(b4 you say something stupid like how pstump's hair isn't that blonde, first of all, this is au. second of all, take a look at the picture. thanks, and goodbye.)

Headfirst Slide Into Cooperstown On a Bad Bet.
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t w o

"Bet then, Stump?" Pete asks me, smirking like there's no tomorrow.

"Deal, Wentz," And I don't know that this is the worst mistake I'm ever going to make.

Maybe I should explain. It all started when Joe came up with the bright idea that he, Bryar, RyRo, Iero, and I should go spy on ECH, because we would 'totally be playing them in the championship, and no, it is not to stare at the ginger, Patrick, you asshole.' So we're currently sneaking onto the ECH activities fields.

"That was my fucking foot, Bryar," Iero half whispers, half yells, earning a shush from me and a glare from a half-high Joe. This was so not a good idea.

"Shut the fuck up," Ryan yells, hitting Frank in the back of his head.

"'Trick, he hit me," Frank whines in my ear. I stop, making Frank, Bryar, Ross, and finally Joe run into me.

"If you guys seriously don't shut the hell up, I'm going to leave you here," I threaten, and Bryar and Iero visibly gulp, which is what I hoped for. We continue walking until I hear Frank say something, making me turn around. I don't stop walking, however, and I end up running into something hard. Hard and sweaty.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Stump, Trohman, Bryar, and two guys I don't know," Shit, I know that voice.

"What the fuck do you want, Wentz?" I grumble, stepping back. He grins at me, and if it wasn't the most attractive thing I've seen all day, I'd be worried right now. And wait, why the fuck is he shirtless?

"I'd like to know why you five idiots are spying on us," He says. I try to think of something fast. When I don't say anything, he laughs. "Man, if you wanted to stare at our asses while we were playing, you could've just asked,"

"First of all, I thought I told you that fire and gasoline don't mix. Second, why would I want to stare at your ass when I have every other guy on my team?" Just as I finish what I'm saying, Andy Hurley jogs up to us, and I see Joe straighten up. Hurley hands Pete a shirt, which he just uses to wipe the sweat off of his toned abdomen. Damn.

"Pete, come on. The team's waiting for you. We're about to work on our triple plays, and we can't do that without our shortstop," Andy complains, and Pete shushes him with a finger on his own lips.

"I bet we beat WCH in the championship," Pete smirks at me, arms crossed, and that fucking thorn necklace is practically begging me to lick it, but I don't.

"You fucking wish," I say right back, standing on my tiptoes to even our heights.

"Okay, let's make this interesting, shall we?" Pete asks, and Andy warns me that I shouldn't, but I don't listen. I nod, letting him know that I'm interested in what he has to say. "If your team wins, I'll leave you alone and not bother you anymore," He proposes.

"I'd like that," I say, but he has that smile on his face that lets me know I'm in for more than I bargained for.

"But, when my team wins, you let me take you out on a date. And I swear that if you're not begging me to fuck you by the time the night is over, I'll leave you alone," Andy's shaking his head, telling me over and over again not to do it.

"You do realise that I win either way?" I ask, and he simply nods.

"Bet then, Stump?" Pete asks me, smirking like there's no tomorrow.

"Deal, Wentz," And I don't know that this is the worst mistake I'm ever going to make.

"Now get off my field before I call the police," I head to my light blue Camaro with the two black stripes on the front, opening the doors with my keys. As everyone piles in, none of them say a word until we get out of ECH's parking lot. It's Joe -- who's in the passenger seat -- that finally breaks the terrible silence.

"You realised you're fucked, right?" Joe asks, but before I can answer, Ryan says something that makes everyone bust out laughing. Except for me, of course.

"Not just by Wentz,"

"George Ryan Ross the Third, I will pull this car over right now, beat your ass, and then leave you on the side of the road like nothing ever happened," I threaten through gritted teeth. His hands go up in surrender.

"Jesus, take a joke," He mutters, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat.

"Besides, there's no way we're going to lose," I assure myself more than anyone in the car.

"Wouldn't be so sure about that," I hear Ryan say under his breath, and I hit the breaks hard, scaring the shit out of everyone. I pull over to the side of the road and immediately turn around in my seat.

"What the fuck did you just say?" I growl, and honestly, I'm scaring myself.

"Shit, calm down," Joe says, massaging my shoulders.

"I said that I wouldn't be so sure about us winning, alright? It's the fucking truth!" Ross yells at me, and I surge forward, throwing a punch. I miss and am immediately pulled back by Joe.

"Patrick, what the fuck has gotten into you, man? You gotta calm it," Joe won't let go of my wrists that he's holding together so I won't hit Ross.

"You know I'm right," Ryan continues, leaning up. "You're doing this because you want Wentz. You want him to fuck you so hard you see stars," I surge forward again, but I can't hit him. "What you don't realise is that even if we do win, Pete is not going to leave you alone, Patrick. Stop acting like a fucking baby," When the fuck did Joe get so strong? My hands cannot get free.

"You fucker, I'm going to beat your ass when Joe lets me go," I growl and try to surge forward again.

"Whoa, whoa, what the hell, guys?" Frank screams, shocking us all. "We are a team! A brotherhood! And look at you guys, acting like fucking idiots. So what if Patrick wants Wentz to fuck him? He wouldn't throw our game to get Wentz to take him on a date. If Patrick wants Wentz, then after the championship, he can fucking date him, okay, Ross?" Ryan mumbles something and leans back in his seat again, re-crossing his arms.

"You're right, Frank," I turn back forward and drive back towards our school.

--

"Come on, Ross. You'll put on eyeliner but no eyeblack? You're the only one without, dude," He huffs heavily and then gestures to his face. I draw two lines directly under his eyes and then hand the tube to Joe, who puts the top back on it. "You want me to smear it?" He nods his head. I smear it like I've done for the other eight guys on our team and mine.

"There we go, guys," Joe says, patting my back. "Let's go beat some ass," We all take the field, and I jog slowly to my place behind the plate, taking my hat off and running my hands through my hair before placing it back on my head. Pulling my catching helmet over my face, I make eye contact with Wentz in the dugout.

He mouths, "Ready for our date?" at me before putting his hat that reads 'Cougars' over his newly blonde hair.

I flip him off with my right hand -- the one without my glove on it -- before Bryar throws me a few pitches to get warm. When the umpire takes his place behind us and ECH sends up their lead off hitter, I look towards Coach Quinn, who sends me the sign for a curve ball.

I mimic the sign to Bryar and set up outside. The pitch comes, and surprise, Urie bunts it. I'm the first to the ball, firing it to first. Out number one!

The crowd on our side cheers, and the crowd on ECH's boos, making me laugh. I look towards Pete, who still has the smug look on his face like he knows what's going to happen.

He's got his helmet on now -- since he's third in the order -- with his bat in hand as the second hitter comes up. He hits the second pitch thrown to him hard back at Bryar, who ducks to keep from getting a bloody nose. He makes it to first as Pete comes up to the plate.

His coach calls timeout to talk to the runner on first, and the umps talk to each other, leaving Pete and I to converse.

"Mmm, we're gettin' closer and closer to fucking, Pattycakes," Pete says loud enough only for me to hear. "Just so you know, when I take you to see my band play, don't wear a hat. I like your hair," I roll my eyes.

"Shit, you have some fucking hair kink, don't you? I always you knew were a kinky motherfucker, Wentz," He laughs and shakes his head. "And did you just call me Pattycakes?"

"I'm actually not that kinky, and, yes, I did just call you Pattycakes. Relax, man, it's cute. Just like you," Pete says, smirking when I blush.

"Batter up," And the ump scares the shit out of both of us, but we oblige, I sign Bryar to throw a fastball on the inside. But Pete gets his hands around it, and the ball goes flying well over the left center fence.

It's two to zero just like that, and Pete is sure to wink at me when he touches the plate, making me roll my eyes. It's cool, it's just the top of the first inning. We have eight and a half more to go through before this game is over. We have this.

Except we don't. We don't have this. At all. It's the bottom of the ninth, and it's two to one. I'm up, and there's two outs. Wentz smiles and winks at me from shortstop. I don't pay attention to him and try to focus on the ball that Urie throws me. I hit the pitch hard on the ground to shortstop -- shit, the ball gets to Hurley a step before I hit the bag. We lost.

I fall down immediately and hug my knees close to my chest, throwing my helmet off and tugging on my too short hair. I sit there for a while, until I'm sure I'm the only one there. Or at least I think I am. Someone -- I don't bother to look -- sits beside me but doesn't say anything. A warm hand touches my left knee, and I flinch away from it.

"It's okay, Patrick," The voice mumbles, and I can't make it out. I just know that I need someone to comfort me. I lean into the open arms, and the person soothes me by humming into my hair.

Pressing a kiss to my head, the person pulls away, and I finally see their face. "Pete?" I scoot away from him. "Why are you here? Come to say 'I told you so?' I don't need that shit right now," I sniff and bury my head in my hands.

"No, 'Rick, it's not like that," He assures, but I don't listen.

"Look, you got what you want, okay? I'll go on one date with you, tell you to fuck off, and all of this will be over," I tell myself more than him, but he needs to know too.

"Patrick, please," I get up and walk off, ignoring his calls to me. It's dark now, and I just want to go home and sleep. I won't be able to show my face tomorrow.

I'm about to open my door when a hand is on my wrist, turning me around and pressing me against it. I try to push him away, but he just stands there and takes the punches I throw at his chest until I break down and cry. He holds me for what seems like hours.

"It's okay. You're okay, Patrick, no one blames you," He mumbles against me, and I know he's lying.

"Stop lying, Pete. They all blame me. Ross is probably spreading rumors that I threw the game to be with you," I sob into his chest. "But I didn't, Pete, I swear,"

"He.. wait, you what? You played awesome, 'Trick. You saved that game well over ten times. No one thinks you threw the game," Pete explains, but I don't believe him.

"They all do," I whisper.

"That's bullshit, Patrick. Come on, I'm taking you home," He grabs my wrists and drags me to his Range Rover, opening the passenger door for me. I get in, and he drives to my house without another word.