Again, so sorry for the long wait. Bit heavy, dark and quite gruesome, this chapter. I don't know if it's what you were waiting for…

XOXOXOXOXOX

Brendan had been pissed off at first.

Five texts, not one reply. Bastard had left him hanging; allowed him to become needy and clingy; two things that Brendan Brady should never be.

7.18. To: Steven

Your cum's still on my car seat.

7.49. To: Steven

You're supposed to say mine's still in your arse

8:11. 1 Sent Call: Steven

8:13. To: Steven

pick up your phone.

8:14. 1 Sent Call: Steven

8:21. 1 Sent Call: Steven

8:27. To: Steven.

Why is your phone off? Call me when u get this.

8:28. 1 Sent Call: Steven

8:36. 1 Sent Call: Steven

8:37. To: Steven

I'm comin home. If you're ignoring me I'm gonna be pissed the fuck off.

8:42. 1 Sent Call: Steven

At first he was pissed off. Then livid. Now beside himself.

The restaurant and flat are completely empty.

There are remainders of cocaine scattered across the bar.

"Steven, listen to me." He breathes into the phone, Steven's answering machine, "Come home, kay? We can deal with this. If you've… if you've done somethin' stupid… somethin' you regret… that's okay. I just need ye to call me. Okay? Please. I'm goin' out of my mind here."

He hangs up the phone and slams it on the bar.

Fuck.

What the fuck was he thinking going away for a night?

He was trying to fight against the urges in his head; the ones that told him to lock Steven away, keep him safe from everything and anything outside these four walls. He was trying to follow the advise of those god forsaken therapists in prison, the ones who sat there long enough to tell Brendan to control his emotions, control his desires, control his obsession for control.

Such irony – no wonder they've ended in this fucking mess.

He loves and depends on Steven as if the lad is his own organs, and no amount of therapy and detachment exercises ever changed that.

Now he feels like he can't breathe as Steven's phone goes straight through to voicemail again, 'I'm not 'ere at the moment, leave a message.' and he starts to growl into the phone, "Steven for fuck sake, turn your phone on, I'm NOT fuckin' around! I'm seriou…."

He drops the phone and it shatters across the floor.

Right into the pool of dark blood he's just discovered.

XOXOXOXOX

3 HOURS EARLER.

"You can't be here, right?" Ste calls through the door. "We're closed."

Andy turns to his mates, sniggers something under his breath and they all chuckle in unison. A familiar heat crawls up Ste's neck; humiliation. He'd gotten used to being the subject of their ridicule but that was when he was smacked out of his face, not sober like he is now. His straight eyes meet Andy's wired ones, and his stomach involuntarily moans; crying out hungrily for what he knows Andy's consumed.

"Look, you've gotta leave, okay?" He barks, "Brendan'll be back soon anyway."

"Oh, I'm in for another battered skull am I?!" Andy leers. Through the low glow of street-lamps, Ste can just about make out the stitches on Andy's shaven head. He must be relatively fresh out of hospital.

Then SLAM… his fist hard against the glass window, making Ste jump.

"Fuckin' hell!" Andy shouts, like a switch has been flicked and aggression pours out of him, "Jus' let me in, you fuckin' pussy!"

He's wired and it's intimidating. Andy could smash through the glass no problem, and Ste's seen him do it plenty of times. His choice is to play ball or – by the looks of it – risk getting his head kicked in.

He sighs, makes a show of being put out and starts to unlock the chains.

But his heart is starting to kick up a notch… he can practically smell the fucking substances on him, and Christ he's not ready for this – not strong enough to be within such close proximity.

Andy pushes his way in as soon as the chain's off, wipes his nose with the back of his hand and looks around the place.

"Nice gaff, this." He comments.

His mates walk in behind him. Nigel's last, and kicks shut the door so the glass shakes and cracks down the middle.

"Oy, careful!" Ste snaps, "'s expensive, that!"

Andy snorts in disgust, "Will ya listen to 'im?! Coupla days sober and he's prince of the fuckin' palace!"

"Right, what do you want?" Ste sighs. His eyes trail nervously over to Nigel and Max who've settled down at the bar, are unwrapping their baggies… "Look, you can't do that here!"

"Hey!" Andy takes Ste's face in his hands, his blown-out pupils gazing glossily into Ste's, "Shhh, calm down baby, why you so tense, eh?"

"Cos you know I'm sober now!"

"Nobody offered you any!" Andy's hands tighten uncomfortably on Ste's face, "C'mon, relax; you're startin' to piss me the fuck off."

Ste hangs back, helpless, when Andy releases him. He can't argue with him when he's like this. He used to – used to tell him to 'fuck himself' and 'go die' but back then he had a death-wish and now he's got things to live for… a life and prospects worth staying clean for. Now all he can do is scan the surroundings for his phone whilst the men around him start cutting up likes of coke and other powders.

He folds his arms around himself and tries to sound un-confrontational as he says, "What are you doin' here, Andy?"

"We just missed our boy, didn't we lads?!"

A few general grunts of agreement from those with half an ounce of awareness still in them.

"Come off it." Ste attempts a smile, passes it off as a joke.

"We 'eard you were sittin' pretty over 'ere and thought we'd come and see for ourselves. It's nice, innit? When one of the scummers pisses off for his riches."

"It's Brendan's place, not mine."

"Mmm. Brendan."

Brendan. Andy seems to play with the name on his tongue; lingers with disgust and contempt and resentment. He's always hated anyone with money, has Andy. And Ste has every reason to believe Brendan's the only person to have knocked him out cold.

Is that why he's here? With all his thugs too? Revenge? Restoration of his pride?

"Andy, I don't want any trouble." Ste says seriously.

"Shut up a minute." Andy barks, and then hoovers up a line with a vicious-sounding snort; a sound that makes Ste both flinch and pine in equal measure.

He needs them to leave now. He's not ready for this. He doesn't have the willpower for this kind of test. He wants a hit so much he's starting to shake with it; all self-belief evaporating from him.

Andy looks even more buzzed when he rises. His eyes are wide and unhinged looking.

"Make ya feel good does it, baby?" He hisses, an unsteadiness to his voice, "Fuckin' off here? Leavin' us in our own piss and shit after everything me and the boys did for ya?"

Ste vaguely thinks back to 'Andy and the boys' and all they did for him. Being told to get on his knees and suck one of them off while they continued laddish banter over the top of his head. Suffocated in the dark while he overdosed with a thuggish weight in his mouth and two people who didn't give the faintest shit.

"What do you want?" He repeats, a low whine in his voice now. Please leave.

"Compensation." Andy says, "For the years of fuckin' shit I put up with, with you. For this."

He points to the scar on his head.

For years the word compensation has only meant one thing for Ste, and it would almost always end with him bent over the bed. He backs off now, nerves kicking in, arms raised in preparation to defend himself, brain wracking for excuses – his first port of call always in these situations.

"So your Knight in Shining Armour better start payin' up, Stevie," Andy continues, "Cos I know the coppers will be gaggin' for a bit of heat on him otherwise."

Ste's head is spinning, confused by Andy's motives and his own fear and his own need for drugs and need not to have them. But the mention of police and Brendan stirs a focus in him.

"What? No. You said you weren't gonna say anythin' to the police! Andy, you PROMISED!"

"Me and the boys just want what we're owed."

"Yea… I haven't got anything though!"

"So call lover boy." Andy says slowly, vein growing darker in his neck, "And tell him to get over here with some of that dosh he's loaded with."

One of Andy's mates on the bar stall steels himself, flexes and tenses… like already preparing for showdown.

Ste's not letting Brendan walk into the wolf pack like this. He can practically feel the hot iron of the knives they carry glinting off every wall.

"Brendan's out of town." He says.

Almost as if on queue, Ste's phone bleeps from its position underneath the bar.

Nigel bends down and grabs it, opens the text that's undoubtedly from Brendan – nobody else texts him. He passes it to Andy. Andy sniggers.

On instinct, Ste lunges for the phone – feels it in his fingers before Andy's fist tightens on his arm, wrenches him aside. It hurts, and on impulse Ste fights back.

The panic, anger, tension have him bring his knee up hard – slamming Andy in the groin. It has him wheezing and coughing for all of two seconds before his hand is round Ste's neck and Ste's back hits the wall.

Andy's mates all get to their feet; ready – as always – to back him up.

But it's unnecessary. Ste's not fighting and nor is Andy… his wide pupils are just piercing into Ste's. He looks positively hateful.

He breaks into a laugh.

"You… you're a real fuckin' little wanker these days, ain't ya pet?" Andy laughs humourlessly. "You gonna come crawlin' back when mostashio's back behind bars?"

"I'll give you whatever I've got, yeah?" Ste breathes, "But we haven't even opened yet, there's nowt in the till…"

"Nah." Andy spits hard to the side, "Changed my mind. Don't want the cash."

A couple of his mates exchange confused glances. It seems Andy's change of heart really is an unplanned one, but it sends waves of nausea pulsating through Ste's body. Fighting back was the wrong thing to do.

The way Andy's looking at him now; eyeing him up hungrily. His eyes are unfocused and hands hard, clumsy and uncoordinated as they shift from Ste's neck, down his body to his trousers.

"No." Ste takes Andy's hand firmly – prays that Andy's oblivious to the tremble in his fingertips. "Yeah, I mean it right, GET OUT!"

He shouts it, loud as he can. Prays it will have the desired affect.

"What? So you're a fuckin' prude now as well, are ya?!" Andy shouts back.

"YOU CAN'T JUST COME 'ERE AND START THREATENIN' ME FOR NO REASON!" Ste yells, heart racing… years of torment and injustice resurfacing in him, "Yeah – I got stuff on you too! I got plenty that I could get YOU sent down for!"

"Go for it, sweetheart, maybe me and Brendo can share a cell! Grow old together!"

"Yeah, you won't fuckin' dare!" Ste seethes, and he's up in Andy's face – not scared any more; just angry. "You can't do this to me anymore, right?! I'm not your toy; I don't want anything to do with…"

He's cut off by Andy's mouth on his – hard, relentless, overpowering. His head hits the back of the wall, Andy's body suffocatingly strong against his… and he pushes against Andy with all his might… but it only seems to urge him on more, till his hands are gripping aggressively to Ste's backside and groin, till he's everywhere and so strong that Ste can't even get his own hands free…

This has never happened before.

Andy's been forceful with him, but never this; he's always manipulated and guilted Ste into agreeing.

Ste feels panic and fear but the anger never fades. He hates it. Hates Andy, hates all the times he's had to be near his cock.

He hates the memories it brings back.

Walker's lips crushing against his; breath reeking of cigarettes and gin. Walkers fingers pushing inside of him, rough and un-careful and purely necessity, his fingers gripping Ste's hips as he thrusts and grunts and spreads his load like reward across Ste's body.

"Stop it." Ste hisses; voice full of venom he barely recognises in himself.

"You're gonna suck cock like a good boy." Andy seethes, equally vile, unbuckling his own belt with one hand whilst he keeps Ste pinned to the wall with the other.

"I'll kill ya like I killed 'im and don't think I won't." Ste whispers.

And he means it.

Here and now he means it, like he fucking felt the cold of the trigger in his hand that day.

Andy only smirks. The knife he carries keeps him fearless; Ste knows this. He may have put the gun in Ste's hand three years ago, but he knows Ste doesn't have it now. He knows Ste's got nothing on him but a string of offences he couldn't ever prove in court.

Ste feels his resolve fading… hopelessness resurfacing.

"Can have a hit if you want," Andy breathes, casual sounding, "If it helps."

And he's pushing Ste down to his knees, not even giving him time to accept the drugs even if he wanted to.

Ste's head spins. He doesn't even know if Andy would tell the police on Brendan… all he knows is that it's not a risk worth taking. He'd rather keel over and die then lose Brendan a second time… he can't now, when he's come all this way with Brendan's support. It's not even an option. Brendan behind bars is just blackness… just the end; a pit of despair so deep Ste can't even envision it.

"This is it." He says through gritted teeth, voice thick with hatred and anger and resignation, "Then you leave us alone."

"Put it in there," Andy breathes – and the head of his cock is pushing against Ste's lips and Ste hates it… hates it so much he can't even bring himself to prise his mouth apart… he can't do it… he can't

"Just… just let me call Brendan…" he starts to reason, "He can transfer some money over of somethin'…"

"Fuckin' hell!" Andy barks – another burst of loud aggression, "You ain't fuckin' me about – suck it!"

With that he pulls back Ste's head by his hair, thrusts inside by literally forcing Ste's mouth open with his dick. He pushes himself right in – deepthroat – and this isn't even for pleasure, it's just for Ste's pain, Ste's punishment, Brendan's punishment. It's power-play… a game Ste's found himself the star of far too many times in his life.

"So what happens then?" Walker asks, eyes following the train as it rushes under the bridge below them, "What happens when Brendan walks out of jail?"

Ste shrugs limply.

He doesn't know. He doesn't know what his feelings for Brendan even are anymore. Months of hurt and anguish and trauma, transpiring themselves to an unyielding resentment and bitterness. And now he's here, weight of the gun in his pocket, about to kill or be killed.

He hardly feels anything at all – about anything.

"He kills you, probably." He says simply.

"You think I'm gonna let that happen?" Walker asks.

"He'll be angry. Bout me and you. About me bein' dead. There'll be nothin' stoppin' him."

Walker raises his eyebrows in surprise. It's been in the air between them from the start, since they signed their business deal with a sadistic fuck on the living room floor… it's always been known that Walker would kill Ste before Brendan got a chance to leave prison. But Ste's never addressed it so openly before. So blankly.

"Who says I'm gonna hurt you?" Walker toys.

"I figured that's why you bought me here. Or is this your idea of romance?"

Ste nods down to the traintracks below him.

Worryingly, the tracks actually seem kind of inviting to him now. Whatever was left in him when Brendan went to jail has since been deadened by months of hateful fucks. He's officially dead inside. Walker could kill him or he could kill Walker, or he could shoot himself in the head and he doubts any of it will make a difference.

"No hard feelings, are there?" Walker says lightly. "I mean, c'mon. You hate Brendan Brady as much as I do."

"You don't know the start of it."

"It's cos this is what he does to people." Walker breathes, and lifts Ste's head with two fingers under his chin. His mad eyes meet Ste's blank ones. He adopts a tone of sympathy, "He pushes them to the brink. And look at you now."

It's somewhere in those few miliseconsds that Ste draws the gun.

He hadn't even been planning to do so then… perhaps he'd wanted to make an impulsive speech or something, drag it out a little… but in that second his body reacts quicker than his brain and he knows he can't take any more. He doesn't want Walkers hands on him ever again, he doesn't want Walker's voice in his ear ever again. He doesn't want to hear the sound of Brendan's name ever again. Now he can end it – all of it. Move on, in death or alive… he'll get to that after.

Walker seems surprised by what Ste's produced. He exhales in shock… and a small smile comes into his face… a burst of nervous laughter… but he silences as Ste pushes the trigger to his temple.

"You're a dark horse." He comments, eyes still set close on Ste's.

After that it's a blur of adrenaline and fear and white noise, and just Walker's stone-faced final words… "You look sexy with a gun."

Before Ste pulls the trigger and his life changes irreversibly; his soul shattering on mute… drowned by the sounds of the bullet and the howling wind and roaring train.

XOXOXOX

The blood's so thick he feels like he's choking on it. He's gotten this far on adrenaline… heart hammering roughly in his skull as he pulled the knife from Andy's pocket and swung. Then the blood and the terrifying scream of horror and agony, and now Andy is on the floor with blood pouring from his crotch, over his trousers.

Ste's startled at first… tasting it in his mouth, the mixture of pre-come and massacre. His dazed state is shared with the dumb blinking of Andy's wasted cronies – too high to process what was happening.

And Andy's choking on his own pain… could barely even breathe, but manages to strangle, "Fucki… fuckit… fuck, ge…get help."

And then, somehow amidst the blinking back tears of horror, Ste finds himself alone with him. Terror pulsating through his entire body, he can't even think straight; too overcome with the blood, the flashbacks, the pain… the need to get rid of this. He doesn't want this in his life anymore – he doesn't want this horror and this fear.

So all he can think is to get rid of it. Like a madman, he's wiping the blood off the floor – brain unable to process anything more than that, even though Andy's begging him, "Ffff…fuckin help me…"

"I will." There's a shake in Ste's voice, but his eyes are fixed on the task before him – the washcloth travelling back and forth across the blood-stained tiles, "I will, I just… need to tidy up, it's a mess."

It's a mess. It's all a mess. How has this happened? How is this happening to me?!

"FUCK!" Andy screams out suddenly – using the last of his energy to do so – and Ste looks at him for the first time since it happened… sees the blood everywhere. It's drenching him.

He's done this. He's fucked up again.

Andy's white as a ghost and his whole body is trembling. He looks just like the men he stabs in club back allies and leaves to bleed dry. He looks like they look right before they die.

He needs help. But Ste can't think straight – not like that – all he can think is how he wants to reverse time, how he wants to make this mess disappear, how he can't cope with the destruction anymore.

"Wh… we need to get you out of here…" He says, "Is… you shouldn't've… you shouldn't've DONE that, right!? I told ya I didn't want to!"

As if this is Andy's fault.

Andy can't even respond because he hasn't got the breath in him… he just rasps and trembles and wheezes. He looks like Walker looks in Ste's recurring nightmares. And it's fucking with Ste's head. And perhaps he's dying before Ste's very eyes… perhaps he's going to be dead all because Ste was too afraid to carry out a simple blowjob.

"Shit, I'M SORRY ALRIGHT?!" Ste cries, voice breaking.

He doesn't know what to do. He can't think.

All he knows is that this isn't right. Andy, the blood, the knife… none of them belong here in this restaurant… the restaurant that represents hope and a bright future.

Next thing he knows he's pulling Andy through the back door – tugging him by the feet and watching Andy squirm and whimper. He seems scared, like Ste's never seen him before.

"You don't have to worry, I'm gonna get us to the hospital… I'll get us a cab or somethin'…" Ste mutters shakily… searches his own pockets for his phone, but it's not there. "See?" He trembles, "S…see you shouldn't've broken it!"

"Mothefucr…" Andy rasps, words fading hatefully.

"Do you have yours?!" Ste demands. He reaches for the pocket of Andy's trousers… but even upon mere touch the red blood soaks all over Ste's fingers, and he pulls back… sick and horrified by it.

"Ohmygod," He breathes in terror, "Shit, ohmygod."

Andy's got no more words left in him. His eyelids are sinking shut. His breath is rattling. Ste's momentarily stunned – entranced by his own destruction – can't bring himself to move or look away.

His mind is a blank canvas… and he just sits there and watches as Andy Fischer fades away.

XOXOXOXOX

Okay, so hopefully you get that Ste's in shock and traumatised… not cold and psychotic like I may have accidently written him…. It's been a long day.