Work Text:
The room was dark. The light that peered under the crack in the door wasn’t enough to illuminate the space at all. It was something more just to look at, like a decorative plate that hung on the wall…something he wasn’t allowed to touch. The heaviness of the black around him wasn’t something he relished in but rather something he felt he deserved. The loneliness that tugged at his very soul told him more than any amount of schoolwork or studying ever would. He was punishing himself because no one else would. The sound of laughter from the other side of the door made his heart ache. His parents were watching a comedy of some sort and had asked if he’d like to join them but…he hadn’t been able to keep it up.
The pretending was getting harder. The smiles and the laughter were becoming more forced with each and every day that passed. He wasn’t trying to give up, rather, he was fighting harder. Why couldn’t he hold out? The room was light up brighter as he tugged his laptop open and pulled up a blank document. He couldn’t do this anymore. It just hurt too much. The cursor blinked at him, mocking him with its constant patience. It would always be ready to face another day. It would forever be waiting until it was needed and wanted and appreciated for its purpose. Maybe that was his problem? Maybe he just didn’t have a purpose?
Because he shouldn’t be sad. He shouldn’t feel this way. He had a good home, loving parents, plenty of food, friends who loved him, and so much to be thankful for. So, the question begged, why? Why did he feel this way? He felt so broken, and he shouldn’t. That’s why he needed to punish himself. The pain on his legs reminded him that he was alive and scolded him for his insincerity. He should be so grateful for everything, and he was but the emptiness in his chest seemed to contradict that. His fingers shook as they settled on the keys, and he began to type quickly.
He had it all planned in his mind, down to the last detail. He knew how he’d do it. He knew when he’d do it. He knew what to write in his letter, this last letter. The letter that, somehow, would make everyone feel okay after he was gone. The letter that would be all the consolation anyone could possibly need after he was gone. Because he couldn’t come up with a good reason to keep going. His notebooks that were filled with reasons were becoming more and more numerous, but he couldn’t find another one to write. He couldn’t think of a person who needed him badly enough anymore. He couldn’t…he couldn’t do this anymore.
With tears in his eyes, he slammed the device shut, leaving the letter in the middle of a word. He clamped his hands over his mouth and sucked in his emotions. He rose shakily and slipped down the hallway to the bathroom. He turned the water on and let his clothes fall to the floor in a heap. He slipped into the warm water and let his sobs come out. No one would hear him here. He was free to cry all he wanted. Wrapping his arms around himself, he let the water pour over him and send little spurts of pain across the little decorations he’d made in his legs and arms. The tears ran out, just as they always did but something new settled into Patton’s chest.
He didn’t feel anything.
That was a first for the seventeen-year-old. Normally he’d feel sorrow or anger or bitter emptiness that hollowed him out and left him feeling like a zombie. This time, though, a strange numbness filled him that was devoid of feelings be they good or bad. He shifted from his position on the floor of the shower, standing on wobbling legs and using a hand to hold himself up against the wall. His other hand strayed to his heart, feeling it beat rapidly. How odd it was to have his body so tense and fired up when his emotions were so nonexistent. Another feeling slammed into him then, quite suddenly. It was fear.
He was no longer sad or happy or regretful or angry but, without these, what was left to stop him? What was left to fight him for finishing that letter and doing what he’d planned out so carefully. For the first time, Patton became terrified of what he could do to himself. Had he so perfectly overrun his own instinctual desire to live that he’d turned it off completely? Terror of a new level gripped him hard, begging him to tell someone what was really going on, lest he fall apart beyond repair.
--------
“Dad?” Patton jerked slightly, dropping the paper that was in his hands. He turned sharply to see Virgil standing in his doorway, looking all sorts of worried. Patton’s face broke out into a smile that wavered.
“Hey,” his voice broke so he paused to clear his throat, “hey, Kiddo.” Verge moved in quickly, shutting the door behind him and coming close to Patton to inspect him,
“Are you crying?” He asked at last, fear replacing the worry. Patton reached his hand up and felt his cheeks.
“I…I guess I am.” He faltered slightly. It was weird to feel the wetness and it was clearly upsetting Virgil. The emo reached out and grabbed Patton’s arm,
“Do I need to call someone?” He demanded in a voice that was driven up a few octaves by the terror the teen was feeling.
“Huh?” Patton swiped at his face, “No, no, I’m fine. I was just reading something I wrote a long time ago.” Before Patton could say anything else, Virgil snatched up the paper and scanned the first sentence before Patton took it from him gently.
“Dad, what?” Virgil began, his own eyes filling but Patton smiled at him and cupped his cheek,
“Hey, hey,” he soothed, “it’s okay. It was years and years ago, before you were born, Virgil.” He gave Virgil’s cheek a little pat before dropping his arm and turning away.
Virgil’s body slammed into him with a ferocity that couldn’t be described. The teen’s fingers twisted into Patton’s shirt, and he clung to him. The boy was shaking, Patton realized and he waisted no time in wrapping his own arms around the lad, tucking him close. He hummed softly and rocked them.
“You’re never gonna leave me, right?” Virgil whispered, true terror lacing his voice, “You know you mean everything to me, right?” Patton closed his eyes, feeling that familiar pain wash over him,
“I know, Kiddo, I know.” He crooned, “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you. I love you.” Virgil held on tighter, sniffing softly,
“I love you too, Dad. Don’t ever forget that. Promise me.” The demand came with intensity and the grip around Patton’s waist tightened. Patton sighed and used one hand to draw Virgil’s tearstained face out from where it was tucked against him. He looked the boy in the eyes, letting his gaze be solid and honest,
“Virgil Storm-Prince, I love you too much to ever do something like that to you. It was years ago, Kiddo. I promise that I don’t think that way now and I will never think that way as long as I have you and Logan.” He pressed a kiss to the boy’s forehead before Virgil hid himself against him again.
The demons of his past still hovered around him, beckoning that he return to them sometimes. However, Patton’s hands were now held tightly in the grasps of two scared little boys who had faced enough demons to last them many lifetimes. If Patton were to return to the darkness, he would be dragging them with him and he would never do that. He loved them too much and in that love, there was a light brighter than a thousand stars.