**WARNINGS: TORTURE. PTSD. BLOOD.**

Brendon took a while to open his eyes even after his brain woke up. The room surrounding him was pitch black, so readjusting his eyes that were already having a hard time even opening was a difficult task. The man's head was pounding harshly and as he lifted his hand to press against his temple, he realized he couldn't. He started yanking at the restraints that were covering his wrists as he felt a small panic begin to rise in his chest.

He then started kicking his feet realizing that his ankles were bound, as well. After minutes of thrashing about, he realized there was no point. For some reason, his panic started to ease and his breath began to slow to its normal pace before a door opened, and his heart started hammering inside of his chest, slamming against rib cage.

A soft clicking sound was heard before lights encased the room and the man squeezed his eyes shut against the bright fluorescent lights. He took time letting them adjust, slowly opening them just a bit at a time before they were wide open and peering at a smiling man above him, causing him to jump back against the wooden table he was restrained to.

The dark haired and chocolate eyed man above him smiled wider, bringing his hand to stroke through his captive's soft, fluffy hair. "I'm glad you're awake, sweetheart," he spoke, voice low and sickly sweet. "I was afraid I'd have to start all of the fun without you."

Brendon lied completely still against the table, eyes boring into those of the man peering over him. His body was still in full panic mode, but his brain was just trying to process what was going on. How had he let this happen to him? He knew he made himself too vulnerable, and now it was coming back to bite him in the ass. Fuck, how had this happened..

When his eyes refocused after hearing some clanking and shuffling, he noticed the dark haired man holding up what appeared to be kukri before he walked back over to him with an even deeper and more sadistic smile.

"Let's have some fun, shall we?"

*  *  *

Ryan followed his mother up the concrete steps to the front door of her - their - home, allowing her to open the door for him and letting him filter inside first. Ryan kept his eyes on his mother until she made it inside and closed the door behind her before turning back to the open space of the living area and allowing himself to look around. He looked back and forth from the couches, the television, the fireplace and even the small desk in the corner of the room but nothing seemed to set in until he looked on the mantel above the fireplace.

The small picture frames the decorated the mantelpiece caused Ryan to tense up slightly as he walked over to them, admiring the golden, wooden and silver frames before daring to look up at the pictures. Some were of him and his dad when he was just a child - maybe no more than three or four years old, far before his father began drinking. Some were of Ryan and his mother after his father had passed and he was a teenager, and some were of him and Pete. He felt the tears pool in his eyes as he ran his fingers across the picture of him and Pete at his sixteenth birthday, one of the last days of summer vacation where they spent the weekend on the lake with some of Pete's friends.

Ryan absentmindedly ran his hand over his left cheek, feeling the scar that had been left there a few weeks prior and he finally let his tears spill over. He started to sob harshly as he slumped to the floor in front of the fire place, almost flinching as his mother rushed over to him and wrapped her son in her arms, allowing him to sob against her chest. The last time she had seen her boy this broken was when he lost his best friend, and now it was because he almost lost himself in the midst of his own sorrow.

"I th-thought I was going to die, Momma," the boy cried against his mother's shirt. "I swear sometimes I could hear Pete speaking to me; telling me that it was okay." He let out another harsh sob as he allowed his mom to hold him tighter. "I wasn't ready to die, Momma. I wasn't ready.."

Danielle was now sobbing along with him as she him closer to her, vowing to herself in that moment that she would never let anything happen to her boy ever again. She'd almost lost him twice now, and like Hell was she going to let it happen again.

Ryan was safe.

For now.

*   *   *

Another scream echoed through the extremely hot room that the two dark headed men were in, blood spilling from the fresh wound on Brendon's leg as he tried his best to even his breathing. Fourteen wounds have already been made, and his captor wasn't slowing down at all. Tears spilled from Brendon's eyes, signaling that he was - in fact - feeling all of the pain that was being brought upon him, but damn him if he'll beg for mercy or ask his captor to stop.

"You know," the man walking in threatening circles around the table started, "I waited in that neon, smoke filled club waiting to find you. Of course, I didn't know it was you that I was looking for, but as soon as I saw your beautiful face.." He stopped himself short, taking in a deep breath as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth before bringing the kukri against Brendon's cheek and making a quick but very deep slice across the flesh, earning another scream form him. "You peaked my interest."

Brendon remained completely silent; the only noises coming out every now and again being strained puffs of air and silent whimpers at the pain that was hard to shake. He kept his eyes on his captor, however, feeling as though keeping his eyes open would mean he wouldn't pass out from the pain.

The dark headed man walked over to his boy, softly stroking his unharmed cheek with the flat end of the kukri blade as he spoke again. "If it's any consolation," he said softly with a wide smirk, "I only kill things that I think are beautiful; things that I think deserve better than to be infected by the ugliness and heinousness of this world." He then let the sharp edge of the blade against the jugular of the boy lying beneath him as he looked into his eyes with lust and with pure want.

The obvious desire of the kill.

"So," he continued as he added a bit of pressure, watching as blood slowly began to bead around the tip of the blade, "anything you have left to say before I do this, baby?"

Brendon smiled up at Tyler Joseph, the sinking feeling leaving his stomach as he batted his eyelashes softly. "Your methods are overused," he said softly, almost condescendingly.

Tyler pulled the blade from Brendon's throat, opting for settling it against his cheek as he looked at him questioningly. "Care to elaborate on that?"

Brendon smiled once again. "Have you been watching the news in the last couple of months?" Tyler nodded his head slowly, trying to decide where Brendon was going with this. Brendon bit his lip as he suppressed a laugh, looking a bit too excited and giddy for his current situation. "Have you been following the murders in Jersey?"

Tyler bit his lip, smiling gently as he nodded. "They were my inspiration," he said softly. "I could never be as good as that man, but I wanted to try."

Brendon smiled softly. "He thinks you're actually doing a great job," he said coyly. "A little less on the live torture, because I - personally - preferred for my lovers to die in perfect condition. Well, except for the last few."

Skepticism filled Tyler as he leaned a bit closer to Brendon's face, narrowing his eyes gently. "You're going to try to convince me that you were the one who killed all eight of those men in Jersey? Along with leaving that poor, beautiful Ross boy all damaged and desecrated?"

Brendon felt his jaw clench at the mention of Ryan's name. "You're not allowed to call my angel beautiful," he said darkly, actually causing Tyler to flinch. "But, yes. All the way from Alexander to Ian, and then Ashley, which I'm positive they haven't put on the news yet because they have to contact her family first. Oh, and Andy. He was my first, and my God, was he beautiful. No one knows about him. No one but you."

Tyler still looked skeptical and Brendon smirked. "Go turn on the news," he said softly. "I'm sure they've put my name and picture up on all major news casting channels by now."

Tyler set down his kukri and leaned forward to tighten Brendon's restraints - just for safe measure - before disappearing up the stairs into his living room. He fumbled for the remote to his television before turning it on and waiting as it loaded to change to the World News. He waited patiently as it filtered through stories about robberies and petty crimes, stupid shit the president was doing and small tragedies before the story popped up.

"The nationwide manhunt for the New Jersey Dahmer Copycat is still underway five days after his disappearance," the reporter started. "Twenty-five year old Brendon Urie of Mount Arlington, New Jersey has been confirmed as the man who killed a total of eight men and one woman, whose name we have just learned, and tortured one man before fleeing the city and the state seemingly without a trace. The man who survived, eighteen year old Ryan Ross of Detroit, Michigan, had been living in Mount Arlington for a total of four weeks before he was abducted by Urie, who was a detective with the New Jersey Special Forces. The remains of twenty-two year old Ashley Frangipane were found in Urie's basement the day of his disappearance when Ross was discovered alive, after having been tortured for four days--"

Tyler shut off the television and ran a hand through his hair. He let out a soft chuckle, covering his mouth to suppress it before heading back toward his basement. He tread down the stairs slowly, smiling at Brendon as he walked closer. "It is you," he whispered, his voice coming out awed.

Brendon nodded, smiling softly as Tyler began undoing his restraints. Once all of Brendon's limbs were free, Tyler climbed his lap, straddling his hips as they crashed their lips together. Blood was smearing over both of their bodies from Brendon's wounds, but they didn't care. Tyler pulled back slightly, speaking against Brendon's lips. "Teach me," he whispered softly, pleasure and awe filling his voice. "I want to be as good as you."

Brendon bit his own lip, pressing his hands against the small of Tyler's back. "I'll teach you," he said softly. "I'll make you the man you always dreamed of being."

And as they made love covered in blood on the concrete floor in Tyler's basement, they both felt complete. Brendon would never love another like this, and Tyler felt like he finally had someone worthy of his love. With Brendon's help, Tyler could become the killer he wanted to be. With Tyler's help, there's no way anyone would find Brendon here. The world was opened to him once again, and he would soon find pleasure in new lovers once again.

And he knew just who he had to have first.