Brendon rushes through the school, not really caring that he's banging into a fair few people as he does so.

His mom forced him to go to school, despite his protests, saying that his education can't suffer. He wanted to just stay at home and look after Ryan all day - but his mom seems to have become rather protective over the boy, and says that's her job. When he'd left that morning, the cops were just coming round, wanting to talk to Ryan about what had happened. He wants to make sure his boyfriend is okay, and he knows full well he's going to run all the way home.

He'd told Jon and Spencer about what's happened the moment he got the two of them alone, at lunch. They'd both been wide-eyed and concerned and sympathetic, and asked when they could come round to see Ryan. Brendon told them to give it a couple of days, but was more than pleased that they cared.

As he jogs past the changing rooms, he trips over something, which sends him sprawling onto the floor. There's a ripple of laughter throughout those passing by, and nobody stops to help him. He gets to his feet, cheeks burning, and then casts around for his glasses which have fallen off.

His vision is quite blurred without them, but he spots them a couple of metres away. Just as he reaches down to get them, somebody stamps, straight onto them, smashing the glass and bending the red frames. He straightens, startled and indignant, but somebody grabs him by the hair before he can do anything.

"What the fuck?" he asks, struggling as hard as he can, but whoever it is gives a laugh - a laugh that makes Brendon's heart sink. "Timothy, get the fuck off me."

"Not a chance," the boy laughs, and drags Brendon through into the changing room. Brendon feels painful tears rising in his eyes, and he blinks them away. He feels as though his entire scalp is about to be ripped off. "Where's your psycho boyfriend today? I haven't seen him around."

Timothy lets him go, and shoves him hard. Brendon straightens, anger bubbling dangerously inside him, and he can just see that they're in the showers, alone. "Oh, he's obviously sharpening his knives, just for you," he spits, bitterly. He's fed up of this, of just taking all the shit that Timothy gives him, without fighting back. He's got more important things in his life now, than being afraid of some jock. "Can't you just fuck off, for once? I've got to get home, and I don't have time to deal with an asshole like you."

Timothy just laughs, sounding smug. "Aw, the fairy has a backbone. Who'd have known it?"

"You're just --"

Timothy interrupts him, however, as he grabs his hair again, and twists his arms behind his back. "You need to shut up," he hisses, into his hear. "You need to learn your fucking place in life."

"What's going on?" comes a curious, male voice, and Timothy releases Brendon, who rubs the back of his sore neck, wincing. He looks up, to see that Spencer and Jon are standing in the doorway, both glaring at Timothy.

"Oh, two more have come to join the fun, have they?" Timothy sneers, and he glances at Jon. "You know, Walker, I used to respect you. I can't believe you're hanging around with queers like this."

"Well, I've never liked you, so we're pretty even, aren't we?" Jon asks, coolly. "But I'd get away from Brendon if I were you."

"Oh, well, it's a pity you're not me, isn't it?" Timothy asks, sweetly, and he grabs Brendon's hair again. Brendon prepares to elbow him or kick him, or just do something, when somebody suddenly punches Timothy straight in the jaw, sending him reeling backwards.

Brendon blinks as he's released, in shock.

"Fuck you," Timothy spits, and leaves, clutching his jaw.

There's a stunned, silent few moments, before Jon says, sounding awed, "Spencer Smith, you are now officially my hero."

"Did I actually just punch Timothy Ashfield?" Spencer asks, mouth slightly open. Brendon bursts out laughing, and hugs his friend, tightly. He's surprised, but amazingly so, and he's extremely grateful. "I actually just punched him, didn't I?"

"You did, and it looked like it really, really hurt," Brendon laughs, pulling back. Jon is still staring at his boyfriend with wide, admiring eyes. Brendon suddenly realises that nothing is stopping him going home to see his boyfriend, and he grins. "Right. I need to get going, to see Ryan. Thanks so much, really."

"Tell Ryan we'll be coming over soon," Spencer smiles, a little sadly, as he seems to remember the situation. "Tell him to keep his chin up."

"Will do," Brendon replies, and salutes his two friends, before rushing out of the room.

As he does, he distinctly hears Jon say, "You actually punched Timothy Ashfield God, I love you."

*

Brendon shuts the door behind him, thoroughly out of breath.

"Mom?" he asks, heading towards the kitchen - he can smell fresh cooking, and so he guesses she'll be there. He's right; he finds her pulling out a tray of cakes from the oven. "How's Ryan been? Why aren't you with him?"

"Oh, hello, Brendon," she replies, smiling brightly, as she lays the tray of cakes on the kitchen counter. "I've been with Ryan all day; he's okay, he's just very quiet. Rodney's watching over him, now."

"Rodney?" he asks, flabbergasted. "What? Why? Where's dad?"

"He's gone out to get some things from the shop," she explains, and a moment later, the front door is heard to be opened. "Ah. That must be him, now."

Indeed, Mr. Urie comes into the kitchen a second later, his arms full of shopping bags. He smiles when he sees the pair of them, placing the bags down at the table. "Hey, kid. How was your day at school?"

"Okay," Brendon shrugs, a little bit distracted by his mom's revelation. "I'm sorry, but why is Rodney with him?"

"Well, he needs somebody with him, and your father and I were --"

She's cut off, quite effectively, by the sounds of shouting from upstairs. All three of them share an alarmed look, and then, without anymore hesitation, run to see what could be happening.

Brendon's the quickest, reaching his room first, and he finds that Ryan is standing up, looking furious, glaring at a scowling Rodney. "Ryan?" he asks, stepping into the room. "What's going --"

"Don't talk to me like that, boy," Rodney growls, ignoring Brendon completely. "I don't care what kind of problems you're going through; you need to learn some respect."

"Some respect?" Ryan laughs, bitterly. "Like the respect you have for your girlfriend and her son? Is that how people show respect nowadays, with their fists?"

"Rodney, what's going on?" Mrs. Urie asks, sharply, as she and her husband enter the room behind Brendon. "What's all the noise about?"

"Stay out of this, Monica," Rodney snarls, in reply, and Mr. Urie bristles.

"Don't speak to her in that tone," he snaps, looking furious, and Mrs. Urie glances at him in surprise. "You're not in charge, here."

"That boy --" Rodney says, pointing angrily at Ryan "-- thinks that he can call me a fucker, and get away with it. He needs to learn some damn respect if he's living under this roof."

Ryan laughs, obnoxiously. "I think I can call you one? I know that I can. Fucker, fucker, fucker, fucker, fuck --"

Rodney, letting out a loud noise of frustration, moves forward, and punches Ryan, in the cheek.

Three things happen simultaneously.

Brendon rushes towards Ryan, in alarm and concern. Mr. Urie moves forward, angrily, obviously meaning to restrain the larger man. Mrs. Urie, however, gets there first - and slaps him, hard, across the face.

"Get out," she hisses, her cheeks red and her chest heaving. "I won't have you laying another finger on anybody; my son, or his boyfriend."

Rodney looks stunned, blinking fairly rapidly. "But - but Monica, we --"

"I don't want to hear it," she says, firmly, and points to the door. "Get out. Now."

To everybody's immense surprise, Rodney gives her one last, foul look - and leaves.

"Um." Mr. Urie blinks, opens his mouth, and closes it again. "Um, Monica, did you really just --"

"Yes, I did," she replies, looking shocked, but quite proud of herself. She glances at Ryan, who Brendon is gently making sit on the bed, and her features soften. "Are you okay, honey?"

"Yeah," Ryan says, rubbing his cheek, and wincing slightly. "I've had worse. Thanks a lot, Mrs. Urie."

"That's quite alright," she smiles, faintly, and then sighs. "Well then. I'll get back to preparing those cakes for everybody.

With that, she turns on her heel, and leaves. Mr. Urie smiles, widely, and smoothes his hair back. "If you'll excuse me, boys, I've got some winning of somebody's heart to do," he winks, and half-runs after her. Brendon stares after them both, more than a little shocked by everything that's just happened, and then gives an amazed laugh.

"Fuck. I can't actually believe that that just --"

"Brendon?" Ryan interrupts, in a small voice. Brendon shuts up, immediately, and turns to him, remembering that he hasn't actually talked to his boyfriend since this morning, and that he really should be making sure he's okay. "I've missed you."

Brendon gazes at him, taking in his glum expression, his bruises, and just how fucking beautiful he is. He leans forward, kisses him, tentatively, and then pulls back slightly. "I've missed you, too."

"Just lie with me for a while?" Ryan asks, softly, tracing small circles into Brendon's arm with a finger. Brendon nods, and the boy lies back onto the bed, with a small sigh. Brendon quickly clambers next to him, one of his arms sliding comfortably around the boys waist, his front pressing into Ryan's back. "Thanks."

"There's no need to thank me," Brendon murmurs, into Ryan's dark hair. "Oh, before I forget, Spencer and Jon say they're going to come round one day soon to see how you are. They're worried about you."

"They are?" Ryan asks, sounding surprised. "Wow. That's nice of them; I didn't think they liked me all that much."

"Don't be stupid," Brendon scolds him, not really wanting to admit how reluctant Spencer had been about their relationship in the first place. "Hey, you'll never guess what? Spencer hit Timothy Ashfield today, right in the jaw."

Ryan bursts out laughing, and the sound makes Brendon almost cry. He's missed the sound, so much. "He did? Jesus Christ. That's bizarre. I'm glad, though."

"Me too," Brendon smiles, unable to help himself after hearing Ryan actually laugh. They fall into a comfortable silence, Ryan playing with Brendon's hand around him, tracing patterns into the skin, softly.

"You know," he says, quietly, after a few minutes, "when I was little and I was scared or upset, my mom used to sing me her favourite song."

Brendon bites his lip. "What song?"

"Tonight, Tonight, by The Smashing Pumpkins," Ryan replies, with a small, slightly choked laugh. "That's why I asked you to sing it when we first started our music project."

"Oh, right," Brendon says, biting his lip even harder. He thinks that Ryan's alluding to something, but he doesn't really want to do it if he's not; he'll make a fool of himself. Then, he blinks, and wonders why the fuck he cares about making a fool of himself, when Ryan's gone through so much. Quietly, under his breath, he begins with, "Time, is never time at all..."

Ryan lets out a light breath, and pulls Brendon's arm tighter around him, closing his eyes. Brendon closes, his eyes, too, and just sings - knowing that he'll sing for hours, for days, for months, if it will start to heal the broken, bruised boy in his arms.