FicWad

‘News just in: We’ve just had reports that musician and entrepreneur Pete Wentz has been shot in a nightclub in New York City. He was rushed to hospital at around midnight last night and is said to be in a critical condition. The assailant has not yet been identified, and all related parties are calling for anyone who has seen him to come forward. The assailant is of Latino complexion, with dark hair and–’

Patrick turned off the TV angrily. It was just after 6am, and they had been waiting for a few hours now to see Pete, or at least hear something about him if the worst came to the worst. Patrick just couldn’t shake the image of Pete lying in his own blood, telling him his dying wishes. It was all too serious.

Driven on caffeine only (he had refused to sleep in case there was news) he tapped his feet relentlessly, glaring at the ground. It should have been him lying in the hospital bed. But Pete had managed to move in front of him before things got too bad. In effect, Pete had saved his life. The thought made Patrick even more upset, and just as he groaned with helplessness and impatience, a young nurse rounded the corner.

‘Are you all here for Mr. Wentz?’
The whole gang had turned up. Everyone on the tour had come to the club earlier on, and had then followed directions to the hospital after the incident. In fact, they’d even had to turn away a few fans who had turned up, clutching things and crying.
‘Well, the good news is that he’s still alive. But only just. We had to give him a lot of blood and he’s just come out of surgery.’
‘Just now?’ Joe questioned.
‘It was quite a deep wound. He lost a lot of blood, plus the alcohol in his bloodstream complicated things a little,’ she explained. ‘But he’s still in quite a bad way. We don’t know if the wound will heal enough, so all we can do is wait.’
The group sighed sadly. Patrick plucked up courage.
‘Do you… What’s the chance he’ll live? Do you have a percentage…?’
The nurse gave him a sad smile. ‘It’s quite early to tell, but… around twenty-five percent.’

25%. A quarter. Such a small, ridiculous amount.

‘I’m sorry,’ the nurse said sadly. ‘We can let one of you see him now, but only one. We don’t want any accidents or anything going wrong. The rest of you had better go home and get some sleep.’
The group all looked over at Patrick. ‘Are you sure, guys? Me?’ They nodded.
‘Sure, go ahead, Patrick.’ Victoria patted his shoulder.

Shakily he stood up, rubbing his face to rid it of sleep, and followed the nurse through the hospital. Soon enough they stopped outside Pete’s room, and she pushed the door open slightly.
‘Thank you. I mean, thanks for doing everything you can for him. It’s much appreciated.’
The nurse smiled and disappeared down the corridor. Patrick took a couple of deep breaths, preparing himself for the worst, and walked in.

Pete was lying on his back in a starched white bed, an oxygen mask on his face, and tubes running in and out of him. The constant beep of the heart monitor drove him crazy. A drip stood by the bed with a bag of blood attached, the tube sliding down into Pete’s arm. Looking away from it squeamishly, Patrick bent over Pete. He looked just the same, just like a sleeping Pete, except hooked up to all sorts of machines. He couldn’t see his shot wound under the covers and bandages, but he expected that was probably for the best.

He stroked Pete’s hair back. ‘Hey, buddy. It’s Patrick. I don’t know if you can hear me, but… I’m here to visit you. You were in a bad accident.’
He sat down in a plastic chair by the bed, clutching Pete’s hand in silence for a while. The faint bustle of nurses and patients outside was strange, and the light starting to come in through the curtains made the situation even odder.
‘I remember the last time I saw you in a hospital bed… but this time it’s not your fault…’
He smiled faintly, then bent his head and screwed up his eyes, thinking of the suicide attempt and how much that had scared him. Tears still leaked through.
‘Pete…’ He looked back up through blurry eyes at his motionless best friend. ‘You have to make it. Please, please don’t give up. You can’t leave now, it’s far too soon. You’ve got a child, an awesome little boy who might grow up fatherless… Please, don’t go. I want you to fight with all you’ve got to hold on to life. You saved my life, man. And… and I want to save yours someday.’

He sniffed suddenly and stared at Pete, desperately searching for signs of life. It was always at these kinds of moments that people woke up… but there was nothing. His hand stayed limp in Patrick’s tight grasp. There was not a sound to be heard, apart from the beep of the heart monitor. And there was not a single movement to be seen, apart from the slow, dull beat in Pete’s chest, and the tears slowly trickling from his best friend’s eyes.

********************************

Some time later footsteps could be heard coming down the corridor, waking Patrick from an uneasy sleep. Voices could be heard outside, female voices. Patrick tried to listen in but couldn’t decipher anything. But soon enough the door opened again, and Ashlee came through with a sleeping Bronx in a pushchair. Her face was pale from worry and a lack of sleep, and it was obvious she’d been crying.

She bent over Pete slowly, sniffing and stroking his cheek, not even noticing Patrick was there. He saw a tear trail down her face, and saw the concern. She’s never really stopped loving him, he thought sadly, and it’s taken her all this to realise that? But still, if Pete were conscious right now he’d be ecstatic all the same. At this thought he smiled weakly to himself, despite it being a very inappropriate time.

‘Pete? I think now would be a good time to wake up, dude,’ he joked. Ashlee jumped.
‘Oh, sorry Patrick, I had no idea you were there…’ she started, before covering her face and moaning slightly. He got up and pulled her into a tight hug, letting her cry on his shoulder.
‘This is terrible…’ she sobbed into his jacket.
‘I know, Ash. I wish I could say something to make it better, but…’ he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.
‘I never stopped loving him really,’ she whispered, ‘not even after he betrayed me so easily. I don’t know why, he… he just – tried so hard to make it up to me. I should have taken him back while I had the chance. Why am I so stupid?...’
‘It’s not stupid, not at all. I promised myself I wouldn’t forgive him either, but I did eventually. You just needed a bit longer to do it. And listen, it’s not definite he’ll die. You might still have that chance.’ She nodded slowly.
‘Listen… if things don’t work out, then Pete said he loves you, you and Bronx, more than anyone in the world. I’ll get Decaydance and you two get everything else he owns. But… let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, right?’

They sat in silence together for a while, until Bronx started to wake up and wriggle in his pushchair.

‘Mommy? Where are we?’ he mumbled. Ashlee pulled him onto her lap and cuddled him close.
‘We’re at the hospital, sweetie. Daddy’s not very well.’
His eyes snapped open and he grinned. ‘Daddy!’ Bronx stretched out his arms, having not seen Pete for a couple of months, but Ashlee held him back.
‘Sorry baby, you can’t hug him right now. Daddy needs to rest.’
‘Is he tired? ‘Cause it’s morning now. It's time to get up!’ Patrick and Ashlee couldn’t help smiling at this, even in the circumstances.
‘What’s the matter with him?’
‘Your dad got hurt by a nasty man, Bronx. But you know, he’s a big hero. He saved me, because the nasty man could have hurt me instead.’
Ashlee turned to look at him. ‘He saved your life?’ she whispered. Patrick nodded slowly, and they both looked over at the bed.
‘Uncle Patrick?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Daddy’s not gonna wake up for a while, is he?’
The adults exchanged worried glances.
‘Maybe not, Bronx. Maybe not.’

********************************

Eventually Patrick managed to tear himself away from Pete’s side and get some coffee, taking Bronx along for a walk so Ashlee could have some time alone. As strange as it was, he was beginning to get used to the circumstances.

‘Can I have some coffee too?’
‘Sorry, little dude. It’s grown-up stuff. We don’t want you getting all hyper, do we?’
‘Aw! Pleeeeeease? Just once?’
‘Nope. Sorry, buddy. You’re not old enough.’ Patrick smiled at the thought of him growing into a caffeine addict like his dad. ‘But tell you what. We’ll go and get some cookies instead, huh? How about that?’
Bronx considered. ‘OK then,’ he sighed. Patrick picked him up.
‘Cookies are much better than coffee, Bronx. Trust me.’
‘So why do so many grown-ups like coffee? Daddy says it’s his favourite.’
‘Because it’s nice and warm, and it wakes them up. You see–’
He was cut off as Bronx wriggled out of his grip and charged down the corridor. ‘Hey, Bronx! Don’t run in here! You’ll hurt yourself!’
‘Grandma!’
Looking down the corridor he saw Pete’s mother approaching, slightly weary and teary-eyed, catching Bronx in a hug.
‘Hi Grandma!’
‘Hello, sweetheart. Where’s your daddy?’
‘I don’t know. Uncle Patrick can show you though. Daddy’s not very well, Grandma. Guess what? We got cookies!’
She smiled wearily as Patrick caught them up. ‘Hello, Mrs. Wentz.’
‘Hi. How are you keeping, Patrick?’
‘I’m great, thanks. Well… in the circumstances.’

Pete’s mother sniffed and looked away as his father came round the corner, evidently having parked the car. They shook hands briefly before Patrick led them to Pete’s room. Ashlee was in tears again, and Pete’s mother rushed to her son’s side with a gasp.

‘Any improvement?’
Ashlee shook her head, unable to say anything. Patrick sat down next to her again with Bronx in his lap clutching a cookie. But before too long he realised.
‘Mommy? Why are you crying?’
Patrick opened his mouth to talk for her, but she held up her hand and composed herself, taking him off Patrick.
‘Listen, sweetheart. There’s no easy way to say this, but…’
‘It’s OK, Mommy. Don’t cry. I can look after you. Here, I'll cheer you up!’ He held out the remains of his cookie, making her smile.
‘I don’t think so. Not today.’
‘Is it Daddy?’ She nodded.
‘Bronx… Daddy – might not… wake up.’
His face fell. ‘What? Won’t he get better?’
‘We don’t think so. He… he might… he might d–’
‘Pete!’

Everyone’s heads jerked to the bed. Pete’s eyes were half-open, and he started to cough slightly.
‘Mom?’
She wiped a tear from her face and stroked his cheek. ‘Hello, baby.’
‘Where am I, Mom?’
‘You’re at the hospital. You’ve been shot. We thought – we thought you weren’t gonna… pull through…’ She started to cry properly, Pete’s father rubbing her back.

‘Mommy, you can stop crying now. Daddy woke up.’

At that voice Pete slowly turned his head to the people on his left. Patrick was staring at him, hand over his mouth, trying and failing to stop crying. To his right was Ashlee, actually laughing with relief even though tears were still running down her face. And on her lap was Bronx, his favourite person in the whole world, stretching out to him for a hug. Pete managed to find his own arms under the covers and reached out, his eyes opening properly and a weak smile forming on his lips as he held his son.

‘Hi Daddy.’
‘Hello, you.’ He cuddled him tight, never wanting to let go again.
‘We thought you weren’t going to wake up,’ Bronx mumbled into his shoulder.
‘I know, I know. But don’t worry, buddy. I’m here now. I’m here. And I'm not going anywhere.’