Hand of God (Peterick Fanfic)

Part Seven (Revelation, Confirmation)

POV: Patrick

I wake up at 8:02 am in a cold-sweat. I toss and turn, trying to get comfortable to fall back asleep. After half an hour of trying in vain, I give up. I sigh and slink out of bed, shuffling into the kitchen. I rummage around in the pantry until I find some granola bars. I grab one and eat it, swiftly tossing the wrapper in the trash. I have some time before Pete wakes up, so I plop down on the couch and flick on the TV. Sitting here waiting is really boring, and I find myself thinking about Pete. I've really missed him. He's the one who unintentionally pulled me back from the brink of death. He still doesn't know that. His presence in the back of my mind stopped me from pushing the blade deeper. Thinking about him, my stomach does a few happy flips. I must've missed him in more ways than even I know. Contemplating it, I find myself soothed and drift back into an easy sleep.

POV: Pete

Waking with a start, I groggily rub sleep from my eyes. I swing myself out of bed, and walk into the living room. I can hear the TV playing some random show and wonder who started it when I see Patrick sleeping on the couch, curled into a tiny ball and shivering.
God, maybe if he'd eat more, I think as I grab a blanket and drape it over him, tucking it in under his sides. I feel a surge of protectiveness at seeing him lie there so helplessly broken. I smile softly and push the hair back from his face. He sighs and turns over, a smile playing on his lips. I rest my hands on the back of the couch and lean over him, looking at him. My gaze softens as I watch his breath evenly enter and exit his lungs. I sigh and close my eyes. I could listen to him breathe all day. When I open my eyes, I see his soft blue eyes staring back at me. I stare at him happily for a long time, and he does the same to me, until I finally sigh and stand up straight.

        "Hey, I've been thinking and... Well, I think it's time to tell the others you're back. You know everyone's been worried, right?" I say lightly. 

        "Pete... I really don't want anyone else to know right now." He looks down.

        "Patrick, they need to know. Hell, if they don't find out from you soon  shit will go down. You've already been away for a long, long time."

        "Fine. But not everyone all at once. Brendon first, then Andy and Joe?"

        "Sure," I sigh, "can we do it now? We need to get it over with."

        "I guess."

I pick up my phone, and call Brendon. He answers a few rings in.

        "Pete?"

        "Hey, you're going to want to see this."

        "What is it? I'm kind of busy."

        "Just get over here as fast as you can. I'll be waiting," I say, hanging up. Better to not risk him telling anyone else. I walk around the couch, and sit down by Patrick. I trace a pattern on the couch and look at the ceiling, sighing. I look to Patrick, and find his gaze is already steadily looking me over. His eyes travel over my face carefully, reading me and trying to decide what I'm going to say. "Why, uh, why did you leave in the first place, Patrick?" He flinches but doesn't answer. I can see him deciding what he wants to tell me. "You know you can tell me anything, and I want to hear everything," I offer. He sighs heavily and sits up.

        "People. I left because I couldn't handle what everyone was saying. They'd say I can't sing well, they'd say I'm ugly and fat," he gestures to himself, tearing up, "they said the band would be better off without me, and that I should realize nobody actually liked me, that they were just putting up with me to keep me happy. So I developed insecurities, I stopped eating and started cutting. Nobody noticed, and I kept on doing it. One day someone told me I should just kill myself, and I believed them. That's when I disappeared, and for two and a half months my depression, anorexia and anxiety just got worse. I cut myself off from everyone, hoping it'd bring relief, but then I was only lonely. I starved myself every day, eating minuscule amounts of food once or twice a week. I lost a lot of weight but felt no better about myself. I couldn't live with myself, I just wanted the pain to end so I decided to kill myself. I took my blades and sat in the bathroom, slicing my skin repeatedly. I cut deeper than I had before, and it hurt like hell. I was bleeding out, and I would've gone all the way had your stupid face not popped into my damn head. I thought of you and I couldn't bring myself to do it, so I bandaged my wrists... and then I came here. So my first day back was the same day I tried to kill myself. You saved me." He smiled softly, tilting his head. "Sometimes I wish I would've gone through with it, sometimes I think I'd be better off dead."

        "No. Don't say that, please. If you had died, I don't know what I'd do. I was a mess while you were gone, and had you not come back I'd miss you so badly I don't think I could take it. What I say probably won't make that much of a difference, but I want you to know something. Every day, I missed you. Every day, I thought of you. I wondered where you'd gone, why you'd left and what happened to you. I thought you had died. It breaks me to know something so awful happened to you and completely escaped my attention, and I'm truly sorry. But know that you're not worthless, and I don't just put up with you to keep you happy. I genuinely care about you, and I want you to be safe and happy. Fuck man, honestly your voice is the most beautiful thing on Earth. You've never been fat, and though I worry about your health in this state you're still just as perfect as you were two and a half months ago. Don't doubt yourself, so many people do care about you. I'm one of those people, okay? So treat yourself well. And you're not ugly at all, personally I think you're extremely adorable." The last part slipped out before I could catch it. Our eyebrows raised in unison. He shook his head with a shadow of a smile on his face. 

        "I'll try to be healthy and stop cutting. And thank you, really, it means a lot to me. Especially coming from you. Honest." I reach out and ruffle his hair. We share a smile, and then the door bursts open ferociously. Brendon steps in and glares at me, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise as he takes in the cleaned house.

        "Wow, you cle--" but then his eyes land on Patrick. He stumbles back and his jaw literally drops. He runs over and tackles Patrick over the back of the couch, knocking him to the floor and landing on him. "What the hell! Since when?" he practically shouts at Patrick, then quickly climbs off of him and pulls him to his feet. Patrick's wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt, so Brendon can clearly see the bandage. His face darkens for a moment as he takes in Patrick's weight, the bags under his eyes, and the bandage. "What did you do?" he whispers. 

So Patrick tells him everything, at least everything he wants to. He tells Brendon he became depressed, anorexic, insecure and suffered from extremem anxiety, though I noticed he didn't go into as much detail about what people said. He tells Brendon about how he tried to kill himself, and then came here. Brendon narrows his eyes at me and runs his tongue over his teeth.

        "That's who was at the door, you asshole." I smile slightly and nod at him. 

Patrick finishes telling Brendon about his time away, and I can tell it pains Brendon to hear it. When Patrick stops talking, Brendon silently wraps him into a tight hug. He holds him in the embrace for a long time, and I start to feel a little odd. Jealous? I pull the two apart and ask what they want to do. Brendon flashes a grin at me. Patrick looks back and forth from me and Brendon. Brendon was suspicious about my feelings for Patrick, and I think I just sealed the deal. He knows as well as I do. 

I'm hopelessly in love with Patrick Stump.