Sugarcane Chronicles Volume I: One and Lonely (ryden)

Cute Boys Dig Scars

Beeping.

Rustling.

Sobbing.

"I just... It's all my fault," cried a familiar voice. "If I had just not accepted the offer and not have been packing, then I would've heard Him." Sniffle and another sob. "I could've saved them."

"It is absolutely not your fault," another voice spoke. "We couldn't've done anything to stop this. It's His fault and His fault only."

"I know, but if I hadn't had the music so loud, I would've heard Him sooner and Brendon wouldn't..." Whimpering. "And Bronx..."

"Both of them are going to be fine. Don't blame yourself."

"But I..." Sobbing.

I opened my eyes (mostly) and tried to focus on the people in the room.

The person on the left was small-ish and crying. Blond, glasses, cardigan... Definitely Patrick.

To the right of him was a man (definitely a man) with brown hair and a beard. Jon or Spencer.

I tried to sit up, but was met by pain all over my back, realizing then why I was laying on my stomach. I groaned, laying back down, and never wanted to sit up again.

"Hold on," Jon/Spencer said. "He's waking up. Go get Ryan."

I heard footsteps out of the room and soft steps towards me.

"Brendon," Jon/Spencer said. "How are you feeling?"

I sighed and turned my head from the pillow. "Like hell," I answered.

"I'm sorry," he said as my eyes focused on him. It was Jon.

I shrugged, then regretted it. "Not your fault." I was silent for a while before I asked if I was in the hospital.

He nodded. "Yep. In the burn unit of the place; you've got some pretty nasty ones. Like, third degree nasty."

I sighed and pressed my face into the pillow. "Did you call my mom?"

"Yeah, Ryan was supposed to be." I watched him sit down in the creaky chair next to the bed.

"Is he ok?" I asked. "And I heard something about Bronx?"

"Bronx had a mostly minor burn on his hand and Ryan..." Jon looked over at me. "Believe it or not, he's worse than Patrick."

"Can I get up?" I asked. "I need to see him." I tried moving again, but was met with more pain. I decided to give up on movement.

"No," he said, wincing in sympathy, "you're not going to be getting up for a while."

I pouted at this situation as I saw Ryan walk in. I smiled, even if it was weak, because seeing his face meant everything was going to be ok.

He only cried harder at the sight of me (I didn't know what was going on back there, except that it hurt and made people cry). I held out my hand to him and he grabbed it desperately.

I puckered my lips for a kiss and he gently accepted it, then knelt down to be eye-level with me.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I should've never..."

"Hey," I breathed, rubbing the back of his hand with my thumb. "Shhh. It's ok. It's not your fault."

He kept crying and nodded. "Yes it is. If I hadn't..." He let out a sob.

"No, please don't cry." I held his hand tighter, then pulled it to my lips and kissed it. "Please." I was starting to tear up just watching him.

He tried to get words out, I could see, but all that was coming out were random consonants and choked-up vowels. He eventually sobbed, "I just... I love you."