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"Patrick," Pete said guiltily.
"What did you do?" Patrick's voice was muffled through the phone. He was on his way home from a family thing he'd been forced to go to, a birthday party for an ageing relative somewhere on his dad's side, and sounded agitated under his usual joking irritation.
"It's not my fault, I didn't-" Pete whined, almost hearing Patrick's eyes roll over the phone. "Look, so you know how I booked my appointment to get my wisdom teeth out like, ages ago, specially so it wouldn't be even around the time you'd be small. And you know how last week, you woke me up at fuck-o-clock saying you could've sworn you heard me booking it for Thursday, not Monday like I was meant to, and I was all, 'fuck off and go back to sleep, asshole, thanks for waking me up' and you were all 'yeah but-' and I was like 'I'll call and check in the morning, but I definitely said Monday, it's fine' and you gave me that look, like you know my brain and mouth communication isn't really A+ but you went back to sleep?"
There was tangible agitation now. "Yeah...?"
"I totally forgot to call, and you were right all along, and I'm fucked and I'm so sorry and if you're breaking up with me, can I have the ring back because it was really expensive, not because I want to hold it every night and talk to it like it's you, to remember you forever because I will never move on and I'll always live alone, or anything."
"...Right."
"So what do we do? I mean, I barely trust myself to look after you anyway, let alone hyped up on laughing gas," Pete vented, frustration matching Patrick's.
"It's fine. I'll look after myself." Pete mad a nonverbal grunt of annoyance in reply, reminding Patrick of the awful times when he'd tried that, before he had Pete.
"Fine," He relented, "I'll call my mom. She hasn't seen us, y'know, then, in a while anyway. Just... don't accept any more money from her while you're all laughing gas-y. She literally, like, loves you more than me, and I think she's trying to pay my dowry or something," The sound of Patrick's laugh still made Pete tingly inside sometimes. He smiled. "Miss you."
"Miss you too, babe. Miss home, too, and not having to nearly pass out with the effort of trying to not... y'know, on a train full of people." Patrick was clearly speaking through gritted teeth, and Pete felt a pang of sympathy for him, and another with fear after their previously near-disastrous show, featuring the arrival of small Patrick mere seconds before they were due on.
"See you soon. I'll pick you up from the station."
***
Patrick looked so sweet, all wrapped up in a scarf and with his hat pulled all the way down as he looked around the train station for Pete. Their eyes met and the turn up of Patrick's lips made Pete lose an all out grin in return, jogging towards him.
"I'm dying," Patrick complained, burying his face in Pete's chest. Patting his hair sympathetically, Pete nodded.
"I'm sorry, baby. Can you get to the car, at least?"
Patrick shrugged helplessly. "Probably. What time's your appointment?"
"We've got about an hour, probably, I mean," Pete flapped a hand vaguely. "Don't worry about that though, just get you sorted out first."
With a whining noise like a reluctant puppy, Patrick pushed his hat down and followed Pete to Patrick's shitty Honda Civic. "You stole my car!"
"Technically," Pete defended, "It's our car. What's yours is mine, et cetera, et cetera? Anyway, it's got your... stuff in the back, and mine was low on gas and I didn't have time to stop anywhere on the way."
Shaking his head as he climbed into the back seat of the car, Patrick found the opaque plastic box, yanking the lid off and pulling out the first shirt he could find, clutching it anxiously in his hands as Pete started the engine.
"Calm down, love," Pete murmured, "You're okay now. Want a CD?"
Still nervously twisting the shirt in his hands, Patrick looked hopeful. "Did you steal my Michael Jackson again, or is that here?"
Pete snorted, "Which one? As if any mere mortal is capable of stealing all of your MJ," putting the CD Patrick handed him into the stereo nevertheless, ignoring Patrick's annoyed grunt.
***
After the tenth time of Pete glancing worriedly at Patrick in the rearview mirror and Patrick tugging his hat a little lower each time, Patrick folded his arms and huffed, "Stop fucking looking at me!"
Startled, Pete blinked. "What'd I do? Is this because of-"
Patrick lowered his eyes, tugging his hat anxiously. "Sorry," He mumbled, sounding truly apologetic, "It's just... I can't do it with you looking at me all the time, and I need to like, right now. A watched pot never boils, or whatever."
"Or like when you can't pee if people are looking at you," Pete grinned back, appeased.
"You won't let the fucking pee thing go, will you?"
"Nope. Look, baby, I'm driving, so I can hardly just close my eyes, but I'll try and ignore you. Just don't come bitching that I'm not paying attention to you, 'cause you asked me to." Pete had come to suspect that Patrick grew steadily more pissy and childish as he approached what Pete jokingly called his 'time of the week', not enough to be really noticeable above his general bitchiness unless he'd had to suppress it like this, when he'd start acting like a pissed off five year old before he even was one. He made an annoyed sound that proved Pete's point, settling back into his chair.
"Anyway," Pete continued, carefully avoiding the urge to glance back at Patrick, "It's ten past eleven now, and my appointment is twelve-thirty, so we have time to go home and change clothes and whatever. Did you call your mom?"
"Oopsie, I forgot. Sorry, Petey!"
Pete hit a red light and spun around to face Patrick. "That was quick... I didn't know it was that bad - I'm so sorry you had to go on that train. Next time, call me and I'll come pick you up, okay? Now, d'you want me to call your mom, or will you?"
Patrick shrugged. "Can you put it on the thingy, where it goes all loud and we can both talk?"
"Okay, love." Smiling to himself, Pete pulled the phone from his pocket and dialled Patrick's mom, on speakerphone.
"Hello?"
"Hi, mommy!" Patrick yelled from the back.
"Oh, hi, Ricky! What's up, baby?" Pat cooed, voice giving away that she was smiling.
"Hey, Pat - it's Pete, I-"
"Hi, honey. You boys okay?"
Pete swallowed. Patrick didn't seem to think that Pete could do anything wrong in his mom's eyes, but this was a huge fuck up and inconvenience to her, and worst all all, made it look like Pete didn't care.
"Are you free today, at all?"
Pat was quiet. "Sorry, hon, I'm out of town for another two days, visiting a friend."
"Aw," Patrick whined, kicking his feet against the seat, "But Mommyyyyy-"
"I'm sorry, sweetie. I'm sad I didn't get to see you, but I'm back in a couple of days and then you and Pete can come over for dinner or something? Sorry, Pete - is everything okay?"
"Mommy, Pete has to have-"
"Yeah, yeah, we're fine. We were just wondering about coming to see you, but never mind. We'll come visit next week, I guess."
"Okay, boys. Bye! Love you, Ricky!"
"Love you too, mommy. Bye bye!"
Patrick turned on Pete as soon as he hung up. "Lying is bad," He hissed. "And lying to mommies is like triple points bad!"
Groaning, Pete replied, "Sometimes grown ups have to lie, like now when it would hurt her feelings if she was worried about you, and she can't help anyway. You should always tell the truth until you're eighteen, and then you can lie sometimes. But it's like when someone gives you a present and you hate it but you say you don't. Anyway, she's not my mom." Pete stuck his tongue out at Patrick in the mirror.
"Now what?" Patrick sighed.
"Easy. We'll call Andy; Joe's probably had enough of us after last time."
Patrick made grabby hands for Pete's phone. Pete handed it over with an afterthought, "Don't go in the pictures or my messages to, well, you... yeah?"
Patrick gave him a withering look. "I know what's in there. I won't look."
Cringing, Pete turned his attention to the road just in time to avoid crashing into a bright yellow mini. He wasn't going to think about his last incoming message from Patrick right now, sent yesterday evening when Pete felt like he couldn't survive another hour away from Patrick.
"Andy? Hi! It's Patrick... Yeah," Pete heard from the back. "No, I didn't! ... Can you- Andy! Listen, Petey accidentally got his wisdom teeth thingy on the wrong day so I... yeah. Can you pick us up? He tried, okay!"
Patrick paused, panting, and glanced at Pete before continuing his discussion with businesslike intent.
"Shutup, Andrew," He growled, "Petey is way good and I love him way more than you, so, uh- I can't use any good insults right now or I'll get in trouble, but I owe you." He hung up, looking back at Pete's beaming face.
"He's gonna pick us up after but I kind of annoyed him so he's just leaving us to hang out at our house and he'll come at dinner time and check on us and give us food."
"Sounds like a plan."
***
"Are you gonna hurt him?" Patrick whimpered, wiping a stray hair out of his eye with the hand that wasn't clutching Pete's tightly, and blinking worriedly at the dentist.
"He won't feel it, don't worry," She reassured. "That's what the laughing gas is for."
"Oh." Feet kicking an unsettled tirade into the legs of the too-tall chair someone had pulled right up next to the reclining medical chair Pete lay in, Patrick's shoulders sagged. He continued to kick as Pete squeezed Patrick's hand tighter and a gas mask was placed over his face. "Well, please could you look after him," Patrick added sternly, after a moment. Pete grinned. The dentist regarded Patrick curiously, nodding. "Of course," She said solemnly. "Now, Mr Wentz, could you take another deep breath, for me?"
"It's Wentz-Stump... or maybe Stump-Wentz," He murmured woozily, but he didn't think anyone heard.
***
"You were very brave." Patrick sounded very serious as he clutched Pete's hand in the back of the car. "Andy, Petey was really brave," he repeated, louder for their driver's benefit.
"So I heard," Andy said with a soft laugh.
"Andy, did you have your clever tooth taken out? Will Pete be stupid now? I don't really get it," He admitted.
With another laugh, Andy shook his head. "Wisdom teeth, buddy. It's just a name, because when people get older they get them, and older people are wiser, y'know."
Pete laughed loudly. "I want yoghurt," he said.
"And I want a dog, but we can't all get what we want," Patrick replied smugly, harking back to an argument earlier that week. Pete just laughed again. "Andy, do you have any yoghurt?"
Andy groaned. "You guys are really putting me off wanting kids. I don't have any yoghurt in my car, Pete. Maybe there's some at your place."
"You can have a dog, Tricky," Pete slurred, "I'll get you a dog, and then I can have yoghurt. Mm, yoghurt. We can get a dog each. I like dogs, too. And we can walk them together, and not make yoghurt out of them."
Patrick looked horrified at this suggestion. "You can't make yoghurt out of dogs! Andy," He whined, "Andy, Pete wants to make yoghurt out of dogs!"
Andy squeezed his eyes shut and made a dying sound. "Kids, shut up."
"That's funny, I'm older than you."
"Yeah," Andy pointed out, "Not internally. Especially not when you're all... high."
"Don't take drugs, Rick-man," Pete encouraged Patrick earnestly, to which he just shrugged. "I smoked weed once. It was a bit gross and then I listened to pink floyd."
Pete's eyes bulged comically. "'What! But you're just a little kid! Oh my god, I'm such a bad parent I'm gonna- I'm gonna get-"
"I'm not a little kid," Patrick insisted, folding his arms.
"Not always," Pete agreed, wiggling his fingers mystically in Patrick's face.
"No," Patrick pulled his arms in tighter, "Never."
Luckily, Andy sensed the tension as he pulled into their driveway and stopped the car. "Okay, big boys," He placated, "Let's all get home, c'mon." He helped Patrick out of his car seat, pretending to find him heavy. "That's some muscles you got, buddy! Getting heavy."
Patrick preened, letting Andy carry him all the way to the door.
"Okay, bro, call me when it wears off, yeah? Bye, Patrick!"
***
"What do you wanna do, Tricky-boy?" Pete stumbled and would've fallen if not for Patrick's steadying hand at his elbow.
Patrick clapped excitedly. "Ninja turtles!"
"What a surprise. Maybe some lunch first? It's nearly one o'clock." The effect seemed to be wearing off, and Pete almost trusted himself to be capable of making sandwiches.
Patrick pouted and slumped exaggeratedly.
"Know something," Pete said serenely. "Know something? You're a cute- really cute kid. You're really sweet and- and so pretty, too, and you do all these cute things when you get excited." He nodded to himself and reiterated it a final time, "Cute kid."
"Cute kid wants sandwiches."
"Holy sh- cow, I love you." Pete swayed so hard he had to grab onto a wall for support, laughing when Patrick raised his eyebrows. Not as laughing-gas free as he thought.
***
Andy arrived at five, when Pete was sitting cross legged on the floor, with Patrick clambering all over him. Pete was reading a story and Patrick refused to stay still, constantly shifting in Pete's lap and turning away from the book into Pete's chest. He made a deal with Pete, that they would alternate who read on each page.
On Pete's turn, he found some words so hilarious he had to stop and compose himself. On Patrick's, he grew disinterested with every failure and Pete had to hold him to stop him squirming away.
"I brought some food," Andy yelled as he let himself in. "No one called me, so I guess Pete is still an oven hazard."
"See if you still want to be a vegantarian when you've had Andy's food," Pete hissed in Patrick's ear.
"Heard that."
"So did I," Patrick added helpfully, jumping up to greet Andy. As he was scooped up, kicking his socked feet in delight, Pete tried to ignore the hazy but probably slightly unhealthy jealousy he felt whenever anyone else touched his Patrick for too long.
"Petey's buying me a puppy," Patrick confessed in Andy's shoulder. "I'm naming her Penny."
"Okay, kiddo. That sounds fun. Is Pete sure he's going to be able to properly look after a puppy? Especially when you can't?"
Patrick wriggled out of Andy's arms, dropping onto the ground and clinging to the now stood up Pete's legs. "Feed me," he ordered Andy.
***
"Bedtime now, Petey," Patrick decided, starting to extricate himself from Pete. They were watching Ninja Turtles, and Patrick clung to Donatello in his left hand. He was spread flat across Pete, lying on his front with his head pillowed against Pete's stomach. Sometimes he talked to the TV when he disagreed with the events it depicted.
He rolled over so he was looking at Pete, and sat up. "It's seven thirty. Bedtime." Pete felt his sleeve being tugged on.
"What? That's really early. Are you sure you- Yeah. Bed time. Come on then, baby boy."
Patrick held his arms up, but Pete shook his head.
"Andy said I shouldn't carry you when I'm like this, in case I drop you. You're going to lose function in the legs the way you get carried everywhere. How about you walk?"
Patrick stomped huffily to the bedroom, waiting for Pete on the bed. He sat on top of the duvet, arms folded. "You have to put me to bed. I already had a story, please don't make me read again."
Pete laughed, shoving Patrick off to peel back the covers and tuck them over his tiny frame, barely a blemish in the enormous bed.
"I always worry about crushing you in the night," Pete admitted suddenly, freer sharing from the laughing gas. "Are you sure you won't sleep in your own bed?"
Patrick frowned. "I always worry about you," He said softly. "You said you can't sleep without me. I'll go if you want. I like it in your bed." He tugged the covers up to his chin, looking even tinier.
Pete peppered a spray of kisses across his forehead and cheeks. "I like you in my bed. Thanks for looking after me today, love."
This made Patrick beam, squirming happily under the duvet. He found his stuffed cat, Pumpkin, somewhere in the mess of pillows and clutched it tight to his chest. Pete could see his eyes drooping sleepily.
"Night, love. I'll be in around ten, okay, but I'll try not to wake you up."
Barely awake, Patrick nodded. "Love you," He mumbled; just like every night.
"Always," Pete said quietly, stroking the hair off his forehead and laughing at his heavy sleep breathing, not quite snoring, but enough to tease him for. Feeling the genuine urge to go to bed at seven thirty, Pete kissed Patrick's sleeping forehead again, marvelling at how quickly he fell asleep, and went to watch some more teenage mutant ninja turtles by himself.
When Pete climbed into bed two hours later, Patrick barely moved but to press his face right into Pete's chest. "Night," He mumbled groggily.
"Night, angel."