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“And then I said, ‘but what were you doing at McDonald’s in the first place?’ and he was like, ‘I still have no idea!’”
Alex laughs along with Patrick at Ryland’s joke so hard that he can almost feel tequila coming out his nose. When he finally recovers from laughing, though, he notices a cute guy across the way – tall and muscle-y…and looking right at him. Alex wants to go over there, and he checks to see if the other guys have seen him yet, and decides that he better not mention it in case there’s some rivalry. I mean, this guy is really hot. And sometimes it’s best to fly solo.
“I’m gonna run to the bathroom,” he tells his friends as he gets up. Ryland and Patrick don’t really say anything, and Alex makes a beeline toward where he saw the guy standing. Some big fellow gets in the way for a brief moment, though, and when Alex is finally let through, the hot guy is nowhere to be seen. Wow, what a bummer. Alex sighs to himself and starts looking around to see where Hot Guy might have gone.
Alex feels a tap on his shoulder, and he grins as he turns around, thinking it’s the hot guy, come to find him. His smile quickly fades, though, when his eyes meet those of Ryan Ross: that freak from school who’s always hanging around here.
“What do you want, Ross?” Alex spits. He glances over Ryan’s shoulder every now and again in hopes of finding the hot guy from before.
Ryan seems unfazed by Alex’s angry tone and returns it with his own collected one and a suave smile that Alex doesn’t think he’s ever seen on the kid before now.
“I wanted to buy you a drink,” Ryan says coolly. With that, he holds up a glass of the same drink Alex had been drinking before and hands it to him. Alex doesn’t quite know how to react, so he just takes it from him. Ryan’s eyes are such a nice color, he observes for the first time, a warm honey brown…
“Thanks,” is all Alex can muster. Ryan watches with interest as Alex takes a sip from the glass, his smile growing wider.
*
Agent Gabe Saporta flits through the papers in the folder he’s carrying; victim profiles: check. Autopsy reports: check. Addresses of suspects and witnesses: check and check. All is present and accounted for. Saporta paces quickly down one of the many halls in the bureau, passing a timid intern walking the opposite direction with a plate of donuts in her hands. Saporta doesn’t miss a beat as he snatches one up, only turning around briefly to shoot her a quick wink (to which she instantly blushes and nearly drops everything) before taking a sizeable bite out of the pastry.
Breakfast…good enough. Check that too.
The rest of the donut is tossed into the next trash can he passes on the way to the meeting room. No need for extra baggage. He turns a sharp corner and he can see through the windows at the end of the hall that everyone’s in there already, waiting for him no doubt. He knows he’s late, but the poor little Miss Asher was having trouble with the copy machine and, well…
“Alright, team,” Saporta begins immediately upon entering the conference room. Everyone seems to straighten up when he enters, something he’s always found quite satisfying. Saporta catches Agent Way out of the corner of his eye as he casually slips his phone back into his pocket, “let’s get right to it.” Saporta plucks a few stapled sets of paper from his file as he circles the table, taking his seat at the very end.
“Multiple people have gone missing in the past few days in an area not far from Las Vegas,” he explains, “the most recent being a kid named Peter Wentz, age seventeen. They’re all from the same school, and the disappearances have started worrying the community’s parents.”
“Well, the M.O. is simple enough,” Agent Iero says, looking between the profiles fanned out in front of him, “dark hair, aged sixteen to eighteen, kind of…emo-ish.” He lifts up the picture of the Wentz kid provided by his family and eyes it. Gabe glances down at his own copy and observes the unmistakable rims of eyeliner around the kid’s eyes, as well as the state of the other two most recent abductees, Alexander Suarez and Mike Carden, each sporting skinny jeans and band shirts, and all of them looking equally angry at the world. Ah, high school. A time of great angst for all, Gabe reminisces.
“You’re one to talk, mister tattoos,” Age—er, Doctor Brent Wilson shoots at him from across the table, not looking up from the notepad he’s writing on. Iero stares at Brent like he’s surprised by the snappy comeback, even though ‘sarcasm’ is pretty much the only language Wilson ever speaks.
“I think it’s sexy,” Agent Way, their technical analyst counters. He puts a hand on Iero’s bicep where, underneath his blazer, everyone knows there’s a nice ol’ portrait of some guy playing the drums. Way gives him this knowing smirk and bats his eyes behind his cherry red mop of hair. Saporta sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose because, honestly? Every day, this happens.
“Can we get back to the case, people?” he asks, and everyone shuts up.
“Thank you,” he says after a beat. “So, it seems like our best option is to talk to these kids’ families and hopefully find another connection between them.” Everyone nods in agreement.
“Alright, then,” Saporta says decidedly, cleaning up his papers, “we’ll leave for Vegas tonight.”
*
“Ooh, Vegas,” William’s voice comes slightly crackly through the phone, “sounds fun.”
Gabe laughs, “I’m working a case, Bill,” he tells him. “we’re not going to gamble or meet strippers.”
“Hmm,” William hums. There’s a rustling and a thump on the other end, and Gabe can picture William flopping stomach-first onto their big bed with the phone pressed against his ear. Gabe smiles at the thought, wishing he could be there to snuggle up against his boyfriend whom he hasn’t seen properly in almost a week, now. Sure, he acts like some sort of player, but Agent Saporta is secretly a big softy who melts like butter for this boy at the other end.
“But after the case and stuff,” William continues, “you should go see Vegas. Loosen up a bit! You’re always working, Gabey. I could meet you there, even! And we can get a hotel room and maybe…”
“No. Bill, that’s not…Vegas is so overrated, though. Can’t you just wait a little longer, ‘til I have some time off?”
“And when’s that gonna be?” William sounds whiny, but Gabe knows he’s not actually angry. William knew what he was signing up for when he got involved with Gabe, and he’s stronger and more independent than some of those insane wives and girlfriends you see on TV. He’s not going to get all clingy and ‘what are we doing here?’ because he knows. And that’s why Gabe loves him.
“December,” Gabe reminds him for the hundredth time. Only a month or so, “And then I can take you anywhere you want. Someplace nice, and that doesn’t have the highest suicide rate in the country.” Being a federal agent sort of ruins things sometimes.
“Take me to Paris,” William pouts. Gabe laughs again.
“Anywhere in America, babe.”
“Brazil, then. I want to meet your extended family.”
“North America,” Gabe specifies.
“Fine. How abou—”
“I hate to do this, Bill, but I gotta go catch my flight,” Gabe cuts him off, flinching as he does it. He wished he could talk travel plans all night long with his soul mate, but…duty calls.
“I know,” William sighs. Gabe hopes that he can hear a smile in it somewhere, “it’s fine. Go save the world like you do.”
“I’d hardly call it saving the world.”
“You’re still the Superman to my Lois Lane, though. I love you.”
“Superman sucks. But I love you, too.”
Gabe hangs up, reluctantly. Sometimes it’s so hard. Sometimes he wonders why he chose this job in the first place. Gabe stares at his phone for a brief moment, wanting to just redial the number and talk to William just a bit longer.
“Sir.”
Agent Saporta startles at a sudden hand lightly touching his arm and turns to look at Brent who’s now standing next to him.
“The plane’s leaving now, sir,” he says. He looks awkward, like he doesn’t know if it’s okay to be talking to him when he looks as distressed as he probably does right now, but he feels that it’s necessary. Saporta nods, and Brent quickly leaves him alone again. Saporta sighs deeply before following Doctor Wilson to board the plane.
*
“A federal agent?” the pretty boy across the table’s eyes grow wide and sparkly. His mouth stretches into a grin and Gabe doesn’t think he’s ever felt this kind of pride in himself before this moment. This guy, William, with his curly brown locks and crooked teeth, had been set up with Gabe on a blind date by a couple of mutual friends. Gabe hadn’t been too terribly thrilled about it, but he’d gone anyway. Figured it’d be a chance to finally get laid after a straight month of one case after the other. He’d planned on turning on the charm like he’s always found so easy, but ever since he’d laid eyes on the handsome thing in front of him now, he’s found it hard to think of anything clever to say as well as to find a comfortable position to sit in. He fidgets in his seat for the hundredth time and laughs bashfully. This is the first time anyone’s reacted so positively, hearing about Gabe’s occupation. The last time he’d been on a serious date and told her that, she’d suddenly gotten all anxious and the night had been cut short by a mysterious text from her sister that Gabe still can’t recall what it’d been about.
“That is soooo cool,” William’s eyes crinkle when he smiles and he leans his cheek against his hand. His elbow slides a little too quickly down the table and knocks his drink off the table. Gabe is too busy counting William’s freckles for the accident to really register until the glass smashes against the floor. At the sudden sound, Gabe’s instincts kick into action. He stands up immediately, reaching to his side where his holster would typically be. Finding nothing, he then realizes where he is. He looks down at William who’s still leant forward, now staring up at him with those brown eyes that look so confused. Gabe looks around him, meeting the eyes of the other restaurant patrons who noticed the commotion. He swallows, shakes his head slightly and sits down again.
“Uh,” he says after a moment of silence, looking around until everyone who was looking at him has averted their gaze, “a bus boy will get that, don’t worry about it.” He clears his throat before looking up to meet William’s eyes. William nods. He looks awkward. Fuck, he’s awkward now. Great going, Saporta. The best thing you can do now is change the subject.
“Er, what do you—”
“So you see a lot of action?” William cuts him off, leaving Gabe shocked. He can suddenly feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. Is William seriously interested and not totally freaked out? Gabe looks over his face, his apparent emotions. He seems genuinely intrigued, not at all like he’s just being polite. Gabe’s face breaks into a grin, the result of his ego now inflating by the second, as well as the feeling of something else. Something he doesn’t think he’s ever felt before.
“Yeah, actually, I—”
“Gabe, hey. Wake up.”
Agent Saporta jolts and makes a small noise of disapproval, waking up to the sensation of Agent Williams’ heel in his shin. His eyes flutter open and meet those of the ginger sitting in the seat across from him with her arms crossed over her chest. Saporta snorts at her and she smirks back at him. Hayley’s been in the business just as long as he has, maybe longer, and it’s okay if she treats him slightly more casually than the others, even though he got the promotion instead of her.
“Plane’s about to land,” she tells him. He nods and moves to buckle his seatbelt.
*
“Pete went to the library to study for his final with some friends,” the third victim’s teary-eyed mother explains as her husband holds a comforting arm around her shoulders. Agent Williams sits with them on the couch in their living room that looked like it had been conjured up from a Home & Garden magazine. Saporta paces the room, looking at the photos set up on the mantle. The team has split up and Iero and Wilson are over at Alex Suarez’s parents’ house doing the same. They’ll compile their research later.
“Sometimes he’ll forget to call when he stays the night somewhere, but when he didn’t come home the next day, I started to worry. So I called his phone.”
Saporta’s eyes flit over each photograph of Pete, and stops to look a little closer at one… A picture of him and some friends at the beach all standing behind a lopsided sandcastle they’d apparently constructed. Something in the way his hand is rested on that one blond boy’s hip…
“But the person who picked up wasn’t him,” Pete’s mother continues, “and when I asked where the man who answered had found Pete’s phone, he said he was outside…a bar. One with some strange name. I have no idea why Petie would have been over there unless something had…”
“That’s—!”
Saporta spins around without warning, startling Pete’s parents and making Hayley raise a concerned eyebrow. Gabe pauses, collects himself, then flashes a smile at Pete’s mother and asks,
“Mrs. Wentz, would it be alright if we looked around Pete’s bedroom for some insight?”
*
Saporta dives into the poster-covered room like a man on a mission – which he kind of is. He starts pulling open drawers and digging under tee shirts without any sort of care. Hayley stops and leans in the doorway, watching him.
“Mind telling me what your big epiphany is?” she asks. Saporta is busy digging under the bed when he suddenly strikes gold.
“Aha—ow!” there’s a small thump as Saporta hits his head on the bottom of the bed. He shimmies his way out from under it and quickly holds up a couple of sports magazines featuring body-shots of fairly attractive and well-toned men on the covers. Agent Williams looks them over, a skeptical look adorning her face.
“Okay, he likes sports. What’s your point?”
Saporta shakes his head, smiling because it’s so obvious to him.
“He doesn’t, that’s the thing,” he says. “Well, he might. But not as much as the guys,” he gestures to the magazine covers, “that play the sports.” He wiggles his eyebrows, looking for a response.
Hayley looks at the covers again, then back at Saporta.
“You think he’s gay?”
“Bingo!” Saporta points at her when she gets it right. Then he turns and tosses the magazines on the bed and continues his search. This time, Hayley steps inside the room and starts looking around as well.
“You know you’re gonna need a bit more evidence to support this claim,” she tells him. She walks over to the nightstand and pulls open the drawer.
“And…I think you’ve got your evidence,” she says.
*
“You know a lot of straight boys carry lube around, right?” Iero says skeptically over the phone.
“Bubblegum flavored?” Saporta counters. He and Agent Williams are on their way to pick up the other two at the Suarezes’ house. But now they think there might be some more investigating to do. Iero is silent for a moment.
“Okay, you got me there,” he sighs. Hayley in the driver’s seat grabs the phone from Saporta, holding it up to her ear.
“I also found something resembling a bead necklace, though I’m sure it—” she starts, but she gets cut off by Iero’s screaming that Saporta can hear from where he’s sitting. Saporta starts giggling uncontrollably and puts a hand over his mouth to try to stop it.
*
“Yes, Alex is gay. Why? Is it important?” Mr. Suarez says so casually.
“Kind of,” Saporta says.
“So, who did you say your son was with the night he disappeared?” Wilson asks. Mr. Suarez seems to think for a moment, running a hand through his graying hair.
“I believe he was with his friends Patrick and Ryland,” he tells them. “They went downtown to hang out like they do sometimes. I don’t know where exactly they were, though.”
“That’s, fine,” Brent says as he takes out his notepad and a pen, handing them to Alex’s father, “would you mind just writing down his friends’ names and addresses so we can ask them some questions? Also, what school they go to would be helpful as well.” Mr. Suarez complies, and the team is on their way again.
*
“We already told the police this,” Ryland growls defiantly, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, “I don’t see why it matters. We didn’t see anything, right?” He looks to Patrick next to him who nods, but looks a lot more nervous than Ryland. Agent Saporta sighs impatiently. It’s hot as balls out here where they’re stood outside the kids’ school and he doesn’t have all day.
“We need to do our own follow-up research,” he explains to the boys, “it’s basic procedure.” He casually forgets to mention that their alibi of bowling on the night of the kidnapping and Alex just ‘disappearing’ while they weren’t looking is a bunch of crap, and he needs the truth. “So start from the beginning,” he says.
“Fine,” Ryland spits. “We picked up Alex at six to go bowling, got there around six-fifteen…we played for a while, and around seven, we noticed that Alex had been in the bathroom for a long time, and Patrick went to go get him, but he wasn’t in there.” He makes a face at Saporta that’s daring him to challenge him. Well, challenge accepted.
“Oh!” Saporta smiles, taking pleasure in the way Patrick jumps, “well that’s simple enough! I guess we’ll just go down to the bowling alley and watch the security tapes and see who snatched him up.”
“…Security tapes?” Ryland’s voice is suddenly less snarky as he says this.
“Yep! And I’m sure you guys will be on that tape as well, right? Since you were there and all.” Saporta returns Ryland with a look that says ‘checkmate, sucker’.
“Okay, fine!” Patrick wails, giving in. Saporta holds back a triumphant cackle, “we were at Just The Tip, a gay bar.” Ryland groans and rolls his eyes at his friend’s spinelessness, but he nods, surrendering.
“But we’re not lying about the bathroom bit,” he reassures him. “Alex said he’d be right back but he never came back. We assumed he’d just left with some guy, but...When he wasn’t at school on Monday, we started freaking out.”
Saporta nods, glad that they’d finally gotten past the lying bit.
“Do you remember seeing anyone else there that you know? Or anyone strange who caught your attention?”
Patrick and Ryland exchange glances.
“Well, Ryan Ross was there. One of our classmates,” Patrick tells him.
“He’s always there, though,” Ryland adds.
Saporta for the time being looks past the fact that apparently a high number of underaged kids are frequenting this bar. “Do you know where he is right now? Is he in school today?”
The boys both shake their heads.
“He only shows up like half of the time,” Ryland says, clearly sounding like he isn’t particularly fond of the guy, “but his best friend Spencer is right over there if you wanna talk to him.” With that, he points past the chain-link fence to the parking lot at a chubby brunette boy leaning against a car, playing a Gameboy, except he keeps looking up from time to time. At one point, he seems to realize that all three of them are looking in his direction and he stops playing his game altogether, staring back at them. Gabe is about to call the kid over when he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket. He pulls it out and answers, turning away from the two boys next to him.
“Yeah?”
“Sir, Mike Carden has just been found.”
*
Saporta storms through the scene, past the police cars with the flashing lights, and ducks under the yellow caution tape until he gets to the center of it all where Agents Iero and Williams are standing. Doctor Wilson is bent over the half-buried corpse with rubber gloves on, poking at one of its wounds.
“Any special findings?” Saporta asks his team.
Iero shrugs. “I called Gerard,” he says, “and it turns out that this kid was the head of the LGBT club at his school, so there’s some more evidence on that theory.
Saporta nods. “How about in terms of physical evidence?” he asks as he looks down at Brent who flips his hair out of his face before looking back up at his superior.
“There’s nothing to really observe, seeing as it’s the first body to turn up,” Wilson tells them, “so it’s not like I can point out any similarities. But what I can point out is that the killer is clearly experienced. Either that or they’re not at all afraid.” He runs a gloved finger by the big gash in the victim’s neck. “There aren’t any hesitation marks on any of the wounds that I can find.”
“So we’re going to assume that this isn’t the killer’s first time?” Agent Williams asks. Saporta nods.
“For the time being, yes.”
*
“I’m all ears,” Agent Way says as he turns on his headset, not skipping a beat as he continues typing away at his RPG.
“Gee, we need you to do a background search,” Iero says into the speakerphone.
“Oh, anything for you, baby,” Way says as he closes out of his game and opens an actual FBI-approved program.
Saporta clears his throat. “We need you to look up men in this area between the ages of eighteen and thirty with a violent history,” he turns to the rest of his team, “we’re not going to rule out straight men just yet, seeing as the victim we found showed no signs of rape. We could be dealing with someone acting out of hatred toward the gay community.” The team members nod in agreement and they all wait for Agent Way’s results to come back.
But while they’re all watching Agent Iero’s phone, Saporta’s own phone starts to ring. Confused, he pulls it out and answers.
“Agent Gabe Saporta,” he says. And in that moment, he can’t help himself hoping that it’ll be William on the other end who will laugh at the seriousness in his voice before going on to tell him about something silly the cat did while he was gone. And Gabe will say ‘you can’t be calling me on a job, Bill’, but he won’t actually mean it.
“Hi, this is Officer Trohman down at the station,” says a deep voice that is clearly not William. “We’ve got someone here, says he’s got some evidence on your case.”
Gabe’s eyebrows rise in sudden interest. “Okay, we’ll come down there soon. We need to brief your staff on what we’ve found and what to look out for, anyway. What’s this person’s name?”
“Spencer Smith.”
*
Agent Saporta watches from behind the one-way mirror as Doctor Wilson conducts the interview alone with this Spencer kid. They’ve already had to wait a whole day to come down and ask this kid what he knows because just last night, after they’d gotten the call from the station, the body of the most recent kidnappee turned up not far from where Mike had been found. They’d found similar head trauma and wounds as well as an identical COD – fatal cut to the throat. And tests at the lab showed that both teens had been drugged the same nights they’d been killed. Saporta’s still skeptical that Spencer’s friend, Ryan, a teenager, could have done all this, but now that Spencer is coming forward, that has to mean something.
“So what did you want to tell us, Spencer?” Brent asks in that characteristic understanding tone he’s always got going on when he’s talking to strangers. If Gabe remembers correctly, Brent used to be a therapist, which is probably why he does that.
“I, uh,” Spencer shifts around uncomfortably in the metal chair provided by the police station, “I think I know who your killer is.”
“You think?” Wilson crosses his arms, screwing up his face like he doesn’t quite understand. “Spencer, we’re gonna need some real, hard evidence from you or quite honestly you’re just wasting our time.”
“I…” Spencer looks down at his lap, at his hands wringing anxiously, “I don’t know for sure, but my friend Ryan is always at that bar where they were last seen, and he’s kind of messed up, so I feel like—”
“I’m sorry, Spencer,” Wilson cuts in, “but we really need to get going on this case and your ‘feelings’ don’t warrant any kind of investigation on your friend Ryan. Please come back to us only if you get some sort of confession from him or proof that he did it.” And with that, he turns and walks out the door. Gabe scoffs at how harsh he can be sometimes, but he knows it’s the only way to get things done in this business. Ignore your emotions and everyone else’s.
*
“Hey, baby, how’s the case going?” William’s voice is a ray of sunshine in the dark hole Gabe’s in right now. It’s a relief to finally hear his lover’s voice. He smiles.
“It’s going okay,” he says, “but we’ve kind of been stopped in our tracks. All of our potential suspects we’ve investigated so far have alibis, and it’s just a long process. We can’t figure out any way to narrow the search.”
“What kind of guys are you looking for?” William asks with his typical lack of proper FBI vocabulary. But he tries, and he understands for the most part which Gabe appreciates.
“The suspect profile we’re looking at is young adult males targeting underage gays frequenting a specific bar in the downtown area. We don’t have any reliable witnesses, so we can’t say for sure what he might look like.”
“Hmm,” William hums, probably nodding. There’s a brief silence, and Gabe’s not sure what he should say next.
“But…” he starts without really knowing where he’s going, “there was this one kid who came to talk to us.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. He said he thinks his friend kidnapped all of them. We don’t know what we should do with this information, though. It’s totally different from our original suspect profile.”
“It’s not that different…”
Gabe sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Well, we’re assuming that the kidnapper has a violent past because the victims’ wounds showed no hesitation,” he explains. “This killer clearly has experience.”
“You shouldn’t underestimate the capabilities of a troubled teen, Gabe,” William says, sounding poetic. “I think you should look into this. The investigation is basically going nowhere, right? I don’t think it’d hurt to call this kid back and ask him some questions, and maybe do a search on his friend.”
Gabe thinks about it for a moment, and like he usually is, William is right. Gabe just threw out a possible lead just because it didn’t completely match what they were looking for. Granted, Doctor Wilson had done it, but Gabe had let it happen.
“Yeah,” Gabe says, “yeah, you’re right. I’ll look into it.” He can hear the sound of William laughing to himself and he can picture him smirking knowingly. Gabe smiles. He can’t wait to get home and kiss that smartass look off his boyfriend’s face.
“I should just join the bureau myself,” William giggles.
*
“So,” Agent Way says into his headset, tapping a furry pen on his cheek,” it looks like our little Ryan – or should I say George – has a bit of a record, as well as a tragic past…” He leans forward and his fingers quickly sweep over the keyboard. Windows pop up and minimize on the screen and his eyes fly over all of them at the speed of light.
“Mom left shortly after he was born,” he reads, “mostly absent father, and little Ryan turns to drugs and other…”
A photo from the suspect’s criminal record pops up, showing some graffiti done across a building wall in red spray paint – Way bites his lip when he recognizes it as some sort of Satanic symbol.
“…pastimes.”
On the other end, Spencer scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Well I could have told you that,” he says.
Way is silent for a moment, and everyone at the police station stares at the phone expectantly.
“Apparently Ryan has suffered serious bipolar disorder, and multiple teachers have expressed concern for his health. He saw a therapist once, but he was never prescribed any kind of medication.”
Spencer nods. “He thought it was stupid,” he explains, “and his dad didn’t care either way.”
“Medical records show he’s had numerous hospital visits, most if not all concerning self-inflicted injury.” Way scrolls down the extensive list on the screen, reading with wide, worried eyes.
Spencer nods again, this time more solemnly. Saporta watches as his eyes fall to the floor, looking at his shoes. He’s probably the one who took the kid to the ER all those times.
“I think our best option right now is to send someone in to watch for Ryan and make sure he’s not up to any funny business,” Agent Williams suggests.
“Or better yet,” Saporta smiles as he hatches up an idea, “we could send someone in as bait.”
Everyone is silent, unsure of his intentions, until Agent Way who’s still on the phone seems to piece it together.
“Ohhhhh, no!” he shouts, “No! You are not sending my Frankie in there!”
Agent Iero’s eyes grow wide, and Saporta laughs out loud at Way’s reaction.
“He does match the M.O… You know, for the most part,” Wilson observes, looking him over.
“God damn it,” Iero groans, “sometimes being short and cute has its downsides.”
*
Knock, knock.
“Ryan?” a young Spencer calls, knocking on Ryan’s door. He’s got a bright orange Frisbee in his small, pudgy hand.
A moment passes and Spencer grows impatient quickly, as children do. He tries the door and it’s unlocked. Shyly, Spencer steps inside.
“Ry—?”
He’s cut off when Ryan comes out of nowhere, nearly tackling him to the ground.
“Shh!” he hisses, a finger pressed to his mouth. He looks terrified, and Spencer gets anxious watching the way his brown eyes are darting around.
“Ryan, what happened to your eye?” Spencer whispers, pointing out the dark bruise forming on his best friend’s face.
“Dad got mad at me,” he tells him, “but he’s sleeping now. So let’s just go.” And with that, he shoos Spencer out the door, following him and closing the door behind him with care.
*
“Hello?” Ryan finally picks up on, like, the fortieth ring.
“What do you know about Mike Carden?” Spencer demands, pacing anxiously around his bedroom.
“Mike who?”
“And Pete Wentz. They both turned up dead this week, Ryan, and not too far from your house, I might add,” Spencer spits. He sighs, sitting down heavily on his bed, resting his head in one hand. “Please tell me you didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with it,” Ryan says easily.
“Ryan.”
Spencer can hear Ryan on the other end sitting up on his couch where he’s always lying upside-down with his feet over the back. “…Spencer,” he replies after a moment.
“Everyone who’s gone missing,” Spencer mutters, “they were all at that bar you’re always hanging around. And you haven’t been in school for days.”
“I’m never in school, Spenc,” Ryan counters.
“You’re telling me you didn’t even see any of those guys get taken?”
“It’s dark and crowded in there,” Ryan reasons, “you can’t trust me to always be on the lookout for kidnappers.”
Spencer is silent for a moment, wonders if he should say what he’s about to say.
“Those guys,” Spencer sighs, “they all…had black hair, right?”
…No response from Ryan.
“And I swear the night Pete went missing, he was wearing a violet hoodie kind of like the one—”
“Shut up, Spencer.”
He was right.
“I was right,” Spencer gasps. He nearly drops the phone as he jumps back up to his feet, “you saw those guys in the dark, and each time you mistook them as Brendon for a minute…”
“I said shut up,” Ryan repeats, but Spencer keeps going.
“…and when you realized it wasn’t him, that just made you angrier and you took them,” he keeps babbling as his mind unravels what must be the truth, “and you – god. Ryan, you killed them!” he yells in a whisper, “what the fuck is wrong with you?!”
“Spencer, I—”
“Did you know that the FBI is chasing after you? They were at school, interrogating Ryland and Patrick and who knows what they said?” He helpfully leaves out the small detail about what he said to the FBI.
“Spencer,” Ryan says calmly, and Spencer stops to breathe long enough so that he can get his word in, “you need to listen to me. I was…I’ve been in a bad place.”
“’Bad’ doesn’t even begin to—”
“Can I finish? You know I’m fucked up, Spenc, no one knows that better than you. I do crazy shit all the time, and I’m not proud of it. I’m definitely not proud of this, okay, it’s just…” A sharp crackling sound through the phone makes it apparent to Spencer that his best friend is definitely crying on the other end. He feels bad, but at the same time, he can’t forget what Ryan just admitted to doing to those guys.
“There’s no excuse for what you did, Ryan,” he says quietly. He can still hear Ryan sniffling – a sound he’s heard too many times to count. “The only thing I’m wondering, though, is why you had to end those kids’ lives, and not just man up and deal with the real problem.”
And with that, he hangs up. But not without first feeling an uncomfortable shiver roll down his spine, like he’d done something wrong.
*
“Fuck. Ryan!!” Spencer bursts through Ryan’s door and rushes over to knock the blade out of his friend’s hand. There’s already blood bubbling up from the marks he made in his skin and Spencer quickly grabs a shirt from the floor and wraps it around Ryan’s arm, applying pressure. “You’ve gotta stop this.”
“But he was…” Ryan’s voice quakes as he speaks and he doesn’t resist Spencer at all. He’s weak and totally vulnerable. Spencer’s seen him in bad states before, but not quite like this. “He was perfect. He knew me. I thought this would be the thing that freed me from…”
Spencer shakes his head, removing the shirt now to look at the damages. Not too deep this time, luckily.
“Brendon’s too wrapped up in himself to be able to handle you too,” he says, trying to find something that will make Ryan feel a little better, even though it’s basically useless. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
He wraps an arm around Ryan’s middle and helps him up to walk to the bathroom. He turns on the sink and holds Ryan’s arm under the water, running his fingers over the slow-healing blade marks as well as the healed ones from other times. The bumpy feeling under his fingers is nauseatingly familiar to Spencer, and he can sense from the entranced, almost tranquilized expression on Ryan’s face that it’s familiar to him as well.
*
Agent Iero flexes his arm for the engrossed man standing with him by the bar.
“And this one,” he explains, “is for when I—”
“Frank, focus,” Saporta reminds him through his earpiece, rolling his eyes.
Iero turns around, holding a finger to his ear, murmurs, “I’m just playing the part, Saporta.”
Saporta takes a sip of his drink, back in the corner of the bar where he’s watching from afar. He smirks.
“What do you think Agent Way would think of this?”
Iero scoffs. “He’d think I was doing a fantastic job of playing the rebellious gay teen,” he says, “and it’s not like we’re dating.” He pouts a little, then his smile returns as he turns back to face his – invisible companion. He sighs.
“I think he was gonna ask me to leave with him,” Iero whines.
“The only one you’re going home with is our suspect, moron,” Saporta laughs.
“It’s the principle of the thing,” Iero defends, but he doesn’t say anything else, just looks out at the crowd to watch for the kid they’re after. Spencer had provided the team with a picture of Ross – a lanky kid with sad eyes and brown hair that he liked to straighten. He didn’t seem like much of a killer, but Gabe is going to take William’s advice and not underestimate this kid who is apparently really messed up.
*
Spencer is hanging around the police station when he hears his phone going off. He looks to see who’s calling.
…Shit.
Spencer clears his throat, presses ‘answer’.
“Hey, Ry,” he says. His heart his threatening to jump straight out of his chest and his hands are shaking.
“I got him, Spencer. That idiot fucked up and I finally got him!” Ryan cackles on the other end, making Spencer’s blood turn cold.
“You mean…”
“The bastard is tied up in my backseat right now.” Ryan laughs again.
“Oh my God,” Spencer breathes.
“What?” Ryan demands, “you’re the one who told me to take it out on the real thing.”
“Don’t bring me into this, you lunatic,” Spencer snaps, which is a bit out of character for him, but he’s really freaking out now.
Ryan seems to notice this sudden change, and the line is silent for a heartbeat. Spencer holds his breath.
“I gotta do this, Spenc,” is all Ryan says.
“No one’s making you—”
“I’m already in too deep. It’s time to finish what I started.”
“Ryan—”
“Goodbye, Spencer.”
The line dies.
“Fuck,” Spencer mumbles.
*
“Agent Gabe Saporta,” Saporta shouts into the phone over the loud music of the bar. “…What? He’s not? Okay, that’s—we’ll be right there.”
“What?” Brent asks from where he’s sitting across the table from Saporta.
“Ryan isn’t coming,” Saporta explains, standing up and putting on his coat, “he’s already got his victim.”
Brent still looks confused, but he follows Saporta’s lead.
“Iero,” Saporta puts a finger to his earpiece to get Frank’s attention, “our suspect’s on the move. You stay put in case he tries to come back here.”
“Roger that,” he responds. At that, Wilson and Saporta move out.
*
Ryan drives in silence in the dark and slowly dropping temperature. He doesn’t quite know where he’s going, but it has to be far away. His phone keeps lightning up in its place in the cup holder because Spencer keeps calling, but he sure as hell isn’t going to answer it. Ryan gave up on Spencer being able to help. He’s on his own, now. Him and Brendon.
He glances into the backseat where he can see Brendon starting to wake up, groaning tiredly. He has a rag wrapped around his mouth and his hands are bound behind his back. Ryan had considered binding his feet too, but he’d been a little crunched for time. It’d been like a sign from God that Ryan had been driving around and had seen Brendon smoking alone behind the Walgreens near Ryan’s house. ‘Hey, how are you?’ ‘Oh, fine, and you?’ ‘Good, good. I see you’re doing well with - what’s his name - Dallon?’ ‘Yeah, it’s going good.’ ‘That’s great.’
Then it had been lights-out, and now Brendon is waking up to realize that he’d made a huge mistake those few months ago. Huge. Fucking. Mistake.
“Morning, Bren,” Ryan murmurs as his eyes return to the road.
“Mmm?” Brendon’s fully woken up, now, looking around. He sits up, struggles with the rope around his wrists. His breathing becomes heavy as he seems to start panicking more and more.
“Get comfortable,” Ryan says as Brendon continues squirming around in his seat, “it’s gonna be a long drive.”
Brendon shakes his head and wrinkles his face up a lot until the rag comes loose and falls down to his chin.
“Where are you taking me? What’s going on??” he demands. Ryan decides to not be alarmed about this because as long as Brendon’s still got that rope around his wrists, he’s not going anywhere.
“Don’t worry about it,” Ryan says coolly. Brendon shouldn’t worry about anything anymore because his time is growing short. He sealed his fate the day he told Ryan they were through.
“I’m tied up in the back of your car in the middle of the night! I’m gonna fucking worry about it!!”
“Just relax, Bren. It’s all gonna be over, soon.”
“…What?”
There’s a long silence. Ryan keeps his eyes on the road no matter how strongly he can feel Brendon’s eyes burning into the side of his face.
“You’re not…” Brendon’s voice has lowered, now. “Those guys that got kidnapped. That was you?”
“Congratulations, you figured it out. You want a cookie?” Ryan rolls his eyes.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Funny, that’s what Spencer said, too.”
“What is this all about? God, this isn’t because of me, is it? Ryan, I’m…I’m sorry, I…”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Ryan growls as he makes a hard left turn, “it’s a combination of things.”
Brendon is silent once more and Ryan goes back to counting the seconds between each tree he passes, trying to keep himself calm.
“You don’t have to do this,” Brendon murmurs.
“SHUT UP!” Ryan screams, “JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP. I’M GOING TO KILL YOU, THEN I’M GONNA KILL MYSELF, AND IT’LL ALL BE OVER. DONE.”
“FINE!” Brendon shouts back, “BE A COWARD LIKE YOU ALWAYS WERE.”
Ryan cringes at Brendon’s words, tightening his grip on the wheel. He can feel the tears trying to break free. Brendon knows Ryan's weaknesses just as well as Spencer. But unlike Spencer, Brendon has never been too shy to use them against him, to taunt him and tear him open like he is right now.
“A SELF-PITYING LOSER,” Brendon keeps nagging, “WHO CAN’T HOLD ONTO ANYTHING.”
Ryan can't take it anymore and is pushed over the edge at this point. He lets out a blood-curdling wail as he yanks the wheel hard to the right, sending the car smashing into a nearby tree.
*
“Behavioral Analysis Unit? This is Officer Trohman, come in.”
Hayley doesn’t take her eyes off the road as she presses a button on the dashboard of the BAU’s police van.
“Talk to me,” she says.
“Some of my boys just found our suspect’s car off the side of the road a little ways West on some back roads. He appears to have hit a tree.”
Saporta can hear Spencer gasp where he is in the backseat with Brent.
“Oh God, Ryan,” he whispers.
*
Saporta stands with Agent Williams as they watch the paramedics do their thing. They see a stretcher being taken from the scene. A mess of brown hair sticks up from the head of the injured teen.
“Ryan!!” Spencer wails, ducking past the line of police and running to see his best friend who is currently breathing through a face mask.
Saporta turns away when Spencer starts sobbing uncontrollably, shouting profanities and insults at his apparent moron of a friend.
At the other end of the scene, by the wrecked car, a boy with black hair – more than likely Brendon Urie – is talking to one of the paramedics, letting her shine a light in his eyes as well as patch up some of his cuts. One looks particularly deep, right on the side of his head. That’s probably going to scar. The poor kid is going to have to be reminded of this for the rest of his life.
“I guess we’re done here,” Hayley says at length. She glances up at Agent Saporta. He nods slowly, still watching the scene play out.
Brent walks up to them, now, Spencer sniveling under his arm. “Let’s take this kid home then go pick up Frank. I’m ready to call it a night.”
*
When asked about what he’d say to the kids involved in the Columbine shooting if given the chance, Marilyn Manson said, “I wouldn't say a single word to them. I would listen to what they have to say, because no one else did.”
*
“Got word from Officer Trohman,” Iero says. Agent Saporta and Doctor Wilson look up from their game of chess that Saporta is losing miserably. “Ryan didn’t survive the crash, but Brendon should be fine.”
Wilson nods solemnly and Saporta sighs, leans back and stares out the little airplane window for a while, at the fluffy white clouds below them. He could feel sorry for their teen murderer and Spencer having to deal with his best friend going like that, but all he wants right now is to be home and hold his boyfriend in his arms. It’s been too long, and he almost can’t blame Ryan for doing what he did on account of Brendon. Gabe can’t imagine what he’d do if he ever lost William. Probably not kill people, but you know.
Saporta jolts at a sudden hand on his shoulder and turns to look up at Agent Williams now standing beside him.
“Tell William I say ‘hi’,” she tells him with a smile before going to sit with Agent Iero. Gabe smiles.
*
Knock, knock.
“William?” Gabe closes the door quietly behind him. It’s not too late, but he doesn’t want to wake his boyfriend if he is, in fact, sleeping. The lamp in the living room is still on, though, which William always nags him to turn off when he leaves the room. Gabe steps inside a little further, wondering if he should call William’s name again or just go check the bedroom.
But Gabe feels a presence behind him, someone reaching to grab his shoulders. Without a second thought, Gabe spins around and pins the intruder against the wall behind him.
“Hahaha, urgh. Hey, babe,” William giggles. It’s slightly strained under the pressure of Gabe’s forearm against his throat, “how was work?”
It takes a moment for Gabe to register what’s going on, but when he does, he wraps his arms around William’s middle without a word and pulls him close, kissing him like he’s been gone for years. It sure feels like it.
When they finally pull apart, William smiles, showing all his crooked teeth. “I missed you, too,” he says.
Gabe buries his face in William’s neck and just holds him like that for a while, and William doesn’t protest. Rather, he leans his cheek into Gabe's short, black hair. Gabe can feel him smiling.
“I don’t see why you’ve stuck with me for this long, Bilvy,” he mumbles into his boyfriend’s neck, “I know it’s the furthest thing from a normal relationship.”
William laughs and pushes Gabe off far enough to look him in the eye.
“And who says I want normal?”
Gabe smiles and kisses him again.
This is why he loves him.
end.