InsaneJournal

Who: Evil!Patrick and Saint David
What: Dewi wanted a little evil!action too! Part 1.
When: A month or so after George killed him
Where: A bar and then an alley.
Warnings: Dewi is a badass Guns and blood and swears, OH MY!



If Patrick ever saw a meat freezer again in his whole life, it would be too soon. His cunning older brother had apparently shoved him into one after killing him, as if killing him wasn't enough of an injustice. Patrick hadn't been able to escape since he was frozen solid. He had had to rely on the assistance of Agatha who had sold her soul and somehow become completely useful again. She had broken into George and Sebastian's when they weren't home and taken him somewhere to thaw out.

What they had done with the handcuffs once he thawed was not something to speak about in public.

Any one with a brain would have left the city and been done with the saints then, but Patrick lost the ability to reason when he lost his soul. He wasn't done preying on his family, even if he was done with George and Sebastian. He had a little brother to see.

Patrick found Saint David where he had been told he could find him. In a bar on a shitty city street. Patrick smiled and he sidled over to his little brother, wondering how David would react. "Hey there, Dewi! Miss me!?"

David had taken to drinking a little. He was still a tremendous lightweight, but the more he did it, the more he could stomach. He kind of stuck to wine, even though it wasn't very badass, but at least the blood of Christ was in that. Whiskey was awful, and don't even begin with gin.

"I knew you'd come," David said, not bothering to even turn his head as he watched his alcohol swirl in his glass. "I knew you'd remember me eventually." He was a little surprised at how daring Patrick was being, but he knew what George had told him, and he was on his guard.

Patrick took a seat at the bar beside his brother and he grinned a cheeky grin. He didn't know what being careful was. If he died he would go to Hell and come right back again.

Hopefully not in a freezer.

"Aww, is little Dewi sad Patrick didn't bother to try to hurt him because it would be too easy it wasn't worth it?" Patrick asked. "I'm sorry. I can hurt you now, if you'd like!"

David heaved a sigh, and swallowed the rest of his drink in one gulp. "Alright. But not here." He got up, pulling his coat around his shoulders. "Come on, Irish."

Patrick frowned at the fact that David didn't seem to want to drink first. He rather felt like a drink, but he slid off the stool and followed David anyway. "You're putting up less of a fight than George, though I can't say I'm surprised," he said as they left the bar behind them. "So how's life been? Are you still singing plants to sleep or whatever the fuck it was you used to do that drove me stark raving mad? Do you know living with you is like living with an 80-year-old nanna!?"

David laughed, but there was no mirth behind it. "Is that the best you can do? Call me names? Like you'd have any idea of what life is like any more."

He felt angry, he supposed, down deep. He was angry that God had let Patrick fall, that Patrick couldn't fight his temptation, that George was the one taking the focus (petty, but true.) They all ignored David, discounting him because he was the short one, the nice one, the chubby one who cooked to cover his emotions. He definitely wasn't chubby any more. He'd thrown out the vitamin supplements and started working out, going back to the old, pure ways. Do everything by hand. Nothing belongs to you. No meat, but he was drinking. He had told his people not to drink beer, and he wasn't, so perhaps wine could be forgiven. And tequila.

"What's life like then?" Patrick asked, as if he was catching up with a mate. "Tell me what you've been up to, Little Brother. Coveting a neighbor's wife? Breaking any of the other commandments? Because drinking. My goodness, you're a regular rebel now, Dewi. Drinking in a bar. My god, it's almost like you broke a law. Except you didn't, did you?"

David raised his gaze heavenward, sending a quick prayer to perhaps deaf ears. Lord, give me the strength to accept the things I cannot change...

"I can drink if I want to. Wasn't that your motto?" He felt tired. He hadn't slept properly in months. "Drink until your face melts. I distinctly remember you doing that." His right hand slipped into the pocket of his coat, fingers closing around the cold grip of a pistol. He kept walking though, wondering if Patrick would take the initiative and steer them somewhere out of sight.

Patrick didn't. Not yet. He was just enjoying hearing the weariness in David's voice. "That was my motto, yes. And look where it got me, Dewi? Though if you tell me you want to follow in your big brother's footsteps you'll make me a very happy Patrick indeed! I've missed you, even if you do sort of remind me of a hobbit."

A corner of David's mouth twitched into a bitter smile. "I will die before I renounce my Lord God, so you might as well get this over with. I couldn't imagine a worse fate than being like you." Still they walked together, this conversation happening like they were discussing the weather.

"Being like me? You mean free? Yeah, it's such a burden, Dewi." Patrick hadn't expected Dewi to renounce, but he had to try. It would be more fun to break his bones though. He wondered if he could snap Dewi right in half.

"I think I can help you with the dying thing, if you really want me to. Or I could tell you every little thing I did to our brother. Every slice I made in George's flesh. Would you like to hear that?"

David's tired facade cracked a tiny bit then, but he made himself shrug it off. George was a soldier, he was trained to take this kind of thing. It was Agatha who David was most upset about.

He barely said much to the other Saints now. His ally in purity had been Agatha, and now she was gone. George and Sebastian were always muttering together, and who the heck knew what Andrew was thinking half the time? Enigmatic bastard. David didn't cook much any more and his garden was dead or overrun by weeds, he didn't know. Bryn had run away a long time ago, the budgies had died and he hadn't replaced them, Grey Cat had been hit by a car during one of his (her?) few sojourns from the house. Downpatrick lived, but he was a shadow of himself, creeping close to David, nervous. And he peed a lot. Fucking dog.

"I call it servitude. You are as tied to your master as I am to mine. At least my bondage is out of love, and choice. We both used to want to be this way. But you were weak." David almost spat the last word, if that wouldn't have been out of character for him.

"Not weak," Patrick said, watching David carefully. He really did look like he had gone a little wild in the year and a month since Patrick had sold his soul while David was out reconnecting with his whatevers. David had come home to one evil brother having tortured two of the others. "I made a choice. A smart one. I'm telling you as a brother, David. It's better than the life of a Saint."

Patrick hadn't called David by his Welsh name, which he never did before. He had done it to unnerve the younger man. "At least you see yourself as the slave you are now."

David pressed his lips together, clenching his jaw for a moment. "Nothing you can say will convince me to change my mind. You are nothing but offeryn o'r diafol, and you will never be anything more. I have eternal light and love waiting for me. You have hellfire and damnation, Patrick." He stopped walking at the end of an alley, and turned to face what used to be his brother. "Renounce Lucifer and come back to the Light."

Patrick smiled at David trying to ask him to come back to the fold. "I don't think it works like that, David. Satan has my soul all bright and shiny near his throne. And that is just fine with me. I don't want it. I've been to Hell. I don't fear it. That's what you Christians seem to operate from. A fear of Hell. But it's not the place you all seem to think it is. Damnation isn't so bad after all."

Patrick cocked his head to the side then. "I'm growing bored. That's why I didn't come for you before. I don't care about you. I never did. I don't think any one ever did. You were just our cook."

Patrick eyed the alley beyond Dewi. It would work nicely.

"It's not so bad, yet. Just wait. You'll see. When Satan grows bored of jerking you around like a puppet on a string, then you'll see the truth." David took a few steps down the alley.

Patrick had seen every torture Satan and Lucifer could throw at him. He had seen so much of it that he had grown accustomed to it. It was still less painful than what he had gone through for two decades while his God left him to the whims of public perception.

"I was abandoned by God, David." Patrick followed David, scratching at his eyepatch in frustration now. "I suffered for decades. Compared to that, Hell is a goddamned paradise." Patrick wondered if he could slam David up the wall and make him cry. David cried so easily.

"Did you cry?" Patrick said cruelly. "When you heard I was free, did you sob into you tea towels and bake a bundt cake?"

Maybe he had, but they had been the last tears he'd shed for his fallen brother. Patrick brought this on himself, by not trusting in his faith or his family.

David faced Patrick then, pulling the gun out of his pocket and pointing it at Patrick's chest, firing it once. He wasn't a killer, and he didn't want to kill Patrick, not really, but something had to be done.

He'd been practising his marksmanship. The Welsh had been highly proficient in the long bow (and wasn't that so like the English to steal that too?) so why couldn't David take that part of his heritage and make himself good with a gun? Not that he'd really been tested with it. It was all theory and firing range up until now.

"Ewch yn ôl i'r pyllau tanllyd y daethoch ohoni, pypedau."

*translation: Go back to the fiery pits you came from, puppet.

The bullet ripped through his chest and Patrick fell to the ground with a groan. He hadn't expected that at all. Somewhere in those months and months Patrick had been away, David had grown some balls.

Even through the agony, Patrick was impressed. And he smiled at his brother as blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. The world was growing darker and he could tell another trip to Hell was in his future. "Nice to see wrath on you...Dewi," Patrick gritted out. "So...you're worth my attention...after all."

"The trouble is, you're not worth mine, any more." David just felt sad, not victorious as he'd briefly thought he might. None of the tired anger was really gone, either. "You all underestimate me. Did you ever stop to think I wanted it that way? I'm a Saint too, I am capable of great things, just the same as the rest of you. The difference is, I am not distracted by temptation like the rest of you."

Patrick laughed as he looked up at David again. "Yes, little brother. Let it all out. Tell me how terrible we were to you!" He coughed blood and when he pulled his hand away from the wound in his chest, it was bright red. He was dying, but it didn't bother him. It hurt like a fucker though.

"What you feel is what I felt right before I renounced. And you will too," Patrick grinned. "Little Dewi. It's always the small ones who have the biggest tempers."

"That's Saint David to you." David lifted the gun again. "Why don't you ever just shut the fuck up?" He gun went off as if he wished it to before he squeezed the trigger himself. He hadn't been watching where he'd been aiming. Now Patrick couldn't either. The bullet smashed into his eye socket, taking out the working eyeball and leaving him blind.

David slowly lowered the gun, the lowered his head. "Forgive me, Father. I have sinned. But it was necessary."