Whatever it is hits him before he even has a chance to react and then just as quickly it's over. He doesn't know what it is, all he knows is that its grip was so tight that his bones snapped like sticks from the pressure.

One night, on a whim, Gerard sends an email to Top Gear asking if he can be a guest on their show. After one week, a dozen more emails and a three-way phone call with Richard Hammond and Pete Wentz, he's invented a new motorsport instead. This fic covers the events of the First Annual Cross Country Tour Bus Race, including Pete Wentz getting kicked off his own bus, Panic and the Veins swapping members four times, and ending with a concert where the winner plays the final set and the band in last place plays a song in the nude.

The therapists said I was depressed. I was too exhausted to fight them on the diagnoses. That was what our little road-trip was about. Trying to find my Guide before I ended up in the New Jersey Center for Disturbed Sentinels. In reality, finding my guide didn't really matter to me anymore. All I wanted was to make sure Gerard found his Guide before her turned back to the drugs.

"Fair sir," said the knight, or Jedi warrior, or whatever the fuck he was, "will ye just?" "Will I which?" "Will you try passage of arms for land or lady or for—" "Seriously? Seriously? What, did someone drop acid in the fake mead at the Renaissance Fair? Stop dicking around, man, and fuck off."