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yourchemicallyimbalancedromance · 5 months

Text

Checkmate

Ship: Anxceit (Whumpee!Virgil, Whumper!Janus)

CW/TW: (be aware that what I am about to describe is not censored.) graphic themes and descriptions of violence, this includes: forcing someone to relapse with self injury, allusion to past self harm, cutting someone with a knife, mind games/emotional abuse, malnourishment/starvation, talk of weight in numbers, themes of suicide and suicidal ideation (this is pretty detailed, you have been warned.)

Summary: After Virgil joins the light sides, Janus slowly reaches a psychotic break due to abandonment and feelings of betrayal and takes it upon himself to take Virgil back to where he belongs, via kidnapping him and holding him in the dark side of the mind palaces basement, AKA the subconscious.

A/N: this is my first time writing Whump, so If anything feels rushed or misplaced please understand that I am a beginner to writing these kinds of things. I am personally not open to (constructive) criticism—I am really sensitive when it comes to things I’m passionate about 😭—so please, let me learn at my own pace if things do need to be changed around a bit, thank you!<3

(I’m editing this at 12:44 AM because I can’t sleep so, uh, surprise oneshot release I guess? Idk 😭🙏🏻)

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Janus’ eyes glimmered as he stared at the rusty chains that were around Virgil’s wrists, the ones keeping him shackled against the wall of the basement, leaving his arms raised up in the air and his legs crisscrossed beneath him. Virgil’s head had fallen against his chest in defeat after trying to scream into the dark abyss for help again, quickly realizing that his pleas wouldn’t be heard with the muffling of a rag in his mouth.

His lower jaw poked at his collarbones with horrendous uncomfortability from the consequences of malnourishment. He was already relatively small—around 115 pounds or so—and the past few days without food were weighing on him. His bones protruded like knives against his skin. You could see the outline of his collarbones to his shoulder blades through his torn up band tee. His bangs—or what was left of them—had fallen over his eyes, keeping him from seeing Janus whose gaze had shifted to Virgils face, eerily delighted.

Virgil thrashed his head around—though in reality more like hazily bobbed it in circles—trying his hardest to spit out the aforementioned rag that Janus had put there after his lazy attempt at being noticed by the others on the second day of his kidnapping. On the first, Janus had knocked him out hard enough to where he drifted in and out of consciousness, leaving Janus enough time to chain him up without a struggle. Despite the chains, he actually thought he could trust Virgil to not scream for help. He was wrong, hence, the rag.

It had now been five and a half days since his initial kidnapping, and the light sides seemed to have gone off of the deep end…almost. Patton had shut down, preventing himself from feeling any kind of emotion due to the fact that if he even shed one tear, it would lead to a messy and disgusting breakdown. Logan wouldn’t come out of his room for anything at all, as he was drowning himself in as much work as possible, writing and re-writing scripts even if he thought they were already pristine and perfect as was, he needed something to keep himself from flying off the hinges. And Roman was…quiet, withdrawn. He wasn’t his usual ego-centric self anymore, he was timid, almost like a ghost or a shell of who he once was. You could practically call him a people-pleaser. All of them had their own ways of grasping for the tiniest bit of control they had left, and it was shocking to see what came out of it.

But Virgil couldn’t comprehend any of this as Janus updated him on it day by day, Janus’ way of slowly ripping Virgils freshly acquired healthy emotional state apart by using his new “found family” as a means of revenge for the gaping would of abandonment Virgil had left him with. Hell, between Virgils drug induced haze and all the sheer sharp pain searing throughout his body, he could barely comprehend where he was. But one thing stopped him from forgetting his new surroundings completely, and that was Janus.

Janus leaned down and took Virgil’s face in his hands roughly, forcing Virgil to look him in the eyes. Virgil’s eyes were dim and worn out, as if he wasn’t all there, like he was somewhere else in his head. He looked so, so very tired. It was almost thrilling for Janus. Virgil had always been one to get lost in his head as a way of coping with things that were out of his control.

“I think,” Janus hissed, the sound full of no-longer suppressed anger and a slight tinge of fear over the fact that Virgil could have been found had he not noticed his pitiful cries when he did a few days ago, “we should play a game.”

The small lightbulb that hung from a loose wire (seemingly appearing from thin air, there was no way to tell where the lightbulbs origin came from) between them illuminated the human side of Janus’ face harshly, putting the crazed look in his eyes on display for only Virgil to see. It felt like Janus could see into his soul, read his thoughts, know every gritty detail of everything that he had ever done down to the way he breathed whilst doing it, just by staring at him.

Virgil’s eyes narrowed as Janus’ thumb ran over his busted lip. If it weren’t for the rag stuffed in his mouth to muffle his cries for help, he would have bit it clean off. Instead, he let the small amount of fury left in him ignite behind his eyes as he stared into Janus’, not moving any longer. He was confused and scared, and when those things were combined, it usually turned into anger. Rage, even. But It was as if the moment Janus touched him, he froze on impact.

“What do you think?” Janus prompted, hand still firmly on Virgil’s jaw. His voice may have been smooth, but his grasp stayed there to show control.

Janus smiled at the incoherent sounds coming from behind the bloodied rag. He laughed to himself, amused by the struggle. “Ah, I forgot about your little…predicament.” He ribbed, pulling out the soaking rag with ease.

Virgil inhaled harder than he’d ever before, taking in as much oxygen as possible. It had been days since that rag had been placed there; a precaution so that were the search for Thomas’ anxiety to continue and a meeting be pursued once more, they wouldn’t hear much from upstairs. Virgil winced a bit at the memory of Janus’ footsteps quickly echoing throughout the basement and walking up to him. (“tsk, I thought you would’ve been smart enough to know not to scream. Here, let me help you with that.” He had said, hastily shoving a clean rag forcefully into his mouth, rendering Virgil silent; mostly because of fear but also because of shock. He had absolutely no clue why Janus was doing any of this.) It also didn’t help that the dark mind palaces basement was usually hot and stuffy already, which made the struggle to breathe worse; especially if you had to rely on only breathing through your nose, which was broken, meaning the little oxygen he could muster wasn’t enough, leading him to pass out only a few minutes after regaining consciousness, over and over and over again over the past 84 hours.

“Let…go of…me.” Virgil demanded, panting. He struggled against his chains, trying to wriggle his way out of them. His wrists ached as they strained against the cuffs around them.

Janus grabbed Virgils arms firmly, chains rattling, rag dripping blood and saliva down Virgil’s right arm. “No need for that, sweetheart. I’m not going to hurt you again. Not yet.”

His lips curled upwards slightly at the fear that shocked through Virgil at such simple words. He watched as the hair on Virgil’s arms began to stick up, his arms covered in goosebumps. It was absolutely hilarious to Janus that Virgil had no clue what was coming at any given moment.

Virgil could put on a defiant act all he wanted, but his body would always show how he truly felt: Afraid, Horrified, Helpless.

It was a beautiful sight to see someone at the mercy of his actions considering he had always felt helpless against the others, it was nice to feel in control for once. …And also quite pathetic how hard Virgil tried to stop him from achieving that feeling of powerfulness.

“How about a game of chess?” Janus suggested, throwing the rag to the ground, sounding more demanding than anything else. His nails dug deep into Virgil’s wrists, letting him know that if he didn’t answer correctly, there would be consequences. Though, from all of the times he’d seen Virgils eyes light up from winning against Logan in a Chess match, he knew he would probably say yes anyway. Not that Virgil knew that he knew that.

That sparkle in his eyes. It was almost as if Virgil felt like he could finally do something right.

In Virgils drug addled mind, something…clicked. Chess? Since when did Janus know that he had gotten good at Chess? Unless he was…

his eyes almost brimmed with tears at the thought of such an invasive act,

Watching him.

Despite such a heart dropping realization, Virgil nodded, slowly. Even though it had only been a few days, he was numb to any minor pain Janus inflicted upon him anymore. If it wasn’t worth bleeding, it wasn’t worth focusing on, or atleast that’s the mindset he was set on adapting to get through this. Who knew how long Janus would keep him here? how long this would last? But the pressure against his wrists served as a warning, so he gave Janus the answer he wanted. Or so he thought.

The pressure increased as Janus dug his nails deeper, pricking the pale skin a bit. “You speak when you’re spoken to, Virgil.” he ordered, “Or do I need to remind you?” he asked, nodding towards the blood stained knife on the floor; A reminder of Virgils previous mistakes.

Virgil shook his head frantically, “No, no, you don’t” he begged, mouth still tasting of metal from where he was forced to lick up his own blood from the cuts up and down his arm. “A chess game sounds nice, really.”

Janus hummed, satisfied with Virgils response. “Perfect. Well then, I suppose I should explain the rules.” He dropped Virgil’s arms and let them fall into place with the chains, then summoned a chess set and sat it on the ground next to the knife, eyeing the way Virgil tried to breathe in a rhythmic pattern. He really didn’t think he was getting out of this. How glorious.

“If I win, we pick up where we left off last night,” Janus recited, hinting back to only ten hours ago when he was burying a knife deep into Virgils arm. “If you win, I may dress your wounds properly this time.” he watched Virgil as his eyes closed and snapped back open time and time again, barely taking in anything Janus was saying. He was sleep deprived, Janus was sure of it. He had already planned this out ahead of time, so the results were finally setting in. Janus had dissolved a few…”unknown sleeping pills” into Virgils drink the night before after Janus had his fun with the sharpest knife blade he could find, making sure Virgil was extremely drowsy and paranoid, but not too drowsy and paranoid, because otherwise, what’s the fun in that?

Oh, and the “sleeping pills” were actually Janus’ antipsychotics, but Virgil didn’t need to know that.

He kept Virgil awake for two and a half days straight, slicing open the old wounds on his arms. Turning the faded self inflicted cuts into newer, deeper, non-self inflicted ones. Sometimes he forced Virgil to do it himself as he watched, making him restart if there wasn’t enough blood for his liking. Virgil deserved this for leaving him, so the least he could do was cause a bloody mess.

Janus hoisted Virgil up and carefully unlocked the cuffs on his wrists with a small key from his pocket, holding him as his body gave out against Janus’.

Even through the fog of Virgils mental state, and the amount of adrenaline pumping through his veins, and the exhaustion that crept up on him so suddenly over the past few days, he was cognizant enough to understand that not being able to stand up on his own two feet was humiliating. The weakness and feebleness of his body and state of mind were meant to make him feel humiliated. And unfortunately for him, it was working. Janus was succeeding.

Janus, using this as a moment to exert power over his captive, whispered in his ear. “Bring your all, Virgil.”

Virgil vaguely acknowledged the phrase as something Patton would say to him before every match. Eyes glistening, like a proud father-figure. (“You did great last time Virge! Logan was so mad that you won against him that when you left to go back to your room to listen to that PG-13 music, he used one of those slang words the kids use these days. I can’t remember exactly what it was...I think it started with a C? I don’t know, but I’m so proud of you!” Patton had said, so joyous and amazed. Virgil had given him a half-smile and shrugged it off as Patton just being Patton.)

Virgil almost started sobbing then and there; finally feeling a wave of emotion crash over him other than rage and terror for the first time in what felt like forever, but in actuality had only been a few days. A few tears slipped past him, leaving behind a trembling lip in their wake. He clung to Janus for some sort of sick comfort, Janus being the only thing he had right now, even if he was the one causing all of this.

Janus tensed and snickered, pulling away from Virgil and yanking him to the ground, looking down at him through fiery eyes. “Don’t be so emotional already, we’ve barely even started” he rubbed his arms with his hands as if Virgils mere touch had deemed his upper arms distasteful, “and don’t cling to me like that again, it’s disgusting.”

Virgil wiped at his tears obediently, trying to put on a blank face for his captor. He just wanted to go back home. To sit with Patton and Roman and make homemade hot chocolate while bickering over the appeal of the newest Disney shows. His chest hurt, likely from the drugs and blood loss, but also likely because of his longing for his actual family, not whatever this was. Whatever it used to be.

Janus sat down on the opposite side of the board, and slowly removed his gloves, placing them next to him on top of each other and started setting up the pieces.

“Let the game begin.” He stated after a few moments had passed and the board had been properly set up, prompting Virgil to move his first piece.

Virgil reached out reluctantly, placing one of the pieces further on the checkered board. Almost knocking it over as he pulled his hand away as fast as he could, not wanting to be close to Janus.

Janus smirked, noticing this, as he placed one of his pieces further on the board aswell. Deep down, he was hurt by Virgils need to stay as a far as possible, however. Not that it mattered, he could always punish Virgil for that little stunt of emotion later down the line.

This back and forth continued for at least twenty-five minutes, before Virgil could feel the walls closing in around him. He looked at the board in desperation, praying to God that maybe, just maybe if he stared long enough the pieces would maneuver themselves to where he could win.

It didn’t happen.

Janus had him stuck, unable to move without getting defeated. In this sick game, and in real life. It was as if Janus was making a mockery of his own doings.

Virgil moved the piece on the board with a shakey hand, trembling from the dread of what he knew was to come, and looked up at Janus; fear evident in his eyes.

Janus took a breath and moved his piece in front of Virgils quickly, as if he had been waiting for this moment his whole life.

“Checkmate, Virge.”

Virgil stared at the board, filled with shame and regret. He used to be a pro at Chess, and now he was watered down to this. He couldn’t meet Janus’ burning gaze as he stared at him from across the board. Any glint of hope for his future here that he had behind his eyes had been crushed and faded away completely. He was certain that he was going to die here before Patton or any of the others found him. And if he didn’t die, it would become so bad that he would beg Janus to make him do it to get it over with.

Janus got up and pulled Virgil to his feet, clasping the cuffs around his wrists again, not willing to waste any time, taking notice of the newfound compliance.

Janus laughed a little as he picked up the knife, running a finger over the blade. “You know, I really thought you would have been good at that,” he placed the base of the blade on Virgil’s arm and began to drag it agonizingly slow. “I guess it just goes to show that you really are incompetent.”

He watched the blood drip down Virgils forearm, “what a shame, really. You probably would have gone on to be a real good player,” he teased, “probably even better than Logan. I mean I saw the way that blood vessel in his head almost popped from stress and frustration during your match a week or so ago.”

Janus watched as Virgil grit his teeth so hard he thought he would break them from trying not to scream. The confession and the pain were almost too much emotional and psychical trauma for Virgil to bear.

Janus ran a finger over the fresh cuts, looking up at Virgil with nothing but malice in his eyes. “Too bad you’re stuck here now, you really could have been something.”

“Please…please, I’ll do anything, please just make it stop!!” Virgil whimpered, actually thrashing now, a drastic difference from what he had meant to do earlier. He couldn’t handle it anymore, it was all starting to dawn on him. He wasn’t getting out of here. He wasn’t getting out.

“Keep begging, it’s not like I’m going to stop. You’re selfish, that’s all you are. You think you can leave me to pick up the pieces of your abandonment and expect not to face the consequences? I don’t think so.” Janus threatened, slapping Virgil’s arm, causing stinging pain to shoot its way through him. He took the knife back to Virgils skin, digging deeper into the wounds he already created, using his rage as a source to block out the cries of his former best friend. Virgil used to be like a brother to him, but none of that mattered now. This was Virgils fault, he chose this.

Virgil’s hands curled into loose fists with the little energy he had left within himself, desperately trying to wrap his head around Janus’ reasoning but ultimately failing to be able to think of anything due to the hot and awful pain that washed upon him every few seconds. That was why Janus was doing this? His acceptance? He let out animalistic sobs every time the blade met his flesh. None of it made sense. His head hurt and all he wanted was to drop to his knees and bleed out, leaving himself a cold shell of a person. Anything but this. Anything but this. As much as he loved the others, he wanted anything but this.

Eventually, Janus dropped the knife on the floor, blood splattering in every direction. He was tired, and Virgil was beginning to pass out which meant that the fun wouldn’t be able to last any longer. After all, it’s no fun torturing someone when you can’t see the outcome of your work.

He flicked his wrist and summoned a small baggie of crushed up antipsychotic medication and a glass of water, carefully pouring it into the glass in front of his captive. It didn’t matter if Virgil saw what he was doing, what could he do about it? Absolutely nothing.

“Open your mouth.” He instructed sternly. Virgil listened and he tilted the glass back with precision, making sure no droplets of water fell down Virgils face and on to the ground.

Janus set the glass down beside him, “don’t say I never did anything for you” he mumbled, turning on his heel and heading back upstairs to the commons as if nothing had happened.

Janus’ footsteps slowly faded and a door opened. Virgil could hear Remus cackling in the distance, and even though he didn’t exactly know what was so funny, it was presumable that it was about the state of his family. The others were falling apart with the lack of him being around, or that was at least as far as he knew with the “help” of Janus.

Virgil let his legs give out from underneath him and curled in on himself as best he could, searching for the warmth of his own body heat, not necessarily because he was cold, but because he was desperate to feel the warmth of a comforting presence, even if that meant it had to be himself.

He tried to ignore the throbbing pain in his arms by thinking of Patton. Sweet, tender and kind, Patton. Patton who was always there when he had night terrors and was screaming for help, crawling into Virgils bed and cradling him gently until he was conscious enough to know what had happened, and then staying until he fell back asleep. Patton who always let him hold on to his shoulders when the panic attacks got so bad he couldn’t stand upright because he was so dizzy. Patton who always had a cheesy dad joke no matter the severity of the situation. Patton.

It hurt more than any of the psychical pain combined to miss him. He would rather die right now than miss such a sweet soul. If Patton were here, he would have bandaged him up so gently he would have barely even felt it, while humming softly to distract Virgil from the fear and uncertainty burrowing deep in his stomach.

Tears fell down his face as his eyelids finally fluttered close, not being disturbed by a jarring malicious voice ready for revenge. He could finally sleep.

Though, how do you sleep peacefully knowing you’ll probably never get out of a nightmare?

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