The Keys to Unlock You 2/3

[turps]

Frank, Jon and Brendon come back, and Spencer moves back to his place on the window ledge. He sits, one knee bent on the sill, keeping out of the way as Frank throws himself in front of a laptop and lists to the side until he's resting against Bob. Spencer expects Bob to throw him off but he doesn't move, just keeps typing, Frank watching the forming words.

"We got posters." Jon sidles over to Spencer and unrolls a poster. It's got a picture of Ryan dressed for work, one Jon took on his phone not a week before. Ryan's not smiling, but he's amused, it's there in the way his eyes are shining and the tilt of his head. Spencer misses him so badly it hurts. "We papered the city with them. Brendon got a staple in his finger."

"Tattletale," Brendon says, and tucks his hand behind his back, as if Spencer won't have already noticed the bandage wrapped around his middle finger. "It was an easy mistake to make."

"Because everyone puts their hand where they're about to staple," Jon shoots back easily. He's grinning as Brendon bristles, about to snark back. It's something they do always, behavior so familiar that Spencer could lay bets on the timing of the first 'your mom' reply, except this time it doesn't get that far. Reality hitting them both at the same time, Jon's smile fading and Brendon shrinking in on himself, as if they can't believe they're both able to forget Ryan for even an instant.

"I'm going to get more smokes," Bob says, breaking the awkward silence. When he stands the back of his shirt is damp and he pushes back his hair with one hand. "Who's taking over here?"

Spencer expects Frank to reply, but all he does is sit up, looking at his own laptop as Brendon takes Bob's seat. "I just watch?"

Bob leans over Brendon's shoulder. "If a tweet comes through note it down and get someone to add it to the relevant wall. Watch out for new comments at the blogs and Facebook. You'll be notified for them all."

"Right," Brendon says, and his glasses are reflecting bright light as he looks intently at the screen.

Bob watches for a moment, then steps into the kitchen. Ray and Gerard are in there, doing something that involves a lot of noise and the smell of garlic and Spencer's stomach is rumbling despite the lingering nausea. When Bob reappears he's holding Gerard's arm, looking stern as he steers them toward the open door, Gerard protesting all the while.

"You're coming," Bob says. "You're going to walk with me to the store, then you're going to come back, get something to eat, then sleep."

"I went out this morning," Gerard protests. He rubs at his stomach and tucks his hands in his hoodie pocket, looking peevish as Bob keeps going. "I told you, I'm staying here."

"And I told you, you're not."

It's a battle of wills, and it looks like Gerard's going to win, until he suddenly gives in and allows himself to be pulled forward. "If there's news..."

"I'll call you myself," Frank promises. He waits until Bob and Gerard leave, then collapses back in his chair, head hanging back as he looks at Spencer upside down. "He needed a break."

Spencer doesn't know what to say, agreeing seems like he's noticed that Gerard's visibly falling apart, staying silent seems rude. "It has to be hard."

"You've no fucking idea," Frank says, and Spencer's about to protest when Frank sits up straight. "Sorry, you've some idea, it's just. Fuck. It's been over two weeks now, Gee's about out of his fucking mind, we all are." Frank stands, looking at Brendon who's studiously watching the screen. "I'm going out on the roof, if you need anything, yell. I'll hear, Ray too." Brendon nods, and Frank walks over to the window and climbs outside. "You coming out?"

Frank's already got a cigarette in his mouth and he's lighting a match against the wall. Spencer studies the roof, noting how there's no barriers around the edge and how part seems to sink inwards. He climbs out, and sits next to Frank, their backs against the wall.

For a long time neither talk. It's getting late now, and lights are appearing all over the city, ribbons of them stretching into the dark. Spencer's hair blows in his face and Frank's cigarette is a glowing orange, smoke curling through the air. It's nice out here, peaceful -- all it does is strip everything back so Spencer can more acutely feel his fear.

"I should have been with him that night," Frank says suddenly, and Spencer keeps watching the lights appear, suspecting this is a something that needs to be heard and not seen. "We'd been to Chaplins and I'd met this girl, she was into me so I told Mikey I'd catch up. When he didn't come home I thought he'd got lucky, it was only when he didn't turn up at Gerard's for pancakes that I knew he'd gone. He always goes there on Sundays, they have this thing. Gerard makes animal pancakes, cats normally, they look more like blobs to me, but what the fuck do I know? It makes them happy."

"You couldn't have known," Spencer says, and he isn't surprised when he glances to the side and sees Frank shaking his head in denial, because even if it is the truth, Mikey's still missing.

"I should have known, he never replied to my text, getting laid wouldn't stop that." Frank takes a drag on his cigarette and lets the smoke drift from his mouth. "Hell, he's replied while having sex before."

"Really?” Spencer asks. "While doing the act?"

Frank smiles slightly and rests his arms on his bent knees. "He said he'd had better and his phone was just there."

"So he texted you," Spencer says. "That's just, wow."

"I know, right? He's a freak," Frank says fondly. "He kept sending details, by the time he was done, I needed a cigarette."

"He sounds interesting."

Perfectly still, Frank keeps looking out into the darkness, says, "He's my best friend."

Spencer doesn't reply, he can't, the loss of his own best friend makes the words catch in his throat. He swallows, taking a moment, then gestures at inside, because as much as Spencer needs hope, reality is always crowding close. "All this, the blogs and tweets, do you think it'll help?"

Frank takes another long drag on his cigarette then nips it off, throwing it to the ground. "We had to do something, Gerard was going crazy and that's not good for anyone. The posters and networking were distractions at first." Frank pulls up his knees further and crosses his arms, chin resting on them both. "Then people started replying, looking when the police wouldn't. I don't know if we'll find him, but I'm never going to stop trying."

More lights go on in the distance and Spencer watches, making a vow. That whatever it takes, he's going to find Ryan, too.

~*~*~*~

Ryan tries to sleep, but it's impossible. His side burns and his head is full of mixed up thoughts, enough that he feels like he's going insane. It's dark in the room and the only light is a thin strip that bleeds from under the door. Ryan imagines that every sound is approaching footsteps, he's jumpy and angry and mostly, plain scared. And not only for himself. Ryan finds himself watching the shallow movement of Mikey's chest, counting every breath.

In this light it's impossible to see the slashes carved into Mikey's body, but Ryan knows they're there, the memory of them is burned into his mind, beauty in the most savage of ways. Skin made into a canvas and Ryan pulls in a shuddering gasp.

"Ryan, come lie next to me."

"I thought you were asleep," Ryan says. Despite his distaste he lowers himself down on the sweat-damp and stinking blankets.

"I've been thinking." Mikey turns so he's looking at Ryan, and the effort's enough to make him bite back a cry of pain. "I need you tell Gerard I'm sorry. He always..."

"You can tell him yourself," Ryan interrupts abruptly, because he's not going to do this, he's not going to allow Mikey to dictate his goodbyes.

"No, Ryan." Mikey reaches out and rests his good hand against Ryan's cheek, stopping him looking away. "You need to listen. I'm not giving up, but you have to face facts, I'm no Wolverine, I'm not healing and if I don't make it. Tell Gerard I love him, I'm sorry, that I tried my best and didn't want to go."

Ryan's throat is tight and he pulls on old tricks, reciting the alphabet backwards and running through his times tables, anything so he won't cry. It's hard, it's been years since Ryan's felt so helpless and out-of-control. Eventually, when he's up to twelve times six he nods, says, "I don't even know what he looks like."

"He'll find you," Mikey says, sounding so certain that Ryan can't help but believe too. "When he does he'll ask questions, but, he's got a vivid imagination, so, if you can sort of gloss over the details."

"Sure, I'll tell him you left over the fucking rainbow bridge," Ryan snaps, and immediately feels guilty. Mikey hasn't asked him to do anything that bad but even the thought of lying to Mikey's brother makes him feel sick. "Sorry, it's just..."

"It's okay." Mikey lets his hand drop, resting it on Ryan's arm. "I shouldn't have asked you to lie, but the first thing, the message. That's important."

"I'll tell him. Promise," Ryan says, and he puts his hand over Mikey's,

"Thanks." Ryan can't see Mikey smile, but he can hear it in the relief of his voice. "You'll like him."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, he's intense but I think you'd like that." Mikey laughs a little and turns his hand so he can curl his fingers around Ryan's. "He gave me so much shit the morning after I saw you, I had glitter everywhere."

Ryan can't understand why anyone doesn't like glitter. It's been one of his favorite things for months now and he particularly likes the kind he can paint on his face, his own personal sparkling mask. "He's a glitter snob?"

"He's more into blood and black," Mikey says, and even if Ryan doesn't know Gerard he likes him, if only for the way he makes Mikey sound, like there's something warm within this dark room.

Ryan squeezes his hand. "When we get back I'll change his mind."

"Optimistic," Mikey says. "He's pretty set in his black ways."

"And I'm good at glitter," Ryan imagines his make-up case, the pots of color and carefully cleaned brushes, how he could sweep golden glitter along Mikey's cheek bones and up to his hair. "I'll paint it on you, he'll love it then."

"I'll hold you to that," Mikey warns.

Ryan says, "It's a date."

~*~*~*~

"Someone's reported a black van in the Victoria Town area, it matches the one we're watching for," Bob says suddenly. He's sitting on the very edge of his seat, hunched forward and the early morning sunlight is making his hair blaze gold. Without looking he gropes for a pen then scrawls down a name. Ray takes the pad of paper and brings up a page on his own laptop, and within seconds there's a map on screen, one with two red flags on a section of road. Ray looks from the paper to the screen, hand moving on the mouse, and suddenly there's a new red flag, almost touching the two others.

"They're all black van sightings?" Spencer slides from the window sill, his legs are cramped and he winces as he walks, his whole body stiff after a night sleeping on the floor. He'd meant to go home, they all had, but somehow that never happened. Sometimes, when Spencer can think of anything but RyanRyanRyan, he wonders what they're doing here, crowded into this too small space with people they don't even know. Then he remembers, they're the ones giving him hope.

"We got those reports two Sundays ago." Ray's still clicking buttons, and the map zooms in, showing a road snaking through tightly-packed trees. "One source was suspect, some kid falling asleep in his car. But now..."

"You think it's worth checking out?" Gerard asks. He's draped over Bob's shoulder, like it's too much effort to stand under his own steam. Despite that, for the first time since they met, there's a hint of something in Gerard's voice, not excitement, but getting there.

"It could be nothing." Ray's clicking through web pages and glances over at Gerard. "There's millions of black vans out there. If that's the right one, it's a million to one chance."

"But million to one chances happen," Brendon says. He's been up for hours and has already gone on a coffee run with Jon and washed all the dirty mugs and plates -- again. "You can't discount things because they shouldn't happen. Ryan shouldn't be missing, Mikey shouldn't, but they are."

"He's right," Gerard says, and Brendon looks surprised, like he wasn't expecting an agreement. "We can't ignore it, I'm going up there."

"Me too," Spencer says immediately, if there's a chance of finding Ryan he's going to take it, no matter how faint. Expecting opposition he stands up straight, ready to launch into an argument about why he is going, and how no one can stop him.

"Fine." Bob clicks the mouse and a printer starts whirring, paper dropping into the tray. "We'll be taking my car, Gee, go wake Frank, he'll want to come, Ray..."

"I know, I get to stay here." Ray doesn't look that happy at the idea, but he's not protesting, just slides into Bob's chair and picks up the print outs, straightening them up before handing them over. "You should take drinks, it's about a two hour drive and it's going to be hot."

"We'll stop on the way," Bob says and then looks up from the printouts he's reading. "There'll be room for one more in my car."

Spencer hadn't expected that, and he looks helplessly between Brendon and Jon, knowing they both want to go. It's like picking for teams for school, except a thousand times worse.

Unexpectedly, Brendon sits on the arm of the couch and starts to toe off his sneakers. "I'll stay, me and Ray'll man the bat cave." He picks up his sneakers and holds them out toward Jon. "Here."

"What?" Jon's staring at the sparkly pink sneakers as if they're about to blow-up in his face.

Brendon sighs and indicates Jon's feet. "You can't go on rescue missions wearing flip-flops."

"This could be a huge waste of time, you know," Ray points out.

Brendon shrugs and swaps his shoes for Jon's flip-flops which he drops to the floor and eases on his feet. "I know, or it could be the start of finding them."

"I've got Frank, are we ready to go?" Gerard asks. He's got a bag slung over one shoulder and Frank's standing close, looking half-asleep still and his sneakers untied. He scrubs at his eyes with his hand and picks up Ray's mug of coffee, draining it with one gulp.

"Let's go," Bob says, and heads for the door.

A last look at Brendon, and Spencer’s following, hoping that wherever he is, Ryan's holding on.

~*~*~*~

Ryan tends to over-think things at times. Writing helps ease that buzz in his head, taking pressure off the memories that crowd close. He's got countless notebooks at home, filled with poetry and songs, sometimes he reads through them, reliving his life through words. It's how Ryan remembers the times he's been afraid, the yelled insults and hospital rooms the sickening feelings that no matter how hard he tried it was never enough. Ryan's survived them all, but he doesn't know if he can survive this.

He turns, looking at Mikey's who's curled on his side, his hand tucked close to his chin. "When were you most afraid?"

"Apart from now, you mean?" Ryan nods and he expects Mikey to think a while before giving his reply, but he doesn't, says, "Gerard nearly ODed once, I found him in his apartment, I walked in and he was lying on the floor. I thought he was dead."

"He's clean now?"

"Has been for a long time," Mikey says, sounding proud. "But that memory, seeing him like that, it never goes."

"Yeah." Ryan pushes back his own memories and moves so he's closer to Mikey, he has to be careful, aware of broken bones and sore skin, but Mikey uncurls a little, enough that Ryan can feel the warmth of Mikey's breath on his face. "I need to get out of here."

Mikey looks grave, says, "It'll have to be today, before he hurts you more."

"Yeah," Ryan says, and remembers silver knives smeared with blood, unwelcome memories that he pushes away for more practical planning. "Does he come at the same time every day?"

"Usually." Mikey lifts his hand, looking at his watch. The face is cracked and there's red droplets on the glass. "He mostly comes at midday, but we'll hear the van, it'll give us a few minutes."

"I'll wait for him at the door," Ryan says, and looks around the room, hoping to see something that can be used a weapon. "Think I can brain him with a shoe?"

Mikey looks thoughtful, as if he's seriously considering Ryan's question. "It depends what you use and how hard you swing, my boots are in that pile, they've got weight behind them."

"I'd need to be quick." Ryan pushes himself to his feet, gritting his teeth at the pain in his side. He approaches the pile of shoes and sees a pair of chunky boots lying on top. Picking one up, he swings it hard, imagining driving it into the man's face.

Mikey gives Ryan a thumbs up.

Ryan swings the boot again. They'll only get one chance, he needs to be ready.

~*~*~*~

Bob's car is big and comfortable. It's also stuffed full with what looks like miles of wires. The stuff is coiled in the trunk and there's a piece in the foot-well that keep wrapping around Spencer's foot. He kicks himself free and keeps looking out of the window, taking in the densely packed trees that crowd against the road. They're close to where the van was sighted and the mood is tense, everyone locked into their own thoughts.

Spencer knows they're not going to pull up and find Ryan, but he can't help hoping anyway. It's better that than the ever increasing gruesome images he imagines, Ryan's body lying half-covered with leaves. Ryan in a shallow grave. Ryan abandoned on the side of the road, his eyes open and lifeless. Needing the contact, Spencer leans slightly, so he's pressed against Jon.

Jon doesn't speak, just rests his hand on Spencer's knee and holds on.

"Ray says there's five minor roads close to the sightings," Bob says, he's driving with one hand while texting, his attention between his phone and the road. "If there's nothing at the site we should check them all for heavy use."

"You've been watching too much CSI," Frank says with a grin that's obviously forced. He's sitting on the other side of Jon, turned to the side slightly so he can rest his hand on the back of Gerard's chair, occasionally he touches Gerard's neck and Spencer understands that compulsion. It's why he's sitting so close to Jon, a reminder that someone he loves is still close.

"It's that or turn back," Bob says, and abruptly steers to the side of the road. "We're here." They're parked in a small lay-by, and apart from a garbage can there's nothing to see. Which Spencer expected, but he still feels a sense of anti-climax as he steps outside.

"There's nothing here." Gerard sound defeated as he looks around, turning in a circle. "I thought, I thought there'd be something."

"What, like a for kidnapped friends look here sign?" Spencer snaps, and glares when Frank takes a threatening step forward, because they knew this could be nothing. They all did.

"Frank." Bob steps forward and grabs Frank's arm, stopping him getting closer. "Stop."

Frank does stop, and looks away from them all, staring toward the trees and a forest so big that even if this is the right van, and even if they were taken here, Mikey and Ryan could be anywhere. "We should look in there."

It's a logical suggestion, but just the thought of stepping into the trees makes Spencer feel cold, and the images of Ryan's dead body become stronger, enough that he's glad of the distraction when Jon says, "We should start here." He's standing at the end of well-used dirt path. Shadows from the trees flicker over his body and he looks solemn as he looks into the forest.

"I agree." Facing his fears head on, Spencer walks toward Jon, and starts to follow the path. It's immediately cooler, the light defused, and he can hear the others behind. They're all walking slowly, looking to either side and within seconds Spencer knows searching in here will take forever. There's mounds of old leaves and broken branches, multiple places where bodies could be concealed, and it's that thought that makes Spencer freeze, because he's thinking bodies, not people, and that's wrong.

Ryan is fine. He's fine.

Hand against the small of Spencer's back, Jon urges him forward. They keep searching.

~*~*~*~

Ryan stands close to the door, thigh and shoulder pressed against the wall, and knows if it wasn't for the support he'd crumple to the floor. His fingers ache from clutching the boot so tight and he glances at Mikey who's lying on the ground, the blankets beside him arranged into a vaguely human shape. It's a deception that'll give them seconds at best, but it's all they've got and Ryan listens to the sound of footsteps, knowing this could be the last minutes of his life.

The man is in the next room now. Ryan can hear him moving, and abruptly all his nerves flow away. If he does die he's going down fighting.

More footsteps. Closer. Closer. Closer. Ryan can hardly breathe.

The door handle starts to move.

Ryan lifts the boot higher.

The door opens, and as soon as the man steps into view, Ryan strikes. He screams and slams the boot against the man's head, keeps screaming when the man staggers but doesn't go down.

"You fucking bitch!" The man yells and strikes Ryan across the face as he brings up his gun, ready to shoot. Ryan always thought time would slow if he were facing death, but as he looks at the gun barrel so close to his head he realizes it doesn't. Instead it seems to speed up and Ryan finds himself slammed against the door-frame as Mikey throws himself at the man's back, causing him to fall forward against Ryan.

Taking the momentary distraction, Ryan attacks. There's no room to use the boot so he uses what he can, he bites; hard, and claws at the man's face. Ryan's fighting for their lives and he'll do anything, no matter how desperate. There's blood in his mouth as he kicks and knees the man in his crotch, causing him to gasp in pain and lean forward. Ryan looks over him and sees Mikey, his teeth bared as he fights.

Even then it's a fight they're not winning, no matter what they do the man refuses to go down. Ryan's feeling increasingly frantic when he feels metal and realizes he's touching the end of the gun. He grabs hold and pulls, trying to wrestle it out of the man's grasp. It doesn't work, he's holding too tight and Ryan's arm is burning, but he gives it one last desperate try.

Ryan's ears ring as the man shoots.

"Ryan!"

Mikey's yelling, looking horrified, but Ryan's not going to die. Not like this. He pushes at the man, and as soon as there's room, Ryan swings the boot, he puts everything in the swing, every bit of anger and fear, and this time the man goes down. Instantly Ryan kicks, aiming for his head.

"That's for Mikey, and me, and everybody else, you sick fuck." Panting, Ryan looks at the blood pooling on the ground, then reaches for Mikey, touching his arm. "Let's go."

They step into the other room, hurrying through the living room with the chintzy sofa and books on a shelf, and out onto the porch. Which is where they momentarily stop, taking in the dirt road that heads into a dense forest, the ominous clouds overhead and the black van that's parked in a small clearing.

"Think he left the keys in the ignition?" Mikey's limping badly as he walks, but he shakes his head when Ryan starts to move close. "Go check the van."

"Right." Ryan runs forward, and hopes that this time they're get a break. Taking hold of the drivers door handle, he pulls. It doesn't move. "Fuck!"

"He must be carrying them." Mikey's reached the van now, and is leaning heavily against the bonnet, his eyes widening when he looks fully at Ryan. "You're bleeding, a lot."

Ryan looks down, expecting the knife wounds to be bleeding again, but they're not, instead they're cut through with a bloody gouge along his right side. "Guess I got clipped by the bullet," Ryan says, and he can distantly feel the pain, pushed down under the need to get away. "I'm going inside to get the keys."

"Be careful," Mikey says, and Ryan's thankful that he's not protesting, because they need the keys if they stand any chance of getting away.

Going back inside the cabin feels like the stupidest thing Ryan's ever done. He creeps toward the front door, peering inside, and meets the eyes of the man, who's just pushing himself to his feet. Ryan turns, screams. "Run!"

~*~*~*~

They search the forest for over an hour and only turn back when it begins to rain. Thunder rumbles overhead and Spencer's soaked through, so miserable that all he can think is how stupid this is, going off on a wild-goose-chase on the flimsiest of leads. It had all seemed too positive back in the apartment, but now, with the rain steadily falling and the vastness of the area apparent, it just feels idiotic. Using the stick that he's carrying, Spencer disturbs a pile of old leaves, says, "We need to tell the police everything you know."

Gerard's carrying a stick too, and the top part has been stripped back. His fingernails are filthy and his clothes are speckled with shredded bark. "They won't believe us. They never do."

"Maybe they will now," Jon says. "You've...."

"What?" Frank whirls around so he's facing Jon. "You think now Ryan's gone they'll take notice? Because he's so much better than Mikey? That they have to look because it's him? Fuck that."

Jon shakes his head, calm even in the face of Frank's anger. "All I meant was you have more info now, and they can search better than us."

"He's right, we're not going to find them here." Gerard pushes his hair back off his face, leaving a smudge of dirt on his forehead.

"Then we'll go back," Bob says. "But not until we've checked out those roads."

Which is fine by Spencer, they're here anyway, they should check, even though he suspects it'll lead to another dead-end.

They walk back to Bob's car, the rain is becoming heavier and Spencer bows his head and tries to ignore how his inner thighs are chaffing as they hurry along the path. He half expects Bob to make a fuss about them getting inside when they're all so wet, but all he does is shake his head and slide into the driver’s seat, switching on the engine and heat as soon as they're all inside. Within minutes the car is warm and Spencer feels disgusting, hot and clammy as he tries to get comfortable, which is hard when all his clothes are clinging and his shoes squelching each time he moves.

"There should be towels in the back," Bob says, and Frank twists around, hanging over the back seat as he rummages in the trunk until he makes a triumphant sound and sits back down holding on to two towels. They're both ragged and suspiciously dirty, but Spencer gratefully takes the towel he's offered, rubbing it over his head. When his hair's as dry as it's going to get he rubs at his arms and then hands the towel to Jon, who vigorously scrubs at his hair, enough that when he emerges from under the towel his hair is sticking up on end.

Spencer can't help his smile. "Nice look."

"You know you're jealous," Jon says, and hands the towel to Bob who gives his hair a cursory wipe before throwing it over Spencer's head into the back.

"Ray's sent directions to the roads." Bob's looking from his cell to a map he's got spread over the dashboard. "I'll follow them all for while, see if we see something."

The probability of them seeing anything useful is slight, Spencer knows that, but it doesn't stop the anticipation that they could. His jeans rub painfully as he turns so he can look outside, the rain running in rivulets down the window and the wipers swishing as they pull out onto the road.

~*~*~*~

Mikey's arm is over Ryan's shoulder, Ryan holding him upright as they run. They're heading toward the trees that surround the cabin and everything seems pin-prick sharp, the swish of grass against Ryan's feet, the sound as they pant for air, the breeze that ruffles through Ryan's hair. His back prickles, and he expects to be shot at any moment, a bullet carving through bone and flesh. Ryan runs faster, hauling Mikey forward each time he stumbles.

"Keep going," Ryan gasps, and chances a look back. There's no one in view but it doesn't mean they're safe, the man could be anywhere, and all Ryan can think about is getting to the trees, where at least they'll have a chance to hide.

Reaching the outskirts of the forest is a relief but also provides a hindrance as the ground is covered with twigs and old leaves. There's a narrow path but Ryan doesn't lead them that way, instead he makes his own route, zig-zagging between trees and brushing past scrubby bushes that snag at his legs and arm. It's darker now, the sunlight blocked and the air feels clammy and oppressive.

Ryan's breathing hard but fear keeps him going well past the point of exhaustion. Mikey looks grey, visually shaking and Ryan's having to take more of his weight, until he's more carrying Mikey than actually providing support. Still he keeps running. Even when his chest burns and he's hurting so badly all he wants to do is lie down and never move. Which is why Ryan doesn't stop, because he knows once he does he won't want to get up again, and he can't do that. Not yet.

"Ryan." Mikey hasn't spoken for a while, and it takes a while for Ryan to hear him through his intense need to run run run. "Ryan, we need to stop."

"Wha'?" Ryan slows, and sways as he looks at Mikey.

"You're still bleeding."

Ryan looks down, and as if looking at the wound is acknowledging it at last, pain flairs white hot. He gently touches under the gouge and his skin is slick with blood, his right pants leg soaked through at the top. It looks like a lot of blood, and Ryan feels light-headed and sick.

"Don't faint on me now," Mikey says, and Ryan blinks hard and tries to stand up straight. It doesn't help and he falls forward, bringing Mikey with him so they both collapse to the ground. Winded, Ryan looks up a the canopy of trees and waits for the world to stop spinning as Mikey reaches out and rests his hand on Ryan's arm. "I guess we can rest here a while."

"A few minutes." Ryan watches the branches sway overhead. Exhaustion tugs at him, and fighting the urge to sleep, he seeks a distraction, something that's got nothing to do with deranged kidnappers or death or being stuck in a forest. "Do you have any pets?"

Mikey looks at Ryan as if he's insane, then shakes his head. "Not right now, Frank said I make enough mess with adding an animal into the mix."

"You live together, yeah?"

"You remembered." Mikey smiles and Ryan doesn't say he remembers everything about that night, from the moment Mikey invited him to sit until he left to walk home, glitter on his fingers and the taste of Mikey on his lips. "Yeah, we've got a place, it's a shithole but it's ours. He says no dogs or cats, though."

Ryan remembers Bess, the way she looks at him each morning. "That sucks, everyone should have a dog if they want one."

"Yeah, well." Mikey shrugs one shoulder. "He's got a point, but when I've a bigger place I'll have both. A cat that does tricks and a dog. I'm going to buy it clothes, a sweater at least for when it gets cold."

"Impressive." Clouds scuttle across the sky, visible in flashes through the trees. Even though he shouldn't, aware he's touching on secrets, Ryan says, "I've got a cat, well, share a cat, but I want a dog. One that'll always be mine and never leave."

"They're good at sticking around."

Ryan looks at Mikey then, says, "We should find shelter." The last thing Ryan wants to do is move. Lying down isn't comfortable, there's something hard digging in his back and his side still burns, but standing will be a thousand times worse. Not that they've got a choice, lying exposed like this isn't an option and they both need medical attention -- fast.

"That tree looks hollow." Mikey says, going with the diversion. He's looking at a nearby tree, the bottom twisted roots where the ground has worn away, there's a space there, small but hopefully big enough for them to hide while they plan. Steeling himself, Ryan sits.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Moving is everything he expected and more. Gritting his teeth, Ryan gets to his knees, then his feet, then holds out his hand to help Mikey stand.

Mikey looks up at him, dubious. "I'd just pull you back down."

"Well I'm not leaving you there," Ryan says, and keeps holding out his hand until Mikey reluctantly takes hold. When their hands are clasped together, Ryan pulls, pure bloody-mindness keeping him on his feet until Mikey's standing, balanced on one foot. A moment, then Ryan pulls Mikey's arm over his shoulder, and they head for the tree, stumbling slowly forward, until finally, they drop to their knees, and more fall into the space rather than crawl.

~*~*~*~

They've checked three of the five roads Ray marked, and are pulling up to the fourth. It's still raining, but lighter now, more a drizzle than the storm of before. Not that it matters, Spencer's not drying out at all, and each time they park up, everyone peering at the ground as if it'll give up some secret, he feels more uncomfortable. This road appears to be more of the same, Bob's pulled up on the verge and Gerard's crouched down, running his fingers over the ground.

"This pattern, it was at the first lay-by." Gerard looks up and beckons them over, and they all stand in a circle, watching as Gerard traces a pattern on the black tire mark left on the road. "See, it's got the same crosses and marks."

Spencer leans forward but he can't see any real distinguishable pattern, just black streaks and he can't help feeling that Gerard's seeing things that aren't really there.

"It looks like a black mark to me," Bob says, holding up his hands when Gerard starts to protest. "I'm not disagreeing, just saying I can't see it."

"I've got this feeling." Abruptly Gerard stands and looks along the road which disappears into the trees. "It's strong, really fucking strong. We should check it out."

"You had a feeling at the last road and it turned out to be nothing," Frank says, and he moves next to Gerard, so close they're touching. "I think we should go back."

"I. Just." Gerard's shoulders slump and he starts to walk back toward the car. "I guess."

"No. Wait," Spencer says, surprising even himself. The sensible thing would be to go back, to get in touch with the police and make them take over the search. But there's something, a feeling that's lodged deep inside that feels all Ryan. "We should see where the road goes."

"I agree." Jon's standing next to Spencer, a solid constant support. "We can turn back after a certain time."

Bob looks between Gerard and Frank as if deciding what to do, and Spencer wants to yell that he's got a say too, but Bob turns and gets into the car, says, "Ten minutes."

It's enough. Spencer waits until Jon climbs into the car and then follows, taking his usual place. The seat is wet, damp patches under his ass and against his back and it still feels too warm. As soon as Bob gets in he opens all the windows, and Spencer rests his hand on the door frame, rain misting against his face as they begin to drive.

"When I find him, I'm never letting Mikey out of the house." Gerard turns in his seat so he can look at Frank. "I mean it, I'm getting a fucking lock put on the door and he'll only go out if someone's with him."

"He'll try to get out," Frank says, and even from the few hours Spencer saw Mikey, he has to agree. Mikey doesn't look like someone who'd like to be trapped inside. "I'm going to use handcuffs, the fucker's going nowhere without me."

Bob glances over his shoulder. "You won't need them, I'm going to put iron bars on his window and door."

Bob sounds serious, Spencer leans forward, says, "When you've done that, can you do Ryan's room too?"

~*~*~*~

Ryan tucks up his knees and watches the rain. He insisted that Mikey sit closest to the tree, sheltered under the roots, but it hasn't stopped him shivering, and Ryan's frantic as he tries to think what to do. They can't stay here much longer, they're not hidden at all and the man could find them at any time. But even the thought of running again makes Ryan cringe. Except of course, they've got no choice.

"I'd kill for a coffee right now." Mikey's leaning forward, his hand cradled against his chest and his legs outstretched, his ankle even more swollen than before. "Coffee and some wings, the kind that leave grease on your fingers."

"Sounds good, but I'd go for pizza, the homemade kind." It's something they do at home, a quiet day and Spencer will create bases from scratch. He always gets flour down his clothes and makes this intent face as he kneads, like he's putting all his frustrations into the dough. It's Ryan's job to cut the vegetables and he likes the methodical chop of the knife as he fills bowls with mushrooms, peppers and tomatoes. Not onions though, he always leaves that to Jon, it's fun watching him try not to cry. Which leaves Brendon grating cheese, and every time he manages to grate his knuckles. Ryan would do anything to be there now, watching Spencer hide his smile as he sighs and gets out the band-aids.

"You cook?" Mikey says, and while his expression hasn't changed he manages to sound surprised.

"I chop," Ryan says. "It's an important part of the process."

"I'm sure it is." This time Mikey smiles, the slightest curl of his lip. "So, who does the rest? You never said who you live with."

"I share a place with three friends. My best friend Spencer, Brendon and Jon. Spencer's the cook."

"Spencer." Mikey looks past Ryan, as if he's trying to remember. "He's the one with the glare and sweet shoes."

"That's him." Ryan can't actually remember what shoes Spencer was wearing the night he met Mikey, but they'll be sweet, they always are. It's just one of Spencer's things, he's got his own style, and that means awesome shoes. Just thinking of that, how Spencer's closet floor is crammed with carefully arranged shoes, makes Ryan eyes prickle. He blinks, says, "It's our first place, me, Spencer and Brendon. We moved in there from home, then Jon came later, when another roommate didn't work out."

Mikey's watching intently, even as his eyes keep sliding closed and he lists to the side. "You like it there?"

"It's home," Ryan says simply.

Mikey nods, quiet as he keeps looking past Ryan. It's still raining and the ground looks slick, the tree branches drooping and the air's full of the scent of wet earth. "Ryan, you need to leave me behind."

"What, no!" It's an immediate reaction and one that Ryan means, no way is he leaving Mikey here. When they go they're going together, no matter what Mikey says.

"You have to." Mikey isn't raising his voice, but he sounds determined, even as his arm shakes as he keeps himself propped upright. "There's no way I'm getting back up, my ankle's fucked and I'll just slow you down."

"I'm not leaving you," Ryan insists. he's not. He's not leaving someone behind. "I'll help you, I can get us out of here, I can."

"No, Ryan," Mikey says, perfectly calm, and Ryan wants him to shout, to do anything but sit there looking so obviously ill. "I can't walk out of here and you can't carry me."

"I can try. I can..."

"Ryan." Mikey reaches out and grabs Ryan's hand. "I know you'd try and maybe we'd make it, but there's more chance if you go alone. You know that."

And that's the thing, because Ryan does know. It's painfully apparent that Mikey's not going anywhere under his own steam. It's taking him all his strength to talk and he's barely able to sit upright. Deep down Ryan knows he's got no choice, but even the thought makes him feel sick. He says quietly, "I don't think I can."

"You can," Mikey says. "You're going to get out of here and get us help. I know you can do it."

It's confidence Ryan doesn't feel, but he takes it anyway. Breathing past the lump in his throat he wraps his arms around Mikey, ensuring he only brushes their bodies together before standing with a groan. "I'll find someone, I'll come back for you. Promise."

Mikey looks at Ryan, says, "I know."

~*~*~*~

They drive for more than ten minutes, Spencer texting Brendon as they follow the narrow road, the trees so close the branches scrape against the side of the car. From the enthusiastic replies about Ray's awesome guitars and amazing music knowledge Spencer suspects Brendon's getting along with Ray just fine, which is a relief, and helps ease the guilt at leaving him behind, and having no news about Ryan. Spencer's explained they're following a feeling, but when it's put down in words it looks insane. His head is pounding when he hits send.

"I'm turning at the next clear spot." Spencer can't see Bob's face but he sounds tense, which isn't surprising, the road twists ahead, rising steeply upwards, and if they meet another vehicle there'll be no way to get past.

"We should keep going." Gerard's seat-belt is pulled tight as he leans forward, hands against the dash as he looks outside. It's how he's been sitting for almost five minutes, and he turns, pointing at the side of the road. "The branches are snapped, see, and that pattern was on the road. I think the van comes this way."

Bob shakes his head and glances at Gerard. "Anything could have snapped those branches, and it's been raining, there's nothing to see."

"I can see," Gerard says, sounding frustrated. "I've been watching."

"Even if you have, who's to say it's the right van?" Bob's plainly pointing out truths, but despite his gruff demeanor Spencer sees how he reaches out and squeezes Gerard's knee. "It's time to go back, Gee."

"No. I think. I can." Gerard runs his fingers through his hair then turns so he can look in the back. "Spencer, what do you think?"

Surprised, Spencer tries to think what to say. The feeling that Ryan is still out there is strong, but he can't help wondering if he's grasping at straws, mistaking the constant burn of loss for something else entirely. It would be easy to say go back, to demand the police do something, walk the streets searching, do anything but sit in this car -- except that feeling is there. "I think we should keep going, a little while at least."

Gerard doesn't smile, but the relief is there as he turns to Bob, who says, "Fine."

They keep driving, and the road gets steeper, twisting around on itself at times so that Bob's swearing under his breath, finally, they turn a corner and see a cabin, one with a black van parked outside.

"I knew it." For an instant Gerard sounds triumphant, but that abruptly changes as he starts to open the door, despite the fact they're still moving.

"Jesus Christ, Gerard." Bob yells, as Frank grabs for Gerard's shoulders stopping him from jumping outside.

"Mikey could be in there."

"And so could the fucker who took him," Bob says. Which makes sense and Spencer takes his own hand off the door handle, but it's hard, because Ryan. All Spencer wants to do is run inside.

"We should phone the police now." Jon's already opening his cell but stops dialing when Frank opens his door, tumbling outside as soon as they stop.

"Phone if you want, I'm going in."

Despite Bob's protests, within seconds everyone is outside. Jon's still holding his phone but he's stopped dialing and Spencer starts to walk toward the cabin, Gerard and Frank at his side.

"You're all morons," Bob says, and moves so he's in walking in front. "We could be shot where we stand."

"Or we could find Mikey," Gerard says, and starts to run.

"Seriously, morons." Bob starts to run too, but they're both overtaken by Frank, who sprints ahead to the cabin, and starts pounding on the door.

"That can't be good." Jon's running at Spencer's side, looking concerned as he watches Frank. "He's going to get us killed or arrested."

Spencer keeps running, his feet thudding against the wooden steps. There's no one answering the door and Spencer stands at the edge of the group, looking around. Apart from the drips of water everything is quiet and it should be a beautiful scene, sunlight filtering through the dark clouds, the woods pressing close, but things feel wrong. Like there's something out of place that Spencer can't quite see. He keeps looking, and cold floods his body, twisting out from his spine when he notices the dark stains on the floor, and toward the back of the cabin, a long row of disturbed earth.

Spencer gulps and reaches for the railing, says, "Look."

"No no no." Gerard shakes his head, impossibly white and he pushes Frank aside so he can try the door. "Mikey! Mikey! Are you in there?!"

The door opens, and Gerard almost falls inside. Steadying himself, he rushes in, and Spencer braces himself for the sound of a gun, screams, anything, but there's nothing and he follows everyone inside, where he finds Gerard standing next to an open door, looking so stricken that Spencer isn't sure he wants to see what's inside.

"Gerard?" Frank says quietly, and he darts forward when Gerard suddenly goes down. Spencer's first thought is he's fainted, but Gerard's standing back up, leaning heavily against Frank, a boot cradled against his chest.

"It's Mikey's. He's here. Was here. Mikey!" Brushing Frank off, Gerard starts to move out of the doorway, heading for the other room, but Bob grabs him, hauling him towards outside.

"He's not in there, promise." Bob's holding tight to Gerard, looking grim and slightly green, which frightens Spencer more than anything he's seen so far. "Frank, sit with Gee. Jon. Can you phone the police? Tell them... tell them they need to get up here. Spencer...."

"I'm staying here," Spencer says, and Bob looks at him for a long moment before he nods.

"I can come with you," Jon's standing close to Spencer, looking frightened, and Spencer should tell him to stay, because Ryan's Jon's friend too, but Spencer needs to do this alone. For now anyway. He shakes his head and Jon says, "I'll be right here."

When Jon starts to dial, Spencer looks around, taking in the details he missed before. The blood stains on the floor, the lock on one door, shiny metal that's wrong against the wood, but mostly he notices the smell. It's cloying and Spencer has to steel himself before he walks toward one of the open doors. He looks inside and sees a windowless room, a pile of filthy blankets on the floor, an overturned bucket and a messy heap of shoes and clothes thrown in one corner. Fighting the urge to hurl, Spencer takes a step inside, and the air is thick, blood, shit and piss and Spencer's desperately hoping Ryan was never here when he sees the shirt.

Crying out, Spencer drops to his knees and picks up the shirt; or part of it anyway. The part with the logo of Ryan's pet shop, stained with blood and Spencer brings it to his face, surprised when he feels tears against his fingers.

"Ryan's?"

Spencer looks up and sees Bob standing in the doorway, looking ghostly pale. Spencer drops his hands but keeps the shirt clenched between his fingers, thinks RyanRyanRyan as he says, "Mikey?"

"No sign, but the other room, there's, there's this table and...." Bob runs, his hand over his mouth, and Spencer keeps kneeling on the floor, the piece of Ryan's shirt held tight in his hands.

~*~*~*~

All Ryan can think is run!. He's stumbling over the slick ground, his feet skidding on the wet leaves and vines that seem intent on snagging his feet. Everything hurts, breathing hurts, and he's wet through and cold, except for his side which burns from ribs to thigh. Sometimes he slows, listening for sounds of pursuit, but each time he can hear nothing but his own heart beating too fast, too loud.

Ryan wants to stop. Collapse to the ground. Curl up and sleep.

He runs.

Falls to his knees when his foot gets caught under some kind of trailing vine. Lands heavily and gets back up.

Ryan's hands are filthy, mud over blood, a leaf stuck over the tattoo on his wrist. He peels it off, lets it drift to the ground.

He's got no idea where he's going. Just knows he has to keep going down.

Down. Down. Down. Don't stop. Won't stop. Because Mikey needs help.

Ryan's hair hangs in his face and he pushes it back, then skids, falling once again.

And Ryan's done. Done. Fucking done. He can't get up. He can't. It hurts too much and he clenches his fists and tries not to cry.

It takes a while, enough that Ryan's shaking with the effort to maintain control.

He stands. Slowly. Painfully. Runs again, until finally. Finally. Ryan thinks he hears something.

Changing direction slightly, he slows down, expecting to the see the man at any time.

He doesn't. What Ryan finds is a road.

Ryan steps out, and brakes screech as he holds up his hands.

~*~*~*~

Spencer's leaning against the bonnet of Bob's car, Ryan's shirt held in his hands as he watches Gerard get questioned again. While it's impossible to hear what he's saying he's obviously angry, enough that both Frank and Bob are on alert, tense as they stand close to Spencer. When Gerard starts to yell they both run.

"I tried to tell you. We all did. I came to the fucking station every day for two weeks and each time you wouldn't listen. What did you expect us to do?" Gerard's still, the only color in his face the spots of red in his cheeks. When the detective questioning him says something inaudible, Gerard takes a step back, his hands in his hair. "Don't you dare, don't you fucking dare. We found this place because we were looking for Mikey. I wouldn't hurt him, this has nothing to do with me, with any of us and if you did your fucking jobs instead of being assholes you'd know that."

Bob steps forward then, taking Gerard's arm, and while he's not speaking, the look he gives the detective says everything as he steers Gerard away and back to the car where they've all been ordered to wait.

"He asked me where I was when Mikey went missing, if I'd argued with him. They're digging up fucking graves and Mikey could be in there and they're asking me if I'd hurt him. I couldn't. I'd never." Agitated, Gerard tries to pull away from Bob, but then stops, his voice quieting. "I wouldn't, you know that, right? I'd never hurt him, he's Mikey."

"They don't know what they're talking about," Frank says angrily, and he moves next to Gerard, pulling him close. "They don't know, but we do."

"I know, I know." Gerard leaning heavily against Frank, watching as white-suited people carefully explore the graves to the side of the cabin. "I just wish they'd stop asking stupid questions and tell us something."

Which is something Spencer agrees with. As soon as the police arrived they were shooed away from the cabin and had to watch as more vehicles arrive. Crime scene investigators and uniformed police and detectives that keep asking questions that should have been asked weeks and days before. The worst thing is they're being told nothing. All they can do is wait, watching as clear bags of evidence are brought out of the cabin and each minute that passes Spencer's more sure Ryan is dead. He has to be, Spencer saw that room, the blood stained walls and floor, the table and the row of knives. They're all images that are burned into Spencer's mind, and the longer he's made to wait the more he adds Ryan into the memory. Struggling as he's tied to the table, screaming as a knife cuts into his skin.

"I'm going to make them tell me something." Spencer can't wait another second and he looks for the head detective, the one that keeps asking questions and ordering that they stay in one place. It takes a while to find her, the area around the cabin is crowded with people, but when he does Spencer strides forward, Jon at his side. It takes a while to bypass the crowds of people and get close, and when they do Detective Barratt is holding a walkie-talkie, listening to someone talk.

He needs urgent medical attention but he insists he needs to be there to help. I can take him to the nearest hospital, he's in no condition to resist.

Spencer stills, his heart beating painfully fast, he steps forward, ignoring the frown Barratt sends his way. "They've found someone? Have they found Ryan? Tell me!" Spencer wants to grab her and shake until she answers, because he was so sure, so sure Ryan was dead. "Please."

Barratt looks at Spencer, her expression softening slightly as she talks. "Bring him up here." She hands the walkie-talkie to a uniformed officer and turns to Spencer. "It appears Mr. Ross managed to escape, he's being brought here now."

Spencer wants to yell or scream or laugh. He wants to fall to the ground and cry. "He's alive. Ryan's alive." Spencer turns to Jon, who looks stunned. "He's alive!"

Jon grabs him then, spinning Spencer around so that Barratt has to step smartly back. When he's back on solid ground Spencer can't stop grinning, until he sees Gerard running over, Bob and Frank right behind. Guilt flaring he looks at Barratt. "Is there news about Mikey?"

She waits until the others are close, says, "I can't release that information at the moment, if you wait..."

"No," Gerard says, and while he's not yelling, he's not moving either, standing and staring at Barratt. "If you know something, tell me. I need to know, it's been weeks. I can't, I can't keep waiting."

Barratt tilts her head, looking at Gerard, then finally. "According to Mr. Ross, your brother was alive when he left him. It's why he's insisting he come back up here. We're sending out our own search parties but Mr. Ross was adamant he can lead us there faster."

"So Mikey's alive," Gerard says, and when he sways both Frank and Bob grab hold of his upper arms.

"The last we know, yes," Barratt says, her tone brisk, but she's looking at Gerard, how he's biting at his thumb nail as he watches the road that emerges from the trees. "The car will arrive in a few minutes, you can wait here."

She walks away, and Spencer turns to Jon, says, "Brendon. We..."

"Already on it." Jon's got his phone next to his ear, and no one speaks as he says, "Brendon. He's alive."

Brendon's yells are easily heard, and Spencer can imagine him running around the room, probably in some kind of dance with Ray. Then Jon's smile fades. "We don't know yet, he was; Ryan's going to help us find him."

Spencer feels cold as Jon keeps talking, because he's realizing even if Ryan's alive he doesn't know if he's okay. Spencer needs to see him and his stomach is churning as Jon ends the call and then slips his arm around Spencer. Keeping him close as they wait.

It seems to take hours for the car to arrive, but eventually, when Spencer's about out of his mind, a car appears, heading toward the others that are parked up close to the cabin. There's no chance Spencer can wait. He runs, arriving as the car slows to a halt and he's tugging at the back door handle, desperate to get inside. It opens, and Spencer's half in half out the car, his knee jammed against something metal as he grabs hold of Ryan and holds on.

"I thought you were dead," Spencer says, his face against Ryan's neck, breathing him in as Ryan grabs hold, his arms around Spencer as he clings on, his breathing hard and wet.

"Spence. Spencer." Spencer finally pulls back a little when Ryan wiggles. "I need to go get Mikey."

"Right, sorry," Spencer says, and he backs out of the car, his hand always on Ryan as he gets out of the car.

It takes him a while, Ryan's movements are slow and deliberate, and when he stands Spencer sees he's wearing an over-sized rain slicker, the arms hanging well over Ryan's hands. His pants are torn and his face bruised and filthy. Spencer wants to scoop him up and insist he go to the hospital, especially when Ryan's knees buckle and he needs to rest against the car.

Spencer moves forward. "I think you need...."

"I need to go get Mikey," Ryan interrupts, standing still when Jon gathers him in a hug. For a moment Ryan holds on, his head against Jon's neck, then he stands straight, his hand pressed against his side as he looks past Jon to Gerard. "You're Gerard right? I promised Mikey, well, lots of things, but the important one is I'd go back for him."

"He's alive," Gerard says, his eyes glittering. "Mikey's okay."

"He's a little bashed up." Ryan's blank expression flickers, and maybe Gerard doesn't see it, but Spencer does. It makes him worry about what they're going to find and selfishly he wishes Ryan would just leave, but he's already pushing himself upright and shuffling toward Barratt, who's looking stern as she approaches.

"Didn't I tell you not to run around the site? It's too dangerous to wander." She glares at Spencer, but when she looks at Ryan she's sympathetic, keeping out of his personal space. "Mr. Ross, we have dogs and trackers on their way. If you need to go to the hospital."

"I need to go find Mikey," Ryan says, and he crosses his arms across his chest, his back toward the cabin. "He's waiting for me."

"I understand, I'll gather my people to go with you."

Ryan shakes his head and starts to walk. "Tell them to follow me."

Barratt looks like she's going to protest but Ryan's walking so slowly she catches up easily, her team spreading out around them at all sides. Concerned, Spencer walks close to Ryan, sure he's about to fall, sure it's more a matter of when than if. Ryan's breathing hard, his expression set and feet dragging as he heads through the clearing toward the trees, never looking anywhere but forward. Even if he did look back he'd see nothing but Gerard, Frank and Bob, Jon and Spencer at his side, surrounding Ryan in silent support as they make their way into the forest.

It's cool in there and the ground is soggy, Spencer's shoes squelch with each step and Ryan's slowing even more, his hands trembling as he looks around. Spencer isn't sure what he's looking for, everything looks the same to him, but Ryan's seeing something, and finally, what seems like an endless time later and when Spencer's about to say, enough. Ryan darts forward.

"Mikey!"

At first Spencer doesn't see him, then through a tangle of gnarled tree roots he makes out someone curled up and motionless, the remains of one of Ryan's t-shirts spread over his chest.

"Oh god, Mikey!" Gerard runs past Ryan and drops to his knees. He reaches out and rests his hand against Mikey's neck, keeps it there, tears already falling as he looks for Frank and Bob.

It's then that Ryan crumples.

Part 3

Comments

[turlough]

Ryan steps out, and breaks screech as he holds up his hands.

I'm pretty sure that should be "brakes", right?

Yes, I'm reading it - I was so bored this evening ;-)

[turps33.livejournal.com]

That should totally be brakes. Ack. Thank you.

I'm surprised, enjoy the Gerard *g*

[gala-apples.livejournal.com]

YES. YES YES YES. MIKEY'S SWEET ASS BOOTS SAVE THE DAY. well, and ryan and mikey, but mostly SWEET ASS BOOTS TO THE RESCUE!!! And Brendon giving Jon his shoes because you can't help people in flip flops. And Gerard should have decked that asshole cop. And Bob having no faith but Spencer and Gerard make sure they keep going! And they're RIGHT!!!

[turps33.livejournal.com]

They do! Mikey and Ryan are both fierce, and have some amazing friends.

I wish they could have decked that ass-hole cop, though.