Chapter Text
“That is so cool.” Patrick said, for possibly the thousandth time. His weird worship of Joe’s new toy was starting to make Pete kind of uncomfortable.
Joe proudly held in his open palm a shiny pistol, with a silver barrel and a curved wooden handle covered in swirling silver filigree, and the initials JMT carved into the center of the barrel.
“A Queen Anne pistol,” he had said when he first brought it back. “Hasn’t been made since the year 1800, flintlock. It was in my grandma’s attic, she doesn’t know whose it was, so it’s mine, now.”
To say that the gun was pretty, Pete had to admit, was an understatement. Joe brought it back with him after his holiday celebrations with his family, and now, new year’s eve, he had finally got it into good enough condition and found the parts to fire it off.
“Think we’ll get the deposit back on this place if we shoot it off in the apartment?” he asked with a smirk.
“Honestly, I don’t think you should use a gun within Chicago city limits if you aren’t prepared to reload it for a fight.” Pete said, giving Joe and Patrick a look of mild disapproval.
“Aw, chill out, dude.” Joe laughed. “These things are supposed to be used for extreme close quarters, like a bayonet or something. Look, I don’t even think it’ll make it from one side of the apartment to the other.” he waved the hand he held the gun in carelessly, and it went off suddenly, a flash from the pan of the pistol lighting up the room as they heard the boom come from the gun, directed right at Pete.
Pete ducked, then looked up at Joe with wide and furious eyes. Joe looked at the gun with an expression of mild surprise. Patrick started laughing, of all things, in the corner.
“Huh, they said there was a heavy danger of misfiring with flintlock.” Joe said with a shrug. “That’s inconvenient.”
“Inconvenient?” Pete’s voice was a higher squeak than usual. “You nearly shot me in the head!” Joe snorted at him. Patrick was still laughing.
“There wasn’t even a bullet in it.” he said.
“That’s beside the point.” Pete said, trying to remain dignified. “When I have to be the adult in the room-”
“Yeah, yeah, hell’ll probably freeze over.” Joe agreed. “But look, that was just an accident, and I’ll be more careful when I have a bullet in it.”
“Gee, thanks.” said Pete sarcastically. He skulked back into his room, texting Jeanae all the time. She was insisting, as she often did, that he didn’t spend enough time with her. As if he wouldn’t drive out there everyday if he could. And now, of course, he had to explain to her that they were leaving the state to shoot a video. She was going to be pissed, although, not as Pissed as Pete was when he heard another bang and both Patrick and Joe’s screams that quickly turned to hysterical laughter.
“What?” he yelled, sticking his head out of the door. Patrick had fallen to the floor, clutching his sides, and Joe had collapsed on the couch, covering his eyes with his arm, and holding a smoking gun. He gestured to the wall, and Pete looked over, his heart sinking.
“You shot a hole through the wall?” he asked, his voice small.
“I- I-” Patrick couldn’t stop laughing, though Pete couldn’t see anything remotely funny about the situation. “I don’t think we’re getting the security deposit back.” Joe’s cackling got louder, and Pete raised his eyes skyward, mentally screaming a prayer to keep his sanity.
“Look, it didn’t even go all the way through!” Joe snorted. “It stopped, like, halfway!”
“Cause you shot it from across the room, dickhead!” Patrick yelled back.
Pete opened his mouth and took in a deep breath like he was going to scream at them, then suddenly turned on his heels, grabbed his coat, and stormed out of the apartment. It sounded like Patrick said something as he left, but Pete didn’t notice.
It felt like his head was spinning as he stamped his way down the street. It was freezing out, which was to be expected from Chicago this time of year, but he didn’t feel very cold. He shucked his jacket off after a few minutes, holding it in his arms as he walked because his skin felt hot and prickly under the streetlights. It was only mid afternoon, but it may as well have been nighttime.
Sometimes, if it was a really good day, Pete really liked being a fairy. He liked looking at people’s auras, seeing them shift and change and glow in the night like he lived in a firework. But when the days were bad, and he felt more like a forest fire than a candle, they burned too bright, searing into his eyes in a rainbow of colors that mocked the way his head felt like it was splitting in half. Everyone was angry, nervous reds, and his fingers twitched as he stormed past them.
Pete had nearly walked all the way down to the section of town where the brick buildings with artsy posters gave way into steely gray skyscrapers when his phone buzzed angrily in his pocket.
“Dude, come back.” Patrick said, his voice too loud and crackly on the line, making Pete wince and pull the phone away from his ear. “Joe’s sorry he shot the apartment.” Pete could hear Joe yell “No I’m not!” in the background, but he felt a half smile growing on his face anyway.
“I’ll be back soon.” he sighed, hanging up without prelude.