FicWad

Most nights, Pete left Patrick crying.
It was in a way that was so unberable that Patrick thought we could (and often thought would) die.

Pete was supposedly "straight-edge". Only for the press. Most nights, he went out partying to a local Chicago club, and afterwards, called Patrick.

He'd be wasted or shitfaced, completely out of his element, but that was okay. Patrick was used to it.

This was the one time that Patrick could get Pete, get what he wanted.

Patrick remebered a time, just like a summer ago, where he and Pete cuddled for hours, snuck kisses on the necks of each other, gently grabbed hands, kicked feet underneath tables.

When the lines Too Hands Between Legs, To Whatever it takes actually meant something.

Back to when, he, Patrick, actually meant something.

Those days were long gone.

Patrick recalls the early tours, Evening Out days, and Take This To Your Grave Days, where Pete would genuinely say to him "You're my golden ticket. I love you trick,"

Remembers, more recently, when Pete said "I would die without you. Please. Love me. Love me, the way i love you,"

Remembered when Patrick had refused, "I'm sorry--its just--Lisa. It's too hard. I love you Pete, I do. But I can't ever, ever, ever Love you the way you want me to."

Remember Pete's tears, his voice cracking, him getting on his knees, begging him.

"Patrick. Patrick. I love you. I.love.you. I fucking.love.you. I will die without you. Love me."

Remebers himself replying "I'm still here, Pete, and i always will be. I'm not going anywhere. I love you too much, just not in the way you hope"

Remembers Pete's voice die a little.
" Patrick. Patrick. Oh fuck--Patrick. "

Remembers himself shaking his head, walking out on Pete's whispers. Oh what a fool he'd been.

When Pete calls tonight--its no different from most. Pete is completely wasted.

"Where are you? I'll come pick you up," says Patrick, patiently. Granted, he refused to love Pete--but Pete is still his best friend. No matter what. Even if Patrick refused him.

Pete's speaking incoherently today. It's driving Patrick insane, yet slightly scaring him at the same time.

"Pete?" He asks again, waiting.

He hears Pete swallow.

"Patrick?" Pete whispers.

Patrick knows that whisper too well. Fucking knows it like the way he knows how to get home.
Knows it like the chords to any song, knows it like he knows music.

Knows it like he knows Pete.

"Patrick?" Pete whispers again.

"Yeah? Pete. I'm here,"

"Oh Fuck. Patrick " He hears Pete start to sob.

"I'm so sorry," Pete whispers, his voice hoarse.

"So fucking sorry for being such an arse lately. Ashlee and Me--we broke up. I--i can't, Patrick, I just, fuck, i can't. It's so--I don't know. But--it's. I just--," Pete's voice shudders, and Patrick can only imagine the way Pete's whole body shudders, the way Pete's eyelids are damp and wet, the way Pete would yearn for someone's hand to hold.

"You cant what, Pete?" Patrick asks gently.
He'd originally thought Pete was wasted, now, he wasn't so sure.

"This, Patrick. Life. Whatever they call it. You're the one thing i care about the most and you won't even let me have you.
If i cant keep you for myself, i have nothing. I lost Ashlee. I've failed every single relationship i've been in.
You just--you get me, you know? Like nothing else matters because you're the only one who understands, like we can stand in the rain for hours just because i said i liked the sunset.
Like the way we loved, once upon a time--" Silence.

"--Like the way i'd like to kiss you. If i had a chance. Ever, again.
The stolen kisses, the small gestures, they meant everything to me Patrick, and i was hoping, you felt the same way. I know, i can't change your mind, but, i can't change mine either.

If this is going to--if this is it, goodbye, or whatever, i just--i want it to be proper, you know? Like, goodbye, not forever, but more, goodbye, see you next week?" Pete's rambling now, and even Patrick's having trouble to understand what he's saying.

Patrick Pete's golden ticket. The way out of his melancholy, the way out of dystopia, the way out of his depression.

But no.

Patrick had to go and fuck that up, too.

"I'm not saying anything bad, Patrick. I'm just saying--I--did you need me the way I needed you?"

The question lingers. Patrick's trying to digest this all at once, trying to work out what Pete means.

Patrick guesses he waited too long to answer, because Pete sighs and sniffles, disappointed.

"See--See, Trick? It was all in my head," Sniffle.
"We could never be the way I wanted us to be, and maybe thats for the better." Pause.
"Maybe, we can like, reincarnate, and i'll, like be some cool, really cool, person, or maybe i'll be a girl. And, you know, you'll be you, and I'll be a girl, and maybe, that way, we can, y'know, love each other and stuff, Like everyone keeps talking about love, but does it really exist? I thought it did. BUt i think i was wrong. Isn't love a two-way street?"

Patrick swallows. His throat is dry and hurts, but he contines to say what he wants

"It doesn't have to be, Pete. I love you, i do. So fucking much. Thats right, I love you. But--its too cliche, I know, im a fucking walking contradiction--but I'm not in love with you. I'm sorry."

Pete's quiet a moment.

"So, you don't love me?"

"Not in the way you uwant, Pete."

"S'okay. I dont think anyway wants to love me."

Patrick closes his eyes, rubbing them. "Pete, I do love you. I do--just. Not, like that. Okay? Now where are you? I'll come pick you up"


"It doesn't matter, 'Trick. S'too Late. I'm sleepy." Pete's voice dies sound tired, and Patrick can just imagine Pete's eyelids drooping.

"Pete? What do you mean, too late? I've come for you later, its only--" Patrick checks the clock.

"--One thirty. It's fine, i'll come get you, now where are you?"

In the background, Patrick can hear music playing.

"I've heard there was a secret chord That David played, and it pleased the Lord But you don't really care for music, do you?

And suddenly, Patrick figures out exactly the purpose for this call.

He panics.

**
Andy and Joe solemnly are watching the news.

"..And By the time the ambulance got there, it was too late.

The car was thrown over the edge of the mountain, down into the lake.

It is reported that the driver was speeding, on his way to local Chicago Hospital.

Today, this morning, Patrick Martin Stump, Lead Singer of Fall Out Boy, was found dead..."

Andy switches the tv off, and looks at Pete's body, gently lying on the hospital bed.

He turns to Joe.

"Do you think its fair that he survived and Patrick didn't?"

Joe shakes his head, then shrugs.

"How will Pete ever get over this one?" Joe whispers.

"I don't know. Maybe he won't. Maybe he already knows. Maybe he'll never wake up,"

"Yeah," Joe agrees.

Pete and Patrick did always seem to have that special connection.

"Maybe, though" Joe says tentatively.

"Maybe, its for the better."