#it’s like we’re deliberately swerving around it and crashing off a cliff with some of these theories….

[steampunkhobo]

If you don’t think Young Mungo had a happy ending don’t talk to me 😤❌

[salamoonder]

Dark Side | [ch. 3]

New life, new school, new Virgil, right? Right?

Wrong.

Wordcount: 2.9k

Warnings: Nausea, anxiety

A/N: I have been blown away so far by the support and positive comments I’ve received on this work- and this is only chapter three! Y’all really know how to make someone feel loved <3. As always, please heed the warnings; this is just the tip of the iceberg as far as how dark this fic is gonna get. Please proceed with caution and take care of yourself.

|| Read on AO3 ||

“Virgil, honey, do we need to stop for a while? This is the third time and we're not even halfway there.”

Virgil spits into the dirt. His stomach’s stopped heaving but he feels like crap. It's way too hot. “Please don't call me that.”

Patton is leaning against the car and frowning so deep it’s distorting his face. “Sorry. But do we need to stop though?”

Virgil shakes his head; hiccups.  “I'm...okay. Just anxious. Stopping isn't going to help. This isn't carsickness.”

“If you say so,” says Patton, still frowning. “I wish you'd eat something, though.”

“Patton, I just ate.”

Patton doesn't say anything. Just glares. Well, as much as Patton is capable of glaring.

“Fine. Fine. I'll eat.”

“Good. I would've had to fight you otherwise.”

Virgil rolls his eyes once Patton's back is turned. Patton couldn't fight an over excited squirrel. He’s too much of a softie.

He washes his mouth out, spits in the dirt again, and climbs back into the car. It's his car, but Patton had insisted on driving and for once Virgil hadn't argued. He doesn't trust himself to be on a highway right now. His road rage would be through the roof. Patton hands him a cliff bar and he chews on it as slowly as he can manage. It tastes like stale chocolate and thawed blueberries.

Once he's sure Virgil has at least somewhat recovered Patton immediately goes back to playing I spy.

“Is it...a road sign?”

“Nope!” Patton says cheerily.

“That car?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Patton, I swear to God if this is ‘the sky’ again…”

“Aw, you got it!” Patton squeals. “You're so good at this, Virge.”

Virgil lets out a low growl. “Are we there yet?”

“Not quite,” says Patton, still far too cheerful.

Virgil leans around to the backseat and starts digging through the boxes. “What’re you doing?” Patton asks curiously.

“Finding a book,” Virgil grumbles.

Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince lasts him a long time, even though he’s read it so often that it seems to get shorter every readthrough. They turn off the highway and into their first town before he finishes it.

They stop for actual, proper breakfast (not granola bars) at a dilapidated looking waffle house. Most of the employees are leaning on the counter and texting or lost deep in conversation with each other. It’s completely empty.

The server is nice enough when they step up to the counter, though. A little bored maybe. They order, grab their drinks, and take a booth by the window. Virgil still doesn’t feel like eating, but he chokes down a few forkfuls of egg and a couple pieces of bacon for Patton’s sake. If Virgil doesn’t eat, Patton will alternate between staring at Virgil and his own food and refuse to do anything about either. It’s not deliberate, Virgil knows--but it still bothers him.

The stop only takes them about fifteen minutes. As they clear the table, Virgil ventures, “Patton, do you think I could drive the rest of the way?”

Patton eyes him suspiciously. “You feeling okay?”

“Fine. Good. Never been better.” Virgil clamps his mouth shut. “Um.”

Patton doesn’t seem entirely sure but he tosses Virgil the keys. “Don’t crash. Please.”

“Sure,” says Virgil, finally exhaling.

Driving really does calm him down, now that they’re in a small, mostly empty town early in the morning. He does tell Patton to shut up probably a few more times than necessary, though. He likes quiet when he’s on the road. Anything louder than other cars passing him is too much.

“There! Right there,” Patton yelps. Virgil swerves down the next street on the right; he’d almost missed it. The sign is kind of tiny, just the usual green ones printed in reflective white that you see at the edge of a highway. Riverpoint University. Five miles.

Nerves ball up in Virgil’s chest and for the first time since Patton handed him the keys he actually starts considering pulling over so Patton can drive. Patton must sense something, because he reaches over and lightly wraps his fingers over Virgil’s on the wheel.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” He’s determined to drive there by himself. It’s his car. His college. He’s going to have to belong here, isn’t he? Might as well start now.

Apparently, though, he’s set Patton off, because he starts babbling about his schedule and doesn’t stop, and Virgil doesn’t have the heart anymore to tell him to be quiet again. He’s talking about how he wishes he could take more science classes, and he’s really glad that he and Virgil are both taking oceanography and he hopes there will be fish tanks in the classroom, and Virgil can’t help but smile. He’s a bit distracted but he still can’t imagine how he was so annoyed at Patton before.

And then the campus is right in front of him.

Virgil pulls into the left lane and swallows hard.

“Turn signal,” Patton reminds him cheerfully, and he flips it on. Even from down here (all the buildings are on top of a massive hill) he can tell that it’s crawling with people. And cars. And more people.

Suddenly he has a very strong urge to make a U turn and just drive straight back home, taking Patton with him. Nice road trip. Fun. Nice experiment. Amusing to image he’d ever be anywhere near okay at university. Now let’s go home.

“I think I might actually be sick again,” he mumbles, soft enough that Patton can’t hear.

“What’d you say?”

“Nothing,” says Virgil, louder. He turns into the long driveway, trying to ignore the open iron wrought gates closing off the campus from the rest of the world. They make him feel like he’s in a cage.

He slows to a crawl of about five miles per hour, eyes darting frantically as he watches for people. He’s forgotten how much he hates college drivers. His parents did manage to make him tour one campus and he remembers thoroughly despising the experience. Everyone’s going too fast and none of the pedestrians are watching where they’re going. The talking and laughing and yelling is loud enough that he can hear it inside the car, and there are plenty of people carrying boxes in front of their faces who look completely unaware that they’re even walking on a road.

Virgil’s jaw is clenched so hard he thinks his teeth might grind each other flat.

“Virge, seriously now; do you need me to get out and drive?”

“If you think I’m not going to drive the last fifty feet, you’re crazy.”

“Fair enough,” says Patton quietly, and Virgil wonders if he’s finally hurt his feelings. He tries to tuck that in the back of his mind for now.

“Which building are we going to again?” he asks instead.

Patton smooths the map of campus that he has in his lap.

“That one.” He’s pointing somewhere in the distance. Virgil squints. “Where?”

“Just keep going straight. Wait, no, actually, turn right.”

Virgil’s jaw aches, but he does as he’s told. All the buildings are huge and brownstone and majestic; it feels a bit like a corporate Hogwarts. Patton directs him slowly through each curve of the road until they come to a giant circular parking lot.

Virgil gets out almost before the car’s come to a complete stop, fighting the ridiculous urge to laugh. Shit. This is worse than he thought. He’s getting...hysterical. Hysterical is not good. Hysterical means excessive talking and unpredictable panic attacks. He slams the car door, then opens it, then slams it again, just to get a feel for something solid.

Patton’s come around the front of the car and is standing in front of him nervously.

“Which one is it?” Virgil asks. “That one?” He’s pointing to the nearest building.

“No...that’s the math building. I think. And other stuff.”

“That one?”

Patton shakes his head. “Human resources, admissions, and the dean’s office.”

“Well, where the hell is it?” Virgil asks. It comes out more of a snap than he means it to. “Sorry. Are we in the right parking lot?”

Patton glances down at the map again. “Yeah, this is definitely the right parking lot. Why?”

“Because...where’s our dorm, Patton?”

Patton squints for a moment, spins in a full 360, then circles back around halfway. “There,” he says, pointing down the hill.

Virgil squints with him. “What the fuck?”

There’s a low brownstone building like a younger cousin of the others, all the way at the bottom of the hill down a winding cobbled path. And right next to the building, carving through the bottom of the valley between the hill that they’re standing on and the next, is a river.

“What the fuck what?” Patton asks, confused.

“There’s...a river here?” Virgil asks, feeling exceedingly dumb. Patton’s eyes widen. “Virgil, did you not do any research like...at all? I thought you said you really wanted to go here!”

“I didn’t do any research...on...the grounds…” Virgil mumbles guiltily. “I only recently got my housing assignment back. I think it was late since we requested each other, and they had to...process it differently...or something,”

Patton gives him an odd look. “Okay. Well. Let’s go check out the dorm, hm? Say hello to people? Meet the suitmates?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Patton assures him that they don’t have to start unpacking quite yet and it’ll probably be less stressful to check everything out first and then come get their stuff, but Virgil feels more secure with his hands holding onto something, and so he brings his entire box of books.

He’s regretting it before they’re even halfway down the hill. The box is heavy as all hell, and he can’t see where he’s going. But Patton is chirping at him to hurry up and he figures he’s going to have to bring the books at some point and it wouldn’t make a lot of sense to haul it all the way uphill. So the box stays.

There are more people swarming around the dorm but here it feels up close and personal, like the difference between looking at an anthill and accidentally stomping on one and having the ants attack you. Virgil feels very attacked right now, and no one’s so much as looked at him.

Patton is waving at everyone and trying to start small talk, pushing his glasses up his nose a lot the way he does when he’s excited. They climb up the stairs and step into the dorm, and Virgil almost collapses in relief. The air conditioner hits him like a cold shower, and he can smell pizza.

They’re in a wide, modern lounge with huge bay windows and a multitude of bean bag chairs. A couple of people have set up a Wii and there’s already a fierce game of Smash Bros going. Virgil has an intense desire to find wherever the pizza smell is coming from, grab a slice, and nestle into a secluded corner to watch them play from a distance.

But Patton’s already tugging him down the hall.

They pass what must be a community kitchen before getting to the actual dorms. Each door has a whiteboard stuck to it, and the names of the inhabitants of the room are written in curly, bouncy cursive, Virgil assumes by one of the RAs.

“Which room are we?” he asks Patton. “I’m dying to put this down.”

“Uhh...122, I think.”

The 20s are all the way down at the end of the hallway. Virgil gets there first, sets his box down with a huff, looks up at the door-- and then freezes.

Patton and Remy, the script reads, red and utterly optimistic. Virgil immediately wants to throw up again. He can’t do this. He can’t, he can’t.

“Patton?” he says, and his voice is trembling. “This is a mistake right?”

Patton’s come up behind him and is studying the writing on the door. “I’m not sure. We should find an RA,” he says, voice carefully flat.

Virgil grips the side of his box again, not wanting to leave it alone. Patton’s already run off. He stands there, shaking, trying not to think too much. Then the door of their--no, Patton’s--room flies open. He yelps.

“Oh, sorry,” says a bright, decidedly estrogen based voice. Virgil looks up in confusion. A girl with a mouse brown pixie cut and shockingly blue eyeshadow is peeking out from behind the open door. Virgil knows the eyeshadow is incredibly blue because he can see it through her sunglasses, which she is for some reason wearing inside. She sticks a hand out. “Hi, I’m Remy. Are you Patton?”

“I...what? No,” says Virgil, trying to ignore her hand. “I’m...Virgil. His…” he’s about to say roommate but the words catch in his throat. “...friend.” Great, she probably thinks they’re dating now.

“Huh. You look like him,” says Remy, and puts her hand down. Virgil’s about to ask how she knows what Patton looks like when Patton runs up with an older girl who he assumes is an RA.

“How come there’s a girl in your room?” Virgil demands. Remy swirls a straw through her iced coffee.

“Demigirl, actually? But she/her is fine.”

“Um...alright,” says Virgil, taking it in but still not processing that this isn’t his room. “But why is there a demigirl…?”

“I opted into gender neutral housing, Vrige, didn’t you?”

“No! I...I didn’t think about it, it didn’t even occur to me, I thought I was going to be with you!” He turns to the RA, who looks bored but kind and vaguely hipsterish. “Please tell me this is a mistake? I’m with Patton, right?”

The girl consults a scuffed up clipboard. “No...looks like you’re down the hall a few doors. 126.”

“But...you don’t understand. I requested Patton. We requested each other.”

The girl bites her lip and tugs at her beanie. “I’m really sorry, but the request must’ve gotten lost at some point. Or sent in too late. I’d go to housing and ask them to look into it. Or the disability office. They might be able to help you. Were there any special accommodations you needed?”

Virgil shakes his head, gripping the flap of his box and doing his utmost not to cry.

“Okay. Well, you might just have to stick it out then, at least until housing can do something about the situation. Drop by my room and I’ll get you a key card?”

Virgil nods, not trusting himself to speak to her. “Watch my box,” he mumbles to Patton, who nods back.

“I’m Valerie, by the way. Could be my terrible memory but I don’t think I saw you at orientation.”

“I wasn’t there,” Virgil says, as low as he can manage.

“Ah. That explains it. Well, if you need anything, I’m right here.” She swipes her keycard and pushes open the door to a room close to the lounge. “And Clay is upstairs if I’m out. I’ll point him out to you if I get the chance.”

Virgil nods again dumbly. She’s going through a box full of clear plastic dividers and credit card looking things. “Ah. Here it is.”

She hands Virgil one of the credit card things. It has his room number on it but other than that and a black stripe along the side, it’s blank.

“Do I have a roommate…?” Virgil asks, dreading the answer.

“Everyone has a roommate, kid. Unless you absolutely can’t have one. Yours is probably already in your room.”

“Okay,” says Virgil. “Thank you.” He starts to slink out, but Valerie has stood up. “Hey. Seriously if you need anything? I’m here. All freshman are practically as helpless as baby birds and, like, that’s nothing to be ashamed of. You need a quick sugar fix? I’ve got candy. I also have bandaids and Uber codes and mints and...a whole lot of other stuff. I really want you to feel welcome here. That’s why I agreed to be RA. Okay?”

Virgil hesitates to speak (he’s still shaking) but nods. “Thanks,” he mumbles, and walks out.

When he gets back to Patton’s room, he’s deep in conversation with his roommate--Remy, Virgil corrects himself. She’s gesturing with her coffee cup so animatedly Virgil is surprised it hasn’t spilled yet. When Virgil creeps back up to his box, Patton starts somewhat guiltily.

“Remy, hold on. Virge-? I’m sorry, it’s going to be okay--it’s--it’s not the end of the world, y’know.”

Virgil lets out a heavy sigh. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Pat. I just have to...get over it.”

He hesitates for a moment--he wants to stay just so he can be near Patton, but he doesn’t want Patton to see how upset he is and he certainly doesn’t want Remy to know, so he picks up his box and stalks off around the corner to find room 126. As he leaves he can hear Remy murmuring, “Is he okay?” to Patton, and then Patton replying, “He’ll be fine. He’s just disappointed.”

Disappointed. Ha. Virgil wishes he was just disappointed. So far every moment on campus has just reinforced his feeling that he should turn around and drive straight back home.

He comes to a sudden stop in front of room 126, thumping his box down on the soft carpet. He goes to swipe his keycard, but the door is already open.

His roommate is here.