Fic: There Goes My Hero - Joe/Patrick - PG
Title: There Goes My Hero
Summary: Short character study
Author: icedmaple
Betas: likethepaint & shiny_starlight
Rating: Barely PG.
Pairing: Joe/Patrick
Words: c. 1,000.
Author's notes: This is just a short character study inspired by the song 'My Hero' by the Foo Fighters. I do not own the song, or the dudes used in this fic.
Play while you read:
There Goes My Hero
Patrick Stumph had a temper, and he knew it. He'd always known it. He would fly off the handle and lash out and break things and ruin other people's day or property or hurt their feelings just because something small and unnecessary had triggered his mood swings. He'd lost count, over the years, of how many people his rages had hurt - whether physically or emotionally - but somehow he couldn't quite bring himself to care. A tiny part of him still stubbornly swore that it was their fault for getting in his way, or provoking him, and if they'd had more sense - or more consideration - it never would have happened.
The thing with Patrick's temper was that people closest to him were invariably the ones in the firing line. Pete would scream and scrap back at him, his mother would yell and tell him he was grounded - even though he didn't even live at home anymore - and his father would give him that look which always made him feel like a four year old stamping his feet and acting out in the middle of the supermarket. Some of his friends laughed, others called him a dick and left him to his own devices, but Joe didn't do either.
Joe would wait until Patrick had calmed down and then start picking up the broken pieces or upturned furniture. He was the only person who ever made Patrick want to apologise, even though he never asked for it. He'd simply act as if the incident had never happened, shrugging it off and suggesting they watch a movie or play a little Mario Cart. He had the patience of a saint; which was ironic, all things considered.
The thing was, Joe was just like that. When Pete told everyone loudly of how Joe had cried because he was sick and miserable and on the other side of the country from home, when they'd taken him on tour as an awkward sixteen year old, Joe didn't beat seven shades of shit out of Pete, as Patrick would have. He just sighed and wandered off to find himself a drink and Patrick beat the shit out of Pete in his honour, instead. Because, if he was really honest, Pete was a complete dick to Joe - degrading and embarrassing him for the sake of amusement, just because he could, and because he knew Joe wouldn't rise to it. And Joe never stopped looking up to him, never ceased to do exactly as Pete asked of him and run him around like a free chauffeur when Pete fucked up so badly they'd taken away his license.
Joe was the butt of a million jokes, and it wasn't that they didn't hurt - Patrick would see the way his gaze dropped and his mouth twitched at the corner, just a little, whenever Pete poked fun at his looks or called him a virgin - but he just let it go, every time. Sure, he'd play fight with Pete, sometimes, but he never really confronted him and he never let it bring him down to their level.
He was as warm and gracious as he'd always been, no matter how hard things were or how mean people were to him. Patrick would have walked away a long time ago, if he had been in that position; but for the first time in his life, Patrick was at the centre of everything, watching someone else receive the shitty treatment which had been far too familiar in middle school.
Sometimes, Patrick wanted to shake him and say, "You don't have to take this" but he never really did; he never really tried. But he hoped that Joe knew; or at least that he'd work it out.
The only time Patrick could remember Joe getting involved in a real fight, was when he scrambled in between Patrick and Pete as fists flew, earning himself a bloody lip when one of Patrick's blows caught him in the face; but he didn't complain. He let Patrick find him some tissue to clean himself up, but he didn't want a fuss and insisted on shrugging it off because he thought it made him look "tougher" to walk around with a swollen lip as if he'd been in a bar brawl.
Patrick didn't tell him that it really just looked like a sassy girl had taken umbrage at his awkward sexual advances, but he did smile and wrap him in a one-armed hug, indulging his dorky delusions.
When they moved in together, Joe always seemed to be the one to do the washing up or take out the trash or pay the bills to make sure the electricity wasn't cut-off (and then spent weeks trying to get the others' share back). When Patrick was so poor he couldn't afford to eat, Joe would 'accidentally' make too much for dinner and offer it to him to 'save wasting it'. He never complained when his bread seemed to disappear much faster than he was using it and at least once, brought home pizza because Patrick was feeling shitty and needed cheering up.
Patrick said thank you, of course; but he never said what he really meant. He never told him aloud that one day, when they'd made it, he was going to pay him back every single penny Joe had ever loaned him, and replace every slice of bread he'd ever stolen from his cupboard.
On the long, sweltering nights, driving from show to show, Patrick never confessed how he felt; he never admitted that if the rest of the band were hanging from a cliff face, it would be Joe he'd reach for first. He didn't tell him that it was his goal in life to be just a little bit more like Joe - a little more patient, a little more giving, a lot more mature where it counted and a whole world gentler than he'd ever been so far - but one night, when everyone else was asleep and the Foo Fighters began to creep from the speakers, he turned up the stereo just a little and hoped that Joe would understand.
There goes my hero
Watch him as he goes
There goes my hero
He's ordinary
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Summary: Short character study
Author: icedmaple
Betas: likethepaint & shiny_starlight
Rating: Barely PG.
Pairing: Joe/Patrick
Words: c. 1,000.
Author's notes: This is just a short character study inspired by the song 'My Hero' by the Foo Fighters. I do not own the song, or the dudes used in this fic.
Play while you read:
There Goes My Hero
Patrick Stumph had a temper, and he knew it. He'd always known it. He would fly off the handle and lash out and break things and ruin other people's day or property or hurt their feelings just because something small and unnecessary had triggered his mood swings. He'd lost count, over the years, of how many people his rages had hurt - whether physically or emotionally - but somehow he couldn't quite bring himself to care. A tiny part of him still stubbornly swore that it was their fault for getting in his way, or provoking him, and if they'd had more sense - or more consideration - it never would have happened.
The thing with Patrick's temper was that people closest to him were invariably the ones in the firing line. Pete would scream and scrap back at him, his mother would yell and tell him he was grounded - even though he didn't even live at home anymore - and his father would give him that look which always made him feel like a four year old stamping his feet and acting out in the middle of the supermarket. Some of his friends laughed, others called him a dick and left him to his own devices, but Joe didn't do either.
Joe would wait until Patrick had calmed down and then start picking up the broken pieces or upturned furniture. He was the only person who ever made Patrick want to apologise, even though he never asked for it. He'd simply act as if the incident had never happened, shrugging it off and suggesting they watch a movie or play a little Mario Cart. He had the patience of a saint; which was ironic, all things considered.
The thing was, Joe was just like that. When Pete told everyone loudly of how Joe had cried because he was sick and miserable and on the other side of the country from home, when they'd taken him on tour as an awkward sixteen year old, Joe didn't beat seven shades of shit out of Pete, as Patrick would have. He just sighed and wandered off to find himself a drink and Patrick beat the shit out of Pete in his honour, instead. Because, if he was really honest, Pete was a complete dick to Joe - degrading and embarrassing him for the sake of amusement, just because he could, and because he knew Joe wouldn't rise to it. And Joe never stopped looking up to him, never ceased to do exactly as Pete asked of him and run him around like a free chauffeur when Pete fucked up so badly they'd taken away his license.
Joe was the butt of a million jokes, and it wasn't that they didn't hurt - Patrick would see the way his gaze dropped and his mouth twitched at the corner, just a little, whenever Pete poked fun at his looks or called him a virgin - but he just let it go, every time. Sure, he'd play fight with Pete, sometimes, but he never really confronted him and he never let it bring him down to their level.
He was as warm and gracious as he'd always been, no matter how hard things were or how mean people were to him. Patrick would have walked away a long time ago, if he had been in that position; but for the first time in his life, Patrick was at the centre of everything, watching someone else receive the shitty treatment which had been far too familiar in middle school.
Sometimes, Patrick wanted to shake him and say, "You don't have to take this" but he never really did; he never really tried. But he hoped that Joe knew; or at least that he'd work it out.
The only time Patrick could remember Joe getting involved in a real fight, was when he scrambled in between Patrick and Pete as fists flew, earning himself a bloody lip when one of Patrick's blows caught him in the face; but he didn't complain. He let Patrick find him some tissue to clean himself up, but he didn't want a fuss and insisted on shrugging it off because he thought it made him look "tougher" to walk around with a swollen lip as if he'd been in a bar brawl.
Patrick didn't tell him that it really just looked like a sassy girl had taken umbrage at his awkward sexual advances, but he did smile and wrap him in a one-armed hug, indulging his dorky delusions.
When they moved in together, Joe always seemed to be the one to do the washing up or take out the trash or pay the bills to make sure the electricity wasn't cut-off (and then spent weeks trying to get the others' share back). When Patrick was so poor he couldn't afford to eat, Joe would 'accidentally' make too much for dinner and offer it to him to 'save wasting it'. He never complained when his bread seemed to disappear much faster than he was using it and at least once, brought home pizza because Patrick was feeling shitty and needed cheering up.
Patrick said thank you, of course; but he never said what he really meant. He never told him aloud that one day, when they'd made it, he was going to pay him back every single penny Joe had ever loaned him, and replace every slice of bread he'd ever stolen from his cupboard.
On the long, sweltering nights, driving from show to show, Patrick never confessed how he felt; he never admitted that if the rest of the band were hanging from a cliff face, it would be Joe he'd reach for first. He didn't tell him that it was his goal in life to be just a little bit more like Joe - a little more patient, a little more giving, a lot more mature where it counted and a whole world gentler than he'd ever been so far - but one night, when everyone else was asleep and the Foo Fighters began to creep from the speakers, he turned up the stereo just a little and hoped that Joe would understand.
There goes my hero
Watch him as he goes
There goes my hero
He's ordinary
Counter powered by web statistics program.
(419)