(no subject)
Title: 'It Can't Get Much Worse' versus 'No One Should Ever Feel Like ...' (1/2)
Author: makemebreak
Genre: Evil Genius AU
Claim: Brendon Urie/Gabe Saporta
Prompt: 92. Agent
Rating: PG
Word Count: 20 639
Summary: Pete is a wealthy, crazy child who grows up into a wealthy, crazy adult. Shenanigans ensue.
Warnings: Language, bad Pete characterization. I don't like him, so don't read if you don't want to be offended.
Notes: A thanks to greeenlikejuly because she let me write this on her dorm room floor. \o/ It was also written on airplanes and in hotels. It's travelled as much as I have. And obviously to Cakes for helping me with the beta. She is more amazing than anyone realizes. Title and cut from Dance, Dance.
So maybe if it had escalated, it could have started like this.
"This is Katie Couric reporting live from Washington, DC where Pete Wentz has just taken over the White House. Early reports say that the building didn't stand a chance. Wentz and his followers have barricaded themselves inside. Stayed tuned for updates as they come."
Or maybe it actually did start like this.
"I'd make a better president than this troglodyte." Pete threw a soda can at his television.
In fact, it could've started like this.
"Relax, I'll be gone for the week. I left you a map of where I'm going to be camping and I'll be back next weekend." Ryan pulled his car, packed with startlingly few supplies, out of the garage and drove away from his roommate.
But in reality, it started like this.
Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III was not an ordinary boy. That was the easiest way to describe his existence in the world. Born into great wealth and even greater privilege, he was never denied a whim or passing fancy.
And that's where the trouble really started.
Absentee parents and a butler named Alfred were really a horrible mix for a child with a slight Batman fixation. Well, less Batman, more supervillains that Batman tried to destroy. An example of dialogue with young Peter might have gone something like this:
Pete: Well, The Joker couldn't have been very smart if a stupid orphan was able to beat him.
Alfred: Master Peter, the point is that good wins over evil.
Pete: Shut up, Alfred, or I'll have you sacked as I did Alfred.
Alfred: Master Peter, my name is Nicholas.
Pete: Your name is whatever I say it is, you incompetent imbecile.
In truth, Pete hadn't had his last butler sacked, merely deported. But he was fond of Alfred, in his own way, and he had no desire to see him thrown out of the country.
Pete had been reading Batman comic books for as long as he could remember, and he was noticing a very distinctive pattern. Aside from the obvious homosexuality in the comic, there was a lot of sexual tension between Batman and the female villains. These were women who knew how to use their wiles to get what they wanted.
Pete didn't have wiles, not as far as he could tell, anyway. But really, what did he know? He was seven years old and the only companions he really had were the animals in his menagerie, and they didn't really respond so well when he asked things like, "Do my wiles drive you insane with lust?"
Generally the marmosets were the only ones to respond, but they didn't speak English. He had no other friends around to ask. Alfred had a solution, but it was another one that almost got him fired. "Master Peter, if you'd like, I could arrange for a gorilla that is fluently versed in American Sign Language."
For a moment Pete just stared at him blankly. "Who the hell do you think you're speaking with? I'm not going to learn another language so my pet can speak with me. No, you find me a pet that speaks English or I'll make sure you're sacked and that your reference will ensure that you never find another position in any household."
"Master Peter…" Alfred sighed, unsure of how to handle this situation.
"Or worse, I won't let you come when I blow up the world. Then all the other children will be gone and it won't matter that they don't come to play with me."
"Master Peter, I shall do my very best to find a pet for you. One which is fluent in English."
Yes, that was really where it started.
A week or so later, which happened to be Pete's birthday, Alfred entered the room and presented Pete with a small bundle in a blue blanket. "Happy Birthday, Master Peter."
Just then the bundle gave a small, sleepy yawn. "You've made me the happiest boy today, Alfred. Thank you." Pete knew what was inside. He carefully set the bundle down on couch next to him so he could stand up and give Alfred a hug. "What shall I name him?"
"He already has a name, it's Brendon." Alfred had seen all of the documentation for this baby and thought it best to pick him. And he did love when Pete smiled the way he did when he saw the baby, teeth far too big for his mouth.
"That's the perfect name for my most exotic pet." Pete was already holding the baby in his arms again. "Brendon, you shall be favored among my menagerie." He touched his finger to the baby's nose and laughed when it gurgled at him. Yes, Brendon would do quite nicely.
He served as Pete's constant companion, staying by his side through everything in his life. Brendon had gurgled through the news that Pete's parents had passed away in a car accident. Everyone on the compound claimed to not know anything about the cut brake lines and Alfred quietly disposed of all mechanical books in Pete's personal library.
As Brendon grew up, Pete even fancied that Brendon looked a little like him. He began teaching him at a young age how to use his eyebrows. "They should never move together, two separate movements." Pete demonstrated again, smiling when Brendon was able to imitate the move. He no longer needed Brendon to answer his questions on wiles. He generally used the small boy as a sounding board for ideas.
Fortunately, Brendon loved Pete's ideas almost as much as he loved the kangaroo that Pete had bought for him. He would sit and watch for hours as Pete detailed various plots in a room in the basement. There were maps and toy soldiers and Pete only tapped his wrist gently when he tried to play with them.
"These are important, Brendon. We mustn't touch them until it's time." Pete never explained when it would be time, only that it was approaching. Brendon, knowing little of the outside world, happily agreed as long as it didn't interrupt with Power Puff Girls time.
Brendon spent most of his time with Pete's menagerie, letting the marmosets crawl over him and the sloths curl up to his sides when they wanted a nap. He would never admit it to anyone, but he liked their company better than Pete's.
Pete was always making veiled comments that seemed ominous to Brendon, even though he wasn't quite sure why. As he got closer to eighteen, or at least when Pete told him he was probably almost eighteen, Brendon was sent on special missions to further help the room in the basement.
"If anyone asks, this is called a topograph." Pete pushed the hardhat further down on Brendon's hair, squishing the bowl-cut under it. "No one should ask you any questions, but if they do, what do you say?"
"I'm a student practicing land surveying because my Dad wants me to work with him this summer to save money for school," Brendon said in a quiet voice. He was slightly nervous about leaving the compound, even with Alfred driving him. He'd been out on a handful of occasions, but nothing good had ever happened on them.
The last time he could remember, Pete had said they were going to Best Buy to pick up The Power Puff Girls on DVD for Brendon. Pete had asked Brendon to go in and buy it without him. By the time Brendon had exited the store, Pete was slumped, unconscious against the window. Naturally, Brendon had called Alfred and he'd taken care of the entire situation.
Though Pete had apologized for scaring Brendon, things hadn't been the same since. Brendon didn't understand why Pete had done it and Pete couldn't explain his fear of failure to the monkey-faced boy. So they orbited each other at a distance, occasionally passing in the hallways of the house, or meeting on the grounds of the compound.
"Sir, there's a boy to see you." Alfred went into Pete's chambers and stood beside the computer desk. He caught a glimpse of the words "My name is a four letter word synonymous with failure" before Pete closed the laptop and turned.
"Show him into the sitting room. I'll take a meeting with him while you drive Brendon to the location. When you two return, alert me at once." Pete waved a hand dismissively and walked over to the mirror, looking at the slight bags under his eyes. After applying another layer of kohl, he walked down a different hallway to the sitting room. He wanted a moment to compose himself before going into this meeting.
It was his experience that visitors were almost never a good thing. His last visitor had been Christopher, his oldest and dearest servant, telling Pete that he was retiring and that he was going to be leaving the compound. If another one was going to be leaving, Pete was not going to be impressed.
To his surprise, a boy around Brendon's age turned around as he entered the library. "Mr. Wentz?"
Pete flinched at the formality and shook his head. "It's cliché to say that's my father, but he is. You can call me Pete." Pete held his hand out, indicating that the boy should take a seat in one of the tall-backed leather chairs.
"Pete. I'm Ryan Ross." Ryan extended his hand to shake Pete's but didn't appear all that surprised when Pete didn't offer his in return.
"It's nice to meet you, Ryan." Pete's tone was only slightly tinged with curiosity. Of course he wanted to know what this boy wanted from him, but he wasn't prepared to appear eager to get the information. Showing your cards too soon meant a lower payout.
"Yes. You probably want to know why I'm here?" Ryan's own eyes were lightly lined with kohl and Pete couldn't dismiss the way they seemed infinitely larger when Ryan tilted his head and looked at him.
"If you wish to share it." Pete waved his hand as if granting permission. Again, he left the decision entirely up to Ryan, who appeared only too eager to share with Pete his reasons for coming to the compound.
"I want to help you." Those five words intrigued Pete. He'd heard them many times in his life, many times from lovers who had turned out to be leavers.
"Help me," Pete repeated, clearly amused with the notion.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but on the southern tip of the compound, there's a lot of camo-netting. And I've done my research on what you've been buying over in Russia. Pete, I'd like to help." Ryan emphasized the word "help" slightly.
"Whatever you believe you know, you don't." Pete's tone turned flat. It was a shame, really; he didn't want to have to take this one out but he had to do what was best for the plan.
"I do. Just. Look, maybe I'm not enough to convince you, but maybe my friend is." Ryan opened his bag and for a moment, Pete was sure he caught sight of a bio-hazardous sign. Another bit of rooting and he pulled out a binder, handing it over to Pete. "A sign of good faith. I made a pit stop before coming to see you. It's a copy of all the information they have on you and your movements thus far."
Pete immediately began leafing through it, figuring he knew what misinformation had been picked up by the military. He wasn't prepared to see pictures of Brendon dressed as a land surveyor. That was never supposed to have been picked up. The pictures were all recent, so Pete knew that they were watching with a renewed interest.
"You want to help." Pete nodded, closing the binder and looking up at the young boy in front of him. An eager nod was answer enough for him. "All right." He didn't trust this boy but the time would come when he would be useful. He'd already proven himself to be useful. "You understand, then, that the compound is now your home. You're not to leave it. Anyone you knew before is just that, someone you knew, not someone you know any longer."
As soon as Ryan joined Team Off Wentz His Pants (really, Pete should've known not to let Brendon name the organization. Never again would he make that mistake.), he began his training with small, close range weaponry. His favourite place to practice was the garden. The only person who was surprised when Nick Scimeca took several rounds to the back of his head was Brendon.
He'd loved the gardener. Nick had always planted daisies in a small patch of the back garden for him. After Nick's shuffling loose of the mortal coil, Brendon tended to stick to the menagerie, listlessly watching his pet kangaroo, Maria, hop around.
All in all, the days grew rather similar. One thing led to another, and everyone swore they had no idea how it happened, but Belgium just stopped existing one day.
"But! I loved their chocolate!" Brendon was inconsolable, landing in a heap after leaping from one of the trees in the menagerie. "Pete, is this part of the plan?"
"It's the start." Pete simply nodded and continued to stroke the sloth that lay curled in his lap. "Don't worry, pet, you'll be as safe as ever."
"But I won't have chocolate!" He wailed for such a length of time that all the animals, save for a tiny lemur, left him alone. Even Maria wouldn't hop near him until he'd worn himself out. It was then that he decided Alfred would take him for a drive the next day. He'd pack his backpack, kiss the animals goodbye and find out what life was really like on the outside of the compound.
Secretly, Brendon suspected that Belgium hadn't been blown up. Ryan just liked to complain that Brendon couldn't keep still after eating any chocolate. Ryan was turning out to be nothing like Pete. Ryan was mean. The worst part was there was no telling if he meant whatever he was saying. That darn monotone.
That evening, after Pete had retired for the evening and Ryan had powered down, or whatever it was that robots like him did at night, Brendon began packing his backpack. There were all sorts of things to back. Sweatbands, just in case it got warm and he needed to keep the sweat out of his eyebrows; socks, because you really never knew; a towel, because it could get you out of any sort of situation; a Tupperware container full of cheerios, to sustain him until he found a convenience store and could pick up some real food; and Bob the stuffed lemur, because he knew Pete would miss the real one and he would need something to cuddle until he could liberate Bob the real lemur.
As the final object he placed in his bag, he carefully set Eunice into her case and then in his backpack. Eunice was the 9mm Pete had bought for Brendon on the anniversary of Brendon's tenth year on the compound. He'd had Alfred and Chris teach Brendon how to shoot at targets and according to the official FBI tester that Pete had kidnapped and executed, Brendon shot better than half his men. Pete was so proud that he'd bought Maria, the kangaroo, as another present for Brendon.
Maria was what Brendon had initially asked for his birthday, but Pete said there were enough animals in the menagerie. After Brendon had become so adept at the use of firearms, well, he couldn't bring himself to say no.
Brendon made his way around the house silently, pilfering a few bottles of Gatorade and touching things that he'd never been allowed to touch. He even took Pete's secondary copy of The Plan. He'd leafed through the binder on many boring afternoons while Pete was in Russia, but he'd never really cared about it.
It went inside his backpack, covering Eunice. That would teach Pete to go around listening to people who had no inflection. He was going to have to spend an entire day photocopying all his documents again for another secondary copy of The Plan.
Shouldering his backpack, Brendon went to the servants' wing of the house and tried to walk quietly. He still knew the location of most of the squeaky floorboards from when he snuck down as a much smaller child.
There was a chef, one who took care to make sure that Brendon's meals were always vegetarian, and he would help Brendon. He was sure of it. After three rapid knocks, which was the code for late night pie, Brendon waited for Tom Conrad to answer the door. The door opened cautiously and Tom poked his head out. "Master Brendon, what are you doing still up?"
Apparently it had taken Brendon a little too long to choose between bringing Clarence the stuffed frog or Bob the stuffed lemur. By Tom's clock, it was quarter to four in the morning.
"Master Brendon, I know you're used to the house being yours to wander but you can't do that anymore. It isn't safe." Tom said nothing more than that, quietly slipping into his robe. "What kind of pie would you like today? I think we have apple and chocolate crème in the freezer. Would you like some ice cream?"
"Tom. I. I need a favor. Can you." Brendon toed the ground, chewing his lip. "I need to get out of here. I don't think Pete needs me anymore now that he has Ryan. And. I don't know. I want to see what's out there." He looked up and tried to smile at Tom but it wouldn't quite meet his eyes.
Tom looked down at the ground and shook his head. "You know I can't do that. Pete would have my head for it." Both of them knew the statement wasn't an exaggeration.
"I just." Brendon nudged Tom back into the room, looking down the hallway. He had no idea if Pete really had ears everywhere on the compound. "I don't trust this Ryan guy. He rubs me the wrong way. And this Plan. I don't know what it is, but Ryan said that Belgium got blown up and I really think that might be a bad thing. And I'm pretty sure it's all Ryan's fault."
"I know. He isn't anyone's favourite here." Tom moved over to his bedside table and turned on the stereo so it emitted a low, steady stream of music. "All right. Here's what I can do. Every morning, Brent comes and delivers fresh produce for us. I can help you sneak into the van. You can get out of the compound and sneak off the van at the first stop after. I'll give you an address. Don't program it into your phone, I'll write it down and you go to it. Jon will be able to help you if you tell him about the Plan. And when you get there. When you get there, tell them to tell Sean I'm all right."
That was how, two hours later, Brendon came to be sitting in the back of a large truck carrying vegetables and fruits. He helped himself to a nice snack, justifying that no one would notice if two mangoes and a head of cauliflower went missing. By the time Brent made his first delivery, Brendon had gorged himself on mangoes, kiwis, oranges, and blueberries. His stomach hurt but he was full in case he had to wander around looking for Jon Walker, 312 Cherrywood Lane.
There was no phone number on the piece of paper that Tom provided him and Brendon really hadn't needed to pay attention when Alfred drove him into the city, so it was difficult for Brendon to know where to begin. He'd watched enough movies to know that he could simply take a taxi there. Once he was within range of one, he began waving his arms wildly.
"Hi. I'm. Not really from around here. My name is Brendon and I need to get to Jon Walker's house. It's at 312 Cherrywood Lane. Apparently it's in the Evanston neighborhood?" He smiled in what he hoped was a winning fashion at the surly cab driver in the front seat.
"That's in the 'burbs. I'm going to have to charge you meter and a half, are you okay with that?" His voice was ashy from years of smoking, the same as Tom's voice early in the morning when Brendon woke him to ask if he could have chocolate chips on his pancakes.
"Uh. Yeah, that's fine. Do you take credit cards?" Brendon looked through his wallet. He had the credit card Pete had provided him to use in case of emergencies. He was fairly certain this constituted an emergency.
"Nah, it's too early in the day. I've got no one to verify the card. I can stop at an ATM for you." The driver indicated a shop a block up. "You can take out cash. It'll be sixty, minimum."
Brendon thought for a moment. It seemed reasonable enough. After all, Pete routinely took out hundreds of dollars from the ATM when they went to restaurants. Brendon nodded and the taxi was on its way. "Hey. I can take out a lot of money from the ATM, right? Like, more than just the cab fare?"
"Uh. Yeah, you can probably take out five hundred dollars." The cabbie looked in the rearview mirror at Brendon. "You ever used a credit card, kid?"
"No, this has only been for emergencies." Brendon looked at the black American Express. He liked the way it shone in his wallet. The cab driver remained silent for the rest of the ride to 312 Cherrywood Lane. The brief stop at the ATM was made longer by Brendon's inability to remember if the pin number 5683 or 4283.
Eventually he emerged with five hundred dollars in crisp twenties. "Okay, to the house!" Brendon pointed in the direction he assumed Jon Walker's house was. The cabbie drove him to the front of an apartment building. "This is the building. It'll be seventy dollars." Brendon counted out eighty dollars and handed it over.
It took him a moment to figure out how to buzz up to Jon Walker's apartment. "Mmm, too early, Patrick." A sleepy voice mumbled on the other end of the intercom.
"Jon Walker?" Brendon leaned close to the speaker and whispered.
"Patrick?"
"No. Is this Jon Walker?" Brendon asked again. "This is Brendon. Tom sent me to you. Can you buzz me up?"
"Tom?" The voice sounded like it was waking up a little more. "Tom sent you and your name is Brendon."
Fifteen minutes later Brendon was sitting in the kitchen of the apartment Jon Walker shared with some girl named Spencer. Jon and Spencer were both nursing cups of hot coffee. "So. You're Brendon and Tom sent you."
"You've been saying that for the last ten minutes. Isn't coffee supposed to wake you up?" Brendon was staring longingly at the mugs nestled in both of their hands. He hadn't been allowed coffee at the compound since That Time Brendon Accidentally Shot Off Two Million Dollars Worth Of Explosives. It hadn't been his fault, either. Pete should've known not to leave Brendon alone after letting him down a quad-shot of espresso.
"Since he's the one that's hiding you, or whatever, I wouldn't be so picky about what he says." Spencer's voice was very masculine. And she was awfully flat. Brendon cocked his head to the side and tried to determine if the two were somehow related. He shook his head and reached for his backpack.
"Look. Tom helped me get off the compound so that I could see the world. But I want to see the world before it all gets blown up. And I looked at The Plan, so I'm pretty sure it's all going to get blown up." Brendon began digging through his backpack, producing the binder. It had been shifted during his adventure on the fruit truck. "He said you'd know what to do with this." He slid the binder across the table to Jon.
"I. The compound. You." Jon seemed at a loss for words but Spencer perked up immediately.
"Is this what I think it is?" She began looking through the binder, fingers drawing across the words as she read. "Where did you get this?"
"From Pete. I kind of stole it. Hey, you aren't going to send me back and get me in trouble for this, are you?" Brendon instantly grew worried. He wanted nothing to do with the compound now that Ryan Ross had taken over. There had been a time before when he'd tried to run away. Brendon had gotten as far as the southern wing of the house before Mike Carden, the team coordinator, had found him. Pete had taken Maria away from him for a month.
"No, no. I. We need to get you to Patrick's. Does anyone know you're here?" Spencer started moving around the kitchen in a hurry, dumping the last of her coffee down the drain. Brendon whimpered at the sight. All that good coffee gone to waste.
"Just Tom. Alfred probably knows I'm gone by now. But stupid Pete doesn't notice anything now that stupid Ryan is at the stupid compound." Brendon kicked at the kitchen floor, thinking of the way Pete looked at Ryan. The favourite was clearly chosen.
"When you snuck off the truck, how did you get here?" Spencer's questions were rapid, the gears in her brain obviously spinning wildly.
"I took a cab. I hailed it and everything." Brendon looked immensely proud of himself. It took a moment before he realized that it might not be something to be proud of. Maybe people out here hailed cabs every day.
"How did you pay?" Spencer slipped on a hoodie and stuck The Plan back in Brendon's backpack.
"With cash." Brendon saw Spencer standing up and gasped. Spencer wasn't a girl at all! Spencer was a boy! And his hips, God! Pete had wanted hips like those forever. Brendon was made to judge Pete's various attempts at walking like that for as long as he could remember.
"Okay, I'm getting you to Patrick's. He's going to want to know about this. Jon, see if you can find a way to get a hold of Tom. If you can't. Well. Just call me in an hour so I know that you're safe." Spencer leaned in and touched his lips to Jon's. Jon still looked rather tired but seemed to wake up at the brush of lips.
"Who's Patrick?" Brendon finally asked.
"Patrick is the motherfucking man." Jon answered.
*
"What do you mean he doesn't know anything? How did he know to bring the binder?" Patrick was talking about Brendon with Spencer as if Brendon wasn't even in the room.
"He kept babbling about Belgium. I don't know. He knows a little, but I don't think he really knows what he knows. He took the binder to waste Pete's time with photocopying." Spencer was poring over the binder with Patrick while Brendon sat on the counter behind them.
Brendon was totally down with this Patrick guy. He'd answered the door in a trucker hat and he was really awesome in general. He'd seemed excited about the binder until he'd started reading it. That was when the doubt came.
"Fuck! Do you see what he bought from Korea?" Patrick practically tore a leaf from the binder. "No, this. We can't do this. There's no way we can stop him."
"Don't even say that. You've worked too long, too hard for this to not amount to something. It was you that wanted to stop him in the first place. You were the one who told me that he needed to be stopped. Jon's probably lost Tom. We all heard about what happened to Nick. Pete Wentz has to be stopped or it'll happen to everyone." Brendon was impressed by the calm tone Spencer was taking with Patrick.
"I know. I just. That's a fucking reactor. This isn't something we can just ask him to get rid of." Patrick scrubbed a hand over his face and looked at Spencer.
"I'm aware of what it is. But at least we're not going into this blind anymore. We've got all the steps. Everything." Spencer patted the binder before nodding in Brendon's direction. "Not only that, we've got Brendon."
"Are you hiding him here?" Patrick looked over his shoulder at Brendon. He just waved cheerfully in return and continued drinking his juicebox. "Because I really don't think he should be staying with you guys. Not if anyone on the compound has even the slightest idea of where he went."
"Yeah, I want to hide him here. Maybe at Gabe's." Spencer turned around and looked Brendon over. "Gabe could say he's a cousin or something. He looks a little bit Latin."
"Right. You really want to send him to Gabe's place? He can stay here." Patrick sighed and turned to look at Brendon. "Just don't touch anything, okay?" Brendon nodded while slurping up the last of his juicebox. "Great. This is whose shoulders humanity's fate is resting on. I hope you know what you're doing, Spencer."
"Shut up. We'll meet tonight at Soma coffee shop and we'll go over everything there." Spencer raised his eyebrows significantly at the name of the coffee shop. Brendon caught the look but didn't ask any questions.
"All right. We're going to just be here for the rest of the afternoon. Maybe say seven o'clock?" Patrick closed the binder and slid it into his lap. "I'll need that time to look through this, maybe give Andy a call and see what he thinks."
Spencer's snort was unmistakable. "Yeah, good luck with that."
*
It wasn't so much that nobody liked visiting Andy. He was fascinating, and Patrick loved sitting with him and shooting the shit. Spencer loved visiting and finding new recipes for Jon to try out. There was only one drawback to visiting, and it was tiny, miniscule even.
Andy liked greeting visitors with his shotgun, Denise.
"Andy, it's just me, Patrick!" Patrick held his hands up in the air, smacking Brendon's chest in order to get him to do the same.
"Prove it! Who is my favourite Laguna Beach character?" Andy cocked the shotgun, pointing it at Patrick's chest. He obviously didn't deem Brendon much of a threat as he hadn't even acknowledged his existence.
"Laguna Beach promotes capitalism and meaningless consumer-driven lives." Patrick whimpered and turned his face from the gun. "But secretly you like Trey because you feel he thinks in a manner that shows progress given his poor upbringing."
"Okay, Patrick. But next time, it'll change to Morgan because of her dedication to her own personal cause of chastity and morality. She shows strong character for that. I suggest you remember it if you don't want to take one to the chest." Andy bared his teeth for Brendon's benefit. Brendon just smiled at him and clutched his backpack tighter to his chest.
All things considered, Andy lived in a fairly nice place. The things you had to consider were that the place was a bomb shelter and that it was in the middle of the Wisconsin forests. And that he'd named his bomb shelter Ms. Monroe.
"I can't really stay here for long, we have to be back to Soma by seven but we need to show you something." Patrick nudged Brendon again, urging him to produce the stolen binder from the depths of his backpack.
Andy kept the shotgun in his hand as he took the binder from Brendon. It sat on the table as he leafed through it. With each page turn, Andy's eyes grew wider. "Holy shit! Does he really have this stuff?" He looked up from the binder at Brendon.
"Oh, the reactor? Yeah, he went on a trip to India a few years ago and came back with it. It was pretty cool." Brendon shrugged and attempted to look around the bomb shelter. Pete had never let Brendon into his bomb shelter, worried that he'd accidentally eat a year's worth of dehydrated meals or something.
"Shit." Patrick hadn't been able to bring himself to ask Brendon about everything in his binder. He wasn't sure how much Brendon knew, but he realized that he'd have to find out if he wanted to stand any sort of chance against Pete.
"It's motherfucking apocalypse! Just like I told you assholes. Get off my property! It's everyone for themselves!" Andy cocked his shotgun and pointed it at Patrick. In a flash of inspiration, Brendon snatched the binder from the table as they made their way out of Ms. Monroe.
After hotfooting it across several hundred yards of forest to get to Patrick's parked car, they pulled out as quickly as they could.
"I thought he was supposed to have some ideas!" Brendon was antsy after almost being shot. He could've totally defended himself with Eunice, but he'd accidentally forgotten to pack bullets for her.
"No, not necessarily. Look, we'll head back to the city and we can wait for everyone." Patrick sighed and merged onto the main highway. "We're going to have to let everyone know that Andy's not with us anymore." Even from the corner of his eye, Brendon could see the tenseness in Patrick's wrists as he gripped the steering wheel.
"Will you explain this whole thing to me? I'm a little bit confused. What exactly is going on? I know Pete has a lot of stuff on the compound and I know he's been doing a lot of stuff in other countries. And sometimes the news talks about him but I always have to leave the room while he watches it. So, I'm pretty sure it's nothing good or I'd be allowed to hear it." Brendon fidgeted with the sleeves of his hoodie.
"I can't explain it in here, okay? We don't really entirely know where he can hear and where he can't. We'll be safe once we get to Soma." He continued on the highway, turning the music up as loud as he could.
For once, Brendon remained silent through the car ride. He was taking in all the sights he'd missed when he was stuck in Brent's fruit truck. There were so many different things he'd never seen on the compound. Different trees, different views. For a few moments Brendon allowed himself to think about the menagerie, the animals he'd had to leave behind.
"Patrick, are we going to rescue the animals from the compound eventually?" Brendon's voice was as soft as it ever got, which meant that it cut through the sound of the stereo completely. He couldn't just leave his animals behind. They were the only friends he had.
"I. I can't tell you yes or no, Brendon. I just don't really know." He reached out and took Brendon's hand. If Patrick knew Pete at all, and he liked to think he did after years studying profiles of him, Pete had instructed the baby never be held to keep it from getting attached to anyone or anything other than the animals in the menagerie. Physical contact would be foreign, but it would bond them. Brendon stood the contact for only a moment before moving away.
"If we get the chance. When the time comes, I want to rescue them. I have to rescue them." Brendon had a quiet determination about him. He would rescue the only things in the world he cared about; he wouldn't lose them.
"Okay." Patrick squeezed Brendon's knee and continued the drive in silence.
*
"Okay, so. How do we know he's not some little spy planted by Pete?" Jon watched as Brendon stood at a videogame with Gabe, eyes wide at how cool Pac-Man really was on an actual stand up videogame console.
"If he is, he's the worst one ever. His intel matches and adds onto the intel we have. And we still have an alive spy on the inside; we already know he's got nothing on ours. He doesn't know anything about us." Patrick kept his voice low, his cap lower.
"Because he doesn't think we're a threat. He doesn't think we'll mobilize. And as far as he's concerned, we've got nothing." Joe stretched in his chair, taking large bites from a slice of pizza. He was paying careful attention to the conversation, despite the appearance of his attention being only on his pizza.
"We've got everything. We've got Brendon, the pet, and we've got this." Patrick patted his messenger bag, the binder safely inside. "We've got a room tonight at a hotel. You guys'll follow me, and we'll meet there. This is going to be a long meeting." He stood up, indicating they were all to leave.
There was no discussing as to where they would meet for directions to the hotel; everyone knew where to go. There was a parking garage in Wicker Park, ideal for the situation they found themselves in. Gabe arrived first, always taking the most obscure back roads and yet always beating everyone. He sat on the hood of his car, waiting for Patrick to arrive.
Everyone tried to take different routes and to stagger their arrivals, allowing them to maintain at least a tiny bit of discretion. So far they'd been lucky when it came to not being detected but they knew it was nothing more than luck.
"Our room is at the Holiday Inn, Wicker Park. You guys can see what's in the binder then. Death before dishonor, guys." Patrick spoke quietly and quickly. They dispersed, each taking a different route to the inn.
Hayley, the girl at the desk, was familiar with the group and knew the protocol. There were keys issued for each guest and each guest checked in with a false identity. Once they were all gathered in the hotel room, Patrick opened the binder and sat Brendon down at the TV with reruns of Alvin and the Chipmunks playing for him.
After they'd carefully leafed through it, it was Gabe who cleared his throat and looked up at the rest of them. "We're fucked."
*
While Brendon was getting introduced to the outside world, William Beckett, an assassin from the Midwest, was trying to talk Pete out of the pantry in the kitchen. "Pete, he was a pet. Pets run away."
There was no response, just the sound of a package of food being opened.
"You need to come out; you can't let this ruin your plans. There's so much left to accomplish. And you'd be throwing away everything you've worked so hard for. Everything you've done for the past seven years. You don't want that. Not over someone stupid enough to leave the compound, where it's safe." William was practically cooing as he crouched near the door. Everyone else was watching at a safe distance. One of the only things that placated Pete when he was in a mood was William.
Ryan just tented his fingers in a far corner of the expansive kitchen. "It's all coming together, just as I foresaw it in the wilderness." The quirk of his lips could almost be mistaken for a sneer, but anyone close by who saw would know that was as close as he got to a smile.
"What?" Greta, one of the very few females in Pete's crew, looked over at Ryan and raised one eyebrow. She, along with three friends, formed a subset of Pete's team. Though they jokingly called themselves the Viper Assassin Squad, they actually were referred to as The Hush Sound. Pete had given them the moniker because they were the best at hushing people up.
"Nothing." Ryan met her eyes without wavering. She looked away first. No one had forgotten the look of Nick Scimeca laid out on the lawn he'd so lovingly cared for, and no one pretended it was an accident unless they were in the presence of Ryan and Pete.
"All right." Greta tossed her hair over her shoulders and began walking away. She gave a sympathetic look at Pete before going to one of the other rooms. Chris, Darren, and Bob were due back later in the day from a mission. There had been a rival group in Florida they'd been called to dispose of and the job had required infiltration, not seduction. Greta was amazing at both, but not when the group could only be infiltrated by boys.
"When's the rest of the team in? Pete will want a complete debriefing." Mike Carden hardly looked up from his Blackberry as he spoke with Greta. He was responsible for team coordination. He knew everyone's whereabouts and was constantly asking for status reports from everyone.
"They're due back in at three p.m. The last transmission I got from them said they were about twenty miles outside of Joplin. They're taking the scenic route; apparently it looked like they were being tailed for awhile." Greta pulled out her own phone to see if any new information had been received.
"And any chance of me debriefing you later?" Mike looked up from his phone and wriggled his eyebrows.
"Not even if you paid me, Carden." Greta didn't bother looking up from her phone, choosing to leave the room instead.
"One day." Mike turned to Adam Siska, Armory, and nodded confidently. Adam just shrugged in return and turned back to Pete. He looked distraught. Though Brendon had only been a pet, everyone knew how long Brendon had been with him. It wasn't impossible for them to believe that Pete had actually cared for someone other than himself.
Ryan had taken a seat next to Pete on the couch, his hand wrapping around the back of his neck. He leaned into Pete, murmuring something into his ear that had Pete's head shooting up after a moment. "Really?" Pete was already standing and leading Ryan away by the hand.
"I gotta say, I really don't trust him." One of the team members on general assignment watched Pete disappear into his private quarters with Ryan.
It was the last thing he ever said in the company of the group. The next morning, he was found with his throat slit from ear to ear.
It was Tom who announced it to the rest of the crew. "So. I." He kept running his fingers through his hair and fidgeting as he approached the dining room table. "Nate's dead, guys. Someone." Tom leaned against the walls, William sliding up to his side and pulling him close.
"Don't say anything else, Tom. I saw Ryan leaving his room last night. I don't want to see that happen to you." He cradled Tom close to his chest, stroking his hair to disguise the speaking. "Just keep quiet."
Tom looked up and backed away from William. "Are you. What?" Tom's heart was pounding both with fear and excitement. This team would take down itself before the team was a serious threat, especially if Ryan was killing off everyone who got in his way.
Unfortunately, Tom didn't live to see how wrong he was.
*
Because it was Jon who Tom communicated with, it was Jon who figured out something was wrong. There hadn't been any point of contact for three weeks, not even a message relayed from Brent. At most, there was a week lapse between communications. This was unheard of.
"He should've sent something. Anything. An email. Sean's about to strangle me." Jon spoke of Tom's roommate and sometimes paramour. Sean was the reason Tom had hesitated so long in going to Pete's compound. In the end, Sean had talked him into it, explaining he'd still be there when Tom got back and they wouldn't have to worry anymore.
Jon paced the living room while Spencer brewed coffee for the four of them. Gabe had been assigned to be Brendon's guide that day and he needed coffee more than anyone else. "Three weeks and it's fucking radio silence. There's nothing."
"Maybe we can negotiate for him. We have a pretty good bargaining chip and maybe he's just unstable enough that we can bring him out of hiding, arrange a trade, and nab the fucker. Then we bypass all this bullshit." Spencer watched the coffee drip with eerie calm.
"Spencer, you know that Patrick won't even consider that. This might. This might be a situation where we. Look, we all knew what could happen. He knew what he was getting into going in there." Gabe tried to speak reason to the other two. "If he's. The fact that he even agreed to go in, that says a lot. He wouldn't want us to just give up like that. Because you've read that binder. Even agreeing to try to negotiate with him? You've already fucking lost, dude. At this point, it's recovery, not a search and rescue."
"Maybe Brendon knows if Tom pissed someone off. Maybe Pete somehow found out Tom smuggled Brendon out of the compound. Brendon is his pet, his oldest and dearest pet." Spencer poured coffee into each of the four mugs.
"Don't say that about him." Gabe wrapped his hands around two mugs of coffee, ready to take one into the other room for Brendon.
"What?" Spencer lost his train of thought for a moment.
"Don't refer to him as Pete's pet. He's a person. He was kidnapped," Gabe said. His face was firm on the point. "I don't ever want to hear that again."
"Okay. Okay." Spencer held up his hands in a peace effort.
"I can ask him if he knows something. About Tom, I mean. He would be completely willing to help. From what I've heard about Tom from Brendon, he was one of the only ones who genuinely cared for Brendon. Aside from Alfred." Gabe smiled as he looked off to the side. He could hear Brendon laughing at cartoons in the other room.
"Just don't take him anywhere else so public, okay? Not without some sort of cover." Jon frowned at Gabe. It looked as though the expression strained his muscles. Displeasure was really out of his range as an actor.
"Don't worry about it, okay? I'll make sure we're covered next time." Gabe nodded, ducking his head as he walked back into the other room.
"Do you honestly think he'll know something?" Spencer spoke in a more hushed tone of voice. He didn't want Brendon hearing just yet. He was still somewhat leery of Brendon. God only knows what Pete had brainwashed him to do, had programmed him to do.
"I think he's our best shot without sending another man in there. And I'm not prepared to do that, and I doubt Patrick is either. We need to get another meeting together." They'd met a few days earlier but no one discussed the lack of communication from Tom. Everyone knew what it must have meant and no one wanted to bring it up with Jon around.
"I'll see what I can do about setting one up tonight. In the meantime, why don't we clear out and see if Brendon will talk to Gabe when he knows no one is listening? We'll tell Gabe where to meet us." Spencer leaned over and dropped a kiss on top of Jon's head. "We'll find whoever did this to him, and we'll make it right. I promise."
*
"Well. There were a lot of people who didn't like Tom. Pete, William, Mike, and the Hushies were the only ones who did seem to like him," Brendon slurped away at a frozen coffee drink from Starbucks. He was smiling widely at Gabe, who kept placing a hand on his knee as they were talking.
"Hushies?" Brendon laughed at Gabe's confused face and tone. "What the fuck are the Hushies?"
"The Hush Sound. They're the elite team. Like. Okay. Um, you know Bonnie Bakely? That woman they said Robert Blake offed? That was like, their audition piece. All three of them come from huge families of this stuff. Greta's grandfather was the shooter on the grassy knoll." Brendon shook his head and leaned back against the couch.
"Wait. They. They're assassins?" Gabe's eyes widened considerably. "Brendon, you don't really expect me to believe this, do you?"
Brendon slurped at the bottom inch of his drink before looking back up at Gabe. "Who do you think taught me how to shoot? They would never have gotten rid of Tom, though. I think Greta really liked him. Like, you know, like-liked him? Well. Him and Adam, anyway." A snicker escaped his lips before he curled up to Gabe's side and closed his eyes. "Tom's probably dead. It's happened before, to someone who opposed Pete or did something Pete didn't like. There was this guy, Mikey, he used to come and go all the time and then one day he just stopped coming."
"Did you know what happened to him?" Gabe had to remember not to squeeze Brendon's side too tightly or he'd get skittish and run off. It had happened many times over the past few days as Brendon stayed with him.
Brendon pulled away and nodded, his face instantly closing off. There were certain subjects he wouldn't discuss and most of them had to do with people disappearing. He pulled his hood over his head. "Why did Spencer tell me to stay out of hand-reach of you?"
"He thinks I'm some sort of perverted lech. Don't worry, I'm not a lech." Gabe lowered his hat over his eyes and continued trying to move his hand up Brendon's thigh.
"You should probably stop trying to touch between my legs. I'm saving myself for true love." Brendon smiled serenely and reached for Gabe's iced drink. "You're not going to finish this, are you?"
"No, no, you suck away all you want." That look was back on Gabe's face, the one that said Brendon looked like a very delicious and very exotic dessert.
"Uh. Right." The only sound in the apartment for the rest of the afternoon was Brendon sucking noisily on the last of the drink and walking around as he got his bearings.
Later in the day, Brendon approached Gabe as he pored over take-out menus. "Gabe, when am I going back to Patrick's?"
"Do you like Patrick's place better than here?" Gabe asked. He looked up, stricken.
"Well, yeah, it doesn't smell like my socks do if I forget to change them for a few days and then decide to sleep in the menagerie." Brendon hoisted himself up on the counter and looked over at Gabe. "And he doesn't ask me things I don't really understand."
"All I did was offer a demonstration of Hide the Cobra!" Gabe held his hands up and backed away from Brendon. The look he got in return said his comments weren't appreciated.
"And that's the other thing, you keep mentioning this cobra, this Ron. I'm not really sure what this cobra told you or whatever, but I'm pretty sure you imagined him. Cobras don't talk." Brendon pulled his knees to his chest and spoke with some regret. "I mean, it's cool if you imagined him and everything but. Pete used to imagine monsters and then he went to. Look, I just think I'd rather stay with Patrick."
"It's only for a short time. We're not really supposed to say anything, but we're going to be moving in a few days." Gabe walked over and rested a hand on Brendon's knee. "So. You said everything was fine until Ryan came?"
"Ryan. He came and all of a sudden Pete didn't have time for me anymore. It's stupid. I mean. He didn't buy Ryan a menagerie. He didn't pick Ryan. Alfred didn't take Ryan from a supermarket for him." Brendon had no delusions about where he came from.
"Did Ryan ever say where he was from? Why he came?" Since Brendon wasn't flinching away, Gabe held his position.
"Sometimes he talked about it. Like, when he thought no one was listening, he'd tent his fingers and mumble something about his vision and how it was all coming together as it was revealed to him in the wilderness. I think he went into the desert and hallucinated something and was convinced it was a sign from above." Brendon rested his chin on the knee Gabe wasn't currently molesting.
"He had a vision?" Gabe's eyes widened and he backed a few steps away. "No. Okay. No. Did you tell Patrick about the vision?"
"No? It's a load of phooey anyway. There's no such thing as visions unless you take drugs or get sick. Besides, sometimes he'd do ridiculous things like go into the menagerie and say 'Where my bitches at?' in his stupid monotone. A vision hardly sounds out of the ordinary for someone as weird as him." Brendon dropped his feet back over this counter.
"No. If he had a vision about it, it's legit and nothing we do is going to stop it. Andy was right. It's the motherfucking Armageddon! I'm out. I'm so out." Gabe turned on his heel and went to his bedroom. A few moments later, Brendon smelled the usual sweet smoke coming from Gabe's room.
Rather than wait for Gabe to come back out to make his usual three boxes of Kraft Dinner, Brendon walked toward Gabe's door. "Gabe, I'm coming in." He walked in, his vision obscured by thick smoke. "You think this is the Armageddon."
"Don't you? This is some seriously fucked-up shit here." Gabe brought his pipe back up to his lips and lit it again. "And if the world is ending, fuck that, I'm not staying sober."
Brendon rolled his eyes. It was like dealing with a tall, more paranoid version of Pete. He knelt down and took the pipe from Gabe's hand. "The world isn't ending. Ryan's vision isn't going to come true. He probably didn't even have a vision. He probably lied about that."
"Seriously, seriously. I had a vision and it led me to Patrick. And the cobra told me that I was going to be involved in the battle at the end of the world." Gabe shook his head and snatched the pipe back. "And now that I know it's fucking happening, I know that I am way too fucking sober to deal with it. So, I'll smoke and then go rescue Mama and Papa and get to an island or something."
"Gabe? Listen. Okay, I want you to seriously listen. I trust Tom. I trust that he sent me to the right group of people to make sure that the world doesn't end." Brendon knelt down in front of Gabe and took his hand. "Because if you don't help, if all of us don't help and pull it together? Your mom? Your dad? Your nephews that keep calling and leaving voicemail messages about your brother? They're all going to be dead. And it'll be on your hands."
"How do you know that?"
"Because, I've seen what Pete and Ryan can do, what they don't even hesitate to do. And I know that I don't want that to happen because he still has the menagerie and Alfred. And I'm not letting Alfred get killed like that." Brendon hadn't told any of them much about Alfred, but Gabe had picked up enough to know that Alfred was the only one Brendon missed on the compound. "So if you just give up on this, it affects more than just you. It affects everyone."
Gabe held the pipe against his lips as he considered what Brendon had to say. "All right. We'll do this. But just so you know, we're completely fucked."
*
"So. Do you guys just sit around all day, trying to figure out how you're going to save the world?" Brendon furrowed his brows in the mirror. He had a pair of tweezers in his fingers, plucking at every stray hair.
"No, who the fuck do you think we are? The Justice League? I mean, if we were any superhero group, we'd be The X-Men. I'd be Cyclops and you'd be Marvel Girl. Maybe The Fantastic Four. Reid Richards and Susan Storm." Gabe nodded at his own reflection in the mirror, where he was also plucking his eyebrows.
"I'd rather be able to be invisible than be able to move things with my mind." Brendon shook his head and wiped discreetly at his eyes. They were starting to water from all the grooming but Gabe had said that unibrow had to go. There were no ugly people allowed on the side of good.
"You're already moving something in me." Gabe smiled brightly at Brendon and rejoiced inwardly when Brendon only moved six inches as opposed to the normal foot.
"No, but really. What do you guys do?" Brendon insisted, gripping another hair.
"We've all got day jobs. Spencer, you've heard of him. He's Spencer Smith, that kid who graduated from MIT when he was thirteen and went to work for NASA when he was sixteen?" Gabe looked over at Brendon and closed the six inches again.
"How did he get in on this?" Brendon moved another six inches away, looking as though he was calculating the amount of time it would take him to get to the wall and whether or not Gabe would stop moving closer by then.
"I don't really know. I guess someone he knew growing up kind of got sucked into this whole thing. He started checking his shit. He found Jon and the rest, you'd really have to ask him about." Gabe shrugged, spanning his hand over the six inches.
"Patrick?" Brendon couldn't imagine Patrick doing something that wasn't incredibly awesome, like driving around, rescuing kittens from trees or something.
"Patrick is actually an elementary school music teacher. Guy's incredible at mechanics and electronics but he says sometimes it's nice to work with something you didn't invent." Gabe shrugged and wiped at his eyes. They were starting to water in the same manner Brendon's were.
"And Jon?" Brendon wanted to know the people he was going to be working with. He needed to know they were good people and weren't secretly the kind of people who were going to turn on the team the moment things got hard.
"Jon owns a lot of real estate. He inherited a shitload of it from his parents. And now, he works with a non-profit organization that tries to council teens against violence." Gabe shifted over an inch while Brendon wasn't looking.
"What about you?" Brendon looked at Gabe from the corner of his eye, watching for any sudden movements.
"What about me?"
"What do you do when you're not babysitting the bargaining chip." Brendon made a face at the term.
"Where did you hear that?" Gabe withdrew his hand and stared hard at Brendon.
"Spencer isn't exactly quiet when he talks, you know. I mean. It's cool that you think Pete's sentimental enough to give up world domination for his pet." Brendon tried to sound neutral.
"I. He's not supposed to call you that. I told him not to call you that ever again." Gabe tried to reach over and wrap an arm around Brendon's shoulders.
"I know. But is that what you guys think? I mean. I know it wasn't normal. It isn't the way most people grew up. Nobody on TV ever grew up like that." Brendon jerked away from Gabe, closing his eyes for a moment. "Whatever. I don't care." And just like that, Brendon's walls were up.
"Hey, it doesn't matter. It really doesn't. We know you're not a pet. I know you're not." Gabe kept his hands to himself, not wanting to make Brendon anymore uncomfortable than he clearly already was. "So you grew up differently. Big deal. It's like being the kid with the divorced parents."
"If it wasn't for Ryan, I could still be there. I'd be on the compound and Pete and I would be testing the molecular reorganizer on the aloe plants." Brendon set his mirror down and pulled his knees to his chest. "Pete wasn't always all bad. He fired one of the butlers because he didn't think the butler was paying enough attention to me."
Gabe mentally went through the list of butlers Pete had gone through. Poor Tony. There hadn't even been enough left to identify the poor son of a bitch.
"But he's always been planning to take over the world, to end it." Gabe had to make Brendon realize that fact if they were ever going to get anywhere in this.
"He wasn't always going to end it. I think he wanted to end a lot of what was going on. We used to watch the news sometimes and he'd see news reports about Africa and he'd tell me that he was going to change it all, to make it all better than it had ever been before." Gabe was cautious of Brendon speaking like this. It was one thing for him to miss Pete, the only family he'd ever known, but it was another thing entirely for him to start agreeing with Pete. Another entirely dangerous thing. Gabe needed to change the topic.
"When I'm not out trying to save the world, one applebottom at a time? I design rooms for Ikea. Like, the showrooms that you see in the stores and catalogues. And sometimes I teach dance lessons. Mostly the salsa and tango, but sometimes the samba." Gabe set his mirror down. "What about you? What did you do at Pete's?"
"I was a land surveyor. I went and took pictures for him. You know that." Brendon rolled his eyes. The pictures he took were in the binder. How could Gabe have missed them?
"No, that's what you did for him. What did you do for you?"
"Oh. I. Well. Sometimes I'd read the stuff that Pete had in the library. Usually I'd go read out loud to the menagerie." Brendon set down his tweezers and began to examine his groomed brows. Gabe was right, they did look much better when they were thinned and separated.
"Did you have a real menagerie?" Gabe had heard Brendon mention it several times, but still couldn't figure out if it was an actual menagerie or just what Brendon liked to call the animals on the compound.
"Yeah, there was this hot house. I liked to keep smaller animals, but Pete had some big ones. There was a tiger, but he was really gentle. The tiger would sometimes come in and sit down with me when I was in there reading. Pete raised it from when it was just a cub." Brendon trailed off and bit at his lip. He knew there was no way he'd be allowed to leave the side of good for the compound but he was really starting to regret his decision to leave and see the world. With the exception of Ryan Ross, Brendon had been happy on the compound. He had been taken care of and he hadn't had to worry about Pete's intentions.
The outside world was severely changing his perception of his own world. Standing up, Brendon wiped at his eyes. When Gabe looked up at him questioningly, Brendon just faked a smile and said, "It stings. All the plucking? Anyway. I'm getting tired. I think I'm going to go to bed."
Gabe had been told explicitly that he was not to bother Brendon if Brendon went to bed. It was his time to reflect on what was going on. He'd been made to understand that Brendon was going through a lot and he didn't need someone coming in and offering the guidance of the cobra. He needed someone to make sure he stayed there and didn't decide to leave in the middle of the night because of what he was discovering about the one person who was supposed to love him.
On to part 2.
Author: makemebreak
Genre: Evil Genius AU
Claim: Brendon Urie/Gabe Saporta
Prompt: 92. Agent
Rating: PG
Word Count: 20 639
Summary: Pete is a wealthy, crazy child who grows up into a wealthy, crazy adult. Shenanigans ensue.
Warnings: Language, bad Pete characterization. I don't like him, so don't read if you don't want to be offended.
Notes: A thanks to greeenlikejuly because she let me write this on her dorm room floor. \o/ It was also written on airplanes and in hotels. It's travelled as much as I have. And obviously to Cakes for helping me with the beta. She is more amazing than anyone realizes. Title and cut from Dance, Dance.
So maybe if it had escalated, it could have started like this.
"This is Katie Couric reporting live from Washington, DC where Pete Wentz has just taken over the White House. Early reports say that the building didn't stand a chance. Wentz and his followers have barricaded themselves inside. Stayed tuned for updates as they come."
Or maybe it actually did start like this.
"I'd make a better president than this troglodyte." Pete threw a soda can at his television.
In fact, it could've started like this.
"Relax, I'll be gone for the week. I left you a map of where I'm going to be camping and I'll be back next weekend." Ryan pulled his car, packed with startlingly few supplies, out of the garage and drove away from his roommate.
But in reality, it started like this.
Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III was not an ordinary boy. That was the easiest way to describe his existence in the world. Born into great wealth and even greater privilege, he was never denied a whim or passing fancy.
And that's where the trouble really started.
Absentee parents and a butler named Alfred were really a horrible mix for a child with a slight Batman fixation. Well, less Batman, more supervillains that Batman tried to destroy. An example of dialogue with young Peter might have gone something like this:
Pete: Well, The Joker couldn't have been very smart if a stupid orphan was able to beat him.
Alfred: Master Peter, the point is that good wins over evil.
Pete: Shut up, Alfred, or I'll have you sacked as I did Alfred.
Alfred: Master Peter, my name is Nicholas.
Pete: Your name is whatever I say it is, you incompetent imbecile.
In truth, Pete hadn't had his last butler sacked, merely deported. But he was fond of Alfred, in his own way, and he had no desire to see him thrown out of the country.
Pete had been reading Batman comic books for as long as he could remember, and he was noticing a very distinctive pattern. Aside from the obvious homosexuality in the comic, there was a lot of sexual tension between Batman and the female villains. These were women who knew how to use their wiles to get what they wanted.
Pete didn't have wiles, not as far as he could tell, anyway. But really, what did he know? He was seven years old and the only companions he really had were the animals in his menagerie, and they didn't really respond so well when he asked things like, "Do my wiles drive you insane with lust?"
Generally the marmosets were the only ones to respond, but they didn't speak English. He had no other friends around to ask. Alfred had a solution, but it was another one that almost got him fired. "Master Peter, if you'd like, I could arrange for a gorilla that is fluently versed in American Sign Language."
For a moment Pete just stared at him blankly. "Who the hell do you think you're speaking with? I'm not going to learn another language so my pet can speak with me. No, you find me a pet that speaks English or I'll make sure you're sacked and that your reference will ensure that you never find another position in any household."
"Master Peter…" Alfred sighed, unsure of how to handle this situation.
"Or worse, I won't let you come when I blow up the world. Then all the other children will be gone and it won't matter that they don't come to play with me."
"Master Peter, I shall do my very best to find a pet for you. One which is fluent in English."
Yes, that was really where it started.
A week or so later, which happened to be Pete's birthday, Alfred entered the room and presented Pete with a small bundle in a blue blanket. "Happy Birthday, Master Peter."
Just then the bundle gave a small, sleepy yawn. "You've made me the happiest boy today, Alfred. Thank you." Pete knew what was inside. He carefully set the bundle down on couch next to him so he could stand up and give Alfred a hug. "What shall I name him?"
"He already has a name, it's Brendon." Alfred had seen all of the documentation for this baby and thought it best to pick him. And he did love when Pete smiled the way he did when he saw the baby, teeth far too big for his mouth.
"That's the perfect name for my most exotic pet." Pete was already holding the baby in his arms again. "Brendon, you shall be favored among my menagerie." He touched his finger to the baby's nose and laughed when it gurgled at him. Yes, Brendon would do quite nicely.
He served as Pete's constant companion, staying by his side through everything in his life. Brendon had gurgled through the news that Pete's parents had passed away in a car accident. Everyone on the compound claimed to not know anything about the cut brake lines and Alfred quietly disposed of all mechanical books in Pete's personal library.
As Brendon grew up, Pete even fancied that Brendon looked a little like him. He began teaching him at a young age how to use his eyebrows. "They should never move together, two separate movements." Pete demonstrated again, smiling when Brendon was able to imitate the move. He no longer needed Brendon to answer his questions on wiles. He generally used the small boy as a sounding board for ideas.
Fortunately, Brendon loved Pete's ideas almost as much as he loved the kangaroo that Pete had bought for him. He would sit and watch for hours as Pete detailed various plots in a room in the basement. There were maps and toy soldiers and Pete only tapped his wrist gently when he tried to play with them.
"These are important, Brendon. We mustn't touch them until it's time." Pete never explained when it would be time, only that it was approaching. Brendon, knowing little of the outside world, happily agreed as long as it didn't interrupt with Power Puff Girls time.
Brendon spent most of his time with Pete's menagerie, letting the marmosets crawl over him and the sloths curl up to his sides when they wanted a nap. He would never admit it to anyone, but he liked their company better than Pete's.
Pete was always making veiled comments that seemed ominous to Brendon, even though he wasn't quite sure why. As he got closer to eighteen, or at least when Pete told him he was probably almost eighteen, Brendon was sent on special missions to further help the room in the basement.
"If anyone asks, this is called a topograph." Pete pushed the hardhat further down on Brendon's hair, squishing the bowl-cut under it. "No one should ask you any questions, but if they do, what do you say?"
"I'm a student practicing land surveying because my Dad wants me to work with him this summer to save money for school," Brendon said in a quiet voice. He was slightly nervous about leaving the compound, even with Alfred driving him. He'd been out on a handful of occasions, but nothing good had ever happened on them.
The last time he could remember, Pete had said they were going to Best Buy to pick up The Power Puff Girls on DVD for Brendon. Pete had asked Brendon to go in and buy it without him. By the time Brendon had exited the store, Pete was slumped, unconscious against the window. Naturally, Brendon had called Alfred and he'd taken care of the entire situation.
Though Pete had apologized for scaring Brendon, things hadn't been the same since. Brendon didn't understand why Pete had done it and Pete couldn't explain his fear of failure to the monkey-faced boy. So they orbited each other at a distance, occasionally passing in the hallways of the house, or meeting on the grounds of the compound.
"Sir, there's a boy to see you." Alfred went into Pete's chambers and stood beside the computer desk. He caught a glimpse of the words "My name is a four letter word synonymous with failure" before Pete closed the laptop and turned.
"Show him into the sitting room. I'll take a meeting with him while you drive Brendon to the location. When you two return, alert me at once." Pete waved a hand dismissively and walked over to the mirror, looking at the slight bags under his eyes. After applying another layer of kohl, he walked down a different hallway to the sitting room. He wanted a moment to compose himself before going into this meeting.
It was his experience that visitors were almost never a good thing. His last visitor had been Christopher, his oldest and dearest servant, telling Pete that he was retiring and that he was going to be leaving the compound. If another one was going to be leaving, Pete was not going to be impressed.
To his surprise, a boy around Brendon's age turned around as he entered the library. "Mr. Wentz?"
Pete flinched at the formality and shook his head. "It's cliché to say that's my father, but he is. You can call me Pete." Pete held his hand out, indicating that the boy should take a seat in one of the tall-backed leather chairs.
"Pete. I'm Ryan Ross." Ryan extended his hand to shake Pete's but didn't appear all that surprised when Pete didn't offer his in return.
"It's nice to meet you, Ryan." Pete's tone was only slightly tinged with curiosity. Of course he wanted to know what this boy wanted from him, but he wasn't prepared to appear eager to get the information. Showing your cards too soon meant a lower payout.
"Yes. You probably want to know why I'm here?" Ryan's own eyes were lightly lined with kohl and Pete couldn't dismiss the way they seemed infinitely larger when Ryan tilted his head and looked at him.
"If you wish to share it." Pete waved his hand as if granting permission. Again, he left the decision entirely up to Ryan, who appeared only too eager to share with Pete his reasons for coming to the compound.
"I want to help you." Those five words intrigued Pete. He'd heard them many times in his life, many times from lovers who had turned out to be leavers.
"Help me," Pete repeated, clearly amused with the notion.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but on the southern tip of the compound, there's a lot of camo-netting. And I've done my research on what you've been buying over in Russia. Pete, I'd like to help." Ryan emphasized the word "help" slightly.
"Whatever you believe you know, you don't." Pete's tone turned flat. It was a shame, really; he didn't want to have to take this one out but he had to do what was best for the plan.
"I do. Just. Look, maybe I'm not enough to convince you, but maybe my friend is." Ryan opened his bag and for a moment, Pete was sure he caught sight of a bio-hazardous sign. Another bit of rooting and he pulled out a binder, handing it over to Pete. "A sign of good faith. I made a pit stop before coming to see you. It's a copy of all the information they have on you and your movements thus far."
Pete immediately began leafing through it, figuring he knew what misinformation had been picked up by the military. He wasn't prepared to see pictures of Brendon dressed as a land surveyor. That was never supposed to have been picked up. The pictures were all recent, so Pete knew that they were watching with a renewed interest.
"You want to help." Pete nodded, closing the binder and looking up at the young boy in front of him. An eager nod was answer enough for him. "All right." He didn't trust this boy but the time would come when he would be useful. He'd already proven himself to be useful. "You understand, then, that the compound is now your home. You're not to leave it. Anyone you knew before is just that, someone you knew, not someone you know any longer."
As soon as Ryan joined Team Off Wentz His Pants (really, Pete should've known not to let Brendon name the organization. Never again would he make that mistake.), he began his training with small, close range weaponry. His favourite place to practice was the garden. The only person who was surprised when Nick Scimeca took several rounds to the back of his head was Brendon.
He'd loved the gardener. Nick had always planted daisies in a small patch of the back garden for him. After Nick's shuffling loose of the mortal coil, Brendon tended to stick to the menagerie, listlessly watching his pet kangaroo, Maria, hop around.
All in all, the days grew rather similar. One thing led to another, and everyone swore they had no idea how it happened, but Belgium just stopped existing one day.
"But! I loved their chocolate!" Brendon was inconsolable, landing in a heap after leaping from one of the trees in the menagerie. "Pete, is this part of the plan?"
"It's the start." Pete simply nodded and continued to stroke the sloth that lay curled in his lap. "Don't worry, pet, you'll be as safe as ever."
"But I won't have chocolate!" He wailed for such a length of time that all the animals, save for a tiny lemur, left him alone. Even Maria wouldn't hop near him until he'd worn himself out. It was then that he decided Alfred would take him for a drive the next day. He'd pack his backpack, kiss the animals goodbye and find out what life was really like on the outside of the compound.
Secretly, Brendon suspected that Belgium hadn't been blown up. Ryan just liked to complain that Brendon couldn't keep still after eating any chocolate. Ryan was turning out to be nothing like Pete. Ryan was mean. The worst part was there was no telling if he meant whatever he was saying. That darn monotone.
That evening, after Pete had retired for the evening and Ryan had powered down, or whatever it was that robots like him did at night, Brendon began packing his backpack. There were all sorts of things to back. Sweatbands, just in case it got warm and he needed to keep the sweat out of his eyebrows; socks, because you really never knew; a towel, because it could get you out of any sort of situation; a Tupperware container full of cheerios, to sustain him until he found a convenience store and could pick up some real food; and Bob the stuffed lemur, because he knew Pete would miss the real one and he would need something to cuddle until he could liberate Bob the real lemur.
As the final object he placed in his bag, he carefully set Eunice into her case and then in his backpack. Eunice was the 9mm Pete had bought for Brendon on the anniversary of Brendon's tenth year on the compound. He'd had Alfred and Chris teach Brendon how to shoot at targets and according to the official FBI tester that Pete had kidnapped and executed, Brendon shot better than half his men. Pete was so proud that he'd bought Maria, the kangaroo, as another present for Brendon.
Maria was what Brendon had initially asked for his birthday, but Pete said there were enough animals in the menagerie. After Brendon had become so adept at the use of firearms, well, he couldn't bring himself to say no.
Brendon made his way around the house silently, pilfering a few bottles of Gatorade and touching things that he'd never been allowed to touch. He even took Pete's secondary copy of The Plan. He'd leafed through the binder on many boring afternoons while Pete was in Russia, but he'd never really cared about it.
It went inside his backpack, covering Eunice. That would teach Pete to go around listening to people who had no inflection. He was going to have to spend an entire day photocopying all his documents again for another secondary copy of The Plan.
Shouldering his backpack, Brendon went to the servants' wing of the house and tried to walk quietly. He still knew the location of most of the squeaky floorboards from when he snuck down as a much smaller child.
There was a chef, one who took care to make sure that Brendon's meals were always vegetarian, and he would help Brendon. He was sure of it. After three rapid knocks, which was the code for late night pie, Brendon waited for Tom Conrad to answer the door. The door opened cautiously and Tom poked his head out. "Master Brendon, what are you doing still up?"
Apparently it had taken Brendon a little too long to choose between bringing Clarence the stuffed frog or Bob the stuffed lemur. By Tom's clock, it was quarter to four in the morning.
"Master Brendon, I know you're used to the house being yours to wander but you can't do that anymore. It isn't safe." Tom said nothing more than that, quietly slipping into his robe. "What kind of pie would you like today? I think we have apple and chocolate crème in the freezer. Would you like some ice cream?"
"Tom. I. I need a favor. Can you." Brendon toed the ground, chewing his lip. "I need to get out of here. I don't think Pete needs me anymore now that he has Ryan. And. I don't know. I want to see what's out there." He looked up and tried to smile at Tom but it wouldn't quite meet his eyes.
Tom looked down at the ground and shook his head. "You know I can't do that. Pete would have my head for it." Both of them knew the statement wasn't an exaggeration.
"I just." Brendon nudged Tom back into the room, looking down the hallway. He had no idea if Pete really had ears everywhere on the compound. "I don't trust this Ryan guy. He rubs me the wrong way. And this Plan. I don't know what it is, but Ryan said that Belgium got blown up and I really think that might be a bad thing. And I'm pretty sure it's all Ryan's fault."
"I know. He isn't anyone's favourite here." Tom moved over to his bedside table and turned on the stereo so it emitted a low, steady stream of music. "All right. Here's what I can do. Every morning, Brent comes and delivers fresh produce for us. I can help you sneak into the van. You can get out of the compound and sneak off the van at the first stop after. I'll give you an address. Don't program it into your phone, I'll write it down and you go to it. Jon will be able to help you if you tell him about the Plan. And when you get there. When you get there, tell them to tell Sean I'm all right."
That was how, two hours later, Brendon came to be sitting in the back of a large truck carrying vegetables and fruits. He helped himself to a nice snack, justifying that no one would notice if two mangoes and a head of cauliflower went missing. By the time Brent made his first delivery, Brendon had gorged himself on mangoes, kiwis, oranges, and blueberries. His stomach hurt but he was full in case he had to wander around looking for Jon Walker, 312 Cherrywood Lane.
There was no phone number on the piece of paper that Tom provided him and Brendon really hadn't needed to pay attention when Alfred drove him into the city, so it was difficult for Brendon to know where to begin. He'd watched enough movies to know that he could simply take a taxi there. Once he was within range of one, he began waving his arms wildly.
"Hi. I'm. Not really from around here. My name is Brendon and I need to get to Jon Walker's house. It's at 312 Cherrywood Lane. Apparently it's in the Evanston neighborhood?" He smiled in what he hoped was a winning fashion at the surly cab driver in the front seat.
"That's in the 'burbs. I'm going to have to charge you meter and a half, are you okay with that?" His voice was ashy from years of smoking, the same as Tom's voice early in the morning when Brendon woke him to ask if he could have chocolate chips on his pancakes.
"Uh. Yeah, that's fine. Do you take credit cards?" Brendon looked through his wallet. He had the credit card Pete had provided him to use in case of emergencies. He was fairly certain this constituted an emergency.
"Nah, it's too early in the day. I've got no one to verify the card. I can stop at an ATM for you." The driver indicated a shop a block up. "You can take out cash. It'll be sixty, minimum."
Brendon thought for a moment. It seemed reasonable enough. After all, Pete routinely took out hundreds of dollars from the ATM when they went to restaurants. Brendon nodded and the taxi was on its way. "Hey. I can take out a lot of money from the ATM, right? Like, more than just the cab fare?"
"Uh. Yeah, you can probably take out five hundred dollars." The cabbie looked in the rearview mirror at Brendon. "You ever used a credit card, kid?"
"No, this has only been for emergencies." Brendon looked at the black American Express. He liked the way it shone in his wallet. The cab driver remained silent for the rest of the ride to 312 Cherrywood Lane. The brief stop at the ATM was made longer by Brendon's inability to remember if the pin number 5683 or 4283.
Eventually he emerged with five hundred dollars in crisp twenties. "Okay, to the house!" Brendon pointed in the direction he assumed Jon Walker's house was. The cabbie drove him to the front of an apartment building. "This is the building. It'll be seventy dollars." Brendon counted out eighty dollars and handed it over.
It took him a moment to figure out how to buzz up to Jon Walker's apartment. "Mmm, too early, Patrick." A sleepy voice mumbled on the other end of the intercom.
"Jon Walker?" Brendon leaned close to the speaker and whispered.
"Patrick?"
"No. Is this Jon Walker?" Brendon asked again. "This is Brendon. Tom sent me to you. Can you buzz me up?"
"Tom?" The voice sounded like it was waking up a little more. "Tom sent you and your name is Brendon."
Fifteen minutes later Brendon was sitting in the kitchen of the apartment Jon Walker shared with some girl named Spencer. Jon and Spencer were both nursing cups of hot coffee. "So. You're Brendon and Tom sent you."
"You've been saying that for the last ten minutes. Isn't coffee supposed to wake you up?" Brendon was staring longingly at the mugs nestled in both of their hands. He hadn't been allowed coffee at the compound since That Time Brendon Accidentally Shot Off Two Million Dollars Worth Of Explosives. It hadn't been his fault, either. Pete should've known not to leave Brendon alone after letting him down a quad-shot of espresso.
"Since he's the one that's hiding you, or whatever, I wouldn't be so picky about what he says." Spencer's voice was very masculine. And she was awfully flat. Brendon cocked his head to the side and tried to determine if the two were somehow related. He shook his head and reached for his backpack.
"Look. Tom helped me get off the compound so that I could see the world. But I want to see the world before it all gets blown up. And I looked at The Plan, so I'm pretty sure it's all going to get blown up." Brendon began digging through his backpack, producing the binder. It had been shifted during his adventure on the fruit truck. "He said you'd know what to do with this." He slid the binder across the table to Jon.
"I. The compound. You." Jon seemed at a loss for words but Spencer perked up immediately.
"Is this what I think it is?" She began looking through the binder, fingers drawing across the words as she read. "Where did you get this?"
"From Pete. I kind of stole it. Hey, you aren't going to send me back and get me in trouble for this, are you?" Brendon instantly grew worried. He wanted nothing to do with the compound now that Ryan Ross had taken over. There had been a time before when he'd tried to run away. Brendon had gotten as far as the southern wing of the house before Mike Carden, the team coordinator, had found him. Pete had taken Maria away from him for a month.
"No, no. I. We need to get you to Patrick's. Does anyone know you're here?" Spencer started moving around the kitchen in a hurry, dumping the last of her coffee down the drain. Brendon whimpered at the sight. All that good coffee gone to waste.
"Just Tom. Alfred probably knows I'm gone by now. But stupid Pete doesn't notice anything now that stupid Ryan is at the stupid compound." Brendon kicked at the kitchen floor, thinking of the way Pete looked at Ryan. The favourite was clearly chosen.
"When you snuck off the truck, how did you get here?" Spencer's questions were rapid, the gears in her brain obviously spinning wildly.
"I took a cab. I hailed it and everything." Brendon looked immensely proud of himself. It took a moment before he realized that it might not be something to be proud of. Maybe people out here hailed cabs every day.
"How did you pay?" Spencer slipped on a hoodie and stuck The Plan back in Brendon's backpack.
"With cash." Brendon saw Spencer standing up and gasped. Spencer wasn't a girl at all! Spencer was a boy! And his hips, God! Pete had wanted hips like those forever. Brendon was made to judge Pete's various attempts at walking like that for as long as he could remember.
"Okay, I'm getting you to Patrick's. He's going to want to know about this. Jon, see if you can find a way to get a hold of Tom. If you can't. Well. Just call me in an hour so I know that you're safe." Spencer leaned in and touched his lips to Jon's. Jon still looked rather tired but seemed to wake up at the brush of lips.
"Who's Patrick?" Brendon finally asked.
"Patrick is the motherfucking man." Jon answered.
*
"What do you mean he doesn't know anything? How did he know to bring the binder?" Patrick was talking about Brendon with Spencer as if Brendon wasn't even in the room.
"He kept babbling about Belgium. I don't know. He knows a little, but I don't think he really knows what he knows. He took the binder to waste Pete's time with photocopying." Spencer was poring over the binder with Patrick while Brendon sat on the counter behind them.
Brendon was totally down with this Patrick guy. He'd answered the door in a trucker hat and he was really awesome in general. He'd seemed excited about the binder until he'd started reading it. That was when the doubt came.
"Fuck! Do you see what he bought from Korea?" Patrick practically tore a leaf from the binder. "No, this. We can't do this. There's no way we can stop him."
"Don't even say that. You've worked too long, too hard for this to not amount to something. It was you that wanted to stop him in the first place. You were the one who told me that he needed to be stopped. Jon's probably lost Tom. We all heard about what happened to Nick. Pete Wentz has to be stopped or it'll happen to everyone." Brendon was impressed by the calm tone Spencer was taking with Patrick.
"I know. I just. That's a fucking reactor. This isn't something we can just ask him to get rid of." Patrick scrubbed a hand over his face and looked at Spencer.
"I'm aware of what it is. But at least we're not going into this blind anymore. We've got all the steps. Everything." Spencer patted the binder before nodding in Brendon's direction. "Not only that, we've got Brendon."
"Are you hiding him here?" Patrick looked over his shoulder at Brendon. He just waved cheerfully in return and continued drinking his juicebox. "Because I really don't think he should be staying with you guys. Not if anyone on the compound has even the slightest idea of where he went."
"Yeah, I want to hide him here. Maybe at Gabe's." Spencer turned around and looked Brendon over. "Gabe could say he's a cousin or something. He looks a little bit Latin."
"Right. You really want to send him to Gabe's place? He can stay here." Patrick sighed and turned to look at Brendon. "Just don't touch anything, okay?" Brendon nodded while slurping up the last of his juicebox. "Great. This is whose shoulders humanity's fate is resting on. I hope you know what you're doing, Spencer."
"Shut up. We'll meet tonight at Soma coffee shop and we'll go over everything there." Spencer raised his eyebrows significantly at the name of the coffee shop. Brendon caught the look but didn't ask any questions.
"All right. We're going to just be here for the rest of the afternoon. Maybe say seven o'clock?" Patrick closed the binder and slid it into his lap. "I'll need that time to look through this, maybe give Andy a call and see what he thinks."
Spencer's snort was unmistakable. "Yeah, good luck with that."
*
It wasn't so much that nobody liked visiting Andy. He was fascinating, and Patrick loved sitting with him and shooting the shit. Spencer loved visiting and finding new recipes for Jon to try out. There was only one drawback to visiting, and it was tiny, miniscule even.
Andy liked greeting visitors with his shotgun, Denise.
"Andy, it's just me, Patrick!" Patrick held his hands up in the air, smacking Brendon's chest in order to get him to do the same.
"Prove it! Who is my favourite Laguna Beach character?" Andy cocked the shotgun, pointing it at Patrick's chest. He obviously didn't deem Brendon much of a threat as he hadn't even acknowledged his existence.
"Laguna Beach promotes capitalism and meaningless consumer-driven lives." Patrick whimpered and turned his face from the gun. "But secretly you like Trey because you feel he thinks in a manner that shows progress given his poor upbringing."
"Okay, Patrick. But next time, it'll change to Morgan because of her dedication to her own personal cause of chastity and morality. She shows strong character for that. I suggest you remember it if you don't want to take one to the chest." Andy bared his teeth for Brendon's benefit. Brendon just smiled at him and clutched his backpack tighter to his chest.
All things considered, Andy lived in a fairly nice place. The things you had to consider were that the place was a bomb shelter and that it was in the middle of the Wisconsin forests. And that he'd named his bomb shelter Ms. Monroe.
"I can't really stay here for long, we have to be back to Soma by seven but we need to show you something." Patrick nudged Brendon again, urging him to produce the stolen binder from the depths of his backpack.
Andy kept the shotgun in his hand as he took the binder from Brendon. It sat on the table as he leafed through it. With each page turn, Andy's eyes grew wider. "Holy shit! Does he really have this stuff?" He looked up from the binder at Brendon.
"Oh, the reactor? Yeah, he went on a trip to India a few years ago and came back with it. It was pretty cool." Brendon shrugged and attempted to look around the bomb shelter. Pete had never let Brendon into his bomb shelter, worried that he'd accidentally eat a year's worth of dehydrated meals or something.
"Shit." Patrick hadn't been able to bring himself to ask Brendon about everything in his binder. He wasn't sure how much Brendon knew, but he realized that he'd have to find out if he wanted to stand any sort of chance against Pete.
"It's motherfucking apocalypse! Just like I told you assholes. Get off my property! It's everyone for themselves!" Andy cocked his shotgun and pointed it at Patrick. In a flash of inspiration, Brendon snatched the binder from the table as they made their way out of Ms. Monroe.
After hotfooting it across several hundred yards of forest to get to Patrick's parked car, they pulled out as quickly as they could.
"I thought he was supposed to have some ideas!" Brendon was antsy after almost being shot. He could've totally defended himself with Eunice, but he'd accidentally forgotten to pack bullets for her.
"No, not necessarily. Look, we'll head back to the city and we can wait for everyone." Patrick sighed and merged onto the main highway. "We're going to have to let everyone know that Andy's not with us anymore." Even from the corner of his eye, Brendon could see the tenseness in Patrick's wrists as he gripped the steering wheel.
"Will you explain this whole thing to me? I'm a little bit confused. What exactly is going on? I know Pete has a lot of stuff on the compound and I know he's been doing a lot of stuff in other countries. And sometimes the news talks about him but I always have to leave the room while he watches it. So, I'm pretty sure it's nothing good or I'd be allowed to hear it." Brendon fidgeted with the sleeves of his hoodie.
"I can't explain it in here, okay? We don't really entirely know where he can hear and where he can't. We'll be safe once we get to Soma." He continued on the highway, turning the music up as loud as he could.
For once, Brendon remained silent through the car ride. He was taking in all the sights he'd missed when he was stuck in Brent's fruit truck. There were so many different things he'd never seen on the compound. Different trees, different views. For a few moments Brendon allowed himself to think about the menagerie, the animals he'd had to leave behind.
"Patrick, are we going to rescue the animals from the compound eventually?" Brendon's voice was as soft as it ever got, which meant that it cut through the sound of the stereo completely. He couldn't just leave his animals behind. They were the only friends he had.
"I. I can't tell you yes or no, Brendon. I just don't really know." He reached out and took Brendon's hand. If Patrick knew Pete at all, and he liked to think he did after years studying profiles of him, Pete had instructed the baby never be held to keep it from getting attached to anyone or anything other than the animals in the menagerie. Physical contact would be foreign, but it would bond them. Brendon stood the contact for only a moment before moving away.
"If we get the chance. When the time comes, I want to rescue them. I have to rescue them." Brendon had a quiet determination about him. He would rescue the only things in the world he cared about; he wouldn't lose them.
"Okay." Patrick squeezed Brendon's knee and continued the drive in silence.
*
"Okay, so. How do we know he's not some little spy planted by Pete?" Jon watched as Brendon stood at a videogame with Gabe, eyes wide at how cool Pac-Man really was on an actual stand up videogame console.
"If he is, he's the worst one ever. His intel matches and adds onto the intel we have. And we still have an alive spy on the inside; we already know he's got nothing on ours. He doesn't know anything about us." Patrick kept his voice low, his cap lower.
"Because he doesn't think we're a threat. He doesn't think we'll mobilize. And as far as he's concerned, we've got nothing." Joe stretched in his chair, taking large bites from a slice of pizza. He was paying careful attention to the conversation, despite the appearance of his attention being only on his pizza.
"We've got everything. We've got Brendon, the pet, and we've got this." Patrick patted his messenger bag, the binder safely inside. "We've got a room tonight at a hotel. You guys'll follow me, and we'll meet there. This is going to be a long meeting." He stood up, indicating they were all to leave.
There was no discussing as to where they would meet for directions to the hotel; everyone knew where to go. There was a parking garage in Wicker Park, ideal for the situation they found themselves in. Gabe arrived first, always taking the most obscure back roads and yet always beating everyone. He sat on the hood of his car, waiting for Patrick to arrive.
Everyone tried to take different routes and to stagger their arrivals, allowing them to maintain at least a tiny bit of discretion. So far they'd been lucky when it came to not being detected but they knew it was nothing more than luck.
"Our room is at the Holiday Inn, Wicker Park. You guys can see what's in the binder then. Death before dishonor, guys." Patrick spoke quietly and quickly. They dispersed, each taking a different route to the inn.
Hayley, the girl at the desk, was familiar with the group and knew the protocol. There were keys issued for each guest and each guest checked in with a false identity. Once they were all gathered in the hotel room, Patrick opened the binder and sat Brendon down at the TV with reruns of Alvin and the Chipmunks playing for him.
After they'd carefully leafed through it, it was Gabe who cleared his throat and looked up at the rest of them. "We're fucked."
*
While Brendon was getting introduced to the outside world, William Beckett, an assassin from the Midwest, was trying to talk Pete out of the pantry in the kitchen. "Pete, he was a pet. Pets run away."
There was no response, just the sound of a package of food being opened.
"You need to come out; you can't let this ruin your plans. There's so much left to accomplish. And you'd be throwing away everything you've worked so hard for. Everything you've done for the past seven years. You don't want that. Not over someone stupid enough to leave the compound, where it's safe." William was practically cooing as he crouched near the door. Everyone else was watching at a safe distance. One of the only things that placated Pete when he was in a mood was William.
Ryan just tented his fingers in a far corner of the expansive kitchen. "It's all coming together, just as I foresaw it in the wilderness." The quirk of his lips could almost be mistaken for a sneer, but anyone close by who saw would know that was as close as he got to a smile.
"What?" Greta, one of the very few females in Pete's crew, looked over at Ryan and raised one eyebrow. She, along with three friends, formed a subset of Pete's team. Though they jokingly called themselves the Viper Assassin Squad, they actually were referred to as The Hush Sound. Pete had given them the moniker because they were the best at hushing people up.
"Nothing." Ryan met her eyes without wavering. She looked away first. No one had forgotten the look of Nick Scimeca laid out on the lawn he'd so lovingly cared for, and no one pretended it was an accident unless they were in the presence of Ryan and Pete.
"All right." Greta tossed her hair over her shoulders and began walking away. She gave a sympathetic look at Pete before going to one of the other rooms. Chris, Darren, and Bob were due back later in the day from a mission. There had been a rival group in Florida they'd been called to dispose of and the job had required infiltration, not seduction. Greta was amazing at both, but not when the group could only be infiltrated by boys.
"When's the rest of the team in? Pete will want a complete debriefing." Mike Carden hardly looked up from his Blackberry as he spoke with Greta. He was responsible for team coordination. He knew everyone's whereabouts and was constantly asking for status reports from everyone.
"They're due back in at three p.m. The last transmission I got from them said they were about twenty miles outside of Joplin. They're taking the scenic route; apparently it looked like they were being tailed for awhile." Greta pulled out her own phone to see if any new information had been received.
"And any chance of me debriefing you later?" Mike looked up from his phone and wriggled his eyebrows.
"Not even if you paid me, Carden." Greta didn't bother looking up from her phone, choosing to leave the room instead.
"One day." Mike turned to Adam Siska, Armory, and nodded confidently. Adam just shrugged in return and turned back to Pete. He looked distraught. Though Brendon had only been a pet, everyone knew how long Brendon had been with him. It wasn't impossible for them to believe that Pete had actually cared for someone other than himself.
Ryan had taken a seat next to Pete on the couch, his hand wrapping around the back of his neck. He leaned into Pete, murmuring something into his ear that had Pete's head shooting up after a moment. "Really?" Pete was already standing and leading Ryan away by the hand.
"I gotta say, I really don't trust him." One of the team members on general assignment watched Pete disappear into his private quarters with Ryan.
It was the last thing he ever said in the company of the group. The next morning, he was found with his throat slit from ear to ear.
It was Tom who announced it to the rest of the crew. "So. I." He kept running his fingers through his hair and fidgeting as he approached the dining room table. "Nate's dead, guys. Someone." Tom leaned against the walls, William sliding up to his side and pulling him close.
"Don't say anything else, Tom. I saw Ryan leaving his room last night. I don't want to see that happen to you." He cradled Tom close to his chest, stroking his hair to disguise the speaking. "Just keep quiet."
Tom looked up and backed away from William. "Are you. What?" Tom's heart was pounding both with fear and excitement. This team would take down itself before the team was a serious threat, especially if Ryan was killing off everyone who got in his way.
Unfortunately, Tom didn't live to see how wrong he was.
*
Because it was Jon who Tom communicated with, it was Jon who figured out something was wrong. There hadn't been any point of contact for three weeks, not even a message relayed from Brent. At most, there was a week lapse between communications. This was unheard of.
"He should've sent something. Anything. An email. Sean's about to strangle me." Jon spoke of Tom's roommate and sometimes paramour. Sean was the reason Tom had hesitated so long in going to Pete's compound. In the end, Sean had talked him into it, explaining he'd still be there when Tom got back and they wouldn't have to worry anymore.
Jon paced the living room while Spencer brewed coffee for the four of them. Gabe had been assigned to be Brendon's guide that day and he needed coffee more than anyone else. "Three weeks and it's fucking radio silence. There's nothing."
"Maybe we can negotiate for him. We have a pretty good bargaining chip and maybe he's just unstable enough that we can bring him out of hiding, arrange a trade, and nab the fucker. Then we bypass all this bullshit." Spencer watched the coffee drip with eerie calm.
"Spencer, you know that Patrick won't even consider that. This might. This might be a situation where we. Look, we all knew what could happen. He knew what he was getting into going in there." Gabe tried to speak reason to the other two. "If he's. The fact that he even agreed to go in, that says a lot. He wouldn't want us to just give up like that. Because you've read that binder. Even agreeing to try to negotiate with him? You've already fucking lost, dude. At this point, it's recovery, not a search and rescue."
"Maybe Brendon knows if Tom pissed someone off. Maybe Pete somehow found out Tom smuggled Brendon out of the compound. Brendon is his pet, his oldest and dearest pet." Spencer poured coffee into each of the four mugs.
"Don't say that about him." Gabe wrapped his hands around two mugs of coffee, ready to take one into the other room for Brendon.
"What?" Spencer lost his train of thought for a moment.
"Don't refer to him as Pete's pet. He's a person. He was kidnapped," Gabe said. His face was firm on the point. "I don't ever want to hear that again."
"Okay. Okay." Spencer held up his hands in a peace effort.
"I can ask him if he knows something. About Tom, I mean. He would be completely willing to help. From what I've heard about Tom from Brendon, he was one of the only ones who genuinely cared for Brendon. Aside from Alfred." Gabe smiled as he looked off to the side. He could hear Brendon laughing at cartoons in the other room.
"Just don't take him anywhere else so public, okay? Not without some sort of cover." Jon frowned at Gabe. It looked as though the expression strained his muscles. Displeasure was really out of his range as an actor.
"Don't worry about it, okay? I'll make sure we're covered next time." Gabe nodded, ducking his head as he walked back into the other room.
"Do you honestly think he'll know something?" Spencer spoke in a more hushed tone of voice. He didn't want Brendon hearing just yet. He was still somewhat leery of Brendon. God only knows what Pete had brainwashed him to do, had programmed him to do.
"I think he's our best shot without sending another man in there. And I'm not prepared to do that, and I doubt Patrick is either. We need to get another meeting together." They'd met a few days earlier but no one discussed the lack of communication from Tom. Everyone knew what it must have meant and no one wanted to bring it up with Jon around.
"I'll see what I can do about setting one up tonight. In the meantime, why don't we clear out and see if Brendon will talk to Gabe when he knows no one is listening? We'll tell Gabe where to meet us." Spencer leaned over and dropped a kiss on top of Jon's head. "We'll find whoever did this to him, and we'll make it right. I promise."
*
"Well. There were a lot of people who didn't like Tom. Pete, William, Mike, and the Hushies were the only ones who did seem to like him," Brendon slurped away at a frozen coffee drink from Starbucks. He was smiling widely at Gabe, who kept placing a hand on his knee as they were talking.
"Hushies?" Brendon laughed at Gabe's confused face and tone. "What the fuck are the Hushies?"
"The Hush Sound. They're the elite team. Like. Okay. Um, you know Bonnie Bakely? That woman they said Robert Blake offed? That was like, their audition piece. All three of them come from huge families of this stuff. Greta's grandfather was the shooter on the grassy knoll." Brendon shook his head and leaned back against the couch.
"Wait. They. They're assassins?" Gabe's eyes widened considerably. "Brendon, you don't really expect me to believe this, do you?"
Brendon slurped at the bottom inch of his drink before looking back up at Gabe. "Who do you think taught me how to shoot? They would never have gotten rid of Tom, though. I think Greta really liked him. Like, you know, like-liked him? Well. Him and Adam, anyway." A snicker escaped his lips before he curled up to Gabe's side and closed his eyes. "Tom's probably dead. It's happened before, to someone who opposed Pete or did something Pete didn't like. There was this guy, Mikey, he used to come and go all the time and then one day he just stopped coming."
"Did you know what happened to him?" Gabe had to remember not to squeeze Brendon's side too tightly or he'd get skittish and run off. It had happened many times over the past few days as Brendon stayed with him.
Brendon pulled away and nodded, his face instantly closing off. There were certain subjects he wouldn't discuss and most of them had to do with people disappearing. He pulled his hood over his head. "Why did Spencer tell me to stay out of hand-reach of you?"
"He thinks I'm some sort of perverted lech. Don't worry, I'm not a lech." Gabe lowered his hat over his eyes and continued trying to move his hand up Brendon's thigh.
"You should probably stop trying to touch between my legs. I'm saving myself for true love." Brendon smiled serenely and reached for Gabe's iced drink. "You're not going to finish this, are you?"
"No, no, you suck away all you want." That look was back on Gabe's face, the one that said Brendon looked like a very delicious and very exotic dessert.
"Uh. Right." The only sound in the apartment for the rest of the afternoon was Brendon sucking noisily on the last of the drink and walking around as he got his bearings.
Later in the day, Brendon approached Gabe as he pored over take-out menus. "Gabe, when am I going back to Patrick's?"
"Do you like Patrick's place better than here?" Gabe asked. He looked up, stricken.
"Well, yeah, it doesn't smell like my socks do if I forget to change them for a few days and then decide to sleep in the menagerie." Brendon hoisted himself up on the counter and looked over at Gabe. "And he doesn't ask me things I don't really understand."
"All I did was offer a demonstration of Hide the Cobra!" Gabe held his hands up and backed away from Brendon. The look he got in return said his comments weren't appreciated.
"And that's the other thing, you keep mentioning this cobra, this Ron. I'm not really sure what this cobra told you or whatever, but I'm pretty sure you imagined him. Cobras don't talk." Brendon pulled his knees to his chest and spoke with some regret. "I mean, it's cool if you imagined him and everything but. Pete used to imagine monsters and then he went to. Look, I just think I'd rather stay with Patrick."
"It's only for a short time. We're not really supposed to say anything, but we're going to be moving in a few days." Gabe walked over and rested a hand on Brendon's knee. "So. You said everything was fine until Ryan came?"
"Ryan. He came and all of a sudden Pete didn't have time for me anymore. It's stupid. I mean. He didn't buy Ryan a menagerie. He didn't pick Ryan. Alfred didn't take Ryan from a supermarket for him." Brendon had no delusions about where he came from.
"Did Ryan ever say where he was from? Why he came?" Since Brendon wasn't flinching away, Gabe held his position.
"Sometimes he talked about it. Like, when he thought no one was listening, he'd tent his fingers and mumble something about his vision and how it was all coming together as it was revealed to him in the wilderness. I think he went into the desert and hallucinated something and was convinced it was a sign from above." Brendon rested his chin on the knee Gabe wasn't currently molesting.
"He had a vision?" Gabe's eyes widened and he backed a few steps away. "No. Okay. No. Did you tell Patrick about the vision?"
"No? It's a load of phooey anyway. There's no such thing as visions unless you take drugs or get sick. Besides, sometimes he'd do ridiculous things like go into the menagerie and say 'Where my bitches at?' in his stupid monotone. A vision hardly sounds out of the ordinary for someone as weird as him." Brendon dropped his feet back over this counter.
"No. If he had a vision about it, it's legit and nothing we do is going to stop it. Andy was right. It's the motherfucking Armageddon! I'm out. I'm so out." Gabe turned on his heel and went to his bedroom. A few moments later, Brendon smelled the usual sweet smoke coming from Gabe's room.
Rather than wait for Gabe to come back out to make his usual three boxes of Kraft Dinner, Brendon walked toward Gabe's door. "Gabe, I'm coming in." He walked in, his vision obscured by thick smoke. "You think this is the Armageddon."
"Don't you? This is some seriously fucked-up shit here." Gabe brought his pipe back up to his lips and lit it again. "And if the world is ending, fuck that, I'm not staying sober."
Brendon rolled his eyes. It was like dealing with a tall, more paranoid version of Pete. He knelt down and took the pipe from Gabe's hand. "The world isn't ending. Ryan's vision isn't going to come true. He probably didn't even have a vision. He probably lied about that."
"Seriously, seriously. I had a vision and it led me to Patrick. And the cobra told me that I was going to be involved in the battle at the end of the world." Gabe shook his head and snatched the pipe back. "And now that I know it's fucking happening, I know that I am way too fucking sober to deal with it. So, I'll smoke and then go rescue Mama and Papa and get to an island or something."
"Gabe? Listen. Okay, I want you to seriously listen. I trust Tom. I trust that he sent me to the right group of people to make sure that the world doesn't end." Brendon knelt down in front of Gabe and took his hand. "Because if you don't help, if all of us don't help and pull it together? Your mom? Your dad? Your nephews that keep calling and leaving voicemail messages about your brother? They're all going to be dead. And it'll be on your hands."
"How do you know that?"
"Because, I've seen what Pete and Ryan can do, what they don't even hesitate to do. And I know that I don't want that to happen because he still has the menagerie and Alfred. And I'm not letting Alfred get killed like that." Brendon hadn't told any of them much about Alfred, but Gabe had picked up enough to know that Alfred was the only one Brendon missed on the compound. "So if you just give up on this, it affects more than just you. It affects everyone."
Gabe held the pipe against his lips as he considered what Brendon had to say. "All right. We'll do this. But just so you know, we're completely fucked."
*
"So. Do you guys just sit around all day, trying to figure out how you're going to save the world?" Brendon furrowed his brows in the mirror. He had a pair of tweezers in his fingers, plucking at every stray hair.
"No, who the fuck do you think we are? The Justice League? I mean, if we were any superhero group, we'd be The X-Men. I'd be Cyclops and you'd be Marvel Girl. Maybe The Fantastic Four. Reid Richards and Susan Storm." Gabe nodded at his own reflection in the mirror, where he was also plucking his eyebrows.
"I'd rather be able to be invisible than be able to move things with my mind." Brendon shook his head and wiped discreetly at his eyes. They were starting to water from all the grooming but Gabe had said that unibrow had to go. There were no ugly people allowed on the side of good.
"You're already moving something in me." Gabe smiled brightly at Brendon and rejoiced inwardly when Brendon only moved six inches as opposed to the normal foot.
"No, but really. What do you guys do?" Brendon insisted, gripping another hair.
"We've all got day jobs. Spencer, you've heard of him. He's Spencer Smith, that kid who graduated from MIT when he was thirteen and went to work for NASA when he was sixteen?" Gabe looked over at Brendon and closed the six inches again.
"How did he get in on this?" Brendon moved another six inches away, looking as though he was calculating the amount of time it would take him to get to the wall and whether or not Gabe would stop moving closer by then.
"I don't really know. I guess someone he knew growing up kind of got sucked into this whole thing. He started checking his shit. He found Jon and the rest, you'd really have to ask him about." Gabe shrugged, spanning his hand over the six inches.
"Patrick?" Brendon couldn't imagine Patrick doing something that wasn't incredibly awesome, like driving around, rescuing kittens from trees or something.
"Patrick is actually an elementary school music teacher. Guy's incredible at mechanics and electronics but he says sometimes it's nice to work with something you didn't invent." Gabe shrugged and wiped at his eyes. They were starting to water in the same manner Brendon's were.
"And Jon?" Brendon wanted to know the people he was going to be working with. He needed to know they were good people and weren't secretly the kind of people who were going to turn on the team the moment things got hard.
"Jon owns a lot of real estate. He inherited a shitload of it from his parents. And now, he works with a non-profit organization that tries to council teens against violence." Gabe shifted over an inch while Brendon wasn't looking.
"What about you?" Brendon looked at Gabe from the corner of his eye, watching for any sudden movements.
"What about me?"
"What do you do when you're not babysitting the bargaining chip." Brendon made a face at the term.
"Where did you hear that?" Gabe withdrew his hand and stared hard at Brendon.
"Spencer isn't exactly quiet when he talks, you know. I mean. It's cool that you think Pete's sentimental enough to give up world domination for his pet." Brendon tried to sound neutral.
"I. He's not supposed to call you that. I told him not to call you that ever again." Gabe tried to reach over and wrap an arm around Brendon's shoulders.
"I know. But is that what you guys think? I mean. I know it wasn't normal. It isn't the way most people grew up. Nobody on TV ever grew up like that." Brendon jerked away from Gabe, closing his eyes for a moment. "Whatever. I don't care." And just like that, Brendon's walls were up.
"Hey, it doesn't matter. It really doesn't. We know you're not a pet. I know you're not." Gabe kept his hands to himself, not wanting to make Brendon anymore uncomfortable than he clearly already was. "So you grew up differently. Big deal. It's like being the kid with the divorced parents."
"If it wasn't for Ryan, I could still be there. I'd be on the compound and Pete and I would be testing the molecular reorganizer on the aloe plants." Brendon set his mirror down and pulled his knees to his chest. "Pete wasn't always all bad. He fired one of the butlers because he didn't think the butler was paying enough attention to me."
Gabe mentally went through the list of butlers Pete had gone through. Poor Tony. There hadn't even been enough left to identify the poor son of a bitch.
"But he's always been planning to take over the world, to end it." Gabe had to make Brendon realize that fact if they were ever going to get anywhere in this.
"He wasn't always going to end it. I think he wanted to end a lot of what was going on. We used to watch the news sometimes and he'd see news reports about Africa and he'd tell me that he was going to change it all, to make it all better than it had ever been before." Gabe was cautious of Brendon speaking like this. It was one thing for him to miss Pete, the only family he'd ever known, but it was another thing entirely for him to start agreeing with Pete. Another entirely dangerous thing. Gabe needed to change the topic.
"When I'm not out trying to save the world, one applebottom at a time? I design rooms for Ikea. Like, the showrooms that you see in the stores and catalogues. And sometimes I teach dance lessons. Mostly the salsa and tango, but sometimes the samba." Gabe set his mirror down. "What about you? What did you do at Pete's?"
"I was a land surveyor. I went and took pictures for him. You know that." Brendon rolled his eyes. The pictures he took were in the binder. How could Gabe have missed them?
"No, that's what you did for him. What did you do for you?"
"Oh. I. Well. Sometimes I'd read the stuff that Pete had in the library. Usually I'd go read out loud to the menagerie." Brendon set down his tweezers and began to examine his groomed brows. Gabe was right, they did look much better when they were thinned and separated.
"Did you have a real menagerie?" Gabe had heard Brendon mention it several times, but still couldn't figure out if it was an actual menagerie or just what Brendon liked to call the animals on the compound.
"Yeah, there was this hot house. I liked to keep smaller animals, but Pete had some big ones. There was a tiger, but he was really gentle. The tiger would sometimes come in and sit down with me when I was in there reading. Pete raised it from when it was just a cub." Brendon trailed off and bit at his lip. He knew there was no way he'd be allowed to leave the side of good for the compound but he was really starting to regret his decision to leave and see the world. With the exception of Ryan Ross, Brendon had been happy on the compound. He had been taken care of and he hadn't had to worry about Pete's intentions.
The outside world was severely changing his perception of his own world. Standing up, Brendon wiped at his eyes. When Gabe looked up at him questioningly, Brendon just faked a smile and said, "It stings. All the plucking? Anyway. I'm getting tired. I think I'm going to go to bed."
Gabe had been told explicitly that he was not to bother Brendon if Brendon went to bed. It was his time to reflect on what was going on. He'd been made to understand that Brendon was going through a lot and he didn't need someone coming in and offering the guidance of the cobra. He needed someone to make sure he stayed there and didn't decide to leave in the middle of the night because of what he was discovering about the one person who was supposed to love him.
On to part 2.