Patrick Stump/Fall Out Boy Imagines

[PATRICK] Suspended - Part Three

"I can't believe I just told our daughter to run away," Patrick mumbles under his breath as he paces back and forth in the living room. His heart is pounding against  his chest and he's on the verge of tears. Your daughter hasn't come back inside yet. "(Y/N), I told her to run away!"

"She's not going to run away, Patrick," You reply, though you're not entirely convinced that she won't.

You walk over to the window and part the curtains, seeing that the front yard was empty. You swallow hard. She did run away.

"Well? Is she out there?" He asks you worriedly.

"Uh..." You turn back around to face him, a faint smile on your face, "You know, maybe she just went to a friend's house for the night." Patrick's eyes widen. "Patrick, I'm sorry. I-I thought-"

"You see? If you just let me be nice about it, she wouldn't be out there right now!" He interrupts you, turning his anger towards you, "She'd still be in her room! And at least then I'd know she's safe. But no, you said being nice wasn't going to get anywhere with her and that I had to be mean. WELL LOOK WHERE BEING MEAN GOT ME, (Y/N)!" He booms.

You shake your head, replying calmly, "Patrick, she's a teenager. She's bound to make mistakes and this is just another one of those mistakes. And what do people do with mistakes? They learn from them!"

"Well what if she doesn't? What if she never comes back, (Y/N)?" Tears are streaming down his face. And before you can respond, he continues, "You know, maybe the  band shouldn't have gotten back together. At least then this kind of thing wouldn't have happened."

"But if the band never got back together you'd be miserable."

"I'd rather be miserable than worried sick about what she's doing out there," Patrick states grimly before walking past you and into the dining room, where he starts cleaning up the untouched plates of food. You follow him in there, wanting to say something to him, but you can't seem to find the words. He looks back at you and asks you to help him. You nod your head and pick up the glasses.

In the kitchen, Patrick scrapes the food into the garbage can and then puts the plates into the sink. You set the glasses in next.

"It's my fault, isn't it?" He mutters randomly. You look up at him. "It's my fault she's like this."

"It's no one's fault, Patrick," You try to convince him.

"No. It's mine. I was too busy making music to spend time with you and her. I should've found more time to come home and stay home. I mean, you don't see Pete's kids getting suspended from school for doing drugs or running away."

You sigh, "Patrick, don't start comparing yourself to other people. Each person raises their children differently. There's no right way to do it."

"Well then how come I did it wrong?" He asks before walking past you and going upstairs, slamming the door to the room he escaped to behind him just like your teenage daughter did when you brought her home earlier that day.

You heave a sigh and lean on the counter, hoping this would all be better tomorrow.

*****

It's early next morning. Patrick's passed out in bed, his arm draped over you as he holds you close to him. You pluck his arm off of you and slip out from underneath  him, being careful as not to wake him. He had a really rough night last night - he barely slept at all, worrying about your daughter and where  she could be and what she could be doing. It's a miracle he was even  asleep then - you thought he was never going to go to sleep.

You step out into the  hallway and close the door quietly behind you. You tiptoe down the upstairs hallway to your daughter's room and stand outside the closed  down, closing your eyes and doing a quick little prayer before grasping the doorknob and pushing the door open. It feels as if a heavy weight is placed on your chest when you discover that the room was empty, left just the way it was last night.

You close the door and make your way downstairs, and when you reach the bottom step, your heart  nearly stops. Lying on the couch in the living room, curled up in a ball using her jacket as a blanket, is Gabby.

Tears immediately come to your eyes before you rush up to her and pull her into an awkward hug.  She wakes with a start as you squeeze her tightly.

"Mom...stop...I can't breathe..." She croaks.

You let go of her and sit back, "Sorry. I just...I thought you actually ran away."

Your daughter sits up as well and heaves a sigh, "I did. I went to Uncle Pete's house. Bronx sneaked me in through his bedroom window."

"Oh," is all you can say in response.

"Yeah, but Uncle Pete found me and asked what I was doing there. I told him and he talked to me, one-on-one, and made me realize that everything I was doing was  stupid, the way I was acting wasn't the way I want to act. I didn't even do any drugs yesterday...I couldn't. It didn't feel right. I just got  caught with people who were doing them." She pauses for a quick second  before looking into your eyes and asking, "Will you forgive me?"

The corner of your lip  perks up and you tuck a piece of your daughters hair that came loose  from her pony tail behind your ear, "Of course I forgive you, Gabby.  I'll always forgive you."

"And Dad?" She inquires, her voice soft as if she actually believed Patrick wouldn't excuse her for everything she'd done.

"Dad will always forgive you too," You assure her.

She hangs her head and murmurs, "I didn't mean the things I said to him, Mom. I know he tried. I  know he wanted to be there for me. I was just..." She sniffles, "I was angry. And I thought I was angry with him, but I was really angry with myself and..." She covers her face with her hands, "I don't know what  I'm doing anymore, Mom. I don't know who I am or what I want or anything  anymore!"

You frown and pull her  into a hug, holding her close to you as she breaks down and cries into  your shoulder. You look up and see Patrick standing on the stairs, staring at you and Gabby with wide eyes.

"Hey," You whisper into your daughter's ear, "You know what I think you should do?"

"No, what?" She mumbles into your shoulder, not lifting her head up.

"I think you should tell  your dad what you just told me." She sits up out of your arms and looks  at you like your suggestion was the worst suggestion she'd ever heard.  "Look, I'm sure if you tell him exactly what you told me-"

Before you can finish your sentence, Patrick runs down the rest of the stairs and into the room, pulling the two of you into a big family hug. You and your daughter both grunt from the impact before hugging him back.

"You don't need to tell me anything," Patrick tells Gabby, kissing her on the head, "I heard it all and I forgive you. I'll always forgive you, no matter what you do."  Gabby looks up at him and smiles wearily. "Just promise me that you'll never do something like that again. Ever." He pushes her hair out of her face.

"I promise," Your daughter says.

Patrick smiles and kisses her on the forehead, "Good. Because you really scared the shit out of me, Gabby." Patrick and Gabby giggle, her eyes still red and puffy from crying. You rest your head into Patrick's chest and sigh in relief, happy that your family was all together again.