Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Grace’s thin black hair caught on her necklace again, when she rest her head back on the cabinet. “They tell me he’s just coping,” she said. “I used to swear it was schizophrenia, but the way Boyd is. He just doesn’t fit. And it’s just Boyd, too.”

“Just Boyd? Only one?”

She picked her head up and stirred her coffee again. “Yeah. Sometimes I wish it was schizophrenia, so they could diagnose it and somebody would know what the hell to do with him.”

Danielle swallowed. “I’m gonna go check on Ryan a minute. You know, he can’t.” She picked up her hand like she was lifting a glass and stepped away, giving Grace her space. It was for her than it was Ryan.
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When his mother, found out, she divorced as quickly as possible and got rid of her ex by telling all his friends, all of their joined family. He was forced to leave town. After just the first incident, Brendon stopped speaking to anyone on a regular basis, except his mother. Eventually, even talking to his family faded out and the irregularity in school was gone to nothing at all. He had gotten progressively much quieter in class, until he would only answer yes or no questions by nodding or shaking his head. Next, came yes and no to Grace. He stopped eating, couldn’t sleep. He had trouble going to his mother for comfort. Over the years, she put him in classes to learn asl. She hoped that since he still seemed somewhat capable of nodding yes or no, he might be able talk with his hands. Grace, feeling like a failed parent, spoiled Brendon with whatever she thought he might like, even though he no longer found interest in anything. She gave him new toys every time she got the chance, fed him more than enough every time he ate, brought him candy treats, took him to amusement parks and zoos. The extensive therapy she put him through got her a hug when he was eight. That breakthrough lead to the development of their new relationship.

Therapy was usually the woman speaking to Brendon, never the other way around. She said to him over and over it wasn’t his fault, he didn’t deserve it, and there was nothing he could have done to prevent it. She told him his father was sick, and that he couldn’t help that, either. She told him that Grace had no idea and she only wanted him to be better.

At six, with no one to talk to at all, Brendon invented himself a brother. His brother’s name was Boyd, and Boyd was his only friend. Grace often saw him signing to Boyd while he thought he was alone, sometimes he would even pick up a stuffed animal and pretend they were playing together. Grace saw him smile more than once while Boyd was around, so she encouraged him. She even set an extra place at the table for him, thinking Brendon would appreciate having something of his own, something that made him feel safe, be acknowledged and accepted. On one of the rare occurrences where he would sign something to his mother, he asked her why he needed a car seat when they left and why Boyd didn’t. Grace responded by buying a second booster seat. She bought two sets of every new outfit she got her son and she started buying identical toys. Only when Brendon was eight, did Grace learn that Boyd was not only Brendon’s friend, but his twin brother. As soon as Grace got his trust, he spilled with words signed, so excited to tell her all about Boyd.

Boyd was Brendon’s identical twin brother. They wore the same clothes, had the same ideas, eventually started liking the same music and took the same classes. Both were mute and both had been violated. The only differences between the two were their names, how fast they moved their hands, and the order in which they did things. Boyd always walked through doors first, always greeted someone first, always tasted new food first. After Brendon watched and saw it was ok, he was able to follow. Seeing someone he trusted so fully try new things before him gave Brendon a sense of security. Boyd was a blanket.

Boyd signed his words much too quickly to be understandable. Brendon tried to teach him, tried to tell him he needed to slow down, but Boyd just couldn’t get it. Grace had told Brendon that Boyd signed too quickly. She told him so that she could get Brendon to tell her again, slower. That was when he was thirteen. Grace had gotten concerned that he still had an imaginary friend by the time he was nine, almost ten. She was able to hold out that long, before saying anything to him, because she knew he was hurt, traumatized. She figured he’d have grown out of Boyd by that time. Plus there was the fact that he had only been trusting her for about a year, and she didn’t want to lose what they had. But it was concerning for a mother, only trying to do the best. The first time she asked Brendon to stop talking about his imaginary friend, he asked her what she was talking about. She told him to stop, that it was going to hurt him if he hung on to Boyd for too long. Brendon, immediately upon figuring out that she was calling Boyd fake, was confused, upset, then enraged. He had no idea why she would deny her own son. Why did he mean more than Boyd? He ordered her to stop, but she told him again that he should just try to talk to the real kids at school. Brendon felt Boyd’s pain of being denied, told he was completely false. He struck her and pushed his petite mother down, to the ground. When he straddled her legs, holding his fist back, she was cowering behind her arms, begging him to stop. He was little, but something was coursing through him, changing him into a beast.

The second denial of Boyd was similar. Brendon was eleven and the school was upset that they had to accommodate Boyd with an empty seat next to Brendon, a pass with his name on it for school photos, another lunch every single day that always went to waste. Grace asked him to drop it, or he may have to go to a special school, or special classes. He attacked again, busting his mother’s lip and even blackening her eye. Grace argued with the school, she said that it was just his little quirk. He was young, he would get over it. She said that if they couldn’t even provide a translator for him to interact with the other children, he was going to need somebody as a friend. And since they had promised a translator, but were still not employing one and so breaking some very important rules, they decided to make a deal. If Grace promised to work on the issue by either putting him in a program or stepping up his therapy and swore that he would not cause more issues with the other children, they would allow him to stay in normal classes. The third and final confrontation was identical.

The high school Brendon was going to attend was much better than the middle schools. He had a translator named Lacy who was kind enough to offer to stay after school with him, should he want to take advantage of the free, peer-tutoring sessions it held nearly every day. She had been informed ahead of time to greet Boyd first and ask Brendon to repeat his brother slower, and, unlike almost every previous teacher he had encountered, she did it. She was tall and thin, her skin was dark and clear and beautiful, creating contrast when walking with Brendon, who was so pale he looked sickly, and he had the acne of others that he didn’t bother to take care of. She had long, brown, and curly hair, holding blond highlights. She wore poofy and sometimes ruffled scarves and almost always had a paper coffee cup in her hand. Her voice was even inviting and her signing was slow and fluent, even better than Brendon’s. He would soon see how she would teach the other kids certain signs they were interested in, whenever there was open time in class. She was the most inviting young woman Brendon had ever met, and she got smiles tugging at his lips, nearly strong enough to crack his permanently emotionless, straight face.

Brendon was short and not as thin, but she would be hard to meet. He was mostly normal. Normal, brown eyes. Normal, jet-black, thick hair. Short, but normal, still. The only thing about him that wasn’t normal was his inability to speak, and, of course, his brother Boyd. He didn’t know why his mother fought so hard to get him the translator, before. He didn’t use her. He didn’t sign a thing unless he was directly asked, and he often opted to ‘I don’t know’ if a yes or no wouldn’t suffice, just so he wouldn’t have to put himself out there. It seemed though, that because she was so nice, the new kids thought he would be nice, too. He started to walk away the second he had a feeling someone was even thinking about approaching them, going to ask them how they were and if they could tell them how to sign ‘I love you’ or goodbye. If he ever was caught, he’d send a glare. That was good enough to get some random kid to leave him alone. The issue of being approachable twisted when homecoming came around.

He would have the same children in his homeroom all four years of high school. That didn’t bother him. He had no issue with the children in there. They were nice and polite, for the most part. Lacey tried to make silent conversation whenever she wasn’t chatting with the teacher. She asked him, a couple months into school, when they were a little friendlier, who he was going to ask to homecoming. He laughed. “No, no,” he signed, shaking his head. It was more of a shock when she tipped her head. He was rude, seemingly arrogant, and had absolutely no friends. How could she have possibly, really, honestly thought he wanted to go there? And be a freshman at the same time? Upperclassmen were still calling them fresh meat, laughing when they had to stop to ask for directions, again. He wasn’t going to a school event like that, and certainly not with one of the kids he glared at.

“The girls like you,” she said with her hands. “I see them looking at you in class. Any one will go with you.”

They were only looking at him because he was a freak, anybody would figure that much out.

“You’re a very handsome young boy,” she said.

He was confused enough as it was anyway. Every little detail of what his father had done to him was carved into his brain, he would never forget the sexual things they had done. Those things hurt him. It was physically painful before anything mental could set in. And Brendon had been relieved he had no sexual feelings, until he turned fourteen. Even when he was six, and the therapist and his mother had tried to explain to him what had happened, all he could think about was how lucky he was that he didn’t get sexual feelings. He would never have to do that to another person. Now, he really understood what had happened and what was wrong with his sick father. But now, he was getting feelings of his own. He couldn’t get over the guilt of enjoying the first sex scene he’d ever saw in a movie. It should have disgusted him. It should have horrified him and given him nightmares of what happened with his father. But instead, he liked it. He liked it enough to get on his computer and look up more to watch. He’d never touched himself, but he was aroused every time those dirty videos played on his screen. And he shouldn’t be. Even worse, was none of the videos contained women.

When a girl from his homeroom approached him at his lunch table was when things started to shift. She asked him - in sign language, nonetheless - if he would go to homecoming with her. Boyd stared with the same shocked face Brendon had. They were both too enveloped with their conversation to notice clicking heels approaching. She was dressed the best he’d ever seen, in a dress, her hair done up nice, and with pretty wedge-heeled shoes. He’d never spoken to her before. He didn’t even think they’d made eye contact. Maybe her parents asked her to do it, to be nice to the special kid. Maybe that boy Ryan from English was getting the same attention. For the first time in his life, Brendon wished he had had a friend to ask.

He still couldn’t answer her, he didn’t know how. In the beginning, it was his throat that froze up. Now it was his hands. “You seem really nice,” she said, out loud. “I think it would be nice to get to know you.” She put her hands together and twisted her feet. “And I think you’re really cute.” She blushed.

Brendon looked to Boyd and back to her. “No,” he said, almost hurting his fingers he shut them so hard on his thumb. “No,” he said again, gathering his stuff and moving to a new table. “No.” He waved Boyd along. Why couldn’t she ask him? Boyd was always better at taking things than him. They were exactly the same anyway. Maybe it was his name. Brendon would never say it, but Boyd was an awful name.

Brendon didn’t see that girl in homeroom for the rest of the week. He was happy about that, but he wished more than ever that she never approached him. Now girls were staring at him. Lacy said they always had, but he had never noticed before. In gym, they watched him. In lunch, they tried to scoot over. He thought being mute was supposed to be weird enough to be ignored. He was going to ride on it all four years, but no one seemed to care. He never thought he was especially good looking. Truthfully, he knew his face wasn’t ugly and he was thin, but there were plenty of other thin, good looking guys. Lots were even taller, but he didn’t see any others getting attention. The day after he rejected that girl, he thought they were laughing at him, making fun, doing something to defend that girl. But they weren’t, and he knew that.

“What’s been up with you boys lately?” Grace asked. She set Boyd’s dinner plate down next to Brendons, that was holding what he might normally eat for three meals. It had been that way all week, so far.

“What do you mean?”

Brendon watched Boyd sign, his own mouth full, waiting to slow down the words for his mother. “You have to sign slower,” Brendon said. “This is annoying.” Then he turned to his mother. “What do you mean? he said.”

“Well, I mean you’re both eating so much. Are you gonna have your growth spurt? You boys are so teeny tiny.” ‘You boys’ was a habit that kept her safe. “Maybe you two will be tall. That would be neat, huh?”

“Stop.”

Grace did have a little trick to having conversations with Boyd and just with Boyd. Instead of Brendon always needing to slow him down, she used what he said the first time. Everytime Boyd spoke, Brendon would watch and sign the words on his lap, to himself. Almost like being a whisper parrot. It was occasionally readable, but the movements were tiny and he couldn’t use the facial cues or any right placement. ‘Stop’ was always easy. The side of a hand pushed on a flat palm. Even though Brendon put his hands into ‘C’ whenever they should be straight, just to keep the words smaller.

“I’m just happy you boys are eating healthy, now,” she said. “You never did eat enough.”

Their first year wasn’t even over yet and Brendon and Boyd had put on thirty pounds. Each. At least. Though it was obvious their mother was concerned, she never mentioned the crazy eating habits. The snacking, the huge meals, all the tea and soda they drank. And they hadn’t grown an inch upwards. But Brendon was happy. Since the weight started to become noticeable, no girls even looked at him. He was no longer attractive. And lucky for Boyd, he’d become unattractive before anyone even noticed him.

Through the months it took him to put that weight on, he’d missed school more than a few times. It was just too stressful. Too much work, not enough time. But each time he stayed home to try to catch up, more piled on. Though, he also didn’t want to see everybody else laughing and having fun, while his only friends were his brother and his translator. He was too scared to get close to anybody. Physically and emotionally. But, that didn’t mean he didn’t want it. Even Ryan had friends, and Ryan was some weird freak, in a complicated wheelchair only once in a while, when he wasn’t using futuristic looking crutches. They sat next to each other since their seats switched with the new marking period. Brendon didn’t exactly know what was wrong with him, but he thought maybe he had been paralyzed in weird spots. Like, his elbows and hips, if that was even possible. He could hardly move, his speech wasn’t even right. But he still talked to almost everybody in class, had the highest grades, and he laughed every single day. A weird laugh, but still. Brendon could go weeks without cracking a smile, even to his mother, as close as they were. He’d give anything to be Ryan. To look weird, to talk funny, but to have friends and laugh.

Still, Brendon didn’t have much time to fantasize about how it would be when mid-terms were coming up. He and Boyd were studying whenever they weren’t painting, and they were almost always painting. It was a hard thing to give up just to read the same stupid text over and over again. When he was painting, there was really nothing going on. He wasn’t fighting with his mother or in an asinine argument with Boyd. When he painted, it was as if Boyd wasn’t even in the room. He didn’t exist. Even though he was on his easel right next to Brendon's. He could play his music and drop on angry colors to get rid of the angry feeling, or happy colors to try and spark something up inside of him. And they usually even turned out good.

Anyway, mid-terms.

It was actually quite scary, at first. He’d never taken a mid-term or a final. Of course, he knew what they were. Some crazy big test in all his classes. However, they lost their petrifying ways when he found out that in two classes, he was going to have projects to complete instead of taking a test. In Biology, the class had to work by themselves, which was just perfect because he really had Boyd when he needed him. In English, he would have a partner. He had hoped he would get to pick so he could choose Boyd, like the teacher always allowed before.

Be that as it may, these partners were assigned.

The English teacher looked down at his notebook. “No, you can’t choose. I already have the pairs. It’s who I sat you next to,” he said and the class groaned. “Katy with Stacy and Emily with John.”

Brendon sunk back. He’d really lucked out, as he sat right next to Boyd.

“...Brendon and Ryan.”

Now, how could that be? He raised his hand, sitting tall. “Boyd has no partner.”

The teacher parted his lips and looked uncomfortably back down at his notebook. “Well, I forgot his name, is all. You, Boyd, and Ryan are the group of three, in this class.”

At least he had that. He didn’t know why he and Boyd couldn’t be two and Ryan couldn’t have been the one tacked on. They had only this day to work in class, so if they ended up needing to meet again, he was going to have write every thing he wanted to say down on paper. But then came the issue of meeting up. He didn’t even like being around other kids in school, and now he was being forced to meet somewhere else, too?

Ryan turned in his seat while the class pushed their desks together. Ryan had an aid that followed him everywhere, too. His aid was a short man. Didn’t say much, but when he did, it was awkward because he was trying to be funny. Brendon didn’t even know his name. He wouldn’t be surprised if Ryan didn’t either. All he did was help Ryan sit down and stand up. He’d heard before that the reason no one had gym or lunch with Ryan was because he had to be spoon fed and specially exercised, but Brendon didn’t really know what could be believed.

He smiled at Brendon who was pointedly not looking at him. “Do you want to get started?” he asked, slurring his words. It sounded like he was trying to talk comically slow. He rocked forward and back slightly and he was starting to drool.

Brendon crossed his arms and pushed his back hard into his chair. He was trying not to be such a baby about it. It just wasn’t fair, at all. He and Boyd should be obvious partners because they could speak to each other. Brendon didn’t want to have to partner up with the freak of the class who was probably a creep, too.

“Are you crying, Brendon?”

Lacy stepped forward and kneeled between their desks. “It isn’t you. He’s just-.” She shook her head and turned to Brendon.

He pulled himself away when she tried to touch his arm. “I want to work by myself. Not with him,” he signed, pointing aggressively.

“We’re not going to act like this right now, are we?”

Brendon used his sweater sleeves to wipe away his tears while he got up to go to the bathroom for the rest of the period. There should have been an option to do the project on their own, if they wanted.

…

All he could hear in his head was his mother nagging him to apologize, on his way into English. Boyd of course didn’t have to because Boyd did nothing. Boyd never got in trouble, he never did anything. Brendon didn’t even think what he did was so wrong. He didn’t want to work with Ryan, so he said it. He was honestly a little scared, so he cried. He didn’t think he should be in trouble just for being overworked. Even so, he made his way around the row to stand next to his desk so he could properly apologize.

“I’m sorry.”

Lacy opened her mouth to translate, but Ryan was already accepting it. “Do you know sign language?”

“Yes,” Ryan said. “I used to know it better.”

“Why?” Brendon asked. “Why do you know it? You aren’t deaf, you aren’t mute.” He couldn’t even use his hands. Brendon didn’t want Ryan to know sign language. It didn’t make him feel more comfortable, it made him feel violated. That meant he couldn’t talk to Lacy or to Boyd without Ryan knowing just what they were saying, and it meant everytime he had, Ryan could have been reading them.

Ryan looked down on himself. “I can’t really do much but read or look stuff up on the internet. I decided to learn to read it about a year ago, but I can’t speak it and I have no need to read it, so I have forgotten some, now.”

Brendon backed up until he was pushing his desk away. As much as he wanted to do his own project by himself, he also really wanted to pass the class. And with good grades, at that. "Never mind," he said. "We need to figure out the project."

Ryan nodded stiffly. "While you were gone I split the work. We can still trade parts if you want something I have, but otherwise, this is it."

Brendon had taken the paper from Ryan and pretended to look it over. He couldn't concentrate and was only able to register that he was looking at English, at the time. "This is ok."

"Do you want to come to my house over the weekend?" Ryan asked. He was trailing off by the end when Brendon was already telling him no. "See, the parts are split, but we have to discuss it initially, at least. Pick what we're doing and how we'll do it. Then there's the video. We both need to be in it."

"We will not come to your house," Brendon said. "You can come to my house, if you really want to talk."

"We have to talk." He clearly didn't want to argue and only wanted the problem settled, Brendon could see that. "Would my mother be able to come and stay? I clearly have some mobility issues and I need her."

Brendon didn't want anyone in his home at all, but he really didn't want to go to Ryan's home, either. And so, after a moment, he nodded. "That's fine. But not your dad. Only your mom."

"Sure. Just my mom, I promise.”

Chapter Text

Never did Brendon ever show he was worked up if he was in public. Of course, Boyd was the same.

On this Saturday morning, they both were pacing, passing each other on their ways from one end of the living room to the other.

“What is your issue?” Grace asked. “Try to relax.”

“I can’t!” he said, knocking his hands. Ryan was due five minutes ago to work on the project. “I don’t want him here.”

“I know, but at least he’s coming here. Right? You’ll be fine. I promise.”

“I can text him and tell him to go home. To stay home.”

“No, don’t do that. Why don’t you just take your medicine? You’ll start to relax and you’ll feel a lot better.”

“I won’t take it. Neither will Boyd. We hate it.”

“I know, but it doesn’t really matter to me,” she said. “I can’t have you freaking out like this. Especially since you’ve gained weight. You’ve already blackened my eye and busted my lip once.”

“I’m not going to hurt you!”

“I don’t believe you ever wanted to. But you panic and lose control and I can’t have that. Not with two of you,” she added.

Brendon lifted his hands, just to fight back more with the same words until he would eventually win with his pushover mother, like he always did. But the doorbell rang and anger to fight the sedative melted from him and left him crying, then clinging onto his mom when she tried to comfort him.

“Ok, you have to let go,” she said, and then, “One second!” to the door. “Let go, Brendon. It’s freezing out. I have to let them in.”

He pulled into a ball when he fell on the couch, kicking Boyd, whose chest was contracting and leaving him empty of air, out of the way while he rolled deeper into the cushions.

“I’m sorry,” Grace muttered, holding open the door while they slowly made their way in. “He has a lot of trouble with company. He’s a bit of a problem child,” she whispered. ‘Problem child’ was the worst term for her son, but it was the only explanation she could give for his screaming and shaking. It was what the doctors told her, anyway.

“It’s not to worry,” the other woman said. She was almost too thin, her cheeks pulled in and her hair was long and dark. Her bright smile softened her. The boy was a surprise. She thought Brendon might at least tell her he was a little different. She was sure Ryan had told his mom that Brendon was mute.

“I’m Grace,” she said and offered her hand. She led them to sit on the couch, where Brendon was still crying and starting to work back up to screaming at the other end. “I’m going to calm him down, but do you know about Boyd? Did Ryan maybe tell you?”

She started to nod, but they both snapped to look at Brendon, who was rising dramatically from the sofa while he held a scream. She was confused, to say the least. Even more so when he started signing something towards them.

“Don’t you fucking dare! Mom!” Brendon said. His hands knocking so aggressively, he didn’t know that they could read him. “Go home,” he said to Ryan. “Get out. You!” He pointed to Grace. “Don’t you dare. Don’t start fucking with Boyd, too. He doesn’t deserve what you do to him.”

“Brendon, swear one more time today and you’ll be grounded for a month.”

“You bitch! You cunt!”

Grace gasped. “Where do you learn these words? Go to your room right this instant.”

Brendon watched her march to the kitchen, returning with an orange bottle and a water glass, then didn’t budge until she was dragging him along. He was strong enough to resist if he wanted to.

Danielle sat her son down in the corner and took some of the pillows to prop him up. “Are you going to slip? Are you comfy?”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

She smiled when she sat. “If you don’t want to be around him, just tell me, ok? I can say you need to be home for a medical issue. They won’t know we’re lying.”

“Mom, I’m fine.”

“I know, I know. I just don’t want you around him if you can’t handle it. You said he was quiet, but.”

“He is in school. I think something happened to him. To make him like this. The teachers said.”

“What?”

“I don’t know,” he said, squinting his eyes. “They don’t tell us. Just that he made Boyd up to cope and that he’s different so that we need to be nice to him. And Boyd.”

“Hi, I’m sorry,” Grace said, closing the door behind her. “I just gave him something to calm him down. He’s laying in bed until it takes effect. Then I’ll get him and you can start right away. It shouldn’t be long. Would either of you like something to drink? Water, tea?”

“No, we’re ok. Thank you.”

She nodded, and looked over her shoulder to her son’s door. “He may act a little weird. I just want you to know. Not bad weird, but-. Druggy. He’ll be nice to you and he’ll work, but I gave him a sedative, so. I think I’ll go see if he’s ready now. It kicks in pretty fast. It is for emergencies, after all.”

Brendon returned to them sitting silently together. Even with the medication, he didn't want to spend his time doing this. He was a lot less anxious, at least. Still, it was always hard to relate that to the medicine. He thought it was cool how things could affect you. When he was younger, he thought it was always a coincidence his worries vanished when he took a pill.

"Ryan's mother and I will be in the kitchen, Brendon. Get us if any if you need anything."

"I know," he said and Boyd said, "Ok." Boyd especially hated taking that tranquilizer, but it affected him more. His eyes were half closed and he was signing at a normal pace.

Ryan watched Brendon sit down, more falling onto the couch. He shifted a little, but kept upright. "Do you know what you want to do it on?"

"No. One minute." Brendon got up and waved Boyd along to follows him to the kitchen.

"What's up?"

Brendon flicked his eyes between both of the women, sitting on either counter. He was interrupting carefully quieted conversation. "Making sure you're here."

"Of course I'm here! You can open the shutters if you want," she said. The serving window between the kitchen and living room had been closed off by the dark stained, slatted wood. She would rather it that way, but she would also rather have Brendon working on his project than constantly leaving Ryan to peek in.

Grace smiled at him when he finished opening it and turned to look at her again. "Go work, buddy."

Danielle kept her eyes on her mug of coffee. Her and Grace faced each other by sitting on the granite countertops in the narrow, strait kitchen. Her head was bumping against the white cabinets, but she really didn't mind. Brendon had interrupted their talking about their kids.

"Sorry. I should have known he'd do that. Even the medicine can't always relax him all the way."

"Why doesn't he take it everyday? Wouldn't it help him in school?"

She nodded and stirred her caramel colored coffee. "It would, but it's not to be taken often. He gets sick if he takes it two days in a row. It's great to have when we need it, but it would be a lot more useful if it were something he could just be on. He doesn't know, but right now were working out if putting him on some kind of anti-psychotic, anti-hallucination- anything- would be good for him. You know, to get rid of Boyd."

"What is Boyd? Does he know he isn't real?"

Her wispy black hair tickled her face when she shook her head. "No. I don't know how he could have just started out of no where and now he doesn’t even know he's imaginary. He has full on conversations with him. They play together, paint together. He swears Boyd accidentally broke a mug last year."

"Is that him using him to cover up that he did it?"

Grace reached over and opened a cabinet to pick up the mug. "It never broke at all. This it. He now refuses to recognize it. We can't use it, because it's broken. Everytime I take it out whether it be by mistake or it's the only one, he asks when i went out and bought new cups. I tell him it isn't new, and he just tips his head and says he's never seen it before.

"Last week, I asked him to take out the garbage. He said Boyd had already done it. He pretended, or maybe he really didn't see, the full cans on the side of the house. He told me it was by the curb, that he could see them there."

Danielle didn't know what to say. All her three had had imaginary friends, but it was completely unrelatable. "Is he schizophrenic?"

"No! I don’t know what it is, but it isn’t that, is all.” I mean of course i used to think that, but they say it isn’t right.”

"Maybe it just happened to come out afterwards."

"That's exactly what I said. But I'm no doctor. I’m just starting to research it now, but they it said doesn’t even sound like schizophrenia. They're telling me he's coping. And that in his head, he knows the mug never broke and the trash never gotten taken out, but he's just so convincible. There's never been a doubt in my mind that he actually sees what he sees."

It certainly put her off. Especially while her baby was working with this boy. She moved by example and her spoon clinked against her mug. All she had to offer was, "In my experience, the doctors always do what's best for them. Ryan has cerebral palsy and his younger sister has awful, awful anxiety. They take good care of them."

Brendon lay his side on the back of the couch, facing Ryan. He was rubbing his stomach while Ryan carried on about Macbeth. He tried to never let the medicine take control of him, but he'd been wanting to do this for a long time. "Stop." Maybe it wasn’t even the meds.

"What? You don't want to do that?"

"No, not that. Did you get asked to the dance?"

"No."

Brendon sat back and shared a look with Boyd. "Are you sure?"

Ryan laughed. "Pretty sure. Why?"

"Well I did," he said, a whiney look in his face. "Boyd did not, but Amber came up to us in lunch. She asked me."

Ryan smiled, awkward at best. "Ok?"

"I was mean. I told her no. I thought her mom told her to ask to be nice because I’m weird. I thought someone would ask you, too."

"Because I'm weird?" Brendon nodded. It didn't seem he knew what he'd said. "Well I'm sure she would still like to talk to you if you told her that you didn't want to say no."

"No! I never wanted to go. I just don't know why anyone would come up to a freak and ask them to hang out. Lacey told me all the girls look at me. I never noticed. I think it was because I’m weird. Now I’m too fat. Do they look at you?”

“They look because your attractive,” Ryan said, and immediately his face flushed, but he kept talking to cover it up. “Nobody would look at me.”

Brendon smiled and his head tipped. “Because you’re too weird. I am normal, but silent. I wish that people would stop looking and start speaking with me. Everyone talks to you. I’m very jealous.”

Ryan tried to not be obviously offended. “People do talk to you but you glare at them until they go. You’re very mean.”

“I’m scared. I know. I said I want people to talk to me, I do, but then I get scared and defensive. I.”

“I don’t know what that last word was. Scared,...” he said. Brendon smiled so cutely and warm that Ryan smiled too.

Brendon spelled it slowly and did it again, expression perfectly lighting his face. “Defensive. Defensive. Defensive.”

Ryan was a bit confused on how to think of Brendon, but he simply glanced down and back up then let him continue.

“I get defensive. I wish I didn’t get scared. I want to have friends, like you. You have so many. Everybody in school. I only have Boyd. Well, and now you. I’m like everyone else, I'm your friend now.

Ryan didn’t bother telling him he didn’t consider them similarly. If Brendon wanted to say that, let him. But they had never hung out before and he didn’t even know Brendon’s last name, nor did he know his. “Nobody is really my friend. They’re nice to me because they think I’m an autistic kid in a normal class.”

Brendon furrowed his eyebrows. “No they don’t.”

“I know they do. I’ve heard them before saying it. I know it seems like it, the way I talk, but I’m not. I’m only physically disabled.”

Brendon moved closer and studied his face. “Yeah, why are you like this? Why do you talk like this, why can’t you move?”

“It’s not actually polite to ask people things like that.”

Brendon’s head tipped again. “Ask me why I’m mute. Then I ask why you can’t move.”

“I can move. Anyway, I don’t want to know why you’re mute.”

“I’m so curious! Aren’t you?”

Ryan considered himself very open and nice, but his cheeks were getting hot. “No, I’m not.”

“My dad raped me,” he said.

He would regret that later. He almost did, then. Yeah, drugs were cool.

“When I was five and for about a year. Now, I don’t remember that much.”

He couldn’t get information like this on the internet. He’d tried looking up conditions like Brendon’s before, coincidentally. But then, he’d been looming closer to the end of his list. “How were you screaming? When we came in. You’re mute.”

“You are curious! My larynx, isn’t gone. My head is too scared to use it. I can make noise, but I don’t. I don’t know how to speak, anymore. Not English, anyway. If I tried to form a word, I might sound like a deaf person. I would need practice. Not that I could ever talk with my mouth off of this medicine anyway. So, why are you like this?”

Ryan sighed and rolled his eyes. “Cerebral palsy. In my brain, something messed up. Physically, I had some kind of trauma that messed up my motions. I talk like this because it affects everything. My mouth, my tongue. And yeah, that’s why I eat away from everyone else. I can’t feed myself, I’m spoon fed. I have gym with the other kids who need help like me. Like the girl in the wheelchair.”

“Thank you,” Brendon said, bowing his head and leaning forward to follow his hand. “Now we are better friends. I like the internet and all the relatable things talk about best friends. I’ve wanted one for a very long time.”

“Now you have one. What is your last name?” Ryan had wanted a friend for a very long time, too. Someone other than his cousins. He stayed away from any sites not very informational, though.

Grace peered through the window while listening to Danielle take her turn talking about her kids. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they were talking a lot. That was good, at least.

Chapter Text

For a day or two, Brendon and Ryan kept talking in class. Brendon couldn’t handle much more than that without being medicated, and he had Boyd anyway, so Ryan was no good to him. All that he said while they were working on their project, none of it ever lasted. He’d feel a way for a moment and the next he was flipped. It was frustrating, but once he started ignoring Ryan, he didn’t see how he could go back and so the next time he wanted a friend, he didn’t have one.

Brendon didn’t work much on the project, but he got a great grade. Most of what he was supposed to do, Ryan did for him. He almost begged. Ryan had told him how he got so bored. He was running out of ideas for things to learn on the internet and so was dying to do the project. It got Brendon to pass, and he didn’t care for school work anyway.

Still, the year passed. He had had no contact with anyone but Boyd and the rest of his family over the summer: When everything went to shit. No more Ryan to help him in English, but now in Biology and Geometry, their sophomore year. Their year was a small one, but it was becoming more apparent how everyone who spoke to Ryan really did speak to him as if they thought he wasn’t understanding a single word they said. Brendon remembered in the first few days, Ryan had to stay after in Geometry to ask the teacher to stop coming to him after the lesson to teach him twice. He only knew that because he was having feelings again. Feelings, feelings. He wanted friends and he wanted even more, too. If he was ever going to get someone other than Boyd, it would be Ryan. Would, but it never could be.

Things were getting tense at home with Grace because of Boyd. Brendon considered calling 911 a few times, though that would certainly be hard. She wouldn’t stop denying him, she was clearly crazy. She was coming down harder and she forced him onto some meds that made him do nothing but cry for days until she let him off. Home didn’t feel safe for him anymore. It wasn’t for Boyd. Now they had to rush to their room and Boyd started hiding when Grace’s heels would pound the floor on her way to check on Brendon. His freshman summer ruined his life.

When she would come and check, she asked how Brendon was. If he felt ok. He always said yes. He never mentioned Boyd anymore. He had to pretend he wasn't there. Like Boyd didn't exist and it was absolutely crazy. But there was no fighting her anymore. If he started to even subtly try to defend Boyd, she'd threaten a hospital. If he even got a little angry, it was the police.

Brendon couldn’t handle it anymore. Not after winter break. Being home all day for more than a week shook him up. His own brother wasn’t being treated like a human. He wasn’t being treated at all, and it made him want to scream. He found himself in front of Ryan after only days of considering approaching him. Boyd was begging. He thought maybe Ryan, so smart and knowing of mental disorders, would know what was wrong with their mother. Brendon finally agreed, and was crying when he approached the wheelchair, before it could take Ryan away from the Geometry class.

“What is wrong with you?” Ryan asked.

Brendon had tears running rivers down his red cheeks, and he was stepped aside so he and his twin stood evenly in front of Ryan. They both were ignoring the aid.

“We need a friend. Something is wrong with my mother.”

Ryan’s eyes widened slightly. “What? Is she ok?”

Brendon couldn’t handle himself, but Boyd was perfectly calm. He even set a hand on Brendon’s back to try and calm him when he hunched, weighed down by tears. “I don’t know. I don’t know. Come over. Today. Please.”

“Maybe you should see the guidance counselor.”

“Come to my home.”

“Ok. Ok, I’ll text you later.”

"I don't know what I think this will achieve," Brendon said, finally back in his bed. He wished he could go to sleep, but Ryan was sitting in his chair just next to him. "I just want to talk."

"Talking can achieve a lot."

"Maybe you can suggest something."

"It's good to let it out, even if I can't help," Ryan said. His voice high and almost squeaky if he weren't so monotone already. It dipped, too. He was loud. Brendon noticed this clearly for he turned to root in his bag. An open notebook was dropped on his chair tray and a pen was placed in his hand, his fingers curled up already but unable to grip it much tighter.

"You speak," Brendon said and tipped his head. "Way too loudly, I will sign and you will write. I can explain why by starting. My mother has gone absolutely crazy. She's crazy."

Ryan listened closely, learning how awfully Brendon had spent his summer. Clearly, his treatment was taking a new course and the doctors and his mother had decided Boyd needed to go. He scribbled circles in the corner of his furthest reach while he tried to decide what he needed to do.

"My mom said they're taking away his seats in class soon. Every time I do something bad she threatens to make it sooner." He could hardly finish his last word before he had fallen back on the bed to sob out loud. He dragged Boyd to him to hug, while they cried desperately together.

It was his treatment. How was he to go against that?

The door swung open and Brendon held his breath to sit up and see his mother carrying only two juice pouches. She had her arms open though and took him into them to kiss his thin black hair.

She knew why he was crying. Inviting Ryan over was an act of desperation. “Don’t cry, ok?” she said. “I know, I know.” It was probably the first time he really actually hugged her since she told him she was done playing along. He clung to her, almost dragging her down. “I need you to let go. Just have fun with your friend.”

Brendon took a sharp breath in. This was his chance to confront her. She wouldn’t call the police with his only friend there, and her’s too.

“Mom you only brought two juice pouches,” he signed, with his lip stuck out beyond his control.

Grace set what she had down and took him by his thinning cheeks. All the weight he had gained his freshman year was starting to come off. He hadn’t eaten a thing in the past two days. She was only hoping to get this juice in him.

“Stop,” she said, squishing his face. “You need to stop.” She squeezed him harder when he took in air, no doubt to scream, and held him off from it. “I don’t think you understand yet Brendon. But I know and all your doctors know that at this point Boyd is only hurting you. He isn’t real and you need to just stop.”

His tears spilled down his cheeks and onto her spindly fingers. He started again and shouted in her face as loudly as he could. He wished he had vocal words so he could tell her how much he hated her in that moment. So she could hear her child tell her how awful she is.

His hands balled into fists and he threw his arms back behind him. But now she’d let go of his face and tucked it away into her shoulder, trying to muffle him.

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed over him to Ryan, but picked up her hands to say to him, “I don’t know what you’ve been doing so far, but don’t encourage Boyd, please.”

“I feel bad,” he said.

She had to scrunch up her nose to keep her tears in her eyes. “It kills me.”

Brendon rest his arms loosely around her hips. He could guess what they were saying, once she stopped signing.

“You’re going crazy,” he said, having sat up. "Mom, I'm scared for you. You're crazy if you refuse to believe that an entire person is fake. He's sitting right there."

"Ryan, do you see Boyd? Is Boyd real?"

Ryan kept scribbling for a few more seconds, before he drug his pen over and wrote, 'no'.

Brendon ripped up the notebook, sending the pen to the air. He shook with rage and ripped the page out. "Go!" he said. "Get out!"

Ryan rolled the automatic chair back and started for the door. Brendon followed him, surely signing "go" or something of the like all the way to the foyer.

Brendon couldn't help but to take the handles of the chair and jerk it forward and back just once. Ryan was only caught from falling by his tray table.

Grace pushed past Brendon and helped Ryan back to sitting. She held his face, petting one cheek. “Are you ok? Are you alright, honey? I’m so so sorry. Are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” he said and picked his head up a little bit to try and get it away from her hands. “I’m fine.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m going to murder him after you leave. I can’t believe he did that,” she said, talking more to herself before she stood up.

Brendon backed himself into a corner and tucked his head away when she came up to him. It seemed she wasn’t waiting for them to go.

Danielle opened the door and let herself and her son out. She saw what had happened.

This day, the school was starting to warm. With no air conditioning, the rooms were hot and the students were sweaty. Brendon stood to the side and waited for the classroom to empty before he would approach Ryan. After he, Ryan, and the aids and teacher were all that was left, he was caught staring at Ryan. His long, curly brown hair was sticking to his face and today he was sitting in the desk. He was using crutches.

“What do you want?” Ryan asked. “Quit staring at me.”

Brendon shook his head, releasing his perverted thoughts. “My mom is having you and your family over this weekend. I thought i would tell you.”

Ryan waited for him to finish, but he still ignored him and left.

Brendon was trying to hide in his room for as long as he could, but soon his mother would be dragging him out. Some family was coming over along with Ryan’s. She still wouldn’t tell them why. Boyd was starting to get mad at her because he hated not knowing what exactly was going on.

“Ryan just got here, love. Maybe you should come out and sit with him. He doesn’t know anybody, remember.”

“So?”

“So he might be feeling a little shy. I’m sure he’d like if his friend sat with him.”

“We aren’t friends.”

“Get out there and sit with him.”

Brendon drug himself along and waited at the doorway for Boyd to catch up with him. He’d say he was a little closer to Ryan than Boyd was, even though he and his brother never separated for them to exactly have alone time. Just, when Ryan came around, Boyd got quiet and kept to himself.

Now, Boyd was front and center. Why did Ryan have to have a dad? Why did his dad have to be huge and stand right in the middle of the room.

Grace caught him rather quickly, She saw him shuffling behind a particular spot of nothing that was Boyd and staring at who must have been Ryan’s dad. He was the only man there Brendon didn’t know. He was still a little uncomfortable around his uncles and grandfather.

“Just relax. Let’s go to your room and calm down,” she said. By the time she got back, the man was gone and she couldn’t explain or apologize.

Brendon had an awful day. In short, it consisted of him begging his whole family to help his poor mother. She was going mad. Everybody was on her side though.

“I don’t understand,” Brendon said, in his room with Boyd, crying on the bed, and Ryan sitting next to him, propped up by pillows. “You know about crazy people. What does my mom have?”

“Nothing.”

“Ok, drop the shit,” Brendon signed, leaning up to put his words in Ryan’s face. “I know she told you to say no the last time you were here. What is wrong with her? Is it like a giant folie a duex? That’s when two people have the same craziness, right? That’s what it is? Maybe it affected my whole family. Maybe ‘cuz we have our dad’s blood we’re like immune.”

“That’s literally crazy.”

“It’s the opposite!”

“No, Brendon,” Ryan said. “I really wish I could tell you I believed in Boyd, and that he was real at all, but he’s just not. You made him up. Your mom shouldn’t have fucking played along until you were 16. That’s fucking stupid. What did she think was going to happen?”

Brendon shrugged, his lip stuck out and his chin quivering. “I’m so lost. I know he’s real.”

“But he isn’t.”

“He’s real!”

Ryan closed his eyes. He didn’t know what to do at this point. Yeah, his mom told him what he should, but was it right? Well, it was. He couldn’t get a job and live his life with his fake brother tagging along. But it wasn’t comfortable for Brendon. For the only person who had ever really spoken to him. To him.

Brendon watched the silence. He started whimpering and crashed his shoulders into Ryan’s. He’d wanted to do that for a long time now. Ryan even started to put his arm around Brendon. It was warm and it was what he needed.

He had an ok night.

Chapter Text

Brendon woke the next day lying beside Boyd in bed. Just last night he hugged Ryan.

“Come eat breakfast, Brendon. It’s almost time for school.”

He got up and stumbled in his pajamas out to the table. “I’m not going.”

“Yes you are.”

He shook his head. “No.” How was he to go to school? When he would see Ryan again. The night yesterday started with him hating Brendon and ended with him returning Brendon’s hug. Things were just moving too fast for B. And Boyd was feeling more neglected than ever, by his own brother. The last person on Earth who took him as real. Brendon knew because they talked about it until very late. Ryan was right. Talking did him good. He would stay home to be with Boyd and talk some more. But really just to be there for him.

They talked about Ryan a lot, too. Thinking about him just made Brendon, well. It made him feel funny. He was giddy soon after the hug. Now he felt sick when he thought of him. In his big, brownish green overcoat. With his long curly locks. His dark brown eyes.

He wanted to be giddy again.

Mostly, Ryan just made him restless. He couldn’t sleep when he was on his mind. But, he had to remember that Ryan had said ‘no.’ Boyd was nothing to him. That means that Ryan must be nothing to Brendon. But that simply wasn’t true.

“We’re. I’m not going.”

“And why not?”

“I don’t want to. I don’t want to go there. I don’t want to see Ryan, or go when Boyd can’t anymore. I don’t want to deal with everyone after last night.”

She gave it thought but only needed a moment before she nodded. “Ok.” She started to set their breakfast down. “Why don’t you want to see Ryan?”

Brendon’s eyes looked around and his breathing picked up. “Because!” he said and went back to his room.

Grace could hear him crying into his pillow all the way from the living room. Really, what could have happened? Was he embarrassed about shoving Ryan? Maybe Ryan had laid into him for it when they had their time in Brendon’s room and he was just embarrassed.
…

“So what happened with you and Ryan in there last night?” Grace asked when she got home. She found Brendon sitting in a position where he was obviously facing Boyd. He was smiling and eating, even. A bag of microwave popcorn. She sat on the ottoman, and so making a triangle between the three, but pulling Brendon’s legs so he was only facing her.

Brendon ripped his knee away. “Nothing,” he said, swinging his hand aggressively.

“Brendon, I’m sorry you’re going through such a rough time right now. It’s my fault. I should have never started pretending Boyd was real with you. I just thought he was a normal imaginary friend but I took it too far when I started buying him clothes and setting his place at the table.” All she was saying was over tears. “I just wanted you to be happy again and Boyd was all that made you smile.”

Boyd was already rubbing B’s back, but he had to jump away when their mother leaned in to hug him. Brendon hissed at her touch. “You just shoved Boyd,” he said after he pushed her back.

She sighed and shook her head. “There is no Boyd.”

The next time Brendon saw Ryan was a week later, when Grace absolutely forced him back to school.

Brendon only glanced at Ryan and their eyes met. The small one looked back to his feet again straight away on his way to his desk. Boyd shuffled quietly, but got Brendon to look up when he suddenly stopped. "That's my brother's seat," Brendon said to a girl sat next to his desk. She looked up to Lacey, but she didn't say anything. "That's Boyd's seat," he said to her instead. "That's Boyd's seat. That's Boyd's seat."

"Calm down," Lacey said. "Just relax."

"I thought. This wasn't supposed to happen," he said, turning frantic. "My mom told me this wasn't happening yet."

"I spoke with your mom and she said she told you that it doesn't have a seat anymore."

Brendon started breathing like he was going crazy, and he was. The class laughed at him, until he pushed Lacey away and turned to face the larger side. “Stop laughing!” he said. “Boyd does not deserve this!”