Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > My Own Sins
“Where do you think you're going?”
Mr Sandman turned sharply, surprised to have been caught in the act of dressing. Having retrieved Pete's borrowed clothes from the dream he had stored them in, he was now almost dressed and wishing he hadn't returned his shoes to him. Standing in the jeans and shirt with the hoodie in his hands, Sandman looked straight into his mother's eyes and tried to lie.
“No,” he began, trying to sound as convincing as he could. “I'm Pete.”
“Oh, I'm sorry, Pete,” she smiled. “Do you have a few minutes? I need to talk to someone.”
Sandman smiled thinly in return; had she really accepted that he was Pete? It seemed unlikely by the way she had answered, but it was just about possible that he had pulled it off. Just about, maybe?
“What about?” he asked with uncertainty as he pulled on the hoodie.
“About my son, I'm worried about him.”
“Which one?”
“As I'm sure you'll know, Pete, I worry about both my sons.”
“Yeah? Do you ever tell them?” Sandman asked grumpily.
“It's what I came here to do, but I have a feeling that Marcus wouldn't be interested in hearing it.”
“What! Why?” Sandman replied indignantly before continuing with a forced even tone. “Er… what makes you think that?”
“Oh, you don't know what he's like,” Eleanor replied, lowering her eyes to keep herself from laughing her son's ungracious expression.
“No, I don't,” he blurted. “And I don't want to!” He shook his head as he took a few paces towards the door. “Look, maybe I'm not the right person,” he added more calmly.
Placing a hand on his chest, Eleanor stopped him in his tracks instantly. A warmth radiated out from her palm, and as it spread it seemed to lock his muscles leaving him standing beside her utterly unable to move. If this were happening in the Dream World, he would easily have been able to counter her move and break free, but in The Hills, he was powerless. The only thing he would physically be able to do would be to send her to sleep, but without the use of his hands, he was unable even to do that.
“Now then, Marcus, now that I have your full attention, I'll ask you again: where do you think you're going?”
Eleanor could feel him straining against the energy with which she held him and his efforts raised a smile to her face. If nothing else, she noted, he was determined to try to avoid this conversation.
“Marcus,” she began sternly remaining close beside him in an almost intimidating fashion. If she had been anyone else but his mother, the situation may well have unnerved him. “You know as well as I do that even in the best of health you couldn't break free - certainly not here in The Hills, probably not even in the Dream World.”
“I wouldn't bet on that,” Sandman tried hard not to sound threatening, but he was keen to affirm his superiority in his own district.
Eleanor smiled broadly at her son's reply. Little had changed since he was a small boy. He was still hot-headed, impetuous and fiercely territorial and she knew that her next comment would only provoke him more but she knew that there were things he had to hear, things he wouldn't want to hear and he had to face them, whether he liked it or not.
“You should accept that we're going to talk and get over it or you're going to exhaust yourself again. Donnie can only stand in for you so long.”
“Donnie! Donnie's doing my job?” Sandman struggled harder against the restraining energy binding each of his muscles, but the more he tried to break free the more her grip on him tightened. “You're doing that on purpose, aren't you?” he gasped finally, realising that she was using his own energy against him.
“Of course I am, dear,” she replied. Taking a seat, she crossed her legs and settled back in the chair.
“All right! All right! You win! You want to know where I was going? I was going home.”
"Going home?" Eleanor raised an eyebrow at Mr Sandman registering both her surprise and disapproval.
"Where else would I go?" he grumbled.
Eleanor rose elegantly from the chair and walked slowly around Sandman, still held in position, unable even to turn his head to follow the circle she made around him.
"Well, you don't actually have to go anywhere."
It was a simple statement and very possibly an invitation but Sandman's obstinate pride refused to let him see it.
"You said it yourself - Donnie can't do my job for long."
Even as he said it, Sandman was cursing himself for allowing his confusion and bitterness to spill into the conversation with his mother. She didn't deserve it. None of them did, but he had harboured these feelings for so long it was actually hard to let go. It was especially diificult for him when she looked up to meet his gaze only to see the hurt in her eyes. The heavy-lidded narrowness of her eyes suggested that she had perhaps been crying. Or it was just possible that she was merely suffering from a lack of sleep, but there was a distance and hollowness in her stare that suggested otherwise.
"I'm sorry," he murmured before repeating himself with more conviction. "I just don't know what to do. I've... I've found out things that make me feel... I'm ashamed of how I've behaved... Things I've done... said. I... I don't know how to fix them. I don't know what to do."
"What did you used to do when you were a boy?" she asked with a smile.
"I'm not a little boy any more," Sandman replied indignantly.
"No," she agreed. "You're a grown man afraid to face your fears!"
"That's not fair!" he protested.
"Oh, but it is, Marcus!" Eleanor rounded on him again, now standing face to face with him and staring with a look of steely determination. "You said it yourself. You're ashamed, you don't know what to do. So what do I find? Are you coming to me to help you work this out, like you used to or are you trying go sneak out to head home before you're forced to deal with a real problem?"
Sandman nodded almost imperceptively, partly because of the restriction on his movement and partly because he had retreated inside himself.
"What can I do? I can't face anyone."
Eleanor brushed a few strands of hair away from his eyes.
"You mean, you don't want to?"
Sandman exhaled noisily. "I mean I'm scared."
"What of?" Eleanor pressed, sensing a breakthrough.
"I haven't spoken to him for so long. I've shown him how much I hated him and now... Now I need to apologise. But I'm scared."
"What of?" she asked again.
"That he'll push me away."
"Why do you think he'll do that?"
Sandman lowered his eyes dejectedly. "Because I deserve it."
Suddenly able to move, Sandman turned an expectant gaze towards his mother.
"You know what you have to do," she nodded kindly. "But first, sweetheart, please put your own clothes on. You look very strange dressed like that."
Sandman smiled as he thought of what Pete's reaction to that statement would be. Nodding gravely, Sandman sighed.
"Wish me luck?" he asked giving her a gentle hug.
Eleanor smiled and nodded, watching as he left the room.
"I'm hoping you're not going to need it," she added as he went out of earshot.
Mr Sandman turned sharply, surprised to have been caught in the act of dressing. Having retrieved Pete's borrowed clothes from the dream he had stored them in, he was now almost dressed and wishing he hadn't returned his shoes to him. Standing in the jeans and shirt with the hoodie in his hands, Sandman looked straight into his mother's eyes and tried to lie.
“No,” he began, trying to sound as convincing as he could. “I'm Pete.”
“Oh, I'm sorry, Pete,” she smiled. “Do you have a few minutes? I need to talk to someone.”
Sandman smiled thinly in return; had she really accepted that he was Pete? It seemed unlikely by the way she had answered, but it was just about possible that he had pulled it off. Just about, maybe?
“What about?” he asked with uncertainty as he pulled on the hoodie.
“About my son, I'm worried about him.”
“Which one?”
“As I'm sure you'll know, Pete, I worry about both my sons.”
“Yeah? Do you ever tell them?” Sandman asked grumpily.
“It's what I came here to do, but I have a feeling that Marcus wouldn't be interested in hearing it.”
“What! Why?” Sandman replied indignantly before continuing with a forced even tone. “Er… what makes you think that?”
“Oh, you don't know what he's like,” Eleanor replied, lowering her eyes to keep herself from laughing her son's ungracious expression.
“No, I don't,” he blurted. “And I don't want to!” He shook his head as he took a few paces towards the door. “Look, maybe I'm not the right person,” he added more calmly.
Placing a hand on his chest, Eleanor stopped him in his tracks instantly. A warmth radiated out from her palm, and as it spread it seemed to lock his muscles leaving him standing beside her utterly unable to move. If this were happening in the Dream World, he would easily have been able to counter her move and break free, but in The Hills, he was powerless. The only thing he would physically be able to do would be to send her to sleep, but without the use of his hands, he was unable even to do that.
“Now then, Marcus, now that I have your full attention, I'll ask you again: where do you think you're going?”
Eleanor could feel him straining against the energy with which she held him and his efforts raised a smile to her face. If nothing else, she noted, he was determined to try to avoid this conversation.
“Marcus,” she began sternly remaining close beside him in an almost intimidating fashion. If she had been anyone else but his mother, the situation may well have unnerved him. “You know as well as I do that even in the best of health you couldn't break free - certainly not here in The Hills, probably not even in the Dream World.”
“I wouldn't bet on that,” Sandman tried hard not to sound threatening, but he was keen to affirm his superiority in his own district.
Eleanor smiled broadly at her son's reply. Little had changed since he was a small boy. He was still hot-headed, impetuous and fiercely territorial and she knew that her next comment would only provoke him more but she knew that there were things he had to hear, things he wouldn't want to hear and he had to face them, whether he liked it or not.
“You should accept that we're going to talk and get over it or you're going to exhaust yourself again. Donnie can only stand in for you so long.”
“Donnie! Donnie's doing my job?” Sandman struggled harder against the restraining energy binding each of his muscles, but the more he tried to break free the more her grip on him tightened. “You're doing that on purpose, aren't you?” he gasped finally, realising that she was using his own energy against him.
“Of course I am, dear,” she replied. Taking a seat, she crossed her legs and settled back in the chair.
“All right! All right! You win! You want to know where I was going? I was going home.”
"Going home?" Eleanor raised an eyebrow at Mr Sandman registering both her surprise and disapproval.
"Where else would I go?" he grumbled.
Eleanor rose elegantly from the chair and walked slowly around Sandman, still held in position, unable even to turn his head to follow the circle she made around him.
"Well, you don't actually have to go anywhere."
It was a simple statement and very possibly an invitation but Sandman's obstinate pride refused to let him see it.
"You said it yourself - Donnie can't do my job for long."
Even as he said it, Sandman was cursing himself for allowing his confusion and bitterness to spill into the conversation with his mother. She didn't deserve it. None of them did, but he had harboured these feelings for so long it was actually hard to let go. It was especially diificult for him when she looked up to meet his gaze only to see the hurt in her eyes. The heavy-lidded narrowness of her eyes suggested that she had perhaps been crying. Or it was just possible that she was merely suffering from a lack of sleep, but there was a distance and hollowness in her stare that suggested otherwise.
"I'm sorry," he murmured before repeating himself with more conviction. "I just don't know what to do. I've... I've found out things that make me feel... I'm ashamed of how I've behaved... Things I've done... said. I... I don't know how to fix them. I don't know what to do."
"What did you used to do when you were a boy?" she asked with a smile.
"I'm not a little boy any more," Sandman replied indignantly.
"No," she agreed. "You're a grown man afraid to face your fears!"
"That's not fair!" he protested.
"Oh, but it is, Marcus!" Eleanor rounded on him again, now standing face to face with him and staring with a look of steely determination. "You said it yourself. You're ashamed, you don't know what to do. So what do I find? Are you coming to me to help you work this out, like you used to or are you trying go sneak out to head home before you're forced to deal with a real problem?"
Sandman nodded almost imperceptively, partly because of the restriction on his movement and partly because he had retreated inside himself.
"What can I do? I can't face anyone."
Eleanor brushed a few strands of hair away from his eyes.
"You mean, you don't want to?"
Sandman exhaled noisily. "I mean I'm scared."
"What of?" Eleanor pressed, sensing a breakthrough.
"I haven't spoken to him for so long. I've shown him how much I hated him and now... Now I need to apologise. But I'm scared."
"What of?" she asked again.
"That he'll push me away."
"Why do you think he'll do that?"
Sandman lowered his eyes dejectedly. "Because I deserve it."
Suddenly able to move, Sandman turned an expectant gaze towards his mother.
"You know what you have to do," she nodded kindly. "But first, sweetheart, please put your own clothes on. You look very strange dressed like that."
Sandman smiled as he thought of what Pete's reaction to that statement would be. Nodding gravely, Sandman sighed.
"Wish me luck?" he asked giving her a gentle hug.
Eleanor smiled and nodded, watching as he left the room.
"I'm hoping you're not going to need it," she added as he went out of earshot.
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