Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > My Own Sins
Pete's face fell at the news; a combination of shock and fear gripping him and displaying graphically in his expression. His eyes welled up as he stared at Benzedrine; the man looked and sounded so much like Patrick and Pete knew all too well that the nightmare's hatred had been meant for him. His mind was in turmoil. He didn't want to blame Benzedrine. Blame suggested that it could have been avoided somehow and he simply didn't want to contemplate the idea that if he or someone else had made different decisions, that Patrick wouldn't be suffering right now. Blame didn't help; it just ate away at your soul and destroyed you from the inside out. Neither did he want to wish that it was Benzedrine dying instead, but he couldn't help the thought creeping into his mind and he hated himself for it. Looking into the doctor's eyes, he could see the pain reflected back.
“Do your best,” he whispered, giving Benzedrine a light squeeze on his arm.
A scuffling of feet running down the corridor made each of them turn, all except Benzedrine who was now measuring out his best guess at the correct dose. He knew from experience that the antidote to the hatred didn't necessarily increase linearly - a ball of hatred could be twice the size of another but require three times the dose due to the density. But too much of a dose was as bad as too little. It had to be exactly right.
“Mr Crab is here to help!” Joe blurted as he Andy and Mr Crab skidded to a halt at the entrance to the room. “You know, with some luck.”
Benzedrine turned grateful eyes towards the group standing in the doorway. He hadn't asked for help earlier, there hadn't been any apparent need. If everything had worked, he would have simply calculated the correct dose and administered it. There had been no need for luck. But now, when it came down to pure guesswork, he desperately needed it.
“I can't calculate the dosage,” Benzedrine explained quickly. “I need luck to guess it. May I have some, please, Mr Crab?”
“Measure your dose,” Mr Crab responded immediately with a firm nod.
Benzedrine looked down at the large quantity of the antidote he had already mixed. Frowning as he looked at it, he knew immediately that something felt wrong. He had prepared three different sizes of syringe and had the very largest of them in his hand as he stared for a few brief moments at the bottle. Placing the hypodermic back on the table, Benzedrine reached for the smallest of all the syringes and extracting only a small amount from the bottle, Benzedrine headed toward Patrick.
“Silas, are you sure that's enough?” The Guv'nor asked worriedly.
Benzedrine wasn't sure of anything, all he knew was that it felt right. He couldn't begin to explain it so he opted not even to try. Piercing Patrick's skin with the needle, Benzedrine almost heard the whole room hold its collective breath. Removing the syringe, Benzedrine waited, staring intensely at Patrick, not daring to look away for fear of catching someone else's eye. Moments later, he felt an arm slip around his shoulder as his father drew close. Whatever happened now, he would need his family more than ever and he was grateful for his father's comfort.
“Did it work?” Pete asked quietly, scarcely above a whisper.
“I don't know,” Benzedrine replied, barely audible.
Moments passed, minutes passed and they all continued to stare.
“You said… before… minutes. Is he okay?”
Suddenly exhaling in sheer relief, Benzedrine pointed to the purple marks as at first they seemed to retreat, then eventually fade from view. Finally, Patrick's eyes opened slightly and a weak sigh escaped his lips.
“Patrick!” Pete cried rushing forward and almost flopping heavily on Patrick's chest. Protesting weakly, Patrick went unheard over the muffled sobbing of his worried friend.
“Pete,” Benzedrine pulled gently at Pete's arm, “you have to let him rest.”
Looking up, Pete seemed almost as exhausted as Benzedrine. The pair stared at each other in mutual respect before Pete straightened up and offered a hand to Benzedrine.
“You did it,” he grinned as Patrick drifted into a calm renewing sleep, carefully monitored by The Guv'nor.
“How did you know?” Andy began. “The dose, I mean.”
“Luck,” Benzedrine grinned shyly, offering Mr Crab a mouthed `thank you'.
“No, how did you know how much to give?”
“I told you - luck!”
“You're missing the point,” Andy pressed. “You thought it was a very large dose and changed your mind. Why?”
“Break it in two,” Benzedrine suggested.
Donnie looked down at the glowing black orb before looking back at Benzedrine, more than a little confused.
“It'll change its density,” Donnie argued.
“It's okay, we don't need it now,” Benzedrine nodded his encouragement. “Break it in two.”
Reaching in a drawer for a laser cutter, Donnie made an incision into the sphere and immediately gasped his surprise as the two sections fell apart - two halves of a shell.
“It's hollow!” he cried, taken aback by the discovery.
“What does that mean?” asked Joe, looking from Benzedrine to Donnie.
“It means that although he felt he had a lot of hatred, it was just on the surface,” The Guv'nor explained. “There was no depth or substance to it. Just a veneer over his real feelings. It doesn't surprise me - it's the way he's always dealt with things. Cover up, hide, protect. He's managed to misread so many signs over the years that he's convinced himself that you hated him. This was his response - an elaborate, yet thin veil of a feeling conjured up to mask his real pain.”
Pete looked with a worried expression at Benzedrine who wore a thin, faint smile that looked almost too fragile to be genuine. He should have been happy at the news - Sandman hadn't hated him, he had just managed to fool himself into believing it! But the odd frown that was now forming shook him deeply.
“Silas?” Pete asked gently.
It could have been the wrong thing to say, or it could have been exactly the right trigger depending on the outlook, but either way, his name called in the familiar voice sent Benzedrine to his knees, followed by gut wrenching sobs and a torrent of tears.
The Guv'nor knelt at his son's side and pulled him close, trying hard to still the shaking in his shoulders as he finally gave in to his pent up pain and fears.
“Donnie,” The Guv'nor spoke quietly. “Get a nurse for Patrick, constant coverage. And…” he sighed as he pulled Benzedrine comfortingly closer. “Everyone, please go back to the waiting room. This should be private.”
It took only a few moments for the room to clear. Even Pete, who had earlier refused to leave Patrick's bedside, knew that some moments were best handled privately. Now helping to clear the room, Pete allowed himself a small sigh of relief. Not only was Patrick now recovering, but he was hopeful that this latest discovery might even help to mend the brother's long-term and apparently nonsensical feud. Pete knew also that he wouldn't be alone in his thoughts - they had all grown strangely fond of the brothers and their strange friends; a feeling they now realised was mutual.
“Do your best,” he whispered, giving Benzedrine a light squeeze on his arm.
A scuffling of feet running down the corridor made each of them turn, all except Benzedrine who was now measuring out his best guess at the correct dose. He knew from experience that the antidote to the hatred didn't necessarily increase linearly - a ball of hatred could be twice the size of another but require three times the dose due to the density. But too much of a dose was as bad as too little. It had to be exactly right.
“Mr Crab is here to help!” Joe blurted as he Andy and Mr Crab skidded to a halt at the entrance to the room. “You know, with some luck.”
Benzedrine turned grateful eyes towards the group standing in the doorway. He hadn't asked for help earlier, there hadn't been any apparent need. If everything had worked, he would have simply calculated the correct dose and administered it. There had been no need for luck. But now, when it came down to pure guesswork, he desperately needed it.
“I can't calculate the dosage,” Benzedrine explained quickly. “I need luck to guess it. May I have some, please, Mr Crab?”
“Measure your dose,” Mr Crab responded immediately with a firm nod.
Benzedrine looked down at the large quantity of the antidote he had already mixed. Frowning as he looked at it, he knew immediately that something felt wrong. He had prepared three different sizes of syringe and had the very largest of them in his hand as he stared for a few brief moments at the bottle. Placing the hypodermic back on the table, Benzedrine reached for the smallest of all the syringes and extracting only a small amount from the bottle, Benzedrine headed toward Patrick.
“Silas, are you sure that's enough?” The Guv'nor asked worriedly.
Benzedrine wasn't sure of anything, all he knew was that it felt right. He couldn't begin to explain it so he opted not even to try. Piercing Patrick's skin with the needle, Benzedrine almost heard the whole room hold its collective breath. Removing the syringe, Benzedrine waited, staring intensely at Patrick, not daring to look away for fear of catching someone else's eye. Moments later, he felt an arm slip around his shoulder as his father drew close. Whatever happened now, he would need his family more than ever and he was grateful for his father's comfort.
“Did it work?” Pete asked quietly, scarcely above a whisper.
“I don't know,” Benzedrine replied, barely audible.
Moments passed, minutes passed and they all continued to stare.
“You said… before… minutes. Is he okay?”
Suddenly exhaling in sheer relief, Benzedrine pointed to the purple marks as at first they seemed to retreat, then eventually fade from view. Finally, Patrick's eyes opened slightly and a weak sigh escaped his lips.
“Patrick!” Pete cried rushing forward and almost flopping heavily on Patrick's chest. Protesting weakly, Patrick went unheard over the muffled sobbing of his worried friend.
“Pete,” Benzedrine pulled gently at Pete's arm, “you have to let him rest.”
Looking up, Pete seemed almost as exhausted as Benzedrine. The pair stared at each other in mutual respect before Pete straightened up and offered a hand to Benzedrine.
“You did it,” he grinned as Patrick drifted into a calm renewing sleep, carefully monitored by The Guv'nor.
“How did you know?” Andy began. “The dose, I mean.”
“Luck,” Benzedrine grinned shyly, offering Mr Crab a mouthed `thank you'.
“No, how did you know how much to give?”
“I told you - luck!”
“You're missing the point,” Andy pressed. “You thought it was a very large dose and changed your mind. Why?”
“Break it in two,” Benzedrine suggested.
Donnie looked down at the glowing black orb before looking back at Benzedrine, more than a little confused.
“It'll change its density,” Donnie argued.
“It's okay, we don't need it now,” Benzedrine nodded his encouragement. “Break it in two.”
Reaching in a drawer for a laser cutter, Donnie made an incision into the sphere and immediately gasped his surprise as the two sections fell apart - two halves of a shell.
“It's hollow!” he cried, taken aback by the discovery.
“What does that mean?” asked Joe, looking from Benzedrine to Donnie.
“It means that although he felt he had a lot of hatred, it was just on the surface,” The Guv'nor explained. “There was no depth or substance to it. Just a veneer over his real feelings. It doesn't surprise me - it's the way he's always dealt with things. Cover up, hide, protect. He's managed to misread so many signs over the years that he's convinced himself that you hated him. This was his response - an elaborate, yet thin veil of a feeling conjured up to mask his real pain.”
Pete looked with a worried expression at Benzedrine who wore a thin, faint smile that looked almost too fragile to be genuine. He should have been happy at the news - Sandman hadn't hated him, he had just managed to fool himself into believing it! But the odd frown that was now forming shook him deeply.
“Silas?” Pete asked gently.
It could have been the wrong thing to say, or it could have been exactly the right trigger depending on the outlook, but either way, his name called in the familiar voice sent Benzedrine to his knees, followed by gut wrenching sobs and a torrent of tears.
The Guv'nor knelt at his son's side and pulled him close, trying hard to still the shaking in his shoulders as he finally gave in to his pent up pain and fears.
“Donnie,” The Guv'nor spoke quietly. “Get a nurse for Patrick, constant coverage. And…” he sighed as he pulled Benzedrine comfortingly closer. “Everyone, please go back to the waiting room. This should be private.”
It took only a few moments for the room to clear. Even Pete, who had earlier refused to leave Patrick's bedside, knew that some moments were best handled privately. Now helping to clear the room, Pete allowed himself a small sigh of relief. Not only was Patrick now recovering, but he was hopeful that this latest discovery might even help to mend the brother's long-term and apparently nonsensical feud. Pete knew also that he wouldn't be alone in his thoughts - they had all grown strangely fond of the brothers and their strange friends; a feeling they now realised was mutual.
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