Who: Patrick, Lucifer and then Alcohol What: Ow, head injury...oh crap, Lucifer...oooh...drinking! When: Saturday evening/night Where: Hospital Warning: TBD but like...Lucifer and Alcohol.
When Patrick opened his eyes, it was only because he had become aware of the fact that his head felt like it might burst open with pain. He groaned as the light from above him stung his eyes, making them water. "John?" Patrick mumbled, but as the room swam into focus, John was nowhere to be seen and Patrick didn't recognise the room he was in.
His immediate thought made Patrick feel sick to his stomach with fear and revulsion. It took turning to his side in a panic to realise he wasn't in some stranger's bed. He hadn't gone home with someone after a night out. There wasn't an unfamiliar body beside him, only monitors and machines. Despite the sudden understanding that he was in a hospital, Patrick felt almost immediate relief. He hadn't done something he would never forgive himself for. At least, not that he knew of. The knot in his stomach loosened somewhat, though not entirely.
His head still ached and, to a lesser extent, the rest of his body did as well, especially along his left side. Patrick reached up to touch his head, taking note of the IV in his arm as he did so, and he winced as his fingertips met tender flesh. "Ow. Brilliant, Patrick."
The last thing Patrick remembered clearly was being in the shower. He had been feeling absolutely horrible, thanks to Alcohol's interference with him, and he had thought a shower might make him feel better. Clearly he had been wrong.
In an attempt to get some information, since everything after getting into the shower seemed fuzzy, Patrick reached out and pressed the button to call for a nurse. A few moments later a perky-looking young man bustled in and he smiled widely at Patrick. "You're awake!" Patrick was pretty sure he would instinctively hate this young man for his exuberance while his head was aching, were he not cute as a button.
"And I seem to be in a hospital," Patrick croaked out. His throat felt dry and scratchy, but before he could even ask for water, the nurse had poured him a cup and he was holding it out to Patrick, complete with a bendy straw. "Uhm...thanks," Patrick said, taking the cup and sating his thirst. He felt dopey and he was pretty sure he was on some kind of medication, but he managed to express himself just fine. "Is there anyone waiting for me?" Patrick didn't like being alone. He wanted John. That seemed more immediately important than understanding what happened. And John could probably tell him far better than Cute Nurse anyway.
"It's after visiting hours," the nurse answered as he checked Patrick's vitals. "And you aren't in ICU, which means everyone not family had to go. And you didn't have any next-of-kin on record."
"I...oh," Patrick said with a sigh. "I'm going to have to fix that. So...anyone who was here got told to leave? Did one of them argue?" Patrick asked, worried. He didn't know if John would have put up a fight, but Patrick knew if the situation were reversed, he would have thrown an absolute hissy fit if he had been told to leave John's side.
"I just got here," the nurse said calmly. "Though it wouldn't be the first time that has happened." He finished with his checks and he hung his stethoscope around his neck. "You had a seizure and fell and hit your head. Luckily you didn't do any damage, other than giving yourself quite a knock. They gave you something to help with the withdrawal so you don't have any more seizures, and you should be able to go home tomorrow."
"My withdrawal?" Patrick asked, looking slightly ashamed, even if it wasn't his fault. It was coming back to him now. He had been awake as they rushed him to the hospital. He remembered being woken up in the shower, and he remembered blood on his face and in his hair. They had put him under to give him stitches. At least he hadn't been knocked unconscious. That would have been a much worse injury.
The nurse gave him a significant look and he went to stand beside Patrick, obviously trying to act chummy. "I had a glance at your history. It looks like this isn't the first admission for alcohol-related incidents. Do you want me to get the hospital social worker to come talk to you about a program?"
Patrick just stared at Cute Nurse, and he willed himself not to make a face. He had yelled at George when George had suggested this months ago, and now someone he didn't know was doing the same thing and he had to control his tongue very carefully, lest he lose control of his sometimes fiery, Irish temper. "I think I'll be fine. It's not what you're thinking."
"That's what everyone says," the nurse replied, patting Patrick's shoulder.
Patrick ground his teeth together, which actually hurt his head, and he resisted telling Cute Nurse that this time it was true. Instead, he didn't say a words as he held out the empty plastic cup and let the nurse take it away.
After a few moments, Patrick spoke up again. "So I'm okay?"
"Other than a bit of unfortunate bruising on your left side, you'll be fine."
"Can I call my boyfriend?" Patrick asked. Even if it was late, he knew he should probably let John know he was awake.
"Sure." The nurse brought the phone over to his bedside table and he said, "they charge you for it though, so just keep that in mind. I'll come back to check on you soon."
The nurse left and Patrick was in the middle of trying to decide whether to call his apartment, John's apartment, or John's cell phone, when someone else entered the room.
Patrick hadn't given much thought to his stalker since they had returned from New Orleans. With everything that had gone on, Patrick had put his fear out of his mind. He hadn't realised that his stalker could easily have told whomever they were working for that Patrick had been taken to a hospital, leaving him vulnerable. The answer to who was having him watched was answered, and not at all surprising, when Lucifer stepped inside the room.
Patrick was so shocked, he said, "...'s after visiting hours," in his sudden fear. He was about to ring for the nurse again, but his hand fell short. No need to watch the poor boy die in front of him. His fingers itched to grab the phone and call Michael, but he knew Lucifer would stop him. So he stayed very still and he stared at the fallen angel, unsure what to do.
He could have kissed Legion for this news. But even Lucifer knew better. Legion had a nasty habit of using every means possible to infect new hosts. They'd stand a snowballs chance in Hell to succeed but he had to give it to the bastards, they were tenacious.
Case in point Patrick. They'd done their duty well, calling him when they'd seen the ambulance.
Getting in was easily enough, so when he looked on Patrick made his excuse he laughed. "Oh, I'm sorry." He was far from, but honestly. "Sorry love, never bothered me. I'd love to see them toss me out." He picked up a chair and sat on it giving a weary sigh. "Patrick, oh Patrick. Look at you love. Tsk Tsk." He shook his head, setting his hands on his knees.
"Bad form getting yourself in the hospital love. Dreadful places aren't they?" He shivered, "give me the creeps."
"I was fine until you showed up," Patrick lied. He still hurt all over, but he hardly noticed now that Lucifer was here. His heart was pounding in his chest, wondering how he was possibly going to get out of this one without Lucifer taking him away and torturing him.
"It's not my fault I'm here. Why are you here? Did you come to gloat?" Patrick had noticed the bodies turning up. The people he went to talk to about donating money were ending up dead more often than not. He had stopped going to them. He was leading Lucifer right to them.
He gave Patrick a look, "you're in the hospital Saint. The definition of 'fine' isn't applicable." Without asking, or caring, Lucifer pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it.
"Of course it's not pet." He chuckled then, "no. I'm here to figure out world peace." He gave Patrick a long look, "of course I'm here to gloat you daft idiot. And," he pulled a piece of paper out of one of his pockets, "to re-negotiate on the terms of your soul. I'm afraid you're not getting quite the deal you were offered before, but it'll still be something. No more of this nonsense," he motioned around the room, "and we'll let you keep your silly boyfriend. I told Satan to at least give you some taste, but he seems to think it's hilarious."
Patrick pulled himself up a little in the bed. He felt too vulnerable lying there. Even so, the extra height did nothing, and he shook almost visibly as Lucifer pulled out the paper upon which Patrick could sign away his soul.
They had been here before. Patrick had thought of it many times since, both with guilt, and regret that he hadn't just gone through with it, the latter in moments of weakness and self-loathing. But things were different now. He was different.
"Even if I did go," Patrick said, his voice at a growl, "you'll never drag John to Hell with me. And he wouldn't want me without a soul." Patrick knew that without even having to consider it. He didn't know what he would be like without a soul, but he knew he wouldn't be the same and that was enough.
With a chuckle Lucifer set the paper aside, "you know you're about as nonthreatening as Kitten." He paused, "no I do her injustice. She at least has some threat in her." With a quick movement Lucifer went to catch Patrick's hand, fingers curling around the Saints index finger with near crushing force. "But I don't tolerate backtalk. Especially not from a failure like you. You forget what I'm capable of Saint. How many innocents have already suffered for your foolish pride. But then again, I doubt the scourge of the Druids hardly feels bad for having more blood on his hands now does he? Probably makes you all tingly, knowing death is done in your name. Tell me, hm, do you and your Baptist celebrate for each death caused?" His voice was oddly calm, despite the burning anger present in his eyes.
Patrick whimpered and he slapped his free hand over his mouth to muffle any sounds of distress. The last thing he wanted was to attract the attention of some innocent nurse or doctor and get them killed too.
Patrick tried to pull away, but he was weak and his entire body was pained already. So he stared at Lucifer, his eyes terrified and watering as Lucifer held his finger in a painful grip. "I wasn't trying to be threatening!" Patrick whispered behind his hand. "If you think so little of me, why would you even want my soul?"
He held onto the finger, tightening his grip before pulling in the utterly wrong direction, hoping to hear bones snap. Only then would he release the hand and take a drag from the cigarette, "because I'd technically get the other part. I think." He shrugged, "see the new Patrick's a waste of space. Be a lot less painful for us all if you just killed yourself." He let out a long sigh.
"But the old Patrick? Oh now theres a treat. The scourge of Ireland's soul? You'd have some price on you sweetheart. That and I have this theory. All of you Saints are splintered and in different parts of the world. Now my theory is if I can get one of those splinters to sign, it counts for all of you." He grinned, "just imagine the possibilities. A part of a Saint in every corner, doing my bidding? Can't tell me that doesn't look appetizing. And you my boy are the weak link. Even my brother and your fellow Saints know it."
The bones in Patrick's finger did indeed snap, and Patrick stifled his cry of anguish by biting down on his hand as the pain burned hot. He whimpered against the palm of his hand after that first muffled and agonised scream, willing himself not to burst into tears. When Lucifer let go, Patrick pulled his hand away, cradling it against his body protectively. His body shook violently and it took a few moments before Patrick could regulate his breathing enough to say a word.
Lucifer probably wasn't wrong about one of him signing away his soul for the lot of them. He was the original Patrick anyway. He had left Ireland first and a copy of himself had popped up in his wake. He was no copy, he was the real thing, even if he had become so changed by time and circumstance. Padraig may have been closer to the scourge of Ireland, but Patrick was weaker and Lucifer knew it.
"I'm not going to sign," Patrick said, his voice wavering. "I hated myself when I first came to you. I wanted nothingness because I wasn't strong enough to face my own demons. I am not that weak anymore."
"Maybe not today pet. But tomorrow perhaps. Or the day after that. Some day, you will sign. I have all the time in the world." Smiling he kicked his feet onto the bed. "I'll remind you which one of us is in a hospital gown love." With a laugh he finished his smoke, setting his hands behind his head.
"I'm quite good at creating hate Patrick. Even if you stop going to the mortals for money, I'll still find ways. You gave me a challenge love. You're my new pet project. You should feel honored." He chuckled, "or I need more hobbies. Either way."
Patrick swallowed roughly, worried terribly for Joey and CJ. What if whomever had tipped Lucifer off that Patrick was here also knew where Joey lived? He couldn't lose Joey like he had lost Neil.
"A hospital gown doesn't make me weak," Patrick said, trying to find words to explain without sounding like he was challenging Lucifer further. Why had he challenged Lucifer in the first place?! To get the fallen angel to stop talking to George. But George could handle himself, and now Patrick had gotten people killed.
Patrick was a saint and his first instinct was self-sacrifice. In order to save people, it felt like he should give up his soul. He couldn't though. He just couldn't.
Since he had tried to sign his soul away in November, John had shown Patrick was love was. He had given Patrick reason to face his issues, and strength Patrick hadn't realised he had. Patrick didn't want nothingness any more, even though things hurt and gathering his memories together was difficult. Nothingness sounded like the worst possible choice. Guilt was unpleasant and self-loathing was hard to bear, but Patrick wanted to bear them because the alternative was to lose himself forever. And John loved him. If John loved him, he was worth something.
"I won't sign," Patrick whispered, still holding his hand against his body protectively. "But that's not a challenge. I can't sign. My soul doesn't just belong to me. I have a purpose, just like you do. And I can't fight it, just like you can't."
He sighed, "God you Saints and your purpose. Really Patrick, Father's deaf. In all technicalities me and Slytherin shouldn't be allowed on this plane. In a perfect world you'd never see me. My agents? Sure, but not me. Seeing I'm here, probably means dear old Dad's not exactly paying attention. Who knows? Besides all I've seen of your purpose is talking how wonderful your boyfriend is. It makes you rather pointless. Thousands of people who need your help and what do you do? Go on and on how wonderful it is your getting laid. I may have missed the memo on how selfish you lot are allowed to be now."
He chuckled, "so you see love I think you would sign. Like all the others of your kind you've forgotten your promises to in stead focus on yourself. There's not one Saint who has done what he's supposed to be doing. It's all kittens and rainbows. Even my brothers have forgotten." He leaned forward, "I've already won Saint. The world's mine."
Patrick gritted his teeth together again and once again it hurt like hell. He was helping people, or he was trying but Lucifer kept killing the people he needed in order to put his plan into action. It wasn't all about John. John was his reason for living, but Patrick didn't think John was the reason God still kept him around. He was around because he was needed and Patrick was only just working his way back to being the kind of man who could help. He was fairly sure if he sold his soul, that would put an end to his helping days once and for all.
"The world isn't yours," Patrick breathed. "It belongs to the people who keep us here. We're just...puppets to them in a lot of ways. I am not just focusing on myself; I focus on them too. I'm working up to it. And if I sign my soul over to you, what good would I be then? I almost failed them once. If Michael hadn't stopped me, I probably would have signed, no matter how many times he insists I wouldn't have. But just that showed me it was wrong. It was wrong."
Patrick glanced at the phone quickly, wondering if it was even worth risking trying to call Michael. He had broken out into a sweat by now, anxious that Lucifer was just taunting him and playing around with broken fingers before he moved on to pulling teeth or other horrible things.
He laughed, "oh sure the mortals rule. And who do they give the most power to huh? Their beliefs empower us, and they break their own rules daily. Look at the world Patrick. It's beyond saving." He noticed the look, "try it and find out how well you breathe through a tube."
"Working up to it. Right. What's the excuse of the others? I saw Charity the other day, and even she's willing to admit theres a lot more of me out there then there is of you lot." He lit up another smoke, "you're not helping as is. Signing over your soul isn't going to be the death of humanity. They do it fine on their own."
Alcohol had known the moment that it had happened. The immortals that tied into her substance were a part of her and so she made her way to the hospital, following the sense of Saint Patrick, to either taunt him or offer a way out of his suffering. She wasn't entirely sure which yet.
But she apparently wasn't the first one there and caught the last sentences before she walked into the room, dressed casually but with all the arrogant bearing of a queen.
"I'm sorry, Lucifer," Alcohol told him, casting a gaze across to Patrick in the bed before looking back at the Christian demon. "Patrick really can't sign over something that doesn't fully belong to him."
He'd felt the new-old God when she'd stepped into the building, let alone the room. Even Lucifer could be cautious around the others. Especially one that led so many to his little vacation home. Instead he just sighed, "people keep saying that. I keep wondering if it's true. Lovely to see you love, but I'm busy. Surely we can come to an agreement? He can't be worth that much to you, and I'm always willing to make a deal. Especially on him."
"Oh, he's worth enough," Alcohol said enigmatically, her smile to Lucifer in some ways quite genuine but certainly not kind. She had no fear of him at all, she never had. She was more ancient than him and far more powerful.
"There will be no agreement," Alcohol told him in a tone that didn't invite argument. Then she walked over to Patrick. "How nice to be the center of attention."
Patrick swallowed roughly, and he didn't like being between Lucifer and Alcohol at all. Still, if Patrick knew anything, he knew his place here. He knew where his belonged and who he belonged with. "I should never have presumed to think I could get by without you," he whispered to Alcohol, reaching out for her with his good hand. "Please, I beg you to forgive me."
If he could kill two birds with one stone here, then he was going to try. Have Alcohol restore to him the ability for drink to affect him, and get ride of Lucifer. That seemed well worth sacrificing the pride he had never really cared that much about anyway. "I need you. Especially now," Patrick's eyes flicked to Lucifer. "She's right. I can't give you my soul. Part of it is hers."
He sighed, "you keep telling me that and it won't really matter. I'll keep trying." He glanced to Alcohol, "come now love, we've always had pleasant dealings in the past. You know me well enough to know I won't give up on this. Even if he can't sign over his soul, he did challenge me. Pride dictates I make him suffer a little bit."
He stomped out the cigarette, "can we at least agree on that? I'll keep off the whole trying to buy his soul for a bit, but I can continue to make the poor boy see that it's generally a bad idea to fuck around with me?"
Good Patrick. Finally learning. She didn't touch him yet, didn't offer him what he desperately needed. Instead she turned to Lucifer.
"Your pride is going to get you killed," Alcohol said as she walked back over to Lucifer, leaning in towards him so she could speak more quietly, her faces inches from his. "Patrick belong to me, Lucifer. As much as I like you, I think you'd better creep off back home before you make me cranky." She smiled sweetly. Oh they'd talk again some other time. In a few more centuries they'd have another soul to squabble over.
Patrick was willing to admit he shouldn't have antagonised Lucifer as well, and he said so, still reaching out to Alcohol. "I shouldn't have challenged you, Lucifer," he whispered. "It was misplaced pride." Why did others have to suffer for that? "I'm suffering. You've made your point."
He grinned at Alcohol, "they sell tickets for that now love. I just take a trip Down below. Wonderful vacation spot, you should visit. Some of yours are down there." He studied Alcohol and smiled, then glanced to Patrick, "oh I'm not done with you just yet."
He stepped back, "oh an Alcohol? Don't threaten me okay love? Or we find out if the little green fairy vying for Satan's attention burns prettily." He winked and in a flash of sulfur and brimstone he left. He knew when to take his exists.
Alcohol scowled after Lucifer's exit. If he tried to fuck with Absinthe then she would destroy him, not because she loved Absinthe - Alcohol didn't truly love anything or anyone but herself - but because Absinthe was her daughter and belonged to her. An attack on her was considered an attack on Alcohol.
She turned back to Patrick. "Now we're alone, darling," she said, walking back over to his bedside. "Tell me how sorry you are."
"Beyond sorry," Patrick said, relieved that Lucifer had left, though shaken that he had said he wasn't finished with him. "I was proud and foolish and wrong. You're a part of me and I have to accept that. I need you. I've been...so sick," Patrick shook his head. He was here because he needed her. "I'm so sorry. Please."
Patrick felt like if he didn't have a drink right then and there, he was going to shake right out of his bed and onto the floor.
Alcohol smiled like the most benevolent goddess that had ever walked the face of the earth and then, without a word, she reached out and set her hand against his cheek in a gesture that was almost loving.
She didn't need to get him a drink to give him what his body needed. She was what his body needed, and she let it course through him now at her command.
Patrick's eyes fluttered as he felt her power sweep over him. He moaned in relief and almost-pleasure as he felt his alcohol-starved body rejoice for the influence of the substance it had missed so much.
"Oh f-" Patrick whispered, reaching out to try to hold her hand to his cheek, a sign of his intense desperation.
Alcohol let him hold her hand, putting her other hand to his second cheek. It was important here that she reminded him of only how good her substance was, how happy it made him.
Patrick belonged to her and always would.
Patrick let out a sigh as she let him feel her influence even more. "Ohhh. I'll never fuck up again," he promised her at a whisper. "I...I need to ask you something though. Can I ask you something? Humbly, of course. I know you don't have to say yes."
Gently Alcohol removed her hands, that beneficent expression still sitting on her features. "Ask," she told him with a nod.
Patrick, feeling better than he had in months, at least physically, pulled himself up higher in the bed. "I want to..." Patrick sighed. "I can't stay away from alcohol any more. I know that now. But I'm afraid if I drink I'll lose memories I can't get back. I'm terrified of it. If I...if I knew there was no chance I would black out and not realise what was happening, no matter how much I drank...I would do it a lot more often."
He was striking a deal in a very careful way. She probably knew he would drink anyway, but he would be far less careful about it this way.
Alcohol thought about his words and tried to see any loss in this for her. But there was nothing. She only needed him to drink. The rest was unimportant. So she smiled and said, "consider it done."
Then she offer her hand to him. "Now come on, let's get out of this place."
Patrick nodded, despite the fact that he was in a hospital. Patrick winced as he pulled the IV out of his arm. "Owowow," he whispered and then he looked up. "I need something to splint my finger with so I don't bend it." He also glanced around for his clothes so he wasn't running around the city in his hospital gown. He spotted them on a chair opposite his bed. They were laid out neatly there. Patrick only hoped they weren't stained with head blood.
"Wait here," Alcohol said and when she finally returned it was with a proper splint for his finger and she reached out for his hand. "Here, let me." As carefully as she could, Alcohol splinted his finger and then taped it, giving him a little more intoxication as she did so. "Better?"
Patrick smiled languidly at her and he nodded. "Mmm, much better. Thank you," he breathed. "For everything. We should go out!" Patrick slid out of the bed and he padded over to his clothes. He was unsteady on his feet and if she hadn't intoxicated him he wouldn't have been able to move for pain. As it was, he hardly noticed.