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oliviaischillin1204 · 3 months ago

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Imagine Pre-Accepting Anxiety Virgil walking into the common room and seeing the Light Sides having a tickle fight. Now he has to find a way to keep his tough guy act while dealing with being a secret lee!

HAPPY TICKLETOBER EVERYONE!!! we're starting off strong with this ask, sent to me on jun 18 2020 lmaooooooooooo. if this prompt seems familiar, it's b/c it was also sent to @why-not-a-tickle-blog around the same time! (link to her story here!) and when i tell you've literally been working on this wip on and off ever since i got it,,,,, i am such a wip harder AJDFHGHDJ

and now, without further ado, let's let tickletober 2024 begin!

tickletober day 1- "anticipation"

word count: 7,580 words

So... the Light Sides were weird.

Virgil knew that way before he’d started hanging around their little group. From movie nights to sing-alongs to family dinners, they were overall obnoxiously chummy and irritatingly comfortable with each other.

Case in point: when Virgil finally managed to roll out of bed at about two in the afternoon, there was a strange sound in the air. Not Princey’s singing, or Logic’s lecturing, or even Morality’s incessantly cheerful... whatever he does.

After reapplying his smeared eye shadow, he meandered out of his room and headed to the common area. As he got closer, it sounded like... laughter?

He huffed a sigh as he swung himself down the stairs.

“Can you all please keep it down--”

Virgil froze, one hand on the railing as he took in the scene before him.

There were the three Light Sides, but he’d never seen them like this. Princey-- ugh, fine, Roman-- was lying on the floor, but what caught Virgil’s eye was the state of disarray he seemed to be in. Next to him was Patton, sitting cross legged and looking similarly rumpled, and next to Patton was Logan, who was normal except for the blush riding high on his cheeks.

That wasn’t the weirdest part, though. The weirdest part was the way Logan was pinching at Roman’s knees and thighs with a careful accuracy, or the way Roman was reaching to vibrate his fingers all over Patton’s stomach, or the Patton had a hand on both Logan’s and Roman’s sides and was squeezing away with reckless abandon. Or the way all three were laughing together in delight at the tickle fight Virgil had somehow managed to walk in on.

Speaking of Virgil: when he processed the scene happening before him, he couldn’t help but let out a surprised little gasp. That noise, quiet as it was in the chaotic room, still managed to stop the other three in their tracks, and they all turned to look at him.

Patton, of course, was the first to speak. “Well, hey, Anxiety!”

“Um--” was all Virgil managed to say. His face turned hot, and he prayed that it wasn’t as bright red as it felt. He gripped the railing under his hand and avoided eye contact. “I--”

Roman scoffed, hurriedly sitting up and pulling away from Logan’s tickly hands.

“Is there something we can help you with, villain?” he asked brusquely, but Virgil got the feeling that he was more embarrassed that Virgil saw him getting tickled than annoyed that the anxious side was there. Still, his words were enough to snap Virgil out of his spell, and he managed to roll his eyes.

“I said,” he repeated, hoping his voice wouldn’t fail him, “would you please keep it down? You’re gonna wake the whole Mind Palace with your... game.”

There was the crack in his voice; Virgil knew it was going to come, and he felt himself grow even warmer. Thankfully, no one commented on it.

“Apologies, Anxiety,” Logan said, straightening his glasses. “We didn’t intend to be so loud. We got... carried away.”

Patton giggled, his hands creeping back to Logan and Roman’s sides. “’Carried away’ sure is one way to put it, guys--”

The other two swatted his hands away, but Virgil caught the flustered grins that adorned both of their faces. Their eyes darted back to Virgil, and he swallowed, suddenly feeling very out of place.

“Uh, okay, fine. Whatever. I’m going back to bed.”

He turned on his heel and marched up the stairs, ignoring Logan’s calls about maintaining a proper sleep schedule, as he tried to stop thinking about what he’d just witnessed.

It wasn’t working. All he could think about now was tickling. How often did the Light Sides tickle each other? Was it often? Who was the most ticklish, and who was the best tickler? Was it always the three of them altogether?

Would they let him join, if he asked?

Virgil’s eyes widened at the thought that just ran through his head. No. Absolutely not, no way, don’t pass go and don’t collect $200.

Like, fine, maybe there was a small part of him that was maybe, just a little, interested in the concept of tickling. And... maybe there was an even smaller part of him that found the idea of being tickled by the Light Sides-- any of them-- somewhat intriguing.

But, fuck. He was Anxiety, for fuck’s sake. He couldn’t like stuff like that. If he asked to be a part of their stupid little game, they’d never let him live it down.

... But. Maybe if he didn’t ask?

He slowly stopped walking as he thought it over in his head. It wasn’t an awful idea. The Light Sides were weird enough that maybe, if he played his cards right, he might be able to lure them into tickling him without him asking.

Honestly, if the idea had come to him on another day, he probably would’ve shoved it way back to the back of his mind and pretended it had no appeal to him. But he could practically still hear the Light Sides’ laughter ringing in his ears, and as much as he was loathe to admit it, he kinda wanted to be a part of their game. So his plan was made.

His first target was Patton, which made sense for a lot of reasons. Patton seemed to tolerate him more than the other Light Sides-- more than tolerate, to be honest; it was as if he actually kinda liked him. Another good thing about Patton was his attitude: while Virgil normally found that much cheer to be a little nauseating, he couldn’t deny that if anyone was going to start an impromptu tickle fight, it would be Patton.

“Thanks for helping me with these cookies, Anxiety!” Patton said, bringing Virgil out of his thoughts and back to the present situation. He leaned against the counter, trying his hardest to appear open and approachable.

“Whatever,” he replied. “I don’t really have anything better to do, so. Uh. Yeah.”

Fuck, why was he always so awkward?

Whatever-- at least Patton didn’t seem to notice or care; instead, he was focused on pulling out all of the supplies and ingredients and laying them on the counter.

“Okay, first up is the dry ingredients!” he instructed. “Kiddo, you wanna hand me the flour?”

Virgil nodded, pushing himself off of the counter. “Where is it?”

“It’s, uh...”

Patton paused, looking around he kitchen, and Virgil smirked a little as he was reminded that the paternal figure wasn’t nearly as good at cooking as he implied.

“Oh! It’s right up there!” he finally chirped, pointing past Virgil to one of the cabinets. Virgil followed his finger to the very top shelf of the cabinet.

His eyes widened. Finally, an opportunity.

As casually as possible, he moved to the cabinet and braced on hand on the counter. The other hand, he raised high in the air, stretching out his entire body and putting himself in a very vulnerable position. He even stood on his tiptoes as he stretched, hoping Patton would take the hint and deliver what Virgil wanted.

He reached for the flour for as long as he reasonably could, but after about ten seconds, he had no choice but to grab it and pull it down. He turned around, only to find Patton carefully measuring out baking soda, not even paying attention to Virgil’s attempts at vulnerability.

Virgil kicked himself internally, and after a moment he moved forward and dropped the flour onto the counter.

“Here,” he said shortly. Patton turned, giving him a wide smile.

“Thanks, bud!” he said earnestly, opening the bag and grabbing his measuring cup. “Wanna do this one for me while I get started on the eggs?”

Virgil blinked. He’d kinda forgotten that his whole excuse for hanging out with Patton was baking cookies. “Um, sure.”

Patton gave him yet another sunny smile, and Virgil felt compelled to give him a small one in return as he accepted the measuring cup from him.

The two worked together, measuring and mixing ingredients as Patton chattered away. It was-- kinda nice, to be real? Like, maybe Virgil should offer to do this more often, and if he weren’t in one of the most massive lee moods he’d ever been in in his life, he’d probably be able to appreciate it more.

“Alright, time to get these babies on a cookie sheet!” Patton announced, handing a big spoon for Virgil to use. “And afterwards, don’t tell Logan, but we’re totally gonna lick the bowl.”

Virgil nodded, but he didn’t wanna give up on his mission just yet. “Um... can I, uh, get anything else for you?”

Patton turned and looked at him, blinking in surprise before his smile brightened.

“Well, sure, kiddo!” he replied. “There are some chocolate chips on the top shelf, do we wanna add some of those?”

He pointed to the cabinet that was right above them, and Virgil’s heart beat faster. This was it.

“Sure,” he replied as casually as possible. “I’ll get them.”

He placed a hand on the counter to brace himself, and raised the arm closest to Patton as high as he could reach, pretending to scrabble around for the bag of chocolate chips for a few seconds longer than necessary. He even angled his body as subtly as he could, so that his midriff was practically in Patton’s face as he left himself totally exposed.

But nothing happened.

Virgil frowned, but after a few seconds grabbed the bag from the cabinet anyway, lowering himself back to the floor as he broke the seal on the baggie.

“Here,” he muttered, passing it to Patton without making eye contact. There was the slightest pause, but then the bag was lifted from his hand with no more than a cheery, “Thanks!”

Virgil felt himself suppress a sigh as he helped Patton mix in the chocolate chips. Well. On one hand, he got to spend some time with Patton (and even got cookies out of the deal). On the other hand, his genius plot to get tickled had failed with his first target. It was time for target number two.

The sound of operatic singing through the halls of the Mind Palace lead Virgil directly to his next target.

He sighed as he nibbled on one of the chocolate chip cookies he and Patton had made, trying to dispel some of his nervous energy before he reached the living room. It wasn’t even just nerves about his current... desires (although there were plenty of those inside of him right now) but-- fuck, he didn’t do this, he didn’t hang around in the common areas like the rest of them, and if it would be totally weird for him to even try, and they were gonna get angry at him, and it would make getting to know them even more difficult in the future--

“Oh, Anxiety.”

A voice full of suspicion snapped him back to reality. He blinked and realized that he’d made it to the living room, where Roman was standing with some sheet music in hand, rehearsing for some musical, based on how loudly he’d been singing moments before.

“To what do I owe the displeasure?” he continued, eyes narrowed sharply. Virgil mentally shook himself and put on his trademark ‘evil’ smirk.

“Hey there, Princey,” he drawled, holding out the Tupperware container in his hand. “Wanna cookie?”

Roman peered down at the peace offering like it was a bomb. “From you? What, are they poisoned?”

“Yep, I poisoned the cookies,” Virgil deadpanned. “That’s why I’m eating one right in front of you, genius.”

He counted the look of embarrassed realization on Roman’s face as a small victory.

“Well-- well, you might’ve poisoned all but one of them, just to throw me off!” Roman added haughtily. “So, ha!”

Virgil raised an eyebrow at him. “Ha.” He looked at Roman for a moment more before taking another bite. “Well, you were rude to me, so now you get no cookies.”

“What-- hey!” Roman replied indignantly. He moved to Virgil, but the dark side easily held the box out of reach. “Anxiety! That’s not fair!”

“You’re gonna have to work a lot harder than that to get these cookies,” Virgil said smugly. He was all to aware of how exposed he was making himself-- it would take so little effort for Roman to grab his side, or scribble at his armpit, or...

But, as expected, nothing came of it, and instead Roman moved away with a derisive sniff.

“Whatever,” he said, turning away. “Even if they’re not poisoned, you probably added salt instead of sugar and cumin instead of cinnamon--”

Virgil narrowed his eyes in annoyance. “Hey, Patton and I made them together, and they’re actually good, so--"

Suddenly Roman's arm shot out, taking advantage of Virgil's distraction to swipe a cookie from the box. “Ha! Got one, thank you!”

Virgil blinked. “You--"

He cut himself off at the genuinely triumphant grin on Roman's face, and it took more willpower than he would've admitted to keep from smiling along.

"Yes, yes, you’re very smart," he said, flopping on the couch and rolling his eyes. "Shut up.”

As he reclined against the sofa, he let his eyes drift shut (insomnia's a bitch, even for a man on a mission to get wrecked), but very quickly it became clear that the other side was going to make a fuckin' production out of eating this cookie.

“Mmm... Mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm!" Roman pondered with his mouth full. He waved his arms emphatically as he continued, "This is just the most scrumptious, the most divine, the most splendiferous cookie I’ve ever--”

Virgil's eyes snapped open. “Are you always this dramatic and loud? I’m trying to relax.”

That caught the creative side's attention. Roman turned to look at Virgil with his regular suspicion back in his eyes.

“Relax? Here?”

His tone made Virgil tense up behind his cocky facade. “What about it?”

A few second went by as Roman looked at him skeptically. “Nothing, it’s just... You’re always in your room, hiding away like a hermit in a cave.”

“Hiding?" Virgil repeated, eyes narrowed. "What, from you? Not likely.”

Roman moved closer, suddenly leaning over Virgil's laid out form and coming just inches away from his face.

“Aw, don't tell me that I scare you, little Anxiety?”

With that one sentence, Virgil mood came back even stronger than before. There was something in Roman’s voice-- either his teasing tone or his babyish words-- that made Virgil’s stomach do a completely rude and uncalled-for flip, but he merely rolled his eyes.

“The only thing scary about you is your ego,” he retorted. He scanned Roman up and down before closing his eyes again. “Otherwise, you’re just soft.”

Roman scoffed, turning to leave. “Shut up.”

“Make me, loser.”

He watched Roman’s back as he froze in place, and slowly the creative side turned back around.

“You wanna say that again?”

Virgil felt his breath catch, but he forced himself to stay calm. Now was his chance.

He opened his eyes, shooting Roman the cockiest smile he could muster.

“What, make me?”

The prince was glowering at him, his arms folded across his chest. When he spoke, it was in a deep, smooth voice that sent a shiver down Virgil’s spine.

“You don’t want me to make you.”

Virgil smirked, folding his arms behind his head and gazing up at Roman with a smug look on his face.

“I’d like to see you try, Princey.”

That was it. Roman’s eyes narrowed, dark and competitive, and Virgil had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing preemptively.

“You’re gonna regret that,” he muttered lowly, stalking over to Virgil and-- holy shit, he actually straddled Virgil’s waist and placed his hands on either side of his torso, and this was happening, this was happening, this was--

“Oh my goodness gracious, there it is!”

Roman voice derailed Virgil’s train of thought, and he blinked in confusion at the creative side, who wasn’t even looking at him anymore.

“What--?”

Roman laughed lightly, reaching over Virgil’s head and pulling something out from between the couch cushions.

“My sketchbook!” he said triumphantly, shifting off of Virgil and flipping through the pages. “Finally, I’ve been looking for it forever. I had this great idea where I can use a mix of paint and glitter glue to--”

Virgil’s head spun with the shift in the conversation as Roman rambled about his newest project. The anticipatory tension in his stomach started to lessen, leaving him feeling dazed and confused.

“Um, you-- so-- you--”

Roman wasn’t even listening to him; he easily stood up from the couch-- and Virgil definitely did not try to lean into his touch as he moved away, shut up-- and moved toward the door.

“I must get started right away! My paintbrushes aren’t going to wait any longer!”

He hurried out of the room, leaving Virgil alone on the couch, face flushed and mind full of visions of how exactly he wanted Roman to use those paintbrushes.

He dropped his face into his hands. Why was this so hard?

The rest of the afternoon passed without another little event like that-- Virgil had been so flustered, he’d had to go back to his room for several hours, alternating between screaming into a pillow at his own awkwardness, and daring to reminisce about the feeling of Roman's weight pinning him down.

This was such a bad idea. Not only were there a million ways it could go wrong (he could make a fool of himself, he could genuinely cross someone's boundaries on accident, his plan could be found out and his desires could be rejected-- the list goes on) but now he also had to deal with coming so tantalizing close to what he wants more than anything, only to have it slip just out of his reach.

He sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that night, flopping back on his bed--

pressed against the couch cushions, Roman easily holding you down with one hand as the other searches all over for the exact spot to make you beg for mercy, which you know he won't give you, he wants to make you scream--

Immediately he shot up again, face flushed. God, he was jumpy tonight, and that was saying something. He stood up, stepping cautiously around the piles of clothes on the floor to work some of his jitters out. He tried to recall some of the simple exercises Logan had shown him once to help relax him before bed: rolling his neck and shoulders, twisting back and forth to crack his back, raising his arms and stretching them high to the sky--

Patton right behind you, grabbing your hands and holding them nice and tight as he laughs and whispers in your ear, taking full advantage of your riding-up shirt to spider all over that one tickle spot just above your belly button--

His arms snapped down with a choked-off gasp.

Okay. Being in his room was fucking with him. That was definitely why he was feeling jittery and twitchy and sensitive to his own shirt rubbing against his skin. No other reason.

... He had to get out of there.

Grabbing his phone and flipping up his hood, Virgil slid back out into the hallway. It was later in the evening, past dinner time (well, past the time the Light Sides had dinner-- his dinner would involve cold leftovers eaten in front of the fridge at 2 AM) and the Mind Palace was quiet.

Well... mostly quiet.

Virgil crept down the hall to the top of the stairs. From the top, he could make out some sound coming from the living room-- no laughter this time, thankfully, but some quiet droning noises coming from the TV. Probably Patton or Roman-- Logan didn't watch much TV.

Virgil stood with one hand clasped to the stair railing like a life line. He gnawed on his lip, a fluttery, delicate feeling lighting up his chest.

He wanted to try this. There were very few things Virgil ever, ever wanted to try... but he wanted to try this. It was clearly something that was normal among the Light Sides, and-- and despite what he'd previously thought, they don't actually... seem to despise his company. This was-- this was something he could ask for, even just to ask, and even he could admit that the idea of one of them saying yes wasn't impossible.

All at once he lunged down the stairs, feet thumping loudly as he got closer to the living room. He would do it-- he'd go right over to the couch and shove his feet onto someone's lap and surely then, surely then, someone would take pity on him and just freaking tickle him already!

Virgil rounded the corner into the living room, and before he could question himself he hopped over the arm of the couch and threw himself down on the cushions, shoving his feet directly onto the lap of the side sitting at the other end of the couch.

Immediately, he felt two inquisitive eyes boring into him in bewilderment.

"... Anxiety?" Logan asked. "Are you alright?"

Aaaaaaand there went all of Virgil's confidence. He hadn't planned for Logan to be there, not now, not when his mood was at an all time high and he was face to face with the person least likely to do anything about it.

Virgil ignored the tense, mortified feeling in his stomach. “Yup.” A beat, and then he pulled out his phone, as if he hadn't just jumped over the couch just to put his feet in Logan's lap--

“Can I... do something for you?” Logan continued.

Yes, you can pull my socks off and hold my ankles down and--

“Nope.”

Silence fell once again. Virgil was all too aware of his body, too tense to move a muscle or disrupt Logan any further.

“Is this comfortable for you? To have your feet on my lap?”

But... he'd come this far, he'd already pushed past the walls he'd built between himself and the other sides. If nothing else, if this plan failed and he never got what he wanted, at least he could say that he tried.

He shrugged. “Yeah."

He felt Logan's eyes on him a moment longer.

“Very well, then.”

Logan turned back to the TV, and Virgil felt himself wavering already. This was maybe his most ill-conceived idea yet-- they weren't even doing anything together, not really, and try as he might he couldn't think of any way to engage Logan in conversation about anything, let alone anything related to tickling--

“Hey, gang!”

Virgil froze, his stomach plummeting. He shot a desperate glance at Logan, but the logical side paid him no mind as Patton and Roman entered the room, carrying snacks and blankets.

“Ah,” Logan said, turning to the two of them without another glance in Virgil’s direction. “I had forgotten that was tonight.”

Virgil couldn’t help letting out a sigh of frustration, making Roman raise an eyebrow.

“Oh, and I suppose you’re just too cool to deign to join our movie night, huh, Doom and Gloom?”

“Now, Roman, don’t be mean,” Patton gently chastised, placing the snacks on the table and beaming down at Virgil. “We’re happy to have you with us, Anxiety! It’s about time you start joining our group activities.”

Like tickle fights? Virgil thought but didn't say. His ever-growing lee mood was making him feel all fuzzy, and all he could think about as he looked between the three other sides was Patton’s hands, Logan’s fingers, and Roman’s voice, all teasing and tormenting him in unison.

“Whatever,” he finally said, forcing himself to shrug blithely. “I don’t really care--”

He cut himself off with a choked gasp as Roman leaned down and abruptly picked up Virgil into a bridal carry. They stayed still as Patton sat down next to Logan, rearranging the blankets and chattering innocently about what movie to watch, but all Virgil could focus on was the feeling of Roman’s hands on his body and the teasy, squirmy feeling building up in his chest and stomach.

“Are you staying with us or not?” Roman asked lowly, and Virgil had to fight the urge to squeak as his warm breath hit his ear.

“Uh-- sure.”

Roman hummed, and then he was leaning forward, dropping Virgil into Patton’s lap with his feet resting on Logan’s thighs.

“Woah!” Patton chuckled, looking at Virgil with amusement. “Comfy, kiddo?”

Virgil face flushed red. “I-- I didn’t--”

“He’s gonna stay anyway, and we all know he likes to sit in weird places, so,” Roman explained, flopping down on the couch next to Patton and throwing an arm over the back of the couch. He pulled a pillow into his lap and gently pushed Virgil back by his shoulder, until the Dark Side somehow found himself stretched between all three of them on the couch.

“Anxiety, is this acceptable for you?” Logan asked distantly, and Virgil peeked up to find him observing him closely. Virgil froze in his gaze for what felt like far too long, but eventually managed a short nod.

Patton clapped. “Awesome! Now we all get to hang out together. It’ll be so fun!”

He leaned forward to grab the remote, and Virgil swore he could feel his hands as they ghosted over his stomach. He squirmed minutely, both hoping that no one would call him out on how flustered he was, and praying that they would.

This was way more than he was expecting.

"Ah," Logan said as the movie began playing. "I do love this opening number."

He moved like he was folding his hands in his lap, but really, he placed his hands directly onto the tops of Virgil's ankles. The music started, and Logan-- Logan tapped out a rhythm against Virgil's skin, matching the tempo of the music on the TV.

Virgil clenched his jaw so quickly he wondered if they could hear it. It... didn't tickle, not really. The touch was too light, too quick, too inconsequential to really light his nerves in any way. But the anticipation was there, bubbling inside him, and he found himself shifting his legs restlessly at the touch.

"Is something wrong, Anxiety?" Logan asked, and Virgil paused. It-- it must've been his imagination, that spark in Logan's eye that matched the spark in Virgil's stomach. "No," he said, just slightly breathless. Logan hummed and returned his eyes to the screen.

Then his hands moved: one hand tapping more firmly against his ankle, and the other running its nails along the top of Virgil's foot.

Virgil tensed every muscle in his legs; it was so much worse this time-- not only did being stretched out make Virgil feel so much more vulnerable, but now there were two other people he had to hide his reactions from. Roman was right there, for God's sake, his face mere inches above Virgil's-- Virgil had to turn his head completely toward the TV just to hide the small smile that was already on his face.

He stayed in that position as the movie played, but he couldn't tell you anything that was happening on the screen. All he could focus on was Logan's fingers as they slowly migrated from trailing the top of his foot, to tapping directly over his socked toes, to drawing delicate circles along the ball of his foot. His other hand stayed on Virgil's ankle-- like a restraint.

Virgil felt flushed, and prayed that the dark lighting of the room would cover it. Distantly he heard Patton laughing, and he could feel Roman's chest rumble where it was pressed against his shoulder.

And then he felt Logan take all five fingers right to the center of Virgil's sole and tickle.

"Nah-hahaha!" Virgil screamed, yanking his leg back and just barely missing Patton's face with his knee. He felt both Patton and Roman jump underneath him.

"Anxiety, are you okay?" Patton asked in a panicked voice. He didn't even seem bothered that Virgil had almost thrown his knee into his nose.

Roman looked down at Virgil with bewilderment. "Jiminy Crickets, is the movie that funny to you?"

“Ah,” Logan said. “My hypothesis was correct.”

Virgil froze.

Patton quirked his head. “You have a hypothesis?”

Roman eyed down at Virgil suspiciously for just a moment more before gesturing to Logan. “Please, Teach, explain."

Alarm bells went off in Virgil's head. He was suddenly desperate to leave the entire situation before it was too late, but Logan's hand resting on his ankle felt like a vice he couldn't escape.

“Well," Logan began in his lecture voice, "for the past few hours, Anxiety has been expressing an interest in becoming closer with the three of us through quality time, amicable banter, and excessive physical contact. The physical contact is really what gave it away, but it all comes down to the fact that this change in behavior occurred immediately after Anxiety walked in on our... roughhousing this morning.”

Virgil was distracted by the way Logan tried to avoid saying the word tickle (and man, Virgil thought, it’d be so much fun to see him forced to say it, oh my god shut up brain) but Patton’s gasp of understanding brought him back to his present situation. He looked away from the moral side, but to his distress he found himself face to face with Roman, who was looking at him with a growing interest.

“Wait a minute,” he said slowly. Virgil squirmed.

“Shut up.”

“Are you telling me--”

“Princey, I swear to God, if you don’t stop talking right now--”

Suddenly Patton’s hand was on his leg, his fingers pressing in just above his knee, and Virgil’s words turned into a choked gasp.

Patton quirked his head. “Are you ticklish, kiddo?”

Virgil’s mouth opened and shut. “I-- I--”

And of course, Logan chose that moment to drag his nails all the way down Virgil’s foot, the hand resting on Virgil's ankle suddenly tightening to keep him from jerking away as his fingers wiggled right against Virgil's tickle spots.

Virgil couldn’t help it: he squealed, loudly, and immediately buried his face in his hands.

“That seems to be the answer to that question,” Logan said, sounding far too pleased with himself for Virgil’s taste. “The more important question, however, is whether or not Anxiety wants to be tickled. Although I believe we know that answer to that question, as well.”

Even with his face behind his hands, Virgil felt all three pairs of eyes on him.

"I--" he squeaked, then coughed, blatantly stalling for time as his mind spun in circles. "I-- um-- you don't-- I guess--"

"Kiddo, is that really what you've been trying to do all day long?" Patton asked gently. Virgil made one short, choked sound, and nodded rapidly.

"... So when I told you to be quiet earlier," Roman said slowly, "and you said 'make me'... that was you trying to get tickled?"

A beat, and then Virgil nodded again. He quickly debated the merits of allowing himself to be swallowed by the floor.

"Well..."

Logan's voice was laced with something that Virgil was wholly unprepared for.

"It would be a shame," he continued nonchalantly, "if Anxiety came so far out of his figurative shell only to not receive any recognition or praise for how difficult that must have been. Perhaps some positive reinforcement will help encourage him to continue this behavior in the future."

Logan didn't even have to finish his sentence before Roman dove for Virgil's wrists. Virgil yanked as hard as he could, but Roman was in a better position and easily managed to pull his arms above his head. Immediately Virgil's fight or flight instincts kicked in, and he was about to start literally kicking (even though his brain was screaming at his body to shut up stop it play dead holy shit they're giving you what you want) before Patton leaned as far over his torso as he could manage, keeping his middle pinned in place.

"Anxiety..." he cooed, actually cooed, and yup Virgil was totally gonna die. "Wanna look at me, sweetheart?"

It took Virgil a second to realize that his eyes were screwed shut in anticipation. He peeked out only to find Patton looking at him with the most soft, loving, mughy-gushy expression Virgil had ever seen, especially directed towards him. It made him feel like he was melting.

"When we play our tickle games," he continued, "we always say 'red' when we need a break. Is that okay for you, too?"

Virgil couldn't even speak, so he gave a jerky nod.

"For safety, we should proceed slowly," Logan said, "in order not to overwhelm him." The way Logan was talking to the others like Virgil wasn't there sent a small thrill down his spine.

"I disagree," Roman replied. "I think our poor, sweet Anxiety has waited much too long already." His upside-down grin made Virgil want to spit curses up at him, except he was pretty sure the only thing that would come out if he opened his mouth were pathetic squeals.

"Where should we begin?" the creative side continued, tracing his thumbs around the soft skin of Virgil's wrist. "His... bright red ears? Or his wiggly hips? Or his bouncy little tummy?"

"Fuck off," Virgil gasped.

Roman clicked his tongue. "Temper! Patton doesn't like swearing!"

"Oh, let him fuss," Patton replied. "This is all very overwhelming for him, it's okay! If I had known you liked tickling too, Anxiety, I would've gladly done it for you a long time ago!"

"I don't--"

Then Virgil gasped, and fell into helpless frantic giggles. In unison Roman and Patton swiveled their heads to look at Logan.

"There's no use in lying now, Anxiety," he said calmly, his fingers flicking and fluttering all over Virgil's soles. "We all know that if you didn't like tickling, you wouldn't let us do this at all. Ergo you must enjoy tickling, more specifically being tickled, otherwise you wouldn't have put yourself in this position in the first place. Does that make sense?"

Virgil couldn't answer, because he was in heaven. Or maybe hell. Logan's fingers were deft and torturous, flitting back and forth faster than Virgil could process. Belatedly he wiggled his feet, trying to hide one behind the other and continuously failing. And damn Logan for real for being so observant, because when he noticed the spot on Virgil's arches that made him kick the hardest, he focused all of his attention there, switching between his feet as fast as he could.

"Wait wait wait, waitwaitwhaihaihaiait!" Virgil couldn't believe the noises that were coming out of his mouth right now. He had never laughed like this around the light sides-- had barely ever laughed at all-- and now they were getting to hear him like this, his giggles embarrassing and dorky and loud--

So loud, in fact, that he barely even heard Logan say, "Patton, would you like a turn?" before ten fingers dove in to vibrate all over his vulnerable, ticklish stomach.

"Nah-ahahahaha!" The shriek that left his lips shocked everyone in the room, and Virgil used the confusion to yank his arms out of Roman's grasp, sitting up and trying to launch off the couch in the same motion. He would've gotten away with it, too, if it weren't for Patton's meddling arms around his waist.

"Woah!" Patton laughed out. "Easy now, kiddo! Don't wanna waist this chance to get tickled!" On cue he tazed his fingers where they laid in the divots of Virgil's sides, causing the anxious side to jerk and flop like a worm on a string. His hands grappled desperately for Patton's, but he made no progress getting them off before Roman's hand entered his vision.

"Come back here, Gay-Lee Shrilliams!" Roman sang. Blindly, he grappled for Virgil's wrists, grabbing one and yanking him back towards Roman's end of the couch. Virgil was disoriented, and took the time to inhale greedy breaths before he was suddenly flipped around again. Now Logan was sat straddled over his shins, Patton kneeling on the floor beside him, and Roman's chest was pressed against his back with his wrists in each hand.

For a moment there was silence.

"Well," Logan said curtly. "Let's try that again, shall we?"

And immediately his hands were clamped above Virgil's knees, and they were off to the races.

"Ahahahahahahaha!"

"There we are," Logan said, a hint of smugness in his voice as he prodded up and down Virgil's thighs. "We'll have to avoid any further interruptions if we're going to find all of your ticklish spots, Anxiety. Please behave yourself."

"I'm-- you-- nahahaha!" Virgil squealed; Patton had placed his hands on either side of his ribs, and was now squeezing them as if Virgil were a particularly squeaky bagpipe.

"Hold him down!" he called affectionately. "He's a squirmer!"

Virgil gasped through his laughter as the other two followed Patton's instruction; he could feel them rearranging their positions on his arms and legs in order to keep him even more stuck than he already was. Blearily, he turned onto his side as much as possible, facing the back of the couch and weakly attempting to hide his stomach from his ticklers.

"Uh oh, where are you going?" Roman asked, all sugar sweetness. "Is someone trying to hide away? Hm? Big bad Anxiety trying to run away from the tickles?"

Without warning he released one of Virgil's hands, and took it upon himself to use his free hand to investigate all over Virgil's exposed armpit. Virgil spasmed and shrieked. His free hand might as well have not been there at all, considering how absolutely useless it was at protecting his armpit, or his ribs, or--

"Uh oh," Patton cooed, voice sickeningly sweet, and Virgil could only look on in giddy terror as he wiggled his fingers in the air. "Don't think I just forgot about that tummy, Anxiety!"

Just like before, Patton pressed all ten fingers into Virgil's stomach fat, wiggling mercilessly; unlike before, Virgil couldn't shoot himself off the couch with Patton himself kneeling in the way. Logan and Roman had stopped their tickles, but only so they could restrain him even further to avoid another escape attempt.

"Nihihihiehehehehehe!" Virgil didn't even know what he was begging for anymore. For less tickles, or more?

"A ticky-ticky-ticky-ticky-ticky!" Patton sang. "Who's a ticklish goober? Is it Anxiety? I think it is!" He giggled as he easily avoided Virgil's free hand, darting back and forth as it fruitlessly tried to cover his stomach from Patton's wiggling fingers.

Through his teary eyes, Virgil accidentally made eye contact with Roman. He immediately regretted it: both because he saw something akin to actual affection in Princey's eyes (which, gross) but more because he watched that affection slip away to smug mischief.

"Hey, don't be greedy, Padre!" Roman announced. "I want a turn!"

And with that he let go of Virgil's other hand, but the anxious side had no time to do anything about that before he, too, was digging his fingers into Virgil's stomach. Virgil squealed again, arching hid back and curling in on himself over and over in an endless loop. While Patton had no trouble attending to Virgil's tummy pudge, Roman's hands were positioned at the top of his stomach just below his ribs, and he had no issues at all jumping up to pinch and massage along the sensitive bones every few seconds.

"Fascinating," Logan said, and oh god, why did his voice make Virgil feel even more trapped than he already was? "Patton, scoot down a bit. I'd like to try something."

Virgil felt Patton slide his hands slightly up Virgil's torso, still plucking away at his oversensitive nerves like guitar strings.

"Slow down for a moment," Logan instructed, and the others listened, thank God. Virgil took the opportunity to breathe, his eyes screw tightly shut. He couldn't handle seeing Roman's smirk, or Patton's giddiness, or Logan's studying stare.

"I've noticed something in his reactions," the logical side continued. "And I have another hypothesis."

Virgil should've opened his eyes.

If he had, he might've been prepared for when Logan's fingers descended all around his bellybutton and squeezed.

Virgil shrieked. He screamed. He yelled and hollered and wailed and every other synonym he could think of, except he couldn't think at all because Logan was flexing his fingers over and over and over again with terrible, ruthless accuracy. Virgil used all his strength to try to curl up, but with Logan on his hips, Roman behind his back, and Patton in the middle, there was absolutely nothing he could do to protect his tummy from ticklish agony.

"I think we found his favorite spot!" Patton cooed.

Yeah, no fucking shit, Virgil thought wildly. He could barely breathe, his face hurt from smiling, his head was melty with joy, and his innards felt as if he had swallowed a dozen butterflies that continued to dance around inside of him. He felt trapped, and teased, and embarrassed, and desperate, and he--

And he loved it. Oh my God, he loved it. Had he been missing out on this all along?

It took a long, long time before Virgil realized that Logan had stopped. His hands, warm and heavy, laid flat on his stomach, and his palms rubbed firmly against his skin. He blinked his eyes opened-- when had he closed them?-- and realized he was practically lying down again, having slid so much he'd ended up resting his head against Roman's thigh. It took another minute for him to realize that his hand felt strange; looking over, he flushed anew when he saw Patton's large hand wrapped around his own, fingers intertwined. Did Virgil do that?

Reality jolted back into him, and like a bear trap he sprang up and closed in on himself, shrinking away from any touch.

"Um-- I'm done-- red," he stuttered. God, why was he a loser? They had already stopped tickling him, he didn't need to say the safeword-- but his skin still felt alight with nerves, and despite how the whole experience had made him feel, he really didn't think he could handle anymore tonight.

Virgil didn't know why it surprised him that all three of moved back, Logan and Roman scooting to either end of the couch and Patton leaning back on his haunches. It surprised him, but it shouldn't. Because they're them. The light sides, the "others" as he'd always thought of them-- they were nice. Fun. And they cared.

"So..."

And of course, there was Princey to ruin it. Virgil dared to shoot his eyes over and was met with the smuggest goddamn look he's ever seen on Roman's consistently smug face.

"Was it everything you hoped for, sweet Anxiety?" he crowed. Immediately Virgil dropped his face into his hands and groaned.

"Aw, there he goes! Too much sweet talking for such a sourpuss like you?"

Virgil hissed at him, only to hear twin snorts from the other two Sides. He looked up, betrayed.

"Apologies, Anxiety," Logan said, biting his bottom lip as he smiled. Patton was covering his own mouth with both hands. "I can assure you we hold no judgement or mockery for you. It's just that this entire display was... objectively adorable."

"Noooooo..." Virgil whined. He slid down in his seat and covered his face again. His cheeks burned against his palms.

It was only a few seconds before he felt a tap on his knee, and after a moment he lowered his hands enough to peek out beyond his fingers. Patton was there, ducking his head a bit to catch Virgil's eye.

"Was that fun?" he asked gently. A beat. Virgil nodded. "Would you like to do it again?"

Virgil snapped his arms down to his sides and slammed back against his seat. Patton raised his hands placatingly.

"In the future!" he said. "I just mean..."

He looked at the other two Sides before confirming, "Well, I think we all had fun. And we can work out what exactly you're comfortable with later, but... I hope you'd like to do that again sometime."

"Please--" Virgil blurted. "I mean. Yes. I want to. Again."

"Good," Logan said. "Now lay back down."

He looked over, inquisitive, only to flush again as Logan leaned back and patted his lap.

"You can't seriously think I'm gonna fall for that."

"We are not going to tickle you again unless you explicitly ask for it," Logan said (and wow, now Virgil was gonna have to store that away in his anxiety-fantasies, not getting tickled anymore unless he uses his words). "You've just been exerted very quickly in a very short amount of time, you've been anxious and twitchy all day prior to this evening, and even now you're struggling to remain upright."

Virgil blinked; it was true. His head was lolled back against the cushion. His body was tired, it's true, but his mind felt somewhat hazy, somewhat calm. He blinked slowly.

"... Are you gonna put the movie back on?"

Roman scoffed. "Of course we are. We know you need background noise, Sleeping Beauty."

Right. Of course they knew that. Because they knew him, now.

Virgil fidgeted, then nodded. "I'd... I'd like that."

And he did.

#my posts #my writing #tickling #tickle fics #tickletober 2024 #augtickletober2024 #tt24 #sanders sides tickling #lee!virgil #ler!patton #ler!roman #ler!logan #(technically they all get tickled at one point but for tagging purposes i'm just including their main roles here lol)#prompt #drafting on june 19 2020 #also i really hope none of the light sides called him virgil at any point hhsdghsj #if they did pls tell me so i can fix it

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delimeful · 7 months ago

Text

you can't go back (10)

warnings: depression mention, death mention, animal violence mention, angst, lmk if i missed any

Roman had been poking and prodding the alien in his barn for answers for the better part of a month, to no avail.

No matter what combination of words, actions, or prop-laden charades he and Logan had attempted, they’d come no closer to anything resembling communication than they had when Roman had been angrily threatening the alien with a broom. He’d been growing more hopeless— and admittedly, more guilty— by the day.

And then, entirely unintentionally, along came Patton.

Less than an hour after their accidental introduction, Patton had somehow managed to not only convince the alien to speak to him, but also earn their apparent undying loyalty.

Roman kind of got it, because, well, it was Patton, but he was still feeling incredibly miffed about how the entire situation had played out. He couldn’t even say as much, because then Patton would start making pointed statements about not hiding things from one’s friends and how nice it would have been for him to have met their excitable extraterrestrial earlier.

Going by the way the alien kept hovering over Patton like a brooding hen, Roman figured their captive-turned-guest(?) probably felt the same way. Not that he could really blame them.

Despite Patton’s gentle prompting and Logan’s intense staring, the alien refused to utter so much as a recognizable syllable in front of them, sticking firmly to bobbing a clawed hand up-and-down or side-to-side for ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answers, respectively.

That alone was enough to confirm that Patton was right: the alien absolutely could understand human speech, though not as comprehensively as Star Wars would have had him believe. Even with this new willingness to interact, around half of their questions were still answered with a hesitant motion of bumping the sides of their forearms together and then drawing them back apart, which seemed to be the alien’s version of a shrug.

This wasn’t the only new gesture they were introduced to over the course of the next few days. From subtle shifts of their faceplates to the absent air-pedaling their stabby limbs did while they were thinking, they were now witness to a whole gallery of unfamiliar mannerisms. The thick spiral-ring notebook Logan had dedicated to documenting the alien’s body language had rapidly begun to run out of blank pages, with the frantic scribbling becoming such a well-worn background noise that even the alien stopped being wary after a while.

As it turned out, the alien was a lot more expressive when all six of their limbs weren’t forcibly restrained. This was one of those things that seemed a lot more obvious in hindsight.

Given that four of those limbs had both the sharpness of a spear and the spring-loaded power of a harpoon gun, Roman still felt a fair amount of uncertainty about just how much trust they were placing in a relative stranger, but he kept those thoughts to himself.

After all, this was a welcome change from the quiet, still way the alien had been curled up on their makeshift bed for the past week, not nearly as aggressive as before but also not nearly as alert or even responsive, some days. Roman had been getting more and more worried, half-expecting to find a corpse every time he went to check on them, like a bug left in a jar to suffocate.

Whatever magic Patton had worked, it had brought an undeniable spark of life back to the alien, and wary or not, Roman was unspeakably relieved about it.

The past couple of days had been dedicated to finding supplies for the alien’s project, which they had figured out (mostly through extensive guessing) was a makeshift translator. One of Logan’s old laptops, the disemboweled guts of the alien’s helmet, and an old car battery from the junkyard had been sacrificed to the alien’s tinkering, along with various bits and bobs pulled from old charging cables and a broken VCR player.

After the third unsuccessful game of charades, Roman had just grabbed the whole junk drawer in the kitchen and tipped all the contents out in the hopes that the alien would find what they needed.

Seeing as there hadn’t been any more requests, they seemed to have found the pieces they needed— or at the very least, acceptable substitutes. From there, all that was left to do was loiter in the barn and wait for them to finish.

“Guys,” Patton called, the only one allowed to sit nearby while the alien worked. “I think it’s ready!”

The moment the words split the air, Logan practically teleported over to their corner of the barn, and Roman was only a step behind, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm in his chest at the thought of finally learning what had happened to his brother.

The alien was crouched with their backwards-jointed legs folded under them, and as they all gathered around, the limbs on their back pulled in to avoid grazing any shoulders, as though even the barest touch would be poisonous. As always, they didn’t make direct eye contact with anyone, simply reaching out to the contraption and pressing one of the buttons on the VCR.

They made a series of carefully enunciated clicks and churrs, the same muffled language that they had used during Roman’s pointless interrogations, and then released the button and pressed down another one.

There was a brief moment of silence, and then:

“Can you understand this sentence?”

The voice was robotic, the inflections slightly strange, but the words were clear.

“Yes!” Roman exclaimed, half an answer and half a cheer of success. “It worked, we understood that!”

The three of them exchanged glances, sharing a sort of awed joy at the impossibility of it all. The alien waited for a moment longer before recording another stretch of clicks and sending it through the translator.

“The energy cell won’t last long. Ask important questions first.”

Like mirror images, both of his friends turned to look at him at the same time, and whatever expression he was making seemed to tell them everything they needed to know.

“No matter what the answer is,” Patton told him, reaching out to hold onto his hand tightly, “we’ll figure it out together, okay?”

Logan flipped his notebook over, abandoning the list of questions to set the tip of his pen to a blank page. “I’ll record the information verbatim. It’ll ensure we don’t miss anything.”

Embarrassingly enough, Roman’s eyes began to sting. He cleared his throat, smiling weakly at his best friends. “Thanks, guys.”

The question sat heavy on the back of his tongue, the shape of words practically memorized after the many times he’d spoken, shouted, screamed them. When he looked forward to the alien, though, he realized that there was something else he owed it to them to ask.

“What’s your name?”

The alien went rabbit-still for a moment, a reflexive attempt to hide that Roman was pretty sure meant they were surprised. He didn’t rush them; he was pretty surprised at himself, too.

Finally, they leaned close to the speaker again. “I am known as Anxiety.”

“Anxiety?” Patton echoed, his eyebrows lifting in bewilderment.

The alien shuffled their hands over each other in an uncertain-looking gesture before speaking into the translator, a little quicker now. “Was that the wrong word? The direct translation is more like ‘he who fears needlessly’?”

“Anxiety… is a good word for that, yes,” Logan answered after another uncertain pause. “It simply isn’t a word we would usually use as a name.”

“Alien,” Anxiety replied succinctly, with another one of those forearm shrugs.

Roman nodded, fitting the name carefully into the list of things they’d learned about this stranded stranger. “My name is Roman, and this is Logan and Patton.”

Each of them waved on cue, one perfunctory and the other over-enthusiastic. Anxiety glanced between them for a moment before apparently giving in to his curiosity.

“Who is first?” he asked through the translator, earning three confused looks.

“I’m the oldest?” Roman offered, not in the least confident that this was the answer Anxiety was looking for. “But not by that much? We’re all in the same grade, um, which basically means we’re only a few months apart in age.”

Anxiety didn’t lose the air of puzzlement, but he shook his hand in the ‘no’ gesture. “Nevermind. Ask your questions.”

Roman swallowed, his nerves returning to him twofold, and forced the words past numb lips. “What… What happened to my brother?”

Although Anxiety had almost certainly expected the question, his limbs still flexed behind him, trembling slightly with tension. Foreboding sunk into Roman like a stone through water.

“Your brother was abducted,” Anxiety finally answered, the translator turning the words flat and stilted. “Stolen, but most likely alive.”

Alive. Alive. Most likely alive. Roman’s chest felt like it might burst with how hard his heart was beating.

“Why? What are they going to do to him?” he asked, his voice rising louder in his desperation. Patton squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back.

Anxiety’s hesitance stretched even longer. This time, after speaking into the translator, he shuffled backwards slightly. Preparing for a violent response to whatever he’d just said.

“Deathworlders are valuable in some circles. That crew is money-hungry. They probably took him to use as a champion in illegal fighting rings. Dangerous, but not lethal if he can fight,” the translator spit out dutifully.

Fighting rings. Roman thought about every movie scene he’d ever watched with gladiators, every news article about local dog fighting, every old story about men shoved into a pit of starving lions. Pictured Remus, dropped into some horrible real-life version of that scene from Star Wars, but without magic powers or even so much as a lightsaber to his name.

He felt sick. His hand went limp in Patton’s grip, nausea churning in his gut. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. What could he possibly say to that? How was he supposed to ask about his own brother’s odds, his life expectancy on an alien battleground?

“What do you mean by ‘Deathworlder’?” Logan asked, his gaze sharp as he picked up the slack.

Anxiety’s attention was clearly riveted on Roman’s response, but he managed to answer after several seconds passed without anyone lashing out, leaning forward again.

“It’s a title. Sapient species that originate from deathworlds.” When this clearly wasn’t as helpful as he thought it would be, he elaborated further: “Planets with harsh terrain, hostile fauna, lethal weather patterns. A Deathworlder has adapted to thrive in these conditions. You make a home out of a place that is difficult for most aliens to even survive.”

Patton frowned, confused. “You’re surviving just fine, aren’t you?”

Anxiety’s faceplate twitched slightly, an expression they had no reference for.

“I thought Patch would kill me for our entire first interaction.” For the first time, a sense of his voice was audible even through the machine-tone translator. “I pay attention to danger. This planet is full of things that could very easily kill me.”

His extra limbs twitched slightly, as though he’d said more than he’d meant to, and he firmly averted his gaze to the ground.

Abruptly, Roman realized that they were one of the things Anxiety was referring to. The primal panic that they’d witnessed while interacting with him wasn’t a farce or an exaggeration. To Anxiety, humans were a potentially lethal threat.

“Patch?” Patton asked.

The angles of Anxiety’s back limbs shifted to point at where Lady Macbeth was sprawled out in a beam of sunlight, content that all was well within her kingdom.

“You renamed my cat?” Roman asked incredulously, and then, more pressingly, “If you thought she was going to kill you, why did you befriend her? You tried to stab me the moment we made eye contact!”

Anxiety’s arms twitched in what seemed like a hastily-aborted shrug. “Predatory beasts normally kill to eat or to defend territory. Sapient species are capable of a lot worse. If I am going to die, I want it to be quick.”

Something about the way the words were spoken, present tense and oddly direct, made Roman’s skin prickle unpleasantly. It was uncomfortably close to a request.

(Sure, Anxiety understood their language, but had they ever said aloud that they wouldn’t kill him?)

“To aliens, humans are dangerous?” Logan asked, dragging them back on-topic. “How so? From my perspective, you have more natural weapons than we do.”

Anxiety made a dragging chirp that seemed to serve as a wordless scoff. “Humans are impossible to kill. I bite you, and you hit me. My bite bothers you, but your hit shatters my exoskeleton. I bleed out and I die. Your body heals and you live.”

Patton looked discomfited at the very idea.

“Aliens are delicate, compared to us,” Logan surmised. “Because the environments they evolved in weren’t as hostile as Earth.”

Anxiety nodded a fist in confirmation.

By the time Logan turned to him with a grim look, Roman had already put the same pieces together.

“They wanted Remus because they were sure he would win,” he said, fists clenched at his sides. “Because he’s a Deathworlder, so he’s hard to kill.”

Remus wasn’t being tossed to the lions. He was the lion, trapped and caged far from home. A monster only let loose to slaughter.

Sure, maybe his brother wouldn’t die, but what kind of a life was that? Remus was sixteen. He was supposed to be trespassing in abandoned buildings with his shithead friends and creating bizarrely gory trash sculptures for his art portfolio, not fighting for his life in front of a crowd of alien scumbags.

“How do we get him back?” he asked, lifting his jaw stubbornly.

Anxiety only watched him, making no move to speak into the translator.

“Come on, there has to be a way,” he urged, shoving to his feet and staring down at the alien. “He can’t just be gone. I have to help him! You have to do something!”

Patton stood too, frowning in a way that suggested he thought Roman needed to back off, take a few deep breaths.

“Please!” Roman added instead, his voice cracking down the middle of the plea. “Please.”

Anxiety shifted to press the record button again, but the laptop screen flickered and faded, nonresponsive. Their battery power had run out.

With a displeased sound, Anxiety slowly rose back to his full height, immediately moving several steps away, and for a moment, Roman thought that was it, his begging had been rejected. It was hopeless, and there was nothing else to be said.

Then, there was a strange crackling sound from Anxiety, who had turned to face away from them in an uncharacteristic move, his spidery limbs shifting tensely.

“Give t—ime,” he spoke, the words nearly made unfamiliar by the odd pronunciation. “Thhhin—k.”

“Think?” Roman echoed with uncertainty; the ‘th’ sound dragged so long it was almost a hiss.

“You need time to think of a way?” Logan interpreted, clearly exercising all his willpower to remain where he was instead of circling around to see Anxiety’s face.

“T—ry,” Anxiety emphasized. “Don—t. Hope.”

“Trying is all we can do,” Patton replied warmly, while Roman was still puzzling out the soft clicks Anxiety was using for the ‘T’ sound. “Thank you for trying to help us, Anxiety.”

There was another odd noise, like the crinkling of paper, and Anxiety’s face was as concealed as ever when he turned and hurried back over to his makeshift bed, apparently done with speaking for the day.

Feeling more than a little exhausted himself, Roman didn’t begrudge him it. All that mattered was that Remus was alive, and they would figure out a way to rescue him. Anxiety might have warned them not to hope anything came of his efforts, but long odds had never stopped Roman from hoping before.

He wasn’t giving up on his brother. No matter what it took to bring him home.

#sanders sides fic #humans are deathworlders #ts roman #ts logan #ts patton #ts virgil #ycgb #you cant go back #my writing #writing #space au

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