You Are My Fight Song (Rytrick/Brallon)

Chapter Seven: Home?

I had kissed before I got sick, but it was only quick pecks from spin the bottle or other stupid party games. Patrick was the first person that I held onto with a kiss. He was the first person who's lips really felt right with mine. It was all I could think about for the next few days. I almost felt drunk from it...It gave me a high, almost...

I was currently sitting quietly in my bed, when Sara walked into the room with a grim expression on her face. My heart immediately sank and my mind immediately jumped to the conclusion that I had gotten worse. This was my death message.

"Ryan..." Sara spoke softly, her eyes full of pity.

"Did I turn for the worst?" I asked almost silently, feeling myself begin to shake.

Sara's eyes grew wide. "Oh, no! Honey, you're okay. I swear." She reached out and grabbed my hand. I let out a shaky sigh of relief and nodded. She bit her lip before continuing, "Your dad is requesting you come home..."

My heart dropped lower. Home? I couldn't go home. He was no father to me. I was just starting to find a reason to be happy. I couldn't go back. My heart monitor began to beep quickly, and Sara rushed to calm me.

"Ryan, you need to just breathe, alright?" She soothed me, squeezing my hand. "It won't be too bad. It's your own room! Your own bed! Don't you miss it?"

"Y-y-you don-n't unders-stand..." I could feel tears in my eyes as I shook my head. I kept seeing flashes to the rooms full of beer bottles...the angry shouts of blame...the sound of shattering glass...

"I-I need Pat-tric-k..."

"Will it calm you down?" She asked me softly.

I nodded, trying to keep the tears from spilling. She hushed me and reassured me softly. "If I give you something for your anxiety that will make you a bit drowsy, will you still want to see him?" She asked.

I nodded vigorously, shutting my eyes tightly.

"Alright, Ryan, alright. Just shhh..."

---

Patrick hurried through the fairly familiar halls with a slight dread in him. Ryan's nurse had called Brendon. She said nothing was too wrong, but that Ryan had asked for Patrick. So now, here he was, hurrying to his room.

When he got to the doorway, Patrick saw Ryan laying tiredly in the bed. He appeared to be fighting off sleep as Patrick walked in.

"Ryan?" Patrick asked, walking over to his bedside.

The paler boy looked over with his tired eyes. "Patrick..." He smiled dully, "I'm sorry if I bugged you, but I couldn't calm down and your name came to mind first..."

"You could never bother me, Ryan." Patrick smiled warmly, pulling a chair right up to the edge of Ryan's bed. He reached out and took Ryan's hand in his. "What's wrong?"

Ryan closed his eyes and shook his head. "He wants me to go home..." He replied in a rhaspy voice, "M-my dad wants me to stay with him..."

"Oh..." Patrick squeezed Ryan's hand a bit tighter. He had been told about Ryan's home life just before and when he got sick... Patrick felt his gut wrench every time Ryan mentioned it. "Isn't there any way to stop it?"

"He's my legal guardian..." Ryan sighed, his eyes still closed. "I'm so sleepy, Patrick..."

"You're just younger than me, aren't you?" Patrick asked, adjusting his arm so that he was leaning his head on it, parallel to Ryan's.

"Mmmhmmm..." Ryan hummed in response.

"Can't you object to it? You're eighteen-"

"But I'm sick..." Ryan's face scrunched, "No one thinks I can take care of myself..."

Patrick bit his lip, considering the different thoughts running through his head. He liked Ryan. He had kissed him and realized just how much he really liked him. He didn't want to see him hurt or sad... It reminded him too much of when he was in the same position with his own cancer. He couldn't stand to see Ryan go through this hurt...

"Maybe I can help." Patrick said, lowly. He rubbed his thumb against the back of Ryan's hand.

"I'm so sleepy..." Ryan mumbled, "This medicine makes me sleepy..."

"Then sleep, baby." Patrick soothed, "Rest your eyes... Let dreams fill your head..."

"I don't wannoooo..." Ryan sighed, adjusting slightly.

Patrick laughed. "Could I sing to you? Just to help?" He whispered, lifting Ryan's hand to kiss it. Ryan smiled through his closed eyes, so Patrick took that as a yes.

Au clair de la lune, mon ami Pierrot,

Prête-moi ta plume, pour écrire un mot.

Ma chandelle est morte, je n'ai plus de feu.

Ouvre-moi ta porte, pour l'amour de Dieu.

Patrick sang slowly and softly, releasing Ryan's hand to instead stroke dark brown hair. Ryan hummed along almost silently, a smile just faintly on his face.

Au clair de la lune, Pierrot répondit :

« Je n'ai pas de plume, je suis dans mon lit.

Va chez la voisine, je crois qu'elle y est,

Car dans sa cuisine, on bat le briquet. »

Patrick closed his own eyes, continuing to sing just loud enough for Ryan to hear. His voice got softer and softer. He began to drift further and further into sleep.

Au Clair de la lune...