Also I am in bandom, guys
This is a quick apocalypse!fic, where basically Fall Out Boy freaks out and then the world explodes. With a side of Pete/Patrick.
There was fire in the sky.
Patrick grudgingly admitted that, yeah, they should probably cancel the gig and get the hell out of... wherever. If he'd ever considered how the world would end, it hadn't involved some nameless, random stop on a tour.
Everyone packed up and got ready to ship out, because... that's what you did, when you were going anywhere. Pack the equipment, check it was strapped down, pile onto the bus.
(Andy stood outside and didn't move. He squinted up at a sky that was brighter than the sun could manage, and his fingers ran over the lines on his skin, and he told himself the story of his life very quietly and calmly.)
Joe dicked around, made his favorite guitar scream, played her slow and soft and vicious and brutal until a string snapped. And then he picked out the songs slower, improvising with five strings instead of six. It was cool - Patrick kept extras in the cupboard with the sticky note that said, "Gourmet, nutritious food only." He should consider his stash dipped-into.
This is what Pete did: Pete stopped. He wouldn't look at anyone or talk, he just watched the asphalt under his shoes and let Patrick lead him around by the hand. Once they all got on the bus, after picking Andy up and dragging him inside, Pete wrapped himself in Patrick and kept his back to the window.
Patrick mostly held Pete's hand to keep him out of everyone's way, and helped search for the people who went missing or ran away. He waited through Pete's freak-out because it would be his turn in a little while.
And wasn't that the story of his life. (The part worth telling, at least.)
Pete totally didn't cry at all. But he wiped his nose and grinned at Patrick. "Dude, of fucking course, right when everything's working out."
Patrick doesn't breathe for a second, because that's so. Not okay. Patrick can't think about Pete's (finally) happy life with Ashlee and, oh fuck, Bronx. Patrick was being the steadfast one right now.
The fire made everything too hot.
Pete, getting into the swing of things, just went on with the breakdown blues: "You know, when I held that little... I could feel, like, a road under my feet, and how long it was. Hundred plus years, easy. This giant thing that I'd created, that... And I knew I couldn't screw it up, okay? It just wasn't possible, because I wasn't getting, like, fuckin' reverse deja vu. Raising. Raising him. But."
Andy was crouched up front, right behind Driver Dan, trying to reach around to his backpiece, hand shaking because he couldn't trace it from memory. Joe said, "Fuck, the fridge crapped out again. Fucking warm Coca Cola, oh the glamorous life I lead."
Pete said, "But my son, shit. He could've been anything. A lifetime's full of possibility." He touched the brim of Patrick's hat and said, "My whole life, nothing's made as much sense as you, Patrick, Patrick. Okay?"
Patrick lowered his chin and glared over the top of his glasses at the guy huddled in his lap. "Not even if you were the last man on Earth, Pete."
Pete cried, and it sounded a lot like laughter.
Joe said, "I'm jacking this G string, Pat. I broke mine," and then giggled.
Pete said, "Not really, though, right?"
"Not really," Patrick promised.
And then the sky started to scream as Andy yelled about whatever he saw up there.
Joe said, "Oh, God dammit. Of course Pete Wentz has to get to second base at a time like this."
(and then)
There was fire in the sky.
Patrick grudgingly admitted that, yeah, they should probably cancel the gig and get the hell out of... wherever. If he'd ever considered how the world would end, it hadn't involved some nameless, random stop on a tour.
Everyone packed up and got ready to ship out, because... that's what you did, when you were going anywhere. Pack the equipment, check it was strapped down, pile onto the bus.
(Andy stood outside and didn't move. He squinted up at a sky that was brighter than the sun could manage, and his fingers ran over the lines on his skin, and he told himself the story of his life very quietly and calmly.)
Joe dicked around, made his favorite guitar scream, played her slow and soft and vicious and brutal until a string snapped. And then he picked out the songs slower, improvising with five strings instead of six. It was cool - Patrick kept extras in the cupboard with the sticky note that said, "Gourmet, nutritious food only." He should consider his stash dipped-into.
This is what Pete did: Pete stopped. He wouldn't look at anyone or talk, he just watched the asphalt under his shoes and let Patrick lead him around by the hand. Once they all got on the bus, after picking Andy up and dragging him inside, Pete wrapped himself in Patrick and kept his back to the window.
Patrick mostly held Pete's hand to keep him out of everyone's way, and helped search for the people who went missing or ran away. He waited through Pete's freak-out because it would be his turn in a little while.
And wasn't that the story of his life. (The part worth telling, at least.)
Pete totally didn't cry at all. But he wiped his nose and grinned at Patrick. "Dude, of fucking course, right when everything's working out."
Patrick doesn't breathe for a second, because that's so. Not okay. Patrick can't think about Pete's (finally) happy life with Ashlee and, oh fuck, Bronx. Patrick was being the steadfast one right now.
The fire made everything too hot.
Pete, getting into the swing of things, just went on with the breakdown blues: "You know, when I held that little... I could feel, like, a road under my feet, and how long it was. Hundred plus years, easy. This giant thing that I'd created, that... And I knew I couldn't screw it up, okay? It just wasn't possible, because I wasn't getting, like, fuckin' reverse deja vu. Raising. Raising him. But."
Andy was crouched up front, right behind Driver Dan, trying to reach around to his backpiece, hand shaking because he couldn't trace it from memory. Joe said, "Fuck, the fridge crapped out again. Fucking warm Coca Cola, oh the glamorous life I lead."
Pete said, "But my son, shit. He could've been anything. A lifetime's full of possibility." He touched the brim of Patrick's hat and said, "My whole life, nothing's made as much sense as you, Patrick, Patrick. Okay?"
Patrick lowered his chin and glared over the top of his glasses at the guy huddled in his lap. "Not even if you were the last man on Earth, Pete."
Pete cried, and it sounded a lot like laughter.
Joe said, "I'm jacking this G string, Pat. I broke mine," and then giggled.
Pete said, "Not really, though, right?"
"Not really," Patrick promised.
And then the sky started to scream as Andy yelled about whatever he saw up there.
Joe said, "Oh, God dammit. Of course Pete Wentz has to get to second base at a time like this."
(and then)