"Steven..."

His voice is thick with sleep. Brendan reaches into the space beside him, eyes still closed and feeling his way around the empty mattress, warm with the imprint of Steven.

"Come back to bed."

He waits for the reply, for the boy's Mancunian accent to fill the room, everything sounding so much better coming from Steven. He raises his head when there's only silence, his head weighed down, a feeling that's usually only reserved for when he has too much whiskey. It had been a long night: he remembers the sight of Steven's clothes hitting the bedroom floor again, caramel coloured skin revealed, shining in the darkness, the boy's mouth wet and willing, drifting lower until it had seen off Brendan's early morning erection.

He can see the entirety of the cell from where he's lying. There are no corners to hide in, nowhere else that Steven could be. He's not here.

Brendan can't have slept through the breakfast call. Someone would have woken him up - it's how he's spent every morning for the last five years. Even one of the more meek officers like Osborne would have had to shake him if necessary. But the door's unlocked.

Steven wouldn't have left without him.

Brendan rises from the bed, panic beginning to grip him. He puts on his clothes so quickly that he gets his shirt back to front, has to redo the attempt, swearing under his breath and trying to ignore the fact that there's a fine film of sweat gathering on his forehead, his hands growing clammy.

Something's not right. He can feel it.

He pulls open the door and it bangs against its hinges. It feels cold against his touch, and he rests his head against it when no one's watching, needs to otherwise he thinks he'll burn up, remembers feeling like this when he was a kid and he had a fever.

It's time that he can't waste, but he's not ready to go outside yet. He can hear alarms ringing, and the other men don't notice him as they barrel past his door, excitement and fear sparking in their eyes. Everyone always notices Brendan, is always aware of the intimidating nature of his presence, the strength of his gaze.

Something more important is going on. Something that makes Brendan insignificant.

He takes a precarious step outside the threshold of the cell, stooped over in the sickness that's engulfing him. The alarms hurt his ears, so unbearably loud that he has to cover them with his palms, moving carefully down the hallway, shoved aside by the officers making their way past.

He needs to know what the fucks happened.

He needs to know where Steven is.

It takes him a moment to see the colour of the walls. There's such chaos around him that it's all he can focus on - the hallway fit to bursting with the officers and prisoners roughly pressed together, calm trying to be restored.

It's only when the crowd begins to clear the slightest amount that he sees it.

There's blood on the walls, the floor. A trail, like whoever's been injured has been dragged through the building. More of the prisoners are beginning to realise it, their clothes becoming covered and their expressions turning to repulsion.

Brendan frantically looks around for someone he recognises. Someone he knows. Someone who'll give him answers.

"Douglas!"

It's the first time that he's ever been grateful to see him. The familiar sight of the American sends relief through him, Douglas's eyebrows drawn together and his body tensed in on itself. Brendan stares desperately around, but he already knows that Steven's not with him.

"Where is he?" Brendan calls over the other men, knowing that Douglas won't press further, that he'll know who he's looking for.

"I thought he was with you."

Brendan feels a hand on his shoulder, nearly cries out with raw disappointment when it's Ethan.

"Where's Steven?"

Ethan's eyes fill with worry, and it does nothing to numb the dread that's making Brendan's body ache.

Where is he?

"I haven't seen him. I'm sorry. I thought -"

"He's not with me." Brendan feels like he's screaming, but he doesn't have time for pleasantries. If Steven was with him then he wouldn't be standing here in a cramped hallway covered in blood. He'd be with the boy, protecting him from it all.

What if the blood belongs to -

"What happened?" Douglas asks, and the alarms don't seem loud enough to drown out his voice. Brendan doesn't want to know what happened, doesn't want to deal with the possibilities.

Ethan eyes him warily as he speaks, seems to sense the storm rising within him.

"They're dead. Silas and Warren."

It feels like Brendan's breath has been torn from him. He staggers back, ignoring the grunt of disapproval that comes from the man that he knocks into. He leans against the wall to balance himself, the back of his shirt soaking into the blood that runs along the surface.

He knows it might not be Steven's blood now. There's some small satisfaction in that.

"How?"

"I don't know. Everyone's saying different things - you know how rumours fly around in this place. Some people were saying it was you," Ethan says, features clouding with awkwardness.

"Am I meant to have some kind of identical twin? How am I supposed to be killing two people and sleeping at the same time?"

"That's what I said. But...well, people still think you organised it."

"Did you?" Douglas asks in a small voice, an edge of suspicion to it.

Brendan bites back his reply. There's little point in defending himself, pretending that it's something he wouldn't do. It's exactly what he'd planned: hire some lifer in here who'd do his bidding.

"And then..." Ethan hesitates, not meeting Brendan's eyes.

"What? Jesus Ethan, don't be shy - your boy here already accused me of being a mass murderer."

"Some people are saying that Ste did it."

"What people?" Brendan asks, chest hitching.

"Me," he admits bashfully.

Brendan steps closer, sensing the movement that Douglas makes towards the two of them. It's almost laughable, the idea that the boy could defend anyone here. He's not even a contender.

"Have you been talking?" His voice is low, threatening. He studies Ethan's face, wonders how much damage he can do to it. How he'll look, a mess of blood and cuts and bruises.

"No."

He doesn't imagine the way that Ethan swallows slowly. The real fear that's building.

"I swear Brendan, I haven't said anything. But - you're thinking it too, aren't you?"

Brendan shakes his head, tries to reject the thought, remove it from his mind. Steven wouldn't do this. Not after what they've talked about.

Unless -

Unless he's as much of a liar as Brendan is. Unless he's been fooling him this entire time, and he never intended to try and stay away from Warren.

"No." He's not sure that he believes his own words anymore. "No, he wouldn't. He's just a kid for fuck's sake. Have you seen the size of him? He wouldn't -" He wouldn't stand a chance. That's the thought that's attacking Brendan now, eating out his insides, coiled in his gut. If Steven went against Warren and Silas, then there's no way in hell that he'd be the one walking away.

"I'm just trying to prepare you for the possibility." Ethan's voice is low, sounds protective.

Brendan's face contorts, forms a snarl. He doesn't want to be protected. That's his job. He's the one who's meant to be protecting Steven.

"Hey!" Douglas cries out when Brendan's hand closes around Ethan's neck, pressing him against the wall. The other men in the hallway barely even register them, too involved in the commotion, in trying to get past where the officers stand. Brendan uses the chaos to his advantage: stands close enough so that his hot breath is on Ethan's face, his hand secured around his neck. It's not tight enough to suffocate him, but it's tight enough to hurt.

Douglas is a flickering voice of protest in the background. Brendan ignores him; bats him away with his hand, and focuses on Ethan's face.

"That's very good of you, Ethan. Preparing me." It comes out as a soft croon, and Brendan doesn't recognise his own voice. He's done this before, more times than he can count, but it's never felt like this. He's increasingly feeling like he's got nothing left to lose.

"Brendan -"

"Shhhhhh." He strokes a finger down Ethan's neck, does it to calm himself down more than anything - needs to touch something, because the world feels like it's spinning. He registers the way that Ethan flinches, and Brendan loosens his grip around his neck, feels a sudden strange urge to apologise. He doesn't want to think about what this must remind Ethan of: being held here against his will, touched when he doesn't want to be touched.

He continues, speaks as though there was no hesitation. But he doesn't touch him like that again.

"Steven's alive." His voice shakes around the words.

"I never said that he wasn't."

"You were thinking it though, weren't you? Boy like Steven, skinny, young, going up against Fox and Blissett. You don't think he made it out, do you?"

He's never relied on Ethan's opinion. Even if he wasn't a bent copper, he wouldn't listen, wouldn't take comfort from his words. But right now, Brendan needs to hear it. Needs Ethan to tell him that everything's going to be okay.

"Brendan."

It sounds like a breath more than a word. Brendan can hear pity in it.

He lets go of Ethan as though he's been struck; staggers back, and no longer sees the two men in front of him. It's the blood he sees: red and violent, and streaked like a trail of breadcrumbs that demand that he follows.

If it leads to Steven, then he's gonna fucking follow it. Needs to see where it leads. Needs to hold Steven, be with him. Cheryl's mum used to read them fairy tales. Used to have his head filled with Sleeping Beauty: the prince bringing the princess back to life.

If Steven's dead, then he's going to bring him back.

He's being restrained. Brendan struggles against it, feels like there's ropes gathering around his body. When he fights to get free, he hears the sounds he's making, the broken cries that are torn from him.

"Stop it."

"Where are you going?"

He doesn't know. Doesn't have an answer to that. Wherever Steven is is the closest he's got.

"This is a crime scene."

He laughs, sounds like a line from the movies. He'd heard those words when Vincent had been killed, but this - this doesn't feel real.

"I don't want to hurt you, Brendan."

"How could you hurt me, Anthony?" The idea's implausible.

"I don't want to call for backup."

Brendan can already see it: the hoard of officers around them, only contained by Tony telling them to hold off. Most governors would have had him down on the floor by now, hands locked in cuffs.

"I need to get past." He's so close, just has to walk a few steps more and he'll be past the yellow tape, where the majority of the blood is streaked along the floor.

Tony turns him around with a surprising amount of strength. Brendan can't work out if he's incredibly stupid or admiringly brave: it would only take a punch and he could overpower him.

"What are you doing?"

Tony's words stop him. Make him still in his movements, lose the energy that was driving him moments before.

He feels like he's crumbling. Is this what it's like without Steven? The feeling that he can't breathe, that he can't even function?

"I need to find him."

He can see Tony frowning, doesn't even seem to register everything that's going on around them. Just stands here with Brendan like he has time for him, like he cares.

Jesus.

"Ste?"

"Steven," Brendan says, hates himself for it - Steven could be dead, and he's correcting his fucking name?

"He's not with you?"

Brendan spreads his arms, looks around.

"Does it look like he's fucking with me?"

He sees an officer, one of the bastards, eyeing him warily and stepping forward, but Tony holds up a hand. The officer doesn't take his eyes off Brendan, and he sees real hatred there. Looks like he's just confirmed to the man that he's everything that he always thought he was. Scum of the earth and a faggot.

"Calm down."

"You scared, Anthony?"

"I'm scared for you, yes."

It disarms Brendan. He doesn't know what the fuck to say.

"When did you last see him?"

He tries to think, feels like he can't. Everything's jumbled in his mind, and he doesn't know how to order it.

"Brendan." Tony puts his hands on Brendan's shoulders, and he feels it steadying him. Anchoring him. "I can't help you unless you tell me."

Does he want help?

"Today. Early hours."

"Early hours? Why weren't you with Ethan?"

Brendan's eyes flicker up to Darren, whose own are wide with panic.

"Evening. Yesterday evening." He wouldn't believe him. He's not trying to be convincing: doesn't care enough to be. None of this matters. All these insignificant details. None of it.

"We're going to find him, yeah?" Tony takes his hands away, but Brendan can still feel the warmth of them on his shoulders.

This is concern that goes beyond professionalism. Brendan never saw it before. Never saw how much Tony cares.

Before Brendan can thank him - before he can say anything - Tony disappears amongst the crowd.

Brendan begins making plans. The officers round up the men, and as he's marched back to his cell they begin to form in his mind, becoming more vivid as each man he passes in the corridor isn't Steven.

Hanging is too problematic. Hundreds of men in here have tried it, and nine times out of ten they get caught before they lose enough oxygen.

Cutting himself isn't quick enough. There are shards of glass that are easy enough to get hold of, and it wouldn't be impossible to get a knife from cookery class, but he doesn't know the right technique. Can't be sure that he won't still be alive at the end of it.

He settles on it: an overdose, mixed with moonshine. He'll put it in action tonight, will be found dead in the morning. He'll leave three notes, one for Cheryl, one for his kids, one for Tony. The last will have instructions: wherever Steven's buried, that's where he wants to be.

The idea of death seems almost freeing.

Soon as he gets back to his cell, he gets into bed. Faces the wall and away from Ethan, can feel the man staring at him, feeling sorry for him.

There was an altercation. He can picture it, can see how it would have happened. Steven lied to him - snuck out early, before Brendan was awake, and managed to corner Warren and Silas. Brendan doesn't know exactly how the boy did it, but he's smart, smarter than his parents and all the teachers who gave up on him think. He would have had a weapon - maybe a pool cue, something that he managed to grab at the last moment. He killed them, but he was injured too. Brendan has to close his eyes then, bite down on his fist, because he imagines the blood. Imagines the moment of realisation on Steven's face when he knew he was dying. Brendan wonders what he'd thought about in the seconds before. Wonders if he'd thought of him.

"I'm sorry."

Brendan's stirred from his thoughts.

I'm sorry for your loss.

He doesn't say anything, just listens as there's a creak from the other bed as Ethan sits down.

"What I said earlier - Brendan, I'm sure Ste's fine."

This is what he wanted: reassurance. It sounds like he's being placated, fed words that he wants to hear, but none of it's true. It's not worth a damn thing.

"Then where is he?"

He hasn't seen him for hours. Steven would have found him. Would have told him that he was okay. Wouldn't have left him like this.

"There's tons of men who are missing. It's been out of control - he could be safe somewhere."

Could be.

"Just...don't do anything stupid. Please."

"Like what?"

"I know you love him."

"No, I..."

He doesn't want to love him anymore. If he never had, none of this would be happening. Steven would be just another face in the crowd. Just some kid who would do his time and go back to whatever life he'd had before.

Brendan's made him do this. Made him into a killer. Made him give up his life.

"We don't know anything yet."

Brendan stands up, staggers to the mirror, feels like he can't feel his own body. His eyes look glassy, his skin sunken.

"You know anyone who deals?"

"What?"

"You know what I'm asking you."

Ethan gets off the bed, walking towards Brendan slowly like he's approaching something dangerous.

"Don't do this."

"Come on, you must know. Ex copper like you, you get a feel for this stuff. I'm out of the loop, aren't I?" He doesn't say why he's out of the loop. Doesn't say that since he met Steven, he's been trying to keep on the straight and narrow. All of that - the drugs, the violence - had begun to feel like something from somebody else's life.

"I'm not doing this. Ste wouldn't want this for you."

"Steven's not here, so." He laughs, Steven's not here, and Jesus, he can't wait till this ends. Needs for it to all end.

"What are you going to do? Take an overdose, have your kids grow up without a father? That sister of yours who comes to see you every week - you want her to find out that you gave up?"

Brendan turns away from the mirror, doesn't want to see himself anymore.

"Doesn't matter. They're better off without me."

"Brendan -"

"Just tell me. We both know I'm going to find out, so make it quick, yeah?"

"No. You were the only person who ever stood up to Warren. The only one who ever - fuck Brendan, do you not think my head's wrecked too? He did that to me for years, and now he's..."

Brendan hadn't even thought about it. Hadn't considered that Ethan's finally free.

He'd take Warren being here and hurting Ethan if he could have Steven back. Knows how sick it is, how twisted, but he'd take it - every time.

He can't do it. Can't comfort Ethan, tell him that it's over now, that he's happy that Warren's never coming back. Can't do any of this without Steven.

He knows the door's locked, but he tries it anyway. Bangs on the hard wood and ignores the pain and Ethan's protests for him to stop. He needs to get out of here: has been locked up for five years, but he's never felt it so acutely before now. He never knew before, never knew what it was to be happy.

He wishes he'd never known.

The door opens, and he braces himself to be faced by an officer. To be manhandled and forced back inside, told to sit the fuck down and wait till they continue their investigations, until one day everyone forgets about this - forgets that Steven Hay ever existed.

Brendan won't forget. Will be in his grave by tomorrow morning and will still remember. Will still carry it with him everywhere.

It's not an officer. It's Tony.

"We've found him."

Brendan sinks to his knees.