FicWad

"Ryan." Ryan's eyes snapped from the gun residing in his hands up to his fathers face. "Ry, put the gun down. Please Ryro, listen to me." Ryan shook his head and gripped the piece of metal tighter. Of course he knew his father would plead for his life. He'd say how he'd change, treat Ryan better. Then he'd call the cops, and Ryan couldn't have that now could he? "Ryan," his father's voice rose in decibels with each word, "give me the goddamn gun!" The honey-eyed boy flared with anger in that sudden moment.

William watched from the other side of the room, long hair matted to his face and sticking up in odd places. He himself, was smiling and laughing as he watched the drunken man plead for his life. He knew exactly what went on whenever Ryan would come to school with new bruises and black eyes. What made him sick though was the hickeys and bite marks marking his babies thighs; after he saw them Ryan wouldn't let William touch him for a month. Ryan was William's and only William's. No. One. Especially not that sick fuck, was to touch his angel. He just simply wouldn't put up with it. William confronted his boyfriend's father, telling him he needed to stop and maybe threw in a threat or two. When Ryan's father laughed in William's face, he knew something had to be done.

"Fuck you!" Ryan lined up the gun with his father's chest and took the shot. He laughed when the other fell to the floor with a satisfying thud. "Am I still your baby boy?! Huh?!" Ryan's voice got louder and more high pitched, "Am I good enough now?! Huh, daddy?! Am I finally good enough?!" He stared into his father's pleading eyes a few seconds before speaking up. "What was I again?! Daddy's little gutter slut?!" Ryan fired a second time into his abusers chest. He threw the gun to the side before reaching over and grabbing a bat a few feet away. He knelt down over the whimpering man below and whispered in his ear. "I'm gonna enjoy this." He brought the metal bat down onto his chest, his head, hitting him full force in the most random places. Ryan didn't stop hitting him, even after he had died. Blood and some brain matter splattered across his shirt, face, the wall, and the floor.

"Ryan," William ran over to his boyfriend's side and grabbed the bat, mid-swing, "he's dead, stop!" He pulled Ryan off of his father. The younger sobbed and clung to him. "It's okay, sweetheart. He can't hurt you anymore, it's okay." Ryan nodded and held tighter onto William's favorite green sweater, which was also being soaked with blood and tears.

After a few minutes of being calm, Ryan realized what he had actually just done and started getting hysterical. "Oh god, William what if someone finds him?! What will we do?! What will I do?! I can't go to jail, you know what they do to guys like me in pri-"

"Shh," William shushed Ryan and stroked his hair, "if anyone finds him it was all my fault. You did nothing. No one will ever hurt you again, baby. I promise. I love you." William could've killed the asshole himself, shit he would've, but he knew Ryan had to. He had to inflict the kind of pain he had been feeling onto the person who caused it and William wasn't going to take that away from him. Ryan just nodded and sunk deeper into William's chest. "We need to go. I'll get all of the stuff together, you go grab a few clothes and some money okay? We're gonna make it seemed like you were kidnapped."

Ryan scratched the back of his head then looked down at his shirt, "Okay, I-I think I wanna change though."

"Okay, I need to burn that anyways." William sighed and looked down at his own shirt. "I have to burn this too. Damn, this one was my favorite."

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to..." Ryan faded out sheepishly, looking up at William with innocent eyes.

"It's fine, honey. I can always get another shirt." William kissed the top of Ryan's head and ruffled his hair. Ryan nodded and took his shirt off. "I'll be right back." He walked into the kitchen and reappeared a few seconds later with a black bag.

"Here." Ryan handed William the blood splattered shirt as he took off his own. The older tossed Ryan's and his own shirt into the plastic bag. "I'm..." Ryan went to wipe his eye but realized there was blood on his face. "I'm going to wash my face." William nodded and Ryan went upstairs. When Ryan came downstairs, face and hair clean, almost everything was the same, except there was a crowbar instead of a bat and the gun had been replaced with a replica.

"It's so they still have a murder weapon," William looked up at Ryan walking down the stairs, "just not the one you used. There's no fingerprints on these two." He wiggled his fingers which were covered in black rubber gloves. "We don't wanna seem suspicious, baby doll. Now go back upstairs and get your stuff, we have to leave like now."

Ryan nodded and started walking up the stairs. at the fifth step he turned and looked at William. "You seem to know what you're doing." He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms.

"I just don't want us to get caught babe. Now go. Remember, nothing heavy."

After a few minutes of packing clothes into his backpack Ryan looked over at a picture of him and his mother sitting on his nightstand. He smiled to himself and shoved it into the front pocket of his backpack. He had only grabbed the necessities: a toothbrush, deodorant (the vanilla kind that William loves so much), some shirts, a few pair of skinny jeans, and he couldn't forget his eyeliner because that was a necessity, well to him at least.

With a sunken chest Ryan walked to his father's room. As soon as he walked in all the repressed memories from years of torment came back at him. He remembered back to his first night, well he couldn't exactly remember what happened, but he knows when he left that room he didn't have his virginity anymore. He grabbed a couple hundred dollars from his father's safe and ran back downstairs. He smiled at William while holding back a few tears.

"You ready?"

Ryan swallowed hard and fixed his backpack on his shoulder. "Yeah."

okay yeah i don't know where i'm going with this and i really love ryilliam okay bye. -Ryrp