**Attempted sexual assault and brief mention of a self-defense killing. Be safe.**

Riding in the cruiser with Betts wasn't the worst thing in the world for Brendon, but he was starting to feel his skin crawl from how much Betts just wanted to talk. They'd been partners for almost a year, you'd think Betts would've gotten the hint that Brendon only talks when it's necessary.

The ride to the location they'd been given wasn't very long, and when they arrived they noticed the police were already there, along with an ambulance and the coroner. Brendon was't paying much attention to the full scene as his eyes locked on the pool of blood spilling from underneath a white plastic sheet. Of course he wasn't bothered by the blood, but he now knew why the incident was labeled as a possible homicide.

He hadn't noticed the vehicle had stopped until Betts was nudging his shoulder and nodding toward the scene ahead of them. Brendon nodded back to his partner, exiting the car at the same time as him and closing the cruiser doors before walking to the scene. Police Chief Trohman made his way over to the two detectives who were busy putting their gloves on as he greeted them. "Tell us what we've got," Betts said, shaking Trohman's hand before following him closely.

"It looks to be your regular case of self-defense," Trohman started as the crossed under the police tape, "but we couldn't be too sure, which is why we had Hurley send the two of you." The two detectives nodded at that before lifting the plastic sheeting off of the victim and wincing at his state. The man has a large gash across his neck but no other wounds across his entire body that could be seen. Brendon took a moment to mourn over the deceased man, thinking about how he wished he had met him first. He didn't deserve to go out like this; he deserved to be praised for being beautiful.

"Victim's name is Dallon Weekes," Trohman said to the detectives as they crouched down to examine the body. "Twenty-eight year old Jersey native from outside of Newark. According to the two kids over there-" He paused, pointing to the ambulance, where Brendon could only see one person. "-he was starting to get a bit aggressive to the point to where being pushed away and hit didn't phase him. The boy he was attacking tried to get away, but Weekes shoved him against the alley wall and started trying to undress him when a the girl walked by and saw the altercation."

"She attempted to pull him away, and he reacted by hitting her across the face and shoving her away before returning to what he was doing. She then pulled a pocket knife from her purse and jumped on his back, and.. I'm sure you can guess the rest." His words came out unemotional, which angered Brendon. This man lying dead at his feet may have done a bad thing, but he was beautiful; he should be having a memorial, not lying under plastic on the sidewalk. "There was a security camera aimed in the direction of where this all took place," Trohman continued, "so we'll be able to see what happened, but you should talk to the two kids."

Betts and Brendon nodded, Brendon happy to be walking away from the sight that kept breaking his heart. When they reached the ambulance, they were met with a girl who had long, wavy blonde hair and a cigarette between her fingers. As she brought the stick to her lips, Brendon then noticed the swelling purple bruise around her right eye and allowed himself to feel sympathy for her for a moment as he spoke to her. "Hello," he started as professionally as he could. "I'm Detective Urie and this is my partner, Detective Betts. How are you this morning?"

The girl let out a humorless laugh, taking another dag of her cigarette. "I just killed a guy," she said, her voice gravely and worn out, "so your guess is as good as mine."

Brendon let a small chuckle escape him as he nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. "What's your name? And your age, if you don't mind."

The girl blew out another stream of smoke before flicking the cigarette into the gutter beside them. "Ashley Frangipane," she said softly, wrapping her arms around herself as she looked at the two detectives. "Twenty-two."

Brendon nodded as Betts wrote down the information before looking back to her. "What time did this altercation take place would you say?"

Ashley pondered over the question momentarily before sighing softly. "It had to have been around four or five this morning; anywhere between those hours." Betts nodded, going to ask her another question before she spoke again. "I don't know what came over me, I just-- I saw what was happening, and then he hit me and I-- I don't remember much after that, I just know that-- that I killed him."

Tears were gathering in her eyes as Brendon stepped in and asked the next question. "Do you know the victim?" He realized that technically there was more than one victim in this situation so he reworded his question. "The one that you killed or the one that you helped?"

Ashley shook her head softly, wiping under her eyes as she looked back at Brendon. "No, I know neither of them," she said softly. "I could just see that someone needed my help, so I helped."

The detectives nodded again as Betts spoke up, eyebrows furrowed as he did so. "Where's the other boy, then?"

As if on cue, Officer Trohman was leading over a boy whose presence made Brendon freeze. The boy was taller than him by maybe an inch, with soft, short brown waves that just barely hung over his bruised face. He was adorned in just a pair of boxer shorts and a plain white t-shirt, carrying an evidence bag that probably had his original clothes in it. His boxer shorts allowed Brendon to see his pale and bruised legs and he felt a shiver run through his spine as he eyed him. The paleness of his skin mixed with the purple/blue/yellow bruises made him look like a goddamn white sand garden that only grew blue roses.

He looked absolutely gorgeous.

"Here's your original victim, gentlemen," Trohman said. "Get some answers out of him while you can; we have to take him to the station after we're done here."

Betts nodded toward Trohman before turning back to the pale and bruised boy, dipping his head in his direction. No words were spoken for a moment while he settled himself in the back of the ambulance next to Ashley, who held her cigarette pack toward him and watched as he graciously took one from the box.

"Hi," Betts spoke up eventually, catching the boy off guard and making Brendon want to hit him for scaring him. "I'm Detective Brooks Betts, this is Detective Brendon Urie."

The boy nodded distantly, barely lifting his hand in an attempted greeting. "Ryan Ross," he croaked out before igniting his cigarette and taking a drag from it.

His voice made Brendon's insides jump. Gorgeous name, gorgeous face, gorgeously - yet unlawfully - decorated skin; Brendon could probably extend that list for miles once he finds out more about him. He had slightly plump lips - thinner than his but sizable enough - and soft brown eyes that were obviously red and from crying and purple from the bruises. His lip was also busted and Brendon made a decision at that point: the girl did the right thing in killing that man back there whose name Brendon couldn't even bother to remember now.

He had damaged a walking work of art. Crimes like that don't go unpunished.