---Gerard---

That afternoon, after school, Patrick isn't at the bus stop after school. He's one minute late, which isn't that bad if he's caught up talking to Joe or Brendon or Pete, but it still worries me a little. I guess I shouldn't be so overprotective, but I can't help it. I don't want anyone to hurt him. He's been through enough as it is with his Dad and Kevin.

Two, then three minutes pass... I can't help but wonder where he is. He'd usually be here by now, but as I wait, I realize he isn't coming, and I start gnawing on my lip worriedly.

My eyes dart around with my eyebrows furrowed, but he's nowhere in sight. Did something happen? Was he held after school?

Or is it something worse?

I text him and wait a bit. One minute passes, then two.

I text again.

He still doesn't reply.

By now, I'm biting my nails stressed and nervous. The bus pulls up, but I don't get in. Not without Patrick. Something's wrong. As soon as the bus leaves, the driver a little confused, I walk back towards the empty school, looking around the grounds but I have no idea where he is. Is he okay? Something definitely happened, I just don't know what yet, "Patrick?" I call, desperation lacing my voice as my feet numbly carry me through the school grounds. I feel like I'm about to cry I'm so scared. Where is he? What's happening? Did someone take him? My first thought is David or Kevin, but I know they're in jail.

Then my mind goes to Bob, Jon, and Spencer and I swear to god I've never run so fast in my life.

"Patrick!" I scream, "Where are you?"

The wind whips my hair as I wait, but there's no reply. I search around the school, checking every corner and crevice but he's not to be found. My search takes me to the field outside the high school, the bleachers, the basketball court, all the way around the block. Nothing. Patrick is nowhere to be found. My heart is pounding in my ears, and I'm beginning to get light headed, where is he? What happened? Was it Bob and Jon and Spencer? Just Bob? Does Pete know? I can barely breathe as I reach the office, stuttering out the only words I can, "D-did y-y-you see a b-boy come th-through here with-with blonde hair and a-a fedora?"

"Are you okay?" The office attendant asks alarmed.

I'm not okay. I can't breathe, and my mind is spinning at a mile a minute the only thing I can focus on is Patrick. Where is Patrick? I hear footsteps, but my vision flickers. I can't get air. I'm hyperventilating. I... can't...

"Honey, I need you to breathe." She holds my hand against her stomach and takes a deep breath in, "In and out. Just breathe for me, okay?"

I force myself to follow her instructions, tears leaking from my eyes and my chest heaving slower and slower until I can grasp my thoughts again, keeping a firm grip on them.

After a minute or so of calming down, she finally says something, a gentle question, "Okay, what is your situation, Hun?"

"I need to find..." I take a deep breath, clearing my mind, "I need to find my boyfriend, Patrick Stumph."

"He left just a little bit ago with another boy, why? What happened?" She's concerned, but I don't have time to tell her.

"Bob Bryar?"

"Yes, why-"

"Thank you," I blurt out, slipping from her fingertips and leaving before she can protest, running back around the school. That's when I realize I think I might know where he is and I know exactly where to go. It's just an idea, but it's my only chance at this point. I sprint as fast as I can towards the place in mind, adrenaline pumping through my veins. This can't be happening. This can't be happening. What will I see when I get there? Rape? Murder? A beating?

I keep running. I can't stop as I reach the edge of downtown, my feet beating into the sidewalk and that's when I begin to hear his voice. I might be imagining it, but I follow it through the streets anyways. What else am I supposed to do? Sit and wait for him to come around? I run until I feel like I'm about to collapse and sweat is dripping down my chest and back. I can hear his screams now, but as soon as I know, I've got the right trail, they quiet again.

I know I'm close, right in the bad part of downtown, just on the edge of the busiest part of the city but this is the place where you hear about the most rapes, murders, and drug deals. I knew Bob would bring him here where his screams would blend in with the rest of the city. Where nobody would bother coming to help because the cops can handle it, right?

"Please, please, please, stop," Patrick sobs. I turn the corner to an alley where I can hear his muffled cries.

Slap.

"Shut the hell up, faggot." Bob barks and Patrick quiets again, "You're such a fucking disappointment. You think Gerard's gonna come, don't you? Pathetic. He's probably happy I'm doing something like this to you. You're such a stupid cunt."

My heart is pounding in my chest and I don't stop as I spring down the alley furiously. Doesn't he know Patrick's had enough? Doesn't he know what's already happened to the boy and what he's doing is only making it worse? Doesn't he know all the pain this boy has been through? The nightmares where he wakes up screaming? All the pills he has to take to keep the flashbacks and suicidal thoughts and anxiety attacks at bay? Does this idiot know how hard it is for Patrick to feel pleasure without feeling guilty?

"Get the fuck away from my boyfriend, or I will fucking snap your neck right here, right now," I growl behind the boy. Bob spins around to see me, and he doesn't have to stay for long to realize I'm not fucking around. A small sound leaves his mouth as he shakily rises to his feet.

"Don't hurt me, man, it was just a joke." He shakily says.

"Get the fuck away from Patrick, get the fuck away from me. I swear to God if you even think about touching him again I will kill you, do you fucking understand? I'm not fucking around." I bark. He nods softly and turns as soon as he gets a chance, sprinting away with fear in his eyes and a rush in his step. I make sure he's completely gone, disappeared around the corner before I turn my attention to Patrick.

And I feel like I'm going to puke.

He's sprawled out on the ground: his shirt is torn, and his pants are unbuttoned and unzipped messily. Blood stains both articles of clothing like ink on paper, not to mention the various bruises that cover where his body is exposed. As soon as Bob is gone, he hugs himself, shaking uncontrollably and tears flow down his reddened cheeks like rivers. He's speechless, but the thing that really hurts me inside is the look of pure horror in his eyes and the pleading undertone. Pleading for mercy. Begging for the pain to go away. He can barely breathe without choking or sobbing or whimpering.

So I reach out to pull him close, gentle and caring. Anything to comfort him but he screams, a scream of terror, of fear, of agony and I immediately let go, "Please, please don't hurt me, please..."

"Patrick, listen to me, it's Gerard, yeah?" I'm not sure what to do besides call Pete since he lives near here. We could get him stitched up at Pete's, and as for his mental health, I'm not even sure what this will do to him... "I'm your boyfriend, remember? I'd never hurt you."

He looks up into my eyes, and I see it click in his mind about who I am. He's out of it, though, really, really out of it. It takes forever for him to process what's happening and even when he knows it's me, he still doesn't seem to fully trust me because he still flinches when I even reach out to him. I sit down in front of him, my legs crossed as I try to take him out of whatever is happening to him.

"It hurts..." He whispers, burying his head back between his knees, "He... he hurt me... just like Kevin did... I hate it... I want to leave..."

"Shh, I know Baby... I know it hurts... I'm gonna get Pete over here, and we can get you fixed up, okay? And it'll stop hurting, and we can talk about this? We can go talk to Dr. Strauss if you want to and-and we can work this out..." I'm running out of things to say, "Can I call Pete? Is that okay?"

He nods softly but only bursts back into tears soon after, terrified, scared, petrified, whatever word you want to use. He's scared of the world, he's afraid of Kevin, he's frightened of David, he's terrified of Bob.

He's scared of me, and it hurts, but I know he'll gather himself after he gets out of the initial shock.

"Shh," I take off my jacket and drape it over him, my scars showing but I don't mind. He's seen them hundreds of times, and I think this helps with shock, but I'm not sure. He takes it gratefully and shifts so he's sitting upright as I dial Pete's number and wait.

"Gerard?" He asks, "What's up?"

I take a deep breath, try not to rush as I explain, "Bob took Patrick down to the bad part of town, and Patrick needs medical attention as soon as he can get it."

"Shit, I'll be over in a minute, can you tell me the address?" Pete asks, starting to get worried himself.

I look up at the signs that are closest to the alley and tell him the address before hanging up and paying attention to Patrick. He looks like he's starting to gain control again but he's still a little out of it.

"Are you doing okay?" I ask, attempting to touch him again. I rest my hand on his, and he flinches, but after a moment he relaxes a little bit.

"It hurts..." He whispers, "And I still want to leave... I want to get out of here, I don't even care anymore... I hate it. I hate not being able to have some sort of... relief. I hate the flashbacks. I hate how I look. I hate the pain. I hate that everyone wants to use me for... for sex... I hate Kevin, and I hate Dad, and I hate... I hate everything right now," He's starting to cry, "I hate overthinking everything I do. I hate always being scared. I hate that people hit me. I hate that it's always my fault..."

"Hey, Patrick, stop, okay?" I stroke his hand, thinking fast to get his mind off of that subject, "Do you remember the night at The Black Parade? Do you remember how we laid under the moonlight? Do you remember how we laid in the grass next to the mausoleum door? We laid down, marked the graves. Do you remember when I kissed your scars? Do you remember how you told me everything in that cafe? And how you trusted me? Do you remember the way you kissed me on the bridge? How soft your lips were with the collision of your kiss? Do you remember?"

"Y-yeah... but..."

"Do you remember when you wanted to give up and leave? When you thought I didn't love you? It was the Monday after The Black Parade, and you wanted to throw your life away, and you had given up hope. You wanted to leave. Do you remember when I texted you? Do you remember what I said to you?"

"Yeah..."

"What did I text you?

"I... I know I can't stop you. I wish I could... I-I don't want you to go... but if you will," His voice cracks, "I just want you to know th-that the world is ugly, b-but you're beautiful t-to me...P-Please don't l-leave... I n-need you..." He smiles softly, but it's empty. He's shattered inside.

"Do you remember all the appointments with Dr. Strauss? Do you remember how your anxiety went down? And do you remember when you said you weren't ugly, but you weren't exactly beautiful just a week ago? Do you remember all the exercises she had you do to get better...? You can't forget, please..." I whisper that's so much work lost, "Please tell me you remember, Patrick..."

His features light up, "Yeah..."

I let out a sigh of relief, "Do you remember how you got better? And you didn't overthink everything you did? And you started eating more?"

He nods.

"Do you still feel like you overthink everything?"

"I... I don't know... I guess not..." He whispers.

"Good..." I reach my hand forward and, though he flinches, he lets me stroke his cheek.

And then he falls forward into my arms, his head rests on my shoulder while his arms wrap around my neck and his legs are off to the side while he cries into my shoulder, "Promise... you'll a-always be h-here for me..."

I hug him by his waist, holding him close, "I promise..."

"H-how strong are y-your promises?"

"I have yet to break one..."

***

"Ah!" Patrick yelps in surprise as I clean one of his cuts, "Fuck..."

"Just a second," I whisper, "I'm almost done..."

He lets out a strangled groan of pain as I bandage it and make sure it's on tight, "Are you done?"

I smile softly and reply, "Yeah,"

His hands are still shaky just not as much, and he still flinches every time someone besides me tries to touch him. It was a nightmare getting him to Pete's place because he could barely walk on his own without falling to his knees. He was so weak and shaky. It was a miracle that Pete could get there in time.

Patrick stands up and hugs me, I can feel his steady breaths on my neck they're still shaky, but they've gotten better.

I pull him closer, swaying back and forth and I can't help but look in the mirror to see my reflection looking back. It doesn't look like me. The last time it looked like me was... well... I don't even know anyone. This boy's hair is a dark back and a complete mess from the stress and tugging and pulling, my hair is neater with a wave but still messy. His eyes are dark brown and have dark circles under them from lack of sleep, but my eyes are a more hazel... light brown. His scars are beginning to fade, my scars are starting to show.

Patrick pulls away, kissing me slowly and letting his hands slide to my shoulders and wrap around my neck while mine go to his hips and pull him closer.

"Hey... uh... Patrick?" I ask softly. He looks up at me curiously, "Uh... Back in the alley... You said... You said a few things that I wanted to talk about..."

I feel him get goosebumps under me and he's hesitant to reply, so he just stays silent and waits for me to continue.

"You said you needed a relief... What... What do you mean?" I ask, running my fingers up and down his arms softly.

He bites his lip and looks down, too scared to answer, but he forces himself to anyways, "I... I don't know... I've just been really stressed lately and the only time I can actually... get away is when we uh... You know..." He blushes, "I need something to do that can distract me from... this... I guess..."

I raise an eyebrow and ask, "Like cutting?"

He quickly shakes his head, "No, no, no... I just... I don't know... I guess what I'm trying to say is uh..." He blushes even darker and avoids my gaze as he whispers out the last few words, "I'm just really stressed. I dunno."

I bite my lip, "You wanna talk about this later?"

He nods eagerly, his eyes conflicted.

"Are you two done having sex in there?" Pete asks through the door. Patrick giggles slightly and slips past me to open the door, and the black haired boy immediately hugs him.

I feel a pang of jealousy, but I let it pass as Patrick lets go and turns to me, "We should probably head home, shouldn't we?"

I nod softly and address Pete, "Thanks for helping us out."

"Anytime," He smiles, and as soon as Patrick's out of earshot he lowers his voice, "Tell me if anything happens to him... I get worried..."

"Of course," I reply, "See you later."

"Bye,"