The Emo Mafia

•Staying alive•

Patrick sits quietly in the living room, staring at the blank screen of the TV as if it would tell him all he wanted to hear. But all he got was a dark reflection of himself sitting on the couch. Apparently the so called 'doctors' were working on getting the bullet out of Pete's chest and Patrick wasn't allowed in the room while they operate. Everything was silent, practically deafening. Because as far as Patrick knew, Pete was lying on some makeshift operating table, cold and dead, and everyone else was trying to figure out how to break the news and who would be the one to do it. There was no way to tell for sure. So there Patrick sat in absolute silence, awaiting news.

There's no telling how long it's been. Patrick could hear the wall clock ticking somewhere in the room but didn't bother looking at it. He hears the basement door slightly creak open and the sound of footsteps directly after, then he hears the same door click shut once more. The footsteps gradually get louder until they are muffled by the living room carpet. Patrick glances up and sees that Joe has stepped into the room, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a sympathetic smile upon his lips. Patrick tries to return the smile but it's nothing more than just a slight twitch of the corner of his mouth.

Joe walks over and takes a seat beside Patrick, letting out a small sigh as he does so. His body was still bandaged beneath his shirt and his wound throbbed dully.

"How is he?" Patrick asks quietly, his voice sounds tired and numb to Joe's ears.

"Well," Joe starts. "In the medical sense, I don't really know. But I do know that he's alive. They didn't exactly give me any specific updates on his condition."

"At least he's still alive." Patrick mutters, slouching a little in relief. "You guys couldn't take him to a real hospital?"

"Oh no, no, nope. No hospitals, that was one of his rules. They ask too many questions, eventually they're bound to find out what Pete actually does." Joe answers, leaning back and kicking his feet up on the coffee table. The main reason he left the basement was to see if Patrick is okay, he obviously isn't and Joe isn't the go-to guy for comforting someone, but he could at least try. Patrick could use someone to talk to, distract him from what's really happening for a little while until one of the doctors show up to say whether or not Pete's still breathing. Yeah, talking would be a good idea.

"Another rule he had was for us to never mess with you." Joe continues and what he says peaks Patrick's interest.

"That was seriously a rule of his?" Patrick asks skeptically. But then again, he wouldn't be surprised if it was actually true.

Joe nods. "Yeah, we were told to keep our guard down whenever you were somewhere close."

---
"Why? He's just some fed gettin' his nose into our business. What makes him so special?" Travis asked the second the new rule was enforced. It was entirely ridiculous in Trav's opinion, they always offed feds, or anyone for that matter, who stuck their noses where it didn't belong.

"I know he's a fed, Trav. But when I say don't touch him, none of you fuckin' touch him."

That's when Joe decided to add his own voice to the mix. "Okay, but why him though? I gotta side with Travie on this one, of all the feds why just that one?"

Pete lets out a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He's only going to say this one more time before he throws something. "Just don't touch the fuckin' fed! What's so hard to understand about that? He is untouchable, invincible, whatever, if I find out any of you so much as looked at him wrong I will personally put a bullet in your skull. Anyone else got a fuckin' question?"

Pete looked around the room at the rest of his gang, mentally swearing that if anyone opened their mouth he was going to lose his shit. Luckily, everyone understood that Pete was serious about this rule and didn't say another word. "Good. Now, all of you, get the fuck outta my house."