Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > To Each His Own
Brendon feels shuffling and wakes up quickly. His heart pounds a million times a minute as he sees a shadowy form in his face.
On top of his bed.
On top of him.
But before he can say a word, the person speaks,
“Why are you in this bed?”
The voice is deep, and Brendon finds it oddly attractive despite the threatening tone. Then, the person moves backwards a little, and the moonlight catches his features.
Brendon thinks he's either dead or dreaming, because the guy looks like an angel.
His features are soft and feminine but fit his small, freakishly skinny appearance well. His eyes are big and shining, and soft hair falls over his right eye. He's got a deep purple (Brendon inwardly smiles at this) v-neck shirt on with tight jeans, and his arms are on either side of Brendon, blocking him from moving. But Brendon isn't scared.
He just narrows his eyes and asks,
“What?”
Now, Brendon didn't expect what happened next. No one would expect what happened next.
Angel-Boy's beautiful eyes narrowed, and he took a deep breath in, looking as if he was trying to control himself.
“Get. Out. Now.”
Brendon stares disbelievingly.
“What?” he asks again, confused and kind of sleepy. He's still not sure if he's dreaming.
Next thing he knows, the boy's hands are clenched around his neck, and Brendon's gasping for breath as the hands close in on his throat. The boy's face is set in a killer glare, and he whispers angrily through clenched teeth,
“Why did they give you my bed? Huh? Tell me. TELL ME!”
With the sudden shout, Spencer flies up awake from the bed while the boy begins to violently shake Brendon, hands still wrapped around Brendon's throat.
As soon as Spencer turns and catches sight of his new roommate and the boy, his blue eyes widen and he stammers out after a stunned pause,
“O-Oh God, please, let go of him—”
The boy shoots his death look to Spencer now, and narrows his eyes even more, looking not like an angel but a demon. Spencer, who had inched forward a little bit, immediately falls back.
Brendon's heart pounds with terror as the pain in his upper body throbs and he watches.
“You lied to me,” the boy sneers suddenly, his glare becoming more killer (if that's even possible, Brendon thinks) and Spencer shakes his head quickly.
“No, please, listen to me! You left and—”
“Shut UP!”
The boy thrusts Brendon down onto the bed as he still has a hold of his neck, and Brendon gags as his head bangs against the bedpost. Pain rings in his skull and he lets out a moan as soon as he can breathe again, reaching up and grabbing his temples, curling to his side painfully.
“JON! TOMMY!” Spencer cries suddenly, desperate and horrified, and the boy jumps up from Brendon's bunk.
Quickly, he runs and grabs a chair tucked under the desk at the foot of Brendon's bed. Shoving it under the doorknob to keep the door from opening, he glares at Spencer.
“Listen to me you traitor,” he sneers, and Brendon rubs his head and watches Spencer recoil. “You LISTEN to me!” he shouts, his entire body quivering with a strange fury, and Brendon bites his lip at the shrill, booming noise. “WHY is his crap on my bed? Huh?” the boy asks, thrusting his finger at Brendon. “WHY?”
There are nervous voices coming from behind the door, and it's pounding back and forth as the chair slowly slips from under the doorknob and the people anxiously try to get in. The intruder knows he's running out of time, so he hastily goes on.
“Listen to me! I WILL find out what happened and I WILL fix it,” He turns his gaze to Brendon. “YOU won't last another day here,” he threatens, and Brendon feels a rush of fear before—
“What in God's name are you DOING?”
The boy's death stare doesn't falter from Brendon's and Brendon's fear doesn't leave as Jon and another man Brendon doesn't recognize rush forward and grab the boy from behind. They lift him up, and Brendon hears the unfamiliar man go,
“Seclusion.”
The boy's eyes widen with terror.
“Oh God. God, Tommy, no Tommy! NO! Please, OH GOD!” The boy's screeching now after his voice had risen with pitch with each word, and Spencer is sitting with his hands over his ears, his face buried in his knees, shaking back and forth.
“Tommy” obviously doesn't listen because he and Jon keep their hold on the boy and now he's started kicking. Brendon winces as he watches the boy's fingernails dig into Jon's arm and he imagines the pain.
“YOU'RE ALL WEAK! YOU'RE ALL FREAKIN' WEAK! YOU'RE A BUNCH OF LIARS!” Now, another man is rushing in carrying something, and the boy makes a huge, desperate thrash in attempt to relinquish the guards' grasp on his limbs.
“GET OFF ME!” The boy shrieks, tears now obvious in his voice, and he writhes hysterically and kicks and scratches and bites and cries.
Brendon's never heard wailing as disturbing and heartbreaking as the boy's ever before in his entire life.
“STOP! JUST STOP!” the boy screeches, and then wails in pain as Brendon notices they shoot a needle in his arm.
Brendon's never felt the mix of emotions he's feeling right now; it's a mix of pure horror, anger, nausea, and sympathy.
Brendon doesn't like that last one. Brendon's selfish, not sympathetic.
Soon, the three are finally out of the room, and the boy's yelling is now small, desperate crying that haunts Brendon's mind even as the footsteps go farther and farther down the hallway and Brendon realizes they shot the boy up with a tranquilizer as it gets quieter.
And then it's just Spencer and Brendon and Brendon's shaking and ragged breaths and it's far too silent.
Spencer is shuddering and whimpering, and Brendon is lying there, jaw open, shell-shocked.
Finally, he sits up. Looking at Spencer, he shakily whispers,
“What was that?”
Spencer stops his noises and looks up. Brendon notices tears in his eyes and thinks that's kind of weird. Spencer swallows, opens his mouth slowly, and then, tear choked, answers,
“That…was Ryan.”
--------------------------------
Brendon's curled up in the blue blankets staring wide-eyed and emptily at the wall when someone comes back into the room.
For a split second, he feels a rush of terror, instinctively thinking that the hysterical boy has come back. But when he sits up and sees the unfamiliar man who helped take the boy away along with Jon, he swallows.
Jon is breathing heavily, his white coat wrinkled and his hands red with little fingernail marks on them. Brendon winces inwardly.
The other man, who appears to be older than Jon, is breathing deeply as well, trying to catch his breath, with his dark hair stuck to his shiny forehead with sweat. The man takes a deep breath in, and then, looking straight at Brendon, says,
“I am so, absolutely, unbelievably sorry.”
Brendon's not sure what to say at first; he thinks that being attacked by a psycho patient in the middle of the night on his first evening at what is supposed to be a high-security mental hospital calls for more than just a “sorry”, but he still doesn't say anything except a muttered,
“Y-yeah. I figure you would be.”
The man takes a deep breath in again, runs a hand through his hair, and then walks over to Brendon's bed. Instinctively, Brendon curls up deeper in the covers and scoots away from the edge. The man doesn't seem to notice, or just ignores, the uneasy reaction and leans over onto the bed. He reaches out a hand. Brendon resists the urge to knock it away and shout in anger and pain as the fingertips graze over his disheveled hair and touch the now forming, swollen bump on his temple.
Brendon hears the guy swallow, and then watches as best he can from his point of view as he turns and instructs to Jon,
“Get me an ice pack.”
Jon nods and scampers off. Brendon feels his stomach drop as he realizes he's now alone (Well, not completely, since Spencer's technically still in the room, but Spencer's just lying on his side, seemingly asleep or maybe even dead, so Brendon discounts him) with this complete stranger.
“Uh—” Brendon starts, feeling the need to say something but not knowing what, and the man cuts him off.
Brendon is truly surprised as the other male's face breaks out into a smile, and his eyes begin to twinkle. It makes Brendon a little uneasy despite the fact it's probably supposed to help him feel better.
“I'm Tom DeLonge, but please just call me Tommy. I'm the head guard in this building and more specifically this ward, and unfortunately was away today at a meeting with the other head guards at Southside so I didn't help get you settled in. I apologize,” the man explains, and Brendon doesn't do anything but nod, still kind of shell-shocked with this whole situation.
Tommy swallows again, and then sits more comfortably on the side of Brendon's mattress, still not breaking his gaze from the boy's.
“Brendon Urie, right?” he asks, and once again, Brendon nods.
Tommy bops his head as well in acknowledgment, and looks like he's about to say something else, but before he has a chance to, Jon bounds in with a blue pack of ice. He hands it to Tommy.
“Here.”
Tommy takes it, and hands it over to Brendon. It's covered in a cloth, so the coldness isn't too bad against Brendon's fingers as he takes it slowly.
“Put it on your head,” Tommy instructs, and Brendon takes a breath in but still obeys.
There's an awkward silence, and then Jon says,
“Tommy, do you think we should tell Bren—?”
Tommy cuts him off.
“That was Ryan Ross, Brendon,” he starts, giving a side-glance to the boy for some reaction, and with no response, continues anyway. “He ran away a month ago, and police had been looking for him. Finally, they found him shortly before I arrived back here from the meeting about an hour and a half ago. We thought we had him under control but…” Tommy fades off now, looking down in what Brendon thinks must be embarrassment. “…Apparently not,” he finishes quietly.
Brendon, before he has a chance to think rationally, blurts out,
“Well, I hope you're gonna plan on doing just a little freaking better with the task of keeping that whack-job locked up.”
Tommy and Jon stare at Brendon for a few moments, and then Tommy swallows. “Of course, Brendon,” he affirms, and then breathes in. “Once again, I apologize this happened to you.” Standing up now, he motions towards the still form of Spencer.
“Is he okay?”
Jon nods, and then answers,
“Yeah, just a little shocked, I guess. After all, we told him he was dead and he was his—”
All of a sudden, Tommy and Jon both glance warily at Brendon, and Jon stops mid-sentence. Brendon feels a rush of anger as he realizes they're not going to converse any farther with Brendon in the room. That makes him mad because he feels like, in a way, he has a right to know the full story behind his attacker.
Jon bites his bottom lip, not sure of what to say so his superior takes the hint and finishes,
“Brendon, if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. There's always someone at the nurses' station available, okay? For now, just try to get some rest and we'll talk more tomorrow. We won't get you up at the typical seven o'clock; you can sleep in for your first morning.”
Brendon nods again; he feels stupid because all he seems to be doing is nodding in response.
Then, Jon and Tommy begin to exit the room. But on the way out, Brendon (who's always proud to reveal he has the ears of a fox) picks up a stray sentence:
“This is gonna be an interesting one for therapy.”
--------------------------------
Brendon thinks maybe he dozes off once or twice for all together about an hour before pale sunlight breaks through the blinds and spills into the lonely room. He swallows.
“He wasn't always like that, you know.”
Brendon turns on his side.
Spencer is swaddled in the blankets, looking helpless and innocent as the early morning light streams on his blue eyes and ash blonde hair, making them almost glow with an angelic hue. Brendon watches as Spencer bites his lip, and he feels confused as to whom Spencer's talking about.
“Who?” Brendon whispers, his voice unsurprisingly groggy and cracked.
“Ryan,” Spencer replies automatically.
At the name of the boy, Brendon feels a rush of uneasiness flutter in his gut. His pouty lips twist in distaste, and he swallows again. Spencer carries on.
“He was my best friend.”
Brendon truly finds this surprising. He knew that somehow Ryan and Spencer were connected, judging by the way they both addressed each other last night, but he didn't realize that the connection was so close. Brendon nods, whispering,
“Go on.”
So Spencer does.
“He was my neighbor,” he starts, and then his features turn to a wistful sort of smile as memories come back to him. “I met him when he was five and I was four. My grandpa lived near him and his dad, not to mention they also worked together, and one day my grandpa and I went walking in Ry's neighborhood and Ryan was outside shooting golf balls into the neighbor's yard.”
Brendon chuckles and a small smile takes place on his face at that. It reminds him of some kind of stunt he himself would pull, and in a weird way, that idea makes Ryan seem a bit more human. Spencer continues,
“His dad and my grandpa started talking, and Ryan and I started hanging out, too. We became really, really close. So close, in fact, that every—” Spencer stops now, and Brendon's brow furrows in confusion.
“Every what?” Brendon prompts, now anxious to hear more.
Spencer swallows, closes his eyes, and then opens them again slowly. He's staring at Brendon with such intensity that Brendon thinks maybe he shouldn't have said anything.
“What I'm about to tell you, you can't ever tell another soul,” Spencer says, and Brendon feels his heart start to pound a little faster. Whether that acceleration is from fear or excitement, he can't tell just yet.
“I swear I won't,” Brendon promises, and for once he plans on keeping that statement.
“Ryan's dad was pretty twisted, Brendon,” Spencer starts after a breath, and Brendon gulps. “He beat Ryan and drank and all that other crap,” Spencer pauses. He takes a shaky breath in and his facial features are set in a look that makes Brendon think he doesn't want to continue, but he carries on regardless of what he's feeling (Brendon makes a mental note that that's awfully of nice of Spencer and maybe, maybe he won't make life too hard for him, now), “I remember, Ryan would sometimes show up at my house at like 2AM with these fresh bruises or cuts, or complaining about how his dad hadn't come home yet and there was no food, or that his dad kicked him out. My mom was always really great about it; she'd set up a little place for Ryan on the couch and usually let me sleep down there with him and stuff. She never called the police or anything though, just because Ryan begged her not to. In his own weird way, I think he really cared about his dad.”
Brendon feels sympathy again. This time it doesn't bother him as much, though, because he feels like any halfway-decent person would feel bad for Ryan, and he thinks to himself that he may not be perfect, but he's at least about 50% decent. Well, more like 25%. But he's not being picky. Either way, he decides feeling bad just this once won't do any harm.
Brendon nods for the other boy to continue.
“This went on from when he was like seven to when he was seventeen or something. I don't really remember, but it was a long time,” Spencer says, and Brendon interrupts.
“What made his dad drink like that?”
Spencer chews his bottom lip; then he answers,
“When Ryan was two, his mom left him and his dad for another man. His father took it pretty hard, and I guess blamed the divorce on Ryan. Drinking was his way of coping with it all.”
Brendon shifts in the sheets, feeling angry with Ryan's irresponsible parents. He thinks that's weird; he hasn't once met them, and already he's got a grudge.
Once again he blames that on the fact he's 25% decent.
“Ryan was a really interesting kid. Eccentric, is more like it, actually. He wrote all this really deep poetry in this beat up old notebook, was quiet and thoughtful, and was really into fire and stuff. I mean, he wasn't like a full-blown pyromaniac or anything, he just thought flames were beautiful and liked messing with fireplaces or bonfires. But to tell the truth, now that I think about, it was kind of weird,” Spencer admits quietly.
Brendon thinks, strangely enough, that he would have thought Ryan's interest in fire was cool. He also thinks that it's strange that he doesn't think that's sort of freaky.
“And then he also played these wacky instruments you'd never really expect a teenager to play: accordion, organ, banjo, guitar, and one of his favorites to mess with was an out-of-tune piano…”
Brendon thinks a little bit more highly of Ryan now, knowing that he plays four instruments. One of which (the out-of-tune piano) Brendon greatly enjoys himself. He never thought anyone else would like to play something as weird as an out-of-tune piano.
Spencer shakes his head. “But as the years went by, Ryan's uniqueness turned into more of a freaky, uncontrolled, impulsive kind of personality. He never got involved with other kids at school; I was his only friend. He always seemed to disobey whatever his father or the school told him to do. Even though we didn't hang out as much `cause we were older and went to different schools, he called me his `best friend' and we hung out on weekends and breaks and stuff,” Spencer elaborates. “I remember, one night, Ryan came over to my place at like 12AM. I figured it was `cause of his dad like it normally was, but when I talked to him, Ryan said he had just gotten in a fight at a party, which explained why he was black and blue, and that the guys there threatened to kill him or some sick thing like that and he didn't know what else to do except come to my place. I asked him why the guys got so mad at him, and he smirked and said that he set their car on fire.”
Brendon's eyes widen at this despite himself.
“I couldn't believe it at first. I was so friggin' mad at Ry for doing something that sick. I asked him how he could have been so stupid and put his life in danger like that when he knew the guys were obviously drunk and dangerous, and he just smirked again and shrugged. That's when I really realized Ryan was different. He was reckless and didn't feel regret. He blamed his behavior on wanting to `get back at his dad'.”
Brendon gulps, because he sees a similarity between the ways Spencer described Ryan and himself. Brendon was reckless (when he wanted to be). Brendon was impulsive and daring and didn't usually feel bad when he disobeyed someone. Now, Brendon never put his life in danger the way Ryan seemed to (not on purpose, at least, Brendon thinks, recalling his “almost-suicide”), and he didn't do quite as outrageous stunts like setting drunken guys' cars on fire, but the similarity was still a bit too strong for Brendon's taste.
Of course, he doesn't voice these thoughts, and simply says “Wow,” because he thinks that's the next best thing.
Spencer sighs, and rolls over on his back now, folding his hands neatly on his chest. Brendon watches and waits as his blue eyes scan the ceiling for a few more seconds.
“I kept that night at the back of my head and watched Ryan over the next few months; as time went by, he actually seemed to calm down a little bit and I was hopeful he'd taken a turn for the better. But then…” Spencer stops now, squeezing his eyes shut, and Brendon realizes that he is crying. “…But then one night…”
Brendon lifts his head up a bit in anticipation. Spencer sees this out of the corner of his eye and continues,
“One night Ryan—”
The door opens, interrupting, and Brendon's stomach drops in disappointment as he sees Jon standing there. Spencer breaks out of his nostalgic trance and sits up a bit. Jon says,
“Spencer, time to get up. You have therapy with Dr. Potts in twenty.”
And Brendon knows the story will have to wait.
--------------------------------
On top of his bed.
On top of him.
But before he can say a word, the person speaks,
“Why are you in this bed?”
The voice is deep, and Brendon finds it oddly attractive despite the threatening tone. Then, the person moves backwards a little, and the moonlight catches his features.
Brendon thinks he's either dead or dreaming, because the guy looks like an angel.
His features are soft and feminine but fit his small, freakishly skinny appearance well. His eyes are big and shining, and soft hair falls over his right eye. He's got a deep purple (Brendon inwardly smiles at this) v-neck shirt on with tight jeans, and his arms are on either side of Brendon, blocking him from moving. But Brendon isn't scared.
He just narrows his eyes and asks,
“What?”
Now, Brendon didn't expect what happened next. No one would expect what happened next.
Angel-Boy's beautiful eyes narrowed, and he took a deep breath in, looking as if he was trying to control himself.
“Get. Out. Now.”
Brendon stares disbelievingly.
“What?” he asks again, confused and kind of sleepy. He's still not sure if he's dreaming.
Next thing he knows, the boy's hands are clenched around his neck, and Brendon's gasping for breath as the hands close in on his throat. The boy's face is set in a killer glare, and he whispers angrily through clenched teeth,
“Why did they give you my bed? Huh? Tell me. TELL ME!”
With the sudden shout, Spencer flies up awake from the bed while the boy begins to violently shake Brendon, hands still wrapped around Brendon's throat.
As soon as Spencer turns and catches sight of his new roommate and the boy, his blue eyes widen and he stammers out after a stunned pause,
“O-Oh God, please, let go of him—”
The boy shoots his death look to Spencer now, and narrows his eyes even more, looking not like an angel but a demon. Spencer, who had inched forward a little bit, immediately falls back.
Brendon's heart pounds with terror as the pain in his upper body throbs and he watches.
“You lied to me,” the boy sneers suddenly, his glare becoming more killer (if that's even possible, Brendon thinks) and Spencer shakes his head quickly.
“No, please, listen to me! You left and—”
“Shut UP!”
The boy thrusts Brendon down onto the bed as he still has a hold of his neck, and Brendon gags as his head bangs against the bedpost. Pain rings in his skull and he lets out a moan as soon as he can breathe again, reaching up and grabbing his temples, curling to his side painfully.
“JON! TOMMY!” Spencer cries suddenly, desperate and horrified, and the boy jumps up from Brendon's bunk.
Quickly, he runs and grabs a chair tucked under the desk at the foot of Brendon's bed. Shoving it under the doorknob to keep the door from opening, he glares at Spencer.
“Listen to me you traitor,” he sneers, and Brendon rubs his head and watches Spencer recoil. “You LISTEN to me!” he shouts, his entire body quivering with a strange fury, and Brendon bites his lip at the shrill, booming noise. “WHY is his crap on my bed? Huh?” the boy asks, thrusting his finger at Brendon. “WHY?”
There are nervous voices coming from behind the door, and it's pounding back and forth as the chair slowly slips from under the doorknob and the people anxiously try to get in. The intruder knows he's running out of time, so he hastily goes on.
“Listen to me! I WILL find out what happened and I WILL fix it,” He turns his gaze to Brendon. “YOU won't last another day here,” he threatens, and Brendon feels a rush of fear before—
“What in God's name are you DOING?”
The boy's death stare doesn't falter from Brendon's and Brendon's fear doesn't leave as Jon and another man Brendon doesn't recognize rush forward and grab the boy from behind. They lift him up, and Brendon hears the unfamiliar man go,
“Seclusion.”
The boy's eyes widen with terror.
“Oh God. God, Tommy, no Tommy! NO! Please, OH GOD!” The boy's screeching now after his voice had risen with pitch with each word, and Spencer is sitting with his hands over his ears, his face buried in his knees, shaking back and forth.
“Tommy” obviously doesn't listen because he and Jon keep their hold on the boy and now he's started kicking. Brendon winces as he watches the boy's fingernails dig into Jon's arm and he imagines the pain.
“YOU'RE ALL WEAK! YOU'RE ALL FREAKIN' WEAK! YOU'RE A BUNCH OF LIARS!” Now, another man is rushing in carrying something, and the boy makes a huge, desperate thrash in attempt to relinquish the guards' grasp on his limbs.
“GET OFF ME!” The boy shrieks, tears now obvious in his voice, and he writhes hysterically and kicks and scratches and bites and cries.
Brendon's never heard wailing as disturbing and heartbreaking as the boy's ever before in his entire life.
“STOP! JUST STOP!” the boy screeches, and then wails in pain as Brendon notices they shoot a needle in his arm.
Brendon's never felt the mix of emotions he's feeling right now; it's a mix of pure horror, anger, nausea, and sympathy.
Brendon doesn't like that last one. Brendon's selfish, not sympathetic.
Soon, the three are finally out of the room, and the boy's yelling is now small, desperate crying that haunts Brendon's mind even as the footsteps go farther and farther down the hallway and Brendon realizes they shot the boy up with a tranquilizer as it gets quieter.
And then it's just Spencer and Brendon and Brendon's shaking and ragged breaths and it's far too silent.
Spencer is shuddering and whimpering, and Brendon is lying there, jaw open, shell-shocked.
Finally, he sits up. Looking at Spencer, he shakily whispers,
“What was that?”
Spencer stops his noises and looks up. Brendon notices tears in his eyes and thinks that's kind of weird. Spencer swallows, opens his mouth slowly, and then, tear choked, answers,
“That…was Ryan.”
--------------------------------
Brendon's curled up in the blue blankets staring wide-eyed and emptily at the wall when someone comes back into the room.
For a split second, he feels a rush of terror, instinctively thinking that the hysterical boy has come back. But when he sits up and sees the unfamiliar man who helped take the boy away along with Jon, he swallows.
Jon is breathing heavily, his white coat wrinkled and his hands red with little fingernail marks on them. Brendon winces inwardly.
The other man, who appears to be older than Jon, is breathing deeply as well, trying to catch his breath, with his dark hair stuck to his shiny forehead with sweat. The man takes a deep breath in, and then, looking straight at Brendon, says,
“I am so, absolutely, unbelievably sorry.”
Brendon's not sure what to say at first; he thinks that being attacked by a psycho patient in the middle of the night on his first evening at what is supposed to be a high-security mental hospital calls for more than just a “sorry”, but he still doesn't say anything except a muttered,
“Y-yeah. I figure you would be.”
The man takes a deep breath in again, runs a hand through his hair, and then walks over to Brendon's bed. Instinctively, Brendon curls up deeper in the covers and scoots away from the edge. The man doesn't seem to notice, or just ignores, the uneasy reaction and leans over onto the bed. He reaches out a hand. Brendon resists the urge to knock it away and shout in anger and pain as the fingertips graze over his disheveled hair and touch the now forming, swollen bump on his temple.
Brendon hears the guy swallow, and then watches as best he can from his point of view as he turns and instructs to Jon,
“Get me an ice pack.”
Jon nods and scampers off. Brendon feels his stomach drop as he realizes he's now alone (Well, not completely, since Spencer's technically still in the room, but Spencer's just lying on his side, seemingly asleep or maybe even dead, so Brendon discounts him) with this complete stranger.
“Uh—” Brendon starts, feeling the need to say something but not knowing what, and the man cuts him off.
Brendon is truly surprised as the other male's face breaks out into a smile, and his eyes begin to twinkle. It makes Brendon a little uneasy despite the fact it's probably supposed to help him feel better.
“I'm Tom DeLonge, but please just call me Tommy. I'm the head guard in this building and more specifically this ward, and unfortunately was away today at a meeting with the other head guards at Southside so I didn't help get you settled in. I apologize,” the man explains, and Brendon doesn't do anything but nod, still kind of shell-shocked with this whole situation.
Tommy swallows again, and then sits more comfortably on the side of Brendon's mattress, still not breaking his gaze from the boy's.
“Brendon Urie, right?” he asks, and once again, Brendon nods.
Tommy bops his head as well in acknowledgment, and looks like he's about to say something else, but before he has a chance to, Jon bounds in with a blue pack of ice. He hands it to Tommy.
“Here.”
Tommy takes it, and hands it over to Brendon. It's covered in a cloth, so the coldness isn't too bad against Brendon's fingers as he takes it slowly.
“Put it on your head,” Tommy instructs, and Brendon takes a breath in but still obeys.
There's an awkward silence, and then Jon says,
“Tommy, do you think we should tell Bren—?”
Tommy cuts him off.
“That was Ryan Ross, Brendon,” he starts, giving a side-glance to the boy for some reaction, and with no response, continues anyway. “He ran away a month ago, and police had been looking for him. Finally, they found him shortly before I arrived back here from the meeting about an hour and a half ago. We thought we had him under control but…” Tommy fades off now, looking down in what Brendon thinks must be embarrassment. “…Apparently not,” he finishes quietly.
Brendon, before he has a chance to think rationally, blurts out,
“Well, I hope you're gonna plan on doing just a little freaking better with the task of keeping that whack-job locked up.”
Tommy and Jon stare at Brendon for a few moments, and then Tommy swallows. “Of course, Brendon,” he affirms, and then breathes in. “Once again, I apologize this happened to you.” Standing up now, he motions towards the still form of Spencer.
“Is he okay?”
Jon nods, and then answers,
“Yeah, just a little shocked, I guess. After all, we told him he was dead and he was his—”
All of a sudden, Tommy and Jon both glance warily at Brendon, and Jon stops mid-sentence. Brendon feels a rush of anger as he realizes they're not going to converse any farther with Brendon in the room. That makes him mad because he feels like, in a way, he has a right to know the full story behind his attacker.
Jon bites his bottom lip, not sure of what to say so his superior takes the hint and finishes,
“Brendon, if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. There's always someone at the nurses' station available, okay? For now, just try to get some rest and we'll talk more tomorrow. We won't get you up at the typical seven o'clock; you can sleep in for your first morning.”
Brendon nods again; he feels stupid because all he seems to be doing is nodding in response.
Then, Jon and Tommy begin to exit the room. But on the way out, Brendon (who's always proud to reveal he has the ears of a fox) picks up a stray sentence:
“This is gonna be an interesting one for therapy.”
--------------------------------
Brendon thinks maybe he dozes off once or twice for all together about an hour before pale sunlight breaks through the blinds and spills into the lonely room. He swallows.
“He wasn't always like that, you know.”
Brendon turns on his side.
Spencer is swaddled in the blankets, looking helpless and innocent as the early morning light streams on his blue eyes and ash blonde hair, making them almost glow with an angelic hue. Brendon watches as Spencer bites his lip, and he feels confused as to whom Spencer's talking about.
“Who?” Brendon whispers, his voice unsurprisingly groggy and cracked.
“Ryan,” Spencer replies automatically.
At the name of the boy, Brendon feels a rush of uneasiness flutter in his gut. His pouty lips twist in distaste, and he swallows again. Spencer carries on.
“He was my best friend.”
Brendon truly finds this surprising. He knew that somehow Ryan and Spencer were connected, judging by the way they both addressed each other last night, but he didn't realize that the connection was so close. Brendon nods, whispering,
“Go on.”
So Spencer does.
“He was my neighbor,” he starts, and then his features turn to a wistful sort of smile as memories come back to him. “I met him when he was five and I was four. My grandpa lived near him and his dad, not to mention they also worked together, and one day my grandpa and I went walking in Ry's neighborhood and Ryan was outside shooting golf balls into the neighbor's yard.”
Brendon chuckles and a small smile takes place on his face at that. It reminds him of some kind of stunt he himself would pull, and in a weird way, that idea makes Ryan seem a bit more human. Spencer continues,
“His dad and my grandpa started talking, and Ryan and I started hanging out, too. We became really, really close. So close, in fact, that every—” Spencer stops now, and Brendon's brow furrows in confusion.
“Every what?” Brendon prompts, now anxious to hear more.
Spencer swallows, closes his eyes, and then opens them again slowly. He's staring at Brendon with such intensity that Brendon thinks maybe he shouldn't have said anything.
“What I'm about to tell you, you can't ever tell another soul,” Spencer says, and Brendon feels his heart start to pound a little faster. Whether that acceleration is from fear or excitement, he can't tell just yet.
“I swear I won't,” Brendon promises, and for once he plans on keeping that statement.
“Ryan's dad was pretty twisted, Brendon,” Spencer starts after a breath, and Brendon gulps. “He beat Ryan and drank and all that other crap,” Spencer pauses. He takes a shaky breath in and his facial features are set in a look that makes Brendon think he doesn't want to continue, but he carries on regardless of what he's feeling (Brendon makes a mental note that that's awfully of nice of Spencer and maybe, maybe he won't make life too hard for him, now), “I remember, Ryan would sometimes show up at my house at like 2AM with these fresh bruises or cuts, or complaining about how his dad hadn't come home yet and there was no food, or that his dad kicked him out. My mom was always really great about it; she'd set up a little place for Ryan on the couch and usually let me sleep down there with him and stuff. She never called the police or anything though, just because Ryan begged her not to. In his own weird way, I think he really cared about his dad.”
Brendon feels sympathy again. This time it doesn't bother him as much, though, because he feels like any halfway-decent person would feel bad for Ryan, and he thinks to himself that he may not be perfect, but he's at least about 50% decent. Well, more like 25%. But he's not being picky. Either way, he decides feeling bad just this once won't do any harm.
Brendon nods for the other boy to continue.
“This went on from when he was like seven to when he was seventeen or something. I don't really remember, but it was a long time,” Spencer says, and Brendon interrupts.
“What made his dad drink like that?”
Spencer chews his bottom lip; then he answers,
“When Ryan was two, his mom left him and his dad for another man. His father took it pretty hard, and I guess blamed the divorce on Ryan. Drinking was his way of coping with it all.”
Brendon shifts in the sheets, feeling angry with Ryan's irresponsible parents. He thinks that's weird; he hasn't once met them, and already he's got a grudge.
Once again he blames that on the fact he's 25% decent.
“Ryan was a really interesting kid. Eccentric, is more like it, actually. He wrote all this really deep poetry in this beat up old notebook, was quiet and thoughtful, and was really into fire and stuff. I mean, he wasn't like a full-blown pyromaniac or anything, he just thought flames were beautiful and liked messing with fireplaces or bonfires. But to tell the truth, now that I think about, it was kind of weird,” Spencer admits quietly.
Brendon thinks, strangely enough, that he would have thought Ryan's interest in fire was cool. He also thinks that it's strange that he doesn't think that's sort of freaky.
“And then he also played these wacky instruments you'd never really expect a teenager to play: accordion, organ, banjo, guitar, and one of his favorites to mess with was an out-of-tune piano…”
Brendon thinks a little bit more highly of Ryan now, knowing that he plays four instruments. One of which (the out-of-tune piano) Brendon greatly enjoys himself. He never thought anyone else would like to play something as weird as an out-of-tune piano.
Spencer shakes his head. “But as the years went by, Ryan's uniqueness turned into more of a freaky, uncontrolled, impulsive kind of personality. He never got involved with other kids at school; I was his only friend. He always seemed to disobey whatever his father or the school told him to do. Even though we didn't hang out as much `cause we were older and went to different schools, he called me his `best friend' and we hung out on weekends and breaks and stuff,” Spencer elaborates. “I remember, one night, Ryan came over to my place at like 12AM. I figured it was `cause of his dad like it normally was, but when I talked to him, Ryan said he had just gotten in a fight at a party, which explained why he was black and blue, and that the guys there threatened to kill him or some sick thing like that and he didn't know what else to do except come to my place. I asked him why the guys got so mad at him, and he smirked and said that he set their car on fire.”
Brendon's eyes widen at this despite himself.
“I couldn't believe it at first. I was so friggin' mad at Ry for doing something that sick. I asked him how he could have been so stupid and put his life in danger like that when he knew the guys were obviously drunk and dangerous, and he just smirked again and shrugged. That's when I really realized Ryan was different. He was reckless and didn't feel regret. He blamed his behavior on wanting to `get back at his dad'.”
Brendon gulps, because he sees a similarity between the ways Spencer described Ryan and himself. Brendon was reckless (when he wanted to be). Brendon was impulsive and daring and didn't usually feel bad when he disobeyed someone. Now, Brendon never put his life in danger the way Ryan seemed to (not on purpose, at least, Brendon thinks, recalling his “almost-suicide”), and he didn't do quite as outrageous stunts like setting drunken guys' cars on fire, but the similarity was still a bit too strong for Brendon's taste.
Of course, he doesn't voice these thoughts, and simply says “Wow,” because he thinks that's the next best thing.
Spencer sighs, and rolls over on his back now, folding his hands neatly on his chest. Brendon watches and waits as his blue eyes scan the ceiling for a few more seconds.
“I kept that night at the back of my head and watched Ryan over the next few months; as time went by, he actually seemed to calm down a little bit and I was hopeful he'd taken a turn for the better. But then…” Spencer stops now, squeezing his eyes shut, and Brendon realizes that he is crying. “…But then one night…”
Brendon lifts his head up a bit in anticipation. Spencer sees this out of the corner of his eye and continues,
“One night Ryan—”
The door opens, interrupting, and Brendon's stomach drops in disappointment as he sees Jon standing there. Spencer breaks out of his nostalgic trance and sits up a bit. Jon says,
“Spencer, time to get up. You have therapy with Dr. Potts in twenty.”
And Brendon knows the story will have to wait.
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