Archaic ||Peterick||

Car Radio

Pete sat laying against the door with a juicebox, sipping sulkily on it. He never looked up. He had cried. Tear tracks dripped into his beard. He was trying to hide it.

Patrick sat up, looking straight forward. He wasn't crying. He was trying to think, but he couldn't. Emotions clouded his thoughts.

"So that's all this is? I'm being led to the slaughter?" Pete asked. Patrick stayed silent, and gritted his teeth. He built up his wall again, wiped away the stream of tears, and ignored him.

"Yeah. That's what I thought." Pete said, running his gaze right back to the window. Trees blew by, the sky dark, streetlights illuminating the wet asphalt. Rain poured in front of him. Pete felt desolate as the endless land around them. No cars around them. No company.

He'd just been starting to get used to being with Patrick, just getting accustomed to being dragged along, maybe even beginning to enjoy it. And now, through an overheard conversation, he found out the truth. Patrick wasn't hiding feelings for him, or being too guarded. How could Pete have been so naïve? Patrick wanted him dead, just like all the other hunters. Just like everyone else, who didn't care if he lived or died. Pete was starting to believe that he shouldn't either.

"If you're gonna kill me, just do it now." Pete said.

"I regret what I said." Patrick answered flatly. Pete didn't know it, but Patrick was as lost as he was. If he told him, he wouldn't believe it. Patrick had burned his bridges with Pete, he knew. He'd fucked up big time.

"Is it true or is it not? Are you going to kill me when we get to Chicago?" Pete asked, in an accusing tone that suggested that he already knew the answer. He did. He wanted to be told otherwise, but he knew that he wouldn't be. He was going to die.

"No. I'm not." Patrick lied, keeping on the road. They passed under a sign. 20 miles. It was twenty miles until Pete was dead. They were doing eighty, meaning that it would take them twenty six minutes to get there. Half an hour, and he'd have passed.

"That's a lie." Pete countered. He'd heard what they'd said. Why would Patrick lie to someone that he obviously had the hots for? Why would he lie to Mikey Way?

"I have my reasons for lying to Mikey and I don't have to tell you them." In actual fact, he was lying through his teeth.

"Bullsh- hang on. I didn't say that out loud. How did you- Are you a mind reader?!" Pete yelled in shock, amazed at the revelation his mind had thrown up. Patrick groaned, taking a bar of dark chocolate out of the middle console and biting off a chunk. Through a mouthful of cocoa, he snapped:

"Yes. How fucking long did it take you to figure that out? What, like five months?"

"Six." Pete answered, ashamedly. "Well at least I figured it out!" He added, his anger returning. "But unfortunately, I'm not! Why do you want to kill me?!"

"I don't!" Patrick yelled, thankful that he could be truthful for once. Suburbs started flashing by the window, and Pete's panic grew times the ten on the sign for Chicago they passed.

"Then why did you tell Mikey? Why were you talking about it?" Pete pressed. Patrick sighed.

"Pete, you don't need to know everything." He answered, taking another bite of his chocolate.

"Can I have some of your chocolate?" Pete asked. Patrick looked at him.

"Um... Sure." He said, handing him the bar. Pete took it, happily. His juicebox was long finished, and he needed something to chew on. His jaw was hurting. He took off a piece of chocolate, contentedly waiting as it melted on his tongue. Patrick cleared his throat. Pete glanced at him.

"What?" He asked, still holding the bar in his hand. Patrick beckoned for him to give it back with a reproving glance and Pete rolled his eyes, grudgingly returning it.

"Thank you very much." Patrick said. He glanced at Pete, and alarm filled his face. "Oh shit, Pete are- are you okay?!"

"What?" Pete asked, but he knew what was wrong as soon as he spoke. He quickly took his fangs in, and wiped away the blood from where they'd caught on his lip. "Yeah, yeah... my mouth hurts but..."

"You probably just need to bite something. You know, instead of drinking from the juiceboxes all the time."

"Yeah."

"I know a place where we can stop, just up here. We can take a little detour."

"Thanks Patrick."

"No problem." Patrick said, and Pete returned to leaning against the door. It was very quiet in the car, giving him a lot of time to think. It wasn't really a good thing, considering. He knew that something was going to happen. Patrick had to be bringing him here for something, and Pete knew that it was probably death. He just couldn't understand why.

"Patrick?" He asked.

"What is it now, Pete?" Patrick groaned.

"Can you turn the radio on?"

Patrick smiled.

"Sure thing."

He slotted a tape into the cassette player. Queen's greatest hits. The first song that came on was one that Pete liked but could never remember. I Want To Break Free. Pete would've laughed at the irony, but he didn't really understand irony that well. Then again, he laughed at Patrick, and who the hell understood what was going on inside his head?

"Laughing at things you don't understand makes you an idiot." Patrick said. Pete laughed out loud, an over-the-top, forced laugh, and Patrick glared. "Stop that. No. Stop. What the fuck are you even doing? Stop it. For God's sake Pete, would you ever just shut up?" But Pete kept on cackling. Patrick shook his head. "You're a weird one, Pete. I'll give you that."