solarbaby614 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
solarbaby614) wrote2012-10-28 05:05 pm
solarbaby614) wrote2012-10-28 05:05 pm
Entry tags:
fic: monster at the end of this book
Title: Monster at the End of This Book
Author:solarbaby614
Pairing/Characters: Pete/Patrick
Rating/Category: PG-13
Fandom: Bandom (Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance)
Summary: Patrick shouldn't have asked.
Notes/Warnings: Written forspook_me challenge using the prompt of aliens. Part of my cannibal'verse.
The full attention that Patrick receives from Pete when he plays or sings always sends a feeling of warmth through him, like he’s actually something special. Even when he’s just laying on the couch, humming out half remembered tunes, Pete will reach over and poke him with his foot until Patrick finally sings what parts he knows out loud.
He has his guitar out and he‘s strumming to the chorus line of a song her heard on the radio a few days ago when the thought hits him and suddenly he needs to know. His fingers pause and Pete is already forming a protest when he says, “You don’t normally look like this, right?”
There’s a pause as Pete frowns, turning the question over in his mind, contemplating it. He runs his fingers up and down his arm, leaving red marks when he presses too hard. Then he looks down, plucking at one of the rhinestones on the faded pink shirt. “I like this shirt,” he defends. “Don’t diss the shirt.”
“Don’t be a jackass,” Patrick sighs, strumming out a slow tune. “You know what I’m asking.”
Pete sort of stares at him blankly. “You’re serious?” He expected a lot of things from Patrick but this wasn’t one of them. Experience has told him that people don’t want to know these kinds of things.
“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”
He‘s heard that answer before too. There’s a dark feeling starting to settle in the pit of his stomach; a feeling that things were about to go horribly, horribly wrong. “Are you sure you want to know?” It‘s a second chance to take it back before it changes everything. “You know I’m not human; not even human looking like Mikey. I’m… different.”
Patrick grins at him and Pete feels his lips start to twitch in response. “I like different. I’m dating you, aren’t I?”
Just the reminder that he has this, that he has Patrick right now, makes him feel better. “That’s right, you are.” There’s a notebook behind him that he grabs; it’s full off his own scribbled words, a way he has of working out his own thoughts. He flips it open to a blank page near the back and starts to draw. It takes a few minutes for it too look the way he wants it to, trying to make it look less terrifying.
Once it’s finished, he rips it out and folds it in half before moving to hand it to Patrick, only to jerk it away when Patrick reaches out to take it.
“Pete,” is all he says, somehow managing to sound pleading and stern at the same time. This time Patrick manages to get it from him and he watches Pete scoots away, pressing back against the corner of the couch, wrapping his arms around his legs. He wants to wrap his arms around him and pull him close but all he does is unfold the paper. It takes a few moments for it to sink in. “It’s different alright.”
Patrick really isn’t sure what this is supposed to be. It kind of looks like a snowman with horns.
Pete slowly unfolds himself and scoots forward a little, looking stunned. “You’re really not freaking out?” He’s never had this kind of reaction before; he’s not sure what the correct response is.
A huffy laugh escapes Patrick as he shakes his head. “I can honestly say that this image does not freak me out in anyway.” The next thing he knows he’s flat against the couch, Pete pressing against him, kissing him, devouring him.
“Pattycakes,” Pete gasps when he pulls back, “you are my favorite.”
-
“Patrick,” Gerard greets him when he swings the door open, sounding delighted, and ushers him inside.
Patrick pauses for a moment, not sure how to broach this. This wasn’t something he’d actually thought out. “I need a favor.”
“Anything for you,” he replies, taking a seat at the kitchen table.
Gerard‘s art supplies are strewn out on the table and Patrick can see half a half deformed creature starting to take shape on the paper. “I was wondering if you could show me what Pete really looks like.”
That make Gerard pause and the smile starts to fade from his face. “I’m not sure if you know what you’re asking,” says Gerard, frowning as he fiddles with a pencil. “Have you asked Pete?”
“Yeah, I did.” He pulls a piece of paper of his back pocket and unfolds it, turning it towards Gerard to see. “And he drew me this. Unfortunately, I can’t make heads or tails of it.”
A soft laugh escapes Gerard as he examines the picture. The image does Pete no real justice but that may have been half on purpose. “I don’t think this is really a good idea.”
“It’s Pete,” Patrick says. “How bad can it be?”
“Patrick…” Gerard starts before he gets cut off.
“Please, Gerard,” he practically begs. “There’s this whole side of Pete I don’t know anything about. And,” he reminds him, “Pete did try to show me himself.”
That makes him pause for a moment, looking conflicted, before he flips to a blank page. It takes him a few minutes where the only sound is pencil scratching on paper before he stops and rips it out. He holds it out, face down, tightening his grip when Patrick reaches out to take it. “I strongly advise against this. I’m making this clear right now.” When he gets a nod in response he hands it over.
Patrick takes a few breaths before he flips it over. “Oh.” He stares at it for a few seconds before he flips it back over. “Okay, so I’m beginning to understand why you didn’t want me to see this.” He can’t take his eyes from the page, the white blankness is almost innocent. The image won’t leave his mind.
“Patrick, just don’t freak out, okay?” Patrick won’t look at him so he moves forward, placing a hand on the page. That catches his attention and he blinks up at him. There’s a sort of emptiness to his eyes that sends shivers down his spine. Gerard holds out his hands, placatingly. “Don’t freak out.”
“Yeah, not freaking out.” His voice sounds empty, even to himself. He clears his throat and tries again. “I can do that.”
“Good,” Gerard says, sounding relieved, even though there is still clear worry in his eyes, as Patrick takes the paper and gets up to leave.
“Thanks, Gerard.”
-
Bob stares at him when he opens the door, taking in the duffle bag and the disheveled appearance. “Dude, did Pete get evicted or something?” He peers around the doorway, looking up and down the hall as if he expects Pete to be hiding from him.
“No,” Patrick responds, his voice curt. He bounces on his heels a few times before he asks, “Can I stay with you for a few days?”
That surprises him but he holds the door open. “Sure.”
-
It isn’t the first time Pete has called, or even the second, or third; Patrick has been sending them to voicemail. His finger hovers over the button, ready to reject the call.
But this isn’t Pete’s fault. He shouldn’t take it out on him. “Hello?”
Pete‘s voice is both relieved and a little bit frantic on the other side. “Patrick, what’s wrong? Where are you?”
“I didn’t mean to worry you,” Patrick sighs. “I’m freaking out. Just a little.”
“Are you at Frank’s?” Pete asks. There’s a faint squeal on the other end and horns honking. “I’ll be right over, okay? We can talk about this.”
“No!” The distressed sound of his voice makes him cringe and he takes a deep breath before trying again. “No. No, just… Just give me some time okay? I just need some time away to process this.”
“Time? As in time away from me,” Pete’s voice is flat.
“I love you, Pete.” Patrick tells him, “I really do. But this is a lot. I need to be able understand and when I’m around you it’s not that easy to think straight.”
There‘s silence on the other end of the line before Pete finally says something. There‘s a change in his voice that Patrick doesn‘t like. It‘s his work voice. “That’s… that’s fine. I have some stuff I need to catch up on anyways.”
It‘s still a relief. This isn‘t unfixable; he just needs time. “Give me a few days. I’ll call you.”
“Yeah,” Pete sounds distracted. “Okay.”
“I’ll talk to you later.”
“Goodbye, Patrick.”
-
“He hates me,” Pete voice is muffled. He has his face buried in Mikey‘s lap as they‘re curled up on Gerard‘s couch.
“He doesn’t hate you, Pete,” Mikey is the voice of reason as he runs his fingers through Pete’s hair.
Mikey‘s just trying to make him feel better. It isn‘t working. He’s screwed up this time, he know it. Showing him had been a bad idea from the start; he can‘t believe he let Patrick convince him that it would be okay. “He hates me and I’m never going to see him again. He’s probably alone out there somewhere, scared.”
“Actually he’s staying with Bob,” Frank speaks up. When all eyes turn to him, he continues, ignoring the way Pete‘s eyes are a nasty shade of red, unlike Gerard‘s or Mikey‘s has ever been, “I went over there yesterday. He’s fine,” he tries to reassure him.
Pete makes distressed noise, dropping his head back down. “So he doesn’t even care.”
“Christ,” Frank mutters, rolling his eyes, going back to his book. Alien drama.
“My life is a wasteland.”
-
“Pete, Pete, Pete.”
Pete wakes up on Mikey‘s couch, his head pounding and someone poking him in the neck. “Wazit?” He blinks up to see Mikey standing there, wearing only a pair of boxers and a line of what suspiciously looks like hickeys running down his chest.
He’s holding Pete’s phone in his hand. “Here.”
“Patrick?” Pete asks, wide awake, reaching out to take the phone.
“No.” The hand falters and Pete drops his arm. “It’s one of your employees. You’ve missed some meetings the past few days and they’re worried.”
That catches his attention. He sits up, his voice cold when he says, “They told you?”
Mikey shrugs. It‘s never bothered him when Pete gets like this. “People talk to me. It’s my superpower.”
“Work is work. You’re not work. Give me the phone.”
Mikey hands it over and goes back to bed. Pete’s work isn’t his concern; Ray in his bed is.
-
Frank isn‘t surprised to see Pete on his couch when he gets home from work, doing something on his laptop. “Pete,” he greets, “have you talked to Patrick lately?”
“Nope.” Pete doesn’t even look up, but he sees the way his fingers freeze on the keys. “He hasn’t called me.”
“Oh.”
Frank is throwing his jacket across a chair when Pete finally looks at him. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“He hasn‘t shown up for work,” he says, sounding worried, “and Bob hasn‘t seen him since the night before last.”
Pete slams down the lid of the laptop and shoves it off his lap. “And they’re just noticing now?”
“Bob thought you two were still working things out. Apparently, Patrick was on his way talk to you.” Frank jerks back when Pete shoots up off the couch, digging around for his shoes. “Where are you going?”
“To find Patrick.”
He has a sinking feeling that he knows where he is.
-
“Where is he?” Pete slams Marcus against the wall the moment he gets inside the building.
“Sir?” Marcus sounds confused.
“You know what I’m talking about,” Pete hisses at him, tightening his hand around his throat. “Where is he?”
After a choked off cough, he manages to get out, “He’s in one of the backrooms.”
A growl escapes Pete and he can feel his skin start to tighten. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t end your miserable existence right now.”
“Lexis had us move him back there. He said it was on your orders.”
Pete releases his grip and Marcus falls to the floor. “Take me to him.” He gets a nod in response; Marcus has the good grace not to make eye contact.
Eyes peer from doorways as they head farther and farther down the hall. He ignores the moans he can hear through the closed the doors, refusing to let his attention deter from his destination. They reach one of the more expensive but less used end rooms. Anger seethes through him, knowing that Patrick has been put in this room like one of his workers.
The lights in the room are dim but his eyes adjust quickly. Patrick is tucked carefully under the covers, but he’s pale and his arm is bandaged. “What happened to him?”
Marcus shakes his head, backing away. “I’m not sure. He’s been unconscious since we’ve brought him here.”
Pete nods, not taking his eyes from Patrick as he takes a seat beside the bed. “Bring me Lexis.”
He doesn’t know how long he sits there after Marcus leaves. His fingers ghost over the gauze wrapped around Patrick’s arm. “Oh, Patrick.” He carefully unwraps it, taking in the damage. “Fucking hell,” he hisses through his teeth. The teeth marks are as clear as day, deep and ugly. The skin around it has started to bruise and it makes Pete cringe. It’ll scar.
“Pete…” the voice is soft but Pete hears it as if it was shouted.
His head shoots up and he sight of Patrick waking up is a welcome sight to behold. “Patrick?”
Patrick blinks, his vision coming back into focus. He slowly takes in his surroundings, nothing coming up as familiar other than the man beside him. “Pete? What am I doing here?”
“What’s the last thing you remember?” he asks.
“Um…” Patrick frowns and flinches, as if trying to think, to remember, hurts. “I think… we were eating dinner at that diner you like in White Chapel?”
“That was three weeks ago.”
“What? What’s going on?“ He struggles to sit up and let’s out a noise of pain when he accidentally bumps his arm. “Owe, fuck.”
“Wait, Patrick--.” He reaches out to stop him when Patrick pulls his injured arm close to his chest and flips it over..
Patrick stares down at the wound in horror. His voice is carefully even when he speaks next. “What the fucking hell is this Pete?” He looks like he isn’t’ sure what to think.
“Not me. You know I would never do that,” Pete tells him, placing a hand on his arm, carefully covering the wound. “You’re too important,” he adds when Patrick doesn’t look convinced.
There’s a knock at the door that interrupts them and Lexis enters before Pete can give him permission to answer. He can see Marcus standing just out in the hallway, watching
“Ah, Pete. You’re back.”
Pete grabs him and pulls him out the door, carefully closing it behind him, ignoring Patrick‘s protests. Marcus scrambles out of their way moving to what he obviously perceives as a safe distance, still watching instead of running. Stupid, stupid creature. “What did you do to him?”
“I fixed your problem for you.” Lexis looks extremely pleased with himself. Pete wants to rip out his throat and feed on it. He can almost taste it.
“Really,” he says, calmly. When Lexis has the audacity to grin, he slams him up against the wall.
“He won’t remember,” he tells him, eyes widening in panic as he starts struggling, “and now that you have him back things can go back to normal.”
“And his arm?” Pete demands.
Lexis shakes his head the best he can. He‘s starting to loose control, Pete can see the tone of his skin start to darken an ugly shade of green. “A miscalculation. One of the men didn’t realize who he was. He’s been properly punished.”
“What about your punishment?”
His voice shakes when he says, “My punishment?” His struggling becomes him and more erratic but Pete’s hold doesn’t falter.
Pete frowns, shaking his head as if he was disappointed in him. “You knew he was off limits and yet you still went after him.”
“To help you,” Lexis says, begs, shaking now.
“You didn’t help; you made this worse,” he yells. One of the doors down the hall opens and the face of one of his girls pokes out, only for her eyes to widen at the sight and for her to jerk back, slamming the door behind her. Pete lowers his voice. “He was coming back to me.” His grip slacks up only enough for him to be able to slam Lexis back against the wall with a satisfying thud. “What’s going to happen when he finds out again? Or worse, when he remembers? You knew Patrick was off limits.”
“What are you going to do to me?”
“Don’t worry.” Pete grins, running his tongue over his incisors. “I’m feeling very creative.”
He doesn’t even have time to scream. But Marcus does.
-
He moves Patrick out of the room that same day, as soon as the clean up crew finishes with the hall. Patrick still looks a little shell shocked, pale when Pete rewraps his arms and usher him back to Pete’s, to their, room. He expects questions, a lot of demanding, yelling, angry questions but none of them come. Things shouldn’t get back to normal as quickly as they do. The way Patrick just seems to accept all this should concern him but Pete is so relieved that he doesn’t want to question it too closely.
“What’s this?” Patrick asks him later.
“Hmm?” Pete glances over to see a piece of paper clutched in his grasp. When he leans closer, close enough to see the contents, he has to hold back a curse. “Oh that” he says as casually as he can. “It’s just one of Gerard’s rejected ideas for that horror comic he’s been working on for Frank.”
“Seriously?” Patrick actually laughs, handing over the drawing of what appears to him to be an extremely large lobster, only with a few more claws, a set of horns and one large eye. “I can see why he didn‘t choose it.”
“It’s not that bad,” he defends, looking down at the picture sadly. It’s an accurate representation, a flattering one to be honest.
“Pete,” responds Patrick, holding it out to him. He doesn’t like the way Pete has hunched in on himself all of a sudden. His arm slides around Pete’s waist and he pulls him against him, sighing when he burrows against him. “It’s a giant lobster. It’s not scary at all. It’s actually…” He lets his fingers trail over it thoughtfully, “kind of cute.”
“Cute?” Pete pulls back enough to look up at him, stunned. “You think it’s cute?”
“Yeah,” he says carefully. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had made fun of him for something like this. He waits, ready to defend himself. Instead finds himself shoved back against the floor, Pete pinning him down, capturing his lips in a kiss.
“Ummm,” Pete give a pleased noise, looking happy as he pulls back to nuzzle the side of Patrick’s head, “you really are my favorite.”
Author:
solarbaby614 Pairing/Characters: Pete/Patrick
Rating/Category: PG-13
Fandom: Bandom (Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance)
Summary: Patrick shouldn't have asked.
Notes/Warnings: Written for
spook_me challenge using the prompt of aliens. Part of my cannibal'verse.The full attention that Patrick receives from Pete when he plays or sings always sends a feeling of warmth through him, like he’s actually something special. Even when he’s just laying on the couch, humming out half remembered tunes, Pete will reach over and poke him with his foot until Patrick finally sings what parts he knows out loud.
He has his guitar out and he‘s strumming to the chorus line of a song her heard on the radio a few days ago when the thought hits him and suddenly he needs to know. His fingers pause and Pete is already forming a protest when he says, “You don’t normally look like this, right?”
There’s a pause as Pete frowns, turning the question over in his mind, contemplating it. He runs his fingers up and down his arm, leaving red marks when he presses too hard. Then he looks down, plucking at one of the rhinestones on the faded pink shirt. “I like this shirt,” he defends. “Don’t diss the shirt.”
“Don’t be a jackass,” Patrick sighs, strumming out a slow tune. “You know what I’m asking.”
Pete sort of stares at him blankly. “You’re serious?” He expected a lot of things from Patrick but this wasn’t one of them. Experience has told him that people don’t want to know these kinds of things.
“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”
He‘s heard that answer before too. There’s a dark feeling starting to settle in the pit of his stomach; a feeling that things were about to go horribly, horribly wrong. “Are you sure you want to know?” It‘s a second chance to take it back before it changes everything. “You know I’m not human; not even human looking like Mikey. I’m… different.”
Patrick grins at him and Pete feels his lips start to twitch in response. “I like different. I’m dating you, aren’t I?”
Just the reminder that he has this, that he has Patrick right now, makes him feel better. “That’s right, you are.” There’s a notebook behind him that he grabs; it’s full off his own scribbled words, a way he has of working out his own thoughts. He flips it open to a blank page near the back and starts to draw. It takes a few minutes for it too look the way he wants it to, trying to make it look less terrifying.
Once it’s finished, he rips it out and folds it in half before moving to hand it to Patrick, only to jerk it away when Patrick reaches out to take it.
“Pete,” is all he says, somehow managing to sound pleading and stern at the same time. This time Patrick manages to get it from him and he watches Pete scoots away, pressing back against the corner of the couch, wrapping his arms around his legs. He wants to wrap his arms around him and pull him close but all he does is unfold the paper. It takes a few moments for it to sink in. “It’s different alright.”
Patrick really isn’t sure what this is supposed to be. It kind of looks like a snowman with horns.
Pete slowly unfolds himself and scoots forward a little, looking stunned. “You’re really not freaking out?” He’s never had this kind of reaction before; he’s not sure what the correct response is.
A huffy laugh escapes Patrick as he shakes his head. “I can honestly say that this image does not freak me out in anyway.” The next thing he knows he’s flat against the couch, Pete pressing against him, kissing him, devouring him.
“Pattycakes,” Pete gasps when he pulls back, “you are my favorite.”
-
“Patrick,” Gerard greets him when he swings the door open, sounding delighted, and ushers him inside.
Patrick pauses for a moment, not sure how to broach this. This wasn’t something he’d actually thought out. “I need a favor.”
“Anything for you,” he replies, taking a seat at the kitchen table.
Gerard‘s art supplies are strewn out on the table and Patrick can see half a half deformed creature starting to take shape on the paper. “I was wondering if you could show me what Pete really looks like.”
That make Gerard pause and the smile starts to fade from his face. “I’m not sure if you know what you’re asking,” says Gerard, frowning as he fiddles with a pencil. “Have you asked Pete?”
“Yeah, I did.” He pulls a piece of paper of his back pocket and unfolds it, turning it towards Gerard to see. “And he drew me this. Unfortunately, I can’t make heads or tails of it.”
A soft laugh escapes Gerard as he examines the picture. The image does Pete no real justice but that may have been half on purpose. “I don’t think this is really a good idea.”
“It’s Pete,” Patrick says. “How bad can it be?”
“Patrick…” Gerard starts before he gets cut off.
“Please, Gerard,” he practically begs. “There’s this whole side of Pete I don’t know anything about. And,” he reminds him, “Pete did try to show me himself.”
That makes him pause for a moment, looking conflicted, before he flips to a blank page. It takes him a few minutes where the only sound is pencil scratching on paper before he stops and rips it out. He holds it out, face down, tightening his grip when Patrick reaches out to take it. “I strongly advise against this. I’m making this clear right now.” When he gets a nod in response he hands it over.
Patrick takes a few breaths before he flips it over. “Oh.” He stares at it for a few seconds before he flips it back over. “Okay, so I’m beginning to understand why you didn’t want me to see this.” He can’t take his eyes from the page, the white blankness is almost innocent. The image won’t leave his mind.
“Patrick, just don’t freak out, okay?” Patrick won’t look at him so he moves forward, placing a hand on the page. That catches his attention and he blinks up at him. There’s a sort of emptiness to his eyes that sends shivers down his spine. Gerard holds out his hands, placatingly. “Don’t freak out.”
“Yeah, not freaking out.” His voice sounds empty, even to himself. He clears his throat and tries again. “I can do that.”
“Good,” Gerard says, sounding relieved, even though there is still clear worry in his eyes, as Patrick takes the paper and gets up to leave.
“Thanks, Gerard.”
-
Bob stares at him when he opens the door, taking in the duffle bag and the disheveled appearance. “Dude, did Pete get evicted or something?” He peers around the doorway, looking up and down the hall as if he expects Pete to be hiding from him.
“No,” Patrick responds, his voice curt. He bounces on his heels a few times before he asks, “Can I stay with you for a few days?”
That surprises him but he holds the door open. “Sure.”
-
It isn’t the first time Pete has called, or even the second, or third; Patrick has been sending them to voicemail. His finger hovers over the button, ready to reject the call.
But this isn’t Pete’s fault. He shouldn’t take it out on him. “Hello?”
Pete‘s voice is both relieved and a little bit frantic on the other side. “Patrick, what’s wrong? Where are you?”
“I didn’t mean to worry you,” Patrick sighs. “I’m freaking out. Just a little.”
“Are you at Frank’s?” Pete asks. There’s a faint squeal on the other end and horns honking. “I’ll be right over, okay? We can talk about this.”
“No!” The distressed sound of his voice makes him cringe and he takes a deep breath before trying again. “No. No, just… Just give me some time okay? I just need some time away to process this.”
“Time? As in time away from me,” Pete’s voice is flat.
“I love you, Pete.” Patrick tells him, “I really do. But this is a lot. I need to be able understand and when I’m around you it’s not that easy to think straight.”
There‘s silence on the other end of the line before Pete finally says something. There‘s a change in his voice that Patrick doesn‘t like. It‘s his work voice. “That’s… that’s fine. I have some stuff I need to catch up on anyways.”
It‘s still a relief. This isn‘t unfixable; he just needs time. “Give me a few days. I’ll call you.”
“Yeah,” Pete sounds distracted. “Okay.”
“I’ll talk to you later.”
“Goodbye, Patrick.”
-
“He hates me,” Pete voice is muffled. He has his face buried in Mikey‘s lap as they‘re curled up on Gerard‘s couch.
“He doesn’t hate you, Pete,” Mikey is the voice of reason as he runs his fingers through Pete’s hair.
Mikey‘s just trying to make him feel better. It isn‘t working. He’s screwed up this time, he know it. Showing him had been a bad idea from the start; he can‘t believe he let Patrick convince him that it would be okay. “He hates me and I’m never going to see him again. He’s probably alone out there somewhere, scared.”
“Actually he’s staying with Bob,” Frank speaks up. When all eyes turn to him, he continues, ignoring the way Pete‘s eyes are a nasty shade of red, unlike Gerard‘s or Mikey‘s has ever been, “I went over there yesterday. He’s fine,” he tries to reassure him.
Pete makes distressed noise, dropping his head back down. “So he doesn’t even care.”
“Christ,” Frank mutters, rolling his eyes, going back to his book. Alien drama.
“My life is a wasteland.”
-
“Pete, Pete, Pete.”
Pete wakes up on Mikey‘s couch, his head pounding and someone poking him in the neck. “Wazit?” He blinks up to see Mikey standing there, wearing only a pair of boxers and a line of what suspiciously looks like hickeys running down his chest.
He’s holding Pete’s phone in his hand. “Here.”
“Patrick?” Pete asks, wide awake, reaching out to take the phone.
“No.” The hand falters and Pete drops his arm. “It’s one of your employees. You’ve missed some meetings the past few days and they’re worried.”
That catches his attention. He sits up, his voice cold when he says, “They told you?”
Mikey shrugs. It‘s never bothered him when Pete gets like this. “People talk to me. It’s my superpower.”
“Work is work. You’re not work. Give me the phone.”
Mikey hands it over and goes back to bed. Pete’s work isn’t his concern; Ray in his bed is.
-
Frank isn‘t surprised to see Pete on his couch when he gets home from work, doing something on his laptop. “Pete,” he greets, “have you talked to Patrick lately?”
“Nope.” Pete doesn’t even look up, but he sees the way his fingers freeze on the keys. “He hasn’t called me.”
“Oh.”
Frank is throwing his jacket across a chair when Pete finally looks at him. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“He hasn‘t shown up for work,” he says, sounding worried, “and Bob hasn‘t seen him since the night before last.”
Pete slams down the lid of the laptop and shoves it off his lap. “And they’re just noticing now?”
“Bob thought you two were still working things out. Apparently, Patrick was on his way talk to you.” Frank jerks back when Pete shoots up off the couch, digging around for his shoes. “Where are you going?”
“To find Patrick.”
He has a sinking feeling that he knows where he is.
-
“Where is he?” Pete slams Marcus against the wall the moment he gets inside the building.
“Sir?” Marcus sounds confused.
“You know what I’m talking about,” Pete hisses at him, tightening his hand around his throat. “Where is he?”
After a choked off cough, he manages to get out, “He’s in one of the backrooms.”
A growl escapes Pete and he can feel his skin start to tighten. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t end your miserable existence right now.”
“Lexis had us move him back there. He said it was on your orders.”
Pete releases his grip and Marcus falls to the floor. “Take me to him.” He gets a nod in response; Marcus has the good grace not to make eye contact.
Eyes peer from doorways as they head farther and farther down the hall. He ignores the moans he can hear through the closed the doors, refusing to let his attention deter from his destination. They reach one of the more expensive but less used end rooms. Anger seethes through him, knowing that Patrick has been put in this room like one of his workers.
The lights in the room are dim but his eyes adjust quickly. Patrick is tucked carefully under the covers, but he’s pale and his arm is bandaged. “What happened to him?”
Marcus shakes his head, backing away. “I’m not sure. He’s been unconscious since we’ve brought him here.”
Pete nods, not taking his eyes from Patrick as he takes a seat beside the bed. “Bring me Lexis.”
He doesn’t know how long he sits there after Marcus leaves. His fingers ghost over the gauze wrapped around Patrick’s arm. “Oh, Patrick.” He carefully unwraps it, taking in the damage. “Fucking hell,” he hisses through his teeth. The teeth marks are as clear as day, deep and ugly. The skin around it has started to bruise and it makes Pete cringe. It’ll scar.
“Pete…” the voice is soft but Pete hears it as if it was shouted.
His head shoots up and he sight of Patrick waking up is a welcome sight to behold. “Patrick?”
Patrick blinks, his vision coming back into focus. He slowly takes in his surroundings, nothing coming up as familiar other than the man beside him. “Pete? What am I doing here?”
“What’s the last thing you remember?” he asks.
“Um…” Patrick frowns and flinches, as if trying to think, to remember, hurts. “I think… we were eating dinner at that diner you like in White Chapel?”
“That was three weeks ago.”
“What? What’s going on?“ He struggles to sit up and let’s out a noise of pain when he accidentally bumps his arm. “Owe, fuck.”
“Wait, Patrick--.” He reaches out to stop him when Patrick pulls his injured arm close to his chest and flips it over..
Patrick stares down at the wound in horror. His voice is carefully even when he speaks next. “What the fucking hell is this Pete?” He looks like he isn’t’ sure what to think.
“Not me. You know I would never do that,” Pete tells him, placing a hand on his arm, carefully covering the wound. “You’re too important,” he adds when Patrick doesn’t look convinced.
There’s a knock at the door that interrupts them and Lexis enters before Pete can give him permission to answer. He can see Marcus standing just out in the hallway, watching
“Ah, Pete. You’re back.”
Pete grabs him and pulls him out the door, carefully closing it behind him, ignoring Patrick‘s protests. Marcus scrambles out of their way moving to what he obviously perceives as a safe distance, still watching instead of running. Stupid, stupid creature. “What did you do to him?”
“I fixed your problem for you.” Lexis looks extremely pleased with himself. Pete wants to rip out his throat and feed on it. He can almost taste it.
“Really,” he says, calmly. When Lexis has the audacity to grin, he slams him up against the wall.
“He won’t remember,” he tells him, eyes widening in panic as he starts struggling, “and now that you have him back things can go back to normal.”
“And his arm?” Pete demands.
Lexis shakes his head the best he can. He‘s starting to loose control, Pete can see the tone of his skin start to darken an ugly shade of green. “A miscalculation. One of the men didn’t realize who he was. He’s been properly punished.”
“What about your punishment?”
His voice shakes when he says, “My punishment?” His struggling becomes him and more erratic but Pete’s hold doesn’t falter.
Pete frowns, shaking his head as if he was disappointed in him. “You knew he was off limits and yet you still went after him.”
“To help you,” Lexis says, begs, shaking now.
“You didn’t help; you made this worse,” he yells. One of the doors down the hall opens and the face of one of his girls pokes out, only for her eyes to widen at the sight and for her to jerk back, slamming the door behind her. Pete lowers his voice. “He was coming back to me.” His grip slacks up only enough for him to be able to slam Lexis back against the wall with a satisfying thud. “What’s going to happen when he finds out again? Or worse, when he remembers? You knew Patrick was off limits.”
“What are you going to do to me?”
“Don’t worry.” Pete grins, running his tongue over his incisors. “I’m feeling very creative.”
He doesn’t even have time to scream. But Marcus does.
-
He moves Patrick out of the room that same day, as soon as the clean up crew finishes with the hall. Patrick still looks a little shell shocked, pale when Pete rewraps his arms and usher him back to Pete’s, to their, room. He expects questions, a lot of demanding, yelling, angry questions but none of them come. Things shouldn’t get back to normal as quickly as they do. The way Patrick just seems to accept all this should concern him but Pete is so relieved that he doesn’t want to question it too closely.
“What’s this?” Patrick asks him later.
“Hmm?” Pete glances over to see a piece of paper clutched in his grasp. When he leans closer, close enough to see the contents, he has to hold back a curse. “Oh that” he says as casually as he can. “It’s just one of Gerard’s rejected ideas for that horror comic he’s been working on for Frank.”
“Seriously?” Patrick actually laughs, handing over the drawing of what appears to him to be an extremely large lobster, only with a few more claws, a set of horns and one large eye. “I can see why he didn‘t choose it.”
“It’s not that bad,” he defends, looking down at the picture sadly. It’s an accurate representation, a flattering one to be honest.
“Pete,” responds Patrick, holding it out to him. He doesn’t like the way Pete has hunched in on himself all of a sudden. His arm slides around Pete’s waist and he pulls him against him, sighing when he burrows against him. “It’s a giant lobster. It’s not scary at all. It’s actually…” He lets his fingers trail over it thoughtfully, “kind of cute.”
“Cute?” Pete pulls back enough to look up at him, stunned. “You think it’s cute?”
“Yeah,” he says carefully. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had made fun of him for something like this. He waits, ready to defend himself. Instead finds himself shoved back against the floor, Pete pinning him down, capturing his lips in a kiss.
“Ummm,” Pete give a pleased noise, looking happy as he pulls back to nuzzle the side of Patrick’s head, “you really are my favorite.”