Something Worth Fighting For (Patrick Stump Imagine Story)

Tell Me It's Okay

Your night at your friend's proves restless. Your racing thoughts keep you awake, keep your eyes wide open as you stare at the ceiling above you with your hands folded on your stomach. You can't stand it anymore and you end up skipping out in the middle of the night, leaving your friend a quick note for when she wakes up explaining why you aren't there.

You cruise around the deserted streets in a failed attempt to distract yourself. At one point, you swing your car, with an almost empty gas tank, into a deserted parking lot and shut it off, pulling out your phone and dialing a number you remember by heart. You put the phone up to your ear and listen to the familiar ringing repeat itself over and over and over again. Until...

"(Y/N)?"

"Patrick," You whisper gratefully, breaking into a smile as you lean forward and rest your forehead against the steering wheel.

"What's up?"

"I don't know what to do, Patrick," You croak, tears blurring your vision, "I-I'm so lost and confused and I don't want to do this anymore. I can't do this anymore."

"Hey, hey, calm down," He coos, sitting up in bed (though you can't see him) and turning on the light on the nightstand.

"Tell me you don't love me anymore, Patrick," You beg, "Please. Tell me you don't care about me and that you never want to see me again. Let me know we're through."

"What? No! No, I'm not going to tell you that."

"WHY?" You scream, sitting back in the driver's seat.

"Because it wouldn't be true," He rubs his face tiredly, "And I'm not going to lie to you, (Y/N). We've done enough lying, don't you think?"

You sniffle and wipe your hand underneath your eye, chuckling sadly, "You're too good for me, Patrick. You really are. I don't know how the hell we ended up together."

He presses his lips together and tilts his head down, not knowing how to respond.

"It's like...I'm such a mess and then you...you're perfect."

"Don't do this to yourself, hon," He swings his legs over the side of the bed, "Please don't. It's not going to do anything."

"I just want to know I didn't make the wrong decision," You confess, blinking your eyes in an attempt to get rid of the blurriness, "Because when I look back at everything I've done, every choice I've made, it all just seems to be wrong. I can't think of one goddam thing I ever did right."

"I can." Patrick looks over at the picture of you and him on his nightstand - in a new frame since he broke the last one - and frowns.

"Then tell me. Tell me one thing I did right."

"You left me," He answers softly, pressing the phone in between his ear and shoulder and snatching the picture up.

You scoff, "How? Look where leaving you got me. I got me all alone in the middle of a fucking Best Buy parking lot at two in the fucking morning with nowhere to go, no one to turn to."

"(Y/N), if you didn't leave me, things would be a thousand times worse. You'd be miserable, the kids would be miserable, I'd be miserable...we'd all be miserable."

"But I am miserable, Patrick," You argue, grabbing onto your hair as your body hunches over, "I don't want to be with Pete anymore. I want to be with you. It was a mistake leaving you for him."

"Don't say that," He mumbles, tears starting to grow in his eyes and his lip starting to quiver, "You don't mean it."

"But I do, Patrick, I do!"

"No you don't!" He snaps, his eyes growing wide when he realized loud he was, the kids all asleep and their bedrooms just down the hallway. He sighs and sets the photograph to the side, standing up and running a hand through his hair, "Look, you're just...you're just doubting yourself right now because you're scared. What of? I don't know. But it's okay, (Y/N). It's okay to be happy with Pete. Because you and I? We...We're not good for each other. We destroy each other."

Tears stream down your face as you struggle to bring air into your lungs.

"I know you want to you to come back, hon, but that would be wrong," He goes on to say, "You just need to adjust, that's all. Get used it."

You whimper and drop the phone, covering your face with your hands and sobbing.

When Patrick doesn't get a response, he pulls the phone away from his ear and checks to make sure you haven't hung up on him. He bites his lip and puts it back, listening to you as you cry.

"(Y/N)?" He murmurs.

You're too distressed to answer him, let alone hear his voice emanate through the small speaker on your phone.

"(Y/N), please talk to me." He waits for your reply. "Please." He waits again, but when you still don't give him one, he shakes his head and mutters, "Fine, don't talk to me." And with that, he ends the call. He tosses his phone onto the bed and walks out of his bedroom, escaping downstairs and slipping on his jacket.

He rips open the door and is about to leave when the stairs behind him creak. He glances back over his shoulder and sees Ethan standing at the top of the steps, his arms crossed over his chest and his hair disheveled. "Where are you going?" He asks, his voice low.

"Your mom's out there somewhere and I need to find her and talk to her," Patrick answers truthfully.

"Can you bring her back?" The teenager pleads, his Adam's apple moving up and down, "Things aren't the same without her."

"I know, but sometimes change needs to happen. It might not be easy, and it might not be quick, but before you know it, everything will feel alright again. We've just go to work through the rough parts, that's all." Patrick turns around and leaves the house, closing the door behind him.