salt sweat sugar on the asphalt
Dec. 21st, 2007 01:25 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mimesereUm. I dunno. Snippets of bandom fic, random chat bits, ramblings, etc I have littering my harddrive and googledocs. IDEK.
mpreg crackfic by me and missi, patrick/everyone.
In the time between the baby showers, Kanye throws four more parties -- another shower, a housewarming, yet another shower, and a Shit, I Just Want To Throw Another Party party -- and he sits down with Joe and Pete and Andy and figures out where Patrick is going to have this kid. They would have invited Patrick, but Patrick is doing the crazy eyed thing where he just glares at everyone and writes names down on his list. The two big options are L.A. and Chicago. L.A. because that's where their house is and Chicago because that's where...everyone else is. Jay-Z, Gym Class Heroes, and Cobra Starship pull for New York which gets considered for maybe ten minutes. Everyone votes down My Chem's suggestion of New Jersey, including Bob, who just kind of shrugs at his bandmates and says that Jersey is nice, he's sure, but dude. Chicago. Las Vegas is also never really on the map, but no one will say why[6].
They have a proposal all ready for Patrick and they give it to Pete to present, because if anybody can talk Patrick into something, it's Pete, but Patrick takes one look at them and says, "My *mom's* going to be there, guys, of course it's gonna be Chicago."
Joe's a little sad about how easy it all is. They had this whole plan worked out and Joe was going to be the voice of reason and Andy was going to be the devil's advocate and Pete was going to smile at Patrick a lot and maybe look at Patrick from under his bangs and go "Trick, hey, seriously, this way your mom can be there," all gentle and shit, and then they'd win. Patrick's kind of a fucker for ruining the plan that way and Joe tells him so right there and Patrick tells him to go fuck himself ("And seriously, *fuck your jar*, Pete. Jesus.") and somehow they all end up piling into the bed and calling each other assholes and falling asleep on top of each other.
The birth goes pretty much as expected and involves a lot of doctors in the delivery room and none of the potential dads, which totally breaks Pete's heart and he ends up filming the people in the waiting room until Bob finally snaps and threatens to tell Patrick about the baby blog that Pete set up. Then he just confines his filming to everyone in the room that isn't Bob, which is pretty much all that Bob wanted anyway. Andy and Joe think about taking the camera away, but it seems to be calming Pete down so that he's not clutching the enormous stuffed Hemmy he had made to give to the miracle child or having some kind of neurotic panic attack in the bathroom.
They rock paper scissors for the right to go in first and it's a whole big thing with cheating and dirty tricks and one punch to the face -- which Pete apologizes for right after and which Gabe is laughing too hard about to do anything but flap his hand at Pete and say, "Fine, Jesus, your rock can beat paper" -- until Ray organizes them into an actual tournament with brackets and everything. Through a lot of glaring on Joe's part, Andy's crossed arms and tiny head shake of disapproval, and Bob pulling people aside to tell them that they better lose to Pete or else Bob will kick their asses, Pete makes it in first.
toppy pete!/patrick porn
Pete goes down hard, Patrick on top of him, and Pete almost wants to laugh at how good it feels to let himself go like this, but that would just make Patrick more angry, so he holds it in and goes for the glasses first, he always does, because Patrick forgets that he wears them and if they go too far, Pete will forget later. Glasses off, then Pete goes for the hair, because that will distract Patrick enough to--
"Motherfucker," Patrick hisses, his head pulled back by Pete's grip there, and he reaches backwards, wraps his fingers around Pete's wrist and that's what Pete was waiting for, Patrick distracted and off balance, and he rolls them and ignores Patrick's punch to his ribs. It's a problem because he can't try to choke the life out of Patrick the way Patrick can do to him and he doesn't want this to be over any time soon. Pete gets lost in it, in the satisfaction of having Patrick *there*, solid against him and shoving back as hard as Pete shoves him.
Patrick is still cursing and his free hand catches Pete hard on the side of the head and Pete grabs it, slams it down hard against the ground. It hurts Pete as much as it must hurt Patrick, sends the shock of it up Pete's arm and he almost lets go, but Patrick bucks up against him, trying to push him off, and Pete forgets everything in the feel of it, in the feel of Patrick pushing up against him, trying to lift that hand out from under Pete's, and getting nowhere with any of it. Pete does laugh then and Patrick's eyes narrow and Pete has a second to think, "oh shit," before Patrick turns his head to the side as much as he can with Pete's hand still tangled in his hair and bites Pete on the arm.
As an escape move, it sucks, because Pete doesn't let go of Patrick's hand or his hair. He just leans over when Patrick glares up at him and it's insane, it's totally fucking insane, he doesn't know what makes him do it, but he leans over and bites Patrick's lip hard enough to pull a sound out of Patrick. "Don't do that again," Pete says. "I'll bite back."
Patrick turns his head away again and his breath is hot against the dull ache in Pete's arm. Patrick is tense under him, not the ready tension of a possible punch to the face, but the brittle kind that says Patrick is shutting down, pushing Pete out, pulling into himself and Pete knows that's what it is when Patrick laughs, says, "Fuck, Pete," like he can brush it off that easily. Pete's hand tightens in his hair, pulls another sound out of Patrick and jesus, fuck, that's not something Pete was expecting at all.
"Pete," says Patrick. Or he tries, anyway. Pete can see him go for it the first time, his mouth shaping Pete's name and nothing comes out. Patrick licks his lips and does it again, says Pete's name and it comes out louder than Pete thinks he means it to. "What're you--"
He doesn't know. Pete doesn't. He has no fucking idea what he's doing and he ducks down fast, steals the words right out of Patrick's mouth and kisses him. Harder than he means to, really, but he's off balance and then Patrick makes this new noise, this thing Pete's never heard before and Patrick tries to lift his hand again, the one Pete's still got down against the ground. And Pete...doesn't let him.
vampire shenanigans. this part is, uh, patrick/bob? I don't know.
It starts with photographs.
Patrick starts pulling it all together when he's still in New Jersey with Bob and waiting for Butch to show up with his guys. It all starts with photographs. One in particular, this guy staring straight at the camera and Patrick doesn't know (or, honestly, care) enough about photographic technology of the 1800s to know if it's one of those things where the guy would have to hold still for it or if it's something faster, but the guy's staring at the camera -- at Patrick, like he can see through years -- and smirking and Patrick thinks he really hates him. There's writing on the back, all faded ink and neat script: William Beckett, 1893.
"That the guy?" asks Bob, over Patrick's shoulder. Patrick doesn't turtle up or flinch, he just nods and Bob squeezes his shoulder. "He doesn't look like much."
"No," says Patrick. And Beckett doesn't look like anything, really, he's just some guy out of an old picture like all the guys in all the lame history books Patrick hadn't had time for in school. "Some boogeyman, huh?"
Bob pulls a stool up next to Patrick and drops down onto it like he can't keep himself up any longer. He leans over the table where Patrick has all his research spread out, photographs and articles and scribbled notes in Patrick's shitty handwriting. The rise and fall of William Beckett and the dandies from Hell in scraps of paper and guesswork. The rise, anyway. Patrick's supposed to write the fall. "We know it's him?"
Patrick shakes his head and tries not to focus on the way Bob's arms are braced against the table next to Patrick's. "Not for sure. He's my guess, though. Bob--" Patrick stops. He doesn't really know what to say that he hasn't already shouted at Bob.
"They need you," Bob says. It's been two days and already it's an old fight. "More than we do."
Nice, thinks Patrick, and it must show all over his face because Bob's mouth twists in this wry smile. It's an apology, Patrick knows, for what is pretty much just the truth. Between Ray and Bob and...the rest of them, really, they don't need Patrick at all. But fuck, he really doesn't want to go back to Chicago and he for fucking sure doesn't want to go to L.A. because someone knows someone who knows someone who knows Bob. Patrick doesn't know them is the problem and Patrick's got what Gerard likes to call trust issues and what Patrick likes to call a well-developed sense of paranoid cynicism.
"I should have stayed in Chicago," Patrick says evenly. He's pretty proud of that, actually, because what he wants to do is call Bob an asshole and a motherfucker and tell him to go fuck himself sideways. Bob doesn't say anything; he's just this big looming void of quiet that swallows up Patrick's words and makes him feel like a dick.
Bob huffs out this sound that could be a laugh, barely a breath with feeling behind it, and he doesn't look at Patrick when he says, "Sometimes, I wish you would have."
zomg melodrama. pete/patrick, futureness.
Patrick's hands are against his skin and Patrick's mouth is open under his. "I love you," says Pete. Patrick doesn't say anything back, but he sits up, catches Pete in a kiss that says the same thing and it's okay. Patrick's never been good with words.
===
He's not any better at them in the morning, pretending to be asleep next to Pete. Patrick doesn't really move or say anything, but Pete can feel him awake in the deliberate way he breathes. Pete blames Babyface for that. And Timba. And that first week in Chicago when Patrick had spent most of his time stalking John Legend and fighting with Lupe Fiasco over shoes and God and not calling Pete.
Pete completely, totally, absolutely hates the control of it. He hates everything about Patrick's stupid breathing and the way it dropped the bottom out of his voice and built it up everywhere else and what he hates the most, just absofuckinglutely hates, is how it's all completely wasted.
"You're awake," he tells Patrick. "Stop dicking around."
Patrick rolls onto his back and very carefully doesn't look at Pete. He's got a bruise sucked onto his skin, low on his stomach, and Pete barely remembers putting it there. Pete reaches out, dragging his thumb over it slowly, and Patrick sucks in a breath and goes tense under Pete's hand.
Pete looks up at Patrick's face and Patrick's still not looking at him, so Pete does it again and Patrick lets out this shuddery sigh. "Pete," he says, wrapping his hand around Pete's wrist. He doesn't do anything else and Pete twists his hand a little until he breaks loose and then he laces their fingers together, holding on.
omg amnesia fic. this is why I'm not allowed to write angst, y'all, it all goes horribly angsty and mean. kinda sorta gen.
"Are we together?" asks Patrick and what Pete hates most about him is how hesitant he sounds. "It looked. I mean. I thought we might be."
"No," says Pete. "You and me, we're not anything."
And he thinks that's gonna be it, that this person who isn't Patrick *at all* will just go away and then Pete can wake the fuck up and poke Patrick in the leg until he wakes up too and they can laugh about this shitty paranoid attention whore dream. Except then Patrick says, "Were we?" like he gets it and Pete figures out he can hate this guy even more.
===
(chat bit)
Joe would pull him aside and be like, "Dude, Pete, why are you being such an asshole to Patrick? He needs you right now."
and Pete would lie to amnesiac!Patrick *all the time*. "Yeah, you totally hate Motown." "You're like this total internet addict."
and finally Andy's like, "Look, you can keep being a dick, but that's not going to make things *better*."
and Pete's all, "That's not *Patrick*." and Andy just snaps, "He's the best you're gonna get." and it makes Pete stop and Andy kind of sighs because he didn't mean it, he *didn't*, he totally thinks Patrick's going to remember.
...but Joe asked his parents to ask their friends and pretty much the consensus is that the longer it goes on, the less likely it is that Patrick *will* remember and Joe told Andy, but neither of them told Pete.
sometimes Pete forgets that Joe is *smart*. Like, scarily smart. But it's hard to forget that when there are medical journals scattered around their bus like comic books and Joe's on the phone to his parents reading off sentences that sound like medicine and nodding and saying, 'Uh huh," and "Fuck, seriously -- sorry, mom -- but seriously?"
Joe is a doer. And he's gotten it into his head that he can somehow find a way to make Patrick remember if he just tries hard enough. He goes over to the bus of pinko commie liberalism all the time with new exercises and videos and pictures, stacks of cds, candles, anything he can think of that might trigger a memory. "You should come," he tells Pete. "I've got Morris Day and the Time, man, I think it might work."
"You thought Prince would work," Pete says. "And Bowie."
"He liked it," says Joe. "It's a good step."
What Joe doesn't get -- or Andy or anyone -- is that Patrick's not...things. He's not the music he likes or the shoes or the hats or the weird sense of humor.
They can't show him stuff and pour it all into his head and hope that he comes out the same. That's not...that's *stuff*.
===
"I think you're being kind of an asshole," Ashlee tells him. "I mean, you know. You could--you know him best."
The scariest part of it is that it's true. Everyone tells him that he knows Patrick best, except that he doesn't know Patrick at all. He thought about it that first night, all the things he knew and the universe of stuff he didn't, all the things that intersect and collide and twist around each other. He knows *things*.
He knows Patrick loves Motown. He's listened to Patrick talk about it for hours in the van and in hotels and on the bus, but knowing all the reasons doesn't tell Pete how Patrick *feels* about it. Facts and theories don't tell him if there's a part of Patrick's brain that stretches out all lazy like a cat at the sound of Martha and the Vandellas or why Marvin Gaye makes Patrick smile and shake his head and bump up against Pete's shoulder like he wants to make sure Pete's there.
===
The funniest thing of all is that the only person who doesn't think Pete's being an asshole is Patrick. "I don't think I can be what everyone wants," he tells Pete one day. "It doesn't -- l don't know." He trails off, looks away from Pete's glare. "I don't know," he says again. "I wish I did."
"They think you're still in there," Pete says. "Maybe you're just asleep."
"Yeah. No. I don't think I'm sleeping."
"I think you're dead," says Pete. "And not to be a complete dick about this, but you also kind of killed my best friend so you've got to pardon me if I'm not Mr. Cheerful about it."
back when I thought patrick/gerard futurefic would be sparkles and fun and not the horrible angst monster of pete/patrick that it turned into. mikey has a plan.
Mikey hasn't been to L.A. in years. He's not really sure why he's here now, except that Pete had invited him and told him everyone was going to be there, it was going to be *great*, just like old times --
not that he believes Pete when Pete says shit like that, so he'd asked Bob if he was going because Patrick was Bob's friend maybe more than he was anyone else's and Bob had said, yeah, of course, and, okay, Bob isn't *everyone* and he wouldn't even be enough to get Mikey to go, except that then he'd said, "I'm meeting Gerard in L.A.," and Mikey's brain had done a *thing* and Mikey had said, "Oh, Gerard's going?" totally casually, and Bob had sounded a little confused and he'd said, "Yeah?" and then Mikey had called Pete and said, "Sure, I'll come," and Pete had crowed and told him he couldn't tell Patrick because it was a surprise and Mikey had nodded and said, "Yeah, a surprise," and oh *God*, this is maybe the worst idea of Mikey's life or possibly the best and he honestly can't tell which it is
-- and, well, Mikey has a plan.
cut tag lyrics from: "ms jackson" - outkast, "jesus of suburbia" - green day, "rock and roll suicide" - david bowie, "cigarette lighter love song" - butch walker, "the trapeze swinger" - iron and wine, "the book of love" - magnetic fields
mpreg crackfic by me and missi, patrick/everyone.
In the time between the baby showers, Kanye throws four more parties -- another shower, a housewarming, yet another shower, and a Shit, I Just Want To Throw Another Party party -- and he sits down with Joe and Pete and Andy and figures out where Patrick is going to have this kid. They would have invited Patrick, but Patrick is doing the crazy eyed thing where he just glares at everyone and writes names down on his list. The two big options are L.A. and Chicago. L.A. because that's where their house is and Chicago because that's where...everyone else is. Jay-Z, Gym Class Heroes, and Cobra Starship pull for New York which gets considered for maybe ten minutes. Everyone votes down My Chem's suggestion of New Jersey, including Bob, who just kind of shrugs at his bandmates and says that Jersey is nice, he's sure, but dude. Chicago. Las Vegas is also never really on the map, but no one will say why[6].
They have a proposal all ready for Patrick and they give it to Pete to present, because if anybody can talk Patrick into something, it's Pete, but Patrick takes one look at them and says, "My *mom's* going to be there, guys, of course it's gonna be Chicago."
Joe's a little sad about how easy it all is. They had this whole plan worked out and Joe was going to be the voice of reason and Andy was going to be the devil's advocate and Pete was going to smile at Patrick a lot and maybe look at Patrick from under his bangs and go "Trick, hey, seriously, this way your mom can be there," all gentle and shit, and then they'd win. Patrick's kind of a fucker for ruining the plan that way and Joe tells him so right there and Patrick tells him to go fuck himself ("And seriously, *fuck your jar*, Pete. Jesus.") and somehow they all end up piling into the bed and calling each other assholes and falling asleep on top of each other.
The birth goes pretty much as expected and involves a lot of doctors in the delivery room and none of the potential dads, which totally breaks Pete's heart and he ends up filming the people in the waiting room until Bob finally snaps and threatens to tell Patrick about the baby blog that Pete set up. Then he just confines his filming to everyone in the room that isn't Bob, which is pretty much all that Bob wanted anyway. Andy and Joe think about taking the camera away, but it seems to be calming Pete down so that he's not clutching the enormous stuffed Hemmy he had made to give to the miracle child or having some kind of neurotic panic attack in the bathroom.
They rock paper scissors for the right to go in first and it's a whole big thing with cheating and dirty tricks and one punch to the face -- which Pete apologizes for right after and which Gabe is laughing too hard about to do anything but flap his hand at Pete and say, "Fine, Jesus, your rock can beat paper" -- until Ray organizes them into an actual tournament with brackets and everything. Through a lot of glaring on Joe's part, Andy's crossed arms and tiny head shake of disapproval, and Bob pulling people aside to tell them that they better lose to Pete or else Bob will kick their asses, Pete makes it in first.
toppy pete!/patrick porn
Pete goes down hard, Patrick on top of him, and Pete almost wants to laugh at how good it feels to let himself go like this, but that would just make Patrick more angry, so he holds it in and goes for the glasses first, he always does, because Patrick forgets that he wears them and if they go too far, Pete will forget later. Glasses off, then Pete goes for the hair, because that will distract Patrick enough to--
"Motherfucker," Patrick hisses, his head pulled back by Pete's grip there, and he reaches backwards, wraps his fingers around Pete's wrist and that's what Pete was waiting for, Patrick distracted and off balance, and he rolls them and ignores Patrick's punch to his ribs. It's a problem because he can't try to choke the life out of Patrick the way Patrick can do to him and he doesn't want this to be over any time soon. Pete gets lost in it, in the satisfaction of having Patrick *there*, solid against him and shoving back as hard as Pete shoves him.
Patrick is still cursing and his free hand catches Pete hard on the side of the head and Pete grabs it, slams it down hard against the ground. It hurts Pete as much as it must hurt Patrick, sends the shock of it up Pete's arm and he almost lets go, but Patrick bucks up against him, trying to push him off, and Pete forgets everything in the feel of it, in the feel of Patrick pushing up against him, trying to lift that hand out from under Pete's, and getting nowhere with any of it. Pete does laugh then and Patrick's eyes narrow and Pete has a second to think, "oh shit," before Patrick turns his head to the side as much as he can with Pete's hand still tangled in his hair and bites Pete on the arm.
As an escape move, it sucks, because Pete doesn't let go of Patrick's hand or his hair. He just leans over when Patrick glares up at him and it's insane, it's totally fucking insane, he doesn't know what makes him do it, but he leans over and bites Patrick's lip hard enough to pull a sound out of Patrick. "Don't do that again," Pete says. "I'll bite back."
Patrick turns his head away again and his breath is hot against the dull ache in Pete's arm. Patrick is tense under him, not the ready tension of a possible punch to the face, but the brittle kind that says Patrick is shutting down, pushing Pete out, pulling into himself and Pete knows that's what it is when Patrick laughs, says, "Fuck, Pete," like he can brush it off that easily. Pete's hand tightens in his hair, pulls another sound out of Patrick and jesus, fuck, that's not something Pete was expecting at all.
"Pete," says Patrick. Or he tries, anyway. Pete can see him go for it the first time, his mouth shaping Pete's name and nothing comes out. Patrick licks his lips and does it again, says Pete's name and it comes out louder than Pete thinks he means it to. "What're you--"
He doesn't know. Pete doesn't. He has no fucking idea what he's doing and he ducks down fast, steals the words right out of Patrick's mouth and kisses him. Harder than he means to, really, but he's off balance and then Patrick makes this new noise, this thing Pete's never heard before and Patrick tries to lift his hand again, the one Pete's still got down against the ground. And Pete...doesn't let him.
vampire shenanigans. this part is, uh, patrick/bob? I don't know.
It starts with photographs.
Patrick starts pulling it all together when he's still in New Jersey with Bob and waiting for Butch to show up with his guys. It all starts with photographs. One in particular, this guy staring straight at the camera and Patrick doesn't know (or, honestly, care) enough about photographic technology of the 1800s to know if it's one of those things where the guy would have to hold still for it or if it's something faster, but the guy's staring at the camera -- at Patrick, like he can see through years -- and smirking and Patrick thinks he really hates him. There's writing on the back, all faded ink and neat script: William Beckett, 1893.
"That the guy?" asks Bob, over Patrick's shoulder. Patrick doesn't turtle up or flinch, he just nods and Bob squeezes his shoulder. "He doesn't look like much."
"No," says Patrick. And Beckett doesn't look like anything, really, he's just some guy out of an old picture like all the guys in all the lame history books Patrick hadn't had time for in school. "Some boogeyman, huh?"
Bob pulls a stool up next to Patrick and drops down onto it like he can't keep himself up any longer. He leans over the table where Patrick has all his research spread out, photographs and articles and scribbled notes in Patrick's shitty handwriting. The rise and fall of William Beckett and the dandies from Hell in scraps of paper and guesswork. The rise, anyway. Patrick's supposed to write the fall. "We know it's him?"
Patrick shakes his head and tries not to focus on the way Bob's arms are braced against the table next to Patrick's. "Not for sure. He's my guess, though. Bob--" Patrick stops. He doesn't really know what to say that he hasn't already shouted at Bob.
"They need you," Bob says. It's been two days and already it's an old fight. "More than we do."
Nice, thinks Patrick, and it must show all over his face because Bob's mouth twists in this wry smile. It's an apology, Patrick knows, for what is pretty much just the truth. Between Ray and Bob and...the rest of them, really, they don't need Patrick at all. But fuck, he really doesn't want to go back to Chicago and he for fucking sure doesn't want to go to L.A. because someone knows someone who knows someone who knows Bob. Patrick doesn't know them is the problem and Patrick's got what Gerard likes to call trust issues and what Patrick likes to call a well-developed sense of paranoid cynicism.
"I should have stayed in Chicago," Patrick says evenly. He's pretty proud of that, actually, because what he wants to do is call Bob an asshole and a motherfucker and tell him to go fuck himself sideways. Bob doesn't say anything; he's just this big looming void of quiet that swallows up Patrick's words and makes him feel like a dick.
Bob huffs out this sound that could be a laugh, barely a breath with feeling behind it, and he doesn't look at Patrick when he says, "Sometimes, I wish you would have."
zomg melodrama. pete/patrick, futureness.
Patrick's hands are against his skin and Patrick's mouth is open under his. "I love you," says Pete. Patrick doesn't say anything back, but he sits up, catches Pete in a kiss that says the same thing and it's okay. Patrick's never been good with words.
===
He's not any better at them in the morning, pretending to be asleep next to Pete. Patrick doesn't really move or say anything, but Pete can feel him awake in the deliberate way he breathes. Pete blames Babyface for that. And Timba. And that first week in Chicago when Patrick had spent most of his time stalking John Legend and fighting with Lupe Fiasco over shoes and God and not calling Pete.
Pete completely, totally, absolutely hates the control of it. He hates everything about Patrick's stupid breathing and the way it dropped the bottom out of his voice and built it up everywhere else and what he hates the most, just absofuckinglutely hates, is how it's all completely wasted.
"You're awake," he tells Patrick. "Stop dicking around."
Patrick rolls onto his back and very carefully doesn't look at Pete. He's got a bruise sucked onto his skin, low on his stomach, and Pete barely remembers putting it there. Pete reaches out, dragging his thumb over it slowly, and Patrick sucks in a breath and goes tense under Pete's hand.
Pete looks up at Patrick's face and Patrick's still not looking at him, so Pete does it again and Patrick lets out this shuddery sigh. "Pete," he says, wrapping his hand around Pete's wrist. He doesn't do anything else and Pete twists his hand a little until he breaks loose and then he laces their fingers together, holding on.
omg amnesia fic. this is why I'm not allowed to write angst, y'all, it all goes horribly angsty and mean. kinda sorta gen.
"Are we together?" asks Patrick and what Pete hates most about him is how hesitant he sounds. "It looked. I mean. I thought we might be."
"No," says Pete. "You and me, we're not anything."
And he thinks that's gonna be it, that this person who isn't Patrick *at all* will just go away and then Pete can wake the fuck up and poke Patrick in the leg until he wakes up too and they can laugh about this shitty paranoid attention whore dream. Except then Patrick says, "Were we?" like he gets it and Pete figures out he can hate this guy even more.
===
(chat bit)
Joe would pull him aside and be like, "Dude, Pete, why are you being such an asshole to Patrick? He needs you right now."
and Pete would lie to amnesiac!Patrick *all the time*. "Yeah, you totally hate Motown." "You're like this total internet addict."
and finally Andy's like, "Look, you can keep being a dick, but that's not going to make things *better*."
and Pete's all, "That's not *Patrick*." and Andy just snaps, "He's the best you're gonna get." and it makes Pete stop and Andy kind of sighs because he didn't mean it, he *didn't*, he totally thinks Patrick's going to remember.
...but Joe asked his parents to ask their friends and pretty much the consensus is that the longer it goes on, the less likely it is that Patrick *will* remember and Joe told Andy, but neither of them told Pete.
sometimes Pete forgets that Joe is *smart*. Like, scarily smart. But it's hard to forget that when there are medical journals scattered around their bus like comic books and Joe's on the phone to his parents reading off sentences that sound like medicine and nodding and saying, 'Uh huh," and "Fuck, seriously -- sorry, mom -- but seriously?"
Joe is a doer. And he's gotten it into his head that he can somehow find a way to make Patrick remember if he just tries hard enough. He goes over to the bus of pinko commie liberalism all the time with new exercises and videos and pictures, stacks of cds, candles, anything he can think of that might trigger a memory. "You should come," he tells Pete. "I've got Morris Day and the Time, man, I think it might work."
"You thought Prince would work," Pete says. "And Bowie."
"He liked it," says Joe. "It's a good step."
What Joe doesn't get -- or Andy or anyone -- is that Patrick's not...things. He's not the music he likes or the shoes or the hats or the weird sense of humor.
They can't show him stuff and pour it all into his head and hope that he comes out the same. That's not...that's *stuff*.
===
"I think you're being kind of an asshole," Ashlee tells him. "I mean, you know. You could--you know him best."
The scariest part of it is that it's true. Everyone tells him that he knows Patrick best, except that he doesn't know Patrick at all. He thought about it that first night, all the things he knew and the universe of stuff he didn't, all the things that intersect and collide and twist around each other. He knows *things*.
He knows Patrick loves Motown. He's listened to Patrick talk about it for hours in the van and in hotels and on the bus, but knowing all the reasons doesn't tell Pete how Patrick *feels* about it. Facts and theories don't tell him if there's a part of Patrick's brain that stretches out all lazy like a cat at the sound of Martha and the Vandellas or why Marvin Gaye makes Patrick smile and shake his head and bump up against Pete's shoulder like he wants to make sure Pete's there.
===
The funniest thing of all is that the only person who doesn't think Pete's being an asshole is Patrick. "I don't think I can be what everyone wants," he tells Pete one day. "It doesn't -- l don't know." He trails off, looks away from Pete's glare. "I don't know," he says again. "I wish I did."
"They think you're still in there," Pete says. "Maybe you're just asleep."
"Yeah. No. I don't think I'm sleeping."
"I think you're dead," says Pete. "And not to be a complete dick about this, but you also kind of killed my best friend so you've got to pardon me if I'm not Mr. Cheerful about it."
back when I thought patrick/gerard futurefic would be sparkles and fun and not the horrible angst monster of pete/patrick that it turned into. mikey has a plan.
Mikey hasn't been to L.A. in years. He's not really sure why he's here now, except that Pete had invited him and told him everyone was going to be there, it was going to be *great*, just like old times --
not that he believes Pete when Pete says shit like that, so he'd asked Bob if he was going because Patrick was Bob's friend maybe more than he was anyone else's and Bob had said, yeah, of course, and, okay, Bob isn't *everyone* and he wouldn't even be enough to get Mikey to go, except that then he'd said, "I'm meeting Gerard in L.A.," and Mikey's brain had done a *thing* and Mikey had said, "Oh, Gerard's going?" totally casually, and Bob had sounded a little confused and he'd said, "Yeah?" and then Mikey had called Pete and said, "Sure, I'll come," and Pete had crowed and told him he couldn't tell Patrick because it was a surprise and Mikey had nodded and said, "Yeah, a surprise," and oh *God*, this is maybe the worst idea of Mikey's life or possibly the best and he honestly can't tell which it is
-- and, well, Mikey has a plan.
cut tag lyrics from: "ms jackson" - outkast, "jesus of suburbia" - green day, "rock and roll suicide" - david bowie, "cigarette lighter love song" - butch walker, "the trapeze swinger" - iron and wine, "the book of love" - magnetic fields
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(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-21 12:19 pm (UTC)And also, oh, amnesiac fic. *sniff* Takes me back to my popslash days. Poor Pete.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-21 09:55 pm (UTC)And hah, amnesia fic. Pete would be all, "I WOULD REMEMBER HIM EVEN IF I HAD AMNESIA!" and Joe would give him this funny look and Pete would insist that his SOUL would know Patrick.
...which is, of course, why it had to be Patrick who got the amnesia.