The Impossible is Possible (Ryden)

Chapter 21

"So, what is it you said you do?" Rodney asks, glaring at Mr. Urie, who sits across from him at the table. "I seem to have missed you telling us your current job."

Mr. Urie bites down, hard, on his potato, and chews, mulling over an appropriate answer. "I'm unemployed at the moment," he explains, after swallowing. "What about you? I've heard they pay pretty well for men who hit kids nowadays."

Rodney's eyes narrow, Mrs. Urie groans, and Brendon laughs into his dinner. He never thought he'd say it about a parent, but damn, his dad is cool. Rodney, however, doesn't seem to think so. "Excuse me? What the hell are you on about?"

"What I'm on about," Mr. Urie replies, through gritted teeth, "is the issue of you hurting my son. If I ever find out that you've laid another finger on him, then I'll --"

"Where's the proof for this, exactly?"

"I have Brendon's word for it, and I'm going to take that over anything you have to say."

"Your son, who you obviously know so much about when you're travelling all the time, is rude, obnoxious and --"

"Can we please not discuss this whilst Brendon's in the room?" Mrs. Urie interrupts, looking upset at the situation. "We can talk about this later, okay?"

"Mom," Brendon complains, rolling his eyes. "I'm eighteen, I think I have the write to listen to a conversation that's about me."

"Look, I just don't think it's appropriate to --"

She cuts off, however, as there's a knock on the front door. Everybody exchanges a startled look, wondering who would be knocking at eight in the evening. "I'll get it," Brendon says, quickly, eager to avoid more awkward conversations. He leaps to his feet, and heads into the hallway, humming to himself.

What he could really do with, now, is seeing Ryan. Getting away from all of the stress of parents and arguments and awkwardness, and just be able to curl up somewhere warm with him, and be told that everything's fine. In fact, he might even ring him, just to hear the sound of his voice, he resolves, just as he opens the door.

He freezes the moment he sees who's been knocking, however.

"What the fuck?" he asks, loudly.

Ryan is stood - well, just about standing - in the doorway. But it's not the same Ryan that he saw a few hours ago. He's shaking, violently, and his hair is all messed up, and he's smothered in bruises, and oh, God, there's water and blood soaked into his clothes - a huge amount, in fact, so much that Brendon's sure it can't be coming from the boy himself.

"Ryan?" he whispers, just about unable to move. "What - what --"

"Brendon," Ryan moans, voice trembling, and he stumbles forward. Brendon catches him, swiftly, and the boy buries his face into Brendon's neck, actually crying, and Brendon can feel horror and shock billowing liberally in himself. "She's - she's d-dead, and --"

"Dead?" Brendon asks, sharply. "Who?"

"My dad and her were arguing as usual, because he fucking beat me up for sm-smashing a fucking glass by accident and he was f-fucking drunk, and I w-went and locked m-myself in my room. Then he sl-slammed out and I could hear her crying, then she r-ran a bath - but this was like, th-three hours ago, and she wasn't out, s-so I went to check on her and - and --"

Brendon feels sick as Ryan breaks off, to let out a choked sob, his fingers twisting themselves into Brendon's t-shirt. Brendon holds him, close, to himself, closing his eyes, feeling hot tears rising, not wanting to hear the rest, but knowing that he has to.