Youngbloods of the World, Stand Up and Fight

The Briefcase

It was probably a good five minutes, before Hope could finally find the words. "Y-you're... you're Pat-"

"Yes, yes, I'm Patrick Stump, I know," he said, letting out a long sigh, and looking up around nervously once again. "Could we save all the fangirling and questions for later? As I said before, your help is really needed."

Without saying another word, Hope nodded, and hurried out of her house, shutting and locking the door behind her, her hands shaking as she fumbled with the key. This is crazy. Absolutely insane. What in the heck is going on? she thought to herself as she finally managed to lock the door. Turning back around, she faced Patrick letting out a deep breath. "Alright. Where to?"

"Follow me," he said simply, starting to walk out of the entryway that led to the front door. Gulping down a lump in her throat, she followed, her hands still shaking even as they were stuffed inside her pockets. What could Patrick Stump possibly want my help with? Hope wondered, still following closely behind him as they walked down the street towards a car that was parked along the sidewalk. As Patrick climbed into the front seat, she hesitated. Everything that she had ever been taught as a small child was being completely and utterly ignored right now. All of her common sense, although still nagging in the back if her mind, was washed down the drain. Should I really do this...? she asked herself, staring at the door handle in front of her. In the end, her adventurous instincts took over. Reaching down, she yanked on the handle, pulling the door open, before throwing her backpack on the floor and sliding inside the passenger seat just as Patrick had started up the car.

"What exactly is going on? Why do you need my help?" she questioned as they pulled into the street and started out of her neighborhood.

"Listen. I'll explain that when we get back with the rest of the guys. In here it's safer than just out in the open, but people could still be listening," he answered quite cryptically as he continued down the road. Biting her lower lip, she stuck one of her earbuds in and turned on her music while staring out the window. A tactic she's devised to help with panic attacks, anxiety and stress, however it wasn't quite working that well at that very moment.

"Panic attacks?" she heard him say after a while of riding in silence. Frowning, she pulled out her earbud and looked over at him while still trying to control her breathing.

"I... How did you know...?"

"Trust me, after several years of being in a band and going on tour, you'll have your share of panic attacks," he answered, reaching over and placing a hand on her shoulder as they stopped at a stop light. "Just try to calm your breathing. You'll be fine. We can answer your questions once we get to where we're going."

She was quiet for a moment, before taking a deep breath and nodding. "Alright..."

He nodded as well, and put his hand back on the steering wheel as he drove back out into traffic.

It was about ten more minutes of driving, until they pulled into the side driveway of what looked like an old abandoned house. The white paint on the exterior walls was chipping and peeling off in multiple areas. Not to even mention how rickety and unsafe the roof looked. Even the yard was precariously overgrown with tall grass and weeds. The entire place, was literally a dump.

Hope slowly slipped out of the car, grabbing her backpack and slinging it on her back as she examined the house through squinted eyes. Before she could ask any questions, Patrick was again motioning for her to follow him down the rest of the driveway and into the house itself. She followed him cautiously, gripping the straps of her backpack as they wandered inside the building. As she looked around, she concluded that the interior was just as rotten and falling apart as the exterior.