(no subject)
Title: Lullabye
Chapter: 1/1
Author: americanaffair
Beta: Katie read it. Does that make her my beta?
Pairing: Peterick, in a roundabout sort of way.
Rating: G. PG? G.
POV: 3rd
Summary: It's between two and four in the morning when Pete hears a knock on his door.
Warning: This is sort of sad. And cute. And then sad again. In that order. AND SHORT. LIKE THE SHORTEST THING EVER.
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone, yadda yadda yadda. AmericanAffair loves having the pleasure to pleasure you, please comment for more dirtiness.
AN: I was listening to Lullabye the other day and I kind of had this scene in my head, so I texted it to a few people who all replied with how it was breaking their hearts. Then I got really, really drunk, and when I was throwing up in the bathroom this morning I wrote the entire thing in my head, so I rushed to my computer and typed it out. I could not resist the urge. By the way, that entire story is true, FRISK ME. (You don't frisk someone to see if they were drunk yesterday night.) DON'T SASS ME. Okay, here, go read. And, aye, tell me if I should post it to the fall out boy community here on LJ? I'm debating if it's worthy, it's so SHORT.
It’s between two and four in the morning when Pete heard a faint knock against his door. Seemed like it was getting harder and harder for him to fall asleep, but easier to wake up. Entire days sort of blurred by, colours bleeding together on the fringes of his perception. It was just another night for him, laying shirtless in bed, laptop overheating on the exposed skin of his stomach. Scrolling, pages upon pages, wandering through the internet with no real goal in mind. No winning, no losing, just existing. Purgatory all the time.
But, the knock on his door drags him out from the web and into reality. He closes the computer, immediately turning to comfort the person next to him and whisper, “I’ll get it.”
Until he turns and sees that, no, there is no one beside him. It was strange, how that part took the most getting used to. Those little habits built up over time that now have no place to keep yet cannot seem to be lost.
He gets up, crossing the room and opening the door. Standing in the threshold, he sees his son. His pride and joy. Bronx is still wearing the pyjamas Pete put him to bed in, thank god, sometimes he had this way of wriggling out of whatever clothes were put on him. His eyes are big and sleepy, red around the edges from being rubbed by his little fists. Blonde hair askew, curls bouncing everywhere, while in one hand he clutched his blanket tight to him.
“Daddy?” Bronx mumbles, and then Pete sees his lower lip start to wobble while his eyes glaze over.
Pete bends down to pick him up, holding him against his chest while he kisses the top of his head. “What’s the matter buddy?”
“I hada bad dream,” he whispers against Pete’s collarbone, sniffling.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Pete asks, carrying him over to bed. He placed Bronx down carefully against the pillows, then climbed on himself, sitting cross legged in front of him.
Bronx looked down, then off to the side. Pete knew that move, he always did it when Patrick asked about his nightmares. It made his chest ache.
“I hada dream that Mommy was here, a-and she was makin’ us pancakes on Sunday. But. But then we started eating and. Bugs.” Bronx’s hands rushed to his face, his breathing turned more erratic. “They were everywhere,” Bronx started crying again, louder, while he cowered behind his blanket.
Pete wrapped his arms around the little boy, holding him and petting his hair. “Sshhh. Bronx, it’s okay, see? No bugs,” Pete said, moving one of his son’s hands so that he could poke inside his ear. “No bugs there,” he looked in the other. “Clear here too,” Pete looked up his nose.
“Let’s see, no bugs in your nose. Open wide.” Bronx giggled while sniffling and opened his mouth. “And there’s no bugs in there, you’re clean little dude.”
Bronx was laughing now, still sniffling, and every now and then another tear would slip down his cheek, but for the most part he looked a lot happier.
“Daddy, stoppit,” Bronx giggled, batting Pete away with his little hands.
“I had to make sure you passed inspection!” Pete said, eyes big and smile wide.
Bronx huffed, laughing, and then burrowed into Pete’s side.
“Daddy? Remember when I was little, and you would be upset sometimes, and then you would write songs?” Bronx looked up at him. “And then, one time, Uncle Patrick came over and then you wrote me that song, for when I was cryin’? Sometimes...” Bronx had a distant look in his eyes, so far away. Pete knew that look too well. “Sometimes, I wish Uncle Patrick could come and sing that song to me again. The jellybeans song, Daddy, you know?”
Pete nodded, sadly, but he hoped Bronx didn’t pick up on that. “I know buddy. But, Uncle Patrick is busy now. Maybe he’ll come by soon, okay?”
“Okay,” Bronx nodded too, and he looked sad. But, more than that, he looked tired. His eyes were still red from crying, along with the tip of his nose.
Pete kissed him on the top of the head again, “Let’s go to bed, okay buddy?”
Bronx cuddled into his side, falling asleep quickly, sucking on his thumb and his other hand splayed across Pete’s stomach where the laptop had been.
“Honey is for bees silly bear..” Pete sang brokenly, running a hand through his son’s hair. The last thing he remembered before he fell asleep was staring at the screen of his phone, waiting.