Ryan was more than a little surprised by how easily they'd managed to make their ways by side roads and dirt roads and simple fields without running into any resistance. Maybe the firefight and getting a bullet lodged in his shoulder had made him even more paranoid than before, but he still expected to see soldiers every time they turned a corner or got to the top of a hill. He breathed a sigh of relief every time that turned out not to be the case.

They'd driven through the previous night and laid low during the day and it was now nearing the second morning after they'd gotten their hands on the car. The border, by Ryan's calculations, was only about an hour and a half away now, even going on the dirt roads in the middle of nowhere as they had. And since they weren't close to any city or actual road or anything, crossing shouldn't be too hard.

Although he was tired and still feeling a few of the effects of the blood loss, Ryan felt that he wasn't as bad off as he could've been. The pain in his shoulder seemed to have dimmed a little, and while he was still doped up on painkillers most of the time, it was only two at a time now, instead of four. And there were no signs of infections, which was definitely a plus.

Ryan was looking through the maps, softly directing Jon every once in a while when suddenly a loud ringing emerged from the glove department, and Ryan jumped, eyes widening and breath quickening until he realized it was just a cell phone. Taking a deep breath to calm down, he reached in and pulled the thing out, quickly pressing the button to dismiss the call. And that was when an idea came to him. Rather than just come waltzing back into his country as though he owned it, wouldn't it be better to simply give himself up once he'd gotten the others to safety? From the shitload he knew about the law and its procedures, it would make him look better and probably his punishment milder if he surrendered willingly. He wasn't going to surrender himself to just anyone, though, and without stopping to hesitate, he dialed a number he knew by heart, holding the phone to his ear and waiting for it to be picked up.

"Robb speaking," the familiar voice on the other end stated tiredly with a bit of a grumble in his voice, sounding like he usually did when he was being woken too early for his liking. "Who is this?"

"Tobe," Ryan muttered. "It's me. How quickly can you get to the base outside Kennett?"

"Ryro?!" his friend answered, sounding incredulous but also much more awake. "Where are you? And what the hell do you think you're doing? They're looking left and right for you, Goddammit! There's a fucking warrant!"

"I know, okay?" Ryan answered, his voice a more normal level now as he tried to keep annoyance and fear out of it. "How quickly can you make it to Kennett?"

Tobias groaned on the other end of the line, and there was some shuffling. "If I don't go in at work and take the first plane... Let me check." There was a pause and some more shuffling, and Ryan could easily see his friend in his mind's eye, dragging himself out of bed and towards the computer he never turned off while he blinked blearily. "I can be there at three this afternoon. Why?"

"I'm turning myself in," the younger of the two said with a small sigh after a moment's silence. "And I'd prefer if it were to you. If you could set up for a news reporter and maybe someone from the governor's office to be there too, that would be good."

"I don't even want to know," Tobias stated with another groan, and Ryan could nearly see him sinking his face into his hands. "God, I hate this! Why'd you have to go and fuck up like this, Ry?"

"I'll tell you later," Ryan answered, taking a deep breath. "I'll see you at three." And then he hung up.

Jon did his best to concentrate on the road and try not to hear Ryan's conversation, though it wasn't very easy to ignore someone's voice when they were right next to you. Biting his lip, he glanced into the rear view mirror and saw Brendon, who was now sitting in the back seat instead of the trunk, with his head leaning against the window and his face scrunched. On the opposite side, Spencer was peering right back at Jon and though he said nothing with his words, his eyes said enough. He kept silent for a bit, trying to imagine how Ryan must be feeling right now, and wondering if there was anything he could do to help. The fact that Ryan had reached a friend who would no doubt be coming to meet them was a good thing, though very small when looking at the big picture. He drummed his thumbs on the wheel a bit and chewed at the inside of his cheek before deigning it acceptable to speak. "What's the plan when we get to the border, then?" he asked quietly, and noticed in the rear view that Brendon looked interested, now, if still helpless and sad.

"We stop," Ryan answered slowly. "Get something to eat, rest a little. Around noon we set out to cross on foot, far enough from the base that we should be able to get over undetected. And then we go to the Kennett base where we should hopefully arrive around the same time as Tobias. You guys make nice with the press and whoever Tobe gets his hands on from the governor's office. It's about getting the public to know where you are before anyone can play disappearing stunts with you. The more you're under the public eye, the safer you'll be. I imagine we'll all be taken to New York, but under slightly different circumstances." He turned a joking smile on Jon, trying to push down the fear and sadness that was rising in him. "You're going to come visit me in jail, right?"

"Christ," Jon mumbled, shaking his head. He spared a glance at Ryan, briefly, before turning back to the road. "Don't say things like that," he chided, brows furrowed. "What if Brendon vouched for you, or something?" he asked, his eyes flicking up to look at Brendon in the mirror again. The Prince's eyes snapped up at the mention of his name, and then he went back to looking out the window. But Jon had no doubt that if it meant keeping Ryan out of jail, Brendon would do something. "And what should we be saying to the press, anyway? What're they going to want? What're we supposed to expect?" Unlike Brendon, he didn't have any experience with reporters, but he'd heard Brendon complain enough to know that he probably wouldn't particularly like them.

"It's war," Ryan muttered, staring out the window at the trees zooming past. "Which means I'll probably be in for war crimes and maybe even high treason if the prosecutor remembers that ancient law. If they decide on charging me in a military court, there's nothing anyone can do. If I get civilian... it'll depend on the jury." He sighed and shook his head, trying to get himself out of the gloom he'd unwillingly entered. Now that it was all so close it was all the harder to push it away, and he was scared to death of it all, but it wouldn't do any of them any good if he let on. "And I have no experience with the press. I think Brendon would know best about that. But, I guess, say whatever you want to and 'no comment' if the questions get too annoying. I really don't know."

From behind them, Brendon sighed and pushed his head away from the window. "They'll want to know about me, mostly, I think. Just do the no comment thing. Reporters all want the best story, and for that they have to know their subject. They will want to know how we escaped and made it here, but they'll also allow themselves to ask as many personal questions as they can. And seeing as apparently Ryan's whole goddamn country hates my guts, it won't be pretty." He shrugged and went back to looking at the passing scenery. "I say we stick with not saying anything until we can maybe sit down with only one very respected reporter, that way it won't be completely chaotic and hopefully we'll be able to trust that this reporter will love their job too much to fuck it up with bias," he sighed. "Anyway, I think it would be better to not say anything for the time being," he finished, and Jon nodded in agreement, catching Spencer's eye in the mirror. He smiled slightly and watched as Spencer forced a strained smile in return.

Ryan nodded slowly, biting his lip. That was probably the advice he should stick to himself. If he tried too hard for sympathy he'd be seen as a wimp, and things he said rarely came out as they were supposed to anyway. He'd probably be better off keeping his big gob shut. He was startled out of his thoughts when the phone in his hand rang again, and upon recognizing the number, he picked it up. "Yeah?"

"Uhm, Ry..." Tobias started. "You sure you don't want to go to Mexico instead? Or another state, or another base, or something?"

"What's wrong with Kennett?" Ryan asked, a sense of foreboding rising up in him in rhythm with his heart making a new home in his throat.

"Because it's war, they've called in all the reserves and... basically reinstated everyone who could be reinstated. Ryan, your dad is heading the Kennett base. I just found out."

And his heart decided that his throat was really kind of uncomfortable after all and slowly sank to the bottom of his stomach instead. His head was throbbing dully. "Serious?" he muttered.

"Serious," his friend confirmed.

"Oh, Goddammit," Ryan muttered, clenching his eyes shut with gritted teeth. "We're still going," he finally stated. "Just, please, don't leave me alone with him for longer than necessary."

Tobias sighed. "Yeah, okay," he said softly, and Ryan could hear the worry in his voice. It warmed him, at least to a certain extent, that his best friend didn't seem to feel betrayed to a point where he'd be against him. "Bye."

"Bye," Ryan murmured, hanging up again and letting the phone drop to the floor of the car. "Keep driving," he instructed, turning his gaze back to the scenery on the other side of the window.

"Who was that and what's wrong?" It was Spencer who spoke, now, after having been quiet for the better part of their trip. He leaned forward and stuck his head between Ryan and Jon, looking over at Ryan. The boy looked miserable, and Spencer knew that it wasn't just because of his shoulder. And he wanted to know just as much as Ryan did what they were getting into beforehand. He didn't want any surprises and so deemed it necessary to repeat his questions again. "Who've you been calling, anyway? Tobe? Is that what you said before? Is he really your brother, then? What did he say this time?"

"He might as well be," Ryan stated, not looking away from the window. "But we aren't related, no. He's my best friend, we share an apartment. I clean up his mess, he tells me to live a little. And pretty much every comment I've made about him was true, except the brother part and the mentions of hating him." He was silent for a moment, contemplating telling anyone else. "And he just wanted to call to tell me who's heading up the base we're going to. Don't worry, he shouldn't cause you more trouble than the next military guy."

Spencer didn't really believe Ryan about the last part, but he refrained from saying anything. "That's good," he said quietly. "That you have a friend waiting for you, I mean." He sat back again and sighed, grabbing hold of Brendon's hand. This time, instead of the comfort being for Brendon, it was for himself. He looked at Jon and smiled when their eyes met again.

***

It was nearing three o'clock when Spencer spotted the base. They were on foot once again, having left the truck at the border, and Spencer felt almost giddy to be finished with the travelling. Which in turn made him feel slightly guilty, because there was nothing happy about this. He was still holding Brendon's hand and Jon was on his opposite side. Their hands brushed as they walked, but neither had made any move to grasp the other. Ryan was a few steps in front of them, looking worse for the wear. He had taken a few pain killers, but they didn't seem to be helping much. "Well," Spencer finally muttered, squinting a bit. "We're here, I guess..." he trailed off and pictured dozens of reporters and military men waiting for them, and fear coiled in his stomach, though he knew enough to keep his face looking impassive. Brendon had this down to an art, and had Spencer not known better, he would have thought that none of this was affecting the boy in the least.

Ryan was walking briskly ahead, staring at nothing and most decidedly not thinking of anything. At least it would all have been a lot easier if he'd been able to keep himself from thinking. They were reaching the checkpoint where cars could drive into the barbed wire-surrounded base, and Ryan kept walking until he was right in front of the young soldier sitting there. He reached into his pocket and picked up his UBI badge before taking the weapons out of his belt and pockets, letting everything fall on the desk. "I'm meeting special agent Tobias Robb here at three hundred hours," he informed. "If you'd be so kind as to let us in it would be much appreciated."

The kid, probably no older than Brendon, Jon at most, looked down at the badge, and his eyes widened when he saw the name on it. "I-I'm going to have to have to call the colonel for confirmation," he stuttered, looking at Ryan as though he expected him to suddenly grow ten feet and start eating babies right before his eyes. After holding still, almost expectantly, under Ryan's heavy gaze for a few moments he picked up his phone. "Sir, could you inform the colonel that George Ross is here for Tobias Robb? ... Yes, that George Ross ... Yeah, I will ... ... Yeah, okay, sir." Then he turned his eyes back on Ryan. "I need to search you for weapons," he stated, eyeing the sling.

"Go ahead," Ryan murmured, standing stiffly as the young soldier searched the sling, then his pockets and pant pockets before running his hands up and down his sides. When he was satisfied, the soldier turned apologetically to the others, giving a small shrug.

"He's not searching us," Brendon spat, his voice showing his disgust clearly. A second passed in silence before Brendon cringed and let a resigned look pass over his features. "Is he?" he asked softly, gripping Spencer's hand tighter than was really needed. He saw Jon step forward and take the gun from his pocket, handing it over with its handle facing the soldier. The soldier approached them and took the gun, almost reluctantly, and watched Brendon suspiciously for a few moments before recognition dawned.

"Jesus," he whispered in disbelief, looking back towards Ryan, one eyebrow raised. He shook his head and looked back at the three boys, searching them one by one (Brendon scowled menacingly the whole time) before stepping back and nodding. "Alright," he said, and set about opening the heavy gate to admit them. Once it was opened, the three younger men looked to Ryan for what he would do next.

Ryan walked through the gate and then set about waiting, and sure enough, not even thirty seconds later two heavily armed soldiers, looking a lot less befuddled than the one who'd been at the gate, came to walk on either side of him, the one on his right gripping his good arm harshly. "The colonel wants to speak with you, traitor," the one on his left hissed in his ear, and Ryan was torn oddly between rolling his eyes and shaking in fear.

He must've somehow blacked out the rest of the walk, because the next thing he knew they were in a large, nice office, and he was face to face with a man he hadn't seen in the better part of two years. He stared into eyes nearly identical with his own, and they stared back from a face framed with grey hair. George Ross had a strong, square jaw, a large nose, low forehead and a broad, slightly wrinkled face. He was a little shorter than Ryan but made up for it by being twice as broad, all of it muscle. Save for the eyes they looked nothing alike. The colonel stood from his chair, walking around his desk until he was right in front of Ryan, and Ryan's knees habitually bent a little like they had every time he'd seen his father since he'd first grown to be the tallest of the two. Having to look up at his son pissed George Ross off like nothing else could, and Ryan knew this only too well.

The hard, resounding slap against his face was anything but a surprise, and Ryan didn't make a sound, just winced when the force of it nearly made him bite through his lip, sent his cheek burning and his ears ringing. "You dare show your face after what you've done?" the colonel hissed, leaning close enough that Ryan wasn't sure if anyone else could even hear it. He thought he might prefer it if they couldn't. "You have always been a disappointment, but this fucking takes the cake by miles." His hand had shot out again, this time landing on Ryan's left shoulder where it sat heavily, the thumb purposefully digging straight into the bandaged wound. "If they give you the death sentence, I will agree entirely." His eyes narrowed and he leaned in close enough that Ryan could taste his breath. For once in his life there was no alcohol on it. "I have no son," he hissed, the words so low Ryan could hardly hear them, but still sharp as whips.

Without making a conscious decision, Ryan felt a bitter laugh bubbling in his throat. "You're one to talk," he said, his brain seeming to have disconnected, almost as though he was watching the scene from outside his body. "You Goddamn bastard of a drunken bully!" Another laugh came through. "I've hated you since I joined the academy and realized nothing I did could make you change. I got into Harvard law, and all you had to say was that you guessed I had to find something I could be accepted into since the Navy would never take me. I made the academy and you said that since I apparently wasn't good enough for Naval Intelligence, they could have me. I never measured up in your eyes, but at some point I realized that was because you never measured up, and you were angry as fuck that I wasn't going to do it for you." His words were curt and sharp, practically being spat out. "You may have decided these last few days that you don't have a son, but I've never fucking had a father!"

When the colonel's hand connected with his face again it was even less of a surprise than before, even if it was a fist this time, hardened knuckles cracking against his nose and sending it flowing with blood as Ryan staggered back. He still didn't make a sound, still didn't feel connected to his body. And even if he had, well, he had learned years and years ago how to not feel things like this. He could only hope that Tobias would come before he was permanently injured. Although, if the old man hadn't managed yet, what were the chances he would this time?

Brendon's mouth dropped open when the man first hit Ryan, and then he found himself gasping loudly at the mention that this-- this man was Ryan's father. He slapped a hand over his mouth when the man punched his son and staggered back a bit himself. After a few seconds of tense silence, he strode forward and scowled at the man. "Excuse me," he said, his voice low and dangerous as he forbid himself to seem even the tiniest bit scared. "But I'm going to be speaking to the press soon, and I don't think that news about this," he motioned behind him with his hand, "would be well received," he faltered a bit, wondering if maybe their military was allowed to do that? Fortunately, he had the grace to not let any doubt show on his face, no matter how stupid this man might think he was because of what he'd said.

Ryan felt the moment's panic he'd always felt when he was young and his mother had tried to defend him, but he managed to push it away. Even George Ross the Second wasn't stupid enough to start punching princes. And it had worked to the extent that the man had stopped him, much sooner than the murderous look in his eyes warranted, and Ryan couldn't help but feel more than a little relieved as he was overtaken by the strange sensation of practically merging with his body again, holding back a groan at his bloody nose and aching chest. The pain in his shoulder had reached levels he was sure it hadn't been at since that first day, and he was quite sure it had started bleeding again. There was no way the clumsy stitches would've held. He sat down on a nearby chair with as much grace as he could muster, deciding to ignore the fuming officer as he turned his gaze to the door.

His prayers were answered a moment later when it swung open to reveal an uncharacteristically neat, suit-dressed Tobias, who was holding up his badge for the colonel's behalf. Then he turned to Ryan with a look of regret on his face. "It's three oh nine and you're under arrest," he stated sadly, no trace of enthusiasm there. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. Since you can't afford a lawyer, I'll get you the best damn one my dad's money can buy." He snuck in a small smile, then looked over Ryan's shoulder. "Colonel Ross, I'll take the apprehended down to the medical bay and have him checked over before we ship back to NYC." Then he turned to the others. "There's a small delegation out in the lobby to meet you. Better get your faces out there and seen." Then he put a careful hand on Ryan's good shoulder, steering him gently towards the door.

Ryan shot a small glance over his shoulder, looking at the faces of the three people he'd been around nearly constantly for months. He considered saying something along the lines of 'good luck', but it felt too plain, and not cheerful enough. They definitely looked like they could use some cheering up. "Jon, you never did promise!" he called.

Brendon bit his lip, chastising himself for the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. He took a deep, shuddering breath and blinked them away, wanting so badly to say something to Ryan, but just couldn't find the words. His breath hitched at Ryan's next words, and he watched Jon smile sadly. "I'll come," Jon said, loud enough for Ryan to hear. "And hopefully I'll be bringing a couple more people along," he added, doing his best to keep smiling. Brendon tried to swallow around the knot that had formed in his throat and turned away abruptly, covering his face with his hands. He felt Spencer pull him into a hug and murmur things he couldn't hear but still made him feel better, somehow. He wasn't crying. He wouldn't give these people the satisfaction. He'd just needed to look away.

The door swung closed, and when it had been silent for what seemed like an eternity, Brendon pulled his hands away and looked up. He stared at Ryan's father-- the bastard was lucky Brendon didn't have Zach with him-- and then stalked out of the room. There were some reporters he needed to deal with, and then, who knew?

***

"My parents will forever be thankful that Ryan Ross was there when DURA decided to deal the first blow," Jon Walker, son of Jacob and Janice Walker, stated during a very small press conference held yesterday afternoon. Jacob and Janice, leaders of the resistance against Beauregia, their own country of birth, were also in attendance. Despite their many claims against their country and how it's been run for the last century, they assure that they never agreed with war, and have been trying to change things from the inside for years. Janice Walker was also heard saying that the manner in which DURA was treating their newest prisoner was despicable. Brendon Beauregard, Crown Prince of Beauregia, spoke vehemently in George Ryan Ross'-- arrested little over a week ago-- defense.

George Ryan Ross, who goes only by Ryan Ross, was charged with war crimes and many Military personal are fighting to have him charged with high treason. His crimes? Helping a Crown Prince, the son of Beauregian Resistance leaders, and an under-aged friend escape death--

"Hey, check it out! We're in the news," Jon gushed excitedly from his spot on the lush, red couch. He turned up the sound and motioned for Brendon and Spencer to join them. Spencer rolled his eyes and pouted slightly at the mention of him being an 'under-aged friend', which made him out to be about thirteen years old. "Think it'll help anything?" Jon finally asked, glancing at the other two. Brendon looked worse for the wear, thin and tired and sickly. He shrugged slightly, averting his eyes from the television as they went on to introduce Ryan, and mentioning who his father was. He was still angry at what that man had done.

They'd been living with Jon's parents, in the meantime. Though it was nowhere near as big as The Castle, it was big enough for all of them to live comfortably. They each had their own rooms, and Jon's grandparents had even caught a plane to join their family. Seeing Jon with his family always made his heart clench, though, and Brendon found himself spending most of his time alone in his room. He was happy, at least, that Spencer and Jon seemed happy. In the weeks that followed, he took to avoiding newspapers and the television, figuring that if something happened, he would be told. This is why he was surprised when, two weeks after the press conference, Jon announced that he'd be going to see Ryan. Alone.

***

It had taken a lot of bribing, Jon knew, to get him past security and in a chair close to Ryan. There was one guard standing by the door, of course, but it was better than nothing. "I don't think whoever you work for are letting the news get their hands on whatever is happening," he said quietly. "We haven't really heard anything. How're you holding up?"

"Detention isn't actually so bad," Ryan stated with a shrug. His shoulder still ached a little with it, but was mostly healed up. It would probably never be as good as new, though. "Just incredibly boring." And lonely, but Ryan wasn't going to speak about that out loud. It was definitely better than actual prison was going to be. "They decided to try me as a civilian, since I'm not actually military, just intel." He took a deep breath, looking up at Jon. The younger male looked a lot better than he had the last time Ryan had seen him. Rest and regular meals did wonders, he figured. "But it's still not looking good. They somehow found out I was behind that group of dead soldiers, and I'm being tried for war crimes and high treason, lawyer couldn't do anything about it." He sighed, rubbing his wrist slightly. It seemed to be perpetually aching these days from wearing handcuffs every single day the trial had gone on. He looked up and met Jon's eyes again, lowering his voice until it was nearly inaudible. "Jon, I need you to do me a favor."

Jon swore under his breath at the mention of high treason and shook his head in dismay. When Ryan lowered his voice, Jon looked at him with interest and leaned forward just the tiniest bit without being too obvious. "What?" he asked, feeling like he was in a movie and that the guard would haul him out any second.

Ryan gulped slightly, licking his lips nervously, but he had made up his mind a while ago. "If they give me more than a year," he whispered, voice quiet. "I need you to get me a razor or a bottle of painkillers or a fucking shoelace." He breathed in deep, closing his eyes for a moment. He could sense the other boy's confusion without even looking. "Ever listen to that band, My Chemical Romance? They have this song called Know What they Do to Guys Like Us in Prison. You should check it out some day." His voice had reached a more normal level, and he breathed in deeply, nervously, again. "I hope I can do a year, and if I can't, I'll deal with it myself." He looked away. "I hate asking something like this of you, but I thought you might be able to understand."

Jon glared at Ryan, biting down on all the remarks that wanted to spill from his mouth. None of them would help. "If we don't get you out of here, then you have my word that I will do whatever you ask of me," he finally said, hating every word. "But you listen to me," he dropped his voice even lower. "I've got my parents working on getting you out of here without any jail time, and I know that Brendon is doing his part, despite the fact that he hasn't spoken in days..." he trailed off, unhappy that he'd revealed that, but he couldn't take it back now. "So, don't go planning anything yet," he finished firmly, reproachfully.

Feeling his heart sinking at the mention of Brendon's unresponsiveness, Ryan glanced away again. "I'm not planning anything concrete," he stated. "I'm just looking at every angle, and I know myself well enough to know what I can and cannot do." He stared at his too-long, thin fingers, flexing them slightly before he drew his knees up against his chest on the narrow cot. It was a position he'd probably subconsciously copied from Brendon, but it did make him feel better. "And while I hope and pray you succeed... there are some things I never want to do against my will. And never with someone I don't love, if I can't help it." He laughed softly, a bitter tone to it, and his mouth felt like he'd bit into an apple that was very far from ripe yet. "I know that's probably the part you don't understand, but that's how I feel about it, always felt about it." He snorted self-deprecatingly, shaking his head slightly. "Probably why I managed to stay a virgin until last month," he muttered under his breath, before blushing when he realized he'd spoken out loud. Being alone in a cell so much of the time had drawn the habit of thinking out loud out in him again, and he found it was quite hard to control even around others. "But never mind any of that," he said with a bright, fake smile. "I'll trust you guys."

Jon grimaced slightly, remembering what he'd said before about sex. "I respect you for that," he said quietly, gazing at his shoes. "It's not fun waking up to someone you barely know-- or someone who can't even remember your name and vice versa," he said. "Trust me." He sighed and glanced over his shoulder before looking back up at Ryan. "When Brendon puts his mind to something, he can do almost anything," he stated with a confidence he didn't feel. "And when he believes in something, it's almost hard for others not to, as well, because he's so passionate about it. So... don't give up just yet," he finished, smiling slightly, though it felt fake even to himself.

Ryan could tell simply from the tone in Jon's voice that the boy wasn't nearly as optimistic as he was making himself out to be, and the former agent felt his heart drop a little, fear clenching it in a way that had become all too familiar over the last days. He appreciated the effort, though, and he was quite sure it would make Jon feel better if he appeared to believe the reassurances, so he managed to put a small smile on his face. "Thank you," he murmured. "I haven't, and I won't. I'm not really the type to give up." His tone came out a bit wry. "I'm maybe not always that optimistic, but I'm not about to give up until I have no choice. And if that were to happen, I'd want to give up on my own terms, not someone else's, that's why I asked this of you." He looked up at the guard who was staring pointedly at his wrist watch, and Ryan gave a small sigh. "I think time's about up," he stated, reaching out and squeezing Jon's shoulder. "Take care of Brendon, all right? He's not always as strong as he likes to make himself out to be."

Jon nodded and let out a startled chuckle. "Yeah, I know," he said, squeezing Ryan's hand before pushing himself up from the chair and letting the guard lead him away. He didn't dare look back, and could only try to find ways that they could help Ryan. The boy obviously needed them if he was at the point of asking--. He stopped that thought. Ryan wouldn't need to give up-- on his own or anyone else's terms. Jon was determined to help him in any way he could, and he was sure that Brendon and Spencer felt the same, and even his parents would probably get on board.

***

Ryan was focused only on steadying his breathing and keeping his feet moving as he was led to the courtroom. Today was the day of the final argument from both lawyers, and the day when the jury would make its final decision. And it wasn't looking good for Ryan. He knew it, because even his no-nonsense, highest-possible-class defender had been sweating in their meeting the previous night. He was dead-scared now, and he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep during the night that had passed, making his steps a little shuffling. But with the cuffs around his wrists that didn't seem all too surprising.

"Excuse me, sir," some secretary called, coming up next to the officer who was leading Ryan along. "Excuse me, I was asked to tell you that the trial has been moved to Room One, sir."

The officer scoffed. "You must have been misinformed," he stated. "Room One is the biggest there is in the building. It's never used for closed trials, only ever for the huge ones with hundreds of people and media."

The secretary smiled impishly. "Exactly, sir," she replied, sending Ryan a wink before she walked away. Ryan, bewildered, followed when the officer as his rough hand gripped Ryan's thin arm.

"I don't know what the hell is going on," the man said gruffly. "But if you're released it'll be over my dead body."

Ryan didn't respond, merely kept following as they neared the defendant's entrance, his lawyer meeting them there.

***

Brendon, Spencer and the Walkers were in the court room, and had been for a while, now. They were surrounded by diplomats from several countries, surely more than any of them could name, and they all seemed to be talking agitatedly amongst themselves. Mr and Mrs Walker had even joined in, speaking heatedly to a Russian diplomat beside them. Brendon couldn't believe it. When the Walkers had started talking about getting support from other countries, he didn't think it would be this many countries. Surely every member of the UN was here. Or almost every, at least. He looked over at the prosecutor and noted that he was livid, which only made him smile. Maybe things would go in their favour, after all.

They didn't have to wait long after that for Ryan's arrival, and when Brendon saw him being handled roughly by some big, hulking, guard, he snarled and nearly jumped up from his seat. He would have, if Spencer's hand hadn't grasped his arm just in time, and his soothing voice hadn't told him to calm down. He did, but with much effort, and just hoped that this trial would end quickly.

Ryan felt his eyes practically bulging out of his head when he entered the court room. It was gigantic, and absolutely stuffed to the brim with people. He hadn't seen this many people in one place since the cafeteria back at school, lifetimes ago it seemed. From the large grin suddenly blooming on the face of his lawyer, though, he guessed it was probably a good thing. He was led the rest of the way to his seat, a lot more gently than usual, and then it started.

The closing arguments seemed to pass in a blur, which was decidedly more than a little odd since Ryan was sure he could remember close to every word said in any of the other sessions, but this day just seemed to be so unusual that his mind couldn't help but wander. Before he knew it they were over, and Ryan was back in his cell while the jury adjourned. Somehow time was still insubstantial, and before anything had registered he was back in the court, standing up as the verdict was being read out loud.

"We, the jury," the foreman started, clearing his throat and looking out over the gathered people nervously. "Find the defendant guilty as charged." A roar rose over the room and the foreman looked nearly scared as he hastened to continue. "We, however, also find that there were alleviating circumstances. We are willing to give a sentence of time served, but since the defendant is a potential threat to our great country, time served is under the condition of irreversible banishment. Mr. Ross will have a week to leave the country or he will serve twenty-five to life in a highly secure prison."

At first Ryan only felt confusion at the verdict, but as the seconds passed his jaw dropped more and more until a wide smile spread over his face and he had to keep himself from shouting in jubilation. He was no longer a citizen of DURA, but he was alive and free, and what was more important? He found himself being pulled into a tight hug by his lawyer, the assistant patting his back while the flashes of cameras made his vision swim. He was free!

Spencer immediately pulled Brendon into a hug when the verdict was read, and let the boy hide his face in his neck, lest others see the tears that had gathered in the corners of his eyes. Smiling widely, Spencer simply held Brendon tightly, and looked fondly at Jon. He knew that there were photographers everywhere, some of them aiming cameras in their direction, but Spencer didn't mind, and what Brendon didn't know wouldn't hurt him just now.

Brendon, for his part, felt like he could finally breathe after weeks of not being able to. He took a deep breath, blinked the tears away, and pulled away from Spencer after a few moments. He grinned unguardedly before turning to look at Ryan, who the reporters were hounding for answers and photographers were jostling each other for the right picture. "I can't believe this," he finally said, and his voice sounded happy-- like it had when he'd been back at school. But, now, thinking about school brought on problems. He had learned, in the past few weeks, that his father had not survived the attack, but that his mother had been declared missing-- not dead. He hadn't-- and still didn't-- known how to react to that. Beauregia was still being ravished by war, and Brendon wanted so much to go back, but he knew he wouldn't be allowed to. He felt a bit as though he'd been banished from his own country, as well.

"C'mon, let's go wait for Ryan outside," Spencer said, snapping Brendon out of his thoughts. He tugged on Brendon's hand and lead him away from the courtroom and to a kind of waiting room where they could wait for Ryan. Sitting down, Brendon occupied himself with listening to Jon and his parents talk about how nerve-wracking the whole things had been, letting their voices distract him from other thoughts.

***

"Mr. Ross!" someone shouted. "Mr. Ross!" Ryan turned around and his eyes landed on the plump little man who was smiling brightly. "Hello," the man greeted, his accent unmistakable. "I'm Ernest Baker," he introduced himself. "Part of the English delegation. I wanted to give you our sincere congratulations as well as extend our invitations." He reached out and shook Ryan's hand a bit belatedly, still grinning. "Our country is always open for a hero."

Ryan would've laughed at being called a hero, but he was too stunned, not to mention caught up in the sense of irony of it all. A hand landed on his shoulder and he turned around to meet the gaze of his lawyer. "You should think this decision through carefully, my boy," the middle-aged man stated. "Japan and France and Norway, Germany and Brazil have already given me written declarations of granting you political refuge." An assistant walked up, placing an envelope in the man's hand, and the attorney looked down for a moment. "And Spain," he added. "You don't have to make your decision right now."

The former agent just gave him a smile and a shrug before turning back to the diplomat. "Lately I've had this urge to study English lit," he informed, pulling his hand back at last. "What better place to do it?"

The small man gave him another wide grin. "You'll have the plane tickets by tomorrow. Or your attorney will." He cocked an eyebrow slightly. "And I don't doubt we could procure a scholarship. All you have to do is name the university."

Ryan grinned. "Let me get back to you on that one," he requested. "Next term is still a good month or two away." Then he nodded respectfully at both men, starting to walk away. "If you'll excuse me, I have some people I need to see." And without waiting for a response he waved off the throng of reporters, starting towards the waiting room someone had told him friends and family would be waiting in.

Spencer was the first to notice Ryan approaching and he rushed up to hug him, still shaking with excitement. He congratulated Ryan, his eyes bright and wide. "How're you feeling? Where are you going to live?" he asked breathlessly. Jon turned away from his parents, smirking at the whirlwind that was Spencer at the moment, and walked over to the two, throwing his arms around Ryan and squeezing him tightly. He looked over at Brendon, who was slowly making his way over, as though unsure of what he should do when he got here. The boy was keeping his gaze steadfastly locked on the ground and his hands stuffed into his pockets.

The breath hitched in Ryan's throat when he saw Brendon approaching. He hadn't seen the prince in what felt like forever, and even with the slight circles under his eyes and what seemed like a bit of a weight loss since Ryan had first met him, the boy had to be the most beautiful thing the former agent had ever seen. And, God, Ryan used to think he was straight. He had no idea how to approach Brendon, though, no idea what to say now that they weren't in a life or death situation anymore. He allowed himself to stare over Spencer's shoulder for another moment, squeezing the boy in his arms as he did before pulling back, sending Jon a toothy grin. "I'm feeling pretty fantastic right now," he stated. "A little high, maybe," he added. He grinned at Spencer. "So, what sounds best? Oxford or Cambridge?"

Before he got an answer, though, the door swung open, and in came Tobe, leading a much smaller woman with glossy brown hair and delicate features, and Ryan felt his smile growing even wider. "Mom," he exclaimed, his voice breathy as he tore off, practically running until he could take the small, fine-boned woman in his arms, squeezing without any intentions of ever letting go. He could feel tears beginning to sting in his eyes and he squeezed them shut, burying his face in his mother's hair.

His mother squeezed back, almost so tightly that he couldn't breathe, and one of her hands had risen to pet his hair. He wouldn't be surprised if she were crying as well. "I'm so glad you're safe, baby boy," she whispered against his neck. "So happy." She was silent for a moment before she drew back a little, sending him a stern, though teary look. "Don't ever scare me like that again, George Ryan," she ordered briskly. "Ever." A small smile shone through. "Although I am glad you learned your lesson at last.

Brendon stopped short upon seeing Ryan rush to meet a woman-- his mother-- and he smiled and averted his gaze. He heard Jon snicker at the reprimand and the 'George Ryan', knowing it was him without even looking up. He glanced over at Spencer, who looked like he wanted to coo and 'aw' and flutter around, and rolled his eyes, chuckling lightly. At the sound, Spencer quickly took a few steps back and snatched Brendon's hand, holding onto it tightly. No doubt Spencer was thinking of his own family, wondering if his father had been at the Castle at the time of the attack, and if his mother was alright. Brendon laced their fingers and exhaled shakily, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. He dearly hoped that Spencer's family was out of harm's way, though he knew it was rather far-fetched. He put his arm around Spencer's waist and kissed his temple lightly, hoping to put him at ease.

Ryan gently extricated himself from his mother's embrace, turning to look at the others. Something in his stomach sunk at the sight of Brendon and Spencer's laced fingers, but he fought it down. How many times had he seen that gesture already? They were just comforting each other. And he guessed that seeing his mother show up here hadn't been that easy for them either. "Mom, Tobe," he said softly. "This is Jon, Brendon, Spencer and Jon's parents, Jacob and Janice Walker," he introduced. "Guys, my mom and the infamous Tobias." He sent Spencer and Brendon sympathetic looks, but didn't really know what he could do to comfort or help them. He was quite sure Brendon would still be opposed to any kind of touch from him. He bit his lip slightly. "You know, I promised to show you England, but I think you guys could all use a vacation. I'm not sure if you'd even want to, but it could be fun, I guess, to see it together instead? Or you could come next summer and I might actually know stuff well enough to show you, so-" He cut himself off, shaking his head slightly. He was absolutely babbling, which had him bewildered. Babbling had never been a habit of his. It had been Ryan Hastings', but Hastings didn't actually exist. Except the part where maybe Ryan had started to like tight jeans and designer t-shirts a little bit too much considering the kind of budget he was used to being on, and the part where he was actually at least bi-sexual... and the part where he maybe babbled a little when he was nervous. So maybe they weren't so different at all. Ryan shook his head again to clear it. No, that was just ridiculous. Hastings had always pretty much been his polar opposite, so why? He pushed the thought down and gave a nervous smile. "Sorry," he said.

His mother laughed gently. "You always used to do that when you were younger," she stated with a delighted sound that was almost a giggle. Then she sobered slightly. "Then your father told you it was unbecoming and you never did it since." She looked him up and down slightly, her gaze so clear and intent that Ryan experienced the urge to squirm away. "I don't think I've seen you be more yourself than you are right now in the last ten years."

Brendon inclined his head when his name was spoken, letting his gaze drift from Ryan's mother to Tobias. So, this was the guy who had sent the now well-used oils, then? Maybe he should thank him... Before he got the chance to open his mouth, though, Ryan started babbling in the completely endearing way he had. Apparently, this was out of the norm, but Brendon knew that for Spencer, Jon and himself it was just something Ryan did. At the mention of Ryan's father, though, Brendon clenched his free hand and felt himself shaking with barely-suppressed rage. He dimly heard Spencer ask him what was wrong, but instead of answering, he shut his eyes and took a few calming breaths, hoping they would help. It didn't stop the fact that he had never hated anyone as much as he hated Ryan's father. Not even Ryan himself, when he'd announced his mission and deceit a few weeks before, which was surprising in itself.

Ryan bit his lip when the room lapsed into silence, and it was odd, this intense urge to fill it when he still wasn't used to not appreciating silences as much as he once had, even though his thoughts weren't as unfriendly now as they'd been for the last many months. "Well," he finally muttered. "I get to pick, but I don't really know. Oxford or Cambridge? I guess King James wouldn't be so bad either, but I don't really feel like going to school in the middle of the city." He smiled slightly. "I guess I've gotten used to the rural thing." He shrugged, barely noticing the aching pull in his shoulder as he looked over the gathered faces, biting his lip nervously again. Another gesture that hadn't been his until very recently.

"Oxford sounds exciting," Spencer finally put in, then moaned in distress. "Does this mean we have to take our last year all over again?" he complained, looking over at Jon, who looked positively ill at the idea, and Brendon who still looked angry. Jon shrugged, clearly against the idea, but didn't have an answer. "That is just not fair," Spencer pouted, folding his arms across his chest. Truthfully, he wasn't very concerned about his schooling at the moment, but he welcomed the fact that it was something meaningless to think about instead of worrying about his parents. "Well," he said, plastering on a smile. "Shall we get out of here? Maybe go eat?"

"It does," Ryan agreed with a slight hum. "And I don't think you do. You finished your senior year. You just have to find someone willing to help you sit your exams, and then it's college or university, whichever. If you can find one you want to attend, that is." He swallowed slightly, only half aware that he was blabbering again, although at least he still had an American accent. "I mean, after all that's happened I don't see you enrolling in the DURA school system, and Beauregia is kind of a mess." He bit his tongue to silence the rambling words escaping his mouth. "Then again, I guess you're high profile enough that any country would take you." He looked around the court room, deciding he'd definitely had about enough of this place to last him... oh, about the rest of his life. "And continuing the talk somewhere else would be nice, but I don't feel up to all the reporters."

"You can come to my house," Jon immediately suggested, looking back towards his parents, who smiled and nodded their assent. He grinned and looked back towards the others, motioning for them to follow as he lead the way out of the courthouse, finally.