Saint Patrick ☘ (shamrocked_) wrote in nevermore_au, @ 2012-07-19 17:07:00 |
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Entry tags: | saint george, saint patrick |
WHO: Evil!Patrick and poor George
WHAT: Just a casual run-in with a soulless brother
WHEN: In the Evil!Saints AU back before Patrick killed David and George went to Hell to get his soul back, George and Patrick randomly ran into each other.
WHERE: A bar, where else!?
WARNINGS: Oh, swears, Patrick talking about drugging people and sexual assault, probably violence and Patrick being an impossible prick.
Patrick exhausted the bars in his area of the city pretty quickly. He was generally thrown out for bad behaviour or for being horrible to women. In a bid to branching out, he was in a bar he had never been in before. He found it was much easier to try to convince women to come home with him if he had never seen them before.
He was currently chatting up some idiotic blonde when he felt something familiar enter the bar. He growled, trying to turn his head away from the door, as if someone from his old life wouldn't recognise his unruly hair right away. Ignoring the presence, Patrick smiled at the girl. If he could make it five more minutes he could slip something in her drink and be away. "So...I'm sorry, what was your name again?"
"Megan," she said, annoyed.
The presence came a little closer and Patrick gritted his teeth. "Would you like em to buy you a drink Megan?"
"I haven't finished this one yet," she giggled. The sound made him want to slap her, but there would be time for that if he could get her out of here.
"Well I could always buy you one to grow on," he said, flashing her a completely fake and charming smile.
George just wanted to be drunk. He didn't think that was such a ridiculous wish. Granted, he tended to swing wildly between wanting to be drunk and wanting to stab Alcohol in the face for her part in the slow unravelling of his life, but currently, getting shitfaced sounded like the most amazing thing in the world.
So of course, the hole-in-the-wall bar he walked into contained his fallen brother.
George stared for a long moment, then stepped out the front door and looked up at the sky. "You're an asshole," he hissed to God, before walking back inside.
Patrick appeared to be hitting on a woman, which was bizarre to watch in and of itself. George knew he needed to put a stop to it before the poor woman ended up dead.
"Hi there," he said, inserting himself in the space between Patrick and his target. "I'm his brother. I don't know what he's told you, put he's actually married and is just being an asshole right now."
And there it was. He was too late.
Patrick's mouth dropped open in shock at George's tactic and he craned his neck to see the girl he had just been talking to. "I am not- Dammit, George! I am not fucking married! You're lying- He's lying!" he said, pointing at George's stupid head.
Meagan lifted her hands in the air, clearly not wanting to get in the middle of a lover's tiff. "Look, you two clearly need some relationship-fixing time." To George she said, "I didn't know. Keep a closer eye on your husband, eh?" and then she slipped away.
Patrick slammed his own glass down and he arched an eyebrow at George. "Saint George the fucking cockblock. You know, I would take her advice. I'd keep an eye on your husband, Georgie. Never know when I might cockblock you right the fuck back."
"I'm not-he's not-He's not married to me," George called after the girl, but it was really a moot point anyway. He slumped in the chair she'd just vacated, glaring at Patrick. Seeing Patrick had already ruined George's night, so it seemed fair that Patrick's night should be ruined too.
"I'd be very upset by that threat," George said, "except I'm not sure there'd even be enough left of you to throttle once Sebastian got done with you."
And George was absolutely right. Patrick stood no chance against a soldier like Sebastian. But he did like to threaten and big note himself, so he refused to show his agreement.
"There's always ways," Patrick growled, leaning one arm on the table. "My night is effectively ruined, you great lummox. Though I guess I still have the roofies to use on someone else."
Patrick really wasn't the brightest star in the sky. Time was, he thought with his heart. How he didn't have one any more, and there wasn't anything left.
"...it's like you're trying to set a record for how quickly you can become the worst person in the world," George said, lip curling in disgust. "Hand them over."
"No!" Patrick curled his lip up, his expression questioning George's sanity. "Shove off! You saints have to ruin everyone's fun. I wouldn't have hurt her. She wouldn't have even been awake for it. It's a kindness, actually." And Patrick really believed that.
He pushed away from the table and stood. "Oh, and Georgie? Get fucked, won't you?" And he flashed his brother a winning smile.
Hard way it was, then.
"Oh Patrick," George said, standing up and slinging an arm around his brother's shoulders. The movement helped cover up a quick punch to Patrick's gut, and then George had his hand clenched on the back of Patrick's neck to hold him upright. "Let's go outside."
George's punch slammed into him like a wrecking ball and were it not for George's grip on him, he would have slid to his knees. As it was, he went red as the punch to his gut deprived him of air for a time. He clenched his teeth and groaned as George escorted him outside to what was a fairly deserted street.
Damn. He should have stayed where he was surrounded by people. And if he shouted for help now, George could just get him in trouble for having drugs on him. Although...
"Fine, just take them!" Patrick hissed, trying to squirm away from George.
"You make me sick, you know that?" George growled, tossing Patrick into an alley wall. "There's nothing left of my brother inside you at all."
Patrick grunted again as he hit the wall and then he turned around quickly, flattening his back against it.
"You lot always say that, but you have no idea how very shallowly I was buried there underneath that blasted soul. The urges I felt every day. Lust, wrath, gluttony. Not so much pride, because let's be honest, that me had nothing to be proud of. He was a snivelling little pipsqueak, weighed down by useless guilt. Don't you want to know what it feels like, George? How good it feels to be who you were meant to be?" Patrick arched his eyebrows at George. "Hmm? Giving in to your deeper animal impulses? You would be a work of art, Georgie. A truly beautiful monster."
"That's a nice sales pitch," George said, advancing on Patrick with his fists clenched. He needed to leave, he needed to cool down, but wrath was just burning inside of him the way it had been since this nightmare started. And the cause of all of it was standing in front of him. "But maybe you ought to consider that if I ever did let loose, you'd be right in the line of fire."
Patrick rolled his eyes at George, though he was very aware George was nearing terminal velocity here. "You would be thanking me, Georgie. And you'd be a beautiful monster, yes, but you'd be no Satan." And Patrick had certainly taken it from Satan quite enough. "He still has my eyeball," he said, pointing to the patch that covered the blank space in his face where his eyeball had been ripped out.
"Come on, Georgie. Don't be angry with me! I'll be willing to share the roofies with you! We could both have a little fun, for old times sake. I have a place nearby. We could take some women...or men if you like...back there. Have our way with them. Think of all the wonderful things you could do to someone who can't say no."
George shoved Patrick backwards with a snarl. "God, you really are soulless if you think I'd ever take you up on something like that. Hand over your drugs, now, and get the hell out of here."
Patrick growled and then he pulled out the bag of drugs and tossed them to George. He didn't leave though. He shoved his hands in his pockets and glowered at his brother.
"If you're not into sexual assault there are lots of other things we can do together. Like we used to. Remember, Georgie? We were crusaders, riding across the countryside and slaying mythical beings with hardly a thought about their feelings on the matter. I know you feel wrath, boiling away under the surface. Not very far under if you don't mind me saying. Just give into it, Georgie."
George took the bags and kicked them into a nearby sewer grating, because venting his rage on inanimate objects seemed like the safer bet.
Turning back to Patrick he asked, "Are you enjoying this Emperor Palpatine schtick? Because it isn't working."
Well, it was working in the sense that George's control over his temper was fraying steadily, but Patrick didn't need confirmation of that.
Patrick deflated inwardly as George tossed his drugs down a sewer grate. So much for calling the cops on him and trying to get him arrested. Patrick pulled his hands back out of his pockets, leaving his phone in them, clicked to off. Damn saint always ruined his fun.
"You can't tell me you don't miss me," Patrick said with a grin. "Maybe not this me, but how about this one?"
Patrick toned down the asshole vibe and he looked at his brother with the same earnest eyes Patrick-with-a-soul had always looked at people with. Patrick knew how to fake kindness and love. Pretending to be the old Patrick was like slipping on a mask he knew intimately well. "Georgie?" he asked, looking scared. "Georgie, I'm trapped and scared. Help me, please!"
That triggered an immediate reaction, because George hadn't been expecting Patrick to try anything like that. He lashed out, catching his brother across the jaw with a hard punch.
"Stop it!"
Patrick didn't stop. He fell sideways and then he held his jaw which felt fit to explode. Propped against the wall, half-standing, half-crouching he looked up at George with hurt and confusion in his eyes. "Why would you hurt me like that!? George, I love you! Please, don't leave me like this!"
Inwardly, despite the pain in his face, Patrick was cackling. But not a sign of that showed on the outside.
George aimed another punch at Patrick, fury and the reminder of the brother he'd lost driving him forward.
"How could you do this to us, you stupid little bastard? Why?"
Patrick fell to the ground, his hands over his head. And even then he didn't stop. It was too good, even while taking a beating.
"Stop, George! Please! I was afraid, and the pain was too much. And none of you stopped living your own messy little lives to think about my suffering for a moment. You all promised to help, and then you sat by and watched me drown." Patrick was lying through his teeth, well aware that any of them would have stopped to help, had he asked. He seemed to remember George triggering something in him-
"You said if I slipped up again it wasn't the end of the world. I read that and I realised I wanted it to be. So I slipped up again."
George had a dark, terrible moment remembering that, and for a second there was nothing he wanted more than to make it so Patrick could never talk again. His sword sprang into his hand, and all he could think about was driving it through Patrick's throat.
But his rage seemed to hit a plateau, and George couldn't do it. It was still something shaped like his brother lying on the ground below him, and he just couldn't do it.
He stumbled back a few feet, thumping against the other alley wall. "I hate you."
"You don't," Patrick said, lifting his head and keeping George's gaze. "You hate yourself for not stopping me." Patrick said it softly, as if he actually cared.
"Yeah, that sounds about right," George said, feeling exhausted suddenly. He closed his eyes for a moment, then straightened. "But I can stop you now, at least some of the time. I guess that'll have to be enough."
Patrick dropped the act as she struggled to his feet. "Sure, you stopped me tonight. But what about last night. And the night before that? All those people...suffering because you failed."
George looked at Patrick for a long moment. He took a moment to make sure that his mind was clear and calm. He wanted to do this for the right reasons, free of wrath even if just for a moment.
He stepped forward and rammed the sword into Patrick's stomach.
"This should keep you down for a few days," George said dispassionately.