(no subject)

[shamrocked-.insanejournal.com]

Who: George, Patrick
Where: Central Park
When: Sunday
What: Patrick is pacing a hole through the planet (Originally posted by George)



One of the many things George liked about his brother was that it was always easy to find him in a crowd. Patrick's wild head of hair stood out like a beacon, and George jogged over to the pond that Patrick was circling with a scowl.

"Hey, Patty," George said, pulling his brother into a hug. "Sorry I'm kind of gross and sweaty. I jogged here." He held his brother at arm's length, looking him over. "You okay?"

Patrick wouldn't have cared if George showed up covered in mud and smelling like a latrine. All he cared about was that someone was there with him.

"No," he admitted, pulling himself out of George's grip as soon as the hug was over. He didn't mind that George was looking him over, he just didn't want to feel confined.

"I feel like I might set something on fire." He clenched his fists tightly and chewed on his lip as if that could somehow contain his rage.

George understood the feeling. He tilted his head, considering. "Well, don't set anything on fire. The closest things around are ducks, and they didn't do anything to deserve it. Is it from all the energy building up?"

"It's like-" Patrick continued clenching and unclenching his fists as he talked, "-everything I feel is amplified by a hundred. If I'm happy, I'm overly happy. If I'm scared, I'm hiding under the bed. If I read some asshole who is supposed to represent my religion comparing my relationship to slavery, something I suffered through for years- I honestly want to fly to Scotland and rip his head off and that scares the fuck out of me."

It wasn't often that Patrick swore so liberally. It also wasn't often he felt like ripping people's heads off either.

George's eyebrows went up at talk of Patrick tearing heads off. That was definitely new. Or at least, not something he'd ever seen out of this version of Patrick.

"Well, I'm not gonna say that it's okay, because comparing anything that isn't slavery to slavery is so stupid that it hurts," George said. "And feeling out of control is awful too. I usually work out until I can't move when I'm having an excess of feelings."

Patrick scrunched his face up at the idea of working out. He did a lot of wiggling and that kept him in good enough shape. But he wasn't really a grunty worker outer.

He let out a groan and kicked at the ground. "Have you ever seen me angry? What did I do, because I don't remember feeling like this ever. Not- I mean I felt like this hundreds of years ago but I hardly remember what I did about it."

"Well, you had two modes that I remember," George said, rubbing the back of his neck. A lot of his memories of he and Padraig's adventures had blurred together, the centuries making things faded and inaccurate, but George could still clearly picture a few times that Padraig had been furious.

"One of them was when you were angry in a quiet way, and you got kind of stiff and very intense. You were good at getting people to cooperate when you got like that. And then a few times you were just so pissed off that you were practically breathing fire. I think once you physically picked up this Druid priest and threw him out a window."

Patrick's jaw dropped and he blinked at George in surprise. He stopped clenching his fists then, too worried he might get angry enough to toss someone out a window again.

"I- Wow." He didn't mind the description of quietly intense and angry Patrick. Unfortunately he felt like the breathing-fire Patrick. "All I've been throwing today are rocks. Into the pond so I don't hurt anyone. I just don't know what to do with it! I feel like hitting you! For no reason. I'm just mad so why the fuck not be mad at everything!?"

"We could wrestle, if you want," George offered. "But sometimes, there's nothing you can really do about that bone-deep pissed off feeling. I've had times where I've gone through the day seething and nothing worked at getting rid of it. Time's the only thing that seems to be foolproof, but knowing that tends to make me even angrier, so..."

Knowing time would make it better didn't make Patrick angrier but it did make his shoulder sag a little with defeat. "I don't want to wrestle you," he added. "Because you'll win and then I'll get mad I lost. Just...distract me?" Perhaps God was using this anger to show Patrick how George felt at times. Maybe it was a learning experience for a reason and he could understand his brother even more. "I'm sorry you feel like this at times. It's shitty."

"You kind of learn to work around it, when you're angry like that for a long time," George said, shrugging and glancing down. "But hey, I can distract you. A strange man showed up out of nowhere in my house the other day. Guess who he was."

If Patrick had been paying attention he may have guessed what George was getting at, having had it happen to him. Not that George knew that. He was, however, too angry to think very deeply about it. "Another saint? Don't say Jesus, do not say Jesus!"

George laughed. "No, definitely not Jesus. There would have been a lot of phone calls and excited shouting if Jesus had shown up. No, this guy showed up at the exact same time that my kitty made a disappearing act."

Patrick blinked at George then and he asked carefully, "er...is Basil a fairy cat?"

"Bingo," George said. "Apparently, saints are like catnip to fairy cats. Or we just look like suckers, either one."