Madness of Two ~ a Peterick AU

six

Patrick's vision was blurred with hot urgent tears. He dashed to the toilets and locked himself in a cubicle, breaths racking his body.

He'd always been bullied. He was that kind of a person.
He never really fought back, but he sometimes wrote songs and sang his anger and sadness out.

But this was worse. This was big and obvious and everyone would hate him. And worst of all, it was true.
And he'd have to put up with worse bullying from the others now. He just couldn't deal with it.

"Are you in here, bro?" He so badly wanted it to be Pete's voice. So badly. "Patrick? You here?" But it wasn't. And with the sighting of torn black converse from under the cubicle door, he could tell it was Dallon Weekes'.
He was popular, tall, and bullied nearly everyone - but had somehow always left Patrick alone. He guessed it was out of pity.

"Just leave me alone." Patrick asked pathetically.

"No, man. Listen, I haven't always been the nicest to you. But whoever wrote that up there was way out of line." He actually sounded genuine, angry maybe, on Patrick's behalf. He neared the cubicle door and spoke into it. "I seriously hate the word they called you and I don't want anyone to have to deal with it." He grudgingly said. "I don't particularly care about you as a person. I just don't want people thinking what that sicko did is okay."

Patrick wiped away tears and sniffed.
"What's your point?"

Dallon let out a bark of a laugh.
"Wanna eat lunch with us?"

Patrick needed this. A chance - a chance not to be bullied. Enough people were scared of Dallon to stay away from him if they started to hang out with him.
He was out of the cubicle and walking next to the taller boy before he could really think.

Pete stared at the words on the wall, unable to move, for he didn't know how long. Patrick was gone. He still couldn't move.
He was hurt but mostly he was angry.
A blood boiling, intense, eye watering, fuming kind of anger that made him want to punch anyone near him over and over.

The people laughing all around him become louder and louder. Someone from the crowd started to yell, call him names. Others joined in. Soon the crowd which had gathered behind him were all jeering and catcalling, each name worse than the last, trying to get a reaction. And they would've, if the Principal hadn't shown.

The crowd fell silent, and parted for her like the red sea. Her eyes drank in the words on the wall coldly, and she yelled at the crowd to 'get to class!' With which they dispersed.

She steered the still seething Pete to her office, where she sat him down. The first thing she said was,
"Don't let them get to you, Pete."

"I won't, Miss Row."

"Well get it removed as soon as possible. If anything happens, tell us." Her voice was steely firm.

"Yes, Miss Row."

"We can send you to the counsellor, if we see you're struggling with bullying. We can get the bullies suspended."

"Yes, Miss Row."

"I know you're angry, Pete. Don't let it get to you - they'll soon forget this, move on to their next victim."

"Yes, Miss Row."

"Thank you Pete."

What are you thanking me for?

And with that, he was ushered out of the office. Slowly, heavily, he trudged to his class, to be met by sniggers and one call of, 'whore!' Quickly shushed and then ignored by the teacher. Really, class wasn't to bad. Lunch was the worst.

"Hey, Wentz!" Gerard Way yelled from the other end of the canteen. Pete ignored him, and took a bite from his sandwich.

"Hey, Wentz, can you hear me?"

"Maybe that not his name." Dallon Weekes suggested. "Maybe it's, I don't know, whore? Emo? Weirdo? Fuckboy?"
There was a few smirks at the last one.

"Pete Fuckboy it is then." Dallon decided. A few yells of laughter echoed from his and Gerard's cronies.

What Pete noticed next was like being stabbed straight to the heart with a dagger of ice: one of their cronies was Patrick. How had that happened? He had been humiliated just like Pete - and his reputation had definitely been worse before. How was he now with the enemy, forcing a laugh at Pete's expense?

The rest of what they said was like white noise to Pete. The entire time, even when they approached him in a threatening gang, even when they backed him against a wall, even as they laughed and took Pete's food - Pete's eyes were locked on Patrick's.

Patrick felt included for the first time in his life.
Part of something; one of the in crowd. Even if he was just latching onto the group like some kind of parasite. If he stood by every day while Gerard, Dallon, Tyler, and Spencer picked on Pete, the prize was popularity. And he figured it was a fair trade.

Elisa took him under her wing. She was the only nice one of the girls, really. She was the one who really protected him.  Between her and Dallon, people started to leave Patrick alone.

Especially with all Elisa's help. She was teaching him how to be popular.

"Pat." She'd laugh, "Try to take less notes, and try sitting back like... this. Yeah, like that! You've got it. You look super cool!"

"Hey, Pat, how about this shirt? This'd look great on you! No, you don't need that old one anymore. No, just get rid of it."

"Hey, Pat, this hairstyle would look so good on you! Why don't you try it?"

And of course, the deadly:

"You're not really going to have another one are you?"

Patrick was slimming fast, what with Elisa's diet and the new exercise regime he was on.
Another ten pounds and we'll be good, he promised himself every time.
Another ten pounds and we'll be good.

Of course, his crush on Pete was growing every day. They met up after school, wandered, went to the gallery, laughed and had fun. No-one mentioned school. His thoughts were drawn to Pete constantly; that reluctant smile, those darkly lined eyes, his passion for his music. It was beautiful.
They had managed to kiss again, without Pete running, a few times; and each was electric as the first.