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In These Tangled Webs (2/11)
Sanders Sides: Patton, Logan, Roman, Virgil Blurb: It should be easy admitting to your roommates that you’re not entirely human. Only in Logan’s case it’s not. Not when he discovers that Patton is afraid of Spiders. Fic Type: Hurt/Comfort Overall Warnings: Spiders, Arachnophobia, Death Talk, Minor Character Deaths, Slightly Detailed Descriptions of Deaths, Murders, Injuries, Swords, Imprisonment, Biting, Fangs, Venom, Extra Body Parts, Blood, Manipulation, Negative Self Talk To Catch Up: Chapter 1
Logan’s scared of spiders.
Patton drew in a steadying breath as he moved cautiously into the kitchen, bucket of spider-repellent cleaning supplies in his arms.
Logan’s scared of spiders.
It was a comfort to know that he wasn’t alone in his fear.
Logan. Calm and rational Logan had gone so pale and been barely able to speak three nights ago when that creature had come crawling out of the bananas Roman had bought earlier that day.
Patton pursed his lips, setting down the bucket with a thud on the counter, one hand raising to grip the pendant around his neck that he never took off. It was a simple thing, an old nail that had been bent into a circle, wrapped in a crisscross pattern of white thread.
“Wear this. Spihers hate it. Pwomise.”
“…How…how will they hate it?”
“It glows. Tells all spihers. Go way!”
Patton exhaled, wishing he remembered who’d given him the necklace. For the longest time he’d thought a friend from first grade had given it to him before he moved away. But Virgil hadn’t recognized it when Patton had excitedly shown him he still had it when they reconnected last year in Hereditary Genetics.
Patton slipped the necklace off and held it by the chain, watching it as the pendant slowly swung back and forth.
“No huwt you. Pwomise. She lies.”
Patton frowned, straining to connect a face with the faded voice. A teacher? No. He’d been homeschooled for most of second and third grade by his grandma before she’d had the stroke. Could she have given him it? No, the voice he remembered was too young for an adult. Besides, neither she nor his grandpa had ever believed him when he said it would glow. They’d dismissed it as a childhood fancy. A coping mechanism. To them, it always had a blue shimmer.
Always because his grandparent’s home had been riddled with the tiny creepy crawly death dealers.
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