Time Flies // Trickster

[Pete Wentz]

well let's go back to the middle of the day that starts it all
i can't begin to let you know just what i'm feelin'

[/i] he was sleeping in their tour buses when he quite obviously had one of his own. Luckily, they weren't really into asking questions or prying into things when they knew Pete wasn't really up to talking. Incidentally, Pete hadn't talked for the past two days either - that was a miracle that no one would believe unless they were with him. Pete wasn't really wandering around anymore, rather he was sitting down backstage as people walked about doing things. How long would he be here? Perhaps untill someone noticed something wasn't right in the Fall Out Boy camp and investigated, or untill one of his band found him and told him that it was all over. Pete didn't want it to be over, he didn't think any of them did, but right now he'd managed to convince himself in the space of forty eight hours - throughout which he hadn't eaten nor drank - that his band was totally over, and that he was totally lost in the world now.
Pete watched people ran to bands, handing plectrums and re-stringing guitars quickly as bands went on stage. Pete went unnoticed, like a ghost amongst the surroundings as people milled around him, going about their every day business. Pete was glad none of them stopped to talk to him. He desperately wanted to see Patrick, although he wasn't entirely sure what he would say to him. 'Sorry' never quite covered these kind of things, and 'sorry' was way off the mark now. He had done something that had been so bad it had driven Patrick to shout at him. Patrick of all people. Shouting. At him. Again, it was one of those things you had to see or hear to believe. Pete given up everything for music - he'd given up college, given up his girlfriend, although admittedly it had taken him some time to realize that he had to let go in order for both the band and her to start moving on a bit more. Pete lived for Fall Out Boy, out of all the things Pete had done in his life - Clandestine... Decaydance... It all meant nothing without Fall Out Boy... It all revolved around Fall Out Boy, Pete's life had revolved around Fall Out Boy.
Pete watched the band walk onstage, and reminded himself of how his band high fived each other before every show. Pete smiled sadly, doing his hoodie up a bit more. It was a plain black one, the same one he'd been wearing when he left the tour bus a few days previously. Pete had simply come back a little while later and taken Hemingway, and that was it, all traces that Pete Wentz had ever once inhabited that bus had gone. Pete found that Hemingway was the only one who put up with his constant mistakes and shit. He understood completely why Patrick had snapped, and why the others probably didn't want to see him either, so he didn't blame them, he didn't feel like they had done anything wrong, because they hadn't. Pete was sitting on a couch backstage, still watching people get bustled around by their managers. None of them were too interested in the man in the hoodie sitting on the couch.[/color][/size][/blockquote][/ul]

and now the red ones make me fly
and the blue ones help me fall
and i think i'll blow my brains against the ceiling

[Patrick Stump]

AND OUTSIDE...
IT STARTS RAINING'

He'd been so wrong. He shouldn't have yelled at Pete like that. Pete was in a worse situation than Patrick was. He'd said awful things, things he couldn't believe he'd even thought of in the first place. Patrick was used to Pete yelling at him, he was pretty much used to it. He knew that most of the time- Pete didn't mean the things that he said when situations grew rough. But did Pete know that about Patrick? Patrick didn't yell... That just wasn't something that he did. He liked peace between everyone, not bickering and swearing. He swallowed hard, making his way through backstage, completely ignored by the people scurrying around to prepare the bands, last second things that needed to be done. Why he had such a strong feeling that Pete would be here, he wasn't sure. But he had to do something, he was on the brink of insanity. He knew Pete had come back to the tour bus at some point the day Patrick had yelled, probably when he'd been sleeping. Slowly he pushed past a couple of people, his presence non-existent as they went on their own way, yelling things to other people. So much yelling. He was tired of it.

Suddenly, Patrick stopped in his place, standing in a doorway, staring directly at Pete. He was so sure of what he was going to say, but now.. now that he was actually standing there, his voice was caught in his throat. He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't. A deep breath, and he swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "Pete..." His voice was nothing higher but a whisper, he couldn't muster up the courage to speak any louder than that. After yelling at Pete, he didn't want to speak at all. He really wouldn't have blamed Pete if he got up and punched Patrick in the face, cause he sure as hell felt like he deserved it. "I... I'm..." What was he going to say? I'm sorry just wasn't good enough this time. I'm sorry couldn't even cover half of what he felt. He was guilty, ashamed, emotionally destroyed knowing that he'd done something to Pete. Just the slam of doors hurt worse than a punch in the face, something he'd already encountered. "I didn't mean what..." He cut himself off, the words becoming jumbled and not making any sense.

"I didn't mean what I said. It was all stupid. I don't blame you if you don't even look at me, you don't have to, it's all my fault..." He was talking fast, faster than normal, his words nearly slurring together. Patrick was nervous, and that was more than obvious. His voice was trembling, and he was sweating, small beads rolling down his forehead from underneath his hat. He stared at the floor and bit his lip. "I really don't know what to say. I wish 'I'm Sorry' could fix everything- but it just can't. Yell- Scream- Punch me in the face, cause honestly, at least then I won't be going crazy not knowing why you disappeared." He tried to slow down the words, but now- they just wouldn't stop. Patrick fidgeted and shifted his weight, his entire body quivering, forcing back everything. Forcing back... crying? No- he wasn't going to cry. But everything in the past week- was just unbearable. It was all coming fast, way to fast, and he just couldn't take it. "I didn't mean it- I... I..." He was tripping over his own speech now, his breath gathering in the back of his throat. What was he doing? Oh god... He felt so stupid, standing there, trying not to cry, just rambling on and on. But he felt so.. so... horrible. It seemed like everything was his fault. If he'd just stayed out of the fight.. If he'd just minded his own business. Then maybe... just maybe...

[Pete Wentz]

and as the fragments of my skull begin to fall
fall on your tongue like pixie dust just think happy thoughts

[/i] to hit him. Pete was silent for a few seconds after Patrick trailed off, and then he looked up and shook his head.
"Patrick," Pete said. "You did nothing wrong... you told me what everyone else was too afraid to tell me," Pete said. "I'm not going to scream or shout or hit," Pete said, shaking his head. "I know I'm stupid, and... and I can't figure it out in my head," Pete said. "I always make the mistake of making mistakes out to be more than what they really are... I made mountains out of molehills," Pete told him. "I don't know why... I don't know why I do half the bullshit stuff that I do but I know that this band is the only thing that keeps me alive inside my head," Pete told him, looking up. "When you said you we're 'done', did you..." It was Pete's turn to trail off now, wondering how to phrase this, although he hoped that he didn't have to.
Pete looked away from Patrick again, feeling ashamed. Patrick owed him nothing, nobody owed him anything. He didn't want to hear Patrick apologize to him because he had to reason to. Patrick had only said what someone should have said to Pete a long time ago. Pete had made the appointment with his talk therapist, he found it helped a little, although never entirely. Nothing would be able to get it away, it would always be there, like the little monster that you shoved to the back of the closet and heled back with both arms when you opened the door to make sure that it didn't fall out. To Pete, Fall Out Boy meant the world. It meant seeing the world, it meant being with his friends and doing what he loved. It meant being about to see people and talk to people who he'd otherwise would never have met because of the band. Pete had some of his best friends because of Fall Out Boy, and he didn't want to let it all go, and Brodie was right, he shouldn't let it all go. Fall Out Boy was the only thing he had, and he couldn't just let everything slip away so easily.
Pete wished more people were prepared to tell him the truth, rather than analyze him for what he did believe. Pete didn't want to be analyzed but at the same time he wanted answers to questions that he hadn't figured out how to ask yet. Life was such a complicated thing to endure, and some people were better at coping than others. Some people found it hard to cope with what they had been given, and to many people Pete's life might seem perfect but it was so far away from the truth that it was almost uncomprehendable. With the good always came the bad, and Pete often found himself stumbling with the weight of it all. To be free in this world was to submit yourself to being analyzed by the media, the people who wouldn't print the truth but rather the truth they wanted to hear and see. To lock yourself away was to confine yourself, which would eventually drive a person crazy. There was no inbetween in this game anymore, it was one or the other, but Pete was still treading that fence, trying to figure out which side was safer to be on.[/color][/size][/blockquote][/ul]

and we'll fly home
we'll fly home
you and i
we'll fly home

[Patrick Stump]

ALL DAY STARING AT THE CEILING
MAKING FRIENDS WITH SHADOWS ON MY WALL

His eyes began to burn and he closed them, clenching his fists as tight as he could. Patrick kept his chin tucked closer to his chest, trying to keep Pete from seeing his face. He always tried hiding those things... from Pete, from Joe, from Andy- from everyone. But now he just couldn't, there wasn't anywhere for him to hide, he couldn't run into the back of the tour bus and bury himself in his bunk. He didn't look up when Pete spoke, he just kept his eyes closed tight, standing stone still. Patrick took a deep breath, slowly daring to glance up. "I shouldn't have yelled... I just.. couldn't..." He shook his head and glanced away, staring at the floor. Taking a deep breath, he swallowed hard, trying to force down the lump that was sticking in the back of his throat. A long pause- he didn't reply right away. He didn't know what to say, he didn't know what he had really meant in the first place. Done with...? Just done.

Hesitantly he looked at Pete again, slowly blinking, biting his lip slightly. "I don't..." There wasn't much a way to finish the sentence, not a way that made any sense. "I was just so..." The words stopped. He fell silent, kicking his foot against the floor a couple times. Patrick didn't have a clue what to say. He didn't want Fall Out Boy to be over as much as Pete did. Fall Out Boy was their entire lives. They lived it, they breathed it, it was who they were deep down. Patrick didn't really know what he'd do if Fall Out Boy split up. Without Pete, Joe, and Andy- he didn't want to make music. It just wouldn't feel right, it wouldn't be right. Music just wouldn't be music with out the other three there to back him up.

A sigh escaped his chest and he stood there in silence, his gaze falling back to the ground. He couldn't find anything to say, he couldn't find the right words. "I.. I'm sorry..." It was the only thing he could find to say, and he was even stumbling over that. His mind was racing, faster than he could comprehend, and he shook his head, a shameful expression falling over him. "I'm... so sorry..." He was practically whispering, his voice becoming raspy as he stood in the door way. Unable to move, unable to speak. His heart raced in his chest. He just wanted to run away. Run away from everything, forget these past few days even happened, just start everything over.

ALL NIGHT HEARING VOICES TELLING ME
THAT I SHOULD GET SOME SLEEP
because tomorrow might be good for something

[/center]

[Pete Wentz]

well now i'm back in the middle of the day that starts it all
i can't begin to let you know just what i'm feeling

[/i] friend. They had been through a lot together, and it was difficult to share a stage with someone night after night, share a tour bus, share a studio, share a colloboration of music, share a lifestyle even with someone and not create something of a bond. Throughout the six years of Fall Out Boy the four of them had obviously argued, but what was a band relationship if people didn't say what they felt? A band was like a marraige, you had to tie yourself down completely and commit yourself or not at all. There wasn't anything half-assed about being in a band - there wasn't room to be half-assed when you were in a band. It was everything or nothing, and that usually meant sacrifices around your personal life, but it was something they'd all done. Patrick perhaps more so than all of them, Patrick was truly dedicated. None of the four of them in Fall Out Boy were at all the type to cheat, but flying from country and country and devoting your life to music meant cheating on that person with the rest of the world.
Pete shook his head again, and he stood up, looking directly at Patrick.
"Patrick, it doesn't matter..." Pete said. "You were the one saying that people made mistakes... and of all the mistakes people could make this wasn't one of them," Pete told him, firmly but sincerely. "I always have this nagging little voice, this voice that tells me anything bad is a product of my own work, and maybe it is seventy-five percent of the time, but on that rare twenty five percent occasion it's you who offsets everything..." Pete said, swallowing now, looking down at the floor and then back up at Patrick. "You don't need to be sorry..." It was true, Patrick helped him a lot more than any of the pills he took or any of the therapists he talked to. Patrick and writing - two things that Pete could truly see was absolutely essential for him.[/color][/size][/blockquote][/ul]

and now these red ones make me fly
and the blue ones help me fall
and i think i'll blow my brains against the ceiling

[Patrick Stump]

FEELING LIKE I'M HEADED FOR A BREAKDOWN
AND I DON'T KNOW WHY

Patrick swallowed hard, clenching his fists tightly then relaxing them, adrenaline pulsing through his entire body. Just his heart beat was making his entire body tremble, quivering with fear- anxiety- stress- worry.. He didn't want Fall Out Boy to split up. That was furthest from what he wanted. Right now- he just wanted everything to stop. Everything was getting to be to much, and it was driving him insane. Literally- insane. He was constantly fidgeting, worse than normal, always nervous, hardly sleeping at night. Every time he fell asleep he would wake up and start scrambling around- panicking- until the impact of falling out of his bunk brought him back to reality. He felt like half of him was missing. And it was.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, even though it was practically impossible. His mind was racing again, spinning faster and faster each time he tried to slow it down. Patrick pressed his palms to both sides of his head, covering his ears, but not blocking his hearing. His knees trembled and buckled under him as he sat on the floor. "I'm so sorry..." He stared at the floor, his knees bent up toward his chest, his back pressed hard against the door way. "I just.. I didn't mean it..." He tried to swallow the lump in the back of his throat again, but it just made his mouth horribly dry. He felt dizzy... unbalanced.. "If.. If I hadn't gotten in that stupid fight... Just-- if I had just minded my own business. We could've been on stage. We would've been somewhere else. You wouldn't have gotten hurt-- I should've minded my own business, I should've just.. just.. walked away instead of trying to save her from everything." He closed his eyes and shook his head, his arms falling down, one on his knees, the other across his stomach.

Quickly he ripped off his jean jacket and chucked it across the room, sweat beads rolling down his face, his heart still racing. Guilt was getting the better of him, it was driving him insane, and why he couldn't quite comprehend the fact that he couldn't change anything, that it was all just an accident, all mistakes... He couldn't comprehend the fact that he was human. Patrick didn't have a god complex, he didn't before, and even fame couldn't get him one. But for some reason he'd felt the need to protect Brodie that day. Protect her from her manager, protect her from a problem that she- herself- had started in the first place. He was trying not to cry, trying so hard not to just flip out and run away- never looking back at anything that had happened. Disappear off the face of the earth. Everyone forget about Patrick Stump.

The media had been hounding after them, their stupid propagandas slashed across front pages, some talking about accidents- others talking about fights- a few even stating that Pete and Patrick had actually physically fought each other. Sure he'd hit Pete once, but it'd been once, and it was something they just joked about at times. Things worse than this had happened to them, all four of them, or even just Pete and Patrick as friends. They'd gone through tougher times and just looked back at them as a stepping stone. But why did this feel so much worse? It felt so.. so... painful, inside and out. Like something was eating away at him, burning him from the inside. The noises, the ruckus, it was all driving him crazy. He covered his face with his hands and curled himself up into a ball, his body still pressed against the door way. Sadly enough, he was used to seeing Pete break down, he could handle someone else going through a horrible point. But he didn't quite know how to handle himself.

[/center]

[Pete Wentz]

Oh how, how is this worth waiting
It feels like it's rushed, rushed because you...
Oh, how they hesitate 'cause they already dream if you are

[/i] to. It was just so very hard to do so sometimes.
Pete got up, crossing the room quickly and falling to his knees beside Patrick. Pete wasn't even sure what he was going to do or say. The last week felt like a whirlwind of emotions, of pain and upset. Right now Pete wanted the rest of the world to just stop, for someone to hit the pause button - or the rewind button. That was right. He wanted to rewind. Rewind to 2005 - maybe 2003... 2001? Pete wasn't even sure, he couldn't truly pinpoint that major event in his life that had led up to this very moment. The amount of paths and choices he could have made that could have avoided this situation... unless, of course, everything was laid out before them. Perhaps this was supposed to ring alarm bells for Pete, that the angst was supposed to say something to him but right now Pete couldn't really comprehend anything. It wasn't about the band anymore, it wasn't about Brodie or about anyone else in the world. It wasn't about him. This was about Patrick, about something Pete had been ignoring despite the fact that those alarm bells should have been ringing loud and clear. Pete didn't even want to dwell on what that could be, but he knew he couldn't just kneel there forever and say nothing, but Pete couldn't even splutter out a single word right now.
"Patrick..." Pete managed, and with that he broke, it only took the smallest thing and it happened. Pete could feel the tears filling in his eyes and he wiped them away quickly, refusing to let himself cry, refusing to give himself that privildge right now when Patrick needed him more than ever. "Patrick, you... you always helped me... you always told me what I had to be told and you know I will do the same for you. This is not your fault. You did nothing wrong... You did what you thought was right - what is right..." Pete said, choking back the tears again. What was wrong with him? Why was he feeling like this? His best friend was on the floor, and he still couldn't push aside that guilt and self-hatred? What was wrong with him?
"Oh, shit," Pete muttered, wiping his eyes yet again. "I know I've been an ass, Patrick. I've been a horrible, terrible ass for so long... I... I don't know why I do half the fucking shit I do," Pete muttered. "But... Patrick... it's okay... you can't do everything... you can't always save people... you can't save people from themselves... and no one expects you to," Pete said. "Fuck, this isn't what I mea... I..." Where had the usual charismatic, eloquent Pete gone? Why was he stumbling over his own words, desperate to believe that Patrick's break down was at his own hands and that he had to convince he didn't have a 'save me' sign on his back? This wasn't about Pete anymore, this was about something more serious.
"Patrick..." Pete replied, attempting to pull him into a hug now, although this proved more difficult than he had previously foreseen.[/color][/size][/blockquote][/ul]

They're calling you out
Is this a sign of the end, are we losing him?
Is this is a sign of distress, are you losing him?

[Patrick Stump]

EVERYBODY CRIES
AND SOMETIMES YOU CAN STILL LOSE EVEN IF YOU REALLY TRY

It was impossible. Everything. Patrick tucked his head down, trying to hide himself, trying to hide from Pete. Suddenly every part of his body ached, every muscle cramping up and making him curl even tighter. He quietly gasped to inhale, his entire body trembling for a moment, and he closed his eyes, tears silently running down his cheeks. Each time he opened his eyes, it was dark, his face blocked from the light. Block himself from the world, maybe it'll go away. A childish assumption but it was the only thing he had to hold on to right now. He curled himself as tight as he could, compacting himself until it was painful. Patrick's heart beat throbbed in his ears, his breathing becoming quiet gasps as tears continued to swell up in his eyes. Each time he exhaled more would come, more would fall, sliding down his cheeks and dripping off his chin, a few hitting the floor like blood drops.

He swallowed his breath when Pete said his name, every word slowly sinking into Patrick's mind. But he wouldn't look up, couldn't look up, staring in to his own darkness. Pete's words, too, floated out of this darkness. Like a conscience, these words were telling him things that Patrick didn't want to hear. you can't always save people. The words throbbed his head, his mind, his thoughts. It echoed in his ears and he closed his eyes tight. you can't save people from themselves. Another rush of tears fell from his eyes, yet he remained silent, tucked away in his little ball. His ball, his darkness, his protection from the world. He suddenly felt so small and insignificant, pulling his arms tighter around himself, as if that was going to make him feel anymore secure.

Patrick stayed in his place as Pete hugged him- silent, blinking as tears rolled down his cheeks. His eyes burned and he tipped his head down a little further. He took a deep breath, holding it for quite some time. It was in those moments that he lost track of time, staring into the darkness of his little confinement, and everything seemed to stop. There was no noise, no sight, no feeling. Everything was gone. In that moment he felt strangely cold, his lungs burning and begging for air but for some reason he couldn't let go.

[/center]

[Pete Wentz]

Inevitably
It's starting to bleed
And couldn't be stopped, that's justice

[/color][/size][/blockquote][/ul]

Incredible luck, to lift and be struck
What curious things..

[Patrick Stump]

TALKING ABOUT THE DREAM LIKE THE DREAM IS OVER
TALK LIKE THAT WONT GET YOU NOWHERE

Patrick jumped, his entire body tensing up- yet uncoiling when Pete began smashing glass. He inhaled sharply as shards of glass clashed on the floor, the shattering sounds making no difference to the people bustling outside the door. His body uncoiled and he turned his head away from the flying glass, covering his head. Each time he breathed in it came with dry sobs, his eyes red, cheeks puffy and bright red as well. He pressed his hands to the floor, heaving himself up onto his feet. He yelped, shards of glass digging into his right hand. His knees shook as he stood in the door way once more, unable to do anything as he watched Pete destroy the room. Patrick closed his eyes and franticly shook his head, hoping that when he opened them, that this was all a day dream. Start this over, rewind, take time back so that he could change things.

More tears fell from his eyes and he used the back of his hand to wipe them away. His breath hitched in his throat as Pete slumped in the corner. Patrick looked away, closing his eyes and biting his lip. His entire body quivered, silence drifting through the room other than the occasional gasps and dry sobs. He shook his head violently, whispering "No" to himself. Just... no... He spun around and took off, running through the back stage as fast as he could, his sneakers pounding against the floor so hard they hurt, his breathing quickening and becoming quite heavy. He wasn't sure where he was going, or why he was going there. All he knew is that he needed to be there. There- anywhere but here, anywhere from where he was right now. Few people moved out of his way, a bit spooked from what they'd been doing, to see someone racing through backstage- someone who they hadn't even known was there to begin with.