Reinventing the Wheel To Run Myself Over
Title: Reinventing the Wheel to Run Myself Over
Bandom: Fall Out Boy
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Rating: PG
Summary: Suddenly, I heard the squealing of tires and the harsh seizing up of brakes. I complete froze, breath catching in my throat, stomach dropping, and heart clenching painfully. Oh, God, Pete...
Word Count: 1,633
Patrick's P.O.V.
We were home in Chicago, though only for a week. One thing I definitely didn't miss about our hometown was the harsh, cold winters. I was bundled up in my heaviest coat, a scarf wrapped around my neck, and a hat pulled low on my head. Well, the hat was a given, but usually I shied away from too many layers. Pete, however, being the insane person he was, was dressed in nothing but tight girl jeans and a hoodie. Granted, it was thermal and lined in faux-fur, but just looking at him made me colder.
"Peter," I whined, "Its cold, I wanna go back inside."
Pete rolled his eyes. "Just wait a minute, Hemingway hasn't gone potty yet."
"Pete, maybe Hemingway doesn't need to go potty right now."
"Yes, he does." Pete answered stubbornly. "He was scratching at the door."
I sighed heavily, but gave up. In truth, I found the way Pete treated his dog like a child completely adorable. Usually. You know, when it wasn't below freezing outside.
Hemingway suddenly let out a bark and took off at a run. Pete, completely unprepared, was yanked hard and lost his footing. He fell hard to the ground, a cry escaping his lips as his still slightly injured back hit the unyielding cement. Hemingway's leash pulled free of Pete's hand.
Pete's head snapped up and his eyes widened. "Hemingway!" he yelled after the puppy, fear clear in his voice.
I'd dropped to Pete's side and I tried to help him stand, but he just brushed me aside, clambering to his feet and taking off after his dog.
"Pete!" I yelled, trying to catch up with him. Okay, three things. One, I'm short. I have short legs that in no way make me in any way fast. Two, I'm not in the best shape ever. I'm pudgy and not really use to running for long distances. The closest I come to physical exercise is onstage and during sex. That's it. Three, Pete, however, is in top physical shape, minus the back problem, and I wasn't stupid enough to think Pete was going to let his back stand in the way of him catching his dog. So catching up with Pete wasn't exactly likely.
I puffed along, going as fast as I could manage. Pete was way ahead of me and getting further. He turned suddenly and was lost from my view. I pushed myself a little harder, having a sudden flashback of filming Bedussy and remembering we'd promised Bedussy would return. Ha. After this, no more running. Ever.
Suddenly, I heard the squealing of tires and the harsh seizing up of brakes. I complete froze, breath catching in my throat, stomach dropping, and heart clenching painfully. Oh, God, Pete...
I ran around the corner Pete had disappeared around. I let out a sigh of relief. Pete was standing, completely still, on the sidewalk. He was okay.
My eyes traveled over to the flashy sports car... Then down to the still animal laying in the road in front of it.
Oh, God.
I stepped slowly up to Pete and slipped my arms around him. "Petey..."
"Hemingway?" Pete breathed, eyes filling with tears. "Hemingway?" he repeated, a little louder. I hugged him a little closer. I already knew Hemingway was gone.
"Hemingway?"
"He's gone, baby." I whispered.
"NO!" Pete shouted, pulling away from me and falling to his knees by his beloved dog. "No." he whimpered.
I felt my own tears sting my eyes. Pete laid down in the cold road and gently stroked Hemingway's muzzle.
"Peterpanda..."
Pete shook his head and pushed his face into Hemingway's wrinkly skin. His shoulders shook as he sobbed.
I sank down beside him. I was willing to do a lot more for Pete than lie in a road. I wrapped an arm around him and pressed kisses to the back of his neck. I didn't think there was much else I could do.
Gradually his sobs subsided, though he still clutched at his puppy's still body. I sighed and stood up. I offered him my hand and he took it, placing a kiss on Hemingway's muzzle before he allowed me to pull him up.
I wrapped him in my arms again and dug my hand into his hoodie pocket, searching for his cell phone. Finding it, I quickly dialed Joe's number, still holding on to Pete tightly with one arm.
When Joe answered, I just gave him the street name, asking him to come. He seemed confused, but didn't ask many questions, which I was thankful for. I held Pete until Joe arrived.
Joe looked down at Hemingway's still form. He hugged Pete as well, offering silent comfort. Pete allowed the hug for a short while before pulling away.
"Please... Can-Can we just burry him?" Pete whispered, voice cracking a bit.
Biting my lip, I just nodded. Joe picked Hemingway up and placed him in the backseat of the car. I was happy there wasn't any blood. I don't think Pete would've been able to take it. Pete curled up in the backseat of the car, stroking Hemingway's short fur and whispering soft, unimportant things I couldn't make out from where I sat in the passenger seat. I watched Pete with concern the entire ride to his parent's house. As he drove, Joe called Andy, asking him to come over as well.
Andy arrived minutes after we did. He gave Pete a quick hug before he picked up a shovel and joined Joe and I in digging Hemingway's grave amongst Pete's mother's bushes. She'd come out and was now sitting with Pete, whispering soft things to him and stroking his hair, comforting him in a way only a mother could.
Pete carried Hemingway to his grave, he wouldn't allow anyone else to. He took a shovel and began covering the dog, glaring at Andy, Joe, and I when we tried to help. We stood by helplessly as Pete covered his puppy, tears streaming down his face.
My heart broke. When he'd finished, Pete dropped the shovel and fell to his knees, raking his fingers through the cold dirt. I kneeled next to him, holding him close as sobs raked his body once more.
"Trick, it hurts. Bring him back." Pete pleaded, wrapping his arms around my waist. I shut my eyes against the tears threatening to fall.
"I wish I could, baby. I'm so sorry."
Pete whimpered and cuddled closer. "Why Hemingway? He was just a puppy. He was my puppy... Didn't I love him enough? Why'd I have to lose him?"
I stroked Pete's hair gently, wishing desperately that I could take away his pain.
"You loved him more than enough, Peterpanda. Maybe that's why he could go... Because he'd already been loved more than most dogs ever are."
"He was more than my dog, Patrick."
"I know."
He really had been. He'd been as close to a child as Pete would ever get, and he'd been lost. I couldn't imagine how badly Pete's heart was breaking.
I kissed Pete's forehead and gently helped him stand. I lead him past his mother and Andy and Joe, up into his room. I coaxed him onto the bed, laying him out flat. I took off his shoes and socks, toeing mine off as well, before joining him on the bed.
I wrapped an arm around Pete's waist and kissed his cheek before placing my head on his shoulder and whispering into his ear, "Let it all out, Petey. I'll be here. I won't leave you. It's okay to hurt."
Pete cried for days, and I never left his side. His mother carried food in for us, but not much was eaten. Eventually, his tears stopped. It took months before the pain had completely left his eyes.
We stood outside the little building, his hand tightly gripping mine.
"Are you sure about this, baby?"
He nodded. "Yeah. You were right... Hemingway was loved more than most dogs ever are... I-I think maybe its time I loved another dog."
We entered the kennel and Pete walked silently up and down the isles. He stopped before a little cage with a tiny little puppy inside, a St. Bernard by the looks of him. The lady working walked up to us.
"Poor little thing... He's due to be put down tomorrow."
Pete looked horrified. "No... No, I'll take him."
She looked surprised. "Are you sure?"
"How old is he?"
"About nine weeks. He was born here in the kennel, a litter of six. All the others, and the mother, have been adopted, but nobody wants him."
"I do."
I reclaimed Pete's hand. "We'll take him."
The lady opened the cage and Pete gently picked up the puppy. "Let's get you home, pup."
The puppy licked at Pete's chin and Pete smiled. I watched him, happily paying the lady for the little dog. We left the building and I opened the car door for Pete, allowing him to slip inside. I walked around and climbed into the driver's seat.
Pete looked up at me. "You know what? I think this is what Hemmingway would want..."
"I'm sure it is, baby."
I kissed Pete softly before starting the car and pulling out of the driveway, headed home. Pete climbed out and set the puppy down by a stone Pete had bought not long ago.
"Listen here, little guy. This is where Hemingway lies. You can pee where ever you want but here, okay?"
I shook my head as the puppy licked Pete's chin again, which Pete took as a 'yes'. Pete took the little dog inside and I went to follow, casting one last look at the rock lying in amongst the garden, smiling at the words.
HEMINGWAY: ALWAYS LOVED AND TAKEN FAR TOO SOON
The End
Author's Notes: Okay, so this wasn't my best. I wrote this the day I lost my kitten, Mikey (named after Mikey Way because for some reason she really reminded me of him). She's the calico in the picture, the other is Oz (who has also, sadly, passed away since writing this).
Bandom: Fall Out Boy
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Rating: PG
Summary: Suddenly, I heard the squealing of tires and the harsh seizing up of brakes. I complete froze, breath catching in my throat, stomach dropping, and heart clenching painfully. Oh, God, Pete...
Word Count: 1,633
Patrick's P.O.V.
We were home in Chicago, though only for a week. One thing I definitely didn't miss about our hometown was the harsh, cold winters. I was bundled up in my heaviest coat, a scarf wrapped around my neck, and a hat pulled low on my head. Well, the hat was a given, but usually I shied away from too many layers. Pete, however, being the insane person he was, was dressed in nothing but tight girl jeans and a hoodie. Granted, it was thermal and lined in faux-fur, but just looking at him made me colder.
"Peter," I whined, "Its cold, I wanna go back inside."
Pete rolled his eyes. "Just wait a minute, Hemingway hasn't gone potty yet."
"Pete, maybe Hemingway doesn't need to go potty right now."
"Yes, he does." Pete answered stubbornly. "He was scratching at the door."
I sighed heavily, but gave up. In truth, I found the way Pete treated his dog like a child completely adorable. Usually. You know, when it wasn't below freezing outside.
Hemingway suddenly let out a bark and took off at a run. Pete, completely unprepared, was yanked hard and lost his footing. He fell hard to the ground, a cry escaping his lips as his still slightly injured back hit the unyielding cement. Hemingway's leash pulled free of Pete's hand.
Pete's head snapped up and his eyes widened. "Hemingway!" he yelled after the puppy, fear clear in his voice.
I'd dropped to Pete's side and I tried to help him stand, but he just brushed me aside, clambering to his feet and taking off after his dog.
"Pete!" I yelled, trying to catch up with him. Okay, three things. One, I'm short. I have short legs that in no way make me in any way fast. Two, I'm not in the best shape ever. I'm pudgy and not really use to running for long distances. The closest I come to physical exercise is onstage and during sex. That's it. Three, Pete, however, is in top physical shape, minus the back problem, and I wasn't stupid enough to think Pete was going to let his back stand in the way of him catching his dog. So catching up with Pete wasn't exactly likely.
I puffed along, going as fast as I could manage. Pete was way ahead of me and getting further. He turned suddenly and was lost from my view. I pushed myself a little harder, having a sudden flashback of filming Bedussy and remembering we'd promised Bedussy would return. Ha. After this, no more running. Ever.
Suddenly, I heard the squealing of tires and the harsh seizing up of brakes. I complete froze, breath catching in my throat, stomach dropping, and heart clenching painfully. Oh, God, Pete...
I ran around the corner Pete had disappeared around. I let out a sigh of relief. Pete was standing, completely still, on the sidewalk. He was okay.
My eyes traveled over to the flashy sports car... Then down to the still animal laying in the road in front of it.
Oh, God.
I stepped slowly up to Pete and slipped my arms around him. "Petey..."
"Hemingway?" Pete breathed, eyes filling with tears. "Hemingway?" he repeated, a little louder. I hugged him a little closer. I already knew Hemingway was gone.
"Hemingway?"
"He's gone, baby." I whispered.
"NO!" Pete shouted, pulling away from me and falling to his knees by his beloved dog. "No." he whimpered.
I felt my own tears sting my eyes. Pete laid down in the cold road and gently stroked Hemingway's muzzle.
"Peterpanda..."
Pete shook his head and pushed his face into Hemingway's wrinkly skin. His shoulders shook as he sobbed.
I sank down beside him. I was willing to do a lot more for Pete than lie in a road. I wrapped an arm around him and pressed kisses to the back of his neck. I didn't think there was much else I could do.
Gradually his sobs subsided, though he still clutched at his puppy's still body. I sighed and stood up. I offered him my hand and he took it, placing a kiss on Hemingway's muzzle before he allowed me to pull him up.
I wrapped him in my arms again and dug my hand into his hoodie pocket, searching for his cell phone. Finding it, I quickly dialed Joe's number, still holding on to Pete tightly with one arm.
When Joe answered, I just gave him the street name, asking him to come. He seemed confused, but didn't ask many questions, which I was thankful for. I held Pete until Joe arrived.
Joe looked down at Hemingway's still form. He hugged Pete as well, offering silent comfort. Pete allowed the hug for a short while before pulling away.
"Please... Can-Can we just burry him?" Pete whispered, voice cracking a bit.
Biting my lip, I just nodded. Joe picked Hemingway up and placed him in the backseat of the car. I was happy there wasn't any blood. I don't think Pete would've been able to take it. Pete curled up in the backseat of the car, stroking Hemingway's short fur and whispering soft, unimportant things I couldn't make out from where I sat in the passenger seat. I watched Pete with concern the entire ride to his parent's house. As he drove, Joe called Andy, asking him to come over as well.
Andy arrived minutes after we did. He gave Pete a quick hug before he picked up a shovel and joined Joe and I in digging Hemingway's grave amongst Pete's mother's bushes. She'd come out and was now sitting with Pete, whispering soft things to him and stroking his hair, comforting him in a way only a mother could.
Pete carried Hemingway to his grave, he wouldn't allow anyone else to. He took a shovel and began covering the dog, glaring at Andy, Joe, and I when we tried to help. We stood by helplessly as Pete covered his puppy, tears streaming down his face.
My heart broke. When he'd finished, Pete dropped the shovel and fell to his knees, raking his fingers through the cold dirt. I kneeled next to him, holding him close as sobs raked his body once more.
"Trick, it hurts. Bring him back." Pete pleaded, wrapping his arms around my waist. I shut my eyes against the tears threatening to fall.
"I wish I could, baby. I'm so sorry."
Pete whimpered and cuddled closer. "Why Hemingway? He was just a puppy. He was my puppy... Didn't I love him enough? Why'd I have to lose him?"
I stroked Pete's hair gently, wishing desperately that I could take away his pain.
"You loved him more than enough, Peterpanda. Maybe that's why he could go... Because he'd already been loved more than most dogs ever are."
"He was more than my dog, Patrick."
"I know."
He really had been. He'd been as close to a child as Pete would ever get, and he'd been lost. I couldn't imagine how badly Pete's heart was breaking.
I kissed Pete's forehead and gently helped him stand. I lead him past his mother and Andy and Joe, up into his room. I coaxed him onto the bed, laying him out flat. I took off his shoes and socks, toeing mine off as well, before joining him on the bed.
I wrapped an arm around Pete's waist and kissed his cheek before placing my head on his shoulder and whispering into his ear, "Let it all out, Petey. I'll be here. I won't leave you. It's okay to hurt."
Pete cried for days, and I never left his side. His mother carried food in for us, but not much was eaten. Eventually, his tears stopped. It took months before the pain had completely left his eyes.
We stood outside the little building, his hand tightly gripping mine.
"Are you sure about this, baby?"
He nodded. "Yeah. You were right... Hemingway was loved more than most dogs ever are... I-I think maybe its time I loved another dog."
We entered the kennel and Pete walked silently up and down the isles. He stopped before a little cage with a tiny little puppy inside, a St. Bernard by the looks of him. The lady working walked up to us.
"Poor little thing... He's due to be put down tomorrow."
Pete looked horrified. "No... No, I'll take him."
She looked surprised. "Are you sure?"
"How old is he?"
"About nine weeks. He was born here in the kennel, a litter of six. All the others, and the mother, have been adopted, but nobody wants him."
"I do."
I reclaimed Pete's hand. "We'll take him."
The lady opened the cage and Pete gently picked up the puppy. "Let's get you home, pup."
The puppy licked at Pete's chin and Pete smiled. I watched him, happily paying the lady for the little dog. We left the building and I opened the car door for Pete, allowing him to slip inside. I walked around and climbed into the driver's seat.
Pete looked up at me. "You know what? I think this is what Hemmingway would want..."
"I'm sure it is, baby."
I kissed Pete softly before starting the car and pulling out of the driveway, headed home. Pete climbed out and set the puppy down by a stone Pete had bought not long ago.
"Listen here, little guy. This is where Hemingway lies. You can pee where ever you want but here, okay?"
I shook my head as the puppy licked Pete's chin again, which Pete took as a 'yes'. Pete took the little dog inside and I went to follow, casting one last look at the rock lying in amongst the garden, smiling at the words.
HEMINGWAY: ALWAYS LOVED AND TAKEN FAR TOO SOON
The End
Author's Notes: Okay, so this wasn't my best. I wrote this the day I lost my kitten, Mikey (named after Mikey Way because for some reason she really reminded me of him). She's the calico in the picture, the other is Oz (who has also, sadly, passed away since writing this).