a/n - blind!pete/amputee!patrick au!!
slightly based on tfios oops
pete's pov
--
"My mother thought I was depressed.
Depression is just one of the many side effects of dying. It comes along with the gut-crushing knowledge that you are eventually going to fade away and never return, and nobody will remember you.
I think about death a lot.
I was diagnosed at age nine with eye cancer; the operations and everything they did to me made me blind, and by age 11 I'd been formally told that I would never see again. It doesn't scare me, not like it used to. I have a seeing eye dog now, as opposed to using one of those stupid cane things - his name is Hemmingway and my mother tells me he's a bulldog, although not being able to see him is quite frustrating. He's small though, and soft - he does his job well, and makes sure I don't "accidentally" kill myself via jumping off a building or running into traffic. He's good company at night too, when I feel myself falling into another lapse of depression. It's nice, for once, to know that Hemmy cares for me unconditionally, and not because of my condition.
--
Three months after my eighteenth birthday, my mother insisted I start attending support groups, for others suffering mental conditions after illnesses.
It was actually incredibly boring; not being able to see faces is a real bummer, mostly because that used to be how I mainly judged character. Now, with an inability to, I judge mostly on voice and speech patterns. It's not really that difficult, because now I've found an uncanny knack for picking up ticks in people's voices that mean they're lying; I can hear the nervousness in their voices, the way they tremble just a little bit, the way they swallow nervously. I'm like a human lie detector.
I was never expecting Patrick Vaugn Stump.
We went around in a circle, introducing ourselves like we were still in primary school. Name. Age. Condition. And how we were doing.
Of course, everyone likes to pick on the blind guy, so I was instructed to go first. Mumbling under my breath, I did so; "Pete. Eighteen. Medulloepithelioma got me as a kid, couldn't shake it. Now I can't see. I'm okay."
I was always "okay". Even when I'd rather be pulling out my own innards than being there, I always lied and said "I'm okay". A fucking lie every time.
Patrick, however, made things okay.
His voice in general surprised me; he'd gotten bit a while back and lost his leg because of it, like another boy - Mikey, I vaugely recalled. His voice was warm and kind and unjuging; after the first session, he'd come up to me and introduced himself. He sounded genuinely kind, not sympathetic or fake like most other people. He petted Hemmingway, and commented on how cute he was; of course, being me, I'd let slip a soft "but i wouldn't know how cute, since I've never seen him in my life", which, surprisingly, didn't actually deter him. He just grinned and told me I was funny. It was real nice. For once.
--
Patrick and I got along really well from there; I kissed him clumsily on our third date, in a park, where he described the surroundings to my blind eyes, and I imagined them. We'd never had sex - he was asexual and I could never see who or what I'd be doing - but the intimacy and love still remained, stronger than any sexual relationship. I fell in love with him far quicker than I'd like to admit.
My entire life changed once I found out he was relapsing.
The cancer was back, and I couldn't bear to admit to myself that he wouldn't make it this time.
We tried so fucking hard to keep it - to keep us, our love, our relationship - alive. But the cancer made him bitter. It made him cruel. The fact that he wasn't going to get better absolutely destroyed him, and he just about killed himself four times, because he didn't want the cancer to beat him. He always was a stubborn little shit.
He died on the 5th of September, 2015, at midnight on the strike, in a hospital bed. Dale called me as soon as it happened; I vomited from the shock. It completely ripped me apart. A-and it still does.
I won't ever forget you, Patrick Martin Vaugn Stump. You said forever. I'll love you forever, i-if you've got the time. God, I-I love you so fuckin much-"
Pete brushed his hands across Patrick's hand, before he had to called down from the stand because he couldn't stop crying.
Every sob was accompanied by a soft whisper, the same thing -
"I'll love you forever, even if you're out of time."
---
Oops
