Work Text:
“You can't be serious.” Henry remarked as Patrick spread out newspaper in the bathtub, unable to miss the chicken that perched on the side as Patrick worked. “Put it outside Patrick!”
“She was scared of the thunder.” Patrick responded as he sat her in her makeshift nest, not missing the look Henry handed him in return over the action. “Come on Hen.. Be nice to Henrietta.”
“You and that damn chicken.” Henry swore as he threw his hands up in the air, not seeming to fathom the overall domesticity that Patrick had adapted to ever since he moved in with Henry. “You have no issues killing animals, but when it comes to a chicken.. a bird.. dinner.. you decide to bring it into our nice clean house.”
“She reminds me of you.” Patrick reasoned with a half-hearted shrug, scratching under Henrietta’s chin, which caused her to trill happily. “Good chicken.. Hen—”
Henry knew the moment Patrick came home with this baby chick that had an “attitude” he should have turned it into dinner, but he didn't, and now he had to deal with the outcome of that decision. Henrietta was the definition of a mother hen, especially when it came to Patrick, whom she would follow around the farm as he helped Henry out with the upkeep. Henrietta was a Golden Comet. She produced these delicious brown eggs, which Patrick loved to cook with, and that was the only reason Henry hadn't forced Patrick to cook her up instead. The bastard claimed she was the chicken version of him. The bastard could sleep on the couch.
“You're scrubbing that bathtub tomorrow.” Henry remarked as Patrick stripped off his clothes in preparation for bed, not bothering to hide how he stared as Patrick pulled back the blanket on his side of the bed. “Scared of thunder, my ass.”
“Didn't you build Bip and Bop an area in the barn because the storms stressed them out?” Patrick questioned as he lay down next to Henry, knowing damn well Henry let the pigs sleep in crates inside near the fire when it was especially cold out during the winter. “Yeah.. that's what I thought.”