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notfivefives · 1 year

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Prompt fill #6 for my @badthingshappenbingo card, requested by @sharkluv. Thank you so much for the ask! This is not the story I was expecting to write (like, at all), but I really enjoyed working on it. I hope you enjoy reading it! Also tagging @rain-on-kamino!

Prompt Filled: Manhandling

Fandom: Star Wars: The Bad Batch

Title: Salvage

Characters: Crosshair, Hunter, Wrecker, and Tech

Word Count: 2,033

Summary: Crosshair’s chip doesn’t trigger during Order 66, but the rest of The Batch’s do. Crosshair disobeys an order.

Chapter: 1/1

Warnings: Non-canonical character deaths, forced ( but nondescript) medical treatment

My BTHB Card

Read below the cut or on AO3

The walk from the Marauder to their quarters is like a funeral procession. Crosshair trails his three brothers - They are still his brothers, aren't they? - and after they enter their quarters, the door slides shut with a finality Crosshair can’t recall ever noticing before.

He crosses the distance to his bunk just like he has after countless other missions, but Wrecker isn’t boisterously recounting the high notes of the mission and he hasn’t carved a hash mark on the wall to commemorate their victory.

And it is a victory, Crosshair decides; he's just unsure why.

He neatly stows his equipment and sets his rifle on the common table, relieved when the heft of it no longer puts demands on his wounded shoulder. He will see to that later, once the others are asleep or absent. For now, he’ll clean his weapon because that’s what he always does. And he will keep Hunter, Tech, and Wrecker in his periphery and he will try not to think too much about why Echo isn’t with them. When he turns to get his cleaning kit, Hunter approaches him. Crosshair straightens and studies Hunter as intently as he is studying him.

“You should let me take a look at that,” Hunter says as he inclines his head toward the singed plastoid at the intersection of Crosshair’s chest plate and right pauldron.

“Nothing to look at.”

Where there might usually have been a dubious smile on Hunter’s face, there isn’t now. There is a tightness around his eyes and something sharp and unyielding there instead.

“I’m fine.” Crosshair’s words come out icily, and they would be convincing if Hunter wasn’t the one listening. But Hunter’s privy to every electromagnetic pulse and vibration, scent, and every other type of sensory input that slips beneath the notice of most. Crosshair has never envied Hunter the intensity of his senses, never wished to know the reek of a battlefield the way Hunter must. But that doesn’t stop Crosshair from cursing Hunter in the privacy of his own mind and loathing him just a little bit for not shutting things out, for not shutting it off. For just knowing.

“Is that why your heart rate just jumped, and why I can smell the stink of infection?”

Damn.

“Leave it alone.”

Crosshair narrows his eyes and focuses on the deep, ceaseless pain, wills it to temper his resolve. He itches to be anywhere but under Hunter’s scrutiny. He traces the tip of his tongue along the backs of his teeth, quelling the urge to reach for a toothpick.

“I need you functional,” Hunter presses as he takes a step closer to Crosshair and reaches toward him.

Crosshair takes a clipped but still-graceful step away from Hunter and scoffs. The derisive noise is louder than he intends and he can feel Tech and Wrecker’s eyes on him. They’re not listening to an argument with interest or waiting to throw their opinions into it. They’re just watching, waiting. The instinctive thing Crosshair has been feeling since Koller lurches into clarity.

He is outnumbered.

“I said leave it alone, Hunter.”

Crosshair can see a minuscule twitch in Hunter’s jawline, and his expression grows harder. Just like it had on Koller before-

Crosshair shakes off the memory and sidesteps Hunter and avoids the temptation to punctuate his disdain by checking Hunter’s shoulder with his own. No use in causing himself more pain.

He wants out of this room, and he wants away from his batch. Hunter grasps Crosshair’s forearm and Crosshair wrenches away. That ignites fresh agony in his shoulder and he sucks in air through his teeth. He reaches for the wound, but stops short and puts his arm back down at his side, straightens, and looks from Hunter to Tech to Wrecker, then back at Hunter, trying to gauge how much weakness he just displayed.

“Don’t touch me,” he says. The threat in his voice grows jagged and brittle with each syllable.

He walks toward the door and the blood rushing in his ears and the hair pricking at the nape of his neck tell him the same cold, clear truth.

You should be running.

Crosshair makes it two steps before he hears Hunter say Wrecker’s name.

“Right,” Wrecker says. There’s eagerness in his tone that’s familiar but wrong and for once Crosshair wishes Wrecker was as slow as some people - idiots mostly - thought he was.

Crosshair makes it another two and a half steps before Wrecker is between him and the door. Silently, Hunter falls into place behind him, and Crosshair can feel him there, the trigger in a trap that is ready to slam shut.

Tech hasn’t moved; he’s watching proceedings, assessing them from behind the yellow lenses of his goggles. Crosshair doesn’t doubt Tech can tell him the precise likelihood he’ll make it out of their quarters, but he doesn’t have to. Crosshair knows it’s laughably slim.

“Get out of my way, Wrecker.”

Wrecker moves his head back and forth and raises his hands, palms outward, ready to catch Crosshair or fight him if it comes to that. Crosshair bends at the knees and flexes his fingers, and he realizes it will come to that.

And he doesn’t know why.

“Enough,” Hunter warns. “Remove your kit. Let us treat the wound. Now. That’s an order.”

An order.

This isn’t a professional disagreement or a fraternal spat. Hunter’s words are absolute and Crosshair feels as though he’s being tracked through the scope of someone else’s rifle. He glances back at Hunter without looking away from Wrecker completely. Hunter’s expression is hard and direct. Expectant. Hunter’s esteem for his own rank is inconvenient at best and unnerving at worst.

Crosshair followed orders every day of his life. He followed them to complete missions, to win. He followed them because it was in his very marrow to do so. Freedom from choice has always been a mercy - though the rest of The Batch would never admit it, not even Tech - but before today, that mercy has never felt like slow suffocation.

When Hunter reaches for his arm again, Crosshair disobeys.

He swings back at Hunter’s head with his elbow. He knows it's a bad move.

Hunter catches his arm easily and twists it behind him. The countermeasure hurts, but it’s not hard enough to be cruel. Maybe Hunter is still in there somewhere after all. Crosshair wants to believe that. He suddenly, desperately needs to believe that, but he contorts in Hunter’s grip and viciously curses as Hunter’s hold tightens.

“What are you doing?” He tries his best to bury his pain and the spike of fear with indignation as he tries to pull away. “Don’t touch me.”

Then Wrecker is there and Hunter hands him off as casually as he would an ammo cartridge.

“We’re going to help you, Crosshair.” It’s the closest thing to patronization Crosshair has ever heard in Wrecker’s voice and he hates it. Lula is lying discarded on the floor, half buried under an old panel that Tech had likely been using for one project or another between missions. The tooka, with her red eyes and forlorn lip lipline, is the only thing in the room that feels familiar.

Crosshair turns away from the doll and futilely tests the constraints of Wrecker’s arms.

“I can help myse-”

“Bring him to the table,” Hunter orders. He’s crouched next to Echo’s bunk searching out the med kit Echo keeps there.

Wrecker nudges Crosshair in that direction, letting him know compliance is a good idea. He digs his heels into the durasteel beneath him and pushes back hard. He may as well be trying to move a wall.

"No," Crosshair says. He can hear the ragged edge of desperation wearing at his own voice as he lunges back toward the door. Wrecker holds him tight.

He tries to crush Wrecker’s instep, but he only catches armor and there’s no indication Wrecker even noticed. He’s only managed to send new pain screaming through his shoulder, but he bites back on the agony and struggles.

It makes no difference.

Crosshair cries out in surprise when Wrecker tugs backward, using his own weight against him. Wrecker keeps him from falling flat on his ass, but panic lances through him when he can’t get his feet beneath him again. His boots stutter pathetically on the floor, but that ceases when Wrecker hauls him up and toward the table.

“No!” He’s struggling now, writhing without regard for how frantic and ineffectual it is. “Let me fucking go!”

With dizzying speed, Wrecker lifts him and hefts him onto the tabletop. The back of Crosshair’s head hits the table. It’s enough force to stun, but not enough to do any harm, and in the fleet seconds it takes Crosshair’s mind to catch up to what’s happened, Wrecker has both of his wrists in one massive hand, pinning them over his sternum. Wrecker’s other hand forces his left leg down by the thigh.

“This outburst is unnecessary,” Tech says as he takes his place on the side opposite Wrecker. There’s something like commiseration in Tech’s words, but there’s callous interest in his eyes.

Crosshair drives his unrestrained knee up toward Tech, but Tech anticipates the attack and catches his leg with quick hands.

“You should cooperate,” Tech grunts. He shoves Crosshair’s leg back down and Crosshair takes petty satisfaction in the disapproval on Tech’s face.

“You should let me go.” Crosshair says, breathless and caustic. Wrecker laughs at that. It’s not booming or jovial. It’s the distant rumble of a storm.

Crosshair bucks beneath their hands, all lean muscle, obscenities and fear. He thrashes harder when Hunter sets the medkit by his head. He looks down at Crosshair, dour but thoughtful.

“Where are you going to go, Crosshair?” he asks as he begins to remove Crosshair’s armor.

Crosshair shouts. Neither the harsh sound nor the rage behind it makes his brothers flinch; it doesn’t make them do anything at all. They all know the answer. By the time Hunter is satisfied with the amount of armor he’s taken away, Crosshair is panting and his limbs are trembling from the strain.

Hunter draws his vibroknife from its sheath and Crosshair’s eyes go wide. He stills and groans involuntarily when he sees the honed, glinting blade in Hunter’s skilled hand.

It’s been cleaned since its last use.

General Bilaba’s padawan had been fast. So fast, Crosshair’s first shot following Hunter’s order had gone wide, and his second one had struck him after it had been deflected back at him by the padawan’s lightsaber. He’d lifted the butt of his blaster rifle to his left shoulder instead of his right and found Hunter in his scope, advancing on Dume. One elegantly efficient move put a burst of crimson on Koller’s snow-covered ground. The roar of the falls had been the only sound.

Crosshair shakes his head and jerks helplessly.

“Shh,” Hunter says without sympathy or warmth. Crosshair is frozen while Hunter cuts away the dark gray underlayer. The blade separates the fabric with awful ease, then Hunter sheaths it without any flourish.

A hypo comes after that. Crosshair tries to flinch away, but it still finds its way into his shoulder, and as the pain abates, Hunter works slowly and methodically, cleaning and dressing and bandaging until he seems satisfied that Crosshair would still be of use to him. To this nascent Empire.

Crosshair’s mind feels slow and his chest feels tight. He doesn’t even have the energy to move after Tech releases his hold on his leg. Tech scans him and shows Hunter with an unconcerned shrug. If Crosshair is on trial, perhaps this small jury has already come to its judgment.

The pressure Wrecker’s been putting on him lets up. When breathing comes more easily, he rolls his head to the side and looks at Echo’s empty bunk.

“Where’s Echo?” He rasps. “Where’s the reg?”

“CT-1409 was in violation of Order 66,” Tech says, as though it explains everything. “But perhaps, with some re-education, you can be salvaged.”

Hunter nods as he packs away Echo’s medkit.

Crosshair doesn’t fight as Wrecker helps him into his bunk.

He curls on his side and drifts.

#bad things happen bingo #Star Wars: The Bad Batch #manhandling #sharkluv #rain-on-kamino #bthb #crosshair #hunter #wrecker #tech #order 66 #with my sincerest apologies to Echo and Caleb #tried this one in the present tense #this was not the story i expected to write

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5-falsehoods-phonated · 3 years

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(Prompts with boxes have been taken, highlighted have been written.)

I have requests and ideas for all of the prompts, so no more requests from this card will be accepted. I’m planning on writing and posting all of these within the month of December and probably a bit into January. If you don’t want to see these stories, block the tag #false bthb, if you would like to be tagged in future stories shoot me an ask!

This prompt got away from me a bit so it’s split into two parts. The prompt comes into play in the second part. Requested by @atlasistryingherbest I hope you enjoy it, the second part will be up tomorrow!

General tagging: @im-an-anxious-wreck (you're gonna be tagged in mostly bthb this month as that's the project I'm working on, so if you'd like this changed to only the multichapter fics or general one shots please let me know. Thank you again for the interest!)

My Sunshine Part 1

Summary: Patton thinks he’s finally caught the break he needs when he finds and falls in love with Roman. Ignoring the warning signs until it’s too late Patton ends up losing more than he had dared to gain.

Warnings: more for part two but story contains human trafficking, implied non consensual sex and starvation

Prompt: Denied food as Punishment

Ships: Royality, Patton x Roman

WC: 4, 166

Patton skirted around another group of students, clutching his rather heavy school bag and trying not to bump into anyone in his rush to his bus. The college campus wasn’t exactly large but the crowds remained a nuisance no matter how small the classes were. Seeing the bus start to pull up to the sidewalk for its hourly trip into the downtown area he quickened his pace, desperate not to miss it again. Thankfully getting to the back of the waiting line with time to spare he took a breath and finally managed to zip his bag closed, hoisting it over his shoulders and looking around to see if he could recognize anyone from his classes.

Having just moved into town for school a month ago Patton didn’t really have any friends yet, just people who would occasionally ask him for a pencil only to not give it back- but that was fine! Whenever he ran out of pencils to give he could just ask them for one and he would know they’d have one since he had given so many of his away. If nothing else he figures a missing pencil was as good an ice breaker as any to start a conversation with somebody.

Lost as he was in his thoughts he immediately snapped out of it when he caught sight of one of the cutest men he had ever seen. Tall, dark and handsome didn’t even begin to cover it when he saw the stranger laugh at whatever the person next to him was talking about and reach up to push longish, curly hair out of his eyes. The stranger seemed to suddenly become aware that he was being stared at, turning his head and somehow immediately locking eyes with an extremely flustered Patton. Offering a king smile and a small wave Patton was sure he turned at least ten different shades of red before he managed to tear his eyes away and trip up the stairs to the bus to plop tiredly in the first empty seat he could find.

Burying his face in his hands he groaned at his own stupidity, lamenting the fact that he had been caught ogling someone he didn’t even know or recognize from any of his classes. He had seemed so nice though, not even seeming fazed at being stared at- though with such a confident air that he seemed to have Patton thought maybe he was used to it by now. All he could hope was that he’d never see the stranger again and if he did he wouldn’t remember Patton as that creepy guy in the bus line who probably looked half dead for as much coffee he consumed to keep up with his life.

Deciding not to dwell on it too much he grimaced as he hoisted his pack up yet again as his stop came into view, dreading another afternoon spent on his feet trying to hear people’s orders and write them down correctly while the general noise of the restaurant made it a challenge to get his own forcibly friendly “Hello, what can I get for you?” to be heard. Shuffling off the bus with everyone else he quickly jogged down the block and around the back of the restaurant he worked at, swiping his apron on in the same motion of throwing his bag down and scooting it under a table and out of the way. Smoothing his hair bag and rubbing what he hoped was most of the tiredness from his eyes he put on his best smile and waltzed his way out onto the main floor, tagging out his shift swift for which he was barely acknowledged before they gestured to a family just getting comfortable for him to service.

Squaring his shoulders and taking one more deep breath he began walking over to them. It was just a five hour shift, he could handle a five hour shift.

-----

He could barely handle a five hour shift.

Frowning down at his bag that contained his barely started on homework his fingers fumbled with the knot of his apron as he desperately tried to work it off. Huffing in frustration he bent his neck painfully to get the top part off and shimmied hip hips while yanking the bottom part until he was finally able to kick it into a wall. Dragging a hand over his face he snatched it up and hung it up rather aggressively before getting his bag and hurrying out the back door to catch the bus back to his run down apartment. The ride was as uneventful as ever but he almost missed it when he finally reached his apartment only to see a corner of an envelope sticking out from under the door that would undoubtedly contain the rent bill he would have to scrape together enough change to meet again.

Although he was grateful to be away from his family and that he had been able to get into college in the first place it was an expensive path in life that he had to work hard at two jobs to maintain, still barely managing to scrape by each month. Since switching campuses to be closer to work opportunities it had only seemed to get worse. If he had a roommate it might be different, at least taking some of the financial burden off his shoulders but he didn’t know anyone in this town enough to ask and he definitely didn’t want to invite people he didn’t know into his life with an ad in the newspaper calling for a roommate- who knew if they’d even pay rent or pick up after themselves or leave his things alone. No, Patton was a little too paranoid for that. Flopping face down onto his couch he wormed his way half under the back cushions and seat cushions until it was just a little too tight and sighed contently, letting his eyes finally drift shut as he gave his legs a rest. His stomach growled not ten minutes later however, making him groan and debate whether making something would actually be worthwhile. Realizing he still had work to do anyway he carefully got up and rolled up his sleeves, wondering if that frozen pizza in the freezer was still good.

A little while later with pizza in one hand and a pencil in the other he worked his way through his math and science homework, stacking them to the side as he made way for the english paper he had yet to start. He was still trying to work through basic classes before he got to...whatever it wsa he would decide he wanted to major in, though sometimes he was intimidated but the already nearly overwhelming workload he had to tell himself it would all be worth it. He just had to smile through it and push through until he came out the other side with a bright a nd shiny degree and an even brighter future. Of course, that optimism could only take him so far as he stared at the book report he was supposed to be at least outlining, a quick glance at the clock telling him that if he wanted to shower, now would be the time if he didn’t want to be late for his stocking job. Working at a warehouse form one to seven in the morning definitely wasn’t ideal but it paid well and it was just enough to keep him floating while he worked his way through school. Wincing as he stood up on wobbly, half asleep legs he dumped his plate in the sink and headed to the bathroom for a quick shower before he had to be at the warehouse for his shift.

Stumbling out of his apartment complex still struggling to get his jacket on he happened to look up and see an unfamiliar car parked across the street. I wonder if someone else is moving in, he thought, squinting in the darkness of the early morning to try and make out details. He thought he saw movement in the drivers side but the beeping of his watch let him know he had a very limited amount of time now to get to where he was going, so turning on his heel he booked it to the warehouse a few blocks down, any other thoughts drowned out by the apprehensionsion of the promised monotony to come.

-----

Patton was dead on his feet by the time his shift ended and he made it back to his apartment. Making side eyes at the couch wit his notes still scattered on the coffee table he shook his head and went down the short hallway to his bedroom instead, peeling off his shirt and pants as he went and flopped onto the box spring, flopping his arm around for his treasured dog plushie before curling onto his side and beginning to snore within minutes. When he woke up to his insistent alarm five hours later he groaned and threw the plushie at the offending machine to no avail. Stretching out his stiff muscles he reached over and pressed the button to get the thing to shut up while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Another day, another...well just another day really. He had half an hour to make himself somewhat presentable and make coffee, maybe try to scratch out part of that english outline before heading off to class and repeating the daily routine of rushing around and catching quick ten minute naps when he could. Thankful today was Wednesday, meaning he had two more regular days and then Saturday he only had to get through his warehouse shift before he was free for the weekend. He made a face at the dust clinging to nearly every surface in his room.. Maybe he’d use that weekend to clean a bit.

Coffee brewing, face washed and toast wolfed down he did actually manage to get a quarter of his outline done before he had to gather everything up and leave. Taking a thermos of caffeine for the road he made it out in record time to catch the bus, idly noting the car from last night was still parked across the street, though it was clearly empty now. A dark blue Sudan with tinted windows from what he could. Shrugging he went to wait in line with everyone else; what he wouldn't give for his own car.

----

It wasn’t until the following week that he saw the car in a different place, this time parked in front of his restaurant. The only reason he really noticed it was because he had honestly been wondering when the thing would be toed considering it never seemed to leave the same spot from across the street. Shrugging the fleeting interest off he quickened his pace and got his apron on, shimmying the bottom part over his head since he hadn't got the knot undone and bending his neck forward to properly don the front loop. Smoothing himself out while shoving his bag under the table and fishing for his notepad and pen he stretched his face into yet another believable smile and pushed his way out of the kitchen and to his shift switch, only to freeze in place when they gestured to a table with a lone figure sat at it.

This cannot be happening, he thought with dismay. At the table sat the very stranger who had smiled at him after catching him staring last week. He was just as cute as ever and had a relaxed, easy smile on his face that Patton instantly felt himself melt for. Now is not thee time Patton, he scolded himself as he straightened his apron and walked over, palms sweating an embarrassing amount with knees he hoped to God weren’t visibly shaking.

“Hello, what can I get for you?”

The man looked up and his smile only grew wider as he cupped his chin. “Have we met?”

Sputtering, Patton clutched his notepad to his chest as he struggled to string a coherent thought together. He knew! He knew and now he’d get to tell him what a creep he was and-

“I’m certain I would have remembered the name of a person as cute as you if we had.” The man leaned forward practically purring. “Patton is it? That suits you.”

Patton barely heard the other half of what was being said to him, the word “cute” bouncing around in his skull too many times for him to properly concentrate on the actual conversation. He turned his incredibly red face away from the others gaze, not quite sure what to say back, thankfully the man saved him from having to respond by finally leaning back and taking the menu up again. “I’m very sorry, where are my manners? I’m keeping you from your job aren’t I?”

He was but heck if Patton was going to agree with that statement. The kinder he was the more this person might tip, and besides, he actually was very cute especially up close. He didn’t mind a bit of casual flirting especially since the other didn’t seem to have anything against him.

“You’re fine sir! I um- I don’t mind.” That being the closest Patton could get to actually accepting a compliment he quickly moved on. “Are you ready to order?”

“Yes actually! I’d like a chicken sandwich with tomato and a chef’s salad on the side.”

Nodding, Patton looked back up from his scribbling. “And to drink?”

“Water would be lovely.”

Taking the menu, he nodded again. “It’ll be right out sir.”

“Thank you, Patton.”

The use of his name set him on edge for a second but he quickly brushed it aside. He was just being nice, sure maybe overly nice- but this was the first full blown kind of conversation he’d held with someone who wasn't his landlord or boss in weeks. If the stranger wanted to use his name that was fine. He’d just have to learn his!

Busy as the restaurant was in the afternoon he was slightly disappointed he hadn’t seen the man leave but made his way over to the table to start cleaning up while he had a free minute. Lifting the check book his eyes nearly bugged out of his head at the tip that was left. A solid fifty dollar bill lay next to the receipt, and on the latter a phone number was written along with a name.

“Roman.” Patton breathed out. He realized he was holding a third month's rent in his hands, he could get groceries this week...proper groceries! Like...Patton pursed his lips in thought, maybe fruit and vegetables? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d bitten into an apple that hadn’t gone completely soft from sitting in the cafeteria for far too long. With stars in his eyes and a name in his heart he pocketed the tip and went about the rest of his shift in a daze, not even noticing the dark blue Sudan still parkly in the parking lot as he made his way back home.

----

Roman was absolutely charming- in every sense of the word. After their first phone call where Patton had thanked him endlessly for the very generous tip they had been texting and calling nearly nonstop. The flowery, flirty way he spoke, the way he looked at Patton like he was hung on the moon, even the way he said his name like he was cradling something precious, it was almost too much. Patton’s workplace had become a regular place for Roman to eat, always sitting at the same place and getting there seemingly right as Patton’s shift started. Tired still though he was, he found the monotony broken at last by a welcome smile to greet him every day of the week, and he was absolutely living for it.

Patton was ecstatic when Roman asked him on a date the following week, securing Saturday as the day they’d meet up at a different restaurant and hang out. He felt like he was floating, like finally something was sliding into place and everyday that it got close to the weekend just made him even more motivated to finish his shifts and homework so he could talk to the one who had so quickly captured his attention. The days flew by, and when Saturday finally came he rushed through his shift at the warehouse to go home and sleep, wanting to be well rested for his first date in years.

-----

Despite his excitement, Patton ended up oversleeping and rushing in vain around his apartment, throwing together a haphazard outfit consisting of a soft blue, non-work polo and light jeans. Sliding his feet into his usual tennis shoes and running quick fingers through his hair he could only hope that was enough as he ran out of his apartment and down the stairs to the street below. The restaurant wasn’t far thankfully and he was able to jog there in no time at all, hoping he didn’t look like too much of a sweaty mess to the other man who always looked impeccably out together. Spotting him at a table on the far side of the joint next to the windows Patton made his way over and sat down nervously.

“I’m so sorry I’m late! I overslept and I tried to hurry but-”

“Please, don’t worry about it.” Roman lain a hand on top of Patton's leaving him to fight to contain his blush. “I wasn’t waiting that long and besides, this place has a lovely view.”

Turning to look out the window, Patton had to agree. The restaurant had a wonderful view of the local park, families playing with their children or pets as the Saturday afternoon wore on. He watched the families almost wistfully, almost but not quite missing his own as he watched one play hide-and-seek while another helped their child across the monkey bars. He was so enraptured by the sight before him he didn’t notice Roman’s gaze turn calculating before his easy smile slid back into place, placing his chin in his hands as he joined Patton in people watching.

“Someday, when I leave this town, I’d like to be settled with a family like that.” Roman’s voice brought Patton out of his own thoughts, making him turn to his date with a smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I’d like to have someone to take care of and love, and have them love me back. It sounds perfect doesn’t it?”

Patton flicked his eyes away for a second before smiling again. “It does. To be stable and settled down with kiddos, that’s the life I want.”

Seeming to sense his hesitation Roman cocked his head to the side. “Got a bad experience with families?”

“I-” Patton again was slightly put off by the stranger's forwardness and apparent skills of perception but he brushed it aside, finding it nice to be listened to. “My family and I didn’t get along very well I guess. We don’t talk at all now.”

Roman’s eyes flashed as he nodded. “I understand that. My family doesn’t talk to me much anymore either. It happens.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Patton looked away again as the waitress walked over with water and menus. Quietly thanking her Patton skimmed the list of items searching for something cheap. Settling on a club sandwich with a side of coleslaw he closed the menu just in time for the waitress to come back. Taking their orders she quickly left them alone once again, Patton trying desperately to hide a yawn behind his fist.

“Am I boring you already?” Roman said teasingly, and Patton’s face burned in embarrassment.

“It isn’t that I swear I-”

“It’s okay! Tired from work, I take it?”

Patton nodded gratefully and scratched his neck. “I work two jobs with school and I just- I’m a mess.”

Roman chuckled and shook his head. Hardly! That’s quite admirable of you actually, you work so hard for what you have.”

Patton smiled a bit at the table, blush dying down a bit as he breathed. “I guess so yeah.”

“Well I know so!” Patton flinched slightly as he raised his voice but Roman didn’t seem to notice as their food was placed in front of them and they dug in.

“We should really come here more often, this was exquisite!” Patton’s eyes shot up as he heard that. We? More often? Did that mean-

“You think entirely too loud for my liking my sunshine. Please forgive my forwardness, but would you like to do this again sometime?”

Patton beamed at the other man, twisting his fingers nervously under the table. “I’d love to, Roman.”

-----

The next couple months went by in a blur, having dates when they could manage them and extended phone calls when they couldn’t. Then a weekend finally came when they could go out again, deciding meeting at the same restaurant was fine since it was so good last time. Thankfully Patton wasn’t late again, sliding in a chair across from Roman and taking the menu in his hands.

“Hey Roman!’

“Hello my love, it’s good to see that smile again.” Face heating quickly Patton hid his face behind his menu and ignored Roman’s soft chuckles, deciding to order the same thing for simplicity's sake. Giving their orders and receiving their drinks left the two alone and Roman took the opportunity to lean forward with a serious expression, making Patton squirm nervously in his chair.

“Patton, I have something I want to ask you, and you can absolutely say no if you wish to.”

Pressing his lips together Patton nodded for him to continue.

“I know how hard you work, what with two jobs and school on top of that; you’ve told me you sometimes struggle to meet the rent. We’ve been dating for a couple months now and I was wondering, would you like to move in with me?”

Taken aback by the question Patton could do nothing but gape at the other man, silence stretching between them as he tried to comprehend what he was hearing.

“I understand the hesitancy but I feel like it makes more sense. I could pay most of the rent while you contribute the rest, we could trade off making dinner, it’s a bigger apartment I’m sure so you could get out of that run down building. Plus it's closer to your campus so you wouldn’t have to take the bus, and I could always drive you to work.”

“Roman- that’s incredibly generous of you but I can’t ask you to do that.” Declining drove a stake through his heart but Patton was determined to stay firm. He wasn't a charity case, and even if the answers to nearly all of his problems were sitting right in front of him he knew he had to refuse.

“Patton, you aren’t asking, I am.” Roman looked imploringly into his eyes. “You do so much, let me take care of you.”

Biting his lip, Patton looked back at Roman nervously. This was an incredible thing that had just landed right in his lap- he wanted to say yes so badly but what if they didn't work out? If they broke up Patton would be on the street, he didn’t know anyone besides Roman and his bosses and the latter he knew wouldn’t think twice about some poor college student living on the sidewalk. Plus he felt like the relationship was moving so fast, though he didn’t really have much to compare it to other than little high school flings so maybe he was just paranoid. But it was so difficult to keep up with the rent, and if he had the security of Roman- not quite the roommate he had imagined but definitely better, maybe everything was finally looking up.

Squeezing Roman’s hand he took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. Only if you're sure and I’ll of course help out around the apartment in any way I can!”

“I don’t doubt it my love.” Their food was placed in front of them, as Roman nodded. “We can move you in today if you like. It wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

Smiling giddily Patton nodded. Yes, everything was certainly turning around for the better.

-----

As they left the restaurant with Roman leading him to his car so they could start packing up his apartment, Patton nearly froze on the spot but managed to keep walking like nothing had happened. He climbed somewhat nervously into the car he had been seeing outside of his apartment, outside of his restaurant and even sometimes outside of the rather remote warehouse where he worked. He shut the door to the dark blue Sudan carefully and buckled his seatbelt, pushing the buzzing in his ears aside as he settled in his seat and listened to Roman’s idle chatter.

Everything was looking up. It would be fine.

This work is also available on AO3!

Part 2 here

#false writes #false bthb #bthb #bad things happen bingoo #patton sanders #roman sanders #unsympathetic roman sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fic

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