Life is Just a Ferris Wheel
Title: Life is Just a Ferris Wheel
Pairing: Patrick./Ashlee, Pete/Ashlee
Rating: PG
Warning: Character death
Author: Me! (xmexandxyoux)
Summary: Five-year old Bronx awoke, nestled in between Ashlee and Patrick on the crisp cotton sheets; a typical Saturday morning.
"Do I hav’ta call him Daddy?" Bronx asked in that tone only a four-year-old could; so genuinely naive. Ashlee touched her hand to her chest, as if trying to hinder her heart from breaking even more. Ashlee wasn’t sure whether it was the look on Bronx’s face, ensuring that he honestly thought that Patrick was Pete’s replacement, or how reminiscent he was of his father, but her eyes began to swim and she had to look away. Patrick appeared behind her; maybe he wasn’t the most timely of men, but he had a way of knowing when he was needed.
"You can call me anything you want." Patrick said gently, crouching down to Bronx’s level. Bronx’s lips spread into the patented Wentz grin, his eyes glinting with mischief.
"Anything?"
"Anything." Patrick grinned as well, curious to where this would lead.
"Like PooPoo Face? Cootie Breath? Monkey Butt? Meany Head?" Bronx asked eagerly. Patrick chuckled and pretended to wince. Though, inside, a knot was beginning to form in his stomach like it always did when he thought of his late best friend. So his insides had ached quite a lot in recent times. Bronx giggled and even Ashlee had to laugh.
"Yes, even those." Bronx grinned again, that grin you wear when it’s your birthday and you get exactly what it was you wanted. They threw some more names around for a few minutes until Bronx decided he was just fine with the more mundane nickname of Patches.
---
Five-year old Bronx awoke, nestled in between Ashlee and Patrick on the crisp cotton sheets; a typical Saturday morning. He squinted at the bright Los Angeles sun and instantly brightened. Today was Saturday! He thought with glee usually reserved for cute puppies and double-chocolate birthday cake. Bronx tiptoed out of the large bedroom in his footie pajamas, rushing downstairs to do his favorite part of Saturday: breakfast.
Patrick came to, startled by the noise coming from downstairs. Why was there noise coming from downstairs? It sounded like a chair being scraped across the floor. He, too, tiptoed out of the bed, noting suspiciously that Bronx was gone. Patrick was in no way prepared for the kitchen mess.
"Do ya’ like it?" Bronx proclaimed proudly. Patrick took his glasses off and cleaned them, then put them on again, hoping the sight would be gone. It wasn’t. Bronx had tried to make breakfast and he had failed miserably. A misguided attempt at beverages, there were three plastic Scooby-Doo cups on the table with puddles near them and more juice and milk on the floor and the table than in the cups. Patrick cringed. There was cereal in bowls; Count Chocula for Bronx, Apple Jacks for Ashlee, and Patrick’s Vegan Puffs. The cereal was doused in milk; Bronx needed to work on his aim, and his ability to hold back in the milk department. Patrick idly wondered why Bronx had remembered that Patrick was a vegan and hadn’t put milk in his glass, but had drenched Patrick’s cereal with the stuff. Patrick noticed that the chair was still by the refrigerator and all the cabinets Bronx had used were wide open.
"It’s . . . wonderful." Patrick said weakly, resisting the urge to remind Bronx about the ‘little talk’ they’d had about leaving breakfast up to Mommy. Bronx’s face lit up.
---
It had been easy for Ashlee to love Patrick. Not the buddy-buddy kind of love they’d had when Pete had been . . . around (she couldn’t bear calling him dead, because it seemed every day he was haunting her with his horsey laugh and grin that could melt ice), and even before Pete. The way he deserved to be loved. The kind of love where you didn’t want to sleep, just because you don’t want to stop listening to them breathe. The kind of love where you’re willing to endure a nickname such as "Water Buffalo" in order to please your stepson. Thankfully, Patrick didn’t. But he would have. After all, Patrick had been the one to introduce the two. He’d known Ashlee for a long time and he’d thought they’d click. And they had, which made it even worse now that Pete was gone.
---
"I’m telling you, Ash’! That boy is going to be a musical prodigy, if I have anything to say about it! I’ve seen him on those pots and pans. He’s a genius already." Ashlee shook her head at her husband’s nightly ramblings about how great Bronx would be one day and continued flossing her teeth. "He’s going to be a legend, Baby."
---
It was a bit weird for Bronx to suddenly have an uncle, and then to suddenly lose his daddy, and then to suddenly have his uncle become his stepfather. It was all so confusing. But Bronx transitioned well, and he grew to think Patrick was a good daddy. Especially when he sang the Lullabye that mommy used to sing.
"Honey is for bees, silly bear, besides, there's jelly beans everywhere . . . It's not what it seems in the land of dreams, don't worry your head, just go to sleep . . . It doesn't matter how you feel, life is just a Ferris wheel . . . It's always up and down, don't make a sound . . . " Patrick stopped short, a wave of emotion crashing over him.
"Whats’a matter, ‘Patches’?" Bronx asked.
"Nothing." Patrick muttered and wiped away the tears that had squeezed out of his eyes. "When you wake up, the world will come around . . . When you wake up, the world will come around . . . It’s just the sweet weather and the peacock feathers, in the morning, it will all be better . . . It's not what it seems in the land of dreams, don't worry your head, just go to sleep . . . "
Bronx soon fell asleep to the soothing lull of Patrick’s gentle croons and Patrick snuck out of the room, almost tripping over one of Bronx’s Matchbox cars. Sinking against the wall in the hallway, just outside of Bronx’s army green door, Patrick pulled his knees to his chest and sobbed.
---
Sometimes Ashlee regretted Pete. The fights, they were bitter, but the good times, they were great. When Ashlee was having one of those regretful days, she’d go into Bronx’s jungle-themed room and watch her baby boy, arms wrapped around a stuffed monkey twice his size and she knew it was all worth it.