Chapter Text
It’s hauntingly quiet.
The air is thick and stale, almost more brisk than the cloudy atmosphere outside. Nothing feels less than hollow, at the moment.
The digital clock reads 2:15 AM. The edges of the picture frame on the night-stand glistens from the glow of the streetlight outside. In the picture frame is Patton’s happy freckled face, glowing in the sunshine. A halo of light envelops the edge of his auburn curls. Next to him is his partner William— his dark brown bangs drooped around the side of his face, his tan skin slightly pale, and his face portraying a soft, loving look.
A facade of control.
Patton lies rigid on his side, facing the window. William’s slow, steady breaths rise and fall behind him. He doesn't move. He can’t move. William had another long day. Waking him now would be a mistake.
And Patton’s always making mistakes..
The shadows from the hallway nightlight slant across the bedroom in long, glowing bars.
Prison bars.
His skin stings in patches where bruises darken beneath his clothes. His ribs ache with every breath. He licks at where his bottom lip was split, the sickening taste of iron still present, and stinging. His wrist pulses with pain from where William had twisted it earlier—an argument over a misplaced charger. He rubbed at the uncomfortable discoloration on his wrist, the pink hue now blending into a sickening faint purple.
He could’ve sworn he felt his right shoulder shift weirdly when William yanked his arm. Maybe that’s why it was hurting so much...
Patton loved William— still does — as much as William loves him back. Or at least as much as he said he did.
But now, staring down at the ring on his finger, all Patton can only feel sick to his stomach each time. The realization started to sink in, like a paper boat finally absorbing the murky waters it was desperately staying afloat on— becoming too heavy to bear itself above the surface. Patton's chest tightens, and his vision spots with panic. The boat begins to plummet..
Patton gulps back the rising terror, the sides of his face begin to flush unpleasantly. He felt the memory of William’s proposal become tainted. It no longer felt like a beautiful promise — it was a shackle. A chain clasped tight around his heart, locking him to the man sleeping just inches away.
Forever.
That word triggered a horrendous feeling in his gut. He had dreamt of spending his life with someone, settling down with them, and having a couple of kids to raise as an inseparable duo, bound by love.
He'd move back to the country near his childhood home, and his aunt Patty would've watched the kiddos during weekends while the two of them went on dates — adventures to remember, memories to create...
Since when did picturing it with William making him feel so terrified?
Since WHEN?
This was love, wasn’t it? He should be grateful.
William said he loved him, and after all — he apologizes after he…hurts him…
The growing lump in his throat begins to trigger tears, which sting the corners of his already-bloodshot eyes. He presses a trembling fist against his lips and swallows the bile clawing up his throat. It wouldn’t be safe to cry. Not tonight. Not ever.
William would be furious if he woke him up.
No— Why was he always so angry? No matter what he did, he’d… How did it get this bad?
His breathing becomes too shallow for comfort, further tightening the knots in his chest. He bites the inside of his lip to try and force away the developing panic, not processing the taste of the faint iron yet. But then… something cuts through it like a sharp beacon of light, shredding away whatever was in its path. A flicker of clarity, something he hasn’t felt in years. An almost traitorous thought:
He has to get out. Nothing about this is love. It didn’t feel right. It never was.
He doesn’t remember when it got this bad. Maybe because it hadn’t started out this way. He doesn't remember the exact moment things shifted. Maybe because it didn’t happen all at once. Or maybe because he didn’t want to believe that anything shifted at all. William had once been gentle. He used to kiss Patton’s tears away when he cried. Now he’s the cause of the tears. And worse—he makes Patton afraid to let them fall.
Why? How did he let it get this bad? Was it even his fault? No, of course not. Was it? No— Stop. No.
No.
Another beacon of light shot through his head— It’s what his friends have already realized months ago.
If he saw someone he cared about in his shoes, he’d worry himself out of his mind. No one deserves to live this.
Anywhere is safer than here.
His weakened fingers find strength, and they tremble slightly as he slowly peels back the edge of the comforter. His breath catches in his throat when William shifts behind him and mumbles something incoherent in his sleep.
His self-awareness of his own fear grew, making the tightness in his chest worse. His breath catches mid-inhale and he holds it, daring not to breathe. His body begins to flare with protest with each movement—bruises throbbing, joints stiff, every muscle aching as if pleading with him to stay still, to not make a sound.
Part of his mind agrees.
Where would he even go?
Patton continues to hold his breath as he slides his legs out of bed, muscles screaming as loud as his thoughts.
What’re you doing what’re you doingwhat’reyoudoingdoingwhat’reyou—-
He sets his feet on the carpet, and he winces as he uses his arm as a leverage to stand up.
Something’s definitely wrong with his arm.
He suppresses the feeling— as he always has — and stares toward the doorway, like it’s the edge of a cliff.
Time for a free fall.
He tiptoes forward with practiced caution, with his breathing is contained as much as possible. He dares a glance behind him— to William, to his beloved childhood teddy bear on the bed, his cracked glasses, and then to the nightstand where his phone sits charging.
The battery had been dying all day, William wouldn’t let him use it. He gulps and turns to face the door, deciding not to take it. It’s not like he was worried about leaving it behind. William already knew his password and what apps he had.
Probably his location too. He could only assume considering—
Don’t think about that now.
He presses his lips into a thin line, and tiptoes with all of his strength to the door. He flinches when the door squeaks faintly as he opens it, and Patton braces for his life. He waits—checking behind him. William doesn’t stir.
Patton turns his head back to his front, and his eyes land on his pants and jacket hanging from the coat hook on the door. He carefully fishes through the pockets of the clothes, and grabs his wallet. He didn’t have a plan, but he took it in case he needed to provide ID or use cash.
And that's it —The wallet is all he takes. No bag. No coat. No teddy bear. No glasses. No phone. No note. No goodbye. Nothing.
Any noise would make him angry.
And if he found him inching out of the room without permission—
Stop.
Patton looks back again to keep his eyes on William, as he turns the handle before closing the door, to prevent the 'click' noise.
There’s a tense silence as he goes down the hallway, then down the stairs, each sound of a creaking floorboard a death knell in his ears. He’s somewhat grateful his socks muffle the sounds of his steps to some degree at least. He clutches the railing to steady himself, each step making his legs tremble from the strain. His vision tunnels across the living room:The front door is right there.
He glances around their living room for anything else he should take. His gaze wanders towards the pictures on the walls. Those happy memories now adding to the weight of his shackles. Patton almost backtracks up where he came from, until the searing pain of his guilt begins to settle in.
He can’t take it, it’s too much. He can’t bear to leave it all behind. William had done so much for him, and all he could do in return was keep making things difficult for the both of them. And now he's having these thoughts of abandoning him? William hadn't abandoned him yet, when he should've.. All he does is be ungrateful, and selfish..
He glances back up at the staircase, the top enveloped in darkness. He lets his tears fall, as he contemplates walking back up.
He'd endure this. Patton did this to himself. They're a team, they can get through anything.. They made a promise after all.. they'll be together—
Forever.
And then, another beacon of light blasted the light back into Patton's eyes.
Patton takes a shaky breath, and turns away from the staircase.
Enough is enough.
He begins walking to the front door.
Patton wouldn't hurt anyone he loves just because they made a mistake.
He unlocks it as quietly as he can.
Because he's a good person.
The second the door closes behind him, he bolts. He runs like the ground behind him is crumbling. His battered form absorbs every impact—his adrenaline neutralizing the feeling of his soles shredding raw against the pavement — rocks and bits of tar from the street biting through his socks and into his bare feet.
The urge to keel over in pain is tucked behind a shroud of his will to live. The newly-ignited fire in his chest burned most of the doubts in his mind.
The cold, night wind cuts into him, whipping his pajama top and shorts against his bruised skin. He keeps his right arm tucked into himself as he feels it beginning to stiffen and ache intensely. Minutes pass, and everything — streetlights, houses, parked cars, and trash cans— blurs past along Patton’s sides.
The brisk air viciously whips past his face and fills his lungs like hot ice. His knees buckle once as he misjudges the depth of a curb, but he catches himself. The balls of his feet begin to sting, due to a bunch of rocks getting stuck in the threads of his socks. He runs regardless.
After what feels like an eternity of desperate sprinting, the sobs finally rip their way through his throat. His sides begin to twist into a cramp. His esophagus begins to burn as the wind dries his mouth, and his lungs are running out of air. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but he can’t stop now.
He hopes his friends will be proud of him.
He’s let them down so many times. It’s the one thing he’s good at.
His vision blurs with tears, so he shuts his eyes, thinking he’s in the clear to do so. He can’t register how fast he’s running so he completely misses it until—THUD
His bad arm suddenly collides with a streetlight pole, and he crashes forward onto the concrete, his knees splitting open on impact. He's only in shorts so there's absolutely no protection. His palms scrape raw, breaking skin. He doesn’t realize what happens at first, but he feels it in a matter of seconds.
He could’ve sworn he felt something shift in his right shoulder again. But this time, sharp pain began shooting up the back of his neck, shoulder blade, and down to his elbow. Now experiencing all the pain hitting him at once, it becomes almost unbearable. He chokes out a pained sob, and begins coughing profusely, as he curls in on himself.
The pain is so intense at this point, that it’s all he can focus on. When his focus eventually shifts, he feebly tries to push himself up— only to collapse again, his pale face pressing against the cold sidewalk.
He’s shaking as he lays there ready to give up, but something in him refuses to let his body shut down. He tries not to think as he gradually hauls himself up to continue along the crosswalk, his pace now slowed to a weak trudge. Luckily it’s late enough to where no cars or people can see him in this state.
Pathetic.
His legs barely carry him towards a destination he’s not aware of. He glances up and around his surroundings, and with speckled blurry vision he reads:
Carol Oaks Library.
His brain registered slowly that he literally ran blindly for a couple miles just to end up in a popular complex close to his college campus. In his pain-induced, breathless state, he groggily vocalizes his thoughts.
“..If.. that’s th…the lib-library… then over there is…”
His lidded, puffy eyes are now tunnel visioning on the police station a mere block over.
He lets out a small laugh of relief, as registers the ridiculous convenience of his desperate act. He begins to walk towards it, hunched over like an old man, ready to crumble into dust at any second.
He hobbles into the parking lot, which was almost empty at this time of night, except for a few cop cars. He was able to make it to the curb in front of the main entrance, but as he tried to step up over it, his legs gave out and he fell to his knees. He was too weak to even haul himself up the edge of the curb.
Patton gave in to his aching muscles, and lowered himself all the way down to rest for a few moments. He lies there, protectively clutching his ribs with his good arm, trying to find some energy to inch his way back up. He feels his nerves freeze when he hears a voice cutting through his haze.
“Hey! Hey sir— what’s going on?”
Footsteps approach him quickly, and Patton flinches and braces himself upon instinct. A flashlight beam slices through the dark, like another beacon. His fear settles down slightly as he realizes it’s a security guard, a man in his late thirties, eyes filled with concern as he rushes toward Patton.
“Sir, can you hear me? You alright? What’s your name?”
Patton missed the first and last part of what he said — he’s beyond disoriented. He opens his mouth to speak, but breaks into coughs again. The guard kneels down and speaks firmly into his shoulder mic.
“I need immediate backup. Male, around mid-twenties. He’s injured.”
He places a careful arm on Patton’s shoulder.
“Sir, you’re safe. Okay? You’re safe now. Can you tell me your name?”
“P…P-Patton,” he gasps out, shaking.
“Okay. Okay Patton, I’ve got you. You’re safe, okay? You’re gonna be okay.”
Patton sways as his head continues spinning in and out of consciousness. The guard gently helps him up. He lets out small groans as his muscles try to cooperate with the kind guard. But as he tries to stand, his knees continuously give out.
“It’s okay, don’t force it,” the guard says, steadying him, voice low and soft. “Just lean on me.”
He shouts something else into his mic, but Patton’s almost completely zoned out at this point.
More personnel arrive within a couple minutes—an older-sounding policeman and a couple younger-sounding individuals. They all handle him as if they're moving a hollow, ceramic statue. He’s carefully guided into the stale-warm glow of the station lobby. A thick blanket is carefully draped around his shoulders as they ease him onto a padded bench. He hears someone asking him if he needs medical attention. Patton doesn’t know how to answer that— the thought of ambulance sirens sounded dramatic to him.
One of the younger responders kneels to check his injuries. They assess his visible bruises, including the ones under his pajama top, and physically examine them, but Patton barely reacts. However as soon as she feels around at his shoulder area, Patton hisses sharply as the pain digs into him further. She then turns to her co-worker and asks for something. A string? Swing? Patton didn't hear.
Patton could barely see as well. He could do without his glasses for the most part, but they were prescribed specifically to prevent eye-strain-induced headaches. Now that all of his senses were encased in disorientation, he was miserable. His curls are a disaster, bangs damp with sweat and sticking to his skin. His muscles ache with every breath.
A few minutes go by, and medical personnel arrive after a few minutes after being summoned. Patton had begun to partially black out, but then snaps back to the present when he feels his shoulder being examined again by another lady. He tried not to wince as it was then cradled into a sling.
It was sprained?? At least nothing was dislocated again..
She was a nice paramedic from the ER a couple blocks away. If he wasn’t fading in and out of consciousness, he’d have thanked her. Another medical examiner offered to give him a pair of new clean socks, and Patton accepted them. He felt really bad when they helped clean and bandage his torn up feet, before gently slipping the socks on.
The lady who put the sling on him, also cleaned and bandaged the cuts from his fall. Patton looked away during the process, purposefully trying to zone out. After she finished, she offered an ice pack from the kit she carried with her.
“Here, place this on your neck. It’ll be easy to strap another ice pack to the bruise on your wrist, but you’ll have to hold it on that one.”
His ne— Which one?
The lady caught Patton’s weak, puzzled expression. She then gestured to her own neck, showing him where the bruise started and ended.
Oh.. He had forgotten about that bruise.
Patton's face flushed, wincing at the memory of another time Patton made a "mistake".
———
He had accidentally raised his voice with William yesterday. As a result, Patton was suddenly slammed into a wall with a one-handed vice grip on his neck.
William dared him to speak again, and Patton could only whimper and gurgle while apologizing profusely. He felt Williams nails press against the sides of his neck, and the tips of his fingers practically rug-burned him as he squeezed.
Patton muttered about 8 apologies before William let go. He coughed and shook as he sunk to the floor, but William didn't say a word. He gave him a look that sent chills down Patton's spine, and left him to gather his bearings on his own while he went to go "calm down."
It wasn't like William hadn’t done things like this before. It was the fact that during THIS time, William hadn't apologized like he always did. He just looked at Patton with an indifferent glare- like it was something he should be used to by now.
———
Patton cleared his throat, fighting the urge to cry again.
"C-Can y...*gulp* Can you just bandage it, please.. I d-don't want it to scare anyone.."
The lady hesitated to comply for a moment, frowning at the implication of Patton’s lack of self- acknowledgment. But she nodded with understanding.
"Alright hun, but I would definitely take it off and put ice on it later, okay?"
Patton nodded, even though he was (unintentionally) zoning out again. He was so tired.
He tilted his head up to let her gently wrap a thick bandage around his neck, keeping the sensitive area snug. After securing the bandage, she patted his knee in assurance that she’d be right back. She got up to go confirm some information with the officers that phoned her and her team. Patton touched the bandage around his neck, feeling a bittersweet relief.
Out of sight, out of mind.
***
After a few minutes of sitting by himself in the main lobby, the older officer from earlier kneels in front of him with a gentle expression. Patton almost didn’t notice him at first, as he was still processing what just happened in the span of maybe at least half an hour.
“Hi, Patton. You’re doing really well. We’ll ask you some questions in a few minutes, alright?”
He gives a nod in response, barely able to keep his head up. His gaze drops to his lap.
And that’s when he sees it.
His ring.
His thoughts plummet into his stomach, making him sick again.
He’s not free. Not yet. He’s still his. He’ll find him. He’ll k i l l him.
The panic attack finally breaks loose from the restraints Patton set up earlier this night. He begins to hyperventilate, and each heave shoots a wave of pain up Patton's chest.
He ignores it and begins rocking forward as an instinctive act of self-comfort, his tears now flowing freely. He mumbles his thoughts incoherently, much to the concern of the officer.
“Patton—it’s alright, breathe with me, okay?” the officer says, growing concerned. “You’re safe here. As long as you’re here, no one can hurt you. Can you look at me?”
He can’t.
He hunches forward to add pressure to his chest, trying to stop it from convulsing. His eyes are squeezed shut as he continues to cry. His face is flushed from simultaneous embarrassment, and the sides of his head ache even worse. The officer motions to another.
“We need trauma support on site. Is she back there?”
***
No one pushes him to speak after a while. After a few moments, a victim advocate is called over—a standard part of protocol, Patton guesses—and sits beside him quietly, offering some tissues and gentle grounding strategies.
Patton can only continue to shake. He hates how they’re calling it “possible domestic abuse.” He hates how much of a scene he’s making. He hates that he’s continuing to make excuses for what he let happen.
He hates himself. This was all his fault..
Though he’s surrounded by help, wrapped in warmth, bandaged, and taken care of by kind strangers—
He’s never felt more alone.
***
The night went by in a vicious haze of replaying past memories— both the good and bad, drenched in a slurry of paranoia. Every thought made Patton’s heart feel close to bursting. Patton could almost picture William’s face approaching the glass doors in the lobby, looking enraged and ready to drag Patton back into the darkness. He continued to rock himself, unconsciously.
Eventually after he’d calmed himself to a degree, an officer pulled him aside for questioning. Patton hobbled along with him to the best of his abilities. The officer gently asked that if he’s willing to take a statement, so they can go over physical evidence. After a few moments, Patton nodded, wanting to get it all over with.
It was an uncomfortable process of interviews, photos, and get the written statement. It all blended together, Patton could barely register everything that was happening. He just wanted to sleep.
Eventually a search warrant was ordered, and he was led back into a snug corner of the lobby. He was asked if he needed to call someone, or if there was anywhere for him to go. He lied and said hed call his friends as soon as he gathered himself a little more. They agreed, and he was offered to stay under informal watch until then.
Truthfully, he genuinely had no idea where to go, or who to call that were available.
Actually there were a few people he could’ve called.. if he wasn’t so ashamed of himself.
Memories of their last conversation played in his head.
He’s never felt so sorry in his life. He should’ve listened to them, but now it’s already been a couple months. He didn’t want to send them all back into his mess. They didn’t deserve that..
***
The nice lady came back, and handed Patton a water bottle and a muffin from the cafeteria. Patton got a good look at her face this time, and smiled, nodding weakly in gratitude.
She seemed so cheeky about snagging the food from the cafeteria, that Patton couldn’t help but let a soft giggle escape. He asked for her name. Jasmine.
He thanked her properly this time, and timidly asked her to convey his gratitude to whoever else helped him. She smiled, and then offered ibuprofen pills from her kit. She told Patton to take them with the food in case the pain gets harder to manage. Finally she asked if Patton needed anything else, to which he politely shook his head.
Jasmine nodded, patted Patton gently on his sling, and walked off saying goodbye, regrouping with her team. Patton took the medicine as soon as she walked off, eating most of the muffin and half of the water. He proceeded to sit back as well as he could on the bench, leaning his head against the wall to his left. He let out a deep sigh, and shut his eyes to properly rest as he waited for the pain meds to kick in.
Everything hurt.
* * *
Time passed, and Patton had drifted in and out of a very uncomfortable sleep. He probably slept for a total of 30 minutes on and off. It definitely slowed the process of the pain meds, but at least his arm wasn’t on fire anymore.
He barely realized when the sun had already to peeked over the horizon, washing the cloudy sky with gentle bright hues of yellow and blue. On any other day, he’d properly appreciate the gorgeous view. He gave up trying to sleep, and his mind just continued to zone out, constantly replaying memories from his past. There was nothing else he thought of doing.
The day kept going without him, the lobby now abuzz with chatter, occasional clashes at the front desk, and Patton was just unresponsive to it all. He chewed on what was left of the muffin, and fidgeted with the wrapper.
Hours went by without a hitch for Patton, as he had almost completely disassociated from reality. The sun was currently buried in the clouds, but it was still bright outside, and the shadows under objects, cars and people were faint. He hadn't realized it was now around noon.
Honestly would’ve stayed in this detached state for much longer, if it weren’t for a familiar voice cutting through it. Another beacon of light.
“Patton?”
That voice.
Patton’s eyes darted to the source, and his eyes widened.