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delimeful · 3 years

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the end of being alone (4)

warnings: mentions of Roman's tragic backstory, health concerns, chronic fatigue mentions, but really mostly fluff

“Roman!” A hushed whisper-yell came from halfway across the cave.

Roman looked up from where he was carefully taking apart and cleaning out his communicator, feeling a stab of exhaustion upon seeing Patton crouched next to their resident baby Human. They’d just spent what felt like half a suncycle entertaining the kid, who seemed to wake up with more energy than all three of them combined.

Virgil was in fact the source behind the crumbs of mud and dirt that had worked their way into the cracks of his communicator: Logan was currently at the ship working inventory, and the kid had insisted on checking up on him as often as he remembered that the Ulgorii wasn’t with them, which was often.

Still, they’d managed to tucker him out eventually, and he’d fallen asleep in their presence for the third time ever, which felt like some kind of accomplishment in itself.

An accomplishment that they were about to undo if Patton didn’t stop making a ruckus. Roman drew his hands apart slowly, signing ‘quiet’ at his friend as he cast one last look at the partially assembled communicator and then padded over.

“What is it?” he signed, since whispering was both rough on his throat and not always guaranteed to come out as low volume as he’d like.

Patton took a moment to gesture wildly at the Human, who was slumped over on his side. Roman felt a sudden stab of fear, and leaned over to check his breathing.

To his relief, Virgil was simply sleeping, no injuries or illness visible in him. He turned a frustrated stare onto Patton. If the Ampen had called him over here and scared the scales off of him just to have another fit about how cute the Human was, he was turning right around and walking to the nearest river to dunk his head under and scream.

Before he could say as much, Patton finally found his words. “Roman, he’s purring!”

Roman jerked back slightly in surprise. “He’s what?”

“Purring!” Patton looked up at him, antennae fluttering back and forth rapidly like he couldn’t contain his confused alarm. “He’s never done this before! Do you think…,”

Roman moved closer, ears pricking forward attentively. Sure enough, there was a low little buzz coming from the Human. He couldn’t help but notice the purr’s odd tone, the weakness of it, the way it stuttered and paused and occasionally seemed to falter entirely.

“It’s not right,” he muttered to himself, placing the pads of his hand on the Human’s torso and feeling the faint buzz.

Patton whistled in worried query, glancing between them both. “Is he hurt?”

“He’s Human, Pat, I don’t know if—,” Roman froze midway through lifting his hand away; Virgil was making a short, high noise, almost like a whine. His little face had crinkled up in sleep, the way Human distress looked, and his purr had turned to hitching breaths.

Roman glanced at his broken communicator and swore under his breath, feelings strong enough to make Patton fluff up with secondhand panic.

“I’ll go find Logan!” he said, twisting and scampering out of the cave, quick enough that his skittered footsteps had vanished by the time Roman’s wordless sound of protest made it out of him. Roman had longer legs, and Patton was better with the kid, so why had things turned out like this?!

He looked back down at Virgil, who had begun to unconsciously curl inward, leaving his back exposed. The motion hardly made sense; according to the body scan Logan had coaxed the kid through, the center of all his nerves met there, with only a thin layer of skin and muscle surrounding it.

He had no scales or rough hide or even fluffy plumage to protect his back, but he still curled up with it facing out, as though defending his squishy underside like a Crav’n.

The thought made something in him twist, and his scales went slicked back as another whimper tore through the tiny Human. He glanced at the cave opening: There was no sign of the others’ return. It would probably be a while yet.

Regardless, Roman couldn’t wait around and watch a kit cry any longer. He carefully lifted the Human up into the curl of one arm, crooning lowly at him. Virgil settled slightly, but the tiny, haphazard purr had yet to start back up, and the thought was enough to make him feel nauseous with worry.

He reached back and only hesitated a fraction before unhooking his plate armor, pulling it free and setting it away for the first time in the kit’s presence. Despite the sounds of metal, Virgil didn’t wake, head slumped against a shoulder and gangly limbs pulled in tight.

Still, no purr. Not even that sickly little stutter.

If Virgil had been a Crav’n, a true pup, he would have spent each night cuddled up with his family, falling asleep to their low rumbles and quickly developing his own. It was an automatic reflex, a vital part of deep sleep, a vibration that kept their bodies in good condition.

There were ways it could go wrong. If a pup was abandoned, they’d have problems developing their purr alone. If a pup felt... unsafe enough, they’d stop purring entirely, quiet even in the deepest sleep. When it was a choice between being healthy and not being hunted, even the smallest pups knew which to choose.

Even after rescue, it could be a struggle to regain the reflex, especially without close family. It had taken Roman years to manage, and he could still remember how much better he’d felt when he’d woken up after a full night of low, purring sleep. The sense of relief that came with realizing the ache in his bones didn’t have to be permanent.

Roman wavered, looking down at Virgil. The kid was Human. There was no guarantee this was even what he needed.

But if he did need it, the way Roman had needed it so long ago…

He pressed a thumbpad to the little crinkle in the Human’s brow, smoothing it out, and then sat down with a little grumble of acceptance. He shifted to lean back, his tail keeping him balanced as he settled Virgil’s little curled up form atop his chest.

It had been a while since he had purred while conscious. Parents got plenty of practice, of course, but once a kit was old enough, everyone would greet them with their own rumble, let them know they were safe. It was the best way for older kids to keep practicing their purrs while awake, too.

He hadn’t practiced in a long time, but looking down at the kit, he found his own deep, consistent purr started up with barely a hitch.

It took a few moments, but Virgil cuddled closer, seeming to lose a little of that fearful tension. Roman carefully adjusted him as he got floppier, and frowned at the little sharp bits of bone he could feel under the skin. Patton was right; the kid needed to eat more.

Embarrassingly, his purr got louder, as though he could heal months’ worth of living off a scavenger diet through pure force of will. He should tone it down. He wasn’t a brand new parent looking after their first pup. He didn’t even know if this would help at all.

…

Well, it couldn’t hurt to keep trying, though, could it?

—

When Patton scrambled into the cave ahead of him and then stopped short, Logan feared the worst.

He’d always known that this venture could end in disaster, from the moment they’d realized they were dealing with a Human. Roman had been worried about aggression or violence, the classic fears when it came to Deathworlders and the expected response considering the Cravon’s past.

Logan had been more worried about the situation itself. The black market trafficking industry had led to an abhorrent number of cases with rescued feral children. Very few of them had been successfully socialized, and though Virgil was older and seemed to be improving with them, his worry about the child had never quite gone away.

“Is he…,” Logan felt his throat buzz with some sort of wordless grief, and Patton turned to look at him with wide eyes.

He chirped a negative as quietly as possible, and Logan felt some of the weight on him fall away. Reaching out, Patton curled his little fingers around Logan’s wrist, tapping an apology against his chitlin.

“They’re okay,” he whispered, and then pulled him forward excitedly. “I was just surprised, really surprised— look!”

Once his eyes had adjusted to the slight change in lighting, Logan could see Roman, who was laying on his back up against the wall of the cave, his face lax with sleep and a low rhythmic rumble emanating from his chest. This in itself wasn’t entirely unusual; Roman needed a lot of sleep, and he often took naps here and there.

No, the unusual element was the Human that currently had his cheek squished up against Roman’s neck, sprawled out in the most relaxed position he’d ever seen from the pupa. Roman’s chest plate had been set aside entirely.

“They’re cuddling,” Logan said, bewildered.

“They’re cuddling!” Patton squealed, ecstatic.

He clapped his hands over his mouth, but going by the way Roman’s purr shifted to a growl, the damage was done. Roman’s eyes slit open, and without a moment’s pause his tail curled in front of him defensively, his scales pricking up to make a wall of sharp points between them and Virgil.

The Cravon looked entirely ready to disembowel whoever had dared to try and disrupt the kid’s sleep.

“Roman,” Logan called dryly, “it’s us.”

He ran through his identifying ‘friend-safe’ clicks to cement the statement, but Roman was already settling his scales back down and averting his gaze.

“Sorry,” he forced out, ears flattened back with embarrassment as his growl settled back into that low purr Logan normally only heard while they were settling down to sleep. “Didn’t mean to—,”

“It’s quite alright,” Logan interrupted, unable to completely conceal the amusement he felt. Roman had yet to shift in any way that would jostle Virgil. “Though this is a touching scene, I was under the impression that something was wrong.”

Patton piped up to answer his non-question, though his antennae had yet to stop their excited swaying. “We found out Virgil purrs!”

As if on cue, a haphazard little buzz started up, a rough, faltering pattern that was barely audible. Roman lowered his own purr’s volume, though it seemed to make his ears twitch with reluctance.

They all went quiet to listen to the undersized sound for a moment, the Human still blissfully unaware of all the attention.

“It’s too weak by far,” Roman said, his Common a little more accented through the purr. He was looking at the Human in his arms with blatant worry, a far cry from his original reluctance to interact. “I didn’t know a purr could be this weak.”

“That’s because it’s not a purr,” Logan said, trying to keep any hint of fondness from his voice. His shipmates turned to look at him with wildly varying expressions.

“I’ve seen this phenomenon before,” he continued. “I used the medscanner to check Virgil over, because I had also originally assumed it was a purr, and if it was…,” he faltered.

He’d been just as alarmed as the two of them now were, hearing it. If it had been an internal maintenance process like a Crav’n purr, it would have been even quieter than Roman’s when they’d first started travelling together. He and Patton had witnessed firsthand the difference in Roman’s mood and health once he’d gotten through those rough nights.

Next to him, Roman’s ears were tucked completely flat, as though he knew exactly what Logan was remembering. Logan didn’t understand why Roman was so embarrassed by moments of weakness-- was often frustrated by his friend’s reticence, even-- but now wasn’t the time to address it.

“I was simply concerned about the possibility,” Logan finally settled on, “but after investigating his scan thoroughly, I found it was simply the result of soft tissue vibrations from a partially blocked airway.”

Patton blinked up at him. “What does that mean here?”

“It means I-- we freaked out for no reason,” Roman grumped, carefully pushing himself up as his purr ground to a stuttering halt.

Logan held out a stilling hand. “Not necessarily.”

“So, it is a bad thing?” Patton asked, drooping.

“Not at the moment, however,” Logan cast a meaningful look at Roman, “I have no control to work off of, but I do believe Virgil’s general skeletal and muscular health is in worse shape than they should be. He may not have the capability to self-maintain like you, Roman, but that doesn’t mean he gains no benefits from this. The opposite, really.”

Roman slumped back down immediately, eyes wide. “It’s helping?”

“Yes,” Logan confirmed. “I was planning to bring the topic up with you, actually, once you were more comfortable around him.”

“I’m so proud of you!” Patton chirped delightedly, darting forwards to bump his head against Roman’s chin. “You really stepped up when he needed you, Roman.”

“Of course I did, who do you think I am?” Roman shot back confidently. Everyone politely pretended not to notice the flustered twitching of his tail. Patton peeked over Roman’s shoulder, crooning slightly at the sight of Virgil.

“Cuddle pile!” he cheered softly, using Roman’s arm as a helpful bar to climb up onto him. Roman shifted obligingly, shifting his horns into range for easy handholds when Patton inevitably slipped.

As soon as Patton was settled, feathers puffed out for maximum soft padding, the two of them turned to look at Logan with matching pleading expressions, as though choreographed. Logan clicked with faux reluctance even as he stepped closer.

“Oh, very well,” he conceded, and was pulled into the haphazard pile posthaste.

He mentally tabled the rest of inventory for later, knowing quite well that nothing was going to get done for as long as the impromptu session lasted.

Still, with his friends beside him and Roman’s pleased purr rumbling through him, he couldn't seem to find anything to complain about.

#sanders sides #teoba #wibar #ts roman #ts virgil #ts patton #ts logan #writing #my writing #the end of being alone #humans are deathworlders #yaaay i wrote #*claps for myself*

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therubyjailcell · 3 years

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One Step At A Time, We'll Go On - [Remus & Dee bonding fic]

A/N: This is a short thing that I wrote as a small snipet of my characters in the RP I have going on currently with my boyfriend, @clownchecked ! And because it wasn't really an interaction per se, seeing as I'm playing both of them, I was originally planning on writing a short thing to send him, but it ended way longer than planned, so might as well make it a short fic. Enjoy~

Summary:

Virgil and Remus have been dating for a while now. Their relationship was kind of a mess, to be honest. Except Virgil got 3 kids, only one of which is Remus's, and his teen child is not liking Virgil having a new boyfriend. And Remus would like Dee not to feel trapped in their own house again.

TW: Reference to a dead character (Logan), family conflicts

Ship: Background Dukexiety, past Analogical

WC: 1804

Listen - Remus had made up his mind a while ago. He was pretty sure he'd known since they got together, actually, but he'd come to terms with the fact that he really wanted this and that he would do it for real, a while back still. The only other step before proposing to Virgil was, in Remus's opinion, Dee.

Hear him out: Dee might be Virgil's kid (and not the one who made the decision anyway), they still were very important and had to be taken into account. Especially since they were barely allowing Remus to be in the same room - though that was getting so much better lately, and Remus definitely had noticed how, even though they still wouldn't start the conversations, they actually did exchange convos with him now. Either way, he wanted them to know beforehand what he was planning, and to, y'know. Agree to it. Remus's goal had never been to make life harder for Virgil nor Dee, and he wanted to make sure Dee was okay, because despite them doing their best to show how much they despised him, Remus actually cared for Dee. And while they still had to learn that Virgil wanted Remus to move in with the rest of them, he figured they were smart enough to know what would follow, and that this would at least feel like they were in control of things. And yes, Remus would wait if Dee refused, he did want to show them they could at least trust that he would respect their boundaries.

All in all... He was so stressed about this. He had gotten a ring custom made to be unique, and to be honest, he hoped Dee would at least hear him out.

⠀

Dee wasn't stupid, alright? They could very much see that Remus was definitely a permanent feature now, and that he was spending more and more time over. They weren't sure how to feel about it. But at least the other didn't suddenly move in without warning, they supposed. When they heard a knock at the door that afternoon, while Virgil was busy outside, and Remus was keeping an eye on the littlings and them, they had a feeling that they weren't escaping this conversation. They were doing better though, nowadays. They could tolerate Remus talking to them (with them, even). They also noticed his efforts to keep in mind their boundaries, and how attentive Remus was to them. They had asked Virgil whether he was the one who told Remus about their tastes, and likes and dislikes, only to get a confused look from their dad as he asked why he would share personal stuff about Dee to Remus without asking Dee first. That left Dee with a confused feeling, between the need to cry, and the urge to yell. Anger, sadness, worry, regret, grief - they weren't sure exactly what was causing it, it felt too complicated to entangle it, but they sure felt it.

Either way, that knock meant tough convo ahead - the littlings were napping, and Remus usually worked during nap time, so. This was a real conversation. They weren't sure what to expect, honestly. They hesitantly told Remus to come in, anxiety rising, and Remus made sure to enter slowly, and not to go too far into the room.

"Heya Dee. Think we could have a small chat? Nothing bad, I promise - just wanted to know your opinion on something."

⠀

Dee kept quiet for a bit, before they nodded and sat on their bed, discreetly holding onto their plushy, hoping it'd comfort them. Worried kid. Remus definitely noticed, but kept quiet about it, and smiled encouragingly to them. He wanted them to be okay and feel like they could express themself, it was important. He hesitated for a bit, before nodding and giggling a little.

"I'm sorry, I'll be honest, I'm a bit nervous. But I want to preface it all by saying I truly want to know how you feel about the thing I wanna talk about, and that I promise I will respect your opinion, and I won't do anything to go against it. Okay?"

Dee kept quiet, before muttering a "okay", clearly unsure how to respond. It wasn't surprising, they didn't have much to go on, to be fair. Remus took a deep breath, fidgeting with the box in his pocket, before taking it out slowly. Dee was watching him attentively and frowned a bit, confused.

⠀

"I would like to ask you if you would be okay with me proposing to Virgil."

⠀

The sentence hung there in the air for a bit, Dee staring at Remus silently, their face visibly showing the whirlwind of emotions they were currently feeling. Remus felt bad immediately for dropping this like a bomb.

⠀

"I really love your dad, and I would like to marry him at some point. However, I don't want you to be upset by the news, or uncomfortable, or to feel like I'm imposing, so I wanted to ask you first, and well. I'll only follow through if you're okay with it. But if you're not, well... I don't mind. I can wait, it's okay." He smiled at the teen. "It's okay if you're upset, or if you don't want me to propose, I won't hold it against you I promise. And Virgil will never know about any of this either, promise."

Dee kept quiet, looking down as they tried to process everything. Remus wanted to propose... and he wanted them to agree to it first? That felt weird. And very much new, considering they hadn't exactly been warned ahead of time nor asked for their opinion much when it came to Virgil and Remus's relationship. Though the talk with Virgil had helped soften the repeated blows from before, it still felt bad, and Remus asking now felt foreign.

⠀

They kept quiet, and this seemed to worry Remus, because the other spoke again. "I promise this isn't me trying to impose nor me trying to force anything on you. And I really do not mind it if you'd rather I didn't propose right now. It's okay, and you're totally valid in how you feel. And I'm not trying to replace your dad either, and I know I'll never be him. Virgil will always love Logan, and I know that, and I promise I'm just asking because I want you to feel okay in your own house."

Oh. Right. Dee looked at their lap at that. Because a marriage led to moving in together, right? Dee hesitated at that, because they really weren't sure they wanted to live with Remus. Though it had gotten better, hadn't it? It wasn't like that at first. And, though they'd never admit to it to anyone else... Remus was kinda nice. He cared for Patton very much, and he took care of both Patton and Thomas, even though he only technically had to do that with Thomas - regardless of what Remus and Virgil, and Patton even, said, Dee still couldn't face the idea of Patton considering someone else his dad too, it was too hard. And even with them, Remus was nice and caring.

And they did have to admit that they didn't mind him being there as much, and it was kinda nice to have the house be... less empty sometimes. Because Remus was loud, and kinda everywhere, and honestly super clumsy, but also super mushy, it felt... familiar, though foreign. Kinda felt like home, sort of. Just slightly to the left. Not to mention how happy Virgil looked - though it always looked kinda upset whenever Dee was around, but that was mostly because Dee had been very awful about Remus, and that probably was why Virgil looked sad or worried so much. Or angry. Either way, Dee didn't like it much, though they felt like they couldn't stop themself from being like that.

⠀

Remus had kept quiet since Dee had looked down, and Dee was grateful he hadn't pushed. They considered their next words very carefully, trying to craft an answer that wouldn't feel like a lie, one way or another. But how do you answer a yes/no question when you have so many doubts? Dee wasn't sure. They felt conflicted. They looked at the other and Remus gave them an understanding smile. "It's okay, take your time - I'm not in a rush, I promise."

Dee hesitated before mumbling "Can I see it...? The ring?" and that made Remus lit up. It wasn't quite an answer, but it was something, and he was very happy about it. Especially since that something wasn't them yelling or throwing things at him. He went to sit on the floor next to Dee's bed, and opened the box to reveal a quite frankly beautiful ring. It was black, with purple and green shards in it, that seemed to shimmer and shine, though it was discreet enough, and definitely Virgil's style. Dee teared up - it was magnificent. Their dad would love it, and it clearly showed that Remus cared and paid attention. They gulped a little.

Remus looked at them at that, probably hearing them sniffle a bit, and frowned worriedly. "I'm sorry, did I do something wrong...? I'm sorry if I upsetted you, or anything, I didn't mean to." Dee shook their head and tried to dry up their tears with their fist, but it didn't work that well. Remus closed the box and put it back in his pocket, shifting so he was facing them, and took their hand softly, leaving plenty of time for them to pull away. They didn't, and he squeezed their hand.

⠀

"Are you okay?" Dee shrugged at the question. They weren't sure. "That's fair," Remus answered, before humming, "It's okay if you'd rather not answer right away. We got all the time in the world. Would there be anything that could help you feel better? A movie, a tv show - I can even leave the living room if you want to use the TV on your own." Dee shook their head and sniffled before mumbling "Dad'll love it. The ring... He'll love it, and I hope he- I hope he'll be happy with it."

Remus squeezed their hand softly. "I picked it specifically for him, after all... I hope he likes it, like you said." He smiled at the 12 year-old and hummed softly. Dee seemed to relax a little, very much overwhelmed, though the humming did help with grounding.

⠀

It took a bit for them to calm down, and they still had a lot of feelings to sort out. But their dad was in good hands, and they should focus on themself - Remus made it clear he was able to wait as long as Dee needed before taking a step forward, and that was something to hold onto.

#my writing #v can write #pre established relationship #ts sides #ts #ts fic #sanders sides #past analogical #remus sanders #ts remus #janus sanders #ts janus #dukexiety #marriage proposal #ts duke #ts deceit #idk how to tag this lol #either way have my last few contributions to this fandom ever #tss

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sleepless-in-starbucks · 4 years

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My Prince

Ao3

Summary: Logan was a knight. As such, it was his duty to protect and guard the prince. No matter the sacrifice, Logan would always make it for his prince- even if it might cost him his life. Content: Major character injury, major injury, stabbing/stab wounds, blood/coughing up blood, hiding injuries, being caught trying to hide injuries, collapsing, some not listening to a doctor/medic, talk of death/dying (but no actual death), talk of grief, poor self-care, a bit of panic, Logan thinks Roman’s going to kill him for one scene because Logan’s exhausted and prone to panicking, cuddling + literally sleeping together, despite the pain the bois are Somft and this fic does have a happy ending Pairing: QPR (technically ambiguous but meant to be QPR) Logince Notes: do NOT do what Logan did in this fic, he was being a big himbo, if you are hurt TELL SOMEONE. Also this fic is ~8.6k don’t read if you’ve got things to be doing

There were a lot of things Logan didn’t like about battles. They were loud. There were too many people. Blood really didn’t smell that good, especially mixed in with sweat. They almost always ended with him getting injured.

Though Logan had to admit, he normally didn’t get injured this bad.

It hadn’t been his fault, not really- a bad parry that had left his enemy’s sword in his chest instead of out of their hands, that was all, but it had still happened and Logan was still left clutching at his chest and grinding his teeth together as he finished off the handful of enemies still standing around him. He was lucky it was a late-battle injury- he wasn’t sure what he would’ve done if there were still hundreds of troops to fight off.

As soon as he dispatched his last combatant, Logan let out a groan, planting his sword in the ground and leaning on the hilt of it as he glanced at his injury. It was bad, even an idiot could tell that- the sword had gone all the way through his chest, blood staining his uniform on both sides as he watched. Given where it was located, Logan was lucky he wasn’t coughing up blood.

Logan sighed. That couldn’t be ignored (according to his fellow knights and prince, none of his injuries could be ignored; this was just one of the few times Logan agreed with them).

Pulling the ‘temporary skin’ potion off of where it hung from his hip, Logan smeared the sticky liquid across both sides of his wound, watching as skin that was an angry-red colour stretched over the cut. It wasn’t a good solution, he was well aware of that- it wasn’t going to stop all the bleeding, and the fake skin would soon break down; it was meant to be used in severe emergencies only, after all- but it would take care of the issue for the moment, and that was all Logan needed.

Certain that his wound was taken care of for the present, Logan finally sheathed his sword and made his way over to where the rest of the knights had gathered, patching themselves up and taking head counts of the various squadrons. Though he spared a glance about as he pushed through the various groups, Logan was more focused on getting to his primary charge.

“I’m dying, I tell you, dying! Call the will-writers, the cask-makers, the mourners! I shall never make it back to the castle!”

Sounded like he was doing fine.

Stepping past the final row of ambling soldiers, Logan smiled despite the pain that was still pulsing in his chest when he spotted Roman. The prince was sitting next to his horse, propped up by a rock he must have found for the express purpose of laying against dramatically while a soldier attempted to do something with his leg.

“Your highness, it’s not as severe of an issue as you seem to think it is.” The soldier tried to assure Roman. Logan shook his head. They must be new.

“I don’t think you understand, dear knight, I am DYING! This shall be the wound that ends me. To think that such a prince of power and awe might be taken out by such a mild battle is hard to believe, I know, but it is the truth!” Roman proclaimed, laying his hand over his forehead and leaning backwards in full dramatics. “Do not remember me like this, I plead, but instead as I was in battle, a mighty force of strength and-”

“I believe that is enough out of you, your highness.” Logan interrupted, coming over and taking over for the soldier who had been helping Roman. They passed the gauze in their hand over to Logan in relief, happy to walk away and allow Logan to take up their task- wrapping the long cut running up the side of Roman’s right leg.

“Logan! My dear knight!” Roman greeted excitedly, smiling up at Logan despite his earlier cries of ultimate pain and death. “Have you come to witness my demise?”

“Considering your wound seems to only bear the potential for severe complications at worst, I find it doubtful you shall be dying today, your highness.” Logan said in amusement as he set about securing the bandages around Roman’s cut.

“How dare you defy your prince’s sound and always unerring judgement.” Roman reprimanded, though he was still smiling, tone teasing. “And I’ve told you before, Lo, call me Roman. I can only hear so many people call me ‘your highness’ before I go mad.”

“As you wish, your highness.” Logan responded, smirking when Roman rolled his eyes. “Now, Roman, do you require a healing potion for your grievous injury?”

“I think I would rather suffer. It is the way of the hero, after all!”

“Suffering needlessly when there are resources available to aid you is not heroic- it’s simply foolish.” Logan corrected. “May I fetch you a potion or shall I be forced to suffer your complaints throughout the entirety of the return journey?”

Roman sighed, holding it out for almost an entire minute before he said, “Fine. But only if no one else requires it.”

Logan nodded, noting the seriousness in Roman’s voice. For all his dramatics, the prince valued all of his subjects and had a borderline stupid tendency to always put their well-being before his own. “I will go check. Do you think you can survive a minute without me?”

“If I must…”

With a chuckle that was cut short by the stabbing pain it caused right where his wound was, Logan stood and walked over to where the designated medic was. The title was little more than honorific, indicating only that they held the bag of healing potions and not that they were an actual medic. Actual medics rarely came along to battles, especially to ones so close to base.

“Medic.” Logan addressed, catching the designated medic’s attention. “How are the troops?”

“Attended to.” The designated medic replied. “All soldiers have been patched up and healed as necessary.”

Logan nodded once. “Healing potions?”

“We have one left.” The designated medic replied, reaching into their satchel and removing a small vial of bright orange-pink liquid. “Do you require it?”

“The prince does.” Logan answered, and the designated medic nodded, passing the vial to Logan. Barely a moment after, they were called for, and they gave Logan another nod in farewell before heading off in the direction of the call.

Left by himself, Logan looked down at the vial in hand, biting the bottom of his lip. On one hand, the potion would greatly help him- if nothing else, it would certainly dull the pain of his injury, which would likely have been unbearable if Logan wasn’t so good at ignoring it.

On the other, Roman was hurt. Not gravely so, but he was still injured. And with the chance of infections or further damaging of the injury, the cut being left untreated could pose a serious risk to Roman’s health.

Plus, he was the prince. It was Logan’s duty and honor to serve him and keep him safe above all else, himself included.

So, ignoring the steady pulse of pain in his chest, Logan kept the vial corked and returned to Roman. He resumed his position beside Roman, this time closer to his head than his leg as he offered the vial to him.

“Your potion.” Logan said, quirking up the corner of his mouth. “I hope it will bring you away from the doorstep of death you seem to have found yourself on.”

Roman accepted the potion, though he hesitated before taking it. “You are certain there is no other who needs this more than I?” He asked in confirmation.

“No one. All other warriors have been attended to.”

“Yourself included?” Roman asked, to which Logan titled his head and tried his best to look confused instead of possibly caught red-handed. “You’re drenched in blood, Lo.”

“It’s not mine.” Logan replied, which wasn’t a complete lie. Not all of it was his, after all. Just… a vast majority of it.

“Mhmm.” Roman hummed, in a way that suggested he just barely believed Logan. “Are you sure?”

“I think I would be aware if I had been injured.”

“You’d hope. But still. You’ve checked yourself over? You’re completely alright?”

“I assure you, Roman, I am just fine.” Logan lied, well aware that even a hint of hesitation from him would have Roman forcing him to take the potion even if Logan really was fine. “We leave for the castle soon. The sooner you ingest the potion, the sooner it can get to work, and the smoother your trip will be.”

Roman watched Logan for a moment longer, clearly searching for a lie, but eventually he opened the vial. “If you’re sure.” He said, in a soft voice that suggested he was choosing to trust Logan in this, trust that he was okay and Roman was the one in greater need of the potion.

Logan didn’t flinch as he nodded. “I am.”

And with that assurance, Roman drank the healing potion, and Logan let out a small sigh of relief. The potion should kick in near immediately, reducing Roman’s injury down to little more than a scratch in a few hours and hopefully stave off any chance of infection in minutes, which meant that for the moment, Roman was safe.

Of course, Logan still had a barely-addressed hole in his chest, but he was ignoring that perfectly well, so he was fine. Or, at least, he’d be fine long enough to make it back to the castle, where there’d be more healing potions and actual medics whose services he could use without taking anything from Roman.

“Now that,” Roman said as he swallowed the potion, grinning as a bit more colour came to his cheeks and a lot more theatrics came into his tone, “may have just saved my life. You are truly a lifesaver, my dear knight.”

“I think the potion is more what helped you than I, my prince.” Logan said, standing up and offering a hand to help pull Roman up.

“Yes, but you brought me that potion.” Roman countered, taking the proffered hand and allowing Logan to help get him on his feet. Logan bit his lip as he did so, trying to ignore how the motion pulled on his temporary skin and made his wound ache. “Therefore, you saved my life.”

“If that is what you wish to believe.” Logan returned, assisting Roman in mounting his horse as to ensure minimal strain was put on Roman’s leg wound. Of course, this ended up putting more strain on his own injury, but Logan once more ignored the ache. “Are you ready to begin the march back to the castle?”

Roman took a moment to answer, settling himself in his saddle before he nodded. “Let us return to tell grand tales of our conquest!”

Logan scoffed before he started calling out orders to the troops, the men picking themselves up as best they could and falling into place, lined up and prepared for the journey back to the castle. It took them a couple of minutes to finish organizing themselves, but soon enough, everyone was in order, and Logan gave the signal to begin walking. As the knights behind him started moving, Logan took up his own position at the side of Roman’s horse.

At first, all was as it always was for the journey back to the castle- the sound of nearly identical footfalls against the ground was comforting in its familiarity, as were Roman’s random and slightly asinine remarks (normally about ‘facts’ about the surrounding wildlife), and despite the fact that his wound seemed to pulse with every step, the pain was manageable. It seemed that while Logan would be quite exhausted by the time they reached the castle, he wouldn’t be too badly off overall.

But that was before the coughing started.

It had only been an hour or two since the march had begun, the ache in Logan’s chest having been steadily growing but not doing much more than annoying him. Roman was in the middle of trying to explain to Logan why country birds were so dully coloured in relation to the concrete existence of Dragon Witches when Logan first coughed, dutifully coughing into his elbow and not thinking much of it.

At least, until he realized that he hadn’t just coughed- he had coughed up blood.

It wasn’t that much, not really, just a droplet or two, but the bright red colour still stood out against the dull blues and dried reds of his bloodstained uniform. Logan’s eyes widened at the sight and he hastened to rub it away, blending it in with the other stains. It was likely just the result of… of a cut in his mouth, or something equally mundane- it was nothing to worry Roman over, and worry Roman would if he realized Logan was coughing up blood, no matter the reason for it.

Rubbing the last of the stain away into the side of his uniform, Logan tried to put the incident out of mind. He was sure it was just a one-off thing.

That was, until he coughed again. And again. And on and on, single coughs turning into clusters that Logan was worried would soon progress into fits. He had managed to keep the prince from noticing thus far, both the coughs and the slowly increasing amounts of blood they carried with them, but if he couldn’t figure out a way to get them better under control and soon, he would be caught.

Within the hour, his assumption proved to be correct- busy trying to cough as discreetly as possible, Logan fell behind Roman, who noticed his knight’s absence almost immediately. Though Logan managed to hide the blood before Roman looked back at him, he wasn’t able to mask the fact that he had been coughing.

“Logan, are you alright?” Roman asked, slowing his horse a bit as Logan hurried to resume his position beside Roman. “You’ve been coughing an awful lot…”

“I’m fine, you- Roman.” Logan responded, catching the formality while also trying to focus on not beginning coughing again. “I believe something has gotten in my throat, that is all.”

“Do you need us to stop, my dear knight?” Roman asked, tone softer than Logan would have expected when using that nickname. It was a joke, after all, a reference back to when Roman had first called Logan ‘dear knight’ and had been met by Logan telling him he was not Roman’s ‘dear.’ So, of course, Roman went about calling him ‘my dear knight’ ever since. It was meant to be teasing, not sincere. “We can take a break if you need to catch your breath.”

“That will not be necessary, but thank you.” Logan said respectfully. Taking a break would only increase the amount of time it took him to reach the castle and receive help. “I do not want to delay our journey.”

“It will be no hassle.”

“Still, I must insist we continue.” Logan reiterated, refusing to allow the stop. Though he appreciated Roman’s concerns, stopping would do him little good.

“Alright.” Roman relented, though he continued to watch Logan worriedly. Aware of the prince’s gaze, Logan tried to stifle the cough attempting to rise in his throat, but he only managed to keep it at bay for a few minutes before he was back to splattering blood on the arm of his uniform, making sure to keep the bend of his elbow tight and close to him so that Roman couldn’t see the new red stains.

“Are you certain you’re okay?” Roman asked, the question rhetorical as he quickly pressed on before Logan had the chance to answer, “I know you do not wish to delay us, but you seem to truly need a rest. If it would suit you better, I would not mind parting with or sharing my stead. It would hardly take a minute to arrange- it would be no hindrance to our journey.”

At this offer, Logan hesitated. The thought of not having to walk anymore was enticing, he had to admit. Without having to exert himself in any way, Logan would have more air and energy, which, if nothing else, would make the rest of his journey to the castle at least a little less painful.

But the consequences of the possible actions weren’t nearly as positive- either Roman would be forced to walk, aggravating his leg wound and possibly reopening it, or the two of them would ride together and would definitely be forced to endure the criticism and rumors of the high court. Logan knew perfectly well there had already been plenty of less-than-kind words about his and Roman’s relationship that had spawned from the fact that he talked to Roman slightly more often than other knights- he didn’t want to see what sort of scandal them sharing a horse could cause.

So, once more, he found himself refusing the idea. “That is a very kind offer of you, my prince, but I assure you that my legs are fit to carry me and that I am fit to walk.”

Roman let out a breath. “You know, Logan, for all you call me stubborn and head-strong, you often display those very traits.” He commented, sounding both amused and still worried, though Logan was relieved to find the amusement seemed to be out-weighing the worry. Roman leaned backwards on his horse, rummaging around in one of its satchel bags before he pulled out a canteen. He then shifted his position, proffering the canteen to Logan. “At least have some water? To soothe your throat, since it is clear I cannot convince you to rest it.”

Logan hesitated a moment before accepting the container. If it would make Roman feel better about his well-being, it couldn’t hurt to have a sip.

He was careful as he drank, not wanting any excess blood in his mouth to stain the lip of the canteen or end up in the water. It was worth it, however, the lukewarm water still nice against his sore-from-coughing throat.

After a sip slightly longer than he likely should have taken, Logan returned the lid to the top of the canteen and tried to hand it back to Roman. But the prince shook his head.

“Keep it.” He said, waving his hand as if to dismiss the idea that he would take his canteen back. “You need it more than I.”

Logan didn’t fight him this time, simply nodding his head and muttering a “Thank you, my prince.” before he hooked the canteen onto his hip. Roman nodded as well, watching Logan a moment longer before he set his eyes forward on the road ahead, seemingly reassured by the fact that Logan had accepted some help, if not much.

And for a while, his reassurance seemed sound- aided by the water, Logan was able to beat back more of his coughs, though the taste of blood remained ever-present in his mouth. With the majority of Logan’s coughing abated, Roman went back to narrating their journey, featuring many incorrect facts and legends. It was that inattention that caused him to miss when Logan ran out of water, and to miss when Logan’s coughing once more turned ‘ugly.’

Logan, on the other hand, was completely unable to miss either of these things, nor was he able to miss just how much blood he coughed up this time. Even rubbing his arm against the side of his uniform, he was only able to hide so much of it. Grimacing at the bright red stains, Logan tucked his arm against his chest, hoping that would be enough to keep the fresh blood out of Roman’s sight, biting back on the cough he could already feel building in the back of his throat as well.

Predictably, he wasn’t able to smother the cough, and the following coughing fit had him once more following behind Roman. The amount of blood he was coughing up now was unhealthy, he could tell at a glance, a fact that was only reinforced by the dizzying headache that was beginning to plague him.

“Logan?” Roman’s voice got his attention, Logan looking up as soon as he had smeared the last of the blood on his lips off on his uniform, once more pressing his arm to his side. Roman’s gaze was focused on Logan, looking deeply concerned. “I hate to sound repetitive, but are you certain you are well? Because you really don’t look well.”

Forcing himself to straighten up and clear his throat, Logan ignored the much-too-present taste of blood in his mouth and once more pushed himself to resume his position next to Roman as he replied, “I do not mind the repetition, my highness, so long as you don’t mind that my answer remains unchanged- I am perfectly alright.”

Roman’s concern only seemed to grow at that answer, however, a look of confusion also coming into his eyes. He held Logan’s gaze for a moment, Logan trying to stop himself from erupting into another coughing fit as he did so, before he raised his hand and called out, “Halt troops!”

Near immediately, the troops around them stopped marching, squadron leaders calling out to stop those too far out from Roman to hear his direct order. Logan held his composure as well as he could as Roman dismounted his horse, coming over to stand directly in front of Logan.

“My highness?” Roman repeated. Logan frowned, unsure why he’d feel the need to once bring attention to that, unless-

Placing a hand to his head, Logan turned his eyes downwards. “Apologies, Roman, I didn’t mean-”

“That’s not the problem here, Logan.” Roman interrupted, prompting Logan to once more look up at him, tilting his own head slightly in confusion. Roman was frowning now as well, though he still seemed to be nothing more than distressed by Logan. “Plenty of people have mixed up ‘my’ and ‘your’ before, but never you. You’ve been lying to me about being fine, and while I’m not going to hold that against you, the lies must stop now. Something’s wrong. What is it?”

“I don’t know what else to tell you, Roman, I’m-” Logan was cut off by the coughing fit he had been suppressing, doubling over even as he pressed a hand to his mouth, trying to stop the coughs. All he succeeded in doing, however, was covering his hand in blood, coughs continuing to spill out of his mouth despite him.

“Logan?!” Roman cried out next to him, and Logan could just barely tell that the prince had grabbed his other arm, offering a balance that Logan likely would have fallen over already without. He was more focused on his coughing and the new ache in his torso, a tearing one that was soon followed by gushing warmth down his back and chest as his temporary skin broke down, likely from the strain he had been putting on it with all his coughing. “Oh, I’nago, that’s a lot of blood- Lo? Logan!”

Against his every wish, the world was fading away from Logan, darkness taking over the edges of his vision and spilling into the forefront of it as well. He lost his footing, coughing even as he fell forward. His awareness was all but gone, the feeling of arms holding him up and the sound of panicked yelling around him fading out with the rest of the vision as he slipped into blessed, painless unconscious.

Consciousness didn’t return to Logan quickly, or nicely, or even cleanly. Which was probably fair- Logan hadn’t exactly dealt with his issues quickly or nicely or cleanly. But that didn’t make it fun to deal with.

Logan wasn’t sure how long he was stuck in the in-between of awake and asleep, only getting glimpses and fleeting moments of reality- the steady thump of a horse running as someone held him close, the sounds of someone panicky and someone calm yelling at each other, someone softly running their hands over his arms and mumbling gentle nonsense to him, and pain. So, so much pain.

But eventually, he did wake up.

The room he was in was dark, the few lights that were in the room purposefully dim. Logan chose to be thankful for that, squinting against even the low light. What details of the room he could make out were foreign to him, the bed beneath him unfamiliar and the furniture around the room of a design he couldn’t recognize.

An inn room, then, or some other stopping place between the castle and wherever the troops had been when Logan had collapsed. Even though Logan couldn’t remember there being any inns or towns or such on the road to and from the battlefield, that had to be the answer- if he was at the castle, he would be in his own quarters, and these were most certainly not his quarters.

Soon enough, Logan’s search of the room led to him spotting the stranger sitting at his bedside. They were dressed in a dark cloak that concealed the majority of their features, a book open in their lap, seemingly ignoring Logan. Before he could say anything to them, however, their gaze flicked up, and they locked eyes with Logan.

“Finally.” They said, sounding relieved in the most annoyed way possible as they placed their book to the side. They scooted their chair closer to the bed, reaching into their cloak and pulling out a vial of something dark purple with hints of gold. They tugged the cap off before putting it up to Logan’s lips. “Drink.”

Tired and confused, Logan did as he was told without thinking, swallowing the potion despite the slightly acidic taste it had. The stranger pulled the vial away when Logan was finished, recapping it before they put it back in their cloak.

“Who are you?” Logan rasped after a minute passed in silence, the stranger seemingly content to not tell Logan anything as they looked him over.

“Virgil.” They answered curtly. “And don’t speak.”

Logan, deciding he had too many questions to remain silent, ignored them. “Why are you here? Why am I here?”

“I’m a medic, and we’re both here because someone thought hiding their massive internal injury was a good idea.” Virgil snapped. “Now shut up. You need to be resting.”

“Where am I?”

Virgil sighed, raking a hand down the side of their face. “Stubborn, of course- you’re worse than the prince, and that’s saying something.”

Logan’s eyes widened at the mention of the prince and he moved to sit up, the need to find Roman and ensure he was okay a sudden and rather illogical need, but a need he had to chase anyways.

That was, until Virgil’s hands landed on his shoulders a bit harsher than Logan felt strictly necessary and pushed him back down.

“Listen, using up your energy to ask pointless questions is one thing.” Virgil huffed as they moved from the armchair to sit on the edge of the bed, still holding Logan down. “But if you try to get up, you will break or tear something, and there are only so many times I can save your life. So for the love of Wycus- Do. Not. Move.”

Logan huffed as well, but he settled, and after eyeing him distrustingly for a moment, Virgil took their hands off of him.

“You never answered my question.” Logan brought up. “Where am I?”

“The prince’s chambers.”

More on reflex then by choice, Logan jerked upwards, immediately regretting the decision when pain shot through his chest and made the room spin. Once more, Virgil shoved him down, though Logan could’ve sworn they were gentler this time, recognizing the motion hadn’t exactly been fun for Logan.

“I will knock you out if you do anything else like that.” Virgil threatened, this time leaving one hand on Logan’s shoulder even as he raised a hand to cover his eyes, grimacing at how his head continued to pound even though he was no longer sitting up. “If you’re going to react like this every time your boyfriend is mentioned, I will make sure you do not so much as come within a squadron’s length of him until there is not a single scar left on your chest.”

“Prince Roman is not my boyfriend.” Logan corrected through a hiss of pain, moving his hand from his eyes to press against the site of his wound. He could tell that heavy gauze covered it now, even through the fabric of the shirt he realized he must have been changed into. “Why am I in his chambers? My own lodgings are right within this castle- that is where I always go to recover from battles, why is this one different?”

“That’s something you can ask your not-boyfriend.” Virgil responded, turning their head at the sound of a door opening. “Speak of Evil and find her amongst you.”

Careful to not truly sit up (Logan wholeheartedly believed Virgil would knock him out if he did so), Logan lifted his head as much as he could to see Roman. Though he was dressed in his royal robes, Roman seemed anything but grand- his head was held lower than usual and he seemed disheartened. Even after closing the door, he lingered in place for a moment, running a hand through his hair and looking down.

“Your highness,” Virgil called out, though the address was almost mocking, lacking the respect the title was meant to carry, “are you going to mope in the doorway forever? I don’t know how long your knight is going to be awake- I’d suggest you’d use your time more wisely, though I know wisdom is not your strong suit.”

Instantly, Roman perked up, turning in the direction of the bed with renewed interest. “He’s awake?” Roman asked pointlessly as he rushed over, his question answered as soon as Logan met his eyes. “Logan.”

“Your highness.” Logan responded in turn as he quickly scanned Roman. The prince seemed to be fine, no limp or bandages to be seen. He was okay. Of course, logically, Logan had already known he would be alright, but the reassurance of seeing it and knowing it for fact was dizzying (though that might have still been his injuries).

“I thought I told you to call me Roman.”

“Roman, then.” Logan corrected, even though he was certain Roman wouldn’t have cared right then what exactly Logan called him so long as Logan was awake enough to call him anything.

Beside him, Virgil groaned. “I can’t bear this.” They declared, removing their hand from Logan’s shoulder as they stood, heading for the door. They stopped when they came to Roman’s side, turning to face the prince as they ordered, “Do not let him move, do not let him stand, do not let him sit up or I will revoke your rights to see my patient. You two can talk as long as he is awake, but if he begins to show signs of tiring, he must rest. You know where to find me if he starts spasming.”

Finished, Virgil resumed their walk, leaving the room without another word. Roman watched them go, turning back towards Logan as soon as they were gone. “Apologies if they seemed… harsh.” Roman said, not moving from where he stood near the foot of Logan’s- Roman’s?- bed. “What they lack in bedside manner, however, they make up entirely with skill. I assure you that you are in good hands.”

“I have complete faith in all the castle’s laborers.” Logan responded. “Though I admit I do not believe I have met Virgil before. Are they new?”

Roman chuckled, pulling his fingers through his hair before he answered, “No, not at all- they’ve been with the castle for a very long time.”

Logan frowned. That couldn’t be possible- he knew nearly every medic employed to the service of the army, and he definitely knew all the old ones. Logan should have known them. “How is that possible?”

With another chuckle, Roman moved so that he was sitting on the bed beside Logan, looking him over in a way that almost seemed like he thought he’d never get to see Logan again. “They’re not an army medic, Lo. They’re the royal medic.”

“They’re- why am I being seen to by the royal medic?” Logan asked, fighting back the urge to sit up so that he could be on level with Roman. “Why am I in your chambers and not my own? What is going on?”

“What’s going on is that you were grievously injured, a fact you neglected to inform me of until you collapsed while coughing up blood, and I was worried.” Roman answered, placing a hand on Logan’s shoulder, moving it down and up his arm at a steady pace. The motion was comforting and familiar, and muscles Logan didn’t realize he had tensed relaxed. “Virgil is the best medic there is. My room ensured you were safe, warm, and… and close. This was the absolute best place for your recovery.”

“I apologize for causing you undue worry, my prince, and you have been very kind in your hospitality.” Logan told him. “But I still don’t understand. There is nothing wrong with the troop medics or my room-”

“Four days.” Roman cut him off abruptly, the hand on Logan’s arm stilling for a moment. “You’ve been unconscious for four days.”

“I- what?!”

“You were so pale, Lo. You looked as if you almost didn’t have any blood left in you.” Roman continued on, tone growing distressed and his grip on Logan’s arm tightening. “You’d open your eyes for a moment and close then in the next, mumbling nonsense to yourself as you did, but you were never really awake, and sometimes you’d dream and keep trying to roll over and move even as me and Virgil held you down, and sometimes you’d whimper like you were hurting but there wasn’t anything I could do about it, and you did spasm a few times, and I thought you were going to die, Lo, I thought you were never going to really wake up again and I thought my last real memory of you was going to be you choking on your own blood as you tried to tell me you were alright and I thought-”

One of Logan’s hands shot forward then, grabbing Roman’s free hand and squeezing it hard, breaking up Roman’s train of thought and bringing his attention to Logan. He looked like a wreck, and he was sucking in breaths in a manner that suggested he was a few more spiraling thoughts from working himself into a panic attack.

“No words can properly express how sorry I am to have distressed you so greatly.” Logan said, trying to keep his voice steady and strong as he squeezed Roman’s hand again, keeping him grounded. “But I did not die. I’m right here, and I’m alive. You do not need to worry over that now.”

Roman squeezed back, raising their joined hands so that he could rest his forehead against them, taking in a deep breath. “I know. But I didn’t know that these past four days. If I didn’t give you the absolute best care, if I had taken any half-measures and then you died, I- I never would have been able to forgive myself.” He said, lifting his head so he could look at Logan, expression hurting and confused. “Why didn’t you tell me you had been injured?”

“You didn’t need to know.” Logan answered. “I was… I thought I was handling it.”

“You could’ve taken that healing potion.” Roman said, shaking his head. “Damnit, Logan, why didn’t you take that healing potion? You knew plenty well I didn’t need it, nor would I have minded if you had taken it, especially when you had a sword wound all the way through your chest!”

“You were the priority.” Logan responded, ignoring the renewed ache in his chest at the mention of his injury. “Your leg cut bore the risk of infection or worsening. You needed the potion.”

“I didn’t think I’d have to remind you of this, but you had a hole right through your chest!” Roman cried out, though his grasp on Logan’s hand remained gentle, his other hand having resumed running up and down Logan’s arm. “Anything that could have happened to my injury also could have happened to yours, and you had internal bleeding to deal with as well- I don’t care if I’m the priority, you needed that potion more than I did and we both know it.”

Logan shook his head, stopping when his headache flared at the motion. “It doesn’t matter. You were the priority. By default, you needed the potion more than I did.”

“The default shouldn’t matter when your life is on the line!”

“But it does!” Logan shouted back as well as he could despite his sore throat. “I’m a knight, Roman! My first and foremost duty is to protect the crown! It is my job to make sure you are okay above all else!”

“And you are my friend! If you had died, I wouldn’t be okay!” Roman yelled back, the fight rushing out of him as soon as he did. He squeezed his eyes shut, removing his hand from Logan’s arm to press against them even as he refused to let go of Logan’s hand.

Logan didn’t know what else to do but sit in silence, processing the prince’s response as Roman composed himself.

“I haven’t known what to do with myself since you collapsed.” Roman admitted shakily, a hand still over his closed eyes as he spoke. “I’ve either been in here, watching over you, or wandering the castle halls. Nothing could hold my attention. Nothing… nothing seemed important when at any moment I could suddenly be stuck in a world without you in it.”

“There are other knights.” Logan offered, but it was weak. He was well aware that wasn’t what Roman meant, but it was an easier version of things to face than the real one.

Roman opened his eyes then, moving his hand so that Logan could see the tears welling at the corner of his eyes even as the prince smiled painfully, running his free hand through Logan’s hair. “None of them are my knight.” He said in response, tone having gentled into something sweet and fond.

Silence stretched for a moment after that, Roman continuing to run his hand through Logan’s hair as Logan processed his words. It wasn’t exactly hard to figure out what he meant- he had said it out loud, for De’veo’s sake- but the open emotions that came with them were… Logan wanted to say new, but they weren’t; they were familiar, as if he had always known them but only now had a name for them.

“If you could go back,” Roman started after a few minutes, looking at their clasped hands instead of directly at Logan, “would you do everything the same?”

Logan thought over his answer for a moment before he spoke. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“What would you change?”

“I would tell you I had been injured.” Logan said, looking at their joined hands now as well. “But only after you had taken the healing potion. I understand my mistake in refusing to allow anyone to help me, but… I am still a- I am still your knight. I will always prioritize your health over mine.”

“That’s what I thought you would say.” Roman said. “You would die for me if you had to, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course. I’m your knight, my prince; of course.” Logan answered automatically. It was the duty of every knight to die for the crown family if necessary. If it came between him or the prince, he would always take the hit.

Though Logan knew his answer would be the same even if Roman wasn’t the prince.

Roman nodded, more to himself than to Logan. “I can’t let you be a knight anymore, then. Not after this.”

“Are you going to discharge me from service, my prince?”

“Something like that.” Roman answered. Logan’s eyes left their joined hands to look at Roman, who seemed to be more occupied with combing through Logan’s hair. Logan swallowed.

“Are you going to have me executed, my prince?” Logan asked, feeling foolish even as he spoke but having to say it anyways. He knew it was a ridiculous thought, especially after everything Roman had said, but Logan wasn’t sure what else Roman could mean- unless he was going to have Logan imprisoned, but that was as good as a death sentence for former knights-

“Oh, Logan, no, my beloved knight, not that; never that.” Roman rushed to reassure, the hand that had been in Logan’s hair moving to cup his cheek instead. Instinctively, Logan turned into the soft, warm touch, his eyes closing of their own will before he blinked rapidly, refusing to fall asleep just yet.

Roman noticed, however, letting out a small sigh. “You’ve been up too long. You need to get more sleep.” He said quietly. Roman leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Logan’s forehead before pulling away. “I should let you rest…”

Logan tightened his hold on Roman’s hand as he tried to leave, stopping him. Though Logan was sure Roman wouldn’t have any trouble breaking out of his weak grasp, the prince stopped, settling back down on the edge of the bed and looking at Logan with mild confusion.

“What are you going to do with me?” Logan asked, well aware by now that he was being irrational in his worries but unable to dismiss them himself.

“Oh, Logan.” Roman soothed, free hand returning to Logan’s cheek, smiling comfortingly at him. “I’m making you a high scholar, that’s all. I’m not going to hurt you- I’d never hurt you, no matter how incredibly foolish you’ve been.”

Logan frowned. “High scholar… Roman, you know as well as I do that that’s a position of blood. You can’t make me a high scholar.”

“You can when you know the king and queen.” Roman joked, running his thumb over Logan’s cheek, his smile growing as Logan leaned more into his touch. “They’ve agreed to bend the rules for you as long as you can prove your intelligence, which I’m certain you’ll have no issue doing- though I will help you study while you’re recovering.”

“How did you get them to allow this?” Logan pressed. High scholar was a prestigious position, one kept within the blood families of nobles to ensure no ‘peasants’ ever got to hold it and therefore end up able to advise the rulers. Getting a (former) knight into such a position couldn’t have been easy.

“I convinced them through a blend of begging, persuasion, fact-stating, and simply existing.”

“Simply existing?”

Roman awkwardly laughed, looking away from Logan for a moment. “Like I said, not a great four days. I think my parents want that to happen again just as much as I do.”

“Again, Roman, I can never properly apologize for putting you through that.” Logan said, looking down at the bed. “I was aware that my actions would have adverse actions for me and my health, but I never considered- I never thought that you-”

“That I might get hurt too?” Roman offered, and Logan fell silent. A moment later, the hand cradling his cheek shifted to rest on his chin, lifting his head and forcing him to meet Roman’s eyes. Roman was smiling fondly again, looking at Logan with a type of love that was old but never tired. “Don’t worry, my dear knight. You’re forgiven.”

“Roman, I-”

“You were stupid, and you did a stupid thing, and you’re sorry. Don’t worry, I’ve got the basics.” Roman cut him off. “But due to my infinite wisdom as your most powerful and wonderful prince, I’m not going to let you do it again, and that’s what’s important here. Besides, I am never going to let you live this down, which I feel is punishment enough.”

Logan let out a little laugh, letting more of his weight rest against Roman’s hand as a small smile graced his face. “I’m certain it will be.”

“Hey, there it is.” Roman said softly, scooting a bit closer to Logan. “I’ve missed your smile, my dear knight.”

“You won’t be able to call me that much longer, you know.” Logan pointed out. “Apparently I won’t be a knight much longer.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Roman conceded, tilting his head. “My dear high scholar?”

Logan shook his head a bit, though he remained smiling. “Doesn’t flow very well, my prince.”

“No, no it doesn’t.” Roman agreed, his smile turning into a smirk as he moved even closer to Logan, once more cradling his cheek. “How about ‘my dear’ instead?”

“My dear.” Logan repeated, as if he were trying out the sound of it. He pressed against Roman’s hand, allowing himself to melt just slightly into the touch. “That sounds… nice.”

“Good.” Roman said, leaning forwards to kiss Logan’s cheek, prompting Logan’s cheeks to burn in a way he knew was unrelated to his injuries- though if asked later, he would claim it was mostly a side effect of his exhaustion. “Because I think it sounds nice, too… my dear.”

The following increased burn in his cheeks and giddy smile were also just side effects of his exhaustion.

“I’nago, you are beautiful.”

Logan blushed even harder. “Roman!”

“I couldn’t say that before.” Roman continued on, ignoring Logan as he grinned. “It’d be seen as favoritism, and the court politics- well, they won’t disappear with you as a high scholar but they’ll be better, and I can say that to you now.”

“That doesn’t mean you should!” Logan protested, though there was no force behind his words. The blush was an annoying consequence of Roman’s words, but Logan couldn’t bring himself to dislike the words themself.

“Sorry, my dear.” Roman said, not sounding very apologetic. “You almost get yourself killed, I get to point out the fact that you’re gorgeous.”

“Oh, you-” Logan began, moving to push himself upwards with his free hand, not sure what he was going to do once he was sitting but sure it was going to be great. His plans, however, were foiled by the stab of pain that went through his chest at the movement, his arm failing to support him as he fell back against the bed.

“Hey now, careful there, Lo.” Roman said as Logan squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ward off the black dots that had moved to swarm his vision. “There’ll be plenty of time to get back at me for all my charm later.”

Logan gritted his teeth together, trying to both block out the pain and remain conscious as he said, “You’re impossible.”

“Shh, love, bicker later.” Roman told him, tone softening as he raised their joined hands and pressed a kiss to the back of Logan’s. He placed Logan’s hand down afterwards, pulling the sheets up around him more, making it harder and harder for Logan to resist the call of sleep. “It’s time for you to rest, my dear.”

“Wait.” Logan said, fighting the urge to drift off as Roman tried to pull away, likely wanting to leave him in peace to rest. “You haven’t been sleeping.”

Roman paused in his retreat. “I- what?”

“I’m injured, not blind, my prince.” Logan said, opening his eyes enough that he could focus on Roman. “You said these past four days have been hectic and you have the bags underneath your eyes to prove it. Therefore: you haven’t been sleeping.”

“I have been… a bit.” Roman admitted slowly. “Worry isn’t very conducive to sleeping.”

“I’m okay now.” Logan reminded him, trying his best to smile reassuringly at the prince. “Please. Sleep.”

Roman returned Logan’s smile with a soft one of his own. “I will, okay? I just need to talk to Virgil about some things, and then I’ll find a guest room to crash in. I promise.”

Logan shook his head, biting his tongue to hold his awareness as he did so. “No. Sleep now. Here.”

Roman chuckled. “I think you’re more tired than you want to let on, my dear.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “You have a habit of forgetting to do tasks you deem unimportant, a list upon which both self-care and sleep often fall. The chance that you will not go to bed after leaving this room is too high for me to risk, especially given you have spent the past four days running on what I can only assume to be the absolute minimum of sleep, if that. Conclusion: if I do not ensure you are sleeping, you will not sleep.”

“And how do you propose to do that?” Roman asked. “You’re bed-bound and going to pass out in a few minutes, whether you like it or not.”

Logan patted the bed beside him.

Roman raised an eyebrow. “What? You want me to sleep here? With you?”

“Your bed is more than big enough for two people, my prince, and if we’re together I’ll know if you get up and try to leave.” Logan explained, only managing to partially fight off a yawn as he spoke. “Please, Roman. I need to know you’re resting too. You’ve seen the stupid lengths I’ll go to- don’t make me add sleep-deprivation while I’m recuperating to the list.”

“I think Virgil’ll kill you if you try that.”

“Please recall why we’re in this situation in the first place.” Logan said. “Please Roman.”

Roman sighed, but the sound was fond as he came back to the edge of the bed and pulled up the sheets. “Worried about me even now?”

“You’re my prince.” Logan answered as Roman settled in behind him, wrapping his arms around Logan and nestling his head over Logan’s shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. Roman was warm, his hold protective but soft, and Logan couldn’t help but melt into it, because it was natural, natural as breathing for Logan to trust him and protect him and love him. “I’m always going to worry about you.”

“You’re not going to be a knight anymore, you know.” Roman reminded him, his breath warm against Logan’s neck, the feel of his chest moving as he spoke comforting. “It’s not your job to worry about me anymore.”

“Who ever said I was doing it for the job?” Logan responded, smiling as Roman laughed and pressed a kiss against the side of his head. “Tomorrow I could be prisoner, peasant, or king and I would still worry about you, my prince.”

“And no matter what I myself am tomorrow, you would care for me nonetheless, my dear.” Roman added, pulling Logan even closer against his chest, careful to not press too hard against his injury. “But to get to tomorrow, you must sleep.”

“Sleep with me?” Logan asked, even as his eyelids slipped shut and he relaxed against Roman completely, already falling asleep with or without Roman.

Luckily, Roman just chuckled softly, pressing one last kiss to Logan’s cheek before he once more rested his head against Logan’s shoulder. “Of course I will, my dear. Now rest, and we will face tomorrow together.”

Content in Roman’s arms, Logan finally allowed himself to drift off, sure in the fact that his prince would be alright- and that he would be too.

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wastelandcrown · 4 years

Text

logan lark’s adventures in trying to appease his parents

CHAPTER 6: don’t lose ur head (the terrifying tales of the grimm monarchy)

Summary: Logan Lark is a fairly average high school student. By all means, he should be impressing his parents on all grounds. Except...he doesn’t exactly have a social life. So after his parents give him puppy dog eyes, he decides to join the local theatre's youth production. Good grief...His life is about to get weird isn’t it?

Warnings: Potential ooc behavior, Roman is a teenager who makes bad choices EXTREME edition, Remus being Remus, Intrusive Thoughts, Minor Bad Parenting, so much swearing it’s insane (If I miss something please tell me!)

Notes: This fic is based off an idea from @under-the-blue-moonlight. If you wanna be tagged in chapters, please ask!! I love this freaking chapter SO much but I’m really scared of how it’s going to be received. All feedback is extremely welcome!!

Pairings: Intrulogical, Eventual Rociet, One-Sided Logicality, Platonic DRLAMP

Tagslist: @under-the-blue-moonlight @why-should-i-tell-youu2 @im-actually-ok @hauntedturkeycalzonedreamer @croftersjam15 @rainbowsixth @snaketho @wasinotwantedatthisexactsecond @a-soul-among-the-stars @sweet-razz-tea @the-cactus-lord

Over the course of the next month Logan learns that despite their reputations, Roman and Remus are the opposite of what everyone thinks of them.

Logan is the smartest person he knows, there is no way in hell he’d ever miss Roman’s multiple attempts to sabotage his role as Hamilton. Smart, and yet so oblivious. Each time Roman had tried to mess with Logan after he began cultivating a friendship with Remus he was miraculously saved from the torment at the last second. Remus is a hundred percent certain that Logan has no idea that he’s fighting off his brother at each and every turn. He’s not certain of much, so it’s saying a lot. There is a beautiful dichotomy in Logan’s logs of the events and the stories Remus tells about his brother’s scourge against his brand new ‘enemy’. On a page labeled ‘Roman Incidents’ in Logan’s succinct handwriting documents every incident through the month when Roman attempted to sabotage him.

July 20th - Roman tripped near my things in the drama room while holding coffee. When I went to check on my things, someone had removed the contents of my bag and filled it with around six pounds of glitter. If this happens again, throw the bag away. Glitter makes anything unsalvageable. You will keep finding it everywhere.

Remus knew Roman had been planning something. Of course he did. Though they didn’t share a room anymore, sneaking into it had never been exceptionally hard. Neither had eavesdropping, when it counted. It counted now more than ever because Remus had become unreasonably attached to Logan and when he heard Roman talking to himself and mentioning the name of his favourite little nerd badly he knew it was now or never. It took two excruciating hours of sitting still and listening to get the juicy stuff. He almost got caught by their mother twice. She’d only been home for three days and she’d checked on Roman twice in one night. If Remus told her about the amount of effort he was putting into something she might keel over dead from shock.

What a funny sight that would be to him. His mother, dead from the shock of his hard work to do something good, thumping onto the floor. He laughs a little, quiet enough to keep Roman from hearing. His brain supplies the rational next step of Roman running out of his room and distraughtly cradling their mother’s head in his lap. Roman sobbing. Roman blaming him. Roman screaming about how it was his fault. And it would be, if she died like that. Remus doesn’t think it’s all that funny anymore, but once the train of thought starts it can’t be stopped. He decides that eavesdropping isn’t fun anymore and makes his way to the kitchen, trying to shake the idea of his brother cursing him out for killing their mother out of his mind.

It doesn’t really work, but he tries anyway. The kitchen is full of distractions, good and bad. The knives in the block look so enticing to his self-proclaimed ‘shitty-dick-wad brain’, but the cookies he nabs from the cupboard are so easy to shove into his mouth that he figures it evens out. He sits at the kitchen island and doesn’t even bother to turn on the light. It takes six cookies in his mouth at once before he can direct his thoughts somewhere else momentarily. How in the hell is he going to combat Roman’s plan? He spits all the cookies onto the counter as his brother walks in, flicks on the light, and sighs deeply.

“You could at least do that onto a plate.”

Remus just shrugs, so Roman speaks again, “How’s your evening been?”

“Before like...five minutes ago I was really liking it.” Which was true, Roman slides into the seat next to him and picks a cookie from the box.

“What changed?”

“Shitty brain,” He replies, “Y’know how it gets.”

“I do indeed. Do you need anything?” His voice is surprisingly soft with him, to the point where Remus has to give him a confused look before deciding what to say next. He figures out how to fuck with Roman’s plan in that moment.

“I wanna go to Party City and terrorize the night staff.”

Roman only chuckles, Remus watches his twin put away the cookies and grab his car keys from the bowl on the counter.

“Come on then, we can buy some of those plastic babies you like so much.”

As Remus is falling asleep later that night, his chest feels warm. He attributes it to the upcoming scheme-ruining scheming. It’s easier than admitting that that was the first time Roman had willingly hung out with him alone since elementary school. He knows the next morning that Roman is most likely buttering up because he suspects Remus knows. Which is...fair. Even if it hurts a little. They get coffee on the way to the theatre and separate. They both have important things to do. The best part about their somewhat rocky-relationship is that they always know where the other is in order to avoid each other. Remus knows that Roman has gone to see Janus and probably make heart eyes and pine over him like a dumbass. Roman knows that Remus is off drooling over his arch nemesis. Today it is more imperative than ever. During practice Remus manages to steal Logan’s backpack while he’s busy.

He swaps the contents out with the six pounds of glitter he bought the night before and shoves Logan’s things into his bag for safe keeping. Nobody would dare look into Remus’ bag for fear of gore or weird pornography, even if he only has one in his bag at the moment. He’s shoving a small notebook in when he catches a title. “Hamilton Performance Experiment”. It takes literally all of his self-control not to immediately snoop. He makes it through, eventually meeting up with Logan and even carrying his bag to ‘be nice’ so Logan doesn’t pick up on the bag glitter. When Roman walks by with his coffee and “trips”, spilling his coffee all over Logan’s bag, Remus smiles.

“Oh! Logan I’m so sorry! What a terrible accident!” Roman cries, ever the actor.

Logan looks downright frantic as he lunges for his bag and rips it open. Glitter goes everywhere. Logan’s hair, Roman’s shoes, the entire dressing room floor. The look of distress fades from Logan’s face momentarily, returning full force when he realizes his things are missing.

Remus pulls them out of his bag in secret, walking to the corner of the room, walking back and exclaiming, “What a good prank Roman! You must be taking some tricks from my book!”

When he hands the things back to Logan, Logan smiles. He decides not to ask about the notebook.

July 27th - One of the props from the prop room was moved in with my things. I suspect Roman because of the look on his face when Remus took the fall for me.

Just because he didn’t ask about the notebook does not mean it left his memory. By the time he gets in the car alone with his brother he realizes that Roman is pissed off at him.

“Couldn’t you have left it alone? How did you even find out!?”

“I have my ways. Now shut up about it before I tell mom about that time in 8th grade-”

“Okay! Okay! I’m shutting up!”

And he did. However that included no longer voicing his plans out loud. Which meant Remus had to get creative. He was very very good at getting creative.

Dinner with their mother was much more quiet that week. Both twins brooding and not speaking with each other, their mother only prompting Roman to talk. It was too familiar in the worst possible ways. Remus despised his mother, but he knew how much his brother loved her. She was...well she was beautiful, intelligent, a very influential fashion designer, extremely supportive. Roman would go on about how perfect she was for hours. Sure, Remus could concede that their mother was beautiful, intelligent, and a very influential fashion designer, but whenever Roman talks about her he never says she’s at all a good mother. Especially not to him. He watches her laugh breathily at one of Roman’s shitty anecdotes from practice and decides he’s had enough of family dinner. He gets up and dutifully cleans his plate and places it in the dishwasher. The chef gives him a smile, and he smiles back.

“Remus, dear,” His mother begins in her shrill voice, “If you’re not going to eat with us, at least go and shower. Your smell is unbecoming.”

Then she turns back to her food like she didn’t just attempt to insult him. Jokes on her, it takes a lot more than that to hurt his feelings. He still ends up forcing himself into the shower for thirty-five minutes that night.

The rest of the week he’s more tired than usual, which the others notice. He makes an effort to not be, he really does. When his mom is in town, everything just sucks. He hangs out with Janus three times and Virgil once to get out of the house and away from his family. The other nights he spends sitting outside the convenience store with a monster or two. He ends up calling Logan one of those nights out of need for company. Logan chuckles when Remus makes up a silly reason for calling that he can’t even remember now, but he can remember Logan’s laugh. He listens to Logan talk about the book series he’s been reading and he feels a little lighter. He never ends up finding out what Roman has planned, but it’s so easy when it’s happening right in front of him. Despite his lethargy lately, he feels a fire lit in him when the missing prop is found with Logan’s bag.

Virgil and Janus are the only two teenagers with keys to the prop room. If Logan stole the missing prop, he would have had to steal the key. No one but the twins even knew Janus had a key, and Virgil was dead set on not letting a soul into the prop room. The idea that Logan, precious little innocent fucking lamb Logan, committed theft not once but twice enrages Remus. When they find it with his things, Logan is utterly baffled. Then he realizes the implications and his face pales. Roman calls for Thomas, spouting off about how Logan stole the prop and he should face consequences, when Remus laughs as loudly as he can.

“Hah! You guys are so funny! You think specs could ever!? Guess my prank worked out pretty damn good if you actually think Mr.Goody-Two-Shoes could commit such a heinous fucking crime!”

Thomas sighs, tells Remus to just ask next time, and leaves. Roman stares at his brother for a solid minute with his mouth slightly ajar. Janus and Virgil are both looking at him like he’s insane because it’s so obvious to them that Roman did it. Patton is looking not at him, but at Logan, with so much concern. And Logan...Logan stares up at Remus with the look of a small and confused animal.

“Did you really do that?”

“Of course I did! I’m the resident rat bastard, I have to cause a little recreational chaos.”

He’s pretty sure Logan believes him until they’re leaving for the day and Logan whispers a ‘Thank you’ to him as he walks by. He would have melted into the floor if Janus hadn’t put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him down to whisper to him.

“Why the hell did you let Roman get away with that?” Virgil is on his other side now with a scowl.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about JJ! I committed a very heinous crime!”

“Then why did Roman ask to borrow Janus’ key earlier?” Virgil asks, and Remus drops his smile to replace it with an annoyed look.

“He just fucking asked for it!? I can’t even believe I’m related to that half-witted twit.”

“Yeah,” Virgil scoffs, “Not really the sharpest sword in the armoury, is he?”

“Please, we’ve known that for years. What I’d like to know is what are we going to do about it?” This quieted Remus, but made Virgil smirk a little.

Janus continued, “After the backpack incident, and now the stealing incident, I’m half-convinced we have a brand new chaos demon in the group.”

“At least Remus’ chaos is fun sometimes,” Virgil mutters, “Roman’s just an ass.”

Remus gets away with being quiet as they talk until they get into Janus’ beat up old van. He doesn’t call shotgun, doesn’t slap the car's ‘ass’ as a joke, he just climbs into the back and sits there. He’s so quiet that Janus and Virgil are a little shell shocked.

“Remus?” Virgil asks quietly and pensively, it sounds just like that soft tone Roman used with him last week.

He’s quiet, Janus starts the car and clicks his tongue, “I’m going to shove Roman down a flight of stairs.”

“Don’t.” He manages, and the boys in the front seats go quiet. Virgil passes him the aux cord.

He plays “Call Them Brothers” by Regina Spektor and Janus and Virgil know that tonight will be a very quiet outing.

They’re sitting at IHOP drawing dicks on their pancakes in syrup when Remus’ phone rings. Janus and Virgil know who’s calling the second Remus sees the caller ID and smiles.

“Evening Logie-Bear, why do I get the pleasure of hearing your devilishly sexy voice in this IHOP tonight?” Remus says and Janus groans loudly.

“You’re at IHOP?” Is the first thing Logan says, which makes Remus smile even brighter.

“Yes, sir! I’m with Virge and Janny too, you wanna say hi?”

Logan sounds a bit contemplative when he mutters, “I was hoping you’d be alone...”

Eavesdropping Janus and Virgil make surprised faces, Remus smacks Janus in the arm, “Oh you were, were you? Why? Phone sex?”

“I wanted to ask for an opinion on a predicament.” Virgil smirks and Janus nabs his phone to speak for Remus.

“Remus would love to-Remus let me talk-You should come have some pancakes with us-Ow, watch the face!-and tell us all about how your science is going.” Janus can hear Logan hiding his laughter through the phone as Remus wrestles with him in the booth.

“It’s more of a philosophical predicament.”

Janus nearly sees red, eyes widening and making Remus cackle,“Why in the world would you ask Remus Grimm about phi-”

It’s silent for a few moments then Logan hears a familiar voice. “It’s Virgil, we’re at the IHOP on 81st and Green.”

Logan laughs brightly, “I’ll be there. Order something for me.”

They spend the evening with breakfast for dinner, and the four get into a fairly heated friendly debate about moral ethics. Janus isn’t sure he’s ever had more fun in his life. When he’s driving away from Virgil to drop Remus off at home, he can’t help but smile at Remus’ improved demeanor.

“Remus,” He starts after they’re alone, “I thought you and Roman were doing better, did something happen?”

“He tried to sabotage Logan twice for entirely selfish reasons, I wouldn’t care if he dies!” Remus dramatically cries.

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

They’re quiet the rest of the ride, and Janus gets out to give Remus a hug before he goes in. Remus ignores Roman’s questions about his whereabouts and locks himself in his room to try and keep his mood up. It doesn’t work, but he tries. He does.

August 3rd - Roman gave me a “peace offering” in the form of lunch. I am led to believe he was attempting to give me food poisoning, as Remus ate the lunch and has now come down with food poisoning.

His mother leaves for her office in Paris on August 1st. Roman cries and hugs her, says he’ll miss her, goes on and on about how it’s so terrible how she’s never home. He does this every time their mother and father leave, he has since they were young. Remus couldn’t give less of a shit. His plan now was finding out what Roman’s next move was. Which was hard because they were back to avoiding each other like the plague. They’d spent a few months getting better at being brothers, then one of their parents shows up and ruins it. This time it was great, Remus would never admit it, but it was. Roman made an effort when their parents weren’t around, a few months ago he started doing things like making dinner for them both and bringing it to him, offering to do a load of laundry for him while he was doing it, being mindful of his volume when practicing his singing and acting, all these little things.

He’d even started initiating physical contact again, which Remus couldn’t get enough of. Literally. An occasional pat on the back, a grab of his hand to pull him somewhere, a light slap to his knee or arm when he said something distasteful. Giving physical affection to Remus was something that seemed to be unique to Roman. It had always been like that when they were younger, and Remus didn’t think he wanted it to stop. Any time he thinks about it he always drifts back to his head against Roman’s knee a few weeks ago when Roman had carded a hand through his hair and then a few minutes later practically tackled him to douse him in perfume The shit smelled awful, but afterwards Roman had slung an arm over his shoulder and gave him a squeeze. That and the closeness with Logan kept him buzzing for the next two days.

Now there was nothing again. It was like Roman could turn off his affection for Remus and pretend he didn’t exist. Remus tried not to be angry about it, he really did, but he couldn’t stop the fire that he felt when the other people on stage got his praises and affection. Both of them were incredibly clingy, but Roman was so much worse at hiding it and it made Remus nearly scream. He piled all of his affectionate behavior onto Logan, and Logan never really minded. He’d place his head on Logan’s shoulder, hold his hand on stage, sit pressed up against him offstage. He loved it, he did. He loved protecting Logan, talking to Logan, existing in the same space as the dork was exhilarating. He hated having to protect Logan from his brother. There was no way in hell that Remus would let anything terrible happen to Logan, but there was no way he would ever let his brother’s stupid selfish decisions fall back on him. He knows he shouldn’t give a single shit, but he does.

His tiredness fades with his mother, but he’s still exhausted because Roman keeps trying to fuck with Logan when he knows damn well Remus won’t let him. The selfish ass. This time, Roman has the gall to pull his entire scheme in front of Remus.

“Logan,” He starts, his affected air is slightly dim today and his hands are hidden, “To apologize for my unkind actions, I have brought a peace offering.”

Roman hands Logan a little bag from a restaurant Remus swears he recognizes.

“Oh, thank you.” Logan says quietly, opening the bag and pulling out a wrapped burger.

Logan takes it out and inspects it as Remus wracks his brain trying to remember where he knows the packaging. It hits him right before Logan takes a bite. This burger is from the restaurant that gave Roman food poisoning a few months ago. It looks like the same burger too. At this point, Remus is half-convinced Roman is taunting him. He’s in a bit of a panic and doesn’t think before he snatches the burger and shoves it in his mouth.

“Remus!” Both call out, the wrapper is still on the end of the burger so he pulls it out then chews and swallows the thing whole.

He coughs and sputters for almost two minutes after, then shoots Roman an awful glare.

“What just happened?” Logan asks, extremely puzzled.

Roman is gawking at Remus again, “Why did you eat that!?”

“Fuck you that’s why, you horsefucking shiteating egomaniac bastard.”

Roman walks off in a huff, Remus lays on the floor.

“Are you alright?” Logan questions, handing him a water bottle.

Maneuvering onto his side, Remus takes a sip and his throat feels miles better, “I just straight up ate a burger whole like a fucking snake, how do you think I am dipshit?”

“Hm,” He pauses to think, “Bad.”

Both boys laugh, and Logan joins Remus on the ground.

“I am beginning to believe your brother has a vendetta against me.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

Logan pauses, looking at Remus who is still occasionally wheezing.

“Are you alright...emotionally?” Remus wheezes and laughs at the same time, sounding something similar to a goose.

“‘Thought you didn’t know much about those, poindexter.”

“I do not. However, as your friend I feel like it’s important to ask.”

Remus just sighs, closes his eyes, and blows a raspberry at the ceiling.

“Me and Roman are complicated.”

“I can tell.” Remus laughs, Logan really is something else.

It’s quiet when Remus asks, “Do you hate him?”

“No,” Logan’s response is measured and confident like he’s asked himself this question a hundred times, “I don’t hate him. I think he’s got some things to work out, and is taking out his frustration on me as of late.”

He keeps talking, Remus covers his closed eyes with his arm, “More importantly, do you hate him?”

He almost rockets to his feet when Logan says curiously, “Or, more interestingly, do you love him?”

It takes him nearly two and a half minutes sat up and sipping water, watching Logan pack his things, to muster up the will to tell the truth.

“Of course I love him. Nobody else is gonna fucking do it.”

He could barely comprehend Logan’s response to his admission so he shoved it out of his mind with all the force he could muster, then waved a goodbye to him when he parted and left Remus with his mind.

He ends up going home early because his awful decision ended up actually giving him food poisoning. He takes a sick day the next day, and spends most of the time feeling like shit physically and emotionally. His brain has kept tabs on all the shitty feelings and thoughts he’s had and is now playing out a full length shitty horror movie about his life and his dumb brother and his shitty summer crush. Then there’s that conversation with Logan. The last sentence is running through him over and over again. He keeps coming back to it, though he’s sure Logan didn’t even mean anything by it. Seventeen words and his world was sent spinning.

“Ah, I understand, it’s hard to love somebody when they don’t act like they love you back.”

Logan doesn’t even know the half of it.

August 20th - Roman asked me directly to leave the production. Though I admire the effort, all it achieved was a quite awful night, and an angry lecture(?) of sorts from Janus. I do not believe Roman will be trying this tactic ever again.

Roman tries to apologize multiple times, but something angry and petty in Remus doesn’t accept any of them. They’re both getting more and more frustrated by the minute. By the time the thirteenth of August rolls around they aren’t on speaking terms again and everyone can tell that it’s taking its toll on them both. Remus acts out more than usual against people he doesn’t usually target. He scared an ensemble girl one too many times, to the point where she ended up slapping him. He deserved it, but it still stung. Roman poured himself into his role more than ever, but it only ended up stressing him out even more than usual. When his voice so much as wavered on stage it shattered his confidence.

It affected their friends as well. Roman spent more time with Patton and Emile, avoiding Remus and Janus as much as he could possibly manage. Janus rolled his eyes but just resigned himself to the tech booth with Virgil, Remus, and Logan. The only good thing that was happening lately was Janus’ newfound attachment to Logan. The pair's insane intelligence and love of debate meant one was nearly guaranteed every other time they were in the same room. It was exhilarating to watch, and probably exhilarating to take part in. Remus didn’t much care for debates, but watching Janus and Logan go at each other with an occasional snarky comment or new suggestion from Virgil was making him grow a fondness for them. At this point there was barely anybody in the theatre who didn’t adore Logan.

The staff, the cast, the tech. Everyone adored him. He was smart, diligent, and hard-working. He asked questions, didn’t undermine others, and respected the entire cast's talent at what they did. It was magical to watch everyone in the auditorium drift under Logan’s thumb. Remus was included. They were saving Say No To This until near last because of the lack of dancing involved, but it didn’t even matter. Say No To This was not needed in Remus’ seduction plan because Logan seemed to gravitate towards him with ease. He is a damn good friend and Remus is determined to make that boy his bride.

Despite his growing lack of sleep and reliance on caffeine, Remus is skating by just fine without anything bad happening. Until his brother decides to fuck with his life again. He’s on the thin line between being shitty in secret and full-on breakdown, Roman really isn’t helping his case. Remus is lounging on the floor while Logan reads in a chair next to the makeup mirrors. He hears someone enter, but isn’t bothered enough to move.

Ever the polite, Logan greets the newcomer “Ah, Hello Roman, how are you?”

“I need to ask you something.” His brother asks, and Remus turns his head away from the noise.

“Alright, what is it?” Logan sounds so measured and calm.

There is a long pause, “What is it going to take for you to realize you should quit?”

The calmness in Logan’s voice wavers, and Remus can hear it wobble, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me! I mean, it’s obvious I've been trying to get you to leave, so what’s been keeping you!?” Roman raises his voice near instantly, that same childish selfishness burns from his tongue.

“It is none of your business.” There’s a dignified fire raging under his voice now, it’s like he’s been practicing for this.

“You’re not even a good actor! From what I can tell, you’re entirely uninteresting and way too intellectual to be here!” Roman continues, Remus feels the urge to get up but he can’t find the will to move.

“Roman, please think before you say something you regret.” Remus knows what Roman is going to say before it happens.

“No!” His brother is so typical, “You have no idea what this role means to me, why can’t you just leave!?”

That’s typical too, Remus opens his eyes and looks at the pair. Logan looks pissed off, Roman looks pissed off, and Janus is watching from the doorway.

“I try very hard to give you the benefit of the doubt in regards to your debilitating egomania, but it is beginning to appear as if your whole sense of stability and purpose is built upon some false reality where you need to be the star at every possible moment. Go to therapy about it, and leave me alone.” Logan spits this in Roman’s face, then turns back to his book.

Clenching his fists and staring at the ground, Roman looks almost defeated until he catches Remus staring and his face morphs into something so bitter he has to force himself to look away.

“No. I will not leave you alone until I get this part. None of you have any idea how much I need it.”

“Roman-” Janus speaks up daringly from his spot by the door, his tone is enough to warn him to stand down.

Roman’s eyes are squeezed shut, his fists are clenched, “I know we have the same face, but I’m not a failure like my brother.”

That sends Remus to his feet and out the door before anyone can say a word. As he passes Janus on the way out Janus tries to stop him but he pushes past him, past everyone, and out the front door of the theatre.

Janus turns on Roman in an instant, walking slowly into the room and shutting the door with purpose. Roman’s eyes are sewed shut and all the guilt he tries to push down floods him when he makes eye contact with his pissed off friend.

“Roman, we need to have a talk.”

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #ts remus #ts logan #ts roman #ts janus #ts virgil #intrulogical #REMUS BABY IM SO SORRY-#this title could just be titled 'roman fucks up for 4k words straight' and it would fit #i genuinely loved writing this chapter and i hope it goes over well with yall #roman IS going to get kicked in the teeth with character development #the boy has been self-sabotaging himself so hard #Honestly after chapter 6 imma need to tag 'The Grimm Parents' A+ Parenting' like i'm on fucking ao3 or some shit #anyway!! theres the fic!! happy reading!!#Love you all and goodnight!!

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writefightandflightclub · 4 years

Text

Two steps back: chapter one

**NEW SERIES (1/9 parts)**

Series summary: this series spans decades in Poe and readers’ lives, with snapshots of moments based around the following themes.

Four times Poe said he’d stay with you.

Four times he tried to leave you behind.

One time you made it work.

Chapter Summary: (STAY:ONE) you and Poe are young kids on Yavin 4. He promises to stay with you, but you know his heart is set on the stars.

GIF: by @logan-solo

Author’s note: OOPS I started a new series. Expect angst, pining, slow burn, + a lil fluff. The 9 parts are sketched out already so these chapters should all be shortish snippets (shorter than this one!), and I don’t intend for this to interfere with my ongoing series Violent Delights. I also hope to keep requests + one-shots progressing at some kinda rate.

This is quite different to anything else I’ve tried before. Also, this is my first time having a go at Poe’s backstory! How’d I do with chapter one? Please let me know! And, let me know if you want to see this continued!

Word count: 2.1k

Most afternoons, when you were a kid back on Yavin 4, you climbed this purple-barked massassi tree with Poe. Perching together on the usual, overhanging branch, your necks would be craned, his eyes fixed up at the sky to study the A-Wings performing their drills and manoeuvres beyond the canopy. Sometimes, you’d split a wrapped punnet of koyo fruit, sharing it with the family of woolamanders which dwelled there to appease their jibber-jabbering. You would swing your feet, nothing but air beneath them for some distance, your heart almost in your mouth at the feeling of being so high off the ground.

Of course, Poe loved being up high; closer to the sky. He loved watching the ships, even then. He risked the climb, risked being attacked by swarms of carnivorous stintarils, just to get a view through the clearing in the trees of the ships rolling and ducking and diving in the sky. It made him happy; made him come alive. So, you always let him drag you through the dense jungle with him. You were his best friend, after all. Had always been his best friend. Where else would you be but by his side anyways?

Besides, Poe needed you. He got lost whenever he tried to go it alone. Your Mama frequently said, with fondness, that Poe looked at the sky so much he couldn’t see what was right in front of him. He was oblivious to the markings and signs that would give him direction and lead him home. You, on the other hand - you knew this shifting jungle well. Young as you were, you knew the sounds and thrum of it like you knew your heartbeat. Poe was driven by an engine. He was impulsive, full of momentum and metal and fight, always searching for something just beyond his horizon. You, however, were filled with a steady, coursing river, at times tranquil and at times forceful, but always entrenching your path through known terrain. You were always content with deepening your understanding of what was right in front of you.

You were different to one another, but that’s what made you best friends, perhaps. Or, maybe, it was simply owing to the fact that your families were neighbours. Or, maybe, the war can make friends out of anyone, because they all have the trauma in common. Whatever it was, you’d always come out here together. Ever since you could remember. The only thing which changed year-on-year was how high he dared climb in the tree. Each year he reached higher and higher, as did his lofty ambitions.

When the A-wings came in for landing they’d pass low, right overhead. The branches would shake, the leaves would become frenzied and Poe would become alive with it, the blast of air whipping his dark, erratic curls about his face – at least those which didn’t yet cling to his forehead, damp with humidity. The rumble of the engines as they zipped overhead seemingly powered that half-toothless grin which always followed. You’d always impart a sharp shriek as the branches wavered, worried about falling out, so Poe had formed the habit of wrapping his little arms around you, hands sticky with koyo juice, and keeping hold of you until, one-by-one, the entire fleet had passed above you. That way, if you fell out of the tree, he’d fall too. In kid logic it made perfect sense to you both.

The war made enough sense to you too, even then. You knew that it was dangerous and sad and unavoidable, and that a lot of people never came back from it. You also knew -in words you didn’t have yet, perhaps- that the boy next to you was destined for the stars. That he ran like an A-Wing; he needed fuel and flight to survive, the pulse in his veins was warm and constant and thrumming like an engine. He desired motion. The war made you afraid, and, often, you got that same feeling whenever he’d talk with glee about becoming the best pilot in the whole galaxy. But you never told him it made you afraid. Never voiced it. You never did have the heart to wipe that smile off his face.

The one time you begged him to stay with you, it was after you had slipped down from the tree on your descent, falling a short distance to the jungle floor. Your knee, grazed against an exposed root upon landing, stung with pain. You didn’t cry, being the tough little koyo nut you were, but when you looked down and saw red you exclaimed dramatically that you’d never be able to walk home, and that you’d be left in the jungle alone to die and be devoured by stintarils.

Poe clambered quickly and more adeptly down after you, crouching by your side, pressing his hand on to your leg to stem the bleeding. The koyo juice was acidic and stung you even more. “D- don’t leave me alone in the juuunnngle” you had wailed, part-concerned about the stintarils, yet perhaps also feeling fresh with the grief you’d unwittingly absorbed from the grown-ups after the last mission’s fleet returned depleted. Perhaps dwelling a little on Poe’s unrelenting keenness to fly away from you at the soonest opportunity.

“I’ll stay with you all night and help you fight them away.” he says earnestly, his brown eyes steady and determined as he meets the tears brewing in the corner of yours.

“Y- you will? You’ll stay with me?”

He pats your hair with his grubby, sticky hands and comforts you in all the ways he has learned to comfort someone so far. “Yep. You’re my best friend and I love you. I’ll stay by your side for always. I’ll protect you and I’ll love you until all of the stars go out.” At that, your expression sours, and fresh tears form in your eyes, a wail emanating from you. “Does it really hurt so bad?” Poe asks with concern.

Poe is bewildered as you stand with ease, seemingly free of pain despite your continued tears. He reaches out to support you and you push him back with a firm palm to the centre of his chest. “Go away, Poe.” you bite off, before turning to race back through the jungle, hair and tears whipping behind you. You leave Poe in the dust. He might be destined for the sky but you are at home on the ground, and you pick through the dense undergrowth with ease, your footing sure. You pause once you clear the tree-line, throwing a glance behind you to make sure he’s following you out. You might be upset but you would always make sure he found his way home safe. Always.

Once you’re sure he’s safe, you pelt back to the house and throw the door open, where your mother startles in her seat at seeing your tear and snot-ridden face emerge through the doorway. “Mama. P-Poe said he’ll love me until all the stars go out.” you announce through sobs, and before she can react you’ve buried your face into her skirts. Seamlessly, she downs the dismantled blaster parts she was working with and bundles you on to her lap.

“You have to help me understand why that’s a bad thing, darling.” Your mother probes in a confused tone, producing a cloth from her pocket and wiping your wet cheeks and nose.

“H-he’ll only love me until the stars go out. But I wanna be h-his best friend for always.” You explain through your waves of tears.

Your mother’s chest shakes with a kind exhale of laughter and relief. “Honey bean.” she soothes, pushing your hair back from your wet face and clutching your little face in her hands. “Until all the stars go out? That means forever.”

Your tears stop almost instantaneously as if a switch has flicked, even though your bottom lip continues to tremble. “It does?”

“It does. Baby, the stars will never go out.” Your mother fights to suppress a good-natured chuckle over just how upset this adorable misunderstanding has caused you to be. Still, she feels for you, as she knows that you love that little boy with an umatched ferocity you nor she can begin to fully comprehend. So, she tugs you into her chest for a warm, surrounding hug.

“B-but he’s going to fly away. And. Not e-everyone who flies away comes back.” Your mother’s grip on you tightens, and she stills for a moment with her arms around you. However, by the time you’ve tipped your head up to look up at her, searching for reassurance, a soft smile graces her features, the sadness and guilt in her eyes expertly smoothed over. Still, she feels she should have done a better job at hiding the pain from you. And, oh, how she wishes she could protect you from it.

“My sweet little koyo nut.” she coos. “Our dear Poe is always going to find some way to come back to you. Isn’t he going to be the best pilot in the whole galaxy?” You nod as if you’ve accepted his dream verbatim, and finally seem content at that. All of your sadness is forgotten so quickly, as if it never even happened. After years of the heaviness of war, how your mother wishes she could learn the same trick. “So,” she begins, injecting a veneer of happiness into her tone. “Do you want to help me clean these blaster pieces? Do you remember how they fit together?” She walked a thin line of shielding you from the war and arming you with enough tools to be able to survive it.

“I can do it, Mama.” you enthuse, rolling up your sleeves and diving into the task, wriggling on your mother’s lap until you are in prime position to reach across the table top.

Before too long, there is a soft knock on the door. Your mother pats your butt until you hop off of her, and clicks the door open to reveal Poe clinging bashfully to his father’s leg. “Package for the little miss.” Kes calls through the house. “Delivery of one upset little boy.” Kes’ eyes are apologetic as a wash of confusion makes its way over your mother’s face.

“Oh no. Him too?” your mother returns Kes’ apologetic look.

Kes ruffles Poe’s thick, black curls and leans in to offer a whispered explanation. “All I can gather is, he was told to ‘go away’.” He shrugs softly. “Not a clue. Figured I’d be better bringing him on over to work things out for himself.”

“Honey bean, we have a guest.” Your mother announces pointedly, giving you a stern but loving prod with her eyes to indicate you ought to join her. You shuffle bashfully over to your Mama, your hand also winding around her leg for security.

Poe’s big, apprehensive brown eyes peer at you from beneath fronds of his mussed curls, cheeks tear-stained. “Why’d you tell me to go away?” he asks, his voice tiny, taking matters into his own hands like his father suggested.

Tentatively, you look up at your Mama, whose hand presses to your back and guides you forward towards the boy. “I’m sorry, Poe. I don’t want you to go away ever. You’re my best friend.” You reach out for Poe’s hand to initiate your secret handshake. The rules are the secret handshake can’t be denied. Poe reaches back and completes the secret signal, giving you a silly, cherubic grin in conclusion, all his sadness forgotten. “Wanna help me clean blasters? Then maybe Kes can teach us to shoot?” You look up at the man hopefully, having begged him practically every time you’ve seen him for instruction.

“Show me that you can put one together in five second and we’ll talk, kiddo, you know our deal.” Kes bargains. His negotiations had you becoming pretty adept at weapons assembly, if he did say so himself.

You nod determinedly and drag Poe over to the table. You quickly become engrossed in the task and don’t notice your respective parents huddled in the doorway, at first, speaking to one another in hushed tones. Still, you’ve learned by now to suss out what it all means. It’s only ever one of two things. Either something bad has happened, or something bad is coming. This is the cycle of war, which encroaches on your lives a little further every day, no matter what they do to protect you or prepare you for it.

For now, at least you and Poe have each other. Even if it’s becoming obvious that your paths, and your roles in this war, are diverging even faster than you seem to be growing up. For now, maybe you simply choose to believe that he’ll stay with you for always.

READ PART TWO HERE

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yesicanbelieveitsnotbutter · 4 years

Text

what’s that? divorced mociet au for maximum angst? don’t mind if i do!

they meet in a local park, deceit probly says something like “Nature is so beautiful, it’s a shame man tries to own her” and patton is like “omg so deep take me”

they go on sum dates

patton dives head first into love and drags dee with him

pat wants to get married, dee is unsure, but want to make pat happy so he accepts

they adopt a 3 year old logan and 1 year old twins roman and remus

tensions rises as they have two distinct styles of parenting

a friend of patton gets pregent young and asks him to raise the baby (trans!remy for added angst maybe idk)

pat agrees without talking to dee

dee finds out and they have their 1st big fight

dee agrees to raise the babe but the tension has snapped and is poisening their relationship

lil babe virge joins the famILY

deceit goes “i’ve only know virgil for a hour but if anything happens to him i will kill everyone and then myself”

they divorce and there’s an ugly custody battle

dee: “you aren’t responble enough to raise children!!!”

pat: “my baaaaabbbiiiiieeeessss!!!”

Logan (5) and Roman (3) go with Patton

Remus (3) and Virgil (2) go with Deceit

Patton moves away to a new town and they break off contact

pat enrolls his sons in a K-12 school and they do really well

dee works long hours to support his sons

he puts remus in a public school, but remus doesn’t do well in school

he gets into fights and gets expelled

dee sends him to a new school

this happens alot

dee wants to keep remus and virge in the same school, so every time remus gets expelled, he moves both of them

they never stay in the same school for more than a year

this is very stressful for dee who eventually has to move around to keep up with remus’s school-switching

this is also super hard on virgil who never learns how to make friends

dee, who is always stressed and not always there, and remus, a fuck-up who couldn’t care less, become his contants

they move to a new town before virgil’s freshman year

virge and remus go to the local highschool

remus meets roman in their classes (surprise! they have ended up in the same town patton moved to earlier!!)

they don’t reconize either other (obv they were like 3)

remus chalenges roman to a fight durring lunch

virge is like “remus no” and remus is like “remus yes”

crowd gathers and roman wants to protect his pride

they fight and it gets bloody quick

roman’s older brother, logan (:O), comes rushing in and breaks it up

he reconizes remus and virge (he got good memory or sumn)

virge is like “WTF REMUS THIS IS WHY DAD HATES YOU”

and leaves

Logan is surprised pikachu face

the whole school is buzzing with gossip of new kids und log and rom

virge skips class and hides in the liberary

logan finds him after school

logan: “bro i’m like ur older bro” virge: “wth no way bro” logan: “no no i got this picture with both of our now single parents in it” virge: “fuck dude that’s sum pretty solid evidence”

virge opens up a bit to lo

they go to the dention room together but!! patton is there (gasp) and virge is like “omg i can’t let him see me” and lo is like “ur tots right, i won’t say a word”

pat and boys leave and virge goes into dention room

but remus is gone????

suprise bitch he went home early- virge learns thru dee’s “wth are u!!” phone call

dee and boys have dinner, which doesn’t happen often

dee: “im so sorry we can’t have this more often” remus: “whatever ur cooking stinks” virge: *internal panic* cantlethimfindoutcantlethimfindout

back to pat- he’s not angry, roman, just disapointed. fighting=bad

everyone goes to be tired and upset except remus, bc he’s a bastard (look i love him, but he is a bastard)

next day is school day

people whisper about virge and reem in the hallways, but he indimidates them with his Insane Looks TM

Roman “”””forgives””””” Remus when the meet and remus shrugs and insluts his non-existent mother

logan is there and calmly reminds roman not to retaliiate

things go okay for a few weeks

virge is loney, remus is bastard, roman is trying so hard to not punch him in the face, and logan is a nerd

virge needs lo’s nerd skills to pass a test

lo teaches him at the school

ro joins one of their study sessions

at 1st he’s rude to virge but then he reliezes virge is not a bastard like remus

they become friends, an lo and virge tell ro ~The famILY Seceret~

later ro begs virge to join Drama Club

virge is like “nuuu” ro is like “pleassss” virge is like “...ok fine.”

they are doing a play version of The Parent Trap

Ro and virge gets the role of the twins

rem makes fun of virge for his growing interest in the-ay-tar, but dee’s happy he’s putting himself out there and making friends

logan finds the play ironic lol

pat is excite!! and support!! for roman and his starring role

but then!! lo ro and virge Relieze both parents will Be There and See their Sons or Each Other

remus shows up like an eavesdropping bitch and is like “lol what if we dedicated it to them lol it be funny”

“REMUS NO”

lo’s like “welp nothing we can do bout it now”

ro: “wait! what if u and remus took the other parent of the child on stage out of the theater so they only see their child!!”

lo: unrealilistic

virge panic tm

remus gives a ton of really bad ideas

everyone goes home with this big fat problem in their minds

remus starts dropping onimous hints about the play and dee is Concern

the day of the play comes

ro and virge decied that no matter what, the show must go on

they perform and do really well, breaking both their legs (jk)

(remus throws a tomato onto the stage at the climax lol)

after the show virge finds dee an ree in the crowd

dee is super quiet and looking around (he has the program in his hand)((the program with roman’s full name)) (((which would have patton’s last name)))((((u get it))))

virge panic pt 2, but remus saves the day (whaaa) by asking to go for icecream

dee agrees and they go for sum BR

BUT! ro lo and pat had the same idea!!

they’re in the same icecream parlor!

remus stiffs a laugh

dee cooly glances over to where the pat and boys are sitting before heading over to the country to order

virge quietly follows

lo notices them and nudges ro who abruptly stops talking and looks over at dee and boys, alerting pat of their prensence

flashes of grief on pat’s face

the table is quiet before ro awkwardly picks up the conversation where he left off

dee gets a table as far away from pat &co as possible

however, he looks up once and locks eyes with patton

both tables are quiet

dee breaks the eye contact and starts talking to his boys

patton smiles sadly at his icecream

“I thing we should go home kiddos.”

at home, lo explains everything

pat nods numbly and locks himself in his bedroom

logan comforts roman

at the ice cream, dee talks to virge and remus about the play until patton leave

“so do you know them?”

virge breaks down and admits everything

remus isn’t as much as a bastrad now

dee ods calmly and they eat ice cream in silence

they next day is saturday

virge stays in his room despite remus atempts to play

remus also locks himself in his room

dee finds logan’s cell number in virgil’s backpack and calls him

surprisingly patton picks up

they talk for a while

they agree to keep the kids in the same school

“I miss you somethimes, dee.” a pause. “Your mistake.”

dee hangs up

he looks up to where virgil’s room is and sighs.

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masterofmagnetism · 3 years

Text

they put me in the ground (but i’m back from the dead)

They took my life but it isn't the end They put me in the ground but I'm back from the dead

Oh, I'm the World Ender baby and I'm coming for you

WHO: Erik Lehnsherr, Scott Summers @firstxman, Jean Grey-Summers @jeaniegreysummers, Bruce Banner @hulkout. Mention of @mistressxfmagnetism WHERE: Stark Tower’s CRADLE lab. WHEN: February 21, 2021 WHAT: Jean and Scott get Bruce’s help resurrecting Erik. Erik comes back and is Not Happy. WARNINGS: Reference to past major character death, abuse, murder, assorted mental health issues, grief, ptsd. WORDS: 11k

JEAN: Erik crossed a line. No matter how she cried over his body, no matter how empty she felt when he was lowered into that grave (and she felt it, the shift in the earth, felt the ripple of emotion that came from the funeral even as she curled up in the rain under a tree in the park, even as she flicked through annotated poetry anthologies, a German dictionary propped open beside her), she knew they’d made the right decision. The only decision. Because Genosha was meant to be a place of safety, of respite, somewhere to escape from centuries of persecution and war. They’d already declared their strength with the siege. Anything after that was nothing more than malicious.

More than malicious. Genocidal.

Jean tried to tell herself it was the Phoenix. She told herself that if she could wake up in the morning with moon dust on her knees and blood under her nails and not remember any of it, that maybe the same thing was happening to Erik. Maybe he was overcome like she was on that lawn. But Erik didn’t ask for help. Erik didn’t hesitate, didn’t have a moment of outward remorse, didn’t let her into his head to see if there was an instance of it even internally.

Didn’t trust her, at the end of the day, despite his promises, despite his love. Despite everything they’d been to each other for all these years, Jean still wasn’t enough to break through. Her other father made that same mistake, out on that beach all those years ago. He made the same mistake every time he sent children to fight an old friend he wasn’t entirely sure would pull his punches

But that still didn’t give her the right to kill him.

After all, it was Jean who put the Phoenix into him. It was Jean who split the Raft, Jean who helped orchestrate the siege, Jean who encouraged the alliance between Erik and Scott. It was Jean who was fundamental in the unlocking of Lorna’s memories, Jean who indirectly led to the assault on Julio Richter.

Jean at the epicentre, as always, for once a driving force in her own narrative and hating every goddamn minute.

She killed Erik Lehnsherr, and it was the right thing to do, but him staying dead was a decision she couldn’t swallow. Asking the Phoenix for help was impossible. There were forces at play there she could never understand. Science was the only way forward, and there was something there when they exhumed the grave (Lorna would kill her, if this didn’t work. Jean would let her). Erik didn’t feel dead. He didn’t feel gone. He felt like he was … frozen. Waiting.

Stasis. A pause, rather than a full stop.

Jean chewed at the inside of her cheek, arms folded against the white of her lab coat. “We’ve run the preliminary tests more times than I can count,” she said. Scott would recommend, no doubt, that she slept before they tried this -- but she hadn’t slept properly in weeks. She couldn’t, until this was resolved. “We don’t know what frame of mind he might be in when he comes out, so we need to be prepared for anything.” Including killing him again, if necessary. This time, it would be her dealing the final blow. Marriage was all about equality.

SCOTT: When Scott was a child, his father was a retreating back. He always seemed to walk out of the door more often than he walked in it, always seemed happier leaving than staying. Scott remembered carrying a child’s anger in tiny fists, remembered a heart pounding against a ribcage in a way he wasn’t yet familiar with, remembered asking his mother on the days when she felt well enough to leave her bedroom why his father never seemed to want to stay. ’This is supposed to be his home,’ he’d said, ’and people are supposed to want to be home.’ And his mother went quiet, looked down at her hands, tried to think of something to say, some way to explain away anger too big to fit inside a body so small. ’People do things sometimes,’ she told him, ’Not because they want to. Because they have to. Because some things need doing. Your father does important work, Scotty. He does what he has to do.’

He learned to hate that phrase over the years. He does what he has to do. Even after his father died doing what he had to do, even after he took Scott’s mother with him, the phrase lingered. It was one Sinister used in that basement lab, one he hummed as he poked needles into veins and pulled memories from an already fractured mind. It was one Winters sneered when he kicked Scott in the ribs so hard he heard something crack. It was one Erik clung to with missiles pointed at a city full of people Scott loved.

And it was one Scott used when he took off his glasses and painted the whole world red.

Erik wasn’t very different from the rest of the fathers who’d let him down over the years. Scott knew that now. He wasn’t entirely separate from Christopher Summers, from Nathaniel Essex, from Jack Winters. They all clung to the same excuse, all hurt people and offered themselves an easy out in the process. Erik wasn’t very different from them at all. But neither was Scott.

If he voiced the concern to her, Jean would reassure him. Scott was sure of as much. She’d tell him that he’d saved lives doing what he did, remind him that Erik hadn’t offered much of a choice. She’d tell him everything he needed to hear, and she’d make him feel better in the process. That was exactly why Scott hadn’t told her his thoughts aloud. Jean would comfort him, and Scott wasn’t sure he deserved comfort. He wasn’t sure he deserved forgiveness. And redemption, he knew, wasn’t an option at all. You couldn’t be redeemed from a thing like this. Once that blood was on your hands, it stayed there. You could never get it out from beneath your nails.

But… Jean was offering him a chance to come as close to fixing things as was possible. Bringing Erik back sans Phoenix wouldn’t undo the damage that had been done. Scott knew from experience that raising the dead didn’t heal the wounds they’d left behind, but it was something. And god, he couldn’t keep doing nothing. Anything was better than that.

So he was here. In a lab he felt fundamentally uncomfortable in, with a man he hardly knew, planning on doing the impossible for someone he’d killed himself. His palms itched and his chest ached and his eyes were heavy with all the sleep he’d missed since Erik’s death, but he was here. And he hoped that could count for something.

“Can you restrain him, if necessary?” He looked to Jean, nervous energy flittering in his chest. “He may need time to… calm down.” There was every chance he’d be angry, when he came back. Scott certainly had been, and there was a letter in the Bugle to prove it. And Erik…

Erik had always done anger better than anyone.

BRUCE: Assumptions disappointed and killed more people than anything else in the world. When Bruce was young, he thought it was because disappointed weighed you down like boulders tied to your ankles in quicksand, but as the scientist had aged, he found that it wasn’t because the feeling was so heavy - it was because assumptions were akin to hope. Hope spread like a disease: clogged your arteries, confused the mind, and chased happiness down like catfish in a barrel.

Hope, on its own, could save lives. Could bring a dead man back to life under the skilled hands of a mutant and a man who belonged nowhere - could salvage what little tenderness resided in a heart made of stone. And in the very next second, it could slit the wrists of the person wielding it. It starts as a small trickle of blood that eventually bleeds you dry without you knowing, Bruce thought, large hands pulling open a gaudy blue menu, full of numbers and operations that, with hope, man could understand.

Bruce didn’t know the X-Men very well. Knew Logan from the few times they were forced to cross paths in laboratories just like this one, but not much else. Knew what he’d read in the papers and knew how Erik Lehnsherr should probably stay dead.

In his apparent all-mighty knowing (that he’d likely adapted from Tony), he also knew what assumptions did to good people who were just in the wrong place, at the wrong time, doing the wrong things for the right reasons.

While he hadn’t seen Scott and Jean very often, Bruce couldn’t imagine they looked this exhausted all of the time. While hero-ing and saving and destroying often took a toll on your mental and physical health, the look that they carried said ‘I’m pleading for hope, and this is the last place I have left to look.’ Bruce thought, for just a moment as he booted up the core CRADLE systems, that he’d probably worn that look too many times in his life too. Half-naked in the streets of Harlem, showing up in the rain on Tony Stark’s doorstep, visiting his mother’s grave with a clenched fist and flowers she would never get to see, or on the faces of the other monks at the Phuktal monastery in Zanskar when they finally learned of his story, who Bruce Banner really was.

Yet, he continued to hope that somehow things would change. That someone would bandage his wrists and tell him he could stop bleeding for the sins of others - do the right things because they felt right, sleep at night because it was OK if he stopped to rest, eat because it was alright to have something in his stomach other than regret.

People always assumed Bruce Banner was always battling for control, hoped that he wouldn’t let go of himself. Bruce always wondered if tomorrow would finally be the day he wouldn’t wake up again.

Staring down at Erik’s lifeless, bio-illuminated face inside of the CRADLE vault, Bruce wanted Erik to wake up. Whether it was for the right reasons or not, he wanted Erik to wake up. Licking his lips, Bruce gave Scott a somewhat sad smile, brows furrowed, “I think if things get out of control, I’ve got it covered.” We have it covered, his ridiculously sardonic brain reminded him unhelpfully. Even his mind and body were not his own - out of his control.

The stillness within the lab seemed almost clinical, if it weren’t for the fact that they were about to scientifically reconstitute living cells in an organically preserved carcass of someone they all considered a friend. “To be fair to Erik, I’d probably be pretty -“ Happy, “- mad if someone I trusted off’d me too.” The joke fell flat between them, and the chemical hiss of the CRADLE as it began to pre-register every input that he had settled into the machine filled in the silence for him. “I would say ‘ready when you are’ but I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready, so. It’s more ‘ready when you go because I have to be ready,’ haha.”

JEAN: Everything about this was a bad idea. Jean had fought between her head and her heart for as long as she could remember, and right now her stomach was squirming and her mind was screaming at her to stop, to leave well enough alone, to leave because Banner was a master scientist, but he needed their energy levels to make this work. She wrung her hands together as she looked down at the CRADLE and thought about that night, the couple of minutes that changed their lives completely. Erik stood there, argued with them that genocide could be an option. He turned into the very monster he’d been fighting since he was a child, and he saw nothing wrong with it.

Some people may say that was just Magneto. Jean knew better -- she had to know better. If she loved that man as much as she had, if she trusted him, then that meant there was something good in him, something worth protecting. That meant it was the Phoenix that caused him to stand there, thumb hovering over the metaphorical trigger. It was the Phoenix that almost had him killing her friends, her former students, even mutants who still resided on the other side of the bay.

He wasn’t thinking straight. He wasn’t thinking like himself. And when he came back, just as when she came back from Zatanna taking her out on the lawn of her childhood home, he would understand that. He would thank them, for doing what was necessary -- because he was the one who taught her how to do that.

Sentimentality had no place in war, Jean knew that, but she did what she did for him. She wouldn’t have his legacy tarnished by one final decision made in the heat of a cosmic flame.

“I can hold him,” she said. She was confident in that much. There was a reason why she wasn’t taking the risk of using the Phoenix, even if it was a tried and true method. She would stop it from fracturing into him again -- or anyone again -- if she could help it at all. “No,” Jean countered, turning around to Bruce. Softening her voice, she repeated, “No. You’re here as a scientist -- to help. If he’s going to lash out at anyone, it’ll be us.” Me, she thought to herself. If anyone touched a hair on Scott’s head, she’d never forgive herself … and chances were it would go a lot more south than she intended when she was trying to repair bridges.

She touched against the top of the CRADLE, ran her eyes quickly over the calculations flying across the screen. “There’s a reason I asked you, you know,” she said to Bruce. “Because I knew you’d understand it was more than just offing someone who was inconvenient. It was…” Mercy? The word itself seemed like an insult. “I thought of all people,” she continued, “you’d understand why we needed a Plan B.”

It wasn’t a personal secret. It had been broadcast over the TV, radio, newspapers. The self loathing that followed after Banner and the Hulk was comparable to that of Scott and Jean themselves. They’d never had pride in what they were unless they were trained to -- conditioned to. And from what Jean read in Stark’s mind, she knew Banner had contingency plans. The Hulkbuster armor, a series of arrows, certain poisons that would at least slow him down if not kill him if push came to shove.

“Erik didn’t know what she was doing,” Jean said, and her voice was far firmer on account of looking at Scott when she said it than she thought herself capable. “He doesn’t deserve to die for someone else’s mistakes.” A beat passed, a breath taken, and Jean nodded. “Start the process.”

SCOTT: Even without the Phoenix, paranoia ate at Scott’s gut like a disease. He’d never been a trusting man, not after a childhood wracked by grief and betrayal, and after everything that had happened since… Without a little doubt clinging to his fractured mind, he wouldn’t have made it as long as he had. He wouldn’t be alive now if not for his healthy dose of uncertainty.

(But was he alive at all? Did this count as living? He was clay and bone, an inanimate thing Jean had breathed life into, a body the Phoenix had claimed. Was living the proper word for what he was doing, or was it one assigned to him because no one knew any better term? How many times could a dead thing die? Maybe they were about to find out.)

This paranoia made him tense at Banner’s presence, made him uncertain and uneasy, made him shift and tighten at the reminder that the room was not occupied by his family alone. It was Scott, it was Jean, it was the empty shell of the man they had loved and killed, and it was Banner. It was them, and it was an Avenger. And they needed him, Scott knew. They needed him to ensure that this wasn’t a repeat of Jean standing over Scott’s grave on Valentine’s Day, needed an outside influence to ensure they wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes and call it a solution, but Scott was uneasy all the same. .

Banner swore he could handle it if Erik got out of control… but Scott looked to Jean anyways, didn’t relax until she confirmed that she would be able to hold him if she had to. The ease of tension didn’t last long before Banner spoke again and Scott tightened all over, wound tighter than a spring ready to take off. “If you’d rather have let him kill eight million people…” His voice was tight and sharp and unnecessary. It had been a joke, Scott knew, a poorly timed one, perhaps a tasteless one, but still a joke. But Scott Summers wasn’t known for his sense of humor.

(Scott Summers wasn’t known for anything decent at all. He hadn’t been for a long time now, and he was aware that it was a perception that predated the Phoenix’s reign of his body. He’d never been a good person. The things the Phoenix talked him in to doing only cemented a fact everyone else had always already known.)

Glancing to Jean, Scott let his lungs deflate, let the breath that was caught there escape in a quiet sigh. Erik didn’t know what he was doing. She sounded so sure of it, so positive, but… Scott had known what he was doing, with the bird ravaging his mind. He had known every step he took, been aware of every word he said. And maybe he wouldn’t have said them without the firebird insisting they needed to be said, but he would have thought them all the same. Maybe he wouldn’t have written a letter to the Bugle or killed police officers who stood in his way or participated in an insurrection against the government of a country he’d only ever wanted to belong to, but he wasn’t sure he would have thought those things were wrong, either.

It wasn’t entirely fair to say that Erik hadn’t been himself, but Scott wouldn’t argue it, either. He wouldn’t tell Jean that he wasn’t sure the bird absolved Erik of his sins, wouldn’t admit that he didn’t believe it absolved him of his, because doing so would mean saying that Jean wasn’t free of hers, either. And Scott loved her far too much to breathe that sentence to life, even if it might have been true.

“He deserves a second chance,” he said, because he believed that, if nothing else. Erik deserved a second chance because everyone did, because Scott had gotten more than his fair share and this was what he’d done with them, because Erik had suffered so much and worked so hard and he’d deserved a better end than the one Scott gave him. “So let’s give him one.”

BRUCE: It took a lot, for someone like Bruce to keep their comments to themselves. Even with the thought of his father barreling him down with a glass whiskey bottle, Bruce still piped up when it was not his place. He’d watched plenty of curses take the lives of people who didn’t necessarily deserve it - but Bruce knew from personal experience, just like the other people in that room, that Erik knew what he was doing. Likely deserved to pay some sort of penance for his actions. But Bruce also thought, calibrating the machine, that maybe knowing what kind of monster lurked beneath the skin was enough of a punishment in itself.

“I won’t say I understand,” The scientist started, initiating launch sequence, a loud hiss coming from the chamber beside them, hearing an echo of Tony’s voice in his head. Yeah, buddy. I’ll strike you down in cold blood if need be. Tony waving him off a moment later to talk about some sport neither of them gave a damn about. How hard had it been for Jean and Scott to make the decision to put Erik down? “But I get it. How much you want it, I mean.” How much you want the monster to be imaginary, he thought.

The hissing grew louder, echoing off of the metal room within the lab, numbers flying across Bruce’s panel and a loading bar appearing for the sequence duration. The ominous glowing green had Bruce shutting his eyes tightly for a moment, remembering the day the bomb went off. The gamma seeping into every fibre of his being - the excruciating pain he felt the first time Hulk entered his mind. Bruce wondered if maybe a piece of Erik would be missing too, when it was all over. If the Phoenix would gauge a hole in him that nothing could ever fill again.

“Go, Jean.”

ERIK: He’d been fifteen when Shaw had conducted the experiment that changed his life. Strapped to a table in the middle of the man’s lab in Auschwitz, leather strap between his teeth, Erik had been terrified by the manic look in the doctor’s eyes as he readied a syringe. The other doctor had been there, too, the one everyone in the camp knew only as Nosferatu, the one who never had his subjects come back to their bunks. Erik was scared of Shaw, but that one had his adrenaline pounding extra hard, noxious fear making his mind spin as he struggled to watch the two men out of the corner of his eyes.

He hadn’t realized he’d been shaking the metal table beneath him until Shaw turned to him and clicked his tongue, and Erik made a concerted effort to rein his powers back in—from the table, from the needle, from everything, because the last time he’d lost control, Shaw had pinned him down and broken his arm in two places.

Shaw finished his prep work and rolled over to the side of the table, the other man at his shoulder, watching with a detached gaze that made Erik feel like a butterfly pinned to a board. Shaw had brushed his hand through Erik’s hair as if he were trying to calm a spooked horse, shushing him as he readied the needle.

“This is my gift to you, Max,” he’d smiled. ”So you can be like me. Like us.” And then he’d slid the needle into his arm and pressed the plunger, and everything felt like it was on fire. He’d discovered later what the man meant, what ‘gift’ he’d bestowed on him in those labs.

Life. Too much of it. He’d been 93 years old, facing off against his children in the silo, and he’d scarcely looked into his forties. His cells aged slowly the way Shaw’s had, and he’d hated it, hated that the man couldn’t simply be relegated to memory.

When Scott had flipped the visor, Erik had died. But his cells hadn’t quite done the same—had sat in stasis through his burial, through his exhumation, through his settling into the Cradle and the tests that led up to the flood of energy that finally sparked his neurons back to life.

His heart beat once. Twice. His chest heaved as he dragged air into his lungs for the first time since the silo.

They tell you that your life flashes before your eyes when you die. They don’t tell you that it does the same thing when you come back.

Over the years, Erik had carefully constructed mental walls to keep unwanted memories at bay. Charles had once remarked that his mind was one of the most organized he’d ever been in, neatly linear and uncluttered by anything except The Goal and The Plan.

You wouldn’t know it, now.

The first thing he was aware of was that his mind felt empty, somehow, like he was missing a limb. He’d had a cosmic force that devoured worlds tucked in alongside his own consciousness for so long that its absence was jarring. Almost as jarring as the realization that all those walls were so much rubble.

Erik opened his eyes, saw a lab, and those memories of Shaw that should’ve been locked away assaulted him all at once. Terror, not helped by the realization that he was contained.

Get out get out get out get out.

The top of the Cradle slammed open, and Erik sat up, powers already stretching around the room, wrapping around whatever metal was in reach. Natural, unbidden, just reaching, leaving pens and tools hovering in the air above where they’d been resting. Defensive instincts long-honed seizing on anything that could be a weapon before he could even identify the threat.

And then he saw them.

“I love you, but I can’t love this.” Jean’s face, stone cold.

“You’ll be grateful I stopped you, later.” Scott’s fingers, perfectly steady on his glasses.

Betrayal from two of the people he loved and trusted most. ( But he should have expected that, shouldn’t he? Shaw’s voice, warning him that “sentiment will be the death of you if you let it, my boy.” Magda running away, Charles turning on him, sending an army of children after him—He should have known, always, and yet. )

Fury reared its head, as it always did, and Erik felt the beginning brushes of Jean’s mind against his and realized that those walls were gone, too, and no. No, no, no, no no.

<<Get OUT.>>

The sentiment was punctuated by the hovering metal around the room all flying toward the couple at once as Erik hauled himself out of the Cradle.

Jean didn’t even need to interfere, because the second his feet his the floor, a wall of exhaustion slammed into him. The Phoenix had been able to keep him going through almost no sleep for months, but without its energy in his mind, all that time putting off his body’s needs crashed into him at once.

His legs gave out from under him, and the airborne metal hit the floor at the same time he did.

Someone else was at his side, moving to help, and Erik snarled before he even realized who it was. “Don’t touch me.” Banner—it was Banner, and he was safe-ish, wasn’t he? Erik didn’t know if anyone was, couldn’t relax—stopped, hand halfway to his shoulder, and Erik curled his fists and shook his head as he tried to get the flood of memories clamoring for attention to settle.

“Make them leave. Get them out.” He was in no condition to be dealing with them—mind too loud, powers too weak. Maybe once, that wouldn’t have been a problem.

But he didn’t trust either of them. Not. One. Bit.

JEAN: Bruce wasn’t going to forgive them. He could say he understood a part of it, while distancing himself from the darkest aspects of what they had done -- the darkest aspects of the forces they were playing with now. The Phoenix remained silent in the back of her mind, though it was never true silence. That would imply some degree of calm, and Jean hadn’t known what that felt like since … God, since she was ten years old, maybe before. The Phoenix’s absence from this occasion said all it needed to about her stance. She thought Jean should’ve asked her. She thought they could’ve worked together, that Jean would turn to her and beg, that she’d regret what she’d done.

Regret that Erik was dead, perhaps. Regret over the actions she had taken to prevent something worse … not exactly. Charles drummed into her since she was fourteen years old that to be truly useful in this world, you needed to protect the downtrodden. To be truly good, you had to defend those who couldn’t defend themselves, defend those who would never forgive you for making yourself bleed on their behalf. The city of New York had done nothing for Jean Grey but rip her apart and refuse to put her back together again. The people hated her, splashed her husband’s face in graffiti, treated her father like a lunatic in the press.

But that didn’t mean she’d let them die. It was the same principle she extended here, standing over the CRADLE, watching the mechanisms begin to shift. (Did Stark know they were here, she wondered? He trusted Banner, she’d picked up on that much -- but from what she understood of Iron Man, he was a pragmatist. A logistician, at his core. He would say this was a terrible idea. Jean understood where that impression could come from.)

Everyone deserved forgiveness. The Phoenix had hurt, had ripped them apart, made them commit so many atrocities -- but this was the first step in giving a second chance, in piecing together the things Jean had broken.

But, again, that didn’t mean Jean was blindly trusting. Her intelligence wasn’t the first thing people thought of, when they thought of her (and she knew, of course, courtesy of hearing every goddamn ‘compliment’ that went through every person’s head), but it was something that only grew with experience. The CRADLE burst open, and Jean already had protective shields formed around Scott, around Bruce, and a split second later, around herself.

The metal dropped, though. The invisible shields remained in place, even if she knew Erik would assume their presence. The CRADLE hissed, smoke still rising from the chamber. The lights flickered, the walls shook, electricity in the air made her hair go static—

And Erik was standing in front of her. Erik was standing in front of her, eyebrows furrowed, jaw clenched, hands curled into fists by his side. Chest moving, breaths heaving. He was angry, always angry, angrier than she’d ever seen him -- but he was alive.

(Was that all that mattered? Rictor said, once, she over-simplified it. Breathing alone wasn’t enough to keep a person alive, but it was the first step. It was the foundations. Jean always had faith that could lead to something else.)

There was a beat of relief, a wash that went through her chest and relieved the tension that had curled into it (she could tell Lorna she brought her dad back), and then a moment where she realised it wasn’t dad she thought when she looked at this man. It was something else, something foreign, like looking at a stranger.

She’d mourned him, Jean reminded herself. She’d sat, curled in his seat, looking around at the books in his office. She’d taken a blanket from his home during the funeral, tried to find his smell under whiskey and cigar smoke. She’d mourned him, she’d loved him, and the first words that left his mouth…

Well, she had expected it. She had expected it, but there was a part of Jean that hoped, against all odds, just as there had always been.

“Last time we left,” she replied, coolly, keeping her hands stiff by her sides and her feet firmly on the ground, “you almost caused the Third World War. I’d like to make sure that’s not going to happen again.” If that meant Bruce and Scott remained wrapped in a telekinetic shield, if it meant she took the brunt of the flames, so be it.

Jean was used to the fire.

SCOTT: The process, once it happened, wasn’t a slow one. It was strange, watching it play out. Scott had never been present for this part before. He’d watched people he loved die so many times that the images were etched on the back of his eyelids, playing out like a movie projected on a sheet. He could rewind, pause, fast forward, take it from the top. Those moments were a part of him. And he’d had people come back to him, too, of course. Jean walking up to the Institute doors with her hands clasped together so tightly her knuckles were white, like a prayer and an answer all at once. Illyana showing up again years after she’d died, breathing and wild-eyed. He watched people die and saw them lowered into their graves, watched them walk back through the door after the dirt had settled, but this? The only resurrection Scott had ever been present for was his own, and there had been nothing miraculous about that. Nothing good, nothing incredible.

This was different. This wasn’t the Phoenix, wasn’t a cosmic force that described a curse as a blessing. This was some hodgepodge mix of science and telepathy that Scott doubted he’d ever entirely understand. Part of him hadn’t expected it to work at all, had thought the most they’d do was desecrate the corpse of a man who’d more than earned his right to rest, but he’d gone along anyway because Jean had asked him to and Scott had been bad at saying no to her since she took his hand on that park bench decades ago and asked him to stay. The Phoenix was like playing with fire, but this? This was more akin to trying to shape water into something tangible. Scott’s expectations hadn’t been high.

But they should have been. He should have understood that Jean Grey (Jean Summers) never failed at something she’d put her mind and heart into, should have remembered that she was the same girl who’d convinced a sullen, quiet boy that he was a thing worth loving, should have understood that she would move heaven and earth for the people she loved and that Erik, for all his faults, was one of them.

The Cradle slammed open. The metal in the room began to hum, hovering free of gravity. A familiar shield engulfed him, invisible and protective. And Erik Lehnsherr was revived the same way he had died --- suddenly, violently, and with a love so great that there was room for little else besides it.

There was a moment where the world stood still. Everything hung motionless. Scott held his breath, swore that his heart stopped beating for an instant, swore that the blood stopped pumping through his veins as the world waited to right itself again. And then it did, and everything came crashing back down in an instant. The anger slammed into the room like a train obliterating everything left on the tracks, like a car crash of rage and betrayal and grief and defeat. Erik was alive, and he was angry. Scott couldn’t blame him for that, couldn’t fault it. If not for Jean, he would have accepted whatever punishment felt necessary, would have let himself be skewered for his sins.

(“You don’t have to be a martyr,” Warren told him once. ”You don’t have to shoulder every mistake. You’re allowed to forgive yourself, Scott. You’re allowed to move on.” And he might have tried that if anyone had ever told him how. He might have done it if it hadn’t seemed so impossible, so unreal. How could you get out from under something that stretched the length of the whole sky above you? How could you get away from something that was a part of you? It only sounded easy if you’d never felt it before.)

But Jean was there, was shielding him, was protecting him no matter how little he deserved it. The metal dropped to the ground, and the shields stayed up. The anger remained. And with it, the guilt. The grief. The betrayal.

Scott stayed quiet, eyes darting away from Erik and back to Jean. She was hurt. He could feel it through the bond, see it in her posture. She wasn’t surprised, but she was hurt, and he ached with her. He’d wanted a happier resolution to this, a better end, but it had been a fool’s dream. Jean forgave Zatanna when she took the Phoenix down, just as Scott forgave Logan when he ended his suffering on that grassy knoll in Central Park. There were people, he knew that were easy to forgive. There were people good enough, decent enough, that forgiving them came as simply as breathing, as blinking, as turning your head. There were people who were easy to forgive because they were easy to love, because you wanted them in your life no matter the cost.

Scott had never been one of them.

BRUCE: Bruce wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. If there was one well-known thing about Erik Lehnsherr, at least to the public, it was that he was very focused. For good, for bad, he had the insight of an owl and the determination of a bull. Apparently, even in death, in exhaustion, he was equally so. He wondered if he would ever get to feel death. If it would always elude him like many other things in life; happiness, a home, a family, somewhere he felt safe.

He thought, for a moment, maybe he had been a little jealous of Erik. That Jean didn’t have the right to take that away from him, no matter how much he would be missed.

Jean’s protective barrier didn’t seem to move him. Emotionally of course, because her raw power was enough to match Erik’s, and he could take the static in the air like the Kansas plains right before a tornado came through. How many people would he stand beside who were more convicted than him? What kind of hurts did they hold, and why did they hurt enough to bring Erik back? ( Why did he bring Erik back? )

“Hey, buddy - it’s — hey. Let’s not do anything drastic,” Like accidentally murder someone else, haha — “I know you’re angry. Totally get it,” Bruce slowly approached with scuffed dress shoes, each click of their rubber soles sounding like a gunshot in the suddenly too-quiet room. He couldn’t imagine having that kind of power - to make everyone notice when he was there and also when he wasn’t. “But you’re going to be really dehydrated in a hot minute if you don’t let me help you up, okay?”

Bruce spared a look for his two companions, and maybe Jean was right. Maybe he was someone who could understand what they’d been through. That if someone had to save Bruce from himself, he would at least want it to be someone he cared about. Clint, Tony, Steve. He would never ask Nat to do it - she’d been made enough times to be a stone-hearted killer, Bruce wouldn’t add to that.

Although he didn’t really know either of them well enough, he could tell when somebody cared enough to still be there after you’d disappointed them. Jean thought Erik would be disappointed, stayed anyway. Would anyone care enough to stick around for him too?

Gently, as if approaching a spooked animal, Bruce placed calloused fingers on an expensive funeral suit, surprised when he electricity in the room didn’t shock him on contact. The ever-present scientist in him placed that interesting tidbit of knowledge in a file for future examination. Maybe because Hulk’s skin was like reinforced rubber? Was he a grounding material? Could that be something helpful in the future, like making schools safer during storms, or for severe weather shelters for the homeless—

“If you want them to leave, they’ll leave,” Bruce promised, not looking back at the couple again. He supposed the situation really wasn’t about them.

ERIK: Everything was too much. His mind felt like it had been ransacked, left in tatters as his previous cohabitant had rifled through memories and motivations alike to trim down only to what was useful. Tweaking perceptions, ramping up the paranoia.

Not paranoid enough, some part of him noted wryly.

Bruce's fingers wrapped gently around his shoulder, tone and stance reminiscent of the way they used to handle shell-shocked soldiers. He stiffened under the touch, knuckles going white against the floor, but he didn't shake him off. Reached up and dragged himself to his feet again, even if he swayed, even if the room spun a bit around him and wavered black at the edges. He needed food, he needed water, he needed sleep.

More importantly, he needed to get out of the presence of the two people who had murdered him before he lost control entirely. Scott was standing there in silence, expression torn between surprise and guilt, and there was none of Erik that had the capacity to feel anything but disgust for the man right now. It didn't take a genius to put together who had led the charge in the silo, who'd been calling the shots. Scott was a good little soldier. A good little husband. "Bird got your tongue?" Scott didn't have the Phoenix anymore, that much was clear--guilt wouldn't be anywhere in his face if it was. But the point stood regardless, and Erik didn't care that Jean always got tetchy when he so much as breathed a negative word in Scott's direction.

(Somewhat hysterically, he wondered if he'd make her mad enough to kill him again. Maybe he should--the time between his death and now was rapidly flitting away from his mind, but he remembered warmth, remembered family, and part of him wanted to claw it back.)

Jean's words had him choking on a laugh, and Erik nearly snarled at her across the Cradle, fingers pressing dents into the metal. "If that's what you're worried about, why am I back?" he hissed. And oh, there were other questions that came crashing on him, then.

"FRIDAY," he said, because he wasn't sure he could trust anyone in this room except the machine he could feel thrumming in the walls around them. "What's today's date?"

"February 21, 2021, Mr. Lehnsherr."

February. Two months. Two months.

Scott Summers had been resurrected a week to the day from his death. Jean had been so grief-stricken, so heartbroken, that she had moved heaven and earth and death itself to bring him back after just a week without him.

Two months. He hated that there was a part of him that was wounded by that fact almost more than the murder itself. There had always been two reasons that he was kept around, two reasons that people kept him close: love or use. She hadn't brought him back because she missed him or because Lorna did, which meant she must need him to do something—

Lorna.

The world constricted once again, because Lorna wasn't here. Her father was being resurrected, and she wasn't here. Erik knew his powers could scarcely reach across the room let alone the bay, but g-d if he didn't try anyway, breath caught in his throat. He felt the room tip at the exertion before he stopped, kept upright only by the tight grip on the Cradle and Bruce's hand at his back.

"Where is Lorna? Where is my daughter?!"

If she was dead, and they'd brought him back to a world without her, he would drag them all back to the grave with him.

JEAN: She’d never been the kind of woman who lived on an island. Her mind was tattered, splintered into pieces that could cut intruders like knives, ever since the Phoenix rushed into her body so many years ago and refused to leave. Jean never made sense, she knew, to the people around her. She burned too bright or not at all. She went hot or far too cold. She was capable of almost pathological compartmentalisation, or she saw everything at once so the picture was too damn big for anyone else to understand. She loved and loathed in equal measure, and she was, above all else, not the kind of woman who was easy to digest. Easy to adore, perhaps, but so many people desired to get close to the fire before they truly knew what it meant to be burned. There were so few who saw the worst of her and stayed.

Scott was one of them. If anyone touched a hair on his head -- even someone she considered family, someone who was more blood than anyone else on the planet -- she would rip them into a thousand pieces and scatter them to the wind without hesitation, without guilt, without grief. But there was another person who looked at her in all her chaos, in her fear, in her self hatred and mania, and who said, this girl is worth trusting. There was another person who approached her in the wreckage of other people’s lives and said it wasn’t her fault, that she held a great gift inside of her, and the only way to control it was to refuse to control it, to embrace it instead.

Erik had been that person. Erik knelt down in front of a child and he reached to her even when the rest of the world was pulling back. He gave her a safe place to rest, gave her logic, pragmatism, gave her a path that she followed long after he was gone. And then he was on the other side of a battlefield, throwing buses at her friends and threatening everything the X-Men were fighting for, and she was told to defeat him at any cost.

Perhaps this was inevitable. Perhaps there could only ever be Jean alive or Erik. Maybe having them both here at once, occupying the same space, defied some kind of cosic deity -- defied the Phoenix. Because as Jean looked at Erik, her chest tightening and her throat burning, the Phoenix was conspicuously silent. Conspicuously void of opinion, for one of the first times in living history.

Then Bruce opened his mouth, and the bird came back to life. We could kill him next, she offered.

“We’re not killing anyone.” It took a breath, just a second, for Jean to realise she said those words out loud, that she’d turned her head to the side as if a friend was standing right there -- as if Maddie was beside her (why was she thinking of Maddie, now, as if she was a shadow? As if she was someone lingering, constantly, even when she wasn’t here physically? Was it because they’d done it together, the three of them, and so it made sense to picture her now?) Jean collected herself, levelled a look at Erik as her eyes burned, too.

She wouldn’t cry. She refused to. But God, it would be so easy to let those tears spill, to fall to her knees, to run towards him like she was an eleven year old girl who’d lost everything that mattered to her in the world and he had all the answers.

But he was insulting her husband. He’d threatened the safety, the peace, of their entire people. He messed with Kara’s head, threatened Rictor, almost started another World War. She couldn’t forget that.

“I didn’t want you dead, Erik,” she said, as simply as she could. There were a hundred other things she could say. She could tell him how she knew the Phoenix felt in him, how it twisted everything, how it made things so simple and so complicated all at the same time. She could vindicate him, could say this wasn’t his fault -- but the way he was looking at her now…

(Maybe there was always meant to be one, in the end.)

She knew where his mind went, when he asked for the date. “I didn’t want to use her,” she said, because he deserved something of an explanation. “I couldn’t.”

You could have. Haven’t I helped you before? Haven’t I made things so beautiful—

“We needed you back,” Jean said, “not someone else. I found another way. It took some time, but …” It worked, clearly. It worked so far as there was breath in his lungs now and color in his cheeks. If that was the definition of life, they’d succeeded -- but Jean knew it was far more complicated than that. “Lorna’s alive,” she continued. “She’s safe, and she knows we’re here. I wanted to make sure we were … that she stayed that way.”

The Erik she knew would’ve wanted her paranoid, if it came to Lorna. He would’ve wanted her to take every precaution when dealing with something as unpredictable as life and death. Yet, as she stood there looking at someone who felt as much like a stranger as he had on that very first day they faced off in the middle of New York City, she wasn’t entirely sure he would see it like that now.

SCOTT: Banner’s voice was like radio static, something there-and-not-there in a way Scott had grown accustomed to as a teenager when the world became like a television with no static and he began to understand why his mother locked herself in her room for days at a time, why she spent so many afternoons in bed. It shut out the world sometimes, made him his thoughts and nothing else. Banner was there. Erik was there. Jean was there. And Scott wasn’t. Scott was in a silo, in a hospital waiting room, in a grave. Banner was promising he’d leave as if he knew how, Jean was throwing a shield around him as if there was something left to protect, Erik was---

---Erik was speaking to him. The realization dawned slowly, like a wave lapping your feet on a beach, covering them with sand slowly and quickly all at once in a way you didn’t realize until the pressure was there cementing you to the ground. It took Scott’s mind a moment to catch up with his ears, a moment for the words to register. It always did, when he got like this. When the world was radio static and his mind hopped from one place to the next like Kurt’s teleportation, like a superpower that took him to every place he’d never wanted to be.

Bird got your tongue? The words came to him, slow and deliberate, and for a moment he felt like he was twelve years old, like he was standing in Essex’s lab with his arms stiff at his side and his eyes locked to his feet, like fingers would come in at any moment to grip his chin and force it upwards, force eye contact. (Essex was the last person he’d looked in the eyes before the world went red and a pair of lenses separated him from everything he saw. He thought of that sometimes, what it meant. What it said.) For a moment, there was an echo of another man’s voice, decades ago but just as cold, just as disgusted. Come on, Scott. You’re so much prettier when you smile.

He flinched. He didn’t mean to, but he did. And it wasn’t fair, he knew. Scott was not a victim here. (And maybe he hadn’t been a victim back then, either. Maybe Essex had never done anything he didn’t have coming. Maybe if he were better, smarter, easier to love, things could have been different. Maybe - ) Scott had killed Erik, had opened his eyes and turned the whole world red, and maybe Erik was angry now but he had a right to be. Scott Summers was not Zatanna Zatara. He was not Logan. He was not a person who had done a favor for a friend, not someone who was only doing what his would-be victim asked him to do. What he did was his choice, his decision. No one forced him. No one made him. And maybe he’d only damned himself to save Erik from the same fate, but that didn’t make him any less damned. Did it?

Scott stayed silent, and the world kept moving around him. Time went slower, he’d found, without the Phoenix coloring it. The loss of immortality made every moment a mountain, every second a marathon. He watched realization dawn in Erik’s eyes in slow motion, watched anger turn to grief turn to fear. And Jean spoke, but it wasn’t---

It wasn’t to Erik. It wasn’t to Banner, it wasn’t to Scott. It was to someone else. Scott could almost feel her in the room, like a phantom limb. The Phoenix. Had Jean ever spoken to her aloud before? (He had, towards the end. He remembered it. Pacing in his room, muttering to himself. It was one of the things that made him realize the line had been crossed, one of the things that made him realize he was going, going, gone. His heart dropped into his stomach and his chest felt tight. Jean had a handle on this. She had to. She had to.)

He tuned back in to the conversation, listened as Jean insisted that they’d done what they’d done to ensure they resurrected Erik and not something else. A strangled sound escaped from the back of Scott’s throat at that, and he cursed himself for drawing the attention back to him. Given the opportunity, Scott had always preferred to exist in the peripheral. To be seen and not heard, the way he’d been taught by his father, Essex, Winters. “If we’d taken shortcuts,” he said, because the attention was on him and if he didn’t make it seem like he had something to say then it might stay that way, “we wouldn’t have solved any problems. Take it from me, that isn’t… It’s not how you want to come back.” An apologetic glance to Jean, the echo of a statement he didn’t dare repeat. Maybe we were better off dead. “Lorna’s safe. You’re safe. Genosha, New York… It’s all safe. We just wanted to keep it that way. That’s all.”

BRUCE: Every word Scott breathed made Bruce’s chest feel tighter and tighter. Safe, like Erik wasn’t capable of controlling himself. Safe, as if something really got out of control, they couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t handle him.

If Erik had needed to be put down because he was a danger to society and he hadn’t even hurt anyone yet, then what did that make Bruce?

Unbeknownst to him, lost in his thoughts, Bruce’s skin under his lab-coat began to turn an eerie shade of green, spiderwebbing out from under his sleeve and onto the fist that gripped Erik’s suit, holding the man up like he was Bruce’s lifeline. “Don’t talk to him like that.” The words sounded echo-y and far-away, like someone had smashed pots and pans together beside his ears and just let them ring. His throat felt full, like he’d been drooling for days and had forgotten to swallow. If they loved him so much, then they wouldn’t have killed him when it became inconvenient.

Would they have?

Hulk roared in the pit of his stomach, startling him into a barely noticeable jump. Gripping Erik tighter, green creeping into the corners of his vision, Bruce managed a not-so-controlled, “I’ve got it from here. You guys’ve done enough, right?” He hated, how much like his father he sounded when his ridiculous Dayton-Ohio-accent came out with his words.

Hated feeling like a monster, in front of judgmental eyes. Bruce may not have known Jean or Scott very well, but he couldn’t trust them any farther than he could throw them. As Banner, anyway. “I’ll make sure he ‘stays out of trouble.’” The words dripped with poorly hidden malice, maybe some misguided hurt, and he couldn’t hold eye contact with either of them anymore. Instead, he focused on Erik. Fed off of his exhaustion and hoped that maybe they could trade places. That maybe the next person that came knocking could put him down instead.

“FRIDAY? Can you make sure my floor is set to 75 degrees? He’s probably going to be a little cold, as tired as he is.” Licking his lips, Bruce cocked an eyebrow, still staring at the ground as if to say ‘Anything else?’

ERIK: Lorna's alive. It was buried in their responses, between excuses and explanations and lies he didn't care to hear, but it was there, nonetheless. Lorna was alive, and some of the panic that had filled his lungs like cement dissipated. Lorna was alive.

With that assurance, it was easier to focus on the rest of what they said. Safe, safe, safe, safe, safe....

(Alles ist gut, alles ist gut--)

And that was funny, wasn't it--absolutely hysterical, and the laughter bubbled up out of his chest before he realized it was coming.

We needed you back. Not someone else. (And it was needed, wasn't it, not wanted--)

It's not how you want to come back. The metal groaned under his fingers, lights flickering for as his voice rose. "What made you think that I wanted to come back?" he snapped, voice cracking for a moment. Just a moment.

Get it together. He cleared his throat, shook off the edges of black tinting his vision, marshalled his focus into staying on his feet. Don't show weakness. (Too late, too late, too late--)

"It doesn't really matter, does it? Because you needed me. And here. I. Am. My life was a problem. My death was a problem. How long do I get the floor this time, Jean?"

He stared across the Cradle at Scott, expression stuck in a strange space between anger and pity. "It was all for keeping everyone safe, hm? Is that what she told you to help you sleep at night, Scott? That you were making the world safe? No, no, no. You stopped me to keep everyone safe--fair enough. Can't begrudge you that. But that's not why you killed me. You killed me because you were angry. Because your chest was burning over Ric, over Kara, over Lorna, over all the failures of your fathers, and because you could take something in recompense. And because she told you to. Good soldier, good husband."

And then, for a moment, some of that anger edged back, some more of the pity filtering in, because Erik knew what it was like to love someone enough to do anything. "Did you realize you said almost the same thing she did, just now, hm? Did she notice?" A brief glance at Jean, before he looked back at Scott. They'd been sharing minds for years. Might be doing so now, even, and that had been the reason he'd never quite let Charles do the same--the fear of not knowing where your thoughts ended and theirs began.

"You and I both held the Phoenix, Scott. You know what it does, what it's like. How long has she been talking to it out loud? Do you feel safe, right now?" His head was starting to swim, the room growing more distant through the tunnel that was starting to settle in front of his vision, and Erik reflected absently that perhaps it wasn't the wisest of choices to be using so much oxygen on talking when his legs were barely keeping under him.

(You don't know when to quit-- oh, he owed Ric so much...)

He felt Banner's shift starting behind him, felt the radiation in the room spike, even through the dim grip he had on his powers at the moment. The man's voice, when it came, was strained, his grip tightening at Erik's back, and he would be lying if he didn't say it wasn't more than a little vindicating to hear the disdain with which the Avenger spoke to Jean and Scott.

He didn't quite get to express that, before the black won out.

JEAN: Jean had been angry her entire life. She’d been angry at what she wasn’t allowed to do, what she was, how she could go against the natural order of things and nothing ever seemed to come of it -- not until later, at least -- not until the sum of all her mistakes came crashing down in one fell swoop and she was left drowning at the deep end. But there was always someone who dove in, whether it was a backyard pool or the ocean during a raging storm, and that was Scott. Scott, who changed the world for her. Scott, who she changed the world for. Scott who killed a man when Jean asked him to, who would live and die for her, who promised to spend his life by her side regardless of whether she was beside him at the breakfast table or six foot under in a cemetery.

“Don’t speak to my husband like that,” Jean said, taking a step in front of Scott when Bruce shot him a glare. She didn’t come to the other scientist to be judged. She didn’t come here to be treated as the villain when she knew, deeply and instinctively, what the Phoenix was capable of -- how it changed people, twisted them up inside, changed them. She came here for one reason and one reason only, and he was standing in front of her now.

He was standing in front of her angry, but Jean knew him far too well to expect anything else, even if there was still a sickening disappointment swirling in her gut. “Because I always did,” she said, her voice quiet. Because she always would want to come back, regardless of what horrors were awaiting her the second air filled her lungs once more. Life would forever, constantly, be preferable to the lingering emptiness on the other side. “Because I thought--”

You didn’t deserve this. She wasn’t sure if he would hear it, if she was broadcasting it, if the feelings were leaking out of her like water from a cracked dam. “Because I’ve always needed you.”

Because it was her fault. The Phoenix wouldn’t be a part of their lives if it wasn’t for her decision on the shuttle at eighteen years old, a stupid child playing at being a god, a woman so desperate for approval from anywhere that she’d take sycophancy whispering in her head and preach it like gospel. “It wasn’t you, Erik. It wasn’t you any more than it was me on that lawn.”

He didn’t see that now. Maybe he never would. But Jean knew there was no other option, no other choice. Erik would admit himself there was nothing that could stop him from accomplishing his mission unless it was death. He was a man forged by soldiers’ cruelty, but he shared their pragmatism, their single-minded focus.

And then he kept talking, and the Phoenix roared to life in her mind -- almost laughing. Yes, it was laughing. It was bitter and cruel, but it was laughter, genuine amusement.

Oh look, she whispered, you brought him back insane.

“We were angry,” Jean said. “Of course we were angry. You violated the very principles we founded Genosha on when you threatened one of our own in a public place, for all to see. We were meant to be peaceful, a sanctuary. We were meant to be safety, and you turned it into your own personal battleground where you were judge, jury and executioner. You ripped apart the sanctity of a woman’s mind who is good and kind and honest in more ways than we could ever be, and you pointed a gun at the head of every citizen in New York and tried to justify it in a way that didn’t make you sound like Shaw.”

Because yes, that was in the notes she’d collected. Yes, that was in the memories he’d shared with her. Yes, she knew all about it -- and she knew that, if it came down to it, Erik would never become the monster that had ripped him apart and put him back together different than was ever intended. He wouldn’t wanted her to stop him. Her father would’ve wanted that.

Maybe this man wasn’t her father.

Bruce spoke again, and this time Jean let out a bitter huff of almost laughter. “Right,” she said, “because the Avengers are such a safe place for mutants, always have been. Remind me of all you did for our kind while you were parading the streets after your great victories and we were still hiding in backalleys, getting murdered for how we were born.”

(Jean never had a personal problem with the Avengers. She never understood why Scott burned with resentment towards what they represented, even if the people themselves weren’t to blame. She did now. Bruce stood there, on a pedestal despite his mistakes, looking down on them as if they were to pity. Like they were the monsters.)

“Erik, you belong at home. You belong in the place you helped to build. You belong in your own paradise. Come home, and we can be there or we can leave, but don’t--”

Don’t push us away. Not just Scott and Jean, which was inevitable, but the entirety of mutantkind that resided in the streets he’d pieced together. Everything he’d worked for, everything he’d sacrificed, and the Phoenix had torn it apart.

And then Erik hit the ground, and Jean was beside him in an instant, fingers going to the pulse on his neck as her other hand squeezed his arm.

Breathing? the Phoenix enquired. Jean nodded. How unfortunate. I thought we’d get to work together, again.

Jean looked back up at Bruce, at Scott, and slowly rose to her feet. Reluctant to leave him when the experiment was so new, so uncertain, and reluctant to leave him because everything within her screamed that was her family hurting, on the floor, aching.

“Take care of him,” Jean said to Bruce, reaching for Scott’s hand to intertwine their fingers together. Flames flickered, orange and purple at the tips, and formed a circle -- a circle she could see through, right back to their sofa and fireplace back in Genosha, right back to home where Rachel would no doubt be making cocoa in the kitchen. She’d never done that before.

Cosmic travel? Of course we have. You just forget. The human mind can only bend so far.

Jean squeezed Scott’s hand once more, knuckles white, and past the burning in her chest and throat she took a step into the portal, unsure whether she’d just healed a wound or created a new one.

#( adding a little bit of spicy doom tones at the beginning for *drama* )#f: discord #d: back from the dead #c: scott summers #c: jean grey #c: bruce banner #tw: murder mention #tw: abuse mention #tw: grief #tw: ptsd #tw: mental health issues

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doing-an-okay-job-miranda · 4 years

Text

Lost Loves - Kingceit

AO3 / Masterpost

Part two: AO3 / Tumblr

Warnings: Fusion, Angst, Deceit straight up slaps someone, i dunno it’s a sad one friends

Summary:

Deceit really didn't care for fusion.

Don't get him wrong, it's a neat idea and it's quite interesting to see what two combined sides could become but the lying side really had no interest in ever letting himself join that little party that the others seem to be enjoying so much.

Perhaps he should have been paying more attention to the others though.

Or The King returns when Roman and Remus fuse and Deceit temporarily reunites with his long lost love but it’s not a good time for anyone.

----

Deceit really didn't care for fusion.

No, he knows that any fusion with himself would be unhealthy. Deceit just isn't willing to give what it took to make a stable partnership and he knew that in order to make anything proper that it would take a lot of trust and far more vulnerability then the lying side could provide, perhaps in the future, he could work past this but for the time being, he kept the others at an arms distance.

After all, if he can't be bothered to put effort into it why would he bother?

Perhaps he should have been paying more attention to the others though, he's sure that if he had been a bit more involved than this would have never happened.

He doesn't think much when Patton summons him to the commons, it didn't happen often but the moral side did have a nasty habit of trying to reach out to him. Then again, Deceit always answered that call so who was really to blame?

Still, of all the things that Deceit expected when he popped up into the light side's common room.

Perhaps an attempt at having a family game night or family movie night or anything with the word "family" in front of it.

The King staring down at him with wide eyes was not on the list.

Hope is a thing with feathers but it hits him like a truck.

It flutters in beside his heart and builds up in his throat. His hand shoots up to cover his mouth as his lips almost twitch into a smile at the sight of his long lost love. Relief and joy and longing flood through every inch of his body and he only just barely holds himself back from flinging himself at the man even if the liar knows he would always be caught in those arms.

And then the King reaches out to him, stepping forward with such beautiful ruby and emerald eyes that glisten with unshed tears that make the liar want to hold and soothe his darling. His love is back, his king is looking at him like he's the sun once more and it's all too much to handle and Deceit just wants to kiss him once more but that hope is quickly shoved back down into its cage where it belongs as something much more crushing fills his lungs.

Deceit can't thing properly and his king is standing close to him, leaning down even closer when the ache of his heart chokes him and the palm of his hand collides with the King's cheek with a sickening slap. He hears various responses from the other sides in the room but he can only stumble back as his once beloved violently glows and cracks down the center, the King's form shifts and almost splits in half before forcing itself back together, clutching at their chest like they were physically holding themselves in place. "Dee-"

"No." The scaled side blinks away tears and instead summons upon an unbridled rage that's been swirling inside him like a storm for years. "This is cruel." He hisses out, snapping his head towards Morality who's covering his mouth in shock. "Why would you do this to me? How could you-" Deceit swallows the lump in his throat, turning his gaze to glare into those heartbroken eyes he once loved, giving in to anger is so much easier the crushing sadness. "You think you can just-"

"Honey Dee, please just-"

"Ssshut up!" Deceit cuts the fusion off. "You don't get to do this to me. How dare you?!" The lying side stands tall despite how his former love towers over him. "This is cruel. You don't get to come back for a lovely evening before vanishing again. We're not going to pretend nothing changed or that it's all okay. You don't get to break my heart all over again, understand?!" Deceit is seething, livid, cracking under his carefully crafted mask.

The others are watching them. If Deceit cared to look he would see a horrified Patton with tears flowing freely, he'd see Logan with soft concerned eyes, he'd see Virgil too shocked to speak and on edge from the yelling.

But Deceit doesn't look, staring into eyes that mock rubies and emeralds that hold so much grief that it still tears him apart from the inside.

"Roman, Remus." Deceit grits out as he watches glowing cracks grow over the fusion. "Never do this to me again." Finally, the fusion gives in and splits in half, the twins forcefully shoved apart and landing on the floor.

Roman stays on the floor, violent sobs wracking his form as he pulls his arms around his head and hides as much as he can against the floor. Remus scrambles onto his knees, looking at Deceit with wild and confused eyes.

"Deecee, I just-" The dark side rushes to explain but is left speechless, instead letting out a whine like a wounded dog as his face contorts with guilt. The liar schools his expression, carefully picking up the pieces of the shattered wall around his heart and locking them back into place.

"It's fine, Remus. You had good intentions." Deceit lets his gaze soften for only a moment. "Never do it again."

And with that he makes his exit, sinking out and heading straight to his room. He thought that when he finally greeted the privacy and comfort of his safe place that he would break, that his wall would crumble and he would spend the night mourning what could have been but he doesn't.

Deceit lays in bed feeling empty and tired and ignores when Patton tries to summon him again, he ignores Remus screeching his name and ignores Virgil trying to forcibly tug him.

The apathy won't last, he knows this and he'll have to deal with apologies and crying later.

But tonight he stares up at the golden glass stars hanging from his ceiling and feels nothing.

#sanders sides fic #sanders sides #deceit sanders #king creativity #roman sanders #remus sanders #theres others too but like in the background #deceit angst #fusion sides #kingceit

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snowdice · 4 years

Text

Folds in Paper (Chapter 5: It Spills Itself in Fearing to be Spilt)[Folds in Time Universe]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Janus/Patton, Remus & Roman, eventual Logan/Virgil (maybe more)

Characters:

Main: Janus, Patton, Remus

Appear: Remy, Emile, Virgil, Logan, Roman

Summary: Janus, a disillusioned senior agent working for the Time Preservation Initiative, struggles to find meaning in a world where time travel could change everything about your life’s history in less than a moment. When time distortions start popping up, threatening the timeline and the fabric of reality as he knows it, it becomes a race against the clock to fix the damage before everything unravels. And the problem with time travel… you never how long you have before the clock strikes 12 and your time is up.

With a partner who has more mysteries in his past than Janus had anticipated and an enigmatic free agent time traveler mucking about time always with a clever pun or a time appropriate pet name on his lips, Janus will need to figure out what went wrong with time, and more importantly, how to fix it.

Chapter Summary:

So full of artless jealousy is guilt, It spills itself in fearing to be spilt

-Shakespeare in Hamlet

Notes: Time travel AU, mystery, enemies to lovers, alcohol

This is a fic I’ve been writing on study breaks that you have probably all already seen at this point. I’ve slightly edited it for wording and grammar, but not for content from my previous posts. Feel free to send in asks to direct it because I’m not 100% sure where this is going and you can help decide if you feel so inclined! You can see the process I went through to build this at this link.

I also have a playlist on youtube (because Spotify didn’t have one of the songs I wanted).

AO3 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Janus stepped back into the reception area and booted up his time piece. Instinct said to go back to the office despite it being late enough that most people had gone home, but he hesitated. Surely Emile had given up by now, but considering he’d sent someone to ambush him in his office, Janus wasn’t sure if he should trust that. He could just go home, but he already knew his mind was racing too much to sleep tonight, so he’d probably just end up staring at the lake for the next 6 hours. That in mind, he decided on the only other legitimate option he had. He pulled up Remus’s home coordinates and selected.

The home that Remus had chosen (after his long line of rejected requests) managed to somehow make no and absolute sense simultaneously to anyone who knew him. It was a small farm in the United States just west of the Mississippi in 1842 in what would be ratified as the state of Iowa in a few years. When asked why he would choose that time and place, Remus always responded with “I thought it was funny,” whatever that meant.

Unlike most time agents who simply used the identities assigned to them by the AMO as a cover, Remus actually lived his part time. Janus was… fairly certain he was cheating a bit to get everything done, but he maintained his small farm all on his own, growing most of his own food. The neighbors he had lived very far away, but he still spoke with them far more than Janus did his own.

Janus appeared inside the small home, his eyes already shut. “Are you here and dressed?” Janus called. Something bumped lightly into his legs.

“I’m in the kitchen!”

Janus peaked his eyes open and squatted to pet the cat at his feet. “That doesn’t answer my second question!” he called back to Remus.

“It’s a surprise!” Remus said.

“Remus.” Diesel Fuel the cat flopped to her side on the ground as Janus continued to pet her ears. He heard Remus’s footsteps, and saw cloth covering his legs, so risked looking up. He was currently not only dressed, but wearing an apron that Janus was fairly sure was not time appropriate judging by the fabric and cat pawprint design. He had a bit of flour on his hands, and it may have been a bit too white for the time and place, but Janus couldn’t be completely sure.

“What’re you doing here?” Remus asked.

“My day has been an endless series of frustrations,” Janus said. “So, I have come to see the only tolerable being in the history of the universe.”

Remus snorted. “Since I know that isn’t me, I’ll assume you’re talking about the cat.”

“I still don’t understand why you tolerate this creature,” Janus addressed Diesel Fuel. She blinked slowly up at him. “To be fair, he was assigned as my partner. I didn’t have much of a choice in it. You could always run away and become feral in the woods if you’d like.”

“So, could you, technically,” Remus pointed out.

“I’m thinking about it after today.”

“Would you like some bread?” Remus asked. “That’s all I’ve been making this afternoon. Some fresh should be coming out of the oven in a few minutes.”

“Do you have anything stronger made out of wheat?”

“Ew, no, but I do have vodka.”

“Vodka works.”

“Want me to mix it with something?”

“No.”

“One of those night then,” Remus said, easily. “Let me finish up the bread, so I don’t burn the kitchen down. You can go get the alcohol from the cellar while you wait if you want, or you can just flop down on the couch.”

He was going to just flop down on the couch.

He did just that as Remus disappeared back into his kitchen. The cat hopped onto his stomach, proceeding to purr loudly and kneed at chest. Janus petted the cat and listened to the noise of Remus moving around in the other room, letting his mind drift. His mind drifted to Virgil for a bit and he steadfastly did not allow it to drift to his brother. Yet, the thing that most was on his mind was the strange man who had flirted with and charmed Janus all night before mercilessly screwing him over. ‘Pat’ he’d said his name was, but surely that was not his real name.

Janus sighed and scratched the cat’s ear. “He certainly wasn’t an amateur,” Janus mused to the cat. “With that amount of precision to get in before we did, he must have someone not on the ground feeding him information. Perhaps more than one.” He was part of a group of time traveling thieves perhaps or something worse. “I didn’t get a good look at his face since he was wearing a mask,” Janus said, “but I spent a lot of time with him, and I’m sure Remy swiped the mask from the police since it had been on me when I was arrested. It’s a good lead.” He continued to pet Diesel Fuel. Eventually, Remus came back in, noticed Janus hadn’t bothered to get the alcohol and went outside to the cellar. “I’m going to find him,” Janus told Diesel Fuel. “I’ll stop whatever it is he’s doing, and I’ll bring him in.” Diesel Fuel mewed her support, and Janus patted her on top of the head.

Remus came back in with the bottle of vodka and handed it to him without a word. He sat down on the couch near Janus’s feet and patted his lap so Diesel Fuel would come over to him and allow Janus to sit up.

The bastard waited until he was approximately 3 shots in (he didn’t have a shot glass and was just taking drinks from the bottle) to ask the questions Janus really didn’t want to answer. “Are you mad at Emile?” Remus asked.

Janus groaned, trying to wash out the bitter taste of shame and grief with the sharp sting of vodka. It didn’t work. “No,” he said to Remus.

“Then why have you been avoiding him?”

“Shit, I’m here because I didn’t want to think about it. Can’t we just not.”

“Don’t want to think about what?

“It’s none of your business, Remus.”

He could feel Remus frowning at him, but Janus stared resolutely ahead. At least, he did until a foot poked his face. He slapped it away, but it did the job of getting Janus to look back at Remus.

“It is my business,” Remus said, foot still in the air. “I’m your partner and your friend.”

“If I’m your friend, you’ll drop it.”

“So, you’re not mad at Emile,” Remus continued, contemplatively. “Did you do something to him, then?” Janus bit his lip and looked away. “What?” Remus asked. Janus didn’t respond. “Look, I’m sure he’ll forgive you for whatever it is. He’s a good guy. Just talk to him about it.”

“I can’t,” Janus said.

“Whatever it is, it’s probably been long enough that he forgives you. You literally just have to have a conversation, say you’re sorry, and everything will be A-OK.”

“I can’t,” Janus repeated.

“Why not?”

“He doesn’t know about it.”

Remus paused. “So, as far as he knows, you just cut contact with him all of a sudden for no reason and have been avoiding him ever since?”

Janus looked at his shoes. “Yeah.”

“That…” Remus said, “is not fucking fair Janus.”

“I know.”

“Then why the hell are you doing that to him? He’s like… soft and feeling-y. He’s probably really upset.”

“I know, Remus.”

“Tell him. Whatever it is.”

“I can’t.”

“Look,” Remus said. “You tell him and he either forgives you or he doesn’t. If he does, everything’s fine. If he doesn’t… well, it’s not like it would be any different from you two never being in the same room the last few years. Either way, you can’t just do this to him. He’ll probably forgive you. He’s your brother. Brothers don’t… brothers would forgive each other.”

Janus laughed softly and met Remus’s eyes. “That’s the problem,” he said. “He’d definitely forgive me.” He turned away and opened the vodka bottle again. “Now, if you’ll shut up for a few minutes, I’m going to drink until I black out.”

Want to read more? Click below!

AO3 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

#sanders sides #janus sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #moceit #time travel #bomb mentioned #adriana writes #folds in paper #folds in time universe

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virgil-patton-roman-and-logan · 4 years

Text

Nightmare AU

Based off of @jessibbb‘s nightmare from a while back. It took me a long time, but I did write something for it!

“That was the last truly nice moment Logan could remember. As soon as the cameras clicked off, everything went dark.”

Content warnings: Major character death, grief, drowning, being crushed, falling, decapitation, hypothermia, pornography mention, suicidal ideation, let me know if I missed anything because this fic was a lot

Tagging people who seemed interested in a fic on the original post: @izzynuggets @whizzie72 @stopitanxiety @mr-scandalous @kawaiikat54 @phantom-moonfire @ocforeverything @pricklyfish777 @arya-skywalker @averykedavra

Logan couldn’t think of why the videos stopped being normal. The one it started with felt normal the whole way through. The sides were trying to find ways to add something fresh to Thomas’s career, and for once everyone was present. Of course, some people were more helpful than others—Remus wouldn’t shut up about making a pornography account—but things were normal, and they were good.

That was the last truly nice moment Logan could remember. As soon as the cameras clicked off, everything went dark.

When he opened his eyes, there was a glass wall in front of him, bordering a giant tank, meticulously aquascaped to look like the bottom of the ocean. Most of the other sides were next to him, rubbing their eyes and looking around. Remus was inside the tank, doggy paddling and trying to catch his bearings.

Suddenly, tentacles surged from the bottom of the tank and caught on to Remus’s ankles, dragging him down. Remus struggled, desperately trying to break away, but he just got tugged further and further down.

“No!” Roman banged on the glass, but nothing happened. Janus ran over and touched the tank, muttering “please” repeatedly under his breath as he watched Remus with wide, terrified eyes. Logan’s chest was constricted and cold. This couldn’t really be happening. Everything was so surreal. The sound of Roman pounding on the glass tore through his skull, making his head ache.

Remus bucked and clawed at the water. For a moment, he managed to pull one ankle away, but it was quickly grabbed again as he kicked at the tentacles wrapped around the other. Slowly, Remus stopped fighting, eyes becoming glassy, gasping and reaching for the surface as the tentacles dragged him to the bottom.

Roman charged the glass, ramming it with the force of his shoulder. He collapsed to the ground, crying in frustration. The glass remained unmarked. Patton slowly made his way over to Roman, wrapping his arms over the side’s shoulders and whispering softly in his ear despite the terror brimming in his own eyes.

Logan looked back at the tank. Remus had gone completely limp. The tentacles slowly released their hold, but Remus’s body sank to the bottom.

XXX

Logan woke up in bed and breathed a sigh of relief. Thank god, it must have been a surreal nightmare. The worst nightmare he had ever experienced in his life, but a nightmare nonetheless.

It took him a moment to realize he was still wearing his clothes and his shoes were still on his feet. And the light was on. And the bed was perfectly made under him.

He sat up, a cold knot forming in his stomach. It hadn’t happened, he told himself as he stepped out of bed. There was no way it had. So why was he so afraid to go outside and see? And why could he hear crying?

He took a few deep breaths and stepped into the hall, leaden limbs weighing him down. Roman sat hunched and crying in front of Remus’s door. Logan’s heart dropped.

He walked over, time feeling like it was passing in slow motion.

“Was it real?”

Roman nodded without looking up. Logan exhaled shakily, sinking to the four next to him.

“He isn’t in there, is he?”

Logan barely heard himself ask it, yet he clearly heard Roman sob harder in response.

XXX

Logan sat at the table, staring into his cereal. He poked and stirred it around with his spoon, but couldn’t bring himself to eat. He just wasn’t hungry, and he was sick of trying to shovel food past the lump in his throat.

Virgil sat heavily a couple seats away, hair and makeup messy. Logan didn’t bother talking to him. Virgil didn’t seem to want to talk to anyone. He got angry when anyone tried. After a couple of silent, long, minutes, Virgil spoke first.

“Where’s Roman?”

“Remus’ room.” Logan said quietly, trying to ignore the spike of hurt that went through him at saying Remus’ name. Roman had been spending every night and most of the day there in the weeks since Remus’ death, wanting to feel close to his lost brother. Logan wanted to reach out to him, but had no idea what to say. What do you even say to someone who recently lost his second half? Besides, it was hard enough for Logan already.

Virgil nodded tiredly, sighing. He put his headphones on and laid his head on the table. Logan thought he heard him softly crying, barely audible.

Patton came downstairs, walking like he was carrying a heavy weight. When he saw Logan and Virgil, he gave them a clearly forced smile. Logan saw the tears glimmering in his eyes.

“Hey, kiddos.” Patton’s voice wavered. Logan nodded softly in return. Virgil didn’t respond at all. “How are you?”

Logan shrugged half-heartedly, putting his spoon down. “Is Janus awake?”

“I don’t know. He’s still in his room.” Patton’s smile faded. “I just wish I could help. He won’t speak to anyone. Roman avoids me most of the time too. I just want to help.” Patton took a hitched breath, tears falling down his face. He immediately tried to gather himself, wiping his tears.

Virgil stood fast enough to knock over the chair and threw his headphones on the table. “It’s not fair!”

“Kiddo—” Patton’s voice broke.

“It isn’t fair! He was fine before! We were fine…” Virgil broke into angry tears, crossing his arms around his chest.

Patton walked over, putting his arms around Virgil and rubbing his back. “Shh, shh, it’s going to be okay…”

Logan didn’t think Patton sounded like he believed what he was saying. He ran his spoon through the now-soggy cereal again, blinking away the tears that came to his eyes. What had happened? Sometimes he felt like everyone was looking to him for answers. He felt even more like that now. But he had none. He had no idea why or how this had occurred.

He just hoped it wouldn’t happen again.

XXX

The next video came far too soon. None of them were ready for it. Logan showed up in sweatpants, with messy hair and tired eyes. He couldn’t think of a time he had shown up looking more disorganized. And he wasn’t the only one. Roman had clearly just rolled out of bed, his eyes rimmed with red and bloodshot. Patton was trying to force a cheery demeanor, but Logan doubted anyone would be buying it anytime soon. Virgil seemed quieter, no longer eager to make sarcastic comments.

Logan envied Janus. He wished Thomas hadn’t called him up, either. Still, he tried to provide useful information even if his chest ached and his eyes watered. Watching Roman wasn’t doing any favors, either. The surviving twin was clearly trying to take Remus’s place by suggesting darker ideas than usual, his nose wrinkling at his own words.

Virgil sat on the bottom step, wearing his headphones and glaring at the floor. He seemed determined to participate as little as possible. Thomas shifted his weight nervously. “Virgil, what do you think?” Virgil took one side of the headphones off, scowling at everyone else. “I think we should stop pretending like everything is normal.”

“What—”

Virgil sunk out without another word. The video continued without him. When it ended, everything went dark.

XXX

Logan opened his eyes. He was behind a glass wall again. Virgil was on the other side of it, facing him and the other sides. A giant rock rested on a ledge several feet above Virgil. Logan’s heart shot into his throat. No. Not again.

Virgil’s mouth opened into a frightened “o” shape, and he turned around just as the ledge broke and the rock fell.

Patton screamed.

Blood seeped out from under the rock. Virgil’s legs were all that were left, bloody and crooked jeans barely visible, black sneakers unmoving. Logan’s breath came fast and shaky, and blood rushed in his ears. He could vaguely hear the others talking frantically, but he couldn’t understand what they were saying. He felt like he was going to faint.

He woke up in his room again.

He lay where he was, not wanting to get up. Logan’s chest was hollow and sluggish. He knew it was real this time. He had lost another friend.

XXX

A couple of days later, Patton ran downstairs, agitated. “Virgil had a spider!”

Logan snapped to alertness, sitting up from where he had been staring at the ceiling for the past couple of hours. “What?”

“He had a pet spider, and I don’t want it to die too, it would have mattered to him.” Patton’s lower lip wobbled. Logan felt a pang in his chest. “But I can’t take care of it, I’m still afraid of spiders. I don’t know what to do with it.”

“I’ll take it.” Logan responded without thinking about it.

“Really? Are you sure? Do you know how to take care of them?”

Logan shrugged. “No, but I can figure it out. I have the internet. It would… provide a suitable distraction.” He forced a smile.

They walked into Virgil’s room together. It was exactly how Logan had remembered it, except somewhat messier. Clothes strewn on the floor, fake spiderwebs stretched across the corners, Tim Burton posters on the walls. All reminiscent of someone who would never enter any room again. Tears blurred Logan’s vision.

“Well, here it is.” Patton said quietly. On the desk, there was a cage with a small, fuzzy tarantula inside. Logan smiled slightly at the sight of her. Maybe taking care of a creature would be good for him. It would give him something to think about besides Remus and Virgil.

“I’ll take her. Do you know what she’s called?”

Patton shook his head. “No. Verge never told me about her, either. I just found her in here today.”

Logan looked at Patton’s face, trying to read his expression. How much time had he spent in the room of a dead friend? “You miss him, don’t you?”

Patton nodded, breath hitching. “So much.”

Logan nodded sympathetically. It had been hard for everyone to lose two good friends in such a short time. “Can…” Logan cleared his throat and tried again, louder. “Can you help me get the cage into my room?”

Patton took a deep breath. “Okay.”

They carried the cage into Logan’s room together and placed it gently on his desk. Logan wished he knew what Virgil had called her. He felt bad renaming her.

But he was already starting to call her Nova in his head.

XXX

During the next video, Logan couldn’t get himself to untense. He knew something terrible was coming, like it had been for the last two videos. Yet he still tried to give his input as best as he could, all while casting worried glances at the three other sides. Janus seemed just as nervous as he was. Patton was shifting his weight back and forth. Roman just stared at the ground, despondent.

“Roman? Do you have any ideas?”

Roman shook his head slightly. Logan stared, worried. He wasn’t sure, but he thought that not participating helpfully in the discussions seemed like a common factor between the deaths. Would Roman be next?

Roman didn’t seem to notice Logan’s silent prodding. For the rest of the video, he spoke in one word sentences and kept his eyes on the ground, avoiding Logan’s frightened gaze.

XXX

Logan woke up behind a glass wall. On the other side was a grassy plain with a gargantuan tree in the middle. The tree must have towered well above 25 stories, and it kept growing larger, new branches growing off of the old ones, leaves stretching towards the sun. Logan vaguely saw a figure standing one one of the higher branches, clinging to the trunk for dear life.

He glanced to either side of him. Patton stood biting his nails, and Janus had a hand clasped over his mouth. The figure must have been Roman. He rested a palm against the glass, looking around. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t come up with anything he could do. Even if he somehow managed to break the glass, he didn’t know how to stop the tree from growing or get Roman down from the tree.

He looked up. The tree reached so high Logan could barely see the top. In another situation, he would have found it beautiful. But right now he felt like he was going to cry. One of his few remaining friends was about to die horribly and there was nothing he could do.

When Roman fell, he went faster than Logan expected. He would never forget the sickening crunch of Roman hitting the ground.

Blood pooled under the body. Roman’s neck lay at an unnatural angle, and part of his head was completely crushed. One of his eyes was still visible, wide and glazed over. Logan gagged at the sight, staring into the eye, unable to pull himself away.

Patton hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder. Logan flinched back from it, feeling a pang of guilt when Patton whimpered slightly in response. He finally looked away from the mangled corpse. Roman wasn’t coming back no matter how long he stared, and the others needed him to be there for them. Patton looked back at him, eyes filled with tears. Logan noticed that his hands were shaking.

He looked the other way. Who had he been kidding? He couldn’t be there for them. He was just as devastated and terrified as they were. Janus knelt on the floor, hand still clasped to his mouth, sobbing quietly. Logan silently knelt next to Janus. He had no words to encompass what had just happened, but he didn’t want to feel alone. Patton joined them a few seconds later. Together, they stared at the body and waited to wake up.

None of them had anything to say.

XXX

Logan sat at his desk, reading articles on Ranker and forums on Reddit. He wanted to know what their last moments felt like. Virgil’s death sounded the most pleasant. He most likely felt no pain at all, a moment of it at most. He died before his mind could have registered any of it. Roman’s death didn’t sound too bad either. He might have momentarily felt the impact, but he also might have died instantly or went unconscious mid-fall. Of course, he still must have had the terror of knowing he would never get down safely, and the gut-wrenching sensation of falling to his death.

Remus’s death, on the other hand, sounded awful. He was likely in agony when he died. It is impossible to go unconscious before instinctively taking a forced breath, the sensation of inhaling water much worse than the sensation of inhaling nothing at all. He presumably was panicking, lungs feeling like they were being filled with lava, until he gradually faded away.

A knock on the door jolted him out of his thoughts. “Kiddo?” Patton’s voice was choked up. Logan felt bad ignoring it, but he didn’t want to speak to anyone. “We’ve barely seen you for days…” There was another stretch of silence. “What are you even doing in there?”

“Researching.” Logan kept his answer curt and to the point. No use worrying Patton with the topics of his research.

“I don’t want you to be alone in there.”

“I’m not.” He glanced at Nova’s cage. At least she wasn’t a side. She wasn’t about to die. But him, Patton, or Janus likely was, just like Remus and Virgil and Roman had. It was best to try to stop being attached to other people.

“You mean the spider?” Logan almost said yes, but held his tongue. He didn’t want Patton to expect him to say anything else. This was best for both of them. After a stretch of Logan not responding, Patton just kept going. “Well, we still need you. We miss you.”

Part of Logan desperately wanted to open the door, to cry on Patton’s shoulder, to relieve the intense loneliness he felt. But that wouldn’t fix things. It would only make them hurt more, later. After a minute of quiet, Logan heard Patton sniffle and walk away.

The next video started under five minutes later.

XXX

Logan almost didn’t want to participate during that video. He suspected not participating was what was causing the deaths, and if one person had to die each time, he didn’t want to go through watching someone else die again. But he felt drawn to give his opinions given how quickly and easily they popped into his head. Hopefully if he made his contributions as short and unhelpful as possible, everyone else would surpass him.

His hopes were quickly crushed when Patton couldn’t quite seem to pull himself together enough to speak clearly. He could barely get more than a couple words out before bursting into tears so intense that he couldn’t say anything else. For the whole episode, Janus stood next to him and tried to decipher what he was saying for Thomas. Logan’s heart sank watching them. Either Janus or Patton would likely be next to die because of his curt behavior with Patton. And he had no way of knowing which.

XXX

When Logan opened his eyes he was on the same side of the glass wall as Janus. On the other side, there was a beige room, empty except for a guillotine in the center. Patton spun around, eyes widening at the guillotine. “No… no!” He backed away, eyes darting around the room in abject terror.

Shadows spread from the guillotine, grabbing Patton’s arms and pulling him towards it. He screamed and sobbed, trying to tug free. The shadows held tight, slowly dragging him closer and closer to his death. Logan’s breath hitched in his throat. He didn’t want to watch this. But he was unable to turn away, forced to see every shriek, every struggle, as Patton’s end drew nearer and nearer.

This was Logan’s fault, he was sure of it.

Patton squeezed his eyes shut as he got closer, chest heaving with sobs. The shadows forced him on the guillotine, holding him in place.

He stopped wailing and opened his eyes, face numb and expressionless. He glanced around the room, eventually locking eyes with Logan and Janus.

With his last tears running down his face, he smiled.

The knife fell.

XXX

A couple moments later, Logan woke up in his bed. For a moment, he felt nothing. He sat up and blinked, looking around his room. Then the weight of it hit him and he started crying out of nowhere. Logan grabbed the pillow and hugged it to his chest, sobbing. His fault. His fault. His fault. If he’d just talked to Patton, this wouldn’t have happened.

Janus knocked on the door softly, but Logan was too overwhelmed to answer. What could he say? What could he do? The door creaked open softly. “Logan?” His voice was hollow. Logan tried to take some deep breaths to calm down enough to respond. Janus sat next to him on the bed, hunching over a little. His eyes looked tired and empty. Logan finally calmed down enough to speak.

“It’s just us now.”

Janus nodded quietly. They sat together in pained silence.

Logan looked away from Janus. “It’s my fault.”

“What?”

“Patton… came to me. Before the video. I ignored him.” Logan's throat closed up with barely contained sobs again.

Janus spoke softly. “So you think that’s why he broke down?” Logan nodded once. “Oh, Logan… it’s not your fault.”

“But I—”

“Ignored him? Yeah, I know. But you didn’t mean for this to happen. Maybe it wasn’t the nicest thing, but you couldn’t have known.” Janus’s voice hitched at the end. He wiped some dampness from the corners of his eyes, only to start crying in earnest. “I’m sorry, it’s just—”

“I know.”

They sat in silence together. The world still felt like hell, but it was more livable with Janus crying next to him.

XXX

Logan was at his computer early in the morning. Researching Patton’s death. No one seemed a hundred percent sure what it was like to die in a guillotine. Most people said it was painless, but other people said that there were a few moments of pain and awareness before a person died. Naturally, the darker explanations were the ones Logan was fixated on.

At least either way, Patton definitely wasn’t in pain anymore.

Logan squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to not remember how Patton had screamed and cried. How he had suddenly stopped and smiled at the last minute. How—

He tried and failed to stop his mind from going to the ensuing bloody mess. Graphic memories of dead bodies flashed through his thoughts, showing no sign of stopping. Logan squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the armrests of his chair, trying desperately to ground himself.

He dimly heard Janus speaking. “Logan?” He tried to focus on the voice. “Logan, you’re here. It’s okay. Take a deep breath for me.” Logan tried, managing a shaky gasp. He tried a second time and managed to draw in a deep breath of air. That worked a little more. He took a third breath. Before long, he was grounded, albeit shaky.

Logan swiveled slightly to face Janus. “Thank you.”

Janus nodded. “No problem…I saw you were up early. I brought you this.” He gestured to the desk, where there was a mug of coffee and some toast with jam. Logan took a slice and nibbled the edge. It was his favorite flavor. He smiled a little. “Thank you,” he said again. He hoped they’d have a lot of time left together before the next video.

The world gave them a week.

XXX

Logan thought the video had gone well, with both of them making an attempt to contribute equally. So why was he behind the glass wall again? On the other side, a blizzard raged. Janus stood in shin-deep snow, eyes glinting with alarm and shivering violently. Logan locked eyes with the other side. He took a shuddering breath as Janus started to stumble over to the glass, cape wrapped as tightly around himself as he could manage. Already, purple was tinting his lips.

Janus fell against the wall, sliding to a sitting position. He put a pale hand to the glass, looking up expectantly at Logan. Logan breathed in deeply, sitting next to him on the other side of the glass.

Logan hunched over, starting to cry. He was going to be all alone. Janus watched with wide eyes, pressing his hand to the glass as firmly as he could manage. Logan raised his voice so Janus could hear. “I’m the last one.”

“You’ll be fine.” Janus’ voice wavered from the cold.

Logan glanced at him. “Don’t worry about it, I don’t want your last minutes to be wasted worrying about me.”

“We’re in this together now, Lo.” Janus laughed dryly. “Besides, of course you’re sad. I wouldn’t have wanted to be the last one either.”

“Is this better for you?” Logan’s voice lifted with a strange kind of hope.

“I think it is, possibly.”

Logan took a shaky breath. “That makes this a little easier, then.”

“Good.” Janus looked at Logan through the corner of his eye. “You’re going to be okay.”

“Do you honestly think I’ll believe—”

“You have to.” Logan turned to look at his face. His eyelashes were coated in ice, and his lips and nose were purple. “It’s the only way it will come true. I’ll see you soon enough.”

Logan nodded. He’d be next, after all. “I’ll be here with you when you go.”

XXX

Logan stayed with Janus until he stopped shivering from sheer exhaustion. Until he started shifting around in the snow, looking around in clear confusion. Until he couldn’t stay awake any longer. Until the scene ended and Logan sat up in his bed, feeling a deeper loneliness than he had ever experienced in his life.

XXX

Logan sat at his desk, watching Nova scuttle around in her cage. “It’s just us now. You’re all I have left.” His voice cracked, and he wiped a stray tear away. “Janus is gone. I...I watched him die. I watched them all die.” His words dissolved into nothingness at the end of his sentence, and he let himself have a moment to cry. He buried his head in his hands.

Dimly, he remembered group brunches with food they had all helped to cook: Patton’s heavily burned pancakes, Remus’s ketchup spaghetti, his own dry eggs... none of the food was very good. But he still enjoyed the time spent talking and laughing with friends. He missed them.

He looked back at Nova, who had now settled in a corner. “I’ll probably be gone soon too, after the next video. I should figure out something to do about you beforehand, so you don’t starve in there.” Logan rested his chin on his hand. A melancholy tiredness seeped through to his bones. The next video felt eons away. He just wanted it to be over. He just wanted to see them again, even if it was in another life.

A glimpse of white from the periphery of Logan’s vision caught his attention. A crisply folded paper was tucked under the corner of Nova’s cage. He picked it up, carefully unfolding it and smoothing it out on the table. Printed text sat in the middle of the page, bold and undeniable.

GAME OVER

you won

Logan couldn’t hold back his sobs anymore.

#nightmare au #sanders sides angst #tw death #death #death tw #character death #tw grief #tw drowning #drowning tw #drowning #tw falling #falling #tw decapitation #decapitation #hypothermia #tw hypothermia #suicidal ideation #TW suicidal ideation

51 notes · View notes

iceshard1011 · 3 years

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Sanders Sides (Web Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Characters: Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, mentioned logan patton virgil and thomas Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Background Logic | Logan Sanders and Morality | Patton Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Being Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Explicit Language, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Violence, Blood and Injury, Brief suicidal thoughts, Imprisonment, Temporary Character Death, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Inspired by Art, I Tried, i've had creativitwin brainrot for weeks, something had to be done, Time Skips, Haunting, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders is a Good Brother, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Has Issues, They need hugs, Minor Original Character(s), they're just unnamed antagonists Summary:

Remus wished there were more stimulating things down here. Or that he wasn’t down here in the first place. Or that he was dead.

so @fangirltothefullest is an absolute sweetheart and allowed me to mess with some story concepts from her #halloween au, so cheers. i hope you don’t regret it.

5k word story below the cut :)

A modern-day architect would rather have called the castle a mansion, as it may have remained for that long but certainly not in its prime. By then, it would be overgrown and unkempt, with the rock stained dark and wood rotting, and one of the wings would be half-collapsed. By then, it wouldn’t be considered a castle, much less be considered livable. By then, the lonely halls would be acquainted with grief and heartbreak and a sense of ambition strong enough to feel stifling. By then, the mansion’s story would be long irrelevant and forgotten, save for two important variables.

After all, for a castle, it didn’t have a dungeon.

The cellar, for as large as it was, had not initially been very entertaining. It certainly was at least a little interesting now that anything within Remus’ reach had been torn apart and strewn across the floor. The shackles around his ankles and wrists were thin and flimsy but damned hard to break. He hadn’t even got a crack through the links.

Remus hadn’t gotten any ideas until one asshole ventured down into the cellar, gave Remus a smug smirk from where he was tethered in the corner, and snagged a handful of bottles from the far wall.

After she’d left, sauntering up the stairs like they owed her a personal favour, Remus had stretched his leg as far out as he could and kicked the shelf hard enough that it tipped. The sound of crashing glass and the inevitable distress from future intruders, stumbling down for a bottle of shitty whisky or rum, was enough to satisfy Remus.

Only for a small while.

When they’d found out what he’d done, a few brave pricks had tried to make him pay for it, but he’d got one of them in the groin and the other in the eye. They’d quickly decided the gashes in his legs from the littered glass was enough of a lesson.

It wasn’t.

Taking away their small pleasures wasn’t enough. Making them mildly irked at their lack of celebration drinks only fuelled Remus further.

The next thing in his reach were the barrels. The food didn’t matter all that much; potatoes, apples, a few boxes of nuts. He tipped them over, kicked them open, tried to make the ground as gross as possible and the food as uneatable as he could, all the while trying not to wince at the waste.

The only things that seemed to love it were the rats. Remus wasn’t sure how they got in, because as far as he was concerned the only animals that got into the castle were the ones he had occasionally brought in (at the expense of a poor few maids and their sense of sanitation and Roman’s patience) but they ate at the mess he’d created on the floor. He wished he could have said it was one of the best days of his life when they found the fermented grapes. They also ate the spiders in the darker shadows of the room, which he appreciated. It was a bit of a pain when his body defied him long enough to shut down and linger on the edges of unconsciousness only to wake up and find vibrating spiders itching up his face.

Sometimes, Remus’ acts of vandalization were less petty acts of revenge and desperate attempts to escape his own head because everything hurt and he couldn’t stop thinking and every time he closed his eyes, he was crimson soaked and he hated it and it was too much he just wanted it all to STOP—

Those were the times when the old portraits and unfinished artworks were kicked to the ground, dragged around, torn and ripped and cracked and destroyed. The canvases soaked with the floor and strengthened the damp, musky smell which anyone else would have hated but Remus was used to because he always returned home from trekking through rivers or swamps and Roman would wrinkle his nose at him and shoo him away to get cleaned while Remus just laughed in his face—

The noise made as Remus curled in on himself and pressed his clammy forehead to the ground was nearly inhuman.

He didn’t feel much like a human now anyway. Perhaps more accurately a feral werewolf, or a mutant cannibal with a mouthful of fangs, or maybe even a malevolent spirit scratching and clawing at chains wrapped along his body, if spirits exist, which Remus was loath to admit he had yet to be proved so.

(He’d always said that if he ever found a ghoul, he’d drag it into Roman’s room and set it on him for the pure joy of proving his brother wrong and god fucking damnit could his mind stop thinking for TWO SECONDS?)

Remus wished there were more stimulating things down here. Or that he wasn’t down here in the first place. Or that he was dead.

No one came down here, not after he’d attacked the food and drink and then any face that wasn’t familiar. Which included all of them, now. They had all probably figured that he had enough in the cellar to sustain him for however long they were going to leave him down here. Or they were going to let him die of malnourishment. He didn’t have much of a preference.

(He did, but it wasn’t the “right” preference.)

Once, he wasn’t sure how long ago now — hours, days? — a timid, shy looking servant had plucked up enough courage to venture into the cellar with him. They’d offered some clean food and a cheap chalice of water. He’d been mildly surprised when they’d gone so far as to placing it easily within his reach and not expecting him to pop a shoulder from its socket trying to get it.

Remus remembered thinking, for a moment, that they probably shouldn’t have been down in the cellar, and that food and water was probably not supposed to be for him, and they were probably risking something by doing this, and that they certainly hadn’t been part of the initial takeover.

But then he’d taken one look at what he’d been brought; the cruel reminder that he was stuck in a basement, chained and alive and he would rather just— just—

He didn’t remember knocking the tray aside or lunging for the servant despite the chains painfully biting and tearing his skin. He could vaguely picture their terrified expression as they whirled and scrambled back up the steps, and the way the light dimmed with the slamming of the door.

He never saw or heard from that servant again. He hoped it was merely because they were scared of him now, and not something more sinister.

Remus shifted, his legs scraping across the ground. He wished the sharp sting coming from where the embedded glass pieces were enough to distract him from the bone deep throb echoing through his whole body.

He twisted his hands, a habit that had gotten him wrists rubbed raw and nails chipped and bleeding. It made his shoulder ache, too. He’d dislocated it at some point. Before or after being thrown into the cellar, he wasn’t certain.

It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if Remus found out he was already dying. Injuries he’d been dealt previously had yet to be treated, and he was willing to bet any chance of freedom that the open, festering wounds were now infected.

Breathing was painful, too. Whether that was the result of broken ribs or something else, Remus had yet to decide.

It didn’t really matter all that much to him, anyway.

Remus closed his eyes and wished for sunlight.

The bush had clearly been munched. Remus leaned down to squint at it, eyeing the berries and the half-eaten leaves. The muddy banks of the creek proved Remus’ suspicions with a small, almost indistinct trail of hoofprints.

Remus grinned. He shook off the persistent black beetle, which had been trying to crawl onto his boot and turned.

“Alright Moonshine,” he announced. “We’re on the right track.”

The Appaloosa nickered in reply as he swung back onto her back.

“Yeah, I know I can’t call you that in public,” he said, “but there’s no one else around here, is there?”

Moonshine snorted in agreement. Remus nudged her sides and she started forward, delicately clopping over the riverbed. She was much more tranquil than Remus’ old horse, who had been an absolute delight to go on adventures with. Too bad Roman let the stupid advisors boss him into getting rid of her, since she was such a menace. Admittedly, she had been a menace, and admittedly, Remus had loved her very much.

Roman had given him Moonshine and told him to call her Moon in front of anyone else. Remus had decided it wasn’t an all-bad apology. This horse didn’t kick him when he approached her, which he supposed was a bonus.

Given Moonshine’s naturally mild attitude, he was understandably perturbed when she stopped in her tracks and began to back up. Remus frowned and scanned the surrounding trees.

“Nothing’s there, girl. Go on.”

Moonshine snorted anxiously. Her ears swivelled. Remus followed them, glancing back the way he’d come. They weren’t that far from home. What was going through her head?

The horse’s hooves skidded across the ground. Remus narrowed his eyes.

“You smell something?” he asked. Moonshine waved her head from side to side, her eyes rolling. Remus glanced up. Past the treetops, there was a trail of smoke curling up towards the clouds. He couldn’t see where it was coming from, but the unsettled feeling in his gut told him he was quite sure he already knew.

Despite her protests, Remus twisted Moonshine to face the direction of the castle and dug his heels into her sides.

The slamming of the cellar door flung Remus’ eyes open, accompanied by the rapid thumping of his alarmed heart.

He scowled at the thudding of heavy boots on creaky stairs and wondered where Moonshine had gotten to. He hadn’t seen her since he’d reached the castle doors. He hoped she was still intact. Perhaps she had run away the moment he’d dismounted. Perhaps he was more of an unrealistic optimist than he knew himself to be.

Three pale faces bobbed down the stairwell and approached Remus. Remus greeted them with a snarl and feint, to which they all reacted wonderfully with varying degrees of fear. It satisfied Remus enough to remain passive while the guards gripped his arms and detached the chains from the wall. They dragged along the ground with a painful scrapping ring as they heaved Remus up the stairs.

He waited until they’d kicked the cellar door closed behind them to punch the first guard in the face.

He got a kick to his knee for it, and it collapsed under his weight, but they only had to put more effort into keeping him upright, so was it really much of a loss?

Remus didn’t know for certain where he was being taken — dragged, really — but he had a vague inkling that made something in his stomach uncurl ever so slightly.

Twenty minutes later, the first guard with a soured mood, the second with a bruised cheek and the asshole at the back with a broken nose, Remus considered it a win by the time he was flung to the ground at a pair of pretentiously shined stolen boots that glinted maliciously up at him.

“Providing my guards with a hard time, were you?”

Remus bared his teeth skywards. The asshat snorted, like he was amused at the display, and anger curled in Remus’ gut. He shot up, his chained hands reaching, grasping, clutching mere inches from that smug dickface’s gob.

“Go piss into a wolf den, asswipe,” Remus told him. He got another laugh in reply, so he jerked forward and smashed his head to the man’s jaw.

The dickweed staggered back with an agonised cry, and once more Remus felt something in him curling and clenching and biting because really, he couldn’t handle a little bit of a chipped tooth?

“Fucking pussy,” Remus scoffed under his breath.

The man, who was no more a leader than he was a sack of shit sitting in the middle of a grandly polished entrance room, waved to the balcony. “Get him out there.”

The balcony, Remus quickly found, was the centre of attention for a goddamn amphitheatre-esque performing stage.

“Putting me on my knees?” Remus asked as he was shoved to the ground a second time. Whale Penis sneered down at him, still rubbing his swollen jaw. “It’s not the most romantic setting I’ve ever seen. And you haven’t even taken me out to dinner yet.”

“One more word out of your mouth, and I’ll cut out your tongue before your head.”

“Sorry, you skunk-smelling scumbag-of-puke-smelling plaything for a dog,” Remus spat. “I’m into that.”

Cocksucker curled his lip distastefully. He waved his hand, and Remus was bent over a slab of wood that bit into his throat.

“Personally, I’m a bit of top, myself,” Remus said despite the glint of metal now shining ominously above his head. He had to shout over the noise of the people below. “But whatever. If you’re into doggy style—”

“Enough!” Son of a Screaming Banshee Bitch yelled. Silence fell. Remus squinted down at the crowd, but he couldn’t discern any familiar faces. Either they were hiding themselves from him, or… “I thought you would be far more amusing, yet unfortunately, you’ve proven me wrong. I have had enough of this, and you.” He shoved a finger at Remus’ face. He’d bite it if he could. (Given his head was trapped between wood, waiting to be severed from his shoulders, he very clearly couldn’t. The urge was still there, though.)

Murderous Bastard turned to the man standing above Remus and said, “Execute him.”

The blade swung down. Remus grinned.

Finally.

When Remus strutted out into the room, wearing before multiple servants, council members and advisors a frilly green dress blown out around his feet and shrinking down his chest so much it was a relief he did not possess the ideal female body, Roman’s headache returned tenfold.

It didn’t help matters that Remus was continuing a rant from the night prior — one that involved his very open, very shameless, very dangerous thoughts about some poor attractive sod he had seen the week he had ventured into town.

“Remus,” Roman said placatingly.

“You should’ve seen it; he was just looking for trouble dressing like that!”

“I can imagine,” Roman said, not unkindly. Normally, he would indulge Remus for longer, but he could tell that the others in the room were beginning to grow agitated and uncomfortable.

“And I don’t even know why I like him. He’s not even that interesting!”

“It’s all about looks,” Roman assured him blandly, moving his attention to the scrolls before him. One advisor leaned down to murmur their input to him.

“Ah, right!” Remus said, bonking himself on the forehead with the palm of his hand. “Dick size! How could I forget? I must be ill.”

“Remus,” Roman said with a sigh, and his brother finally, finally fell quiet. “I would like to hear more of this, truly, but… Perhaps at a different time?”

Remus wrinkled his nose.

“When I’m not in the middle of a meeting?”

Remus’ scowl deepened.

“That you should be a part of as well?”

Remus’ sour expression dropped. He glanced away, wearing the face of someone who knew they were caught red-handed doing something they should not have been doing. Roman raised his eyebrows.

Remus whirled. His dress swiveled around his ankles. “I’m going hunting.”

“Wearing that?” Roman asked after him. Remus flipped his brother off on his way out the door. Roman squelched his smile when he spotted the disdain on the advisors’ faces. He continued to discuss with the others in the room, quietly wondering how many more seconds in Remus’ presence they were from all having simultaneous strokes.

Luckily (or not) that didn’t happen when Remus poked his head back into the room, his dress swapped for his hunting attire and announced, “I’ll be back by sunset, probably.”

Roman hid his smile and told him, “Bring back dinner.” Remus grinned brightly and Roman was sure one of the counsellors almost squawked in outrage.

Roman was loath to admit it in front of anyone, but going about his day as he was required was a duty nothing short of exhaustingly mundane without Remus. His brother always provided some level of amusement, even if it became distracting at times. Roman supposed that burying oneself into one of the empty armour suits used purely for décor and prancing around to ambush unassuming servants was not an agreeable practice. Remus never enjoyed being cooped up in the castle, though. He got restless, and Roman knew he wasn’t simply “acting out” when crammed into small spaces, no matter how large the castle.

By the time Roman emerged and escaped to the balcony, his headache had spiked to a near-migraine. He tried not to slump but leaning against the railing felt pitifully relaxing after sitting rigidly straight for the entire day.

He was so busy massaging his temples that at first, he hadn’t registered the sudden disturbance down the corridor from him.

Don’t groan, Roman told himself as he stifled a heavy sigh and turned, venturing towards the noise. What was he going to have to deal with now? With any luck, Remus was back and causing mayhem. Roman could do with his brother’s carefree nature at the moment.

He didn’t expect the Great Hall’s polished floor to be splattered with blood and all exists guarded at weapon-point.

“I’ll ask once more,” a voice called. Roman traced it to one of the strangers, who was now looking down at a councillor. “The lord of the mansion is… where?”

The advisor’s gaze caught Roman’s, and he pointed without a moment’s hesitation. Disappointing, Roman supposed, but he didn’t have it in him to be surprised. The intruder turned, a wide smile plastered to his lips when he spotted Roman standing in the hallway entrance. The look in the stranger’s eyes was full of confidence, but one that Roman couldn’t see in a leader.

“It’s prince, actually,” Roman said, briskly walking to the centre of the room before one of the lingering members included in the odd style of takeover could take a swipe at him. “Given our parents were connected to the royal family.”

The man tilted his head. “Interesting. Do you always talk so highly of yourself?”

Roman tried not to scoff indignantly. “Do you always invade people’s homes to mock them?”

“It’s a profession.” The man stalked forward, strides long and slow and not unlike a hunting predator. Roman didn’t miss the sabre at his side.

Still, he only barely managed to repress the flinch when the blade was brought inches from his neck. “Are you aware of how many people your parents fucked over?”

Roman gave him a raised eyebrow. “Were you among them?” he asked, his voice pitched innocently.

The man’s expression darkened, but then dropped to be startled when he found his sabre being obstructed by the blade of a golden-handled rapier. Roman gave him a considering look and a smirk that bordered between sly and puzzled.

“This is not how I remember duels beginning,” Roman said. The man frowned, but the way he immediately tried to kick Roman’s knees told the prince pretty much all he needed to know.

“You’re not very experienced, are you?” Roman asked, easily sidestepping a slash for his shoulder. “Did you think you could just storm a random place with force and some scary blades?” He twisted away from a swipe at his ankles.

“I have help,” his opponent assured him. “If I wanted it, you’d be dead already.”

“You should meet my brother,” Roman said. Blood sprayed to the ground when his rapier left a line along the man’s cheek. “If you weren’t trying to invade our home right now, I believe you two would make a great pair for collective destruction and carnage.”

“I’m sure.”

Roman just barely managed to escape the severing of the tendons of his wrist with the next attack. He skipped a step backwards and used the change of weight and positions to darted around the challenger (a mild and rather polite label for the gang who had already taken several lives unauthorised and attacked without the laws of a proper duel in mind). The man’s legs buckled beneath him with one kick, and Roman leapt away before his own legs could be caught by the edge of a blade.

“What is this all about, then?” Roman asked, frowning at the man as he struggled up from the ground. His sword was lowered, if only in consideration for not attacking a felled objector, but his senses were still running on hyperdrive; the servant at the back of the room was still alive, just barely, despite the blood projecting from their throat. The two intruders near the hallway that lead to the armoury looked like they were discussing bets. To the left, a gang member was inspecting the rings on the hand of a dead councilman. “Surely you could have robbed this place by now.”

“I’m not going to monologue and give you a chance to hatch some grand escape plan,” Roman’s combatant snapped, rising to his full height. “I’m not that dull.”

“Oh, no,” Roman said, because that hadn’t actually crossed his mind, “I’m genuinely wondering what you’re thinking.” He was levelled with a doubtful look, so he continued; “This all seems either incredibly planned out or a spur-of-the-moment decision that carried you here with a number of men and weapons. So what do you want? Money? Is it a ransom? The actual lord and lady of the house died months ago. You can’t get revenge on them.”

“No,” the man agreed. “But I can with you.”

Blazing hot pain sliced along the back of Roman’s leg. It was so sudden and intense that he couldn’t bite back the scream that tore his throat. His knee buckled but he regained his balance by twisting away from his attacker from behind and waving his sword.

“I have help,” the man reminded him with a smug smile. Roman’s lip curled in distaste.

“No honour among thieves, I suppose,” Roman mused, grinding his teeth and forcing himself to stand straight. He wrinkled his nose after a moment. “What the hell are you burning?”

“The gardens.”

Roman rolled away from an attack from someone at his flank and whirled to glower at their leader. “Why?”

The brute dared to look Roman in the eye, shrug, and say, “Felt like it.”

Roman growled and left an open gash along his assailant’s dominant arm. The man shouted and teetered back. Roman swiped another wound down his calf. He dodged a hit from behind and ignored the shriek from the attacker behind him as they clutched at their eye.

Two other guards dropped the more their leader was pushed back to the point of the stairs at the back of the Great Hall, where he was tripped and pinned by a blade to his throat.

Roman glowered down at him. “I was already in a foul mood today,” he said informatively, “and I am less than impressed at your vandalization as well as the murder of the people who live here.” His eyes darkened dangerously. The tip of his rapier brushed the bob of the man’s throat. “Letting you go to live the rest of your life in a prison cell seems like a generous offer to me.”

The entrance doors burst open with a thundering crack and Roman jolted, his grip tightening on his hilt in fear of dropping it. He wasn’t expecting his brother to explode into the room in a furious whirlwind and start swinging his morning star.

“Remus!” Roman barked, almost involuntarily. What the hell was he doing here? “What are you doing?”

His brother glanced up, looked Roman in the eye, and smashed the head of one of his attackers beneath his boots. Roman grimaced. More blood spilled onto the floor.

The leader of the foolish escapade launched himself from the ground while Roman was distracted, and the two of them rolled down the steps. Roman flung his arm out to deflect a dagger stabbing for his face, but his sword flew from his grasp, spinning across the floor with a singing screech. He got another punch in on the leader before one of the moron’s backups dove to pin his arms down.

Remus shouted his name, and he twisted his head in time to watch his brother get kneed in the stomach and thrown to the ground.

He couldn't get up; the leader’s dagger was positioned to just barely be touching the edge of his eye in silent threat. He was going on about something to do with revenge and blah blah I’m a villain. Roman pressed his knees to their chest, gifted him a winning smile, and kicked.

The moment that the man went flying Roman clambered away from the other guard, making for Remus at the same time as his brother smashed heads with his attacker, sending them slumping to the ground.

Relief made Roman’s muscles go weak for half a second, but it was all the leader needed to pounce on him a second time.

“Consider this a generous offer,” the man snarled and buried the dagger to Roman’s chest. Roman scrambled backwards, still looking around for his sword. If he could just—

He cursed as his arms dropped his weight.

“YOU SON OF A BLOOD-SUCKING PIG FUCKER,” Remus roared.

Roman kept his breathing even. He glared up at the criminal. “You’re a coward.”

“And you’re dead,” the man replied. Remus careened forward, missed the leader when he dodged, and paid him no more attention in favour of skidding over to his brother. Behind him, a guard raised a crossbow, but he was waved away. The leader watched the pair before him, something akin to sadistic interest lighting his eyes.

A few moments later, though, he’d wave a hand, and a group of his followers would pin the one with the angrily twitching moustache to the ground and drag him somewhere to be contained. There were more exciting things to deal with, and an emotionally repressed brother going through grieving was not one of them.

Remus was snarling like some wild thing, and when he stopped shaking his brother he whirled around, teeth bared and fists clenched and eyes unfocused.

He was knocked to the ground before he could attack. The leader got a fat blob of spit on his shoes and a disgustingly unfavourable insult hurled at his person shortly before a sword hilt connected with the back of his skull and he went as limp as his brother.

Remus was having a Very Bad Day.

He wasn’t sure when he decided, exactly. It had probably been on its way for quite some time, but Remus was always bad at calculating emotional responses and realising when Bad Days were on their way, so perhaps this was not completely unexpected. It did not make anything any easier.

The smallest noises around the mansion had him jumping. Earlier, he’d snarled at the door that always creaked in the kitchen. He’d given Thomas a bad scare, too, when he’d looked at the werewolf and lunged for him with his own bared teeth.

Remus hadn’t realised it was so bad until Patton had walked into the room, screamed, and Remus had spun to see all the furniture levitating off the ground.

Growling, he shuddered from head to toe, trying to dispel the jittery energy tingling in his limbs. Which was stupid, he was being stupid. He wasn’t even physical anymore, he shouldn’t be feeling bugs crawling beneath his skin.

He regarded the jagged shards grouped on the ground and wondered if Logan was sick of him breaking his vases. Several vases, multiple lights, any painting he came across and a variety of decorative plates and bowls had already been destroyed in his trail.

He wanted to kick at one of the pieces, but only the wisp of his body misted around the ground uselessly. The chains strapped to his body scraped across the floor. Remus blinked down at them for a moment, and they began to morph into a pair of blood-splattered weapons and a soaked uniform.

Vehement fury boiled out of him in the form of a low snarl.

The furniture in the room lifted again, now shaking like Remus had dumped the bugs on them instead. Something behind him shattered with his clenched fists.

Movement caught his eye and he whirled, claws elongated and teeth sharpened.

Roman regarded him mildly, calmly taking in the destruction of the room. Remus shifted, still bristling, but now silent as he watched Roman move past him and try to push a flowerpot back onto the desk from where it was dangerously tilting forward. It didn’t move, even with his effort. Remus swallowed needlessly and joined him, successfully pushing the pot to a safer position.

“Sorry,” said Remus, sounding like dragging chalk and screeching metal.

Roman glanced at him. He didn’t ask what he was apologising for. He never did. Remus wondered if he feared the answer. “You’re a poltergeist. Isn’t this behaviour standard?”

Remus worked his jaw, but nothing came out. Roman’s gaze swept back over the room. “Logan will be grateful you spared his photo frames.”

Remus cracked a cheek-to-cheek smile full of teeth. “Only for when Patton’s not in the mood.”

Roman visually sighed, though no sound accompanied the gesture. Remus tried scratching at his arms, but they only phased harmlessly through. He growled to himself. Roman squinted at him. “Your neck is bleeding again.”

Remus took the opportunity to tilt his head exaggeratedly and unnaturally to the side. Roman’s face twitched, a hint of a wince.

“Remus,” he admonished quietly.

Remus shrugged and shifted away. He frowned at the far wall. Roman did not reach for him. He never did. Remus never asked; he had a solid idea why. If he were in his brother’s position, he wouldn’t care much for being affectionate with him, either.

“Virgil and Thomas were making warm drinks when I last left them. Would you like to join them?”

“We can’t drink that shit,” Remus spat.

Roman didn’t react. “It’s not about the drinks.” Remus curled his lip. “I know you don’t like to interact with them, but perhaps it will be good for you.”

Remus gnashed his teeth. The chains curling heavier around his body. He glanced down the hallway. If he concentrated hard enough, he could imagine Thomas’ joyful laughter and Patton’s giggles. It made him angry, how they could be so carefree. How they got away with being monsters and could still smile.

“Come on.” Roman brushed past him, their shoulders just barely touching for a mere moment. “If you hate it still after a little while, I won’t bother you again.”

Remus huffed. He trailed after his brother, shoulders slumped. Roman glanced back at him and he scowled back, making his point evidently clear without whining further.

Then, Roman gifted him a small, genuine smile. Something in Remus’ chest leaped, but it couldn’t have been his heart because that thing didn’t work anymore.

He grinned back, but by the sad look in Roman’s eyes, he could tell his brother knew it wasn’t genuine.

“Only a little while,” Roman reminded him. Remus sighed, low and grating and painful. The blood around his throat lessened, only slightly.

“A little while,” he echoed, and followed his brother.

#sanders sides #remus sanders #roman sanders #creativitwins #listen i've had creativitwin brainrot for weeks #Angst with a happy ending #cross posted on AO3 #please be mindful of the ao3 tags #there could potentially be some quite triggering content

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5-falsehoods-phonated · 4 years

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Multichapter Fic Masterlist

Links to all series and chapters below the cut. If you’d like to be tagged in one or all series or put on the general taglist, feel free to send an ask or message! The only thing I ask when you’re tagged is that you reblog.

Dee Little Snake

Series Summary - Janus uses age regression as a way to destress but has little control over it whenever he grows upset. Trying to keep a secret like that can be hard when you’re only four years old, and thus family bonding ensues in a way nobody expected, least of all Deceit.

March Ado About Nothing

Series Summary - A series of one-shots and drabbles written based off of prompts posted in the TSS Fanworks Collective server. The goal is to take traditional whump prompts and fill them in the least-angsty way possible every day through March.

A note that though some of these fills are written bait and switch style (written in a way you think is going in one direction but reveals it to be the opposite towards the end) they are all written in a fluffy or silly style with very little, if any at all, actual angst.

When Our Hands Next Meet

Series Summary: Made for Analogical Week. Soulmates are given memories of their past lives when their hands touch. For Virgil and Logan, each memory is happier than the last. A beautiful piece of art accompanies all of the stories made by @birdsongisland. They are tagged in each of the stories as well with links leading to each piece they illustrated. They also beta read each of the chapters so a huge thank you again to them!

Dee Little Snake

Chapter 1: A Little Upset A mishap with a thermos leads Janus’ secret to come spilling out to someone he had kept it from for years. wc: 3039

Chapter 2: All Bottled Up Janus finally gets his best friend back. wc:2391

Chapter 3: Carrots and Cuddles Virgil and Dee are compromised by carrots; it turns out better than either of them thought it could. wc: 1846

Chapter 4: Safe at Night Patton can't sleep and Dee doesn't want to, so Logan offers a solution to fix at least one of their problems. wc: 2358

Chapter 5: Deserving of Comfort Janus has been avoiding the others for a couple of days. When he finally emerges for a simple lunch and gets caught by Patton the results are better than he was expecting. wc: 1708

Chapter 6: A Storm in Purple and Blue Dee wakes up small in the middle of thunderstorm but thankfully Logan and Virgil are there to make it better. wc: 1295

March Ado About Nothing

Hold Me Close: Roman doesn't want to let go of Virgil. Virgil doesn't really mind. Prompts: Branding, Car Accident, *Failed Escape* wc: 590

Stuff Your Secrets: Stuffed animals are good and normal to have no matter what age you are- except for Remus. Logan quickly fixes that line of thinking. Prompts: "Please, no more!, Extreme Weather, *Dirty Secret* wc: 1235

Blind and Silenced: Roman does something stupid, but it earns him affection so who is he to complain? Prompts: Punctured, Kidnapped, *Blinded* wc: 504

A Nice family Outing: It was always nice for Janus and Patton to get out of their house and take the twins somewhere they could play and scream without disturbing the neighbors...again. Prompts: *Stabbing*, Rescues, Adverse Reaction wc: 850

Incoherent But Still In Love: Remus takes Nyquil and becomes a bit loopy as a result, unwittingly throwing off Logan's plans for the time being. Prompts: *Poisoned/Drugged*, Shackled, Science Gone Wrong wc: 733

You Look Pretty: Remus buys Virgil a dog collar on a whim purely for the aesthetic. Virgil absolutely loves it despite the weird looks it gets him. Prompts: *Collared*, Stitches, Shot wc: 559

To Make the Broken New: After much begging from Roman and Virgil, Logan and Patton decide to make fixing up the old treehouse they find one day into a summer project. Prompts: Burned, *Broken Down*, Blackmail wc: 881

April Fools Month: Logan wonders why Virgil is acting off, until he sees Remus and remembers it's April. Prompts: Power Outage, Possession, *Paranoia* wc: 941

An Exception: Janus never thought he'd grow to love an infection. Prompts: Concussion, Silenced, *Infection* wc: 532

Just Leave Me: When Roman can no longer go on, Patton is there to defend his honor. Prompts: *Left For Dead*, Altered States, Falling wc: 809

Song of Grief: Virgil takes time off for a concert of a lifetime, but when they cancel at the last minute nothing can console him. That is, until Janus offers a solution. Prompts: Wound Reveal/Secret Injury, *Grief*, "Run!" wc: 620

Care For Me: Roman gets a paper cut and Janus could care less. Enter Patton. Prompts: Broken Trust/Betrayal, Torture, *Accident* wc: 473

You’re Sweeter: Logan and Virgil go comping. Logan just can't stop admiring Virg- the view. Prompts: Blurred Vision, Wrongfully Accused, *Fire* wc: 592

Keep Them Safe: Virgil has three amazing kids he swears to keep safe. Remus often tests his limits. Prompts: "Pick Who Dies", *Manhandled*, Defiance wc: 1197

When Our Hands Next Meet

Chapter 1: Did You Forget? Logan plans a surprise for Virgil on their anniversary, only to receive one instead. wc: 1320

Chapter 2: The Lines Trace Back to You Logan and Virgil share a quiet moment away from their ship as Logan tells stories with the stars. wc: 1348

Chapter 3: Lay With Me Having a soulbond means sharing dreams- and nightmares. Logan and Virgil comfort each other with hopes for their future. wc: 2109

Chapter 4: Bite Me Logan has been searching for something he lost for centuries. Despite hiccups along the way he eventually ends up with something even better. wc: 438

Chapter 5: We’ll Meet in the Middle Virgil didn’t know what he had been expecting when he asked for a tutor to help with his studies, but it definitely wasn’t who could kick flip a skateboard without even looking down and also happened to be his soulmate. wc: 1539

Chapter 6: Mirror Our Past With A Better Future Virgil didn’t know how he had gotten so lucky being able to work with Logan in stars tailoring shop. All he knew is Logan made him feel beautiful, inside and out. wc: 1918

Chapter 7: I Remember In a nostalgic museum of their own creation, Virgil feels as content as he ever has living out lifetime after lifetime with Logan. wc: 1787

All of these stories can also be found on AO3!

If you’d like to be tagged for either of these works or any of my writing in general please let me know!

#false writes #sanders sides #sanders sides fics #dee little snake #overgrown metal #chaptered fics #march ado about nothing

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sidespromptblog · 5 years

Text

Apologies

Summary: Roman has something that he wants to tell Logan, and ordinarily, it could wait until morning... until they were all well-rested. But he knew that should he turn away now... he'd never tell Logan, and he'd spend the rest of the night calling himself a coward.

Word Count: 2900

AO3 LINK

Its already well past midnight when Roman walks to Logan’s room, and its already well past midnight when he just stands there pondering on whether he should even knock or just walk right back to his own room and go to bed. Or… in the very least try to go to bed, and just lay awake staring at the ceiling with his own internal thoughts running him in circles until the morning sun were to rise. He very well could do that, Logan would never know that he was there, and he could go on acting as if nothing were wrong. He was an actor after all… such a skilled actor to keep on acting and acting like nothing was wrong.

It would be easy, so very easy to do so. At least had it not been for…

“Shut up nerdy wolverine!” The very same lines that his own brother had spoken to Logan, it really was just the latest slap in the face that he was no better than his brother. Sure he didn’t quip about sex jokes, and he didn’t throw ninja stars at people’s head, but… he had hurt them in other ways. Much more personal ways in the way that his brother too was very adept at doing as well, he had hurt… oh, he had hurt.

“Hush sub-astute teacher!”

“Stupid!”

“Book germ.”

“You’re alone!”

His fingers itched and itched the longer that he stood there, and the longer that he stood there the more he was coming to regret just being there in the first place. Who was to say that Logan would even be awake at this time? With such a stickler Logan was about getting to bed on time, surely he’d be asleep and he’d be even more upset at Roman for interrupting his much-needed rest. He could already imagine the lecture now, Logan with his crossed arms and his pursed lips forming a frown. Especially with what had happened after today, after being wounded multiple times by Remus and being put through the wringer he’d need that rest and-

A shadow moved under the doorway.

He was awake, after midnight no less.

He could still leave and…

“No,” Roman roughly shook himself, was he a prince or wasn’t he? “No running, you came here to do something, so do it gosh dang it!” He scolded himself, feeling almost ashamed to how close he had come to just dropping everything and running like a coward. There would be no running today from this, not now and most certainly not ever in his opinion.

Not about this.

But that didn’t necessarily make it any easier on him, that was for damn sure.

Swallowing thickly as he raised his clenched fist to the door, Roman took in a deep breath before his short terse knocks connected to the door undoubtedly alerting Logan that someone was there. And just like that, with that one little realization that soon enough… Logan would answer the door and he’d have t deal with the awkwardness of asking to come in, that set Roman’s nerves ablaze. So without so much as giving it a second thought, he seized the doorknob and stiffly jerked the door open as if his wrist had been attached to a marionette string and not his actual body.

And upon opening the door, slammed it right into Logan’s face.

Almost immediately a hundred apologies spilled from his lips as he scuttled into the room slamming the door behind him in order to check and make sure that he hadn’t irreparably hurt the logical side.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! I should have waited for you to open the door, like a normal person would have. I didn’t do this on purpose, are you alright? Can you still see? Can you think? Can you count? How many fingers?!” Despite this… despite everything that he had come here to do tonight… he had still managed to hurt Logan with something as simple as opening a fucking door. Even Remus could open a door without managing to kill someone, even Remus could apologize in his own ways when he managed to upset Deceit.

Even Remus… was better than him.

His fingers gingerly ran over the red mark on Logan’s face, as if his touch alone could take such a mark away as if it had never existed in the first place. “I’m sorry,” He whispered, guilt and grief coloring his tone, “I’m so very sorry… for everything Lo. I… I’ve been a bad friend.”

Logan impassively stared back at him, his hooded eyes layered with a look of thick exhaustion that Roman’s words clearly weren’t getting through. He really looked… dead tired, with the dark circles seemingly etched under his eyes and his tie discarded on his bed and the first few buttons of his shirt haphazardously undone. His clothes were wrinkled in the tell-tale sign of someone who had tried to fall asleep, but had ultimately failed to do so and was now just staying up until morning. Honestly… Roman had never seen Logan look so tired, true he usually only ever saw Logan after he’d had some coffee and was out of his pajamas, but this…

He’d never seen this before.

“I said,” He began softly, just in case that Logan truly didn’t hear him. “I-”

Before he could so much as finish his sentence, Logan almost ruthlessly interrupted him. “I heard you the first time,” He blandly replied, sleep depravation stealing all of his tact and poise. “And I am choosing to believe that this is a hallucination due to my lack of sleep. Because even on a good day, there is no way that you would come to my room and be humble enough to apologize to me for anything.” Logan straightened his shirt a little bit, “So clearly following all logical explanations, you are either a hallucination… in which I should probably get some sleep. Or you are Deceit, in which case… go fuck yourself right off into Remus’ dicks and die for even thinking to try this on me.”

Roman could only wince, as it turned out Logan with little to no sleep had less care and composure than Virgil did in those very same circumstances. Patton would turn as white as a ghost if he knew that Logan spouted off the profanity that he just had. However, all of that in its entirety paled in comparison to the fact that… despite everything, Logan thought that he knew for certain that this very occurrence happening right here and now was impossible.

He thought the sheer idea of Roman coming to apologize could only be the works of dreams or manipulations… not the creative side himself.

“Logan…” He softly uttered as he took a step forward, “I am sorry Logan,” Roman hated the break in his voice as he softly repeated the other’s name, but clutching their dear logical side’s hands even tighter he forced his words past it as he stared into those hooded exhausted eyes of his friend. “I said that I was going to be better after Virgil, and that I was going to try harder not to push anyone else away with my actions and words. But I’ve been doing that to you, and I’m so so sorry. It won’t be happening again Lo, I pro-”

“Don’t.”

Came the single soft word as Logan’s hands easily slipped out of Roman’s grasp, leaving the creative side startled more than anything as he gaped openly back at the logical side. There was an unreadable expression on Logan’s face, and while he might not have known what such a look meant just the fire scorching the insides of Logan’s eyes made Roman’s stomach twist and turn the longer that he dared to look back. He’d only ever seen that fire once in Logan’s eyes, and he could remember that day as clearly as any of the others. It hadn’t been his fault, or really Patton’s or Virgil’s… but that fire that looked as if it could burn down forests had been there for a reason.

“What?” He softly asked, only daring to take the smallest of steps forward only offering to reach out yet again. To offer the physical comfort to whatever had created that turmoil inside of Logan. “Why?”

A rough snort answered him before he even had a chance to recoil, “Roman,” Logan bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile, a hurt smile but a smile nonetheless. “I said it once… and I’ll say it again. You can’t make fun of Virgil anymore so you moved to me, so logically speaking if you don’t make fun of me who are going to go to next? I can take it. I can take all of it. But Patton can’t, Deceit and Remus won’t take it. And Virgil… Virgil won’t be able to handle it if you just go back to tormenting him like before, and that will make Patton angry at you. So…” Logan roughly rested his cheek against his clenched fist, this time not even bothering to look back at Roman as his eyes stared blankly ahead as if he was no more than a ghost and was seeing right through the creative side. “I can handle it… I did before and I can do it now. I can take it...”

Roman wanted to be sick.

His stomach twisted and turned inside of him, to the point that Logan’s desk-side wastebasket overflowing with crumpled up notes was looking like the only place he could properly throw up in. What had he done? How on earth had he allowed this to get this bad? His nicknames were meant as jokes, especially towards Logan… but that didn’t negate the fact that.. that Logan had this outlook towards something like this. He wanted to hit himself, to stand in front of his brother and take whatever the other half of creativity could throw at him. What had he done? This was…

Bad.

“You shouldn’t have to.” His words came out as no more than a whisper, and yet Logan’s head snapped up as Roman had just slapped him. Gingerly reaching forward, his hand shook and trembled until he cradled the curve of Logan’s cheek, his thumb slowly brushing over it as if wiping away imaginary tears. The words twisted and turned on his tongue, he needed to say this right… he needed to say this in a way that Logan would actually understand. “Logan… you shouldn’t have to deal with it, this isn’t a healthy mindset for you to have Lo… I don’t want to just keep hurting and hurting because I don’t have a filter. And you are hurting, you are… and there’s no shame in admitting that to anyone. I just…” Warmth burned at his eyes, and Roman internally cursed himself. “I want to help. I want to do better.”

Just then in the slightest way possible, Logan’s bottom lip trembled as glassy eyes stared back at him.

Without even thinking about it, Roman seized the other side, pulling him into his chest and wrapping his arms so tightly around him that Logan would undoubtedly be able to feel his heart slamming against his ribcage. He cradled the back of Logan’s head as the other’s fingers dug into the fabric of his shirt, and as… as the wetness seeped into his shoulder.

Logan.. Logan didn’t cry like anyone else he had come across, he had never really thought about it before but... He didn’t loudly weep like Patton did when watching a sad movie or being overcome by negative emotions, he didn’t shake and shiver as Virgil did in the throes of an anxiety attack, and he didn’t curl in on himself like Roman did when he tried to make himself as small as possible. He just stood absolutely still, the only evidence of his actions being the tears that were staining the creative side’s shirt and nothing more. His actions were so quiet… so precise, that it was impossible to be anything other than practiced.

Roman hated that, more than anything he had ever hated in his entire life. The mere image that it conjured, of Logan weeping to himself in the middle of the night trying to stay as quiet and emotionless as possible so that nobody could hear him. That he had practiced it, or even learned how to do it after being insulted one too many times…

It tore at his insides unlike anything else.

“I keep waiting for the shoe to drop,” At the sound of Logan’s hoarse voice Roman’s ears perked up a little bit, “Please just tell me, tell me when you’re going to be mean again. I don’t think that I can stand the waiting, so just… please.”

Roman’s heart felt like it was tearing itself to shreds over the use of that one tiny little plea that escaped Logan’s lips, it hurt in ways that even the most worst battle on the feild could never compare to. He wanted to hold the other side tighter, to hold him so tight that Logan would never even question the fact whether Roman hated him or loved him, he wanted to wipe away those desperate pleas until there was nothing left but understanding, he… wished that he had never acted the way he did in the first place. But he had, he had hurt Virgil with his black and white views, he had hurt Patton by always assuming that he had nothing to offer but sunshine and fluff, and… he had hurt Logan by verbally throwing barbs at him even when it was obvious that Logan had long since grown tired of their little games. He wished that he had never hurt them in the ways that he did, but… he did, and there was no going back in time to fix that.

He had hurt, and now he needed to mend.

“Logan,” He whispered the other’s given name as if it were a promise, “I can’t promise that there will never be another insult. I’m not the best at changing, but… call me out when I do. I want to change and I am going to change, I will try my hardest to ensure that shoe never ever drops, I can’t promise that it will never happen. I will slip up, and wh.. if I do… Tell me. Don’t ever think that you just have to deal with it to save the others from being hurt, because… Because, I love you, Lo. I don’t want you being hurt either, it doesn’t matter what it is that I’ve done. If it’s hurt you… tell me, and we can figure something out. I promise, I swear it to you.”

In response to his words, Logan only clung to him that much tighter, not saying a single word as he held onto the creative side like they were the last two people left alive in a desolate world. But Roman was alright with that, Logan didn’t need to say a single word to get his feelings across right now, because there was always the morning and there was always a later time they could discuss this.

He wasn’t in a hurry, and yet…

“Can…” Once again he perked up at the sound of Logan’s scratchy voice, “Can you stay here? Just.. just so I can be sure in the morning that this wasn’t some hallucination or dream? I really don’t want this to be a dream.” And his heart, as well as all of his insides, turned to mush at the simple and yet so very delicate request coming from the logical side. He would have conqured mountains for anyone of his friends, and yet Logan’s only request was… that he stay and not leave. In compared to anything he could ever do for Logan… this was almost too simple.

“Of course,” He merely whispered.

Leading the exhausted side over to the bed, he didn’t hesitate for a single second before crawling under the sheets with him. Curling his arms around Logan he felt the other side curl up tightly, resting his head against the creative side’s chest where his heart was once again firmly thumping against his ribs. In that moment he felt all too warm as Logan’s breath tickled his skin, but he didn’t say a word about it as he rested his cheek atop the logical side’s messy pile of hair listening to steady rise and fall of the other’s chest. He listened for as long as he could, resisting the heaviness of his own eyelids as well as his own exhaustion that tugged firmly at his mind. But eventually after being awake for as long he was, he was unable to keep up with the battle being waged. As his eyes slipped shut one last time finally allowing him to slip off into a well-deserved slumber.

“Sleep,” He tiredly mumbled into Logan’s hair, pressing a tired kiss against those messy curly locks of his. Only offering a ghost of a smile at the faint snore coming from the dear logical side. “I’ll be here, for as long as you need me. I promise.”

#logan sanders #ts logan #ts logan sanders #roman sanders #ts roman #ts roman sanders #logince #romantic logince #platonic logince #ts sanders sides #ts sides #ts sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction

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1-1snailxd-art · 4 years

Text

Libraries are for Meetings

Master List —– Chapter 10

Chapter 11 - The library meeting

Warnings: negative thoughts, swearing, implied abuse, murder mentioned

Summary: A soft mountain of pillows and blankets, plenty of food, boxes of tissues, a few close friends, and plenty of unshed tears. Sounds like a recipe for a lovely evening in the library.

Word count: 2013

Note: reading on mobile can remove the paragraphing sometimes. Use desktop site or visit my Ao3 page if it bothers you as much as it bothers me.

____________________

“Are you sure you want to sell all this, kid?” Pete questioned, eyeing the pile of electrical equipment, parts, a handheld gaming system and a chunky, old laptop. “Won’t you need most of this for work?”

“I need the money more.” The younger man snapped and pointed aggressively at each object, hood low and concealing his face. “The parts and tools are versatile, and any techie would be happy to use them. The laptop may be old, but it runs fine and is already wiped. Jesus, I even got the game working even though it only accepts one cartridge. There will be some nostalgic nerd willing to play only Pokémon blue for the rest of that systems little life. This is good stuff, Pete. What can you get me?”

Scratching his chin in thought, Pete tapped at his keyboard absently. In the few months Virgil had been around, he had never seen the man so desperate for money. The parts boxed up before him would certainly be useful for his other workers but would put Virgil out of commission.

“Kid, if you need the money, just pawn this stuff and come back la-“

“Take the hint, Pete, I’m not coming back.”

Glancing down at Virgil’s shaking hands, the older man sighed and opened the till to retrieve a collection of notes.

“If that’s the case, and this is farewell, take this.” He placed $500 in cash on the counter and slid it towards Virgil. “You do good work, kid. It’s a shame to see you go.”

“And it’s a shame you’re such a fucken cheapskate.”

It was meant to be an insult, but Pete saw a tear drip from his chin as he turned and stormed out with the money. It was nothing but an act to spare the kid from the pain of leaving. Grabbing the bag of items, Pete walked them out the back and placed them safely on a pawning shelf; writing a tag with Virgil’s name and only removing the gaming device to add to inventory. Despite what they had said, Pete wasn’t about to let Virgil throw everything away. He had been rough on him to teach him about the harshness of the industry, but he wasn’t completely heartless. He only hoped Virgil would find the strength to come back.

********************

The once full plates of food were emptier as the group leaned back on beanbags in the library reading area. Patton nestled against Roman’s chest, eyes red from crying after he had spoken about his guilt and thoughts of being a bad omen. The group had listened as Patton finished with the points Roman and Katie had given him the days prior, before Roman pulled him close to his chest.

Logan remained silent. He didn’t know how to respond to Patton’s admissions, all of which were predominantly his fault.

“You are nothing but a good omen to me.” Roman whispered, planting a kiss on his head and continuing to soothingly stroke his shoulder.

“A-agreed.” Logan added, clearing his throat as his voice broke slightly. “I’m sorry if my actions ever made you feel less than what you are worth, Patton. You know how much you mean to me, right?”

Patton shifted on Roman’s chest and extended his hand out for Logan to take.

“I know, Lo. I’ll try not to let myself forget again.”

Giving their hands a final squeeze, the pair let their hands drop so Patton could return to his comforting position against Roman’s chest.

“Perhaps, I should speak next,” Roman offered and looked to the others for their nod of approval.

“Okay, little brother. What do you need to get off your chest?”

“Not Patton, for one.” He joked, giving his partner a squeeze before his tone became surprisingly sombre. “Well… I think it is time I apologised to you…Katie.”

The eldest looked confused as Roman met her eye with a small smile, before he lowered his gaze to focus back on the man on his chest.

“What do you have to apologise for?”

“You said your biggest regret was being…overbearing and overprotective. That your biggest accomplishment over the last few months was not messaging us every few hours religiously, but… I’m the reason you started that in the first place.”

“Roman-”

“Katie.” Logan warned, fixing her with a stern look. “Remember the rules. We speak openly and without interruption.”

After mumbling an apology, Katie gestured for Roman to continue.

“I was meant to tell you about Sasha’s party, but because I didn’t end up going with Jason, I never told you. And, to make matters worse… after Jason’s death, I…” taking a shaky breath, Roman found Patton’s hand to grip for support. “I acted rashly and caused you more stress. I put myself in unnecessary danger on multiple occasions and if it wasn’t for Patton, I’d probably still be party hopping and getting in car wrecks. It was selfish of me and I’m sorry it took me so long to get my head out of my ass and treat you like a human. You’ve been there for me and I should have been there for you…I hope I can do better.”

The figurative weight slid off Roman’s chest as he looked up and saw his older sister smiling, a single tear trailing down her cheek.

“Thank you, Roman.” Swiping the tear away, Katie chuckled quietly to herself. “It really means a lot that you see me as a human.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not always a dragon witch.”

Logan felt his mind wandering; beginning to obsess over the message Virgil had sent. There was such an undertone of anger and he started going through what he’d done wrong. Part of him hoped it was referring to his offers of food and monetary support, which he could easily back away from. Thinking more logically, he figured it was probably his sudden obsession with over sharing and using an acquaintance as a sounding board instead of going to actual therapy. Regardless, he didn’t know for certain and it was eating him up inside.

“Logan?”

Ethan’s voice cut through Logan’s thoughts like a hot knife through butter and he suddenly registered the silence in the room. Everyone else had shared now; their grief and guilt finally aired fully and unapologetically. He was the only one still left to share and it dawned on him just how afraid he was to do as he had planned earlier that afternoon.

“Are you ready to share?” Patton gave his hand a comforting squeeze before allowing Logan to pull away and begin shuffling through his bag.

“I don’t know if I’m ready but,” he pulled his laptop out and began loading the files Virgil had saved, “it would be selfish of me to avoid this any longer.”

The group had a silent exchanged of concerned glances and then moved closer so they would be able to see the screen after Logan set it down. Only Logan spoke as the images from earlier began scrolling across the laptops screen.

“We all remember that night before the fire vividly, I’m sure. Roman was roaming the streets in ignorant bliss; E was enjoying the alcohol Oskar had provided; Katie finally had her feet up; and I was driving a sniffly Patton home. We all know our sides, but I’ve kept one side a secret this whole time, and for that…I am sorry.”

Hitting play on Jason’s video, Logan moved aside to ensure everyone had a clear view of the screen. Colour drained from Katie and Roman’s faces as Jason’s ghostly voice filled their ears and they saw what he had been like in his final moments of life. As the screen froze on Jason’s face the library was left in silence; tears leaving their traces on cheeks as they soaked into the fabric of clothes and blankets.

Katie’s cracked voice finally broke the silence; “why?”

When Logan didn’t respond, Katie tore her eyes away from the screen and looked at him with harsh sadness.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Moving closer, she placed her hands on Logan’s damp cheeks and forced his eyes to meet her own. “What purpose did hiding this serve?”

“Nothing.” Logan’s eyes were void orbs, eyes red and strangely dried. “It only supported my belief that I wasn’t good enough for him and I didn’t want to be convinced otherwise.”

“You stupid man.” Fresh tears welled in her eyes as she pulled Logan into a crushing embrace. “Stupid, bloody, idiot. You were more than enough for him, you fucking fool.”

Though he returned the hug, Logan’s eyes remained glassed until more limbs began joining the embrace. Each body of warmth a physical reminder that though he had lost the face on his computer screen, he still had the family surrounding him. Sobs soon shook his whole frame; eyes squeezing shut as raw emotion was set free and all secrets were finally laid out. No more words were needed now. They had each aired their truths and now clung to each other, raw from it all.

Katie felt Logan’s weight growing as his sobs slowed, and she smiled to herself at the idea of Jason watching over them now. Roman moved back when Patton shifted and wiped his face before gesturing toward the soft spaces they had each been sitting before. Acting on silent instruction, Roman helped change their circle of beanbags and pillows into one soft pile while the other two continued holding Logan’s quivering form.

“He’s asleep.” Ethan whispered in shock as the siblings helped guide Logan to a more comfortable position.

“I doubt he has really slept in a while, Ethan.”

Patton accepted the exhausted man from Roman and laid back on the makeshift bed, removing the other man’s glasses before he instinctively snuggled closer. “That’s it, Logie. Let us take care of you, now.”

“Good job, Pat’s.” Removing Patton’s own glasses, Roman kissed his forehead before settling down behind him.

Ethan watched the scene before him and felt a pang of jealousy at the closeness of the group before Katie’s hand was guiding him over to Logan’s other side. Laying the blankets over everyone, Katie finally took her place on the end; mentally saving the image of the group before relaxing back on the soft cushions. Sleep wouldn’t come easy as a sleepy sob escaped one of the others, but eventually the library was silent, and Katie drifted off in relative peace.

*********************

Leaning his aching body against the cold steel of the dumpster was a relief for a moment, but the cold was soon to leave Virgil shivering. Dried blood gripped his clothes, but he couldn’t bring himself to sneak into the library until a later hour; certain the meeting would still be going. Tears had blended with the blood on his face, making his skin stiff; the feeling uncomfortable as he grimaced and repositioned.

Virgil cursed his luck when the world spun again; head pounding harder than it had when Ben had shoved him into the wall. The $500 from earlier had done nothing to help his situation; only cemented the fact that he couldn’t stay any longer. After a visit to the bank he’d sent $150 to his aunt with an apology for being a burden; $250 had been sent to Ben and the final $100 would have hopefully gotten him through until he got a job in the next town.

“I’m such an idiot.”

Curling in on himself, Virgil sobbed. The memory of Ben and his friends faces haunted his mind as he drifted into a light exhausted sleep.

“Saw you found a new friend. Would hate for anything to happen to them in your absence.”

“I did work for him. That’s all.”

“Like we’d believe a fucken faggot like you.”

“It’s true! He’s just a clueless science geek with a busted computer.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it…I want my money by Monday. Got it?”

“That’s impossible. I’ve given you everythi-“

“If you enjoy pain, I’d keep up the excuses. Wouldn’t everyone love to know you’re the son of a murderer.”

____________________

End Note

Hi…It’s me…Snail. No, I didn’t abandon this fic (even though it was getting pretty close to a year since I updated). Why was I gone so long? Simple…I couldn’t keep up the dangerous cycle of sitting at a computer for hours to do work and then following that up with hours of writing and editing. It really turned unhealthy. So, I switched gears a little. I started writing in smaller bursts (actually have up to chapter 14 done) but I held off from posting until I reached a point were I could post within a reasonable time so you weren’t left on a major cliff hanger as this fic reaches its designated end (which looks to be at around chapter 16 or 17).

Anyway, I haven’t been completely out of the story telling game. I got into Cosplay and telling stories through TikTok (It’s Emily’s -stopitanxiety- fault. I loved her writing and saw her TikTok’s and wanted to be part of that world). It’s a little harder to tell stories using audios and acting out everything, but it’s a lot more on your feet. I actually realised I have the clothes to Cosplay Virgil from this universe and I am considering just vibing as Virge or making it an actual TikTok au story. I dunno yet.

Back on topic, next chapter should be up by the end of the week (just gotta tweak some things that I ended up changing). Warning for the next chapter – alcohol abuse is entering the tags.

Thanks again for reading. Happy timezone, friend 💜🐌

Tag List (let me know if you want to be removed. It has been so long I understand if you don’t wanna hang around)

@notalwaysthebadguy @thequeensphinx @ollyollyoxinfree @celeste-tyrrell @pumpkinminette @ahyeahisurehopeit-does

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Chapter 12 — MasterList

What else have I done:

The Perfect Ring (oneshot - analogical proposal)

You Promised (oneshot - prinxiety angst/injury/near death)

Sides of a Hero (Completed Fic - sides are fusions of impulses and aspects of Thomas. Virgil has a depressing past that he is forced to face thanks to Deceit and Rage. Was canon compliant at the time of completion)

The Shield to your Sword (WIP - A fantasy/magic au - Prinxiety (Royal Roman and orphan Virgil - they’ll admit to their love eventually), Virgil angst, non binary, healer Logan, *spoiler* Patton)

Writing Master Post

Check out my other blog for random fandom reblogs and stuff @snail-giggles

Also now doing Cosplay and storylines on TikTok: 1_1snailxd

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