Ventura, CA, one year and 8 months prior:

Micky and Peter were at an audition, their two man act finally getting off the ground and starting to get a little bit of recognition in Ventura.

They had figured out the best way to go about the act, they would start off with a bit of comedy, usually having something to do with the drums, as they had space to fill while Micky set them up. Peter would play the bass and sometimes his new banjo that Micky had gotten him for Christmas, and Micky would play the drums and they would take turns singing.

They were managing to earn a little bit of money, most of which they were saving for their trip to LA when Micky turned 18.

They were backstage getting ready to go on when a rather buff guitarist from one of the other acts knocked over Micky's wheeled cart, causing his drums to topple to the ground. Then he tripped over the upturned cart and stumbled. Trying to regain his balance, he stepped right on Micky's bass drum.

Micky let out a small yelp as the man's boot went right through the skin on his drum, which ripped as easily as if it were paper. The man stepped out of the drum and looked down at it. "Oops," he said, smirking. Micky didn't even look at him, he had eyes only for his ruined kick drum.

He bent down and picked it up, trying not to cry. He was 17, 17 year old men didn't cry. He had to be strong, it was just a drum anyway. Just a low quality, bought used, two year old drum. Just a sentimental christmas present from his best friend, drum. He choked back his tears, trying as hard as he could to convince himself that it was just a drum.

"You'd better be planning to pay for that." Micky recognized the voice, it was Peter's voice, but at the same time, he'd never heard this voice before. It was low and quiet, full of anger, but very calm. He looked up at Peter, who was staring at the guitarist. His face was emotionless but there was a look in his eyes that Micky hadn't seen once in the two and a half years that he'd known Peter.

The guitarist laughed. "You serious?" He asked Peter. "I'm not going to pay for anything, it was his fault anyway. He pushed his cart in front of me." Peter raised his eyebrows. "He did no such thing," he said calmly. "You walked right over to him and pushed the cart on purpose, I saw you."

The guitarist seemed to realize then that Peter was not going to give in anytime soon. He frowned and folded his arms across his chest. "Oh yeah?" he said. "I think you need to get your eyes checked, blondie. I was just minding my own business when your little friend here pushed his cart in front of me and tripped me. If his precious little drum got broken, it's his fault. I ain't payin' for nothin'!"

He turned to walk away, and Peter quickly walked over and passed him, stopping in front of the man. "You intentionally sabotaged our act and, and damaged our property," Peter said quietly. "If you don't pay for the drum right now, I'm going to report you to the event manager, and you'll be disqualified!"

"Oh yeah?" The guitarist pursed his lips and drew himself up to his full height. He was about a head taller than Peter, and he was very muscled, but Peter didn't so much as blink. "You tell the manager and you'll be sorry!" The man snarled.

Micky swallowed nervously. He didn't want to watch, he wanted to cover his eyes so he wouldn't see Peter get pummeled, but he couldn't tear his eyes away.

Peter didn't move, he just stood there and glared unflinchingly into the guitarist's eyes. After a second, which seemed like an eternity to Micky, the guitarist scoffed and shoved past Peter.

Micky breathed a sigh of relief. He had been sure that Peter was going to be hit. Peter glared after the guitarist for a moment, and then he turned to Micky. "You alright?" He asked his younger friend. Micky laughed.

"Yeah, all things considering," he said, his voice shaking. At least one good thing had come from the almost-fight Peter had just gotten into, the fear Micky had felt for his friend had chased away his threatening tears once and for all.

Peter nodded. "Well," he said. "I'll go withdraw from the audition and report the sabotage."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute!" Micky cried, standing up and grabbing Peter's arm as he began to walk away. Peter paused and looked at him. "What's the matter?" he said. Micky laughed. "What's the matter!?" he repeated. "You almost got slugged, that's what's the matter! So what if some jerk broke my bass drum? It's fine, I can get another one! We don't need to report this, what if he comes back for revenge!?"

Peter sighed. "It's not just the bass drum," he said. "It's the whole principle of the thing. He did this on purpose, so we couldn't play in the act. He ruined our chances at the prize money, and then he lied about it, and then he threatened me. If I don't report this, then he'll get away with it."

With that, Peter walked away towards the event manager. Micky took a few deep breaths, trying to steady his nerves as he gathered his drums and stacked them back on the cart.

After a few minutes, Peter came back. "I explained what happened to the event manager," he said. "He took our name off the list and said he'd disqualify the other act."

Micky sighed. "Well, I hope we did the right thing," he said. Peter smiled. "Don't worry," he said. "Things'll get better eventually. Things always do."

As they were walking back to the hotel later that night, Micky suddenly felt the drum cart being yanked out of his hands. "Hey!" He turned around and froze. The guitarist was there, along with the other two members of his band.

Grinning, the buff man dumped the drum set on the ground and began jumping on them. Micky felt his mouth drop open and his eyes get wide, as each stomp felt like a punch to his stomach. Vaguely he registered movement out of the corner of his eye, and he thought he heard laughter somewhere in the distance.

Stomping on the last drum, the guitarist stopped and smiled up past Micky. No longer mesmerized by the destruction of his cherished drum set, Micky snapped to attention and realized what he had seen and heard.

Next to him, Peter was angrily struggling against two of the band members, who were holding him down. When he saw what was happening, Peter had tried to run over and stop the guitarist, but the others had been quick to restrain him. They were laughing at him now, as he struggled helplessly against the two stronger guys.

"I told you you'd be sorry," The guitarist said gloatingly. "You sorry yet?" Peter didn't answer, instead he just stopped struggling and looked at the guitarist, red-faced and with hate in his eyes.

It was such a foreign look for Peter that Micky almost didn't recognize his friend. He felt like he was looking at a complete stranger. He stared at Peter as the guitarist laughed nearby. Suddenly, he heard a crash and a twang. Turning back to the guitarist, Micky looked in horror at what was in his hands.

Peter's new banjo, or rather, Peter's banjo's neck. Splintered off near the head, which now lay in pieces at the guitarist's feet. The guitarist laughed and snapped the neck a second time, breaking it over his knee. He tossed the remains to the ground and looked at Peter, who still glared at the man, not backing down.

"Still not sorry, eh?" The man snarled. "Fine." Suddenly the man rushed forward and punched Peter in the stomach. Peter gasped in pain and tried to double over, but the two men on either side were holding him up. "HEY!" Micky cried out running forward as the guitarist was about to give another punch.

He grabbed the guitarist's arm and tried to pull him back. The man paused and looked at Micky. "Well, the little drummer boy wants in on the action, eh?" He said, smiling. "N-no," Peter panted. "Not M-Micky, plea... please!"

Micky began to back away, not taking his eyes off the much bigger man. His heart pounded in his chest as he tried to come up with some sort of plan to get them both out of this. He was fast and he knew the streets of Ventura well, he could run and probably get to safety with relative ease, but there was no way he was leaving Peter behind in the hands of these jerks.

He briefly thought about fighting, but dismissed the idea almost before it had come to him. Even if he was strong enough to take on the leader, there were still two more holding down Peter.

Maybe he could try to dance around the leader, rush and duck and run and generally put his scampering skills to use and tire the man out.

The man took another step towards him and Peter began struggling again, much more desperately than before. There was no more time for thinking. He would have to go with his last plan.

He ducked as the man rushed forward, swinging his arm out to connect with what would have been Micky's jaw, but was now open air. Micky jumped back to his feet behind the man and ran about five steps before turning around.

The guitarist seemed momentarily confused by the lack of Micky on his fist and turned around, his gaze fixing on Micky. He rushed forward again, and Micky sidestepped him, causing the man to lose his balance and stumble towards the ground. He caught himself before he hit the dirt, however, and turned again to get at Micky.

Now the real fight began. The guitarist kept swinging and advancing and getting generally more and more angry that he couldn't catch Micky, and Micky kept ducking and running and bouncing around.

"HOLD STILL, YOU LITTLE MONKEY!" He shouted. Micky surprisingly obeyed and stopped about six feet away from the man. Now thoroughly foaming-at-the-mouth mad, he ran to tackle Micky. Micky had been expecting that, and almost smiled as the bigger man rushed over to him. Micky stood still until the exact right moment, and then jumped out of the way.

The man tried to stop, but he was going too fast. He tripped over Micky's broken snare drum and fell headlong into one of the men holding Peter. The result was a domino effect ending in a pile of groaning musicians, which would have been funny if Peter wasn't one of them.

"Peter!" Micky exclaimed, running over and pulling Peter to his feet and away from the others. "Peter, are you okay?" Peter panted, trying to catch his breath, but he nodded. "Alright then," Micky said, pulling on Peter's arm as he began to run. "Let's go!"

And so the two of them ran, they ran for all they were worth. Micky was heading toward the hotel when Peter pulled against him. "No, wait," he said. Micky stopped. "Wait!?" He said. "We can't wait! They might be right behind us!" Peter shook his head. "Police station," he said, leaning over and clutching his side with his free hand. "We... we've gotta go to- to the police station..." Micky was about to argue when they heard a shout from behind them. So they turned and kept running, Micky leading the way to the police station.

"Well, boys, we caught 'em," The police officer said, walking up to where Micky and Peter sat. They were at the station, waiting around so they could get home without the worry of being jumped by revenge-seeking musicians.

"Are you sure?" Micky asked, standing up. The police officer nodded. "Yup," he said. "Buff guitarist, buff pianist, and buff drummer, all limping around in the alleyways, banging trash cans and beating bushes, looking for you two." When Micky still didn't look convinced, The policeman sighed.

"Would it make you feel better if you saw them, and made sure they were the same guys?" He asked. Micky nodded. "Yeah, it would," he said. Turning to Peter, he asked "Are you coming?" Peter stood up. "Yeah," he said. "I probably should."

Micky had tried to get him to go to a doctor, but Peter had insisted that he was fine. "It's not the first time I've taken a punch," he said lightly. "I just had to catch my breath, is all."

Micky still wasn't satisfied, but Peter didn't seem to be very hurt, so Micky finally decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

The policeman led the two of them to a small room with a window in it, and through it, they could see the three guys who had jumped them.

Micky nodded. "Yeah, it's them, alright," He said. He looked at Peter, who was looking through the window as well. He was staring at the guitarist and frowning slightly, as if he was confused about something.

"Peter?" Micky asked. Peter blinked and turned to Micky. "Hmm?" He said. "Do you think they're the same guys?" Micky asked, more for the policeman's benefit then his own. Peter nodded. "Oh yeah," he said. That's them." The policeman clapped his hands together once and stepped forward. "Alright then," He said. "Goodnight, boys! Have a safe walk."

"You know, I really wish he hadn't said that," Micky said as they stepped onto the dark street. He looked at Peter, who wasn't saying anything, just looking off into the distance as they began to walk back to the hotel.

"Peter, what's the matter?" Micky asked. Peter looked at him. "Hmm? Oh!" He said. "Nothing, I just... I'm sorry, Micky, this was all my fault..." Micky looked at him, stunned. "How was any of this your fault?" He exclaimed. Peter kicked at a rock. "Well," he said. "If-if I hadn't told the event manager, than that guy wouldn't've followed us, and then you would still have your drums, and you wouldn't've had to fight..."

Micky was beginning to understand. "Peter," he said. "This wasn't your fault! That guy shoved my cart over and ruined my bass drum, you did the right thing by getting him disqualified! Then he made the choice to follow us and get us back, there wasn't anything you could've done to stop it. He did those things, not you. So don't feel bad, and don't apologize!"

Micky rolled his eyes as he talked. "For heaven's sake, I get tired of hearing you say you're sorry all the time!" Peter laughed. "Sorry, Micky..." he said. Micky looked at him. "Oh, oops," Peter said, realizing that he'd apologized. "Sorry, I didn't mean to... Oh, I mean... oh, what's the bother?"

By now they were both laughing, and the rest of the walk home was a fairly pleasant one.

That night, Micky lay awake in his bed and heard Peter talking in his sleep. "No..." he was muttering. "Not Micky, please..." Micky rolled over and sighed. He hated to admit it, but the whole ordeal had shaken him up pretty bad. Not just because an angry musician had tried to beat him up, not just because he'd lost his drum set, but because of Peter.

Peter had been a friend to Micky for a long time. He'd been there for him when his dad had passed away, he'd helped him get over Penny, and he'd been the one who inspired him to get into music in the first place.

Peter was much more than a room-mate or a friend, or even a best friend. Peter was a brother to Micky, and even though, technically, yeah, Peter was the oldest, Micky still felt responsible for him in a way.

And he knew that Peter felt the same, because even though he was the one who was targeted, even though he was the one who was hit, he never once worried about himself.

The only part of the ordeal that had scared Peter could be summed up with four little words. No, not Micky, please...