Hand of God (Peterick Fanfic)

Part Twenty-Nine (Wake Up)

// next chapter is last //

POV: Brendon 

I crack open the door to Pete's room, Pete himself on my heels. Patrick is in the center of the large bed, curled up. 

"Aw, he's so cute," I say to Pete, winking.

"Hey, back off, man," he jokes.

He pushes past me and walks to the side of the bed.

He curls a fist up and places it on the bed, supporting himself on it so he can lean over to Patrick.

"Be nice, he was pretty upset earlier."

"Yeah, I know." 

Once Pete's confident that I'm gonna be nice, he brushes a hand over Patrick's cheek. He takes his hand and pushes Patrick's hair back off of his forehead and whispers.

"Patrick, come on, wake up."

Patrick only stirs a little. Pete cups his hand around his neck and brushes his thumb over his jaw repeatedly. He speaks this time, instead of whispering.

"Baby, wake up. Get up."

Patrick turns over and breathes in deeply, stretching a little before opening his eyes.

Pete smiles widely.

"Hey," he says.

I place a hand over my chest.

"Aw, my heart," I say, batting my eyelashes. Patrick keeps looking at Pete but sticks his middle finger up in my general direction.

"Yeah, yeah, fuck you too." 

That earns a laugh. Pete stands straight again and offers his hand out. Patrick accepts and pulls himself up using Pete. Once vertical, he rubs his eyes with both hands.

"'M hungry."

"Ooh, hey, me too. Luckily, I brought pizza. Yay me." 

Patrick's slight smile disappears. Maybe he didn't actually want to have to eat.

Okay, no, actually this time, my heart. Ow.

"Come on."

I scavenge for paper plates in Pete's kitchen before triumphantly returning with three. 

"One for you, and one for you, and one for me," I say, handing out the plates. I take two pieces of the first pizza and flop them on my plate. Pete does the same. Patrick takes one. 

I try not to watch Patrick, but I end up glancing at him anyway. 

"So, how was today?" I ask through a mouthful. Pete glances sideways at Patrick, who's still watching his pizza.

"Stressful?" 

"I hear that," I respond. 

Patrick takes a bite. I smile. He takes another. 

Meanwhile, Pete takes another slice. 

"Wait, what time is it?" Patrick asks. 

"Seven," Pete tells him, "More or less."

Patrick looks to me for confirmation, and I nod. 

Pete's on his fourth piece, I'm almost done with my third, and Patrick's on his second. He's eating well, though. Better than he has been.

"How're Joe and Andy?"

"Uh," I say. "They're fine. I talked to them earlier. They're glad you agreed to go."