The Problem with Patrick || Fall Out Boy

It was only after an entire month in hospital after waking up from the coma that Patrick got medical clearance to go home. His cast was still around his leg, and he was given absolutely no permission to do any physical activity other than crutching around, but he was coming home, and that was all Pete wanted.

He was getting better, slowly, and bit by bit was rebuilding all his memories. He recognised the house when he pulled up, and remembered coming here for band practice, but when they got through the door, he couldn't remember for the life of him the way to the spare room.

Not that it was a happy thing, but Pete had become adjusted to Patrick's blanks, and was patient with him as he showed him around the house again to help him remember. Some things just clicked (the band practice room, the living room and the kitchen), but things like the spare room were completely new.

Patrick walked in and sat down on the bed (Walking was painful, thanks to the broken ribs and the heavy cast, and he was grateful for a spot to sit) before running his hands over the sheets. "These are new. I don't know these."

"Yeah, I got them for you when you came to stay with me." Pete explained, putting the bag of bears on the bed beside him.

"Huh." Patrick ran his hand along them, feeling the texture. "They're soft."

"Uh huh. 1000 thread count. They're nice ones."

"Fancy."

"Only the best for you, 'Trick." Pete smiled. "Do you wanna come watch some TV or just have a little alone time?"

"Can I have a beer?" Patrick asked, before furrowing his brows. "That's weird. I don't know.... I just want one all of a sudden."

"I don't think I've got any, sorry buddy..." Pete lied. "Um... that's probably a conversation for another time. I'll give you a bit of time. I'll be out in the kitchen if you need me, okay?"

Patrick just nodded and Pete walked out, slightly confused. It had become clear through conversation that Patrick didn't remember anything about his 'slump'. That meant he had no recollection of his alcohol issues, and yet he was asking for beer now? That was weird, but for some reason it gave him hope. The memory was still in there somewhere, it just needed to come back.

And then hopefully he'd learn from it and get out of the cycle of alcohol dependence that he'd found himself in.

Pete tried not to dwell on things as he got started on dinner. He'd invited the guys around for dinner and a bit of a jam. The doctor recommended to get Patrick playing again as soon as possible, considering he was a musician and a lot of his memories lay in the music that he listened to. It sounded a little unconvincing at first, but as soon as the doctor explained the science between music and the memory links, Pete knew he had to get Patrick playing soon.

He'd already started on his 'cure Patrick with music' mission, and was playing a mix CD on the stereo while he cooked, hoping Patrick might come out and sit with him, and if not, then the walls were thin and hopefully the songs would float through to his room anyway.

Pete managed to hold himself back from going in there for much longer than he thought he'd be able to, but after two hours, he couldn't stand the silence anymore and knocked softly on the door before opening it up.

Patrick had destroyed the room, so to speak. All the drawers were open, their contents thrown on the floor. Practically everything had either been pulled out, or tipped over, and Pete could hardly see the carpet. Patrick was lying on the bed with his bears, flicking through a notebook.

"Hey.... 'Trick..." Pete glanced around the room, trying to hide his shock that the man with the broken leg and the brain injury had managed to do this much damage so quietly.