The Redemption of Peter Wentz

Brendon was swift, darting over the fence with leaps and bounds, in a way, almost cat-like, shoulders arched with the movement of his limbs. He’d tossed his shoes after he’d passed the shore of the lake, sprinting the length of the gravel beaches barely leaving indentations behind. If he’d learned one thing from Beckett, it was absolute stealth. He knew well that when he wanted to, he could be completely silent and invisible, exactly what he was accomplishing in the high afternoon sun. Layer after layer of sun block was applied earlier, around noon, to prepare for this. He was pastier than before, but as invulnerable to the sun as he was when he was human.

If anyone were around at the moment (but seriously, though…no one could find the Dandy manor around here, or at least knew about it), they’d spot a pale, lithe body scaling the wall of the mock-Tudor mansion. Brendon felt invincible at the moment. He had no distractions whatsoever (drank from four packets, more than one human can hold) and was dead set on his target. His only infirmity was his sensitive eyes, bare and squinting in the afternoon sun. He dug his nails into the mortar between bricks as he climbed; reaching the window he wanted in no time at all.

Something he loved about the Dandies was their arrogance toward their own safety. They’d been on their high horse so long that there was no need for tight security. Brendon relished this. He would win any bet against saying that the window to Pete’s quarters was unlocked, like he-or anyone here for that matter including Beckett- would ever suspect that someone or something would dare break in to a hoard of ravenous vampires.

Crouched now on the ledge of the window, hands pressed flat against the glass, Brendon was calculating his next move faster than he could blink. It wasn’t hard to conceive, really. He’s sure he’s done this plenty of times before, judging by how quickly the idea came to him. His fingernail cut easily through the glass as if it were paper, barely making a screech. The hole was just big enough to get his hand through and unlatch the handle from the inside. This was too easy. Brendon was surprised how at even this hour, Pete had not woken up yet, ready to tear him to pieces or hug him to death.

He could feel the handle, just at the tip of his fingers, pressing down slowly enough not to make a sound, and the window opened graciously, as if inviting him in. Brendon slipped inside, inching past the curtains, making sure not to let any ounce of the early sunset in, lest he burn Pete in the process. No need to close the window if he needed to make a quick exit. He smirked to himself. I mean, c’mon, he half expected to get a fight here and there, run into Beckett or –

Pete is staring. Staring right at him...

The silence was stifling. Pete wasn’t doing anything. It was like…he was…waiting.

‘Pete…” Brendon sighed, letting go of a breath he did not remember taking. It was all he could say, really.

Pete looked threatening, yet entirely composed, as a Dandy should be, but this was more like a distraught or sickly sort of menacing; gaunt even. “You’re up early.” It finally dawned on him that Pete was up at this hour, looking like he—

“I couldn’t sleep.” Pete answered, like it was already something Brendon knew, like he knew why Brendon was here. Of course he knew; everyone knows his eccentricities, and Pete of all people would know better than anyone.

Pete though, taking in this uncomfortable moment and Brendon before him (in one of Pete’s shirts no less). Yeah, compared to Pete in his straightforward, half-buttoned shirt, Brendon looked a feral mess. “Came through the window, I see. Clever. But you…you’re that…Brendon…the one that left, right?”

Okay, what?

Brendon's brows knitted together with his face contorting in confusion. “Pete, what are you talking about? You know me.”

“I really don't. I don’t associate with traitors.” Pete’s hazel eyes were cold when they slowly shifted from probing to hostile.

Brendon was practically flailing now. “Pete, I don’t understand. How am I a traitor?”

Pete began backing him gradually into the wall, each step adding further tension into Brendon’s taut muscles. “William has told me all about you. Oh, yes. How you sold us out, spying for the Hunters and then disappearing, just like that.”

“Pete, listen! Don’t you recognize me? It’s me, Brendon Urie, your best friend!”

“Can’t say I’ve ever met you before, but that doesn’t matter.” He had Brendon up against the wall. Brendon, well…sure, at a time like this, you’d get defensive too. He growled low in his throat, echoing as he put both hands to Pete’s chest and shoving hard. Pete stumbled back a few feet, close to the bed with a hiss. His stature now did nothing to stop Brendon from glaring down at him.

Brendon couldn’t believe it. Beckett had wiped everything. Pete had started from scratch with all of this. In short, humanity was fucked.

“Doesn’t matter… Pete, Beckett has kept you here like he kept me! I was rescued, Pete. Please, I’m doing the same for you.” Brendon pleaded. His fingers flexed impulsively, ridges of his spine showing through his shirt.

“Like I need to be rescued.” Pete scoffed. He lunged for Brendon then, snarling viciously, baring his teeth and slamming Brendon into the wall again. This was now a struggle for the upper hand. Brendon was nearly buckling under the sheer force of Pete’s strength. At the same moment, he had to keep tabs on Pete’s fingers inching to his shoulders with fingernails bared. With all of the grunts and banging around from this struggle (knocking over several paintings and chairs) you’d think someone would notice. To Brendon, it was a fucking miracle for someone not to wake up. Brendon was heart-broken. Part of him wanted to dismiss this, to think that Pete was not worth the time if everything had come down to this. But…after all Pete has done for him (saving his life multiple times), how could he just give up?

Brendon wanted to cry at the sheer absurdity of it all, laugh and scorn. He was definitely holding back, just a sliver. Behind that splinter of hesitation, he could surely rip Pete to pieces like a Hallmark card. But he couldn’t do that, not to his Peter. There was only one other way to snap him out of this manipulation as quick as possible, and it killed him that it had come to this. This summed up all of his strength, shoving Pete back hard enough that he collapsed onto the large mattress. Not even a split second later, Brendon had vaulted across the room, pouncing on Pete before he could even recover from the blow. He straddled Pete’s waist, knees on either side of his hips, pinning his wrists above his head. Brendon looked down at Pete aguishly. He was all vampire now, no ounce of humanity that could be hinted at. Snapping jaws could do nothing to intimidate how desperate Brendon was. He took a good grip on Pete’s jaw and looking into his rabid eyes,
“I’m so sorry, Peter.”

He thrust Pete’s chin upward and sank his teeth into the pale column of his throat, pressing hard enough that he could practically, if not actually, feel Pete’s agony, muffling his scream with the hand on his jaw. This was the last thing he had wanted to do, and it made it that much worse that he could feel the pain pulsing, pounding through Pete as he bit down, let alone taste the bitter corruption in Pete’s blood. He didn’t drink much, he wasn’t here for that and it was not necessary. His teeth pressed deeper, Pete shrieked louder against his hand. He was trying to break away from Brendon’s hold on his wrists, writhing under his weight.

A few staggering moments later, Brendon released him, in hopes that the one idea he prayed wouldn’t have to be carried out had worked. Pete heaved as he pulled away from his throat, wiping the dripping smears of blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. Brendon’s chocolate eyes pleaded that Pete would at least have no strength left to fight back.

Pete gasped, very audible. Brendon was astounded at how many times they were getting away with this much noise. Blinking several times, sputtering and coughing, his eyes met Brendon’s.
“Get off of me.” Pete swatted him off with a mixed expression of disgust and anger. Pete’s pupils were now completely dilated from the blood loss, and he stared at Brendon when he managed to move his healing neck (the damage surprised even Brendon, never knowing he could do anything like that). “Brendon, what…” His eyes widened, darting about the room and back to him. “Brendon!”

Pete wrapped around Brendon’s shoulders faster than he could sprint, and this knocked the wind out of him, nearly falling backward under the force of it. “Oh, god, Brendon. Brendon, Brendon, Brendon…”

Pete? Sobbing? No, that could never happen.

“I don’t know…I lost control. I needed to get you out…You weren’t you—so merciless—“

“Pete,” Brendon stopped his rambles, gripping his shoulder, tracing soothing circles on Pete’s cheekbone with his thumb. “I know, that wasn’t me.” He gave a weak grin as reassurance, trying to alleviate Pete’s panicked state. “I’m here though. This is really me. I’m here…”

Pete regained his bearings rather quickly, craning his neck as the last gashes of the wound stitched itself together. Brendon did feel horrible about it, but at least Pete was aware now, a little too aware. Once he took in his surroundings and his bloodied attire, the growl that ripped through his chest ricocheted off of the walls, rising to a screech, and he ripped away from Brendon off of the bed, tearing for the door. Brendon was quick to react. He snatched Pete’s shoulders before he reached the doorknob, twisting him around and putting a hand to his mouth.

“Pete, don’t. You go after William, he and all of the other Dandies will wake up, and we both die.” he whispered, close to Pete’s face. Pete fought him off, swatting him away and burying his hands in his hair, muttering to himself.

“I can’t just leave it alone, Brendon. He took you from me. For that, he took three years of happiness, the only kind I can feel now. Do you know what that’s like? He should know what that kind of misery feels like!” Pete gestured wildly. But that rant, that one right there…well, shit, that summed up everything. Brendon put it all together.

“He also took you. I know, Pete, I really do. The things he made me do…they’re unforgivable. But you also don’t know what it’s like when you aren’t around. I’m not myself. I’m so…lost.” Pete looks like his dog had been hit by a freight train. “I know how livid you are—shit, Pete, I can feel it, but not here, not now. They’re coming, and if we don’t leave now…so help me god, Pete, I will make you go. You know I can.”

They were still for a long moment, scrutinizing until one of them was sure the other wasn’t full of shit. Pete was heaving, probably close to spitting fire with his forced breaths. Brendon was as calm as ever, the gentle water to Pete’s violent fire, pleading him with his eyes. The voices downstairs were very acute to their ears, growing louder with each second. Pete huffed, letting out an animalistic snarl before kicking a lamp off of the wall, shattering the glass and filament.
“Alright, alright!” He shouted, as quietly as possible under Brendon’s intense stare. “Lead on.”