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"Are you okay, babe?" Patrick was reverting to the soft, cuddly thing he became in the moments before sleep, tender and sweet. He curled around Pete's chest as his eyes drooped, pressing half-asleep kisses to the bare skin there.
Pete sighed. His insomnia was receding slightly, but guaranteed to return like the ebb and flow of a tide, and in the absence of the numbness it provided, Pete felt twitchy, anxious and agitated all the time, thoughts worryingly dark like they hadn't been in over a year.
Patrick looked up when Pete didn't reply. His eyes rounded with hurt sympathy as he wriggled in tighter, like he didn't know what else to do.
"Anything in particular?"
Pete sighed. Was it ever? His brain liked to torment him with at least five random pieces of meaningless dialogue he'd engaged in per day, but usually it was frustratingly non-particular, making his problems feel even more trivial and himself even more worthless. Shifting into Patrick's embrace, Pete shook his head with another sigh and shut his eyes, hoping one day sleep would come without all the nightmares.
***
Someone was sitting on Pete's chest, breathing into his face. "Whh t'fnnnngg," He moaned. It'd been one of those nights where he felt like he hadn't slept at all, couldn't remember anything from the night, and felt like as soon as he'd gotten into bed, he'd been woken again.
"Up, up, Petey! Let's go!" Letting himself fall forward, Patrick tried to encourage Pete with a kiss to the temple, then danced away to struggle with the curtains.
It was just them in the apartment now. Joe had been the first to get his own place, quietly saving up since they started touring for Grave, and Andy had quickly followed. Pete thought that Andy couldn't bear to third wheel with Pete and Patrick in even his own home. The remaining two inhabitants decided to keep the apartment on their own for a while, probably until they got married, and hopefully with the proceeds from the second album, could afford to own a proper house.
"Up!" Patrick said again, reappearing with the curtains apparently tackled, judging by the fact that all of hell was currently streaming through them and onto Pete's face. He grunted unintelligibly and blindly pushed Patrick away.
He knelt on Pete's chest, leaning right over to peel his eyes open and poke him in the cheek. Struggling away, Pete pondered the irony of how Patrick only ever wanted to go out when Pete was too exhausted to move, and the times when Pete decided to be a responsible adult and force the kid to get some exercise and fresh air, he was determined to stay at home and snuggle in bed.
"D'n wanna..." Pete groaned.
Patrick sighed and collapsed on top of him.
"I'm booooored!"
"Yeah, well, I'm..." Exhausted wasn't the right word, because it wasn't from lack of sleep, but he couldn't tell little Patrick that he was edging on too depressed to move, "I'm sleepy, so we're having a lazy day today, all right?"
Patrick growled in frustration and, amazingly, slapped Pete hard across the face, leaving him speechless for a good few seconds before the anger settled in. Pete knew the boiling fury coursing through him wasn't a fair reaction to an overexcited kid not thinking before he acted, but the sharp pain managed to stir all the sluggish numbness and self-hatred within him up into outward anger.
Miraculously, he managed not to hit back. "Go to your room."
Patrick's room was barely used anymore, especially since Andy and Joe moved out, and Pete had started using it as somewhere to send Patrick to cool down when he got like this. He felt a little like the middle-aged parent of a rude teenager, but it worked nonetheless. Except this time, when instead of his usual meek, apologetic and instant mortification, followed by begging for forgiveness and sometimes tears, Patrick didn't move.
"Patrick."
Patrick sat back, still on top of Pete's chest, and folded his arms, breathing heavily.
"If you don't go to your room right now," Pete hissed, "You can stay in there all day."
Patrick hopped off the bed and stood up on the floor, and Pete felt relief at that having worked. He didn't want Patrick in his room all day any more than Patrick did; he'd miss him.
But then Patrick still didn't move. "Get out of bed," he growled furiously. "Get up and make me, lazy ass."
At a loss for words at his sudden and unexplained change of attitude, Pete sucked in a breath. "Excuse me? We do not use words like that, Stumps."
He didn't know why this was happening, and it was making him anxious. Usually, when Patrick was mad, there was an easily discovered reason behind it and it was quickly talked out and dealt with. Especially when Pete was having a hard time like this, and normally Patrick tried his best to behave perfectly, constantly trying to make Pete smile. And even when Pete was as close to fine as he got, Patrick craved his praise and hated to be told off.
Pete kept hoping that Patrick would relent and obey, for both their sakes, and Patrick continued to stubbornly resist. "Why not? You do it."
"Patrick, I'm bigger and it's allowed. Anyway, I don't do it in front of you... mostly. There's a lot of stuff that grown-ups can do that kids can't. Come on, baby, we've been through this. Please don't be like this today, love."
Patrick replied with a shrieking noise much like a siren, and Pete cringed. Painfully obviously, something was causing all this attention-seeking and bad attitude, and Patrick seemed to be trying his childish best to show Pete what it was without actually saying anything. On another day, he'd have gotten a teary confession out of Patrick ten minutes ago and they'd already be huddled up together in bed, but today Pete's brain was already against him, and now Patrick was too, and he was trying to fight on two sides at once, and failing on both fronts.
"I can't deal with this right now, Tricky, please." The part of Pete's brain that was still functional was chanting don't cry in front of Patrick don't cry in front of Patrick don't cry.
"You can't deal with me? I'm sorry for being alive around you 'cause it's obviously such a burden. I'm glad I can't have kids if I have to have them with you, 'cause you'd be a poopy daddy," Patrick spat out, looking like he was trying equally hard not to cry.
That hurt. Worse, it wasn't a calculated insult, it was thrown out by a five year old in a fit of fury, which made it all the more likely to be true. Pete didn't like to admit just how important it was to him that he had a kid someday, and he knew Patrick wanted it too, no matter how he batted it off and said he didn't mind. He'd thrown a bit of a spanner into Pete's perfect family works, but Pete was determined they could make it work with a kid if they arranged it properly, once they were more stable.
He hadn't really discussed it with Patrick, but the times they'd danced across it or Patrick had said too much when he was drunk, Pete got the impression that Patrick had decided it would be way too weird for a kid to deal with, and resigned his mind against it, but Pete didn't see why they couldn't send the kid to daycare or school or a friend's house as it got older, and never tell it. Something in Pete felt weird about hiding it from a kid, but it was Patrick's decision and Pete would be be mostly happy so long as he got a kid.
Patrick made an offhand comment once, about being glad he was engaged to a guy, because when he was younger he used to be terrified about a kid inheriting it from him. "I'm just glad for your sake," he'd said, "Imagine being sixty and your kid should be leaving home but instead you've got two of me running around."
It hurt, because he knew how much Patrick wanted it really, and every time he said he didn't mind, it hurt. He knew it hurt Patrick more, and that must've been why he bit back, "It's not my fault you're a little freak who couldn't have kids without fucking them up!"
As soon as the words were out, he felt sick to his stomach, and it felt like they'd crossed a line now, and he couldn't take it back. Didn't want to, because how dare Patrick, after everything Pete had done for him.
"It's not my fault you're a f-fucking crazy weirdo who can't even get out of bed who makes everything around him go bad," Patrick stuttered through tears, and the words could've been taken directly from Pete's own head. But they were safe, in his head, and he was so used to them by now that he barely noticed them, couldn't do any more damage with the same phrases over and over again since before he was even a teenager.
But from someone else, they gained a new level of validation. And Pete couldn't even see that Patrick had just copied one of the things Pete mumbled in the night when he was feeling darker than usual, that Patrick didn't really believe it, had just used it knowing it would hurt: Pete could just hear his own traitorous brain agreeing bitterly; if Patrick, light of Pete's fucking world, agreed, then it was true.
Pete scrabbled for his cell on the nightstand, flipping it open without looking at Patrick. "That's it. I can't deal with you anymore. Who do you want?"
He didn't have to look at Patrick to feel him go silent in shock, but he did anyway, seeing his bulging eyes and pale face like he didn't think it would go this far.
"Who. Do. You. Want. Say someone's name. Andy? Joe? Fucking... Dirty? Say a name."
"You don't want me," Patrick said in realisation, in the tiniest voice possible. It made Pete ache to run to him, envelope him and finally let out his own tears, mumbling apologies into his hair and telling Patrick how stupid and untrue everything Pete had said was; to reassure him that he always wanted him, so much that it hurt, and it was just amazing Patrick wanted him back, that Pete loved him sosososo much and they should get married that second and adopt three kids and a dog immediately. Instead, he just grit his teeth and glanced impatiently at the phone, praying Patrick wouldn't say his mom.
Patrick's mom adored Pete, and Pete was worried she'd have a heart attack or something if she found out about this fight; he really didn't want to have to stand there awkwardly while she took her kid home because Pete couldn't stand to be around him, either.
Patrick was a smart dude, and probably knew this too. So realistically, it was Andy or Joe. When he was bigger, Patrick was closest with Joe - they were closer in age and music taste, and had known each other much longer, but when he was small, he seemed to have a special thing with Andy. Probably, it started because they'd told Andy first, and because of the thing Andy did where he threw Patrick in the air and caught him, the thing that gave Pete chest pains from fear.
He seemed to feel safer with Andy, without Joe's uncertainty and Pete's bratty, detestable tantrums. He could just be a kid with Andy. Pete chewed his lip, considering making this a permanent thing. He wasn't good for Patrick, he knew that, but he couldn't do anything about normal-sized Patrick picking Pete of his own free will; but now that he thought about it, tiny Patrick would probably be much better off with Andy, now that he had a choice and didn't have to just stick with Pete because he was the only option.
Snapping himself out of thought, Pete looked up again and wished he hadn't, because he saw Patrick hoarsely mouth 'you' before he wrinkled up his nose and rubbed a hand across his eyes, looking defeated. "Joe."
***
In hindsight, Pete was glad it wasn't Andy, because Andy would kick his ass. Joe didn't try and start anything, just came in, took Patrick from where he was sitting in the entryway with his orange suitcase, and left. Pete strained, but all he could hear was the door open, hushed talking, and the door closing.
Then he went to the bathroom and cried. He stayed, sat on the tiled floor for about an hour. He shrieked and sobbed some of the time, stared at his hands in silence as tears leaked slowly down his cheeks towards the end, until he got up and went to the kitchen with a headache, feeling drained.
The clattering of the tins as he tried to find the right one with coffee in echoed loudly through the empty house, reminding him how much he missed Patrick, hating the uncertainty between them now: he realised suddenly that he didn't even know if Patrick would be coming back and only just got to the the bathroom in time to throw up into the toilet.
Crouched over it, with his head on the cold porcelain, he hated himself for hoping Patrick felt the same way, but he still hoped it. The fear that Patrick was happy right now, without him, was paralysing. He fiddled with his phone, finger hovering over the number one to speed dial Patrick, before he slammed it shut and threw it down onot the floor.
Exhaustion overwhelmed him, but he couldn't go back into their bed, and he definitely couldn't sleep in Patrick's old bed. In the end, he took Patrick's pillow from their room and slept in Andy's bed - it didn't even have sheets on it since he'd moved out, but it didn't have memories in it either. Pete fell asleep clutching the pillow, with his nose buried into it.
***
The next day, he didn't wake up until three in the afternoon. He wondered if Patrick was big yet, wondered if the fight was going to carry over into that, or if Pete would get a phone call apologising, or if Patrick would just come home and fall into bed and they would both cry together.
Eventually, the uncertainty got to him, and he called Joe.
"Pete?"
"Joe," Pete panted, skipping the introduction, "Is he okay?"
There was a pause, and breath. "...Physically. He misses you."
"Tell him I-" Pete was almost certain he could hear a little voice in the background, asking who it was. It might've asked 'is it Petey?' and sounded hopeful, but Pete was notoriously good at reading too much into static. His throat closed over, and he wasn't sure if he said Patrick's name out loud or not before he hung up.
Wisely, Joe didn't try to call back. Pete went back to the bathroom and threw up twice more, crying intermittently. "Tell him I love him," Pete mumbled to the empty air, wishing stupidly that there was someone to wipe away the bile dribbling out of his mouth. He hoped Patrick didn't need telling.
***
He didn't try to call Joe again until two days later, until the pain of not calling him outweighed the pain of doing so. He hadn't slept properly since the first day's cried-out exhaustion had practically knocked him out, and he'd been slowly more terrified as the days, and the likelihood that Patrick was big again, grew.
"Joe, it's-" Great job, Peter, he thought bitterly when he only got two words in before he had to stop and collect himself. Joe took advantage of the pause to speak again, sounding like he was rushing to finish before Pete hung up.
"Pete. I don't know what happened, but you have to sort things out with him. He's been down for three days like when he's sick or something, and he barely speaks except for one word answers, so I can't do anything to resolve it because he won't tell me what happened. Every single night I can hear him fucking sobbing himself to sleep and I can just hear him, like, whimpering sorry over and over again. He wets his bed every night too, and he sleeps in it all night so he doesn't wake me up, I guess, and in the morning he comes in to tell me and ask me to change the sheets and he cries again," Joe took a breath, sounding pained, and Pete held his breath for the pause so Joe couldn't hear Pete's own ragged, aching inhales.
"Jesus, Pete, he looks so fucking ashamed it makes me want to cry, and he's going to be so embarrassed when he's big again, I feel fucking awful for him. And yesterday he came into my room with his... Pumpkin, like a lost kid at a fair, with all red eyes like he'd been crying and he's all like 'I'm really sorry, I know it's a burden having me here already and I didn't want to wake you up' which, just... like, he wets the bed and absolutely weeps for a good hour or two every night, and he won't wake me up about any of it because he feels guilty or something - he's five, he shouldn't have any empathy at all! Anyway, and he was having super bad dreams, so bad that he finally came to my room, and he slept in my bed and he was mumbling your name all night, and he cries in his sleep and makes these little... whimpers and I don't know what to do! I want to help him but I've got no clue what to do, 'cause he needs you." Joe stopped, panting harshly, and Pete was glad they were over the phone when he felt tears rolling down his cheeks. He felt like he was going to vomit again.
"Patrick," He breathed guiltily, voice cracking on the tears.
"Yeah, seriously. And I'm getting super worried, because three days, now. That's as long as it was when he had that fever and nearly died, and he hasn't even suggested anything about when he'll go back. Oh my god, Pete, what if he stays like this forever now? I mean, I love him, but my whole career kind of rests on that not happening."
"H-he won't. Can you... can you put him o-on the phone?"
There was a pause. "...Yeah."
***
Pete felt asphyxiation looming multiple times in the three minute silence as Joe presumably got Patrick. If he was Patrick, he wouldn't want to talk to himself right now and besides, what would he even say?
What felt like eventually but was probably more deserving of immediately, he heard familiar snuffle-breathing and felt his heart clench.
"Ricky?"
"Its... yeah," Patrick said quietly. He swallowed, like he was going to say more, so Pete waited. "I. I m-miss you, Petey," he added hesitantly.
The velocity at which the tears were leaking from Pete's eyes doubled. "Yeah, I miss you too, kitten," Pete sniffled hoarsely, clutching the phone like it was Patrick.
There was a pause.
"I'm sorry," they said at the same time.
One of them laughed, or maybe both, but Pete couldn't tell who it was; the sound seemed too harsh to come out of Patrick's mouth, but he felt too detached from himself to know if it came from him.
"Are you crying?" Patrick was obviously crying too, from the snuffles and the shaky voice, so Pete didn't see sense in lying. "Yeah."
"Oh."
Pete wanted to have Patrick with him, to hug him and possibly never let go. The hurt he always felt at Patrick's tears was magnified a thousand times by the fact that he caused it, by the fact that he couldn't just wrap him up and hold him until they were both okay.
"Because of me?"
"Wh- no, never, love. More because of," Pete wiped his eyes, "More because of no you. But it's... are you okay? I've been so worried about you, and I missed you so bad."
"I cried a lot," Patrick admitted, "And I... I wet the bed. But I just. I missed you. I thought we weren't going to be boyfriends any more, so I was scared."
Pete gaped: Patrick must only have heard a little gasp of breath over the phone. "N... no. We're always..." Pete sighed. "I love you, silly bear."
"I love you too. Can I- can I come home?"
"I... yeah. Of course. I thought you. I thought maybe you didn't want to. I- I can come pick you up - right now if you want."
There was a scuffle of movement against the phone and Pete laughed, his first proper laugh since all this, albeit a small one. "I can't- Ricky, I can't hear you when you nod on the phone."
"Oh yeah," He teased, "Well how come you knew I was nodding?"
"I also can't hear when you stick your tongue out," Pete quipped back, dropping into a more serious tone. "I... I missed you so f-wording bad. I'm coming right now, baby, and I'm so sorry. You really scared Joe, y'know. I'm worried about you, too. It sounded like your whole burden complex thing is making a comeback."
"...Yeah," Patrick sighed.
"Okay. We'll talk about that when you're home, and all this stuff about wetting your bed. I'm not mad at you," Pete promised earnestly.
"Nonono, please, Petey, I won't do it again. It's embarrassing," he protested.
Struck with sympathy, Pete grudgingly allowed one chance. "I guess it could be because you were all stressed out, but if it happens again I'm treating it like a long-term thing, okay. And..." he paused again, cringing a little, "Are you going to be big again soon? It's been a pretty long time and Joe and I are kind of worried."
In the past, Pete's innocent enquiries as such had been taken by small Patrick to mean that he wasn't really wanted and Pete just wanted the normal sized version back, but this time he just sighed. "Sad is a kind of sick."
"Okay, baby. I'm coming now. I love you sososo much."
***
Joe answered the door with a weary smile, hugging Pete fiercely. "Thanks, bro," Pete mumbled.
"Patrick? Someone's here to see you, kid," He called into the hallway. Pete's heart clenched when Patrick's head appeared around the door, blushing at the sight of Pete. He ducked back behind, and then came tumbling out with a yell and launched himself at Pete.
The resolutions he'd made to be mature and not embarrass himself went out of the window when he felt Patrick's arms clasp around his legs, and burst into tears.
"Hey," he grinned, reaching down to heave Patrick, who was crying too, into his arms. Patrick buried his head in Pete's shirt and snuffled into it, mumbling some greeting back as he latched his legs around Pete's sides.
Pete peeled him off enough to brush the overgrown bangs off his forehead and kiss his nose softly, staring into his eyes long enough to make Joe uncomfortable.
"Um, so I, like," Pete started, losing concentration as Patrick began his quest to kiss away every single tear from Pete's chest upwards, working up towards his eyes as Pete spoke. Joe watched him, bemused.
"He's not like this normally, huh," Joe remarked, referencing adult Patrick's tendency to blush when Pete so much as held his hand, and his general dislike of physical affection in public.
Pete glanced at where Patrick was humming softly to himself, kissing Pete's collarbone. "No," He laughed. "But really, I- thanks. I'm sorry for getting you in the middle of all this, and I know it's not easy to deal with him when he's... Y'know. Being a little B-I-T-C-H."
Joe followed Pete's gaze Patrick, with a smile.
"Oh man, it just hurt my heart to see him like that. He's my buddy, and it just, yeah. It hurt. I'm just glad to see he's okay."
***
Getting into the car, Pete realised that Patrick was wearing an oversized, stolen shirt of his.
"You little thief! Where'd you even get that?"
Patrick giggled evilly. "I took it like a month ago. You didn't even notice, and I've been sleeping in it for ages. But um," He bit his lip, "I wore it for a reason. Can I please not go in the carseat?"
"Oh. 'Course, love, but you still gotta go in the back." Pete put Patrick down to shove the booster seat out of the way, lifting him back up and sitting him down in the seat he liked because he could see Pete in the rearview mirror. "Will a seatbelt be okay?"
"Yeah. I'll just undo it if I need to. Thanks, Petey. Love you." Pete grinned. "I love you too, baby boy." He laughed at Patrick's blush and ruffled his hair before hopping into the drivers seat. "Let's go home."
***
Pete swerved around a turn just fast enough to miss the red light, cheering to himself, when he heard a cough from the rear. "That's weird," He jibed, "I could've sworn I put a kid back there." Patrick rolled his eyes, the effect lessened by the fact that they were red-ringed from crying and shining with happiness at the same time.
"Let's never do that again," he declared. Pete agreed emphatically. "Also, can you, um. I'm not... well, I'm not wearing any underpants right now, and your shitty driving is, uh, chafing." Pete laughed at him, but took the next corner like he had a tub of radioactive waste with no lid on in the back. "Don't want my most prized possessions getting chafe," Pete gloated, to which Patrick mouthed a 'you're disgusting'.
"But, um. I wanted to apologise for what I said. I was just mad, and you'd totally be an amazing dad. And, you're not a crazy, babe. Well, you're a bit crazy, but it's very endearing. I love you, and I'm sorry for destroying your plan to have kids," he dropped to mournful in the last sentence, so Pete pulled over and turned to glare at him.
"Bullshit. I'm sorry for what I said, because you'd be the best dad ever, and you're going to be. I know how much you want to be, and you're always putting yourself down because of your thing. But, dude, being with you has taught me that kids are fucking robust. If we get a really young kid - we could have our own if you want, I know you don't want your genes passed on, but mine are perfectly non-supernatural - and just have it know from a young age, it'd be fine with it. But if you really don't want to tell it, that's up to you and that would work to. But I, but you- don't get all dumb because you think you shouldn't be allowed or something. Anyway, that's for a lot later. Right now, we're going home and we're gonna have some hot make-up sex."
"Disgusting," Patrick repeated, beaming, "How you just switch between kids and sex - and how you refer to our potential kids as 'it', actually. But that was sweet, what you said, and we're off the road and out of view, right now... Just since I'm already not wearing pants or underw- did you just backflip over the seat?"