Fic: Screw Angels, This Bell's Ringing In Wings for Me 5/7 (MCR/FOB, NC-17, Mikey/Pete)
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Gerard’s pissed at him for causing this mess when he comes to get Bronx. He reminds Pete of a wet cat, put out and uncomfortable and angry but still kind of cute. But he’s a better guy than Pete is because as they watch Bronx pack his backpack with the most ridiculous things that he will never need four doors down Gerard pulls him into the doorway to warn him.
“Don’t be weirded out when shit gets intense okay? This is just how you guys work shit out. You send Bronx over to me and Frank so that you two can fight.”
Pete nods and smiles fondly as Bronx grabs out a pair of mismatched pajamas - tops with the X-men, bottoms with candy canes. “Whose idea was that?”
“I don’t know. The two of you tend to take it out of each other when you fight and it’s not something Bronx should have to see or hear. Last time you guys did this, you both picked him up the next morning looking like you’d gone ten rounds with a rabid wolverine on no sleep but,” he shrugs as they watch Bronx try to choose between his Séance action figure and the one of the Wolfman. “You got it out of your systems.”
“So this is good?”
“No, moron, it’s not. You’re missing like ten years of history you need and if you had been less of a selfish douche you wouldn’t need to work out anything else.”
“I forgot, all right?” Pete hisses back, wondering how he managed to do that when all he can think about now is Bronx and Mikey and this life that he’s getting more and more at home with. “I’m still getting used to caring this much.”
“I know. I know and that’s why I’m even speaking to you.” Gerard elbow checks him, hard, then adds under his breath, “Be fucking careful, okay? Because I love my family and I don’t need you breaking them.”
Pete folds his arms over his chest and frowns at Gerard. “I love them too.” He’s still getting used to that. It’s a little uncomfortable like a pair of new shoes but it’s like he’s the one being broken in.
“Well that’s something,” Gerard mutters before walking the rest of the way into the room. “You ready to go, little dude? Uncle Frank’s dying to see you. He’s got this new video game and he thinks he can beat you at it. It’s got zombies.”
Bronx’s eyes get big. “Fast zombies or slow zombies?”
“Both,” Gerard whispers, like it’s a secret.
“Are they bloody?”
“Very.”
“Should he be playing that?”
Gerard looks at him incredulously over his shoulder. Then he grins and hoists Bronx - bag and all - onto his hip. “Look at you, mirror Kirk, you’re becoming a real boy.”
“At least I’m Kirk in this scenario,” Pete calls after Gerard as he walks down the stairs. He runs after them and catches Gerard before he hits the front door and presses a kiss to Bronx’s cheek. “Have a good night, buddy. Don’t drive them too crazy. Love you.”
Bronx wrinkles his face and wipes at his cheek with his hand. “Ugh, Daddy, that’s gross. Slobber.” Gerard’s laughing hard enough that Pete can still hear him after the door’s closed behind them.
It’s awhile before Mikey gets back from Manhattan. When he does there’s another hour of strained quiet where Mikey looks at him like he’s a really difficult Sudoku square before Pete snaps. He’s never been patient and he completely lacks impulse control. The tension is making those two flaws act up like freaking shingles under stress.
“Fucking stop it, Mikey, Jesus. Just stop staring at me like that. You look like the kid from the fucking Shining.”
“That’s because you went Jack fucking Torrance on me and turned into another person. I’ve been trying to figure out how to talk to you about it without you taking the door down with an axe,” Mikey snaps back, looking hurt.
“I’ve been a little unstable lately, but I’m getting my shit together and I don’t know why you’re still upset,” Pete says, taking a few steps towards Mikey. “I’m not that different.”
Mikey pinches his nose above the bridge of his glasses. “The fact that you can’t see how wrong you are about that is such a fucking sign, you don’t even know.“
“Look, I’m fucking sorry about the tour okay? But the rest of the guys have already committed and I can’t not go.”
“Fuck the tour. It’s not about the fucking tour. I don’t care about the tour. What the fuck about that don’t you get?” Mikey hisses.
“I don’t know. If you don’t care about the tour then what?”
“I don’t want to fight with you. Okay? You’re trying, I can see that you’re trying so fuck it, I’m trying too. I don’t want to spend the time we have before you leave fighting with you.” He reaches out and slides his hands up Pete’s to his shoulders and wow, this was not what Pete was expecting from this fight at all. Gerard clearly left out some very important details about what the metaphorical wolverine actually got up to.
Pete looks down at his hand then up into his face. He’s so close that Pete would barely need to lean forward to kiss him. “I- But- You’re supposed to be pissed at me.”
“I am fucking pissed at you. You were selfish and fucking thoughtless but you’ve been off balance for awhile and I’m trying to be fucking patient all right?” His thumbs are rubbing circles that are making it hard for Pete to think. “Maybe touring’s what you need. But I need you to be here, like mentally here, until you leave.”
Pete swallows hard and takes Mikey’s thin wrists and lifts them off of him. “I’m here. I just don’t know that we should do this with all this shit between us.”The skin where the long sleeved shirt Mikey’s wearing has pulled back is smooth and warm and he has to fight to focus on what he’s trying to do, which would be the right thing. Probably.
“We fuck angry all the time,” Mikey says, stunned. “That’s how we deal with the goddamn angry.”
“I just don’t think it'd be a good idea this time.”
Mikey jerks his hands back. “Let go of me.”
“Mikey, no.”
“Let me fucking go, Pete.” He yanks his arms in a way that looks painful. “Now.”
Pete tightens his hands on impulse for a brief second before releasing them. Mikey stumbles back a few inches and Pete stares at him, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. “Sorry. I just - sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”
“Of course you didn’t. That’s the first time you touched me with anything like intent in weeks, Pete!” Mikey explodes, charging back into Pete’s space and shoving him a little. “Weeks! I know we’ve got Bronx and everything but fuck. The last time you kissed me was goddamn New Years and I- I don’t fucking know what’s wrong with you. Are you cheating on me? Are you bored? Do you just not fucking care anymore? Just fucking tell me, you asshole, what?”
“I’m not thinking or doing any of that. Fuck, Mikey, don’t be stupid, of course I want you.” So much. For so fucking long that when Pete thinks about it makes him feel kind of sick over all the time lost. He’s always prided himself on being self-aware so it’s kind of amazing how deep down he pushed everything.
He reaches out and skates his fingers along the strong line of Mikey’s jaw down to his lips. Mikey’s mouth goes from a hard line to soft and inviting under his thumb and this is not fair.
None of this is fucking fair. It’s cruel to put Mikey in front of Pete like this, to give him everything he didn’t realize he still wanted more than pretty much anything and have it be someone else’s. Even if that someone is another version of himself. Pete isn’t going to be that guy. He wants to be a better person than that. He’s trying here to be a better person period.
“I don’t believe you,” Mikey says. He can feel Mikey’s lips moving.
“I do though. Fuck, Mikey, all these years and you’re still the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” Pete shakes his head. “How the hell did you manage that?”
Mikey’s hands grasp his waist and pulls their hips together. Mikey’s body isn’t as bony as he was when they were younger but he still fits to Pete’s smaller frame like they were made to click together. He feels so good that Pete is having a hard time keeping his thoughts strung together.
“Fuck me, then,” Mikey murmurs, nuzzling Pete’s ear. He’s kind of weak for that one. “I don’t want to keep missing you before you go.”
Oh, God, if Pete ever sees Clarence again, he’s going to kick his ass so fucking hard for doing this to him. Mikey’s breath is hot against his skin. He gropes for anything he can think of to say. “This is why Frank and Gerard took Bronx isn’t it?” is not the best response to Mikey working his belt out of his jeans but it’s the best he can manage.
“It’s one reason,” Mikey agrees, pulling Pete’s belt free and dropping it to the floor. “One of the better ones actually.”
“I can’t, Mikey, fuck, I love you but I can’t.” It’s his last try. Really, it’s all he’s got left. Mikey’s kissing him before he can get out the last “can’t” and he’s powerless.
“Missed that too,” Mikey breathes into his mouth. The house is quiet aside from his muted voice and the sound of zippers coming down. “You haven’t told me you loved me since last year.”
That’s enough to wake Pete up to the fucking wrongness of this. But it’s not enough to make him stop or pull away or say no again. He’s becoming a better guy but he’s not that good.
Instead he lets Mikey press him backwards until they hit the old faded couch. They trip out of their pants on the way and Pete lands under Mikey on the cushion. Pete moans as Mikey’s long thin hands wrap around his cock, his mouth open and wet on Pete’s neck. Fisting his hand in Mikey’s hair and tugging back so that he can get at Mikey's mouth just seems like the thing to do.
They’re both gasping when Mikey lets go and pulls back long enough to yank his shirt off over his head. He grabs the hem of Pete’s shirt and tugs it up and alarm bells go off in his head loud and screaming. He pushes at Mikey’s hands. “Don’t.”
“Pete what-?”
“Just don’t all right?”
“I’ve seen all of you, Pete,” Mikey says, like he’s being ridiculous which he is. But there are things missing that Mikey’s going to notice and he might be greedy but he’s not suicidal. “I keep coming back because I like it.”
“Then leave it, okay? Just- leave it.”
“Did you get a tattoo and fuck it up without telling me or something?”
“No I just…I don’t want to.” Pete shrugs and gives him his best reserve smile. “Call it a new kink.”
Mikey stares at him for a long moment, clearly debating whether or not to push the issue. Pete holds his breath until Mikey shakes his head and says, “Fuck it.” And then he does, tugging Pete’s boxers the rest of the way down and climbing on top of him on the couch.
It’s high school, grinding together with sweaty hands and blind mouths. Pete comes first, guilty and blissed out pulling on Mikey’s hair so hard it has to hurt. He’s glad though because it gives him the presence of mind to watch and listen while Mikey fucks into Pete’s fist.
It’s new and familiar at the same time. He’s still quiet during orgasm and he still bites, in this case it’s the fingers of Pete’s free hand. It hurts but Pete’s too caught up in the way the past and present are colliding on top of him to care.
Afterwards, they collapse mostly naked on the couch and lie there tangled together under a throw in the narrow space. It reminds him of being crammed into a bunk on Warped. He just doesn’t realize he’s said so out loud until Mikey goes, “Yeah, but this is a little less coffin shaped.”
“You ever wonder,” Pete asks, completely unable to help himself. “About how things would be if we’d done things differently after Warped?”
Mikey shrugs against him. “Sometimes but not seriously. I mean, this is good, isn’t it?” He tips his head back a little so that Pete can meet his eyes. “I mean, I’m about as happy as anyone gets to be, Pete. Not lately, but you know, in general. I don’t want it to have gone differently.”
“Me either,” Pete says, wrapping his arms tighter around Mikey. “I know it doesn’t seem like it but I swear, Mikey, this is better than it could’ve been.”
Mikey rolls his eyes from beneath his askew glasses so hard that it looks like it’ll give him a headache. “Well, gee fucking wiz baby, I’m glad you think so.”
“So, hypothetically speaking, in a Twilight Zone episode or It’s a Wonderful Life remake or whatever, where we didn’t make it through that summer, do you think we’d still find our way back to each other?” Pete licks his lip against the sudden dryness in his mouth and tastes Mikey on them. It shouldn’t make him more nervous about the answer but it does.
“Fuck you, are you serious?” Mikey pokes him in the side where he’s a little sensitive and a lot ticklish and sighs. “You’re an idiot. I married a fucking idiot.”
Yeah, that’s not an answer and Pete kind of has to know. He needs the hope. “So that’s a yes?”
“When you talk like this I wonder,” Mikey mutters then he pushes up on an elbow and kisses Pete, slowly invading every busy thought crowding his mind. He pulls back long seconds later, a half smile on his lips. “You’ve always been it for me, Pete. I learned patience for you. You think I’d do that for just anyone?”
Pete’s throat burns a little and he squeezes the back of Mikey’s neck. “It just kind of blows my mind you know? It’s been all these years and I never stopped loving you.”
“I’d hope not,” Mikey says, that half smile turning into a full one that makes Pete feel lit from the inside.
“I’m trying to be worth this shit, Mikey. I’m getting there.”
“I know. And you know, the tour’ll probably be good for you, get that shit out on stage and come back saner. I’ll punish you for being a fucking douche about it when you get back.” Mikey traces the collar of Pete’s shirt with a finger, pushing the fabric down to brush briefly over his thorns. “Besides, I’ll totally expense trips out to visit you. You know how Bronx loves to fly.”
He doesn’t know. He wants to though. He wants to know everything and keep all of it. “Sounds like a plan.”
“You just keep your shit together until you guys leave, all right? We’ve got two weeks. Let it be good.” He flattens his hand against Pete’s chest over his heart and the skin where their matching tattoos should be. “Please.”
“As you wish.”
Mikey lets out of a burst of surprised laughter. “You did not just Farm Boy me.”
“Oh I totally did, Buttercup.”
“Jesus,” Mikey groans, pressing his hand to his face. “Do not call me that when I’m naked. It’s not sexy.”
Pete wiggles his eyebrows and maneuvers as best he can on the narrow space of the couch until he’s on top of Mikey. He pulls Mikey’s glasses off and tosses them onto the coffee table. “I bet I can make it sexy. Buttercup.”
Mikey blinks at him, getting used to the new perspective. Then he gives a doubtful snort. “Yeah. I’d love to see you try.”
That’s a challenge if Pete ever heard one. And he’s never been able to resist, not a challenge and certainly not Mikey. He dips his mouth to take Mikey’s, and face both head on.
They make it to the bed sometime after that. Mikey has him grabbing at the sheets like they’ll anchor him to Earth. Mikey pulls the back of his shirt like it’s a handle, choking Pete in the best way as Mikey fucks him and they collapse in a disgusting heap sometime after Comedy Central turns into infomercials.
Frank looks positively smug when he drops Bronx off the next afternoon. He rocks back and forth on his heels, wiggling his eyebrows at the bite marks and bruises in the shape of fingers that paint both of their skins. “You kids have fun?”
“Bite me, Frankie,” Mikey shoots back with a flat expression. He ruffles Bronx’s hair absently as he passes into the kitchen.
“Looks like Peter took care of that for me.” He giggles a little. “You sure you don’t want me and Gee to take him for another night? Covert shower blowjobs were kinda fun. I’m pretty sure it’s the sneaking,” Frank adds, mostly to Pete. “We never really had to sneak.”
“Thanks for that, Frank,” Pete replies, trying not to laugh. It’s an uphill battle but he’s willing. Mostly. Okay he’s totally grinning back. “It’s not like little ears can hear you or anything.”
“You two got so lame.” Frank sighs. “It’s sad it really is. What little cool you had to begin with got leached right out of you.”
“You wanna stay for dinner?” Mikey calls from the kitchen. He’s already moved on from the conversation.
“Pasta?”
“Yeah. I saved some of the sauce without meat in it from last time if you want.”
“Hells yes.” He’s already fishing his phone out of his pocket. “There’s room for Gerard right?”
Mikey makes a rude noise from the kitchen which Bronx parrots. Pete grins at Frank who smiles back and shrugs. It’s a weird moment of understanding as if to say “Ways, they’re crazy but you gotta love them.” And he does. Jesus Christ he really does.
~*~*~
Pete wakes up to Mikey kissing the back of his neck that way he fucking loves, mostly soft lips with just a little bit of teeth. He sighs a little and leans back into it, glancing at the clock. The alarm’s going to go off in about thirty seconds.
“We don’t have time,” Pete murmurs, reaching back to rub the back of Mikey’s neck. “And it’s my day.”
“I’ll call him in sick,” Mikey murmurs. His hand slides up the back of Pete’s t-shirt tracing the bad ink on his back. “You’ve only got a few days left.” He bites at a fading bruise. “We should play hooky.”
“I thought you were the responsible one.”
“Dude, who told you that lie?”
Pete rolls over to face Mikey. He shouldn’t be able to look this good this early with the blanket around his waist and his hair sticking up in fifty different directions from the way he slept. Pete’s gotten used to this way too fast and he’s starting to dread the tour as much as he’s looking forward to it. This is too good to leave.
“His teacher already kind of hates us.”
“She doesn’t understand our progressive lifestyle.”
“Patrick, Joe and Andy are coming over to practice,” Pete sighs. “They’re going to be here before I even get done dropping Bronx off at school. I’ve already pushed this back twice.”
Mikey flops back in defeat. He groans and throws an arm over his face. “Fine. Go. But we’re rain checking this. I demand a fucking rain check.”
“Sir yes sir.”
Mikey kicks at him under the covers. “Get out of here before I change my mind.”
“Get up, Superman. Time to go save the world,” Pete calls, wondering at how Bronx has managed to turn himself upside-down in his sleep without waking himself up. He nearly falls off when he comes awake and Pete barely manages to catch him. “Easy there. You can’t fly yet.”
“Daddy?” Bronx blinks up at him a little confused. “It’s morning.”
“For the next few hours.”
“And I have to go to school?” Bronx sighs. Pete’s finally figured out that the kid loves school but hates getting up. Pete can relate. Early mornings were always the worst part. Well, that and the shallow, vapid idiots around him. The actual learning was pretty awesome.
“Yeah but we’re running late so we’re gonna just grab an Egg McMuffin on the way. Chop chop.”
Bronx mutters to himself about stupid school and stupid face teachers making them get up early as he gets dressed a little slower than he probably would if Mikey were the one watching. Pete misses California a little as he helps Bronx pull on a second sweater and ties his shoes. The weather anyway. He misses the weather but as Bronx jumps into clumps of snow on his way out to the minivan, he’s pretty convinced that snow’s got its perks.
There’s coffee when he gets back from the school. There’s also Joe, Andy and Patrick clustered in his basement. Andy’s drumming absently on his leg with his sticks while Joe tries to get the tentative set-list for the first few shows printed out on the computer.
“I don’t know why you’re bothering with that,” Pete says with a wave at the desktop. “It’s not like we’ve got it finalized.”
“It’s easier for me to fight with you when I have it in front of me,” Joe says, distractedly. He finally finds the print button and the list of songs that spits out of the printer across the room is only half recognizable to Pete.
“This one,” Pete says, tapping on the third down. “Are we really set on this one? Because the bass line’s been tripping me up for like a week.”
Patrick gives him the old familiar “Where did that second head growing out of your neck come from?” look that Pete’s gotten used to over the past few weeks. “You’re kidding right? That’s one of your favorites.”
It’s off New London Hearts which means that his grip is shaky at very best and there’s history he still doesn’t know because the journals only gave so much. He’d rather dig up tracks from Take This to Your Grave that he hasn’t played live since he was twenty-five than risk fucking up songs off that album in particular. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” He taps on one seven down. “This too.”
“Which one?” Andy asks. “I can’t see.”
“Uh,” Pete looks down at the paper. “I’m a Car Wreck Under Halogen Glare. It’s not one of the singles.”
Andy frowns over the top of his glasses. He looks confused but then Andy and Joe haven’t been around for the worst of the crazy Pete’s been putting everyone through this time. “Dude, we put that one on there so you wouldn’t have to fight for it.”
“I’m just not sure it fits there.”
“I’m gonna tell Mikey you wanna axe his song,” Andy rubs the back of his neck with one of his sticks and starts up the stairs. “He deserves to know.”
“Andy hey, don’t-”
Pete is out of shape because Andy’s got the door closed before Pete gets to the bottom of the stairs. It’s a joke, typical shit. But it makes Pete feel sick when Andy sticks his head back in and goes “Your spouse wants to know why you don’t love him anymore.”
“I hate you so much.”
“Car Wreck stays,” Andy declares. “I like it. Car Wreck’s got one of the best drum parts we’ve ever written and you’ll break Mikey’s heart otherwise.”
“Car Wreck stays?” Joe asks. Pete sighs and nods and Joe makes a star next to it.
Joe with lists is weird but it goes faster from there. The rest of the band meeting has more music actually being played and there’s an epic fight about whether the Wicked Brew single should go first or last (he says last because you have to keep people waiting, anticipation’s half the fun). It resurfaces in between each song they rehearse and only stops when Mikey opens the door at the top of the stairs.
“You guys missed lunch. How are you not dead?”
“I eat music,” Patrick replies evenly.
There’s a brief pause before Mikey decides that’s insufficient. “Yeah so does Gee. I’m gonna throw you guys down some PopTarts or something.”
“I love you!” Joe calls up the stairs.
“Me too.” Pete adds, because he can. He can’t argue that everybody’s a little bit less crabby after they eat, even if it is food that reminds Pete of the desperate days in the van or practicing in his parents' garage.
Of course rehearsals back then usually ended with Patrick’s mother calling and demanding that they bring him home because it was also a school night. Mikey opening the door at the top of the stairs and saying “Frank’s stealing our son. Come say bye and then kick out the band so I can get my rain check. They’ll get you when you leave.” is a lot better reason to stop than fucking school. At least he thinks so. He’s always found sex to be its own higher education.
It takes longer than Pete’s expecting to get the band out and he kind of forgets where he’s supposed to be. He’s still struggling with the songs off that phantom album and his fingers fumble on the bass. It’s frustrating and he frowns down at the strings so intently he doesn’t notice Mikey standing over him until he speaks.
“Is that I’m a Car Wreck?”
“It’s supposed to be.”
“Yeah but what the fuck are you doing to it?”
Pete shrugs and frowns down at the bass in his hands. “It’s giving me trouble. I don’t know. I can’t get the bridge right.”
“We wrote the bridge together. You usually leave it to do with Patrick but this one we did together. Pete.” Mikey grabs the piece of paper with the tabs resting on Pete’s knee and folds it closed. “Tell me what the chord progression is.”
Pete’s fucked. Really truly fucked. “I, uh, I can’t.”
“You can’t. You’ve been playing this song for years and you can’t.” Mikey stares at him for a long moment, arms crossed over his chest, the folded tabs for I’m a Car Wreck resting against his chin. “Take off your shirt.”
“What? No.”
“Take off your fucking shirt, Pete or I will rip it the fuck off you.”
Pete sighs and sets the bass on the floor. He gets to his feet carefully and kisses Mikey, with the fight that’s going to ensue, this might be the last chance he gets for a long time. Mikey leans into it, pressing his fingers into Pete’s face. But his eyes are still hard when they break apart and Pete feels sick as he tugs his shirt off over his head.
Mikey doesn’t say anything for the longest time. He’s staring at Pete’s chest, hand over his mouth. He stands like that for what feels like hours but is probably just a few seconds before he can figure out what to say.
“I… Where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
“Where’s what? Fuck you. Is that what you’ve been doing? Getting it fucking removed?” His fingertips drag across the smooth skin over Pete’s heart. “It was there Christmas Eve,” Mikey says, mostly to himself, like he’s trying to make sense of this and the gaps and the behavior and all of it. “It should still sort of be there. It takes months. There should be something there so where the fuck did it go?”
Pete swallows hard because this is so much harder than it was in the beginning, with Gerard. This is crazy and bizarre and it matters. “It was never there.”
“Yes it was.”
“No, Mikey, it wasn’t. Not on me.”
“Yes it was. We were in the Netherlands and we’d been married like two weeks and you-“
“That wasn’t me. I was on tour in the US when that happened. I was single and I was fucking bleeding missing you but I wasn’t there.” He catches Mikey by his upper arms. “That was a different me. There’s a me who wasn’t fucking stupid, who held on to you and made this life with you, but that isn’t who I am. I’ve never been him.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“No,” Pete agrees. But he’s laughing anyway. It’s still too crazy. “It’s so fucking not.”
“So what?”Mikey asks, moving carefully away from Pete. Like Pete’s not going to notice the space he’s putting between them. “You think you’re a goddamn alien doppelganger or something? Is that what I’m supposed to believe?”
“No. I’m not an alien or anything. I’m Pete Wentz. Just Wentz. No Way. And I’m…” Pete looks at the floor because he can’t deal with the look on Mikey’s face, shock and disbelief and fear all coated in a thick layer of deep aching hurt. “I don’t know, Mikey. I went to bed Christmas Eve alone in my living room in L.A. and I woke up in bed with you.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that. I’m supposed to believe that apropos of fucking nothing you traveled from an alternate fucking universe to this one?”
“Yeah. Cause it’s the fucking truth.” It’s cold down in the basement and Pete rubs his arms for a moment before he holds them out.
“The one you got when Bronx was born is gone too.” Mikey says and that’s news to Pete although it’s not surprising. He watches Mikey’s shoulders sag a little as if under some heavy weight because they both know that even if Pete were really truly trying to up and leave, he’d never try to get rid of any part of Bronx. “You don’t even have a scar.”
“That’s because it was never there. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.“
“Tell me what we did on our second anniversary?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you know where you wrote Car Wreck?”
“No.”
“Our first kiss,” Mikey sounds more than a little desperate and Pete aches for him. “Do you remember our first kiss?”
“Yeah. We’d been on Warped all of a week and I stole some comic book from Gerard. He sent you to come get it back and when you reached for it, I kissed you.” Pete gives what he hopes is a warm smile. It feels twisted on his lips though. “I was there for that. I don’t think things changed until after that summer. Pretty much everything after August of ’05 happened different for me.”
“Pete,” Mikey says, pleading. He’s begging for him to be kidding, for this to be a joke. Pete bets that he’d be happier if this was a real psychotic break. But he knows it’s not and that has to be worse.
“I don’t know how I got here. There was this guy on Christmas Eve and I tried to help him but he, I don’t know, he said I needed to learn something so here I am. I don’t have an explanation beyond that. But Mikey, it doesn’t matter because I love you okay?” He takes a step forward and Mikey flinches so he stops. “I love you and I love Bronx. I know I’m not the guy I’m supposed to be here. We made different choices, me and him, but I’m still Pete. I’m still me.”
Pete can see the moment that Mikey switches from fear and confusion to belief and utter heartbreak. It’s like everything in him drops and his eyes get fucking shadowed. He wraps his arms tight around himself like he did during every awful fight and word Pete’s thrown at him and he shakes his head. “No you’re not.”
“Mikey-“
“No.” Mikey hisses through clenched teeth. “Don’t you come fucking near me.”
He drags in an audible breath through his nose, processing in his way before he speaks again and Pete waits. He owes him that much. More, but this he can give.
“If you’re here where the fuck is my Pete?” Mikey looks up at the ceiling, blinking away tears. When he looks back at Pete his eyes are bright in the low light and his jaw is clenched tight.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? You don’t fucking know? This is my partner, my fucking life. You know. You know how much I -“ His voice breaks sharply and Pete watches Mikey squeeze his eyes shut.
“I think he’s in my life. I mean, he should be right?” Pete asks, hoping for comforting. “My life’s not great but he’s not in any danger, I don’t think. Most of my documented stalkers are pretty harmless.” He grins but the lines around Mikey’s mouth deepen if anything.
“He’s trapped there,” Mikey says. “And…you don’t know when- if he’s coming back?”
“No,” Pete says. “But Mikey, I mean, he’s me and we love you. I know it doesn’t seem like enough but it’s like…the universal Pete default is to love you. I’m trapped here too but I found you and maybe he’ll find my version of you. Because you’re it for me too. You are.”
Mikey’s head is shaking and he’s started to pace. He looks terrified and small despite his height and Pete wishes he could hold him. “I knew you were wrong. God, I fucking knew it and I didn’t do anything.”
“What would you have done?”
“I don’t know! Anything but this. Jesus Christ,” Mikey moans, rubbing his face with his hands. “I left you alone with my child.”
“No,” Pete bursts out. “Okay? No. I would never hurt Bronx. I love that kid so much it fucking hurts, all right? So worry about everything else, but don’t ever worry about Bronx.”
Mikey says nothing to that. He just pushes his glasses onto his forehead and presses his hands over his eyes. He doesn’t say anything or make a sound beyond his raspy, choked breathing.
“It’s not your fault,” Pete says, finally remembering to pick up his shirt and put it back on. It’s cold but also, maybe if Mikey doesn’t have to look at the evidence it’ll be easier for him when he can look at him again. “I worked really hard to be right and I only told Gerard because, you know, he’s Gerard. And he kind of cornered me my first day.”
“Gerard knew about this?”
“I…Yeah.”
“Since fucking Christmas,” Mikey swore. “He fucking knew and he let me- you both- I’m married, okay? I’m married to Pete and yet I’ve been fucking you for the last two weeks and do you not see how fucking wrong this is?”
“I’m Pete.”
“You’re not my Pete.” Mikey sounds strangled. “Goddamnit I’m a cheater. You made me a fucking cheater. And he’s… he’s been gone for weeks.” He actually doubles over like he’s been hit. “Fuck, oh fuck.”
“He’s me. He’ll forgive you. Hey.” He reaches out to Mikey who flinches away from him.
“Don’t touch me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t fucking touch me.” Mikey rubs at his face, because he’s crying now and God. Pete really is the worst person fucking ever. “Don’t. Don’t. Just don’t.”
“I’m going to go to Gee’s,” Pete says softly. “I’m sorry, Mikey, I really am.”
“No,” Mikey says, taking a deep breath and righting himself. “You stay here. You don’t get my brother and my fucking band too. Bad enough you broke into my life.”
“This wasn’t my choice. But if I could’ve, I would’ve chosen this life with you.”
Mikey doesn’t answer. He just slams up the stairs and out of the basement. Pete follows him and catches the back of him yanking the front door shut so hard that the window in the wall shakes a little.
Two hours later Gerard shows up on the porch looking rough as fuck. “You weren’t supposed to tell.” He sighs, flopping onto the couch.
“I wasn’t supposed to be here period. That’s kind of the problem.”
Gerard nods. “Frank and Bronx have set up shop in a fort in the living room. Mikey locked himself in my guest bedroom. He told me to tell you, on top of fucking yourself, that you’re not to talk to him again unless he talks to you first.”
“This fucking sucks.”
“It’s fair though. Except for the part where helping you got me kicked out of my own fucking house.”
“Sorry.”
“You’re the sorriest fucker on planet Earth, Pete.” Gerard sighs, his feet hanging off the arm of the couch. “I don’t see that changing any time soon.”
Gerard turns out to be right. They orbit each other for Bronx’s sake in tense silence and Pete sleeps on the couch because that at least feels almost normal. He’s loading his shit onto the bus parked in the driveway before Mikey speaks to him again.
“What if he doesn’t come back?” Mikey says, his scarf half hiding his mouth. His bare hands are buried in the pockets of his coat as he watches a tech gently try to place two of Pete’s basses. “You go and you tour and then what?”
“I don’t know,” Pete admits. He’s been thinking about it pretty much nonstop since Mikey found out. It’s starting to feel more likely the worse things get. What he’s come up with doesn’t seem sufficient. “I just love you, I guess. And you decide if that’s enough for you if I’m not quite right.”
“But you were there in Florida and at Warped?”
“Yeah, in ’04 and ’05. I was at the VMAs too although we weren’t together for that so...” He shrugs and lets the implication of difference hang in the air. “There’s other places in between before things broke I think. I’m not quite sure of the specifics but I just missed a lot of the stuff that came after.”
Mikey’s glasses are a little foggy around the edges from the winter cold and his body heat warring with each other. But behind them he looks so sad and contemplative and fucking fathomless that Pete has to fight to keep his hands to himself.
“It’s not the same.”
“No. It wouldn’t be.”
“Jesus, Pete, I don’t know here. I don’t fucking know.” Mikey sounds fucking wounded, his breath curling around him in the freezing air.
Pete’s natural impulse is to hug but he knows that it’ll make him pull away that much faster. “You decide and let me know okay?” he says instead of reaching out physically. He gives Mikey a wide smile and holds up his cell phone, his fingertips uncovered by the gloves he stole from Frank. “I’m on the other end if you decide you want me to come back.”
“You have to. It’s not fair to Bronx if you just disappear.”
Or to you, Pete thinks but he just nods. “Then I’ll come back.”
“And I’ll, fuck, I’ll call you I guess. Just…” He rubs his head. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”
“It’s okay,” Pete says because really, he does understand. It’s been what feels like ages for him to adjust but this is all sharp and jagged for Mikey. He remembers the fear and the loss and the unsteadiness that still hasn’t gone away. “I’m going to go say good-bye to Bronx. And, you know, if I don’t see you before I leave.” He stops and manages to give Mikey a wide smile, a real one this time. “I’m sorry it hurt you, Mikeyway, but I’m not sorry I found you again.”
“Fuck you so much,” Mikey chokes out. “You’re the biggest asshole I have ever met.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s universal too. And I think you had to have known that when you married the other me.”
Mikey laughs, broken and ragged, but it's laughter none the less. And he wraps his arms around Pete’s neck and hugs him tight and silent. Pete hugs him back and wonders if Mikey is hugging him or if he’s pretending that he is Mikey’s Pete.
Bronx is easier. He practically leaps into Pete’s arms and Pete clings right back. “I’ll be back before you can miss me,” Pete promises, pressing a kiss to Bronx’s temple.
“But I miss you already.” Bronx argues, obstinate and on the verge of tears. Fuck, so is Pete so he doesn’t really care that Bronx is choking the air out of him.
“Me too. I love you so much, buddy.” He kisses Bronx on the cheek. This time Bronx is too busy failing at not crying to complain about slobber.
Pete pretty much runs onto the bus after that because he may occasionally wear eyeliner even though thirty-four is way too fucking old and write emo songs and shit but he’s not going to cry in front of a little boy. He’s just not. Even after everything there are some lows he won’t stoop to. And Patrick’s a bit of a wreck too, texting with Rihanna before they even pull onto the Jersey Turnpike and that comforts him a little in a vindictive sort of way.
The first show is in San Diego - so that the label can get them in on the talk show and late night cycle in L.A. before the still building buzz from Wicked Brew can burn out, Brian tells them - and it’s supposed to be two full days of driving. Pete texts Mikey every time they cross into a new state and he gets a response to his text of im wallowing in missouri.
u make me come Mikey texts and follows it seconds later with pletely missourable 2. Pete laughs and exhales for what feels like the first time since everything came out. He smiles a little as Missouri rolls by mostly flat outside his window.
They pull into a truck stop in north Texas in the oh-dark-hundred hours of the second day. Everyone needs to eat and restock on junk food and other essentials and Pete goes in search of Skittles and Mountain Dew. He bumps into a guy with a blue trucker hat Patrick would envy pulled low over his face on his way to the wall of coolers and nearly topples them both over. He reaches out and manages to catch the guy and steady them both. “Sorry about that.”
“No sweat, Tripp,” The guy says smiling and tilting his head back so that Pete can see movie-star white teeth and a long straight nose. He brushes imaginary lint off Pete’s shoulders. “Accident.”
“No,” Pete says, jerking back and shaking his head so fast it makes him a little dizzy. “Fuck you, no. No!”
Clarence sighs and rolls his eyes. He’s in flannel and jeans and looks perfectly at home here. “I missed you too.”
“You stay the fuck away from me,” Pete says, wondering if crosses will work on whatever the fuck Clarence is like it’s supposed to on vampires. And then he remembers he doesn’t have one on him anyway.
“I’m hurt,” Clarence presses a hand to his chest, affronted. “Really. What happened ‘I want my fucking life back’? My god, you are so fickle.”
“I’m happy here. I’m not going back, understand? I’m not.”
“I love how you think you have any fucking say in the matter.” He’s laughing at Pete with his eyes and his smug fucking face. “It’s cute.”
“You can’t do this,” Pete whispers because Patrick is the next row over and he doesn’t want to explain again. He can’t. “You can’t come in and out of innocent people’s lives fucking things up. It’s not fair goddamnit. It’s not right.”
“Tripp,” Clarence says, his voice steel and softness all at once. “Relax.”
“You fucking relax. This is my life. There’s Bronx and Mikey and I can’t just leave them. I can’t go now. I’m so close to fixing things for them.” He grabs at the flannel shirt Clarence is wearing. “I can’t. Please.”
“Look at that. Emotional investment,” Clarence observes, sounding slightly charmed. “Superstar, this was a glimpse. A glimpse is by its very definition temporary.” He rubs Pete’s shoulder gently. “This is not your life, Pete. It never was. You can’t have what’s not yours.”
None of that matters. None of it has any fucking weight and Pete has to fight not to drop to his fucking knees and beg.
“Hey,” Clarence lets go and steps back, still smiling that People Magazine cover-boy smile. “It’ll be fine.”
“Please.” Pete says again, his eyes dropping to the dirty linoleum because he is begging now. And he can’t look at Clarence’s too-pretty face to do it. “Please don’t.”
There’s no answer and when he looks up, Clarence is gone. There’s just Andy, standing in front of him with a handful of sunflower seeds and an Arizona tea.
“Hey, man, are you crying?” Andy asks, a little stunned.
“Allergies.” Pete lies and shoves past him, Mountain Dew forgotten.
He curls up on his bunk for hours texting nonsense at Mikey, most of which doesn’t get answered until Patrick pulls open the curtain. “You’re scaring Andy.”
“I’m fine.”
“Bullshit.”
“Patrick-” Pete begins but what the fuck can you say? What the hell is appropriate for this?
“Yes?”
He decides to go for what he knows because this Patrick deserves to be as happy as his Patrick. Shoving him in that direction is all he can think to leave for his best friend. “You’re going to hang on to her right? Rihanna? Because she’s so good for you, man. She really is.”
“I… Pete, it’s kind of new and totally not relevant.”
“You should. She’s amazing.”
“You met her once.”
“I just know.” He gives Patrick a reassuring grin. At least that’s what it’s supposed to be. “I love you, man, you know that? I can’t remember if I’ve told you lately but I do. So fucking much.”
Patrick has his worried face on now. Full force. “Are you okay?“
“I’m just tired.” Patrick doesn’t look convinced but Pete stares back until he leaves him alone. He tugs the curtain closed when Patrick walks back to the lounge and coils around his phone again. He texts thank u to Gerard and as he gets more and more sleepy, he tries calling Mikey one last time. He answers on the fourth ring.
“I didn’t think you’d pick up.”
“I didn’t know if I would either.”
“I just…” Pete rolls onto his back and stares up at the low ceiling of his bunk. There’s a picture of Mikey with Bronx in his arms taped there. “Do you remember when we talked about that Twilight Zone universe?”
“The one you actually come from?” Mikey asks, no small hint of bitterness coloring his tone.
“Yeah.”
“Yes.”
Pete drapes his hand over his eyes, a pale imitation of Mikey’s. “Do you think the you there still loves me?” There’s a long silence on the line. It’s long enough that he clears his throat and asks “Mikey?”
“I’m here. I’m just thinking.”
“Oh. Okay.”
There’s more silence and then Mikey sighs. “Probably. I don’t know if I could’ve gotten over you. Him. Fuck, Pete. What the fuck do I know?”
“I never got over you. Not really.”
“You didn’t?”
“No.” Pete says, his voice ragged. A tear pushes past his closed eyelids and wets his palm. “I didn’t. I wrote you a whole fucking album, Mikey. I don’t think I ever get to stop loving you.”
“Pete.” Mikey’s voice is strained and thin.
“Stay? Will you just…will you stay on the line? Please, you don’t have to say anything, just stay okay? Until I fall asleep.” He wipes at his eyes and blinks back up at the ceiling and the picture taped there. That’s worse than before.
“Okay.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s no big.”
“It is. I love you and it is.”
“Close your eyes, Pete.”
Pete can’t tear his gaze away from the picture above him and wonders how he’s supposed to live without that. “They’re closed.”
“No they’re not. Close them.”
Pete chuckles a little and shuts his eyes. “They’re closed now.”
“Good. You’re safe, Pete. You can rest now,” Mikey says and then he gets on with whatever he’s doing back in Jersey.
The phone catches rustling background noises and Pete listens to Mikey breathe as he drifts off. He dreams of shoveling snow off a driveway and the sound of Bronx’s giggles and the taste of Mikey’s skin.
~*~*~
Part 6
Gerard’s pissed at him for causing this mess when he comes to get Bronx. He reminds Pete of a wet cat, put out and uncomfortable and angry but still kind of cute. But he’s a better guy than Pete is because as they watch Bronx pack his backpack with the most ridiculous things that he will never need four doors down Gerard pulls him into the doorway to warn him.
“Don’t be weirded out when shit gets intense okay? This is just how you guys work shit out. You send Bronx over to me and Frank so that you two can fight.”
Pete nods and smiles fondly as Bronx grabs out a pair of mismatched pajamas - tops with the X-men, bottoms with candy canes. “Whose idea was that?”
“I don’t know. The two of you tend to take it out of each other when you fight and it’s not something Bronx should have to see or hear. Last time you guys did this, you both picked him up the next morning looking like you’d gone ten rounds with a rabid wolverine on no sleep but,” he shrugs as they watch Bronx try to choose between his Séance action figure and the one of the Wolfman. “You got it out of your systems.”
“So this is good?”
“No, moron, it’s not. You’re missing like ten years of history you need and if you had been less of a selfish douche you wouldn’t need to work out anything else.”
“I forgot, all right?” Pete hisses back, wondering how he managed to do that when all he can think about now is Bronx and Mikey and this life that he’s getting more and more at home with. “I’m still getting used to caring this much.”
“I know. I know and that’s why I’m even speaking to you.” Gerard elbow checks him, hard, then adds under his breath, “Be fucking careful, okay? Because I love my family and I don’t need you breaking them.”
Pete folds his arms over his chest and frowns at Gerard. “I love them too.” He’s still getting used to that. It’s a little uncomfortable like a pair of new shoes but it’s like he’s the one being broken in.
“Well that’s something,” Gerard mutters before walking the rest of the way into the room. “You ready to go, little dude? Uncle Frank’s dying to see you. He’s got this new video game and he thinks he can beat you at it. It’s got zombies.”
Bronx’s eyes get big. “Fast zombies or slow zombies?”
“Both,” Gerard whispers, like it’s a secret.
“Are they bloody?”
“Very.”
“Should he be playing that?”
Gerard looks at him incredulously over his shoulder. Then he grins and hoists Bronx - bag and all - onto his hip. “Look at you, mirror Kirk, you’re becoming a real boy.”
“At least I’m Kirk in this scenario,” Pete calls after Gerard as he walks down the stairs. He runs after them and catches Gerard before he hits the front door and presses a kiss to Bronx’s cheek. “Have a good night, buddy. Don’t drive them too crazy. Love you.”
Bronx wrinkles his face and wipes at his cheek with his hand. “Ugh, Daddy, that’s gross. Slobber.” Gerard’s laughing hard enough that Pete can still hear him after the door’s closed behind them.
It’s awhile before Mikey gets back from Manhattan. When he does there’s another hour of strained quiet where Mikey looks at him like he’s a really difficult Sudoku square before Pete snaps. He’s never been patient and he completely lacks impulse control. The tension is making those two flaws act up like freaking shingles under stress.
“Fucking stop it, Mikey, Jesus. Just stop staring at me like that. You look like the kid from the fucking Shining.”
“That’s because you went Jack fucking Torrance on me and turned into another person. I’ve been trying to figure out how to talk to you about it without you taking the door down with an axe,” Mikey snaps back, looking hurt.
“I’ve been a little unstable lately, but I’m getting my shit together and I don’t know why you’re still upset,” Pete says, taking a few steps towards Mikey. “I’m not that different.”
Mikey pinches his nose above the bridge of his glasses. “The fact that you can’t see how wrong you are about that is such a fucking sign, you don’t even know.“
“Look, I’m fucking sorry about the tour okay? But the rest of the guys have already committed and I can’t not go.”
“Fuck the tour. It’s not about the fucking tour. I don’t care about the tour. What the fuck about that don’t you get?” Mikey hisses.
“I don’t know. If you don’t care about the tour then what?”
“I don’t want to fight with you. Okay? You’re trying, I can see that you’re trying so fuck it, I’m trying too. I don’t want to spend the time we have before you leave fighting with you.” He reaches out and slides his hands up Pete’s to his shoulders and wow, this was not what Pete was expecting from this fight at all. Gerard clearly left out some very important details about what the metaphorical wolverine actually got up to.
Pete looks down at his hand then up into his face. He’s so close that Pete would barely need to lean forward to kiss him. “I- But- You’re supposed to be pissed at me.”
“I am fucking pissed at you. You were selfish and fucking thoughtless but you’ve been off balance for awhile and I’m trying to be fucking patient all right?” His thumbs are rubbing circles that are making it hard for Pete to think. “Maybe touring’s what you need. But I need you to be here, like mentally here, until you leave.”
Pete swallows hard and takes Mikey’s thin wrists and lifts them off of him. “I’m here. I just don’t know that we should do this with all this shit between us.”The skin where the long sleeved shirt Mikey’s wearing has pulled back is smooth and warm and he has to fight to focus on what he’s trying to do, which would be the right thing. Probably.
“We fuck angry all the time,” Mikey says, stunned. “That’s how we deal with the goddamn angry.”
“I just don’t think it'd be a good idea this time.”
Mikey jerks his hands back. “Let go of me.”
“Mikey, no.”
“Let me fucking go, Pete.” He yanks his arms in a way that looks painful. “Now.”
Pete tightens his hands on impulse for a brief second before releasing them. Mikey stumbles back a few inches and Pete stares at him, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. “Sorry. I just - sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”
“Of course you didn’t. That’s the first time you touched me with anything like intent in weeks, Pete!” Mikey explodes, charging back into Pete’s space and shoving him a little. “Weeks! I know we’ve got Bronx and everything but fuck. The last time you kissed me was goddamn New Years and I- I don’t fucking know what’s wrong with you. Are you cheating on me? Are you bored? Do you just not fucking care anymore? Just fucking tell me, you asshole, what?”
“I’m not thinking or doing any of that. Fuck, Mikey, don’t be stupid, of course I want you.” So much. For so fucking long that when Pete thinks about it makes him feel kind of sick over all the time lost. He’s always prided himself on being self-aware so it’s kind of amazing how deep down he pushed everything.
He reaches out and skates his fingers along the strong line of Mikey’s jaw down to his lips. Mikey’s mouth goes from a hard line to soft and inviting under his thumb and this is not fair.
None of this is fucking fair. It’s cruel to put Mikey in front of Pete like this, to give him everything he didn’t realize he still wanted more than pretty much anything and have it be someone else’s. Even if that someone is another version of himself. Pete isn’t going to be that guy. He wants to be a better person than that. He’s trying here to be a better person period.
“I don’t believe you,” Mikey says. He can feel Mikey’s lips moving.
“I do though. Fuck, Mikey, all these years and you’re still the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” Pete shakes his head. “How the hell did you manage that?”
Mikey’s hands grasp his waist and pulls their hips together. Mikey’s body isn’t as bony as he was when they were younger but he still fits to Pete’s smaller frame like they were made to click together. He feels so good that Pete is having a hard time keeping his thoughts strung together.
“Fuck me, then,” Mikey murmurs, nuzzling Pete’s ear. He’s kind of weak for that one. “I don’t want to keep missing you before you go.”
Oh, God, if Pete ever sees Clarence again, he’s going to kick his ass so fucking hard for doing this to him. Mikey’s breath is hot against his skin. He gropes for anything he can think of to say. “This is why Frank and Gerard took Bronx isn’t it?” is not the best response to Mikey working his belt out of his jeans but it’s the best he can manage.
“It’s one reason,” Mikey agrees, pulling Pete’s belt free and dropping it to the floor. “One of the better ones actually.”
“I can’t, Mikey, fuck, I love you but I can’t.” It’s his last try. Really, it’s all he’s got left. Mikey’s kissing him before he can get out the last “can’t” and he’s powerless.
“Missed that too,” Mikey breathes into his mouth. The house is quiet aside from his muted voice and the sound of zippers coming down. “You haven’t told me you loved me since last year.”
That’s enough to wake Pete up to the fucking wrongness of this. But it’s not enough to make him stop or pull away or say no again. He’s becoming a better guy but he’s not that good.
Instead he lets Mikey press him backwards until they hit the old faded couch. They trip out of their pants on the way and Pete lands under Mikey on the cushion. Pete moans as Mikey’s long thin hands wrap around his cock, his mouth open and wet on Pete’s neck. Fisting his hand in Mikey’s hair and tugging back so that he can get at Mikey's mouth just seems like the thing to do.
They’re both gasping when Mikey lets go and pulls back long enough to yank his shirt off over his head. He grabs the hem of Pete’s shirt and tugs it up and alarm bells go off in his head loud and screaming. He pushes at Mikey’s hands. “Don’t.”
“Pete what-?”
“Just don’t all right?”
“I’ve seen all of you, Pete,” Mikey says, like he’s being ridiculous which he is. But there are things missing that Mikey’s going to notice and he might be greedy but he’s not suicidal. “I keep coming back because I like it.”
“Then leave it, okay? Just- leave it.”
“Did you get a tattoo and fuck it up without telling me or something?”
“No I just…I don’t want to.” Pete shrugs and gives him his best reserve smile. “Call it a new kink.”
Mikey stares at him for a long moment, clearly debating whether or not to push the issue. Pete holds his breath until Mikey shakes his head and says, “Fuck it.” And then he does, tugging Pete’s boxers the rest of the way down and climbing on top of him on the couch.
It’s high school, grinding together with sweaty hands and blind mouths. Pete comes first, guilty and blissed out pulling on Mikey’s hair so hard it has to hurt. He’s glad though because it gives him the presence of mind to watch and listen while Mikey fucks into Pete’s fist.
It’s new and familiar at the same time. He’s still quiet during orgasm and he still bites, in this case it’s the fingers of Pete’s free hand. It hurts but Pete’s too caught up in the way the past and present are colliding on top of him to care.
Afterwards, they collapse mostly naked on the couch and lie there tangled together under a throw in the narrow space. It reminds him of being crammed into a bunk on Warped. He just doesn’t realize he’s said so out loud until Mikey goes, “Yeah, but this is a little less coffin shaped.”
“You ever wonder,” Pete asks, completely unable to help himself. “About how things would be if we’d done things differently after Warped?”
Mikey shrugs against him. “Sometimes but not seriously. I mean, this is good, isn’t it?” He tips his head back a little so that Pete can meet his eyes. “I mean, I’m about as happy as anyone gets to be, Pete. Not lately, but you know, in general. I don’t want it to have gone differently.”
“Me either,” Pete says, wrapping his arms tighter around Mikey. “I know it doesn’t seem like it but I swear, Mikey, this is better than it could’ve been.”
Mikey rolls his eyes from beneath his askew glasses so hard that it looks like it’ll give him a headache. “Well, gee fucking wiz baby, I’m glad you think so.”
“So, hypothetically speaking, in a Twilight Zone episode or It’s a Wonderful Life remake or whatever, where we didn’t make it through that summer, do you think we’d still find our way back to each other?” Pete licks his lip against the sudden dryness in his mouth and tastes Mikey on them. It shouldn’t make him more nervous about the answer but it does.
“Fuck you, are you serious?” Mikey pokes him in the side where he’s a little sensitive and a lot ticklish and sighs. “You’re an idiot. I married a fucking idiot.”
Yeah, that’s not an answer and Pete kind of has to know. He needs the hope. “So that’s a yes?”
“When you talk like this I wonder,” Mikey mutters then he pushes up on an elbow and kisses Pete, slowly invading every busy thought crowding his mind. He pulls back long seconds later, a half smile on his lips. “You’ve always been it for me, Pete. I learned patience for you. You think I’d do that for just anyone?”
Pete’s throat burns a little and he squeezes the back of Mikey’s neck. “It just kind of blows my mind you know? It’s been all these years and I never stopped loving you.”
“I’d hope not,” Mikey says, that half smile turning into a full one that makes Pete feel lit from the inside.
“I’m trying to be worth this shit, Mikey. I’m getting there.”
“I know. And you know, the tour’ll probably be good for you, get that shit out on stage and come back saner. I’ll punish you for being a fucking douche about it when you get back.” Mikey traces the collar of Pete’s shirt with a finger, pushing the fabric down to brush briefly over his thorns. “Besides, I’ll totally expense trips out to visit you. You know how Bronx loves to fly.”
He doesn’t know. He wants to though. He wants to know everything and keep all of it. “Sounds like a plan.”
“You just keep your shit together until you guys leave, all right? We’ve got two weeks. Let it be good.” He flattens his hand against Pete’s chest over his heart and the skin where their matching tattoos should be. “Please.”
“As you wish.”
Mikey lets out of a burst of surprised laughter. “You did not just Farm Boy me.”
“Oh I totally did, Buttercup.”
“Jesus,” Mikey groans, pressing his hand to his face. “Do not call me that when I’m naked. It’s not sexy.”
Pete wiggles his eyebrows and maneuvers as best he can on the narrow space of the couch until he’s on top of Mikey. He pulls Mikey’s glasses off and tosses them onto the coffee table. “I bet I can make it sexy. Buttercup.”
Mikey blinks at him, getting used to the new perspective. Then he gives a doubtful snort. “Yeah. I’d love to see you try.”
That’s a challenge if Pete ever heard one. And he’s never been able to resist, not a challenge and certainly not Mikey. He dips his mouth to take Mikey’s, and face both head on.
They make it to the bed sometime after that. Mikey has him grabbing at the sheets like they’ll anchor him to Earth. Mikey pulls the back of his shirt like it’s a handle, choking Pete in the best way as Mikey fucks him and they collapse in a disgusting heap sometime after Comedy Central turns into infomercials.
Frank looks positively smug when he drops Bronx off the next afternoon. He rocks back and forth on his heels, wiggling his eyebrows at the bite marks and bruises in the shape of fingers that paint both of their skins. “You kids have fun?”
“Bite me, Frankie,” Mikey shoots back with a flat expression. He ruffles Bronx’s hair absently as he passes into the kitchen.
“Looks like Peter took care of that for me.” He giggles a little. “You sure you don’t want me and Gee to take him for another night? Covert shower blowjobs were kinda fun. I’m pretty sure it’s the sneaking,” Frank adds, mostly to Pete. “We never really had to sneak.”
“Thanks for that, Frank,” Pete replies, trying not to laugh. It’s an uphill battle but he’s willing. Mostly. Okay he’s totally grinning back. “It’s not like little ears can hear you or anything.”
“You two got so lame.” Frank sighs. “It’s sad it really is. What little cool you had to begin with got leached right out of you.”
“You wanna stay for dinner?” Mikey calls from the kitchen. He’s already moved on from the conversation.
“Pasta?”
“Yeah. I saved some of the sauce without meat in it from last time if you want.”
“Hells yes.” He’s already fishing his phone out of his pocket. “There’s room for Gerard right?”
Mikey makes a rude noise from the kitchen which Bronx parrots. Pete grins at Frank who smiles back and shrugs. It’s a weird moment of understanding as if to say “Ways, they’re crazy but you gotta love them.” And he does. Jesus Christ he really does.
~*~*~
Pete wakes up to Mikey kissing the back of his neck that way he fucking loves, mostly soft lips with just a little bit of teeth. He sighs a little and leans back into it, glancing at the clock. The alarm’s going to go off in about thirty seconds.
“We don’t have time,” Pete murmurs, reaching back to rub the back of Mikey’s neck. “And it’s my day.”
“I’ll call him in sick,” Mikey murmurs. His hand slides up the back of Pete’s t-shirt tracing the bad ink on his back. “You’ve only got a few days left.” He bites at a fading bruise. “We should play hooky.”
“I thought you were the responsible one.”
“Dude, who told you that lie?”
Pete rolls over to face Mikey. He shouldn’t be able to look this good this early with the blanket around his waist and his hair sticking up in fifty different directions from the way he slept. Pete’s gotten used to this way too fast and he’s starting to dread the tour as much as he’s looking forward to it. This is too good to leave.
“His teacher already kind of hates us.”
“She doesn’t understand our progressive lifestyle.”
“Patrick, Joe and Andy are coming over to practice,” Pete sighs. “They’re going to be here before I even get done dropping Bronx off at school. I’ve already pushed this back twice.”
Mikey flops back in defeat. He groans and throws an arm over his face. “Fine. Go. But we’re rain checking this. I demand a fucking rain check.”
“Sir yes sir.”
Mikey kicks at him under the covers. “Get out of here before I change my mind.”
“Get up, Superman. Time to go save the world,” Pete calls, wondering at how Bronx has managed to turn himself upside-down in his sleep without waking himself up. He nearly falls off when he comes awake and Pete barely manages to catch him. “Easy there. You can’t fly yet.”
“Daddy?” Bronx blinks up at him a little confused. “It’s morning.”
“For the next few hours.”
“And I have to go to school?” Bronx sighs. Pete’s finally figured out that the kid loves school but hates getting up. Pete can relate. Early mornings were always the worst part. Well, that and the shallow, vapid idiots around him. The actual learning was pretty awesome.
“Yeah but we’re running late so we’re gonna just grab an Egg McMuffin on the way. Chop chop.”
Bronx mutters to himself about stupid school and stupid face teachers making them get up early as he gets dressed a little slower than he probably would if Mikey were the one watching. Pete misses California a little as he helps Bronx pull on a second sweater and ties his shoes. The weather anyway. He misses the weather but as Bronx jumps into clumps of snow on his way out to the minivan, he’s pretty convinced that snow’s got its perks.
There’s coffee when he gets back from the school. There’s also Joe, Andy and Patrick clustered in his basement. Andy’s drumming absently on his leg with his sticks while Joe tries to get the tentative set-list for the first few shows printed out on the computer.
“I don’t know why you’re bothering with that,” Pete says with a wave at the desktop. “It’s not like we’ve got it finalized.”
“It’s easier for me to fight with you when I have it in front of me,” Joe says, distractedly. He finally finds the print button and the list of songs that spits out of the printer across the room is only half recognizable to Pete.
“This one,” Pete says, tapping on the third down. “Are we really set on this one? Because the bass line’s been tripping me up for like a week.”
Patrick gives him the old familiar “Where did that second head growing out of your neck come from?” look that Pete’s gotten used to over the past few weeks. “You’re kidding right? That’s one of your favorites.”
It’s off New London Hearts which means that his grip is shaky at very best and there’s history he still doesn’t know because the journals only gave so much. He’d rather dig up tracks from Take This to Your Grave that he hasn’t played live since he was twenty-five than risk fucking up songs off that album in particular. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” He taps on one seven down. “This too.”
“Which one?” Andy asks. “I can’t see.”
“Uh,” Pete looks down at the paper. “I’m a Car Wreck Under Halogen Glare. It’s not one of the singles.”
Andy frowns over the top of his glasses. He looks confused but then Andy and Joe haven’t been around for the worst of the crazy Pete’s been putting everyone through this time. “Dude, we put that one on there so you wouldn’t have to fight for it.”
“I’m just not sure it fits there.”
“I’m gonna tell Mikey you wanna axe his song,” Andy rubs the back of his neck with one of his sticks and starts up the stairs. “He deserves to know.”
“Andy hey, don’t-”
Pete is out of shape because Andy’s got the door closed before Pete gets to the bottom of the stairs. It’s a joke, typical shit. But it makes Pete feel sick when Andy sticks his head back in and goes “Your spouse wants to know why you don’t love him anymore.”
“I hate you so much.”
“Car Wreck stays,” Andy declares. “I like it. Car Wreck’s got one of the best drum parts we’ve ever written and you’ll break Mikey’s heart otherwise.”
“Car Wreck stays?” Joe asks. Pete sighs and nods and Joe makes a star next to it.
Joe with lists is weird but it goes faster from there. The rest of the band meeting has more music actually being played and there’s an epic fight about whether the Wicked Brew single should go first or last (he says last because you have to keep people waiting, anticipation’s half the fun). It resurfaces in between each song they rehearse and only stops when Mikey opens the door at the top of the stairs.
“You guys missed lunch. How are you not dead?”
“I eat music,” Patrick replies evenly.
There’s a brief pause before Mikey decides that’s insufficient. “Yeah so does Gee. I’m gonna throw you guys down some PopTarts or something.”
“I love you!” Joe calls up the stairs.
“Me too.” Pete adds, because he can. He can’t argue that everybody’s a little bit less crabby after they eat, even if it is food that reminds Pete of the desperate days in the van or practicing in his parents' garage.
Of course rehearsals back then usually ended with Patrick’s mother calling and demanding that they bring him home because it was also a school night. Mikey opening the door at the top of the stairs and saying “Frank’s stealing our son. Come say bye and then kick out the band so I can get my rain check. They’ll get you when you leave.” is a lot better reason to stop than fucking school. At least he thinks so. He’s always found sex to be its own higher education.
It takes longer than Pete’s expecting to get the band out and he kind of forgets where he’s supposed to be. He’s still struggling with the songs off that phantom album and his fingers fumble on the bass. It’s frustrating and he frowns down at the strings so intently he doesn’t notice Mikey standing over him until he speaks.
“Is that I’m a Car Wreck?”
“It’s supposed to be.”
“Yeah but what the fuck are you doing to it?”
Pete shrugs and frowns down at the bass in his hands. “It’s giving me trouble. I don’t know. I can’t get the bridge right.”
“We wrote the bridge together. You usually leave it to do with Patrick but this one we did together. Pete.” Mikey grabs the piece of paper with the tabs resting on Pete’s knee and folds it closed. “Tell me what the chord progression is.”
Pete’s fucked. Really truly fucked. “I, uh, I can’t.”
“You can’t. You’ve been playing this song for years and you can’t.” Mikey stares at him for a long moment, arms crossed over his chest, the folded tabs for I’m a Car Wreck resting against his chin. “Take off your shirt.”
“What? No.”
“Take off your fucking shirt, Pete or I will rip it the fuck off you.”
Pete sighs and sets the bass on the floor. He gets to his feet carefully and kisses Mikey, with the fight that’s going to ensue, this might be the last chance he gets for a long time. Mikey leans into it, pressing his fingers into Pete’s face. But his eyes are still hard when they break apart and Pete feels sick as he tugs his shirt off over his head.
Mikey doesn’t say anything for the longest time. He’s staring at Pete’s chest, hand over his mouth. He stands like that for what feels like hours but is probably just a few seconds before he can figure out what to say.
“I… Where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
“Where’s what? Fuck you. Is that what you’ve been doing? Getting it fucking removed?” His fingertips drag across the smooth skin over Pete’s heart. “It was there Christmas Eve,” Mikey says, mostly to himself, like he’s trying to make sense of this and the gaps and the behavior and all of it. “It should still sort of be there. It takes months. There should be something there so where the fuck did it go?”
Pete swallows hard because this is so much harder than it was in the beginning, with Gerard. This is crazy and bizarre and it matters. “It was never there.”
“Yes it was.”
“No, Mikey, it wasn’t. Not on me.”
“Yes it was. We were in the Netherlands and we’d been married like two weeks and you-“
“That wasn’t me. I was on tour in the US when that happened. I was single and I was fucking bleeding missing you but I wasn’t there.” He catches Mikey by his upper arms. “That was a different me. There’s a me who wasn’t fucking stupid, who held on to you and made this life with you, but that isn’t who I am. I’ve never been him.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“No,” Pete agrees. But he’s laughing anyway. It’s still too crazy. “It’s so fucking not.”
“So what?”Mikey asks, moving carefully away from Pete. Like Pete’s not going to notice the space he’s putting between them. “You think you’re a goddamn alien doppelganger or something? Is that what I’m supposed to believe?”
“No. I’m not an alien or anything. I’m Pete Wentz. Just Wentz. No Way. And I’m…” Pete looks at the floor because he can’t deal with the look on Mikey’s face, shock and disbelief and fear all coated in a thick layer of deep aching hurt. “I don’t know, Mikey. I went to bed Christmas Eve alone in my living room in L.A. and I woke up in bed with you.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that. I’m supposed to believe that apropos of fucking nothing you traveled from an alternate fucking universe to this one?”
“Yeah. Cause it’s the fucking truth.” It’s cold down in the basement and Pete rubs his arms for a moment before he holds them out.
“The one you got when Bronx was born is gone too.” Mikey says and that’s news to Pete although it’s not surprising. He watches Mikey’s shoulders sag a little as if under some heavy weight because they both know that even if Pete were really truly trying to up and leave, he’d never try to get rid of any part of Bronx. “You don’t even have a scar.”
“That’s because it was never there. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.“
“Tell me what we did on our second anniversary?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you know where you wrote Car Wreck?”
“No.”
“Our first kiss,” Mikey sounds more than a little desperate and Pete aches for him. “Do you remember our first kiss?”
“Yeah. We’d been on Warped all of a week and I stole some comic book from Gerard. He sent you to come get it back and when you reached for it, I kissed you.” Pete gives what he hopes is a warm smile. It feels twisted on his lips though. “I was there for that. I don’t think things changed until after that summer. Pretty much everything after August of ’05 happened different for me.”
“Pete,” Mikey says, pleading. He’s begging for him to be kidding, for this to be a joke. Pete bets that he’d be happier if this was a real psychotic break. But he knows it’s not and that has to be worse.
“I don’t know how I got here. There was this guy on Christmas Eve and I tried to help him but he, I don’t know, he said I needed to learn something so here I am. I don’t have an explanation beyond that. But Mikey, it doesn’t matter because I love you okay?” He takes a step forward and Mikey flinches so he stops. “I love you and I love Bronx. I know I’m not the guy I’m supposed to be here. We made different choices, me and him, but I’m still Pete. I’m still me.”
Pete can see the moment that Mikey switches from fear and confusion to belief and utter heartbreak. It’s like everything in him drops and his eyes get fucking shadowed. He wraps his arms tight around himself like he did during every awful fight and word Pete’s thrown at him and he shakes his head. “No you’re not.”
“Mikey-“
“No.” Mikey hisses through clenched teeth. “Don’t you come fucking near me.”
He drags in an audible breath through his nose, processing in his way before he speaks again and Pete waits. He owes him that much. More, but this he can give.
“If you’re here where the fuck is my Pete?” Mikey looks up at the ceiling, blinking away tears. When he looks back at Pete his eyes are bright in the low light and his jaw is clenched tight.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? You don’t fucking know? This is my partner, my fucking life. You know. You know how much I -“ His voice breaks sharply and Pete watches Mikey squeeze his eyes shut.
“I think he’s in my life. I mean, he should be right?” Pete asks, hoping for comforting. “My life’s not great but he’s not in any danger, I don’t think. Most of my documented stalkers are pretty harmless.” He grins but the lines around Mikey’s mouth deepen if anything.
“He’s trapped there,” Mikey says. “And…you don’t know when- if he’s coming back?”
“No,” Pete says. “But Mikey, I mean, he’s me and we love you. I know it doesn’t seem like enough but it’s like…the universal Pete default is to love you. I’m trapped here too but I found you and maybe he’ll find my version of you. Because you’re it for me too. You are.”
Mikey’s head is shaking and he’s started to pace. He looks terrified and small despite his height and Pete wishes he could hold him. “I knew you were wrong. God, I fucking knew it and I didn’t do anything.”
“What would you have done?”
“I don’t know! Anything but this. Jesus Christ,” Mikey moans, rubbing his face with his hands. “I left you alone with my child.”
“No,” Pete bursts out. “Okay? No. I would never hurt Bronx. I love that kid so much it fucking hurts, all right? So worry about everything else, but don’t ever worry about Bronx.”
Mikey says nothing to that. He just pushes his glasses onto his forehead and presses his hands over his eyes. He doesn’t say anything or make a sound beyond his raspy, choked breathing.
“It’s not your fault,” Pete says, finally remembering to pick up his shirt and put it back on. It’s cold but also, maybe if Mikey doesn’t have to look at the evidence it’ll be easier for him when he can look at him again. “I worked really hard to be right and I only told Gerard because, you know, he’s Gerard. And he kind of cornered me my first day.”
“Gerard knew about this?”
“I…Yeah.”
“Since fucking Christmas,” Mikey swore. “He fucking knew and he let me- you both- I’m married, okay? I’m married to Pete and yet I’ve been fucking you for the last two weeks and do you not see how fucking wrong this is?”
“I’m Pete.”
“You’re not my Pete.” Mikey sounds strangled. “Goddamnit I’m a cheater. You made me a fucking cheater. And he’s… he’s been gone for weeks.” He actually doubles over like he’s been hit. “Fuck, oh fuck.”
“He’s me. He’ll forgive you. Hey.” He reaches out to Mikey who flinches away from him.
“Don’t touch me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t fucking touch me.” Mikey rubs at his face, because he’s crying now and God. Pete really is the worst person fucking ever. “Don’t. Don’t. Just don’t.”
“I’m going to go to Gee’s,” Pete says softly. “I’m sorry, Mikey, I really am.”
“No,” Mikey says, taking a deep breath and righting himself. “You stay here. You don’t get my brother and my fucking band too. Bad enough you broke into my life.”
“This wasn’t my choice. But if I could’ve, I would’ve chosen this life with you.”
Mikey doesn’t answer. He just slams up the stairs and out of the basement. Pete follows him and catches the back of him yanking the front door shut so hard that the window in the wall shakes a little.
Two hours later Gerard shows up on the porch looking rough as fuck. “You weren’t supposed to tell.” He sighs, flopping onto the couch.
“I wasn’t supposed to be here period. That’s kind of the problem.”
Gerard nods. “Frank and Bronx have set up shop in a fort in the living room. Mikey locked himself in my guest bedroom. He told me to tell you, on top of fucking yourself, that you’re not to talk to him again unless he talks to you first.”
“This fucking sucks.”
“It’s fair though. Except for the part where helping you got me kicked out of my own fucking house.”
“Sorry.”
“You’re the sorriest fucker on planet Earth, Pete.” Gerard sighs, his feet hanging off the arm of the couch. “I don’t see that changing any time soon.”
Gerard turns out to be right. They orbit each other for Bronx’s sake in tense silence and Pete sleeps on the couch because that at least feels almost normal. He’s loading his shit onto the bus parked in the driveway before Mikey speaks to him again.
“What if he doesn’t come back?” Mikey says, his scarf half hiding his mouth. His bare hands are buried in the pockets of his coat as he watches a tech gently try to place two of Pete’s basses. “You go and you tour and then what?”
“I don’t know,” Pete admits. He’s been thinking about it pretty much nonstop since Mikey found out. It’s starting to feel more likely the worse things get. What he’s come up with doesn’t seem sufficient. “I just love you, I guess. And you decide if that’s enough for you if I’m not quite right.”
“But you were there in Florida and at Warped?”
“Yeah, in ’04 and ’05. I was at the VMAs too although we weren’t together for that so...” He shrugs and lets the implication of difference hang in the air. “There’s other places in between before things broke I think. I’m not quite sure of the specifics but I just missed a lot of the stuff that came after.”
Mikey’s glasses are a little foggy around the edges from the winter cold and his body heat warring with each other. But behind them he looks so sad and contemplative and fucking fathomless that Pete has to fight to keep his hands to himself.
“It’s not the same.”
“No. It wouldn’t be.”
“Jesus, Pete, I don’t know here. I don’t fucking know.” Mikey sounds fucking wounded, his breath curling around him in the freezing air.
Pete’s natural impulse is to hug but he knows that it’ll make him pull away that much faster. “You decide and let me know okay?” he says instead of reaching out physically. He gives Mikey a wide smile and holds up his cell phone, his fingertips uncovered by the gloves he stole from Frank. “I’m on the other end if you decide you want me to come back.”
“You have to. It’s not fair to Bronx if you just disappear.”
Or to you, Pete thinks but he just nods. “Then I’ll come back.”
“And I’ll, fuck, I’ll call you I guess. Just…” He rubs his head. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”
“It’s okay,” Pete says because really, he does understand. It’s been what feels like ages for him to adjust but this is all sharp and jagged for Mikey. He remembers the fear and the loss and the unsteadiness that still hasn’t gone away. “I’m going to go say good-bye to Bronx. And, you know, if I don’t see you before I leave.” He stops and manages to give Mikey a wide smile, a real one this time. “I’m sorry it hurt you, Mikeyway, but I’m not sorry I found you again.”
“Fuck you so much,” Mikey chokes out. “You’re the biggest asshole I have ever met.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s universal too. And I think you had to have known that when you married the other me.”
Mikey laughs, broken and ragged, but it's laughter none the less. And he wraps his arms around Pete’s neck and hugs him tight and silent. Pete hugs him back and wonders if Mikey is hugging him or if he’s pretending that he is Mikey’s Pete.
Bronx is easier. He practically leaps into Pete’s arms and Pete clings right back. “I’ll be back before you can miss me,” Pete promises, pressing a kiss to Bronx’s temple.
“But I miss you already.” Bronx argues, obstinate and on the verge of tears. Fuck, so is Pete so he doesn’t really care that Bronx is choking the air out of him.
“Me too. I love you so much, buddy.” He kisses Bronx on the cheek. This time Bronx is too busy failing at not crying to complain about slobber.
Pete pretty much runs onto the bus after that because he may occasionally wear eyeliner even though thirty-four is way too fucking old and write emo songs and shit but he’s not going to cry in front of a little boy. He’s just not. Even after everything there are some lows he won’t stoop to. And Patrick’s a bit of a wreck too, texting with Rihanna before they even pull onto the Jersey Turnpike and that comforts him a little in a vindictive sort of way.
The first show is in San Diego - so that the label can get them in on the talk show and late night cycle in L.A. before the still building buzz from Wicked Brew can burn out, Brian tells them - and it’s supposed to be two full days of driving. Pete texts Mikey every time they cross into a new state and he gets a response to his text of im wallowing in missouri.
u make me come Mikey texts and follows it seconds later with pletely missourable 2. Pete laughs and exhales for what feels like the first time since everything came out. He smiles a little as Missouri rolls by mostly flat outside his window.
They pull into a truck stop in north Texas in the oh-dark-hundred hours of the second day. Everyone needs to eat and restock on junk food and other essentials and Pete goes in search of Skittles and Mountain Dew. He bumps into a guy with a blue trucker hat Patrick would envy pulled low over his face on his way to the wall of coolers and nearly topples them both over. He reaches out and manages to catch the guy and steady them both. “Sorry about that.”
“No sweat, Tripp,” The guy says smiling and tilting his head back so that Pete can see movie-star white teeth and a long straight nose. He brushes imaginary lint off Pete’s shoulders. “Accident.”
“No,” Pete says, jerking back and shaking his head so fast it makes him a little dizzy. “Fuck you, no. No!”
Clarence sighs and rolls his eyes. He’s in flannel and jeans and looks perfectly at home here. “I missed you too.”
“You stay the fuck away from me,” Pete says, wondering if crosses will work on whatever the fuck Clarence is like it’s supposed to on vampires. And then he remembers he doesn’t have one on him anyway.
“I’m hurt,” Clarence presses a hand to his chest, affronted. “Really. What happened ‘I want my fucking life back’? My god, you are so fickle.”
“I’m happy here. I’m not going back, understand? I’m not.”
“I love how you think you have any fucking say in the matter.” He’s laughing at Pete with his eyes and his smug fucking face. “It’s cute.”
“You can’t do this,” Pete whispers because Patrick is the next row over and he doesn’t want to explain again. He can’t. “You can’t come in and out of innocent people’s lives fucking things up. It’s not fair goddamnit. It’s not right.”
“Tripp,” Clarence says, his voice steel and softness all at once. “Relax.”
“You fucking relax. This is my life. There’s Bronx and Mikey and I can’t just leave them. I can’t go now. I’m so close to fixing things for them.” He grabs at the flannel shirt Clarence is wearing. “I can’t. Please.”
“Look at that. Emotional investment,” Clarence observes, sounding slightly charmed. “Superstar, this was a glimpse. A glimpse is by its very definition temporary.” He rubs Pete’s shoulder gently. “This is not your life, Pete. It never was. You can’t have what’s not yours.”
None of that matters. None of it has any fucking weight and Pete has to fight not to drop to his fucking knees and beg.
“Hey,” Clarence lets go and steps back, still smiling that People Magazine cover-boy smile. “It’ll be fine.”
“Please.” Pete says again, his eyes dropping to the dirty linoleum because he is begging now. And he can’t look at Clarence’s too-pretty face to do it. “Please don’t.”
There’s no answer and when he looks up, Clarence is gone. There’s just Andy, standing in front of him with a handful of sunflower seeds and an Arizona tea.
“Hey, man, are you crying?” Andy asks, a little stunned.
“Allergies.” Pete lies and shoves past him, Mountain Dew forgotten.
He curls up on his bunk for hours texting nonsense at Mikey, most of which doesn’t get answered until Patrick pulls open the curtain. “You’re scaring Andy.”
“I’m fine.”
“Bullshit.”
“Patrick-” Pete begins but what the fuck can you say? What the hell is appropriate for this?
“Yes?”
He decides to go for what he knows because this Patrick deserves to be as happy as his Patrick. Shoving him in that direction is all he can think to leave for his best friend. “You’re going to hang on to her right? Rihanna? Because she’s so good for you, man. She really is.”
“I… Pete, it’s kind of new and totally not relevant.”
“You should. She’s amazing.”
“You met her once.”
“I just know.” He gives Patrick a reassuring grin. At least that’s what it’s supposed to be. “I love you, man, you know that? I can’t remember if I’ve told you lately but I do. So fucking much.”
Patrick has his worried face on now. Full force. “Are you okay?“
“I’m just tired.” Patrick doesn’t look convinced but Pete stares back until he leaves him alone. He tugs the curtain closed when Patrick walks back to the lounge and coils around his phone again. He texts thank u to Gerard and as he gets more and more sleepy, he tries calling Mikey one last time. He answers on the fourth ring.
“I didn’t think you’d pick up.”
“I didn’t know if I would either.”
“I just…” Pete rolls onto his back and stares up at the low ceiling of his bunk. There’s a picture of Mikey with Bronx in his arms taped there. “Do you remember when we talked about that Twilight Zone universe?”
“The one you actually come from?” Mikey asks, no small hint of bitterness coloring his tone.
“Yeah.”
“Yes.”
Pete drapes his hand over his eyes, a pale imitation of Mikey’s. “Do you think the you there still loves me?” There’s a long silence on the line. It’s long enough that he clears his throat and asks “Mikey?”
“I’m here. I’m just thinking.”
“Oh. Okay.”
There’s more silence and then Mikey sighs. “Probably. I don’t know if I could’ve gotten over you. Him. Fuck, Pete. What the fuck do I know?”
“I never got over you. Not really.”
“You didn’t?”
“No.” Pete says, his voice ragged. A tear pushes past his closed eyelids and wets his palm. “I didn’t. I wrote you a whole fucking album, Mikey. I don’t think I ever get to stop loving you.”
“Pete.” Mikey’s voice is strained and thin.
“Stay? Will you just…will you stay on the line? Please, you don’t have to say anything, just stay okay? Until I fall asleep.” He wipes at his eyes and blinks back up at the ceiling and the picture taped there. That’s worse than before.
“Okay.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s no big.”
“It is. I love you and it is.”
“Close your eyes, Pete.”
Pete can’t tear his gaze away from the picture above him and wonders how he’s supposed to live without that. “They’re closed.”
“No they’re not. Close them.”
Pete chuckles a little and shuts his eyes. “They’re closed now.”
“Good. You’re safe, Pete. You can rest now,” Mikey says and then he gets on with whatever he’s doing back in Jersey.
The phone catches rustling background noises and Pete listens to Mikey breathe as he drifts off. He dreams of shoveling snow off a driveway and the sound of Bronx’s giggles and the taste of Mikey’s skin.
~*~*~
Part 6