Fic: Bound to the Beat 5/5 (FOB/MCR, NC-17, Bob/Patrick, Mikey/Pete, Brian/Gerard)

[dancinbutterfly]

When Bob gets hospitalized, all of My Chem basically disappears over night. Patrick knows that’s not typical and he's been touring long enough to know. The only member of the band still around is Mikey but that's because his and Pete's bond is in the early stages and neither of them can stand the idea of spending a full twenty-four hours apart. Patrick can't blame then when they both know that when Warped is over, they're going to have to spend so much time on tours that don’t crossover.

However, despite his presence on the bus, Mikey's not really there. He spends all his time texting or on the phone with his band with a frown cutting through his usually flat expression.

Pete spends all his free time sitting at Mikey's feet or pressed tight against his side. When they're tuning their instruments, Pete tells him that it helps.

"He doesn’t even realize he's giving orders most of the time," Pete tells him. "But I can feel how much better he feels when he does, like controlling me balances out the fact that the Bob thing is so out of control, you know?"

Patrick does. His skin is crawling with the knowledge that Bob is in a hospital hundreds of miles away from him. He can't do anything to help or even sit by his bed and hold his hand. Those things he keeps to himself though.

What Bob does to him, how he twists Patrick's insides up in knots is so much more than he ever thought he could feel for someone. He figured that with his soulmate renouncing him, love was out of the equation. Most people would rather wait and there were no widowers or renounced people in his small insulated world.

Only now there is Bob. Bob is amazing and understands the appeal of quiet in a community that is always exploding with noise but was always willing to listen when Patrick wanted to talk. Patrick loves his strength and stubbornness and how that willfulness complimented how beautifully submissive Bob is. He's funny and obnoxious and sarcastic and patient with Frank's bullshit and Gerard's eccentricities - but only to a degree. When his limits were met, he wasn't afraid to throw them off. Patrick adored it all.

Since meeting him, the fantasies Patrick harbored of the man on the other end of his bond looked like Bob. Every time he closes his eyes lately and imagines his bondmate, he looks like Bob. He's been thinking of how he's going to get past Bob's protests, planning different arguments that could get them past the issues of bonding and soulmates.

None of that matters at the moment. All that really is important is Mikey's status reports from the rest of his band. He doesn't even care that Bob's hospitalized because of a fucking drug overdose. He knows it means a mess, means things about Bob that Patrick is a little repulsed by and a lot of afraid of but he doesn’t fucking care. He just wants Bob to be okay.

He's so focused on getting through each set, on helping Pete make sure Mikey was eating and sleeping right that and worrying about Bob that he forgets about himself. He isn't paying attention to the ache in his head and the fear in his chest because he thinks is just the situation. Patrick is not prepared when all of a at ten in the morning four days after My Chemical Romance drops off Warped, his bond snaps all the way open.

His soulmate pours into his brain all at once. Fear, pain, exhaustion, confusion all crash on him like a storm surger. It's like being thrown under the full force of a waterfall. Patrick has to take time to gather himself together, to make himself believe that this is really happening after all this time.

Then there's the pull. A physical tug from the bond is actually making his body hurt. He almost trips over Pete in the lounge where he sits with his head against Mikey's knee curses a blue streak that has them both staring at him.

"Trick, you okay?"

"No," Patrick snaps. He yanks off his hat and runs his hand through his hair before putting it back on. He shakes his head and says "I'm not okay. He's not okay. Pete, I can feel him. He's there and he's hurt and I have to go. I have to go now."

Pete sits up straight like a blood hound with a new scent and then tackles Patrick. He almost trips into the TV but manages to stay on his feet as Pete catches him around the neck. He presses a wet kiss to his cheek and crows "I knew it. I told you he'd come around didn't I?" He turns to look at Mikey, not letting go. "Didn't I, baby? I fucking told you all."

"Yeah," Mikey agrees. "You did."

"So now we need to go. I'm going to go online and rent a car and then I'll take you seeking."

Patrick splutters. "Pete, you don't-"

"You do not get to boss me around anymore. Only Mikey gets to do that now. You said your soulmate's hurting, that you've sparked which means he probably needs you so you have to go. There's no Fall Out Boy with you so, I might as well take you."

"We," Mikey corrects. "We'll be able to get to him quicker if we've got more drivers in case it's, like, up in Canada or somewhere else far the fuck away."

"Exactly," Pete agrees. "There. Settled we need to go. He needs you."

Patrick is speechless. He doesn’t know what he expected but this wasn't it. He can't do anything but nod. He's far enough gone that he'd agree to just about anything to get to his bondmate.

Pete calls Enterprise Rent-A-Car while Patrick makes the run to Joe, Andy and their tour manager. None of them are happy but seeking comes first. Everyone knows that. It's a universal truth. The whole thing doesn't feel real until the three of them are piled into a blue midsized Mitsubishi headed back east the way they'd come the day before.

Lying in the backseat, Patrick listens to his ipod and focuses on his soulmate. He sends waves of love and comfort and "I'm coming, I'm coming to you, I'll be there soon." He doesn't get up or open his eyes or talk to Pete and Mikey except to tell them when a direction change is coming up. There's a moment when he considers driving but they shoot him down.

"We've got this" Pete assures him. "Mikey's going to nap while I drive and vice versa so we'll get there super fast. Bathroom and gas breaks only."

"Also you look like shit," Mikey adds. "I don’t want you to drive us off the road before we find him."

"See? Another good reason for you to shut the fuck up and chill out."

So he does. It's not until Mikey reaches back and shakes his leg eight hours later that he really rejoins the world.

"We're back," Mikey says. "This is where the guys are. I called them and let them know where we are. Do you have time to go to the hospital and see Bob?" His eyes are shadowed with concern. "It's okay if you don’t but I know you wanted-"

Patrick finds himself nodding. He shouldn't, he should keep moving. He's so close but he can't not go see Bob can he? "Yeah. Yes. That sounds good."

They stop at a gas station for directions and climb back into the car. Patrick expects the aching feeling of going the wrong way to sneak up on him as they drive but no. The pull just gets stronger murmuring that he was close if he just keeps going. By the time they reach the hospital, the bond is practically shouting at him.

Patrick thinks he knows what's going on but oh, God, he doesn't want to get his hopes up. He can't. Not after almost twelve years of being let down. When they tumble into the building, Patrick knows. He knows he's here and he takes off at a run, following the internal compass that is leading him up three flights of stairs and down a hall, Pete and Mikey on his heels.

He skids to a halt when he sees Ray standing outside the door to a room, half asleep standing up leaned against the wall. This is happening, he thinks, knowing that his soulmate is on the side of the door. It's happening, for real, and please, please let it be Bob and not whoever he's sharing a room with.

Ray jerks at their sudden arrival but Patrick ignores him. He's not important. None of them are important but his sub, his soulmate, the other half he's been missing for so fucking long. He yanks open the door and stumbles in to see Bob curled up on his side facing him. His eyes are squeezed shut against the low light but it doesn't matter. Just looking at him, Patrick knows.

"Bob," he breathes, crossing the room to him and leaning over the bed. Gerard and Frank and the woman in the other bed might as well not be there for all that he notices them.

He reaches out to touch Bob. When his hand makes contact with his bare arm, Patrick shudders at the rightness of the sensation. He knew it would be good but he couldn't have dreamed of it being like this.

"Bob, hey, it's Patrick. Come on. Open your eyes." He puts some steel behind the command and Bob obeys.

Blue eyes blink at him, blown and terrified. He's so scared, so sad, so lost and so hurt. Patrick gives him a shaky smile and moves to touch his face.

"I wanted it to be you," Patrick says. "When I felt you again yesterday, I wanted it to be you."

"No," Bob whispers, shaking his head. "No. Fuck fuck fuck, no."

"Just wait. Bob, just-" Patrick runs a thumb over his cheekbone. "Please give me a chance. You wanted us to try before and I can help. I can make it hurt less. I can take care of you. I want to take care of you, please let me."

Bob squeezes his eyes shut again and a tear leaks out the corner, rolling dow towards his nose. Then he nods and Patrick moves to slide his hand back to cup Bob's joining spot. He breathes out and thinks I'm here, I 've got you, its okay at Bob as hard as he can.

He knows it wont translate as words but the feeling should translate. No, it will. Patrick won't stop until it does.

When the panic battering him eases, Patrick says Bob's name again. This time when Bob looks at him, he doesn't look scared so much as heartbroken. "I can't," he chokes out. "Patrick I'm so sorry."

"IT's okay. Just, just let me stay for a little okay? We don’t have to do anything, I just have to find out whats going on."

"I fucked up," Bob says, his voice flat and dull. "Tranaxil."

It's a bond-blocker. The name makes Patrick wince. "Oh."

"It's not you," Bob says, desperate. "I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. We shouldn't-"

"Stop." He can't hear this. He can't have waited this long and come this far only to be rejected again. "Lets not do this now. Let's just wait until you're okay and then we'll deal with all this."

"He's mostly detoxed," Gerard says. His gentle voice cuts like a knife through the bubble his world became the moment he saw Bob. "He's only got two or so days left before we were going to come back on tour."

Patrick nods but can't tear his eyes from Bob's face. "You all need to leave," he says. "Now."

He can hear Frank begin a token protest before the rest of his friends drag him out. When the door swings shut behind them, Patrick is a wash in relief and gratitude at the realitive privacy. The other patient is quiet so that's close enough.

"Are you okay to talk?" Patrick asks, rubbing the back of Bob's head with his fingers. "I think we need to talk but I can wait if you need."

Bob shrugs. "It's fine. It doesn’t matter." More despair radiates towards him, an hollow pain that feels like nothing matters.

"It does. It matters. It matters to me so much. I've been looking for you. I waited for you to open the door and now you have and I-"

"I didn’t do that. That was the detox." He shakes of Patrick's touch on his head. "It wasn't my choice."

Patrick nods and takes a step back, then stops. No. No, this isn't fair. "And what about my choice?" He shakes his head. "This isn't happening again. You don't get to decide this without us at least talking first. Do you hear me? It's cruel."

"I didn't do it to hurt you."

"But it did. It hurts, okay? It fucking hurts. It's hurt for years. Don't you hurt?"

Bob says nothing. He doesn't need to speak. Patrick can see the mirror of his own pain in his pale eyes. He doesn't understand any of this. Bob is amazing, everything Patrick's ever wanted and it was only a couple of weeks ago that they sat on his bus with Bob wanting him, wanting to be with him. He doesn't get why them being made for each other would make that worse.

"We don't have to talk about it now," Patrick says.

He watches as Bob nods then shakes his head and sits up. Bob's Adam's apple works and he says, "I'm not saying I want to acknowledge okay? That’s not why I'm going to say this."

"Okay?"

"Can I- I want to-" he lets out a long sigh before trying again. "If I got on my knees for you, could you take that without, you know, taking it as anything else?"

"No," Patrick admits. "I love you. I can't not feel that with you kneeling for me but I'm not going to push you into acknowledgement if you're not ready." It's the truth. If Bob doesn't want this, he wouldn't force the bond. Having him that way wouldn't be worth the damage it would cause. "I want you to but if you physically can't then don't do it because you think I need you to."

"I can. I need to. It'd help."

"Then yes," Patrick chokes out. "Fuck, yes, please, Bob. I've been thinking about for weeks."

Carefully, Bob climbs out of bed, refusing to take Patrick's hand when it's offered. Watching Bob slowly lower himself to the linoleum floor in nothing but a hospital gown is the most amazing thing he's ever seen in his life. Patrick wants to cry at how gorgeous, how perfect he is on his knees. How close they are to everything he's wanted takes Patrick's breath away.

"Thank you," he chokes out and fuck, he's crying. "Thank you for the honor of your submission. Thank you so much."

"Thank you for the gift of your care and dominance," Bob returns. He sounds strangled, like the words are torn across a barbed wire. "Would you- Sir would you touch me? Just once."

Patrick can't help the shudder that hits him at the honorific then buries his hand in Bob's thick blond hair, pushing it back off his forehead. He cups Bob's joining spot briefly before doing it again. He cards his finger's through Bob's hair again and again until Bob goes limp, leaning forward so that his forehead rests against Patrick's hip.

Exhaustion and anguish and sadness floods the bond. It makes Patrick want to sink to the floor too, take Bob in his arms and just hold him until he sleeps, until the only thing he can feel is peace and joy. He promised he wouldn't push so he doesn't do more this.

They stay like that for what feels like hours until the physical pain gets to be too much for Bob. He lets Patrick help him up and ease him back into bed. Bob curls up again, tucking his knees up against the way his body and brain are attacking him. With a shaky hand, he reaches for the button that controls his morphine drip and Patrick knows he's going to fade soon.

"I'm going to go," Patrick tells him. "You're sleeping and you don't want- I'm going. But I'm going to stay in the hospital. If you need me, I'll be back okay?"

Patrick doesn’t wait for him to answer. He almost runs out of the room. Pete and Mikey are waiting for him along with the My Chem manager, Brian. Where Brian goes, Gerard usually follows - the two of them don’t get to spend as much time together as either of them would like according to everything Bob's told him - but this time it's just the two of them.

Pete catches him around the waist and says "Drinking. We need to be doing that now."

"I'm fine. "

"No, you're not. Now come with us." Brian orders cutting off his protest mid-word and shit, Patrick's a dom and everything but Brian's force of will makes even him want to obey. He lets the two of them guide him off the ward, passing the rest of the guys on the way down who give them significant looks but say nothing.

Partick's surprised when they don’t go to a bar but instead beeline to the hotel My Chem's been camped out in since Bob's overdose. When they arrive, Brian picks up two of those plastic gallon jugs of vodka from behind the front desk. They leave Mikey to check in for the three of them and he, Pete and Brian go up to his and Gerard's room.

Patrick frowns as he watches Brian retrieve Sprite and Coke and from the room's minifridge and all the little glass hotel tumblers in the room. This doesn’t add up."I thought Gerard was sober."

"He is," Brian says. "I'm not and neither are you which is why you three are going to crash here and Gerard is going to sleep in the room Mikey just got, if the guys even make it back here tonight."

He pours them drinks that are more booze than soda and a moment later Mikey is there, taking the fourth glass as they sit sprawled across the two queen-sized beds. Well, Mikey and Pete sprawl on the bed near the window while Patrick sits with his legs crossed at the foot of the other with Brian sitting with his back against the wall at the head.

They drink in silence until Mikey thrusts his hand out for a refill and says "He told me that he had an issue with his bond but I didn't think it'd be this."

"At least you knew," Brian grits out. "He told me he didn't have a bond at all. I mean, bond blockers. Jesus. When I found out I figured, I don’t know. Maybe he found his soulmate too young and he abused by him. It happens sometimes but…"

He looks at Patrick. There's abject pity there. Patrick can't take it. He looks down at his drink and wishes it was deep enough to drown in

"But its not. It's nothing Patrick did but Bob renounced him anyway," Pete snaps. "I don’t care if he was chewing sadness pills with a chase of doom coffee every day for the last decade. That doesn't forgive this."

Mikey's hand tightens visibly on Pete's wrist. "Hey, I don't think-"

"No, you didn't see. Neither of you saw." Pete meets his eyes and Patrick feels so small and so young and so hurt that for a moment it's like the room is a vacuum. Pete's never looked at him like that before. Usually that kind of concern goes the other way around. "I saw. I saw you, Patrick, remember? This isn't okay."

"Hey, Pete." Mikey's fingers begin to move up and down Pete's arm in, soothing him. "No one is saying it's okay."

"I thought we were going to drink." Patrick holds up his glass. "Wasn't that the point of this? For there to be a liver-destroying amount of alcohol."

"Pretty sure the alcohol is really just to facilitate the talking." Brian replies. "Because we need to talk. This is your soulmate and he's basically my other brother. We have to talk about this at least some don't we?"

"Which part? The part where he overdosed on a fucking neurotoxin because he was so desperate not to be bonded to me? The part where I've spent the last dozen years of my life feeling like part of me was missing? The part where I still managed to fall for that asshole even without the bond and he still won't trust me?" Patrick snatches the unopened jug off the floor. Fuck it. He's drinking it straight out of the container. He cogush at the burn the glares at Brian. "Exactly which part are we talking about?"

"All of it, I think. So, why don’t you tell me and Mikey about your side and then we can fill in the holes we know about." Brian says, completely unshaken. Patrick is both unsurprised (managing My Chemical Romance is the human version of herding cats) and deeply fucking annoyed by his calm reply. Memories wrap tight around his neck for a moment and he can't breathe. Then it all comes out in a painful rush.

Saying it out loud reminds him of the few glimpses he's had of Bob's side of the bond over the years. There was always so much despair, so many hopeless apologies. It doesn't fit with the Bob he knows, with the life Patrick's lead.

"I just don’t get why," Patrick says at the end. "He doesn’t like it. He fucking hurt himself."

They are all drunk. Not slurring drunk but enough to cushion the sharp edges of the day. "I think its got something to do with his parents," Brian says at last. "He told me once about his dad. He died."

"People die," Pete says. "There's a million widows and widowers on this planet. My dad's mom was widowed when he was a kid. That doesn’t explain it."

"It was bad though," Brian protests. "From what little he told me, his mom had a psychotic break or something when his dad passed away."

Pete isn't willing to let it drop though "That doesn't happen though. I mean, sometimes people kill themselves with grief but people don't just go crazy."

"Unless they already were," Mikey points out. "I mean, Bert lost Kate last year and he fell apart for awhile but he already had a pretty bad habit you know?"

"Well it happened this time. I don’t know what happened exactly but from what he told me, his dad died when he was a teenager and his mom was so far gone that she doesn’t know him."

The room goes quiet as they all stare at Brian. Mikey looks as stricken as Patrick feels. "He never said," Mikey murmurs. "He never said anything, to any of us."

"He wouldn't," Patrick says. "It's Bob." The silence that fills the room is all the confirmation Patrick needs. He screws the top onto the jug and drops it on the floor before rolling onto his side to face Brian. He lets out a deep breath. "Okay. Okay, tell me what else you know?"

Brian doesn’t know all that much. He knows that the only family Bob talks about are his aunts and that all of them are in Florida now. He also knows that there's one guy in Bob's contacts with a Chicago area code which Bob texts sometimes, a guy named Will. "He said they went to high school together. You can call him if you want. Otherwise I just don’t know." He reaches in his pocket and holds out Bob's phone.

Patrick takes it with careful hands then gets up and moves to the other bed. Bob's still drugged unconscious but there's sadness so intense that not even sleep's shutting down the flow of it through the bond. He wants to be near Pete, close to someone he knows and can trust.

Pete gets it, because he's Pete. Patrick thinks he has kept a running tally of all the times Patrick has held him up that he says "Come here, Trick," and pulls him down to lie sandwiched between himself and Mikey like the reciprocity is nothing at all.

Before Brian leaves, Patrick has fallen asleep in his clothes and Vans on top of the covers with between best friend and his best friend's bondmate. He's gone when Patrick wakes up and untangles himself from Pete and Mikey.

He picks up the key Brian left and slips into the hall because fuck it. Fuck it, he's calling this Will guy. He needs answers before he can face Bob again and no one else seems to have any so why not?

Will picks up on the third ring, cheerful with hints of a Chicago accent and Patrick says, "Hi, Will?"

"Yeah? Who is this?"

"You don't know me but my name's I'm Bob Bryar's soulmate."

"Bullshit you are," Will snorts.

Okay then… Patrick tries again. "What? Listen, a friend of his said you've known him since high so I'm just hoping you could help me. He's in the hospital."

"Fucking idiot! Jesus I fucking told him not to- Asshole fucked up with his Tranaxil didn't he?"

Patrick can feel his mouth drop open of its own accord. "Yeah. How did you know that?"

Will lets out a long sigh and growls "Asshole. Fucking asshole, I warned him," like Patrick never even spoke."I've been fucking warning him but that stupid fucking asshole just wouldn't listen. Stubborn son of a bitch. Where are is he?"

Patrick ignores the question. He's got questions of his own. "You knew about the bondblockers?"

Will sighs long and loud. "Yeah. Are you really his soulmate? I mean really? You're not just saying that so that the hospital will, I don’t know, give you rights to see him or something?"

"Yeah. I am. I just found out, when he detoxed."

"Lucky bastard. So fucking lucky. He could've died. He could've destroyed the receptors in his brain that allow you two to connect at all, he-" Will breaks off. "Oh, Jesus, he detoxed. He detoxed so the bond must've opened and you went seeking him. Fuck, man, I'm so sorry."

Squeezing the bridge of his nose, Patrick counts to ten before he says anything else. Will is upset. Patrick can hear it but he's upset too. His soulmate's been pushing him away for years and now he's debilitated and hospitalized. He gets to do all the asking and freaking out, thanks.

"I need you to tell me what happened. He's been blocking me for more than ten years. He's still pushing me away and he's so-" Patrick doesn't have word for what Bob is. There's just the feeling and sight of him in so much pain. "Please, tell me what to do."

"I can't. I want to tell you everything, okay, because I've been waiting for him to stop blocking you since the day we met but, he's a private guy."

"I know that."

"Then you know get why I can't tell you."

"I know its something with his parents. Can you at least confirm or deny that's why this is happening?"

Will sighs. "Hypothetically, I could say that if I saw something really fucked up happen to someone I loved because of a destroyed bond, it could scare me off the whole idea. If it happened to me."

Oh. Fuck. "So it's about his mom."

"It's about Bob," Will corrects. "If you're really it for him, you'll get that."

"Yeah," Patrick agrees. It is about Bob. It's about the man he's always been connected to, even when the wall between them was insurmountable. This is about how Bob feels and why. Patrick is just trying to understand so that when he sees Bob in a few hours, he might be able to get through to him.

"Look, man, here's what I can tell you without feeling like a traitor. Both these things are true and were pretty much public knowledge in high school, okay? His dad died when he was fourteen and he bought weed and Xinitac off me for the first time when he was fifteen." Will's pause sounds like it should be accompanied with a shrug. "That's all I feel like I can say."

"Thanks," Patrick says, meaning it. The confirmation is more than enough.

~*~*~

Bob wakes up to find Patrick, sitting at his bedside, holding his wrist in the ring of his fingers. He floats in the security of the gentle restraint for a moment before he tries to tug his hand free. With a sigh, Patrick releases him and sits back.

Bob feels better today. His head's down from screaming agony to a solid ache and his body feels merely battered instead of broken. A wave of comfort floats through the bond to him, like a smooth purr of violin strings and Bob can't resist singing into it a little.

"Morning." Patrick says. Bob hums back in reply but doesn't actually speak.

Patrick's alone. There's always been two or more of the guys in with him but this is different. His dom, well, the man he could allow to be his dome, is here now. It changes the etiquette.

"So, I'm going to talk," Patrick says, "And I'm hoping you'll talk back but you don't have to. I am though. I've got things to say to you, so I'm going to."

"Okay."

Patrick smiles. It lights up his whole face like fucking sunshine. "Okay. So, I talked to Brian and Mikey and your friend back in Chicago, Will, and from what I can tell, you blocked me because something happened with your parents, something with their bond. You got scared." He holds up a hand before Bob can refute that. "I felt you get scared. Every time the door between us opened up, you were scared of me. I thought it was me anyway. I think now maybe I was a little off."

Bob closes his eyes. He can see his father's rigged arm thrown across his mother's chest. He can see her dull blue eyes, staring sightlessly at him. "You're not."

"Yeah, I think I am. Because you were never scared of me when it was just us so, I don't think its me. I think it's the bond itself."

"Patrick," Bob begs because he can't argue. Not because every instinct in him is begging him to obey, to just do what Patrick says so his entire soul can finally be set at ease, but because he's right. He's right and it's too much to take.

"Yeah?"

"It's not that simple."

"Okay. Explain it to me then. I want to understand." he says and his voice is so fucking soft. Bob wishes he were angry. Anger would be easier to take than the careful affection in his tone.

Bob doesn't want to talk about the accident, about living with the aunts, about how scared he's been his whole fucking life. "Brian told you something," He says instead."Was it about my parents?" At Patrick's nod Bob lets out a huff of breath. "My mom doesn't know who I am. She can't take care of herself, or be left alone. When my aunts aren’t home, she's got a nurse who comes to the house - like she's an Alzheimer's patient."

"I'm sorry."

When Patrick says it, it doesn't sound like a platitude. Bob wants to hate him for how much comfort those two stupid, usually empty words give him. "It's fine."

"It's not. Not if you're so upset you'd self-medicate like that."

"I wasn't self-medicating because she's fucked up. I'm taking precautions." Bob wraps his arms around himself, as if doing so could ward off the memories. "She's only like that because my dad- they were bonded. Now she's this barely human shell," he spits. "It's pathetic."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." He squeezes his arms tighter around himself. "No one wants to be like that."

Of course Patrick can read him, knows that "no one" actually means "I" and that this is why he's been running. The fear of losing himself is what's kept him hiding from Patrick behind a thick shield of pharmaceuticals more than half of Patrick's life.

Patrick sits back in his chair, taking his hat off to run his fingers through his hair in the now familiar stress ritual. "I don’t guess it'd help much to tell you that I don’t intend to die on you, right?" Bob glares at him. "Right. I don’t know, Bob, what do I need to tell you to get you to try? That I love you? You know that, you can feel it and I told you. I'll tell you again though. I love you. I've loved you since the first time I felt you and I loved you again here on tour when I had no idea, when you were just a drummer and I was just a singer and we were just two people falling for each other."

"That doesn't make it better." Bob didn’t know that this is what a heart breaking felt like. It's a rending sensation in his chest which is surprising. He never thought it would be so literal. "It's worse actually."

"What would? Jesus, Bob, I've spent forever missing you and now you're here. You're right here in front of me and I'd rather have fifteen minutes with you knowing I was going to lose you than fifty years without ever trying." He sighs.

"Because it means you matter more, Bob thinks. What comes out is a week. "I just can't, all right? I'm not built that way."

It's a complete lie and they both know it. He's built to be at Patrick's feet, to wear his collar, and belong to him. He's made for this, the quiet connection and nonverbal conversation that could take away the loneliness he felt forever. With the bond unblocked, he knows Patrick can feel that but Bob doesn't admit it. He doesn’t know if he can.

"Maybe we could try but if you really don’t want it, you could renounce me later," Patrick offers. "I mean, it happens. People renounce each other. If you saw how it was and decided you wanted to I'd understand. I'd let you go but please, Bob, let us at least try."

God, Bob wants to say yes. He wants to say yes and roll out of his bed and back down onto the ground. Nothing in his life had ever felt better than kneeling for Patrick, to giving over his will and trust knowing that the person he gave it too was who he was meant to have it. He opens his mouth, to say that he can't, that he shouldn't, that he wants to, that he needs to but before he can Patrick lifts a hand and cuts him off.

"Think about it okay? You're it for me, Bob, so I can wait. I've already waited so long, longer doesn't matter so much. Just," He holds out his hands palm up, "Don't block the bond until we can talk again okay? Don't do that again."

"I can't." Bob admits. "I'm supposed to wait at least six weeks before I can even go on the milder blockers like Xinitac."

"Oh. Okay." Patrick's tone is neutral. He's working a pretty decent poker face in fact.

Despite that, Bob's hit with a wave of relief straight from Patrick's lizard brain. This one is more like woodwinds, clarinets maybe? Something that can trill. Bob wants to ride it in, like a surfer to shore. He doesn't think he can. At least not here and not now.

"So now what?" Bob asks. He hopes he doesn’t sound accusatory but fuck it. He's a mess right now so however it comes out is how it is.

"Now me and Pete have to fly back to Warped. I think Mikey's coming too and you'll get well. That's an order." He gives Bob a thin smile he can't resist returning. "We'll talk when you get back to the tour."

Bob can live with that. Patrick seems to understand because he rises to his feet as if to leave. Instead, he leans over the bed, cups the back of Bob's head over the joining spot and ducks in for a kiss. It happens slowly that Bob has a thousand chances to stop him. He could pull away or put a hand on his chest or just said "no." What he does is lift his hands to mirror Patrick's touch and kiss him back.

Bob's been kissed a lot in his life. He's fucking good at kissing, skilled even. Those kisses are nothing like this. This is home, it's finding the place where he fits like a puzzle piece. It's peace and the rush that the first drop on a rollercoaster brings screaming awake. In that moment he knows, knows without any doubt, that Patrick loves him - beyond the bond but into the hours and hours talking on buses and parking lots and laughing back stage. It's the most terrifying thing he's ever experienced.

When they break apart, Patrick pulls back and smiles at him. "Just so you know," he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Take your time okay? I'm not going anywhere. Well, back to the tour but you know what I mean."

"Yeah."

"Yeah," Patrick agrees. "See you soon okay? Get better and if you need me, you know I'm here, even if I'm not here."

Bob nods and watches him turn and walk out. He doesn't let himself call Patrick back because he does need time. He needs to think, to figure things out but holy shit, he really wants to.

They release him from the hospital the next day with the warning "not to talk anything until he can meet with a certified bond specialist" and bottle of prescription strength motrin. He's shocked by how much of a relief climbing on the bus is. He spends so much time wishing for a hotel night, for a chance to shower and sleep in a bed but now getting back on the road feels like the answer to all his questions.

The drive out to the tour takes more the twenty-four hours. Bob mostly sits in the lounge and stares out the window at the country moving past them. He feels mostly back to normal and Frank slips into dom mode and pets his hair most of the way back until he's actually normal.

They get to the venue in time to play which Bob is grateful for. Gerard brings the house down and all of them are on top of their game with relief and elation to be back on stage. Bob manages to avoid Patrick because with the bond, he knows just how far away he is. Of course the bond also pulls him toward the Fall Out Boy bus, or the singing tables or wherever Patrick happens to be.

It's fine, it is, until Brian pulls him out of his bunk at six in the morning when the rest of the bus is asleep. They sit at the table in the lounge and Brian stares him down with this steady eyes of his until Bob snaps.

"What?""

"It's come to my attention that your dom isn't going to have this conversation with you. Patrick's too decent and is respecting some line or boundary between you too but you're not my sub you're my best friend so screw lines and boundaries." Brian actually points a finger. "You're being a fucking coward."

"Fuck you," Bob growls and god he wishes there was beer on this bus. He hates being in a sober band sometimes. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes," he chokes out through gritted teeth, "I do. I know better than anyone. I had Gerard dying on me, remember?" He raps his knuckles on the table. "Bob. Do you?"

"You know I do."

"Then you remember how I got to spend twenty-four hours, day in, day out, for months, feeling just how badly he wanted to end it, just how much he was hurting. I lived with the exact fear that's keeping you away from Patrick. Hell, Bert actually lost Kate. We're both still here so maybe, you should take another look at what you're doing because both of us are still standing and you know what asshole? We're better for it because at least we tried. You?" He waves a hand, "You're hiding from shadows you think are monsters."

"Yeah because Bert is doing so great."

"Bert is dealing. He's using more than he should and a lot of his choices lately are beyond stupid but he's dealing just like I'd deal if something happened to Gerard. Human beings are tough and you're the toughest bastard I know. So be the tough stubborn son of a bitch I know you are and pull your head out of your ass."

Bob glares and Brian glares back but he makes the first move towards piece by grabbing the coffee pot off the counter and pouring some into two plastic mugs that held soda the night before. He takes a sip grudgingly but nods. Brian is right, he's often most of the time, goddamn him, so why should that be different now?

"I'll think about it."

"You should."

It'd be easier to snap to a decision if Patrick weren't fucking…Patrick. If he weren't gentle and easy and calm and warm. If he pushed or tried to make Bob give in to the desire to knee he felt so deeply, then Bob would have a defense against him. As it stands, all Bob can do is play and sleep and listen to the music in his mind that has nothing to do with sound and everything to do Patrick.

On top of that, he's surrounded by bonded couples - newly formed and established. Mikey and Pete's bond is so sparklingly fresh that Bob can almost taste it in the air. They're so in sync, so fucking happy, even Mikey who's expression is always as immobile as the statues on Easter Island is smiling all the time. He can't ignore Gerard and Brian, the easy comfort in the way Brian hooks his thumb under Gerard's collar whenever they're close enough. Even Jamia and Frank when she comes out to join them on tour, their combative and playful balance is so achingly attainable. Patrick is there too, patient and hopeful and still the guy that Bob fell so hard for before the bond opened up only more now.

Warped makes it all the way back to the east coast before it gets to be too much for Bob. He's tired, has been for years and the only time it eases is when he's near Patrick. So, fuck it right? Fuck it.

"Fuck it," he says during sound check in Virginia and Ray turns to look at him.

"Fuck what?"

"Everything. Just, you guys got this?"

His tech nods and he tosses him his sticks because when Bob decides to do things, he just does it. He did it with the Xinitic, he did it with leaving school, he did it with join it with My Chem so he's not even that surprised with himself that he's going to do this now, so soon after making his decision. Although this time, he's fairly sure he's trying to act before he chickens out.

Following the bond, he finds Patrick in the PR section. He and Pete are doing a web interview for Fuse. They're talking about the new album that just dropped and the video which is playing on the station nonstop. Pete talks with his hands and talks about being newly bonded because everyone loves a good love story and Patrick talks about how great Pete's partner is and how happy he is for him. Despite the sincerity, Bob can feel how much of a strain every word is for him.

He waves at Patrick from behind the camera and while Patrick doesn't speak, the rush of joy and hope Bob feels lets him know that he understand. Bob heads outside, inbetween the tents and waits. Patrick finds him less than five minutes later. He looks up at Bob and shines that smile at him and for the first time, Bob feels like he's not making a mistake.

"What's up?" Patrick asks. His smile is forced but the hope is still there, fizzing between them. It's there every time their paths cross, like the ringing of a bell. It always goes quiet when Bob shies away or can't meet his eyes. This time, Bob holds out both his hands, palms up, wrists together. "Bob?"

"I thought about it," he says, "You and me and everything." Patrick says nothing. Bob wishes he would say something but no. That's not what he really needs here and more than that, it's not who Patrick is with him. "If we did do this, we wouldn't have to be the kind of couple who mindmelds into one person right?"

Patrick snorts. "Neither of us has the patience for that." Gently he reaches out and strokes one of Bob's wrists with his fingertips. "But yes. We can be anything we want, Bob. That'll be half the point- figuring out who we are together."

"I need it to be different," He says and his voice is shaking. "I need us to be different from that. I can't be part of one of those pairs where the dom makes all the choices and the sub does whatever they're told or where they lose themselves in each other. I need to be able to walk away, at least physically if not-" He waves a hand at his temple. "I can't."

"I wouldn't want you to. You cant leave your band more than I can leave mine so, yeah. Yeah, Bob. People do it all the time. Half the tour's got a bondmate they only get to spend two months a year with. All I want from you is the chance."

Bob lets out a long breath and holds his hands out farther. "Can you hold them for me while I go to my knees?"

"God. God, yes, Bob, of course." He wraps both of Bob's wrists in his fists, tight enough to hurt in the best fucking way. Bob lets his strength balance him as he sinks to his knees in the thin grass. Patrick is looking down on him like he's made of sex and chocolate and the best high any drug could produce and Bob can feel the emotion mirrored through the bond. It's what's always been missing from down for other people.

The sensation of his knees touching the ground is almost enough to fall into subspace. Bob fights the warm water feeling of sinking into Patrick's control because he needs to be completely in control to do this. He's spent so much time fighting this with all of him that if he's going to let it go, give it up, then he needs to use all of himself for that too.

"Ask me," he says, spreading his fingers so his hands are open in supplication. "Ask me again about acknowledgement."

"Okay," Patrick says with a nod. "Right, okay. I didn't think-" He breaks off with a laugh. "Do you know how beautiful you are like that? Do you have any idea? God, yeah, so, hang on."

Bob listens to Patrick take a few deep breathes and relaxes. It's comforting, to know that this is just as huge, just as overwhelming for Patrick. They've somehow stumbled onto equal footing, despite everything. So he waits, comfortable at Patrick's feet until Patrick speaks again.

"Robert Bryar, will you do me the honor of acknowledging me as your soulmate?" Patrick says, with the perfect precision that hints maybe he's been practicing since that day in the hospital, when Bob went to his knees the first time.

That doesn't stop Bob from being utterly terrified, scared of the things he could have almost as much as what this could lose him. He wants to say yes. He's going to say yes and that certainty, combined with the soothing lovelovehappinesshopelove pouring in from Patrick cements his resolve. "I accept the gift of our bond and acknowledge you as my soulmate." He says, shocking himself that he doesn’t trip over a single word in the ritual response.

It's not magic. It's not like something shifts on a global scale. Something, though, deep inside of Bob clicks like a lock flipping into place. He sags in Patrick's grip, hanging limp with his wrists the only thing keeping him from pooling in the dirt. It's okay though. Patrick's not going to let him fall.

"Have you got a safe word?" Patrick chokes out, his fingers digging in now, hard. "Tell me what it is, please."

"Car," Bob sighs. "But I'm not saying it now."

"Car. Got it. I'm going to kiss you now and if you don't want me too, safeword out okay? Actually, safeword any time you need about anything. I'll respect it, I swear I just need to be kissing you."

Bob nods but says nothing. He wants Patrick to kiss him like he did before only without all that pain and disappointment. He gets it when he puts his hands on Bob's shoulders instead of his wrists and leans to kiss him so that Bob can stay there, down on his knees, where he fucking belongs.

Patrick takes his mouth, hot and hard and commanding until Bob is literally gasping. Then Patrick joins him on the ground, knees touching. He releases his grip on Bob long enough to yank off his hat then and bring his hands around to massage on Bob's soul's home. The pressure on the back of his skull alone is enough to get him hard. He could probably come from that and kissing Patrick if they went on long enough.

They don't kiss more. Instead, they just sit there in the busy parking lot city but not a part of it, feeling each other. Bob moves his hands in request and when Patrick nods, he mirrors the touch to his dom's soul home.

His dom. His. Patrick is his dom.He's shuddering at the thought and Patrick nuzzles him, rubs his thumbs in circles over his soul bond and sends reassurance to him in a smooth stream.

All of it is so good and its been mere moments which makes it so much clearer, how his mom lost herself, how Brian reached that panicked point when he called a year ago. He could end up just like them because he knows now. He knows what he could lose and it's more than he could've imagined.

"We're going to figure this out," Patrick says, feeling his agitation. "Not right now but we will. We've just got to try."

"And I'm trying, Sir," he says, the honorific slipping through without thought. It makes Patrick moan and mental explosion of pleasure and approval are so intense they're almost intoxicating.

"That's all I need, Bob. Right now, I promise, that's the only thing we need."

"Yes sir," Bob murmurs, even though he can't quite believe it. He can see believing it as a possibility though.

So, that's probably all right, Bob thinks as Patrick kisses him again. He slides his arms around Bob's neck and back and Bob lets himself be pulled close and held up by Patrick's physical and mental dominance. The whole thing feels so good, feels so right, so much like home that when Patrick breaks the kiss again, Bob manages to rasp out "Me too. Love you. Too," and it's true.

It was true of the man on the other side of the bond he never met and it was true of Patrick - the guy he fell for on tour and he sends that feeling with the words. It makes Patrick smile even wider, the kind of light that could choke a black hole. . The fact they're the same person, that he's managed to come this far and gets that smile considering how much farther he has to go feels like a good thing for the first time. So maybe, Bob thinks, maybe it all really will be okay.

(end)