"He fucking killed himself. Shot through the head and all over some fucked up lovesick drama that I can't help but imagine that you were highly involved with. So I hope you're fucking happy now - your boyfriend's dead. Really dead. Brains and blood across his bedroom dead. Handgun fallen to the floor dead. Bullet in his brain dead. Suicide note dead. Fucking 'I love you both'. Fucking coward. You can\'t see him, faggot, he's fucking dead, and I wouldn’t\t be fucking surprised if that bullet in his brain was your fault."

And that was all Mikey Way got from Mr Wentz before the front door was slammed and locked behind him, leaving the seventeen year old's world to shatter to pieces, almost in perfect synchronisation with his heart.

It didn't quite sink in, not really; he couldn't quite believe it - he didn't quite want to, but he'd never want evidence; he could never see someone he loved like that, and Mr Wentz had to, and maybe that allowed him to yell, and maybe that allowed him to scream, and maybe that did allow him to hate Mikey Way, but there was no way in hell that it allowed him to blame it upon the poor seventeen year old.

And then, slowly, it did sink in, and Mikey just wished it hadn't, because, fuck, his boyfriend was dead, Pete was dead; fucking killed himself, and dear fucking god. And the note, the note, the fucking note, this was all his fault, and Patrick's too, yet no one's at all, and his head wouldn't stop spinning and pretty soon he was going to pass out and fall into the road, and end up rather like Pete did, and fuck.

Mikey couldn't take it, Mikey couldn't fucking take it, and Mikey couldn't fucking believe it, yet it was real; it was too real, too fucking real, and he hated it. He wanted to hate Patrick for confessing and causing this, but he couldn't, and he wanted to hate Ryan for hating Pete, but still he couldn't, and he wanted to feel something, but really, he couldn't quite feel anything at all.

Pete loved him, but Pete loved Patrick too and Mikey didn't know if he hated that quite as much as he hated talking about Pete in the past tense, because Pete was still his fucking boyfriend, kind of, and no matter what, he still fucking loved him, and fuck, he couldn't believe that he'd walked out on him yesterday, and that was all he ever got left to say to Pete, and fuck, he just couldn't anymore.

Because there was no one to hear him apologise when for once he really meant it, and his head was spinning like fuck, and maybe he wanted to pass out, and maybe he wanted to get hit by a thousand cars, and maybe he wanted to die too, but Mikey wasn't like Pete in the fact that he could never quite do that.

Pete's head was fucked; Mikey knew that all too well. It was cutting, and pills, and disorders, and then this - Pete's head wasn't an easy place to live in for sure, whereas Mikey's tried, Mikey's head could try, Mikey's head fucking wanted him to get out of places like these and run from thoughts such as those, but Pete's was the one dragging him down that route in the first place.

And Mikey was going to be sick, Mikey was going to be fucking sick and his eyes were already raw from crying, and still he couldn't feel anything at all, and then, he just found himself running, and fucking running faster than he'd ever known: he had very little of a destination, but so fucking much to run from.

And soon enough, he found himself at the one person that this didn't fuck over, and the one relationship that Pete's death didn't affect at all: the one person he could still hate, regardless of guilt, and regardless of emptiness, and the person he said he didn't care about, but really did, so much more than anything.

Gee would kill him for ringing his doorbell at nine in the morning, but Mikey couldn't care less anymore - the concept of death was so relevant and so real right now, that almost felt just like the opposite of that, and maybe, this was just a fuck up, and maybe Mikey was just pretending, but if there was one thing that Mikey didn't want to be right now, it was a liar, even to himself.

-

Mikey's legs didn't ache, he didn't feel, his body was just continually numb and that was what had him running across town the fastest he ever had with no repercussions, at least not ones he was at all conscious of, at least not yet.

He let his breath catch up with him as he tried not to cry for just two seconds and ring the doorbell, but really he couldn't feel anything, and in fact, both his heart and his head seemed to be living in an entirely separate reality to his body and the rest of the world, and that was what brought the empty feeling in his chest where his heart should be, and of course, the multitude of stupid ideas.

"Yeah?" Mikey jumped a little as the door opened to reveal a woman in her twenties with black hair and a moderately pissed off expression, and still in her dressing gown, and really, Mikey didn't mean to wake her up, but seriously, he didn't care about people sleeping in on Saturdays when his boyfriend had died.

"Uhh, I need to see my brother, Gerard?" He asked, hopeful, but there was something about the raise in her eyebrows that made it evident that Gerard had long fucked off from here.

"Yeah, he doesn't live here anymore-" She turned to close the door behind her, but Mikey wouldn't let that happen for the second time today, even if it had ended up with him being slapped across the face and possibly arrested for harassment - nothing seemed to matter at all anyway, not anymore.

"Where does he live then?" Mikey asked, finally making eye contact with the woman, and leaving her to stare at his tear stained cheeks and shaking hands, and the lip biting that just wouldn't stop, and his voice that trembled just a little too much. "I really need to see him, I can't- I can't talk to anyone else, they wouldn't understand, I just... my boyfriend he killed himself- fuck, he killed... he killed himself... I..."

"He's going to hate me for telling you where he lives, you know. He moved away to get away from his family, and he's told me many times that he hates you, but fuck, I can't- I can't just leave you like this, fuck." And she tried not to let herself regret this, because surely, if Gerard was going to turn someone away in a state like this, he was just as much of a heartless asshole as he claimed his family to be.

-

Needless to say, Mikey found himself just a little hesitant upon approaching the bungalow in the rather shitty part of town that Lindsey had given him the address of, but he was falling apart far too much to even care about what might happen in this part of town, or how much his brother would hate to see him, and then how much of an idiot he would look with these fucking tearstained cheeks and the empty feeling inside his chest where his heart used to be.

And he was so caught up in what he once had and couldn't even say goodbye to that the world around him seemed to fade out and to Mikey, the now and the voice yelling at him didn't feel real at all, but all of a sudden, the alternate reality that he'd fabricated fell apart, piece by piece, and he could hear that voice screaming at him and he hated it all within an instant.

"What the fuck do you want? It's like ridiculous o clock, the fuck, kid?" Mikey found himself studying the figure in the doorway for a moment: shoulder length, dark, greasy hair, the 'I can't be bothered to shave so it happens rather sporadically and when it does it's a half assed job' stubble that made Mikey cringe a little, and under eye circles to make a beauty guru genocidal, but from the state Mikey himself was in, he was hardly in the position to judge at all.

"I need to see my brother, uhh... his name's Gerard, I... uhh... Lindsey she told me he lived here now..." The guy just stared at him in response, almost as if he'd asked if the president was living at this address, and really, Mikey was just about awaiting the punch to the face, but there was nothing but silence - the sickly kind of silence, and the silence that was killing off whatever was left of the seventeen year old. "It's important, I-"

"You're crying, yeah, I get that - I'm not here to listen to your fucking sob story. I imagine that's Gee's job - don't fucking call him Gerard, okay? Don't fucking do it. You're the shitty ass family, I get it, I totally fucking get it; I've got the shitty family too, and I hate them just as much as he hates you. You don't deserve to see him, you know-" And Mikey just didn't care at all: he'd had enough - shitty neighbour or not, asshole who could totally beat him up if he wanted to or not.

"Fuck you, fucking go fuck yourself: my boyfriend fucking shot himself last night. You should fucking shut up about other people being shitty assholes if the only thing you seem to be capable of is putting people down - you're the fucking shittiest person of them all." And at that, Mikey received nothing but a smile in return: a genuine fucking smile and he was just about utterly lost by now.

"There we go. There we fucking go: there's the passion, there's the feeling - there's the 'I care', there's the kickass standing up for yourself. Despite what Gee says, maybe you aren't so bad after all, huh, kid? I'm Bert, come on."

At this point, there was really nothing Mikey could put this sporadic behaviour down to, well, other than a multitude of narcotics and the bad kind of pills: this wasn't the world Mikey knew at all, and it honestly scared him to know that his brother lived with this guy - perhaps he was better off pills, or this was just cranky morning behaviour or something. Mikey didn't know.

Mikey didn't know anything. Especially not how to stop Pete from killing himself, and especially not how to make things right; he was pathetic, to say the least, and Mikey would say the most.

"I'm Mikey." He added into the silence, closing the door behind them as Bert led them through a hallway.

"I know." Was the only answer Mikey was given before he was led into a dining room, and faced with none other than his brother sat in the corner, in a skirt, smoking a joint, and looking anything but happy to see him.

"Why the ever loving fuck did you let him in, Bert? You fucking know what- fuck, just why?" Gee stood up at once as Mikey made his way further into the room, revealing a guy rolling himself a joint sat at the breakfast bar in the corner: almost separate from the commotion and the rest of the world - that or just incredibly high. Perhaps the latter.

"He told me to go fuck myself and I found it amusing." Bert added as his only explanation before making his way over to the guy rolling himself a joint in the corner, and leaving Mikey, still crying a little, at his brother's 'mercy'. "He'll tell you the rest - sounds like quite a sob story in my opinion."

"Fucking why, fucking why, Mikey?" Gee's tone changed a little: softer, still pissed off, but with an ounce of compassion towards his sobbing brother.

"Pete shot himself last night, and I don't know who else to go to - everything's just fucked and everyone that doesn't hate me already will hate me-" And just like that, all old tensions seemed to fade away as Gee pulled his brother in for a hug, and Gee stopped caring about what he'd said in the past, and Mikey stopped caring about why his brother liked to wear skirts.

"You're my brother, Mikey - I love you, and I'm so fucking sorry, come on, let's go to my room and we'll talk."

"Thank you, Gee. I love you too."

And for the first time that day, there was just a shred of hope, and Mikey believed, even just for a moment, that things would be alright in the end.

-

Mikey had to admit that his brother's bedroom absolutely stunk of weed, and the sheets were clearly come-stained and he tried his best to pull his eyes away and try not to think about Frank at all.

Gee sat down, cross legged upon the area of floor covered by a rug with a very suspicious stain in the corner, and avoiding the stain, Mikey went and sat beside his brother, kind of thankful that they'd both made a silent decision to just ignore the come-stained sheets.

"Do you want a smoke or anything or- why am I offering you this shit - you're my younger brother?" Gee sighed out, lighting a cigarette between his lips and letting a smile pass over his lips as he began to inhale the nicotine.

"I'm alright, I guess." Mikey sighed out, pulling his knees up to his chest and wondering how the hell he'd ever manage to convey any of his emotions at all. "Pete's dad blamed me. He locked me out and said it was my fault that Pete, that he-... Pete's uhh... note, it said 'I love you both', and fuck, I can't even blame Patrick, only myself, because Patrick he uhh... apparently he's liked Pete for a long time now and then Ryan-"

"Yeah, Frank's explained this to me." Gee sighed out in response, grabbing a makeshift ashtray off the foot of the bed and putting it down beside his feet. "I'm so sorry, though, Mikey, and Pete's dad's an absolute asshole for ever blaming something like that on you, or anyone - it's no one's fault, and it shouldn't be that way, but... Pete's dad's probably just really upset and he somehow needs a way to explain this to himself: he needs someone to blame. That note gave very little of an explanation and I guess his dad's probably confused to fuck."

"It was so fucking unexpected though, I think he was probably on some sort of pills or something when he did it, because that's how Pete makes his problems go away and then he already cuts, and I... I think maybe things just escalated and the drugs didn't help, and he just couldn't think straight anymore. I think he thought it was his fault, and I kind of think Ryan made him think it was his fault."

"Look, Mikey, no matter what Ryan's said, you can't blame him for this... you, you just can't put someone else's life or someone else's death on someone - it just fucks with people's heads and trust me, it doesn't end well."

"That's why I needed to talk to you." Mikey sighed out, trying not to start crying again, and failing horribly, leaving him to resort to burying his now tearstained face in his brother's shoulder. "Everyone else would just freak out and point the blame and things would just go to shit and people would probably blame me, especially Ryan - I'm probably the person Ryan hates the most after Pete, so I-"

"I think from what Frank's told me that Ryan just cares an awful lot about Patrick and doesn't actually hate either you or Pete-"

"He can fucking hate Pete all he fucking wants - Pete's fucking dead now. It doesn't fucking matter anymore, does it? Nothing fucking matters." And that was how Mikey fell in two, his words fading away amongst his sobs and as Gee attempted to put his arm around his brother to comfort him, his cellphone began to vibrate in his pocket, and as much as the twenty five year old wanted to ignore it and be there from his brother, this time, he couldn't.

"It's Frank, I..." Gee provided minimal explanation before picking up and trying not to think too hard about how Mikey grabbed tighter to him, almost as if he'd fade away and leave him all alone.

And Gee couldn't say a single thing before Frank was practically screaming at him down the line. "Pete's fucking killed himself. What the fucking fuck is anybody supposed to do now? Fucking fuck this- I..."

Frank was speaking too loud: loud enough so that Mikey could hear everything single word he was saying perfectly, and Gee noticed this turning the call volume down on his phone, only for Mikey to stop him in an entirely unexpected gesture.

"Put him on speaker, please, I want to know." And Gee sighed out, putting the call on speaker and putting his cellphone down on the carpet in front of them.

"Gee?" Came Frank's voice again, a little confused at the apparent absence of a response.

"Frank, fuck, I'm so sorry-" And it seemed perhaps that just a notion of his presence was all Frank needed before he continued screaming down the phone line again.

"How the fuck do we tell Patrick? How the fuck is Patrick going to feel? Ryan's going to freak out again and Brendon's probably going to punch somebody and I- I... I need to get really fucking high and I need to do it right now, because I can't fucking cope with this- fuck, what about Mikey? Mikey's going to... fuck..."

"Mikey's with me, Frank."

"Wait what?" Frank jumped a little at that, almost as if it was the last thing he was expecting, but then again, Gee and Mikey were kind of supposed to despise each other's existence, but then again, death changed people. Death changed everything.

"He went to Pete's earlier and he was the first to know, and he came over straight after. He's with me right now - you can talk to him if you want."

"Hey." Mikey continued on from his brother, and receiving nothing but silence for far too long afterwards.

"You're not alright, are you? What did his dad say to you? He told me to fuck off basically before telling me that Pete shot himself like a thousand times, and really, it just fucked with my head... I only wanted to come over to say sorry and I can't, fuck I can't anymore. I can never say sorry."

"Neither can I. I... was so pissed at him, and it's my fucking fault, I-"

"Look, Mikey, as much as I hate you, it's not your fault, it's not anybody's fault, it shouldn't be, that's just wrong - this is just so fucking fucked, okay?"

"Gee said that." Mikey smirked a little, glancing at his brother.

"Yeah, being around me so much he must have picked up on some of my fantastic and wise qualities. Anyway, look, I'll come over, okay? I kind of need to tell the others but I can put that off for just a little longer."

-

Ryan hadn't left Patrick alone for pretty much the last twenty four hours and to say the least, Brendon was starting to get just a little agitated.

After all, Ryan's parents weren't home and Patrick was most certainly doing an awfully good job of being a cockblock, and that was not something that Brendon's hormones could appreciate.

"He has to be here, doesn't he?" Brendon didn't quite seem to fully understand the concept of discreet; well actually, he didn't seem to understand it at all.

"He just told his best friend that he's liked him for years and the guy fucking freaked out on him - everyone fucking freaked out on him. Just fucking have a shred of empathy, will you, Brendon?" Ryan rolled his eyes at his boyfriend, glancing at Patrick across the room and trying not to care too much about him but really, he didn't know why, but he just couldn't help himself.

Patrick was important and Ryan couldn't help but hate the fact that he was the only one who seemed to realise that.

"Yeah because fucking Patrick's the only one that has problems at all worth noticing, of course, and then of course just because he's fucking quiet and troubled he's some sort of special fucking snowflake, huh?"

"Fuck you." And all eyes flew to Patrick, still sat in the corner but now looking up at the two of them, and apparently having heard every single word. "Fuck you, Brendon."

"He's just fucking upset that the guy you like doesn't fucking like you - everyone goes through that loads of fucking times in their life and I really just don't get what makes this and what makes Patrick at all special."

"Maybe it's just the fact that unlike you, he's not a fucking asshole." Ryan spat, rolling his eyes at his boyfriend and making his way across the room to Patrick and sitting down beside him as Brendon continued to glare at him.

"You know what? If you're going to fucking flirt with him when I, your boyfriend, am just sat across the fucking room, then you know what, Ryan? Fuck this. Fuck us." And just like that, Brendon grabbed his coat and stormed out, leaving both Patrick and Ryan utterly wide eyed and confused.

And Ryan didn't start crying until a minute into the silence between the two of them, because no matter how hard Patrick tried; he just couldn't look at this like it wasn't his fault.

"It's my fucking fault and all over again-" Ryan didn't let him finish that sentence - he just couldn't let Patrick hate himself, and he was with a lack of a reason why, well other than the fact that he cared, and for once, he let that be enough: explanations and complications just fucked everything up and no one could deal with that again.

"It's not your fault. Brendon's just… uhh… being Brendon… he'll be fine, we'll be fine." And really Brendon just couldn't help but sound just he was trying to convince himself more than he was Patrick.

"I need to speak to Pete- well, I uhh… want to…" Patrick trailed off, his eyes hitting the floor as he exhaled loudly. "I'm going to mess things up again, though, aren't I? I just know I am, I just-"

"You're not."

But then Ryan received the text that made everything fall apart, once again, but this time, it was just so much fucking worse than before.

Pete shot himself last night. We need to talk.

"Frank's just texted me…." The words fell from Ryan's lips but really, they seemed to hold no meaning, because like this nothing seemed to mean anything anymore.

"What did he say?" And Patrick was so innocent and so fucking naive and he didn't deserve this - he didn't deserve to know, he didn't deserve this mess.

"Just look- I, I can't-" And as Ryan handed his phone to Patrick, they both fell into tears as everything, just everything, fell apart.

"It's not true - it can't be fucking true- I, it's not- he wouldn't, he just wouldn't. He wouldn't do that to me, he's my best friend, I- he wouldn't, he wouldn't, he wouldn't, he wouldn't..." Patrick's repeated words faded away like a broken record as he broke down sobbing into Ryan's shoulder; the milkier of the two couldn't even fathom forming some kind of response or some kind of explanation for Patrick, because despite how much he hated to admit it, he had nothing, and they had fucking nothing left.

"He did, Patrick, he did." And Ryan's were followed by nothing but a silence polluted with the occasional quiet sobs from Patrick, muffled against Ryan's shoulder.

"Will Brendon forgive you?" Patrick asked, changing the subject completely and leaving Ryan to think and perhaps even lie to himself as he tried to avoid the immediate and almost obvious answer of 'no'.

"Maybe. I'll just have to talk him- I, he's quite stubborn, just-"

"Nothing's ever going to be alright is it, Ryan?" Patrick's gaze fell to the floor as silence filled the room for entirely too long.

"No."

-

Brendon would have liked to say that he regretted walking out on Ryan like that, but Brendon Urie had decided that he didn't have regrets a long fucking time ago, and that was just something that the seventeen year old already knew that he was better off just not thinking about, and perhaps just even forgetting entirely, but he couldn't do that - not really, not ever.

And maybe Ryan did deserve an apology but he didn't deserve the right to give him one; Brendon knew he was a headache and he knew that Ryan and Patrick needed space and that it was probably nothing, but really, he loved Ryan and he just couldn't help but be jealous.

Brendon had discovered that he really couldn't help a lot of things.

He reckoned that perhaps he should just go the park and wait for this to blow over and possibly bury his conscience in nicotine - that usually worked, not that Brendon particularly wanted to bring too much light to his smoking habit. He knew by now that he was addicted: it was coping method and not just a hobby anymore, and that was entirely what separated him from Frank who fucking smoked because he could. Brendon smoked because it was the only thing that cleared his head - it was the only thing that made him okay, it was the only thing that made him forget.

Everyone had to forget, didn't they?

But there was just something about today and about this mess that Brendon couldn't forget, and dear god, he hated that - maybe it was just the fact that he was painstakingly in love with Ryan Ross, who had done nothing but ignore him for Patrick recently. He wasn't even trying to be an asshole for once, Brendon just really didn't understand as to why Ryan had to involve himself in other people's problems.

Surely Patrick's crush on Pete should only be between Pete and Patrick, and perhaps Mikey, if he was still Pete's boyfriend after he walked out yesterday? And Brendon liked being ignorant, he liked the bliss he had in not knowing what had happened, and liked pretending this was all trivial and believing it.

And then Brendon liked believing that the biggest problem he was facing today was getting over his ever-growing ego in order to apologise to Ryan at some point, but then he got the phone call.

Then, Frank called his cellphone, and just like that, everything fell apart.

Of course, at first, Brendon hadn't a clue as to what was going and just how his life was about to fall apart, and all the hands of a phone call.

And at first, Brendon didn't even think it would be Frank that was calling him - after all, the two of them barely even spoke at all, and he even went as far as to assume that it was Ryan calling him, baring either an 'I love you', or an 'I hate you'.

And really, even the latter would have been preferable to what Brendon received instead.

"Brendon, this is important - are you with Ryan and Patrick, because-" Frank spoke all at once and all too fast: he was nervous, to say the last, and Brendon was relatively unempathetic about it, but perhaps with the state he was in right now, maybe he couldn't be entirely to blame.

"I'm not with Ryan." And it hurt to say aloud, and that was entirely what had Brendon sitting down on the grass in the outskirts of the park, putting his phone down on the ground and on speaker as he lit himself a cigarette and prayed that it wouldn't take more than the remainder of this packet to make everything better.

"Well, okay, can you get him and Patrick because this is really important-"

"I'm not with Ryan. We broke up, Frank. Patrick's still with Ryan though." Brendon sighed out, inhaling enough nicotine to numb his headache for just a moment. "I guess it's them that you want to talk to urgently, and not me."

"You deserve to know as well. We all do." Frank sighed out after a moment, deciding that perhaps it would just be easier if he didn't comment upon what had happened between Brendon and Ryan - he could deal with that mess later, his head was already cluttered as it was. "Pete shot himself last night."

And despite how many times he said it, it never got any easier, and it never seemed to fell anymore real - this just felt like one big fucked up nightmare for Frank, and he wanted out. He wanted to fucking wake up, and he wanted to wake up right fucking now.

But he couldn't. Nobody could - there was no real fucking way out of this.

"Fuck..." And that was the only response Brendon could pull from his lips, because fuck, everything was so fucking fucked, and this wasn't stupid, and this was his business, because it hurt, and as much as he hated Pete, he'd fucking never want to see the guy with a pistol pressed to his temples, ready to pull the trigger.

"I think we all need to talk as a group, like even if things are fucked between us, we need to talk this out and we need to sort this out. Is Ryan's house still an option or?"

"No, it's not Frank." Brendon knew that all too well, and as much as he fucking hated it, there was simply nothing that could be done about it.

"Look, me and Mikey are at Gee's - Mikey's brother and my boyfriend, so look, come over here and we'll tell everyone else to as well - look we just need to sort this out. And some asshole with long greasy hair and answers the door and tells you to fuck off just tell him that he's an asshole and that Gee's invited you over." Brendon chuckled a little at that.

"Okay. I really want to meet this fucking boyfriend of yours, you know?"

"Oh wonderful." Frank rolled his eyes, sighing out and ending the call, allowing himself to smile, even if just for one moment, because that at the very least made things just a little better.

And maybe, just maybe, it was easier to just ignore how fucked up this all was than actually acknowledge and try and sort it out.

-

Hey guys:') I'm so sorry I regret killing off Pete tbh but it has certainly opened up some interesting new plot things like wow there's some actual vague resemblance of a plot here wow:') Anyway, if you enjoyed this chapter, votes and comments are always appreciated;) I love you all<3