Standing on the Grave of Dreams 4/

[turps]

It takes Ryan a while to get to the bathroom. His muscles are stiff after the short walk and his back is thumping with pain. He can feel that the sheet is sticking in places and Ryan keeps his head down as he walks, looking down at his bare feet shuffling against the cold tiled floor. Then looks up again when he hears running footsteps.

"Ryan, you're awake." Brendon skids to a halt, his feet hidden under the long length of the robe, one that really does look like a dress. It comes down to ankle length on Brendon and is cinched in by a wide golden belt. Brendon holds out his arms as he spins in a tight circle. "Isn't it awesome? Gerard says it's what men wore back in the twenty-first century."

"I like the color," Ryan says, stopping himself from touching the burgundy material.

Brendon beams. "There's another one, but no one else would take it. I told Jon he'd look amazing but he decided to be boring."

"I suit boring better than that," Jon says, and he does look good in a simple outfit of pants and shirt. "We're going to see Mikey and Pete."

"And then Bob wants help to make dinner. I told him I'm good at chopping." A last smile and Brendon starts to hurry away, then skids to a stop, the light flooding through the windows exposing the deep violet smudges under his eyes and the way he's constantly fidgeting, even when he's supposed to be standing still. "I'm glad you're up and about. I was worried."

Being close to Brendon is like standing close to a tiny contained whirlwind and once he's gone everything feels flat. Concerned, Ryan turns to Jon, says, "Has he even slept yet?"

Jon picks at the edge of the bandage wrapped over his lower arm. "Not since we escaped."

It's what Ryan feared, Brendon's too manic for anyone that's not walking on an edge and he wishes he could do something to help. As it is it's taking all his energy just to stand upright and Spencer takes hold of Ryan's arm.

"Bath, we'll find everyone after."

There's few people for whom Ryan will willingly give up control. Spencer's number one on that list and he allows himself to be pulled away as Jon goes to find Brendon. Walking close to Spencer, he slowly makes his way along the corridor and Ryan looks into the room where he slept. He sees the sheets have been changed and the bed made and can't help making a soft sound of distress.

"I was going to do that," Ryan says quietly, ashamed when he thinks of anyone having to handle the stained sheets.

Matter of fact, Spencer says, "Well now you don't have to."

Ryan tries to think how to explain, but the words aren't there. Normally Spencer knows what Ryan's thinking and he should know how Ryan feels right now, how he's something dirty in this house. Before the only people they saw were the other people at the fair and the johns, and none of them were clean. Not like Frank or Ray or Lindsey. Being around them just emphasizes how sullied Ryan actually is.

They reach another door and Spencer pushes it open, but before they go inside he moves closer to Ryan, says, "Listen to me Ryan Ross. You're an equal to anyone in this house. No one will look down on you, and if they do I'll make them regret it."

Ryan doesn't believe the fierce declaration, but he wants to, and if anyone could make him believed it would be Spencer. "You'd fight people for me?"

"Every time," Spencer says simply.

They go into the room which is bigger than all the stalls in amber quadrant put together. There's a huge claw-footed tub in one corner, a cubical shower in another while the toilet and sink are lined up on one wall. The walls are also papered in the most amazing pattern that Ryan's ever seen; swooping swirls of colors that circle dewy-petaled flowers.

"That's...."

"Hideous," Spencer finishes, urging Ryan to sit on the closed toilet. "When I came in here last night I thought I was seeing things. But at least there's hot water and plenty of it."

"I was going to say amazing," Ryan says, wincing as he reaches back to run his fingers over the raised paper.

Spencer looks over his shoulder from where he's putting the plug in the tub. "Are you sure you didn't freeze your brains while you were in solitary?"

Ryan traces a purple swirl. "My brains are fine. It's colorful, I like it."

"If you say so," Spencer says, screwing up his face. He turns back to the tub and turns on a faucet, water immediately gushing out. Soon steam fills the air and Ryan can feel sweat break out along his hairline and at the back of his neck. He rubs at his face with his hand and watches as the mirror over the sink fogs, droplets sliding down its surface. "I think that's enough."

Ryan looks away from the mirror and sees that Spencer's turned off the faucets and the tub is over half full. Dipping his hand in the water, Spencer seems satisfied and he stands up straight. Ryan does the same, biting at his bottom lip as his body protests at moving again. Taking it slow he approaches the tub, trying to remember the last time he actually had a bath.

"It was a few days before we were caught," Spencer says unexpectedly. He takes hold of Ryan's sheet and starts to peel it free when Ryan drops his hands. "Mom and the girls had gone out and we'd been shoveling coal for the furnace. When we'd finished we were both filthy so decided to jump in the tub."

Ryan remembers black footprints against sparkling blue tiles, how they'd had to squeeze together to fit into the tiny tub. "I had blisters from shoveling."

Spencer tosses the sheet to one side and unfastens Ryan's pants, tugging at the ties. "You were only shoveling because I bribed you."

"You gave good rewards." Ryan grimaces as his pants are pulled down, the material stiff and glued to his skin in spots. Waving off Spencer's soft apology Ryan kicks them to one side, and, with Spencer's help, gets into the tub.

"Is it too hot?" Spencer asks, holding onto Ryan's arm as he lowers himself down.

Ryan sighs when he's finally sitting, and then slides forward so his body is fully submerged in warm water. It feels good, better than good, and while his back is painful it's less so than before. "It's perfect."

Spencer's got his arms hooked over the side of the tub, and he smiles as he looks at Ryan. "No falling asleep, I don't want you to drown."

"No sleeping," Ryan promises, and runs his hand through the water, creating tiny waves that lap against his face. It's peaceful, calming in a way he's missed for so long.

"Do you want me to wash your hair?"

Spencer's voice is muffled through the water, but Ryan hears enough to say, "Please."

It doesn't take Spencer long to find the things he needs. Ryan lies still and stares at the ceiling, listening to the sound of Spencer's footsteps as he walks around the room. Then he's back in his previous place, holding up a bottle which has turned yellow with age. "I don't know how long it's been here but it worked for me, so."

Reluctantly Ryan sits, droplets streaming down his body and pattering against the water, which already is filmed with dirt. Elbows against the sides of the tub he wiggles his toes imagining they look like white slugs swimming in the murk. "It's fine, it's not like the water's going to be clean anyway."

Spencer reaches down and picks up a jug, one shaped like a fish with its mouth wide open. "It'll be clean for the rinsing, I'll get water from the faucet."

"Does that thing even hold water?" Ryan asks, trying to sees the fish jug before Spencer puts it back down.

"I couldn't see any holes," Spencer says, and squirts shampoo onto the palm of his hand. "Close your eyes and head forward, I don't want any suds getting on your back."

It's not the first time Spencer's washed Ryan's hair. It's something he's done often, from when they were young and saving precious bathroom time by showering together to the times at the fair when Spencer used the hose to wash Ryan's hair when it was sticky with come. This is like none of those times. The bathroom is warm and steamy, quiet apart from the sound of dripping water and their breathing as Spencer digs his fingers in just right. Eyes closed Ryan shivers as Spencer massages his scalp, taking his time to work in the shampoo. Neither talk, so comfortable together that it's not needed. Until finally, Spencer pulls back, rinsing his hands in the water.

"Stay there," Spencer says.

Ryan keeps his eyes closed, feeling the tickle as bubbles slide down his face. He hears the squeak of the faucet being turned on, a splash and the sound of Spencer filling the jug with fresh water, then Spencer's got his hand over Ryan's eyes, shielding them as he begins to rinse. It takes five jugfuls before Spencer is satisfied and by that time Ryan's back is rapidly moving from aching to actually painful.

Hand braced against the side, Ryan straightens, his wet hair clinging to his neck and shoulders. The water he's sitting in looks even grosser now, with even the bubbles filmed grey. Ryan pokes at one of them, making it pop. "I'm getting dirty again sitting in this."

"That's easily sorted." Spencer's sleeves are soaked but he pushes them up his arm anyway as he delves for the plug. Tugging it out he looks at Ryan, says, "Stay there."

Ryan wraps his arms around his body as the water drains away. He's not cold but it feels weird sitting in an empty tub, looking down at his wrinkled feet and white legs. Using the jug Spencer rinses away any clinging dirt before putting the plug back in and turning on both faucets. Kneeling at the foot of the tub he swishes his hand through the water, making sure it's mixed until finally, the tub is half full once more.

Luxuriating in being surrounded by warmth, Ryan starts to slide down but stops when Spencer reaches out and takes hold of his wrist, says, "Hold on."

Ryan watches as Spencer strips off his own clothes, picking up each item and carefully folding and setting them to one side. He's totally unselfconscious doing so. Years of being in the fair means nakedness is nothing shocking. Still, Ryan enjoys the sight, the flex of muscles as Spencer picks up his clothes, the slightest hint of freckles across his shoulders and especially the way Spencer grins when he catches Ryan looking.

"Enjoy what you see?"

"Always," Ryan replies, pushing himself forward when Spencer steps into the tub behind him and sits, sliding his legs alongside Ryan's, fitting together easily as Spencer gently urges Ryan to lie back, cradled against Spencer's body. Right then Ryan feels warm, safe, and he tilts back his head so it's resting against Spencer's shoulder.

Spencer wraps his arms around Ryan, always careful of his back while holding him close. He turns his head and presses a kiss against Ryan's forehead, says, "We're going to be okay, Ryan."

In that moment Ryan believes him.

~~~~~

It's getting to be a habit that Ryan's alone when he wakes. The last thing he remembers is being wrapped in a giant black towel while leaning heavily against Spencer, trying to stay awake as Lindsey changed the dressings on his back, her laughter a tickle of sensation against his neck as she told some distracting tall tale. Then nothing. Ryan's getting annoyed at sleeping so much, especially when it happens so suddenly, but he has to admit the waking up is nice. The room is full of sunshine and the blankets are clean, the pillows soft under his head and Ryan feels warm and almost pain-free. He knows that'll change, already he can the familiar burn licking at his skin, but for now he lies still, enjoying the moment.

As he's lying still the door opens. Ryan's expecting Spencer but it's Mikey who appears in the doorway. He looks different to the last time Ryan saw him. Cleaner, dressed in clothes that are too big rather than skin tight, but he also looks thinner, worn away to sharp edges and painful lines. Mikey curls his hand around the door jam, says, "I didn't know if you were asleep."

"I was," Ryan says, and starts to sit up. It's a little easier than before, in the way that he can actually breathe through the pain and keep moving until finally he's sitting upright.

"Hold still a moment," Mikey says, walking over to the bed. Taking Ryan's pillows he plumps them up before arranging them against the ornate wooden headboard. "You can lie back now."

Ryan does so, shifting a little so the back of his head isn't resting against the carved griffin that stands guard over the bed. When he's comfortable he looks up at Mikey who's taken a step back, his arms wrapped around his body and looking miserable. Ryan pulls aside the blanket, uncaring that he's sleeping naked. It's nothing that Mikey hasn't seen before and right now it looks like he needs a friend. "You look cold."

Mikey hesitates a moment then kicks off his shoes before sitting on the bed and bringing up his legs so he's under the blanket. He slouches down so he's leaning against the headboard and his body is cold against Ryan's. "I came before, but you were sleeping."

"Ray told me," Ryan says. He worries at a loose thread as he looks at Mikey, trying to find the words to ask if he's okay. The thing is, Ryan already knows that he's not. The same way Ryan's not or Spencer or Pete.

"Gerard drew you," Mikey says unexpectedly. "He was arranging the break out and I told him that he needed to make sure to get you. He needed a description. I told him and he drew you."

Ryan's unsure what to say. "I didn't. I mean, I understand you'd want Pete, but..."

"You're my friend," Mikey cuts in. "Of course I told him to get you. Pete and Spencer, Brendon and Jon, too."

Ryan blinks, trying to take that in. He knew he was Mikey's friend in the fair, of course he did, but he'd never expected it to extend beyond that. That Mikey could leave but go on to ensure that Ryan could follow. Ryan feels a glow that's got nothing to do with his back.

"It's funny," Mikey goes on. "I was telling Gerard all about you, Spencer and Pete, and I thought we'd finished but then I started talking about Brendon and Jon. I don't even know them that well, but I could picture them so vividly."

"I'm glad you did, they didn't belong there." Not that any of them did, Ryan knows that, but Brendon and Jon still retain elements of their true selves. The fair hasn't had the chance to change them completely, and for that Ryan has to be glad.

"I've just seen them with Spencer," Mikey says. "Going for breakfast. I told them I was coming to see you. Lindsey's with Pete."

"How is he?"

"He woke up a little last night." Mikey slides down the bed further, his head on Ryan's pillows. "When he wakes up for real I'm going to kick his skinny ass for lying to me."

That's something that'll never happen. Ryan still needs to say, "He did it for you."

Mikey sighs, staring up at the ceiling. "It was Pete that told Gerard where I was. He plotted it all out and I didn't have a clue."

Ryan doesn't tell Mikey he already knew, it's not the right time and it's knowledge that won't help anyone. Still, there's a knot of worry in his stomach as he asks, "You guys are okay, right?"

"As okay as we can be when he's unconscious," Mikey says with a wry smile. He turns to Ryan then, adds, "I was mad at him at first, that he lied and sent me away on my own. But I'm not now. He couldn't have known what it would be like."

Mikey's tensed up even more as he talks and Ryan's beginning to suspect just why he looks so lost and alone. "You're having issues coming home?"

"It's not my home," Mikey says quietly. "It's Gerard's. My home's four years ago and there's no way of going back. The same way Gerard can't get his brother back."

Ryan turns his head so he's looking directly at Mikey. "That's not true. You're here."

"I'm not the brother he wants." Abruptly, Mikey pushes back the blanket and sits. "You want to go get breakfast? You'll be hungry."

Ryan is hungry, he's also aware that Mikey's finished with this conversation and pushing will achieve nothing. Hand braced against the mattress Ryan pushes himself upright then slides his legs off the bed. "Can you see any clothes? Spencer said he'd get some."

Mikey walks over to the dresser and pulls open the top drawer. Looking inside he rummages through the contents and then pulls out pants and some kind of red shirt. For a moment he holds them out for inspection then throws the shirt on the bed before kneeling at Ryan's feet. "Feet up."

"I can dress myself, you know," Ryan says, but he holds up one foot then the other. Helping each other when they're hurt is nothing new and Ryan feels perfectly at ease as Mikey feeds the pants legs over Ryan's feet.

"I know that." Mikey stands, remaining still as Ryan does the same, then he bends and grabs hold of the waist band of the pants, pulling them up. When they're fastened they'd just the slightest bit short and Ryan runs his hand over the corded brown fabric, enjoying wearing something that feels soft and looks clean. "These are nice, I was expecting a dress like Brendon's."

Mikey smiles slightly and unfolds the shirt before gathering it up to slip over Ryan's head. "Gerard's convinced it's a gentleman's robe. Whatever it is, Brendon looks good."

"He does," Ryan agrees, and tries to resist the urge to rub his cheek against the fabric of the shirt when it slithers over his arms and chest.

Mikey straightens the shirt, says, "Your sandals are getting cleaned, they were covered in rotting leaves."

It's not something that bothers Ryan and he shrugs and runs his hand through his hair, his back twinging in protest. "You said Spencer was going to eat?"

"I did." Mikey shoves his feet in his own shoes and then heads for the door. "If we're lucky they'll have left us something."

It turns out that they've been left a lot.

The kitchen is full when they get there, the table surrounded by multiple people. Each chair is taken and Gerard's standing at the stove, a black-striped apron wrapped around his waist as he pokes a spatula at something in a pan. Close by Bob's filling plates, his face flushed as he forks sausages from a tray with one hand and flaps away smoke with the other. It's ordered chaos and Ryan hangs back until Lindsey sees him and waves him over.

"Ryan, come sit down already."

Ryan nods and looks for Spencer, finding him sitting between Jacob and Ken. There's the smallest slither of space on Spencer's chair and Ryan heads toward him, used to sharing space, but Ray stands, offering his chair. "Sit here, I need to go feed the hell beast anyway."

"Give Mikey that seat, he's...." Ryan looks behind him and realizes that Mikey isn't there. "He was there."

"I'll make him up a plate, someone else can take it," Gerard says, his shoulders slumping. "What do you want to eat? We've been shopping so there's sausages and eggs, bacon if you want it."

"Gerard makes a mean scrambled egg," Spencer says, watching as Ryan sits, and while he doesn't ask, Ryan can tell he's making sure things are okay.

"Eggs sound good." Ryan's sitting forward in his chair, arms crossed on the table. He's between Frank and Lindsey and she leans forward, head tilted to the side as she looks at his face.

"You're getting some color back, good."

Lindsey smells nice and her hair is glossy, tied back with a wide red ribbon, her nails painted a matching red. Ryan forces himself to sit still, even though all he wants to do is pull away.

"Willow. I'm going home!" Jacob bursts out suddenly, he's been practically vibrating in his seat and he leans across the table, seemingly not seeing Ryan's wince at the use of his name. "Gerard's been in touch with my parents. He told them everything and they're fine with me going. Bob and Ray are taking me home soon, Ken, Simon and Ronan, too."

Ryan tries to gather some enthusiasm. "That's great," then hesitates, thinking about Ronan. "But. Ronan can't go home, he's branded. As soon as the authorities see that he'll be recognized as a runaway and hung."

Jacob shakes his head, looking pleased that he knows something Ryan doesn't. "Gerard sorted that too. Ronan's going overseas, to somewhere safe, where slavery is banned."

Ryan's heard of those countries, the ones that rebuilt and repopulated without the tight confines of government control. He also knows they're almost impossible to get to, the borders permanently closed. He looks at Frank, remembering his promise to get Jacob home, at Gerard who could rescue Mikey and a whole fair within days. It doesn't make sense and Ryan opens his mouth to ask questions when Bob puts a plate of eggs in front of him and says, "Eat."

Ryan does. The eggs are good, fluffy with some kind of seasoning sprinkled on top. Ryan eats every bite, but he's also trying piece things together though and he keeps watching Gerard as he heaps left-overs into bowls.

"You haven't seen the hell beast donkey, have you?" Lindsey asks suddenly and Ryan jumps, his fork clattering to his plate. He's also confused, because Lindsey should know he hasn't been outside. She stands and holds out her arm. "Come take a walk with me. It's not far and the fresh air'll be good for you."

"I've got no shoes," Ryan says, not that it matters, he's gone bare foot outside plenty of times.

"That's no problem." Lindsey smiles over at Bob. "Bob will lend you his slippers."

Bob stops scrubbing at the counter top with a sponge and looks over his shoulder with a frown. "I will?"

"You will," Lindsey says and urges Ryan to stand. "You don't want Ryan to get cold feet do you?"

"That would be tragic," Bob says, deadpan. He kicks off the slippers and Lindsey gathers them up, bringing them back to Ryan. "Put these on and we'll go and see hell beast, if you're lucky you'll be able to pet him."

Frank shudders violently. "I wouldn't. That thing about ripped my ass off."

"Because you tried to ride him," Gerard says, looking distressed and pointing a spatula at Frank. "I told you he's not a riding donkey."

"He'll be a donkey stew if he tries to bite me again," Bob mutters, and goes back to attack his cleaning with renewed vigor.

Lindsey clicks her tongue and pushes the slippers closer to Ryan with her feet. "He's not that bad, now come on, before you make a lady feel abandoned."

Ryan pushes his feet in the slippers. They're warm inside, some kind of fur brushing over his toes and when he stands his heels hang over the end. About to walk away from the table he stops when Lindsey holds out her arm again and says gently, "Do you mind?"

Ryan does, but he's not about to say no to someone who's been so kind. He links his arm with Lindsey's, soothed a little when she smiles in return.

"I'm coming too."

It's a relief when Spencer stands, and Lindsey doesn't seem to mind at all, her grin widening as she holds out her free arm and says, "Two gentleman escorts, I'm a lucky lady."

Spencer looks taken aback for a moment, then he rallies, linking arms as they all head for the door to outside. They're walking slowly, even if Ryan does feel better he's not okay and when they have to go down two steps he leans heavily on Lindsey until they're standing on the gravel that covers the ground.

"He's just over there." Lindsey points at a wooden fence on the other side of a small courtyard. Ryan swallows hard, memories pressing close. Of being bent over the fence in the stalls, a john slobbering at his neck and dirt under Ryan's fingernails as his hands claw against the rotten wood. He can see Spencer falter too, and Lindsey looks at them both, confusion flashing briefly before she says, "We can go back if you like?"

Ryan shakes his head, determined not to show weakness. He starts to walk forward again, the gravel crunching under his feet. "I'm fine. Promise."

"Me too," Spencer adds, and Lindsey makes a soft sound of agreement as together they approach the fence.

When they get there Ryan sees the fence surrounds a large field. In one corner there's a shelter complete with a large barrel of water, while in the middle there's a small donkey, chocolate colored with one ear that hangs down. There's also scraps of material littering the grass and despite the way the donkey's head is drooping, like it's carrying the weight of the world on its shoulders, Ryan sees the glint in its eyes, and knows he's looking at a survivor.

"He's beautiful," Ryan says, but makes no attempt to reach over the fence, just watches as the donkey glances their way while eating.

"He's a fighter."

It's no surprise to hear Gerard. Ryan had suspected something was up as soon as Lindsey asked him to go outside. Unlinking his arm, he turns, resting against the fence as Gerard comes close. He's holding a woolen blanket, grease splattered down the front of his shirt, and Ryan suddenly realizes that whatever Gerard's secrets are he doesn't need him to tell. Ryan can trust that he's trying to do the right thing.

"You were wanting to ask questions in there." Gerard looks at Lindsey, communicating silently with expressions alone. "And we're going to answer them."

"Not here though, over there." Lindsey points to a tree covered in golden leaves. There's a metal bench set under it, a mug abandoned on the ground and Gerard moves it to one side as Ryan and Spencer sit down. Unfolding the blanket he drapes it over their laps, shaking his head when they start to protest.

"You're not wearing coats and its chilly."

Ryan doesn't point out that neither Gerard or Lindsey are wearing coats either. Instead he tucks his hands under the blanket, welcoming the trapped warmth as Spencer says, "You were going to tell us something."

Gerard's pacing, his feet crunching against the gravel. He stops, touches his face and pushes back his hair, then eventually says bleakly, "When Mikey disappeared I didn't even realize for a few days."

It's not where Ryan was expecting the story to start, but he keeps listening, wanting to find out where this is going.

"I was in a bad way back then," Gerard goes on, and Lindsey moves closer, though she makes no attempt to touch, allowing Gerard the space to move. "Really fucking bad. I can't even remember what I said to make Mikey leave but I put him through so much shit and he never walked away. Then he did, and I didn't even know until I woke up days later."

"You looked for him then?" Spencer asks, and Gerard laughs bitterly.

"I wish I could say yes, but no. I consoled myself with more knock-off alcohol and by the time I'd sobered up he was long gone. When I realized that I made a vow to myself that was it. I was done with the drinking."

Under the blanket Spencer reaches for Ryan's hand as Ryan sits frozen. He can't help feeling angry, that Gerard lost Mikey like that when so many other families were torn apart against their will.

"Tell me you started looking then," Spencer says, covering the awkward silence.

Gerard nods. "I started looking and never stopped until I got Pete's message. I talked to Mikey's friends, his friend's friends. I walked the streets and checked the clubs. We all did. And the more I talked the more I found out. About people who were ordered into labor camps for loving the wrong gender or some other perceived sin. About sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, friends who disappeared, and it was all government sanctioned. Labor camps and traveling sex fairs, it's nothing but legalized slavery."

"So what?" Ryan says coldly, because this is nothing he didn't know. "You decided to soothe your conscience by asking a load of questions."

Gerard flinches but he doesn't deny it. "That and found myself a job. One that paid enough I could work on my side projects."

"Your comic," Ryan says, remembering what Frank said back at the fair.

"At first." Gerard scratches at the side of his face, and exhales a long breath. "The comic took off. I had the product people wanted at the right time, and it meant I got paid a lot. Like, a fuckload a lot. Enough that I could start helping."

It's what Ryan's been waiting for and he leans forward, says, "How?"

"Helping fund the abolitionist underground mainly," Gerard says. He starts to pace again, hands pushed deep in his pockets. "I found out about all this shit and I wanted to do something, but by that time I was too high profile to help physically. I was Gerard fucking Way, creator of comic strips and new darling of the re-emerging art world. I couldn't go out and help destroy labor camps or help slaves into the underground. What I could do was give funding, and I have ever since."

Spencer's staring at Gerard, as if figuring him out. "That's how you knew how to get Ronan to safety, and get us out of the camp."

"I've learned a lot over the years and have good contacts. Usually I help from a distance but when Pete got in touch I had to do more." Gerard trails off, then continues, his voice soft. "It was Mikey. I'd have done anything to get to him."

Still trying to get his head around the fact an abolitionist underground actually exists, Ryan asks. "So when you came to the fair, you already knew what Mikey was?"

Gerard's shoulders are hunched up and he looks directly at Ryan. "I didn't know for sure. It didn't work like that. I'd give money where it was needed but I never had details. But I knew enough to suspect when Patrick passed on the message. He was furious when I told him I was going in. They have protocols in place and I went in and paid an extortionate sum to get Mikey back. But I couldn't leave him there. You have to understand that."

Ryan does, and some of his anger drains away. "You said it didn't work like that."

This time it's Lindsey that replies. "We've told them we're getting more directly involved. Seeing Mikey was a reality check, money isn't enough anymore."

Gerard straightens, looking determined. "We're going to help save people. I'll make Mikey proud."

Head thumping, Ryan leans against Spencer, wishing he had the words to tell Gerard that while that's a worthy plan, what Mikey needs right now isn't someone who goes out and saves slaves. What he needs is his big brother.

~~~~~

Gerard and Lindsey leave and Spencer looks at Ryan, says, "Want to walk?"

Ryan nods. He feels restless and right now going back inside doesn't sound appealing at all, too enclosed, too warm, too many people he still doesn’t know or fully trust.

Spencer takes the blanket and carefully folds it, setting it on the end of the bench before helping Ryan to stand. "Want to try for around the house?"

"Sure," Ryan says. He wants to see where they actually are, and while he knows he won't be able to walk for long, around the house sounds doable. Before they do though, Ryan tugs at the sleeve of his shirt, exposing his brand. Then stops, feeling stupid.

"We'll get used to it," Spencer says. He's got his hand wrapped over his own brand and is running his thumb over the swirl that extends onto his palm. Then adds quieter, "I hope so."

"We will," Ryan says, trying to sound certain. He starts to walk, tiny stones jabbing into his heels with each step. "No one will care when we're overseas. We'll be like everyone else: free."

"Free. Yeah."

Spencer sounds as doubtful as Ryan feels. Which is understandable because the facts are, no slave is ever set free. Sex fairs, labor camps, death -- freedom is never an option. It's why despite Gerard's money and network of people, Ryan's afraid. Of being re-captured, of losing Spencer, of getting used to freedom and having it inevitably snatched away.

Spencer takes a deep breath and then lets it out slowly. "We always said we'd travel. Guess we'll get our chance."

Ryan remembers hours spent in the stuffy meeting place of their childhood town, listening to Father Grayson preach against the evils of casual fornication, the way his spittle would glint in the air as he hit his stride and how Ryan would sit in the back row with Spencer's family, Spencer listening raptly as Ryan entertained with whispered tales of magical sail boats and lands ruled without fear and control. It feels like a lifetime ago and Ryan wishes the thought of travel could be magical now -- but it's not; at all.

"I want to go somewhere warm," Ryan says, shivering at a sudden gusty breeze. He ducks his head as leaves are blown from the trees that surround the house, one stinging against his cheek.

Spencer blinks against the wind. "That's if we get a choice. It can't be easy moving slaves."

"I guess," Ryan says. "They can send me to the moon as long as it's with you."

"I don't think you'd like the moon, you know, with the lack of oxygen and everything," Spencer says, and he smiles at Ryan before elbowing him gently in the side. "You know I wouldn't go anywhere without you."

"Good," Ryan mutters and then he's looking around before moving forward, pressing a quick kiss against Spencer's mouth. He doesn't linger, this isn't the start of anything and Ryan doesn't want to be seen. Not because he's ashamed, they've been watched having sex multiple times. But the sex was Willow and Sunny, this is private, something prompted by the love Ryan feels for Spencer. The difference is huge.

They've stopped walking now, Spencer's hand curled against Ryan's side. This close it's easy to see how Spencer swallows before saying, "I should contact my family, say goodbye before we go."

"Will you?" Ryan asks.

It takes Spencer a long time to reply, long enough that Ryan's starting to shiver when he eventually says, "I don't want them to know. They'll blame themselves."

Spencer has changed, there's no denying that, but Ryan can't imagine that making a difference. "Your family loves you."

"And I love them," Spencer replies. "That's why I'm not telling them."

He sounds sure and Ryan wants to protest, but he can't. Not when he feels so dirty himself, especially next to people who don't get it, the ones that seem so clean. "It'll be better when we get away. It will."

It's a jump from what Spencer was saying, but he seems to understand as he rests his head against Ryan's, standing close, two against the world.

~~~~

Ryan's freezing when they get back inside. The house is much bigger than either he or Spencer had expected and by the time they're climbing up the steps to the front door Ryan's back is throbbing and his legs are shaking. Spencer's holding his arm, looking pinched and guilty as Ryan pushes himself to keep walking. Through the doorway and into the house, past the jumble of shoes on the floor.

All Ryan wants to do is crawl into bed and sleep, but when they're walking past an open door Brendon says, "Spencer, Ryan, in here."

"I'll put him off," Spencer says under his breath, but when Ryan peers inside he's looking into a bedroom, one dominated by a huge four-poster bed. Pete's propped up in the middle of that bed, his leg on a mound of pillows and Mikey curled up at his side. When Pete waves Ryan goes inside, the cold and pain forgotten.

"It's about time you woke up."

Pete grins and looks sharply at Ryan. "I've missed you too. Now come sit next to me before you fall down."

Ryan's not about to refuse. Still leaning on Spencer he walks past Brendon and Jon, thankful when he can finally sit down. Kicking off the slippers he eases his legs onto the bed, leaning forward slightly to take the pressure off his back.

Pete's watching, and despite the lingering smile he looks concerned. "Mikey told me what you did. What the hell were you thinking?"

"What the hell was I thinking?" Ryan says back, taken by surprise. He turns slightly, enough so he can look fully at Pete. "I wasn't the one climbing on the arena roof."

"At least I didn't volunteer myself for a whipping." Pete reaches out, as if he's going to touch the still vivid mark on Ryan's chin, then drops his hand, looking fierce. "You shouldn't have done that, Ryan."

"What was I supposed to do?" Ryan asks, and the whole room is hushed, listening to the exchange. "He was going to kill you. Or did you want that?" As soon as he speaks Ryan wants to take back the words, especially when Mikey's watching, his expression set. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean...."

"Yes you did," Pete says tiredly. He wipes his hand across his face and tightens his grip on Mikey's hand. "I don't know what I was thinking, I was missing Mikey so much and everything was black. I wanted to climb up and reach the stars, but then I was falling and hoped I'd never stop. You saved me."

Ryan shakes his head. He's never saved anyone, all he'd done was protect a friend. Anyone would do that. "I didn't do anything."

"Yes you did," Brendon protests, he's sitting cross-legged on the bottom of the bed, his bare feet sticking out from under his robe. "You protected him, even when you went down you protected him, like some kind of hero. It was awesome."

Ryan's about to say it didn't feel awesome when Spencer sits next to him, deflecting the conversation as he looks at Pete's leg. "Your foot's like, twice the size of the other one."

"You should see it without the bandages," Pete says and he sits upright. "It's seriously gross."

Mikey reaches out, trapping Pete's free hand. "Remember what Lindsey said."

Pete sighs and slumps against his pillows. "I'd have only shown them the top bruises. It doesn't take that long to re-bandage."

Mikey gives Pete a look. "Do you really want to risk it?"

"Spoilsport." Pete rests his head against Mikey's shoulder and looks at Ryan, his eyes bright. "I owe you."

Ryan starts to deny that, but then he changes his mind, says, "No, it makes us even."

Some people could say it's not the same thing. That hoarded food is nothing compared to taking a whipping. Ryan knows they're wrong. It's not about balance, it's about Pete always being there, about friendship. To Ryan that's the most important thing of all.

For a moment Pete studies Ryan, then nods slowly as he holds out his hand. "We're even."

Ryan clasps Pete's hand, then lets out a huff of surprise when he's suddenly tugged forward, landing safely on Pete's chest. "Pete?"

"Ryan?" Pete replies and he holds Ryan close as he adds. "You've got a friend for life, Ryan, don't you ever forget it."

Held close, the thump of Pete's heart under his ear, Ryan knows he never will.

~~~~

Lunch ends up being a picnic on Pete and Mikey's bed.

There's a rapid series of knocks on the bedroom door and then Frank's looking inside and says, "I've brought lunch. Is it okay?"

It's a question that doesn't really make sense but Pete waves his hand, indicating Frank should come in even as he asks, "I don't know you do I?"

"Nope," Frank says. He's crouched over slightly, pushing a small trolley that's covered in plates of sandwiches that clink together as the trolley wobbles and abruptly changes direction. Frank scowls and kicks at the wheel. "Fucking thing, I told Gee I could carry them in just as easy."

Brendon's eyes are wide as he looks at the heaped plates, and his mouth drops open a little when he looks on the bottom level of the trolley. "Are those cakes?"

Frank follows Brendon's gaze. "Gerard sent us shopping this morning. They're chocolate cupcakes with butter frosting and ..."

"Sprinkles on top," Mikey finishes levelly as he sits up, his back against the headboard. "Our grandma used to make them. They were my favorites."

"Well I hope you still like them, there's plenty." Squeezing past the trolley Frank makes his way to the head of the bed so he's standing next to Pete. "Sorry, we have met before but you've kind of been unconscious both times. I'm Frank."

"Mikey's friend, Frank?" Pete asks, and when Frank nods his smile changes, becoming less of a performance and more something that's real. "And you've brought us cakes."

Frank grins. "Cake and sandwiches. I was bringing a plate for you anyway, and Mikey's been eating in here, so I figured why not bring food for everyone?"

Jon scratches over the top of his bandage. "Thank you."

"It's nothing." A last small smile and Frank starts to move back toward the door. "There's plenty so help yourself. If you want more just yell."

Brendon starts to reach for a plate then stops himself, hand held in mid-air. "You're not eating with us?"

For the first time Frank looks unsure as he glances over Mikey. "There's stuff I need to do. The potatoes won't put themselves away."

"They could if they grew legs," Mikey says, and Ryan looks at him, wondering if Mikey's finally snapped. But Frank's taken a step forward, looking heart-brokenly hopeful.

"Potato men with fat bodies and tiny legs."

Mikey nods. "They'd march forward and huddle together in sacks, waiting for their own death by knife or boiling water."

"Because they're fucking brutal," Frank adds, taking another step forward.

The whole conversation is crazy, and so delicate it feels like it could shatter at any moment. Then Mikey tucks up his legs and says, "You should stay."

Frank does. Eyes alight, he takes a spot next to Mikey, sitting cross legged on the bed. They're not touching and Frank's ensuring that doesn't unexpectedly happen, careful to leave space when he's reaching for a sandwich or telling some tale that requires elaborate hand gestures. Seeing that effort means Ryan relaxes a little too, sure that Frank's not about to spring over the bed and attempt to grab him. Not that Ryan thinks he would, just, Frank was there at the fair, was acting as a john. Even if Ryan does know it was make-believe the anxiety clings on.

"These are good." Jon's lying on his stomach, legs bent and bare feet in the air as he eats. "I like the green stuff."

Frank nods and swallows the last of his sandwich. "There's a market in town. I about cleaned out the farmer's stock." Brushing crumbs off his shirt, Frank frowns as he adds, "I'll have to go somewhere else next time or they'll get suspicious of how much food we're buying."

The sandwich he's eaten feels like a rock in Ryan's stomach. He's never considered being found here but now all he can think of is being hauled back to the fair or the burn of a rope tightening around his neck.

Spencer reaches out, soothing Ryan by rubbing his arm. "It is safe here, though? No one knows?"

"Only the ones that have to," Frank says. "And I trust those people with my life."

Frank sounds sure and Ryan tries to believe him, reminding himself that they're safe, nobody bad knows that they're here. That this is what Gerard does.

"I can't remember the last time I ate cake," Jon says. He's got his chin propped on his hands and gives a reassuring smile at Ryan before tapping Brendon with his foot. "Are you ready for cake?"

"I'm always ready for cake," Brendon says seriously, and he slides off the bed and takes hold of the plate of cakes. Then holds them in two hands as he tries to find a place to set them down, because, despite being so huge the bed is crowded with seven people. Eventually Brendon balances the plate on Pete's knees and then goes back to his place next to Jon.

Ryan can't help staring. Like Jon he can't remember the last time he ate cake and they look almost too delicate to eat, the frosting in soft swirls and the sprinkles a riot of color. Ryan licks his lips, wanting to taste so badly, but he doesn't reach out. None of them do, until eventually, Frank breaks the mood, grabbing one of the cakes and taking a big bite.

"They're delicious," Frank enthuses, a red sprinkle stuck in the corner of his mouth. "Grab one before I eat them all."

"I want a blue one." Brendon leans forward, grabbing a cake, and then it's a free-for-all, hands reaching for the plate until all that's left are two cakes and a lot of crumbs.

Ryan holds his own cake in his hand. He's not hungry but he can't resist taking a small bite of the frosting, shivering a little at the sugary taste. He takes another bite, letting the frosting lie against his tongue, savoring the sweetness. He can feel sprinkles stuck to his lips and licks them away, taking another small bite of frosting before putting his cake on his lap.

"You don't like it?" Frank asks, and Ryan flushes, looking away.

"I'm full." Reluctantly Ryan picks up the cake again, holding it so Frank can see. "I haven't eaten much. I'll scrape the bit away I touched, someone else can have it. It won't get wasted"

Immediately Frank shakes his head, and Ryan's face is burning. He should have known they wouldn't eat something he's already touched. Then Frank's standing and going to the trolley where he bends and then stands, holding a roll of paper towels.

"No one can say I don't know how to throw a picnic." He tears off a length of towels and gives them to Ryan. "Wrap it in that. The frosting might get a bit papery but this way you can keep it for later."

Ryan takes the paper towels and carefully wraps up his cake, making sure it's completely covered, the ends tucked in to make a small parcel. When he's done he holds the wrapped cake in his hand, feeling almost uncomfortably full and drowsy. If Frank wasn't here Ryan would curl up and sleep with the others, he's done it before and it feels comfortable to be surrounded by people he knows. But Frank is here and Ryan taps Spencer on the arm, says quietly, "I'm tired."

Spencer yawns wide and goes back to wrapping his own cake. "Me too. " A twist of the paper towel and Spencer stands, helping Ryan to his feet. "Thanks for the lunch."

Frank waves away the thanks, says, "No worries," as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

A flurry of goodbyes and together Ryan and Spencer leave the room, heading back to where they've been sleeping. Ryan's holding his cake by the paper case and he can feel the ripples under his fingers, so uniformly perfect. He's thinking about where to hide the food, considering behind the curtains or under the bed. In the end he hides it in the top drawer of the dresser, pushing the cake to the back, and then does the same to Spencer's when he silently hands it over.

Ryan shuts the drawer and immediately feels unsettled, torn between knowing he doesn't have to hoard food and the compulsion to do so anyway. Fingers curled around the brass handle he considers taking out the cakes and setting them out in plain view -- but doesn't.

"Come and sit down," Spencer says. He's kicked off his shoes and is sitting in the middle of the bed, his head tilted slightly to one side to avoid the griffin. He's also got the blanket folded back but is making no attempt to get under the covers.

Ryan climbs onto the bed, lying against Spencer. "Are you okay?"

Spencer's brows are pulled together, his mouth turned down at the corners. "I've been thinking about when we leave, about how we'll have to go overseas."

"It could be fun," Ryan says, trying to be optimistic despite his misgivings. He positions himself as comfortably as possible, his head against Spencer's shoulder. "We'll go exploring."

Spencer nods, then adds in a rush, "I don't what I'd be able to do."

"About what?" Ryan asks.

"About earning money. We need to live somehow, Gerard can't be expected to keep us, and we need to eat, but how? I don't know how to do anything except have sex. Agitated, Spencer's breathing hard, his hands curled into fists. "That won't support us."

"Spencer." Ryan cups Spencer's jaw and turns his head, needing him to see what Ryan's saying. "You've got plenty to offer. They should line up to hire you, if they don't they're stupid. You're more than sex, a lot more."

"It doesn't feel like it," Spencer says softly, turning his head into Ryan's hold a moment before pulling away. "Earlier you said about contacting my family, and I started to think about it. What I'd say to my mom about what I'd been doing while I was gone. All I could think of was sex and how am I supposed to tell her that? That I've learned how to deep throat and take double penetration. That I can suck like a professional and get it up enough to fuck my best friend in front of an audience. That's who I am, Ryan, it's all I've got to give, and I hate that."

Ryan shakes his head, his stomach twisting with shared misery. "That's not who you are. It's not."

"But it feels like it," Spencer says, his voice cracking. "I need to be able to support you but I don't know how and they'd see the brand and know I'm nothing but a whore."

"Don't say that. You're not a whore," Ryan says fiercely. He takes hold of Spencer's arm, fingers over the brand. "And we support each other, if that means I have to get a job moving rocks I'll do it."

"I don't know, you're not much a rock hauler," Spencer says, and while Ryan's thankful for the hint of a smile he's not finished. He's not going to let Spencer's hide behind his usual shields of efficiency and distracting smiles just yet.

"I'd still do it." Needing to be face to face, Ryan sits so he's looking directly at Spencer. "If anyone calls you a whore I'll break their nose."

Spencer touches their foreheads together, and momentarily the exhaustion and fear Ryan's been carrying is swept away as Spencer says, "I love you too."

Part 5

Comments

[littleladypunk.livejournal.com]

/random/
It has anything to do with the story, but Mikey's and Frank's conversation about potatoes reminded me of a cartoon I used to watch as a little kid. There were potatoes with legs. ;DD
/random/

[turps33.livejournal.com]

You know, I think I've seen the same cartoon. Though I couldn't tell you what it was.

[casey_sms.livejournal.com]

Maybe it's me but I've suddenly had a thought reading this through the milazillionth time heh. Did you say what Jon's sex slave name was???

[casey_sms.livejournal.com]

*bump*

Please?

(I read it again and that thought is driving me crazy xD)

[kdsfrmystrdy.livejournal.com]

I'm assuming it's Zen- "Zen and Apollo will be back out soon" or something like that, when Pete falls off the roof.

[casey_sms.livejournal.com]

Lolol. I fail so hard. You're right. I actually went back just then to check it xD

Thanks a lot for clearing that up. You're awesome! <3

[turps33.livejournal.com]

Yes, yes it is. And thank you so much for answering. I suck so hard for not doing so :(

[turps33.livejournal.com]

You're not the one that fails, that's me for not replying when you initially asked. Especially as I'm writing in the universe right now.

Sorry, bb.

[casey_sms.livejournal.com]

I was kind of worried I was being annoying /insecurities and failing again.

No problem :) :) :)

THIS IS AWESOME :squees hard:

[turps33.livejournal.com]

No, not at all and I'm so sorry I made you feel that way.

I got caught up in writing BBBs and real life got hectic and my in box was a mess.

♥