//BRENDONS POV\\

I trudge down the halls of the hospital, not bothering to look at anything. The feeling is eerie. I can sense the stares burning into the back of my brain as I limp down the quiet corridor. I can almost hear their thoughts. Was he one of them? Wasn't he shot? I really don't like this new label, 'One Of The Kids Who Got Shot.' Yeah, I was in the shooting. It was two days ago. The only thing that really was damaged, was my femur. And substantial blood loss. Other than that, I'm fine.

"416," I mutter, staring at my shaking hands as I approach the door. I don't know if I want to go in or not. I don't know if I want to see my best friend in pain. I don't know if I can handle it.

"Patrick," I breathe as he stares in horror at the bullet hole inflicted on Pete, not two seconds before. I'm dizzy now. The pool of blood under me, growing slowly. "Patrick," I try again.

"PETE!" Patrick pushes himself up, running to our friend. He catches Pete's bobbling head and settles to where Pete stares straight at him. At first, he chokes on his sobs, not able to get the words out. He stares at Pete, whispering something inaudible to me. Then, he kisses Pete. I smile a little, watching as Patrick's head slides into Pete's chest, gripping his shirt with his hands.

And then I notice.

Bryce.

He's raising the gun up, with a shaky hand. He points it at Patrick's back. before I can warn Patrick, he fires. He fires, and Patrick slides down to the floor. I want to scream, but I can't. My best friend, a heap on the floor, bleeding, wheezing.

"416," I repeat, staring at the stainless steel handle. "C'mon, Bren. You can to this. He needs you." I turn the handle, inhaling the scent of sanitizer. They must have cleaned the room recently.

I look up, finding my best friend in a hospital bed. He is paler than normal, and that's a lot, talking about my pasty friend. His mother is at his bedside, holding his hand, tears running down her cheeks, getting caught in some of the creases on her face. "Brendon," she sighed, tapping the chair next to her. I slowly shuffle to the chair, my limp obvious. I take a seat, not taking my eyes off of Patrick. "How are you?" She asks, her voice stacking slightly.

"I've been better," I say

"Understandable," She switches her ha e from her son to me. "Do you have any idea why this happened?" Her voice is desperate, like this has been nagging at her for days. It probably has been.

"No, not really. Bryce kept screaming at Pete, that it was his fault. His fault for standing up to him. His fault for stopping him from hospitalizing Patrick a day earlier. He said that no one has the right to defend themselves. Pete did. That's no reason to shoot innocent kids. Just out of aggravation?" It takes me until right about now to realize I am crying. Each year slips out even faster than the one before. "It isn't his fault. He feels like a murderer, and everyone is just so shocked my this. And if anything happens to Patrick I'm sure as hell Pete will hold himself accountable... and I-I..." I trail off, my sobs racking my body. The slight movements send burning pains throughout my body, making my hand fly to the bandage on my hip, instinctively. I cry out in pain, biting by lip as I press my hand against my hip.

"Brendon," she starts, gently pulling my hand away from the bandage. "Calm down, hon. It's okay. We're all going to get through this."

"I-I don't know..." I bite back another sob, squeaking, instead. "I feel dead inside. This entire thing just... Wrecked me. and I can't look at him without bawling my eyes out even more!"

I feel her arm wrap around me, pulling me into a reassuring hug. She squeezes a little, making me feel more comfortable. "Brendon, listen. Things may never be the same. Things may not be as happy as you had planned. You might end up with a nasty scar, but this is your life, and you choose how to live it. Trust me, Patrick will get along just fine in good time, and so will you."

"Time," I repeat, raising my hand up to bite my thumbnail. I stare at her. "But how long? How long do we have to wait to feel like our lives are back in order? What amount of time would take this away?"

"That's up to you to decide," she sighs, gripping Patrick's hand even tighter. "You survived, and that makes you stronger. You can do one of two options: You can mope around all day, and have people pity you, or you can stand tall, making sure everyone knows you lived. You survived this shooting, and you're proud."

I nod, sighing. "So, how's he doin'?" I gesture towards Patrick with a sad look on my face. He looks a little better than when I first walked in. Some of the color is flooding back into his face, and he doesn't look like he's in much pain.

"Not so good. Apparently, the bullet passed very close to his spine. The little piece of metal damaged the Sciatic Nerve. That's the nerve that connects the spinal cord to the legs, giving people the ability to walk."

"Wait, are you saying he's going to end up like Pete? He isn't gonna be able to walk again?" I ramble out, my voice is waving and cracking. Fresh tears cloud my eyes, seeing her begin to cry, too.

"They said..." she hiccuped. "They said that with physical therapy, that he'd be able to regain some mobility, but never enough to walk." She buried her face in her hands, pushing her hair up.

"No, no, no." I stand up, yelping at the pain in my side. "How is he going to take this?" I ask myself. "How is Pete going to take this? If I know Pete Wentz, the last thing he'd want is for someone close to him have to deal with the same thing he has. He'd freak. Patrick would freak."

"It's alright, Brendon. Everything will be okay, soon." She stands, pulling me into a hug. My shod shake her hands as she squeezes. "Look at me. Life sucks, especially with these circumstances, but it'll get better."

"Will it?"

"I promise."

But one question still lingered in my haunted mind.

How am I gonna tell Pete?

You are surrounding
All my surroundings
Sounding down the mountain range
Of my left side brain

You are surrounding
All my surroundings
Twisting the kaleidoscope
Behind both of my eyes.

And I'll be holding onto you.

--a/n--

My obsession with Josh Dun is out of hand.

IM OBSESSED WITH TØP IDEK I KNOW IVE SAID IT BEFORE BUT LIKE SRSLY.

HEY GUYS! BE MY FRIEND! Kik me: @//foblvr

I like to roleplay.

Ugh school is tomorrow so IMA listen to migraine and sleep.

Ok bye!

-Emily aka Foblvr