A/N I'm writing this in science instead of studying. You're welcome.

Mikey's POV

Help. Help. I'm scared. I'm trapped. It's dark. I can't move. Pete, where's Pete? I need Pete. It's dark enough already but I close my eyes. I imagine his arms around my waist, his hait tickling my neck, his voice whispering in my ear.

"Take my hand." A pale hand emerges from behind me. What the fuck? "Take my hand Mikey."  I turn around, following the arm to its owner. The owner is small, black hair flopping across his forehead. "Mikey."

"Pete."

"If you want me to be."

"No I want Pete. You're just made up because I need him right now."

"I'm Pete." I shake my head in exasperation. "No you're not my Pete. You are part of my imagination. I want my Pete." I start to tremble and fall to the floor. I pull my knees up and wrap my arms around my legs. Water falls onto my jeans but I don't care. I feel him wrap his arms around me. I breathe in his familiar scent. Pete's scent.

"You'll have to be Peter." I sniffle. I hear him laugh and feel his chest vibrate. "I can be whoever and whatever you want me to be." 

I smile despite the situation. "That's exactly what Pete would say." Neither of us say anything. The silence isn't comforting, but it isn't uncomfortable. It's just...silence. My legs start to tingle and go numb. I move slightly, nudging Peter in the process. "Can you help me up?" I ask. "My legs have fallen asleep." He nods and stands up. He takes my hand and gently pulls me up. As I stand a searing pain runs down the whole left side of my body. It feels like a million blades cutting into my skin.

I scream and clutch my side, falling to the ground again. My vision goes blurry with tears and I almost black out from the pain. When my vision clears I notice something. Peter never moved. He just stood there, looking at me. "Pete would've helped me." I gasp, forcing my body to move into a sitting position.

"I'm not Pete."

"Yeah no shit. What just happened to me?" I massage my side, wincing slightly in discomfort. "You were hit. Many bones were shattered and they can't be fixed. It's caused internal bleeding and potentially death."

My eyes widen in shock. I could die? I'm not ready to die! "Where's Pete? I need him to be here. If I'm going to die I need him. I can't die alone."

"You won't. Just 'cause you can't see him, doesn't mean he isn't there."

"I still need him. I need his hugs and kisses. I need his late night calls. I...I...I need him to tell me everything will be ok. He's the one thing I do and always will need." I start sobbing again. What if I never see him again? What about our wedding?

"I love you Pete."

"He knows."

"Look can you tell me what happened? I'm so fucking confused. I'm scared!"

"You got hit, you fell asleep. You're broken and need to rest."

"I fell asleep?"

"In a way."

"Peter...please tell me what I'm thinking is wrong."

"I'm afraid I can't do that. Your thoughts are correct."

"I need to see Gerard. I need to tell him how much I love him. I need to get divorced so I can get married again."

"There's only one way to do that."

"I know."

"You need to wake up."

Pete's POV

Gerard's asleep. Makes a change, he's normally pissed. He's pissed at me, Mikey, himself. Everyone and everything. It's all my fault though. I didn't move. I ran away. I couldn't stop him.

I can still hear the sickening crunch kf each of his bones snapping and cracking. Every time I close my eyes, the pattern of his blood sprayed across the tarmac is imprinted in my eyelids. I can still see his lifeless body. I can't see his smile. I miss it. So what if most of the time he shows little to no emotion? He's got a Hell of a smile. I love him.

The ring sits on my finger, weighing me down. It's beautiful and has the inscription

"maybe always can be our always."

It's a stupid joke from high school but it meant something. He means something. I refuse to lose him again. Thinking about all the times he nearly lost me, all the pain and stress and worry he must've been through, reallt makes sense now. I feel it all and I don't want to.

"Here." Brendon offers me a warm cup. "Coffee just as you like it." I smile gratefully at him. He takes a seat beside me. "How's he doing?" I shrug. "The doctors haven't said anything." I yawn and stretch. "How much sleep have you gotten?"

"Like an hour a day."

"It's been a week Pete! What the fuck!?"

"I'm scared that if I sleep I'll wake up and he won't." I bite the inside of my cheek and try to stop myself from crying. I've cried to much already. Ugh I hate it! I don't know if he's ever gonna wake up and I'm here fucking crying and shit. Drinking coffee and sleeping. I'm so selfish! It's my fault he's here. Overreactions and running off and fucking climbing trees.

"Brendon...what if...what if..." I just break down again. I don't want to think about it but the reality is that I'm probably going to have to. "Don't think about that now Pete, you're stressed out enough as it is. You're here with Mikey right now and you can be here as much as you need to. That doesn't mean as much as you want to or feel like you have to. You need to make sure you go home most nights and get some proper rest. When Mikey wakes up and you're a fucking zombie and probably worse than he is, he isn't going to be impressed is he?"

I laugh a little. Brendon always knows what to say. There's only one problem. One word. When. Often substituted for 'If'. When he wakes up or If he wakes up. Both two different meanings. When is he going to wake up? Tomorrow, next week, month, year? Or is he? Is he ever?

When?

If?