Disclaimer: i will only say this once. As many times as i've asked people to buy me Peter Wentz no one has . i own nothing.

a/n: this is where v2 comes in it is Pete/Joe-ish and is a little longer in some chapters.


He came into my room through my window." I was telling Andy in Study Hall.

"Drunk?" Andy seemed surprised.

"You know Pete." I shrugged looking back to my book.

"Yeah, still though it's not like him to lie to us." Pete had told Andy he wouldn't drink.

"Pete hasn't been Pete." I shook my head, and put my book down knowing I'd never read it this period the way Andy gets.

"How come you don't get mad when I drink or smoke?" I questioned. He always just seemed to not want to be around me if I did it, but he wanted to stop Pete.

"It's not I don't get mad, I try not to be around when you smoke," he shrugged. "But Pete. I don't know. He has…" he searched for a word.

"An addictive personality?" we jumped as we turned to find Pete. I eyed his face, but the mask showed no emotion.

"Pete, I was just gonna say-"

"No, don't bother." He walked up to the teacher's desk.

"Peter? What can I do for you?" I strained to hear.

"Since you're my homeroom teacher I'm supposed to give you this."

"Oh!" she sounded surprised. "Okay I hope you feel better soon." She scribbled a note on, what I assumed to be, Pete's file.

I looked at him with a confused face, and he handed me a slip of paper. It read:

Please excuse Peter for a doctor's appointment today and most of tomorrow.

I wanted to ask him to elaborate, but he was gone.

"Pete's better at forging, at least." Andy pointed to the signature.

"I think its real." That was what scared me. Pete hadn't told me about this. He had slept in my bed, and gave me creepy drunken hugs all night, but he hadn't once mentioned a doctor appointment.

"He tell you."

"No he didn't tell you?" Andy raised his eyebrows.

"Maybe that's why he's been weird, he's sick."

"Liver problem." Andy smiled.

"C'mon, man, this is serious!" I tucked the note in my bag.

"I know, sorry." He said more seriously.

"So, bro?"

"What?"

"What do you think?" I asked in a frustrated voice.

"I don't know. I mean… it's Pete." I wanted him to stop saying that, but it was true.

I realized what I had been denying. My best friend, my brother, was a mess.