Hell's Reign (Patrick Stump/Fall Out Boy Fanfiction)

Chapter 21 - You Tried to Slap a Zombie and the Zombie Won

                  

When Patrick woke, the fire hadn't gone away. His hand, his wrist, and now even his arm, was still burning, though it was a different kind of burn. It felt as though someone had set his hand aflame, and flayed his skin right off. He moved his arm slightly, and it felt heavy, as though it had fallen asleep. He flexed his fingers then, and they didn't seem to move. With a sigh, he attempted to roll over, in the hopes of getting his blood rushing back into his arm. Instead, he found that a heavy weight on his right side prevented him. It was Tori.

            Tori was pressed tightly against him, fast asleep, and with her head on his chest. He remembered the night before, in their bedroom, and the big bed they now shared. Looking down at their feet, he wondered why they were sleeping on a couch now, in the living room of the apartment. He tried to remember what had happened that day, but nothing came back to him besides the thrill of performing for Tori. He couldn't remember anything after that.

            Suddenly, Pete wandered into the room from the kitchen. He glanced towards Patrick with a tired look in his eyes, along with something between regret and concern, and then he froze. Patrick looked back at him sleepily, forcing a small smile that was quickly replaced by a grimace. His arm still hurt. "Hey, Pete," he said, realizing how hoarse his voice was. His throat hurt, and he couldn't remember why. It couldn't have been from singing; He'd never ruined his throat that badly from singing.

            "How you feeling?" Pete asked, keeping a cautious distance in the doorway of the kitchen. His hands were shoved in the pockets of the hoodie he was wearing, and Patrick realized all of a sudden how chilly it was in the apartment. He decided that it must have been fairly late at night, to be this cold, and then he wondered what Pete was doing up.

            "Been better," Patrick said, eyeing Pete curiously. "Why am I out here, on the couch?"

            Pete hesitated, frowning, and then he took a few steps toward Patrick and Tori. "We didn't want to move you too much," he started to explain, "And it was hard enough getting you up here to begin with. Tori refused to go to bed without you, so...." He gestured weakly to Tori, who stirred slightly at the mention of her name, but still hadn't woken up. Pete was standing right beside the couch now, and he looked sadly at Tori before he knelt down, his hand coming to rest on Patrick's upper arm. Patrick felt that, and tried moving his hand again, confused as to how it still seemed to be asleep and unmovable. "Listen, Patrick," Pete sighed, "We need to talk about something."

            "Wait," Patrick said, his head swimming, "What do you mean, you didn't want to move me too much? And you had to get me up here? To the apartment?"

            "Yeah," Pete sighed, running his free hand through his hair, but keeping a firm grip on Patrick's arm. "There was a zombie break-in this morning. You got hurt, man."

            Patrick contemplated this, along with the look of despair on Pete's face, and then he shrugged slightly, careful not to disturb Tori. "But I didn't get bit, or anything? I'm not gonna die?" He asked, his heart racing at the possibility. As if on cue, the pain in his hand flared up again.

            Pete hesitated, then shook his head. "You're not gonna die," he mumbled. "But listen...you remember, before all of this, when we swore to always be there for each other?"

            Patrick furrowed his brow. Of course he remembered. Pete was his best friend, and he always would be. Where was this coming from? "Yeah, Pete," he breathed, "Are you alright?"

            "I'm fine," Pete said, "But do you remember telling me, like a year ago, that if I ever felt like a complete fuck up, that I could talk to you about it?" His voice broke slightly as he thought about it, and Patrick frowned.