Peterick Oneshots :)

medicine

"He needs a hospital," Pete decides, spotting the blue sign in the highway. "There's one two exits away."

"He doesn't need a hospital, Pete," Andy sighs.

"He's so sick," Pete whines.

"It's just a cold."

"He hasn't responsed to me."

"He's sleeping."

Pete gives up, looking back to the strawberry blonde in his lap. He'd woken up with a stuffed nose, sore throat, and a horrid cough yesterday.

They stopped at a pharmacy for medicine, but cold medicine is extremely expensive. Patrick insisted he didn't need it, and the guys agreed he could battle it without meds.

Pete's sure Patrick can, but their singer is absolutely miserable. Pete could tell at last night's show how terrible he felt. In fact, Patrick complained about an awful headache soon after. Pete begged them all to spend some of the show's cash on medicine, but they all refused.

Even Patrick.

Pete hasn't seen any improvement in Patrick's health. He hasn't eaten a thing, and Pete had to force him to drink some water. Patrick has mainly been sleeping, and Pete's refused to leave him alone while he does.

Pete tends to get over worried about the members of the band. As the oldest, he feels a sense of responsibility for them. Like he's a chaperone. And Patrick is far from an exception.

Pete runs his fingers through Patrick's long hair, the trucker hat moved away from the ill boy. Patrick's forehead is hot, and Pete releases a whimper of sympathy. He grabs a magazine and fan Patrick with the hopes of cooling him off.

Patrick simply shifts in his sleep, hands gripping Pete's leg a little tighter.

~~~

It wasn't uncommon for them to find dinner at a grocery store. Usually they'd return with chips and salsa or a cold cut sandwich.

Pete branched off from the group, his mind not set on finding dinner. He walked around the pharamcy area, eyes finding a small stand of cold medicine. The small boxes were priced at nearly twenty dollars, and buying them would cut into their gas and food money severely.

Pete thinks for a moment. He almost turns around, going off to do what he's suppose to. But his mind flashes to Patrick; how tired and sickly he looked as he shuffled into the store. How he shook his head at the mention of food. How he whispered in that hoarse little voice to be left in the van to sleep.

He needs this medicine.

Pete pulls out his phone, flipping it open. He pretends to type out a text as he walks forward, and he soon crashes into the display of boxes. A store worker peers into the aisle seconds later, and Pete offers a smile.

"Sorry, ma'am, I was texting. I'll pick them up," He starts placing the boxes back onto the stand.

She shrugs, leaving him to it. Pete stacks a few more boxes before sneakily stuffing one into his jacket sleeve. It's small enough to fit, but large enough to bulge. He pushes it up higher, and it soon blends in with his bicep. He finishes stacking the boxes before walking away from the area.

He's shoplifted before, but it was nothing over ten dollars. Pete gets nervous. What if he gets arrested? The guys would kill him. They couldn't perform without a bassist, and they'd have to call it quits.

Maybe he should just put it back. Or--

"Hey, Pete," Joe says from behind him.

Pete spins. He's met with the guitarist, who holds a pack of jerky and some crackers. He has his other arm around Patrick, who clutches a small container of hot soup to his chest. His blue eyes look glazed over, and his chapped lips shake as his teeth chatter.

"I forced Patrick to get some soup and crackers," Joe looks at Pete's empty hands. "Did you find something?"

Pete nods. "They're making it right now. I'm going to go pick it up."

The older zips to the deli area, quickly ordering a six inch ham sandwich. They hand it to him in exchange for the singles in his hand. Pete meets the guys at the checkout area, where they're paying for the crackers, jerky, and the salad Andy bought.

The area makes Pete jittery, and the stolen item feels like it's burning his skin. After what feels like forever, the four approach the exit. Pete holds his breath as they walk out the door, and he doesn't release it until they're safe in the van.

Patrick crawls over to the blankets, curling into them. The ride to their motel for the night is short, and they carry their dinners inside. Patrick and Pete take one bed, and Joe and Andy take the other.

"Make sure you eat, Patrick," Andy shoots the singer a look as he pops open his salad.

Patrick nods, looking over to Pete. "What are you doing?"

The older is struggling to remove his jacket. Once he does, he sifts through the sleeve and pulls out a box of cold medicine with pride.

"Pete!" Joe frowns.

"We said not to buy that!" Andy groans.

Patrick reaches to place a hand on Pete's knee. "I appreciate it, but it's too much money."

"I didn't buy it."

It comes out fast and short. But it settles over the three men slowly. A whole new anger takes over.

"Are you kidding me!?" Joe's eyes widen.

"You could've gotten caught! O-or arrested!" Andy scolds. "That's the most irresponsible thing you've done."

Patrick squeezes his leg, drawing his attention. His head drops onto Pete's shoulder, and he smiles into the skin. "Thank you."

Seeing Patrick smile was worth it to Pete. He explained how it went down, how he couldn't bare to see Patrick this ill anymore, and how sorry he is for putting everything into jeopardy.

They understand, and they forgive him. But Andy makes him swear not to do it again. He swears.

But he's probably going to do it again.