"Hey, Pete?" Frank asked. It was about three days after Andy, and Pete had stayed close to Frank for the main reason of wanting one person to talk to.

"Yes, Frank?" Pete asked.

"What's your last name?" Frank asked. "Because I feel like I know you from somewhere. Something about colors or something..."

"Way," Pete said without a second thought.

Frank looked at Pete and looked back at the ground, letting the conversation drop at the sound of a car going over the overpass. Pete saw him say something, though, by he couldn't hear it.

"What was that?" Pete asked.

"Bullshit," Frank said, pulling his hood down from over his hair. "That's not your name. You are Pete Wentz, born and raised in Chicago and alum of DePaul University, or so says the bio in the back of Gray. You recently moved to Belleville, New Jersey— I have something to say about that in a second— but were taken in July. Then, you were spotted in New Castle, Pennsylvania, with some dude kissing your neck. After that, you dropped off the face of the planet, until you found me, in your bloody pajamas, crying about an abusive boyfriend. What else have you lied to me about?"

Pete sat silent for a few moments, digesting Frank's words. "Frank..." He said quietly. "I... I can't tell you why I lied."

"Grow a pair," Frank mumbled. "You can; tell me."

"I literally can't," Pete argued. "I-I can't risk putting you in danger."

"Danger?" Frank asked, furrowing his eyesbrows.

Oh, I've done it now, Pete thought. "There are people who want to kill me," Pete slowly started after a moment of thought. "They found me in New Jersey, and I ran to Chicago with my boyfriend. After that, we picked two of my friends in Chicago and got out here. When I met you, the people who wanted me dead found me and tried to kill me. I got out, though. That's it."

"That's vague as fuck," Frank said bluntly. "Why did these people want you dead? Why did you bring your boyfriend?"

"You said something about Jersey," Pete said. "What was it?"

"I used to live in Belleville," Frank said. "I moved July 12th. I have a small idea about who your boyfriend is, just from the tabloid photo, but I need to hear it from your mouth."

"July 12th," Pete said. "That was the day before I moved there. But my boyfriend is... He's Mikey Way."

"I thought so," Frank said. "You do know about Mikey, right? What he and his brother are? What they do?"

"I'm aware," Pete said, hanging his head. "Wait, how do you know?"

"I'm like them," Frank said. "I know: out of all the people you could've met, you met the vampire. Right?"

"Well," Pete said and laughed humorlessly. "The thing about that is is that... I'm a vampire."

Their conversation had quieted as soon as Frank brought up
Belleville, and it dropped completely when Pete said that. "What luck we have," Frank scoffed. "So, with that in mind, do you wanna tell me your story again, unabridged?"

"These people wanted me dead because, when Mikey and I first got together, I was still mortal. They believed very highly in the whole binding thing, and were more than determined to kill me. We went to Chicago because my friends're somewhat inventors and thy helped make this catcher thing. We came to L.A because the people— William, Spencer, and Brendon— are based out of here and, the other day, William kidnapped me and Mikey and forced Mikey to turn me. Then, literally as I was dying, William— the dick— took Mikey."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah," Pete nodded.

"Wait, William Beckett, Spencer Smith, and Brendon Urie?" Frank asked. "Because they have this sort-of empire out here. Head my advice: don't fuck with the Dandies."

"Well..." Pete said quietly.

"I was in L.A about thirty years ago, trying to make a record with my band," Frank started. "80's punk thing, you know. I met Brendon and he, because he is beautiful and I'm gay as fuck, lured me into this false sense of security and turned me the day before my twenty-ninth birthday. I have bad blood with the Dandies, too, so I'm on your side, dude."

"Oh, how the mighty have fallen," Pete said.

Frank laughed. "Agreed."

---

The warehouse was too silent without Pete and Mikey. The void was attempting to be filled with music and conversation, but it wasn't the same.

It was one of the odd silent days that Patrick's voice echoed throughout the building. "We've got an issue!" He hollered and Andy and Joe made their way into his office.

Patrick was stabbing his finger at his computer screen, his eyes wide with shock. "Shit," he whispered as Joe looked at the screen.

"The one person I care about is dead," — Michael Way captured in Youngstown, the headline read.

Joe quickly scanned the article, picking out key phrases. Killer behind string of murders in Belleville... Turned himself in early this morning... Set to receive death penalty for myrder kf over twenty-four people.

"Oh shit."

Notes

xoøli