The Redemption of Peter Wentz

Merrill had never been inside the warehouse before, having only met Joe and Andy once before. They’d rescued her, of course, like all other damsels the infestation preys upon, but they hadn’t pressed upon the matter too much. They seemed somewhat normal. The circumstances on which they had met were not the most ideal, but the two proved to be polite and level-headed. And being asked to assist them was something that, for her to even agree to, took longer than expected. When they’d rescued her, she felt the presence of another with them, and managed to catch a glimpse of them before disappearing altogether. It definitely looked human, but it for sure did not move like one.

She felt that same presence now, could see it—him more clearly. He’s tattooed, small in stature, but what he lacks in height, he definitely makes up for in presentation. She can’t take her eyes off of him, just as his follow her as she’s led past the aging furniture and littered papers. He definitely fits the scene, and he’s curious; eyes wide to take her in. It hits her square in the chest, the moment when she realizes what he is. His demeanor is different here. He isn’t running away like their last encounter, because he definitely remembers her.

His curse is that he can never forget. Her scent is the same; her face is burned into his memory. He buries his hands into the sleeves of his leather jacket, clears his throat, and takes a breath to clear his head from the high he’s coming down from.

“Don’t mind Pete,” Andy throws over his shoulder, continuing across the open space to the closed offices. “you’ll learn to just ignore him like he does to us.”

Merrill hesitates and grips the strap of her purse on her shoulder, taking another glance behind her and spotting him, still slumped against the wall by the roll-up door. His eyes are half-lidded now, yet they still follow her every move. They’re electric amber, keeping tabs and never letting her go.

She catches up to Andy, tapping his shoulder, but they keep pace, being swallowed up by the silent confines of the offices. “I-is he, he’s…he’s one of them, isn’t he?” She doesn’t want to say it out loud. He’s a walking contradiction. If he was going to attack her, he completely failed, as he failed to do the last time.

“Yeah,” Andy answers nonchalantly, ushering her down another corridor to a slew of doors, branching into other offices. “He’s pretty harmless for the most part. Occasionally, he’ll go insane, but who wouldn’t when you’re like that?” He stops then, eyeing her and rooting her to the floor. The door beside them is reinforced with layer upon layer of steel with bolts as big as her knuckles. It’s serious, more than she even thought. “Listen, I know you’re scared. What we’re asking of you is probably too much, and you can say no after we pitch this to you. But I want you to understand that Pete won’t be a danger to you. He didn’t choose for this to happen to him but he’s in control. Put it this way: if he didn’t like you, you wouldn’t have made it through.”

--

After an agonizingly slow hour of pitching their bait idea, Patrick was pleased to say the least that Merrill had agreed. There was arguing. She had nearly fainted at the thought of putting herself in danger of being fed upon again, but she was a perfect target for many of the cliques that prowled the city. What she didn’t know was that it wasn’t any of those in the room that had chosen her specifically. All in all, it was in hopes to attract only one in particular.

She smelled like him. Like both of them.

It was unmistakable.

Joe was the one to hold the door open, and as soon as Merrill followed his invitation, he was there. He looked like a child. The leather jacket was off now, tossed on the floor, most likely. He’s wiry without the extra layer, in just a worn shirt that hangs off of him in most places. But he doesn’t meet her eyes, keeping them to the floor.

He’s been waiting, patiently, nervously. Her scent had weaseled its way through the wall, under the door, and it took all of Pete’s willpower not to press himself up against it and lose himself; not just because it was impolite, but he knew the truth that it wasn’t really him was worse than letting it engulf him.

“Do you trust them?”

She’s taken aback by the grit in his voice. It’s like damp earth. It’s almost a mumble, and she thinks it’s by habit how he hides his teeth with his lips when he talks. “Sure.” is all she manages to say. The others are looking at them, hoping to remedy this awkward encounter between them, but there’s a first for everything. Joe and Andy flank her, with the ever-bookish Patrick beside Pete. This seems to alleviate his own tension with how his jaw unclenches and his expression softens.

“She’s agreed to help us, for however long it takes.” Patrick states.

“But she’s afraid of me. I can smell it on her.”

Of all things, and for his own selfish reasons, Pete wishes she was more afraid. He wants her for the sake of being closer to him. It’s overpowering and he needs the okay to let go. He needs that permission. He doesn’t take his eyes off of her, completely forgetting how unsettling it is to humans when he forgets to move.

Joe moves to break the silence. “This is what we talked about, Merrill. You need to be able to trust him. He needs to know that you do.”

“But I already agreed to do this. How is that not enough?”

“Because,” Pete grunts. “I’ll still feel you shaking, like you are now. Hesitating will only make me slip up more. I need to know your boundaries with this. I can’t protect you when it really counts if you don’t show me that you have absolute trust in me.”

Pete hold his breath when she speaks, when the scent only gets stronger and he’s simply trying not to black out with want.

And he then remembers why he chose her. The resilience she shows in these outbursts of determination are what set her apart from the other pathetic girls they’ve saved over the years. In a way, if this goes through, it’ll give Pete some piece of mind. Merrill reaches for him, making that first contact. Pete anchors himself to his spot, but he’s having tunnel vision. Everything whites out but her and her scent and her hand and her touch and just gentletoogentletoogentle

Her hand now grips his wrist, and the touch isn’t quite like his. She’s too soft but her grip is so sure now. Pete is like cold granite under her palm, stoic and aloof. His eyes have all but glazed over now and his hand now has a mind of his own. It’s breaking all of the rules and causing absolute disaster to just pull her into him and hold her there. He buries his nose into her hair and just disappears.

The scent engulfs him in that perfect combination of him and himself. Everything is complete again and he can be at peace. This is too easy. Why was it that simple? He’s back and with him and he almost feels whole again. This feels like something to live for and he wants all of it all of it all of it now

Merrill whimpers at Pete’s grip around her. His arms are like a cage that become ever more restrictive. She’s losing her breath but it’s not like he notices when they don’t need to breathe.

Patrick sees her desperation. She’s turning red and Pete is slipping away, a Lennie that’s slowly suffocating his beloved rabbits with affection.

“It’s not Brendon.” Patrick says. Touching Pete would be an exercise in futility. They’re essentially talking to a near-sobbing rock. “Pete, let go. It’s not Brendon.” Pete doesn’t move, and Merrill’s hands are crushed between them. “Merrill, tell him!”

Through the haze, Pete can pick up subtle murmurs. He doesn’t want to leave. He just got here. He has forever, doesn’t he? Why couldn’t it start now? The voices are urging him, growing louder. Images of him begin to disintegrate before his eyes. He can’t lose him again. Nononononono not now, please.

“I’m not Brendon, Peter.”

----

Patrick has finally concluded that it’s not Brendon who’s insane, but Pete. Watching over your friend is one thing, experimenting on him is another. This idea had Pete pinned against the wall. Pete didn’t even try to fight back, just let himself be dragged down the hall as Brendon slept and allow Patrick berate him for a good half hour.

It’s just…to Pete, Patrick didn’t understand. This needed to end. Brendon is slipping, everyone knows it. He’s been so weak lately that he can’t even get up off the floor until Beckett takes over again, and it’s like he’s finally giving up. There’s no fight left in him. Pete is tired of living through these back and forth motions and when it all comes down, he’s done with his vendetta with Beckett and just wants him to leave him and Brendon the fuck alone. It’s that simple.

Patrick, on the other hand, does understand that there is a fine line between Brendon and Beckett at this point, but it isn’t something Pete can tool around with…and he thinks it’s a little demented (despite how demented his life is right now) to be pushing the fragility of Brendon’s state.

Eventually, to Brendon’s careful warning (“Whatever I know, he knows, Peter. I know you…mean well…b-but the less you reveal to me about any plans you have, the more security—the safer you are.”) Pete decided that this was the crucial moment to decide what to do. Tonight, he would intentionally speak to William.

Pete led her down the hall, stepping lightly yet bold enough that his shoes tapped faintly against the concrete (Brendon’s little trick to not freak out over his visitors, because yeah… he did flip out once when Andy came in to feed him, so thank god for the chains). Merrill was used to these crazy requests from Pete, so it wasn’t like she was trembling over doing this little experiment. She was just afraid of Brendon. She’d only seen him at his worst, when he was notorious for his merciless and torturous killings, and at one point, she had been under the business end of his hypnotic stare that she concluded he’d use when he was too lazy to chase his meal. It wasn’t the fact that she couldn’t keep herself from picturing his sadistic smile again with those hungry fangs, no…it couldn’t be that.

Pete could feel the apprehension radiating off of her, and turned as they reached the door, hand on the latch. The hall light was off, letting his eyes shimmer in the settling dark. Merrill didn’t flinch when he reached to lightly brush her arm, in the most comforting way he could manage. This wasn’t any different from their hunting stints. All she needed to do was play the victim again, minus Andy and the illusion of secluded lovers. “Hey, he’s not… he’s not like that anymore. I promise. Just…you’ll see.”

She could see Pete’s face fall sadly at this, at the word anymore, like there was another meaning behind it.
“I’ll call you in, just give me a second.” he instructed.
Pete slipped through the small crack in the door, leaving it open before approaching Brendon crumpled on the bed. Leaning close and speaking into his ear, he tried to coax him awake. Pete shook his shoulder gingerly, and Brendon groaned.
“Bren, hey, I brought something for you. Wake up.” Brendon groaned again, trying to push himself up. Pete got the hint and began to assist, scooping Brendon’s sinuous frame from under his arms, hoisting him up so that he could at least sit upright. “C’mon, Bren.”

Brendon managed a meager smirk, though not yet able to lift his head yet. “Y-yeah? Don’t—don’t be wasting my time with those dumb postcards again.” It hurt to laugh, as much as he wanted to do it for Pete’s sake. Someone had to lighten the fucking mood.

“No…no, it’s…better, so much better.” Pete pressed. “Come on in.”

Once the door pushed open, Brendon instantly stiffened at the scent. This reaction at least gave him enough energy to actually look for the source. He pursed his lips, searching the dark a moment before landing on Merrill, letting out a gasp and looking to Pete, absolutely confused.

‘P-Pete…what—“

“This is for you, B. Take it.”

Merrill looked diffidently between them, not knowing if she should encourage Brendon, or wait for Pete’s act to continue. She noted how far Brendon had fallen from his reputation as a natural-born predator in his prime. This one was weakened so badly that she could probably finish him off with him having no ounce of energy to fight back. He looked vulnerable though, as if he was afraid he’d hurt her despite his restraints, the innocent and helpless look in his eyes beneath the matted hair she couldn’t help but take notice. Brendon, though, looked completely mortified.
“Pete, n-no…I can’t. No no no.”

“It’s for the taking, Bren. Go ahead.” Pete held out his hand for Merrill’s invitation, and she hesitantly took it, stalking closer and kneeling before him, ignoring her pounding pulse in his cool grip, inching to Brendon’s space.

“This is a person, Pete. I can’t just…” He flinched away from her offering wrist, coiling in on himself and trying to hide how badly he wanted it. “No. Please don’t do this to me.”

Now Merrill really understood what Pete had drilled into her before, at how delicate humanity was. It was obvious that Brendon’s was hanging by a thread, at how his fragile-looking hands twisted together just to keep himself from even looking at her.

“Brendon,” Pete mused, trying to regain his fading focus after seeing his eyes slowly grow more opaque as the seconds ticked by. He still held Merrill’s arm close to his face. “Do you want her? I know you’re hungry.”

Brendon’s head twitched, almost as if he was crying under the pressure. “I do, b-but…I can’t. I can’t feed this way. I-it’s inhumane.” He managed to catch her stare, wincing and tilting his head against the wall. He didn’t try to compel her at all, but looked at her compassionately, even with a twinge of guilt. “Merrill,” he croaked, throat parched and eyes slowly growing milkier, losing the rich brown pigment. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about this, and for everything I’ve done, even for everything I might do.” He flinched again, running his tongue along the ridge of his teeth. “Pete, g-get her out of here.”

Merrill watched the milky film slowly consume the pools of brown, and that grin slowly creep back. Like clockwork, Brendon slowly rose, effortlessly, tilting his head slightly and inspecting her again. She wanted to run now, but Pete’s vice grip kept her in place.

“Well, Peter,” The voice underlying Brendon’s laughed a bit in the words. “I like this new method of mealtimes that you’ve come up with. Seems that Brendon’s seen this one before, judging by his reaction. You do smell divine, lovely, there is no doubt about that.”

Pete gripped Merrill’s arm protectively, and she recoiled. He had warned her about this, and of course, she knew who William was. Pete gritted his teeth to keep back the snarl. “You want her now, don’t you?” he shot back.

Brendon smiled wide, letting his head fall back. His teeth were longer, and Merrill knew at any moment that her screams would no longer be planned or faked. “Peter, I wanted her the moment I smelled her coming through the front door. But you won’t give her to me, will you?”

Merrill flinched back into Pete’s hold when Brendon leaned toward her, baring his teeth, purring like it was just them in a dark alley, no boundaries.
“She’s for Brendon.”

Brendon leaned back against the headboard with a huff, looking smug and chewing on his lip. His cloudy eyes flickered back and forth between the two, calculating the situation. “That is unfortunate. You’re torturing him with this, and I know you can feel how bad his hunger is. You’ve made him weak, Peter.” Brendon glared at him now. Merrill buried her face into Pete’s chest, now trembling violently. “After all that I’ve done for him, you go and bring him down and degrade him like this.”

“Says the hypocrite that turned him on a whim. You ruined his life.” Pete hissed. His patience and restraint were walking a very unstable rope right now. He could feel it vibrating beneath his skin.

“I ruined it? I built him a life, only for you to tear it all down. I’m not through with him, Peter, and I will have him again.”

William had tied his own noose and it was a fucking miracle to Pete at how naïve he was. It proved how desperate and determined he was over one person. Pete was going to end this now, by any means necessary.

“Well, you’re only proving yourself a coward. Brendon is not a shield for you to hide behind. If you want him so badly, come and get him.”

“You’re treading dangerous waters, Peter.”

Pete snarled, loud and vicious that echoed off of the concrete walls and died to a low rumble. His hatred showed completely in this demonstration of rage. The sound could’ve been received as throat-splitting, but it wasn’t as if that would stop Pete at all. Merrill clung tighter to his shirt against his rumbling chest. Brendon backed off. “I said, come and get him.”

“If you wish it.”