Fic: Written Things
Fic: Written Things
Pairing: Toews/Kane
Rating: like nothing
Summary: Over the summer, Patrick sends Jonny a postcard.
I've been pretty bored this weekend so far, so, have another fic! :D
Written Things
April 25
24 is old. But happy birthday anyways. Hope you’re enjoying Winnipeg and that it stops snowing for your bday.
-patrick
You know it doesn’t snow in the summer, right? Thanks for the bday postcard though; finding out you have the girlyist handwriting in the world was the best present you could have given me.
-Jonny
Stfu about my super manly handwriting. I expected yours to be neater, fyi. Hows winterpeg.
-p
I can’t imagine why you think it’d be neater; besides, it’s perfectly legible. We don’t all write in calligraphy. Seriously, man, what even is that. WINNIPEG is cool, I guess. How’s Buffalo? (Notice my proper use of punctuation).
-Jonny
I thought it’d be neater because that makes sense. Don’t you have some sort of captainly duty to be like, upstanding in everything or something- I mean, you do everything else perfectly pretty decently, after all. Fuck punctuation, buffalo is super cool, obviously. Having the time of my life. Whenre you coming back.
-p
Wow, that was almost a compliment, I think I just died of shock. Also, do you just not believe in question marks? You can’t just decide not to use them. And I told you, I’m not coming back until the season starts, it’s vacation. I have to see my family and stuff.
-Jonny
Does my lack of question marks offend you???????????????????????????????????????? I’ll use em whenever I please. Questions marks are my bitch. And you could totally just see family for like, a month or something.
-p
Your abuse of question marks definitely unsettles me. And well, you’re seeing your family for the whole summer too, so you can’t really talk.
-Jonny
Yes? But? I? Am? Only? Seeing? Them? For? The? Whole? Summer? Because? Why? Would? I? Stay? In? Chicago? If? You’re? Not? There?
?P
Grammar cringes whenever you write. And I don’t know why? You said you were going to Buffalo, so I went to Winnipeg.
-Jonny
No, you said you were going to Winnipeg so I went to Buffalo.
-P
Does it make a difference?
-Jonny
I don’t know. Look, I learned how to write my name in Russian: Патрик.
-P
I still don’t get it, though. You can’t be mad at me for going to Winnipeg when you weren’t even going to be in Chicago anyways. Also where the hell did you learn that?
-Jonny
My mom’s friend’s kid. I helped babysit and the kid taught me that.
-P
ARE you mad at me? You didn’t say. You weren’t even going to be in Chicago, right?
-Jonny
Are you??? It’s been two days and I haven’t heard from you. Are you mad?????
-J
That was definitely an abuse of question marks. Also I was busy the day I got your letter, sorry I didn’t write back super immediately. You really don’t have much to do up there do you
-P
Still haven’t answered my question. And whatever, dude. I worry about you get annoyed with you even when I have tons to do.
-Jonny
I’m not mad. Why would I be?
-P
I don’t know
-Jonny
Well, that was a productive exchange. What’re you doing in Winnipeg anyways
-p
Mostly training and stuff. What’re you doing in Buffalo?
-Jonny
So, stuff you could totally be doing in Chicago, you mean.
I’m not doing anything. Jackie’s getting married though, which WTF SHE IS WAY TOO YOUNG. I told him I’d tear his throat out if he hurt her, but it’d have been ever scarier if you were there too. Because, you know. You don’t want two guys threatening to kill you. You would threaten with me, right?
-P
Well, she is almost 23. Lots of people have gotten married at that age. I’m sure she’ll be fine. And of course I’d threaten him with you, but maybe slightly more reasonably? You can tell him I’ll kill him and bury his body where no one will ever find him if he hurts her. Also tell them congratulations, but maybe tell them that part first.
I don’t want to be like, annoying about this or anything, but you definitely don’t sound happy about the not being in Chicago thing?
-Jonny
I’m 23 and I’m not married, are you saying I’m supposed to be? Nice, man. Also dig how you seem to think that axe-murdering the guy and hiding his body in the great white north where he’ll never be found is REASONABLE. Still down for it, though, don’t get me wrong.
If you don’t want to be annoying about it, stop asking about it.
-P
I’m not saying you’re SUPPOSED to be, I’m saying that you could be. I’m 24 and I’m not married, so, you know. My point was that it’s not like she’s 15 or something, and she won’t BE married until like, a year from now anyhow. Also, I never said I’d hide his body in Canada or commit axe murder, you’re embellishing.
Okay, fine. I don’t care if I’m being annoying, then. Are you unhappy about it???
-Jonny
24’s old, dude. You should be married, no doubt about it. Then again, you’re a potential axe-murderer, I can see why no one’s wanted to marry you. You might want to work on not talking about that on the first date. Also there’s nothing wrong with embellishing if I’m totally accurate.
Whatever, dude. It doesn’t matter.
-P
Yeah, I should totally be married. It’s kind of a two-person thing, though, so soon as you find someone, you let me know. Also STILL NOT AN AXE MURDERER. I’m pretty sure I’ve never even held an axe. I’ve only held an axe like once and it was for chopping wood. So that doesn’t mean I’m one step away from murder. And if the post office ever reads this shit, we’re probably going to be arrested.
It does, though.
-Jonny
Tell you what, I’m such an awesome person that if you can’t find someone (which, you know. You won’t. Axe murder is a bit of a deal breaker) you can marry me. I’ll take one for the team. The Team being Mankind, and One being marrying a Canadian, which, you know. No one wants to do. Also I don’t believe this axe business at all. First it’s ‘I’ve never’ then it’s ‘ok once’ and what’s next? Slippery slope and stuff. WE’RE not gonna be arrested, it’s just you. But I’ll come sit in jail with you, if you want.
Doesn’t.
-P
Fine then, I’ll marry you. You’re super lucky to marry a Canadian, fyi. We’re super awesome. and it’s not exactly a slippery slope to go from wood cutting to AXE MURDER. And thanks for the jail offer. I appreciate it, seeing as it’d be entirely your fault in the first place. However, if you’re my husband, I think it’s kind of obligatory.
Please, Patrick.
-Jonny
If it really was obligatory to be your spouse’s jail buddy, I think way fewer people would be getting married. Speaking of weddings though, you’re my date for Jackie’s. if I’m going with you to jail, you definitely owe me that.
-P
I’d almost rather go to jail than a wedding. When we get married, we’re eloping. TO CANADA.
Tell me when she sets a date, though. If you want me to be your go with you.
-Jonny
Fine, but not Winnipeg.
-P
What’s wrong with Winnipeg?
-Jonny
Well, it’s where you go when you abandon me for a whole summer.
-P
Wait, is that why you’re mad? I didn’t abandon you, I didn’t know you wanted me to stay in Chicago. Don’t be mad about that. Please.
-Jonny
Please write back. I’m sorry if I jumped to conclusions. And I’m sorry I left.
-Jonny
My flight gets in at 11AM on Tuesday, so I’ll see you Tuesday. I’m really sorry.
-Jonny.
Jonny’s been desperate to get back to Chicago since Patrick’s letters stopped coming. He changed his flight and took the earliest one, even though it meant he had to get to the airport at 4AM and had an hour layover in Toronto. He just - just really wants to get back, understand why Patrick’s snippy about Winnipeg, why - why there was a brief moment when Jonny told him no, I can’t hang out Saturday, I’m going to Winnipeg, Patrick looked unduly crushed.
He’s thinking about that when he finally arrives at the airport in Chicago, so absorbed in it that he almost misses Patrick entirely. There’s hardly anyone else around, but it’s so impossible that Patrick could be here, but Patrick’s here, right here, and he smiles when he sees Jonny.
“Are you - waiting for me?” Jonny asks, and Patrick laughs.
“You’re so stupid,” he says, but then he hugs Jonny, saying all kinds of things that Jonny can’t catch the exact words to, just knows that it feels like this, like Patrick needs him, too. “So, um,” Patrick says against Jonny’s shoulder, “you said you’d marry me.”
“I said that.” Jonny had sat there for a long time, just looking at the words on the page.
“I checked my mailbox every day,” Patrick says, quickly, like the words spill out before he even knows what he’s going to say. Jonny squeezes Patrick in his arms a little. He put all of Patrick’s postcards and letters in his carry-on bag, didn’t want to trust them to baggage carriers and conveyor belts. Patrick tugs out of his arms suddenly, smiles up at him like he knows Jonny’s thinking about the letters he moved to his jacket pocket before taking his seat, his carryon seeming too far away, or maybe like he doesn’t know Jonny finds them so precious. “So, I parked that way,” Patrick waves a hand vaguely to the left, as if this helps to narrow it down to one of the eight million parking spaces outside the airport.
It’s quiet when they both get into Patrick’s car, all the sound sealed out as Patrick closes his door. He flips through his keyring slowly to get to the ignition one.
“You know,” Jonny says lightly, “I kind of wondered why you didn’t just text me for my birthday.”
“Maybe I wanted to be different,” Patrick says, just a little too thoughtfully. Or maybe Jonny’s just hearing too much; he tends to do that. “You were the one that sent a letter back.”
“You wrote one back. And called me an axe murderer.”
“You said you were going to marry me,” Patrick says, looks over at Jonny. Jonny doesn’t really know what to say, doesn’t know any words that aren’t because I want to.
“I wrote that letter on the deck,” Jonny says, because it feels important, for some reason, that he wrote I’ll marry you while staring out at the always-damp grass where the old swingset still sits. He’d sat on the swing and watched his brother scratch Toews in his newly-learned cursive into the wood, wanting to say don’t ruin it, stop that, but still finding himself impressed even years later, at his brother’s ability to mark up something, make it used, put their name on it, this thing that was clearly theirs. “You never told me if you were upset,” he adds, thinking not of their letters, but the way Patrick signed them, how it somehow felt so intimate, like he knows that if Jonny sees a letter signed just -P, there’s only one person he’d ever think it was from.
“How could you not know why?” Patrick sighs out, tilts his head back to the seat. He’s found the right key, but is just holding it in his hand, motionless.
“Maybe I’m stupid over you,” Jonny says, no maybe to it at all, “I checked my mailbox four times a day, every day. I paid to overnight two-sentence letters. I said I’d marry you.”
“That’s stupid?” Patrick asks. His voice is too small, too fragile.
“No.” Jonny wants to kiss him, a familiar feeling, but feels terrifyingly like he might actually do it. It feels like watching his brother carve their name into the swingset, knowing he wouldn’t stop him, being glad, years later, that it’s there. “I didn’t tell you the right way, that’s what’s stupid. I didn’t tell you so you’d know I really wanted to.”
Patrick doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and Jonny’s just - just so terrified of what he’s done. He’s written his name, and now he’s just watching, afraid that everything will shatter apart, because his name doesn’t belong here. But then - then Patrick climbs over the console between them, kneels over Jonny’s lap, just collapses against Jonny’s chest, winds his arms around him. Jonny wraps his arms around Patrick, strokes his fingers through Patrick’s curls.
“Don’t ever leave me again,” Patrick mumbles against Jonny’s neck. Jonny squeezes him tight.
“I knew you were upset. I’m sorry - I’m sorry-”
“Make it up to me,” Patrick sniffles a little, looks up to smile at him. His eyes are the same blue as the sky over the city he hated being left for.
“How?” Jonny asks, even though there’s nothing he’d say no to.
“Marry me,” Patrick says, smiles like he’s kidding, but his eyes are serious. Jonny knows what he’s really saying - he’s saying date me, saying let me kiss you and sleep in your bed, but he knows what Patrick is also saying - someday, marry me.
“Patrick,” Jonny says, and for a heartbreaking moment, Patrick’s eyes go sad. “I already promised I would.” Patrick kisses him then, and everything about this is so impossible - Patrick in his lap on the passenger seat, after a summer of Patrick’s strangely beautiful handwriting, the last unanswered letters that made Jonny’s heart race for what felt like days on end. He wrote his name all over Patrick a long time ago, and the thing that scares him has always been knowing that Patrick’s name is on him, because Jonny’s been worried Patrick didn’t actually want him. Patrick does, though. He wrote his name on Jonny so early, Jonny’s never known what it’s like, to not belong to him. He recognizes Patrick’s handwriting now, though, and he can see that it’s always been there, he’s always been Patrick’s, and this, this is what is written between the letters of their names, the love they have for each other, a language all its own.
Pairing: Toews/Kane
Rating: like nothing
Summary: Over the summer, Patrick sends Jonny a postcard.
I've been pretty bored this weekend so far, so, have another fic! :D
Written Things
April 25
24 is old. But happy birthday anyways. Hope you’re enjoying Winnipeg and that it stops snowing for your bday.
-patrick
You know it doesn’t snow in the summer, right? Thanks for the bday postcard though; finding out you have the girlyist handwriting in the world was the best present you could have given me.
-Jonny
Stfu about my super manly handwriting. I expected yours to be neater, fyi. Hows winterpeg.
-p
I can’t imagine why you think it’d be neater; besides, it’s perfectly legible. We don’t all write in calligraphy. Seriously, man, what even is that. WINNIPEG is cool, I guess. How’s Buffalo? (Notice my proper use of punctuation).
-Jonny
I thought it’d be neater because that makes sense. Don’t you have some sort of captainly duty to be like, upstanding in everything or something- I mean, you do everything else perfectly pretty decently, after all. Fuck punctuation, buffalo is super cool, obviously. Having the time of my life. Whenre you coming back.
-p
Wow, that was almost a compliment, I think I just died of shock. Also, do you just not believe in question marks? You can’t just decide not to use them. And I told you, I’m not coming back until the season starts, it’s vacation. I have to see my family and stuff.
-Jonny
Does my lack of question marks offend you???????????????????????????????????????? I’ll use em whenever I please. Questions marks are my bitch. And you could totally just see family for like, a month or something.
-p
Your abuse of question marks definitely unsettles me. And well, you’re seeing your family for the whole summer too, so you can’t really talk.
-Jonny
Yes? But? I? Am? Only? Seeing? Them? For? The? Whole? Summer? Because? Why? Would? I? Stay? In? Chicago? If? You’re? Not? There?
?P
Grammar cringes whenever you write. And I don’t know why? You said you were going to Buffalo, so I went to Winnipeg.
-Jonny
No, you said you were going to Winnipeg so I went to Buffalo.
-P
Does it make a difference?
-Jonny
I don’t know. Look, I learned how to write my name in Russian: Патрик.
-P
I still don’t get it, though. You can’t be mad at me for going to Winnipeg when you weren’t even going to be in Chicago anyways. Also where the hell did you learn that?
-Jonny
My mom’s friend’s kid. I helped babysit and the kid taught me that.
-P
ARE you mad at me? You didn’t say. You weren’t even going to be in Chicago, right?
-Jonny
Are you??? It’s been two days and I haven’t heard from you. Are you mad?????
-J
That was definitely an abuse of question marks. Also I was busy the day I got your letter, sorry I didn’t write back super immediately. You really don’t have much to do up there do you
-P
Still haven’t answered my question. And whatever, dude. I worry about you get annoyed with you even when I have tons to do.
-Jonny
I’m not mad. Why would I be?
-P
I don’t know
-Jonny
Well, that was a productive exchange. What’re you doing in Winnipeg anyways
-p
Mostly training and stuff. What’re you doing in Buffalo?
-Jonny
So, stuff you could totally be doing in Chicago, you mean.
I’m not doing anything. Jackie’s getting married though, which WTF SHE IS WAY TOO YOUNG. I told him I’d tear his throat out if he hurt her, but it’d have been ever scarier if you were there too. Because, you know. You don’t want two guys threatening to kill you. You would threaten with me, right?
-P
Well, she is almost 23. Lots of people have gotten married at that age. I’m sure she’ll be fine. And of course I’d threaten him with you, but maybe slightly more reasonably? You can tell him I’ll kill him and bury his body where no one will ever find him if he hurts her. Also tell them congratulations, but maybe tell them that part first.
I don’t want to be like, annoying about this or anything, but you definitely don’t sound happy about the not being in Chicago thing?
-Jonny
I’m 23 and I’m not married, are you saying I’m supposed to be? Nice, man. Also dig how you seem to think that axe-murdering the guy and hiding his body in the great white north where he’ll never be found is REASONABLE. Still down for it, though, don’t get me wrong.
If you don’t want to be annoying about it, stop asking about it.
-P
I’m not saying you’re SUPPOSED to be, I’m saying that you could be. I’m 24 and I’m not married, so, you know. My point was that it’s not like she’s 15 or something, and she won’t BE married until like, a year from now anyhow. Also, I never said I’d hide his body in Canada or commit axe murder, you’re embellishing.
Okay, fine. I don’t care if I’m being annoying, then. Are you unhappy about it???
-Jonny
24’s old, dude. You should be married, no doubt about it. Then again, you’re a potential axe-murderer, I can see why no one’s wanted to marry you. You might want to work on not talking about that on the first date. Also there’s nothing wrong with embellishing if I’m totally accurate.
Whatever, dude. It doesn’t matter.
-P
Yeah, I should totally be married. It’s kind of a two-person thing, though, so soon as you find someone, you let me know. Also STILL NOT AN AXE MURDERER. I’m pretty sure I’ve never even held an axe. I’ve only held an axe like once and it was for chopping wood. So that doesn’t mean I’m one step away from murder. And if the post office ever reads this shit, we’re probably going to be arrested.
It does, though.
-Jonny
Tell you what, I’m such an awesome person that if you can’t find someone (which, you know. You won’t. Axe murder is a bit of a deal breaker) you can marry me. I’ll take one for the team. The Team being Mankind, and One being marrying a Canadian, which, you know. No one wants to do. Also I don’t believe this axe business at all. First it’s ‘I’ve never’ then it’s ‘ok once’ and what’s next? Slippery slope and stuff. WE’RE not gonna be arrested, it’s just you. But I’ll come sit in jail with you, if you want.
Doesn’t.
-P
Fine then, I’ll marry you. You’re super lucky to marry a Canadian, fyi. We’re super awesome. and it’s not exactly a slippery slope to go from wood cutting to AXE MURDER. And thanks for the jail offer. I appreciate it, seeing as it’d be entirely your fault in the first place. However, if you’re my husband, I think it’s kind of obligatory.
Please, Patrick.
-Jonny
If it really was obligatory to be your spouse’s jail buddy, I think way fewer people would be getting married. Speaking of weddings though, you’re my date for Jackie’s. if I’m going with you to jail, you definitely owe me that.
-P
I’d almost rather go to jail than a wedding. When we get married, we’re eloping. TO CANADA.
Tell me when she sets a date, though. If you want me to be your go with you.
-Jonny
Fine, but not Winnipeg.
-P
What’s wrong with Winnipeg?
-Jonny
Well, it’s where you go when you abandon me for a whole summer.
-P
Wait, is that why you’re mad? I didn’t abandon you, I didn’t know you wanted me to stay in Chicago. Don’t be mad about that. Please.
-Jonny
Please write back. I’m sorry if I jumped to conclusions. And I’m sorry I left.
-Jonny
My flight gets in at 11AM on Tuesday, so I’ll see you Tuesday. I’m really sorry.
-Jonny.
Jonny’s been desperate to get back to Chicago since Patrick’s letters stopped coming. He changed his flight and took the earliest one, even though it meant he had to get to the airport at 4AM and had an hour layover in Toronto. He just - just really wants to get back, understand why Patrick’s snippy about Winnipeg, why - why there was a brief moment when Jonny told him no, I can’t hang out Saturday, I’m going to Winnipeg, Patrick looked unduly crushed.
He’s thinking about that when he finally arrives at the airport in Chicago, so absorbed in it that he almost misses Patrick entirely. There’s hardly anyone else around, but it’s so impossible that Patrick could be here, but Patrick’s here, right here, and he smiles when he sees Jonny.
“Are you - waiting for me?” Jonny asks, and Patrick laughs.
“You’re so stupid,” he says, but then he hugs Jonny, saying all kinds of things that Jonny can’t catch the exact words to, just knows that it feels like this, like Patrick needs him, too. “So, um,” Patrick says against Jonny’s shoulder, “you said you’d marry me.”
“I said that.” Jonny had sat there for a long time, just looking at the words on the page.
“I checked my mailbox every day,” Patrick says, quickly, like the words spill out before he even knows what he’s going to say. Jonny squeezes Patrick in his arms a little. He put all of Patrick’s postcards and letters in his carry-on bag, didn’t want to trust them to baggage carriers and conveyor belts. Patrick tugs out of his arms suddenly, smiles up at him like he knows Jonny’s thinking about the letters he moved to his jacket pocket before taking his seat, his carryon seeming too far away, or maybe like he doesn’t know Jonny finds them so precious. “So, I parked that way,” Patrick waves a hand vaguely to the left, as if this helps to narrow it down to one of the eight million parking spaces outside the airport.
It’s quiet when they both get into Patrick’s car, all the sound sealed out as Patrick closes his door. He flips through his keyring slowly to get to the ignition one.
“You know,” Jonny says lightly, “I kind of wondered why you didn’t just text me for my birthday.”
“Maybe I wanted to be different,” Patrick says, just a little too thoughtfully. Or maybe Jonny’s just hearing too much; he tends to do that. “You were the one that sent a letter back.”
“You wrote one back. And called me an axe murderer.”
“You said you were going to marry me,” Patrick says, looks over at Jonny. Jonny doesn’t really know what to say, doesn’t know any words that aren’t because I want to.
“I wrote that letter on the deck,” Jonny says, because it feels important, for some reason, that he wrote I’ll marry you while staring out at the always-damp grass where the old swingset still sits. He’d sat on the swing and watched his brother scratch Toews in his newly-learned cursive into the wood, wanting to say don’t ruin it, stop that, but still finding himself impressed even years later, at his brother’s ability to mark up something, make it used, put their name on it, this thing that was clearly theirs. “You never told me if you were upset,” he adds, thinking not of their letters, but the way Patrick signed them, how it somehow felt so intimate, like he knows that if Jonny sees a letter signed just -P, there’s only one person he’d ever think it was from.
“How could you not know why?” Patrick sighs out, tilts his head back to the seat. He’s found the right key, but is just holding it in his hand, motionless.
“Maybe I’m stupid over you,” Jonny says, no maybe to it at all, “I checked my mailbox four times a day, every day. I paid to overnight two-sentence letters. I said I’d marry you.”
“That’s stupid?” Patrick asks. His voice is too small, too fragile.
“No.” Jonny wants to kiss him, a familiar feeling, but feels terrifyingly like he might actually do it. It feels like watching his brother carve their name into the swingset, knowing he wouldn’t stop him, being glad, years later, that it’s there. “I didn’t tell you the right way, that’s what’s stupid. I didn’t tell you so you’d know I really wanted to.”
Patrick doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and Jonny’s just - just so terrified of what he’s done. He’s written his name, and now he’s just watching, afraid that everything will shatter apart, because his name doesn’t belong here. But then - then Patrick climbs over the console between them, kneels over Jonny’s lap, just collapses against Jonny’s chest, winds his arms around him. Jonny wraps his arms around Patrick, strokes his fingers through Patrick’s curls.
“Don’t ever leave me again,” Patrick mumbles against Jonny’s neck. Jonny squeezes him tight.
“I knew you were upset. I’m sorry - I’m sorry-”
“Make it up to me,” Patrick sniffles a little, looks up to smile at him. His eyes are the same blue as the sky over the city he hated being left for.
“How?” Jonny asks, even though there’s nothing he’d say no to.
“Marry me,” Patrick says, smiles like he’s kidding, but his eyes are serious. Jonny knows what he’s really saying - he’s saying date me, saying let me kiss you and sleep in your bed, but he knows what Patrick is also saying - someday, marry me.
“Patrick,” Jonny says, and for a heartbreaking moment, Patrick’s eyes go sad. “I already promised I would.” Patrick kisses him then, and everything about this is so impossible - Patrick in his lap on the passenger seat, after a summer of Patrick’s strangely beautiful handwriting, the last unanswered letters that made Jonny’s heart race for what felt like days on end. He wrote his name all over Patrick a long time ago, and the thing that scares him has always been knowing that Patrick’s name is on him, because Jonny’s been worried Patrick didn’t actually want him. Patrick does, though. He wrote his name on Jonny so early, Jonny’s never known what it’s like, to not belong to him. He recognizes Patrick’s handwriting now, though, and he can see that it’s always been there, he’s always been Patrick’s, and this, this is what is written between the letters of their names, the love they have for each other, a language all its own.