Patrick Stump/Fall Out Boy Imagines

[PETE/PATRICK] Monday The 8th

Bronx and Saint are lying underneath the pillow fort they created in their bedroom, a blanket draped across the space between their two beds and pillows piled up at the end closest to the door, forming a barrier between their little world, where imagination can run wild, and the real world outside, where imagination often isn't enough. Flashlights illuminate the dark space occupied by the two boys and a couple of their stuffed animals, as well as a few board games they smuggled up from downstairs.

"You want to hear a story?" Bronx asks his brother, a devilish grin stretched across his face.

"Sure!" Saint exclaims happily.

"Alright, a long time ago-"

"In a land far away?"

"No, Saint. It's just a long time ago, on a Monday in November - Monday the 8th, to be specific - two little boys were playing video games together-"

"What video game?" Saint interrupts the story.

"A racing game," Bronx answers, "But that's not important. It doesn't matter what video game they're playing, they were just playing a video game. So the two of them were playing video games when their dad walked into the room and asked them to pause the game. The older of the two boys paused the video game and looked back..."

"What do you want, Dad?"

"I just wanted to tell you that I'm leaving soon. As soon as the babysitter comes, that is."

"Wait, babysitter? Where are you going?" The boy sets his remote controller down and stands up, turning to face his father.

"I told you this morning, I'm going out to meet up with a friend. And before you ask," The father puts his finger up, "No, I can't take you. This meet-up is different than other meet-ups."

"The two boys didn't know it, but their father was meeting up with his new girlfriend," Bronx continues to tell his story, Saint's eyes wide in suspense, "He didn't want the boys finding out because he didn't know how to tell them that this girlfriend could be their new mom."

"But I don't want you to go, Daddy," The younger boy whines, clinging onto his dad's legs, "Please don't go."

"Oh don't worry, I won't be long," The dad reassures his son, ruffling his hair. He bends over and kisses the top of his head.

Just then, the doorbell rings. The father looks back, "That must be the babysitter."

"He pried the little boy off of his legs and went to answer the door. He pulled the door open to reveal the babysitter, a girl who possessed such a beauty that no one suspected her of being the monster she truly was."

"M-M-M-Monster!?!"

"Hey! Come on in," The father invites the girl in. She flashes him a kind smile and steps into the house, immediately looking into the living room the boys are standing in, studying their faces and biting her lip. "I'm so glad you could do this last minute," He gushes, closing the door behind her, "I really appreciate it."

"No problem," She replies, keeping her eyes locked on the two boys.

"Well, I should be back around ten or eleven, midnight at the latest," The father informs her, slipping into his jacket, "They go to bed around eight thirty, but if they're being good, they can stay up till nine. No later, though."

"Alright." The babysitter hasn't once looked away from the two boys, and all the while, the corner of her lips is slowly curling upward.

He looks back into the room and points to his two sons, "You better behave for her, because if I get a bad report, you can kiss your video games goodbye. You hear me?"

"Yes, Dad," The boys groan in unison.

"Good, I love you!"

"Love you too."

The dad flashes one last charismatic smile at the babysitter and walks out the house. The babysitter watches his every move as he leaves, and once out of sight, she returns her attention to his two sons, the frightening grin still plastered on her face.

"Hello, boys," She greets, walking into the room and squatting down in front of them so she's eye level with them, "You don't mind if I bring a friend of mine over, do you?"

"Bronx, stop it," Saint murmurs, covering his ears and curling up into a ball, "I don't want to listen to this story anymore."

"But we're not done yet! Just hear me out for a little more, Saint, I'm almost done."

The little boy pouts, but lowers his hands from his ears.

A knock sounds on the door and the babysitter's head snaps up, the smile she already has growing even more. She rises up from the couch she's sitting on with the boys - who are playing their game - and goes to the door, ripping it open and pulling the person standing out on the porch inside. The person is her boyfriend, also known as her partner in crime.

He collides with her and their lips connect, the two of them sharing a quick, yet passionate, kiss. He pulls away and looks into the living room, whispering to the girl, "How old are they?"

"Ten and three," She answers, her voice the same volume as his.

"Wait, we're ten and three!" Saint gasps. A smirk crawls onto Bronx's face.

"Perfect," The boyfriend purrs, the corner of his lip perking up. He detaches himself from her and enters the room, picking up the spare controller on the coffee table, "Mind if I play?" The two boys look up at him.

"Not knowing any better, the boys agreed. Little did they know that that race would be the last race they'd ever race, that that game would be the last game they'd ever play," Bronx concludes his story, "No one knows for sure what happened to the two boys, but when the dad returned home, the boys were missing. And so was the babysitter and her boyfriend.

"News spread quickly, headlines were everywhere. But despite the father's relentless efforts, the case was never solved. And on every Monday the 8th since, two boys - ages ten and three - go missing, the parents of the boys claiming the last time they saw them was before they left the house, having left them with a babysitter. The end."

Saint's small body is shaking violently and he's on the verge of tears.

Bronx, seeing his brother like this, bursts out into laughter, "Oh my god, Saint, you're...you're hilarious!" He falls over on his side, clutching his stomach. "You...You look so scared! And you peed your pants!"

The younger brother looks down and sees he actually did. He breaks down into tears and dashes out from the pillow fort, rushing out of the room and screaming for his dad. Bronx continues to laugh, nearly peeing his pants too.

*****

It's the next day and Bronx and Saint are sitting in the living room, game controllers in their hands and their heads cocked back, staring at the television hanging above the mantle of the fireplace. Pete walks down the stairs, adjusting the tie around his neck.

"Hey boys!" He calls, reaching the bottom of the steps and entering the room the boys are sitting it. "Do you think you can pause your game for a second? I've got to tell you something."

Bronx rolls his eyes and does as his dad says, pausing the game. He looks back, "What do you want, Dad?"

"I just wanted to tell you that I'm leaving soon," He replies, "As soon as Uncle Patrick and Aunt (Y/N) come, that is."

Pete's oldest son's eyebrows furrow together, this moment feeling all too familiar to him. "W-Why?" He stammers.

"I'm seeing someone, I told you this this morning," He answers, and before the two boys can ask, he adds on, "And no, you cannot come with me. Not this time. This time's different."

Bronx's eyes grow wide, now knowing exactly why this moment feels all too familiar for him. "W-What day is it, Dad?"

"Monday the 8th," Pete retorts casually, "Why?"

The two boys exchange a glance before screaming, "NOOOOOOO!!!"