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Patrick was rocking the bed with his uneasy shifting, easily enough to wake Pete up.
"'Trick," Pete moaned, "Wake up." He kissed Patrick awake, grimacing when his own lips came away slick with Patrick's sweat.
"I'm- what?" Patrick grunted, a hand flying out in alarm before he woke up properly and caught it.
"Hey, relax, babe. You were rocking the bed and you seemed really freaked out, so I woke you up. You okay?"
"What-yeah- fine. I'm fine. Go back to sleep," Patrick hissed, still sounding confused from sleep.
"But, 'Trick, you seemed really, like-" Pete argued.
"I appreciate the sentiment, but now you're just keeping me awake so, please..."
Pete didn't reply, latching himself around Patrick's protesting form until he was subdued into sleep again.
***
The same thing happened almost every night for the next week and a half. Pete would wake to tossing and turning next to him, or other times he'd hear soft guitar playing or singing and not fade enough into consciousness to know if it was a dream the next morning.
Pete was only worried when Patrick asked to sleep in his own bed. The smaller one, who - the first time they met - sobbed his eyes out until Pete agreed to sleep in his bed. Who had very little reason to even want to sleep alone; not like when he was bigger and sometimes migrated to the spare room so he didn't keep Pete up with his working, or so Pete didn't keep him up with being Pete (these times Patrick would always want to stay, and Pete would have to force him to go, explaining that Patrick couldn't do much to help and he wasn't going to sleep anyway, he just needed to turn on the light and read for a few hours).
"Ummm... Petey? Can I- can I sleep in my little bed tonight please?" Patrick clutched Pumpkin uncertainly.
"Of course, kitten," was Pete's automatic response to everything until he processed this properly. There was a little small sized bed in the spare room that they'd used to use more before they started sleeping in the same bed all the time, but Pete didn't think it had been used once since they started dating.
"Wait, why?"
Patrick bit his lip. He looked older when he stood protectively like that and ran a hand through his pleasantly hatless hair. Being less self conscious, he didn't feel the need to wear one of the small baseball caps he had when he was small, unless he was going out. "You know how sometimes you ask me to do stuff and there isn't really a reason, you just need to for a while?"
Pete blinked. "Is this about something?"
"No!" Patrick said tightly, a little too sure, and started sucking on Pumpkin's ear, which was why it was falling off and perpetually soggy.
"Well I-" Pete stopped. He couldn't understand any reason for this, but that was probably hypocritical, considering. Yet his instincts were unhappy with the combination of Patrick's well-known emotional constipation and the shifty way he was acting now: he'd been mature and polite all day, if withdrawn, and usually when he was being shady it was immediately obvious, so Pete held Patrick's eyes nervously and shrugged, "I guess so."
"It's not something you did," Patrick quietly assured, "It's just me, is all."
Pete still felt suspicious but he couldn't find enough evidence in Patrick's behaviour, so he moved on reluctantly, with the promise to himself to keep an eye on him. "Okay, squirt, bath-time!"
***
For all that he pretended not to, Patrick loved bath time. Pete had started making him pay for his own bubble-bath because the actual amount he used was eating into Pete's impulse buy fund, which he needed.
"Woah there," Pete sighed, darting forward to catch Patrick's hand as he happily poured half a bottle into the running bathwater. "That stuff's expensive, buddy."
"I know," Patrick pouted. "I pay for it."
"Alright, don't get stroppy with me. You'll regret it when you can't afford whatever the newest record all you music nerds are buying is because you spent all your money on bubble bath."
The way Patrick's face went distant and his lips pursed was hilarious to Pete because it was obvious he was thinking about some new and quite pretentious record, and it was so fucking adorable painted across his teeny-tiny face and pink, chubby cheeks.
"Prin- I mean, Petey?" Patrick said eventually, and Pete snorted with surprised amusement.
"Oh my god, did you just call me Prince? That's the cutest thing, Patrick, the cutest freaking thing," Pete squealed, giving in to the urge to squeeze Patrick's cheeks.
Patrick's nose wrinkled and he slapped Pete's hands away, growling.
"Shut up! I was just thinking how I haven't actually bought Musicology yet and I got confused," he whined and heaved a put-upon sigh, while Pete gave an adoring one, directing heart-eyes at Patrick until he made a gagging sound and then took advantage of Pete's distraction to cover his face in bubbles.
"Nice beard," Patrick screeched delightedly, kicking his feet so water spilled out over the bathtub and he stopped guiltily.
Spitting soap out of his mouth, Pete squeezed a blob of shampoo on top of Patrick's head. "Do that again and I'll grow one for real," He threatened, styling Patrick's hair into a tall spike and scrubbing at it.
Pete found Patrick's scream to be quite offensive; he didn't look that terrible with a beard. "Noooo, you'll look like a mountain man, I'll be good, Petey, I'll be super good!"
"Um, hurtful," Pete remarked, filling a cup with clean water from the faucet. "Close your eyes."
Patrick squeezed his eyes shut but Pete put a hand over them for good measure as he rinsed out the soap: Patrick hated getting water in his eyes and last time he got a little drop of slightly soapy water in, he'd sobbed for about half an hour about how he was going blind.
When his hair seemed to be clean enough, he angled so almost his whole torso was above the water, so Pete could wash it. He grabbed the body soap container and squeezed a huge amount into Pete's hand, then settled back again.
"You're such an attention seeker."
Patrick didn't reply, busy angling himself so Pete, holding a loofah, could get at his shoulders. The smile on his face was angelic: he adored having all Pete's attention when he got his body scrubbed clean and although he was meant to wash his legs at the same time, he rarely did because he was too busy being smug and satisfied, so Pete always had to stop halfway through, "Hey, you gotta do your part of the bargain or we'll be here forever! Soap up, little dude," and dump a mountain of foam in Patrick's hand.
Patrick said he couldn't reach his feet - Pete didn't really believe him, but he shuffled down the edge of the tub to where Patrick threw his left foot over, and scrubbed at his foot and ankle, made some comment about toe fluff that annoyed Patrick no end while Pete grinned deviously, and followed Patrick's bossy directions until it turned more into a foot rub than a quick wash.
"You should be paying me," Pete muttered darkly while rubbing at the heel of Patrick's foot that he said was sore, and probably wasn't.
"Yeah, sure, down a bit?"
"You're such a brat, Stump-cakes, you owe me a back rub when your hands are bigger. You're literally waited on hand and foot, I'm totally going to stop spoiling you as soon as I figure out how to resist your sad eyes."
"Which is never," Patrick cackled, adding a heap of soap on top of Pete's preciously dirtied hair.
"Oh, you didn't. Trust me, my hair does not look good clean. I'm gonna get you for that, butthead."
***
Pete almost forgot the weirdness earlier: Patrick was a bundle of sunshine for the remainder of the day. Even though it was barely five, he and Pete both changed into pyjamas - not really by Pete's choice but because of Patrick's insistence that Pete do everything he does - after Patrick's bath, and hung around the house being lazy.
"It's too cold to do anything," was Pete's excuse, more to himself than Patrick. Patrick was clingier than usual, clutching Pete's hand and following him everywhere he went, and when Pete needed to pee he had to prise his hand away and promise to be right back. When he came out, Patrick was sitting cross-legged on the floor right outside, waiting expectantly. Pete tried not to be embarrassed.
"Um, Ricky, usually it's a little weird to wait outside the door while people are peeing."
"I was waiting for you," Patrick explained patiently and slid his hand back into Pete's. They ended up with Pete carrying him back to the living room, and they finished the movie they'd started earlier with Patrick flung across Pete's and Pete's hand casually protective around his waist and across his stomach, tickling Patrick's navel to wake him when he seemed to be drifting off.
"Movie's over, that means tea and then bed, squirt." His own bed, Pete remembered, although that wasn't strictly true because Patrick's bed was whichever one contained Pete. "I already let you stay up, look, it's half past seven. You want toast? Or I guess we could order pizza, but it's a bit late for that."
Pete felt a restless shuffle and then Patrick's arms around his waist and Patrick's face buried in his hoodie. "Mo," he protested around the thumb in his mouth.
"What's that, love? Can't hear when you're sucking your thumb, which you don't do, apparently."
"Nohhhwww," he repeated, making it sound like there was an obstinate 'W' on the end.
"No? I thought we were over this now, baby. I'll still love you tomorrow. Look at you, kitten," He added, when Patrick blinked sleepily and rubbed his eyes, "You're exhausted!"
"I'm not, I'm not sleepy," Patrick insisted. His face contorted as he battled a yawn.
"You totally are, come on. I know you're stubborn but it's okay to be tired, and no matter what you say, you're only little and you need your sleep. Anyway, the movie's over so even if you do stay up, it'll just be watching Masterchef with me. That what you want, huh Ricky?"
Earnestly, Patrick nodded, but his eyes kept slipping closed.
"All right, baby boy, that's enough," Pete cooed as he lifted Patrick into the air. Patrick retaliated with a few weak kicks but was both too exhausted and too tiny to do any real damage before he gave up.
"I'll bring you toast in bed, just be good. The sooner you get to sleep, the sooner it's tomorrow. I won't even make you read."
A soft sigh emanated from where Patrick's head had collapsed onto Patrick's shoulder, and his breathing indicated that he was almost asleep. Pete tried to walk carefully and lowered him into bed very gently so he didn't disturb him. He seemed barely conscious as he ate the toast Pete brought him - cut up into little squares - and didn't touch the milk he normally chugged down without breathing.
"Sleep well," Pete whispered, kissing his hair and smoothing over the crease in his forehead. The only reply was a soft whimper when Pete turned the lights out, fighting the urge to sprint back in time for Masterchef.
***
Pete was making coffee to bring to Patrick in order to avoid being strangled when he woke Patrick up when Patrick himself walked into the kitchen with a bundle of sheets in his arms. It was around nine, but that was almost the middle of the night in Patrick-time.
"Huh? You're up early, babe."
"Yeah, love you too," Patrick grunted, looking very much like he didn't want to be awake right then.
"Whatcha got there?"
Patrick looked down at the heap in his arms like he'd forgotten he had it, then blushed and clutched it tighter.
"Nothing! I mean- sheets from last night, to wash. Didn't wanna leave them to stagnate on there, you know?"
Pete shrugged, stepping out of the way of the washing machine and not really registering how Patrick deliberately sat to block Pete's view of the operation. It was early morning, and his brain was a haze of give me more coffee, although he'd already had two cups. That was probably fucked up, Pete couldn't tell at this point.
"You, uh, sleeping in our bed tonight? Missed my Rick."
Patrick, whose face Pete had seen a rainbow of white, pink, red, green and blue, went a previously unseen shade of sickly yellow. "Yeah." He swallowed.
"Shit, are you okay? You look-"
"I'm fine, it's just early. I'm gonna- I'm gonna go back there now, actually - our bed, I mean," he decided, and scurried away.
Pete shrugged, still too coffee deprived to care, although he knew he should.
***
Something was up. Pete - finally - knew this. Granted, he didn't know what; or why; or how to fix it - but! He knew something. Fuck. Pete groaned and smashed his head into the table. The worst part was that Patrick would know exactly what to do about this, if it wasn't him causing the whole problem.
Pete had tried hinting, and that meant really tried because subtle wasn't his strong suit, but playing innocent was definitely Patrick's. Then came Pete's forte: irritation. The amount of tension he'd actually resolved by annoying passive-aggressive Patrick until he exploded, let it out in a burst of fury, and moved on, was probably worth serious cash by now, if Pete could figure out a way to retail tension. Maybe he'd write a book: Dealing With Domestic Disputes By Being a Dick. It had potential, he was convinced.
But Patrick was more withdrawn and mopey, not to mention constantly tired, than holding onto some repressed fury. Every time Pete needled him he just sighed and looked so small and sad it made Pete ache, so he stopped trying that pretty quickly.
His newest attempt was basically a repeat of the first two, but waiting until Patrick was small again and therefore more vulnerable and easier to crack. Except, the two days wait in theory was easy, but it felt a lot longer with Patrick moping everywhere and falling into bed at times so ridiculous Pete had begun to question if Patrick was cheating on him: they could work it out, if he was, if not ecause of how clearly miserable it was making him like maybe he didn't want to be but had got too deep, then for their alarming levels of reliance on each other.
Pete had laid awake alongside Patrick that night, imagining what would happen to them both if they did break up. Pete kept seeing Best Buy parking lots and hated how pathetic he was, and then he thought about Patrick growing more uncomfortable with Joe and Andy looking after him as they settled down and had kids of their own. Then he'd move back in with his mom, swear off love and even friendship, never be able to confide in anyone again because look how well it turned out with Pete, and probably die alone and confused.
When Pete felt his eyes getting wet, he tumbled out of bed and grabbed a thin hoodie against the Chicago night air, deciding he'd need a dog immediately if he was going to stand a chance at getting through this, or life in general. The sound of Patrick snuffling in the bed made his heart clench; Pete hoped Patrick was asleep and not just faking so he didn't worry when he heard the door open and close. Two dogs, he decided, so Patrick wouldn't be alone either and so he could have a companion all the times Pete couldn't be there for him. It would kind of be like practice kids, he thought with a small smile, although his rapidly spiralling brain couldn't see that happening right now.
***
Thank fuck, was all Pete could think when he felt a small body curled against him, a day before the little star in the corner of the calendar said.
"Morning," He puffed into the still sleeping Patrick's ear, and listened to the heavy sleepy breathing that bordered on snores, when Patrick didn't wake up.
Gently, he peeled Patrick's splayed limbs off of himself and got up, optimistic in a way he couldn't have imagined last night. He even hummed to himself as he microwaved the milk for his coffee and Patrick's warm milk.
He turned around to bring the two mugs back to the bedroom when he heard the pattering of bare feet and saw Patrick, wearing a huge shirt that swallowed his arms and hung below his knees.
"Mornin'," Patrick greeted sleepily.
"Morning, buddy. Milk?"
Patrick grabbed the cup and held it with two hands like he was told, sipping delicately.
"Nice moustache," Pete grinned.
"You too," chirped Patrick, wrinkling his nose at Pete's day old stubble.
"All right, I'll shave when I'm actually awake, little jerk."
Patrick beamed with satisfaction and padded back to the bedroom before Pete could say anything else.
When Pete followed him in, he was already zipping up a onesie, and Pete frowned. Figure one: Patrick Stump the smaller, world's biggest seeker of Pete Wentz's attention; refuses to do anything himself if there is an option that involves Pete doing it for him, especially getting dressed.
"Um. Buddy? We had a really lazy day last time, and the weather's actually okay right now, so I was thinking we should go out, maybe? We haven't been to daycare in a while?"
Not strictly true - Pete had been back a couple of times since he'd last taken Patrick. He found it more relaxing than he'd expected and sometimes it really helped to get out of the house, and other times Gina had sounded so frantic on the phone that he'd had to.
"But I'm really sleepy," Patrick protested, eyes round and pitiful. Pete worried his bottom lip with his teeth.
"You're always sleepy at the moment," he said thoughtfully.
"No I'm not!"
"You are, love. I'm worried about you. Inside day today, but if you're not feeling better by next time, I'll... well that means something's up and we'll have to really talk about it."
***
Pete had said he'd leave it until next time, but he was pretty sure you were allowed to lie to kids. It wasn't as if Patrick wasn't lying right back.
He'd barely been able to keep his eyes open all day, clinging dozily to Pete wherever he went like a sleepy baby koala, and had all but drifted off a few times, but when bedtime came he found the energy to kick and scream and bite. When Pete had finally got him down, he went to get his milk and found their bed empty, spent a quarter hour ransacking their apartment in terror, and finally found Patrick in his old bed, curled up and quivering.
"Are you asleep, baby?"
Patrick curled tighter and didn't reply, and Pete realised that Patrick was never going to tell him what was up, but also that he was beginning to understand the problem.
"Night, love," He murmured, stroking Patrick's hair softly for a few beats and kissing his temple before making a show of loudly backing out of the room. Then, he got his laptop for entertainment and snuck back to camp outside the door.
***
In the end, he needn't have bothered because there was a scream he would've heard anywhere in the house and Pete was up, almost breaking his laptop in his hurry.
Patrick was in the bed, pale and drenched in sweat, trembling. When he saw Pete he whimpered and backed away into the wall next to the bed. He looked delirious, eyes unfocused.
"Hey," Pete crooned, restraining from launching himself at Patrick and scaring him even more. Tentatively, he gathered Patrick into his arms and he was shaking like a leaf but curled into Pete, at least. "Hey, Ricky, it's Petey. You're okay. You're safe. Shhhh. It was a dream, it wasn't real. It's all right. Deep breaths, you're safe."
Patrick's trembling subsided gradually until he was just clinging to Pete and panting harshly. Pete didn't want to disturb him by moving him, but this was probably his only chance to get to the bottom of everything, so he stroked Patrick's sweat soaked hair gently and rocked him a little but didn't make him remove his face from Pete's chest.
"Trickster, what happened, love? Please tell me, I can't sort it if you don't tell me," he begged.
"Nightmare," Patrick gasped eventually. "Like always, 'sfine."
Pete wrinkled his nose against the sharp smell that was probably pee, and held Patrick tighter. "It's not fine, baby, look at you. This happen a lot?" He knew the answer, knew all the nights where Patrick had been restless and when Pete had woken up in the night to an empty bed, all the mornings when Patrick had been groggy and edgy.
"Most nights," Patrick confirmed, and then he blinked down at the bed soaked with sweat and piss and burst into tears.
"Oh dear," Pete soothed, feeling helpless. "It's okay, I'm here now, I'll fix it. You just gotta cry, I think. I love you, baby, don't worry. I'm here."
Once Patrick had cried himself out, he struggled to sit up properly and face Pete. "When I said it happens a lot, I just mean the nightmares, not the... that's only when I'm small." Limp in Pete's arms with his head on Pete's shoulder, he was snuffling softly and shaking.
"It's okay, baby, don't worry. You know I don't mind about it, I'm not mad. Do you wanna talk about it or do you wanna just watch a movie or something until you can sleep again?"
Patrick shrugged weakly, wriggling in closer to Pete.
"How about we get these sheets in the wash and then see how you're doing? Come on." Patrick didn't move, so Pete held him carefully and shifted him across to Pete's hip, thanking god that he was so small.
Patrick clung on much tighter than necessary while Pete stripped the sheet one handed and bundled it in his arms, trying not to touch wet. Patrick's eyes were looking hazy again and Pete felt awful for him, especially with how tired he must be.
Patrick started when Pete flipped the light switch in the kitchen so he could find the washing machine, and in bending down and stuffing the sheet in, Pete nearly dropped him twice.
"Wanna push the button?"
Patrick, like any small child, normally adored pushing buttons, but on this occasion he just shrugged and gave it the most pathetic push Pete had ever seen.
Pete sighed. "Okay, now, movie or talk? I know you don't like talking about things, Rickster, but it won't get better 'til you talk it out. Besides, you gotta talk anyway it's just now or in the morning and I really think it'll be easier now if you can handle it," he coaxed, stroking Patrick's tear-streaked cheek.
Patrick just nodded.
***
When they were both equipped with their respective beverages, coffee for Pete and very weak tea for Patrick, they settled on the sofa in the living room, because every time Pete tried to take Patrick near any bedroom, he whined and clutched tighter to Pete.
"Not for ages, only a couple of weeks. I didn't- it wasn't 'cause of the thing at Joe's, Petey, I'm okay from that! It's not a thing, please don't make me-"
"Ricky, Rick, calm down. I'd never make you do anything, you know that. I just want you be okay. Just tell me about it and I'll try and, like. Well, do what you do for me normally."
Patrick pulled his thumb out of his mouth when Pete quirked an eyebrow at him. "I guess, um. So... I'm like, at a show, um, singing? And I- and then I just go small, and everyone sees and, different stuff happens like sometimes I get taken away to be adopted or by scientists, other times everyone shouts at me and there's all these newspapers saying mean things about me and everyone hates me and they all stare at me, and sometimes they figure out how to make me a kid always and all my grown-up friends won't talk to me anymore even you, and then-" He broke off to give into the tears that were rolling down his face.
Guilty at the relief that it wasn't about him this time, Pete tugged Patrick into his arms and let him snuffle into Pete's shirt even though his nose was running and it was a really nice shirt. "Hey, love, I've got you." He couldn't figure out anything to say - Pete's nightmares veered towards the fantastical and it was always easy for Patrick to reassure him that he was safe, it wasn't real; Patrick's, while unlikely, could come true, which was probably why they were so terrifying.
"I don't- that's scary, Ricky, I won't lie, it sounds terrifying, and I'm scared some of that stuff will happen sometimes, too. But it's not going to happen, love. We're always careful and, y'know, back to your favourite metaphor, how many people have peed themselves on stage?" Pete winced at that, goven the current situation, but continued.
"I don't know what will happen, kitten, but I know that PR can make people believe anything so even if that did happen, they'd think of an excuse. I also know that I'd always be yours and if you were small forever then I guess we'd have to figure it out, but we would figure it out. Plus, with human rights and stuff I don't think they'd let people experiment on you without consent."
Patrick didn't seem to be crying but he didn't move or say anything, either.
"And I mean. I can't speak for your other friends but, seriously, I'm not even a little bit grown up. I live on a diet of pop tarts and all I do all day is prank my friends and annoy old people."
"You're pretty stupid," Patrick agreed softly, sounding dazed and sleepy.
"You're stupidly pretty. Anyway, I know you can't really rationalise this stuff but talking helps, right? You ready to try and get back to sleep? In our bed," Pete added quickly now that he knew why Patrick wanted to sleep by himself.
"Mmm," Patrick murmured around a yawn.
"Okay, love. I'll hug the nightmares away and I'll wake you up if I see you having one."
Patrick was too far gone to reply by this point, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks and a soft smile on his face. Instinctively, he kicked his feet when Pete stood up but when Pete adjusted to hold him properly he figured out what was happening and went slack in Pete's arms.
***
Patrick slept until half past one in the afternoon, which was late even in Patrick-time. Pete stayed in bed to watch him snuffling into the pillow and twitching in his sleep, lips slightly parted.
He looked sweeter than someone with sideburns and such an explosive temper should do at all times but especially in sleep, and when Pete brushed a finger across his lips he whined and opened his mouth further, kicking his legs a little.
Pete didn't want to wake him but they were meant to be visiting Pete's mom at three and Patrick usually took at least an hour to be properly awake.
"Afternoon sleepyhead," Pete whispered, lips soft at Patrick's shoulder, and received a groan in return.
"Come on sleeping beauty, we have to visit my mom."
An arm swung out wildly. "Fuck off," Patrick grunted.
"Mm, such an angel," Pete purred, narrowly avoiding another hand. "Any more nightmares, angel?"
"No, but don't," Patrick coughed to clear sleep from his throat, "Don't get cocky just 'cause I didn't have two nightmares in one night. Um... thanks, though. You- I love you, just let me sleep, please?"
"Why do you only say that when you want something? If you loved me you'd get up so my mom doesn't hate us," Pete whined. "If we visit her regularly she won't get butthurt about having to meet the mysterious kid we babysit who is related to you in a vague way and at least fifty percent of what I talk about but never actually around when we visit her."
"But I'm so tired and I just wanna-"
"Should've thought about that before you didn't tell me that you weren't sleeping. I'm here, like, throwing all my problems at you even when they don't really exist, please fucking share yours back, dick."
"If I say yes," Patrick frowned, smushing his face into the pillow, "Will you let me sleep?"
"No."
"I want a divorce."
"We're not married yet."
"Well then," Patrick countered, "I want to marry you so I can divorce you."
Pete put a hand to his chest and looked touched before speaking in a squeaky voice. "Aw, Babe! That is so sweet, no one's ever said anything like that to me before. But," He added, dropping back to his normal voice, "You still have to get up to get married."
"Fuck you."
"Maybe when we get back from my mom's."