Work Text:
ephesians 4:2.
Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love.
The new world wasn’t anything like what Aesop thought it would be. Purgatory, the world they had existed in for so long fighting for their lives, was his new normal. Thrust into a world where lights were powered by electrical circuits and there was no need for horse-drawn carriages, instead machines powered by gasoline. Their final punishment, of course, because the Master of the House had not yet decided they had suffered enough, was to put them in this world without any source of help.
At least they were together, Patricia had said in their empty house at the end of the lane. Aesop remembered how her fingers ran across the lines of dust on the empty shelves, and how the furniture looked as though it had not been used in centuries. At least they had a roof over their heads. It took her months to look through all of the paperwork that the Master of the House had given them. They were in a house in Salisbury, a small town— and they each had citizenship cards. Important information, Patricia inferenced, in case they needed to work. The small fund they had been awarded from the Master’s game was enough to keep them afloat for a while, and if they had this house and these amenities, they would be fine, but… what came next?
It took them three years to get used to everything.
William took to the new world the fastest, just as Aesop believed he would; he had always been charismatic, quick to get on with new people, and his smile, resplendent like the sun, meant that no one really thought twice when he got a little too excited about watching food cook in a microwave. Aesop’s heart always swelled when William came home from his walk or his run, telling his partners about all of the new things he got to experience.
Patricia was smart. She knew that they would need something to continue maintaining their funds, and while William had already presented the idea of being a coach somewhere, teaching people the real art of rugby (the thought of Will’s sport being played in a competitive, professional nature made Aesop smile; all of his darling’s hard work had really paid off, his name immortalized in history books), Patricia wanted something a little less dynamic. She took her portion of the winnings and opened a small shop. The Monkey’s Paw, she had called it, and she sold oddities and gave advice on magicks that were out of the scope of normal understanding. To most, magic wasn’t real, and it was nice to just come to the shop and have your palm read or told how to placate a funny little poltergeist in your home— but Aesop and William knew better. They watched as she came home and suffered through the pain of the curse, tended to her and kissed her until she was better.
Aesop struggled. With such a niche skill set and an already-crippling anxiety of people, he couldn’t find himself to do more than be a house partner. His partners never minded: someone needed to take care of the house while Patricia and William were both away, and it was growingly-common in this new world for men to take upon the “roles of women” and keep house. It was nice, Aesop had decided, being able to exert control over a small space, and the look on his face when his partners came home and realized they didn’t need to worry about running the bill or doing the washing was enough to help him feel better about his situation.
The new world was quite accommodating to people like Aesop, he had learned. On the days where there was little to do around the house, Aesop read. The world had changed so much since he entered the Oletus Manor, and he was desperate to know what he had missed. The newspaper came to the house for free every day, and Aesop’s fingers would always trace over the colored print and the shiny ads of local eateries or chain grocery stores. William would come home and regale his partner with tales of the grocery store, how you didn’t need to go to the grocer and the butcher and the marketplace— everything was all right there, maintained by machine and under bright lights. Aesop liked that thought, but he could never muster the strength to leave the house.
A friend of William’s suggested cell phones. The notion was completely off the charts: none of them had ever seen a computer before, let alone something so small and handheld, but upon obtaining them, the world’s knowledge was at their fingertips, and learning, trying to fit in, was something that had become immensely easier. They had each gotten the same model, something that was good for beginners—Patricia had come up with a boldfaced lie about being in a church circle that didn’t allow technology, raising concern and pity from the sales representative—and protective cases. (William was adamant that he got the one with the bunny on it.)
The nights grew longer and the days grew shorter as wintertime came. In their third year in what they were quickly learning to be the “modern day”, William had gotten on just well at an orphanage as one of the recreational assistants, and the kids loved him. They would file out of the building in their bundles and scarves and run around with him as they begged him to teach them how to play real rugby. He always complied. Patricia’s shop was doing well, having been interviewed recently by the local paper as her popularity grew: she was about to hire someone to run a website for her so that she could post photos of her items and talk about what they were.
Aesop struggled.
The days were short, though they were plentiful: with his cellphone, he could order the groceries to be delivered to the house, look up new recipes to try out, pay the bills online, and a hundred other things that he previously thought weren’t possible. They had bought a television, and Aesop quite liked Netflix, because it was like reading a book without having to put in the brain power to read. Whatever kind of question he had, he could simply type into his new phone, and there would be an answer— or ten. There were communities about autistic people out there, welcoming him in with open arms instead of kicking him out of schools, and there was an entire branch of medical science about coroners and embalmers— funeral homes, and the like. Everything that Aesop was ostracized for in Whitechapel, there were now people welcoming him with open arms.
He chooses not to look up if there are apologists for people who are murderers.
Aesop struggled with leaving the house. At first, it was that he refused to open the front door— he had to step out of the room when either of his partners left, the new world so scary and unwelcoming. Then, with the purchase of a porch swing, the desire to sit out on the porch with his partners outweighed his fear, and so they held his hand and bundled him up with blankets and sipped tea with him until he felt comfortable to sit out on the porch by himself. (He remembers Patricia smiling at him through the window.)
It is now Tuesday morning, and the post had already run. It seemed like a Herculean feat, crossing their yard and the small backroad they lived on to get to the mailbox, calling him to inform him there was post for them with a little yellow flag. He stands there, in his cream sweater and slacks and shoes, arms wrapped around his body as he tests his weight against the porch. It creaks comfortingly, though he is small, and he pulls his mask up, gently, hiding his face from curious neighbors. (The nearest neighbor was a four-minute walk away, but Aesop was convinced they were watching him and laughing at him anyways.)
“Problem, cher? ” calls a voice from the front door, and Aesop turns around to see Patricia standing in the open doorway for just a moment as she exits, closing the door behind her so as to not run up the gas bill anymore than they already were. William was a good space heater at night, but even the most warm of hearts grow old at the first snow.
“There’s post for us,” Aesop tells her, letting his gaze fall back to the mailbox across the road. Pushing his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose, the frames having slipped across the fabric of his cloth mask, he sighs. “I’m struggling to go get it.”
“Struggling?” Patricia asks, arching a brow up at her partner. “For what reason, love?”
“The yard,” Aesop sighs, shame crawling up his neck from the base of his spine. He turns his head away from her, unable to look at his partner for fear that she’s going to mock him for his answer— no, that comforting voice tells him, not Patricia, never her. “It’s just… very big. And our neighbors have a dog. A big one.”
“Darling, we can only ever hear the dog, we can’t see it. Their house is too far away.” Patricia smiles at him, her hand reaching up to take his jawline and bring his gaze back over to her. “How about we go together? Would that be alright?”
Aesop smiles, though it wasn’t visible under his mask, and he leans into her hand gently. He is very touch-averse, though his partners have learned where to touch him and for how long before he gets uncomfortable. Patricia and William both have always protected him, even from the terrors in Oletus Manor. In comparison to being tossed over your shoulder by a man using a shark club as a weapon… walking across the yard with her didn’t seem too big a fear. “I think I would like that, yes. May I hold your hand?”
“Of course, mon tresor,” she smiles in response, offering her good hand to him as they descend the steps of their porch. As Aesop’s shoes hit the ground, he exhales slowly, taking a moment to get his bearings before allowing himself to take the first step; the ground was cold, kissed with snow, and Patricia laughs as they trudge through the snow together, dusting snowflakes off of her cheeks as they walked to get the mail. Aesop’s gaze, grey and kind, stayed on her the entire time, watching the curve of her lip or the determination of her brow as they traversed the snowy sea together, and he laughs softly as Patricia opens the mailbox, frowning at yet another credit card offer.
“These things,” she sighs, shaking her head. “We have never needed credit before, and we do not need it now. If we do not have the money for something, we will save up until we do.”
“But what if there’s an emergency?” Aesop asks, smiling as he reaches into the mailbox to get the paper in the back and tuck it under his arm. “What if there is a problem, and our stove breaks? That’s expensive, and we may not have the money when it does.”
“We have lived on our own with less,” she reminds him, “and so long as we are together, we will be just fine.”
Aesop smiles as they walk back across the yard.
Their kitchen is comforting, and the sight of William eating breakfast at the table is even moreso. Aesop smiles as he takes the mail and sorts through it, Patricia joining their partner at the table.
“Aesop,” William tells him, shaking his head, “every day you outdo yourself a little more with breakfast. You’re gonna have to roll me out of here to get to the bus stop.”
“Thank you, love,” Aesop smiles, “We were out of mushrooms for the omelet, I hope that’s alright.”
“‘Course!” William laughs, and when his gaze rises to meet his partner, he looks at the mail in his hands and his jaw drops. “ Baby, ” he gasps, smiling, “Did you go get the mail today?”
“Patricia walked with me,” Aesop replies, holding the newspaper to his chest as he began to look for a pencil; he wanted to complete the crossword on page 7. “But yes, I finally walked across the yard to get the mail today.”
“I’m so proud of you!” William laughs, getting up from the table and encapsulating his skinnier partner in a hug, rocking him back and forth. “You’ll be out and about in the city in no time!” Aesop makes a small noise from inside William’s arms, one that cues him to believe his boyfriend isn’t getting enough air, and eventually, he puts Aesop down, and he pushes back the ex-embalmer’s silver-gray bangs to kiss his forehead softly, smiling. In a softer tone, one that has to be actively thought about when used, he smiles. “I’m so proud of you, Aesop.”
—
Dinner is being prepared quietly by himself, just as it is every night. That is not to say Aesop gets lonely in the house; he is learning to be kind to himself, and solitude gives him a chance to think about who he is, what he has accomplished that day, and what his goals for tomorrow are. Today was a lot, even though the average person wouldn’t think of it as a giant feat. Aesop crossed the yard, got the mail, and came back— tomorrow, he might try it by himself.
There is a knock at the door, however, and it pulls Aesop from his thoughts. He turns the heat down on the stove, letting the beginning preparations for dinner start slower, and he pulls on his fabric mask as he goes to open the door.
He’s expecting Patricia at the door, having forgotten her keys, or William, with his arms full of treats given to him by his students, but neither are at the door when he opens it. Instead, there is a woman, short and stocky and grumpy, her arms crossed over her chest, and there is a child behind her, no more than ten years old, and when Aesop answers the door, she looks to be shocked. “Oh—”
Forcing his anxiety down his throat like a pill that won’t take, Aesop watches the space where the woman’s feet are, making sure she doesn’t enter the house. It is his sanctuary, one that he would prefer nobody defiles. “Hello,” he greets her in cool and well-spoken English, “May I help you with something?”
“I told you,” the boy whispers.
“So you are real,” the woman scoffs, looking back at the child, whom Aesop presumes to be her son.
“I’m… I’m sorry?” Aesop asks, and he grips the doorknob a little harder, knuckles going white around the fixture.
“My son, Danny,” the woman begins, “keeps telling me that there is a corpse tending to the garden behind Patricia and William’s house. In order to get him to shut up about it, I was going to bring him over here so that they would tell him they don’t have a corpse living with them, but I presume he was simply talking about… you.”
He blinks a few times behind his reading glasses, as hearing himself being compared to a corpse rips an anxiety out of his chest and puts it on his tongue like a bad sour candy. “Well, I am… I am very much so a living being. If that will be all—”
“What is your name?” the woman asks him, and her chin lifts to look up and talk to Aesop.
“I am Mr. Aesop Carl.” He nods. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Are you their housekeeper, or…?”
Aesop’s gaze casts to the floor, and he chokes back a soft sigh; he always hated trying to explain his relationship dynamic to another person. While certain groups on the internet understood and didn’t bat an eyelash to what it was Aesop was describing— polyamory, as it was now called—something in Aesop’s survival instincts led him to believe this woman would not be as understanding.
He doesn’t get a chance to explain himself, however, as he catches an eyeful of William walking up the steps, fresh off the clock. “Is there a problem, here?” He asks, stepping past the woman and her child, stepping next to his partner and putting a hand on the small of Aesop’s back. Aesop immediately steps behind the other, and though Aesop had an inch or two on William in height, William was much broader than his partner and took up more space.
“William, hello,” the woman greets him, smiling; William does not return the smile. “I was just introducing myself to your housekeeper.”
“Housekeeper,” he laughs a little, looking back to Aesop. “Sorry, Helen, I don’t think you’ve had a chance to meet my partner, Aesop. He’s the type who prefers to stay at home.”
The woman—now known as Helen to Aesop—blinks a few times, as if she’s trying to process the information given to her. “Have you and Patricia ended things, then?”
“Nope!” William replies, the answer and the charismatic smile on his face all that was necessary to give as a response.
“I’m not following.”
“Aesop and I are partners.” William begins, gesturing from himself to the masked man behind him. “Patricia and I are also partners. Patricia and Aesop are also partners. We all love each other.”
“You know, the children in the neighborhood are going to be asking questions,” Helen’s arms cross over her chest, and immediately, Aesop is taken back to a conversation his grandfather had in Whitechapel. You know, the children are going to be asking questions, one of Jerry’s living customers had told him when Aesop became his apprentice officially. He’s always been a little strange.
Jerry agreed with the customer, though, and Aesop half-expects William to agree with Helen: the children are going to be asking questions about the strange, grotesque monster that lived in their house. After all, Helen’s son already believed Aesop to be a corpse.
“The children in the neighborhood don’t have to come around if they don’t want to,” William shrugs, and Aesop’s eyes focus on the profile of his partner. “That’s quite fine by me, Helen. I hope that you can, like, do a good job of explaining the different kinds of love to them in the world, though. I thought this new world was supposed to be accepting, and kind. If you’re done, though, please leave my partner alone. You’ve already upset him.”
“But—”
“Bye, Helen.”
The door closes, and Aesop’s arms wrap around himself, shaking his head. Now, he’d caused a disturbance in the neighborhood with the children, and he’s potentially ended one of William’s friendships—
“What’re you crying for?” William asks, holding his partner’s face and smiling over at him. The height difference between Aesop and William had never been as dramatic as the one between Aesop and Patricia, so William’s hands never have to reach up to touch Aesop, just over. “Did she upset you that much, love? I’m sorry.”
“She just—” Aesop begins, gasping through his mask and struggling to find the appropriate words for what he was experiencing. “A corpse— I’m not, I’m not a corpse—”
“Hey, hey, hey,” William says, and Aesop can see the visible change on his face: in a matter of seconds, he’s gone from loveable boyfriend to stalwart protector, the man who threw himself in hunters’ way to protect Aesop. His fingers hook into Aesop’s mask and gently remove it so that his partner can breathe properly, his hands coasting over Aesop’s hair with a sigh. “It’s okay, baby, she’s gone. Whatever she said that upset you, it can’t get you in here.”
Erratic breathing leaves the embalmer’s body for a minute as he focuses on the points of William that he loves so much: the freckles on his cheeks, the little scar on his lips, the way his eyes twinkle in the bright lights of their house like little candles. He presses his face into William’s shoulder and sobs openly, letting all of the emotions out into the world like his partners had taught him to. This lasts for a few minutes until Aesop is tired, too tired to cry, and his limbs ache from the energy used in the panic attack. William walks him over to the table, sitting him down and smiling.
“Dinner—” Aesop gasps, and William holds out a hand to stop him.
“We can go get takeout or somethin’ tonight,” William tells him. “You’ve had a long day.”
“I’m not—”
“ Aesop. ” William says, turning off the stove and taking the pan off the eye to put in the sink. “It’s okay.”
The door opens again, this time after the jingling of keys, and Aesop looks as though he’s a frightened rabbit, ready to run away to wherever he thinks is safe. William immediately intervenes, smiling as he stands in front of Aesop. “It’s Pat, Aesop— It’s just Pat, baby.”
As though he had spoken words into reality, Patricia walks through the door, setting down her bag and slowly closing the door to look at her boyfriends, slowly approaching the scene so as to not startle Aesop anymore than already visibly was. “What’s happened?” She asks, looking from Aesop to William for answers.
“Helen came by, and I guess she didn’t know Aesop lived here, but her kid, you know, he’s got that imagination, and he was over, so—”
“William, cher, short version of the story, please.”
“Shit, right, sorry—” William sighs, shaking his head. “Short story, Helen said some things that upset Aesop, and I think he had one of his episodes.”
“Right after the yard, too,” Patricia sighs, approaching and kneeling down next to him. “Aesop, mon coeur, can you hear me? Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” Aesop shakes his head, wiping his face. “I’m just tired now.”
“How bad was the episode, William?”
“Pretty bad. I guess after the yard thing, he was already sort of raw, so…”
“Aesop,” Patricia takes his hand and holds it in both of her own, “What did she say to you that upset you?”
“Her son,” Aesop gasps, shaking his head, “He thought I was a corpse tending to the garden. A dead body. It’s not my appointment, it’s— ”
Both William and Patricia’s shoulders drop seemingly simultaneously as Aesop goes to mumble about fated appointments and time and his makeup box (which has long since been in the attic of their house, intentionally not touched). They let him ride out what is left of this manic episode, his hands opening and closing frantically as his body demands some semblance of feeling good, and when he’s done, Patricia touches his cheek.
“Ten minutes,” she tells him, and Aesop sighs. They had been timing how long his episodes lasted, to benchmark his progress. Eventually, he will not need the memory of Jerry Carl anymore, or find comfort in putting together makeup that looks exactly like a corpse had been brought back from the dead. He is no longer making mannequins of teammates, hoping that they’ll be back from the dead. Patricia feels like flesh, not clay, under his skin, though— she is real, and she is with him.
“Progress,” William chimes, pocketing his hands in his sweatpants. “The last one was thirty.”
“I suppose,” Aesop sighs, and he runs his hands through his hair. “I don’t feel like I’m ever going to be normal.”
“Normal is subjective, love,” Patricia smiles. “You are perfect just the way you are.”
“Yeah!” William laughs, leaning against the wall. “We didn’t fall in love with a normal, boring guy. We fell in love with you.”
Aesop smiles softly. They fell in love with him.
“So,” William hums, coming up behind his partners and wrapping his arms awkwardly around Patricia’s shoulders and the back of the chair Aesop was sitting in. “What do we want to order for dinner?”