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lovelylogans · 4 years

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love light gleams

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part of the wyliwf verse.

the sideshire files | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: food mentions, complicated parental relationships, teenage emancipation, emotional abuse, mentions of being disowned, mentions of transphobia and homophobia, classism, mentions of past underage drinking, crying, religious content (church, going to confession), remus cameo, mentions of choking/killing someone, something similar to the canon “have you thought about killing your brother?” monologue, please let me know if i’ve missed anything!

pairings: gen

words: 57,686

notes: it took my catholic-raised ass three months into writing this story to realize all of the goddamn religious implications i wrote into this story, and that realization was spurred because of the scene that gets introduced in this chapter, so, enjoy!

so, the sky is dark, but patton genuinely has no idea what time it is. god, he really hopes that the diner’s open. he could probably steal back to the inn and see what they’ve got leftover, or maybe get the cheapest thing on the menu at al’s pancake world, but. he’d really like to see virgil.

logan starts crying midway through the walk, so that means that patton has to steal inside the town’s gas station to check if he needs anything, but of course, he doesn’t, it’s his colic, and the reason patton doesn’t know what time it is is because he’d fallen asleep in the kitchen , somehow, without logan’s crying to wake him up for however long, so he’s probably held in the crying for a while, and—and it’s still upsetting, he knows that logan’s crying and it feels like he’s a bad dad because he can’t fix whatever’s wrong because something has to be wrong because logan’s crying, but he can’t fix it, he can only bounce logan and walk him along and hush him the best he can.

logan’s still crying—not screaming, but still crying—by the time he walks into the diner, so when he enters the diner he steals into the nearest empty booth in order to keep bouncing logan and rest his aching feet.

“it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” patton chants to him. “shh shh shh, it’s okay, sweetheart, i wish i could fix whatever’s wrong—”

he keeps talking to logan, trying to keep his voice quiet so that he isn’t disrupting the other diners, and eventually logan quiets, staring at him with red, watery eyes, and patton blows out a slow sigh of relief, air streaming toward his bangs.

“okay,” patton whispers. “okay. are you feeling better now, little love? yeah?”

logan sniffles a little, makes a babyish kind of hiccuping noise, and patton adjusts his hold on logan so he can wipe the tears off his face, and then, with one hand, smear at his own face. god, he’s so tired. shouldn’t a nap have made him less tired?

“hey, what can i get—”

patton and the woman stare at each other for a few seconds. some of those seconds patton’s spending frantically searching through his brain to see if he’s forgetting that he’s met this woman before, or—

“i’m so sorry, but, um, are you new here?” patton says uncertainly.

“funny, i was gonna ask you the same thing,” the woman says, cocking out her hip. she looks familiar, with dark hair and blue eyes and ohh.

“wait, are you virgil’s sister?” patton asks.

“one of ‘em, yeah,” she says, and gestures. “i’d offer to shake your hand, but, ya know. baby holding takes priority. i’m technically winifred, because our parents hate us all, but i go by fred slash freddie. mostly freddie.”

“okay,” patton says. “freddie, hi, nice to meet you. um, i’m patton, this is logan.” he pauses, before he explains, “we moved here about a month ago.”

“ohh, that’d do it,” freddie says, sticking the pencil behind her ear. “i moved away—oh, i guess about a year ago now for work, so.”

“oh, what do you do?” patton asks, seizing on a socially acceptable way to do small-talk, but it’s as if those words are some kind of secret code that he’s shattered, because virgil bursts out of the kitchen, eyes wild, plonking the baby carrier on patton’s table as if to prove his point.

“ no feet on my tables or counters, no hands on my counters, do not do any backflips, frontflips, sideflips, or fancy acrobatic tricks i don’t know the names of, and no you can not show him your weird tricks that prove that mom and dad had your spine removed at birth—“

“—it’s called contortionism—”

“people are eating, that sh—stuff is gross,” virgil finishes.

“you aren’t the boss of me,” freddie says.

“no, but i’m the boss of here,” virgil says, and freddie blows a raspberry at him.

“sorry about her, patton,” virgil says, and now that they’re side-by-side, patton can see the whole sibling resemblance thing even clearer.

“oh, don’t be, i think she’s funny,” patton says.

“ha! see? i’m funny,” freddie says.

“why did you stick around here again?” virgil says.

“mom and dad were going to a museum’s diorama opening,” freddie says, and raises her eyebrows for emphasis. “a diorama opening, virgil. so if it’s between that and—”

“—not getting out of my hair?”

“spending time with my beloved baby broooo-theer,” she coos, and virgil ducks out from any of her attempts at a hug like getting his hand off a hot stove, and patton tries to stifle his laughter against his hand.

“just—go back to the counter, winifred jane, ” virgil huffs, and freddie curtsies and prances, dramatically, back toward the counter.

“so, she’s an ...acrobat?” patton guesses as he starts to situate logan in the carrier.

“acrobat, wannabe circus woman, dancer, stuntswoman on occasion, yeah,” virgil says wearily. “the dream’s cirque du soleil.”

“that’s really awesome,” patton says. “i went to one of those shows once, a few years ago, it was—” a time he remembers fondly with his parents, which sends a stab of regret through his chest, makes him think of the papers that are practically burning a hole through logan’s diaper bag—“i mean, wow. that’d be a really interesting job. she seems like she’d be really good at it.”

“please don’t say that where she can hear you, her ego will grow three times too big.”

“grinch reference?”

virgil smiles, just a little, and patton clears his throat, digging around.

“um—i’m happy you came over, actually, i meant to drop this off yesterday but well, you know,” he says, and makes a vague hand gesture with one hand, digging in the bag with the other, before he presents it to virgil, flushing just a little.

he’s not the best knitter, but. it’s the best he can do really. and it doesn’t feel like even a fraction of enough, in terms of a gift for virgil, but—virgil’s face does something at the sight of it.

“it’s a scarf,” patton elaborates, because, well, to be fully honest, it’s kind of difficult to tell. “um, for your birthday. so. happy late birthday. again.”

“oh,” virgil says. “patton, that’s—that’s really cool, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“this was seriously the least i could do,” patton says firmly.

“well,” virgil says, and picks it up carefully, ignoring the bit at the end that patton didn’t knot very well and is therefore unraveling as they speak, “thanks. hey, it’s purple!”

“well,” patton says. “yeah. it, um. it’s your favorite color. isn’t it?”

virgil then unfolds it.

“oh, you—you don’t have to wear it right now,” patton says.

“no, i love it,” virgil says stubbornly, carefully winding it around his neck. he smiles a little, touching it gently, as if to ensure it won’t unravel anymore. “thanks. no one’s ever knitted something for me before.”

“oh,” patton says, perking up a little. “well, um, you’re welcome!”

“it’s nice and warm,” virgil says, and readies his notepad. “do you want—?”

“oh! um, one more thing,” patton says. “i had—well, part of the reason i couldn’t drop it off is because i had lunch with maria yesterday, as, like, a check-in kind of thing,” and to drop off the papers that will definitely be like in the top three of major life-changing decisions i’ve made this year , “and apparently christmas pay is first come, first serve, and since i’m the most recent hire, i, uh. i guess logan and i are coming to your family christmas? if that’s still okay?”

“of course that’s still okay,” virgil says firmly. “that’s great. um, i will let you know that freddie will also be there, so if you want a get out of jail free card now, i can pretend you never told me—”

patton laughs, even as he swats at virgil. “she’s your sister.”

“yeah, i know,” virgil says. “which is why i’m offering you the get out of jail free card.”

“i dunno, it seems like it’ll be kinda fun,” patton says. “i’m an only child, so. siblings are kind of a mystery to me.”

“god, i wish that were me,” virgil mutters under his breath.

“it’ll be fun!” patton says. “you called your sister by her full name, am i gonna hear you get middle-named by your parents, at some point?”

( god, virgil hopes not; he’d panicked a couple weeks ago when patton had been talking about names, said that his “oh, my confirmation name was thomas” and patton had gotten so excited about him and logan and virgil being “middle name twins! or, triplets, i guess!! that’s so cool!!” and virgil had said “HAHA YEAH HOW COOL IS THAT” all while dedicating himself even more to locking down his full name so no one will hear it, because god virgil wishes his name was virgil thomas!)

“uh, maybe,” and then, “what do you want for dinner?”

oh, so it’s dinner time, patton thinks. he’d been a little nervous he’d slept straight through the night, almost to the dawn. according to the stuff he’s been reading, that probably won’t happen for another month and a half, and for it to happen regularly until logan hits six months.

“hot cocoa/coffee,” he starts, and virgil groans, and logan makes a babyish noise, as if to support patton, and patton decides to resort to using the baby to get him caffeine.

it’s worked before, and patton’s banking on it working again.

(it does.)

⁂

it takes patton slightly embarrassingly too long to tune in to the abnormal thing on his schedule, the next morning.

it’s probably because patton got about an hour of sleep in snatches, between trying to calm logan and when he was lying on his back, staring sleeplessly at the cracked ceiling of the poolhouse, turning the emancipation situation over and over and over in his head.

because on one hand, he fills out the emancipation form. which is the logical thing to do, at this point—sixteen-year-olds can file for emancipation and teen parents have an even better chance of getting approved, especially since he has a job and a place to live. he fills out the emancipation form, he stops feeling the urge to look over his shoulder all the time, no more fear of his parents sending a detective after him to try to find him or anything—honestly, he’s surprised they didn’t file a missing persons report. he knows they haven’t, he’s been checking.

but he files for emancipation. and then what? his parents would hate him. any chance patton might have at forgiveness gets slimmer and slimmer by the day, like a rope fraying, a rope he’s clinging to despite the fact that he’s got a pretty decent foothold in the mountain that he’s climbing, and filing for emancipation would be like taking out an axe and chopping the rope so with one misstep he’d start free-falling. emily and richard sanders are proud people. patton filing for emancipation would be like a slap in the face.

and then what? they’d be furious with him. they might never, ever forgive him. they might never even talk to him again.

and on the other hand, if he doesn’t—then that means that that looming threat of being dragged back home still hangs heavy over his head. and then what? he’d be locked up in his room, for the next two years, at least? thrown back into chilton? sent right back to his life before, before he’d gotten a taste of a world being free of being emily and richard sanders’ child first and the continuation of the sanders line second and any anything about himself third, of being expected to go to an ivy league and be a house spouse and join a thousand societies and go to a hundred balls and luncheons and meetings a year and just, what? be a pretty bird, in a gilded cage, and miss any chance of seeing logan through these baby years and his childhood? maybe even be forced to give logan away, or make him be kept at his parents’, be logan’s older “brother.” he doesn’t even know what they’d do to him—and that would be the nice option.

but. but, if he doesn’t... his parents might forgive him for running away. oh, not immediately, of course not. but there’d be a hell of a lot better chance of them forgiving him if he doesn’t actively turn away.

yeah. so. patton’s lost a lot of sleep he’s got a lot on his mind. he missed something atypical on his schedule. he’s tuned into it just in time.

so, he manages to tidy up the last room before his lunch break a bit quicker than usual, and, after being waylaid by changing logan, manages to slide into the kitchen.

“sorry,” patton pants. “am i—am i late?”

“you’re early, actually,” cindy says, and patton blows out a slow breath of relief, trying not to clutch the stitch in his side.

“good! good, i was worried i’d be late. um—how do holiday parties usually go around here?”

“oh, they’re pretty casual here,” cindy says. “eat some snacks, drink some drinks—well, you’ll be having soda, i guess—play some music, you know. casual. maybe a game, if someone gets too into it, but it’ll be charades or some other party game like that.”

“uh-huh,” patton says, whose experience with christmas parties are mostly his parents formal events with the really good apple tarts and really terrible small talk, “casual, okay. i can do that.”

“and probably,” they say, with a wry smile, “a round of pass-the-baby, but that’s pretty normal around here now.”

“well, as long as everyone washes their hands, i’ll be fine with that,” patton says, already moving to remove the baby carrier (and logan in the baby carrier) from his chest.

“since they’re coming into my kitchen, they better be,” cindy says.

their coworkers start gradually filtering into the kitchen over the course of the next few minutes; patton hands logan over to rafael, as he makes the first claim and is the first to finish washing his hands to cindy’s satisfaction. patton’s kind of glad, because he can chit-chat pretty easily with rafael; he usually ends up hovering nervously the whole time anyone else is holding logan, so this at least gives him an excuse other than looking like a hysterical, overprotective nervous nelly.

"so,” patton says, “do you have any plans for the holidays?”

it turns out raf’s wife is jewish, so they’re celebrating hanukkah already (”it’s not as major a holiday as, like, rosh hashanah or yom kippur, but she loves latkes, so i’m going to eat potatoes for the whole holiday, which is the opposite of a problem”) so they’re already in the middle of their holiday celebration.

and then hector wants to hold logan, so patton starts talking to hector—he’s going to see his daughter and his granddaughters, and he hands logan back in time to dig out photos and proudly show them off (which frankly is the exact kind of dad and, oh god, potential grandpa he wants to be) chattering patton’s ear off about how little ana is so smart, reading already, and sofia might only be a bit older than logan but she’s already a strong one, nearly broke his finger with how strong she was holding it last time.

and then logan starts fussing, so patton takes him and ducks into the nearest unoccupied room to check on him, and when he walks out—

“oh! excuse me,” patton says, before he realizes who he’s talking to.

“not a problem at all,” meredith says warmly. “oh, hello, logan!”

“can you say hello?” patton prompts, even though he knows it’s about eleven months until logan will start using basic words like hello or bye-bye, but he doesn’t so much as babble.

patton smiles apologetically, but she laughs.

“he’s a newborn, i don’t expect any of that yet,” she says reassuringly. “i heard from virgil that we can expect to see you at the family christmas?”

“oh, yes,” patton says, shifting logan in his arms. “turns out holiday pay is a first come, first serve thing, which i probably should have expected. thank you again, so much, for inviting me, by the way,” he adds hastily—he can hear his mother lecturing him about rudeness now, and then even the thought of his mom makes him sad—and she smiles.

“well, it’s just nice to meet a friend of virgil’s after,” she says, hesitates, and continues, “well, it’s just nice to meet one of virgil’s friends.”

that’s a strange way to put it. look, patton knows he’s practically sleepwalking, but that’s a strange way to put it, right?

“well, it’s nice of you to have us,” patton says.

“oh, my, what do we have here?” maria asks, as she comes down the hall. “patton, i hope she’s not corrupting you.”

“maria,” meredith says warmly.

“no, no, not at all,” patton says. “um, i was just thanking her for inviting me to the family christmas.”

maria smiles at meredith, putting a hand on patton’s shoulder. “well, how nice! i hate to steal patton from you, meredith, it’s just that if my employees don’t have a baby in the room i fear they’ll riot. honestly, they’ve been the best-behaved they’ve been in years when there’s a baby to be held.”

“why do you think mark and i kept having them?” meredith says dryly.

“we should get coffee, sometime, before you leave for the holiday,” maria says.

they exchange a look that’s a bit too loaded for patton’s exhausted, sad brain to unparse right now.

“so lovely to see you back in town!” maria says, patting patton’s shoulder, which he takes as his cue to go.

“coffee, maria, really, i know where to find you,” meredith, and adds, “i’ll see you three later!”

“bye, mrs. danes!” patton calls.

“it’s meredith—”

“oh, mer, i’ve been trying to break him of his manners for a month,” he can hear maria say as he edges back into the kitchen, “i wish you luck with it.”

he enters the kitchen, and someone is at his side.

“i’ve washed my hands,” pauline says stiffly, and patton grins.

“pauline, would you like to hold the baby?”

“if you insist,” she says, as if she does not immediately cuddle logan close to her as soon as patton puts him in her arms, logan’s chubby fists opening and closing as he reaches for the fine silver chain that supports the modest, everpresent cross that hangs from pauline’s neck.

there’s the soft ting-ting-ting, and patton turns his attention to maria, who’s holding a glass and spoon aloft.

"i’d say i’ll keep it short, but all of you know much better than that,” maria says cheerfully, to a chorus of chuckles. “now! it’s been a wonderful year so far, and i have high hopes that it will continue to be a wonderful year when i leave you all to fend for yourselves after tomorrow. and to ensue in our yearly tradition—”

“our yearly what?” patton says in an undertone to pauline, but pauline’s handing logan back and everyone’s getting up and standing in a circle, so patton hastens to follow.

“now,” meredith says, “we’ll start with cara, and move down the line.”

with a rush of aww s and chuckles, cara walks into the center of the circle with a bowed head and flushing cheeks.

what’s happening? patton would ask, except everyone so clearly knows what’s happening already, so he just sinks a little further back into the round to see what—

“cara,” pauline says, “you are a great speaker. you have a natural ability to best explain to guests any plans thoroughly and articulately, all while answering any questions before they can be asked.”

“aw, thanks, pauline,” cara mumbles, face still bright red.

“cara,” rafael says, “you can solve problems for me in ten minutes that would take me six weeks to figure out.”

oh, patton realizes. it’s a compliment train.

“cara,” maria says warmly, “i know that when i leave for the day, or i’m not there, i am leaving the inn in spectacular, capable hands, and i know that any inn you decide to work in once you’re done with your degree will be just about the luckiest inn in the world.”

and round and round they go, until they get to patton, who says, “cara, you really helped me settle in here, and i always know that when i walk by the front desk i’ll be greeted with a kind word and a smile. you’ve been so gentle with logan, which sets me at ease faster than anything when someone holds logan. you’ve given me a lot of comfort and i really hope you have a lovely holiday with even half the tenderness you’ve shown him, because you really deserve it.”

“oh,” cara says, a little choked up, “thanks, patton.”

“and let’s give it up for cara, everyone!” maria says, and everyone applauds.

hector, rafael, cindy, maria, more and more, every employee of the inn has their time in the center of the circle. patton tries his hardest to impress on each and every one of them how welcome he feels, how grateful he is for them helping them, and he knows it’s not enough, not even close to enough, but the looks on their faces at least make patton feel like he’s at least started to pay them back somehow, and then—

“last of our new hires but certainly not least,” maria says warmly, “patton.”

patton’s face feels like it’s on fire, and he tightens his hold on logan as he steps cautiously into the center of the circle.

“you parent us so effectively, and we’re older than you. logan’s going to turn out so well with you there to teach him everything—you are such a mixture of a teddy bear and a papa bear and i love it!”

“patton, you always try to build everyone up and you’re always so supportive of everything anyone does—you’re encouraging, and you always make an effort to reach out and compliment someone, which really means a lot to me when i’m having a rough time.”

“patton, you always try your hardest to do the right thing, and whether it’s as big as raising that beautiful baby of yours or as small as messing up a customer’s bed, you will always, always strive to make it better than it was before.”

“you are such a nurturing, loving, caring friend, and you are already an amazing father. logan is going to be so lucky to grow up with a dad as kind, understanding, and supportive as you.”

“patton, you always try to greet everyone with a smile and you are such a ray of sunshine to absolutely everyone you meet, it’s incredible. you are just such a... such a good person, like, disney levels of good, it’s almost like birds should do your hair every morning.”

around and around and around it goes, and when it gets to maria she steps forward, face creased with concern, and that’s when patton realizes he’s crying.

“sorry,” he gasps out, and sniffs, loudly, wiping under his eyes with his sleeve. “sorry, sorry, i’m sorry—“

“oh, honey, you don’t need to be sorry,” maria says. “if this is too much—“

“no,” patton says, and tries for a wobbly smile. “sorry, um, it’s—it’s hormones, i think, i’m okay, i’m just—” he swallows, and forges on. “i’m just really grateful for how kind and welcoming everyone has been, and everyone—everyone’s been so nice to me, and i just—” don’t deserve this, i don’t deserve this, why are you being so nice to me? i’m me, you shouldn’t be so nice to me, “ thank you.”

maria gently wraps an arm around his shoulders. “do you think you can handle one more?”

patton, sniffling, nods, smearing his sleeve under his eyes again.

“you have been,” she says, “a spectacular new hire. you’ve been a great employee, you’ve caught up well with your training, you clearly get along well with your coworkers—“

a rush of agreeing noises pour forth, and patton sobs, just a little, and maria squeezes him around the shoulders.

“—you have been so kind and welcoming. guests take notice, and we have taken notice, and patton—you are welcome to stay here for as long as you like, as long as you need. i think that you are a remarkable young man who is working through a variety of unfortunate circumstances, but you face them admirably with a level of strength that i marvel at every day. even with everything that has happened to you, you have not let that affect you, and you remain to be one of the most unique, shining rays of kindness that i have ever met. you are gentle, and sweet, and a good father, and a good boy, who i would be privileged to watch grow into a good man. you are welcome here, and you are loved. more than you know.”

he’s trying to look at maria, but her face is blurring up and he can feel his face crumpling up, and there’s something lodged in his throat that won’t let him say “thank you” in anything louder than a rasp.

“yeah, we love you, patton,” rafael says warmly, as maria draws him in for a hug.

“we love you, patton!” cindy.

“te amo como un hijo!” hector.

patton buries his face in maria’s shoulder, just for a second, trying to get it together enough to thank them, to try to communicate how much it means to him, how much he loves it here, and how much of that is due to the people.

whatever he says, he knows it won’t be enough.

it won’t ever be enough.

but, patton thinks, as maria squeezes his shoulder and murmurs “truly, we do,” in his ear, maybe it can be a start.

⁂

patton doesn’t even know what day it is, really, but cara had been put under instructions re: making patton go for walks and eat something other than inn leftovers, so she’s shooed him out of the front room for dinner. taking logan on a walk and getting some fresh air sounds like a great idea, until—

“oh, shoot,” patton says in an undertone, as soon as he feels the familiar plop! of a cold drop on his head, and immediately places a protective hand over logan’s head as he rushes for safety under the nearest building’s eaves.

and not a moment too soon—it seems like as soon as he gets safely under the roof, that weird precipitation that’s somewhere between rain and snow pours upon the sidewalk, and patton directs a stream of air toward his bangs.

right. he’s stuck here, then, at the...

oh.

he’s at the church.

he’s seen the church, of course; it’s within eyesight of the diner, near the center of town, so of course he’s seen it. he knows that the priest and the rabbi share the space, since the town is so tiny it can’t really justify two separate places of worship, so all of them shared the historical building. it’s pretty, and big, but nothing like the stone behemoth that his parents usually attended—this is white, with a big black door and a steeple, just big enough that it would hold a congregation.

he hasn’t been to this one. he hasn’t been to a church in a while, actually. well, he’d gone before he’d told his parents about pregnancy, trying to win them over before he had to dump life-changing news on them, too, but prior to that had been them inviting over reverend boatwright to talk to patton about the gift of his “virtue” and that had gone over with about the grace and subtlety of a lead balloon. he hadn’t been to church in a long time, really. ever since, well—ever since he realized he was a he.

his feelings toward church have skewed toward complicated since then.

patton chews at his lip. on one hand, it’s the middle of the day, but on the other, it’s in the middle of the christmas season, which meant that there might be a service, which he really doesn’t want to interrupt. he can peek in and see if it’s busy, he figures. that’d be a good compromise.

still keeping his hand over logan’s head, in case of any stray raindrops, he slowly ascends the stairs and reaches the big black door, which has two signs on it. patton squints, adjusting his glasses to read them—one details the jewish services, the other christian. both say all are welcome.

apparently, there isn’t much going on right now, but they’ve got something happening soon.

patton takes his chances. he takes a deep breath. he eases open the door as quietly as he can.

no one’s in the opening section of the church. it feels strangely anticlimactic.

patton cautiously removes logan from his chest, adjusting so that he’ll cradle logan in his arms instead, and settles carefully on one of the benches that’s relatively out of the way.

“all right, love, we’ve got some time to kill,” patton says. “how’s your day been?”

logan babbles at him, and babbles even more, culminating in waving his arms around and a smile, and patton makes a shocked face.

“goodness, you did all that?! where was i, for all this?”

logan pulls a face at him, scrunching up his nose, as if to say silly daddy, and patton laughs.

“yeah, you’re right, i’m sure,” patton says, and surveys his surroundings. it’s decorated, but not in the way he’d expect; cloths of gold and silver descend from the ceiling, like streamers, almost, a christmas tree in a corner, menorahs gleaming proudly in the windowsills, a manger tucked away in an alcove, poinsettias overflowing from anything that might have been an empty space. it’s warm in here, really—warmer than patton would expect.

logan babbles more— pay attention to me! — and patton obligingly turns his attention back to him, tickling logan’s belly, feeling his heart swell up as logan smiles again.

god, patton had had no idea he could love someone so much.

patton leans to kiss logan on the forehead, before he asks, “tummy time, d’you think?”

logan doesn’t really respond. which is fair, he’s a baby.

“tummy time it is,” patton says, and carefully adjusts so that he’s lying on the bench, legs awkwardly splayed and spilling over the edges so that he can stay balanced, and carefully eases logan onto his chest, on his stomach. he is kind of worried that logan isn’t getting enough time on his stomach, since patton carries him around so much and then when patton’s sleeping he’s in the crib, so he’s trying to do it more and more. the trouble is, it’s difficult to do that when his job has him on his feet so much.

logan thumps his fist on patton’s chest, and patton tries not to wince, before logan settles in place.

“there we go,” patton says. honestly, he’s not very comfortable at all, but, well. as long as logan is, that’s what matters. “how about that, huh?”

logan settles, and so does patton.

it’s been a fairly calm day. even though the holidays mean that there’s a lot of people flocking to sideshire to see relatives, everyone’s so frequently out of their rooms that it’s been easy for him to steal into rooms and tidy them up. a lot of employees are taking leave for their holiday plans, maria included, but it seems to even out.

really, patton’s kind of at a loss—he isn’t sure if this is a holiday thing, or if it means he’s getting used to the way things go here. on one hand, he’s happy about that. he likes it here, he wants to stay here, and it’s a good sign that he’s settling. on the other...

well, he’s settling here. not back with his mom and dad. thoughts of going back to school at chilton are starting to seem strange, foreign; why would he need to learn geometry proofs? that isn’t going to help him take care of his baby.

patton lets out a sigh, watching logan rise and fall on his chest, and fixes his eyes on the ceiling.

he’s spent his nights since he got the papers biting his nails down to the quick and worrying about this. he won’t worry about it now.

he won’t.

honestly, if he wasn’t so uncomfortable on this bench, he’d be close to falling asleep. the sound of the rain pattering on the roof and pavement, the warmth of the room, the gentle twinkling lights strung about the room—there’s something inherently calming about it.

of course, that’s when logan starts crying.

“oh, honey,” he says, dismayed, sitting up carefully, “oh, oh, what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

he doesn’t need a diaper change, and, after a quick sojourn to the bathroom (god, patton loves the prolific presence of unisex, family restrooms in sideshire, no gender strangeness about going into the one that usually has a changing table and no lack of a changing table when he goes into the one for the gender he is) logan isn’t hungry, which means it’s probably colic, which means that patton has to, mostly, wait it out.

patton mumble-sings “blue christmas” as he walks laps around the church’s reception area, bouncing logan as he goes, and then “rudolph the red-nosed reindeer,” then “joy to the world,” then “twelve days of christmas.” none of them really help, and patton keeps darting nervous glances toward the church, hoping that the crying baby isn’t disturbing whatever might be going on in there, and—

“oh, i don’t think i know you,” and patton turns, flustered, patting logan on the back.

“i—no, i’m new in town,” patton says. “i’m so sorry, usually i’d take him outside, but with the rain—“

“no, no,” the reverend says—and he has to be a priest or a reverend, he’s wearing the clerical collar—and gestures. “just david and i here, decorating the main space. is it colic?”

patton huffs a breath toward his bangs, trying to get his curls out of his eyes. “yeah, how’d you know?”

he smiles. “lucky guess. how old is he?”

“about seven weeks.”

“i’ve seen babies for baptisms for years. may i—?”

“oh!” patton says, even more flustered. “um, of course, sure, just—”

pattno carefully hands over logan, and, with a practiced, professional flip that still makes patton jolt forward, heart in his throat, hands up as if to catch logan if he dropped him, the priest positions logan so that he’s on his stomach, his head still pillowed by the priest’s elbow, body balanced along his arm, and, with several firm pats to logan’s back, logan hiccups and falls silent.

“i,” patton says, “how did you—how did you just do that?”

“colic carry,” the priest says, lifting logan slightly, as if in demonstration. “uncommon trick, and really it doesn’t usually work this quickly, but. still useful.”

“oh,” patton says, breathless. “i—thanks.”

“you’re welcome,” he says. “your name...?”

“oh!” patton says, shaking himself. “right, i’m sorry—i’m patton, i moved here about a month ago.”

“archie skinner,” he says.

“nice to meet you,” patton says. “would you mind, um. showing me how to hold him like that?”

the priest smiles, and shows patton how to position his arm, before he gently transfers logan back to him, and patton adjusts to this new, unfamiliar, frankly miraculous way to hold him.

“forgive me for asking, but are you religious?” archie asks. “i don’t think i’ve seen you, but of course you might be more familiar with david—“

“i,” patton begins, and huffs a breath. “to be fully honest, that’s a good question.”

“oh?”

“i used to go to church a lot more when i was younger,” patton explains. “but then i, um, well. at my parents’ church, they didn’t seem very pleased that i was... well, like i am.”

archie frowns. “i’m sorry you had that experience.”

“yeah, well,” patton says, and shrugs, mindful of how he’s carrying logan. “it is what it is, i guess.”

“well, i’d invite you to sit in, if you like,” archie says, “except for the next few hours, we’ll be doing reconciliation.”

patton frowns. “i thought that was an easter thing?”

“traditionally, yes,” archie says. “however, some parishioners prefer a more frequent opportunity, so we do it once every three months or so.”

patton absorbs this, and archie gestures.

“well. if you and—?”

“logan.”

“—logan would like to come in, we certainly won’t make you sit out here to wait out the rain.”

“thank you,” patton says, and he follows him into the (church? temple?) worship space.

there is a man with a yarmulke in a corner—david barans, the rabbi, patton guesses—who’s making sure that a gold cloth stays affixed, as archie disappears into the confessional.

eventually, david leaves too, and patton slowly relaxes back into the pew as people slowly filter in.

he falls back into the sort of lull he’d been in before—the rain, the soft piano music in the background, the low, flickering light of the candles, logan falling asleep and staying asleep when patton cautiously eases back onto the pew and sets logan on his chest for pseudo-tummy-time, cradling logan’s head—and startles a little when someone sits beside him.

“i didn’t know you were catholic,” pauline comments, and patton rubs at his eyes.

“mostly on a technicality,” patton says. “went to church growing up, that kind of thing.”

pauline nods. “well. reverend skinner has good sermons each week, if you’d like to join.”

“i’ll think about it,” patton says, and shrugs. “weekend hours, you know.”

“yes,” pauline says. “i do.”

a long pause.

pauline’s an older lady, with hair that’s a strange shade between blonde and gray, and an ever-present cross around her neck. she almost always wears twinsets, sweaters and slacks, skirtsuits that remind him of his mom, tights that never have runs in them, sensible, neutral-colored heels. her hair’s cropped close to her head. it’s curling a little, just at the edges, probably from the stray drops of rain that had gotten to her, despite the umbrella folded up in her left hand.

“are you going to penance?”

“oh—i, um, i just got caught up in the rain and i ran for cover, ‘cause, you know,” patton says, lifting logan ever so slightly.

“hm,” pauline says. “well, you might think about it. i’ve found that penance always gives me a great clarity of mind. it may be difficult, but when i walk out of the church, i feel... lighter. it might give you some form of closure. perhaps it would help.”

patton sits, silent, not quite able to meet her eyes. yeah, patton, starting to cry because people were too nice to you at the christmas party was a great move.

“i know you’ve had quite a year,” she says. “acknowledging that may help you move forward, in anticipation of the new year. but either way,” pauline says, and offers her hand. “though it’s not mass... may peace be with you.”

patton smiles, and shakes her hand. “peace be with you.”

“i hope that for you,” pauline says. “genuinely. i wish for you to move forward and achieve some kind of peace.”

patton folds his lip under his teeth and swallows. “thank you,” he croaks. “that’s—that’s very nice, pauline. i appreciate it.”

pauline nods, and she stands, smoothing her hands down her skirt, before she moves to where the line has dwindled to one person for reconciliation.

penance always gives me a great clarity of mind. it might give you some form of closure. i wish for you to move forward and achieve some kind of peace.

patton blows out a slow breath. “all right,” he says under his breath. “what could it hurt?”

and so, after pauline enters the reconciliation confessional, patton stands and slowly moves toward the line.

when she exits to see him there, she looks startled, only for a moment, before she offers him a rare smile.

“i’ll be praying for you,” she says.

“thank you,” patton says softly, and he slowly enters the confessional, settling in the seat, shifting logan just slightly.

patton takes one deep breath, two, before he admits, “it’s been a while since i’ve done this, i can’t remember—”

“forgive me father, for i have sinned,” archie prompts gently.

“right, right,” patton says, and swallows, swiping his free hand along his jeans to get rid of the sweat, then swapping his hold on logan so he can do the same for the other. “forgive me father, for i have sinned. it’s been... i think two and a half years since my last confession.”

“may god the father of all mercies help you make a good confession,” the priest says formally.

patton swallows, hard, eyes suddenly stinging.

“um, i’ve. i’ve lied,” he says. “to my parents, teachers, and friends. about who i am, what was happening to me. if i was happy or sad. if i’d done the work that was asked of me. about where i am, and what my plans were. are. i was—i am— deceitful and secretive.”

no response. patton guesses he’s just supposed to keep going, then.

“i’ve been angry,” he says, and suddenly it’s difficult to look at logan, and the guilt that comes from saying all of this out loud, and how is he supposed to feel lighter? “about—about the way others treated me, and i know i’m supposed to turn the other cheek, but i—i didn’t, sometimes, and i spoke in words of anger or hurt, but it doesn’t take away the fact that it was mean.

“i’ve been sad,” patton says, “and ungrateful, and i didn’t properly cherish what i had, what i could have. i’ve been prideful, and greedy, and lustful, and wrathful, and envious. it feels like i’m making my way down the list of the deadly seven, so. there’s that.

“i’ve drank—alcohol, i mean—and i’ve drank too much, a few times, and i can’t remember all the stuff i’ve done then but it was probably pretty bad. i’m not sure if that’s a sin, but it feels like it should be, especially since i’m not of age.”

he chews his lip, and says, “i’ve snuck out of the house, and lied about where i was, and shut out my parents for asking where i was. sometimes, i’d just... disappear. sneak out of the window, or wait until they were asleep, but i’d just sneak out of the house. i’m sure i’ve worried them terribly.”

“i’ve been...” he says, and his voice cracks. “i’ve been a terrible son. i’ve lied to my parents. i’ve been cruel to them. i ran away from home without a word, and there’s only been one phone call to tell that i’m not dead, which feels like i’m being unthoughtful at the least. i’ve caused them so much worry, and pain, and i’m stuck in the middle of a choice that will either hurt me and my son, or hurt them even more, and i—i don’t know if it’s a sin, choosing to hurt them, but it feels like it should be. and i—i don’t know what to do?”

a beat, and then patton adds, “oh, i guess i had premarital sex, too. um, that’s a sin,” he says, with a sobbing kind of laugh, swiping his fingers under his eyes. “i don’t know if having a child outside of marriage is a sin, but it probably is, ‘cause of the whole sex thing, so add that one on there. i’ve done a lot of bad things over the past couple years, but i think i covered the big ones and i wouldn’t want to keep you for hours.”

“that’s quite a list,” archie says, and patton gulps.

“yeah.”

“it must have weighed on you quite heavily.”

“yeah,” patton says, and a sob escapes him, involuntarily. “it—yeah.”

“and you are truly seeking repentance?”

“yeah,” patton says. “i mean, i think i—yeah.”

“well,” archie says. “i’m afraid my advice mostly follows on what you’ve been doing, which is changing your ways—you’re making a living, you’re caring for your son.”

patton blinks, sniffling. “isn’t the advice usually to pray my rosary five times, or something?”

“well, if you feel it’ll help, you can certainly do that too, i’m sure mary wouldn’t be opposed,” archie says reasonably. “but repentance —true repentance, in my mind—is a marked, vested interest in change. i certainly think that you’re doing that.”

“i’m changing,” patton says wearily. “trust me, i’m changing. to say the least.”

“quite,” archie says. “and... i suppose the rosaries and stopping by more church services couldn’t hurt, wouldn’t you say?”

patton manages a giggle—a snotty, gross one, but a giggle. “sure. i’ll say some rosaries.”

“all right,” archie says. “do you remember the act of contrition? i can walk you through it, if you like.”

so archie walks him through it, before he says, “god, the father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the holy spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins. through the ministry of the church, may god give you pardon and peace. and i absolve you from your sins in the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy spirit.”

“amen,” patton says.

“now,” archie says. “go forth, and go in peace.”

patton hesitates, before he says, “thank you” and quickly scuttles out of the confessional.

he’s re-strapping logan to his chest out front, listening keenly for the rain, by the time archie re-emerges from the church.

“oh!” patton says, “um—“

archie holds up a hand, and says, “if you prefer, i can stick very firmly to the whole ‘confessionals are private’ aspect of it.”

patton blows out a slow breath of relief. “yes, i’d appreciate it.”

he makes sure that logan’s secure in the carrier, and archie nods at him.

“well,” he says, “you’d certainly be welcome at our christmas mass, if you like.”

“i’ll think about it,” patton says, and admits, “i’m spending christmas with the danes’, so i’m not really sure of my schedule.”

“oh, they’re fine people,” archie says. “have a nice day, and a merry christmas.”

“you too, reverend,” patton says, and opens the black door, about to step out into the square, before—

“patton?”

“yes?” patton asks, turning around.

archie smiles thinly, before he says, “you do realize that who you’ve been offering to pray to—well, mary was an unwed teenage parent too, you know.”

patton’s lip quirks. he runs a hand over logan’s downy hair.

“huh,” he says thoughtfully. “you know, i guess she was.”

⁂

“hey. hope you didn’t get caught in the rain.”

“no, no,” patton says, and tilts his head. “well—i did, a bit, but i managed to steal away into the church so we didn’t get too drenched.”

“oh, that’s—good,” virgil says, and similarly tilts his head. “i didn’t know you were—?”

“raised catholic,” patton says. “i like church better here, i think. it seems less—”

“homophobic slash transphobic, yeah,” virgil says dryly. “archie’s nice, he and david stop in here sometimes.”

“that’s good,” patton says. “how’s, um, the family being in town going?”

“good enough, i guess,” virgil says, scratching at his temple with the eraser-end of his pencil. “um—they’re over there.”

patton glances to where he’s gesturing to see freddie, meredith, mark, and three people he doesn’t know in a booth.

“esther and silas,” virgil elaborates. “they’re twins, second and third oldest. oh, and essie’s fiancée annabelle, too, she’s the one in pink. wyatt’s coming sometime tomorrow morning, he’s oldest.”

“the surgeon?”

“the surgeon,” virgil confirms.

“should i go over and introduce myself?” patton asks uncertainly.

“mom and dad will take care of that for you,” virgil says. “can i put in your order?”

“pasta with marinara and parmesan cheese?” patton asks.

“side salad too?”

“sure, side salad too. and—“

“don’t say it,” he says, trying not to sigh.

“c’mon, please,” patton begs. “i need caffeine, c’mon, look at that face. look at that little baby face—“

“don’t bring the baby into this—“

“i have to bring the baby into this, he’s why i need it to stay awake to make sure i can take care of him, virgil, and you want him taken care of, don’t you?” patton wheedles. virgil hesitates. wavers. sighs.

“you’re on a limit, you hear me?”

“‘course,” patton says happily.

“i mean it,” he says sternly.

“uh-huh, sure,” patton says.

“i’m serious.”

“of course you are,” patton says, and he must do a better job of looking less gloaty that time, because virgil sighs and notes it and heads back to the kitchen.

and, true to virgil’s word, meredith gets up and then gestures for everyone else to get up, and patton hastily waves at her, trying to get her not to, because really he’s just one person (well, one person and one very tiny person, who is easily carried) and that’s six people, so he quickly cuts across the diner before they can move to get up.

“hi,” patton says.

“hi!” meredith says cheerfully. “this is our son, silas—“

silas, who looks the most like virgil of any of the siblings patton has seen so far, nods his head in a little jerk of acknowledgment.

“—our daughter, esther—“

“essie,” she corrects, in a voice that’s bright and cheerful, and patton likes her immediately.

“—and esther’s fiancée annabelle,” meredith finishes.

annabelle, whose hair is pulled back into twin puffs, smiles at him, her white teeth a contrast against her perfectly smooth, dark skin.

“nice to meet you,” she says.

“nice to meet you too,” patton says. “um—i’m patton, this is my son, logan.”

my son. still so new, so wonderful to say.

“would you like to have dinner with us?” meredith asks.

“oh!” patton says. “well, i mean—you don’t have to, i know it’s probably family time, and—”

“nonsense!” meredith says. “plenty of space, you’re joining us for christmas, the proximity to a baby—“

“please distract them,” essie says, jokingly, “dad keeps asking about wedding plans and i think he’s the only one who cares about napkin colors.”

“details are important,” mark says.

“not when the wedding’s still nearly two years away, they don’t,” annabelle quips.

“i—okay,” patton says, and so they end up pulling an extra chair at the table and mark basically immediately lays claim to holding logan first.

virgil exits from the kitchen, looks confused, before he lays eyes on patton and strides over.

“your caffeine, which again you know is limited,” virgil scolds.

patton’s about to say something teasing, like you’re not the boss of me or something, but a voice cuts in.

“surely he’s old enough to decide if he wants caffeine if he has a baby,” the brother—silas—says, and patton falters, fingers withdrawing from the mug. there’s just—something. in his tone. that reminds him of withdrawing into a corner at chilton. which isn’t—it’s stupid, it’s his tone, it’s not like he’s said anything especially hurtful, but—

“ silas matthew,” mark says.

“what, he does,” silas says.

“yeah, he does, but he’s my friend and i don’t want him overdosing on caffeine, si,” virgil says, and silas scowls.

patton tries to come up with something to say, fails, and ends up shifting in his seat as virgil and his brother glare daggers at each other, before virgil double-checks that everyone’s drink is okay and going back to the kitchen.

he’s my friend.

well—of course, patton had thought that virgil was his friend, he’d said when they met, hadn’t he, i’ll be your person, but he just kind of figured that virgil was being nice and helpful, but—

he’s my friend.

no one other than christopher has voluntarily called patton their friend since he came out. (and even christopher was pretty leery about doing that in public.)

patton directs his smile into his mug of hot cocoa/coffee.

the conversation moves on swiftly. annabelle ends up prodding essie into telling a story from work, and she’s apparently a coding analyst (seriously, the array of jobs in this family???) and has a horrific coworker. really, it’s mostly annabelle venting about how essie gets taken advantage of at work, and essie going “well, i wouldn’t say” and annabelle going “no, you deserve better,” and the only time essie really indulges in the venting is when it comes to the way the coworker treats other coworkers.

honestly? patton can admire a partner sticking up for their partner. he’d like to have a partner like that one day.

oh, great. and now he’s thinking of christopher, and that distinct, bittersweet but way more bitter than sweet ending, and his “what are you going to do?” and patton doesn’t know what he’s going to do and now he’s gotta redirect his train of thought now .

“hey, pat, watch out, hot plate,” virgil says, and patton lets out a sigh of relief that he hopes isn’t too noticeable. “plus, salad.”

“thanks, v.”

“aaand parmesan,” he says, setting the little adorable bowl with the little adorable spoon that the diner uses to give out things like parmesan.

“it looks great,” patton says truthfully, and, after virgil withdraws, patton folds his hands in his lap.

it takes a couple minutes for meredith to glance sidelong at hm.

“are you not hungry, patton, sweetheart?” meredith asks, and oh no, now everyone is looking at him, and—and patton, sweetheart, the same way he says logan, sweetheart, is that just a parent thing or?

“oh, no i am, but—“ patton says, ruffled, “but, i, um, it—the way i was raised, you wait until everyone has gotten their food before you start eating, or else it’s—or else you’re being rude. so.”

“what planet are you from?” silas asks, and sure, said by anyone else, it could be a joke, but—but it’s that tone again, and—

“silas,” essie hisses.

“ what, i know you’re thinking it too—“

“look, i—maybe a little, before i met patton, but look at him, he seems perfectly nice, he’s been nothing but polite, he doesn’t seem anything like—”

“kids,” meredith says, clipped, and both fall silent. patton swallows.

“you can eat,” meredith says gently. “really, eat. even the best pasta never tastes very good cold. i promise we won’t think you’re rude.”

patton chews his lip for a few seconds, but everyone is staring at him still, and just to make them stop he picks up his fork and starts mixing up the salad, so the dressing’s more easily dispersed, and taking a bite.

(if he eats his salad first, it’s almost like he’s the only person who ordered something during the salad and soup course, and that—that isn’t rude, refusing to eat that would mean that a waiter wouldn’t come to clear it away and everyone would have to wait longer for their food, so eating that quickly was polite, so there!)

he manages to make eating his salad last until everyone else’s food gets there, and so, cringing only slightly, licks off his fork and uses the same one to eat his pasta. when he’d first asked for an extra fork, virgil had asked if his had fallen on the ground, and he said, “no, you just forgot to give me a salad fork,” and virgil had laughed for about ten seconds before saying “oh, you’re serious?”

he can practically feel his etiquette teacher entering death throes at the faintest whiff of what he’s doing right now—well, if everything else patton had already done wouldn’t have killed her first.

he digs into his pasta a moment after meredith takes a bite out of her french dip.

everyone eats slowly; patton stays mostly quiet, listening as attentively as he can, as they reminisce about family times past, laughing at jokes when he understands them, passing condiments when necessary.

so he listens and learns things. it turns out annabelle’s a pediatric nurse, and silas installs and repairs electrical power lines. esther’s food-themed nickname is pumpkin and silas’ is peanut, and meredith and mark spend a solid minute attempting to debate one for annabelle, now that she’s just about part of the family. apparently, the danes’ do a big breakfast-for-dinner thing on christmas, which sounds delicious, frankly, and patton should not be sad about the slim-to-none chance of them having something apple-tart-adjacent being snatched away, it was absurd to even privately hope for it anyway. it turns out that that tone wasn’t just a silas thing, wasn’t just how silas talked, it’s just how silas talks when he talks to patton ; he seems quiet, like virgil, and patton guesses virgil’s dad, which is fine, of course, it’s more than fine, but—but what did patton do? he didn’t say anything mean to him, he wasn’t rude, he was just—he’s just patton.

well. it’s not like silas is the first person to dislike patton just because of who he is. and it’s not like people usually tell him the reasons why, other than the transphobic ones.

other than that—which really patton should have seen coming, honestly, he’s him, sideshire had been too good to be true, it’s almost a sign that patton hasn’t exited reality now that someone sees and acts like he's unlikeable again, a near-comforting return to earth—the dinner’s really nice. annabelle and esther are an adorable, lovely couple, and mark and meredith are welcoming, which he knew already, and even silas is kind of funny—a little like virgil, but virgil’s funnier than silas, and virgil’s much less acidic about it.

when patton moves to stretch his back, he can’t help but notice that the diner’s practically empty. it’s just them, and a few workers, and virgil at the register, punching some order or other in. the family starts drifting slowly out, and logan, of course, starts crying, so patton says his goodbyes and bears logan away to the bathroom to see if he needs anything.

it turns out he’s hungry, and patton hates the prickle of unease he feels in his stomach, every time. he’d read books, articles, and so many talked about the joy of feeding your baby, and the joyful bonding with your baby, and yes, there are parts of it patton likes—the way logan seems to reach for him, relaxing in his arms, the opportunity to sit down alone with logan and just be with him, and to be sure that he’s well-fed and happy. that stuff, patton likes.

it’s all the rest of it—the technical, practical, actual stuff that tends to come with feeding logan—that patton really strongly heavily dislikes. which he feels terrible about, and then feels terrible that he feels terrible, and it’s this terrible, terrible cycle.

so patton tries his best to focus on the parts he likes, and not the aspects of dysphoria that nearly crush him, he tries, he really does, but it’s hard.

but he does it. and he breathes a sigh of relief when it’s all done, the way he always does, before he walks around and burps logan and makes sure they’re both all settled in and ready to present themselves to society, the routine ending parts that he uses to redirect his thoughts and not think about top dysphoria.

patton’s about to turn the corner to walk back into the diner, where silas is the only one left at the table, knotting his scarf around his neck, except—except there’s a shadowy figure looming at the door, and then the person walks in.

he’s never even seen this person before and frankly, there’s a lot to look at. sure, he doesn’t know everyone at sideshire, but complete and total strangers that he’s never even seen before have been rarer and rarer.

this man, he would have remembered.

though he doesn’t look very old, he’s got a strong white streak in his hair that patton isn’t entirely sure is dye. he has a mustache, too, one of the ones that an old-timey villain strapping some poor damsel to the train tracks would have, and bags under his eyes that might even rival virgil’s. but what really makes him stand out is the outfit.

he’s wearing a velvet-y looking tophat, black with a moldy green ribbon wound around the base of it, sitting jauntily slanted on his head, like it’s about to fall off. the ribbon matches his moldy green, velvety suit jacket that he’s wearing over a t-shirt that patton’s pretty sure says art thou nasty? in that old-timey, blackletter font that’s always in storybooks. he’s also wearing overalls, or maybe just really high-waisted pants with matching suspenders, patton can’t tell, with an eyewatering hawaiian-shirt type pattern in too-neon oranges and greens. and heeled boots, with a curled toe, the kinds elves are always shown wearing in santa’s workshop.

if his fashion sense is always like that, patton really would have remembered seeing him.

silas, on the other hand, looks like he definitely knows who this man is—he almost bares his teeth in a kind of snarl, which the man doesn’t notice.

“oh, virgil!” the man trills in a nasally, somewhat unpleasant voice, and virgil peeks in from the kitchen.

“remus, hey, man,” virgil says. “we’re closing up, so food’s probably out of the question, but i could get you some coffee or someth—“

“can’t a man see his old buddy, old chum?” the man—remus, patton guesses—says, with a twirl of his hand.

“i mean, i guess,” virgil says. “why... now, though?”

remus grins, and turns in his seat to wiggle his fingers at silas with a near-flirtatious wink. silas looks like he’s fuming.

“yeah,” virgil comments. “okay, i see your point.”

remus turns back in his chair, and, in the process, locks eyes with patton, who’s just—he doesn’t know why he isn’t walking out into the diner, but now they’re in the middle of a conversation and it would be awkward— and winks again, before turning his attention fully back to virgil.

“ anyway,” remus says. “today, i bring forth the news that pregnancy is, quite possibly, one of the most disgusting things to happen to the human body and i am enamored with the concept.”

“you’re telling me this on the day before christmas eve?” virgil says.

“seriously, i mean, think about it,” remus says. “your body thinks that thing is a parasite. you pee yourself a little when you even sneeze. your nose can just start bleeding out of nowhere, like you’re possessed or something! isn’t that awesome?”

“not for pregnant people, i’m sure,” virgil says.

“puking, rashes, random lines appearing all over your body, drooling and hemorrhoids and weird ankle swelling, and you can see the baby moving under your belly like it’s about to be a chestburster from alien, ” remus rattles off happily. “did you know that the whole start to giving birth is losing your mucus plug? that even sounds nasty!”

“man, rem, if only you could get pregnant to have all these joyous experiences,” virgil says, with the expression that makes it seem like he’s heard monologues like this before and that this is not, even in the slightest, a weird occurrence for this man.

“well, with my help, isadora is, and that’ll have to be good enough,” remus says.

patton’s never seen virgil’s jaw drop before. it’s kinda funny.

“i,” virgil says, and, clearly looking for something to say, mouth moving with words he’s trying to articulate, but he can only say “ what?”

remus tosses something like he’s throwing confetti, and patton recognizes the familiar filmy texture of a sonogram as it flutters through the air, landing on the counter with a crinkling noise as it folds on impact.

“it’ll be three months on the seventh, so she’s finally cleared off her threats of practicing very elaborate knife tricks on me so i can start telling people now,” remus says. “and i am telling everyone. everything. about pregnancy. it is so gross. it’s practically seven novels worth of gross. i can’t believe people just walk around pretending like it’s all pregnancy glow and gentle little kicks and slightly odd cravings, people can crave lead and babies can break ribs, you know?”

virgil slowly picks up the prints, paging through them, and he shakes his head in disbelief.

“that is either going to be the weirdest baby on the face of the planet, or the most terrifyingly disciplined one, and i can’t figure out which idea freaks me out more,” he admits.

“yes, isadora thought the combination of our genes would be a gamble, but frankly it is a gamble i was very willing to make,” remus says.

“you’re having a baby,” virgil repeats, and lets out a disbelieving laugh. “holy shit, man, you’re having a kid. congratulations.”

remus grins. patton isn’t sure if that’s his “i’m very happy” smile or what, but he looks... just slightly deranged. maybe that’s just his face, though, patton shouldn’t be passing judgment.

“so. that’s what i wanted to tell you.”

“yeah, good thing you did,” virgil says. “wow. a kid .”

a pause, before virgil continues, “i feel like i should get you something—you want coffee, on the house? that’s about the most i can do right now, i don’t have champagne or anything.”

“with mayonnaise and orange soda, remember.”

patton nearly pukes. god, he hopes he means all of that separately.

“how could i possibly forget, you absolute freak of nature,” virgil says, and he sounds fond. “i’ll be right back.”

a brief pause as virgil vanishes into the kitchen.

“fuck you,” silas says.

“aw, honeyface, you say the nicest things,” remus says, “i know you’re straight, you know i’m gay, but even i have to draw a line at fucking the tedious big brothers of my friends. i mean, look at you. you’re just too vanilla for me, sweetiebear, you couldn’t handle all this without your mind melting out of your ears like jell-o with fruit inside.”

patton’s nose wrinkles at that mental picture. ick.

“you know what i mean, you psychopath,” silas says. “stay away from my brother.”

“oh, but he wants me here, si,” remus says.

“don’t call me that.”

“—i mean, at least i’m his friend, you couldn’t get along with virgil if your life depended on it,” remus says, almost amused. “doesn’t that just frustrate you, si? don’t you want to put those big, strong hands of yours around his neck and choke him, you get so angry?”

“shut up,” silas snarls.

“you can tell me to shut up all you like, but i never will,” remus says, grinning, and he definitely looks more than slightly deranged. “i know you’ve thought about it, si, you must have, or are you forgetting those times he’d show up to me with a bloody nose and i’d come up with a plan?”

“we were—we were fucking kids, that’s not—“

“oh, it’s not the same,” remus simpers. “it’s not the same, anymore, of course it’s not, you’re both big boys, i bet your brain has gone into those big boy scenarios. what do you think would work best?”

patton shrinks further and further behind the doorway, a mounting sense of horror growing with remus’ every word.

“knife, do you think? it’d be ironic if you killed him in his own diner, with his own knife. or maybe you just nudge him the wrong way and he trips on down the stairs and just a tiny little broken bone in exactly the right place, that’s all it would take. or—“

“i’m not killing my brother,” silas says. “i want you to stay the fuck away from him.”

“oh, of course not you’re not killing your brother, si,” remus says. “but i bet you want to kill me. that’d keep me away for a very... long... time , wouldn’t it?”

a silence looms, so great and so dense that even patton, who isn’t even involved in the conversation, feels like he’s being crushed under the weight of it. patton holds his breath, and clings to logan, praying that he doesn’t wake up and start crying and draw attention to where patton is hidden away, where he can see virgil emerging from the kitchen.

virgil pauses, a gently steaming to-go cup in his hand, and surveys the room, where silas stands with shaking fists and remus lounges indolently at the counter. he surveys them for one moment. two.

“sorry, remus,” virgil says quietly, breaking the silence, but not the tension. “i think you better go. but it’s, um. bottom of the pot, near-burned stuff. just like you like it.”

“right, right, closing and then yelling at your brother, i get it,” remus says, swiping the to-go cup and taking an experimental sip and sighing exaggeratedly. “you’re good to me, v. it’s absolutely horrific. merry christmas, happy hanukkah, jocund kwanzaa, mirthful yule, blithe saturnalia, all that jazz. i’ll sacrifice a goat for you.”

“even after all these years, i can never tell if you’re joking,” virgil says.

“and,” remus says, with a doff of his cap before he puts it on, just as crooked as before, “you never shall. ta-ta, honeyface, bye, shmoopsie-pudding, call me up if you ever want death via hookup!”

he jumps in the air, clicks his heels, and twirls his way out the door.

well , patton thinks. that’s certainly a first impression.

and there’s that silence again, before—

“what the fuck is he doing here.”

“you heard him, silas, he’s gonna have a kid,” virgil says, sounding exhausted. “he wanted to tell me.”

“does he come around often?”

“yeah, shocker, he comes to one of three places to eat in town sometimes,” virgil says. “leave it.”

“am i supposed to leave it when you start breaking windows at doose’s grocery again?” silas retorts, and patton blinks.

virgil’s jaw works, for a few seconds, before he says, “remus is my friend. did we do dumb shit? yeah, we did. is it any of your business? no, so—”

“it’s my business, you’re my brother,” silas snaps. “this was mom and dad’s diner, i’m not going to let you ruin it—“

“i’m not going to fucking ruin it, i’ve been running it just fine on my own—“

“—if you keep talking with him, you are going to ruin it, you ruin everything,” silas bites out.

virgil removes the towel on his shoulder and throws it down on the counter furiously. “i didn’t realize we were seven again, si—”

“don’t call me—”

“—i’m running the diner well, it’s going fine, and just because you’re bitter that i happen to like my job and you hate yours—”

“—you’re going to ruin it, like you ruined mom and dad when you were acting like you did with him—”

“i did not ruin mom and dad,” virgil says sharply. “do they seem ruined, to you?”

“—they were worried about you all the fucking time, because they knew when you’d get home you’d have some other shit that you got into because you just surround yourself with bad people—“

“—you included, apparently,” virgil mutters, not quite under his breath.

“and that kid that’s coming to christmas now?”

virgil tenses; patton draws back further into the shadows, praying and praying and praying that logan will stay asleep.

“what’s his fucking deal, then?” silas snaps. “how old is he, fifteen, and he’s got a baby? i mean, jesus christ, could he not stop to think for five seconds?”

patton swallows, hard, staring at his own feet.

“shut up, silas.”

“what, is he like, the teenage version of remus, now? god, poor kid. poor remus’ kid, seriously, there should be a ban on people like that procreating—“

“i said,” virgil says, looking angrier than patton’s ever seen him, “shut the fuck up, silas. he’s a good kid, he needs help, what kind of shit are you going through to push your issues with remus onto him ?”

“i mean, seriously,” silas says. “where are his fucking parents? did they kick him out because he was too weird, like remus’ should have, or is he just running from town to town, because his parents saw through all of that and he didn’t want to face—“

“get the fuck out.”

silas stops. “what did you just say?”

“i said,” virgil says, “get the fuck out, silas.”

“you can’t do that,” silas says, “you aren’t the boss of me.”

“no, maybe not,” virgil says. “but i’m the boss of here. it’s my name on the building and the lease, so it’s pretty within my rights to tell you to get the fuck out.”

silas hesitates.

“do you need me to come out from behind here and throw you out?” virgil barks, and silas sneers, grabbing his coat and throwing it on, before walking out with a much angrier jangle of the bell, and the slam of the door.

virgil plants his hands flat on the counter and bows his head, taking a deep breath in, holding it, and letting it out. again. again.

“i know you’re there, patton,” he calls wearily, and patton flinches.

“i’m not mad at you,” virgil continues. “you can come out, it’s okay.”

patton chews his lip, before, sheepishly, he shuffles out into the diner.

“how much of that did you hear?”

patton chews his lip more, shifts his hold on logan. “...snippets.”

“all of it, then,” virgil says, and patton sighs.

“just from, um. the man—remus?—coming in.”

“okay, yeah, all of it,” virgil says, and rubs a hand over his eyes. “ shit. i was hoping si wouldn’t do that this year, i thought distance would help. i’m sorry he dragged you into it.”

“i mean, it’s—“ patton says, and he frowns. “i mean, it isn’t okay, but—“

“yeah, it’s not okay,” virgil says. “christ, i’m so sorry.”

“it’s not your fault,” patton says.

“i mean, seriously, him assuming stuff about your situation was so not okay, on so many levels, and i just—“

“it’s not your fault,” patton repeats, because he really doesn’t want to think about it.

“i just—“ virgil rubs a hand over his eyes. “ god. silas has always hated remus, and, i mean, the rest of my family didn’t like him but at least they were polite about it, and—”

“why?”

“why what?”

“why didn’t they like remus,” patton elaborates.

virgil hesitates, before he sighs, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “it’s kind of a long story.”

“i mean,” patton says, and tugs over the baby carrier before he settles logan inside, “we’re friends, right? friends can tell each other long stories.”

virgil hesitates, surveying his face, before he sighs. “yeah, all right. you should probably know in case it comes up tomorrow slash on christmas, anyway.”

patton hops up onto the barstool, eager to leave the part of silas and virgil’s argument about him and his situation behind.

“uh, well,” virgil says. “god, okay. um. so, you know i have anxiety.”

“right.”

“i wasn’t—“ he sighs, runs his hand through his hair. “i wasn’t in the best place, i guess, i was... i was lashing out a lot, or isolating myself, and my parents are saints, you know, but i mean—i don’t blame them for kind of losing it with me, sometimes? they had five kids, and the diner, and me saying rude sh—stuff, right, the baby, sorry—me saying rude stuff and refusing to make peace and just ignoring them every day couldn’t have been easy, you know?

“so, to make a long story a little shorter, i ended up kind of... identifying with outsiders, you know? and there’s no bigger outsider in sideshire than remus duke, so that’s who i hung out with. he’s older than me, by a few years, but he never—i mean, he never held that over my head, like silas did sometimes, and i’d tell him things, and he never really seemed to judge me for it.

“he was... well, you saw him, you heard him. he’s a strange guy. and sure, sometimes the stuff remus would do would scare me, but—but he was a good guy, deep down, you know? he helped me. the whole, like, being an outsider thing, and then kind of waking up to everything that i could do that would be way worse than, say, running a diner, it helped, in a really weird way, but—but i did some stupid stuff.”

“you were like me,” patton realizes quietly.

“not exactly,” virgil hedges. “i walked the line of juvenile detention a lot more than you, tagging and graffiti and egging houses and that kind of thing, but—but yeah. i can sympathize with doing stuff that might not be the best for you when you’re a hurting teenager.”

there’s a pause, before virgil clears his throat and says, “anyway. it's not like silas and remus ever got along, but it got way worse after i became friends with him, i think silas got it into his head that remus was influencing me, or peer-pressuring me, or that i’m just a bad person instead of someone who made some mistakes, and he’s just held a grudge about it since. so.”

patton has the feeling he’s getting the shortest possible version of the story, with almost all the details cut out, but. he thinks he gets it.

“and now your family doesn’t like him because... because you did that stuff?”

“yeah, essentially,” virgil says. “or, well. they think i’ve grown up, and they think remus hasn’t.”

well—patton doesn’t think they’re wrong. goading silas while virgil’s outside of earshot didn’t seem like the most mature thing to do, but.

“i think i get it,” patton says. “i mean—you aren’t doing stupid stuff now, so. it’s not a crime to be friendly with someone.”

“yeah, exactly,” virgil says. “ exactly. remus is a good enough guy when you get to know him, when his kid’s born i could introduce you and logan, since i guess they’d be in the same grade, and i just— god , silas is such a word i can’t say in front of the baby sometimes, you know?”

patton nods, and it’s like it sets loose the floodgates. virgil rants about silas (”mom and dad say it’s because we’re both too alike, but god , the things he says sometimes i’d never even dream of saying to a person’s face, you know?”) and the various arguments they’ve had over the years, and how virgil gets along with his siblings, most of the time, but there’s just something about silas that’s always gotten under his skin, and vice versa, and silas had always been a bit more sporty than he had and so when virgil hit his growth spurt late it almost seemed like silas was disappointed they couldn’t get away with “childish rough-housing” anymore, and silas didn’t like his job, everyone in the family knew that, but seriously if it was getting this bad to the point where he’s being this mean (well, virgil said a different word, and then said, “sorry, right, the baby, sorry!”) then it may well have been worth it just to quit, even if there wasn’t a paycheck waiting for him, and virgil loves him because he’s his brother but if they weren’t brothers, virgil really doesn’t know how he’d feel about him, he really doesn’t, and—

“god, patton, i’m sorry,” virgil says. “i’m so sorry.”

patton blinks. “sorry for what?”

“well, for dumping all of this on you, and it’s so late, and you’re—y’know, you’re having a rough time as is, i shouldn’t be adding to that by—“

“virgil, stop,” patton says quietly. “i mean—i’m kind of glad that you’re ranting like this.”

virgil stops. “you are?”

“yeah,” patton says. “i mean, i—i dunno, this might be weird, but everyone’s been treating me so nice. which isn’t bad, of course it isn’t, but hearing about someone else’s problems and being talked to about them, it—it makes me feel more like a person and less like a charity case, you know?”

virgil considers this.

“i don’t know, maybe it’s weird, and it’s just a me thing,” patton says quickly, looking off to the side, away from that contemplative gaze.

“no, no, i think i get it,” virgil says. “it’s... taking your mind off things. letting you focus on something else.”

patton lets out a breath of relief. “yeah. yeah, exactly.”

“and there’s a lot to keep your mind off of,” virgil says, and patton looks down, guilty, chewing his lip.

“what?” virgil says.

“i just—” patton chews his lip. “no, it’s not your problem. i should be able to handle it just fine.”

“i,” virgil begins, looking concerned, before he says, “you’re sure?”

“yeah, i’m—i’m sure,” patton says. he’s trying to figure out if he wants to be emancipated or not. that kind of shows that he should be independent, right? he shouldn’t go around putting all of his problems on other people. they’re his problems.

“okay,” virgil says. “just—this whole ranting to each other thing is a two-way street, you know.”

“one you haven’t crossed until tonight,” patton says, and leans to pick up logan. “no, it’ll be okay. i should probably get back to the inn anyways, it’s late.”

“do you want me to walk you back?”

“no, no, that’s okay,” patton says. “um. thanks for dinner and stuff tonight, and—and for the whole family christmas thing tomorrow. i’m looking forward to it.”

“well,” virgil says. “good. i’m glad. and i’ll try to have a word with silas about not being a jerk to you.”

“i appreciate it,” patton says, walking slowly back to the door. “um. night, v.”

“night, pat. night, logan,” he adds, and patton opens the door and lets it shut behind him.

where are his fucking parents? did they kick him out because he was too weird, like remus’ should have, or is he just running from town to town, because his parents saw through all of that and he didn’t want to face—

god, patton, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry, for dumping all of this on you, and it’s so late, and you’re—y’know, you’re having a rough time as is, i shouldn’t be adding to that by—

and there’s a lot to keep your mind off of.

there is. there is a lot to keep his mind off of. he has a colicky infant. even with a paycheck, patton’s funds are rapidly depleting and he should have started paying attention to his finances sooner. he broke up with his boyfriend (?) his childhood best friend, the closest thing he thinks he’s ever had to love (he loved christopher, he loves him, and now—) he ran away. his emancipation. his parents’ reaction to both of those things. seeing his parents again. will he see his parents again? what’s he going to do about school? what’s he going to be about logan’s school? his body is an absolute nightmare of dysphoria—he can’t bind down his chest for at least four more months, if not longer, and he knows that feeding logan is supposed to be a time for bonding but patton can hardly bring himself to look most of the time, tries to do it in the dark when he can, and his bodyweight is all out of whack and his appetite comes and goes and he’s only just stopped bleeding and thank goodness it’s done now but god, no one had warned him that he’d be bleeding for so long after giving birth. he’s achy and exhausted and sometimes when logan starts crying and keeps crying in the middle of the night patton will cry right with him, sobbing even as he tries to bounce logan into calming down, and—

—and there’s a lot to keep his mind off of. but virgil—god, not for one second, not for one second was virgil one of the things he was worried about hurting him. he never would be. the rest of his life, though...

he wonders, bleakly, how many minutes of sleep he’ll get tonight between the colicky baby and the stomach-churning guilt.

#my post #text #the sideshire files #my fic #my fanfic #sanders sides #love light gleams

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