AN:

Disclaimer: I 100% own nothing from the OTH franchise, the characters are not my own, etc. etc.

Okay so this picks up at the beginning of S6 but things are a little bit different. Lucas and Lindsey get married, Peyton stays in Tree Hill, Dan isn't abducted by Psycho Carrie, etc. This story is Breyton end-game, but will very much involve the rest of the characters.

I'll have more to say at the end of the chapter :)

Brooke Davis was a fashion designer. She was a business woman of sorts, an affluent and highly-regarded creative who spearheaded modern fashion. She was a strong and incredibly independent woman and she had been her whole life. She was a daughter, albeit to people whom she did not see as parents. She was a proprietor and the head of her own company. She was a friend to many and a role model to some. She was a godmother. Brooke Davis was equally charismatic as she was dignified, and she had a heart that beat for every person in her life. She was a source of comfort, a woman who refused to let the world beat her down no matter what was thrown her way. She provided strength, she offered respect, and she openly loved. She was strong, she was respected, and she was loved.

Yet, sitting on the floor of her home with her back against the kitchen counter, she felt anything but loved.

She felt anything but respected.

And she felt anything but strong.

No, Brooke Davis was broken. Shattered. Irreparable.

Sitting there on the floor, knees drawn to her aching chest, her head spinning and her stomach turning, Brooke Davis was no longer the Brooke Davis that the world claimed to know. She was a shell of herself. She could feel every ache and throb in her body, and if her ears were not ringing so deafeningly, she probably could have heard her own heartbeat in the empty silence of the home. She wasn't quite sure who she was anymore. In her state of disorientation and confusion and general detachment, she wasn't sure of anything. All she knew was that she was hurting, that somehow she had brought herself back into her home, and that she was alone. And the supposedly strong and independent Brooke Davis did not want to be alone.

She didn't register the fact that her phone was ringing, or that she had even dialed the one number she had memorized, until a familiar voice echoed. She didn't know what had been said to her. All she knew was that she didn't want to be alone. She couldn't be alone.

"You didn't come home tonight."

Her voice was empty. Somehow, she was aware of that. She was aware of her own emptiness, of her own inability to connect with reality. She could no longer distinguish between what was reality and what was a nightmare. Even this was worse than any nightmare she had experienced before, and nothing felt real. She did not feel real.

"Oh shit, I didn't even realize how late it is, Sorry Brooke" Peyton apologized, laughing lightly. She was living in a different reality than Brooke currently was trapped in. She was living in a world where there was enough light left to laugh, enough hope to crack a smile. "I've been working on getting Mia some new shows to play and you wouldn't believe the attitude I got from some of-"

"When do you think you'll be back?" Brooke asked, not really meaning to interrupt but not really caring either. Peyton's words didn't really connect with her, they didn't really have any meaning. All Brooke could think about was how much she needed someone. How much she needed Peyton.

"If I head out right now, I can be home in fifteen minutes," Peyton answered, her voice more serious now, laced with gentle but genuine concern. "What's up, Brooke? Is everything alright?"

No.

"Just come home," Brooke breathed out, her voice barely even audible to herself. "Please."

"Of course, hun, I'll be there soon," Peyton promised. "I'm getting into my car right now, alright?"

"Thanks Peyton."

Peyton's worry was evident in her tone, and if Brooke had been any less dissociated, she would have felt bad for leaving the blonde in the dark. But Brooke couldn't think right now. She couldn't focus, she couldn't talk, she could barely even breathe. She was running on autopilot, her mouth moving and her thumb pressing down on the end button without her even being consciously aware of what was happening. She didn't even feel like she existed anymore, as if the body she was in wasn't her own. Really, tonight had been enough to leave her feeling like her body wasn't her own. She didn't have control over it anymore. She didn't get to decide what happens to it anymore. She didn't have any say in what her body goes through. She didn't want her body anymore. She didn't want to live in it anymore, to exist in it anymore, to feel it anymore. She didn't want to exist anymore.

She could still feel everything. Hear everything. Smell everything. See everything. With every bruise that stained her skin, she could still feel his hands. With every cut and scrape, she could still feed the knife. Every time she blinked, she could vividly see the flashes of the night, the brief moments that had allowed her to see anything between opening her eyes and flinching against a closed fist. She could still see those eyes, the only piece of him that had proved him to be human- no, even those were inhuman. The eyes of an animal, filled with bloodlust and rage and brutality. She could still see them, could still hear the sound of his hands making contact with her body, could still smell his alcohol-laden breath and her own blood. Blood that was was still seeping slowly from her leg, that was dried beneath her nose and on her forehead, that was dried in her hair, that stained her stomach and chest and neck and hand. It was like he was still there, still tormenting her, still threatening her, still hurting her. But at the same time, it was like she wasn't even there. It was like she wasn't even present, like she was watching something that hadn't happened to her. That couldn't have happened to her. She was a witness to a crime that had ravaged a body that she inhabited but was not a part of. No, this couldn't have happened to her. It didn't make sense.

Nothing made sense.

Peyton arrived ten minutes after Brooke had hung up, and when she stepped into the house, the first thing she noticed was how dark it was. Not a single light had been turned on, which left Peyton confused. At night, both herself and Brooke always left at least the dim kitchen light on. It was routine, it was their normal, it was habit. Yet, when Peyton entered the house, the only source of light was that provided by the moon outside, which only allowed a thin, dull layer of light to add depth and form to the interior. Peyton could only make out the form of the brunette before her, and even without any visible details of the woman's figure, Peyton knew that something was wrong.

Brooke was sat on the floor, her back against the kitchen island. Her knees were drawn to her chest, her arms wrapped around them, her face aimed toward the wooden floorboards of the home. The woman was curled into a ball, as if she had condensed herself to take up as little space as possible in the house. Brooke hadn't even looked up at her, hadn't even acknowledged Peyton's presence. And that was what worried Peyton even more.

The blonde shut the door behind her, slowly but deliberately, without turning away from her clearly burdened friend. She felt for the light switch on the wall to her right, flicking it upwards without averting her eyes from the brunette's figure. When the room was illuminated, Peyton's fears intensified and she nearly felt faint.

"Oh my god, Brooke," Peyton breathed out.

She didn't hesitate to step toward her friend, panic fluttering in her chest as she spotted problem after problem. The brunette's hair was a mess, something unheard of when it came to the fashionnova. Her arms were spotted with bruises that were now beginning to form and darken. From what Peyton could see, the brunette's legs were even littered with small scrapes and bruises.

When Brooke lifted her head, slowly and with no visible emotion on her face, Peyton froze, dropping the bag in her hand and losing her own breath entirely. Dark, swelling bruises encompassed Brooke's eyes. A gash on the woman's forehead was accentuated by a dark trail of dried blood that ran down to her jawline. A busted lip sat below the dried blood below Brooke's nose. Other small cuts sat on the brunette's skin, along with a few other darkening patches that would no doubt be very prominent bruises soon. Peyton's mind swam even more when she saw the dark ring around Brooke's neck, and her heart practically constricted when she noticed the way the brunette's dress appeared to be disturbed, crooked, ripped, and stained dark red in a few different areas. She didn't know what happened, and a thousand different scenarios ran through her mind, each one worse than the next. She composed herself a moment later, though, knowing that her friend needed help, knowing that something horrible had happened at that she needed to be the calm one. For Brooke.

Brooke's eyes, unreadable and distant, met Peyton's as the blonde knelt down in front of her.

"Hi," Brooke croaked out, her absence present even in her voice. Her movements were slow, her expression void, her voice empty.

Peyton swallowed, willing herself to be strong for the woman who sat, battered, before her. She needed to be strong for Brooke, she needed to be calm for Brooke, she needed to be rational for Brooke. No matter how panicked she felt internally, she could not let it show.

"Brooke, honey, what happened?" Peyton asked softly, never breaking eye-contact with her friend for even a second.

Brooke's brow furrowed and she opened her mouth for a moment, averting her gaze, searching for some kind of an answer to give Peyton. The brunette's eyes were a storm of emotion and confusion and sadness. And pain. Finally, she just shrugged, sucking in a sudden, shaky breath before shutting her jaw and biting her lip. She shook her head, her eyes growing even more troubled. She couldn't answer, she didn't know how to.

Peyton pleaded once more, placing a hand on the brunette's shoulder. The brunette tensed up in response, which left Peyton feeling as though someone had just driven a blade through her heart. This was bad.

"Brooke, I need you to talk to me," Peyton pleaded softly, praying internally that her friend would be honest with her. There was no response. "What happened, Brooke?"

Brooke still didn't look up, but she opened her mouth, which left Peyton with a momentary feeling of hope that she would receive an answer to the question that was currently causing her heart to clench.

"I fell down the stairs," Brooke croaked out with a weak shrug.

Her lie was transparent, though, and they both knew it. Brooke's features were somehow even more troubled and haunted. But she couldn't say the words out-loud. Hell, she couldn't even find the words. She couldn't even understand what had happened herself, couldn't wrap her mind around the night's events. She couldn't look Peyton in the eyes, couldn't vocalize what had happened that night, what had happened to her. What had even happened?

Peyton's hand found Brooke's, and the blonde was somewhat surprised when the brunette actually grabbed a tight hold of it. She could feel Brooke's hand tremble, could feel that the brunette was burdened by something horrible, and she shut her eyes, taking in a deep breath. She needed to stay strong for them both.

"Brooke, please..." Peyton begged, giving her friend's hand a squeeze. "Talk to me."

"I fell," Brooke tried again, her voice cracking as she raised her eyebrows and tried to shrug again.

She couldn't say the words. Instead, she just exhaled unsteadily, her mind slowly connecting more and more with reality as she struggled to answer the blonde. She knew what had happened to her, but she just couldn't say it. She couldn't accept it. It still didn't make sense, and she didn't think she would ever be able to make sense of it.

Peyton's rested her hand gently on the side of Brooke's face and the brunette slowly looked up, making eye-contact with her best friend, with the one person who was capable of pulling her back to reality in any way. She knew that Peyton could read her, she knew that Peyton would never fall for any of her lies or her false reassurances, knew that Peyton was the single person capable of making her feel human, of making her feel as though she wouldn't fall apart while doing so.

"Brooke, honey, it's me," Peyton whispered, somehow knowing that she was beginning to get through to the brunette. She lowered her head slightly, making sure she was at eye-level with her friend, and softened her voice. "It's me, okay? You know you can tell me anything..." She brushed a stray strand of Brooke's hair behind her ear, maintaining gentle but captive eye-contact. "Talk to me, B. Davis. I don't know how to help you right now, I don't know what to do, hun. I need you to tell me how I can help you."

Brooke let out a shaky breath, close to a sob, and leaned into the hand that cradled her hand, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. Her shoulders began to shake as she finally began to break down. Her breathing grew uneven, her whole body began to shake, racked with emotion and pain, and she practically collapsed into the blonde's immediate embrace. Peyton held her with no complaints, no regrets, no hesitation. She held her firmly but gently, wishing that she could take away her best friend's pain. If only life were that simple. If only an embrace and a few minutes of holding a crumbling Brooke was enough to put all of the pieces back together. If only Peyton could erase the hurt and horror in her friend's eyes, the pain and broken sorrow in her friend's sobs. No, this wasn't that simple. This wasn't Brooke crying because she'd had a bad day. This wasn't Brooke crying because she'd gotten into a spat with her mother. This wasn't Brooke crying because she'd fallen down the stairs. This was Brooke, bawling and shaking and holding onto Peyton for dear life. This was Brooke, hurt. This was Brooke, broken.

When Brooke had finally stopped crying an unknown measure of time later, Peyton had to take a few breaths to regain her own composure. She hadn't even realized that she, too, had shed a few tears. But now wasn't the time for Peyton to be upset. She needed to be strong, composed, calm. She needed to remain put together for Brooke. Brooke eased herself out of the embrace and back against the kitchen island, letting out a sad, quivering breath. Her eyes were shut, but her expression was still hopeless. Hurt. Haunted. Peyton held onto one of the brunette's hands in both of her own and she prepared herself to speak once more, knowing that Brooke likely wouldn't react well to what she had to say.

"Brooke, sweetie, I'm gonna call an ambulance for you, okay? I-"

"No," Brooke insisted, interrupting the blonde. Her eyes shot open as she looked at Peyton, absolute fear filling her eyes. "No, Peyton, please, don't," she begged. "I'm fine, okay? I don't need an ambulance, I'm okay."

Peyton sighed dejectedly, her shoulders falling as she tilted her head and looked Brooke softly in the eyes. Brooke was stubborn. Brooke was insistent. Peyton knew that it wouldn't be easy to convince to brunette to get into an ambulance any time soon.

"Brooke," she whispered, not trusting her voice to remain steady. She hurt for her friend, and she herself felt lost in the situation, unsure of what would be the right thing to do. "What am I supposed to do, hun? You're hurt, we both know you're not fi-"

"I will be fine," Brooke cut her off, squeezing Peyton's hand in an attempt to convince the blonde that an ambulance wasn't necessary.

She couldn't go to a hospital, she sure as hell couldn't go to the police. For one thing, it would mean really facing the reality of her situation. In addition to that, it would mean exposure. It would mean the press, and the media, and the tabloids all knowing what had happened. It would mean people knowing what would happened, and knowing that it was real, and knowing that Brooke couldn't protect herself. Knowing that Brook Davis, the strong and independent brunette from Tree Hill, was not strong. She was helpless. She was powerless. She was weak. Too weak to find words to tell Peyton the truth, and too weak to allow herself to go to the hospital. Too weak to help herself.

But another thought crossed her mind as well, a thought that had been lingering since the attack, a fear that loomed over her. It hovered like a black cloud that only intended to downpour upon her, and as much as she refused to allow herself the benefits that a hospital could have, she knew that there was one thing that she had to do. One thing that she needed. One thing that she knew she needed because she needed to save herself from one harrowing, looming fear.

Brooke sucked in a deep breath, preparing herself as she struggled to find the words that she needed to voice. How she would even be able to vocalize them she had no clue, but she knew that it needed to be done. She knew that there was only one more part of her that she could save, and she needed to save it. Otherwise, there would be no hope of a future for her.

"Peyton," she breathed, catching the blonde's full attention.

She shut her eyes, knowing that there was no way she could say this while looking her best friend in the face. She didn't want to see the look that she knew would form in Peyton's eyes, to see the horror or disgust or pity that she knew would manifest itself within the blonde.

"I will fine," Brooke began, her voice unsteady and quiet and coated with fear. "If you want to help, if you want me to be fine, can you just- can you go to the store for me?"

She didn't need to open her eyes to see Peyton's confusion. Brooke clenched her jaw for a second, swallowing the knot in her throat. She bit her lip, turning her head even farther away as she involuntarily squeezed Peyton's hand hard enough that it probably hurt the blonde.

"Just get me the morning-after pill, and I'll be fine."

She made her request with a broken voice, uncertainty seeping through each word, desperation making itself more and more apparent with every articulation. She didn't even believe herself, and while she hadn't really confessed what had happened to her, she knew that she had made it obvious. And making it obvious, admitting what had occurred, was enough to break her down even further. It was enough to leave her absolutely drowned in shame and despair.

Peyton could only gasp, realization hitting her when she pieced together Brooke's request. The bruises. The ripped dress. The morning-after pill. Peyton's worst fear, the one that had left her frozen when she'd first seen Brooke's marred skin, was now a reality. And it didn't feel real, but she knew that it was. She knew that the dark bruise that wrapped itself around Brooke's throat was real. She knew that the dried blood on Brooke's face was real. She knew that her friend's torn clothes were real. She knew that Brooke Davis -her best friend, her rock, her other half- had faced a horror unimaginable, and that it was real.

"Oh my god, Brooke," Peyton exhaled, her breath catching in her throat as she wrapped Brooke into her embrace once again.

The brunette fell into Peyton's arms once again, and if either of them had thought that the brunette had already cried out any tears she could, they were proven wrong. Peyton held her friend, horrified that this could happen to anyone, let alone anyone she knew, let alone Brooke. How could this happen? Who could do this to the kind soul that was Brooke Davis? Who could be evil enough to hurt her like this?

She whispered quiet assurances to the brunette, but she herself didn't even know if she believed anything that she said. She could feel her own tears streaming down her cheeks as she held onto Brooke, wishing that she could hold her like that forever, protect her from the world forever. But, as much as she knew Brooke would protest, Peyton knew that the brunette would need to go out into the world once again, and it killed her to know that she would be the catalyst for this.

"I have to call you an ambulance," Peyton spoke, her voice laced with guilt. Brooke's sobs grew even more pained as Peyton pulled herself back slightly to look Brooke in the eyes. "I'm so sorry Brooke, but I have to."

"Please," Brooke's cries were strained, filled with hurt. She looked at the blonde desperately, absolutely broken. "Just g- get the pill, I'll be fine, just-"

"Brooke, love, I'm so, so sorry, but I have to," Peyton tried to explain, choking up as she willed away the sobs that she herself wanted to release. She reached into her pocket for her phone. She hated this. She hated being any part of the reason for Brooke's pain. But she would never be able to forgive herself if she didn't do this.

"Peyton, please," Brooke cried out. It was the worst thing Peyton had ever heard. She never before could have imagined that Brooke's voice could ever hold so much pain, so much dread, so much despair, so much hopelessness. She never could have imagined that Brooke could ever look at her with so much anguish. She never could have imagined that Brooke could ever appear so shattered, so defeated.

Peyton placed her hand on Brooke's cheek once more, being careful not to do so in a way that might cause her friend any more pain than she was already in. She hated this. The brunette looked at her pleadingly, but they both knew that Brooke knew that she couldn't avoid this. They both knew that Peyton was going to call 911. They both knew that there really wasn't any other option.

"Brooke, honey," Peyton whispered, not trusting her own voice. She had the brunette's attention. "I'm doing this because I love you, okay? Please remember that."

And with that, Peyton took the battered woman into her arms once more, holding her with conviction as she dialed 911, pleading with whatever god might exist that Brooke might recover from whatever had happened.

Brooke Davis had to recover.

And Peyton would make sure of it.

AN:

okay so a heavy intro chapter, but it's the only way I wanted to start the story. I have pretty much the whole fic planned out, and it'll be quite the ride and a pretty long story, so hopefully I'll be able to crank out updates faster than I have in the past. Most later chapters will probably be a decent bit longer than this too.

I might even have the next chapter up by tomorrow? Maybe even the end of tonight if I can keep myself focused?

Anyway, if you have any thoughts, please leave them. Reviews are so so so so helpful as motivation to keep on updating and your guys' insight is also so so important for the development of the story.

Ah, also: title of the story is inspired by the song "Get You The Moon" by Kinabeats ft. Snøw. Give it a listen, you can find it on Spotify and probably anywhere else as well

Well, I hope you all have a nice night, peace out lads.

-NF