A/N: I took inspiration from January 9th episode, where Ste and Brendan sort-of-argue outside The Dog, to write this. I've changed it to something else, and have added a little bit of non-canon backstory.

Warning - mentions of violent abuse along with implications of Brendan's sexual abuse he suffered as a child. There's a bit of swearing, too, but not a lot.

I got my ideas from lots of people on the interweb (*little wave to you all!*) as they all came up with scenarios of how they'd want this to come out in the show, I drew inspiration from them all, so thank you for that. I was cautious to write this at first but this idea has been bubbling away in my head for a while now, so I can only hope I have done the reveal a little bit of justice, if any at all.

Ste sat by the window, looking out into the darkness of the night, the dim streetlight not giving much away for what, or who might be out there. His fingernails almost ripped to shreds from his nibbling, red raw and on the verge of bleeding. The kids are asleep, eventually. After the shouting, and smashing, and all the scary noises coming from the front room, Ste managed to calm them down and reassure them that everything was fine. Daddy and Brendan were fine.

Everything was just fine.

Only, when Leah asked for Brendan to come in to say goodnight, Ste had to lie to her.

"He's just nipped out to the shops, darlin'." He told her, stroking the blonde hair away from her forehead, "He'll come in to see you when he's back, but you need to be asleep, right? Cos he might just 'ave summat for you."

"Does Brendan love us, daddy?"

"Course he does."

"Why did he shout you?"

Ste felt his eyes fill, and his throat begin to close up. He doesn't know how to answer that, and he knows he shouldn't be exposing his kids to that in the first place. The arguing, and shouting, the punching of walls and the smashing of mugs that he bought for the flat, because Ste wanted him to have something. Something of his, here, with him. A constant reminder of who they were, now. What they meant to each other. How everything had fallen into place. And like the mug, in one short minute, everything had come smashing to pieces.

So Brendan left. He grabbed his jacket, and he left. Slamming the door, cursing something rotten. Ste watched him walk down the path without a single look back in his direction, and around the corner. Luckily he had the kids to deal with, the fact they were there, it stopped him from going out into the night to look for him, to try find him and talk about it. He had responsibilities, and his relationship with Brendan couldn't be his top priority. So he settled for trying Brendan's phone, and sending a couple of texts to which he received no response. Of course, he was expecting that. Brendan was stubborn at the best of times after a minor disagreement, so Ste wasn't very hopeful he would change his ways after something like this.

After doing his best to explain to his daughter 'sometimes grown-ups argue, too, like you and Lucas, yeah? And, sometimes, we need to be sent to the naughty corner as well, to calm down a bit, cos we're too silly to say sorry straight away.' she seemed to accept it, calling them both 'silly billys' and drifting soundly off to sleep again, cuddling the polar bear Brendan had gotten her just a few weeks ago, for Christmas.

Ste tried to ring him a couple more times, leaving a real message this time.

"You've got your phone on, I know you have," Ste said down the receiver. "So just pick up, yeah? Stop makin' me worry about you."

He sighed, and settled for cleaning up the flat a bit. Pass a bit of time, maybe he'd come back. Maybe they could talk it out, do what they normally did, take it into the bedroom and apologize properly. Only this time, Ste could feel it wouldn't end like that - if it ended at all.

He cleaned the dishes three times, organizing them in the cupboards through size, then did the same with the cutlery in the draws. He made a little section for all of Brendan's food in the fridge, and in the cupboard. When he went shopping now, he didn't even realize just how much of the things he bought were for Brendan as well. All fat, no healthy, all Brendan's. Two empty jars of seedless jam still remained, with one completely untouched next to it. Nescafe coffee that Brendan liked, because it wasn't the 'shit expensive stuff they pretend is made by God' as he put it, when they went to Price Slice together one morning. Ste preferred that expensive stuff, himself, after working in the deli for so long he had accustomed a taste for it, but Brendan didn't. And Ste wondered why he came into the deli so often, asking for a coffee. Now he knew the answer.

It was around midnight when Brendan finally came back through the door, trying his best not to make any noise. Ste had only just managed to pick up all of the bits of the mug and glass from the carpet, cutting himself twice in the process.

"You shouldn't do that," Brendan said quietly from behind him, watching him wash it under the tap. "Pick it up with your hand, you shouldn't do that."

"What d'you reckon I should do then? Just let the kids walk all over it?"

"No, just-" Brendan sighed, and reached out a hand. "Give it here."

"What?"

"Your hand. Let me have a look at your hand."

Ste didn't want to let him, he didn't want to go near him, not yet anyway. The look on Brendan's face persuaded him otherwise. He wasn't on the defensive, he wasn't poised ready for another row. He looked tired, the rims of his eyes red - Ste knew why, secretly a little pleased that it wasn't just him who shed a tear or two over their fight. At least he knew where they stood, still.

Ste let Brendan take his hand, and rub a thumb over one of the gashes. He hissed watch it, idiot, and Brendan smirked a little.

"Sorry," He got out the first-aid from the drawer. "I think you'll live."

He took out two of the kids' plasters from the box, an antiseptic wipe and one of the crap paper towels they give with the kit, and sorted Ste's injuries out. Ste noted how everytime he winced a little from the antiseptic sting, Brendan soothingly stroked his thumb over Ste's hand, and that familiar warmth came back again - despite his best efforts to stay angry.

"You upset me." He murmured, looking down at the two dinosaur plasters around his finger and across his palm. "You can't just dismiss my life like that. Like it's not important."

"I know."

"You said that what my step-dad did to me, and what your dad did to you are different because he's your proper dad. But I turned out like my step-dad, you know I did, so it makes me worse, dunn'it?"

"No." Brendan shook his head. "I didn't mean that-"

"When I were 10, he broke my arm and all, y'know." Ste then admitted. "Told the school I just got into loads of fights on the estate, even got his dodgy mate to do up some doctors note to tell them I'd been seen to, and there was nowt to worry about cos they were startin' to wonder where all me bruises were comin' from. I was a 'problem child', they said."

Brendan stayed quiet, stood stock-still, listening.

"And then when I were 15, I smacked him back, right? And I thought I'd done well for me self, cos he patted me on the back, told me that's how you deal with people and that I were getting tougher. Then he-" He let out a shaky breath, and continued. "Then he put me in hospital for three days. Knocked me out cold, and I bashed me head against the table and cracked me head open. Then I ran off from 'ome, when I got out. Didn't tell nobody where I was goin', and then I met Amy. Never been back since."

"Jesus." Brendan's arms moved of their own accord to close Ste in them, but he retreated. Thinking better of it. Not knowing if it was appropriate, after their argument. Fuck, he just wanted to protect him. Let him know that he won't let anyone hurt him, that's why he's here, that's why he'll always be here - whether Ste wanted him to be or not.

"Whatever it is," Ste looked up at him, stray tears hanging onto his lashes, like little diamonds under the small light in the kitchen. "You can tell me, I'm not goin' no where. You don't have to push me away no more, Brendan."

And Brendan wanted to believe it. He wanted to think he could tell him, and maybe it would be okay. Maybe it'd go away, he wouldn't get haunted by it no more, because he'd have someone to share it with. Pass half of the burden onto someone who cared, not one of those fucking teachers back when he was a kid - who didn't care, only got paid to pretend to. When they asked him questions, told him that if there was anything going wrong at home, that he could tell them, that his behaviour worried them, the way he lashed out at anyone who dared to touch him. He wasn't stupid. Teachers are gossips, he'd heard them plenty of times when he and Pete had gotten their way in during break times to nick the cigarettes from Mrs Doyle's purse, talking about the rest of the kids. He wasn't going to let nobody look at him like he was a freak, look at him like it was his fault, think of him as some pansy who couldn't defend himself. He didn't need to be reminded of things he already knew.

But with Ste, stood infront of him, desperate to be let in, to be told the truth, to understand him, be there for him, to comfort him like nobody else could, he wanted to. So much.

He took in a deep breath, and distanced himself from the younger man infront of him, walking around him to the living room. If he's going to do it, he's got to do it his way. He's got to do it on his terms, this is how he needs it to be. He paces, he becomes more and more panicked with each moment that passes. But he forces it out anyway, forces it through gritted teeth and a brain that's telling him no, he'll leave you, don't fuck this up because you're such a coward, he'll think you're pathetic, you are pathetic, don't do it.

"I was eight." He finally said, looking down at the floor. "When it happened, I was- I was eight."

"When what started?" Ste asked. "The beatings?"

Brendan shook his head almost violently. "No. No."

Ste was confused now. Brendan could feel his hesitance to ask the next question. It was suffocating, wrapping around his throat, closing off his only access to air. He felt dizzy, small pin-pricks of light flashed in his eyes when he looked around. Couldn't see Ste anymore, couldn't see a fucking thing, he was blinded by it. He was slowly dying by it.

"Wha- ..then what? What happened?"

"I tried to tell them. I did. And she knew. She-.. her own son, and she knew. She didn't-"

"Brendan." Ste said slowly, starting to worry. "Brendan, who knew what?"

"I couldn't stop him." Brendan choked out, gasping for air. "I tried, I couldn't- He was stronger than me, I was just a kid, I couldn't-"

Ste walked into the living room, up to Brendan, he'd stopped moving around and was just stood - his leg shaking, a small tick going off in his cheek, his eyes glued to the floor. Ste's hands went up to his face, clutching at Brendan's neck. He tried get Brendan to look at him, to focus on him, to see him, that he was safe.

Brendan started to struggle, started to harshly snap out of Ste's grasp, push him off, regardless of Ste's efforts to calm him down, the soothing words to try bring him out of this darkness he felt himself falling into, this abyss of nothing where only he could go, alone, with nobody by his side. He struggled more, taking hold of Ste's hands and practically throwing them off, throwing him off, and away. Pushing him far away, rougher than he wanted to, but so he couldn't take him. So he couldn't drag him down, grind him into nothing, just like him. He felt his legs go numb, give way beneath him, and crashed down to the floor with a loud bang, loud enough to wake the kids up, loud enough to wake the entire fucking street up.

"A freak." Brendan breathed, tears starting to fall uncontrollably. "I'm a freak. I'm- he didn't stop, he wouldn't-"

"Brendan," Ste knelt down by his lovers side, his arms wrapped around his shoulders. "Brendan, talk to me. Hey, Brendan, Brendan it's me."

"I didn't know what to do, I couldn't stop him. I tried. I tried so bad, and he'd-, the window wouldn't be open. The window would shut, it wouldn't-, nobody could hear me, I couldn't stop him, nobody helped me-"

Brendan's mumbling turned into small, broken sobs against Ste's jumper. He clutched onto him, his fingers curling into the material with such strength, Ste thought he would rip it straight off of his body. He squeezed him back, just as hard, crushing Brendan into him. His arms started to ache with it, the strain on them, holding on for dear life to something that was slowly slipping away from him.

"He isn't here now," Ste whispered into his hair. "He can't hurt you no more, Bren, I won't let him hurt you no more. I'm here, yeah? And I'm not leaving you, okay? I'm not goin' no where. I promise you, Brendan, I promise you, I'm not goin'."

Brendan only held on tighter, his sobs becoming quieter but heavier. Whimpering, please don't leave me, don't go, Steven, please don't, making Ste's heart ache. Break into pieces, for this man. This broken man, whose life was taken away from him before he even had a chance to live it. Ste felt tears of his own fall, dampening Brendan's hair, and he stroked it. Ran his fingers through the fine strands until all the product disappeared, and it was just him. Not the person he became every day when he walked out of that door, the person he tried to be because it was all he'd ever known. It was just him, stripped bare and painfully exposed.

Ste didn't go anywhere. Not when Brendan calmed down, and his breathing slowed, when his sobs faded or his grip on Ste's jumper weakened. Ste didn't move away a single inch. He didn't release Brendan from his own arms, he didn't remove the hand from his hair, he just kept on whispering, shh, it's okay, I'm here, it's just me and you now, I love you, until he heard Brendan's soft snoring. He manouvered himself, positioning his arm so he could reach back to the sofa, pulling the tatty blanket from the top acting as a throw-over, and covered the sleeping man next to him with it, pulling him back into his chest, watching him settle back into it, against Ste. He wasn't sure what just happened, he didn't know how to process it. Not yet. He didn't know what the morning would bring, what Brendan would be like. All he knew was that right now, he loved him, and that he wasn't prepared to let Brendan feel alone. Never again.