Will You Be My Alibi?

Pete woke up and the world was falling down. His first thought was “Earthquake”, but that was silly, he was in Chicago, not LA. Anyway, it was the buildings crashing down. The ground stayed solid and still, not partaking in the wave of destruction coming from the far edge of the city and making its way toward him.

That thought shoved him into action, and he sprang up and grabbed blindly at the desk nearby, picking up his small leather-bound notebook and making his way towards the door. As he hurried down the stairs- the elevator didn't seem to work- he mentally listed anyone he knew who might be in the city. The list didn't include anyone he cared about more than himself, so he headed for his car, planning to drive out before this part of the city fell. And then he remembered.

Patrick.

Last night Patrick had called him, saying he was on his way to Chicago and they should hang the next day. But they would have known what was going on. O'Hare is on the damaged side. They wouldn't have landed the plane. He told himself without much conviction.

Pete sank into a pile against the wall. Whatever was happening to the city was spreading fast, and had probably already gotten to Patrick's house. There was no way he could make it.

But he couldn't leave if Patrick was still here. He just couldn't bear it if he survived and Patrick didn't. So Pete stepped out of the building and headed towards the other side of the city, sneaking under awnings and overhangs to protect his head from the debris that wanted his life. Eventually, the size of the attackers decreased and he sped up, jumping and twisting around the wreckage.

Patrick escaped. He's smart, he would have seen what was going on, he left, he's probably in freaking Indiana by now, what the heck am I doing-

Pete's panicked thoughts were interrupted by a large chunk of concrete falling from the sky. He dodged it and the crawled over the side, looking at the remains of where his best friend had lived for the past five years. The house was a mess, its original shape unrecognizable. There were pieces of ceiling and furniture scattered everywhere, and lots of opportunities to cut yourself on broken windows and twisted metal. Pete didn't take any of this in. His only thought was of Patrick.

He whipped his head around, barely registering anything, and then stopped when he saw a crushed and overturned table pushed up against the remains of a wall. A Patrick-sized shelter, basically. He ran towards it as fast as he could manage, not worrying about twisting an ankle or scraping himself.

Pete bent down and pulled the table back, yanking the splintered wood apart with his hands when it wouldn't move. He repeated Patrick's name over and over like a healing mantra. Finally he'd removed enough to crawl through and he wiggled into the space, ignoring the pain as the rough edges jabbed his side.

Patrick was lying there, half-unconscious but not so out of it to stop him from recognizing Pete. His face broke out in a giant grin and Pete felt a sudden rush of love for his friend.

“Pat, oh god.”

“Don't call me that.” Patrick said, keeping his grin. Pete wrapped his arms around the younger man as best he could.

“Are you alright?” Pete asked, hoping the answer would be yes. Patrick stared at him, and his eyes were so perfectly blue at that moment that Pete couldn't say anything.

“I love you, Pete.” Patrick said by way of an answer, and then Pete finally saw what he should have noticed the first instant he looked inside. Patrick's side was covered in blood, a large splinter of dark, smooth wood sticking out of him like a harpoon.

“No! Oh god, no no no...” Pete's voice died. He turned away.

“Pete?” Patrick asked desperately. Pete heard the undertone in his voice and looked back, his eyes filled with tears.

“Patrick, I can't...” Pete cut his own words off with a harsh sob. He saw Patrick's favorite hat, the camouflage 504 plan one, and scooped it up. He tried to smile as he placed it on Pat's head. Pete had never seen Patrick without a hat before, not in all of the ten years since they'd met. If he was dying, he would go to Heaven (or wherever, Pete had no clue and didn't care at this moment) wearing one proudly.

Patrick looked up at him once more and smiled openly in spite of the pain.

Pete left.