---Patrick---

"Hello, Patrick, we need you to answer some questions if you can," A man says.

His voice is dark, scary. It makes me bury myself further into the sheets, "Please I just... I don't want to..."

He rests his hand on my shoulder.

I don't know what happens or why it happens, or it's normal, but I scream and jolt away, hitting my back against the wall and huddling up in a ball. I know his intentions, I know he wants to do it. I know he wants to hit me, I know he wants to force himself into me and make it burn. I know he wants to hurt me and I can't take it, "Please don't hurt me! Please, I promise I won't do it again. I'm so sorry I..."

"Patrick, hey." Dr. Capaldi croons. I only jerk away more, tears lacing my eyes. I'm shaking violently, I can't think straight. My mind is full of:

Pleasedon'thurtmepleasepleasepleaseIjustwanttoenditallI'mnotokayI'mnotokay

"I'm so sorry, so sorry, please," I whimper.

"Do you want Pete? We can get him in here, and he can talk to you for a bit," Capaldi says.

"B-Brendon," I whisper. Brendon was always there to comfort me before The Incident but I... I don't know if he can... they're going to hurt me. I'm so scared they're going to hurt me...

"Step back, I'll be right back," The doctor says. I hear him as he rushes out of the room, his feet echoing off of the walls as his shoes tap across the linoleum floor. The door shuts behind himself leaving me alone with... them... my heart is pounding in my chest, loud enough that I'm sure they can hear it, too and there's complete silence. Each second that passes feels like a minute, each minute, an hour. After about thirty minutes, I pull the sheets up over myself again and huddle into a ball.

The door opens, the covers are thrown off, and I jump out of bed to run into Brendon's arms, "Hey, 'Trick... are you feeling okay?"

"I don't want to do this, please just a little longer," I sob, shaking my head against his chest "Please I don't want to do this, they're gonna hurt me..."

He rubs my back, "Hey, they're not gonna hurt you, understand? They're here to help. They're gonna catch the gang that got you in that alley in the first place. I'll be right here for you, just calm down."

He takes me over to the bed and sits down beside me, my hands shakily returning to my gowned lap.

"Go ahead," the brunette says.

"Agent McCoy and Agent Beckett. We need to ask you some questions about what happened in the alley," the man says, his badge showing off his name on his overcoat. Agent William Beckett.

I nod softly.

"Do you know who hurt you? Did you recognize anyone who was there?" The taller one asks (I think that's Agent McCoy.)

I open my mouth to answer. Just one name, that's all. As venomous as my brother's, "Bob... Bob Bryar..."

Beckett writes it down on his notepad.

"Do you know him from school?"

"Yes."

Brendon's stroking my knee softly, it's relaxing me, making me less tense.

"Has he hurt you before?"

"Yes."

"When?"

The room is so silent, it actually hurts me inside. I don't reply right away. Brendon keeps rubbing circles into my knee, and a tear drops from my nose.

"Bullied me." That's all that comes out.

"At school?"

"Yes."

More scribbling.

"Did you recognize anyone else there?"

"My sister."

It slips. Brendon tenses. I hear one of them swallow.

"I think it was just my PTSD." I quickly add, "The... the flashbacks happen sometimes."

Brendon is still tense, but he starts rubbing again.

"What did they look like? Do you remember?"

"There were three boys and a girl including Bob. They all had kind of baggy clothing, and they all had brown eyes... I think... The girl had black hair, and she had a beanie... one of the boys was Asian a-and I-I'm not sure about the others. One boy had a cap, the other one had a knife." I mumble. My throat is closing up, tears are falling from my eyes harder now.

"Did they stab you?"

"N-no..." I whisper, my voice cracking, "I think... I believe they stabbed Gerard... I can't remember I'm so sorry... I-I..." I'm crying now, pressing my sleeves to my eyes in shame, "I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry I want him back... I want him to be alive... please I... I can't... he can't be dead..."

"That's all for today," Dr. Capaldi rushes, "Please leave."

"Thank you, Patrick," McCoy murmurs and they're gone. I hug Brendon closer, sobbing into his chest.

"Do you want me to stay a bit longer?" Brendon asks gently.

"I want to see him." I say, "I want to talk to him. I want to see Megan, too. Just to know she's okay and it was just my imagination..."

Brendon freezes up again and with a tense sigh turns to the doctor, "Dr. Capaldi? Can I tell him? Or should we wait...?"

I look up, "Tell me what?"

"Go ahead, I... I need to go check in on Gerard. He's free to leave when he wants to. The damages weren't too bad, but we can give him some painkiller if needed." Dr. Capaldi replies, "Your clothes are on the chair when you're ready."

He leaves Brendon and me alone, heading to his left through the hall. I signal Brendon to close his eyes as I slip off the gown and instead, pull on my shirt, hoodie, boxers, and jeans. The shirt is a plain gray shirt I wore on Christmas, the hoodie is the Green Day one Gerard gave me while the jeans are just regular skinny jeans.

"Okay, you can look," I say, "Tell me what happened, though... before we leave..."

He looks away, swallowing softly, "Do you know who called 9-1-1? Who brought all the cops to that alley?"

I sit beside him, "No."

He pulls me closer, "Megan didn't come because of the PTSD. She was really there... She called 9-1-1 and saved you two..."

"Megan did?" My heart lightens slightly, "Where is she? Can I see her?"

"Patrick, she's... she... died... one of the gang members stabbed her... she... I'm so sorry, Patrick. I didn't want to tell you. Nobody did... we were all scared that it would only make you more depressed and broken-hearted." He whispers. He's crying. Why is he crying? She's not dead. Gerard can't be in a coma. Bob didn't really do that.

"She's not dead." I whisper, then smile, "There's no way she could be dead, what the fuck are you talking about? Gerard's awake, too. He's gotta be awake. There's no way he isn't awake. No, they're all awake. They're all alive and well. This is a joke."

"Patrick, it isn't a joke. Megan is gone. Gerard is in a coma. Pete and Mikey, Joe and Andy, Frank, Ryan and I, we've all been worried sick about you..." He sobs. My smile disappears. He has to be joking.

Right?

I stand up, "What room?"

"What?"

"What's his fucking room number?" I ask.

"F-five-One-One," Brendon replies standing up. I don't say another word as I walk out of the room, the door swings open fast and hits the stop, but I don't stay long enough for that to happen. My mind is running at a mile a minute. My hands are swaying fast at my sides as I walk down the hall, 493, 495, 497, 499, 501... Left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right... One, two, one, two, one, two, one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four.

"Do you have the time to listen to me whine,
About nothing and everything all at once,
I am one of those
Melodramatic fools
Neurotic to the bone
No doubt about it

"Sometimes I give myself the creeps
Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me
It all keeps adding up
I think I'm cracking up
Am I just paranoid?
Am I just stoned?"

Yeah, about that tempo.

509.

I stop in my tracks, everyone is sitting out here, Mikey and Pete beside each other, Frank is sitting next to Ryan while Joe and Andy are together just by the door. On the other side is Donna, Spencer, Jon, Dallon, and Ray. All people from Gerard's old school. Nobody speaks to me: Pete opens his mouth, and Brendon comes stumbling down the hall after me, but I don't have the time to talk to anyone. I need to prove to Brendon that Gerard is really awake. He's gotta be awake, right?

I continue to walk forward.

511: Mom's old room number. The room she died in.

I stop just at the doorframe, my eyes shut, "This is the room?"

"Y-Yeah..." Brendon whispers.

I take a deep breath. He has to be awake. He promised.

"Promise... you'll a-always be h-here for me..."

"I promise..."

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

"I have yet to break one..."

And

"I... I know I promised it before but I promise again, I'll be here for you no matter what happens. I love you, and you mean so much more than you'll ever know to me..."

And

"Can you promise me something?"

"Of course."

"Promise we'll be together forever? If not lovers, then friends? You'll always be by my side? I don't want to lose you. Sometimes I get scared I'll lose you and... I don't want that to happen again... I love you so much..."

"Of course, Baby. I'll always be here... You know that. I promise."

"How strong are your promises?"

"I have only broken one."

He's promised it over and over and over again. So no, he can't be asleep. He can't be under. He has to be awake. They're lying. They're all lying. They don't know the truth. They couldn't. They're stupid.

I enter the room, and I look at him. He's a mess. He's shirtless, I can see everything they did to him. A stab wound in his side, it's stitched up, but it still looks extremely sensitive. He has a black eyes and cuts and bruises along his chest. I can see his arms: where scars once were, there are now new cuts. I can tell they were done with a knife. Bob's knife. They carved words into the skin. Words that only break my heart. F-A-G-G-O-T in his left arm, B-I-T-C-H in his right. There's a small nick where Knife had cut his throat while Bob was beating me up.

There are multiple IVs stuck in his arms, it makes me sick to my stomach and I back away, into Brendon's chest, "no. He's not asleep, he can't be... Please... tell me this is a sick fucking joke..."

"Patrick, I'm so sorry," He whispers. I push him away, so he falls backward into the hall on his ass.

"He fucking promised me. He promised me three times over, he'd never leave me!" I yell, then turn to Gerard and like he can somehow hear me I scream, "You fucking promised! Wake up!"

She's motionless. Her blonde hair stained with dark red blood, an expressionless, glassy look branded in her green eyes and her mouth open just slightly. My heart stops. Time stops. I'm completely frozen, and I can't move. This can't be happening. This just can't be happening. No. No. No.

I unbuckle the seatbelt and drag her out, setting her on the gravel and falling to my knees by her side. The gravel digs into my skin, but adrenaline is blocking it all out. Blocking out the pain. The common sense. Adrenaline is only embracing the fear coursing through my veins.

No. No. No.

I lean over her, hovering my ear just over her mouth, there's nothing. Not a breath. Not a word. Not a whisper. No warmth at all. Nothing.

No. No. No.

My hands immediately take place on her chest, one on top of the other, right on top of left, hoping I'm doing it right. Praying for it to be right with nothing but my rushed breaths and the movement my hands on her chest.

No. No. No.

I press down hard, over and over again, pumping her heart, hoping it'll start. Praying for it to start. I can't let this happen.

No. No. No.

I lean down to her lips but my heart only sinks more, and my stomach continues to rumble, sending acid up my throat. There's nothing. I try over and over again, growing my desperate with each pump. It's no use. Nothing is happening.

No. No. No.

"Please, please, please." I beg as I continue pumping her chest, "Wake up."

No. No. No.

"Wake up, wake up, wake up." I plead with each pump getting louder and louder with pent up energy. I'm yelling her name now, and I can't stop. The streetlamps are the only things giving me light as I try to heal her heart.

No. No. No.

Then, I scream. I scream with all my emotion because I'm scared. Because I'm sad. Because I'm fucking pissed. Because I'm disappointed in myself. Because I can't save her. Because she's going to die and I can't do anything to stop it. I scream as loud as I can. I scream so loud I hope the world hears my anger, I hope universe hears my sorrow, and I hope God himself hears my pain. And I want everyone to know this new tear in my heart. And I want each and every person to know how much this hurts. That one wish to the universe. That one demand to my mother. I need everyone to know how scared and devastated I am. This isn't happening. This is just a dream. This never happened. This can't be my reality. None of this can be my reality. My reality is so much better than this. In my reality she's alive. I scream because I want my reality back. I whisper. I speak. I yell. I scream. I scream so loud I'm afraid my voice will shatter. One demand.

That one demand to Megan.

That one demand to Gerard.

Two words. Six letters:

"Wake up!"

I scream it. I scream it so loud that I'm sure the city can hear it as I clench the edge of the mattress and sob into his chest.

I feel someone seizing my arm.

No. No. No.

"Let me go! He's awake! He has to be awake! Please, no!" I scream. I'm dragged back into the hall, and Pete has his hand over my mouth.

No. No. No.

This can't be happening. This can't be it... Please oh God.

Please.