//PETES POV\\

"Okay, Sweetheart," The nurse smiles as she checks my bandages. Her blonde, wavy hair stops just below her shoulders. She has a small smile on her face, sympathy. "You're free to move around here, but make sure you take it easy. Don't wanna bust those stitches, now. Do we?" She turns on her heel and hops out of the room, leaving just me, and my mom.

"I wanna see Patrick," I say, turning to her with pleading eyes. My heart flutters at the sound of his name. My mind races, and for the first time ever, I understand why he was so intriguing to me, why I couldn't get my mind off of the strawberry-blonde-haired shy kid, known as Patrick Stump.

I think I love him.

Mom smiles, pulling my wheelchair from beside her. "I know that look, Pete." She pushes it around the bed to where it is easy for me to access. "You like him," she laughs, assisting me into the black, leather chair that has basically become my second home.

"Mind reader," I mumble, grinning. I ease myself into the chair with slow, slightly embarrassing movements. It takes a moment for me to finally slide myself into a sitting position, and when I do, I'm wincing at the pain in my stomach. "I am not doing sit-ups for a year."

"You know what room Patrick is in?" Mom asks, trying to hold in a chuckle. There is amusement in her laugh, but pain in her eyes, making guilt wash over me. I give her a reassuring smile, hoping that it is enough to let her hold onto her sanity.

"416," I smile. I lean back, letting my arms sit in my lap as my mother pushes me out of the room. My body still aches. My mind will not sit still. I keep looking around, trying to see if anyone around here has a gun. I know it's stupid, but I never want to experience anything like that again. The pain of a bullet wound is like you getting a flu shot, times thirty-six. It hurts like hell, and there's nothing you can do, but let it take control of your entire body.

"Mom, am I a coward if I'm still terrified?" I ask, chewing on my tongue. I cringe at the pain in my stomach when I twist to look at her. My eyes betray my pain, making her give me a sympathetic smile as she ruffles my hair. She stares at me, making her eyes seem dark, and tired. That's the first time I notice her vulnerability. Her Brown hair has gray roots that, under any other circumstances, she would hide. Her eyes are driven deep into her skull, eyelids dark. Her face is pained, no matter how much she tries to hide it. And for the first time ever, I feel bad for her. I feel guilty.

"No, hon. I can't imagine being where you were," she starts, swallowing hard. "I can't imagine having the barrel of a gun pointed at me, threatening to damage me... or... or take my life. I can't imagine what you were feeling, or what was going through your mind, or how much pain you were in. It's okay to be vulnerable." I can hear the crack in her voice. Her cheeks are flushing red, wet with tears. "If I could have been there, I would've been. If I could have saved you, and your friends, I would have. If I could have switched places with you as Bryce pulled that trigger, I would've. In a heartbeat. But it was you. You, and Patrick, Brendon and Gerard. You guys were the ones wounded. You guys were the ones who made it through this. And if you ask me, that's one Hell of an accomplishment. You're a survivor, Pete. And I couldn't be prouder. It's okay to be scared, because you know you can overcome it like you can with anything else that life throws at you."

I stare at her, mesmerized by her words. My breath hitches, letting me take in only a gasp of air, before I break down. "It was my fault, Mom. He did this because I stood up to him. I thought I stopped him from hurting everyone, but I just made it worse." I let my head drop into my hands. Each sob hurts, but I couldn't care less. I killed people. It was all me. It's my fault.

"It isn't your fault, Pete. You know that. Your friends know that. I know that. He just said that to rattle you. I promise, none of this was you." She runs a soothing hand through my long, black hair, making me feel a little safer.

Ding

The elevator opens to the fourth floor, making me look up. I stare straight ahead of me as she pushes me to Patrick's room. My stomach churns as we near it. The numbers pass so quickly, that I can almost feel my head spin.

409

410

411

412

Why am I so terrified?

413

414

415

416

I take in a deep breath as mom knocks, signaling our arrival. She opens the door a crack, and I can barely see Brendon, talking to a woman, who I'm guessing is Patrick's mom. "Knock knock," Mom says, giving a warm smile. She pushes me in, her grip firm on my wheelchair.

For the first time, I notice. I notice how pale Patrick is. I notice how slow his heart rate is beeping on the monitor; how shallow his breaths are. I notice the slightest tint if purple to his soft lips; the lips that kissed me three days ago. That's when I begin to question my judgement. Is he going to survive? Is he going to be okay? Did I kill him, too?

"They released the Wentz?" Brendon jokes when he sees me, mocking surprise. He glances over at Patrick, and looks straight back at me, his eyes filled with sympathy.

"I'm allowed to roam the halls, not run around the streets," I say. "So technically, I am still imprisoned in a hospital."

"Sassy Wentz," Brendon shakes his finger. "Tsk, tsk. Bad boy." He stands. "I need to talk to you... alone. Let the parents mingle."

I nod, as he limps through the door. I maneuver my chair out of the slim door. I slide out into the hall, giving Brendon a worried glance. "What's up?"

"Remember when I said to stick with Patrick? Yeah, I wasn't kidding." His voice waves a little bit.

"What do you mean?" I'm worried now. My hands are trembling. "What happened?"

"There's... something up with Patrick that none of us can really understand. None of us, except you." Brendon runs a hand through his hair, breaking eye contact.

"What? What's wrong with Patrick? What happened? Why do I ha-" He cuts me off before I can finish.

"He can't walk! He can't walk, Pete!" Brendon almost screams at me. His eyes are filled with tears. He lets out a little sob. "You need to help him. You know about this shit. We don't."

I let my throat tighten. My eyes water a little. I nod. "I-I didn't want anyone to ever go through what I went through. But I will. I'll help him." I want to break down. I want to turn back time, but I can't.

"Thank you, Pete," he sighs, putting a hand on my shoulder. "He needs you... and from what I've seen, you need him, too."

I nod as the door opens. Patrick's mom perks her head out. "Guys, he's waking up."

I exchange a glance with Brendon, smiling a little. He grins, and pushes through the door again. I follow him, awaiting the sight of those hazel eyes. "Where's Pete?" I hear him say. His voice is just above a whisper. It sounds raw, unused. It tears my heart a little to hear the tint of pain in it.

"I'm right here, 'Trick," I smile, pushing myself toward him. "I'm right here." My voice cracks a little at the sight of him. His eyelids are heavy, and when he tries to smile, he can only force a grin.

He blows out a puff of air, making me smile a little. "You okay?" He asks, shifting a little. I place a hand on his arm to settle him, shaking my head.

"I should be asking that to you," I smile, pulling my arm away. "Are you?"

He catches my hand and shakes his head, not really caring that there are three other people in the room. He squeezes my hand and pulls it into his chest. "No," he looks down. "I thought he killed you. I thought he killed you both." He gestures to Brendon.

"It's over," I say. "We're alive. All of us."

"I know it's over... but I still feel like it's there. I still feel like I am going to lose my best friends; the ones I love." I could see the tears welling in his eyes as he tries to keep himself composed. He fails. He begins to sob, whimpering in pain. "I don't want to lose you guys. Anyone."

"Hey, Patrick, shhhh," I try to soothe him, wiping his tears. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise you that."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Pete." He sighs. He pulls on his hair a little.

"This is one that I intend to keep, Patrick. I promise you, that no one in this room, is leaving any time soon. Got that?"

"Yeah," He chokes, but I can tell he understands. He has to.

Don't panic
No, not yet
I know I'm the one
You want to forget

Cue all the love
To leave my heart
It's time for me
To fall apart

--a/n--

AAAAYYY A LONG CHAPTER!! It's 1,612 words so....

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