A/N: I saw Speed racer last night, so I'm a little wired. Excellent remix of the theme song! Very funny, very brightly colored, and the Wachowski's films never dissappoint. Plus, Emile Hirsch is super cute.

Soundtrack: "God Gave Rock And Roll To You II" by KISS.

Angie sat on the hot metallic edge of the flat rooftop, watching the bloodthirsty pack ‎below as they circled the building, ju

Angie sat on the hot metallic edge of the flat rooftop, watching the bloodthirsty pack below as they circled the building, jumping and sneering, tossing insults. These were faces he saw every week, with hair in every Crayola shade, who he recognized from the club. These people—these Foundlings "fans"—were, of all things, encouraging the drummer to jump.

Angie did not understand other people. He did not understand why they were so cruel in these supposedly enlightened times. For the most part, Angie was a pathological people pleaser; he would do almost anything and everything in his power to make others happy, to get them to like him. But he would not jump; not because he had any particular attachment to life or fear of death, but because, if he jumped, he would land on the persons directly below him. They would break his fall and die in the process, and so, Angie, as kind and loving as he was, would not, could not, jump.

"Oh, boo-hoo, Little Drummer Boy," a spectator teased, his thrown beer bottle missing Angie by several feet. "Why don't you just plummet already, freak? No one would miss you anyway."

Angie ignored him for the time being, instead looking to the rear of the maddened crowd, where Mikki attempted to push his way through. He was followed closely by Surfer Mikki and a Mexican guy in a Teku jacket. The trio shoved to no avail, until St. Jimmy himself appeared and parted the spectators like the red sea.

"Pathetic loser!" another called, sneering. He turned to his friend. "You know, statistically, musical groups go through drummers like Kleenex."

The first speaker nodded in agreement. "His death will draw much needed publicity to the Foundlings. It's for the good of the band!"

"For the good of the band," someone, perhaps all of them, repeated, and that was all it took to snap the Saint back to reality.

Jimmy froze, unable to believe his ears. In that moment, the last few days were in absolute clarity. His selfish, blind idiocy and obsessive need for fame were swiftly becoming his downfall and leading one of his closest friends to an early grave.

"How could you say that?!" he bellowed. "What the Hell is wrong with you people?! Have a little common decency for fuck's sake!!"

"…But, statistically, musical groups—"

"Fuck statistics and fuck you!!" he screamed, and the roar of the crowd settled to a dull murmur of discontent. The quiet was broken only by the muffled yelps of a young man Mikki was knocking the stuffing out of after hearing him yell for Angie to jump.

Angie drifted inside of his own head, observing the stunned hush of the mob. There were some of Tork's friends across the street. The neighborhood being an indie art district, it did not really surprise Angie that they just so happened to be there. The Italian looking guy he shouted at Saturday when he was off his meds, and someone who looked like he might be related to him, were coming out of an art gallery to observe the distressing scene in confusion; the Japanese boy and the girl who hit Tork, along with Monkey's sister and girlfriend, peeked their heads out of the bridal boutique next door.

There was a great thunder of engines from Angie's left, and several cars parked haphazardly mere feet from the angry mob; a couple of muscle cars, an SUV, a Porsche with the bonnet from a hearse welded on, and an olive drab jeep with a few bullet holes near the bumper. Demitri, Anya, Monkey, Porkchop, and the big Japanese Metal Maniac whose name he could not recall must have been at Pietro's diner when news reached of his predicament. They must have been genuinely concerned for his safety if they had gotten Vlad to abandon the grill on a Tuesday so soon after the lunch rush.

Though Angie would have sworn he had not been there moments before, the tall blonde military man who claimed to be Mikki's and Surfer Mikki's father stepped out of a phone booth. Not more than a few rows behind him was an older looking Jewish man Angie had never seen before, but he noted that he and Nona had very similar crystal blue eyes.

And as if the mere act of thinking of Nona had caused her to appear, up roared her mother's pink Cadillac with ice white crushed velvet seats, Nona in the back and Tork riding shotgun. As soon as the car screeched to a halt, Nona leapt over the still closed door, slid across the hood, and muscled her way to the front.

"Angie, we're here for you," St. Jimmy declared, unaware of the bassist's imminent collision with him. "Don't listen to these ingrates, man. You're a brother to us, Angie; we love you."

"What about your fans?" he asked.

"When my eighteenth birthday rolled around, and my parents kicked me out because my being a career musician shamed them and brought dishonor to our family name, who was there for me? Not these ferocious morons, but you. You were there for me, Angie."

"You were there for all of us," Mikki hysterically called, his eyeliner smudged from the fight. "And now we're here for you."

"You won't cheat us of this!" someone yelled. "I came all the way down here to see that freak jump, and I want him to jump!"

Mel shuddered at the word "freak," leaning close to Wylde; she wanted to help the boy on the roof, but she was far too frightened of the crowd to make a move. She had been in a situation like this before, and was struck still with anxiety. Wylde put an arm around her, the pair standing there in front of the bridal boutique, but it did nothing to ease Mel's tension.

They were chanting now; an ever repeating chorus of "JUMP, JUMP, JUMP!" Angie covered his ears, shutting his eyes tight and howling like a wounded coyote. St. Jimmy yelled for them to stop, to leave Angie alone, but the throng ignored his begging. His fans had turned on him; he was overwhelmed, and could only spin suddenly around at the hand that gripped his shoulder, utterly unprepared for who awaited him.

"You," Nona rasped, drawing out the single syllable for a very long breath. "This is your fault!"

"My fault?!" he sputtered. "You're the one who maced me, you psycho—"

"If you could just keep it in your pants—"

"Stop it, STOP IT!! Can't you see you're tearing me apart?!"

Once more, the alley fell to a hush, all eyes upon the drummer. Angie was standing on the edge now, and there was a collective gasp. He sighed, running a shaky hand through his already ruffled hair.

"I love you both so much, you guys. Please don't make me choose…"

He blinked away tears, his eyes fever bright. "Whatever happened to us, man?" he asked despondently. He seemed to be addressing not his friends, but the entire horde. "Music is supposed to bring people together, not rip them limb from limb. We were such good friends when we first met; Nona was our choir songbird, and Jimmy's parents forced him to play Tchaikovsky on that stupid violin. The music teacher let me study percussion because it was relatively easy, and I just turned out to be really good.

"Nona introduced Jimmy to the blues," he said. "You guys were like soul mates. We were a family. But now you've let your own bitterness and petty squabbles destroy that family."

"Oh, Angie," Mikki said softly, nervously clutching his wrist.

"Angie!" Nona called out to him. "Angie, you don't understand—"

"No, YOU don't understand!!" he shouted. "Life has its ups and downs, but you traverse those hills and valleys and travel in packs like lonesome stray dogs to protect against the harsh winter wind! You were my pack, and those hills and valleys shaped you as you are! I know life can sometimes be tough, and I know life sometimes can be a drag, but people, we have been given a gift. The gift of the road we travel!"

The hush of the crowd eased to a dull roar, some nodding and murmuring their approval of what Angie was saying. He was crazy, but he actually made a lot of sense. They quieted down once more, listening to the drummer with growing interest.

God gave rock and roll to you, gave rock and roll to you
Put it in the soul of everyone

Do you know what you want? You don't know for sure
You don't feel right, you cannot find a cure
And you're getting less than what you're looking for

You don't have money or a fancy car
And you're tired of wishing on a falling star
You gotta put your faith in a loud guitar

God gave rock and roll to you, gave rock and roll to you
Gave rock and roll to everyone
God gave rock and roll to you, gave rock and roll to you
Put it in the soul of everyone

"Now, listen," Angie commanded.

If you wanna be a singer, or play guitar
Man, you gotta sweat or you won't get far
'Cause its never too late to work nine-to-five

You can take a stand, or you can compromise
You can work real hard or just fantasize
But you don't start livin' till you realize - I gotta tell ya!

Angie threw his arms up, and they followed suit, swaying back and forth. He had them eating out of the palm of his hand. The spectators—coming for the chance to witness a death, staying for the message—began to sing with Angie.

God gave rock and roll to you, gave rock and roll to you
Gave rock and roll to everyone
God gave rock and roll to you, gave rock and roll to you
Put it in the soul of everyone

The crowd swayed lightly back and forth, some onlookers waving their cigarette lighters in the air; the Metal maniacs were among them. Angie had them singing with him now, each voice ever so soft, but together, they were strong. The chorus of lullaby whispers echoed clear across town, flying on the wind to the main strip.

God gave rock and roll to you to everyone, he gave the song to be sung
Gave rock and roll to you, gave rock and roll to everyone

God gave rock and roll to you to everyone, he gave the song to be sung
Gave rock and roll to you, saved rock and roll for everyone
Saved rock and roll

God gave rock and roll to you, gave rock and roll to you
Gave rock and roll to everyone
God gave rock and roll to you, gave rock and roll to you
Put it in the soul

"I know life sometimes can get tough! And I know life sometimes can be a drag!" Angie reiterated, his eyes fever bright. He spoke with complete conviction. "But people, we have been given a gift, we have been given a road. And that road's name is... rock and roll! YEAH!"

The mass was pacified, but more than placated; they were delighted. The homicidal madness of the crowd melted away, each one of them touched by the drummer's beautiful soul. For someone who had been through so much to be that positive, that forgiving, gave them hope.

"And that means you!" he exclaimed loudly, indicating a random person below. He pointed to someone else. "And that means you!! And that means you people! How many people here like the sound of rock n' roll music? Well, I do! I do AAAUUUUGGH!!"

"ANGIE!!"

Mikki clutched at his own hair, and in the desperation of those moments, time slowed to a crawl. He could hear his blood pounding in his own ears as Angie stumbled from the ledge, plummeting several stories. There were astonished gasps for the third time that afternoon. Angie's form disappeared, blocked from view by the tallest spectators.

"No," Mikki murmured. Tears dropped delicately down his pale cheeks, edged in black. "He's gone."

"It's like surfing a sea of hands!" Angie cried joyously. The mass of spectators had been won over by the drummer's song, knowing in their heart of hearts that Angie meant every word, and so the passed him along, raised up by their collective arms. He laughed with glee, but turned suddenly somber, annoyed. "Okay, who just grabbed my butt? Not cool, dude. Not cool."

Mikki laughed at his own stupidity and waited while his best friend was delivered to him. Tork and Porkchop got hold of Angie at last, and set him gently on his feet, where he was promptly set upon by Jimmy and Nona, who hugged him profusely. They apologized, begging for forgiveness.

"I could never stay mad at you guys," he said, "as long as you're not still mad at each other."

Nona and St. Jimmy turned towards each other, both looking sad and mildly ashamed. They both began to speak at once; they snickered awkwardly,

"I'm sorry I nailed you with pepper spray, Jimmy," she said. "It was no way to deal with my anger."

"No, I'm sorry," St. Jimmy replied. "I should have been more respectful of your feelings."

"Group hug!" Angie said. The alley grew silent save for some nearby crickets, and everyone stared at him. Finally, they laughed, and ignored him. Angie shrugged, and danced his way to Mikki.

"Don't scare me like that," Miki said. "You almost gave me a heart attack."

"In my defense, I never planned on falling." Angie stuck out his tongue to punctuate his statement, but he smiled at his Goth roommate. "And I didn't really think you'd be so worried, Mik-meister…"

"Of course I worried! Angie, you're my best friend."

"But I didn't think you'd be that worried." Angie shook his head; the blonde just did not understand. "Mikki-mouse, your mascara's running."

Mikki swiped at his eyes and cheeks, attempting to scowl without success. "Yeah, well, just don't run away again. I thought I lost you…And stop hugging me!!"

"You are just a big old girl deep down inside, aren't you?"

"When was the last time you took a shower?!"

Vert shook his head and sighed, aggravated, and the Major whispered discreetly to him with more than a little concern.

"Are they gay…?"

"Ask him yourself."

Jack did, and much to Vert's amusement, Mikki punched him in the face. "That's for slapping me the other night, old man," he snarled. "C'mon, Angie; let's go home."

Even Dr. Tezla, from in front of the Art Gallery where Kurt and Wylde had been earlier, laughed at this misfortune of the Major's, but he was struck suddenly with a sad longing. For a moment, he thought he saw an old girlfriend in the multitude. It had been so many years since he had last come to Vegas, never returning after losing a chance at true love. He wondered where she could be now.

"Petey-boo," came a soft and sweet voice from behind him. Tezla thought he must have been dreaming, but there she was.

"Keesha," he said, not daring to believe. And after all these years, she was still just as beautiful. "What are you doing here? How did you know I was in town?"

"Tork's my nephew," she told him. "You didn't guess? It should have been easy; we have the same last name."

He looked at her pathetically. "I never stopped loving you," he said. "I never wanted to hurt you, Keesha. I always loved you, and I still do. I didn't want to lie."

"But you had no choice; I know." She smiled at him. "Tork told me about the drivers working for you, helping with your research. I know you were telling the truth."

She kissed him softly. He held her in his arms.

"And I think it's time I told you a truth of my own."

A/N: Great song. Not the end. Too lazy to use proper grammar.