miserylovedme (miserylovedme) wrote,

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Don't Cry for Chicago

Don’t Cry for Chicago
by miserylovedme
R // 1,407 words.
note that: i own nothing and patrick is terminally ill in this.

Patrick has been his entire life for ten years. He’s allowed to come apart at the seams.

Patrick doesn’t look at it as giving up, he just knows when he’s beaten and has the grace to go down with his dignity.

Pete pleads with him to continue the chemo, cries, begs, threatens to leave; but that only backfires when Patrick shrugs and gestures to the door. Pete knows he doesn’t mean it, that Patrick is only trying to get his point across, but that doesn’t stop him from putting his fist through the hallway drywall and crying until he wants to puke on the hardwood floor.

Patrick doesn’t come to his rescue, but waits him out in the living room until Pete comes to him with pale skin and red eyes, sniffing and cradling his already-bruising hand to his chest. They curl up together on the couch and Pete wouldn’t deny it if someone accused him of maybe just crying silently a little more.

Patrick has been his entire life for ten years. He’s allowed to come apart at the seams.


Some nights Patrick’s just too sore or too tired, but tonight he’s the one pulling Pete on top of him, sealing their mouths together and pulling at their clothes.

Pete fucks him slowly, folding their fingers together and pressing the backs of Patrick’s hands to the pillow beneath him and stopping every once in a while to regain his ability to hold off. Patrick’s just as hot and desperate— even more so now— under him, arching and panting and biting at Pete’s lips when Pete tries to speak.

He doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to hear anything Pete might say in this moment, because he might be withering on the inside but right here, right now, with Pete inside of him and looking at him like he’s still shiny and new like the night they’d first done this in the back of the van all those years ago, he’s alive.

The only time he allows Pete to whisper against his ear is when he comes; Patrick knows what he says, just like every time before it, even though he can’t quite make out the syllables between the choked whimpers of Pete’s orgasm. The I love you is just as present now as it was the first time. It always will be.

Patrick holds him close, letting Pete’s body cover his, sticky and too hot afterwards. It’s the only way either of them get to sleep anymore.

Patrick doesn’t mind spending whatever’s left like this.


Andy takes him to see his lawyer the day he takes away Pete’s power of attorney.


They’ve become boring, Patrick thinks, sitting at home, outside every night that it isn’t raining at Pete’s LA house.

Since Patrick quit the holistic diet and the treatment a permanent storm front seems to have moved in over the greater Los Angeles area. It rains for days and days. Pete thinks it’s fitting and allows himself to wallow whenever Patrick’s not in the mood to have him attached at the hip.

He stares out with Hemmy and the new puppy Patrick has given him that he’s yet to name, petting them both and watching the hard-hitting drops strike the window and coming up with metaphor after metaphor for his heartache between the two.


He writes nothing and Patrick shuts him out even more until he presents Patrick with a tear-stained notebook, pages torn out and taped back in, lines crossed out and then rewritten. He’s got nothing to hide from Patrick and he’s never hidden the things he’s ashamed of before. Why should he start now?

Patrick composes music for seven songs and saves them for Pete to finish later.


When Patrick is hospitalized Pete forces himself to throw up twice a day just so he’s hungry when Joe stops by every day at one and hangs around until visiting hours end at nine. He always brings lunch and Andy always brings dinner.

Both of them are there when Patrick finally blinks his eyes open at eight fifty one night. Neither of them look away when Pete climbs into bed with him and strokes his cheek [bare of sideburns] with his face pressed to Patrick’s throat.

They move Patrick back home and Pete doesn’t argue when Joe and Andy take up residence on his couch for a few days after.


“I want to play again,” Patrick tells him one night.

Pete doesn’t hesitate for even a moment before calling their manager.

Seven shows from East to West, the final in Chicago. All sold out. All painful reminders of what he knows he’s leaving behind. Joe and Pete spin on either side of him and Andy is a solid force at his back, the vibrations echoing through the stage and up his legs; he feels strong for the first time since he’d pulled out handfuls of his own hair in the shower months and months ago, when the realization really hit that this wasn’t going to work.

Pete kisses and coddles him more than ever before. He’s pretty sure what Pete does to him halfway through The [after]Life of the Party constitutes as making out. The crowd just doesn’t seem to mind, even though it’s not even speculation about them anymore. Pete outed them the very second Patrick gave him the okay little more than a year ago.

He doesn’t fight it when he starts to cry at the end of the first show. Or midway through the forth. He doesn’t mind the fact that his face is damp through the sixth, knowing that Chicago is the very next day, very likely the last. He has to stop for a moment when he chokes up on Grand Theft Autumn and Pete tells him they can stop.

Patrick merely wipes his sweaty-tear drenched face and tells him that, “The show must go on.” with a grin both of them know he doesn’t feel.

Pete watches him in complete awe, the same way he always has, but this time, this one time, Patrick thinks that maybe he deserves it.

Chicago… Patrick doesn’t cry at all during the Chicago show.

He’s lit up by their tech and completely serene looking. Pete recognizes the resignation in the set of his shoulders [same as at his diagnosis] and the look of acceptance on his face [same as when he told Pete that everything would be okay].


Pete keeps a stack of photo albums, compiled from the beginning. He’d pooled his resources when he decided a few months previous to begin the project. Fans send him pictures, their parents, family and friends donate everything Pete knows they have to his cause. Joe and Andy help him and Pete can’t hold back the jokes about how domestic and boring they’ve become, practically scrapbooking together one night a week.

Patrick doesn’t like being reminded that he’s being immortalized on the stiff white pages because he’s going to die. He doesn’t help. And while Pete can’t blame him, he doesn’t stop.


They’re spending a few hours out, pressed tightly together, Pete’s hands on Patrick’s reemerged hips and brazenly making out in a dance club until Patrick complains of a headache. Pete leads him to the door immediately, grabbing their jackets from coat check and Patrick throws up the moment they set foot on the sidewalk.

Pete tries unsuccessfully not to panic. Patrick eventually calms him down enough to get him back to the car.

Pete feels weaker than he ever has in his entire life but he doesn’t mind it so much when Patrick takes control and eases inside of him later, when his anxiety attack medication has kicked back in. He wraps his legs around Patrick’s back and takes what he has to give until neither one of them has the energy to attempt to go again and Patrick’s sleepy I love you makes his heart thud harder than ever in his chest.

They fall asleep the same way, Pete on top of Patrick, listening to his heartbeat and reminding himself that this is Patrick. He’s still with him and if he can just hold on then maybe…

Maybe there’ll be a tomorrow without Patrick being too tired to work on GarageBand and spend a few hours out by the pool with their dogs.

Maybe there’ll be months and months more.


Patrick kisses his forehead and Pete tightens his grip and falls asleep with tears clinging to his eyelashes.

Just maybe.

Tags: bandslash, pete/patrick
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