Support Hotline (Ryden)

A Big Mistake

I drop Brendon off like normal and get to work.

A few hours pass and I get a text message from Brendon.

"can you getme please"

Fuck.

"call me" I send back immediately. A few seconds later my phone buzzes and I pick up.

"Brendon, what happened?"

"J-just please come." He whimpers.

"Brendon tell me what happened." I clench my teeth in anger at the thought of someone hurting him. Why I'm so defensive over him is way above my common sense. In reality, my common sense doesn't always match my head.

"Go t-to the back gate." He stutters.

"I'm coming right now." I hang up and rush out after telling Pete there's an emergency.

I drive to the back entrance of the school with flashes of what could have happened to Brendon. When I pull up I see Brendon sitting at the curb staring into space. I stop and get out. I run over to him and notice a red swollen bump under his eye.

"Oh my God. Who did this?" He doesn't say anything he just looks up at me. The only noise I hear is the air going in and out through his nose.

"Brendon, talk to me." He just stares at me. Then he shatters right in front of me. His face goes from a blank, numb position into a heart breaking sob in seconds. I lean down to his level on the curb.

"Come on. We gotta get you checked out." I loop my arms under his shoulders and start lifting him from the ground.

"Fuck." He hisses when his shoulder is extended over mine as I try to support his weight. I open the passenger door with my one free hand and settle him into the seat. I reach towards the bottom of the chair and adjust it to where he can lay down.

"N-no. It hurts to stretch." He whispers weakly. I adjust it to make him lay at an angle. His eyes start to flutter shut, relaxed.

"Bren, I don't think you should sleep just yet. We have to make sure you don't have a concussion."

"H-how can we tell?"

Good fucking question.

I think of people I know who might have a clue what they're doing.

"Pete! Listen, you worked at that waterpark, right? How can you tell if they had concussions?"

"Uh, well, are they vomiting or have any nausea?"

"Do you feel sick?" I ask him calmly.

"No." He whispers faintly.

"Are they sensitive to any light or noise?"

"He seems fine."

"Okay, well then he should be okay."

"Thank you." I hang up.

"Okay, so I'm just gonna take you back to my apartment."

He nods slightly. And I drive as quickly as I can to the complex.

When I get Brendon in, I set him on the couch and try to find the first aid kit and grab a cup of water for him on the way.

I hand him the cup of water and he tries to take a sip slowly. He whimpers and hands me it back.

Silence.

"Can you please tell me what happened, Bren?" I say as I kneel beside him on the couch.

"D-Dallon." He screws his eyes shut and leans forward onto my shoulder. I should have known. I rub his back in support and he lets out a shaky breath onto my chest. I want to comfort him, but all I see is burning anger throughout me.

"I'm so sorry, Brendon." I whisper. "Let me help you." He moves back and I hesitantly remove his shirt to see his bruises. His breathing hitches as he slightly stretches his torso.

I see a purple spot that branches across his side. I look at him up and down, processing every part of him.

He weakly slumps in the couch red streaks running down his face, a red throbbing bump under his eye, which was sure to become purple after a few hours, a scratch above his eyebrow, and the explosion of purple bruising along his side. I just want to help him.

I sit next to him on the couch carefully. He slouches over to my shoulder.

"I don't want to, Ryan."

I knew what he meant. It wasn't just not wanting to go to school, it was facing his parents, facing the people who beat him down, waking up, he just didn't want to.

"I'm gonna kick his ass." I whisper and shake my head. He lets out a breathy laugh and waits for a few seconds.

"Do it." I wait for a few minutes, contemplating searching for his ass now. But I'll have to wait until tomorrow.

"Let's get you fixed up." I stand up and help him to the bathroom. When we reach the counter, I help him lift himself onto the white tiled counter. I get out some ointment from the first aid kit and put some on my index finger to spread across the cut above his eyebrow. I put a bandaid over it and move down to the bruise on his torso.

I wet a wash rag and start dabbing it. Brendon sighs and tilts his head back against the mirror, making his adams apple show as it bobs. And fuck, that's hot.

Apparently, I was staring because he looks back down and stares back at me.

It's not a good time, Ryan.

He's not staring at my eyes, he's eyeing my lips. And now I'm eyeing his.

He's still a kid.

He moves closer to my face.

He's just been beaten, for christ sakes.

I feel his breath on my face.

This isn't ri-

The space closes between us and his hands find my hair as we kiss. It wasn't anything heated, just a long kiss. When we pull apart Brendon just stares at me.

"I-I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry." I say as I shake my head in disbelief and move farther away from him. He just sits there on the bathroom counter and watches me as I move.

I look at him and feel a larger pang of guilt. He starts to move slowly off of the counter and walks closer to me. I can't move, I just watch him move closer. He opens his arms and walks to embrace me. Once I feel his warmth he lays his head on my shoulder.

"Can I stay here?" He says weakly.

-A/N: Yes, I'm updating again, deal with it. THIS WAS PROBABLY SO SHITTY IM SORRY. I tried. So there's a little part I'll post a few minutes after this, that's of Brendons POV of the whole fight thing. But anyways, I hope you enjoyed this. As always, thanks for reading!