#aka paperwork because I AM A FUCKING NERD

[shieldsfilemistress]

[Y'all, I'm so sorry about the lack of replies across my accounts lately. Long story short, work has been kicking my ass and when I get home I have to play phone tag with insurance and contractors about getting my pipes fixed so by the time I have "me" time I just wanna sleep.

Hopefully the gosh dang world will chill out for five seconds and then I can reply back to all the stuff I'm excited to reply back to (aka talking to all you again lol)

ANYWAYS I hope you guys are having good days and drinking enough water and get all the virtual hugs you need. Love ya!]

[greenninjagal-blog]

Even If it Kills Us (but it wont hopefully) pt8

hey, Hey, HEy, HEY! Sanders Sides mafia au! That erased itself four times and made me cry twice. :) Sorry for the long wait, I rage quit for a few weeks.

Part Seven is here for those who need a refresher (aka me) and Part One is here for anyone new around! Summary: Virgil is a normal college student, who is also the heir to a mafia he didn’t know existed, and he’s currently being arrested for it. At least he knows to wear a seat belt.

TW: knives, tasers, poisons, 

Quick Taglist: @a-she-monster @average--human @calvindientesblancos @crysthefangirl4ever @deathshadowrules @dierotenixe @drmephistofaust  @emo-nithtmare @enderperson43 @fandomobsessed-nerd @fireflysinmystomach @ilovemygaydad @iolanomsgranola @itsrandompostime @jadeace115  @just-another-rainbowblog  @kindly-falling  @laragazzadellluna @lefaystrent @levy-the-b00kw0rm @logicality-vs-prinxiety @meep-by-boredom @mirror2thespirit @my-analogical-romance @ninja-wizard101 @oodlemydoodle @pattons-cookies @punsterterry  @reeama-the-slytherin @sanders-sides-rebloger @seaspider10 @skittlesun  @skullfire2004 @spookilyfingergunsoutofexistence @superwholocked-for-life @sylveon-lover-crazyfangirl1415 @that-ghost-in-the-corner @the-anti-virgil @the-parentheticals  @theradicalrainbow @chelsvans @felicianoromano @jemthebookworm @holliberries @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @treasureofpriam

(lmk if you want to be added!)

“I am Logan Ackroyd, Undercover FBI,” Logan says, one hand-- his non shot hand-- casually fixing his tie, “And I’ll be taking these two into custody.”

Virgil thinks of all the times he’s previously been arrested.

There are none.

Instead he’s stuck with all his limbs unresponsive like a computer that’s been disconnected, his head worrying with a faint buzzing from where he’d head hit the ground after Logan shoved him away (hand on Virgil’s bare collarbone, cold and heavy slipped past his shirt collar and his jacket), and his mouth overwhelmingly tasting like burnt popcorn.

Virgil’s knowledge of police procedures come completely from the stolen few minutes of Criminal Minds he caught on TV occasionally as a child 

(before his mother caught him, before she yelled and tore at his hair and told him never to let the police get near him)

And really, what more had he needed to know? 

Don’t do illegal things! That was easy enough!

Virgil thinks, as his rights are read to him, and his hands are cuffed behind his back, and he’s loaded into the back of a police car in front of a crowd of bypassers coming to the diner for a midday brunch, he failed, majorly.

He doesn’t even know what crime he was being arrested for.

Was it the suspicious activity of people shooting at him in the movie theater? Was it the reckless speeding through town that he had been a passenger in? Was it the murder of two assumed police officers in the diner five minutes ago?

All three?

None?

“Wow, the real deal!” A local police officer says from somewhere Virgil can’t see

(which is pretty much everywhere, considering the only thing he can see is a black ant scuttling through the grass inches from his nose and getting closer)

“Hey, Wally, check these guys out! They’re real FBI!” The officer says again.

“Wouldja look at that! A real FBI badge!”

Virgil wonders if they knew the difference between a real one and a fake one. He has his doubts concerning the two officers who tried to apprehend them inside the dinner.

“Yes,” Logan’s voice says coolly, coldly, icily, “I am a real FBI agent with real paperwork to complete and this mess to take care of.” 

Virgil is really not a fan of how he says “mess”. 

Like Virgil is month old take out that started to reproduce, like the sticky mess of spilled energy drinks that Virgil carelessly left across his desk which ended up gluing the entire back cover of his Western Civ textbook to the wooden surface, like the aftermath of an execution and the blood had spilled into the grout.

“Remus,” Logan’s voice calls out, “Time to go.”

Then someone picks up Virgil by his shoulder and another by his feet and all Virgil can think is people touching him, hands on his body, and he cant move. 

He wants to scream, but the effects of the taser are long lasting (apparently) and he can’t even get his tongue to unstick from the top of his mouth, much less open his jaw at all. 

The idea of forcing air out of his already uncomfortably compressed lungs?

forget it.

He’s vaguely aware that on other side of him, Dee was carefully loaded in, completely useless, completely unconscious.

Virgil gets the feeling he’s just a passenger in his own body. Part of him wants to feel humiliated by the way the he’d been manhandled into a police car in front of a dozen families and two news crews.

Part of him wants to revoke Dee’s kneecap privileges for being so fucking dense that he hadn’t even noticed anything was weird about the dinning experience.

Part of him wants to lunge forward and wrap his arms around Logan’s throat, and strangle him between the links of his handcuffs and the headrest. (not that Virgil would act on that one; there’s clearly a metal mesh between the backseat and where Logan has slipped into the driver’s seat to prevent that exact scenario from occurring)

Because really, he was FBI?! He was undercover?! He had been playing each of them in oh so many ways-- How long had he been fooling Roman? What had he done to Roman and Patton when Virgil had left? What was his actual goal here?

And did it involve Virgil being alive at the end of it?

(Virgil wants to think so. Logan wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble to keep him alive just to kill him--)

Logan’s partner slaps a hand on the window, inches from where Virgil’s head had fallen, and grins at him as he opens his own door and slips into the seat in front of Virgil.

The look Virgil gets is brief.

And also terrifying.

Virgil knows that face.

Knows that face as well as he can, the partial of it seared into his brain as the moment Virgil’s life ended and this twisted nightmare began.

Its the face of the gunman that had tried to shoot him in the face at the movies, the gunman who Logan had tackled to first save his life, the gunman who Virgil hadn’t spared a second thought about because since his appearance, it had been run and duck and please don’t let me die. 

“Oh! He’s pretty cute back there!” The partner says, “I love when they’re all tied up like cute little piggies!”

Logan’s head shakes in a way that suggests he’s rolling his eyes.

The car hums to life, and Logan breezes by the crowd the second the police line widens enough for them to escape. Once they leave the public eye, Logan’s partner’s seatbelt comes off and his feet go up on the dashboard with something dancing between his fingers causally.

“FBI!” The partner laughs, “I can’t believe they really bought those fake badges of yours!”

“Remus, seatbelt.” Logan says without looking away from the road. “And they are real.”

Remus laughs. He makes no move to reattach the belt.

Virgil’s eyes flick to the side mirror in front of them, just in time to catch sight of the butterfly knife the man is expertly twisting around his index and middle finger. Remus catches his gaze in the mirror and blows him a kiss with a wink.

Virgil wishes he was in control of his body, enough to shudder, enough to snarl, enough to throw himself from the car and the oncoming traffic hits him just right--

“What a kid,” Remus sighs, perhaps dreamily, “Do you think I can keep his head for my mantle?”

“You don’t have a mantle.” Logan says, “You don’t have a house.”

“Yeah,” Remus agrees. “But also he’s a kid.”

Logan uses turn signals, Virgil notices, faintly. He feels very faint.

Like a balloon that’s floating away.  And one day he’ll reach the upper atmospheres where the decreasing air pressure will cause his insides to expand until he explodes into a 

“mess” 

that Logan will have to clean up.

The air in the car is tense. Virgil can’t breathe

It might also have to do with the fact he can’t move and there’s a murderer in front of him talking about killing him and-- and--

“Interesting,” Logan says, using one of his turn signals to switch lanes, “I wasn’t aware you got metaphoric cold feet over assassinations.”

The knife flips in the air. Virgil squeezes his eyes closed, forcing his chest to move. 

“You’re telling me you don’t have any qualms about killing a college brat? Any at all, Mr. Undercover FBI?”

“I’m not paid to have morals, Remus.”

Logan sounds cold, colder than ice. The vibrations of his tone wash over Virgil like a ocean, and suddenly he’s drowning.

He’s drowning on dry land and Remus is laughing.

“Surely if you want to-- how they say, “flake out”, you’re welcome to open your door and take a walk.” 

Virgil’s pretty sure Logan speeds up as he talks; the white line on the edge of the road blurs, Virgil’s head’s rumbles against the window until he’s sure he’ll never be able to see straight again.

“Aw Specs!” Remus laughs. Logan’s head twitches at the nickname, the same nickname that Roman had called him oh-so-long ago. “No way I’m gonna let you handle all the juicy stuff yourself! You already got all the credit for Roman Prince’s!”

All the energy in the car turns to white noise.

Virgil’s chest,

halts,

in the middle of a breath.

and he can’t think

because that’s not right

can’t be right.

Roman-- Roman trusted Logan.

Logan had taken a bullet for him.

why did--

how did--

Logan fixes his rear view mirror with his non shot hand. Perfectly fluid.

Virgil can see it in his mind’s eye suddenly: the memory of Logan throwing himself into Roman and taking that bullet and bleeding and getting close to Roman, being right next to Roman, demanding that Roman equip him with another gun despite his dominant hand being out of commission. 

He can see it suddenly: the second that Virgil had stormed out, Logan had put two in Roman’s distracted gut. While Virgil had been racing the in the purple car, Roman had been bleeding out on his own kitchen floor, and Patton must have joined him. While Virgil was arguing with Dee, Logan was getting paid for the murder of two people who trusted him.

Logan was ambidextrous.

Virgil doesn’t know where the strength comes from.

All he knows is he threw himself forward battering against the metal mesh with an angry ferocity that made Logan’s injured hand lose hold of the steering wheel. The whole car shakes as Logan swaps hands and curses.

“Why?”

It’s barely a breathe between his tense jaw and his thick tongue and numb lips. The word itself feels like a dagger in his own chest just to say.

“Interesting,” Logan says again, this time with his eyes in the rear view, and they stare directly at Virgil. A scientist’s gaze. “The box jellyfish poison should have shut down most bodily functions but it appears that it is wearing off faster than I anticipated.”

(Hand on Virgil’s bare collarbone, cold and heavy, slipped past his shirt collar, and leaving the skin numbed. The poison sinking into Virgil’s skin while the taser had him immobile)

“It’s a good question!” Remus!! Says!! excitedly!! He turns in his seat, flipping the knife close with one hand and wiggling his fingers through the mesh with the other, like a taunt. 

“Pardon?”

“Why did the straight and narrow, hard working FBI agent Logan Ackroyd, decided to throw it all away so suddenly?” Remus sings. Virgil can see something left in his mustache, a something red like jam.

Logan switches lanes again.

“If you must know,” He says his fingers curling on the top of the steering wheel. “The pay is more suitable to my tastes.” 

Which is a fancy way of saying Logan had managed to put a price tag on people.

That Logan looked at Roman and actively thought, “I could kill this annoying man for X amount of dollars in cash”

That Logan looked at Virgil and saw dollar signs rather than the terrified kid he was.

“Oh, you nerdy little dork!” Remus hums, “You’re speaking my language now!”

“Of course I am. English is both our first--”

“Dork means whale penis. Basically, I called you a whale penis!”

Virgil wonders if Logan was being paid enough for this; by the way the car speeds up, he doubts it.

Virgil clings to the anger in his chest. He squeezes his eyes closed, thinking of the past twenty four hours, of Roman in his house, of Roman talking about his cars, of Roman speeding down the street and laughing, with those stupid sunglasses in his glossy mused hair. He thinks of the feel the gravel under his knees, of the sound of his best friends voice, of Patton’s elbow on his hooked and swinging and even if it was all a lie and Virgil was just an assignment Patton had completed--

Virgil thinks of the boy he was closest too, and thinks of how the feel of his broken glasses under Virgil’s knuckles and the look of shock on his freckled face. 

And of the hollowed hours since where Virgil swore to himself he didn’t want Patton by his side.

Where Virgil lied because he wants Patton here very badly even if hes mad even if they’re fighting even if he can’t ever forgive Patton.

Where Virgil was busy being angry and upset and his best friend was being killed by the cold hearted, side switching, asshole in the seat in front of him without a seconds hesitation.

 Virgil clings to that, clings to the anger that explodes in his chest, and the thudding of his heart that breaks his own ear drums. He reaches out of his limbs--

Because he was not going to just sit here and let that bastard take kill him for money, kill his friends for paper and coins and get away with it.

For once, Virgil breathes a thanks to his mother for telling him all the ways to kill a person, a bedtime story that Virgil felt for the first time he was willing to actually implement. 

And if he can get angry enough, his limbs will move, because that’s what always happens in those movies.

He thinks his heavy numb fingers manage to twitch when Remus speaks again.

“I don’t know if I’m alright with the split we agreed on.”

Logan’s head tilts ever-so-much. The car pulls on to a single lane road. The trees come next, covering them in the flickers of shadow and sun.

“Elaborate.”

“I want seventy percent.”

Logan scoffs.

“It just seems that I deserve more than you!” Remus says, “In fact, I think I’ll take it all.”

Virgil blinks and the butterfly knife is at Logan’s throat.

“Let’s talk math, kid genius.”

the car swerves as Logan’s eyes leave the road for a second to look at the death at his throat. Virgil feels as his foot comes off the pedal, slowing down in the middle of a forest that looks like private property.

“Keep driving.” Remus hisses delightedly.

Logan presses down the gas pedal and the trees begin to blur by. Virgil has a hard time watching.

It has nothing to do with the stirring that suddenly comes to his attention next to him.

“Isn’t this fun?” Remus asks, “You’re going to drive to the clearing and park the car. I’m going to kill you, and the little emo in the backseat--”

“You said we were going to talk.” Logan says indifferently, “I’m afraid I have some bad news in regards to that course of action.” 

“Remus?” A voice speaks up groggily. 

“Oh hey, Dee!” 

“Wha--” Virgil thinks its a weird to see the other heir so disorientated, and he’s only known the other heir for a maximum of three hours.”What are you doing--?”

“Me and Logan were having a chat about how we’re going to divide the reward for the death of Virgil Sanders!”

“Yes, and unfortunately, Roman Prince informs me I’m a terrible conversationalist.” Logan says, and then slams on the breaks of the car and sends seat-beltless Remus straight through the front windshield.

Part Nine