TW: Shooting, death, home invasions, homophobia

Patrick's arms are tight around Pete's stomach, his head nuzzled into the back of his partner's neck as the moon passes over the skylight in their bedroom ceiling. It's quiet, other than the barking of the neighbor's dog down the street and the weather kicking in at their roof. He's just dozing off, still slightly awake because his sleeping pills had taken so long to kick in. It must be eleven at night, he decides as he listens in on his surroundings, the dog barking, the rain drizzling on his roof, and the sound of thunder in the far distance. His eyes are dropping, and the sounds are fading out to darkness... to silence... until...

BANG!

Patrick's eyes open wide, and his heart immediately jumpstarts, a short gasp escaping his throat. He hears the front door close, and then silence. Every nerve is on edge. Nobody is supposed to be home, and he confirms what he heard when there's the creaking of the floor downstairs. Patrick slowly unravels his arms from around Pete and notices that he's still deep asleep. He swallows and crawls out of bed, his hands shaking. There's somebody here, and nobody is supposed to be here.

He knows that it might just be a friend, he knows a few people who have keys to their house, and it might just be Ryan coming over to stay the night because he got in another fight with Brendon, or maybe it's Joe or Andy. But he needs to investigate nonetheless. He opens the closet and reaches for the baseball bat Pete keeps in there (it's paranoia more than anything). Patrick's never been more grateful for that.

He continues to hear creaking as he opens the hallway door and makes his way through the rooms and down the stairs. Damn how big their house is. "Hello?"

Patrick hears scrambling and as he takes one more step he hears a loud bang. He isn't quite sure what it is at first, doesn't feel the pain in his leg until he does, and then it's agonizing. He feels like he's about to vomit and the breath leaves his lungs, eyes widening in pain. He sees the intruder for a split second, black hair, dark eyes, ski mask, and the silver pistol missing a bullet. Something in Patrick tells him to act before feeling and he finds himself shutting the door at the foot of the stairs, locking it quick, before gasping for the air he lost. He hears another bang, and then a hole in the door.

The person doesn't speak, only lets out a sharp, "Fuck!" Patrick is panicking. Everything is happening, he hears creaking from upstairs and panics. Is there more than one intruder? Is he going to die? Then everything begins to get drowned out by the pain in his leg and the scream stuck in his throat. There's another bang, this time the intruder ramming into the door, and then he feels hands on his arm and he jumps, but when he sees it's Pete, he calms down and immediately wants to let out the cry in the back of his throat. Pete presses a finger to his lips, and grabs Patrick's arm, hoisting it over his shoulder.

"We need to hide," He whispers, shaky. He's terrified, even if his face doesn't show it, "And stay quiet."

Patrick nods, taking deep breaths, trying to ignore the rising panic in his chest as they reach the top of the stairs. There's another gunshot, Patrick whimpers in fear. They continue through the hall, Pete shuts the door for their master bedroom and instead turns so they go to the guest bedroom, and then into the guest bedroom's bathroom. He locks both doors behind them.

Patrick immediately collapses on the floor, pain shooting through his leg. They hear another gunshot, and yelling, "Come out you faggot fucks!" Patrick whimpers, Pete hushes him.

"I need to take it out," Pete whispers, followed by loud banging and more yelling. Patrick is confused, but mostly just in an insane amount of pain and it's taking everything not to scream and cry and grasp his leg. He listens to Pete closely, though, "We don't have a lot of time, and we can't let him know where we are. We need to stay very, very quiet, you can do that for me right?"

Patrick doesn't know, he's grasping his sweatshirt sleeve between his teeth, he doesn't know if he can stay quiet when Pete isn't even touching his leg, "You're gonna do great for me, okay? Take a deep breath in, and back out," He's grabbing tweezers from the shelf and the first aid kit. Another loud bang. It's the door downstairs falling and hitting the floor. Patrick looks at Pete with wide, terrified eyes. Pete presses a finger to his lips, "Keep quiet."

Patrick shuts his eyes, doesn't want to look as Pete lifts Patrick's pajama pants and takes a look at his leg. Blood is rushing down his calf, and blood is staining their floor and walls. Pete needs to act. Fast.

Patrick finally opens his eyes as Pete grips the tweezers and shifts Patrick's leg for a better view, Patrick bites down on his hand. Creaking echoes through paper-thin walls, "Come out!"

Pete inhales deeply, looking at Patrick, Patrick does the same, despite the fact he's getting dizzy. Blood loss?

As soon as Patrick exhales, he feels something digging right into the wound and whines high and quiet. Tears begin streaming down his cheeks. He is shaking. He inhales again, despite every part of him telling him to scream.

"You're doing great," Pete whispers, so quiet Patrick barely hears, "Stay quiet."

Patrick squeezes his eyes shut as the tweezers leave and he hears a soft clanging of the bullet falling to the floor, then yelling, "Where are you, you fucking pussies!?" Patrick shakes his head and points to the hall. Pete presses his lips to Patrick's ear, "We need to do this now, it's going to be okay. Stay quiet."

Patrick nods, shaking hard. Everything is going wrong, he's crying. Pete stops for a moment, and gives Patrick his phone, "Text Ryan to call 911." Patrick nods, taking in a deep inhale, and then releasing as Pete finds the bandages and slowly, gently bandages Patrick's leg. Patrick is shaky as he does so, and is sure to text not only Ryan, but Brendon, Andy, and Joe, too. It's 11:23 at night. Nobody is going to be awake. Home intruder, can't talk, call 911. Is all he sends to them. He shuts off the phone soon after, the bandages finishing wrapping around his leg. Banging on the guest room door. Patrick holds his breath and looks at Pete. Pete looks back, eyes wide, terrified. Patrick left the bat at the stairs. They have nothing.

"It's okay," Pete whispers and kisses Patrick, deep. Patrick stares, Pete rises and unlocks the bathroom door.

"No, no, no," Patrick whispers, louder than he should, "Pete."

"Stay quiet," Pete repeats, and before he shuts the door, "Lock the door. Cover your ears, shh."

Patrick covers his mouth as it closes, and Patrick doesn't reach for the lock, he doesn't want to, instead, he hugs his knees to his chest and tries not to scream out loud. He hears a gunshot--can't the neighbors hear? Can't anybody!?--Then a door unlocks and opens. He hears yelling, another gunshot, and more yelling. Patrick sobs, quiet. Stay quiet. He feels the phone buzz beside him more than he hears it.

Two more gunshots, then one more, no more yelling. Patrick presses his hands to his mouth. There's too much happening. Gunshots, it's loud, too loud, then quiet. There's a short moment of silence, too silent, he can't hear the rain or the dog outside anymore. The silence creeps up his spine, it's too long. And then it ends. He sees the doorknob turn, and he braces himself for the worst, tries to reach to lock it, but it pulls open. Too late. His eyes turn up to see a man. It's Pete, shaking, eyes on Patrick.

"Pete... Pete, I... I-I..." Patrick can't get a single word out. Everything is... it's... it's too much. Patrick is scared, upset. His blood has turned cold, he can't find the words to describe how overstimulating everything is. Pete gives him a gentle smile, and parts his lips to say something. He looks tired, too calm for someone who just survived a break in. His lips stay parted for a moment, he barely gets a croak out of his throat. And before he can continue his eyes have rolled into the back of his head and he goes limp, his body falling back into the floor. Patrick screams.

His clothes are beginning to soak with blood. He's losing too much too fast. Patrick crawls to Pete, as fast as he can, "Pete!?" He feels everything crashing, burning. His life is turning around in a matter of minutes. He can barely hear the ambulance in the distance. He can't focus. "PETE!"

He pulls up Pete's shirt, there are two bullet holes, one through his stomach, one right in his chest, barely off from his heart. But only barely. Patrick gasps, but he can't breathe. Red. Blue. Red. Blue. Too much, oh my god, holy shit. Pain and mental and physical and it's- it's-