Who: Patrick, Patrick and George What: A concerned George calls a calm and collected Patrick (at least at first) When: After this Where: On...the phone. (Patrick is at his place and I assume George is at his) Notes: Sorry for the spamming. I.Can't.Stop.
There were many theories that contributed to Patrick's current personality and the obvious and main one was the Irish Parade saint who's feast day had become something of a joke.
There was his other side too, buried deeper due to the popularity of the other. It was the side of Patrick which had seen him venerated as a saint in the first place. And while his personality was much the same, this side was more serious and faithful. And every so often, when Patrick was sober enough, that side took hold. And Patrick never realised it. It was a tenuous hold, and control of his own body was hard. But Patrick saw it as merely an obstacle he would work through. He accepted it calmly.pat
Patrick may have been calm, but his erratic typing was worrying his brother. It wasn't drunk typing or even typing in the dark. It was a matter of Patrick not having true control over himself. When the phone rang, it took Patrick a few tries to get the phone to his ear, but when he did, he smiled and said, "George, is that you?" His voice was calm, almost serene, and he was glad to hear from his brother.
George had spent a moment or two just staring at everything Patrick had typed, trying to figure out if it was some secret code that he was missing. It looked a lot more like gibberish. Stroking Basil's ears as he dialed Patrick's number, George murmured, "He's probably just letting Gray Cat walk on the keyboard to talk with you, Basil."
When Patrick did answer, George raised an eyebrow. Patrick didn't sound drunk, or even upset. He soundered very, very calm. "Um, hey. Are you all right?"
Patrick leaned forward, running his fingers across the Bible he had been reading earlier. "I'm absolutely fine, George. I'm very sorry I worried you. You sound tired, brother. Tell me what's ailing you?"
George was silent for what felt like a long time, trying to figure out what was going on with his brother. On one hand, he was glad that Patrick didn't sound upset, but there was something distinctly off with him.
"Well, you're typing gibberish into the computer, and you sound, uh, different."
There was something weirdly familiar about this, something George couldn't quite put his finger on.
Patrick furrowed his brow and when he looked back at the computer he realised George was right. "Oh, so I have. My apologies, George. My mind was not really on what I was typing, though I do believe I thought those were actual words. It is little wonder you were worried."
George petted the cat idly as he listened to Patrick, trying to understand what was so familiar about this.
"But you're okay? You haven't been, uh, drinking or anything?"
Patrick glanced at the empty bottles on the table in front of him and he smiled, pleased at himself. Not because he had finished them off, but because he had dumped the foul liquid down the drain.
"Of course not. I won't let the drink distract me from my work. There's much to do still, George. I have been praying all morning, asking Him to guide my heart."
That was enough to spark a memory, very old and as misty the empty, wild parts of England. Himself and Patrick, long before America had even been a thought, making their way through woods that were supposed to be enchanted and trying to find the source of attacks on a nearby village.
The original St. Patrick, Druid-killer, had sounded a whole lot like his brother did right now.
"Patrick?" George gasped, sitting up so abruptly that the cat jumped off of him with a furious mew. "It that...you?"
"It is I, George. And I don't want you to let your heart fill with worry for me, brother. I will always be just fine because God has a plan and He takes care of his people. He watched me while I languished on those frozen hillsides for six years. He will not forsake me now."
George was caught between wanting to yell for Sebastian and being worried that if he did, Patrick--the other version of Patrick--would vanish.
"Patty, what do you remember? Like, what's the last thing that you remember doing clearly before tonight?"
It was a curious question, but Patrick could understand perhaps why George was asking. "I remember everything," Patrick said though he didn't sound quite so sure about that as he did about everything else he had said.
"It all seems blurry. Like a waking dream. The last time I remember something that wasn't blurry, I was in a library. I looked for some books to familiarise myself with how our Church has changed, and then everything went blurry again."
George was holding still, as though this version of Patrick was a startled rabbit that might bolt at any second. Which was pretty absurd, considering that they were on the phone, but George wasn't taking any chances.
"And you were just like this when you woke up?"
"I woke to pray," Patrick said softly. "And then I-I-"
Patrick could feel his body growing weaker and he surrendered to it, knowing that if this was happening to him, it was God's intent. He let his body go limp, the phone falling into his lap.
A moment later Patrick jerked a little, and he glanced around, panicking about where he was. "Guh?!" Patrick glanced downward to see the phone in his lap and he shrieked and threw it across the room before realising the phone was probably not going to hurt him.
Though why he had woken up with the phone in his lap, sitting on his sofa, he had no idea.
Patrick caught his breath and then he shoved off of the sofa, going to retrieve the phone. He picked it up as if it might lash out at him and then he said, "...hello?"
"Patrick? Patrick?!" George yelled into the phone once his brother stopped talking and he heard a loud banging noise, like something had hit the phone very hard. What if Patrick was under attack, or he was hurt? He was just considering whether it would be faster to drive, run, or take the subway to Patrick's apartment when his brother's voice came back on the line.
"Patrick, are you okay?! What happened?"
"George?!" Patrick said into the phone, sounding less panicked, but still quite confused. "George what- I'm fine, I think. Uhm...was I...talking to you in my sleep?"
"You're back to normal," George murmured, trying to figure out what in God's name had just happened. "Patty, do you remember anything that just happened? Because you definitely weren't asleep."
"I was..." Patrick looked around the room, taking note of the open Bible on the coffee table and the open laptop resting on the sofa.
"I was asleep," Patrick said, sounding utterly unsure. Patrick stepped back over to the sofa and he sat down again, glancing in the direction of his room. The bedroom door was closed and Patrick had no idea how he had gotten out here. "I remember waking up in the middle of the night because I had the dream about the talking heads, but I went back to sleep. What do you mean by 'normal', Georgie?"
George rubbed at the back of his neck, getting up to pace and make tea. Tea was definitely needed right now.
"Um, okay, listen," George said. "This is going to sound crazy, but just now, I swear I was talking to the old version of you. From when we were both back in the UK, do you remember?"
"I-" Patrick was left sort of speechless then. The old version of him? The old version of him had been speaking to George?
Did it even make sense that he was slightly jealous of whatever part of him had been speaking to his brother? He was fairly sure none of this made any sense.
"I...sort of remember. I mean, I remember it happened. Georgie...what did I say?"
"Well, you were mostly trying to reassure me, because I was freaking out a little," George said, trying not to make too much noise as he paced. "But you were really calm. You said that you'd been praying, asking for guidance, and that you had a lot of work to do."
Patrick blinked and then he smiled lightly, reflecting on how maybe he wasn't all that different now. If it weren't for his appearance and his alcoholism, maybe he could be the same person. That reassuring, calm and pious person he had once been and had to believe he could be again.
"Well...that's really true," Patrick replied. "I uhm...I'm sorry you're stuck with me and not...not him."
George made a rude noise and said, "It's lucky I'm not over there, because you'd be getting a punishment noogie. It's still you either way, Patty, still my brother. It was just made me feel a little bit like one of us was time travelling. Any idea what might have caused that?"
Patrick's lips curled into an immediate smile when George reassured him that Patrick was Patrick either way. It was such a George way to do it. "I don't know. They only thing I've been doing lately is that...well I talked to this historian about my past so...maybe that did it? We didn't talk much though. If that was all that brought it on it was like...nothing."
"If that's what brought it on, then that's kind of cool," George mused, leaning against the counter. "It means you're not as far away from yourself as you thought you were. And, okay, that sentence doesn't make a lot of sense, but you know what I mean."
Patrick laughed, glad for the release of tension, to be honest. "I...guess it is good to know. Was I suave, Georgie? Did I talk about...questing the quest or...I dunno, being suave?"
George laughed too. "You were very suave, like a snake-fearing James Bond. It was just weird, though, to suddenly be talking to you circa a couple hundred years ago. I half expected to look out the windo and be in England, hunting some boogeyman or giant murder cat."
Patrick eyed the grey cat in the corner and he chuckled. "Well I've got the murder cat covered. Grey Cat isn't amused. And apparently I hunted all my alcohol and slayed it. There are three empty bottles on my coffee table but I can tell I didn't drink them. Was old me a party pooper, Georgie?" Patrick asked with an air of amusement because it was better than hugging the bottles to him and lamenting the loss of such liquidy and alcoholic friends.
"Nah, you weren't a buzzkill, you were just...very intense," George said. It had been a while since he'd looked back on the time he and Patrick had spent together in the UK. It reminded him a little of a fairytale, really.
"Especially when you had a mission. Women loved it, I had to beat them away from you with a stick."
"Women loved-" Patrick's eyes widened at that. Women had loved him. "Did I look that different?!" he asked, betraying the fact that he assumed he was absolutely unattractive now.
George snorted. "First, you're attractive now. Just for making me tell you that, noogie. Second, your hair wasn't as awesome as it was now, so you didn't have that advantage."
Patrick laughed at the rate he was racking up the noogies. "I do like the hair," Patrick mused. "I just never thought of myself as attractive, so that's surprising. "One day that hasn't started with you panicking that I've lost the plot, you should tell me stories of Patrick and George. Any you can remember. Was I very wise?"
George smiled fondly at the idea of telling Patrick stories about the old days. Especially since he hadn't dusted off those memories for a long time himself.
"I will," George promised. "I will tell you the many adventures of George and Patrick. Like the time we fought kelpies! That's a fun story. They almost drowned me, those stupid not-horses. You totally decapitated one, though. It was awesome."
Patrick raised his eyebrows, pleased at the idea that he had decapitated a kelpie because they were annoying and because apparently he was a badass in the old days. If he tried now, he would probably decapitate himself.
"They almost drowned you!? Well I'm glad I cut heads then. Thanks for checking in on me, George. You're a wonderful big brother. Even if I did earn two noogies."
"Kelpies are jerks, that's just what they do," George said. The cat hopped up on the counter next to him, brazenly ignoring the fact that it wasn't supposed to be up there, and George rolled his eyes and petted it.
"Go try and get some sleep, Patty. I'll collect the noogies when you least expect it."