In which pie is complicated
Patton gets a bit too enthusiastic during Thanksgiving when he discovers that Virgil likes pie.
AN: Um. This is the fluffiest piece of fluff ever and it makes me happy so here you are and I hope it makes you happy too.
Pairings: platonic Moxiety (again, lol)
Warnings: None :D
This was the first Thanksgiving. The first one they would have all together. As a family. It was the first one that they weren’t casting nervous glances down Virgil’s hall, hoping to God the ‘little jerk’ wouldn’t show up and sabotage everything.
It was the first Thanksgiving that Patton set out four plates in the mind palace dining room. And it was the first Thanksgiving that Virgil hesitantly poked his head out into the hallway.
“Are you… are you going to make a pie?”
Patton jumped and swiveled around. He had on his favorite apron and was knee deep in mashed potatoes and turkey for Thanksgiving tomorrow. He struggled to keep a neutral face on but quickly slipped into a grin. “You came out of your room!”
Virgil rolled his eyes and slipped into one of the bar stools at the breakfast table. He grunted. “Yeah. Whatever. It just… smelled good.”
Patton’s heart shrilled. His friend, his buddy, his little dude wasn’t actively avoiding him! He’d hoped, oh he’d hoped, that Virgil would want to join them, but he knew that Virgil might choose to duck out in favor of stewing in his room, or worse, joining Thomas in the real world. But here he was, the day before Thanksgiving, asking about pie.
Patton stilled. He had no idea how to make a pie. Logan and Roman had always been more fond of ice cream sundaes and so Patton had never made the effort to learn. But Virgil said pies. And if Virgil wanted pies, he was getting pies. “T-thanks,” he stuttered.
Virgil quirked an eyebrow. “You okay, Pat?”
He was great! He was over the moon! Everything was awesome!
“I’m just dandy, kiddo,” he managed. He turned back to his potatoes, which were making weird popping noises, and stirred it around. He could sense Virgil just behind him, playing with the placement of the cornucopia in the center of the table.
Patton opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment, he felt Thomas tugging at him. He paused and took off his apron. “Right back, Virgil. Can you make sure this doesn’t burn?”
Virgil nodded and Patton quickly sunk out.
And by the time Patton came back to the kitchen, Virgil was gone, leaving a finished pot of mashed potatoes on the counter. Patton smiled.
Okay, so he needed to figure out how to make pies.
Patton had no idea how to work a computer, so down it was to Logan’s library to see if Thomas had picked up anything subconsciously about how to make pies. He found a recipe book quickly and skimmed through the sort-of instructions, nodding all the while. Okay, he could work with this. How many hours did he have? Not nearly enough.
He sunk back into the kitchen, book in hand, and slapped onto the counter.
It couldn’t be that difficult, could it?
Several hours later, Logan was the one that found him. He wandered in, intent on locating the metal notes he’d accidentally left in the living room, only to stop and stare at the kitchen in horror.
Flour was everywhere and there were pans piled in every which way. Pies of all sorts, burnt and less burnt. A cloud of smoke hung in the air and Patton was crouching on a counter, repeatedly slamming the rolling pin into what appeared to be a rock. No. It was dough.
It might as well have been a rock.
Logan stared, stunned and speechless until Patton wiped around and scrambled off the counter. He rushed toward Logan and grabbed him by the shoulders, rolling pin still in hand. “I didn’t ask him what type of pie! I don’t know what type of pie he likes! Pumpkin, apple, berry, cherry, chocolate, banana cream-”
“Patton!” Logan took the other side by the shoulders and detached him from his (now covered in floury handprints) button down. “What on earth has gotten into you?”
Patton took a deep breath. And all at once, he deflated. “V-Virgil-”
But before he could continue, Thomas grabbed Logan by the scruff of his neck and pulled him out of the room (rude).
And so Patton stood there alone in the kitchen, panting. He huffed in frustration.
He was never going to finish them in time!
He was going to ruin Thanksgiving and Virgil wasn’t going to want to spend the holiday with them and if he didn’t like Thanksgiving, then he might not want to have Christmas with them and then and then and then-
The oven timer beeped.
Patton scrambled over to it.
His hands were shaking and he had no idea how long it had been since he’d properly eaten or slept. Time was odd in the mindscape and a day could stretch for several if he was so inclined. Carefully, he took out a pie from the oven. It was supposed to be a pumpkin pie.
It looked like a mud pie and Patton could feel tightness in his throat bubbling up. You’re not going to cry about pies, silly.
But he just couldn’t do this. He didn’t know how!
All at once, all of his energy left him. His shoulders slumped, he dropped into a chair, and he rubbed his eyes, swiping flour onto his forehead. A sniff. A small one. Don’t cry.
Virgil’s going to hate it.
And that was all it took. Patton coughed and sniffed and cried as clouds of flour settled around him. The room was quiet for the first time in hours but for the sound of Patton’s quiet, tired sniffing. Stop crying, you baby.
He almost didn’t notice the person. In fact, he did not feel them until a soft hand touched his shoulder and slowly lifted his chin. His touch was cool, but not uncomfortably so.
“Hey, Pat. What’s going on?”
Patton’s eyes went wide. He tried to scramble up but he kept him in his seat with another touch. “Virgil, I-I, I’m s-sorry.” His eyes were filling with water and he could hardly see Virgil’s face.
Virgil frowned. “Sorry? Why are you sorry? Patton, look at me. What is all this?” He gestured at the bombsite of a kitchen around them.
Patton’s chest tightened. He couldn’t possibly tell him. He couldn’t ruin it more than he had. But… Patton was never good at keeping secrets. He swiped at his eyes again. “I’m t-trying to make pies. C-cause you said you want pies and I-I wanted you to spend Thanksgiving with us, but I don’t, I don’t know how and- and-”
Virgil’s eyes flickered with shock, followed by guilt. “Oh jeez, Pat. I didn’t, I didn’t mean-”
Patton had failed him. “And now I’ve ruined everything!” He didn’t want to look at him. He couldn’t look at him…
But instead of walking away, instead of grumbling, instead of snapping, Virgil did something very unexpected. He crouched down so that he could look Patton in the eyes. “Patton, don’t be ridiculous.”
Patton blinked. “What?”
“I should have realized you’d take me seriously. I just…” Virgil chewed his lip and suddenly started speaking quickly. “I don’t really know a whole lot about Thanksgiving outside of what I’ve heard, and I’ve heard pies are a thing, so that’s what I said. I mean, I love pies, but it wasn’t- it wasn’t a deal breaker or-or… anything. I… this is my fault. I’m sorry.”
Patton wiped his eyes one more time and cocked his head. “Oh,” he said. Virgil smiled at him hesitantly. And it wasn’t a smirk, it wasn’t a grimace or a snark. A real smile. Patton swallowed thickly. “So you’re not… mad?”
Virgil snorted. “Course I’m not mad. I never imagined you would, or anyone would care that much about… Look, let’s just…”
But before he could finish, Patton jumped forward and wrapped him in a hug. Tighter than he usually hugged because it was necessary. He felt Virgil stiffen under him, but he slowly relaxed. And carefully, hugged him back.
Quite suddenly, the whole situation felt ridiculous. It was hilarious, actually. Patton chuckled into Virgil’s hoodie and Virgil started to laugh as well. And soon they were both laughing.
Once they caught their breaths, Virgil chuckled and gestured vaguely at the kitchen. “How about we fix this disaster, yeah?” He stood and offered a hand down for Patton to grab.
Patton smiled sheepishly and took it. “Okay.”
They surveyed the flour covered mess and Virgil glanced at Patton. “How many pies did you try to make?”