#italop

Virgil walked into the kitchen one day in mid-April and paused at the door. Patton was the only on in the room. He was standing at the stove cooking, and it wasn’t macaroni and cheese.

“Hey Pat,” Virgil greeted softly after a moment. Patton hummed in response, and Virgil walked to the counter to pour himself a cup of already prepared coffee. His eyes looked over at what Patton was doing; he’d cracked some eggs into a bowl and was whisking them with an actual whisk. As far a Virgil knew, that thing hadn’t been touched since Patton turned as both Logan and Virgil were too lazy to go through the effort of finding, using and cleaning it. (Roman and Remy were even less likely unless Roman had used it as a microphone to sing Disney songs.) He seemed to be doing fine with it, so Virgil turned to leave him be and sit at the table. It was already set, he noticed and there was a pitcher of what looked like orange juice sitting in the center.

He froze halfway there when a voice called out to him. “Virgil?” Patton asked. Virgil knew Patton could speak for real now. Logan had told him that Patton would speak regularly, but he’d only done it when he and Logan were alone. Other than the one “yes” a year ago that had confirmed Patton still actually existed in there, that was the first thing Virgil had ever heard him say.

Virgil had a feeling he shouldn’t make a big deal about that fact. “Yeah Pat?” he asked instead.

“I’m making omelets, but I don’t trust myself with the deer sausage in the refrigerator. Would you mind doing that part for me?”

“Oh, yeah,” Virgil replied. “Of course.” He grabbed the Tupperware container of cooked deer sausage while Patton poured some of the egg mixture into the pre-heated pan. He waited for the eggs to cook a bit before reaching for the cheese and sprinkling a bit over the top.

Then, he took a step away from the pan. “Now,” Patton said.

Virgil opened the Tupperware container of meat. Patton did a full-bodied twitch and pressed his lips into a line, but he didn’t reach for the food. After a moment, he nodded tightly, and Virgil put a bit of the meat on the omelet before shutting the container tight again. Patton was stiff when he moved forward to close the omelet but relaxed marginally when the meat was concealed. He let it cook for a few more minutes and flipped it before putting it on a plate and covering it with another one to keep it warm. He smiled at Virgil and Virgil smiled back.

They repeated the process a few times. Patton’s reaction to the meat was the same every time, but he seemed to be able to handle it. When Virgil wasn’t busy spooning the meat on for Patton, he started making toast.

Logan entered the room when Patton was folding the last omelet and stopped in the doorway. “Good morning,” he said softly.

“Morning, L.”

“Virgil and I made omelets,” Patton said.

Logan promptly forgot Virgil was in the room when he heard Patton’s voice speaking at that volume. He smiled, looking sickeningly bestowed and crossed the room. He hugged him around the waist, leaning his head on Patton’s shoulder. “I can see that,” he replied.

Patton smiled at the touch and bopped him on the nose with the spatula in his hand. “Distraction,” he accused.

“Hmm,” Logan replied into his neck, getting a giggle in return.

“Disgusting,” Virgil commented. “I’m going to go get the others.”

He left them there and made his way to the study, shoving his way into the room past the mattresses that took up most of the space. Remy was already awake on his bed sewing something. Apparently, he’d been in the kitchen already, because he had a cup of coffee next to him. Roman, on the other hand, was still sound asleep in bed. Virgil walked over and kicked him lightly on the foot.

“Wake up,” he said. Roman mumbled something into his pillow. Virgil kicked him harder. “Wake up. Patton cooked us breakfast and you’re going to eat it.”

“I done wan da macaroni,” Roman complained into his pillow.

“It’s not mac and cheese,” Virgil said.

Roman tilted his head to squint up at him.

“Just come and see,” he said.

Roman rolled out of bed after a moment and got to his feet. He stretched while Remy set down the fabric in his hand and then they both followed Virgil to the kitchen.

“Ooo, omelets!” Roman exclaimed, taking a seat in his chair. Apparently, Logan and Patton had managed to resist being mushy for long enough to bring the omelets and toast to the table and set them out for everyone.

Roman started stuffing his face without hesitation, and Virgil rolled his eyes, taking his own seat at the table.

“This is really good!” Roman said, his mouth still full of food.

“Thank you,” Patton replied as he moved to sit down himself.

Roman blinked over at him, his mouth popping open in surprise. Remy reached over to close his mouth for him.

“Good day, Patty?” Remy asked.

Patton nodded, staring intently at his omelet. He reached for his knife and fork and took a bite of his omelet. The tension was clear in his frame.

“You can just eat it Pat,” Virgil said kindly. “No one will judge you.”

Patton mumbled something under his breath and took another pointed bite. Virgil wondered how much effort it took him to not eat food when it was right there in front of him. It looked hard, but he did manage for today at least.

Virgil thought it probably helped that Roman distracted him by blabbering on about the chickens and giving an update on his progress learning the songs in the guitar song book Remy had found.

Patton didn’t say a word through the entire meal, but once all the food was gone, he looked up. “I want to see the garden,” he said to Virgil.

Virgil’s eyes flickered to Logan. They had agreed months ago that it wasn’t a good idea to let Patton go outside in case he got confused, but… things had changed. Slowly, but surely, he had more and more good days and today was a very good day.

“Sure, Pat,” Virgil replied. “That’s fine.

“The three of us will clean up breakfast since you two cooked,” Logan offered. He leaned forward to kiss Patton on the cheek. His eyes flickered between Patton and Virgil. “We’ll be working at the other house if you need me.”

“Okay,” Patton agreed, squeezing his hand before getting to his feet.

Virgil got to his feet as well and offered a hand to Patton. He took it and let Virgil lead him to the back door.

They both stopped when they stepped outside and Patton took a breath, looking out at the garden. “It…” he said softly. He walked down the steps and to the edge of the large garden. Virgil wasn’t done planting everything yet, but many things were planted and the areas that weren’t had been sectioned off and labeled with little signs. “It looks the same,” Patton said. “You even kept my signs.”

“Of course,” Virgil said. “You knew what you were doing, and it didn’t feel right to change anything.”

Patton shook his head and smiled at him ruefully. “You didn’t even know me, Virgil.”

Virgil shrugged and looked at the garden. Things were growing well. The lettuce had been growing quickly this year, and he needed to harvest some more of the rhubarb soon. The asparagus was also starting to come up. They’d be eating well the next few months if everything went to plan. He glanced over at Patton.

“Want to help me today for a bit?” he asked. “I’m planting some potatoes and it would be nice to have someone help dig the rows.

Patton smiled at him, his eyes alight. “I’d love that,” he answered. So, Virgil went and got him one of the hats in the shed (even though he wasn’t sure if zombies got sunburnt), a pair of colorful gloves, and a trowel. Patton took them and, without hesitation, knelt down in the dirt.

Logan stepped out of the second house a few hours after breakfast, leaving Remy to continue moving the furniture in the living room space around to his heart’s content. The house was coming along and should be ready by the winter. They still had a lot to fix, but the first floor was almost livable by now and the fence Logan had erected around the home was up to his standard.

Roman was out back cooing at “The Ladies” and congratulating the things on laying “so many good eggs last week.”

…

Did… were there 5 chickens now? When had Roman found a fifth chicken?

He ignored it for now and walked over to the edge of the smaller fence looking over into the garden behind his house. Patton was there in the garden on his knees, finishing digging a long trench. Logan felt himself smile and walked over to the gate they’d put between the two yards.

“Hi!” Patton said when he caught sight of him. He peeled off his gloves and got to his feet.

“Hello dear,” Logan replied, carefully rubbing a bit of dirt off his cheek. Patton smiled back at him. The sunlight cast soft shadows on his face and his skin felt less cool to the touch than it usually did. Logan’s heart felt incredibly full as Patton leaned his face into Logan’s palm. After a moment, Logan looked around and frowned. “Where’s V-”

“Oh, hell, no!” Virgil said, coming out of the shed with a large bag. “You get the hell out of our garden”

Patton giggled as Logan glared at his friend. “It’s okay, Virgil. I know how to make sure he doesn’t ruin anything.”

Virgil gave them both a skeptical look. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll trust you Patton, but if he destroys-”

“I’m not going to destroy anything!” Logan defended himself.

“I promise, it’ll be fine,” Patton said, laying a quelling hand on Logan’s shoulder.

“Alright,” Virgil agreed. “Fine,” he lifted the bag in his hands and gave Patton a considering look. “You good with the potatoes?” Virgil asked. Patton glared at him. “What? You eat raw meat! Don’t act like I’m being unreasonable.”

“I’ll be able to manage,” Patton promised, and Virgil handed him the bag which Logan saw was filled with pre-cut seed potatoes. Patton turned to Logan. “Come on, my honey bae,” Patton said with a wink. Logan groaned even though that line filled him with nothing buy affection. “Let’s go plant some veggies.”

Logan followed him to the end of the first row and frowned. The rows were not straight or evenly spaced, he noted. Before they could even think about planting something, they needed to…

“The rows are fine, Lo,” Patton told him.

“But…”

“The row goes with the flow of the soil,” Patton said and then pointed the trowel in his hands at him like it was a weapon. “No measuring sticks.”

Logan grumbled about it but forced himself to let it go. He knelt next to Patton in the dirt and grabbed one of the dried potato pieces in the bag. Looking at it, he wasn’t sure if it was good enough. It only had one potato eye when really it should have at least two, preferably three. Not to mention how irregularly it had been cut. Had Virgil not been paying any attention? He should…

“It’s fine, Logan,” Patton said as he placed down his fifth potato piece, barely even looking at it.

“But this one isn’t good enough,” Logan pointed out.

“Logan,” Patton gasped like he’d just insulted a five-year-old child. “Don’t be mean.”

“To the potato?”

“Yes,” Patton said, already getting the next seed potato out of the bag. “Now apologize.”

“To the potato?”

Patton paused in his planting to give Logan a severe look.

Logan sighed and looked at the potato. “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling ridiculous.

“Now tell it you love it,” Patton instructed.

Logan looked up at him. “I love you,” he said.

Patton’s nose crinkled up. “To the potato, silly!”

“Ah, yes, I’m the silly one,” Logan replied before looking down at the potato. “I love you.”

“Now kiss it!”

“Patton.”

“If you kiss it, you can kiss me,” he tempted.

Logan kissed the potato and then set it in on the ground without thought. He leaned forward to kiss Patton soundly on the lips. (A quiet voice in his head reminded him that such an action was likely foolish even if it hadn’t killed him before, but he brushed it away. He wasn’t dead yet.)

“Good job,” Patton said and then moved to cover the seed potatoes with his trowel.

They had made it all the way down that row and the next two before Virgil returned. He had a container full of lettuce under his arm. “Wow,” he said. “You two are making good progress. And Logan hasn’t even dug up something he’s not supposed to yet.”

Logan blushed. “I thought they were weeds,” he grumbled.

“That’s why we have to get to know our plants,” Patton said, holding up a piece of potato to Logan’s lips. Logan distractedly kissed it before he thought about what he was doing.

Virgil almost bent over double cackling. “Is that why your face is dirty, Logan?”

Patton seemed to have no remorse for what he’d just done. Instead, he plopped the just kissed potato into the ground and started covering it up with dirt.

Virgil was still chuckling. “I’m going to take this inside and then look at harvesting some rhubarb. You two okay to finish the rest of it?”

Patton sent him a thumbs up, already getting to work on the next row.

They continued in that way with Virgil walking back and forth to the kitchen with different harvested plants every so often. Eventually, they ran out of space to plant and Patton sat back on his knees to look over the rows of potatoes he’d just planted. He was covered in dirt. There was a large smudge of it near the side of his eye and a lighter one across the bridge of his nose. His freckles, which Logan hadn’t clearly seen in years, popped out a bit in the sun. There was a small smile on his face as he looked at what he’d accomplished over the last few hours. Assuming Patton truly had been able to counteract Logan’s lack of a green thumb, the ground there should spring to life soon. Logan couldn’t wait to see his face when it did.

Virgil wandered over too look with them, placing a hand on Patton’s shoulder. “How’re you feeling Pat?”

How was he feeling? Patton thought. His hands were covered in dirt despite the gloves he’d been wearing as he worked all morning. He was in his garden which had bloomed without him the last two springs. Except it hadn’t, he thought, his eyes on the sign in front of the quickly growing lettuce. He couldn’t read it, but he knew it said, “Romain Calm.” The garden hadn’t bloomed without him completely. Virgil had managed to keep a part of Patton in it, at least a little bit. He could hear Roman and Remy chatting softly in the other yard and could feel Virgil’s hand on his shoulder. Logan’s warmth next to him sunk into his skin, and there was a weight in his pocket from a ring he’d been keeping there since he’d remembered it existed. He didn’t think it was time to bring it out. Not yet. Maybe when the potatoes they’d just planted finished growing. Logan moved to take his hand when he hesitated, and Patton smiled over at him.

How’re you feeling?

“Alive,” Patton said, and he was.

(If you are using a screen reader, please read this on AO3 which I have linked here. There is a part of this chapter that would mess with a screen reader. So, I have an edited copy that is the same with a briefer description of that part.)

Patton booted up his 60s and 70s playlist on his phone and paused to listen for a few seconds, hoping it would put a little pep in his step. He’d gotten up about an hour later than he usually did with the beginnings of a major headache, but he was hoping he could ignore it and push through. He didn’t bother to boot up his laptop, instead just going through and responding to the most pressing work emails on his phone. His eyes were already straining after that short task, so he closed them and let the phone fall to his chest, trying to focus on the music still coming through the speakers.

He woke up 5 hours later. The headache had not abated, in fact, it had only grown worse. He coughed, hoping the tickle in his throat was just from it being dry and he wasn’t getting sick. He and Lo had plans for the weekend.

The plan had been to do most of the chores today so their weekend would be free; it was half of the reason he was working from home today, but he might have to do an abridged list. The vacuuming and dusting could wait a bit yet and Logan and he could tag team the dishes from this morning when they cleaned up after dinner. Laundry had to be done today if he wanted something to wear tomorrow, but that wasn’t too hard of a task. He also should probably water the plants, especially the one by the armchair; it looked a little dry. Then, he should cook something for dinner before Logan got home. His head throbbed. Maybe just something simple.

He gritted his teeth and sat up. It’s easy, Patton, he told himself, water the plants, do the laundry, cook. It was a short list. He could do it.

Okay.

Gather the laundry. Patton had left two of his cardigans strewn about the living room and dining room, so he picked those up on his way to get the laundry from the bathroom upstairs. He put everything into a basket before heading to the laundry room and starting the first load.

Water the plants. He grabbed a pitcher and filled it with water. He started making the rounds but got distracted by one of the Beatle songs that started playing. He was reminded of what he was supposed to be doing when the washing machine buzzed.

Switch the laundry. He took the laundry in the washer and put it in the dryer before adding another load. Then he went back into the living room.

Finish watering the plants. Had he watered the plant in the corner? He couldn’t remember, but even if he had, the plant had been a bit neglected so watering it twice shouldn’t hurt. He watered the plant and then sat down on the couch again.

His headache was getting worse.

He needed to cook something for dinner.

Something really simple then. The washing machine buzzed again while he was thinking about what to make.

Laundry. He grabbed the first load out of the dryer and switched the others. He tossed one of his cardigans on the couch. He figured he’d probably want it later since he’d started to go through phases of hot and cold in the last 30 minutes or so. He stared at the laundry and managed to fold a couple of the important pieces before deciding that was enough for the moment.

Cook. He walked into the kitchen and stumbled when the headache suddenly increased. Black spiderwebs spread out over his vision and he fell, hitting his head on the countertop. He gasped in surprise and pain as he crumpled onto the floor, holding his head. He felt hot all over and cold at the same time suddenly. The cough returned, shaking him completely. He tasted blood.

This was not normal.

He grabbed his phone from his pocket and wasn’t sure if he was having trouble reading the numbers because of whatever was wrong with him or because of the panicked tears building in his eyes. He managed to dial 911 with shaky fingers. He wasn’t sure how he was able to so calmly wait for the operator to answer and then explain what was happening to the best of his abilities. He gave his address and told her he was in the kitchen.

He made the mistake of trying to get back to his feet and sit in one of the kitchen chairs while he waited for the ambulance to arrive. He did manage to make it to his feet, but then everything went black.

He woke briefly to strangers touching him. He did not like it. Paramedics, his brain supplied. He tried to tramp down the overwhelming instinct to struggle against the restraints on him. He’d been strapped to a gurney he assumed, and there was something boxing in his neck. A woman’s face lent over him.

“Hey, there,” she said. “Patton, right? Try not to move,” she requested, as he was being wheeled out of his front door toward the ambulance. “It’ll be fine.” Ironic last words to hear before you die. Ironic last words to say before you die too.

The other paramedic, a man that had been wheeling Patton out of his house, looked up at something behind the woman with a confused, pinched expression. Then, the woman screamed. Blood and bits of flesh splattered all over Patton. The other paramedic screamed too a moment later as the person or thing that had attacked turned its attention on him, dropping the woman’s dead body so it slumped against the gurney and Patton for a moment before sliding slowly down, leaving the feeling of wet, warm blood against Patton’s front and side.

Patton was never touched by the person who had attacked. After all, what would be the point of the virus targeting him when he’d already been infected the day before.

He died 10 minutes later.

…

Sort of.

He awoke (in a way) sometime later. Though, it is perhaps strange to say he woke as his eyes had not been closed and he was somewhat aware that his body had been moving for a long time before then. There was something around his middle and out out out raged at the back of his skull, but that is not what had woken him. No, what had woken him was a much too warm touch on his cold face and the harsh black tingling feeling that crawled like ants up his throat to settle between his teeth.

Patton did not like that feeling. He tried to yank away from it both physically and mentally. Physically there was not far to go as he was still strapped down, but mentally he jerked hard on that foreign desire pulling at him and it retreated a bit. For all the hissing wildness of the urge and his own fractured brittleness of consciousness, it was easy to rein in the instinct and make it freeze in place. Like Patton was a dying tree and it was a balloon whose string got caught in his branches.

The soft touch on his face retreated and what Patton recognized as words were said though none of them settled in Patton’s head enough for him to make sense of them. Soon he felt more touch near where he was restrained. He felt himself squirm without meaning or wanting to. Soon enough, he was free and like a puppet on a string, his body sat up. Then…

Touch. Touch, touch, touch.

It was not something Patton chose to do, in fact he was flickering in and out so much, he didn’t think he could have done it if he’d tried, but his hands were reaching for the warm thing in front of him and grabbing at it. Yet, the touch was soft; that was okay, Patton decided.

After a moment, Patton got soft touches in return, warm hands on his face and careful hands pushing Patton’s own away a bit. There were more words, quick things that left no impressions. Eventually, he was pulled forward with his whole front against the warmth and his mouth was pressed up against something hard and bony like someone’s wrist. He turned his head away a bit displeased with the feel of the thing over his mouth, but he allowed the warmth against most of his front to say. Safe, he thought. Whatever the warmth and soft touches were, they were safe. Safe enough that, while he made sure to keep a good mental grip on the bad instincts still wiggling in his head, he felt like it was okay to fade into nothing once again. He thought he could hear crying as he went.

For a long time after that, he was nothing more than a ghost haunting his own flesh. He barely existed, but for the brief moments he flickered into consciousness to shove the prickling instinct inching in his mouth and throat firmly away.

Other than that, the aching out out out caused by the constant restraints keeping him tethered to the wall, mostly kept him from thinking. He’d tune in sometimes when Soft Touch came to talk to him, but quickly faded away knowing he was safe. Perhaps he did not like the things that held him down, but he knew it was okay. He was okay and that was enough.

Then, suddenly, there was a voice. Soft Touch came with a voice too which always settled familiarly around him, but he was used to it enough that he never paid it much mind. This voice was different though. It had a certain candidness to it and was a bit lower. At the beginning it often rumbled a bit like a growl, but over time it started to soften around the edges, growing kind. It spoke to him a lot and the newness pulled Patton into trying to listen to it more sometimes when he was slightly awake.

One time, after the kind voice had visited and left and visited many times, it suddenly came closer. Things were pressed against him and he did not like that and tried to pull away as much as he could, but then they stopped. Kind Voice spoke from right in front of him for a long time and Patton tried to listen.

“Garden.”

He thought he liked that word. He wasn’t sure why.

He faded back to sleep with that word in his head.

Things were new but not new then as he was taken somewhere different and allowed to be there a lot of the time. The new place was familiar, but he had trouble clinging to why. It was easier to flicker in every so often when he was not tied down, just to see. Couch. Chair. Picture. Table. Plate. They weren’t really thoughts, just acknowledgments of things and a slight feeling of familiarity whenever he woke. They drifted away rather quickly.

Eventually, random things would drag him momentarily into consciousnesses with a real almost thought.

A piece of paper: I need to send that birthday card.

A dropped piece of cheese on the floor: I really should sweep up soon.

A spoon: No, I do NOT want the tomatoes.

The plant.

Plant?

But nothing really kept him there for long.

Armchair. Good. Soft. There was a clinking from the kitchen and Patton got to his feet, intrigued by whatever had made that, but something tugged him back when he got a couple of feet away. He turned on the thing in agitation, but then stopped short when his eyes landed on the plant in the corner.

Water the plants. It’s easy Patton. Water the plants. Did he water the plant in the corner? Water the plant. Why was he tied to his armchair? Plant.

Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant. Plant.

A sound, words, snapped him out of the looping. Then there was a smarting of pain and a crash. Then. Get. He bit back the bad instinct as he heard Kind Voice making displeased sounds under him.

Eventually things settled, the plant gone from his mind.

For a while.

Patton jerked back into consciousness abruptly as the bad instinct flared up more intensely than it ever had before. Prey, it seemed to say, and it is asleep. It is vulnerable.

Patton pulled back so hard on the instinct that he almost choked on it, and it dissolved away in his hands. It faded away completely for the first time in forever.

Patton came to with one arm outstretched and a knee on the bed. After a moment of just being there, he completed the motion he hadn’t started and softly touched the sleeping face in front of him with careful fingertips.

Logan.

Exhausted, he crumpled into their bed and was asleep in a matter of seconds.

Patton eventually started to linger nearer to the surface sometimes. He was not quite there, but at the same time something was there. If that thing was Patton, he wasn’t quite sure. It was a strange bridge between the nothing that was usually there and Patton. When there were distractions around, people moving and talking and touching him, he found himself slipping away in the confusion, but when all was quiet, and he was left along with nothing but fractures of thoughts…

His feet stumbled down the steps in the dark. Need to. Have to. Something. Something. Something.

Plant.

Water the plant.

It did not matter that the plant was no longer there, swept up after its pot was broken weeks before.

It was okay. It didn’t have to be there for Patton to pour water where it once was. Patton wasn’t really there either, after all.

There was a sweater on the back of the couch.

Do the laundry.

He took the sweater to the laundry room and put it in the washer. He pushed the button and was unconcerned when it didn’t make a sound.

…

Had he watered the plant?

Night.

Water the plant.

Laundry in the washer goes into the dryer.

Plant. Where is the plant?

…

Water the plant.

Get the laundry out of the dryer. Too tired to fold. It’s okay, he’ll be cold soon anyway. He’ll just put it down here on the couch... side table... chair.

Wait… whose hoodie is this?

Water the plant.

Again and again and again and again. Like a broken record: round and round. Sometimes he could almost figure out the puzzle before the pieces slipped away.

Patton had been upstairs, his mind drifting to the laundry, but the laundry basket wasn’t where it was supposed to be. He’d been staring at the place it should have been in the bathroom for hours, contemplating the empty space, when there was a loud bang from downstairs. Soon after, there were loud voices, a couple of which he did not recognize. He faded into the background a bit as he was drawn to the noises on instinct.

He didn’t stir again until one of the new voices spoke directly to him.

“Is there anyone alive in there?” a man Patton did not recognize asked. He looked angry and spiteful, but Patton was always good at seeing people’s emotions for what they really were. He was scared. He was scared of Patton, Patton somehow knew, and Patton had never liked people being scared of him. He expected Patton to hurt him, but Patton knew he wouldn’t even when he wasn’t really him anymore. Even if it took up what was left of himself to make it be so. Patton blinked to clear the fogginess at the edge of his vision and looked at the man in front of him.

Is there anyone alive in there?

Yes.

“Yes,” Patton said. Then, he was gone again.

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In the weeks that followed the macaroni revelation, Logan and Virgil kept a closer eye on the zombie in their home. They intended to keep him upstairs all the time, but a problem with this goal quickly arose. That is, Patton did not want to be upstairs all the time. Logan had even tried keeping him on his leash, but it quickly became apparent that, while Patton certainly hadn’t been able to get off the leash before, he very much could now. Logan had gone to sleep with him tied to a chair one night and had woken up with him in their bed, the leash still tied to the chair, but no longer attached to Patton.

For a while, he and Virgil traded off on watching Patton duty, but they quickly became exhausted and it seemed the moment they took their eyes off him, he was down the stairs to hold staring contests with Roman and Remy. They eventually gave up and let him do what he wanted. Apparently, he wanted to have not-quite conversations with Roman which always managed to make Logan’s blood pressure spike, but Roman would just chatter away while Patton stood there not reacting. Somehow, Roman never suspected anything was amiss and Logan eventually forced himself to relax about it and did his best to get on with life.

It was about a month after Roman and Remy first arrived. Patton was upstairs as it was still early morning and he’d been asleep when Logan had woken, and Logan was watching and silently judging Virgil as he started ripping up the couch once again. “Ugh, where is it?” Virgil asked.

Logan sighed heavily. “Did you honestly lose your hoodie again?” he asked.

“I swear! I swear I put it on the couch last night. Seriously, I didn’t touch it afterwards.”

“And yet, the fact that it isn’t there indicates otherwise.”

Virgil glared at him with a couch cushion in his hands. “You know, you’re kind of a dick sometimes.”

“What’s going on?” Remy asked, chewing on a hunk of bread as he exited the kitchen.

“You know you’re a monster, right?” Roman spoke up from where he was currently laying on the floor on the other side of the room. “There’s jam and honey in the kitchen. Why would you choose to eat plain bread? You didn’t even toast it.”

Remy just rolled his eyes and flipped him off.

“I lost my hoodie,” Virgil said. “Have you seen it?”

“Mmm, nope,” Remy replied, before stuffing the rest of the bread into his mouth. “But I lost my sweatshirt too so tell me if you find mine while you’re looking.”

“Please don’t talk with your mouth full,” Logan said, his face screwed up with his displeasure.

“Wait,” Virgil said. “Your sweatshirt’s gone too? When did that happen?”

Remy swallowed his food and shrugged. “I left it on the armchair last night and it was gone in the morning.”

“Weird,” Virgil said. “I left my hoodie on the couch last night and it was gone in the morning.”

“Ask Patton,” Roman suggested. “I heard him up and about last night again. Maybe he grabbed them.”

“No,” Logan replied, “That’s…” Ridiculous is what he’d been about to say, but then he paused and locked eyes with Virgil. Logan thought for a long moment. “Laundry,” he said softly.

“What?” Virgil asked.

“There was half folded laundry in the living room and blood in the kitchen,” he said distantly.

He turned on his heel and walked out of the room. “Hey, Logan, wait, what are you talking about?” Logan ignored Virgil in favor of continuing down the hall past the steps into a room he hadn’t used since before the outbreak. He heard Virgil and the others follow him and gather near the door to the small laundry room. He flipped open the lid to the washing machine and reached inside. “Is this the sweatshirt you were looking for?” he asked Remy.

Remy took it from him. “Yeah,” he confirmed. “Why was it in there?”

“Laundry and cooking,” Logan said in response. “He was… I believe Patton may have… gotten confused and was performing chores as he would before the outbreak.”

“Oh…” Remy replied.

Logan turned back to the washing machine and pulled out a different article of clothing before holding it out to Virgil. Virgil blinked and then snatched it away, his mouth open in surprise and possibly a small amount of outrage. “Apologize to me,” he demanded.

“…There is no way that I could have known.”

“Apologize!”

Logan pursed his lips. “I apologize.”

“Heck yeah, you apologize,” Virgil said. Then he blinked down at his hoodie. “H-how long has this been going on?”

It was a good question and, while Logan wasn’t sure of the exact date, it quickly became clear that the answer was a while.

There were small things he hadn’t noticed until he looked for them: doors in different positions then they were left, clothing moved about in drawers, the faces of the stuffed animals in the closet sometimes in different places.

Yet the most notable thing was when he’d come downstairs almost 3 months after Roman and Remy showed up to see a bucket in the corner of the living room by the armchair. “I think Patton got a bit confused again last night,” Roman explained when he asked. “I saw him pouring water in the corner, so I put a bucket there. That way it didn’t get anything wet.”

Logan cast his mind back through the months to when the water first started to appear. How much had he missed or looked over with Patton, he wondered. This, whatever it was, had been going on since last December at least as that’s when he’d first noticed the “leak.”

He had no idea what any of it meant.

God, it was really hot today, Virgil thought. Usually he didn’t like to have idle hands, even now, in the middle of July, he was always preparing for the winter, but today it was just too hot for working in any capacity and everyone else seemed to agree. Virgil was currently sprawled out across the couch, his feet over Patton’s lap, Logan was reading a book in the armchair and Remy was laying face down on the floor.

All day, Roman had been messing around with a guitar they’d found on a scavenging trip a couple of weeks ago. He seemed to have finally actually gotten it in tune and was singing some Disney song. Virgil was loath to admit it, but it was actually pretty nice just laying there listening even if, every so often, Patton would make some guttural humming sounds and shift around, trying to get to Roman and the noises he was making. Virgil always pushed down with his feet to keep him on the couch.

Roman finished the song and strummed idly for a few moments. Patton made more sounds in response. Suddenly, Roman snapped his fingers making Virgil jump and look over at him. “‘Here Comes the Sun!’” he exclaimed.

“What?” Virgil asked, squinting at him.

“That’s what he’s been humming all day!” Roman explained. “Ever since I sang ‘Yellow Submarine’! Do you like The Beatles, Patton?” Roman asked.

Virgil was 99% sure Roman was reading way too far into the sounds Patton had been making. Patton always made sounds when people around him were being noisy. Yet, before Virgil could even think of a way to respond, Roman was already on his knees in front of Patton and had started singing softly.

Virgil had to pause because, okay, yeah, maybe he could hear a bit of a resemblance to the noises Patton had been making recently. He watched as Patton reached for Roman like he reached for every moving thing that entered his vicinity, but Roman took it as something that it wasn’t and grabbed his wrist, yanking the man to his feet and almost topping Virgil off the couch.

Virgil panicked and tried to reach out to stop the disaster in progress, but he was too slow, and Patton was already being spun around the room in Roman’s arms as he continued to sing. He saw Logan jump to his feet as well, his book landing on the floor with a thump, but both of them paused when there was a laugh.

Patton was… giggling? Even Roman stopped spinning around to look at him in surprise. He continued to giggle for a few moments and then his face dropped, and his laughter turned to sobs.

“Oh god,” Roman said, horrified, stepping away from him with his hands raised. “I’m so sorry.”

Logan was across the room in an instant, pulling Patton into his arms as Patton full on started to wail.

“I’m sorry,” Roman repeated in a whisper.

“Don’t be,” Logan chocked, and Virgil knew why. It was because if there had been any doubts that there was something left of Patton alive in the form that had shambled around the house for the last couple of years, they were all wiped away the instant you looked at his face right now. Chin trembling and lips pulled taunt, he cried so hard he was shaking with it. Tears poured down his face and splattered on his hands still half raised from where Roman had been gripping them, and the way his breaths rasped was different than the sound of every rattling breath Virgil had ever heard from him. That was a person, 100%. And he knew what was happening at least in this moment. There was no doubt in Virgil’s mind.

“Hi Patton,” Logan said softly, his own tears quickly pooling in his eyes. He reached up to wipe away a few of the tears on Patton’s face. “It’s okay dear. Shh.” Patton reached for him, but not in the mindless way he always did. Instead of scraping against his cheeks again and again, he grabbed Logan’s face between his palms and pulled his head down, so their foreheads brushed together. “Oh, hello my love. Hello. Look at you!” He pressed a kiss to the corner of Patton’s eye and another to his cheek. Logan continued to murmur soft words and started to rock the man back and forth as both of them cried.

“Come on,” Virgil said to the other two who were starting at the scene in confusion. “We should probably give them some privacy.”

Remy pushed himself up to his feet and grabbed Roman’s wrist pulling him from the room into the kitchen.

They all stared at each other for a few minutes. “So…” Remy said. “Like, is he actually a zombie or what?”

Roman gave him a confused look.

“I honestly don’t even know anymore,” Virgil said.

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The day Roman danced with Patton marked a big change in the house. Remy had basically already figured out what was going on with Patton (or at least as much as one could given Logan and Virgil didn’t quite understand it themselves), but it came as a surprise to Roman… somehow. Virgil had worried on the first day about Roman’s reaction considering his initial behavior when he’d met Patton, but much like Virgil had, Roman had managed to get attached. Zombie or not, Roman had decided Patton was his friend. The explanation of just what exactly was going on had come with some awkwardness, but not violence and life quickly moved on.

Once the secret was out and neither of them had an extreme negative reaction, their guests began to crest the barrier between guests and residents in the house. Logan began to devote time to thinking up a more permanent solution than just having the two crash on the floor of the study. For now, they had found usable mattresses and dragged them home to set up a temporary third bedroom in the study, but Logan had been making plans to renovate the house next door and build an attachment between the two so they would have more space. He’d already spent some of the summer constructing a sturdier fence around the neighboring house and planned on working on building more solar panels for its roof in the basement during the winter.

The division of labor became a lot easier too with the addition of two people. Scavenging was much easier, allowing Logan to get the supplies for the aforementioned solar panels as well as other supplies from more difficult to break into places. Remy and Roman were actually quite practiced at not dying in more risky situations since they’d started in a city.

Remy knew a bit about tech, having worked in a theater and jury-rigged a few things like microphones and lights in his day. Though he didn’t know as much about stuff as Logan, he knew enough basics that Logan was able to teach him things about maintaining and fixing the generators and other things around the house.

Roman, meanwhile, was good at hunting in both the traditional way and in the Roman-did-you-really-just-catch-a-chicken-with-your-bare-hands sort of way. They now had 3 chickens which they’d set up a coop for in the other house’s backyard.

Both Roman and Remy could sew pretty well which took some of the load off of Virgil and they could help in the garden some (Logan was still not allowed anywhere near it).

Virgil still often found himself panicking about the fast approaching winter, but they had even more supplies than the year before even counting the two extra mouths. So, overall, everything had changed for the better.

And then, there was Patton.

Patton had good days and bad days, but even the bad days were in stark contrast to what he’d been like a year ago. It’s like something had been triggered in him, and once he’d figured out how to follow the path to consciousness, it became easier to do so by the day.

On good days, Virgil imagined an outsider wouldn’t ever guess what he was. He wasn’t 100% normal, but most people would have no trouble saying he was a person. He still never spoke (except reportedly to Logan sometimes when they were alone), but he did react to what they said and seemed to understand. He smiled at Roman when he played him a song and tilted his head when Virgil spoke softly to him. There were entire passive aggressive arguments about the décor between him and Remy as both moved everything from furniture to decorations around sometimes behind each other’s back… and sometimes while making unflinching eye contact. Virgil thought they were having fun. Maybe?

There was a day in late August after the temperature had finally broken and it wasn’t boiling hot anymore where Virgil came down to find every blanket and pillow in the house had been brought to the living room and piled on and around the couch. Virgil at first had thought it was another malfunction and Patton was confused, but it was clear by how Logan reacted that it was in fact just a Patton thing. Roman had taken the blankets and constructed a fort for him which they’d both proceeded to spend the rest of the day in talking (well, Roman did the talking) about musicals and Disney movies.

Then, there were a few times where Virgil had caught him staring at a full cup of water sitting in the armchair. He’d sheepishly pretend like he’d gotten the water to drink it and Virgil let him.

Virgil’s hoodie just as often ended up folded outside his bedroom door in the mornings as it ended up in the washing machine and sometimes Patton would even come find him and hand it to him.

They hid the macaroni and cheese and woke to the entire loaf of bread that had been on the counter gone and cold grilled cheeses in the refrigerator. They put the macaroni back.

And on his best days when he came downstairs and poured himself a glass of juice from the refrigerator, he’d shoot a smile at Virgil and go off to find Logan. Virgil would often find them later smashed into the armchair together with Patton’s head on his shoulder while Logan read a book to him out loud.

The good days were become slightly more frequent as the months pushed on, but today was a bad day.

He’d been very confused and mostly unresponsive all day, but there was still something there in his eyes even today. Virgil glanced over as he removed the last jar of canned strawberries in this batch from the pressure cooker on the stove and set it on a dishtowel to cool. He’d been taking inventory earlier and some of the older cans that needed to be used soon were on the kitchen table including a jar of pickles.

Patton was staring at that jar intently as though it held the secrets of the universe. “Do you want a pickle, Patton?” Virgil asked. There wasn’t much of a response except for maybe a flicker of his eyelashes. However, the fact that he seemed to connect the sealed container with one of his favorite snacks did say something good about his object permanence.

Virgil passed the card table he’d set up for the earlier batches of cans to the kitchen table and grabbed the jar. He quickly took out one of the pickles and closed the can back up tight so the man wouldn’t try to eat all the contents in one go. He placed the pickle down in front of Patton. He immediately grabbed it and Virgil quickly turned away, so he wouldn’t have to watch that. When he looked back, the pickle was gone, and Patton had placed his chin on the table to once again stare at the jar intently.

“You just keep doing that buddy,” Virgil said before turning back to his canning station on the counter. He’d been working all day and this next batch would be his last. He started spooning the pre-prepared strawberries into the jars as he heated the water back up in the pressure cooker. He heard Patton shifting around but didn’t pay him much mind, too engrossed in his task. Annoyingly, it ended up that he was about half a can short on his mixture. He must have filled one of the earlier batches too full and now everything was uneven. It wasn’t a big deal, but still irritating. He’d just placed the last lid on when a hand suddenly appeared next to him and he jumped.

Honestly, one would think he’d be used to Patton randomly reaching for him by now. Except, unlike what usually happened, the hand went for one of the jars from the last batch instead of for Virgil himself. There was a quiet pop before the jar was set down again with its lid off. Virgil blinked at him. He blinked back and then wandered away. Virgil’s eyes followed him which is when he saw the card table. Every single jar was open.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me Patton.” Patton gave him a curious head tilt, looked at the dozens of opened cans, and then looked back at him.

Virgil put his head down on the counter and let out a long, loud groan. He was actually impressed by own his lung capacity.

There were footsteps from the living room after about 15 seconds of sustained groaning. “What happened?” Logan asked.

“I just wasted an entire day on canning is what just happened,” Virgil sighed, gesturing to the many, many open cans.

Logan’s presence in the room seemed to pull Patton in and he walked up to him, kind of bumping into his front. Logan’s arms came up to hug him softly, and he rubbed his back a bit. Virgil watched as, after a moment, Patton tilted his head a bit to angle his mouth towards Logan’s ear. Virgil raised an eyebrow at that. Logan hummed after a few seconds and pressed a kiss to the top of Patton’s head. “It’s okay, love. I’ll help Virgil clean it up for you. You don’t have to worry.”

Virgil blinked. “Yeah, no, it’s fine Pat,” he was quick to reassure. “I get it. You’re good. It’s just a few cans.”

“How about I take you upstairs and you can lay down for a bit?” Logan offered. Patton nodded. “Alright, I’ll be down in a few minutes,” Logan said to Virgil before starting to guide Patton upstairs.

“You will not,” Virgil muttered, knowing it would be at least an hour, maybe two before he could pull himself away. Yet, he was more amused than annoyed at that fact. Virgil turned to look at the state the kitchen was in as they disappeared up the stairs. “Well, I guess I get one more chance to make sure the strawberry levels are even in all of the cans.”