Chapter Text
The moment in which it had been happened had been strange.
Patrick hadn’t been feeling that good, but he insisted that he could do one more show before the week-long tour break, so of course Pete had listened to him. He didn’t think Patrick would lie about that.
Well, apparently he would, because Pete had watched as his friend fainted onstage, mid-song. He’d immediately stopped playing and ran over, screaming something he doesn’t remember the details of. In that small moment, he’d gotten a weird twist in his gut, but it could’ve just been horror at seeing Patrick unconscious on the ground.
He’d sat next to him in the back of the ambulance (no one had tried to stop him), stroking Patrick’s hair rhythmically as they went. At the hospital, he’d been forced to sit in the waiting room, told that he couldn’t stay with Patrick anymore. He hated that. What if something was really, seriously, wrong with Patrick? He wanted to be the first to know.
Now Pete sits there, flipping through some sports magazine that he couldn’t care less about. He honestly doesn’t care who the fuck is still playing for the Seattle Seahawks, but burying is face in a huge picture of a hot quarterback is better than letting himself think about how badly hurt Patrick could be.
Finally, a nurse with her hair and her nose up high steps in, and says to Pete, “You’re here for Mr. Stump, correct?”
Pete nods frantically, ignoring the weird looks that everyone (including Andy and Joe across the room) is giving him. “Is he okay?”
The nurse sighs, and her face says “sorry” while her smile says “yes”. “Well, he isn’t going to die if that’s what you’re asking. He didn’t hit his head, and he hasn’t contracted any life-threatening illnesses. However...” The nurse gives him a pitiful look, pausing for him to react.
Pete chews on his lip nervously, ignoring the metallic taste of blood and daring to ask, “However...?”
“However...” The nurse continues, “He is in a coma.”
“He’s what?” Pete jumps up, now at eye level with the nurse.
“We don’t know what’s caused it, because he’s in completely stable condition and he was only dehydrated in the first place, but yes, he is in a coma.”
Pete gapes at her. That can’t be right. They need Patrick. Part of him wants to remember that hey, Patrick is still alive, that’s a good thing, but the other part points out that Patrick is unconscious and will be for who knows how long. Pete won’t be able to talk to him, to hang out with him, to hear him sing...
“Fuck.” Pete says, quietly because they’re in a public place and he has at least some decency, probably.
“I’m sorry, we really don’t know what’s causing it.” The nurse sighs.
Pete sits back down, somewhat in shock. No, no, Patrick can’t be in a coma, that can’t be right. It can’t be.
He hardly notices that Joe and Andy have come over and are listening to the nurse re-explaining the situation.
Andy puts a hand on his shoulder. “Pete, you should go stay in a hotel. Don’t sleep in the hospital waiting room, that’s weird.”
Pete shakes his head. “No, no, I’ll...just tonight, I promise I’ll only stay here tonight. I just...if he...”
“Okay, just tonight.” Andy agrees reluctantly. “But you can’t live in the hospital.”
“Right.” Pete says, not intending to actually follow through with that promise.
He is, however, forced to follow through the next day. After falling asleep in a cramped and uncomfortable waiting room chair, Andy wakes him up and tells him he has to go find a hotel. It takes a moment for him to remember why he’s here. When he remembers, he kind of wants to forget again.
“You promised, Pete.” Andy says steadily, giving Pete a look just short of a glare.
“I know, I know, but what if he...” Pete tries to give Andy puppy eyes, but he really should remember that that only ever works on Patrick.
“If Patrick wakes up, you’ll be the first one to know, okay?” Andy promises.
Pete sighs in defeat. “Okay, fine.”
Andy gives him a ride to the closest hotel (“It’s three miles away! Are you sure there are none closer?” “Yes, Pete, I am.” “Three miles!”), because he doesn’t trust Pete to drive himself right now. Pete doesn’t trust himself either, to be honest.
“He’ll be okay.” Andy promises him. Pete thinks he should stop making promises he can’t keep.
“He’d better be.” Pete replies, forcing a smile, and turning to check into the hotel.
The front desk clerk totally recognizes him, but does a good job of pretending not to until the point where he hands over the key to Pete’s room and says, “I’m sorry.”
News must travel really fast.
Pete forces another smile. “I’m sure he’ll be okay.”
The clerk nods sympathetically, and Pete leaves.
His room is nice for a small motel. The bed is actually clean and doesn’t creak, and nothing in the bathroom is broken. Pete keeps his head down the entire time, lost in thought. He goes to the bathroom and then turns on the faucet to wash his hands. He finally looks up to see the mirror, and, hang on, that’s not him.
Pete jumps back. His reflection doesn’t. Then again, his reflection isn’t him, either.
“Nice to see you, too.”
Pete gapes. “I-Patrick?”
“No, Bill Murray.” Patrick replies, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yes, Patrick.”
“You’re in a coma.” Pete says slowly.
“No, my body is in a coma. I’m currently rooming in yours. Sorry.” Patrick shrugs like this is nothing, like it happens every day.
“You-you’re what?” Pete asks, still staring at the mirror, where Patrick is nonchalantly rubbing his hands together.
“It’s confusing, to be honest.” Patrick answers, sighing. “And I’m not one-hundred percent sure what happened, but I know I fainted onstage and then I got this really weird feeling and I’m pretty sure I somehow ended up separated from my own body and then the next thing I knew I was in yours.” Patrick makes a strange, unreadable face. “It took me a second to realize that I was staring at myself, and that I couldn’t control my movements, but then I put two and two together, so. Yeah. Hi.”
“You.” Pete says after a long pause. “Are in. My body.”
“Yep.” Patrick replies, and pops the “p”.
“And...you’re in the mirror instead of my reflection...why?” Pete continues, raising an eyebrow.
“Hell if I know.” Patrick shrugs. “Honestly, I’m just surprised you haven’t noticed me yet.’
Pete groans. “Oh, tell me you haven’t been my reflection the whole time.”
“Yeah, I kind of have, though.” Patrick says in response. His face shows some form of sympathy, though Pete doesn’t know what about this situation Patrick could be sympathetic about.
“I’m going to be sick.” Pete announces, even though he doesn’t feel sick at all.
“No you aren’t.” Patrick says.
“Calling my bluff, are you?” Pete asks, raising an incredulous eyebrow.
Patrick laughs, but he doesn’t look like he actually thinks anything is funny. “See, the thing is, I’d know if you really felt sick.”
Pete frowns. That’s...a bit creepy. “Well.”
There’s a short period of silence where Pete looks at anything but the mirror, because then he can pretend that he’s the only one inhabiting his own body, thank you very much.
“What you are is tired.” Patrick suddenly says, breaking the silence.
Pete crosses his arms. “This is an invasion of personal privacy.”
“There isn’t such a thing as personal privacy anymore, sorry.” Patrick shakes his head, and Pete is kind of angry because he’s right.
He sighs and leans back against the wall, arms still crossed over his chest. “Fuck this. Why me? Why can’t someone else get stuck sharing their body?”
“Why would I know?” Patrick shrugs. “I mean, at least I’m just your reflection, right? I can’t exactly do anything, can I?”
Pete sighs in defeat. Patrick’s got a point. “Okay, yeah. Fine. You’re right.”
Patrick smiles softly and genuinely. “Really, you need sleep. That waiting room chair was not a good bed.”
Pete almost asks how Patrick knew about sleeping in the hospital waiting room, but, oh right, he was in his body with him, what the fuck.
“Pete?”
Pete is startled back to reality. Patrick looks a bit worried. “Oh. Sorry. Mind wandering. Uh, right. I’ll sleep.”
“Good.” Patrick looks pleased with this. “Listen, I know that this is confusing. We’ll deal with it in the morning, okay?”
“Right. Okay.” Pete agrees, though he doesn’t really agree. He’d like to pretend that this isn’t happening, actually, but that most likely won’t happen.
“Sleep well, then.” Patrick says.
“Sure, mom.” Pete jokes, and Patrick rolls his eyes.
“Go to bed.” He says, smiling softly at Pete from the mirror, which is still a bit of a trip.
Without another word, Pete nods and leaves the room. He settles into bed, pressing the side of his face into a pillow and hoping that everything will be normal again in the morning.
He still knows that that won’t happen, though.