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Patrick hopped off the kitchen island stool, getting up to go check on Pete. Today was one of the rare days that Pete was on the older end of his headspace, currently sitting at around seven years old. It almost never happened, especially not if Pete was going through a depressive episode, but he had been doing a lot better recently, which likely played a part in his older age.
Pete was currently in the bath down the hall. Since he was older and he wanted to, Patrick had allowed him to bathe by himself. The only rule was that the door had to stay open, and Patrick would be checking on him every so often.
Patrick stopped in the doorway of the bathroom, pausing quietly for a moment. Pete was facing away from him, giggling. He had a red bath crayon clutched in his hand, drawing what appeared to be two stick figures. After watching for a little longer, Patrick quickly realized the stick figures were him and Pete.
"Oh!" Pete said, turning his head to look at Donnie, who was perched atop the tank of the toilet. "I add you too, 'kay?"
Pete still didn't know Patrick was there. He hummed quietly to himself as he started drawing a little dog next to stick-Pete. Patrick could just barely see over Pete's shoulder, but the dog drawing looked more like it was meant to be a real dog, not a stuffed one.
Patrick briefly contemplated getting a dog, knowing that Pete still talked about Hemmingway often. Pete had been devastated when the bulldog had passed, and was inconsolable for weeks, mourning the death of his beloved dog.
Patrick tucked it into his little mental folder of things to think about later. He knocked on the doorframe, finally catching Pete's attention.
"Oh, hi daddy!!" Pete said, turning around. He smiled sweetly. "I'm drawing me an' you! An' Donnie because he telled me to!"
"Is that so?" Patrick smiled, fingers tapping gently against the wood. Pete nodded.
"So, you're all good in here?"
"uh huh!"
"Alright, honey, just checking. Getting out soon?"
Pete shrugged, then looked deep in thought. "Maybe, I dunno."
"Okay, well let me know if you need help with anything. I know you said you're feeling bigger than usual, but big boys are allowed to ask for help too. Love you, hun"
"Love you too!" Pete said as Patrick turned and left. However, watching him leave felt off. He knew it was silly, he was a big boy, he could handle taking a bath by himself.
Pete picked up the soap bottle. His hands were wet and slippery and they weren't taking his brain's instructions properly, and it hurt when he finally got the lid open. The loud pop bouncing off the walls of the bathroom made him flinch a little, and there were little red marks on his fingers from trying to open the bottle. It hurt.
He poured some into his hand, and it didn't look right. This wasn't the soap his daddy usually put in his hair, the colour and scent were all wrong. He picked up the bottle again, trying his best to read the label. Eventually he discovered that it was body wash, not shampoo. He grumbled, dipping his hand in the bath and shaking the soap off into the water, which wasn't as warm as it was when he got in.
It took him a moment to figure out the difference between the shampoo and conditioner, since they were a set and both bottles looked similar. He did his best to sound out and read the labels, but the words looked funny. How does Daddy read those so easy?
Thankfully, the shampoo and conditioner bottles had pumps on them, so Pete didn't have to hurt his hands again. He pressed the pump down about six times, his hand only slipping a little bit. He then accidentally tipped his hand a little bit, and some spilled over the side of his palm and into the water.
"Oops..." He muttered, then rubbed his hands together to try and make the soap bubbly like he always sees Patrick do. A bunch more of the shampoo dripped off his hands in the process, but he didn't really notice.
Pete began running his hands through his hair and trying to work the shampoo in. He tried to scratch his head, but it didn't feel nice like it did when his Daddy did it. He huffed, scrubbing at his head and making a mess of the soap. Some of it ran down his forehead and right into his eye before he could wipe it away.
"owwww!" He whined quietly, trying to make sure that Patrick didn't hear him. He was a big boy, he could do this himself. It's always easy for his daddy, so it should be easy for him, right?
Pete dipped his hands into the water and rubbed them together harshly in an attempt to get rid of the soap, one eye squeezed shut. Once he felt like there was none left on his hands, he scrubbed at his eye. It only started stinging worse. He reached for the washcloth on the side of the tub, wiping his eye. For the most part, it fixed the issue, but it still hurt a bit.
He was quickly becoming less confident in his ability to bathe himself as he tried to rinse the shampoo out of his hair. He was using the cup and dumping the water on his head the same way his daddy does it, but Pete couldn't get the right angles or move his hands properly to get the soap out of his hair.
After trying for so long that his arms ached, he gave up. He could still feel some soap in his hair, but he couldn't stand to pour another cup full of water over his head just to miss with half of it. He thought he might cry if he tried.
He sat for a moment, trying to remember what he was supposed to do next. Patrick usually washed his body next, but Pete didn't want to try and open the body wash again. His fingers still hurt from the first time.
He pumped the conditioner into his palm, choosing to use less that he did with the shampoo so he wouldn't spill it again. His daddy spends lots of money to get the nice soaps that don't make his skin get all red and bumpy and itchy, Pete is pretty sure daddy said it was called a rash, so he didn't want to waste the soaps. What if daddy found out and got upset??
Pete rubbed his hands together more gently this time so it wouldn't go all over the place, then put it in his hair. His hands were doing an even worse job of listening to what his brain was saying now, and it was making him so frustrated.
In the back of his mind, Pete knew he should tell Patrick he wasn't feeling as big anymore and ask for help. He didn't listen to the little voice in his head saying that, as much as he craved Patrick's gentle hands washing his hair. Daddy never got soap in Pete's eyes. He needed to show Patrick he could still do stuff. Daddy kept saying he was doing so much better lately, and he didn't want to disappoint him.
The feeling of the conditioner making his hands oily was driving Pete crazy, but he tried his best to put up with it. The mix of conditioner and leftover shampoo was dripping down his forehead and the back of his neck. It tickled in the worst way possible and made Pete's skin crawl.
Pete rushed to grab the cup off the corner of the bathtub, but knocked it over, sending it tumbling to the tile floor loudly.
"You okay?" Patrick's voice called from down the hallway.
"Uh huh!" Pete said, trying not to sound distressed. He must've done a good enough job, because Patrick didn't come running to check on him. Pete kind of wished he did.
Pete carefully propped himself up on the slippery edge of the tub, reaching for the cup. His hand almost slipped a few times, but he eventually grabbed the cup.
He filled it with water from the tub, even though the water was quickly starting to cool, making it uncomfortable. There was also soap bubbles in the now slightly cloudy water, and it didn't look like it would clean his hair very well, but Pete needed the oily soap out immediately.
He tipped the cup over his head, whining loudly when the contents of it poured down his back, missing his hair entirely.
He was fine.
He could do it himself.
He filled up the cup again, trying to aim better this time. Half the water poured onto his head, but most of it went down his face, getting watered down soap in his eyes again.
He needed his Daddy.
"Daddyyyyy!!" Pete cried, trying to get the water off his face. He wasn't sure if he was crying or if his eyes were burning because of the soap, but if he wasn't already crying he felt seconds away from it.
Thankfully, Patrick came running as soon as he was called. Within seconds he was in the bathroom, under the impression that Pete was in grave danger or something.
"What's wrong?" He asked, concerned. "Pete, are you crying?"
Pete didn't want Patrick to know. He was supposed to be a big boy for once. This was supposed to let him show Patrick that he could still function. Sometimes he felt so useless when he was small and Patrick had to do everything for him, he just wanted to show him that he was still capable of doing things on his own. Pete shook his head, trying to deny that he was crying.
"Pete." Patrick said sternly. "Do we lie?"
" 'm sorry!" He shouted without meaning to. He knew he wasn't supposed to lie, and that he wasn't supposed to use his outside voice inside, but he was so overwhelmed and confused. He didn't mean to yell at him when daddy was just trying to help, it just kind of happened.
He finally let out a loud sob into his hands, and from then on he was unable to contain how he felt. He just wanted his daddy to help him so he could get out. The water was getting cold and he was so over the bath, he wanted to be dry and go to bed.
"Hey, you're okay..." Patrick said, kneeling outside the bathtub. "Do you want Daddy to wash your hair for you?"
Pete nodded quickly, face still buried in his hands as he cried.
"Alright, sweetheart, tilt your head back for me." Patrick said calmly, and Pete did. Patrick grabbed the cup and went to fill it, but then noticed the fact that the water was now cold. Far too cold for it to be comfortable.
"Hey, I'm gonna drain the bathtub, okay? The water is too cold, I don't want you to get sick." Patrick said, kissing Pete's cheek and reaching for the stopper. Pete whined and squirmed when the drain started gurgling loudly.
"Noooo... s'gonna eat me daddy!" Pete cried, trying to move as far as possible from the drain. Patrick suddenly felt a little bad about all the times he told Pete the drain would swallow him whole if he didn't get out of the bath.
"Hey, bathtub, don't eat Petey, okay? He's been a good boy!" Patrick said, playful tone in his voice. He couldn't bite back his smile when Pete let out a watery giggle, no longer worried. "There, all better?" Pete nodded.
As the water drained, Patrick grabbed the handheld shower head, pointing it away from Pete as he adjusted the temperature. Once it was deemed warm enough, Patrick started rinsing the concoction of soaps in Pete's hair.
"Did you wash your body yet, hun?" Patrick asked as he lathered shampoo into Pete's hair, gently scratching at his scalp with his nails. Pete hummed, trying to form his words in his head.
"No, daddy. The bottle hurt my hands. couldn't get it open... Sorry."
"That's okay, baby." Patrick soothed, making sure all the soap was evenly distributed. He grabbed the shower head again. "Head back, cover your eyes, okay?"
Pete did as he was told, and Patrick started rinsing his hair, keeping a hand on Pete's forehead just in case as he rinsed the suds off his hairline. Once all the shampoo was out, he got a couple pumps of conditioner on his palm.
"Any soap in your eyes?" Patrick asked, and Pete shook his head.
"Before." Pete said, and Patrick didn't know what he meant.
"Tell me more" Patrick said to him. Normally he was pretty good with deciphering what Pete meant, but sometimes it was just too obscure. He didn't want Pete to feel like Patrick didn't understand him, though, so he always tried to get Pete to explain more without directly saying it.
"Got soap in my eyes before. Ummm.. when I. when I did it." Pete explained. He didn't seem upset about it anymore, so Patrick figured he was okay now.
He kept light conversation with Pete while he let the conditioner sit in his hair. He knew Pete hated the sensory input of it, so he always tried to keep him occupied with something else.
He also took this time to wash Pete's body. Patrick completely understood what Pete meant when he said the soap bottle hurt his fingers. It really was hard to open, but it was one of the few soaps that had a scent Pete actually liked, while also being high enough quality that it didn't irritate Pete's skin and give him a rash. It had taken many soaps and many trips to the doctor for mysterious rashes before they found one that worked. Unfortunately it didn't come in any other bottles.
Patrick always liked when Pete felt comfortable enough to talk while small. Most of the time he was nonverbal, especially when someone was around that knew about Pete's regression but wasn't in Pete's special circle.
Pete's special circle consisted of Patrick, Joe, Andy, and of course his 'uncle' Travie. It also included Patrick's parents, who Pete had been nervous to meet at first but grew to love when Patrick's dad had been completely accepting and even declared small Pete his grandson. The outer part of his little circle was mostly Gerard, who he didn't see often but enjoyed having playdates with, and then of course by extension, Frank, Ray, and Mikey.
Once Patrick finished washing Pete's body and earning a pouty whine when he lifted up Pete's arm and called him stinky before scrubbing him, he decided the conditioner had been in long enough.
Pete, like the good boy he was, tilted his head back and covered his eyes without having to be told. Patrick praised him for it, then got to rinsing out the conditioner.
Since the bath tub had already been drained, getting Pete out was easy. He dried him off with one of the big fluffy white towels that they both decided were acceptable sensory-wise.
Pete's struggles in the bath must have tired him out too much to fight anything, because Patrick didn't even get a whine of protest when he suggested a pull up.
Once Pete was dressed in his favourite pyjamas, Patrick guided him back to the bathroom so they could both brush their teeth.
Remembering to brush their teeth was something both of them struggled with, especially when they were on tour and had limited water on the bus, and were just so busy all the time. They had agreed that it would be mutually beneficial if they dedicated time to brush their teeth together, regardless of how old Pete was mentally. The routine helped both big and small Pete equally.
Patrick made quick work of brushing his own teeth while keeping an eye on Pete who, admittedly, was doing a terrible job. Patrick would never tell him that, because he was trying his best. Patrick also noticed that Pete was pointedly avoiding looking at his reflection, which was worrying.
Patrick helped Pete brush his teeth, then congratulated him on how pretty his teeth were looking because he was so good at brushing his teeth. Pete thrived on praise and positive reinforcement, which is something Patrick learned very quickly after they met.
"What's wrong, Pete?" He asked casually as he put both of their toothbrushes away. "I noticed you weren't looking in the mirror."
Pete's face turned red, a little unhappy that he'd been caught so easily.
"My hair..." He mumbled, so quiet that Patrick almost didn't hear him.
"Hm? What's wrong with it?"
"s'curling..."
Oh.
Now that Patrick looked at it, Pete's hair was starting to dry, the ends curling and revealing his natural curl pattern. It wasn't something Patrick saw often, but he wasn't sure why Pete seemed to hate it so much.
"Well, I think your hair looks very nice when it's curly." Patrick said, gently running his fingers through Pete's still-damp hair. "But, if you really don't want it like that, I'll straighten it for you after I dry it. How about that? It's completely up to you, hun, it makes no difference to me what your hair looks like."
"P'ease..." Pete said quietly. Patrick nodded, kissing Pete's cheek and guiding him into the living room. He grabbed the hair straightener and dryer from under the bathroom sink, then stopped in Pete's room on the way, grabbing Pete's cartoon-themed hair brush from the top drawer of the tall dresser.
"Come, sit." Patrick said, sitting on the couch and pointing to the floor between his legs. Pete sat down obediently, waiting for Patrick to dry his hair. As Patrick was plugging in the hair dryer, Pete spoke, but Patrick didn't catch what he said.
"Can I?" Pete repeated when Patrick didn't answer.
"Can you what, honey?" He asked, confused.
"Use that." Pete said, pointing to his ipad on the coffee table. "P'ease?"
Normally Patrick didn't like Pete using small screens so close to bedtime, but Pete had such a hard time today, so he decided he would allow it for a little while.
"Sure honey, pass it here?" Patrick asked, and Pete did so. Patrick put 30 minutes on the screen time limit, then handed it back to Pete. 30 minutes would be long enough to get his hair dried and straightened, and then Patrick wanted to hopefully try and talk to him about what was upsetting him earlier.
Pete played quietly on his ipad, sitting nice and still for Patrick. He yelped out of surprise when Patrick playfully blew hot air from the dryer in his face, and he seemed to be in a better mood than he was in the bath, because he didn't cry about it like some of the other times Patrick did the hair dryer thing.
There had been one time that Patrick chose the wrong day to mess around with Pete, and when the hot air touched Pete's face he immediately burst into tears, sobbing dramatically into Patrick's thigh and making him feel like an asshole even though he had blown it on himself first to make sure it wasn't too hot.
Patrick finished straightening Pete's hair just as the 30 minute timer ended and Pete's iPad automatically locked, making him whine and hold it up in Patrick's face, expecting him to input the passcode and put more time on.
"Not tonight, honey, sorry. I want to talk to you about something."
Pete froze for a moment, then slowly put the ipad down on the coffee table. He had gone completely silent, and Patrick swore he could feel the sudden onslaught of anxiety within Pete.
"hey, hey, hold on..." Patrick said quickly, bending over and caging Pete in protectively, reaching down and brushing his cheek gently. "You're not in trouble, don't panic, you didn't do anything wrong."
"What did I do?" Pete uttered almost silently, voice cracking. It was like he didn't even hear what Patrick said.
"Nothing! You did absolutely nothing wrong, my love. I just wanted to know what had you so upset in the bath earlier when you called me in, that's all." Patrick said, speaking into Pete's hair as he gave him gentle kisses to soothe him before he could spiral.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but if you're upset I'll always listen to you so I can do my best to make it better." He said when Pete didn't respond right away. After a few moments, there was still silence, but Pete's mouth was moving with no sound and his eyes flicked around, telltale signs that he was overworking his brain trying to make words. Patrick understood more than Pete realized. Words were hard.
Pete hummed a few times, then growled, tugging frustratedly at Patrick's pant leg. He was so tired and his brain and mouth had some sort of disconnect. He felt helpless. There was so much he wanted to say. He wanted to tell Patrick all about how he wanted to prove that he could still function. How ironic.
"Hey," Patrick hummed into the top of Pete's head. "You're okay. Your brains not working with your mouth, right?" He asked, and Pete nodded slowly, letting out a shaky breath. It was nice to know that his daddy knew what he meant and understood him, even when he couldn't get the words out.
Pete rubbed at his eyes tiredly, trying to bite back the frustrated tears that were making his vision blurry. Thankfully, Patrick noticed, and wiped the tears away from where he was still creating a barrier with his body, shielding Pete from the hurt and danger of the outside world. The touch was so gentle that it made Pete want to cry for a different reason. so much so that he couldn't stop the fresh round of tears. He wasn't even really sure why he was crying, but once he started it just felt right, so he continued.
"Oh! Yeah, you're overtired. Alright, come on, honey-" Patrick moved to stand up, meaning Pete was no longer caged in. He started crying harder because he thought his daddy was leaving him, so Patrick was quick to reach down and lift him to his feet.
"Shhhhhh, you're alright. You're crying 'cause you're tired, honey, you're okay..." Patrick said when Pete refused to stand, instead choosing to lean all of his weight on Patrick as he hung off his shoulders and cried.
"Okay, okay," Patrick steadied himself, then by some miracle, found the strength in his five-foot-four self to lift Pete off the ground. Pete was quick to cling to him, wrapping his legs around his waist. It was so rare that Patrick was able to pick Pete up, so it was always welcome on Pete's end. He felt so safe in his daddy's arms, and trusted him to carry him more than Patrick trusted himself.
Thankfully, Patrick wasn't struggling too much. He carried Pete down the hallway, stopping at the bathroom to grab Donnie, who was still perched on top of the toilet, then into Pete's little room. He laid Pete down on the bed carefully, and as soon as he stood up he could tell his back was going to regret that in the morning. Patrick had gotten quick at raising the safety bars on Pete's bed, so he did that with ease.
"No night night?" Pete said, voice watery. He saw Patrick standing up and assumed he was leaving without saying goodnight. Maybe Patrick thought he didn't deserve a goodnight because he cried. He didn't mean to cry, he was tired!
"Never, baby. I would never leave without saying goodnight, if I ever do that then it's not me, it means the bathtub ate me and sent a robot to replace me." Patrick said as he got onto his knees next to the bed, hoping Pete would laugh about it and feel better.
Pete burst into tears.
"Wait wait no no no no I'm sorry-" Patrick said, biting back a bit of laughter at the fact that Pete thought he was being serious. He shouldn't laugh. He really shouldn't. How was Pete supposed to know any better? "I'm sorry, honey, I was just kidding." He said, smile peeking through now matter how hard he tried to stop it.
"S'not funny!" Pete cried harder, thinking Patrick was making fun of him for not understanding the joke.
"I know, it's not, I'm sorry hun. It was a bad joke, can you forgive me?" Patrick said, tilting his head to the side as he brushed his knuckles across Pete's cheek soothingly.
Pete nodded. his cries quieted a little, but he was still kind of upset. Patrick stood up briefly, just enough to switch on the mobile hanging above Pete's bed. It was custom made and nearly broke Patrick's bank account, but Pete absolutely adored it.
The mobile was themed after their album Infinity On High, and was blue with little stars and the moon from the album cover and even a little mini stuffed Franklin. Some of the stars were sparkly, while others lit up, casting little star shapes across the wall as it turned.
"Don't worry, baby, Daddy's too big to fit down the drain anyways. The bathtub will not be eating anybody. I told him not to, remember?" Patrick tried again to cheer Pete up as he gently carded his fingers through his hair.
This time, Pete let out a little giggle, eyes slowly starting to slip closed a bit. Finally, he was starting to fall asleep. Patrick adjusted his position from kneeling to sitting on the floor because his kneecaps were starting to ache. Unfortunately, Pete noticed the movement. His eyes snapped open, thinking Patrick was leaving.
"Not going anywhere, my love. Rest, honey, you're so tired..." Patrick cooed. "Oh, here you go" He grabbed one of Pete's pacifiers from the nearby table, popping it into Pete's mouth.
His eyes immediately slipped closed, his breathing slowing a bit. Patrick could tell that Pete wasn't fully asleep yet, but he would be soon. He moved his hand away from Pete's face and reached over the safety rail to grab the hand that wasn't clutching Donnie. As soon as Patrick touched his hand, Pete's fingers instinctively wrapped around Patrick's index and middle fingers.
Patrick smiled, chest feeling warm. The dim light from the hallway just barely illuminated the room enough to see Pete's relaxed face, and his pacifier gently bobbing in time with the rise and fall of his chest.
Patrick spent the next half an hour there, just watching. Some people might have thought it was creepy to watch someone else sleep, but Patrick was just thinking. Thinking about Pete.
About his silly drawings on the shower walls and the ones he does on paper that he gives Patrick and watches him hang them on the fridge.
About all the names he gives his stuffed animals, and all the intricate stories he tells Patrick with them, or when he presses one of his favourite stuffies into Patrick's hand and begs him to play with him. Patrick always says yes, no matter how busy he is, because Patrick knows what it's like to have people push you away and disregard your interests.
When Patrick was sure Pete was asleep, he forced himself to pull his hand out of Pete's. He stood up as quietly as he could, keeping an eye on Pete the whole time in case he woke up, because the last thing Patrick wanted was for Pete to be awake and watch Patrick walk out.
He flicked on the night light plugged into the outlet on Pete's wall. then left, leaving the door cracked open so he could hear Pete if he needed to.
He grabbed his phone, snapping a picture of the drawing on the shower wall and adding it to a little folder in his phone where he kept pictures of all the times Pete had drawn on the walls, both in and out of the shower.
Checking on Pete one last time as he passed, Patrick went to his own room and climbed into bed. He left the door wide open, so Pete knew he was welcome in if he needed him.