Woke up in Vegas as a werewolf again - Bandom (FOB/Black Cards), G, gen.
Title: Woke up in Vegas as a werewolf again
Fandom: Bandom (Fall Out Boy/Black Cards with background MCR, Panic!, and Cobra)
Rating: G.
Length: About 2550 words.
Characters/Pairings: Pete Wentz and ensemble
Disclaimer: Still completely fictional.
Summary: "Werewolves," Patrick said, patting Pete's arms like he wanted to make sure he was real. "Only you, man."
Three times Pete was a werewolf in Las Vegas.
Notes: Pete gives great material to work with. If
inlovewithnight likes this story, it's a belated birthday present. Officially, this time.
(Also on AO3 and DW.)
Woke up in Vegas as a werewolf again
2003
Fans were good. Fans were great. Fans were overwhelming when they pushed into Pete's space as he stepped out of House of Blues, babbling about how great the set was. But he gave as good as he got, flashing the ol' Pete Wentz smile, signing autographs and taking pictures, and generally being the kind of guy signed to a major label.
Distance, Patrick always said. Like it was easy. We aren't playing basements anymore. It was only in the last couple months that those words started to sound ominous in Pete's head, and maybe he took more risks than someone in his shoes should. Whatever. It wouldn't last forever. It couldn't.
Except, when Pete felt a sharp pain on his hand, distance became a hell of a lot easier.
"Did you just bite me?" he asked a girl on his right. But the crowd ate her up just as soon as they'd spit her out, and Pete wasn't interested in finding out if it was true. His hand burned. He needed to rinse that shit out.
But by the time he broke free and made it back to the room he was sharing with Trohman, he was swaying on his feet. Which never happened, not with the post-show adrenaline and the idea that they were driving to LA for another show tomorrow. He never slept, and besides, he was supposed to meet the guys for food. But his eyelids were just too heavy, and by the time he collapsed on his bed, he was already out.
-
"Andy. Andy."
Pete grumbled. Patrick could be loud when he really wanted to be.
"What is your...oh. Shit."
Pete cracked an eye. The guys were hovering by the open suite door, and Patrick's hat was off. He leaned up; the hat was on the floor, and Patrick was making no move to pick it up.
When Pete rolled over to get a better look, they both jumped.
"It's waking up," Andy said, eyes wide.
"Couldn't tell." Patrick was being sarcastic. Must be a day that ended in y. But he pushed out into their room a little when Pete rolled out of bed and onto his...
Paws. Oh.
Pete cleared his throat. It sounded kind of like a normal cough. But words seemed out, so he whined a little and sat back on his haunches.
"It doesn't look very dangerous," Andy said.
"Right. Because wolves put into hotel rooms are always tame pets."
"Maybe this is a prank. You know, Pete disappeared for a couple hours, and a wolf's on his bed?"
Pete rolled his eyes. Like he couldn't come up with a funnier prank than a wolf.
"It's not funny," Patrick said in a tight voice. As always, he spoke Pete's language.
But Andy, not knowing that he should even try to speak Pete at the moment, was stepping into the room with a nervous smile on his face. "Maybe stomp once for yes and twice for no?"
"It's not a horse--"
But Pete very carefully lifted his right paw - paw, fuck - two times and looked steadily at Andy. Hopefully, his "are you fucking kidding me" expression translated well.
But Hurley fucking grinned, and Patrick got pale.
"Maybe we should ask if it knows the bass line for Dead on Arrival," Andy said, rubbing his hands together. "That seems like something Pete would teach a wolf, right?"
Pete rolled his eyes again, but he started tapping it out. Unevenly at first - his balance was weird like this - but better as he kept going. The toes on his left paw even started to wiggle. Not that he could hold down strings like this.
It was enough to get Andy's smile to drop off his face. Patrick's eyes flickered in Andy's direction, and he smiled a little in an at-least-I-was-right-before-we-get-mauled kind of way.
But whatever stupid pet trick they'd make him do next was aborted when the door of Pete's room opened and Joe walked in.
"Hey. Did you guys find..." He trailed off as he caught sight of Pete. "Dude, Pete. How'd you get turned into a werewolf?"
If anyone asked later, Pete would firmly deny it, but...yeah, he wagged his tail a little. He walked up to Trohman, who managed to pat Pete on the head without making it seem too much like he was petting a dog.
"How...what..." Patrick was saying.
Joe shrugged. "Happened to a friend's cousin once. Now come on, we've only got until six to find someone who can treat this before we have to hit the road."
He opened the door and gestured for Pete to walk through. Pete shook his head a little and went.
-
Treatment, as it turned out, came at the hands of an old white dude in a rundown clinic so far off-Strip it might as well have been in space. His glasses were huge, and his hands were bigger, which Pete found out the hard way as he shoved a pill somewhere pills should never be shoved.
But it worked. After a few minutes of nausea, Pete was his tiny human self, naked on a linoleum floor and wincing at the old fluorescents overhead. It took him a minute to get his bearings and pick up the clothes Joe had thoughtfully told Patrick to bring along, but the weird doctor didn't watch as he got dressed. He just handed Pete a bottle and said, "Flush the wound every couple of hours for the next week, or you won't cure it. Understand?"
Pete, whose tongue felt dried and shriveled in his mouth, nodded and grabbed the bottle.
The waiting room looked a lot like the treatment room had, just with orange plastic chairs, and Patrick looked extremely relieved to see Pete again. Andy seemed maybe a little disappointed. Joe looked...well, the same.
"Werewolves," Patrick said, patting Pete's arms like he wanted to make sure he was real. "Only you, man."
Pete managed to work up enough spit in his mouth to say, "We need better security."
Joe snorted. "You got that right."
2005
Like he was more and more these days, Pete was on the phone with Mikey Way while he watched the clock in his hotel room. Fall Out Boy and My Chem would be seeing each other in the summer, so it was pure strategy to make nice. That's what he told himself, anyway.
"I thought you already signed these guys," Mikey said.
"Yeah, they're recording this summer."
"So you're back in Vegas because..."
"Because I need a break or my head'll break off." He only had so much time before the album dropped. And a certain thing in a Best Buy parking lot had only happened a couple months ago. A break was the least of what he needed.
"So you're." Mikey cut off and took a breath. "You're taking them?"
"You can't top tour weirdness after being a werewolf for a few hours. Trust me, I know."
"I know you know. Pete--"
"Gotta go! Call you later."
"Pete."
He hung up on Mikey's disapproval and grabbed his car keys.
-
This was the third time Pete had driven to Vegas for steam-blowing since he'd joined the band for recording.
The first time, he'd gone drinking and gambling and ran into a kid that was obviously passing off a fake ID and getting away with it. Pete recognized some kind of...vibe about him. The kid had recognized Pete's face, and, after he'd asked for a picture, the bite scar on Pete's hand.
The second time, Pete had skipped the casinos entirely to meet the kid at a park. His name was Kent, and he was a dancer when he wasn't turning furry. When Pete asked why he didn't get cured, Kent had given this convoluted story about it running in his family, and he'd added, "Besides, it makes my jumps cleaner."
He'd bitten Pete again, and they'd spent hours running around the dark city streets, racing each other and smelling all kinds of weird crap and generally being troublemakers. Kent had changed back at the end of the night - one of the upsides of being genetic, supposedly - and driven Pete to get another pill treatment. Glasses Man was still there and still unamused. But it had taken Pete until he was back in LA to feel even the least bit like he needed his not-curing-lycanthropy pills, and peace was something money couldn't fucking buy.
Which was why Kent was meeting him outside the city in a field of sand and brush, and why four other guys were already waiting nervously when he showed up.
"You don't actually have to do this," Pete said when he got close enough to see that Brent looked about ready to cry. "I won't take back your contract if you go home."
Brent looked at the other guys.
Ryan shrugged in his usual way. "I'm in."
"Me too," Brendon said, grinning. "Been waiting all day for this."
Spencer gave them both fondly exasperated looks. "Someone's gotta keep these two out of trouble."
Only Brent climbed into their van as Kent stepped up, with Brendon yelling, "You're designated driver!" as he left.
"Great," Kent said, laughing. "Means I don't have to wait around."
Pete went first; it was only fair. It was just like he remembered: the thrill as teeth sunk into the flesh around his scar, the pain and exhaustion overwhelming him, waking up with fur and paws. Only it must've gone faster for him than the others because there were three sleeping wolves, all a similar shade of brown, lying beside him as he stood. Experience was awesome.
Kent looked down at Pete and said, "You guys good here?"
Pete nodded.
"See you next time, I guess."
He'd only just driven away when the others started to come to. Pete could see Brent huddled under a blanket inside the van, very carefully not watching them.
It was easy to tell them apart. One wolf looked completely disinterested by everything around him, sniffing the air as if he was judging it. One nudged him now and again, tail wagging. And the third ran circles around them both, yipping and jumping and nipping them.
When Pete barked, they all looked toward him. Ryan's eyes got big. Pete pretended not to notice, just like he did when Ryan's human eyes did the same thing, and he started running.
It wasn't the same as running with Kent. Every cell of his body had shaken then, to the point where he couldn't have stopped if he'd wanted to. But even with new people, even with a setting he'd never seen, Pete felt the edges of his soul beneath his skin, and, most important, its age. He'd left Neverland and Narnia at some point in the last few weeks, and there was no going back.
So it didn't matter when Brent drove them to the clinic and Glasses Dude told Pete, as he held a basin for Pete to puke in, "You keep this up, and your body won't bounce back anymore." Seeing Brendon, Ryan, and Spencer sleeping in the back seat, so trusting and innocent, had told him more than enough.
Still, when he called Mikey after getting back to LA, and Mikey said, "You know Gabe from Midtown could've changed you back without pills, right?" Pete figured it was information he should remember. Just in case.
2012
Pete's birthday always called for drinking.
Vanity was packed with friends and fans and people who liked to get drunk in clubs. It was the perfect mix: Pete bumped into familiar faces in his VIP booth, he probably got way more positive attention than he needed in the main area, and there were pockets where no one cared who he was. A section for every mood.
By the time the cake and the confetti came out, he was just the right amount of trashed. Fuzzy, happy, but not ready to barf. Couldn't be better.
-
The next morning, Meagan wasn't in the room. Which was probably a good thing because Gabe was smiling down at him from the other side of the bed, and Pete didn't have human hands.
"You really need to watch yourself at parties, bro." Gabe ran a hand down his fur. "Luckily, I've got the hookup."
When he ran his hand down another time, the fur vanished, and skin and tattoos came into view. It felt more like waking up than...well, paying to have some guy's hand up his ass.
"How'd you know?" Pete said, slipping under the comforter.
Gabe waggled his fingers and grinned. "Got the magic touch. My hands tingle whenever there's something not human nearby, and my skin was buzzing when I looked at your last text."
"Mikey said something about that." Not that it was surprising. Maybe he'd hated Gabe when they'd first met, but the longer they'd been friends, the more Pete got how magic he was.
The grin grew wider. "He'd know."
Pete pushed himself up until he was sitting next to Gabe. "My usual dude told me I couldn't keep bouncing back from this. I stopped screwing with it years ago."
Gabe nodded. "I've heard that's true."
Pete rubbed his face. "I don't know what it's like to actually live with it. You know any werewolves?"
"A few. I cured half of them, and the other half were born like this."
"So..."
"So who knows what'll happen." Gabe looked down at Pete. "You feel like getting a dose of wisdom?"
"Hit me."
Gabe ruffled his hair. "The universe usually gives us what we need, even if we keep shoving it back."
"So the universe thinks I need to turn furry?"
"Who am I to say? It sent me visions of snakes." He smirked a little. "You do like your animal suits."
Pete laughed. Gabe wasn't wrong. But he cut off before long and asked, "You think I can get through my set?"
"As long as I'm in town, yeah, definitely."
"If you're not?"
Gabe's face got serious and a little knowing. "I think you should trust yourself."
Pete leaned against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling. A decade ago, he would've gone to get wasted and pretended nothing was wrong until he couldn't deal. Hell, that would've happened even a couple years ago. But today?
"Maybe," he said finally. And he meant it, for once. But since he was himself, he said, "Don't you have women in bikinis to creep out?"
"Not for a few hours. Lots of pool lounging in my future." Which was his way of saying that Pete could text him if he needed to. Pete nodded, and Gabe slid off the bed. "But I need to fuel up first. You in?"
Pete stood up and grabbed for his jeans. No headache. No puking. No hangover. Gabe really did have the magic touch. "Fuck yeah."
-
Gabe was a vegetarian, but not the kind who judged when Pete loaded up a plate with sausage and bacon and nothing else. "You've got needs," he said, and left it at that.
Sitting in the buffet area with Gabe while he ate his veggie omelet was...well, it was just like sitting in the air-conditioned hotel when you knew all the heat of Vegas was outside, ready to scorch. But Pete had done Vegas plenty of times. He knew when to stay inside and when to load up with water and sunblock. And there was a lot of wild for Pete to explore.
He scarfed the rest of his meal in silence, smiling the whole time.
Fandom: Bandom (Fall Out Boy/Black Cards with background MCR, Panic!, and Cobra)
Rating: G.
Length: About 2550 words.
Characters/Pairings: Pete Wentz and ensemble
Disclaimer: Still completely fictional.
Summary: "Werewolves," Patrick said, patting Pete's arms like he wanted to make sure he was real. "Only you, man."
Three times Pete was a werewolf in Las Vegas.
Notes: Pete gives great material to work with. If
inlovewithnight likes this story, it's a belated birthday present. Officially, this time.
(Also on AO3 and DW.)
Woke up in Vegas as a werewolf again
2003
Fans were good. Fans were great. Fans were overwhelming when they pushed into Pete's space as he stepped out of House of Blues, babbling about how great the set was. But he gave as good as he got, flashing the ol' Pete Wentz smile, signing autographs and taking pictures, and generally being the kind of guy signed to a major label.
Distance, Patrick always said. Like it was easy. We aren't playing basements anymore. It was only in the last couple months that those words started to sound ominous in Pete's head, and maybe he took more risks than someone in his shoes should. Whatever. It wouldn't last forever. It couldn't.
Except, when Pete felt a sharp pain on his hand, distance became a hell of a lot easier.
"Did you just bite me?" he asked a girl on his right. But the crowd ate her up just as soon as they'd spit her out, and Pete wasn't interested in finding out if it was true. His hand burned. He needed to rinse that shit out.
But by the time he broke free and made it back to the room he was sharing with Trohman, he was swaying on his feet. Which never happened, not with the post-show adrenaline and the idea that they were driving to LA for another show tomorrow. He never slept, and besides, he was supposed to meet the guys for food. But his eyelids were just too heavy, and by the time he collapsed on his bed, he was already out.
-
"Andy. Andy."
Pete grumbled. Patrick could be loud when he really wanted to be.
"What is your...oh. Shit."
Pete cracked an eye. The guys were hovering by the open suite door, and Patrick's hat was off. He leaned up; the hat was on the floor, and Patrick was making no move to pick it up.
When Pete rolled over to get a better look, they both jumped.
"It's waking up," Andy said, eyes wide.
"Couldn't tell." Patrick was being sarcastic. Must be a day that ended in y. But he pushed out into their room a little when Pete rolled out of bed and onto his...
Paws. Oh.
Pete cleared his throat. It sounded kind of like a normal cough. But words seemed out, so he whined a little and sat back on his haunches.
"It doesn't look very dangerous," Andy said.
"Right. Because wolves put into hotel rooms are always tame pets."
"Maybe this is a prank. You know, Pete disappeared for a couple hours, and a wolf's on his bed?"
Pete rolled his eyes. Like he couldn't come up with a funnier prank than a wolf.
"It's not funny," Patrick said in a tight voice. As always, he spoke Pete's language.
But Andy, not knowing that he should even try to speak Pete at the moment, was stepping into the room with a nervous smile on his face. "Maybe stomp once for yes and twice for no?"
"It's not a horse--"
But Pete very carefully lifted his right paw - paw, fuck - two times and looked steadily at Andy. Hopefully, his "are you fucking kidding me" expression translated well.
But Hurley fucking grinned, and Patrick got pale.
"Maybe we should ask if it knows the bass line for Dead on Arrival," Andy said, rubbing his hands together. "That seems like something Pete would teach a wolf, right?"
Pete rolled his eyes again, but he started tapping it out. Unevenly at first - his balance was weird like this - but better as he kept going. The toes on his left paw even started to wiggle. Not that he could hold down strings like this.
It was enough to get Andy's smile to drop off his face. Patrick's eyes flickered in Andy's direction, and he smiled a little in an at-least-I-was-right-before-we-get-mauled kind of way.
But whatever stupid pet trick they'd make him do next was aborted when the door of Pete's room opened and Joe walked in.
"Hey. Did you guys find..." He trailed off as he caught sight of Pete. "Dude, Pete. How'd you get turned into a werewolf?"
If anyone asked later, Pete would firmly deny it, but...yeah, he wagged his tail a little. He walked up to Trohman, who managed to pat Pete on the head without making it seem too much like he was petting a dog.
"How...what..." Patrick was saying.
Joe shrugged. "Happened to a friend's cousin once. Now come on, we've only got until six to find someone who can treat this before we have to hit the road."
He opened the door and gestured for Pete to walk through. Pete shook his head a little and went.
-
Treatment, as it turned out, came at the hands of an old white dude in a rundown clinic so far off-Strip it might as well have been in space. His glasses were huge, and his hands were bigger, which Pete found out the hard way as he shoved a pill somewhere pills should never be shoved.
But it worked. After a few minutes of nausea, Pete was his tiny human self, naked on a linoleum floor and wincing at the old fluorescents overhead. It took him a minute to get his bearings and pick up the clothes Joe had thoughtfully told Patrick to bring along, but the weird doctor didn't watch as he got dressed. He just handed Pete a bottle and said, "Flush the wound every couple of hours for the next week, or you won't cure it. Understand?"
Pete, whose tongue felt dried and shriveled in his mouth, nodded and grabbed the bottle.
The waiting room looked a lot like the treatment room had, just with orange plastic chairs, and Patrick looked extremely relieved to see Pete again. Andy seemed maybe a little disappointed. Joe looked...well, the same.
"Werewolves," Patrick said, patting Pete's arms like he wanted to make sure he was real. "Only you, man."
Pete managed to work up enough spit in his mouth to say, "We need better security."
Joe snorted. "You got that right."
2005
Like he was more and more these days, Pete was on the phone with Mikey Way while he watched the clock in his hotel room. Fall Out Boy and My Chem would be seeing each other in the summer, so it was pure strategy to make nice. That's what he told himself, anyway.
"I thought you already signed these guys," Mikey said.
"Yeah, they're recording this summer."
"So you're back in Vegas because..."
"Because I need a break or my head'll break off." He only had so much time before the album dropped. And a certain thing in a Best Buy parking lot had only happened a couple months ago. A break was the least of what he needed.
"So you're." Mikey cut off and took a breath. "You're taking them?"
"You can't top tour weirdness after being a werewolf for a few hours. Trust me, I know."
"I know you know. Pete--"
"Gotta go! Call you later."
"Pete."
He hung up on Mikey's disapproval and grabbed his car keys.
-
This was the third time Pete had driven to Vegas for steam-blowing since he'd joined the band for recording.
The first time, he'd gone drinking and gambling and ran into a kid that was obviously passing off a fake ID and getting away with it. Pete recognized some kind of...vibe about him. The kid had recognized Pete's face, and, after he'd asked for a picture, the bite scar on Pete's hand.
The second time, Pete had skipped the casinos entirely to meet the kid at a park. His name was Kent, and he was a dancer when he wasn't turning furry. When Pete asked why he didn't get cured, Kent had given this convoluted story about it running in his family, and he'd added, "Besides, it makes my jumps cleaner."
He'd bitten Pete again, and they'd spent hours running around the dark city streets, racing each other and smelling all kinds of weird crap and generally being troublemakers. Kent had changed back at the end of the night - one of the upsides of being genetic, supposedly - and driven Pete to get another pill treatment. Glasses Man was still there and still unamused. But it had taken Pete until he was back in LA to feel even the least bit like he needed his not-curing-lycanthropy pills, and peace was something money couldn't fucking buy.
Which was why Kent was meeting him outside the city in a field of sand and brush, and why four other guys were already waiting nervously when he showed up.
"You don't actually have to do this," Pete said when he got close enough to see that Brent looked about ready to cry. "I won't take back your contract if you go home."
Brent looked at the other guys.
Ryan shrugged in his usual way. "I'm in."
"Me too," Brendon said, grinning. "Been waiting all day for this."
Spencer gave them both fondly exasperated looks. "Someone's gotta keep these two out of trouble."
Only Brent climbed into their van as Kent stepped up, with Brendon yelling, "You're designated driver!" as he left.
"Great," Kent said, laughing. "Means I don't have to wait around."
Pete went first; it was only fair. It was just like he remembered: the thrill as teeth sunk into the flesh around his scar, the pain and exhaustion overwhelming him, waking up with fur and paws. Only it must've gone faster for him than the others because there were three sleeping wolves, all a similar shade of brown, lying beside him as he stood. Experience was awesome.
Kent looked down at Pete and said, "You guys good here?"
Pete nodded.
"See you next time, I guess."
He'd only just driven away when the others started to come to. Pete could see Brent huddled under a blanket inside the van, very carefully not watching them.
It was easy to tell them apart. One wolf looked completely disinterested by everything around him, sniffing the air as if he was judging it. One nudged him now and again, tail wagging. And the third ran circles around them both, yipping and jumping and nipping them.
When Pete barked, they all looked toward him. Ryan's eyes got big. Pete pretended not to notice, just like he did when Ryan's human eyes did the same thing, and he started running.
It wasn't the same as running with Kent. Every cell of his body had shaken then, to the point where he couldn't have stopped if he'd wanted to. But even with new people, even with a setting he'd never seen, Pete felt the edges of his soul beneath his skin, and, most important, its age. He'd left Neverland and Narnia at some point in the last few weeks, and there was no going back.
So it didn't matter when Brent drove them to the clinic and Glasses Dude told Pete, as he held a basin for Pete to puke in, "You keep this up, and your body won't bounce back anymore." Seeing Brendon, Ryan, and Spencer sleeping in the back seat, so trusting and innocent, had told him more than enough.
Still, when he called Mikey after getting back to LA, and Mikey said, "You know Gabe from Midtown could've changed you back without pills, right?" Pete figured it was information he should remember. Just in case.
2012
Pete's birthday always called for drinking.
Vanity was packed with friends and fans and people who liked to get drunk in clubs. It was the perfect mix: Pete bumped into familiar faces in his VIP booth, he probably got way more positive attention than he needed in the main area, and there were pockets where no one cared who he was. A section for every mood.
By the time the cake and the confetti came out, he was just the right amount of trashed. Fuzzy, happy, but not ready to barf. Couldn't be better.
-
The next morning, Meagan wasn't in the room. Which was probably a good thing because Gabe was smiling down at him from the other side of the bed, and Pete didn't have human hands.
"You really need to watch yourself at parties, bro." Gabe ran a hand down his fur. "Luckily, I've got the hookup."
When he ran his hand down another time, the fur vanished, and skin and tattoos came into view. It felt more like waking up than...well, paying to have some guy's hand up his ass.
"How'd you know?" Pete said, slipping under the comforter.
Gabe waggled his fingers and grinned. "Got the magic touch. My hands tingle whenever there's something not human nearby, and my skin was buzzing when I looked at your last text."
"Mikey said something about that." Not that it was surprising. Maybe he'd hated Gabe when they'd first met, but the longer they'd been friends, the more Pete got how magic he was.
The grin grew wider. "He'd know."
Pete pushed himself up until he was sitting next to Gabe. "My usual dude told me I couldn't keep bouncing back from this. I stopped screwing with it years ago."
Gabe nodded. "I've heard that's true."
Pete rubbed his face. "I don't know what it's like to actually live with it. You know any werewolves?"
"A few. I cured half of them, and the other half were born like this."
"So..."
"So who knows what'll happen." Gabe looked down at Pete. "You feel like getting a dose of wisdom?"
"Hit me."
Gabe ruffled his hair. "The universe usually gives us what we need, even if we keep shoving it back."
"So the universe thinks I need to turn furry?"
"Who am I to say? It sent me visions of snakes." He smirked a little. "You do like your animal suits."
Pete laughed. Gabe wasn't wrong. But he cut off before long and asked, "You think I can get through my set?"
"As long as I'm in town, yeah, definitely."
"If you're not?"
Gabe's face got serious and a little knowing. "I think you should trust yourself."
Pete leaned against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling. A decade ago, he would've gone to get wasted and pretended nothing was wrong until he couldn't deal. Hell, that would've happened even a couple years ago. But today?
"Maybe," he said finally. And he meant it, for once. But since he was himself, he said, "Don't you have women in bikinis to creep out?"
"Not for a few hours. Lots of pool lounging in my future." Which was his way of saying that Pete could text him if he needed to. Pete nodded, and Gabe slid off the bed. "But I need to fuel up first. You in?"
Pete stood up and grabbed for his jeans. No headache. No puking. No hangover. Gabe really did have the magic touch. "Fuck yeah."
-
Gabe was a vegetarian, but not the kind who judged when Pete loaded up a plate with sausage and bacon and nothing else. "You've got needs," he said, and left it at that.
Sitting in the buffet area with Gabe while he ate his veggie omelet was...well, it was just like sitting in the air-conditioned hotel when you knew all the heat of Vegas was outside, ready to scorch. But Pete had done Vegas plenty of times. He knew when to stay inside and when to load up with water and sunblock. And there was a lot of wild for Pete to explore.
He scarfed the rest of his meal in silence, smiling the whole time.