Brendon, Spencer, Jon and Ryan lie back on the grass, in the park.

It's lunchtime, and they've decided that the weather is far too nice for them to spend the hour in the canteen. Spencer suggested that they come here, and everybody agreed, and Brendon's pleased that his friend had suggested it. There's something oddly peaceful about laying back in the grass with those you love.

He stretches out a little, his arm brushing against Ryan's. Ryan opens his eyes, and glances at his boyfriend, and they share a small smile. Brendon thinks that it's kind of mad how he still feels an absurd amount of butterflies, just by looking at Ryan. He wonders if they'll ever fade. He hopes not.

"Spencer told me about you walking in on your parents," Jon says, from his other side. "That sucks, dude. I think I would have thrown up if it happened to me."

"Ugh, don't remind me." Brendon winces, at the memory. He's beyond thrilled that his parents have repaired their relationship...but still. There are some things he just never want to see in his entire life. "I almost had to just walk out the house. It was horrible."

"It's not as if you don't make-out with me in front of your parents all the time," Ryan sighs, rolling his eyes, but he sounds far from annoyed about the fact. "They were probably just getting their own back."

"It's amazing how cool your parents are with it," Spencer says, sounding immensely jealous. "I can't ever manage to tell mine. I dunno how they'd react."

"Have they met Jon?" Brendon asks, sitting up, and running a hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes.

"Yep, and they love him," Spencer laughs, with a look at Jon, who grins, a little bashfully. "I think my dad suspects something. He always talks about Jon as if we're going out - but, like, I dunno. It's hard. How did you tell your mom?"

"She, um," Brendon pauses, with a glance at Ryan. "She kind of caught me getting out of bed, with him in."

Everybody laughs, and Brendon finds himself joining in. In hindsight, he guesses that it is quite funny. Jon sits up, too, and smirks, in Spencer's direction. "Well, if you want to give that method of coming out a try, I'm more than willing to assist you."

Spencer goes bright red, sitting up, and swatting Jon on the shoulder. "You are so --"

He's broken off, however, as Jon kisses him, causing him to fall back into the grass. Brendon glances at the two of them, unashamedly making-out in the grass, and gazes at Ryan. Ryan is watching them, too, with a slight smile. Brendon takes the boy's hand, humming to himself, quietly. He's content, here, with these people; more content than he ever has been in his life.

"Spencer," Ryan says, suddenly, causing Jon and Spencer to break apart, looking a little ashamed at their uncontrollable urges about one another. "Sorry to interrupt you - but I kind of wondered, do you still hate me?"

Spencer blinks, as Jon climbs off him, and sits up, sweeping his hair from his eyes. "Um. No? I never hated you."

"I just wondered," Ryan replies, quietly. "I mean, you were the one who told Brendon that I stab people in the first place, and it was obvious that you weren't happy with us being together in the beginning. I can't ever feel comfortable, not properly, round you, because I know you're waiting for me to flip out or something."

Spencer bites his lip, looking down at the grass. "I never hated you. I was just scared of you, because - I mean, I'd heard all this stuff about you stabbing people, how was I supposed to feel? I didn't want Brendon to get hurt. I'm sorry for being an asshole in the past; I know you're not like I thought."

"Thanks," Ryan smiles, and offers a hand to the boy. "I'm sorry if I ever was mean to you, or whatever. I know I never came off as the most approachable person."

Spencer looks grateful as they shake hands, and, once they're done, he turns to Jon, raising an eyebrow. "So. Where were we?"

Jon, grins, widely, and soon takes to straddling his boyfriend and kissing him, deeply. Ryan and Brendon exchange a look, and then burst out laughing. "We'll leave you two to it," Brendon grins, shaking his head, and getting to his feet. He helps Ryan up, too, and they walk off. The entwined pair barely even seem to notice their departure.

Ryan glances around as they make their way across the park, and then takes Brendon's hand. Brendon can't help the smile that bursts uncontrollably across his face at that, and he squeezes Ryan's hand in response, happily. Ryan comes to a halt, and presses a quick, soft kiss to Brendon's mouth, running his tongue across Brendon's bottom lip. Brendon shivers, slightly.

"I'm glad you and Spencer are sorted, now," Brendon murmurs, slipping his hands comfortably into Ryan's back pockets, and bringing their hips closer together. "It's about time, to be honest."

"I agree," Ryan says, with a small smile. He runs one of his hands up Brendon's back, finally running his fingers through the back of Brendon's hair. "I love you. You know that, right? I always feel like I don't say it enough."

Brendon's smiling, again, and he just can't help it. He has no idea what he's done to deserve somebody like this in his life, but he's not going to ruin it for the world. He tilts his chin forward to catch Ryan's mouth in another, tender kiss, but not before murmuring, "I know, and I love you too."

*

It's as they walk home that Brendon begins to realise how damn lucky he is.

At the beginning of the school year, his mom was with some asshole of a boyfriend, he was starting a new school where he was immediately unpopular and beaten up, and he'd just about given up hope of ever forming a normal relationship with anybody. But now? His parents are back together, he has friends that he can trust, and he's in love with the boy walking alongside him.

In love, his mind repeats, as he glances at Ryan. Ryan meets his eye, and the corner of his mouth curves upwards into a soft smile. Brendon beams back. Yes, things have definitely gotten better for him - things aren't perfect, but they're damn well close to it.

It's funny that he thinks this as it happens.

There's a squeal of breaks on the road next to them, and they both turn, startled. Before either of them know what's happening, two, tall, muscular figures get out of the car, black masks pulled over their faces, and they grab one boy each, shoving them none too gently into the backseat.

"What the fuck?" Brendon asks, struggling, but the hands that are pushing him into the car are far stronger than him. He ends up banging his elbow as he finally falls in, but before he can even begin to wince from the pain, Ryan's pushed in straight after him, knocking their heads together.

Ryan makes to get straight back out the car, but the door is slammed, and locked, in his face. The windows are tinted so that nobody outside can see in, and there's a screen between the front and back seats, which is blacked out. "What the hell?" Ryan asks, loudly, as they hear the men getting into the front seats, somebody turning the engine. "Let us out!"

The only response is laughter, and for some reason, that scares Brendon more than anything else. He bites his lip, trying his hardest not to start having a panic attack, and twists his hands in the material of his t-shirt. What the hell can be going on?

As the car sets off from the side of the road, Ryan checks his pockets, winces, and turns to Brendon. "Do you have your phone on you?" he whispers, urgently.

"Fuck. No, it's at home."

"Mine too," Ryan mutters, looking frustrated. "Fuck it."

The mention of phones suddenly brings back the memory of the mysterious text to Brendon, and he begins to feel terrified. Without even knowing he's doing it, he takes Ryan's hand. Ryan glances at him, and his dark expression softens, slightly.

"It's okay," he whispers, planting a quick kiss on Brendon's forehead, as the car speeds around corner after corner. "We'll be fine. This is probably just some sick fuck's idea of a joke. If worst comes to worst, well. We're not unprepared."

"What do you mean?"

Ryan merely smiles, and pulls out something unpleasantly familiar from his pocket. His switchblade knife. "I'm not afraid to stab either of those motherfuckers if they lay a finger on either of us. We'll be fine."

Brendon stares at the blade, nervously. However much he doesn't want to admit it, the thought that they have the protection of it does make him feel a little safer, even if he doesn't particularly want Ryan to go around cutting anybodies arteries.

The car screeches around another corner, and Brendon begins to tremble. He has the smallest suspicion that it could be Timothy in one of the front seats; the boy wasn't at school today, and the text would fit in with him. He'd warned him, once, that he and Ryan would pay, for Ryan slicing his fingers open.

"I think it's --"

Brendon assumption, however, soon trails off, as the car slams on it's breaks and comes to a sudden halt. Brendon and Ryan just have time to share a worried look, before their doors are pulled open, and they're dragged out of the car, by their hair.

Brendon struggles against his captor, with a well-aimed kick into the person's knee, but the person merely punches him, hard, in the stomach, and throws him to the ground. He winces at the contact, but ignores the dull pain, more bothered about what the fuck is happening than how he feels.

He gets up onto his hands and knees, and looks around, desperately trying to work out where they've been taken. It looks to him like they're at the back of a row of shops, and realises that if he runs for it, he'd be able to alert someone. Just as he thinks this, his attacker stands over him, looking down at him through the eyeholes in his mask.

"This one is the fag," he shouts to his companion. Brendon recognises the voice instantly, and winces. Timothy Ashfield. "The other is the fucker who stabbed me."

Brendon looks over, instantly, to see that the other man - who is taller and broader than Timothy - has pushed Ryan down to the floor, and is glaring down at him with a furious expression. "You little bastard," he growls, as Ryan glares straight back up at him, seemingly unafraid. "Did you really think you could get away with fucking stabbing my brother?"

"Yes," Ryan replies, insolently, and Timothy's brother kicks him, hard, in the side of the face. Brendon gets to his feet, attempting rush over, but Timothy grabs him by the arms, twisting them painfully behind his back. Ryan wipes the blood from his cheek, and looks over at Brendon, with wide, imploring eyes. "Stay out of this. Please. I don't want you to get involved - you didn't stab anybody."

"That's right," Timothy growls, sounding pleased the boy on the floor understands. "You stop struggling, Ross, and let us get revenge, and we'll let Urie go without hurting him."

Ryan stares at Timothy, his brother, and then finally Brendon, who shakes his head, furiously. "Ryan, I'm not about to --"

"Okay," Ryan says, finally, looking only a little scared. "Fine. Do whatever you want to me, just don't hurt Brendon."

"What? Fuck, no, do something to me instead," Brendon begs, beginning to hyperventilate as he struggles against Timothy's firm grip. "Just let him go. I won't tell anybody what you do to me."

"You won't tell anybody either way," Timothy snaps, tightening his hold. "Martin, just get it over with."

"Whatever you say, little brother," the man shrugs, and out of his coat pocket, he withdraws a handgun. Brendon's heart just about stops, and he struggles with all his might against his captor. Timothy's grip lessens slightly, and so Brendon stamps, hard, on his foot, causing him to be released.

He runs towards Martin, meaning to knock the gun from his hands, but he soon comes to a dead halt. Martin is watching him with a small smile - the gun pointed straight at Ryan's forehead. Brendon stares between the two of them, helplessly, and shakes his head.

"That's right," Martin laughs, eyes glinting dangerously. "One step nearer and I'll blow his brains out."

Brendon doesn't move an inch, causing Martin to give a satisfied nod. "Well then, let's get this over with," he sighs, sounding thoroughly bored. He moves the barrel of the pistol to Ryan's ribcage, instead, and narrows his eyes. "This is loaded, you get that? If I hear one more thing about you stab --"

Before Brendon can even realise what's happening, there's a flash of silver from Ryan's pocket, there's a knife plunging towards Martin's stomach, and then Martin kicks the knife away, with a furious growl, and there's a gun shot.

Then, there's silence. Like a movie, or a story, or a script.

But Brendon knows this is real.

Almost in slow motion, he watches Ryan's eyes go wide, his skin go sickeningly pale, and his violently shaking hands find their way to the blood blossoming thickly from his chest. Martin is looking stunned, as though he didn't really mean to do anything. Timothy pulls his mask off, and says, in a quiet, scared voice, "Fuck. You actually shot him."

Brendon daren't breath, or move, or speak, or do anything, because Ryan's hand has slipped to the ground, still shaking, coated in blood. Then, his gaze falls to the blade that has fallen by his feet. Without even knowing what he's doing, he lets out a deep, anguished noise, swipes the blade from the floor, staggers forward, and plunges it, deeply, into Martin's leg, as he falls to his knees. He doesn't have the strength to support himself anymore. Not with Ryan shaking in a pool of his own blood, by his side.

As Martin lets out a groan of agony, reaching down to pull the knife out, Brendon crawls over to Ryan, shaking, his entire body in pain because oh, fuck, Ryan's eyes are slipping out of focus, and fuck, he has no idea what to do, and this is all his fault.

"R-Ryan," he attempts, his voice small and shaking and desperate, "Ryan, please, you can't --"

Martin cuts him short, however, by grabbing him by his hair, and slamming his head down onto the cement. "You little fag!" he screams, sounding beside himself. "How fucking dare you stab me?"

Brendon's head is smashed against the paving, again, and again, and the sounds of Martin's shouting fades, replaced by an eerie, deafening, rushing silence. He tries his hardest to fight back, to keep his eyes open, to keep conscious, but as his head is slammed one, final time against the concrete, he loses the battle.

The last thing he sees before he's lost to the world is Ryan's hand - which was shaking uncontrollably, and smeared with violently red blood - going still.