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A world of monsters is all that Patrick had known for the past two years.
He lived his life surrounded by creatures bent on something from him- his mind, his heart, his hand (which he sadly gave up a few years ago- it was his left hand anyways), and his head. He lived in constant fear, hiding from the next creaking of a tree branch or scuffling on the concrete or thundering noise in the distance.
Patrick, if he hadn't lived in this world, would have been a kind man, a father to a young boy named Declan, and his wife would have still been around. But instead, he was a kind, scared-as-hell man with a hook for a left hand and a son who's mother was dead.
He scavenged every day, hiding in abandoned houses, holding his infant son close as he pointed an old rusty machete he found into the darkness. Patrick knew every monster noise by heart. The slimy dripping and wet hissing was a strange tentacled thing that crawled up from a nearby lake, and Patrick had dubbed them Scum. It just seemed fitting, as that's exactly what they smelled like.
He sheathed his blade and pulled out a flare he had picked up from a supply store so long ago and lit it, flinging it at the creature that he could barely see in the darkness.
Sizzling. Screeching. Sloshing.
The monster dragged its burnt body out the hole where the front door used to be, surely dying from the sudden heat and light of the flare.
Patrick picked up the flare and threw it at the Scum as it limped away, and with a wet screech, it collapsed. Even as a dead corpse, Patrick still shuddered at the sight of a Scum. It was easily bigger than him. Hell, everything was easily bigger than Patrick. Not only was he the only human in this goddamn ruin of a city, he was very short.
He brushed the blond hair from his eyes and looked down at Declan in his makeshift baby sling, who was squirming and fussing, like, Dad, be quiet! I'm tired!
"It's okay, little guy," Patrick whispered and rubbed Declan's head, who was calmed down immediately. "I won't let the monster hurt you."
He searched around in the fridge that the Scum had raided and scored a jar of sweet pickles and some jerky. A little more rummaging around in the cupboards brought Patrick some well-needed baby formula for Declan, a can of beans, and an old water bottle, which he needed, since his other one had cracked and started leaking.
Patrick set down his bag, heavy from food, water, and other vital supplies, and stashed his prizes. He hated living on the move, but it was necessary. For him. For Declan.
He moved stuff around, checking to see if anything had expired. Nothing had. Patrick was just about to close up and shoulder his bag, when he heard a sound.
He though, at first, that it was the stomping of a Husk, a tall, semi-humanoid freak with no arms and a nasty kick. The radiation from the explosions made some really, really wonky shit, and they somehow bred and thrived. Patrick knew how to deal with Husks, even though he had lost his hand to them when he first fought one.
He unwrapped the sling that held Declan and placed him gently on the floor. Declan whined for his father, but Patrick didn't want to risk losing his son. Scum were easy to deal with, but if a Husk can take a man's hand, Patrick couldn't imagine what it could take from his own son as he crept out the door, unsheathing his machete and preparing to slash a Husk's ankles.
But Patrick didn't see a Husk. He saw something much more intriguing.
What lay in Patrick's sight was what appeared to be a man, although much, much too tall, shuffling down the cracked street. The shoes he wore looked very worn out, and seemed to have been patched in several spots, and the rest of his body was obscured by a shawl or cloak of sorts, sewn together from multiple blankets. His head was covered with long, stringy black hair, covering his face, and the cloak's hood was falling down off of it. He was nine, ten feet tall, easy.
Patrick thought it was a different freak, a smarter one, who took to trying to look human, and brandished his blade, ready to cut through the leather of the boots, when he heard another stomping noise, and an actual Husk teetered around the corner at the end of the street and marched to the figure Patrick was studying.
He figured he'd take out the dumber one first.
Patrick dove under the overgrown bushes of the garden, racing closer to the new Husk, ready to mess him up.
Without thinking, Patrick ran behind it and took out one leg, and the freak fell to one knee, screaming and writhing, trying to kick Patrick as it fell.
Patrick clambered up the back of the Husk, which was as easy as holding onto an eel underwater. He dug his hook hand into the neck of the creature, causing it to screech louder and arch its back. With one easy jab, he pressed the machete through the thin skin of the abdomen.
The Husk let out one last breathy scream, before collapsing onto the road and dying. Patrick pulled his hook and his knife out of the Husk.
It was dead. Now to-
"Where the fuck?" Was all Patrick could say, as the other creature had disappeared. Patrick started panicking, remembering Declan inside the house, as well as his bag, and he ran down the road. If that thing had gotten to Declan before Patrick, he couldn't live with himself. He loved his son more than anything in the world, and he would give his own goddamn life for that baby.
He slowed himself down and crept to the opening, knowing that the element of surprise was the best way to kill the monster. Patrick peered in through the hole, the scent of dead Scum in his nostrils.
Patrick looked inside to see the creature bent down over where he set Declan, and his breath hitched when he saw what the creature was doing with his son.
He wasn't hurting him at all.
He was playing with little Declan.
The creature, who Patrick finally deemed to not be a monster, had outstretched a dirty hand that was almost as large as the baby himself, and was letting Declan grab and shake the fingers around like toys. The creature let out a breathing noise that Patrick recognized as male, human laughter. The creature, most certainly a giant man, was playing with his infant son.
His hair was brushed away a little, and Patrick saw his worn-out face with hardened features and eyebrows plagued by little bald patches, probably picked at from stress. His melted chocolate eyes seemed gentle, comforting, and almost loving as he played with Declan. Patrick had never seen another creature, let alone a human, look as kind as this.
However, Patrick was still skeptical. He didn't know if this was a ruse to make Declan trust him. He watched as his son squealed and giggled, clearly delighted by whoever this giant was. It then occurred to Patrick that, aside from when he played with the baby, Declan never smiled. He just stared, occasionally frowning at monsters and stray animals. He only smiled with Patrick.
He couldn't take it anymore. Patrick stepped inside, holding the machete firmly. It still dripped with the blood of the Husk from earlier.
The man looked up at Patrick and backed away from Declan as much as he could, pulling his hood back over his head, as if he were trying to hide again.
Wordlessly, Patrick bundled up his son and wrapped him in the sling again around his body. The whole time he stared at the giant, who stared right back at him, eyes wide with worry.
Patrick didn't know what to say to this man, because he was still debating whether or not he was even a threat. He couldn't outright tell him to not move- he looked like he couldn't even move much without compromising the ceiling of this tumbledown home. He couldn't ask him what he was planning to do to Declan, either- this guy could literally smash Patrick into the ground if he so desired. So, he started simple.
"Who are you?" Patrick eyed him carefully.
"Uh, Pete. Pete Wentz," he answered, in a human voice. Patrick, for some reason, took a liking to the voice. It just sounded so raw and genuine. He softened a little.
"Why were you...er, playing with my son?" Patrick pressed.
"I went to hide from that thing you decided to stab, and I hid in here. I saw the baby fussing, and I just.. I just thought I would keep him quiet," Pete explained, staring at Patrick's hook hand. "I knew someone left him there not too long ago, and I didn't want anything killing him."
Patrick blinked. "Um, thanks? I mean, yeah, thank you."
Pete smiled. Patrick liked another thing about Pete, which was strange. He was still skeptical about a lot of things, but he liked his smile. It was real, and it warmed Patrick inside.
"What's your name?" Pete asked him.
"Patrick," he offered. "And this is my son, Declan."
"Declan's pretty cute," Pete leaned forward a little.
Patrick found himself backing away from Pete a little again. It wasn't anything he had done, because so far, Pete seemed like a well-meaning guy. It was his height.
When Pete's face shifted into a concerned look, Patrick sighed, "Sorry."
"No, I get it. My height doesn't help much," Pete laughed awkwardly. "The radiation did it to me, surprisingly."
"It did?"
"Yeah. I've lived here my whole life, and when the radiation hit, I was only five-foot-six, and then..." Pete gestured to himself. "...I finally stopped growing a few months ago."
"A few months? And you were only five and a half feet?" Patrick's eyes widened.
"Yeah. It was about 4 inches a month."
Patrick nodded. Growing about an inch a week would have worried him. He pictured it happening, and he shuddered. "Wow."
"Yeah," Pete nodded. "It was a bit scary."
"I can imagine."
"Hey, uh, I don't want to be rude, but, uh, can I go outside? My back hurts a little," Pete smiled sheepishly.
"Oh- oh, yeah, sure," Patrick shouldered his bag and stepped back, letting Pete get up a little and crept outside. Patrick noted that, when Pete stood up, his back brushed the ceiling.
Pete crawled himself out of the hole in the front of the home and straightened. His back popped several times as he stretched.
Patrick followed him, and stopped when he saw that he was only up to Pete's hip. Come on, Patrick was a short guy, but really?
"That feels a lot better," Pete grinned up at the sky. He looked down at Patrick. "Sorry for scaring you, Patrick."
"I- it's fine," Patrick shook his head. "I'm being a dad, I guess."
Pete crouched back down, which relieved Patrick a little. "Do you live around here?"
"No," Patrick feebly replied. "I don't really settle. I just keep moving."
"You don't?" Pete furrowed his brow. "I mean, I get that, but isn't is hard?"
"Yeah, it's hard, but it's the only way I'm gonna keep Declan alive," Patrick rubbed Declan's back.
"This sounds a little sudden.. but, if you wanted to, you could live with me," Pete offered.
"I could?" Patrick lit up.
"Yeah, I mean, I have room," Pete smiled. "It's fine."
"Uh, thanks," Patrick nodded, still hesitant. "I appreciate it."
"I could show you there," Pete stood back up. "It's not far from here."
"I, uh, I don't..." Patrick paused, looking down at Declan, who was fussing a little. "You know what? Yeah, can you?"
"Of course!" Pete looked up at the sky and blinked a little. "Oh, it's raining."
"It is?" Patrick held out his hand, feeling little droplets.
"Hey, come here, I just realized," Pete held out his arm, and his cloak-thing made a sort of canopy. With his other arm, he pulled on his hood. "Walk under here- you'll stay dry."
Patrick had never been bothered by the rain, but he obliged, and for some reason, he didn't regret it. He was actually happy that he did, because not only did Declan stop fussing, but he was greeted with warm, actually nice-smelling air, like a campfire. It had been so long since Patrick had one of those in peace.
"T-thanks," Patrick smiled a little. Declan had grabbed a fistful of his father's jacket, and was looking around, mystified by what he was seeing.
"I don't mind. I did this with some stray dogs, once," Pete elaborated, his voice a little muffled by the cloth and the increasing rainfall.
They walked in silence, and Patrick finally had time to think, to clear his head. What day was it? Thankfully, Patrick had scrounged up one of those watches that was meant to last a lifetime, and he saw the date. 6=6=21.
Only last year had Elisa died.
Patrick found himself tearing up a little. Elisa had meant the world to him, and she had disappeared, like sand through his fingers. She had only held Declan twice.
"We're here," Pete led Patrick into an old, rusted warehouse. He opened the door, and it creaked loudly.
"Er..." Patrick hesitated.
"You okay?" Pete asked.
"Y-yeah! Yeah, I'm just..." Patrick wanted to say terrified because I feel like I got led here to die, but he stayed silent.
Pete moved his hand away, and Patrick went inside, his right hand holding Declan closer. "Why'd you leave the door open?"
Pete blinked. "Sorry, it just gets really stuffy in here."
The room was small, and most of the stored items were shoved to the side. In one corner, a hole was cut in the ceiling, and despite the rain, a large pit was dug underneath, and a fire was raging. Several steel poles were dug into the ground, fashioned into a spit for cooking things. In the other corner was a pile of blankets, pillows, and a couple of mattresses, forming a makeshift bed.
"It's not that nice," Pete tugged off his hood, rubbing the back of his neck. "And it isn't much. Sorry."
"No, no, it's fine," Patrick smiled.
"So, uh, feel free to relax, take off your coat, or something. I don't know," Pete shrugged. He had already taken off his cloak thing, revealing a shirt that was a too tight for him and a pair of pants that looked handmade. Patrick could now see his right arm, which was covered in tattoos, and there were tattoos on his collarbone and stomach as well.
Patrick slid off his coat hesitantly, distracted by his thoughts. Pete had so kindly opened up his ramshackle home for he and Declan, and it kinda softened Patrick up. His skepticism started to fade.
Also, he was distracted by Pete. Did he work out? Because he was... Kinda-
"Patrick?" Pete interrupted his train of thought. "You okay?"
"Huh?" Patrick blinked. "Oh, uh, sorry. I guess I zoned out."
"That's fine. I said I was going to find something to eat. Are you alright staying here?"
"Yeah, yeah, I am," Patrick nodded. "I need to take care of Declan, anyways."
"Okay, then," Pete pulled back on his cloak thing (Patrick was uncertain why he took it off in the first place. Was he showing off? If he was, Patrick wasn't complaining) and headed back outside without another word.
Patrick shook his head in a futile attempt to clear his mind, and looked down at Declan. The baby was asleep, and he was worried about stirring him. Patrick rubbed his head gently.
Undoing the sling, Patrick swaddled Declan and walked over to the fire. He sat down, relishing in the warmth.
Patrick's thoughts wandered again as he looked down at his son. Pete seemed like he meant well, like the kind of guy who would wrap you in a messy hug and squeeze so tight, you wouldn't be able to breath, but you wouldn't mind because he meant well. Patrick almost didn't want to get a hug from Pete, only for the fear that his ribs would break.
Speaking of ribs, Declan's were probably showing by now. Patrick gently shifted Declan to his left arm and rummaged around in his bag for baby formula.
Pete had only been gone for a few minutes, before Patrick heard loud knocking on the open door.
"I'm back. Sorry to keep you waiting," Pete grinned, his hair sticking to his face from the rain, staring at Patrick.
"That wasn't even five minutes, Pete," Patrick laughed. "How did you find something so quickly?"
"I think it's the thing you killed before you found me," Pete held up the dead corpse of the Husk Patrick indeed had killed.
"The Husk?" Patrick asked. "We're eating that?"
"Yeah," Pete shrugged. "I eat these things all the time. You call them Husks?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"They kind of look... dead inside."
Pete shrugged. "I never had a name for them, but I think that's pretty accurate."
-----
Patrick was unaware of what Pete was thinking when they were just hanging out afterwards.
Patrick was unaware that, in the light of the fire, Patrick's filthy hair seemed radiant, and his blue eyes were so deep in thought, and he was gentle. He, despite his hook hand, held Declan with such care that Pete felt something in his chest leap. Patrick was unaware that Pete had moved just a little closer to him.
Pete was unaware that Patrick was trying to see Pete's face over his own shoulder. Patrick was just a little too small, and his head was level with his chest, even though the two were sitting on the ground.
"I.. uh, I appreciate you letting me stay here," Patrick broke the awkward silence. "And dinner. Thanks."
"Oh, you're welcome," Pete looked over and smiled at him. Patrick seriously liked his smile. "If you want to, you can stay as long as you want."
"I can?" Patrick's eyes widened. "Oh, Pete, I- I couldn't do that."
"Why not? I don't mind at all!" Pete laughed. "I like having you here, actually."
"You do, now?" Patrick furrowed his brow.
"Yeah- I mean, you're a nice guy," Pete rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm happy I met you."
"Thanks," Patrick smiled a little. "I'm happy I met you too."
Patrick's eyes lingered a little too long, looking up at Pete, watching the fire flash and flicker in those melted chocolate eyes of his.
"W... why are you staring at me?" Pete asked hesitantly.
"O-oh!" Patrick looked away a little too quickly. "I'm sorry. I zoned out again!"
"It's fine!" Pete laughed a little. Patrick was unaware that Pete liked that. "You're probably tired."
"I am. It's been a while since I've eaten like that," Patrick admitted.
"You can sleep, if you want," Pete gestured to the pile of blankets and pillows. "I'll probably be awake for another hour or so."
"Alright," Patrick held Declan close. "Where should this little guy sleep?"
"Maybe I could make him a little bed?"
"That's... thoughtful," Patrick admitted. "How long would that take?"
"A few hours. I could work on it tomorrow."
"Thank you," Patrick smiled.
"For tonight, though, we could put him in a blanket, maybe put some pillows underneath it," Pete stood up, looking at Declan, who was asleep. He grabbed a blanket and a few pillows, and indeed fashioned a bed for the baby.
Patrick stood up and headed over, carefully making sure he didn't disturb his son. Gently, he placed Declan in the makeshift bed, bundling him up in the sling he used daily. The baby did nothing more than yawn and squirm a little.
"Do you think that'll work for him?" Pete stepped back a little.
"Yeah, that will. Thanks," Patrick looked up and smiled. "I think he likes it."
Pete nodded, stretching. "Alright then. You can head off to sleep, if you'd like."
"Yeah, I will," Patrick nodded, walking over to the makeshift bed, kicking off his shoes. He messed with his left arm, undoing straps, removing his hook hand and setting it on the floor.
"I don't want to... go anywhere private, but how DID you lose your hand?" Pete pointed at Patrick's stump. (That was a bad pun)
"A Husk bit it off. I tried killing it from the front a while back."
"And the hook?"
"Giant fishing hook I found on the dock of some lake. Don't know why someone would want a hook that big for a lake. So I used it."
"Makes sense. It works. Saw that hole you put in its back," Pete watched Patrick fall onto a mattress without bothering to grab a blanket to cover himself up. He was exhausted.
"G'Night, Pete," He mumbled into a pillow, yawning.
"Goodnight, Patrick," Pete smiled, watching him close his eyes wearily and falling asleep instantaniously.
-----
Patrick felt like he had only closed his eyes for five seconds, and he already saw the reddish coals of the fire being put out, and Pete approaching the bed tiredly.
Patrick started shifting a little, but Pete set his hand on his side gently. He was warm, and Pete's voice was low and soft. "You don't need to move. You hardly take up your half of the bed alone."
Patrick mumbled, "I do?"
"Yeah," Pete crawled in next to him, and Patrick felt Pete almost radiating heat. He wanted to roll over and face him, but he was hesitant. Wouldn't that be awkward?
He felt a blanket fall on his shoulder.
"You're cold, Patrick," Pete whispered.
"I couldn't tell," Patrick replied softly.
"Well, you are," Pete scooted closer, and Patrick felt a little nervous. God, he was so close, and so warm, and-
He felt an arm almost as long as he was wrap around him and pull him closer.
"Warm up already, you tiny ice cube," Pete laughed softly. He smelled like cooked meat and campfire.
Patrick's face burned, but he was a little too tired to care about much, so he closed his eyes lazily once again.
"I'll... try..." he hummed into the pillow, already falling asleep again.
"Patrick... how long do you wanna stay?" Pete asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Like, how long before you start moving around again?"
"Not... not for a long time," Patrick sighed. "I like it here."
"Thanks," Pete hummed, and Patrick felt his breath on his hair.
"For what?"
"I... This might sound like a sob story... But I don't have anyone close... You know, to me... Not anymore."
"Oh, Pete, I'm sorry," Patrick said softly.
"It's fine," Pete shrugged. "No one bothers me."
"But... then you don't have anybody to talk to. That sucks." Patrick frowned a little.
"I do now," Patrick felt something shift behind him, and a giant something poked the back of his head. Pete's finger, presumably.
"Y... oh, it's me, isn't it?"
"Yeah, it is," Pete mumbled, stifling a yawn.
"Well," Patrick laughed a little. "I guess we're both pretty lucky."
"I guess so too," Pete nodded, his voice thick with sleep.
Patrick looked over at the dying fire as it faded in and out of focus. For the first time in two years, he felt safe and sound, sleeping in an actual bed (if Pete's pile of mattresses and blankets counted as a bed), and not having to worry about much else, other than his son, who, even then, was secure in his pillows and sheets not even a few feet away.
"Pete?" Patrick asked, but was only answered with soft snores behind him. He shuffled carefully, turning around under Pete's arm, to see that Pete was in repose. His hair was pulled out of his face.
Patrick decided that the question could wait until the morning, and closed his eyes slowly.
Sleep came faster than Patrick expected.