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

Chapter 22

Pete sat in his car, staring at the house the driveway his car was parked in belonged to. There were only two lights on, both upstairs.

The two rooms lit up were Brendon and Elisa's bedroom and their son's nursery. Elisa was sleeping soundly in bed, having fallen asleep waiting for her husband to join her. Her husband, however, was in the nursery, sitting in the rocking chair, asleep with his son in his arms.

Pete swallowed the lump in his throat and gazed down at the gun he had sitting on the passenger seat.

He wasn't a murderer, but he was going to go to jail either way. If he was going to jail for keeping a friend safe, then he was going to keep that friend safe. And that meant taking out his biggest problem - Brendon and Elisa.

Within one quick motion, Pete put the hood of his sweatshirt up and retrieved the weapon, pocketing it. The gun felt like a heavy weight in his sweatshirt pocket.

He grasped the door handle and pushed it out, getting out of the car. As opposed to slamming the door like he always had a bad habit of doing, he carefully and quietly closed it.

Pete walked up their front steps and moved the planter he knew Brendon kept a spare key to the side, picking up the key. He gulped, sweat beading on his forehead and dripping down his face, and slipped the key into the slot. He turned the key and the locks clicked, opening the door. He replaced the key back in its hiding place and entered the dark, silent house that once was filled with all the great pop-punk, pop-rock musicians for a party, the party that started all of this.

Much like the car door, he closed the front one with caution, as to not alarm the homeowners of his presence. Little did he know they were both asleep and out like a light.

Pete turned around, his eyes adjusting to his nearly pitch-black surroundings. The only light in the house came from upstairs, the slivers of light that shone through the cracks between the semi-closed bedroom doors and their thresholds, colliding on the wall in the hallway and illuminating Pete's path.

He took his time getting to the second floor, partly because he didn't want the stairs creaking beneath his feet and partly because his heart told him he didn't need to do this. That he should go back home to his boys and forget about this. He was innocent, and if he proved it in court, he wouldn't have to spend the rest of his life in jail or miss his children grow up. But his mind spoke differently, telling him that he did need to do this. He needed to protect Patrick, and if taking out the enemy was what that entailed, then by all means, he was going to take out this enemy.

The bassist reached the top and looked down the hallway, hearing a faint lullaby coming from one of the rooms. A guilty conscience fell on top of his shoulders, knowing that he was taking away a child's parents. But then he remembered that's Elisa and Brendon had done the same thing to Declan, they took away Patrick. It wasn't that knowing that didn't make him feel bad, but it just lessened his nerves a little bit.

Revenge.

That was what he was getting.

For Patrick.

Pete slipped his hand into his sweatshirt pocket and wrapped his fingers around the gun, pulling it out and checking that it was loaded. It was. He closed the gun back up and tiptoed down the hallway, peering into the first bedroom on his right - the one Elisa was in.

He pushed the door in quietly and found her lying in bed, on her side, her arms underneath her pillow and her head resting on top of it. He wondered where Brendon was, not knowing he was in the nursery.

Pete bit his lip, his hand trembling with fear and tears starting to blur his vision. He sniffles and steadied his hand in his other, approaching Elisa's bedside.

She looked so peaceful, so unprepared for her unannounced demise in a matter seconds.

He took in a deep breath, calming himself down, and aimed the barrel of the gun at her head. "This is for Patrick, you bitch," He growled before pulling the trigger.

Blood splattered onto the white sheets, a small hole forming at her temple and the thick, crimson liquid beginning to the spill from it, rolling down the side of her face.

The sound of the shot gun woke up Brendon with a start. He sat up and glanced around the nursery, thinking it must've been a dream, completely unaware of the intruder in the room next to the one he was in.

He ran a shaky hand through his hair and looked down at his baby boy, who somehow managed to stay asleep after the loud sound. The former Panic! At The Disco, current Fall Out Boy singer rose to his feet and gently laid his son down in his crib, kissing his forehead tenderly and whispering "Good night, Ryan, I love you." He left the boy's room and went to his bedroom, only to be met by his band mate in the doorway, holding a gun out.

"Pete," Brendon gasped, looking behind the shorter man and seeing what he'd already done. His eyes widened in horror.

This was no dream.

"Brendon," Pete retorted, shifting his weight slightly and tightening his grip around the weapon, his finger hovering over the trigger.

The singer looked down at the bassist, "Look, man, you don't have to do this."

"But I do, you see? This is all your fault, Brendon. It's your fault that Patrick was arrested for a crime he didn't commit. It's your fault he couldn't move on. It's your fault that he ran away. And it's your fault Elisa's dead."

All Brendon could do was stare into the barrel of the gun, hoping and praying there was no bullet ready to be launched into his head.

"You deserve to die," The bassist spat, poking the gun into his friend's forehead. "Just. Like. Elisa."

"Man, c-c-come on," He stammered nervously, "If you don't kill me, I-I won't call the cops on you. I promise!"

"Don't you get it, Brendon?" Pete chuckled sadly, "I'm going to jail no matter what, whether I kill you or not. So before I spend the rest of my life locked up, I've got to fulfill a promise I made - a promise to keep my friend out of trouble. And that's exactly what I'm doing."

And with that, Pete's finger pulled back on the trigger. Brendon fell backwards, out into the hallway, where a small puddle of blood began to expand out from underneath his head. Pete pocketed the gun and stepped over the singer's lifeless body, starting to go downstairs when he heard a growing baby wail coming from the room over.

He walked back and parted the door to that room open even more, noticing the crying baby in the crib.

Pete stepped in and approached the crib, resting his arms on one of the walls and looking down at him. The boy quieted a little bit, glancing up at the man standing over him, before bursting into tears again. Pete tried shushed the baby, tried to calm him down, but it wasn't until he had taken him out of the crib, bounced him a little, and sat in the rocking chair that Brendon and Elisa's son had fallen back asleep.

Pete placed him back in the crib about ten, fifteen minutes later and retreated downstairs, once again stepping over Brendon's dead body which now was laying in a larger pool of red.

He entered the kitchen and yanked the phone off of the receiver, dialing the three digit number everyone was familiar with. He put the phone up to his ear and listened to the one-time ring, his heart pounding against his chest and his breaths short and quick.

"911," The woman on the other end of the line greeted, "What's your emergency?"

He gulped and tilted his head down, "Hi. My name's Pete Wentz and...and I just killed Brendon Urie and Elisa Yao."