We Are The Voices Inside Your Head. Patrick/Andy PG-13/R
Title: We Are The Voices Inside Your Head.
Author: Me.
Pairing: Patrick/Andy
Rating: PG-13/R
Summary: We are mistaken. We are the voices inside your head.
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue, I'm really poor.
Warnings: Angst, a fair bit of death.
A/N: Sad, I know. I got sooky writing it. And the lyrics here and there are from all different songs that I was listening to at the time and seemed to fit.
Please note, this story is fiction. It is not the answer.
This is the last time that I will hold your hand...
The soft voice echoed through Patrick's dull mind while he dwelled on the vivid flashes, the memories of his lover's last moments, sitting in the stark white room at the hospital.
His laughter, bright smile. The car, the headlights blinding them as Patrick was shoved aside, not feeling the impact of landing on the concrete. The ear splitting sounds of breaks screeching. The heart stopping moment, everything moving in slow motion, accompanied by the sickening sound of metal colliding with something softer. Glass shattering and shards flying. Patrick's own screams. The muffled flump of a limp body hitting asphalt. Patrick scrambling forward, glass cutting his hands but him not feeling. Blood everywhere and his gentle smile. Patrick's sobs as he fumbled for a slender hand. His lover's blue eyes becoming dim and unfocused. The distant sounds of sirens and other people, his lover's voice above them all.
"This is the last time that I will hold your hand..."
"No... No! Don't leave me! Andy!" Patrick begged as the drummer's eyes slowly closed behind askew, broken glasses and his grip became slack.
I can't stand the way the world feels when I walk alone.
Patrick looked around him as he walked aimlessly down the street, hands stuffed in his pockets, hat pulled low on his head. Everywhere around him couples walked, smiling, cuddling, whispering to each other.
Each smile. Each touch. Every tender kiss shared between complete strangers drove the knife deeper into his heart and gave it a little twist.
Patrick remembered when he and Andy went places together, the way Andy would unashamedly put his arm around Patrick's soft waist, holding him close. Would kiss and snuggle with him as they sat. Or, walking side by side, Andy would reach out to take up Patrick's hand, holding it lightly and intertwining their fingers.
'This is the last time...'
"No. No!" Patrick shouted, covering his ears, desperate to make the voice stop, the memories fade, the pain stop...
His hands fell as he looked up, uncomfortably aware of the people around him staring.
I don't mean to scare you but I've not been sleeping lately.
He swallowed hard and vainly brushed away his tears.
"I've not been sleeping lately..." Patrick mumbled in his defence, pushing past a few people as he hurried on his way. He didn't want to go home, everything there was just another painful reminder of love lost, so he'd arranged to stay at Pete's house. Rather, Pete had insisted.
He unlocked the front door and entered the Wentz house, paying so little attention to where he was going that he almost walked into Pete himself. Mumbling a barely coherent apology, Patrick stumbled backwards to look up into the bassist's face, feeling Pete's hands on his shoulders in an effort to steady him.
He could see the sympathy clear in the older man's brown eyes and it was more than he could take. Rather than punching Pete in the face, he shoved him aside and attempted to run up the stairs to the room he knew Pete's mom had made up for him.
He collapsed on the bed that had been so neatly made, thrashing and pulling the blankets up from where they had been tucked. He smothered his sobs in the pillow, soaking it with the salty tears that he had held back for almost a week now until he fell into an uneasy sleep.
I'm miserable up here without you...
Patrick was woken by the soft voice that had so frequently haunted his dreams. He blinked awake, shivering in the absence of a warm body against his back, brightly coloured arms wrapped tight around his waist. He tugged on the messed up blanket, trying to cover himself when he heard the voice again, repeating what he had heard in sleep.
'I'm miserable up here without you.'
Patrick whimpered, looking wildly about, searching the dark shadows of the room for the source. It sounded so close, but the was nothing. Nothing. Just dark emptiness, like the space he felt in his heart. Patrick was sure he was hallucinating, hearing things, it was just lack of sleep. He'd slept about 3 straight hours in the week since.
But he was so sure it was Andy's voice. He heard it as clear as if Andy was sitting right beside him, watching him restlessly sleep, but he knew that was impossible. And yet, he was distressed. Andy was telling him that he was miserable. Miserable without Patrick.
It was just him, he was just so desperate to have Andy back...
Patrick sniffled, again rubbing at his streaming eyes as the loneliness set in again.
Seeing you cry makes me feel like saying sorry.
'I'm sorry, Patrick.' Andy's voice filled Patrick's head, whispering laments and phrases of love until Patrick thought he'd go mad. Patrick's hands instinctively clapped over his ears again, trying to block the whispers out.
He ran to the bathroom, heaving into the toilet bowl but nothing coming up as he hadn't been eating either.
He was going mad. He never thought he could miss someone as much as he missed Andy. Every time he thought of or saw something that reminded him, his chest would start to ache and his eyes stung with tears.
He just couldn't take it, he couldn't face his life without Andy.
I've been thinking too much to be safe.
Patrick knew Pete's father kept a gun in the desk in the study in case he ever needed it in an emergency.
Patrick made his way downstairs, tripping over himself slightly in the dark, feeling his way to the study until he could turn on the light.
He knew, from what Pete had once told him, that the gun was in the top draw, but, when he reached it, it was only to find it locked. Of course, Pete's father wouldn't be stupid enough to leave a weapon like that in an easily accessible place.
Never the less, Patrick easily broke the small lock, hitting it hard with the bronze ornament he'd found on the desk, not caring about the loud noise that it made when he struck it. He tugged the draw open and stared at the handgun that lay, seemingly harmless, inside.
He reached in and curled his hand around the cool grip, looping a finger through the trigger and weighing it in his palm. He stared at the cold metal, taking a deep breath and beginning to lift it...
He glanced up, startled, as Pete pushed the door open, yawning.
"What’re you doin', Patrick?" he mumbled sleepily, scratching his chest. Patrick blinked, his eyes falling on the gun again before returning to Pete. Pete froze as Patrick lifted the gun out from behind the desk, pressing the barrel to his temple with a surprisingly steady hand. Pete's eyes had followed the gun as Patrick had lifted it, lifting his hands defensive manner, approaching the singer slowly as he watched Patrick's expressionless face, trying to sound reasoning. "Woah, Patrick, no. Come on!"
Patrick didn't respond to Pete's wide-eyed panic, his eyes looking without seeing, his mind blank except for one thought.
Pull the trigger and the nightmare stops.
"Patrick! No!"
Too late... Andy...
Bang
~~~~~~~
List of Songs (in order of appearance):
Monsters - Matchbook Romance
My Name Is Trouble - Nightmare of You
Walking at Night Alone - Armor for Sleep
If You're Bored - Bayside
The Truth about Heaven - Armor for Sleep
Saying Sorry - Hawthorne Heights
Breathing Deep - 504 Plan
Three Evils - Coheed and Cambria
~~~~~~~
Okay, so I hope no ones too distressed... :\ Comments?
Author: Me.
Pairing: Patrick/Andy
Rating: PG-13/R
Summary: We are mistaken. We are the voices inside your head.
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue, I'm really poor.
Warnings: Angst, a fair bit of death.
A/N: Sad, I know. I got sooky writing it. And the lyrics here and there are from all different songs that I was listening to at the time and seemed to fit.
Please note, this story is fiction. It is not the answer.
This is the last time that I will hold your hand...
The soft voice echoed through Patrick's dull mind while he dwelled on the vivid flashes, the memories of his lover's last moments, sitting in the stark white room at the hospital.
His laughter, bright smile. The car, the headlights blinding them as Patrick was shoved aside, not feeling the impact of landing on the concrete. The ear splitting sounds of breaks screeching. The heart stopping moment, everything moving in slow motion, accompanied by the sickening sound of metal colliding with something softer. Glass shattering and shards flying. Patrick's own screams. The muffled flump of a limp body hitting asphalt. Patrick scrambling forward, glass cutting his hands but him not feeling. Blood everywhere and his gentle smile. Patrick's sobs as he fumbled for a slender hand. His lover's blue eyes becoming dim and unfocused. The distant sounds of sirens and other people, his lover's voice above them all.
"This is the last time that I will hold your hand..."
"No... No! Don't leave me! Andy!" Patrick begged as the drummer's eyes slowly closed behind askew, broken glasses and his grip became slack.
I can't stand the way the world feels when I walk alone.
Patrick looked around him as he walked aimlessly down the street, hands stuffed in his pockets, hat pulled low on his head. Everywhere around him couples walked, smiling, cuddling, whispering to each other.
Each smile. Each touch. Every tender kiss shared between complete strangers drove the knife deeper into his heart and gave it a little twist.
Patrick remembered when he and Andy went places together, the way Andy would unashamedly put his arm around Patrick's soft waist, holding him close. Would kiss and snuggle with him as they sat. Or, walking side by side, Andy would reach out to take up Patrick's hand, holding it lightly and intertwining their fingers.
'This is the last time...'
"No. No!" Patrick shouted, covering his ears, desperate to make the voice stop, the memories fade, the pain stop...
His hands fell as he looked up, uncomfortably aware of the people around him staring.
I don't mean to scare you but I've not been sleeping lately.
He swallowed hard and vainly brushed away his tears.
"I've not been sleeping lately..." Patrick mumbled in his defence, pushing past a few people as he hurried on his way. He didn't want to go home, everything there was just another painful reminder of love lost, so he'd arranged to stay at Pete's house. Rather, Pete had insisted.
He unlocked the front door and entered the Wentz house, paying so little attention to where he was going that he almost walked into Pete himself. Mumbling a barely coherent apology, Patrick stumbled backwards to look up into the bassist's face, feeling Pete's hands on his shoulders in an effort to steady him.
He could see the sympathy clear in the older man's brown eyes and it was more than he could take. Rather than punching Pete in the face, he shoved him aside and attempted to run up the stairs to the room he knew Pete's mom had made up for him.
He collapsed on the bed that had been so neatly made, thrashing and pulling the blankets up from where they had been tucked. He smothered his sobs in the pillow, soaking it with the salty tears that he had held back for almost a week now until he fell into an uneasy sleep.
I'm miserable up here without you...
Patrick was woken by the soft voice that had so frequently haunted his dreams. He blinked awake, shivering in the absence of a warm body against his back, brightly coloured arms wrapped tight around his waist. He tugged on the messed up blanket, trying to cover himself when he heard the voice again, repeating what he had heard in sleep.
'I'm miserable up here without you.'
Patrick whimpered, looking wildly about, searching the dark shadows of the room for the source. It sounded so close, but the was nothing. Nothing. Just dark emptiness, like the space he felt in his heart. Patrick was sure he was hallucinating, hearing things, it was just lack of sleep. He'd slept about 3 straight hours in the week since.
But he was so sure it was Andy's voice. He heard it as clear as if Andy was sitting right beside him, watching him restlessly sleep, but he knew that was impossible. And yet, he was distressed. Andy was telling him that he was miserable. Miserable without Patrick.
It was just him, he was just so desperate to have Andy back...
Patrick sniffled, again rubbing at his streaming eyes as the loneliness set in again.
Seeing you cry makes me feel like saying sorry.
'I'm sorry, Patrick.' Andy's voice filled Patrick's head, whispering laments and phrases of love until Patrick thought he'd go mad. Patrick's hands instinctively clapped over his ears again, trying to block the whispers out.
He ran to the bathroom, heaving into the toilet bowl but nothing coming up as he hadn't been eating either.
He was going mad. He never thought he could miss someone as much as he missed Andy. Every time he thought of or saw something that reminded him, his chest would start to ache and his eyes stung with tears.
He just couldn't take it, he couldn't face his life without Andy.
I've been thinking too much to be safe.
Patrick knew Pete's father kept a gun in the desk in the study in case he ever needed it in an emergency.
Patrick made his way downstairs, tripping over himself slightly in the dark, feeling his way to the study until he could turn on the light.
He knew, from what Pete had once told him, that the gun was in the top draw, but, when he reached it, it was only to find it locked. Of course, Pete's father wouldn't be stupid enough to leave a weapon like that in an easily accessible place.
Never the less, Patrick easily broke the small lock, hitting it hard with the bronze ornament he'd found on the desk, not caring about the loud noise that it made when he struck it. He tugged the draw open and stared at the handgun that lay, seemingly harmless, inside.
He reached in and curled his hand around the cool grip, looping a finger through the trigger and weighing it in his palm. He stared at the cold metal, taking a deep breath and beginning to lift it...
He glanced up, startled, as Pete pushed the door open, yawning.
"What’re you doin', Patrick?" he mumbled sleepily, scratching his chest. Patrick blinked, his eyes falling on the gun again before returning to Pete. Pete froze as Patrick lifted the gun out from behind the desk, pressing the barrel to his temple with a surprisingly steady hand. Pete's eyes had followed the gun as Patrick had lifted it, lifting his hands defensive manner, approaching the singer slowly as he watched Patrick's expressionless face, trying to sound reasoning. "Woah, Patrick, no. Come on!"
Patrick didn't respond to Pete's wide-eyed panic, his eyes looking without seeing, his mind blank except for one thought.
Pull the trigger and the nightmare stops.
"Patrick! No!"
Too late... Andy...
Bang
~~~~~~~
List of Songs (in order of appearance):
Monsters - Matchbook Romance
My Name Is Trouble - Nightmare of You
Walking at Night Alone - Armor for Sleep
If You're Bored - Bayside
The Truth about Heaven - Armor for Sleep
Saying Sorry - Hawthorne Heights
Breathing Deep - 504 Plan
Three Evils - Coheed and Cambria
~~~~~~~
Okay, so I hope no ones too distressed... :\ Comments?