...

Tate didn't register the run back to Murder House. He didn't really take in anything till he was in his room with the door shut and he collapsed beside his bed. He folded his arms on the edge, put his head down and cried. It was a rough expulsion of emotion: It hurt his face, it hurt his throat and shoulders and sides. It added to the pain from his incompletely healed internal injuries. He sobbed, ragged and wounded. Broken.

Then there was a hand on his back, cool and light and gentle. His sobs quieted some but he couldn't seem to stop entirely. He didn't lift his head.

"My sweet Tate," Nora said softly, near his ear. "Don't cry so."

He hiccupped, gulped a breath and lifted his head just enough to peek out at her with bloodshot eyes. "I hurt," he said after a moment, voice thick.

She pet his back and tried in vain to smooth his messy mop of blond hair. "I know," she said. "I know."

Chad and Patrick came into the room then. Tate glanced over but avoided looking at their faces. He was afraid of what he'd see. He wiped his nose on his sleeve so he could lift his head more without looking disgusting.

"I blew up the school."

"So we gathered," said Chad.

Patrick gave him a nudge. Chad favored him a prissy frown.

"Why did you do that?" Nora asked, perplexed.

Tate focused on her again. "It was evil. It had to die."

Chad's expression soured more. "Well, you'd better not get any ideas about blowing this place up."

"I wouldn't!" Tate objected.

Chad wasn't convinced. He knew his house was hardly innocent and didn't want it subjected to cleansing by a psychotic teenager on a mission. But Patrick had that Look so he shut up about it for the moment.

"That place needed to go," Tate reaffirmed, telling himself that as much as he was saying it to the others. He rubbed his face with both hands, hating how wet it felt. "I'm glad it's gone."

Patrick shook his head. "Tate..." He wanted to tell him that he couldn't solve problems by blowing things up but it seemed futile. The deed was done. He sighed and shifted his weight uncomfortably. "You didn't hurt anyone, did you?"

"No!" the teen said defensively. "They hurt ME!"

Tate regretted saying that immediately. He could tell by the others' reactions that they were both surprised and dismayed. He felt pity in the air and he wanted none of it. It made him kind of mad that everyone was in his room, uninvited, judging him. Tears started to fall again.

Patrick moved over to where he was and sat down on the bed, on the opposite side from where Nora was kneeling on the floor. "What happened?" he asked.

Tate scowled down at his hands and started picking at his fingers. "I'm tired."

Pat glanced over at Chad who folded his arms and raised his brows.

"Okay," said Patrick. "We'll talk about it tomorrow. Age down and get ready for bed."

Tate looked up at him, confused. He never got sent to bed on Halloween. "But-"

"No buts," said Chad in his no-nonsense tone. "You said yourself that you're tired. Tired boys go to bed."

Nora rose to her feet and petted Tate's hair a couple of times then kissed his forehead. She smiled at him, a look that was faded by the unshed tears in her eyes. "Good night, darling. Sweet dreams."

She drifted to the door and let herself out with a polite smile to Chad as she passed. She would go check on her other angel, dear fussy Joshua.

Tate looked from one man to the other and was met with a unified wall of sternness. He frowned. "It's Halloween," he said as he got to his feet.

"No shit," said Chad. "I just spent the last hour or so parading about in a child's costume with your God-damned mother, pretending to be you. Do you know how ridiculous I felt? You owe me, buster. Big time. And right now what you can do is what you're told, without back talk. Do you understand?"

Tate frowned deeper and felt more tears welling up. He'd already had a shitty night. He didn't need more crap raining down on him. "This sucks!" he exclaimed.

"You want to tell us what happened instead?" offered Patrick.

Tate glared at him, suddenly realizing the ploy. He was being managed, by both men. He felt ganged up on. They were offering him a choice that wasn't really a choice at all. He could talk or he could go to bed before ten o'clock on Halloween.

He huffed a sigh. "Fine," he grumped, making it obvious he didn't think it was fine at all. He sat down on the edge of the bed, leaving a space between him and Patrick big enough to fit another person in. "I showed up. Mister Football Kyle tackled me and killed me. Then he let his stupid jock brothers do it too. There. Happy?"

"Absolutely ecstatic," Chad said, rolling his eyes. He folded his arms loosely. "You had to know they'd do something like that. I mean, you did kill them, after all."

Tate sulked at him. "And I said I was sorry."

That got another eye roll. "I'm sure that made them feel sooo much better."

Tate's frown darkened. "You're the one who said you wanted to hear this."

"And you blowing up the school ties into that apology how?" Chad said archly.

Patrick grimaced. Tate looked down at his hands and started picking at his thumbnail.

"I told you," he said, weariness creeping into his voice. "It was evil. It was the reason all the bad stuff happened."

"I seriously doubt that," said Chad in a way that made it plain he put a lot of blame squarely on Tate.

It was more than the teen could handle, after the night he'd had. "God! Nothing I say is good enough for you, is it? You just want to be mean to me!"

Chad pursed his lips and tightened the fold of his arms. "If I wanted to be mean I'd shave you bald so I'd never have to look at that disgusting rag mop you call hair again," he said tersely. "Don't forget, baby boy: You killed us too."

Tate's mouth got real tight and he laced his fingers together in a tight squeeze. Even still he couldn't stop himself crying. He shuddered with the effort to repress it but in moments he was reduced to tears again. He managed to keep it quiet but it was obvious how hard he was struggling to contain himself.

Patrick sighed. "Chad, why don't you let me handle this from here," he suggested.

Chad shifted his weight. "Only if you handle it in a way that makes sure he doesn't blow anything else up." Of course he was still concerned about the house.

Pat lowered his chin a little, eyebrows inching up. "You think I can't?"

They locked gazes for a moment then Chad sighed a martyr's sigh. "Fine," he said in a way almost identical to the way Tate had delivered the same word earlier. "But I swear to God if he does anything to my house, I'll kill him myself."

"I'm not gonna blow the house up!" Tate yelled through his tears.

Patrick reached over and put a firm hand on the back of his neck. "Knock it off," he said.

The words were calm, quiet even, but they carried a promise of unhappy consequences that settled the teen right down. Tate sniffled and looked at him, hurt and angry. He wanted to accuse Pat of always taking Chad's side but it was a futile way to go and he knew it. So he glared at his own hands instead.

Chad shook his head. He looked like he was going to say something more but he caught Patrick's look and just rolled his eyes again. Then he left the room and shut the door behind him.

Once he was gone Pat looked back at Tate. "I don't know what happened there," he said. "But I know it's more than you're saying." He held up his other hand to stop the objection he could see rising in the blond boy's expression. "I'm not going to pressure you about it. Whatever happened, that's yours to own. So is whatever comes from your blowing up that school. What happened to those ghost kids you killed?"

Tate twitched a little shrug. "They were all standing around watching it burn."

Pat sighed. "Ah, well," he said. Some part of him had hoped Tate would say they'd been released to heaven. It was a nice thought anyway. "You know they'll probably be back here next Halloween."

Tate shrugged again but he sank lower into his coat. "Yeah. Probably." He hoped they wouldn't but Patrick was most likely right. Despair washed over the teen and he hunched over, hurting inside so badly he couldn't straighten up.

Patrick felt a little sting of something like remorse. He hadn't deliberately set out to make Tate feel worse. He wouldn't have asked Chad to leave if he wanted to do that. But if Tate felt badly about anything involving the murders he committed, Pat had to think that was a positive step - even if it was a selfish one as well.

"I'm not going to punish you tonight," he said after letting the teen have his moment of misery.

Tate straightened a little to peek through his messy fringe at the older guy. He was both dismayed to hear talk of punishment but relieved at the same time that he wouldn't have to deal with it in his current condition.

"Yes, I am going to punish you," Pat went on, reading his expression. "But tomorrow's soon enough. Right now I think you need to sleep."

"It's Halloween!" Tate whined and more tears slipped out.

"Tate, you're a wreck," Pat said bluntly. "What're you going to do for the rest of the night in your condition?"

Tate was a picture of moroseness. "I want to see Violet. I told her I'd find her when I got back."

Patrick looked at him for a long moment. "Not tonight," he decided.

"But-" the teen started, desperation etching his pale features.

"No, Tate," said Pat firmly. "In the state you're in you're just going to do or say something you'll regret later. Tomorrow is soon enough - for everything. Violet will understand."

Tate looked like he'd been shot. He started to sob again. He thought about defying the man but he really was spent, emotionally and physically; worn to a thin, frayed end. He quieted when he felt Patrick's hand move down to rub his back in a surprisingly soothing way.

"I'm not tired," he grumped.

Patrick laughed, short and dry. "That's not what you said a bit ago."

Tate sniffled. He thought about the prospect of trying to sleep and it was an overwhelming one. Trying to sleep meant laying alone in bed, hurting and thinking thoughts he didn't want to think until the blackness came to send him even more bad thoughts while he slept.

"Can... Can I sleep with you tonight?"

Pat considered. He had so many plans for the night that had been derailed. Nothing he'd intended to do with his free time had happened. The idea of sacrificing what little time he had left wasn't a welcome one.

"I'm not going to bed right now," he said.

Tate started to cry again. Patrick was torn between being a hard ass and cutting the kid a break. It was a tough spot to be in. It should be easy, he thought, just to tell Tate to suck it up and deal. But it wasn't. Pat didn't want to feel badly for him but he couldn't help it. Telling himself that this mess was what the teenager deserved for being such a maniac didn't work.

He sighed heavily, disappointed. "God, Tate. How the hell did you get so fucked up?" He patted the blond teen's back. "You can sleep in my room while I read."

Tate looked up and hope showed through the river of tears. "You're not going out?"

Pat's lips twisted in a dour look. "Families sometimes make sacrifices for each other."

Tate looked at him funny. It was the second time that day that one of his fosters had said something like it. It was a strange thing to hear, for him. Finally, in a small and ragged voice he said, "Thanks." A few more tears leaked out, pulling straight from the heart.

"Uh-huh," said Patrick. "You'd better remember this. Now go get ready."

"Do I have to age down?" asked Tate as he got up. He moved toward the door. "I d'know if I can. I'm completely tapped."

Patrick eyed him like he was reading a polygraph. "Not tonight," he allowed. "Just don't let Chad know. You know how he feels." He deliberately didn't specify what about. They both knew.

xxx

Author's Note:

End episode 9. Roll credits, etc. It's not a real tight ending, I know. That's because we're wrapping around the final curve here so the last couple of episodes kind of bleed into each other. The series is set to end with episode 12. So far it seems on target, amazingly. It's gotten very far off course compared to the original story outline I had. It's taken a lot of effort to reign it in. As it is, there are still going to be a few nagging ends that simply can't be tied up in this series, such as whether the dead kids from Westfield come back next Halloween. I was already planning to do some one-shots after finishing the series so I'll probably try to get to those loose ends with that approach. Funny thing about stories... there can never be a happy ending because the story never ends. It just changes.

Next episode is American Horror Story - Season 1.5, episode 10: Ghost World. In it we learn more about the house's new owner and the ghosts learn more about the world they belong to - and the prophecy that's set to change everything. How does Rubber Man fit into the equation? With ghosts disappearing, is anyone in Murder House safe? Stay tuned to find out.