Take My Hand Let's Get Famous (1/1)
Title: Take My Hand Let's Get Famous
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Gen.
Summary: The van accident. Patrick wants to leave the band.
Author Notes: I quickly wrote this up last night for the flying_leap challenge. I've been busy with procrastinating and school so sorry it's kind of bad. Sorry for any errors, they're all my fault.


“What do you mean?”

Patrick sighed, looking around the diner he and Pete were sitting in. Joe and Andy, along with some of the crew guys, were talking to a cop at a booth on the other side of the room.

“I mean, I think I need to go home and rethink being a part of this band.”

Pete’s face seemed to crumble under Patrick’s quick glances. Patrick felt like shit for being the one to do that to Pete but the day’s events had made Patrick reevaluate his life.

“One accident doesn’t mean-“

“Fuck, Pete.” Patrick readjusted his hat, glad to have been able to eventually find one among the wreckage that used to be their van. “The van now has a tree where the engine should be and the sides are fucking caved in. It’s a fucking ball of metal and if I had slept for another ten minutes I wouldn’t be talking to you because I’d be fucking dead!”

The diner had quieted down a bit and Patrick could feel eyes on him, making his cheeks turn red as he tried to slouch down in his seat.

“Patrick, I had been sitting in one of the death seats moments before the crash as well. We both could have been dead, but we’re not so don’t you think you should take this as a sign we’re doing something right?”

Patrick looked at Pete from beneath the rim of his hat to see the older man staring at the glossy table, deep lines forming on his forehead as he frowned. Patrick sighed again.

“I just. I need to think.”

Pete nodded and silently slipped out of the booth, heading towards the rest of the guys. Their merch guy was currently filming Joe as he talked about the crash with wide eyes full of fear of what could have happened. Everybody else, however, seemed to be taking everything in stride.

Van crashes weren’t extremely rare when it came to traveling bands. They were lucky nobody was seriously injured, just a couple of scraps and bruises. People were now worrying about the van and all their equipment and how they were going to get the video shoot now. Patrick didn’t care about any of that stuff. He had almost died because of the band. Was this what he really wanted? Did he really want to die for some band that was probably going nowhere? He just needed some time.

**

“Bad news first or good news first? Well, dude, I’ll give you the good news first so you don’t get mad. The camera’s fine. Uh, the Mest tour is not going to happen. Patrick is totally fucking gone.”

Pete glanced at the camera and gave a quick smile to keep from doing anything else irrational, like crying.

“He’s not – Yeah, he’s not going to do the band anymore.”

Their manager, Bob, was taking things pretty well considering he had just learned that they weren’t going to make it to their scheduled video shoot, their van was totaled, half of their equipment was destroyed, and their lead singer was thinking about leaving the band.

“We’re getting a hotel room in town and I’ll try to talk to him some more.” Pete sighed. “If he leaves, the band is over, Bob. I’m not going to get a replacement singer.”

Bob gave a noise in resignation and wished Pete good luck before hanging up. Pete stared at the phone in his hands before looking up to make some wisecrack at the camera only to notice he was alone. He allowed the fake smile to fall and sat still for a minute, breathing deeply. He had no idea what he was going to do if Patrick left.

**

Things seemed to be slightly normal again as Pete shuffled around their hotel room. Joe was asleep, Andy was taking a shower, Patrick was listening to music, and Pete was investigating the tiny bedside table drawers for anything interesting. Patrick had seemed to calm down in the diner, joining in on recreating the accident, using bill trays, pencils and salt, for the camera. As he sat on the floor of the room, however, he seemed less like a seventeen year old and more like a thirty-seven year old going through a mid-life crisis. Pete could read on Patrick’s face that he was freaking out on the inside.

Just as Pete went to sit down beside the singer, to get him to talk about what was going on in his head, there was a sharp knock at the door. Joe gave a huge snort from the bed but continued on snoring a couple seconds later. Pete swung the door open to reveal a cop near the end of his career standing just outside.

“Hello, I need to talk to a –“ he paused as he checked his note pad. “I need to speak to a Mr. Wentz?”

“That’s me.”

“I just wanted to let you know that your van and trailer are going to get towed first thing in the morning. I’d suggest going and grabbing anything you think might be salvageable.”

Pete nodded, thanked the officer, and shut the door.

“Up for a little trip?” Pete asked Patrick as he turned around to find the younger boy staring up at him with wide eyes. Patrick just nodded, beginning to rummage around for the jacket and shoes he discarded upon entering the room.

Pete knocked on the bathroom door and opened it a slice, just enough for his voice to carry into the room and to Andy. He let Joe stay asleep, not in the mood to try and wake him up.

“Just you and me, kid,” Pete said as he wrapped an arm around Patrick’s shoulder, leading him out into the night.

**

“This is what it looks like from the inside of the van,” Pete mumbled as he leaned against the vehicle, camera in hand and recording.

“Where’s the box for these?” questioned Patrick as he leaned across the seats to add CDs to the growing pile.

Putting down the camera, Pete shrugged and climbed into the van, trying to avoid broken glass but ending up just knocking over the stack of CDs in the process. Patrick shot a glare at Pete from beneath his safari hat before continuing to grab anything worth keeping.

“Are you really going to leave the band?”

The sounds of Patrick pushing garbage aside paused as he slowly turned to look at Pete.

“I don’t know. I haven’t had a lot of time to think about it.”

“Oh.” Pete nodded. “Okay.” He kicked at an empty coffee cup and listened to the occasional call of some foreign bird.

“Look, Pete,” Patrick began as he sat down in the seat behind Pete. “It has nothing to do with you, y’know. I just. I don’t know if this band is really going to go anywhere and I’m not sure if it’s worth dying for that.”

Pete glared at Patrick in response.

“If you don’t have any faith in this band then maybe you should leave.”

Shoving some more CDs to the floor of the van, this time more in anger than by accident, Pete climbed out and started wandering around to the back of the trailer.

“Pete, that’s not what I said.” Patrick was following Pete, cheeks red from the cold and possibly from frustration. “This band is something, maybe not to a lot of people, but to us, but we’re never going to be more than a local band.”

“And I mean what I said. If you don’t believe this band could be huge, bigger than fucking U2, then maybe you shouldn’t be in it anymore.” It was killing Pete to say this because if Patrick left Pete would be lost. He wouldn’t be able to form another band knowing what he could have had with these guys.

“What makes you think we’re ever going to get that big?”

Pete shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He didn’t know how to explain that gut feeling he got when he first heard Patrick sing, when he first heard them play with Andy behind the drum kit. It all seemed to align for him and he was beginning to see people in the crowd sing along and the look in their eyes and he knew this band could go places. He had so much planned for the future, all dependent on this band, all dependent on Patrick.

“I just have this feeling. I just know we’re something else. We can take over the world, me and you.”

Patrick ran a finger across the cool metal wall of the trailer, staring at the fingerless skull gloves he had on.

“Well, good. Because, I’ve decided to stay.”

“What?!” Pete launched himself at Patrick, wrapping his arms and legs around the boy, forcing the two of them to fall backwards into the snow. “Are you sure?! You better be sure!”

Patrick laughed even though his safari hat was digging uncomfortably into the back of his skull and Pete’s bony knees were digging into his thighs.

“Yes, Pete. I’m absolutely sure. Who else would put up with my horrible fashion sense and bitchy moods?”

Pete dug his face into Patrick’s neck, snuggling down into the warmth that was his lead singer.

“Only me, Patrick. Never leave.”