Man Up (A Brendon Urie/Brallon Fanfiction)

Chapter 22

Far too young to die.

Brendon's PoV

I pace back and forth in the bus. Alone and furious. I don't know how I'd ever tell them. This... anger, it's not me. The whole time I was shouting at Pete, there was a greater part of me inside screaming for myself to stop. But I can't control it. I can't control anything anymore. I feel a familiar crushing weight on my chest as my breathing quickens. Hot tears spill. I'm not afraid to cry anymore. I don't care.

"Alright!" I shout hoarsely, "You win! You fucking win, Audrey! Is that what you want?"

"Something like that, yeah." A voice says, and I jump out of my skin. I whip round to see the man from my nightmares. It's him, the stupid interviewer, the man in the alley with the needle.

"You work for her, don't you?" I spit. He chuckles deeply, stepping into the bus and slamming the door behind him.

"You're a smart one." He says, his eyes trailing up and down, "She hired me to do her dirty work. Keep you in line when she can't herself, and I have to say, I didn't do a bad job."

I rummage into my pocket for my phone. It's gone. I must have left it on the bar.

"What do you want from me?" I ask, trying to hide the fact that I'm shaking.

"Well, I don't want anything. I think you're a pretty nice guy. Audrey on the other hand..."

I shiver at the name.

"She wasn't very happy to hear about you and that Dallon of yours." He says with a smirk.

"Please... don't hurt Dallon." I whisper.

"We won't, don't worry," he says with a smirk, stepping closer. "You've been a very bad boy, Brendon, and this is from Audrey."

Suddenly, he pulls a can of petrol from he pocket and begins throwing it at all the furniture, pouring it on the floor. My eyes widen in fear.

"Earlier, I payed a wonderful visit to this bus, and nailed all the windows shut. Good luck getting out." The man grins, flicking the last few drops of petrol at me and throwing the tub on the floor. I hear a rattle of matches as he pulls out a pack. I try make a dash for the door but he grabs me, shoving me backwards on the floor. He grins as he strikes the match, illuminating his whole face. I start sobbing.

"Please, don't..." I whisper. He laughs.

"It's not me, Brendon, it's Audrey," he says, before throwing the match on the floor. It reacts with the petrol and the floor bursts into flames. I crawl backwards, sobbing.

"See you around, Brendon," he says from the other side of the rapidly spreading flames. Suddenly, he's gone, and the door locks with a loud click. The flames spread. I scramble to my feet and run to the bunk room, slamming the door. I feel the door go hot as the flames lick against it. The petrol got on my hoodie, so I pull it off and throw it on the floor, before running through the bunk room and into the back.

Once in the back room, I start hammering against the windows, screaming madly for anyone to come help. I go back to the door and put my hand against it. It's warm, but not burning. The flames are close, but not on top of me yet. I'm sweating heavily. The entire bus is becoming hotter and hotter. I go to the wall furthest away from the door and sink against it, sobbing.

This is it.

I'm going to die.

This isn't how I planned it. I wanted to die by my own choice. But not like this.

"Dallon, Pete, Patrick, I'm so sorry," I sob, feeling the sweat pouring from my body as the room heats up and up. Smoke tumbles under the door. It's thick and black, filling my lungs and my head. I want to apologise to more people, but I can't talk anymore. Finally, the flames burn through the door and it crumbles. I see the blackened bunk room behind it, and think about everyone's possessions, burnt to nothing.

There's nowhere to go.

The smoke racks my body, and I fall forward, choking. I scream as the flames lick at my fingers on the floor, and I jump away from it. I decide to go feet first into the flames. I'm in too much pain to think rationally, or even at all.

Coughing, I collapse, in too much overwhelming pain to move. I'm going to die here, and it's going to be slow and agonising. I feel it burning my clothes, my skin, going slowly up my legs, until I'm entirely surrounded in flame. The entire bus is on fire.

I hear shouting outside. I hear my name. But I'm too weak to even lift a finger. I cry much more gently now.

Eventually, unable to hold it any longer, I start to pass out, welcoming it gladly. There's a heavy weight on my chest and a piercing white light. Finally. Peace.