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Helplessly Hopeless
3 reviewsMikey's snapped. Completely. Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P
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Helplessly Hopeless
Pete's POV
I think I’m in love.
Fuck that.
I know I’m in love. With Patrick Stump, the kid in Bren’s year at school with all the hats and fluffy blonde hair poking out from underneath them. Coincidently, also the kid who rescued Mikes from getting the beating of his life by the sounds of it. So of course I’m going to love him; he’s kind, sweet, cute in a kiddie’s teddy kind of way and, most importantly, he cares about Mikey. About my surrogate little brother. Hell, in some ways I even think I’m more like a father to that poor kid than I am his best friend. I don’t mind though, just as long as it keeps him happy and safe.
But back to me being in love.
Patrick’s perfect for me in every way humanly conceivable and I think that I could be perfect for him because, both physically and metaphorically, we slot together like two halves of a fractured diamond. I’m not normally one for cheesy clichés and falling in love at all, my reputation reflects that, but Patrick? I think he might be The One.
I may have only met him a handful of blurry days ago yet I feel like I know him even better than I know myself and I feel like he knows me. Not just knows me though; understands me. He understands my jumbled thought process, he understands my need to keep a brave face on when staring adversaries in the eye, he understands why I care so much about Mikey and he understood me when I told him that I love him on Saturday night. The very same Saturday night that Brendon finally grew a pair and asked Mikey to be his boyfriend. Like it needed to be said.
They’ve been inseparable since my seventeenth, where I spotted Mikey dancing with Brendon as though he’s just a normal kid. He is a normal kid, just a little different.
Who am I kidding?
Mikey’s about as normal as my addiction to marmite and peanut butter sandwiches. He’s lanky, pale and has two of the most piercing eyes that have ever impaled my heart with their innocent hopelessness. He’s different on the inside too; depressed, introverted to the point of being invisible and, of course, he’s mute. There’s nothing wrong with Mikey though, just like there’s nothing wrong with me eating my unique sandwich blend as long as I like it.
If only the other kids at his hellhole of a school could see that. About Mikey, I mean. It was only other day that I got a text from him to pick him up from under our old hanging-out spot. That was the first time that I’ve ever come close to showing him how much it pains me to see him like he was then; slumped dejectedly against a tree, eyes dead and blood flowing. It happens at least once a week, me having to pick him up from school, and every time I see a little piece of him die inside.
Until he sees Brendon and then it’s like he’s never been more alive.
Because Brendon means the world to Mikey, just like Mikey means more than the world to him. I must admit that I was a little wary of Brenny getting with Mikes at first, what with the raven-haired kid apparently following in my footsteps to become something of a player, but it didn’t take long for me to see it. See that Brendon’s precisely what Mikey needs. And Mikey’s precisely what Brendon wants.
So why isn’t Brendon here right now?
More importantly, why is Mikey?
“Pete? What do we do? He’s not calming down, Panda.” Tricky’s panicked voice sounds like a foghorn and guides me out of my cluttered thoughts into the present.
The present being my bedroom, me sat on the edge of my bed and Patrick Stump leant uneasily against the wall with sympathy etched onto his pillowy face. And then there’s Mikey; laid out on my bed where I placed him twenty minutes ago after he all but collapsed through my front door, wheezing and sobbing too heavily to be able to even notice that I’d picked him up.
I look up at Tricky to see murky green eyes fixated not on me but on the thrashing boy on my bed, proving to me once more that he’s perfect. So caring. Just like Mikey needs his friends to be.
My hand grabs Mikey’s, giving it a gentle squeeze to get his attention, and I lean over him. And my heart shatters for the kid, it really does; he looks like he’s never not been and always will be crying, crying like the world is ending. Apart from he looks like he wants the world to end right now just for the agony to stop.
“Oh, Mikey.” I sigh, hooking my hands under his arms and using them to tug him into my lap. He complies, crawling into me and hiding his face so far into my t-shirt that I half think I can feel his sharp nose impaling my lungs. “Shush, shush now. It’s alright, I’m here. It’s okay. Just focus on breathing, try to calm down, okay?”
He nods against me even though we both know that calming down is the last thing on his mind right now. But it’s vital that he does; the way he’s hyperventilating tells me that much, as does the urgency in Patrick’s face at the sound of Mikey’s laboured breathing. Poor little mite.
“Just breathe, Mikes. Like me.” I take in an exaggerated breath, holding it until I can feel Mikey doing the same. “And let it out.” He copies me, the two of us breathing in time just like we always have to whenever things get truly horrendous for him. I don’t think I’ve seen him this bad before though. And that scares the living shit out of me; I’ve seen him pretty fucking bad. “Keep doing it, Mikey. We’ll do it together, yeah? We’re just gonna keep breathing.”
Our chests rise and fall together, mine leading and Mikey’s duplicating the actions a little too shallowly for it to completely quell my ravaging worry for the skinny little kid in my arms. I run my hands over his torso, letting my fingers trail comfortingly over him like incense smoke. He looks like he’s given up on everything, like there’s an apocalypse going on in his heart and he can’t do anything to stop it. Tears are still streaming down his face like a river of confetti at a loveless wedding and the sound of his destroyed wheezing is tearing apart the room.
Tricky steps forward, a heavily sympathetic smile painted onto his velveteen lips, and slowly takes a seat next to us, placing a hand delicately on Mikey’s shuddering shoulder. Our eyes meet and his search mine for permission, a permission that I’d never deny somebody as clearly caring as Patrick Stump. My Patrick Stump.
“Did that boy hurt you again, Kid?” He dares to ask, voice audibly shaking with terror that he’s saying the wrong thing. “The one from the other day?” Mikey lifts his head from the cushion of my chest just long enough to shake it, eyes flooding with tears all over again and his heaving sorrow amplifying tenfold. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to upset you, Kid! Honest, I didn’t. I, uh, shit. I didn’t thi-“
“Cool it, Baby.” I whisper in a somehow stern tone at the bumbling boy, sensing how much his panicked apology is making Mikes wind himself up even more.
If it wasn’t for the situation maybe I’d find time to make a comment about the blush that accompanies the nickname. The very nickname that he was giving me before Mikes showed up, his frantic ringing of the doorbell forcing my jeans to do up and Patrick to get off of his knees in his bid to hide from whoever it was. When it turned out to be the carnage of what is left of Mikey Way, however, he couldn’t get to the kid’s side fast enough.
“Sorry.” Tricky squeaks, looking very much like he’s about to cry himself for having overwhelmed Mikey into near-hyperventilation once more. “I’m sorry, Mikey.”
Mikey nods against me, letting me know that he’s not at all mad at Tricky. Not that I ever thought he would be; getting mad is just something that Mikey Way never does. Hence the fact that I make it my job to do it for him.
“He says it’s okay.” I speak for him, being met with Mikey’s grateful gaze and a relieved sigh from Patrick. “Now, Mikey, I need you to focus for me, okay? And answer as best you can.” Another nod, this time too slow and wavering for me not to doubt his reply. “What happened?”
I gesture for Tricky to pass me the whiteboard that I keep in my bedroom for whenever Mikey comes around and he does so, leaving me to press it into Mikey’s trembling paws along with his favourite colour marker; blue.
Mikey takes them from me, but makes no move to write anything down. Just stares of into space, a haunted look infecting his irises in a way that makes me want to kill any and everything that has ever made him feel anything less than happy. Because that’s all he really wants; to be happy.
No, it’s not. He told me once, or wrote down for me anyway, that all he wants is to be able to verbally tell Brendon how much he loves him. Something that killed me a little bit inside and made me crush a very puzzled-looking Mikey into a hug. Most kids want something shallow like the latest mobile, or that designer jacket or to simply get laid.
Not Mikey. He just wants to do something that I’ve always taken for granted. And it kills me that I can’t make it happen for him.
“C’mon, Kid. You can do it.” Tricky’s soft reassurance makes Mikey, in his heightened state of anxiety, flinch and his face crumple even further into oblivion.
“Shush, it’s alright, Mikey. There’s no pressure.” I coo down to his huge, shame-rimmed eyes. Poor kid. When he makes no move to do anything other than cling onto me like a koala, a very sweet little koala, I sigh; I’m not going to be getting anything out of him at the moment, not whilst he’s like this. “How about I phone Brendon, yeah? That’d be good wouldn’t it?”
He shakes his head so vehemently that I’m half terrified it’ll swing straight off of his shoulders.
My concern sky-rockets at his response; what the fuck could be bad enough to make him not want his boyfriend, the guy that can always make him smile and relax when nothing else can?
Unless…
“It’s Brendon, isn’t it?” Patrick speaks out my thoughts, stroking a hand over Mikey’s stress-tangled hair. “Panda, I think Bren’s done something.”
“Is that right, Mikes?” No response. “Did Brendon hurt you?”
The question sounds ridiculous and it’s a horrible feeling that floods me as I ask it, but I really have no choice. Brendon’s the best lead we have and the only thing we have to work with here other than the fact that Mikey looks like he just wants to die. It hurts like fucking hell having to watch Mikes suffer like this in silence, but to think that my best friend might be to blame?
That kills.
Slowly, with eyes brimming and frightened, Mikey nods. Then shakes his head. Then just buries himself back into me.
“C’mon, Mikes. We’re not gonna get mad or laugh or anything, you know that.” But does he? “Just tell us what Bren did. Just write it all out for me like the good, brave boy I know you are.”
His eyes flicker with a lightning strike of agony, before he pushes himself up and off the bed, scribbling furiously onto his whiteboard.
Don’t fucking patronize me! You’re just like him. You’re a liar.
His words cut into me, making my breathing hitch and my calm face falter as Tricky’s hand grips onto mine in a pointless act of comfort. I’m not mad at Mikey though, just all the more frightened for him because he’s never lost it like this before, never used expletives on his board. Only kind words or words of neutrality.
And that’s how I know he’s finally been pushed over the edge.
By Brendon motherfucking Urie.
I spring to my feet, wincing as each step I take makes him back closer to the door. Just like a lost little bunny rabbit.
“Him? Is ‘him’ Brendon?” He doesn’t respond, just glares at me in a way that I’ve never seen him do before; like he’s finally given in. And that’s all I need to see to understand. “How’s he a liar? How am I a liar?”
You both said you care.
And with that, wheezing and crying like never before, Mikey Way sprints out of my bedroom, the front door slamming downstairs. Leaving me too stunned and hurt to make any move to follow, only one thought coherent in my head; I’m going to kill Brendon Urie for this.
Even if I don’t know what it is he’s done. Yet.
A/M: So sorry this took forever to put up, but I was out all day yesterday and there may or may not be an update tomorrow. I might be able to get a filler chapter in if people comment because comments make the world go round! Also, I've decided to put a link to a song(s) on each chapter that I think fit it. Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :D
Song of The Chapter: We've Got a Big Mess On Our Hands - The Academy Is... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uzUoGD1G6LU&ob=av3e
Pete's POV
I think I’m in love.
Fuck that.
I know I’m in love. With Patrick Stump, the kid in Bren’s year at school with all the hats and fluffy blonde hair poking out from underneath them. Coincidently, also the kid who rescued Mikes from getting the beating of his life by the sounds of it. So of course I’m going to love him; he’s kind, sweet, cute in a kiddie’s teddy kind of way and, most importantly, he cares about Mikey. About my surrogate little brother. Hell, in some ways I even think I’m more like a father to that poor kid than I am his best friend. I don’t mind though, just as long as it keeps him happy and safe.
But back to me being in love.
Patrick’s perfect for me in every way humanly conceivable and I think that I could be perfect for him because, both physically and metaphorically, we slot together like two halves of a fractured diamond. I’m not normally one for cheesy clichés and falling in love at all, my reputation reflects that, but Patrick? I think he might be The One.
I may have only met him a handful of blurry days ago yet I feel like I know him even better than I know myself and I feel like he knows me. Not just knows me though; understands me. He understands my jumbled thought process, he understands my need to keep a brave face on when staring adversaries in the eye, he understands why I care so much about Mikey and he understood me when I told him that I love him on Saturday night. The very same Saturday night that Brendon finally grew a pair and asked Mikey to be his boyfriend. Like it needed to be said.
They’ve been inseparable since my seventeenth, where I spotted Mikey dancing with Brendon as though he’s just a normal kid. He is a normal kid, just a little different.
Who am I kidding?
Mikey’s about as normal as my addiction to marmite and peanut butter sandwiches. He’s lanky, pale and has two of the most piercing eyes that have ever impaled my heart with their innocent hopelessness. He’s different on the inside too; depressed, introverted to the point of being invisible and, of course, he’s mute. There’s nothing wrong with Mikey though, just like there’s nothing wrong with me eating my unique sandwich blend as long as I like it.
If only the other kids at his hellhole of a school could see that. About Mikey, I mean. It was only other day that I got a text from him to pick him up from under our old hanging-out spot. That was the first time that I’ve ever come close to showing him how much it pains me to see him like he was then; slumped dejectedly against a tree, eyes dead and blood flowing. It happens at least once a week, me having to pick him up from school, and every time I see a little piece of him die inside.
Until he sees Brendon and then it’s like he’s never been more alive.
Because Brendon means the world to Mikey, just like Mikey means more than the world to him. I must admit that I was a little wary of Brenny getting with Mikes at first, what with the raven-haired kid apparently following in my footsteps to become something of a player, but it didn’t take long for me to see it. See that Brendon’s precisely what Mikey needs. And Mikey’s precisely what Brendon wants.
So why isn’t Brendon here right now?
More importantly, why is Mikey?
“Pete? What do we do? He’s not calming down, Panda.” Tricky’s panicked voice sounds like a foghorn and guides me out of my cluttered thoughts into the present.
The present being my bedroom, me sat on the edge of my bed and Patrick Stump leant uneasily against the wall with sympathy etched onto his pillowy face. And then there’s Mikey; laid out on my bed where I placed him twenty minutes ago after he all but collapsed through my front door, wheezing and sobbing too heavily to be able to even notice that I’d picked him up.
I look up at Tricky to see murky green eyes fixated not on me but on the thrashing boy on my bed, proving to me once more that he’s perfect. So caring. Just like Mikey needs his friends to be.
My hand grabs Mikey’s, giving it a gentle squeeze to get his attention, and I lean over him. And my heart shatters for the kid, it really does; he looks like he’s never not been and always will be crying, crying like the world is ending. Apart from he looks like he wants the world to end right now just for the agony to stop.
“Oh, Mikey.” I sigh, hooking my hands under his arms and using them to tug him into my lap. He complies, crawling into me and hiding his face so far into my t-shirt that I half think I can feel his sharp nose impaling my lungs. “Shush, shush now. It’s alright, I’m here. It’s okay. Just focus on breathing, try to calm down, okay?”
He nods against me even though we both know that calming down is the last thing on his mind right now. But it’s vital that he does; the way he’s hyperventilating tells me that much, as does the urgency in Patrick’s face at the sound of Mikey’s laboured breathing. Poor little mite.
“Just breathe, Mikes. Like me.” I take in an exaggerated breath, holding it until I can feel Mikey doing the same. “And let it out.” He copies me, the two of us breathing in time just like we always have to whenever things get truly horrendous for him. I don’t think I’ve seen him this bad before though. And that scares the living shit out of me; I’ve seen him pretty fucking bad. “Keep doing it, Mikey. We’ll do it together, yeah? We’re just gonna keep breathing.”
Our chests rise and fall together, mine leading and Mikey’s duplicating the actions a little too shallowly for it to completely quell my ravaging worry for the skinny little kid in my arms. I run my hands over his torso, letting my fingers trail comfortingly over him like incense smoke. He looks like he’s given up on everything, like there’s an apocalypse going on in his heart and he can’t do anything to stop it. Tears are still streaming down his face like a river of confetti at a loveless wedding and the sound of his destroyed wheezing is tearing apart the room.
Tricky steps forward, a heavily sympathetic smile painted onto his velveteen lips, and slowly takes a seat next to us, placing a hand delicately on Mikey’s shuddering shoulder. Our eyes meet and his search mine for permission, a permission that I’d never deny somebody as clearly caring as Patrick Stump. My Patrick Stump.
“Did that boy hurt you again, Kid?” He dares to ask, voice audibly shaking with terror that he’s saying the wrong thing. “The one from the other day?” Mikey lifts his head from the cushion of my chest just long enough to shake it, eyes flooding with tears all over again and his heaving sorrow amplifying tenfold. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to upset you, Kid! Honest, I didn’t. I, uh, shit. I didn’t thi-“
“Cool it, Baby.” I whisper in a somehow stern tone at the bumbling boy, sensing how much his panicked apology is making Mikes wind himself up even more.
If it wasn’t for the situation maybe I’d find time to make a comment about the blush that accompanies the nickname. The very nickname that he was giving me before Mikes showed up, his frantic ringing of the doorbell forcing my jeans to do up and Patrick to get off of his knees in his bid to hide from whoever it was. When it turned out to be the carnage of what is left of Mikey Way, however, he couldn’t get to the kid’s side fast enough.
“Sorry.” Tricky squeaks, looking very much like he’s about to cry himself for having overwhelmed Mikey into near-hyperventilation once more. “I’m sorry, Mikey.”
Mikey nods against me, letting me know that he’s not at all mad at Tricky. Not that I ever thought he would be; getting mad is just something that Mikey Way never does. Hence the fact that I make it my job to do it for him.
“He says it’s okay.” I speak for him, being met with Mikey’s grateful gaze and a relieved sigh from Patrick. “Now, Mikey, I need you to focus for me, okay? And answer as best you can.” Another nod, this time too slow and wavering for me not to doubt his reply. “What happened?”
I gesture for Tricky to pass me the whiteboard that I keep in my bedroom for whenever Mikey comes around and he does so, leaving me to press it into Mikey’s trembling paws along with his favourite colour marker; blue.
Mikey takes them from me, but makes no move to write anything down. Just stares of into space, a haunted look infecting his irises in a way that makes me want to kill any and everything that has ever made him feel anything less than happy. Because that’s all he really wants; to be happy.
No, it’s not. He told me once, or wrote down for me anyway, that all he wants is to be able to verbally tell Brendon how much he loves him. Something that killed me a little bit inside and made me crush a very puzzled-looking Mikey into a hug. Most kids want something shallow like the latest mobile, or that designer jacket or to simply get laid.
Not Mikey. He just wants to do something that I’ve always taken for granted. And it kills me that I can’t make it happen for him.
“C’mon, Kid. You can do it.” Tricky’s soft reassurance makes Mikey, in his heightened state of anxiety, flinch and his face crumple even further into oblivion.
“Shush, it’s alright, Mikey. There’s no pressure.” I coo down to his huge, shame-rimmed eyes. Poor kid. When he makes no move to do anything other than cling onto me like a koala, a very sweet little koala, I sigh; I’m not going to be getting anything out of him at the moment, not whilst he’s like this. “How about I phone Brendon, yeah? That’d be good wouldn’t it?”
He shakes his head so vehemently that I’m half terrified it’ll swing straight off of his shoulders.
My concern sky-rockets at his response; what the fuck could be bad enough to make him not want his boyfriend, the guy that can always make him smile and relax when nothing else can?
Unless…
“It’s Brendon, isn’t it?” Patrick speaks out my thoughts, stroking a hand over Mikey’s stress-tangled hair. “Panda, I think Bren’s done something.”
“Is that right, Mikes?” No response. “Did Brendon hurt you?”
The question sounds ridiculous and it’s a horrible feeling that floods me as I ask it, but I really have no choice. Brendon’s the best lead we have and the only thing we have to work with here other than the fact that Mikey looks like he just wants to die. It hurts like fucking hell having to watch Mikes suffer like this in silence, but to think that my best friend might be to blame?
That kills.
Slowly, with eyes brimming and frightened, Mikey nods. Then shakes his head. Then just buries himself back into me.
“C’mon, Mikes. We’re not gonna get mad or laugh or anything, you know that.” But does he? “Just tell us what Bren did. Just write it all out for me like the good, brave boy I know you are.”
His eyes flicker with a lightning strike of agony, before he pushes himself up and off the bed, scribbling furiously onto his whiteboard.
Don’t fucking patronize me! You’re just like him. You’re a liar.
His words cut into me, making my breathing hitch and my calm face falter as Tricky’s hand grips onto mine in a pointless act of comfort. I’m not mad at Mikey though, just all the more frightened for him because he’s never lost it like this before, never used expletives on his board. Only kind words or words of neutrality.
And that’s how I know he’s finally been pushed over the edge.
By Brendon motherfucking Urie.
I spring to my feet, wincing as each step I take makes him back closer to the door. Just like a lost little bunny rabbit.
“Him? Is ‘him’ Brendon?” He doesn’t respond, just glares at me in a way that I’ve never seen him do before; like he’s finally given in. And that’s all I need to see to understand. “How’s he a liar? How am I a liar?”
You both said you care.
And with that, wheezing and crying like never before, Mikey Way sprints out of my bedroom, the front door slamming downstairs. Leaving me too stunned and hurt to make any move to follow, only one thought coherent in my head; I’m going to kill Brendon Urie for this.
Even if I don’t know what it is he’s done. Yet.
A/M: So sorry this took forever to put up, but I was out all day yesterday and there may or may not be an update tomorrow. I might be able to get a filler chapter in if people comment because comments make the world go round! Also, I've decided to put a link to a song(s) on each chapter that I think fit it. Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :D
Song of The Chapter: We've Got a Big Mess On Our Hands - The Academy Is... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uzUoGD1G6LU&ob=av3e
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