A/N- I saw American Idiot for the second time on Tuesday. It is quite possibly the greatest show I have ever seen. This is the sort of story that has the power to change the world.

I love Saint Jimmy. He is the epitome of the "tragic hero". Now, I agree that in the album he is an idea/ a part of the Jesus of Suburbia. But I believe that the play (and Tony Vincent's brilliant portrayal of the role) make him much more human. So as a character in the show, I see him as very, very real. 3

This is a sort of re-write of the show from Jimmy's point of view. So much of his feelings are left unsaid and I think he deserves a chance to tell things his way.

Tonight is Tony Vincent's last performance, so consider this my offering to his brilliant run. He will always be Saint Jimmy to me.

Obviously, all of this is the creation of the brilliant Billie Joe Armstrong and the wonderful people who transformed the album into a show.

I really don't know what it was about him. Obviously, he was a confused kid, an unwanted product of our idiot society. I saw dozens of them each week, all screaming for Saint Jimmy to take away their pain and doubt.

But there was something different in him. Most of the wannabe-rebels who stumble over to my side of town have moved beyond frustrated; they've become apathetic. All they care about is their next drug fix or their latest one-night stand. Without even talking to him, I could see that there was a fire still burning in this newcomer.

I watched him as I danced around the dingy room, drawing energy from the weak souls who begged for the drugs I offered. He didn't seem to notice me, but he was far from oblivious to his surroundings. He couldn't take his eyes off of Whatshername.

How do I describe Whatshername? She's a constant fixture in our underground society. All the guys (and quite a few of the girls) are hopelessly in love with her, but they haven't got a shot. To my knowledge, the best anyone had ever gotten out of her was one good screw.

Now, let me make it clear that I am utterly immune to whatever freaky charm she has over people. I think she's a real bitch, pretending to be so pure and wonderful when she's nothing more than a hard-to-get piece of ass. But as much as I dislike her, it doesn't even come close to how much she hates me. I'm the scum of the earth to her, the bad-ass punk who deserves nothing but jail time. And maybe that's the other reason I don't like her; she's such a hypocrite. I'm so terrible for offering up drugs to people who need the relief, but it's okay that she uses what I sell. She hates me, but often lets me crash on her couch- only to tell me I'm a useless load the next morning. Like I said, she's a bitch.

But the new boy liked her, and I liked the new boy. So I decided to give him a hand.

I steered him away from all my screaming fans and introduced myself. Applying as much of my own freaky charm as I dared, I gave him some drugs to wash away his tension and pointed him toward Whatshername. With very little prodding he was off, flying into her arms and diving right in for a passionate kiss.

After a few obviously enjoyable minutes, he was back with me, falling in among the usual stupefied crowd. But once again, he showed me that he was something different. I can't explain it really, because nothing even close to it ever happened to me before. The most I can say is that we were on the same wavelength.

He was still by my side as morning approached. The members of the mindless masses straggled away one by one until we were alone. We were both pretty toasted, but somehow the disconnected banter between us felt like the most important conversation of my life.

His name was Johnny and he had come to the big city to get away from his stagnant life and to rock the world. Okay, not too unusual. But the determination that practically radiated off of him was. Even in our casual conversation, he clearly displayed his many hopes and fears, his deep-running rage and love. He was a true individual with the sort of strength I was starting to doubt could still exist in people. But there was something even more remarkable about Johnny than his personality.

He saw me. He looked easily past the eye make-up, erratic movements, and general persona of Saint Jimmy to find plain old Jimmy underneath. I had spent years building walls so high around myself that no one could find me anymore, not even myself. But somehow he did, and he wasn't even trying.

I brought him to Whatshername's apartment because I didn't have a real place of my own. Besides, he seemed to have really liked her and I wanted to make him happy.

I gave him drugs because it was the only thing I knew how to do. I honestly can't remember any real friend I had before Johnny, so I wasn't really sure how to strengthen our bond. I did the only thing I could think of.

He'd never done hard drugs before and it affected him pretty strongly. But I guided him carefully into Whatshername's room, knowing that she would take good care of him, if only to make me look like a douchebag.

For a short, blissful time, my life was something I actually considered worth living. Whatshername was a nice little fuck-buddy for Johnny, and apparently he was good for her, too. She didn't even make too big of a fuss that I had moved onto her couch full time.

But most of Johnny's time was spent with me. He came to all the wild parties with me, tried every drug, went along with the crazy way people acted around me. After the parties, we would walk home together, holding each other up and laughing. In the daytime, we lazed around together on Whatshername's couch, watching the news and bitching about the pathetic state of our world.

The simplest things made me the happiest. Letting Johnny see me with my guard completely down, my make-up off, my hair a mess, my leather and chains crumpled in a heap on the floor and knowing that he wouldn't be shocked or upset to see just plain old me flopped on a couch was really liberating.

Everyone I met at those wild parties adored me. I was their source of peace and freedom. I was their way out. I was their best friend. But not one of them had figured out that there was more to me than my persona. If they ever saw the Jimmy who was friends with Johnny, they wouldn't waste any more time flocking around me.

Of course, no happiness I've ever been granted has lasted for long, and this was no different. As Johnny and I grew closer, so did he and Whatshername. She started creeping into our conversations more and more and the tenderness in Johnny's voice as he discussed her increased each time.

For the first time in my life, I began to feel truly lost. I had always known that there was no place for me in this fucked up world, but to be perfectly honest, it never really bothered me. I managed to cut off feelings like pain and loneliness with energy and drugs. But Johnny made me feel things again. I had a want, a real desire, for the first time in years. And I wanted him. I wanted to be relaxed and sober with him all the time. I wanted to not need the drug anymore, to not need Saint Jimmy anymore.

Maybe if I talked to him, things could have been different. Maybe if I asked him if he wanted to go to the movies or offered to cook him dinner or showed him some passages from my favorite books… But I didn't know how to do things like that, so I fell back on my standard routine used to build followers. I gave him more drugs.

Whatshername noticed what I was doing and for some reason, it pissed her off. Maybe she actually liked him; I don't know. But she fought me. Took him to a bunch of dumb concerts, which he told me he didn't mind because he'd be with her. I wanted to tell him that I could get him backstage at any show in the city. Instead I clapped him on the shoulder, handed him a packet of drugs, and told him to use it after the concert.

I started to feel sick whenever I saw them together, which was a lot because I refused to leave Whatshername's apartment. I made sure to maintain that small victory. She couldn't banish me from his life completely. But just talking to Johnny had become agony. There were so many things that I wanted to say to him, but he sucked the words right out of me each time he spoke her name.

I hung on him, often tagging along on their outings as a very obvious third wheel, drawing the attention back to myself as often as I could. I knew I was cracking, knew that even at loud parties, my façade appeared somehow diminished, but I couldn't maintain my typical cold act. I was willing to give up everything to keep Johnny near me.

And then one night, I heard him singing. Sure, I'd heard him practicing before, but this seemed different. His voice was dripping with emotion as it rang through the silent apartment. I stuck my head into Whatshername's room, silently spying on the two people I had come to think of as "My Last Hope" and "That Bitch".

Well, My Last Hope was sitting on the edge of That Bitch's bed, serenading her as she slept. He was apologizing in beautifully crafted verse for never admitting to her how deeply he felt for her, begging for the appropriate way to confess that she was his whole world. Pain shot through my heart as I realized that I could quite truthfully sing this song to its composer. For one idiotic (or maybe it was brilliant) moment, I thought of walking in and reading his song to him, of being honestly and truly me for the first time. I told myself that I had to do something, and if the shit hit the fan afterwards, at least I could say that I tried.

So I barged into the room as Johnny played the last notes of his song. I opened my mouth and loudly blurted, "There's a kick-ass party a few blocks away. Let's go get fucked up." Goddammit, that wasn't what I meant to do. But Johnny smiled, put down his guitar, and left with me.

After that, it was pretty much non-stop partying. I was afraid that if Johnny sobered up, he'd tell me I'd gone completely insane. He probably would have been right. But we did more and more crazy shit, louder music, wilder nights. It would have been fun if I hadn't been so scared that Whatshername would barge in at any second and tear Johnny away forever.

One night, Johnny got so fucked up that I had to drag him back to the apartment. I wasn't thinking too clearly, so I just dumped him into Whatshername's bed and staggered over to my couch. When I woke up, she was sitting next to him on the floor, crying. I panicked at the sight of Johnny's motionless body on the floor and tried to run to him. But Whatshername stopped me, standing between us and staring at me with a look so intense, I began to wonder if she was going to murder me on the spot.

"Let him go, Jimmy. You've played with him enough, now leave him the fuck alone."

Yes, my original assessment was right. Whatshername was a complete and utter bitch. She honestly thought I was just toying with Johnny? Well, good for her. In that instant, she had graduated to the title of Stupid Bitch. And no, I wasn't going to let go. I couldn't let go. Johnny filled the gaping hole in my heart, a hole I hadn't even noticed was there until I met him.

When he woke up, she put a comforting arm around him, still glaring daggers at me. He shoved her away and yelled at her to get off, which surprised me at the same time that it caused a very warm feeling to flutter into my stomach.

And just like that, she lost it. I couldn't even understand half of what she was screaming, but she basically told him to wake up and tell me to fuck off or get the hell out of her life. I followed after her when she stormed out and tried for all of two seconds to have a rational conversation with her. The empty beer bottle whizzing by dangerously close to my face was enough of a hint to walk away.

When I went back into her bedroom, Johnny was curled up on the floor. It hurt to see him acting so small and pathetic; I didn't look close enough to see if he was crying, but I'm pretty sure he was. Hating myself, I crouched down next to him.

"Hey. Forget it, okay? She's a bitch." God, it felt good saying that out loud! "C'mon, we don't need her. Let's just go."

He mumbled something that sounded sickeningly like, "But I love her." I wanted to leave and let him be happy. I hated that I was causing him so much pain. But I was too much of a coward to walk away from what was most likely my one and only chance at happiness.

"You'll be okay, Johnny. I won't let anything happen to you. She doesn't want us here so let's go. Have adventures, just me and you."

He sighed and turned away. Ignoring the guilt gnawing away at my insides, I fished a plastic bag out of my coat pocket and held tight to his arm. He tried to pull away as I held the needle against his skin, but I shushed him and pressed a nervous kiss to his hair. After a moment, he laughed softly and pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. It was the love song he had written for Whatshername. He scribbled a few well-chosen words over the original lines and nailed the paper to the door with a knife.

And somehow, I managed to convince myself that Whatshername was gone from our lives.

The next few days- or were they weeks?- were a complete blur. Party after party after party ran together in an endless stream of needles and pills. We made out one night in the middle of a very public street, but we were both too wasted for it to mean anything. I was high all the time, yet even that wasn't enough to block out the guilt raging through me. Using drugs as chains, I had bound Johnny to me so tightly that it would never occur to him to run away.

I didn't want it to be like this. I had wanted Johnny to save me from my inner darkness; instead, I was dragging him down with me. Stupidly, I dreamed that he would escape this hell that I had created and then come back to save me. For the first time in my life, I found myself praying, wishing for someone to take him away from me before I completely destroyed him.

At the last possible moment, his salvation came. Now, I know it's wrong to be pissed off at the way Fate answers your prayers, but why the fuck did salvation come in the form of Whatshername?

She found us staggering around a dirty alley in the wee hours of the morning. Neither of us could really stand up straight and we were both wearing stupid party hats. As soon as she recognized us, she launched into Johnny, telling him how stupid he was for following me. She told him that I was fake and manipulative, that I was toying with the rage and love that ran so wildly within him and bending his will to my sick purposes.

He looked at me helplessly, as if asking me to prove her wrong. But I was so tired of lying and tired of trying to stopper the flood of guilt in my heart with drugs and just so fucking tired that I said nothing.

She screamed relentlessly, telling him that he needed to wake up, that he was blind and stupid and a victim of the society he had always hated. He crumpled under the weight of her words, falling to the cold pavement. "Jimmy," he whimpered, "Jimmy, tell her she's wrong."

I ran away.

For two weeks, I sat in the dirty little room that Johnny and I had been renting. I carefully planned out what I would say when- if- he came back.

I would tell him that I'm no better than that awkward kid in high school who acts like an ass so people will notice him. I would tell him that I fucked up really, really badly, but I was only trying to make him happy and get him to like me. I would tell him that I wanted to start over, leave Saint Jimmy in the dirty club where Johnny first met him, and get away. I had even looked up the name of a few rehab centers, so sure was I that I could never get free on my own.

But I never told him any of those things because he never came back.

After two weeks, I gave up and tried to do what I had always done best- escape. More drugs, more parties. So much, I couldn't feel anything. Even my stoned lackeys could tell something was up. They had never seen me fall down before, never seen me pass out or puke or laugh hysterically at nothing at all. I did all of these things, and, being Saint Jimmy, managed to do them in spectacularly theatrical ways.

Still, the Johnny-shaped hole in my heart remained, bleeding profusely and draining all hope and energy from me. I had struggled through so much before I found him, and now he was gone. There was nothing left for me.

I was completely sober the last night I went to a party under the pier. I needed to know that it was me, Jimmy, calling the shots. No drugs could make this decision for me.

The music pulsed through my trembling body as I climbed onto the railing protecting fishermen from falling into the bay. People clapped and cheered as I danced on the slender piece of wood. A very drunk girl tried to climb up with me, but I gently pushed her back. "See me after show, baby!" I yelled. She laughed and winked.

I pulled a small gun from my pocket and began dancing provocatively with it, giving everyone a great big dose of Saint Jimmy style. People reached for me and I placed packets of drugs in their outstretched hands. I took my shirt off and some very, very fucked up chick swooned. Laughing and screaming, I placed the gun in my mouth. I managed to shout "Saint Jimmy forever!" around the cold metal before unflinchingly pulling the trigger.

A memory of Johnny's smiling face was the last thing that crossed my mind.

Most people didn't even stop dancing, they just cheered me on. I'd like to think that they believed it to be an act, but even the ignorant masses aren't that stupid. No, they just didn't care, not that I actually thought they would. The only person who had ever cared was gone, hopefully back in the arms of Whatshername, where he would be happy.

One of my mindless groupies caught me as I fell; at least they didn't just leave me on the pavement. But then, of course, there would have been awkward questions, so maybe it was for his own benefit that he moved me to a more anonymous location.

He dropped me into the bay with all the other unwanted junk from the city. It didn't matter; Johnny would never have come to put flowers on my grave anyway.

So here I am, nothing more than a memory now. I really do hope I'm remembered. Is it selfish to hope that Johnny will think of me sometimes? Probably. But I don't care, as long as the memories make him smile.

I gave everything for you, Johnny. I lost everything. For you. But from the moment I saw you, I knew that you would change everything. It could have worked out so much better between us, and for that, I'm sorry. I know it was my fault and I'm sorry I was an asshole and didn't know how to deal with shit.

But you know what? You were still the best fucking thing that ever happened to me. And I don't care that this is how things turned out, because you taught me how to be myself again. You gave me real feelings again. And forever and always, no matter what happens, from oblivion or heaven or hell or wherever the fuck I end up, I'll always send all my love to you.

My first American Idiot fanfic. Please review- the feedback will only make future stories better! (Also reviews are my drug, so please feed my inner Saint Jimmy.)