Chapter Text
They took Patrick to a regular hospital. It was early enough in the morning that they didn't even start to worry about making sound check on time until they had been in the waiting room three hours and Patrick was starting to clutch at his chest when he breathed. Once all the adrenaline was gone it made room for the hurt to move into, and his breathing was shallow while they waited ever longer in the urgent care waiting room.
“Should've gone to the ER,” Pete muttered for the umpteenth time that morning.
“Darling,” Patrick said dryly. “This isn't an emergency. It just hurts.”
“Yeah, but we could've been in and out of an emergency room right now. This is urgent care. Shouldn't it be urgent?”
“I'm not about to go in front of someone who's having a real emergency!” Patrick said. “We'll just. Give it a minute.”
A minute turned into another hour which turned into noon before someone called Patrick's name. He stood up, and his whole band stood with him.
“Guys,” Patrick said.
“It's better if none of us goes off on our own right now,” Joe said, and Patrick sighed, and was followed into a well-lit doctor's office by all three of them.
The doctor herself seemed unfazed.
“Broken rib?” she said. “We'll get an x-ray just to be sure, but that's not too bad.” She surveyed Patrick's badly bruised face, his slight limp, general disheveledness, and the similarly beaten up state of his companions, and raised an eyebrow.
“And you are sober, yes?” she asked.
“More than I've been in a long time,” Patrick said, and she smirked.
“It doesn't matter much, but it's good to know these things and warn the nurses in case.”
“We're really not here to start any trouble,” Patrick assured her. “It's a complicated story, but not, like, a bar fight.”
“If you say so,” she said. “Follow me.” And, when she saw the others still following, added “it's going to be very cramped, but oh well.”
X-Rays were the worst part of it. Patrick had to twist in positions that he physically couldn't for the photos, until eventually the doctor sent Andy to help move him into place. Patrick’s eyes bulged, but he didn’t make any noises of pain. Pete could see his aura flare like crazy, and Joe could feel it through the bond, but it was over fast.
The four of them were sent to another office that was clearly designed for A doctor and A patient. Andy and Joe stood in corners of the room and Pete leaned against the counter while Patrick sat on the examination table.
“You know,” Patrick said. “You guys really don’t have to be here.”
“We’re the moral support,” Joe said. The doctor came back in and saw all of them still there, then shook her head, still looking amused.
“Well Mr. Stump, you were right, that’s a nasty break you’ve got there,” she said. “I can tape it up for you, but unfortunately broken ribs aren’t very friendly injuries. Mostly you’re just going to have to keep off it and let it heal on its own.”
“When you say to keep off it, what all does that entail?” Patrick asked. The doctor looked amused.
“Mostly it just means to use common sense,” she said. “You can’t have too much physical exertion until it heals up, so I would cancel any rock climbing or bungee jumping trips,” she smiled lightly, “and generally keep your workouts to a minimum. No marathons, no rough sex.”
Joe snorted, and Patrick glared at him.
“I’m in a band,” Patrick said. “Is there, um, any issue with performing?”
“There shouldn’t be,” the doctor said. “But, as I said, use common sense. If you start to feel pain in your chest, take a break. Alright?”
“Sounds good to me,” Patrick said. The doctor wrote a script for pain medication for him, and after some slightly illegal driving, they made it back to the tour on time. And Patrick was pleased to note that while the relieved looks cast at him were abundant, the hair ruffling was kept to a minimum.
***
Ferrum flew out to see Joe. He probably could have gone to a regular hospital, as his mom always took him to his same human doctor as a kid, but they didn't want to take any risks. He played alright the first night, but by the time the show was over his spine felt like it was made of knives.
Ferrum was waiting backstage, and as was her custom, she commandeered one of the back rooms and turned it into a small but functional doctor's office.
“I won't drag you back to LA for an x-ray if it doesn't seem too bad,” she said, “but I have to check, and this might hurt.”
Truth be told, Joe still wasn't entirely comfortable around Ferrum. He knew that this woman hadn't hurt him, that she was as good as good doctors got, but he still vividly remembered all the needles and pain, and associated it with her face, even though someone else had done it.
So for this reason Joe was immensely grateful when he looked up, panicked, and saw that his whole band had followed him inside, and were standing watchfully by the door, out of the way but within arm’s reach. It was a safe feeling, with added warm fuzziness in that they knew, and they knew it was illogical, but they stayed anyway because they knew him.
“I'm going to press on different parts of your back, and I want you to tell me where it hurts, or if it hurts,” Ferrum said. Joe nodded out of habit, though he was facedown.
It hurt immediately when she pressed her hand down on the top knob of his spine. His back ached like he was being stabbed, and he told her so. Not in words so much as in growls, but the point got across nonetheless.
“Mm, mmhm, I know, but hold on a moment longer. Where are you feeling this?”
“In my fu- in my spine,” Joe growled.
“Anywhere else?”
Joe tried to really focus on the question and think before he responded.
“No, just my back,” he said.
“You’re certain?”
“YES, why?”
“That’s very good news,” Ferrum said, and when Joe glanced up, Pete nodded at him. She pressed down on the second bone in his spine, and the process started all over again.
She determined that he hadn’t sustained any serious nerve damage but prescribed him what she called “werewolf strength” pain medication to handle it for a few days.
“If the pain persists longer than a few days, come and see me in California,” she said. “But your bones are all in the proper place, and you should be able to heal up just fine.”
“You ever hear of these things before?” Joe asked. For the first time since she had arrived, Ferrum looked disconcerted.
“No, I haven’t,” she said. “I’ll ask around, but in the meantime, be careful.”
The maternal quality of her warning was a little touching, even if Joe wasn’t sure it was warranted yet.
After she left, Joe looked up at Pete who was grinning a more annoying than usual grin.
“You did such a good job,” he said, ruffling Joe’s hair. The teasing was annoying, but marginally less embarrassing than treating his irrational fear with any sort of gravity. “How ‘bout we get you some ice cream as a reward?”
Joe looked disparaging. Andy shrugged.
“We did talk him down from dog treats,” he said by means of apology or explanation.
“Are there ice cream shops open this late at night? Can we even get anything?” Joe asked.
“We’re Fall Out Boy,” Patrick said, completely deadpan. “Pete has discovered through this that he can get just about anything he wants.”
***
Andy did not think he had to go to a doctor until the day after, when the dull throbbing in his head had turned into a vicious headache that hadn’t gone away. It was hardly noticeable at first, pretty bad during the show when the pounding of the drums and the movement of muscles in his neck made him nauseous, and by morning simply moving to get out of his bunk made Andy run for the bathroom to vomit.
He called Joe while still on the bathroom floor, and even with his eyes closed the lights seemed to pulsate. The phone was too loud, and Joe’s voice was too loud and the bus was too loud and though Andy could tell he was dehydrated, the thought of drinking anything just made his stomach roll over again.
“You have any experience with concussion headaches?” Andy asked. He could feel blood pumping in his eyelids and focused on not throwing up again.
“What’s wrong?” Joe asked. His voice was still too loud, but it was Joe. Andy swallowed with some difficulty before talking.
“I guess you didn’t see it,” Andy said. “But I was unconscious because the demon-P- the one that looked like- the blonde fucker curb stomped me in the head. I didn’t think it was that bad, but…”
“You want me to call a doctor?” Joe asked.
“Maybe?” Andy said weakly. “I don’t know.”
What Andy had expected was a call back saying that Ferrum would meet them at the next venue. What he had not predicted was the buses pulling over and the whole band crowding onto his bus. Carmilla had started to cry at some point because she didn’t quite grasp the idea of “Daddy’s sick” yet, and Patrick scooped her up and was rocking her in an instant. Joe pressed a cold bottle of water into his hands and Pete half-carried him onto the couch in the main area of the bus.
“I’m fine,” Andy protested, but no one listened.
“We called Ferrum and she said that there’s probably not much we can do but keep monitoring you,” Pete said. “But she’s hopeful that this won’t last long, especially if you stay hydrated. Er, both kinds of hydrated.”
“I can hear you, honey, thanks,” Patrick said in a low voice, so as not to disturb Carmilla. “I was gonna get the little one to sleep first, if you don’t mind.”
“I know, I know!” Pete said defensively.
“Are you supposed to keep me awake?” Andy asked, a little skeptically.
“Actually, no, we’re supposed to let you rest if you want,” Joe said. “But if you want to stay up and take it easy, I can absolutely kick your ass in any video game you have on this granola bus.”
And the pain took another few days to go away completely, but it was easier to manage then.
***
It took all of them an embarrassingly long time to notice the dreams. No one was sure if that was because Pete slept at absurd times, or because he planned it that way, but the rest of the band strongly suspected it was the latter.
It was three nights later that Joe had what was not the first nightmare reminding him about the not-band, the demon doubles, but the first nightmare that wasn’t from his point of view.
Joe’s dreams about the doubles were fleeting and unreal. In them, sometimes the Patrick-double grew to monstrous heights and crushed them, sometimes his own double just laughed and laughed an ear-tearing laugh. In one fleeting image, he simply looked into the mirror at his house and saw flat, black eyes staring back at him.
This dream was different.
In it, Joe was trapped, metal bars across his back holding him down and he could see three other prone shapes, all too far away, none of them moving. The Patrick double leaned in close and whispered “Soon,” them pressed his lips to the top of Joe’s head, making his skin crawl all over.
And then he was alone, crying and shouting and trying to move the bars but they were too strong, impossible to budge. He was the only one who could help and he couldn’t help at all and for the rest of the dream, for what felt like hours, Joe was just trapped there, crying out for someone, anyone.
Since Joe had dreams about the monsters too, he elected to let it go when he woke up. At first.
Andy shared one of the first dreams, but it was too indistinct to really know what the fear was, or who’s dream it was. It was just the doubles laughing, looking terrifying, nothing of note.
Patrick was the first to notice that something was really wrong. As he later explained, he was scared of the doubles, but he was more scared for Pete than anyone else. It didn’t make sense that he would be in his position, that he would watch himself go flying and feel so much fear from that.
Just like Joe, the worst part of the nightmare was the agonizingly long time after he watched himself land on the pavement with a crunch. Being stuck under the bars, unable to move, screaming without being heard, and the anxious thrum in the back of his head that said, “they’re dead they’re dead they’re all dead.”
Patrick struggled out of sleep panting and gasping, and he immediately rolled over and shook Pete awake.
“Baby, baby, get up!” he said. Pete startled awake, blinked at Patrick once, then fell with his face in Patrick’s shoulder, shuddering. Patrick sat there and rubbed his back until Pete’s breaths got calmer, and they breathed in time until he fell back asleep.
The next morning, Patrick tracked down Joe and Andy.
“Pete dreams?” he asked, looking like he already knew the answer.
“Are we all getting them?” Joe asked.
“We should talk to him,” Andy said. Patrick was satisfied that they were all on the same page.
There was an impromptu band meeting after the show that night. As soon as they were out of sight of the fans, Patrick took Pete’s hand, like he always did when they weren’t being watched. The walked back to their bus, talking quietly, occasionally glancing over their shoulders and stealing kisses. And once the two of them got onto the bus, Patrick kissed him long and hard again, just as the door opened and Joe and Andy got on.
“Are we strategizing?” Pete asked.
“Nope,” Joe said. “We are gonna have a super manly heart to heart and then hang out like buddies.”
“We’re having a heart to heart?” Pete asked, with no small amount of trepidation. Patrick nodded.
“We’ve been having dreams,” Andy said, his voice soft. And Pete groaned, his eyes closed.
“Okay, look, guys, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”
“You don’t have to apologize, dipshit,” Joe said. He pulled him into a hug. “We’re here to tell you that we’re here for you, and it’s gonna be okay.”
Pete stood still, not reciprocating the hug.
“Um,” he coughed, still standing still, Joe still not moving. “Um, guys, that’s sweet and all, but really, I’m fine.”
“The dream didn’t really feel fine,” Andy said mildly. Pete flushed.
“It’s not a big thing,” he said.
“Yeah, yeah, no homo except with your boyfriend, you don’t need to look so emasculated, dude, you’re in Fall Out Boy,” Joe said. He was unrelenting, and Andy joined him, both hugging Pete, who looked exceptionally embarrassed.
“Guys,” he protested.
“Accept the group hug,” Patrick advised. He wrapped his arms around Pete as well, and Pete groaned, then finally leaned in, pressing his face down into someone’s shoulder and letting someone rub his back. Slowly, he let his muscles loosen and loosen until he was slumped against his friends, boneless and deep breathing as he let himself be held up by other people.
Somehow the four of them ended up on the couch, Pete’s legs draped over someone’s lap and his head resting in the crook of Patrick’s elbow so his hands could run through Pete’s hair.
“Just so you know,” Pete mumbled, “I don’t need this.”
“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Joe said.
“Also, you don’t have to ‘no homo’ this,” Pete said.
“You seemed insecure before we ended up in what is colloquially known as a cuddle puddle.”
Pete snuggled in a little deeper while someone turned the TV on.
“Yeah, whatever. I love you guys.”
“Love you too.”