#(I think this looks more like the Arch of Janus... which probably has nothing to do with Janus actually

[didoofcarthage]

A Reconstruction of the Temple of Janus (above) and a View of the Ruins (below) by Jan Goeree 

Dutch, before 1704

pen and black ink with gray wash over red chalk

Metropolitan Museum of Art

[lovelylogans]

the warmest hello (to the coldest goodbye)

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: x

pairings: logan/virgil

word count: x

notes: this is for @analogicalweek and today’s prompt was dark/light. this is a sequel to one of my previous analogical week fics (as all of my analogical week fics this year will be) called “the warmest hello (to the coldest goodbye)” which was by far the most requested for continuation from last year, so i hope you enjoy!

⁂

Virgil gets reassigned as soon as his feet touch the tarmac in D.C.

Probably before then, but Virgil had been too paranoid to try and get in-flight wifi to get back in touch with Janus. He doesn't know what tracking devices have been laid into his gear when he was unconscious. He'd spent most of the flight going over every detail of his fleeting conversation with his soulmate and trying his very best to breathe slow, even, and deep, the way that his work-dispensed general therapist had told him to do in the aftermath of a mission turned sideways.

He tries his best to pitch his case to his superior's superior, who is having absolutely none of it; having Virgil continue to work the Truman case after his cover had been blown and in knowing violation of the Lewis clause?  It's honestly miraculous Virgil doesn't get laughed out of the organization.

As it is, he's put on another plane long after the sun's set, with a dossier for his newest case (he should have lobbied for some kind of psychiatric break, he thinks crabbily, but his superior's superior had already blown his top at him twice and he didn't want to risk a third) in his new work-issued briefcase.

He would have made an odd picture, someone without any carryon luggage, but his rumpled tux and the briefcase hopefully make him look like a businessman in travel for a conference. To further the image, he open the file and begins studying, even though his head is throbbing and he'd like nothing more than a nap; what with it being the middle of the night, he must be nearing a full day without sleep.

He doesn't think the drugged fainting counts as sleep.

He can barely remember any of it, though; he feels like he has the worst hangover he's ever had, he can't read a line without his concentration breaking at the thought of Logan's hand squeezing his arm, the potential connections Logan might have to the government, the way his blue eyes had glittered—

All of this put together means that he is in high dudgeon by the time he manages to get off the plane, his suit coat draped over his arm and his tie sloppily undone, hanging off his neck, only to spy yet another familiar face.

Janus' arms are crossed over his chest as he leans casually against a column, glancing over at Virgil, with a sign in his hand reading SANDERS.

Virgil grunts—Janus' cover must be as a taxi—and his suspicion is confirmed when he approaches.

"Mr. Sanders?" Janus says briskly.

"That's me."

"Right this way, sir."

Virgil follows Janus out to a splashy SUV—now why can he wheedle and con his way into anything their organization can give him but Virgil can't get a fucking week off—the black paint gleaming under the fluorescent lightposts.

Christ, what time is it? Virgil feels like he's been awake for a week straight.

By the time Janus closes the door behind Virgil, circles around to the driver's seat, and takes off, all without saying a word, Virgil's thread of patience, worn very thin, snaps.

"Well?!"

Janus glances at him through the rearview mirror. "Well what?"

Virgil throws his hands in the air, which means his white dress shirt sleeve slips upward. Not enough to reveal the neat, blocklike lettering on his left arm. But enough that Janus' eyebrow arches, glancing pointedly at where it is.

"You recognized him," Virgil accuses.

"I didn't know," another glance, before he redirects his gaze to the road, "that."

"Obviously," Virgil seethes. "Considering I didn't either."

"Tough luck," Janus says, fairly unsympathetic. Virgil doesn't know anything about a potential soulmate for Janus; if he has a mark, it's somewhere that's hidden by a shirt and pants.

Or maybe he's met his already and he lives domestic wedded bliss off the clock. Virgil knows very little about Janus, outside of work, and right now it's enough to make his hackles rise.

Janus heaves a massive sigh, as if Virgil is the one who is being unreasonable here.

"Look," he says. "I know you were attached the Truman case."

Virgil directs his gaze out of the dark tinted windows, crossing his arms over his chest tightly.

Virgil continues staring out of the window.

"Your new case might be interesting, at least. And hey, it's probably not undercover again. You hate being undercover, which is good, considering I've seen better actors in—"

"Are you still on it?" Virgil interrupts, rudely. "You recognized him. Why would you still be on the case, then?"

Janus' silence is all the answer he needs.

"Great," Virgil seethes. "Just—perfect. My fucking soulmate's aligned with the mob, you know who he is, no one's telling me anything—"

"Virgil," Janus says, sounding entirely unsympathetic. "It's the Lewis clause. I'd say tough break, if it wasn't one of the rules you absolutely cannot break."

Virgil opens his mouth about to say something, maybe since when did you care about rules? but Janus suddenly taps a button on the dash and a familiar song is blaring at the top volume these boosted speakers can allow.

"Mature," Virgil shouts over the squealing of a guitar. "You know I fucking hate this song—"

Janus bends his arm back behind the seat, and for a wild moment Virgil thinks Janus is going to hit him, like a child on a road trip. But then Janus, hand pointed downwards, flips him the finger—that's the reason for the weird angle, low enough that no other drivers on the road would think he was flipping them off—and Virgil scowls at the back of his head, kicking his seat, except—

Janus has tilted his hand so his middle finger is pointed down, directly at where a cupholder would be in any other car. And yes, there's a cupholder there—

A cupholder just barely cracked open, as if someone had tried to close it, but hadn't pushed it all the way until it clicked and locked shut.

An untidy accident. In a work-provided car.

There were no such things as untidy accidents in a work-provided car. And there were especially no such things as untidy accidents in a work-provided car driven by Janus.

Virgil looks up and meets Janus' eyes in the rearview window again, seeing his own eyes gone wide and wild.

Janus, casually, scratches his ear. Except it's Janus. He doesn't casually do anything without some kind of reason.

And for the first time Virgil tunes into the what the jazz singer is actually crooning.

They've given you a number And taken away your name Beware of pretty faces that you find A pretty face can hide an evil mind Ah, be careful what you say Or you'll give yourself away...

Secret Agent Man, Secret Agent Man, Virgil's brain fills in, moments before the singer does. It's a testament to how exhausted he is that he hadn't recognized the song before, there was some obnoxious newbie who blared it all the time when he and Janus were first training to become a team, thought it was funny, and Janus had hated this song too, he'd thought it was too cliché...

Virgil inches his dress shoe over to nudge open the cupholder, just a little, just a bit, and—

Tucked away so neatly that no one else would see it unless they were looking directly into the cupholder was a tiny, thumbnail-sized flash drive.

Ah, be careful what you say, or you'll give yourself away... Virgil's brain turns, and he looks at Janus again in the rearview mirror. He waits until they approach a stoplight; Janus needs to see.

Virgil, careful to look as nonchalant as possible, rubs his eyes as if rubbing the sleep out of them. They're bloodshot enough that it's believable.

Janus yawns and stretches his arms as much as he can in such an enclosed space.

His right elbow points to a suspiciously sleek screw in the passenger's side sun visor.

Fuck. Virgil's heart sinks, but then, what had he expected? He's kicking himself for not paying attention to the Lewis Clause, he has been for hours, but he does know that the particulars of what happens to agents who are matched with enemies—outside of reassignment, of course—are kept carefully blurred. Of course they're watching him; of course they're making sure that Janus isn't compromised too.

Janus has been the tech man on the Truman case for longer than any undercover agent has stuck it out, they wouldn't want to lose that. And Janus wouldn't either. Virgil can't blame him. And, selfishly, he thinks that Janus might keep him secretly apprised on if his soulmate would pop up again. And Virgil can't risk that.

Virgil waits until Janus takes a particularly rough turn, and his briefcase slides off the leather seats, onto the ground.

"Nice," Virgil says snidely, and leans over to pick it up, his back conveniently blocking any view a secret camera would have of a cupholder.

Quick as a flash, Virgil snatches the thumb drive and tucks it up his sleeve, settling his briefcase over his lap and giving an annoyed look out of the window for the rest of the drive home, the metal of the thumb drive heating against his skin as he disguises slipping it into his pants pocket through a variety of carefully choreographed fidgets.

At last, Janus pulls up to his house, and cuts off the blaring music, turning to face him in full.

"You get assigned leave?"

"Not that anyone's said," Virgil says with a scowl.

Janus shakes his head with an exasperated scoff.

"Figures. Look. I'll swing by and talk around, so you can manage to get some time to orient yourself on the new case. They at least need to give you... oh, I don't know. Three days to a week, under the Lewis Clause?"

Virgil's heart kicks into high gear, but he keeps it off his face.

"Fine," Virgil says. "Three days to a week. Whatever."

"And you need time to cool off," Janus says.

Virgil scoffs and exits the car, slamming the door behind him as he goes, as if he's still pissed at Janus instead of embarrassingly grateful for a chance, a chance—

He tries to keep an even pace instead of going into a breakneck run to his computer.

⁂

Virgil descends to his windowless basement, barely pausing to toss the briefcase onto an armchair sagging under the weight of the miscellanea of his life—coats, shirts-that-are-technically-dirty-but-not-ready-for-laundry-dirty, junk mail, the latest brochure dropped off at his doorstep for a local politician—and to his personal computer, loaded up with enough VPNs and jumbled authorization passwords that it was Janus-approved.

He doesn’t even bother to turn on the light—he’s pretty sure the main overhead bulb is burnt out anyway—and so the only light in the room is the computer screen, blaring harsh blue light into his face.

He tugs at the tie so it lies undone as he waits for the flash drive to load, and then—

Information_On_L.ZIP.

Yes! Virgil clicks it, and jabs open the first file folder that catches his eye.

A PDF of an old file loads, and Virgil's eyebrows lift at the sight. It's the start of a jacket. Most every intelligence member has one—Virgil has one, not that he's been allowed to dig deep into reading to intel that his boss has on him—and he has no idea how Janus could have laid his hands on this type of file without being noticed...

Virgil wisely decides not to look a gift horse in the mouth, and instead examines the starting page of the file for HOLLOWAY, LOGAN.

Most of the first page is the basics—birth date, job position, that kind of thing—and there's a photo, a candid photo of a blue-eyed, bespectacled man sitting bow-legged on a lab bench. He's in battered fatigues, his booted feet planted, just barely visible under the table scattered with papers. He looks like he's just looked up from a file, a hand shielding his eyes from the light, and the quirk to his brow seems to impart that he'd really like to get back to his reading now, if you'd stop foolishly waving that camera in his face, thank you.

It is unquestionably the same man that just saw Virgil off on a plane—was it really just hours ago?—but he looks so young, achingly young, even with the quirked brow and wide-legged stance and the squinted blue eyes all contributing to how young he looks rather than detracting from it, the way Virgil thinks he meant to, because Virgil has childhood pictures of himself trying to look older too.

Virgil bites his lip at the sight of him.

His side—Virgil's side—must have netted him the day he turned eighteen. There's no way he's any older.

He gives a cursory glance to the dates to see he isn't far off in his assumption; if the birth date here is accurate, that means Logan's a handful of years older than him. And Virgil had been right, that Midwestern accent had been Logan's true one—born in some tiny town near the smack-middle of the country, and recruited out of it, too, recruited straight into...

Virgil's eyebrows lift. Huh.

Must have been quite the eighteen-year-old to get recruited into strategic intelligence right off the bat. Virgil didn't get recruited until after college.

He quashes an entirely inappropriate sense of pride in his soulmate—who is, in fact, working for the mob and not in intelligence anymore, Virgil, that's the whole problem—and continues clicking through the scans of the jacket.

Or, at least, he tries.

PAGE STOLEN. reads a scan of a printout. BACKUP DESTROYED.

Then: PAGE STOLEN. BACKUP DESTROYED.

PAGE STOLEN. BACKUP DESTROYED.

PAGE STOLEN. BACKUP DESTROYED.

PAGE STOLEN. BACKUP DESTROYED.

PAGE STOLEN. BACKUP DESTROYED.

PAGE STOLEN. BACKUP—

Virgil skips to the last page, and sure enough; everything but the barest bones of Logan's nascent career are gone. Gone. And all backups destroyed? Virgil didn't even know that was possible. Virgil knows of at least three separate places print and digital backups are stored, and that has to be the barest minimum.

But—that's just the jacket. Virgil moves to the next.

Health records, it looks like. Logan's stringently adherent to vaccination schedules, they'd been scheduled like clockwork, even the ones that most people don't bother re-upping unless they're prodded to during their yearly checkups, like seasonal flu and the DTP. And—huh. His soulmate's allergic to cat pollen. He'd fit in with Patton, then, which means Virgil once again has to ruthlessly quash the emotions inside him, brought on by imagining him, Roman, Patton, and Logan, a gathering of family and soulmates. Then: PAGE STOLEN. BACKUP DESTROYED.

Virgil lets out a hissed breath from between his clenched teeth and moves to the next set of records.

School records. Public school, all in the same district of that same tiny Midwest town. A string of perfect grades, nothing below an A, then it gets into teacher notes. Virgil gets to read a singular glowing review by his kindergarten teacher, that five-year-old Logan was an absolute pleasure to have in class! then PAGE STOLEN. BACKUP DESTROYED.

Virgil groans and moves to the next.

Virgil's potential in-laws; Logan's mother's listed as a homemaker, his father an auto mechanic, their first names blotted and smeared beyond recognition, and Virgil's about to see if there are any siblings and PAGE STOLEN. BACKUP DESTROYED.

Virgil grumbles some very creative swear words and moves to the next.

His test results to get into intelligence in the first place. Top marks across the board, obviously, and Virgil feels his lips turn up despite himself. The beginnings of a transcript of an interview, one that Virgil remembers having himself and PAGE STOLEN. BACKUP DESTROYED.

Virgil knocks a cup of pens off the desk in a fit of anger, and then he feels guilty about it. Patton got him that cup from a carnival he and Roman went to, on one of their first dates. Patton wouldn't want him knocking around his things. Well, he probably wouldn't say anything about it, but then he'd tell Virgil about how useful therapy had been for him and how Virgil should try it, maybe, and if not Patton's always right here to talk!

Virgil grumbles but picks his way through the very shredded basics of what must have been missions, lab results, Logan's research. Gone. All of it.

The last shred of information in this title is titled FROM_J.txt. Virgil opens it.

Now you know what I know. I saw him on your cam, and I remembered that he went dirty and decimated a lot of records when he left. We never overlapped. I could maybe do something like that, given time, and that's a big maybe. I know you, and I know you want to dig, but this is not someone to be fucked with. Or fucked. You've got rotten luck but you knew that already. And for the love of God, at least try to keep your nose clean. —J.

All of the exhaustion of the day seems to collapse on him in one big rush, like being caught under a rockslide, and Virgil slumps with it, putting his head down on his desk and barely even pausing to adjust his arms to use as a pillow.

His soulmate was in intelligence. His soulmate had bright blue eyes. His soulmate had defected. His soulmate had been an absolute pleasure to have in class, in kindergarten. His soulmate was working with the mob. His soulmate had skipped three grades. His soulmate had made a cocktail of chemicals to knock Virgil out and do God knows what else, if Virgil hadn't been his soulmate.

His soulmate was allergic to cat pollen.

His soulmate had probably killed people.

His soulmate, his soulmate, his soulmate...

And Virgil jerks awake, too bleary to even be alarmed by his phone practically vibrating off his desk. Virgil paws at it and answers it blindly.

"Hello," he groans. If it's a robocall about his car's warranty he's going to strangle someone.

"Oh my God, you bastard," Roman practically shouts into the phone. "I've been waiting hours—don't tell me you were still asleep! When on earth were you going to tell me?!"

Virgil rubs his eyes. "Tell you what?" He manages to mumble.

"Never mind, never mind—ow, Patton—!"

And then the sound of his cousin-in-law comes over the phone.

"—ooh, sorry, hon, didn't mean to step on you—Hi, Virgil, he's just excited is all, he doesn't mean to insult you," Patton says. "Can you meet us for brunch?"

"Uh—yeah, I guess?"

"You GUESS?!" Roman shrieks in the background, and Patton laughs.

"Okay! Great! We'll be at the usual spot, show up when you wanna, bye Virgil see you then!"

Virgil blinks at the dial tone, and drags himself off in search of a fortifying cup of coffee. He'll need it.

⁂

Across the world, in a sunny, airy condo, Logan idly turns his latest burner phone over and over in his hands. Logan’s soulmate—Virgil—seems to be close to his cousin-in-law, gaging from his social media likes and interaction. He feels that this will bring him more personal insight than Virgil’s medical records (what?) or his school records (no, seriously, what?) or what Logan had dug up from Virgil’s employer; what Logan deemed safe to hack into (admittedly worthy of questioning, but he feels this is a literal once-in-a-lifetime thread to tug.)

Logan should be thinking about sending funds to Mother.

Logan should be thinking about how to, once again, establish to Mary Lee that now she is his employer he is Logan, her employee, preferably seen as a different person from Logan, your groomsman, but then professionalism has never been her strong suit.

Logan should be thinking about his latest craft in the lab.

There is only one thing in his mind now.

Logan sets down the phone, taking a moment to craft a believable cover story, a response that this Patton that will buy into. A maid Mary Lee has hired sets a supper before him.

One man in his mind, rather. With dark hair and dark eyes in a dark suit.

Logan looks into the light of the setting sun, squinting at the brightness of it but refusing to look away, hoping it will bleach his mind clean.

[why-not-a-tickle-blog]

If you're still taking requests maybe lee Janus being overly grumpy and getting cheer up tickles from Logan?

Janus had been in a bad mood all day. Snapping at people and hissing more than even Virgil.

“Do you think you can help?” Patton whispered to Logan. “He likes you better anyway.”

“While I doubt that, I suppose I could attempt to help.”

Patton smiled softly. “Thanks!”

And then Logan had to figure out how he was going to help.

••^*^••

“Would you like to join me in an activity that will aid in releasing endorphins,” Janus repeated under his breath mockingly, but he was already following Logan to his room, curious despite himself.

Logan opened the door, and Janus was surprised to see that his room looked very different than usual. There was a very large, plush chair, and a tv on the wall.

Logan sat on one side of the chair, and there was plenty of room for Janus as well, until he turned to sit diagonally, and take up much of the room. He patted his lap.

“I will spare you the explanation, but I found it to be likely that you would enjoy a low-stakes form of ‘cuddling’ in a secluded place with something also to keep your mind busy. There are more steps as well that I can take, if this proves to be insufficient.”

Janus just blinked. This was… a lot. Especially for Logan. Especially from Logan towards him. He accepted the seat, leaning back against Logan’s chest.

“So, what did you want us to watch?”

Logan nodded, a pleased smile already starting to form. “I’ve taken the liberty of choosing a movie I thought might be mutually enjoyable.” He snapped, and a documentary started playing, the sound low and pleasant, and it was only a few seconds in that Janus realized it was a documentary about snakes.

But his bad mood persisted. On any other day, he’d be melting into Logan to absorb his heat, and enjoying the movie quite a lot, but just not today.

He waited until it was at a good place to pause. “You said you had more steps, if this didn’t work?”

Logan nodded. “The next step has a gradual implementation. Enjoy the movie, and I’ll start.”

Janus nodded, and turned his eyes back to the screen.

Logan’s hands, which had been resting on his stomach, shifted and moved to his sides. Janus ignored them, until one finger started moving. Just slow, careful stroking. It would have been fine, but it happened to be over an especially sensitive spot, and he couldn’t focus on the movie anymore, just trying not to react.

But that one finger never stopped. Wiggling slowly against his side, until the tickling sensation filled his mind, and he couldn’t think of anything else other than ‘stay still’ and ‘get it off!’ and ‘don’t stop!’.

Logan’s other arm shifted to wrap around his stomach, and Janus thought it might be over. Just a pleasant pressure holding him to Logan, almost like a hug. But that was before the second finger started wiggling.

Janus was glad Logan couldn’t see his face, contorting as he tried to control the smile that refused to be hidden.

Those two fingers never stopped, and never slowed down or sped up. Janus was struggling not to wiggle. It really was like the sweetest torture. He wanted Logan to stop, to let him pretend nothing had ever happened. He wanted Logan to just tickle him already!

His whole side was so hypersensitive now that the slightest brush of fabric against it tickled, and he knew he had to be failing in his efforts to be still and hide how much it tickled.

“L-Logan.”

“Hmm?”

“Was… this a part of your plan?”

“Tickling you? Yes, of course. I should think it would be obvious.”

Janus took in a deep breath. “Then why aren’t you just doing it?”

“Are you asking me to tickle you more intensely?”

“Wha— no. I’m not ticklish anyway.”

“I see. I should stop then.”

Those two fingers stilled, and for a second, it made Janus happy, but then he wanted them back. He wanted them back so badly!

“Well, you seemed to be enjoying yourself. You don’t have to stop just for me.”

Logan shook his head. “The goal of this activity is your enjoyment. Unless you were the one enjoying yourself, I will not resume.”

Janus sank his head down. His voice finally came out very low and quiet. “Can you tickle me more?”

“Of course I can. Would you like the same place, or somewhere else?”

Janus was silent a long second before he decided, and snapped his shirt entirely away. “There’s um… scales on my sides. Just on the edges they’re really— they’re more sensitive.”

“I see.” Logan set his hands on Janus’s arms, and guided them up behind his head. “Whenever you’re ready to be done, you merely need to drop your arms.”

Janus nearly whined. That was a hard rule! Just holding his arms up made his stomach quake with nervousness and his nerves light up with phantom tickles.

And then Logan’s fingers descended onto his sides, skimming feather-light around the edges of his scales.

There was no way for Janus to hold back the soft giggles, and really, he didn’t want to either. Logan never tickled any harder than the softest touches, but he never, never stopped. Always at least two fingers, one on either side, and frequently more, teasing and tickling the lightest, brightest giggles out of Janus.

His fingers brushed by accident, probably, over a sweet spot, which made Janus squeak and squirm.

“Oh, is this a good spot?” Logan asked, focusing all his evil attention on that one spot.

“Lohoho! Tihickles!” Janus said, squirming his torso away. But Logan followed that one spot so easily, never relenting with his soft, ticklish assault.

“That is the intention, yes.” A slightly harder scribble, and Janus squeaked again, his arms trembling and threatening to come down.

“Plehease! Somewhehere else!” Janus giggled.

“But this one spot has so many wonderful giggles trapped inside,” Logan said, his fingers never stopping the wonderful torment. “You’ll have to tell me somewhere else that has giggles inside for me to leave this one alone.”

Janus’s giggles got higher and whiny. It wasn’t fair! “The daharker scales on myhy hips.”

Logan’s fingers never stopped tickling, dragging down slowly, and Janus knew he’d made a mistake even before Logan touched his hips. Somehow Logan seemed to know exactly what kind of touches tickled the very worst, and he used them ruthlessly. Janus shrieked and arched his back, laughing and begging Logan to have mercy. It was so hard to keep his arms up!

“Mercy? I’m hardly tickling you. I’ve made a considerable effort to keep this as light and gentle as possible. More intense tickles would be like this.”

He tazed his fingers into Janus’s ribs.

Janus shrieked loudly and his arms shot down immediately, shoving Logan’s hands away. His laughter died pretty quickly, utterly disappointed that it was over now.

“What’s the matter? Are you hurt? Was that too rough?”

Janus shook his head, a pout forming. “No.”

“Then what? Why are you upset? I was under the impression that you were enjoying yourself, was I wrong?”

“Well, I just didn’t want it to be over yet. Arms up is a hard rule, Logan!”

Logan’s concern drained away into a soft smile. “I truly apologize, I did not mean that we had to be done entirely, merely for you to use that as a safety.”

Janus knew the hope and longing had to be shining in his eyes as he picked his arms back up. “So I can have more?”

Logan didn’t even answer, other than to target that one sweet spot again and send Janus back into giggles.

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

Sharp Spikes and Glamour - Fusion AU

Ao3,   MasterPost,   More of This AU

Relationships: Romantic Dukeceit, mentioned Romantic Royality and Analogical. 

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sex/sexual innuendo, violence against inanimate objects, mentions of injury- for perspective this is Remus-centric, and he’s just like that. Also mild arguing, some self-deprecating thoughts. The Dukeceit fusion uses it/its pronouns (as do I, so no clowning). 

Word Count: 3,992

Remus let himself fall backwards onto the hardwood floor, huffing. A satisfying thump echoed through the empty room, but the dull pain at the base of his skull stopped him from slamming his head down again. If Remus kept tripping over himself when his body was in top condition, he probably wouldn’t do any better with a cracked open skull and shattered vertebrae all the way down his back (however fun that might be).

Schmaltzy music lingered in the room still, and with a snap Remus willed it into silence. Now, Remus hated silence, but in that moment it felt like a blessed mercy in the wake of fucking classical fucking ‘music’. He laid flat on the floor, enjoying the quiet and wallowing in his aching muscles. As disgusted as he was by the orchestral garbage, he liked the dancing that went along with it even less- maybe for the simple fact that he was so very bad at it. 

So, the big question was why he was doing this to himself. Why had he gone through the trouble of making a dance studio in his side of the Mindpalace? Why the hell was he using it to learn waltzes, rather than his usual style of fast-paced and very suggestive movement? 

The answer was simple enough: Janus.

Now, just a month ago, Remus could very confidently say that his and Janus’ relationship was perfect. And it still was, really, but back then he’d been safe in the knowledge that they were also as affectionate and intimate as they could be! Which is to say, very very intimate. Wink, wink, if you catch his meaning. That was the way he liked it; Remus didn’t want there to be a step he hadn’t taken in any situation, but especially a relationship like that!

But then, that month or so prior, a very weird and crazy and impossible and fucking awesome thing happened right in the middle of the goddamn living room, proving Remus unfortunately and/or fortunately wrong about his boyfriend. His brother and his best friend had fused. Like, actually, Roman and Patton had pulled some cartoon bullshit that none of them had ever known they could even do before!

Obviously Remus was floored; everything there was to know about his (and other people’s) physical forms, he knew it and he’d pushed it to the limit before! Except for now, with something he had somehow never found out about that his brother got to first. That was the kicker, that was what made it both shocking and anger-inducing. 

There was no question. Remus was going to learn to do that. 

So, here he was, trying to learn, but he was not good at like, actually dancing. Which would’ve been fine, if he was dating anyone other than Janus- the most elegant, classy, coordinated side of them all! And Remus knew, somewhere in his sick-and-twisted guts, that Janus deserved to have something special, something that wasn’t more fitting in a sleazy nightclub. He wanted to give him that, no matter how hard it was.

Which was much harder than he’d originally assumed, actually. Before Remus knew it, Virgil and Logan had also managed to form a fusion before he had even gotten the hang of a waltz. And those two hadn’t even danced to get it! Wasn’t that just cementing his confidence?

Remus shook his thoughts away with a frustrated growl. He sat up on his knees braced against the ground, scraping his talons down the shiny wooden floor of his horrible, horrible dance studio. He was gonna get this right, because if there was one thing he wasn’t, it was a fucking quitter.

Swinging up to his feet, Remus pushed his hair back from his face and fixed it into a tangled mass of ponytail. He brought his arms down, and then back up again, shaking them wildly. When he deemed that job done, he kicked his legs out in much the same way. Seeing as he was the embodiment of energy, he never managed to get rid of all of it, but the wiggling definitely helped his focus. With a huff of finality, Remus settled, stared at nothing, and snapped his fingers. Shitty ballroom music filled the room again, and it took all of Remus’ effort to count his steps instead of willfully vomiting onto the floor.

But he did restrain himself, he kept his focus for once and propped his arms up on the empty air. Under his hold, the very absence of material wavered, shaping itself into something like a person. And so he laid his hands on that, in relatively respectful places, and began to lead the mannequin around the room in choppy movements. It matched him beat for beat, but it could not offer its own, organic responses like an actual dancing partner might- and that was by design.

It was boring, that was the real problem. How was he supposed to get invested if it was the same four movements, over and over! Each new attempt, he got maybe five minutes in before the fatigue hit, the need to do anything more interesting. What was just a couple of twirls, maybe a dip? Janus would still probably appreciate those additions anyway!

None of the flair attempts went well. He stumbled, hit the wall, tripped, all of it. By the end of twenty minutes Remus was waving the mannequin out of existence, feeling frustration pricking the corners of his eyes. What was he thinking, he wasn’t Roman, this was so stupid!

Remus straightened up (ha, ha) and spun around. He made his way to the corner of the room, fell into a crouch, and sunk his claws into the edges of the glossy wooden floor. Splinters bit his fingers, but he barely noticed them as he began to peel back the panels. They came free in a series of crunches and snaps, spitting shards of wood out and revealing the void beneath the ground. Remus held the chunks of flooring, feeling sharp edges digging into his palms, and he shredded them to pieces. When they weren’t much bigger than pencils, he let them fall into the newly made hole. Once done, Remus set his hands on the new edge, and he did it again. 

But, like almost everything he did, the destruction was loud. Shrieking, splitting, crunching kinds of loud. The kind of loud that didn’t go unnoticed. 

And the mindscape was as infinitely big as it was claustrophobically small.

Within minutes there was a sharp knock against the doorframe. Remus jolted upright, spitting out the hunks of plank that had one way or another found their way to his mouth. As he turned, he grinned manically, tucking his hands behind his back. 

Janus lifted a brow at him from across the room. The side stood with one hand propped on his hip, the other raised above his head so that he leaned on the doorway. His mouth was a thin, quietly concerned line, his eyes flicking around in tiny movements as he assessed the situation. 

“This is quite unlike the other rooms you've created,” He observed, clicking the back of his heel on the floor. Remus turned his gaze to the wall just above Janus’ shoulder, discreetly picking the splinters from his hands. In all honesty, this situation wasn’t unexpected- Janus was known to wander around in Remus’ new creations, whenever he wanted to catch his attention- but Remus had been under the impression that when that happened, he wouldn’t be right in the middle of tearing it all down. 

Which had clearly been a stupid assumption from the start, because he was. Himself.

“Hey, J.D.!” he chirped, scraping the last of the rubble from his fingertips, “Thought I might try out something new!”

Janus’ eyebrows arched up, a bemused smirk gracing his lips.

“An empty room?”

“Yeah, but obviously it got boring, so-” he gestured at the corner he’d torn into non-existence. “Time to get rid of it! It was probably a dumb idea, anyway.”

Even to his own ears, his cheery tone sounded forced. He threw in a gargled giggle to make up for it, but that came out even worse. Janus narrowed his eyes in that knowing way of his, then, and Remus knew he’d have to explain himself properly.

“Darling,” Janus slipped into the room with long strides, “What is so wrong that you’re using half-truths to talk to me?”

He wasn’t embarrassed that he’d been learning to dance- he was 99% sure he wasn’t able to feel shame (which was very sexy of him, in his opinion)- but he was upset that he was so disappointed at it. 

He didn’t need anyone’s approval… but he certainly wanted Janus’. 

“It doesn’t really matter,” Remus’ statement rang with honesty. He met Deceit in the middle of the room, his smile challenging, only to be met with calm and patience. 

“I don’t care if it doesn’t ‘really’ matter. I just want to know why my partner was angrily devouring housing material in a brand-new corner of the mindscape.” 

“It’s not that weird, I’ve eaten a lot worse than plywood!” 

Janus huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“You’re clearly frustrated.”

“I’m frustrated all the time,” Remus argued, “There are so many stupid things to be frustrated about, you know that. It’s a very easy feeling to have, you get it without even noticing! Like, if it were an injury, it’d be a papercut; everyone has a papercut somewhere on their body most of the time.”

“What?”

“It’s an analogy, I think!”

Janus gave a long-suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. Remus felt a small bit of pride at how annoyed he looked, despite the uncomfortable situation he’d gotten himself into. 

“Whatever, if you’re really doing so well I suppose I should spare my worry and save us both the headache.”

“Exactly! See, just because I’m feeling a bit manic-panic doesn’t mean it has anything to do with you, scaleface.”

And that was his mistake. 

Janus stopped turning away as soon as he’d started, his mouth curving into a deep frown. He crossed his arms over his chest, and he almost seemed to be offended.

“You just lied.”

Remus, internally, screamed. He hadn’t even fuckin’ lied on purpose! That couldn’t be fair!

“So it is about me, then,” Janus went on slowly. “Are you angry with me?”

Remus blinked, falling untense oh-so quickly at what he now saw was Janus’ nervous face. 

“Wha- no! That’s not what this is about!” 

Janus only narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Remus grabbed the snake’s hands with his own scarred ones, pulling him near. He felt his hesitation leave as soon as it had arrived, replaced by his usual affinity for just spitting out whatever he had to say. It wouldn’t turn out any worse than having to see his baby hurt or worried. 

“It was supposed to be a surprise. For you.” 

The suspicion melted off of Janus' face in increments, leaving him with a confused little half-smile.

“For me?” He echoed, “What was it?’

Remus huffed, snapping his fingers. The lyricless music returned to the desecrated room, and he gestured around with both hands. 

“It didn’t really work out the way I planned, so,” he rolled his eyes and huffed. “I was teaching myself to dance all proper.”

Remus could basically see Janus’ thinking, and for some reason it was grating him. 

“You want to dance with me? Dear, you know you don’t need to give me traditional romantic gestures like that-”

“It was to fuse!” Remus blurted, “I wanted to fuse with you. Like, properly.”

Janus made a soft sound of realization, his eyes going wide. He was silent for a long moment, holding too-tight onto Remus’ hands. But he had yet to let go, which the creative trait counted as a good sign.

“Oh, Love,” he whispered at last, “You’re really serious.”

Remus would’ve winced, if not for the fact that Janus' face was split in a smile, open and sincere in a way that showed he'd really been caught off-guard. His face was warm, and he looked pleased for all the world. He wasn’t judgmental, then, only surprised.

“Um… yes? I wanna fuse with you?”

Janus shook his head musingly, laughing almost exasperatedly.

“No, no, I understood that bit, but-” he waved a hand at the barren room, smirk growing wider, “Ballroom dancing? You? Really?”

He had a point. The walls were a pristine white, shot through with neat marbled patterns. There were mirrors stretching the surface of either wall, reflecting onto each other with clean clarity. There was no clutter, no objects, nothing but the little box itself. And Remus felt no more frustration as he burst out laughing. He tipped his head back and cackled, tugging Janus’ arms until they were pressed together.

“I don’t know why I thought this would work!” He cackled.

“I never know why you think anything that you do,” Janus’s nose wrinkled as his own resolve cracked, leaving shrill giggling behind. Remus snorted, holding onto his partner just to keep himself upright.

“Sorry, Jay,” he almost wheezed, “There’s no way we’re gonna be able to fuse like this, I’m horrible at it.”

Janus’ giggles tapered to a stop sharply, turning to trills of confusion before cutting off completely. Remus met his eyes, and was surprised to find renewed concern. 

“Now, that’s entirely what I meant by that remark, you aren’t misinterpreting at all.”

Remus squinted at him, at the sudden spout of backwards talk.

“...What?” 

Janus scoffed.

“Of course I don’t want to fuse with you, it’s not like we’re in a committed relationship, or anything.”

Janus got very lie-ey when he was heated; the ferocity had Remus taken aback. 

“Soooo, you… do want to try it with me?”

Janus glared in a very duh-obviously--you-idiot kind of way. Remus might have been annoyed with his little tsundere, but the snake’s grumpy face edged just too much on the endearing side for it to spark any of that. It wasn’t too much of a shocking revelation, he supposed, but when he admitted to failing before it felt pretty final, in his opinion. 

“Uh, Okay! You have to lead, though, and I’m at least 60% sure it won’t work, because like I said I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Janus hummed in satisfaction, his grimace curving up into a smirk. 

“To start, we’ll need a change of scenery.”

Remus nodded agreeably. They couldn’t risk falling into the nothingness pit he’d made, after all- those were very difficult to get back out of and not a whole lot of fun in general. So when Janus held his hand out invitingly, Remus took it, letting the trait transport them to wherever he had in mind. 

But that place was no better than the destroyed dance studio at all. The room they ended up in was also very much destroyed, and cluttered, and generally very slimy. 

Remus’ room. From the corner of his eye, he saw Janus’ lips twitch in amusement. 

“Dear, let me explain,” he tilted his head back just so, making eye-contact with his boyfriend. “We’re going to fuse. It could be in here, for all I care, or somewhere bigger for our needs, but whatever it is most certainly will be a dancefloor. Because we’re not doing this your way.”

Remus made a startled chuckling noise, almost convincing himself that the doublespeak was somehow triplespeak- which just looped back around to ‘speak’, come to think of it. 

“You- that’s a really bad idea.”

Something teasing glinted in Janus’ eyes.

“Aren’t bad ideas your specialty?”

“Yes,” Remus ground his teeth together, “But not yours!”

“Your point?”

Remus breathed exhaled, loud and puffing, as he tried to explain. He wasn’t going to deny the excitement this was all bringing him, but it was hysterical, an almost negative side to enthusiasm. There were so many things that felt needed to be said. To be warned, before Janus made a horribly bad decision for himself.

“My point,” he managed, words heavy in his throat, “Is I don’t think about things, so one of us has to. I want to do this the right way, Jan, this is like the one thing I don’t want to fuck up.”

Janus narrowed his eyes, the corners of his lips twitching down.

“You think it won’t work this way.”

“You like doing things so fancy and dramatically!”

“You called it the ‘right way’,” it was hardly above a whisper, he looked surprised at his own words as he said them. Remus could only scoff.

“Well, yeah! If we do it how I would, then you probably won’t wanna be part of the creature that comes out of that!”

Janus’ pupils went from circles to slivers in no time at all, pain washing over his expression. Remus held his hands tighter and leaned in, ready to apologize for whatever he’d said to hurt him, but he couldn’t get a word in. 

“It’s going to end up more of you than me. That’s what you’re worried about.”

It wasn’t a question. Remus felt some of his usually infinite energy slip away from him. It left a hole behind. 

“I know you, baby,” he was tired, maybe desperate, “You won’t want that.”

“Why shouldn’t I want it?” Janus snapped suddenly, “I’ve already made it clear that I want you. Clearly I must find some of your qualities desirable, why else would I spend nearly all my time with you, around you, thinking of you?”

There was a fragile kind of quietness, broken only by Janus’ hitching breath. Remus found himself blinking and blinking, his eyes stinging like someone was pushing needles into his tear ducts, agonizingly slow. He pulled Janus to his chest, propping his chin on the side’s hat and shivering.

And Remus, to his own shock, had no words. He didn’t have much on his mind at all, knowing only that he felt so much in the moment, so much and so powerful and all serving to remind him why he loved Janus as much as he did.

He wanted to ask more questions, to make sure that Janus was as sure as he said he was, but he couldn’t. His snake was stubborn, would stick to his words no matter how much Remus badgered him, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way. He pressed a kiss to the top of Janus head, closed his eyes, and let the emotions wash over him. 

He breathed in, out, and suddenly the second wave hit him in the chest, his eyes forced open.

Or…

It. Its eyes were forced open. Yes, that sounded right.

It stood in the middle of a room- a familiar room, but certainly not Remus’. It was much bigger, the ceiling higher to accommodate the inhabitants height, and much more organized. There was still plenty of clutter, plenty of skulls and bones and preserved creatures, but all in neat little rows on pretty rustic shelves. The place had the distinct vibe of a house belonging to a very ominous, eccentric, wealthy old murderer. Perfect.

The new creature turned its attention to itself, stretching out its limbs curiously. All nine of them, it turned out; seven arms stacked on their torso, four on the left and three on the right, all of which ending in sharp talons covered by gloves. A wicked grin split its face, and it wasted barely a moment before dashing out of the new room and down the hall. It came to the bathroom door, threw it open, and leapt inside. Two hands gripping the basin, it peered at its reflection. Two piercing, yellow eyes peered back, the pupils mismatched in shape and size. Lime-green scales covered its face and neck in splotches, smooth and diamond-shaped.

As its gaze traveled downwards, it appreciated the too-wide mouth filled with dangerous fangs, those snake-like slits up both sides of the face. Its hair was kept pinned back from its face, partially hidden beneath a black, metal crown. It was clearly messy- probably greasy- colored very dark with shocks of silver running through.

The collar of its shirt rose to nearly past its jaw, then plunged down to reveal a lot more of its chest than necessary. Its clothes were almost entirely black, broken up by the lemon/lime embellishments travelling up its arms and around the clasps in the front. The overcoat had long coattails and striped sleeves, ending in cuffs of fabric about the wrists. Moving lower it had very tight pants that did not leave much to the imagination, and boots that were more than a little over-the-top. Finally, there was the cape, hung around its shoulders and reaching floor length. It billowed when it moved even as much as an inch, looking at first like more black. Then the material caught the light, showing a dazzling display of green and yellow, glittering like a perfectly formed geode. 

A laugh sprouted from it, giddy and exuberant. It twirled in the small space, its many hands twisting and toying with its outfit, hair, anything it could reach. From its hazy mind came then came its first intelligible thought, just from its appearance: it was called Rennet.

It stilled, hands hovering in scattered positions. The sharp laughs were quieting, but it still shook like it was laughing. Just shaking in general, probably. The worries of its more excitable half weren’t all gone, not that easily, and it knew it wasn’t yet stable. 

Rennet took a breath, but its head didn’t clear, if anything it grew fuzzier. It was two creatures, two creatures that spent hours and hours inside their own heads as it was, and now both of those over-stuffed brains were in one too-small skull. It could almost feel the weight, leaning heavily on the wall just to keep upright. 

“Should we stop?” Rennet verbalized the question in a thickly accented voice, knowing that otherwise it would never be able to understand the words through the mess of its mind. 

“I don’t know,” it’s tone dropped in pitch, the sharp edges smoother, “Is that what you want?”

But it had barely gotten a chance to be. It couldn’t give up already. 

So what was wrong with it?

“Oh, I don’t know. Everything?” Rennet threw its head back, because of course the worst thought was the only one that ended up audible. It sighed, dragged a hand down its face, shook its head. “Just remember the saying- two wrongs don’t make a right!”

Rennet’s mouth shut with a snap, and it felt quite angry with itself. On behalf of itself. It wasn’t sure, really- the indignation was much like something felt when a loved one was insulted, not when one’s self was insulted. That somehow made the sting worse. 

“You think you’re wrong?” It said in a whisper, clutching its own wrists tight. Rennet knew the answer, though, knew it as it was ingrained into them.

And with that, its resolve sharpened. It was not going to come apart so easily, it would not accept either bits of it thinking anything so bad about himself, and…

Rennet was going to be the sexiest, baddest bitch the Mindpalace had ever seen. That was for damn certain. 

It stood straight up, clapping three pairs of hands together and snapping its fingers with the seventh. It had to bear in mind that it was, for the time being, a giant sparkly monster babe. Now, being sad under those conditions just wouldn’t make any sense, and it intended to keep that thought at the forefront of its newly formed mind. Because Rennet was smart, it’d certainly retained that part of Janus, and it was peppy, if Remus had any part in it at all. 

And, it mused, as it walked through the hall and down into the living room- it was undoubtedly very mischievous.

Taglist: @glitter-skeleton-uwu @donnieluvsthings @intruxiety @thefivecalls @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @gayformlessblob 

[jwillowwolf]

Magic and Miracles - Chapter 10

Sanders Sides Big Bang fic, Chapter 10!

< Previous Chapter | Next Chapter > | Masterlist

(Art by @just-a-pintrovert)

Summary: “Hey, Virgil, what’s this?” Remus asked, pointing at the large flat box thing mounted on the wall.

“A tv.”

“Oh… what’s a tv?”

Warning/s: food mention.

Tag List: s: Logan, Virgil, OCs, Roman, Remy, Remus, Patton, Janus, Emile.

Tag List: @theimprobabledreamersworld @remy-please-come-back

Read on Ao3

10 | This is Not a Place of Logic

“Nico and Thomas have been kidnapped.”

"Did you just say, Thomas and Nico? As in the King and Prince Consort?" Willow asked.

"Yes. They were abducted earlier along with the Magic Council." Remy stated.

The others began asking more questions about the incident but Logan didn't listen to them. Instead, he focused on Virgil's face. He saw little colour in his pale skin slowly fade away. His grey eyes became cold and dull, like a stone, and he stared at Remy. His breathing was beginning to become short and erratic. He began to sway on his legs as if they'd suddenly become numb.

"Virgil," Logan said gently. "Virgil, please look at me."

Virgil turned his blank gaze to Logan.

"Can I touch you?"

Virgil nodded weakly.

Logan took his hand and guided him outside the room, to the hallway where they could sit alone on a bench. The moment Virgil was sat down, he let out a choked sob. Logan began to comfortingly rub his back, then found himself wrapped in a hug.

He froze in shock for a moment, before he began to hug Virgil back. Holding him close as he cried into his shoulder like a scared child. It was metaphorically heartbreaking for Logan to hear, but he could not let go. He had no other way to comfort him at the moment, so for now he would just hold him.

After some time, Virgil pulled away. “Th-thank you.”

“No problem… How are you feeling?”

“…I’m not sure how to describe it... Scared... Lost... Alone...”

“I don’t know how comforting this may be but, you are most definitely not alone. You have our friends, Remy, and me.”

Virgil perked up a bit. “That is very a lot more comforting than you know.”

“Ehem,” the boys looked up to see Remy was standing in the doorway. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but you probably didn’t hear all the details of what happened.”

Virgil nodded and motioned for Remy to fill them in.

“Thomas, Nico, and the Magic Council were having their quarterly meeting to discuss the kingdom’s magical balance. During said meeting, someone cast a strange spell that caused everyone inside the meeting room to disappear. The caster was found dead on site, having used their MP and HP to cast this spell.”

“Was there any evidence on where the caster came from?”

Remy paused and took a deep breath to steady himself. “The caster… was a fae...”

“What?”

“The caster was a fae person. We don’t know who or even how they got into the realm.”

“Has anyone talked to Tía Tanya or Dune?”

“Joan has been named regent while your parents are… missing, and they sent a messenger to fill me in. I’m going to go and talk with Tanya and Dune, then we’ll need to send someone through to the Fae realm to inform your grandmother.”

Virgil nodded. “I’ll come with you then.”

“What? No! You need to stay here where you’re safe.”

“I can’t stay here and do nothing. Besides, you would need me to help with opening the realm gate and getting an audience with my grandmother.”

“Virgil, it won’t be safe, especially if I’m the only one guarding you.”

“We can guard him,” Remus said from behind Remy.

Remy narrowed his eyes. “Who is we?”

“Us, the class,” Janus answered. “We’ve been trained in combat and can wield magic.”

“And are only fifteen.” Remy pointed out.

“We’re young, but that doesn’t make us helpless,” Willow replied. “We faced down that giant mole, all together. The seven of us are a lot harder to take down than you think.”

Logan nodded. “You need Virgil’s help, and we can help to protect him. Plus, if there are people here who want to hurt him, then the best thing to do is probably take him somewhere safe, like to his grandmother.”

Remy sighed. “We don’t even know if the fae realm is secure, Logan.”

“But it would be safer than here, right?”

Remy groaned. “Emile, help me here.”

Emile was quiet a moment and looked directly at his son. “I know I won’t be able to change your mind. You’re too much like your mother for that. Just… Promise me you’ll be careful.”

Logan nodded. “I promise dad.”

“We’ll all be taking care of each other, Mr Picani. Don’t worry,” Roman assured.

Emile smiled. “Well then, I think you’ll all do great.”

Remy looked horrified but he knew he couldn’t win this fight. Virgil, Logan, and the rest of the class would all be going with him to the fae realm whether he liked it or not. Or maybe he could get Tanya to talk this lunacy out of them.

---

“Brilliant idea, darling,” Tanya complimented. “Taking Virgil and his friends will get you to Valeria without any problems about your identity and whatnot.”

Dune nodded agreeingly. “The only thing I am concerned about is the children’s lack of protection.”

“We do have our weapons and magic,” Remus stated.

“That’s good dear, but I think that you’ll need some added protection. Hmm, here,” Dune brought out a box with some beaded bracelets. “These are enchanted with protection spells. Each of you can take one and it’ll be as good as dressing you in full plate armour.”

“These are so beautiful. Thank you so much, Mx Dune,” Patton said

Dune smiled. “It’s nothing really, dear. I’m glad you like them.”

Not to be impatient, but can we get going? Virgil asked.

“Right. You’ll need to be as fast as you can to get the news to your grandmother. I wish the mirrors were working so we didn’t have to send you all off so quickly, but I believe that you will do brilliantly. Follow me to the gate then!” Tanya said, briskly walking out of the room where they had been debriefing her and Dune on the situation.

There were some stairs down to the portal gate, which Logan was very grateful for. He didn't mind flying in Virgil’s arms last time of course, but he wasn’t quite sure that Virgil would carry him this time around. It also meant he was able to take in the brilliant architecture as they descended, so of course he loved that. He didn’t quite love the aching in his limbs when they finally reached the bottom of the stairs but it was so worth it.

At the bottom of the stairs was a lovely area full of rich green vegetation. It looked very much like an enchanted garden, which was impressive considering how far underground they were. At the centre of this garden, there was a tall archway made from black stone with strange runes carved all around it. Tanya and Virgil walked over to this arch and stood directly in front of it a moment.

“You remember how to activate it?” Tanya asked.

Virgil nodded and held his hand out towards the arch.

Tanya did the same and they began to chant in unison, some strange words from a language that Logan had never heard before. Their voices seemed to echo with an ancient power and their hands that were outstretched began to glow with purple light. The runes on the archway glowed with the same strange light which bled into the opening of the arch until it was like there was a door of purple light there.

Once the chanting was done, the light from Virgil and Tanya’s hands faded away, but the light in the archway remained bright as ever.

“There you go, the portal is now active. I’ll make sure to keep it open for you so you can return whenever.”

“Thank you, Tanya,” Remy said. “You kids ready to go?”

The teens all glanced at each other. It had been one thing to agree to help their friend in his time of need, but right now the reality was setting in. They would be leaving behind their homes and families for gods know how long to visit a realm inhabited by a race they didn’t know very much about. Despite all of that, however, it took them less than a moment to decide this was right.

They could feel it in their souls. This was something they had to do. They were ready to do whatever it took to help their friend. It didn’t matter what was on the other side of that porthole because they would be facing it together.

“Well?”

“We’re ready.”

One by one, they walked through the archway. Oddly enough, it felt like walking through a normal doorway, except their skin tingled a bit as the magical light made contact. On the other side, there was a garden that looked nearly identical to where they had just been, except the magnificent greenery was now blue. They also seemed to be on top of a cliff, overlooking a city made of tall glass towers that reflected the bright green sky above.

“Um, is it supposed to be that colour?” Roman asked, pointing to the sky.

“Hmm, oh, yeah,” Virgil answered. “There are a lot of strange things in the fae realm but they’re harmless… mostly.”

“That’s reassuring,” Janus muttered.

“Well, I like it!” Remus declared.

“This place is insane,” Willow stage whispered.

Virgil laughed. “You guys haven’t seen anything yet. Follow me.”

He led them away from the cliff’s edge to a quaint little house that seemed to be strangely overgrown with vines. On the porch of this house, there was a woman sitting reading a book. When she looked up to see the group coming out of the garden gate, her eyes went wide.

“Prince Virgil! What brings you here?”

“I need to see my grandmother. It’s urgent.”

“Well, she’s in the city, of course. I can drive you and your friends over there quickly. Um, if all of you need to go through, I’ll need to get Doug to drive a second car.”

“Great. Sorry for being so rushed.”

“It’s no problem, dear. I’ll fetch Doug.”

“Uh, what’s a car?” Patton asked.

“Well, it’s like a carriage, but it’s powered by magic to drive around without horses,” Virgil explained.

Remus tilted his head to the side. “That sounds crazy... I like this place even more now!”

The cars were indeed very strange. They seemed to be formed from glass and steel, with wheels covered in rubber, and an ‘engine’ that hummed with life as they drove down the mountainside and into the city. At a closer glance, the group saw that the towers were indeed made with many large glass windows, although some seemed to be tinted for privacy. The roads between the towers had many cars driving up and down them, and still, there was an uncountable amount of fae folk walking on the ‘sidewalks’.

The group drove directly to the largest tower at the very centre of the city, which Virgil said was the palace. Once they got out of the cars, a man standing by the door saw Virgil and fished out a small handheld device which he talked into before walking over.

He bowed. “Prince Virgil, welcome back to the Fae Realm.”

“Thank you. Would you please have my grandmother alerted I’m here?”

“Uh, yes, sir. I’ve already called for someone to come and fetch your luggage.”

“We don’t have any.”

“Oh, well, then allow me to escort you to a room to freshen up.”

“I need to speak with my grandmother.”

“Please, sir, I was told to take you to a room.”

Virgil frowned impatiently. “Alright then. Lead the way.”

The man led them into the building’s reception room, and then through a pair of sliding doors into a box room called ‘an elevator’. The doors closed by themselves and the man pressed one of the many buttons beside the door. Logan felt his stomach lurch as the elevator rose up, quickly passing floor after floor until finally, it got to the one he assumed was their destination.

The floor they arrived on was huge, with a sunken lounge area, a small kitchen, and a wall straight ahead that looked like it was made entirely out of the window. The teens looked around in awe at the strange wonders of the room while Virgil tried talking their guide into taking them to his grandmother. The man deflected his request however and declared he would return shortly with some snacks for the group before departing via the elevator.

Virgil groaned. “How didn’t he understand the word urgent. I’ll need to talk to gran about this.”

“Hey, Virgil, what’s this?” Remus asked, pointing at the large flat box thing mounted on the wall.

“A tv.”

“Oh… what’s a tv?”

“It’s for watching movies and stuff. Here, you use this remote to control it,” Virgil explained before turning it on to display a moving picture of what appeared to be a fae person dancing.

“Woah. How does it do that?” Roman asked.

Virgil shrugged. “Magic.”

“Is everything in the fae realm made to use magic?” Logan inquired.

“Well, most things do. Here, everyone has access to the use of magic and magical items are used for most daily tasks, like cleaning, cooking, going places, and even speaking with people via mirrors.”

“This is incredible.” Patton said, staring at the tv which now was showing a kitten dancing.

“Yeah, it’s cool, but we need to go guys-”

Virgil was cut off by a loud sound from the kitchen, which turned out to be Remy using some small device that looked like a glass jug?

“Sorry, kid, what were you saying?”

“Are you making an iced coffee right now?”

“These things are amazing, and we don’t have blenders in the other realm.”

“What’s an iced coffee?” Janus inquired.

“A drink from the heavens themselves,” Remy declared, pouring the drink out of the blender. “Here, have a taste.”

Janus wearily took the cup and sniffed its contents before taking a sip. “Oh… That’s bitter. And so good.”

Remy grinned. “I know, right?”

“Hello, people, we’re on a mission here,” Virgil tried reminding them.

Unfortunately, Remy and Janus were preoccupied with a discussion about iced coffee, and everyone else was captivated by the tv.

“Fine, I’ll just go deliver the message alone!”

Logan looked away from the TV at that. “I can come with you.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, we didn’t come here for this. I’m sure I can look at everything later.”

Virgil smiled. “Thanks, Logan. Follow me.”

They both got into the elevator and took it to a different floor with a long grand hallway that Logan could barely keep track of as they went left and right, and up some stairs, then left again -or was it right?- then down some stairs, then another direction? And finally, they came to some huge doors that Logan assumed led to the throne room.

“How is there so much space on this floor?” Logan questioned.

“It’s the fae realm, L, if it doesn’t make sense, just assume it’s magic.” Virgil said before pushing the doors open and walking into the throne room.

Logan followed half a step behind Virgil, but nearly walked into him a few minutes later when he froze. Logan looked around Virgil to see what made him stop and noted that there was a man sitting on the throne. And if Virgil’s reaction were anything to go by, then that man wasn’t meant to be there.

“Prince Virgil! It’s so wonderful to see you again after so long! My goodness, you’ve really grown since I last saw you.”

“It is good to see you as well, Earl Ynclementia, but where is my grandmother?”

The earl’s expression turned sorrowful. “I am afraid that she is unwell, your highness. She’s confined to her bed with terrible sickness and no one but the doctors are allowed to see her. They won’t even let me in there.”

“She’s sick? How?”

“We’re not sure, your highness. We were going to actually send someone to tell your parents immediately when we realised that the mirrors were not working for inter-realm communication.”

“When did she get sick?”

“Only two days ago. As I said, we were going to inform your parents immediately, but there were complications.”

“Do the doctors know what she has?”

“I’m afraid not. Or if they do, they haven’t told me.”

Virgil looked absolutely crestfallen. Logan couldn’t blame him considering all that was happening. His parents were missing and his grandmother was stuck sick in bed. It was understandable that Virgil would be devastated. However, as quickly as Virgil’s sadness appeared, it disappeared. His face became stoic and he looked up at the Earl with a critical eye.

“I need to see my grandmother.”

“Your highness, like I said, even I’m not allowed to see her. The doctors fear her illness may be contagious. You should go home to inform your parents of what’s happened.”

“I will contact them via my mirror.”

“Your highness the mirrors aren’t working.”

“Mine is working just fine. I used it to call my parents and tell them I was safe when I got here.”

“O-oh? You called... your parents?”

“Yes. I’ll call again to tell them what's going on here. I assume you’re currently acting as regent.”

“Ah, yes. I am.”

“Good, they’ll be glad to hear that. If you’ll excuse me then, I’ll inform them at once.”

Virgil turned around before the earl could say anything else, grabbed Logan’s hand and promptly marched out of the room. Logan was very confused about why he’d just lied like that to the earl, but he waited until they were alone in the halls to say anything. When he tried to ask though, Virgil put a finger over his lips and looked around suspiciously first.

“I am quite sure we’re alone,” Logan stated.

“Good, because I think that we’ve walked ourselves into the lion’s den.”

“What?”

“Call me crazy, but things around here are too… calm. If my grandmother were really sick in bed then we wouldn’t even have been able to park out front without getting harassment from the press.”

“Press?”

“News Reporters. People who keep the common folk informed for a living.”

“Couldn’t they be trying to keep things secret to stop any panic?”

“People are naturally gossipy, Logan. Someone would have let it slip to the news by now. Something isn’t right here...”

“...We need to get back to the others.”

---

A/N: thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this. I'll be posting two chapters a day until the full fic is up, so if you want to be tagged, you can just ask.

I'd love to hear what you thought about the chapter if you wouldn't mind commenting. Thanks again for reading! Here's hoping you have a magical day 💜

[themadauthorshatter]

This is heavily inspired by Sayaka Miki's transformation in Madoka Magica, which I highly recommend ☺️, and it's another Group Chat inspired one from FOREVER ago.

Disclaimer: the angst in this is Superman levels of heavy with a hint of speculation on Orange.

Virgil had never exactly been in Logan's room, but he'd always imagined a grand library like the ones found in the shows and movies featuring royals or high class people, not an homage to the main room with more books and science posters.

And I thought I was a dork.

"Logan?"

"I'm over here, Virgil," the logical side droned. "No need to shout."

Virgil followed his voice until he found the side in an admittedly bad time, considering what part of Thomas's personality he represented.

Rather than in his desk or simply standing, Logan sat on his bed, elbows on his knees, back hunched in a sloppy arc, and his hair a mess, instead of being formally combed over. A large bruise was visible under his collar, just barely colored in the blinding cream- yellow light from the shadeless lamp on his desk.

"You alright?" Virgil asked.

The laugh that left Logan's mouth was heavy and deep, almost rueful. "Virgil," he sighed as he ran his fingers against his forehead and through his hair, "I really am sorry."

"For what? You didn't do anything."

Another laugh. "I did, if it caused the others to ignore me." Logan patted a spot next to him on the bed without looking. "We're the same like that, don't you think?" he asked as Virgil obliged, allbeit slowly as to not alarm him. "No matter what we say, or how loud we are, the others don't listen until it's too late." A sobbed giggle cut him off.

Virgil ran his eyes up and down Logan's form, trying to see if the other side was hiding something. "That's usually when they need us most, isn't it?"

Logan removed his fogged and stained glasses and turned his head to the purple clad side. His eyes were rimmed with bright red, a pale rouge staining the whites around his irises. The smile on his face was nothing short of haunting, like someone had taken a paine of glass and hit it with a wooden utensil or knife handle due to how unnaturally straight it pointed towards his ears.

"Yes," he agreed, " and not a minute sooner."

The fissures crept upward as his smile grew, Virgil trembling as his eyes followed.

A hint of rich auburn peeked out, subtle one moment, but extremely visible the next.

"I've been trying to stop it ever since Patton decided to skip what I had to say concerning Thomas's mental health."

"The wedding," Virgil gasped.

The fissures stretched to Logan's temple. "The world isn't all black and white, Paranoia, you know this better than Janus."

Virgil paled and shot to his feet, backing away as Logan's eyes followed him.

"How-? How did you-?"

"I'm sorry." Logan pushed himself to his feet, groaning as his legs cracked and sent him tumbling to the ground. Virgil leapt to him, catching him and propping him against the bed. "That was very insensitive of me. I haven't felt right ever since I came here and Janus joined the others." Logan tipped his head back and gave another, much longer laugh, fissures climbing up his cheeks and chipping off at his forehead and neck. He clenched his eyes as he fought a groan and more laughter. "He's a wonderful teacher, don't you think?"

Virgil noticed a small tear leave the corner of Logan's eye and drip into the chipped hole in his cheek. The hairs on his arm and neck stood as both it and Logan hissed.

"We...We can get help," Virgil panicked. "If we show them, they'll help!"

Logan simply stared as Virgil picked up his hand and gave a pull. "Wait-"

The logical side howled as large bits and chunks of his arm chipped off and fell to the floor.

Virgil instantly dropped his hand, his eyes brimming with tears as the reality of the situation caught him.

"I can't even stand up," Logan wept as he stared at the ceiling. "It serves me right for not telling them sooner. Or talking to you." A large, chipped hole grew from his ear to the corner of his mouth. Virgil almost gagged when he only saw a hollow inside and no teeth or tongue. "You always were good for a conversation."

More chunks fell away, the orange light within growing brighter. Virgil winced at the heat grazing at his skin.

"You should run. I'm weak enough already."

"Why is this happening!?" Virgil cried. "What's happening?"

Logan's neck chipped and crackled as he turned his gaze to Virgil. His right eye had completely fallen away, revealing more hollowness inside. Like a broken porcelain doll. The anxius side nearly vomited.

"Virgil," Logan cringed, "what do you think happens to glass when it's exposed to too much heat?"

It eventually melts, Virgil wanted to say. Then it's formed into something beautiful.

But how does it end up melted? he asked himself in his head.

Logan lifted his arm up and gave Virgil a slight shove.

MASSIVE EDIT: I saved this to my drafts and I didn't hit save when I posted it!!!!!😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Another Massive Edit: Took a break, got my bearings together. I don't know what I wrpte exactly, but I'll try to keep it close to what I put down (WHY DIDN'T I HIT SAVE!?!?!?!)

"You need to leave," Logan grunted. "You already know what happens when glass is exposed to high temperatures. I don't want you to get cut, not-" He groaned as the fissures covered his eye, causing it to begin chipping away. "-not to mention...potentially burning yourself."

"I am not leaving," Virgil protested.

Logan raised his hand to Virgil, letting him see large chunks of his arm and hand fall to the floor. He couldn't help Thomas and the others, but he could help Virgil at the very least. If this was all he could do to protect Virgil, to protect Thomas, to protect the others, to keep them safe just a little while longer, to be of use at least one more time, so be it.

He let his hand fall to the floor, the appendage breaking into pieces. Logan bit his tongue as flames licked at the ground.

Virgil cringed as the heat grazed his face.

"I'm in no condition to-" Logan's neck and lower jaw cracked. "-go anywhere. You need to leave, now."

Virgil felt tears drip down his cheek, a trail of black running off his jaw. "I can't... We have to-"

"I can't stand," Logan reiterated as a peice of his face fell, opening a hole from the corner of his eye, to his mouth. "And even if I could, they won't be able to do anything now."

"But..." Janus can fix you. Patton, even though he calls himself our dad, probably has tape and glue. Roman... Roman probably has something, anything!

Each idea sounded more absurd than the last, but they at least felt better than leaving his friend to shatter to pieces.

Logan jerked his head to the door. "Hurry."

The logical would've truly smiled when Virgil rose on shaky feet and backed away.

"Take-" His neck and arms chipped away in larger chunks. "Take care of Thomas."

"I will. I promise," Virgil assured as he nodded.

Just as he left the room, a bang drew him back.

Logan lie on his back, trying in vain to keep still.

A crack splintered across his chest and stomach, light spilling out like sunlight shining through a gap between clouds.

The logical side bucked violently, hitting his head and feet against the ground, one only losing its heel while the other shattered off completely.

He'll destroy himself.

Flames tore out of the cracks and remaining parts of his limbs as more cracks and fissures appeared. Logan's jaw hung open as he arched his back.

Virgil held a hand over his mouth as he watched, his feet stuck to the ground like he'd stepped in concrete.

Tell the others.

Logan's forhead and nose caved in, more flames erupting outward.

Tell the others.

The logical side stared at Virgil out of his good eye as Virgil stared back. To see his friend literally crumbling apart was a nightmare in of itself. And it was to protect all of them.

"Virgil-"

The shatter should have been from a large vase, not his friend holding something back for the sake of his protection.

Flames roared as they poured out of Logan and flowed around him.

Virgil held one hand over his eyes as he grasped the door frame.

Logan's figure changed, almost like he was putting himself back together bit by bit. The figure curled up and pushed himself to his feet. His reformed hands shot to his head, stumbling and thrashing as he shook his head viciously.

I can help him!

"LOGAN!"

Of course the figure didn't respond, Virgil barely heard himself over the sound of flames.

The figure curled into himself before bending backwards violently, his hands covering his face.

Virgil trudged forward, covering his mouth, nose, and eyes to block out the black smoke that mixed with the red-orange flames.

I can help him!

"LOGAN!" Virgil yowled with his hands around his mouth.

Fight, the anxious side's mind raced. Fight!

The figure removed his hands and let his arms fall to his sides.

The flames flared outward, sending Virgil into the hallway and against the wall.

The purple side coughed as smoke reached his nose.

Where Logan had been lying, the figure stood, tall and straight, stretching as he held his arms out at either side of his body. From the top of his head to the tips of his toes, he was covered in smoke.

From where Virgil stood, only one of his eyes was visible, and he was thankful for it.

It had the same color as a candle flame, but it was much brighter.

Not you, he begged. Anyone but you.

Virgil froze against the wall as the figure lowered his head and took notice of one of his hands, raising it to the ceiling to presumably look at it in the light of the lamp.

He turned it left and right, clenched and relaxed his fingers, tapping each one against his thumb, even rubbing off some of the smoke to see his nails.

His head snapped to Virgil with ferocious speed, both firey eyes locked on him.

Virgil sprinted down the hall and away from the room as fast as he could. The faster he ran, the faster he got to Thomas and the other sides.

Take care of Thomas.

I know.

He almost screamed when a voice came from the room.

"Paranoia," the new side mused.

Virgil sobbed as he panted, racing to any other side's room.

"Virgil," the orange side said in a sing-song tone.

FINALLY GOT IT!!! Seriously, this took forever because I DIDN'T HIT THAT STUPID SAVE BUTTON😡😡😡😡😡😡😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Anyway, hope you enjoyed, and sorry for any hurt feels!