Saint Patrick ☘ (shamrocked_) wrote in nevermore_logs, @ 2012-01-11 08:37:00 |
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Entry tags: | saint patrick, satan |
WHO: Patrick and Satan
WHAT: Changing
WHEN: Tuesday early morning
WHERE: John and Patrick's apartment, St Patrick's Cathedral and then Central Park
WARNINGS: TBD
The dream wasn't even all that terrible. It wasn't strange for Patrick to dream of his past, and a great deal of those dreams were haunting and unpleasant. He dreamed the things he had been through in Ireland, or the things he had allowed to be done to himself in the past 20 years. Instead of those memories, Patrick's nightmare focused on what could happen to him if Famine snapped and put him through more weeks of starvation. His hair fell out and he felt too weak to move. Famine advanced on him and Patrick's dream have him too weak to even scream.
He ripped himself from the dream, sitting bolt upright in the dark. After a moment of panicked breathing, awareness filtered through and Patrick realised what he had experienced wasn't true. Famine was still his friend. He wasn't starving. He wasn't even hungry, having eaten a gigantic burger for dinner because Nicholas had said that he didn't think Patrick could finish the entire thing. Patrick had replaced all the weight he had lost since Famine had stopped starving him. His hair had stopped falling out. In truth he felt more healthy than he had in two decades, and yet the dream left a terrible feeling in his chest.
Surrendering to his sudden state of awake, Patrick grumbled and he leaned over to kiss John who probably would have woken up when Patrick did. Nicholas, who was sleeping on John's other side as he always did when he stayed over now, stirred a little. Patrick patted his hair and Nicholas made a content little noise before letting out a soft snore. Sure they would both stay behind, Patrick pulled himself out of bed and he padded barefoot into the kitchen.
There, he paced back and forth trying to calm figure out what the dream had him feeling so uncomfortable. He knew Famine wouldn't harm him, or he hoped he knew that. Therefore he believed there was no chance, or very little chance, of the dream actually occurring. He was rattled nonetheless. Then, instead of pacing in the apartment and swearing under his breath in case he wake John and Nicholas up again, Patrick decided to take a walk to sort out his thoughts.
He bundled himself up well in order to keep from being scolded later. With a scarf Deirdre had knitted him wrapped around his face as a final touch, Patrick shuffled out the door and into the very early morning.
It was cold, but Patrick found he liked it. It reminded him of those early years on the farm, when he had turned to God to keep from feeling the bitter temperatures of rural Ireland. Cold helped him focus. He walked, letting his feet lead him as his mind wandered.
More and more lately, Patrick had noticed that he was slipping from his usual childlike excitement into a calm state where he was able to focus on more than just wanting all the things and wanting them right away. It wasn't wasn't a change he was unaware of any more. He remembered every single thing while it happened, and while he thought he would welcome those changes, now he was slightly unnerved by them. Even his reaction to a nightmare was different now than it once had been. Instead of screaming and reaching out to John and expecting the other man to make everything better, Patrick had left the apartment to deal with it himself. And as he shambled along he realised, with a twinge of horror, that the reason the dream had so unnerved him was that it made him feel weak. Like the old Patrick. The man he was becoming was so disgusted by the man he had been, that the very idea of being like that again made him feel sick. Breathing out in a huff, Patrick felt revolted that he had reacted in such a way.
He was changing and it was inevitable. Patrick wasn't sure how much he wanted to change, even if subconsciously he seemed to be horrified by the idea of reverting back to his previous state. Maybe it was better when he was suffering and when he hated himself because at least then people seemed to enjoy his presence, even if he hadn't realised that at the time. What if this new, calmer Patrick wasn't someone people wanted around. No one invited Saint Peter to parties. Well...Agatha did, but her parties were different than other people's.
Shoving his gloved hands in his pockets, Patrick finally looked up to see where his feet had led him. In front of him Saint Patrick's cathedral jutted up towards the night sky, glittering against the clouds. "Of course," Patrick said wryly as he crossed the street and moved to the heavy front doors. He expected them to be locked, but when he tested them, they opened easily.
The doors closed behind him with an echoing clang. The church was empty and Patrick walked up the aisle, taking a seat in the front pew. He had been avoiding this place for a long time, feeling like he didn't deserve such a significant landmark to be named after him, but he didn't feel so dwarfed by the place. He felt now like it wasn't up to him to decide whether he deserved it or not.
Bowing his head, Patrick let his mind and his heart open and for the first time in twenty years, he found himself able to let the prayers of his people in by choice. He sat there for an hour, listening to them crying out or thanking him for his patronage. When he finally raised his head, letting the prayers fade to a soft whisper, he felt like he had done something worthwhile. He had more of an idea of how to help his people. He left the church with a humble and healed heart.
Perhaps he wouldn't be as much fun in the days to come, but he would be more like his people needed him to be. Surely that was beneficial. And if he moved forward and then took a step back, that would surely be okay too. He was what he was. Change came and he would have to take it and whatever else it brought. John seemed to believe that Patrick would be strongest when he found a balance between the man he had been and the man he became after he had forgotten everything else. This tug of war between calm and excitable and strong and weak was probably just his way of working everything out. Maybe that was why he had had the dream in the first place.
Everything considered, the entire experience showed that no matter how calm he was beginning to seem outwardly, he was still incredibly impatient with himself. He would have to work on that.
Not ready to return home yet, Patrick crossed the street again, heading into Central Park. In two hours, the city would begin to wake again and people would head to work. Patrick started to feel like he could use a coffee sometime soon but for now he enjoyed the quiet of the sleeping city.
Satan rarely slept, which made the days or nights when he decided to sleep but couldn't that much more irritating. He had considered hunting down Lucifer or Baphomet or one of his wives to entertain him, but he was in a strange mood. So instead, he flew over the city, transformed into a crow and looking down on the humans. He was cruising low, considering targets, when he felt the telltale buzz of energy that meant a saint was nearby.
St. Patrick's Cathedral. Appropriate enough. He perched on one of the stone arches and waited. He didn't need to wait long before seeing a familiar tangle of red hair leaving the building. Satan took flight, followed Patrick until the saint made his way into Central Park. He landed and transformed, stepping out of the shadows with a smirk.
"Out for a walk, little saint?"
Patrick jumped and let out a yelp of, "Duhfguh!" Then he cleared his throat and sighed in Satan's direction. "Oh, hello. No, I'm jogging in a marathon. You want to join?"
"No, I only like watching people run when they're running from something," Satan said, strolling up to Patrick with his hands in his pockets. "It's funnier that way. So, you seem chipper. I don't like it."
Patrick shrugged as he walked, deciding to keep his little moment of growth to himself. "Well I'm not going to throw myself a parade. He dug around in his pockets for a moment and pulled out one of the chocolate bars he always carried with him. He didn't know if Satan had a sweet tooth like Lucifer and Michael but it was worth a shot.
"Snickers?"
"No, I don't make a habit of taking candy from saints," Satan said, falling into step next to Patrick. "So, that offer for your immortality is still on the table, you know."
Patrick shoved the snickers back into his pocket and he kept walking. "You don't want candy but you do want our souls?" he asked, glancing over at the devil. "Sorry. Mine is being put to better use these days."
Just a year ago, he had almost said yes. A year ago if he had run into Satan again he would have. Not any more.
"Oh, that's right, you're much better now." Satan stopped for a moment, closing his eyes and letting his features morph and twist. When Patrick looked back at him, he'd be staring at a carbon copy of John the Baptist, right down to the voice that said, "You fell in love."
Patrick hissed through his teeth as Satan transformed into the man he loved in front of his eyes. "Don't-" Patrick said, before forcing himself to stay calm. Panicking now wouldn't help anything.
It was only then that he realised he hadn't panicked until now. That was something.
"I never said I was better now. I'm just not going to fall for your tricks."
"What's tricky about it, I'm congratulating you," Satan said, smiling John's wide grin. "Although I guess you'd really better hope that the Church is wrong about that 'homosexuality being a sin' thing. Then again, the Church is wrong about so much."
Patrick made a face and he tried not to focus on the fact that it sincerely looked like he was now speaking to his beloved. The very idea of Satan being in John's body was sickening.
Patrick huffed loudly and then he said, "the church and I have had our disagreements before. It's not up to the church to judge in the end, it's up to God."
"So true," Satan said, before letting John's features melt away, only to be replaced with St. David's. "And you're even an inspiration to your fellow saints. I forgot to send a wedding gift to your brother and his blushing mortal bride."
Patrick dropped all sense of civility then. He stopped walking and he turned on the devil who looked like his little brother.
"Don't you dare go anywhere near them."
"Big words," Satan said, smirking a far creepier smirk than the real David had ever tried. "You know, I'd have never thought that your little David would break his vows of chastity. I was sure it would be something else, but then, you can never predict the quiet ones. I want to see what else he'll do."
Bridget was pregnant, not that Satan knew that. And everything in Patrick's body was now screaming at him to jump Satan to keep his little niece or nephew safe.
"Dewi changed just as we all must. He won't do anything else. Leave him alone." Patrick was angry now. His cheeks were beginning to turn red and his hands were balled up into fists.
"What are you gonna do, hit me?" All right, maybe he was being a little immature, but honestly. Toying with the saints was one of the few things that made him unreservedly happy. He spread his arms. "Take your best shot, Saint Leprechaun. And maybe when we're done here, I'll drop in on your brothers."
"I am not going to hit you," Patrick fumed. He knew he didn't stand a chance if he tried. But a very long time ago, he had vanquished plenty of monsters without batting an eyelid.
"You leave my brothers out of this."
"Actually, your brothers might give up their souls more easily than you," Satan mused. The angrier Patrick grew, the more entertained he was. "I wonder what state David will be in when his lady-love dies eventually? Or George, when he has his first real fight with that catamite of a husband? Oh, and I haven't checked in on Andrew in centuries. I should rectify that."
"All three of them are stronger than I am," Patrick growled. "None of them are going to give their souls to you." Now was the time he wished he could set his hands on fire wilfully.
It would be giving into his rage to burn Satan right in the face, but oh, Patrick wanted to.
His anger deflated somewhat then and he arched his eyebrow. "Are you just going to taunt me all morning?"
"Your faith in them is adorable," Satan said, reaching out and pinching Patrick on the cheek. "And I'm thinking about it. I've been so bored, and then you were here, like a gift from God."
Patrick swatted Satan's hand away, still frustrated the devil was wearing his brother's face. "My faith in them is the strongest thing I have, apart from my faith in God. It hasn't let me down in 1,624 years."
Knowing his brothers were out there and that they would have as much faith in Patrick made him feel stronger. He smiled instead of glaring. "Don't you have anyone you can believe in like that? If you don't, I feel sorry for you."
Satan rolled his eyes and shifted back into his regular form. "No, St. Leprechaun, I don't. Because unlike you, I'm not an idiot. Your brothers will let you down. John will let you down. In the end, you'll be alone."
Patrick wasn't even bothered by Satan's words, though he was glad to see him back in his original form. "No, they won't," he said simply. "They won't ever leave me alone again. I don't ever have to suffer like that again. You're just wrong."
Patrick being reasonable was really sucking all the fun out of this. Hmm. Well, there was always the slightly less subtle method of upsetting him.
"I think I'm just going to eat you," Satan sighed, even though he absolutely wasn't, because that experience with St. Margaret had been horrible. With that, he turned into a very large snake.
At the sight of what was probably his worst irrational fear, Patrick shrieked an incredibly high-pitched squeal and then he stumbled backwards, falling to the ground as he scrambled to get away from the Satan-snake.
There, that was the reaction he was looking for. Was it really so much to ask? Feeling considerably better, Satan slithered after Patrick, letting out a low, angry hiss.
Patrick cralwed backwards, a panicked and fearful sound escaping his throat without him realising he was even making a sound.
Willing himself to calm down just a little, Patrick stopped crawling. The snake got closer and Patrick was sure his throat was going to close up. But this wasn't a snake, it was just Satan being an asshole.
"STOP IT!" Patrick yelled, slamming his hands over his ears so he didn't have to hear that horrible hissing. He squeezed his eyes shut, sure he would be eaten soon.
Nothing happened.
More nothing.
Opening one eye a tiny bit, Patrick glanced where the snake had been and saw just empty grass. Patrick blinked and pulled his hands away from his ears.
"Satan-snake?" he asked, scrambling to his feet. Satan was nowhere to be seen. He was just gone. He had vanished in seconds.
Numb and confused, Patrick continued to stare at the patch of empty grass for some time.