands to Brendon’s lower back.

Ryan snaps his hips into him hard before dragging his nails over Brendon’s ass, eliciting a jumbled mess of indecipherable words and various sounds from Brendon. “Brendon, god,” Ryan groans, not even realizing that the voice in his head has left. He goes to claw his back again, feeling wetness and realizing that he actually did make him bleed. He hesitates, not wanting to hurt him.

“Please, Ryan,” Brendon moans, falling over so their chests are pressed together. Ryan can see Brendon’s back now, covered in various scratches with beads of blood trickling off them. He claws down them again, fucking Brendon harder. “God, yes,” Brendon moans again, sloppily kissing Ryan and nearly choking when he hits his prostate dead on. “You feel s-so good,” Brendon whimpers, his whole body shaking at this point.

Ryan presses his mouth to Brendon’s neck, bites down harshly and Brendon comes on Ryan’s stomach, streaking it with white and moaning out his name. Ryan keeps thrusting into him, hands on his ass, moaning quiet “yeah”s. Brendon leans down to suck on his neck, gently rocking back against him. All it takes is for Brendon to murmur, “Come on, come for me,” into Ryan’s neck and then he’s coming inside him, a slew of curses and moans falling from his kissed-red mouth. Brendon’s breath stutters at the sensation of warm liquid filling him.

Brendon collapses onto the bed, completely worn-out and incredibly well-fucked. “Oh my god, that’s the best sex I’ve ever had in my fucking life,” he pants, his voice wrecked to hell, turning over to face Ryan who is lying there with a stupid smile.

“Me too,” he sighs. “Well, it’s the only sex I’ve ever had, but still.”

Brendon laughs, snuggling closer and suddenly feeling very affectionate. “For a virgin you’re really fucking good,” he jokes.

“For a serial killer so were you,” Ryan shoots back.

“I’m not a serial killer,” Brendon laughs, biting playfully at Ryan’s shoulder. He sits up to go get his pillow from his bed, but a sharp gasp from Ryan makes him sit back down. “What?”

“You, um. Your back,” Ryan mumbles, running his hand gently over Brendon’s back, which he just now notices is sensitive. “I’m sorry,” Ryan says quietly, his smile gone now.

“No, I liked it,” Brendon rushes out. “I mean I didn’t think I would, I was just trying to help you, but it felt really good.” He looks at the bed where he was laying and notices blood stains. He wonders how they’ll explain that to the nurses.

“Okay,” Ryan sighs, chewing the inside of his lip. Brendon fetches his pillow before lying down beside him again, giving him a reassuring peck and pulling the blanket over them.

That night, for the first time since Brendon can remember, he doesn’t have a nightmare.

Part Three