Title: What Sarah Said
Rating: PG-13 for violence, drug references, and language
Pairing: Multiple. Primarily BrendonOC
Point of View: Thrid person singular
Beta: My self, I guess.

Introduction:

Brendon sat across from his mother in the backseat of her car, his royal blue backpack situated just next to him. His face was glued to the car window, his nose flat against the glass as he watched his preschool grow smaller and small behind them. His mother laughed from the front seat,

“You liked your first day of school, then?” she asked lightly. Brendon bounced lightly off of the window, but kept his hand there.

“Hm mhm,” He nodded with a grin on his face.

“Did you make any friends?”

“Lots!”

“Good, good.” His mom laughed, pulling to a rolling stop at a red light. She tucked a piece of her auburn hair behind her ear as Brendon took another glance out of the window. There was a fast food place at the next intersection,

“Mama, can we—?”

“No, dear,” Mrs. Urie said quickly—as if on cue, even, “I’ve got dinner cooking at home in the Crock—beef stew. I know you love my beef stew.” She sighed, turning to look at her son from between the two front seats. Brendon just bit his lip and remembered what his Dad told him to do in this kind of situation: smile, nod, and then say something cute:

“Yes’um!” He lied laughed, rubbing his belly. He would have much rathered something like Burger King for dinner, but his mom drove right passed it, and so he quickly forgot about it.

Las Vegas was an interesting city for the little boy. He didn’t really know of the bad side quite yet: the casinos, the bars, the drugs, the crime—no, his mother had shielded him from that for now. All little Brendon saw were huge flashing lights, tall buildings, and fascinating people walking and talking and laughing. He was always comfortable wherever he was in that city. He had no fear of the darkness: what monster was supposed to come out? Brendon didn’t know any, so he couldn’t be afraid.

His mother, how ever, seemed tense whenever she stepped out of the confines of her home. Even now, glancing at the speedometer, Brendon could tell she was in a rush to get home. And every time they got back into their little townhouse she would run back into her bedroom, Brendon wouldn’t see her for a minute, and then suddenly she would come out with a big relieved smiled on her face an would ask if he wanted a snack before dinner. Usually with the mention of food, little Brendon would forget about his mother’s odd habits, but as the days passed he could see her become even more and more uptight. Even his big, oblivious brown eyes could notice it. He was even a little worried. He flumped back in his seat, and wondered if he should ask his mom about it, but decided against it after remembering another good bit of advice from his father: just assume everything’s okay, and everything will be!

His mother’s news radio station was the only sound in the big green van besides the ever present little clunking of the loose car door opening and closing on the opposite side from the little boy. Brendon hadn’t been paying much attention, but if he had he would’ve noticed his mother’s knuckles on the driver’s wheel suddenly turn white. He did, however, hear her take a sharp intake of breath before she suddenly asked,

“Brendon, remind me, how old are you?” she asked. Brendon blinked a few times as though he hadn’t understood what she said. Then, he smiled,

“I’m four and a half!” He said happily. His mother just nodded from the front seat. Brendon didn’t take the odd question to heart, but asked his mother in stead,

“How old are you, mommy?” She laughed as though they were playing a game,

“Twenty-five.” she lied. Brendon thought she was telling the truth,

“Wow—really, mommy? You’re young!” then he took it maybe a step too far, “All of the other mommies at school are old—my friend Ry told me his momma was…um…” he thought for a moment, “like…thirty-eight!” Purely coincidental, Brendon had landed on the exact number of his mother’s age and her shoulder gave an awkward twitch. As per usual, Brendon didn’t notice. Instead, he noticed his mother’s unusually bare ears as she re-tucked her hair. Ever since he could remember she had worn the same pair of purple earrings everyday. Some times she would wear the nice matching bracelets that went with them, but usually she left those at home in her bedroom. Today though, they weren’t in her ears.

“Mama—?”

“Oh shoot…” his mother’s phone started to ring and she dug around in her purse that sat in the passenger seat until she pulled out her little red blackberry. As soon as it was to her ear, it was time for Brendon to be quiet—no matter what.

“Hello…? Yes, this is Grace Urie, is something wrong…? No I haven’t been to my home yet…I’m on my way there right now. Officer…?” Brendon bit his lip. His mother suddenly hung up the phone and slammed it down into the cup holder next to her seat.

“M-Mama—?”

“Shush, honey.” She snapped, swerving into the next lane over and taking a rash turn to the right at the next intersection. Now, Mrs. Urie was usually a safe, gentle driver. The number of red lights, stop signs, and illegal turns and cut-through’s she made that particular afternoon would have made even the most seasoned cops’ heads spin. Really, she looked like she was running from the law. In actuality, she was running straight for it.

Brendon could hear the sirens much before they reached his house. He could feel and smell the heat before they turned the street corner. He knew this smell from whenever his dad burnt the toast, or whenever they used the big grill out back. It was smoke. And there wasn’t smoke unless there was—

His mother cursed as she quickly pulled the car to a halt a few houses down. She turned back to Brendon,

“Don’t let go of my hand.” she ordered, slamming her door shut and opening his. He slid out of the car, his knees shaking. He had never seen a fire like that before. He hardly noticed his little fingers being nearly crushed by his mother’s vice-grip. She hurried him straight towards the house where, out front, all of their furniture was sitting. As soon as she could his mother poked a fireman hard in the back,

“What started this fire!?” she shouted. He turned around, gave her an odd look and shook his head,

“We won’t know ‘till the fire’s out, ma’am!” he shouted back over the flames and the hoses. Quickly Mrs. Urie led them through the furniture, but the piece she was looking for didn’t seem to be there. She cursed again, and Brendon instinctually covered his ear with his free hand. Finally, his mother’s grip loosened. She took Brendon across the street and they sat in the empty lot to wait,

“Mama, what happened?” Brendon asked as the black smoke rose off of the house plumed—the fires were beginning to die. His mother didn’t look at him, but her face suddenly seemed frail and sad,

“I don’t know, sweetie. I don’t know.” She whimpered, as though she were about to cry. Brendon leaned against his mother’s side, and closed his eyes as though he were going to try and fall asleep. Suddenly, his mother shook him awake, “Brendon, the fire’s out.” She whispered, pulling him to his feet. He opened his eyes. The sky was the dull purple color of twilight. Mrs. Urie led them slowly back to the firemen, all urgency gone as though she already knew what to expect. Their once bright white, one-story town-home was now charred black and part of the roof was completely caved in—just over the master bedroom.

“Do we know yet what started the fire?” Brendon’s mother asked, holding her hand over her son’s mouth to keep him from breathing in any of the smoke. She seemed to want answers more than either of their safety. The fireman nodded—this one was quiet younger than the first,

“Gasoline all over the floor—‘specially in the master. Place looked ransacked. Hell, whoever is was left a calling card out on the front steps, too—you wanna see it?” He asked excitedly. Mrs. Urie nodded and the man ran over to one of his friends who gave him a plastic baggy. He was back within the minute, “Here ya’ go ma’am. Sure hope this was just a pyromaniac or su’mthin’. ‘s better than making enemies, am I right—?”

“Thank you, sir.” Mrs. Urie growled, holding the plastic bag in a deathly grip at her waist as she led her son back towards their car,

“Uh—ma’am, you can’t take that—that’s evidence!” But Mrs. Urie had already stuffed Brendon in the back seat and was getting in herself. When she started up the car, Brendon was stone silent. What was “arson”? Why was mama so mad? What did the big “C” on that little piece of paper in the baggy mean? What was going on?

Mrs. Urie was only able to pull around the corner before she had to stop the car to cry. It wasn’t even soft crying—she was sobbing. Brendon frowned and felt his heart shrink and tighten. He reached out and touched his mother’s arm, and she instantly froze. She then fell silent,

“Mama, what’s happening?” he asked quietly. She turned to look at him. Her make up had streaked down her face and her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes were swollen and puffy with tears. She gave him a long, hard and calculating look. Then finally she said,

“Brendon—h-have you ever…do you kn-know any one with the last n-name—Carmichael?” she asked, her chest still heaving and shaking. Brendon just shook his head and wondered if he should be crying too. She gave him another good look, searching those innocent, bright eyes that she knew she was about to darken and stain. She saw his unworried lips, his un-furrowed brows. If she said anything now, everything for her little four-and-a-half year old boy would change.

Finally, she thought, Better to know young than to be hurt later with no where to go. So she finally said, “Brendon, it’s time you learned.” And she told him everything. When she was done, there was a long, agonizing pause, then she turned back to the drivers wheel and laughed shakily, “How about Burger King for dinner?”

Brendon tried to offer a normal “yes”, but wasn’t sure if he would be able to eat anything—even Burger King—tonight.

----------

CHAPTER INDEX:

Introduction

Part One: Worry,

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten

Part Two: Hope,

Chapter Eleven ( In the same post as Ten. Scroll down--you'll find it <3 )
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen

Part Three: Strife,

Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen

Outro: and Salvation.

This message has been edited. Last edited by: KathryneLee,

8DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

Please update again sooooon <3

And if you need characters... >_>

quote:

And if you need characters... >_>

-waggles eyebrows- xDDD

Double post fail >_____>

LOL xD

RYAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I call Ryan before anyone else can.

This intrigues me. More??

quote:

Originally posted by Emily Enigma.:
I call Ryan before anyone else can.

Apparently so xD Description~?

Heh. I call... wait, I don't do the relationships xD

I can has part?

-description at the ready-

xD Part you can has. Shoot. c:

Name: Nik
Age: 15
Eyes: Blue with gold flecks in the center around the pupil (basically blue-hazel)
Hair: It’s going to be red with bright red streaks (kind of like Hayley Williams at the Grammys – I think it was there)
Skin: Pale with freckles across my cheeks but especially my nose
Height: 5’0 1/2 :O I wish I was taller
Random Shit:
• I am constantly listening to my MP3 Player.
• Huge fan of Queen 8D
• I separate Panic! At the Disco and Panic at the Disco in my head >_>
• As for FBR bands, I also like Fall Out Boy (‘cept they’re kind of alumni now D, Paramore, Cobra Starship The Academy Is… and I can’t think of any other ones right now –facepalm-
• I luuuuurve animals <3
• Packrat.
• I wear a lot of graphic tees with smart-alec stuff on them, but I wish that I had more black in my wardrobe.

That’s all I can think of right now. Need anything else, PM meh.

quote:

Originally posted by KathryneLee:

quote:

Originally posted by Emily Enigma.:
I call Ryan before anyone else can.

Apparently so xD Description~?

Of course.

I'm about 5'5" with dirty blonde hair and blue-grey eyes.

I'm hyper most of the time.

Eh, I don't know what else. PM me for any specific things you need.

quote:

Originally posted by Emily Enigma.:

quote:

Originally posted by KathryneLee:

quote:

Originally posted by Emily Enigma.:
I call Ryan before anyone else can.

Apparently so xD Description~?

Of course.

I'm about 5'5" with dirty blonde hair and blue-grey eyes.

I'm hyper most of the time.

Eh, I don't know what else. PM me for any specific things you need.

Name? c: ( Guesses Emily, but isn't going to ass-ume cx )

Yup, it's Emily.

ASDGLKADSN;ASIJ!!!! I KEEP MISSING ALL THE RYAN PAIRINGS! >=O

I ish still here for a charrie though. ^_^ (Wow, I typed hear at first. Homophone fail.)

I can hash Spencer? ^_^