(no subject)
Title: You're Just A Boy Who's Afraid Of The Dark (10/11)
Rating: Mmm, R for trauma? No boisex in this one.
Pairing: Gabe/William
Summary: “Fuck you, Brendon, you two aren’t the only ones who’re worried, alright?”
“Okay, okay. Both of you. Calm the fuck down now or get the fuck out. We’re going to do a quick check of the house again, and then...I guess we’ve got to start looking outside.”
Okay, so I lied. Again. One more chapter and an epilogue.
Dedication: Everyone who read this, reviewed this, and told me I'd ruined Cobra Starship for them. You guys rock my socks hardxcore.
Previous Chapters:
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/2953.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/3103.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/3399.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/3845.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/4332.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/4647.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/5052.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/5142.html#cutid1
Chapter Ten
William was terrified.
“He’s not in the kitchen.”
“Ryan checked the living room already, he’s not there either.”
“Did you check everywhere?”
“Of course I did, asshole. He’s my friend, too.”
“Shit, calm down, he was just asking.”
“Fuck you, Brendon, you two aren’t the only ones who’re worried, alright?”
“Okay, okay. Both of you. Calm the fuck down now or get the fuck out. We’re going to do a quick check of the house again, and then...I guess we’ve got to start looking outside.”
“Motherfucker.” Choked-back sobs. “He couldn’t have, he couldn’t have. Right? Lie to me, Trick, tell me even Gabe wouldn’t have-“
“Hey, breathe, okay? Pete? Look at me Pete, look at me. We can’t afford to fall apart now. I know you’re worried, but-“
“That’s not it!” Sobbing now, agonized and bitter and he wasn’t choking them back anymore and William heard the thump of knees hitting the carpet hard. “I mean it it, but it’s not and if I’d just checked out his address, Patrick, if I’d run a fucking background check-“
“Stop it.” Sharp and commanding and William wasn’t doing anything, but he sort of wanted to stop it too, because that voice? That voice demanded to be obeyed and now. “There isn’t a damn thing a background check would have done, and you know that. He’s got a clean record. And how were you supposed to know? You never checked anyone else’s house out either. No employer does.”
“He was here, though, and now-“
“Now he’s still here. We just have to find him. So stand up and shut up, because you cannot afford to break down right now, do you hear me?”
William was shaking.
“Did anyone check the basement?”
“Jon and Spencer. Twice. They didn’t find anything.”
“Still worth a look, though, yeah?”
“Would be if you’d gotten the right door, Travis.”
“Fuck you.”
William bit down hard on his own arm because he wanted to scream and the knob had just twisted and he wished he was smaller, skinnier, more compact because he couldn’t press back against the wall any more, couldn’t burrow any deeper under the bed and he couldn’t keep the low, frightened little wail from sliding through his teeth and out into open air.
Fuck.
“You heard that, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, I heard somethin’.” Pounding on the ceiling and Travis was either taller than William remembered, or standing on something. “Yo! Greta! Stop stompin’ around and get your ass down here, I think we’ve got somethin’!”
A frantic, keening noise and it belonged to those horrible purple shoes too close to William’s nose for comfort. A rustle of cloth and the owner of those beat-up Nikes and the baggy, scruffy jeans had an arm around Pete, was mumbling in that low, pretty voice to “Calm down, Pete, come on, it’s okay, it’s okay,” and William wondered absently why he’d never noticed how much Patrick cared.
Feet on the stairs again, heels, small and quick and feminine and the few inches of Greta’s ankles were across the room, but he could still here her soft “William?”
He tried to slide further under the bed.
Why didn’t they understand? He was in trouble, he was in love, he was leaving and this was his room, his basement, his safety and they were all cluttering it up. He wanted them to go away because sure, they’d show up now that Gabe had forgiven him and promised him another chance and promised him another life.
You’re too late, he wanted to say, but it would have come out hysterical-it wasn’t funny, but he was grinning-so he just bit down hard, hard until his own muscles slipped under his teeth and blood broke through bruised skin.
“Are you sure you heard something? Cause if you didn’t, Travis, seriously, this isn’t cool, Pete’s like, about to pass out.” Dirty white Keds and Andy’s voice had William closing his eyes, screwing them shut tight. Joe’s deep, lisping slur (“Ease up, Andy, he’s doing his best,”) had him ducking his head down, pressing himself as flat into the carpet as he could possibly go and if he was quiet, if he waited long enough, they’d go away.
“Shh,” Travis hissed, and there was silence, silence except for the awkward shift of hips under denim, the rasp of sneaker soles against carpet.
“You really think he’s down here?” Greta said shakily after a moment. “Maybe we should check...y’know. Outside.”
“Don’t say that!” Pete didn’t yell often, not at other people, and with good reason-it was really fucking terrifying, the way his voice got all growly and the way those purple shoes jerked, like he would have leapt at Greta had Patrick not been holding him back and God, why didn’t they just go away and William whimpered.
Shit.
“He’s under the bed,” Ryan said slowly, hushed, like maybe William was going to run if they were too loud, like he didn’t want to startle him.
“He’s scared,” Greta whispered back and yes, yes he was, but he’d be fine if they’d all just get the fuck out of his basement.
And then Brendon snapping, ushering, a crowd of feet and ankles and jeans towards the stairs. “Everyone out, c’mon. Give him space, give him room, get out,” and when William opened his eyes there was purple, Nikes, some fancy basketball shoes he’d never bothered to learn the name of, and a scuffed, beloved pair of black Converse.
“William, we know you’re down there.”
It was an immature game to play, scrunching up and breathing shallowly, the sort of thing he’d have done during hide-and-seek as a kid, but he couldn’t run in this condition and even if he made it up the stairs, it was like a fuckin’ label party up there and he’d never have made it past them
He was cornered.
He glanced up from the carpet and was met with bloodshot brown eyes half-obscured by coarse black bangs and a tentative, watery smile and William only felt bad about screaming and scrambling back when Pete’s face fell and a hand-tattooed and dark and Travis’s-seized him by the hood and dragged him out of William’s line of sight.
“Don’t do that,” Travis snapped, but he didn’t sound angry, really. Relieved, maybe, that William wasn’t dead? Is that what they were worried about? That Gabe killed him and cut him up into little pieces and tossed him in the backyard? I’m alive, he wanted to say, so you can all go home now.
“He’s alive,” was Pete’s only response, grateful and teary. “Oh my God, he’s alive.”
“William?” Patrick, that was Patrick, and he was on his knees in front of the bed (and William retched when his brain reminded him of a time not so long ago that that sentence would have made him grin and maybe grab Patrick’s ass) and William’s throat closed and he’d never known what ‘abject terror’ meant, really, but he was recoiling and would have given anything for them to all be gone, like, rightnow.
“Hey,” and Patrick was propping himself up on his elbows, smiling, and William was trying to duck his head, trying to hide his black eye and split lip, but Patrick didn’t say anything, just held his hand out wordlessly, like he was acting, like this was a movie.
But it wasn’t, it hurt too much to be fake and they eventually had to drag him, howling and kicking and flailing and biting out from under the bed. He fought, sure, he fought because he’d been safe there and how dare they and Gabe said to wait, he said to wait, and William was so through with disobeying, but Travis was bigger and stronger than he was, and William’s hands hurt from Gabe gripping them too hard, so his purchase on the carpet was less than helpful.
Travis tried not to hurt him, William could tell-because after all this time, a lifetime in two months, he knew malice-even when William bit him hard on the hand, even when he landed a bare foot in Travis’s stomach, and all Travis could do was wrap his arms around William’s shoulders, holding them chest-to-back (and no one could be that close to him, no one) while Patrick and Pete grabbed his arms and Mike-thinner and more hollow-eyed, but still Mike-had a hold of his ankles.
“Calm down,” Mike kept repeating, over and over and over like it was helping, like William could, and he wailed but went still, slack in their grip, panting and panicked with his heart jackhammering against his ribs and his body shaking and he couldn’t think, he couldn’t think because he was going to choke on the terror welling in his throat and they were all touching him and then they were carrying him up the stairs.
“Oh my God,” was the only reaction (from Jon, of all people) as the basement door opened and William thrashed while Mike relinquished his grip on his ankles to Siska and Brendon, until Mike’s cool hands closed on either side of his face, holding his head still and he was staring into William’s eyes.
William stilled again, mostly because Mike didn’t look happy, but with his gaze focused on Mike, he couldn’t see the crowd of labelmates and police officers or the blood splattering Gabe’s once-white carpet and even though Mike sort of needed to let go of him, like, ten minutes ago, William’s heart slowed a little.
“Hey,” Mike said seriously and William opened his mouth, tried to say something back, but all that came out was a strangled sort of moan. “Will, it’s okay. You’re safe now.”
But that wasn’t right because they’d taken him from his basement and Gabe wasn’t here and how was he ever supposed to be safe again?
William didn’t really hear Mike as he tried to explain how everything was okay, they were just going to let the paramedics take over from here, but Mike would be with him, Mike and whoever else he wanted, because his mind had sort of stuck on the ‘Gabe’s not here’ thing.
Until they tried to carry him over the threshold and he screamed again-Outside was bad, Outside was bad, didn’t they get that?-and then Mike was saying he was sorry, so sorry, and there was a prick in his arm and a syringe of sedatives in his veins and the only thought in his head before everything went black was Gabe’s gonna kill me for this.
Rating: Mmm, R for trauma? No boisex in this one.
Pairing: Gabe/William
Summary: “Fuck you, Brendon, you two aren’t the only ones who’re worried, alright?”
“Okay, okay. Both of you. Calm the fuck down now or get the fuck out. We’re going to do a quick check of the house again, and then...I guess we’ve got to start looking outside.”
Okay, so I lied. Again. One more chapter and an epilogue.
Dedication: Everyone who read this, reviewed this, and told me I'd ruined Cobra Starship for them. You guys rock my socks hardxcore.
Previous Chapters:
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/2953.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/3103.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/3399.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/3845.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/4332.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/4647.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/5052.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/5142.html#cutid1
Chapter Ten
William was terrified.
“He’s not in the kitchen.”
“Ryan checked the living room already, he’s not there either.”
“Did you check everywhere?”
“Of course I did, asshole. He’s my friend, too.”
“Shit, calm down, he was just asking.”
“Fuck you, Brendon, you two aren’t the only ones who’re worried, alright?”
“Okay, okay. Both of you. Calm the fuck down now or get the fuck out. We’re going to do a quick check of the house again, and then...I guess we’ve got to start looking outside.”
“Motherfucker.” Choked-back sobs. “He couldn’t have, he couldn’t have. Right? Lie to me, Trick, tell me even Gabe wouldn’t have-“
“Hey, breathe, okay? Pete? Look at me Pete, look at me. We can’t afford to fall apart now. I know you’re worried, but-“
“That’s not it!” Sobbing now, agonized and bitter and he wasn’t choking them back anymore and William heard the thump of knees hitting the carpet hard. “I mean it it, but it’s not and if I’d just checked out his address, Patrick, if I’d run a fucking background check-“
“Stop it.” Sharp and commanding and William wasn’t doing anything, but he sort of wanted to stop it too, because that voice? That voice demanded to be obeyed and now. “There isn’t a damn thing a background check would have done, and you know that. He’s got a clean record. And how were you supposed to know? You never checked anyone else’s house out either. No employer does.”
“He was here, though, and now-“
“Now he’s still here. We just have to find him. So stand up and shut up, because you cannot afford to break down right now, do you hear me?”
William was shaking.
“Did anyone check the basement?”
“Jon and Spencer. Twice. They didn’t find anything.”
“Still worth a look, though, yeah?”
“Would be if you’d gotten the right door, Travis.”
“Fuck you.”
William bit down hard on his own arm because he wanted to scream and the knob had just twisted and he wished he was smaller, skinnier, more compact because he couldn’t press back against the wall any more, couldn’t burrow any deeper under the bed and he couldn’t keep the low, frightened little wail from sliding through his teeth and out into open air.
Fuck.
“You heard that, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, I heard somethin’.” Pounding on the ceiling and Travis was either taller than William remembered, or standing on something. “Yo! Greta! Stop stompin’ around and get your ass down here, I think we’ve got somethin’!”
A frantic, keening noise and it belonged to those horrible purple shoes too close to William’s nose for comfort. A rustle of cloth and the owner of those beat-up Nikes and the baggy, scruffy jeans had an arm around Pete, was mumbling in that low, pretty voice to “Calm down, Pete, come on, it’s okay, it’s okay,” and William wondered absently why he’d never noticed how much Patrick cared.
Feet on the stairs again, heels, small and quick and feminine and the few inches of Greta’s ankles were across the room, but he could still here her soft “William?”
He tried to slide further under the bed.
Why didn’t they understand? He was in trouble, he was in love, he was leaving and this was his room, his basement, his safety and they were all cluttering it up. He wanted them to go away because sure, they’d show up now that Gabe had forgiven him and promised him another chance and promised him another life.
You’re too late, he wanted to say, but it would have come out hysterical-it wasn’t funny, but he was grinning-so he just bit down hard, hard until his own muscles slipped under his teeth and blood broke through bruised skin.
“Are you sure you heard something? Cause if you didn’t, Travis, seriously, this isn’t cool, Pete’s like, about to pass out.” Dirty white Keds and Andy’s voice had William closing his eyes, screwing them shut tight. Joe’s deep, lisping slur (“Ease up, Andy, he’s doing his best,”) had him ducking his head down, pressing himself as flat into the carpet as he could possibly go and if he was quiet, if he waited long enough, they’d go away.
“Shh,” Travis hissed, and there was silence, silence except for the awkward shift of hips under denim, the rasp of sneaker soles against carpet.
“You really think he’s down here?” Greta said shakily after a moment. “Maybe we should check...y’know. Outside.”
“Don’t say that!” Pete didn’t yell often, not at other people, and with good reason-it was really fucking terrifying, the way his voice got all growly and the way those purple shoes jerked, like he would have leapt at Greta had Patrick not been holding him back and God, why didn’t they just go away and William whimpered.
Shit.
“He’s under the bed,” Ryan said slowly, hushed, like maybe William was going to run if they were too loud, like he didn’t want to startle him.
“He’s scared,” Greta whispered back and yes, yes he was, but he’d be fine if they’d all just get the fuck out of his basement.
And then Brendon snapping, ushering, a crowd of feet and ankles and jeans towards the stairs. “Everyone out, c’mon. Give him space, give him room, get out,” and when William opened his eyes there was purple, Nikes, some fancy basketball shoes he’d never bothered to learn the name of, and a scuffed, beloved pair of black Converse.
“William, we know you’re down there.”
It was an immature game to play, scrunching up and breathing shallowly, the sort of thing he’d have done during hide-and-seek as a kid, but he couldn’t run in this condition and even if he made it up the stairs, it was like a fuckin’ label party up there and he’d never have made it past them
He was cornered.
He glanced up from the carpet and was met with bloodshot brown eyes half-obscured by coarse black bangs and a tentative, watery smile and William only felt bad about screaming and scrambling back when Pete’s face fell and a hand-tattooed and dark and Travis’s-seized him by the hood and dragged him out of William’s line of sight.
“Don’t do that,” Travis snapped, but he didn’t sound angry, really. Relieved, maybe, that William wasn’t dead? Is that what they were worried about? That Gabe killed him and cut him up into little pieces and tossed him in the backyard? I’m alive, he wanted to say, so you can all go home now.
“He’s alive,” was Pete’s only response, grateful and teary. “Oh my God, he’s alive.”
“William?” Patrick, that was Patrick, and he was on his knees in front of the bed (and William retched when his brain reminded him of a time not so long ago that that sentence would have made him grin and maybe grab Patrick’s ass) and William’s throat closed and he’d never known what ‘abject terror’ meant, really, but he was recoiling and would have given anything for them to all be gone, like, rightnow.
“Hey,” and Patrick was propping himself up on his elbows, smiling, and William was trying to duck his head, trying to hide his black eye and split lip, but Patrick didn’t say anything, just held his hand out wordlessly, like he was acting, like this was a movie.
But it wasn’t, it hurt too much to be fake and they eventually had to drag him, howling and kicking and flailing and biting out from under the bed. He fought, sure, he fought because he’d been safe there and how dare they and Gabe said to wait, he said to wait, and William was so through with disobeying, but Travis was bigger and stronger than he was, and William’s hands hurt from Gabe gripping them too hard, so his purchase on the carpet was less than helpful.
Travis tried not to hurt him, William could tell-because after all this time, a lifetime in two months, he knew malice-even when William bit him hard on the hand, even when he landed a bare foot in Travis’s stomach, and all Travis could do was wrap his arms around William’s shoulders, holding them chest-to-back (and no one could be that close to him, no one) while Patrick and Pete grabbed his arms and Mike-thinner and more hollow-eyed, but still Mike-had a hold of his ankles.
“Calm down,” Mike kept repeating, over and over and over like it was helping, like William could, and he wailed but went still, slack in their grip, panting and panicked with his heart jackhammering against his ribs and his body shaking and he couldn’t think, he couldn’t think because he was going to choke on the terror welling in his throat and they were all touching him and then they were carrying him up the stairs.
“Oh my God,” was the only reaction (from Jon, of all people) as the basement door opened and William thrashed while Mike relinquished his grip on his ankles to Siska and Brendon, until Mike’s cool hands closed on either side of his face, holding his head still and he was staring into William’s eyes.
William stilled again, mostly because Mike didn’t look happy, but with his gaze focused on Mike, he couldn’t see the crowd of labelmates and police officers or the blood splattering Gabe’s once-white carpet and even though Mike sort of needed to let go of him, like, ten minutes ago, William’s heart slowed a little.
“Hey,” Mike said seriously and William opened his mouth, tried to say something back, but all that came out was a strangled sort of moan. “Will, it’s okay. You’re safe now.”
But that wasn’t right because they’d taken him from his basement and Gabe wasn’t here and how was he ever supposed to be safe again?
William didn’t really hear Mike as he tried to explain how everything was okay, they were just going to let the paramedics take over from here, but Mike would be with him, Mike and whoever else he wanted, because his mind had sort of stuck on the ‘Gabe’s not here’ thing.
Until they tried to carry him over the threshold and he screamed again-Outside was bad, Outside was bad, didn’t they get that?-and then Mike was saying he was sorry, so sorry, and there was a prick in his arm and a syringe of sedatives in his veins and the only thought in his head before everything went black was Gabe’s gonna kill me for this.