Getting Patrick's cast off was meant to be the world's most joyous occasion. It symbolised so much, a huge step in his recovery, and meant that for the first time in almost 4 months, he'd be able to walk around without a stupid heavy thing on his leg.
He'd get to ditch his crutches too. That was exciting. No more awkward bus entires, no more having to find an elevator because stairs were actually a living nightmare. Just Patrick and his legs, and no crutches or casts or anything like that.
But as he sat in the doctor's office, his hand in Pete's as they unstrapped everything and let his leg free from it's temporary prison, the excitement just wasn't there like it was this morning. This morning it was better, it meant that he was going to get it off and then tomorrow he was going to get up on stage and play his song and finish his set and kick Brendon's ass, metaphorically of course.
But now it just meant he was gonna get to play one stupid song on this stupid tour. There was no way Brendon was gonna be as affected, after all, Patrick was just gonna have to hand the stupid microphone back and then saunter his way back to his little stool in the back corner where nobody noticed him.
And it sucked. It really, really, sucked that Patrick didn't get to play his own shows. It was his dream to play these songs to the world, they were his songs. He was finally getting excited, with four songs to sing to finish the tour off, but now it was just one.
"Better?" Pete asked him softly when it was removed.
Patrick rested his head on Pete's shoulder and swung his leg back and forth off the edge of the bench he was sitting on. The sensation of air on his leg was weird, but he didn't mind it. It looked a little funny now, swollen and a little discoloured, but the doctor assured him that it would all clear up within a few days and everything would be back to normal.
They offered Patrick the boot back – a momento, so to speak, of his time recovering from a broken leg. Patrick quickly responded that he'd rather burn it then keep it in his house, and that just made Pete laugh and the doctor throw it straight into the trash.
Good riddance.
"It's off, buddy." Pete told him with a smile. "Are you excited?"
"Yeah?" Patrick murmured half-heartedly.
"Oh, is this about the stupid show thing?" Pete asked. "Because listen, Andy might have a point, but I have a plan, alright? You're gonna finish our tour, and it's going to be fucking epic."
"A-Are you sure?" Patrick asked nervously. "I, I don't wanna blank on stage..."
"You're not gonna blank on stage. And even if you do, my plan covers it. So prep those vocals buddy, cause tomorrow night, you're gonna fucking rock it."
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Stolen wasn't the right word. Borrowed was more like it.
Okay, so maybe borrowed wasn't the right word for the teleprompter under Pete's arm. He'd been nice at first, and he'd asked if the band could borrow it from the TV station for one night, and he'd have it back tomorrow morning, but like the assholes they were, they refused.
He hadn't even taken the one they used for the morning broadcast, he'd taken the spare one from the back room that was a bit old and they only used for emergencies. It wasn't exactly hard to take, Pete just sort-of picked it up, and walked out with it. And now he was taking it back to the bus, covered in a sheet to avoid suspicion.
"What the fuck is that?" Joe asked when he placed it on the table in front of him.
"The plan. So Patrick can finish the set tomorrow." Pete grinned triumphantly, turning it on. "We have less than 24 hours to set it up and get all the lyrics and timing right on it, so can I trust you two to help me?"
"Where the hell did you even get this?" Andy asked, flicking the switch and bringing it to life.
"The TV station lent it to me." Pete lied with a smile. "But it's perfect, don't you think? He doesn't need to worry about blanking. He's got everything he needs to be the rockstar that he is. He deserves to play, and he wants to play, and I'm not taking that away from him."
The three looked over at Patrick, who was actually sleeping in his bunk for the first time all tour. He actually fit in it now, now that the cast was gone and he could snuggle up on an actual mattress with his bears. He was cute while he slept, and Pete just swelled up with pride. He'd come so far, and he just needed to play this one damn show, and then he'd feel so much better about everything.
"Do you even know how to program it?" Andy asked.
"There's internet tutorials for everything these days." Pete shrugged. "And I think I can plug it into my computer, and work from there. It can't be that hard, right?"
Long story short, it was hard. The timing was hard, the programming was hard (Pete had no idea how to use html, but apparently the internet had him covered), and the entire process took the entire night, but it was totally worth it.
Patirck had been on the receiving end of all the drama for far too long now. Now it was Patrick's turn to dish it back out, and Pete was nothing if not a fan of revenge in the form of on-stage pranks.
Now they just had to hope that Patrick wasn't gonna pass out.