Keep Me Out Of Trouble (FOB FanFic ft. Brendon Urie)

Chapter 4

Jane walked into hers and Christian's bedroom, closing the door behind her. Christian was in bed, glasses on the tip of his nose and a book in his hands. He hadn't heard much of her and Patrick's conversation, but he heard yelling a few times and he knew something wasn't right.

Jane didn't even look at him before briskly walking over to the phone on the nightstand on her side of the bed and picking it up. She had just dialed the nine and the one in 911 when she remembered the promise she made to Patrick. That she wouldn't tell anyone what he told her.

"Who are you calling at two in the morning?" Chris inquired, closing his book and taking his glasses off, both of which he set to the side.

Jane lowered the phone away from her ear - never dialing the second one that would complete the call - and set it back down in the receiver, "Uh...no one. I thought I had to tell someone something, but I guess it can wait till later." She turned away from her husband and stripped her clothes off. Her husband watched her carefully, a sly smirk stretched across his face. But as soon as she turned around to get back into bed, the smirk disappeared.

She slipped under the covers and got herself situated before turning away from Christian. She stared at the wall across from her, thinking about everything that Patrick had just told her. It's all that was on her mind.

...I killed him...

...I just need you to help me lay low for a little bit. Before I leave town...

...I can't go back there, Jane. I just can't. I'm not meant for a place like that, you and I both know that...

...I can't stay here. It's just not safe for me...

Christian moved closer to his wife on the bed and draped his arm around her front, pulling her into him and kissing the back on her neck. She stiffened up and glanced back over her shoulder at him, "What are you doing?"

"What?" He chuckled slightly, "I can't kiss my wife?"

"Christian, I'm not in the mood," She mumbled, returning her gaze to the wall.

"You're never in the mood..." He muttered under his breath, rolling away from her to the farthest extent he could without falling off of the bed. "You're never in the mood to do anything anymore."

Jane looked back at her husband and heaved a sigh.

"Like, seriously, I can't even remember the last time you kissed me," Chris went on to say, causing Jane to roll her eyes. The two lied there for a little before he blurted out, "Is it something I did?"

She shook her head and closed her eyes, wanting to just fall asleep and maybe, just maybe, wake up in the morning from this dreadfully surreal dream.

Meanwhile...

Pete was sitting in his car with Saint and Bronx. The younger of the two was in the backseat, sound asleep, and the older of the two was fighting to stay awake. The radio was on, but its volume was so low that anyone in that car could barely even hear the song. But if anyone listened hard enough, they would hear that the song was 'Sugar We're Going Down'.

"Hey, Dad?" Bronx murmured tiredly.

"Yeah, Bronx?" Pete retorted, briefly glancing over at his son before returning his attention to the desolated road ahead of him. He was the only driving down it, except for the occasional car that came in the other direction.

"Where did Uncle Patrick go?"

"I-I don't know," Pete stammered, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. "I don't know..."

Part of Pete wanted to believe that when he would get home, Patrick would be there. He'd be sitting in the living room, catching up on whatever show he'd fallen behind on, and when Pete would walk in through the front door with Bronx and Saint, he would look back at them and smile before greeting them.

But the other part of Pete knew Patrick wasn't going to be there. He wasn't going to be sitting in the living room to greet them when they walked in. He was probably long gone by now. And Pete highly doubted that he'd ever see his best friend again.

"I saw him in the kitchen, Dad," Bronx mentioned, resting his head on the window and letting his heavy eyelids droop down. "He was looking through the...the knife drawer."

"The knife drawer?" Pete repeated.

"Mhmm," Bronx hummed, on the edge of drifting off into sleep like his little brother already had.

"What was he doing in there?" He questioned, wondering if Bronx was going to prove his suspicions right. But all Bronx did was shrug his shoulders and shift a little in the passenger seat so he was more comfortable.

Pete swallowed hard, the car becoming hotter as if someone turned the heat on.

He knew information he didn't want to know.

Last time, he didn't know a thing. He didn't know about Patrick disappearing with Sarah or that the two of them had slept together. All he knew was that the next day, Elisa called him and told him Patrick was in jail for murdering Sarah Urie. And back then, Patrick murdering someone was out of the question. That kind of behavior wasn't in the singer's nature whatsoever.

But this time, he knew it all. He knew Patrick hated Brendon with every bone in his body. He knew Patrick wanted Brendon gone so that he could get his old life back. He knew Patrick was the only one, besides the band and the security guards, backstage before the incident. And now he knew that Patrick was in his knife drawer, which more than likely meant that the murder weapon was one of his knives. Pete could only imagine what trouble he was going to be in because it was his knife.

It was all too much for him to handle, and he could only lie for so long before the truth was revealed.

All Pete hoped for was that, by the time the truth got out, that Patrick was far, far away so that he wouldn't get caught and sent back to prison. Because Patrick didn't belong there. Whether or not this time might be easier because he'd already been there once. He just didn't belong there.