BS: P/P (GEN): PG13: Fixing It
Title: Fixing It
Author: Gibson_fic
Fandom: Bandslash, Fall Out Boy
Characters/Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Rating: PG-13 for language and situations
Word Count: 759
Disclaimer: This is a fictional story about characters based, in part, on the images and histories of real people. If that bothers you and/or you are one of those people, you probably don't want to read this. No harm is intended; no profit is being made.
Summary: "Patrick didn't see him before they left. He tells people they didn't have time, that he didn't know, and they didn't, he didn't, not really, but he'd known something was wrong."
Author's Notes: This is for reni_days, again, who asked me a long time ago to "fix it." Here's one attempt.
This is unbetad. All mistakes are my own. I appreciate comments of all kinds, including critical.
Patrick didn't see him before they left. He tells people they didn't have time, that he didn't know, and they didn't, he didn't, not really, but he'd known something was wrong.
By the time Bob had told them they were on an entirely different continent, and he's pretty sure that was on purpose--he'd been pissed enough to finish what Pete had, intentionally or not, started.
But by the time they made it back he was fairly sure he could look at Pete without doing him grievous bodily harm. Andy was still questionable--he took it personally that Pete hadn't talked to him, hadn't told him something was up. Joe was mostly okay though he...What the hell was he saying? They were all pissed and scared and worried and the only difference between them right now was which parts were winning. Patrick had settled into angry with a good leavening of worry and fear--enough to make his anger somewhat productive and to ensure he wouldn't do violence. He was pretty sure. That's all they could ask of him right now.
By the time they finished the tour and made it home, he knew he was going to have to talk to Pete, but he wasn't ready yet. So he didn't go to the hospital; he let Andy and Joe go, let them give him updates on Pete's condition, let them make their peace with him. And, instead, he sorted some shit out in his own head.
He called Dale before he did go, made sure they'd be alone, and then he went to the hospital and saw Pete. Pete, whose eyes were too dark and whose body was too still.
Patrick knew, because Joe had told him, that they were sedating Pete, forcing him to sleep. Knowing didn't prepare him for the way Pete's body seemed almost lazy, as though it was moving through some invisible cotton batting to respond to his commands. But he was conscious, as alert as he could be and Patrick knew, from the flash in his eyes, that he knew Patrick was there, that he would remember this.
"Patrick. Nice of you drop by. Would you like something to drink?" His words were just a beat off, his cadence slightly altered. Patrick didn't know whether that was because of what they were doing to him or what he had done to himself.
"Don't Pete. Don't try to be cute with me."
"Can't. You don't think I'm cute Patrick, how could I be cute with you?" This was said with a smirk and this was why Patrick had waited. He'd known that Pete would make this as hard as possible. That forgiveness was the least of the things he was looking for right now, at least from Patrick. Which was okay with Patrick because forgiveness was the least of what he was offering.
He ignored what Pete had said and instead began what he'd come to say.
"You don't get to do this Pete. You don't get to set all the rules and you don't get to quit. Either you're my best friend or you're not, but you don't get to fucking kill yourself, whether you're trying to or not, without talking to me first."
"Well I'm sorry I didn't get your fucking permission."
"You know what I mean Pete. Either we're doing this or we're not. You've got to trust I'm here, and I've got to trust you will be. If you aren't, then I can't be."
Pete just looked at him, small in the hospital bed, his skin made sallow by the lights.
"It's not working. They're not working. I can't get them out. Can't get anything out."
"Then we'll fix them together. But I'm never going on another tour like that one. Either you're in or I'm out."
Pete looked at him again, nodded, "I'm sorry."
"I don't care about sorry. I care about the fact that my best fucking friend tried to kill himself, whether he'll admit it or not, and that he didn't fucking think he could talk to me first." Patrick's voice broke and he didn't know if it was the anger or grief that did it.
"I am sorry. Really. I wasn't thinking, couldn't think. That was the problem."
Patrick sat in the chair next to the bed. "Then talk to me you fucking asshole, that's what I'm here for. Dick."
Pete laughed, the sound too bright for the muted room. For the first time in months Patrick felt like he could breathe again.
"Yeah. Okay."
Fin.
Author: Gibson_fic
Fandom: Bandslash, Fall Out Boy
Characters/Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Rating: PG-13 for language and situations
Word Count: 759
Disclaimer: This is a fictional story about characters based, in part, on the images and histories of real people. If that bothers you and/or you are one of those people, you probably don't want to read this. No harm is intended; no profit is being made.
Summary: "Patrick didn't see him before they left. He tells people they didn't have time, that he didn't know, and they didn't, he didn't, not really, but he'd known something was wrong."
Author's Notes: This is for reni_days, again, who asked me a long time ago to "fix it." Here's one attempt.
This is unbetad. All mistakes are my own. I appreciate comments of all kinds, including critical.
Patrick didn't see him before they left. He tells people they didn't have time, that he didn't know, and they didn't, he didn't, not really, but he'd known something was wrong.
By the time Bob had told them they were on an entirely different continent, and he's pretty sure that was on purpose--he'd been pissed enough to finish what Pete had, intentionally or not, started.
But by the time they made it back he was fairly sure he could look at Pete without doing him grievous bodily harm. Andy was still questionable--he took it personally that Pete hadn't talked to him, hadn't told him something was up. Joe was mostly okay though he...What the hell was he saying? They were all pissed and scared and worried and the only difference between them right now was which parts were winning. Patrick had settled into angry with a good leavening of worry and fear--enough to make his anger somewhat productive and to ensure he wouldn't do violence. He was pretty sure. That's all they could ask of him right now.
By the time they finished the tour and made it home, he knew he was going to have to talk to Pete, but he wasn't ready yet. So he didn't go to the hospital; he let Andy and Joe go, let them give him updates on Pete's condition, let them make their peace with him. And, instead, he sorted some shit out in his own head.
He called Dale before he did go, made sure they'd be alone, and then he went to the hospital and saw Pete. Pete, whose eyes were too dark and whose body was too still.
Patrick knew, because Joe had told him, that they were sedating Pete, forcing him to sleep. Knowing didn't prepare him for the way Pete's body seemed almost lazy, as though it was moving through some invisible cotton batting to respond to his commands. But he was conscious, as alert as he could be and Patrick knew, from the flash in his eyes, that he knew Patrick was there, that he would remember this.
"Patrick. Nice of you drop by. Would you like something to drink?" His words were just a beat off, his cadence slightly altered. Patrick didn't know whether that was because of what they were doing to him or what he had done to himself.
"Don't Pete. Don't try to be cute with me."
"Can't. You don't think I'm cute Patrick, how could I be cute with you?" This was said with a smirk and this was why Patrick had waited. He'd known that Pete would make this as hard as possible. That forgiveness was the least of the things he was looking for right now, at least from Patrick. Which was okay with Patrick because forgiveness was the least of what he was offering.
He ignored what Pete had said and instead began what he'd come to say.
"You don't get to do this Pete. You don't get to set all the rules and you don't get to quit. Either you're my best friend or you're not, but you don't get to fucking kill yourself, whether you're trying to or not, without talking to me first."
"Well I'm sorry I didn't get your fucking permission."
"You know what I mean Pete. Either we're doing this or we're not. You've got to trust I'm here, and I've got to trust you will be. If you aren't, then I can't be."
Pete just looked at him, small in the hospital bed, his skin made sallow by the lights.
"It's not working. They're not working. I can't get them out. Can't get anything out."
"Then we'll fix them together. But I'm never going on another tour like that one. Either you're in or I'm out."
Pete looked at him again, nodded, "I'm sorry."
"I don't care about sorry. I care about the fact that my best fucking friend tried to kill himself, whether he'll admit it or not, and that he didn't fucking think he could talk to me first." Patrick's voice broke and he didn't know if it was the anger or grief that did it.
"I am sorry. Really. I wasn't thinking, couldn't think. That was the problem."
Patrick sat in the chair next to the bed. "Then talk to me you fucking asshole, that's what I'm here for. Dick."
Pete laughed, the sound too bright for the muted room. For the first time in months Patrick felt like he could breathe again.
"Yeah. Okay."
Fin.