Fic: Born Under a Bad Sign
Title: Born Under a Bad Sign
Pairing: Pete/Patrick (some slight Spencer/Brendon at one point)
Word Count: ~11500
Disclaimer: Totally fictional. Way fictional.
Summary: Pete sat on the hotel bed and tried to watch Patrick surreptitiously to see if Patrick was maybe surreptitiously watching him back. But he really, really wasn't. Pete knew he looked good - he'd made sure of that in the bathroom mirror before coming out into the room. The white hotel towel made his skin look even darker and his tattoos looked awesome against it all. He was clean and slightly - sexily - wet from the shower. His hair was pushed back (but messily rumpled too) and he smelled amazing.
Patrick was straight in the most annoying way.
A/N: This has got sort of a cracky premise - i.e that Pete is a werewolf. And in love with Patrick. Who is straight. Also very much inspired by a certain FOB song that will quickly become apparent.
Also, this was written for trixiesfic.
Betaed by strangecobwebs. Anything messed up that I managed to sneak past her is totally my fault and shouldn't detract from the awesomeness that is her betaing skills.
Prologue
Once upon a time (but not so very long ago), there was a werewolf.
There were many werewolves, really, but this one had lost his job and his girlfriend in one day. If his boss had been more lenient or his girlfriend more willing to accept his flaws (or had he been more able to keep his fists to himself near the full moon) then the tale may have gone a little differently. But things were as they were and the werewolf went out and got drunk. Drunk on the night before the full moon.
A chain of events - the werewolf drinking, deciding to follow the girlfriend to her parents' house, stumbling into the woman walking by and lashing out, biting her.
And again, the tale may have gone differently - had the woman not been with child.
The child was born a werewolf. His mother taught him how to keep it hidden and how to plan ahead. And when to lock himself away. She explained why he shouldn't tell people and she told him stories about how wolves pass on knowledge through the bite. She told how when he needed it, the knowledge would come to him.
Though she had other children, the boy was the only one who ever changed at the full moon.
And so the boy passed many years living with being a werewolf and it never once pained him.
Until he met Patrick Stumph.
***
One
Everyone knew that Pete was a werewolf. Everyone who was important to Pete, anyway. It had been a necessity to tell his band; they were going to be touring, living first in a van and then on buses, taking planes and crossing into countries where the moon cycled just as often.
Of course they hadn't believed him - not at first. Until he showed them. He couldn't change fully, not without the moon, and to show them that would be too dangerous. But he could make his teeth grow, he could snarl pretty effectively and cow dogs into submission with a look (which was pretty cool), and he could make his hair grow. Getting it to stop growing was more of a challenge, really.
As their entourage grew, Pete had to tell more people. And of course there were the two people that he accidentally turned into werewolves - they knew, of course.
But the one thing that Pete didn't tell them was how he always knew where Patrick was. He didn't want to freak them (Patrick) out any more than he already had, and it wasn't like he knew why he could do it (not yet). But everyone was fine with it and, honestly, they all thought it was pretty cool. Mostly Pete thought it was pretty cool too
Two
Pete didn't know at first. Maybe it was because he wasn't bitten - being a werewolf wasn't forced upon his “normal” body. He had always been a werewolf so the knowledge that his mom talked about didn't arrive in his brain, all new and obvious. It was there from the start, hiding in plain sight and indistinguishable from the everyday things that he learned.
So there was no thunderbolt. No choir of romantic music or floating hearts. There was just Patrick. Grumpy, talented, snarky Patrick. So Pete was 25 before he realised that he was in love. And of course he knew what falling so deeply in love meant for a werewolf. It meant that Patrick was Pete's mate.
Nothing as corny as "soul mates" (Pete had laughed the first time his mom had told him about it because, really? Mating for life? Cheesy), but at the same time, more specific and physical. When a werewolf fell in love with someone, and then only if that someone was a good match for them, the werewolf's body changed in such a way that it needed to be with them always.
Pete had often wondered what exactly a “good match” consisted of. He had thought that he and Jeanae had been a good match for a while - he'd certainly been in love with her. But no “mating for life.” Plenty of passion and angst and fists-through-windows - but no physical changes that he had ever noticed. And his mom assured him that he would notice.
However, the day it happened hadn't been marked by anything unusual. He'd stumbled out of his bunk, was an unbearable bitch for the first hour, poked at his laptop and ate crappy leftovers from the fridge. Patrick sat with his headphones on while Andy made Joe watch a movie about penguins. It wasn't until Andy leaned close to Patrick's legs that Pete felt his hackles rise. It was two days before the full moon and they were driving back into Chicago - tour ending.
Maybe it had been the proximity to the full moon combined with knowing that in 5 hours he wouldn't be living on the bus with Patrick for at least 4 weeks. Maybe his hind brain had finally passed along the message. But it was clear to Pete exactly what his body was saying: Patrick is mine.
Pete left the room and sat in the back lounge. Now that he knew it was there, he couldn't deny the evidence of his own feelings. Patrick was his mate. He buried his head in his hands and tried not to scream at the unfairness of it all.
When Pete's mom found him crying in his old room later that night she stroked his back and made soothing grumbles. She asked Pete why he was so upset and he told her that he had found his mate and that it was Patrick. His mom smiled.
“So why are you so unhappy?” she asked.
"Because Patrick's straight," Pete said.
Three
Patrick was straight in the most annoying way. He didn't feel the need to say it or point it out - it just was. He didn't mind people saying he wasn't straight and didn't leap to his own defence. He didn't get angry or act differently around gay men. He was just...straight. Not interested.
Pete sat on the hotel bed and tried to watch Patrick surreptitiously to see if Patrick was maybe surreptitiously watching him back. But he really, really wasn't. Pete knew he looked good - he'd made sure of that in the bathroom mirror before coming out into the room. The white hotel towel made his skin look even darker and his tattoos looked awesome against it all. He was clean and slightly - sexily - wet from the shower. His hair was pushed back (but messily rumpled too) and he smelled amazing.
Patrick had glanced over from the TV at the sound of the bathroom door opening and then disappeared back into, what was that? Oh - CSI Miami. Pete flopped back onto the bed with a heavy sigh. So straight it hurt. Why couldn't he have fallen in love with someone who was even just a little bit bi? Or a girl. A straight or bi girl of course. Although, knowing his luck she would have been the gayest girl that ever liked pussy.
He glanced over at Patrick again, just to make sure that the suggestive way the towel was riding up his legs wasn't making Patrick sweat even a little. Still nothing.
It had been a while since Pete had realised that his stupid, annoying (yes, still cool) werewolf body had molded itself physically to be Patrick's own little love-monkey. Or love-wolfie. Whatever. Pete had tried sleeping with a couple of other people but although it was still great (it was sex, after all) he couldn't help thinking, “But it's not Patrick.”
Also? Sleeping the same room as Patrick (or the same tour bus) wasn't helping. He could feel an unbelievable physical pull to climb into bed next to Patrick and wrap himself round him.
Pete scowled. He got up off the bed and pulled on some underwear and a t-shirt. Patrick might not check him out but he certainly complained if Pete spent too long wandering around half naked. At first Pete had been somewhat hopeful - maybe it was an indication of Patrick not wanting to get caught ogling Pete's hot little body - but it seemed to be just another reflection of Patrick's extreme straightness. He didn't want to see naked men because he wasn't interested in naked men.
It wasn't like Pete was either. He'd kissed dudes a few times, yeah, but nothing more. He'd had crushes on guys (which was all he had thought the Patrick thing was) but dick really was not hot. Except for how Patrick's was. It was like being a werewolf sort of messed with your usual preferences and aimed for a person, not their gender.
Patrick looked up again when passed in front of the TV and only readjusted himself to a slightly more comfortable position when Pete climbed onto his bed next to him and lay his head in Patrick's lap.
“I hate Horatio,” Pete offered.
Patrick patted him on the head. “I know you do.”
They both watched in silence for a few moments before Patrick poked his head. “You know you're getting my jeans wet, right?”
Pete nodded, knowing that Patrick would sense his grin even though he couldn't see it. Patrick gave a long-suffering sigh and settled back down. Okay. Maybe Pete could live with this.
Four
Time passed and Pete sort of...settled. Yes, he wanted Patrick. And yes, if he went more than a day between touching him he would start to get jittery. And yes, when they had breaks and he didn't see Patrick for a couple of weeks it was torture and he couldn't sleep very well. But he could cope. They just - didn't really take that many breaks, as a band.
And it wasn't like Pete hadn't been touchy with Patrick since the beginning. No one noticed a difference (except Dirty, but he was a nosy little fucker and somehow other werewolves always knew). Pete got what he needed. In fact, it seemed to make the fans even happier. On stage Pete would nuzzle Patrick and feel amazing while thousands of people looked on and just screamed their approval.
Pete had even started dating, kind of. Pursuing, would be a better word maybe. But Ashlee was beautiful and funny. Okay, so maybe they hadn't actually had a proper date, but Pete felt pretty good about it. He could snuggle with Patrick when he needed to, he could sleep okay (if not brilliantly) and he could date a pretty awesome girl.
Later, Pete knew he should have realised it wouldn't last long.
He knew, really, that it was his own fault. As it always seemed to be. But the band especially had always been interested in the werewolf stuff and telling them all about it had passed many a boring day in the van, back when tour buses were a thing of dreams. He couldn't have known then that his goddamn big, sharing mouth would come back to bite him in the ass years later.
It started so slowly that Pete didn't notice at first. And when he did notice, he couldn't pinpoint when it had begun. He would sit next to Patrick, leaning in as usual, and Patrick would pull away. Not obviously, but just a casual leaning. And more often than not, he would sit somewhere where Pete couldn't casually invade his space.
Then one time, when they hadn't seen each other from more than a week, Pete went straight in for the sanity-returning hug that he always needed from Patrick and Patrick flinched. He actually flinched and stiffly patted Pete for two seconds before pulling back. It was horrible.
Pete racked his brain but he couldn't think of anything that he had done. Had he been caught staring? No - he was always careful and to be honest, he stared at people sometimes anyway. He had tried to never make his touching obvious and sexual because he didn't want to make Patrick uncomfortable. But something had done that anyway.
Finally, Pete cornered Patrick to ask him what was wrong.
“Am I your mate?” Patrick asked. It was pretty blunt and straightforward, Pete had to admit.
“Yes,” he answered, hoping that if he said it, that might be the end of it.
“I'm not interested, Pete,” Patrick explained, somewhat unnecessarily.
“I know,” Pete told him, “but I need...”
“No,” Patrick said and started to walk away. Pete grabbed his arm but Patrick jerked back.
“Please, Pete,” Patrick said, “I don't want this. Please. Leave me alone.”
Patrick looked genuinely stricken by what he was having to say so Pete let him leave. He had never wanted to make Patrick feel uncomfortable, but as he watched him walk away he wondered what the hell he was going to do now.
Five
Pete knew he should stop. He knew he should just give up and get back into bed. So what if he couldn't sleep? Patrick had made it very clear that he didn't want to be near Pete right now - or maybe ever again. There was every possibility that the “break” Patrick had suggested at their band meeting earlier that night might turn into a hiatus and then into a split. Then he would have no reason to be around Patrick and honestly, Pete didn't think he would live out the year if that happened.
But he couldn't stop. He knew Patrick was on the roof and even though he knew going up there when Patrick was clearly trying to get away from him was just going to make things worse, he needed Patrick. He needed to be close to him. It was at least a little easier when Patrick was in the next room over, even, but Pete couldn't even think about sleep with Patrick all the way up on the roof.
So he trudged up the linoleum-covered steps as though climbing to his execution. Pete knew it was a bad, bad, bad idea but still he pushed through the top door and out onto the stony roof. The gravel crunched under his feet and he saw Patrick turn from looking out over the edge, at the night view.
“Pete,” Patrick said, voice soaked in frustration. Pete almost grinned because if Patrick had thought that coming out onto the roof would stop him being found then he clearly didn't realise just how stalkery werewolf abilities were.
Pete knew he should leave - he knew that he was just making Patrick madder and more skittish. The more he pushed, the more Patrick scrambled away from him. It was so hard though.
“Patrick,” Pete said, “I just - “ he reached out to touch Patrick's arm and Patrick shrugged away.
“No, Pete,” he said. “Enough.” Pete didn't lower his arm though and stepped closer.
“Pete, for fuck's sake,” Patrick said and pushed Pete back away from him.
Pete tried to stop himself but he was half-drunk on Patrick's touch, even if it had just been a shove. He pressed in again. “I just need...” he began, trying to explain without sounding like some deranged fucking werewolf.
Patrick pushed at Pete again. “Fuck OFF!” he yelled, anger blazing suddenly in that Patrick way - reminding Pete of the fights they had over music. Used to have. Before.
Pete stumbled backwards and landed hard on his ass, grazing both palms as he flung his arms out behind him. He couldn't help laughing this time, almost hysterically, as it was the first time in weeks that Patrick had touched him willingly. Pete laughed and sobbed and knew he must look pathetic and ridiculous.
“Patrick - “ Pete began again, voice weak and needy.
“No!” Patrick yelled again, “Fucking hell, Pete.” He was clearly holding himself back - probably because Pete was on the floor, sniffling. Pete stared up at him, taking deep breaths and trying to calm down when every fibre of him was screaming at him to touch Patrick. To drape himself over Patrick and stay there for the rest of his life.
“Patrick,” Pete began again and this time there was no interruption. “I need to - I can't help it.”
Patrick inflated with righteous anger. “You can't HELP it?” he shouted. “Of course you can fucking help it! I'm not interested, Pete. You can still understand English, right? You know what that means?”
Pete nodded, pathetically. “I know,” he said.
“Then why the fuck can't you leave me alone?” Patrick demanded. “Just leave me alone.”
“Don't you think that I would if I could?” Pete said, dragging up his own anger from somewhere under the misery that seemed to be leeching down into his bones. “Don't you think that it would be easier for me to move on and not need to touch you? To not wake up in the middle of the night and feel cramps through every muscle because you haven't let me even just touch your arm?”
He was snarling now, though he couldn't help that either. He pushed up to his feet, gaining a shred of dignity from somewhere.
“Do you think I want this?” he asked. “Don't you think that I feel like a pervert when I can't stop watching you or when I 'accidentally' bump into you ? I wish that I could stop it, Patrick. I wish so much that I could leave you alone but I can't. If I don't, I can't sleep and all I can feel is the fucking wolf trying to get to you, cramping into me.”
Pete realised that he had been stalking forward, forcing Patrick to back up to keep some distance between them. They were right next to the low wall that skirted the edge of the roof. He stopped and looked at Patrick's face. For the first time in weeks there was no anger there. It had drained away.
“It hurts you?” Patrick asked in a strangely soft voice.
Pete nodded miserably again. Now that he had stopped shouting, stopped being angry, the bone-crushing ache came back. He looked around for somewhere to sit - anything to flop down onto. Finding nothing, he lowered himself onto the floor, leaning back against the wall. Patrick just watched him.
Finally Patrick lowered himself down next to Pete. For a few moments he just sat there, inches of space between them. Eventually he shifted across so that their bare arms were touching - pressed together. Pete tried not to push into it.
“Why didn't you tell me that it actually hurt you?” Patrick asked in a quiet voice. He turned slightly so that his legs were leaning against Pete's. Pete tried not to whimper pathetically at the easing of weeks worth of agony.
“I thought I could cope,” Pete said. “I didn't want it to be your problem.”
Patrick made a frustrated sound. “For fuck's sake, Pete,” he said.
Pete nodded and sighed.
“You know that if you'd told me that, I probably wouldn't have got quite so fucking pissed off at you, right?” Patrick asked. He pulled his arm from between them and put it around Pete's shoulders, pulling him in closer. Pete finally gave up all pretence of control and burrowed into Patrick's side.
“Sorry,” Pete offered. “You just - it didn't seem like you wanted to talk about it.” Patrick's smell was all around him and Pete could feel muscles unclenching, relaxing. He could feel sleep creeping up, even on the cold, gravelly rooftop.
Patrick sighed. “I didn't,” he said. “It's weird!” he explained, as though Pete had questioned him. “It's not every day that you realise you're the soul mate of your male best friend.” He sighed deeply. “I wish I wasn't straight, sometimes.”
Pete tried to shake his head and tell Patrick that it was alright (and also that it wasn't soul mates because this was real life and Pete wasn't Dawson Leary), but he was too comfortable and, to be honest, he also wished that Patrick wasn't straight.
“Okay - I have a plan,” Patrick said eventually. “A way that we can make this work.”
Pete, just at the point of dozing off, couldn't quite bring himself to respond. Patrick suddenly sat up straight, almost dislodging Pete who squawked, undignified.
“Pete,” Patrick said, poking him.
“Right, right,” Pete said, “a plan.” He blinked and remembered that they were still on the roof.
“Right,” Patrick said, “you can touch me. But not in a sex way. If you need to hug me or, like, sit next to me or something, you can. And - “ Patrick paused before rushing on, “ - if you need to sleep next to me sometimes, you can.”
Pete looked up to see that Patrick was blushing. He grinned. “Really?” Pete asked.
“Yeah,” Patrick said, offering a half-smile. “But not every night,” he added, hurriedly. “Only when you have to.”
Pete grinned harder, but he still had to check. “Are you sure?” He asked.
Patrick finally smiled back. “Yeah,” he said. “But seriously - no sex stuff. Any sex stuff and I stop it.”
Pete crossed his heart with a finger. “I promise,” he said.
Six
After the night on the roof of the hotel in Boston, everything changed for Pete. The two week “break” still happened, but he could cope because Patrick had let him sleep next to him all night and snuggle up to him during the trip to the airport. Two weeks when he knew Patrick was hundreds of miles away but a willing recipient of hugs was nothing compared to months when Patrick was only feet away and a temptation.
While he was home, Pete thought about the promise that he'd made to Patrick and what the agreement would mean. Things could go back to how they had been before - back when Patrick didn't know that Pete was a freak friend fancier.
He called Ashlee and arranged to go out again together. If he could get as much as was necessary to not go crazy from Patrick, then he could commit to the relationship with Ashlee without making her crazy. He loved Ashlee after all. She wasn't Patrick, but maybe she didn't have to be.
Finally, a few days before his flight out to join the guys back in Chicago to start the new tour, Pete wrote down everything that he was thinking. He wrote out all the things that he wanted to say and then typed them up into an email to Patrick with the subject line “I promise.” Once he'd sent it he mailed the handwritten version to Patrick's house. Just because it seemed strange that Patrick wouldn't get to see it in Pete's original scrawl and because Pete was a little bit crazy. He wanted Patrick to touch something that he had touched.
A few days later, just before he was due to leave for the airport, Pete received an email back from Patrick with an attachment and the subject line “True Blue.” He download the audio file with a bit of a thrill. There wasn't enough time before his flight, but once Pete was on the plane, earphones in, he played the song. Pete knew that Patrick had understood. This promise - this agreement - was sealed using the thing that they did together. Sealed in their music.
To be honest, Pete would really have rather sealed things with a kiss, but considering that was exactly what he couldn't have, this was absolutely the next best thing. It meant that they really were okay again.
When Pete landed, Patrick was there to meet him with a grin and a bone-crushing hug. Pete grinned back at him.
“I thought we could put it on the next album,” Pete said, not needing to explain what he was referring to.
Patrick raised an eyebrow. “Fine,” he said, finally. “But as the hidden track.”
Pete slung an arm round Patrick's shoulders. “Sure thing, P. Stump.”
Yeah, Pete though, it was going to be awesome now.
Seven
“I bit Spencer.”
Pete blinked and adjusted the phone to his other ear. Patrick was making annoyed sounds under his arm so Pete pushed his legs out of the bunk and tried to stand up. His legs were still mostly asleep, as was Pete. It took a few seconds to finally make his way through to the table in the front lounge and sit down. He pulled the phone back to check again who it was that had called him. He'd looked before answering but it hadn't registered in his half-asleep brain.
Jon.
Suddenly what Jon had said slammed into Pete and he yanked the phone back to his ear where Jon was saying his name, trying to get a response.
“You fucking WHAT?” Pete said into the phone, still trying to clear the cobwebs of sleep.
“Fuck, Pete, I know. Fuck fuck FUCK. I bit him, I BIT him,” Jon sounded panicked and incoherent and part of Pete remembered that feeling.
“How? HOW did you bite him?” Pete paused. “No - wait - WHY did you bite him?”
“I don't know, dude. I don't KNOW. It was the moon and the beer and he was under me and I just - I just bit him and I don't know what to do. Fuck, Pete, what do I DO?”
Pete put a hand over his face and tried to think - never his greatest talent when he was only just awake.
“I don't...” he started, before taking the hand away. “Why was he under you? No - wait, more importantly, why the FUCK were you drinking on the full moon?”
Jon knew the rules. Of course he knew the rules! Pete had taught him every one. After he had accidentally bitten Jon. Part of his mind was trying to point out that yelling at Jon for doing something that he himself had done was hypocrisy, but he hadn't even had coffee yet and Jon's breakdown had pulled him away from Patrick on the day after the full moon. Pete snarled.
“I know Pete. I fucking KNOW, alright? But I've drunk a few times on the full moon - I know - but it takes the edge off a bit ok? I've never bitten anyone before though. I don't know what to do. Fuck. FUCK”
Pete could tell that Jon was freaking out. Jon. Jon Walker. One of the most chilled and laid back guys he knew after Joe. Freaking out.
Patrick staggered in from the bunks, glaring at Pete for being so loud. Pete sighed and wished again that Patrick didn't have to put up with his shit. He should have left the bus when he'd realised it was Jon on the phone.
“Okay,” Pete said, trying to calm down a little. “Okay. So where is he now?”
“In the bathroom,” Jon said.
“Right. Okay. He needs to be kept separate from everyone tonight. Just you with him because it's going to get a little messy.” Pete said.
“I remember,” Jon said, voice subdued.
Pete nodded, forgetting that Jon couldn't see him. He remembered Jon's change and how it had felt like the worst punishment for a moment's slip-up. He remembered Jon cursing him and howling at him for it to stop. Even with the bitchy anger that he woke up with, he couldn't bring himself to feel anything but empathy for what Jon was going to have to go through with Spencer that night. He sighed.
“Then tell him everything. All the rules and stuff. What to expect,” he paused, unable to help himself, “you know, like not drinking near the fucking full moon.”
Jon let out the most humourless laugh Pete had ever heard and he felt momentarily bad until Patrick sat down at the table with a bowl of Cheerios, still glaring at him.
“You're going to have to deal with it, Jon,” he said. “But whatever happens, you have to bring him here next month because I'm sure as fuck not leaving you in charge of him for his first full moon.”
“Fine, okay,” Jon said. He sounded calmer - less likely to do anything stupid. Freaking out plus the full moon was not a good idea.
“Oh!” Pete laughed. “And buy him a fucking razor. He's going to look like a man now whether he likes it or not.”
This time Jon's laugh was more real. “Yeah,” he said. He huffed another laugh. “Thanks Pete. Thanks, man.”
Pete hung up and tried not to slam his phone down on the table. “Fuck fuck fuck,” he said, eloquently. Then he looked up at Patrick. “So Panic are coming to see us next month,” he said with awful, fake cheeriness.
Patrick still didn't look too thrilled at having been woken up early by Pete yelling in the lounge, but Pete knew he liked it when he and Brendon could get together and nerd-out about obscure instruments.
“Yeah? Was that why you were yelling?” He asked, pointedly.
Pete sighed. “Jon bit Spencer,” he said.
“Well,” Patrick responded, putting down his spoon. “Fuck.”
Eight
Pete thought that Spencer actually looked pretty okay when Jon brought him into the room that the three of them were going to share for the full moon and the nights right before and after. Pete had always mocked Spencer's inability to grow facial hair yet, but secretly he had thought that Spencer's pretty face was kind of, well, pretty.
The new facial hair suited him though. It was apparently disconcerting after the change, how hairy you became and how quickly it grew. Of course it had never been any other way for Pete. Not that he had been a particularly hairy kid - being the only eight your old who could grow a beard might have been a give-away - but from the moment puberty hit, his body hair had been pretty impressive. He waxed regularly.
“So,” Spencer said, throwing his bag down and arching an eyebrow at Pete. “You're like what - my grandfather now?”
“What?” Pete said. “No! This isn't fucking Buffy, dude.”
Jon was laughing, the asshole. “Dad!” he said, holding his arms out for a hug. Pete flipped him off.
Spencer was laughing too, but it was a hard, biting laugh. It was always like that the night before the full moon - you were bitter and sharp. It was when you said the mean things that you wouldn't say at any other time. Patrick called it Pete's PMS - Pre-Moon Suckage. Patrick was an asshole to him sometimes.
The PMS got easier to control, but Pete had seen enough people on their first full moon to know that Spencer would have no control at all. Well - at least they would all learn what Spencer really thought of them. He had always sort of wondered if Spencer secretly thought he was a douche.
The full moon night itself was when you were most caught up in the “glory” of being a werewolf. Like it was beyond being just “cool man, you don't even know” and not at all a pain in the ass. It was the only night that you didn't think about what it might be like not to be a werewolf. Before the change happened, you blissed out in it, needing it. It was why drinking was such a bad idea. It took the edge off the change itself - made it more fluid - but it blurred your judgement even more, making you think that being a werewolf was something that everyone would want.
The night after the change was the worst though. It was the comedown from the high the night before. It was when you felt everything sharply - emotionally and physically. Pete always made his emo-est blog entries on the nights after the fulll moon. And it was the night most werewolves ended up biting someone else. It was the night when you wanted and needed a connection to help stem the strange feeling of loss. A bite meant that you weren't alone - there were other werewolves. That had been the night Pete had ended up biting Jon.
“Sorry,” Pete said suddenly. Spencer and Jon both stopped laughing.
“Sorry?” Jon said, face puzzled.
“He means for this,” Spencer pointed out. Jon made an 'Ohhhhh' face.
“Yeah, I'm sorry,” Pete repeated.
“Don't fucking apologise to me,” Spencer said, frowning. “Jon did this to me.”
Jon pulled a face at Pete and he smiled slightly. Subtle and tactful would not be Spencer for a good few days.
“But I did it to Jon,” Pete said.
Spencer was nodding, hands swinging loosely at his side, like he didn't know what to do with them. “But don't apologise,” he said. “I don't see what the problem is anyway.”
Then Spencer turned towards the closed door, a smile starting to form before the door even began to swing open. Brendon bounced almost literally into the room. Brendon was a pretty upbeat dude most of the time anyway, but he was practically humming.
“Our room is awesome!” he exclaimed, before stopping and staring around their room. “Uh - 'this is Sparta'?”
“We don't want to fuck up any of the furniture. We convinced the hotel to clear us out a 'party' room,” Pete told him, watching Spencer watch Brendon. Well - fucking marvellous.
“Is it that violent?” Brendon asked quietly. That was another dizzying thing about Brendon - how quickly he could go from puppy-on-speed to quiet-and-attentive. Brendon was looking at Spencer with concern.
“Nah,” Jon reassured him, patting Brendon amiably on the shoulder. “You've seen the back lounge after I've changed. It's not like I shred stuff and all that. More like - “ he paused, thoughtfully.
“Like a dog that's not brilliantly house-trained,” Pete finished for him.
Jon pointed at him. “Exactly.”
“Whatever,” Brendon said, now grinning, “Spence wasn't that house-trained to begin with.”
“Hey!” Spencer said, clearly trying to look offended but still smiling. Pete thought he looked constipated. Brendon apparently disagreed though, if the beaming smile directed at Spencer was any indication.
Jon rolled his eyes and picked up his bag, unzipping it.
“So are you coming to see my room?” Brendon asked Spencer, grabbing his hand. Spencer linked his fingers through Brendon's and obediently followed him out through the door. Pete pulled a face at their retreating backs before turning to Jon.
“So Spencer and Brendon...” he said.
“Pretty much,” Jon said, pulling random clothing out of his bag and shoving it haphazardly into the built-in wardrobe. “A few days after Spencer turned he just - well he just sort of looked at Brendon in that way and I knew what had happened. Turns out he'd been into Brendon for a while and being all repressed-homoerotic-angst about it.” Jon's tone was amused. Pete was pretty sure Jon was straight, but he'd never met a dude more open to other people's sexuality. To the point where (according to Ryan) he'd been the one to finally sit Brendon down and explain to him that no, he liked guys and that was why the girl-thing wasn't working out so well.
“Anyway,” Jon continued, ”turns out Brendon was being totally stealth about being completely in love with Spencer and it took them about six hours after Spencer's realisation to get around to sex in the back lounge. And that only because we had sound check.” He laughed. “Ryan was totally threatening to bleach the couches.”
Pete tried to force a smile but it wasn't working. “Yeah,” he said, before sighing. Jon looked up at him from where he was trying to stuff the now empty bag onto the top shelf of the wardrobe.
“Oh,” Jon said. “Uh - sorry.”
Pete shook his head. “Not your fault. Just - “ he kicked at his own bag morosely “ - Spencer's a werewolf for a few fucking weeks and he's all fucking happy with Brendon and they're all 'come and see my room' and stuff. And here's me - werewolf for decades and...”
Jon looked awkward, like he didn't know what to say. Finally he turned back to the wardrobe and pulled out a small, sealed bag.
“Wanna smoke?” he offered. Pete smiled. Fucking Jon Walker, always knowing the right thing to say.
Nine
Spencer snarled at him. “Patrick's with Brendon?” he asked, standing up. Pete stood up with him.
“Chill the fuck out, Spence,” he said, knowing that Spencer was of course finding it hardest of all of them. “Can't you feel him anyway?”
Spencer nodded and pointed exactly at where Pete knew Patrick was. Werewolves and their incredible ability to stalk.
“Yeah,” Pete said, “then he's with Patrick.”
Spencer frowned. “How do you know?”
Jon laughed from where he was still lounging on his bed. “Didn't you know that Patrick was Pete's 'special' friend?” He said.
“Like me and Brendon?” Spencer asked, eyes widening. Pete was perversely pleased that Spencer had obviously chosen not to believe the rumours that always circulated about him and Patrick so somehow the revelation seemed like an actual surprise. Unlike practically everyone else who had the “you're NOT fucking?” shocked reaction.
“Not exactly,” Jon said, still laughing. Pete kicked him viciously. Fucking Jon Walker. Asshole.
“Patrick's straight,” Pete said, trying not to let the jealously he felt at Spencer's luck in having Brendon who was in love with him right back. Or Jon having Cassie.
“Straight?” Spencer repeated, looking confused. Pete wanted to slap him round then head but that would be unfair - it wasn't Spencer's fault that the full moon was making him fuzzy.
“Straight,” Pete said, sitting back down. Spencer was apparently not going to go running off and kill Patrick for spending time with Brendon so it didn't look like Pete was going to have to kill Spencer. Which was nice.
Spencer still looked confused though. “But he's your mate,” he said. “How can that be if you can't be together?”
Pete rolled his eyes. He remembered trying to explain the same thing to Jon. The difference, of course, being that Jon had not yet met Cassie and therefore wasn't full of PMS and his own surety that the mating thing brought only love and joy forever.
“It's not soul mates, Spencer,” Jon explained. “It's not like some mystic thing where two people meet and are just meant-for-each-other-hearts-and-flowers. It's your wolfie hindbrain deciding it's met someone who is right for you and choosing to be with them forever. Of course that usually only happens with people you're in a relationship with, but sometimes - “ he gestured to Pete and to Spencer himself, “ - sometimes it doesn't. You're just lucky that Brendon already felt that way about you, dude.”
Spencer was still frowning and started to shake his head. “It's not right,” he insisted.
“Preaching to the motherfucking choir,” Pete said, bitterly. He flopped back onto the pillows behind him. “But what the fuck can you do about it?”
Spencer stood for a moment and then turned suddenly and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Pete looked at Jon and pushed back up, scrambling towards the door. Whatever Spencer was thinking, it was clearly not going to be sensible. Not today.
Pete yanked the door back open and ran out into the hall. Jon was right behind him. He couldn't see Spencer.
“Shit,” Jon said, all humour gone. “Fucking hell, Spencer.”
Pete couldn't see where Spencer had gone, but he could hazard a pretty good guess. He turned and ran in the direction of Patrick's room, where he assumed Brendon was still hanging out. It was only a few doors down and the shouting started just before he and Jon reached the open door.
“Spencer? What are you doing?” Pete heard Brendon's concerned voice. He rushed in to see Spencer pulling Patrick up out of his seat. Pete snarled at the sight - at another werewolf touching his Patrick. His Patrick.
“Get off him,” Pete growled. Spencer turned to him.
“It's not right,” he said and sank his teeth into Patrick's shoulder.
Part 2
Pairing: Pete/Patrick (some slight Spencer/Brendon at one point)
Word Count: ~11500
Disclaimer: Totally fictional. Way fictional.
Summary: Pete sat on the hotel bed and tried to watch Patrick surreptitiously to see if Patrick was maybe surreptitiously watching him back. But he really, really wasn't. Pete knew he looked good - he'd made sure of that in the bathroom mirror before coming out into the room. The white hotel towel made his skin look even darker and his tattoos looked awesome against it all. He was clean and slightly - sexily - wet from the shower. His hair was pushed back (but messily rumpled too) and he smelled amazing.
Patrick was straight in the most annoying way.
A/N: This has got sort of a cracky premise - i.e that Pete is a werewolf. And in love with Patrick. Who is straight. Also very much inspired by a certain FOB song that will quickly become apparent.
Also, this was written for trixiesfic.
Betaed by strangecobwebs. Anything messed up that I managed to sneak past her is totally my fault and shouldn't detract from the awesomeness that is her betaing skills.
Prologue
Once upon a time (but not so very long ago), there was a werewolf.
There were many werewolves, really, but this one had lost his job and his girlfriend in one day. If his boss had been more lenient or his girlfriend more willing to accept his flaws (or had he been more able to keep his fists to himself near the full moon) then the tale may have gone a little differently. But things were as they were and the werewolf went out and got drunk. Drunk on the night before the full moon.
A chain of events - the werewolf drinking, deciding to follow the girlfriend to her parents' house, stumbling into the woman walking by and lashing out, biting her.
And again, the tale may have gone differently - had the woman not been with child.
The child was born a werewolf. His mother taught him how to keep it hidden and how to plan ahead. And when to lock himself away. She explained why he shouldn't tell people and she told him stories about how wolves pass on knowledge through the bite. She told how when he needed it, the knowledge would come to him.
Though she had other children, the boy was the only one who ever changed at the full moon.
And so the boy passed many years living with being a werewolf and it never once pained him.
Until he met Patrick Stumph.
***
One
Everyone knew that Pete was a werewolf. Everyone who was important to Pete, anyway. It had been a necessity to tell his band; they were going to be touring, living first in a van and then on buses, taking planes and crossing into countries where the moon cycled just as often.
Of course they hadn't believed him - not at first. Until he showed them. He couldn't change fully, not without the moon, and to show them that would be too dangerous. But he could make his teeth grow, he could snarl pretty effectively and cow dogs into submission with a look (which was pretty cool), and he could make his hair grow. Getting it to stop growing was more of a challenge, really.
As their entourage grew, Pete had to tell more people. And of course there were the two people that he accidentally turned into werewolves - they knew, of course.
But the one thing that Pete didn't tell them was how he always knew where Patrick was. He didn't want to freak them (Patrick) out any more than he already had, and it wasn't like he knew why he could do it (not yet). But everyone was fine with it and, honestly, they all thought it was pretty cool. Mostly Pete thought it was pretty cool too
Two
Pete didn't know at first. Maybe it was because he wasn't bitten - being a werewolf wasn't forced upon his “normal” body. He had always been a werewolf so the knowledge that his mom talked about didn't arrive in his brain, all new and obvious. It was there from the start, hiding in plain sight and indistinguishable from the everyday things that he learned.
So there was no thunderbolt. No choir of romantic music or floating hearts. There was just Patrick. Grumpy, talented, snarky Patrick. So Pete was 25 before he realised that he was in love. And of course he knew what falling so deeply in love meant for a werewolf. It meant that Patrick was Pete's mate.
Nothing as corny as "soul mates" (Pete had laughed the first time his mom had told him about it because, really? Mating for life? Cheesy), but at the same time, more specific and physical. When a werewolf fell in love with someone, and then only if that someone was a good match for them, the werewolf's body changed in such a way that it needed to be with them always.
Pete had often wondered what exactly a “good match” consisted of. He had thought that he and Jeanae had been a good match for a while - he'd certainly been in love with her. But no “mating for life.” Plenty of passion and angst and fists-through-windows - but no physical changes that he had ever noticed. And his mom assured him that he would notice.
However, the day it happened hadn't been marked by anything unusual. He'd stumbled out of his bunk, was an unbearable bitch for the first hour, poked at his laptop and ate crappy leftovers from the fridge. Patrick sat with his headphones on while Andy made Joe watch a movie about penguins. It wasn't until Andy leaned close to Patrick's legs that Pete felt his hackles rise. It was two days before the full moon and they were driving back into Chicago - tour ending.
Maybe it had been the proximity to the full moon combined with knowing that in 5 hours he wouldn't be living on the bus with Patrick for at least 4 weeks. Maybe his hind brain had finally passed along the message. But it was clear to Pete exactly what his body was saying: Patrick is mine.
Pete left the room and sat in the back lounge. Now that he knew it was there, he couldn't deny the evidence of his own feelings. Patrick was his mate. He buried his head in his hands and tried not to scream at the unfairness of it all.
When Pete's mom found him crying in his old room later that night she stroked his back and made soothing grumbles. She asked Pete why he was so upset and he told her that he had found his mate and that it was Patrick. His mom smiled.
“So why are you so unhappy?” she asked.
"Because Patrick's straight," Pete said.
Three
Patrick was straight in the most annoying way. He didn't feel the need to say it or point it out - it just was. He didn't mind people saying he wasn't straight and didn't leap to his own defence. He didn't get angry or act differently around gay men. He was just...straight. Not interested.
Pete sat on the hotel bed and tried to watch Patrick surreptitiously to see if Patrick was maybe surreptitiously watching him back. But he really, really wasn't. Pete knew he looked good - he'd made sure of that in the bathroom mirror before coming out into the room. The white hotel towel made his skin look even darker and his tattoos looked awesome against it all. He was clean and slightly - sexily - wet from the shower. His hair was pushed back (but messily rumpled too) and he smelled amazing.
Patrick had glanced over from the TV at the sound of the bathroom door opening and then disappeared back into, what was that? Oh - CSI Miami. Pete flopped back onto the bed with a heavy sigh. So straight it hurt. Why couldn't he have fallen in love with someone who was even just a little bit bi? Or a girl. A straight or bi girl of course. Although, knowing his luck she would have been the gayest girl that ever liked pussy.
He glanced over at Patrick again, just to make sure that the suggestive way the towel was riding up his legs wasn't making Patrick sweat even a little. Still nothing.
It had been a while since Pete had realised that his stupid, annoying (yes, still cool) werewolf body had molded itself physically to be Patrick's own little love-monkey. Or love-wolfie. Whatever. Pete had tried sleeping with a couple of other people but although it was still great (it was sex, after all) he couldn't help thinking, “But it's not Patrick.”
Also? Sleeping the same room as Patrick (or the same tour bus) wasn't helping. He could feel an unbelievable physical pull to climb into bed next to Patrick and wrap himself round him.
Pete scowled. He got up off the bed and pulled on some underwear and a t-shirt. Patrick might not check him out but he certainly complained if Pete spent too long wandering around half naked. At first Pete had been somewhat hopeful - maybe it was an indication of Patrick not wanting to get caught ogling Pete's hot little body - but it seemed to be just another reflection of Patrick's extreme straightness. He didn't want to see naked men because he wasn't interested in naked men.
It wasn't like Pete was either. He'd kissed dudes a few times, yeah, but nothing more. He'd had crushes on guys (which was all he had thought the Patrick thing was) but dick really was not hot. Except for how Patrick's was. It was like being a werewolf sort of messed with your usual preferences and aimed for a person, not their gender.
Patrick looked up again when passed in front of the TV and only readjusted himself to a slightly more comfortable position when Pete climbed onto his bed next to him and lay his head in Patrick's lap.
“I hate Horatio,” Pete offered.
Patrick patted him on the head. “I know you do.”
They both watched in silence for a few moments before Patrick poked his head. “You know you're getting my jeans wet, right?”
Pete nodded, knowing that Patrick would sense his grin even though he couldn't see it. Patrick gave a long-suffering sigh and settled back down. Okay. Maybe Pete could live with this.
Four
Time passed and Pete sort of...settled. Yes, he wanted Patrick. And yes, if he went more than a day between touching him he would start to get jittery. And yes, when they had breaks and he didn't see Patrick for a couple of weeks it was torture and he couldn't sleep very well. But he could cope. They just - didn't really take that many breaks, as a band.
And it wasn't like Pete hadn't been touchy with Patrick since the beginning. No one noticed a difference (except Dirty, but he was a nosy little fucker and somehow other werewolves always knew). Pete got what he needed. In fact, it seemed to make the fans even happier. On stage Pete would nuzzle Patrick and feel amazing while thousands of people looked on and just screamed their approval.
Pete had even started dating, kind of. Pursuing, would be a better word maybe. But Ashlee was beautiful and funny. Okay, so maybe they hadn't actually had a proper date, but Pete felt pretty good about it. He could snuggle with Patrick when he needed to, he could sleep okay (if not brilliantly) and he could date a pretty awesome girl.
Later, Pete knew he should have realised it wouldn't last long.
He knew, really, that it was his own fault. As it always seemed to be. But the band especially had always been interested in the werewolf stuff and telling them all about it had passed many a boring day in the van, back when tour buses were a thing of dreams. He couldn't have known then that his goddamn big, sharing mouth would come back to bite him in the ass years later.
It started so slowly that Pete didn't notice at first. And when he did notice, he couldn't pinpoint when it had begun. He would sit next to Patrick, leaning in as usual, and Patrick would pull away. Not obviously, but just a casual leaning. And more often than not, he would sit somewhere where Pete couldn't casually invade his space.
Then one time, when they hadn't seen each other from more than a week, Pete went straight in for the sanity-returning hug that he always needed from Patrick and Patrick flinched. He actually flinched and stiffly patted Pete for two seconds before pulling back. It was horrible.
Pete racked his brain but he couldn't think of anything that he had done. Had he been caught staring? No - he was always careful and to be honest, he stared at people sometimes anyway. He had tried to never make his touching obvious and sexual because he didn't want to make Patrick uncomfortable. But something had done that anyway.
Finally, Pete cornered Patrick to ask him what was wrong.
“Am I your mate?” Patrick asked. It was pretty blunt and straightforward, Pete had to admit.
“Yes,” he answered, hoping that if he said it, that might be the end of it.
“I'm not interested, Pete,” Patrick explained, somewhat unnecessarily.
“I know,” Pete told him, “but I need...”
“No,” Patrick said and started to walk away. Pete grabbed his arm but Patrick jerked back.
“Please, Pete,” Patrick said, “I don't want this. Please. Leave me alone.”
Patrick looked genuinely stricken by what he was having to say so Pete let him leave. He had never wanted to make Patrick feel uncomfortable, but as he watched him walk away he wondered what the hell he was going to do now.
Five
Pete knew he should stop. He knew he should just give up and get back into bed. So what if he couldn't sleep? Patrick had made it very clear that he didn't want to be near Pete right now - or maybe ever again. There was every possibility that the “break” Patrick had suggested at their band meeting earlier that night might turn into a hiatus and then into a split. Then he would have no reason to be around Patrick and honestly, Pete didn't think he would live out the year if that happened.
But he couldn't stop. He knew Patrick was on the roof and even though he knew going up there when Patrick was clearly trying to get away from him was just going to make things worse, he needed Patrick. He needed to be close to him. It was at least a little easier when Patrick was in the next room over, even, but Pete couldn't even think about sleep with Patrick all the way up on the roof.
So he trudged up the linoleum-covered steps as though climbing to his execution. Pete knew it was a bad, bad, bad idea but still he pushed through the top door and out onto the stony roof. The gravel crunched under his feet and he saw Patrick turn from looking out over the edge, at the night view.
“Pete,” Patrick said, voice soaked in frustration. Pete almost grinned because if Patrick had thought that coming out onto the roof would stop him being found then he clearly didn't realise just how stalkery werewolf abilities were.
Pete knew he should leave - he knew that he was just making Patrick madder and more skittish. The more he pushed, the more Patrick scrambled away from him. It was so hard though.
“Patrick,” Pete said, “I just - “ he reached out to touch Patrick's arm and Patrick shrugged away.
“No, Pete,” he said. “Enough.” Pete didn't lower his arm though and stepped closer.
“Pete, for fuck's sake,” Patrick said and pushed Pete back away from him.
Pete tried to stop himself but he was half-drunk on Patrick's touch, even if it had just been a shove. He pressed in again. “I just need...” he began, trying to explain without sounding like some deranged fucking werewolf.
Patrick pushed at Pete again. “Fuck OFF!” he yelled, anger blazing suddenly in that Patrick way - reminding Pete of the fights they had over music. Used to have. Before.
Pete stumbled backwards and landed hard on his ass, grazing both palms as he flung his arms out behind him. He couldn't help laughing this time, almost hysterically, as it was the first time in weeks that Patrick had touched him willingly. Pete laughed and sobbed and knew he must look pathetic and ridiculous.
“Patrick - “ Pete began again, voice weak and needy.
“No!” Patrick yelled again, “Fucking hell, Pete.” He was clearly holding himself back - probably because Pete was on the floor, sniffling. Pete stared up at him, taking deep breaths and trying to calm down when every fibre of him was screaming at him to touch Patrick. To drape himself over Patrick and stay there for the rest of his life.
“Patrick,” Pete began again and this time there was no interruption. “I need to - I can't help it.”
Patrick inflated with righteous anger. “You can't HELP it?” he shouted. “Of course you can fucking help it! I'm not interested, Pete. You can still understand English, right? You know what that means?”
Pete nodded, pathetically. “I know,” he said.
“Then why the fuck can't you leave me alone?” Patrick demanded. “Just leave me alone.”
“Don't you think that I would if I could?” Pete said, dragging up his own anger from somewhere under the misery that seemed to be leeching down into his bones. “Don't you think that it would be easier for me to move on and not need to touch you? To not wake up in the middle of the night and feel cramps through every muscle because you haven't let me even just touch your arm?”
He was snarling now, though he couldn't help that either. He pushed up to his feet, gaining a shred of dignity from somewhere.
“Do you think I want this?” he asked. “Don't you think that I feel like a pervert when I can't stop watching you or when I 'accidentally' bump into you ? I wish that I could stop it, Patrick. I wish so much that I could leave you alone but I can't. If I don't, I can't sleep and all I can feel is the fucking wolf trying to get to you, cramping into me.”
Pete realised that he had been stalking forward, forcing Patrick to back up to keep some distance between them. They were right next to the low wall that skirted the edge of the roof. He stopped and looked at Patrick's face. For the first time in weeks there was no anger there. It had drained away.
“It hurts you?” Patrick asked in a strangely soft voice.
Pete nodded miserably again. Now that he had stopped shouting, stopped being angry, the bone-crushing ache came back. He looked around for somewhere to sit - anything to flop down onto. Finding nothing, he lowered himself onto the floor, leaning back against the wall. Patrick just watched him.
Finally Patrick lowered himself down next to Pete. For a few moments he just sat there, inches of space between them. Eventually he shifted across so that their bare arms were touching - pressed together. Pete tried not to push into it.
“Why didn't you tell me that it actually hurt you?” Patrick asked in a quiet voice. He turned slightly so that his legs were leaning against Pete's. Pete tried not to whimper pathetically at the easing of weeks worth of agony.
“I thought I could cope,” Pete said. “I didn't want it to be your problem.”
Patrick made a frustrated sound. “For fuck's sake, Pete,” he said.
Pete nodded and sighed.
“You know that if you'd told me that, I probably wouldn't have got quite so fucking pissed off at you, right?” Patrick asked. He pulled his arm from between them and put it around Pete's shoulders, pulling him in closer. Pete finally gave up all pretence of control and burrowed into Patrick's side.
“Sorry,” Pete offered. “You just - it didn't seem like you wanted to talk about it.” Patrick's smell was all around him and Pete could feel muscles unclenching, relaxing. He could feel sleep creeping up, even on the cold, gravelly rooftop.
Patrick sighed. “I didn't,” he said. “It's weird!” he explained, as though Pete had questioned him. “It's not every day that you realise you're the soul mate of your male best friend.” He sighed deeply. “I wish I wasn't straight, sometimes.”
Pete tried to shake his head and tell Patrick that it was alright (and also that it wasn't soul mates because this was real life and Pete wasn't Dawson Leary), but he was too comfortable and, to be honest, he also wished that Patrick wasn't straight.
“Okay - I have a plan,” Patrick said eventually. “A way that we can make this work.”
Pete, just at the point of dozing off, couldn't quite bring himself to respond. Patrick suddenly sat up straight, almost dislodging Pete who squawked, undignified.
“Pete,” Patrick said, poking him.
“Right, right,” Pete said, “a plan.” He blinked and remembered that they were still on the roof.
“Right,” Patrick said, “you can touch me. But not in a sex way. If you need to hug me or, like, sit next to me or something, you can. And - “ Patrick paused before rushing on, “ - if you need to sleep next to me sometimes, you can.”
Pete looked up to see that Patrick was blushing. He grinned. “Really?” Pete asked.
“Yeah,” Patrick said, offering a half-smile. “But not every night,” he added, hurriedly. “Only when you have to.”
Pete grinned harder, but he still had to check. “Are you sure?” He asked.
Patrick finally smiled back. “Yeah,” he said. “But seriously - no sex stuff. Any sex stuff and I stop it.”
Pete crossed his heart with a finger. “I promise,” he said.
Six
After the night on the roof of the hotel in Boston, everything changed for Pete. The two week “break” still happened, but he could cope because Patrick had let him sleep next to him all night and snuggle up to him during the trip to the airport. Two weeks when he knew Patrick was hundreds of miles away but a willing recipient of hugs was nothing compared to months when Patrick was only feet away and a temptation.
While he was home, Pete thought about the promise that he'd made to Patrick and what the agreement would mean. Things could go back to how they had been before - back when Patrick didn't know that Pete was a freak friend fancier.
He called Ashlee and arranged to go out again together. If he could get as much as was necessary to not go crazy from Patrick, then he could commit to the relationship with Ashlee without making her crazy. He loved Ashlee after all. She wasn't Patrick, but maybe she didn't have to be.
Finally, a few days before his flight out to join the guys back in Chicago to start the new tour, Pete wrote down everything that he was thinking. He wrote out all the things that he wanted to say and then typed them up into an email to Patrick with the subject line “I promise.” Once he'd sent it he mailed the handwritten version to Patrick's house. Just because it seemed strange that Patrick wouldn't get to see it in Pete's original scrawl and because Pete was a little bit crazy. He wanted Patrick to touch something that he had touched.
A few days later, just before he was due to leave for the airport, Pete received an email back from Patrick with an attachment and the subject line “True Blue.” He download the audio file with a bit of a thrill. There wasn't enough time before his flight, but once Pete was on the plane, earphones in, he played the song. Pete knew that Patrick had understood. This promise - this agreement - was sealed using the thing that they did together. Sealed in their music.
To be honest, Pete would really have rather sealed things with a kiss, but considering that was exactly what he couldn't have, this was absolutely the next best thing. It meant that they really were okay again.
When Pete landed, Patrick was there to meet him with a grin and a bone-crushing hug. Pete grinned back at him.
“I thought we could put it on the next album,” Pete said, not needing to explain what he was referring to.
Patrick raised an eyebrow. “Fine,” he said, finally. “But as the hidden track.”
Pete slung an arm round Patrick's shoulders. “Sure thing, P. Stump.”
Yeah, Pete though, it was going to be awesome now.
Seven
“I bit Spencer.”
Pete blinked and adjusted the phone to his other ear. Patrick was making annoyed sounds under his arm so Pete pushed his legs out of the bunk and tried to stand up. His legs were still mostly asleep, as was Pete. It took a few seconds to finally make his way through to the table in the front lounge and sit down. He pulled the phone back to check again who it was that had called him. He'd looked before answering but it hadn't registered in his half-asleep brain.
Jon.
Suddenly what Jon had said slammed into Pete and he yanked the phone back to his ear where Jon was saying his name, trying to get a response.
“You fucking WHAT?” Pete said into the phone, still trying to clear the cobwebs of sleep.
“Fuck, Pete, I know. Fuck fuck FUCK. I bit him, I BIT him,” Jon sounded panicked and incoherent and part of Pete remembered that feeling.
“How? HOW did you bite him?” Pete paused. “No - wait - WHY did you bite him?”
“I don't know, dude. I don't KNOW. It was the moon and the beer and he was under me and I just - I just bit him and I don't know what to do. Fuck, Pete, what do I DO?”
Pete put a hand over his face and tried to think - never his greatest talent when he was only just awake.
“I don't...” he started, before taking the hand away. “Why was he under you? No - wait, more importantly, why the FUCK were you drinking on the full moon?”
Jon knew the rules. Of course he knew the rules! Pete had taught him every one. After he had accidentally bitten Jon. Part of his mind was trying to point out that yelling at Jon for doing something that he himself had done was hypocrisy, but he hadn't even had coffee yet and Jon's breakdown had pulled him away from Patrick on the day after the full moon. Pete snarled.
“I know Pete. I fucking KNOW, alright? But I've drunk a few times on the full moon - I know - but it takes the edge off a bit ok? I've never bitten anyone before though. I don't know what to do. Fuck. FUCK”
Pete could tell that Jon was freaking out. Jon. Jon Walker. One of the most chilled and laid back guys he knew after Joe. Freaking out.
Patrick staggered in from the bunks, glaring at Pete for being so loud. Pete sighed and wished again that Patrick didn't have to put up with his shit. He should have left the bus when he'd realised it was Jon on the phone.
“Okay,” Pete said, trying to calm down a little. “Okay. So where is he now?”
“In the bathroom,” Jon said.
“Right. Okay. He needs to be kept separate from everyone tonight. Just you with him because it's going to get a little messy.” Pete said.
“I remember,” Jon said, voice subdued.
Pete nodded, forgetting that Jon couldn't see him. He remembered Jon's change and how it had felt like the worst punishment for a moment's slip-up. He remembered Jon cursing him and howling at him for it to stop. Even with the bitchy anger that he woke up with, he couldn't bring himself to feel anything but empathy for what Jon was going to have to go through with Spencer that night. He sighed.
“Then tell him everything. All the rules and stuff. What to expect,” he paused, unable to help himself, “you know, like not drinking near the fucking full moon.”
Jon let out the most humourless laugh Pete had ever heard and he felt momentarily bad until Patrick sat down at the table with a bowl of Cheerios, still glaring at him.
“You're going to have to deal with it, Jon,” he said. “But whatever happens, you have to bring him here next month because I'm sure as fuck not leaving you in charge of him for his first full moon.”
“Fine, okay,” Jon said. He sounded calmer - less likely to do anything stupid. Freaking out plus the full moon was not a good idea.
“Oh!” Pete laughed. “And buy him a fucking razor. He's going to look like a man now whether he likes it or not.”
This time Jon's laugh was more real. “Yeah,” he said. He huffed another laugh. “Thanks Pete. Thanks, man.”
Pete hung up and tried not to slam his phone down on the table. “Fuck fuck fuck,” he said, eloquently. Then he looked up at Patrick. “So Panic are coming to see us next month,” he said with awful, fake cheeriness.
Patrick still didn't look too thrilled at having been woken up early by Pete yelling in the lounge, but Pete knew he liked it when he and Brendon could get together and nerd-out about obscure instruments.
“Yeah? Was that why you were yelling?” He asked, pointedly.
Pete sighed. “Jon bit Spencer,” he said.
“Well,” Patrick responded, putting down his spoon. “Fuck.”
Eight
Pete thought that Spencer actually looked pretty okay when Jon brought him into the room that the three of them were going to share for the full moon and the nights right before and after. Pete had always mocked Spencer's inability to grow facial hair yet, but secretly he had thought that Spencer's pretty face was kind of, well, pretty.
The new facial hair suited him though. It was apparently disconcerting after the change, how hairy you became and how quickly it grew. Of course it had never been any other way for Pete. Not that he had been a particularly hairy kid - being the only eight your old who could grow a beard might have been a give-away - but from the moment puberty hit, his body hair had been pretty impressive. He waxed regularly.
“So,” Spencer said, throwing his bag down and arching an eyebrow at Pete. “You're like what - my grandfather now?”
“What?” Pete said. “No! This isn't fucking Buffy, dude.”
Jon was laughing, the asshole. “Dad!” he said, holding his arms out for a hug. Pete flipped him off.
Spencer was laughing too, but it was a hard, biting laugh. It was always like that the night before the full moon - you were bitter and sharp. It was when you said the mean things that you wouldn't say at any other time. Patrick called it Pete's PMS - Pre-Moon Suckage. Patrick was an asshole to him sometimes.
The PMS got easier to control, but Pete had seen enough people on their first full moon to know that Spencer would have no control at all. Well - at least they would all learn what Spencer really thought of them. He had always sort of wondered if Spencer secretly thought he was a douche.
The full moon night itself was when you were most caught up in the “glory” of being a werewolf. Like it was beyond being just “cool man, you don't even know” and not at all a pain in the ass. It was the only night that you didn't think about what it might be like not to be a werewolf. Before the change happened, you blissed out in it, needing it. It was why drinking was such a bad idea. It took the edge off the change itself - made it more fluid - but it blurred your judgement even more, making you think that being a werewolf was something that everyone would want.
The night after the change was the worst though. It was the comedown from the high the night before. It was when you felt everything sharply - emotionally and physically. Pete always made his emo-est blog entries on the nights after the fulll moon. And it was the night most werewolves ended up biting someone else. It was the night when you wanted and needed a connection to help stem the strange feeling of loss. A bite meant that you weren't alone - there were other werewolves. That had been the night Pete had ended up biting Jon.
“Sorry,” Pete said suddenly. Spencer and Jon both stopped laughing.
“Sorry?” Jon said, face puzzled.
“He means for this,” Spencer pointed out. Jon made an 'Ohhhhh' face.
“Yeah, I'm sorry,” Pete repeated.
“Don't fucking apologise to me,” Spencer said, frowning. “Jon did this to me.”
Jon pulled a face at Pete and he smiled slightly. Subtle and tactful would not be Spencer for a good few days.
“But I did it to Jon,” Pete said.
Spencer was nodding, hands swinging loosely at his side, like he didn't know what to do with them. “But don't apologise,” he said. “I don't see what the problem is anyway.”
Then Spencer turned towards the closed door, a smile starting to form before the door even began to swing open. Brendon bounced almost literally into the room. Brendon was a pretty upbeat dude most of the time anyway, but he was practically humming.
“Our room is awesome!” he exclaimed, before stopping and staring around their room. “Uh - 'this is Sparta'?”
“We don't want to fuck up any of the furniture. We convinced the hotel to clear us out a 'party' room,” Pete told him, watching Spencer watch Brendon. Well - fucking marvellous.
“Is it that violent?” Brendon asked quietly. That was another dizzying thing about Brendon - how quickly he could go from puppy-on-speed to quiet-and-attentive. Brendon was looking at Spencer with concern.
“Nah,” Jon reassured him, patting Brendon amiably on the shoulder. “You've seen the back lounge after I've changed. It's not like I shred stuff and all that. More like - “ he paused, thoughtfully.
“Like a dog that's not brilliantly house-trained,” Pete finished for him.
Jon pointed at him. “Exactly.”
“Whatever,” Brendon said, now grinning, “Spence wasn't that house-trained to begin with.”
“Hey!” Spencer said, clearly trying to look offended but still smiling. Pete thought he looked constipated. Brendon apparently disagreed though, if the beaming smile directed at Spencer was any indication.
Jon rolled his eyes and picked up his bag, unzipping it.
“So are you coming to see my room?” Brendon asked Spencer, grabbing his hand. Spencer linked his fingers through Brendon's and obediently followed him out through the door. Pete pulled a face at their retreating backs before turning to Jon.
“So Spencer and Brendon...” he said.
“Pretty much,” Jon said, pulling random clothing out of his bag and shoving it haphazardly into the built-in wardrobe. “A few days after Spencer turned he just - well he just sort of looked at Brendon in that way and I knew what had happened. Turns out he'd been into Brendon for a while and being all repressed-homoerotic-angst about it.” Jon's tone was amused. Pete was pretty sure Jon was straight, but he'd never met a dude more open to other people's sexuality. To the point where (according to Ryan) he'd been the one to finally sit Brendon down and explain to him that no, he liked guys and that was why the girl-thing wasn't working out so well.
“Anyway,” Jon continued, ”turns out Brendon was being totally stealth about being completely in love with Spencer and it took them about six hours after Spencer's realisation to get around to sex in the back lounge. And that only because we had sound check.” He laughed. “Ryan was totally threatening to bleach the couches.”
Pete tried to force a smile but it wasn't working. “Yeah,” he said, before sighing. Jon looked up at him from where he was trying to stuff the now empty bag onto the top shelf of the wardrobe.
“Oh,” Jon said. “Uh - sorry.”
Pete shook his head. “Not your fault. Just - “ he kicked at his own bag morosely “ - Spencer's a werewolf for a few fucking weeks and he's all fucking happy with Brendon and they're all 'come and see my room' and stuff. And here's me - werewolf for decades and...”
Jon looked awkward, like he didn't know what to say. Finally he turned back to the wardrobe and pulled out a small, sealed bag.
“Wanna smoke?” he offered. Pete smiled. Fucking Jon Walker, always knowing the right thing to say.
Nine
Spencer snarled at him. “Patrick's with Brendon?” he asked, standing up. Pete stood up with him.
“Chill the fuck out, Spence,” he said, knowing that Spencer was of course finding it hardest of all of them. “Can't you feel him anyway?”
Spencer nodded and pointed exactly at where Pete knew Patrick was. Werewolves and their incredible ability to stalk.
“Yeah,” Pete said, “then he's with Patrick.”
Spencer frowned. “How do you know?”
Jon laughed from where he was still lounging on his bed. “Didn't you know that Patrick was Pete's 'special' friend?” He said.
“Like me and Brendon?” Spencer asked, eyes widening. Pete was perversely pleased that Spencer had obviously chosen not to believe the rumours that always circulated about him and Patrick so somehow the revelation seemed like an actual surprise. Unlike practically everyone else who had the “you're NOT fucking?” shocked reaction.
“Not exactly,” Jon said, still laughing. Pete kicked him viciously. Fucking Jon Walker. Asshole.
“Patrick's straight,” Pete said, trying not to let the jealously he felt at Spencer's luck in having Brendon who was in love with him right back. Or Jon having Cassie.
“Straight?” Spencer repeated, looking confused. Pete wanted to slap him round then head but that would be unfair - it wasn't Spencer's fault that the full moon was making him fuzzy.
“Straight,” Pete said, sitting back down. Spencer was apparently not going to go running off and kill Patrick for spending time with Brendon so it didn't look like Pete was going to have to kill Spencer. Which was nice.
Spencer still looked confused though. “But he's your mate,” he said. “How can that be if you can't be together?”
Pete rolled his eyes. He remembered trying to explain the same thing to Jon. The difference, of course, being that Jon had not yet met Cassie and therefore wasn't full of PMS and his own surety that the mating thing brought only love and joy forever.
“It's not soul mates, Spencer,” Jon explained. “It's not like some mystic thing where two people meet and are just meant-for-each-other-hearts-and-flowers. It's your wolfie hindbrain deciding it's met someone who is right for you and choosing to be with them forever. Of course that usually only happens with people you're in a relationship with, but sometimes - “ he gestured to Pete and to Spencer himself, “ - sometimes it doesn't. You're just lucky that Brendon already felt that way about you, dude.”
Spencer was still frowning and started to shake his head. “It's not right,” he insisted.
“Preaching to the motherfucking choir,” Pete said, bitterly. He flopped back onto the pillows behind him. “But what the fuck can you do about it?”
Spencer stood for a moment and then turned suddenly and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Pete looked at Jon and pushed back up, scrambling towards the door. Whatever Spencer was thinking, it was clearly not going to be sensible. Not today.
Pete yanked the door back open and ran out into the hall. Jon was right behind him. He couldn't see Spencer.
“Shit,” Jon said, all humour gone. “Fucking hell, Spencer.”
Pete couldn't see where Spencer had gone, but he could hazard a pretty good guess. He turned and ran in the direction of Patrick's room, where he assumed Brendon was still hanging out. It was only a few doors down and the shouting started just before he and Jon reached the open door.
“Spencer? What are you doing?” Pete heard Brendon's concerned voice. He rushed in to see Spencer pulling Patrick up out of his seat. Pete snarled at the sight - at another werewolf touching his Patrick. His Patrick.
“Get off him,” Pete growled. Spencer turned to him.
“It's not right,” he said and sank his teeth into Patrick's shoulder.
Part 2