Disclaimer:The Power Rangers do not belong to me-they belong to Saban, I am just borrowing them for the purpose of this story. I'm not being paid for this story.

Notes and Timeline:This story follows canon up to mid Zeo period, then veers off into its own future. No Gold Ranger, no fishy girlfriend on Aquitar, etc. The events of T:APRM never happened, and Rocky is never injured.

WARNING:This story contains non-graphic scenes and mention of rape (m/m). If you can't handle that subject, don't read this story. You have been warned.

Author's notes 2015: Way back when, in the 90's when "Mele" wrote a ton of general fiction, I also played with graphic sexual fiction….but because I didn't want it traced back to the 'real' me, I used a different name: Serendipity. Two of the stories I did were not PWP's…they actually contain plot I'm rather proud of. So they have been sanitized and the graphic bits removed to be listed proudly as "Mele" stories. This is the first one.

Let the Cycle be Broken

By Mele

Tommy and Billy glanced up as Tommy's father, Roland, entered the room where the two teens were working on a school project. Though Billy had officially graduated, he still helped his friends whenever they needed assistance with schoolwork.

"What are you two boys up to?" the elder Oliver asked with a smile.

"Figuring out what exactly I'm going to need for a Biology experiment, and planning the trip this weekend to the cabin. Billy and I want to do some fishing, plus we can gather samples for my paper on 'Lichen Composition and Mutation'," Tommy explained.

"Is having Billy help you so much within the rules? Are you actually learning something?" Roland queried.

"It's okay as long as he doesn't do the work. He's just keeping me from wandering too far astray. And, yes, I'm learning a lot. Though how all this wonderful knowledge about lichen is going to help me in the future is questionable," the teen grinned.

Roland had to laugh at that. "Maybe it'll come in handy when cooking or something. Okay, boys, I guess carry on." Chuckling at the expressions that comment had created, the older man retired to the den, leaving the two teens to finish their planning.

PRPRPR

"Hey, Billy. It's Roland Oliver. Tommy wanted me to ask if you'd come over and help him with this experiment. I guess he's having some sort of problem with it, and he's got his hands full trying to figure it out." Roland's voice was authoritative even over the phone, Billy noted subconsciously.

"Sure. But I thought he was going to Stone Canyon with his mom today," Billy replied. They'd gathered a dozen or more specimens on the weekend trip to the cabin and had planned to do the testing tomorrow.

"There was a change of plans, so I guess Tommy thought he'd get a head start on the experiment."

"Yeah, he is pretty anxious to get it done," Billy agreed with a grin. "I'll be over in ten minutes or so. Please tell him not to mess anything else up, okay?"

"Sure thing. See you in a few minutes I guess."

PRPRPR

Tommy's father was a very successful lawyer, and the Olivers' home sat at the center of a large, secluded lot at the edge of Angel Grove, surrounded by trees and shrubs that protected the place from prying eyes. Rocky had once joked that it was the perfect home for spies or secret agents who wanted to engage in covert activities.

"It's so isolated there's no one who would be able to hear the victim's screams," Rocky had declared ominously, much to the gang's amusement.

**But,** Billy thought as he approached the two-story home, **Rocky was right. No one could see or hear what went on there without trespassing.** He felt an odd, and completely unexpected, shiver of trepidation at that thought. **Guess I shouldn't have watched that horror movie last night,** he mused as he rang the doorbell.

"Billy, hi. Come on in." Roland himself answered the door.

"Hi. Where's Tommy doing the testing? The kitchen?" Billy queried, heading in that direction.

"Tommy's not here," Roland replied icily.

"What? But you said..." The teen turned toward Roland with a puzzled expression.

"I lied. I needed to talk to you alone, you miserable little punk. You think I don't know what you're up to? You think I don't know what you'll do to my son? Think again, smart guy," the big man sneered as he stalked toward the startled teenager.

Billy found himself backing away from the Tommy's father, desperately trying to decide what course of action would be best. He couldn't teleport right in front of the man, but if he could slip out of sight for a few seconds he wouldn't hesitate to use that option. Roland Oliver was close to 6'2" tall, and still built like the football player he had been in college. Billy knew full well he couldn't take the man in a straight fight.

"I ... I don't know what you're talking about," the teen stammered, still retreating.

"I'm not going to let you hurt my boy. That isn't going to happen. They say an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, and I intend to do some preventing."

Billy ducked away as his friend's father grabbed for him, but he wasn't quick enough. Roland managed to snatch the back of the loose-fitting shirt Billy wore and pulled the teen toward him. Grabbing the youth firmly, he bore his struggling burden toward the door that led to the basement.

Frantic, the former Ranger managed to land a hard kick to the large man's knee, throwing him off balance. Taking advantage, Billy wrenched out of his grip and raced toward the front door. Grabbing the handle, he tried to open the door only to find the deadbolt thrown. It was the work of a mere second to retract the bolt, but that second was enough. Roland roared up behind him and without warning or finesse slammed the teen's head into the wooden door. Billy collapsed unconscious at Roland's feet.

"You're going to be sorry you did that, you little shit," he said as he easily hefted the teen and headed again toward the door to the basement.

PRPRPR

Jason was watching TV in his dorm room, his thoughts thousands of miles away. He'd just finished another session with Janette, the counselor who was provided for the teen ambassadors. Janette was there to help the teens adjust to life far away from home, to assist them in dealing with the stress of the responsibility placed upon them, and to handle any other emotional crises the youthful group might have. Jason had started going to see her a month after he arrived in Switzerland, and had continued ever since then, a period of nearly a year now.

"Yo, Jase, how're you doing?" Zack's jovial voice as he entered the room drew Jason from his thoughts.

"I'm going home," the former Red Ranger announced without preamble.

"It's time, huh?" his friend asked.

"Yeah. I won't know any peace until I take care of this once and for all. Soon as I can arrange my absence and book a flight, I'm out of here."

"If you want, Trini and I will come with you," Zack offered, his cheerful face solemn and sincere.

"No, man, you guys stay here. Keep doing good. It'll be okay. I have my folks, Billy's still there. It'll be enough."

"If you're sure."

"I'm sure." Jason reiterated.

It had been a month after he'd started seeing Janette that Jason had finally told the truth to Zack and Trini. They'd known something was seriously wrong with their friend, but had no idea what it could be. Their reaction to his story was shock and outrage, as well as steadfast support. Jason could still remember his fear when he faced his friends to tell them what had happened. Now it was being kindled again, knowing he was going to have to tell his parents, and the police. He felt himself wavering once more and fought against it.

It was time ... past time ... for the truth to be told.

PRPRPR

Billy regained consciousness to find himself naked and bent over the edge of some sort of table, his hands bound to the sides, his ankles to the table legs, leaving him spread obscenely open. He moaned lightly as the pain from the blow to his head made itself known.

"About time you joined the party," a sneering voice taunted him.

The former Ranger tested the bonds, dismayed to find they were very secure. As the full implications of what his position might mean struck him, he began to pull at them frantically.

"Let me go, please, let me go!" he cried out desperately. "Let me go, I haven't done anything wrong! You can't do this. Help!"

As his panic increased he ignored how the ropes abraded his wrists, focusing only on trying to get away. His mind yammered nonsense at him as he struggled, until finally Roland grew tired of watching and quickly stepped up to the table, in front of Billy, and slapped the teen sharply. The blow acted to diffuse Billy's panic for the moment, allowing him to focus on his captor.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked as the man moved behind him again. He had begun to tremble wildly as the physical reaction to his situation set in.

"I'm doing this to protect my son. You will not be allowed to harm him."

"Tommy? Why would I want to hurt Tommy? He's my friend, I don't want to hurt him in any way. What you are doing to me will hurt him a lot more than I ever could," Billy argued desperately, his mind still trying to cope with the idea that Tommy's father was doing this to him.

"I would never hurt my son! How dare you imply I would?" Roland sounded infuriated.

Billy heard an odd swooshing noise, then the sharp crack of leather against defenseless flesh, a split second before his right buttock exploded in a fierce, burning pain.

"Shit," the teen moaned as another blow was delivered to his left side. The man behind him began to beat him with an almost manic determination, quickly reducing the bound teen to hysterical cries of pain, which continued for a time after the beating stopped.

"Never, EVER, say I'd hurt my son! I love my son! I'll protect him no matter what!" Roland shouted at his sobbing hostage. He began to pace about the room, mumbling at times, other times shouting, about his love for Tommy.

Billy's sobs gradually dwindled off to the occasional, hiccupping sniffle, but his eyes followed Roland's every move with obvious fear. It was clear that something was seriously amiss with Tommy's father, not even considering his having kidnapped and beaten one of his son's friends. In this state there was no telling what the man might do, how he might react. Unfortunately, Billy's active mind was working overtime providing ideas as to what might happen, with each idea being worse than the last. His breathing began to quicken into a state near hyperventilating.

The lawyer strode around the room, pacing as he would in front of a jury, his stride purposeful and strong, his hands clasped behind his back, his brow furrowed in thought. His mutterings about Tommy had finally ceased, but Billy found his silent stalking to be even more ominous. At last the big man ceased his pacing and stood staring at a glass-enclosed bookcase for several long minutes, before turning as if he'd reached a decision.

"When Tommy was a child, very young, he started to bite people when angered. Many small children do that, you know. My wife and I, we were of course concerned, and tried several methods to stop him from doing that. Do you know what finally worked? When he bit me in anger, I bit him back. Hard. Hard enough to hurt, but not enough to truly injure him. He got the message. Biting is not a good thing. The old adage about an eye for an eye, you understand. I believe in using methods that produce results," he concluded, stepping behind the bound teen again.

"Please, Mr. Oliver, please, I wouldn't hurt Tommy. I promise. I won't hurt him. Please, don't hurt me anymore. Please," Billy pleaded, panic threatening again. He hated the trembling, fearful sound of his voice, but was powerless to change it.

"I believe you are sincere, Billy. Really I do. But I have to be certain you remember, and I know just the thing to drive the message home," Roland replied, his reasonable tone oddly menacing.

Billy could hear the sound of rustling clothing, along with the heart-stopping sound of a zipper being opened. Then silence for a few moments, during which his fevered mind conjured up all sorts of horrors that his assailant could be planning. He was on the edge of hysteria when he sensed the presence of the man close behind him.

"No, no ... you don't want to do this! This is wrong, please. Please, don't do this, please," he knew he was babbling but he couldn't help himself as he felt the large hands settle on his hips. In his terror he again tried desperately to break from the ropes binding him to the table. The sturdy piece of furniture actually bucked and rattled with the ferocity of his struggles

"Son, it's best you just keep quiet and take your medicine. Learn your lesson," Tommy's father chided the former Ranger.

The next few minutes the blond teen experienced a pain and humiliation he had not even realized could exist, while something still young and trusting died within his soul. Billy barely realized it when the man finished and withdrew.

Roland stepped away from the table and silently cleaned himself up and dressed. He then turned to his son's friend, and began roughly cleaning the teen and the floor below. Tossing the towel aside, he released Billy's feet, then his hands, neatly rolling up the rope before throwing it carelessly on the table. Billy jerked off the table as soon as his hands were free, staggering weakly toward the couch where he saw his neatly folded clothes. Roland grabbed him before he reached the couch, shoving him hard against the wall and pressing his much larger body against the teen. He grabbed the teen's chin in a bruising grip and forced Billy to look up at him.

"Get out and never come back, you understand me? If I see you around here again I'll do much, much worse to you. You ever try to tell anyone about this and I'll kill you. AFTER I kill that wimpy father of yours. And I'll tell everyone how much you enjoyed it. Do you want me to do that, boy?"

"N ... N ... no," Billy stammered, tears streaming down his face, his heart beating painfully in his chest. "P ... p ... please ..." Never before had he felt such terror, such humiliation.

Roland made no reply, but released his grip and stepped back with a look of contempt. As Billy turned again to go get his clothing, he clouted the teen on the back of his head, propelling him roughly to the couch. "Hurry it up!" he growled.

Billy fell beside the couch, but still reached frantically for his clothing, pulling it on as quickly as possible, hissing in pain as he donned his jeans. He was sobbing and shaking so hard he could barely move, but with tremendous force of will he finished dressing. He didn't bother to put on his shoes, just grabbed them up and ran as quickly as he could up the stairs and toward the front door, ignoring his body's protests to movement. He didn't stop until he reached the RadBug.

Tossing his shoes on the passenger floor, Billy climbed behind the wheel of his car, letting out a hoarse cry of pain as his tender backside came in contact with the seat. Ignoring the agony as much as possible, he turned on the small car and headed toward the road, concentrating on not thinking about what had just happened. His only goal was to get home and get in the shower. A creeping mental numbness seemed to settle over him as the distance from the Olivers' home increased.

The bright sunlight and mellow warmth of the day surprised him. How could it all look so normal, when everything had changed? When nothing could ever be the same again?

PRPRPR

Lawrence Cranston was lucky enough to get off work early for once, and was looking forward to a quiet, relaxing afternoon at home. The store he managed was doing a storewide inventory and had closed early to allow the company doing the inventory full access to all the stock.

As he pulled in the driveway he noticed his son's VW parked in its usual spot, albeit a bit more at an angle than was usual for Billy. He just shrugged, figuring his son must have been in a hurry when parking. The slight man entered his home and headed up the stairs to change into something more comfortable, looking forward to settling down with a good book and a glass of ice tea. Deciding a warm shower would help him to relax, he grabbed a change of clothes and strode quickly to the bathroom. He started to remove his tie when he noticed a pile of dirty laundry left carelessly on the floor, a practice he had tried repeatedly to break his son of. With an exasperated sigh he picked up the clothes and turned to take them to the laundry chute in the hallway when he noticed something that made his heart stutter painfully.

There was blood on his son's clothing. More specifically, there was blood, a lot of it, on his boxer shorts. Lawrence dropped the clothes and examined the boxers more closely. The blood had saturated the cloth to such a degree they were still a little tacky. Numbly he picked up the jeans and examined them, too. They were also bloodstained in the seat, quite badly in fact.

"Oh, my God," he whispered to himself. He turned toward the closed door of his son's room, his chest tight with fear.

Entering without knocking he saw that the bed, covered with what looked to be two or three extra blankets, was occupied. Approaching carefully, he began peeling back layers of coverings until he found his son, curled into a fetal position and shivering uncontrollably despite the thick covers.

"Billy? Billy, what happened? Come on, Son, let me help you," he said gently, reaching out toward the obviously distraught teen. Though by nature a gentle man, Lawrence was not naïve; he suspected what had happened to his son, and knew it would be difficult to deal with. The first step would be making sure his physical injuries were properly treated. He could see a painful-looking, swollen bruise on Billy's forehead, sending tendrils of discoloration downward to darken the flesh around the frightened blue eyes. Billy, barely aware, flinched back from his father's touch.

"Son? Son, I'm going to go call the ambulance. I'm going to get you help, you're going to be okay. You have to believe that. No matter what has happened, you will be okay," he murmured gently before rising to go make the call. A coldly logical segment of his mind noted dispassionately that he was himself in shock, but the same cool logic that recognized that also realized the shock could be used. It muted his pain, his fear, his horror at his son's injuries, allowing him to do what was necessary for Billy. He remembered only one other time when he had felt this way, that being when his father had died two months before his seventeenth birthday, keeling over from a first, fatal heart attack a half hour after dinner.

Within minutes the paramedics arrived, moving briskly into the teen's bedroom. Lawrence spoke softly to them, telling them of his suspicions, showing them the clothing he'd found. The older paramedic produced a plastic bag and took the clothing for evidence while his younger, female partner began to uncover Billy, speaking soothingly as she worked.

"Billy? Billy, you are going to have to let go of this blanket. I'm sorry, but we have to get it out of our way. Come on, let it go, let us help you. We don't want to hurt you, we're here to help. That's good, Billy, good. Let's see if we can get you on the gurney, okay?" Using a combination of cajoling and ordering she managed to get the traumatized teen out of the bed and onto the waiting stretcher. Billy seemed to be okay until they tried to strap him in, then all hell broke loose.

With an inarticulate cry of fear and rage, Billy thrashed out at the paramedics, trying to get away from them in a blind panic. By that time the ambulance driver had arrived, along with a police officer, alerted by the paramedics that they were possibly dealing with the victim of a crime. The female paramedic, ambulance driver, and police officer all struggled to restrain the panicked teenager while the other paramedic called the hospital for instructions. Moments later he approached with a syringe and administered a shot that quickly subdued Billy. Panting from their efforts they efficiently strapped the now compliant youth safely on the gurney.

"Look at this," the young woman paramedic said softly, indicating Billy's wrist. "He's been bound, no wonder he panicked. Poor kid, we must have terrified him, trying to tie him down like that."

"I know, Cindy, but it has to be done. It's never easy, cases like this," her older partner sighed. He had two sons at home not much younger than Billy. "Let's just send the kid on in, the doctors are ready and waiting."

Lawrence Cranston had watched them struggle with his son without comment or movement, his entire being numb with horror. Finally he managed to gather enough concentration to listen to the police officer, who regarded him with no small amount of sympathy.

"Sir, they're taking him to Angel Grove Memorial Hospital. Can I call someone to drive you there? I don't feel it would be safe to send you alone." The officer's tone was gentle, but firm.

"I guess maybe Joe Scott if he's available. If not, I should be fine to drive alone," Lawrence declared.

"Detective Scott? That Joe Scott?"

"Yes. He's a friend," Lawrence said with a puzzled frown. Why was this guy asking him about his friends when he son needed him?

"Good. Wait just a minute while I call Joe."

Lawrence looked around the now empty bedroom, feeling oddly disassociated. A small corner of his mind recognized that he was in a state of shock, but he found it hard to understand how that could be. The only things that seemed clear were that his son had been hurt, and that he needed him. The elder Cranston headed toward the front door, intending to go to his son, regardless of the policeman's instructions.

"Hold up, sir. Please, just wait here a minute, Joe's on his way. He'll pick you up in just a couple of minutes. You aren't going to do Billy any favors if you get yourself killed on the way to the hospital. Let's just wait here by the curb for Joe."

The officer was polite, but insistent, as he led Lawrence to the curb at the front of the modest home. He didn't attempt to engage the worried father in conversation, but stood quietly beside him, offering whatever slight support he could. He was very grateful when he saw Joe's sedan approaching, however; Lawrence Cranston's silent brooding was getting on his nerves.

"Joe, thanks for coming," the smaller man said quietly.

"Come on, Lawrence, let's get to the hospital and find out what's happened," the burly detective said gently, leaning over to open the passenger door for his friend.

Whenever the two men went somewhere in public together, they usually got their fair share of odd looks. While Lawrence was short, slender, and fair, Joseph Scott was tall, burly, and dark. It was quite obvious where Jason Scott got his looks and physique.

"I'm all too afraid I know what happened," Lawrence replied in a toneless voice.

"Then we'll find out who did it, and make sure it doesn't ever happen again," his friend said firmly. "Claire's on duty today, she'll keep us informed on how he's doing. He'll be okay, Billy's a lot stronger than you think he is." The detective hoped he sounded more certain than he felt. He'd gotten a quick report on how Billy had responded to the paramedics, and the physical evidence they could see at that point. He knew the boy well enough to know this would be devastating to the self-confidence he'd so recently developed.

"I hope you're right, Joe. I just hope you're right," the worried father responded. He then turned inward, returning to his silent brooding, as they drew nearer the hospital.

PRPRPR

Claire Scott was waiting anxiously for the ambulance, knowing only that the victim of a possible assault was arriving, not the victim's identity. She had worked hard at the additional training needed to work the trauma unit of the ER, and her focus had included treatment of sexual assault victims. Consequently, she was slated to head the nursing team for the incoming case, her first one since completing her supplementary training two months before. Much as she enjoyed her work, she was grateful that in Angel Grove she didn't have much reason to use it.

The doors banged open as the attendants wheeled in the patient, jockeying the gurney expertly up to the side of the examination table. Dropping one side rail, they quickly released the straps securing the still body and with practiced precision they transferred the patient to the examination table then whisked away the ambulance's equipment. Dr. Stanley and Claire stepped up ready to begin the examination, when Claire finally got a good look at the pale face on the pillow.

"Billy!" she gasped.

"You know this boy?" the doctor asked quietly.

"Yes. He's one of my son's best friends. I've known him for years."

"Will you be okay to work on this, Claire? There's no shame in asking to step aside, there's plenty of help available in this case."

Claire fixed Dr. Stanley with a steady look. She was shaken, but she was also a professional and damned proud of that. "I'm fine. Let's see what we have here." She reached for the blanket covering the teen, all business.

"Note in the file that the patient was given a sedative at the scene," Dr. Stanley began, rattling off the name of the drug and dosage administered. He and Claire worked quickly to strip the pliant teen, who seemed to be caught in a twilight state somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness. Once the clothing had been removed, they carefully rolled Billy onto his side.

"Damn. Bring in a rape kit," the doctor ordered briskly. The condition of the boy's buttocks, the bruises at his hips, and the blood-soaked gauze they could see in his anus left no doubt as to what had happened. "Who packed his injury like this?" he demanded.

"Don't know. May have been the kid himself. We didn't do that close an exam, we had enough trouble just getting him on the gurney," Cindy said from where she and her partner were watching, waiting to see if they would be needed.

"Anyone know how long he was home? How long ago this might have happened?"

"The father came home and found the boy in this condition, about a half hour ago, I believe."

"Damn. Okay, I guess we're going to need some photos, too. Get the camera in here, get a couple of shots, and let us get on with helping him," Dr. Stanley ordered, already starting to take the samples needed for the police.

Claire did her job efficiently, pushing her sorrow and horror back, focusing on doing what needed to be done. There would be time for her feelings later. Much later.

PRPRPR

"Mr. Cranston?"

Lawrence looked up into the sympathetic eyes of the middle-aged doctor standing by his chair. "Yes, that's me."

"Why don't you come along with me, and we'll talk about what happened to your son."

"Lawrence, do you want me to come along?" Joe asked gently.

"I suppose it would be a good idea. You'll need to know for the police report anyway, won't you?" he replied after a moment's consideration.

"Actually, yes."

The two men followed the doctor to a small, cluttered office and closed the door.

"I'm sure you both have already figured out that Billy had been assaulted," the doctor stated, his voice businesslike but his expression sympathetic. "Someone, or someones, sodomized him with considerable force. There is a good amount of tearing around the anal area, as well as extensive internal and external bruising. In addition it appears he was beaten fairly severely, with a belt or strap. There are abrasions at both wrists and ankles, indicating he was bound during the assault. He also has a mild concussion due to the head injury. Despite how it sounds, he should make a full, and actually fairly rapid, recovery. At least physically. As for his mental state, I would like to have a rape crisis counselor visit him in the morning. I also want to admit him overnight for observation. I expect the bleeding to stop completely, but I need to be sure before I send him home." The doctor turned his attention to the detective. "Joe, we did a rape kit, but I suspect there is little there for you to use. It appears the attacker used a condom. I already turned over what we got to the uniform that responded to the scene." He addressed Lawrence again. "Do you have any questions?"

"Can I see Billy?" The man's face was deathly pale, tinged a bit green.

"Give us a few minutes to get him settled, okay? He's still under the influence of the sedative, as well as still a bit shocky. We'll be keeping a close eye on that, but for now it appears he's gradually coming out of it. I'm so sorry this has happened." He laid a gentle hand on Lawrence's shoulder.

"Thank you," he whispered. He suddenly stood up and bolted for the door. "Excuse me."

"Down the hall and toward the right," Dr Stanley called after the retreating figure. "Marcia! Make sure he gets there okay," he ordered a passing nurse, who hurried off after the retching man.

"Damn, but I hate these sorts of cases. What's this kid like, Joe?"

"He's a good one, Ed. One of the best. Honors student. Hell, he's got an IQ that reaches the stratosphere. A nice kid, never been a problem to anyone. Quiet, shy, though he's finally started coming out of his shell some in the last couple years. Now this. Why the hell would someone want to hurt him this way?" The burly detective slammed his fist into the wall in frustrated anger.

"Easy, Joe. You know there's often no real answer to that question. Oh, by the way, Claire worked on this one. Did a fine job setting aside her feelings, professional all the way. But I expect it will hit her hard later. I think I'll suggest she goes home early. In case you want to be there."

"Thanks, Ed. I will. Soon as I make sure Lawrence is okay. This hit him harder still."

"Yeah. Where's the kid's mom, anyway?"

"Divorced and gone years ago. She's never kept in touch, never tried to. They haven't seen her in nearly fifteen years."

"An original tough-luck family, huh?"

"Seems like it," Joe agreed sadly.

PRPRPR

Billy floated in darkness, at long last feeling warm, and safe, in a hidden place the pain couldn't reach. He remembered the events at the Olivers' quite clearly, but now they seemed more like something he'd seen on TV or read in a book. He could also vaguely recall seeing his father's face; pale and worried. A pretty young woman who was nice at first, then wanted to tie him down to do bad things to him again. Another pretty lady he recognized, sort of, she was someone important in his life, though at the moment he had no idea why. Then lights, lots of lights, some flashing, some steady, and a different sort of probing pain. Voices talking nonsense around him, until finally they faded into nothing. He liked the nothing. It was quiet there, calm. He could forget things there.

He drifted.

PRPRPR

Jason looked out the window of the airplane with a moody expression.

He was considering the difference between this flight, and the one that took him to Switzerland in the first place. Then he'd been running, though he couldn't have admitted it then. Running away from Angel Grove, and from what had happened to him there. Convinced that each mile he traveled would free him somehow from the memories, not understanding that the memories had boarded the plane with him. It had taken time - and work - a year of it, to give him the wisdom to see his error. Now it was time to finish the healing, and just maybe to exact a bit of revenge.

He'd been surprised that his parents seemed less than enthused by his desire to return home for an extended visit. His mom had even hinted it would be better later in the year, but the teen had stood firm. He wanted ... needed ... to come home.

The seatbelt sign lit up as the stewardess went down the aisle, informing the passengers they needed to buckle up for the final approach to Angel Grove. Jason had cleared customs at LAX, then hopped a small connecting flight straight to Angel Grove, rather than have his parents drive to the larger airport in the big city.

Looking down on the town he'd grown up in, Jason felt a strange combination of elation and fear. It had been a busy year, he'd changed so much, learned so much; not all of it good. But still, this sprawling collection of mostly modest homes and small businesses was now, and would always be, he supposed, his home. And regardless of any other circumstances, it still felt good to come home.

His parents were standing right at the gate, huge smiles on their faces, alleviating his lingering doubts about coming home. In fact, it seemed they clung to him a little more than usual.

"Oh, man, it's so good to see you both," he grinned, releasing them at last.

"It's good to have you home. We've missed you. My gosh, you look great!" Claire gushed, reaching up to caress his cheek gently, her smile warm and glad.

"Thanks, Mom. Guess I should grab my luggage and we can get out of here. I've seen enough of airports, that's for sure."

It was a matter of only a few minutes to collect Jason's bags and load them in the car. The drive home was enlivened by Jason's accounts of life at the ambassadors' dorms in Switzerland, the different customs he'd encountered, the projects the teens were involved in to make the future a brighter place to live. He sprinkled his account liberally with anecdotes concerning their cultural misunderstandings, which soon had both his parents laughing.

Once home Jason quickly unpacked, then headed to the kitchen where his parents were sitting, talking quietly. He planned to take a day or two to settle in before telling his parents about what had happened to him before he'd left for Switzerland. Though happy to be home again, it also made him feel a bit more vulnerable, and he needed to get past that before talking to them. In short, he needed to feel at home again.

"I don't know what to do first. Visit the Youth Center for a smoothie? Go to the park? Maybe I'll call Billy and Tommy and have them meet me at the Youth Center, I've missed hanging out with them," he rambled on as he reached in the refrigerator for a soda. With his attention focused on finding his favorite soda, he missed the pained glance his parents exchanged.

"Jason, come here and sit down for a minute please," his dad requested, his voice sounding strained.

"Sure." The teen took a good look at his parents, suddenly feeling a knot forming in the pit of his stomach. "What's wrong?" He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen them look so grim, and suddenly Jason felt a chill despite the warmth in the sunny kitchen.

Joe and Claire exchanged a worried look, wondering again just how to tell their teenage son that one of his friends had been the victim of rape. Joe took a deep breath and decided all he could do is plunge on ahead and get it over with.

"Son, there's not easy way to do this, and I don't think I need to tell you that what you are about to hear is to remain confidential. Billy was assaulted a few days ago," Joe told his son, worried when the teen blanched.

"Assaulted? You mean beaten?" **Please, tell me it was just another beating. Bullies, or a monster, or something ...**

"Beaten and raped," Claire said softly, taking one of Jason's hands in her own.

"R ... raped? Are you sure?" The words felt like shattered glass in his mouth.

"Very sure. I'm so sorry to have to tell you this, Jason," Claire said, tightening her grip on her son's now limp hand.

"Is he okay? I mean, is he home now?" **Please tell me he's okay!**

"Yes, he's home. And according to Lawrence he's doing much better, talking, alert," his mother reported, her optimistic words at odds with the sorrow in her eyes.

"Did ... did he say who ... who ..." He couldn't complete the question; the words simply wouldn't come.

"Not yet. We've been trying to get that information, but he refuses to say. I imagine whoever the animal was, he scared Billy pretty badly. Or the blow to his head may have caused a minor, temporary memory loss, that happens often enough. I hope with some time, some therapy, he'll be able to tell us. I want to get this guy, whoever he is," Joe declared, looking out the kitchen window with a stormy expression.

"Can I go see him?" Jason asked, trying to keep his voice steady. If his parents saw how freaked he was, they'd never let him go.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Jason. Are you certain you're up to that today? You just got back, and you look a little shell-shocked at the moment," Claire decided, giving her son a searching look. He was a bit pale, but otherwise looking calm enough.

"I'm fine, Mom. And I'd really like to see him." **I have to see him ... have to know ... I can't wait for later ... I need to know NOW ...**

"Well, just check in with Lawrence first; make sure Billy's up to company. And don't stay too long," Claire instructed him, relieved he'd taken the news as calmly as he had.

Jason couldn't help the rueful grin at his mom's words. It was good to know that some things didn't change, like motherly advice. She'd been telling him to 'not stay too long' since he was a toddler.

"Don't worry, Mom, I won't."

To be continued...