The Problem with Patrick || Fall Out Boy

i wish i was as invisible as you make me feel

Pete had been told it was a miracle. An absolute, goddamn, miracle. But as he sat in the hospital room next to his best friend's comatose body, it didn't feel like a miracle at all.

The tour had been cancelled – for obvious reasons. At first the label pleaded with Pete, Andy and Joe to keep going with the Patrick stand-in they'd organised, but they all stood their ground and refused to leave Chicago while Patrick was in the hospital there. They weren't leaving their best friend for a tour. No way in hell was that happening.

It had been 2 weeks since the show, and Patrick was still in his medically-induced coma. The doctors promised Pete that Patrick would be up 'any day now' but that still seemed to be an eternity away. Pete mostly stayed at the hospital, occasionally venturing home to shower and change, but it was hard to take care of himself when he knew how badly his friend was hurt. He couldn't get his mind off it. It was just easier to be here, to take the worry away. He always knew what was going on at all times.

The first 36 hours he didn't leave the hospital, or sleep, at all. He'd come in the ambulance with Patrick, after spending that entire 40 minutes with his best friend bleeding out on the floor. Pete didn't like to think about that. Nor did he like to think about sitting in the front of the ambulance, not being told anything, and listening to the sound of Patrick choking from the back of the van.

He had been told that it was a miracle how Patrick survived the fall. The doctor had explained that for a fall like that, where Patrick had not only collapsed and thrown up a little bit (that fact wasn't discovered until they got in the ambulance and had to clear his airway), he'd hit the back of his head on the edge of the stage on his way down. It was a miracle that all he got was a bit of neck bruising. No permanent spine damage, no broken neck, just incredibly bad bruising that was yet to go down, a little skull fracture that had (thankfully) not damaged his brain (As far as they knew), a couple of broken ribs, a badly cut and bruised face, and a shattered left leg which was currently suspended in a full-length cast above Patrick's bed.

It was hard to see, the whole room constantly seemed grey and dark and sad, with the only pop of colour being the fresh flowers that Andy brought each day. The other members of Fall Out Boy would come and visit often, but they didn't live there like Pete did. Pete just couldn't bear the thought of leaving. The thought of not being here if any progress was made, or if anything took a turn for the worst.

It had almost turned into a fear of leaving. It seemed every day there was some new complication; abnormal brain activity, infections everywhere, internal bleeding at one point. He couldn't fathom not being here when something went wrong. What if something happened and he lost his friend? What if he never got to say goodbye? The thought terrified him. He'd had Joe bring him a camping bed which he'd spread out in Patrick's hospital room for night time.

It wasn't five-star accommodation, but it was a million times better than lying in bed at home unable to sleep. All Pete could do was worry.

He was worrying right now, standing in the line at the hospital cafeteria while waiting to get some lunch. He knew that Joe was upstairs keeping an eye on everything, but it didn't help his stomach, which was lurching and doing knots. He just hurriedly ordered a hot dog when he got the front, and ran straight back up. Joe was still there, sitting on his phone, and gave Pete an odd look as he burst in.

"Pete, seriously, go eat and shower and stuff. I'm here, I'll keep an eye on things."

"It's not that easy." Pete sighed, sitting down on his squeaky camping bed in the corner. "You don't, you don't understand what this is like."

"He's my friend too! Of course I understand what it's like!"

"Well, it wasn't your damn fault that fell of the stage!"

Joe seemed confused for a moment. "It's not your fault either?"

Pete pulled Patrick's glasses out of his pocket. He'd had them on his person at all times over the past two weeks. He was just holding onto them, so he could give them over when Patrick woke up. But at the same time it was also a symbol of what he'd done. He was trying to help, he really was, but if Patrick could have seen where the edge of the stage was, then he wouldn't be here right now with all those stupid injuries that he didn't deserve.

God, Pete was an asshole. He'd ruined everything. This tour, his best friend's health, and his own self-worth.

"Pete, c'mon, we both know it was an accident." Joe walked over and took the glasses out of Pete's hands. "You can't blame yourself for this."

"If I hadn't taken his stupid glasses then he wouldn't have fallen!"

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do!" Pete huffed, before running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I've let him down once, I'm not gonna let him down again by not being here."

"If Patrick was awake right now, what would he think of this? You know he doesn't like to impose. He'd probably be horrified to see you camping out in his hospital room like this. Go home, Pete. Just spend a night by yourself and relax a little."

"He wouldn't mind..." Pete trailed off, thinking about it. The more he thought about it, the less it was true. Joe was right. Patrick wouldn't want this. He'd just want Pete to go on and do the tour and stuff. Obviously that wasn't happening, but Joe did have a point about going home.

"J-Just for one night, and the hospital has to have me on speed-dial, a-and yeah." He mumbled.

"Of course, you're already their number one contact under Patrick's name. Grab your stuff, I'll give you a ride home." Joe smiled warmly.

Pete gathered his things, folded his camper bed up into the corner, and followed Joe to the carpark. Pete did officially live alone, but being here in this empty house, it was too quiet. He missed Patrick. The bedsheets were still folded on the sparebed from when Patrick made it two weeks ago.

The entire spare room reminded Pete of him. So did the kitchen bench, where they'd sit and share many meals, and the lounge room as well, they'd watch trashy reality TV and it was hilarious. Not to mention the basement, where they'd jam together, and Pete's room, where Patrick would sometimes come in late at night.

It was hard not to think of him. Pete grabbed a beer, and sat down on the floor on his lounge room to watch House Hunters. He just wished his best friend was here to enjoy it too.