fic - daisy

[brandywine421]

title: daisy
pairing: brendon/ashlee, brendon/tom, brendon/ashlee/tom
disclaimer: this is complete and utter fiction, I own nothing. Lyric breaks belong to Brand New.
rating: Mature - language, sex, violence
word count: ~29,962
author's notes: written for bandomrarepair. Thanks and eternal gratitude to my beta and muse, overnighter, everything that works is thanks to her and everything that doesn't belongs to me.
summary: The world ends, but not for everyone.



And there's a lake
And at the bottom you'll find all our friends
They don't swim cause they're all dead
We never are what we intend or invent

"We should leave soon," Ashlee whispered in Brendon’s ear, her arms loose around his waist where they lay curled up on a stranger's bed.

"Are you sure?"

"There are more people alive on the East Coast. You're pretty pro at siphoning gas these days and with the Hybrid..." she started, pausing when he turned to look at her in the dim light of the battery-powered lanterns.

"You know the chances that he's alive are..." he started to say, but she cut him off.

"I know," she said, moving so she could put her head on his chest, "But Bronx shouldn't have to grow up without other people. If there are people there...I think we should try to get there."

They both glanced over to the futon where Bronx was curled up with Hemmy, Bogart and Indie. "Yeah," Brendon said. "We should leave soon. We'll start planning tomorrow."

She kissed his chin and held on tighter.

When the world had gone to hell, she'd bunkered down in her million-dollar mansion with her son and waited for Pete to come home from his club opening in New York.

But Pete hadn’t come home. And the people that hadn’t died from the virus immediately had gone insane, sometimes within minutes, as the virus attacked their brains, their eyes turning to a dull gray as it took over.

It had been a war zone. The sound of guns firing and the crackle of fires around the city and the screams of the dead and the dying were all she heard after the power grid in Los Angeles went down for good.

It had happened too fast for anyone, anywhere, to really respond. Not governments, not individuals, not even those weird survivalists holed up in their cabins in the woods had been spared. All around the world people just...fell. Dead. And the people that didn't fall mostly went insane. She'd huddled around the laptop with Bronx and watched as the world went crazy, bit by bit -- surfing the traffic-camera video and live feeds that had still been on as they'd watched the vicious 'survivors' rape and kill anything that passed by them. No, it hadn’t been war. It had been hell. Was hell.

It had been a quieter kind of hell, though, after the first few weeks. Most of their neighbors were dead, or dying, or had moved on seeking fresh victims and women who couldn’t wield a shotgun. Her daddy had taught her right, had taught them all right. She tried not to think about them, about Jess, about Pete’s family in Chicago, about their friends scattered all over the world. She tried to hope that their continued silence meant that they were out there, too, waiting. Hoping.

The silence was the worst of all. She'd honestly thought that she and Bronx were alone, in Los Angeles, maybe even in the world. Certainly in their neighborhood they were the only ones left sane and alive, but she’d been afraid to leave the house, afraid to even look outside. And when the Internet finally crashed, and didn’t return, and all the batteries they’d had around the house finally went dead and the food that hadn’t spoiled started running out, ...she’d thought that they were going to die.

That’s when Brendon had shown up at her front door three weeks after the virus hit.

He looked like he hadn't showered in days; wearing someone else's camouflage pants and sweatshirt carrying his battered guitar case with pistols tucked into his waistband. He'd been more surprised to see them than they were to see him with Bogart and Indie, his tiny dogs running circles around their feet.

Bronx said his first words in days, flinging himself at Brendon and babbling nonsense about the end of the world and his father was lost and would Brendon stay with them and did he think the In and Out was still open.

Brendon hadn't said anything at first, letting Bronx get his words out before smoothing his hair back and kissing his forehead.

She'd taken her turn when Bronx had finished, clutching her fingers in his shirt to make sure he was real and letting herself cry and hold onto him until they could find the words to actually communicate.

Whatever had happened in those three weeks had been hard on Brendon but she’d never asked about it because she wasn't sure she could handle the answer. After what she’d seen through a computer screen, she was pretty sure she didn’t want to know what had happened to him while he was on his own. She’d never asked him about that, either; about what had happened to Spencer, to anyone. She'd never asked why he carried a guitar case without a guitar.

"Your turn to sleep. I'm on watch," she said when his heartbeat didn't slow against her ear.

"I'm too shaky to shoot tonight. Thanks," he said.

Brendon had taught them how to scavenge - he’d been a quick learner during those missing weeks before he came to them -- but she'd taught him how to shoot.

They'd stayed at the mansion about a week until Brendon's food supply in his backpack ran out and Ashlee and Bronx refused to let him go out alone. They were terrified something would happen to the first living person they'd found. That had found them.

They spent their days walking through the deserted and gutted streets, raiding stores for food and supplies and their nights hiding from the stray pockets of the insane - the ones they’d taken to calling the Grays -- that still wandered in the dark.

It was harder, now that the Grays had guns, too.

She moved from the bed to the window, scanning the night for threats.

They were in the Inland suburbs tonight, in a house where there were no bodies that they had had to burn to clean out the space. They'd been steadily making their way to the Nevada border in the weeks since they left her house.

It was calmer than the last few nights and she was grateful.

Indie climbed into her lap and leaned her head against the windowsill, her ears perked up.

Ashlee still wasn't sure if Brendon had trained the dogs or if they were just instinctive survivors. They would run ahead of them and bark if there were threats and could sniff out the living from the dead, which had saved them from the Grays that liked to hide amongst the corpses in ambush.

They hadn't met another healthy, living person since Brendon had shown up at the door. They'd burned a lot of bodies, but they hadn't found anyone else who wasn’t sick.

They’d managed to make their way despite it. Bronx and Brendon continued to surprise her, and she knew that she’d managed to shock them once or twice, too, pulling out long-dormant knowledge from a life in Texas she’d nearly forgotten.

Bronx hadn't told her that he had learned how to do all sorts of geeky things during the times he'd toured with Pete, but when Brendon joined them and started teaching him the things he’d learned for survival, Bronx had wired up radios and satellite phones and brought them signs of hope that they wouldn't have found without him.

Her son was a fucking genius. And there had to be people alive.

They just had to find them.

-----------------

"It's not that bad, is it, B?" Brendon asked Bronx, ruffling his hair as he put the freshly-boiled water on the table to cool. The kid was handling everything better than Ashlee or himself. All Brendon could do was to try and help Bronx hold on to whatever childhood he had left. He was already too smart and too jaded for a ten year old.

Bronx shrugged, poking at his oatmeal. "It's not as bad as yesterday. I hope we find some canned milk soon, though. I am not liking the oatmeal," he said.

"It's at the top of my shopping list," Brendon said. His shopping lists were too long to have a top anymore, but he'd do his best.

"Am I coming with you today?" Bronx asked, turning his bright eyes to him.

"Your mom and I need you to work your magic on the radio and see if you can pick up anything promising from the East Coast. We're thinking of heading that way," Brendon said.

"Really? To New York, where the signals are coming from?" Bronx asked.

"Maybe. We can't really stay here much longer, B. What do you think?" Brendon questioned, crouching down to give Indie and Bogart some attention while Hemmy continued to try and get Bronx to feed him oatmeal.

"Yeah. We haven't seen any people in a while that weren't trying to kill us. So if there are non-killing people in New York, I think that's a much better idea," Bronx said.

Brendon smiled. "Okay, you find us some good news and we'll make it happen. I put all the stuff in the other room. I'm going to help your mom."

Bronx nodded.

"No standing by the windows, listen to the dogs and keep my gun's safety off,” he recited. They were the rules they’d drilled into him for the weeks they’d been traveling, when they’d finally let him spend any time at all outside of their lines of sight.

He hugged Bronx before he left and tried not to think about how fucked up the kid would be if and when there was a real world to go back to anywhere.

He walked up the stairs to the second floor and into the bathroom where Ashlee was washing up. Bogart followed close on his heels. He still wasn't sure how the dogs had immediately organized themselves to look after them, but Hemmy stayed by Bronx's side, Bogart was Brendon's sidekick and Indie followed Ashlee around like Ashlee was her mother.

Ashlee was sitting on the edge of the fiberglass tub shaving her legs. The tub was still filled with her lukewarm bathwater, tinged with bubbles she’d found somewhere.

Luckily, this house had a well so the water still worked and they didn't have to dip into their stock of bottled water. The house wasn't the fanciest by far and the peach colored wallpaper and bathmats reminded him of his aunt's guest bathroom, down to the seahorse shower curtain that Ashlee had pushed back against the wall.

"Still works, huh?" Brendon asked, picking up his toothbrush and running it under the tap.

"Hm? Yeah, sad that keeping my legs shaved is the only thing that makes me feel normal," Ashlee said.

"At least you have something," Brendon said, spitting into the sink and glancing at himself in the mirror. His beard still wasn't impressive but it didn't itch anymore so he wasn’t going to bother shaving it off.

"Can we fuck?” Ashlee asked, looking up from her shaving as he wiped his face. “Do you feel like it?”

Brendon shrugged. "Yeah, but that means I'm sharing your bath," he said with a smile.

"The water's still warm, come on," Ashlee said.

The rules from before weren't the rules for now. They were surviving. There was no time for regrets, only what would get them through the next day, the next hour, or the next inevitable corpse.

He'd always been a touchy-feely kind of guy and hugs were a habit for him even before the apocalypse, but after he'd watched his friends die and burn and rot it took more than a cuddle to make him not think about dying. To remind him that he was alive.

He'd kissed Ashlee first, a couple of weeks after he'd found them alive at the mansion.

He'd never told her that their house was the last place he'd planned on visiting before he blew his own head off. And he’d only gone there to be thorough. Because they were at the end of his phone book. Because he hadn’t had anything else left. She didn't need to know that. She didn't need to know that she and Bronx were his reason for sticking around in this hell on earth.

They'd been packing to leave and he'd been following her through the bedroom finding clothes and he had been too busy thinking about the next five minutes to notice how she was holding a dark hoodie against her face and inhaling deeply.

She looked at him with shining eyes and started to cry and he barely managed to catch her before she collapsed to the floor with the weight of her sobs.

He held her as tightly as he could, her tears hot against his neck and her nails digging pits in his back as she shook them both.

He didn't remember what he'd murmured into her hair or what words had been the ones to make her stop gasping for breath and breaking into pieces.

She'd looked up at him and he'd seen something in her eyes that kept him from falling to pieces with her.

They were alive and he wasn't alone and he’d kissed her until she kissed him back - until he didn't regret it - and then he'd fucked her limp on all fours in the bedroom she shared with her lost husband.

Bronx had known about some of his father’s unspoken trysts, too, Brendon was pretty sure. Pete had mentioned it in passing once, and Brendon wondered if Bronx thought that situations were the same. If anyone’s moral compass still worked the same way after the apocalypse. The Rapture. Or whatever the hell this was.

They spent their days trying not to feel. Trying not to see the dead rotting around them, or the Grays with the pale eyes that marked the infected. Trying not to hear the screams of the dying, or the crackle of the ever-raging fires.

But this -- they could touch and see and feel something good and real. Something that didn't hurt.

They settled face to face in the cooling water and he devoted his attention to her legs, raising one over his shoulder and lathering the pale skin with shaving cream so he could carefully slide the razor up her thigh.

"So do I get to shave you next?" Ashlee asked, sitting up when he'd finished and sliding her legs behind him to pull his body closer.

"I thought you liked my manly beard. Bronx likes it," Brendon said, closing his eyes when she started stroking his cock with one hand. She kissed the edges of his lips before sucking his tongue into her mouth.

He braced his hands on her hips and lifted her onto him easily.

They knew each other better than anyone else in the world right now.

He sucked her nipples, letting her control their tempo with the rocking of her hips.

It was a slow ride today. He liked these the most because they meant that she wasn't scared enough to need a quick and dirty fuck, that she felt safe enough to enjoy it.

He knew she was getting close when she moved her hand under them and pushed her fingers inside him to hit his spot and urge him to finish in tandem with her.

"Better," she whispered after, kissing him lazily as they both came down from the momentary rush.

"Better," he agreed.

They were still alive. It was enough.

-----------------

Ashlee didn't like Brendon going out alone to look for supplies, but she liked leaving Bronx alone even less. Even if he'd proven he could shoot and Hemmy had proven that he would attack anything that got too close.

She didn't want her baby to have to be a killer, even if the people they killed were already dead.

So she let Brendon skateboard away from the house with Indie and Bogart on his heels. He had a couple guns holstered and the bulletproof vest on but she still worried that one of these days he wasn’t going to come back.

He insisted on going by foot - or by board, like today -- so he could hide if necessary. He'd bring back small things in his backpack, and if he hit an especially fruitful store or house, he'd steal a car to bring back as much as he could.

"Mom," Bronx called from behind her.

"Yeah, honey?" she asked, stepping away from the window to join him by the radio he’d managed to hack.

"They're up to a thousand in the Manhattan camp. They change the code word every five days, like in Harry Potter. How long until we leave for New York?" heasked.

"As soon as we can, baby," she said.

"It’ll be nice to see real people again," he said.

"Yeah, it gets pretty lonely around here," she said, pulling him into a hug.

He didn't squirm away like he used to when he was a normal kid. Or before Brendon came.

"You think we'll make it across the country?" he asked.

"Yeah, if we work together, we'll make it. We've made it this long. We make a good team, don't you think? Your dad would be so proud of you," Ashlee said.

"I think Dad's proud of all of us," Bronx replied.

The two-way radio beeped and Brendon's voice filtered from the clip on her belt. Got an idea. I'm pulling up a U-Haul when I get back. Give me a couple of hours. Copy?

Bronx giggled and plucked the walkie-talkie off her hip. "Roger, Bden."

Brendon could always get Bronx to smile with his attempts at radio communication.

"You got it under control?" Ashlee asked, speaking into the mike.

Bogie hasn't barked and we haven't seen anything yet. The store's secure. We'll inventory in the garage.

She wished it reassured her more.

-----------------

Brendon backed the truck into the driveway and tried not to throw up from the pain in his arm.

It had been one of those surreal moments that felt like a bad movie. Bogart had barked and he'd turned and seen the man with the gray-filmed eyes a second before the bullet hit him.

He'd managed to pull one of his guns and fire back before he’d slammed into the ground. The man had stopped twitching before Brendon had to shoot again.

Zombies couldn't shoot guns, at least not in the movies, and he wished for a different apocalypse for the millionth time.

He'd bandaged his arm as best he could and used the pain to spur him on as he loaded the U-Haul with the booty from the outdoor gear store he'd found.

He was glad he'd already filled the trailer with the large tank that was made to store extra gas for long trips.

He hadn’t wanted to scare Bronx so he'd put on a fresh tourniquet and a thick parka before leaving the store.

Once, when he’d fallen asleep on a towel at the beach after a morning of surfing, he’d whined so much about how his sunburn hurt that Spencer had huffed beside him in bed, then gotten up and dug a bottle of aloe out of the medicine cabinet. He’d complained the whole time, but his hands had been gentle, and he’d kissed the dip in Brendon’s spine when he was done.

Now, Brendon was trying to park a stick-shift truck with a bullet in his arm.

And Spencer was dead.

He shook off the thought and tried to breathe through the pain.

"Everything okay?" Ashlee asked, appearing at the window of the truck and opening the door. Bogart jumped out and hurried over to Hemmy, running circles around the larger dog with whimpering barks in Brendon’s direction.

"Where's Bronx?" Brendon asked.

"Inside," she replied, her voice low.

"Got clipped," Brendon said, turning carefully to get out of the truck. "Arm. Bullet's still in there and it really fucking hurts."

"Shit, Bren, come on, I'll keep him settled while you get upstairs."

"All right. The trailer's locked and we can get it sorted tomorrow," he said, blood rushing from his head as he stood on the ground and almost taking him down.

Her arm was around him immediately and she held him up on the short trek into the house.

"Fuck, Brendon, are you..." Bronx hissed when he was inside.

"I'm okay, kidlet," he managed, but he heard the slur in his own voice.

Maybe he'd lost more blood than he'd thought. Ashlee maneuvered him onto the stairs, pushing him gently in front of her.

"Baby, can you boil some water and bring me the big first aid kit?" Ashlee asked, and steered Brendon into the bathroom, where he stumbled onto the floor, more a fall than an intentional movement. It jostled his arm and he bit down hard on his tongue, closing his eyes against the wave of pain and nausea.

He must've blacked out for a few minutes because when he blinked again he was sitting on the floor beside the tub with Ashlee holding a bottle of whiskey to his mouth.

"Getting me drunk, nice idea," he said.

"Hey, there you are. This is going to hurt, just try and relax," Ashlee said.

"It'll be worth it, you can't take care of us with a busted arm. We got this," Bronx said, as he came in, almost staggering under the weight of their medical kit, but Brendon wasn't too fucked up to see the panic in his eyes. Ashlee was rooting around in the kit, pulling out supplies, including an old Army field guide they’d picked up in a thrift store outside Chino.

“Shit,” she murmured. “I can’t do this without instructions. Bronx, you’re going to have to see if you can read this to me, okay?”

Bronx turned to look at her with wide eyes. “What if I . . .”

Brendon cut him off by holding out his hand.

"Hey, I trust you, just read the book to your mom and don't look. Hold my hand, okay?" Brendon said calmly, waiting for Bronx to take his hand and relax slightly.

The boy finally nodded and grasped Brendon’s hand tightly. He sat down on the rim of the tub and accepted the book from his mother.

"Okay. Put this in your mouth and don't break his hand," Ashlee said. Brendon bit down on the leather of her belt and closed his eyes as Bronx started to read aloud.

"Clean thoroughly to see the entry wound. Use the scalpel or another sterile blade to cut away the flesh until you see the bullet," Read Bronx in a halting voice. They were totally going to have to start practicing his reading more often.

"You ready?" Ashlee whispered to Brendon.

He squeezed Bronx's hand and the boy spoke for him, "Go, mom."

He didn't remember screaming, but he didn't remember much of anything after she poured the alcohol into the hole in his arm.

When he woke up again, Bronx was rubbing his good arm and Ashlee was humming one of his songs and sewing neat stitches despite her shaky hands.

"So, did I pass the man test?" he asked. Ashlee's face flashed with relief.

"Yeah, Bren, it's good you passed out, but it was quick and Mom didn't start crying until she was done with the bullet," Bronx said.

"Almost done," Ashlee said. "Stay awake so we can get you on the couch, okay?"

"We're still leaving tomorrow. You guys can hold down the fort until morning?" he asked, but it wasn’t really a question. He could barely keep his eyes open.

"We're on top of it. Suck it up, soldier," Bronx said, giving him a shaky salute.

"Thanks, Private. Get me and your mom some coffee, okay?"

Bronx nodded, patting his knee and leaving him alone with Ashlee.

"Sorry," Brendon said.

"It's okay. You got a shitload of stuff. But tomorrow may not..." Ashlee started.

"It's time. I can still drive; you got me all fixed up. We can do it. We shouldn't wait much longer. We need to go," he said.

"We'll talk tomorrow. At sunup. You're all wiped down now, and no shirt until tomorrow because I'm changing your bandages every two hours until you stop bleeding," she said. "And I found some Percocet. You're taking two shots and two pills and you're not moving until I say so. Deal?"

He nodded, then leaned over and kissed her gently. She kissed him back twice as hard and he could tell that she was still terrified.

"Whatever you say. Promise," Brendon said.

She threaded her fingers through his hair and started humming again and he tried to relax without passing out.

-----------------

Brendon refused to stay still and Ashlee was relying on Bronx to keep him occupied by plotting multiple routes on the map with him while she rearranged and counted the supplies herself.

Seeing him covered with blood had kept her awake all night, and she’d managed to talk him into staying here long past dawn. She suspected it was her own haggard face that had convinced him.

She couldn't lose him. They couldn't lose him.

But he was talking and awake and moving and she had to take charge.

They'd stayed in California too long, Brendon was right about that. It was time to go in search of others.

He'd hit the jackpot at the store and the food would last for weeks if they conserved, even if it wasn't gourmet. The gas tank built into the trailer was self-contained and the water tank would keep them for a while before they had to refill both, especially with the extra tank Brendon had found.

She packed up their clothes, and the few other things they had brought with them from their travels so far, and checked to make sure they had enough dog food before rejoining Bronx and Brendon in the living room of the house with another family's pictures on the walls.

"So, we’ve got a couple of routes outlined, but we should probably wait for daylight before heading out. One more night here and we head out at dawn. We don't know what we're going to run into," Brendon said.

She was relieved he was behind the idea of one more night here.

He'd already cleaned the wound while she was packing up and Bronx was napping on the couch with Hemmy and Bogart.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, sitting down on the loveseat with him and putting her arm around his waist.

"It feels so much better with the bullet out. You're totally the best nurse ever," Brendon said. "Kiss me."

She curled around him, careful of the sling and gave him her full attention.

She didn't compare him to Pete because that would mean she was thinking about him. She couldn't think about him without crying.

But kissing Brendon was enough and she knew that he loved her as much as she loved him. Not the way she'd loved Pete or the way that he'd loved Spencer, but enough. It was enough.

-----------------

Little light lead us through the night
And if we die, burn down the forest
chariots, carry us distances we don't care to walk

-----------------

The first three routes were blocked with rubble or crashed cars and they were all having trouble staying optimistic when it took them most of the day to get to the outskirts of St. George, Utah.

They found a deserted motel with an attached truck stop on the border with Nevada.

Ashlee topped off the gas while Bronx sat on the bumper with the shotgun and Bogart led Indie toward the attached store slash diner while Brendon followed close behind with his guns.

He was relieved that the Percocet took the edge off the gunshot wound but he hated the sluggishness that came along with it. And the pain was still there. Not to mention the fact that even though the bullet was gone now, his fingers wouldn't do what he told them. But all things considered, for the moment, that was at the bottom of his problem list.

Indie yipped and Bogart barked and Brendon cocked his gun, waiting for one of them to come out of the store, careful around the busted window of the place. They'd bark at a Gray, but then they’d run.

But they didn't come out. And they didn't yelp in pain and there was no gunshot.

"Indie. Bogie. Come," he called softly.

They both barked.

"We're armed. If anyone's in there, you’d better come the fuck out or those dogs will fuck you up," Brendon called.

There was a cough.

He pulled his arm out of the sling painfully and put the smaller gun in his weak hand.

"These dogs couldn't fuck up anything," a gravelly voice said from inside.

"Brendon?" Ashlee called.

"There's someone in here," he yelled back.

"How are you talking? The zombie people don't talk," the guy said.

"Come out and let us see your eyes. If you're not infected, we don't have beef with you," Brendon said.

"Did you just say 'beef'?" Ashlee asked as she moved over to him. Bronx was safely in the truck and Hemmy was on her heels. The dog hurried into the building, too.

"I'm coming out."

Brendon kept his guns trained on the door and felt Ashlee tense beside him as a scraggly man walked out of the store, the dogs milling aroud his ankles.

His hair was dirty blond and curtained his face well below his chin, tangled with the thick beard hiding what face the hair didn't cover. His clothes were threadbare and stained and he could smell the man from yards away.

He was wearing slippers and Brendon had a flashback to Chicago, and drunken nights with Jon Walker.

"Tom Conrad?" Ashlee said, echoing his memory.

His eyes were suddenly bright and alive and Brendon felt like crying.

"Ashlee? Urie? Fuck, you're alive, is..."

"It's just us, and Bronx," Brendon said quickly. They didn't need to talk about anyone else.

"Is anyone with you?" Ashlee asked, pausing to carefully slide Brendon’s arm back into the sling and easing the hammer down on the gun for him before leaving to embrace Tom.

"You fucking reek,” she said to Tom, stepping back a little to look at him.

"God, it's been so long since I found anyone that wasn't sick, am I fucking dreaming?" Tom asked, clinging to Ashlee like she'd disappear if he let go.

Brendon remembered that feeling from when he'd found Ashlee and Bronx in the mansion.

Brendon crouched down to reward the pups for finding a fucking survivor -- a living, sane survivor -- and tried not to cry.

"I'll get us a room cleaned out. Pull the truck around, will you, Ash? Come on, Tom, let's get you cleaned up and fed, fill you in," Brendon said, standing up to let the dogs separate. Indie and Hemmy made a beeline for Ashlee. Bogart stayed at his feet, though, looking from Brendon to Tom with his head cocked to one side.

"You okay?" Tom asked, hesitating and looking at Brendon’s sling and then up to his face with stunned eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"There are survivors in New York. We're heading that way. We've been in California -- alone -- for a while. At least, we didn't find anyone not crazy," Ashlee said.

"But now we’ve found you, and you're coming with us, so you can't stink. We'll fill you in so you can tell us what the hell you're doing here," Brendon said.

"We were playing a club -- a few miles from here. Our first Western tour. I've been by myself for...forever. I couldn't get any of the cars to start, and finally I just walked until I found this place. I've been here for a...while," Tom said. "Safe."

Ashlee glanced at Brendon and he nodded, putting his arm around Tom and leading him toward the motel rooms.

"You're wearing a sling, are you..."

"I got shot, I'm totally hardcore gangsta now," Brendon said. Tom let out a hysterical giggle and Brendon hoped that Tom could pull it together and stay alive.

He found a clean room, from the look through the window anyway, and picked the lock. He'd learned from one of the many books they'd collected over the months alone in California. There’d been a lot of time to read.

"They died. Sean, Al, Max, Ryan -- they just...fell," Tom said, standing outside when Bogart hurried into the room for a walkthrough.

"Consider yourself lucky," Brendon said.

"Lucky?"

"Lucky you didn't have to kill any of them," Brendon said. Bogart gave his 'all clear' bark and Brendon led Tom inside.

"Oh. No. I didn't...yeah. I've just been...staying here. Feels like forever. But I've been here a while," Tom said.

"We're here now, so come on. You can probably fit into some of my clothes. I'll start some coffee on the stove by the window, save time while we get some water heated for you to take a bath," Brendon said.

"Can you stop a second?" Tom said finally.

Brendon turned to him and pulled him into a hug.

"I'm just so fucking glad to see a real person, I don't know...shit, it's so fucking good to see you...alive, and breathing and..." Tom's fingers clutched at his shirt and his arm was hurting like a bitch but he couldn't pull away.

Brendon knew what to do, though.

"Come on, let's go in the bathroom and get you steady. We have to stay steady."

He walked outside when Tom went into the bathroom and got the jugs of water and the handwarmer packs they used in a pinch to warm bathwater.

"He okay?" Ashlee asked, watching Bronx and Hemmy out of the corner of her eye as they walked the perimeter to check for danger.

"Needs a little something. Give us some time?" Brendon asked.

"We'll set up next door with some dinner and the radio. Hemmy cleared it," Ashlee said, pausing to kiss him. "Be careful."

"You, too. Call me on the two-way in twenty?"

"Definitely," she said.

He took the things back into the room and locked the door. Bogart and Indie were sitting on the bed, watching the bathroom.

"It's good, pups, take a break," he said, pausing to pet them before going into the bathroom.

"I haven't looked at myself in a while," Tom said without turning as Brendon walked in. He was staring at himself in the mirror.

"Don't,” Brendon said. "We'll fix it."

Tom turned to him. "How? I'm a scrub, a hobo."

"No such thing these days. I'm going to put some water in the tub and some warmers and then I'm going to help you get undressed, check you over and shit. And that's not a proposition, unless you want it to be. Friends in dire straits help each other, okay?"

"Okay," Tom said, his eyes wide with confusion.

"The touch will be good for you," Brendon said, uncapping one of the bottles of water and wincing. “Ash read something about being touch-deprived to us one night.”

"Hey, I can do that, your arm's fucked, hey," Tom said, taking the jug from him. At least he was coming out of his shock enough to notice stuff like that. It was a good sign.

"Pour it in. We've got this neat foaming soap that will get you smelling sweet in no time. And toothpaste that tastes like bubble gum," Brendon added.

Tom made quick work of the water and heat bricks.

"I still sort of think I'm dreaming," he said.

"You dream about me? That's so awesome," Brendon said, deadpan, earning a grizzled smile from Tom.

"I can't believe you're really here."

Brendon remembered the brain freeze he'd gone through when he found Ash and Bronx and he'd only been alone a few weeks. Tom had been alone for months.

"Believe it, please. We need your brain. We might be a little crazy, but we don't have gray crazy eyes and we're alive and we have to do whatever we can to stay that way," Brendon said, carefully unbuttoning Tom's shirt and peeling the layers of foul clothes off him. “All of us.”

"God, I haven't bathed in..." Tom started.

"It's cool, you're going to be squeaky clean when I'm done with you," Brendon said.

"Are you sure?" Tom asked.

"You don't look like you've been eating right, so when you come with us, you're going to take vitamins every morning and eat an extra portion until you're rosy again," Brendon said. "We're going to make it to New York and there will be people and real food and beds and electricity and we'll be all right, okay? You're not alone, you're with us now."

Tom smiled again.

"Yeah. Now where's this magic soap?"

-----------------

Ashlee let out a relieved sigh when Bogart and Indie trotted into the room ahead of Brendon and a much-cleaner Tom.

"Bronx, this is Tom Conrad. He's a friend of ours from before," Brendon said, walking over and sitting down beside her.

"You're bleeding, asshole, take off your hoodie," she snapped when she caught a glimpse of his arm.

"He was trying to open bottles,” Tom answered. “Hey, Bronx, shit, what's this?" Tom pointed to the radio. He glanced at Brendon and then at her before going back to distracting Bronx like he'd been with them for a lot longer than a couple of hours.

"You promised..." Ashlee started. She needed Brendon healthy and focused and he was still bleeding.

"Superglue it, like the book said. I keep ripping the stitches," Brendon murmured. "And they itch."

"Doesn't it hurt?" Ashlee asked, cutting the bandage off with the scissors from the first-aid kit.

"My arm hurts more than the bullet hole," Brendon said. "I think Tom should drive tomorrow, if he can. I think I did too much."

"Honesty, wow. I agree. You're taking a pill tonight," Ashlee said, wiping at his slightly-oozing arm with an alcohol wipe and pulling the liquid stitches out to close the wound as well as she could.

"Cool. What's for dinner?" Brendon asked.

"We have spaghetti and canned meatballs that we're heating over there and some potato soup and green beans, with pudding for dessert," Ashlee said.

"I got a butterscotch one for you," Bronx told Brendon.

"My favorite," Brendon said.

"Come get a plate, Tom, we made double because you're thin and we're determined not to show up at the refugee camp looking like POW's. We have reputations to uphold," Ashlee said, wrapping the bandage around Brendon's arm.

"I'm not turning down hot food. You guys just tell me what to do," Tom said.

"You're filling in for Brendon on the wheel tomorrow. You're a gift. He needs to rest and heal and all of us need to hang out with you and remember how to talk to other people," Ashlee said.

"I'm all over that, I'm...so glad you're here," Tom said.

"Us, too," Bronx said, patting his knee. "Buck up, kid."

Tom laughed and she couldn't stop herself from joining in.

Brendon leaned against her and she felt him deflate.

"Lie down, I'll warm it up for you later," she said.

Brendon hummed agreement and curled up on the bed, the dogs joining him in a huddle.

"I'm going to sleep, too, so I can fix the new radio on the road tomorrow and watch the map," Bronx said.

Ashlee moved over to the other bed with Tom, pushing a plate into his hand and following him to the spread of cook stoves by the window with the food.

"They'll just sleep? That fast?" Tom asked quietly, nodding over to where Bronx and Brendon were already settled into sleep.

"Yeah. It's pretty dangerous out there so we’ve learned how to take sleep when we can get it. At least since we’ve been on the move.” She pushed the food around on her plate, trying not to stare as Tom devoured his own meal without much finesse. “I was just hiding, you know? But Brendon came and got the two of us out of there. We needed food, and supplies and we had to make it through...hell, a war zone, some places. But we dealt with it. Now we're going to New York because it's the only thing we haven't tried yet," Ashlee said.

"At least you're doing something. I've been here for a long time. It's been a nightmare," Tom said.

"It is what we make it. And there are people in New York. We know that for sure. We're going to make it there and things will be better," she said.

"I believe it when you guys say it," Tom said. "I'll do whatever."

"We'll teach you. Can you shoot?"

Tom nodded.

"That's good. And you can drive and you can keep watch and the dogs will adopt you soon enough and they're awesome," Ashlee said. "You can figure out cooking -- they're in these packets for camping and stuff. And if you get freaked out, tell one of us and we'll work it out."

"Are you and Brendon, like, together now?" Tom asked, quirking an eyebrow to clue her in on his meaning.

"We're best friends. We're everything to each other right now. And fucking, well, it calms us down. Let's us feel something. Makes us feel good again. Close," Ashlee said.

"So…you guys are together," Tom said.

"The only way we can be. It works for us. He's not Pete and I'm not Spencer. But we trust each other. And sometimes we need something to remind us how to feel good. How to feel…"

"Alive," Tom said, finally nodding as if he understood.

As much as it could be understood.

"We try not to be alone any more than we have to be. We try to keep Bronx in a safe place but we find time to get off to stay sane," Ashlee said. "So if you need a little boost, you've got the two of us here."

"We'll take it a day at a time. I'm here for the long haul and I'm not fucking anything up," Tom said, glancing at Brendon.

"What?" she asked curiously.

"I had the biggest crush on him before he was even old enough to drink," Tom whispered. "Jon Walker threatened to cut my balls off."

"Sounds like Jon. Pete, too. He was fierce about Brendon," Ashlee said.

"Seems like they were right. You guys are...fucking amazing for all this," Tom said.

"We're going to make it as far as we can, Tom. It's fucking good to see you," she said, reaching over to squeeze his hand.

-----------------

"How do you know what to do?" Tom asked.

Brendon turned away from his little red wagon half filled with whatever supplies from the store that Tom hadn't already scavenged in his stay.

It was obvious that Tom had been a little out of it on his own, since he'd been living in the stock room of the shitty store instead of commandeering a room from the motel across the street.

He wasn't the same Tom Conrad that had done body shots with Brendon at Jon's Christmas party a few years ago.

"The wagon is Bronx’s, and we've used it since we left their place a few months ago," Brendon said, not sure what Tom was getting at. He seemed lucid enough now that he was clean and fed and, well, not going insane from isolation.

"No, I mean...I didn't -- I don't know what happened. People were dead everywhere and was there no warning, and, like, how'd you know how to be careful and...Everything that you guys are doing, it's unbelievable to me," Tom said. "I just got drunk until the beer ran out and then I just...stayed. I was so freaked out."

Brendon turned away. He didn't like to talk about the time before he hooked up with Ash and Bronx. But Tom needed something real right now and he didn't deserve a lie. No matter how much more the truth hurt.

"Brendon?"

"I was at my place. Shane and Regan were over for a dog play date, so Dylan and Indie could hang out with Bogart," Brendon said, hiding his tremble by reaching for an oversized bag of Twizzlers. "Regan was kicking my ass at the new Need For Speed game and she just...fell over. I wasn't looking at her, but I heard her hit the floor and the dogs went nuts. I dropped the controller and went to grab her, because -- shit, you know? I heard Shane walking behind me, but I thought he was coming to help -- she was his wife, he fucking loved her -- but he put his arm around my neck and started...it wasn't pretend. He was choking me. Indie and Bogart just...they attacked him and he screamed, but it wasn't a...real scream, just...grunts and...anyway. After I freaked out for a little while and watched the street outside...the crashed cars and...you know. I had to get out of there. I took my board and my address book and the pups and...I left."

He wouldn't talk about the hours it took him to get to the studio where Spencer had been recording drum beats for a cameo on Phantom Planet's new album. He wouldn't talk about stepping over bodies and limbs and puddles of blood just to find Spencer crouched over Jon with blood up to his elbows and a sneer.

"But...you knew what to do when you were out," Tom said, softly. Brendon was grateful he didn't push him to say more. "You got a gun and you...survived."

"I'm not the smartest guy in the world, not even now that the world's dying," Brendon snorted, trying to smile and failing. He turned back to the shelf and picked off all the leftover beef jerky and dried fruit. "But I always picked up some stuff quicker than others. Algebra, no, but accordion? Three weeks. It took me five days to figure out how to work the clip of a gun."

Tom didn't say anything and Brendon turned to face him. Tom's eyes were soft when he raised his face finally.

"Can I hug you?"

"Yeah, come here," Brendon said, giving him a one-armed hug. Tom hugged him low and avoided the bad arm as much as he could.

Definitely not the same Tom Conrad.

"I'm sorry," Tom whispered. "About your friends."

"I'm sorry about everyone's friends. And you never have to ask for a hug. The three of us are pretty tactile. It's always good to know that we're still alive and not alone," Brendon said.

"I'm so glad it was you guys," Tom said, pulling away. "Teach me what to do, how to help. What do you scavenge from places like this?"

Brendon smiled, squeezing Tom’s shoulder and taking the handle of the wagon with his good hand. "Non-perishables. Junk food's okay in a pinch, but we want staples since we need the nutrients and stuff, so canned foods mostly from places like this."

He continued listing off basic details and followed Tom as he took over the choosing.

It was going to be good to have another person to help, no matter how many painful stories he'd have to tell.

-----------------

Ashlee asked Tom three times if he was sure that he didn't need a break before she let him follow her to the truck to triple check that everything was locked down and all the guns were loaded.

Brendon was finally taking a break and Bronx was sitting with him so they could take Bogart and Indie outside. Hemmy was sitting outside the door with his tongue lagging out like he was sitting on the patio of their house in L.A. without a care in the world.

"Bronx seems pretty good," Tom said, checking the nozzles of the propane and kerosene tanks they had strapped into the back of the truck in the special storage compartment. She really didn't want to explode before they made it to New York.

"Yeah, we're trying anyway. He's learning more than I ever wanted him to have to. But we make sure to let him be a kid when we can. We have board games and batteries for handheld games and whenever we camp, Brendon and I play Frisbee and hacky-sack and shit with the dogs and him."

Tom was silent, looking past her thoughtfully.

"I can play poker."

Ashlee laughed. "And there are four of us now so, yeah, that could be added to the schedule."

Tom flushed but smiled.

"Sorry. I was just thinking that I've never spent a lot of times with kids. And the shit Bronx is doing with the radio probably means he could kick my ass at poker."

Ashlee smiled.

"Yeah, he probably could. Brendon's usually the king of the random low-tech games, though. He said when he was growing up, they had family game nights. He just leaves out the bible study for us."

Tom let out a laugh and it wasn't hysterical, just easy and true.

"Everything's awful, Tom. But the good things -- the laughs and the occasional sex and the music -- well, it's enough," Ashlee said, pulling him into an impulsive embrace.

"The conversation and the hugs as enough for me right now," Tom said, then paused. "Have either of you heard from your families?"

Ashlee turned away and resumed her mental inventory.

"Brendon disappeared for a few hours when we stopped in Vegas. He didn't say anything when he got back. And we're not going to Texas.. We don't talk about it."

Tom nodded, and she was grateful that he let it drop for now.

"Let's get finished up so we can get on the road. Brendon said nights are bad because it’s harder to see the threats."

"He's right. Unless we find a really good stretch of highway, we almost always stop for the night. A house, if it's isolated enough for us to clear it quickly; or a motel like this; and if it's a pretty clear and not raining, we camp. All our watches beep on the hour. Reminds us of the time so we have that little bit of a tether for what day it is and shit, and so we know when to start looking for a place to sleep or it's time to wake someone from their four-hour post-driving nap," she said.

Tom smirked at her. "You guys have got it down to rules and stuff."

"We really want to make it. And in this world...mistakes don't usually end well for anyone," Ashlee said.

"Like I told Brendon, you guys have to teach me so I don't make as many," Tom said.

"Don't worry, trainee," Ashlee said. "I'll get the boys. Driver gets a ten-minute adjustment time to fix the mirrors and choose a binder of CDs for the ride and get their drink and snack situated. The rest of us lock down the trailer and get the supplies for lunch and hydration arranged." She snorted when she realized what she must sound like considering Tom's amused and slightly awed expression. "We're all a little OCD."

"It's what keeps you alive. I'm on it, you can tell me the rest when we're on the highway," Tom said. "But what do you mean about binders?"

She laughed. "We get bored, so when we see a music store, we usually raid it. We made binders by genre. You'll see. It's pretty much our favorite thing for driving."

"That's awesome," Tom said. "I haven't heard music in so long, outside of my head."

"It's the little things," Ashlee said, squeezing his hand and going to get Brendon and Bronx ready to go.

-----------------

you are secondhand smoke.
you are so fragile and thin.
standing trial for your sins,
holding onto yourself the best you can.

-----------------

Tom settled into their group seamlessly, and he talked more than Brendon remembered from the real world. Brendon figured Tom had been alone so long that he had lots to say and the three of them had plenty of space to listen.

Brendon had really overdone things and his arm hurt too badly for him to be of any real help for the first couple of days after they got Tom. Ashlee kept him on the painkillers every four hours and he was too sore to argue. And his finger problem was getting harder to hide.

But he couldn't lay around anymore by the fourth day when they still hadn't made it across Utah.

The roads were ruined and traveling by major highways was impossible. Brendon and Tom had spent a lot of time on the road touring but they had had bus drivers planning the routes. They were picking up local maps at every store they passed, but they were still making shitty time.

They set up camp before dark and laid all the maps out on the ground while Bronx dozed in the tent and the dogs circled the perimeter.

"These are dirt roads, but with our trailer -- which we need -- there's no telling what we'll run into," Tom said.

"We should stick to pavement as long as we can. Just for gas stations and easy u-turns alone. Maybe we should find a tow truck so we can move some of the debris out of the way," Brendon suggested.

"That's just more baggage. I think we should just rethink our travel time. Break windows and try to get cars into neutral so we can push them if it's impossible to get through, only if we have to," Ashlee said.

"We should siphon gas whenever we can, just in case we get off-road too long," Brendon said.

Ashlee yawned and stretched her arms.

"I'm going to talk a walk before nightfall, stretch my legs a little," Brendon said.

"Not alone," Tom said, alarmed.

"The dogs are there, it's..." Brendon started.

"No," Tom said.

Ashlee patted Tom on the arm. "You can go with him, if you want, but it's okay as long as it's daylight and he has the dogs. He'd be skateboarding if there were more streets."

"Not when he's hurt and we don't know the area," Tom said, visibly upset. "New rules, come on!"

"Okay, Tom, it's cool, we'll just leave Indie here with Hemmy," Brendon said. Tom was getting riled up and Brendon wasn't sure why. But Tom had been a little more...protective lately.

"Sorry. Just...there are only four of us. Nobody should be alone, none of us," Tom said.

Brendon walked over and pulled Tom to his feet. "Walk with me. We'll check in with Ashlee every ten minutes on the two-way."

Tom's shoved his hands in his pockets and then pulled them out again. Brendon reached over and took his hand when they were further away from the tents.

"I worry,” Tom said as soon as they were out of earshot of the tents. “About you, and your arm. And it's stupid, I know, because you've done so much and you've got everything together, and I should worry about Ashlee because she's a girl, or Bronx because he's a kid, but I worry about you. I don't know if it's because of Jon or..."

Brendon didn't want to talk about Jon.

"You don't have to worry, really. It's nice, and I worry about you, too -- and the Wentzes -- but I trust you guys and I hope you trust me, too."

"I do, seriously, but you need to let yourself heal and we can all tell that your arm hurts," Tom said.

Brendon stopped, glancing behind him to the tents in the distance. He looked at Tom who was watching him closely.

"What?" Tom asked.

"You don't have to worry, please don't worry," Brendon said, moving in close and releasing Tom’s hand so that he could tap Tom’s chin.

Tom's eyes were dark and desperate. Hungry.

"Can I...is there a way to make it better?" Brendon asked.

"You don't have to..." Tom started.

"I want to. It'll be better after you've got some release. Here, just stand there," Brendon said, pushing him gently to lean against a tree.

"Aren't you even going to kiss me first? I mean, can I kiss you?" Tom asked.

Brendon was surprised, but he always loved kisses.

He leaned in and sucked Tom's bottom lip into his mouth, waiting for Tom to give him permission for more.

Tom's tongue was hot against the back of his teeth and he opened wider to let Tom kiss him as much as he wanted.

He moved his free hand down to cup Tom's groin and laughed when Tom moaned into Brendon’s mouth.

Brendon unzipped Tom and Tom’s cock sprung out, throbbing in Brendon’s palm. Brendon started to move his arm out of the sling but Tom pulled away.

"No. You lean on the tree. You don't need both hands when I've got two," Tom said, huskily, turning him until his back was against the tree.

Brendon started to protest, but Tom took Brendon’s free hand and wrapped it around Tom’s cock, kissing Brendon’s words away even as he freed Brendon’s dick.

"Together, you pick the rhythm, and don't stop kissing me, I...I like kissing you," Brendon said.

Brendon did the best he could, twisting his fist to make Tom groan against his lips.

When he felt Tom getting close, he increased his pace and managed to control his own climax until they got off together. The way Tom shuddered into his mouth and kept stroking him even though his dick was ultra-sensitive and deflating made him wish they'd done this sooner.

"Okay?" Brendon whispered when Tom finally let him breathe.

"I should be asking you that," Tom rasped out.

"Thanks. I really needed that," Brendon said.

"Yeah. Been a while for me, too," Tom said.

"And you don't mind that it was me and not Ash?" Brendon asked, watching as Tom tucked them both away and smoothed down Brendon's shirt carefully.

"No. I'm, well -- I was, bi, before all this, you know? But you...I don't want to kiss her like I want to kiss you. And I don't think she was the one I needed today," Tom said. "Just...don't go anywhere, okay? Like..."

"You're stuck with us, Tom. Let's go back so Ashlee can take a break and we can get a fire going. I grabbed some marshmallows at the last store raid," Brendon said, kissing him gently and taking his hand to lead the way back to camp.

-----------------

Ashlee saw the way Tom was watching her, and looking away when she glanced at him. She wasn't sure about the reason for the sudden change in dynamics, but she didn't like it.

She waited until Brendon was asleep in the truck after breakfast and Bronx was working on the radio in a patch of soft grass. He was throwing balls out for the dogs when they nosed too close, but otherwise paying them no attention at all. They seemed to love it.

"Hey," she said finally, walking over to where Tom was cleaning and reloading their weapons.

"Hey," he said, flushing.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Nothing, I hope, what do you mean?" Tom asked.

"You're acting all...weird," she said.

"Sorry," he said, glancing at Bronx.

"He feels guilty for getting biblical with Brendon," Bronx said without looking up from his rewiring. "Even though I don't think what they did was actually in the bible."

They both stared at him until he glanced over.

"It's none of my business, I know."

"I guess it is if we fail so hard at being secretive," Tom said after a beat.

Bronx glanced at them again.

"The rules from before don't really matter now. And, I mean, it's fine because you both love Brendon and as long as it means something, then it's okay. At least that's what Dad always said about Patrick."

Ashlee had to turn away. It was like they'd done more damage to Bronx before the world ended.

Tom glanced at her as if he thought she didn't know.

"I mean, it's okay. She's always better afterwards, and whatever helps us survive is okay. And Brendon's doing her a favor - I know he's not a fan of the vagina -- so it's only right that you can do what Mom can't," Bronx said, waving the screwdriver before returning to his work.

"That's enough," Tom said softly, moving to put an arm around her. "I'm sorry..."

"Don't be. It was stupid to think he wouldn't know," Ashlee whispered.

"But Pete and..."

"He never hid Patrick from me. I just didn't think Bronx knew about it," Ashlee said.

"Oh. I didn't know about them, so I guess..." Tom started.

"Pete and Patrick were lovers before I even knew them. I better talk to him," Ashlee said. She glanced at Tom. "Are you really weird because you think I'm jealous? Because I'm not. As long as you don't hurt him and...it helps."

"I won't hurt him," Tom whispered. "And it helped. I feel more...steady."

Ashlee knew what he meant and when he hugged her, she hugged him back tightly.

"Go talk to your boy."

She walked over and sat down beside Bronx at the radio.

"Bronx?"

"Yeah?" he asked, putting the screwdriver down and looking at her.

"I wanted to..." she started.

Bronx gave her a small smile. "Is this about the sex stuff? Because, seriously, don't we have bigger things to worry about right now?"

"Yeah, but I think we should talk about it anyway," she said.

"You're my mom. And I love you more than anything," Bronx said seriously. "And I don't really get the whole sex stuff because, I don’t get why it's such a big deal. I know it's something that two people do when they love and trust each other. I know it's not something you do with the first hot chick you see, and that you always have to be safe. I know that Dad loved you more than anything and when he slept with Patrick, it didn't make him love you any less."

"He told you that?" she asked, trying not to break down when he was talking to her.

Bronx shrugged, not looking at her. "Joe told me. Like, it upset me a little at first because I didn't get it. But Joe said Dad…needed something physical when he got too lonely. But Patrick loved Dad, too, so it was better that he was with him when he couldn't be with you."

Ashlee wrapped her arms around her knees and cried.

She knew that her marriage to Pete hadn't been normal, but she had no idea that it had bled over this much to Bronx. The reason that people got married was because they wanted to spend the rest of their lives with only one person, or so she’d been taught, but it had worked for them, they had made it work. but - Now, though, Bronx apparently thought that it was okay to cheat as long as you knew the other person. That wasn't cheating to Bronx.

"Mom, don't cry," Bronx said, but she couldn't stop now that she'd started. Pete was gone, the world was fucking gone and what did it matter anyway if her son thought promiscuity was okay? The world was dying and Bronx would never have a girl to cheat on because they would all be dead, so what did it fucking matter?

"Hey, hey, hey, Ash," Brendon's voice was soft and he peeled her arms from around her knees and embraced her tightly with one arm. "Hey. It's okay, just let it out and you'll feel better..."

She didn't think anything would make her feel better.

-----------------

Brendon gave Tom another grateful glance from his position on the ground outside the truck, rocking Ashlee in his arms.. He didn't know what Tom was saying to Bronx and he didn't know what had caused Ashlee to crack, but it didn't matter right now.

What mattered was getting Ashlee steady again.

Their little group felt like a house of cards. If one of them fell, they'd all come tumbling after.

She finally shuddered out a breath and leaned back, bracing herself on his good arm and blinking at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

He relaxed his kneel into a seat cross-legged in front of her, moving a bottle of water and a towel between them and holding it out. "Wash your face, bitch and show a little backbone," he whispered, making her eyes flash a moment before she hissed out a laugh.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize for having a 'sad attack', we all have them," Brendon said. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'll talk to Bronx and tell him myself," Ashlee said.

"Can I ask what happened?" Brendon asked, taking the bottle from her shaking hand before she spilled it.

"Tom was acting all weird about your little walk last night and Bronx just...he knows everything. He knows about Pete and Patrick and he's ...he says he completely understands but -- he shouldn't, Brendon. A child shouldn't know anything about his parent's sex life...not like he knows," Ashlee said quietly.

"Shit, Ash. Bronx is Bronx," Brendon said. "Seriously, any other kid would be crying all the time and probably too fucked up to do half the shit he does for us every day. No kid is normal, and believe me, even the normal kids end up fucked up, usually more because anything different to them is wrong. Bronx is a survivor, just like his parents. Fuck, he's taking this better than the rest of us," he whispered, grabbing her hand.

"Just...shit,” she whispered.

"Ashlee, Bronx is amazing. I don't know any other kid that could've handled the paparazzi and the travel and the schedules and the crazy-ass people he met as well as he did. Things are so different now, but he knows his parents love him and that's how he's getting by," Brendon said. He lowered his voice. "He knows that no matter what his parents do when he's not around, that he still comes first. He knows right from wrong and he's a damned good kid, Ashlee. You're a good mother."

He heard the door to the truck open behind them. Ashlee got to her feet and Bronx embraced her immediately.

Tom offered his hand and Brendon used it to get to his feet, using Tom's support to get his balance.

"I miss Daddy, too, Mom, but we have to stay strong," Bronx said.

"Good talk?" Brendon asked Tom as they stepped away.

"He's a good kid," Tom said. "They'll be fine. But we should try and make some ground before lunch with the new route."

"Okay," Brendon said. "You want me to drive?"

Tom scoffed. "You're still benched with that arm. But you might win shotgun if you're lucky."

He reached over and grabbed Tom's wrist, drawing his attention. "Will you kiss me? For luck?"

Tom smiled and stepped in, catching his bottom lip with his teeth and then opening his mouth to let Brendon in.

He needed this -- the contact, the affection, the connection -- and it was over too soon. But it was enough. For now.

"Thanks," Tom said before Brendon could.

He glanced over to see if Bronx or Ashlee had seen it but they were caught up in their own conversation.

With the whole survival thing at the top of their priority list, it shouldn't be a surprise that 'parenting' was lower down.

-----------------

-go to part two-