Blood

The Reality

Patrick's sick.

He feels someone rubbing his back as he vomits over the side of the bed, tensing up at the touch. Pete, he thinks. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and faints back into the pillows, gasping for breath as he curls into fetal position.

Pete looms above him, eyebrows drawn together. “Patrick?” Pete asks quietly, “are you okay? Hey.” Pete touches his cheek, then his forehead gently. “You're burning up,” he whispers.

Patrick reaches up with his other hand and wipes sweat from his forehead, shutting his eyes as his breathing finally slows down. Pete cards his fingers through his hair, murmuring softly to him that everything will be okay.

Patrick nods, dozing off for a few minutes until he feels Pete move away. He watches as the bass player gets up, stripped of everything but his black boxers, and leaves the room for a few minutes, coming back with cleaning products in his hand. Pete sets them down on the table next to Patrick's head and leans over. Patrick can see the worry all over his face.

“Can you make it to the bathroom while I clean this up?” Pete asks softly, putting a hand on the small of Patrick's back as he sits up.

Patrick nods and starts off the bed, letting Pete maneuver him to the bathroom. Patrick sits on the rim of the tub, clutching it as Pete disappears into their bedroom for a few minutes, finally reappearing to put the cleaners away in the kitchen and wash his hands.

Pete comes back in and kneels down in front of Patrick, staring at him. Patrick is soaked through his boxers and undershirt with sweat. He closes his eyes and shakes his head.

“It was awful, Pete,” he whispers, clutching the tub tighter.

“You're safe,” Pete reminds him. Patrick nods as Pete keeps repeating, “I mean it, Patrick, you're safe.”

Finally, when Patrick feels he can breathe again, he stands at the sink and brushes his teeth, swishing mouthwash around and spitting it out. Pete keeps hold of his arm the entire time.

The room still smells like cleaner, so Patrick opts to sit at the kitchen table while Pete makes himself a cup of coffee and goes hunting for tea for Patrick, pushing and shoving things around in the cabinets.

“I'm fine with coffee,” Patrick says groggily, rubbing at his eye as he hears the first birds chirp outside.

“I know there's some in here somewhere,” Pete huffs to himself, completely ignoring Patrick's request.

Finally Pete finds some leftover peppermint tea from when he'd had the flu a few months ago and makes Patrick a cup.

Patrick sips it carefully as Pete sits opposite him, slurping his coffee. They both burn their tongues.

Patrick doesn't even realize he's dozing off until Pete shakes him, that worried look crossing his face again.

“'M fine,” Patrick mutters, putting his chin in his hand again and closing his eyes.

“Let's go back to bed,” Pete offers. How long had he been standing next to Patrick like that for?

Pete hauls Patrick to his feet and takes him to bed. The smell is nearly gone from the room now.

As soon as Patrick lays down, though, he finds himself wide awake. He curls into Pete's side, Pete wrapping an arm around him and stroking his back. Patrick focuses on the faint whir of the ceiling fan above the bed.

“Wanna tell me about it?” Pete murmurs, turning to kiss Patrick's forehead.

Patrick shrugs, snuggling closer. He tries to follow the same breathing pattern as Pete, shutting his eyes as the dream floods back.

“Patrick?” Pete whispers, rubbing at Patrick's shoulders. “It's alright. You're safe, I'm here.”

“There was so much blood,” Patrick nearly cuts Pete off, shuddering. “Just – blood. Everywhere. They had me tied down, and were cutting me and laughing. It hurt so bad, but no one could hear me screaming. It's just – the blood, Pete.”

“Hey,” Pete warns, sitting Patrick up quickly as another wave of nausea hits. “Hey,” he says more softly. “Just calm down, okay? Calm down.” Pete rubs at his back as Patrick tries to breathe. “There's nothing to be worried about now, okay? It's over. It was just a nightmare. It's over now. No one can hurt you, I promise.”

Patrick nods as he and Pete lay back, Patrick pulling the comforter up over them and curling into Pete once more.

After some more silence, as Pete is dozing off, he's brought back by the sound of Patrick's voice. He's talking about his nightmare again. The different things they'd done – cutting off his hand, cutting his side and chest and arms. And all the blood. Patrick shudders.

“It's okay,” Pete whispers, and the two are quiet once again.

Pete tries to stay awake for Patrick's sake, but it doesn't work very well, and soon he's fast asleep. Patrick listens to him snore, watches the rise and fall of his chest. Patrick leans up and kisses his cheek, laying his head back down and staring at the opposite wall.

It takes some time, but Patrick eventually falls back asleep.
♠ ♠ ♠
This story was a product of me watching Fall Out Boy's The Phoenix music video one too many times when it's 12:30 at night.