Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Patrick was on top of him, and not in the way he'd prefer. Pete pressed himself lower into the sandy ground and struggled to avoid the hook his best-friend-turned-weapon-of-the-enemy was trying to impale him with. He felt a bit sick when he realised how far Patrick had knocked his bass blade- it was entirely unreachable from his current position, lying useless in the corner of his vision.

This was it, wasn't it? Patrick was going to kill him. The person he'd take a bullet for was now behind the metaphorical trigger. Fuck.

Just as he was ready to accept his fate, a stray thought popped into his head. A really stupid thought. Like, this would probably get him killed even in ordinary circumstances levels of stupid. But he was gonna die anyway, wasn't he? It was worth a shot.

Before Patrick could swing his blood-soaked hook at him again, Pete lunged up and collided their mouths. Their teeth clanked together painfully, and their lips were gross and chapped, but it felt thrilling in a way Pete couldn't put into words. Sure, he was still totally gonna get stabbed, but he might die happier.

To his shock, he felt Patrick relax into the kiss. Pete startled, opening his eyes to see Patrick's own staring back at him. They were blue.

They. Were. Blue.

Holy shit.

Neither of them moved, not wanting to break the kiss. Finally, Patrick sat up, pushing himself up with his hook and staring wide-eyed at the other.

"Pete? How did you just do that?"

Chapter Text

Pete sat there stunned for a moment - trying to wrap his head around what just happened - so still that Patrick began to worry, but that’s when he laughed.

“So, a kiss is all it takes? If I’d known you were a Disney princess, I would’ve done it sooner.”

Patrick glared at him half heartedly, stood up, and began to pace around him. “It’s not funny, Pete. This whole - everything is totally fucked!” Although, he himself was trying to stifle a laugh. God, this was absurd.

“Oh, come on, you have to admit it's funny.”

He sighed. “Okay! Fine, maybe it is, a little. But that still doesn’t answer my question. How did you do that?”

“I kissed you…”

“No shit. But we still need-”

“And you kissed me back.”

Patrick stopped pacing for a moment and looked at Pete, who was still sat on the floor. He offered his hand to help him up, both groaning a little at their injuries. He pulled Pete close to press his lips to Pete’s for a brief kiss and smiled.

“I did, yeah, and I’ll do it again.”

Pete felt the blood rush to his face, so he let out a breathy laugh and quickly changed the subject.

“We should probably get going, there's no chance we're not being tailed.”

He picked up his bass blade and began to walk.

“I think I saw a graveyard while we were running here, we can make it there before dark and wait out the night in a mausoleum.”

Patrick picked up the briefcase and followed him, idly wiping at the dust and blood that coated it.

Chapter Text

The sky was a burnt orange and darkening by the minute. Pete hadn’t realised how long the walk would be, and his legs were killing him. He couldn’t bear to imagine how much pain Patrick was in. Just the thought of it all made him want to cry, to hold him tight and never let go. He was going to make Courtney pay for what she did to him - he would make them all pay.

Before long, they had found a mausoleum amongst the gravestones that they would be able to hide in, at least for now. Pete used his bass sword to prise the door open; he kicked the dirt away and slid the jacket off his shoulders to lay it on the floor.
He gestured for Patrick to lie on it, “You need to get some sleep.”

“But so do you,”

Pete stepped closer to the door. “Maybe, but one of us needs to keep watch, so I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. And if you want, I could wake you up in a few hours to take over?”

“That sounds good.”
He smiled softly at Pete and placed his hand on his shoulder. Pete placed his hand on top of Patrick’s and gazed into his eyes. He could get lost in those baby blues forever.

Eventually, he had to snap out of it so he took his hand away and stepped out the door.
“Night, Trick,”

“Goodnight, Pete,”

He turned away and closed the door behind him.
There was a clear patch of grass nearby where he chose to sit. It was cold and slightly damp, but it didn’t bother him; if anything, it was a welcome sensation after all the running that day.

After scanning the area around him and not noticing anything out of the ordinary - or at least, different. Nothing now was even close to ordinary! His two best friends were dead, and Patrick was-
No. He couldn’t think about that. Not right now. He just needed to get through this, there was nothing he could do at that moment. Deciding it was the best way to clear his head, he lay back, gazing at the slowly appearing stars in the darkness above.

Pete had lost count of how long he’d been lying in the grass, next to the mausoleum, staring up at the stars. It was surprisingly peaceful, if you ignored the situation. When he heard the creaking of a door and footsteps softly approaching, his body snapped upright and he gripped the bass blade. Patrick raised his hands - well, hand and hook - up in a mock surrender, “It’s me,”

Pete relaxed. “I thought you were asleep?”

“And I thought you were going to wake me up.”

“Well, you’re awake now, aren’t you?”

He moved to sit down next to him, “Have you been lying here the whole time?”

Pete nodded, “Alone with the stars and my thoughts, rarely a good combination.”

“Well, how about I lie here with you? We can be alone together,” He lay back on the grass and put his hand under his head. The movement pulled up his shirt slightly so part of his abdomen was visible -

“HOLY SHIT!”

Patrick lifted his head up to see Pete kneeling beside him pulling his shirt up further to get a better look at the huge scar to his left side. “What the fuck did they do to you!?”

He shook his head, “Don’t worry about it,” he looked for something to change the subject to, his eyes landed on the numerous gashes and bloodstains on Pete’s body. “God, look at yourself-” Panic stirred in him, and tears threatened to fall as he realised. “How many of these did I cause? I am so sorry! Im so-”

“Hey, hey, look at me.” Pete cupped Patrick’s face with his hands, “You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. Okay? I know it wasn’t you, it’s not your fault, it’s okay.” He pulled Patrick into a tight embrace, faces buried in each other’s shoulders. He could feel him trying not to cry. Pete wished he could hold Patrick tighter, but at the risk of hurting him, he didn’t dare.

A few minutes passed and Pete leaned back a little. “Are you going to tell me what they did?”

Patrick sighed shakily and nodded. “Do you remember what happened when we were first captured?”

“Sort of, we were blindfolded, and there were drugs, and food, but it’s all pretty hazy.”

“Well, it wasn’t just food that you ate…”

It took Pete a moment before he put two and two together. It felt like all the air had been kicked out of him. “Oh fuck, no!” His hand shot to his mouth, he felt sick. He couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it. He was crying now, and Patrick was too. He pulled him close again.

“Holy shit, Trick, I am so sorry!”

“It’s okay.”

“No it’s not okay! None of this is fucking okay! I promise you, we are going to put this right!”

Patrick pulled apart from Pete and took his hand. “Come on,” He led him into the mausoleum, “There is nothing you can do in this state, and there’s no one around for miles, so you are getting some sleep.”

Pete began to protest, but Patrick’s stubbornness stopped him. “I already got a couple hours, and now you need to do at least the same.”

Patrick closed the door and went to sit on the steps outside, but when he saw two figures not far from him, he stopped. As they got closer, he recognised them.

“What the fuck!?”

Chapter Text

**The previous day, in Hell**

Joe lay sprawled over the red satin sheets, he wasn’t really sure what it was he was smoking - couldn’t remember when he started it either, and he was only vaguely paying attention to what The Devil was doing.

“I must say, I think this has got to be some of my best work!” He was pulling Joe’s wings in various different directions, the deep crimson, leathery wings matching most things in the room. “Don’t you agree?”

Joe made a small grunt in response, not really hearing what The Devil was saying to him - his mind was elsewhere.

The Devil noticed this and stopped, he turned to face him. “What bothers you, Joseph?”

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, slurring his words a little, and waving his hand dismissively.

The Devil was going to ask him again, until he noticed the frown taking over Joe’s face. “Oh… you’re unhappy here. Am I not enough for you? All of this not enough?”

“It’s not that… it’s…”

“What?”

“I’m worried about my friends, back up there.” He gestured with his hand in a vaguely upwards direction.

“Say, seeing as I like you so much, and I’m feeling rather generous today, how about this: I’ll let you go back up to Earth for a few days - let you check on your friends.”

Joe sat up, intrigued. “Really?”

The Devil shrugged, “Sure, why not. But I expect you back here by Thursday.” He pulled Joe’s face close to his, so close that his horns were catching on his hair. “Because if you don’t…” His voice a sinister whisper, “You can be sure to endure an agony unlike any you’ve ever known when you die again. And, believe me, I will take immense pleasure in it.”

He let the words linger in the air until he suddenly let go of Joe, stepped back and smiled. “Anyway, here you go: one trip to the land of the living. Enjoy your time!” He clapped his hands, and it was like a hole opened up in the ceiling. Joe looked up and was confronted with his own dead body staring at him. The Devil pushed him upwards, and he fell through.

Everything went black.

Then he was cold.

He opened his eyes. He was back in the hospital where he died - where Patrick had killed him. Pulling the bloody wires off of himself, he sat up. The Devil hadn’t exactly made it easy to find them, had he? Of course not. Where was he even going to begin to look?

Chapter Text

One of the women working for Courtney had been staking out the Linda Vista Hospital. Upon finding nothing, she left, and Joe discreetly followed her back to their base. He was glad to have spent time in Hell: his newly gained powers would definitely come in useful at some point.
He stayed back behind a wall as he watched her and someone else drag a body out from a side door and dump it near a pile of bricks. He recognised those clothes… Oh god no. He desperately hoped it wasn’t who he thought it was.

He sat and waited until the coast was clear - which was quite a while - he had to wait for two people in llama suits carrying a large knife and a shovel to finish arguing before heading off up the dirt track. Once they were out of sight, he scurried over to the body. He tried to stifle a cry when his fears were confirmed: Andy was dead. His face and clothes covered in his own dried blood. His body was still warm, and Rigor Mortis had only just started to set in: he had been dead for about three hours, maybe four. He knelt down, and positioned Andy’s head on his lap. Placing his hands on either side of his head, Joe closed his eyes and focused, drawing on what The Devil had taught him.

Andy took a deep inhale and coughed. Holy shit. He did it! Andy opened his eyes, and was startled by Joe. He was dead? Joe was dead? Was he dreaming?

“What happened?”

“I brought you back to life. You’re welcome.”

“I was dead?”

“Dude, you had your throat slit, of course you died.”

Andy tried to recall what he remembered. “The pain. The nothingness. Then the… red lighting and strippers? Man, I had one crazy dream.”

Joe smiled, “Oh, that wasn’t a dream - that was Hell.”

Andy sat up, eyes wide, eyebrows raised. “What?” He then saw the huge leathery red wings behind Joe. He was unable to speak, just choke out a few sounds.

“My wings. Do you like them? The Devil made them for me during my time in Hell.”

Joe spent a few minutes trying to explain everything to Andy. He was taking it quite well after getting over the initial shock. Although, he shouldn’t have been surprised, given the circumstances. They stood up and decided their best chance at finding Pete and Patrick was to follow the direction those llamas were headed.

“So, if I was in Hell… And you were in Hell… Then how come I never saw you - or The Devil?”

“We were elsewhere. We were quite… busy.”

“Busy doing what?”

Joe bit his lip and winked.

“Oh! Doing you! Congrats, I think?”

He took an overly dramatic bow. “I know right. Fucked by The Devil: who else on Earth can say that?”

“Who else would want to say that?”

“Fuck you!”

“Think I’ll pass, thanks.”

Joe flipped him off and they both laughed a little. A brief respite from it all - a shadow of normality.
“Anyway, we should probably find Pete.” He spread his wings and held out his hand. Andy looked sceptical, but Joe assured him it would be the most efficient way to travel, so he didn’t argue.

Chapter Text

Patrick raced over to Joe and Andy, not noticing Joe flinch when he approached. He threw his arms around him. “Oh my god Joe, I am so sorry!” He wasn’t able to hold back the tears, and began to sob. He let go when he felt Joe tense. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “Please forgive me!” He looked at him in anticipation, waiting for him to say something. Eventually, Joe stepped forward and hugged him.

“It’s okay, Trick. I forgive you.”

Patrick smiled and tried to wipe the tears mixing with the blood on his face, but his leather jacket just smeared them around.
“How are you both alive? You were dead!”

Andy gestured towards Joe; Patrick raised an eyebrow in confusion. Joe spread his wings with a flourish.

“Holy shit!” He exclaimed, almost falling over backwards.

Andy laughed. “You were right! Priceless reaction!”

As they walked to the mausoleum, Joe and Andy explained all that had happened and how they got there. It was probably on the less crazy side of everything they’d witnessed.

Pete wasn’t able to sleep. How could he? The closest he’d gotten to sleep was closing his eyes and thinking. After an hour, he’d given up and decided to go check on Patrick. Pulling his jacket back on, and stepping out the door, he called out to him. “The longer we stay here, the more likely they are to find us. We should get going.”
He stopped in his tracks.

“I don’t know where you’re going, but have you got room for one more troubled soul?”

“Andy?!”

Joe flew down from the top of the mausoleum, and landed in front of him. “Make that two!”

“You dramatic motherfucker!” Pete didn’t even question anything, he’d seen enough lately to know anything was possible, and he should probably just accept it. Besides, he was just glad to have them back.

They were suddenly disrupted by loud music coming from behind them. The llamas Joe spotted had caught up with them. The band saw Patrick’s eyes turning yellow and began to panic. Joe spread his wings, ready to fight them - he was not going back to Hell. Pete lunged at the one on the left who was holding the speaker. He was able to grab it, and while trying to turn it off, had to dodge Patrick swinging his hook at him. Andy picked up Pete’s bass blade and used it to defend himself against the llamas. Pete threw the speaker at the wall of the mausoleum, shattering it. When the music stopped, Patrick’s behaviour changed slightly. His eyes were still yellow, he still wasn’t fully in control, but he wasn’t attacking them anymore: he was charging at the llamas. He plunged his hook deep into one of their chests - blood pooling out and turning the costume from white to red. While Patrick was trying to dislodge his hook from its ribs, the other raised its shovel above his head. Andy swung the blade, decapitating the llama. When Patrick stood up again, Pete grabbed his jacket and practically launched himself at his mouth. When the yellow faded from his eyes, guilt began to take over him. He threw his arms over Pete’s shoulders, burying his head into the crook of his neck.

“I- I killed them! And I tried to hurt you! I am so sorry!”

Pete tilted Patrick’s head up to face him. “Look at me, Trick,” Baby blues meeting his wide-eyed browns, “You don’t have to apologise for any of this. It’s not your fault, you’re not in control, and we all know it,”

Patrick couldn’t believe it. How could Pete just forgive it all so fast? How could they all forgive him, when he couldn’t forgive himself? His thoughts must have been visible on his face, because Pete softly planted a kiss against his lips, relishing every second of it. However it didn’t last long, as they were rudely interrupted:

“I called it! I fucking called it!”

They pulled apart and glared at Joe, who had a smug smile plastered across his face. “You two finally admitted it, huh? About damn time, I thought you were gonna be pining forever!”
A deep scarlet blush spread across their faces, and they stepped back from each other awkwardly.

“Holy shit!” Andy yelled. He was stood next to the llamas’ bodies, more specifically, the one he had beheaded. The head of the purple suit had fallen off, revealing who had been underneath. They could recognise that face anywhere. Andy Hurley had killed Brendon Urie.

Pete laughed and put an arm round him. “Fucker had it coming!”

Chapter Text

The blinding sun beat down, hot above their heads, their feet kicking up dust on the dry dirt track. They had already been found by the llamas, and others wouldn’t be far behind. They had to keep moving, it was their best chance to evade Silence The Noise for as long as possible, until they had a way to bring them down. Pete’s mouth was drier than anything, his throat scratchy, his head pounding. He was in dire need of a drink, and there was no doubt that the others were in the same state he was.  They hoped that if they followed the road far enough, that they would eventually reach somewhere they could obtain vital supplies. He had suggested Joe fly ahead to determine how much further they had to walk, but the day had taken a lot out of him; leaving him unable to do much more than stagger along beside Andy - who was also drained. He looked over at Patrick, his face a mess of emotion: the guilt had dug its claws in deep behind his eyes, and the pain thinly veiled behind an expression of exhaustion.

It was as if their prayers had been answered: the path led into a small forest- which provided some shade - and as they emerged, they came across a town. They threw all caution to the wind when they spotted bottles of water in the window of a store. The band all raced down the alleyway towards it. Andy was about to try and kick the door open, but Joe thought it best to use his power, and unlocked it.

There was something almost primal in the way they wrestled the bottles open, and guzzled it down in seconds. Gasping for breath, Pete stumbled outside, and leaned against the wall. He’d drunk half the water in his hand, and he poured the other half over himself, wincing a little as the cold liquid ran over his wounds. He turned his head and smiled when he saw Patrick had come to stand beside him. Pete noticed that he’d managed to wash most of the blood from his face and hook.

“Everything okay?” He asked. Patrick didn’t say anything. He took his hand, held it tight, and gazed up at him in the way that made Pete’s stomach flip, made his heart scream. God, he loved him so much. He wanted to tell him. Did he already know? Should he tell him?

Pete heard the sound of a van door closing. They weren’t alone. He gestured for Patrick to stay behind him as he raised the bass blade and crept along the alleyway. Music blared from around the corner.

“Oh fuck,”

Patrick's eyes turned yellow, and Pete started to move back towards him. As he was about to reach out, the unexpected happened; instead of trying to attack him, Patrick ran away. Pete chased him down the alley, but as he rounded the corner, he smashed into Courtney blocking his way to Patrick, who was being restrained by three of her followers. He was he was thrashing around, trying to break free - trying to get to Pete. Was he trying to kill him again? Or was he subconsciously aware that Pete could help him?

He tried to push his way past Courtney, but she was much stronger than he anticipated, and knocked him to the floor, pressing her foot to his chest so he couldn’t get up. He’d lost his bass blade. Shit. The heel of her boot digging into his ribs. He called out to Patrick who was being thrown into the van. Pete was trying to sit up, so she kicked his chin, pushing him down. Courtney had stepped back, and he struggled up to his feet. He stopped when he was confronted with his own blade being pointed at him.

“You never stop getting in the way, do you?” She smiled and raised the blade.

Pete closed his eyes and braced for the inevitable.

But it never came.

He heard a scuffing sound, flesh tearing, and something falling to the floor. Why didn’t he feel it? And what was that noise? He opened his eyes.

Pete collapsed to his knees and screamed.

Chapter Text

Joe saw what Courtney did, and he flew at her, consumed with rage, and plunged a knife into her chest, twisting the knife again as her legs fell from underneath her. She was choking on blood. Her blood. Her blood on his hands. His eyes darted around, unfocused. Horrified. What had he done?

At seeing their commander's murder, Courtney's followers retreated back into the van and sped off. They would no doubt return, but it would be with an army.
No one noticed the quick switch they made.

“Patrick!” Pete cried. He tore his jacket off, pressing it into the wound as hard as he could, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. It was useless. The blood just kept pulsing over his hands. Over his clothes. Over the ground. It was becoming difficult to see as the tears collected on his eyelashes. Patrick shakily held his hand. The yellow had disappeared, only his pained blue eyes remained.

“Pete, hey, just stop,”

His ragged breathing made it hard to speak, “No, I can’t. You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna hold on. Everything’s gonna be fine!” He was beginning to become lightheaded, his breathing short and fast with his futile attempts to hold back the sobs.

“Pete!”

He stopped, gripped Patrick’s hand tight.

“I’m gonna die. We both know it. So just stop.”

He couldn’t accept that. His face burning in a melody of tears. “No. No. Just hold on! Hold on!”

“Pete please,” his voice was fading. He was losing him. His bloodshot eyes gazed up at him, gently caressing the side of Pete’s face with his hook. “Please, don’t cry, smile for me?”

He tried his best to do as he asked, but he was crying too much, unable to control his face.

“Stay with me,” Patrick choked out.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you, ever.” Clutching his hand with such desperation - as if that mere action could keep them together. Patrick's blood was soaking into both of their clothes, the flow slowing as his pulse became weaker.

“It’s okay. I deserve this… you were the last good thing I ever had. Don’t you forget that…" He coughed. "Goodbye, Pete…”

“No!” He screamed. He felt his life slipping away, falling through his fingers. “Don’t leave me!” Patrick’s body had stopped shaking now. He was perfectly still.

He was gone.

Pete let out a guttural cry of anguish. He needed to do something. He needed to make this right. He needed him. A single thought came into his head. A last ditch effort to save him. "I love you," He whispered. He pressed the words into Patrick's lips. Hoping. Praying.

Nothing.

Chapter Text

How long had it been? Hours? Maybe only a few minutes? It felt like an eternity. An eternity he didn’t want to face without Patrick. No matter how much the others tried to get him to move, Pete stayed put. There wasn’t a force on this Earth that could make him leave his side. “Stay with me,” That’s what his words were, and he would be damned if he wasn’t going to fulfil that wish. He had been holding his hand so tightly that his arm was beginning to ache. It didn’t matter, though. Nothing mattered anymore. Not without him.

“Pete…” Joe began, “We need to go,”

“Why?” Not taking his eyes off Patrick.

“Because it’s not safe here.”

“Who cares, Courtney’s already won.”

“Courtney’s dead!”

Pete whipped his head around. “And so’s Patrick!” He snapped.

Andy put a hand on Joe’s shoulder and steered him away. “Just give him time.” He muttered.

“We don’t have time,” Joe started to argue, but Andy pulled him back down the alley.

Pete felt empty. Something vital had been ripped out of him. Now, there was just a hole where that something was. Patrick was the sunshine of his lifetime. Without him, where there used to be love, happiness, joy; it was dark and full of nothing. So much for the ‘Defenders of the Faith’ - he hadn’t even been able to defend the person who meant the most to him. He thought they could’ve had it all. How naïve that was. That’ll teach him not to have hope. Hope was false. Hope was a lie. Hope was the smoke and mirrors shrouding disappointment and heartbreak. That’s how the story always ends. He would never believe in anything again.

Where the hell was he? One second he was dying, and the next, he was… in an elevator? It was dark and rusted. Stood near the buttons was a kid - he recognised them. After the burning van - the kids who chased them; this was their leader. The one The Herald killed. Why were they here? There was a dagger next to him. What was he meant to do with it? They were both dead. Was this a test? He threw the dagger to the floor. “No. No more,”
The kid smiled, and pressed a button. The elevator made a creaking noise and began to creep upwards. A blinding light above him forced Patrick to shield his eyes. That’s when he noticed his clothes were different - they were white.
With a bright flash, he was at the top of a golden staircase. What was going on? Every other surface was a brilliant white, so bright that he had to squint a little. He cautiously made his way down the staircase. When he reached the last step, there was a voice behind him.
“Ah, Patrick Stump. Good to finally meet you!”

He turned around at the sudden sound. “What the fuck? Elton John?!”

He laughed. “I get that a lot. Not quite, though.”

“What? Why do you look like him?”

“The question you should be asking is why does Elton John look like me?”

Patrick’s head tilted a little in confusion.

“Well, I made Man in my own image, didn’t I?” He winked, and that’s when it clicked.

“God?”

“There we go! Yes, I am God, and yes, this is Heaven,”

Patrick was a little too stunned to speak, thankfully, Elton - God - was more than happy to do all the talking.

“Now, you’re probably wondering why you’re here? I’m afraid to say you won’t be here long, you have some unfinished business - and a lover - to get back to!”

Patrick tried to interrupt, his mind was racing at a mile a minute, desperately trying to keep up with all the words being thrown at him.

“Seeing as I’m sending you back, we need to do something about your body - it’s in quite a bad shape. I can heal up most of your injuries - I’ll do your friends’, too - but there are some limitations. I’m sure you’ll be fine.” He stopped suddenly. “I almost forgot, that garish thing isn’t very practical, is it?” He snapped his fingers and Patrick’s hook vanished. In its place was a mechanical hand. He moved it around a bit, that would take some getting used to.

He stood there for a moment. He understood most of what he was being told, but he still had a few questions. “Why us?”

God smiled, “Because there’s no one I would trust more than The Defenders Of The Faith to save rock and roll.” He handed Patrick a gleaming white guitar, to which he responded with a look of bewilderment. He gestured to his eyes, “Music, I can’t-”

“Oh yes, that. I can’t fix it for you, but I can tell you how. What was it you used to say? ‘In Poison Places, we are anti-venom’? Well, think of it like that. You need the poison to make the antidote.”

Patrick narrowed his eyes, “What does that even mean? Couldn’t you just tell me outright?”

“Where would be the fun in that?” He smirked, and led Patrick back to the elevator. “I'll be seeing you soon, my son,” he said, and closed the doors. It made its creaking noise, as he travelled back down. This time, the light was below him. There was a bright flash, then he took a sudden breath and opened his eyes. 

Chapter Text

There was an unexpected weight on his chest, but was gone swiftly as it sensed the movement of his breath. Patrick saw Pete’s head shoot up, startled. His hot whiskey eyes were bloodshot, his reddened, tear stained face frozen in an expression of shock.

“Pete…” He began, but his words were cut off by Pete crashing their lips together. There was a sense of desperation in the way he kissed him, in the way he grabbed at the collar of his jacket. Pete shifted so he was straddling Patrick’s lap, who pulled him closer, running his hands down his back to hold his waist. Pete broke the kiss and they both gasped for air. “I love you,” he panted, and slammed their mouths together again. Pete began pulling at Patrick’s jacket. Patrick’s hand travelled closer to Pete’s belt - until Andy’s voice rang out.

“GUYS! THERE IS A TIME AND A PLACE!”

The pair jumped apart and sat there, red-faced and breathless. Andy let out an exasperated sigh. “I came to ask Pete if he saw where the briefcase went, but now I think I need to wash my eyes in bleach.”

They both stood up, Patrick straightening his clothes while sporting a sheepish look, and Pete gesturing back towards the alley. “I left it by that wall…” Seeing that it wasn’t there, he sprinted inside the shop. “Hey Joe, have you seen the briefcase?” He called out.

Joe stepped out from one of the aisles, a bottle of something in his hand. “Pete? I thought you were…” He trailed off when he registered the panic in his voice. “I thought you had it. Why? What’s going on?”

“Shit!” He raced back outside, Joe following. He stopped. Andy was holding the briefcase out to him.

“It was by Courtney…”

Pete took it eyeing it suspiciously. Joe ran forwards and hugged Patrick, who was standing beside Andy. “Holy shit, Trick, you’re okay! What happened to your clothes? And your hook!?”

Patrick glanced down, briefly forgetting the change in his clothes. “It’s a long story, I’ll tell you later.” He watched the expression on Pete’s face as he examined the briefcase. “What’s wrong?”

“Look at it. What do you see?”

“Nothing,”

“Exactly! It’s too clean, the blood’s gone.” He dropped to his knees and started to unlock it. He opened it and sat back.

“Fuck!”

This wasn’t their briefcase. They’d lost it. The only thing inside it was Patrick’s fedora.

“They fucking switched it!”

He threw the hat across the ground, and stormed off into the shop. Patrick picked up the fedora, brushed the dust off and placed it on his head. He then hurried after Pete.

Chapter Text

He caught the door as it banged open again after being slammed, still shaking a little on its hinges from the force. A loud smash came from one of the aisles. “Pete…?” The smashing continued. “Pete!” He repeated, louder. The sound stopped as Patrick approached him. He had another bottle in his hands, gripping it tight, it looked as if he was about to crush it in his hands. He glanced down: a puddle of various drinks spreading across the floor, with a mess of shattered glass around Pete’s feet. Patrick reached out to pull him away. He spun round, softening his gaze as their eyes met. He dropped the bottle - Patrick flinching at the crash - then stepped forward, shards of glass crunching beneath him.

“Pete…” He began, but stopped when Pete wrapped his arms around him.

Patrick pulled him tight, trying to steady his heavy breathing with his own. The kick drum beating in Pete’s chest began to calm to a slower rhythm, almost in time with Patrick’s. “I love you, too.” He whispered into his ear.

He’d almost forgotten that had slipped out during their earlier activities. He pulled back a little to look at him, that soft smile, those shining eyes, it was like he had sunshine flowing through his veins. He cupped Patrick’s face. “I thought I’d lost you,” His eyes shimmered with tears preparing to fall.

“I’m right here,” He said softly, and rested his hand on Pete’s chest. “And I’m never leaving you again.”

Pete held Patrick’s hand over his heart, a silent promise through their touch, binding their souls - half-doomed and semi-sweet - in an unspoken act.

They stayed like that for an unknown length of time, in the close comfort of the other. Pete felt content – happy, even. Just being with Patrick was his happiness, his love, his sanctuary.

Suddenly, Patrick’s eyes widened like he’d had a realisation. “In poison places, we are anti-venom, of course!”

Pete furrowed his brows. "What?"

“‘You need the poison to make the antidote’ - that’s what he said! Music, Pete! We need music!”

“Trick, what the fuck are you on about? You know what music does-”

“I know what their music does,” He was pacing now, onto something. “It’s you!”

“Patrick, please, what’s going on?”

He stopped to face him, smiling wide. “I know how to fix this! I need you to sing.”

Pete nodded, gazing back into his hopeful eyes. He barely needed to think about what to sing: it was obvious. The one song connecting them since the very beginning. He took a deep breath, and began to sing.

“I’m good to go, and I’m going nowhere fast…”

Chapter Text

Joe stared back at the door. “Do you think we should go in there? They’ve been quite a while.”

Andy looked hesitant, worried what they could be doing, he didn’t want to repeat his earlier experience. “You go if you want, I’m gonna stay here…”

Joe raised an eyebrow at him. “What are you so scared of?”

He studied his face: the same look as he’d had when he went out to ask Pete about the briefcase, when Patrick came back…

“Oh,” he realised, “OH!” He smirked and ran down the alley, with Andy cautiously following.

He paused upon reaching the door, listening in. Just to get an idea of what he would be walking in on. He wasn’t sure what he expected to hear, but Pete singing sure wasn’t it.

He gestured for Andy to come closer, and opened the door. He joined in.

“When I say…”

Pete startled at the sudden other voice, but continued to sing.

“My foot is in the door…”

Andy had joined in now, and began to tap a rhythm on a shelf.

“In the wake of Saturday…” the four of them sang together. Patrick holding Pete’s hand, who had an arm around Joe, who had an arm around Andy - who would have an arm around Patrick if his hands weren’t busy on the shelf.

“Saturday, when these open doors were open-ended…” They were all belting it now, and Patrick could feel something changing. The anger inside him fading, the pain in his head dissipating more and more with every word.

“Pete and I attacked the Lost Astoria, With promise and precision and a mess of youthful innocence, And I read about the afterlife, But I never really lived more than an hour…”

Just as they always did on stage, Pete and Patrick turned and sang these words to each other, “More than an hour…”

Here they all were, doing what they do best - what they were born to do: making meaningful music together. They missed it. Missed their life when they were Fall Out Boy. Before they had to become the Defenders of the Faith. Before everything changed. Before the world turned upside down.

Chapter Text

The band had decided to leave their current location, the longer they stayed there, the more of a chance they gave Silence The Noise to come for them.

Pete stopped in his tracks upon opening the door; Joe leaned over his shoulder to see why. There was someone there. Someone at the end of the alley. They stood there, facing them. Pete instinctively curled his hands into fists, eyes scanning the area for his bass blade. It was by the person’s feet. Why hadn’t they reached for it?

That’s when Pete noticed it. Their clothes: pure white - like Patrick’s. He turned to look at him, and he pushed past to approach the figure. Pete followed, bracing himself to protect him.

That’s when they spoke to Patrick. “I told you I would be seeing you soon,”

Why was that voice familiar to Pete? He cautiously approached behind Patrick.

He stopped. Recognition. What was Elton John doing here?

Speaking again to Patrick, he smiled. “I see you figured it out,”

“What are you doing here?” Patrick asked. “God doesn’t just appear on Earth for no reason, so what is it?”

God? What the fuck? Joe and Andy were now stood beside Pete, perplexed.

“I’m not here for long, I only plugged in to save rock and roll.”

Patrick raised an eyebrow.

“You didn’t think I’d leave you to do this on your own, did you?”

He looked past Patrick, towards Pete. He snapped his fingers and his injuries were healed, blood gone from his clothes. His clothes… They were different - white. He glanced back; Andy and Joe’s were the same.

God snapped his fingers once more, and glittering, pearlescent instruments appeared. He gestured for the band to approach.

No one said anything, yet, somehow, they all knew what to do. Andy began the song with his drums, God joining shortly after on his piano. Patrick closed his eyes and started to sing.

“I need more dreams, and less life…”

He suddenly felt different, he opened his eyes again. They had moved. Continuing to sing, he looked around.

They were in the warehouse occupied by Silence The Noise. A large being cloaked in black and a bird mask was working its way through the crowd. Screams. Blood. What had they done?

Patrick’s voice faltered in fear, but Pete almost immediately responded by resting his head on his shoulder. A simple action, a profound feeling.

“Oh no, wherever I go, go…" The band sang with him. Every guitar strum, every drum beat, every piano chord sent some kind of energy shooting out.

Victims of The Being standing up, unscathed, dressed in white, forming a wall around them.

Beyond the cloud of blood, at the other end of the room, another figure appeared.

She was in a white dress, holding a guitar. Courtney locked eyes with Patrick, smiled at him, and joined the song; the energy from her instrument aimed directly at The Being in an attempt to slow it down.

The massacre continued. Patrick threw down his guitar, energy glittering around his hands and arms.

Pete followed suit, then Andy, then Joe. They made their way towards The Being, Patrick the only one bothering to wipe the blood spattered over himself.

“Oh no, we won’t go! ‘Cause we don’t know when to quit, oh, oh!”

Pete was the first to lunge forwards, propelling the energy directly into The Being’s chest. It seemed to be… expanding? With the final line of their song, it exploded.

A shower of blood violently rained down. Patrick glanced back at God, who winked at him then vanished.

He did what he needed to do, now he was gone. He should’ve expected it, really.

He felt Pete’s hand wrap around his own, grip tightening as Courtney approached them.

“I need to show you something,” She signalled for the band to follow her, but nobody moved. It took her a moment to figure out why. They didn’t trust her.

“That’s not who I am.” She said. “As soon as I figured out this was their plan, I tried to get out. That’s when they got to me: brainwashed me like they - we - tried to do to Patrick. I’m sorry, truly.”

Patrick let go of Pete’s hand and began to move towards Courtney. She tensed, bracing herself for what might come - she had killed him, after all. But he didn’t do anything she expected. He hugged her.

“What do you need to show us?” He asked when he pulled back.

Courtney led them to her office, where she rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a stack of papers. She lay them on the desk in front of the band, a large map catching their eyes. “Silence The Noise is much bigger than it seems - it’s a global operation. Some areas more successful than others.”

She gestured to the different sized red circles across the map. “They start small, rarely noticed, until they move onto bigger targets. That’s when they… well, you know what happens.”

Andy pointed at the question mark next to the circle in New Jersey. “What’s this for?”

“Radio silence for over a week. Nobody knows what happened.”

Joe thought for a moment. “They go for big bands, right? What if they tried - and failed - to get to MCR?”

Pete chimed in, “What about Panic? We know they got Brendon, but what about the rest of the band?”

“Brendon…” Courtney began. “Joined of his own free will,” She hung her head. “But when his band mates objected,” She hesitated, taking a breath. “He killed them.” She looked back up. “Something happened to him in Vegas, before they ever got to him; it’s like there’s some other force at play here.”

Joe looked at the others. “Let’s go find it then.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

He turned to Andy, “The world is fucked, and we can do something about it. I say if we’re going down, we may as well go down swinging!”

Chapter Text

Patrick was about to step out the door with the rest of the band when Courtney stopped him.

“Wait,” She held out her hand. Laying on her palm was a key. “The van parked just over there - take it. Please, it’s the least I can do.”

Patrick smiled and took the key, then tossed it to Andy who was closest to the van.

Andy sat in the driver’s seat; Pete next to him with the map spread over his lap. Patrick’s vision was focused on the darkening grey clouds looming above them. As the oncoming storm became more apparent, he was grateful for the shelter of the van.

The roads were unnaturally empty; a sinister silence, only broken by Pete occasionally giving directions.

The sky tore open, releasing a downpour so heavy it obscured all the surroundings in a blur. Pete managed to make out the words on a nearby sign and instructed Andy to follow it.

After turning down a few small roads, they arrived at a hotel. It appeared abandoned - save for a single car in the shadows which nobody noticed.

They parked close to the entrance and ran to it. It opened surprisingly easy, yet they all regarded it as a blessing rather than anything suspicious.

They had taken torches with them from the van to light up the dark corridors. Patrick reached a door and reached for the handle.

He stopped. “We should probably stick close; in case we need to leave quick or something.”

He had a good point, Joe thought as he stood outside the room next door - but when Pete began to enter the same room as Patrick he moved three doors down.

“Dude, what did I just say?”

“You two are sharing, and I don’t want to be able to hear you.” He said, stepping into his room and closing the door.

After saying goodnight to Andy, who was also a few doors away from them, the pair entered their room, Pete gently kicking the door closed.

Sure, the battle was over. The war was yet to be won. This was far from a happy ending, but at least for Pete and Patrick it was a sort of happily ever after… below the waist.