"Hello?"

"Hello, is that Mrs. Urie?"

"Yes, it is. How can I help you?"

"Are you Brendon Urie's mother?"

"Yes."

"I'm calling from Conview Hospital. Your son is being treated for fairly severe head injuries, and he's unconscious. Would it be possible for you to come down to the hospital as soon as you can?"

"Fuck! Really? Jesus Christ. Of course, I'll be there as quickly as possible. Do you know what happened to him?"

"We're not sure, Mrs. Urie. All we know is that another boy came in with him, with a gunshot wound, who --"

"Was he skinny and brown haired?"

"Yes."

"Oh God. Ryan. Ryan Ross, his name is. I'm his guardian."

There's a beat of silence.

"You're Ryan Ross's guardian?"

"Yes."

Another few seconds of silence.

"In that case, Mrs. Urie, I think you had better get here right now."

*

He feels like he's trapped. Trapped and lost and alone. He struggles to open his eyes, but the agony and the pain and the loss hits him, and he stops trying. He just goes back to the darkness of nothingness.

*

"Jon?"

"Mmm? Spencer? I've just woken up, you know, and I dreamt that --"

"Fuck, Jon. Brendon's in a coma in fucking hospital."

"What? Fuck, what? What's happened?"

"I don't know, I don't know. I just got a call from his dad, though, and he and his mom are at the hospital now, and he's had his head smashed in by someone, and Ryan was shot and he's --"

"Ryan was shot? Fuck. Fuck. Right, don't move. I'm coming over right now, and we'll go to the hospital."

*

He can hear voices, he swears.

He tries to reply to them, but his tongue is heavy and feels swollen, and he nearly chokes.

*

"Oh God, oh God, what are we going to do?"

"Monica, please, calm down, everything will be --"

"What will we tell him when he wakes up?"

"You heard the nurse, we won't tell him anything about Ryan for the first few hours. It will only cause further stress."

"But - but he deserves to know, they --"

"I know, but we don't want to make things worse for him. We'll tell him, but we need to wait for him to be in a stable condition."

"O-okay. I guess you're right, but God, I can't believe this."

*

The first thing that Brendon notices when he regains consciousness is the huge, stinging pain in the side of his head. He lets out a groan, gently moving his limbs, and he realises that his whole body is aching and sore. It feels as though somebody has dropped him down the stairs, a million times, over and over.

He manages, somehow, to open his eyes, and immediately winces. The light is almost blinding.

He finds himself gazing up at a blurred white ceiling. He frowns. He can't remember looking up at one before. He's kind of certain the ceiling above his usual bed is light blue, but he's not sure. It could be red, now he thinks about it. Or maybe even green. He can't really remember.

With an effort, he moves his gaze around the room, and lets it fall upon a few chairs, which are pulled up next to his bed. He sees five familiar faces. His parents - he's sure they are, they look just like the adults he remembers - and three teenage boys. Two of them are talking, softly, their hands tightly entwined. He squints at them, trying his hardest to place their faces - and then it clicks. Jon and Spencer. That's right.

But who's the third boy? He's familiar, that's for sure. He's staring miserably at his knees, his hair all in his eyes. Suddenly, memories flash back to Brendon; the boy pinning Brendon against the wall with a passionate kiss, giving the boy head behind the bike shed, fucking under the cover of the night sky...

"Lawrence?" he manages to ask, his voice small and hoarse.

Everybody looks up, sharply.

"Brendon?" Lawrence asks, eyes going wide, filling with relief. He rushes forward, towards the bed, and presses a quick, clumsy kiss to Brendon's lips. Brendon's not sure why, but it feels strange, and wrong, and it makes him feel guilty. He wishes he could remember why. "Thank God you're alright. I went round to your house - I was in the neighbourhood, and God, I wanted to tell you so much, about what a huge mistake it was to let you go, and then your mom told me what happened, and I've been here all night and --"

"Letting me go?" Brendon repeats, weakly. "It was a big mistake?"

"The biggest mistake of my life," Lawrence nods, his dark blonde hair falling into his pretty eyes. "I don't know how I ever did it. I've missed you so much, you don't even know. I was in love with you the whole time, I swear."

Love. It's just a word, but somehow, it sparks Brendon's brain to life. He remembers a gun shot and a car and a blowjob and a party and another blowjob and a music project, and a boy sitting alone in the schoolyard, flicking a knife in and out of it's case.

"Where," he begins, and then pauses, to lick his lips, and looks up at Lawrence, "is Ryan?"

The boy furrows his eyebrows, looking confused. "Who's Ryan?"

"Ryan," Brendon repeats, the name oddly giving him strength, but also making him feel beyond fucking terrified. "Ryan Ross."

"Honey, thank goodness you're awake," Mrs. Urie says, suddenly, and Brendon realises that everybody else has gotten out of their seats, to see and talk to him. Her cheeks are tear-stained, and she looks ready to faint from relief. "Jon's gone to fetch the nurse now."

"Where's Ryan?" Brendon asks, trying to ignore the fear building in his gut, and the sharp pain building in the side of his head. He tries to remember why it's so damn important to find out where Ryan is - no, damn, where his boyfriend is, that's it - because all he knows is that he has to know, right now. "Fuck, Mom, where's Ryan?"

"Don't swear," his father says, seemingly automatically. The man looks haggard and humourless, but overjoyed that Brendon's come back to the world. "You need to just calm down and breathe, okay? The nurse will be here, soon."

"Who's Ryan?" Lawrence asks, again, looking extremely confused.

"My boyfriend," Brendon informs him, the pain in the side of his head building dramatically. He can barely form a thought anymore, let alone a polite answer. "I want to know where the fuck he is."

"Oh, look, here's the nurse now," Mrs. Urie says, looking extremely guilty and hesitant. Indeed, a middle-aged, stern looking woman enters the room, Jon close on her heels. She immediately goes up to the bed, ushering everybody away from it, and purses her lips.

"Ah, so you're awake, are you?" she asks, raising her eyebrows. "Can you tell me your name, young man?"

"Where's Ryan?" Brendon asks, a little louder, because, oh fuck, he can remember now. That fucker - that fucker of a human being - had shot him, in the chest. There had been so much blood, so much, and God, it had all come from Ryan. "Fuck, somebody just tell me!"

"Calm down," the nurse sighs, smoothing the hair from his forehead. "I'm going to have to clean your wounds now, so keep still."

Brendon barely hears her.

All he can do is ask where the fuck Ryan is, because if Ryan has gone ... well. Brendon won't be long for the world, either.

*

Later that night, Brendon's head has cleared quite a bit, but still, whenever he mentions Ryan, nobody will answer him.

His parents, Jon and Spencer have gone to eat in what his father described as 'the shitty canteen', but Lawrence has stayed with him, sat beside the bed. He'd forgotten, in the past few months, how beautiful his ex-boyfriend really is. He has large blue eyes, cupid bow lips, and the softest hair he's ever touched.

But it doesn't stir anything in him, not even when the boy confesses that he's in love with him.

All he can think of is Ryan, the blood that had blossomed from his chest, and why nobody is talking about him. He knows that he should probably fear the worst - but he just can't. The thought of Ryan's body lying somewhere, turning blue, having breathed it's last, is just too horrific. He can't comprehend it.

"Lawrence," he asks, softly, propping himself up on his elbows. His headache hasn't gone away, not by a long shot, but he's learning to ignore it the best he can. "Please," he begs, staring straight into the boy's blue eyes, "tell me. What's happened to Ryan?"

"I don't know, honestly," the boy replies, having winced at the name. "I never even knew he existed until this afternoon, when you mentioned him. Nobody will tell me anything about him."

"He's amazing," Brendon says, at once. "He's amazing and broken and fuck, I tried to fix him by just being there, but now I think I've probably ended up killing him. If it wasn't for me, he wouldn't have taken revenge, and then they wouldn't have taken revenge, and --"

"They?" Lawrence cuts through him, sharply. "You know who did this to you?"

Brendon hesitates, for the smallest moment, and then nods. "Yeah, but --"

"You have to tell the police when they talk to you, okay? They need to know. It'll be the only way for you to get justice."

Brendon's undecided as to whether or not he's going to tell the police about Timothy and his brother, but he just nods, to put Lawrence's mind at ease. "But I need to know about Ryan. Fuck, I can barely think without knowing. He can't be - he can't be --"

He's suddenly aware of the tears running down his cheeks, and he wipes them away with an impatient hand. "Lawrence, please. You need to find out for me."

Lawrence looks down at his hands, and when he meets Brendon's eye again, his eyes are filled with tears. "You love him, don't you?"

"Yes," Brendon says, without hesitation. "I'm sorry that you, well, think you love me, now. We had our time together, and it was amazing, but I'm in love with Ryan now. Completely."

Lawrence nods, blinking away his tears, and gets to his feet. "In that case, I'll go. I don't want to be in your way of happiness, if Ryan is okay."

Brendon feels a guilty squirm, deep inside. "You'll find someone, you know. You deserve to, and I know you will."

The boy gives him a sad, small smile, and presses one last kiss to his lips. "I hope so," he murmurs, when he withdraws. As he heads to the door, Spencer enters, alone, and gives him a smile as he passes. Lawrence turns at the door, and bites his lip. "Good luck with things, then."

"You too," Brendon sighs, feeling a little sad to see the boy go, but still, most of his thoughts are consumed by the desperate need to know where Ryan is. Lawrence leaves, and doesn't look back. Spencer quickly takes his seat, and smoothes the hair from Brendon's forehead as he lies back down. "Hey."

"Hi," he replies, in a quiet voice. "How are you feeling?"

"Aside from my head fucking killing me, I'm more worried about Ryan. Spencer, I know that you'll know how he is, or where he is, or anything about him. You need to tell me."

Spencer bites his lower lip, looking both reluctant and guilty. "The nurse said not to mention him. She said you don't need any unnecessary stress whilst you're recovering. I think they'll talk to you tomorrow about him."

"Tomorrow? Stress? Fuck that, I need to know now. Please. How would you feel if you were in this position, and it was Jon who you knew nothing about? How would you feel if you didn't know if he was dead or alive or fighting for his life or what?"

Spencer pales. "I'd feel...well. Like you're feeling, now."

"Exactly. Please, you have to --"

Spencer bows his head, evidently deep in thought, and then heaves a great sigh. "You're right." He looks back up, and continues absently stroking Brendon's forehead, a hesitant expression on his face. "Ryan, well, he's --"

He falls silent, however, as Mr. and Mrs. Urie, and Jon, walk back into the room, in discussion about how horrible hospital food is. Brendon swears, loudly, causing them all to fall silent. "Brendon, honey?" Mrs. Urie asks, looking concerned, as she makes her way to the side of the bed. "What's wrong?"

"Everything," Brendon spits, bitterly. "All of you being all concerned about my health by keeping something so vital as my boyfriend's fucking condition from me. I don't even know if he's dead or alive."

Mrs. Urie looks pained, again, and shares a look with her husband. "Sweetie, I think it's time you got some sleep. Your father will bring Spencer and Jon home now, and I'll watch over you. You've got a lot of recovering to do."

Spencer stands up, with a guilty look in Brendon's direction. It seems like he daren't tell him, not even mouth it to him, what with everybody else in the room. Brendon can feel the angry, frustrated tears coming again, and so he just shuts his eyes, and tries to forget.

Tries to forget the image of the boy he loves shaking in a pool of blood.

Tries to forget the uncertainty.

Tries even to forget the love because that, more than anything else in the world, hurts.