"I'm off, Mel," Patrick calls, "See you Monday?"

"Sure thing, bye, Trick!" The other replies, pulling her hair back in a ponytail as she sorts through the register.

He turns, opening the front door of the club and walking outside. The moon is high and full, it's kinda pretty above the city lights, sitting there with it's gray glow. Neon lights ride down the street. Bright purples and yellows and whites. Flashing lights and drunks stumbling down the street. It's really quiet, not a sound beside the small bouts of music emitting from inside clubs.

He walks this route all the time, passing through the strip clubs and the bars. Leaving behind the deja vu signs to head home. It's a few blocks out and the walk takes at least thirty minutes, but he doesn't worry too much.

Actually, no. He worries a lot. He gets anxiety walking down this street. This is where he was caught and beaten and raped and left for dead, tied up and shaking violently. That's how Gerard found him at first. This is the street that holds the alley he was raped in. This is the street he was forced in his knees time and time again in.

This is where Travie took him in.

He passes over that thought, yanks up his hood, and hurries along. He can't think about Travie. Can't think about Will. He can't let it come back.

He shuts his eyes and keeps going, he swears he feels eyes on him. Swears someone is following him. Travie is right there.

He turns. But it's not Travie.

It's Will.

Patrick chokes, stumbles backwards and falls, his eyes go wide and he desperately tries to get away, chanting out, "No, no, please, don't," over and over again. Crescendoing to a yell as William grabs him and presses a hand over his mouth.

"You killed him," He whispers, "you killed him you son of a bitch."

"I didn't! I didn't, please!" Patrick cries through his cold hand, "Please, don't. Not again, not again, I didn't mean to, it was Gerard."

Will yanks him along down a dark alley anyways, on his way back home.

Back to he and Travie's house.

Back to hell

***

The candles are lit and Gerard's there, shirtless with his jeans on and his wings ruffling slightly behind him.

Patrick was supposed to be home ten minutes ago. It's 3:30 now, and he still isn't back but somewhere deep inside him is an uneasy feeling. Patrick would be home by now and he knows what kind of people are out on the streets. He should go check. He shouldn't just sit here.

That's when his phone rings.

He grabs it, answers. It's Mikey. He doesn't think much of it. Maybe he just wants to talk for a bit or something. It would give him something to pass the time until Patrick shows.

He holds it up to his ear and watches the wall as he replies, "Hey, Mikey, what's up?"

"Will has Patrick. Pete saw and he tried to follow them but Will went incognito and wouldn't stop and they just disappeared and he's in trouble. We need to find him."

Gerard jumps out of bed.

"Where did he last see them?"

***

Will throws Patrick through the door and locks it before grabbing a gun from his coat and aiming it at Patrick.

"If you try to escape two bullets are going to be used for your knees and you won't be able to escape. Is that clear?" William immediately says. Patrick just stares, his entire body shaking and nightmares of this house coming back to him.

"Yes," he chokes, "I won't. Please, don't hurt me I-"

William tugs him away from the hall, though, despite his pleads. His thin fingers pull Patrick into the guest room where he grabs a pair of handcuffs from the bedside drawer and restrains the blond's wrists to the headboard. Patrick's choking, tears falling down his cheeks in fear despite the fact he promised himself he wouldn't cry. His arms are shaking, his eyes are squeezed shut. He can't go through this again. He can't. Not again. He can't. He's run away from that life. He's better now. He's better now.

"Will, please don't do this, please," Patrick sobs, struggling against his restraints and trying to escape but it's no use. Will grabs his hips, and holds him down while he undoes his button and zipper and tucks away his boxers.

"Fucking whore, you deserve this," Will growls, tugging down Patrick's jeans and panties and throwing the clothing to the floor.

"Please! please! please," Patrick screams, "Don't! I'm innocent! I didn't kill him! I didn't kill him!"

"Tell that to my dead fiancé!" William shouts before slamming in, one hand cutting off Patrick's hair and the other digging his fingernails into Patrick's soft length.

The stripper screams, tears falling from his eyes and he gets a sick taste in his mouth. It's metallic and disgusting and all of it just pulls him back to the two men in the alley. To the one with the gun and the one that had pinned him to the wall and forced him to spit out who he was. What he is.

The rest of it goes slow. Painfully slow. He can barely breathe through half of it because William has both hands on his neck but it's obvious he's not trying to kill him. Just make it hurt.

Rape is the most painful thing Patrick's ever been through. When it's dry and tight and there's no prep whatsoever and they give no time to adjust and as he lays there he just stares and hopes to god Gerard is gonna come and save him like before. He hopes to god he can get away. Hopes to god he can be saved.

But, this isn't like the other times.

Gerard doesn't come to his side. His guardian angel is no longer there to save him.