Gee almost felt infuriated by Mikey's insistent need for privacy when talking to Patrick, but Frank had soon distracted him with a grab of his hand and dragging him into the bedroom, and well, Bert, Bert was just left to kind of stand in the kitchen and glare angstily as he complained to himself about the number of teenagers in his house - they scared the living shit out of him or something.

Speaking of shit, Bert decided to go take a shit since he was that bored, and on his way to the toilet he considered actually having a philosophical conversation with Bob Bryar because he'd most definitely been brought down to that level right now.

And as Bert McCracken left the house in favour of actually finding out why the fuck Bob Bryar hadn't answered his phone, Patrick Stump finally felt comfortable speaking.

It wasn’t Mikey, or anyone, honestly, for Patrick it was just the figure in the corner that ensured he kept shaking nervously as he tried and failed to string some form of sentence together.

"Pete." It was one word, but already Mikey was listening intently with everything he had. "This is about Pete, and you're the only person that cares enough about Pete to understand. I guess, I guess I'd usually tell Ryan these kinds of things, but he wouldn't understand like I'm hoping you can."

"It's fine, I'm not going to be an asshole about this: whatever it is, just tell me, okay?" Mikey pulled on a smile and brought his gaze up to meet Patrick's, and perhaps that was just all the encouragement the ginger haired boy needed, or perhaps it wasn't, but what did it really matter?

"Turn around." Patrick instructed, focusing his gaze back upon 'Pete' in the corner of the room, and gesturing to ensure that Mikey was looking in the right spot.

"Yeah?" Mikey asked, looking exactly at Pete, and showing no signs of acknowledgement at all, and just like that, Patrick was about to puke his guts up all over the living room. "What is it?"

"You can't-" Patrick let out a sigh, his whole body shaking a little as he did so. "You can't see him, can you?"

"What?" Mikey turned back to face Patrick, and of course, his expression was laced with confusion and disbelief, much as Patrick had expected, of course, because he knew he was nothing more than screwed up and insane at this point. "See- him- Pete? Pete? I- Patrick-, I-"

"Yeah, I see Pete, I see him there- god, I'm hallucinating him and he won't go away and I... I've gone crazy haven't I, Mikey?" 

Mikey couldn't help but nod, and of course break Patrick's heart as he did so, but honestly, there was just little else that he could do.

"No you haven't." And needless to say, it wasn't Mikey that spoke this time.

"Please tell me you could hear that." Patrick's eyes grew wide: begging and pleading with Mikey at this point, but still, no matter how much Patrick wanted to, and no mattered how hard Mikey tried, he still couldn't bring himself to lie to the boy sat before him.

"No, Patrick, I couldn't hear anything." Mikey let out a sigh, running forward and pulling Patrick into a hug before he could stop himself, and maybe this was what Patrick needed, or maybe it wasn't, it didn't matter, nothing did, especially when Patrick remained so focused upon the figure that wasn't there, because nothing would ever be quite so real as Pete Wentz had been to Patrick Stump.

"Pete, why can't Mikey see you?" Mikey found his face faltering as he pulled away from Patrick and followed his gaze to the nothingness in the corner of the room, and it broke his heart, goddamn, it really did.

"Because he doesn't love me anymore." Pete's response was in no way spiteful, just blunt and strangely unbiased.

Patrick turned to Mikey and almost fucking glared at him, which unnerved the taller of the two, to say the least. "What did he say?"

"He said you don't love him anymore." Patrick muttered and almost accusingly so, almost like he was fucking disappointed in Mikey, or something, as ridiculous as it sounded.

"I-I-..." Mikey was at an utter loss for what to say. "He's dead, Patrick, it's been months, fuck, Patrick, are you seriously still just as in love with him as you were when he was still alive?"

"Yes." Patrick spoke without thinking: he didn't need to, and fuck, Mikey was crying for him, and he was seriously going to go hug Patrick again, but then 'Pete' spoke up once more, and needless to say, Patrick's attention was otherwise occupied.

"He was with Ray... they dated, and they've broke up now, but trust me, it started a while ago." Pete continued, with not a single emotion present upon his face, even if just for a second.

"You... you and Ray?" Patrick exclaimed turning to Mikey, and scaring the fuck out of the guy right then and there, because he wasn't wrong, and how the fuck could he possibly know?

But, surely, this was Patrick, wasn't it? And he just knew things, didn't he? Or perhaps not.

"Fuck- what the fuck?" Mikey followed Patrick's gaze back to the corner, not even sure how to react as he found himself once again faced with absolutely nothing. "Yeah... you're right... I... how could you possibly know?"

"Pete told me." Patrick relayed the information with a sigh. "Just now, he told me-"

"Yeah, but Pete's fucking dead, Patrick, you're hallucinating him, he's not real, and you just knew that somehow- I'm not saying you're lying to me, perhaps you're even convinced of his existence yourself, but please, Patrick, tell me you know that he's not real, please-"

Mikey never quite got to finish his sentence, and Patrick was never quite faced with the struggle of a response as the front door swung open, slamming against the wall and filling the house with the sound of shouting, which was even enough to convince Frank and Gee to put their clothes back on, so even now, you could tell that this was some serious shit.

Mikey made his way into the hallway and found himself faced with Bert McCracken holding a bruised a bloody Bob Bryar against his side, and then beside them- holy fuck, Mikey reckoned he'd go his entire life without ever seeing Alicia Simmons cry, but just like that, he'd been proved so very fucking wrong, and he absolutely hated it.

"What the fuck happened?" Gee's voice called out from down the corridor, obviously having just managed to reclothe himself before stepping out where his brother could see him.

Bob started fucking giggling like an idiot as Bert attempted to lock the door behind them. "Turns out Alicia's dad really does not like me!"

-

Perhaps it was worse like this.

Perhaps it wasn't.

What did it matter? It was all out of Brendon's control now anyway.

He couldn't bring himself to visit the hospital this time around, and now he was certain that he could never quite stomach the funeral or the graveyard, and Brendon Urie didn't cry a lot, but for Dallon Weekes he did.

And still Brendon couldn’t quite figure out what that meant.

Perhaps there was no point to this kind of self-discovery when we were all going to die in the end anyway. Perhaps there was, again what did it matter?

Brendon wondered exactly how much time he might possibly have left; Brendon wondered exactly how he could possibly know, but of course he couldn't, but even with solid hard fact, the seventeen year old was still not satisfied.

He left his house, perhaps just some sort of excuse to get out of his own bedroom, to get out of his own head: to avoid his mother's glares and his sister's disapproving glances. It was harder when they weren't grieving with him, maybe it wasn't, maybe Brendon didn't care - maybe he was satisfied with the conclusion that his own pain and his own heart would always be more important than that of his family, even the people he held close and dear.

Or perhaps Brendon wasn't satisfied with that at all: perhaps he was simply drowning in his own sorrow and apathetic nature here, or perhaps that was to be expected, perhaps this was better, because if Brendon was going to drown, he wanted to drown alone.

Because he'd always know that he'd try to save himself above the people with him.

And the living proof was in Dallon Weekes, well living was perhaps the wrong word now, and perhaps the proof was far more metaphorical in nature but still, it most certainly struck a chord in Brendon's heart, and it took an awful lot to do that, to say the least.

Because with running away, that was exactly what Brendon needed, and that was exactly what killed Dallon, and he knew that Dallon's life was on his hands, and even though he'd gotten off okay, it still clung to his heart: chains dragging the beating vessel down to hell.

Brendon found himself in the forest a few roads away from his house, and his head dizzy moments after: swearing that only a few seconds ago he'd been in his bedroom, but whatever, his head was perhaps in the worst state it had ever been in right now, and perhaps Brendon didn't care anywhere near as much as he should about that.

Should.

Should was always an odd concept, because really what should Brendon do, and just who decided that? Brendon scoffed, laughing it off as he tripped over his feet and found his body colliding straight into another, and surprisingly enough, it was indeed a straight collision this time, and he could tell that by the two boobs his head had fallen between.

Needless to say, the boob owner had pushed Brendon away within seconds, and thankfully, it wasn't like Jamia Nestor or someone who'd take great pleasure in kicking his ass, but perhaps the only girl- hell, the only person who still had sympathy for him.

"Sarah..." He let out a sigh, looking up at her with wide, blood shot eyes: he hadn't slept last night, or the night before; his brain was powered by caffeine as his head was spinning right off his shoulders, but no matter how messed up and unwell he got, Brendon always knew in the back of his mind that he was doing far much better off than Dallon.

Because no matter how messed up he got, Brendon Urie didn't find himself six feet under in a graveyard across town, or at least not yet anyway.

"Brendon, you- Brendon, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Sarah exclaimed, looking her ex-boyfriend up and down with a great kind of concern. "God, you're, did you even sleep last night?" Brendon shook his head, and Sarah's heart sank in misplaced sympathy for the boy with the enormous forehead. "The night before?" Brendon shook his head once more. "It's not good at home for you, is it?" She didn't even wait for him to shake his head before continuing. "Take my hand, Brendon, come on, I'm taking you home."

"I don't deserve you." Brendon muttered: his words slurred and pathetic, and he was well fucking aware of that, but still, he took her hand: clammy palms and shaking fingers locking with her firm, almost comforting grip. "You have nice hands." He murmured aloud, before he could stop himself, and of course, Sarah only laughed in response.

And honestly, she was just far more glad that Brendon as still alive than she should have been.

But then again, what did 'should' ever mean anyway?

Perhaps it meant the judging gaze of Lindsey Ballato when Kitty told her the truth, or perhaps it meant the look on her parents' faces as they came home to find a teenage boy sleeping on their sofa; she hadn't a clue as to how she was going to lie herself out of that one, but fuck, she'd usually take him to Kitty's or something, but Kitty would tell Lindsey, and Lindsey would kill the both of them.

"You have nice hands too." Sarah muttered after a moment, having mostly forgotten that Brendon had even said anything in the first place. "Brendon, can you like talk to me about what happened with you and Dallon?" She asked as they headed through the woods towards her house: it was a long shot, but Sarah was at the point where she was prepared to try anything.

"He died." And Brendon fucking laughed: it was a nervous laugh, it was a Brendon laugh, but it was a laugh that reeked of beer, and she knew he had to be drunk. "We ran away because I'm selfish and I loved him and then he died because he didn’t get medication from the hospital, we had a fuck on a swing as well, and then he fell asleep, but he didn't wake up- he never woke up... fuck... his last fucking memory is that really shitty orgas- oh god, I'm disappointed in myself-"

"Brendon shut the fuck up." Sarah gripped his hand tighter. "You're drunk, you're gonna get some water, you're gonna take a shower, you're gonna sleep this off and then we can figure this out in the morning, okay? Because you're in no fucking state to even exist as a human being right now."

"Harsh." Brendon added with a shrug. "Maybe your hands aren't so nice after all."

"Maybe they're not. Maybe I'm not just a nice girl, Brendon, I'm not your girlfriend again, I just care about you, and I'm very well aware of what a fucking asshole you are, so don't push your fucking luck, okay?" And perhaps Sarah's voice had come on a little stronger than she'd anticipated.

"Okay." Brendon added, his voice barely a whisper.

-

When Brendon Urie woke up he lost sight of where he was.

Not spiritually, although, he reckoned that was pretty applicable too, but more so physically, because although he had drank an awful lot last night, yesterday, whenever whatever time or day it was when he was last awake, he knew for certain that this was not his living room.

He even found himself considering the possibility of his kidnapping for a good moment or two until a slightly disgruntled Sarah Orzechowski made her way into the room, and Brendon gave her a stupid fucking smile that she made no effort to return.

"You're lucky my uncle died, you know? My parents are staying with my aunt for a week or so to help or whatever, and really, if they weren't there, you wouldn't be here." Sarah let out a sigh, looking Brendon up and down and finding a little part inside of her that was just a little more relieved than it should have been at the simple fact of mortality.

"Sorry about your uncle." Brendon mumbled, sitting up and finding a blanket around him a pillow where his head hand been. "I can't exactly remember much... well... anything."

"It's fine, Uncle Rian was always a bit weird, I didn't know him very much but he has these weird bongo drums he'd play at Christmas and like really, really, disconcertingly white teeth." Sarah smiled. "And in relation to your lack of memory, well you drank a lot, maybe took some other things and I found you in the woods and I took you back here to make sure you didn't die or anything - you slept on the sofa and my parents aren't going to be home for like a week, so you can stay for a while if you want."

"Why did you decide that you needed to play Mother Theresa?" Brendon laughed it off, but Sarah only turned away, biting her lip as she found herself drawn to the memory of when Ryan- Ryan Ross, not 'Uncle Rian' had used the exact same phrase after the show she'd played.

"When I decided that I was a good person." She answered after a moment or two of silence. "And when I saw just how messed up you looked- you were so- Jesus, it was concerning."

"I was so Jesus?" Brendon exclaimed, his eyebrows raising to climb the vast expense of his great forehead like it was a mineral they were craving. "You've got me mixed up with Gabe, there-... he dressed up as Jesus for like Bill's cousin's wedding or something: it's a really long story."

"Okay." Sarah chose not to say much more about that, which was probably for both of their benefit. "Do you want me to make you breakfast or something, and we can like talk about this, because you are most certainly not okay, Brendon Urie, I promise."

"I'm alright, it's fine you don't need to-" Brendon shrugged it off, stretching a little and getting up off the sofa.

"I am going to, because you really aren't taking care of yourself like this, you know?" Sarah shook her head before making her way over to the kitchen and putting some toast in or something.

"I'm fine." Brendon added, his voice muffled as he stumbled into the kitchen after her, taking a seat at the breakfast and totally not looking at her ass she leaned down to get some plates.

"If you were fine you wouldn't have been drunk and depressed and an absolute mess. I know you, Brendon, whether you like that or not, and you know me well enough to know that there's not a chance that I'm just going to let it go- and don't you fucking dare start singing Frozen on me."

"I think you'll find that the song's called 'Let It Go', and that the movie is 'Frozen'. If I sang you the entire script of Frozen I think it'd take a while and the toast would probably burn." It seemed that Sarah was learning that early mornings just amplified Brendon's sarcastic and irritating tendencies by a million percent, and it seemed like she really was learning that the hard way.

"Shut up and eat your toast." She rolled her eyes, buttering him a slice of toast and pushing it across the breakfast bar to him, before turning to her own.

"This is nice toast." Brendon commented, totally necessarily, of course.

"Thanks-" Sarah didn't quite get to finish her half hearted response to his half hearted compliment, before the doorbell cut her off, and for a moment there she was convinced it was her parents and that they were both dead, but then it occurred to her that her parents would probably have keys to their own house.

Of course, the identity of the person behind their front door was infinitely worse.

But, of course, Sarah wasn't to know that until Ryan Ross practically tackled her into some sort of weird weepy hug.

And through the open doorway to the kitchen, Brendon Urie's stomach tied itself into at least two thousand and five knots as all his vital organs exploded and he died right on the spot.

Because honestly, Brendon and Ryan hadn’t spoken for months, and it was perhaps the realisation of that which hurt Brendon more than Ryan's presence ever would.

"Patrick..." Ryan muttered, his head buried into Sarah's shoulders, still utterly unaware of Brendon's presence, and to add to that, the fact that he was in earshot. "I haven't seen him in days- I don't... I tried calling, and I tried Joe and Andy, and- I-... I don't know what the fuck to do, I haven't seen him at all or even heard from him, I-"

Ryan looked up.

Ryan looked past Sarah's shoulder.

Ryan looked into the kitchen.

Ryan looked at Brendon.

And Brendon looked at Ryan.

"If you've fucking got back with him, I think I'm going to slap the both of you." Ryan was the first to speak: his words directed at Sarah as he doubted he had it in him to be the first to break his and Brendon's silence of many months now.

"My boyfriend died like two fucking days ago!" However Brendon made it evident that his views on their weird silent pact thing were worlds away from Ryan's.

"Your boyfriend-"

"Dallon." Sarah answered for him, mainly just to stop Brendon killing Ryan here. She reluctantly stepped away from Ryan: reluctance laying in the matter of the inevitable fight of sorts that would occur without her stood between the two.

"He's fucking dead." And just like that, Brendon Urie was crying, and a million emotions hit Ryan Ross like some sort of homosexual tidal wave, and before he knew what he was doing, he was rushing to Brendon.

But he wasn't hitting him, as Sarah had predicted.

In fact, there was a whole world of difference, because right now, at eight in the morning in Sarah Orzechowski's kitchen, Ryan Ross was hugging Brendon Urie, and just like that, the world seemed to be at peace with itself once more.

-

Bert continued to remain utterly disgruntled at just how many goddamn people were in his house right now, and just how many of them seemed as if they had never heard of closing the goddamn door. Like seriously, Bert's life now consisted of closing doors behind people he didn't particularly like.

There was Gee, of course, who did actually live there, and then Frank who seemed to come as some sort of weird plus one, who didn't technically live there, but Bert was pretty sure Gee had given him his own key last week, and then Mikey, who surprisingly enough, Bert didn't actually mind all that much, was now occupying the guest bedroom on a unnervingly undefined kind of permanent basis. And with Alicia's dad going all psycho on her and Bob after she'd just straight walked out of her home, the two had resorted to sleeping on the sofa.

Bert was just kind of glad that that Patrick kid had the manners to go home at least.

He'd now taken to getting up before ten in the morning just to use his own goddamn bathroom, and that shit was ridiculous, quite literally, but whatever, it gave him first dibs in the alcohol cupboard that he was unsuccessfully trying to keep hidden from Bob, but Bob was pretty stupid so if he just told him that they kept the beer on the table on the garden that he shat on once, he would probably believe him.

"You're up early." Bert jumped as someone else walked into the kitchen and grabbed a can of coke from the fridge as Bert grabbed the secret bottle of whiskey from the back of the cupboard.

"I wouldn't be if I didn't have to be in order to drink my own damn alcohol." He groaned, glancing across at the guy taking a seat at the breakfast bar, which turned out to be Mikey, and well, Bert was actually pleasantly surprised, because besides forcing him to move that shitty table outside, the guy hadn't really given Bert much of a reason to hate him yet.

"Maybe you just need to hide it better." Mikey suggested, pulling his cellphone out his pocket and checking twitter or something for no reason: an awkward gesture he'd gotten accustomed to ever since he was technically living in the same house as his ex-girlfriend and her not quite boyfriend.

"I would, but then there'd be no hope of me finding it when I'm drunk." Bert rolled his eyes, taking a seat two away from Mikey, closest to the wall, and leaning back against it as he opened the bottle of whiskey.

"It's like nine in the morning." Mikey's eyes widened a little as he watched Bert down at least a third of the bottle in one go.

"I'm very well aware, believe it or not." Bert chuckled, putting the bottle down on the breakfast bar and making an awkward kind of eye contact with Mikey. "Alicia's your ex, isn't she?"

Mikey blushed a little before nodding; it was an awkward question, but one he was prepared to answer. "From ages ago though, I've had two others since."

"Alright, kid, don't need to boast about your lovelife to an old lonely man like me." Bert let out an over exaggerated laugh, succeeding in making Mikey a little uncomfortable. "Tell me about your exes and I'll tell you about mine, huh?"

Mikey shrugged it off, because okay, why not - it wasn't like he had a boyfriend, or even parents to waste his time with anymore. Fuck, that was an odd thought, and Mikey was silent for a minute in aftermath of it. "There was Alicia, and it was like a month or so long, and it was alright but I ended up cheating on her and that messed up... and then there was Pete... he's uhh... dead now, so I kind of... don't want to talk about him that much, but then there's Ray and we broke up a few days ago and it was kind of a weird thing really... I kind of loved him but I didn't, and it was secret and it ended in a big fight and he used to be my best friend but now I'm not so sure anymore. It's a mess, really."

"Your life seems far more fascinating than mine, kid." Bert took another swig of whiskey, before continuing. "I dated your brother for a bit ages ago, but I assume you don't really want me to go into detail about that, and then I dated Frank's mum for like two weeks, and that was just weird, I don't know, and then there was this girl with a shaved head and she was cool but she was really into water sports and it's like no thanks pal-"

"Water sports?" Mikey's eyes widened with confusion, unsure as to just how Bert could possibly hate someone based on their love for sailing and jet skiing and the like, but of course, he was horribly innocent and horribly naive right now.

"If you don't know, you don't want to-" Bert was cut off as the door opened, and a very, very, very tired Gee Way stumbled into the kitchen.

"Get me a drink." He mumbled in Bert's direction, only to be thrown a middle finger, which he took great pleasuring in returning, before heading to grab his own can of beer from the cupboard. "If you're chatting up my brother I'll slap you."

"Mmm... will you now? I like it when you slap me-"

"Fuck off." Gee rolled his eyes and opened the can of beer. "Mikey, for real, slap him for me if he starts being an asshole."

"Don't be so rude, Gee, we were just having a lovely conversation about water sports."

And just like that, Gee choked on his beer. "Water sports? I assume you aren't talking about motherfucking sailing."

"Mikey doesn't know what it is." Bert smirked, glancing between the two of them. "Tell your baby brother all about water sports, will you?"

"He's eighteen in two months, he's hardly my baby brother." Gee rolled his eyes, but turned to Mikey, wondering just how much more messed up this could possibly get. "Water sports... is well, it's basically like, you're into like piss... on people when you're fucking, and like... in their mouth or something... it's messed up."

"Ohh..." Mikey's eyes widened, and he turned back to Bert, thinking about the girl with the shaved head once more. "It was probably a good idea that you broke up with her then."

"Who's this?" Gee asked, raising his eyebrows a little.

"Thingy with the tits and no hair." Bert had certainly put it nicer when talking to Mikey, and the younger way brother couldn't help but take note of that.

"Oh the one with the hooker's name, like fucking Liberty... or? I don't know, she wasn't my ex-girlfriend."

"Who wasn't your ex-girlfriend?" Frank asked, making his way into the kitchen.

"Your mum." Gee rolled his eyes, because it was far too fucking early for this shit.

"Yeah, she was mine, remember, hey?" Bert added with a smirk worth punching off his face.

-

Patrick had been awaiting the turning of keys in the lock of the front door for several hours now.

He'd been shivering in the cold of an unheated house for a long time now, but he couldn't leave the bottom step; he couldn't distract himself, he couldn’t let this slip away, because like that, it could only get worse, and with his gaze fixated upon the white of his front door, he found it just a little easier to ignore the figure stood in the corner of his vision.

And just like that, Patrick had managed to lie enough to convince himself that this would really all be okay.

"Patrick?" His mother was just a little surprised to see her son sat on the bottom step of the stairs, eyes vacant, yet troubled, when she came home. "Are you okay?" She furrowed her brow, locking the door behind her and taking a seat beside her son on the bottom step. "Honey?"

"I'm not." Patrick shook his head, forcing the words out before he could stop himself again, because Patrick's life was an never-ending hurdles event, and he had tripped up on everyone up until this point, maybe this time he'd make it - he'd make one, but he could never keep it up forever, so what did a winning streak even mean?

"Okay, I mean." Patrick added a few moments later. "I'm not okay." And it hurt his heart just to admit, but perhaps that was a good thing, because as the words began to flow from his lips, the figure in the corner of his eyes started to appear just a little less real.

"Why not, sweetie?" His mum asked, putting her arm around her son's shoulders.

"I'm sad, I guess... I mean... it's hard, like talking about it, but I talked to a friend- well not really a friend, but an acquaintance who might possibility understand and he didn't, and he didn't understand because I'm not okay, this isn't an issue people can sympathise with because it's not one I'm supposed to have."

"What's this issue?" Mrs Stump dared to ask after a moment or two of excessively prolonged silence.

"Pete." Patrick exhaled, his lungs consuming all the oxygen in the world as he did so, or at least it felt like that anyway. "He's... I keep seeing him again, l-like a ghost or something, but ghosts aren't really, are they? I'm going crazy or something, mum... do you still love me, even though I'm messed up in the head kind of crazy?"

"Of course I love you, Patrick, I'm your mother, I'll always love you." She pulled her son into a tight, yet awkward hug, but it kind of meant the world in an odd sense.

"But that's exactly it." Patrick dared to continue as he finally pulled away. "You love me because you're my mother: you love me because you're supposed to, you love me because you should, you love me because you have to. That's how it's always been, and that's how it's always going to be, because I'm not important, I'm not significant, and I'm not even sane anymore."

"You're amazing, Patrick, you're the best son I could ever ask for, and I promise you that." She let out a sigh, every self-destructive word uttered from her sons lips digging into her side like daggers. "Can you see him right now?"

"Yeah." Patrick nodded slowly, turning his head to the corner of vision, meeting his gaze with the one of the figure in the corner. "He's there." And Patrick pointed this time.

"I can't see anything there, I'm sorry, honey." And it was genuine sadness, and Patrick knew it, and there never be anything he'd be quite so thankful for.

"I know you can't." He turned back to face his mother, breathing in half time. "Mikey couldn't either."

"Do you think you need to talk to someone about this?" Mrs Stump suggested, pulling her son closer into her side. "Like a therapist or someone."

"I don't know, I mean, I guess... maybe... I just don't wanted to be locked up for being insane, because I am, and that's all I'm going to be: I'm stuck and messed up and I'm going to live that way, and I'm going to die that way too."

"Patrick, that's not true, you're... you're being paranoid... I'm sorry... I really don't know how to deal with this: I wasn't expecting it, to say the least."

"Neither was I." Patrick added with an exasperated sigh.

"I'll call the doctors now and make an appointment, and you can talk to them about this, and we can get it fixed, because this is just normal, right? This is a normal reaction to someone's death, isn't it- yes, yes it is. Look me in the eyes, Patrick, and believe me when I say it is, it's normal, and you're okay."

"I'm okay." Patrick repeated aloud as his mother got up and made her way to the kitchen in order to make the phone call to the doctors that could either save or ruin his life.

And at this point, Patrick didn't exactly know which he preferred, because it's not like anything would ever get any easier was it?

It wasn't like Pete could simply stop being dead, was it?

Because after all, that was what Patrick needed to be okay again, because Pete's death had fucking killed him completely, and there was very little anyone could say to deny that.

Because ahead, all there would ever be would be hurdles for him to trip: jumps he couldn't make, because realistically, Patrick was a pretty short good, and this wasn't going to work out, this path, this lane, this life, this town, these people, these friends.

It was like Pete had left the hurdles behind him when he died, and Patrick was forever chasing after him, but if Patrick knew anything, he knew that he couldn't do that forever.

So perhaps, he simply needed to step aside, into the lane next to him, because that looked like an easier route, and although he'd become accustomed to this one, it just wasn't good for him anymore.

Because in this town, everything was nothing more than a painful reminder of Pete and who he could have been.

Patrick thought of the real Pete, not the one his mind had conjured up for him, and wondered what he'd think about all of this mess, because regardless of his mortality, Pete Wentz would always be Patrick Stump's best friend.

And Pete Wentz would always be the last good thing about this part of town.

Patrick got to his feet, watching as his mum put the phone down, and addressing her simply and calmly, which wasn't something she'd really expected.

"It's this town, it's these people, because he never really left: there are parts of Pete left behind everywhere here, and I don't think I'll ever be able to move on like this... like to move on, I've really got to move on."

"You want to move out?"

"I've got to try, haven't I?"

His mother stood there for a moment, deep in thought, before turning back to her son. "Of course."

-

lmao you know the story has some shit when this is a 'happy chapter', it wasn't really intended to be as such, but okay, i tried to be nice to patrick lmao this is probably the best thing i could do considering his situation but lmao there's some good news on the ryden front ayy???? ayyy??? ayyy??? hello im sorry i dont know what im doing this story hit 420k reads recently and this is a cause to celebrate. vote and comment and i might be nicer to characters again in future we'll see lmao pals i love you all super lots<3