Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Fall Out Boy Trail
Shut Your Mouth And Get Down On The Floor
3 reviewsFOB Trail says: Pete's recklessness gets him a lot more than he bargained for. -70.
1Exciting
The sun rose the next morning over a chilly but ever-bustling New York City. It was the time of day where half the people on the streets were stumbling home from one of the many nightclubs, and the other half were early birds going off to their high-position jobs. The boys (and girl), however, were making the most of their day off, tucked away in their bunks fast asleep. Even Pete slept a lot longer than usual, and when he woke a few hours later he felt strangely refreshed… until he sat up.
His headache knocked him back onto the bed, and he groaned as his hangover started to kick in. He’d need a couple of paracetamol, but… how to get to the kitchen...?
His mouth opened – but then he remembered. Patrick wouldn’t even give him the time of day any more. If he gave Pete paracetamol he’d probably force the whole bottle down his throat.
‘Joe!’
A shuffle in the bunk above him, and a sleepy voice answered.
‘What?’
‘Can you get me a couple of aspirin? I can hardly get off the bed.’
Joe groaned, and slowly climbed out of his warm bed, fetching two pills and a glass of water from the kitchen and handing them to Pete.
‘Don’t wake me again,’ he muttered, falling into his bunk. Seconds later, soft snoring could be heard.
After a few hours (and some much-needed rest), Pete managed to get out of bed and outside. As he walked over to the venue, the previous night’s events began to kick in again, and he sighed to himself.
Why do things always have to be so difficult?
He tried to answer this question as he walked into the venue and threw himself into a sofa. Maybe it was because they were so different? He’d never met someone so completely opposite from him… but then he’d always thought that was why they were such good friends.
He couldn’t think on it much longer, as Gabe strolled in and flopped down next to him.
‘What’s up, Pete?’
‘Not much, man, you?’
‘I’m planning!’
Gabe had a sly grin on his face.
‘What do you mean?’
‘For tonight. We’re all going out, all of us. Raise a little hell. You up for it?’
Pete started to consider. As he looked away for a moment, Patrick walked into the venue, laptop tucked under his arm. His eyes swivelled round the room, and suddenly locked with Pete’s. There was something in Patrick’s face, some sort of look Pete had seen before, but couldn’t quite put his finger on. He felt himself relent a little as he saw a glimmer of remorse in Patrick’s face, some sort of mercy…
Patrick broke the stare, his eyes instead landing on a very relaxed-looking William (who, incidentally, had been ignoring Pete all morning). Pete watched as Patrick made his way over, and tried to listen in on what they were saying to each other, but heard nothing except laughter. An all-too-familiar wave of jealousy crashed through him, despite his attempts to will it away. But this time… it was followed up with a tiny little sense of sadness.
This is ridiculous, Pete! Get a grip!
His brain had kicked in again, and as unwelcome as its presence was at times, he always listened to it.
You’re gonna go out tonight and have fun. Who cares what that jerk’s getting up to? You’re not accountable to him any more! Forget him! Forget him!
With a grave expression, Pete turned back to Gabe.
‘You’re on.’
********************************
The sun set quickly over New York City that evening. It felt much the same as the morning, except this time half the people on the streets were going home from work, and the other half were heading out to party at the clubs. Although it was dark and wintery the lights illuminated the streets, and people were swarming them. Girls on hen nights, guys on a ‘lads’ night out’, groups of clubbers, the odd older couple coming back from dinner, frowning slightly at the pumping music coming from the clubs. Before too long one of the shining new vans pulled down the street, and the party-goers were amazed at the people tumbling out of it and running inside… well, all running except Andy, Patrick and William who sloped in slowly, unimpressed with the excess and cheapness of it all.
Pete, meanwhile, had charged straight in, all up for a party, and went straight to the bar to get something large and alcoholic. Not caring what it was, he let Gabe order and looked around excitedly. There were people everywhere. Dancing, drinking, chatting in corners, making loud noises. There were glitter balls and fantastic lighting and waitresses in bikinis and some sort of fast dance beat booming through the room.
Pete turned to see his drink in front of him, and after downing it and ordering another he thrust himself into the crowd, partying with whoever gave him the attention. Before too long he found himself sandwiched between two girls, both trying their best to turn him on, and he led their movements eagerly. But as the evening wore on, and drink after drink was downed, he realised his brain had, once again, let him down. After a good hour of relentless partying he stumbled to the side of the dance floor for a moment, leaning against the wall and sliding down into a sitting position.
The sudden rest gave his thoughts a chance to wander. As he sat there, miserably watching the drunken world go by, his head spinning and starting to feel sore, he thought of Patrick. He had no idea where he was, but he wished he knew. Pete subconsciously began to make plans. He’d go and find Patrick, take him outside, and beg his forgiveness. He’d offer anything to make it right again (although it would be hard after all the drink) and make him promise to give things another try. Sure, it had only been one day since their argument. And sure, he’d messed up once before… OK, several times before. But they always made it through. And besides, Pete wasn’t sure how long he could carry on this ‘couldn’t-care-less’ façade and go without Patrick’s laugh, his voice, his kindness, and his warm hugs…
He stood up, suddenly not wanting to think about it any more, and stumbled back to the dance floor, grabbing the nearest reckless clubber, his head rushing with the noise, the lights, the skin…
‘Why did they drag us here?’
The three party poopers sat in a sheltered booth in the corner; William with a glass of wine, Andy and Patrick with water; all thinking the same thing. A gaggle of girls ran past wearing blindingly bright, tight dresses and they shuddered.
‘I hate these places,’ Patrick spat. ‘Why we all had to come I will never understand.’
‘I know, man. Still, they’re tolerable most of the time…’ William looked ready to take back his words as yet more semi-naked girls walked past; even more unsuitably dressed than the first group. Andy just glared at his glass.
Patrick’s eyes wandered to the dance floor, just at the right time to see Pete in a passionate, sloppy make-out with a barely-dressed girl. Jerk’s obviously wasted, he thought coldly, and didn’t even begin to worry as she started to pull him towards the exit, Pete stumbling and his hands going everywhere. Serves him right if…
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a lot of movement coming from the entrance. Looking properly he saw a whole group of bouncers trying to block access for someone, someone who could cause a lot of trouble. People were stopping to look, lots of uncertain conversations being shouted above the music. But suddenly the bouncers moved apart, and the mystery man came in. Some young guy, barely an adult, dark-haired and… A gleam of silver. He had a gun.
High-pitched shrieks filled the room, followed by a terrible, tense silence.
‘All of you shut up and get back! NOW!’
They did as he said, mumbling frightened as they moved. The gun was steady in his hand as he spoke, no trace of fear on his face. This guy was dangerous. Even the bouncers had moved away from him.
He looked around slowly with steely cold eyes, suddenly lighting up when they found their victim of choice.
Patrick.
He went to push through the crowd, but found it parted from him as if by magic, a few whimpers coming through every now and then. As he reached the booth Patrick jumped up to leave instinctively, but was forced back down by a cold barrel pressing hard against his jaw.
‘I don’t think you wanna be doing that, man,’ he whispered, sending a shiver through Patrick. ‘It’s not the choice I’d make in your position. You catch my drift?’
All Patrick could do was nod, and swallow what little spit was left in his mouth.
‘Now then. Why don’t we see what the big rock star brought with him today?’ He dropped the wheedling tone suddenly to a harsh command. ‘Wallet on the table. Now.’
Hesitation.
The barrel pressed harder against Patrick’s jaw, causing him to bite his lip with pain. ‘Don’t be stupid. Don’t make out you’re the hero here. You’ll only have a very big price to pay. Get your wallet out now.’
Hesitation.
‘I said get it out!’
‘Hey!’
The gunman wheeled round suddenly, gun pointed, to find Pete stumbling through the crowd towards him.
‘Y-you get your… filthy hands… off my best friend…’
Patrick’s heart leapt. But suddenly his stomach twisted into knots again as he realised the danger was all Pete’s. ‘Pete, no!’ he mouthed desperately.
The gunman’s finger pushed the trigger ever so slightly.
‘Don’t you take another step or I’ll end it for you.’
Pete stopped, swaying slightly in his drunkenness. As the gunman neared him he backed away in a circle, eventually coming to stand in front of Patrick.
‘Don’t think you can… come in here and c-cause trouble with my friends. ‘Cause you’ll have me to deal with.’
‘Please, Pete, don’t say any more,’ Patrick whispered. Pete pushed him behind him even more.
‘It’s alright, man… Hey, big-shot! Give me the gun.’
The gunman backed off slowly, frowning, starting to make his way back through the parted crowd. He hadn’t expected this. Pete laughed triumphantly, swaggering.
‘Yeah, you back off. You go home crying to Mommy and–’
BANG.
'Pete!!'
The gunman flew through the crowd in the commotion that followed, knocking a girl flat on her face, having had no success this evening. Patrick fell to Pete’s side. His eyes were wide, his breathing short and sharp. Blood was oozing through the fresh wound in his side.
‘Oh Pete, are you… Of course you’re not OK. Can I make it any more comfortable for you? Do you want some water…? Pete?’ No response. Patrick looked up with tears in his eyes. Everyone was watching.
‘Will someone call a frickin’ ambulance?!’ he exploded. The crowd started to shuffle and murmur. The girl on the floor, sporting a newly-blackened eye, sat up and reached into her pocket.
‘It’s OK, I’m on it.’
Patrick was amazed that no one else had started to phone immediately. But then he considered that half of them were in a drunken stupor, some probably on drugs. Looking behind him he saw William and Andy just staring, completely in shock.
‘…Patrick?’
He looked back down to find Pete’s glazed eyes staring at him, and brushed his fringe out of them.
‘It hurts, Patrick.’ Tears started to form in his eyes.
‘I know, Pete, I know. But the ambulance will be here soon. They’ll sort you out, don’t worry.’
He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly.
‘I – I don’t think… there’s much point…’
‘There is. Just hold on a little bit longer and you’ll be OK.’
‘Tell Ashlee I love her… and Bronx…’
‘Stop it.’
‘They get everything… but maybe you’d better have – Decaydance…’
‘Stop it, Pete!’ Patrick’s voice became hysterical.
Pete smiled weakly, opening his eyes slightly. ‘I love you too… Patrick. Best friends for…’
He couldn’t finish his sentence as his head lolled to the ground, his body completely motionless. Patrick could only hold him for a moment, gasping out tears before paramedics seized Pete’s body from him. He watched through blurry eyes as they took him on a covered stretcher to the awaiting ambulance, a crowd starting to gather outside. Suddenly he was being pulled across the club out to the entrance and being bundled into a car, struggling to sit up as someone, the girl who’d called the ambulance, started up the engine and roared after it. He leaned his head against the cold window wearily, tears still flowing, the never-ending wail of sirens filling his head. How could the night have gone any worse?
His headache knocked him back onto the bed, and he groaned as his hangover started to kick in. He’d need a couple of paracetamol, but… how to get to the kitchen...?
His mouth opened – but then he remembered. Patrick wouldn’t even give him the time of day any more. If he gave Pete paracetamol he’d probably force the whole bottle down his throat.
‘Joe!’
A shuffle in the bunk above him, and a sleepy voice answered.
‘What?’
‘Can you get me a couple of aspirin? I can hardly get off the bed.’
Joe groaned, and slowly climbed out of his warm bed, fetching two pills and a glass of water from the kitchen and handing them to Pete.
‘Don’t wake me again,’ he muttered, falling into his bunk. Seconds later, soft snoring could be heard.
After a few hours (and some much-needed rest), Pete managed to get out of bed and outside. As he walked over to the venue, the previous night’s events began to kick in again, and he sighed to himself.
Why do things always have to be so difficult?
He tried to answer this question as he walked into the venue and threw himself into a sofa. Maybe it was because they were so different? He’d never met someone so completely opposite from him… but then he’d always thought that was why they were such good friends.
He couldn’t think on it much longer, as Gabe strolled in and flopped down next to him.
‘What’s up, Pete?’
‘Not much, man, you?’
‘I’m planning!’
Gabe had a sly grin on his face.
‘What do you mean?’
‘For tonight. We’re all going out, all of us. Raise a little hell. You up for it?’
Pete started to consider. As he looked away for a moment, Patrick walked into the venue, laptop tucked under his arm. His eyes swivelled round the room, and suddenly locked with Pete’s. There was something in Patrick’s face, some sort of look Pete had seen before, but couldn’t quite put his finger on. He felt himself relent a little as he saw a glimmer of remorse in Patrick’s face, some sort of mercy…
Patrick broke the stare, his eyes instead landing on a very relaxed-looking William (who, incidentally, had been ignoring Pete all morning). Pete watched as Patrick made his way over, and tried to listen in on what they were saying to each other, but heard nothing except laughter. An all-too-familiar wave of jealousy crashed through him, despite his attempts to will it away. But this time… it was followed up with a tiny little sense of sadness.
This is ridiculous, Pete! Get a grip!
His brain had kicked in again, and as unwelcome as its presence was at times, he always listened to it.
You’re gonna go out tonight and have fun. Who cares what that jerk’s getting up to? You’re not accountable to him any more! Forget him! Forget him!
With a grave expression, Pete turned back to Gabe.
‘You’re on.’
********************************
The sun set quickly over New York City that evening. It felt much the same as the morning, except this time half the people on the streets were going home from work, and the other half were heading out to party at the clubs. Although it was dark and wintery the lights illuminated the streets, and people were swarming them. Girls on hen nights, guys on a ‘lads’ night out’, groups of clubbers, the odd older couple coming back from dinner, frowning slightly at the pumping music coming from the clubs. Before too long one of the shining new vans pulled down the street, and the party-goers were amazed at the people tumbling out of it and running inside… well, all running except Andy, Patrick and William who sloped in slowly, unimpressed with the excess and cheapness of it all.
Pete, meanwhile, had charged straight in, all up for a party, and went straight to the bar to get something large and alcoholic. Not caring what it was, he let Gabe order and looked around excitedly. There were people everywhere. Dancing, drinking, chatting in corners, making loud noises. There were glitter balls and fantastic lighting and waitresses in bikinis and some sort of fast dance beat booming through the room.
Pete turned to see his drink in front of him, and after downing it and ordering another he thrust himself into the crowd, partying with whoever gave him the attention. Before too long he found himself sandwiched between two girls, both trying their best to turn him on, and he led their movements eagerly. But as the evening wore on, and drink after drink was downed, he realised his brain had, once again, let him down. After a good hour of relentless partying he stumbled to the side of the dance floor for a moment, leaning against the wall and sliding down into a sitting position.
The sudden rest gave his thoughts a chance to wander. As he sat there, miserably watching the drunken world go by, his head spinning and starting to feel sore, he thought of Patrick. He had no idea where he was, but he wished he knew. Pete subconsciously began to make plans. He’d go and find Patrick, take him outside, and beg his forgiveness. He’d offer anything to make it right again (although it would be hard after all the drink) and make him promise to give things another try. Sure, it had only been one day since their argument. And sure, he’d messed up once before… OK, several times before. But they always made it through. And besides, Pete wasn’t sure how long he could carry on this ‘couldn’t-care-less’ façade and go without Patrick’s laugh, his voice, his kindness, and his warm hugs…
He stood up, suddenly not wanting to think about it any more, and stumbled back to the dance floor, grabbing the nearest reckless clubber, his head rushing with the noise, the lights, the skin…
‘Why did they drag us here?’
The three party poopers sat in a sheltered booth in the corner; William with a glass of wine, Andy and Patrick with water; all thinking the same thing. A gaggle of girls ran past wearing blindingly bright, tight dresses and they shuddered.
‘I hate these places,’ Patrick spat. ‘Why we all had to come I will never understand.’
‘I know, man. Still, they’re tolerable most of the time…’ William looked ready to take back his words as yet more semi-naked girls walked past; even more unsuitably dressed than the first group. Andy just glared at his glass.
Patrick’s eyes wandered to the dance floor, just at the right time to see Pete in a passionate, sloppy make-out with a barely-dressed girl. Jerk’s obviously wasted, he thought coldly, and didn’t even begin to worry as she started to pull him towards the exit, Pete stumbling and his hands going everywhere. Serves him right if…
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a lot of movement coming from the entrance. Looking properly he saw a whole group of bouncers trying to block access for someone, someone who could cause a lot of trouble. People were stopping to look, lots of uncertain conversations being shouted above the music. But suddenly the bouncers moved apart, and the mystery man came in. Some young guy, barely an adult, dark-haired and… A gleam of silver. He had a gun.
High-pitched shrieks filled the room, followed by a terrible, tense silence.
‘All of you shut up and get back! NOW!’
They did as he said, mumbling frightened as they moved. The gun was steady in his hand as he spoke, no trace of fear on his face. This guy was dangerous. Even the bouncers had moved away from him.
He looked around slowly with steely cold eyes, suddenly lighting up when they found their victim of choice.
Patrick.
He went to push through the crowd, but found it parted from him as if by magic, a few whimpers coming through every now and then. As he reached the booth Patrick jumped up to leave instinctively, but was forced back down by a cold barrel pressing hard against his jaw.
‘I don’t think you wanna be doing that, man,’ he whispered, sending a shiver through Patrick. ‘It’s not the choice I’d make in your position. You catch my drift?’
All Patrick could do was nod, and swallow what little spit was left in his mouth.
‘Now then. Why don’t we see what the big rock star brought with him today?’ He dropped the wheedling tone suddenly to a harsh command. ‘Wallet on the table. Now.’
Hesitation.
The barrel pressed harder against Patrick’s jaw, causing him to bite his lip with pain. ‘Don’t be stupid. Don’t make out you’re the hero here. You’ll only have a very big price to pay. Get your wallet out now.’
Hesitation.
‘I said get it out!’
‘Hey!’
The gunman wheeled round suddenly, gun pointed, to find Pete stumbling through the crowd towards him.
‘Y-you get your… filthy hands… off my best friend…’
Patrick’s heart leapt. But suddenly his stomach twisted into knots again as he realised the danger was all Pete’s. ‘Pete, no!’ he mouthed desperately.
The gunman’s finger pushed the trigger ever so slightly.
‘Don’t you take another step or I’ll end it for you.’
Pete stopped, swaying slightly in his drunkenness. As the gunman neared him he backed away in a circle, eventually coming to stand in front of Patrick.
‘Don’t think you can… come in here and c-cause trouble with my friends. ‘Cause you’ll have me to deal with.’
‘Please, Pete, don’t say any more,’ Patrick whispered. Pete pushed him behind him even more.
‘It’s alright, man… Hey, big-shot! Give me the gun.’
The gunman backed off slowly, frowning, starting to make his way back through the parted crowd. He hadn’t expected this. Pete laughed triumphantly, swaggering.
‘Yeah, you back off. You go home crying to Mommy and–’
BANG.
'Pete!!'
The gunman flew through the crowd in the commotion that followed, knocking a girl flat on her face, having had no success this evening. Patrick fell to Pete’s side. His eyes were wide, his breathing short and sharp. Blood was oozing through the fresh wound in his side.
‘Oh Pete, are you… Of course you’re not OK. Can I make it any more comfortable for you? Do you want some water…? Pete?’ No response. Patrick looked up with tears in his eyes. Everyone was watching.
‘Will someone call a frickin’ ambulance?!’ he exploded. The crowd started to shuffle and murmur. The girl on the floor, sporting a newly-blackened eye, sat up and reached into her pocket.
‘It’s OK, I’m on it.’
Patrick was amazed that no one else had started to phone immediately. But then he considered that half of them were in a drunken stupor, some probably on drugs. Looking behind him he saw William and Andy just staring, completely in shock.
‘…Patrick?’
He looked back down to find Pete’s glazed eyes staring at him, and brushed his fringe out of them.
‘It hurts, Patrick.’ Tears started to form in his eyes.
‘I know, Pete, I know. But the ambulance will be here soon. They’ll sort you out, don’t worry.’
He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly.
‘I – I don’t think… there’s much point…’
‘There is. Just hold on a little bit longer and you’ll be OK.’
‘Tell Ashlee I love her… and Bronx…’
‘Stop it.’
‘They get everything… but maybe you’d better have – Decaydance…’
‘Stop it, Pete!’ Patrick’s voice became hysterical.
Pete smiled weakly, opening his eyes slightly. ‘I love you too… Patrick. Best friends for…’
He couldn’t finish his sentence as his head lolled to the ground, his body completely motionless. Patrick could only hold him for a moment, gasping out tears before paramedics seized Pete’s body from him. He watched through blurry eyes as they took him on a covered stretcher to the awaiting ambulance, a crowd starting to gather outside. Suddenly he was being pulled across the club out to the entrance and being bundled into a car, struggling to sit up as someone, the girl who’d called the ambulance, started up the engine and roared after it. He leaned his head against the cold window wearily, tears still flowing, the never-ending wail of sirens filling his head. How could the night have gone any worse?
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