Can't You Save Me?

•12•

Around six p.m. Pete gets out of bed. He's gotten enough sleep to last him for maybe eight hours, twelve at the most. Pete reaches for his phone and automatically checks for any messages or missed calls. There's one call he missed from Joe and a text from Andy that read 'New evidence, show you next shift'.
Alright, that's fine, Pete thinks to himself. No need to text back but he should probably see what Joe was ringing about at some point.

Pete tosses the covers aside and gets out of bed, tossing his phone on the mattress before exiting. He heads to the kitchen thinking that Patrick should be awake by now, so he'll make them something to eat, but something stops him in his tracks.

A pair of denim covered legs and sneakers lying on the floor distracts him from task. It has to be Patrick. The rest of his body was blocked by the couch but as Pete dragged his eyes along the floor, he noticed that there were blood stains settled into the carpet by Patrick's feet. His shoes and the hems of his pants were also splattered in crimson.

Goddammit, what did he do?

As Pete stepped around the couch he found that Patrick was covered from head to toe with blood. The stains by his feet were shaped like shoe soles that backtracked to the front door. The boy was also lying face down on the floor, his arms by his side and his head turned toward the couch. Every bit of clothing that occupied his body was drenched, hat and all, and the carpet surrounding him. But he was breathing evenly and quietly...snoring? He was fucking sleeping.

Pete flipped the boy onto his back and further inspected his body. His fair skin was blood-spattered and some was in smears across his face as if he tried to wipe it away. And he's still sleeping soundly.

Kneeling down, Pete shakes patrick while calling his name. "Get up, kid."

Patrick's eyes slowly peeled open, peering into Pete's. "Pete?" His voice was barely above a whisper. "Fuck, I'm sorry."

"You'd better be fucking sorry!" Pete jerks the boy up by his shirt. "You trailed blood up here, what if someone saw you?"

"Vaughn is nothing if not careful." Patrick says like he's on autopilot.

"Patrick, there's another human being's blood all over you and my carpet. I doubt either of you were very careful."

"This has been going on for years and you're the closest thing to us being arrested." He speaks as though there's others around, besides him and Pete. He doesn't like it, Patrick is his own person and normally speaks in such a way, but he's talking as if he is defending someone else.Someone like Vaughn.

"But you're safe now and that's all that matters."

Pete's grip falters slightly. "What are you talking about?"

"Can I tell you after I shower?" Patrick's lips curled up at the corners, giving Pete a drowsy smile like a promise.

Pete resists the urge to smile back at him. He's still pissed about the carpet and wants Patrick to know that. Then he yanks on Patrick's shirt until he's sitting up properly.

"Fine," Pete says calmly. "And afterwards, you are going to tell me every teeny tiny detail of what the hell happened and then you are going to clean up this bloody fucking mess that you caked into my carpet." He says seriously and just a bit too close to Patrick's face but Patrick doesn't seem to care.

Patrick nods obediently, glancing at the carpet then back at Pete. "Okay."

Patrick showered and put on clean clothes (sweats and a Bowie tee) then heads to Pete's bedroom carrying the crimsoned clothes from earlier in his arms. Pete's sitting on his bed, the TV flashing different colors as he flicks from channel to channel. He doesn't notice Patrick's presence until he hears him say, "Uh," awkwardly, causing Pete to crane his neck over, his eyes falling onto the pile of bloody laundry the boy's carrying.

Then Patrick asks, "Do you, um, have any, like, lighter fluid and maybe some matches or something." while staring down at his bare feet.

Pete doesn't have to ask why. He's been on the force long enough and has dealt with enough cases to know exactly what Patrick means by his words. He's planning to burn the clothes to get rid of as much evidence as he can. And Pete understands that, honestly. He shouldn't give Patrick anything to burn the clothes with, he should just collect the clothes and bring them into the station but instead thinks, 'no'. They had enough shit piled against him already, the file itself is like an inch thick, so Pete decides, "Yeah. There's a grill out on the balcony." and doesn't entirely know why he did.

The two stood around the grill that billowed fire from its center and turned the once blood stained fabric into nothing but soot and ash. The flames flickered wildly, making Patrick's skin glow yellow-orange in color. There was a comfortable silence throughout the entire time the clothing burned and after a few minutes, Patrick placed the grill's lid over the fire, closing it off but not suffocating it. Patrick leaned over the balcony railing, staring out into the night sky and Pete did the same.

"Y'know," Pete broke the silence. "an explanation would be nice." Then he looked over at the younger boy. "So, what happened?"

Patrick didn't answer immediately, pausing for a few moments before sighing. "I saw Vaughn today...in the bathroom mirror..."
Patrick told Pete everything. He explained what Vaughn had said he'd do to Pete if Patrick disobeyed, who his victim was, where and how it happened. Everything. He may have told Pete too much but Patrick didn't care right now, he just needed to tell someone so he could lift the weight of guilt from his shoulders. Venting did help but not as much as Patrick would've liked.

"It's getting worse." Pete mumbled once Patrick finished, intending only to keep it to himself but Patrick heard.

The boy looks over, utter confusion in his features. "What's it to you how bad it's getting? You shouldn't even care about that." He looks back to the starlit sky. "You should only care about getting your confession, not about what goes on with me."

Pete was shocked by his words. Two and a half months ago, Pete had this nineteen year old boy move in with him and, yes, he knew Patrick still didn't trust him. But he wasn't careless.

"Patrick," Pete turned his head to see that Patrick was already looking back at him, his features now relaxed. "If I didn't care, don't you think I would've turned you in the second I found you in my living room? I shot you, I know, and I'm sorry. But I look out for you. I tell you when to keep your head down, when it's alright to go outside. I'm putting my career on the line to give you what you want and, deal or no, I'm going to help you." Then the man swiftly walks back inside before Patrick could respond.

Patrick stands out on the balcony a while longer, the fire in the grill has long died out. Was Pete trying to tell him that he did care? But why? No one cared about Patrick, he didn't even care about himself. He has no one but a psycho killer literally living inside his head but Vaughn wasn't exactly wanted company. Though, Pete had a point. Patrick would be rotting in prison or a looney bin right this minute but for some reason, Pete kept him around and seemed to genuinely want to help him. Patrick still doesn't get it.

He then walks inside, locking the sliding door behind him and drawing the curtains over them. Pete was on the couch, the TV being the only light in the room.

"You should really clean this shit out of my carpet." Pete stated with a sleepy smirk, now too tired to really care or be angry.

Patrick groans and plops onto the couch beside Pete. "Dude, I said I would clean it. Just...not right now." He yawned.

"Yeah," Pete puts his feet up on the empty cushion on his opposite side and rests his head against the arm of the couch. "you'd better."

Patrick grunts in agreement then leans his head against the back of the couch. They both drifted off without another word or sound.