Saturday // Peterick Oneshots

12. Too Much at Once

That special era somewhere around TTTYG referred to as van days. A little angst, but also fluffy. Minor trigger warning for anxiety, just to be safe.

Most nights the post-show high is great. They've gotten good enough to where flying water bottles are a rarity, and the applause- whether out of enthusiasm or politeness- always leaves a small smile on Patrick's face. He's still not old enough to drink yet, technically, but that doesn't stop Pete from sharing a bottle of Heineken with him. They hang out at whatever bar they're at for a little while longer, talking and drinking with the audience, before packing up and driving on. On those nights, Patrick falls asleep before Pete and Joe can start to argue about who can pick the music.

Some nights aren't so great. Patrick doesn't think he has anxiety, not really; he chalks it up to him just being a teenager out on his own for the first time. The stage fright sometimes makes him wonder otherwise, but stage fright's normal, right? Not anxiety. However, the bad nights are pretty damning evidence. Some times the post-show high heightens his senses in the worst ways, making the charming chatter of the bar seem deafening. It doesn't ease up after getting in the van, and he always feels bad about snapping at his band mates, but their shouting combined with the irritating shifting of the van beneath him is too much.

So tonight after their show, when Patrick starts to feel like the entire room is screaming at him, he sneaks off to the van on his own. That way he'll have some time to cool off before the guys can climb in and bring their noise with them. It's a foolproof plan.

He gets settled in his usual sleeping spot just behind the back row of seats, curling up under his blanket and taking a few deep breaths. It's better, and the headlights that occasionally cut through the van don't burn his eyes, but he still feels cornered by the world around him. The floor of the van is rough and cold beneath him, and the noises of his tossing and turning don't help.

Much to his horror, the door opens with a clang loud enough to wake the dead. And make Patrick flinch. Violently.

"There you are!" Pete yells with a grin. "I was wondering where you ran off to. You got a girl in there with you?"

"No, Pete," Patrick groans. It's partially out of annoyance, the rest being a mess of discomfort that Patrick can only label as loud.

Unfortunately for him, Pete notices. "Hey, you okay? You look a little sick." Pete takes it upon himself to clamber into the van with little grace, slamming the door shut behind him. Patrick closes his eyes tight and tries not to hyperventilate.

"Oh my god Pete can you please be quieter?" he begs in a rush. He curls in on himself tighter and ignores the feeling of Pete's eyes on him. He hears Pete shuffle across the back of the van, followed by the sound of his weight settling in next to him.

"Patrick?" The way Pete says his name manages to cut through the static in his brain. Not harshly- it's soft and the pitch is low enough that it doesn't hurt Patrick's ears. He didn't realize Pete was capable of such a tone, but it helps calm his senses for some unknown reason. "Hey, talk to me, man." Patrick lets out a sigh and relaxes a bit.

"Just overwhelmed," Patrick murmurs.

"By what?"

"Noise, feelings, everything." Pete goes silent at that. Patrick remains somewhat relaxed, since apparently Pete's quietness soothes him.

A car door slams somewhere nearby and Patrick jolts. His eyes fly open and all of a sudden he's hit with the urge to cry. Pete seems to notice this too, because he places a hand on Patrick's shoulder, leans down so they're eye to eye, and whispers, "It's okay, I'm here, Trick. You're going to be okay." Patrick doesn't say anything. He watches as Pete bites his bottom lip and gives Patrick a once over.

Wordlessly, Pete lays down on his back next to Patrick and gestures for him to come closer. "Lay your head over my heart," Pete says, tapping his chest softly. "Focus on my heart beat, okay?" Patrick nods and moves until his chest is against Pete's side. He hesitantly rests his head on Pete's chest. Pete wraps an arm around his middle and places his other hand on Patrick's bicep.

Patrick closes his eyes and takes a moment to breathe before listening. He can hear Pete's heart clearly: fast, but steady, and soft, but strong in Pete's chest. All at once Patrick feels warm and safe, and he moves his arm across Pete's middle and makes a fist in the side of his shirt to tug him closer. Pete laughs softly, and Patrick feels it in his chest.

"Better?"

"Much." Patrick sighs. "You're warm. And your heartbeat's nice."

They lay in silence until Andy and Joe pull the back doors open and Patrick flinches again. It's not as violent this time, and Pete whispers again that he's here and he's not leaving.

"Hey fuckers, you going to help us load up?" Joe yells. Patrick winces and Pete runs a hand through his hair.

"Sit up for a second? I'll be right back." Pete slips out of the van, and Patrick can hear his band mates talking. He doesn't think to care though, because exhaustion is starting to creep up on him and he just wants Pete to come back. His wish is granted, and Pete slides back into the van next to him and lies down. Patrick pillows his head on his chest again.

"Hey, sorry for yelling," Joe whispers. Patrick locks eyes with him and smiles.

"S' okay. No big deal." With that Joe leaves, presumably to help Andy load up, and Pete presses a kiss to Patrick's temple. He's too tired and content to question it.

"Sleep, Pattycakes. When you wake up, the world will come around. Promise."

Patrick nods, nuzzling Pete's chest, and drifts off to sleep with the echo of his friend's heartbeat in his ears.