Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Everyone is dead. It isn’t unexpected. It happens every time after all. But he is frustrated, as he always is in the end. Victory always feels so close, and yet… he always finds a way to fuck it up. Maybe it’s in his nature as whatever he is to make the same mistakes time and time again. He fidgets in place, testing the limits of the handcuffs that keep him chained to a table in the dark, musty attic of Habit’s domain.

There are worse ways to go, and there are much, much better ones. He just hopes it isn’t drawn out.

Theoretically, he could leave. In a perfect world, he would simply teleport out, wave goodbye with a shit-eating grin and not deal with all of this. But he is already injured and exhausted, and a part of him sees no purpose in leaving. There is nothing left here. Everything he lives for is gone, and there’s nothing much left to survive for either. That’s not even getting into how he could only avoid a relentless pursuit by Habit for so long.

There is a corner of the room that his eyes avoid, full of all manner of viscera. Viscera that he knows belonged to his brother. Habit made that fact very clear, forced him to look at it, and laughed like he had come up with the funniest joke ever told.

To be fair, dealing with Habit did feel like some sort of cruel joke with an inscrutable punchline. For instance- he had been shivering in this attic for over an hour, Habit leaving him with a snide ‘don’t go anywhere’, as though he could. There was something grimly funny about that, he supposed. Funny to somebody somewhere, anyway. Not all that funny to him.

Then, as though his thoughts had summoned the other, Habit bursts into the attic. There is a horrible grin across his face, and he wields some manner of weaponry. Patrick doesn’t care for the differentiation between knife, machete, and etcetera. He cares least of all about the classification of his soon-to-be method of torture. He didn’t know much about the demon. He had encountered it a few times, of course, throughout various attempts. He knew what he could gather from the distant others who dealt more directly with it, and the evidence they always left in their wake. The fact he knew so little always nagged at him. He had no contingency plan for Habit fucking with his plans because it was something that simply could not be planned for. Habit was like a wrecking ball. Even if it doesn’t have a permit to be operated, if it wants to knock down your house, it will.

“PATRICK! MY GOOD FRIEND.” Habit states with a double-voiced laugh. He stalks towards him, circling him like a predator. That is, ultimately, the situation he supposes. Habit is the predator, and Patrick is simply his prey. He watches him with a steely gaze, not responding to the greeting. Habit exaggeratedly frowns, clicking his tongue. “NO MANNERS ON YOU! NO GREETING FOR ME, AFTER SO LONG.”

“It’s only been what- 30 years? Not that long in the grand scheme of things.” Patrick responds after a moment of silence, it becoming clear that nothing will proceed if he doesn’t respond. “Not as long as it could’ve been.”

“FAR TOO LONG.” Habit stops pacing, standing directly before him now. He laughs again, leaning in towards Patrick, his acrid breath causing him to cringe back. Pulling away, Habit seems to simply analyze him, his thoughts inscrutable. “YOU ARE NOT GOING TO DIE TODAY.”
“I DO NOT WANT YOU TO. SUFFER, YES. BUT DIE?” He laughs again, and Patrick’s mind is going a mile a minute, wondering why not. Why the creature who so craves blood and death would not sentence him to it? “IT WOULD BE SUCH A WASTE TO KILL YOU HERE, AND NOW.”

And that… that is something he should’ve anticipated. Habit likes to play with his food. Of course, it wouldn’t be a simple death. To hope for something quick was foolish. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at Habit, instead staring at the viscera in the corner. He wondered if Shaun had the same poor fortune. How long had he been tortured for? He doesn’t have long to dwell on it. Habit is quick to get to work, and Patrick just wonders how long his suffering could be prolonged.

—---------------------------

He doesn’t know how long it has been. He’s barely slept. He is exhausted, and aching, and has not known a moment of piece. It could’ve been merely days, it could’ve been weeks, and he would not know. He was hunched over a bathtub full of water now, Habit behind him, nails digging into the back of his skull. He breathed heavily, getting what air he could before Habit slammed him forward, holding him underwater again. He felt himself twitch and fight, trying to, unsuccessfully, get away. Habit laughed, watching him struggle, and then finally released. For a moment, Patrick considers just letting the water fill his lungs now. Let it end. But, even if he wanted to, he didn’t have the chance. Habit quickly yanks him back, slamming him against the wall. He lays there despondent. Exhaustion has taken hold, and he has no energy to do much of anything. He stopped truly fighting what feels like ages ago, and he can tell that is starting to make Habit bored. 

“I REMEMBER YOU BEING A LOT MORE FIGHTY.” Habit growls. He steps forward, places a boot on Patrick’s chest, and begins to press down. “IT’S DISAPPOINTING. YOU’VE GONE FUCKING SOFT. BROKEN SO EASILY.”
Habit’s boot continues to push down, and Patrick begins to stutter and cough as his lungs are forced to exhale. “Bullshit.”
“BULLSHIT? YOU SURE YOU WANT TO GOAD ME AGAIN?” Habit asks, and makes a point of snatching Patrick’s hand up, and holding it in front of his face. Several fingers are gone, removed as various punishments of resistance. The boot presses down harder. He swears for a moment he can hear his ribs creak. “I TELL YOU ONLY THE TRUTH.”
Patrick doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t get the chance to. Habit rears up his foot, and with a sickening snapping and popping it comes down hard on his chest, crushing his ribs. There’s a sharp pain in his lungs, and he gasps for air, Habit stepping back with a grin.

“I’M TIRED OF YOU, PATRICK. TOO BORING TO EVEN HAVE ME WANTING TO WATCH YOU CHOKE ON YOUR OWN BLOOD.” Habit laughs, and with that the demon leaves, slamming the door behind him. Patrick, for a moment, tries to adjust his position on the floor but quickly stops. Every movement feels like bone stabbing into every part of his chest. He feels like he can’t breathe, and begins to cough, specks of blood splattering across himself and the tile. It is slow, it is agonizing, and the whole time he knows that he is dying. There is no way to make it go any faster. He is forced to sit there, and wait, every breath more agonizing than the last. And then… then he feels his consciousness start to slip. His head nods, and his breathing begins to slow. The agony begins to feel distant. Everything begins to feel distant, and then… then he is gone. His body is still, a mess to be cleaned up by someone else. 

And then he is back in The Grey once more. The world between. He looks at his hand, flexing the now-returned fingers. He’s just glad that the ribs are back in place, even if a ghost of the ache remains. He wanders through the tall grass of the field he has appeared in, towards the nearby woods. Everything is quiet, and for a moment it is enjoyable, even if it is not a good sign. Just another otherworldly aspect of this place. No life around whatsoever. At the very least he wouldn’t be here very long. 

He treks through the trees, knowing exactly where he needs to go. What he needs to do. It doesn’t take him long to find it. The clock towers above him, dark and shadowy. Its face is entirely blank, aside from the hands. They aren’t the actual hands of course. They’re another manifestation of this place, The Grey. A reminder of what he did a very long time ago, and why he is in this cycle now. He approaches it, and without hesitation smashes his hand through the glass, pulling the hands away in shredded fingers. He doesn’t acknowledge the massacre that is his hand, watching the clock as it seems to grow, the darkness of its wood spreading and enveloping the world around him. He simply stares at its blank face and shattered glass as once more he nods off into another time and place.

Chapter Text

It feels like waking up for the first time in years. There’s a sense of sluggishness, and a cotton clouding his mind, but he is alive, and he knows what he is here to do. He’d hazard a guess that at this point, Michael seems to be about 15 years old, all gangly teen, and… still at home. That… was somewhat surprising, given the track record. But… Patrick was getting his feet wet later in the game. Without his intervention, it made sense that nothing would’ve occurred yet. Still… that wouldn’t stop the man in the suit from pursuing him, and he was likely already marked for it, as was Shaun. He had to do something about that. 

He prepared for the day, returning to his memories to pull forward anything he may need to play the role of his brother. It always begins this way, preparing to put on the show before stepping out from behind the curtain, getting used to a role that is much more easily shed than held. Some aspect of him hates this, curling up inside Michael’s skin, but it is a necessary evil. He didn’t become a fantastic imitator without reason behind it. He steps out of Michael’s room, putting on a fake smile as he descends towards the kitchen. Shaun is already at the table, glancing up at him through thick-rimmed glasses. He’d be about 12 now, maybe a bit younger. Age wasn’t something Patrick entirely kept track of.  

He sat down across from him, leaning back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the table, just… watching him. Seeing what he would do. Shaun notices him and stares right back. Eyes locked right on his, and now a game is afoot. It’s a far cry from the time he just came from, where any stares would draw out some snappy response from Shaun (one that would make perfect sense, given it all) but here, and now, a stare was simply a low stakes challenge. They remained like that for some seconds, Patrick unable to help the grin that crept onto his face. It was so simple, playing pretend like this. Acting as though nothing was wrong, as though he weren’t an imposter actively fooling the other boy. As though he was allowed to have something as simple as a staring contest with his brother. Patrick blinks first, ceding the win. Shaun laughs, something so genuine that it’s almost hard to hear, having been stuck with the defeated, sarcastic chuckle he had when he was older.

“You lost on purpose!” The boy stated with a grin on his face to match Patrick’s own. “I want to win fair and square.”

“You want to win fair and square? It’d take you a lot of training, you know. I’m a master at it.” He banters back, putting on that confidence that Michael always had before the fall. He was the oldest, and by virtue of that, he acted as though he would always best the other. “Long days of keeping your eyes open until they go dry.”

“That’s gross,” Shaun responded, and Patrick laughed, everything around them light. For a moment, he was almost able to forget the threats that loomed over both their heads. He was almost able to forget the things he had done to Shaun for the greater good. Almost. “Plus, Mom said if you stare too much you need glasses.”

“You already have glasses,” Patrick responds dryly.

“I know that, Patrick,” Shaun states and Patrick feels like he chokes for a moment. Like something has wrapped itself around his throat and squeezed any semblance of a sentence out of him. He wonders, maybe, if it was a fluke, not realizing that a curious expression is forming on Shaun’s face as his own goes pale and hollow. “Patrick? Are you alright?”

“I… I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you right.” Patrick responds quietly, fists clenching and knuckles turning white. Shaun shouldn’t know his name. He hadn’t been active until about twenty minutes ago, even if Shaun was aware of him at some point, it wouldn’t be now. “Say it again.”

“I asked if you’re alright, Patrick,” Shaun says, slowly, some sort of realization dawning on his face. But… Patrick isn’t sure why. He feels a pit deep in his stomach, and his hands are sweating, because this is wrong . He doesn’t know why it’s wrong, and he frankly doesn’t care, too caught up in watching Shaun as he moves across the kitchen to a corner cupboard, retrieving an item from within. Quickly, he makes his way to Patrick’s side, handing him a bottle of pills. “You look like you’re about to have an episode.”

He’s almost thrown off enough to ask what Shaun is talking about, but he knows better. Even if things are off-script, he still has a role to play. He flips the bottle over in his hand, frowning at the scratched-off label, clearly reused from an older prescription order, and removed to prevent any confusion on when it was acquired. It isn’t much clearer what they are when he opens the bottle up, pausing as he looks at the pills inside. “How many, again?”

“Two,” Shaun says, with a certainty that tells Patrick he has answered that question before. A limit successfully tested, a reasonably forgotten thing found. “And then you need to have breakfast after.”

“Could you bring me some water?” Patrick asks, and Shaun wordlessly sets to it as he counts out the mystery pills. He doesn’t want to take them necessarily, but… early on at least he can learn what they do. Figure out if he needs to get clever quickly and get rid of them. So, when Shaun returns with water in hand, he takes the two pills and swallows them quickly. “Thank you. Guess I should get on that breakfast, then.”

He feels like the rug has been pulled out from under him. Like he signed up for Macbeth and got thrust into A Midsummer Night. A complete shift in expectations, although maybe he was still hearing wrong. Maybe it had been part of that ‘episode’ Shaun had brought up. He had more to look into to fully grasp the state of affairs, and to understand the placement he has in this time frame.

Throughout the day, one thing becomes increasingly more and more obvious. There is no presence of Michael in any capacity. No school work with his name scrawled across it, no mentions of him from any of his family, no belongings that clearly belong to him, and that fact… it’s frightening. One of the people he cares most about in the world just… gone like smoke. The other conclusion he comes to is that whatever the medication is doesn’t inhibit him. He won’t avoid it for now. Whatever benefits it has for him outweighs unknown consequences.

Still, there were answers he needed. Things he needed to ensure were in place. That was why he was in the woods now, wandering down forever familiar paths. He was looking for the clock, needing to see if it was still complete. He doesn’t want to go there per se, but… he can’t avoid it forever, and visiting it now, with all the baggage it holds, is better than when he’s already struggling through everything. It doesn’t take long for him to find it. He’s traversed the path hundreds of times, over hundreds of lives, reaching hundreds of failures.

This was likely to be another one if the oddity of the situation was anything to go by. Go’s around that didn’t follow the pattern were destined for failure in his experience, and if a reset would help him figure out what was going on with Michael… maybe it was worthwhile. For now, though, there were other matters, and no point in hastening demise until he had a better grasp on the situation.

He arrived at the clock shortly, instantly hit with a wave of dread and unease. It was decrepit and abandoned, devoid of grass and trees in a circle around it. It was also clear from the edge of the clearing that the hands were not yet gone. That made sense and wasn’t something he intended to change now. He turned, intending to return home, but stopped, glancing at the clock again. It could provide some answers. He stepped towards it once more, a buzz forming in the back of his head as he approached it. He reached towards it the closer he got, fingers almost brushing against the wood, the static thick in his head to the point he could barely comprehend his thoughts, and in the split second before contact he glanced to the side, seeing a mirror image of himself.

He woke up on his back, his face wet with blood and his body cold. It wasn’t a feeling that was foreign to him. The ache of its after-effects was a common side effect of everything he did. He rolled onto his side, face pressed against the dirt for a moment as he collected himself. All in all, that hadn’t gone as well as he had hoped. He hadn’t learnt much if anything at all, but he had learned one thing.

Chapter Text

 He plays close to his chest the following week, doing as much as he can to keep how little he knows from becoming apparent. He learns the part he is meant to play, and slips into it like a second skin, like every face of someone else he has ever worn. He is the eldest son, dutiful, confident, and successful. He has a large circle of friends, gets decent grades, and has a good relationship with his younger brother. To the world, he leads a good life with little challenge. Behind closed doors, he keeps his head down despite his tenacity, stubbornness, and grit. He knows when to bite his tongue and he knows when to spit back when it comes to his parents.

 He had always been good at quickly finding his part in the greater show. This though… was a vastly different feeling, even if he tried to pretend it was the same. This wasn’t just slipping into the role of Michael, or playing the part of the leader, this was trying to be himself, which… was one of the hardest things for him to do, as someone entirely accustomed to being someone else half the time. It wasn’t his fault. He did what he had to do to make an opening for himself, even if that initially meant some amount of lying about who he was. Without that to slip into… he felt like he was flying by the seat of his pants. Like any moment would be the wrong step where he let something slip before he even knew he was giving up the jig.

 So far, things had been fine, and that made him more nervous than if something had gone wrong. It meant he didn’t yet have a limit he knew not to push against. This was all running through his mind as he sat on the floor of Shaun’s room, the younger’s homework spread out across the floor, Shaun rambling about some equation that Patrick honestly didn’t give two shits about. He did give a shit about helping, though, which was why he was here listening to the prattling.

 However, he hadn’t been listening closely enough. Shaun snapped close to the side of his head, jolting Patrick abruptly out of his train of thought. He blinked blearily for a moment, gave a slight glare, and sighed. “You didn’t need to do that.”

 “You were zoning out again.” Shaun says, “I need help with this, and you’re daydreaming instead of listening to me.”

 “You need to solve for x.” He responds flatly, rubbing at his face. “I can figure out that just by looking at it.”

 “I already had that figured out, you’d know that if you were listening.” Shaun huffs and Patrick wishes he could’ve been dropped into any later point of their lives, even if it meant losing out on the opportunities provided by time. He wants to snap at first, to say something cruel (He knows all of Shaun’s insecurities, of course. You get to know a person after so many years) but… he stops. This is different. Shaun is only a kid, and he is only annoyed, and it’s not worth forming that rift without good purpose. Not yet, anyway. His gaze softens, and he hums quietly for a moment, drawing the paper closer to himself as he looks it over. “Did you figure it out?”

 “Give me a minute, Shaun. I’ve barely looked at it.” And he can’t help but laugh a little. Some things never changed, regardless of context. Shaun was always the one to ask questions before anyone was ready with an answer. It doesn’t take him long to find the answer though, pencilling out the steps on the page. He presents it to Shaun, who looks at Patrick as though he has two heads. Another familiarity. “What? Is it not clicking?”

 “I can’t read your handwriting,” Shaun grumbles, handing the paper back.

 “What do you want me to do about it? I write the way I write, I’ve never been good at handwriting.” he retorts, but he returns to the page, erasing his prior work, and sets to it again with a steadier hand and a careful spacing of letters. He hands it back to Shaun, with a small grin on his face. “Better?”

 “Better,” Shaun responds, looking over it and quietly nodding to himself.

 “Is it making sense?” Patrick asks after a moment of silence.

 “Not really.”

 “Then say something, and I can explain it.” Patrick leans over, tracing across the page and step by step elaborating on what his descriptions mean. It takes a little while, but Shaun seems to understand, and he feels a little proud of himself for getting it across when math is not his strong suit. He smiles and gets up from the floor. “Now that you’ve got your footing with that, I’ve got some things to take care of with my friends.”

 “You’re leaving already?” Shaun asks, and for a moment Patrick can’t help but dwell on all the times before Shaun has tried and failed to convince him to stay. He blinks for a moment and internally reminds himself this is different. This isn’t running off into the night and disappearing for months at a time, this is a simple trip to the park that he’ll be back from before dinner is even on the table. 

 “I’m not going to be out long. If there’s anything else you need me to take a crack at, I can look at it when I get back.” He makes his way towards the door, and stops, flashing a smile behind him. “If you’re worried about me, you don’t need to be, alright? I can handle myself, I promise.”

 “I’m not worried about you,” Shaun says, and his eyes betray his lie. Shaun still knows something that Patrick doesn’t, the purpose of the medication. Something Patrick can’t just ask about because someone suddenly not knowing their own condition would be likely to raise alarm bells. So he doesn’t comment on it. “I just know I need to get this work done, and if you’re helping me… it’ll be done faster, and better.”

 “Well, I’ll be back to help you do it faster later. Do it slower now.” With that, he leaves. It isn’t a long walk to where he’s meeting everyone else, but he’s still cautious, prepared for things to go wrong at a moment's notice. He is lucky, and things remain fine throughout his trek. He spots Stormy from some distance away, her face lit up with a smile as she waves him over, and he can’t help but think of how different things were the last time around. That had been his fault, of course, and it was something he was going to avoid this time. He couldn’t forget the way she had looked at him in the basement when she realized who he truly was, right before it had appeared and snuffed her life out far too soon. It was… devastating. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. She was alive, and joyful, and had planned their entire route out for navigating the various stores. The others with them were, supposedly, his friends, but it was no one he recognized. No one was connected. He intended to stick with Stormy the whole time through, monitoring their surroundings for any odd activity and learning what he could about himself through her.

 “You’re later than usual.” She stated with a light jab of her elbow against his side. “Out playing hooky with someone else?”

 “Helping my brother with his math homework.” He rolls his eyes and gives her a lopsided smile. “Solving for x, and all that fun stuff.”

 “I didn’t know you were a math whiz.” She jokes. “I thought your exact words were you’d rather stand for forty-eight hours straight than go to math class on any given day.”

 “Far from a whiz, just more experienced.” He states, and he can’t help but acknowledge how odd it all feels. Interacting like this, like they know each other and are close. Like she isn’t scared of what “Patrick” represents, like she isn’t scared of what he’s capable of. Here… here she doesn’t have reason to fear that. They haven’t had the hospital, after all. That’s only the tip of the iceberg of everything that feels wrong here. He has lived so many lives that small talk makes him antsy. It feels so miniscule, for how important building camaraderie really is. It feels like wasting time. But… here he partakes in it, if only to better learn his part in this performance if only to form the bridges that will help him reach the ending of this time around, whatever it may be. If only to get closer to finding out why exactly Michael has vanished without a trace, why Patrick has been put into his shoes. “If I’m so late though, we should get a move on. Everyone else is already inside.”

 “Making up for the time you lost, huh? You’re usually so punctual. Guess it was a hard question.” Stormy says, and he just chuckles quietly, stalking along behind her as he watches every patch of darkness that exists in the afternoon light.

Chapter Text

 It was a relatively uneventful trip, which was a good thing. Bobbing and weaving through stores, the only thing on his mind was how much he felt like he was being watched, barely able to muster a smile or a laugh when Stormy tried to get one out of him. She could tell something was wrong, but… she knew he wouldn’t talk about it if asked. She knew him better than anyone, which… it was a bit of an odd prospect to be known like that. To have someone, a friend, who understood him completely.

“What do you think of this?” Stormy asked, and Patrick quickly turned to look at her. This time he couldn’t help but snort. “What? It’s not that bad, is it?”

“It’s worse than bad. The ugliest hat I’ve ever seen.” He reaches over, gently grabbing it from her head and flipping it over in his hands for a moment. It’s a garish paisley, coloured in orange, purple, and green jewel tones and styled like a beret. Why anyone would think it was a good idea is entirely lost on him as he places it on his own head. “Look, not even I could pull it off.”

“I don’t know, I think it suits you,” Stormy says with a snicker, not even able to muster a pinch of sarcasm in the face of the terrible hat. “Oh god, we should put it back.”

“God, yeah. Let’s get rid of it.” He agrees, setting it back on the shelf with the hats identical to it. It’s clear no one else has touched them. Stormy moves along through the store, and Patrick follows behind, throwing a glance behind him. Nothing’s there, and he returns his attention to whatever Stormy has found now. “What even is that?”

“A skirt, I think. I don’t think it would suit you if that’s what you’re wondering.” She says, her face scrunching slightly as she holds it towards him. It’s… unclear what exactly the piece of clothing is supposed to be, but… it’s clear that it doesn’t look good. “I don’t think we're going to find anything good around here.”

“Maybe there’s something in the clearance section.” He suggests, and Stormy gives him a look. “Yeah, anything that’s on clearance here isn’t going to be all that good either. Let’s head somewhere else.”

He turns, moving towards the door out into the halls of the mall, but… stops. Something doesn’t feel right, and he’s almost certain that it is here. He glances around, eyes growing a little wide as he tries to figure out where it is. He doesn’t see it, but… he can still feel a presence lurking, whether it’s here or something else is. Quickly, he makes his way out, practically powerwalking across the mall to a different store.

“Where are you going?” Stormy calls out, trying to keep pace behind him as he navigates past everyone in his path, ducking into the first store he sees. “Patrick!”

“Just- just follow me.” He states, and she already is, a few steps behind him and ducking into the store herself. He is a nervous fucking wreck, and it is clear that Stormy can see that. He knows why. The last time he was alone with her, it had appeared then too. He didn’t like the idea that it was here with them now. He looks at her now, looks at the concern on her face, an expression he hasn’t seen in a long time, and… he breathes in, his heart still on a runaway rhythm, and tries to level with her. “I just… I got paranoid. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Is it here?” She asks in a hushed tone, glancing at someone who gives them a wayward stare. At those words, Patrick feels as though a rock has been removed from his shoulders. She already knows about it. Of course she does. It had always been the case that she had known it young, too. That she had faced it herself.

“I don’t know. Something just… something just felt wrong.” He says. He hasn’t actually seen anything yet. He can’t be sure that anything’s actually wrong, that it’s actually here, but… “I don’t know. I’d rather be safe than sorry, I just… needed to get out of there.”

“Should we leave? Go to my place, or something?” Stormy asked, looking around herself now. Both of them were like prey animals, constantly aware that something awful was just around the corner. He mulls over the thought, as Stormy begins to speak. “It could be nothing, right? Just… just you being paranoid?”

“It… It could just be me being paranoid. I don’t want to risk that.” He says, chewing his lip as he deliberates. “Let’s leave. I… I don’t know where I want to go, but I want to get out of here.”

“Let’s go to my place.” Stormy decides, taking him by the arm and quickly making their way out of the mall. He is… happy for once. He has someone who gets it, for once. Someone who won’t brush it aside as simple worry. He has a friend in this.

It isn’t far to get to her house. A short walk and a short bus ride and they're outside her front door, her fumbling the keys as Patrick scans their surroundings. He hasn’t felt anything since the mall, but still, he’s careful. He can’t risk anything happening, especially so soon.

“There!” She says, turning to him with a grin, and pushing the door open. She motions for him to enter, and he doesn’t protest, stealing one more glance behind him. “Hurry up, I want to get inside too.”

“I’m hurrying! I just… I wanted to be sure it wasn’t out there.” He replied, stepping into her entryway. Muscle memory has him kick his shoes off, before carefully arranging them on the mat, and hanging his coat beside the door. This is a place he has been before and a place he enjoys. It is a place that feels safe, and safer even than home. “It wasn’t out there, for the record.”

“That’s good. I don’t like it when I see it near home. It makes me uneasy.” Stormy says with a sigh, kicking off her own shoes and hanging up her coat. Patrick follows her into the living room, both of them finding spots on the couch. They’re quiet for a short while, Patrick staring at the floor, Stormy staring at the wall. Patrick knows what she’s thinking. Both of them get a bit quiet when they think. It’s part of why they get along. Both of them have the space to organize their thoughts, without the other interrupting. But… Patrick has to interrupt. If anyone is a good person to start figuring out things from, Stormy is the choice.

“Could you help me out with something? I’ve been having some memory troubles lately.” He asks, watching her.

“Yeah, I can help you out with that.” She says, sitting up slightly. “When aren’t you having memory troubles?”

He produces the bottle of mystery pills from his pocket. Tossing it her way. She’s quick to catch it, turning it over in her hands with a look of minor confusion. “I can’t remember what those are for. Labels are scratched off. I’d hope you’d know.”

“I don’t.” She replies simply, tossing them back. “You’ve never shown them to me before. I didn’t even know you took any medication.”

“Well, I didn’t know either. Completely forgot.” Patrick responded with a shrug, shoving the bottle back into his pocket. “I’ll go to the pharmacy. They’d be able to identify that sort of thing, right?”

“Yeah, I think so. Was that all you’re trying to figure out?” Stormy asked, a little underwhelmed by a question with no answers.

“No, I…” He pauses for a moment, glancing away. He does have another question to ask, but… he isn’t sure if he should. He watches her grow more attentive at his apprehension and after a moment… “Does… the name Michael mean anything to you? Have I ever mentioned that?”

“You… you have,” Stormy responds, and her expression is hard to interpret. It’s his turn to sit up more now. He gets the feeling he’s about to learn something important about this go around. “I mean, you remember, right? He was your twin. You told me about that, you were really freaked by it when you found out.”

“Yeah. I remember that. I just… I didn’t remember if I told you.” He’s quick to respond, feeling as though he has a few more questions than answers, but… the answers he does have are at the very least a start. Michael is his twin. Was his twin. That phrasing… it worries and intrigues him. He needs to get to the bottom of it, to figure out what’s going on. He needs to know what happened to Michael.

Chapter Text

He doesn’t stay very long. He has lunch with Stormy and her parents, and then he’s on his way back home, trekking alone down the sidewalk. He’s on edge the whole time, but then again, when isn’t he? There’s always something to be concerned about. It's always something to worry him. His hands are jammed in his pockets, his head practically on a swivel as he makes his way home, thinking about what he’s discovered so far. It’s… odd. He was hearing Michael referred to as a person, but only in the past tense. What that means is at least somewhat obvious. At some point, Michael was a person in this world who was real, and now… now he was dead. He didn’t like that. Didn’t like the distinct absence of him. Michael was important, and now… now he just wasn’t here. 

He steps onto the porch, growing quiet for a moment as he approaches the door. He wonders if maybe amongst their parent's things, there’d be something that would help him get to the bottom of things. Some sort of death certificate, medical records, or anything that could have any modicum of information he could parse. He does what he can to keep silent as he enters the house, wanting to remain undetected for at least a little while as he snoops around. He knows the creaks of the stairs like the back of his hand and knows what spots on the floor will be quietest under his weight. He knows how to open the door in such a way that it will glide open silently. He’s in their room now, able to look around freely. He doesn’t even know if they’re home, but he’s not ready to find out. He begins to rifle carefully through cabinets, looking for any files or boxes, but finds nothing. He chews his lip slightly as he glances around, eyes locking on the closet. If there’s something anywhere, it would likely be there. He’s a little less careful cracking that open, digging through the back for whatever he can find, reaching on the top shelves to see if there’s anything there. 

Nothing. Maybe it’s kept somewhere else. Maybe it’s shredded. Stormy did say he had ‘freaked’ when he learned something, maybe it was something that had been hidden from him initially, something that was gone after whatever freak-out he had. He hoped not. Currently, it was the only lead he had on whatever had happened to Michael. There were a few more things he could at the very least extrapolate, as he arranged things exactly the way they had been when he came in, and slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind him. If it was something that he hadn’t known about at some point, it had to have happened when they were young. If it was something that caused him to freak out… it was potentially connected to him. In some way his fault. That… that concerned him. He didn’t know what to do with that information, that possibility. As he makes his way down the hall, he’s thinking of other places to look, and hoping anything he does find doesn’t confirm the fears currently brewing. 

He considers the attic, but he doesn’t have the time to check. Shaun comes around the corner, jumping slightly at the sight of him. Patrick cracks a smile, choking down his concerns and thoughts as he steps closer. “Still need help with your homework?”

“I didn’t even hear you come in,” Shaun states, ignoring Patrick’s question. He has a look on his face of curiosity. He knows something is up, and that… that fits. As much as Patrick knows Shaun, Shaun knows him, and he knows that Patrick keeping quiet means that he’s up to something. “What’re you snooping around for?”

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.” He said, keeping that smile on his face. Shaun just looks at him with a flat expression, and Patrick can’t do anything but sigh. “I’m just looking for documents. Medical papers. Trying to figure something out.”

“Well, what would you need to figure out? I mean, you’ve been taking your stuff every day, right? Things should be fine,” Shaun says, and he looks at Patrick like not taking them is a regular occurrence. That’s something that makes him curious. Is it a simple slip of the mind, or something else? “You have been taking them, right?”

“Yeah, I have. You don’t have anything to worry about,” Patrick answers, and he is honest about it. He has been taking them, figuring it better to do so than risk any adverse effects when they so far haven’t seemed to have a negative effect themselves. “Listen, you don’t need to worry about me, Shaun. I’m your older brother, I know what I’m doing. I’m just… checking some things. Making sure I have everything in order.”

“Everything… Everything’s fine Patrick. You don’t need to go snooping around for stuff. I do still need help with my homework, can you come do that instead?” Shaun asks, and for a moment Patrick wants to stop him, wants to extract everything he knows, wants to solve this all and put a wrap on it so he can get on track for changing the course they’re on. He only has so much time to formulate plans for what needs to be done to counter it . But… he can’t. He can’t ruin what little he has now. A brother who doesn’t hate him. A friend. It’s… sad that he wants so little, but it’s the exact thing he wants. Acceptance, community, understanding, someone who listens when he reaches out and doesn’t leave him to scrape and fight alone. “Come on. Dinner’s going to be ready soon and I want to get as much done as I can.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll help you out, Shaun. I promise. No matter what I’ll always help you.” He sounds so serious, so grim like life is already on the line. To some degree, it is, but he’s laying it on a little thick for how little time has passed at this point. Shaun gives him a bit of a look and laughs slightly.

“You’re a weirdo, you know that?” His younger brother says, giving him a light nudge in the side.

“I pride myself on being mostly unapproachable.” Patrick jokes, a genuine grin spreading across his face. “There’s a reason the only person's house I go to is Stormy’s. She’s just as odd as I am.”

“I don’t think you two are at all close in how weird you are. You’re the weirder one by a lot. Stormy… Stormy’s weird in a normal way. She talks about stuff no one’s ever heard of, or knows things before anyone else does. You just…” And Shaun scrunches his face up a little, a smile still lightly splayed across it. “You just act weird all the time. Like you’re going to die if you don’t.”

“Well, maybe I am,” Patrick suggests, the two of them making the short walk to Shaun’s room. He plops down on the edge of his brother's bed, Shaun taking a seat at the small desk beside it. “Maybe if I don’t act strange I’ll just drop dead. Like a shark, you know, they’ve always got to swim, or else they drown.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. It’s weird to know that. It’s morbid .” Shaun sighed, producing a few incomplete papers. Patrick looks at him with an exaggerated frown, and the other can’t help but laugh. “I’m serious. No one else thinks about… sharks drowning. No one else is like you.”

“I don’t think it’s all that bad, being one of a kind,” Patrick says with a hum, taking a paper as Shaun passes it towards him. More math, just great. He begins reading over it, eyes focused on the page, but he continues to speak. “You know, you’re just as one of a kind as I am. In a room of a hundred Shaun’s, you’re the only one like you. And I’m not just saying that because I’m your brother and I have to tell you every snowflake is special to make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

Shaun rolls his eyes, but Patrick looks at him and continues.

“I mean it, Shaun. If… if it was one hundred years from now, and we were both reincarnated as completely different people or something, I’d still know you, because you’ll always be… you to me. Whether you’re Shaun or someone else.” He states, waxing a little poetic now. “You’re my brother, and I’ll always know you, and I’ll always care about you because there’s no one else like you. I don’t have any other younger brother.”

“You’re… you’re being weird again,” Shaun says, and Patrick isn’t surprised. He is, admittedly, acting a little bit weird, and Shaun has never been one to like that weirdness very much. “But, I love you too, since I guess that’s what you were trying to say.”

“Pretty much,” Patrick says, taking a moment to reach over and give Shaun a light shove on the shoulder. It’s nice. It feels like something he doesn’t get often. A chance to act like a person, rather than an always-moving force. He knows it won’t last forever, knows that it likely won’t happen again, so… he decides that he is going to bask in it. He isn’t going to rush things. He can’t lose focus on what truly matters, but maybe what he needs is a moment in the sun before he dives back into the darkness.

Chapter Text

Days pass with little of note, Patrick settling into a quiet rhythm of relative normalcy. He still feels it from time to time, the prying gaze of it peering at him from some unseen place. It is never close enough to overly concern him, but the constant threat… it’s one he doesn’t ignore. He had continued his search for any documentation of Michael’s existence, with no success. So far, he had been able to check anywhere but the attic, always interrupted by something when he intended to explore it. It just further cemented the idea in his mind that something was up there, some modicum of information that he’d be able to access if only he were a bit sneakier.

He had, for now, determined it to be a lost cause. He needed time alone if he was going to snoop around up there uninterrupted, and he knew he’d have the opportunity soon. He just had to wait. Rather than twiddling his thumbs, he decided to make another trip to the clock, wanting to check on it again.

He wasn’t expecting to be followed.

“Where are you going?” Shaun asked from a few feet behind him, causing him to practically jump out of his skin as he whipped around. “You’ve been creeping around all morning.”

“I’m just out on a walk. Creeping around because I don’t want anyone trotting along after me like you are.” Patrick answers arms crossed as he draws in a sharp breath of cold air. It’s going to snow soon, he can tell from the colour of the clouds and the haste with which the wind blows. It’s going to be a hell of a storm, he thinks. “What are you doing following me?”

“I just thought I’d tag along. See what you were doing.” A mischievous shine lights up in Shaun’s eyes for a moment. “I thought maybe you were going to mess with that creepy old clock.”

“What? No, I’m just wanting a hike through the woods.” He lies. “I doubt that thing is even still out there. The wood’s probably moulded and fallen apart after being in the rain for so long.”

“I know it’s still there,” Shaun said with a bit of a frown. “And I know that’s where you were going. You’re always so cagey about it, and I don’t get why.”

“I’m not… I’m not that cagey about it. Why would I be cagey about some old clock?” Patrick answers, but he isn’t doing a very good job of hiding that he is, in fact, being cagey about it. “It’s… it’s no big deal.”

“Then we should go there. Mess around with it again.” Shaun suggests, and Patrick just sighs. 

“We really shouldn’t.” Is all he says, making his way through the woods again. “Why do you want to see it so bad anyway?”

“I keep having dreams about it,” Shaun says, and Patrick freezes up, looking at him again. He doesn’t even need to ask, Shaun already knows he wants some sort of elaboration. “They aren’t bad dreams, usually. I mean… most of the time it’s a normal dream not even about it that the clock just… shows up in the background. Sometimes though… sometimes I have dreams about that weird clearing it’s in, and seeing it there, and… someone else is there too. I don’t know who he is, I can never remember what he looks like, but… he’s on the ground, sitting in front of it, and he sounds scared, and he just keeps telling me I need to help him, that… that he doesn’t want to die.”

“That’s…” That’s a lot. Shaun is never one to dream, but he supposes that in the absence of Michael, someone has to. He’s… curious about this figure Shaun describes. Someone begging for help at the foot of the clock… he can’t help but wonder if it is Michael. Not in the present, of course, that wouldn’t make sense, but… a vision of a past iteration. A ghost displaced in time, displaced into the dreams of Shaun. He doesn’t want to take Shaun to the clock, especially if he’s having dreams about it, but… “Fine. We can go there, but we're not messing with it. Not when you’re having spooky dreams about it. Classic look but don’t touch.”

“Alright. Let’s go then.” Shaun says, walking beside him as Patrick kicks back into step. He’s worried, but he won’t say it. About going to the clock. About Shaun being with him. About Shaun’s dreams. About it being practically ever-present. There is much to worry about and little to abate that worry, and before long they had reached the clearing. The clock was there, as it had always been, intact despite the passage of time. “It’s so… weird.”

“Remember, look, but don’t touch.” Patrick reiterates again, earning a glare from Shaun. He watches the other walk in a circle around the clock, eyes narrowed as he looks at it, as though expecting the scenes from his dreams to play out in front of him. They don’t, of course. That isn’t how it works. “Happy? Had enough… looking at it?”

“Yeah. I mean, you already said I can’t touch it, or mess with it, or anything. It’s just a clock.” Shaun grumbles. “Just a clock that really freaks you out for no reason.”

“No reason at all.” He responds, stepping a bit closer himself. He pauses then, watching the face of it. He points at it, getting Shaun’s attention. “You ever noticed that? No numbers.”

“What’s the point of a clock with no numbers?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s an art thing. Out here on purpose to be scary. We’ll truly never know.” Patrick says, watching the hands carefully move around the blank face of the clock. He feels compelled to take them. To do whatever he can to get his hands on them. He knows better. He fights the compelling, glancing away, back at Shaun. “We should get out of here. Do something else.”

As he turns, he feels its gaze on him again. The whole forest feels like it’s dropped ten degrees. He doesn’t hesitate, moving to grab Shaun by the arm, to pull him close and run, but he is gone. Patrick’s eyes widen as he looks around, realizing he is no longer in the clearing. Still, he is watched. He runs now, pace caught up in roots and face whipped by branches as he pays no mind to anything but getting back to Shaun. He feels it pulling him to other places, trying to confuse him further, trying to get in his head. Patrick keeps moving. If he stops, if he hesitates, he will surely die. His head is pounding. He can feel blood on his face. He catches a glimpse of his hands. They’re covered in blood too, and he doesn’t know who or what it belonged to, or why it would be on his hands. He doesn’t want to know. He trips, knees slamming into the earth, mind feeling like it’s going through a mixer. He looks at his hands again, back pressed against a tree as he tries to regain the sense to keep going. He cannot tell if they’re bloody or clean. He wonders if the blood is his own. He doesn’t know. He isn’t sure if he wants to.

It is dark now. Far darker than it should be. For a moment, his clouded mind wonders if it has always been this dark. If he has never seen the sun before. If he belongs in this darkness. He stops, shaking that thought off as he again gets to his feet. Everything feels like it is closing in on him. Everything feels like it is falling away. He stumbles forward, aimlessly navigating through the thicket before him. He sees it then, towering above him, far too close, a static flowing through his mind like a waterfall as his eyes draw higher, and higher, and higher, up to its pale, faceless head. In that moment he feels like he’s staring at the sun, black spots clouding his vision. He feels simultaneously blind and like he can see far too much. It feels then like an egg cracking in the back of his head. His legs give way, sending his whole body tumbling down like a Jacob's ladder. He can feel the snow against his face. He can hear a distinct ringing in his ears. His whole body aches. And then, in an instant, it is as though nothing is wrong at all.

That is when dread truly sets in. He has the mind now that he needs to find Shaun immediately. He doesn’t get up fully, pressing his back against a large stone as he focuses. He needs to be wherever Shaun is. He focuses on his brother, channelling the power he can always rely on to get him where he needs to be when nothing else can.

And then it doesn’t work. He remains in the snow, in the darkness, face caked in blood, looking around expecting to be somewhere entirely different. But he isn’t. He hasn’t teleported. He hasn’t done anything. He is still in the same patch of woods.

Another thing to be concerned about. Another wrench in his plans. He doesn’t move. He feels like he’s barely breathing. 

He needs to find Shaun.

Chapter Text

His brother had always been an odd one out. Not in the sense of an Ugly Duckling or a Rudolph. He had plenty of friends, people were charmed by him, and he wasn’t someone that typically reflected attention. He just… stood out. He was a strange person, no matter which way you looked at it, something that became obvious if you talked to him for longer than five minutes.

Shaun, as someone who had lived with him his entire life, knew his oddities well. You get to know a person when you’re joined at the hip, brothers in arms against the world. And yet recently… recently he was acting like a completely different person. Shaun didn’t like it one bit. It felt like the build-up to something, and with his dreams…

He hadn’t been entirely honest with Patrick. He did see the person in front of the clock, and knowing who it was would just… bother him in a way Shaun didn’t want to bother him. Patrick was dealing with enough as it was, after all, and he was sure it would come up eventually with the way he had been snooping around again. Shaun could keep that information close to his chest, figuring out a way to say it.

He remembered the dream more clearly than some memories. Walking through a pale forest devoid of life, not knowing where he was going but feeling some compulsion to keep moving down the path, following the feeling to one location. To a clock, one he had seen before. He and Patrick had gone to it, had messed with it a bit, and for the most part, left it alone at some point. Someone was curled at the base of it now, blubbering words Shaun couldn’t parse, half-sensible apologies between sobs. The person is older, probably the same age as Patrick, and Shaun can’t see his face. Not in the sense that it’s covered, because it isn’t, but whenever he tries to look it’s like trying to do a Magic Eye without instructions, or like looking at a lenticular halfway through it shifting. The person opens their eyes, quickly sitting up from their place on the ground and… seemingly staring right at him as they press their back against the clock behind them.  

“I know you.” The stranger with the shifting face says, and… Shaun knows it’s true. He gets the funny feeling he should know the stranger in equal measure. “You need to help me.”

“I don’t know who you are.” Shaun answers, keeping his distance even if it is merely a dream. He watches the stranger. Their shoulders fall.

“You should know me. I’m… I’m your brother.” The stranger says, but… Shaun can tell it isn’t Patrick. Shaun knows Patrick. But… he also knows something else. He isn’t supposed to, but he does.

He was supposed to have two older brothers.

“I’m Michael. You know that, right? You know who I am?” For a moment Shaun thinks he can make out a face in the lenticular shift, but the visage is gone just as quickly as it comes into a soft focus. “I need you to help me. I don’t want to die.”

But Michael was already dead. Dead before Shaun was born. He had only heard that name once, and he knew the gravity of everything that had led to its mention. Michael was the name destined for a brother who would never live. Michael was the name of the stranger in front of the clock. Shaun didn’t say anything, he just stared with a wide-eyed expression.

“Please. Please, Shaun, I need you to help me.” The stranger begged, stumbling to his feet and moving closer. Shaun took a step back. The stranger's voice didn’t sound right. “I need you and Patrick to go to the clock.”

Shaun watched as the stranger continued to stumble towards him, but… something changed. There was a sudden sound like a light crackling, followed by a pop like a car backfiring. The pops continued, one after another in quick succession, and Shaun watched with growing unease as the stranger seemed to reshape. He could look now, at the stranger's face, or at the very least where it should be. There was no face, in the more traditional sense. It was a pale, blank slate, and he quickly realized that whatever this was… it wasn’t truly Michael.

“Help me, Shaun.” It stated, the voice flat but twisted around and wrong. It’s whole body was twisted around and wrong, some nightmarish parody of a human form. It moved closer to him, legs bending unnaturally. “I don’t want to die…”

Its words faded off into a static, one that felt like it was filling his mind and pushing out all logical thought. He was far too terrified to move, feeling entirely frozen in pace as it slowly encroached. The only thing on his mind was trying to remind himself this was merely a nightmare, but it didn’t help. It felt real. It felt awful. He wanted his brother here, the one he truly knew. Not the one this had masqueraded as. 

But Patrick didn’t come. He couldn’t. It was merely a dream, after all, not something he could step into and help.

Shaun had woken up in a cold sweat that night, unsure of what it was that had caused such a terrible nightmare. He knew it was only a bad dream, that it didn’t truly mean anything, but he couldn’t help his heavy breathing and his heart beating far too fast. It had felt so… surreal.

He wondered if the subject of the dream had anything to do with Patrick’s recent especially odd behaviour. The last time he had been acting this way, it had led to the discovery. The unearthing of Michael, a person neither had known existed. A person who was supposed to be with them, completing their trio of brothers. But, they had learned, he was dead. Dead at a point where he could likely be considered to never have been alive at all. A Vanishing Twin.

It had messed up Patrick for a while, knowing about it. He had some twisted sense of responsibility about it, as though he could’ve done something about it. Shaun… had at first been confused. Hadn’t understood what it truly meant. But it didn’t take long for him to figure it out. It had bothered him, but… it was never something he blamed Patrick for. It isn’t like it was something he chose. It had been explained to him as a thing that simply happened sometimes. An odd part of nature that no one could influence.

Patrick treated it like a murder where the blood was on his hands. Patrick acted as though Michael was some great victim, someone he had sought out for slaughter out of some black-hearted desire deep down. Shaun didn’t really understand why, but he didn’t bring it up. After a while, it became some great unspoken thing among everyone. Everyone knew of course, but no one wanted to be the one to prod the bear.

He thought to himself that this must be the origin of the bad dream. That he had been thinking about it to some degree, and it had become twisted and mishappen in the darkness of dreams. It didn’t truly mean anything, simply a collection of images.

Still, the vision of the stranger curled at the foot of the clock, begging for help, saying how he didn’t want to die… it was something that stuck in his mind. He made his decision then. He would make a trip to the clock, not because the dream had said so, but to reconfirm that was all it was. An odd clock in the woods.

It was strange fortune that it had been the next place Patrick had decided to go creep around at.

It felt a lot less fortunate now.

It had all happened very suddenly. Patrick had lunged towards him, looking like a prey animal that had just seen the teeth of a lion, and in the blink of an eye, he had vanished. It was as though he had never been there, to begin with. It was frightening.

Shaun had waited there at the clock for what felt like hours before finally deciding he had to go home. For all he knew, Patrick could be pulling some sort of prank, a magic trick, and would be waiting for him on the porch at home.

He doubted it, but still began navigating back, periodically calling out Patrick’s name, hoping his brother wasn’t lost in the woods somewhere. It deeply bothered him, the way Patrick seemed to just pop out of existence. Everything about it felt wrong, and it wasn’t the only thing wrong. Shaun quickly realized he was back at the clock. Somehow he had gotten turned around. He moved, beginning the trek back again, but… it didn’t seem to do anything. Once more he looped back around to the clock. Unease had already settled in and dread was quickly approaching as he broke out into a sprint, sure he was going in a straight line, only to emerge at the clock once again. He felt worse than lost.

And that was when it appeared. The twisted figure from his dreams, brought with it a caterwaul of static that felt like it was screaming. His hands clamped over his ears, but it didn’t stop. He fell to his knees, his throat raw before he even realized he was screaming himself. It all felt like too much like someone had trapped him in a room built out of televisions and turned them all on to different channels. And then…

Patrick came crashing through the trees, looking for anything familiar. He was back at the clock, and for once he was thankful, even if he was still entirely alone. He didn’t know what had happened to Shaun, but… it looked like someone had been writhing in the dirt that surrounded the clock, and that was something he did not like. It was a sign of a struggle, and that was never a good thing.

Weakly, carefully, he stepped past the clock, glancing at its face. His eyes widened. The glass was broken. The hands were gone. He looked down at his own, they were still covered in blood he had figured out was his own when he had inspected the fine cuts covering them. He wondered if it had been him who had done that, smashing through the glass with reckless abandon.

He felt he already knew the answer, and he really didn’t like it.

Chapter Text

He doesn’t go home. His parents… they’re not the people he can go to with this. Instead, he goes to the home of his closest friend. He feels a little bad, showing up at her door all bloodied up and halfway to passing out. He just looks at her when she opens the door, trying to communicate an ‘I’m sorry I showed up like this’ to her. Her hand goes to her mouth in shock as she looks at him, clearly wondering how he could be in such terrible shape. All he can tell her is “It took Shaun.”

She’s quick to drag him in, pulling him into the bathroom and looking over him. He’s absolutely covered in blood, all his own. At the very least the stuff caked across his face is all from his nose, but it does look like he had some kind of brain hemorrhage and it all, somehow, wound up on his face. His hands are mangled. Covered in tiny cuts and scratches, glass embedded in the skin, some of the wounds still bleeding freshly, layering wet blood on what’s already dried. She looks like she’s about to vomit, and he doesn’t have the energy to apologize for the state he’s in. She doesn’t seem to mind helping him, and he appreciates it, thankful that he can count on her friendship. 

His hands wrapped in bandages and his shirt swapped for a spare of her dads, Patrick is ready to answer questions and Stormy is beyond ready to ask them. “What the hell happened to you?”

“What do you think happened to me? I was out in the woods and… it showed up.” Patrick answers. They’re both in the living room now, and Patrick can hear her parents in the kitchen fretting about an injured boy dropping at their doorstep, even if they didn’t see the worst of his condition. “Shaun was with me. We were going to the clock. I… I should’ve said no, should’ve turned us around, but…”

“And you said it took him.” She gets a worried look, biting her lip as she glances out the window. “You… you don’t know anything about where he is?”

“No. I’m worried. I need to find him, I need to get back out there.” He says, and Stormy puts a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not going to get me to not go out there.”

“You showed up here half dead, if it shows up again… it could kill you, Patrick,” Stormy says, drawing in a sharp breath. “I don’t want that to happen. Shaun wouldn’t want that to happen. My parents- they can set up a search party.”

“A search party isn’t going to find him. I have to.” Patrick says, getting to a shaky stand. Stormy grabs him, forcing him again to sit. “I told you, nothing you can do is going to stop me.”

“Then I’m going with you. But first, we’re telling my parents.” Stormy says, her expression steely. “Even if you think a search party won’t find him, it’s worth a shot.”

Something is organized, and as people begin to gather Patrick and Stormy set off on their own mission. He’s… less than enthusiastic about this, all the ducks in a row for it to collect if it so wished. He hopes that won’t happen. He hopes that Shaun is ok. He knows what it is capable of, knows that it won’t hesitate to eviscerate him.

All Patrick can think of is how young he is. How much life he has left to live. How awful he will feel if he uncovers his corpse. If anyone does. They each have a flashlight, the beams cutting through the dark as they sweep over the trees and brush. No sign of anything yet, but the cause would already be lost if they gave up hope that quickly. The storm is rolling in, snow beginning to fall more intensely as they navigate the woods. Shaun would not do well overnight in a blizzard. They need to find him sooner rather than later. 

The darkness grows thicker as they traverse it, and Patrick feels as though it is a solid thing encroaching on him. He doesn’t want to be here. He hates this place, hates it most of all at night, but he isn’t going to leave. He can’t leave everyone else to look for his brother, especially when he could’ve prevented this. He should’ve just put his foot down, sent Shaun back home and proceeded alone. He can handle it just fine, Shaun… Shaun wasn’t ready, and now everything was a mess. He hadn’t even taken the time to properly process the missing hands yet.

He hears Stormy gasp, and he’s quick to shine his flashlight in the same spot hers is already placed. He sees something in a bush, and is quick to approach, frowning when he sees what it is. Shaun’s coat, torn and abandoned. That made this even more time-sensitive. It was below freezing out here, and it couldn’t be known how long he had been out without a coat. “We need to find him. Fast.”

Stormy nods in response, quickening her pace. Patrick matches her, but… he also focuses his mind on something else. He tries again to teleport, focusing on Shaun as a concept. Focusing on needing to be with him. Needing to help him. There are two ways he can teleport. Either he has to have been there before, or there has to be a connected person there. Either way, he needs a point of interest to hop to. He can’t just… go wherever he wants. Right now though he can’t get much of anywhere. His teleportation doesn’t seem to function at all, which is worrying in its own regard, like being stripped of an extra limb. It also makes this much harder. If he could just teleport, he could instantly get to Shaun, and everything would be ok. Instead, they are forced to wander, his own lack of ability forcing them to do it the hard way. 

He doesn’t know how much time passes. Sometimes, they cross paths with other searchers. Sometimes they are entirely alone. He isn’t sure if the fact they haven’t encountered it is a good thing or not. At least if they ran into it he wouldn’t be wondering where it was constantly. It could even lead them to wherever it had taken Shaun.

He’s lost in these thoughts when a sudden cacophony explodes from somewhere else in the forest, and without even thinking about it Patrick is running through the trees towards it. He has no clue what’s going on. For all he knows it could be entirely unrelated. He doesn’t care. Any potential lead is worth pursuing, so he ignores Stormy calling after him as he rockets through the woods, lungs burning from the intake of cold air. 

He can’t see anything very well. He realizes that at some point he dropped his flashlight, but now he doesn’t care. He continues pushing through the trees, sounds becoming clearer. He can hear Shaun wailing . A noise he has only heard his brother make a few times before throughout the cycles. Something is terribly, terribly wrong, and he needs to get there, needs to help him. He emerges from the trees, a small grouping of people he isn’t familiar with surrounding someone on the ground, flashlights carefully trained to illuminate without shining in his eyes. Patrick pays them no mind. He pushes through to Shaun, who is still wailing as though someone has died. 

“Shaun, Shaun, I’m here,” He says, hand on his brother's shoulder. Shaun begins to writhe, staring at him with wide eyes. The wailing has stopped, but now he doesn’t make any noise at all. His face is streaked with tears, and he shivers in the cold. Patrick slips his own coat off, quick to wrap it tightly around him. “I’m here. Everything’s okay.”

“I thought- I thought you were dead. I saw you dead.” Shaun states, voice raw and quiet. Patrick doesn’t even think, just pulls him close into a hug. “I saw you dead.”

“I’m here. I’m here. I’m okay,” Patrick says quietly, “Whatever you saw wasn’t real. I’m here. I’m alive.”

Shaun grips onto him, like letting go would make what he saw real. Patrick knows what he’s going through. He’s seen the deaths a million times over, whatever it wants to pull forward it will, and it’s clear it showed at least one of the deaths to Shaun. And he feels terrible for that. Feels as though it’s his fault. He just stays there, holding his brother close. 

They don’t go home immediately, and Patrick is glad for it. He knows there will be a storm when there isn’t a reason to keep up family appearances. First, there is a good reason for a trip to the hospital. Stormy had made her way to the group not too long after. She wasn’t happy about being practically abandoned in the woods, but… she wasn’t mad either. She understood. 

“Never leave me alone in the woods like that again.” She said to him as Shaun was loaded into an ambulance. Still, she hugged him tight and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Go be with your brother. We can talk tomorrow.”

Shaun did not want to be separated from Patrick. His only request was that Patrick be allowed to go with him, and he was happy to oblige. Their travels were silent, Shaun gripping Patrick’s hand like he’d disappear if he let go. They go through the rigamarole of checks, making sure that Shaun is fine, and when it’s all said and done it is late, and it is time to go home.

Patrick is not afraid of whatever fire is going to rain on him for this. He doesn’t care about their parent's wrath when directed at him. All he cares about is that Shaun is alright, surely exhausted as he sleeps beside him in the back of the car. Patrick still doesn’t let go of his hand. 

He had a lot to think about now. Why he couldn’t teleport. Where he had put the hands after smashing through the glass of the clock. What it had shown Shaun. What had happened to Michael. How to proceed from here. Far too many questions, and far too little time to answer them. He had to start putting puzzle pieces together fast. Things would only get worse from here. He had to get ahead of it. Currently? They were fucked. Destined for death. He had to change that.

Chapter Text

Things had been quiet, but… not in the way that he liked. Shaun was completely closed off about what happened but refused to leave Patrick’s side if he didn’t have to, leading to an odd balance of Patrick having every opportunity to ask but good reason not to. It was getting on his nerves, having so many questions close to being answered. 

They were walking down the road, heading towards Stormy’s house. She had always been good at talking to people, much kinder than the abrasiveness Patrick harboured. Shaun was beside him, part of that refusal to be alone leading to him going wherever Patrick was off to. That played in his favour now. They arrived at her house, her parents letting them both in with a smile. They made their way to Stormy’s room, all of them sitting together, laughing and chatting as though nothing were wrong. As though Patrick’s hands weren’t still bandaged. As though Shaun’s eyes didn’t carry a haunted look. As though Stormy’s shoulders didn’t carry a distinct tension.

“Have you been feeling better, Shaun?” Stormy finally asked as their conversation began to fade. He gave her a look before his eyes drew to the floor, and she just frowned. “I guess not.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Patrick asked, trying to be gentle in his words. Trying to draw Shaun out of his shell. He bumped his shoulder against him. “I want to help you, you know. Locking up like a steel trap makes that difficult.”

Stormy gives him a look, saying that maybe he needs to reel it back a bit, but… Shaun does begin to talk. “I don’t know what I need to talk about. You… you already remember what I told you that night.”

“I do, but I just… I want to know more. I want to know what you saw.” Patrick says quietly, putting a hand on Shaun’s back. “I… I know what it feels like. I’ve been shown the same sort of stuff before. Talking about it… it helps. I promise.”

Stormy looks at him again. A ‘you’ve never told me that’ expression on her face, but now isn’t the time to deal with that. Shaun… Shaun is still withdrawn, but… he looks up from the floor. Looks right at Patrick. “It tore your head off.”

“Right in front of me. I was… I was trying to help you, and it just…” Shaun’s fingers twitch, and he makes a small twisting motion with his hands. “Like some kind of doll. And… and I didn’t know what to do. There was blood everywhere and I… I…”

His breath quickens, his hands tense, and his palms grow sweaty.

“It all felt so real. I thought it was real.”

“Shaun…” That is all Patrick can say for a moment, wrapping his arms tight around his brother as Shaun starts to cry. They stay like that for a moment, no words spoken as Patrick just does his best to comfort him. Unfortunately… it is comforting that can’t last forever. “I… I have to tell you something, alright? That… all of that… it was real.”

“Patrick!” Stormy hisses at him. He ignores her.

“It wasn’t real in that it happened now. It… didn’t happen now. And it didn’t happen to me, and it won’t happen to me. It… it happened to Michael a long time ago.” Patrick stated, and both looked at him. He felt like a spotlight was on him. He keeps going. “I haven’t talked about this. I… I thought it was better that way, but I don’t think that now. I’ve done this all before. All of us have done this before. I’m the only one who remembers it.”

“What are you talking about?” Stormy asked, letting out a nervous laugh. “This… this isn’t a funny joke, Patrick.”

“I’m not joking. I… I promise. You need to believe me. Every time we die, we come back. We get another chance. You, Shaun, Me, and… and Michael. I’m the only one of us who remembers because things are… different for me. I’m different.” Patrick pauses, drawing in a sharp breath. “I’ve seen all of you die. I’ve died. I remember it all. But… things are different now. I’m not supposed to be here. Not this way. Every other time… every other time who I am now is Michael. Every other time we share a body, and he’s the face of it. This time though he’s not here, and I don’t know why.”

“Patrick you… this is crazy, Patrick.” Stormy said. “I… You’re not joking?”

“I’m not. I promise. I just… you need to believe me. Please.” He says. Shaun is quiet as the two talk, staring again at the floor. “Things are different, and I don’t know what to do about it. Every time I try to keep everyone alive… but I don’t know what to do here because it's never been like this before. I just… I miss Michael. Him being gone isn’t normal and it bothers me. It makes me worried.”

“He died,” Shaun stated quietly. “He died before any of us were born.”

Shaun saying that makes things click into place, and he’s somewhat sure he has an idea of what that means. He doesn’t stop to talk about that. He doesn’t particularly want to. Instead, he keeps talking as though Shaun hasn’t said anything. “It’s all at the center of this. It’s the reason that we're stuck in this, and I’ve… I’ve spent my entire existence trying to break free. And… and I never have. But I keep trying, for all of us, because all of us are family.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Stormy admits, and Shaun presses himself a little closer to Patrick. “This is… a lot. I… I feel like I don’t really know you anymore.”

“I’m sorry.” Is all he can muster. It’s all he can ever muster.

“Why now?” Stormy asks. “Why… why not wait longer?”

“We don’t have longer. Usually… usually things would be different. Michael and I would be separated from you for some time, and… and it would keep you both safe for some time. Sometimes Stormy is a bit closer, but… both of you are always distant enough that I have time to plan.” He taps his fingers on his legs. “But now… now it’s all happening too fast. It’s going after us too fast. I… If I had a choice you wouldn’t even know I’d exist. You’d only see Michael, and I’d be planning things in the background, putting things into motion.”

“Why?” Shaun asks after a moment. “Why wouldn’t we know you?”

“Because it’s better that way.”

“But you’re my brother, how could it be better that way? How could not knowing you be better?” Shaun asks, and Patrick pauses.

“It’s just the way it’s always been,” Patrick answers, and it’s clear that Shaun doesn’t like that statement, but he doesn’t say anything else. All of them sit for a moment in silence, no one quite sure what to say. What can be said? He just dropped the bombshell of some kind of reincarnation.

“Michael… what’s he like?” Shaun asks after a moment, and Stormy perks up a bit. 

“He’s… he’s a good person. Better than I am. He cares about you a lot. I’d say both of us are equal on that. He does his best, but all of this… all of this scares him, and people don’t always act right when they’re scared. The only thing he wants is to make it through this with everyone.” Patrick says. “He doesn’t remember anything between cycles either. He… he suffers a lot. Life is never easy for him. It’s never easy for anyone with this. But… he keeps going. He’s kept going through a lot.”

“I believe you,” Shaun says after a moment, something clearly still on his mind. Patrick doesn’t push. He just wraps his arms tightly around his brother.

“I’m glad.”

Chapter Text

From that point on, things change. Shaun is always included in any discussions he and Stormy have about dealing with it. Shaun was involved and had been from the start, but keeping him looped in now… was important, regardless of how young he was. The other change is… a little less positive. Stormy is more distant now. She is questioning things. Questioning who Patrick is, and if she truly knows him. He can’t do much about it, other than continue being there for her.

They hadn’t formed much of a plan yet. It wasn’t exactly easy to plan for impending doom, after all. It was mostly time spent simply being together, trying not to crack in the face of everything. There were also, of course, questions for him. About previous cycles, about themselves, about him. About Michael. He would answer them. He may get vague about some of the more sordid details, but he wouldn’t avoid stories in their entirety.

“It’s still so… weird to hear about. You remembering so many decades.” Stormy said, laying on her bed as she tossed some sort of hacky sack towards the ceiling, catching it carefully as it fell. “One of us can just ask… ‘what we’re the 60s like?’ and you have an actual answer.”

“Well, not as much of an answer for the 60s. Those were quick.” He said, and it was known between them that quick meant an early death. Gone before getting too far past the starting line. “Didn’t enjoy them much either. Tough time for Mike. Tough time for me.”

“That just proves my point. Even if it was short, even if you had a bad time… you still have a story.” She responded, sitting up. She had been the one asking questions the most. Shaun… Shaun seemed as though he didn’t care if he heard about it or not. Seemed as though he’d likely prefer the not. That tracked. Shaun was always avoidant of that sort of thing. The less he knew, the better had been a longstanding mantra of his brother throughout the lives he had known him. “Tell me about the 80s.”

“I’m not sure if I want to,” Patrick answered with a small laugh. “A bit embarrassing. Trying new things in a lot of different ways. Wound up making some mistakes. The company was good. Michael had some good friends. Lost some good friends. Said the wrong things to the right people a few too many times.”

“Sounds messy,” Stormy responded.

“It was. Really messy. But… it was a time of learning, and I learned a lot.” Patrick answered with a small sigh. He was on the floor, on the other side of the room staring up at the ceiling. Shaun was at some point between them, distracting himself with a book. “Spent too much time on the phone, though.”

“Could you tell a nice story?” Shaun piped up, tired of hearing about bad times and messiness. He wanted to hear a positive from his brother. “Everything you talk about is always so… nasty.”

“Nasty is one way to put it. Let me try and think of something nicer, alright?” He said, and Shaun seemed satisfied enough with that answer for now. He racked his brain for a moment, wanting a story that wouldn’t twist into a sad or nasty one. “I’ve got one. It’s a little long, so bear with me, alright?”

“So, this was the last cycle around. You were young when it happened. I don’t remember what started it, but… both of us decided that we ought to put stars on the bedroom ceiling. And I remember this was you and me because Michael was terrified of getting in trouble for anything. If he thought of doing it, it would be in the same thought as ways to ruin the paint. So it was me and you. And I had you balanced on my shoulders, and I was standing on top of the bed, and you were doing your best to get the stars to stick up there. And I guess one of them fell out of your hands because the next thing I know… This hard little piece of plastic smacks me in the head. And we laugh about it, even though it hurts a ton, but we think nothing of it. We finish getting those stars pressed up there and they look great , glowin’ like the real thing.” He laughs then, sitting up a bit to look at Shaun. “But when Michael wakes up in the morning, he’s got this nasty bruise right on his forehead. And it’s shaped just like a star. We had it for a week I think, walking around with a big star mark on our head. Tried to cover it up with our bangs but one of the points always stuck out a little bit.”

Shaun laughs, and Patrick beams. He doesn’t have many good stories at the end of the day, so picking one out, and getting Shaun to laugh… feels special. It always feels special to make his brother happy, rather than cause him grief.

“Why put up stars anyway?” Shaun asked after a moment. “What’s the point of it?”

“Why not?” Patrick replied and then paused. The real answer veered somewhat into that nasty territory. “None of us liked the nighttime much. Not… not so much the dark, although you were scared of the dark, nighttime reminded us of it, and all three of us were familiar with it. So… none of us were all that interested in going outside to see the stars there. I thought… maybe bringing the stars inside would be a nice change. And the glow… the glow was for you. Make it a little less dark.”

Shaun doesn’t say anything, instead nodding, and Stormy watches the two of them with an unreadable expression. After a moment, she speaks up with a question. “Do you ever get tired of it? Of… doing all of it?”

“All the time.” He answers truthfully. “It’s… It’s not fun. It’s not pleasant. It’s… blood, sweat, and tears, over and over again. I barely feel like a person half the time. I don’t feel at all like a person in the other half.”

“How do you keep going, then? What keeps you from stopping?”

“Knowing that no one else has what I have. No one positive, anyway. If I gave up… you’d all be in danger. Running around blind. I can’t let that happen.” He says it matter-of-factly and says it as though he hasn’t reached a breaking point before. As though he hasn’t rationalized giving up in his lifetime. He pauses then, glancing back up to the ceiling. “I… I care about what happens to you, to Shaun, and to Michael. You’re all family to me, and… family is supposed to keep each other safe.”

“So I do what I can.” He finishes decisively, watching her out of the corner of his eye. 

“You mess up though. Even if you’re different, you’re only human. Everyone makes mistakes.” Stormy says, and Patrick nods in response. “Do you think… do you think we can really make it this time?”

“Yeah. I do.” He lies. He thinks they are heading straight into the jaws of death. That there is a dark abyss slowly opening up beneath their feet. He would not say that, of course, but… it would be the truth. Things are bleak, and with Michael’s absence… he doesn’t know if he’d want them to succeed. He doesn’t know what that would mean for Michael. Even if he has an explanation now for what happened to him here, it still doesn’t explain his radio silence. Doesn’t explain where he would be. Surely, if they had been twins and if one of those clumps of cells had died, the other would be Michael, and Patrick would still be along for the ride. That’s the way it had always been, one shared body. Even if that body was, theoretically, Patrick’s… Michael should still be here. “I think we’ll make it through.”

“When it’s over, can we put stars on the ceiling again?” Shaun asked, and Patrick paused for a moment. “It… it sounded fun.”

“Yeah. When all of this is over… we’ll put as many stars on the ceiling as you want. I promise.” Patrick felt… some amount of heartbroken. Even if it wasn’t a direct lie… it was still a lie if he knew there was no over. Not anytime here, anyways. “And we’ll have some kind of party with it. Invite Stormy over to help. Cover the walls in stars too.”

“I’ll make sure to rsvp,” Stormy said, cracking a smile. If Patrick could delude himself, he might be brought to actually believe that things would be alright. He couldn’t, though. He couldn’t ignore the shadows quickly beginning to creep up on them, threatening to drag them down into nothingness once more. 

He wondered who would be the first to die.

He wondered if he would be ready.

He already knew he wouldn’t be.

He never was.

Chapter Text

Throughout everything, one question had been echoing in his mind. 

‘How could not knowing you be better?’

He… didn’t have a particularly good answer to that, which was to say he didn’t have an answer at all. In the past, his answer would be quick. It was the way to keep people safe. It was better for everyone not to get too attached. There were necessary evils to be committed, evils easier to stomach if he was some other rather than family. A lot easier to rationalize why something wearing your brother's face would smash your legs to bits, rather than trying to rationalize why your brother would do it. A lot easier to rationalize why something wearing your brother’s face would threaten your closest friend with immolation, rather than trying to rationalize why your brother would do it. A lot easier to rationalize why something wearing your brother's face would let you die time and time again, just to see what changed, rather than trying to rationalize why your brother would do it. Throughout the years Patrick had determined it better to remain some unknown, some inhuman thing in the minds of others rather than someone close. He told himself it would be better that way, that it would make them more willing to trust Michael, that he gave them something uncomplicated to despise and attach blame to regardless of whether something was truly his own doing. Something that absolved Michael of the things he couldn’t control. Of the situation as a whole.

All of this was on his mind as he trekked through the woods, entirely alone. He had to be alone for this. He couldn’t risk the others now, especially with what he was looking for. He still had yet to find the hands for this loop. It was… one of those odd quirks of the whole thing. Some sort of manifestation, to make the whole thing feel complete. A memory had to be made of taking the hands, and thus the hands had to manifest on the clock, despite the fact their true taking was a long time ago. Now he had to figure out where they had wound up. Not find them himself, but… get an idea of where the true hands would be now. He had to return to the clock. 

He continued to mull over everything in his mind as he walked, snow crunching under his boots, eyes locked ahead. He doesn’t know what conclusion he’s coming to. After all… it’s all the way things have always been done. He knows that being known doesn’t go well from experience, why would he question that now? But… that isn’t what he’s questioning. It runs deeper than that. His need to other himself and the actions he commits to are tied tightly together. If he didn’t do the things he did… othering himself would be entirely unnecessary. The problem with that, of course, was already having concluded that many of those actions were necessary. Separating Michael and Shaun. Keeping people apart for some amount of time. Pushing away those who weren’t part of the web. All of it worked together to give them the time they needed for Patrick to plan, and scrape, and fight towards a better ending.

He couldn’t change what needed to be done. He couldn’t change the way he needed to act. He couldn’t change that for the rest of his existence until the job was done, his part to play would be a revulsive one. It wasn’t better to be unknown, it was simply the way things had to be, and that thought struck him like a bullet as he stepped into the clock’s clearing. The idea that it was simply the way things had to be was both a comfort and a damnation. He would forever be incapable of being anything more than the one who had to act on terrible things, but… at least he would have an excuse for it. He couldn’t change it, someone would always have to fill that role, and the unfortunate truth was that someone had to be him. 

At least, that’s what he told himself. What he had led himself to believe. A neverending loop of confirmation. Loops all the way down.

He tried to push the matter out of his mind as he approached the clock again, circling it like a shark. It wasn’t here, which was a good start. That was one less thing to worry about with the dangerous bullshit he was about to pull. The clock fully had the potential to kill him. If it were here, that would be much closer to a certainty. He doesn’t hesitate now, pressing a palm against the front panel of the clock, feeling a thrum in his chest as the pendulum swings. Just like the time before he sees that double beside him, and it almost feels as though he has a little more time to study them. It’s a little clearer now that they aren’t a mirror image, despite the intense similarities, but it phases too quickly for any details to be caught. 

Rather than waking up flat on his back this time, he finds himself in the same spot. But… not really. The clock deals in time and memory, and… this is familiar enough that he can figure out which one it’s picked. He moves to the edge of the clearing, standing in the tree line like a ghost. He doesn’t need to be out of the way, it’s not like he can interfere in a memory, but… he might as well get a decent view of whatever’s about to happen. He has a feeling it isn’t going to be pretty. 

It feels almost like watching a play. The players enter stage right, one being Shaun, one being himself, a baseball bat gripped in his hand. He knows what is about to happen. He’s done it dozens of times. For a twiggy kid, Michael’s arms could put a lot of power behind a swing. He watched despondently as the scene played out, this horrible snapping, popping noise being the only thing he truly processed. With every motion of the bat being brought down the scene shifted slightly, times march shown in the minutiae of it all. He had done this dozens of times. He would do it dozens more until the work was done. Until the cycle was broken. This… wasn’t what he wanted to see, but it was a grim reminder of the inescapable tasks he was responsible for. 

In the end, it was all the same. Suffering that had to be gone through for the greater good. He knew the scene that would play out at home, too, even if he wasn’t seeing it now. All of them would suffer for the greater good. That’s what all of this was. Prolonged suffering.

The scene changed around him again, this time to somewhere new. Somewhere he hadn’t seen before. This must have been where Shaun buried one of the true hands in the last go around. He did what he could to familiarize himself with the area, remembering where he and Michael had been when they had found it.

He had to find it himself.

He woke with a jolt, body freezing as he rose from the snow on the ground. He already knew his face was covered in blood. His head pounded, his legs shook beneath him, and he found himself falling back to the ground as they buckled. He tried to get them back under him, tried to get to a stand, but his mind felt fuzzy, and his body felt weak, and he found himself slipping into unconsciousness in the snow.

Everything felt murky. Like trying to breathe through a thick fog. He could hear someone talking, and he felt something brush against him, but it all felt numb, like pins and needles. His whole body felt like it had been frozen. He remembered the clock, seeing where the hand was, and… promptly passing out in the snow. Slowly, his eyes began to flutter open. There was a drumming in his ears that made it hard to hear anything at all, but he did make out a voice.

“Good, you’re waking up.” The person said, still just a murky shadow as Patrick blinked, trying to clear his vision. They disappeared off somewhere to his side, and he got to work sitting up in place, body still feeling weak. It had been a while since the clock had left him feeling so drained. He’s about to thank whoever it is who’s found him and prevented an anticlimactic death by freezing, but he stops as soon as he lays eyes on him.

Whatever colour is left in his face drains, and he almost wishes he had been left passed out in the snow.

Chapter Text

“What’s wrong with you?” He asks after a moment, catching Patrick’s odd expression. All that Patrick’s brain screams at him is that this is Habit and that he needs to find an escape. All he can think of is a boot crushing down into his ribs until they snap. But it isn’t Habit. It’s the… marginally better option. It’s Evan. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I thought you were someone else,” Patrick answers, followed by a light groan as he continues to try and push himself up. It being Evan now doesn’t make him safe of course. Evan could give way to Habit at any moment, which Patrick wanted to avoid at all costs. “Someone I didn’t want to run into. But you’re not, so… things are fine.”

“Must be someone bad to give you a scare like that.” Evan laughed, but… there was a look behind his eyes. Had something already happened to him? Patrick couldn’t know for certain, but… he wouldn’t be surprised. “What’re you doing out in this neck of the woods, anyway? Pretty far from town, not exactly a good place to fall asleep in the snow at.”

“How far from town?” Patrick asks, getting to a shaky stand. Evan grabs him by the shoulder, stabilizing him. “What time is it?”

“A couple of miles out. Deep woods.” Evan answers and stops to look at a cheap, beat-up watch, a fraying strap barely holding to his wrist. “About 4 o clock. It’ll be getting dark soon. I… have I seen you around before? Something about you feels familiar.”

“I don’t think so. I mean, I’ve never seen you around.” Patrick says, and it is somewhat true. He hadn’t seen Evan before in this cycle. “Must be confusing me for someone else.”

“Wait! No, I’ve got it. You’re the guy whose little brother got lost in the woods a few weeks ago, right? I saw you a little bit then,” Evan says, “How’s he holding up? I wasn’t there when people found him.”

“He’s doing alright. Still a bit shaken up… but he’s healthy and everything.” Patrick answers. He pauses for a moment, thinking. “I’m guessing you were helping to look. Thanks for that.”

“I wasn’t supposed to. Got in a bit of trouble for sneaking out, but… felt like I should pitch in.” Evan answered. “It was just the right thing to do.”

“I should probably get moving. I’ve got a long walk back to get home.” Patrick says with a small sigh. Evan stops him, a calloused hand on his shoulder. 

“If it’s a long walk you should just come back to my place for a bit. My dad’ll be home soon, he could give you a ride wherever you need to end up.” Evan suggested, and Patrick was hesitant. He wasn’t sure if it was a wise move, potentially putting himself into Habit’s claws, but… walking miles through the dark woods wasn’t exactly a brilliant plan either. Going with Evan would be better. “I don’t bite, promise.”

“You drive a hard bargain, but I guess I’ll just have to take you up on it. Was looking forward to shuffling through the woods for the next two hours.” He said, tone switching to a more humorous one. Evan grinned at him, motioning for Patrick to follow as he started down a beaten path. “Is there a phone at your place? My brother Shaun… he’ll want to know where I am.”

“Yeah, of course,” Evan says. “I’ll make sure Vin isn’t on it talking to his friends when we get there.”

It doesn’t take them very long to reach the large cabin deep in the woods. Patrick isn’t a huge fan of how isolated it feels, but he doesn’t have long to think about it as Evan runs up the stairs, stomping all the way, before wrenching over the screen door and announcing his presence with a shout of “I’m home!”

“You could be home quieter .” A girl said with a grimace, sitting in the living room as the two of them came in. Stephanie. “Who’s the random guy?”

“This is…” And Evan forgot to even ask his name.

“Patrick.” He interjects.

“This is Patrick. Found him out in the woods. Figured Dad could help him get home.” Evan finishes. Stephanie gives him a skeptical stare, one that quickly shifts to Patrick.

“Passed out in the woods. Got a bit lost and ended up further in than I bargained for.” Patrick stated, not wanting to get into everything with the clock. Stephanie seemed to accept that answer, for now, returning to her book. Evan led him to the kitchen, where an old home phone sat on the counter, currently unused.

“Looks like you’re lucky. Vin can talk up a storm on that thing if he wants to.” Evan said with a small laugh. “All yours.”

“Thanks,” Patrick says as he dials his home number. Evan wanders off back towards the other room, and he hears a bit of roughhousing begin as the phone rings. It takes a moment, but eventually, Shaun picks up, and Patrick is relieved it’s him. “Hey, Shaun.”

“Where are you?” His brother immediately asks. “You’ve been gone for hours.”

“I wound up at a friend's place. I’ll be home soon, I promise.” Patrick said, hearing the door open as he spoke. He assumed that must be the group's father, which with the way things were shaping up he assumed he would know as well. “I got a bit wrapped up with… with it , but I’m fine, alright? I’ll be home soon.”

“Alright. I’ll see you then.” Shaun said, and with that, the line went silent. It was clear his brother was upset, but not much could be done about that now. He’d just have to make it up to him when he got home. He turned, practically jumping out of his skin at the sight of the older man standing by the entrance of the kitchen.

“Wrapped up with it , huh?” Corenthal echoed. “What exactly are you bringing to my doorstep, kid?”

“I feel like you’ve already got an idea. You’ve usually got an idea of it.” Patrick says, and he wishes the man wasn’t wearing sunglasses. It rendered him entirely unreadable. “You’re one of the smarter ones.”

“I guess I do know, then. You seem to know a lot yourself.” The man said, stepping up to the other side of the counter. “Done all this before?”

“More than you’d know,” Patrick answers, and… the conversation is uncomfortable. It’s not often he talks to an equal . “I’m Patrick. We’ve met before.”

“I remember you, kid. Didn’t meet you much, but… you were in the mix somewhere. One of the possesors, right?” Corenthal asks, and Patrick’s face crinkles at that. “Suppose not.”

“Michael’s my brother. Not my fault we share the way we do.” Patrick answered, and… grew quiet. “Although he’s not here this time around. I don’t know why before you ask.”

“Unusual.” That is all Corenthal says. Patrick doesn’t snap back with the ‘I didn’t realize how unusual that is’ he has loaded in the back of his mind. “What brings you around here?”

“Evan. And not wanting to walk through the woods at this time of night.” Patrick says. “He said you’d be able to give me a ride to town.”

“Course he did,” Corenthal says, and there’s a small smile on the man's face. “Is it something that needs to happen right away?”

“I mean, my brother’s worried about me, but I’ve got nothing on the burner,” Patrick answered.

“Then you can stay for dinner. No point in walking in the door just to walk back out.” Corenthal states.

“Fair enough,” Patrick says, and… he chews his lip, thinking of a question he needs to ask. “Is Habit..?”

“No. Not yet. Not that I’ve known about yet, anyway. Everything but it.” Corenthal answers. “Best not to bring its name around.”

Patrick nods. He lets out a bit of a sigh, shoulders slumping. As the conversation comes to a close, Evan barrels back into the room.

“He better not be grilling you in here,” Evan says with a sheepish grin. 

“Nothing like that, Ev. Just inviting him to stay for dinner.” Corenthal said to him, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “It’s that time of night, after all, and I’d like to get something to eat before you have me running out the door again.”

“I really shouldn’t have volunteered you like that, huh?” Evan said, eyes locking down to the floor.

“I don’t mind, son. Always willing to help a friend of yours.” Corenthal responded. Evan’s body language changed immediately at the reassurance. “Go get your siblings, alright?”

All Patrick could be was relieved that this is where he wound up on a night like this. There were much worse situations to wind up in after dealing with the clock, and dealing with the rag-tag family whose kitchen he currently stood in was probably one of the better options, especially when it didn’t yet have the presence of Habit permeating it.

Chapter Text

He spends the entire dinner waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for the moment when it all goes to shit. But… it doesn’t. They have a pleasant dinner, the Corenthal children teasing each other across the table being the worst that occurs, and even then… it’s a welcome difference from the decorum of the family dinners he’s typically subject to. He finds himself slotting into place, falling into a comfortable state of quiet observation as he watches the way they all orbit each other. He feels as though it all ends quickly, this glimpse into a pleasant life despite the circumstances. Before he knows it dinner ends, and the four scatter to their own little slice of the house. All except Evan, who stays behind at the table. 

“Can I tag along? I want to get out of the house.” Evan says, as though he wasn’t out of the house mere hours ago.

“Sure, son. As long as Patrick doesn’t have a problem with it.” Corenthal says, giving him a small look that says ‘You don’t have to’. Evan looks at him expectantly.

“I don’t mind,” Patrick answers with a shrug. He truly doesn’t. Plus, it’ll be nice to have someone to counteract the frankly intimidating thought of being stuck in a car alone with Corenthal, who’s likely intent on giving him some sort of lecture he doesn’t want to or need to hear. 

They leave soon after, Corenthal driving, Evan in the passenger seat, and Patrick in the back, although with how much of the ride Evan spends turned around chatting with him, he might as well be sitting with him in the back seat. Patrick is… a little baffled by this. He doesn’t get why Evan seems so keen on talking to him. They don’t know each other. This is their first meeting, and yet…. Evan was acting as though they were friends. Maybe it was just who Evan was. Patrick hadn’t ever gotten to know him particularly well, after all. But… it was one of those nice things again. Someone who seemed to just… want to get to know him. It wouldn’t last. Evan was one of the last people he should be sticking around. Evan brought closer danger through no fault of his own. 

It doesn’t take them very long to get to his home, and a part of him is thankful for that. If he’s lucky, he can avoid Evan in the future, which will allow him to avoid Habit at least for a little while. It… makes him feel a little bad, given how much Evan seems to be wanting some sort of friendship.

He’s quick to get out of the car, muttering a quick thank you to Corenthal for the ride. He’s… surprised when Corenthal gets out of the car himself, walking alongside him as Patrick makes his way up the driveway. 

“Listen, kid.” He said, stopping him for a bit. “Things are odd, but they’re quiet. There’s something deeper going on, and I don’t like it. I doubt you like it much either, but… don’t jump the gun. I know you’re eager to up and go, but I think it’d be better to hold back a bit.”

“I can’t just… hold back,” Patrick answers. “I have people to protect. People to constantly worry about. You know what that’s like. I need to act before it’s too late. There have already been close calls, and… I know what I need to do.”

“You think you know what you need to do,” Corenthal says, but the man just sighs rather than continuing with further lecture. “Kid, if you ever need anything,  my door is always open. I know you’re the independent type, but… keep it in mind.”

Patrick doesn’t respond to that, staring away for a moment as he mulls it over. Quietly though, he reaches into his pocket, pulling out the unmarked bottle of pills. He holds them out to Corenthal, who regards the bottle with skepticism. “I don’t know what these are. I figured since you’re a doctor, you might.”

“Can’t promise anything, but, I can give 'em a look,” Corenthal says as he pops open the cap, and Patrick glances back towards the car. Evan seems to be messing with the radio, rather than paying attention to anything else. As Patrick returns his attention to Corenthal, the man hands him back the bottle. “Looks like they’re sugar pills. Where did you find these?”

“Just found them.” Is all he says as he pockets it again. Another layer to the mystery. At least he knew he didn’t need them, or that at the very least. It’s clear Corenthal doesn’t believe him, but… the man doesn’t question him. Doesn’t try to force an answer out. Patrick figures he can already guess that the pills were his. With that he turns towards his home, glancing back one more time towards the car. Corenthal is already on his way back to it, Evan still messing with the radio, but… he stops. His gaze quickly snaps up towards Patrick, and his expression changes. It almost feels like recognition in that brief moment, and then Evan’s attention is gone, returned to Corenthal, and Patrick enters his home. Regardless of what that was, Patrick had no intention of running into Evan again. In fact, he had every intention of doing everything possible to avoid him and make sure that the others avoided him too. It was safer that way. Even if Habit didn’t seem present… it was a risk he couldn’t reasonably take.

He was quiet as he entered the house, knowing it was late by now. Creeping through the halls and careful to avoid any creaky parts of the floor, he entered his room. He wasn’t surprised to find Shaun there and wasn’t surprised to find him awake.

“You said you were going to be back soon.” His brother said, eyes bleary. “That was forever ago. I got worried.”

“Nothing to worry about. Plans just changed a little, but I was somewhere safe.” Patrick answered, and Shaun was clearly unsatisfied with that answer. Patrick pauses for a moment and sighs. “His name is Dr. Corenthal. He’s someone who’s dealt with this stuff, and… he remembers some of it from before. Not a lot, not as much as me, but… he knows about me. He knows about it. He knows a lot of things, and… he does what he can with that.”

Shaun doesn’t say anything, nodding along quietly instead. It’s clear he’s tired. It’s also clear he’s trying to stay awake.

“Trouble sleeping?” Patrick asks him. Shaun nods quietly in response. He frowns, thinking for a moment about what to do. “I could tell you some more stories. I’m guessing you don’t want to hear about something unpleasant.”

Shaun nods slightly, and Patrick sits beside him, leaning back against the wall, thinking of what to tell. “Well, the first thing I’ll say is it would’ve been nice to know you were planning on stealing my bed.”

“I didn’t steal it,” Shaun says quietly. “I just wanted to make sure I could see you when you got back.”

“I’m not mad, Shaun. Just joking around.” Patrick says, and Shaun doesn’t really respond to that, leaving Patrick to just continue figuring out what story he wants to tell. His mind drifts between different events, all of them ending on a sour note. He doesn’t have many solely happy memories, the more he thinks about it. “Does it matter if it’s real?”

“...No, it doesn’t matter,” Shaun answered after a moment, voice hushed. “I just want to hear something nice.”

“Then I’ll tell you something nice.” Patrick says, and… he wishes he had the luxury of ignorance. He wishes he could be told a nice story and believe it. Be told they’d all make it out alive and believe it.

He doesn’t remember when he stopped believing they could make it. But at some point… he did, despite his continued efforts. He isn’t sure if the smoke and mirrors is for them or himself.

Chapter Text

It was the coldest day of the year. He had spent the day questioning Shaun about what he knew about the pills, finding that they were a solution to a problem with seemingly no cause. A placebo for the effects of the man in the suit. A band-aid for their parent's peace of mind. A band-aid that only did so much, of course.

He should’ve known from the start that none of it could truly last. From moment to moment, everything was compounding and was sure to come crashing down at a light breeze. They had already made so many wrong moves. So many mistakes.

He should’ve seen this coming. He should’ve known that the good times could only roll so long. He should’ve expected death to come clambering after them all sooner than later.

But he didn’t see it coming. Despite everything he had ever been through, he hoped that he would have time. He should’ve known better.

He hadn’t even been in the woods when it started, but that didn’t stop it. Nothing could stop it if it wanted to harm. For all the variables he had accounted for… He knew this one couldn’t have truly been prepared for. 

It started with a phone call. A request from Stormy to come over, that something was wrong and she needed help. Patrick and Shaun obliged. He couldn’t describe it as a mistake. At the end of the day, it was the right choice to make, hellfire would’ve come down on them regardless. He didn’t know that yet. All he knew was a friend needed help, and so he made a quick trip down, the two of them unsure of what they would find. The first sign of what was to come met them when they reached the front door. It was unlocked and left slightly ajar, a dark invitation. Patrick paused at that, chewing his lip as he mulled it over. 

“Shaun, I need you to wait out here for a minute, alright? Sit on the curb, away from the house.” He instructed. “I’ll be in and out.”

“What? I’m not sitting out here alone.” Shaun said, but Patrick knew that wasn’t truly what he took issue with. He didn’t want Patrick going in alone. Didn’t want to have him disappear into the dark maw the door represented. “I’m going with you.”

“Shaun. I’m very serious when I say that you are staying out here. Things… things could be really bad in there. I don’t want you seeing that if it's true.” Patrick is honest, and Shaun’s face pales at the prospect. He hadn’t considered that. “I’m going to go in there because if it’s bad, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. If Stormy’s ok, both of us will be out soon, alright?”

He doesn’t elaborate on what will happen if she isn’t. Neither of them needs elaboration on that when the obvious conclusion is that if she isn’t ok, she’s dead. Shaun takes a step back, turning and moving to the curb as Patrick turns back towards the door, taking a deep breath as he pushes it open. 

There are no lights on, and all the curtains are drawn. Outside of that… no signs of a struggle. No blood, no broken furniture or glass, no nothing to indicate that anything has gone wrong. For Patrick, the lights being out is enough of a sign. And then the music picks up. A loud, thumping rhythm echoes through the house, practically shaking the floors as Patrick makes his way further into the darkness. He knew who this was, knew what it meant, knew that he should’ve been proactive, should’ve known that Habit could only be so far behind. He should’ve known Habit was likely already around, biding his time to find a good point to strike.

Trying to leave now would be as much of a suicide as continuing onward. No matter what choice he made, death was close at hand. He was kicking himself internally, thinking of everything that he could’ve done differently, everything he could’ve done to give them a little more time, but… with Habit, nothing could’ve done. He stopped in step, everything feeling distant. There was nothing he could’ve done and that… that was a comfort and a damnation. He couldn’t blame himself for what came next, but… at the same time, it meant there was an eternal risk. Even if they escaped the man in the suit, even if they escaped the cycle, it was no guarantee that Habit wouldn’t rear up against them once more.

He felt a sense of resolve. A calm washed over as he began moving again, stepping towards a door with a sliver of light slipping through the crack between it and the door. The music was loudest here. He knew what would be waiting for him on the other side of that door. Pain, suffering, and death. But he didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate. He pulled open the door and stepped into the room with a stony expression.

Shaun isn’t sure how long he’s been sitting out on the curb, but the longer he remains inactive, the worse he feels. Anything could be happening in there, and he was out here doing nothing to help. He glanced back towards the door, quietly considering going in there. After a moment he stood up, marching up the porch and through the door.

It would be the last mistake he ever made, but he couldn’t have known that. He didn’t even know about Habit, it was something he couldn’t be prepared for. What he feared was the man in the suit. A monster in appearance. He wasn’t ready for something wearing human skin. He wasn’t ready for the brutality of what was simply uninhibited violence. 

The house was silent and dark. Shaun was bothered by it deeply. Stormy’s house was one normally full of life. To see it empty, with no sign of where anyone had gone… it wasn’t something that he liked. He got the distinct feeling that he should’ve listened to Patrick, that he should’ve stayed outside. But… he had to keep going now. He had to find Stormy and Patrick.

As he navigated the house, he finally came across a little bit of light, shining through a slightly cracked open door. He was hesitant, unsure of what would be on the other side. He couldn’t stop now though. Whatever was in the room, whatever he was about to run into he couldn’t be sure, but… he needed to find Stormy and Patrick. He needed to know what had happened.

When he pushed open the door, he screamed.

Chapter Text

He has seen blood before. Patrick’s nose bleeds and small cuts he’s received throughout his life make blood not entirely foreign to him. The sight of blood is not itself what horrifies him. 

It is the amount. The sheer volume of it is indescribable. It is an amount he didn’t even know could come out of a person. It is an amount he has never in his life envisioned. It paints the floor, walls, and ceiling, and at the center of the grim spiral is a person so mangled they are practically unrecognizable, but they look at him, and there is a moment of recognition in their eyes. Their face is too bloodied to make out any details, but their eyes… their eyes beget horror. 

“Run.” Patrick’s voice rasped out, as though running would change anything. As though Shaun hadn’t been doomed the moment he stepped through the door. As though Shaun hadn’t been doomed the moment he was born. As though Shaun hadn’t been doomed in every life he ever led, and wouldn’t continue to be doomed in every life he’d ever lead. They were all doomed, all trapped in an inescapable pit of rot, sickness, and violence. They would never get out. Shaun would never get out. Patrick watched, the white of his eyes contrasted against the red of his face as Shaun took a step back and moved to pivot away and out the door, only to be stopped in his tracks by Habit. They had all stepped on a bear trap, and here was the hunter to collect their pelts.

“LEAVING SO SOON? THE PARTY’S JUST STARTING!” Habit says, gripping Shaun by the shoulder, laughing as though Patrick isn’t in the center of the room, practically inside out with how much blood had been pulled from his still beating heart. He was half torn to ribbons, more corpse-like than alive when looked at. And yet, he lived. For the senselessness of Habit’s violence, the demon had an almost artful mastery of prolonging suffering. He knew exactly how far he could push someone to the brink of death without letting them cross that threshold. Patrick was a shining example of this. “YOUR BROTHER WANTS YOU TO STICK AROUND. HE’D JUST HATE FOR YOU TO MISS THIS, I’M SURE.”

Shaun can’t bring up any words as Habit forces him further into the room, grabbing a chair in his other hand. He positions it across from Patrick, who looks even worse up close. Habit forces Shaun to sit, and leaves the room. Patrick stares at Shaun, who feels as though he’s about to vomit the longer he looks back at his brother. It gets to the point he closes his eyes, but the acrid smell of blood permeates the room, so it only helps so much.

“I’m sorry.” Patrick rasps out, and Shaun can hear a wince of pain behind every syllable. Shaun opens his eyes again, looking his brother in the eyes, trying to ignore the viscera that was once his face. He can see tears form and fall, Patrick cringing at the salt in his wounds. “I didn’t want it to go this way. I thought… I thought I’d have more time.”

His brother coughs, spitting more blood across the floor. He makes a noise someway between a hiss, a sob, and a scream. Shaun doesn’t know what he’s meant to do. He is young. He isn’t familiar with any of this. He is scared. He wants to be brave, to put on a steely face, to trust that his brother has some kind of plan, but his mind falters, his lip quivers, and he can’t help but cry. His throat feels tight, and he wants to curl up and disappear. “It’s all a bad dream. It’s all a bad dream like before. I’ll wake up, and everything’ll be ok.”

“Shaun. You’re not- you’re not dreaming.” Patrick answers, his voice low. He coughs again, his body tremoring now. “This is real. I’m sorry that it is. I’m sorry that you have to go through this, especially now. I’m not going to lie to you, we are going to die.”

The words are stark, stilted by pain, but they still feel like being punched in the chest. He doesn’t want it to be real. He wants to wake up in bed, terrified, but with everything ok. But he won’t. There will never be an okay ever again. “I don’t want to die.”

“I know. I know.” Patrick says, trying to reach out to Shaun. Weakly, he grabs his hand, trying to muster a small squeeze. “It won’t do much, but… I’ll tell you something nice.”

He’s about to go into some story, something to distract Shaun, when Habit returns, Stormy in tow. He sets up another chair, putting the trio in some sort of circle as he has her sit down as well. She looks between the two of them, eyes skipping more quickly over Patrick. While she is also covered in blood, she is for the most part uninjured.

“NOW, WE’D BE STARTED A LOT SOONER IF SOMEONE HADN’T DECIDED TO PLAY A LITTLE HIDE AND SEEK.” Habit said, circling around them like a vulture. He stops behind Patrick. “I’VE ALREADY GOTTEN A LITTLE AHEAD OF MYSELF. COULDN’T HELP HOW EXCITING IT WAS TO HAVE GUESTS. CONSIDER THIS… A PREVIEW.”

“I don’t know who you are, I… I don’t know what you want, but please let us go.” Stormy says. She is clearly terrified, completely unprepared for anything like this. Patrick feels awful for her. “I… I won’t even tell the police. We’ll act like we don’t know what happened like we couldn’t see what you look like.”

“YOU THINK I’M SCARED OF THE FUCKING COPS?” Habit says with a roaring laugh. “YOU THINK YOU CAN BARGAIN YOUR WAY OUT OF THIS? MAYBE YOU’D UNDERSTAND THE SHIT YOU’RE IN IF PATRICK THOUGHT TO MENTION MY EXISTENCE. YOU’RE NOT GETTING OUT OF HERE.”

“I don’t understand. I don’t- why us? Why me?” She asked, on the verge of tears. Shaun’s eyes were screwed shut as he tried to pretend to be anywhere else.

“WHY NOT?” That was all Habit said, following it with another laugh. Stormy’s face paled. Violence without purpose was not an easy concept to stomach. 

Shaun’s eyes remained shut as Habit got to work, exacting that violence as he pleased. He kept wishing to be anywhere else, to not be in the acrid room, to not hear what he was hearing. He wanted it all to be a dream, wanted to fade away from it and be told everything would be alright.

When it was his turn, he was not prepared. He spent much of it feeling as though he were out of his body, watching it from someone else eyes. It was excruciating, but it didn’t feel like it was truly happening to him. It went on like that for what felt like an eternity, Habit shifting between the three of them whenever the current subject of torture grew boring. 

That could only last so long. The last thing Shaun remembers seeing is Patrick, despite everything, trying to desperately writhe towards him. Trying to make him a little less scared by making sure he knows they’re in this together.

And then the world goes black.

Chapter Text

Everyone is dead. It isn’t unexpected. It happens every time after all. But… he is more distraught than he’s ever been. He truly does make the same mistakes time and time again. It is his intrinsic nature. It is an unchangeable fact that he will mess it up. Going too fast, going too slow, giving too little information, giving too much, no matter what he does he always ends up dead, and always ends up here. The Grey. He brings a hand to his face, whole once more, and sighs. It always ends here. He survives for some amount of time only to die when it’s most inconvenient.

He’s growing a little tired of surviving. Of fighting tooth and nail for scraps. Of positioning himself as a threat. 

He wants to live. Wants to have brothers who don’t fear him. Wants to have friends. Wants to experience life without the discolouration of purpose. He wants to truly feel like a human being. But…

It isn’t as simple as shirking his responsibilities. There aren’t exactly brothers to be around when they’re dead. There aren’t friends when they’re dead. He can’t fully divest himself of what needs to be done, but… maybe he can change some things. Place less pressure in certain areas. It’s something he’ll need to think of as he goes along, but for now… for now, he has to begin again. He makes the familiar journey in silence, but… something stops him.

He isn’t alone. There is someone else here, watching him from the woods. He’s worried at first, but neither approaches the other, opting instead to simply lock eyes and continue to stare. After a moment, Patrick moves towards the stranger enshrouded in darkness. They remain still, and… he comes to a quiet realization as soon as he can get a good look at them.

They are practically a reflection.

It’s Michael. It’s Michael. Patrick moves more quickly towards him now, beyond happy to see him, even if it’s in this limbo. “Michael!”

That seems to shock him out of whatever fear he’s in, and he moves back for a moment as he processes Patrick coming towards him. Then he realizes who it is. That it isn’t some odd double of this place. “Patrick?”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Patrick says with a grin, grabbing his brother by the shoulders. He looks him up and down, just happy to see him after so long with his silence. Patrick wondered if there was something about this place, this limbo. Had it held onto Michael? Would it do so again? At the moment he didn’t care, just happy to be reunited with a brother he worried was lost. “I was worried about you.”

“I feel like I’ve been here forever,” Michael says after a moment of silence. “I don’t… understand. I don’t get how you’re here and not in my head. I don’t know where this is.”

“It’s…” He stops in speech. He was going to say It’s Complicated, not elaborate further and continue what needs to be done, but… he doesn’t. “It’s this in-between place. I’ve never seen anyone else here, but… it’s where I end up when things end. Where they restart from. I don’t know why you’re here. I’m just… happy to see you.”

Michael is still clearly uncertain, but… he seems calmer now. Glad to not be alone any longer. Patrick steps back, making his way back towards the clock once more. Michael follows beside him. Neither says a word to the other, content to make the short journey in silence. When they arrive at the clock, Patrick can detect Michael growing antsy. He doesn’t like it for good reason. He turns to his brother, flashes a smile, and steps up to the clock wordlessly, before repeating that which he has one hundred times over. He smashes the glass and takes the hand, all while Michael watches on in horror.

And then the world fell away.

When he wakes in the next life, everything feels… much closer to normal. There is a pressure in the back of his skull, the distinct presence of Michael. Already off to a good start. He prepares for the day ahead, and makes his way downstairs, sitting down at the kitchen table across from Shaun.

“Hey, Michael.” He says, half distracted by some sort of crossword he’s working on. Patrick grins at him, and Shaun gives him a bit of a look. “What’s the smile about?”

“I have something nice to tell you,” Patrick says, thinking for a moment of every story he will tell, of every truth he will let free. He thinks of everything he wants to do, of how he wants Shaun to know him. He wants to put stars up on the ceiling.  “Hi. I’m Patrick.”