Tomorrow | Sanders Sides

Chapter 11

I'm so sorry this has taken so long! So much and been happening in my life, and my inspiration for this fandom/fanfic has been runnning low, but I'm trying, I promise! I'm hoping Thomas releases an episode soon just so I can get back into it, yeah? Anyway, there's only a little bit more to go before this story has concluded and we can move on to the final book!

Enjoy!

Patton had decided that his negative feelings had amassed in a living, writhing thing under his skin. He could feel it when he breathed, pressing against his rib cage and purring in his veins. It burned when he moved, and when he dared to feel, it leapt into a frenzy and he spewed nothing but hurt, and so Patton vowed to feel absolutely nothing at all.

He watched the world around him with a sort of disconnected curiosity, merely observing the events happening without ever really reacting. (Was that how Logan felt? Just sort of...hollow?)

"Morning Virgil," he greeted calmly, finishing up the pancakes. It was breakfast time, but there was no spark in the air. The atmosphere was flat and bland and hollow. Patton noted it down in his mind and then breezed past the fact and simply continued going through the motions. (What a wonderful thing, not feeling.)

Virgil said nothing, as Patton had suspected he would, and simply sat at the table next to a subdued Roman. "Where's Logan?" Roman asked dully, pressing his leg against Virgil's in an imitation of comfort.

Patton frowned. "I'll go find him," he decided. "You two start eating. You have to get your energy up for today!"

He set the plate of food down on the table, leaning close enough to Virgil to hear the muttered, "You're not my Patton."

That angry thing under Patton's skin lurched, and scrabbled through Patton's blood, and for a moment he feared it would burst out of him in an explosion of angry and ouch  and jagged and ugly. Gritting his teeth, Patton grabbed for the monstrous thing and tugged, forcing it back to sleep. He wouldn't be fighting that mess today.

Mechanically, he stepped away from the table and resisted the urge to tell Virgil that 'his Patton' was broken and ugly and gone. Instead, he smiled and vanished with a soft pop. Virgil crinkled his nose at the sharp smell of sour citrus.

.

Patton didn't appear directly in Logan's room. He wasn't sure why he'd decided against the move, but he went with it anyway, too apathetic to really think about it and care. Logan was probably too caught up in work, that was all. Patton had nothing to-

"-im alone, Deceit." Logan's voice was like steel - cold, and sharp, and hard. He was angry. (Logan's anger had always burned cold). "Your pushing has caused monumental changes within the group dynamic. We have a serious situation on our hands."

"Logan," Deceit soothed. "Everything is fine. Patton is just dealing with his issues. Isn't that what you lot all love to do? Work through your issues independently while being extremely angsty?"

There was a thud, as if Logan had slammed his hand against something. Patton bit his lip and adjusted his position to try and hear better. "Patton is not a part of your games.
Virgil and Roman are not a part of your games. I am not a part of your games. Stop meddling, Deceit. Nothing good will come of it."

"My job is to Thomas," Deceit hissed, "not to you."

"And how do you think Thomas will cope with the constant emotional trauma, hm?" There was a tinge of frosted cruelness to Logan's voice now, and Patton felt something sad sputter to life in his chest. "Your meddling sets us off balance, yes, but we are the main aspects of Thomas's personality. How do you think our host will adapt to us being at odds? How well do you think he'll cope with the constant fighting and emotional outbursts and unbalanced emotions?"

"Is this care for Thomas, or concern for your lovely, little Patton?"

It took Logan no time at all to answer, and Patton felt something near his heart splinter. "My host is my priority. Patton's refusal to acknowledge his emotions grows tedious and repetitive."

Patton backed away, already shaking his head. There was a dull roar in his ears, and the writhing, screaming thing under his skin was clawing wildly as waves after wave of devastation drowned Patton's senses. Tedious. Repetitive. Logan thought that.

Logan hadn't learned from Virgil at all.

Patton needed that blanket of icy calm. He needed the hollow silence and the numbness of not feeling. He needed to pretend that Logan hadn't said that, that he hadn't heard that. He needed to forget that he was broken, that he wasn't okay, that he had something wrong with him.

He just needed to not feel. He'd be okay if he just could lock away his emotions.

When he swept back into the kitchen, the cloak of calm was clutched around him tightly, and Patton didn't dare let his fingers hurt from holding on too tight.

Logan didn't join them for breakfast. Patton let his pancakes go cold.

(Logan's anger had always burned cold, cold, cold.)

(Betrayal felt an awful lot like frostbite.)