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iwrestlenow · 4 years ago

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Many More To Die, Chapter 9

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 9)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: Logan tries to find another memory, and comes back with something bigger. Virgil opens up to Remus. More facts about the night of Logan's arrest come to light.

And Janus is definitely out to kill the necromancer--but Roman learns something unexpected when he discovers this plan.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), Moceit (Patton/Janus) and future Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: ...so I felt bad about the cliffhanger. >.> XD

Also, I forgot to mention in the last chapter that the words 'pari' and 'geni' were gender neutral terms I created for this world for Logan's parents. They're twisted up with Latin roots for 'parent' or 'creator' because his folks are nonbinary.

Extra apologies for this one because no beta and I just got eager and wrote this in one day. Send help. XD

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

1033, A.A.

The first thing Logan noticed when he woke was the heat. Even with all the little luxuries he earned as a well behaved prisoner, he never woke up warm.

The memories were slow to trickle back to him through the haze of sleep, gentle rain splashing against the surface of his mind.

The assassination. The Green Man. The new quarters, his first private shower in ten years—soft spun cotton lounge clothes instead of the rough, drab, ill fitting uniform of the dungeon's prisoners.

Gentle fingers filled with strength laced securely through his. Strong arms, warm skin...

Logan opened his eyes, and found himself with his face tucked against the curve of a neck. Lifting his head with great reluctance, he found himself faced with a sleeping Roman.

The beauty of it nearly stopped his heart.

Loss had stripped some light from his features, worn them around the edges and haunted his eyes, but in repose his features were smooth and unburdened. He looked younger, surreal in his serene perfection. Something about the act of watching Roman sleep felt important...precious, even familiar...

Roman stirred then, and Logan acted without thinking, reaching out to smooth his fingers through Roman's hair. It was soft against his fingers, warm and silken and he repeated the gesture just for the pleasure of feeling it.

“...'lo?...”

“Hello, Roman.”

Roman hummed, and the arm Logan only just realized was wrapped around his shoulders tightened, pulling him closer against Roman's side.

“Lo.” he murmured, more confidently this time as he opened bright green eyes. “You're here.”

“It appears I fell asleep after our discussion. Apologies.” Logan replied, but could put no real conviction into the words. Something inside him...ached in a beautiful way he couldn't give words to. He didn't know what it meant...

For just a split second, his vision blurred, and Roman was younger, smaller, dark hair lightened by too much time in the sun...

...Logan's mind grew fuzzy again, but not with sleep. He recognized the feeling now, the haze of magic that let him reconnect to Virgil, to a fragment of his past...

The Loom of Memory. Roman spoke about it last night, telling his stories about them as friends—as kindred spirits.

“Logan?...”

Logan shifted to lay on his back, reaching for Roman's hand.

“Virgil restored one of my memories through a piece of personal magic I embedded in an object of power.” he explained, speech slurring just a little as his eyes grew heavier. “If...you took part in a ritual to give me...my power...”

“The Warping.” Roman murmured, rolling on his side. Gripping Logan's fingers tight, he looked down into Logan's face. Something about it tugged at the back of Logan's chest, something that was pulling him back into darkness again.

He could fight the pull. He did not try.

Gripping Roman's hand tight, Logan let his eyes shut.

“Hold on...do not let go.”

As he sank, Logan distantly felt warm lips brush his forehead.

“I never have. I never will.”

********** ...threads. Everywhere, itching, brushing, bothersome. This time, he pulled away from them, just a little. He flexed his fingers, and the shuttle was there, secure in his grip.

He tried to concentrate on seeing it this time. Pulling back, stepping away.

…there.

The loom was massive, the warp glowing softly with a gentle radiance that begged to be touched. Running his fingers over it, Logan sighed with pleasure—warm and whisper soft beneath his fingers, spreading through his hand and up his arm to settle in the core of his being....but loose.

The warp was too loose. Just a little tension was needed for a neat, tight weave.

Logan reached out to try and tighten the warp, but...something was wrong.

“...Logan?”

Who's there?

“Logan, it's me.”

...oh. I...

“Do you need help?”

I—I think so. I don't understand what's happening.

“It's okay—to be honest, I didn't understand then and I still don't. Just take what you need.”

I'll be careful this time.

“Don't worry about it. Just...don't leave me.”

I promise. In fact...will you stay?

“Stay? I...is that all right?”

I do not know—but there's only one way to find out. Help me, if you can.

He tugged gently at the thread—this time, it came smooth and easy. It was hard to do still—simply because it was so distracting, the ecstasy of handling it, letting the warp slide through his fingers and tug sweetly as he secured it to the loom—

When he was done, when it was ready...Logan set to work.

********** 1023, A.A.

Logan was so warm and so comfortable, he never wanted to wake up...but he knew he had to, for some reason.

Opening his eyes with a yawn, he turned his head—then grinned when he realized that Roman stayed.

There was something about seeing him in Logan's bedroom that felt secret and special: Roman, his Roman, with his face half buried in Logan's pillow and mouth slightly open as he slept. It wasn't a pretty sight: he drooled just a little, and he was laying on Logan, one arm and one leg thrown across his body, something he usually hated...

But Logan could feel his weight, his warmth. He was messy and heavy and too much...and he was tucked into Logan's bed, his fingers meshed tight through Logan's to rest on Logan's chest. This handsome prince, this good and loving and dangerously earnest boy that wanted with a ferocity that scared and dazzled Logan, eluded palace guard and the king himself just to help him. Just to stay.

Roman was everything good and just and right in the world. However, Roman was also two years older than him, he was royalty—and Logan was Necromata.

Secret and special was all Logan was ever going to get.

Staring into Roman's sleeping face for a few more precious seconds, he tucked the memory away somewhere safe in his mind and his heart before he gently squeezed Roman's hand.

“Roman?”

“Nnnnngh.”

“Roman. It's morning.”

“Nnnngh—guh? What?”

Roman came awake abruptly, and Logan's heart trembled at the muzzy confusion in his face. It made him want confusing, unattainable things, so Logan settled for smiling.

“It's morning. Sunrise—are you still okay?”

Roman nodded with a jaw cracking yawn, further upsetting Logan's already fragile, confusing state of mind by tucking himself forward until their foreheads touched. “Yeah, 'm fine. Remus'll cover for me 'till at least after breakfast. You?”

Unable to stop himself, Logan tucked their joined hands against his chest for a second, sealing the feel of it as deep as he could into his memory as he nodded. “Grandpap won't be back until tomorrow, and Pari lets me skip my morning chores if I'm studying.”

“Which you are, technically.” Roman pointed out with a smile, staring into Logan's eyes.

“Falsehood. I'm laying about in bed.”

Roman seemingly had no answer for that, and didn't respond—but also didn't move.

Logan couldn't bring himself to urge him into action.

“Where did we leave off last night?”

“Hmm?”

“The geneaology. How far did we get?” Roman pressed gently, a laugh in his voice that made Logan's heart tremble again.

Taking a deep breath, Logan managed to pry himself from the sanctuary of his spot tucked into the curve of Roman's body. Sitting up, he reached for the last book they'd been reading through before they gave up their research for sleep.

“We got as far back as King Thomas Cameron IV—the one who married the first Lord and Lady Stewards.” Logan explained, flipping to the right page. “They reorganized the line of succession for same sex and polyfidelitous families within the royal house of Sanders.”

“Right, right...Lady Valerie was the great granddaughter of Sir Edward, fifth cousin of King Thomas Roman I.” Roman mumbled, sitting up to peer at the book in Logan's hands. “Least the stories say.”

Logan fought a swelling of frustration as he flipped ahead a few pages. “Most of these are stories. Stories, lore, and speculation. There's no proof here—and there are a lot of missing records, which I find strange for a royal lineage.”

“Well, Father had some records sealed for privacy.” Roman admitted. “That's how I knew about Sir Edward. He was a mage of some power, but his family withdrew from the monarchy generations ago. They're no longer part of the line of succession, so their presence exists only in the Tomes.”

Logan hesitated, shutting the book in his hands. “The mage's histories? The ones kept at the Royal Academy library?”

“Yep—well, most of them.”

Logan looked at Roman sharply. “What do you mean, most of them?”

Roman's eyes went wide as he froze. Logan's pulse quickened.

“Roman? What do you know?”

Roman looked, for a moment, like he wanted to bolt...but then took a deep breath, gathered Logan's hands in his, and began speaking.

********** 1033, A.A.

Logan's eyes snapped open as the Loom dropped abruptly away, leaving him with an ache in the marrow of his bones and a chill he couldn't quite dispel. As he sat up, warm arms immediately encircled him, tucking him against a wall of fire that eased the chill and soothed the hurt away.

“Logan? Say something—are you all right?”

For a second, Logan just leaned into him and shut his eyes. It wasn't complete, vague and nebulous and full of holes, but a new memory was hanging loose in his head, barely attached. He could almost picture the room, a few snatches of conversation...but the feeling was the only part he was sure of.

Secret and special...good and right...

I loved him.

“Logan, please. What happened?”

Logan pressed his forehead against Roman's collarbone for just one more second, the sweet pulse of longing rippling through his bones, igniting an energy that was alien to him.

I love him.

“I am satisfactory.” he assured Roman, slowly straightening. He reached up to rub his head. “I...slept here last night?”

Roman nodded, his hand settling on Logan's shoulder, warm and heavy. “You don't remember waking up?”

“I...maybe? I was...the Loom.”

“You entered that trance again—you asked for my help, and I gave it. Like I did during your Warping, but this time my hand was glowing—like the last time you were channeling. You wanted to reconstruct a memory, did you succeed?”

Logan nodded, then shook his head.

Books...Grandpap...sun bleached hair, a special and secret cocoon in his childhood bed.

Flinching, Logan fumbled for Roman's hand, ripping it off his shoulder and squeezing hard.

“Roman.”

“I'm here, Starlight—what do you remember?”

“I...don't know. Just—my brother.”

“Virgil's not here.”

“I have to find him. Now.”

********** Virgil was going on twenty four hours wide, staring awake, and wasn't enjoying it.

Well...much.

Reluctantly following the crown prince through the lower levels of the castle, he hated to admit that for all his crazy, Prince Remus was kind of a fascinating guy. He was smart, yeah, but—more than that.

He was brilliant, in a way that was frightening. He babbled with barely any coherence, went off on tangents, talked to himself, but there wasn't a single wasted word. He talked about his brother with perfect devotion, discussed violence with absolute reverence, and spoke about death like...

Like he was Necromata. In between the stories he shared during the night—stories about Roman's secrets, three years of carrying on an ilicit friendship with Logan—he went off about Virgil's people with a flawless understanding of who they were and what they were about.

All while revealing, with all his stolen knowledge, that he didn't know jack shit about them. Everything he ever learned was heresay and speculation, but...but through the stories he saw the foundation. Remus was a quintessential outsider, but the respect he showed for the Necromata made Virgil ache inside.

Fuck, Remus actually gave him a little hope for the future.

“This way—this is where I found Roman after it happened.”

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Virgil jogged to catch up with Remus. “We don't have a lot of time, Remus—Logan is supposed to try and resurrect your father this morning.”

“Yeah, yeah—we have an hour, I know.”

“Two.”

“What?”

“Two. The sun will be well above the horizon then—doesn't do anyone any favors to be too prompt when it comes to making sure the Barrier is closed, unless you want to end up with someone else in your father's body.”

Remus glanced at Virgil over his shoulder—then snickered.

“Could be funny.” he decided, ushering Virgil ahead of him. “Through this door—this is where I found Roman the night your brother was arrested.”

“Where was he? I never realized he was anywhere near us when we got caught.” Virgil huffed, shoving the filthy, heavy wooden door open to emerge into a dingy stone tunnel.

“Before this castle had lower levels beneath this one, this was meant to be a sewer.” Remus explained as Virgil took a few more steps into the tunnel. “It's on some early plans for the palace, but hardly anyone remembers it's here. I got nosy when I was six and found it—Roman and I have used this to get in and out of the palace undetected since we were little.”

“He must've told Logan.” Virgil muttered, peering up at the grate overhead. Above him, through the bars he could see scattered straw—the inside of an empty dungeon cell. “That's how he got us in here.”

“You were here that night?”

Virgil turned to face Remus, smiling a little without any humor in it. “He didn't tell you about that, huh?”

Remus shook his head in silence.

Virgil scoffed, turning his gaze upwards again.

“Not all that surprised. Hell, maybe he didn't know I was here, either. I wasn't supposed to be...truth be told, I was always certain that I was the reason Logan got arrested. It's why I tried to get him out.”

“What were you, four years old? What were you doing here, and how could you have been behind it?”

“I was nine.” Virgil replied quietly, unable to tear his gaze from the grate of the cell above him.

“And I was here because a Weaver needs his Spider.”

********** 1023, A.A. The tunnel was absolutely terrifying—dark and wide and squat. Grandpap would have to double over to walk through it, big as he was.

Virgil did not want to be here. He wanted to be home in bed with his blanket, listening to Grandpap's bedtime stories about the Before Times and the wicked king that was slain, plunging their tribe into eternal darkness.

Logan was here, though—and a Spider had to stand with his Weaver. Protecting Logan was his responsibility now, and he couldn't let his big brother down.

“...find the book in the office...”

Voices, up ahead. Echoes carried down towards him, making Virgil flinch hard enough that he stumbled and fell.

Silence. More voices, garbled and echoing...

A hand on his collar, dragging him to his feet.

“Virgil, what in the name of the Seven Hells are you doing here!”

When Virgil landed upright, he came face to face with the shadowed features of his big brother, blue eyes glimmering in the barely there light.

“What are you doing here, Logan?” Virgil shot back. “You snuck out without me! You're 'posed to bring me on important stuff, I'm your 'Pider!”

Logan spun around, as if he were about to address someone—but then froze. His shoulders hunched the way they always did when he forgot to thank the spirits of the ancestors at his altar every morning, nervous and unhappy.

Turning back to Virgil, Logan narrowed his eyes.

“This isn't Weaver stuff, Stormcloud, so you can't tell anyone. Especially not Grandpap.”

“I swear on the 'Pider's Thread, Loganberry.”

Taking a deep breath, Logan nodded. “Okay...okay, you can come. You'll actually be helpful to find...never mind. Just do as I say, and don't ask questions. I can't answer them?”

“Why?”

Logan raised a warning finger at him.

“Don't. Ask. Questions.”

Virgil slammed his mouth shut, but didn't argue as Logan took his hand and led him down the tunnel and into the palace of the king.

********** 1033, A.A.

“What part of the palace did you hit?” Remus asked.

Virgil shrugged. “Not sure. It was dark, I was nine and terrified...I've tried to track it since I enlisted, but haven't had much luck. All I know is it was somewhere in the lower levels 'cause that's how I found the tunnel and got away. Wasn't near the dungeons either, not really—when we got caught, Logan steered me towards a lit, open door. It was some kind of office, and I found an open grate that led me to it.”

Virgil faced Remus again, pointing upwards. “This is under the dungeons, but you said this was where you found Roman after Logan's arrest?”

“Yup.” Remus replied, popping the 'p' sound at the end. “Near the end of this particular tunnel, down here.”

Virgil glanced behind him, in the direction Remus pointed, Turning back to the prince, he jerked his chin in that direction.

“Let's go.”

The pair fell into step beside each other, easily matching pace. Remus was a little taller than Virgil, so he was slowing down to let him keep up. Virgil didn't appreciate it.

He didn't.

“You know, Roman didn't help you get in here. I did.”

Virgil turned sharply towards him. “You're fucking with me.”

“Identical twins? In a poorly lit room, you can't make out the streak and the 'stache, Sweet Cheeks.”

“But...why?”

“Because you were trying to help your brother, and mine couldn't. Help you, that is.”

“Why couldn't he? Why did he admit to doing it?” Virgil asked.

“Did he actually admit to anything last night?” Remus asked with a raised eyebrow.

Virgil opened his mouth...then closed it.

“Not outright, no.” he realized aloud. “But why couldn't he help?”

“Virgil!”

The sound of that voice, echoing off the walls of the tunnel, was a flashback in time. For an instant, Virgil was nine and terrified again, being led into Souls Knew What by his big brother...running for his life and trying not to choke on his sobs, knowing he'd left his big brother to die.

Spinning on his heel, Virgil found himself faced with the sight of the tunnel's end where he and Remus had been heading anyway. The door was open, and Logan stood side by side with the familiar figure of King Roman.

At least, until Logan bolted forward, barreling towards Virgil until he had a death grip on him.

“Unghf! Loganberry, you're...crushing me...”

“He panicked as soon as we got down here.” Roman explained, raising his voice to be heard as he jogged towards them. “He's been off since he woke up earlier. He tried to reconstruct a memory...”

Virgil sighed, wrapping his arms around Logan for a second to give him a comforting squeeze before he shifted to reach for Logan's hand.

“C'mere, Loganberry...lemme help you...”

The moment their fingers meshed, Virgil felt the pull on his consciousness—Logan drawing on his focus, pulling raw thought from his head that sent his awareness of his surroundings spiraling into a pinpoint.

Virgil's eyes slid shut, his head lolling back in familiar fashion—but this time, before the darkness took him, warmth flooded the base of his skull and softened his tumble into oblivion.

********** “Hey—hey! Wake up, Storm!”

“Remus.”

Roman watched his brother stand beside the silent cadet, one hand on his shoulder and the other cradling his head, supporting him as he half sagged where he stood. There was a look in his eyes Roman wasn't sure he'd ever seen before, something like panic...but not quite.

It was familiar...but fuzzy.

Moving to his brother's side, Roman touched his shoulder.

“He's all right, Remus.”

“How do you know?”

“Because this is what familiars do. I've...seen it before.”

Roman blinked, startled by the words that came out of his mouth—but once he said them, he knew it was true. He had seen it before...somewhere among Logan's people, but where?...

“What are you four doing down here?”

Roman looked back towards the direction Remus and Virgil had come from, flinching when he spotted Janus at the end of the tunnel with Patton at his side.

“Lord Janus? Pat—what are you doing here?” he asked, moving towards the pair.

“I came 'cause Janny asked me to.” Patton replied, staring past Roman to where Logan and Virgil stood, deep blue eyes filled with worry. “What's goin' on? Janny?...”

With a sigh, Janus discreetly slid a hand up Patton's spine, only just visible as yellow gloved fingertips appeared near his nape then vanished with a soft whisper of leather on fabric.

“Go, darling. See if you can help.” Janus urged.

Reaching behind him, Roman saw Patton catch the gloved hand and squeeze before he hurried down the tunnel towards the trio of Remus, Logan, and Virgil.

Facing Janus, Roman folded his arms. “You didn't answer my question.”

Janus glanced past Roman, seemingly unable to tear his gaze from Patton for a long moment before he finally managed to set his gaze on Roman.

“I'm an assassin. I'm not supposed to tell you why I do anything, Your Majesty.” Janus pointed out.

“So you're here to kill someone?”

Janus sneered, mouth setting into a thin, tight line.

“If you must know,” he growled quietly, “I came here to kill the necromancer.”

Roman's heart froze, blood running cold.

“No, you're not.”

“Majesty? Get your hands off me. Now.”

Roman blinked, not even realizing that he'd backed Janus up against the nearby wall, and to his shock had a hand wrapped around his scaled throat.

“Give me a reason why I should.” he asked flatly. “You'll have a harder time getting to the necromancer if you have to stop and kill me first.”

“Oh, for the love of—I'm here to kill the necromancer, not your pet prisoner!”

“I...what?”

“The necromancer that assassinated your father and is trying to assassinate you.” Janus spat, finally shaking Roman's grip so he could straighten his cloak.

“I...don't understand.”

Janus finally tugged the clasp of his cloak straight, and when he met Roman's gaze, his own mismatched eyes were filled with something far warmer than any man might expect to see in the eyes of a spy like him.

Janus was looking at him with sympathy.

“Your Majesty...Logan may be one of the Necromata, but he is not a necromancer.” he whispered.

“Of course he is! He--”

“--may have been a necromancer once upon a time, but he isn't any longer. The root of necromancy is memory—with no memory, he should have no magic. No mere necromancer can beat the Cleansing that way, it's impossible.”

“Then...?”

Roman turned away from Janus to stare down the tunnel. He watched Virgil and Logan both slowly come to their senses, Logan opening ice blue eyes as Virgil started to straighten, supported by both Remus and Patton.

Over Virgil's shoulder, Logan's gaze met Roman's, and for just a moment those gemstone eyes flickered with the soft, blue-white light of his magic.

Janus's voice spoke right next to his ear, shaking him to his core.

“Logan is not a necromancer, Your Majesty...he's a Lazari.”

#logince #moceit #sanders sides #logan sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #necromancer au #my name is liz and i swear to god i'll fic again #this is all the artist's fault i'm just a hapless writer that stumbled across it #fic

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ayellowcurtain · 5 years ago

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Can you write a fic where Robbe is struggling with long term PTSD following the homophobic attack? And his boyfriend or/and friends try to comfort him and help him overcome the trauma?

could you write something about Robbe and Sander going to that bar and Robbe getting anxious but Sander is there for him?

ask for you to write something like Robbe having an asthma attack and how him and Sander deals with it please?

Robbe doesn’t feel too good, it’s not the usual “you’re getting out of breath” that he’s so used to it after years living with asthma attacks, it’s something else, but he checks his pockets just in case. His inhaler in his left jacket pocket, he didn’t forget it at home, he’s okay.

Sander looks at him and smiles, holding his hand tighter and Robbe takes that as an invitation to walk closer, always checking around them to see if there’s anyone else on the sidewalk.

He can see it from here, the bar - their bar as Sander says - it’s crowded, a little more than that night, but it’s also a little earlier this time.

“If you don’t feel comfortable, just tell me, Robbe. And we’ll get out of here.” Sander tells him when they reach the door, looking deep into Robbe’s eyes to make sure he understands. It’s okay if he doesn’t feel safe yet.

Robbe tries to focus on something else other than his past memories, flashing in the back of his mind constantly. He tries to remember the other time they were here. About how anxious he was, but also how he never felt so alive, wanting someone so badly it was actually physically painful at some point.

He never thought he was the one to kiss his boyfriend in public, proudly whispering where he wanted to go next with Sander, asking please as he kisses Sander’s cheek and squeezed his thigh. His touch in the back of Robbe’s neck left his skin tingling for the whole time they were inside.

Safe inside.

They’re finally sitting inside, in the complete opposite side of the bar than the other time and Sander’s gentle touch on his thigh makes Robbe more present in the moment, but also remind him again of another piece of that night, looking at Sander and he smiles. Robbe was out of it again and Sander is so patient when that happens.

“You want to drink something? A beer?”

Robbe’s throat is dry and so he nods his head. A cold, freezing beer sounds perfect right about now. Sander talks to the happy waiter and he asks for some snacks too. Soon Robbe is chugging down his beer, really thankful for the coldness that helps balance his temperature, he feels like he’s overheating.

“Come on...Show me your magic tricks again.” Sander pushes the snack bowl closer to Robbe, trying to distract him from his fears. Robbe thought he was managing to hide how he’s feeling, but maybe it’s as clear as he feels it. He can’t seem to focus on anything, his brain is foggy and his body is anxious, trying to keep it all inside and not worry Sander.

“I don’t remember what I did that night, was freaking out.” Robbe laughs shyly. Sander is trying so hard and so he just has to push through an hour or so inside this place and he’ll be good.

“I remember every single word you said. Want me to tell you, word-by-word?” Sander touches his forehead, putting his hair to the side, it was bothering his eyes, but Robbe couldn’t bring himself to fix it. But then Sander does and Robbe flinches, looking around them, feeling his panic crawl through his veins and he holds his breath, stopping it from reaching his brain.

Sander doesn’t complain about Robbe avoiding his touch, he doesn’t even look disappointed, just puts his hand down, holding his beer instead, acting like that didn’t just happen.

“I’m sorry.” Robbe pulls his chair closer to Sander’s, feeling the lump in his throat getting bigger and bigger.

He was so worried about his trauma and how it still affects him that when he notices, it’s too late.

One can only make the other worse, Robbe can’t breath, no matter how much air he tries to inhale, it’s never enough, it doesn’t go to his lungs, he feels his neck hard and fighting to spread the air to every member to make his body function normally.

“Need to get out.”

It feels like a minute goes by but it’s probably just a second until Sander understands what’s going on. Robbe stumbles to stand up and Sander is right next to him, leaving money on their table, his hand on Robbe’s back.

“Come, let’s get out of here, get some fresh air.” Sander holds his hand tight again, that’s basically all Robbe can feel. His brain is shutting down, his lungs feel like their walls are glued to each other, never able to fill his lungs with enough air.

He hears complaints, Sander harshly pushing people out of their way, the loud noise of the heavy door being opened. Cold wind against his face makes him dizzy, but it’s better than a crowded place.

“Wait, Robbe, just breathe, ok?” He’s against the outside wall, Robbe can hear how he’s wheezing and Sander’s nervous hands touching his jacket, he finds the inhaler before Robbe can and puts it on his hand, closing his fingers around it.

Slowly, Robbe’s brain starts working again. He can think clearly and see where they are. Still leaning against the outside door. Sander is right next to him, holding his hand, waiting with Robbe to recover.

Even though he’s happy to breathe again - the air after an attack feels like the best thing ever - Robbe feels like the worst boyfriend. Ruining their date once again.

“I’m sorry.” He turns his head to be able to see Sander and he smiles softly.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, cutie.”

Robbe holds Sander’s hand and drags them to sit on the sidewalk and wait for a little.

He’s happy to be able to sigh, even if it’s a small struggle, at least the air he’s breathing is enough to fill his lungs for a second. Robbe sits closer to Sander, their thighs flat against each other. He quietly puts his arms around Sander’s, hugging it, resting against his shoulder, kissing and looking back, hiding against his shoulder blade.

“The start of that night was one of the best moments of my life.”

He feels when Sander laughs, moving his arm to hold Robbe’s hand, kissing the back of it.

“Yeah, it was amazing.”

“I wish it went as we planned…” Robbe whispers, regretting not drinking his entire beer before they had to rush out, his throat is dry and raspy.

“We got what we wanted, just a few weeks later, no?” Sander tries to look at him, Robbe can feel his back muscles moving and how he’s trying to look over his shoulder and so he moves, resting his chin against the edge of Sander’s shoulder, looking at him.

“Yeah. I guess.”

“So we won. Those criminals don’t stand a chance against our love. We have the right to love each other. And I’m so very lucky I can have you for the rest of my life, we’ll have so many happy nights together, going on dates or not, just staying in. As long as we got each other and our love, that counts as a big win to me.”

Robbe laughs, kissing his shoulder, still looking up at Sander, quietly intertwining their fingers in between them.

“You’re so romantic.”

“That’s all your fault.”

#wtfock #robbe x sander #robbe ijzermans #sander driesen #sobbe

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snowdice · 5 years ago

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Road Trips and Missing Persons (Part 3)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Patton & Virgil, Virgil & Deceit, Logan & Patton (more to be added)

Characters: Patton, Virgil, Deceit, Remus, Roman Logan (more to be added)

Summary: Patton was just getting groceries. The next thing he knew, there was a knife at his throat and he was an unwilling uber driver. Virgil’s on the run after the murder of his dad, and it’s not just his paranoia that’s telling him he’s being chased down. He has to get somewhere safe, somewhere he can trust, and all he has is a couple of stories from his dad and a name: “Green Bellow Foods and Dispensary.”

Notes: Secret Agents AU, knives, carjacking, kidnapping, murder mentioned, guns mentioned, pepper spray, blood mentioned, drugs mentioned (more to be added)

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

Part 1 Part 2

The man Virgil had carjacked, Patton he had said, hummed a soft tune as he pulled back onto the interstate. Virgil glanced down at the ice cream in his hands and took a second bite. Was he…was he actually serious about all of this?

Virgil was suspicious, but the guy had been nothing but surprisingly nice for someone who’d been kidnapped. The nicer he was, the worse Virgil felt about the whole, breaking into his car and threatening him at knife point thing. Maybe that was the point? Maybe he was hoping Virgil would feel bad enough to eventually just tell him drive to the police station so he could turn himself in.

Not likely.

It didn’t matter how nice the dude was to him, he was not going anywhere his mother might be able to find him. Nope. Not happening. Not after what happened earlier in the day. He’s just lucky he’d been snooping in his dad’s room trying to find where the man had hidden the Gameboy and found whatever radio thing dad had hidden beneath a floorboard under his bed.

Well. “Lucky” was perhaps not the right word, he thought as he stuffed an even larger spoonful of ice cream into his mouth while trying to force himself not to cry. Nothing was lucky about today.

He didn’t know why dad had the radio thing. (He was pretty sure at this point that he didn’t know a lot of things.) All he knew was that it was some type of communication device and his mother’s voice would have been undeniably clear on it even if people hadn’t been calling her by name. He hadn’t known what on Earth was going on. All he knew was that he’d backed away from it in horror and confusion when the message that Remington Gates was dead came through. Mom had said “good.” He’d hoped it had been some kind of trick, but when some guy had broken into the house to take him to his mother not even 10 minutes later, he’d pieced together the truth.

His dad was dead. His mom had killed him. And whatever her plans were for Virgil, Virgil didn’t want any part of it. Luckily, when he was 12, he’d watched a horror movie and hadn’t slept for a week. His dad had solved the problem by showing him how to use pepper spray effectively and then letting him keep a can of it in his nightstand in case anyone ever broke in to try to kidnap him. Virgil was… pretty sure dad hadn’t ever thought someone would break in and try to kidnap him.

He’d pepper sprayed the guy mom had sent and grabbed a knife from the kitchen before booking it out the back door.

The options had been the park, the grocery store, or try to make it to the nearest bus stop and hope a bus arrived soon. In a bid to be unpredictable, he’d gone to the grocery store. Of course, he’d needed to get out of the neighborhood and fast, but he knew a bus or any form of public transport would be easily trackable. The only solution was a car, but the problems with that were that Virgil didn’t have a car, he didn’t know how to hotwire a car, and his only experience driving had been when his older brother allowed him to drive a golf cart when he was 7 and he drove it into a pond.

Which had led him here, in a stranger’s car after waiting for him to come out of the store in the backseat and pressing a kitchen knife up against his neck. It had been… a day.

He finished the entire giant “concrete” ice cream thing Patton had got him and stuck it in the bag with the rest of the trash.

“Want to listen to the radio?” Patton asked. “Passenger gets to choose the station!”

“Er… sure.” Virgil reached forward to flip it on. They were far enough out of range that whatever station Patton had last listened to in town was now just static, so Virgil started to mess with the dials.

There didn’t seem to be any music channels that adhered to his tastes, so he just ended up on some pop station. He was just settling back into his seat when Patton’s phone started to ring from where he’d tossed it when he’d gotten into the car at the grocery store.

Virgil blinked at the phone. “Is that the Mission Impossible theme song?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Why does it sound like that?”

“It’s the kazoo version,” Patton explained.

“…Why?”

Patton just smiled. “I should probably answer it.”

“No!” Virgil said. “You’re not allowed to answer it.”

Patton shrugged. The music stopped after a few more seconds and then started up right after that.

“It’s my brother. He’s going to keep calling,” Patton informed him, “and if I don’t answer, he’s going to call the cops because he assumed, I was kidnapped. Which… in this case.”

“Shit,” Virgil said as the ringing stopped again only to pick up once more a moment later. “Shit. Fine. You can answer it, but I’m putting it on speaker and don’t try to tell him anything.”

“Yeah, alright,” Patton agreed easily.

Oh god, this was a bad idea. Virgil grabbed the phone and accepted the call before putting it on speaker.

“Hi, Lo.”

“Why aren’t you answering your home phone?”

“I’m not at home,” Patton said.

“Where are you?”

Patton considered it for a moment. “I’m… on a road trip.”

“A road trip?” the man on the other end of the line asked blankly. “What do you… what do you mean?”

“I mean, I got in my car and now I’m driving.”

“You were supposed to be home all week. Patton, I need you to be in the city right now. Where are you?”

Virgil shook his head wildly.

“I don’t know,” Patton said thoughtfully. “A road.”

“Patton,” the man groaned. “Why?”

“It’s just a thing that happened Lo, sorry if you needed me.”

“How is a road trip a ‘thing’ that just ‘happens,’ Patton?” he asked. Patton glanced at Virgil.

“Erm… it just did?” he said.

“Patton!”

“Anyway, I’m a little bit busy so talk to you later!”

“Patton do not hang up the phone!”

“Love you Logi!” He jerked his head at Virgil and Virgil hit the end call button.

The second the call ended Virgil groaned. “It would have been better if you just didn’t answer.”

The Mission Impossible Song: Kazoo Version started playing again.

“It’ll be best if you just turn that off,” Patton said.

“Won’t he just call the cops?”

Patton gave him a secret smile. “No, he’ll just think I’m being silly and ignoring him.”

“Do you do stuff like that often?” Virgil asked.

“Just enough so he doesn’t ask questions when I don’t want him to,” Patton divulged. “It’s a little brother thing, you know.”

Virgil flinched just a bit. A brother thing. He wondered where his brother was now. He’d always been nice to Virgil, but he’d also always been obedient to mom. He wondered if he knew about Virgil’s dad. The two had always gotten along even though he wasn’t Janus’s father, but mom was… mom. Virgil didn’t want to know whose side he’d take.

The ringtone ended and started back up once again. Virgil held down the power button until it turned off and decided to store it in the glove compartment so Patton couldn’t reach it as easily. (Though, perhaps he should have thought of that earlier, but he was new to the whole kidnapping thing.)

He sat back against the seat and started rubbing at the sleeves of his hoodie.

“Everything okay over there?” Patton asked.

“I’m fine,” Virgil snapped and then bristled under the raised eyebrow he got in return. “This radio station is just stupid,” he grumbled.

“Well, you can change it,” Patton pointed out.

The radio station wasn’t actually the problem, but it did give him something to do with his hands. He reached forward and started fiddling with the radio dials. About 10 minutes later he hit a radio station that wasn’t music, but some guy talking. Virgil paused on the station and sat back. Whoever the guy was, his voice was low and soothing.

Virgil closed his eyes and listened for a few minutes before he let out a startled chuckle. “He’s talking about Moth Man?”

He opened his eyes to see Patton’s face crinkled up into a soft smile. “He is.”

Virgil couldn’t help but start to giggle. He laughed so hard that it started to blur into sobbing. He felt a gentle touch on his knee and looked over at Patton.

“There are tissues in the glove box,” he told Virgil. Virgil nodded and reached forward into to the glove box to grab the Kleenex Box while still sniffling.

He blotted at his eyes and blew his nose before sticking the dirty tissue into his hoodie pocket.

Today had been a horrible day. He was exhausted. He leaned back against the seat and his eyes flickered closed.

“Do you want me to change the radio station?” Patton asked softly.

Virgil laughed again and barely restrained himself from going into another fit. “No, no,” he said. “It’s fine. I’ve gotta hear how it ends.”

“That’s fair,” Patton said and though Virgil had his eyes closed, he imagined he was shooting him one of those confusing soft smiles again.

The conspiracy theory radio guy kept blathering on about sightings of Moth Man in a deceptively calm tone.

Wow Virgil was tired.

…

Falling asleep while the guy you carjacked drove probably wasn’t a good idea.

That was one of the last coherent thoughts he had before he drifted off to sleep.

Want to read more? Click below!

AO3 Part 4 My Master Post

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #patton sanders #platonic moxiety #logan sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #janus sanders #creativitwins #knives #kidnapping #carjacking #murder mentioned #guns mentioned #drugs mentioned #adriana writes #road trips and missing persons

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today-only-happens-once · 5 years ago

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all the truth i could tell

Title: all the truth i could tell

Word Count: 4864

Summary: The court case is about keeping them together. But Roman’s testimony during the trial might just tear Logan apart. For Isa’s Sanders Bro AU. Familial/Brotherly LAMP angst/hurt/comfort.

Warnings: angst/hurt/comfort, detailed discussion of past abuse (physical/emotional/psychological), courtrooms, badgering witnesses, threats, threats about children, vomiting, second-guessing and self-doubt, emotional breakdowns, arguments, guilt (trauma related and also misplaced in so many ways), cursing, crying (some more than others but a lot across the board woops)

A/N: I’ve been wanting to write this fic for months and months. Perhaps one of the angstiest fics I’ve ever written. Got a little emotional while writing it, so I mostly just hope the emotions of the fic translated from my brain onto the page well enough because... I’m not sure, honestly. But I’m never sure about these things. Heh. My immeasurable thanks to @justisaisfine not only for letting me play in the Bros AU again, but for all the work and love and dedication they’ve put in to this universe’s creation. Edited by yours truly. All continuity errors, typos, and spelling/grammar mistakes are mine.

Inspired mostly by these posts from their AU.

Title is taken from “Praying” by Kesha; a cover of which appears in Isa’s playlist for this AU.

…

“Roman Sanders.”

The courtroom is packed, though Logan can’t say at this point that he finds that particularly surprising. It had been packed for the past several days, ever since it first started. And despite this fact, Logan is reasonably confident he hears the inhale of breath that his older brother sucks into his lungs. It is not entirely steady. Roman stands up from beside their lawyers at the defense table and casts a quick glance over his shoulder to his brothers and Thomas. Logan doesn’t know what his own expression is. He hopes it’s reassuring.

Anything to ease that flicker of fear that crosses his brother’s eyes.

Late afternoon sunlight streams in through the windows on the far wall and leaves squares of light on the wood floors. The benches are hard and uncomfortable to sit on, but Logan had gotten used to their discomfort days ago. Besides, a hard seat was hardly the most pressing issue on his mind. He casts a furtive, fleeting glance over at the back of his parents’ heads at the prosecution table.

Roman makes his way to the witness stand, lays his hand on the Bible, swears the oath they’d all heard half a dozen times by now. It’s all very business-as-usual. Logan wonders if Roman’s hand feels like lead to him. Logan’s had felt that way when he’d sworn to tell the truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth.

“You may take your seat.”

Beside him, Patton shifts, fiddling with the sleeve of his gray suit jacket. Logan glances at him. Patton doesn’t take his eyes off their oldest brother.

Their lawyer—Walter Coleman—stands, buttons his suit jacket, and casually makes his way over. Logan liked him; he’d been the first person Thomas had called after Logan explained that he’d been gathering evidence just in case their parents came back. He was practiced, successful, and very thorough. Patton had described him as kind, but kindness mattered significantly less to Logan than whether or not Coleman could win.

“Roman, could you do the record a favor—just for clarity—and describe your relationship to the prosecution.”

A routine question, Logan tells himself. One they have practiced several times before. He tells himself this as if it will ease the tension that stretches his spine ramrod straight. It does not.

Roman clears his throat and leans into the mic. “I was their first child.”

“So you are the oldest of the Sanders children, yes?”

“Yes.”

“How old were you when you left home?”

“I was fifteen.”

“Could you describe the nature of the night you left? We have heard your brothers’ testimony regarding that incident, but I think it would benefit to have yours as well.” A brief pause. “Do you remember that night?”

“Vividly.”

“Then please tell us about it.”

Roman nods. Takes a breath. “I came home from school that day. It was late May, I think, and we could hear crashing and yelling coming from inside the house. I ran inside without even thinking about it, really—”

“Could you clarify whom you mean when you say ‘we’?”

Roman clears his throat. “Two of my brothers, sorry. Patton and Logan. Virgil wasn’t in school yet.” He pauses, glances at their lawyer, and continues after his silent, encouraging nod. “When I got in the house, it didn’t take long to realize the sound was coming from the kitchen. Mom was screaming. Shattered plates were all over the floor, and my—and Virgil was sort of hiding in the corner in the middle of the mess.”

Roman’s voice is… wrong, to Logan’s ears. Distant and detached and so unlike his oldest brother that it twists his stomach. Roman’s eyes are boring into their lawyer’s as if he’s afraid to look anywhere else right now.

Roman continues. “Mom was yelling something about Virgil, and she had a plate in her hand and she looked like she was about to throw it at him. So I yelled for her to stop, I asked what she was doing even though it seemed pretty clear, and I grabbed the plate from her hands because I was afraid she was going to throw it at him anyway. She left, after that.”

Their lawyer has his back to the courtroom, so Logan cannot see his expression. “She just walked away?”

Roman’s lips press into a thin line. “I think ‘shoved’ may be a bit more accurate, but yes.”

“And then what did you do?”

“I attempted to talk to Virgil.”

“Attempted?”

For the first time since he took the stand, Logan sees a flicker of something pass through Roman’s eyes. Logan remembers with startling clarity the look in his brother’s eyes when they watched Lilo and Stitch a lifetime ago—and then promptly never watched it again.

“I couldn’t—Virgil wouldn’t respond to me for a really long time.” Roman takes a deep breath. His gaze flickers from their lawyer and drifts out to the crowd. It settles on Thomas, who is sitting on the other side of Patton, for a brief moment before he returns it to their lawyer. “His eyes were kind of unfocused and… eventually, I just picked him up and took him upstairs to patch him up.”

“He was injured?”

Roman nods. “Yeah. He… There were cuts all over his hands. I think he might’ve been trying to pick up the pieces off the floor. His arms too. Maybe his head. I—Truthfully, I don’t remember the specifics of his injuries.”

Another line they’d practiced, Logan thinks. A truthful statement, but a careful one. Not I don’t remember. Not the details are hazy. Roman’s memories are vague around the particulars of Virgil’s injuries, but there is no doubt he was injured.

If he’s being honest, Logan is vaguely surprised at how well Roman seems to have remembered that night. It was a long time ago. And Logan doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the somehow both vacant and desperate look in his eyes as he’d bandaged their baby brother that night.

“Then I told my brothers that I thought leaving was the best decision.”

“Was staying with your parents going to leave you or your brothers in immediate, direct physical harm—”

“Objection.” The interruption comes from the prosecution table, a voice familiar now to Logan from his own experience on the witness stand. It still sent chills down his arms and turned his stomach. The prosecuting lawyer—Tyler Jacobs—is still sitting, but he’s looking directly at the judge. “That question is purely based on speculation. Witness is unable to know what would have happened had they not left.”

“Sustained.”

“I’ll rephrase,” Coleman says patiently. “Did you believe that staying in that house would mean danger of imminent harm?”

“Yes.” The question is immediate, clear, and divisive.

“Did you, Roman Sanders, forcibly remove any of your brothers from their home without their consent or agreement?”

“No. Their own testimonies speak to that.”

“And why didn’t you contact proper authorities rather than leave?”

“I was…” Roman’s voice seems to die for a moment in his throat. His gaze flickers over to the prosecution table for a brief moment and Logan swears some color drains from Roman’s face. “I was scared.”

“Scared. Of your parents?”

“Yes,” Roman says, his voice returning to that unnatural evenness. “But also of being separated from my brothers. I was fifteen, and they were all I had.”

There’s a surprising pause. Someone a few rows behind them coughs. Coleman regards Roman silently. Roman stares back at him. Logan cannot tell if they’re communicating somehow, or why there’s such a long pause, but then eventually, Coleman speaks again.

“We’ve heard from your brothers about their understandings of the nature of your parents. But could you, in your own words, describe your relationship to them?”

Beside him, Logan feels Patton sit up a little more.

“It was…” Roman hesitates, and Logan doesn’t understand why. “It was uncomfortable.”

“In what way?”

Silence.

Logan feels himself tense. His older brother was a damn good actor but Logan had spent his entire life reading through Roman’s bravado. Alone on the witness stand, it seems unusually brittle to Logan, and he doesn’t understand the tinge of what he can only describe as panic in his big brother’s eyes.

“Roman,” Coleman prompts, in a surprisingly gentle voice.

Roman’s jaw works. He looks away. The panic gives way to something else. Shame?

“You promised this court to tell the whole truth,” Coleman says, still with that surprising gentleness. “All of it, Roman.”

Roman doesn’t look at anybody when he finally answers. “It was… threats, mostly.”

And Logan’s blood turns to ice.

“When none of my brothers were around,” Roman presses on, speaking quickly, like the faster he speaks the sooner he can get it over with and Logan’s head is spinning. “My father would ask if I’d rather he hurt my brothers instead, or said he’d burn Logan again if I didn’t shut up about it, or he’d be sure to tell Mom to hit Patton harder next time if I said anything about the bruises at school, or that he’d lock Virgil away from us for hours—days—if I didn’t—”

Roman’s voice chokes off. He swallows hard, squares his jaw, and looks up. “Sometimes it happened at night. Virgil and I shared a room, and sometimes he’d… he’d come in, knowing Virgil was fast asleep in the bed next to me, and we could both hear him breathing, and he’d ask if I’d imagined what it might be like to not hear that breathing, or to hear it… stop, and that I might find out if I didn’t…”

Patton seizes Logan’s hand and squeezes hard enough that maybe it should hurt but nothing seems to register to Logan right now. Things are spinning and nothing fits together and God damn it, how could he not have known?

Logan doesn’t know if his hand is shaking harder or Patton’s. When Patton clasps a second hand over Logan’s, Logan realizes it’s his own.

“Do you have any regrets about your decision to remove yourself and your brothers from that situation?”

“No,” Roman says honestly. Earnestly. Logan thinks he can barely hear him over the roaring in his ears.

Coleman nods once, then steps back and returns to the prosecution table. Logan watches as if he’s seeing it from miles away as Coleman removes his glasses and scrubs a hand across his eyes as Jacobs stands up.

“How old were you when you left the Sanders’ residence that night?” Logan instinctively tenses at the sound of his deceptively smooth voice.

“Fifteen,” Roman repeats.

“Do you think, Roman, that a fifteen-year-old child is the best judge of what is and isn’t best for other children?”

“I was afraid for mine and my brothers’ safety.”

“But you made that decision for your brothers rather than allowing them to reach their own conclusions, did you not?”

A crease appears between Roman’s brows. “No. Patton said he wanted to leave, too. And I wouldn’t have made Logan come if he didn’t want to.”

“Yes, yes.” Jacobs waves a dismissive hand. “But didn’t you say that Virgil wasn’t responding to you when you tried to talk to him?”

If Logan hadn’t been looking for it, he would have missed the way Roman’s eyes widened imperceptibly. “I… Yes, but—”

“So how could you have known what Virgil wanted? He was five at the time, yes?”

“Yes—”

“So he was capable, physically, of speaking in full sentences. Yet did Virgil, at any point, indicate clearly and without equivocation, that he wanted to be removed from the Sanders household?”

“He had just been—”

“Please answer the question asked, Roman.”

Logan feels Patton’s grip tighten around his own. Logan squeezes back. He wants to look at his younger brother, to see if he is okay, but Logan can’t take his eyes off his oldest brother. Something is squeezing Logan’s chest like a metal band. Sharp and painful and the air feels too thick for it.

“No,” Roman says. “He didn’t. But he wasn’t safe, and I was doing what I thought was right.”

“What you thought was right,” Jacobs repeats with a skeptical glance to the jury. There’s a weighted pause. “Tell me something, Roman, had you ever had a job before you left?”

“No.”

I can’t believe he never told me about dad.

“Had you saved up the money your parents freely gave you?”

Through the weird haze of Logan’s thoughts, he thinks he sees Roman’s jaw tighten. “No.”

“Had you had any prior work experience?”

“No, but I—”

“Legal guardianship experience?”

“No, but—”

“Did you have a specific place in mind when you left?”

“We found—”

“A place you owned that could provide certainty of safety and security from inclement weather?”

“No—”

“And yet you think it was the right decision,” Jacobs cuts in, doing nothing to hide his incredulity. “The right decision for you, a fifteen-year-old child, to remove your younger brothers from their home with no plan, no experience, no job, no nothing. You really believe that was the right thing to do?”

“I—I was—”

“Objection!” Coleman roars over Roman’s stuttered, desperate response. “Badgering the witness!”

The gavel bangs. Logan, Patton, and Roman on the stand all jump in unison. There’s an immediate, ricocheting silence in the courtroom. “Sustained,” the judge says in a tense voice. “Jacobs, you will proceed carefully or not at all.”

“Apologies,” Jacobs says as if its more reflexive habit than legitimate contrition. “Roman, have you ever made a mistake?”

Why didn’t Roman talk to me about any of it? Why didn’t—

Roman hesitates. “Yes.”

“And did you learn from that mistake? Were you capable of change?”

Another beat. “Yes.”

“Do you think your parents are capable of similar change?”

Dad used us to threaten him, and he never—

Roman has a desperate, pained look in his eyes and Logan realizes—so suddenly it jars him—that he’s looking at him and Patton for the first time. “I…”

“You are under oath, Roman,” Jacobs says with a bit of an edge. Or perhaps Logan is imagining it. “You must state your honest opinion.”

“No,” Roman says eventually tearing his gaze away from his brothers. He says the word like it devastates him. “No, I don’t.”

Jacobs eyes narrow. He purses his lips. “Perhaps you have not grown up quite as much as you believe you have,” he says. Coleman jumps to his feet again but Jacobs waves him off. “No further questions.”

Roman scrubs a hand down his face and Logan realizes then that he can see how badly Roman is shaking all of a sudden.

Why didn’t Roman tell me? There’s something hard settled in the core of Logan’s chest that is painful to breathe past.

The gavel bangs. Logan jumps again. “Let’s take a brief recess.”

Patton has jumped to his feet and is out of the courtroom almost before the judge has finished speaking.

…

Logan finds his younger brother forty-eight seconds later in the restroom. He hears the retching before he sees him, kneeling beside a toilet with the stall door still open. Something unnamed clenches impossibly tighter in Logan’s chest.

“Oh, Pat,” he says, as his younger brother flushes and sits back, wiping his mouth. His eyes are dry, and for some reason he can’t explain, that surprises Logan. He grabs one of the paper towels and quickly rinses it in the sink before crossing to his brother and kneeling in front of him.

Patton leans his head back against the tiled wall. “He…” Patton lets the statement go unfinished, his gaze distancing.

“I know,” Logan says, softly, as he wipes away the residue lingering on Patton’s lips.

“Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Know? Did you know what…what he…”

Logan’s throat is closing. He coughs in a futile attempt to clear it. He still feels a little bit like the ground beneath his feet has shifted. “No,” he manages. “I didn’t.”

And the admittance, out loud, makes something burn harshly in Logan’s chest. Something like anger. Something like grief. Something like… Logan grits his teeth. He had never been good at identifying emotions. But it hurts.

Patton swallows hard. The steel band around Logan’s chest tightens, and Logan moves to sit beside him. He wraps an arm around his shoulder and rocks them side to side. In the back of his mind, Logan is a bit surprised that nobody else had come into the bathroom yet. He figures it doesn’t really matter much.

Patton doesn’t say anything else, although Logan has the odd feeling that he wants to. Patton keeps taking in a breath as if he’s about to say something, then decides against it. Logan doesn’t ask. He hopes Patton knows that he can talk if he wants to, but that Logan won’t press him if he doesn’t.

Minutes pass. He continues to rock Patton side to side a little as his own thoughts wonder, replaying—in a way that never eases the gutted feeling in Logan’s stomach—Roman’s testimony about their father. Logan had always thought Roman was the favored son; Roman was the one that was left untouched, forced instead to use their parents’ unwillingness to hurt him to protect his brothers. Logan had known—had seen—the psychological scars it’d left on his brother.

But that….

Dad used us to threaten him. Logan leans his own head back against the wall and stares hopelessly at the ceiling. Why the fuck didn’t Roman say anything about it? They were supposed to talk about stuff like that. Maybe not Virgil—sure, Logan could rationalize that. Virgil was the baby of the family, and even though he wasn’t much of a baby anymore, Logan certainly understood if Roman was afraid of scarring Virgil more than he’d already been by their parents.

But Logan… He should have felt like he could talk to Logan about it. The world in Logan’s vision blurs further.

How did Logan miss it?

Beside him, Patton sniffles and pulls out of his brother’s arms a little. “Logan?”

“Yeah?” Logan replies, his voice thick.

“I’m kind of worried about Roman. Could… could you go check on him for me?”

Logan’s brow furrows. “You don’t want to check yourself?”

Patton shakes his head quickly, grabbing some toilet paper and blowing his nose before tossing it in the toilet. “I don’t—I don’t think, er… I don’t know if Roman wants to see me….. like this,” Patton offers, but Logan doesn’t miss that the words like this sound like they’re mostly added as an afterthought.

“Patton,” Logan tries, squeezing his arm, but Patton shakes his head.

“Just… Please?”

Logan hesitates, then caves. He gives one more gentle squeeze to Patton’s arm before he stands. “Okay.”

It’s not until he’s opened the bathroom door—a part of him wanting to ask Patton why he seems to think Roman wouldn’t want to see him—when he suddenly understands. With it comes an answer to the question that had been repeating in Logan’s mind with dizzying urgency.

Why didn’t Roman tell me?

Perhaps it was because he blamed them.

…

As it turned out, nobody had been in the bathroom because the couple that had been their neighbors growing up—Martha and Alice—were essentially standing guard at the door. Logan stumbles, startled by the two women flanking the men’s restroom door.

“Easy, dear,” Martha says, catching Logan’s elbow to help steady him. “Is your brother still in there?”

Logan tries to swallow past the growing lump in his throat. “Yes. I… If you could continue to ensure his privacy, I plan to be back very soon.”

He didn’t like the idea of leaving Patton all by himself right now. At least not for long.

Alice nods. “Of course. If you’re looking for Roman, I believe he and that nice movie star he’s always with went in the conference room around the corner. We’ve been keeping a close eye, and I don’t think anyone’s gone back there to interrupt them.”

Logan nods his understanding, surprised at the surge of unnamed emotions that rush through him at the otherwise simple act of kindness. “Thank you,” he says, unsure of how to express to these two women just how much he means them.

Martha winks at him. “Anything for you boys.”

Logan quickly turns around the corner to the first door on the right. Through the long window to the left of the door, Logan sees Roman and Thomas, and something makes him freeze.

Through the door, muffled, Logan can only make out part of the conversation.

“…down, Roman.”

“I’m fine, okay? I’m just...”

“Are you sure?” Thomas sounds like he’s trying to be gentle. Through the glass, Logan can see the vaguely lost and pleading look on the actor’s face. Roman’s got his back to the window, facing Thomas. “Because you don’t… seem…”

“Damn it, Thomas, just—I… Maybe he’s right, y’know? Maybe I… Maybe he has a point.”

“Who? Jacobs?” Roman’s silence is answer enough. “Roman, you can’t think like that.”

“I was fifteen, Thomas. Maybe I… Fucking shit, I can’t deal with this right now.”

“Roman—”

Logan opens the door. The conversation cuts out abruptly, and Logan freezes suddenly as Roman whirls around to face him. Roman’s eyes are red and puffy and startled. He looks suddenly so young and vulnerable and Logan can’t remember the last time he saw Roman like that.

“I—Apologies,” he forces out. “Patton wanted to know where you were and, I… Sorry.”

Because the only thing echoing is his head is that he is, at least in part, responsible for the haunted, broken look in Roman’s eyes and the frantic way he can see Roman trying to piece back together the bravado he so often wore.

“Logan, wait—”

But Logan turns and rushes back towards the bathroom so quickly he isn’t even sure which one of them said his name. He tells Patton that Roman is with Thomas. He’s grateful when Patton seems to relax at that and doesn’t press Logan for other details.

…

When they all go home later that night, Thomas drives Roman and Patton drives Logan. Initially, Logan had refused the offer. But Patton explained that he thought it would help to have something else to focus on—to feel like he was doing something, that it would help alleviate the feeling that he’d been a bystander all day long. And right now, Logan is pretty sure that Logan was incapable of denying his younger brother much of anything.

But Logan can’t get the look on his brother’s face in the conference room scrubbed from his mind. He thinks about texting him.

He also can’t stop thinking about how Roman probably doesn’t want to see or speak to him. Your fault, a voice hisses in the back of his mind. His stomach rolls with guilt. His chest burns with anger.

Logan shifts in his seat. He decides to text Thomas instead.

How is he?

He doesn’t expect an answer for a while. Thomas is driving after all.

Neither Logan nor Patton says anything the entire car ride. It is the longest car ride of Logan’s life.

…

Logan is through the front door before Patton is. Roman and Thomas are already sitting on the couch—Logan and Patton had needed to stop for gas—with their suit jackets discarded on the armchair. Roman has untied his tie, letting it hang loose around his neck. One hand hangs between his knees, covered by one of Thomas’s, and the other is in his hair. He his head snaps up when Logan steps through the door.

Roman opens his mouth like he wants to say something. Logan doesn’t have a fucking clue to say to his big brother. His chest feels like it’s caving and he doesn’t know why except that it presses on the anger that is simmering in his ribcage.

Patton—as he barrels in through the door a moment after Logan—is the one who breaks the silence. “Roman!” Patton’s voice cracks with the name and Roman is on his feet in less than a second. Patton barrels straight into his chest.

“Pat, hey,” Roman says, in that painfully familiar, soft and soothing voice. He wraps his arms around his brother. “Hey, sssh. I’m okay.”

“You really expect me to believe that? You—” Patton’s voice chokes and it’s half-muffled from Roman’s chest but Patton is clinging to him like Roman is the only thing that can keep him afloat. Like he’s afraid to let go. “Roman, you’re my brother and you… you just…”

Logan watches Roman swallow hard. “Yeah,” Roman whispers. He turns a pained gaze on to Logan, still standing by the door, who matches it before his stomach rolls again with a leaden weight. Logan looks away.

“I… How—” The question chokes off with a broken sob and it’s like the dam has finally crashed open. Patton shakes with the force of his sobs against his big brother’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” Roman whispers, and he tightens around Patton like he can feel the way his brother is falling apart and he’s trying desperately to keep him together. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Patton’s breath is hiccupping. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

Roman releases a breath. He smooths a hand against Patton’s mess of curls. “Yeah. Of course, Patton.”

“You-you shouldn’t have had to…. You…”

“Hey, hey, hey. Sssh. It’s okay. I’m sorry if I scared you. I’m sorry.”

Something is breaking inside of Logan—maybe a dam of his own—and the words burst from his mouth before he can think to stop them. “Damn right you’re sorry.”

Roman and Thomas’s gazes both snap towards Logan. Logan’s hands ball into fists to get them to stop shaking. He clenches his jaw.

“Logan,” Roman tries, but Logan can feel his heartbeat against his ribs and shakes his head.

“You never told me.”

“I…”

“We had a deal.” And damn it, his vision is blurring a little around the edges but Logan ignores it. “We talk to each other. We tell each other things. We don’t… Fuck, Roman, we don’t hide things like that from each other.”

Roman looks like he’s floundering a bit, something fracturing in his irises. Like splinters of ceramic. “I didn’t see a reason to bring it up with you.”

“Bullshit,” Logan grits out, storming away from the door and closer to Roman. “We’re there for each other, Roman. That was the deal, from the very beginning. I was true to my word, even when I didn’t want to be. Even when it was hard to be. Because I thought… I thought you trusted me too.”

“I do—”

“So imagine my surprise,” Logan presses on, even if the heat in his eyes is a bit more pronounced now, “when I find out today that you were threatened by dad. Using us. Using me. Imagine my surprise when I learned it’s my fault that my big brother—”

“Whoa,” Roman jumps in suddenly and defensively. His brows are knit together. “That’s not true.”

Logan scoffs and when he blinks, his blurry vision abruptly clears and he can feel the tears tracing down his cheeks. He scrubs frustratedly at them. “Yes, it is, Roman. Dad used us against you and you never said shit about it. I mean, how am I—” His throat closes and Logan gestures helplessly at Roman, who looks stricken. “You used to patch me up. All those times, all those burns, it was always you that took care of… And not once did I even think that…”

Logan swallows hard and shakes his head. “So yeah,” he manages with a wobbling voice that he wishes would be steady. “Yeah, it’s my fault, Roman. I just wish you would have told me anyway.”

Logan suddenly can’t manage the weight of the silent gazes bearing down on his shoulders—that might be more weight than he can manage—and he turns to head towards his room.

“Logan, please,” Roman says desperately as Logan feels him grab his elbow to stop him. In one fluid motion, Roman pulls him closer and hugs him. Logan is suddenly engulfed in the smell of his older brother—linen and cinnamon and salt—and he feels his resolve buckling.

Logan feels Roman press his face into his hair, one hand cupping the back of his head.

“I’m telling you three times,” Roman says in a choked whisper. “It’s not your fault.”

And just like that, Logan is thirteen again and knowing that no matter what may come next, his brothers are the only place he feels safe. Roman had spent his entire life trying to make sure his younger brothers felt safe. Standing here in the living room of their house, Logan tries to make sure Roman feels that way too.

Logan doesn’t let go of his big brother for a very long time. And if Roman is holding onto him just as tightly, well. That’s what brothers were for, isn’t it?

...

Tags:

@helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @quoth-the-sparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge, @cdragontogacotar, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl, @angst-patton, @savingshae, @noneed4thistbh, @awesomelissawho, @unikornavenger, @bopthesnoz, @spiralofsilencetheory, @finger-gunsss, @crownswriter123, @swlotakulady34, @gaylotusthatexists, @analogical-mess, @dolphidragon, @flix-net, @narniasfinestavengingsociopath, @friedlieb-ferdinand-runge, @bibbidy-bobbity-booyah, @procrastinations-my-middle-name, @theburntesttoast, @monroig, @remussvscohangout

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders bro au #sanders bro au fanfiction #logan sanders #angst #hurt/comfort #court #abuse #abuse tw #cursing #arguing #crying #if other warnings should be in the tags specifically please let me know #hhhhhh always nervous to post yikes

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thechildoflightning · 5 years ago

Text

The Kübler-Ross Model Ch3- Bargaining

Title: The Kübler-Ross Model [Masterpost]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: background LAMP

~~~

Chapter Title: Bargaining- Chapter Three

Summary:

Stage Three: Bargaining- Characterized by making internal and external deals in order to cope with or even attempt to fix a loss.

In which Remy is talking, but not nearly enough.

Warnings: Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Suicide & Rape & Hate Crimes (all mentioned), Transphobia & Racism & Fatphobia & Ableism (all mentioned)

[ao3 link]

Bargaining- Chapter Three

“Selected: Voicemail. One item. Tab one of one,” Remy’s phone claims, direct and to the point. Remy knows it’s from his dad, he’s the only one leaving Remy voicemails. He puts his finger to the screen, sliding it around as he searches for the desired section.

“Voicemail.”

One finger down.

“Daniel Zurko. M-”

Double tap.

“Look Remy, I get that you’re not happy. I know how much going to university meant to you. I get that, okay? But it just isn’t realistic and you need to accept that. I- look why don’t you come home? The college in town is great, maybe you can take a few courses there. I think it’s too late to sign up for this semester but maybe you can start in the spring. I know they don’t have some of the sculpture classes you were interested in but they have some creative writing courses and that’s pretty much the same thing, right? Just… Please call me. We can work something out together.”

A little while later, Remy and Patton settle in the living room. Patton sits on the couch and Remy’s a few feet away on the floor, hugging his dog as he slowly stops sniffling. Cha-Cha helps him out, covering his face in kisses to get rid of the tears. Remy laughs little and pushes her away after a moment.

The small chuckles ring out as the only noise in the room.

Patton still doesn’t speak.

Remy quickly falls silent.

“I came out as trans when I was fourteen,” Patton eventually says, “But- I- I mean I don’t- there wasn’t one moment for me. I- gosh I debated it for forever.”

Patton stops and Remy considers. Remy’s kind of surprised in all honesty. Patton has always seemed so sure of himself that it surprises Remy that Patton ever had any sort of doubt.

“Why- why’d it take so long?” Remy asks carefully.

Patton hums.

“I guess- I was scared. That was definitely a big piece. There was this huge fear of what it would mean for my life if I was trans. Everything would change.”

Remy swallows hard.

“I was- I didn’t know what my family would think. I mean- I knew they were supportive but it’s different when it’s your kid, y’know? And there’s all the statistics of suicide attempts, rape numbers, hate crimes, it was a lot.

“And I- I was also scared I was wrong? Because- because there’s this idea of what a black girl’s supposed to be like, y’know? And I had never been that. But I thought- I thought maybe it was just that? Maybe I wasn’t trans, maybe I was just pissed at the racist standards that follow black girls? And I hated my body but like- how much of that was trans versus being disabled? Versus being fat? So there were all these reasons that screamed at me that I was faking, that I wasn’t valid, that I could never be trans. It was scary because what if I was wrong, what if I was faking?”

Remy’s so scared of being wrong.

“If you were so scared of being wrong- how did you figure out that you were right?”

“I kept coming back to it,” Patton answered honestly, “And I thought- gosh if I keep having these excuses of why I’m not trans but I still end up here again and again and again, questioning my gender and so unhappy, then it’s gotta be true, right?”

Remy thinks she understands.

“And that was it at first, it still is,” Patton continues, “A big part of it now is trusting myself. I’m happy as a guy. It feels right. It is right. I’ve always been a guy. But there’s still doubts, and I guess I deal with those with just accepting them? Because maybe I am faking. Like- maybe. I mean I know I’m trans, but I think I’m always going to have that doubt. And if I’m always going to have that doubt, I’m going to live the way that makes me happy in the meantime. Does that make any sense?

“Yes,” Remy says, and she means it. “Yes. Yes. It does.”

Patton offers a small hum.

“Patton,” Remy says, and she's desperate now, oh so desperate. “Patton,” she insists. “Patton, I’m a girl.”

“Okay.”

Remy cries for the second time that night.

Patton offers a hug, and Remy shakily gets to her feet to collapse into his side. Patton wraps her up firm and tight and he listens to her. He listens and he hugs and he soothes.

It’s so nice.

Her mom never did this for her. She got so sick so fast that it had always been Remy comforting her than the other way around.

Her dad had, or he tried at least. He had wrapped Remy up, wrapped her up in layers and layers of bubble wrap, leading to suffocation instead of protection. Remy’s dad hugged her but it had always felt wrong. It always felt like it was about her dad, never actually about herself. His hugs were given as proof that Remy needed him, needed his suffocation, versus providing any actual care or comfort.

Remy hated that she almost missed them.

She curled into Patton a bit more. Patton lifted one hand to gently stroke her hair, soft ‘it's okay, it’s all going to be okay’ on repeat.

It takes her longer to stop crying this time.

“So,” Patton says, “Where do you want to go with this?”

“I’m a girl,” Remy says again. This time it's a bit stronger. “I’m a trans woman.”

“Okay. Absolutely,” Patton says, “That’s amazing and I’m so happy for you.”

There’s a pause.

“Can I ask about names and pronouns?” Patton prods gently.

“I… Uh,” Remy falters, because she hasn’t really thought this far yet.

“You can take all the time you need,” Patton adds, gentle and sweet, “And while I want you to feel like you can share this with me, you don’t have to either.”

“No- I- She. She/her. I- Feminine language too? Is that the word for that? I-” Remy pauses here. She tenses up, prepares for a fight. She doesn’t think Patton’s going to like what she has to say next, but she has to say it because it feels right. It feels so right, and she’s willing to defend it. “I’m keeping Remy. My name is still Remy.”

“Okay.”

Remy’s body relaxes, then tenses again. “Okay?”

“Of course Remy, whatever you’re feeling is valid. One hundred percent. I’m here to support you.”

“I- I just kept my name?”

“Well you can always change it later-” Patton admits. Remy winces. “Or you can keep it. It’s your name. All that matters is that you’re happy with it.”

“But-” Remy flounders. And it’s so stupid, Patton said it’s fine, why is Remy looking for a fight, “But?”

“Did you know my name is legally Patton Agnes Wilson?” Patton says abruptly.

Remy did not. She shakes her head slightly.

“Yeah I-” Patton continues, before stopping suddenly, “And I just pulled out my ID to show you. Putting that away now.”

Remy lets out a light laugh, and truly relaxes.

“Yeah. When my moms adopted me they gave me the first name Agnes, but I always went by my middle name- my deadname. My deadname hurt. A lot. So I chose Patton. But Agnes, Agnes meant something to me? And I didn’t want to lose that. So I made it my middle name, got rid of my deadname and made Patton my first,” Patton explains. He pauses once more, “Did I say that right?”

He seems to be questioning himself more than Remy. He starts to mutter the sentence under his breath again, revising it.

“Yeah you said that right,” Remy confirms.

Patton laughs, and it sounds like bells.

“Okay. Good. But my point is- your name is your name, not anyone else's.”

“My mom named me Remy,” she admits, “I- my middle name is Alan. After my great-grandfather. That can go,” she insists, making a face.

“I can understand that,” Patton says wryly.

“Yeah.”

“Have you come out to anyone else yet?”

“No,” Remy sais, “No. No I don't think I was even out to myself. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

Remy and Patton haven’t talked a lot. She knows that this conversation has to be painfully uncomfortable for Patton. After all, Remy did just show up at his house, live with him for a few months, leave for college, and then demand he share about being trans. Patton doesn’t even know her.

“I’m glad you did. I’m really glad I could help you with this.”

Patton’s such a good person. Remy’s so appreciative of that.

The door opens and seconds later there's excited skittering paws on the floor as Trixie races over to say hi to Cha-Cha. Cha-Cha perks up at the attention and they quickly begin to play with one another. Remy smiles at their energy and let’s them be.

“Remy?” Virgil asks, “Are you okay?”

She wants to say she’s fine, but maybe, well maybe she isn’t. She isn’t fine at all. She doesn’t know what to say.

(She thinks maybe she should tell Virgil she’s a girl. She did just figure it out, but it’s important. Virgil would understand. He would. But there’s something that tells Remy that she can’t. Not yet).

“I- I dunno? I’m upset,” she admits.

“About?”

“Kind of everything?”

“Do you want to talk?”

“I- me and Pat were talking a bit?”

Virgil pauses then stands.

“Okay. I’ll let you be then. But if you need to talk- I’m here okay? You have people supporting you.”

Remy nods, because she doesn’t think she can force words around the choked feeling in her chest.

Virgil leaves.

“I don’t want to tell Virgil yet,” Remy says immediately after he leaves, “Or Logan. Or Roman. Or anyone. I told you, just don’t tell anyone else yet, please.”

“That you’re trans?”

Remy’s trans. She’s trans. It feels so freeing even as it terrifies her.

“Yeah,” Remy confirms, “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“Okay, that’s fine. It’s yours to share.”

A pause sits between them.

“Can I write this down?” Patton asks for a moment, “I write down important stuff to remember in my phone so when I forget I have it all. I wanted to ask because while my boyfriends would never read my notes unless I told them it was okay, it’s obviously still going to be out there in some way. But I want to write it down because there’s a very high chance I will forget.”

“Yeah, that’s okay,” Remy agrees.

“Thank you,” Patton says. He presumably pulls out his phone to do exactly that. “It’s getting late and I have a class at nine tomorrow. Did you want to talk more or…?”

“No, no, you can go to bed,” Remy insists, “I’m good, yeah. I'm just going to go middle name searching now. Uh how the hell do I even go about that choosing a new name?”

“Baby websites. They were created for expecting parents, trans people, and authors.”

Remy rolls her eyes at the comment.

She then groans. Like yeah, she wants to find a better middle name than Alan. But she does not want to be searching through millions of names to find the right one. How do parents do this?

“That’s gonna be so many names. Have any suggestions?”

Patton hesitates.

“Yeah?” Remy asks

“I- well. If you want… Eileen was my deadname. But if you want you can use that?”

Patton’s words are casual but Remy can feel the weight behind them, the power. Remy is absolutely floored by the offer.

“I… really?” she asks.

“I mean if you want. It’s an idea. There’s a lot of names out there.”

“But you would be okay with that?” Remy confirms, because she is honored but she doesn’t want to take something that will make Patton uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” he says, “I mean it’s not like I’m using it.”

“Remy Eileen Zurko,” she says, “Remy Eileen Zurko.” She smiles and knows she must look like an idiot.

“Yeah?” Patton asks.

“Yeah,” Remy chokes out, “Yeah I love it.”

They sit in silence for a moment.

“Okay, I’m headed to bed.” Patton says, “Uh, the bedroom you stayed in is still empty. Extra towels are under the sink… I think. If you want to shower or anything.”

Remy gives a nod and Patton gets up to leave. Before he can fully exit, Remy calls out once more.

“Patton?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

Remy’s not quite sure what she’s thanking Patton for in particular. Maybe the name. Maybe for the advice. Maybe for listening. Maybe for the entire conversation in general. Maybe just for being here.

But Remy is. Thankful that is. She’s so thankful.

“Of course. Really.”

Patton means it. Remy knows he does. It makes everything inside of her hurt.

When Patton really is gone, Remy gets up from the couch as well and makes it to the empty bedroom. She closes the door softly behind her and pulls out her phone, opening Kai’s contact. She has some apologizing to do.

“We’re going for a walk,” Logan announces, as he enters the doorway to the room Remy’s staying with. He blocks a fair amount of light, and Remy’s eyes struggle to adjust.

“Uh… I was actually about to leave. Maybe another time,” Remy bargains, because she was about to leave. Plus she thinks she might know where this conversation is going and she really doesn’t want to have it.

“Okay,” Logan says, and Remy thinks she’s won. “Then I’ll walk with you back to your dorm.” Nope, Remy’s trapped.

Remy doesn’t have any actual reason to refuse. So she accepts with a sigh and nods. She grabs her bag and heads for the door. At the door, she gets Cha-Cha in her harness and quickly steps outside, Logan trailing behind her.

The minute she steps outside she’s hit with blinding light and takes a step backward into Logan as she squeezes her eyes shut.

“Remy?” Logan asks.

She ignores him for a minute, fumbling through her bag for her familiar sunglasses. Which she of course doesn’t have. Because she came here when it was dark out last night with a rushed back of minimal school supplies. Of course.

“Logan, do you have any sunglasses I can borrow?” she asks.

“Yes,” he answers, “One moment.”

He’s gone the next seconds and Remy keeps her eyes shut and sits down on ground, lying her head in her arms as she hopes for it to stop pounding.

“Hey,” Logan says, rejoining her. He sits down next to her. “Here.”

Remy holds out her hand and Logan hands her a pair of sunglasses. She takes a minute, letting the shooting pain in her head relax a bit. After that, she lifts her head and slips the sunglasses on, slowly opening her eyes.

“You okay?” Logan asks.

There’s still bright spots in her vision and her head hurts, but both are fading. Her eyes also struggle to adjust to the change in light, but that’s nothing new.

“Yeah,” Remy says. She waits another minute for the panging in her head to die to a dull ache.

She then stands. “Dorm?”

“Okay,” Logan says, “Do you want me to guide or Cha-Cha?”

Remy answers by grabbing his upper arm right above his elbow. They start walking, Logan guiding.

Logan makes a clicking noise as they make their way to Remy’s dorm. Remy just zones out and starts to think about how she’s going to apologize to Kai and Elliot in person. She texted them both last night, but Remy still knows they both deserve in-person apologies. She shouldn't have snapped at them.

Eventually Logan stops the clicking noise and reaches up to pat at his chest instead. He hesitates for a brief moment and then begins to talk.

“I’m worried about you,” he begins.

Remy just waits. She doesn’t want to have this conversation. But maybe if she listens- or pretends to at least- maybe Logan will voice his concerns and let her go.

“You are of course welcome to stay with us whenever you want. That isn’t what this is about and I want to make that clear. You always have a place here, okay?”

“Okay,” Remy says.

“Virgil doesn’t want to talk to you about this,” Logan confesses, “He thinks we should give you space.”

That means Logan disagrees. Remy wishes he’d just follow in Virgil’s example. It’s easier that way.

“I’m also not going to ask about last night. I don’t know exactly what happened, but Patton expressed that it wasn’t- that it was different.”

“Different than what?” Remy can’t help but ask. She regrets it at once.

“Different than what I’m worried about. Or maybe part of it? Playing a role? But not the main idea.”

Remy stays quiet this time.

“You don’t seem happy,” Logan admits after a moment, “I thought things would maybe get better when you were away from your dad for a little bit. And in a sense I think you are doing better. But you aren’t doing… You still seem off. Not only unhappy, but… You seem detached? I’m not sure if that’s the right word, but it concerns me.”

“I’m fine.”

She isn’t. She knows she isn’t now, but for some reason she’s still unwilling to share that with Logan.

“You keep saying that but I don’t believe you.”

“You’re saying I’m lying?” Remy can’t help but challenge. It’s not fair of her, but she doesn't want to be having this conversation.

“No,” Logan says, “I’m not sure why you keep saying you’re fine. Maybe you think it yourself. Maybe I’m wrong. Or maybe you are lying. I don’t know. Regardless, I’m concerned about you.”

“Okay,” Remy says. She knows that’s not the answer that Logan’s looking for, and maybe that’s a bit mean, answering in a way she knows Logan doesn’t want, but this is also Remy’s business so Logan can budge off.

Logan sits with that answer for a minute.

“I don’t understand why you won’t talk to me,” Logan says eventually.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I doubt that.”

“I talked to Patton.”

“Apparently not about the things I’m concerned about.”

Remy shrugs.

“I’m frustrated,” Logan says, “I don’t feel acknowledged in this conversation.”

“I’m sorry,” Remy replies, “That wasn’t my point. I get that you’re concerned about me. I hear that. I don’t agree with the concern, but I hear that you are.”

“Okay. Thank you. I want you to talk to me, but I don’t think you’re going to do that.”

“Yeah, I’m not,” Remy says.

Logan and her used to be so close. Why was that all crumbling apart?

“Okay,” Logan said, “That’s one of the many things that’s concerning me.”

Remy doesn’t reply.

“Remy, will you talk to someone?”

“I-”

“I mean, it doesn’t have to be me. It doesn’t have to be about the things I’m concerned about. I’m worried that you don’t have anyone you’re talking emotionally with in any scheme. Considering you’ve been through some deep emotional shocks lately, it concerns me that you seem to have no healthy outlets for talking about those things.”

“Uh huh.”

“Remy, I hope you talk to someone.”

For most of this conversation, Remy’s been numb. But there, for just a moment, she feels something.

“Okay. I’ll think about it.”

Remy’s not going to, but she knows that saying she might will make Logan happy. It’s a tradeoff, lying to get Logan off her back. She hates that she doesn’t.

“Alright,” Logan says, and stops, “We’re at the front entrance to your dorm. About thirty feet to the front door, straight ahead. I’m headed to class. Call, text, or visit anytime.”

“Okay.”

“Can I give you a hug?”

“No thanks.”

Remy doesn’t really feel up for it, and she knows Logan won’t be offended. She offers a handshake instead which is weird and doesn’t feel right for this conversation or their relationship, but Remy wants to provide something here. Logan accepts it. It’s awkward.

“Alright. Bye,” Logan says when their hands drop.

“Bye.”

Logan leaves, and Remy goes back to her dorm.

~~~

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maya-tl · 6 years ago

Text

Slice of Life

Author's Note: This fic is inspired by @altruistic-skittles and their Slice of Life Sanders Sides AU, which can be found here. All worldbuilding credit goes to them, I only stitched the ideas together in writing.

Author's Note #2: Due to Tumblr restrictions, the story was split into three chapters. Next chapter will be posted on Sunday.

Honorary mentions: Keep your eyes peeled for @themicrosoftnerd and @crofters-jam , who make an appearance in this chapter!

Shoutout to Toby, who is part of the AU but sadly doesn't get a mention in the story.

This work will also be posted to Ao3 in the near future.

Link to my Ao3 profile will be at the end! Tag list will be in the replies! Enjoy!

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3

***

"Virgil~"

It's barely above a whisper, but he groans anyway and sinks into the pillow like dead weight. He swears he hears someone giggle just above him and he feels warmth through his chest.

"Virgil, honey," he feels a hand on his shoulder that gives it more of a gentle nudge than a shake, "get up. You'll miss breakfast."

The prospect of waking up just makes him settle down even deeper under the comfy blankets.

Truth be told his brain had probably kicked into gear a good while ago, but once the dreaded feeling of expectation that his alarm would be blaring into his ears any minute had passed without coming to fruition, he hadn't questioned any of it and simply gone back to sleep.

He doesn't know if he's actually gotten any rest since, but the fact that his mind is a foggy blank space probably alludes to a yes.

The mattress dips beside him and the hand on his shoulder resumes its shaking—definitely a shake this time.

"Viiirgiiil~" they say, stretching the word like it's a song lyric, and he can hear the smile in their voice even through his sleep clouded mind. "Wakey wakey, sleepyhead~"

He groans again—though it comes out more like a whine—and tries to wiggle out of the hand's reach. There's another giggle, and this time he grudgingly opens his eyes just enough to muster a glare, but even that's half-hearted and reduced useless when the offending figure leans down and plants a kiss on the tip of his nose.

He laughs softly, reaches up to rub at his eyes, and the steady warmth in his chest flares when the source of said warmth laughs back, beautiful and genuine and music to his ears even after nearly two decades of hearing it every day.

"Five more minutes?" he tries, raspy with morning voice, but even as he's saying it he's already sitting up and stretching his stiff muscles.

His answer is a peck on the cheek this time, and he can see Patton's entire face break into a smile out the corner of his eye when he leans into the touch.

That reminds him, their anniversary's coming up. He makes a mental note to get something ready in advance, even if that won't be for a few months now.

"What time is it...?" he mumbles and reaches for his phone, effectively draping himself across the bed.

"Kids are already up and about." Patton offers as he rises from the bed and goes to open the curtains.

"Wow, I outlasted Roman's beauty sleep? That's a first." he squints through the sudden flood of light and gapes at his phone screen until he's sure his eyes might roll out of their sockets. "Breakfast?? Pat, it's nearly noon."

Patton gives him a sheepish look, though his smile doesn't falter. "Brunch then? We've all had breakfast except for you and Ro—Lolo and I already had pancakes. Roman thought I batter go wake you before you turned into Sleeping Beauty—"

He snorts, both at the pun and the implication; sounds like his eldest alright.

"—and he wanted to make his own breakfast. I'll go get some leftovers ready for you, yeah?"

"If there are any leftovers..." he mumbles under his breath, before it's silenced by another kiss.

"You know Roman is too worried about his physique for that and Logan doesn't approve of pancakes in the morning. I barely got him to eat his share." Patton smiles, and it's crooked and beautiful and the sunlight beaming through the windows brings out his freckles and Virgil gets this inexplicable urge to kiss every single one of them. "Take your time getting ready, you haven't been sleeping much for the past week and I don't want you falling asleep at the table again."

He chuckles, standing up and stretching some more; he can hear the birds chirping downstairs when Patton opens the door on his way out.

Someone that sounds suspiciously like his son is talking more loudly than is necessary on the phone and he swears it's a habit he only picked up after they moved; he must've stayed up late and gotten friendly with that Remy kid at some point, because Virgil knows his 'beauty sleep' is more of an excuse to sleep in rather than an actual concern with beauty.

On second thought, knowing Roman, it's probably both.

"Oh! I almost forgot," he hears his husband, who sounds like he's halfway down the stairs, "Thomas told me yesterday that his car broke down!"

Again? He should probably ask Emile for some lucky crystals or whatever he's into these days, their soft-hearted neighbour could sure use it. That man has such a knack for trouble that sometimes Virgil finds himself wondering how he hasn't burned down his house yet.

Would be a shame too, apparently it's been in the family for generations.

"Do you mind if I drive them to the theatre today? Ro agreed to extra practice hours and his whole group of friends wants to come see how the big play's coming along!!"

Of course he did, and of course they do.

"Nah, I'll do it." he says, even though that's the last thing he wants to do today. Not that his other options are much more exciting; he mostly just feels like sleeping the whole day through. "I've got a shift in about three hours anyway, might as well waste a bit of gas."

"You're working? I thought you had weekends free??"

He pulls out some sweats and a simple black T and heads to the bathroom to turn on the shower. His work clothes are already laid out for once, look at him being productive.

"It's just a small shift, Pat, I took it up so I could have less overtime, it's a compromise."

He can hear the underlying tone beneath the innocent question, the silent implication that if his boss is screwing him over Patton can and will physically fight them, because for all his fun loving self he's also dreadfully overprotective.

He knows Patton's not convinced, but he's also learned that Patton still puts a lot more trust in him than he ever expects to receive, and just like that Virgil suddenly feels an overwhelming sense of belonging.

He loves this kind, beautiful, incredible, perfect man that he shares his life with so much he vaguely wonders if he's legally, ethically and morally allowed to marry him again.

Patton laughs again, and so does Virgil when he realizes he's spoken out loud.

How did he ever get so lucky?

***

Patton walks in on the sight of his eldest son pacing a hole into the kitchen floor, a piece of toast in one hand and a bunch of disorderly papers in the other, with his phone squished between his shoulder and his ear.

"Right?! I would make for a brilliant prince!!" he tries to get out between a mouthful of toast and jam, flailing the papers around like they were the ones who didn't give him the part. "Thomas is totally underestimating my incredible acting skills, the audition I gave was practically flawless!!"

"Or perhaps your ego has finally rendered all your other brain functions useless and you are living under the misguided assumption that you are better than anyone at everything you do."

"Nobody asked you to speak, Microsoft Nerd!"

Logan doesn't even lift his eyes from the book he's reading. As a matter of fact he flips the page over, looking utterly and purposefully disinterested in the tantrum of his older brother, who is currently at risk of choking on his food if the fact that his entire face looks like it's gotten sunburn is any indication.

"No, but you are yelling rather loudly and I am trying to enioy a quiet morning lecture." he adds, manoeuvring his cup from its place on the table to take a sip of tea without breaking the narrative he's currently engrossed in. "Not that anyone ever gets any peace and quiet in this household when you're home."

"I beg your pardon?!"

"Play nice, kiddos." Patton chides as he walks in, opening the fridge to take out a rather large stack of pancakes and some orange juice. "And Roman, quit talking with your mouth full."

Roman quietly mutters something like 'gimme a sec Val' before dropping the papers—which Patton assumes are pages of his current script if the neon highlighter marks he catches a glimpse of are anything to go by—into a messy pile on the counter, a tactful distance from the sink.

He even makes a show of swallowing to prove that he's not in any life threatening situation before propping the phone right back to his ear.

"Sorry, my dumb brother interrupted me—"

"I'm not the one actively trying to fail math after the semester's hardly begun." there's suddenly a definite edge to Logan's tone and he's giving his brother a stare so cold it's a wonder his head doesn't turn into a block of ice.

Patton knows that tone; if there's anything his little Lolo is insecure about it's his intelligence, no matter how many times he or Virgil assure him that he's not only the smartest one in the family but also one of the smartest in his school. A work friend of Virgil's they invited over once even called him a prodigy, and that must mean something coming from a therapist.

Unfortunately, Roman's impulse of speaking with absolutely no filter is just as immovable, which means their children have raised the term of sibling rivalry to a whole new level.

Patton decides to stop the argument before it's begun.

"Boys." they clamp their mouths shut immediately, as he knew they would, but he places his hands on his hips just for a little more authority. "What did I just say?"

'Play nice?' Roman more asks than answers at the same time that Logan lets out a tight 'Play nice.'

"Now, what's the right thing to do?"

They sigh in tandem and speak together. "Sorry dad." When he gives them a pointed look they share a glance and give in, both their shoulders dropping the tension simultaneously.

"I'm sorry I called you dumb, I didn't actually mean it..." there's genuine emotion in most of his eldest's apologies, because most of the time he really does blurt out his first thought without considering it and realizes it when his head's in the clear.

"I didn't mean to undermine your creative skills or make you feel inadequate in any way." his youngest is not the most in touch with emotions, but he is smart enough to know when an apology is in order and to differ between a sincere and insincere one.

He gives them a nod of approval and goes back to putting together a late breakfast, plopping the pancakes into the microwave and reaching into a cupboard for a clean glass. Logan likewise resumes his reading as if nothing had happened; Roman is the only one who settles down, picking up his conversation at a more acceptable volume.

As the pancakes are heating up he opens another cupboard door and frowns.

"Have any of you seen the honey?"

"Mhm?" Roman glances over as he chews around another mouthful of toast with too much jam on it. "Oh, it's over there."

Patton turns to the area he'd vaguely gestured to and spots the bee shaped bottle peeking out from behind a very familiar jar of jelly, both items that have long become staples in the kitchen due to Logan's surprising demands. The cap of the jar is undone, and as he swiftly puts it back on his dad reflexes kick in before he can think better of it.

"Who left the jar open?"

The microwave decides to beep at the same moment that Roman abruptly freezes, sticky fingers in his mouth, and he immediately turns to his brother. Logan puts it together in a matter of nanoseconds and practically leaps out of his seat, book tumbling off his lap.

"Is that my Crofter's?!?"

Seeing that not even his acting skills can provide an escape, Roman spreads his arms in a shrug. "Uh, do you own the company?"

It's difficult to get Logan truly riled up, but Roman does have a habit of biting off more than he can chew. Literally this time.

"You know it's family owned—that's not the point, Roman, it's my food!!"

"Oh come on, you have like fifty jars, you can share."

"You didn't even ask me if I'm willing to share!!"

"I was hungry!!!"

"Dad!!!"

Patton manages to suppress a sigh, but only just. He shoves his glasses up and pinches the bridge of his nose for the briefest moments.

Honestly, he loves his children unconditionally, but sometimes, on occasion—and he would never in a million years ever admit this to anyone except maybe Virgil—sometimes he loves them a lot more when they're in separate rooms.

On separate floors.

With their doors closed.

***

My Ao3 profile.

#my_writing #sanders sides #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #anxiety sanders #morality sanders #logic sanders #creativity sanders #deceit sanders #remy sanders #moxiety #romantic moxiety #platonic lamp #familial lamp #slice of life au #emile picani

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bitchmas-came-early · 6 years ago

Text

Cocoa and Ice Balls

Word count: 1,518

This is my gift for @the-virgil-mary for the Secret Sanders gift exchange. I hope you like it!

TW: Deceit, exclusionism

Patton sat up in bed with a yawn, stretching his arms before freezing in shock as his eyes landed on his window. Through his pastel yellow curtains, he saw something that he could only ever remember happening in the mindscape - snow! There had to be at least three inches of the soft powder! He flung himself out of bed and dashed downstairs to the living room to find everyone else awake and eating breakfast. Almost everyone, anyways.

“Hey kiddos! Where’s Deci?” He asked cheerfully, peering around the corner to see if he was in the kitchen. Virgil scoffed, drumming his fingers on his legs.

“Who cares? All he does is cause problems for everyone else.” He muttered, nibbling at a piece of dry toast, causing Patton to do a quick 180 to face Virgil with a loud gasp.

“Virgil! I am surprised at you! You know better than anyone that it’s important for everyone here to feel loved and cared for!” He scolded lightly, not wanting to upset anyone when he was so excited about all the snow. “Everyone needs to get bundled up and comfy, we’re all going to sip some cocoa and have lots of quality family time!” He said, running back up to Deceit’s room and gently tapping on his door. “Wakey wakey kiddo! We’re gonna have cocoa and watch the snow! Do you wanna come?” He barely finished his sentence before he heard the others response.

“Of course not.”

“Great! Well get cozy and meet us in the living room!” Patton responded with a gentle smile before hurrying to his own room and digging up the Christmas sweater that Roman had made him, as well as some pyjama bottoms. As he changed fairly quickly, he made it downstairs before Deceit.

“So I’m guessing Jekyll and Lies isn’t coming down?” Roman muttered bitterly, crossing his arms over his chest. Patton shook his head with a slightly disappointed sigh.

“He’ll be down here in a second, you had better play nice, Roman.” He paused and glanced at the other two. “That goes for both of you too.” He said sternly. Right then, Deceit near silently came down the stairs, wearing his regular attire, causing Logan to tilt his head to the side in confusion.

“Do you not have anything else, that’s more… appropriate for our activities? Or are you just trying to keep it uh… extra?” The logical side asked, his voice full of uncertainty, clearly not intending to upset the other.

“I have tons of other things, but I’ll be fine.” Deceit muttered, insecurity evident in the way he looked down at the ground. Patton frowned.

“No, no, no! You won’t be as cozy in that! How about something a little more… festive?” Patton summoned up a sweater for the other: A fairly simple yellow and black colour blocked piece, with a few snowflakes and some green wavy details. While he was at it, he also summoned up some grey and black pyjama bottoms.

Deceit looked down at it for a minute, trying to find the right words before whispering, “I absolutely hate it...” causing Patton to break into a huge grin and envelope him in a tight hug.

“I knew you would! Now, go sit down with everyone! I’m gonna start up the cocoa!” Patton said excitedly, pulling away from the other with a joking shoulder shimmy.

“Hopefully this time it won’t get knocked into my lap again by someone.” Roman said, fixing Logan with a pointed stare.

“I’ve already apologised for that!” The other shot back quickly, before taking a breath to calm himself. Didn’t want to have yet another eye injury, after all.

“Come on, everyone! We don’t want to miss the snow! Sit down!” Patton called, heading to the kitchen. Logan, Roman, and Virgil all sat together, but the moment that Deceit sat down, the other three shifted their bodies away slightly. Patton returned after a few minutes, somehow managing to balance five mugs of steaming hot cocoa in his hands, and then passing the mugs to their respective person. Each person wrapped their hands around their mugs, enjoying the warmth they provided. He then noticed the gap between them, and knew exactly what the others did, but played it off for this moment in time. He’d make sure to have a stern talk with them about that later. “Aw, did you guys save me a spot next to Deci? Thank you!” Patton gushed, plopping down and sipping from his mug, leaning against Deceit. He realised, with a smile, that Deceit was leaning back, and slowly, everyone else did as well. Patton couldn’t keep his smile from widening.

“Merry Christmas, kiddos.” Patton murmured, taking a sip of his cocoa. Deceit shifted slightly, turning to look at Patton.

“You know, I’m totally hating this and all but… it sounds really terrible and… non-enjoyable to have a snowball fight with you guys.” He offered nervously, glancing around at the others. Virgil snorted in response.

“Yeah, in your dreams, snake boy.” The hoodie-clad boy sneered, cuddling closer to Logan. “Nobody wants to go out in all that except for you.” Patton quickly turned and shot the others a warning look, clearly wanting them to support Deceit’s idea.

“As much as I want to go with it… I just styled my hair, and it’s so hard to maintain all this with all the cold and moisture out there. Sorry you two, I’m not going out there any time soon.” Roman huffed in response, fixing his hair as he spoke. All that was left now was Logan. Patton sent him puppy dog eyes at the same time that Virgil sent him a look.

“I- you guys can’t possibly expect me to choose between you.” He started, before Virgil gently elbowed him in the side. “Right, it’s not a good idea for us to go out there. While the cold weather on its own isn’t enough to make us sick, we’d be much more susceptible to illness if we get cold and wet from frolicking in the snow. Not to mention the risk of injury from accidental - or purposeful - ice balls thrown at someone. I’d much rather stay in here, where it’s warm.” Logan glanced down at Virgil, who seemed pleased with his answer, and was curled up next to him once more. Deceit deflated, and set his mug down before standing.

“No, no, it’s totally fine guys. I was obviously joking. Come on, you know me. Going out into the snow? Pfft. I wouldn’t want anything like that.” He said, voice wavering as he attempted to exit the room without alerting the others of his own emotions. Patton frowned.

“Deci, wait-”

“I’m fine, Patton. Don’t worry about me.” Deceit snapped, rushing up the stairs and into his room, the slam of his door echoing down to where the other four were sitting.

“Guys! Wasn’t that a little insensitive to his feelings?” Patton scolded, standing up as well. “Deci is a part of this family, whether you guys like it or not, so you’d better get used to him. I’m going to go upstairs and talk to him, and when I come back down, I expect to a full apology from each and every one of you, got it?” He asked, his tone implying there was no room for negotiation.

“Got it.” The others muttered in unison. “But I’m not gonna be happy about it.” Virgil added. Patton frowned once more.

“Virgil, buddy, I know you two don’t get along well, but you need to at least try, okay? For me?” He asked. Virgil simply sighed and nodded in response. "Thank you. Now, I never wanted to ever say this to you guys, but you all leave me no choice. I’m very disappointed in you." Patton said, wincing slightly as the others hung their heads, ashamed, but hurried upstairs to Deceit’s room. “Hey, kiddo, how about you and I go play in the snow on our own? Come on, it’ll be so much fun!” There was a beat of silence.

“Yeah, I totally want to go have a snowball fight with only you because the others, that absolutely want me there with them, definitely didn’t shoot down my idea. That’s totally not sad and pathetic!” He muttered in response, his voice tearful and shaking.

“Deci, are you… crying?” Patton asked gently, slowly opening his door. Deceit was sitting against the wall beside the door, and quickly went to rub away the tears that were running down his cheeks.

“No.” He grumbled. “I… I don’t know if I want to go out there anymore.” Patton moved to sit in front of him, disregarding the shiver that ran down his back the minute he stepped in the room.

“It really will be a lot of fun out there, I promise. I won’t let anyone be rude to you, they know better than that. So, what do you say?” There was a very long pause before Deceit finally spoke again.

“I guess not..” He said warily. Patton jumped up with an excited clap of his hands.

“Great! You go change, and I’ll meet you downstairs, okay?”

“...Okay.”

A/N: I’m so sorry to end it like that, but the deadline kind of jumped at me with all of the concerts and shows that I was a part of this month. Anyways, I hope that you like this piece nonetheless. If requested, I might take this and make it into a full fledged fic, because I kinda got into the groove after the first half of this. Happy holidays! This was really fun to write, and I hope to be a part of it next year, if we keep it going!

Taglist-ish: @secretsanders @fullofshi-cago

#Secretsanders #secret sanders #secretsanders2018 #secret sanders 2018

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iwrestlenow · 4 years ago

Text

Many More To Die, Chapter 8

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 8)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: Roman and Logan reconnect. Remus and Virgil find some common ground. There are too many secrets--but the royals finally expose a big one to the Crofter brothers: the one that ultimately led to Logan's imprisonment and the destruction of their family.

Meanwhile, Janus is looking for some information from his treasure trove--and Patton is more than happy to provide it to him.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), Moceit (Patton/Janus) and future Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: I’m nervous about this one, ‘cause it sucks? But I also don’t care cause there are cuddles for my fave ships and I do what I want.

I am, however, SO SORRY FOR THIS TERRIBLE CLIFFHANGER, but the next chapter will come out much sooner. Promise. XD

Also, no betas, we die like men.

Also located at AO3 over here.

1033, A.A.

Logan asked Virgil to leave. With murder in his eyes, Virgil acquiesced.

And when the door clicked shut...they were alone.

For long moments, the silence was deafening. They sat there, staring at each other—Logan seated on the edge of the bed, and the king with the blankets pooled around his waist, bare chested and staring at Logan as if...

Logan's mouth suddenly went dry as his heart seemed to grow in his chest, swelling to the point that it compressed his lungs against his ribcage, preventing him from drawing breath.

Silently, Roman extended his hand, palm up. It took Logan abruptly back to the visitations in his dreams, anchored by the feel of human contact he thought he had only before imagined. The reality of it was so much more, so intense—so necessary he could hardly stand to think about it.

And yet, with the king's silent offer, Logan was helpless to resist it, reaching out to slide his hand into Roman's. Their fingers meshed with the ease of experience—through dreams or through the history that had been stolen from him, Logan could not say, but that alien ecstasy of skin on skin felt so right it hurt.

“I have dreamed of this for so long.”

Logan looked up from where he'd been staring at their joined hands, spellbound. For a day now, he'd been in the presence of his Green Man, seen his true face, but this was the first time he'd actually been alone with him since...

“So have I.” he confessed. “Every time you came to me.”

Roman blinked, confused—then a light went on behind his eyes, making them snap with something electric and so alive it made Logan's chest tight.

“They...were real.” he realized. “I wasn't dreaming.”

“You were, but... we were inhabiting the same dream at the same time.” Logan explained softly. “Knowing who you are now, it's unsurprising. Conduits cannot use the magic within them, but it does make certain forms of involuntary magic possible—such as dream walking.”

“I've never done it with anyone else before.”

Logan frowned. “That is unusual. If that was the case, the ability would be consistent.”

He paused, then felt something in the core of him tremble with...a feeling he could not name, even reluctantly. It was light and fragile and enormously powerful—and Logan wasn't totally sure if it was good or bad.

“Did...did we share dreams...before?” he asked hesitantly.

Roman smiled, sad, tremulous, and hesitant in his own right.

“It's...a complicated thing to explain.” he confessed. “I don't have all the answers.”

“Do you have any?”

“I do. If you want them.”

“Why would I not want them?” Logan asked.

Something slid through Roman's eyes, dimming their light, and it ripped through Logan with a fury that had no root, no real cause.

Only that something dared to darken his demeanor, and with terrifying clarity Logan knew he would even destroy himself were he to discover that he was the cause of it.

“Because I'm a royal?” he pointed out. “Because my family did this to your people...because I did this to you?”

“Falsehood.”

Roman smiled, and Logan felt suddenly powerful. He felt...he felt, with no anchor for any of these feelings. It was deeply disconcerting—and it was also intoxicating.

“Hearing that again is almost as comforting as hearing you call me an idiot.” Roman laughed, squeezing his hand. “I missed it.”

Logan felt dizzy with the gaping hole in his chest, the warmth of Roman's touch—the world, every breath, every second that ticked by, it all suddenly felt like too much to hold inside of him. If he could remember, maybe he could bear it, maybe he could handle the things that his fingers and his heart seemed to know as he clung to the king's hand and stood on the edge of a chasm of years that stretched between them with no memory of how it got there.

“I do not remember,” he managed to choke out, “but...I think I did, too.”

“Oh, Starlight...”

Roman pulled him forward, and suddenly Logan was being held, cradled against acres of bare flesh and solid muscle. His lungs were filled with the scent of warm cotton and sweet skin, tinged with something that reminded him of fresh earth and damp stone—not the rank stone of the dungeons, but granite and petrichor, fresh from a gentle, cleansing rain.

Logan could not have stopped himself from clinging as Roman held him, not even if he wanted to—and he didn't want to stop.

“Tell me?” A question, whispered against his shoulder as he was held in strong arms and drowned in the warmth of safety and affection.

Roman did not hesitate to open his mouth and start talking—and he kept talking until there was nothing left.

Until Logan finally knew everything.

********** 1022, A.A.

“Okay, wait, so—familiars are human?”

Logan laughed—one of the greatest sounds in the world, as far as Roman was concerned. It was rare as diamonds, soft as a whisper, and always so filled with bright, gleaming emotion that it made him happy even if he was having the worst possible day.

Roman lived for his laugh—among other things. Logan's eyes, Logan's intelligence...Father called it that 'special age,' told him that he'd started noticing how certain boys made him feel when he was thirteen, but this wasn't just...

Logan was younger than him by two whole years—it might as well be decades. Besides, Logan probably liked girls, and oh yeah, he was a Weaver. Being one of the Necromata was one thing, but Weavers were revered among his people. Even if liking a necromancer wasn't a crime, Logan's family wouldn't want him to have anything to do with an outsider like Roman. He'd learned that much in two years of friendship with him.

Two years of hiding how he really spent his afternoons away from the tutors. Two years of learning the truth about how good and kind and generous the Necromata were...how good and kind and generous Logan was.

“Yes, familiars are human.” Logan replied, sweeping the flat stone marker of the grave they were tending. “Virgil—my little brother, the one I call Stormcloud—is my Spider, the keeper of the Loom of Memory.”

Roman risked peeking out from under the hood of the cloak hiding his face to follow the tilt of Logan's head to the eight year old boy on the other side of the open field. He was small and slight, with a shock of black hair like Logan's, save that his gleamed blue-black in the sun where Logan's shone with the most subtle red-brown hints of dark cherry wood. When he faced them, beaming up at the massive redhead that Logan had identified as their grandfather, Roman could see that Virgil's eyes were dark compared to Logan's startling blue.

Over the last couple of years, Logan had gradually shared the True Names of his whole family with Roman. Outlaw was his grandfather, Josiah. Rainbow was his pari, Talyn. Joan was his geni, Elliot. He'd trusted Roman with that knowledge...but Virgil, his little brother, the person Logan loved more than life itself (and possibly more than jam tarts), he'd protected.

Until now. Now, he'd let Roman in all the way—in more ways than one, given where they were.

While Logan finished sweeping the headstone clean, Roman watched the countless other families among Logan's tribe attending similar areas just like they were. Some were cleaning other graves, others were scouring the ground for signs of unmarked ones, others still were tending the trees in the open field that needed pruning or fertilization to grow healthy and strong over the graves they stood as markers for.

The Festival of the Forgotten that came every autumn was a day Roman had only ever known as one of solemn remembrance for those who had fallen to the Animator's slaughter a thousand years ago. He got dressed up in his formal attire, stood by Father's side while he gave speeches at the palace memorial, and basically spent the day being as quiet and unobtrusive as possible.

Logan had treated the whole thing with open disdain and offense when Roman explained it to him—then told him what the real Festival was all about.

The Festival wasn't happening for a week yet, but the Necromata were already preparing. For Logan's people, it was a week long celebration of the dead that involved hard work and loving attention. The field they were in had once been a graveyard in the time before the Animator, and many of the dead who lay in repose below the earth had been lost to time. Some had no names to be remembered, others had no lineage to go after them, still more were buried carelessly without even a marker to their name.

The Necromata took custody of these dead, trying to give them remembrance even if they couldn't give them names. All week, they carefully cleaned the field up, tended what few graves they could identify, looked for others—and at the end, had a giant party full of food, music, and drink. They decorated graves, left offerings for the departed, and kept the forgotten souls company with laughter and song. They would soak the earth and the air with enough joy and celebration to ensure that these lost ones would have comfort enough to take them through the year, when they would do it all over again.

Roman had been humbled by the true story of the Festival—and so Logan had invited him to attend. Both the party, and the stewardship of the dead.

“Familiars enhance the power of their necromancer in different ways.” Logan continued once Roman had given him his attention again. “A Black Dog has their Wolf, who acts as their spirit guide through their visions. A Reaper has their Raven, who helps them take the pain away from those they heal or release—and a Weaver has their Spider, who spins the fibers for the Loom of Memory. When a Weaver reaches the Loom, it's very much like the real thing: a visual representation, where a soul to be resurrected is mounted like a half finished tapestry, and the Weaver completes it with the connection he has to his Spider.”

“What does the fiber represent?” Roman asked as Logan stepped back, dropping his broom and moving to crouch before the worn headstone while Roman quickly followed suit. “The fiber your Spider spins?”

“Focus. Virgil gives me his focus to aid me in retrieving the memories I need to restore the soul to life. With his mind working in tandem with mine, it's like I'm weaving with a shuttle wound in spider silk, and it allows me to finish my work much more quickly. It ensures the tapestry lasts longer once it's taken off the loom before it unravels...before the soul I raise to life slips away again.”

Roman didn't like the way Logan's features fell a little at that. Ever since his Warping, Roman knew that Logan was troubled by the idea that there were people he couldn't fully resurrect—those not meant to die, he could save, but those whose soul had slipped through the opening in the Barrier carved for them at the moment of their death? Those were temporary—and the few times he'd half restored a soul like that as part of his training lingered with him.

Knowing he could say nothing to comfort him, instead Roman turned his attention to the smooth granite surface before them.

“You said this grave was new, right?”

Logan nodded, shifting to kneel while Roman remained in his crouch—and with hardly a care, rested an arm on Roman's knee so he could lean forward and peer at the gravestone. The touch made Roman's heart flip in his chest, but he tried to focus on the task at hand.

“Grandpap discovered it last year while they were digging out the roots of a dead tree. We replanted it over there to better mark the site because the stone's been worn so flat.”

Roman frowned, reaching down to run his fingers over the stone. “This poor person will never have a name now.”

“Sadly, no.” Logan agreed, reaching down to lay his hand against Roman's atop the stone. “Whatever epitaph was on this stone was worn away hundreds of years ago—“

“What's that?”

Roman, reluctantly, slid his hand out from under Logan's to run his fingers along the base of the stone.

“See this ridge? There's something beneath it...here, help me...”

The earth was damp, and for a moment Roman was left to dig on his own, fingers sinking into the loamy earth at the base of the stone. In truth, it was fun—feeling the grit under his fingernails, the ache of muscles as he clawed at the dirt.

Only when he started to uncover a broader base on the stone did Logan move to start helping him dig.

After about five minutes, they had exposed a second, broader slab beneath the stone. This one, heavily covered by dirt, seemed to be part of a larger piece that appeared to just...keep going.

“This isn't a headstone.” Logan realized. “It's a burial vault.”

Roman nodded. “I actually know what those are—big boxes for dead bodies, right? So they don't rot in the dirt. For the coffin to sit in!”

“Correct.” Logan murmured. “What's more, it's not buried all that deep. Perhaps, once upon a time, it wasn't buried at all.”

Roman thought about the last burial vault he'd seen—that of an adviser in his father's court council. He hadn't been buried in the royal mausoleum, being of common birth, but he'd been given a special place in the surrounding cemetery: an above ground burial vault, bearing the royal seal and just beneath it...

“This isn't a headstone.” he realized aloud, furiously going back to digging.

“That's what you said—”

“No, I mean this part! The crest of the royal family sits here, not the epitaph! We have burial vaults like these in the palace cemetery, and the name is always under this piece! Help me, Logan—we can find out who this is!”

Glancing to the side, he was pleased to see Logan adjusting his glasses, a restless sign of pleasure as he crowded closer to Roman's side.

“If the name was not exposed to the elements before it was buried, it might still be preserved.” he agreed.

“So we can help them?”

Logan nodded eagerly, making Roman grin. He was so happy, and it warmed Roman's heart—but so did the fact that they might actually be able to give some poor, forgotten dead necromancer back their name. The fact that Roman, himself, was helping to do this thing for one of the Necromata, an heir to the throne helping these good and caring and generous people that just wanted to make sure that the dead were remembered...

It gave him so much hope for the future. Logan gave him this hope by letting him in.

That was the moment Roman knew...

Refocusing on their new task, Roman began to dig in earnest. Logan shifted to reach for the broom, trying to scrape away the earth from the stone vault with the end of its handle. Gradually, they worked down a couple of inches until the edges of a very clear engraving became visible. First the frame, then what looked like...

“Numbers. These may be the dates of birth and death, if this person died Before Animator.” Logan murmured, jostling Roman in encouragement. “Keep going.”

Voices buzzed around them. The cool autumn air stung Roman's nose. His fingers were sore, cuticles caked with dirt. Logan was pressed securely to his side, digging tirelessly alongside him.

Time stopped. Nothing existed but the two of them, crowded close and digging, all heavy breath and exertion and movement, bumping and jostling in a strange rhythm that blurred the line between where one ended and the other began...

“...Roman.”

Roman blinked, shaking his head. He glanced at Logan, who'd gone ashen as he stared down at the inches of earth they had uncovered.

With a start, he realized they had finished. There, in worn but very clear lettering, was the epitaph of a forgotten corpse. Beneath the confusing dates of birth and death, there was a name.

Reading it, Roman could feel the blood leaving his face just as it had left Logan's.

“This...cannot be right.” Logan murmured.

“No, it can't.” Roman agreed softly, flopping artlessly back on his behind. Logan collapsed with him, half across Roman's lap, with Roman too stunned to fully take it in. “You said this was a burial ground for the Necromata.”

“It is.”

Roman met Logan's gaze, something sick and panicky forming a lump of ice in his throat.

“Then why, in the Seven Hells, is one of my ancestors buried here?”

**********

1033, A.A.

Few things in the world scared Remus—but that scrawny little necromancer fucking terrified him. The cadet wasn't much better, mostly because they were brothers.

Remus was smart. It was a problem, had been his whole life. For all that he knew, easily and quickly, there were few things he really understood, important things like personal boundaries and courtesy and the difference between things that were fascinating and things that were disturbing.

Brothers, however, he understood. Which was why the cadet was so fucking scary: look at either one of them wrong, and the other would take your fucking head off to defend them.

So Remus stayed in the shadows, watching the pipsqueak stomp around outside Roman's suite like he wanted to get caught by some other member of the palace guard, cursing just loud enough to be heard but not understood, vibrating with tension and so furious the air seemed to ripple around him with heat waves rising from his skin.

“Why is your brother alone with mine?”

Scary as the situation was, Remus found some deeply satisfying pleasure in watching Virgil Storm leap about six feet into the air with fright, choking on the scream he fought to stifle.

“Shadow's Balls, you miserable son of a bitch, what the hell are you trying to do? Give me a heart attack?” he spat, clutching his chest with both hands.

Remus shrugged. “Hey, not my fault if you don't have the nerves for guard duty, toy soldier. Should've tried hiding in the kitchens instead. The wash boys bring the dungeon prisoners their daily meal.”

“I'm not guarding anything.” Virgil shot back, turning to glare at the closed door of Roman's suite. “I was sent away. By my own damn brother—doesn't remember shit, and he's still treating me like a little kid.”

“He's your big brother—that shit doesn't change with age.” Remus huffed. “Ro Ro's got a half life on me, and he makes use of ever second of it.”

Virgil looked at him strangely. “A half life? I thought you were twins.”

Remus shrugged. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”

“Can you speak in anything but sarcasm?”

“Can you address the crown prince with a little respect?”

“Not when I've seen the kind of people you sneak around with. Cadets pull a lot of graveyard shifts.”

Damn—the game of questions was just starting to get fun. The toy soldier wasn't just cute, he was feisty and totally lacked any fear of the throne. That was a problem, because Remus was actually starting to like the little shit.

“You're lucky I'm into that.” Remus quipped, but finally rolled his eyes and leaned back against the opposite wall of the corridor. “Fine: we're half-twins: identical, born one hour apart on the cusp. Roman came at eleven and I came at midnight. We celebrate our birthdays on the same day to hide that fact.”

Virgil went eerily still—and Remus's estimation of the kid went up a couple notches because of it.

“You do remember I'm Necromata, right?” he asked slowly. “Everyone in this castle knows you and your brother are both well versed in the ways of necromancy. You know what we can do with half-twins.”

Remus sobered, wondering for one irrational second if he'd been wrong. Wrong about the scrawny necromancer, wrong about the toy soldier, wrong about the limited amount of sense Roman had in his thick skull...

“Does anyone else know?” Virgil asked in the silence of Remus's brain spinning away from him.

Remus shook his head. “No, and I intend to keep it that way.”

“...you gonna kill me, Highness?”

Remus rushed him then, pinning Virgil to the wall with a hand wrapped around his throat.

“Only if I have to.” he warned quietly. He could hear his own heart beating in his ears, but it was slow, steady, far too calm. He could already imagine those gleaming dark eyes going flat and dead, that lovely pale skin going ashen as he choked the life from him, hear the bubble from his lungs as they gave up their last breath...

He'd do it. He'd sleep easy. He wouldn't regret a thing.

Not for Roman.

“I'm a little brother, too.” Virgil reminded him quietly, breathlessly—and for one split second, as Virgil reached up to wrap his hand around Remus's wrist, gentle but firm, he was kind of breathtaking. His pulse was jumping in his throat, every exhale was shaky and his lips were parted as he sucked down oxygen...

Remus let him go, but he didn't move away. He couldn't quite make himself, not when he suddenly felt like swallowing the terrified little spider whole.

“No one can know what Roman really is.” he whispered. “No one.”

“Make you a deal,” Virgil shot back, “you protect my big brother, and I'll protect yours.”

Remus narrowed his eyes...but it was what he wanted, after all, so he offered Virgil his hand to shake.

“Mutually assured destruction it is.” Remus agreed. “Can't trust a royal and all.”

Virgil had just wrapped his hand around Remus's when he blinked, startled. “I...yeah?”

Laughing, Remus shook his hand firmly, and let the world fall away for just a moment. His grip made it easy: firm, warm, strong.

“You're right about us, toy soldier: Roman and I? We're both pretty into necromancy. That means we know more than most about the royal family—at least I do. Roman...I'm not quite sure what he remembers anymore.”

“About what?” Virgil asked.

Remus released Virgil's hand, then sighed and shifted to press his back against the wall, sliding down to sit on the ground.

“Park it, Storm. There's a few things you need to know about my brother...and yours.”

**********

1022, A.A.

“It has to be a mistake.”

“It's not.” Logan insisted, reaching up to tug at his mask—he would have adjusted his glasses if he'd been wearing them, but he couldn't with the domino that covered his features, heavily adored with thick black feathers. Roman reached up to stop him before he could remove it.

“Can't be rude to the dead, can we?” Roman chided gently.

That got a smile out of Logan, despite the circumstances—almost as good as his laughter, and once again the spirit of the evening swept over him.

Five days had passed since the discovery in the graveyard. Earlier in the day, this day, he'd done his duty: donned his formal dress, stood beside his father, pretended to be solemn and respectful while, all the while, he'd been vibrating with excitement for this.

The final day of the Festival—the final night.

The real Festival, an actual festival with music and food and costumes. The Field of the Forgotten was now clean and well cared for, lit up with torches and free floating luminaries. There were tables laden with food and drink and plates and cups—large for the living, smaller ones for graveside offerings. It was a celebration of life lost, a gift to the dead.

And the costumes—they were so much fun, and yet even these carried meaning. Roman hid his face behind a domino adorned with white feathers to Logan's black, and rejected his name to call himself Muse for the evening. Because these souls they honored no longer had names or faces, forever lost to time, the living hid their own with masks and costumes, gave up their true names and identities for the night out of respect.

It was magical, all of it. He enjoyed himself, drinking sparkling cider and eating meat skewers, burning his mouth on sweet-searing phoenix taffy, wrapped in wax paper printed with tiny black skulls. He even pocketed some for later, vowing to enjoy them slowly and remember the forgotten as he let the cinnamon tingle sting his tongue.

He celebrated instead of mourning, gave his own joy to the forgotten dead for a year, and for the first time dreamed of being king one day instead of crown prince so he could show this to the citizens. After all, they would understand if they knew—how much the Necromata cared about the dead, how hard they worked for those who were gone because it made things so much better for the people that were still here.

They weren't messengers of death, they were guardians of life, and one day Roman would set them free. He'd show everyone...he'd watch Logan stand beside him before the whole kingdom and smile when he realized that he was no longer feared, but loved. Just as he deserved to be.

Smile like he was smiling now. At Roman, because he stopped him from removing his mask, and for one really stupid second, Roman almost hoped Logan would...maybe reach for his hand or press against his side like he had earlier in the week, huddled before the final resting place of Thomas Roman I.

Roman's namesake. Roman's ancestor.

“Can we be sure?” Roman asked, the brief euphoria stolen from him as they walked side by side, trying to be discreet about returning to the grave in question. “I mean...what's the likelihood that a necromancer would name their child after a king? It's done, you know.”

“Not among our people.” Logan insisted with a shake of his head. “The royal family are our oppressors, have been for generations. As much as it pains me to say it, my people view the royal bloodline much as the population at large view necromancers. They are cutthroat, bloodthirsty, power hungry demons that will stop at nothing to see every single one of us destroyed. No parent would ever do that to a child.”

Roman felt a little like he'd been punched in the gut, but he said nothing. Logan wasn't great with feelings—better, a little, since his Warping, but it always made him squirmy to try and confront them, in himself or in anyone else.

“I want to change that.” Roman replied quietly, vowing he'd say no more on it.

“Falsehood.”

“What?”

“Falsehood.” Logan repeated, as if he hadn't just called Roman a liar. For a second, Roman wondered if he'd done or said something that...oh, gods, did Logan know how Roman felt? Was it bothering him that badly? Were they—

“You will change that.” Logan pressed on before Roman's thoughts could spiral any further. “This is simple fact.”

“Lo—er, Starlight, I appreciate that you have so much faith in me—“

“It's not faith, Muse. It's fact.” Logan insisted, stopping in his tracks. “This revelation is confusing, life changing...dangerous for what it could represent, but the facts are thus: your ancestor is buried on sacred Necromata ground. For generations beyond the Animator, we have taken great pains to ensure that no outsider has ever been interred among us for the simple reason that necromancers cannot be resurrected because we have no souls—it would be sacrilege to allow a resurrection to disturb the rest of our dead. This can mean only one thing: the royal family is either of our tribe, or of theirs.”

“Whose?”

“The Lazari.”

Roman's stomach dropped clear through his shoes and into the sacred ground of the Necromata. “Seven Hells, do you think that's truly possible? W-w-what about the Animata?”

Logan shook his head, then turned to keep walking. They were nearly at the grave—the pair of them had hastily covered up the name they had unearthed, pressing the dirt flat and scattering some leaves to make it look like nothing had been disturbed.

“The Animata are not necromancers—not all of them were even fully human, given their twin souls. It would be easy to resurrect one of them. No, the only other creature it could possibly be is a Lazari.”

“But they're a myth—they're not even real.”

“Myth to you, theoretical to us.” Logan replied as they reached the grave. Sitting in front of the tombstone, he beckoned Roman to join him. “The Lazari are, essentially, an evolution of Weavers. They cannot merely recall the dead to life, they can change the fate of the dead. Their power is such that they can weave a soul not from memory, but from the Spider's Thread. They can change fate.”

Roman fell silent, staring down at the careworn tombstone before them. Reaching out, he ran his hands over the smooth stone that once likely bore a royal crest—the crest of his family, above the name of his ancestor.

“How can you change fate?” he asked softly, forcing himself not to look at the boy beside him. Not when he felt so...weird. So full, like his lungs were being crushed against the inside of his ribcage by his heart and his soul, and everything he was feeling.

He wanted to not be of the house of Sanders. He wanted Logan to not be of the Necromata. He wanted to live in a world where nothing separated them, where one day he could court Logan as proudly as his own father had courted his dad, as proudly as his dad had courted his mother...

Roman wanted, wanted, wanted in that moment, and he was afraid to look at Logan...suddenly afraid of what would happen if he did.

“Knowledge.”

Logan's quiet utterance nearly stole his resolve, his head twitching, but remaining down as Logan continued.

“Knowledge is how. It is an incomparably valuable, multi-purpose tool that is instrumental in identifying and solving any problem.”

He paused—then Roman felt his hand on his shoulder.

Don't don't don't don't don't...

Roman looked up, and found Logan meeting his gaze with a look that briefly stole his breath.

“If you're worried about getting hurt? Then seek knowledge. It is our greatest weapon...and our greatest defense.”

The words felt oddly weighty, like he was trying to make Roman remember something for later. That, or...

He couldn't give the feeling words, and so he didn't. He held it inside himself, embraced the crushing weight against his lungs and the way his entire body felt too small for his bones.

“And the Lazari would be a pretty powerful weapon—especially if they were members of the royal family.” Roman mused softly.

A necromancer on the throne—if it was true, it could destroy his family. However...

It could save Logan's people. If the world knew that one of the royal family had been a member of his tribe? Maybe the Necromata could finally be free to live in the open, free and unafraid.

Looking into Logan's face, Roman realized there was no decision to make.

“Where will we find it?” he asked finally. “This knowledge...the knowledge we need to prove it, one way or the other?”

Logan fell silent at that. He still had that strangely intense look in his eyes, high color in his cheeks—and at some point, his hand had found its way off Roman's shoulder and down to mesh with Roman's fingers.

Roman's face felt warm, and the world felt kind of spinny.

“We start with the king.”

**********

1033, A.A.

“What're you thinkin' about, Janny?”

Janus drew a deep breath—not quite a sigh, but very close to it, not over Patton's question but his own inability to function properly.

He should be looking over the shoulders of his lieutenants, currently investigating the king's death. What he was doing was walking through the North Gardens in the dark with Patton, their hands firmly linked together between them. Patton even went so far as to swing them occasionally, making something deep in Janus's core twist in a manner that made his baser impulses nearly impossible to control.

“Nothing I can discuss with you.” he replied.

“Oh, wow. You're telling the truth—it must be bad.” Patton breathed.

Janus squeezed Patton's fingers, uncertain if he was trying to reassure Patton or himself.

“You have no idea,” he admitted softly, “and if I get my way? You never will.”

There was no immediate answer as Janus scanned their surroundings, double and triple checking to make sure they weren't being spied on. He was well aware of the fact that Logan had already absconded with the cadet—his brother, now that was never going to stop being funny to Janus—and could give a damn. He knew Logan well enough to know he'd be careful...he had to admit, reluctantly, that Storm was a damn capable soldier...and by holding up the pretext that the prisoners were safely ensconced in their quarters...

He could steal this time with Patton. Stealing, sneaking, taking things he had no right to, things that didn't belong to him.

“You're gonna ask me things again, huh?”

Janus stopped dead in his tracks, looking at Patton sharply. Patton, the gods love him, was just smiling that smile he always had when he told Janus things that Janus didn't ask for, much less the things Janus did make a point of requesting.

“That's not why we're out here.” he replied instead of rebuffing Patton's assertion. It felt more important, even if it wasn't...

It wasn't.

Patton giggled—actually giggled at that—and wrapped Janus's hand in both of his.

“Janny, I asked you to spend some time with me, remember?”

How could Janus forget that desperate plea, wide eyed and beaming through the tear tracks that lingered on his cheeks after he was done crying in Janus's arms earlier, done warning Janus about what was happening to Logan in another part of the castle? How could Janus have ever said no?

How could Janus admit that, even if Patton hadn't asked, Janus would have come anyway—just because he couldn't stay away?

“You couldn't possibly know I wanted to...ask you things, as you put it.” Janus pointed out.

Patton stepped closer, looking up into Janus's face from his diminutive height. The moon was nearly gone, but its few stray rays caught his mop of curls, forcing Janus to ball his hands into fists to resist the urge to touch one.

But, of course, because Patton still held one of his hands, he only succeeded in holding on tighter, sending a ripple of warmth and softness through Janus that ought to be more troubling than it was.

“I always know.” Patton pointed out gently. His dark blue eyes were black in the low light, his face shining and open and so dazzling it made his very bones hurt with the primal dragon's urge to grab him and hide him and claim claim claim mine mine mine...

Patton sank to the ground, tugging gently on Janus's captive hand. Janus followed—but rather than sit on the ground as Janus did, Patton got to his knees and immediately deposited himself in Janus's lap with a merry giggle that Janus swore lit up the garden if only for a heartbeat.

Janus let go Patton's hand, wrapped his arms around his waist instead, and felt the dragon in his bones settle back to sleep.

“You always know.” he finally echoed with a sigh and narrowed eyes that did nothing to taint Patton's bright smile. “Fine, I want to ask you things.”

Visibly pleased with himself, Patton rested his hands on Janus's shoulders, shut his eyes, and took a slow, deep breath.

“Okay. I'm ready.”

Janus gave Patton a gentle squeeze, taking a deep breath of his own.

“I need to know how to kill the necromancer.”

Patton didn't move or speak for a long time. Janus just held on, waiting.

His eyes slammed open—solid, pale sky blue and glowing faintly in the dark instead of the impossibly dark shade Janus knew so well.

In hushed, faraway tones, Patton spoke...and Janus listened closely.

#logan sanders #virgil sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #sanders sides #necromancer au #fic #my name is liz and i swear to god i'll fic again #this is all the artist's fault i'm just a hapless writer that stumbled across it

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sociallyawkward--fics · 7 years ago

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What's your favorite (Sanders Sides) ship?

Bro,,, my dude,,,, this is the hardest question I have ever been asked in my Life. If you had asked very early on in my foray into Sanders Sides fic (dang how long ago was that? Close to a year at least?), the definite answer would’ve been Prinxiety, with Logicality as second, and no others. I didn’t even know there were more.

Now? I’m trying to explore each ship as deeply as I can, both in the writing of my own fics and in the reading of other’s, and I just don’t think I can give this question a straight answer (maybe because I’m not straight lol). They all have such potential and are paired so perfectly, I can’t choose just one. Whether platonic or romantic.

Romantic Prinxiety, my first ever foray into Sanders Sides shipping. It’s fire and fire, a battle for dominance. Two hotheads that somehow found a cooling balm in each other. Opposites attract, after all, and these two definitely apply. They’re creation. They’re warm movie nights plenty full of arguing over the best characters and plot points. They’re cold nights spent by the fire, leaning into each other for support.

Platonic Prinxiety is sibling rivalry. Two arguing brothers that are somehow still close enough to be each other’s best friends. They’re each other’s support system. They’re loud arguments over Monopoly, They’re the fights on family movie night over what to watch. They’re whispered insecurities in the dead of night, feeling so vulnerable and lost.

Romantic Logicality, my second ever foray into shipping for these boys. Logos and Pathos. Logic and emotion. A perfect balance, each keeping the other in check. They’re romantic dinners that end with a sweet goodnight kiss. They’re chocolate covered strawberries being fed to a lover. They’re whispered nothings in the silence of the night, for no reason other than the love they hold.

Platonic Logicality is a partnership that goes far beyond the average friendship. They’re those weird 3am texts you send to your best friend. They’re early morning coffee. They’re warm kitchen conversations. They’re quiet comforts, gentle hands keeping each other afloat when the seas get rough.

Romantic Royality is two romantic saps falling for each other quickly and completely. They’re trips to the amusement park, clutching each other’s hands as they ride the biggest coaster. They’re trips to the zoo, squealing over every animal. They’re puppy love that grows into something much deeper. They’re spontaneous adventures, never knowing what will happen and loving it.

Platonic Royality is a father with his eldest son. They’re playing catch in the front yard. They’re learning to ride a bike for the first time, learning to rollerskate, learning to drive. Growing up yet never growing old. Family that will never die.

Romantic Logince is competition. Fire against fire once more. They’re Mario Kart races, constantly teasing and flirting to try and distract each other. They’re long walks on the beach at sunset. They’re holding hands even when it’s inconvenient, both too stubborn to let go. They’re heated discussions over novels, carefully formed arguments over who the real hero is.

Platonic Logince is rivals become best friends. More Mario Kart, shoving each other off the couch to get the upper hand. They’re bonfire parties on the beach. A competition to see who can set off the best fireworks on 4th of July. They’re dissecting TV shows, arguing which fan theories have the most credibility to them.

Romantic Moxiety is unconditional support. Two emotional messes who have each other to keep them steady. They’re late night hot cocoa when the insomnia kicks in. They’re nighttime walks in the city, admiring the lights and the bustling people, holding hands to combat the cold. They’re picnics in the park, laughing like dorks and feeling like they’re the only two people in the world.

Platonic Moxiety is a father and his youngest son. They’re days of messy baking. First Christmas’s, with Santa’s presents surrounding the tree. They’re milk and cookies after a rough day. They’re soft, warm blankets in the glow of the television. Family that will never leave you.

Romantic Analogical is stubborn. Holy crap, is it stubborn. They’re two closed off people who somehow managed to find solace in each other. They’re quiet trips to the library, deep conversations over the theme of the book. They’re stargazing late at night, outside the city limits, cuddling under blankets to keep warm. They’re intelligent fire waiting to be released upon the world.

Platonic Analogical is the friendship of the century. They’re quiet study sessions. They’re nerding out over pop culture, coming up with the most plausible theories they can think of (and stupid ones just to make each other laugh). They’re texts of support at 1am, grounding each other when the ground’s been taken out from under them.

Romantic LAMP is the perfect balance. They all provide something so important to each other. Logan is the grounding force. In times of high emotion, he keeps them all on the ground, making sure every decision is thought through carefully. Patton is the reminder that it’s okay to feel, being a pillar of support to each and every one of them, and they know he’ll always catch them if they fall. Roman keeps the romance alive. Keeps them going when they feel they’re out of fuel. Virgil is the reminder that it’s okay to be afraid and walks them through those fears. Show’s that there’s nothing wrong with being afraid and is living proof that someone will always pull you out of whatever dark hole you’ve fallen into.

Platonic LAMP is family. Movie nights that turn into all nighters, filled with pillow forts (and pillow fights) and holding each other close. Family game nights, ending in laughter and board game pieces being thrown across the room. Surprise birthday parties with laughter and full bellies from food and cake. Family dinners full of conversation, it flowing easily with each person feeling able to be heard. Bonds that can never be broken.

That got WAAAAAY away from me. But like, I cannot physically choose a favorite ship? They all have so many aspects to them. The heartbreaking angst is unique for every single one. The tooth-rotting fluff is unique for every single one. Their dynamics are all so astoundingly different, I can’t imagine having to pick one over all the others.

There’s so much yet to be explored with each one, too! I didn’t even cover everything I was thinking here for each ship, and I guarantee what I DID cover, I probably didn’t cover well lol

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dustedmagazine · 7 years ago

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Dust: Volume 3, No. 13

Dust is what happens when you’re making other plans — or at least stalling again on all the full-length reviews you meant to write. Nonetheless, the shorter format frees up some sharp, improvisatory writing from Dusted writers including Matt Wuethrich, Patrick Masterson, Bill Meyer, Justin Cober-Lake and Jennifer Kelly, who cover the usual gamut from the most austere experimentalisms all the way into post-punk, jazz and metal. Enjoy.

Aquarelle — Leave Corners (Debacle)

Leave Corners by Aquarelle

Leave Corners represents yet a further refinement of the Aquarelle sound. Ryan Potts has shifted his palette away from his prior records’ shapely post-Loveless crushes of guitars, keyboards, and pedals, incorporating bowed strings more prominently into the intricate architecture of these six pieces. The cello of Brandon Wiarda, often untouched by Potts it feels, is one of the most ear-catching aspects here, adding a cinematic sweep and song-like integrity to Potts’ sprawling sound. There are also touches of vibrant, rhythmic minimalism in the vibraphones on “Brass Logic.” Overall, his strokes feel broader, less granular and more concerned with primary colors than microtextures.

It’s a welcome departure from his previous outings yet not a radical one. Potts’ touch for arranging remains as delicate as ever. “Cut Stone” strikes a gentle balance between a melancholy cello theme and a hard-edged drone figure in the foreground. His elegant constructions feel like miniatures, even when a two-part piece like album opener “Open Response” runs over 13 minutes. What Potts is striving for is difficult — intimacy on a grand scale, sturdy structures that have the lightness of sketches — so though Leave Corners slides by at times a little too easily, his vision gradually seems to be emerging more clearly.

Matt Wuethrich

Burial — Rodent 10” (Hyperdub)

Rodent (HDB113) by Burial

Probably the most divisive Burial release in more than a hot minute. How far back would we have to go to remember people up in arms about one of his productions? “Rival Dealer”? The Four Tet/Thom Yorke collab, maybe? Anyway, the complaint about “Rodent” is that it’s gone in the opposite direction of the more immersive recent stuff (and by recent, I’m basically talking about everything since Untrue – how quickly we forget those early runtimes!). To be sure, “Rodent” isn’t anywhere close to the musique concrète of “Subtemple” or Belong-like cathedral ambient of “Beachfires” and that Mønic remix. In fact, its greatest strength is that it’s pretty much club-ready as is – a straight-ahead 4/4 beat anchoring a typically evocative vocal hook: What would I do without you? Don’t know what I’d do without you. Kode9’s juke-inspired remix doesn’t do too much to break the knees on the b-side, further bolstering a groove-heavy plate sure to find fans in odd places. Don’t let the haters keep you from copping it.

Patrick Masterson

Lily and Horn Horse — Next to Me (Ramp Local)

Next To Me by Lily and Horn Horse

Lily and Horn Horse (Lily Konigsberg of Palberta is the Lily and Matt Norman is the Horn Horse) come together a second time for little bit of weirdness on Next to Me. Palberta fans shouldn't expect more of the same. This duo focuses more on glitch-pop, and Konigsberg rounds the corners of her voice to fit the tone of the album, which scatters pop as much as it sings lullabies over arcade beats. Despite the control in the performances, the album shows little restraint, rattling through 20 tracks in not many more minutes. Norman's voice offers some enjoyable contrast, but it's Kongisberg's album, at least vocally. The two combine on the production to make a strong set of kinetic but not thoughtless pieces that lead to a unique little pocket world.

Justin Cober-Lake

John Butcher/John Edwards/Mark Sanders—Last Dream of the Morning (Relative Pitch)

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The question is not why this record exists. The constituent duos of this trio — saxophonist John Butcher and bassist John Edwards, Butcher and drummer Mark Sanders, and Edwards and Sanders — have each shared so many stages and studios that it seems like some scheduling oversight that they hadn’t recorded before November 2016, when this CD was recorded in a London studio. There’s certainly nothing hesitant about this music, which exudes the tension of instant creation with a cohesion so absolute it’s forbidding. All three men are such accomplished instrumentalists that it’s not the high-level playing that slays me, but the retreats and silences. In recent times Roscoe Mitchell has had his improvisations transcribed to become the basis of orchestral compositions; this music, while immaculate and complete as it is, could be as fertile for such treatment as a freshly doused Nile floodplain.

Bill Meyer

Mastodon — Cold Dark Place EP (Reprise)

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First it was the Southern-fried metal of the early years. Then came the irritatingly self-fellating prog-rock phase. But since 2014’s Once More ‘Round the Sun, we’ve been at a stage with Mastodon where the Atlanta quartet is basically just a really good hard rock band. The latest evidence to support this is the four-track Cold Dark Place EP, which shows that the band has settled (stalled?) into middle-of-the-road mastery without going overboard in any stylistic direction. Drummer Brann Dailor sings verses for the intriguing “Blue Walsh,” but the heavy vocal lifting here is done by guitarist Brent Hinds, who has some touching moments (particularly on the title-track). “Toes to Toes” was the single (read: shortest), but the quality is uniform across nearly 22 minutes... which is frustrating. So long as they’re consistently solid, no one’s going to complain. But I couldn’t have been the only one at a recent Chicago performance disappointed not to hear “March of the Fire Ants” as this late-stage mellowing permeates their set lists, too. Maybe that says as much about my own maturity as Mastodon’s, though.

Patrick Masterson

Modern Studies—Swell to Great (Fire)

Swell to Great by Modern Studies

Modern Studies coaxes soft surges of folk-derived melody that wheeze to life on an ancient harmonium, guitar, cello, double bass, drums and, for a nod to the now, various electronic implements. Classicist Emily Scott holds down the traditional side of things, while Rob St. John mixes them up with knobs and textures. Pete Harvey, who plays with King Creosote (not a bad reference point, by the way, for this sort of haunted, haunting stuff) arranges strings, and Joe Smillie plays the drums. None of these songs are prettier than “The Bold Fisherman,” with its barely breathed melody, its hushed unison singing, its tiny-jewelled lattice of picking or its minimalist whistling drone. But “Divebombing” is breezier and more propulsive, with its pristine harmonies riding a bobbing, wave-capped sea of folky sound. Modern Studies is from Scotland, where the band name stands for an academic discipline focused on contemporary politics and culture, but however modern these songs may be, they’ve got deep, deep roots.

Jennifer Kelly

Omni — Multi-Task (Trouble in Mind)

Multi-task by Omni

Omni’s second album, squeezed in between tour dates, day jobs and real life distractions, bristles with the same manic energy as the debut, once again cut with an undercurrent of fey, vulnerable pop. Just last year, I called out Deluxe’s “scrappy but vulnerable tunes, which put you in mind of moony, sensitive lads who are, for some reason, juggling rusty knives,” and the ones on Multi-Task are more of the same blissful stuff. “Southbound Station” jangles jerkily on stop-start riffs that threaten to topple over, yet resolves, once a verse, in the sweetest ache of lingering guitar romance. It’s the Fire Engines “Get Up and Use Me” with a sentimental sigh. “Choke” embeds the cat’s-got-your-tongue stutter of unexpected sexual chemistry in both its lyrics and its musical accompaniment. Guitar lines snarl up in piles of dissonance, then stop altogether and stare bug-eyed, just like the young man in the song. Yet despite an aura of disarray, these songs work in tight, disciplined patterns. The bass and guitar lurching out at one another in a choreographed aggression, the drums erupting in between, the deadpan vocals cutting over, and like a complicated, jerry-rigged machine, everything fits.

Jennifer Kelly

Eric Revis — Sing Me Some Cry (Clean Feed)

Bassist Eric Revis’ CV as a sideman runs the gamut from work with high-profile, top-drawer mainstream jazz bosses like Betty Carter and Brandford Marsalis to high-wire improvisation with Peter Brötzmann and the collective trio Tarbaby. Put him in the driver’s seat and his ensembles cover similarly broad terrain. This quartet pulls together key personnel from previous Revis-lead ensembles, and it’s a heavy crew; pianist Kris Davis, clarinet/saxophonist Ken Vandermark and drummer Chad Taylor are all leaders and composers on their own, and Revis takes full advantage of their talents here. The material ranges from massively stormy to fiendishly complex to quietly lyrical, with plenty happening behind each soloist to make this a set of complete musical performances rather than frameworks for one or more players to show their stuff.

Bill Meyer

Will It Float? — The Sorter (Va Fongool)

Will It Float? To what does this title refer? The CD definitely will, and most of the instruments — John Edwards’ double bass, John Russell acoustic guitar and Ståle Liavik Solberg’s three snare drums — stand a good chance provided the water’s not too choppy. Solberg’s cymbals and Steve Beresford’s piano and electronics don’t have a prayer. The music? Despite the album’s heavy name, it most likely won’t need to, since the quartet’s agile, mostly acoustic improvisations rarely put all feet on the ground, let alone lay prone in the water. It’s too busy skittering from pluck to clank, purposeful as a flock of hungry birds converging upon a cloud of fat gnats. Will it float? Hard to say, but it’ll definitely sort you out.

Bill Meyer

#dusted magazine #dust #aquarelle #matt wuethrich #burial #patrick masterson #lily and horn horse #justin cober-lake #john butcher #john edwards #mark sanders #bill meyer #mastodon #modern studies #jennifer kelly #omni #eric revis #will it float

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