Lately It Seems Like [3,?] R
Title: Lately it Seems Like [3/?]
Author: shootingstarsup
Rating: Overall NC-17, This chapter is R (See warnings)
Pairing: Ryden, Joncer, Peterick, Gabilliam, and (Past) Nalex.
POV: Third, Pete-centric.
Summary: An anti-homosexual activist group have launched a series of homophobic attacks on the Chicago and Southern California area - Bars, restaurants, and homes - everywhere. When the new DecayDance recording studios are targeted in the most recent attack, the members unite as one to help, to comfort, and to grieve, as they fight for justice to find the culprits of one of the worst hate-crimes of the century.
Warnings: Severe Swearing, SEVERAL CHARACTER DEATHS, blood, angst. You have been warned.
Beta: Norma & Oscar. (No LJ.)
Notes: Holy fucking Christ, I’m so sorry this took so long! I just had an idea about a fic, and I just had to write down the plotline. Anyhow! Chapter 3, yes? Concrit = A hug and a Gabe. Also, the part with the intern has happened to me before.

Master Post |

The ED doors swung open to Patrick’s gurney, rushing him through with over five medical staff surrounding him. Pete hurried behind, shouting and screaming at the top of his lungs to know what was going on. “My boyfriend is strapped to a gurney,” he thought. “And I don’t know what’s going on?!”

“Hey! Fucking tell me what’s going on!” Pete yelled at an intern passing by.

They turned to Pete and froze. “I-I don’t know, sir.”

Pete gritted his teeth in annoyance; he began picking the skin at his fingers nervously and waited for a doctor to tell him what the fuck was going on. Patrick was now half-way down the hall and wheeled into one of the ICU’s, being pumped with God knows what and all he could hear was an obnoxious intern talking to a group of people. “That Pete Wentz is a total asshole. Fuck the Fag.” The Intern said nonchalantly.

Pete’s face fell into blind fury, he listened on unmoving. “I mean, c’mon. It’s not natural, you know? It’s just… Not supposed to go there. I bet Pete’s on top though. Fucking fags are everywhere. It’s disgusting.”

Pete quickly turned to face the intern with a fierce face. “Excuse me?”

The intern’s face collapsed into fear and stuttered, “I…”

“Listen… Do you mind keeping your nose out of my fucking business? I’m sick of you fucking homophobes calling gay’s “disgusting” and “not natural.” How about you go back to your lonely, dumpy apartment alone and spend the night feeding your cats? Because I’ll be spending the night with someone who loves me. Who the fucking gives a shit if it’s a guy or a girl?! Love is love asshole; it doesn’t matter where your dick goes.”

The intern’s eyes were glued wide, frozen in fear and sweating madly. Pete grinned at his result and walked away, before turning back and snapping, “Oh, by the way, I’m always on the bottom.”

He walked away with his head raised high, but the thought dawned on him that his boyfriend was still in the ICU. His heart thumped against his ribcage as he ran down the hallway, his converse squeaking against the flooring. He arrived at the double-doors of the ICU, before swinging them fully open and revealing the chaos within.

Patrick was semi-conscious yet hazy, his eyes half-open and an oxygen mask fitted around his mouth and face. His arms were plastered in blood and newly-forming scabs, and his hands fitted with off-white bandages. “Patrick, c’mon. Stay with me, buddy.” An Older doctor said calmingly to him.

“Pat…” Pete’s throat made a desperate noise from the very back; he swallowed quickly and stopped a passing nurse. “What’s going on…? Please tell me.”

The nurse furrowed her brows and looked over at Patrick quickly. “Mr. Wentz… You’d better wait until Patrick is stable and then Dr. Truman will talk to you.”

Pete frowned in disgust, but the thought of Patrick dying because of his disobedience immediately made him silent. His thoughts were disrupted by a high-pitched noise coming from one of the machines, followed by a thin, glowing green light. “He’s in VF.” A doctor announced suddenly. “Can I get a crash cart over here?!”

Two nurses hurriedly pulled over a silver cart with what Pete recognized as a defibrillator. His own heart stopped a beat as the lead doctor pressed two green pads to Patrick’s chest. “Patrick!” Pete sobbed, his legs automatically carrying him to the side of Patrick. “It’s gonna be okay, baby.”

A small, high pitched whine started over the flat-line as the defibrillator charged. “Charging at three hundred.” The doctor placed the paddles on his chest firmly and shouted, “Clear.”

Pete’s stomach tensed as Patrick’s chest jerked upwards, feeling like the three-hundred volts were going through him and not Patrick. Tears were welling up again in his eyes, and before he could stop himself, his legs were carrying him away from his gurney and through the large double doors. “Oh god, oh God, oh God… I just abandoned him… Fuck…” Tears streamed down his face as he collapsed into a corner near the ICU.

“What am I going to do?”

His chest began heaving.
His blood flowing to his face.
His palms growing sweaty.
His world slowly fading.

“Mr. Wentz?” A masculine voice rang through his self-pitying thoughts. Pete snapped out of his daydream and looked up; the man’s appearance was silhouetted by the fluorescent light of the hotel, making him look almost angelic.

Not as angelic as Patrick.

“Yes?” Pete choked out.

The man crouched down to Pete’s level and sighed. “I’m Doctor Truman; I’m treating Patrick at the moment, he’s stable at the moment.” Pete scoffed at the doctor’s tone, so ignorant and patronizing. The doctor ignored Pete’s behaviour and continued. “Patrick has severe burns to his arms and chest, his heart is slowly being constricted by the pressure in his lungs and chest cavity, causing his heart to stop.” He swallows nervously. “If he crashes again… I’m afraid we’ll have to ask-”

“No.” Pete wasn’t stupid; he knows what the doctors were going to ask him.

“I’m sorry you have to make this decision.” Truman comforted, resting his hand on Pete’s shoulder.

Pete looked in disgust and shrugged him off. “I don’t need your fucking sympathy, help Patrick and only Patrick. I don’t care how much I have to pay… Patrick is top fucking priority.”

Pete quickly shuffled to his feet and tears began to sting his eyes again. He took a shaky breath and shuffled towards the exit, his clammy hands wiping away tears. Pete could feel the cool evening air on his skin as he approached the exit, before stepping out hastily and taking a breath in, trying to calm his nerves.

“Pat's okay… He’s fine... That douche bag is taking care of him."

He licked his lips and his eyes widened in realization. Pete tugged out his cell and punched in a number shakily. He pressed it against his ear and heard the dial tone, before a familiar voice answered.

“Hello?”

Pete took a deep breath. “William...”

There was silence on the line. “What’s happened?”

“There’s been an accident,” he muttered, his voice cracking in the middle.

William remained silent. “What’s happened?” He asked with force.

Pete licked his lips. “We’ve been bombed, Will.”

The ever-lasting silence continued. “Who’s hurt?” He asked again with a crack in his voice.

Pete blinked repeatedly. “Bill… Alex has died… Patrick is critical… Brendon and Gabe haven’t come back to the hospital,” he said, fighting a losing battle of forcing back tears.

William let out a breath, as if someone’s punched him in the stomach as hard as they could. He heard muffled sobs before the line went dead. Pete closed his eyes and pulled the phone away. He wiped away the falling tears and typed in another number, pressing it up against his right ear. “Jon?”

“Hey Pete, Y’okay?” Jon asked with a worried tone.

“Is Ryan there with you?”

“Yeah… Why?” Pete could practically hear Jon’s worried expression.

"There’s been an incident.” He chose his words carefully.

Yet again, silence was on the line. “Where are you?”

Pete looked up to the hospital sign. “Northwestern Memorial Hospital, in Chicago.”

Jon let out a small choke. “Wh…” He faded out, before pulling away from the phone. “Ryan, something big’s happened. Get your keys.” Pete heard Ryan’s protests, and Jon’s answer of; “Bren’s in trouble.” Ryan easily complied.

Pete looked up quickly. “Fuck… I gotta go man.”

“Why?!”

“Someone else’s arrived.”

Pete hung up and pushed his cell into his pants pocket, his heart racing a mile a minute. Yet another ambulance was speeding towards the curb, its neon lights flashing and the siren wailing. It pulled to a stop and the double doors opened fully, a black gurney with a body on top was pulled out. The paramedics talked rapidly to each other. “Brendon Urie, Male, 24 years old. BP is 80 over 160; STATS are dropping and losing blood.”

His brown eyes were lightly shut, an oxygen mask fitted over his soot-covered face and his violent coughing. There was something striking Pete quickly – Brendon’s legs were firmly strapped to the gurney, and not all of his body.

“Bren! Fuck!” Pete shouted, his hands covering his mouth in disbelief.

Brendon opened his eye wider as Pete rushed to his side, the gurney breaking through the double doors. Brendon let out a loud sob of anguish and begged, “Call Ryan… Please… Oh God… I can’t go through this without him… Please.” He pulled off his oxygen mask and coughed violently, small fragments of concrete flying out of his mouth before he falls back to the gurney with his eyes firmly shut.

Tears began to fall from Pete’s eyes as the nurses stop him from entering the ICU once again as Brendon is pushed behind his own curtain, joining Patrick in the sterile landscape he’d be calling home for the following weeks. Pete walked up to the double doors helplessly, watching one of his closest friends being treated. He watched on as he coughed and spluttered up small fragments of concrete, dirt, and god knows what else. “What did we do to deserve this?” Pete asked himself. He swiftly wiped away his falling tears and walks back through the busy hallways of the ED. “Patrick needs the doctor’s attention more than that brat.” Pete narrowed his eyes towards a small girl with a bright red, painful-looking wrist.

Pete scoffed as he walked past the intern he had his argument with and made his way outside. He turned the corner and immediately slumped against the wall, a loud sob was emitted from his throat and tears began to fall once again. It had been too much. Too much to process. Too much to take in at one time. Alex was dead, Patrick and Brendon are in hospital, Gabe was god knows where and severely injured. Ryan, Jon, and William are on their way to this hell, and he has no idea where the hell everyone else is. He sniffed and wiped away his remaining tears. “Jesus, I’ve cried too much.”

Pete pulled out his cell and pressed his Twitter icon, sniffling once again and immediately checking his closest friends. One caught his eye and he frowned when he read it closely. “Decaydance Everyone involved: Walking wounded to the south of the river, badly damaged are to the north. You know what I mean. RT to EVERYONE.” This message was spread across his twitter page, everyone had retweeted it. He laughed at a thought, “Some of them don’t even know what it means.”

He sighed once again and shook away the tears that were welling up again. He heard screeching tyres as a car drove close to him, Pete balled up in fear just as the car stopped. He glanced up to see a battered and bruised William. “Will…” Tears began to form in his eyes.

William’s lip quivered pathetically. “I know man. I know.”

Pete jumped to his feet and ran his hands through his hair. “They get you too?” He sobbed quickly.

William merely nodded and pulled Pete into his arms; Pete buried his face into his shirt and sobbed loudly. William leaned down to Pete’s ear, his voice breaking only slightly. “Take me to them.”

Pete sniffled. “Do you really want to witness this hell?”