Chapter Text
Patrick’s phone rings insistently. He groans and reaches to the side table by his bed. His arm hits the lamp before he can finally get it, but luckily hotels have a habit of predicting sleepy people and bolting down their lamps.
He manages to get a hand on his phone, and answers it sleepily. “H’llo?”
“Oh, I’m sorry! Did I wake you up?” Comes the voice on the other line.
Patrick sighs. “Oh, hi Mom. No, no, it’s fine.”
“Good.” His mom says, a smile in her voice. She always has a smile in her voice. Patrick likes that. “You’re in town right now, right?”
Patrick nods, then realizes that she can’t see him nod over the phone, and says, “Yeah, we’ve got a night off tonight then two shows. Why, what’s up?”
“Oh, I was just wondering if you could help me for a little.” His mom replies. “I’m cleaning out the attic, and arthritis is being a pain.” She pauses to laugh. “Literally! But, anyways, if you could come over today, maybe, and help go through some old stuff up there, that’d be great.”
Patrick nods again, internally cursing himself for not remembering that people on the phone can’t see you. “I can do that. Uh, if I come over at ten, does that work?”
“Yes, that’s great. I’ll see you then.” His mom agrees. “Bye, hon.”
“Mhm.” Patrick mumbles, slightly rudely hanging up on his mom. He slams his phone down. The hotel clock tells him it’s 9:15. He should really get going.
So he falls asleep again.
~*~
“Oh, we are so late.” Pete says gleefully.
“Shut up, I was tired.” Patrick mutters, trying not to drive too fast.
Pete had insisted on coming along because “Old attic stuff is cool, Patrick! And maybe your mom has a million dollars secretly hidden away!”. Patrick seriously doubted that last part, and asked Pete if he’d been reading that book about the group of kids who treasure hunt to make money so it seems like they were working again, and Pete had just whispered “but the author is gay!”.
As far as Patrick was concerned, Pete was just annoying.
They finally make it to Patrick’s mom’s house, and pull into the driveway. He gets out of the car and walks to the door, followed by Pete, who is now listing off gay authors.
“Let’s see...Shakespeare! Shakespeare was gay! Did you know that?” Pete says excitedly as they reach the door.
Patrick laughs. “Yes, I did. Did you know only one Roman emperor was straight?”
“Whoa! Really?” Pete asks, seeming genuinely amazed by that.
“Yes, really.” Patrick nods, knocking twice on the door.
Almost immediately, his mom opens it and hugs him. Patrick laughs and hugs back. “Mom, I can’t breathe.”
“If you couldn’t breathe, you wouldn’t be talking.” His mom tells him, grinning, but lets go anyway.
“Oh, shut up.” Patrick says good-naturedly.
His mom finally notices Pete. “Oh, you brought Pete! It’ll be good to have an extra set of hands for the cleaning.”
“Yeah, I’m here too!” Pete says, waving.
Patrick’s mom makes a big show of hugging Pete, too. “Good to see you again.”
“Mhm.” Pete mutters, trying to pull out of her death grip.
When he finally escapes, he asks, “So, we’re just looking through the stuff in the attic?”
“Yes.” Patrick’s mom nods. “If you see anything that’s obviously junk, put it in a garbage bag. I left some up there for you. Anything you know I’ll want to keep, leave where it is. Anything questionable, put in a pile.” She beams. “I’ve got lemonade if you need refreshments.”
“Sounds good.” Patrick says.
“Let’s go clean up an attic!” Pete exclaims, pulling Patrick away by his arm.
“Pete!” Patrick complains, but Pete keeps pulling him until they’re in the attic.
When Pete releases his death grip on Patrick’s arm, Patrick rubs his arm and looks around.
“Shit, that’s a lot of boxes.” Pete says in a hushed voice, voicing Patrick’s thoughts aloud.
“Yeah, a lot.” Patrick repeats, nodding.
Pete breaks into a grin. “Then we should get started!”
An hour later, it feels like they’ve barely made a dent in the boxes and knickknacks stacking up everywhere. Patrick is busy studying an ornate lamp with sparkly swirl designs on its lampshade when Pete yells something at him. “Hey, Patrick...you were born April 27, 1984...right?”
Patrick rolls his eyes as he throws a ratty cupid plush into a trash bag. “Yes, idiot. You know that.”
“You’re absolutely sure.” Pete says, his tone unreadable.
“Yes. I’m pretty sure I know my own birthday.” Patrick rolls his eyes and tosses twenty identical wooden rulers into the trash bag as well.
“Okay, sure...” Now Pete’s tone is distinguishable. He sounds confused, and a little bit nervous. “So then why is there a box labeled ‘Patrick’s birth photos: June 5, 1979’?”
“There...is?” Patrick frowns and tries to focus on deciding whether or not a broken lava lamp is worth keeping. “That’s weird.”
“Uh huh.” Pete says agreeably. “Hey, wait. No, it’s actually ‘Patrick and...’ well, someone’s. There’s another name, but it’s scribbled out. Do you have a secret twin you never told me about?”
“Not that I know of.” Patrick responds, throwing out a large rock that he isn’t sure even has a reason for being here in the first place.
“I’m opening it.” Pete announces, and Patrick hears the sound of ripping cardboard and tape.
“Pete, don’t.” Patrick says half-heartedly. It’s already too late, anyway.
“These are baby pictures, alright.” Pete informs him. “Hey, there’s definitely a second kid scribbled out in black marker. You totally have a secret twin!”
“Okay.” Patrick mutters, setting a huge baseball card collection in the “don’t know” pile.
“You aren’t even remotely surprised by this information.” Pete says, a tone of questioning to his statement.
“Nope.” Patrick answers, popping the ‘p’. “If I have a secret twin, it’s not like I’ve ever met them. Therefore, it doesn’t matter.”
“Ooh, more photos are under the bottom flap of the box!” Pete exclaims. He seems like a little kid who’s just found all the easter eggs. “Maybe these ones will include the other kid!”
“Mhm.” Patrick mutters, not really caring, then pauses. “Hey, wait. Isn’t June 5, 1979 your-”
He’s cut off by Pete screaming, “Holy shit!”
Patrick turns his head to see Pete gaping at a few pictures in his hand and violently flipping through them. “What?”
Pete turns to him, eyes wide. “So...you’ve seen my baby pictures, right?”
“Uh huh.” Patrick nods slowly, not quite sure where this is going.
“So tell me.” Pete says just as slowly. “In this picture, the other kid isn’t scratched out. And...” He inhales sharply. “It’s you, and...” He holds up the photo, and Patrick does a double take.
“Wait, is that you?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. He still isn’t one hundred percent sure where this is going, though he does have an idea, and he doesn’t like it.
Pete nods frantically. “Do you realize what this means?”
Patrick shakes his head slowly. “No, not really.”
Pete’s eyes are still wide as he whispers, “Patrick. We’re twins.”
Patrick, admittedly, screams bloody murder. What the actual fuck. That can’t be right. That can’t be right.
“We don’t even look alike at all.” He says quietly, and it’s his only condolence that this could be wrong.
“Well, actually, not all twins are identical.” Pete points out, shattering Patrick’s hopes. “That would mean we’re fraternal-”
“Shut up.” Patrick hisses under his breath. He does not need to talk about this right now.
“Are you two okay?”
Patrick whirls around to see his mom (Is she his mom? He isn’t quite sure who his parents actually are anymore.) standing in the door, looking concerned. His scream must have made her come up to check on them.
“Oh, we’re fine.” Patrick says, voice laced with anger. “But you...” He snatches one of the photos from Pete’s hand and holds it up. “Have a lot of explaining to do.”
Patrick’s mom’s eyes widen, face paling. “Oh, I...I can explain.”
“I should hope so.” Patrick hisses, crossing his arms. “Go ahead. Explain.”