Keep Me Out Of Trouble (FOB FanFic ft. Brendon Urie)

Chapter 20

FOR THOSE IT MAY CONCERN, SCHEDULE STARTING NEXT WEEK (EFFECTIVE DEC. 6, 2015):
- MON - Homewrecker With A Heart Of Gold (FOB FanFic ft. Zack Merrick)
- WED - Something Worth Fighting For (Patrick Stump Imagine Story) => COMING SOON
- FRI - Keep Me Out Of Trouble (FOB FanFic ft. Brendon Urie)
- SUN - Metronome (FOB FanFic ft. Tyler Joseph)

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Pete sat out on porch, the same porch Elisa and Patrick sat in months ago. But now the sun wasn't shining high in the sky, instead, dark clouds covered the sky, rain falling from them heavily, turning the usually vibrant green yard into a mud puddle. Something his two boys would be begging to play in the next day.

He was on the floor, his back to one of the tall windows and his knees pulled into his chest, his head in his hands and his fingers entangled in the long hair that was starting to make him look like he did years and years ago. The pitter-patter of the rain on the roof was tranquil, peaceful, mesmerizing, making the dismal world around the bassist fade away, allowing him to delve deep into his thoughts.

Time was running out and it wouldn't be long before a search for his best friend would be put in order. He knew he had to do something, what that something was? He wasn't entirely sure. He had an idea, but it was risky, dangerous even. But part of him was more than willing to do it. He'd do anything to save his friend. After all, he did say that he was going to get Patrick out of this, that he wasn't going to let him go back there.

Pete took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, lifting his head out of his hands and resting it back on the glass.

Indignation and resentment surged through his veins, everything that had happened in the past few days fueling his desire for revenge. Revenge against the two people that pushed his best friend away, turned him into someone he wasn't.

Sure, if Patrick had just learned to move on like people had told him to do, things wouldn't be the way they were. But he hadn't. He hadn't realized that he didn't need his wife who truly didn't know who she loved back, that he didn't need his band that had since moved on back, that he had changed and so had everyone else. Until now, that was. But unfortunately for him, he realized this just a little too late.

Pete rose to his feet and walked back inside the house, going upstairs to his bedroom. He walked up to his bedside and knelt down, sticking his hand underneath the nightstand and feeling around a little before wrapping his fingers around the gun he kept hidden there. He pulled it out and held the weapon in his hands, looking down at it and swallowing hard.

"Daddy?"

He glanced back over his shoulder with wide eyes and saw his youngest son standing in the threshold between his bedroom and the upstairs hallway, a teddy bear held close to his chest with one arm and his other arm bent upward, his hand holding tightly onto his blanket that was draped over his shoulder.

"What are you doing?"

"N-Nothing, Saint. Go back to bed," He demanded, his voice low as he tried his best to suppress the nervousness building up inside of him, his heart rate picking up.

"But I can't sleep. I want to sleep with you."

"I'm not going to sleep, though," Pete retorted as kindly as he could manage, "Why don't you do what your brother does and listen to some music?"

"Because music doesn't help me fall asleep," The four year old whined, "You help me fall asleep."

"Saint, buddy, now's really not a good time. You need to go back to bed. Please."

Pete's son frowned and spun around, sulking his back to his bedroom, dragging the blanket and teddy bear along. The bassist sighed and hung his head, closing his eyes and thinking about how grateful he was that his son hadn't suspected anything.

He reopened his eyes and forced himself to check that the gun was loaded. It was. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach as he closed the gun back up, slipping it into his back pocket and standing up. He walked out of his bedroom and noticed Saint still in the hallway, standing in front of his bedroom door.

The boy looked up at his dad and frowned, "Daddy, can I please sleep with you?"

"Later," The bassist promised, though it was more than likely an empty one, "Later."

"Okay..." He murmured sadly, trudging back into his bedroom. Pete followed after him and leaned against the threshold, watching as his son climbed back into bed and pulled the covers over himself, turning his head to meet his dad's gaze in the dark.

"I love you, Saint," Pete whispered.

"I love you too, Daddy," He replied softly, yawning.

The corner of Pete's lip perked up and he pulled the door shut, leaving it open a crack, though, so that his room wasn't completely pitch black. Pete suppressed the nauseous feeling rising up inside of him and walked across the hallway, opening the door to Bronx's bedroom. The tween was sitting up in bed, his back to the headboard, with his phone in his hands. The bed on the opposite side of the room was empty, the sheets neatly made, pulled tight, ready for someone to sleep in.

"Hey, Bronx," Pete remarked, attracting his attention, "I need you to do me a favor."

"What do you want?"

"I need you to watch your brother for me."

"What? Why?"

"I'm going out," He kept things vague, not wanting his sons to know his true intentions. They were too young, they wouldn't understand. Hell, Pete didn't even really understand, but he'd made up his mind. This needed to be done. "I just want you to check up on him every now and then, make sure he's okay. Nothing you can't handle, right?"

Bronx set his phone down on the nightstand, a feeling in his gut that something wasn't right. "Dad, what's going on?"

"Nothing," Pete reiterated the same lie to Bronx that he did to Saint.

"Nothing?"

"Just do as I asked, alright?"

"Dad..."

Tears began to waver in the bassist's eyes. "I love you, Bronx," He croaked, wanting to tell his son before he could never tell him again.

"Dad, I love you too, but please! Tell me what's going on!" He cried, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing up.

"Just watch your brother for me, okay?"

"Dad!"

Pete turned around and closed the bedroom door behind him, rushing down stairs. Bronx ripped the door open and ran down the hallway, stopping at the top of the stairs and catching a glimpse of his father as he shut the front door behind him.

"DAD!"