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rsadelleI think the origin of this is that I said something about a Carden-Wentz offspring and ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
schuyler said something about that being the result of a patented Peyton bad decision, and then I wrote a bit of it but never finished the story.
Warnings: Angst, mentions of abortion and attempted suicide by a parent.
Warnings: Angst, mentions of abortion and attempted suicide by a parent.
"Jesus," Patrick mutters when they have to stop for the third time so Peyton can heave up whatever's left of her insides. "What the fuck were you drinking last night? I thought you were edge again."
"I wasn't drinking anything." Peyton stays bent over the side of the road, waiting to see if her stomach's going to stay in place. "Next time I'm getting Joe to hold my hair. At least he doesn't bitch at me."
"Last time he did that, you ralphed on his shoes, and Andy disapproves of your drinking. I'm all you have left."
"I'm telling you, I wasn't drinking!" Peyton stands up to yell it, and immediately gets dizzy. "Oh, fuck."
Patrick catches her before she faceplants into the gravel in some fucking Midwestern state. Or maybe some fucking Eastern state. Peyton's been preoccupied recently.
"Jesus," Patrick mutters again, but now he actually looks worried. "Are you getting sick?"
Peyton leans against him. He's solid enough he won't fall over if she puts all her weight on him. Not that she'd say that; he'd think she's calling him fat. (Again. What? Sometimes she doesn't think before she speaks.)
"I fucking hope not. Anything that gets me sick is more than enough to take you all down."
Patrick frowns, but he helps her back into the van and lets her fall asleep with her head in his lap.
*
Peyton wakes up when the van stops. "Where are we?" She rubs the sleep out of her eyes, and only then looks out the windows, blinking twice to make sure she's seeing what she thinks she's seeing.
"A fucking clinic? We don't have money for that."
"And we'll have even less if you get really sick," Andy says peaceably. "Get in there and let them check you out. We don't want to miss soundcheck."
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. If Andy's saying it, there's no fucking way she's getting out of it.
Peyton climbs out of the van and heads into the clinic, where she fills out a shitload of paperwork, waits for fucking ever, and then gets poked and prodded by a doctor who Peyton would probably think was nice if she weren't in this fucking situation.
The doctor looks totally fucking serious when she finally comes back from wherever she'd gone to look at the results of one of Peyton's test.
"Peyton," she says, "you're pregnant."
Oh, fuck. She knew it, of course she did. She's been throwing up for three days, her period's eight days late, and, despite what a lot of people think, she's not a complete fucking idiot.
Except maybe she is, because she knows when it happened, that night that was the reason she stopped drinking. (Again. She goes through phases.) Waking up in naked in Mike Carden's bed with no memory of what they'd done the night before or if they'd used any kind of protection (apparently not) was the kick in the teeth she needed this time to rededicate her to her straight edge principles.
She doesn't hear anything else the doctor says, and thanks her numbly at the end of her appointment.
*
Through a judicious application of saltines, sneakiness, and sheer willpower Peyton manages to keep her band from figuring out that she's still throwing up. She sleeps a lot, though, and she catches them throwing worried looks sometimes. They probably do it more than she notices, but most of her energy is concentrated on making it through their shows.
Two days after they cycle back home, she knocks on Mike's door. By some miracle, when he opens the door and lets her in, he seems to be the only one home.
"I didn't know you were back in town."
"Yeah, just got back a couple of days ago." Peyton rocks back on her heels and twists her hands in the pocket of her hoodie. "Do you remember last time I was here?"
"Vaguely." Mike leers at her. "You here for a repeat performance?"
She shakes her head. "I'm pregnant."
Mike stumbles back onto the couch.
Peyton looks down at her shoes and keeps talking. "I was going to just get an abortion and not tell you but that didn't seem very fair and I'm not sure I want to."
"Are you sure it's mine?"
Peyton nods without looking up. "Yeah. I haven't slept with anyone else in a long time."
Mike lets loose a string of swear words. Peyton huddles deeper into her hoodie.
Mike seems to be done after he says, "What the fuck, Peyton?"
"I know it was fucking stupid. It's all fucking stupid."
"No shit. We're both in bands. We can't have a fucking kid."
Peyton balls up her hands into fists in her hoodie pocket. "I want it anyway."
Mike's silent for a long time, and then he whispers, "Me too."
Peyton goes over and sits next to him on the couch, not too close. "I'm sorry."
"I was there too."
"I'm the one who's always fucking things up."
"Fuck," Mike says, and, yeah, that pretty much sums it up.
*
This is as far as I ever got with this story because everything I write about Pete turns out angsty and unfinished.icanbreakthesky prodded at me about it, but really the only other thing I keep thinking about for this story is the scene after Peyton ODs when Mike yells at her about how she can't do shit like that when she has a daughter she needs to be a mother to.
schuyler said something about that being the result of a patented Peyton bad decision, and then I wrote a bit of it but never finished the story.Warnings: Angst, mentions of abortion and attempted suicide by a parent.
Warnings: Angst, mentions of abortion and attempted suicide by a parent.
"Jesus," Patrick mutters when they have to stop for the third time so Peyton can heave up whatever's left of her insides. "What the fuck were you drinking last night? I thought you were edge again."
"I wasn't drinking anything." Peyton stays bent over the side of the road, waiting to see if her stomach's going to stay in place. "Next time I'm getting Joe to hold my hair. At least he doesn't bitch at me."
"Last time he did that, you ralphed on his shoes, and Andy disapproves of your drinking. I'm all you have left."
"I'm telling you, I wasn't drinking!" Peyton stands up to yell it, and immediately gets dizzy. "Oh, fuck."
Patrick catches her before she faceplants into the gravel in some fucking Midwestern state. Or maybe some fucking Eastern state. Peyton's been preoccupied recently.
"Jesus," Patrick mutters again, but now he actually looks worried. "Are you getting sick?"
Peyton leans against him. He's solid enough he won't fall over if she puts all her weight on him. Not that she'd say that; he'd think she's calling him fat. (Again. What? Sometimes she doesn't think before she speaks.)
"I fucking hope not. Anything that gets me sick is more than enough to take you all down."
Patrick frowns, but he helps her back into the van and lets her fall asleep with her head in his lap.
*
Peyton wakes up when the van stops. "Where are we?" She rubs the sleep out of her eyes, and only then looks out the windows, blinking twice to make sure she's seeing what she thinks she's seeing.
"A fucking clinic? We don't have money for that."
"And we'll have even less if you get really sick," Andy says peaceably. "Get in there and let them check you out. We don't want to miss soundcheck."
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. If Andy's saying it, there's no fucking way she's getting out of it.
Peyton climbs out of the van and heads into the clinic, where she fills out a shitload of paperwork, waits for fucking ever, and then gets poked and prodded by a doctor who Peyton would probably think was nice if she weren't in this fucking situation.
The doctor looks totally fucking serious when she finally comes back from wherever she'd gone to look at the results of one of Peyton's test.
"Peyton," she says, "you're pregnant."
Oh, fuck. She knew it, of course she did. She's been throwing up for three days, her period's eight days late, and, despite what a lot of people think, she's not a complete fucking idiot.
Except maybe she is, because she knows when it happened, that night that was the reason she stopped drinking. (Again. She goes through phases.) Waking up in naked in Mike Carden's bed with no memory of what they'd done the night before or if they'd used any kind of protection (apparently not) was the kick in the teeth she needed this time to rededicate her to her straight edge principles.
She doesn't hear anything else the doctor says, and thanks her numbly at the end of her appointment.
*
Through a judicious application of saltines, sneakiness, and sheer willpower Peyton manages to keep her band from figuring out that she's still throwing up. She sleeps a lot, though, and she catches them throwing worried looks sometimes. They probably do it more than she notices, but most of her energy is concentrated on making it through their shows.
Two days after they cycle back home, she knocks on Mike's door. By some miracle, when he opens the door and lets her in, he seems to be the only one home.
"I didn't know you were back in town."
"Yeah, just got back a couple of days ago." Peyton rocks back on her heels and twists her hands in the pocket of her hoodie. "Do you remember last time I was here?"
"Vaguely." Mike leers at her. "You here for a repeat performance?"
She shakes her head. "I'm pregnant."
Mike stumbles back onto the couch.
Peyton looks down at her shoes and keeps talking. "I was going to just get an abortion and not tell you but that didn't seem very fair and I'm not sure I want to."
"Are you sure it's mine?"
Peyton nods without looking up. "Yeah. I haven't slept with anyone else in a long time."
Mike lets loose a string of swear words. Peyton huddles deeper into her hoodie.
Mike seems to be done after he says, "What the fuck, Peyton?"
"I know it was fucking stupid. It's all fucking stupid."
"No shit. We're both in bands. We can't have a fucking kid."
Peyton balls up her hands into fists in her hoodie pocket. "I want it anyway."
Mike's silent for a long time, and then he whispers, "Me too."
Peyton goes over and sits next to him on the couch, not too close. "I'm sorry."
"I was there too."
"I'm the one who's always fucking things up."
"Fuck," Mike says, and, yeah, that pretty much sums it up.
*
This is as far as I ever got with this story because everything I write about Pete turns out angsty and unfinished.
icanbreakthesky prodded at me about it, but really the only other thing I keep thinking about for this story is the scene after Peyton ODs when Mike yells at her about how she can't do shit like that when she has a daughter she needs to be a mother to.