I'm coming apart at the seams--

Pete just saw a back. The back of a cap with bits on blonde poking out. The shape was short and rounder.

"Patrick? What're you doing here?" he heard himself call out.

The figure turned, Pete recognized him, yes, it was Patrick.
But something was different, something was off about him. But Pete just couldn't place it.

"I was about to ask you the same thing, Peter."

Pitching myself for leads in other people's dreams--

Pete frowned. Never, in the time that they  knew each other, had Patrick ever called Pete "Peter". Pete walked over, and Patrick sharply drew several steps away. Pete stopped.

"Patrick? What do you mean?"

Buzz, buzz, buzz--

Patrick's blue eyes were glossed over. There was a faraway look on his face. In a distant voice, he answered, "I don't know."

His expression changed. Gone was the lost look, in was a frantic one. He started desperately looking around, flailing, hyperventilating. "Pete!" he cried. "PETE!"

Doc, there's a hole where something was...

"PATRICK!! Patrick, what's wrong--"

"PETE!" Patrick gasped, squeezing shut his eyes. "SAVE ME--"

Pete ran forward, but Patrick faded to black.

Pitch darkness surrounded him, but Pete still heard Patrick's cries ringing in his ears.

Doc, there's a hole where something was...

"PATRICK!!" he yelled, reaching out into nothingness. "PATRICK---"

~~~

"PATRICK--!"

Fell out of bed--

Pete violently awoke. He was aware of a falling sensation and someone calling his name--

"Pete--?!"

--A sharp pain to the side of his head and he was gone.

~~~

"^{Pete? Pete, oh god, please wake up...}"

Blurry.

Vision clears.

Patrick.

"P-Pete, c-can you h-hear me?"

A small nod. Ow.

"Patrick?"

"I'mm h-here. Let me help y-you sit upp..."

Arms. Going up. Something warm, dripping from forehead.

Pete's eyes landed on Patrick's face.

Patrick's expression changed as there eyes met.

"^{Good lord.}"

"Wh-what?" Pete asked. Talking, clunky.

"^B-Blood."

Pete lifted a hand to his forehead. When he pulled away, his fingers were covered in the crimson liquid.

"...?"

But Patrick was gone. Short of panicking, he reappeared seconds later, holding what looked to be a white lunch box with a red cross on the front.

He opened it, pulling out several items. Without slipping on gloves, he opened a little package and took out a foul smelling pad. "This m-might sting..."

With trembling hands, he wiped at Pete's wound.

Butterfly bandage, but don't worry--

It did sting. A lot. Pete closed his eyes against the pain. He heard rustling, opened his eyes and watched Patrick secure and odd looking bandage.

"I sh-should take you t-to a hosp-pital," Patrick finally said.

Pete blinked. Throbbing pain. Ignore it. Move on. "No."

"Pete--"

"No," he answered firmly.

"Pete, god dammit! Stop being so difficult! You might have a cracked skull, or pain swelling, or internal bleeding! You need a, like, cat scan, or something! Please, Pete..."

But he hardly heard Patrick's rants. The pain was too much. It was intense, it was numbing.

"^Pete?"

Uh oh. Tunnel vision.

Fading to black. Gotta stay awake.

"PETE!"

You'll never remember, your head is far too blurry.