Saint Patrick ☘ (shamrocked_) wrote in nevermore_logs, @ 2010-12-16 10:50:00 |
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Entry tags: | saint george, saint patrick |
Who: George, Patrick
When: Wednesday
Where: George and Sebastian's apartment
What: George is not okay (Originally posted by George)
Warnings: PTSD George?
He knew he needed to be around people. He worked with veterans every day, he'd read all the reports and the literature, and he knew that holing himself up in his apartment and refusing to talk to anyone but Sebastian wasn't a healthy thing for him to do. Being alone would leave him alone with his thoughts and his memories, and George was well aware that alone with his thoughts wasn't a good place to be.
He should ask someone to come over. George was currently sprawled on the couch, watching the Discovery Channel on mute, so he reached blindly over to the table next to the couch until he found his phone. Now. Who to call?
That was a tough question. The angels might not understand. George had a lot of love for all of them, but he wasn't even sure that angels could be traumatized, let alone understand what was wrong with him. And George was honestly worried that he might start yelling at someone. His temper was a frayed, unsteady thing, and he didn't want to upset any of his friends. He didn't want them to see him like this.
That left his brothers. He considered it. Going to Andrew would bring the comfort of spilling out his problems to his big brother. Going to David would be equally comforting, since David was the steadiest person George knew. And Patrick....Patrick could empathize with feeling like a fucked-up mess. In the end, that was what had George dialing Patrick's number.
"Hey man. You want to come over?"
Patrick had barely answered the phone with a full hello before George had invited him over. The tone in his brother's voice had Patrick scrambling for his shoes immediately. "Of course, George," he said firmly. "I will be there as soon as I can." He didn't even ask what it was that George needed beyond company. He just needed to get there.
It had taken very little time for Patrick to get ready to go and, after kissing John goodbye several times, he was on his way. He remained on the phone the entire time. And as he approached George and Sebastian's apartment he said, "I'm just outside now, George."
George had mostly kept a running commentary of what was going on in the TV ("Now there are seals. They're kind of shiny."), knowing that his voice sounded too flat and tired to be convincingly normal. He got off the couch and unlocked the door, carefully pushing away the pile of clutter that he had stacked in front of the door like a kind of barricade. Sebastian had been patient with him. The cat seemed to think it was some kind of mountain.
"Door's open," George said into the phone, resuming his place on the couch.
Patrick entered the apartment, just as George had told him to, and as he did so, he hung up the phone and he moved across the room to his brother. "George," he said, taking a seat beside the other saint and pulling George into an immediate hug. "What's wrong?"
Then Patrick panicked. This throat closed and he honestly wondered why he hadn't thought of it on his way over here. "Sebastian!?" he managed to croak. If something had happened to his brother-in-law, Patrick would be inconsolable. And he knew John would be too.
George shook his head against Patrick's shoulder, closing his eyes and leaning into the hug. "He's fine."
It took a moment for George to realize that he'd called Patrick over with no explanation, and his brother clearly knew he was upset. He needed to explain more. "He's fine. He just ran out to the store to grab something. The problem's with m--I'm not feeling very good."
It sounded so lame when he said it like that, but the words wouldn't quite come.
The relief Patrick felt at knowing Sebastian was okay was immediate and short-lived. George was going through something and Patrick held his brother tightly, kissing George's blonde curls. "Okay, George," Patrick said, petting George's back. "Do you want to tell me why, or do you just want to sit?"
"I was okay for a while," George murmured. It wasn't going to be a very simple explanation, but it would be one. "It would flare up a lot, but I had my own ways of trying to deal with it. A couple centuries is a long time. And then after Vietnam, they finally gave it a name and started looking at how to fix it. And I felt so...relieved. Because I wasn't crazy and it wasn't just me." George slumped against Patrick. "But War's in town, and being around her just makes it all come back so hard. Every battle, every war, every person, and I spend my time feeling completely numb or like I'm about to be attacked any second. And I hate it."
Patrick listened as George spoke, his fingers straying into George's hair to pet him. Usually it was the other way around and George was the one soothing him. But Patrick would do anything for his big brother, and this came as naturally as going to George with his troubles.
"Oh, George," Patrick mumbled. He could kick stupid war in her stupid face. He would probably die for his trouble, but oh he wanted to. "You're not about to be attacked. You're safe and I'm here. We're strong, remember? Together? We faced monsters together. You told me the stories. We can face this too," he said, kissing George's hair again.
"I know," George mumbled, keeping his face buried against Patrick's shoulder. "I know, and that's worst part. If I was actually someplace where I was in danger, at least I wouldn't feel like my brain was some malfunctioning machine, just shooting off useless signals. I called the sword to me twenty minutes ago on reflex because the neighbors upstairs banged on the floor."
Oh, right. Patrick just held on, because he didn't know what else to do. That didn't mean he wouldn't stay here just as long as George wanted him to. "You're not malfunctioning," Patrick promised him. "George, anyone who has been through what you have would feel this way."
Not that anyone had been through quite what George had. At least not any mortal person.
"I wish I could just forget it all," George sighed. "I wish I could be like-"
George cut himself off abruptly. Patrick didn't consider losing his memories to be a blessing, and George shouldn't either. It had left Patrick frightened and doubting. But that didn't stop George from wondering if he'd be better off if the wars were just wiped from his mind.
Patrick looked at his brother sideways when George cut off the end of that sentence. He had a feeling he knew how George was going to finish it, but he didn't move away from holding his brother. He could understand George saying such a thing. Of course he could.
"George, it's okay," he said gently. "If it helps, I'm sorry. I- I wish I could take those bad memories away from you."
George wiped his eyes against Patrick's shoulder. "I just--when I first heard that you didn't remember a lot of the past, before I understood how unhappy you were about it, I though maybe...that you'd been allowed to forget and I hadn't because I was being punished for the things I'd done. I was jealous of you. I'm sorry."
"George," Patrick whispered. He would never hold that against George. Absolutely never. What he did was continue to stroke George's hair, his fingers tangled in George's curls. "It's okay. I forgive you, it's not even an issue. And...I will never believe that you are being punished. Ever."
George pushed his head against Patrick's hand, a bit like a cat enjoying being petted. George had never been more glad that his brother was just as cuddly as he was.
"I did...I did some bad things during the Crusades, Patrick. I stopped being me for a while and became someone who was kind of a complete jackass. And the bad memories start way before the Crusades, and I know it's irrational, I just--" George shook his head. "I'm always scared that it's God's way of telling me I'm still not forgiven."
Patrick kept right on petting George's hair and he had no thoughts of stopping any time soon.
"George, I did terrible things too." Not that he could remember them all, but he knew he had. "God doesn't work like that. He forgives everything. And you are not a complete jackass now. We fuck up and we learn and we move on, right? George, the man you are now is nothing short of extraordinary. I trust you more than almost everyone. I love you and Sebastian loves you. Our other brothers love you, and you are worthy of that."
"I'm so glad you guys are here," George said, giving Patrick a tight hug. "I don't know what I'd be doing otherwise."
He reached a hand up to wipe his eyes and smiled at Patrick. "Thank you. I've gotten a pep talk from you and Sebastian both, and it really does help."
"I think it's safe to say I feel the same way," Patrick said, leaning in to kiss his brother on the cheek. "And I will remind you any time you need me to," Patrick said, reaching out for George's hand. "You mean the world to me, Georgie. Okay?"
"You mean the world to me, too," George said, squeezing Patrick's hand. "Um, hey. About the memories you've been getting back...some of the stuff you've described sounds like PTSD, or at least trauma. I try not to, like, diagnose, because I'm not a doctor, but it does sound familiar."
Patrick chewed on his lip for a moment and then he turned to face George. "How so?" he asked, because he trusted George's judgement more than pretty much anyone else in the world.
"The nightmares," George said, wiping his eyes. "The intrusive memories that keep cropping up. I mean, it's hard to say in your case, since you've got the Morrigna messing with you and your memories are literally just coming back." He smiled a little. "Being a saint makes mental health a weird thing, yeah?"
Patrick nodded softly. It really did. "You're right. I should probably look into it." He sighed and then he leaned over to kiss George's forehead. "George, I'm so sorry you have to deal with this. I really am. If I can do more to help, just tell me, okay?"