A Friend In Need
[archiving. don't mind me.]
Title: A Friend In Need
Author: languisity
Rating: R
Fandom/Pairing: FOB, Gen.
Summary: We've all done it, joked about Patrick and his hats and possible interventions. So, here's some crack!fic in the spirit of recognizing that as cute as it is, PStump probably really does have a problem....
Disclaimer: Not true, don't sue.
A/N: She encourages me. Also, there's a gratuitous Saved By The Bell reference. If you don't get it, no sweat. If you do, you're as much of a geek as I am.
"Look, Pete. No. You can have one of your stupid fucking little obsessive psycho trips about something else, ok? But this? No," Patrick growled. It would have been much more threatening if it weren't for the fact that Patrick was quite literally cornered, knees to his chest, semi-circled by a ring of hats in a nearly innumerable assortment of styles and colors.
Pete took a step forward. Andy and Joe didn't.
Patrick clutched a trucker hat with "Get 'Er Done" printed across it closer to his chest, and ok, so maybe the bat in Patrick's other hand made him a little more threatening than anticipated. Pete took another step and crouched down in front of him, hands held out palm up.
"'Trick, I... we," Pete amended, glancing back quickly at Joe and Andy. "We think you have a problem. And... and I should know from problems, right?"
"No shit," Joe mumbled. Then, "Ow, fuck you, Andy. We're here for support. I was just agreeing with Pete."
"You were just being a dumbass."
"I know it can be difficult," Pete says, speaking over the others, voice reasonable. "But this... it's a problem, all right? It's a problem that you need to own up to and move on from before it destroys you."
Patrick's eyes were wide, spooked, but his mouth was set in a stubborn line. "How much shit are you on? Seriously, they're hats." He clutched his bat a little tighter, raising it a little higher.
"Patrick." Pete frowned, shuffling forward slightly.
"Stay away from us!" Patrick flinched visibly, face turning a shade pinker when Pete quirked an eyebrow. "I mean.. me. Stay away from me! Fucker."
"You have a problem," Pete said again, voice firm, inching closer still.
"I have a problem...?" Patrick asked softly, voice pitched a little too high, verging on hysterical. "I have a problem? You.. you have stuff. You use those fucking pharmacutical handbook things, the ones that only doctors are supposed to get their hands on, as a drug menu, Pete."
Ow. So, maybe that hurt a little. To his credit, Pete didn't flinch, but his eyes narrowed slightly.
"And him!" Patrick went on, nodding sharply at Joe who had somehow ended up sitting on the floor, leaning heavily against Andy's legs. "Joe's probably high right now. Where's his fucking Saved By the Bell intervention? Huh?!"
Joe just blinked back lazily, a slow dolphin-like grin spreading across his face at the mention of his name. "I'm soooo excited. I'm sooooooooooo excited."
Andy spared a moment in giving Patrick his Most Sympathetic look to turn his Most Disapproving one on Joe.
"You too," Patrick said, voice low, eyes narrowing at Andy. "You. I..." He floundered, brow creasing. "I don't know what the fuck is wrong with you, but there's probably something. And even if there isn't, there will be, so take some fucking preventative measures with whatever therapist Pete's blowing off, and leave me the fuck out of it."
There was a small sound from the hunched, huddle of pastel hoodie that was supposed to be Pete. When Patrick looked at him, Pete's face was blank, but he thought his eyes might have been a little shinier than usual.
"'Trick." The nickname sounded sad, cracked and worn, coming from Pete, and Patrick felt a small ache settle in his chest. "We just... we want to help."
Patrick swallowed another ache that had settled in his throat. He blinked, looking down at the hats around him, then at Pete, glancing behind him after a moment to skim his gaze over Andy and Joe and back to the hats again.
"Because I... I have a problem." Patrick did. He could feel it, now. He had a problem and all his bandmates-- his friends-- wanted was to help. "I. Yeah. I have a problem." He went limp, hat and bat slipping in his grasp, body unfolding slightly. "You want to help. I need help and you--"
"We want to give it to you," Pete finished for him. Patrick snuffled when Pete scooted foward on his knees, slipping the bat and hat away from him, and pulled him into a tight hug. Patrick wasn't crying. Really. Just.. the fedora he had on was made of some weird polyester, velvet stuff and it was getting hot. So hot that his eyes were... sweating.
"Yeah."
"And we love you," Pete said, rubbing Patrick's back in small circles when he started to hiccup.
"We love you," Andy echoed, inclining his head slightly, and smiled softly.
"Number one bitch, Pattycakes," Joe said, giving Patrick a thumbs up.
Patrick took a deep, shuddering breath, and managed a weak smile. He had friends who loved him and wanted to help. He would be ok. He could beat this.
Title: A Friend In Need
Author: languisity
Rating: R
Fandom/Pairing: FOB, Gen.
Summary: We've all done it, joked about Patrick and his hats and possible interventions. So, here's some crack!fic in the spirit of recognizing that as cute as it is, PStump probably really does have a problem....
Disclaimer: Not true, don't sue.
A/N: She encourages me. Also, there's a gratuitous Saved By The Bell reference. If you don't get it, no sweat. If you do, you're as much of a geek as I am.
"Look, Pete. No. You can have one of your stupid fucking little obsessive psycho trips about something else, ok? But this? No," Patrick growled. It would have been much more threatening if it weren't for the fact that Patrick was quite literally cornered, knees to his chest, semi-circled by a ring of hats in a nearly innumerable assortment of styles and colors.
Pete took a step forward. Andy and Joe didn't.
Patrick clutched a trucker hat with "Get 'Er Done" printed across it closer to his chest, and ok, so maybe the bat in Patrick's other hand made him a little more threatening than anticipated. Pete took another step and crouched down in front of him, hands held out palm up.
"'Trick, I... we," Pete amended, glancing back quickly at Joe and Andy. "We think you have a problem. And... and I should know from problems, right?"
"No shit," Joe mumbled. Then, "Ow, fuck you, Andy. We're here for support. I was just agreeing with Pete."
"You were just being a dumbass."
"I know it can be difficult," Pete says, speaking over the others, voice reasonable. "But this... it's a problem, all right? It's a problem that you need to own up to and move on from before it destroys you."
Patrick's eyes were wide, spooked, but his mouth was set in a stubborn line. "How much shit are you on? Seriously, they're hats." He clutched his bat a little tighter, raising it a little higher.
"Patrick." Pete frowned, shuffling forward slightly.
"Stay away from us!" Patrick flinched visibly, face turning a shade pinker when Pete quirked an eyebrow. "I mean.. me. Stay away from me! Fucker."
"You have a problem," Pete said again, voice firm, inching closer still.
"I have a problem...?" Patrick asked softly, voice pitched a little too high, verging on hysterical. "I have a problem? You.. you have stuff. You use those fucking pharmacutical handbook things, the ones that only doctors are supposed to get their hands on, as a drug menu, Pete."
Ow. So, maybe that hurt a little. To his credit, Pete didn't flinch, but his eyes narrowed slightly.
"And him!" Patrick went on, nodding sharply at Joe who had somehow ended up sitting on the floor, leaning heavily against Andy's legs. "Joe's probably high right now. Where's his fucking Saved By the Bell intervention? Huh?!"
Joe just blinked back lazily, a slow dolphin-like grin spreading across his face at the mention of his name. "I'm soooo excited. I'm sooooooooooo excited."
Andy spared a moment in giving Patrick his Most Sympathetic look to turn his Most Disapproving one on Joe.
"You too," Patrick said, voice low, eyes narrowing at Andy. "You. I..." He floundered, brow creasing. "I don't know what the fuck is wrong with you, but there's probably something. And even if there isn't, there will be, so take some fucking preventative measures with whatever therapist Pete's blowing off, and leave me the fuck out of it."
There was a small sound from the hunched, huddle of pastel hoodie that was supposed to be Pete. When Patrick looked at him, Pete's face was blank, but he thought his eyes might have been a little shinier than usual.
"'Trick." The nickname sounded sad, cracked and worn, coming from Pete, and Patrick felt a small ache settle in his chest. "We just... we want to help."
Patrick swallowed another ache that had settled in his throat. He blinked, looking down at the hats around him, then at Pete, glancing behind him after a moment to skim his gaze over Andy and Joe and back to the hats again.
"Because I... I have a problem." Patrick did. He could feel it, now. He had a problem and all his bandmates-- his friends-- wanted was to help. "I. Yeah. I have a problem." He went limp, hat and bat slipping in his grasp, body unfolding slightly. "You want to help. I need help and you--"
"We want to give it to you," Pete finished for him. Patrick snuffled when Pete scooted foward on his knees, slipping the bat and hat away from him, and pulled him into a tight hug. Patrick wasn't crying. Really. Just.. the fedora he had on was made of some weird polyester, velvet stuff and it was getting hot. So hot that his eyes were... sweating.
"Yeah."
"And we love you," Pete said, rubbing Patrick's back in small circles when he started to hiccup.
"We love you," Andy echoed, inclining his head slightly, and smiled softly.
"Number one bitch, Pattycakes," Joe said, giving Patrick a thumbs up.
Patrick took a deep, shuddering breath, and managed a weak smile. He had friends who loved him and wanted to help. He would be ok. He could beat this.