#i have no idea how i feel about psych in general but i will grudgingly admit that the meds help.

[jvzebel-x]

🦋

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO, “Thoughts on Humans.”

QUESTION: Alright guys, I am asking for more ideas. I want you guys to send me questions and ideas about anything and everything you can think of. I am having a hard time coming up with things to write about, and I thought maybe it would be time to address your questions or interests about the universe that I have built so hopefully I can hash out some more interesting lore and what not, plus I would also hope that this will give me some ideas for good story arcs in the future as I seem to have hit a slump.

Would appreciate the help, thanks :)

The Texraki hurried down the hallway, their tails brushing against the ground as they moved towards the shuttle hanger. Stepping in the room, they paused, hardly expecting to see the Finnari huddled together in the center of the room.

They paused and then slowly inched forward.

“What are you doing here/” 

The Finnari lifted their blue/green scaled heads hands pressing together nervously, “We…. we were just waiting for the humans to return. We heard that something had happened down there and we were just waiting to make sure everyone was all right. Dr. Adric wants us to keep him updated.”

The Tesraki looked on to the FInnari with some measure of superiority. OT them the Finnari on the ship were nothing more than glorified pets for humans. THey didn’t seem to do anything useful other than offer hugs, which the Tesraki themselves didn’t see as particularly useful. Other humans claimed that they performed a very important function for the psych department aboard the ship, and that a few of them were particularly tech savvy, but the Tesraki had never seen them perform outside of a protective huddle, and so weren’t entirely sure that they had any use at all.

The Finnari for their part didn’t really understand the Tesraki use aboard the ship. Of course they knew what money was, theoretically, but had never bothered to use it considering their economic system was more about the trading of goods and services. In this way they sort of saw the Tesraki as greedy and overly involved in imaginative pursuits, especially once they were told that the Credit wasn’t actually supported by any ‘actual’ valuable metal.

They certainly did not expect to be joined a moment later as a small troop of rolling fluff entered the room from the left, and a black carapaced, bright winged burg entered on the right. They all stopped to stare at each other, the group of them never having been in a room together all at once.

The Celzex leader eyed them with some measure of suspicion and contempt, and the terasaki did the same back.

To everyone’s surprise, the burg stepped back as if trying to avoid getting into confrontation with the group of them.

Out of all the burg any of them had ever known, this particular male of the species did not much like conflict.

The Tesraki would have said something rather snide to the small rolling balls of fluff, if they weren’t quite sure that the little creatures could blast their entire solar system to dust. That was the thing, the Celzex acted all noble and powerful, but when it came right down to it they were no better than dust bunnies, easily punted across the room with a single blow. The only reason no one liked to piss them off was because of their powerful planet-destroying weapons.

In all truth they were generally just assholes. Small fluffy assholes, but assholes none the less.

The three groups of aliens stood together staring at each other with some measure of trepidation and annoyance.

Until, surprisingly, it was the burg who broke the silence, “A pleasure to see you all in the same place.” He turned to look at the Tesraki, his buggish eyes glittering in the light overhead, “You take care of the ship’s finances don’t you?”

Upon hearing the word finances, the Tesraki relaxed just a little. They were always willing to answer those sort of questions.

The Celzex remained rather sullen, but the burg pressed on, “how has that been going for you?”

The Tesraki snorted, there was certainly a lot to tell. Humans at their core were, generally, quite horrible with money.

Yes of course there were some humans who had proven themselves to be rather savvy, when it came to business, humans were just as accomplished in the world of economics as the Tesraki were on some measures, but that was only when talking about a very small majority of humans, a small majority of humans that certainly did not live on THIS ship. The Admiral himself was close to hopeless when it came to the management of money. Sure he knew how to save it, and to some extent, put it in the right places, but he hardly cared about it enough to get really creative like what was needed on a ship like this.

Humans liked to ignore extraneous and useless spending on parts and things that were not used or needed. Looking through their books, it was a total mess, and searching through their inventory proved stacks and stacks of things that they did not need, had never used, and weren’t likely to ever use ever, which could be cut  to save money for more important things, like better, and longer lasting parts for the ship.

It wasn’t all that hard, at least the Tesraki thought.

The Celzex listened with very little interest, only really paying attention because they were in the same vicinity. They did not really care about money one way or the other. If the Celzex wanted something, they would build it themselves. Of course they had to dabble in economics occasionally just because materials cost money, but it was generally something they only did grudgingly and with great and everlasting annoyance. To see and entier species that was dedicated to it was…. Surprising to say the least.

The Finnari on the other hand listened in fascination. They certainly through the  Tesraki had their priorities backwards, Money was cold and hard and didn’t really exist if one stopped and took the time to think about. It was sort of just an imaginary thing that everyone had gotten together and agreed on once upon a time. If everyone stopped agreeing on it and suddenly pretended it had no value, than the entire economy would collapse. The Finnari preferred to think about real things, and that being the people and the other aliens around them. But they were willing to listen since the Tesraki thought it was important, and the Finnari believed that it was always important to listen to someone when they were talking about things that were important to them.

The Burg, quietly sitting to the side and listening to the conversation found it all to be very interesting. What they did not know, what none of them knew was that they were connecting on the fundamental differences of their belief systems, belief systems that were almost religious in nature 

Out of sheer politeness, and a fear towards what the Celzex might do if they were offended, the Tesraki asked the Celzex how they were getting on with their work on the ship. In all reality, no one was really sure what the Celzex spent their days doing anyway.

They were about to find out as they received a very pompous lecture about how they had been maintaining and working on the weapons systems. Turns out that they spent most of their days crawling through the inner bowels of the ship and working on it from the inside out. The Tesraki shivered upon thinking of such a thing, but they supposed that to something as small as a Celzex none of that would really have been a problem.

“Humans are a dangerous creature to work beside, they are neither very good at making or maintaining their things.” The Celzex began, “sure they can make things that reach the desired end result, and do the things they are supposed to do, but most of the time you have to maintain them for years after because one wrong move could cause the thing to catch fire or blow up….. don’ t you find it strange and disconcerting that that is the end result of a lot of human technology. Take care of it, and maintain it because if even the littlest thing goes wrong it will probably catch fire or explode.” The Tesraki shook their heads sadly ears flopping about wildly, “The humans don’t know how to make things properly. They make things that have the desired effect, but in the hardest and most difficult to maintain way possible, and then when things start to fall apart, instead of replacing them with something better, they often just use a lot of sticky adhesive to put it back together until it inevitably breaks again.”

“I feel like that is an excellent metaphor to their personal lives.” A Finnari added, and the group turned to look at them as they shrugged, “I don’t think I have eer met a human who didn’t have something fundamentally wrong with the way they think or feel. Sure there are some humans who have something structurally or hormonally wrong with their brain which makes them perpetually nervous or upset, but even just regular humans have some serious issues they need to work through. There are humans who think that they cannot go to anyone for help, there are humans who think that no one cares about what they have to say, there are humans who think that there are certain topic they cannot talk about because no one would care if they did. Humans are all broken inside holding themselves together with thread and twine and poor coping skills. I think I have met maybe one human who seemed fully functional….. I think their inner lives and their interests and their diversity from each other is so complex that no one human can really go to any other human for perfect advise because they are so different.”

It was an interesting concept, and one that seemed true enough, they had all met humans and knew how strange they could be at times, and about different things.

In truth the burg who sat with them was beginning to notice a pattern.

His voice was quiet when he spoke, and the other aliens turned to look at him with some measure of curiosity. Not many of them had ever heard him speak, and he spent much of his days in the chapel, where none of them had any real reason to go, “I believe, perhaps that, humanity at its core seems to be second best at everything…. Have you noticed that?” The group frowned gathering around in confusion, “I meant think about it. Humanity is very accomplished with their money, but at the same time they are hardly equal to the Tesraki. Humans are good at fighting, but not in the way that Drev are. Humans are functional in both their machines and their minds,but in both cases they have to hold their function together with 

Lots of effort. Humans do not have the monopoly on a single thing, but on everything.”

They looked at him with a measure of interest.

“I think you will find that, spiritually, humans are the same. They aren’t as dedicated to their values and beliefs as the Burg, but no human can escape some sort of belief, even if it is an economic system, or a government or the lack of belief. Humans can’t even NOT believe without making it a system of belief.”

“Second best at everything…. That seems like a better deal than you make it out to be.”

“I never said it was a bad deal. I may not be a Rundi, but I know enough to see why humans have become one of the most powerful species in the GA. They are versatile and adaptable, and have the ability to connect with any other race in the galaxy just based on interests alone.”

That left the group of them in strict contemplation for a long moment.

“You…. how do you spend so much time with humans knowing they could kill you at any moment, perhaps on accident.”

“What do you mean?”

“What if a human accidentally sneezed on you. You would die wouldn’t you.”

“A sneeze might require hospitalization, but I doubt it would Kill me, as for what you really mean…. Don’t you worry the same thing?” He turned to look at all of them, “Don’t you ALL worry the same thing.” He glanced over at the Celzex, “You may be able to beat them with superior weapons power, but what if a human accidentally stepped on you, and crushed you to death. They are big enough that that could be a possibility.” Then he turned to look at the Finnari, “And you spend a lot of time with humans, who is to say tha"t one of these days a human will not just crush you to death or break your neck. If they can do it to each other, they can certainly do it to you. Humans are dangerous to all of us, so why are none of us more scared.”

“Well, that is because the humans like us.” one of the FInnari piped up.

The Tesraki nodded, and even the Celzex agreed to some extent.

“You never have to worry about a human once you are friends with them, assuming of course you are friends with stable humans, because once you are part of their pack, they will protect you from anything, even their own kind. Humans don’t just feel loyalty towards their own, they feel loyalty towards anything that has been with them a long time, or anything that shows them kindness. Humans can be loyal to inanimate objects if that object has some sort of value to the human. What we have done is make ourselves valuable to them, a part of their pack, and that is why we aren’t scared…. At least not most of the time.”

This got them into a topic of discussion about the nature of humans and their other strange quirks.

The Celzex painting out first and foremost how the humans seemed to have the need to name everything that they owned even if it did include inanimate objects, the biggest example being the omen.

The Tessraki extolled the virtues of betting and how they wished they had thought of it before it was brought into existence by the humans themselves.

Even the Burg stepped in to discuss some of the more interesting beliefs of the humans, most of which seemed widely unlikely but interesting all the same, and the Finnari were just interested to talk about some of the strange psychological behavior of humans.

Their nesting habits.

How humans tended to like to collect objects and so on and so forth.

It was only later that they even bothered to discuss why they were all here.

Something strange had happened, something strange had happened on the planet below, and they had all, separately come to make sure everything was ok.

It was very strange all told, very strange indeed.

That all of them would care so much for the humans that they would come to check. That was another interesting thing. Humans had the habit of getting under one’s skin and worming their way into ones mind. They could not be ignored, and they would not be forgotten, and no matter how hard you tried, they always seemed to have the ability to get themselves in your head.

Red lights began blinking at the edge of the room, and they all perked up, inching forward to see as human deck hands rushed from the shadows and towards the bay talking on their radios to each other rather frantically as the doors began to slide open with a slow beeping noise. There was as sharp hiss somewhere as the exterior airlock was compressed and then the doors opened up.

The floor rotated to pull the shuttle inward and as soon as it stopped, the doors were flung open and a gurney was pushed onto the deck.

The group of aliens huddled forward together in concern.

Dr Krill was barking orders, and to their surprise, Sunny, the big blue Drev was doing the same.

They hadn’t seen her in a while.

A few humans awkwardly stumbled out of the back looking dazed and confused, led by other humans that looked on the wrong side of shell shocked.

Krill turned and pointed to the Finnari, “You all, come here.”

They scampered over as told, and were immediately paired with one of the confused look humans, ordered to take them back to the medical bay as fast as they could without causing them any sort of agitation.

The Finnari gently took the humans by the hand and began leading them away.

The gurney was covered in a clear plastic bag, acting as a bubble. The last Finnari walked over and perched himself on one of the bed’s crossbars so he could see down to the human inside.

Admiral Vir lay there behind layers of protective plastic, eyes open and glassy. For a horrible moment the Finnari thought he wasn’t breathing, but the slow fogging of his breath against the clear surface was enough to relax the little creature.

He was alive, but he wasn’t doing to well.

The finnari reached forward  resting a hand on the human’s arm through the plastic as the doctors began to wheel them down the hallway.

This is what they had been worried about.

Something happening to their humans 

[bladekindeyewear]

HS^2 bloggin’ mainline 2020-08-06

♪ HS2 HS2 is baaaaack ♪

♪ HS2bloggin here we gooooo ♪

♪ Structural changes on their team but I don’t caaaaare ♪

♪ Already resooolved myself that its NOOOT gonna beee as good ♪ with inattentiveness to details characters like Terezi forgetting-what-they-used-to-know and an obsession with dwelling on traaageeeDEEE without relief-or-considering how weee’d feeeeeeel~ ♪♪♪ --so just gonna enjoy-what-i-caaaaaan about iiit~ ♪♪♪

Okay time for bankruptcy

> CHAPTER 11. History's Most Notorious Haters

Let’s see how effectively my perky new lowered-expectations attitude lets me enjoy this comic  *click*

wut

Oh.  so is this Dave drawing comics about current events or Regular Calliope doing so for our very first lanky look at her presumably-grown-up-more cherub form

> Knight: Keep it real.

HOLY SHIT IT’S DAVEBOT AND ARADIA

so we just get to SEE them?!  just like that???  no buildup or anything?  :D

Okay I’m marking out a little that’s a good sign.  Also what a nerdy cop-out to turn the roboteyes into glasses that’s barely passable which is perfect, the rest of his outfit looks pretty cool tho

DAVEBOT: and thats reason four hundred nineteen why despite my mans many accomplishments i will never acknowledge big skateboardings contrived message that tony hawk is the quintessential skater of our generation ARADIA: o_o DAVEBOT: not in these trying times

Good to see Ultimate Dave is being true to form with regards to the core of his personality

DAVEBOT: beep boop ARADIA: i have told you several times that i was a robot before and i know for a fact you dont have to say beep boop DAVEBOT: hm that sounds fake does not compute ARADIA: david DAVEBOT: mom

I was with this conversation until the last two lines what the fuck

(I’m reading into it aren’t I, Aradia was trying to be atypically proper -- even though she wouldn’t have the frame of reference to know without being specifically told that “Dave” was considered nickname shorthand for the human name David, and thus if she DID know there’s no reason she’d use it except to troll him -- and Dave’s just mocking her response.  Without any shame about his continued weirdness of calling people Mom, and by without any shame I mean he made the choice EXPLICITLY to intentionally evoke the awkwardness.  Wow I got a lot out of two lines.)

(Oh, also alt!Callie’s true Jade-body incarnation here probably prompted her to start using “David” by example.  There, various mysteries solved via a pile of assumptions probably to be disproven in the next couple lines I read.)

The Knight and the Maid stare at each other briefly, having exchanged enough meaningful glances over their time together to know when to drop it.

Would Time players have an easier time gelling this way, like this particular smoothness?  Dropping it just before it gets weird or excessively irritating?

(Overclasspecting)

ARADIA: i think we have exchanged enough meaningful glances over our time together to know when to drop this DAVEBOT: what i enjoy about our conversations is that you just say things like that

OKAY I SNRK’D AT THAT.  That was funny.

Initially.  And now I’m concerned whether Aradia is being controlled by the narrative-speak, or whether they’re both just humorously referencing the meta-text they can both see, or--

ARADIA: oh is that what you enjoy ARADIA: well we are both an infinite number of years old living countless lifetimes at once but thats no reason to waste any of our...

WHAT??!?  She’s an Ultimate Self too?!?

Um, okay!  Yeah!  So they’re BOTH just riffing on the narrative then.  But... why would Dave need a robot body to accommodate his Ultimate Psyche without getting sick but Rose not need it?  I can understand Dirk not needing it because the merging of the full breadth of his multiversal individuality gels well with him being a God of the aspect governing the power of his multiversal individuality, but Aradia?

Were the robot bodies not necessary after all, and the sickness Rose suffered and Obama thought Dave would have suffered some sort of ruse?  Are there shenanigans afoot?  (Or are we going with the “troll biology is better” cop-out?)

She knows how this will play out, having undoubtedly tried this joke on her friend in some timeline or another. Their rapport reflects a unique combination of their matching aspects but greatly differing classes. One a passive but powerful servant to time, the other wielding the aspect like a honed blade.

WH

WHAT????

PASSIVE SERVANT OF THE ASPECT?!? WHAT THE FUCK

Okay if that means anything like it sounds like I guess my class chart is finally blown up, sure, they only waited (*checks last edit date*) SEVEN AND A HALF YEARS TO BLOW THAT GUESS UP, SURE

Wow.  Okay, I feel some obligation to jump to conclusions and say the whole class chart is wrong, but let me stay strapped in to see if “passive” is as literal as one would expect alt!Callie to mean, or it just means “an active class passive compared to other classes”.  And, serving the aspect?  Oh dammit, now people are gonna come at me advocating a Maid / Page dichotomy about actively serving the aspect versus allowing the aspect to be served... or Page / Maid even, jesus

I wish I had enough energy to have those chats anymore.  I’d rather hold on and see the whole ridiculous chart scheme they have in mind... which is definitely (and hopefully) the one Andrew really drew up at the time and not made up by the staff, even if it throws away plenty of my old work...  I’ll just stop thinking about it and keep reading.

...

--no, I don’t think I can just stop thinking about it yet.  Dammit, brain.

So um.  Maids serving their aspect.  There was a whole “Maids serve” thing going on throughout the whole plot of Homestuck, but despite how prevalent it was, I wrote it off as the story riffing on the classical definition of Maid when the actual stuff Maids accomplished was something different and more specific, just like Knights constantly got riffed on for chivalry and the like.  Furthermore, service seemed like a really shitty class definition, when class definitions are the verbs one uses to interact with reality through Aspects to change the way reality unfolds, and “serving” isn’t really an action that results in change, implying a distinct deficit of agency that I wouldn’t have viewed as fair.  (Especially since you originally think “meant to serve others” and not “meant to serve the aspect”, implying even LESS agency.)  Furthermore, MOST passive classes from their descriptions seem to have a propensity to act “as if by the will of the aspect”, so even with the nuance of “serving the aspect”, devoting an entire class verb to service would just step on the territory of other active/passive class pairs’ passive sides, right?

But... IF we were to take this for granted as what it SEEMS... then concentrating on that angle of “serving the aspect” implies a whole lot more agency than a service class might sound on its surface.  The definition fits with the story better once you contextualize all the Maid-y references to service around Jane, for instance, with the additional idea of “serving Life” by baking prolifically and creating more of its symbols in food and--

--fuck.  “Serving”, like serving to others.  Serving the aspect as its attendant AND serving it out to others that need it.  Maybe this still IS part of the Additive class pair!  Whoa.  :O

Okay okay so, what I/we thought before was:

Create/Add - Maid / Sylph

Destroy/Reduce - Prince / Bard

But “additive” really isn’t an elegant verb compared to the “Destroyer” classes, so... could it be the “Servants” and the “Destroyers”?  Like Maids cleaning up and healing the broken wreckage strewn through the halls by a bratty Prince’s tantrum???

It’d certainly be weird... and it’d CERTAINLY be a wild twist where I was partially wrong in some fascinating ways but not entirely off base?

One a passive but powerful servant to time, the other wielding the aspect like a honed blade.

And yet, I can’t bet on this being the situation yet; not at all.  First, it relies on the idea that alt!Callie’s explicit narrative here is slightly misleading, which would be a pretty extreme thing to commit to, even for a technical truth like “she was saying it was passive relative to other classes even though it’s technically “active””.  Second... it would mean that Muses are even more wildly defined than the previous insinuation of hers, that the Sylph -- what we thought was the passive additive class -- was not enough like a Muse compared to a Witch.  Muses not being that Additive?  I could grudgingly understand that, but Muses not being anything like passive Servants?!  That would be EXTREMELY weird!

So... there’s not a whole lot of chance that I’m not dramatically wrong somewhere about these classes!  In a way that throws the entire chart into disarray!

I’m... oddly excited?  Huh.

That’s a pretty nice surprise that I actually feel that way.

:)

(Don’t hit me up all at once to discuss this Classpect development over Discord, I’ll still need a few days without talking about Homestuck to recharge as usual.  Like... maybe wait and come at me as a group chat? So I’m not talking about the latest developments separately with everyone?  No that wouldn’t work, how about... guh I dunno, look my outlook’s a little more positive right now but dealing with Homestuck still takes emotional energy okay?)

Okay the rest of this page...

ARADIA: ... DAVEBOT: time then make a weird face ARADIA: ........ DAVEBOT: waste time DAVEBOT: time ARADIA:............. DAVEBOT: i experience all points of time simultaneously please just say time and make a weird face

This is true.

ARADIA: .................. DAVEBOT: cmon megido youre killing me clocks ticking ARADIA: ... ARADIA: time o_o

The Maid casts a furtive glance around the empty crew quarters, as though to search for someone more sympathetic to her bit.

ARADIA: tough crowd

Dorks.

> ==>

(Lazy fruit-throwing sword-training I won’t bother to screenshot but looks fun)

(I mean, really lazy looking, these people really don’t have Andrew’s knack for action composition that would make the same amount of gif-creation effort feel like a microcosm of the event they’re depicting, unfortunately.  Again, I don’t blame them; Andrew was just too good at it.)

DAVEBOT: ok heres one DAVEBOT: how old do you think you are ARADIA: emotionally? ARADIA: that is a pretty heavy topic DAVEBOT: you know damn well thats not what i meant ARADIA: you know I have been through a lot dave DAVEBOT: ok ARADIA: its just so kind of someone DAVEBOT: ok i get it ARADIA: to finally ask how i feel ARADIA: i am beside myself with emotions ARADIA: i want to open up DAVEBOT: jesus christ ARADIA: shall i open up about my past traumas to you ARADIA: would you enjoy that ARADIA: to think even a frog like me can work through their pain with a dear friend ARADIA: you have truly blessed me on this day dave strider

Is Aradia JUST trolling here or is her Ultimate Self grappling with a ton of real unresolved trauma too that she’s bullshitting around Dave-style?

DAVEBOT: times fun when youre having flies

Okay that’s a damned good frog pun.

Alright now Davebot’s rapping

DAVEBOT: lacking tact i stay stacked while i breach contract DAVEBOT: sacred vows disavowed got divorce fever DAVEBOT: i leave her DAVEBOT: dont look back dont perceive her ARADIA: do you want to talk about it :( DAVEBOT: about what ARADIA: would you say you are hung up on leaving your wife and friends behind

Goddamnit is DAVE’S ton of real unresolved trauma leaking into his raps unintentionally Dave-style??  I knew we had to address it when we cut to Davebot but how about LESS TRAGEDY IN THIS COMIC MAYBE

DAVEBOT: arent you even a little guilty about ditching your boyfriend ARADIA: what ARADIA: oh fuck

Wh

But she knew what she was doing when she did it she explicitly did it didn’t she?  Epilogues quote:

DAVEBOT: what about your boy DAVEBOT: eyepatches ARADIA: oh sollux is in one of his moods ARADIA: this was all getting to be a bit much for him ARADIA: if i go ill probably just cut him loose DAVEBOT: good move

And then they stepped through the sky hole more or less.  Did like, distracted Ultimate Aradia not realize exactly how long she was leaving Sollux for, ie forever?  Or did she “ascend” to Ultimate status later and hadn’t thought back to the full consequences of her actions within this timeline?  Or both?  From the looks of the link we’ll probably find out on the next pa--

--Wait.  Something else I just thought of, unrelated.

If Aradia is an Ultimate Self, that’s another coincidentally Ultimate version of someone hanging around that happens to be on the prospective list of Soul-Powered Jujus that might have their creation loops closed in the coming story.  Could those two things play into each other somehow?  Like instead of their souls getting stuffed into the items, their “Ultimateness” is?  Or as if that’s a necessary component, or...  no, I’m probably overthinking things.

> (Months in the past, but not many...)

Uh huh.  Is that flashing because he’s “watching” Aradia leave?  But I thought Aradia SAID she was leaving--

> (==>)

--and that black hole portal doesn’t look as cool as it sounded in the Epilogues.  But why was Aradia acting surprised, she said “I’ll probably just cut him loose” mere MOMENTS before entering the portal, did she mean “cut him loose” as in “I’m going to talk to him before leaving” and then just IMMEDIATELY forget that she didn’t say anything to him because she cared so little???

Wait.  Waaaait wait wait.  I think.  I think maybe I missed some subtext.  Lemme do some fuller quotes here:

ARADIA: oh sollux is in one of his moods ARADIA: this was all getting to be a bit much for him ARADIA: if i go ill probably just cut him loose DAVEBOT: good move

His gaze remains fixed on her. She blinks and looks away, unsure what to say next. He’s standing perfectly still, presumably waiting for her to say something. She met him... what was it? Once, twice before? She can’t remember. But she knows this is a very different Dave. Aside from the metal skin, he seems implacably confident. But then, people go through changes. She’s been through more than her share. She cocks an eyebrow, recalling her own stint with a metal body.

DAVEBOT: hey earth to whats your face ARADIA: oh ARADIA: its aradia

[...]

DAVEBOT: youre coming DAVEBOT: better decide quick i doubt that dank fuckin hell funnel is staying open for much longer ARADIA: yes i suppose so ARADIA: thats where all the action is right? DAVEBOT: all the action that matters yeah ARADIA: off we go then :) DAVEBOT: word

He holds out his hand. She looks around, and assumes he means for her to take it, so she does. She didn’t know someone could fly this fast. He nearly yanks her arm out of its socket. She considers reminding him that maybe this isn’t necessary, since she can fly too. But she doesn’t want to risk saying more embarrassing stuff around this outrageously cool dude. Besides, they’re through the wormhole before she can even finish the thought. It vanishes the moment they’ve crossed.

...this was a SHIPPING thing wasn’t it.  She’s impressed as hell with Striderbot, she SAID she’d cut things off with Sollux, and then she was so busy being swooped off her feet and into the portal that she forgot to actually say anything to him.  Is that what happened????

Ultimate Self Davebot x Ultimate Self Aradia.  Huh.  Didn’t see that coming.  (Though, again... they could make it SLIGHTLY clearer that this wasn’t just a blatant continuity error.)

Anyway, a rare-don’t-get-used-to-it [S] page...

> [S] (Gaze.)

...Okay that was kinda funny.

> (==>)

SOLLUX: h0w the fuck am i g0ing t0 get d0wn fr0m here.

HAH!  Okay, he’s taking it pretty well.  :)  --and THAT’s what she realized she forgot, giving him a flight down from the tower before leaving.

GOOD.  KEEP THINGS HUMOROUS EVEN WHEN LITERAL ABANDONMENT IS HAPPENING.  THAT’S the Homestuck I was missing.  :)  :)  :)

> Back to reality.

(Since the black hole is outside “canon” reality.)

Those are some cool poses-AHAH JESUS CHRIST ALT!JADE YOU LOOK ABSOLUTELY TERRIFYING XD

COULD YOU MAYBE HAVE CLEANED UP THE DRIED BLOOD AT SOME POINT OR IS SOME OF THAT FRESH FROM EATING MORE RAW MEAT

(Lord English’s blood leaving permanent timeless bloodstains would be a cool new thing to squeeze into canon i admit, i wouldn’t blame them for taking the excuse even if you could find small canon counterexamples I’m not sure of but dimly think might exist)

((ALSO SHE’S GONNA BE TINY NEXT TO THEM I DUNNO IF THAT MAKES IT MORE TERRIFYING OR LESS, PROBABLY MORE))

DAVEBOT: so youre telling me you dont even feel a little bad that you ditched him to be a weird death acolyte ARADIA: no i think he found my wiles both charming and irresistible DAVEBOT: not even an ounce of guilt or self doubt huh DAVEBOT: just like that DAVEBOT: no conversations about the greater good DAVEBOT: no revelations about your feelings

Is Aradia a jerk or weird?  Can’t decide.

ARADIA: do you often find your faith in yourself shaken like this or is it a new experience now that your mortal coil has been left behind DAVEBOT: what ARADIA: do you think now that all that is left of you is a literal ghost inside of a machine you are more or less likely to embrace finality DAVEBOT: oh dope more cult of one shit DAVEBOT: immortality changed you ARADIA: could it be that you are projecting your feelings onto my situation DAVEBOT: does not compute rose jr ARADIA: ... ARADIA: we dont have to talk about it DAVEBOT: thanks

Wow, I actually can’t follow this conversation at all.  Let me stare at it for a sec...

...okay, the first part she’s talking about DAVE’s faith in HIMself being shaken, not her own.  She’s not asking if he relates to HER experience, she’s contrasting it.

Then, asking if he’d be more likely to embrace death, or... Time?  Death.  Whether his self-worth has changed because he might view himself as “less real”, something Aradia doubtless struggled with when she was a robot who already had so many excuses to devalue herself at the time?  And then Dave talks about “cult of one” shit what does that even mean-...

OH.  Like she’s a death cult.  Gooot it.  Because Aradia’s of the position that death and ending should be celebrated, and Davebot understandably isn’t entirely bought in.  This is as hard to parse down as one would EXPECT conversations between two Ultimate Selves to be hard to parse down, unlike Rose and Dirk where their insane missions and glaring flaws shine bright enough through it all that you can follow their conversation flow easily.

JADE: They sit in each other's presence, the silence between them as meaningful as any words they could exchange. DAVEBOT: its always really cool to hear how meaningful my silences are DAVEBOT: especially while DAVEBOT: CALCULATING DAVEBOT: CALCULATING DAVEBOT: especially while i am attempting to experience them

Alt!Callie pulling a narrative-text AFTER a talk-identifier like “JADE:” is really hilarious in my opinion.

JADE: i do not need your approval. the story will continue how it must. DAVEBOT: beep boop hater detected ARADIA: wow is that true JADE: i am not a hater. DAVEBOT: classic hater line DAVEBOT: i know this because i am pouring through genuine actual quadrabytes of information on historys most notorious haters JADE: no, you aren’t.

Pffffff. This is pretty fun.

DAVEBOT: you are the exact opposite of a hater ARADIA: a liker DAVEBOT: ok DAVEBOT: perfect example your tolerance for whatever is going on with DAVEBOT: all this ARADIA: i think she looks quite lovely covered in the viscera of the all-powerful enemy she consumed ARADIA: floating lifelessly in our periphery ARADIA: observing our every action and noting its relevance :) DAVEBOT: uh huh thats what i mean

I was gonna note “liker” as additive for pointless classpect purposes, but really more quoting it just because I really enjoy this conversation.  I’m starting to get sold on the chemistry of these two a lot faster than I expected.

JADE: even though I understand that it must happen, i am growing frustrated with the direction of this conversation. DAVEBOT: do you want to talk about something else stinky JADE: what would you suggest?

How long has that dried fucking blood been on her

DAVEBOT: ok hear me out DAVEBOT: kanaya DAVEBOT: but like DAVEBOT: wearing huge jorts

That explains Homestuck’s twitter earlier

> Weeks in the future, relative to the original point of interest...

Wait wait which point of interest?  This time we were just viewing? *click*

I love what must be this shitty imagination-ship they’re using to cross the substrate of reality

> ==>

Whoaaaa.  So they DIDN’T stay in those outfits for long?  It showed them in a bunk bed earlier, it showed CallieJade still going around blood-covered afterward-- dammit, I’m having a hard time gauging exactly how much time is supposed to have passed between their entry into the black portal, their earlier conversation, and this moment.  And as likely as some are to call this poor scene composition, I can’t think it’s anything but intentional, given we’re dealing with a couple of Ultimate Time players bullshitting with each other.

Moments like these are not rare, and serve a valuable function to the story. They are able to show a passage of time with the bulk of the emotional labor of a lengthy bonding process happening off screen. How did we get here? What have they been through? These questions are often better left open to individual interpretation and can give the one interpreting a sense of ownership of the story.

See?  We’re being trolled is why.  (Even if the authors are pulling the trick Alt!Callie describes maybe a little too damn often, because a cut like this where we’re supposed to fill in the emotional gaps and intervening events ourselves as readers depends on readers’ faith that sensible events and decisions for these characters would OCCUPY the gaps, as if readers don’t have faith that what intervenes WOULD make sense to their understanding of the characters the way the authors are writing them... it just seems like an excuse to do whatever you want without adequately explaining yourself, when in reality if you’d spelled out the events that led to it we’d all cry foul at the mischaracterization.)

...okay, maybe I’m a BIT bitter.  Sorry.  Where were we?

JADE: As a point of curiosity- ARADIA: oh shit!!!!

The dead Cherub possessing the body of an equally deceased Goddess of Space pauses at the interruption.

She doesn’t talk much, then?  Too busy doing whatever talking you’d do as your other possessed Jade body?  Just how temporally related is you controlling THIS Jade compared to when you were controlling the other?  When that Jade pegged you as enjoying contact with friends, are these two just not enough for you, or did you “experience” the trips entirely separately?  I don’t THINK the alt!Callie possessing either Jade is a separate entity from the other, but...

Were she to voice her opinion, it would be that --actually-- it is not unusual for those whose primary concern is The Grander Scheme to have a passing curiosity about the insignificant. So when one really thinks about it, any annoyance with the attendant’s small mindedness is both understandable and warranted.

She pissed

...also, “the attendant”.  Even if “serve” is really the verb here, that phrasing really irks me as if she’s talking down to her.  Which, I mean, makes sense for alt!Callie’s character, but doesn’t make me feel better about this new definition being foisted on us.

ARADIA: :( JADE: as a point of order, you never answered dave’s question. ARADIA: which one he is very chatty JADE: you experience time in a way that is woefully unfamiliar to me and it has... piqued my curiosity enough to learn more. ARADIA: ?_? DAVEBOT: shes asking how old you are

Wait a minute, is Alt!Callie asking a question about a dropped topic from WEEKS ago?!  And is Davebot so in touch with Time and the meta ordering of topics that he actually CAUGHT ON that fast to what she was actually wondering about?????

This is getting more disorienting by the minute.

ARADIA: in this form our bodies stop aging once we reach maturity i think ARADIA: the god tier keeps our physical form locked in a state of undying ARADIA: even in death the bodies do not decay ARADIA: only lay dormant

THAT LAST PART IS FUCKING IMPORTANT.  It’s being brought up intentionally to tell us that JOHN’S DEAD BODY can still be in the wallet Terezi’s carrying around RIGHT NOW without having decayed over the past years.  I remember remarking in SOME previous HS^2 liveblog post of mine that I was alarmed by the decay that would have happened there (can’t find my remark on short notice and don’t really care to), so this explicitly dismisses it so we won’t be surprised by the fact that she could keep it in just-dead condition.

DAVEBOT: like how long have you been alive JADE: yes, that one.

[...]

ARADIA: oh maybe a few hundred years or so DAVEBOT: what JADE: what? ARADIA: well if i had known you were going to be so judgy about it DAVEBOT: when did this happen ARADIA: oh i spent some time in other doomed realities and timelines and came back before anybody could tell i was gone

Hm!

We knew she spent a LONG time in the dream bubbles, enough to talk to “pretty much all of the Nepetas”, but she was actually able to access a universe or universes and hop between them?  That’s not something any time traveller we’ve seen has been explicitly able to do intentionally before, quite like she’s describing.

DAVEBOT: oh just out for a bit of fun then DAVEBOT: just hopped on over to a different reality DAVEBOT: real casual like DAVEBOT: oh hello dont mind me just popping in to see if it really is as doomed as they say it is DAVEBOT: did not disappoint ARADIA: yes almost exactly like that :) DAVEBOT: who did you hang out with are they cooler than me ARADIA: it is complicated to explain DAVEBOT: oh ok nevermind then DAVEBOT: all clear

Yep, he’s kinda bewildered.  Is this Pesterquest stuff she’s referring to?  Did she stop by Pesterquest?

DAVEBOT: a whole alternate universe ripe with the coolest motherfuckers imaginable ARADIA: you were there too i threw your air conditioner into the sun DAVEBOT: wow thats fucked up DAVEBOT: thats not where that goes at all JADE: these events are not-canonical. ARADIA: rude

Ah!  Yeah, almost certainly Pesterquest.  (Still haven’t played that and have little inclination to now that I’m more sure we aren’t being gaslit with intentional continuity errors, just disappointed by actual continuity errors.)  Oh!  And that makes a bit more sense because I imagine that’s Black Hole territory, and that territory outside of Canon seems pretty rich and easy for time-travellers to hop between stories and timelines willy-nilly.  As they’re apt to in fanfics, which is the most appropriate way for things to be in that realm!

DAVEBOT: is that the trope of being hundreds of years old but looking young forever patently sucks ass DAVEBOT: a plot device an asshole would write ARADIA: :( JADE: that is not what i am trying to say at all. DAVEBOT: hmm wow yeah thatd really be a sort of pot/kettle situation i guess DAVEBOT: i cant believe im the only woke one here DAVEBOT: its hard being such a visionary AND such a fine metallic specimen DAVEBOT: but im an altruist first and fucking foremost ARADIA: so selfless JADE: yes, the greater narrative is truly blessed by your beneficent presence. DAVEBOT: oh so you got jokes now huh JADE: i have always had the ‘jokes’ of which you speak, but i have heretofore exercised restraint in laying you low. JADE: i possess knowledge of many of your iterations, as the scope of my powers allows me to exist in several narrative structures at once. DAVEBOT: but can she see why kids love the sweet cinnamon taste of cinnamon toast crunch JADE: i do not know, or care, what that means. ARADIA: neither do i :)

I’m actually really enjoying this conversation

JADE: its cultural significance to you as an earthling is wasted on the two of us entirely, as we have not conflated the misguided notion of clinging to nostalgic cereal advertisement trivia with socially relevant conversation.

Pff she literally checked her meta notes just now to learn what the cereal ads were after admitting she didn’t know what it meant and pretending not to care

> ==>

Oh, closer look at Davebot.  Are those actual SHAPED shades over his robotic eye bulges?  Weird, I thought it was just a lazy line drawn between them with red sharpie at first, Sans style.  That would’ve been funny.

> ==>

Ohh, I get it.  I was gonna say that was an unwarranted reaction... but he just realized that the Time-wait puns will be coming from BOTH his shipmates from now on.  That’s gotta be a downer.  :)

> ==>

HOLY

FUCKING

SHIT

IS ALT-CALLIE LAUGHING!??!?!?!??

That’s REALLY, REALLY GOOD!!!  SHE’S ALREADY LAUGHING OCCASIONALLY THAT MAKES ME SO HAPPY

“BEST NARRATOR” COFFEE CUP

SHE’S ADORABLE

> ==>

Ah, was that Jade kicking you out?  Or just the multiverse punishing you for being briefly happy :(

--oh, end of the update.  Guess that’s it for now!

...

Alright I know I’m A BIT BEHIND on covering the HS2 commentary,

But

I really would rather wait on that a bit longer if that’s alright.  Real busy and stressful week or two.  (Found out my hair is starting to thin noticeably at age 31!  Quite suddenly, too.  Blood test looks fine so it’s nothing serious... gonna see a doctor to check if anything can be safely done about that, it’s really hurting my self-esteem more than I thought it would.  Didn’t think it would hit my emotions that hard when it eventually happened, knew it was likely but not so SOON... really messing with my anxiety every time I accidentally touch my hair, now.  I’ll deal with it.)

If I sound really aimless in this post, I think it’s cause I am?  My mental and emotional energy’s REALLY drained.  I’m glad that June/July break in HS^2 happened when it did, and I’m definitely glad there’s apparently plenty in HS^2 I can really enjoy, if this update is anything to go by.  Maybe this comic can help lift me up instead of knocking me down.  :)

See y’all later!  More Patreon commentary blogging catchup after some other upd8.

[lovelylogans]

double chocolate fudge

part of the wyliwf verse, though it isn’t necessary to read that first—a lot of the premise is spelled out in this fic, actually, so it’s a decent prologue

the sideshire files | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: food mentions, complicated parental relationships, mentions of transphobia and homophobia, classism, crying

pairings: gen 

words: 9,258

notes: i actually originally was gonna stick this, as a flashback, in the middle of chapter nine, and then maybe in chapter eleven, but i ended up (grudgingly) cutting it because i couldn’t figure out a way to get it to flow, so, here it is! 

there’s a flu that scours throughout he town at a rate of absurd proportions that week, knocking out the vast majority of virgil’s part-timers, so he’s had to pull his third fourteen-hour shift in four days, waiting and busing tables and cooking, so at last when the diner’s closed, virgil’s making himself his first meal of the day. he’s taking a second to just breathe, because it turns out when people get sick, they really don’t want to cook, so he’d had to deal with dinner rush and take-out and call-in orders, the kind of days that would have been hectic even with a full staff, but with one that’s been absolutely decimated, virgil hasn’t had a moment of peace. and now he has it. 

so when the bell dings, cheerfully disrupting it, he’s less than pleased.

“we’re closed,” virgil barks out in the meanest tone he could manage, which is pretty damn mean. he’s expecting someone to get huffy, or pleading, or mad, and he’s gearing up to turn and kick whoever it is out of the diner without prejudice.

he is not expecting to hear that someone burst into hysterical sobs.

he spins, then, to lay eyes on a stranger (a rarity in sideshire) someone wearing the baggiest black sweatshirt he’s ever seen, a stained pair of jeans with genuine rips, not the kind that are designed to be fashionable, and a taped-up pair of converse. the stranger’s bent over a little indigo bundle, shoulders shaking.

“i’m sorry,” the stranger sobs, “i just—i just,” and breaks down again.

“oh, shit,” virgil says frantically, because that is a kid. “i—shit, i’m terrible, i’m the worst person, i’m so sorry, i can—i can stay open a little longer, please just stop crying?”

but then the bundle starts squalling, and oh, fuck, that is a baby, virgil just yelled at some kid with a baby who was clearly on the verge of a breakdown, he is the worst person on this planet?

“jesus,” virgil says over all the crying, and sets aside the lasagna he’s been assembling and crosses over to the two crying occupants of the diner. “i—“

the kid snuffles, and bounces the bundle—the baby—trying to shush it, but he can’t get out the comforting noises he’s trying to make over his own crying. so virgil is stuck trying to apologize as the kid manages to bounce the baby into calming down, a little, so that there is less screaming but still crying, and the kid stares at him with miserable, red-rimmed eyes.

“i’m really sorry, i can—i can go, i—”

“no, it’s—you’re okay, jesus, i was the jerk, i’m the one who’s really sorry,” virgil says. “here, the baby’ll calm down more while you calm down, if you want to just—sit down? maybe?”

the kid does, settling in the nearest booth and hunching protectively over the bundle of baby, who is somehow still crying, shouldn’t something that small be worn out by now? where is it getting that energy? virgil edges gradually closer and closer, moving slow as to not startle the kid or the baby, feeling like The Worst.

“um,” virgil says, when the baby calms down, eventually, “i can get, like, a spare carseat weird carriage thing if you want to put the baby down? i’m—i’m really sorry.”

the kid sniffs, smearing his sweatshirt paw under his eye. “but you’re closed.”

“i can stay open a bit longer,” virgil says. “i was—i was just in a mood, i’m sorry, i’m not gonna be closed-closed for a while.”

“you really don’t have to—“

“no, i want to,” virgil says. 

“you don’t have to be nice to me,” the kid says after a moment of hesitation, like the phrase nice to me is some kind of olympic-level weight that he doesn’t want to set on virgil instead of it just being the decent thing to do, “i could go.”

“you don’t have to,” virgil says, a little frustrated. “stay. please.”

“well—“

“i feel like making both a kid and a baby cry kind of necessitates an apology,” virgil says. “seriously. i might get struck down by some karmic lightning if i don’t feed you or something.”

the kid makes a snuffling kind of a laugh, hesitates, and admits quietly, “that’d be, um. that’d be nice. thank you.”

“okay,” virgil says, seizing on it. great! he’s accepted an apology! that probably means he’ll stay! “awesome. i’ll, um. i’ll get you a menu.”

“oh, please don’t go to any trouble,” the kid starts. “you’re already doing a lot, i shouldn’t—”

“it’s fine, i was just making myself dinner,” virgil says. 

“then i’ll have whatever you’re having,” the kid says, clinging to the baby. “really, you’re already being so nice to me—”

“you were literally sobbing five minutes ago, but okay,” virgil says. “you like lasagna?”

the kid smiles, sniffles. “i love lasagna.”

“cool,” he says. “um, does the baby, like. should i get something for the baby?”

“the baby drinks milk and i fed him just a little ago,” the kid says. “but thanks.”

“cool,” virgil says, because thank fucking god, he knows nothing about how to take care of a baby. “you want water, hot cocoa/coffee—?”

“hot cocoa/coffee?”

“virgil’s diner original,” virgil says. “hot cocoa and coffee. before you ask, no, not like a mocha. wait. should i be giving you caffeine?”

“i have a newborn,” the kid says. “it is a great time for caffeine. it is the perfect time for caffeine.”

“okay,” virgil says. “water and a hot cocoa/coffee, coming right up. plus the weird carseat thing.”

he chucks the lasagna in the oven and gets those out really fast, because he isn’t super sure that the kid isn’t gonna bolt as soon as virgil disappears, but when he comes back out the kid is staring down at the baby, cooing, and the baby is making little babbling noises back, like they’re talking in their own secret language. they both look so young. the baby is definitely too young for the kid to be a babysitter, so the baby is probably his, right? virgil feels even worse.

“okay,” virgil says, sitting back down in the opposite booth bench. “two waters, two hot cocoa/coffees, one weird thing that parents usually put their babies into while they eat.”

he sets the thing on the table. the kid surveys it, for a second, looks down at the baby, and then back at the thing, like he’s really warring with the decision to let go of the baby or not. it makes sense—it’s a pretty tiny baby, and virgil is some random stranger who just yelled at him, so.

at last, the kid sighs, and shifts his grip. he carefully lays down the little indigo bundle in the thing, making soft noises at him all the while, like he’s making sure the baby won’t fuss as soon as he’s out of his arms. when the baby’s settled—he fusses a little, but he settles with some help of the kid murmuring comforting nonsense at it—virgil takes a look at the baby.

well. it’s a baby. he’s got those bright blue eyes that most newborns have, and a head full of downy dark hair, and a face that is getting less red and more curious about his surroundings all the while. the kid adjusts the bundle so the baby’s arms are free, which the baby immediately takes advantage of, waving them around as if to alternatively say this is an outrage! or point out new things in his surroundings.

"cute baby,” virgil says, because yes, that is a cute baby. like, a picturesque little gerber baby levels of cute. also that seems like the thing to say about a baby. virgil’s never really had extended contact with babies beyond parents bringing their kids into the diner.

“he is, isn’t he?” the kid says fondly, wraps his hands around the mug and takes a sip, and his eyebrows lift. “oh, this is really good.”

“yeah, i try,” virgil says. 

“like. really, really good.”

“sure.”

“like, i think this is my new favorite drink,” the kid says. “of all time. ever.”

he takes a really long, deep gulp, and sighs in satisfaction.

“well,” virgil says. “good, then.”

“oh god,” the kid says, lowering the mug from his lips. “i’m so sorry, i’ve been so rude—”

“i literally made you cry?”

“—i’m patton,” he says, with a polite smile, stumbling a little over the name, like he was about to say something else instead. “and this is logan.”

“patton and logan,” virgil says. “nice to meet you. i’m virgil.”

he carefully reaches across the table and offers his hand to shake. the kid, hesitates before he takes it, and virgil tries not to sigh in relief. his hands are kinda cold—like he’d hesitated outside before going in, like he’d been psyching himself up asking what’s the worst that could happen? and then virgil happened, and wow, virgil somehow managed to make the kid’s hand temperature be a way to feel even worse about this situation, that was a personal record.

to distract himself from that, and to make the kid laugh, maybe, he turns to the baby, and offers his hand for the baby to shake, fully expecting the baby to maybe blink at him and the kid to maybe crack a pity smile, instead of the smile on his face that looks strangely fixed into place.

what he gets is the baby wrapping his tiny hand around virgil’s pointer finger, and gripping onto it with a surprising amount of strength for such a tiny hand, and virgil goes a little slack-jawed.

(years and years later, this will be the moment virgil pinpoints as when he became an absolute sucker for logan sanders, and the moment that virgil’s mind starts its slow pivot from “twenty-two year old trying desperately to run the family business whose general idea of babies is ‘that’s cute i guess’” to “twenty-two year old trying desperately to run the family business and becoming a little baby-crazy in his quest to protect the sanders boys.”)

“oh,” virgil says.

“he’s got a hold on you, huh?” the kid—patton—asks, amused, and takes another long drink of hot cocoa/coffee.

“yeah,” virgil says, a little stunned, because—because his hand’s so tiny, and yet he’s holding onto virgil, and blinking up at him with those pretty little baby blue eyes of his, like he trusts him or something, which is a stupid thing to think, he’s a baby, but it’s just— 

“he’s really tiny.”

“yeah,” patton says softly.

“is he supposed to be this tiny?” virgil asks, unable to tear his eyes away from the baby, who is altering his grip on virgil’s finger slightly with some kind of fascinated look on his face. he has eyelashes. they’re so long, and yet, so tiny.

“he’s a little small, but not, like, worryingly small,” patton says, propping his chin on his hand and smiling down at him—a real, actual smile, not the polite one. “he was born a bit early, so that’s expected, but he’s six point three pounds, or at least he was the last time we weighed him. he’s due for a growth spurt here, apparently.”

“six point three pounds,” virgil says, hushed. the baby weighs a little more than a bag of sugar, for fuck’s sake, how is his grip on virgil’s finger so strong? not strong enough that virgil can’t break it, but. but stronger than the grip of something that’s six point three pounds. “wow.”

“yeah,” the kid agrees, voice soft. 

“i mean—wow,” virgil repeats, staring at the baby—who is a baby, sure, but he’s gonna be, like, a person. a person who walks and talks and thinks for himself, and right now, that person is six point three pounds. “how old is he?”

“he just hit three weeks, two days ago,” patton says.

this baby is not even a month old and yet he’s aware enough to recognize fingers and hold onto them and test his grip and look around at things, and.

“sorry, this is just—i’ve never really been around babies?” virgil says, managing to tear his gaze away from the baby—logan, right. “so this is kind of blowing my mind, right now.”

“yeah, me either,” patton says. “well, before him, anyway.”

“it’s just—he’s gonna be a person,” virgil says. 

“i know,” patton agrees, soft. “i know. like, he’s gonna go to school and make friends and have opinions and walk and read and write and talk and all that, someday, but right now, he’s—”

“a baby.”

“yeah,” patton agrees, and leans so that he can smile at the baby—a real smile, a soft, private-looking, proud kind of smile. “yeah. right now, he’s my baby.”

he’s my baby. so the kid is definitely the baby’s dad.

"can i ask you how old you are?” virgil says tentatively, and patton stiffens, just a little, but a smile’s back on his face in a second. not the soft one, a polite one, a pleasant-looking one. a practiced one.

“seventeen in january.”

so, he’s sixteen. jesus christ, this kid is sixteen. virgil yelled at this poor sixteen-year-old dad with a baby.

“okay,” virgil says, keeping his voice carefully blank, even though the confirmation that this kid is, you know, a kid, has sprung fifteen million questions in his head, namely where are your parents? and what are you doing here? and something is definitely going on here, are you okay, is everything okay? then, because it seems like a fair trade, he says, “i turn twenty-three next month.”

"cool,” patton says awkwardly. he takes a sip of hot cocoa/coffee.

virgil does too, because honestly the baby’s gonna be the one who chooses to let go, not virgil, and having a baby hang onto his finger seems like the least he can do to keep the baby entertained. he takes a much slower, longer sip than usual to buy time for him to scramble for something else to say, and he ends up going with the relatively neutral, “so, uh, where are you from?”

“the city,” patton says, and amends, “well, one of the suburbs north of the city.”

virgil’s not about to ask him specifically which one, but, well. there’s a certain connotation with a lot of the suburbs north of the city. and that connotation is rich. which virgil was not expecting when he saw this kid in some of the rattiest clothes he’s seen in a minute that aren’t his, and yeah, there is definitely something going on with patton, is this kid, like, okay?

“it’s about an hour away from here,” patton says, and hesitates, before he says, “where—um, where is here, actually?”

“oh,” virgil says. “you’re in sideshire.”

“sideshire,” he repeats, like he’s testing how it sounds, then he shakes his head. “i’ve never heard of it.”

“it’s a pretty small town, so,” virgil says. “not surprising. we’re really mostly known for pride stuff, so—”

“pride stuff?” patton says, sounding intrigued. the baby makes a noise, too, and brings virgil’s hand closer to his face, examining it.

“right, yeah, you’re new here,” virgil says. “it’s not a super-huge deal, but we were, like, one of the first small towns to start having consistent, yearly pride parades that were, like, approved by the whole town, that kind of thing, so it’s always been pretty lgbtq friendly, but a lot of people move here in search of—well, i guess to live in a small town that doesn’t live up to the stereotype of homophobic small towns, you know?”

“oh,” he says, and his smile widens. “that’s—that’s really cool, actually. really?”

“my family’s been living here forever,” virgil says. “my great-aunts started it, really, they moved here because of that and then my grandpa came here too and founded this place, so.”

“that’s really cool,” patton repeats, sincere, and then he blurts out, “i’m trans.”

“oh, nice,” virgil says. “just wanna double check, he/him pronouns, right?”

patton’s grin widens—like he’s happy that virgil is asking, like it’s some huge thing, when again, it is the decent thing to do. “yeah!”

virgil weakly jabs a thumb back toward the little pride flag display he’s got behind the counter, and says, “i’m gay.”

“really?” patton says, eager, and virgil can’t help but laugh a little, because he’s so excited, it’s like seeing a puppy who thinks that the random dog in the mirror is a friend.

“yeah, really,” he says.

“i’ve never met anyone else who’s gay before,” patton says, still eager, still excited.

“what, seriously?” virgil says, thrown off.

“yeah,” patton says. “i mean, i—well, where i’m from, it’s kind of, you know, not really talked about, people like me, and at school, it’s not really—i kinda stick out like a sore thumb at chilton, for a lot of reasons—”

“chilton?” virgil repeats, eyebrows raised, and patton almost looks abashed, and virgil wishes he could take it back.

“i—yeah,” patton says. he takes a long drink of hot cocoa/coffee.

“wow,” virgil says. “that’s—that’s a really good school.”

a really rich school, too. the kind of school that requires kids to be on waiting lists, and that has uniforms and secret societies and debutante balls, with direct lines to ivy league schools.

“yeah,” patton says, looking away from logan, from virgil, and down at the ground, like he’s ashamed. “yeah, it is.”

virgil hesitates, and checks the time on the lasagna—not done, not close to done—and then the baby sleepily lets go of virgil’s finger, apparently deciding that the pair of them are too boring to stay awake for.

“can i ask you something?”

patton shrugs. this isn’t exactly an enthusiastic yes.

“you can—i mean, you don’t have to answer if you want, or it can just be a yes or no thing,” virgil says.

he nods at that. virgil leans forward.

“patton,” he says, quiet, “what are you doing here?”

patton breathes in sharply, but doesn’t answer.

“i mean—” virgil hesitates, leans forward more. “you didn’t know about sideshire, you didn’t know where you were, you’re pretty young and you have a baby and you started crying as soon as i snapped at you, which again, i am so so sorry about that, but i’m just—is everything okay?”

as virgil’s been speaking, patton’s face has been screwing up, slowly—his brow furrowing, and his lips pressing together, and his shoulders hunching up, and oh no oh no oh no he’s going to cry again—and he swallows, hard, when virgil’s done.

“i,” he begins, and they both wince when patton’s voice breaks on the syllable. patton swallows, and tries again.

“i think i might have just made the worst mistake of my life,” he chokes out, and sniffs, smearing his hand under his eyes, before he buries his face into his hands.

“oh, i mean, that’s—oh, god, okay, um, is it okay if i put a hand on your shoulder or something?”

he nods without lifting his head from his hands. virgil hesitates, before he puts a hand on patton’s shoulder.

“this is such a dumb question, but, um, are you okay?” virgil says tentatively.

patton lets out a muffled snort into his hands.

“i’m a trans teen dad who ran away with his three-week-old in the dead of the night,” he says. “so now i’m technically a homeless trans teen dad with my three-week old baby, with most of my belongings jammed into my car, and i’ve been planning for this a little, sure, but also not planned long enough at all, so no. not really.”

“oh,” virgil says, and then, “well. shit.”

“yeah,” patton says, and peeks out from his hands. “yeah, that sums it up.”

“i,” virgil begins, and hesitates. “i mean, i—do you have someplace to stay, or to go, or—?”

he’s already shaking his head, and virgil lets out a slow breath, because he’s starting to get stressed out and anxious for this kid, because, like. that’s a lot.

“my plan was mostly,” patton says, and begins ticking it off on his fingers. “discreetly pack as much as i could in the couple weeks since i’d made the decision and drain as much cash from my bank account as i could, without people noticing, keep track of my parents’ social calendar for an opportunity for the house to be empty long enough for me to get a head start, make sure i packed up all of logan’s baby things—did you know how much stuff a baby requires, it’s a lot—and then when i got out of there, just.” he gestures vaguely toward the horizon, slumping back in the booth. “find somewhere, find a job, figure stuff out.”

virgil says, “you’ve been thinking about this for a while, huh?”

“yeah, i actually—“ patton begins, before he shakes himself. “it’s a long story.”

“we have a while to wait for the lasagna, if you want to tell it,” virgil says gently.

“you don’t have to—”

“i offered,” virgil says stubbornly.

the kid considers this, and then drains his hot cocoa/coffee. “can i get a refill first?”

“you know too much caffeine is bad for you,” virgil says.

“newborn,” patton repeats. 

virgil winces, because, well, he might be asleep now, but those screams earlier had been pretty earsplitting for someone so tiny. “be right back.”

he picks up the mugs, goes back into the kitchen, and ends up just bringing out the coffee pot of hot cocoa/coffee—he doesn’t want to interrupt the kid anymore than he has to—and slides back into the booth, filling patton’s up generously and topping off his own drink.

“okay,” virgil says. “so. long story.”

“you really don’t have to, you know,” patton says.

"i asked,” virgil says patiently. “you don’t have to tell me anything you’d be uncomfortable telling me, a stranger who yelled at you, and again, i am so sorry—”

patton waves him off, and pauses, deliberating, before he huffs out a breath.

“so, my parents are emily and richard sanders.”

patton then gives him a look, like this should be Significant, but virgil can only shrug and say, “sure, if you say so.”

patton, strangely enough, brightens. “you don’t know who they are?”

“nope,” he says. “i mean—you didn’t know sideshire was a thing, i have no idea who your parents are. are they a big deal, or something?”

“oh, they’re a big deal,” patton says. “or at least, they are in the city. my dad’s the executive vice president of—well, the exact company doesn’t matter, but he’s in insurance and he oversees the international division, and my mom is—“ patton wrinkles his nose. “well, she’s really involved in charity, and daughters of the american revolution, and a hundred other social things that i can’t remember off the top of my head.”

“okay,” virgil says slowly.

“sorry, it’s just,” patton says, and shakes his head. “basically everyone knows who my parents are. it’s just—i dunno, most of my life has been spent with most adults going ah, you must be emily’s—” he cuts himself off with a wave of the hand, “and all the, you know, i heard from someone who saw you cutting school today, when i didn’t even see someone i knew, so it was just—”

“your parents are big brother?”

“not really,” patton says, and tilts his head. “well, that’s what it felt like, sometimes. i dunno.”

he shakes himself, takes a fortifying sip of hot cocoa/coffee, and says, “anyway. so, my parents are, um. let’s go with old-fashioned?”

oh god, please don’t be a you got disowned and ran away because you’re trans story, please don’t be a you got disowned and ran away because you’re trans story—

“so i had a lot of expectations, you know, do really well in school, go to an ivy league, marry someone of the proper social standing, and then have a kid,” patton says. “i didn’t really mind the whole house spouse thing my mom kept hinting at as a kid, because i always told people what i wanted to do when i grow up, whenever someone would ask, i’d always say i wanted to be a parent, but—i dunno. my whole life’s been planned for me, and no one really cared if i said no to it, you know?”

“oh,” virgil says, and then, because he can’t really think of what else to say, “ugh.”

“right,” patton says, and grimaces. “i dunno. a lot of my life feels like i’m just walking on eggshells and i’m just waiting for the day where i fuck up again and i’m back to being the family disappointment.”

virgil winces, and the kid looks down into his mug. virgil isn’t sure what to say, so it’s almost good when patton clears his throat and continues.

“anyway, um, so—i just—i kind of... lashed out, i guess, a lot? like, even if i’m trying and trying to be perfect, i’m still a fuck-up, but if i’m deliberately a fuck-up, well—”

“you’re not a fuck-up,” virgil mumbles, and patton smiles humorlessly.

“no offense or anything, but we’ve known each other for less than thirty minutes,” patton says. 

“i—”

“anyway,” patton says. “um, nowhere in this plan did it decree that i could be, you know, a rebellious teenager, or trans, or gay, or trans and gay, which—”

please don’t be a you got disowned because you’re trans story, please don’t be a you got disowned because you’re trans story—

“i mean, they were... it wasn’t the best response they could have had, after me telling them i was trans, but it wasn’t the worst one, either?” patton equivocates.

“like,” virgil prompts gently.

“well, i mean, it took some... persuasion,” patton says, “but they’ve been pretty good about my name and my pronouns and stuff.”

oh thank god not a disowned story—

“it’s just,” patton says, and sighs. “i dunno. they’re not, like, super transphobic, but i just—”

he pulls a face, takes a sip, and says, “i mean, i just—i was never gonna stack up, i knew that, i was pretty mixed up about the whole, you know, gender situation, partially because i didn’t know about this kind of thing for a long time and partially because, well, like i said, my parents are pretty old fashioned, so i was worried about how they might react when i, like, realized, and accepted it, and—so i did some stupid things.”

virgil thinks about protesting that, the stupid part, at least, but he has a feeling that patton would double-down on talking down about himself, which made virgil feel kind of upset, really, because this sixteen-year-old kid with a baby is clearly dealing with more than enough stuff right now in addition to dealing with any self-hate talk, so he stays quiet. he takes a sip of hot cocoa/coffee. he listens.

he listens as patton talks the snooty people that’ve been surrounding his whole life. he listens as patton talks about the expectations, the way people would look down their noses if he strayed from those expectations, the murmurs of disapproval that would follow. he listens as patton talks about the bullies at school who tried being his friend at first because he was a sanders and who turned on him the instant he decided to live his life as himself. he listens as patton talks about the drinking, and the boyfriends, and the stunts he’d pull, and the lectures that would escalate to screaming after each time. he listens as patton goes almost hoarse as he’s talking, like he hasn’t been able to talk to people for as long as he’s been talking to virgil, like he’s been locked up in some kind of tower or something. he listens as patton talks about going through it alone, like he’s got no one in his corner, no one who’s got his best interests as he sees them at heart, no one who wants to listen and be there and be a shoulder to cry on, and no wonder he ran away.

he listens as patton holds his breath after each infraction he’d detail that seemed like a big deal to him, and the whooshing breath of relief that he’d let out when virgil would just nod to signal he was still listening, and that he could keep going.

his heart hurts for this poor kid. this poor lonely kid.

“so, that brings us to about nine months, give or take, before now, which—”

the baby starts crying.

“—that’s about it, yeah,” patton says, and leans to pick him up, pitching his voice so it’s soft and comforting. “hey there, baby, you don’t gotta cry, i’ve gotcha, i’ve gotcha—”

he stands up, baby cradled in his arms, and asks, “where’s your restroom?”

“back in that corner, just down the hall,” virgil says. “i’m gonna check on the lasagna.”

he nods, and heads back into the bathroom, and virgil departs for the kitchen. he carefully puts on his oven mitts, takes it out, sets it down, and—

and the bell jingles.

no, no, no, no—

he rushes out of the kitchen, and sees patton blinking at him, cradling the baby to his chest with one hand, carrying a tote bag with the other.

“hey,” virgil says, feeling abruptly stupid. “um. sorry. i thought—”

“i left the diaper bag in the car,” patton says. “so. i’ll be right back, again.”

“right,” virgil says. “um, good. i’ll just—dish up the lasagna.”

“right,” patton repeats. “um,” and then ducks back into the hall, heading for he bathroom.

virgil, slowly, lets out a breath and resists the urge to slam his head against the cash register. what the fuck was that, he scolds himself even as he goes back into the kitchen. what the fuck was that, the kid would totally be allowed to leave if he wanted to, that isn’t your call to make, oh my god, can you possibly look worse, you already fuckin’ yelled at him, jesus—

“—all right, lo, is that all you needed? you feeling okay? no more crying, for now?”

no response, but he hears patton giggle.

“aw, well, you’re welcome, sweetheart! i love you!”

the smacking noise of a kiss, a babyish noise that’s probably some kind of response, in baby-speak, and patton giggling again.

“yeah, who do i love most ever of all time? it’s you! it’s you!”

more baby noises. virgil smiles, unable to help himself, as he dishes up generous portions of lasagna.

“you’re the bestest little baby in the whole wide world, aren’t you?”

virgil hesitates, before he gathers up the plates and two glasses of water on a tray before hoisting it and emerging carefully from the kitchen. he sees patton, smiling down at the baby, walking around the diner and bouncing logan carefully. he’s looking down at his son with such a fond, gentle look on his face, not paying attention to the world around him, like logan’s the only thing that matters.

virgil doesn’t wanna break the spell, but when patton turns a little to start walking again, he sees virgil and starts. “oh!”

“dinner’s ready,” virgil says lamely, and walks back to their booth, setting down the dishes and the water before dropping the tray back behind the counter. 

he settles back behind the booth, and passes patton a fork.

“so,” he prompts gently. “this year?”

“right,” patton says, and digs in, talking in between bites of lasagna.. “um, so—so i’ve got this friend, christopher?”

oh, thank god, this kid has a friend.

“that’s good,” virgil says encouragingly. “how long have you two known each other?”

“since i was born, basically,” patton says with a grin. “apparently, he threw up on me the first time we met.”

“ew, gross,” virgil says.

“i know, right?” patton says. “but whenever i get sick, he always just says it’s okay, you owed me one. he’s—he’s my best friend.”

“good,” virgil says. a best friend, that’s even better than a friend.

“uh, about that,” patton says, and virgil frowns.

“not good?”

“um,” patton says, takes a bite of lasagna, eats it, swallows, and then clears his throat. “so you know how it takes two to tango?”

he tilts his head at patton, confused. 

“i don’t...?

patton very pointedly nods toward logan.

“oh,” virgil says. “i—oh. okay. got it. right.”

“yeah,” patton says. “so, um. to make a super long story short—and i’m so sorry for taking up so much of your time—“

“you don’t have to apologize,” virgil says.

“well, i’m apologizing,” patton says, and takes another bite. “anyway, i just—i, you know, chris and i did... that, and then he happened, and i love him, of course i do, more than anything in the world, but hoo boy, if a trans teen was a topic of gossip, a pregnant trans teen was—”

“yeah,” virgil says, and winces. 

“right,” patton says miserably. “so it just—i dunno, so much of the time it felt like logan and me against the world, and pre-pregnancy, chris was telling me all about how we’d skip a year, go to europe, backpack it, train it, sleep on benches, see the world, and—and we’d be out of here the second the diploma was in our hands.”

“that sounds nice,” virgil offers softly.

patton smiles, but it looks more like a grimace. “yeah,” he says. “yeah, it does—did, i guess. he said i should leave a note on the dining room table that says dear emily and richard, i don’t belong here, i’m going somewhere else, i’ll call you when i get there, love, patton, and we’d just... jet. so. the idea started then, i guess, right before my birthday, and then in feburary or march, i, well.”

he places a hand on the carrier. “realized this guy was comin’ along.”

“right,” virgil says. 

“so our parents were—you know, trying to plan our lives,” patton says, and looks—strangely—almost ill for a moment, before he brushes it off. “and chris and i were sitting on the stairs, eavesdropping, and just—no one asking us what we thought, what they were trying to decide what to do with our lives, and chris kept saying that they’re trying to figure out what to do with our lives, and that we’d need their help, and i just kept saying no, no, we can take care of ourselves, and he went how and i said we’ll figure it out, and he said it’s okay, it sounds okay, giving up europe and getting a job with your dad and living here, it sounds okay, and he couldn’t just—he can’t just give up everything for me, i could never, ever expect him to do that, if my parents suck his are the worst and he’s been wanting to get as far away from them as possible for as long as i can remember, so—”

“so you started planning on running away.”

“so i started planning on running away,” patton agrees quietly, and takes another bite. “and not just—i mean, not just because of christopher, but i just—i couldn’t stay there anymore, you know? even pre-pregnancy, i knew i couldn’t stack up, and, well, during pregnancy—”

he makes a face, and says, “i mean, i—i love logan, i love him, i never imagined i could love anyone so much, but just—well, being a boy and being pregnant, it—”

he breaks off.

“you don’t have to finish that,” virgil says quietly. 

patton nods, just a little dip of his head, and eats a couple more bites, before he says, “so i was pregnant, and i gave birth, which really, really sucked, by the way, i was in labor for fourteen hours—”

virgil flinches.

“—i’m so holding that over logan’s head for the rest of his life, but i just—post-birth, i realized that if i stayed there, my parents would try to parent logan the way they parented me, and i couldn’t—i mean, i couldn’t let that happen. i couldn’t let that happen, right?” he asks desperately.

“course not,” virgil says.

“and i mean, i know they love me,” patton says, just enough uncertainty lingering in his voice that it breaks virgil’s heart all over again, “i know they do, but i can’t—logan can’t be raised the way i was, you know? he could be anything he wants, anything in the world, and i’d be behind him, i’d be rooting for him, but with my parents, they’re so rigid, if he wanted to be a, oh, i don’t know—”

“a diner owner,” virgil offers.

“right, a diner owner, they’d think he was on the same level of a carjacker, or something—um, no offense,” patton says quickly.

“none taken.”

“i mean, as long as—as long as he’s happy, that’s my whole mindset, you know? as long as he’s going to be happy, i’m going to be happy, but with my parents, it’s more—they have a very specific way i should be happy.”

“for what it’s worth, i think you’re right,” virgil says. patton smiles thinly.

“thanks, i guess.”

a pause. they both eat. patton’s practically done—it’s like he hasn’t eaten all day, and then rolled up to a diner that he’d had to psych himself up about going into, and god, virgil yelled at this poor kid, who’s practically inhaling his food.

“i mean, i had my life planned. like, my life plans came over on the mayflower, they’re so old. i was supposed to graduate from high school, go to yale or something, marry some blueblood, and instead, i—i got pregnant, and i’m not finishing high school, and i’m not marrying christopher, and i—”

the kid is choking up. before virgil can say anything along the lines of please don’t cry, it’s okay, it’ll be okay, the kid’s continuing.

“i humiliated them, the two proudest people in the world and i’m humiliating them, i’m spoiling their plans, i—i’m taking their world of opportunity and privilege and comfort and i’m throwing it in their faces, i’m taking all of that away from logan, i’m breaking their hearts and they’re never, ever going to forgive me—”

the kid breaks down again, a hand coming up to cover his eyes, and virgil’s up before he can even think, sliding out of the booth and kneeling in front of patton’s.

“oh, hey, it’s—can i come up there, can i hug you?” 

“you don’t have to,” he sobs.

“i’m asking, can i come up there and hug you?” virgil says, and the kid nods, still not removing his hand, so virgil can’t see his face.

virgil cautiously rises up onto the booth, and, slowly, wraps an arm around his shoulder, and drops his hand so he can rub up and down patton’s arm, the way his mom used to do for him.

“i don’t know what i’m doing,” patton says, voice trembling dangerously. “i just—i thought i could get it under control, but i can’t, i can’t, and my life is falling apart, i’ve been thinking about this for months and months and months and it’s here and i’m failing, i can’t handle it, i just—i can’t even walk into a diner without having a breakdown—”

“that’s not your fault—”

“—and i thought i would have help, but i’m so stupid, running away means running away, which means my parents don’t know where we are, and christopher doesn’t know where we are, and we’re alone and i love being a dad, i do, but i don’t think i can be a dad all on my own, and i don’t know if i’ll be able to figure out having a job and taking care of my kid, but i need to have one in order to do the other, and it’s going to be so much, and i’m such an idiot for not thinking about that, i don’t have a plan, i don’t know where i’m going, and god, my mom was right, just because i couldn’t handle sitting in their house listening to her call me an idiot and i can’t even argue with them, because i am, and i’m gonna run out of money and i’m gonna be homeless and i’m gonna have to give up logan or go crawling back to my parents and who knows if they’re ever gonna forgive me, i don’t know if they’re never gonna talk to me again or if they’re gonna send the police after me to drag us both back and to have me locked up in my room for as long as they can manage, and even if they don’t i’m still stuck unemployed and homeless and with a baby that i barely know how to handle and i don’t even know which option is worse and i’m going to fail, i’m going to fail—”

he buries his face into virgil’s chest, and virgil freezes, just for a moment, before he hesitantly puts a hand on patton’s head, and tries to stroke his hair.

“you aren’t going to fail,” virgil says firmly, and strokes a hand through his hair.

“i don’t know what to do,” he sobs out, heartbroken and scared, and virgil tightens his hold on him, runs his hand through his hair again, and patton hiccups.

“i don’t know what to do,” he chokes, and virgil runs his hand up and down his arm, cradles his head, tries to just hug him.

“i don’t know what to do—” he says in the smallest voice, voice barely above a whisper. 

“it’s okay,” virgil says, voice gruff. “it’s gonna be okay, okay? you and logan are both gonna be just fine.”

he keeps going—saying that kind of thing, you two will be okay, or it’s okay to be sad, or i’m sorry this is happening—and awkwardly cupping patton’s head, running his fingers through his hair.

his shoulders shake, and virgil stays where he is, setting his chin on patton’s head. logan, mercifully, doesn’t pitch a fit because his dad is upset, the way virgil’s seen some babies do—he’s staring, but that’s about it.

sorry your grandparents suck, he mouths at the baby. thanks for being chill.

logan, predictably, just blinks at him.

eventually, patton stills. virgil pulls back, bit by bit, and patton’s turned very red, staring down at the table.

“can i have the bright side?” falls out of his mouth before he can help it, and he cringes even as patton goes redder without removing his eyes from the table.

“what?”

“i—forget it, you don’t—”

“no, i mean, what’s that—what’s that mean?”

virgil rubs the back of his neck, and mumbles, “it’s just—i have anxiety.”

“oh,” patton says. “um, sorry.”

“it’s not—that wasn’t—i wasn’t trying to get you to feel sorry for me or any—um, anyway, so, i’d, you know. catastrophize a lot, or i’d rant about my day, or say everything that could go wrong, and after i’d get really upset or something my mom would just say can show me the bright side here, stormy steve? or something like that and i’d have to think about something good that could come of it. even if i was upset, well. i’d think of one good thing and that—that helped. so.” 

virgil clears his throat, and now they’re both staring at the table. “stupid, i know,” he mumbles. “forget it. um, do you like chocolate?”

“yeah,” patton says.

“cool,” virgil says, and then he lies. just a little. “if you don’t mind, i’m, um, we’re trying out this new cake? double chocolate fudge. i could use a taste tester before i decide to start serving it regularly.”

okay, fine, he’d tried out the new cake five months ago, when he took over the diner, but it’s still new enough that it’s not on the menu yet, so there.

“oh,” patton says. 

“you cry in my diner, you get food,” virgil says. “if you’ll have it, that is.”

“i—sure. i’ll split some cake with you. thank you.”

“cool,” virgil says, and nudges the glass of water closer to patton. “crying dehydrates you, so, um. drink up.”

patton, who still hasn’t looked up from the table, wraps up the cup in both his hands. 

virgil goes to the back, and preps the biggest slice of cake he can pass off as a typical serving, and grabs two more forks before heading back out to the table, where patton’s gently squishing his son’s squishy baby cheeks and booping his tiny, tiny nose.

“he’s really cute,” virgil says, setting down the cake. “is it as satisfying to squish him as it looks?”

“it is,” patton says, and, smiling, looks up, even as his eyes are red-rimmed and he hasn’t quite managed to smear off all the tear tracks on his cheeks. “do you wanna hold him?”

“i—oh,” virgil says. “oh, are you—are you sure?”

“yeah, i mean—” patton says. “if you wanna?”

“i mean, i just—i’ve just never held a baby before?” virgil says. “so you’ll have to coach me through it.”

“oh! sure thing,” patton says, and demonstrates the arm hold. “like this?”

virgil copies him exactly, freezing in place, as patton coos gently to his son, leaning over him and gathering him in his arms.

“okay,” patton says, turning. “oh—great, yeah, just like that! just be sure to support his head, okay?”

“right,” virgil says. “weak neck.”

“yeah, that’s it,” patton says, smiling, and carefully, slowly, transfers logan into virgil’s arms.

virgil immediately cups his head with his hand—god, what if he didn’t and something happened to logan’s tiny baby brain?—and patton settles all six point three pounds of him into virgil’s arms, stepping back, which virgil barely notes out of the corner of his eyes, because—

because he’s holding a baby.

(even if logan grabbing his finger wasn’t The Moment, this certainly would be.)

he’s so tiny, and somehow, so warm, so utterly, completely captivating—six point three pounds did not equate small in terms of attention, in terms of focus that virgil was giving him. he blinks up at virgil with clear blue eyes, and virgil can’t help but let his lip twitch up into half a smile.

“hey there,” virgil says to him, his voice taking on a distinctly cooing tone that would probably alarm him when he wasn’t holding a baby anymore. “hi there, kid, i’m virgil.”

the baby says nothing, unsurprisingly. virgil kind of wants to press his nose into the baby’s cheek, or something, and then is slightly alarmed by that impulse. what is it with the immediate urge to just... cuddle and poke at and murmur at it fondly? some kind of evolutionary instinct, probably.

virgil had never considered himself a baby person before. wow. is he a baby person? is that what this is? or is he just very particularly a logan-baby kind of person? virgil doesn’t know any other babies, so he’s just gonna have to assume baby person. which is—new.

so virgil’s just—probably looking like an absolute freak, beaming down at this random baby he has no attachment to, and he feels like it, a little, because it’s just—well, logan’s so little and virgil just wants to be sure that he keeps that curious look on his face, that he’ll grow up and smile and be happy, and wow, yeah, this baby has got him wrapped around his little finger. 

“cute,” patton murmurs, and virgil just about startles.

“oh! um,” virgil says, and nods his chin toward logan. “should i...?”

“it kind of seems like you want to keep holding him,” patton says, amused.

“i kinda do, a bit,” virgil admits. "is this, like. am i a baby person?”

“you don’t know?” patton asks.

“well, like i said, i’ve never really been around babies, you know?” virgil says, as logan’s eyes shut lazily, and oh, wow, is he seriously comfortable enough where he is that he’s falling asleep on virgil?

“what, ever?” patton says.

“i’m the youngest of five, plus i’m the youngest of all my cousins,” virgil says. “youngest child of youngest children, you know. most babies i’ve seen are customer’s kids, so this is, like. my first extended contact with one.”

“only child,” patton says. “but, well. i always liked kids, even when i was a kid.”

you’re still a kid, virgil thinks but doesn’t say.

“i used to babysit a lot, and i volunteered for daycare, and stuff, so,” patton says. “kinda always knew i was a baby person.”

“good,” virgil says, looking back at logan. “that’s good.”

“do you wanna know the bright side?”

virgil looks up from logan, distracted, not getting it, until he very suddenly remembers.

“oh!” virgil says, and shifts his stance while making super sure he doesn’t shift his grip on the baby. “yeah, of course, tell me. what’s your bright side?”

patton grins at him, weary. “at least i never have to do today again.”

virgil laughs, and concedes the point with a nod. “that’s pretty smart, you know?”

“eh—” patton begins, clearly about to wave it off.

“no, seriously,” virgil says, and smiles at him. “you never have to do today ever, ever again. congratulations.”

patton laughs—it doesn’t sound particularly happy, it sounds kinda snotty, actually—but it’s genuine, and so virgil smiles a little wider when he hears that, and looks down again at the baby in his arms. 

“he’s really cute,” virgil says. “congrats on the good genes.”

patton laughs again. “well, thank you.”

he steps closer, and peeks at logan. “he must be really tired,” he murmurs.

“yeah?” virgil says.

“well, it’s just—logan’s usually crying, this time of night, but i threw his schedule all kinds of out of whack,” patton says, and bites his lip.

“hey, that happens,” virgil says. “should i lay him down, though?”

“yeah, probably,” patton says, and carefully worms his hands under logan so that he can take him back. virgil steps close, as to ease his way, and patton lifts him, lies him down in the carrier.

virgil tries not to feel disappointed, and instead takes his seat in the booth again, handing across the fork for patton.

“try the cake,” he says. 

patton digs in, and lifts the fork to his mouth, and then his eyes close and his hand comes up to his mouth.

“oh,” he says dreamily. “oh. that’s really good.”

“well, good,” virgil says, digging in himself. it really is, if virgil says so himself—fudgy and rich and moist, chocolatey and decadent and just good. perfect thing to eat when you needed some kind of sweet comfort food.

they eat the whole cake in fairly companionable silence, and virgil pushes patton to take the last bite, and he does, before leaning back against the booth with a satisfied sigh.

“that was some really good cake,” he says. “definitely put it on the menu.”

virgil grins. “glad to hear it goes over well.”

“did you come up with the recipe yourself?” patton asks.

“yeah,” virgil says. “well—most of the diner ones are either family recipes handed down or mine, yeah.”

“wow,” patton says. “i mean—i burn toast.”

“it gets better with practice,” virgil says reassuringly. 

patton grimaces, just a little. “one more thing to worry about.”

“it doesn’t have to be,” virgil blurts out.

“what?” patton says.

“you could—“ virgil hesitates, gestures with his fork. “i mean, you said that you didn’t have anywhere in particular to go, right?”

“right,” patton says cautiously.

“you could stay here,” virgil says. “i mean—not here-here, necessarily, i don’t think i have room for two people plus a baby upstairs, but—sideshire. you could stay here, in sideshire.”

“i—huh,” patton says thoughtfully.

“i mean,” virgil says. “i know maria—she’s a family friend, she knew my aunts—i know for a fact she’s always hiring, and that doesn’t require much in terms of work experience. there’s pretty good childcare in sideshire, not that i know as much about it as you’d probably want to.”

patton doesn’t say anything.

“you could just—sleep on it?” virgil says. “maria—she runs the inn, you’d probably be doing housekeeping or waiting tables or working in the kitchen, i know that if you went in there and told her virgil sent you that she’d have a place for you—pretty cheap, if not free.”

“i couldn’t—”

“one night,” virgil says. “one night, you sleep on it, and you can decide in the morning. stay or go.”

patton pauses, licks his lips, and nods. “sleep on it,” he repeats slowly.

“yeah,” virgil says. “i mean—you’ve had a big night, patton, to say the least, and you’re gonna have a big day tomorrow, too. you have a lot ahead of you. i’d probably be insisting to anyone else that they stop and take a break, too.”

patton concedes the point, and nods.

“it’s just—” virgil hesitates, before he shrugs. “it just seems like—you need a person, right now. a friend. or at least a familiar face that isn’t your infant son.”

patton tries for a smile, and it wobbles. it’s almost better than the fake, practiced one.

“yeah,” he says, quiet. 

“okay,” virgil says. “then if you need it, i can be your person.”

patton stares at him, before he nods. “okay.”

“yeah?” virgil says.

“yeah,” patton says. “okay. i’ll listen to you, as you are now my person. i’ll sleep on it.”

“okay!” virgil says. “good.”

so virgil sketches out direction to the inn on a napkin, and gives patton a half-caf hot cocoa/coffee for the less-than-five-minute drive, and holds logan as patton packs away the coffee and the diaper bag in his car stuffed full of all his and logan’s belongings, and patton takes logan to start fastening him into the car seat.

“get some rest,” virgil says. “you and logan both.”

“it’s funny that you think i can get logan to rest when i want him to rest,” patton says wryly, double-checking that logan’s all fastened in. 

virgil leans in to see logan’s face, and tells him directly, “get some rest.”

logan makes a sleepy noise.

“that was a yes,” virgil tells patton, and patton snorts, before he reaches over and takes out his wallet.

virgil’s already shaking his head, and puts his hand down on patton’s hand.

“no,” he says.

“i can pay for what i ate,” patton says.

“i was closed,” virgil says. “this was just dinner between two friends. okay?”

patton hesitates, before he lowers the wallet.

“okay,” patton says. 

“okay,” virgil says. 

“i... no matter what i decide, virgil,” patton says. “thank you.”

virgil ducks his head. “i just—”

“you were really nice to me when you didn’t need to be,” patton says. “thank you.”

virgil hesitates, before he opens his arms. “see you maybe?”

patton leans in, and wraps his arms around virgil’s waist. he’s short—it probably shouldn’t surprise virgil, he’s sixteen, he’s probably due for a growth spurt—but virgil wraps his arms tight around patton’s shoulders, trying to transmit some kind of be okay be okay be okay energy that’ll carry him through, no matter if he decides to leave sideshire or not, and just make sure that their lives turn out better.

“thanks,” patton repeats as a whisper into virgil’s shoulder, and virgil squeezes him a little tighter. they separate.

“not a problem,” virgil says roughly, and steps back as patton hops into the driver’s seat and starts the car but doesn’t yet close the door against the wintry chill.

“drive safe, yeah?”

“yeah,” patton confirms. “i just—virgil?”

“yeah?” he asks, sticking his hands into his hoodie pockets.

patton smiles at him, and says, “i’m not sure how much thinking i’ll do.”

virgil smiles back at him, and patton lets out a sigh—he almost sounds happy. 

“i actually have a pretty good feeling about this place.”

with a smile that’s bright and beaming and real, he shuts the car door with a noisy thud.