//PETES POV\\

It's dark. The only way I can see is the small window in the corner of the room. I stare down at my feet. I see solid cement covering them. I'm ankle deep in concrete. I can't move.

"Pete," a voice murmurs from the darkness. "Pete, go back." The voice is raspy. It sounds as if it hasn't been used in years. It sounds old, middle-aged at least. It's familiar.

"How? How do I go back? I can't move!" I begin to panic. I want to fall. I want to escape. I want to leave. "Where am I?!" Im struggling, trying to free my feet. I whimper, letting fresh tears drop from my eyes. "Who are you?!"

"Calm down Pete. It'll all come back to you. Think of something calming. Think of someone you love. Think about all the friends you have. What would they do if you left, Pete?" The voice echoes in my head. Or is it out here? What is going on?

"Patrick," I breathe. Then, I remember. I remember everything. "Patrick and Brendon. Where are they? Are they okay?" I ask. I feel my feet slowly push up against the concrete barrier. "I need to see them!" They pushed up even more. Each question I asked about my friends, my feet would push up just a little. "Patrick?" My voice wavers. "Patrick, Brendon?" One more question. One more.

"Are they dead?"

My feet push to the surface and I stand there. I stand there, waiting for some sign if my friends.

"Run."

So I do.
•
•
•
I gasp, pain envelopes my body, making it difficult to breathe. I stare at the scene in front of me. I'm in a beige room, beeping sounds on my left side, but I don't turn my head. I begin to wheeze, my abs restraining my ability to breathe.

"Ah, there he is." I glance over to see Gerard, his arm in a sling. He stares at me with a large grin. His eyes crinkle at the edges. "Have a nice nap, Sleepyhead?" He coos, making me bite my tongue.

"Wouldn't exactly call it nice," I huff, scanning my surroundings some more. "It was more confusing." I rest my head on the pillow beneath me. Staring at the ceiling, I start to think. I start to think about the question that's been haunting me. "Was this my fault?"

"Pete, stop right there," he grumbles, standing up. "This is not your fault. None of it was. Bryce was being an irrational ass and you were speaking your mind. We both know you weren't the thing to push him over the edge; even if he did blame you." Gerard nudges my shoulder reassuringly. "I promise."

"Patrick. Brendon. Are they alright?" I whimper, feeling a sinking feeling in my stomach. I pull the covers of the hospital bed up a little, past the bandages covering my abdomen. I don't want any reminders.

"Brendon is okay. He's kind of out of it, but he's awake. Patrick," he pauses, making my heart sink. "Patrick isn't the same story. They said he has a ruptured spleen and some sort of fancy spinal injury that I can't remember the name of." Gerard runs a hand through his hair, his leg bouncing uneasily. "He still isn't awake."

"Oh," is all I can manage out. My throat feels raw. My mouth feels dry. Spinal injury. That's is something I thought I'd heard the end of. Two words that I hate. Spinal injury.

"Now, let's talk about what he did." Gerard stands up, using his good arm to push on the armrest of the chair. He has a smirk spreading wide across his face. "Did you like it?"

"It caught me off guard, and I had a bullet in my stomach," I reply, shrugging. "But yeah. I kind of did." I gave him a smile, which he returned. Oh, my god. Patrick kissed me. And I enjoyed it.

"I ship it," Gerard laughs, sitting back down. He glances at his arm when he sits. "Bryce was an ass," He grumbles, glancing around. He glances back at me, giving me another smile.

"He didn't deserve to die. Not like that, anyway," I start, glancing at my bruised arms. "I mean, life in prison would have suited the bastard."

"This is getting depressing," I hear someone else say. I glance up-with Gerard-to the door of my hospital room. There, wincing at the slightest movement he makes, is a worn-out-looking, Brendon Urie. He walks in, trying to hide the contortions on his face every time he takes a step, failing miserably.

"Were you eavesdropping?" I laugh, grunting in pain, with every giggle. Eh. Brendon has an ashamed look on his face. "You were eavesdropping," I shrug.

"Slightly," Brendon giggles, grinning like a sheepish idiot. He wiggles his eyebrows at me and I roll my eyes. "I heard enough, though."

"Not a big deal," I mumble. I lean forward a little, not enough to make my stomach burn, but close. I let out a tiny whimper.

"Pete, for God's sake, stay still," Gerard huffs. he looks up from his phone, to me, to Brendon, back to his phone. "We're slightly famous now."

"What? How?" I ask, my palms beginning to sweat. Famous, I think. What the hall does famous have to do with any of this?

"Yeah, turns out it wasn't just Bryce who was shooting. He was just the one leading the attack. Three hundred people in our school, two hundred seventy-four dead." Gerard gives us a look that says, I guess we were lucky. But are we? I mean, yeah we're alive, but we're alive and in pain. "Out of those twenty-six, twelve were teachers. That narrows us down to fourteen students surviving, and according to this article, the people with the worst injuries are you and Patrick, Pete."

I look away, not wanting to be reminded of the poor kid. I just killed two hundred seventy-four people.

"Speaking of which, I'm going to check on the little devil. Sarah left, and I'm lonely. Pete, don't fuck yourself up more than you already have, okay?"

"I'll try no to," I laugh, wincing a little. "Update me on how he's doing, okay?" I ask, my lips curling into a grin.

"Sure thing, Wentz."

Sometimes I get the feeling
She's watching over me
And other times
I feel like I should go

And through it all
The rise and fall
Of the bodies in the streets
And when you're gone we want you all to know

We'll carry on
We'll carry on
And though you're dead and gone,
Believe me
Your memory will
Carry on.

--a/n--

I have to write a script for a friend lord help me he needs it by tomorrow.

They're gonna pester me about it today, too.

Ugh. I'm approaching school, writing this, and I have Athletics thing on the morning. I have a full stomach RN. Not good. Not good at all.

FML

P.S. ((Patrick Stump)) I GOT BELIEVERS NEVER DIE!!!! ((That made me happy))

I love you my Carcrashovercastyoungbloods

-Emily aka, foblvr.