A/N: Here’s a little something I concocted for no reason in particular. My requests were split down the middle of whether you wanted a reader daughter fic with Pete or a reader x Pete fic. When I wrote it I had the most votes for daughter, so here you go. It’s not great, but it’s okay. @beeboatthedxsco There are a couple scavenger hunt items. Comment if you find them!
Pete looked at you in the mirror as you sat behind him on the futon. You were staying with him for the weekend.
“Are you sure you’re feeling alright Y/n?” He asked, “You don’t look so hot.”
“Gees, thanks Dad,“ You laugh sarcastically. He smiles, but still gives you a look of concern, wanting a real answer. “Yeah I’m fine, I guess I’m just a little under the weather.”
He’s right. You didn’t get much sleep, constantly suppressing a need to cough away the pain and mucus in your chest. You’re exhausted and it showed. He came and sat next to you on the bed.
“We don’t have to go,” He said, “We can stay here and I can just call in.”
Pete had a radio interview scheduled in the afternoon. You were supposed to be a part of a quick part of the interview with him, just to say hi and tell an embarrassing story.
“No, no,” You replied quickly, “You should go, Dad! You’ve been looking forward to this for so long.”
“You need to get some rest though,” He replied with an unsure look.
“Well why don’t you go and I can hang back?” You offered.
“I don’t know, Y/n,” He said scrunching a cheek in uncertainty.
“I’ll be fine, Dad,” You reassured him, “I can text you if I need anything.”
“I guess,” He said. “Are you sure?”
“And you promise you’ll text me if you need me?” He confirmed.
“Yes,” you respond confidently.
Pete hesitantly agreed. You coax him out the door just in time to have a coughing fit in private. Once it ceases, you flop down on the couch and get comfortable with a blanket and turn on the tv.
It becomes your mission to get some sleep, but it’s impossible with the amount of coughing you’re doing. Your chest hurt, your nose was runny, and your whole body ached. You secretly wish your dad was there to take care of you.
You want to put yourself out of your misery and take some cough syrup. You spend so much of your energy just to get up and go to the medicine closet. You found something promising and measured it out, swallowing down the dose with a grimace. Yuck.
You drink some water and notice how weak you feel. Damn, this was one bitch of a cold. You get back to the couch and sink into its cushions, grateful for the comfort. You think you might be able to get some sleep now.
Your chest continued to feel tight and your wet cough nagged at you constantly. You kept drinking water to soothe your throat and prayed the medication would start working. You still close your eyes and try to rest, managing to get a few minutes of sleep at a time.
You wake up to a particularly bad coughing fit. You sit up and try to catch your breath, but you couldn’t even slow enough to get a sip of water down. You can’t breathe. You’re gasping for air but you still can’t get anything in your lungs long enough to satisfy your body’s craving for oxygen. You hope it will come to an end soon, but it just continues on. Something is very wrong.
You were walking the line of being kind of embarrassed to be having such a dramatic medical problem, and being absolutely terrified by what was happening to you. Why won’t this feeling stop? You start to feel panicky and desperately want your dad. You decide to text him and pick up your phone, your fingers shaking as you typed.
“Hey are you on your way home?” You try to ask nonchalantly. You see him start typing and get a quick reply.
“Yep, I’m about five minutes away with Patrick. How are you feeling?” He asked. You forgot that Patrick was coming over after the interview. Even though Patrick is like an uncle to you, you were suddenly self conscious. You felt so embarrassed and vulnerable. Having two people get all worried about you seemed overwhelming.
You’re not sure how you should update Pete. You could lie and just wait for him to get home. You could tell him the truth, but what if that just makes him panic? You decide to tell him, but to be as casual as possible.
“I’m not feeling so great.” You respond honestly.
“Aw no, I’m going to be home soon.” He assured you.
You start to cough again and fight to get air in your lungs despite the drowning sensation. You’re losing your cool, realizing you need help as soon as possible. Fear pushes your plan of being casual aside and you start to breakdown.
“Dad I don’t feel good.” You repeated yourself.
His concern immediately grew tenfold as he became suspicious of your repetitive comment.
“Call me.” He replied quickly.
“No” you typed off. You know you won’t be able to actually talk to him and he’s so protective of you, you don’t want him to freak out.
“What do you mean? What’s going on?” He sent as his anxiety grew.
It wasn’t getting any easier to breath. You restlessly adjust the way you’re sitting, trying to find an more comfortable position, but nothing helps. You don’t want to call 911, you just want your dad so badly. The wetness of your cough was suffocating you.
Your phone started to ring and you know that you need to answer, but you’re not sure what to do when you pick up. You won’t really be able to speak and Pete might freak out, which wouldn’t help the situation. You accept the call.
“Y/n?” He asked, not even waiting for you to greet him. He immediately hears your strangled breathing over the phone. He and Patrick look to each other in complete shock and terror. “Y/n?!” he questioned, “What’s wrong?!”
“Dad,” You reply breathlessly, the thick sadness in your voice hitching into another round of drowning coughs.
Pete knows he needs to stay calm but adrenaline washes over him and he stutters over what to say.
“It-it’s okay, I’m right here,” Pete reassured you quickly, “Can you talk to me?”
“Can’t, breathe,” You speak between labored gasps.
“Okay, it’s alright,” Pete tried to say as calmly as possible.
Patrick pulled out his phone and looked to Pete, who knew exactly what he was thinking. Pete nodded at him, wordlessly agreeing with his thought and Patrick started to dial 911.
“We’re almost home and Patrick is calling an ambulance, alright?” Pete informed you.
You felt a little dismayed with the idea of an ambulance, but the horror of what was unfolding defeated any uncertainty.
“Scared,” You squeaked. Pete’s heart broke.
“I know sweetheart, it’s okay,” he replied, attempting to soothe you despite his own anxiety, “I’m right here, just listen to my voice, okay?”
Pete continued with his calming words and you could hear Patrick talking to the dispatcher. You soon heard a car screeching to a halt in the driveway.
Seconds later, the front door flung open and you hear your dad’s voice.
“Y/n?!” He called out, not expecting any answer, just wanting to make sure you knew he was there. He and Patrick follow the sound of your urgent attempts to breathe to find you. They run into the living room.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Pete murmured to himself as soon as he sets eyes on you and sees the state you’re in. You’re pale and sweaty, leaning forward with terror deep in your eyes as you barely glance up at them. They are instantly beside you and your dad places a strong hand on your shoulder as you instinctively clutch onto him with a whimper.
“It’s okay sweetheart,” he says quickly, “Daddy’s here, you’re okay.”
You were far too old for him to be speaking to you this way, but in this moment it’s what you need to feel safe. You looked at him helplessly. Pete couldn’t stand seeing you like this and he just wants to cry. You were the sun and his life was always spinning around you. He would do anything to make this stop, but there was nothing he could do.
Your breathing was noisy, rattling and wheezing. You were still coughing up mucus, only causing you to drown more. Your chest burned and you started to feel lightheaded.
“Deh,” you pant, “Des, zy.” You start to sway Patrick’s direction.
“Oh-” Patrick reacts as he and Pete immediately grasp your shoulders and torso. Patrick essentially slides behind you on the couch to hold you and lean you against himself.
You put some of your weight against his chest while still staying folded over a bit.
“There you go,” Patrick softly encourages you, “I got you.”
“It’s alright Y/n,” Your dad assures you.
“Hey hey hey,” Pete rubs your arm, “Look at me sweetheart.” He holds your cheek. “Look at me, right here,” He directs you to his brown eyes and you drag your eyes up to meet them. “I know it’s hard, but try to keep breathing,” Pete reminds you gently, “In and out.”
You nod and do your best, your airway so constricted. Sirens were approaching and the boys felt a bit of relief. They felt so useless, only able to watch you as you struggle.
“Dahd,” You try, grabbing a fistful of his soft t-shirt. Your eyes are gathering up tears and two escape.
He places his hand over yours and stroked his thumb across your knuckles.
“I know you’re scared, sweetheart,” Pete said with a sympathetic nod, “Help is coming. It’s going to be okay.”
“You’re doing so good, Y/n,” Patrick pulled your hair back away from your face from his spot behind you. You’re becoming more and more exhausted.
A flashing red light peaked through the window and bounced across the walls.
“The paramedics are here, okay Y/n?” Pete spoke gently. You nodded, your eyelids resting heavily, threatening to fall shut. “Y/n,” Pete said, his voice growing more alarmed, “Y/n, look at me.”
Your eyes wander up to his.
“I want you to focus on me,” He directed you, “You’re gonna stay right here with me, okay?”
You readjusted your grip on his shirt, trying to obey his command.
“That’s right,” He said sweetly, “I’m right here.”
The paramedics then entered the house and announced themselves. Patrick called them into the room. They introduce themselves and immediately begin assessing you. Pete tried to stay out of the way but there was no way you were about to let go of him.
You tried to answer the yes or no questions the medics were asking you, but you’re just so tired and Pete fills in most of the blanks. They quickly get you into the ambulance and Patrick agrees to meet Pete at the hospital. Once you were on the way, the paramedic queued up a medication for you.
“Y/n?” The medic called to you and you looked to him hazily, “This is a breathing treatment. Just breathe like normal and it will help you feel better, okay?”
You try your best to consent over the sound of your own wheezing. He began to place a mask over your face and you immediately resist, hitting it away in a panic while shifting violently on the bed.
You start screaming between gasps. Both the paramedic and Pete tried to calm you. You could feel the straps on the gurney restraining your movements and its only worsens your panic.
“Whoa, Y/n,” Your dad calls to you. “Y/n It’s okay,” he tried to block your wild swings, “Shhh it’s okay sweetheart.” He gently takes hold of your hands as you start to slow down in exhaustion. “Y/n,” Pete says.
He finally gets your attention and you look at him.
“Hi sweetheart,” Pete greets you with a small smile, happy to see he has you back. You look at him with a broken expression, still trying to swallow air. “It’s okay, this is going to help you.”
“I know it’s scary, but it’s going to make it a lot easier to breathe, okay?” The paramedic said.
You looked at the mask and shook your head adamantly, your panic growing just at the thought. It was just too overwhelming to have something placed over your face. You already felt suffocated enough.
“How about if you hold it yourself, just in front of you?” The medic offered kindly.
You looked to him, fear still evident in your eyes. Your gaze drifted over to Pete.
“It’s okay,” Pete responded to your uncertainty, “let’s try it.”
You slowly took the device from the medic and held it far away, nearly at arm’s length. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to focus on something other than the looming mask. Pete seems to read your mind. You suddenly hear his voice next to your ear softly singing:
You are what you love
Not who loves you
In a world full of the word yes
I’m here to scream
No, no, wherever I go, go
Trouble seems to follow
I’m only plugged in to save rock and roll
By the time he finishes, you realize the mask was now only an inch away from your face and you’re feeling some relief.
“There you go, sweetheart,” Pete says quietly as he brushes some of your hair and tucks it behind your ear.
“Is that helping you, Y/n?” The paramedic inquired.
“Helps a lot,” You respond, speaking a full sentence for the first time without having to pause to breathe.
Both the medic and Pete smiled a bit. You were still wheezing and the medication made your heart race, but you finally felt like your lungs were working. Although Pete was relieved, you were still struggling a bit and it hurt him to watch.
“You’re so brave, Y/n,” He said sincerely.
You exhale with a wheeze and reach out to him, wanting to be held. He scooted closer to you and placed a hand on your cheek and another on your shoulder.
“It’s going to be okay,” He reminded you quietly.
“I love you Dad,” you replied out of the blue.
“I love you too sweetheart,” He responded gently, placing a kiss on your forehead.
When you get to the hospital it’s crowded, but the doctor and nurses get straight to work on you. You were a priority patient. They draw blood, give you medications, take an x-ray and do a full examination.
Patrick arrived not long after–he must have driven like a maniac to make it there so fast.
Your were diagnosed with acute bronchitis that was progressing into pneumonia. They want to keep you overnight for more treatment.
Once the urgency of the situation had settled and your medication has set it, you start to rest. The room was quiet.
“I’m sorry,” you say softly into the silence.
“What?” Pete responds sitting up in his chair, “You have nothing to be sorry for!”
“Yeah, Y/n,” Patrick added, “We’re just happy you’re okay.”
“I really thought I would be okay while you were gone,” You said sheepishly, “and then I didn’t want to bother you when it got worse. But now I messed it all up anyway.”
“Y/n, you didn’t mess anything up,” Pete shook his head.
“I feel like…” You trail off, wondering if you really want to say it out loud. “Like I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”
“Y/n!” Pete said, “There is nothing more important to me than you. You are never trouble; you are my whole life. I love you.”
“I love you too,” you replied with a smile falling upon your cheeks.
A/N: Like/reblog if you’re feelin’ it!
