Standing on the Grave of Dreams 2/5

[turps]

Ryan examines his tiny stall in the pen, making sure it's set up to his liking. There's a narrow metal bed jammed in one corner, fresh sweet-smelling straw strewn over the grass and Ryan's bag half hidden under the trailing black sheets, in easy reach for when Ryan needs to grab hold of his grease. By the end of the night he won't need it, fucked loose and sloppy after a parade of men, but at first it's always a necessity, and he's learned to keep it close.

Brushing his hand over the sheet, he sits on the edge of the bed, needing this quiet time to get ready for the night. He can hear people walking outside, their footsteps clumping against the floor as they attend to last finishing touches. The fabric that's tacked up on the viewing area walls, the price lists for extras pinned to the entrance, faded velvet cushions dropped onto the chairs. Ryan runs his hands through his hair, slicking it back then looks up when he hears a hesitant knock at the door.

"Can we come in?"

Brendon, and Ryan can't help the pang of irritation that his quiet time is being interrupted. "Come in."

The door opens and Brendon comes inside, followed by Jon. Already crowded, the space seems even smaller with three people inside and Ryan shuffles to the end of the bed, and jerks his head to the side, indicating that one of them should sit down. It's Jon that does so while Brendon remains standing, shifting from foot to foot and looking uncomfortable in his costume.

Brendon tugs at his tunic, trying to pull it down so it meets his pants. "They gave us stalls, mine's next door, Jon across the aisle."

Ryan nods, he'd expected as much and it's not like there's many stalls to choose from, even if Brendon and Jon weren't new and needed to be kept close. Ryan picks at a loose thread on the sheet, feeling uncomfortable when Brendon says nothing else, but keeps glancing at Ryan, until Ryan says, "Is there something you wanted to know?"

"I guess," Brendon draws out the word and looks miserably at Jon. "It's just. Rolof showed us the viewing area and our stalls, and they're cool, I mean, black sheets are awesome. It's just. After. I don't. I mean. My parents are religious, like a lot, and they believe in the teachings, you know, that sex brought down the world and I'll do it. I will. Just. I haven't."

Confused, Ryan tries to understand what Brendon's actually saying and then takes a sudden sharp intake of breath when he adds things together. "Tell me you've had sex before."

Brendon looks toward the ground, his cheeks flushed.

"Are you insane?!" Ryan hisses, and bites back the urge to scream at Brendon and tell him how stupid he is, how fucking reckless with his own life. "I thought you two were together. Why would you even join somewhere like this if you're a virgin?"

Brendon looks up, anger bleeding through his humiliation. "We're friends and the fair sounded better than the labor camps, we had to choose somewhere."

Which Ryan understands, he does, but Brendon doesn't get that anywhere would be better than this place. He turns to Jon. "You've had sex, right?"

"I have," Jon says, and that's one less worry for Ryan as he frantically thinks of ways to protect Brendon.

Ryan stands and looks over the short door to the stall, already the viewing platforms have been set up, the tables and chairs grouped in the middle of the room. Soon the first of the johns will arrive and once that happens Brendon's on his own. There's only one thing Ryan can do. Brushing past Brendon and Jon he pulls out his bag and takes out the small tub of grease, handing it over to Brendon. "You need to prepare yourself with this. Now."

Brendon takes the pot but makes no attempt to move. "I cant take this, you'll need it."

"Not as much as you," Ryan says, and adds when Brendon still doesn't move. "You do know what to do with it?"

Brendon's posture is rigid as he snaps back. "Yes I know."

"Well go and do it then, the johns won't ease you into it."

For a moment Brendon stares back at Ryan, then he abruptly leaves the stall and almost runs the few steps to his own. When Ryan hears the squeak of the bed springs he sits on his own bed, deliberately not looking at Jon and trying not to listen to the soft sounds he can hear through the thin wall.

~~~~

The viewing area is little more than a dressed up name for what is in reality a few raised platforms covered in dirty thread-bare orange material. It's a place where the performers are forced to stand and be viewed like animals by the men who cluster together around the tables making obscene remarks, as if by paying the coins to get in makes them somehow superior. Personally Ryan thinks it makes them pathetic.

The crowd tonight is varied, a group of men who seem more intent on drinking the heavily marked up beer than actually having sex. An old man, stooped over and leaning heavily on his cane as he selects Ronan and escorts him back to his stall. Then finally, a man wearing his best clothes who keeps to the edge of the group and keeps stealing hesitant looks at Brendon. Ryan hopes that he'll bite, while he's been wrong at times mostly he's a good judge of the johns and that one is the best one here, with none of the cruelty in his expression that Ryan's learned to fear.

When the man looks away Ryan takes a side step closer to Brendon and says under his breath. "That john, the one with the eye glasses. Smile at him, he's interested."

Jerkily, Brendon nods, and when the man looks again he gives his best smile, so wide and bright that Ryan's not surprised when the john immediately comes forward, taking Brendon's arm. A frantic look at Ryan and Jon, and then Brendon's stepping down, looking small and afraid before he stands up straight and smiles a smile that's obviously false if anyone bothered to look close. The john doesn't, just keeps hold of Brendon's arm as they walk toward the door to the stalls.

Which leaves Ryan and Jon, and Ryan plasters on his own smile, hoping he'll attract one of the beer drinkers who're finally taking interest in something other than their drinks. Not bothering to lower their voices they debate as a group who would be better, the skinny looking fag or the one who's ugly with a fuckable ass. As they keep talking Ryan imagines punching them hard in the face, blood flowing and teeth loosened, anger helping push back the misery of seeing Jon's smile fade as the group discuss each perceived fault.

"I'm taking the skinny one!" One of the men drains his glass and then stands, sending his chair crashing to the ground. Unsteadily he walks forward and grabs Ryan by the wrist, tugging him from the platform. "I'm going to rock your world, show you what sex with a real man is like."

It's a line Ryan hears daily and he keeps his smile fixed as they walk back to the stall, the john pawing at Ryan's clothes. When they pass Brendon's stall Ryan can't help looking inside. Usually he wouldn't, the unspoken rules of the performers to give the illusion of privacy any way that they can, but he needs to know Brendon's okay. At first it's impossible to tell. Brendon's kneeling on the bed, his head down and face pushed against the sheets while his pants are lying crumpled on the straw and his tunic has slipped up his body, exposing the long line of his back.

Concerned, Ryan looks at the john who's got his eyes closed and one hand braced against the wall as he slams into Brendon, making him jerk forward with each thrust. He's also whimpering with each thrust, and while Ryan hates the sound at least it tells him Brendon's alive.

"Come on, princess, my cock's primed and ready to go." Ryan's john crowds close, his breath sour as he bites at Ryan's neck. "I paid plenty and I intend to get my money's worth."

"You'll get it," Ryan says, and draws on all his skills to become Willow, because Willow doesn't gag when he's clumsily kissed, or fight back when he's thrown back on the bed, bouncing up once before the john lies on top, weighing him down. Willow's able to keep breathing when his pants are pulled down and a thick finger jammed up his ass, pain searing inside and an involuntary whimper turned into a seductive moan. Willow's able to wrap his legs around the john's back, pretending he loves it as he's fucked hard, his head slamming against the wall as the john yells obscenities obviously designed to be heard. Willow's able to lie still when the john sneers and wipes his flaccid cock against Ryan's hip.

Willow can keep going as Ryan wipes himself down and pulls on his pants before going back out to do it again.

~*~*~*~

When the last john finally leaves Ryan feels wrung out and raw. His thighs ache and his mouth feels swollen as he uses a handful of straw to wipe the come off his stomach. It's an inefficient way to wash up but it's all Ryan's got at the moment, a time when he feels so dirty he'd do anything to feel clean. Throwing the soiled straw in the corner Ryan fastens his tunic and gingerly bends to pick up his bag, looping it over his shoulder. Running his hand through his hair he knows he's as tidy as he's going to be, and steps out of the stall and walks to the one next door. He knows Brendon's in there, Jon too, Ryan's heard them talking for the last few minutes.

"Brendon," Ryan says, and knocks on the wooden wall.

Brendon looks up from where he's half-reclining on the bed, his legs bent and propped on one hip. "Not Brendon. Apollo."

"Sorry," Ryan says, understanding Brendon's need to distance himself from what he's just done. "Apollo. I'm going to wash up and grab something to eat."

"We're coming." Jon's sitting next to Brendon, bent forward slightly as if he's been talking in whispers. When he stands Jon's movements are sluggish and he yawns wide as he rubs at his eyes. "Where do we sleep? I'm exhausted."

Ryan steps away from the door and further into the space between the pens, his shadow stretching out long and dark due to the harsh artificial lights. "It depends, you can sleep here if you want but most people go back to the cages." Which is where Ryan always sleeps, even if it's colder and uncomfortable at least he's away from the stink of sweat and sex.

"Works for me." Jon edges past Ryan, limping slightly as he makes for the exit.

"Me too," Brendon says, no hint of his former cheer remaining as he makes to follow Jon. While he's not surprised Ryan can't help feeling a pang of loss as they walk through the empty viewing area, the tables covered in dirty glasses and half-eaten food ground into the floor. The door to outside is propped open and a cool breeze makes the fabric on the walls ripple like an angry ocean. Stepping outside Ryan takes a deep breath and inhales deeply, trying to shake off the previous hours.

As opposed to earlier the only people visible are moving slowly now, most of them performers heading off to eat and wash. Ryan nods at Wolf and Hare who work the arena, Alex who sells buttered popcorn from a red-striped cart, Jem who can suck his own cock and proves it when asked. They're all people Ryan knows and yet doesn't at all. He's aware of how they look naked, how they act when they're being fucked, but not what they like or even their actual real names. There are only a few people Ryan knows like that, and he's relieved to see Mikey and Pete heading for the kitchen.

"Willow." Despite his black-eye and split lip Pete grins when they get close. "How are you this beautiful night?"

"Wondering if you've been at the happy pills again," Ryan replies and yelps when Pete grabs him before dancing them around in a circle. "Now I know you've been at the happy pills."

"Just high on life." Pete stops the dance, dipping Ryan with a final flourish as he says quietly. "I've news."

It's uncomfortable looking at Pete from this position, and Ryan stands upright, positive this is about Spencer. "Tell me."

Pete gives Ryan a look and squeezes his hand before turning to Mikey. "Go and grab us some food, and that means for you too," he looks at Brendon and Jon, adding. "Make sure he gets something for himself."

Mikey frowns. "I don't need a babysitter," and his voice is little more than a gruff whisper.

Sympathetic, Ryan looks at Mikey's neck, unsurprised to see the ring of bruises. "Another breathplay novice?"

"The fucker about killed me," Mikey rasps. "I had to knee him in the nuts to get him to stop."

"I hope it was hard," Jon says, and takes a step closer to Mikey, his expression darkening as he looks at the bruises. "He tried to choke you?"

Mikey tilts his head to the side, exposing more of his neck. "He'd read about auto-erotic asphyxiation and wanted to try it out. It's no big deal."

"How can you say that?" Jon reaches out, and when Mikey doesn't pull away, gently touches a dark bruise. "He could have killed you."

Mikey shrugs. "But he didn't."

Jon opens his mouth as if he's going to protest but Pete cuts him off by giving Mikey a smacking kiss on the cheek before linking arms with Ryan. "I see you're in good hands, I'm off to chat with Willow."

Abruptly, Jon takes a step back. "I wasn't. I know you're together. You don't have to worry."

Pete's smile fades and he looks utterly serious. "Shadow's more than capable of looking after himself. I don't worry."

Which is one of the biggest lies Ryan's ever heard Pete utter, but he also knows Mikey can look after himself so he tugs at Pete's arm and says, "You wanted to talk?"

"I did," Pete says, and he blows a kiss to Mikey before walking away.

They're almost back at the pens before Pete actually talks, long enough that Ryan feels like he's about to jump out of his skin, worried that Pete's concealing some bad news. That Spencer's not going to be let out or transferred to another fair, anything that'll keep him away from Ryan. Then Pete does talk, and says something that Ryan could never have expected.

"I'm getting Mikey out of here."

"What?!" Pete's unlinked their arms and Ryan turns to face him, trying to understand what he means. "How? No one gets out of here alive."

"I've been planning." Pete says, and he looks at the ground, his arms wrapped around his own body as if needing the scant warmth. "A while back Mikey told me about his brother. They lived in New Jersey together, and then. Well, stuff happened and Mikey ended up here."

"He never said."

"He only told me a few times," Pete says. "But I remembered, and when I knew we were traveling close to where the brother lived I called in some favors."

Ryan thinks of all the trades that Pete makes, the careful way he's built up a network of contacts and can't help wondering how long he's been working toward this point. "They found him?"

"They found him," Pete repeats, and when he looks at Ryan his expression is fierce. "Mikey loves his brother, Ryan. Fucking loves him and none of this should have happened. He shouldn't have been here, he shouldn't think it's okay if some fucking pervert tries to choke him. Gerard's coming here tomorrow, and I don't care what it takes but he'll be taking Mikey home."

"Mikey's brother's coming here?" Ryan can think of a thousand ways this could go wrong, but Pete looks determined, as if he's sure this is the right thing to do.

"I've sent a message to request a private room with me, that way he won't see Mikey by mistake."

Ryan holds up his hand, trying to keep up with Pete's plans. "He doesn't even know about Mikey?"

"What was I supposed to say? Send him a note telling him the brother he hasn't seen for years is a whore in a traveling sex fair. This way I can soften the blow."

Ryan can't imagine that the blow will be softened by being told in person. This Gerard is still going to find out that his brother is a whore, and that's going to hurt no matter which way he's informed. Then there's Pete, and Ryan's heart clenches when it begins to sink in that Pete's going to try and send Mikey away. "What about you?"

"What about me?" Pete asks, his expression set.

"Don't bullshit me, Pete," Ryan says. "You know exactly what I mean. You're always together. Are you going to go, too?"

Pete shakes his head and tucks his hands under his armpits, trying to hide how they're minutely shaking. "I'm staying here. As far as Gerard knows I'm just someone that knows Mikey, nothing special to him at all."

"But you can't," Ryan protests, because the thought of Mikey and Pete separated is wrong. "You're always together, he needs you."

"What he needs is his family, and I'm getting that for him." Pete pulls in a shaky breath and then fixes on a false smile, as if he can distract Ryan from how miserable Pete actually is. "I was talking to Rolof. Spencer's getting out tomorrow, he's going back in red but at least he'll be out of solitary."

Relief leaves Ryan weak at the knees and he leans against the side of a booth. "Did he say when?"

"After breakfast. They want him ready for the afternoon session."

It's not what Ryan wanted, but he knows it's the best result he's going to get. There's no way Horace will let Spencer back into amber, not when he's still smarting about Ryan scaring potential performers away.

Pete's watching Ryan's reaction, and he says, "We'll look after him."

"I know you will," Ryan says, that's something that he's never doubted. Just, it's his job to look after Spencer and right now he can't. But it doesn't mean he can't be there when Spencer's let out. "You said after breakfast."

Pete nods. "After Rolof's eaten."

One more sleep. A few hours. Ryan can do that.

~~~~~

If he could Ryan would stuff the bread in Rolof's mouth and then chew it for him. Instead he sits and picks at his own watery bowl of porridge, trying to force some down. It's not going well, Ryan's too nervous to eat and when Rolof finally clears his plate Ryan thrusts his bowl at Brendon. "You can have this."

Brendon's kneeling, his own bowl held close to his chest and he looks confused when he's suddenly holding two. "Aren't you hungry?"

Ryan's already standing, watching as Rolof makes his way over to Pete. For a moment they talk, Pete looking bored as he rubs the side of his sandal into the grass. It's only because Ryan's watching so closely that he sees the sudden flash of anger from Pete. It makes Ryan anxious, worried that something's gone wrong and Spencer's not going to be let out. Then Pete looks over and jerks his head and Ryan's following as they exit the eating area.

"You're pushing it, Willow." Rolof looks over his shoulder, seemingly unsurprised to see Ryan. "Sunshine belongs in red now."

What Ryan wants to say is Spencer belonged to Ryan first, but he bites his tongue, unwilling to give Rolof an excuse to send him away. "I won't interfere, I just want to see if Sunny's okay."

Rolof shrugs. "Whatever."

After that they walk the rest of the way in silence, even Pete's being quiet, only nodding greetings to people they meet on the way. When they get to the wagon Ryan feels another wash of anger but is careful to hide it away. Deliberately he keeps back as Rolof pulls out a huge bunch of keys, sorting through them all before holding up one of the smallest. The wagon rocks as Rolof stands on the step, unlocking the door, then yawns.

"I'm going back to bed. Make sure he's in the pens for opening." Stepping back down, Rolof walks away, never looking back as Ryan springs forward and Pete opens the door.

"Spencer?"

Ryan pushes past Pete, needing to get Spencer. It's cold in there, the early morning sun doing nothing to take the chill from the metal walls. Already feeling claustrophobic Ryan breathes through his mouth, his eyes watering at the strong scent from the full piss bucket in one corner. Hunched over, Ryan reaches inside and grabs Spencer, who's lying curled on the floor, his hands together and pressed against his chest.

"Spencer," Ryan repeats, and he knows Spencer is alive, he can see him breathing, but that still doesn't stop the sheer rush of terror as he shakes Spencer's shoulder.

"Um." Spencer opens his eyes to slits, then wider when he sees Ryan. "Ryan. What?"

"You're being let out," Ryan says, and hooks his hands under Spencer's armpits and starts to pull. "Come on."

Spencer tries to help, pushing himself with his feet, but even through his obvious relief he stops helping before they get to the door to outside and gives Ryan a searching look. "Does Horace know about this?

It's an understandable question. Spencer wouldn't even be here if Ryan hadn't keep pushing, trying to scare people away while challenging Horace's authority, but Ryan's also learnt his lesson. He's never going to do anything that could hurt Spencer again. Ryan says, "He knows."

"Good," Spencer grits out, his teeth clenched and eyes screwed shut as Ryan helps him out.

"Hey," Pete says, reaching for Spencer and helping Ryan hold him upright. Head down and legs shaking, Spencer tries to stand but each time he fails and Ryan's vowing vengeance on Horace, on Rolof, anyone that helped put Spencer in isolation.

"Ryan." Spencer manages to lift his head and looks at Ryan through a tangle of his dirty hair. Ryan reaches up and pushes it out of the way, needing to see Spencer's face. "Ryan. I'll be fine."

"He will be," Pete agrees, when Ryan can't speak through the fury that's gathering in his chest. "I've stuff in the red engine. Food, meds, he'll be good to go soon."

"Right," Ryan manages to say, and he tightens his hold on Spencer, uncaring of the lingering stench of piss or how Spencer's hand is filthy against Ryan's chest.

Getting back to the red engine takes much longer than Ryan would like. By the time they're half way there Spencer's wincing with each step and Ryan can only imagine how his body must be hurting, muscles forced to work after so much time cramped in a small space. If Spencer would allow it Ryan would have scooped him up and carried him, but the one thing Spencer's got left is his pride. If he needs to walk back Ryan will support him all the way, even if it takes hours.

Thankfully it doesn't, and even if Spencer's whole body is trembling by the time they get back he's still on his feet, smiling when he sees Mikey sitting by the red engine, a bucket of water at his side.

"Spencer." Mikey pushes himself up and taps the bucket with his foot, making the water ripple. "I figured you'd want a wash, and there's food inside."

"Awesome." Spencer's smile widens and he looks genuinely pleased as he carefully lowers himself to the ground and dips his hand in the bucket. "It's warm."

Mikey sits in the entrance to the cage, swinging his feet. "I asked Jacob to heat it up."

Ryan has his mouth open to protest that Mikey shouldn't have done that but is self-aware enough to know that the protest is more to do with jealously and an intense need to look after Spencer himself and nothing to do with Mikey asking for favors that will need returns.

"Thank you." Spencer flashes a last smile at Mikey and then dips his hand further into the warm water and wiggles his fingers, causing dirt to cloud. He pulls out his hand, water dripping onto the grass and trickling down his arm as he begins to unfasten the buttons of his tunic. "What time are we opening?"

Pete clambers past Mikey and pushes aside straw until he finds a paper bag. Tucking it under his arm he keeps looking, and from somewhere pulls out a small bottle of pills. Eying the contents through the brown plastic he kicks the straw back in place and then jumps to the ground positioning himself between Mikey's legs as Mikey leans forward and hooks his chin on Pete's shoulder.

"It's only bread," Pete says, sounding apologetic, "bread and painkillers."

Spencer slowly takes off his tunic and drops it next to the bucket, exposing the bruises that have turned his back and sides into varying shades of black, yellow and green. One bruise, low on his hip and still almost black after almost a week, is in the distinct shape of the sole of a sandal and Ryan wants to turn around and punch the nearest wall.

"Those are perfect," Spencer says, and holds out his hand. Taking the pills Pete hands over, Spencer swallows them dry and then takes the slices of bread. Tearing one, he holds out a half to Ryan. "Here."

Ryan shakes his head. "I've already eaten."

Spencer gives Ryan a look and keeps holding out the bread. "A few spoonfuls of porridge I bet. Eat."

Well aware of how stubborn Spencer can be, Ryan takes the bread and bites off a corner. "There. Happy?"

"Perfectly," Spencer says, and holds the other slice out toward Mikey and Pete.

"We really have eaten." Pete's resting his cheek against Mikey's. There's no hint of his usual smile, either real or the one he uses to deflect attention and Ryan's reminded about Gerard which makes him feel bad that he's forgotten until now, his thoughts only with Spencer. Catching Pete's eye, Ryan tries to signify a question, asking if he's okay without words. Pointedly Pete looks away.

"And we need to get going." Mikey turns his head slightly so he can press a kiss against Pete's cheek. "Fucking Rolof's put me in the arena this afternoon, the bastard knows I hate performing in front of an audience."

Spencer swallows the bread he's been chewing, looking confused. "Didn't he say you had all the entertainment value of a dead dog last time?"

"A dead cat," Mikey corrects, wrapping his arms around Pete. "I don't know what he expects, there's not much I can do while I'm being fucked in the stocks."

"You could have sung, all about your pain as a prisoner," Spencer says. He dips his hand in the water, splashing it up his arm. "I hate those shows, dressing us as a cowboy. Fuck."

"I like the ones where we can wear the fur suits," Pete says, and finally does smile when Mikey jabs him hard in the side.

"We know you do, weirdo." Mikey stands, easing Pete forward. "Come on, you can help me get into my costume."

Pete grins, wide and bright and obviously false, so much so that it's good that Mikey's not actually paying close attention, because if he had there was no chance he'd think Pete was okay. "I'll help you into your costume, hot-stuff."

Mikey rolls his eyes but it's obvious he's amused as he bumps Pete with his hip to get him moving. "Go," he looks down at Spencer then, his gaze assessing before he brushes a touch against Spencer's shoulder. "We'll see you later."

"Yeah," Spencer says, and moves on to washing his chest as he watches them leave, his eyes narrowed and lips slightly pursed as if he's trying to figure something out. As soon as Mikey and Pete are out of sight Spencer turns to Ryan. "What's going on?"

Ryan sighs tiredly and drops to his knees behind Spencer, reaching past him and cupping water in his hands so he can wash Spencer's back. Gently, Ryan trickles water over the bruises, carefully rubbing away the old sweat and dirt, "Pete's meeting Mikey's brother this afternoon. He's called Gerard, supposedly he and Mikey were close."

Spencer winces when Ryan touches a still black bruise, but waves away Ryan's apology. "And Mikey doesn't know?"

Ryan stills his hand, watching the beads of water that trickle toward Spencer's lower back, splitting and reforming around the bumps of his spine. "Not a thing."

"Damn." Spencer leans back against Ryan, letting him take his weight, as if now they're alone he can finally show how exhausted he really is. "How'd he even find him?"

"It's Pete," Ryan says, and that's all the answer he really needs because despite his standing Pete knows everyone and everything, so much so that Ryan often wonders why he's actually here. "He said he wanted to tell Gerard in person to soften the blow."

"And you think?" Spencer asks.

"That he wouldn't let Mikey go to anyone that wouldn't love and look after him."

Spencer makes a sound of agreement and turns his head so his mouth his against Ryan's neck. "I've missed you."

Ryan wraps his arms around him and holds on.

~~~~~

There tends to be a lull in customers in the late afternoon.

While the fair doesn't close in that time, there is a half hour period where the entertainers can take a short break, grabbing food and water before the evening sessions. It's then that Ryan sees Pete, and for the first time, Gerard.

He's not like Ryan was expecting and it takes a while before he can see the family resemblance, faint but there in the bone structure and the way Gerard stands, all steely determination as he talks to Pete. They're half hidden in the doorway of one of the small huts, the pricey ones only the richest and most private can afford and Ryan urges Jon and Brendon to keep walking. Ryan himself stays, surprised when Gerard pulls Pete into a sudden fierce hug before hurrying away in the direction of Horace's private caravan. Left alone Pete collapses in on himself, chin against his chest and arms around his body, not even looking up when Ryan moves close.

"Pete?"

"He's nice," Pete says blankly. "Really nice, he's been looking for Mikey for years. He doesn't even care what he's been doing."

"Good, that's good, right?" Ryan takes a step closer and Pete looks so utterly destroyed that Ryan glances over his shoulder, hoping to see Spencer coming back from red. "Is he taking Mikey home?"

Pete's biting hard at his bottom lip and his fingers are digging hard in his arms, blanching the skin white. "He's rich, Ryan. Really fucking rich. He's going to see Horace now."

"And do what?" Ryan asks. "You can't buy private sex slaves."

"Everyone's got a price," Pete says softly. "And Gerard's willing to pay anything to free Mikey. He said he wasn't leaving without him."

"That soon?" Ryan swallows hard, trying to comprehend the fact that Mikey could be going.

Pete nods slightly. "He sent his friend to the bank for the money and you know Horace will take it."

There's no way Ryan can keep watching Pete shatter inside and he closes the distance between him, gathering him into a hug. Pete doesn't move, just stands still and immobile. Ryan holds tighter, says softly. "I'm sorry."

For a brief moment Pete relaxes into Ryan's hold and takes a shuddering breath, then stands upright again before pulling away. "It's for the best. He needs to be away from this place and he'll have his family back. He doesn't need me."

"Of course he needs you," Ryan protests. "He loves you."

"I know," Pete says. "And I love him too. That's why I'm letting him go."

~~~~~


It seems that Gerard has more influence than even Pete could imagine.

Ryan's sitting in the eating area with Spencer, watching every bite of mystery stew he takes while Spencer tries not to so obviously roll his eyes in response. Not that Ryan cares when Spencer's still an awful grey color and each movement is an obvious effort. Seeing the way Spencer flinches when he lifts his spoon or shifts position Ryan is spitting out increasingly venomous ways to make Horace suffer, taking satisfaction that not only does he get to imagine each one, but that they're making Brendon laugh, too, something he plainly needs.

It's when Ryan's describing something involving a pitch fork and a vat of tar that it happens.

Bowl of stew held in one hand, Mikey's frowning at the contents when he suddenly looks up and gasps, "Gerard."

"Mikey."

Mikey's brother is standing next to the fence, and is looking at Mikey as if he's the most precious thing in existence. It's an expression mirrored by Mikey, for a moment at least, and then he starts to back away, shaking his head. "You can't. You can't see me like this. What are you doing here?"

Gerard's expression softens as he keeps staring at Mikey. "I'm here to take you home."

Mikey's blinking hard, and there's not a sound in the eating area as he indicates his body with a swipe of his hand, the bruises and burns, the brand that's prominent on his wrist. "I am home, this is me, Gerard. I'm a whore now, someone to fuck."

"No," Gerard says, and finally he takes a step forward. "You're my brother."

"No. You can't." Mikey's obviously torn between fear and hope, and he looks to Pete, reaching out for him. "I can't. I'm used goods, there's nothing out there for me."

"There's me." Gerard takes another step forward, the strain of moving so slow written in his face and the way he's got his hands curled up tight against his body, as if stopping himself from running to Mikey. "Come home, Mikes."

Mikey shudders, as if the nickname has struck hard and then looks at Pete, who all this time has been standing frozen in place, and looking like he's about to shatter into pieces. "I can't. Pete. I can't leave him. I love him."

With those words Pete does shatter, but he covers his reaction instantly and if Ryan hadn't been watching he'd have missed the moment Pete hides devastation with an easy smile.

"You should go."

"What?" Mikey asks, looking confused when Pete takes a step away, and normally there'd be no way Mikey would be taken in by the false smile or the way Pete is affecting casualness, but Mikey's distracted by Gerard, and Pete's putting on the performance of his life.

"I said you should go," Pete repeats, and his smile fades a little as he says. "You've got a chance to get out of this dump, you should take it."

Mikey's staring at Pete, but keeps looking back at Gerard like he's some illusion he's afraid will fade. "What about you?"

"What about me?" Pete asks, as if Mikey's asking something insane. "I managed perfectly well without you and I will again. It's not like this was going to last forever."

Mikey looks like he's been struck, says quietly. "You don't mean that."

For an instant there's a flicker in Pete's composure, then he looks sideways at Gerard and says, "I'm not saying it hasn't been good, because it has, but life goes on. You'll go home, I'll find someone else to share my bed. It won't be hard to find someone else in this place."

It's one of the most hurtful things Pete could say and Ryan can barely look as Gerard finally steps forward and takes hold of Mikey's wrist, wrapping his fingers around the brand. "Mikey, are you ready to go home?"

This time Mikey nods, and, plainly stunned. allows Gerard to steer him toward the exit. As he does that Gerard looks over his shoulder at Pete and mouths, thank you.

Pete doesn't say anything in return, doesn't move, just stands watching until finally Mikey is gone -- it's then that Pete runs.

~*~*~*~


It's late and Ryan shifts restlessly, trying to get into some position where he can actually get to sleep.

Straw is sticking in Ryan's back and the blanket is itchy, rubbing against sensitive skin. He scratches at his neck and lies on his back, looking up through the bars at the pin-prick bright stars.

"Willow."

Ryan turns his head and sees that Brendon's awake too, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. There's a small bruise on his jaw and he runs his tongue over his swollen bottom lip, evidence of Brendon's face impacting against a wall. Ryan had heard the thump in his own stall but had been unable to check for almost an hour. When he'd found Brendon fully naked and kicking blood-stained straw into the corner.

"Willow," Brendon says again, and he turns on his side, his movements deliberate and careful, so unlike they were when he first arrived. "I know we're not supposed to ask, and I wouldn't, it's just. I don't understand."

Ryan turns on his side too, so he's looking directly at Brendon, who's got his blanket pulled up to his neck, holding onto it with one hand. "Understand what? I can't answer if you don't give me a question."

Brendon laughs awkwardly, looking away from Ryan before he says, "Pan. I don't understand why he stayed. If Shadow's brother could afford to buy him out why not Pan? It seems cruel leaving him behind."

"He didn't know," Ryan says, and pulls at his own blanket, needing the warmth as he remembers Pete's face as Mikey walked away. "Pan...Pan loves him," Ryan stops talking then, trying to think of a way to explain that won't expose all Pete's secrets. "He thought Shadow would be better off without him."

Brendon looks at his blanket, picking at the rough fabric with his thumb nail as he considers. "If you love someone set them free."

"Something like that," Ryan says, though personally he's more of the mind that Pete reacted without thinking things through, and as a result has lost part of himself he'll never regain.

"I'd never leave Jon." Brendon uncovers his arm and reaches back so he can touch Jon, who's lying on his front, fast asleep in a nest of straw. "We haven't been friends for that long, but I couldn't, it would be wrong. Like you and Sunny, you're friends, could you leave him?"

Ryan's instinctive reaction is to say, no, never. A lifetime of memories means their lives are entwined and Ryan could never leave. Then he thinks more, about Mikey going back home, the times that Spencer's protected Ryan, how he's been hurt and cold and afraid. Stomach twisting at the thought, Ryan realizes that while he could never leave Spencer, if he could send him to safety he would, even if that meant never seeing him again.

Not tired in the slightest and needing to see Spencer, Ryan sits and pushes aside the blanket, brushing straw off his back and out of his hair. "I'm going for a walk, want to come?"

Brendon looks surprised, but he's already throwing off his own blanket, laying it over Jon. "We're allowed to go out at night?"

"As long as we keep away from the perimeter," Ryan says, and looks toward the gate, where two guards are standing under the bright perimeter light. Pushing his feet in his sandals he makes for the door, stepping lightly until he can jump outside.

Brendon lands with a soft thump and looks around, at the buildings made indistinct with shadows, at the flags that hang limp. He gives a full-body shiver. "It's spooky out here."

"I like it," Ryan says. The grass is chilly where it brushes against his bare toes and everywhere is peaceful, so different to the constant noise of the days.

"Are we going to see Sunny?" Brendon asks. He's walking along the edge of a patch of moonlight, following the curve with his arms outstretched, like he's balancing on some kind of line. When Ryan looks at him Brendon laughs, spinning in a tight turn. "It wasn't hard to work out, we were talking about him."

Ryan looks toward the red engine which is a dark shadow against the hitched up cage. He thinks he can see someone outside, sitting on the grass, but it's only when he gets closer that he realizes it's Spencer. He's wrapped in his blanket, close to Pete who's lying on his back, staring up at the sky.

"Second star to the right and straight on to morning."

Ryan raises an eyebrow at Spencer, who shrugs his shoulders and extends his arm, holding out his blanket for Ryan, who sits and curls in close, the blanket around them both. Spencer rests his head against Ryan's shoulder, says softly. "He keeps saying it. I don't know what he means."

"It's out of one of those old moving movies." Brendon sits on the ground and braces his hands behind him, head tilted back as he looks at the stars. "My parents used to watch, one of the few they'd let us download from the history archive."

"Is it some kind of ancient star map movie?" Spencer asks, but Brendon shakes his head.

"Entertainment. It had brothers and a sister," Brendon says, sounding wistful. "It reminded me of mine, just, my brothers and sisters can't fly."

Ryan can't imagine having siblings, even with the laws he remained an only child, his mother applying for a new match when she couldn't get pregnant again. If he's honest he can't imagine any kind of family, at least not the kind approved of by law. Mother, father and a brood of children, it's what's expected, but Ryan never had that, and never will. What he does have is Spencer, and that's all the family he needs.

Spencer sighs, and Ryan knows he's thinking of the family he was forced to leave behind. "You think Pete wants brothers and sisters?"

"No," Brendon says and lies down too. "I think he wants to get away from here, go somewhere he can try to forget."

Ryan looks up at the stars and counts two to the right. Which is stupid he knows -- he does it anyway.

~*~*~*~

The next few days aren't easy. Pete remains locked in his own world and deals with his grief by chemical means, working his way through pills that leave him glassy-eyed and by turns almost comatose and then hyper. As a result the others in red have to work harder. Spencer's not getting the chance to rest and heal and each day he becomes gaunter, the weight falling off him as he tries to keep up with demand. It means the complaints about the red quadrant keep flooding in, how the performers are sub-quality and not worth the money and Horace has taken to stalking the grounds, screaming threats and wielding a whip which he snaps next to anyone he sees not working.

It's not much better in amber, where Jon and Brendon are struggling to cope, leaving Ryan and Ronan to take up the slack. He can't remember the last time he was able to rest and Ryan feels hollowed out, every part of his body hurting at all times. He's worried about Spencer, about Pete, about Brendon and Jon who're becoming harder by the day, their innocence corroded away by the act of surviving in the fair. The problem is, there's nothing that Ryan can do. He sleeps, eats, fucks, is fucked. Occasionally he's made to perform, re-enacting some stupid cliché as the crowd yell obscenities and throw sticky tissues that bounce off Ryan's body and litter the ground.

It's obvious they need more performers, but no one arrives, even the johns start to keep away toward the end of the week, and while it should be a welcome break Horace reacts with fury, cursing the protesters that gather outside of the fair's gate. At first there wasn't many but they've grown by the day, an army of people who line the road and watch the men who want to get in.

Ryan doesn't understand why the protesters are there, they look too young for the usual anti-sex protesters and they're not attempting to drive the fair out of town, just stand watching at all times of the day, holding their home made signs. Ryan's got his hand shading his face, trying to read a sign when Brendon comes running, his tunic open and panting as he points back at the pens.

"You need to come. Pan."

Brendon's panic is contagious and Ryan runs, heading toward the crowd he can see gathered around the entrance of the arena. At first he can't see what they're looking at, but then he gets closer and sees that Pete is sitting on the ledge the circles the roof, kicking his bare feet against the panel of the man being fucked on a table. Pete's sandals are lying on the ground and he keeps listing to the side, making the crowd gasp at each near fall.

"Pan. Don't move." Jon's standing under where Pete's sitting, arms outstretched as if he intends to catch him if he falls. "Brendon's gone for help. Fuck. Stay still. Please."

Angry at the people who are standing gawping, Ryan pushes his way through until he's standing next to Jon. He looks up, noticing that the soles of Pete's feet are black with dirt. "How long has he been up there?"

Jon shakes his head, his mouth twisted into a thin line. "I don't know, some john came in yelling about a crazy fucker being on the roof and when they all left I followed and saw Pan. He won't come down, I think he's taken something."

Ryan knows Pete's taken something, it's there in the way he's swaying in place and lost in his own private world. Ryan looks around and sees a breaker lounging against one of the booths. Ryan waves to attract his attention. "You need to go get a ladder."

The breaker grins. "I don't think so, princess."

"You can't just leave him there," Ryan says, wanting to yell but afraid any sudden noise will startle Pete.

The breaker's grin widens he deliberately slouches back further. "Says who?"

Ryan clenches his fists, wanting to hit but he knows it'll do no good. He's no fighter and the breaker knows that, laughing mockingly as Ryan turns away, his cheeks burning.

"If we get one of the props chests I could climb up and get him," Jon says, looking into the arena. Personally Ryan doubts if Jon could reach even if he was standing on a chest, but Ryan could and he's about to go grab one of the chests when there's a shout and Horace shoves his way through the crowd.

"What the fuck are you doing!?"

He's staring up at Pete, his face red and furious as he lifts his whip. "You'd better get down, now!"

Pete doesn't move, and Ryan knows things are about to go wrong. The tension in the air thickening as Horace takes a step forward and brings up his hand.

"You can't...."

Horace pushes Jon out of the way and then cracks the whip forward, making it wrap around Pete's ankle. Seeing where this is going Ryan jumps forward, but he's too late, and Horace tugs, making Pete plummet to the ground. He lands with a sickening thud, eyes wide open as he tries to curl on his side.

"I'll teach you to show me up, boy!" Horace raises the whip again, and Ryan can't see another of his friends hurt, not when he's so defenceless. Ryan jumps forward so he's standing over Pete, shielding him with his own body.

"Don't! Can't you see he's hurt?"

"Does it look like I care?" Horace spits, and he's pulling back his arm again. If he was smart Ryan would step aside. He doesn't, even when he's so scared he wants to vomit, knowing what's coming. Steeling himself he keeps facing Horace and gasps when the whip hits, supple leather coiling around his forearm in a fiery burst of pain. "Get out of the way."

"No." Ryan hisses as Horace jerks back the whip and it slithers around Ryan's arm, taking more skin. Shaking, Ryan keeps his guard over Pete as the whip lands again pulling Ryan forward. Stumbling, he lands hard and crouches over Pete, protecting him with his own body. Trying to spread out as far as he can, Ryan covers Pete's face with his hands and screws shut his eyes when the whip keeps hitting his back, the lashes criss-crossing until the pain from each one bleeds into another and it's all Ryan can do to keep breathing.

"Ryan! The fuck?!"

Spencer. Running and pushing through the crowd. A john goes down and Spencer jumps over his prone body, hand outstretched as he goes for the whip. Horace turns, teeth bared and furious.

"If you mark him we'll be down another performer." Rolof steps close to Horace, looking bored as he stares down at Pete and Ryan. "I doubt Pan will be good for anything today, Willow either. You need Sunny."

"I should throw them all in solitary." Spittle flies as Horace yells, but he's dropped his hand, the whip lying lax on the ground. He kicks at Pete's leg, making him groan. "Make sure he doesn't die, but put that one in solitary. No one defies me like that. No one!"

Ryan's arms are trembling as he fights against collapsing fully, scared of what injuries Pete has after falling. Head down he watches as blood from his chin drips down, landing on Pete's face, and then, with a last snarl, Horace finally leaves.

"You, take Pan back to the engine," Rolof says, pointing at Brendon and Jon. "I'll be there to see him after I deal with Willow." He looks around the crowd of johns, all of them crowding forward like this is part of the entertainment. "Gentlemen, as you can see we've had a situation. Apollo and Zen will be back soon, and normal service will resume."

One of the johns steps forward, small and heavily tattooed, he looks hungrily at Ryan and Pete. "How about it resumes now? I'll pay extra to fuck them both. Especially if that one stays unconscious."

Spencer steps forward, his hands in fists. "Don't...."

"Unfortunately that won't be possible," Rolof interrupts smoothly. "But I'm sure we can sort something out with our other entertainers." He looks over at two of the guards who have come running at the commotion, says, "Take Willow to solitary, I'll be there soon."

The guard step over to Ryan and each one grabs him by an arm, hauling him to his feet. "Get up."

"Stop it, you're hurting him." Spencer pushes in front of the guards, cupping Ryan's chin and lifting his head. "You're an idiot."

Spencer's touch is cool and Ryan wants to leans against him and see if he can extinguish the flames that are consuming Ryan's body. He looks down, sees that Brendon and Jon are carefully picking up Pete, who looks deathly pale and lax in their arms. "Pan?"

"They've got him," Spencer says, and drops his hand when one of the guards push him to one side. "I'll come with you."

Each step hurts and Ryan's trembling badly by the time they're out of ear shot of the crowd. He can still feel blood dribbling down his chin and he moves to wipe it away when Spencer does it for him, wiping it away with his thumb. Ryan's breath hitches and he says, "I had to do it."

"I know," Spencer replies and he holds up his hand, looking at his bloody thumb. "Seeing you standing over Pete was one of the bravest things I've seen."

Ryan shakes his head, he doesn't feel brave. He feels like crying and hiding away, especially when he sees the solitary wagon, the metal walls glinting in the afternoon sun. Approaching it is torture, but Ryan knows there's no point running, they'll just be found. They get closer and stop walking, the guards stepping to one side, allowing Spencer to slip his arm around Ryan's shoulders. The touch hurts but Ryan says nothing, because any amount of pain is cancelled by having Spencer so close, holding him as they wait.

Finally, longer than it should have taken to pacify one demanding john, Rolof arrives, wandering slowly through the painted booths. Seeing him, Spencer rests his head against Ryan's, says, "I'll visit you all that I can."

"I know," Ryan says, and despite feeling faint he stands up straight when Rolof gets close, and without a word to Spencer or Ryan, opens the door. "Tell Pete I'll kill him if he dies after this."

Spencer laughs a little, a brittle sound as he brushes a kiss against Ryan's mouth. "I'll tell him."

"Good," Ryan says, and head held high, he climbs into the wagon alone.

~*~*~*~

Ryan's cold, shivering violently as he props himself against the wall, knees bent and arms wrapped around his body.

Ryan's going insane and he wants to scream, kick the walls to get outside so he can breathe. It feels like he's been in here forever, but if he concentrates hard and counts sunrises and sunsets Ryan knows it's only been two days. Enough time for Spencer to leave, and then come back as often as he could, standing outside as Ryan knelt on the hard floor, his cheek against the wall as he held onto Spencer's hand through the small opening. Each time it's dark when Spencer finally leaves and now it's light again. A sunbeam illuminating a small rectangle on the floor. Ryan stretches out his foot as far as he can, his toes bathed in sunshine and he tells himself that it's helping, that he's warming up from the outside in.

He's not. No matter how hard Ryan tries to pretend he feels freezing cold, sick, his head pounding and he knows some of the whip marks must have become infected. He can feel that his tunic is stuck to his back, tugging painfully each time that he moves. Nauseous, he curls in on himself, chin against his knees and eyes closed. Then opens them again when the wagon rocks and someone suddenly opens the door.

Rolof, looking his usual impassive self as he looks inside, his upper body blocking the door. "We've had a special request for you, the guy who wanted you and Pan when he fell from the roof. You need to come with me."

Ryan looks past Rolof, at the back of a nearby booth, flags flapping against a clear blue sky. The thought of moving is excruciating, to move only to be handed over to someone who wants sex is even more so. Ryan swallows back bile, his head swimming.

"I don't think...."

"You say that as if you've a choice." Rolof reaches in through the door and wraps his hands around Ryan's upper arms, and then drags Ryan across the floor. Head swimming at the abrupt movement he fights to stay conscious, gagging as he feels something thick and wet slide down his side as Rolof drags him fully outside, dropping him to the floor. "He's waiting for you, we have to go."

"I should wash," Ryan says. He feels horrible, wet through with sweat, his hands covered in dried blood. He doesn't want to imagine what his back looks like, it feels bad enough as he tries to get onto his knees.

Rolof grabs hold of Ryan's arm again, hauling him upright. "No washing, he wants you like this. He paid good money."

Ryan's heard stories of johns that like to play with wounds. His whole body throbbing he considers refusing, but the simple fact is, he's got nowhere to go. Even if he could get past the guards he'd be hunted down within minutes, but most important of all, he could never leave Spencer.

Accepting the inevitable he allows himself to be pulled along to one of the private rooms, where the tattooed john from before is impatiently pacing outside.

"About fucking time, I paid enough for him."

"My apologies," Rolof says. "Willow is ill at the moment and couldn't walk fast."

The john smiles, showing all his teeth. "Which is exactly why I want him. Now get him in that room, I have plans for that boy."

Ryan tries his best to suppress a shudder, concentrating hard to stay on his feet when Rolof lets go. Slowly Ryan walks forward, the world spinning around him as he steps into the room and says, "Where would you like me?"

The john looks over his shoulder, leering as he indicates the bed with a jerk of his head. "On the bed, on your front."

Resigned, Ryan approaches the bed, and almost collapses down on it, his legs on the floor and head on the blessedly cool pillow. When he hears the door close he struggles to lift his legs onto the bed, steeling himself when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

"Ryan. Hey, Ryan, stop. Let me help you." Confused, Ryan tries to understand how the john knows his real name, because the johns never do, they're not allowed to. But this one seems to, and his touch is gentle as he helps Ryan lie flat on his stomach before sitting Indian style on the floor next to Ryan's head. "You are Ryan, yeah? Mikey described you."

"Mikey?" Ryan's even more confused. Trying to get a better look at the john he moves wrong and feels something split on his back. Unable to repress a whimper, Ryan presses his mouth against the pillow.

"Fuck," The john spits out and he reaches out before stilling his hand next to Ryan's hip. "Don't move for fucks sake." He takes a deep breath, and goes on. "I tried to get to you before, when that bastard went at you with the whip. My name's Frank, I'm a friend of Mikey's. We're going to get you all out."

Ryan looks at Frank over the fold of the pillow, wishing his mind was more clear. As it is his thoughts are slippery and he's struggling to understand what's going on. "You're Mikey's friend?"

"I am," Frank says. "We've been looking for him since he went missing, and then Pete got in touch."

Ryan stares at Frank, seeing how his expression softens when he talks about Mikey, and while Ryan doesn't trust him just yet, he's willing to listen. "Is Mikey okay?"

Frank hesitates before he replies. "He's safe, missing you all, especially Pete."

"We miss him, too," Ryan admits, his eyes closing despite himself. Seeing that Frank shuffles closer, appearing deadly serious.

"Ryan, you have to listen. We're getting you all out of here but you need to help. Gerard's fucking loaded but he can't buy you all out. It's too dangerous, especially for him." Frank scowls and then forces himself to relax. "The only thing we can do is break you all out. Tomorrow night. More of our people are here, Bob's with Spencer and Ray's with Jon right now. But you need to pass the word too, get people ready to go."

Ryan's heart is racing and he clutches the pillow tightly. The thought of getting out of the fair is a dream, but he doesn't know Frank, for all Ryan knows he could be making things worse, talking about things he has no hope of achieving. Or even some kind of set up, Horace testing his performers and staff.

Frank keeps talking, and he leans forward, his elbows against the side of the bed. "I know it's a lot to take in, and you've no reason to trust me. Hell, you don't even know me, but I am Mikey's friend and we are going to get you all out."

It's like everything Ryan wants is within reach and all he has to do is stretch out his hand, but he's afraid if he does that he'll get burned. Needing to know more he asks, "How?"

"Are we getting you out?" Frank asks, and at Ryan's nod says, "Gerard's got this comic series, it's a sideline to the stuff that gets the big bucks but he's got a fucking huge following, mostly kids that want to make a difference. Gee put an anti-fair message in the last issue."

"The protesters," Ryan says softly, thinking of the crowds of people at the gate. It feels weird that strangers are actually protesting, like Ryan's actually worth saving, but even so. Ryan shakes his head. "You can't use kids to get us out. They could get hurt."

"They won't." Frank runs his hand through his hair, his brow creased as he explains. "They're a distraction, nothing more. Gerard's got pros to actually get you guys out. All you need to do is get to the gathering point at the right time, they'll do the rest."

"But why?" Ryan's shaking and he presses his hand against his mouth.

Frank kneels and takes off his jacket, carefully draping it over Ryan's back. "Why what?"

"Why's he doing this?" Ryan doesn't understand. He gets why Gerard would come for Mikey, and even why he'd come back for Pete. But why Ryan? Or Spencer? Or any of the other entertainers? It doesn't make sense.

"Mikey hasn't really said much," Frank says, and he sits in his former place, his knees drawn up as he talks. "Maybe he has to Gerard, I don't know, but that first night he was home I got up to piss and found him sleeping on the floor. Not even in the bedroom, outside on the porch. He about scared me out of my mind. I went to wake him up..." Frank hesitates and takes a deep breath, glancing at Ryan before he goes on. "I woke him and he opened his eyes and looked so fucking scared and all I wanted to do was grab hold and tell him things would be okay. But I didn't, because he was already sitting up and pretending he was fine, even though he was sitting outside in Gee's over-sized pajamas and lying on a blanket."

"That's what you have to do," Ryan says. "Never show weakness."

Frank grimaces wraps his arms around his knees. "We talked a bit that night, I had so many questions but all he talked about were you all. How Pete had helped him when he first arrived. How you and Spencer agreed to coming here to stay together. How you're his friends, and if you're friends of Mikey's you're friends of mine, and Gerard's. And that means we're not leaving you all here."

Ryan tugs at the pillow trying to find a cool spot, the material feels rough against his skin and his head is throbbing as he tries to figures things out. Because it can't be that easy, nothing in life is that easy. Except, no matter how hard he tries he can't hear any lies in Frank's words. "Where should we go and when?"

"One am and near the kitchen," Frank says. "There's a road on the other side of the trees, they'll be vehicles waiting to take you away."

"We'll be there," Ryan promises, his eyes sliding closed.

"Good." Gently, Frank touches Ryan's side. "I would have brought stuff for your back, Lindsey makes this amazing salve but it fucking reeks. I've got painkillers, though."

Eyes heavy, Ryan looks at the pills Frank's holding in his hand. There's only a few and what Ryan should do is keep them for later, when he needs to be up and moving. The problem is, he hasn't got his bag and has nowhere else to hide them, no matter how small they actually are. Ryan reaches out and takes the pills, swallowing them all. "Thanks."

"The least I could do," Frank says, and tucks the jacket more securely around Ryan. "Sleep. I bought you for two hours, you might as well take advantage."

Ryan doesn't need telling again.

Part 3