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There was a bell sounding like a twinkle of stars carried around in the translucent wings of fairies, coming from outside the cottage, and Gerard sprung up from their seat, a frantic look of panic on their face.

“Shit! It’s my brother.” They hissed, turning their head to look over the open space of the sunroom.

“Great.” Patrick drawled out sarcastically with a roll of eyes, crossing his arms and tapping his foot in annoyance. It was bad enough dealing with one, but now there appeared to be two of them.

He watched as they hurried around, pushing the evidence of his summoning anywhere they could fit to hide. Annoyance turned to full blown offense when the salt that made up the circle with his invocation sigils was swiped into a dustpan. Patrick loathed the composition but still, its deserved more respect than a fucking dustpan. He could see leaves and hairs still in that thing, for Satan’s sake!

“Quick, quick, quick.” Gerard urged, as he kicked the ancient copy of Clavicula Salomonis.

Seemed like they had gotten their elvish hands on one of the well copied Latin versions. Those had a few working conjurations on them, and were overall a pain in the ass. Patrick thought he had gotten rid of all the legit ones in the early 14th century, when suddenly a broad arrange of nobodies were summoning him out of the blue all day long.

Great.

“On the cauldron!” They gestured to the cauldron in question, ancient, with the iron black and full of grooves in its worn down, frenzied as they checked the place for any incriminating evidence of black magic.

“Excuse me?” He hissed back, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. Surely this low grade, wannabe warlock, is not asking him to get into a cauldron.

“Please, please get into the cauldron.” They begged, looking desperate.

“I’m not getting into the fucking cauldron!” He seethed, “Also. I wouldn’t fucking fit!”

“You can transform yourself, right? Be a snake, curl up in there. Just until my brother goes away. Please.”

“I am a Lord of Hell. I have commanded legions choke full of the most vile, despicably depraved demons the fiery pits of damnation can conceive.” He argues with hatred, face twisted inhumanly, eyes glowing, the very same fires he came from rising from his stomach to engulf his very presence.

“You can be Lord of Hell in the cauldron, maybe?” Gerard suggests gently, wincing like it pains them but still trying to coax the demon towards the pot.

The chiming bells sounded again, impatient, and it was only the force of the binding spell that moved Patrick towards the damn thing.

He wasn’t going down without a fight, though, so he stepped into it, but all the while muttering angrily to let Gerard know his displeasure.

“Fucking summonings. It wasn’t enough with the witches, now I also have to deal with fucking elfs? Just dandy. I am a busy entity, you know? Seemssso fucking eassy being commander of the undead armies, but you deal with the goddamn paperwork, being interrupted by half asssed invocationss and whatnot-” His voice grew more hissing, until his form wasn’t any longer a man standing ridiculously inside of a medium sized witch cauldron (not owned by a witch) but rather a white snake with red eyes barely dirtied by the ashes inside. Did the elf just never clean that thing?

Meanwhile, Gerard opened the front door to find a frown on their brother’s face.

“What took you so long?” He complained before they could say hello, or anything for that matter.

“Uh…” They faltered under Mikey’s scrutiny, “I was summoning a demon?”

With a click of his tongue and a roll of eyes, Mikey pushed past them into the house.

“Whatever.” He said sarcastically, going straight through towards the kitchen.

“The other night,” He clears his throat, Way’s spoon has stopped hitting the sides of the cup, his eyes are sharply focusing on him as he speaks, “The other night I dreamt of pearly white gates. They didn’t let me in.”

Way blinks, as if expecting a continuation. There is none. So he lifts his eyebrows and takes in a deep breath.

“Right. Well, that, my friend, is what I like to call a prophetic dream.” He smiled tightly, letting go of the silver spoon to rest back against his chair. “Me myself I’m well versed in the matter of prophetic dreaming as you may already know. However, can’t say I’ve ever dreamt about not going to heaven particularly. Funny that.”

“Funny not entering heaven?” Patrick wasn’t looking at him actually, too busy focused on the peeling wallpaper by his side, but he could feel Way’s gaze on him, assessing him with narrowed eyes.

“Funny having never dreamt about it. Taken for granted as it is.” Way’s tongue brushed his upper lip and a frown grew on his factions. “Because you were aware that you weren’t entering the pearly whites, weren’t you?”

Patrick rose his eyebrows nonchalantly and decided then that the tea was there for a reason, so he took a sip and held his eye contact with the wall. “Suppose not”

Just for the sake of contradiction, Way took an energizing breath and relieved himself from the frown. “One can never know nowadays, suppose if you repent from any and all bad right before stepping over… might as well get drafted on Peter’s list.”

At that Patrick’s gaze slid slowly back over to him, blinking dazedly at Gerard. “You think our sins can be pardoned?”

“Our sins?” He tasted the syllables on his tongue, making sure they were awry and tangible, that they are the same ones that were produced by Patrick. Then Gerard snorted humorlessly, shook his head and reached for his cup. “You, are unsalvagable, Patrick Stump. No man nor god would be able to help that putrid thing in your chest that I dare call soul. Whatever’s happened to that heart of yours that I’ve never known, you’ve made well sure it’s unredeemable, haven’t you, darling? And yet you come to me asking about golden gates and salvation.”

it looks like it would use doble slap and hit 5 times

xmen canonically making jfk a mutant has got to be queer history

Honestly, Patrick wasn’t surprised.

Impressed? A bit, admittedly. Surprised? Not particularly.

From the start, it had been blatantly obvious that Mikey was up to something. There was no other reason for him to ask his brother from a battle other than some hidden plot.

As soon as he and Pete had touched down, back from their latest expedition through Sinnoh, he had made this big show of selling Gerard on how cool a battle would be, as if the ex-champion needed any convincing. 

Gerard hadn’t noticed the sharp smile stretching Mikey’s face, spelling a hidden agenda. Too ecstatic about his usually uninterested brother asking for a battle, to think about how weird the request of a 1 on 1 from him was.

He had been too busy cooing at the idea of an Espeon vs. Jolteon, and the poetics of it all to notice the electric type in question, sitting by Patrick’s feet with no intention of joining her trainer on the opposite side of the makeshift field.

Mikey threw a friend ball onto the field, the pokemon inside sprouting out in the air with the usual pop and rush.

In the sidelines, Ray gasped and Patrick, just as shocked, rubbed his face.

“Oh, Arceus…”

Azelf tilted its head curiously at Espeon who had backed down from her battle stance the second he noticed the hush falling over. It chirped excitedly and twirled around the blind psychic type, happy to connect.

As Espeon nuzzled her head against the legendary’s, Gerard fell to his knees, out of the freeze he had been in, only to let out a painful sobbing groan, the cold claws of betrayal tugging at his gut. 

He couldn’t believe his brother had caught a goddamn legendary.

To make matters worse, rub salt in the wound, Victiny came out of the comfy pocket in Ray’s hoodie where it had been dozing just to join them in the middle of the field, any intention of battling long forgotten.

“How.” Gerard seethed through gritted teeth.

“It decided I was pure of heart.” He said it so cheerfully, exuding smugness from his closed eyes to his wide smile and the hands on hips stance.

“Fuck you.”

who suffered more: jesus on the cross or ao3 users?