#springcomp

[fanders-fic-awards]

Therapy (SFC Submission)

Summary: Virgil is encouraged by his therapist to write a letter to his abuser. 

Warnings: emotional abuse, sexual abuse, self deprecation, sexual assault mention, cursing

WC: 3115

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Dear Dylan,

I don’t really want to write this. This is something my therapist suggested. I guess all those years in college taught her something because I agreed to do it even though you’re never going to see it. Why write a letter if you’re not actually going to send it to the person? Seems dumb. It’s supposed to let me vent I guess.

I don’t really know where to start. There’s so much to talk about here. Do you remember the night when we were walking back to your house and you said the sunlight made my eyes look pretty? You said they looked like they had worlds inside of them. You said you’d never seen brown eyes so pretty.

You seemed like you loved me so much. But maybe you didn’t know how to love people. Did you love me? Did you think you did?

Did I love you?

I don’t know where I went wrong. I don’t know what I did wrong, did differently. Did you just get tired of me? Or maybe nothing could have been enough for you. You needed someone to manipulate, and I needed someone to boost my self esteem. My therapist would say it’s not my fault - but how could it not be? How could none of this be my fault?

I remember your dad. He never liked me.

I remember once when we were dating, really early, he went out to do something. I think there was something to do with coolers. You had your Linkin Park CD in and I was so nervous to be in the car with you and him because he seemed so angry. Angry people always make me nervous. He said the music was dumb and that he didn’t want to listen to it but he didn’t turn it off. He said you were an idiot and a fag several times and told me to just sit in the back seat. I remember just sitting here, biting my cheek, not knowing what to do. I went home and you called and we talked, but not about that. We didn’t talk about him.

The first time I was afraid of you was the day your mom called me crying. She was crying and there was screaming in the background and I felt sick. I tried to calm her down - this woman, this adult, who was terrified of her husband and her son - and listened to you punch the door.

She said, “He’s upset because he can’t see you.”

What do you say to that? What the hell was I supposed to say? I was fifteen, gay, and you were the first person to say “I love you”. Do you know how unfair that is? To have your boyfriend’s mother call you and cry because you’re that much of an asshole? I wasn’t equipped for that. My parents barely accepted the relationship but I loved being around you, I loved being near to you. And then there was this - this thing in the background, this looming presence of something else. I felt that something was wrong, I knew something was wrong, I knew in the back of my head that was wrong. But you weren’t hitting me, you were hitting the wall, so I stayed with you.

I should’ve left. But I didn’t.

I should’ve told you to fuck yourself.

But I didn’t.

When we started having sex, I felt like that was it. This is it. I had thought I would only have sex with one person in my life. It was awkward and messy, but it was us. You asked me so many times if I was sure. You were so gentle. You were so gentle and kind and safe and warm to be with. You held me so close. I’d never been held like that.

We went to the movies and I could still feel your arms around me, holding me. You bragged to all your friends that we’d had sex and I blushed and pretended I didn’t care that you had told everyone. After all, it’s not like you were going to ask me if I was okay with people knowing. You just - you just pointed at me and said “He got the D!” and I was just… mortified. But I liked the attention, so I let it go.

The only person I told about the sex was Logan, who simply nodded and said, “Yes, that sounds embarrassing.” He didn’t really have anything else to say’ he’s asexual. You would laugh at that, I think. The idea of someone not wanting sex? That would be ridiculous to you.

But hey. You were still treating me like gold so no complaints, right?

I let you do so many things around me, to me. I let it happen because I thought, “This is love. He loves me. He doesn’t mean anything by it.” I’d never been in love like this. I’d never let anyone be with me in this way, and I let it happen. I didn’t stand up for myself. Do you see why it’s also my fault? Do you see why I can’t just blame you?

You were everything. You were my best friend. You were my lover. You were the person I trusted. You said I was your world. You said you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me. You said that I was all you had.

On your birthday, you said it was going to be a guys’ night. By that you meant guys who weren’t me. Your friends, you said. I said I understood. I drew you a picture. You hung it on your closet door. When you called that night and complained that none of your friends came to hang out, I felt bad for you. I didn’t really know what to say. You said, “Sometimes it’s like you’re all I have.”

You didn’t have a good dad. Your mom sometimes screamed at your dad in front of me, but never at me. Your dad screamed at me.

Do you remember that time my mom couldn’t pick me up so your dad took me home? He refused to do it for several minutes. We all went out to the car and you held me. He got in the car and slammed the door.

He said, “This is fucking ridiculous.”

There was a moment of silence. I tensed up.

He said, “If the car crashes, he’s going to be the first to die. I’m swerving away from me first. He’s going to get killed sitting there.”

I bit my cheek.

You asked him to stop it. You said, “Dad, leave him alone.” You held me tighter and tighter. You were scared too.

He said, “He’s a goddamn fag, and you shouldn’t be dating him.”

I had never felt so terrified.

That went on for the next fifteen minutes with me barely daring to breathe. I bit my cheek so hard that when I switched to the other side, I noticed indents in it.

We stopped at my house and I finally released my clenched jaw around my cheek. I went inside and messed around with my family for a bit. I didn’t say, “Hey, my boyfriend’s dad just threatened to kill me if the car crashed.” I didn’t say, “Hey, my boyfriend’s dad calls me homophobic names.”

You called me that night. Your dad had hit you in the face. He’d never hit you before. I cried with you.

I remember this girl I used to hang out with. I went to her house once and we dyed our hair with her mom’s help. Her mom said I was rude because I was quiet, and when she tried to stand up for me her mom slapped her. Her mom then called my mom. I waited to be picked up in her room. She said, “You see all these things? These are things she buys me to say sorry. They don’t mean anything.”

I didn’t tell my mom that her mom had slapped her because I knew her dad was worse. I didn’t know what to do.

I didn’t tell my mom your dad had hit you because you had nowhere else to go that I knew of, no one else to go to.

You only had me. What could I do?

When we went to your house, we immediately went to your room and closed the door. The only alternative was to stay downstairs with your parents, who always seemed angry, and I hated being around them.

I don’t remember the first time it wasn’t my choice to do things with you. I remember that for a long time, it was both of our choices. I remember that you let me choose, you asked me, you made sure it was okay. But then it became pressuring. It became you pushing on my pants, rubbing me, kissing me and whispering, “Come on.”

Do you remember me telling you no? That time with your friends? They came in, unexpectedly, and closed your door while I was naked in your bed. You didn’t tell them to leave. You got up, bragged about the size of your penis as you got dressed, and told me to get dressed.

“Can you guys like… go to the bathroom or something?” I curled the blanket around myself.

“Come on, Virge, don’t be such a pansy.” You said, sitting down next to me.

I sat there with the blanket around me and you guys started talking as if I wasn’t sitting there naked, as if I wasn’t shaking. When you got bored, you turned to me - right in front of them - and started doing things to me with your mouth. I kept asking you to stop, but you wouldn’t stop, until I finally stood up and away from you and walked over to my clothes to put them back on.

I went to the bathroom and cried. I texted my friend Roman and asked him to come get me. When he arrived, you got angry that I was leaving, but I left anyway.

In the car Roman kept pressing me about what happened but I couldn’t stop crying long enough to tell him. When I finally stopped crying, I just stared out the window. We went up to the top of a cliff and he parked the car and looked sternly at me.

“Hey, Virge, please tell me why you’re crying?” He asked, letting the radio play.

“I’m not.” I whispered.

Roman turned the radio off and looked directly at me. “You’re not happy. I haven’t seen you happy in months. Why don’t you break up with him?”

I shook my head. “I love him.”

Roman sighed and shook his head. “He doesn’t love you.”

“He does.” I said. “He just doesn’t know how to show it. His dad is awful, so is his mom. He’s trying though. He really tries.”

Roman didn’t say anything to that. Instead he got out of the car and smoked a cigarette, taking long drags, looking out into the night.

He drove me home soon after that, giving me a look that seemed pained. Before I got out of the car, he told me, “You can tell me anything, if you want to.”

I didn’t know what to say. I cried myself to sleep.

You were supposed to love me. You were supposed to say, “Hey, my boyfriend would like some privacy so he can get dressed.” You were supposed to stand up for me. Not treat me like a sex toy in front of your friends, who hooting and hollering as you kissed me down there.

That was the day I learned that it didn’t matter if I said no.

You used to call me and tell me about your parents abusing you. You used to tell me if I left you’d kill yourself. You always said “I’d never hit you,” because you had to reassure me of that while I did my best not to cry. No one should have to be reassured in a relationship that the other person isn’t violent, but you had to reassure me.

Do you remember that time you were supposed to watch your little sister? You know, the one with autism? And I was wearing shorts and you kept bending me over the kitchen counter. You kept saying we should have sex, and I kept saying no because your little sister wasn’t just watching television- she was walking in, asking us questions. She wanted us to play with her. You kept reaching up my shirt and when she came in you would turn and yell at her, finally taking your hands off me. You bent me over the counter and you raped me, right there with your little sister in the next room, because you wanted to.

I feel like I’m going to throw up writing that. I hate using that word.

I hate the word “victim”. I am not a victim.

I feel like I should hate you. I should say, “I hate you so much.” But I don’t hate you. I hate me.

Why don’t I hate you?

Is it because I should’ve said something to my parents about how often you pressured me into sex, touched me, made me have sex I didn’t want to have? I wasn’t supposed to be gay or having sex. But I was doing both. Sometimes we’d lay there and I would curl up in your chest and listen to your heartbeat and feel safe for a moment. We would go for long walks and laugh together. You would read my poems and talk about how good they were, and you would write me songs that said you loved me. You called me your emo prince and kissed my cheeks and brushed my hair out of my eyes and said, “Virgil Sanders, you are the love of my life.”

I felt so special.

But then you would scream at me in public. You remember the concert we went to? You screamed that I was a dumbass. You made me cry so hard that I couldn’t breathe, and then you made me apologize to you for it. You yelled at me at the school dances we went to. You stood by your closet door and tore apart what I’d made you - poems and drawings - while I cried and begged you to stop.

And then there’s the sex, and everything gets muddled because how do you tell the difference between when you were too afraid to say no and when you wanted to say yes? How do I know the difference?

I’m with guys now and we start to have sex, and things go well, and then suddenly your voice is in my head and I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t do anything but panic. Do you know what that does to a person? Do you have any idea what it’s like to trust someone and then suddenly find yourself crying? I wanted this closeness. I wanted it this time, I wanted it done right this time. Instead I have nightmares. Instead I had you. You were my foundation of relationships. You were my first lover. You were also my abuser. You were also the person who… let’s say assault. It’s easier to say. The “r” word makes me feel sick.

I want so much to hate you. I should, right? That’s what they do in movies and books. They look at their abusers and say, “I hate you.” They burn their memories and confront their pasts. They yell at the perpetrator and tell them how awful they are.

I’m not like that. I freeze when I get scared. I self deprecate. I cry in the shower. I lose my mind. I try to trust people and find my anxiety so high I can’t speak when something goes wrong or I’m embarrassed in the slightest way. I feel so ashamed of myself for letting it happen. I didn’t tell anyone, I didn’t talk to anyone. Why? I was scared for you. I was scared that you would get in trouble. I was so afraid to lose you that I would let anything happen, I would let you do anything to me.

That's fucked up.

And now it’s my word against yours, so what do you do?

I don’t want to carry this anymore. I want to hate you, I want to be angry at you. Sometimes I am angry, but more often than not I just feel… stupid. I’m angry at me for just taking it, for just letting you walk all over me, for not saying anything, for letting myself get… violated.

That’s not how it’s supposed to work, is it?

My therapist says the guilt I feel is normal. I don’t know.

Sometimes I read about other people being abused or watch TV shows about it on purpose because I want to trigger those emotions. I want to not be separated from what you did to me. I feel like that person was someone else and I’m living somewhere else in my head. I don’t feel things strongly most of the time, I don’t feel… anything. Until I start watching things like that, and then I feel you there with me.

How can one person impact another so heavily?

I want to be done with it. I want to sleep and have good dreams without the television on. I want to get tired without drinking. I want to stop having panic attacks and most of all I want to stop feeling anxious about you.

Sometimes I don’t want to wake up any more.

I told Patton all of this the other day and he couldn’t stop crying. Can you imagine that? You hurt me so badly that one of my friends who never met you cried with rage because of what you did. I had to calm him down. I had to talk him out of hunting you down. Do you know how big of a heart Patton has? Do you know how much you hurt him?

You hurt everyone in my life because they don’t want to see me hurt. Unlike you, they care about other people.

I’m going to move on from this. I don’t know how. I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing. But I’m tired of it. I’m tired of being so anxious. I’m tired of being unhappy. I’m tired of you being in my head.

I’m just tired.

I don’t know how to lose this out, but…

Fuck off.

Regards,

Virgil

by @thelogicalloganipus

#fandersficawards #springcomp #ent

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[fanders-fic-awards]

Neuro Logical (SFC Submission)

Summary: Logan notices the ways he is different from the other sides and decides to figure out why. He struggles to deal with the aftermath.A/N: The specific website from the fic is not fictional. The web pages that are referenced can actually be found on the Autistic Self Advocacy Network website (and I do not own any of that material!)

Warnings: internalized ableism, sensory overload, dissociation

WC: 5000

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It started one night when Logan was conducting research for one of Thomas's videos. He was having trouble concentrating, his mind replaying a snide comment he'd received from Roman earlier that day. "You're like a robot whose programming was never finished. They forgot to add the feeling function." Logan had replied, as usual, that he was logic and not an emotion. But rather than letting it go, as he usually would, it stuck in his brain, coming around again and again to torment him.

Why did this particular comment bother him so much? It was hardly the first time Roman had poked fun at his stoic nature. He wasn't ashamed of his lack of emotions. After all, his function, the purpose of his existence, necessitated neutrality. Was it because of the situation that incited Roman's remark? Logan intention had not been to cause Patton distress, but that was the result. Virgil elected not to contribute to Roman’s commentary, but he had glared at Logan. Clearly, Logan had made a mistake, but he couldn't understand why his actions were reprehensible. And Roman's words suggested that the reason Logan didn't understand was because of his lack of emotion.

Logan watched the computer screen, the rhythmic blinking of the cursor in the search bar. He had always found this calming, that steady beat ready to receive an inquiry, the beat of knowledge yet to be collected. Yet, in a word processor, this blinking inspired in him anticipation. There were millions of possibilities for what could be created with that little blinking line, and each sentence, each word, each character brought the document closer and closer to clarification. It was thrilling.

For his current inquiry, he found it strangely difficult to choose words. Perhaps because this was a personal search, and any results could potentially reflect back on him? He pushed past this illogical insecurity, and decided to type in a more articulate version of Roman’s observation about him.

"Lack of emotional empathy" returned results about emotional disorders, from depression to bipolar. Logan dismissed these suggestions immediately. He was not a whole person with his own brain; therefore, he was incapable of having a disorder that did not affect Thomas. He decided to try a variation of his search. “Lack of emotional response" prompted mostly links to sites about flat affect. Once again, this seemed ridiculous to him, and he cleared the search bar. Perhaps he was going about this the wrong way. He was basing his search on Roman's observations of his behavior. What if he taylored his search to his own perspective? Patton's anguish flashed in his mind, along with Logan's own guilt for causing this reaction and simultaneous confusion about the reason behind it. He typed, "difficulty understanding social interaction."

On the first page of results was a page from an autism advocacy website. Once again, Logan was ready to dismiss this as a possibility since Thomas did not have Autism Spectrum Disorder. However, two things about the preview of the page caught his attention. The first was that the phrase the search engine had identified from the website was almost identical to the one he had typed. The second was that the top of the preview described autism as a neurological variation, rather than a disorder or a disability. This was enough to pique his curiosity, and he clicked on the link.

The page was an overview of autism and brief explanations of characteristics exhibited by autistic individuals. And Logan tried, he really tried not to relate the list to his own experiences, he tried not to see himself reflected in it. But he couldn't deny the similarities. And he decided to dig just a little bit deeper. He clicked on link after link, educating himself on termanology, advocacy debates, and common autistic traits. But what ultimately swayed him was an article on the original website he found arguing the semantics of how to refer to autistic individuals. The article itself was a fascinating review of the conflicting arguments about nuanced semantics and their significance, but what was significant to Logan was that it reshaped the way he understood autism itself. Specifically, the paragraph which described it as "an edifying and meaningful component of a person's identity [that] defines the ways in which an individual experiences and understands the world." That meant that autism wasn't just a pathology; it was part of a person's identity.

Logan sat back in his chair, contemplating everything he had read. His immediate reaction was still to deny that he could be autistic, as Thomas was not. But the idea of autism as an identity caused him to rethink this argument. Sure, Logan as an aspect of Thomas could not be individually diagnosed with autism. However, since the sides existed both as functions of Thomas and as characters, that didn't mean that it was impossible for the character of Logan, specifically his actions and the way he experienced the world, to be described as autistic. Afterall, many autistic traits overlapped with the archetype of the socially inept genius, which was how Thomas had characterized Logan. Furthermore, it would hardly be the first time that any of the sides, as characters, diverged from Thomas's identity. Somehow, Patton was a dad, Roman knew Spanish, and Virgil had a distinctly separate music taste, yet they all continued function as aspects of Thomas.

The more that Logan's mind considered this possibility, the less he could deny its viability. Logan made a mental list of dozens of questions to further research, but the most prevalent was this: how would he tell the others?

Experiment: To determine to what extent the subject (Logan (Logic) Sanders) is autistic

Procedure: Create a list of autistic traits, observe behaviors of the subject, and determine compatibility with self-diagnosis

Data: Special interests (desire to research facts on specific topics) - confirmed Info-dumping (regurgitation of facts, sometimes uncontrollably) - confirmed Lack of empathy/emotion - confirmed Limited understanding of social conventions - confirmed Hyperfocus - confirmed Easily overwhelmed - variable Lack of OR excessive eye contact - variable Reliance on routine - variable

Speaking in monotone - disregarded (opposite behavior observed) Limited ability to follow directions - disregarded (opposite behavior observed) Inhibited ability to communicate with others - disregarded (plethora of evidence to the contrary) Over OR under sensitivity to physical stimuli - disregarded (no physical body)

Self-stimulation/stimming (repetitive motions or verbalizations) as coping mechanism - TBD Experiencing meltdowns/shutdowns - TBD Experiencing burnout - TBD

Conclusion: Many behaviors exhibited by the subject align with autistic traits. These behaviors are also expressed at a more significant rate than non-autistic behaviors. Self-diagnosis is likely.

Further research: How much stress can the subject handle before reaching burnout, meltdown, and/or shutdown? Is self-stimulation (stimming) an effective coping mechanism for the subject? What implications does this have for Thomas and the other sides? How do I tell them?

No matter how much research Logan had conducted, there was still a lingering doubt that left him unable to definitively connect an autistic identity to himself. No, it had taken an observation-based research experiment on himself to convince Logan of the reality of this conclusion. Now, it was no longer doubt but denial that gripped Logan, as well as an uncertainty about how to proceed. Of the questions that he had posed to research further, all required more observational data, with the exception of the final one that Logan barely dared to consider.

What could be the outcome, were he to confront the others? His best prediction, given their familiarity with autism (or rather, lack thereof), was that their first impulse would be to discuss how to ‘fix’ him. Logan had read plenty of accounts of well-meaning but prejudiced relatives proposing solutions that caused autistic individuals unnecessary distress. Even if there was a cure for autism (and Logan had encountered plenty of evidence to the contrary), so many of the traits that characterized Logan’s autism were parts of himself that he considered vital to his identity. He didn’t want to be ‘fixed;’ the very concept would cause him to become a shadow of himself.

The sides had learned long ago that trying to keep secrets in the mindscape was futile, yet Logan didn’t see any other option. How could any of the side - or Thomas, for that matter - benefit from learning what he had discovered? No, the logical decision was to keep this to himself. Logan told himself that logic was his sole motivation, and that fear played no role in it. Not the fear that they would think less of him, or pity him, or cease to value his contributions. Of course fear played no role - it would be illogical to base decisions on fear.

So there it was then. He couldn’t face the others with this, not when he could barely face  it himself. Besides, he needed time to understand exactly how his autism manifested and whether he needed accommodations. He knew he would have to tell the others, eventually. But not now. For now, he would wait, and acquire more data. 

Over the next several weeks, not much changed. For everyone else. But Logan fell into a new kind of normal, one characterized by silent epiphanies and hidden shame.

There was the time Patton made an off-hand comment about space. Logan's mind lit up. A hundred facts about their solar system popped into his head, and he was ready to share them all. He could feel the words building in his chest, forming in his throat. But a detached part of his mind recognized this as 'info-dumping,' that it was an autistic behavior, and that the others wouldn't be as interested in what he had to say as he was in saying it. So he swallowed the facts and figures, saving the others from his vocal avalanche, saving himself from their glazed expressions and bored stares. Now that he understood what was happening, it was easier to stop himself. But to do so made his chest tight. There was the time Logan, in a bout of exposition, waved his hand, a meaningless gesture to accent his point. Without thinking, he waved it again. And again. Before he could wave it a fourth time, he realized what he was doing, clenched his fist, and consciously lowered his hand to his side. He didn't need to stim, didn't need that repetitive, comforting motion. The pit in his stomach was lying to him, he was fine.

There was the time Roman looked him directly in the eye during an argument. Logan noticed that his first instinct was to avert his gaze. Instead, he maintained the prince's eye contact, despite the fact that Roman's voice seemed to disappear, despite the fact that his own thought processes came to a sputtering halt. He was determined to stand his ground. He refused to let it win. Whether 'it' was Roman or the autism, he couldn't say.

There was the time that he caught himself rocking gently back and forth when he was sitting at his desk. No one was around to catch him, but he forced himself to still, ignoring the ache of suppressing his muscles.

Logan postulated that he could be shaping his own reality. The more aware he became of his autistic tendencies, the more prevalent they became, and the more he felt like he needed the coping mechanisms he had learned, the ones he refused to indulge. But he still endeavored to fight himself and hide all this effort from the others.

And he had succeeded - with Roman, who was oblivious under the best circumstances. But Logan didn't notice Patton's worried glances. He didn't notice Virgil tense around him and start avoiding him altogether. Even Thomas could see that Logan was unusually reserved. But none of them commented on the changes they witnessed, which gave Logan the impression that he was achieving his goal.

Logan had created an unsteady balance, and despite the toll it was taking on him, the chronic exhaustion settling into his form, he was certain that he could keep this up as long as necessary.

Until Thomas approached him with a project.

"I have an idea for my next video, but it's going to require a lot of research, and I need you to write all the arguments. You think you can handle that?"

No, Logan thought. He most certainly could not handle that in addition to keeping up the facade he was struggling to maintain. But he had no intention of explaining this to Thomas, so he agreed.

Alongside Thomas, Logan spent long sessions in front of the computer, gathering and organizing evidence. Logan's body and mind screamed at him to make Thomas take a break, but he ignored them. He would have been able to handle this work load before he learned about his autism, so why should it be any different now? They worked through meals and late into the night. Logan pushed through the ache in his tense shoulders and the cramps in his legs. And when he was alone, he was fine.

He paid the price of overworking himself when he was around the others. Virgil would ask him a question and his mind would go blank, as if refusing to process the information and form a response, leaving him no choice but to shrug and retreat to his room. He took Roman’s metaphors literally, only to feel embarrassed when the others corrected him. Patton made the mistake of hugging Logan without warning, and Logan's skin started screaming at him. He violently recoiled, and one look at the pain and confusion on Patton's face was enough to send Logan back to his room.

But nothing could prepare him for actually filming the video that he had worked so hard to prepare for.

The night before was a waking nightmare. With the approaching deadline and a half-formed script, Thomas refused to let himself rest. He pushed himself and Logan well beyond the point he knew was healthy. As the words started blurring on the screen, Logan rubbed his eyes and briefly considered telling Thomas that this was too much for him to handle. But he knew Thomas would want an explanation, and he imagined confessing to Thomas the thing he had kept hidden for so long. His eyes shot open and he forced himself to focus.

As morning light started creeping through the windows, Thomas finally put the finishing touches on the script, and relief flooded Logan. Thomas collapsed on his bed and managed several hours of sleep, but Logan's mind was working too fast to shut off. It jumped between topics seemingly at random, refusing to follow a single train of thought to its natural conclusion. This caused Logan distress, and he couldn't relax his body enough to gain unconsciousness himself. By the time Thomas woke up to the text saying that Joan and Talyn were on their way, Logan had gone without sleep or rest for about twenty-four hours, which was compounded by the exhaustion he was already experiencing from trying to keep a secret from the other sides.

Logan was spacey as they set up for the video. He thought he had a little bit of time to himself because they had to film Thomas, Patton, and Roman before they got to his part. He tried to take it easy. But Joan kept coming to Logan to clarify the unintelligible parts of the script, and Thomas needed his input on the lines, too. Logan tried to answer, but it felt like thinking through honey. The normally clear and concise thought processes were fuzzy and scattered. He was relieved when they moved from Thomas to Patton. Patton's lines were more improvised puns than logical arguments, so they would leave Logan alone for a bit.

Logan grabbed a copy of the script, but as he tried to review his lines, the printed words started swimming on the page. Letters switched places, and whole sentences became a jumbled mess. Great, Logan thought. So he was dyslexic now, too? Wonderful. He sighed, threw the script to the side, and closed his eyes.

The next thing he knew, Thomas was shaking him awake. The gentle contact sent pain shooting through Logan's arm, and he yanked away from Thomas's touch. He was informed that they had finished filming Roman, and it was now his turn. Logan blinked as his mind tried to put the spoken words in order and assign meaning to them, having to decipher them one at a time. It took several seconds, but the comprehension finally settled in. He nodded and took his place by the stairs.

He once again reviewed his first few lines from the script as Thomas and Joan set up the camera. Luckily, the bit of sleep he'd managed to obtain took some of the fuzziness out of his thoughts, and the words were staying in place now. But he still felt an overwhelming exhaustion all the way to his core.

Just this video, he thought. He just had to push through this video, and then he could rest.

However, Thomas chose that moment to turn on the lights and position them on Logan's face.

Sensory overload was an experience that Logan had read about but couldn't imagine experiencing himself. Afterall, he had no physical body, so he wasn't able to perceive physical sensations to such an intense degree. At least, that was his theory. It was disproven as soon as Logan tried to function with those lights in his eyes.

Logically, he knew that they were necessary. Lighting was essential for video quality. They used the lights for all of Thomas's videos, on all of Thomas's sides, including Logan. But with his current state of stress, having the light in his face was like looking directly into the sun.

And that was the breaking point.

He was aware of every sensation on his skin: The glasses on his face, the constraint of his tie, the scratch of the tag in his shirt, the belt on his hips, the restriction of his shoes. He could hear each sound distinctly: The refrigerator in the kitchen, Talyn's shoes as they walked, Joan and Thomas's voices. And he handled all these sensations about as well as nails on a chalkboard. All the while, beams of light shot directly through his eyes and into his brain.

And just as quickly as it had begun, it stopped.

Everything. Stopped.

Nothing around him had changed, but everything was suddenly distant. The sounds were muffled. He couldn't focus his vision. There was a dark numbness settling over his entire body, like he was detached from it, like it was separate from him. But there was no relief in the sudden purge of sensation. He felt like he was trapped in his own brain, aware of everything that was happening but unable to participate in it. He had considered himself emotionless before, but he had never experienced true absence of emotion until this moment, and had he been able to feel, he would have been terrified. His body wouldn't even grace him with unconsciousness. He was there, but he wasn't.

A single word flashed in his mind: shutdown.

He could see the others talking to him, trying to get his attention, to get a reaction from him, but all he could do was watch, helpless. He screamed silently at them to turn the damn light off, to get him to a quiet place, and then to leave him so he could rock back and forth and flap his hands without an audience.

Thankfully, Talyn seemed to have at least some understanding of what was happening. Their voice cut through the fog.

"Logan, I'm going to turn the light off," they informed him in a calm, steady voice.

Good. For the love of Edison, make it happen.

The light disappeared, and Logan regained some awareness of his body. He took a deep breath, but engaging his diaphragm only caused him to start hyperventilating.

"Logan, I'm going to grab your arm and lead you over to the couch."

No, please don't.

Their delicate touch was painful, but at least Logan was prepared for it. As they pulled, his legs responded to keep him upright, and after a few paces, they gently nudged him backward. He was sitting down, the couch cushion pressing into his legs. It was unpleasant but grounding. His breathing slowed.

"Logan, I'm going to take your tie and your glasses off. Stay with me."

Logan's pride took a hit, but he felt the tiniest degree of relief with the restricting accessories stripped away.

"It's not enough. Joan, turn off the lights."

As the apartment went dark around him, the only light coming from the setting sun peaking through the cracks in the blinds, Logan blinked rapidly. He returned to himself.

He gasped, started breathing deeply as the oppressive numbness started to fade from his body and his mind. As the world came back into focus, he slowly clenched and unclenched his fists, just to feel attached to his body again. His eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness, and he made out six forms: three humans, and three sides.

"Logan?" Patton breathed.

But Talyn was still in control of the situation. "It's okay, Logan, just take deep breaths."

Logan was grateful for the dark as he felt warmth rushing to his cheeks. He was supremely embarrassed by his - episode. He didn't want to face anyone right now. He started to sink down.

"Logan!" Several voices called as they realized what was happening.

"Wait, let him go," Talyn said.

Logan barely registered his room as he collapsed on the bed, finally embraced by a deep and meaningful slumber.

Logan came back to the world slowly. The memories of the previous day were right there to greet him into consciousness. He groaned. So much for keeping a secret. He had completely self destructed right in front of everyone. He silently thanked any higher power that may exist that Talyn had been able to help him out of his shutdown.

He felt a familiar tug in his chest. He was being summoned. Not actively; no one would force him to rise against his will. But there was definitely a persistent pressure, as if one of them was saying, when you're ready, we need to talk. Logan got up, changed, and let himself be pulled into the physical world. He appeared in his familiar space by the stairs. Thomas and the sides were on the couch. Logan crossed his arms and looked down at the ground.

"Logan!" Patton yelled. Logan was pleasantly surprised that noises and lights were no longer as harsh as they had been earlier.

"Patton, no!" Virgil said.

Logan looked up to see that Patton was already halfway to him, arms outstretched. “Right. Talyn said no touching.” His face fell with his arms as he turned back to the couch, visibly deflated. A pang of guilt filled Logan's chest. It seemed he could do nothing but hurt Patton, lately.

"I suppose you're hoping for an explanation," Logan began.

"Wow, give the nerd a medal. Takes real brains to figure that one out."

"Roman," Thomas scolded. "Look, you don't have to justify your panic attack. I could tell I was overworking you, but I pushed you anyway. I'm sorry, Logan." Logan's guilt expanded. Here he was, keeping secrets and lying, and Thomas was apologizing to him? And despite how awful he felt about it, he was still inclined to continue. After all, it was only logical-

He stopped his train of thought at that word. Logical. He'd been using it to justify his actions for weeks. But was lying really the logical course of action? Wouldn't it be more logical to admit that the reason he wanted to lie was because he was afraid of the truth? Afraid of how the sides would react. Afraid of how everything would change. Afraid of his own need for assistance, his own otherness. It was never logical to act out of fear. But the solution was not to deny that the fear existed. The logical course of action was to be honest, to face the truth and take responsibility for it.

"I appreciate your apology, Thomas, but I should be the one to apologize." He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them, facing the others with open vulnerability. "What you witnessed was not a panic attack. It was a shutdown."

He registered their confusion at the unfamiliar word. He wanted nothing more than to correct it. He could feel the words building in his chest, ready to spill out. To info-dump. His chest tightened at his impulse to hold them back. But instead, for the first time in so long, he released them.

"I've been lying to you. Several weeks ago, I started researching the possibility that I might be autistic, and I've come to the conclusion that this is indeed the case. I've taken extensive notes, and if you need proof I can show them to you. What happened earlier, what you witnessed, is known as a shutdown. It happens when an autistic person reaches the limit of the amount of stress they can endure. Just as the term suggests, their body shuts down. My body shut down, becoming unresponsive to external stimuli, as you observed. Talyn responded as if I was having a panic attack, and even though the problem was misdiagnosed, it did help to ground me and bring me out of it. I apologize for letting it get to that point, and for not informing you earlier that I needed a break."

The others sat in silence, absorbing the information that Logan had presented. The longer the silence drew out, the more nervous Logan became. "I'm sure you have questions. I'd be happy to answer them." In fact, he wanted nothing more than to work through this as a group.

Roman was the first to respond. "Just because you're a nerd who needs flash cards for slang words doesn't mean you're disabled. Why do you think you have autism?"

"Roman," Thomas scolded again.

"Semantically, it's preferable to use the adjective 'autistic.’ The phrase 'has autism' implies that the autism is separate from the person, which is not the case. Autism is not a disease. It's a neurological variation that affects a person's entire identity. I do not 'have autism,' I am 'autistic.' But to answer your question, my behavior and personality reflect traits that are common in autistic individuals. And I have observed that autistic coping mechanisms are effective for me."

"Do you think - I mean, should I get tested for autism?" Thomas asked.

"To the best of my knowledge, these traits are unique to me as a character and do not affect your functioning." Thomas nodded, and Logan notice him relax.

"Is that why you've been so distant lately?" Patton asked timidly.

"Yes. I seem to have an increased sensitivity to touch, brightness, and sound, which is exasperated when I am tired or stressed. Whether this has recently developed as a result of my awareness, or is a response that has always existed in me that I am just now becoming aware of, I cannot say. Either way, it's best to ask my permission before engaging in physical contact of any kind." Patton smiled sadly and nodded.

"Why didn't you tell us before?" Virgil asked.

Logan sighed. "I fooled myself into believing that hiding it was the best course of action for everyone. I did not anticipate how strenuous it would be to act neurotypical - which is a term used to describe non-autistic individuals. And - I was scared. Of how you all would react. I didn't want anything to change." Logan recalled the last few weeks, how difficult it was for him to keep up the act. He let himself imagine how much easier it could have been if he had been honest from the start, and he was overcome with the desire to live that reality, to be able to freely express the parts of himself he was ashamed of. "But, in the spirit of full honesty," his voice was shaking, but he pressed on, "I need things to change. I cannot keep going at this pace without actively engaging in autistic coping mechanisms." Despair at this confession made his throat tight and he choked back tears. "I'm trying all the time, but it's just too hard." He chest heaved as he breathed in, and a single tear slipped down his cheek.

"Logan," Patton asked gently. "Can I hug you?"

Logan nodded as he started to sob.

Patton approached Logan like he was a timid animal that might dart away if he moved too fast (which wasn't out of the question). With exaggerated tenderness, Patton wrapped his arms around Logan and pulled him into his chest. Logan removed his glasses and let himself cry into Patton's shoulder. For the first time in a long time, the touch felt pleasant, and he didn't want to let go. After several minutes, Logan calmed down enough to pull away from Patton, wiping his eyes. "I apologize for my emotional outburst."

"You don't have to do that, Logan." Thomas said. "You're allowed to feel things."

"I prefer not to," Logan admitted.

"Honestly," Thomas began, "I don't know much about autism or what you need, but I want to learn, if you're willing to teach me. I don't want you to suffer, and I definitely don't want any of us to be the cause of your suffering." Thomas sighed. "I know what it's like to feel like you have to hide who you are, and I'm sorry we made you feel that way in your own home. Going forward, just focus on being yourself, let us know what you need, and we'll catch up. Deal?"

Logan surveyed each of the identical faces. They all reflected agreement with Thomas. He nodded in response to Thomas's sentiment. Logan had a lot to work through. But he felt stronger knowing he had the support of his family.

by @sandersspins

#fandersficawards #springcomp #ent

[fanders-fic-awards]

Spring Fic Competition Ballot

Here were all the submissions! Thank you to everyone who submitted <3 

Some guidelines for voting: 

1) The prompt was Angst + one or more of the following prompts: “I hate you.” “I’m trying all the time but it’s just too hard.” “I didn’t know, you have to believe me.”

2) Don’t vote based on who wrote it/what author you recognize, vote for the content that you think deserves to win in each category.

3) The ballot collects email addresses. This is not for any other reason than to bar double voting. I’m not saving your addresses, sharing them, or doing anything other than ensuring that everyone only votes once.

BALLOT closes 04/29

And without further ado, the submissions!

Alone

Creative Disfunction

Damage

Denial

Fatal Fruit

Goodnight

I Wish I Could

If Only I Knew

I’ll Keep Trying

Logixiety

Neuro Logical

Nothing is Easy Alone

Observations

Patmalian

The Incident

The Road Trip

Therapy

Two Simple Sentences

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #thatsthat24 #fandersficawards #springcomp #bal

[fanders-fic-awards]

Damage (SFC Submission)

Summary: Who knew overhearing something could do so much damage

Warnings: No trigger warnings

WC: 1261

Vote

The door closing behind him almost echoed through the bath room, as he pushed it closed and slid down onto the cold floor. Tears were streaming down Virgils face as he tried to keep his breathing from becoming too short, less he start to hyperventilate. None of it was really helping, he could feel the panic starting to seep in, and could see the darkness that he had tried so hard to keep at bay, starting to creep into his line of sight.

He tried to clear his head again, but each and every time, the words kept coming back, blaring like a siren song, made to bring him to his demise.

“I hate you so much.”

Even when he was just anxiety, those words were never spoken, not even by Roman who by far liked him the least. Not by Logan, who never really saw much of a point to him, but knew he was valuable to Thomas’ safety. Even Deceit, who should have every right to hate him when he left the ‘dark side’, never used such strong words. And especially not Patton, who always had a smile and a greeting for him, maybe even a pun or three.

Maybe that’s why it hurt so bad.

Because it was Patton.

Virgil knew when it happened, that he hadn’t been meant to hear the venomous words, but that’s exactly what went down. He had been in the kitchen with Roman, both just happening to be in the same place at the same time for a snack. The two had started out with their normal friendly conversations, which turned a little sour, since Virgil was feeling extra off thanks. No matter how hard Roman tried to cheer him up, it just made him feel more off, more distorted, which he could tell was taking its own toll on the creative side. It was only when he saw Roman holding back tears, that he gave up his endeavors and left the room, trying to ignore the soft sob he heard. On his way out he passed Patton who sighed when he saw the state that Roman was in.

He had just made it to the stairs when he heard those five words coming from the heart, making him inhale sharply. At that point his heart was pounding in his ears as he ran up the stairs, ignoring the calling of his name.

A series of sharp knocks on door startled him, but also made him curl more into himself, trying even harder to keep his breathing.

“Virgil? Virgil, please let me in.” Pattons voice cracked on his name, the wet distortion of tears coating the rest of the words.

“No.” Even just the small two letter word sounded scratched and broken.

“Please, please let me talk to you, I need to talk to you.” A sob followed to words, which made Virgils chest clench.

“Why would you talk to someone you hate?” Virgils voice was dipping even deeper, he could feel the dark side trying to pull him back.

“I don’t, I don’t hate you. I could never hate you, please Virge.”

Virgil shook his head as he heard Patton drop to his knees, a small thump on the door, meaning Patton was leaning his head against it.

“You have no right to call me that.”

Another sob broke through from Pattons lips, his nails scratching at the wood of the door as he cried, each one feeling like a knife in Virgils throat.

“Please, please.”

“I was right there, Patton,” There was another choked sob at the use of his full name, not a nickname. “I heard you say you hate me, you hate me so much.”

“I didn’t know, you have to believe me! I didn’t know you didn’t sink out.”

“But you still said it.” The crackle of distortion on his voice was starting to reach a new level, the reality of the bathroom starting to shift.

“I didn’t mean it, I didn’t.”

“Don’t you lie to me.” Virgil cut him off, reality shaking and growing dimmer by the minute, causing him to press his hands over his ears. “Don’t you dare lie to me.”

“Virgil.” Pattons voice was just a whisper, trailing off and falling into the crackles surrounding Virgil, as he could feel himself falling through the projection of the bathroom.

The air whipping around him felt ice cold as he hit the hard ground below him, curling into a ball on his side. He didn’t want to look, he didn’t want to see the hellscape he knew he would see if he opened his eyes. This place he knew well, even better than the light worlds of the mind palace and the rooms of the others he had been able to visit so often.

Here was cold and empty, full of just shadows that stalked you, reaching out when your back was turned and clawing you. One could walk for mile and still be in the same place, trying to find the light but it would never come, never bring you to the warmth. It took effort and want to get out of this hell, and he had done it before, because Thomas needed him, but this time it was different. He knew it was different.

He wasn’t wanted, maybe he never had been, it had all just been a great lie told by the heart, because Thomas cares so much. Patton had been there with warm smiles, but how long had he really hated him, and just been tolerating him because he was something Thomas needed. But what if Thomas didn’t, if it was all a lie, after all no one had actually called him, he just wanted out and did what it took to get out. Maybe it was all just because he was there, not wanted, just something that had to be dealt with since it was hard putting a dark side back.

A hiss nearby startled Virgil out of his thoughts, finally making his eyes pop open in time to see the shadows start to manifest.

“Well well well. Look who’s back in town.” One of them cackled, a cold shiver running down Virgils back.

“We told you,” Another one joined, grabbing one of Virgils wrists, stopping him from trying to block the sounds. “We told you that you didn’t belong in the light, that you were just one of us.”

“No.” Virgil gasped, but he could feel the color draining from him, his clothes losing their bright purple accents.

“Now now, you shouldn’t lie, that’s not your job.”

Another shot of cold ran up his back, and he could nearly feel the blood coming from the wound he knew would be there.

“Even Deceit managed to keep himself up there. But I guess what they say is true, the bigger the pedestal, the harder the fall.”

The shadows laughed as there was a distant echo around them, calls from the light side, calling the name Virgil.

“Oh, now isn’t that going to be so sad,” A shadow mocked, making a tear fall down Virgils face. “They’re looking for you, but they won’t find Virgil anymore, will they?”

Virgil shook his head, stomach dropping when he felt the pull of being summoned, closing his eyes he could feel himself getting pulled back to the light side. When he opened his eyes again he was standing in the mind palace, three shocked faces looking at him, one still with tears on his red face.

“Virgil?” Logan said, his voice shaking.

“The name’s Anxiety.”

by @crankywhenprovoked

#fandersficawards #springcomp #ent

[fanders-fic-awards]

The Road Trip (SFC Submission)

Summary: A group of four friends travel across the country to see the Grand Canyon

Warnings: A car accident, self-deprecating speech, death mentions

WC: 3185

Vote

The old Honda Civic quietly drove down the rural highway, making its way through rural America. At the wheel sat Virgil, his hands carefully gripped in the correct position, his breathing focused and calm, his eyes attentive to the road ahead, despite no one else around. Next to him, in the passenger seat, sat the bookish Logan, his eyes darting between road maps, guidebooks, and hand-scribbled calculations, determined to pack as much fun and enjoyment into the road trip as he could. The back seats were occupied by Roman, a princely sports type who was enjoying the late morning sun as he daydreamed into another dimension, and Patton, the dad-friend who was more than content playing 'I Spy' by himself.

" I think I have it this time," announced Logan, finally tearing himself away from the papers.

"Well don't keep me in suspense, Specs," replied Virgil, teasing him with a nickname only they could get away with. "What do you have this time?"

Pushing his glasses up his nose, a sign he was about to go full nerd mode, he began "Taking into account Patton's habit of running off, and Roman's partially weak bladder-"

"Hey!" cried Roman from the back. "It is not weak, it's just..."

"Pissy?" offered Virgil.

"Shut it, Joke Colburn."

"Driving Miss Daisy reference? Good job."

"Thanks, I've been thinking of that one for a month now."

"Delicate?" asked Patton.

"Pardon, my young friend?"

"Would you describe your bladder as 'delicate?"

"Not entirely. More-"

"Temperamental."

"Yes, Logan. Temperamental."

"Back on track, because of those things mentioned, if we allow 7 minutes at the following rest stops, we should still be able to hit every tourist point along the way, collecting the necessary souvenirs and photographs, and still make it to the Grand Canyon at a reasonable time."

"Alright," agreed Virgil. "And when is the next rest stop?"

"In 26.7 miles."

"But the sign up ahead says half a mile?"

"We can't stop at that one. We have a schedule that i literally just finished creating."

"Well, I just finished 'creating' something of my own, and I need to use a bathroom."

"Is it a poem?" asked Patton.

"You are just to adorable for words, you know that right?"

"I get that a lot."

"We can't stop, Virgil. I just made a schedule. It took me 17 minutes to do so."

"And think of all the fun you're going to have creating a new one," Virgil said, pulling in to the rest stop.

"Just because you're correct doesn't make you right, you know?"

The stop did not take as long as Logan had predicted, mostly due to his mission to follow Patton around everywhere he wandered whilst Virgil gathered supplies and used the facilities. Soon enough, they were ready to get back on the road again.

"Are you sure you don't want someone else to drive, Virge?" asked Logan.

"I'm good. I think I need to do this myself... to help, ya know?"

"Understandable. Please let us know if you want to swap."

"Oooo, I call shotgun this time!" cried Patton, running full force at the car.

"Wha-Shotgun?!" Roman retorted dramatically.

"I believe it is," Logan began, rifling through his little black notebook of idioms, "'the act of reserving the front seat of a car. An action that can only be taken when the vehicle is in sight.'"

"I know what it means, I just thought that I could possibly sit up front this time."

"Maybe next time, Knight Watch," chuckled Virgil. "C'mon, we better get a move on before Logan blows a fuse."

With that, they all piled into the car and pulled back on to the road.

The sun rose high into the sky as the group continued across the country, commenting and making jokes about the places and monuments they passed along the way. Even Virgil was cracking half a smile as they drove, his anxiety slowly fading into the back of his mind. It wasn't until around two in the afternoon that Patton finally cried out in delight "WAFFLES!!"

"What?!" yelled Logan, jolted from a nap he was enjoying in the warm sunlight.

"Waffles! Dead ahead! They have a Waffle Hut out here!"

He pointed to the large brown and yellow building approaching them, with a large sign outside reading "Waffle Hut, Come get some Breakfast 24/7"

"Well, I am famished at this point," admitted Roman, stretching his neck. "The snacks are delicious but nothing quite fills you like a good hearty meal."

"What do you decree, oh Lord of the Time Schedule?" Virgil jested.

"I guess... It would be a good opportunity to stretch the legs, as well as eat a proper meal."

"Yaaaay~!" squealed Patton, who was bouncing up and down in his seat.

"Hey, Patton. What did the Pancake say to the Waffle?" asked Virgil, pulling into the parking lot.

"Ooo, this sounds like a good one. What?"

"Nice abs."

"Oh my god... That was so adorable, I love it kiddo!"

"Knew you would."

Parking the car, they made their way inside, choosing a booth by the window and made their orders. Virgil went to use the bathroom, feeling the need to clean himself up a little. He looked at himself in the mirror after splashing his face with water. The bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep, the mess he called a hairstyle, not to mention the small, almost invisible scars, littering his face where the auto glass had sprayed him. He felt his heart begin to race, his palms becoming clammy, and his chest tightened.

"In... Hold... Out," he whispered to himself, trying to breathe that all too familiar pattern.

"Are you doing okay?" asked Logan, who was now standing behind him. Virgil didn't even hear him come in he was so distracted.

"Yeah... I guess..." he sighed. "Just another attack, nothing to fear."

"You're doing fine. Are you remembering to breathe?"

"Until I need to die," he said with a dry chuckle.

"Come on, the food is ready."

They walked out of the bathroom, joining their friends at the booth. In front of each of them sat their respective meals. Patton had a plate of waffles drenched in three kinds of syrup ,and a coffee mug filled with what was most likely orange juice. Roman was enjoying a couple of Sunny Side-up eggs with bacon, hash browns, and a waffle, in between sips of his Very Berry smoothie. Logan chose to eat a simple fruit salad, with an added waffle at Patton's insistence, and carefully sipped his green tea whilst studying the maps ahead of them. Virgil smirked as he drank his black coffee, and took uneven bites of his single plain pancake, knowing it was making Patton all the more upset he wasn't eating a waffle like the rest of them.

Bites of food, bits of time, slowly they finished their plates, making very minimal small talk between then, and soon enough they were on the road again. The sun was hanging low in the sky as they crossed the state border into Arizona, meaning they were only a few hours away from their final destination.

" We should probably stop soon," stated Logan, carefully tracing the roads on the map with his fingertip.

"I'm fine for a couple of hours," replied Virgil, keeping his eyes on the road ahead of them. "I want to get us as close as we can, so we don't have to wake up too early."

"I have to agree with Dark Luigi over here," affirmed Roman from the passenger seat. "I'm not really up for waking up too early."

"Luigi?"

"You're not the main character, but you are very important nonetheless, and you have a very mean stare."

"Who am I, in this equation?" asked Logan, finally lifting his head from his works.

"Iggy Kooper, of course."

"I'm a Kooper?!"

"You're the smartest Kooper," Virgil tried to reason. "I mean, who can create such fantastic creations than the most intellectual character in the game?"

"And let me guess, Roman. You're Mario?"

"Of course not! I'm Bowser." The car fell silent. "What? What is it?!"

"No, you're right..." Virgil muttered. "I mean, he has a castle, an army."

"A love for princesses?" added Patton.

"But isn't he... a bad guy?" questioned Logan.

"Preposterous and nonsense, that's just the media portraying him as such." Roman turned to Virgil, with pleading eyes. "Right...?"

"Well... I mean..."

"Why would you invite someone to drive go karts if they weren't a good guy and a friend?" interrupted Patton with a smile. "Bowser has to be a great guy, and it suits you, kiddo!"

"Thanks Patton."

"But, then who is Mario?" asked Virgil.

"I am not quite sure, I haven't had much time to think about it."

"Can I be Toad?!" squealed Patton, excitedly.

"Of course you can," Virgil said, turning his head to smile. "I'd think no one else could be a more perfect-

"Watch out!!" screamed Logan, pointing to the front.

In an instant, Virgil spun forwards to see the blinding headlights of the oncoming semi trailer. In the brief time he stopped paying attention, the car had drifted to the left into traffic. His heart sped faster as his mind flashed back to that fateful night.

HNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNK

The truck blasted its horn, trying to swerve out of the way. In an instant, he jerked his hands to the right, pulling the car back to their side of the road, and all the way into the gravel off-bank. Virgil's breathing was short, rapid. He could feel his heart race in his chest, almost begging to smash through his ribs and run away. All he could feel was the phantom pain of that night... of the car accident. He almost jumped when he felt Roman softly touch his hand on the steering wheel, and he realised how tightly he was gripping it.

"Virgil... It's okay." Roman tried to remain calm, to be a pillar of support. "It's all okay now. Can you do the breathing exercise that Logan showed you?"

"I... don't...know..." he replied between quick shots of air.

"Just in your own time, friend..."

Virgil lifted his hand from the wheel, parking the car properly, before turning off the key. Closing his eyes, he began to focus on his breathing. Long breaths, returning oxygen to his lungs, to his body. When his heart rate felt normal again, he opened his eyes.

"Are you okay?" Roman asked.

"I think so."

"There's a gas station up ahead," Logan added quietly. "We can stop in there and ask for directions to a motel."

" 'Kay."

"You going to be okay to drive?" asked Roman again. "Do you want someone else to take over?"

"I should be... I'm okay. I just need to get there."

Pulling in to the gas station, Virgil quickly ran for the restrooms, making it just in time to lose his lunch into the sink. Wiping away the residue from his mouth, his eyes met in the mirror, and tears began to form.

"I hate you so much," he whispered to himself. "Why are you like this? Why are you so useless?"

"It's probably not a good idea to talk to mirrors like that," chimed Patton, who had somehow snuck up behind him, causing him to jump. "It reflects badly on you."

"Patton, I..." Virgil tried to yell, but the tears kept flowing. "I'm scared..."

"Hey... Hey, kiddo..." Patton wrapped his arms around him, holding him close. "It's going to be okay, we're here for you. You're strong, but it's okay to be afraid sometimes."

"Thanks..." he mumbled in reply.

"C'mon, we better not keep them waiting," Patton said, giving him one final squeeze.

Walking out of the bathroom, Virgil turned to Patton, and said "I'm just going to grab a drink. I'll be in the car soon."

"All good. Can you ask for directions for the motel as well? I was meant to do that, but I kinda got sidetracked."

"Yeah, sure..."

After a few minutes, Virgil climbed back into the driver's seat of the car, switching it back on.

"You right to do this?" asked Roman, still in the passenger seat.

"Yeah, I'm feeling better now. The guy says there is a motel a few miles up, not too far off the highway."

"A good night's rest will make us feel better," Logan  said with a smile.

At the motel, they all booked in to one room to save on costs. Roman and Logan took the queen sized bed, Patton chose the smaller bed next to it, and Virgil said he was happy on the couch.

"Are you sure, Virge?" asked Logan, preparing his nightly routines.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. I can sleep anywhere. You have a bad back, and Princey doesn't... do less than a queen."

"I heard that, Valentino Gothy!" called Roman from the bathroom.

"I'm not even a speedy driver!"

"Don't care, it's funny!"

"Anyways," Virgil said, turning back to Logan. "I'll set an alarm for us. What time is sunrise?"

"A little after 6, I think."

"So if I set it for about 4, we should have time to get there and do the hike."

"More than likely."

"Great... Well, goodnight guys."

"Night Virge," smiled Logan.

"Night kiddo," whispered Patton from his pillow fort.

"Goodnight my favourite black knight," sung Roman as he exited the bathroom.

Virgil didn't feel tired, but as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out like a light. His dreams were filled with car accidents and fire, of broken glass and gasoline. He could feel the stabbing pain, smell the metal, taste blood... but for the life of him, he couldn't remember where he was. He could hear yelling, but the smoke was too thick. Waking with a startle, he could feel the cold sweat drip down his forehead. Reaching for his phone, he saw it was a little after midnight. He looked over to his friends, to see they were all still fast asleep, Patton having moved from his bed to lay across the other two. Virgil chuckled softly, laying his head back down and trying to sleep again.

Virgil's alarm woke him on time, and he was pleasantly surprised that the others were ready and waiting for him. Soon enough they had the car packed again and were on the road to their final destination.  The car was silent, the group preferring the sounds of the road than the early morning radio, and each were distracted with their own things. In no time, they found themselves in the parking lot outside of Grand Canyon National Park. Virgil carefully parked the car, and smiled at his companions.

"We made it, guys," he said in a tired voice.

"Not entirely," Logan disagreed. "We still have a hike up the trail."

"And we should make haste if we wish to beat the sunrise," Roman added, checking his watch.

"Are you gonna make it, kiddo?" asked Patton as they piled out of the car.

"What, the leg?" Virgil patted his right leg reassuringly. "Patton, I've been fine for months. I barely limp. And I refuse to be left behind by you guys."

"We're here to help. You just need to ask."

"I'm sure I can do this."

Up the path they marched, Roman taking the lead as their gallant protector, and Virgil bringing up the rear to protect them from spiders, or as Patton called them, "Creepy Crawly Death Dealers". When they reached the halfway marker, Virgil could feel his leg ache, but his determination powered him forward.

"This trip isn't for me..." he whispered to himself. "It's for them..."

Cresting the top of the path, they were elated to find themselves in the open area overlooking the Grand Canyon. At long last, they had finally reached their goal. Virgil, in a spurt of uncharacteristic overwhelming joy, ran forwards to marvel at how far they had come together. It was glorious, a marvel, and he had made it there.

"Guys, this is... this is spectacular. We made it here... after long last, we did it," he said, tears of joy in his eyes.

"Yeah... we did, kiddo," Patton said from behind him, unusually sad sounding.

"But now it's time for you to let it go..." Roman added in a sombre tone.

"What? What are you guys..." Virgil turned to his friends, and he could feel a knot growing in his stomach. He could see them standing there, in the early morning light of the sunrise, but their bodies were translucent and glowing. Virgil forced a smile, and asked "What is this? How are you  doing that?"

"Virgil... You need to accept what happened," Logan whispered, taking a step forward. "You need to forgive yourself and let us go."

"No... No!" Tears rolled down his face as he screamed at them. "No! This isn't real! It didn't happen!"

But in his mind, he knew it did. He knew that that faithful road trip they took two years ago had happened, that he had fallen asleep at the wheel because he was too stubborn to accept help. The car drifted across the lanes and into an oncoming semi trailer, collecting them all. Virgil was the only one to make it out alive.

"Please... Please don't make me do this..." he begged, tears streaming down his face.

"We can't make you do anything, Virge," Logan said. "We can only try to guide you. It was you who wanted to make this trip, to finally lay us to rest."

"And we appreciate that to no end, my..." Roman began to choke up. "My beautiful dark prince. We appreciate you honouring us in this way."

"But... how can I go on without you?" He reached into his pocket, fishing out the last physical memories he had of them. "How can I do this without them?"

In his hand lay three hand sewn patches, a gift to the group by Roman himself; the heart, the brain, the coat of arms. Each one representing a fallen friend, each one a dear memory.

"You can do it, because you're stronger than you realise," Patton said in a comforting tone. "We believed in you. Now you need to believe in yourself."

"I'm trying. I’m trying all the time, but it’s just too hard."

"No one ever said this was an easy task," Logan reasoned. "But in time, it will become less painful."

Virgil turned and walked towards the safety railing, placing a single hand on it, before turning back to the ghosts of his friends. "Please... let me come with you. I don't want to be alone."

"We... don't wish that for you, Virgil." Roman took a step forward next to Logan. "Please, you are our friend. Live on in the most extravagant way possible."

"But..."

"No 'buts', kiddo." Patton said, joining them. "Deep breath, hold, and then... release."

Virgil turned towards the canyon, the sun halfway up the horizon now. Closing his eyes, he filled his lungs with the fresh air of early morning, savouring the feeling, before letting it all go.

@wandering-scarecrow

#fandersficawards #springcomp #ent

[fanders-fic-awards]

Denial (SFC Submission)

Summary: Any information you want to know, you can know, you just have to be open to hearing it; words that Anxiety didn't always live by.

Warnings: Homophobia, Homophobic slurs, Self-hatred, Self-deception

WC: 4780

Vote

A twelve year old Thomas was hunched over his desk, busy doodling on notebook paper. His tongue poked out between his teeth, as he continued to work. Half the page was taken up by an impressively large and spiky dragon, breathing fire towards what could be interpreted as a person. This person was sitting atop some kind of animal, with a crown on their head and a sword held high in the air.

“And then, Prince Thomas will charge into battle, on the back of a beautiful black stallion!”

Creativity gestured dramatically with his small, wooden sword, standing at the crest of the hill with the wind blowing through his hair; he may have lacked the horse at the moment, but he thought it still got the feeling across.

“…Alone?” Logic’s quiet question broke through Creativity’s reverie, as usual. “Thomas is going to fight a dragon all by himself?”

Before Creativity had the chance to point out that, we’re in the imagination, it’s a daydream, it doesn’t have to make sense! a third voice said, “He’s kind of got a point.”

Creativity spun to give Morality a wounded look, the tip of his sword dropping to the ground. The other side just shrugged and gave a sheepish smile, looking up from where he was laying on his back in the grass.

“I mean,” he went on, “I think it’d be pretty scary facing down a dragon all on your own.”

Logic said nothing, still sitting on a nearby log, but Creativity could see his mouth twist into a small smile as he glanced to one side, and tried not to feel irritated.

“Well, a prince isn’t afraid of anything,” he grumbled under his breath. “But– no, not alone. Because, what is a prince without his loyal knights?” Creativity asked, brightening considerably.

Both of Logic’s eyebrows went up and he tilted his head, as though conceding a point. “King Arthur had the Knights of the Round Table.”

“Ooh!” Morality perked up as well, rolling over and sitting up. “Like Lancelot! And… and, um…”

“Galahad, and Percival,” Logic supplied, unable to keep the edge of excitement out of his own voice at unexpectedly being able to contribute.

“And Kyle!”

Creativity’s outburst brought both of the others’ attention back to him suddenly, though not in the way he had necessarily intended: Logic had one eyebrow up, and Morality’s eyes went wide before he quickly glanced down, and the creative side immediately went on the defensive.

“What?? Thomas can have whoever he wants as knights! And,” Creativity went on, waving a hand, “why not Kyle? He’s really cool, and Thomas has been wanting to be friends with him for, like, ever.”

“Two months,” Logic murmured to Morality.

“Whatever.” Creativity rolled his eyes. “The point is, this could be our chance! We’ve been trying to figure out how to make friends with him for a while now. Thomas should ask Kyle to be a knight and go on quests with him! It’s perfect!”

“Thomas has been thinking about Kyle quite a lot, lately, hasn’t he?” Logic’s expression wasn’t quite a frown, but he didn’t seem quite certain about Creativity’s idea. As he considered it, however, something else occurred to him. “Morality? You’re being awfully quiet right now.”

And that gave Creativity pause, as he paid closer attention to Morality. The other side was picking at pieces of grass, not meeting either of their gazes. “Is everything all right?” Creativity hesitated, before asking, “Do… do you not want to be friends with Kyle?”

Morality’s head shot up. “No! I mean– yes, I do! Of course I want Thomas and Kyle to be friends.” He avoided looking at them again. “Like you said, he’s cool– and he’s nice to us, and funny…” Morality’s voice trailed off, almost wistful.

Creativity and Logic shared a look. Logic looked totally helpless; Creativity just shrugged. He usually understood Morality better, but he was equally confused this time. “Then… I don’t understand, what’s the problem?”

“Oh, it’s not a problem,” the moral side said, still deflecting, rubbing one arm with the opposite hand. “It’s just… Well, I think,” he started, then paused to take a breath. As he exhaled, Morality closed his eyes, then opened them again, seeming to work through something mentally. This time when he spoke, it was with an air of quiet realization. “Guys, I think… I like him.” And only now did he dare to look back up, glancing between his fellow sides. “Thomas likes him.”

Both Logic and Creativity stared at him in stunned silence for a full second and a half. But then Logic’s expression shifted into one of careful consideration– before immediately giving way to startled shock, as Creativity let out a loud whoop.

“This is fantastic!” Creativity’s delighted laugh seemed to fill the whole of Thomas’s imagination. Without warning, he dropped his sword and grabbed Logic’s hands, yanking him to his feet and prompting a yelp from the more scholarly side as he spun them both around. “Thomas likes Kyle!!”

Morality couldn’t help but giggle at his friend’s excitement, covering his mouth with one hand. Meanwhile, Logic pulled free of Creativity’s grasp, staggering a few steps and trying to adjust his glasses. But even as he shot a dirty look at Creativity’s back, his gaze drifted over to Morality, who raised both eyebrows. Yet again Logic seemed a little at a loss, but then shrugged one shoulder, giving a small, shy smile. At that, a wide grin spread across Morality’s face, and they both turned their attention back to Creativity, who was busy running back and forth across the hill top, coming up with a dozen different ways to get Thomas to recognize and act on his crush.

“–or, Thomas could write him an anonymous letter! Oh! No, wait– it’s almost Halloween! He could ask if he wants to go trick or treating together, and they could wear matching costumes–”

And while the sides of his personality continued to play in his imagination, back in his own bedroom, Thomas continued to daydream and draw. Now, another knight on horseback had appeared next to the prince to face down the mighty dragon. And as Thomas continued to doodle, without entirely meaning to, the knight riding next to Prince Thomas started to look more and more like a certain boy he knew.

Morality wasn’t the only one who came to a realization that afternoon.

Anxiety knew he wasn’t wanted with the others, and he was certain that Creativity would throw a fit if he knew he was in the imagination too, especially while Thomas was daydreaming. He’d complain about how Anxiety always ruined everything, and then they would all be staring at him, and… ugh.

And yet, here he was, perched on a low hanging branch, following after them like some unwanted stray. Wrapping his arms around himself, Anxiety huffed his bangs out of his eyes, trying to shift his position and pretending like his chosen vantage point was more comfortable than it actually was.

He didn’t even have that great of a view from where he was; it was close to the edge of the tree line, but it was also at the bottom of the small hill they were all on top of. Maybe he’d be able to see better if he dared to climb higher, but as it was, he had to make do. If nothing else, he could hear Creativity making an idiot of himself as he ran around the hilltop, showing off for the other two.

So what if they didn’t like him? It was his job to make sure they didn’t do anything stupid and get Thomas hurt. A job they made a lot harder than it should have to be.

Seeing Creativity stop and pose dramatically, Anxiety scoffed and rolled his eyes, but his stomach twisted. When was the creative side going to figure out that Thomas wasn’t a little kid anymore? They were in middle school now. And every time Creativity tried to get Thomas to play pretend or try out one of his ridiculous ideas to make other kids like him, it just made them think Thomas was weird. But whenever Anxiety tried to warn the others, they would ignore him or tell him he worried too much.

Above him, he could see Creativity deflate and turn to look at the others. Good, Anxiety couldn’t help but think. Probably Logic’s doing, although Anxiety also couldn’t help the uncharitable thought of, they listen to him.

Now all three of the others were talking amongst themselves, too quiet for Anxiety to overhear, and he squirmed on his branch again, resigning himself to spending the rest of the afternoon like this. At least it was quiet.

But it was only a few minutes later that the quiet was shattered, as a loud shout startled Anxiety right off of his branch, flailing all the way.

The anxious side managed to catch himself on his hands and knees, having only fallen a few feet, but his heart was still hammering, and he whipped his head up to glare at Creativity. The other side was totally oblivious, still yelling and laughing and dancing around with Logic like a moron.

Anxiety started to push himself back to his feet, brushing dirt and leaves off of his knees and rubbing his sore palms against his pant legs.

And then.

“Thomas likes Kyle!”

Anxiety froze. He didn’t breathe.

Kyle, who lived exactly three blocks and two houses away.

Who sat next to Thomas in English and made jokes under his breath, that made Thomas giggle a little too loud and get in trouble that one time.

Who Thomas had been wondering how to invite to his birthday party that wasn’t happening for another six months.

…But not just Kyle.

Oh God, if it had just been Kyle, it would have been bad enough. Instead, Anxiety’s mind went to other memories: other kids. The way they had joked on the bus ride home. The horrible names they had used. The way they had laughed.

“That’s so gay!!” “Ha, he’s such a girl!” “What a fag.”

Anxiety startled to tremble. He couldn’t even remember who they’d been making fun of. Not Thomas– Thomas had just chuckled uneasily and kept quiet. He’d been so uncomfortable, but too afraid of getting teased to say anything more.

But now– Anxiety gasped, feeling sick. Now­ it could be Thomas­. It could ruin everything, this could destroy him–

“No,” Anxiety choked out, startling himself. Then, after a few more breaths, he repeated it: “No.” Then he looked back up to the top of the hill, breathing hard.

He had to stop this.

Meanwhile, Creativity continued to run this way and that, ideas coming a mile a minute. Logic was growing exasperated, trying to chase after him and rein him in, but Creativity would not be contained. His joy was so infectious that the hilltop was starting to bloom with all sorts of wildflowers.

Morality just smiled and watched, chuckling as Logic once again tried to get the creative side to slow down a little, only for Creativity to grab the logical side, spin him, and dip him towards the ground. Or, at least, that’s what Morality assumed he was trying to do; in practice, it ended up with Creativity tripping and Logic flopping in the dirt. He eyed them for a moment, just to make sure nobody was hurt, then reached for another daisy to add to the chain he was weaving.

He just felt so… warm. And fuzzy. And happy! And he could feel Thomas was happy, even if he didn’t know why just yet, but that was enough for Morality. He even started humming to himself as he fiddled with the flower’s stem, content to be lost in his own little world.

It was little wonder, then, that he didn’t notice the footsteps tromping up the side of the hill until their owner was practically on top of him.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Morality jerked backwards, blinking up at the figure that was now casting a shadow over where he sat. “Oh! Anxiety! I, uh.” The moral side blinked again and pushed his glasses back into place from where they’d slipped down his nose, glancing at the flowers in his hands then back up. “I’m… making a daisy chain?”

Anxiety made a dismissive gesture with one hand, looking frustrated. “Not that,” he grit out, voice low. Morality just stared at him in confusion, though, and Anxiety let out a sound of displeasure. Was he going to have to spell it out? He really, really didn’t want to.

“Anxiety??”

Anxiety’s head snapped up to see Creativity and Logic now staring at him from across the hill. The creative side’s expression quickly soured; then he was marching back towards Morality and Anxiety, determined look on his face, and Anxiety hunched in on himself.

But he couldn’t just run away this time– this time he had to make them listen. So Anxiety fixed his gaze back on the moral side. “You’re making Thomas have these… feelings,” he said, drawing Morality’s attention back to himself.

Morality’s forehead crinkled, and he looked even more confused. “What?”

Creativity was almost on top of them, though, with Logic in tow, and Anxiety didn’t have time to let Morality figure it out; he blurted, “You’re hurting Thomas!”

For a second time, Morality reeled, this time looking like he’d been struck. Then Logic was pulling him to his feet as Creativity shoved himself between them and the anxious side. “All right, Anxiety, that is enough!” He had his wooden sword back in hand, and looked livid. “What are you even doing here??”

Anxiety eyed Creativity, his already low confidence plummeting now that he was facing all three of them, but he swallowed hard. “I’m trying to protect Thomas–”

“By bullying Morality?” Creativity scowled, taking a step forward, and Anxiety moved a step back.

“I’m trying to keep Thomas from getting hurt,” he insisted, feeling his heart pounding uncomfortably hard inside his chest.

Logic broke in, frowning. “Why on earth do you think Morality would hurt Thomas? He is Morality.”

“Because he’s giving Thomas all these feelings!” The words seemed to burst from Anxiety, and he hesitated afterwards, caught off guard by his own vehemence. “And… he needs to stop it.”

They were all staring again: Logic in confusion, Creativity in incredulity. Morality just looked taken aback, before his expression became one of chagrin.

“…I don’t want to hurt Thomas,” he started, quietly, only for Creativity to round on Morality and seize him by the shoulders.

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence! You’re not hurting Thomas.” Then he turned his fierce glare back on Anxiety, who hunched his shoulders again. “The very idea, that feelings could hurt him–”

“You don’t remember those kids on the bus??” Anxiety demanded, and again they fell into an uncomfortable silence as those words sank in. “The things they said? You want them to say those things about Thomas?” He whipped his head back to Morality. “You want them to hate him?”

Morality’s eyes went wide, and he started blinking rapidly. Creativity gaped, trying to form some kind of protest; even Logic was only able to offer a soft, “You don’t know that they would.”

Morality drew in a deep breath, then let it out, a little shakily. “I… I don’t want to hurt Thomas,” he repeated. “But… I genuinely don’t see how love can hurt anybody,” he finished softly and earnestly, trying to meet Anxiety’s eyes.

But Anxiety wouldn’t meet his; he was shaking his head, fists clenched, steadily growing more upset. “Don’t… call it that!” he suddenly yelled, glaring back at the others, who jumped at his unexpected show of temper. “Thomas isn’t in love!”

Morality recovered first again. “No,” he agreed, voice still soft, imploring Anxiety to listen. “But… he could be.”

Thomas paused, considering his drawing, blinking as though he was just now seeing it for what it was. He ran his hand over it lightly, fingers hesitating on the picture of the knight. Of Kyle.

Creativity was losing his patience; bad enough that Anxiety constantly followed them around, trying to ruin whatever they were doing, but now he was trying to darken Thomas’s very dreams and blame Morality to boot– no, wait. He blinked, looking up at the sky overhead.

It was actually getting darker. Where before there had been bright, blue skies, clouds were starting to form, and that was absolutely it!

“All right, that is enough!” Creativity turned, pushing Morality back into Logic, and put on his best glower. “Most of the time you’re just irritating, but now you’re being a jerk to Morality, and messing up Thomas’s daydream! You need to leave. Now,” he commanded, drawing himself up imperiously.

And that should have been enough to send Anxiety running. But Anxiety was desperate. And now, he had worked his way up from ‘upset’ to ‘angry’. So instead of backing down, he met Creativity’s glare with his own and grated, “No.”

Creativity lost his composure for just a moment, looking offended, before he began to get mad himself. “No?? What do you mean, ‘no’?” He stomped forward, deliberately getting into Anxiety’s personal space, ignoring Morality and Logic calling him back anxiously. “This is my realm, and I told you to get out! So leave!” And to emphasize his point, he reached up and pushed Anxiety’s shoulders, causing the other side to stumble back.

And that was that. Or at least, he thought it was– before the others could scold him, before Creativity even had a chance to feel smug, Anxiety lunged forward and shoved Creativity to the ground, screaming, “Shut up!”

Creativity hit the dirt hard; Anxiety stared, startled by his own actions. His eyes flicked up to Logic and Morality, who were both watching him, eyes wide, like they had never seen him before. Like they were afraid of him. Even Creativity’s face had a flash of fear when he looked up.

But. They were listening.

They wouldn’t listen when he was frightened, but they were listening now. Anxiety’s breathing grew harsh, and he began to shake.

They were paying attention to him, now that he was angry, now that they were scared. Was this what it took? His heart was trying to beat out of his chest, he felt like he could barely breathe, and part of him wanted nothing more than to run away and hide. But if this was how he got them to listen to him, to get them to let Thomas hear him…

The clouds overhead grew even darker, and the flowers crowning the hill started to wilt. Seeing this, Creativity let out a cry of protest, scrambling to his knees.

“What are you doing?? Stop it!”

“No,” Anxiety retorted, feeling a twisted sort of satisfaction at seeing Creativity flinch.

“A-anxiety, you…” Logic swallowed hard, looking at the growing storm clouds nervously. “You need to calm down, and relinquish your hold on Thomas’s imagination.”

“The only one who needs to stop, is Morality,” Anxiety shot back, turning his glare on the side in question.

The stricken look on Morality’s face almost brought Anxiety to a complete halt. He didn’t look mad, or even that scared, just hurt, and guilt welled up in Anxiety, threatening to make his throat close. “I-I can’t, I’m not…” The way Morality’s voice trembled, Anxiety had to look away. Still Morality looked to him, practically pleading. “Anxiety…”

Anxiety clenched his fists again, fingernails digging into his palms, and brought them up to his face. No, he had to protect Thomas from this. From them. Even if they didn’t realize that they were hurting Thomas, they were, and he had to stop them.

If he backed down now… they would never listen to him again.

Anxiety exhaled hard, pulling his fists away from his face. He saw Morality’s hopeful expression– and his lip curled.

“No. I’m not going to let you do this. To make Thomas feel like this.” Around them, what had been a warm breeze became a cold wind, and the wilting flowers began to wither and turn to brambles. His heart still pounded, but Anxiety rode the wave of anger, refusing to let go of it. And as he met Morality’s gaze– saw the tears welling in his eyes– Anxiety’s face twisted into a snarl.

With a deliberate nastiness, he growled: “Thomas. Is not. A FAG.”

In an instant, before any of them could process what had just been said, the entire mindscape lurched– and they were one and all struck with a sudden, sickening feeling, coming–

Coming from Thomas.

Disgust. Self-loathing.

The flowers and grass surrounding them were no longer withering; instead, they crumbled to ash. The ground beneath Anxiety’s feet became a barren black that started creeping outwards in branching spikes– the other three scrambled back, Creativity staggering to his feet, as the negative feeling radiated out and started to spread across the hill.

In the outside world, Thomas flushed with confused shame, the piece of notebook paper crumpling under his fingers.

Then, in a fit, he began to rip it into pieces.

“No!!”

Creativity cried out in vain protest. Morality stifled a sob, hands clutched to his face, tears finally spilling over. Logic meanwhile, was trying to urge them away and out of there; he and Creativity each ended up taking one of Morality’s arms to yank him backwards, away from where the blackened ground was sprouting thorns worthy of Sleeping Beauty.

Before they fled, though, Creativity stopped long enough to glare at Anxiety, who was still standing in the middle of it all. Angry tears to match the ones that Thomas didn’t realize he was crying rolled down the creative side’s face, and when he spoke, it was in a strangled voice that was full of venom:

“I hate you so much.”

Then, they were gone.

Anxiety was alone on the ashy, dead hilltop.

It didn’t take long for the wind to die, and the silence to settle. Anxiety sank to his knees, still breathing hard, reeling from what just happened– from what he did. From how Thomas had responded.

No. He was protecting Thomas. It was his job to protect Thomas, even from himself.

But… the way the others had looked at him… Logic’s fear, Creativity’s hate. Morality’s teary, gut-punched heartbreak– Anxiety flinched, shaking his head, fingers digging into the ash. Maybe Morality meant well, but how could he not see that he was setting Thomas up for so much worse? And yet… The wave of self-loathing and shame. Anxiety hadn’t meant for that.

He never meant for Thomas to hate himself.

Anxiety sniffed hard, bringing one hand up to rub at his eyes– only for it to sting, and he immediately began berating himself, realizing that he had just smeared ash all around his eyes, and scrubbed at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Wow.”

Anxiety’s heart tried to leap about two feet into the air, and drag him along with it. He whirled, tense and ready to bolt– he hadn’t felt the presence of any of the other sides, but clearly–

“Relax,” the other bid him. Anxiety stared, frozen.

He had no idea who this was.

He wore weird clothes, like something from last century. He also had a stupid looking hat that was pulled low over his face, but couldn’t conceal the fact that one of his eyes was a different color. Oblivious to Anxiety’s scrutiny– or maybe just not caring– the other continued to regard the scene, and remarked dryly, “Going for the subtle approach, were we?” Then he held up a hand to placate Anxiety’s defensive reaction. “I know, you were trying to protect Thomas.” His mouth twisted in an expression of distaste. “Not exactly the method I’d have picked, but, c’est la vie.”

“Who are you?” Anxiety managed to get out, voice low and suspicious.

The other turned, giving a wide eyed look of innocence. “Who, me? Why, I’m one of Thomas’s sides, of course.”

“You?” Anxiety was never this confrontational. But is was frighteningly easy to pull that anger back up and hide behind it, especially when faced with a total unknown.

“Yes, me,” the other returned, eyeing him up and down. “You know, you’re not much of a sight yourself. Although,” he said, his lips twisting into a smirk. “You make the raccoon look really work. Very dark and edgy.”

Anxiety flushed, swiping at his face with his sleeve again, then forcing a glare at the stranger. “I’ve never seen you before.”

The other snorted, still wearing that half smile. “I like my privacy. I’ve been around, though– trust me.” And with that, his smile widened, revealing absurdly white teeth. Anxiety scoffed; trusting him was the last thing he would do. The stranger continued to watch him, before snorting again, shaking his head. “Down boy, we’re on the same side.”

Anxiety’s response was equal parts confusion and offense: “Excuse me?”

The other tilted his head back, regarding Anxiety from beneath his hat, and letting the anxious side get a good look at his strange eyes. “You and I have the same job. Protecting Thomas, I mean,” he said. “Of course, that’s not my only role. I’m also supposed to keep Thomas happy.” And there his gaze grew cool, flicking back across the ruined hilltop.

Anxiety’s stomach twisted again. “I did what I had to do.”

“Mm. I see that.”

Even though the tone was mild, it made Anxiety’s insides squirm harder, and he grew even more defensive. “I had to stop the other three, before they got Thomas hurt!”

The other turned his stare back on Anxiety. “And you did a very good job of it,” he agreed. “You managed to run off all three of them, all on your own.” Somehow, his approval made Anxiety feel worse.

“They don’t get it! Thomas can’t… like… boys,” Anxiety choked out. “Everyone would hate him. Maybe Morality didn’t mean to hurt Thomas, but I still had to stop him, before–”

“Mm, that’s cute,” the other side cut in, and Anxiety’s brow furrowed, suspicion returning. “You think Morality gave Thomas those feelings.” It wasn’t a question, and when the stranger chuckled, Anxiety hunched his shoulders up, glowering. He hated being laughed at. The other just shook his head again, then cupped one hand around his mouth, as though he were sharing a secret. “It wasn’t Morality’s doing, so much as his… discovery.”

Anxiety physically recoiled. “No. No, that’s not– Thomas can’t be–”

“Ahhh, ah ah ah,” the other side cut him off, holding up a finger. “But. There’s no reason that Thomas has to know.” He gestured outwards with both hands, pausing to let that sink in. “And, after all– what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”

Anxiety’s mind began to race, the words repeating themselves over and over in his thoughts– if Thomas didn’t know– if he didn’t have to face that self loathing, and shame– until those thoughts were abruptly interrupted by an outstretched hand appearing right in front of his face.

The anxious side pulled back, regarding the stranger, not bothering to hide his suspicion.

The other let out a sound of amusement. “I think you and I might just be able to help one another.”

Anxiety continued to watch him, still tense, still uneasy and uncertain. But he also glanced down, and at the ground around him, and a weight seemed to settle in his stomach.

The silence stretched, the other side’s hand still extended.

Anxiety inhaled, hesitating.

Thomas lay face down on his bed, having finally reached a state of numbness, of not thinking or feeling. He could have laid there all night, but…

But.

He hesitantly pulled his head up, glancing back towards his desk. For the first time that evening, that action wasn’t followed by the overwhelming need to immediately bury his face back in the pillow, and so he finally pushed himself up.

Finally, he made his way over to where the torn pieces of the drawing he had spent all afternoon working on lay scattered across his desk and floor. He didn’t actually look at them as he picked them up, but slowly collected them nonetheless.

And then, he shoved them down into the bottom of his trash can.

Where they couldn’t be seen. Where he didn’t have to think about them again.

Then Thomas stumbled back to his bed, flopping down on top of the covers, letting the silence fill the room.

by @ajax-blue

#fandersficawards #springcomp #ent

[fanders-fic-awards]

Alone (SFC Submission)

Summary: The day had finally come. Roman was leaving.

Warnings: Talk of depression, talk of panic attacks, cursing

WC: 1347

Vote

They had been building up to this moment for a long time.

The day Roman had smiled at him, all bright white teeth and striking blue eyes, and asked Virgil to coffee had been the beginning of the end. It was inevitable. It was always inevitable.

And yet, here he was. Sitting on the edge of the bed, tears running down his face, and a sharp pain in his chest as he watched Roman stuff his things into a suitcase set that they had bought together for their trip to New York. Utterly heartbroken.

Virgil wasn’t ready to be alone again in the space that Roman had filled so perfectly. He’d painted the walls too bright colors and ruined one of Virgil’s shirts in the process, that same smile on his face as the first day. Roman had kissed him and told him the color was good, that he needed to stop living in the dark. Pulled open the curtains and showed him how beautiful the pale blue had looked with the sun shining on it. Had gone so far as to say Virgil was just as beautiful before he danced with him to their bedroom, both of them laughing the whole way.

The bed was going to feel so empty. The smooth sheets would make him itch without having Roman there to pull him tight and keep all of his monsters at bay. There would be no smooth serenade when he woke up in the middle of the night, screaming and sobbing and wishing it would all disappear. No one to remind him that it was going to be alright, that he was safe, that he didn’t have to go back to that life.

Morning was going to come without the singing and dancing and coffee and toast being shoved at Virgil so that he would actually eat something before he left for the day. No one would remind him to brush his teeth or to shower or that he needed to pick up more shampoo on his way home from work. There would be no goodbye kiss that lingered before they separated.

Virgil would come home to an empty apartment and realize that the door shut with an echo. Over the time that Roman had lived with him, he’d grown used to dinner being cooked or movies being played when he got back and it would be abandoned to come and greet him at the door. It drowned out that sound.

It hurt to think about, it hurt to admit to himself he should’ve never become so reliant on another person for his own sanity.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Roman snapping at him broke him out of his reverie and he blinked, wiping at the tears on his face before he was able to look back at him. The man in front of him rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “God, Virgil, this is… This is not how I wanted this to go,” he grumbled and, if Virgil looked hard enough, he could see a glimmer of sadness in his eyes and it made him think that maybe it wasn’t too late to save this.

But hope was never good to him. Virgil choked it down and looked back at his feet, sniffing. “Then why are we doing it?” He asked him. The way his voice cracked made him flinch. Weakness was going to do him no favors right now. He couldn’t afford it. “You could just… Unpack your shit and we could work this out. We can keep trying.”

“I am trying,” Roman cut in, sounding distant as if he had turned away. As if he couldn’t even stand to say this to Virgil’s face. “All the time. But it’s just too hard. I cannot single-handedly hold together our relationship anymore. Perhaps we can try again when you’re… In a better place.”

Roman trailed off and Virgil squirmed. It wasn’t as if he’d tried to hide anything from Roman when they’d gotten together. From day one, it had been his own personal goal to make sure that he wasn’t tricking the other into thinking he had his life together. They had stuck together through panic attacks, not leaving the house because Virgil couldn’t stand the thought of being around people at a party, depressive episodes that had trapped him in bed for days and Roman had told him he’d love him through it all.

The straw that broke the camel’s back seemed minor in comparison to all of that. Virgil had just wanted a little space, for once, time for himself to get his head straight. And he had yelled at Roman to leave him alone. That had sprung up a fight about how Virgil didn’t care about their relationship and how Roman never allowed him any space and Virgil had slept on the couch that night. The next time they spoke, Roman had told him he was going to go stay with his brother. A break, he’d called it. Virgil knew better.

The bed sank beside him and Virgil shifted over to put space between them, not wanting to risk it. He was well aware the second they touched, he’d want to melt into him. No weakness. “Why? I’m not going to change. I can’t change this, Ro.” Virgil sucked in a breath. “I hate you so much,” he whispered. There was no heat and no truth behind it, but it made him feel a little lighter to be able to pretend he did for even a moment.

Roman swallowed audibly next to him and it made him wish he could swallow the words back. “I’ll be back,” Roman told him and Virgil snorted. “I’m serious. This is only temporary. A break.”

There was that word again. Seemed like he was sticking with that, like he actually believed that he was going to stay with Logan for a couple of weeks and then be back. Logan was too practical to allow that. He’d spend the whole time reminding Roman why Virgil was the wrong one for him, why he should move on while he had the chance, before he got too wrapped up in him again.

“You’re packing up all of your stuff because it’s only temporary, right,” he mumbled flatly. “Adds up perfectly. Thank you so much for clearing that up for me. Packing up to go for a couple weeks, or couple months, or a couple years. Whenever you decide to try again.”

Roman groaned and pushed up from the bed, walking back to his bags. “We’re not arguing about this again. Can I please… Can I at least go on a good note?” A hand came into Virgil’s line of sight and, after a moment of hesitation, he took it. One last moment of comfort before his sense of stability left for good.

Silence hung in the space between them. Virgil fidgeted with the sleeves on his hoodie and could see Roman messing with the red strap of his messenger bag.

“So this is how it ends,” Virgil muttered. Roman nodded, an uncomfortable laugh falling from his mouth. Virgil forced himself to straighten up, to feign confidence until the end. He knew his makeup had streaked down his cheeks, knew his eyes were puffy, knew he looked a mess, but Roman asked to end on a good note and, fuck, he was going to try. “Call me, I guess. If you do decide you want to try again.” The unsaid I want to rang in the quiet.

Another nod. “I will, Virgil. I promise.”

And then they hugged. A tense, uncomfortable hug that still had Virgil wanting to melt into the other’s arms. Roman placed a gentle kiss on the top of his head and it felt like he was trying to take the last piece of his heart with him.

And then he picked up that bag, wheels scraping as he walked through the apartment.

And then he walked out the door, a loud bang echoing through the room as it shut.

And then…

Virgil was alone.

by @vexation-virgil

#fandersficawards #springcomp #ent

[fanders-fic-awards]

Goodnight (SFC Submission)

Summary: Patton doesn't cope well with realizing that Thomas has been throwing out some of the old things that used to be stored in the former's room. Terrified that Thomas will force him to disappear as well, Patton decides to beat him to the punch, seeking out a new home.

Warnings: Deceit, Memory Erasure/Repression, Supernatural Elements

WC: 3399

Vote

"Hey Logan, do you know where Thomas put his old show DVDs?"

Logan looked up to see Patton standing in the former's doorway, a little distressed. He furrowed his eyebrows.

"The DVDs for the shows he was in, you mean?"

Patton nodded. "Yeah, those. They're normally in my room, but now I can't find them."

"...Patton, Thomas threw those out weeks ago," Logan said. He shook his head and returned to his book.

Patton's stomach dropped. "What? Why? When? Where? How?"

"The DVDs. Because he hadn't watched them in years and things were getting cluttered. Like I said, several weeks ago. In his apartment. And...I guess by putting them in a trash can?" Logan rattled off without looking up.

Patton put a hand on his head. "No, I mean...how could he?"

Logan sighed and put his book down. "I don't know. But I see no reason for it to bother you so much when it took you this long to notice they were gone."

"But...they were his memories," Patton said softly. He looked outside the room, and saw Roman and Virgil passing by. All of a sudden he felt a glimmer of hope that he'd get someone to understand.

"Roman!" he called out, practically ripping the creative Side's arm off in an attempt to pull him into the room.

"Whoa. Hey, what's up?" Roman asked, as he stumbled a little and straightened his sleeve.

Patton looked at Roman with wounded eyes. "Did you know that Thomas got rid of all his performance DVDs?"

Roman frowned. "Oh, really? I didn't know that. That's unfortunate."

Patton backed up. "Is it, though? It doesn't sound like you care all that much."

Roman sighed tiredly. "I don't know, I mean, do we really need all those awkward and embarrassing moments captured on camera forever? We've gotta make the space to move forward. Especially now that he's gotten so much better as an actor!"

Patton's heart sank. "Well, yeah, of course we need to make that space! But they're still important memories."

"Look," Logan spoke up, "Thomas is already going to be in a new show next month, remember? I'm sure that one will have a recording, and then we can start a new collection."

"Yeah, there ya go!" Roman said with forced cheerfulness. "Hey, Patton, what do you say we watch a movie tonight, yeah?" he asked, putting an arm around the now shell-shocked Patton.

Patton shook him off. "No, I don't want to watch a movie, I want to get Thomas' DVDs back." He turned towards Virgil and gave him a pleading look.

"You've been pretty quiet so far," he said, voice starting to crack. "Do you have anything to say about this?"

Virgil ran his fingers through his hair. "I...I don't know, buddy. I just feel like we've had this conversation before." He paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully before going on. "You can't hold onto every single part of Thomas' past." He tried to reach out to touch Patton's shoulder, but Patton just jumped back.

Logan never understood his attachment to...well, anything. And he'd certainly had disagreements with Roman in the past about when it was time to move forward. But Virgil was his best friend, and often the only one who could empathize with him when it came to not wanting to move on. But now everyone was against him.

He stared back at Virgil with venom in his eyes, and uttered the words he thought he'd read over Logan's shoulder once.

"Et too, Broot."

Virgil gave a confused frown. "...What?"

Just then, Logan's face lit up. "Brute, Patton," he corrected gently, laughter in his voice.

"It doesn't matter!" Patton burst out. "You know what I mean." He turned towards Virgil again and shook his head.

"I hate you so much," he said coolly.

"Hey--" Virgil began as he tried to reach out again. But this time Logan cut him off.

"See, this is exactly why I proposed that we stop telling him about this stuff. He's acting ridiculous."

Patton turned to look at him. "Wait...all this stuff? You mean, this has all happened before?"

"Oh, sure!" Roman said thoughtlessly. "Like the Pokémon cards, and the Furbies, and--"

He clapped his hand over his mouth, and glanced at Logan and Virgil with dread as they all braced themselves for the impending meltdown.

But Patton didn't yell or kick or punch anything. He just doubled over and fell onto the floor, gasping for air. Virgil's eyes widened, and he ran over to lift Patton up. But Patton still recoiled from him.

"Just get away from me," Patton said icily. "Isn't that what you want?"

Virgil looked pained. "No, of course not! That's not what anyone's saying, bud--"

But Patton had already run off.

Patton walked into his room and slammed the door, breathing hard. He scrambled around, looking for the Pokémon cards Roman had mentioned, only to discover that they, too, were gone. He started sweating and untied his shoes, and counted his toes in a desperate, if irrational attempt, to make sure they were all still there. Once he did, he went over to the mirror to check his face and hair.

Everything was still there. He wasn't starting to disappear just yet, and that made him calm down a little. But if the things in his room were starting to, then Patton couldn't help but worry that he wasn't safe from that possibility.

The only solution Patton could think of that wasn't unbearably painful was to beat Thomas to the punch. And just ducking out wasn't going to cut it.

Hands still shaking, Patton sat on his bed and pulled out his phone. He went to his messages and started typing.

'Hey...I think I'm ready to take you up on that offer.'

He pressed Send and put the phone down, wondering what would happen next. Suddenly he heard a voice behind him.

"You rang?"

Patton spun around to see Deceit staring back at him. He got up.

"Oh...yeah, I did."

"So, you want to join the Dark Sides, do you?"

Patton nodded hesitantly. "I think I'm ready to, yeah."

Deceit stared him up and down, and then gave a toothy smile. "Glad to hear you've finally come around! We shall leave immediately."

Patton frowned. "Really? So soon? But I have to pack and everything, don't I?"

"Nonsense!" Deceit shook his head and snapped his fingers. Suddenly all of Patton's clothes and toys and books flew into the air and got shoved into cardboard boxes. The boxes all closed in sync with each other and slid over to the edge of the room, until all that was left was Patton's bare furniture. Patton looked around and his heart sank, but then he heard Roman's words ringing in his head: "We've gotta make more space to move forward."

As barren as the room looked, it definitely lent its way to more space.

Deceit snapped his fingers again, and all of a sudden Patton's room was transformed into a long, narrow walkway. On either side of the walkway there were pink, purple, and blue flames extending towards the sky.

"Whoa, what is this, Talyn's Mind Palace?" Patton chuckled nervously. Deceit gave him a disdainful look, though, and he shut up.

At the end of the walkway sat a woman on a giant throne. She had vibrant blue hair and a pink dress, and her face was scaly in a similar way to Deceit's only her scales were lavender. But what stuck out most were the silver wings that stuck out on either side of her. Suddenly it hit Patton.

Was this...the Dragon Witch?

The woman shrunk down and met Deceit at eye level. "Can I help you?" she asked sharply.

"We've got a new recruit," Deceit said, pulling Patton back under his arm as the latter was looking around, bewildered.

The Dragon Witch eyed him up and down. "Very well then," she said at last. "Show him to his room and get him settled. Tonight we'll get started on the process."

Deceit nodded, and snapped his fingers one more time. Patton found himself standing in front of a new door, in a hallway that was almost identical to the one in the Mind Palace. He opened the door hesitantly, and discovered that all his things had already been unpacked.

"See?" Deceit said as Patton looked around. "Things will be just like they were before. Look, you even have your old DVDs back!" he pointed out, nodding towards the stack that was now on Patton's desk.

Patton ran over to the desk and sorted through the DVDs. He breathed a sigh of relief and said, "Thank you, this is perfect! I love it."

He ran over to hug Deceit, but Deceit just held his hand out to keep Patton back. Patton slumped his shoulders, but backed away anyway.

After taking a few more minutes to make sure everything was just the way he wanted it, something occurred to him. He frowned and asked Deceit, "Wait, what did the Dragon Witch mean by 'starting the process'?"

Deceit rolled his eyes as if Patton had just asked what color the sky was. "The process, of memory extraction, duh. What, did you think I'd let you stay here and have all the others wonder where you went?"

Patton's eyes widened. "Wait, do you mean to say they're not going to remember me at all?"

"Of course not. If you want to be a Dark Side, then you have to be repressed from Thomas' mind. That's the whole point of this." Patton stared straight ahead, still in shock. He looked around at first, trying to find a way out. But then Deceit morphed into Roman.

"Look at it this way," this new form said. "There's no better way to help Thomas move forward than to remove the very keeper of his past memories, right?"

Patton looked at Deceitful-Roman, and took a deep breath through his nose. "Yeah, you're right," he said finally. "Let's just get this over with then." He bent his head and tried to walk out the door.

"Whoa there," Deceit said, now back in his original form. "We can't do it now. We have to wait until everyone's asleep; it's not gonna work otherwise." Patton gave him a confused look, and Deceit rolled his eyes again. "It'll make sense later. In the meantime, why don't I show you around? I'm sure your fellow repressed former Sides will be so happy to see you again."

Patton widened his eyes. "My...my what?"

Deceit just smirked. "Exactly."

Patton spent the rest of the afternoon getting a tour of the Dark Mind Palace. Deceit showed him everything from the arcade to the indoor theatre, and Patton couldn't deny that he was entranced. He met Laziness, Temper, and Self-Doubt in the flesh for the first time, but when a Thomas lookalike wearing a green scarf and an overcoat ran over to hug him, he jumped back in surprise.

"Who...who are you?" Patton asked, startled.

The lookalike backed up and bowed his head, then looked back up at the two of them with a guilty expression. "Oh, right...you don't know me," he said sadly.

"Patton, meet Introversion," Deceit said, gesturing grandly towards the now tearful Side.

Patton stared at Introversion, mystified. "Wait, you mean to tell me that this person...used to be a Side?"

Introversion nodded mournfully. "We were really close, too."

Patton's heart was crushed. "And I don't remember you at all?" Introversion shook his head.

Patton looked back up at Deceit. "But I don't understand. I still remembered the other Dark Sides even though Thomas doesn't know about them yet."

"But I wasn't supposed to be a Dark Side," Introversion explained.

"So when you erase everyone's memories tonight--"

"When you erase everyone's memories tonight," Deceit corrected him.

"--those memories won't be taken from me?"

Deceit shook his head. "Nope! They're yours to keep."

"But if Logan or Roman or Virgil decides to join us later, they won't know who I am?"

Deceit paused. "Well, no one can say for sure. You're only the second person to switch over, after all. But probably, yes."

Before Patton could have time to digest all that, Introversion grabbed his shoulder. "Hey, Patton...how are Logan and Roman and Virgil doing, anyway?" He smiled wistfully. "Does Logan still have his flash cards?"

Patton's eyes lit up for a moment and he nodded, but before he could say anything else, the Dragon Witch appeared in a flash. "Come," she said sharply. "Thomas is asleep now."

Patton followed the Dragon Witch down another few hallways, and finally into an enormous elevator. They climbed in, and Patton tried to cower under the Dragon Witch's wings, but when she tensed up, he thought better of it. This wasn't Virgil.

Without even pressing any buttons, they rose up through the Dark Mind Palace and into Thomas' bedroom. In the dim light, Patton could just make out Thomas' silhouette asleep in his bed. He approached it slowly and stared in awe at this human who was somehow both a father and a son figure to him at the same time. Patton walked over to him to stroke his hair, but the Dragon Witch snatched his hand back.

"Don't touch him," she snapped. "It won't work if you touch him."

"Oh. Sorry." Patton said. He was about to take his hand back, but the Dragon Witch continued to hold onto it, and placed it a few inches above Thomas' head.

"There we go. Now, focus. Remember him. Think about every experience and interaction you two have ever had."

Patton took a shaky breath and nodded. He closed his eyes and thought hard, and all of a sudden he heard Thomas' voice playing in his head, just as if he were talking to him right then.

"If I'm ever stressed, or just need a break? I know who to turn to."

Then, he heard his own voice.

"One foot in front of the other, kiddo."

It was working. More memories kept playing back to him like that, and suddenly a soft blue light came rising up from Thomas' head. Patton looked down and gasped, but the Dragon Witch tightened her grip on his wrist, urging him to not break concentration.

He continued to think of more memories, and after a few minutes, all the light had flown into Patton's hand. The Dragon Witch closed his fist, and Patton watched as the light flew up his arm and then over to his heart, where it pulsated a few times before going out. Patton felt a warm, tingly feeling come over him, and he felt peaceful if not melancholy. The Dragon Witch released her grip, and Patton lowered his hand.

He stood above Thomas and looked down at him. "So...that's it? He doesn't know I exist?"

"No, he doesn't," the Dragon Witch said briskly. "No matter though. See? Everything's exactly the same. You're not hurting him in any way by doing this."

Patton looked around. She had a point, he realized. The room was unchanged. If he was going to disappear, it certainly wouldn't be of any loss to Thomas. Patton drew a quivering breath, and looked down at Thomas for the last time.

"Goodnight, Thomas."

After giving everything one last look, he followed the Dragon Witch out of the room, completely oblivious to the fact that the photo album that was under Thomas' bed--the one that he'd encouraged Thomas to put together right after the breakup--had suddenly disappeared.

"Well, I have to get going now," the Dragon Witch said once they were outside, "but I think you understand how this process works now. Just do the same for the rest of the Sides and come straight back down. You've got a long day of training ahead of you tomorrow."

He went to Virgil's room first. He creaked open the door, and, averting his eyes from the spider curtains, tiptoed over to the bed. Virgil was sound asleep.

'Okay, I can do this,' Patton thought to himself. 'I just have to do what I did to Thomas a few minutes ago.'

Patton took a deep breath and shakily hovered his hand above the anxious side's head. He closed his eyes and thought hard for a minute, trying to remember every single interaction they'd ever had.

"You can do this, kiddo. Just breathe."

"You're my best friend. Don't forget that."

"We need you."

"You can get through it. Just give yourself time."

It was working. Suddenly, a vibrant wisp of light came floating up from Virgil's head. This time, there were two strands of light that were intertwined; one was light blue, and the other was purple. After a few moments, all the light had traveled into Patton's hand, and he closed his fist around it. Just like last time, he watched the light move all the way up his arm and over to his heart before pulsating and finally going out.

Patton stumbled back in shock, almost tripping in the process. Somehow, the procedure was a lot more painful the second time. He steadied himself and looked around the room. Just as before, the room was totally unchanged. Virgil would never know the difference.

"Goodnight, kiddo." Patton whispered, standing in the doorway.

As soon as the words left his mouth, Virgil's pillow lowered ever so marginally as the card Patton had made for him over the summer, which always stayed underneath said pillow, disappeared into thin air.

Patton closed Virgil's door and moved on to Roman's room, feeling much more confident this time. Again, he opened the door and tiptoed over to the bed. He put what was now a much more steady hand above Roman's head, and closed his eyes to concentrate.

"There's pretty much no one I'd rather watch Disney movies with."

"I don't think anyone I've ever known has made me feel so supported."

"Your voice is amazing no matter what range you are."

"You've always backed me up."

Once again, two wisps of light--one light blue, the other a bright red this time--flew up from Roman's head and into Patton's fist, arm, and ultimately heart. He stood back and took one last look at his friend.

"Goodnight, sweet prince."

Deep inside Roman's bottom desk drawer, the stack of Disney movies that Roman had been saving for their next marathon faded away from existence.

There was only one thing left to do before he said goodbye forever, and the finality of it made Patton's heart break. But he had no other choice. He walked over to Logan's room, and let the cool, logical aura push him to keep going. For the third time that night, Patton hovered his hand over the other's head and closed his eyes.

"You truly are quite intelligent--much more than you give yourself credit for."

"Thomas is always gonna learn new things--whether he's in school or not."

"I'm flattered by the effort you put into this card--truly."

"You are so important to this group."

At last, two more wisps of light rose up--both of them blue, but one darker than the other. Once it stopped, Patton stared down at his still-outstretched palm. He started to close it, but stopped. His hand started shaking again, but he once again conjured up the image of Roman telling him they needed to make more space, and he forced his wrist closed, allowing the blue light to travel inside him once more.

He looked around Logan's room for the last time, trying to take notice of every last detail. The Scrabble and chess boards they used to play with. The photo albums they would look through together. The language books that Logan had used to teach him Latin.

What he didn't notice on the desk was a single sheet of loose leaf paper, on which Logan had drafted a letter to Patton to apologize for being so insensitive earlier, and to attempt to explain that truly, they were all hurting sometimes--even if they didn't show it. A letter that was supposed to be slid under Patton's door the next morning.

Patton didn't notice this letter. And he also didn't notice it rapidly disintegrating the moment he said:

"Goodnight, my hero."

by @tsfanart

#fandersficawards #springcomp #ent

[fanders-fic-awards]

Creative Disfunction (SFC Submission)

Summary: Human/School AU. Roman laments over his inability to start anything. Or finish anything. Or really do anything at all.

Warnings: Self deprecation

WC: 1742

Vote

Roman tilted his phone, trying to get the best angle for a selfie. He knew it was late, and no one would probably even see it until much later, but right now he really needed some good old-fashioned peer validation. He sat back down, scrolling through the camera roll, deleting all of the nasty ones.

There were only three left by the end of it.

He bit his lip, flipping between the three until ultimately choosing the second. He posted it with a cute caption, then turned his phone off with a sigh, putting it back on the ground next to him.

Even with all the handsome selfies in the world, Roman hated himself.

Well, he supposed that wasn't entirely accurate. He thought he looked good on some occasions, was fairly confident in his acting abilities, and knew he had a propensity for matching colors, which he liked.

But right then, sitting on his bedroom floor at 12:00 am with two tests and a dance call the next day and absolutely nothing done about any of them, he really did hate himself, or at least his stupid brain.

Why couldn't he ever do things? Even things we wanted to do, like make aesthetics for his friends, or watch a new tv show? He felt… Trapped, stuck in this loop of unproductiveness, even though he figured it was his fault.

He should have just done something, but he didn't.

He could be so much farther, so much better off if he could just force himself to buckle down.

“You've got so much potential!” His parents would say. “You can do so much, Roman. Don’t let that go to waste.”

And he didn't want to, he wanted to do well!

Didn't he?

Working hard was the only way to achieve the dreams he was so desperate to reach.

So why didn't he?

Roman felt tears pricking in the corners of his eyes, whether from frustration or dispair or exhaustion, he didn't know.

He wasn't going to cry.

“It's so easy,” he whispered aloud to himself.

He was not going to cry.

“You could be doing this so easily, and what are you doing? Lamenting over it like some bratty baby! This is all your fault you know!” He cried, his volume raising. He pointed his finger at his own chest.

“This is all your fault because you're a spoiled child who doesn't face consequences for his actions and only ever creates his own problems!”

He wasn't going to cry.

He leaned back.

He was not going to cry.

“If you really cared, you would do something.” He muttered through gritted teeth.

“If I really cared, I would do something but I… I don't.”

He sighed, thinking of how disappointed Logan was going to be with him when Roman told him tomorrow morning that he hadn't done anything.

Even worse, he'd just roll his eyes.

Logan would be disappointed, yes, but he'd come to accept it.

He wasn't going to tell Patton.

He'd spent most of the day talking to him after all, the two of them texting back and forth, and the last thing Roman wanted was Patton thinking this was his fault.

And Virgil…

Well, Virgil had enough going on in his life. It wouldn't be fair to make him sit through one of Roman’s little bitch fits when he was going through so much worse.

He wasn't going to cry.

He sat back up.

He was not going to cry.

This pity party was really starting to get pathetic…

Oh, why did he always wait until the last minute! It was like he wanted to make things the most difficult they could be! What sort of sadistic lifestyle was this, and where would it lead him?

Certainly not to Broadway.

Nor to becoming an award-winning author.

What kind of knight gave up when the going got tough? What kind of Prince shirked his duties?

A cowardly one.

He certainly didn't want to be cowardly, but whenever a task was laid out in front of him, he couldn’t help but imagining the perfect version of what it could be, lurking in the shadows before he hid it away in the depths of his folder. He could never live up to that… He always felt like he was setting himself up for failure right out of the gate.

Or worse, when he finally started to get the hang of something, he'd dismiss it as “easy” and get completely and totally off track, underestimating the time and effort it would take to complete. And it really did not take much to get him off track. He’d once whiled away at least five minutes of precious time on a social studies final simply staring into space and attempting to decide which fruit flavored candies actually tasted like the fruit they were based on.

And what did not having enough time do? It killed him, because he refused to turn in anything half-assed, even when it would benefit him to do so.

If he couldn't be the best, he could at least be the best he could be. That was a healthy outlook, right?

Now all he had to do was make himself believe it.

“I'm… trying.”

He attempted to reassure himself.

“I'm trying all the time, but it's just too hard…”

But of course, he was the one making it hard on himself. He was the one imposing these challenges by not pacing himself, which was stupid!

Some part of his brain did have the courtesy of acknowledging that he wasn't really stupid, he just made stupid decisions sometimes. While he appreciated this, he had to wonder how many stupid decisions it took to call it a stupid habit, because he was pretty sure he'd reached that point. And from there, how many stupid habits did it take to actually make a bonafide stupid person?

Roman looked down at the math homework in front of him. The test was tomorrow, and next to none of it was done. He didn't understand.

He wasn't going to cry.

Of course he didn't understand if he didn't do the work, how was he supposed to learn? Idiot.

He was not going to cry.

He thought he would be able to just pick it all up in class, like he’d done for years. He’d always had a great memory after all, and an eye for detail, which worked wonders for him in the theatre world. He had always been what some people had called “naturally talented.” Of course he'd later learn that this didn't really mean anything, but it sure did give him one hell of a complex. So now, whenever he had to actually work at something… enter the mental block.

But guess what? He asked himself. That's not going to cut it anymore.

He was doing the same thing in science, a class he'd never done horribly in before, not even last semester.

And you know why? It's because he wasn't doing his damn work, that's why.

Which lead him back to his self pitying, woe-is-me plight of “why can't I just do my work?!??!”

“Grow up.” He snapped aloud to himself.

If he was going to act like this about school, how was he ever going to do things in the real, adult world?

Life wasn't a magical fantasy where everything worked itself out, and wishing for a miracle wasn't going to help him solve a trigonometric function.

...Though to be fair, when was he ever going to use trig in the real world anyways? Never, because when he had a real job-

A real job…

A real job like what? he asked himself.

Logan knew what he was doing with his life. He was going to be an astrophysicist and rake in the big bucks with that sharp brain of his. Or he could start a business, he'd always been the best in econ and stats, or whatever math you do in business, Roman couldn't remember if that was stats or not at the moment. He’d end up creating a huge enterprise and leave Roman in the dust.

Patton was going into education with a culinary minor, he was going to be a FACS teacher. Family and consumer science. Home ec? That class. He loved kids, he loved teaching people how to cook and sew and live a healthy life, the job was a perfect fit for him, and he was going to be happy.

In a twisted kind of way, it made Roman a little bit relieved to know that Virgil was also undecided as to which field he would be going into. But despite what Señor Sunshine liked to claim, he was a hard worker when it came to academics, even if it was just “anxious drive,” as he called it. He was going to do great things, even if he didn't know that yet.

But Roman…

What could Roman do?

All his skills came from his creativity. He made things, art pieces, performances, poetry. It's what gave him his drive, his passion.

But that didn’t translate very well to the real world. He wasn't that naïve, he knew that getting work as an actor was difficult and that life would be constantly unstable. He knew getting things published was a nightmare and most likely wouldn't earn him living wages.

All he could do was create.

And he knew the world didn’t need him, not when there were so many other much more talented people willing to work so much harder for their passions.

Roman glanced at the clock. It was getting late.

He sighed, closing his math folder.

Whatever.

He had to be up at 5:00 am, and he knew that no matter how much he hated himself now, he was going to hate himself even more when that alarm rang.

So he stood up, knees aching from being bent for so long while he sat. He turned out the lights, then practically threw himself into his bed, curling the blankets tight around him.

I’m not going to cry, he thought to himself as he lay in the quiet, still darkness.

That would be entirely pathetic and undeserved.

He closed his eyes, wiping something wet from his cheek.

“You know what? I don't even care,” he whispered to himself, caring deeply.

I am not going to cry.

Maybe not that night.

But he sure was going to have to some time.

by @5-crofters-jams

#fandersficawards #springcomp #ent

[fanders-fic-awards]

If Only I Knew (SFC Submission)

Summary: Logan? Logan? Oh my fucking god, he fuckin dead.

Warnings: Suicide, depression, blood

WC: 1650

Vote

I should have noticed the signs. I should have noticed the signs.

Virgil stared down at Logan, eyes wide with shock as he tried to snap out of it, to think of what to do, to scream for help, to do anything.

But he was frozen.

I should have noticed the signs. I should have… Why didn’t I notice the signs?

All he saw was red.

Logan was lying in a pool of his own blood, curled up under his desk, unmoving. He didn’t shake, he didn’t breathe. The life was seeped out of him, the once lively logical trait now replaced with a frozen, stone cold blue corpse. Virgil couldn’t really see his eyes, the side’s glasses stained with blood, but he knew that if he could see them, they’d stare mockingly into his own, making fun of his idiocy, his oblivious nature. I should have noticed the signs. Oh, god, Logan.

Logan’s hand slumped to the side, wrist carved into as a razor clattered out of his grasp.

Why?

Everything Logan did that rung Virgil’s alarm bells was now surfacing in his mind. Why did he just brush him off? Did he not make enough time? What did he do wrong?

‘I’m perfectly fine,’ Logan had said, deep purple circles like wilting violets lining his eyes, definitely not makeup. ‘I will get rest in just a moment,’ he had said, before collapsing in his own room a week later.

‘No, I’m not overworking myself.’

‘Yes, I did get enough to eat.’

‘No, I don’t need to sit down.’

‘Yes, I do believe I’m a useful part of Thomas’s mind.’

Virgil glanced down at all the crinkled papers strewn about the room, most lying on the floor, and some covered in blood. It’s as if Logan had a tantrum before he did it. His room was never so disorganized. And somewhere in Virgil’s mind, he remembered making a mental note to have a serious talk with Logan. But he never did.

If only he were more organized like him.

If only he knew what exactly they could have done. Done differently. More efficiently. Logan would have known what to do to help him, of course. He would have had all the facts. But he didn’t let them help him. He pushed himself too far and now he did… this.

Why is this the one situation where Logan can’t tell him what he did wrong?!

“For the man who is logic personified, you- heh, you sure could be irrational sometimes,” Virgil wiped a tear from his cheek, sinking to the floor. His black skinny jeans soaked in the blood on the ground, sticking to his knees, but Virgil found that he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything anymore.

How long had Logan been up here? No more than a few hours, at least.

‘No, I don’t need your help with anything. You have your own duties to perform,’ Logan had said to Roman, before pulling out his hair in stress not thirty minutes later. ‘Yes, I can see fine,’ he had said to Virgil, before tripping over his own feet, eyes blurry from exhaustion. ‘No, don’t go to the trouble of making soup for me, Patton. I’m neither sick nor hungry.’

‘I don’t have sleep deprivation.’

‘I don’t see hallucinations.’

‘I slept just yesterday.’

“I hate you so much,” Virgil growled at the corpse. “I hate you so much. You should have just told us, we- we could have HELPED you! God, I- what pushed you over the edge? Why this? Why was this better than simply having a word with us, why didn’t you say something-”

He cut off his sentence when he spotted a few papers on the ground near him, papers that looked different from the rest. They weren’t neatly three-hole-punched, rather, torn out carelessly. Pen scribbles marked parts of the page, vicious, aggressive pen scribbles that tore a hole into parts of the paper.

Virgil slowly, hesitantly picked up the bloody page, careful to avoid the stains themselves. He gripped the papers with two hands to stop his shaking tremors long enough to actually read.

I tried to not be so emotionless. Emotions look like work. They look like an inconvenience. But they looked like they had their benefits. They looked…

fun

happy

fulfilling

They looked like something I’d want to try and participate in. For research purposes, nothing more.

And I did it.

I tried to imitate the rest. But I imitated too well. My emulation wasn’t perfect, but what I was feeling was something, and it was mine.

Until it wasn’t.

Until it spiraled out of control and it wasn’t mine anymore.

I never found out what exactly this ‘it’ was, but it was terrifyingly deep. Deep and powerful.

I became tired.

I became so, so, so very tired.

I slept more than I’ve ever slept before during these months of the ‘it’ plaguing me every minute, but ‘it’ never seemed to go away and I only became more tired.

What an odd sensation, to become more tired after you’ve just slept. I’m not a stranger to sleep inertia, which is why I barely sleep. But this somnolence was something I couldn’t seem to get rid of.

No matter how much I denied it.

No. No, no no.

If the problem was simply drowsiness, there wouldn’t be a problem. But then, I experienced another symptom. This was when I realized how terrifying 'it' was.

Virgil experiences this on a regular basis, I believe. Cognitive distortion.

I would have been more understanding had I known it felt like this.

Virgil stopped reading as he saw everything become blurry. Tears filled his eyes. Logan… He wiped his eyes with his sleeve as he continued to read.

I would have been more patient with Virgil had I known how miserable an existence with this mindset is. I would have… tried harder.

I tried. I tried every day. I’m trying right now. Trying to think of any reason not to do what I’m thinking of doing. I can think of many, actually. 32, to be exact. But they all pale in comparison to my reasons to do it. 79.

I’m trying, I really am. I’m trying all the time, but it’s just too hard.

For a few moments, I did feel better. I thought maybe this is what you had to experience if you wanted to feel. I thought that maybe you had to earn your emotions this way. And I was feeling, actually physically feeling myself get better. Until one scenario, one scenario kept playing in my mind.

Robot.

Robot.

Robot. Robot. Robot. Robot. Robot. Robo.t Rrobot. Rotbot. Robbot. The words blend together, Robot, Robot, Robot, Robot, how can you call me a robot after all I’ve been through, after everything I’ve suffered I’m still just a robot, robot, robot, robot, robot, I’m still just a robot to you.

Virgil blinked. Who was Logan addressing this part to? It hurt to see his neat handwriting spiral into something barely readable. Who knew one word could affect someone so heavily?

Virgil knew.

Virgil knows this very well. He is Anxiety, after all. Of course he would know how bad one word can be. No matter what the word is. He sniffled, beginning to read again.

Just a machine to spout useless facts, I’m just a primitive AI. No, not even an AI. A fax machine. A coffee maker. A toaster. Toaster in the bathtub- I don’t need a toaster to short circuit- because I’m a robot- robot robot robot. I’ll show them. I can’t be a robot. I can’t be a robot because robots don’t bleed. Do I bleed? I don’t remember. Of course I bleed. Do I?

His handwriting began to stabilize again, letters becoming less scribbled and shaky, but it still seemed as if it was written in a rush. Patton- You gave me the idea for emotions. I understand now. I thank you for the knowledge. I call you brave for managing to smile after fighting through this ‘it’. Did you experience an ‘it?’ You must have, for you feel the most emotions out of all of us.

Roman- You give ideas in general, and I never gave you enough credit for them. You’re emotional too- and despite having experienced heavy cognitive distortions, you remain the ego and confidence of Thomas. I admire that.

Virgil- you must hate

I can’t imagine

I’m sorry

I don’t know how to

Virgil squinted at all the crossed out words before staring at the four words Logan left alone.

Virgil, I forgive you.

A memory suddenly popped in his head, one that he didn’t even realize was relevant until now.

‘Careful, Romano. You might fizzle out the Robot,’ Virgil had joked, sitting with the others as he watched Roman finally beat Logan in a video game, Logan grumbling in frustration.

It was a happy memory. One of the few happy ones that Virgil couldn’t attach anything negative to.

Until now.

“I… Oh, god, Logan. I didn’t know. I didn’t know- I swear, I didn’t know! Oh god, I didn’t know, you have to believe me! I didn’t know!”

Virgil was screaming now, fists raised up to his head as he saw the others pop in out of the corner of his eye, before he shut his eyes tightly. “I DIDN’T KNOW!” he screamed at the two sides, who were gawking at Logan’s dead body. “I DIDN’T KNOW!”

He was being held now, he didn’t know by who. All he could think was, if he didn’t make that comment, Logan could still be here. Here with them, and eventually he would have said something to the others, eventually everything would have worked out.

If only he knew.

But he didn’t. He didn’t know.

Logan had deceived them all.

by @apples-n-machetes

#fandersficawards #springcomp #ent

[fanders-fic-awards]

I Wish I Could (SFC Submission)

Summary: For two years, Roman and Virgil have been in a relationship together and they couldn't be happier together. But one day, when Roman lashes out, things go worse than either of them could have imagined

Warnings: Arguing, anxiety, self-loathing, mentions of past abuse, present emotional abuse and manipulation, suicide, one swear I think, There's a character in here named Richard. That's Deceit.

WC: 4949

Vote

As soon as Roman entered, Virgil knew something was wrong. Roman tried to act like it wasn’t, but Virgil just knew. He had known his boyfriend long enough to see when something was bothering him. But when Virgil asked Roman about it, he dismissed it, saying that he was fine. Virgil frowned, but didn’t bother bringing it up again.

“Virgil,” Roman started finally, after a slightly uncomfortable silence. “I need to talk to you about something.”

The other man nodded. This one sentence caused his anxiety to rise up. Had he done something wrong? Had Roman heard something? Did Roman not love him anymore? Was he going to break up with him?

“What is it?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm and steady.

“Are you…” Roman stopped for a second, looking up at Virgil with eyes filled with a mix of pain and apathy. “You���re cheating on me, aren’t you?”

“What?” Virgil’s eyes widened at the accusation. How did Roman think that? How did he even think anyone else would fall in love with Virgil? It was a miracle that Roman fell in love with him in the first place. Why would Virgil even think of betraying his trust? Roman was way too good for him, he would never even think of cheating! “N-no, of course not! Why would you think that?”

“I just… noticed,” his boyfriend explained, “you’re always absent when we’re together, and you seem to not really… have time for me anymore… you know? And you’re away so often, and…”

Virgil noticed that Roman phrased his words carefully and that he tried his best to not lash out. It was as if he already knew that it was the truth. As if he had already made up his mind. It was true that Virgil had been absentminded lately, but he just had a lot on his mind. Things at work had been rough and Virgil was afraid he would get fired soon, which is why he had spent time on finding a new job. Finance hadn’t been looking up and for a few weeks, the man had debated asking his boyfriend to move in together. There was a lot for him to think about and he needed his time to make the right decisions. All in all, life hadn’t been good to him and it took him a lot of his attention. But it was never his intention to hurt Roman like this.

“Is that all?” Virgil asked, unsure of how to respond to this. “Ro, I- I just have a lot going on in my personal life, I promise you.”

Roman looked at the other man, glaring just a little. It was clear that he was trying to determine whether he trusted Virgil or not.

“What did you mean ‘Is that all’?” he asked eventually. “Is there more I should know about?”

“No!” Virgil quickly exclaimed, trying his best to convince Roman. “No, that’s not it. I was just… I don’t know, I guess I was expecting something else.”

“So, you are hiding something.”

“I am not! Please Roman, you have to believe me!” Virgil reached out and tried to grab his boyfriend’s hands in his, but Roman pulled away as soon as their fingers met each other. The younger man looked up at his partner, pain evident in his eyes. “Ro… please.”

“Don’t do this to me, Virgil,” Roman called out, getting up so he could step away from the man in front of him. “Don’t…”

“Roman, please,” Virgil pleaded. “There is nothing! I will explain everything to you, but you have to believe me, I am not-”

“Virgil, stop,” the older man snapped, glaring at his boyfriend. “Don’t even… don’t even try. It… it… I- I hate you. So much.”

Virgil’s eyes widened and his heart broke as he heard these words. Even Roman seemed to be taken aback when he heard the words that left his mouth.

“You don’t,” Virgil said, his voice breaking, “you don’t… mean that. Right?”

“I… I don’t know, Virgil,” the older man admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I think we should put an end to this.”

“Are you… sure?” Virgil asked softly. He felt tears burning in his eyes, but he refused to let them spill. He refused to believe that the love of his life would break up with him about something like this. “Ro, please… you need to let me explain…”

“I’m sorry, Virge,” Roman apologised, his voice soft and tender, breaking by all the emotion it contained, “but I don’t think I can do this. I’m sorry.”

Virgil slowly nodded as his world seemingly fell apart. It felt like his heart had been ripped out of his body and torn to pieces in front of him. Roman was the love of his life. They had been dating for a little more than two years and Virgil loved this man so much. Did he… he really did that. He really broke up with him.

“I’m sorry,” Roman repeated softly. Virgil didn’t respond, but he just nodded, trying his best not to break in front of the other man. If he would leave soon, that would mean Virgil would be alone and he would have the chance to break down all to himself, with nobody around to worry him. Just Virgil and his own misery.

“I’ll just… get my things,” the older man whispered, looking at Virgil sadly. “I’ll see myself out. I’m so sorry, Virgil.”

Virgil didn’t respond.

Five minutes later, Roman was gone. He had quickly gathered all the stuff he had left at Virgil’s apartment and carried it home, ignoring the fact that it was way too much for him to carry – he had said he wanted to avoid the awkward ‘hey I’m here to pick up my stuff’-phase. And now, he was really gone.

Virgil had sat down on his couch and he was now staring at the key Roman had left on the coffee table, tears silently rolling down his cheeks. It was official now. They had broken up. Virgil had never thought that it would end like this. With a sob, Virgil buried his face in his hands, wishing over and over that this was a nightmare. That he would wake up in his bed and be faced with the sight of his sleeping boyfriend next to him. He would curl up next to Roman and hear his steady breathing, reassuring him that they were still together. But he knew that would never happen. This was real.

Oh God, Roman really had broken up with him. He was really alone.

Virgil shook his head, as if he finally realised what had happened to him a few minutes ago. He grabbed the nearest pillow he could find and hugged it close, needing to find some form of comfort. The man had never loved anyone as much as he had loved Roman, he had never trusted someone like he had trusted Roman. And now he just ripped Virgil’s heart out and tore it to shreds right in front of his eyes.

---

Virgil looked at the contact in his phone. He wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do, but it was his only option. He wanted to talk to someone and he didn’t really have any friends. The only friends he had, he met through Roman, so they would most likely side with his ex. And then there was Richard. An old friend of Virgil’s. When Virgil and Roman met, the latter told him to cut Richard out of his life, due to his abusive and manipulative ways. Virgil finally saw that Richard was toxic and did what Roman had told him to do, but immediately after he had, Richard started messaging him about how sorry he was. Saying that he never intended to hurt Virgil and that he should have confronted him calmly instead of immediately resorting to the most extreme solution. Saying that he would change.

And Virgil believed him. He would have let Richard back into his life, if Roman hadn’t stopped him. But now… now there was no Roman left to stop him. And besides, if Richard had changed, or was willing to… there was no harm in calling him, right? If Rich really changed, that was great. And if he didn’t, Virgil would be able to recognize his toxic behaviour, he reasoned. If he noticed Rich would fall back into his abusive ways, Virgil could just break ties again. He would be fine.

For a few more moments, the man stared at the screen in front of him. Should he call him? Was this really the best option? He did miss Rich and he was in need of some support here, but Roman had told him not to contact the other man anymore. Surely, he must have had a reason for that.

But then again… Roman was not here anymore. He broke up with him. So why would he care? He obviously did not care about him, because if he did… why would he break up with him?

Virgil knew Richard had been abusive and manipulative. He knew what the other had done the previous time. Surely, he would be able to recognize the patterns.

Before he knew it, Virgil had selected the contact of his former friend and he nervously pressed the phone to his ear, awaiting a response.

“Virgil,” he heard the familiar voice on the other side of the phone, “why are you calling me?”

“Hey Rich,” Virgil muttered softly, “can we… can we talk?”

---

As soon as Roman came home, he dropped the stuff he carried in his hands on the coffee table and sat down on one of his chairs. He started to wonder.

Had it really been the best idea to break up with Virgil so impulsively? Sure, he was hurt and upset, but shouldn’t he have listened to Virgil a little bit more? Shouldn’t he have let the other man explain? Was it really smart to have yelled at his boyfriend, to say that he hated him and then break up with him? Of course it hadn’t been smart, he knew that all too well. It was a bad idea to yell at people in general, but he knew about Virgil’s anxiety. He wasn’t great at coping with fights and his boyfriend at the time straight up saying he hated him?

Oh God, that was a mistake. He couldn’t even imagine in what state Virgil would be right now. He had to call him immediately!

As quickly as he could, the man searched his pockets for his phone and selected Virgil’s number – it was on speed dial. He called Virgil and held the phone to his ear.

But he quickly found out that his ex was busy talking to someone else and he could not answer his call. For a few moments, the same jealousy sparked again. What if he had been cheating on him, what if he was talking to his partner right now? But Roman quickly pushed that thought away. He couldn’t bear the idea of Virgil cheating on him. He could not believe that Virgil, the one he loved more than his own life, would do something like that. He should have known better. Virgil wasn’t the type to cheat, was he?

No. Roman had to talk to him.

He took a deep breath and dialled his number again.

---

“Virge, listen to me,” Richard said softly, taking the phone from Virgil’s hands. “He’s not worth it.”

The man had offered to come over after Virgil had called him and Virge, being in need of someone to talk to, quickly agreed. And just twenty minutes later, Richard was inside again.

“But he keeps calling me, shouldn’t I just give him a chance?”

“Virgil, he’s not worth your time,” Richard repeated, looking into his friend’s eyes. “He’s trying to manipulate you! Can’t you see? He never really cared about you! If he had cared, he would have tried to let you explain yourself instead of jumping to conclusions like he did! He is not worth your time, okay?”

“But he… he told me he loved me,” the other man muttered, looking down at his hands. He didn’t want to believe what Richard was trying to tell him. It hurt too much to think that Roman would have ill intent. Virgil loved him too much.

“That’s what he wants to you think Virge,” his friend insisted, “so he can draw you in and manipulate you! Why else would he want you to cut me out of your life?”

“He said you were tox-”

“I know what he said, you told me all about it,” Richard interrupted Virgil’s response quickly, already knowing what his friend would say. “But that was just so he could convince you to break ties with me, because he wants to isolate you. I thought about it and it’s the only explanation that makes sense!”

“Then why did you apologise? About everything?” Virgil frowned up at the other man. He clearly remembered Richard telling him he would change, that he didn’t want to lose Virgil. Why would he say that if it was merely Roman trying to make him believe that Richard was toxic? Why apologise if there is nothing to apologise for?

“I was afraid to lose a good friend like you,” Richard answered, “and I never meant to hurt you. I just thought I hurt you… unintentionally. But now… I think that was exactly what Roman wanted.”

Virgil nodded and looked at his friend. He genuinely hoped that his thoughts were wrong. He couldn’t handle the idea of Roman playing him like that. He was crazy about this man and the thought of him being this manipulative, it was horrible.

“There’s just one thing, though,” Virgil muttered after a short moment of thinking. “If this is true… why would he break up with me?”

“He wants you to realise that you can’t live without him,” Richard explained, grabbing one of Virgil’s hands. “He thinks that if you have to go through this, you will realise how much you love him and never even think of leaving him. Even when he puts you through hell.”

“You think he would do that?” Virgil couldn’t believe it. Roman was so sweet and he had been so kind and caring to him. How could someone so kind be so manipulative? And how could Virgil not see it? If Richard was right… it would make sense. Maybe that was why he accused Virgil of cheating, because he thought it was true and he wanted Virgil for himself, to isolate him. Or maybe it was because he wanted to make clear that he didn’t want Virgil to see anyone but him.

“Most certainly.”  

Virgil frowned, but any chance of a response was cut short when his phone started ringing. The two men glanced at the screen and saw it was Roman calling.

“I got this,” Richard responded before picking up the phone.

---

“Virgil? Thank goodness, I really needed to talk to you,” Roman rushed as soon as he heard the phone was picked up. He wanted to get to his apology as quickly as he could, to make sure Virgil wouldn’t hang up on him before that. He opened his mouth to continue, but he was cut off by a voice that made his blood run cold.

“Roman, listen,” Richard said calmly, “Virgil is too polite to tell you this, so I will do it for him. He would appreciate it if you didn’t bother him again, and so would I. He doesn’t need someone like you in his life.”

“Someone like me?” Roman frowned. “Listen up, Dick, I know what you’re going to do to him, and I won’t let you! It’s you who Virgil doesn’t need, you snake!”

Roman knew all about Richard. Virgil was still befriended to the man when they just started dating, but Roman noticed his toxic behaviour and he made it his goal to make sure that Virgil would could him out of his life, and after a while, he had managed. He had hoped that would be the last he saw of Richard, but alas. Like a hydra, he had come back. But hopefully, this snake would have only one head.

“Goodbye, Roman.” As he heard those words, Roman tried to protest and demand to speak to Virgil, but the phone call had already been ended. Grumbling under his breath, Roman decided to text his ex, hoping that he would be able to reach him like that.

Virgil? – Read 7:26 pm

Please talk to me – Read 7:26 pm

Virgil, don’t listen to him – Read 7:27 pm

He’s trying to isolate you from me – Read 7:27 pm

Please don’t listen – Read 7:27 pm

Baby I’m sorry – Read 7:27 pm

I want to talk – Read 7:27 pm

You need to get away from him – Read 7:27 pm

Please honey – Received 7:27 pm

I’m sorry – Received 7:27 pm

I’m so, so sorry – Received 7:27 pm

I love you – Received 7:28 pm

Virgil… – Sent 7:28 pm

Baby… –  Sent 7:29 pm

Don’t do this – Sent 7:29 pm

Please – Sent 7:30 pm

Babe – Sent 7:31 pm

I’m sorry – Sent 7:32 pm

I love you – Sent 7:35 pm

Roman stared at his phone, waiting for his screen to show the notification that his messages had been delivered or read by the other. But somehow, he knew that it wouldn’t happen. He was sure that Virgil had blocked him. There was no way he could reach him now. Tears blurred his vision. He could not believe this was happening. He did not want to lose Virgil. Especially not like this. It was all one big mistake he had made and now, he couldn’t even apologize anymore, because his boyfriend had blocked him out. No- not his boyfriend. His ex. He had broken up with Virgil. Why had he ever broken up with Virgil? Even in that moment of impulsiveness, he knew that it was wrong. But the words just… slipped out. And he couldn’t take them back anymore.

The man threw his phone aside in anger, immediately regretting it when he heard the sound of his screen breaking as his phone crashed into the wall. But he ignored it. It didn’t matter, after all. He had driven his boyf- his ex back into the arms of his abuser and there was nothing he could do to make up for his mistake. He would not be able to help Virgil if he kept ignoring and blocking him. Breaking up with Virgil had been the biggest mistake of his life and, as if he had built up some horrible, horrible karma, things were only getting worse. If only he could reach Virgil. If only he could pull him away from Richard, hold him again and tell his man how much he regretted his action. If only he could see Virgil again without that wicked snake influencing him. But how would he do that when Virgil was under his spell once again? How could he make up for his mistakes?

Days had passed and no matter how hard he tried, Virgil would not answer Roman. His texts weren’t delivered, his calls went straight to voicemail and social media wasn’t helping him either. Logan and Patton tried to talk some sense into Roman, but the guilt was eating him alive. He sent Virgil back to Richard, the man who had abused and manipulated him. And now he had given him a chance to do it all over again, without a possibility to stop him. He had played himself and there was no way to reverse it.

One time, he even tried to go to Virgil’s house, in one final act of desperation, but he wouldn’t open the door. However, he did see a car outside. A car he didn’t recognize, but he thought he knew who it belonged to, and the mere thought made him sick. It made him want to run back and knock on the door, to yell until Virgil would let him in and give him a chance to explain himself, even if it meant he had to stay there all night. Even if he had to scream until his voice gave up and knock on the door until his knuckles were raw. He had to see Virgil.

But he couldn’t. Not anymore. He had ruined his chance. The love of his life was in trouble, in the arms of the man who had played him for ages. Caught in his trap, in an infinite web of lies, that stretched as far as one could see.

And who caused it?

Roman Sanders himself.

But he couldn’t handle it anymore. The guilt got too much. He just couldn’t do it. He knew he was weak, he knew he was a failure, a mess unworthy of someone as good as Virgil. Because he knew that only an idiot would mess up this badly and lose the love of his life. No one but a failure would make a mistake as big as this. He couldn’t even call this a mistake, for that word was too small. There was no word that was fit to describe his foolish actions. He was blinded by insecurities and fear. He let those feelings turn to rage. He let his rage take control of him. Someone as stupid as his did not deserve to walk around on this earth.

That’s why Roman found himself staring at a belt he held in his hands. He was tempted, but he was so scared to do it. What would he feel like? How long would it take? Would he even feel anything? What if it didn’t work?

But then, he remembered Virgil, and he remembered Richard and how that filthy snake would have gained all control over him again. And he remembered how it was all his fault. And in that moment, all the pain came back to him and he knew that this would be the right thing to do. The only right thing.

So, he wrapped the belt around his neck and pulled it as tightly as he could, until he cut off his air supply. Now, he just had to make sure the belt didn’t slip away and he would be fine.

Hopefully, in a few minutes of struggling for his breath, a few minutes of blissful agony, all his problems would be solved.

---

Virgil looked up when his phone started ringing. He expected it to be Richard, calling in to tell him about whatever. So he grabbed his phone and prepared to pick up, when he noticed the caller ID. It was Patton.

With a frown, Virgil answered the call and put the phone to his ear. He hadn’t heard from Patton since Roman broke up with him, so he wondered why the man would want to call him now of all times.

“Hello?” he asked cautiously, afraid that it might be Roman trying to reach him with another phone.

“Virgil,” Patton greeted. It was really Patton, but he sounded… different. His voice was broken and full of emotion. “I’m so glad you picked up.”

“Patton, what is it?” Virgil started to get worried. He knew Patton wasn’t upset easily, so this had to be something bad. “What happened?”

“I-it’s Roman,” the man on the phone hiccupped. For a few moments, Virgil was afraid that Roman had hurt Patton in some way and his heart sank, but nothing in the world could have prepared him for the comment that followed. “He- he killed himself.”

“What?” Virgil’s world seemed to stop for a few moments. No. That couldn’t be the truth. No. Roman couldn’t do that, right? He wouldn’t. No, that could not be true, it had to be some twisted prank or nightmare, fuelled by the guilt and pain in his subconscious. But Roman couldn’t have killed himself. Virgil refused to believe that. He was afraid to believe that. A voice in the back of his mind told him to not believe it, or to not care about it. After all, wasn’t Roman the one who had mistreated him, even if he never realised?

But he couldn’t bring himself to be apathetic about this. He had spent two years of his life loving this man, the news that he had killed himself came as a shock. Virgil felt tears burning in the corners of his eyes, shaking his head, as if that would undo this, as if that would make it all okay. Roman couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t be.

“He… he left a note, too,” Patton muttered, forcing Virgil back into the harsh reality. “It said… ‘Tell Virgil I’m- I’m sorry’. So, I guess… there you go.”

“He’s sorry?” Virgil mumbled, his mind a hazy blur of chaotic thoughts. “Sorry for what?”

“I don’t know kiddo,” Patton said softly, his voice growing softer by the second, “that’s all it said.”

“I… thank you, Pat,” the younger man finally said. He couldn’t believe this. No, this couldn’t be true. Roman was sorry? For what? For breaking up with him, for leading him on all these years? For yelling at him, for snapping at him, for accusing him of cheating or simply for killing himself? What was he sorry for? Why did he apologise? “I think I- I gotta go. Is that… is that okay?”

“Of course it is, Virge,” Patton weakly responded. “You can call me if you need to talk, okay?”

“Alright,” Virgil answered with a nod. “Thanks, I guess… I’m sorry about Ro.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Virgil smiled sadly and ended the phone call. He dropped the phone next to him, not even feeling like putting it down gently.

This couldn’t be true, this had to be fake. A misunderstanding, or a- a joke. He knew Roman wasn’t good for him and he knew he shouldn’t be grieving, but he was in a relationship with this man for two years, it’s not easy to deal with their death after so long. Even when they turned out to be a monster. Because there are memories, there are good times, little things you remember about them. Little things that were engraved in your memory and that you’ll fondly look back on. But over time, they would disappear. One by one. Slowly but surely, one forgets, and a person who you shared your life with, becomes a stranger.

A few weeks ago, Virgil had thought that losing Roman to a break-up was bad, but that pain was nothing compared to the pain he felt now. It felt like his heart was slowly being teared away from his body and ripped apart, but it happened over and over and over again, until it made him sick and he was almost begging to no one for the pain to stop, but it never stopped. It wouldn’t stop.

Virgil cried and cried, until there was not a tear left in his body to be shed. Until his head was throbbing and his stomach and throat hurt from his extensive sobbing. He saw his phone lit up with multiple missed messages, but he couldn’t bear to look at them. He didn’t want to look at them. He wanted to be alone, to wallow in his sadness and self-pity. He didn’t need anyone around to comfort him and to tell him everything is going to be okay when he knew it was never going to be okay. How is losing someone you used to love ever okay? What would make the pain he felt ever go away? No, it would never be okay, Virgil realised. None of this would ever really be okay. The pain would never go away.

---

Virgil looked down at the ground as he slowly walked towards his destination. He refused to look up, not wanting to face this world anymore. He just wanted to slip away, unseen. To leave this world and not come back. He knew Richard had told him that cutting Roman out was the best for him, that he deserved better than Roman. But why did the news of his death hurt him so much? If Roman hadn’t been good for him… why was he so heartbroken? Why did he feel like nothing in his life would look up again? Why did it feel like Roman’s death had been a death sentence to himself? It had been nearly two weeks since Roman died. If the man was bad for him, why did he still feel like ripping his heart out? Why did it still hurt?

Virgil stopped on the bridge and leaned over the edge ever so slightly, looking at the river below him. It was so threatening, yet so comforting. He knew that if he did this, it would all be over. All the pain and the guilt would be wiped away for ever. He wouldn’t be a bother to anyone anymore. He just had to do this.

And so, he climbed over the ledge, holding onto the metal so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His feet landed on the narrow strip of concrete on the other side of the railing. He just had to do this.

People yelled. They called out to him. Tried to help him. But it was too late. No one could help him. The only one he wanted to help him, was dead. They could not help him.

He just had to do it.

Ignoring the screams of the people around him, Virgil carefully released the railing with his left hand.

Then, his right hand.

Then, he jumped.

by @lostin---translation

#fandersficawards #springcomp #ent

[fanders-fic-awards]

The Incident (SFC Submission)

Summary: With Roman alongside him, Virgil is tasked with vanquishing a threat to the kingdom. Why it’s his job he has no idea. But now Virgil’s here facing demons he’s not ready to acknowledge and a choice that he can’t make. Attachments area

Warnings:  Implied Character Death, mentions of past manipulation, manipulation, Deceit

WC: 1925

Vote

The two of them stood outside the cave. Why someone would still reside in a cave of all places in the modern day confused Virgil. But here was, forced to confront whatever laid inside. They didn’t even know what it was that they were looking for, just that it was a threat. A threat that had to be eliminated or it could threaten the integrity of the kingdom. Still didn’t justify any reason why they were here, of all people.

“You think it’s the dragon witch?” Roman asked, still frozen in his spot from where they had arrived moments before. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. Virgil could tell he was tense. “I would be a lot less nervous if it was the dragon witch.”

“You think everything is the dragon witch. I don’t think it’s the dragon witch.” Virgil rolled his eyes, finally finding energy to move his feet. He stepped closer to the mouth of the cave. 

“Wait! We need light before going in there.” Roman searched the beach around him; Virgil was clueless as to what he was looking for. “Did you see any dry branches on the trail down here we can use your lighter to ignite?”

“Not really. But I think my flashlight will be enough.” Virgil waved the torch in front of him, causing a pout to form on Roman’s face. The prince marched up to stand even with Virgil.

“I hate you so much.” He mumbled as he passed. 

“The feeling’s mutual, your royal pain-in-my-ass.” Virgil mocked, making sure to add the little bow as always. 

He stayed behind Roman as the two entered the cave, making sure his light illuminated the darkness ahead of them. The two lost track of how deep they were going, the light behind them fading ever so slowly until it was no more. Virgil felt like his ears wanted to pop and that were multiple pairs of eyes watching his every move. Even Roman stood alert at all times, his sword now drawn and at the ready. No words needed to be spoken to know that each man was as scared as his brother. 

“Any ideas, Creativity?” Virgil asked, his voice clearly on edge. Roman would have liked to speak, but a huge rumbling echoed through the cavern. The two quickly found themselves back to back, looking around for the source of the sound.

“None that you’d wouldn’t shoot down immediately, Anxiety. Also, am I correct to assume that that wasn’t just your stomach just then?” Virgil nodded, hopping the other felt his movements. His voice felt too hoarse to speak currently. Another rumbling sounded, and tiny rocks rained down in front of Virgil. It was these pebbles that caused him to look up.

“Above us.” He pointed up, and Roman followed his gaze to see what had Virgil even more worried. Huge cracks snaked across the ceiling like lightning bolts. And each tenadril threatened to knock loose one of the many stalactites that dangled from the ceiling by a thread. 

“On my Count, we run. One …” Roman started, but one more crack resounded above them, and then it was pure chaos. Stalactites started falling in rapid succession around them, and it wasn’t long before the one they stood directly under feel soon after.

“Three!” Virgil shouted, pushing Roman out of the way of the falling debris. Following Newton’s Third Law, he propelled himself in the opposite directing in a pile of dirt and rocks. Instinctively he curled into the fetal position, covering his ears from all the sounds of crashing and crumbling. Eyes squeezed tight, he tried to focus on his breathing in order to avoid a panic or anxiety attack. They wouldn’t help anything. 

When the calm was reinstated, Virgil rose to assess his situation. Large jutting pieces of rock separated him from the rest of the cave. The ceiling was completely flat now, a new layer visible from the cracks that were now permanent installations above his head. He glanced around him. Fallen stalactites also surrounded him on all sides in a nearly perfect circle. It didn’t seem natural; it almost seemed as if it was purposefully caused to be that way.

“Virgil?” A weak voice called out from the other side of the divide.

“Roman!” He called back, rushing to the edge to project his voice and to hear his brother’s. “Are you Okay?”

“For the time being. Just minor scrapes and such. You?”

“Fine. Nothing serious. Listen, we have a figure a way to get back together. Are there any cracks you can see in this … this wall that I could crawl through or something?” Virgil ran his hands along the smooth stone, finding nothing but the tiniest of holes that his finger could barely fit through.

“Why did you push me aside?” Roman asked, making Virgil hesitate in his search.

“I don’t know. Instinct or something. Look, let’s not focus on that right now.”

“But I’m focusing on it now.” Roman demanded, his voice sounding much more confident than it had minutes prior. “You could have tackled me. You could have pulled me away. But you instead pushed me away and went in the direction. There was a purpose behind it. And one little shove couldn’t have sent you that far away.”

“I didn’t know, you have to believe me!”

The tone was his, but the words were not. Virgil’s lips were open yet a single syllable had yet to be uttered. He didn’t want to glance over his shoulder, but he did. He was simply standing there, the same as Virgil remembered. The snarky expression, the over flamboyant outfit, the slit eye surrounded by green scales like the snake he was. He looked so confident and smug, just like when Virgil left. He wanted to punch that creature so hard in the face.

“Deceit.” He said, his voice only laced with anger. He turned away from Roman’s questions being shouted through the rocks. His focus now was strictly on this demon from his past. “Proud of what you’ve done?”

“Not at all.” He replied, taking a few steps closer to Virgil. The latter did not move but rather focused on his breathing. “Although, I don’t regret how … you turned out.” Deceit was not close enough to touch Virgil, but the latter still used his magic to propel him back as far as possible.

“I am nothing like them, and I’m nothing like you. They are my family. They care about me.”

“Like they weren’t forced to.” Deceit countered as he rose, wiping his clothes of any loose pebbles. “They care about you, don’t they?”

“I mean everything to them! I’m not done puppet like you used to treat me!!” Virgil felt his anger rise, so much that he knew his eyes were changing into that fiery purple. Deceit chuckled, removing the gloves from his hands and placing them in his pockets.

“Like you know the whole story.” He said as he shot a ball of yellow magic. Virgil deflected it with a quickly conjured shield. He was not usually a fighter, but now he had to take action. Deceit was a threat: to him, to Roman, to the whole kingdom. So Virgil fought. Magic flew past his face but that did nothing to deter the determination in his eyes with every step. And soon the two of them were rolling on the ground, as Virgil had taken the first chance to tackle them to the ground. He was always better at hand to hand combat anyways. Hits were traded on both sides.

“What the heckity heck?” Roman asked upon seeing the sight. Virgil remained on top of Deceit, but the other took the first’s moment of distraction to push him off. There was a hole, barely big enough for a person behind Roman that he probably came through. Both Virgil and Deceit rose, eyes still trained on each other. “Five nipples and one peck?”

“He’s Deceit!” They both exclaimed, pointing at each other. Virgil cursed at himself internally. Of course Deceit would disguise himself as Virgil. Now he just to prove to Roman he was the actual Virgil.

“Don’t listen to him.” Deceit urged, the venom so clearly laced with venom. It took all of Virgil’s restraint not to scream.

“I’m Virgil” Virgil said. “He’s the liar.”

“SHUT UP!!” Roman yelled, effectively silencing both men. “I need to concentrate on this.” He closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing. Virgil remained still, fingers remaining crossed behind his back. He had faith in Roman; Deceit not as much. And his suspicions were confirmed not even moments later when Roman opened his eyes and there was a golden shine to it.

“I don’t want to fight you.” Virgil stated as Roman approached. His hands rose into a defensive position, the dagger he always carried with him falling out of his sleeve. He didn’t exactly know how the others would react to his magic since it was .. you know, illegal. “You’re Making A Mistake!”

“I’ve already made up my mind.” Roman’s tone sounded scripted in nature as if they weren’t his own. Which they weren’t. Roman rose his sword and swung it down, a move Virgil easily sidestepped. The former still had a determined look on his face.

“I’m Not The Bad Guy This Time!” Virgil pleaded as he avoided another blow. Dodge and weave, don’t strike back.

“I Don’t Care!”

“ROMAN!!” Roman blinked, almost seeing to come to his senses. Virgil let his guard down, and that’s all it took for the golden gleam to return. Roman grabbed Virgil’s neck, pushing him back against one of the stalactites. The latter clawed at his brothers arm as his vision began to blur. Then it was clear as a new sensation became dominant: pain. Virgil looked down to see Roman’s sword driven straight through his stomach. His eyes remained wide as Roman pulled it back out, red stained the silver blade.

“Traitor.” Roman spat, letting go of Virgil and letting him collapse on the floor as the blood began to pool. His hands went to the gash, trying to delay the inevitable death by blood loss. Virgil looked up from his own wounds.

He could see the strings. See the gold and black strings that connected to all of Roman’s joints. His wrists, ankles, knees, elbows. Deceit stood by his side, a gloved hand shushing Virgil as the slimy boy took Anxiety’s image upon himself. He could also see the all too familiar strings tied to his fingers, showing him in control of the ones attached to Roman.

“You okay?” He asked, faking every tone of his voice. Virgil couldn’t look anymore, the pain becoming too overwhelming. He curled up into the fetal position as colors swarmed the edges of his vision. But the words of the others still reached his ears as his dying form was forced to hear. That probably hurt most of all.

“I would ask the same for you.” Roman said, unaware he was speaking to the real traitor. “I think Patton should patch you up when we get back.”

“I’m fine.”

“I insist. At least let him look at you.”

‘Virgil’ sighed. “Fine. Can we just … go home? I have an unsettling feeling about his place.”

“Of course.” The silence took over Virgil once more as the sound of retreating footsteps faded away. He finally let a scream escape his mouth from the hurt: emotional and physical. And with that, the world around him turned to black.

by @not-my-patton

#fandersficawards #springcomp #ent

[fanders-fic-awards]

Nothing is Easy Alone (SFC Submission)

Summary: Roman and Patton are dating in college, and Roman knows about Patton's bad days, but he has never seen what happens on the really bad ones. Well, at least, not until now.

Warnings: self harm, blood, depression, self-deprecating thoughts, stress, college (just in case someone had bad experiences), I think I got all of them, sorry if I didn't

WC: 2354

Vote

Spring, Roman’s favorite and least favorite time of year. Flowers are in bloom, birds are singing, the semester will be over soon, and summer is right around the corner. But on the other hand, he’s worrying about exams, end of year projects and productions. Being an theater major isn’t easy, what's worse is that he has to get an English teaching degree to be able to teach high school theater, so there’s a lot on his plate at the moment.

That’s not what worries him the most though, not at all, all of that would be very easy if he wasn’t such a perfectionist. What worries him the most is Patton.

Patton, his beautiful, sweet, kind, caring, gentle, cute, adorable, amazing, not so innocent, perfect boyfriend of two years. Patton is one of the best people Roman has ever known. He is always willing to help others, cheer people up when they get sad, and puts his heart and soul into everything he does. He’s studying to become a veterinarian and Roman is so proud of how well he is doing. He works endless hours on papers and labs, working non-stop at his internship and still devoting even more time to his job at the pet shelter. He’s just so proud.

There have been times when it was a bit too much, but Roman was there for him. He had seen one or two bad days when they first became friends, but when they actually got together, he had seen many more. It would always start with Patton being extra happy, making sure to stay excited about anything and everything, smiling so hard that looked like it hurt. Then he’d get sluggish, smile falling every so often, shoulders hunching a bit, and rubbing at his eyes like he was tired (it was really to wipe away tears).

Then as the day wore on, it got worse and worse until he just broke. He always tried to wait until it was just the two of them, but it didn’t always work out like that. The tears would start falling and he couldn’t get them to stop. He’d start apologizing, wiping at the tears and shying away from any sign of offered comfort. He had always felt like he had to do things on his own, his parents always too busy to help their oldest son. So he had to adopt the role of father figure for his younger brother, he had to grow up quick and had no one to go to for help.

Once they got closer and Roman became familiar with it happening, he always tried to help at the beginning, catching the signs and attempting to get him to talk about it, but that didn’t happen most of the time. When Patton finally allows the comfort, the freaking dam breaks. The tears pour like a waterfall, curling up in Roman’s arms as he just tries to feel normal again. It would take a while, but after enough reassurance and cuddles, Patton would be smiling truefully again and they would sit watching Disney movies while drinking hot chocolate.

Still, that was the easy part. The other part he hadn’t learned about until they had been dating for a few months. Even then it was an accident that he found out.

They hadn’t moved in together yet and they both had super busy schedules that day, so Roman couldn’t see him until late that night. Once his rehearsals were over, Roman booked it to Patton’s dorm, tired and wanting cuddles from his beautifully squishy boyfriend, knowing that Patton would want them to. He always thought that Patton was so lucky because he managed to score a dorm room all to himself, while Roman had to share a room with a neat freak that insisted on following a schedule and that feelings were “the bane of his existence”, like what does that even mean? That doesn’t matter, he just wants his beautiful boyfriend and doesn’t want to think about calculator watch.

He ran up the stairs to Patton’s floor and practically sprinted down the hall looking for the right number….703...704...705! There it is! When he got to the door, it was opened a crack, like he forgot to close it all the way. Roman just stepped in knowing that Patton could forget things like that sometimes after long days, but he found that the room was empty.

“Patton? My love?” He called, not seeing anyone. “Where are you my sweet singing nightingale?” Roman looked around again to make sure no one broke in, but then he heard quiet sobbing from the bathroom.

Walking towards the door, Roman called out once again, “Patton? Is everything alright?” The sobbing stopped for a minute, before starting up again even harder than before. Roman tried to open the door, which was unlocked, but a body was in front of it, keeping it closed and not allowing anyone to move it. “Patton, sweetie, please let me come in...I want to know what’s wrong...”

“N-nothing’s w-wrong,” came a quiet, broken voice. “I w-was just w-watching a sad m-movie and I h-had to go to the b-bathroom, It’s all rig- ah shit.” The non-reassuring reassurance was cut off by a small cry of pain and a curse. Now Roman knew that he should be worried. Patton went to great lengths to avoid swearing and he was clearly in pain.

“Forgive me for not believing that sweetheart.” Roman said as he tried opening the door again, worry rushing through is veins even more than before. “Now will you please let me in Patton? I’ll shove my way in if I have to, you know I will.” The concern was apparent in his voice and a sound of distress left his throat when Patton didn’t respond or move.

“Patton please, just let me in…” Roman pleaded, who knows, maybe that’ll work. But all he got were more muffled sobs from the other side of the door. “Patton please, I’m begging you... I care about you and knowing that you’re hurt is really worrying me right now. Just please…”

After a few more minutes of pleading and quiet sobbing, Roman finally heard movement from the other side of the door. He scrambled to be prepared to get tackled in a hug, which happened sometimes on these off days. Except, when Patton opened the door, he only opened it a crack, signaling that Roman could enter.

Roman tentatively reached for the door, pushing it open gently. Everything looked relatively normal, the white walls reflecting the light from the fluorescent lights, increasing the brightness of the entire room. He couldn’t see Patton, but when he looked down he saw a horrid sight. Patton was kneeling on the pastel green rug, tears running down his plump, freckled cheeks and a shiny object next to him.

But mostly, he saw red. The color practically covered Patton, it was on his shirt, his pants, the rug, it was dripping down his arms, making little puddles on the ground like red rain. There were scars covering Patton's arms, some old, but some very new and very red. Roman could only stand and stare at the color he oh so loved cover his beautiful boyfriend.

“I-I’m s-sorry, I-I’m s-so s-s-sorry...s-sorry....s-sorry…” came the quiet, broken voice of Patton, who was staring at his arms, where the blood came from, and shaking like a leaf.

It took Roman a minute to realise that Patton was mumbling a string of apologies, and once he realised it, he sprung into action. Getting down on his knees, he held out his hands towards Patton, making all his movements clear, saying, “Hey, shh, it’s okay, it’s okay sweetie, shhhhh, can I touch you?”

Patton gave a tiny nod, his eyes closed tight, like a child who was trying to wish away the monster that lives under his bed. But it was really just in his head.

Roman was slow about wrapping his arms around Patton as to not scare him, but he was very quick about reaching out, grabbing the razor, and throwing it out of arm's reach. Patton shied away from the hug first, later claiming that he didn’t want to ruin Roman’s white shirt, but Roman didn’t care. When Patton gave in to the strong, loving embrace, he slumped against Roman, pressing his face into Roman’s neck, sobbing harder and ignoring the sting in his arms from how tightly he held onto the only thing keeping him grounded.

Roman held him gently, wrapping his strong arms around the other, carding his fingers through Patton’s hair and whispering thing like ‘it’s okay’ and “everything’s going to be okay’ into his ear.

And they sat like that for a while, Roman comforting him, while Patton just let out all his emotions. Patton’t sobs slowly calmed down into little hiccups and silent tears. Roman pulled back a bit, kissing Patton on the head before looking into his eyes and asking slowly, “It’s okay if you do not wish to address this now, but at some point we will have to. Pat? What… what happened?”

“I-I….I just....” Patton stuttered, looking down in shame. Roman continued to hold him, rubbing his back soothingly to let him know that he could take his time.

A few more moments went by when Patton found the strength to continue. “You know about my… my bad days….,” he said, refusing to look into Roman's eyes. He was just so ashamed, he was supposed to have his feelings under control, he was supposed to be better, he was better, he hadn’t harmed in a few months. But of course, he did it again, he always went back. He never wanted Roman to find out, but he was stupid to think that he wouldn’t find out, Roman could figure out anything. God! He was stupid, so so stupid, useless.

Patton realised that Roman was holding him, whispering reasurances again. Why did Roman even love him, he was so pathetic. He took a shaky breath before starting again, “Sometimes those… bad days, are really bad… and I just can't handle it… I end up doing this,” he said weakly, moving his arms slightly to show what he meant. “I-I’ve tried to stop, I promise…. I just...I...”

Tears started to spill again, and Roman just pulled him back in, holding the broken man securely. Roman's heart had broke seeing Patton like this, how had he not seen it? No wonder Patton had always worn long sleeves, even on the hottest days. Why on some bad days he insisted on being alone. It all made sense, but he felt like an idiot for not noticing.

“Sweetheart, it's okay…everyone has bad days and their own ways of coping. But I swear to you, that I will help you get through this, I will help you get better, but you have to let me. Cutting isn't healthy, mentally and physically. Please, let me help you,” Roman said. It hurt to see Patton like this. Such a beautiful, kind  and brilliant person shouldn't have to deal with so much pain.

Patton finally looked into Roman's eyes, shame and sadness filling his bright hazel eyes. “I know, I want to get better, I’m trying all the time, but it’s just too hard! I can't seem to stop…”

“I know, bad habits aren't easy to break, but I promise that I will be here for you through it all. Okay?” Roman asked. Patton nodded, a small, sad, but shy smile placing itself on Patton's lovely features. “That's better, a smile is more you. Now, let's get you cleaned up, okay?”

Patton nodded again, allowing Roman to move him to sit on the toilet. Roman grabbed the first aid kit he knew that Patton always kept, and got to work cleaning his cuts. He first cleaned the blood off with a wet washcloth, stopping to make sure Patton was okay whenever he heard a sound of pain or discomfort from the other. Then he cleaned them with wipes and securely wrapped them in bandages. Afterwards he led Patton out into the room, allowing him to change in privacy, while he cleaned up the bathroom. Roman put the bloody rug, washcloth, and razor into a bag, making a mental note to get rid of the razor and any other sharp objects in Patton's for a while. He cleaned up the rest of the blood as well as he could, then putting away the first aid kit and changing his shirt. It's a good thing he planned on staying the night already.

When he walked out of the bathroom, Patton had put on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, and he was curled up on the bed, staring at the wall. Roman shook his head, Patton being sad was not okay. He walked over, grabbing his laptop and plopping down next to Patton. Patton immediately sat up, resting against Roman's chest and sighing contently. Roman pulled up the blanket, setting the laptop on his lap and pulling up Aladdin. He knew that they would need to talk, but neither of them had classes the next day, so it could wait a little while longer.

They both settled in for the movie, Patton curling into Roman's side, Roman's hand in Patton's hair, both happy and warm. During the trademark Disney logo intro, Patton asked, “Roman?”

“Yeah?” came the reply.

“Thank you” Patton said, not elaborating, but Roman knew what he meant.

“Anything for you my love,” he finished by put a soft kiss on Patton's forehead. After the first movie, they watched a few more, slowly falling asleep in each other's arms. Everything could wait until the morning. Talking, pain, insecurities, everything else could wait. They just wanted each other.

And many more days like this would happen, Roman showing up and Patton being covered in red. And every time, Roman was gentle, understanding, and he helped Patton through it. They could get through it together.

Nothing is ever easy, but with someone else by your side, it always is.

by @ninjago2020

#fandersficawards #springcomp #ent

[fanders-fic-awards]

Observations (SFC Submission)

Summary: Logan has been watching his fellow sides for a while, taking note of hot they acted, how they felt. It took some time, but he found himself identifying each of their normal expressions and actions. Just as he got the hang of figuring out their moods, Roman begins to act off. It was only natural for Logan to investigate.

Warnings: Self-depreciation

WC: 2692

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It was no secret that Logan was not the most astute when it came to emotional issues. This was a fact he had mentioned a number of times himself. However, he did pride himself on accumulating a vast amount of intellect centered on how emotion is conveyed. For months on end he had practiced determining the mood and general feelings of his fellow sides so that when the next, inevitable affair for Thomas became present he would be prepared. After all, how could he properly ensure Thomas’ good health if he disregarded the mental and emotional aspects of his worries?

This, however, had started to yield unexpected results. More specifically, it appeared Roman was not himself. Where he picked up on Virgil’s nervous tendencies and tells swiftly, to the point where Logan had developed a natural intuition as to Virgil’s general moods, and had started to recognize when Patton was merely feigning happiness, Roman was a greater enigma.

Such an observation came as a surprise, yet Logan rationalized that he should have known better. The creative side was a natural actor, after all, and was tremendously passionate about theatre and accompanying pastimes. From the exquisite performances Logan had experienced first hand from Thomas himself, the logical side should have not been astounded by Roman’s aptness for covering his innermost feelings.    

In any case, Roman wasn’t acting like himself. Something was different, as though some underlying change had been made. Had Logan not been studying the sides as much as he had recently he may not have noticed. They were subtle, the differences. His smile drew short. His ideas lacked the distinct fervor that Roman often spoke with. In fact, his divulgence of ideas seemed to be a touch servile, something harshly out of place in the Prince’s demeanor. His eyes held a hint of despondency, something that had no right to exist there.

Logan knew the best course of action would be to confront the Prince. Except they had clashed so much recently. If he wanted the best possible results, would it be better to have another side address the issue? Patton was clearly more adept at handling emotional strife. Would he be a better option? The logical side mulled over this for a moment. No. Though Logan was confident in Patton’s capability to properly address and assist Roman, he found that he felt much better at the thought of putting in the effort himself.

It was with the slightest bit of apprehension that Logan found himself standing outside Roman’s room. The fanciful man had retreated there a while before, just after lunch. Based on past evidence, Roman would most likely be in a brainstorming session. It was just up to Logan to initiate contact. Which was somehow difficult. There was a string of trepidation pulling at him, urging him away. Realistically, Logan knew this could quickly develop into a conversation about emotion, one that he may not be properly prepared for. Nonetheless, he had to go through with this. Roman was part of the famILY, as Patton was vehement on making sure everyone knew they were an important part of it, and it was his duty to ensure each member’ concerns were addressed.

Holding back a sigh, Logan gave Roman’s door three precise knocks. Some shuffling came from beyond the door. After a soft thud and some mumbling, the door swung open. Roman, in all his glory, flashed Logan a smile.

“Why hello there, Specs!” Roman greeted grandly, “What can I do for you on this fine day?”

Logan cleared his throat, “I would like to talk with you for a moment, if you are not too busy.” When all Roman did was raise an eyebrow, he continued, “It is nothing bad, I simply with to check with you on a few things. Do you mind if I come in?”

Roman stepped back into his room and gestured for Logan to enter with a grand sweep of his arm. As Logan walked in the room he took a good look at the state of affairs. The creative side’s room was more bedraggled than usual. While Logan could attribute this to Roman’s most recent creative binge, he kept half a mind to file this as a potential sign of internal turmoil. Roman closed the door behind them and wandered back over to his cluttered desk.

Plopping down on his spinny chair, twirling for a moment, Roman questioned, “What did you need to check? If I’m ready to slay? If I’m still making people all across the world swoon? I can assure you both are pure fact, my friend.”

Logan crossed his arms, fingers fidgeting. “I have reason to believe you are currently troubled by something.”

“Troubled by something,” Roman gave him an dubious look, “And what might have lead you to that conclusion?”

“Your actions have been less flamboyant as of late, you often seem to lack passion for your newer ideas, your interaction with your fellow sides have become less- in both frequency and length-, and, in a rather uncharacteristic reasoning of mine, you simply seem off, to me,” Logan stately responded, adjusting his glasses. Roman looked taken aback, giving only a blink in response. It was unusual to see the Prince so speechless.

“I,” Roman’s voice shook for a moment, before he cleared his throat and started again, “I assure you I am doing just fine. I’m rather surprised you would pay attention to such small details, Pocket Protector. But this can all be explained rather easily. You see, I’m just a bit,” he threw his arms up, “stuck, I suppose. I’m having some small difficulty finding any particularly good ideas.” Catching himself after seeing Logan’s eyes narrow, he hastily added, “I mean that there isn’t one particular idea that I feel is going to wow people. Like, yeah, they’re good ideas, but they aren’t,” Roman trailed off, sighing, “I want them to be more. So,” he perked back up, a hard look in his eyes, “I won't stop until I get one that amazes everyone! That blows their minds! That knocks their socks right off!” Finished with his exclamation, he flashed Logan a smile.

Logan took this all in very carefully. This front was exceptionally convincing, a standard sort of response that he could expect from Roman. Except, something in his gut told him that something was still wrong. While Logan wasn’t one to normally abide such impulses, he knew there was an ingrained logic behind them. It was his subconscious picking up on something he had yet to fully realise. As such, he decided to push further.

“Roman,” Logan tried to relax his posture, to appear less potentially threatening, “I do not believe that is all there is to your dilemma. I came here on the suspicion that something is especially bothering you, and something such as that seems too inferior to truly affect you.”

As Logan set his stance, Roman’s demeanor changed. He cast his gaze off to the side, a scowl pulling at his lips. Leaning back, he let out a harsh sigh.

“How would you know?” Roman bit out, “I was under the impression that emotions and all their issues were below you.”

Sudden irritation and attacking of one’s character. Roman was getting defensive. Was Logan pushing too far? Regardless, it signalled he was getting closer to the main issue. As well as assured him of the fact that there was a deeper issue.

“Any subject that can be a source of complications within the mindscape are of my concern.” Logan’s tone softened, “And the emotions and troubles of those I care about are important to me. Though I am not the most expressive of my own feelings, nor am I the most well-versed in assisting others with theirs, I am more than willing to help you sort out anything that may be troubling you.”

Roman chewed at his lip, “I am flattered by your concern,” with a frustrated sigh he evened out his tone, “But it is really not an issue of much importance. By the end of today, I can promise that you will not see any troubles following me.”

“I highly doubt that would mean it is gone completely,” Logan stated, “You are an excellent actor. I fear that, rather than resolving your issue, you will simply cover it up. This can greatly affect your psyche and prove detrimental to your mood and happiness. If I may, I insist you let me assist you with your issue.”

Standing hastily, Roman swiped an arm through the air, “Why does it matter? Why do you care? It doesn’t matter! I’ll be able to deal with it myself, and then I can go back to acting as I always do.”

Logan pressed again, “But-”

“But nothing!” Roman cut him off, “I know,” he turned away for a moment, giving himself time to regain his composure, “I know you are concerned, and I am honored that you are, but I can handle this, Logan. This is something that happens from time to time, I’ll be fine.”

Logan stayed quiet for a moment, weighing his words.

“I’ve found,” Logan began softly, “That problems that reoccur often were never solved in the first place. It,” He stops, words failing him for a moment, “It hurts me to know that you are facing something that you’ve played down as insignificant. Your problems matter Roman. If it is something that comes back, it is something that should be properly addressed.”

It seemed that his words received no effect for a moment, before Roman’s face slowly began to crumble. Sinking back into his chair heavily, Roman closed his eyes.

“Why can’t you just leave it alone?” Roman’s voice wavered, “It’s easier to just pretend that this isn’t a problem, that it’s just some silly thoughts that don’t matter.”

Hesitantly setting a hand on Roman’s shoulder, Logan asked, “What is it Roman? What ails you?”

The Prince’s eyes trail over the scattered notes and ideas that littered his workspace.

“It’s never enough.” Roman sighed. “My ideas. They- they just aren’t good enough.”

Slowly, Logan was connecting dots in his head, eyebrows furrowing. Lightly rubbing his thumb over Roman’s shoulder, he tried to find a deeper part to this. Feelings of inferiority coming from Roman were uncommon, yes, but were also a root of jealousy. It more often spurred on indignation and irritation with his fellow sides. Now, he wondered if some past instances of this weren’t a cover up for his feelings of inadequacy.

“Roman, your ideas are often well-crafted, though there have been some that were a bit far out there. Many have come into splendid fruition, so I would go to say that saying your efforts and ideas are never enough is unfair to your past successes,” Logan declared, giving Roman’s arm a squeeze.

“No,” Roman groaned, “You don’t get it! Sure, I got lucky before, had a few strokes of genius, but I’m falling flat! I’m losing my usefulness! How can I help Thomas be the best he can be if I am not the best I can be? My ideas have to be better! They have to me spectacular, not good, engrossing, not interesting, moving, not touching. I need to hold myself to a higher standard if-” he cuts off, “if I want to be happy with them.”

“You don’t need to push yourself so hard Roman,” Logan began, “Getting ideas is only the start of-”

“But the thing is,” Roman cut him off once more, “I’m trying all the time, but it’s just too hard.” He closed his eyes once more, “It’s so hard, to be happy with anything I make. I- I know that brainstorming ideas is important, that not all of them have to be magnificent the second they pop into my head, but they never sit well. It’s like, the more I think the more I fear that none of them will pan out. I get that nothing is perfect, and I know that my ideas will have to be worked on no matter how great they are, but I can’t settle for any of them. I do my best to start on some of them, to push myself to get into the flow of making them come to life, but something holds me back. And I don’t know if it’s fear, or lack of inspiration, or lack of motivation, but if I can’t get started on them when I think of them, it’s so, so hard to get back onto any ideas I have.”

He opens his eyes to stare past Logan. “I really want to give you all my best, to have you guys be proud of me and love what I make. But how can I do that when I don’t even love my ideas, my sparsely attended to creations? You all have been unenthused about my latest ideas, and I don’t blame you. They sucked, really. It just, it feels like I’m burnt out. The one thing I’m made to do, and I’m failing.” Roman meets Logan’s eyes, a watery, vulnerable look settled in them, “What am I doing wrong?”

Logan paused for a moment. His mind was on full drive, processing all of this new information the best he could. It was not the process of creating that was lagging for Roman, but rather his passion for creating. Somewhere along the line, something had pushed at it, perhaps even broke it. For Roman to be voicing his insecurities, this had to be something that had been eating at him.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Logan voiced gently, “It is natural to experience a lull in motivation. There is no way for you to be impassioned by every idea or prompt you receive. While it is important to work through these, to find something new that will inspire you, it is also important not to push yourself too hard or beat yourself up for not performing how you expected to. Having set goals is beneficial, but once they become too much of a challenge to maintain and achieve they can become a detriment.”

Roman bit his lip, drawing in a shuddering breath, “It’s not that easy.”

“No,” Logan concurred, “It is not. Working through the tough times never is. I can not say I fully understand how you go about your tasks, especially with ours being of such different nature, but I understand that no one day will be as easy or difficult as the next. You cannot fault yourself for being unable to accomplish what you had the day before. Each day is its own challenge, and it should be treated as such.”

“All of this,” Roman waved a hand aimlessly, “Is great and all, but it's not going to solve my problem. Ever, really.”

Logan shook his head. “Knowing all of this will not lead to better results immediately. No, solving this issue will take much more time, and much more than mere words, Roman. I merely impart them to you in hopes that it will ease at least a little of the burden you carry. Or, at the very least, let you know that you are not alone in all of this. I will stand by you. Patton has always stood by you. Virgil, despite your problematic start with him, would stand by you. We can help you, but only if you let us. Don’t take the weight of all of this alone.”

Roman looked down for a second, before launching out of his chair to wrap Logan in a hug. The logical side froze for a moment, before Roman, flustered, started to pull back.

“I’m sorry, I just, I know you-” he started to ramble, before Logan gently pulled him back in for a hug.

“It is fine, Roman. Hugs have been proven to provide great emotional assistance. They are also quite nice. I do not mind.” Logan mumbled, rubbing Roman’s back. Roman practically sunk into the embrace, resting his head on Logan’s shoulder. Things were not going to get better over night, but this was a start.

He would make sure Roman was cared for.

by @syndianites

#fandersficawards #springcomp #ent

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