"When the Music Stops"

You're right, I apologize! Let me rewrite this with no line breaks as you requested:

Patrick Stump stood frozen under the stage lights, his guitar hanging uselessly against his chest. The opening chords of "Sugar, We're Goin Down" had died away thirty seconds ago, but his fingers wouldn't move. Sweat dripped down his face as the crowd's cheering turned to confused murmurs. "Patrick?" Joe's voice cut through the fog, but it sounded miles away. Pete rushed over from his side of the stage, bass still strapped on. "Stump? Hey, man—" He waved frantically at Simon in the wings. The manager's mouth formed silent words: *What the hell is wrong with Patrick?* Andy kept the drums going, trying to cover, but it was no use. Patrick's vision tunneled. All he could think about was the phone call from Ruby that morning. His younger sister's voice had been shaky, desperate. "I need you," she'd said, and he'd promised to call her back after the show. But something in her tone haunted him now, made his chest tighten until he couldn't breathe. Pete grabbed his shoulder. "We're taking five!" he shouted to the crowd, forcing a grin. "Technical difficulties!" The band hustled Patrick backstage while fans booed and chanted. In the dressing room, Patrick finally found his voice. "It's Ruby. Something's wrong with Ruby." His hands trembled as he pulled out his phone. Thirty-seven missed calls. His heart stopped. Joe knelt beside him. "Call her. Right now." Patrick's finger hovered over her name, terrified of what he might hear, knowing he should have answered hours ago when it mattered.

Simon paced backstage, phone pressed to his ear, watching Patrick through the monitor. Something was seriously wrong. The singer had stopped mid-verse, just standing there under the lights while the band scrambled to cover. "Get him off that stage," Simon muttered, but before anyone could move, Patrick dropped his guitar and walked off, right past the confused crew members. Pete grabbed the mic, telling the crowd they'd be back in five minutes, some bullshit about equipment failure. Joe and Andy kept playing, stretching out the instrumental, buying time. Patrick didn't care about any of it. He was already running toward the bus where Ruby stayed during shows because the crowds and noise were too much for her. His thirty-year-old sister who had an intellectual disability, who struggled with anxiety and depression, who he'd brought on tour because leaving her behind felt impossible. She lived with them now, had her own space on the bus, her routines that the whole band protected. But tonight something had triggered her before the show and Patrick had left anyway, told himself she'd be fine, that the crew would watch her. Now he couldn't breathe thinking about her alone and scared. He found her exactly where he feared, sitting on the floor of the bus bathroom, rocking back and forth, her hands over her ears. "Ruby," he said gently, and she looked up with tears streaming down her face. "Too loud," she whispered. "Everything's too loud and you left." Patrick slid down beside her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm here now." Behind him, he heard Pete climbing onto the bus, then retreating quietly when he saw them. The show could wait. Ruby couldn't.

The tour bus sat quiet in the arena parking lot, engine idling. Patrick climbed aboard and found Ruby curled up in her bunk, still in her Fall Out Boy hoodie, staring at the wall. "Hey," he said softly. She didn't respond. He sat on the edge of her bunk, careful not to crowd her. "Show's over. We can head out soon." Ruby's fingers twisted in the blanket. "Everyone saw you mess up." Patrick winced. There it was. "Yeah, they probably did." "They're gonna say it's because of me. That I'm the reason you can't focus." She still wouldn't look at him. "Ruby—" "I heard Simon yelling at you before. About missing soundcheck yesterday because I was upset. He thinks I shouldn't be here." Patrick's jaw tightened. Simon had said that, though not where Ruby should have heard it. "Simon doesn't get a vote. You're my sister. Where I go, you go." Finally she turned to face him, her eyes wet. "But what if he's right? What if I'm making everything harder for you?" Patrick reached out and brushed her hair back from her face. "You make everything better. Even the hard days." She searched his face like she was trying to decide whether to believe him. Behind them, the bus door opened and Joe's voice called out. "We rolling or what?" Patrick kept his eyes on Ruby. "Give us a minute," he called back. Then quieter, just to her: "I'm not doing this without you. Understand?" Ruby nodded slowly, and some of the tension left her shoulders. Patrick helped her sit up and wrapped an arm around her. "Let's get out of here. Next city's gonna be better."

Patrick started to mumble, words tumbling out that didn't make sense, half-formed thoughts about Ruby and the show and how he couldn't do this anymore. Joe exchanged a worried look with Pete across the bus aisle. "Okay, that's it," Pete said, standing up. "Patrick, you need to sleep. When's the last time you actually slept?" Patrick shook his head, still mumbling, his hands shaking as he tried to open a water bottle and failed. The cap clattered to the floor. Ruby watched from her bunk, her eyes wide with fear. She'd never seen her brother like this before, so unraveled, so close to completely falling apart. "Patrick," she said quietly, and something in her voice cut through the fog in his head. He looked at her and the mumbling stopped. "I'm scaring you," he said, the first clear sentence he'd managed in ten minutes. She nodded. Patrick took a shaky breath and sat down hard on the bus couch. "I'm sorry, Rubes. I'm just—I don't know what's wrong with me." Andy appeared from the back of the bus with a bottle of water and some crackers. "Low blood sugar maybe? When did you eat last?" Patrick couldn't remember. Before the show? Yesterday? Everything blurred together. Ruby climbed down from her bunk and sat next to him, pressed against his side the way she did when she needed comfort. Except this time she was trying to comfort him. "You take care of me," she said. "Now I take care of you." Patrick felt his throat tighten. He put his arm around her and let himself lean on her for once, just for a moment, while Joe dimmed the bus lights and Pete told the driver to find them a quiet place to park for the night.

As the bus stopped at a park Patrick got off and he was sweating profusely and mumbling to himself, his feet unsteady on the pavement. Ruby followed him down the steps, worried, watching as her brother stumbled toward a picnic table and gripped the edge like it was the only thing keeping him upright. "Patrick?" she called, but he didn't seem to hear her, just kept muttering under his breath, words she couldn't make out. The sweat was running down his face even though the night air was cool. Pete came up behind Ruby. "Stay here," he told her gently, then jogged over to Patrick. "Hey man, you good?" Patrick's knuckles were white where he gripped the table. "Can't breathe," he managed between mumbles. "Can't—everything's—" His chest was heaving, panic attack in full swing now. Pete had seen this before but never this bad. He pulled out his phone, thinking maybe they needed to find an urgent care, but then Ruby was there, slipping past him and standing in front of Patrick. "Breathe with me," she said, her voice calm in a way Pete had never heard before. She put her hand on Patrick's chest. "In and out. Like you showed me." Patrick's wild eyes found hers and something clicked. He tried to match her breathing, slow and deliberate. In through the nose, out through the mouth. She counted for him, the same way he'd counted for her a hundred times during her panic attacks. One, two, three, four. The mumbling gradually stopped. The sweating didn't, but his breathing evened out and his grip on the table loosened. Ruby kept her hand on his chest, kept counting, kept being the steady one for once while her older brother fell apart in a dark parking lot.

Patrick didn't stop walking as Pete followed him, his pace getting faster, more erratic, weaving between trees in the park like he was trying to outrun something invisible. "Patrick, slow down!" Pete called, jogging to keep up. But Patrick just kept going, mumbling louder now, his breathing ragged, sweat soaking through his shirt. He stumbled over a tree root and caught himself, then kept moving. Pete looked back at the bus where Ruby stood frozen on the steps, her hands covering her mouth. Joe was beside her, holding her back from running after them. Patrick veered off the path entirely, pushing through low branches, and Pete had to sprint to catch up. He grabbed Patrick's arm and Patrick spun around, his eyes unfocused, not really seeing Pete at all. "I can't stop," Patrick gasped. "If I stop it all catches up, I can't—" His words dissolved into incoherent mumbling again. Pete held on tight even as Patrick tried to pull away. "You're gonna hurt yourself, man. Just stop for a second." But Patrick wrenched free and kept walking, faster now, almost running. Pete swore under his breath and followed, wondering if he should tackle his best friend or call for help or what the hell he was supposed to do. They were deep in the park now, away from the lights, and Patrick finally slowed, his legs seeming to give out. He sank down against a tree trunk, still mumbling, still sweating, his whole body shaking. Pete crouched next to him, pulled out his phone, and texted Joe: *We need help. Now.*

Joe called Pete "ok where the hell are you and where is Patrick?" His voice was tight with worry through the phone. Pete looked around at the dark trees, trying to get his bearings. "We're like, I don't know, maybe half a mile into the park? There's a creek or something, I can hear water. Patrick just collapsed against a tree and he won't stop mumbling." "Is he hurt?" "I don't think so, just—he's not okay, Joe. This is bad." In the background Pete could hear Ruby crying, asking where her brother was. "I'm coming to find you," Joe said. "Keep him there." "Yeah, no problem, he's not going anywhere," Pete said, looking at Patrick slumped against the tree trunk, his head in his hands, still muttering to himself. Pete ended the call and sat down next to him. "Joe's coming. Ruby's worried about you." At Ruby's name, Patrick's mumbling got louder, more agitated. Pete caught fragments: "can't do this...failing her...not enough...never enough..." "Hey, you're not failing anyone," Pete said, but Patrick didn't seem to hear him. Five minutes passed, then ten. Finally Pete heard footsteps crashing through the underbrush and Joe appeared with a flashlight, Andy right behind him. "Found you," Joe breathed. "Ruby?" Patrick's head jerked up, the first coherent response in twenty minutes. "She's on the bus with the driver," Andy said. "She wanted to come but we told her to wait." Patrick tried to stand and his legs buckled. Joe and Andy grabbed him, holding him upright. "Alright," Joe said. "Let's get you back."

As they walk back Patrick's mumbling started again, worse than before, a constant stream of half-words and broken sentences that made no sense. Joe and Andy had him propped up between them, practically dragging him through the dark park while Pete led the way with his phone flashlight. "...can't...Ruby needs...I promised...failing...everything's falling apart..." Patrick's head lolled to the side, sweat still pouring down his face. "We're almost there, man," Andy said, but Patrick didn't acknowledge him, just kept mumbling, his feet stumbling over roots and rocks. They broke through the tree line and the bus came into view, still idling in the parking lot. Ruby was standing outside despite being told to stay put, and when she saw them her face crumpled. "Patrick!" she cried, running toward them. The driver tried to stop her but she was too fast. She reached her brother and grabbed his free hand. "I'm here, I'm here," she said, her voice shaking. Patrick's mumbling faltered for just a second as his fingers closed around hers, then started up again, more frantic now. They got him up the bus steps and onto the couch. Ruby wouldn't let go of his hand, sitting pressed against him while Joe grabbed towels and water. "Should we take him to a hospital?" the driver asked from the front. Pete looked at Patrick, still mumbling, eyes unfocused, completely gone. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Yeah, I think we have to."

Patrick was taken to the hospital in the back of an ambulance, Ruby refusing to leave his side despite the paramedics suggesting she ride up front. She sat next to the gurney holding his hand while he mumbled incoherently, his eyes half-closed, an oxygen mask over his face. Pete, Joe, and Andy followed in a car behind them, Simon already on the phone doing damage control about the cancelled show. At the emergency room they wheeled Patrick straight back while a nurse gently tried to separate Ruby from him. "I need to stay with him," Ruby said, her voice rising with panic. "He needs me." "We'll take good care of him," the nurse promised, but Ruby wasn't hearing it, her breathing getting faster. Joe stepped in. "She has anxiety and he's her brother. Can she please stay with him?" The nurse looked between them, saw Ruby's distress, and relented. "Okay, but just her. The rest of you wait out here." Ruby disappeared through the double doors with Patrick while Pete collapsed into a waiting room chair. Two hours crawled by. Andy got coffee nobody drank. Joe paced. Pete stared at his phone, trying to figure out what to tell fans, the label, anyone. Finally a doctor came out. "Severe panic attack combined with exhaustion and dehydration," she explained. "We've got him on fluids. He's stable now but he needs rest. Real rest. When's the last time he slept a full night?" None of them could answer. The doctor nodded like she expected that. "He can't keep going like this. His body's shutting down." She paused. "There's a young woman with him who won't leave. Ruby?" "His sister," Pete said. "She okay back there?"

The doctor said "She's okay but she's very distressed. She keeps apologizing, saying this is her fault. We've tried to reassure her but she's only listening to the nurses when they let her help with small tasks, like holding his water cup or adjusting his blanket. It seems to calm her down." Pete rubbed his face. "Yeah, that tracks. She needs to feel useful, especially when Patrick's the one who's usually taking care of her." The doctor nodded thoughtfully. "The relationship seems very codependent. I'm not saying that's necessarily bad, but it's something to be aware of. He's running himself into the ground trying to care for her while maintaining this lifestyle, and she's internalizing all of that stress as her responsibility." "Can we see him?" Joe asked. "In a bit. Let the fluids work and let him rest. Ruby can stay with him." The doctor turned to leave then paused. "One more thing. When he does wake up, he needs to make some serious decisions about his schedule. His body can't sustain this pace, and from what I understand about tour life, neither can his mental health." After she left, the three of them sat in heavy silence. Simon arrived an hour later, walking in with his phone and laptop, ready to talk logistics. "How is he?" "Exhausted," Pete said flatly. "Because we've been running him ragged." Simon's jaw tightened. "We have obligations. Contracts." "Yeah, well, Patrick's in a hospital bed because of those contracts," Andy said quietly. "So maybe we need to rethink some things."

In the room Ruby was talking to him like he was just asleep, her voice soft and steady as she sat in the chair pulled up close to his bed. "So Pete got you the good Jello, the red kind you like, but the nurse said you can't have it yet until you wake up. But it's in the little fridge over there waiting." She adjusted his blanket even though it didn't need adjusting. "And Joe called the hotel in the next city and told them we're not coming for a few days. He said we're taking a break. I think that's good because you need to rest." Patrick's eyes were closed, the IV drip steady in his arm, his breathing finally even and calm. The mumbling had stopped an hour ago. Ruby kept talking anyway. "The doctor was nice. She has a daughter who likes Fall Out Boy. She didn't ask for an autograph though because that would be inappropriate right now." She picked at her thumbnail. "I'm sorry I got scared when you were walking in the park. Pete said you just needed air but it looked scary. You were sweating so much and you weren't talking right and I thought—" Her voice cracked and she stopped, taking a breath. "But you're okay now. The doctor said you're okay, you just need sleep and water and rest. I can help with that. I'm good at resting." She reached out and carefully took his hand, the one without the IV. "When you wake up I won't be scared anymore. I promise. And maybe we can watch a movie on the bus like we used to before shows got so busy."

Next day Pete walked in and Ruby was still sleeping, curled up in the chair next to Patrick's bed, her head resting on the edge of his mattress, one hand still holding his. Patrick was awake though, staring at the ceiling, looking more alert than he had in weeks. "Hey," Pete said quietly, not wanting to wake Ruby. Patrick turned his head slowly. "Hey." His voice was hoarse but clear, no more mumbling. "How you feeling?" "Like I got hit by a truck." Patrick looked down at Ruby, her face peaceful in sleep. "How long's she been out?" "Nurse said she finally crashed around four in the morning. Stayed up all night talking to you." Patrick's expression softened. "Yeah, I remember some of it. Couldn't respond but I heard her." Pete pulled up another chair and sat down. "You scared the shit out of us, man." "I know. I scared myself." Patrick was quiet for a moment. "The doctor came by earlier. Said I had a complete breakdown. Exhaustion, dehydration, panic, the whole package." "She told us we need to cancel some dates." Patrick nodded. "She told me that too. Said if I don't, next time might be worse." He looked at Ruby again. "She thinks Ruby and I are too codependent. That I'm sacrificing my health to take care of her." "Are you?" Pete asked carefully. Patrick didn't answer right away. Ruby stirred slightly but didn't wake, just tightened her grip on his hand in her sleep.

"Well no Pete, like I don't mind looking after her or her living with us," Patrick said. "Dude, she's been living with us since 2001," Pete said, leaning back in his chair. "Nobody's saying she shouldn't be here. We love Ruby. You know that." "Then what are you saying?" Patrick's voice had an edge to it now. Pete chose his words carefully. "I'm saying you're allowed to take care of yourself too. You're allowed to say when it's too much. That doesn't make you a bad brother." "She needs me." "Yeah, and she also needs you alive and functional, not passed out in a hospital bed." Patrick looked away, his jaw tight. "You don't get it." "Then explain it to me." "I promised I'd always be there for her. When our parents—" Patrick stopped himself, glancing at Ruby to make sure she was still asleep. "When they asked me to watch out for her, I said yes. That's not something I can just take back when it gets hard." "Nobody's asking you to take it back," Pete said firmly. "But Patrick, you literally collapsed. Your body shut down. That's not sustainable." "So what am I supposed to do? Send her home? Leave her somewhere while we tour? She'd fall apart without me." "Or maybe," Pete said gently, "you get some help. Hire someone to travel with you guys. A caregiver, a companion, I don't know. Someone who can give you a break sometimes so you're not doing this alone twenty-four seven." Patrick was quiet, considering. Ruby shifted again in her sleep, mumbling something unintelligible.

Ruby woke up. "Paddy?" she said groggily, lifting her head from the mattress, blinking in confusion at the hospital room before her eyes found Patrick's face. "Hey Rubes," Patrick said softly, squeezing her hand. "I'm okay." She sat up straighter, looking him over like she needed to verify it for herself. "You're awake. You're talking normal." "Yeah, I'm talking normal." She turned and noticed Pete sitting there. "Oh. Hi Pete." "Hey Ruby. You did good taking care of him." Ruby's eyes filled with tears suddenly. "I thought you weren't going to wake up. You looked so scary and the doctors were talking and I didn't understand all the words but I stayed with you because you always stay with me when I'm scared." Patrick's throat tightened. "I know you did. Thank you for staying." "Are you still sick?" "Just tired. Really, really tired. But I'm going to be okay." Ruby nodded, wiping at her eyes with her free hand. "The doctor said you have to rest. No more shows for a while." "That's right." "And I have to help make sure you rest because you're bad at it." Despite everything, Patrick smiled. "Yeah, I am pretty bad at it." Pete stood up. "I'm gonna grab some coffee, let you two talk. Ruby, you want anything?" "Hot chocolate?" "You got it." Pete left and Ruby scooted her chair closer. "Paddy, I heard you and Pete talking. I wasn't really asleep at the end." Patrick's smile faded. "Ruby—" "I don't want someone else. I want you."

Patrick did a mental health assessment he had no choice in. The hospital required it before discharge, especially after what the ER doctor had documented as a severe anxiety and panic episode with dissociative features. A psychiatrist came in that afternoon while Ruby was down in the cafeteria with Joe, and Patrick answered questions he didn't want to answer about sleep patterns, stress levels, intrusive thoughts, how often he felt overwhelmed. "On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your anxiety on an average day?" the psychiatrist asked, typing notes into her tablet. "I don't know. Six? Seven?" Patrick shifted uncomfortably in the hospital bed. "And when you're caring for your sister?" "Eight. Nine maybe. I don't know, it depends." "Do you ever have thoughts of harming yourself?" "No." "Do you ever feel like you can't cope?" Patrick hesitated too long and the psychiatrist looked up at him. "Sometimes," he admitted quietly. "But I manage." "Last night you didn't manage. You had a complete breakdown." "I know that." His voice was tight. The psychiatrist asked more questions about his childhood, his relationship with Ruby, whether he resented taking care of her, whether he felt trapped. Patrick hated every second of it, hated the clinical way she talked about his life, his sister, like they were just case study problems to solve. At the end she diagnosed him with generalized anxiety disorder and caregiver burnout, recommended therapy and possibly medication, and strongly suggested he consider respite care options. Patrick signed the discharge papers and said he'd think about it, knowing he probably wouldn't.

Patrick went to Chicago as Patrick thought about what the doctor said, the words circling his mind the whole flight back. Ruby sat beside him with her headphones on, calm now, while his brain wouldn't shut up. Caregiver burnout. Generalized anxiety disorder. Respite care. When they got back to the house they all shared, Joe was already there making dinner and Andy was sprawled on the couch watching TV. "Welcome home," Joe called from the kitchen. "How you feeling, Patrick?" "Fine," Patrick said automatically, helping Ruby with her bag. She headed straight to her room, exhausted from travel. Pete dropped his keys on the counter and gave Joe a look that said *not fine at all*. Patrick noticed but ignored it, going to his own room and closing the door. He sat on the edge of his bed staring at nothing, the doctor's assessment report folded in his jacket pocket. He should throw it away. He should forget the whole thing and just get back to normal. Except there was a knock on his door and Andy poked his head in. "You okay man? You've been weird quiet since you got back." "Just thinking." "About?" Patrick pulled out the report and handed it to Andy, who read it with a deepening frown. "Caregiver burnout," Andy read aloud. "Jesus, Patrick." "Don't." "Don't what? This is serious. They're saying you need help." "I know what they're saying," Patrick said, taking the paper back. "I just don't know if I can actually do it."

Patrick needs help and he knew it, sitting there on his bed with the assessment in his hands, but admitting it out loud felt impossible. Andy sat down next to him, not saying anything at first, just being there. From down the hall they could hear Ruby in her room, humming to herself as she unpacked. "What if I can't do this anymore?" Patrick said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "What if I'm not enough for her?" "You've been enough for twenty-two years, man. But maybe being enough doesn't mean doing it all alone." Patrick shook his head. "She depends on me. If I start bringing in other people, caregivers or whatever, she's going to think I don't want her around anymore." "Or she'll see that you're taking care of yourself so you can keep taking care of her," Andy said. "There's a difference." Patrick looked at the report again. The psychiatrist had written recommendations, phone numbers for therapists who specialized in caregiver support, information about programs that could provide in-home help or respite care. It all felt like admitting defeat. There was another knock and Joe appeared. "Dinner's ready. Ruby's already at the table." Patrick stood up, folding the paper and putting it in his desk drawer. "Coming." "Patrick," Joe said, stopping him. "Whatever you decide, we're here. All of us. You don't have to figure this out alone." Patrick nodded but couldn't find words. Downstairs Ruby had set the table, put out everyone's usual seats, and was waiting for him with a smile. She looked happy, settled, safe. And Patrick realized the doctor was right—he couldn't keep her safe if he kept breaking down.

Patrick decided to put her into a group home to live and the thought made him physically sick. He spent three days researching places in Chicago, reading reviews, looking at photos of smiling residents in clean rooms, and hating every second of it. He didn't tell Ruby. He didn't tell the band. He just made appointments to tour facilities, going alone while everyone thought he was at therapy. The first place was nice enough, a converted house with six residents and round-the-clock staff. The director showed him around, talking about structured activities and medication management and how residents thrived with independence. Patrick nodded and took brochures and left feeling like he was going to throw up. The second place was worse, too institutional, too many rules. The third was better, smaller, only four residents, but when Patrick asked about visits the director said family could come on weekends and some evenings with advance notice. "What if she needs me in the middle of the night?" Patrick asked. "We have trained staff for that, Mr. Stump. That's the whole point—giving family members a break from constant care." A break. Like Ruby was a burden to take a break from. Patrick went home and found Ruby in the living room with Pete, the two of them watching some cooking show. She looked up when he came in. "Where were you?" "Just out," Patrick said, the lie tasting bitter. That night he couldn't sleep, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Ruby in a strange bed in a strange place without him. But he also thought about the hospital, the mumbling, the breakdown, the doctor saying his body couldn't sustain this.

"Ruby come on I'm doing this for my health," Patrick said through her closed door, his forehead pressed against the wood, hearing her crying on the other side. "Ruby please, just talk to me." She didn't answer, just kept sobbing, and Patrick felt like the worst person alive. He stood there for twenty minutes before Pete came upstairs and found him. "She knows?" Pete asked quietly. Patrick nodded, unable to speak. "How'd she take it?" "How do you think?" Patrick's voice cracked. "She thinks I'm abandoning her." Pete sighed and knocked on Ruby's door himself. "Ruby? It's Pete. Can I come in?" The crying quieted a little but she didn't say yes. Pete tried the handle and it was unlocked, so he pushed the door open slowly. Ruby was curled up on her bed, her face buried in her pillow, her whole body shaking. Patrick followed Pete in even though he wasn't sure Ruby wanted him there. "Go away," Ruby said, her voice muffled. "Can't do that, Rubes," Pete said, sitting on the edge of her bed. "We need to talk about this." "There's nothing to talk about. Patrick doesn't want me anymore." "That's not true," Patrick said desperately, sitting on her other side. "Ruby, I love you, that's never going to change, but I'm sick, I ended up in the hospital because I can't handle everything and you deserve someone who can actually take care of you properly." Ruby lifted her head, her face red and wet. "I don't care if you're sick, I can help you, I can do more things myself, I'll be better I promise." "You don't need to be better, you're perfect exactly how you are," Patrick said, his own eyes burning now. "This isn't about you not being good enough, it's about me not being good enough." "Then get help here," Ruby said. "Hire someone like Pete said, but don't make me leave, please don't make me leave." Patrick looked at Pete helplessly. They hadn't really explored that option seriously, too expensive, too complicated, but seeing Ruby like this, hearing the desperation in her voice, he wondered if he'd made the decision too fast. "Maybe we can figure something else out," Pete said carefully. "But Patrick, you gotta be honest—can you actually keep doing this if nothing changes?" Patrick didn't have an answer.

"Pat you really sticking Ruby into a group home?" Pete said, his voice careful but concerned as they stood in the hallway outside Ruby's room after she'd finally cried herself to sleep. "Yeah I am, my health is important," Patrick said, but even as he said it he couldn't meet Pete's eyes, just stared at the floor like the words would make more sense if he didn't have to see Pete's reaction. "I know your health is important man, nobody's arguing that, but this feels extreme," Pete said quietly. "The doctor literally told me I can't keep going like this or I'm going to end up back in the hospital or worse," Patrick shot back, his voice tight. "She said caregiver burnout, she said I need respite, she said—" "She said you need help, not that you need to send Ruby away," Pete interrupted. "There's a difference." "Is there though? Because every option for help costs money we don't have or requires me to still be the primary person doing everything which defeats the whole purpose," Patrick said, running his hands through his hair. "The group home has professionals, twenty-four seven staff, activities, other people her age, she'd actually have a life instead of just following me around on tour buses and sitting in green rooms." "She doesn't want that life, she wants this one, with you," Pete said. "Well maybe what she wants and what's actually good for her are two different things," Patrick said, and the words came out harsher than he meant them to. Pete was quiet for a moment. "You sound like you're trying to convince yourself more than me." Patrick leaned against the wall, suddenly exhausted. "I don't know what else to do Pete, I really don't, I'm thirty-nine years old and I feel like I'm eighty, I can't sleep, I can't eat, I had a complete breakdown in front of thousands of people and ended up mumbling incoherently in a park, that's not sustainable." "So we figure out a different solution," Pete said. "We hire someone to help, we adjust the tour schedule, we—" "With what money?" Patrick asked. "Do you know what full-time care costs? Do you know what it would take to have someone traveling with us who could actually handle Ruby's needs?" "We'll find the money," Pete said firmly. "The label, management, we'll figure it out, but Patrick you can't do this, she's your sister and she's terrified."

Patrick's mind was already made up, he'd spent too many sleepless nights thinking about this, too many hours researching and touring facilities and weighing options, and no amount of Pete's reasoning was going to change it now. "I've already put down a deposit," Patrick said quietly, and Pete's face fell. "You what?" "There's a place in Evanston, really good reviews, small staff-to-resident ratio, they have openings and I put down a deposit to hold a spot for her," Patrick said, still not looking at Pete. "When?" "Two days ago." Pete stared at him like he didn't recognize him. "Two days ago you already decided this and you didn't tell any of us? Not me, not Joe, not Andy?" "Because I knew you'd try to talk me out of it," Patrick said, his voice getting defensive now. "And I can't be talked out of it, I need to do this for my own survival." "What about Ruby's survival?" Pete asked. "She's been with you her entire adult life Patrick, you're her whole world, and you're just going to rip that away because you had one breakdown?" "One breakdown that could've killed me," Patrick said, his voice rising. "One breakdown that happened because I'm stretched so thin I can't function anymore, and it's only going to get worse, the tour's not getting easier, her needs aren't getting simpler, and I'm not getting younger or healthier." Pete shook his head. "I can't believe you're doing this." "Well believe it because the move-in date is in two weeks," Patrick said, and saying it out loud made it real in a way it hadn't been before, made his stomach turn but also felt like relief, like he was finally doing something instead of just drowning. "Does Ruby know that timeline?" "I'll tell her tomorrow." "She's going to hate you," Pete said bluntly. "Maybe," Patrick said, and his voice cracked a little. "But at least she'll be alive and cared for properly and I won't be dead from a stress-induced heart attack at forty." Pete looked at him for a long moment. "You're making a mistake." "That's my choice to make," Patrick said. Pete turned and walked downstairs without another word, and Patrick stood alone in the hallway listening to Ruby's quiet breathing through her door, trying to convince himself he was doing the right thing and failing.

After four weeks Ruby was placed in a group home and Ruby didn't speak to Patrick, not when he packed her things, not during the drive to Evanston, not when the staff greeted her with forced cheerfulness and showed her to her small room with the single bed and the window that looked out at a parking lot instead of the backyard she'd known for years. Patrick tried talking to her the whole way there, explaining again why this was necessary, promising he'd visit every week, telling her the staff were trained and kind and she'd make friends with the other residents, but Ruby just stared out the window with her arms crossed and her jaw set, refusing to acknowledge he existed. When they got to the group home and it was time for Patrick to leave, he tried to hug her and she stepped back, her eyes filled with betrayal and hurt. "Ruby please," Patrick said, his voice breaking, but she turned her back on him and walked to her room without a word. The staff assured him this was normal, that she'd adjust, that many residents went through an anger phase with family members, but it didn't make Patrick feel any better as he drove home alone. That first week he called every day and the staff said Ruby was eating, participating in activities, keeping to herself mostly but not causing problems, and when they asked if she wanted to talk to Patrick she said no every single time. The second week he showed up for visiting hours and Ruby refused to come out of her room. The third week she came out but sat in the common room staring at the wall, wouldn't look at him, wouldn't respond when he talked. The fourth week was the same, Patrick sitting there desperately trying to reach his sister while she acted like he was invisible, and when visiting hours ended and he had to leave she still hadn't said a single word to him.