Mikey's body lay limp, and the slow, untrustworthy moving of his chest was no consolation in the fact that he most definitely was not going to be okay.
Cocaine.
And Pete, and his fears: everything that had perhaps condemned the boy to a fate he could never deserve, because he'd done nothing, absolutely nothing when compared to Pete and Alicia, at least.
Cocaine.
That could have very easily killed him in the end too, but it didn't quite get its chance, because the ignorance and selfish natures of the pair had been what had befallen Mikey to his fate, and they knew like they knew that they could never be sorry enough, that this was not a fate that poor Mikey Way deserved.
Cocaine.
Did get a grasp at a chance of his demise, though, because cocaine and Pete Wentz's paranoia was what had kept the dying boy from a hospital bed.
He didn't reckon it was a particularly spectacular way to die either, but Alicia didn't see it that way, but Alicia didn't have much else to say as she remained silent and watched as Pete took charge, and watched as Pete ruined a life that could never deserve the fate that had befallen it.
Because Alicia really had loved Mikey, and this was an odd kind of heartache, to say the least, because it was sort of her fault, but she wasn't even sort of guilty, and Pete was going to kill him like this, but Alicia just let it happen.
It wasn't like she hadn't let someone die before, and it wasn't like she wasn't prepared to let it happen again, even if this time it was her ex-boyfriend, or well, perhaps still just boyfriend, because as long as he kept breathing, even if just barely, she'd grant him that luxury.
This wasn't the way anyone should die: laid out on the backseat of a car as Pete Wentz stormed through about six red lights on his way across town, on his way home, because Pete was scared and Pete couldn't chance fate and Pete couldn't risk his own safety for the life of someone he was supposed to love.
And after Pete turned past the hospital without even a glance, Alicia knew she'd never be able to look at him in the same way again.
Not that it mattered, of course, because with Mikey dead, or at least he was close now - there was no hope of him surviving this; she was a realist, and even a slightly tipsy and hopeful Pete Wentz knew that too.
Perhaps the hospital wasn't even worth bothering with.
Alicia brushed the thought aside as she focused on the world outside and her way out of her, because with Mikey gone, there was very little tying her down to this place and to the crimes she'd committed, because Alicia had gotten away clean so far, and she just wasn't sure as to how long that kind of luck would last.
Mikey's luck, especially, had been minimal, and this all, this heart shattering car ride, and the stillness in the morning air could have been prevented if they only paid poor Mikey Way just a little more attention, but still, Alicia wasn't guilty, or at least, she didn't feel that way, only biting hard on her bottom lip as Pete finally turned the car into the alleyway.
Neither of them cared that this probably wasn't the best place to park, slamming car doors behind them within seconds, as the two struggled to support Mikey's body as they carried him inside, as they carried him to his deathbed, and they both knew that, but carried him with the same kind of care and caution regardless, because he deserved that, at the very least.
The sofa.
The same sofa that Mikey had found himself on once before, however that time with a lot more vomiting and a hell of a lot less dying, and Pete wished for the same again as he stood there frozen, Alicia dashing to lock the door behind them.
They remained in the world's most uncomfortable silence as Pete knelt by Mikey's side, continuing to press the makeshift kind of bandage against the gash in his head, perhaps they could subdue the bleeding, but with the shallow, infrequent breaths, they both knew it was too late, but still, Pete knelt there: one hand pressed against the bandage, and one hand finding its way to Mikey's, entwining their fingers, for one last time, and as Alicia stood there, in a horrific kind of silence.
Mikey lay there for a good few minutes: strangled breaths and uncomfortable twitches, before anything happened at all. Pete remained knelt by his side in the exact same position, perhaps even breathing less than Mikey was, but of course, it was unlikely. And in much the same manner, Alicia's feet still remained glued to the floor, but she didn't share Pete's need for silence at all.
"He's not going to make it." And they both knew it, but Alicia's verbalisation was enough to snap Pete in two, but of course, once again, the two didn't seem to think at all about Mikey, and as to whether he might possibly be hearing every single word still.
"I know." Pete responded after a moment: his words forced and his breathing heavy, and most importantly, his gaze never moving from Mikey's closed eyes.
"You're just hurting yourself more by hoping that he'll be okay, there's- you don't need to try and keep him breathing and not bleeding out, because regardless, he's not going to make it, and we both know that." Alicia's words caught Pete by surprise, causing him to pull his gaze away from Mikey, and turn into wide, frightened, overly bright, teary eyes that met Alicia's in an odd mix between hopefulness and hatred. "You don't need to keep him alive and keep him hurting."
"I can't just- I can't just... leave him- I... this is my fault and this is my apology, and I'm going to hold his hand until he lets go." And Pete spoke with a kind of conviction and sincerity that Alicia had never even dreamed of before.
"It's awfully romantic, Pete, and I know- look, I hurt in the same way, I loved him too-"
"Stop using the past tense, he's not dead yet-"
"Right now, he's comatose at best, and he'll be dead soon enough, and you're just making it harder for the both of you - it doesn't have to be this hard, you can let go, Pete, and you need to, because when he does, I doubt you will too. You have to make the first move, you can't let this define you, Pete-"
"How the fuck do you suggest that I make this any easier?" Pete's tone was snappy at this point, laced with an odd kind of spite that still wasn't quite out of place in his words.
Alicia thought nothing much of it, opening her handbag and sliding the pistol across the table that separated the two of them.
"No." Pete's response was instant and he was damn fucking sure of it too, but Alicia was hesitant to back down.
"Keeping breathing is hurting him too, you know the damage to his brain the blood has caused will be unbearably painful, and that's why he's comatose: his body is shutting itself down, his body is saving him, ready to let go, because that's the safest option at this point, and you're not letting it, you're not letting him."
"It's too sudden, it's not fair, he's not ready- I'm not ready-"
Pete was crying: tears streaming down his cheeks with an utter lack of shame, and Alicia could empathise, she really could, but she'd already let go of her part of Mikey, and now it was Pete, and Pete only that was holding him down and tearing this all apart.
"Will you ever be ready?"
"No."
"Exactly." Alicia grabbed the pistol from the table, holding it loosely in her right hand as she made her way over to Pete and Mikey, even taking the liberty of kneeling down beside Pete before she offered him the pistol once more.
"No- I'm not... I'm not going to shoot him- I'm not going to put him down like some sort of dog- I- you know what? Maybe he will make it through this, he just needs more blood, doesn't he? I can- I'll fucking give him my blood I-"
"Pete-" She let out a sigh, grabbing his hand and shaking her head at him. "No, no he's not going to wake up now and lying to yourself is not going to make anything any easier: I promise you."
"Can't I at least try?" He stressed, sobbing like a fucking maniac, but still with one hand pressed against the bandage, and one pressed against Mikey's.
"The likelihood is that you two aren't even the same blood type, Pete, I don't even know what blood type Mikey is, and if you give him the wrong blood that's only going to make things worse." Alicia paused, giving Pete a moment to let the reality sink in. "They could have done that at the hospital."
"No, I'm not taking him there- no, you just, no."
Because Pete would do everything and anything except the one thing that had the slightest hope of saving Mikey Way.
"It's too late now anyway."
"I know." Because deep down, Pete did know, and he knew it with every fibre of his being, and perhaps, just perhaps, that was exactly why it was so hard to let go.
"Then just take him and take you out of your misery, please, Pete, god- I..." Alicia sighed out, shaking her head as she offered him the pistol once more.
"I'd rather shoot myself than shoot him." The words left Pete's lips before he could think about what they really meant, and afterwards, he kind of just stayed there in an awful kind of silence, unable to gauge just how much he meant them. "I love him."
"So do I."
And Pete looked at Alicia like she didn't mean it, and just like that, she slapped him straight across the face, because, "fuck you, Pete Wentz," but still, Pete's hands never moved from Mikey.
"Stop." She pleaded, attempting to pull Pete's hand away from Mikey's. "Please, do you not? How do you not see what you're doing to him?"
"What have I done? I'm not the one who wants to shoot him!" Pete exclaimed, turning to Alicia with an unimaginable amount of hated in his eyes, and all for the boy that was just about dead now.
"Fine then, if you really think he'll survive, then let go and let him bleed out, let him die and make him hurt, because you think he deserves that: this wait, this torture-"
"I'm not letting him go, don't you get that?"
"No, no I don't, because I can't wrap my head around this kind of insanity, and we both know that it's insanity, don't we, Pete, look, you- you know, you know what you're doing to him, and I reckon that the very moment you drove past that hospital without a second glance was the very moment that you condemned us all to this fate."
"No-"
"You can't turn back time, Pete, you can't take a different turn and you can't take him there, now, not anymore, and still, I reckon, even if we replayed that drive a million times over, you'd still end up here, we'd still end up like this... every time. You dug his grave, Pete, now bury him in it."
"I dug- I dug? His grave? I- I-" Pete shook his head firmly, watching as Alicia reached out and took Mikey's other hand, placing the shotgun on the sofa beside Mikey.
"You don't have to let go of his hand, just of his head, just do it, Pete, he's hurting, you know, you know he is."
"Why does it have to be me? Why do I have to do- why can't you?"
"Because I wasn't the one who turned away from the hospital, because I wasn't the one who went over to see him last night, because I wasn't the one who got him addicted to cocaine, because I wasn't the one who started this mess." She pulled Pete's hand away from Mikey's head, placing the pistol between his fingers. "You started it, Pete, now finish it."
He held the pistol with a certain unplaceable confidence, because in a way, Alicia was right: this was for him, he had to do this.
And with a sound, the world's loudest sound, he did.
-
Pete Wentz never reckoned himself to be much of a murder.
Yet Pete Wentz had never reckoned himself to be much of a gang leader, either.
And yet, he was both, and the truth pulled his heart down to his feet.
He never fancied himself as much of a gravedigger, either, but there he stood in his backyard, the blackness of the night encasing him like some sort of sharp toothed, deadly blanket, as he put himself to work in the matter of disposing the two bodies on his hands.
The two bodies, because you see, Pete hadn't exactly cared all so much for Alicia or her instructions.
Yet he seemed to be very keen on caring for her dead body, but perhaps that was just far more to do with the police risk, and the smell, but still, of course, he placed Mikey's above hers in the grave, because even like this, he'd still matter more.
Pete was the definition of a mess at this point and he was well aware of it as he wiped a mix of sweat, tears, and eyeliner from his face, before beginning to shovel dirt back over the body of his late not quite boyfriend and his late not quite girlfriend.
Wow, he'd really fucked up their relationship, hadn't he?
But he'd pretty much fucked up his life in the process too so they were even or something.
Fuck.
Mikey was dead.
But the point was in the fact that still, despite this, Pete hadn't shot him; he would never do that, and he reckoned he'd take that promise to very moment he was laying in a grave above the two of them.
Mikey deserved more than this for certain, but he wasn't eager to just had the guy in and face the questioning: it just had to be like this.
If things could have gone the way Pete would have wanted them to, Mikey would be laying in a hospital bed and not his own grave at this point, but they hadn't.
Pete had finished it, at the very least; he'd finished it with a fucking bullet to Alicia's temple, and she'd stood there in shock, half living, half breathing for what felt like years, before Mikey's hand finally went cold in his, and Pete's whole world faded out into black like his existence was a movie.
Minutes later, he finally let go, and fuck, fuck Alicia, because he had and he always would have done, and with that he got himself a drink, and dug himself a nice big hole and buried the ex-lovers with care, and that was the very day that Pete Wentz's backyard became a cemetery.
Of course, even with the mess that he'd made buried six feet deep underground, Pete still had the matter of Lindsey Ballato to worry about, because she was most certainly going to wonder just what had happened to her not quite girlfriend, but Pete could ride this out and he could take this secret to the grave; he'd know nothing of it, and they'd watch the news together and he'd let the media cover the story of the missing boyfriend and girlfriend for him.
Lindsey would cry, and so would he, and perhaps he'd spend just a little too much time in his back garden, just glancing down at the slight mound in the dirt where the boy he loved lay with the girl who'd loved him.
Perhaps Alicia hadn't had to die, but Pete knew it was too late, and Pete had done everything, he'd done everything and anything, except the one thing he couldn't do, to try and save Mikey, because fuck, there could have been a chance that he'd start breathing again, couldn't there?
But there wasn't, not in this turn of events at least, and Pete hated the matter of coming to terms with that, and with a breath of cold newfound cemetery air, he made his way back inside and made sure to drink himself as close to death as he could manage, because what else was there left for a guy like him at this point.
Because this wasn't how he should have turned out.
And Mikey shouldn't have died a crack addict- fuck, Mikey never should have been a crack addict.
And Pete should have never been a gang leader.
Perhaps he should have gone to university like his dad had suggested and become a fucking accountant or something, and then maybe, just maybe, he could have met Mikey at that fancy office building he worked at, and perhaps like that they would have had a chance.
Pete smiled to himself at the thoughts of Mikey blushing and first dates that didn't involve nearly as much vomiting, and dear lord, they had never even fucked, and it so wasn't fucking fair, and Pete started his third drink as Frank Iero slammed the back door behind him, successfully making Pete jump straight out of his fucking skin.
"Do you know where Gerard is?" Frank was angry, like practically fucking seething with anger, and Pete knew that this wouldn't bode well like he knew his own name.
"No."
"Yeah, he's with fucking Bert McCracken and oh yeah the fucking whore forgot that his boyfriend was on the phone didn't he, must have pressed mute on the phone as it slipped out of his hand or something when Ray arrived, but even if he couldn't hear that I was there, I heard every fucking word, and I fucking- I fucking know what went on between him and that- fucking, they kissed, so yes, Bert McCracken lied to and stole my fucking boyfriend, and goddamn, I could kill him right now, what do you say, Wentz?"
"No."
"No?" That had taken Frank by surprise, to say the least, but Frank didn't know about the bodies in the backyard and he was yet to notice the blood stain on the sofa and Alicia's shoes at the door.
"No. Not today, not now-"
"Fuck, Pete, how sober are you? Come on, drink up, and think later!" He grinned, taking a seat beside his friend and taking a swing of the beer. "Fuck- have you mixed Capri Sun into this?" Frank retorted in something like disgust, passing the beer back to Pete.
"Yeah, got a problem, Iero?" Frank watched in disgust as Pete downed it in one. "Is my elite taste in liquor too refined for you?"
"Since fucking when did cheap beer and Capri Sun become 'liquor'?" Frank rolled his eyes, lighting a cigarette. "Now come on, Pete, let's just fuck him up, what do you say?"
"Fuck it and fuck you, Frank, but yes."
-
hey guys lmao. lmao. lmao. im just laughing so hard rn but seriously this was so much fun to write anyway, votes and comments would be cool pls and i love you all super super lots !! (i promise ok) <3