New Fic: Apocalypse Dreamer 1/1

On the snow covered ground stood a lone tree. It was coal black and withered; it looked like a skeletal hand trying to escape a grave. The tree wiggled its branches the way a hand would wriggle its fingers. Pete blinked but he didn’t move. The branches, the whole tree, they bended until the branch tips reached the ground, trees can’t do that. The tree uprooted itself and it looked like a withered hand, like Thing from the Addams family or a scorpion, it was crawling towards Pete. Pete fell and his legs –

                When Pete looked down, he let out a soundless scream, his feet weren’t feet anymore –they’ve become roots. He was rooted to the soil. He could feel his toes lengthening, twisting and digging deeper into the ground. The hand was coming closer and somewhere Pete could hear laughing, like what’s happening to him is a joke. The terror in Pete was unfathomable but his face remained blank and soulless as if it has accepted its warped fate. Pete was sure that he was screaming but he doesn’t see his face twist in horror.

                “I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die.” Pete babbled helplessly, repeatedly, it started to sound like a song. He saw his mouth as he jabbered, it didn’t move an inch. Pete felt a shadow falling and when he looked up, the withered hand’s palm is above him, darkening everything perhaps bringing him to his doom.  Pete closed his eyes but his eyelids were transparent, he could see the tiny laughing faces on the rotting fingers and on the palm of the black hand. The faces stopped laughing, they began cooing in soft voices reserved for silencing upset children, the faces cooed his name.

                One of the faces was close to his, it breathed out a moan. Its cold breath slithered to Pete face, it made his eyes swim. The face looked wicked, it obviously had horrid plans for him. A split second later, the face looked pained and so did the other faces when Pete looked at them.

                It was a bright burning blaze. It was licking and dancing and destroying the withering hand with a grace that Pete would compare to a prima ballerina and it was warm. The blaze had burned like a ballerina in the most beautiful shade of red and gold. The faces were screaming now, they looked tortured and Pete wondered if the blaze was treating him with gentleness that it didn’t give the hand. The flames didn’t hurt Pete, it turned the hand and its faces into ashes, though.

                The ashes fell like black snow and Pete felt warm golden sun rays kissing his skin in soft, staccato motions. The sun and the fire were comforting him somehow.

                When Pete tilted his face up to meet the blinding gaze of the sun, he opened his eyes and found himself in his room, on his bed. He wondered if it was a nightmare or a dream.

+++

                If Pete turned on the radio or the television, he would’ve heard about it. The news was endlessly spewing out reports of an epidemic that caused nightmares and death in days. The nightmares killed the brain slowly. Where it began, how it spread no one knew. The only symptoms were nightly doses of never ending nightmares. There was no cure. But Pete just scribbled on his notes all day.

                If it was the apocalypse, Pete didn’t know because he didn’t know that the death toll has risen to fifty thousand and those infected were countless. Pete was simply holed up in his room, writing lyrics and ignorant of the fact that he could be facing the apocalypse the moment he opened his door.

                Pete’s sidekick glowed. Voicemail. The voice belonged to Patrick, it sounded drained but relieved.

                “I hope you’re sleeping well. Sweet dreams.” It was odd the way Patrick said it. Odd. Pete dialed his number, all he got was static.

+++

Tonight’s nightmare did not involve pictures. Tonight’s nightmare only involved sound. The voices screamed at him, telling him all the things that he feared were said behind his back. It affected him because Pete could match those voices with the faces of everyone he knew and cared about. The voices told him that they despised him, that the love and friendship that they showed was never true at all. The voices spat out his lyrics in mocking tones, the voices told him he was pathetic, the voices told him he was nothing. But there was one voice missing.

It was a verbal crucifixion, the insults formed the cross, the people behind the voices were the nails but there was one voice missing and for Pete, that voice would’ve been the crown of thorns.

Pete waited for that voice to rise above the cacophony, waited for it to slur an insult at him so he can die. The voice –the one that turns his words into music, the one that makes his words alive and his heart sing –rose from the angry voices and descended to a whisper in his ear.  

“Pete,” Pete stiffened, he didn’t want to hear that voice tell him that he wasn’t worth loving, caring about or putting up with. Pete could feel his mouth twisting, his fists clenching, his stomach turning, he didn’t want to hear it but there’s no choice.

“It’s gonna be alright.” The voice let out a cry, the voice was reaching a high note. It reminded Pete of their last concert and the first time he heard it. The voice was loud and strong and sweet, the voice that made his heart sing and his lyrics resonant. Pete remembered listening to it for days because he had to discover its mysteries and every time he listened, he found something new and magical.

 The other voices, the ones that crucified Pete, seemed to melt deafeningly into silence as the voice echoed. Pete could feel them die, could feel them burn. 

Tonight’s nightmare wasn’t blind, tonight’s nightmare was blindfolded. Pete realized that when he felt a hand untie something that loosened the pressure shielding his eyes. The blindfold fell from his eyes and there was blond sunlight knocking on his eyelids. He opened his eyes to bask in the light.

He woke up in his room.    

+++

                Before Pete lost consciousness, he was in his room trying to contact Patrick. When Pete woke up, he was sure he was in the trunk of a car.  

                He was tied down tight and there was something lodged in his mouth that kept it open. He knew it was a nightmare but he screamed nonetheless. The sound was bouncing off the walls of the trunk, his own screams deafened him. He tried to close his eyes…his eyes…

                His eyes were wide open and covered with clear Scotch tape. Pete slammed his head against a wall of the trunk. He slammed his head against it because maybe, just maybe if he goes unconscious in this dream, he’ll wake up. He didn’t stop slamming his head even though he was getting dizzy, he didn’t stop slamming his head even though he felt skin peeling off his forehead, he didn’t stop even though he sees the blood running down the clear tape that’s wrapped around his eyes. 

The car stopped and so did Pete.   

                Two footsteps stomping on gravel cut the silence like a switchblade. The trunk was popped open and Pete lifted his chin to glower at his kidnappers. Pete’s jaw would’ve slacked if there wasn’t something lodged in his mouth.

                Patrick was looking down at him, his eyes gleamed with disgust and his lips were a thin line cutting across his chin. Something inside Pete sank. Ryan just smirked haughtily and hooked his chin on Patrick’s shoulder. The two of them looked perfect together. Pete was sure that the sting in his eyes was the tears that the scotch tape kept from falling down his cheeks.

                Patrick held him by the shoulders and Ryan had his hands around Pete’s ankles, they dropped him on the gravel like he’s a sack of flour. Pete didn’t even cringe in pain, he just watched as Patrick’s shoes as they walked back to the car. Pete had the feeling that he wouldn’t be saved this time. As the moments ran by, Pete’s fight died. He just laid there and watched Patrick come back with a rope. Pete wondered if Patrick was going to strangle him.

                Ryan’s fingers fumbled with one end of the rope as he tied it to the back of a car. Patrick made a noose out of the rope’s other end. Pete’s breath hitched when Patrick lifted Pete’s head to slip the noose around his neck. Pete tried to look for something in Patrick’s eyes and he couldn’t find any concern for Pete there, not even a small shred of emotion.

                A cellular phone rang and Ryan answered it.

                “Spencer,” this Ryan sounded so real and this, Pete thought, might not be a dream. Ryan laughed, that genuine happy laugh and Pete saw his eyes crinkle and his face glow.

                “Me and Patrick are just going to dump some trash.” Pete cringed again, he wanted it to end.

                “I hope they put up those ‘No More Pete’ banners. Mrs. Wentz worked all night to make them.” Patrick said with no drop of wryness and Ryan laughed again. This, Pete thought as he felt sharp rocks scarring his skin, was his worst nightmare.

                “Yeah, we’re almost finished. Brendon’s gonna pick us up? You’re leaving mine and Patrick’s precious, fragile lives in Brendon Urie’s hands? What the hell?” After the phony tirade, Ryan laughed again. It was like hearing the real Ryan pretend complaining to Spencer about Brendon. It sounded so real. Patrick’s feet started moving towards the car. Pete could see the moon shining in Patrick’s shoes, it shone and Pete squinted.

                Keys jangled, Pete remembered enjoying the sound of those. The car’s engine started and it started moving, it dragged Pete by the neck. Ryan gave a mock salute while Patrick took off his hat and grinned at Pete.  

                The car fell into water, deep like a river or a sea. It was sinking to the bottom and it took Pete by the neck. The water was entering his mouth swiftly. It was probably the reason why they kept Pete’s mouth open.

                The moon was full and Pete kept watching it as he sunk deeper into a watery grave. The water was filling up his lungs and he was sure that one of them had already exploded.

                Pete wanted to close his eyes because everything seemed to go serene as he sank deep into the water, dying. Patrick wasn’t going to save him this time.

                The moon was full and fuzzy and Pete had no choice but to stare then. In the surface, something moved. It jumped into the water.

                It swam closer to Pete and grabbed the back of his head.

                There were lips on Pete’s, giving air and sucking out the water. Pete knew those lips, he knew them well. Pete’s restraints were released. Pete hooked his arms around his savior’s neck. Those lips weren’t just sucking out the water, it as sucking out something vile. Pete could feel it leaving his lips, thick, black and vile, and into Patrick’s. The air giving kiss stopped and Patrick stared at him.

                The noose around Pete’s neck was loosened and Pete could feel himself floating up to the surface.

                Pete turned his head to look at Patrick but the latter couldn’t be found.  The fuzzy moon was coming closer, he was nearing the surface. Pete felt his emerge from the watery depths, he felt the heaviness of water let go of his head, air blew on the side of his cheek.

                Pete sat up straight and found himself on a hospital bed. He sat there panting and wondering how he got there. He saw an IV sticking from the back of his hand and he followed the clear tube that bound his hand to the IV pole. Joe stood by the pole, Andy was beside him, looking relieved.

                “Where’s Patrick?” Pete asked between pants for air, Joe’s face darkened and Andy swallowed.

                “The nightmare virus got you, man. You’re practically delirious when we found you in your room.  The doctors said you were a goner.” Andy bit his lip.

                “Where’s Patrick.”  It wasn’t a question anymore.

                “Something happened when the doctors were flocking around you. Patrick was just staring there closing his eyes and then the virus vanished out of your system.” Joe’s voice was breaking in the middle but he kept on telling the tale.

                “When the virus left your body, Patrick fainted. He got infected when you were cured.”

Pete tore off the IV and jumped off his bed. He ran out of his room and looked for Patrick.

+++

Patrick was shaking his head from side to side, his eyes were shut tightly. Something was beeping frantically and thick brown belts kept him from convulsing off the bed. Sweat was running down Patrick’s crimson face and his lips kept gasping for air. Pete didn’t need to guess, Patrick was having his nightmare.

“You’ve been saving me all along.” Pete whispered as he bit his fist. This was his fault. Patrick shouldn’t be suffering this. Pete closed his eyes as he shook his head.

“Pete,” Andy’s hand was on his shoulder. Pete shook it off.

“I need to get him out of there.” Pete looked around the room, looking for something to cure Patrick. An empty syringe on the table beside it a bottle of sleeping pills.

“Close the door, Andy. Don’t let anyone in.” Pete grabbed the syringe and stuck it into Patrick’s skin. Andy was yelling at Pete as he pumped out some blood from Patrick.

“Just fucking do as I say. I know what I’m doing!” Pete heard the door lock and he heard the banging from outside. He pulled out the syringe full of Patrick’s blood and he frantically search for a vein in his own arm.

Andy was babbling trying to stop him, Pete shook him off with a strength he never knew he had. The needle found its way to one of Pete’s veins, Pete pushed the poisoned blood into his veins and he could feel the vileness run inside him.

“I’m going to save Patrick. Trust me, I know how to do it.” It was instinct but it was one of those instincts that Pete knew he was right. Pete pulled off the syringe and reached for the bottle of pills. He popped it open and seven sleeping pills slipped out. He did something like this once, he wanted to kill himself then. He was going to do it again but death wasn’t his target, he was going to save the one that’s been saving him from his nightmares. The one that did his damnedest to save him from death.  Pete popped the pills into his mouth and swallowed. He turned his head to look at his savior.

“Pete! Pete!” Fists were on the door, Andy started barricading it. Pete grinned at him and gave him a weak thumbs up. He was getting dizzy but it was a good sign.

Pete climbed on Patrick’s bed, he curled up around him and held him protectively as the sleep starting climbing up his body.

“Don’t worry, Patrick.” Pete whispered softly into his ear, it seemed to calm Patrick but he was still shivering and gasping.

“I’ll save you from your nightmares, this time.” He kissed the side of his mouth and laced their fingers together. He closed his eyes and waited for the nightmare.

He was going to save Patrick, come hell or high water, be it a dream or a nightmare.