I might have written bandom fic.
The Take Over, The Breaks Over
|| Pete/Patrick || 3,895 || PG-13 ||
theyreonlyword : So, what would a person do after they've achieved global domination? Cuz leading the world would be really hard, and I bet that no one makes plans for after they get control of everything. It would be a hilarious story to read.
lone_wo1f : I would eat a cookie as soon as I got global domination.
lone_wo1f : eat a cookie and think well shit. lol where do I go now..
theyreonlyword : And then when you realize how much trouble it is, you try to give the countries back to the governments, but they're like, "Yeah, we were hoping you'd take it from here, because we don't really know what we're doing either." and then you'd be stuck with ruling the world and not knowing what to do with it.
AN: Thank you so much for looking this over as many times as you did, dagdalorijane. Also thanks to modern_epitaph and wh1tfuldr3amer for listening to me ramble about it and giving me encouragement.
AN2: Um first bandom fic ever? yes. Title from the FOB song.
--
“Patrick,” Pete says seriously one afternoon. “Patrick.” He pokes the other man in the side with one finger while leaning over him and balancing himself on one arm. Patrick blinks open his eyes, and Pete pushes his face forward until they’re millimeters apart. The other man yelps and promptly falls off the couch.
“Fucking,” Patrick glares at him from the floor, “what, Pete?” He rubs at his elbow and tries to move out from where Pete has followed and pinned him down to the ground, but Pete doesn’t let him.
“Patrick. Trick. I’m going to take over the world.” His voice is decisive and the pure look of determination on his face has Patrick’s struggles faltering. He stares at the other man with wide eyes.
“What? That’s a horrible idea,” he informs Pete with a sigh as he resigns to his fate and lets his head rest back against the floor as his arms come up to circle around Pete’s waist.
Pete looks affronted and tries to pull away but this time he’s the one caught. “It’s a genius idea!”
“Why would you want to rule the world?”
“Why wouldn’t you?” Pete stares at him like he’s completely insane.
Patrick can’t really argue with that kind of logic so he just sighs again and opens his arms, giving his friend the freedom to move about. Pete scrambles down, grinning against his neck as he squirms to get between him and the edge of the sofa.
“You can be, like, my secretary who I’m having this big affair with once I’m ruler,” he tells Patrick seriously as he tilts his head to nip at the other man’s ear. “I’ll even let you wear one of those skirts that are completely inappropriate for work.”
Patrick rolls his eyes. “Who would you be having the affair on if you’re having one with me?”
Pete makes a considering noise in the back of his throat as hos lips move to press kisses along Patrick's jaw and his free hand waves about vaguely, “Details. Details.” His voice is muffled and his skin is soft and warm where Patrick has managed to get his hand beneath the other’s t-shirt and soon he forgets what they were talking about to begin with, let alone all of the reasons why this is going to be a complete disaster.
--
True to his word, Pete takes over the world a few days later. Patrick’s not entirely sure how he did it, but the next thing he knows, there is a ceremony and Pete is being declared Ruler of the World and attending a formal crowning and everything.
He thinks that people are maybe a little bit too eager to give their countries away, especially to Pete, but there’s cake, so he is sufficiently distracted at least until he sees Jon.
“Why are you giving up the reins to your country so easily?” he asks Jon Walker who is standing quietly next to him, watching Brendon bouncing around with one of the Alexes.
Jon smiles at him, shrugging his shoulders easily and says, “Why not?” This does nothing to quell the uneasiness that Patrick has been feeling for the entire evening, so he just glares a little bit and moves off to talk to someone else. Someone who might have a better answer.
He finds Sisky in the corner of the room. “Sisky, hey. Siska.”
Sisky turns and grins at him. “Patrick! This for me?” He takes the plate of cake from Patrick’s hand and takes a bite. “Thanks, man.”
Patrick watches forlornly as the rest of his dessert disappears. “Why are you giving Pete your country?” he inquires as the other man passes the empty plate back to him.
Sisky tilts his head to the side and a flash of a smile crosses his face. “It’s not mine to give. I just stand behind William’s decisions.”
“Why does William want to give Pete his country?”
Sisky smiles again. “Wouldn’t you?” he questions before patting Patrick on the shoulder and heading off in Butcher’s direction.
Patrick’s brows come together in a frown. No, he thinks, I wouldn’t because Pete is already ruler of their own country, and to be honest he doesn’t really do much. He’s lucky their country is small. He’s not sure how Pete is going to be able to handle the entire world.
Standing off to the side, now cake-less, he watches Gabe place the crown on Pete’s head and sling an arm around his shoulder. Patrick worries at his bottom lip.
--
“Well, fuck,” Pete says a few days later as he sits behind his desk in the brand new, fancy office he was given in his new mansion. “What do we do now?”
Patrick glances over at him from where he’s going through some papers. “I don’t know. This was your brilliant plan.”
Pete huffs out a breath and crosses his arms, surveying the office with a frown. He picks at a loose thread on his shirt quietly for a few moments and then says, “Patrick.” Patrick looks up from his filing and stares across the room at him. Pete stares back steadily and then sighs, “Wanna go get a scone?”
The corners of Patrick’s mouth twitch up for half of a second and he nods, “Sure. A scone sounds great.”
--
They discuss what to do now that Pete has achieved his goal of ruling the world over scones and cups of coffee in a cute café down the street where people keep taking their picture and asking for autographs. Well, that is they keep taking pictures of Pete and asking Pete for autographs. Patrick is left to drink his coffee and enjoy his scone in peace.
They continue to come up short with an answer to their situation. The problem is now that he has the entire world under his control he doesn’t exactly know what to do with it. Pete was never one to plan ahead and he’s already getting a flood of letters (which Patrick continues to dutifully place in neat stacks on the desk because if he’s going to be a secretary he’s going to be a good secretary, damn it) asking for this, that, or the other and the novelty of it all is beginning to wear off.
It’s only been two days.
--
Pete decides what to do late one night (or early morning depending on how one views it) in one of those bouts of genius that only comes in the time between three and four in the morning.
“Let’s give them back,” he states, crawling up the bed to lie beside Patrick.
“What?” Patrick doesn’t open his eyes but he does shift uncomfortably. He hasn’t gotten used to the bed at all. It’s too new, and he misses his back home with the lumps and the indents from where he’s slept on it for far too many years.
“Give them back,” Pete says again, more slowly this time. “The countries. We’ll give them back.”
Patrick thinks that this might be the best late night/early morning idea that Pete has ever had ever and he rolls over to press a kiss against the other man’s temple, grabbing him by the wrist when Pete moves to roll back off the bed. “Stay.” Pete smiles brightly and settles back down with Patrick’s arm draped over his chest. “We’ll start first thing tomorrow.”
--
They decide to start with the former leaders of the country of Panic because Pete thinks they will be the easiest to convince. When they get there, however, they find that things are going to be much more difficult than they had originally thought. Patrick suddenly remembers just how willing these countries had been given over to Pete to begin with.
“Actually,” Brendon is saying with furrowed brows, “things here have been much better since you took over.” He scrunches up his nose. “We didn’t really know what we were doing with it either.”
Luckily, Pete had come prepared. Patrick hands him the little paper bag he had been given with the strictest orders to keep safe at all costs - even if it meant he had to sacrifice himself (Patrick had protested loudly at this but Pete just shook his head and looked at him very seriously).
“Are you sure you won’t reconsider?” Pete questions slowly opening the bag, “I do have this extra scone here that I might be willing to throw in as something extra.”
“Oh! A scone!” Brendon’s eyes widen in delight and Pete’s grin shows the pointy edge of his teeth.
“You can have it if you want,” he tries to put on his best innocent face, “if you’re willing to take your country back.”
“Brendon.” A sharp voice rings out in warning and Brendon’s hand falters, falling back just slightly.
He looks over his shoulder and asks in a pleading voice, “Spencer?”
Pete and Patrick both lean to look around the other man and see Spencer Smith standing with his arms firmly crossed against his chest and a grim look on his face. Pete maybe hates Spencer Smith just a little bit, and Patrick recalls that they have a coffee date set up for later in the week.
Brendon gives a long-suffering sigh and turns to face them again. “Sorry,” he mumbles with a shrug and stuffs his hands into his pockets as he stares dejectedly at his feet.
“We don’t allow him sweets, but nice try,” a voice says from behind them. “We once let him have some chocolate, and to make a long story short we now have a national Disney Song Day where everything must be communicated through Disney songs.” Jon steps around Pete and Patrick and puts a hand on Brendon’s shoulder. “Sorry, Bren.”
Brendon looks up at him with big doe eyes but Jon shakes his head and Brendon sighs again.
Pete kind of hates Jon Walker too.
“It’s August 21st,” Ryan pipes up from where he’s standing next to Spencer. “You know. Now that you’re the ruler you need to know these things.” He’s smirking, and Pete kind of hates Ryan Ross too. Patrick tries to hide his grin by pretending to scribble down notes in his notebook.
In fact, Pete hates just about everything and everyone in this stupid country.
“Fine,” he says, taking a bite out of the scone and smiling widely when Brendon’s face falls. “I’ll just take my delicious pastry and leave. Come on, Patrick.” He turns around and starts storming towards the door.
“We’re still on for coffee, right Spencer?” Patrick asks before he leaves. Spencer nods, and he grins. “Great. See you then.”
“Patrick!” Pete’s hollering from the front door. “You’re ruining my exit!”
Patrick smiles sheepishly at the other men and, rolling his eyes, he hurries to catch up.
--
“Hey, Gabe,” Pete says into the phone, “what would you say if I told you I’d give you your country back and throw in a scone for good measure? You wouldn’t have to do anything in return, and it would be a free scone!”
When he hangs up, Gabe is still laughing.
--
“William,” Pete rests his head on William’s shoulder and says pitifully, “William Beckett. You know I love you, right? More than Patrick even.”
Patrick glowers from his spot on the sofa, over the top of the notebook in which he is supposed to be taking notes but is instead drawing pictures of robots. “You do know you just lost sex for, like, a week, right?”
Pete sticks his tongue out at him and then turns his attention back to William. “Do you think that maybe - “
“No way, Wentz,” William says calmly, closing his book and getting to his feet. “My shit country is your problem now.”
“Wait! What if I throw in Patrick? He’s a great secretary!” He’s yelling at William’s retreating form. “He’s really nice to have around the house too!”
Patrick raises an eyebrow once William is out of the room. “Did you just try and give me away?” Pete has the decency to look at least a little bit abash, and Patrick shuts his notebook with a sigh. “You’re lucky I love you, or I wouldn’t put up with this.”
--
“I don’t think anyone is going to take back their countries.” Pete frowns down at the list of names in his hand. They’re mostly crossed off. “We’ve tried just about everyone.”
Patrick leans over from where he’s perched on the desk. “We still have the Alexes. You could try them.”
Pete exhales heavily. “I tried yesterday. I just didn’t cross them off the list.” He grabs a pencil and marks through the name quickly, his frown deepening.
“Well…” He’s interrupted by the doors banging open and they both look up, startled, to see Ryan flying into the room with Butcher close on his heels.
“Whatever he says, it’s not true,” Ryan says as soon as he is standing in front of Pete’s desk and crosses his arms tight against his chest. “He’s lying.”
Patrick gets off the desk and goes to stand next to Pete’s chair as he looks back and forth between Ryan’s flushed cheeks and the angry scowl on Butcher’s face.
“What the hell, guys?” Pete questions.
“He took my art supplies,” Butcher states, pointing at Ryan.
“I did not!”
“You did.”
Pete blinks at them before rubbing at his temples and burying his face in his hands. “Jesus. Guys. Are you serious?” They both stare at him, faces grim, and Patrick places his hand on the nape of Pete’s neck for support. “Okay. Okay. Ryan, did you take his art supplies?”
“No.”
“Yes, you did, and I’m going to declare war on your ass if you don’t give them back.”
Patrick cuts in at this. “Whoa. Guys. Really? War? Is it that serious?” He gets another collective glare and shrinks back. “Okay. Fine. Ryan, if you don’t give Butcher back his art supplies, I’m going to give Brendon as much chocolate as he can fit in his tiny jeans.”
Ryan blanches. “I was out of glitter. I took his.” He withdrawals the item from his pocket and reluctantly hands it over. “Here.” He’s sulking, body folding in on itself.
“Good. I’m glad that’s settled,” Patrick smiles. “Besides, Ryan, isn’t it near national Disney Song Day? You can’t be fighting on a national holiday.”
Ryan scowls so hard at him Patrick’s almost afraid that his face is going to stick like that.
--
There’s a constant stream of arguments coming in and out of the office in the following weeks, and Patrick is beginning to feel a constant ache in his temple. Never mind the fact that his back is killing him, and he hasn’t slept properly since Pete got this stupid job. He’s pretty sure he understands why everyone was so willing to let him have control now.
“Can I talk to Pete about this?” Cash demands. “I want to talk to the Ruler.”
“I told you before. He’s not in right now,” Patrick says as nicely as he possibly can considering the fact that all he wants to do is kick Cash’s ass out the door and tell him to come back when he has a real problem. “You’ll have to come back another day.”
Cash glares daggers at him. “Fine, but if I hear one more person make a smartass remark about my tattoos something is going to go down, and it’s going to be bad.” He turns on his heel and stalks out of the room.
Patrick rubs at his eyes as the intercom buzzes, and Pete’s voice crackles through. “Is he gone yet?”
“Yeah, you can come out.”
Behind him the door slides open and the other man’s head pokes through. “Oh, thank God.” He breathes a sigh of relief and looks at Patrick. “I don’t think I can handle this job anymore.”
And Patrick’s frustrated and tired, and he snaps before he can really stop himself, “You aren’t. I am.” Running a hand through his hair he says with a tired hitch in his voice, “I’ve been handling it since you started this whole thing. It’s not what I signed up for.”
Pete’s staring at him, mouth slightly agape. “Trick?”
“No,” Patrick cuts him off, “I can’t do this anymore, Pete. I can’t handle it. This was your plan. You wanted to rule the world and I stayed with you because,” he halts and tries to get his thoughts together as Pete crosses over to him.
“Because you love me?” He asks, as he somehow manages to position himself on Patrick’s lap without falling off and Patrick rests his chin on the top of his head.
Quietly, he says, “Yeah.”
“Did you,” Pete starts, curling his body closer to Patrick’s, “are you leaving?”
Patrick picks at the corner of his sweatshirt, slipping his hand inside and pressing it flat against Pete’s stomach. “Maybe,” he says softly. “Would you come with me?”
“Who would rule the world?” There’s a sad sort of smile gracing Pete’s lips, and Patrick moves to kiss him gently.
“I have to go home, Pete. I don’t belong here. I was never meant to rule the world.”
“But,” Pete furrows his brow and tilts his head so Patrick can’t see his face anymore, “this is our home.”
“No,” Patrick says, “this is the home of the Ruler of the World.”
--
Life back home is much quieter than he remembers it being, and he thinks that it has to do with the absence of one particular person. One particular person that he fucking misses a lot even though he’s trying to tell himself that it was all for the best.
He’s sleeping in his own bed again, but his sleep is still restless and unsatisfying. He’s pissed off that he can’t seem to win these days and a little bit more miserable than he was before he left.
--
The phone calls start the day after he packed up his stuff and left.
Pete’s frantic voice comes through the speakers before he even has a chance to properly answer the phone the first time.
“Patrick, where are those papers?”
Patrick puts down his tea and leans back against the kitchen counter. “What papers, Pete?”
“The papers. You know which ones!” He makes a frustrated, flustered noise and Patrick can hear things being shuffled around. It actually sounds more like they’re being flung in every direction, and Patrick cringes when he thinks about what the state of the office probably is.
“No, I don’t know which ones.”
“The ones we drew up with Ryan and Butcher. That agreement saying that Ryan promised not to take any more art supplies. You know which ones!”
Patrick sighs, “Top filing cabinet under agreements.”
--
“Patrick, I’m out of pencils.”
Patrick puts down his guitar and scratches idly at his leg. “What do you mean, you’re out of pencils?”
“I mean I’m out of pencils.” Patrick can almost hear him roll his eyes over the phone. “They’re all broken.”
“Well, did you try sharpening them?”
There’s a pause and Patrick hears some papers being moved about, and then Pete says, “There’s a sharpener in here?”
He closes his eyes for a brief moment in exasperation. “Pete, have you even looked in your desk drawers since you got that office?”
“Maybe,” Pete says defensively and then admits, “No.”
“Pete,” Patrick starts slowly, “I left because I didn’t want to be part of this. You calling me every twenty seconds kind of defeats the entire purpose.”
“Maybe you should just come back then,” Pete says quietly, and Patrick deflates against the couch cushions.
“I can’t.”
--
He gets no calls for the next two weeks, and he tells himself that he doesn’t miss them.
--
He’s in the kitchen making some tea when there’s a knock on the door which is strange because no one has come to see him since he’s been back.
Opening it cautiously, he peeks out and the next thing he knows, Pete has his foot stuck in the gap and is shouldering his way inside. Patrick stumbles backwards bewildered.
“Patrick. I can’t be the Ruler of the World without you,” Pete says, flinging himself at Patrick and wrapping his arms around his waist despite the other man’s attempts to shake him off so he can move out of the hallway. “I just can’t.”
“If I remember right you once tried to give me to William.”
“Well, yeah but along with his country. That would have been one less country to deal with,” Pete corrects him, and Patrick frowns.
“That doesn’t make it better, Pete.”
He manages to extricate himself from the smaller man’s grasp and makes his way back to the kitchen. When he reemerges Pete is collapsed on one of his arm chairs.
“No one sorts my mail anymore.” His mouth is turned so far down in a pout that Patrick almost grins at how ridiculous he looks but catches himself just in time.
Instead he hmmms and says, “That’s too bad.”
“And no one is there to keep me from being killed by angry people.”
He hmmms again and stirs his tea.
“And no one sings to me when I can’t sleep,” Pete adds softly, tracing a pattern on the arm of the chair.
“It never works anyway,” Patrick counters.
Pete makes a frustrated sound and looks up at him. “That’s not the point.”
“What is the point, Pete?”
“The point is that I don’t want to be Ruler of the World if you aren’t there with me.” He gets up from his seat and goes over to rest his head on Patrick’s knee. “It’s hard. I can’t find papers, and people are always threatening one another and leaving me to deal with it, and I never found the pencil sharpener so I resorted to sharpies which made a mess on all the legal documents and bled through and made people mad.”
Patrick puts his tea down on the table next to him and asks, “Is that so?” as his hand automatically gravitates towards Pete’s hair and his fingers begin to card gently through it. “Why didn’t you buy more pencils?”
Pete stills and then curses under his breath. “I didn’t want to,” he says with just the hint of a sulk before falling silent again. “Oh, by the way,” he adds almost as an afterthought, “I’m not the Ruler of the World anymore.”
Patrick’s hand falters in its path through Pete’s hair, and he asks, “What? How?”
“I might have given it to Brendon with a bag of scones.”
“What?”
“He’s actually pretty easy to get alone,” Pete says. “I lured him to the mansion with promises of Aladdin and chocolate chip cookies.”
Patrick’s eyes feel like saucers. “How did you get the others to let him go?”
Pete looks immensely pleased with himself as he says, “I sent Jon a bag of weed. I gave Ryan a gift card for the mall so he could go buy all the glitter and scarves and hats his heart desired, and I figured Spencer would go with him. I was right.”
Patrick must admit he’s impressed with Pete, and he laughs. “You do know that you’ve probably just done something catastrophic right?”
Pete grins. “Yeah, but I don’t care.” And he sits up so he can press his lips against Patrick’s before admitting, “I was a shitty Ruler anyway.”
FIN.
|| Pete/Patrick || 3,895 || PG-13 ||
theyreonlyword : So, what would a person do after they've achieved global domination? Cuz leading the world would be really hard, and I bet that no one makes plans for after they get control of everything. It would be a hilarious story to read.
lone_wo1f : I would eat a cookie as soon as I got global domination.
lone_wo1f : eat a cookie and think well shit. lol where do I go now..
theyreonlyword : And then when you realize how much trouble it is, you try to give the countries back to the governments, but they're like, "Yeah, we were hoping you'd take it from here, because we don't really know what we're doing either." and then you'd be stuck with ruling the world and not knowing what to do with it.
AN: Thank you so much for looking this over as many times as you did, dagdalorijane. Also thanks to modern_epitaph and wh1tfuldr3amer for listening to me ramble about it and giving me encouragement.
AN2: Um first bandom fic ever? yes. Title from the FOB song.
--
“Patrick,” Pete says seriously one afternoon. “Patrick.” He pokes the other man in the side with one finger while leaning over him and balancing himself on one arm. Patrick blinks open his eyes, and Pete pushes his face forward until they’re millimeters apart. The other man yelps and promptly falls off the couch.
“Fucking,” Patrick glares at him from the floor, “what, Pete?” He rubs at his elbow and tries to move out from where Pete has followed and pinned him down to the ground, but Pete doesn’t let him.
“Patrick. Trick. I’m going to take over the world.” His voice is decisive and the pure look of determination on his face has Patrick’s struggles faltering. He stares at the other man with wide eyes.
“What? That’s a horrible idea,” he informs Pete with a sigh as he resigns to his fate and lets his head rest back against the floor as his arms come up to circle around Pete’s waist.
Pete looks affronted and tries to pull away but this time he’s the one caught. “It’s a genius idea!”
“Why would you want to rule the world?”
“Why wouldn’t you?” Pete stares at him like he’s completely insane.
Patrick can’t really argue with that kind of logic so he just sighs again and opens his arms, giving his friend the freedom to move about. Pete scrambles down, grinning against his neck as he squirms to get between him and the edge of the sofa.
“You can be, like, my secretary who I’m having this big affair with once I’m ruler,” he tells Patrick seriously as he tilts his head to nip at the other man’s ear. “I’ll even let you wear one of those skirts that are completely inappropriate for work.”
Patrick rolls his eyes. “Who would you be having the affair on if you’re having one with me?”
Pete makes a considering noise in the back of his throat as hos lips move to press kisses along Patrick's jaw and his free hand waves about vaguely, “Details. Details.” His voice is muffled and his skin is soft and warm where Patrick has managed to get his hand beneath the other’s t-shirt and soon he forgets what they were talking about to begin with, let alone all of the reasons why this is going to be a complete disaster.
--
True to his word, Pete takes over the world a few days later. Patrick’s not entirely sure how he did it, but the next thing he knows, there is a ceremony and Pete is being declared Ruler of the World and attending a formal crowning and everything.
He thinks that people are maybe a little bit too eager to give their countries away, especially to Pete, but there’s cake, so he is sufficiently distracted at least until he sees Jon.
“Why are you giving up the reins to your country so easily?” he asks Jon Walker who is standing quietly next to him, watching Brendon bouncing around with one of the Alexes.
Jon smiles at him, shrugging his shoulders easily and says, “Why not?” This does nothing to quell the uneasiness that Patrick has been feeling for the entire evening, so he just glares a little bit and moves off to talk to someone else. Someone who might have a better answer.
He finds Sisky in the corner of the room. “Sisky, hey. Siska.”
Sisky turns and grins at him. “Patrick! This for me?” He takes the plate of cake from Patrick’s hand and takes a bite. “Thanks, man.”
Patrick watches forlornly as the rest of his dessert disappears. “Why are you giving Pete your country?” he inquires as the other man passes the empty plate back to him.
Sisky tilts his head to the side and a flash of a smile crosses his face. “It’s not mine to give. I just stand behind William’s decisions.”
“Why does William want to give Pete his country?”
Sisky smiles again. “Wouldn’t you?” he questions before patting Patrick on the shoulder and heading off in Butcher’s direction.
Patrick’s brows come together in a frown. No, he thinks, I wouldn’t because Pete is already ruler of their own country, and to be honest he doesn’t really do much. He’s lucky their country is small. He’s not sure how Pete is going to be able to handle the entire world.
Standing off to the side, now cake-less, he watches Gabe place the crown on Pete’s head and sling an arm around his shoulder. Patrick worries at his bottom lip.
--
“Well, fuck,” Pete says a few days later as he sits behind his desk in the brand new, fancy office he was given in his new mansion. “What do we do now?”
Patrick glances over at him from where he’s going through some papers. “I don’t know. This was your brilliant plan.”
Pete huffs out a breath and crosses his arms, surveying the office with a frown. He picks at a loose thread on his shirt quietly for a few moments and then says, “Patrick.” Patrick looks up from his filing and stares across the room at him. Pete stares back steadily and then sighs, “Wanna go get a scone?”
The corners of Patrick’s mouth twitch up for half of a second and he nods, “Sure. A scone sounds great.”
--
They discuss what to do now that Pete has achieved his goal of ruling the world over scones and cups of coffee in a cute café down the street where people keep taking their picture and asking for autographs. Well, that is they keep taking pictures of Pete and asking Pete for autographs. Patrick is left to drink his coffee and enjoy his scone in peace.
They continue to come up short with an answer to their situation. The problem is now that he has the entire world under his control he doesn’t exactly know what to do with it. Pete was never one to plan ahead and he’s already getting a flood of letters (which Patrick continues to dutifully place in neat stacks on the desk because if he’s going to be a secretary he’s going to be a good secretary, damn it) asking for this, that, or the other and the novelty of it all is beginning to wear off.
It’s only been two days.
--
Pete decides what to do late one night (or early morning depending on how one views it) in one of those bouts of genius that only comes in the time between three and four in the morning.
“Let’s give them back,” he states, crawling up the bed to lie beside Patrick.
“What?” Patrick doesn’t open his eyes but he does shift uncomfortably. He hasn’t gotten used to the bed at all. It’s too new, and he misses his back home with the lumps and the indents from where he’s slept on it for far too many years.
“Give them back,” Pete says again, more slowly this time. “The countries. We’ll give them back.”
Patrick thinks that this might be the best late night/early morning idea that Pete has ever had ever and he rolls over to press a kiss against the other man’s temple, grabbing him by the wrist when Pete moves to roll back off the bed. “Stay.” Pete smiles brightly and settles back down with Patrick’s arm draped over his chest. “We’ll start first thing tomorrow.”
--
They decide to start with the former leaders of the country of Panic because Pete thinks they will be the easiest to convince. When they get there, however, they find that things are going to be much more difficult than they had originally thought. Patrick suddenly remembers just how willing these countries had been given over to Pete to begin with.
“Actually,” Brendon is saying with furrowed brows, “things here have been much better since you took over.” He scrunches up his nose. “We didn’t really know what we were doing with it either.”
Luckily, Pete had come prepared. Patrick hands him the little paper bag he had been given with the strictest orders to keep safe at all costs - even if it meant he had to sacrifice himself (Patrick had protested loudly at this but Pete just shook his head and looked at him very seriously).
“Are you sure you won’t reconsider?” Pete questions slowly opening the bag, “I do have this extra scone here that I might be willing to throw in as something extra.”
“Oh! A scone!” Brendon’s eyes widen in delight and Pete’s grin shows the pointy edge of his teeth.
“You can have it if you want,” he tries to put on his best innocent face, “if you’re willing to take your country back.”
“Brendon.” A sharp voice rings out in warning and Brendon’s hand falters, falling back just slightly.
He looks over his shoulder and asks in a pleading voice, “Spencer?”
Pete and Patrick both lean to look around the other man and see Spencer Smith standing with his arms firmly crossed against his chest and a grim look on his face. Pete maybe hates Spencer Smith just a little bit, and Patrick recalls that they have a coffee date set up for later in the week.
Brendon gives a long-suffering sigh and turns to face them again. “Sorry,” he mumbles with a shrug and stuffs his hands into his pockets as he stares dejectedly at his feet.
“We don’t allow him sweets, but nice try,” a voice says from behind them. “We once let him have some chocolate, and to make a long story short we now have a national Disney Song Day where everything must be communicated through Disney songs.” Jon steps around Pete and Patrick and puts a hand on Brendon’s shoulder. “Sorry, Bren.”
Brendon looks up at him with big doe eyes but Jon shakes his head and Brendon sighs again.
Pete kind of hates Jon Walker too.
“It’s August 21st,” Ryan pipes up from where he’s standing next to Spencer. “You know. Now that you’re the ruler you need to know these things.” He’s smirking, and Pete kind of hates Ryan Ross too. Patrick tries to hide his grin by pretending to scribble down notes in his notebook.
In fact, Pete hates just about everything and everyone in this stupid country.
“Fine,” he says, taking a bite out of the scone and smiling widely when Brendon’s face falls. “I’ll just take my delicious pastry and leave. Come on, Patrick.” He turns around and starts storming towards the door.
“We’re still on for coffee, right Spencer?” Patrick asks before he leaves. Spencer nods, and he grins. “Great. See you then.”
“Patrick!” Pete’s hollering from the front door. “You’re ruining my exit!”
Patrick smiles sheepishly at the other men and, rolling his eyes, he hurries to catch up.
--
“Hey, Gabe,” Pete says into the phone, “what would you say if I told you I’d give you your country back and throw in a scone for good measure? You wouldn’t have to do anything in return, and it would be a free scone!”
When he hangs up, Gabe is still laughing.
--
“William,” Pete rests his head on William’s shoulder and says pitifully, “William Beckett. You know I love you, right? More than Patrick even.”
Patrick glowers from his spot on the sofa, over the top of the notebook in which he is supposed to be taking notes but is instead drawing pictures of robots. “You do know you just lost sex for, like, a week, right?”
Pete sticks his tongue out at him and then turns his attention back to William. “Do you think that maybe - “
“No way, Wentz,” William says calmly, closing his book and getting to his feet. “My shit country is your problem now.”
“Wait! What if I throw in Patrick? He’s a great secretary!” He’s yelling at William’s retreating form. “He’s really nice to have around the house too!”
Patrick raises an eyebrow once William is out of the room. “Did you just try and give me away?” Pete has the decency to look at least a little bit abash, and Patrick shuts his notebook with a sigh. “You’re lucky I love you, or I wouldn’t put up with this.”
--
“I don’t think anyone is going to take back their countries.” Pete frowns down at the list of names in his hand. They’re mostly crossed off. “We’ve tried just about everyone.”
Patrick leans over from where he’s perched on the desk. “We still have the Alexes. You could try them.”
Pete exhales heavily. “I tried yesterday. I just didn’t cross them off the list.” He grabs a pencil and marks through the name quickly, his frown deepening.
“Well…” He’s interrupted by the doors banging open and they both look up, startled, to see Ryan flying into the room with Butcher close on his heels.
“Whatever he says, it’s not true,” Ryan says as soon as he is standing in front of Pete’s desk and crosses his arms tight against his chest. “He’s lying.”
Patrick gets off the desk and goes to stand next to Pete’s chair as he looks back and forth between Ryan’s flushed cheeks and the angry scowl on Butcher’s face.
“What the hell, guys?” Pete questions.
“He took my art supplies,” Butcher states, pointing at Ryan.
“I did not!”
“You did.”
Pete blinks at them before rubbing at his temples and burying his face in his hands. “Jesus. Guys. Are you serious?” They both stare at him, faces grim, and Patrick places his hand on the nape of Pete’s neck for support. “Okay. Okay. Ryan, did you take his art supplies?”
“No.”
“Yes, you did, and I’m going to declare war on your ass if you don’t give them back.”
Patrick cuts in at this. “Whoa. Guys. Really? War? Is it that serious?” He gets another collective glare and shrinks back. “Okay. Fine. Ryan, if you don’t give Butcher back his art supplies, I’m going to give Brendon as much chocolate as he can fit in his tiny jeans.”
Ryan blanches. “I was out of glitter. I took his.” He withdrawals the item from his pocket and reluctantly hands it over. “Here.” He’s sulking, body folding in on itself.
“Good. I’m glad that’s settled,” Patrick smiles. “Besides, Ryan, isn’t it near national Disney Song Day? You can’t be fighting on a national holiday.”
Ryan scowls so hard at him Patrick’s almost afraid that his face is going to stick like that.
--
There’s a constant stream of arguments coming in and out of the office in the following weeks, and Patrick is beginning to feel a constant ache in his temple. Never mind the fact that his back is killing him, and he hasn’t slept properly since Pete got this stupid job. He’s pretty sure he understands why everyone was so willing to let him have control now.
“Can I talk to Pete about this?” Cash demands. “I want to talk to the Ruler.”
“I told you before. He’s not in right now,” Patrick says as nicely as he possibly can considering the fact that all he wants to do is kick Cash’s ass out the door and tell him to come back when he has a real problem. “You’ll have to come back another day.”
Cash glares daggers at him. “Fine, but if I hear one more person make a smartass remark about my tattoos something is going to go down, and it’s going to be bad.” He turns on his heel and stalks out of the room.
Patrick rubs at his eyes as the intercom buzzes, and Pete’s voice crackles through. “Is he gone yet?”
“Yeah, you can come out.”
Behind him the door slides open and the other man’s head pokes through. “Oh, thank God.” He breathes a sigh of relief and looks at Patrick. “I don’t think I can handle this job anymore.”
And Patrick’s frustrated and tired, and he snaps before he can really stop himself, “You aren’t. I am.” Running a hand through his hair he says with a tired hitch in his voice, “I’ve been handling it since you started this whole thing. It’s not what I signed up for.”
Pete’s staring at him, mouth slightly agape. “Trick?”
“No,” Patrick cuts him off, “I can’t do this anymore, Pete. I can’t handle it. This was your plan. You wanted to rule the world and I stayed with you because,” he halts and tries to get his thoughts together as Pete crosses over to him.
“Because you love me?” He asks, as he somehow manages to position himself on Patrick’s lap without falling off and Patrick rests his chin on the top of his head.
Quietly, he says, “Yeah.”
“Did you,” Pete starts, curling his body closer to Patrick’s, “are you leaving?”
Patrick picks at the corner of his sweatshirt, slipping his hand inside and pressing it flat against Pete’s stomach. “Maybe,” he says softly. “Would you come with me?”
“Who would rule the world?” There’s a sad sort of smile gracing Pete’s lips, and Patrick moves to kiss him gently.
“I have to go home, Pete. I don’t belong here. I was never meant to rule the world.”
“But,” Pete furrows his brow and tilts his head so Patrick can’t see his face anymore, “this is our home.”
“No,” Patrick says, “this is the home of the Ruler of the World.”
--
Life back home is much quieter than he remembers it being, and he thinks that it has to do with the absence of one particular person. One particular person that he fucking misses a lot even though he’s trying to tell himself that it was all for the best.
He’s sleeping in his own bed again, but his sleep is still restless and unsatisfying. He’s pissed off that he can’t seem to win these days and a little bit more miserable than he was before he left.
--
The phone calls start the day after he packed up his stuff and left.
Pete’s frantic voice comes through the speakers before he even has a chance to properly answer the phone the first time.
“Patrick, where are those papers?”
Patrick puts down his tea and leans back against the kitchen counter. “What papers, Pete?”
“The papers. You know which ones!” He makes a frustrated, flustered noise and Patrick can hear things being shuffled around. It actually sounds more like they’re being flung in every direction, and Patrick cringes when he thinks about what the state of the office probably is.
“No, I don’t know which ones.”
“The ones we drew up with Ryan and Butcher. That agreement saying that Ryan promised not to take any more art supplies. You know which ones!”
Patrick sighs, “Top filing cabinet under agreements.”
--
“Patrick, I’m out of pencils.”
Patrick puts down his guitar and scratches idly at his leg. “What do you mean, you’re out of pencils?”
“I mean I’m out of pencils.” Patrick can almost hear him roll his eyes over the phone. “They’re all broken.”
“Well, did you try sharpening them?”
There’s a pause and Patrick hears some papers being moved about, and then Pete says, “There’s a sharpener in here?”
He closes his eyes for a brief moment in exasperation. “Pete, have you even looked in your desk drawers since you got that office?”
“Maybe,” Pete says defensively and then admits, “No.”
“Pete,” Patrick starts slowly, “I left because I didn’t want to be part of this. You calling me every twenty seconds kind of defeats the entire purpose.”
“Maybe you should just come back then,” Pete says quietly, and Patrick deflates against the couch cushions.
“I can’t.”
--
He gets no calls for the next two weeks, and he tells himself that he doesn’t miss them.
--
He’s in the kitchen making some tea when there’s a knock on the door which is strange because no one has come to see him since he’s been back.
Opening it cautiously, he peeks out and the next thing he knows, Pete has his foot stuck in the gap and is shouldering his way inside. Patrick stumbles backwards bewildered.
“Patrick. I can’t be the Ruler of the World without you,” Pete says, flinging himself at Patrick and wrapping his arms around his waist despite the other man’s attempts to shake him off so he can move out of the hallway. “I just can’t.”
“If I remember right you once tried to give me to William.”
“Well, yeah but along with his country. That would have been one less country to deal with,” Pete corrects him, and Patrick frowns.
“That doesn’t make it better, Pete.”
He manages to extricate himself from the smaller man’s grasp and makes his way back to the kitchen. When he reemerges Pete is collapsed on one of his arm chairs.
“No one sorts my mail anymore.” His mouth is turned so far down in a pout that Patrick almost grins at how ridiculous he looks but catches himself just in time.
Instead he hmmms and says, “That’s too bad.”
“And no one is there to keep me from being killed by angry people.”
He hmmms again and stirs his tea.
“And no one sings to me when I can’t sleep,” Pete adds softly, tracing a pattern on the arm of the chair.
“It never works anyway,” Patrick counters.
Pete makes a frustrated sound and looks up at him. “That’s not the point.”
“What is the point, Pete?”
“The point is that I don’t want to be Ruler of the World if you aren’t there with me.” He gets up from his seat and goes over to rest his head on Patrick’s knee. “It’s hard. I can’t find papers, and people are always threatening one another and leaving me to deal with it, and I never found the pencil sharpener so I resorted to sharpies which made a mess on all the legal documents and bled through and made people mad.”
Patrick puts his tea down on the table next to him and asks, “Is that so?” as his hand automatically gravitates towards Pete’s hair and his fingers begin to card gently through it. “Why didn’t you buy more pencils?”
Pete stills and then curses under his breath. “I didn’t want to,” he says with just the hint of a sulk before falling silent again. “Oh, by the way,” he adds almost as an afterthought, “I’m not the Ruler of the World anymore.”
Patrick’s hand falters in its path through Pete’s hair, and he asks, “What? How?”
“I might have given it to Brendon with a bag of scones.”
“What?”
“He’s actually pretty easy to get alone,” Pete says. “I lured him to the mansion with promises of Aladdin and chocolate chip cookies.”
Patrick’s eyes feel like saucers. “How did you get the others to let him go?”
Pete looks immensely pleased with himself as he says, “I sent Jon a bag of weed. I gave Ryan a gift card for the mall so he could go buy all the glitter and scarves and hats his heart desired, and I figured Spencer would go with him. I was right.”
Patrick must admit he’s impressed with Pete, and he laughs. “You do know that you’ve probably just done something catastrophic right?”
Pete grins. “Yeah, but I don’t care.” And he sits up so he can press his lips against Patrick’s before admitting, “I was a shitty Ruler anyway.”
FIN.