Patrick Stump/Fall Out Boy Imagines

[PATRICK] It's A (Not So) Wonderful Life

You're sitting in front of the fireplace of your house, dressed in your pajamas and a blanket draped around your shoulders. Sitting beside you are Ethan and Gabby, six and three years old. The three of you are playing a board game,  waiting for Patrick to return home. He had to leave abruptly a few hours ago, you don't know why he left or how long whatever he was doing was going to take, but it was nearing ten o'clock in the evening and he still wasn't back.

"Mommy, when's Daddy coming home?" Gabby asks you, letting out a yawn.

"Soon," You tell her, though you don't know when he's coming home, or even if he's coming home.

"I'm tired," She complains, falling on her side and curling up underneath the blanket she had wrapped around her.

You sigh and rise to your feet, "I guess it's time for bed, then."

"Do I have to go to bed too?" Ethan whines as you swoop your daughter up in your arms, blanket and all.

"You can stay up if you clean our game up," You compromise with him. He gives you a groan but begins to put the game pieces back in their box, wordlessly taking up your offer. You smirk at him before trudging upstairs to your daughter's bedroom, laying her in her bed and kissing her goodnight.

"Mommy, will you read me a story?" She begs, pouting her lips out and making her eyes glisten (a tactic she learned because she knows it gets you and Patrick to do whatever she so desires). But tonight it doesn't work, you're worrying too much about Patrick.

"Maybe another night, Gabs," You push some of her curly, golden blonde hair out of her face, "You need to go to sleep, especially if you want Santa to come and leave you presents under the tree for being good."

She mumbles something you can't make out before turning on her side, away from you, pulling the covers tight around her. You shake your head and leave her room, going back downstairs and finding Ethan bothering Patrick. He must've come home while you were putting Gabby to bed.

"Hey. Hey, Dad!" Ethan tugs on his jacket as he makes his way into the kitchen. "Dad!"

"What? What do you want?" Patrick snaps at him, looking down at him. You stay back on the stairs.

"I just wanted to say hi," The boy giggles before running away, retreating into the living room where he checks underneath the tree for presents the seventh time that night, as if they were going to magically appear just because he wasn't in there.

"Why can't that boy ever have something important to say?" Your husband mutters as he rips his jacket off and tosses it carelessly out into the front hallway.

"He's a six year old," You answer, cautiously approaching him, "What do you expect him to say?"

"Did you already put Gabby to bed?" He inquires irrelevantly, tearing his scarf off too and throwing it on top of his jacket.

"Yeah, she was tired, I thought I should-"

"Well of course she was tired! It's quarter after ten! That's two hours past her bedtime! What was she doing up that late anyways?" He turns away from you and stomps over to the fridge, yanking the fridge open and starting to scan the shelves. "Where's the vodka? I swear we had vodka!"

"Patrick..." You murmur, "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" He repeats angrily, slamming the refrigerator door shut and standing back up, "What's wrong is that our daughter stayed up way past her bedtime. And so is our son! ETHAN! GO TO BED! NOW!" He screams, causing your son to pop his head around the wall separating the living room from the front entryway. "YOU HEARD ME, GO! BEFORE I DRAG YOU UP THERE MYSELF!"  Ethan whimpers and dashes upstairs, on the verge of crying as he escapes  to bedroom and jumps into his bed.

You scoff, "What the hell, Patrick? What was that all about?"

"You're too lenient with our kids, (Y/N)," He grumbles, brushing past you and picking up his discarded garments to hang up.

You shake your head and follow him out there, "Too lenient? It's Christmas Eve. I let them stay up because they wanted to see you."

"They see me all the goddamn time," He drapes his coat onto the rack and lays his scarf on top of it, "In fact, they're going to be seeing me every day. I'm going to be home a lot more now. I wish I wasn't, but I am."

You're struck speechless. You don't know what to say, you don't even know what's going on, what happened while he was gone. He wasn't like this when he left the house.

He glances over his shoulder at you and sees you standing there, holding back the tears that want to stream down your cheeks. He instantly feels bad and turns to face you, "(Y/N), I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean..." He tries to caress your  cheek when you step away from him, not being able to meet his gaze. He  gulps and retracts his hand. "I-I'm sorry." He doesn't even bother  putting his coat back on before leaving the house, overwhelmed with everything.

He gets in his car and drives through town to the local bridge, where three hundred feet below is a river. He parks the car and gets out, walking onto the sidewalk and staring down at the water just over the railing. He hugs himself  tightly, the cold, bitter wind blowing right through him. All he had to do was jump.

What you don't know is that Patrick left the house to get some money from Pete. As a friend, Pete is usually more than willing to help another friend out, but Patrick's been coming to him too many times recently.

A long time ago, the band broke up. You never found out because Patrick never told you, and he made his friends and ex-band members promise they wouldn't tell you either. The money Patrick had from the band was blown through rapidly, fueling Patrick's drinking raids, which happened when he was out "recording a new song" or "making plans for the next tour". Yes, you were a little suspicious at times, but never enough to call him out on  it. You had no reason to. You trusted him.

Anyways, with all the money spent, Patrick had nothing left. So he went to Pete, who denied him of his help, telling him that he needed to get his life together and move on, two things that seemed impossible to the singer with how far he had spiraled out of control. Sure, he'd pull himself together enough  when he walked through that front door to make it seem like everything  was okay, when in fact everything was not. In reality, he was broke. He  couldn't afford simple things like groceries or gas. And yes, you had  your money, but it wasn't enough to keep you in the house you're living  in, or to keep your refrigerator full for much longer.

However, Patrick knew he had a handsome amount of life insurance, a number so great that if he were to die, you and your children would be set for life. Literally.

He swallows the lump in his throat and closes his eyes, trying to rationalize with himself that what he was thinking of doing would solve everything. If he were to jump, everyone would be a lot happier, a lot better off.

"Sure they would," A voice remarked sarcastically.

Patrick opens his eyes and looks over, seeing someone familiar standing beside him, facing out at the river with their arms crossed over their chest.

"I'm sure if you just jumped right now, got pulled under the current and drowned, everyone would be a lot happier and better off. Because you're such a burden to them, right?" They meet Patrick's gaze, the corner of their lip curled upward.

"Who are you?" Patrick inquires.

"Me? Oh,"  They stick their hand out for a handshake, "I'm Sasstrick. I'm your guardian angel."

To Be Continued...?