Standing on the Grave of Dreams 3/5

[turps]

When Ryan wakes Frank has already gone, and taken his jacket with him. Which is a relief because no way could Ryan explain why he had it.

The inside of the room is stuffy now, sunlight bleeding under the door and through the cracks in the wooden walls. Curled up on the bed, Ryan gathers the courage to move. He knows it's going to hurt, a lot, but he also knows he can't stay here. Bending his knee he slowly turns on his side and then pushes himself upright, his arms shaking as he pants for breath and silently thanks Frank that the pain is dulled a little.

"Willow."

The door opens and Ryan pushes his hair out of his face, trying to compose himself as Rolof steps into the room. Which is when Ryan realizes a flaw in Frank's plan, because there's no way Ryan can get to the meeting place if he's locked in solitary. Desperate, he tries to think what to do, willing to try anything to stay free.

"It's time to go," Rolof says, leaning against the door-frame and completely blocking the exit.

Ryan struggles to his feet. When he's semi-upright he takes hesitant steps forward, his mind racing. "The john liked my back, he liked touching it."

"He can do what he wants as long as he pays," Rolof says, sounding indifferent.

"And others could too, you could put me in red until I heal, swap me out for Bryce." Ryan hopes he sounds logical and not pleading, then sways, his knees buckling as he reaches for the wall for support.

Rolof shakes his head. "I'm not an idiot, I know you want to be with Sunny but it's not going to happen. You can barely stand."

Frustrated, Ryan tries to straighten up, feeling scabs on his back crack open. "I can stand and you need me. You're down too many performers as it is."

"Which is why Horace has merged the quadrants for now." It's something that's only happened once that Ryan can remember, when half the fair went down with a stomach bug that had them squatting in the bushes for hours on end. It's also bad for all the performers, especially the ones in amber that are forced to provide services they've never tried.

"So, what? You're going to throw me back in solitary while everyone else has to double up? That's stupid."

Rolof shakes his head and doesn't look at Ryan as he takes a right outside of the room. "No, you're going to stay with Pan and make sure he doesn't die. Some lily-livered do-gooder shoved his nose in and reported Pan falling."

Which is so far from what actually happened that Ryan has to stop himself laughing. "So where's Pan?"

"In the red cage," Rolof says and keeps striding forward, making Ryan push himself to his limits to keep up. "I've decided it's your job to keep him alive."

"My job?!" Ryan says, because while he's got no issue with looking after Pete, if Pete does die Ryan knows where the blame will fall. Not that he's going to allow that to happen. Pete's going to live, whatever it takes.

Ryan steps over the wooden walkway that leads to the arena, and Rolof heads toward the main doors. "Someone has to do it, and you're good for nothing else right now."

He pulls open the doors to the arena and Ryan briefly sees Spencer hanging from a series of ropes, Brendon kneeling at his feet. Ryan can't help thinking in any other circumstance he should be jealous of the way Brendon's sliding his hand up Spencer's leg, or the way Spencer's obviously enjoying the attention, but seeing them like that means nothing -- sex never does.

The door eases shut and Ryan keeps walking, between two booths, Ken in one, looking bored as he rearranges the display of performance enhancing drugs, Daniel in the other, who nods at Ryan from where he's watching chunks of meat roast on a spit.

The smell of the meat makes Ryan feel hungry, and his stomach is rumbling as he approaches the red wagon. Hand pressed against his stomach he looks through the bars, and sees Pete lying in a nest of straw and blankets. He's covered with another blanket, red and ragged, and his bare feet stick out the end, one of his ankles swollen and discolored. It's strange seeing him lie so still. Pete's never still and Ryan wants to shake him, tell him to wake up and say things will be okay. It's what Pete does, for all his laughter and jokes, his smiles in the face of serious situations he's also the person who's been here the longest. He knows how things work and goes out of his way to help when he can, with his trades and passing of information, and often, reassurances that no matter how bad they get days can always get better.

Ryan wants to hear that now, or see Pete's stupid toothy grin. He doesn't; all Ryan hears is his own wheezing breaths as he painfully clambers into the cage and eases himself down next to Pete. Reaching out his hand, Ryan rests it against Pete's brow, careful of the deep bruise that darkens the side of his head. Despite his own fever it's obvious Pete is burning up, and Ryan's scared. He doesn't know what to do and he hates that.

Exhausted and hurting badly Ryan shuffles down until he's propped on his side, and takes hold of Pete's lax hand. Looking around he checks that no one is within hearing distance and then says, "You need to hold on. We're getting out of here, Mikey's brother is arranging it all. I'm not sure why, but he is. He's coming for you, to take you back to Mikey. So sleep now but don't you dare go anywhere. You know Mikey's a mean fucker when he gets mad."

Pete doesn't reply.

~~~~~

Ryan doesn't sleep. He wants to desperately but even though his eyes keep sliding closed each time he forces them open. He has to watch Pete and he can't do that when he's asleep so instead Ryan talks. He tells Pete stories about when he was a kid and treated Spencer's bustling family as if it was his own. About later, when he realized that Spencer was more than his best friend, and later still, his disbelief that Spencer felt the same way.

As the sun begins to set, golden sunshine replaced by black shadows he curls around Pete, craving body warmth and needing to feel Pete breathe. Hand against Pete's chest Ryan keeps talking, mouth close to Pete's shoulder as he tells stories that normally he tries to forget. The day the authorities found out about his relationship with Spencer. His dad's face as the charges were read aloud and the choices given.

Later still and his voice almost gone. Signing himself over, Spencer at his side, neither of them aware of just what they'd agreed to. How Pete was there waiting, refusing to back away despite Ryan's hostility and Spencer's caution. "You never backed away," Ryan says. "You stayed there through everything and you have to stay here now."

"How is he?"

Ryan jumps, cursing under his breath at the resulting pain. It's not often people manage to sneak up on him and he scowls up at Jon, who's climbed into the cage and is kneeling down next to Pete. "Stop creeping around."

"Sorry," Jon says, and he sounds apologetic as he looks at Ryan and the touches Pete's face with the back of his hand. "I've brought you some bread."

"How did you know I was here?" Ryan asks, and tries hard to suppress the pained sounds as he sits and takes the hunk of bread that Jon takes from under his tunic. "I hope this wasn't down your pants."

"You'd still eat it," Jon says, which is true and Ryan takes a bite of the slightly stale bread, chewing hard as Jon continues. "Ken said you came this way, he told me when I was passing on the message."

"Yeah?" Ryan sets the bread on his lap, suddenly not hungry. "You saw one of Mikey's friends too?"

Jon nods and looks around him before saying quietly. "He was called Ray. He said, well he didn't say much, just the important shit, like we're getting out tonight."

"At one," Ryan adds, already working out how he'll get Pete to the meeting spot. It'll take a lot of hard work but Ryan's ready. As long as he knows one thing first. "Sunny knows, right?"

"He knows. He had this guy called Bob, they had quite the talk." Jon stops talking when Pete makes a tiny sound, looking at him expectantly. "I wish he'd wake up, it's been too long."

Which Ryan agrees with, but there's other things he needs to know right now. "The guy Bob?"

Jon swallows and looks away from Pete. "Yeah, Bob. From what Sunny said he said the same as Ray. About Gerard arranging this to get us out. We didn't get to talk long. Horace is restless, he's making sounds about moving on tomorrow."

Ryan's not surprised. Horace was already angry, add in Gerard illegally buying Mikey and the dwindling johns and moving on is the logical thing to do. It means that this escape has to work tonight, and now that he knows that Spencer's been told Ryan can concentrate on planning how to get Pete to the kitchen. It's not far and Pete's not heavy, but Ryan's nowhere near his best and he doubts he could carry Pete that distance. He knows someone will come back if they can, but he can't rely on that, not when the timing is so tight. He looks through the gilded bars, trying to see anything that could help.

"I need to get going, I only got a five minute break." Jon rests his hand on Pete's shoulder and then stands, the cage rocking as he makes his way to the door. When he gets there he looks back and clears his throat, says, "I know we haven't been here long, and tonight might go fine and I'll feel stupid in the morning. Just. Thank you. For all the help you gave me and Brendon. We wouldn't have made it without you. You and Sunny."

Ryan considers Jon, the way he's standing slightly hunched with his legs apart, the brand on his arm a fiery red, looking exhausted and still taking the time out of his break to bring Ryan some bread. "Spencer," Ryan says. "His name's Spencer, and I'm Ryan."

"Ryan." Jon says the name like he's trying it out, and then smiles. "It's nice to meet you Ryan."

"You too," Ryan says, and realizes that for the first time in days he's smiling too.

~~~~

Ryan wraps the blanket around Pete and then ties it in knots at his neck and feet. When he's sure that they're secure he grabs Pete's bag and slips it over his head, wincing at the pressure against his back. A last look around the cage and Ryan crawls backwards toward the door. Straw and dirt stick to his palms and he keeps listening, hoping that someone will arrive to help; but they don't. All he can hear is the sound of tinny music and the shouts of the johns as they finally head toward home. Ryan takes hold of the blanket and pulls, dragging Pete across the floor. "You know, you weigh a ton for someone so small."

Pete doesn't reply, Ryan never expected that he would, but Ryan talks anyway, his voice hushed as he pulls Pete to the entrance inch by torturous inch. "I'm going to tell Mikey how you laid there and slept. You always laughed at him for sleeping when he could. Think of this as payback."

More silence and Ryan's about out of his mind. Normally he doesn't mind being alone, not that he gets the chance often, but when he does he likes to sit back and enjoy the thoughts in his head. This kind of alone is like torture and Ryan's jumping at every shadow as he worries about getting caught, about getting Pete to the meeting spot, and most of all that this is some huge con and he'll get there to find nobody at all.

He's also worried about Spencer. Ryan hasn't seen him since the night before, and even then that was talking through the metal walls. Making this escape without Spencer at his side feels wrong, like Ryan's running toward safety and leaving Spencer behind. Which he's not, he never would, but that feeling still remains. "He'll be coming, I know he is," Ryan says, never doubting that for a moment. Finally he feels his toes go over the edge of the cage. Scrambling back Ryan drops to the ground, taking a moment to lean against the bars as he regains his breath.

It takes a while and Ryan feels dizzy when he straightens and continues to pull at Pete's body until his legs are hanging out of the cage. When he'd planned this Ryan had pictured slinging Pete over his shoulder and carrying him that way. Now that he's here he knows there's no way that will happen. Ryan just doesn't have the strength and he wipes at his eyes, frustrated at his own weakness. There's only one thing he can think to do, and he rests his hand on Pete's knee, says, "This won't be very dignified. Sorry."

Gripping the blanket under Pete's chin, Ryan braces his feet and then pulls hard, trying to hold on to the blanket when Pete falls to the ground. Ryan manages, to an extent. Pete still hits hard and Ryan's pulled over, landing on his side. Curling in on himself he screws shut his eyes, his mouth open as he tries to get air into his lungs. Something that's impossible for a while until finally, finally Ryan's gasps, his back on fire as he lies still. It's tempting to stay there, his cheek against the cool grass and say enough, because Ryan's about at his limit. What he does is start moving, tiny amounts at first, straightening his fingers, his legs, then he's slowly sitting and then finally, wavering as he gets to his feet. The bag is pulled tight around Ryan's neck and he runs his finger under the strap and tries to ignore the feeling of something running down his back, soaking his pants at the waist.

"Sorry for dropping you," Ryan says, anxiety clawing as Pete remains deathly still. Crouching, Ryan slips his hand between the folds of the blanket, needing to feel that Pete's actually alive, his hand trembling until he finally feels a shallow breath. "Bastard, stop pretending like that." Taking hold of the blanket at Pete's feet, Ryan looks at the moon, calculating the hour, and then begins to pull, knowing he's running out of time.

It's a journey that seems to take hours. Worried about being seen by the wrong people Ryan stays in the shadows behind the stalls. The grass is longer there, untrampled by feet and Pete's body makes a slithering sound that accompanies Ryan's pants for air. Once he sees Rolof, arms full of a bear costume as he heads for the storage chests that are stored behind the arena. Terrified, Ryan presses himself against the back of the booth, praying that he's hidden in the dark.

Thankfully Rolof's occupied with holding the large black pelt and snarling head, and Ryan relaxes a little when he disappears around a corner without apparently seeing Ryan at all. Giving Rolof a minute to get further away, Ryan starts to walk again, falling into his previous routine. A step, a pull on the blanket, Pete tugged forward a few inches. Another step. Another pull. Ryan's caught in the sequence, senses thrown outwards as he listens for danger.

It's how he hears the footsteps, someone running, and then like some kind of miracle Spencer is there and grabbing hold of Ryan in a fierce hug.

"I went to the red engine, you'd gone and I thought. Fuck. I don't know what I thought." Spencer squeezes again and then pulls back, his mouth turned down as he looks at his palms that gleam wetly. "Shit, your back. I forgot."

"Doesn't matter," Ryan says, the sheer relief of seeing Spencer stronger than any pain. Reaching out, he wraps his fingers around Spencer's wrist, over the smooth skin of his brand, taking a much needed moment before moving again. "We should get going, we're going to be late."

Spencer glances up and nods, looking worried. "I would have been back before but Horace was sitting in. The fucker didn't let us have a break. Not even between johns."

Ryan looks at the way Spencer's holding himself, the careful way he moves as he looks down at Pete. "Are you okay?"

"Better than you are," Spencer says dismissively, and takes hold of Pete, hefting him onto his shoulder. "Fuck, he weighs a ton."

Ryan smiles a little. "That's what I said." Then abruptly stops talking when there's a loud series of bangs from the direction of the front gate. "The hell?"

"That has to be the distraction Ray was talking about, you know, the protesters," Spencer says. An arm around Pete's legs he uses the other to grab hold of Ryan. "Come on!"

They start to run as fast as they can, which isn't fast at all between Ryan feeling like he's going to collapse at any minute and Spencer having to carry Pete. Still Spencer pushes the pace, dragging Ryan along as they give up on staying in the shadows and move onto one of the main pathways, their feet pounding against the wooden planks. It's a risk but one that's diminished because the whole fair is in uproar.

Ryan looks toward the brightly lit main gates, and sees that the crowd of protesters has swollen in numbers. Each person is dressed in black, holding up signs and blood-red flags that flutter in the wind. At the front are a line of drummers and it's those that are making the noise, pounding out a beat as the people behind chant and press forward as the guards stand their ground.

"That's one hell of a distraction," Ryan says, caught in the formation and drama of the scene.

"It's not a distraction for you," Spencer snaps, and tugs at Ryan's arm, keeping him moving.

They reach the kitchen area and Ryan starts to think this might work. Before he'd trusted Frank, that he wanted to get them out, but the plan had seemed too rushed; and even if Ryan had gone along with it there was still part of him that expected it to fail. Now he's standing at the back of a group of performers and other staff, all of them watching as a stream of black-clothed men burst out from behind the kitchen cabin.

One of the men moves to the front of the group, raising his voice as he says, "We have vehicles waiting on the other side of these trees. We've disabled the electric fence and will escort anyone that wishes to leave in small groups."

There's a buzz of protests at the last and the man holds up his hand. "It has to be that way. There's no path and we can't use lights or we'll attract attention. We will have everyone out of here within five minutes."

He sounds sure of that and Ryan's feeling reassured when he realizes Brendon and Jon are nowhere to be seen. Praying he's overlooked them somehow in the constantly moving group of people Ryan checks again. Sees Jack and Ronan, Bryce and Ken, every performer and menial worker that keeps the fair running, except Brendon and Jon.

Spencer looks around when Ryan grabs his arm. "What's wrong?"

"Can you see Brendon and Jon?" Ryan hopes that somehow Spencer can see them when Ryan can't, a hope that's crushed when Spencer looks around and then shakes his head.

"They were in the stalls, Jon was picked by a john that should have been red. Brendon was unlocking him when I came for you." Spencer looks around again and then makes a move toward one of the men who are arranging people into groups. "My friend. Can you take him? I have to go back."

There's a moment when Ryan thinks the man is going to refuse, when he peers at Spencer through the eye holes cut into his mask, then he holds out his arms, says, "You'll have ten minutes then we're covering our tracks."

Ryan doesn't know what covering tracks will involve, but he suspects it can't be good. Which is something that doesn't stop him getting ready to go back.

Carefully, Spencer hands over Pete, cradling his head until the man easily holds Pete in his arms. He turns to Ryan then, kissing him on the lips. "Go with them. I'll be back soon."

"I don't think so," Ryan says. There's no way he's going to leave Spencer alone, no matter what anyone says. Ignoring Spencer's scowl Ryan turns and begins to run toward the exit to the main fair. "Hurry up."

"You're a fucking idiot." Spencer's angry, that's obvious, but he also takes Ryan's hand, entwining their fingers as he says, softer, "Thank you."

Running to the arena takes every bit of Ryan's endurance. He keeps stumbling, feeling so ill the world spins around him and all he can hear at the sound of drums. A constant throbbing beat as they crash through the doors to the pens, looking in all the stalls until they find Brendon and Jon.

Naked, Jon's shackled to the wall next to an upturned bed, his arms bloody as he frantically tries to pulls his hands through the metal cuffs while Brendon scrabbles on the floor, searching through the straw.

"I dropped the key." Brendon doesn't look up, just keeps searching. "I'm so fucking stupid. I dropped it and he couldn't get out and fuck."

"It's okay, we'll find it," Spencer says, sounding calm, but Ryan can see beyond that, how Spencer is fighting to keep the panic out of his voice as he drops to his knees. There's no room for Ryan to do the same and he moves next to Jon, seeing the bloody welts that circle both wrists.

"It was my fault." Jon's shaking and Ryan pulls at the blanket that's on top of the bed, wrapping it around Jon's waist as best as he can. "He was unlocking me and I jumped when I heard the drums. I knocked the key out of his hand."

"We'll find it," Ryan soothes, and they will, he just doesn't know if it'll be in time. The drums keep increasing in volume, in tempo and both Brendon and Spencer are frantically searching, throwing straw outside of the stall.

"You should go, leave me," Jon says then, and Brendon looks up at him, his expression fierce.

"No. No fucking way, Jon. We came together and we go together."

"Before you say a word, that goes for us, too," Ryan says, giving Jon a look.

"But, you don't even know us well," Jon says, and leans back heavily against the wall, making the whole thing shake. "I don't get why you're staying."

Ryan steps close to the wall, running his hand over the rough wood. "I like the drums."

"You like the drums, of course you do," Jon says weakly, and takes a step to the side when Ryan bumps him with his hip.

Hand flat against the wooden plank where the shackles are secured, Ryan pushes, feeling it give a little. "Spencer, forget about the key and come and help with this. I think we can break the wood."

Immediately Spencer stands and puts his hands next to Ryan's. Together they push, and the wood starts to bend outwards, causing Jon to be pulled back.

"Sorry," Spencer says, but he keeps pushing, the muscles in his arms standing out as cracks begin to appear, and then, with a loud snap, the plank breaks, the shackles falling, allowing Jon to drop his arms.

Hands against his chest, he rubs at his wrists and then gathers up the chains, holding them close. "Time to go."

"Time to go," Ryan agrees, and all he can hope is they'll be in time as they run outside. Stepping from wood to grass the only people visible are at the gate, the guards still holding their line and the protesters, chanting faster now, keeping time with the drums. Other than them there's no one, and Ryan's starting to think they'll do this, that they'll get back in time. Which is when Horace appears from behind one of the booths and stands in the middle of the walkway, his whip held in one hand and a gun in the other.

Frantically thinking how to get away, Ryan takes a step to the side so he's shielding Spencer, his attention on the gun as Horace waves it in the air. It's the first gun that Ryan's ever seen but he's heard about them, enough to know that the situation has rapidly become worse.

"I'm not letting you leave," Horace yells, his face red and his teeth bared. Ryan tenses, sure Horace is about to start shooting. "You're not leaving because you belong to me. I own you. I own you all."

Technically it's true but whatever Horace says Ryan's not staying, none of them are staying. Painfully aware of every passing second Ryan pulls himself to his full height, shoulders up and chin held high, says, "We're going and you can't stop us."

Horace aims the gun at Ryan, says, "Try me, whore."

Ryan knows this is it. He got so close to freedom only to have it ripped from his grasp, but he's not going without a fight, all he can hope is Spencer can get away, and he shouts, "Run!"

"You all need to run!"

Surprised when he hears Rolof yell, Ryan sees him run out of the arena, Rolof's long tattered coat flowing behind him as he heads directly for Horace.

Gun still pointed at Ryan, Horace reaches out his hand as if to push Rolof away. "Back off. Now! Remember who you are."

"I never forget who I am," Rolof says, deadly calm as he pulls back his tunic sleeve to expose his old crudely applied brand. "And I've had enough. I'm done."

"You're not done until I say," Horace spits out, screaming obscenities as Rolof jumps forward and grabs for the gun.

Which is when Ryan runs. Each step he takes Ryan expects to feel a bullet in his back, is sure of it when he hears the gun go off and someone scream. Slowing, Ryan's jerked forward when Spencer grabs him and shouts, "Don't you dare slow down."

Ryan doesn't. He runs despite the temptation to look back, the fact that he's hurting so badly now, pushing himself to go even faster.

It's still not fast enough.

They get to the kitchen area and it's empty. No men in black, no performers, no other workers. They've all gone.

"Fuck," Spencer yells and kicks at an abandoned bowl, sending it across the ground where it hits the fence with a clank. Which is when someone runs from behind the kitchen hut, tearing off his mask.

"About fucking time. I was about to leave."

Ryan takes a step closer. "Frank?"

Frank grins wide. "In the flesh. Now are you ready to get out of here or do you want to go save someone else?"

"We're ready," Ryan says, following Frank toward the disabled electric fence. "Spencer, this is Frank. He's Mikey's friend."

"Thanks for waiting." Spencer climbs through the fence and then steps into the trees, waiting for the others.

"I wouldn't dare go without you," Frank says, bending over to untangle Jon's sheet that's become snagged on the fence. "Mikey would kill me."

"You did get Pete, right?" Ryan asks, worried at Frank's words, because it's Pete Mikey will want safe.

Frank moves to the front of the group, serious as he peers into the darkness before starting in on an invisible path. "We got him. You'll see him in a few minutes, but we need to get moving. Clean up starts soon."

"Clean up?" Brendon asks, and then looks up when something streaks through the night sky, briefly lighting up the trees and ground before landing with a crash somewhere behind them. "That something to do with you?"

"That's everything to do with us," Frank says, his smile manic as he starts to move again, pushing aside brambles and warning for the overhanging branches that loom in the dark.

Pulling on the last of his strength, Ryan follows, his feet slipping on the rotting leaves and twigs getting caught in his hair, Spencer's hand on his shoulder a constant at all times.

When he hears the first crackle of flames from behind him, Ryan feels nothing but relief. He knows most people will have left the fair already and the ones that haven't have time to escape. If they don't -- Ryan can't bring himself to care. Glancing behind him he sees the bright glow of light through the trees. Heart racing he forces himself to look away, to keep on running, but soon he's slowing until it's only Spencer that's pulling Ryan forward then practically hauling him up a small bank that leads to the road.

There's a wagon waiting, one with high sides and the back already open. Ryan takes a step forward, but he's got nothing left to give, not even to get inside.

Everything goes dark as finally Ryan goes down.

~*~*~*~

Ryan wakes up briefly and he's got his head on Spencer's lap, the sound of the road a steady thrum. Ryan tries to talk but he feels so sick, so weak the words are lost within seconds. He imagines them trapped in his throat, caught and turned to ash by the fire that rages inside his body. They hit a bump and the wagon jumps, all Ryan can do is whimper. Spencer runs his fingers through Ryan's hair, says softly, "It's okay, we have to be there soon. It's okay."

Ryan hangs onto those words, hoping that they're true as he shivers, his whole body shaking. He opens his eyes and looks around, feeling lost and scared despite the way Spencer's so close. He tries to focus on the people that surround them, Pete lying on a pile of blankets, Brendon and Jon slumped together in one corner, Jon's sheet now made into some kind of toga. Frank and Jacob, who used to make food. Everyone looks shell-shocked and exhausted, their faces grey smudges in the weak light of dawn.

"Ten minutes," Frank says suddenly. He stretches out his legs in the available space and rolls his head around his shoulders, adding, "Gee's hideaway in the forest. It's just up ahead."

Spencer rests his hand on the back of Ryan's neck. "G. You mean Gerard, right? Mikey's brother."

"Yeah." Frank leans back, his body moving with the wagon. "He wanted to come but we persuaded him he was better off staying and making sure the place was ready for more guests."

Ryan closes his eyes. He's exhausted from trying to follow the conversation and it's taking effort to keep things in focus, faces blurring and morphing into things Ryan knows aren't really there. A john in the corner, smirking as he holds up a bloody knife, Horace, his whip held high, shadowed people, all of them whispering, whore.

"As long as there's a place for me and Ryan to curl up it'll be fine," Spencer says, and his words are solid, pushing back the shadows.

"I'm sure we can stretch to finding you an actual bed," Frank says, sounding amused. "I don't know about clean bedding, though. No one's been there for a while."

The last time he can remember sleeping in an actual bed with sheets and blankets Ryan was sixteen. It was the night before they'd been seen by Father Grayson, and Ryan had spent the night curled up around Spencer, burrowed in sheets that smelled of sunshine. Since then he's slept on straw and itchy woolen blankets that always smell like damp, no matter the time of year. It's why he's not surprised when Spencer says, "That doesn't matter."

Jacob clears his throat. "What happens if we want to leave?"

"We won't stop you," Frank says immediately. "You're not prisoners, none of you are, but if you're branded it's going to cause problems. Sex slaves can't be seen walking around free."

Ryan tries to concentrate. He knows there's something strange about what Frank's saying, he just doesn't know what, and each time he attempt to think his thoughts slip away.

"I want to go home," Jacob says, sounding small and scared. "My parents were so happy for me when I got the job at the fair. I mean, they're government sanctioned, they had to be okay. But I hated it, I didn't even perform and I hated it. I just want to go home. Please."

Frank says, "We'll make sure you're okay, I promise, and if you can go home we'll get you there."

Spencer tenses and Ryan remembers Ginger's tears, the way sentence was laid down, an engine arriving on a bright summer day. Painful reminders that hurt, no matter how good Frank's intentions are -- not everyone has a home where they can actually return.

~~~~

They drive into a forest and the bumping gets worse. Frank's got one hand on Pete's chest, holding him still while Ryan's trying his best not to cry out, his muscles pulled tight. Dappled sunlight causes shadows to dance across the floor and under the immediate stench of dirt and infection Ryan can smell trees, and even at some points, flowers.

"If we're staying a while he needs to get this fixed," Frank says, as they lurch to the side, his body impacting against the side of the wagon with a thud. Scowling, he rubs at his head and climbs to his feet, pushing himself up on tip toes as he looks over the side. "Thank fuck, we're here."

Ryan wants to know what here looks like, but it's impossible to move and he lies still as Brendon scrambles up and stands next to Frank. "Is that a dragon?"

"Gerard likes dragons," Frank says, swaying when they finally come to a stop. "He likes lots... oh hey, Gerard!"

There's the sound of people running, yelled commands and other engines pulling to a stop. It's ordered chaos and Frank's pulling at ties to let down the back panel of the wagon. When the last tie is free he pushes the panel to one side and sun floods the interior causing Ryan to squint shut his eyes.

"Frank!" More running and the sound of Frank jumping to the ground. Opening his eyes a little Ryan sees he's being embraced by Gerard, who holds on tight before taking a step back so he can scrutinize Frank from head to toe. "I've been fucking worried."

Frank grins. "It went like clockwork. Mostly. I don't know how you found those guys but they're good."

"Bob said they were," Gerard says, and then moves closer to the wagon, looking at each person inside. "You found them all, thank god."

"I promised Mikey I would," Frank says, and then looks behind him. "Where is he? I thought he'd be waiting."

Gerard runs his hand through his hair, the excitement of their arrival dimming. "He's sleeping, Ray gave him something." There's obviously more Gerard wants to say, Ryan can almost hear the untold words but instead Gerard turns his attention to the wagon. Hands braced on the edge he looks inside. "Spencer, Ryan, Brendon, Jon, sorry, Mikey didn't tell me about you, but hi, I'm glad you're here." Then, when he looks closer. "What's wrong with Pete?"

"Pete got pulled off a roof," Spencer says, his hand on Ryan's shoulder when Gerard clambers into the wagon. "He hasn't woken up since."

"Fuck." Gerard's shoulders are slumped and he's biting at his bottom lip as he looks down at Pete. He brushes back Pete's hair so he can see the bruise on the side of his face. "I'll get Lindesy, she's around somewhere."

"She'll need to see Ryan too," Frank says. "His back's fucked."

Gerard turns in the tight space and Ryan stares at Gerard, defying him to show pity.

"That's fucking nasty," Gerard says, and there's no pity at all, just kindness as he looks directly at Ryan. "I'll get her to see you too."

Ryan nods, says, "Thanks," as Gerard climbs back outside and starts taking charge.

"Frank, go call the doc, tell her we've got new patients. If you see Ray tell him to check the ground floor bedrooms, we'll need two at least. Bob, can you come and help here?"

"Can we get out?" Brendon's standing at the back of the wagon and while still visibly tired he's shifting from foot to foot, needing to move.

Gerard waves his hand, says, "Sure."

Immediately Brendon's going forward, careful of where he's stepping, then jumps outside, waiting to help Jon climb down. When he does so Jacob follows, and there's only Ryan, Spencer and Pete left inside. It feels like a lot of space after the cramped journey but what Ryan wants is to be outside, off this hard surface. Hand flat against the floor he attempts to push himself up, but it's impossible and he falls back with groan.

"Lie still, moron," Spencer says, and squirms from under Ryan. "Let me help."

"Better still, let me."

The man standing looking at them is dressed all in black, blond hair peeking out from under the black bandanna he's got wrapped around his head. He also looks coolly efficient as he leans against the side of the wagon.

Ryan scowls. "I don't even know you, why would I need your help?"

"Fine," the man says. "I'm Bob, I like dogs, old entertainment clips and messing with tech. You're sick with a back that looks fucking fetid. Now we're introduced I'm going to help you into the house."

"And what if I don't let you?"

Bob shrugs. "If you do manage to stand up you'll collapse within a few steps, probably land hard and we'll have to scoop you up and carry you in. If you do it my way I'll take you inside with no fuss and you'll be getting the shit you need within minutes. Your friend too."

Ryan really wants to say no, to insist that he can manage on his own, or if he has to, with Spencer's help. The problem is, he knows that's not true. Pushing aside his pride he says, "I hate being carried."

"I hate carrying people," Bob says, looking at something out of view. "Especially people who don't know what's good for them."

"Pete should go first," Ryan says, worried that it's been so long since Pete last moved or woke. "I can wait."

Bob shakes his head. "Gerard and Frank will get him. There'll be more room once you two are out of the way."

It's a pointed hint and one that makes Ryan say, "Fine. Do it."

Bob climbs inside and kneels next to Ryan. "I'm going to lift you up on my shoulder. You won't like it, it won't be dignified but it'll keep pressure off your back. And if you puke on me I'll drop you." While Bob's tone is gruff his touch isn't and he gently takes hold of Ryan, easily lifting him up onto his shoulder.

Ryan hates it. How he feels so helpless as Bob holds on to him and climbs backwards and outside of the wagon. He hates how dizzy he feels, his head toward the ground and breathing shallow as Bob's shoulder jams into his belly.

Spencer walks alongside them, looking anxious. "Don't drop him."

Bob snorts. "It's like carrying a sack of sticks. I'm not going to drop him."

As insults go it's tame. Ryan doesn't even try to respond as they approach the house -- a two story stone building complete with shuttered windows and a giant black painted front door. It's a house that belongs firmly in the past, a relic in comparison to the small boxy tower-blocks of now.

"It doesn't look like much from here but there's more at the back," Bob says, heading for the steps.

"There's a donkey around the back," Brendon announces, appearing around the side of the house. "It tried to eat Jon's sheet. It was awesome."

"For you." Jon holds up the bottom of the sheet, showing how a chunk has been torn out. "That could have been my leg."

Bob frowns. "The fucking thing is evil. It got a mouthful of Ray's hair the day we arrived."

"Why keep it then?" Spencer asks.

"Because it belongs here," Bob replies simply. They're passed by groups of men in black, and then Gerard and Frank, carrying Pete between them. There are people Ryan knows and some he hasn't seen before and normally he'd be taking in everything new, looking for everything he needs to survive with Spencer. Right now it's all he can do to lift his head.

They go inside and Bob asks, "Where shall I put Ryan? He needs to be on the ground floor."

"Use the bedroom next to the stairs."

A new voice and Ryan would open his eyes, but even that's beyond him now. All he can do is keep breathing, listening to the sound of feet against wooden floors as Bob carries him into a room, one filled with sunshine and with an actual bed. Ryan shakes his head, says weakly, "Put me on the floor, I'm filthy."

"Like hell," Bob all but growls, and Ryan feels soft blankets and an actual mattress as he's lowered onto a bed and then turned onto his stomach, his face against a soft pillow. Then a touch against his shoulder as Bob says, "I'm going to tell the doc where you are. I'll be back soon."

More footsteps and Ryan's drifting when the bed dips and Spencer says, ""Ryan, hey."

Ryan forces open his eyes and sees Spencer, arms on the bed as he looks at Ryan. "Hey."

Spencer smiles, small but there.

Ryan lets himself drift away.

~~~~

Ryan wakes up hurting, so badly he's got his face pushed against the pillow, trying to suppress his cries. He feels hot, nauseated and so ill that it's taking all his energy to just keep breathing. When he hears someone come into the room Ryan tries to lie still, too drained to even think about hiding. Hands clawed against the covers he listens. It's not Bob, the footsteps are too light and it's definitely not Spencer, the sounds are too wrong to be him, but it's someone. Tense, Ryan reminds himself that he's somewhere safe, that Spencer would never leave him in danger. Still, he's ready to try and spring up and run away when someone says.

"It's okay, you're safe."

Confused, Ryan turns his head and blinks, trying to focus as the room swirls around him. "You're a girl."

"So I've been told." The girl -- woman really -- laughs and walks further into Ryan's sight-line. "I'm Lindsey, the doctor in these parts."

"A doctor?" Ryan doesn't mean to sound so disbelieving and normally he'd add explanations, but it's all he can do to lie still and try to stop shaking.

Lindsey snorts inelegantly and drags a small solid wood table close to the bed, setting a large scarlet bag on the top. She opens it up and takes out a plastic bag which she rips open, taking out a folded square of paper which she opens with a flick of her wrist. "Women can have professions too, you just need to want it enough."

"Sorry," Ryan manages to say.

Lindsey flashes a grin and starts to take things from her bag, setting them on the paper. "Don't worry about it. Let's get you fixed up, okay?"

"Okay," Ryan agrees, and his eyes are closing when the door opens and Bob walks into view, carrying a spotted green bowl.

Pulling a chair forward with his foot, Bob sets it down. "Spencer's following with more water."

"Good," Lindsey says, and Ryan doesn't even hide the fact he's watching the door, where Spencer soon appears, a large blue bowl clutched to his chest.

Spencer puts the bowl on the floor and moves to sit next to Ryan. "Sorry I left, they needed hot water. I thought you'd be sleeping."

"Not yet." The truth is Ryan feels too gross to sleep easily. His back hurts with every movement and the smell of infection is a constant at the back of his throat. He's dreading anyone touching, but knows it has to be done, and shoves his trembling hand under his pillow.

"I'm sorry, I'll be careful, promise," Lindsey says, and Ryan doesn't understand why she's apologizing. She's going to hurt him, sure, but not on purpose, and that difference means everything.

There's a soft pop as Lindsey pulls the stopper out of a bottle and then she's pouring something into the water. "It's disinfectant. I'm going to soak your back to get your tunic off. It'll be a little uncomfortable."

Uncomfortable in an understatement. Ryan clutches at the sheets as Lindsey tucks towels against his sides before methodically pouring water over his tunic. Each time she does so Ryan shivers, the disinfectant-laced water seeping into the open lash wounds.

"I need to cut this off now," Lindsey says softly, then she's cutting up the back of Ryan's tunic. He can feel the blades of the scissors, cold against his over-heated skin, and when Spencer reaches for Ryan's hand Ryan gladly takes hold, clinging on when Lindsey sets down the scissors and starts to peel away fabric. Ryan isn't sure how long it takes, after the first minute he's lost in a place where the only thing that exists is burning pain and Spencer's hand, anchoring Ryan down.

Then, finally, the pain begins to ease, fire dampened by something cool that Lindsey's plastering on.

"It's antiseptic gel, it'll help," Lindsey says, and her hand is cool against Ryan's shoulder. "I'm going to put on some dressings, but take these first."

Vision blurred, Ryan tries to focus on the pills in Lindsey's hand. He shakes his head, unwilling to take anything he's unsure of. "I'm okay."

"Sure you are." Lindsey kneels so she's in Ryan's line of sight. "They're painkillers and antibiotics. You need them."

"He needed them ten minutes ago," Spencer says, sounding angry. "If you have painkillers why keep them until now?"

"Because he could have puked them up and I haven't got an endless supply on me," Lindsey replies, fixing Spencer with a look. "I'm not some kind of sadist, I didn't enjoy hurting him."

She's telling the truth. Ryan's seen people who enjoy inflicting pain, Spencer has too, and Lindsey's not one of them. Squeezing Spencer's hand, Ryan says, "I'll take them."

"Good." Lindsey starts to put the pills into Ryan's open mouth and then brings back her hand. "Do you need some water?"

Ryan shakes his head, he'd lost his gag reflex a long time ago, two small pills are nothing. Swallowing them down he turns his head on the pillow, finally relaxing as the pain dims even further.

~~~~

"Ryan. Ryan, listen to me. You need to open your mouth."

There's a hand against Ryan's face, someone kneeling at his side. Eyes closed he opens his mouth, his throat dry as he tries to push himself up and rasps weakly, "You can fuck my mouth, I like it."

"Damn it."

Someone sounding distressed and Ryan tries harder to push himself up. If they won't fuck his mouth he'll have to suck them. He's good at that, a few minutes and maybe he can lie down before the next john. He licks at his dry lips and tries to open his eyes, but they're heavy, so very heavy.

~~~~

"Hey kiddo, I know this is cruel but so's brain damage."

Ryan gasps as something wet and cold hits his body. He tries to get away but someone's holding on, keeping him still. He opens his eyes but it's dark, he's surrounded by shadows. So cold. So wet. Ryan keeps struggling, needing to escape. He yells for Spencer. Spencer will save him. But Spencer doesn't come. Just claws against his chest, demons emerging from the dark, holding Ryan down.

Ryan screams.

~~~~

"Ryan, drink this for me."

Spencer this time. Ryan would recognize him always. His hand under Ryan's head, providing support. Ryan opens his mouth and swallows. Sleeps as the water spills out of his mouth and down his chin.

~~~~

"Spencer." The words hurt to say. Ryan's throat feels raw and he's barely able to stay awake as he touches Spencer's shoulder.

Spencer opens his eyes. He looks exhausted, pale and drawn as he swallows hard and gathers Ryan close and whispers, "Don't you ever do that again."

~~~~


The next time Ryan wakes he's on his own and the room smells like roasted meat. He's lying on his stomach and his feet are bare, a thin sheet covering him up to his neck. Hesitantly he tries moving, his head, his arm, then inching toward the side of the bed. It's not an easy thing to do, Ryan still feels sick and weak and he can feel each individual lash as lines of burning pain that crisscross his body. Running his tongue over his swollen bottom lip, Ryan takes a deep breath then pushes himself up, sliding his feet off the bed and then turning so he's sitting.

Hunched over, Ryan looks over his shoulder and sees multiple large dressings all over his back and sides -- snowy white against the irritated red of his skin. Cold, Ryan waits a while, letting his stomach settle then takes the sheet and wraps it around his shoulders before standing, and finding himself facing a large mirror that's been propped on a dresser. It's been a long time since Ryan's seen himself so clearly, and he recoils from how much he's changed. His cheekbones are sharp and fingers dirty where he's clasping the sheet. His hair is lank and his skin is grey. Ryan's surprised anyone would want to look at him, never mind want sex.

Repulsed he considers climbing back in bed and hiding away, but his stomach is growling and he needs to find Spencer; for that he needs to leave this room. Slowly, Ryan makes his way to the door, pulling it open so he can look outside. There he finds himself facing a staircase that sweeps around in a curve, the spindles made of delicately carved wood. Following the line of stairs Ryan looks up and sees the ceiling is painted with stars, and also covered in cobwebs that stretch from the moldings to the huge black crystal chandelier that hangs over the hall.

"They're beautiful aren't they? They're partly why Gerard bought this place."

Ryan jumps and take an involuntary step back, hitting against the frame of the door. Gasping, he blindly reaches out for the wall, needing support, but it's the man who's just walked out of the next room that takes hold, gripping Ryan's arm.

"Sorry, that was stupid," the man says, sounding genuinely apologetic. "I'm Ray. Do you want me to help you back into your room? Or I can go and get Lindsey. You probably shouldn't be walking around alone just yet."

"It's not my room," Ryan says, and pulls back his arm. The last thing he needs is someone else to see him as weak and he's determined to stand on his own. "I'm going to look for my friend."

"Spencer, right?" Ray says, and Ryan has to bite back the urge to reply that no, it's Sunny. This person doesn't know Spencer, he can't know him. "I've just seen him in the kitchen, he was taking his dishes back."

Ryan looks toward the windows on either side of the front door, seeing how the sunlight floods through them, illuminating the cracked tiled floor. "I've slept until breakfast?"

Ray smiles. "Try dinner."

Confused, Ryan tries to work out times. It was in the early hours when they'd left the fair, daylight when they arrived here, but it feels like he's slept for more than a few hours. There's only one thing he can think of. "I slept all day?"

"More like a few days," Ray says, and gently urges Ryan forward with a touch of his arm. "Spencer'll be pissed. He's been staying with you all this time and you woke up as soon as he left."

"Yeah, I'm awkward like that." Distracted, Ryan allows himself to be steered toward an open door and then into a kitchen. He can't remember the last time he got so much sleep and he makes a mental note to go back as soon as possible to wash the sheets before anyone sees the stains and dirt he's left behind.

"I knew it." Spencer's carrying a large white mug, steam coming from the contents. He's been cleaned up since the last time Ryan saw him, washed and dressed in clothes that are slightly too big. With his shining hair and clean skin he looks like a much thinner version of the Spencer Ryan used to know so long ago, and stupidly Ryan feels awkward, standing there in his tight pants, bare feet and a sheet. Setting down the mug on the counter Spencer's shaking his head as he makes his way over to Ryan. "As soon as I leave the room you wake up. It's like you do it on purpose."

"I do," Ryan says, and he takes a step to the side so he can rest against the wooden units that line the side of the kitchen. "I lay there until you walked out, then got out of bed."

"Annoying bastard," Spencer says fondly. He looks Ryan from head to toe, nodding slightly as if satisfied with what he sees. "You look a bit better."

"I feel better," Ryan admits. Which is mostly true, while his skin still feels too hot and drawn tight over his bones he also feels more present. He also feels hungry and he tries to see what Spencer's drinking.

"Fuck, I'm not thinking." Ray steps past Ryan and Spencer, heading for a giant stove that seems to be more rust than metal. Two cast iron pans sit on top, next to a deep tray that's covered with what looks like someone's shirt. "It's clean, promise," Ray says, plucking it off and throwing it over his shoulder. "There's stuff left from lunch, bacon and beans mainly. There'll be bread too. I know it's not much but we weren't sure how many people would arrive. Supplies are down."

Unsure of what he's supposed to do Ryan watches as Ray battles to light the burner, blowing hard at the sputtering flame. It's something Ryan hates, feeling so lost and out of place. He hated being in the fair but at least he knew what he was supposed to do and say, here he's lost; except for Spencer, who, as always, is the one solid presence in Ryan's world.

"Sit down, I'll bring you something over." Ray uses a spatula to point at the table. It's a small table, covered in what looks like cracked blue plastic and is surrounded by a miss-matched assortment of chairs, ranging from a crate to something that looks like an ornate golden throne.

A brief hesitation and Ryan heads for the table, sitting at one of the cushioned chairs without a back. Tucking the sheet more securely around his body he looks at Spencer, who's taken the throne chair and is examining the dragon carved on the arm. "Tell me you didn't spend all night watching me?"

Spencer runs his finger over a plume of flame. "I didn't spend all night watching you. Lindsey threw me out and told me to take a shower."

Which is the answer Ryan wants but he doubts Spencer would have left for long and he vows they'll take a nap together as soon as they can. First though, he needs to find out about the others, ease the anxiety that keeps rearing each time he thinks of them huddled in the wagon, Pete so deathly still. "The others, where are they? Are they okay? What about Pete? And Mikey? Have you seen him?"

"I've seen Bryce, Brendon and Jon. They all called in when you were asleep. They all seemed fine. Mikey looked in too, I think. It looked like him anyway but he didn't stop. Pete is." Spencer pauses then, and starts to trace the dragon again. "Pete's....."

Ryan swallows hard, feeling sick and dizzy. "Tell me he's not dead."

"He's not dead." It's not Spencer that replies, but Ray. He's stirring the pot of beans but turns to the side so he can see Spencer and Ryan. "He's got a busted leg and a nasty bash to the head but Lindsey says there's no reason he won't wake up. She thinks he needs the rest."

It makes sense. Out of them all Pete was at the fair the longest and also worked the hardest. Taking on the johns in red while running his own system of trades and favors. Ryan can't remember the last time Pete slept for more than a few hours. If he needs to catch up now, well that's fine, as long as he does wake up.

"What about Mikey?" Spencer adds, and Ray seems to wilt a little while also stirring faster.

"He's with Pete. He did come to see you, though." Ray stops stirring then, letting the spoon rest against the side of the pan as he admits. "He's angry with me right now. Because I gave him stuff to sleep."

Ryan considers Ray, taking in how he seems so sad when talking about Mikey, and then turns back to Spencer, raising an eyebrow in question. Spencer replies with the slightest nod of his head and Ryan knows Spencer thinks Ray can be trusted, too. "Mikey isn't mad with you, not really."

"Sure sounded like it," Ray says and starts to spoon beans onto a plate. Adding two rashers of bacon on top he puts the plate in front of Ryan before grabbing a knife and fork and pre-sliced bread. Setting those down Ray pulls out a chair and sits. "There's more if you finish that."

Ryan isn't even sure he can speak but he manages to say, "This is fine." It's more than fine, it's more food than Ryan's seen just for him in a very long time. That it actually looks appetizing is nothing but a bonus. Carefully, Ryan starts to cut the bacon into equal pieces, but he doesn't eat, not until he's given Ray something in return. "If Mikey is angry it's about other things, you'll have been the closest target."

Ray leans back in his chair, looking lost. "He's changed so much. We used to go to these parties and the girls were lining up to be his match. He'd have had a list to choose from when he was ready to join. Now, now I haven't even seen him smile."

Ryan thinks of the times that he has seen Mikey smile. The small curl of his lip when Pete sidled close at the end of the night. The rare toothy grins that happened when Mikey managed to throw off his surroundings and lose himself in conversation. They're scarce but there, it's why Ryan says, "He used to smile sometimes."

"I'm glad," Ray says. He rubs at his face, gaze skirting over Spencer and Ryan. "I don't know details about what went on in that fair, but I helped get Mikey settled here and went there to talk to Jon and I can put pieces together. I know it had to be bad."

The truth is, Ray has no idea how bad it actually was. He can't, no one can unless they've lived it themselves, and Ryan's glad that Ray doesn't know. He's also not going to give any details, those are Mikey's stories to tell.

"I think I'll go see him," Ray says, and stands, pushing back his chair. "I need to find Gerard too, see if he's sorted a shopping trip yet. We'll be eating bread and sugar for tomorrow's breakfast at this rate."

Which sounds fine to Ryan but he says nothing, just watches as Ray leaves the room, leaving Spencer and Ryan alone. Stabbing his fork into a piece of bacon, Ryan holds it out to Spencer. "Here."

Spencer shakes his head. "I've already eaten. Frank brought a plate of food."

"And you had enough?" Ryan asks, needing to know before he takes a bite.

"More than enough." Spencer sits back in his chair, looking satisfied when Ryan finally begins to eat. "They've been looking after us well. Everyone's been fed and Gerard even found clothes, though god knows where from. Brendon's wearing something that looks like a dress."

Ryan wraps a piece of bacon is soft doughy bread, says, "Are you sure it isn't?" before taking a small bite.

"Not according to Gerard. He says it's a robe, and that they were the height of male fashion back in the day." Spencer holds out his arm, showing off the embroidered sleeves of the shirt he's wearing. "Apparently so were flowers."

"I like it." Ryan takes another bite of bacon and bread, chewing slowly so he can savor the taste. As he eats he looks at Spencer's shirt, liking the way the brightly colored flowers twine up the arm, and especially that the sleeves are long enough to hide Spencer's brand.

"There's stuff there you'll like," Spencer says and then adds with the smallest if smiles. "Or more dresses like Brendon's."

"I'll pass on those." Ryan eats a forkful of beans and knows that it's impossible to eat more. Stomach aching he pushes pieces of bacon around the plate but can't bring himself to say that he's finished, not when there's food left uneaten.

"I threw up my first plate of food," Spencer says unexpectedly. He flushes slightly, as if ashamed of the memory. "I was so hungry and Bob brought in a bowl of stew. I ate and ate, past the point where my stomach was aching."

Ryan sets down his fork and rests his fingers on his brand, his stomach churning. "Did he beat you? Because if he did I'll hunt him down."

"He got a towel and cleaned me up, then got me more to eat. I don't think they'll hurt us, Ry."

"We won't."

The woman from before comes into the room and Ryan tenses, caught between anger and worry at being overheard. Holding the sheet tight he watches her come closer, wanting to demand to know why she was eavesdropping but so unsure of his place he bites back the words.

"I wasn't listening in on you," Lindsey says. She's got her hair tied up in pigtails and holds up her hands, showing she's carrying a small plastic bag. "I've been re-dressing Brendon and Jon's arms. I need to come through the kitchen to get to the furnace. Hold on a moment."

She goes to a large door and pulls it open, then there's the sound of footsteps going downstairs followed by a loud clang then more footsteps before Lindsey re-emerges. Heading to the sink she turns on the hot water, vigorously washing her hands with a block of bright green soap that causes tiny bubbles to slide down her arms. Rinsing them off she looks around for a towel, and Spencer stands and grabs the shirt, handing it over.

"Ray was using this earlier."

"Figures," Lindsey says, sounding amused. "As long as it's clean." Drying her hands she hangs the shirt over the back of a chair and looks at Ryan. "How are you feeling? You look better than yesterday."

"Fine," Ryan says, his immediate instinct to lie. Not that Lindsey seems to believe him as she tilts her head to one side slightly as she looks at Ryan.

"Okay, this is what you're going to do. Spencer's going to show you the bathroom and you're going to take a long bath. There's a tub in there, a big one and you're going to lie and soak for a while. I'm going to get you some antibiotics and Spencer'll grab you some clean clothes. Then you can take a nap."

"What if I don't want to do that?" Ryan asks flatly, even though right now a bath sounds amazing.

Lindsey shrugs. "Then you can stay in your dirty clothes and stink up the house. It's your loss."

It's been a long time since Ryan's seen an actual doctor, but he can't remember them being like this. "Aren't you supposed to tell me I have to do it for my own good?"

Lindsey pulls out a pink painted chair and sits down, attention totally on Ryan. "I think you've had enough people telling you what to do."

Ryan swallows and looks over to Spencer for help. It's taboo for women to visit the fairs so it's been years since he talked to a woman and he's never met one who so casually talks about sex. Ryan doesn't know what to do or say, but he does think Lindsey has his best interests at heart, despite the way she declares that.

Spencer looks intently at Lindsey then over at Ryan. "They've got hot water, lots of it."

Ryan makes a decision, says, "I think I'll take a bath."

"Good idea." Grinning, Lindsey stands and takes Ryan's plate. "Go on, I'll wash this. This time."


Part 4