When Day is Night Alone 8/10

[turps]

"I'm telling you, no." Determined, Ryan grabs hold of Spencer's hand and tugs him away from Brendon, who's still curled up on the mattress. He’s under Spencer's spare clothes as a kind of a makeshift blanket, and is seemingly still fast asleep. "I'm not leaving you alone."

"I won't be alone," Spencer says, jerking his hand out of Ryan's grasp. "Brendon will be here, and it's not like I do much anyway. You do all the singing and playing."

"Brendon won't be able to help if anyone comes, and you do plenty. I need you there."

"No, you don't." Spencer looks over his shoulder at Brendon. "But he does. Someone needs to stay with him."

"So we'll both stay." It's something Ryan refuses to compromise on, because no way are they splitting up.

"Fine," Spencer says, and Ryan will take that agreement, even if Spencer doesn't look happy at all.

The thing is, though, staying here means there's nothing to do. Spencer's not talking, just sitting, resting against an interior wall, his eyes closed and Ryan doesn't know if he's napping or just making a point. The silence leaves Ryan to play his guitar. He's concentrating on something that's more randomly strung together notes than an actual song, when Brendon wakes.

At the gasp of pain, Ryan looks up, setting his guitar aside. Brendon whimpers, his face pressed against the mattress. "Hey, Brendon, hold on. I'll get you some pills."

Moving so that he's kneeling next to the mattress, Ryan tips the paper bag from the clinic upside down, spilling the contents on the floor. Rummaging through the variety of pills, he selects the pain-killers, popping them out of the blister packs and then looks around for Spencer's bag, and the bottle of water inside.

"Here." Spencer holds out the bottle, and Ryan takes it, nodding his thanks.

"Brendon, I've got your pills. You'll need to turn over so you can take them."

At first Brendon doesn't move, just lies still, shoulders drawn in, each breath a shudder. On the verge of suggesting that they need to move him themselves, Ryan remains silent when Brendon finally shifts, slowly, each tiny turn an obvious effort. When he does get on his side, Spencer puts his hands on Brendon's shoulders, easing him down onto his back, which exposes how ashen Brendon is, with dark bruises that creep from under the dressing on his cheek.

"Brendon, open your mouth, I'll do the rest." Relieved when Brendon does as he's asked, Ryan slips the pills into Brendon's mouth, and then pours in a small amount of water. "That's good, now swallow. You'll feel better soon, promise."

"Thank you." The words are almost formless, sounds lost in swollen flesh and lingering sleep, but Ryan understands, says, "You're welcome."

It takes a while for the pills to take effect --too long --and Ryan finds himself noticing every pained sound and restless shift as Brendon tries to get comfortable. But finally, he starts to relax, the tension easing, his hand uncurling as he slips back into sleep. When Ryan's sure that Brendon is sleeping and not keeping his eyes shut to ward off the world, Ryan stands, and sees that Spencer has gathered all the pills together, setting them next to the water, safely inside Spencer's bag.

Spencer himself is over on the other side of the room, looking out of the window and obviously watching something from the way he moves his head, how it looks like he's on guard. Then he takes a step back and turns so he can see Ryan. "Mikey's coming."

It's not what Ryan expected, and he walks over to Spencer, looking outside to where Mikey's locking the van door. There's a pile of stuff at his feet, Ryan can't see what exactly, not from here, but it takes Mikey a few tries before he can pick it all up, and when he does all Ryan can see is his glasses over the top of the pile.

"I'll go and give him a hand." Spencer walks away, leaving Ryan to go back to Brendon, standing close as he waits for Spencer to return. When he does, he's carrying a large cardboard box and Ryan sees Mikey is carrying blankets, a Starbucks bag hanging from one wrist.

"You weren't outside the station so I came here."

"We were sleeping," Ryan says, and then looks away, the feeling of resentment lingering. Surely Mikey could have taken Brendon in somehow, surely that's what he's meant to do.

Spencer sets the box on the floor. "You were there at the usual time? Did you even sleep?"

"I drop people off at school, that can't change because I've had a late night."

It's then that Ryan looks closely, taking in the shadows under Mikey's eyes and the fact that he's clearly wearing the same clothes as yesterday, his eye makeup even more smeared than usual. Despite himself, he asks, "Couldn't someone else do it?"

"I guess." Mikey lets the blankets drop to the floor and opens the bag, taking out the three cups that have been carefully balanced inside. "I didn't know what you liked so I got plain drip." Handing over the cups, Mikey takes a drink of his own coffee then yawns, not bothering to cover his mouth. "I've brought blankets, there's food in the box, sandwiches and shit, Gerard made them this morning so God knows what's in them. There's water, too." Mikey stops then and looks at Brendon. "It's not our choice to have him here, to have any of you here. If we had our way, you’d all be under our roof."

Ryan believes him, it's there in the way Mikey is watching Brendon and the way he looks around, taking in the stained mattress and concrete floors, his expression set, except for the misery apparent in his eyes.

"Thanks, for the food and stuff," Spencer says, he's holding the cup of coffee close to his face, inhaling the steam. Ryan understands, the warmth is a comfort and he wraps his hands around his own cup, holding it tight.

"No worries." Mikey takes another drink, and then looks at his watch. "I need to go. Tell Brendon...well, tell him I'll come see him soon. Oh, and there's stuff to read in the box, too. I figured you'd be bored." He leaves then, drinking his coffee as he walks.

"Want to join me for breakfast?" Spencer has unfolded a blanket and draped it over Brendon, making sure his whole body is covered. He leaves the second one on the ground, and then opens the box, looking inside. "Looks like we've got peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, there's fruit too. Apples and bananas."

"Sounds good." Ryan sits, back against the wall but still close to Brendon as Spencer takes out two sandwiches and a red apple. Handing them over, he sits next to Ryan and unfolds a third blanket, putting it over both of their knees.

"It's no blanket fort, but it's the best I can do."

"It's perfect," Ryan says, and he rests his head against Spencer's shoulder. "I'm sorry for not going."

Spencer keeps looking forward, says, "No, you're right, splitting up would be stupid. It's just, I worry about money. I hate it here, Ryan. I want our own place."

The quiet admission is hard to hear and all Ryan wants to do is say things will be okay. He doesn't, because Spencer deserves more than meaningless platitudes, no matter how well intentioned they may be.

~~~~

Waking up the second time is easier, in the way that at least this time Brendon knows he's not alone. He still hurts, so much so that all he can do is lie still and try to keep the pained sounds trapped inside. It's a losing battle. So when he hears voices and turns his head to see who's there, Brendon can't help a groan.

"Brendon, hey." One of the people from before steps into view, and Brendon tries to pull a name out from the foggy mess that’s pretending to be his mind, because names are important, that's something Brendon's learnt -- one of his main strategies for making friends.

"Spencer."

"You remember; good." Spencer smiles and then reaches for a bag, pulling it close. "You'll be wanting painkillers I bet, and you need to take the antibiotics."

"Please."

Popping out the pills, Spencer places them in Brendon's mouth, and then opens a bottle of water. Placing his hand under Brendon's head, he carefully lifts, allowing Brendon to drink. "They should kick in soon."

Brendon hopes so, because right now he feels terrible, and also helpless, flat on his back and only able to see the stained-white panels of the ceiling. Despite cringing at the thought of moving, he asks, "Can you help me sit up?"

Spencer frowns. "I can, but we'll need to pull the mattress to the wall so there’s something for you to lean against." He looks past Brendon, then nods slightly, as if he's made a decision. "You sure you want to do this? Sitting up won't be fun."

"Lying down isn't, either."

Spencer stands then, and Brendon hears footsteps and he turns his head slightly to see the other boy walking toward them.

"You're awake," the boy -- Ryan -- says, and he stares down at Brendon, like he's something on display.

"Brendon wants to sit up. We need to pull the mattress so it's against the wall, then he can lean against it."

"Is that a good idea?" Ryan asks, not sounding sure of that at all.

"It shouldn't do any more damage, and it can't be comfortable lying like that."

"It's not," Brendon says. "And the ceiling isn't very interesting to look at."

Ryan looks up and studies the tiles for a bit. "I see your point."

It doesn't take long to move the mattress, Ryan and Spencer grabbing hold at the top and sliding it along the ground. When they do so a terrible smell fills the air, dirt and sweat and what smells suspiciously like old blood. Brendon's gags as they settle it against the wall.

When he's finally able to breathe easier, Brendon signals that he's okay, readying himself as Ryan and Spencer take hold under his arms and ease him up, until Brendon's back is against the wall.

Immediately Brendon feels dizzy. He concentrates on the blanket as he waits for the world to stop spinning, always aware that Ryan and Spencer are standing close, ready to help if needed. They're not, but it's a close thing.

Spencer squats down so he's at Brendon's level. "Is that better?"

Brendon considers. Sitting up has made pain blaze in his stomach and hips, his chest is hurting and that's without considering the constant ache in his cheek and wrist. Still, he was hurting when he was lying down, and at least when he's like this he can actually see --to an extent, anyway. "It’s better, thanks."

There's silence then, as if now that they've dealt with immediate issues they've realised Brendon is a stranger, someone they've never talked to at all. Normally, Brendon has questions on hand for awkward silences, ready to show how friendly he is, how he could be an interesting potential friend, but right now all of those questions are beyond him; all he can do is lie heavily against the wall. Not that anyone else is speaking, either. Ryan seems to be inspecting his nails while Spencer is rummaging through a box.

"You should eat." Spencer holds up a sandwich and banana. "There's apples, but this should be easier."

"That's fine." The truth is, Brendon's not hungry at all, but he picks up the sandwich Spencer has placed on his lap. Taking a small bite, Brendon chews slowly, feeling the stitches in his cheek pull each time. He keeps eating, managing half the sandwich and all of the banana.

After, when Brendon is full, the painkillers dialing down his pain to a dull roar, Brendon dozes, listening as Spencer selects a magazine and starts to read aloud, even after Ryan is fast asleep, resting his head in Spencer's lap.

~~~~~

Mikey's been visiting each day, but no matter how much food or how many magazines he brings -- always just enough for a day, swapping new magazines for old, as if somehow he knows they can't keep things, can only have what will fit in Spencer's bag -- Ryan's on the verge of going crazy with needing to go outside. He knows Spencer's feeling antsy too. It's in the way he wanders around the building, exploring areas he's seen countless times before.

As soon as Brendon can finally stand without wanting to fall right back down, they go back to the bus station, needing to busk. Leaving Brendon behind isn't an option, he's too weak to protect himself, so he comes along too, walking slowly, steadied between Ryan and Spencer. He doesn't talk on the way, just puts one foot in front of the other, grimly determined, and when they settle him on the bench, Brendon's hoodie is soaked through at the back, under his arms. Head down, his casted wrist held to his chest Brendon finally looks up, forces a smile and says he's fine. Ryan doesn't contradict him -- he can give Brendon that much.

It's in the afternoon when everything changes, flurries of snow filling the air and Ryan's fingers freeze, blue with cold as he plays his guitar. The people who do pass aren't stopping no matter what he sings. Ryan's frustrated enough that he stumbles over the words of a song, and it just gets worse, whole verses slipping from his brain.

He's cold and tired and hungry. He wants a long shower, a bath, clean clothes, but all he can do is keep playing, saving for a dream that feels more out of reach than ever. Which is when Brendon pushes himself to his feet, hand braced against the back of the bench, and says, "I can sing."

"Do you know REM?" Ryan asks, so tired he's ready to concede his place, even if he expects Brendon to say no.

Brendon hesitates a moment. “Mostly I listened to hymns, except when my parents weren’t around.” He shrugs a little, looking sheepish. “I heard them a few times, the famous ones, anyway."

Ryan nods and blows on his hands, keeps blowing until they're tingling and he can actually feel the strings. He starts to play, Everybody Hurts, and Brendon sings.

He's half standing, half sitting, propped against the arm of the bench, and his voice is rough, both from lack of use and the careful way he has to sing, taking care not to open his mouth too wide, or take in too deep a breath. But, within that roughness is the promise of something good -- better than good.

He keeps singing for two more songs, The Beatles and Coldplay, and by the end Brendon's smiling, even when he's obviously struggling to stay upright, listing over until Spencer pulls him down onto the bench. "I usually sound better."

"Once you're healed you'll sound fantastic," Ryan says, and Brendon keeps smiling, happiness there for all to see.

"I like singing, I used to be in the choir back in..." Brendon's smile fades, morphs into something for show, rather than genuine happiness. "Well, before."

"Ryan used to be in the choir,” Spencer informs Brendon. “He was kicked out for protesting the inclusion of Beyonce as a pop cultural icon in the end of term showcase."

Ryan kicks at Spencer's ankle. "I wasn't kicked out, I chose to leave. There's a difference."

Spencer doesn't even try to hide his smile. "Keep telling yourself that."

"I will," Ryan says. He can't help noticing how Brendon is watching them intently, as if he's taking in every scrap of information. Normally, Ryan's careful with what he says -- it's easier that way, safer -- but he's been with Brendon for days now, slept at his side, helped him eat and piss, drink and walk. Ryan can give him something of importance. "After the choir we decided to form a band, me and Spencer. We were going to be rock stars."

"Did you form one?"

Spencer takes over, then, sounding amused. "We did, and we sucked. Like, seriously bad."

"You got better though," Brendon says. "At least Ryan did, because he sounds great now."

"Well, thanks." Spencer's more amused than annoyed – Ryan can tell. Brendon obviously can't, so Spencer reassures him, saying, "You've never heard me, so you wouldn't know. I used to play drums, and maybe I would have gotten better, but things happened and I didn't get a chance to find out."

"There's no maybe about it, if you'd have been able to keep your kit you'd have been amazing," Ryan says fiercely. "You still will be, one day."

"There's going to be room for a full kit in our apartment?"

Ryan considers the question. "We'll make room."

"You're going to get an apartment together?" It's the first personal question Brendon's asked, and Ryan looks at Spencer, waiting for his okay before he shares their dream.

He gets it -- the slightest incline of Spencer's head. "Eventually. We need to save enough money and other stuff, but one day."

"Ryan's going to paint the walls yellow."

"In the kitchen. I'm thinking purple for the main room."

"Purple is good," Brendon says, and then, "It sounds nice."

"It will be." Ryan imagines their apartment, a place he's pictured so often it feels like home.

"Yeah," Brendon says, and there's no sign of his smile at all now, all previous happiness drained away.

Suddenly, Spencer stands. "I think we should celebrate: earning money and Brendon getting back on his feet."

Technically, Brendon isn't on his feet at all right now, in fact, he looks more ready to lie down than anything. Still, Ryan stands and holds out his hand to Brendon, pulling him upright.

"Hot chocolate?"

Spencer nods. "You know it."

The hot chocolate they buy from a nearby shop isn't the good stuff, not by a long shot, but by the time they pour in packets of sugar it tastes fine, and it's hot, something that's always a plus. As simultaneously walking and drinking isn't an option right now, they end up back at their bench, Brendon in the middle as they sip at their drinks and watch the people walk past, everyone bundled up against the snow.

Said bundling is why Ryan doesn't recognise Mikey at first. He's wearing an over-sized parka, the hood pulled up to conceal his face, snowflakes caught in the fur lining. He’s just another body in the crowds until he gets close, and Ryan recognises the way he walks, how he peers out of the depths of his hood. Mostly, though, he recognizes Pete, walking close, talking animatedly, smiling widely -- at that moment, Mikey is his whole world. When they get to the bench they stop walking, standing like a living shelter against the snow.

Mikey pulls down his hood, his knitted hat soon flecked white. "Brendon, it's good to see you up and around."

Brendon wiggles his fingers in Mikey's direction. "I'll be good as new soon."

"You're looking better than when I last saw you," Pete says, looking at Brendon. "Impressive bruising."

Brendon touches his face, running his fingers over the dressing. "Cool, yeah? Think they make me look tough?"

"Not at all," Pete replies cheerfully, because the truth is, Brendon doesn't look even close to tough. He looks battered, bruised, and so vulnerable that Ryan has to remind himself Brendon is tough -- he has to be, because he's still standing.

"Tough's bad, anyway," Spencer says. "It stops people giving us money."

Pete pushes his hands into his pockets, looking relieved. "So you're busking again? Good. Now I won't have to listen to Mikey bitch about the glockenspiel."

Mikey shudders. "He was playing Crazy in Love, Pete. Repeatedly. On a glockenspiel. It was terrible."

"That's inhuman," Ryan says, and can't help shuddering himself at the thought.

"I know, right? It was brainwashing by glockenspiel.” Mikey nearly frowned, nearly.

Pete shakes his head, looks at Mikey. "And yet, you could have stepped out of the Starbucks line at any time."

"Not an option. You get to do the paperwork at home, I do drop offs and get coffee. Thinking of, we'd best get going if we're going to catch that movie."

"You're not at the soup kitchen tonight?" Spencer asks.

"Not tonight. Gerard and Frank are there," Pete says, and he reaches for Mikey's hands, holding onto them both. "We're off on a date, dinner and a movie and hopefully he'll put out."

Mikey smiles, the slightest curl of his lips. "You might get lucky."

Stretching up, Pete presses a kiss against Mikey's mouth, lingering slightly, eyes closed and tightly holding onto Mikey's hands. "I'm already lucky."

If Ryan knew them better he'd make some remark about being sappy, but he hasn't that right, not yet. So all he does is watch. He’s surprised when Brendon suddenly jumps to his feet, his hot chocolate falling to the ground.

"What are you doing?” His voice is shaky, as shaky as he is on two feet, but he doesn’t sound pained, he sounds…scared. “There's people around, children, you can't do that here, it's wrong and people will see."

"Brendon. The hell?" Spencer is standing too, pulling Brendon back, but he stands his ground, pointing at Pete and Mikey.

"You can't. Don't you know how wrong it is? And you're...in public." Now the fear has something else filtered in, something that Ryan can’t quite identify, but he thinks it’s uncertainty, as if Brendon doesn’t even know how he feels.

"Let them see." Pete keeps hold of Mikey's hand, also standing his ground as Brendon stares, wide-eyed and shaking. "There’s nothing about us that needs to be or should be hidden. I'm going to take my hot boyfriend to the movies, where I'll try my best to get my hand into his pants." He looks at Brendon, considering. "I don't think you mean any of this, not really, so we're going to go now, before you say something I can't forgive."

They walk away then, still holding hands. Mikey looks over his shoulder to call, "Look after him," with a glance in Brendon's direction.

All Ryan wants to do is grab Brendon and shake him, demand to know what he was thinking. He doesn't. There's no way he can when Brendon looks so distraught. Spencer takes Brendon's arm and gently pulls him forward. "Let's go back, I think you need to talk."

Brendon nods and begins to walk slowly, dependent on Spencer for each step.

~~~~~

Brendon's overdue for painkillers and his head is throbbing, made worse by the strained silence that no one will break. Brendon wishes he could, he wishes a lot of things.

When they get back to the abandoned office building, Spencer helps Brendon squeeze through the broken front door, steadies him until Brendon can sit on the mattress, his back against the wall as Spencer opens his bag, takes out pills and water and a blanket that he unfurls with a flick of his wrists.

Ryan stands apart, shoulders pulled in, staring at Brendon like he's a stranger, the tentative friendship of the last few days ripped apart. Brendon wishes he could turn back time, give himself a chance to fix things, to plaster on a smile and pretend seeing Mikey and Pete like that didn't bother him at all. Wishes are meaningless, though, and Brendon curls in on himself, his misery bone deep.

When he's settled and warmer, the pills start kicking in, and Brendon tries to think what to say, how to explain. He can't say that he didn't mean it, because he did: being a sodomite is disgusting, wrong, a sin.

“Are you feeling better?" Spencer asks, and when Brendon nods he stands closer and snaps, "Good, because I want to know what the fuck you were thinking?"

Brendon worries at a thread of the blanket, anything so that doesn’t have to look at Spencer. "They were kissing."

"So?"

"So it's…it’s wrong, it's a sin against God. A—a perversion." Brendon closes his eyes, remembering the feel of Alan's hands on his body, the movies, all his time alone. Words that were yelled at him echo in his ear: Brendon's disgusting, corrupt, wrong. "They-- They can't do things like that, they're so good, but what they're doing is wrong, they'll burn in hell and they can't and you don't understand...." Brendon’s voice gets quicker, his breathing less even with each word.

"Brendon, stop." Spencer pushes his hair out of his eyes and looks at Ryan, having some silent conversation that Brendon has no chance of understanding. "Do you think me and Ryan are disgusting?"

"No," Brendon says immediately.

Ryan almost runs to Spencer then, grabbing hold and kissing him hard. It’s a long lingering kiss, but sweet, tender in a way that nothing Brendon saw at the camp was. Ryan's are fingers curled against Spencer's back, sometimes stroking, and he smiles against Spencer’s mouth just before he pulls away, looking at Brendon, defiant. He asks quietly, "What about now?"

The difference between the movies he was forced to watch and what Brendon's seeing now is huge, so large he can scarcely comprehend that any of the actions are the same. Those deliberately staged scenes had none of the ease with which Ryan touches Spencer. The professionals – actors? – with their hard cocks and cum-smeared mouths told Brendon nothing about the way Spencer would curl his fingers around Ryan's wrist. The two scenes are worlds apart and logically, Brendon knows what Ryan and Spencer have is okay, that they haven't changed just because they've admitted they're together. That doesn't stop him feeling sick with fear.

Hands clenched tight, Brendon says, "I know you haven't changed, I know. You're both so good but you can't do that. It's a sin and you can't... people will see, they’ll know. They'll hurt you. Maybe...maybe you can just do that stuff here, I won't look and ..."

"We're not hiding anything," Ryan says then, cutting Brendon off. "That's not going to happen. Not everyone thinks like that. Not everyone’s ashamed of love." He links his fingers with Spencer's. "We're going to the soup kitchen for something to eat, you can come or stay here, it's your choice."

Brendon takes in the set of Ryan's shoulders, the way his chin is tilted up and his eyes are slightly narrowed, like he's ready to take on the world. It scares Brendon, his fear almost a live thing inside of him as he imagines Ryan and Spencer being beaten, going down under a shower of fists. "Please, you don't have to do that because of me."

"We're not doing anything because of you." Ryan starts to walk then, pulling Spencer with him, but Spencer hesitates, standing still as he looks at Brendon.

"If you're staying, try to get some sleep. We'll be fine, promise."

Brendon nods, waits until he hears the sound of the broken door be pushed aside and then carefully replaced. He waits a little longer, then begins to sing, only songs from movies this time. He uses the lyrics used as shields against the memories pressing close, made worse by being alone.

~~~~

It's fully dark when Spencer and Ryan return. Curled up on the mattress, Brendon lies perfectly still until he's sure it's actually them. Only then can he finally breathe. Pulling at the blanket, he tugs it higher until only the top of his head is exposed, listening as they come near. Spencer's talking quietly, Ryan replying so softly that Brendon can't distinguish actual words. Not that he has to, it's all too easy to hear how much they care. It's there in the soft way Spencer says Ryan's name as they walk close together, how Ryan smiles around his reply.

Right now Brendon's so lonely he could cry, and he squeezes shut his eyes as Ryan unfolds the second blanket and Spencer walks over to the mattress.

"Brendon?" Spencer crouches and rests his hand against Brendon's forehead, the briefest of touches before he steps away.

"He asleep?"

The sound of footsteps is muffled by the blanket, but Spencer and Ryan are clearly settling down for the night, usually lying close to Brendon, always touching him. Tonight they're lying down further away, and the distance cuts deep.

"What if he doesn't come around?" The question is hesitant, like it's something Spencer doesn't want to ask. Maybe it's something Ryan doesn't want to answer, because it takes him a long time to reply. Enough time passes, that Brendon is able to steel himself, readying his goodbyes because they're bound to tell him to go, that's just how it is.

"We'll give him time to deal, but I'm not hiding anything. I'm not hiding you."

Brendon relaxes then, because time is good. Time gives him a chance to deal, to become the person who's allowed to stay.

~~~~~

"Brendon, wake up, there's someone here to see you."

Waking is never fun, even less so when Brendon opens his eyes at Spencer's urging, and the first thing he sees is Pete standing close, his expression set, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Come on, take your pills and you'll feel better." There's the crinkle of plastic and then Spencer's dropping the tablets in Brendon's open mouth, slipping his arm under Brendon's head, and supporting him until he's taken a drink of water.

"I missed breakfast this morning, could you go get me coffee? Something for you all too." Pete pulls his wallet out of his pocket, taking out a twenty which he hands to Ryan.

"I’m not sure,” Ryan says, and he takes a half step so he's between Brendon and Pete. "I mean, I know he was an ass, but I’m not leaving you here with him if you’re going to, like, yell.”

"No yelling," Pete says seriously, taking note of Ryan's barely hidden fears. "I just want to talk."

Ryan doesn't move, says, "You promise."

"I promise." Pete makes a cross over his heart before putting his hands in his hoodie pocket.

Ryan still looks a little unsure, and Brendon wants to tell him to stay. He's actually not afraid that Pete will yell -- he's used to that -- but Brendon doesn't want this talk, aware that the words are bound to hurt as much if not more than any beating. Except he owes Pete this, so Brendon dregs up a smile and says, "Go on. I'll be fine."

"Right. We won't be long." With a last look, Ryan walks away with Spencer, leaving Brendon alone with Pete. It feels wrong lying on his back, Pete standing above him and Brendon slowly pushes himself up with his elbow and uncasted hand. Pete doesn't try to help, just stands close, allowing Brendon the time to settle himself as comfortably as he can. When he's sitting upright, his back against the wall, hand cradled against his chest, Pete sits too, legs crossed Indian style, seemingly uncaring that the floor is filthy.

He looks at his nails then, using his thumb nail to pick at the chipped polish and Brendon's gotten to wondering if he's supposed to start this conversation when Pete looks up. "I meant what I said: I'm not going to yell, but no one gets to make Mikey feel like you did last night. He goes through that shit enough without getting it from someone he actually likes, and it's not going to happen again. I won't let it."

"I didn't mean to, I'm sorry."

Head tilted slightly to the side, Pete looks at Brendon, as if examining the truth of his words. "I believe that you’re sorry. The thing is, what for? For making Mikey feel bad or for what you actually said? Those are two different things."

Which is true, and Brendon has to be honest, "The first."

"I thought so." Pete begins to pick at another nail, his index finger this time, flaking away tiny flecks of polish. "We're been running Clan House and the soup kitchen for a while now, and in that time we've been cursed out hundreds of times. What you said wasn't new. We've had people try and save our souls and others who went the direct route and bricked the windows. Point being, they can try all they like, they can throw bricks or words or poison-tipped arrows, we're not going to change."

Brendon wants to say that's fine, that they can do what they like because it's not like he's got any hold on them, but all he can think about is Pete laughing as he ladles out soup. His mind flashes to Mikey gently wiping Brendon's face when he felt sweaty and sick and disgusting.

Those are just two instances amongst so many others of kindness from Pete and Mikey, and Brendon doesn't want them to go to hell, or be hurt, and they will. Drawing up his knees he runs his fingers over the criss-crossed scar tissue. "They'll hurt you. If you do things like that, they’ll—they’ll hurt you."

"Who'll hurt us?"

Brendon doesn't reply, just presses his mouth against his knees and hopes that Pete won't press for an answer. He doesn't, either -- not about that, anyway. "Before you said it was a sin, and we've heard that too. But there's not a thing you could say that I couldn't refute."

"No, no, the bible is the word of God, it tells us the divine truths." The protest is instinctive, brought forward by years of study, and it pours earnestly from Brendon’s mouth. All Pete does is shake his head.

"The bible is a book of words and stories. It's only got as much power as you give it."

Pete's disregard is shocking in its casualness, so different to the way Brendon's been taught that the bible is to be revered, worshipped, followed at all costs. "You-- You can't say things like that."

"I just did," Pete says, but he doesn't sound mean, only calm, matter of fact. "If you've got to have to have faith, fine, but not everyone shares the same kind."

Ryan’s words of the night before came back to him, that not everybody believed the way he did, not everybody was taught those things. Then Pete’s words caught up to him: "Did you just mangle a George Michael lyric to make a point?" Brendon asks, and he can't help smiling back a little when Pete grins.

"I did. The point stands, though." Pete's grin fades then, and for a moment he looks unsure. After a moment, he asks, "There's more though, with you, isn’t there? That reaction, it came out of nowhere. Those behaviors, they’re learned, they’re…sometimes they’re drilled into a person. Did someone hurt you?"

Brendon laughs then, bitter as he indicates his body with his hand. "What do you think?"

"Okay, point," Pete concedes, but he's still looking at Brendon, watching his reactions.

"Before, at home. Did someone try something on--? Your dad or...."

"No!" Brendon cuts Pete off before he can say more. "My dad did nothing like that, he loves-- He loved me."

"I believe you, but there's something else." Pete reaches out, as if he wants to touch Brendon, but then thinks better and pulls his hand back. "When I was a kid, my parents sent me away to a boot camp. It was supposed to straighten out my head but all it did was mess it up. All the dark thoughts I’d had, the ones I never would have acted on, they twisted together with the harsh reality that my parents had sent me away. They thought they were helping, but in reality they fucked me up so badly it took years before I'd let anyone close, allow anything to help me."

"I'm sorry. They shouldn't have done that."

"No, they shouldn't’ve," Pete agrees. "But they did. Sometimes parents don't make the right choices."

It's something Brendon hadn't considered, because he's been brought up to respect and obey his parents always, and he until this moment, imagining them being wrong was about as easy as imagining the world being run by chimpanzees. Except, they sent him away and he was hurt, and…how can that be right? There's one thing Brendon is still sure of, though. "My parents, they. They loved me."

"Loving someone doesn't mean you can't make mistakes, can’t treat them badly." Pete waits a moment. "What happened, Brendon?"

Brendon doesn't intend to talk. It's not a story he wants to share, except suddenly the words are pushing to get out, and Pete is sitting, ready to listen.

"My mom, she caught me jerking off to a magazine, a Playgirl that I'd taken from the store." Brendon looks up and checks Pete's reaction, or lack of one, because he doesn't seem shocked at all. "A few days later, this bus came and I was sent to this house in the middle of nowhere. While mom packed my stuff I had to read all these booklets, about how I was being sent on a church youth program focusing on sexuality and orientation. They wanted to anti-gay me."

"Anti-gay. Fuck," Pete says, anger quickly hidden away. "You were sent away with other kids?"

"There were others there, I guess. I didn't really see them that much, not to talk to anyway. I had to stay in my room or go to the activities with my caseworker."

"Activities like?" Pete prompts.

Brendon remembers the feel of hard plastic digging into his legs, how hot the movie room was, how closed in, how Alan always sat so close, breathing hard as he watched, the calm before he began to yell. He hears how loud the yelling was, always directly in Brendon's face, words made physical things. "We used to watch movies, except, they weren't real movies. They were porn, with extras, like, extra scenes, different stuff. Before I went there I'd never even seen stuff like that," Brendon says, and hopes that Pete doesn't ask about the extras, because already they're solid in his mind, to talk about them will just make his nightmares worse. "He, um, my caseworker, he used to shout, always the same things. How it was a sin against God and that sodomites would be cast into hell. How disgusting it was, how disgusting I was."

Pete frowns, and reaches out so his hand is barely touching the end of Brendon's blanket-covered toes. "So, you were sent away from your family, left alone, yelled at and forced to watch pornography, just because they thought you were gay?"

"Yeah."

"And are you?"

It's the first time Brendon's been asked outright, and he looks at Pete, who looks right back, waiting for an answer. The thing is, it's an answer Brendon doesn't have to give. "I don't know."

"You and millions of other people out there," Pete says. "Welcome to reality, kid."

What Brendon wants is sympathy, someone to say it's possible to be straight as long as he tries, but Pete isn't giving him that at all. "What if I don't want to be?"

"That's not a choice you get. You do get to chose if you hide or not, but believe me, hiding isn't fun."

"Spencer and Ryan were hiding."

Pete shakes his head. "I think it's more that you weren't seeing."

"No, no. They didn't kiss or make out or display inappropriate sexual behavior."

"They didn't have to. People don't have a check list of behaviors they follow or don’t. Now, me and Mikey? Another matter." Pete holds up his hand then. "Sorry, I shouldn't joke about that."

"No, you can do what you like," Brendon says. He's not looking at Pete, more remembering the night before, how happy Pete had looked when he was with Mikey. "You love him?"

"I do," Pete says simply.

Brendon believes him, and he wishes it was enough for him to change his mind, but he can't, not yet. It does, however give him something to think about, so he says, "Thank you."

Pete smiles in reply. Ten minutes later, when Pete and Brendon are debating the differences between the live action and cartoon Peter Pan, there's the sound of the door being pushed open, and then footsteps, as Ryan and Spencer appear. Spencer's carrying a cardboard holder filled with Starbucks cups and he pulls one out, handing it over to Pete. "Here you go. I'll get your change."

"Keep it," Pete says, taking a sip of coffee. "I need to go. Meeting with the planners in an hour." He waves then, already heading toward outside. "I'll see you all later."

Brendon waves, and then looks at Ryan who's staring down at him. "He didn't yell."

Ryan shrugs one thin shoulder and takes a cup from the tray. "We got you hot chocolate. With lots of sugar."

"Thanks." Brendon takes the cup and takes a drink, enjoying the sweet taste. "You got added cream."

"We did." Spencer sits on the end of the mattress, taking care not to sit on Brendon's feet. "Ill-advised outbursts aside, you deserve a treat."

He doesn't ask what Pete said, and Brendon knows he won't, it's why he takes another drink and says, "I told Pete stuff, about why I said what I did."

Ryan sits next to Spencer, says, "Good, talking helps."

Which makes Spencer laugh and Ryan frown as Brendon chews at the corner of his thumb nail, watching the way Spencer and Ryan move so easily together, existing easily in the same space.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask, it doesn't mean we'll answer," Ryan says.

Brendon nods, because that's fair. "I didn't even realize you were together. How long has it been?"

"We've been friends forever," Spencer says. "But I don't think that’s what you're asking." He looks at Ryan, questioning, and Ryan nods slightly. "My family died and I've been living in various foster and group homes. Ryan was always there, at the end of the phone or visiting when he could, it was one of those unspoken things, that we’d always be together somehow.”

Brendon smiles. “Like Snow White, how she loses her family and is sent away but her handsome prince comes to save her.”

“Well, if I was a girl, which I’m not, and Ryan a prince, I guess,” Spencer says, elbowing Ryan in the side when he laughs.

“No, you’re not a girl.” Brendon’s smile fades, replaced by embarrassment as he realizes what he’s said, or more importantly, what he hasn’t. “And your family, I didn’t say sorry."

“It’s okay; it was a long time ago.”

“And he does kind of look like a girl,” Ryan remarks, evading Spencer’s retaliatory elbow to his side.

The teasing helps Brendon relax and he risks another question. “So…you’re not really together like that, that was Ryan making a point last night?”

Spencer grins at Ryan. “That was Ryan making a grand gesture. He doesn’t do many, but they’re always worth waiting for. And we’re as together as we can be right now.”

“Is that going to bother you?” While it’s Ryan that asks the question, Spencer’s watching keenly too, and Brendon knows a lot rests on his answer.

"Pete gave me a lot to think about. Give me time?"

Ryan nods, says. "Time we can do."

~*~*~*~

It's been a few days, and Brendon hasn't seen Mikey at all. He's beginning to get worried that he's chased him away, except he's seen Pete and Frank and neither of them seem concerned.

Still, it's a relief when he finally sees Mikey again. Ryan and Spencer have gone to the public bathroom and Brendon's sitting on the bench, left in charge of the guitar.

He's strumming the strings softly, attention totally on the quiet notes. He only looks up when someone steps into his light. Mikey's wearing a dark coat and fingerless gloves, has a hat pulled low on his head, the wet droplets on his glasses glistening as he sits and takes them off, rubbing the lenses against his sleeve.

"You going solo today?"

"Ryan and Spencer are at the bathroom." Brendon stills his hand, fingers pressed against the strings. "You haven't been around lately."

"There was a thing with one of the residents, I stayed with her at the hospital."

"She's going to be okay?"

"She'll be fine." Mikey yawns then, his mouth wide, exposing his back teeth. "Ever notice how the bad shit tends to go down at night? Or maybe it just feels worse then."

Brendon moves his fingers, casually producing a melancholy series of notes. "It's probably a combination of both."

"Probably." Mikey watches as Brendon keeps playing, a mournful tune that's immediately absorbed by the cold. "You're good at that."

"I get by," Brendon says, and remembers the hint of calluses on Mikey's fingers. "You play?"

"Sometimes. God knows why, but Frank likes me to play with his band. When I get time off I go play with them sometimes, only bass, though."

"I'd like to see you one time," Brendon says, and then abruptly stops playing, sure he's pushed too far.

"Next time I'll take you. Just don't expect much, I'm not that good."

"I can't believe that." Brendon looks up then, taking in the way Mikey's still watching Brendon's fingers against the strings. "You want to play? I'm sure Ryan won't mind."

"I only know the bass."

Brendon grins. "Well, that's an awesome start, here, I'll help."

Handing over the guitar, Brendon waits until Mikey has hold before moving Mikey's fingers slightly to the correct placing. It's nothing Brendon's done before, his music has all been solo or learning something in a group, never one-on-one with someone who actually listens and believes Brendon knows what he's doing. Brendon feels better than he has for a long time as he loses himself in the music and helps Mikey do the same.

It's when their heads are close together, both concentrating on the simple song that Brendon says, "I'm sorry."

Still playing, Mikey looks up, and says, "It's okay."

The miracle is, Brendon believes him.

~*~*~*~

Part Nine

Comments

[crowgirl13.livejournal.com]

Such stubborn boys! [But then, sheer bloodymindedness is what's let them survive so far...]

Handing them over, he sits next to Ryan and unfolds a third blanket, putting it over both of their knees.

"It's no blanket fort, but it's the best I can do."

"It's perfect,"

Ugh, that twists my heart right up.


He’s just another body in the crowds until he gets close, and Ryan recognises the way he walks, how he peers out of the depths of his hood. Mostly, though, he recognizes Pete, walking close, talking animatedly, smiling widely -- at that moment, Mikey is his whole world. When they get to the bench they stop walking, standing like a living shelter against the snow. LOVE THIS!

And then...
OH SHIT! STUPID SHEPHARD HOUSE. Poor Brendon. :(

Brendon relaxes then, because time is good. Time gives him a chance to deal, to become the person who's allowed to stay.

Man, Brendon is so twisted up. Ryan might be super defensive and only hands out meager pieces of himself, but at least that's *honest*.

"Did you just mangle a George Michael lyric to make a point?"
Ha! I love Pete here, kinda a lot. First inclination would be to say he doesn't pull punches, but that's not true. He's careful, definitely doesn't lash out [he's instinctive response seems to be hugging], but still picks his way forward with firm conversational steps.
Perhaps deliberate is the best word for how he is, when talking with Brendon. I don't think there could have been a better way to crack open his experience at Shephard House.

Ryan's grand gestures are certainly worth waiting for. :)

This whole section is very grey and dirty white, between concrete and stained tiles, and snow, with its accompanying overcast sky. It's also very cold, with drafts creeping in, in the spaces between people. I shivered through a lot of this.

[halighanawfulie.livejournal.com]

This part ended up with a peaceful and relieving feeling. Like when you're a little kid and you're afrid of the dark and you see yourself surrounded by nothing but shadows and then someone finnaly tuns teh lights on. or taking a deep breath after holding your breath for a long time.

I never tought I would ever say this but Pete is a wise dude :)
I like how they give Brendon time to see, to realize that any love is love and that it's ok.
what they did to brendon on that fucked institution is not only torture, it's a awful brainwashing full of bullshit. It's completely inhumane. and we can see how different this is. they are being so kind and so warm while trying to make Brendon unlearn what was shoved into his head.

[turps33.livejournal.com]

Such stubborn boys! [But then, sheer bloodymindedness is what's let them survive so far...]

Man, I know! I got frustrated with them often.

Ugh, that twists my heart right up.

One of the themes I wanted for this was warmth. Clan House itself is warm. It has light and shelter and heat as opposed to dark and cold. The blankets are a sort of half way between that.

There was no way Mikey and Pete could take them in, but they could help in any way that they could.

Mikey and Pete. Gah, I love them so. They both have their own issues and have got past those and they're so deeply in love. Writing their scenes were moments of joy and I got a few beta comments going, your tin hat is showing *g*

Man, Brendon is so twisted up. Ryan might be super defensive and only hands out meager pieces of himself, but at least that's *honest*

Brendon is so painfully tied up at this point. Though it hurts that the only way he begins to see that being gay is okay is through seeing others he admires, and not himself. Still, he has time.

Ha! I love Pete here, kinda a lot.

I think Pete is so hard to write because he veers so sharply between showman and someone who's been deeply hurt and holds onto those hurts. So yeah, your comment makes me happy.

Yeah, it's a very cold section. It made me thankfully for my warm house and fluffy blankets.

[turps33.livejournal.com]

That is such a lovely thing to say, and yes, it does have that feeling.

It's completely inhumane. and we can see how different this is.

It was. It was taking someone and torturing someone until they're so twisted they can't see straight at all. He needed someone who cared, who would be there whatever.