Tired of it all, how much can one man take?
“Who started the band?”
“Joe found Patrick, but it was pretty much me getting everything together to get things going. I just made the band for fun, I never meant for it to go this far.” That had been Pete’s answer, the answer to throw Joe into the pissed off mood he was now simmering in.
“So, if the band hadn’t taken off, would you have been okay with that?”
“Eh, I had other projects I could sink myself into if it came down to it.”
No! No! No! I wouldn’t have been okay with it! It’s my band! I suggested it and you followed along! Joe had screamed in his mind as he took a sip from the drink in his hand. He stared at the back of Pete’s head, imaging it falling suddenly, rolling to the floor from his shoulders with a sick thump. “Not all of us would have been happy if it didn’t take off. We’re glad it did though, because of all the people we’ve met along the way,” he said as the interviewer shot him a look that clearly said, ‘I wasn’t talking to you.’
When all was said and done with and the guys were headed to the hotel, everything seemed fine, small jokes were made, Pete gave that irritating laugh that hard severely started to bother Joe lately, and when the guys arrived at the hotel they were staying at, Joe disappeared into his room without even a goodnight to the guys, or an invitation to come over and smoke out later.
It was odd, but Andy and Patrick knew how sensitive Joe was about never getting credit for his and Pete’s band idea. They knew well enough not to talk to him about it until he came to them, so both guys retired to their rooms to do what they normally did.
Patrick would call home to check on his family, maybe call a couple of the people he had plans to produce for, so they could schedule when they could get together, and then take care of anything else that might need to be seen to. When he was finished he would end up passing out until the wake up call did it’s job.
Andy would meditate until he was relaxed enough from the stressful interview, and then wake up his sleeping boyfriend, Shaun, for some bedtime “yoga,” until both were ready for bed.
Pete would call Ashlee to check on their son, and reassure her he would be home by the end of the month since that’s when they had some free time. After the phone call, his plans were to surf the internet for a little while, see what the pages had to say, maybe blog and update the fan sites that they actually ran themselves when they had the free time; but all plans changed when there were three sharp knocks on his door.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Pete looked to the door, and then to the clock on the bedside table, wondering who were bother him at almost midnight. “Yeah, baby, I’ll talk to you later,” he said as he got up from his spot, sitting on the bed. “I love you too, Ash, kiss Bronx for me.” He hung up and headed to the door, peering out the peep hole to see a familiar Jew fro on the other side of the door. Unlocking the deadbolt, he opened the door, frowning when he saw the troubled look on Joe’s face. “Hey Joe, come on in,” he said as he opened the door wider, allowing his friend access.
Joe walked in, barely looking at Pete, as he headed towards the glass door that led out to the balcony. “I need to talk to you Pete,” he said as he slid the door open.
Reluctantly, Pete followed his friend, worried about the dead tone the words were spoken with. “Joe, what’s wrong?” Pete questioned as he walked out onto the balcony, the wind instantly mussing his hair. “Is everything okay?”
Joe leaned against the railing, looking out at the seemingly endless skyline. “Pete, why don’t you ever tell anyone it was me? That it was originally MY idea for US to make a band?” He questioned as he looked to the dark-haired man standing beside him. A pair of liquid brown orbs turned to him, confused.
“Joe, it’s what they expect to hear,” Pete answered. “People who don’t know the truth don’t really care about the truth, so why bother?”
Joe stared at him. “Why bother? Because maybe I want people to know I did something with my life. The band was never for fun to me, it was me trying to make something for myself. Who the fuck do you think you are to speak for all of us when speaking for yourself?”
“Joe, what’s the problem? Why are you getting so upset?” Pete asked, furrowing his brow.
“Because everything I did, everything I made, has your fucking NAME ON IT!” He exclaimed, his hands clenching into fists at his side. “You took credit for every fucking thing I created, Pete!”
Pete took notice of the sudden fear filling him as he stared at Joe, who was now looking at him with a look that frightened Pete to his very core. “Joe, I’m so-”
“DON’T EVEN FUCKING SAY SORRY!” Joe screamed, his voice almost getting lost in the wind as it picked up. “It’s too late for sorry. Just like it was too late for me to stop you from jumping off the balcony, Pete. You were listening to that stupid Jeff Buckley song when I came to ask you to come hang out in my room.”
“Joe, what are you talking about?” Pete asked, his voice panicked as he started for the door, but was cut off by Joe stepping in his way. “Joe, I just talked to Ash, she knows I’m okay, she won’t believe I killed myself.”
“I’ll take good care of her, Pete, don’t you worry. I won’t let anything happen to your son either, I swear. But you, I just couldn’t save you, couldn’t stop you, no matter how hard I tried.”
Pete didn’t realize it until it was too late, but as Joe had been speaking to him, and stepping closer, he had been backing up, trying to put distance between him and Joe, only to wind up at the railing of the balcony. When he realized his back was against the railing, he tried to move, but Joe quickly stooped down and grabbed his legs, hoisting him up and over, sending him down.
Joe watched as the screaming, falling figure continued his downward go, his eyes dead, remorseless, as he watched the impact, saw the dark liquid splatter on the sidewalk beneath the street lamp. He heard the screams, faint as they were, as he left the balcony, and then the room, going to his own room, where he would wait for the call he already knew was coming. He had meant what he said. He would watch after little Bronx and Ashlee, but he felt no remorse for the dead body laying on the street, several stories below.
[Author's Note: So, this is the second one that Shaun mentioned he wanted to see: Joe killing Pete because he's tired of Pete taking credit for the formation of Fall Out Boy. I just made up the rest... I feel horrible for using Hallelujah and Jeff Buckley in the fic involving Pete, for those of you who know why, but it worked out great. I have one more fic to post, don't worry, this one is a happy one lol and then I'm done for the day so I can work on beta reading for my friend Ashley. You all need to check out Jameswritr4.]