what?
gone batty
pg13 for language
gen
authornote: for this prompt from anon_lovefest. it's a little random. sorry 'bout that.
It's three in the morning when Pete shakes Patrick awake, crawling into Patrick's bunk with his cold toes and bright eyes and hissing, "Trick! Trick! I think someone drugged me!"
Patrick grumbles and swats because he's warm, god damn it, and he's not getting out of bed unless Pete's having an actual problem.
"The fuck are you on about?" Patrick mumbles, smashing his face into his pillow and not bothering to open his eyes.
"Gerard -" Pete starts, and then shakes Patrick's shoulder vehemently. Patrick can almost feel Pete's eyes boring holes into the side of his face, but it's really, really too early for him to give a shit.
"What about Gee?" he asks, although he's sure it comes out more like, "Whabbugee?"
"He just turned into a bat, a fucking bat, Trick!"
Patrick finally, furiously, opens his eyes a fraction of an inch because Pete sounds about half a second from total hysterics, which is not what the bus needs at this hour.
Pete's eyes are wide and haunted, rimmed with dark circles, and the sharp corners of his mouth are turned down, deep shadows pulling at them. His hands are fisted in Patrick's shirt and his hood is pulled up over his forehead. All in all he looks like a lost child, and Patrick feels a pang of sympathy for him.
"And then what?" Patrick asks, resigned.
Pete licks his lips, leans forward, and whispers, "He flew away into the night."
Patrick glares at Pete. Pete stares unabashedly back at Patrick. Any chance at commiseration that Patrick might have had fizzles and abruptly evaporates.
Patrick shoves Pete, who tumbles unceremoniously onto the floor, looking surprised and a little bit hurt. Patrick might care about Pete's feelings in the morning, at a more sane hour when Pete's not being purposefully stupid, but right now he could give two shits.
"Go to sleep, Pete," Patrick groans, yanking his curtains closed. He assumes Pete wanders off to bother somebody else because Patrick doesn't hear anymore from him.
He snorts a little as he drifts back down into the hazy embrace of sleep, reluctantly amused at Pete's antics.
As if everybody doesn't already know that Gerard's a vampire.
*
Mikey is sexting with Alicia at a sun-bleached card table set up outside the MCR tour bus. He considers her description of her underwear carefully before replying: 'fuck the lace, i rip those motherfuckers right off your hips.'
He's waiting for her to formulate a response beyond 'mrowwrr' when Pete flops down next to him. Mikey glances up, nods at Pete, and says, "Hey."
Despite Mikey's breaking things off to pursue a fully monogamous relationship with Alicia, they're still surprisingly good friends. Pete grins and drums his fingers against the table.
"So," he says, "about your brother." Mikey peers at Pete over the tops of his glasses. Pete looks like he's searching for the right way to broach whatever topic he's inquiring about, which is weird because words are the one thing Mikey's never known Pete to be short of.
"Yeah?" Mikey enourages. His phone buzzes and he reads, 'I groan and pull on the restraints but I can't get free. My soft, warm cunt is all yours for the taking.'
"-- into a bat the other night, but that can't be true, right?" Pete asks.
Mikey shakes his head, tempering the little thrill of arousal that runs through him. Sexting doesn't turn him on nearly as much as it does Alicia, but it's stimulating enough to be a major distraction.
"Sorry, what?" he says. Pete's eyes flicker down to his phone, then back up to his face. A sly grin splits his features, bright white teeth stark beneath knowing eyes.
"Sexting?" Pete asks. Mikey gives him a little grin and a nod. Pete rises to his feet, hands out. "I'll leave you to it, then."
He turns and starts to leave, Mikey offering him a little wave, but pauses. He looks constipated for a second before blurting, "Your brother isn't a bat, is he?"
Mikey's pretty absorbed in detailing exactly what he's going to do to Alicia's glorious muff, but he somehow finds it in himself to mutter, "Yeah, sometimes," before Pete wanders off.
*
"Bryar, Bob, Bob Bryar," somebody says right next to Bob's ear. Bob scowls and has to fight not to punch on instinct. It's either Urie or Wentz, he already knows, because nobody else on tour has a voice quite that grating.
Bob squeezes his eyes shut and counts to ten. If it's Wentz, this is going to be a trying conversation. If it's Urie, well, the kid usually comes up with creative ways to apologize for his ridiculous exuberance.
He opens his eyes. "Wentz."
Wentz grins. "You sound disappointed to see me," he says, dropping down onto the stage next to Bob.
Bob shakes his head. "It's always a delight," he grunts. "Now what the fuck do you want?"
Wentz leans back, weight on his arms, and says, "You wouldn't lie to me, right Bryar?"
Bob considers this. He probably would if the outcome promised to be funny enough, but the same could be said of anybody on tour so Wentz probably already knows this. He shakes his head. "Nah," he agrees, "I probably wouldn't."
"Great!" Wentz cheers, clapping his hands together. "So, tell me about Gerard."
Bob arches an eyebrow. "What about him?"
Wentz purses his lips and says hesitantly, "He's kind of on the pale side, right?"
Bob snorts. "That's a fucking understatement."
Wentz nods. "And he's, what, allergic to garlic?"
Bob turns to stare at Wentz because that can't be a serious question. Hell, the whole tour knows that Gerard's a vampire. There was a mass e-mail about it. Wentz is kind of half-smiling and Bob really can't tell if he's joking or not. He's about to explain when he sees Brian across the stadium, beckoning him over with giant, enthusiastic arm motions.
"Hey man, I gotta run but I'll catch you later," he says, rising to his feet and clapping Wentz on the shoulder. He thinks he hears Wentz murmur a disappointed, "Right, later," as he goes, but he can't be sure.
*
"You've been avoiding me," Gerard says when Pete steps into the Fall Out Boy lounge. He's sitting there by himself in a pair of pajama pants and a Bela Lugosi t-shirt that's seen better days. His hair is damp around his face which means that Schechter and Bryar probably managed to pin him long enough to spray him down with the hose.
"Uh, hi. No I haven't," Pete says, edging back toward the hallway. Gerard rolls his eyes.
"Pete," he says, standing, hands on his hips, "what's up? Everyone says you've been asking about me."
"Asking about you? What? No, I haven't been asking about you. Why would I do that?" Pete stammers. Gerard steps forward, frowning, and when he speaks Pete's heart freezes for a second.
His canines are pointed. Like, seriously fucking pointed.
"Holy shit," Pete says. "Holy shit! You're a-"
"A vampire?" Gerard finishes. He sighs and smirks. "Pete, everybody already knows that!"
Confronted with this new information, Pete's brain blanks out for a second. When he comes to Gerard is standing right in front of him, hands on his shoulders, staring concernedly into his face.
"Pete?" he asks, "Are you okay?"
Pete says incredulously, "You're a vampire."
Gerard frowns, brow furrowed. "Yeah," he says. "And so is Bill from The Academy is, Vicky T from Cobra, and the adorable boy who looks like a surly lesbian from Panic! At the Disco."
Pete stares. Gerard throws his hands up in the air.
"There was a seminar! We had pamphlets!" Gerard exclaims. Delight slowly begins to spread across Pete's features.
"You're a vampire," he says, more confidently this time.
Gerard's smile is small and tentative. "So, we're cool, then?"
Pete's grin widens. "You can turn into a motherfucking bat! That is so cool!"
Gerard laughs. "It's pretty all right," he agrees with a noncommital shrug of his shoulder.
"Can you show me that bat thing again?" Pete asks excitedly. Gerard's grin turns sharp. He disappears in a cloud of smoke.
"Awesome," Pete breathes, astounded, at the bat hanging from the tour bus ceiling. He's been staring for a full thirty seconds when Joe lumbers back into the lounge.
"Pete," he greets, slapping Pete's shoulder. He drops down onto the couch and sees the bat hanging from the ceiling. Pete bites his lip, whole body humming in anticipation of Joe's reaction.
"Oh," Joe says. "Hey Gerard."
pg13 for language
gen
authornote: for this prompt from anon_lovefest. it's a little random. sorry 'bout that.
It's three in the morning when Pete shakes Patrick awake, crawling into Patrick's bunk with his cold toes and bright eyes and hissing, "Trick! Trick! I think someone drugged me!"
Patrick grumbles and swats because he's warm, god damn it, and he's not getting out of bed unless Pete's having an actual problem.
"The fuck are you on about?" Patrick mumbles, smashing his face into his pillow and not bothering to open his eyes.
"Gerard -" Pete starts, and then shakes Patrick's shoulder vehemently. Patrick can almost feel Pete's eyes boring holes into the side of his face, but it's really, really too early for him to give a shit.
"What about Gee?" he asks, although he's sure it comes out more like, "Whabbugee?"
"He just turned into a bat, a fucking bat, Trick!"
Patrick finally, furiously, opens his eyes a fraction of an inch because Pete sounds about half a second from total hysterics, which is not what the bus needs at this hour.
Pete's eyes are wide and haunted, rimmed with dark circles, and the sharp corners of his mouth are turned down, deep shadows pulling at them. His hands are fisted in Patrick's shirt and his hood is pulled up over his forehead. All in all he looks like a lost child, and Patrick feels a pang of sympathy for him.
"And then what?" Patrick asks, resigned.
Pete licks his lips, leans forward, and whispers, "He flew away into the night."
Patrick glares at Pete. Pete stares unabashedly back at Patrick. Any chance at commiseration that Patrick might have had fizzles and abruptly evaporates.
Patrick shoves Pete, who tumbles unceremoniously onto the floor, looking surprised and a little bit hurt. Patrick might care about Pete's feelings in the morning, at a more sane hour when Pete's not being purposefully stupid, but right now he could give two shits.
"Go to sleep, Pete," Patrick groans, yanking his curtains closed. He assumes Pete wanders off to bother somebody else because Patrick doesn't hear anymore from him.
He snorts a little as he drifts back down into the hazy embrace of sleep, reluctantly amused at Pete's antics.
As if everybody doesn't already know that Gerard's a vampire.
*
Mikey is sexting with Alicia at a sun-bleached card table set up outside the MCR tour bus. He considers her description of her underwear carefully before replying: 'fuck the lace, i rip those motherfuckers right off your hips.'
He's waiting for her to formulate a response beyond 'mrowwrr' when Pete flops down next to him. Mikey glances up, nods at Pete, and says, "Hey."
Despite Mikey's breaking things off to pursue a fully monogamous relationship with Alicia, they're still surprisingly good friends. Pete grins and drums his fingers against the table.
"So," he says, "about your brother." Mikey peers at Pete over the tops of his glasses. Pete looks like he's searching for the right way to broach whatever topic he's inquiring about, which is weird because words are the one thing Mikey's never known Pete to be short of.
"Yeah?" Mikey enourages. His phone buzzes and he reads, 'I groan and pull on the restraints but I can't get free. My soft, warm cunt is all yours for the taking.'
"-- into a bat the other night, but that can't be true, right?" Pete asks.
Mikey shakes his head, tempering the little thrill of arousal that runs through him. Sexting doesn't turn him on nearly as much as it does Alicia, but it's stimulating enough to be a major distraction.
"Sorry, what?" he says. Pete's eyes flicker down to his phone, then back up to his face. A sly grin splits his features, bright white teeth stark beneath knowing eyes.
"Sexting?" Pete asks. Mikey gives him a little grin and a nod. Pete rises to his feet, hands out. "I'll leave you to it, then."
He turns and starts to leave, Mikey offering him a little wave, but pauses. He looks constipated for a second before blurting, "Your brother isn't a bat, is he?"
Mikey's pretty absorbed in detailing exactly what he's going to do to Alicia's glorious muff, but he somehow finds it in himself to mutter, "Yeah, sometimes," before Pete wanders off.
*
"Bryar, Bob, Bob Bryar," somebody says right next to Bob's ear. Bob scowls and has to fight not to punch on instinct. It's either Urie or Wentz, he already knows, because nobody else on tour has a voice quite that grating.
Bob squeezes his eyes shut and counts to ten. If it's Wentz, this is going to be a trying conversation. If it's Urie, well, the kid usually comes up with creative ways to apologize for his ridiculous exuberance.
He opens his eyes. "Wentz."
Wentz grins. "You sound disappointed to see me," he says, dropping down onto the stage next to Bob.
Bob shakes his head. "It's always a delight," he grunts. "Now what the fuck do you want?"
Wentz leans back, weight on his arms, and says, "You wouldn't lie to me, right Bryar?"
Bob considers this. He probably would if the outcome promised to be funny enough, but the same could be said of anybody on tour so Wentz probably already knows this. He shakes his head. "Nah," he agrees, "I probably wouldn't."
"Great!" Wentz cheers, clapping his hands together. "So, tell me about Gerard."
Bob arches an eyebrow. "What about him?"
Wentz purses his lips and says hesitantly, "He's kind of on the pale side, right?"
Bob snorts. "That's a fucking understatement."
Wentz nods. "And he's, what, allergic to garlic?"
Bob turns to stare at Wentz because that can't be a serious question. Hell, the whole tour knows that Gerard's a vampire. There was a mass e-mail about it. Wentz is kind of half-smiling and Bob really can't tell if he's joking or not. He's about to explain when he sees Brian across the stadium, beckoning him over with giant, enthusiastic arm motions.
"Hey man, I gotta run but I'll catch you later," he says, rising to his feet and clapping Wentz on the shoulder. He thinks he hears Wentz murmur a disappointed, "Right, later," as he goes, but he can't be sure.
*
"You've been avoiding me," Gerard says when Pete steps into the Fall Out Boy lounge. He's sitting there by himself in a pair of pajama pants and a Bela Lugosi t-shirt that's seen better days. His hair is damp around his face which means that Schechter and Bryar probably managed to pin him long enough to spray him down with the hose.
"Uh, hi. No I haven't," Pete says, edging back toward the hallway. Gerard rolls his eyes.
"Pete," he says, standing, hands on his hips, "what's up? Everyone says you've been asking about me."
"Asking about you? What? No, I haven't been asking about you. Why would I do that?" Pete stammers. Gerard steps forward, frowning, and when he speaks Pete's heart freezes for a second.
His canines are pointed. Like, seriously fucking pointed.
"Holy shit," Pete says. "Holy shit! You're a-"
"A vampire?" Gerard finishes. He sighs and smirks. "Pete, everybody already knows that!"
Confronted with this new information, Pete's brain blanks out for a second. When he comes to Gerard is standing right in front of him, hands on his shoulders, staring concernedly into his face.
"Pete?" he asks, "Are you okay?"
Pete says incredulously, "You're a vampire."
Gerard frowns, brow furrowed. "Yeah," he says. "And so is Bill from The Academy is, Vicky T from Cobra, and the adorable boy who looks like a surly lesbian from Panic! At the Disco."
Pete stares. Gerard throws his hands up in the air.
"There was a seminar! We had pamphlets!" Gerard exclaims. Delight slowly begins to spread across Pete's features.
"You're a vampire," he says, more confidently this time.
Gerard's smile is small and tentative. "So, we're cool, then?"
Pete's grin widens. "You can turn into a motherfucking bat! That is so cool!"
Gerard laughs. "It's pretty all right," he agrees with a noncommital shrug of his shoulder.
"Can you show me that bat thing again?" Pete asks excitedly. Gerard's grin turns sharp. He disappears in a cloud of smoke.
"Awesome," Pete breathes, astounded, at the bat hanging from the tour bus ceiling. He's been staring for a full thirty seconds when Joe lumbers back into the lounge.
"Pete," he greets, slapping Pete's shoulder. He drops down onto the couch and sees the bat hanging from the ceiling. Pete bites his lip, whole body humming in anticipation of Joe's reaction.
"Oh," Joe says. "Hey Gerard."