Sickfics

...Baby Come Home(Peterick)

"Ah owww...." he moaned, placing his head between his knees. It was a dull, but intense discomfort. "Fucking hell...." 

He did the best he could to ease the pain even a little, he tried to press on his stomach, hoping it was just gas. A small burp, but nothing else. He had to go home...there was nothing else to do. On the plus side, it was getting cloudy and that fall storm was rolling in. They were trying to shoot a video in a forest area and wanted to get done before the rain set in. Cliché. 

He slowly got up and started back from where he came. Not a star in the sky, and it was black. No moon. His legs were begging to stop moving, threating to give out. But Pete pushed on and on. At one point he got so desperate to get home that he even tried to run. The sloshing in his gut was killing him. He continued to force himself onward. 

Patrick looked out the window and called again. No answer. 

"Fuck!" he screamed. It'd been almost two hours that he was gone, and it was starting to rain. Hard.

His heart was ready to burst, panic was setting in. He knew Pete was extremely strong and could do practically anything, but that provided little comfort. He paced back and forth, debating on whether or not he should drive around and search for him. He had already texted each of the guys, but no one had heard anything from him. Patrick tried again, but it went to voicemail. He sat on the couch and buried his head in his hands. 

"Baby come home." he whimpered.

Ten minutes to go. He could already imagine it: getting home and being dry. As of now, he was completely drenched in the rain. His phone was dead, the jacket did nothing so he threw it away out of pained anger. A thin long sleeve shirt made him even worse in the rain. He had no protection whatsoever. He slowly walked further along. One block turned into Two, and two into three. He tried to stop counting and focus only on Patrick and their home. He was crying so hard at this point. 

Five minutes. 

Hiccups and sobs, he blinked through the haze of brain fog and rain. His shoulders were shaking with cold, fever, and crying. The arms wrapped around himself were sore. His legs were so close to giving. 

Two and a half minutes. 

He could see his house, so with every bit of strength he had left, he ran towards it. 

"Patrick!" he screamed, banging on the door. It swung open. The last thing he could process was hearing his name before his legs decided to give out right then and there. 

Patrick caught him as he started to go down. "Okay, oh my God Pete baby." He quickly pulled him in and shut the door. Pete was awake, but very out of it. 

Patrick quickly pulled his wet clothes off of him and hurried to find some warm ones for him. Drying him off with a towel and then putting him in some warm clothes, Patrick helped him onto the couch. He rushed to find a thermometer, when he did, he saw that his temperature was 102. 

"Jesus." 

He took a pause to look at his sleeping dry-ish boyfriend. A gurgle came from his gut. Guessing he had a virus, he set a bucket beside Pete just to be safe. The man in question could hear everything happening. He opened his eyes and saw that he was back in a safe place. All of a sudden, a stronger wave of nausea overcame him, he started to salivate. Patrick had been looking for fever medicine, but that meant leaving Pete alone. He started to grow scared. He hadn't been this sick in forever. A sharp pain stabbed him in his stomach which made him scream for Patrick. He could see the bucket and leaned over it. He spit into it.