Josh stared at the figure on the couch. He was unconscious and laying in a seemingly uncomfortable position, his hair messy and darkened with blood. Josh ran forward and checked the boy's pulse sighing in relief when he was sure he was alive. He turned back to Brendon, who was frozen with his mouth agape.

"Brendon, is this- is this Tyler?" Josh asked, his voice strained.

Brendon shook his head, less in a way of denial but more of disbelief. "No, this- this is impossible."

Josh raised his eyebrows. "Brendon, what do you mean?"

"He wasn't supposed to- he was just..." Brendon trailed off and closed his mouth.

Josh walked towards him. "Brendon, what did you do?"

"I- I didn't want to," Brendon persisted. "Really, but they made me. They told me they'd kill him, that they would find someone else. I had to, Josh, but it wasn't supposed to be like this. He wasn't supposed to- he wasn't supposed to hurt him this bad. It was just to make sure he wouldn't run away. I was protecting him, I swear."

"Hurt him?" Josh repeated. "Brendon, did you get someone to hurt him? You- you can't do that, B. God, this is- I mean, look at him! I- God, what the fuck?"

Josh tugged on his own hair before returning to Tyler's side. He shook his shoulders, trying to wake him up. His heart was racing, filled with panic. What if he never woke up? What if he was dying?

"Josh-" Brendon began before he was being cut off.

"We need to call the police," Josh insisted. "Or an ambulance. It's 9-1-1, right? That's- that's what I heard in all those movies. Brendon, you gotta get your phone, mine's dead. Brendon, please."

"We can't."

Josh paused. "What?"

"We can't call the police," Brendon continued. "What are we supposed to tell them? That he was beaten by the Chechen Mafia? That you're getting married just so you can escape the Russian Mafia? You have to think this through."

"We have to do something," Josh said, his voice sounding desperate. "We have to help him."

"I'll get some ice," Brendon whispered.

He made his way to the kitchen and cursed under his breath when he saw there wasn't any ice. He hurriedly began making making some, his hands shaking the entire time. By the time it was freezing, half of the water he had poured was spilled all over the floor. Brendon was glad he hadn't taken his shoes off. He hated having wet socks.

Shaking off the thought, he went back to the living room. Josh had turned Tyler's head to the side and was inspecting the still-wet blood in his hair.

"Towel," he instructed. "I need a towel."

Brendon nodded even though Josh couldn't see it. He searched for a closet of some kind- he knew that there were towels, he just wasn't sure where. Finally, after a too-long search, he found a small towel and ran into the kitchen. He checked on the ice, which was still just extra cold water, before running the towel under the tap. He returned to the living room and handed the towel to Josh, who took it without a word and held it to Tyler's head.

Josh broke the silence. "Why would you did this?"

"I told you," Brendon said. "I had to. I'm sorry."

"Why?" Josh asked. "What did he- what could he do to deserve this?"

"He was going to s away," Brendon admitted. "I was told to keep an eye on him, to make sure he wouldn't try to escape. But then, of course, he did try to, and I knew he wouldn't survive that. I knew he would be killed for doing something like that; running away with the information he knew. He wasn't supposed to be hurt this bad, J. He was just supposed to get scared so he wouldn't try anything. I was trying to protect him. You believe me, right? Right?"

Josh didn't reply. He didn't even look at his friend. Instead, he blinked away his oncoming tears and focused on Tyler. The boy looked different than his picture. It was undeniably him, but there was something different that Josh couldn't put his finger on.