Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Static

The Aftermath

by ForNeverYours 1 review

What happens after the drinking ordeal.

Category: Fall Out Boy - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama, Romance, Sci-fi - Warnings: [?] [V] - Published: 2006-09-05 - Updated: 2006-09-05 - 1204 words

Patrick was loaded into a stretcher and carried off to the hospital. Pete told me to go with them since he couldn't. I got in the back of the ambulance along with many paramedics putting cords in my Patrick and checking certain things on a portable monitor. I just sat there helplessly and stared at Patrick. Why didn't I notice something was wrong? Why did I have to try and help?
God! Stop beating yourself up! It wasn't your fault this happened. Oh and by the way, STOP TALKING TO YOURSELF! I blinked and noticed we had arrived at the hospital and I was being ushered out of the ambulance. They took him down the hall and one of the nurses told me to wait in the waiting room.
I sat down in one of the cheap plastic chairs and waited...for about two minutes. Then I was up pacing thinking about what was happening to him. There wasn't anyone else in the room.
"Slow service." I smirked to myself then noticed the time. It was midnight. Wow, my clock must have been wrong. Or I really did sit with Patrick for hours. I sat back down and looked around again. That didn't last long because I got back up and paced around more. I hated waiting. I was never good at it. It felt like I had been waiting for hours but it was only minutes.
I sat back down and put my head in my hands. What did I do? What could I do? Sit and wait. That was it. So that's what I did. I waited as patiently as I could. I never knew what it felt like to have your entire world ripped out from under you in an instant.
After a while the nurse came in with a cold emotionless face. She stared at me for a minute and cleared her throat. I looked up at her slowly and sighed.
"Are you with a Mr. Patrick Stump?" She asked monotonously.
"Yes, I am." I said getting up. "Is he ok?"
"He's stable now, but very weak."
"What happened to him?"
"His liver was failing, because of the alcohol in his system."
"May I go see him?"
"You may." She said flatly and turned and walked out the door. I followed her as she turned a few corner and went into a small room. She pulled back the privacy curtain and pulled up a chair for me. He wasn't away, but he was breathing but with help. I just looked at him, sleeping peacefully and sighing every few breathes.
"Oh my Patrick." I cooed taking my seat.
"I'll be back at the end of visiting hour." The nurse said, closing the door.
"Ok." I said to no one as I just watched Patrick sleep. "You really scared me." I whispered. "I'm sorry I did this to you."
He sighed again and I smiled that was his only response every time I said something. He was okay. Not better, but he was gonna make it. I sighed in relief and looked around. Nothing really spectacular. Plain white walls that could easily be replaced with posters and cards. A plain black T.V., wood paneling. It only felt like minutes when the nurse came back and told me I had to leave.
As I walked out of the hospital one thing popped into my head. How the hell was I gonna get home? I didn't have a cell phone on me and the guys seriously weren't here. I sighed, I guess I'm walking...but where exactly?
So I started walking...and walking...and walking. Somehow I knew I was lost. I couldn't ask for directions because that never helps. I shoved my hands deep in my pockets. Why the fuck was it so cold. As I stewed over that fact, I tried to figure out where I was exactly. Ok get yourself together, tall buildings, street signs, people staring at me weird. Yeah that really helps. Where's a friendly face when you need it?
I kept walking until I was just about to fall over from exhaustion. I found a bench and sat down. Where the hell was I? A park. Oh that's helpful. A gust of cold wind blew in my face making me shiver.
"I need to get home." I sighed forcing myself up and continuing to walk in the same direction. "But where is home?"
I kept walking and soon found some familiar landmarks. The ghetto I now called home, the track left by Travis's motorcycle, and finally the bunker. I stiffly walked up to the door and forced it open. Joe was sitting in the living room and jumped when I stalked in.
"Nice to see you surprised." I smirked, rubbing my arms. "Where the hell is Pete, he's got hell to pay."
"In the kitchen, how did you get home?" He asked standing up and finding a blanket.
"I walked." He draped the blanket over my shoulders. "Thanks to you."
"I would have came and got you, but you didn't call." He explained.
I stared at him like he was stupid. "How can I call you if we don't have a telephone?"
"Oh right." He smiled.
I rolled my eyes and walked into the kitchen. Pete was making another one of Patrick's concoctions and humming a song at the same time. He looked up slowly and smirked when he saw me.
"What the fuck are you smiling at?" I snapped.
"Your training's almost complete." He answered simply.
"What?" I question confused.
"It's true." He mused. "You've proven you can survive in this city without dieing."
"I don't understand." I murmured sitting on one of the barstools.
"You will, sooner or later you're going to have to fight Beckett."
I nodded and looked out into the case room. That was where Patrick documented on each case. Or at least he used to. I got up and sat at the old rotting desk. A small T.V. sat in the corner, hooked up to a V.C.R. I picked up one of the tapes and looked at the label.
"Don't bother, none of them work." Joe observed coming up from behind me. I jumped and looked at him.
"Then why does he have all of these?" I questioned.
"Something about proof if we ever get linked to a murder." He explained sitting on the edge of the desk. "Do you think you're ready to face off with Beckett?"
"Hardly, I'm so out of practice." I groaned thinking on that fact. "I need to get to work."
"Let me know if I can help." Joe smiled as I got up and hurried into the gym area.
I laced my hands with tape and started to get back in the swing of punching and hitting on target. Lethal kills I still remembered the arteries to hit and when depending on how much time you think you have. The neck still too messy for my taste, maybe the one in the arm. Perfect. A clean cut, not a lot of blood. I had my target ready for him. Next time I saw him I knew one good thing. I was ready.
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