Room 242

The plane left at ten and would have them to Vegas within a few hours. It hadn't even been mentioned, Jon going to Vegas and not Chicago. It was beyond understood. Maybe it was that reason, maybe another, that Ryan was curled up next to Jon on the plane, legs tucked under him, hands twisting.

Jon had his laptop open and the pair were engaged in a game of Monopoly, not even half-heartedly. Spencer was sitting next to Ryan, but across the aisle, staring out the window. Brendon was asleep.

Jon and Ryan hadn't mentioned the bathtub. Not to spare Brendon's embarrassment, but because nothing really seemed out of the ordinary anymore. There was no template for how any of them would randomly act or what they would randomly do. Spencer had, before they left the hotel, bought the gift shop out of Starburst, Skittles, and Pepsi. Then he had thrown it all away. Jon had taken to randomly cursing when it got too quiet.

Ryan was simply insane. He was eerily quiet most of the time and would all-too-often reach out and squeeze Jon's arm. He didn't act like a 'victim', couldn't bring himself to do so and that, in itself, made him such a prisoner. Spencer felt like crying every time he looked at him. There were moments, they could all tell, when Ryan was drifting back to room 242. When his beautiful brown eyes didn't see anything that was in front of him, as if they could only see what was inside him.

Occasionally a whimper would leave his lips. Spencer would instinctively reach out at the noise, but Jon tried not to. To him, it was Ryan's choice whether or not he wanted to be touched. To Spencer, Ryan was practically his brother and taking care of him when he hurt was second nature.

"Where . . . where are we going?" Ryan asked suddenly, turning to look at Spencer. Spencer would know. Spencer was in charge. Spencer knew how to take care of Ryan.

The younger boy started at being addressed. "M-My place." he said, voice gaining strength as he continued. "We'll go to my place, Ryan."

"All of us?" The voice was smaller this time. Was he asking too much? But Jon was coming. Surely he wouldn't be staying at a hotel and commuting for daytime therapy sessions. He turned to look at the older boy, eyes imploring.

"If that's what you want, Ryan." Jon said. The boy gave a small nod. "Then that's what'll happen." It felt like one thread in a great knot of yarn had come undone. For a brief moment, Jon didn't feel like slitting someone's throat. But then Ryan's smile faltered and Jon found himself wishing he had a knife.

Brendon was stirring and a word that sounded like 'flarsmallowmen' left his mouth, causing Ryan to give a small giggle that sounded as though it had the flu. "I'm going to go sit by him." he said quietly, untangling his legs and standing up. He knelt on the ground beside Brendon, leaning down until their foreheads were touching. He stared motionless, but neither Spencer or Jon could tell if he was staring in or out.

Nobody seemed to move or breathe, let alone speak, until Brendon's eyelashes fluttered open. "Hi." Ryan whispered.

"Hi." Brendon replied just as quietly, twice as gently, and three times as scared. Don't let me break you, Ryan. I don't want to break you.

"You talked in your sleep." Ryan sounded like he was five again. "It wasn't even a word, Brendon."

"Oh." Unsure of what else to say, the younger boy slowly sat up and Ryan quickly sat beside him.

"Your hair's all sticking up, Bren. You look silly." Ryan began to smooth it out with his hands while Brendon's eyes danced wildly from Jon to Spencer, looking ready to cry at any moment. This wasn't normal!

"Ryan, do you want to go right to my place when we get there? Or do you want to pick up some stuff from your apartment?" Spencer asked, trying to draw Ryan away from Brendon before the latter burst into tears. God only knew what that would do to Ryan. How many more levels of insanity were they going to be forced to watch? How much more hell?

The boy gave a sort of giggle as he threw his arms around Brendon's waist from behind.

"Ryan!" Spencer shrieked.

Big, round eyes turned to stare at him, scared. Ryan's bottom lip trembled. "W-What? What did I do?"

Silent tears were streaking down Brendon's face now. Instinctively, he brought a hand up to wipe at his eyes. Gasping, Ryan moved in front of Brendon so quickly his body was blur. "Brenny? Brenny, what's wrong? Don't cry." His fingers reached out and Brendon stood up, fleeing to the bathroom.

Ryan turned to look at the other two boys, jaw shaking. “What did I do? I hurt him. I didn’t mean to.” He closed in on himself, shoulders collapsing and head down, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Jon glanced at Spencer, who had no words, before turning to look at Ryan. “You didn’t hurt Brendon, Ry. He’s just . . . upset. Why don’t you get some sleep or something, kid? We’ll walk you up when we get to Vegas.” he promised.

“C-Can I come back there?” Ryan bit at his nails as if afraid the boys would deny him.

“Yeah, Ryan. Come on.” Jon said. The younger boy walked down the aisle and sat down beside the bassist, not hesitating for a moment before lying down and resting his head in Jon’s lap. He was asleep in minutes.

Spencer’s sign of relief was audible. “He ought to see a therapist or something.”

“You know he won’t. Ryan hates hospitals.” Brendon said from behind them, voice small. “And therapists don’t know him. If we can’t help him, no one can.” He paused next to Ryan, reaching out and stroking the sleeping boy’s hair. “I’ll try.” he said. It was almost finality even thought it was the beginning.

Of something.

* * *

Pete had taken care of everything apparently. They were handed car keys when they landed and their luggage was already in the car. Spencer immediately climbed into the driver’s seat while Brendon and Jon waited to see what Ryan would do. The boy crawled in the back, grabbing Brendon’s hand at the last minute. “Sit with me?” he asked. His voice was no longer that of a child, though the perpetual fear did cast it younger.

Brendon nodded and slipped in the backseat with Ryan while Jon took the seat beside Spencer. Ryan curled up next to Brendon, resting his head in the crook of the younger boy’s neck. “Do we want to go straight to my place?’ Spencer asked after he navigated his way from the parking lot. “Do you guys want to stop at—”

“I want to go to my dad’s.” Ryan interrupted, voice too-loud.

Jon’s eyes widened and he forced himself not to turn around. Brendon’s eyes caught Spencer’s in the rearview mirror. “Ryan are you sure you—”

“Yes.” Ryan moved closer to Brendon. “I want to go to my dad’s.”

“. . . okay.” Spencer muttered, not bothering to disguise his misgivings. Jon reached over and rubbed the younger boy’s shoulder for a moment before dropping his hand back in his lap.

They drove in silence, no one bothering with words or the radio. There were the occasional whimpers, just as there had been on the plane and in the hotel room the night before. Brendon cleared his throat once.

Then they were there. Spencer pulled into the empty driveway and Ryan scampered from the car before the keys had been removed from the ignition. “I hate this house.” Spencer said quietly as they walked the sidewalk toward the front door. “I don’t know why—” His voice cracked and he pushed past Brendon and Jon to walk through the open door.

Jon and Brendon didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at each other. The latter tried to turn on the light, but should have known better. The electricity had been off since two weeks after George Ross died. Ryan hadn’t bothered to pay the electric bill. What was the point, after all?

Of course, what was the point in keeping a house for a ghost? The house was exactly the same as it had been when Ryan’s father died, except for the lack of food in the kitchen. Empty beer bottles on the coffee table, dish towels in the dryer, half empty tube of toothpaste without a lid on the sink.

Nobody knew why Ryan had kept the house. Nobody pretended to understand. Ryan had hated the house, had only gone back for hour-long visits when he deemed it necessary. But when George Ross had died, the house went to Ryan and Ryan kept it. “Nobody’s having that part of me.” Spencer and Jon had no idea what those words meant. Brendon thought he might have known, but decided it was better not to say anything.

Brendon sat down gently on the arm of a dust-cloaked couch. Jon lingered in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. Spencer was wandering the all-too-familiar rooms looking for his best friend.

“Ryan? Ry?” He found the boy sitting on top of the dryer downstairs, staring at his feet. “Ryan?” Spencer asked tentatively once more. After receiving no answer, he climbed onto the washing machine and sat beside the other boy in silence. He wanted to ask the question—why here, Ry, Jesus?—but he didn’t.

“I think he missed me when I was gone.” Ryan said, not looking up. “I came here after he died, to get rid of the food and stuff. And there were so many empty bottles in my room. I think he missed me.”

“He—”

“I don’t have a family anymore, you know. Mom left and it was just me and Dad and then Dad died and now it’s just me. An orphan at twenty.” He snorted. Then sniffled. Then started to cry. He fell against Spencer when he felt the younger boy’s arms wrap around him. “I’m all alone.”

“No, Ryan, you’re not.” Spencer whispered. “We’re your family now. And we’re going to take care of you.”

Ryan nodded against Spencer’s shirt, bringing his arms around the younger boy and squeezing him with a surprising strength. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

Thank God.

* * *

“There’s only three bedrooms.” Spencer said to Jon quietly.

“Well, it’s whoever Ryan decides to sleep with in one.” the older replied just as softly. “It’s not a big deal.”

Spencer nodded, then shrugged, turning to walk toward the refrigerator. He was halted, however, by Jon grabbing his arm and pulling him back. “Don’t turn off. Ryan doesn’t need a robot right now, he needs you. He needs Spencer. Not a zombie.”

“I’m doing the best I can.” the younger snapped. “You guys have never taken care of Ryan like I have. You don’t . . . know what he’s like when . . . when . . .” Spencer gulped, swallowing his tears. He tried to turn away again, but this time Jon pulled him into a tight hug.

“No one’s trying to deny anything you’ve done, Spence.” the older boy whispered. “But Ryan’s shutting himself off enough without the rest of us doing it. We can’t help him if we’re doing the same thing.”

“Wh-When he breaks . . .” Spencer choked on his words, burying his face in Jon’s shoulder and bringing his arms up around the other boy. “When Ryan breaks . . . I can’t fix him. Y-You just have to wait . . .” Tears were streaming down his cheeks now, stinging his eyes. “I try so hard. But I can’t fix him.”

“We will this time.” Jon promised, squeezing Spencer tightly. “All of us. We’ll fix Ryan this time.” God, it’s not bad enough that they had to rape Ryan, is it? It doesn’t stop there, does it? The oldest of the four rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, glaring at a deity he couldn’t see. Sadistic asshole.

“Guys, Ryan’s in the shower.” Brendon said, walking in the room. His eyes focused on the scene. Jon holding Spencer, who appeared to be shaking. “Sorry.” he mumbled, turning to leave.

“It’s fine.” Spencer said, pulling away and wiping at his cheeks with the heel of his hand. “What is it?”

“Uh, Ryan’s in the shower.” Brendon continued, trying not to stare at the tear tracks on Spencer’s cheeks. “And we need food and . . . stuff. So someone needs to go and I figure maybe we should do it when he won’t notice that one of us is missing. So, who wants to go? I will if—”

“I will.” Jon said instantly.

“You don’t know your way around Vegas.” Spencer said, sensibility rearing it’s ugly head.

“Google.”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “Fine, whatever. Just make it quick. And you should probably grab something like frozen pizza for supper. I don’t have the patience to cook and I’m the only one that can.”

“’Kay, Mom.”

Brendon laughed and choked on it. This wasn’t right. They couldn’t be joking. Ryan was upstairs showering and he had been raped. They couldn’t joke. The world was ending. Or something.

Jon clapped him on the shoulder as he left the room. Spencer and Brendon heard the jingle of car keys and the front door shutting. “Is Ryan okay?” the younger asked the older immediately.

“As much as he can be, I guess.” Brendon mumbled, lowering his head and kicking at the ground. Ryan had pulled the vocalist up the stairs by his hand when they got into Spencer’s house, shaking his head at the other two. (‘No no, just Brendon.’) Then they had stayed up there for nearly half an hour until Brendon emerged downstairs and interrupted Spencer’s tears. “He cried. Said he was scared, then said he was dirty. That was when he wanted to take a shower.”

“Did he do the creepy kid thing again?”

“No.” Brendon shook his head. “He was Ryan the whole time. Well . . . mostly.”

“Yeah.” Spencer nodded, agreeing, knowing, understanding. “Do you think we’ll ever get all of him back?” he whispered.

“No.” Brendon said, voice angry. “But we’ll get most of him. He’s ours, not theirs.”

“I want all of him back.” Spencer said miserably, hating himself for the weakness he was showing.

Brendon nodded, tears pricking his eyes. “Me, too.”

The two boys fell onto the couch, holding each other and crying quietly. Mourning Ryan, mourning what those men had ripped from him in room 242. Mourning themselves, mourning what those men didn’t even know they had ripped from the rest of them. Mourning what had been, what would never be complete again.

And then they cried because suddenly acting like an adult didn’t seem so important anymore.