turps | When Day is Night Alone 10/10

The plan was, come here, say goodbye and go, but something that seemed so logical at four in the morning is now full of flaws, because Brendon doesn't know if he can leave. He should have never listened to Jon, because all this goodbye is going to do is break his heart -- again.

"Come in and have a look."

Pulled from his thoughts, Brendon steps in to the room with Mikey, and can only slowly look around. Two of the walls are completely covered with shelves, and each shelf is packed tight with clothes and supplies: jeans and t-shirts and boxes of underwear still in the packet; deodorant and sponges and hairbrushes, all lined up neatly. On the floor, there were even shoes -- sneakers and boots, flip-flops and high heels all tangled together.

"People donate to us, mostly scene people so some of it's a bit out there." Mikey picks up a skirt that's more mesh than material, holding it up to demonstrate. "There's all kinds, though. I was thinking maybe this for you." Putting back the skirt he moves two shelves over and selects a soft lavender hoodie, handing it over. "You like?"

"I do," Brendon says. He runs his hand over the soft material and holds it against his chest, if he wasn't so filthy he'd slip it on right now. Instead he looks around at the shelves, attracted to the piles of jeans. "People just give you this stuff? It looks brand new."

"We can be persuasive," Mikey says, and he nods approvingly when Brendon picks up a pair of jeans. "Nice choice, but you need a belt, hold on." He stretches up to the top shelf and pulls down a box, setting it on the floor. It's full of belts of all colors and styles. "Help yourself."

Brendon's knees twinge when he kneels. He starts to look through the belts, then stops, fingers wrapped tight around something black and studded. "I don't. I mean, there's no need to have a belt on the streets. I don't have to look good."

"Doesn't mean you can't." Mikey kneels too, taking the belt from Brendon's hand. "I don't think studs are you. How about this?"

He's holding something thin, bright red and Brendon nods. "Thank you."

Mikey smiles slightly, stands and puts the box back. "I doubt they'll be out any time soon, so grab yourself some underwear and a t-shirt, you can use our bathroom this time."

Brendon does, taking a moment to check sizes before following Mikey back to the stairs.

"It's supposed to be staff only , but you need to warm up so." Mikey looks down at Brendon. "If you see Ray, hide."

Brendon's unsure if Mikey's joking. He thinks so, but Mikey's a hard read and it doesn't help that Brendon's running on fumes now -- fighting to keep functioning while knowing his time here is ticking down. There's a wide landing at the top of the stairs, framed artwork hanging on the walls, and Brendon can hear the faint sound of voices coming from behind one of the three closed doors.

"That's Gerard's suite, then mine and Pete's, and we share the bathroom." Mikey points to each door, and at the last he pushes it open. "Help yourself to anything in there and just throw your clothes outside, I'll get them."

It’s then that Brendon realizes he has a problem, because no matter what he does, he doesn't think he can go inside.

"Brendon?"

Brendon tightens his hold on the doorframe, and all he can think of is cold, tiled floors and Alan's body on top of him and then blood -- blood spreading on the floor, red and slick. Brendon is finding it hard to breathe. "I don't think I can go in."

"Bad memories?" Mikey's moved close, is standing patiently, waiting, watching as Brendon gasps for air. Brendon nods.

"Sometimes it helps if you share." Mikey doesn't attempt to touch, just keeps watching, still patient. "Or I could go get Spencer and Ryan."

"No," Brendon says, hating the thought of them being interrupted to deal with Brendon yet again. The memories are just there, though, swimming in Brendon's head, and he knows Mikey will listen. What Brendon doesn't know, is if he can say the actual words. He takes a deep breath, reminds himself of his vow that he won't be afraid, and begins to talk. "I told Pete I was sent to Shepard House, the, uh, the ex-gay place? Did he—“ At Mikey’s nod Brendon says, “Yeah, okay. What I didn't tell you was that I-- My caseworker, he, um.” Brendon closes his eyes and says quickly, “I was attacked. In-- In a bathroom. He tried to burn the sin out of me, said I was, said he had to boil it out of me with, um, the shower. Turned it on really hot and pushed me in and he was bigger, like, really bigger, and I kinda freaked and then he-- He tried…. Um, he said he had to teach me, I think, I don’t remember, he was on top of me and I had to fight him and he was trying...." The words lodge in Brendon's throat, shame burning deep.

"It's okay," Mikey says.

"No! No it's fucking not!" Brendon yells, and he pulls away, stepping back from the door, feeling the tears in his eyes but unwilling to let them fall. "Don’t you-- It’s not--I want to feel clean, and I-- There’s no way. He-- I can’t."

Mikey lets silence sit between them for a few seconds before saying calmly, confidently, "You will. It’ll probably take a while, you’re right, but you will."

Brendon wants Mikey’s faith, but right now it's beyond him, just one more thing outside of his reach.

"How about we start small?” Mikey pushes open the bathroom door. "If showers come attached with memories, well, we have an excellent tub and bubbles."

"I don't know if I can," Brendon admits, his voice small.

"I do,” Mikey says. "If you want, I'll stay. I won't look, I’ll just tell you about the time Frank made tomato soup without tomatoes."

It's a tempting offer; Brendon has always loved stories. Brendon looks at the tub, and imagines being clean, even if it's only his skin, only for a short time. He thinks of Ryan and Spencer downstairs, how they've gone through so much but never given up. He even thinks of Jon, who continues to wait for Tom. And Mikey, who could have left but didn't, sticking around so he could be Brendon's friend. None of them has ever given up, and Brendon won't either. "You'll stay?"

"I'll tell you my best stories."

"And I get to have bubbles?"

"As many as you want."

"I'll try. I can’t promise-- I might have to get out."

Mikey shrugs. "We've got plenty of sinks not in bathrooms and a hose in the garden."

Brendon grips the doorframe, fingers digging in. "I'd take the sink."

"Wise choice," Mikey says. "If it doesn't work out this time, it's okay, no one's died for a lack of showers."

Brendon looks away from the bathroom, at the floor and Mikey's feet. "Maybe not, but it's so stupid."

"Everyone has issues, and we've plenty of people qualified to listen if you want to talk."

"Even if I'm not here?" Brendon looks up then, watching Mikey's face.

"Even then. You have friends here, Brendon, and friends listen."

"Will friends look away if I run screaming when I hear the water running?"

"No," Mikey says. "Friends will run after you and then bring a bowl of warm water to a private room."

It's not what Brendon expected, but the talk of friends makes him feel good, warm inside. Gathering his courage, he steps into the bathroom, knowing Mikey will be right behind.

~~~~~~

It's late afternoon, and the air is filled with loud conversation. Lasagnas are cooking in the oven as Pete comes into the kitchen and pulls Mikey into a hug. He holds on and starts to talk, words whispered directly into Mikey's ear. Then he turns and says, "Ryan, Spencer, Brendon, Jon, can you come with?"

It's what Brendon's expected for hours, because Clan House isn't their home, they're visitors, nothing more. Smiling at the people around the table, Brendon stands, following Pete and Mikey to a room at the back of the house. Inside, there's a battered desk, a computer and shelves of books and files, a dog bed where a bulldog is sleeping. There's also a low coffee table and a couch against the wall, where Gerard and Ray are sitting, both holding thin files.

"Take a seat if you can find one," Pete says, and he sits on the edge of the desk as Mikey squashes himself between Gerard and Ray. This leaves one easy chair and two chairs in front of the desk. Jon and Spencer take those while Brendon sits in the easy chair with Ryan, jammed together, preparing for goodbye.

It's Ray that speaks first. He sits forward and taps the file on his knee. "When Mikey and Pete applied for a license for Clan House it was for ten residents. A few weeks ago they asked me about adding more."

"We've been thinking of expanding for a while," Pete says, kicking his heels against the front of the desk. "The situation with Brendon just pushed up the timeline."

"They said no at first," Ray continues. "But Gerard did his best youth worker spiel, and well, an hour ago Clan House was officially granted permission for another two residents."

"We're converting my office," Mikey says. "I'll share with Pete."

"That's great." Brendon smiles, enjoying how happy Pete seems, the way Mikey and Gerard are smiling as Ray sets down the file.

"The room won't be done for a few weeks, until then the new residents will have to share with someone," Ray says, and he looks significantly at Brendon. "Hopefully they won't mind."

It's then that Brendon realizes Ryan's on the verge of a grin -- not quite there but close -- and that Spencer is glancing at the titles on the files. Putting things together, Brendon pushes his hands into the pocket of his hoodie to hide how they're shaking, and asks quietly. "Are you offering me a place?"

All out beaming now, Pete jumps off the desk. "We're offering all of four of you places." He holds out his hand then, heading off the replies. "Before you say yes, there're still conditions. There're no free rides here. We expect you to go to school or to look for work. There's legal issues, too. I'm assuming you're all under-aged, which means that Ray and Gerard are going to have to work so you're officially under our care. But it means we need honesty, about everything, and also patience, because I’m warning you now, it’ll be a complicated and long process."

"I don't think--"

Brendon doesn't get to finish before Ryan's turning to him, his expression fierce. "You've got nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing. And you belong with us."

Jon rubs at his face, looking lost. "That’s all, I mean, sure, Brendon, but, um. You don't even know me."

"You're right, we don't," Pete says, slowly. "But our first experience with you was when you refused to hurt Brendon despite intense peer pressure, possibly even of the dangerous sort. And you brought him back today. Your actions suggest that you're someone who deserves a chance."

Wiggling from between Gerard and Ray, Mikey spreads out the files on the coffee table. Spencer. Ryan. Brendon. Jon. Each one is empty right now, but ready to be filled out. "Well, are you part of Clan House?"

In reply Brendon jumps up, launches himself over the table and grabs hold of Mikey, clinging on as he listens to Ryan, Spencer and Jon, each one saying yes.

~~~~~

Ryan's head is thumping, dull pain a steady bass line against the quiet of the room. It's been a chaotic half hour, Gerard and Pete taking basic information and already Ryan's done. All he wants to do is lie down but instead he's stuck here, squashed on the sofa between Spencer and Brendon. Not that it's a bad place to be, it's comforting having them so close, and Ryan's warm, pleasantly full from the lasagna that Mikey insisted they eat. The problem is, it feels too much like a dream, and Ryan can't help think it'll be taken away. Someone will surely come in and say it's a mistake, and they'll all be back out in the cold. It's why Ryan's sitting upright, paying careful attention so he's not caught off guard, not again.

"Sorry we took so long." Mikey's holding an armful of pillows, and he keeps the door open with his hip as he looks inside. "It took all of a minute for word to get out and we've been fielding questions."

"They don't want us here?" Brendon asks, his expression resigned.

"No. There was this whole deal about rooms. Ben and Connor offered to share with Andrew and Zack."

Pete looks up from his phone call, pen held over a form. "You didn't say yes, did you?"

"I told them I wasn't born yesterday." Shifting the pillows a little, Mikey looks toward the sofa. "Trey offered to share too, he's got a single and it'll be a squash getting two in there but it's an option."

"No," Brendon says immediately. "I mean, I'd rather share the double."

Ryan would too, even if he doesn't know Jon, who looks shell-shocked and unsure as he looks at them all. "I should take the single. I mean, you don’t really know me. That way you guys can have Brendon in the double, and nothing’s too much of a squeeze."

"I guess. If that’s the way you want it. I say we could get to know a guy who saved our best friend’s life twice." Spencer sits forward, his hand resting against Ryan's knee.

"But...."

"But nothing," Spencer says, cutting Jon off. "You brought him back."

"You did," Brendon says.

Jon's gripping the arm of his chair, and Ryan takes note of how nervous he seems, how he swallows hard. Jon says, "I don't know."

"What would Tom want?" Brendon asks then.

Jon hesitates, his knuckles white. "I can't stop looking."

"You don't have to, but there’s no reason for you not to rest a while,” Brendon points out. “Who knows, maybe the people here can help.”

"I guess," Jon says, and there are all kinds of conversations going on that Ryan doesn't understand, but Brendon obviously does, and he waits, never looking away. "Gaining three more friends doesn't diminish what he is to you. Give us a chance."

Jon loosens his hold on the chair. "I'll try."

"In that case," Mikey says. "Your room awaits."

They all stand, no one speaking as they follow Mikey along the corridor to the empty room. Using his elbow, he pushes at the handle and opens the door before stepping aside.

There's a confused moment when no one wants to go in first. Then Spencer pushes at Ryan's back, propelling him inside. He moves in enough that they can all fit, four people in one small room -- their room. It includes two single beds, striped duvets on them both, and two cots folded against a wall. There’s a large desk and empty shelves against blue-painted walls. The curtains are beige, pulled to keep the night darkness of the outside from creeping, and there're two lamps on the bedside tables, both turned on so the room is cast in gentle light. It's warm and cozy and Ryan thinks he should be excited, but all he can do is stand frozen in place, so numb that he barely feels the touch of Spencer's hand.

"It's not an apartment." He wraps his fingers around Ryan's, holding on. "But we're safe now."

Ryan manages a nod, stepping to one side as Mikey squeezes into the room and drops the pile of pillows onto one of the beds. "Is there anything you need?"

Ryan needs many things, most of which he'll never ask for. He shakes his head. "I'm fine."

The others all say no, too, and Mikey gives them all once last considering glance. "Okay, I'll leave you to it. Just get up whenever tomorrow, there's no rush. There's always one of us around and Pete tends to be up most of the night if you need anything." He starts to leave then, stopping and turning back. "I'm glad you decided to stay."

"Me too," Spencer says, answering for them all.

That night Ryan and Spencer sleep in the same bed, Brendon on the cot in the middle while Jon takes the other single, setting himself that slight touch away from the group. There's no talking as they climb under the covers, none of them taking off their clothes. Within a minute they’re all asleep.

~~~~~

When Ryan wakes, the duvet is crumpled at the bottom of the bed. Turning his head, he sees that Spencer is still fast asleep, curled up so that his chin is tucked against Ryan's shoulder. He can't see Brendon, and Jon's nothing but a lump and dark strands of hair visible at the top of his own duvet. Needing to pee, Ryan carefully moves and Spencer opens his eyes, as if he's been waiting for Ryan to wake.

"Morning," Spencer whispers and he tilts his head so he can press a kiss against Ryan's chin.

"I think it may be afternoon," Brendon says unexpectedly, appearring in Ryan's line of sight, leaning heavily on the desk as he pulls back the curtains and looks outside. "Yeah, definitely missed morning."

Spencer squints when Brendon pulls open the curtains, making light flood into the room. "Fuck, warn a person."

"Sorry, sorry." Brendon starts to close the curtains, but Spencer reaches out, groping for his hand.

"No, I'm getting up anyway."

He does, sitting upright. Ryan does the same, both of them moving slowly, one night’s sleep in a real bed unable to touch bone-deep aches. Doing so shows Ryan that Brendon's t-shirt is dark with sweat, his hair damp and he pushes it back off his forehead with a grimace.

Sitting on the side of the bed, feet against the floor, Ryan can examine the room in the natural light, taking in the wooden shelving unit on one wall, the mirror attached to the back of the door and what could be used as a small bookshelf, empty right now, but Ryan can easily imagine it filled with books.

"We could spend some of the money," Spencer says, looking at the bookshelf. "There has to be a bookshop close by."

It's tempting, but Ryan shakes his head. "That's our safety money."

"Right." Spencer stands, using Ryan's shoulder for support, the suggestion put aside for now. "I'm going to find food. You coming with?"

"I am," Brendon says.

"Yeah," Ryan agrees.

"Coming."

The last is from Jon, who kicks at his duvet, wincing as he moves his arm, tucking it against his chest. When he's finally standing upright, steady on his feet, they each make their beds, working around one another, tugging at corners and straightening sheets until everything is perfect. When they're finished, Ryan automatically reaches for his guitar, then uncurls his fingers and steps back.

"It'll be safe, right?"

Spencer's holding his bag, about to sling it over his shoulder, but he stops, letting his arm drop. "I could leave this, too."

"Only if you're sure, but take the money," Ryan says. They're talking about a battered guitar, a bag stuffed with clothes Spencer’s outgrown -- things that are worth little to nothing, but mean everything. Spencer rummages in the bag and takes the sock full of money, shoving it in his pocket, then bends and pushes his bag under the bed. "I'm sure."

A last look at his guitar and Ryan says, "Me too."

Only then do they leave the room. It's quiet when they step into the corridor, the house seemingly deserted. Then there's a series of frantic barks and Piglet comes running forward, brushing against Ryan's legs. He crouches, running his hand over her fur, making her pant and nuzzle at his hand, dog drool sliding over his fingers, and for what feels like the first time in forever, Ryan's laughing.

"I think she likes you." Pete's holding three leashes, Hemmy and Winston at his feet. "You've missed their walk, but if you want you can go with us later, Winston loves to play fetch."

"Doesn't he sink in the snow?" Ryan asks, worried about Winston's short legs. "He'll get cold."

"He's got a coat." Pete holds up his hand without the leashes, showing a small dog coat, the collar made of fluffy golden fur.

"That's the same as Mikey's," Ryan says, remembering nights in the bitter cold, Mikey bundled inside his coat as he ladled out soup.

Pete grins wide. "It is, I bought them for an anniversary present."

"Good choice," Spencer says.

"I thought so." Hanging the leashes and coat on a hook, Pete heads toward the stairs. "Can't stop, sorry. People to charm and money to beg for, but Mikey and Gerard are in the kitchen. Bob too."

Jon looks puzzled. "Can you remember a Bob?"

Ryan shakes his head, they'd been briefly introduced to the others the day before, but the only Bob he knows is the one who brought them here; the one who comes back to someone in the city and has a fondness for plaid. Ryan looks at Spencer. "You don't think?"

They both move together, not running, not really, but they still push the door open to the kitchen that little bit too hard, and then stand, staring at Bob, who's sitting close to Gerard. Bob looks back. "I thought I'd see you here."

Spencer takes a step forward. "You're... The person you come back to is Gerard?

"It is."

"And that's your ugly shirt that Gerard's wearing." The words slip out and too late, Ryan clamps shut his mouth, but Bob just smooths the front of his own plaid shirt down.

"Yep." He stands then, pushing back his chair. "Aren't you going to say hello?"

"Hi," Spencer says, and then he's running forward, pulling Bob into a hug, holding on until they both break apart. "I thought we'd never see you again."

"You would have, one way or another." Bob looks over his shoulder at Gerard. "There's not many people we don't know around here. The ones that matter anyway."

He doesn't make any moves to indicate Ryan should come close, does nothing but stand still and Ryan knows Bob's trustworthy, he does. The same way he knows it's time he started acting on that knowledge. He moves next to Spencer and Bob, and then stops, unsure of how to go on, but Bob does, gathering Ryan in a hug. He doesn't hold on, or cling close, just rests his hands against Ryan's back, saying quietly, "I'm glad to see you, kid," then steps away, looking at Brendon and Jon. "You seem to have picked up more people."

Spencer makes the introductions. "Bob, this is Brendon and Jon. They're our friends."

Bob smiles slightly, says, "Any friends of these two."

"You've found Bob." Mikey appears from a room at the back of the kitchen. He's wearing his usual outfit, tight jeans and a t-shirt, hair gelled straight, eye make-up perfect, but he's also wearing an apron, one with a black skull print on the front that ties at his neck and has strings that wrap around his waist twice. "We've eaten but there's stuff in the fridge for sandwiches."

"Thanks," Ryan says, but stays standing where he is, until Bob sighs.

"You'll have to get it yourself, they only wait on guests. I worked that out the day Gee left me sitting for nearly an hour while he colored in. I about gnawed off my arm."

"You can't be a guest when you class Clan House as your home," Gerard says, and he moves to stand next to Bob, wrapping his arm around his waist. "And I wasn't coloring in, but he is right about serving yourself. We do only wait on guests."

Ryan smiles, he can't help it. Lunch consists of thick sandwiches and slices of cake. This time Ryan stops before he's stuffed full, stomach aching from too much food, but only after he's reminded himself that it's okay, that there'll always be enough to eat. It's why he says nothing when he sees Jon slip half a sandwich in his pocket, just turns away when Jon catches him looking, his expression ashamed.

"I forgot," Jon says, and he puts the sandwich back on his plate before turning to Mikey, still flustered as he asks. "Is it okay if I take a shower?"

Mikey's busy scrubbing at a counter and when he turns he pushes his glasses back up his nose. "You don't have to ask, there's more official stuff to sort out later, but you've plenty of time. You all have. Just shove your plates in the dishwasher first."

"I call second shower," Spencer says then. Ryan doesn't try for third, there's no point -- he'll be sharing with Spencer anyway. He does expect Brendon to call third, because it has to be uncomfortable in his damp clothes, but Brendon just keeps picking at the remains of his cake, looking down at his plate.

"Before you shower you should pick out some more clothes, you need more than one set," Mikey says. He drops the sponge he's using in the sink and hooks the spray bottle of cleaner on the waistband of his jeans. "I need to clean our bathroom, Brendon, can you give me a hand?"

Brendon looks up then. "I'm good at polishing."

Mikey smiles. "Good."

~~~~~

Brendon wakes with a muffled yell. Mouth tightly closed against more panicked shouts he looks around and reassures himself that he's in his own bed. He's safe. He's warm. He really is okay. That doesn't help rid the lingering affects of his nightmare, tendrils of fear still wrapped tight. Rubbing at his wrist, his face, he wiggles out of his blankets keeping hold and trailing one behind him as he crawls to the bottom of the cot then stands. He looks back then, at Spencer and Ryan curled up tight together, Jon almost completely concealed by his quilt.

They're Brendon's friends and he knows he could wake them up and they wouldn't mind. But that's not what he needs right now. He needs space to breathe, space and light. Wrapping the blanket securely around his shoulders he heads for the door, walking as quietly as possible as he steps out of the room. Pulling the door open, he stands still a moment, his bare toes curled against the wood floor. All houses have their own feel and right now Clan House is quiet. Not silent because it's full of life still, the sound of snores coming from one room, the clatter of a keyboard from upstairs, and also the sound of someone moving in the kitchen.

The blanket swishes against the floor as Brendon walks past Hemmy, who lifts his head and snuffles a greeting, and into the kitchen, where Gerard is leaning against the counter, watching the kettle on the stove.

"It won't boil any faster doing that."

Gerard jumps his hand flat against his chest. "Fuck, you scared me."

"Sorry."

"No, no. I was in my own dream world." Gerard widens his eyes. "I didn't wake you did I?"

Brendon shakes his head and pulls the blanket closed in front of him. "I couldn't sleep."

"Sucks." Gerard reaches out and taps his fingers against a mug. "I'm making herbal tea, you want?"

"Not coffee?"

"I'd kill for a coffee, but I need to get up in the morning." Opening a cupboard door, Gerard exposes multiple small boxes, each one a different colour. "Bob keeps bringing me back new kinds, most of which taste like shit, like fucking bramble and elderflower. It was like drinking water used to steep sticks." Gerard hesitates then, smiles. "I'm not selling this well am I?"

"Not especially," Brendon says. "But I will have tea, just not the bramble."

"Good choice." Gerard grabs a box and places two tea bags into mugs, their tabs hanging over the side. He snatches at the kettle, taking it off the heat as it starts to whistle. Pouring out the water, he puts back the kettle then sits, pushing a mug toward Brendon. "Come, sit. It's apple and black-current, this one actually tastes good."

Brendon's willing to take Gerard's word, and he sits and cradles the mug in his hands, enjoying the quiet as they both drink.

"Have you all had a look around yet? Or did Mikey con you into doing his cleaning all day?"

"He didn't make me," Brendon protests. "I liked helping."

"It starts that way then next thing you know you're left in charge of reattaching all the heads of your GI Joes or knocking down walls with a hammer and a prayer." Gerard takes a sip of his tea, says, "That kid," love obvious in every word.

"I helped sort out some donated clothes," Brendon says, remembering sitting in the store room with Mikey, the easy silence as they pulled apart bags and revealed the clothes inside.

"Yeah? Was there anything good?"

"Jeans mostly, lots of t-shirts and a few dresses."

"Good, we've been short of those." Draining his tea, Gerard sets down his mug, says, "Are you feeling better?"

Brendon's about to protest that he wasn't feeling bad, that he can't sleep is all, but Gerard's watching him keenly, like he's waiting for any lie. "A little."

"Enough that you could go back to sleep?"

The right answer should be yes, show that Brendon isn't afraid of his own thoughts and memories, but the fact is that he is. He shakes his head. "Not yet."

"You know, talking usually helps."

Brendon remembers Ryan saying the same thing, and still Brendon can't understand why talking is seen as so good. He doesn't want people to know how disgusting he feels, the things he had to do to survive. Those are things he wants to keep hidden, where no one can see at all. He pulls at the blanket, holding it so he's covered from shoulders to knees. "There's nothing to tell."

Gerard pushes the hair out of his eyes, seeming to accept that as he starts talking in another direction. "It's funny. We've got official rooms for counseling but more secrets have been discussed over this table than anywhere else in the house, especially at night. I told Bob about my past here. Half past two in the morning and he'd just come in from a week-long trip. He was about dead on his feet but still listened as I told him the sordid details." Gerard laughs slightly, gaze slightly unfocused as he’s caught in his own memories. "We hadn't been dating long but I knew I had to tell him before we got serious. Give him the chance to ditch the ex-alcoholic junkie."

It's not what Brendon expected to hear, but he leans forward slightly, the edge of the table digging into his stomach. "He stayed?"

"He did, which was good because Mikey was hiding behind the door waiting to kick his ass if he didn't."

"He was going to take on Bob?" Brendon cringes slightly, imagining Mikey being hit by Bob, but Gerard doesn't seem concerned at all.

"Mikey's vicious when he's fighting for something he cares about. This house, Pete, me. There's not a fight he wouldn't take on." Gerard directs his attention on Brendon then. "He's fighting for you, too. We all are."

It should be good to hear, it is, except in the way it makes Brendon feel worse, because they're fighting over something that isn't worth saving. "You should save your energy. I'm not worth fighting for."

"That's bullshit," Gerard says. "Everyone in this house is worth fighting for. We fight together. We're a fucking army, and no one gets left behind."

"You don't understand," Brendon says, already exhausted by this conversation.

"I understand not wanting to live another day," Gerard says, sounding calm despite what he's saying. "How it feels to be covered in piss, shit and blood and not care because all I wanted was another drink. How it's possible to feel so disgusting that you want everyone to look away. But I'm lucky -- I've got people who wouldn't do that, who were there for me whatever happened."

Brendon looks down at the tabletop -- battered by time and hundreds of hands -- and says quietly. "I just feel so ashamed."

"Then why don't we work on changing that?"

"I don't know if I can." Brendon looks up then, sees that Gerard is waiting patiently, looking nothing but sympathetic. Brendon doesn't want to tell, but he's so tired, he doesn't think he can keep carrying the memories alone. Before he even knows he's going to do so, he starts to talk. "Before, when I first came here? The city? I ran out of money, and…and there with this man. He offered...y’know, he, he said he'd give me money. If I blew him.” Despite having cooled, the tea burns when Brendon takes a sip. “I wouldn't have, I really wouldn’t have, but I was so hungry. I was just-- I hadn't done it before, never, but he must have thought I had? I don't know why but he asked and we went to this alley and I wouldn't have said yes, I wouldn't but I needed to eat so badly and there was glass on the ground and he made me suck him and I got apples and a hot drink but it didn't help because I felt so disgusting, like people could see and then I did it again, like once wasn’t bad enough and I was so weak, I was so – all those things they said, they were true, they must be, because I did it, I gave in, because I needed the food, just, like, some soup or something, I hadn’t heard about the kitchen, or else I—Well, I was stupid, and all the time I was doing it I felt like them, the people in the videos and I was so dirty and ashamed and it hurt, they hurt me." A droplet of water lands on the table and Brendon puts up his hand, surprised to find his cheek is wet. "I'm a whore. I—a whore, selling myself for money."

"I'd say you were a survivor," Gerard replies after a bit, when Brendon is surprised to find that he can actually listen. "Doing what you needed to live. There's a difference between that, and someone who sells himself for love of the job. That’s fine, too, just different.." He stands then, pulling Brendon into a quick one-armed hug. "Want more tea? I have a stash of strawberry hidden at the back. It's excellent for conversations like these."

Brendon wipes at his face, says, "Please."

~*~*~*~

Ryan watches as Spencer shifts in place and tries not to look at the closed door to his side. He's got his thumbs hooked in his jeans pocket and is trying for a casualness that he's utterly failing to achieve. It's making Ryan antsy just watching him, and he jumps when the door is suddenly pulled open and Pete looks outside.

"Spencer, you can come in now."

"Right," Spencer says, but he doesn't actually move, just stands in the same place, his carefully crafted calm fracturing even more.

Ryan steps forward so he's between Spencer and Pete, determined that Spencer won't have to do this alone. "I'll come in with you."

"Sorry little dude. I know he'll tell you everything anyway but these meetings have to go solo." Pete steps into view fully then. "There's nothing to worry about, promise. Just we need things to be legal."

"And what if you contact the home and they want me to come back?"

It's the first time Spencer's actually verbalised that worry, and hearing how unsure he sounds strengthens Ryan's determination that that's something that will never happen. But it's not Ryan who speaks out.

"Then we'll go somewhere else," Brendon says, stepping forward and taking his place next to Ryan and Spencer, then after a hesitation, as if he's still unsure of his place, Jon.

Pete puts his hands over his ears. "I never heard that." He lets his hands drop then, says, "You've nothing to worry about. We've done this a lot and haven't lost anyone yet. Ray and Gerard make a mean team."

It's something Ryan wants to believe, but that means trusting someone to look after Spencer, and he doesn't know if he can do that. Not yet. "I'm still coming in."

"Hold on." Pete holds up his hand and looks back into the room. "Let me talk to Gee and Ray, we could sort something out."

Ryan nods, satisfied that Pete's trying at least, which is when Spencer turns to him. "I'll be fine, you should go explore with Brendon."

For the briefest of moments Ryan feels the sting of rejection but Spencer does look slightly calmer, like he's ready to face any issues head-on, and Ryan knows Pete won't do anything to deliberately hurt him. "You'll come find us when you're done?"

"Promise."

Which is enough that Ryan can remain in place, watching as Spencer follows Pete into the room.

"There's supposed to be more rooms at the back of the house," Brendon says. "Want to check them out?"

What Ryan wants to do is stay here and wait for Spencer to come back out. What he does is turn and start to walk toward the back of the house, Brendon and Jon staying close by his side.

Passing the kitchen, they keep going, past offices and storage rooms and down a small flight of stairs that lead to a whole new area of the house, a part they still haven't explored due to sticking close to the familiar, the spaces that have begun to be home.

It's cool, the light coming from a window that looks out at ground level, snow pressed up against the glass. The walls are painted a bright blue, the floors polished wood; framed art and pictures hang on the walls. There’s a painting of a fantasy scene, a blown-up photo of Pete and Mikey standing in front of Clan house with Pete grinning widely, Mikey smiling slightly as they hold up a key. Ryan's examining that photo, taking note of how blissfully happy they look when Brendon touches his arm. "Come see."

Ryan turns, following Brendon into a room filled with art supplies, easels and canvases stacked in piles while every inch of the walls is covered in drawings and paintings, some gaudy with bright paint, others stark pencil sketches that portray everything from scribbled, mashed-up lines to elaborate landscapes. Attracted by the crates stuffed with materials and the boxes full of shiny-handled scissors and fat tubs of glue, Ryan's tempted to linger, but Brendon's already moving on, urging Jon to follow.

Ryan's looking through small tubs full of what looks like liquid glitter, putting his finger into a tub and drawing a stripe of golden glitter along the back of his hand when Brendon yells, "Ryan, come here."

Brendon sounds excited, and he almost runs back into the art room before urging Ryan into the next, which is a small library, bookshelves against two walls, each one completely filled.

"You like books, right? You said, before," Brendon says, but Ryan doesn't reply, just keeps looking around. There are bean bags in one corner, a chair with the scuffed arms that's positioned next to a tall lamp, a red dragon painted on its shade. The books themselves look slightly battered, obviously well read, but that doesn't matter. All Ryan sees is the possibilities, stories to discover and words to read. Running his fingers along the spines, he's tempted to pull out a book and curl up in the chair, but Brendon and Jon are already on the way out, and it's not like Ryan can't come back. One last look, and Ryan follows, ready to discover more.

What they find is a room containing a piano, and Ryan knows leaving the books behind was the right thing to do when he sees how delighted Brendon looks, the easy, genuine way he smiles as he sits at the piano bench and runs his fingers over the keys. He looks back over his shoulders, hands still resting in place. "Do you think I can play this?"

"I don't see why not." Jon walks close and then folds himself down to the floor, back against the wall. "Well, we're waiting."

"I haven't played for a long time, I'll be rusty," Brendon warns, but he's still smiling, looking more relaxed than he has for a long time when he looks over at Ryan. "Everybody Hurts?"

Ryan smiles, sitting down next to Jon. "Sure."

Brendon begins to play.

~*~*~*~

Waking up screaming is starting to get old. Brendon's sure it is for the others too. It's only a matter of time before they tell him to go, maybe sleep in the TV room or even the half-finished new bedroom. It's why when he wakes he automatically stifles his cries and tries to calm down as he slides to the bottom of the cot, always soaked through with sweat, his heart pounding from the dreams that just won't go away.

Most nights he ends up in the kitchen, and somehow there's always someone there. Pete or Mikey usually, but sometimes Gerard, and -- on one occasion -- Bob, dressed in a too-small robe and baggy cargo shorts as he rummaged in the fridge. Brendon nearly went and hid elsewhere that night, but all Bob did was make tea and open his laptop, showing off his collection of favorited Youtube clips until Brendon was yawning and ready for bed. He dreamt of prat falls and blinking lights that night. It was a nice change.

Tonight though, Brendon doesn't get halfway down the cot when someone reaches out and grabs his arm. Heart beating even faster he peers through the darkness and sees that both Ryan and Spencer are awake, and it's Ryan that's got tight hold of Brendon's arm. "Sorry I woke you, I'll go."

"No you won't," Ryan says, whisper soft. "We've watched you go off for over a week now, we've given you space and it's not working. Tonight we're trying something else."

"You're right." Brendon starts to gather his blankets. "I'll go sleep in the TV room."

Spencer pushes himself up on one elbow, looking over Ryan's body. "We're not telling you to go, we're telling you to come here."

"In your bed?"

"No, in our intergalactic spaceship." Ryan pulls back the covers and rolls over, squashing Spencer against the wall. "Get in, and Jon, you sleep in the cot, I don't think we could fit four into the bed but this way you're close."

Brendon hadn't even known Jon was awake, but he makes a muffled sound of assent as Brendon climbs into Ryan and Spencer's bed, lying balanced on the edge as Jon rolls out of his bed onto the cot, pulling his blankets with him, says, "Is he always this bossy?" his words slightly slurred with sleep.

"You don't know the half of it," Spencer says, then laughs when Ryan tries to elbow him in the side.

Despite the lack of space Brendon's comfortable, especially when Ryan rolls his eyes and pulls Brendon away from the edge. "You won't catch gay cooties."

For a long while Brendon lies still, his cheek resting against the soft pillow, warm and comfortable and feeling safe. It's why, finally, he says, "I think I already have."

"Is that your big coming out scene?" Ryan asks, protesting indignantly when Spencer pushes himself back up again and puts his hand over Ryan's mouth.

"Shush, everyone doesn't have to come out with the aid of metaphors and teaching aids." Moving his hand, Spencer drapes himself over Ryan, looking at Brendon. "Is that what you're dreaming about?"

"Sometimes." Brendon's wide awake now, staring up at the ceiling. "There's other stuff too."

Jon reaches up and touches Brendon's side through the blankets. "So tell us, we're listening."

It's two forty-five on a freezing Sunday morning when Brendon shares his secrets, the wind rattling against the window and three people listening as he reveals painful, hidden secrets that hurt coming off his tongue. They are each there for him until finally he runs out of words. His friends around him, he falls into sleep.

~*~*~*~

School isn't easy for Brendon. The actual work is simple, but the crowds make him nervous, and he can't help thinking people are watching, seeing the secrets he holds close. It's why he keeps smiling, so much that his face aches at the end of each day, when he meets Jon, Spencer and Ryan at the gates, and can finally go home.

It's not a long walk, not when you've somewhere to walk to, and Brendon shoves his mitten-covered hands in his coat pocket, head down against the snow. They talk about home or work, what they had for lunch, or Ryan's plans for them to join the band -- ordinary things that help soothe the scars they all hold. When they get back to Clan House the lights are lit next to the door, and Brendon can't help smiling again, except this time it's for real.

Inside it's chaos. Dogs are running wild and the hall is crowded with people coming home from school. Waving a greeting, Brendon starts to pull off his coat and heads for their room, still shared for now, but that doesn't matter at all. Despite the small space they fit perfectly, and Brendon can't imagine waking without Jon on one side, Ryan and Spencer the other.

Getting closer, Brendon sees something pinned on their door, next to their name plate -- a picture of them dressed as carnival performers, as drawn by Gerard -- and he plucks it free, handing it to Ryan.

"It's for you."

Ryan opens the note, quickly reading before folding it up. "Dad called."

"Are you calling him back?" Spencer asks, sounding wary, and Brendon can't blame him. The last time Ryan was encouraged to call his dad still fresh in his mind.

"I think so, yeah. He's trying; I can meet him halfway," Ryan says.

For a moment Brendon feels a burning jealousy for Ryan's careful hope, because Brendon doesn't even have that -- his family refuses to take his calls. Any brooding he might be working up to is cut off by Spencer bumping him with his hip, edging him toward the door.

"Come on, I think Mikey was going to make cookies."

"Mikey makes terrible cookies, he always burns them," Brendon says.

Spencer grins wide. "I know, I like to watch Pete eat them and say they're delicious."

"Mean, Spencer." Ryan steps in the room and sets his bag on the desk, taking out his school books and setting them on the shelf. "But also valid."

It doesn't take long to get settled. They hang their coats on waiting hooks, take their medications, and, in Jon's case, remove shoes and tuck them under the bed. That done, they head for the kitchen, stepping inside to be greeted by a cheer.

Everyone is there: Mikey and Pete, Gerard and Bob, Ray, Jamia and Frank, Trey, Ben and Connor, Andrew and Zack, Zoe, Aaron and Beth. A homemade banner stretches along the wall, Welcome Home written in sparkling letters, and on the table lies a huge cake. It is lopsided with yellow icing, the most perfect thing Brendon's ever seen.

"We would have done this before, but we had to cut through all the official bullshit." Mikey steps forward and holds up four pieces of paper. "As of this morning, you're all officially in the care of Clan House."

"God help you," Pete says, but he's grinning widely as everyone starts to whistle and clap and cheer.

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milenaa.livejournal.com

OMG, this was so amazing! And you totally deserve better feedback for it and all, but I'm kinda stuck on how much I love this and want to re-read it right away :)

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When Day is Night Alone 10/10

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