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Description
~Patrick's POV~

Here's a funny story about Peter Pan... Well... I'm Peter Pan. I was the boy in elementary school. It wasn't just because I was oldest that I was Peter.

'Cause sweetie, it would seem
You look like a Wendy to me.

I stared at Pete's tiny scrawl of handwriting in complete, utter shock. It was... Him? he was the guy that had sat there and let me be insulted? I mean, yeah, I'd tried to change him for the better, but... It didn't mean I wouldn't still be pissed at the guy if I met him again! In fact, I've actually thought about what I would do a few times; joining that person's band, writing music for them, staying the night, befriending... None of those things were on my Ultimate List of Revenge.

"Oh... My fucking... God..."

"What?" A sharp voice brought me out of my thoughts.

"Oh, sh-shoot. N-nothing, Mom. Just... Freaking... N-note."

"What's it about?"

"It's a song. I thought it was pretty good, actually." What a lie; thank god I was sitting in the back seat today, thanks to my cousin needing to go to ballet (We were watching her since her parents were out of town). If I'd been in the front seat, Mom'd have figured out I was lying real quick.

"Is it from that Pete guy you're always hanging out with? I really don't like you hanging out with someone so old..." I wanted to playfully chide her about being overprotective or something, but just held my tongue; maybe for once, I would listen to my mom. "...Pat? Are... Are you okay?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Just... Thinking, is all. Music." I smiled at her via the rearview mirror, a smile she reluctantly returned.

"Okayyy... If you say so."

"I do, Mom. Really, I'm fine."

---

But man, I was not fine. When I didn't call or text Pete from the time I got the note from my guitar case in the back seat on Monday all the way through Friday, he began texting me. Apologizing, asking me if I was mad at him, saying he was sorry, saying that I did change him... Yeah, right. And he'd sat there and let me tell the story to him like some stupid idiot...

I ignored all of his texts but one, where he tried to convince me yet again that I had, in fact, changed him. I texted back: "Oh, yeah? Then why were you afraid to tell me it was you when I was telling you the STORY?" His reply was fairly quick, but rather effective.

"Because I'm pathetic. You were right."

I didn't reply.

Instead, I began to hang out with Joe. I was actually mildly shocked to find out that he smoked pot, but he grudgingly accepted my request to not smoke weed around me so Mom wouldn't smell it. I was, after all, only seventeen, unlike... Anyway, if I got kicked out, there wasn't much I could do for myself.

Finally, after the longest two weeks I think I'd ever experienced, Joe got fed up with the whole thing. We were sitting in his car, because we quite honestly had nowhere else to go, when he suddenly turned off the radio and turned to me. "Okay, seriously dude, you don't even know half of Pete's story. Why don't you guys just talk this over and make up? We've got a band to get going, you know; not practicing for two weeks shows some very poor... Traits! In... A bandmember. Fuck, you get what I mean." I was surprised; this had to be the first time I'd seen Joe mad, let alone at me, unless you counted the one time he got baked before we hung out and he started yelling at the tree for not stepping out of his way when he'd said "excuse me". I had this sneeking suspicion his drugs had been laced.

"W-What?" I stared at him in shock, then rallied my courage and fought back. "No! No way, man! Do you have any idea how much shit I went through, especially after him? Those kids only messed with me more after he left!"

"But he saved you, didn't he?" Saved me? What the fuck was he talking about?

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I asked, echoing my inward question.

"Oh, I'm sure you remember; I was there, too, you know. We came up in the truck when the guys went to gang up on you... Pete changed everything about himself, stopped pretending to be different for everyone else and was just himself, but he couldn't stop feeling bad for what he did... So he redeemed himself, in his mind at least. We headed over, hopped out, beat the shit out of the guys, and left."

"You... There's no way!"

"Pete was a lot different after you said that stuff to him. He ended up totally trashing that guy's skateboard.; The kid beat the crap out of him for it, but he managed to get away okay. He even went to Juvi for you, man."

"For trashing a skateboard?" Now that was bullshit.

"Nooo, Patrick, we skipped three days straight to come save your ass, and Pete had a bit of a record for doing that... Our bitchy counselor called him and his parents in and convinced them to send him to Juvi."

"So? Tons of kids go to Juvi." Though it kind of shook me that Pete had gone to Juvi and had his record damaged for me and all kinds of stuff, I refused to let it affect me; bersides, when you were an aspiring rock star, the more blemishes on your record the better, right?

"Uh, yeah. Bad kids. Pete wasn't that bad. It was pretty hard on him. You have to understand; Pete might act like a badass, but really... He's not that tough on the inside. If just what you said to him bothered him as much as it did, how bad do you think Juvi was on him?" I stared at him, shocked, as everything began to slowly click. "That was when Pete started getting into music, because he'd write poetry. That's when he got his whole... 'Emo' look or whatever you call it. He called home ever day, literally begging his mom to bring him back. His dad's long gone, but he's still dependant on her, that's why he's still living with her. He needs a maternal figure to function. Mentally, he doesn't have that great of a defense." Joe let out his breath slowly, eyeing me to see my reacation, which was, well...

Shock.

He'd done all that, for me? Pete was a twenty-one year old man, a dropout from college because he'd gotten into music, and he'd not only gotten sent to Juvi for me (which I'm assuming lead to his eventual dropout), but he'd been beaten up by his ex-best friend for trashing his board (because of what I said), he'd also completely and totally changed himself, risked himself and his friends to come save me when he didn't even know who I was.

"I..." Was speechless? "...Wow..."

"Pete's the way he is because of you Patrick... And in all honesty, you changed him for the better; if it weren't for you, he'd probably still be some wannabe skater punk failing horribly at kickflipping."

"I... Don't... Woah..."

"You know what? How about I decide this one for you?" he suddenly asked, leaning forward and starting the car. He revved it, and began driving, not even explaining where we were going; I knew the roads.

We pulled up in front of Pete's house, and he stopped the car, shooing me out of his car. "His mom's texting me about him, dude; that's a bad sign, and kinda annoying, truthfully. Go. Now."

I stumbled back as he drove off, then turned to stare at the house looming in front of me. Pete actually had a choice between two bedrooms; his upstairs one, which was mainly for his crappy recording stuff/his chill room (with a matress just in case) and his basement bedroom, which held his favorite clothes, his He-man action figures, his computer, his notebooks crammed with writing, his couch, everything that was reserved for his closest friends... "There's nothing wrong with being a kid..." Maybe I was just being stupid, but maybe Pete didn't want to grow up because he couldn't deal with it. And... It could also be one of those stupid corny things where he didn't get his full share of his childhood, since he'd hidden behind the fake front he showed people for so long... I was kind of hoping the first, because I didn't really feel like talking about the second one if the conversation ever came up.

I realized with a slight shock that I'd made my way up to the front door without even realizing it, clenching my fingers around the handle of my guitar case so tightly my nails were digging almost painfully into my skin. I raised a shaking finger and pressed the doorbell, waiting maybe half a minute before it was opened. I stared up into his mother's shocked face, lined with stress. Was two weeks really that bad?

"Oh, thank god," she said, flinging her arms around my shoulders and taking me completely and totally by surprise. Okay... Maybe it was that bad.

"Uhm... Hi," I said meekly when she pulled back, feeling awkward. "How... How's Pete?"

"He hasn't slept in days; he's laying in his room downstairs. He just lays there; I think it's depression. He just... Won't even get up to eat... He's so... Please, you have to understand how bad he feels..."

"Oh, I think I understand," I said softly, and she apparently figured it was because of what she said, because she didn't say much more.

"Are... Are you staying?" she asked, hopefully.

"Uhh... Yeah, Mrs. Wentz. I'm... I'm gonna go down there. Are you staying home from work?"

"I was going to, but I really shouldn't... Could you... Watch him?" I realized with a shock that she either needed a son as much as Pete needed a maternal figure, or she was just so used to him being that needy for one that she acted as if he were... Nine.

"Yeah... I'm gonna go head down there, actually."

"Thank you," she said, voice soft and greatful. She pulled me away and gave me a gentle push towards the basement, walking out after casting one last glance at me. I sighed, and made my way slowly and carefully down the stairs to the basement. I opened the door quietly, and shut it just as quietly behind me, hearing the faint whine of his mom driving off before it clicked closed.

Pete was stretched out on his couch, staring blankly at the ceiling, staring up at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes. No, correction; he wasn't staring at the ceiling, he was just staring. He had dark circles under his eyes from an even greater lack of sleep than ususal. I sat down quietly on his bed, unzipping the front pocket on my guitar case as slowly as I could it wouldn't bother him, but he didn't even seem to notice. I pulled a CD from the pocket, and popped it into his stereo, turning it down; they were songs that I'd written in the past two weeks and had recorded on my computer; the quality wasn't great, but I knew he liked my guitar playing to help him fall asleep, so...

I sat down carefully beside him, and he seemed to finally realize me, jumping and turning bleary eyes towards me. "P-Pat?" he asked incredulously. I gave him a small smile.

"Hey, Pete..."

"What... Are you... Doing here?" his voice was pretty slurred, almost as if he were drunk, but I knew from experience that he was probably going to fall asleep soon; this was generally one of the signs.

"I... I know the whole story now," I said quietly, and he stared at me for a moment, then furrowed his brows.

"Wait... This isss... This is a dream, is-isn't it?" He seemed so disheartened and broken that a huge wave of guilt washed over me.

"No, no it's not, Pete."

"But... You're music's playing, and you're right here."

A small chuckle escaped past my lips. "It's a CD, Pete. I made it."

"Oh..." He shifted, looking at the ceiling again; I was kind of glad he was so tired. It was almost like things were... Normal. We could deal with everything later. For the most part, anyway. "Who... Who's that singing?" he suddenly asked, pulling me from my thoughts. A blush sprang to my cheeks; I'd forgotten I sang in these songs. I must have left the acoustic-only version at home on accident.

"Uhh, meee... I'll-I'll go... You know... Take it out," I went to stand up, but he suddenly wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me back down. I almost felt like a cat or something, because I swear to god he was trying to snuggle. "Uhm... Pete...?"

"Shhh... Don't... Don't take it off, Tricky-" Who the hell was Tricky? Ohh, right. "I-I like your voice..."

"You... What?"

"Please, Trick," he suddenlys tarted begging, almost whining. "I don't want you to leave... Just... Just lay down with me?"

"I'm not going to leave, Pete."

"But... You did, last time... Please?" I sat there for a moment, but just sounded so pathetic... His slightly low voice was scratchy from his being so tired, and was reduced to almost a chilidish level...

"Fiiiine," I finally caved, and layed down on the couch beside him. He wrapped his arms warmly around me, and I was about to protest, but... I couldn't lie, it felt kinda good. I relaxed, tucking one hand under my head as a makeshift pillow, and sighed rather contentedly, feeling Pete's warm breath on my neck. His arms tightened around me, and I thought back to when I first met him, and Joe told me he was bi. Pete said he wasn't promising he wouldn't do anything...

And I was starting to think that, maybe... That was a good thing.

Description
~Patrick's POV~

Here's a funny story about Peter Pan... Well... I'm Peter Pan. I was the boy in elementary school. It wasn't just because I was oldest that I was Peter.

'Cause sweetie, it would seem
You look like a Wendy to me.

I stared at Pete's tiny scrawl of handwriting in complete, utter shock. It was... Him? he was the guy that had sat there and let me be insulted? I mean, yeah, I'd tried to change him for the better, but... It didn't mean I wouldn't still be pissed at the guy if I met him again! In fact, I've actually thought about what I would do a few times; joining that person's band, writing music for them, staying the night, befriending... None of those things were on my Ultimate List of Revenge.

"Oh... My fucking... God..."

"What?" A sharp voice brought me out of my thoughts.

"Oh, sh-shoot. N-nothing, Mom. Just... Freaking... N-note."

"What's it about?"

"It's a song. I thought it was pretty good, actually." What a lie; thank god I was sitting in the back seat today, thanks to my cousin needing to go to ballet (We were watching her since her parents were out of town). If I'd been in the front seat, Mom'd have figured out I was lying real quick.

"Is it from that Pete guy you're always hanging out with? I really don't like you hanging out with someone so old..." I wanted to playfully chide her about being overprotective or something, but just held my tongue; maybe for once, I would listen to my mom. "...Pat? Are... Are you okay?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Just... Thinking, is all. Music." I smiled at her via the rearview mirror, a smile she reluctantly returned.

"Okayyy... If you say so."

"I do, Mom. Really, I'm fine."

---

But man, I was not fine. When I didn't call or text Pete from the time I got the note from my guitar case in the back seat on Monday all the way through Friday, he began texting me. Apologizing, asking me if I was mad at him, saying he was sorry, saying that I did change him... Yeah, right. And he'd sat there and let me tell the story to him like some stupid idiot...

I ignored all of his texts but one, where he tried to convince me yet again that I had, in fact, changed him. I texted back: "Oh, yeah? Then why were you afraid to tell me it was you when I was telling you the STORY?" His reply was fairly quick, but rather effective.

"Because I'm pathetic. You were right."

I didn't reply.

Instead, I began to hang out with Joe. I was actually mildly shocked to find out that he smoked pot, but he grudgingly accepted my request to not smoke weed around me so Mom wouldn't smell it. I was, after all, only seventeen, unlike... Anyway, if I got kicked out, there wasn't much I could do for myself.

Finally, after the longest two weeks I think I'd ever experienced, Joe got fed up with the whole thing. We were sitting in his car, because we quite honestly had nowhere else to go, when he suddenly turned off the radio and turned to me. "Okay, seriously dude, you don't even know half of Pete's story. Why don't you guys just talk this over and make up? We've got a band to get going, you know; not practicing for two weeks shows some very poor... Traits! In... A bandmember. Fuck, you get what I mean." I was surprised; this had to be the first time I'd seen Joe mad, let alone at me, unless you counted the one time he got baked before we hung out and he started yelling at the tree for not stepping out of his way when he'd said "excuse me". I had this sneeking suspicion his drugs had been laced.

"W-What?" I stared at him in shock, then rallied my courage and fought back. "No! No way, man! Do you have any idea how much shit I went through, especially after him? Those kids only messed with me more after he left!"

"But he saved you, didn't he?" Saved me? What the fuck was he talking about?

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I asked, echoing my inward question.

"Oh, I'm sure you remember; I was there, too, you know. We came up in the truck when the guys went to gang up on you... Pete changed everything about himself, stopped pretending to be different for everyone else and was just himself, but he couldn't stop feeling bad for what he did... So he redeemed himself, in his mind at least. We headed over, hopped out, beat the shit out of the guys, and left."

"You... There's no way!"

"Pete was a lot different after you said that stuff to him. He ended up totally trashing that guy's skateboard.; The kid beat the crap out of him for it, but he managed to get away okay. He even went to Juvi for you, man."

"For trashing a skateboard?" Now that was bullshit.

"Nooo, Patrick, we skipped three days straight to come save your ass, and Pete had a bit of a record for doing that... Our bitchy counselor called him and his parents in and convinced them to send him to Juvi."

"So? Tons of kids go to Juvi." Though it kind of shook me that Pete had gone to Juvi and had his record damaged for me and all kinds of stuff, I refused to let it affect me; bersides, when you were an aspiring rock star, the more blemishes on your record the better, right?

"Uh, yeah. Bad kids. Pete wasn't that bad. It was pretty hard on him. You have to understand; Pete might act like a badass, but really... He's not that tough on the inside. If just what you said to him bothered him as much as it did, how bad do you think Juvi was on him?" I stared at him, shocked, as everything began to slowly click. "That was when Pete started getting into music, because he'd write poetry. That's when he got his whole... 'Emo' look or whatever you call it. He called home ever day, literally begging his mom to bring him back. His dad's long gone, but he's still dependant on her, that's why he's still living with her. He needs a maternal figure to function. Mentally, he doesn't have that great of a defense." Joe let out his breath slowly, eyeing me to see my reacation, which was, well...

Shock.

He'd done all that, for me? Pete was a twenty-one year old man, a dropout from college because he'd gotten into music, and he'd not only gotten sent to Juvi for me (which I'm assuming lead to his eventual dropout), but he'd been beaten up by his ex-best friend for trashing his board (because of what I said), he'd also completely and totally changed himself, risked himself and his friends to come save me when he didn't even know who I was.

"I..." Was speechless? "...Wow..."

"Pete's the way he is because of you Patrick... And in all honesty, you changed him for the better; if it weren't for you, he'd probably still be some wannabe skater punk failing horribly at kickflipping."

"I... Don't... Woah..."

"You know what? How about I decide this one for you?" he suddenly asked, leaning forward and starting the car. He revved it, and began driving, not even explaining where we were going; I knew the roads.

We pulled up in front of Pete's house, and he stopped the car, shooing me out of his car. "His mom's texting me about him, dude; that's a bad sign, and kinda annoying, truthfully. Go. Now."

I stumbled back as he drove off, then turned to stare at the house looming in front of me. Pete actually had a choice between two bedrooms; his upstairs one, which was mainly for his crappy recording stuff/his chill room (with a matress just in case) and his basement bedroom, which held his favorite clothes, his He-man action figures, his computer, his notebooks crammed with writing, his couch, everything that was reserved for his closest friends... "There's nothing wrong with being a kid..." Maybe I was just being stupid, but maybe Pete didn't want to grow up because he couldn't deal with it. And... It could also be one of those stupid corny things where he didn't get his full share of his childhood, since he'd hidden behind the fake front he showed people for so long... I was kind of hoping the first, because I didn't really feel like talking about the second one if the conversation ever came up.

I realized with a slight shock that I'd made my way up to the front door without even realizing it, clenching my fingers around the handle of my guitar case so tightly my nails were digging almost painfully into my skin. I raised a shaking finger and pressed the doorbell, waiting maybe half a minute before it was opened. I stared up into his mother's shocked face, lined with stress. Was two weeks really that bad?

"Oh, thank god," she said, flinging her arms around my shoulders and taking me completely and totally by surprise. Okay... Maybe it was that bad.

"Uhm... Hi," I said meekly when she pulled back, feeling awkward. "How... How's Pete?"

"He hasn't slept in days; he's laying in his room downstairs. He just lays there; I think it's depression. He just... Won't even get up to eat... He's so... Please, you have to understand how bad he feels..."

"Oh, I think I understand," I said softly, and she apparently figured it was because of what she said, because she didn't say much more.

"Are... Are you staying?" she asked, hopefully.

"Uhh... Yeah, Mrs. Wentz. I'm... I'm gonna go down there. Are you staying home from work?"

"I was going to, but I really shouldn't... Could you... Watch him?" I realized with a shock that she either needed a son as much as Pete needed a maternal figure, or she was just so used to him being that needy for one that she acted as if he were... Nine.

"Yeah... I'm gonna go head down there, actually."

"Thank you," she said, voice soft and greatful. She pulled me away and gave me a gentle push towards the basement, walking out after casting one last glance at me. I sighed, and made my way slowly and carefully down the stairs to the basement. I opened the door quietly, and shut it just as quietly behind me, hearing the faint whine of his mom driving off before it clicked closed.

Pete was stretched out on his couch, staring blankly at the ceiling, staring up at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes. No, correction; he wasn't staring at the ceiling, he was just staring. He had dark circles under his eyes from an even greater lack of sleep than ususal. I sat down quietly on his bed, unzipping the front pocket on my guitar case as slowly as I could it wouldn't bother him, but he didn't even seem to notice. I pulled a CD from the pocket, and popped it into his stereo, turning it down; they were songs that I'd written in the past two weeks and had recorded on my computer; the quality wasn't great, but I knew he liked my guitar playing to help him fall asleep, so...

I sat down carefully beside him, and he seemed to finally realize me, jumping and turning bleary eyes towards me. "P-Pat?" he asked incredulously. I gave him a small smile.

"Hey, Pete..."

"What... Are you... Doing here?" his voice was pretty slurred, almost as if he were drunk, but I knew from experience that he was probably going to fall asleep soon; this was generally one of the signs.

"I... I know the whole story now," I said quietly, and he stared at me for a moment, then furrowed his brows.

"Wait... This isss... This is a dream, is-isn't it?" He seemed so disheartened and broken that a huge wave of guilt washed over me.

"No, no it's not, Pete."

"But... You're music's playing, and you're right here."

A small chuckle escaped past my lips. "It's a CD, Pete. I made it."

"Oh..." He shifted, looking at the ceiling again; I was kind of glad he was so tired. It was almost like things were... Normal. We could deal with everything later. For the most part, anyway. "Who... Who's that singing?" he suddenly asked, pulling me from my thoughts. A blush sprang to my cheeks; I'd forgotten I sang in these songs. I must have left the acoustic-only version at home on accident.

"Uhh, meee... I'll-I'll go... You know... Take it out," I went to stand up, but he suddenly wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me back down. I almost felt like a cat or something, because I swear to god he was trying to snuggle. "Uhm... Pete...?"

"Shhh... Don't... Don't take it off, Tricky-" Who the hell was Tricky? Ohh, right. "I-I like your voice..."

"You... What?"

"Please, Trick," he suddenlys tarted begging, almost whining. "I don't want you to leave... Just... Just lay down with me?"

"I'm not going to leave, Pete."

"But... You did, last time... Please?" I sat there for a moment, but just sounded so pathetic... His slightly low voice was scratchy from his being so tired, and was reduced to almost a chilidish level...

"Fiiiine," I finally caved, and layed down on the couch beside him. He wrapped his arms warmly around me, and I was about to protest, but... I couldn't lie, it felt kinda good. I relaxed, tucking one hand under my head as a makeshift pillow, and sighed rather contentedly, feeling Pete's warm breath on my neck. His arms tightened around me, and I thought back to when I first met him, and Joe told me he was bi. Pete said he wasn't promising he wouldn't do anything...

And I was starting to think that, maybe... That was a good thing.