Hell's Reign (Patrick Stump/Fall Out Boy Fanfiction)

Epilogue

            Victoria Mason, twenty-three years old, stood on the front porch of a house in the middle of the beautiful countryside of Cherry Valley, Illinois. It had been a few years since she had left the city of Chicago behind, but her heart still beat with it, especially now, as she gazed at the city skyline in the far off distance. On the ring finger of her left hand, she absently twisted a small, ill-fitting silver band. She wasn't even sure if it could be called a ring, but it had seemed good enough at the time. It still was, because what it represented was infinitely more important than what it looked like.

The house sat on a tall hill, secluded from everything but itself, and at the bottom of the hill was a sprawling, thick wooded area that cut the house off from the small town of Cherry Valley. At the bottom the hill, Victoria could see two small figures emerge from the woods. The smaller of the two walked to the right of the other, their hands clasped together between them. The sight of them made Tori smile; She had been standing out here for the last hour, eagerly awaiting their return.

From behind her, the door of the house opened and closed quietly. She didn't bother to look at who it was, but they came to stand right beside her, their arms crossed over their chest. "About damn time," Pete said, shaking his head as Tori finally looked up at him. "They've been gone all day." Despite his annoyance, there was a fond and relieved smile on his face at the sight of them as well. "Tell them mom said dinner is ready when they get here," he added, before heading back into the house.

Tori smiled to herself as the two figures made their way up the hill. As they drew closer, she could make out the smile on the younger one's face. He was nearly bouncing beside the older one, struggling to keep up with his father's longer strides. He was wearing one of his father's old shirts, with a pair of tattered old jeans on his legs that his parents had found in an old department store months ago. His hair was long, but the same strawberry blonde color as his father's. He had his mother's eyes, and his father's nose. The freckles on his face, he had gotten from his mother's side of the family. They mirrored the freckles that her younger brother once had around his nose and dusted over his cheeks.

The older of the two, the boy's father, was in desperate need of a haircut once again. He still wore an old trucker hat over his head, as if to tame the hair, but it was useless, really. His face was slightly sunburned, from days spent outside with his son, and his clothes were beyond tattered. His shirt was bloodstained, his jacket ripped in multiple places, and his belt barely held his pants up anymore. His right hand swung between himself and his son, hanging on tightly to the little fingers, and from his left side, hung a sharp, shining, hook. He looked up as they neared the top of the hill, smiling as his eyes landed on his wife. They hadn't gotten married of course, not really, but to the two of them, it didn't really matter. He called her his wife, and that she was, and always would be.

He gently propelled the boy forward, and he looked up to see his mother with a grin on his face. "Mommy!" He shouted, suddenly running ahead of his father to fall into Tori's arms as he bounded up the porch steps. She hugged him tightly, kissing his cheeks as she lifted him in her arms for a moment. He was about six-years-old now, but he was still light enough for Tori to lift him by his waist. "Daddy taught me how to pick locks today!"

"Did he, now?" Tori giggled, knowing that Patrick had been trying to teach Aaron all of the survival necessities that they had needed to figure out on their own over the years. The world wasn't safe yet, and it never would be, but knowing that Aaron was able to take care of himself out there comforted his parents.

"He did!" Aaron continued, "And we caught a few rabbits on our way back home! Daddy has them in his bag. He wouldn't let me touch them after he shot them."

"You know the rule, Aaron," Tori said gently, a slight warning to her voice. "You don't know what's infected and what's not."

"I know," Aaron said, smiling at his mother as she set him back down on his feet.

"Good. Now go inside and wash up; Grandma has dinner all ready for you." She didn't need to say another word, because the boy was sprinting into the house probably in search of Ann Hurley, the woman he had come to know as his grandmother.

Tori watched him with a smile, and when she turned around, her husband was directly in front of her, a sly smirk on his face. There were bags under his eyes and a healing scar beneath his chin, but otherwise, he was unhurt. He stepped forward and wrapped both arms around Tori's waist, dropping a heavy bag from his shoulder as he did so. "I missed you," he whispered, leaning in to kiss her softly.

Tori blushed and kissed him back. "I missed you too. I'm glad you're home safe."

Patrick grinned again, leaning his forehead against hers. "You worry too much," he mumbled, kissing her again teasingly.

"Do you blame me?" She giggled, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

Patrick pulled her impossibly closer, shaking his head. "Not one bit," he whispered, gently swaying her hips with his as if there were music playing. "I love you so much, Victoria," he mused.

"So you keep telling me," she giggled, biting her lip. "I love you too. Now get inside, mom has dinner ready for us." She tried to propel him toward the door, but he only grabbed her again and pulled her against him.

"Maybe I just want you for dinner," he growled, his eyes betraying his lustful thoughts, as he pressed a none too innocent kiss to Tori's jaw.

"You can have me for dessert," Tori teased, pushing at his chest playfully, "Later. Now go, I have to make sure Aaron got himself cleaned up."

"Fine," Patrick laughed, taking her hand with his hook as he reached to open the door. Once they were inside, he moved her hand into his and led her to the kitchen. They had all moved into this house about a year ago, once they had exhausted the stores and wares of the hospital in Chicago. It was a four bedroom house, with one still-working bathroom and a sizable kitchen. It was perfect for them. Tori and Patrick shared one room, while Andy and his mother shared another. Pete and Joe shared a third bedroom, and Aaron had his room all to himself, though it was right across the hall from his parents so they could always keep an eye on him. The hill that the house sat on proved a decent enough defense from the zombies that occasionally wondered over from the town or the city, and by the time they made it halfway up the steep hill, someone was likely to spot it and shoot it down before it got too close.

They were safe here, safer than they had ever been, but it was only a matter of time before they would have to move again. Still, they would all stay together. They fought and bickered like any other family, but they were a family still, and they would not leave each other ever again. Aaron looked to Joe, Andy, and Pete as his uncles, and to him, they were the most normal family he had ever known. He didn't know how broken they were, and he didn't know that his father wasn't born with the hook on his hand. He didn't know the time his mother was held prisoner in a basement in Glenview, and he didn't know that he had a biological uncle who bore the same first name as him. He didn't know the hardships his parents faced on their own, and he didn't know that his mother had only wanted to see a concert with her friends one night, only to lose them and everything else all at once. He didn't know any of it, but one day, Patrick and Tori would sit him down and tell him all of it.

When he was older, he would hear stories of a world that wasn't dying. He would hear about his father playing guitar, and he would hear of his mother skipping out on her prom night. He would hear his uncle Joe play guitar, while his father sang his mother's favorite song. Eventually, he would memorize all of the lyrics to Drops of Jupiter, and he would sing it to his mother himself, with his uncle's guitar on his lap. He would make his parents proud, and each of them would go on living in this broken, dying world, with the comforting knowledge that none of them were really broken at all. They may have felt it at times, but the world did not break them. Together, they were more whole than they had ever been apart.

The End...?