The late summer twilight and the early moon are conspiring against them. To Brendon's adjusted eyes, everything is still clear, shadows still falling, and they're exposed, out in the open after getting flushed out like pheasants. And then Brendon loses Spencer somewhere in the dim darkness before he hits the clearing; Spencer turns while Brendon keeps straight, and there's not enough time to double back.

"Fuck," Brendon hisses, and he picks up his pace, races across the open field, slicing through the knee-high grass. He fumbles over a slope once he hits the tree line, slides to a stop with harsh breaths, and, thank god, oh thank god, there's Jon, he'd recognize that shape anywhere. "Jon, Jon, oh my god, Jon, I lost Spencer."

Jon grips his shirt and jerks him further into the bushes. "Was he caught?"

"I don't know. I do not know, but Ryan." Brendon shakes his head. "He's fucking slow." You wouldn't think that to look at him, what with his skinny, long limbs, but he could barely keep up with them, and Brendon tries not to think about his yelp, the way he'd shouted, "Oh, yeah, go on without me, right, you both suck!"

"Want to shut the fuck up, Urie?" Carden says from Jon's other side, and then Brendon spots Johnson trying very hard to become one with the thicket, and oh, hey, it's a party. A party of death.

"Breathe, Bren," Jon says, shaking him a little.

A three-note whistle drifts eerily out of the darkness, and Brendon gasps, "Shit, shit, he saw me."

"You led him right to us, asshole," Carden says.

Jon says, "Shut up," and Brendon slaps a hand over his mouth to keep in his squeaks of terror, because they always cost him. It's probably why Spencer'd abandoned him.

"We gotta move," Johnson says.

"Oh, little Brenny Urie," a voice lilts, and Brendon spots the flashlight bouncing lazily across the field, following the path he'd taken through the grass.

"Where, where do we go?" Brendon asks, because they can't go back, they can't.

"We're saving Ryan," Jon says.

Brendon almost blurts out, "No way," except they totally have to save Ryan. If they don't, Ryan's just going to bitch at them for forever, and Brendon's willing to risk his life to prevent that. So Brendon says, "Okay," instead, and Carden says, "Whatever we fucking do, let's do it now."

The flashlight's gone, but Brendon can see the orange flare of a cigarette butt, the ominously dark figure just standing patiently in the clearing, like he has no fucking doubt that he'll get them all eventually.

Jon takes Brendon's hand and tucks it into the back of his jeans. "Stay close, 'kay?"

Brendon shudders, nods, whispers, "Yeah." Jon is awesome. Jon isn't going to let anything bad happen to Brendon, not if he can help it.

They crouch-run along the edge of the field, sticker bushes scratching at his bare arms. They circle deeper into the trees and Brendon can hear Johnson's harsh breathing next to him and Carden's quiet, "Shit, I think he's following," and Brendon almost trips, almost goes headfirst into a fucking tree, but Jon catches him.

It's a freaking miracle that the four of them all make it back to the lot in one piece. They skirt the spotlights, the yellow patches illuminating the asphalt.

"Do you see him?" Brendon asks.

Jon says, "No," and, "I think they're back at the bathrooms," and Brendon turns around and Johnson's gone, slipped away like a fucking ninja, and the next moment he sees him in the harsh flood of light at the edge of the lot.

"Holy fuck," Brendon breathes. He's gonna get fucking caught.

"A diversion," Carden says. He's grinning. Brendon can see the flash of his teeth. "Sweet."

Johnson just stops there out in the open, and Brendon hears, "I spy an Alex, all alone and helpless," and it's the voice Brendon has nightmares about.

Johnson says, "You'll have to catch me, fucker," and then there's an overly-loud, "Bring it," and Jon's tugging on Brendon's sleeve.

"Let's go," he says when Brendon doesn't budge.

Johnson doesn't make a sound as he slips back into the night. Johnson's a brave dude. Johnson's a fucking martyr or whatever. Brendon needs to take a moment here.

"For Johnson," Brendon says, holding out his fist.

"For Johnson," Jon echoes, bumping it with his own.

"Come on, gaybirds. Let's motherfucking do this," Carden says, punching Brendon in the shoulder.

Brendon rubs his arm and glares at him, because the last thing they need to do is turn on each other. They need to keep the faith, stay brothers.

Jon wraps an arm around Brendon, pulls him close. "Hey," he says against his temple. "Hey, we're good, we'll be fine."

Brendon nods. He gives Carden a quick hug and says, "I forgive you," and ignores Carden's, "Seriously, what the fuck," because he knows deep down Carden's a big old softie.

They take off towards the building at the far end of the lot, keeping to the shadows as much as possible, shadows made darker by the brightly lit parking lot.

It doesn't take them long to reach the arched portico of the rest stop, but it's quiet. Too quiet. Too suspiciously quiet. Brendon doesn't like it.

Under the spill of light beneath the RESTROOMS sign a familiar figure is leaning back against the brick wall, arms crossed. Someone else is huddled on the ground, curled up on his side.

Carden says, "They've got Billy, too," under his breath.

Of course they have William. William was probably the first one caught, because William is probably drunk. William probably wandered up and just surrendered, Brendon thinks, and then he winces a little, because that's kind of unfair. William's passionate. William always puts up a fight; it just doesn't do him much good when he can barely stand. He just shouts obscenities and loses his balance trying to use his fists.

"Do you see who's on guard?" Jon asks, and that's the creepy thing. It doesn't look like anyone's on guard.

Brendon shivers, dread sliding down his spine to pool in his belly. "I don't like this."

Somewhere in the distance, a yappy dog starts barking.

"We can't just stay here," Carden says. "Do or die, mi amigos."

"Do or die," Brendon says. In the slightly brighter light surrounding the building, Brendon can see that Carden has a bandana wrapped around his head ala Ryan Ross, only he looks much more badass. He's got an unsmiling mouth and a cut high on his cheek, he's sweaty and he's got this aura of competence and Brendon's pretty sure he's in love with him. That could just be the adrenalin talking, though. They are so close to being captured. They are so close, and Ryan better fucking appreciate this.

"Wait, wait." Jon puts a restraining hand on Brendon's arm. "Do you hear that?"

"Barking?" Brendon asks, but he cocks his head, listens harder. An owl hoots. An owl hoots, and then there's, like, some sort of strangled duck sound.

"Pete and Joe," Jon says. "It's a warning."

"Fuck that noise. We can't just sit on our asses," Carden says, and Brendon has seriously never before realized how hot competent-and-in-charge-Mike Carden is. This is possibly because, like William, Carden spends at least three-fourths of the entire tour blind stinking drunk. Tonight's kind of an anomaly.

Jon shrugs. "Well, it could be an all-clear."

They've never really worked out the signals. Or, okay, they've totally worked out the signals; Pete just never remembers to use them right.

Brendon sees Ryan tip his head back and sigh. He says, "Let's make a run for it." There's a guard, there's got to be a guard, but there's three of them, and only one has to actually make it to base.

Jon cups the back of his neck. "You sure?"

"Grow some balls, Jonny Walker," Carden says, and then starts loping across the last little distance towards Ryan and Bill.

A figure comes flying out of nowhere and tackles Carden onto the hard asphalt before he even makes it to the walkway and Brendon chants, "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," as Jon grabs his wrist and says, "Fuck this."

They start running. Brendon twists out of Jon's grip and fucking flat-out sprints, heart in his throat, pounding so hard Brendon wants to stop and just cough it the fuck up. Brendon's faster than Jon, mainly because Jon's barefoot, and Brendon's kicking up gravel and wishing he'd, like, changed into some fucking pajama pants or something, because tight jeans are just really hard to run in and he thinks maybe they're going to slip all the way down off his ass at some point.

He yells, "Ryan!" when he's ten feet away and then, "Leave Bill," when Ryan starts kicking him awake, and then Carden's yelling behind him, "Don't fucking leave Bill," and it's like total anarchy exploded around him as an arm circles his waist, just as he's stepping foot on the base.

His sneaker hits. His sneaker hits and he shouts, "Jail break," and then he rolls into the tackle, so his shoulder hits the ground first. He sees Jon stumble by, watches as he quickly manhandles William to his feet.

Then there's more shouting and yelling and hooting but it all fades away; it's just background noise as Brendon struggles around to gaze up at his captor, the cold dead eyes of one Nate Navarro. Who giggles.

"You won't have me for long," Brendon says. Jon's not going to leave him. Ryan probably will, but not Jon, and Spencer's still out there and Spencer might have abandoned him to the wilds of the night, but he won't let Cobra Starship keep him, he won't.

Pete's demented monkey call rings out of the darkness and Nate's head snaps up. "Uh oh."

Brendon's pretty sure they said the monkey call means Zack's been spotted. Zack really, really hates trying to round them all up after a rousing game of Jail Break. And then Nate's eyes widen as he's lifted bodily off Brendon and, yep, Zack's definitely been spotted. They're gonna have to work with Pete on his timing.

*

Brendon's wore out. "You left me, Spencer Smith," Brendon says, half in Spencer's lap, mug of hot chocolate in his hands.

"I made a strategic maneuver," Spencer says.

Spencer, it turns out, had been hiding with the other Cab babies and Butcher. Spencer had been planning on leaving Ryan to rot. This is why Brendon gets a mug of Ryan's coveted hot chocolate – made by Ryan himself – and Spencer does not.

Brendon will remember this. He will remember that Spencer is an every man for himself kind of guy, and that he'd probably push Brendon out in front of a bus if it meant getting, like, a new pair of shoes or something.

"I will remember this, Spencer," Brendon says.

Spencer laughs, and Brendon feels it all along his sore side, all along where he'd hit the freaking concrete. He's totally hardcore.

"Hey, hey, don't I get some cuddles, too?" Jon asks, and Brendon moves over and says, "Sit down beside me said the spider to the fly."

Ryan scrunches his face a little. Just a little. Brendon can only tell because he's looking for it. "That's wrong," Ryan says.

"Look, I saved all your asses," Brendon points out. He shifts so he's more in Spencer's lap, with his legs curled up over Jon's. "I deserve soup."

"Soup," Jon says, nodding. "Noted."

"And warm snuggles," Brendon says, and while they were on the subject of cuddling: "And Mike Carden."

Jon arches an eyebrow. "Okay."

They're no Cobra Starship, but they have their own ways of getting things done.

"And next time. Next time," Brendon says. "We're totally It."

 

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