andwhoareyousweetheart: (Patrick and Pete)
[personal profile] andwhoareyousweetheart
Title: Wide Asleep In City Lights
Rating: PG-13 (for language, sexual themes)
Pairing: General (vague Pete/Patrick)
POV: Third person (Pete centric)
Summary: But he's alone on this empty road, as alone as you can be in a bus of people who are as much each other as they are themselves.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. This is fiction, nothing less, nothing more.
A/N: I've always wanted to write insomnia fic.  I don't know how well I did, but I hope it's alright. This was written in a bout of my own insomnia, so thoughts could be very blurry.  The lines about Pete and Patrick marrying just to be life partners were inspired by similar lines [livejournal.com profile] worldonstringer wrote. I'm sorry I stole it, bb. Title, cut text, and lyrics used are taken from "Hypertronic Superstar" by The New Cities.



Pete fucking hates this, he does, he just - he can't anymore.  Can't do this, not when he's gone three days on three hours sleep and the only thing he wants to do is just curl up in a ball and fucking die.  Just, god.  He's so fucking tired.

And now they're driving through some city, he doesn't know which, doesn't particularly care, just focuses on the spinning of the tires underneath him, spin, focus, spin, focus.  He's hoping they'll lull him to sleep, but with the way Joe drives, alternately pressing too hard and too soft on the gas as he struggles to keep himself awake, it's not fucking likely.

Maybe Pete's just pissy, but, fuck, he even hates Joe for that - douchebag's almost asleep at the wheel and Pete's back here fighting, and he can't, he just can't, fucking -

He just cannot fucking sleep.

He gets up eventually, moves silently to the window of their bus.  He stares out at the lights of the city and thinks that they blur oddly in the edges of his subconscious.  Blur to something comforting and as familiar as sleepless nights in a bunk alone. And that's Pete's problem - he can sleep alright if someone else is in bed with him. Here, he's alone.

(But he doesn't have to be in the middle of shit-all nowhere to know that he's alone.  Sleeping next to nameless one night stands doesn't do it.  He always gets up and leaves in the middle of the night, unable to stand staring at the ceiling and trying to remember how he found the girl next to him.  He gathers his things in the dark, pays for the hotel at the desk, walks out barefoot and free, if he's lucky.  He never bothers putting on his shoes after nights like that - he wants to feel stones and sharp glass beneath his feet, slicing and teasing and punishing as he ambles quietly to wherever the fuck they parked the bus the night before.)

But he's alone on this empty road, as alone as you can be in a bus of people who are as much each other as they are themselves.

A hundred thousand souls alike, he thinks, wide asleep in city lights.  They might be good lyrics.  He wouldn't fucking know, anymore, because.

Because he's tired, Jesus, and staring out the window isn't helping.  Motion makes him sick, and the idea of the spinning wheels pressing into the pavement makes him want to puke.  The thought of pressure on any part of his body is unbearable.

He heads back to his bunk, listens for a while to Patrick and Andy's symphony of breathing, in and out, inand, out.  After about twenty cycles of this he pulls out his cellphone, ignores the thirteen drunk voice mails Gabe left him that he hasn't listened to, and pulls up the text window.

cant slp pls trick, he sends, the buttons sticking beneath his exhaustion-shaken fingers.  pls yr bnk? jst tricktricktrick

He can hear Patrick's phone vibrating in his bunk across from Pete's as Pete tries his hardest to relax and not send twenty more messages in the span of minutes.  He hears Patrick stirring mumbling sleepily as he fumbles blindly for his phone.

It's a while later that Patrick sends back, I'm sleeping, fucker.

must b nice.  i jst, jst cant keep

He adds a second later, even before Patrick has had a chance to reply, cnt do this feel sick trcky plspls

And then, because Pete just does not, does not know how to stop, yr eyes r like city lghts nly prtty if i know thyr lookng bak

Pete knows Patrick is sucker for words like that, words that are worlds within themselves, allusions and similes and rhyming patterns that make no sense to anyone but them.  Patrick loves words, rhythms, clever phrases designed as a way to confront without confrontation.  Pete doesn't like confrontation, he doesn't, okay, and his words; they offer a way for him to wimp out as often as he'd like, while still giving the illusion of being strong.  Pete knows he's weak; the fucking words don't mean a thing.  They're a world, but only a feeble one, and it's not a world that helps him much at all.

It certainly doesn't help him sleep.

Come here, Patrick texts back eventually, and Pete is up instantly, practically falling out of his bunk as he whispers, "Patrick, Patrick, 'Tricky," and stumbles into Patrick's bunk.

"Move over, Patrick, fucker," he says, voice rising above a whisper in the promise of rest.  "Move over, over, I'm cold, 'Trick."

"Hate you," Patrick mumbles, and he sounds almost as tired as Pete feels.  "Hate you, fuck, you're freezing!"

"Yeah, yeah, shut up," Pete mumbles, tucking himself seamlessly into Patrick's side as he buries the freezing bits of him into Patrick's warmth.  "'Tricky, you're so warm, warm."

"Still hate you," Patrick answers, but he's wrapped an arm around Pete nonetheless.  "Why are so insane, Pete?"

"Why are you so young, god," Pete replies, retort muffled against Patrick's chest.  "We could get married if you were older, Patrick, 'Tricky."

"I'm not gay, honestly," Patrick snaps, pushing Pete away slightly.  "And I'm pretty sure you aren't either."

"Maybe you're Pete-sexual," Pete says.  His voice is fading as sleep finally takes him.  "Maybe I'm Patrick-sexual.  Maybe."

"Go to sleep, fucker."

Pete folds into Patrick and thinks it.  He wants to tell Patrick that he loves him, not in the gay, "fuck me" sort of way, but just loves him.  All the stupid things, unconditional.  He's warm and soft and he lets Pete sleep in his bunk almost whenever.  He would marry him just to be his platonic life partner, honestly, he would.

"Patrick," he gets out, but that's all he manages.  Patrick just sighs and tucks Pete closer to his chest as Pete succumbs to sleep for the first time in days.

And the wheels are still turning, faster and slower, but Pete isn't focusing anymore.

He's wrapped up in his own set of city lights, and it's really all he needs.

(no subject)

Date: 2009-11-04 04:17 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] worldonstringer.livejournal.com
i am such a sucker for lovey "not in the gay, 'fuck me' sort of way, but just love" Patrick/Pete. And this--this was perfect. I loveloveloved it. sometimes insomnia fic is hard to read, but not this. it made sense and flowed and ak. i love. iLOVE.

(no subject)

Date: 2009-11-04 04:18 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] worldonstringer.livejournal.com
and p.s. of course i'm not mad about the word borrowing! i'm glad i was somewhat inspiring. =P

(no subject)

Date: 2009-11-05 06:20 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] nighttimerains.livejournal.com
Ah, I'm glad you don't mind my stealing. I saw that line, and thought of another I had read somewhere ("Patrick, god, why are you so young.") and went WIN! So I'm glad it's okay.

And Peterick platonic life partners bffs forever drabbles are my crack, for serious. The relationship there is just so... I think it's just so canon, ya know? Makes it easy to imagine.

Thank you <3

(no subject)

Date: 2009-11-05 01:44 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] drowninginlethe.livejournal.com
Late comment is late.

But I loved this. I'm sitting in the computer lab and grinning and people are staring. WELL FUCK OFF PEOPLE, I'M READING BRILLIANCE HERE, OKAY?!

:) Amazing stuff, dahling. Can't wait for more of your insomnia fics. :)

(no subject)

Date: 2009-11-05 04:32 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] nighttimerains.livejournal.com
Ah, late comments are totally just as awesome :)

Haha I hate when that happens. I'll be reading fic in English or chem and everybody will be staring because I'm gleeing/sad facing, depending on what I'm reading. SUCK IT, PEOPLE LESS AWESOME THAN US >:)

Thank you. I'm glad you liked <3

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