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[shamrocked-.insanejournal.com]

WHO: Patrick, George and a little Wrath
WHAT: Unaware his girlfriend is missing, Patrick goes home and needs to see a doctor
WHEN: Tuesday?
WHERE: Patrick and George's, then hospital
WARNINGS: Vomit?



The headaches had started soon after being punched in the face by one very strong saint, and Patrick had written them off as normal. He had gotten himself checked out, so he wasn't worried. What he didn't know was that the whiplash from George's blow had caused damage that wasn't readily apparent when he had gotten himself checked out the first time.

The headaches had gotten worse over the next week and now Patrick found it hard to concentrate on anything else. Instead of going to Clio's where he would have been immediately distracted by a frantic Nicholas who would have informed him Clio was missing, he turned his phone off and went home.

He felt dizzy and sick and when he walked in the door he didn't cheerfully announce his presence like he usually did. Instead he went immediately to collapse on the sofa and then he grunted loudly to let people know he was home.

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George got up and headed to the kitchen, passing by Wrath. He nudged her gently with his hip and laid a quick kiss on her cheek before grabbing a water bottle.

"It's not your fault, Patty," George said when he returned to his brother. "You're sick, that's not your fault."

It's yours, whispered a little voice in George's head that he was fairly sure was his conscience.

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Wrath patted George on the ass as he walked away and then she dug out something to clean up the sick with.

Patrick reached for the water bottle and he drank quite a bit of it to try to wash his mouth out. "Augh, I hope the water stays down. I ruined your snack," Patrick said, lamenting. George's popcorn was still in the microwave.

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"You're fine," George said, rubbing Patrick's back. "I can always make more."

When the ambulance finally arrived, George darted around the EMTs like an agitated squirrel as they loaded Patrick onto the stretcher. "Wr-Mona, I'm gonna go with Patrick to the hospital, I'll call you when we get there."

He did not think Wrath's short temper would do well in the waiting room.

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Wrath, relieved she didn't have to go, worked on cleaning up the floor.

Patrick felt like an idiot as people fussed around him, attaching things to him and poking different parts of his body. He hated going to the hospital, though it was because he associated it with shame. He had visited the Emergency Room a lot over the past two decades and always because he had gotten himself into a fight and had ended up getting beaten.

Upset and a little frightened, Patrick reached out for George's hand.

The ride was short and he was unloaded. When they tried to wheel Patrick away from George, Patrick didn't want to let go. "George, I don't want to go," he said, feeling like a ridiculous child.

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George kissed Patrick's knuckles and squeezed his hand. "I'm right here, I'm not going to leave. I'll go back there as soon as they'll let me, I promise."

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And with that he was rushed away from George. He spent the next several hours being loaded into and out of several intimidating machines while the took images of his brain. He endured more poking and prodding and by the time he was finally put in a private room and told his brother would be notified, Patrick was just about ready to cry from pure frustration.

His brain had a bruise on it. All this was caused by a bruise. It was ridiculous. And now he was stuck in the hospital for the night while they tried to relieve pressure on his brain.

Feeling rather pathetic and upset, Patrick waited until George came to see him. He wasn't looking forward to explaining what was happening here. He knew George was going to feel guilty for it.

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George's frown deepened exponentially as he saw Patrick lying in a hospital bed, looking tired and stressed. He wrapped his brother up in a hug immediately, mindful of the IV line and his probable head injury.

"What did they say? Are you all right? Do you need surgery? Do you need food?"

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Patrick was just relieved George was there. He held him close, not really caring about anything else right then.

"They won't let me go home," he pouted. "Not until tomorrow or possibly the next day. It's- George, it isn't your fault."

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George's shoulders slumped, and he squeezed Patrick gently once more time before he sat on the bed next to his brother. "It's your head, huh?"

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He didn't quite know how to say it without making his brother loathe himself. "It- They said the word contusion. They didn't catch it because it formed after I came in the first time. Please, just-" Patrick reached out for him. "Just don't go."

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A contusion. He'd bounced Patrick's brain against the inside of his skull. George bit his own lip hard, almost until it bled.

"I won't go," George said, trying to smile at Patrick. "I called Bridget and Dewi. One of them can come by later tonight, unless you want them to bring the kids."

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"No." Patrick felt absolutely awful, he didn't think he could deal with the twins right now, no matter how much he adored them. "Can you text Clio and let her know where I am? Just tell her I'll be fine, she doesn't have to leave Ella and come down here."

He could tell the guilt was eating at George. "It's just a little swelling, I don't even need surgery." Or he wouldn't as long as they could take care of the swelling now.

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George nodded. "I've texted her. Haven't gotten a response back, probably because Ella's doing something cute."

He rubbed the back of his neck at Patrick's reassurances, picking nervously at the growing raw spot on the back of his head. He figured he was subconsciously trying to dig Envy out. "I put you in danger. I put everyone in danger. It is my fault, Patty."

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"Or she's working," Patrick explained. He wasn't too worried, something he would later feel extreme guilt for.

"If I had punched you because Envy was in my head, would you blame me?" Patrick asked, reached for George's hands. He couldn't see what George was doing to the back of his head, but he could see that his brother was fidgety.

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"No," George sniffled. "But you don't have giant, sibling-punching fists."

Maybe he was being a little ridiculous, but he just felt so bad.

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It was true, George was strong and large and Patrick was small and ridiculous, but that didn't change the motive. "Giant fists or no, this isn't your fault. Stop feeling bad," Patrick poked him in the arm. "My head is swelling. I warned Clio if she kept complimenting me this could happen."

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George snorted, laughing with meaning to. He flopped against the hospital bed dramatically.

"You're really messing up my wallowing by refusing to be mad at me."

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"I'm such an ass," Patrick said wryly. "I can't be mad at you, you're the one being messed with here." Sure his brain was bleeding, but he would be okay. "Did you eat a snack? I ruined your popcorn plans."

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"I had a pastry," George said, hugging Patrick's legs. "It tasted like guilt. Are you sure you're going to be okay? Your brain isn't, like, detached from the rest of you?"

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Patrick looked down on his brother, hardly able to keep the adoration off his face. He idolised George so much and he was thankful this hadn't tarnished that in the least.

"They're doing...something to make the swelling go down. And I didn't have any seizures so it's not serious." He could have if he had let it go on any longer. "I might be able to eat if you found something that wasn't guilt pastries, but only if you have something too." He still felt nauseated but he was hungry and willing to risk it.

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"I'll go find something," George said, rolling off the bed and going down the hall in search of a vending machine. He returned with several bags of chips and a candy bar. "You don't think these will re-swell your brain, right?"

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"I don't think that's how it works," Patrick said, amused. He reached for one of the bags of chips and dug in. "At worst, I'll just vomit it all back up again. Sorry about the floor, by the way."

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"It's your floor too," George said with a shrug, propping himself on the side of the bed. "If you wanted to puke all over it for fun the way Kellan does, you could."

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Patrick chuckled at that, one hand on his head. "I think I can handle not puking for fun. Will you stay until they make you leave?"