The Monster War Tour

"That's the best I can do."
Doctor Richard Goldsmith turned away, pulling off his white plastic surgical gloves and running a hand through his hair, plastered to his head with dirt and sweat.
"And she'll be alright?" Billie Joe asked worriedly, glancing at her briefly. Her head was down and Mike had his arm around her. Mike shook his head, indicating that Billie should not try and talk to Jess, and Billie looked away quickly. Goldsmith nodded.
"I'm sorry that there's nothing I can do for the pain... all my painkillers where taken. They didn't realise I was a Doctor, not that they'd care, but they just thought I was going to overdose...And I'm so sorry, Jessica..." She didn't bother to look up at him. Tears were dripping silently into her lap. He had patched Jess' face up with butterfly stitches, the only available option being dressing tape. She fingered the line gingerly. The transformation to her appearance was horrific: the left side of her face was twisted, bent up into a permanent manic grin. Doctor Goldsmith made to leave, but Tré suddenly leapt up from his place, sat on the floor, and put his hand on his shoulder.
"Thank you for doing this," He said, his voice full of gratitude, "I know it's a risk to sacrifice your practicing time."
"Oh, I don't practice particularly," Richard replied, "There's so much injury and illness on this camp, I just sing an old song that I remember. But it's not a problem anyway. Goodbye. Goodbye, Jessica?" He said, almost questioningly, his voice rising. She looked up, her hands partly over her face. Doctor Goldsmith left with a sigh.
"Jess, don't..." Billie started, crouching down and trying to ease her hands away.
"Don't look at me!" She screamed, "Don't!"
"Jess," Said Mike, his grip around her shoulder tightening, "It's alright, honestly. So much worse could happen. You were very, very brave..."
"And besides," Grinned Tré, "You'll always be beautiful. And that's lucky, cause anyone ugly is kicked out of my caravan." Jess started to laugh, but then gasped and clutched the side of her face.
"I can't..." She rasped in a terrified whisper, "I can't sing."

Mikey continued to wander, the sun high in the sky now. He knew the others back at the caravan would be worried sick about him.
'Who cares,' he thought to himself, 'How about I never go back, that'd show them. Trust Alicia to get pregnant...' He suddenly felt guilty. It wasn't her fault, not in the slightly. He clenched his fists and looked angrily up at the sky. A bird flew over his head, a swallow. He longed to be that bird; free and undisturbed and unable to play bass guitar. He looked down, and kicked at the grass. He carried on kicking the grass, still walking, until he accidentally kicked someone's foot that suddenly appeared in front of him.
"Sorry," He said automatically, looking up. He saw himself looking into the once shining, now dull, brown eyes of Pete Wentz. Pete leapt forward and kissed him forcefully on the lips, then pulled him into a hug.
"Hello, Pete," Mikey choked, half due to emotion at seeing Pete, and half because how tight Pete was holding him.
"I didn't know if you were alive or dead," Pete murmured into Mikey's shoulder, "I just heard that Frank slipped and I didn't know if they'd-"
"We're alright, Pete, it's okay. Oh, no, don't cry..."
But it was too late. Tears were already streaming down Pete's hollow, dirty face.
"It's all so fucked up." He whispered trough the salt water, "I've rather be alive and talentless."
Mikey nodded understandingly but didn't try to say anything. He waited patiently until the tears stopped falling, and Pete sniffed and wiped his eyes, "So," He continued, "Where are you staying?"
"Miles away..." Mikey gestured into the distance with his right hand, "In a static caravan." He sighed, "And when I go back, my brother will be so angry..."
"Did you walk off on your own?" Pete asked.
"Yep."
"Me too. Come on, come back to my caravan for a bit."
Pete lead the way a few hundreds feet across the camp, Mikey close in his wake. Fall Out Boy's caravan was very, very dirty on the outside, so much mud coating it that the white of the painted metal underneath could barely be seen. Pete opened the door, and his shoulder was instantly grabbed by an angry hand.
"Where the fuck where you?!" Joe demanded furiously, "Didn't you hear about Nick?! We thought they'd got you! And Patrick- PATRICK HAS BEEN GOING OUT OF HIS MIND!"
Pete looked very guilty.
"I don't suppose sorry covers it?" He tried. A vein twitched by Joe's lip. Mikey started to step backwards, deciding what he wasn't wanted right now, and really should get back to his own caravan quickly, but Joe, this tone entirely different, called,
"Mikey! Are you alright?"
"I'm fine thank you..." Mikey lied in a mumble, not wanting to say: "No I'm not, my wife is pregnant and my brother is having a gay affair and I nearly died yesterday and I just saw an innocent teenager get slashed across the face."
"Pete." Said a quiet, haunting voice. Patrick stepped into the light, holding up his arm to shield himself from the sun as if he couldn't bare the warmth on his pale skin. It wasn't the Patrick Mikey had last seen. This Patrick looked shrunken; thin, pale, hollow and frightening. The pupils of his eyes were very small, his hair was longer and lifeless and his face was stubbled. It was with no enthusiasm that he looked at Pete, the only change in his face was his pupils widening eerily like a camera lens zooming out. Then, in one sudden movement, he lurched forward jerkily and seized the lapel of Pete's jacket.
"What-the-fuck-Pete," He breathed, "You know how dangerous is it... how could you... Peter..." He moaned, putting his hand in Pete's hair.
"I'm sorry, Patrick," Pete replied, choking on a lump in his throat. Mikey looked at the two, who were gazing into each others eyes. He instantly saw the same look there that he knew was always in Frank and Gerard's eyes. He turned on his heel and started to run back to his caravan.

"Are we moving on today?" Caitlin asked, applying eyeliner in the age-stained, cracked mirror hanging up the tiny box room in the caravan.
"Tonight," Brian called back from just outside the caravan steps, where he was tuning Caitlin's guitar for her.
"Is everyone moving together?" Claire asked, sitting down on the floor, where Alexa was already crouched, drawing in the black dust.
"I think so," Said Brian, unable to remember how he knew all this, "Yeah, we are. We get shoved back in the vans together."
Everyone had been brought to the camp in vans, squashed together in the dark for hours on end. It was horrible, especially with all the shouting and crying.
"What are you performing today?" Caitlin asked Brian, appearing out of the box room.
"I thought I'd do Coma White," he replied, "It'll be difficult without the backing track but I'll get over it. What about you?"
"Probably That was her, but I've only sung and played it once. Is that safe?"
"No," Said Brian firmly, "Stick with something you're more familiar with." He handed her guitar back.
"Okay," She sighed, taking the guitar.
"I'm going to do If you were gay," Alexa announced suddenly.
"What, with just a bass and your voice?" Claire asked.
"Yup," Said Alexa, etching a heart around the picture she had just drawn in the dust.
"Oh know you're not!" Brian exclaimed, "They will slaughter you! Sovereign has to be one of the biggest homophobes ever!"
"Guess that rules out me doing Billy Brown?" Claire enquired. Brian nodded emphatically.
"Alright then," Said Alexa, "I'll do She falls asleep instead."
"I'll do Little Wing," Caitlin decided. Suddenly Claire laughed loudly.
"What?" Said Caitlin, frowning.
"It's just such a weird idea. I mean, who has an idea like this? Let's get these people on tour and make them play a song a day and then kill them! What an idiot."
"What a blood thirsty maniac." Seethed Brian.

Mikey flung open the door and stumbled up the caravan steps, falling straight into Gerard's arms. He looked up at his big brother and burst into tears.
"I'm so sorry," He wept, "I'll never go off on my own again!"
Gerard hugged him tight.