FicWad

Author's best friend's POV

God, he was tired. But sleeping was out of the question; that little... that... it... kept invading his dreams. Sleepily, he walked into the white-washed, bare kitchen of his dingy apartment. Scratching his head absentmindedly, he grabbed the nearest bag of Skittles, pulled out all the purples, and sat down. His eyes weren't even half-open, yet something was wrong. Very wrong. Firstly, he could feel the cold night draft from the open window... who opened it anyways?... across the top of his head. Secondly, there was a blob across the tattered old table from him. One that looked all too gut-twistingly, horrifyingly like the demon-child that kept taking his hat, and tossing it to Jason, Jesus, and Joe in his dreams. Blinking, he focused. Oh, Bob... the blob was his nightmare. And it was waving a black hat around triumphantly. So, Patrick did the only logical thing he could think of at two-something AM on a Saturday morning. He screamed at the top of his lungs.

Andy came in running, also screaming hysterically. "WHAT. THE. HELL! WAS THAT?"
And, the theme of insanity continuing, Joe fell off the couch. And then Patrick resumed screaming, taking up the chant of, "ZOMG, JESUS IS COMING" and half-choking on a Skittle. Famous last words.

Lyric's POV

Drip. Slap. Drip. Slap. Drip.
"Pete if you don't put the God-forsaken water away I swear to Bob--" Patrick started, eyes remaining closed.
"S'not him. He's still in his room or something.," I informed him, trying not to laugh at the sight before me. Patrick lay in his bed while Hope stood above him, squirt gun in hand, slowly allowing single drops of water to escape onto Patrick's forehead.
"Nope. Sadly this work of genius isn't mine, but hey, she did learn from the best," Pete said, his voice dripping in sarcasm as he strolled casually into the room. Patrick's eyes popped open immediately.
"Oh for the love of Pete, why me?! BOB WHY ME?!" Patrick cried, still slightly hysteric.
"Awww, I love you too Patty-Boy!" Pete said, plopping down onto the bed beside me. I crinkled my nose in nose in disgust. I still wonder why I moved in with the man who had killed my future husband merely weeks ago. I looked over at him. He was kind of good-looking. Shut up Lyric. Just shut up. I heard Patrick shriek in terror and jerked my head back just in time to watch Hope give the squirt gun a strong pump and pull the trigger, soaking Patrick.
"OH IT'S ON!" Patrick shouted, jumping out of the bed and lunging toward Hope. She shrieked in mock terror and dove off the bed, leaving the squirt gun somewhere in the darkness. Pete and I sat on the bed in the dim light, just laughing at the event that had just taken place. I heard a thud and someone cry out in laughter, while another cry was heard, this one out of pain. We rushed out of Patrick's room to find Joe and Andy lying on the floor writhing in pain. Obviously they'd been in the way when Patrick had barged through chasing Hope. Patrick sat a few feet away tickling Hope, who was kicking and screaming.
"Um, Patrick?" I said, stepping over Joe. He looked back at me for a split second. I giggled as he turned around to find that Hope no longer lay on the floor where he had left her. He turned back to me.
"Where'd she --" He scratched his head feeling, well, his hair. He patted his head, searching for the hat that he had been wearing. He staggered to his feet, feeling a strange weight pulling him down. I covered my mouth, stifling laughter.
"What the hell?" He said, turning around, searching for the bane of his existence. He knew she had his hat. He just didn't know where she was. He turned towards me again and a black blob of fabric flew over his shoulder and into my hands. I, in turn, threw it to Pete, who held it high above Patrick's head, just taunting him with the three inches that separated them.
"Mwahahaha!" Hope cried from her position on Patrick's back. "Giddy'p horsy!"
"Rid'em, Cow.. Girl!" shouted Pete, clearly enjoying the scene. But, I thought ominously, its all fun and games until someone gets hur-THWAM!-urt. This was definitely not my day.

Pete's POV
So, there I was, sitting in the back of the ambulance, with my best friend. Cliché? Not really, considering with me were Joe, my Jew 'fro buddy, and Andy B'Jesus, and the fiancé of the man I killed in a suicide attempt and his daughter. We finally arrived at the hospital and piled out of the ambulance and watched as the EMS guys pulled out the stretcher that held a rather pissed off Patrick, and another that held a knocked out Hope. I was worried about Hope, but I admit, I couldn't help but laugh as I replayed the incident over in my mind.

"OH IT'S ON!" Patrick shouted, jumping out of the bed and lunging toward Hope. She shrieked in mock terror and dove off the bed, leaving the squirt gun somewhere in the darkness. Lyric and I sat on the bed in the dim light, just laughing at the event that had just taken place. I heard a thud and someone cry out in laughter, while another cry was heard, this one out of pain. We rushed out of Patrick's room to find Joe and Andy lying on the floor writhing in pain. Patrick sat a few feet away tickling Hope, who was kicking and screaming.
"Um, Patrick?" Lyric said, stepping over Joe. He looked back at her for a split second. She laughed quietly as he turned around to find that Hope no longer lay on the floor where he had left her. He turned back to her.
"Where'd she --" He scratched his head feeling around for the ever present hat. He staggered to his feet, as if some strange force of gravity was pulling him down.. I tried not to laugh and Lyric covered her mouth stifling laughter at the sight we now beheld.
"What the hell?" He said, turning around, searching for the bane of his existence. He knew she had his hat. He just didn't know where she was. He turned towards us again and a black scrap of fabric flew over his shoulder and straight towards Lyric who caught it and threw it to me. Me, being the evil yet adorable little shit that I am, held the hat above his head. Thank God for me being three inches taller than him.
"Mwahahaha!" Hope cried from her position on Patrick's back, "Giddy'p horsy!"
"Rid'em, Cow.. Girl!" I shouted, this was getting good. But then, as all things do, it had to end. And it ended badly. Patrick made an attempt to lunge at his hat, but managed to hit something-or-other and tip the old, decrepit bookcase on himself. He totally screwed up. Fan-fucking-tastic

So. Now, I sat there next to Lyric at--four am? It was entirely to early whatever time-- with her head on my shoulder, my best friend in the ER, and I was sitting there thinking about how nice her shampoo smelled. Idiot. I was the only one awake; Joe and Andy were sharing the couch at the opposite our chair in the cramped waiting room. A doctor walked in.
Looking very official he called out my name.
"Is there a Mr. Peter Wentz here?" I got up, making sure not to wake Lyric, I answered him with a yes. "Mmm-hm. Your brother," I was confused, but then it hit me.
Patty always did have a bit of an avenging nature.
"Patrick is doing OK. Couple broken ribs here and there, but he'll be alright, " The doctor looked at the crew.
"Your daughter on the other hand," Wait a minute, daughter? Oh yeah, Hope. "She's awake, but there is a problem. The fall caused some severe, severe head trauma.
I gave him a confused look.
"Sir, the bookcase falling on your daughter caused some severe head injuries, plus..." his voice trailed off; he obviously didn't like giving this kind of news, "She doesn't know who she is. She has a bad case of amnesia. She might get her memory back, but I just don't know," he said.
I stood there in front of him, dumbfounded. Oh you've got to be kidding me...
"Would you like to head home? You can come back in the morning."
I glanced at Lyric, curled up on the chair.
"No, we'll stay here."