No, It Isn't. (patrick/pete)
Feb. 23rd, 2007 11:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fakebrainThis is Where the Road Crashes Into the Ocean
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sharon_hate
Rated: PG
Disclaimer: These are fictional events.
Pete’s been having dreams about drowning. (Patrick/Pete)
Pete’s been having dreams about drowning. He remembers them so well, too, not like his other dreams. He remembers colors and sensations; the dark blue-grey color of the water after being pushed in by a nameless figure and the stinging of the salt water filling his lungs. And the screaming, but at this point in his life, screaming in his dreams is expected, so it doesn’t faze him much anymore.
He’s always standing at the edge of the Santa Monica pier, down past the benches and the discarded trash littering the boardwalk. The coast is the only cool place in Los Angeles and the mist sprays lightly against his face causing him to shiver. In every dream, he’s wearing a black button up shirt and baggy, faded jeans and he can feel his knotted scratching against the back of his neck.
The figure walks up quickly behind him, his footsteps making loud knocking against the wood so it’s not a surprise. He’s expecting it, so he climbs up the wood ledge and it creaks from the wear over the years, like it’s going to crack.
Pete doesn’t remember if the hands against his back were cold or how long he floated silently down before he started thrashing. But the water was freezing and his eyes were open and they burned from all the waste and toxins in the water. Hooks dig and claw at his skin from broken fishing lines and it seems like they’re trying to keep him down there even if he hadn’t started to resist yet.
That’s when he feels the ache in his chest and tries to breathe in and he can’t, so he stares up at the surface and the moon is distorted from the soft waves. The tips of his fingers are numb and that’s when he blacks out.
It automatically skips to him hunched over on the beach, cold and coughing and the waves pull onto the shore and crash at his bare feet. There’s the crunching of someone milling around behind him and he doesn’t know who it is this time.
And it’s Patrick, who’s just as wet as he is and has sand clinging to his toes.
“What do you think it means?” Pete asks him one night. Patrick sits next to him and their knees knock together every time they shift around.
He only gives a small grin as a response and nudges Pete’s foot with his own.
“It totally means I saved you.”
Author:
sharon_hateRated: PG
Disclaimer: These are fictional events.
Pete’s been having dreams about drowning. (Patrick/Pete)
Pete’s been having dreams about drowning. He remembers them so well, too, not like his other dreams. He remembers colors and sensations; the dark blue-grey color of the water after being pushed in by a nameless figure and the stinging of the salt water filling his lungs. And the screaming, but at this point in his life, screaming in his dreams is expected, so it doesn’t faze him much anymore.
He’s always standing at the edge of the Santa Monica pier, down past the benches and the discarded trash littering the boardwalk. The coast is the only cool place in Los Angeles and the mist sprays lightly against his face causing him to shiver. In every dream, he’s wearing a black button up shirt and baggy, faded jeans and he can feel his knotted scratching against the back of his neck.
The figure walks up quickly behind him, his footsteps making loud knocking against the wood so it’s not a surprise. He’s expecting it, so he climbs up the wood ledge and it creaks from the wear over the years, like it’s going to crack.
Pete doesn’t remember if the hands against his back were cold or how long he floated silently down before he started thrashing. But the water was freezing and his eyes were open and they burned from all the waste and toxins in the water. Hooks dig and claw at his skin from broken fishing lines and it seems like they’re trying to keep him down there even if he hadn’t started to resist yet.
That’s when he feels the ache in his chest and tries to breathe in and he can’t, so he stares up at the surface and the moon is distorted from the soft waves. The tips of his fingers are numb and that’s when he blacks out.
It automatically skips to him hunched over on the beach, cold and coughing and the waves pull onto the shore and crash at his bare feet. There’s the crunching of someone milling around behind him and he doesn’t know who it is this time.
And it’s Patrick, who’s just as wet as he is and has sand clinging to his toes.
“What do you think it means?” Pete asks him one night. Patrick sits next to him and their knees knock together every time they shift around.
He only gives a small grin as a response and nudges Pete’s foot with his own.
“It totally means I saved you.”
