I do not own Disney, Camp Rock, or the Jonas Brothers at all! Sure, I wish I did, but I don't :( No copyright intended. I'm sorry if there's any spelling or grammar mistakes as auto correct wouldn't work properly. Also, I'm sorry if anything is medically incorrect, it all came out of my mind and imagination, and I hope I don't cause any offence with my portrayal of depression, I aren't stereotyping or anything, it's just how I thought his character should be x
I'll Be Fine - Prologue
"Oh, for gods sake, Shane! It isn't hard to turn up to rehearsal once in a while!" Nate sighed in frustration. Shane scoffed,
"You know perfectly well that me and Mitchie had a date."
"I knew nothing about it! You never tell us anything anymore, and the label is so mad at you! I mean, I love that you were the old Shane again, but now you're another new Shane, a Shane that doesn't care about the band, and only cares about his girlfriend." Nate scowled. Shane glared,
"If you have a problem with Mitchie, then say it to my face Nate!" Shane growled in fury. Nate scoffed,
"Are you kidding, Shane? You know I love Mitchie, everyone loves Mitchie, but even she agrees that you're too preoccupied to care about the band!"
"Well fine then, if everyone agrees, then I guess my minds made up eh?" Nate gritted his teeth in anger and confusion.
"I guess Connect 3 is disconnected." Shane snorted, grabbing his coat, but Nate grabbed his hand, digging his nails into his brother's wrist.
"Excuse me? Shane! You can't do this! You just can't! Not to me and Jason. You can't!" Nate gasped, his face falling from angry to pleading.
"Do me a favour, Nate," Shane began, grabbing his brother's collar, and pulling him close, "Go die… Go die, coz I really don't care. If you can't care about me and my feelings then I guess I won't care about yours." Shane spat, pushing his brother back, making him stumble into a wall, before throwing open the door and storming out, slamming the door behind him. Nate stared, mouth agape, tears in his eyes. Did Shane, his big brother, the person who has always been there for him, just told him to 'go die'? Nate gulped back a sob. He did. He really told him to… A tear ran down Nate's face, before his shocked frown merged into a heartbroken glare.
"Fine. You want me gone, Shane? Then I guess it's time for me to go." He whispered brokenly, wiping away his tears and walking shakily into his room, throwing his most necessary belongings into a small duffle bag. He took one look round and his face dropped. His guitars. He could only take one if he wanted to get away unnoticed. And his drums, he couldn't take them, any of his instruments, to be honest, his keyboards, pianos… Nothing. He sighed, and grabbed his favourite guitar, the first one he ever got, and his drumsticks, if he couldn't have his drums, he could take something to remember them by. He quickly shoved his guitar into its case and threw it over his shoulder. He would have to leave most of his stuff behind, all his clothes, all his shoes, all his old toys. A single tear ran down his cheek as he fondly looked over all his family photos, before picking up his favourite, when he was five, Shane was seven and Jason was eight, and they had got their very first instruments. Nate, a small junior drum set, Shane had got a practice electric guitar and Jason had received a real acoustic guitar. He sighed and opened his music book, tearing out a centre page and quickly scrawling a quick note to… Well, to anyone who cared enough to read it. Suddenly, Nate heard a car door slam from outside. He ran to the window, Jason was home. Uh oh! Nate frowned, as he grabbed his duffle bag and coat and legged it for the door, if he could just get out before Jason got in. He opened the door and ran, running through the hall, into the kitchen and out of the back door. He couldn't stop now. He could never stop. He wasn't wanted here, so he had to go, he thought as he reached the end of the garden, watching closely as Jason opened the front door, before jumping the garden fence and sprinting down the street. He ran and ran and ran, and only stopped when he reached the train station. He unzipped his bag and pulled out his credit card and passport. Now he just had to decide where to go. Where in the world wouldn't he be found? Then it hit him. He didn't have to stay in America anymore. He had the entire world under his feet, in his reach. Where could, or should he go?