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[shamrocked-.insanejournal.com]

WHO: George, Patrick and Joey
WHAT: Joey telling his story
WHEN: Monday evening
WHERE: Joey's apartment
WARNINGS: Recap of violence and rape



Patrick thought he might just die of nerves.

Joey had invited him over and the best time to do so was on Monday night when the girl who was staying with him had to work. George was with him and Patrick couldn't even express how relieved he was to have George there with him. He had his hand clenched in George's sleeve and he was shaking slightly as they knocked on the door. He had texted Joey a few moments ago as well so the mortal would know it was safe to open the door.

Joey swung the door open and Patrick took in the view of his friend. Patrick had seen him broken in the alley-way and in the hospital room but here in his everyday clothes hanging off of him, the change was shocking. Joey was rail-thin and he had bandages on his wrists. He was getting around with a cane, though Patrick didn't know that was just because he tired easily and his left ankle would throb if he was on it for too long. There were fresh scars on his arms and healing burn marks on his neck. "Joey," Patrick said, unable to keep the pain out of his voice even just upon greeting his friend.

"Just come in, Patrick. Hi, George."

Patrick bustled in, pulling George with him. "We brought Chinese food," he said, and he really hoped Joey would eat some.

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Joey looked shocked then. "Satan and Lucifer? Lucky me." He looked bitter for a moment and Patrick thought he was going to kick them out until he said, "doesn't matter, he was wrong."

Just those few words filled Patrick with more hope than he had had in a long time. Joey had accepted that they had tried to get to him and it was what he had been wishing for. "He was."

"I lost track of time in there. I was cold and starving and thirsty and I woke up one day and there were no minions around. No minions and my door was open. I thought I could escape because I'm an idiot. I wandered the halls and while looking for the front door I found a bathroom instead. The taps weren't working so I drank from the toilet. I didn't even care that that is disgusting. Then I found the front door but I couldn't get out."

"It's not disgusting, Joey," Patrick assured him. "I mean... you did what you had to do."

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"It was smart," George agreed. "You were trying to survive. And you weren't an idiot to think you could escape. It sounds like you were still fighting them."

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"I guess," Joey said. "Lucifer came up to me at the door and he said...argh. He said if I promised never to see you again, he would let me go."

Patrick stiffened and his grip on George's hand tightened. "Wh-when? When did he-?"

"About a week and a half before he actually did toss me out. I couldn't promise him that."

"Fuck," Patrick hissed. His mortal friend had stayed in that terrible place because of him. "Joey-"

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"So you stayed," George said, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "It was...was a good idea not to make a deal with Lucifer. Those don't end well for anyone but him."

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"I know that," Joey admitted, "and part of me was convinced that was the reason I didn't agree to it, but it wasn't. I was too far gone to think like that. If he had given me some other kind of deal I would have taken it in an instant. I was already so broken. I just...couldn't give him that. I couldn't give him you."

"I'm so sorry," Patrick said, bursting into tears. "Joey, I'm sorry!"

"Patrick, it's not your fault. And I didn't do it for you benefit, I did it for mine. My life, despite current circumstances, has been better since you came in to it." He didn't say those words with a lot of feeling, but it was clear he meant them.

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George wrapped an arm around Patrick's shoulder. He could at least give his brother some support, even if he felt helpless in the face of Joey's pain.

"That was brave of you," George said, the words feeling small and useless.

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"It was helplessness. There was nothing else I could do but stay or let him ruin the rest of my life forever. He already had enough."

Patrick sniffed and wiped at his eyes. "I hate him."

"Yeah," Joey nodded. "You two have lived for thousands of years. And you're a martyr," he said to George. "How do you not feel angry every day over the things that were done to you?"

Patrick sighed deeply. "In my case, I forgave the man who held me captive a long time ago. And then I didn't even remember it for a long time. I just trusted God had a plan and that was part of it. Which might seem trite, but it turned out to be true."

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George looked down at his hands and smiled slightly. "The funny thing is, I forgave the guy who killed me way before it actually happened. I felt like I was betraying him." George sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "It sticks with you. Flares up like an old ache sometimes, when you least expect it. It's not quick to vanish."

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Joey breathed out slowly and he pulled his leg up against his chest. "I think right now I am struggling to even remember who I used to be. Does that make sense?"

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"It makes a lot of sense," George said. "You're not the same person you were before this happened to you."

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"Which sucks because I liked him," Joey said with a sigh. "But I get what you mean. I just have no idea how I am supposed to talk about all this to a shrink. How do I even start? What I said to you is only the beginning. There's so much all jumbled up in here," he pointed to his head. "Makes me so tired."

"Say what you feel like on the day," Patrick suggested. "And don't feel pressured to say anything else."

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George nodded. "If you want to talk about, I dunno, baseball when you're there, that's okay. Just talking is good, instead of keeping everything locked up in you."

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Joey nodded and then he groaned and pulled his hands over his face. "I know it might sound weird, but I think the worst parts were just when I was waiting. After all the torture and everything else, just lying there and waiting was horrible. I didn't know how long it had been or how long it would be and there was no one to talk to. Everything hurt and I was so hungry I was sure my stomach ate itself, and nothing to distract me from it."

And there was something Patrick knew all too well. "Yeah. I felt that way a lot when I was watching over sheep in Ireland. It was freezing where I was and I didn't have clothes. They cut all my hair off. All I could think of was the hunger and cold. Until I started to pray. That was where I found my faith. I'm not saying you have to, I'm just saying...well, it was a comfort to me."

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"It doesn't have to be Christianity," George said. "And maybe that makes us the worst saints, but whatever. Just find something that brings you comfort and isn't self-destructive."

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"No," Joey said, smiling slightly. "No, I think it makes you pretty good saints. Will you stay for dinner? Cheer me up? If I keep concentrating on what happened to me I'm going to get more depressed."

Patrick smiled and he nodded. "I'll stay as long as you want."

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"No place I'd rather be," George said. "You can watch me fingerpaint with holy water while you eat."