#patton nearly gets run over

[delimeful]

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. 

[why-not-a-tickle-blog]

Dwindling Creativity

Thomas groaned, putting his head in his hands. He’d been brainstorming and writing and editing and erasing and rewriting and researching and writing again.

“I feel like I’ve used up all the creativity I have,” Thomas grumbled, shoving aside his laptop.

This pause, reluctant as it was, was instigated by Janus. Patton took over from there, leading Thomas to flop on the couch with reruns of the Office to give his mind a chance to rest.

- - -

Roman did not stop working when Thomas did. This was Important to Thomas, and Roman had to get it right.

Thomas’s statement about using up his creativity was very nearly correct. As they had worked, Roman had dwindled away gradually, until now the quill he was holding was nearly as tall as he was. He had to hold it in a two-handed grip, kneeling on the parchment and balancing the unwieldy feather against his shoulder. At least he had a magic quill that didn’t run out of ink, so he didn’t have to keep getting up and down to re-dip it.

He ignored the click as the door to his room opened, but moments later the quill was snatched out of his grasp.

“Hey! Give that back, you- you ruffian!”

Deceit raised an eyebrow. “Ruffian? I would’ve expected a more… creative insult.”

Roman glared at him, more tired and grumpy than truly angry. “Well—! Well…” his mind went blank.

Deceit let him flounder for a retort, twirling the quill in his gloved fingers.

All at once, his inability to come up with a properly applicable insult, a good rhyme, even a solid sentence, slammed into Roman. He crumpled onto the desk. “Just leave me alone, I’m useless.”

Deceit sat down in Roman’s chair. Roman wasn’t looking at him, and was surprised to be lifted by the back of his shirt. He let out a squeak, then decided he was too tired to flail or protest, and merely went limp.

“Useless?” Deceit drawled, his voice dripping with something like sympathy. Knowing him though, it could well be anything, or nothing. “My dear prince, you and I both know that’s far from the truth.”

He draped Roman over his other hand, resting on the table. Roman was laying on his stomach, across Deceit’s palm, his arms flopped over his pointer finger.

“I am useless.” Roman asserted. “I can’t even make a song. I’m supposed to be great at songs!”

Deceit stroked the feather over Roman’s back, the smooth, gentle pressure a pleasant sensation. “Or perhaps, you’re holding yourself to too high a standard considering the circumstances.”

Roman’s muscles loosened further as the feather continued stroking over his shirt. “It’s for Thomas’s mother’s birthday, if I can’t make something perfect for this, when else could it matter?”

“I’m sure you will make something perfect,” Deceit replied. “But it may take more time. Time which we have, the birthday is in three weeks.”

Roman dropped his head onto Deceit’s glove. It was cool, rather than warm as he might have expected a hand to be. The feather traced patterns over his shirt, almost like a back rub, melting away his protests.

“You need rest now. Distraction, to get your mind off of the song and give you time to return to your full strength.”

As Deceit said the word Distraction, the edge of the feather brushed over a small strip on skin on Roman’s side, where his shirt had ridden up. Tingles spread from that spot, making him shiver. It felt nice, nearly tickly.

Roman shifted to dispel the tingles, inconspicuously doing so in a way that made his shirt ride up slightly higher.

For a few moments, Deceit must not have noticed, still stroking the feather over his shirt, but then the tip of the feather was drawn across his lower back, crossing from his shirt to his bare skin. Roman muffled a small giggle, enjoying as tingly sensations ran over him again.

Deceit was saying something else, but Roman was becoming lost in the moment, relishing the soft, gentle strokes and the occasional sparks of tickles.

At some point, he had relaxed so thoroughly as to forget he was hiding his giggles, and let one fully slip out.

“Oh, so I have a ticklish little prince?” Deceit said fondly, smiling down at him with a glint in his eyes.

Roman’s first impulse was to protest, especially as Deceit was sure to grow condescendingly teasing, but his enjoyment of his situation battled that impulse, leaving him speechless and blushing.

His internal battle was interrupted by the feather slipping up the back of his shirt, wiggling over his whole back. Roman fell into giggles, kicking his feet gently. The stiff quill feather wasn’t the most effective tool for causing tickles at his current size, but his embarrassment had made him more sensitive than usual.

“Awwww,” Deceit cooed. “Enjoying yourself?”

Roman didn’t respond other than to blush a bit pinker, though he made no move to block the feather.

Deceit twirled the feather. The strange sensation of the spinning feather under his shirt startled a laugh out of Roman.

“It seems I’ve found quite a good distraction, haven’t I?” Deceit said smugly. “Take all your thoughts away and leave only giggles~”

Roman rolled over, trapping the feather underneath his back as he giggled. Deceit easily pulled it free and teased it over Roman’s front. Here his shirt was better covering him, but the feather coming at him, fluttering at his sides or his stomach or neck, and constantly changing spots had him caught in giggles. He batted at the feather playfully when it came within reach of his hands. Indeed, all his previous difficult thoughts had fled.

“A happy little darling,” Deceit murmured, his voice overwhelmingly fond.

Roman was sure his face was still pink, but he was losing the embarrassment, caught up in the fun and the non-judgemental affection. He shucked his shirt off, clicking his fingers to change the quill in Deceit’s hand to a longer feather with droopy, dangly vanes.

Deceit shook the feather over Roman, the little tips flickering over his skin. Roman curled up into a giggly ball, rolling back and forth in Deceit’s hand. So many little tickly points all over him. It was like being out in a summer rain, if every drop left tingles in its wake.

Roman soaked in the attention, the sensations, the love. His body filled with warmth and joy, releasing the excess with every laugh. His giggles were infectious, and Deceit chuckled at the adorable sight in his hand.

When Roman got breathless, he grabbed at the trailing ends of the feather to stop them. Deceit obligingly switched tactics to long slow strokes of the feather up and down over Roman. It was hardly tickly at all, returning to a relaxing massage-like experience, but Roman couldn’t seem to fully stop the remaining giggles.

Slowly, gradually, he melted into Deceit’s palm. After such a height of joy, tiredness draped over him like a blanket. His eyes slipped closed, and the giggles came further and further apart.

Roman didn’t notice the ever so gradual shift of the feather into a miniature fringed blanket. He barely noticed when it stopped moving and instead tucked around him. And by the time Deceit gently transferred him into his bed he was sound asleep.

[krowfics]

Holding Still (ficlet)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ship: LAMP for @lamp-appreciation-week

Plot: Virgil is attempting to finish Patton's makeup for Pride

Words: 971

Notes: uhh barely edited, like only a smidge. day 1 prompt was 'hold' i am in fact late i am not in fact surprised. Patton 🤝 me - getting distracted by things out the window

AO3

~~~

“Hold still.”

“Sorry!” Patton said, whipping his head back to position.

Virgil glanced out the window to see it was a squirrel running along a branch outside of it that caught Patton’s attention this time. Maybe he should be annoyed, but he couldn't help just being endeared.

“It's fine, Pat.” he said, returning to the eye shadow.

“You gotta make it easier on our dear emo, Pattycake, it's already so hard for him to remember that eye shadow goes above the eye.” Roman said, ironically focusing on the eye shadow he was blending out under Logan's eye. Virgil had already finished that part anyway.

“Asshole.” Virgil mumbled.

“Hey,” Patton frowned.

Virgil ignored him in favor of turning to Roman and very maturely sticking his tongue out at him. Roman gave a sly smile and dove in for a lightning quick attack of pressing a peck to the hinge of Virgil’s jaw. 

“Wait!” Virgil pulled back but was too late to dodge, he quickly grabbed the nearest mirror to check the damage.

“Oh, calm down Scare-bear, I dodged your glitter.” 

Virgil confirmed that he, in fact, did, but the transfer-proof lipstick he was wearing had failed. Only slightly, Virgil wiped off the speck easily but it was the principle of the matter.

His attention was drawn back to Patton by way of his giggling. Logan next to him was looking with fond amusement, eyes darting between Roman and Virgil.

Virgil huffed, “Come on, let's finish so we can leave at a reasonable time.” He’ll be damned if he put glitter on his face only for them to miss the entire pride event. That wouldn’t happen, probably, but Virgil was nothing if not at least a little nervous about something all the time.

“Fine fine, I'll stop distracting you.” Roman conceded, “I'm sure you need your full concentration to work against your every instinct, dealing with pastels like that.” 

Virgil only rolled his eyes, opting to return to Patton’s face. He settled back into the zone easy enough, subconsciously tuning out the movement of Roman doing Logan’s make up beside them. It was only when he was completely zoned in on the final part of the pastel rainbow that his canvas suddenly moved again.

“Patton.”

“Sorry!” Patton jumped, “There was a sparrow- outside it was- It's gone now, sorry.” he said, sheepishly.

Any irritation he had evaporated instantly, “It's fine. I pulled the brush away in time and it's all stencils anyway so we’re good.”

“I'll stay still.” He said, somehow with confidence, and Virgil loved him so much, but he did not believe him for a moment.

“This part is nearly done, but I really do need you to hold still for the dots.” Patton had requested pastel hearts in rainbow order across his cheeks, which was easy enough being that they already had stencils on hand for that, and then little white dots, almost freckle like. They wouldn't be particularly hard to do but they would be very easy to mess up.

Patton nodded, “I'll be still.”

Logan must've had the same lack of trust in the sentiment because he blindly reached over and grabbed Patton’s hand, squeezing for a moment, and Virgil had an overwhelming urge to lurch forward and… kiss them? Bad idea, considering the make up. He should at least finish it before he ruins it. Well, he hadn't put on Patton's lip tint yet…

Now who's distracted? He shook his head in an attempt to clear it and returned to finishing the final heart. He did so, and proceeded to peel off the stencils and add the white speckles with little fanfare. Logan’s hand holding idea must've worked to keep their boyfriend’s attention occupied.

Patton made a chirp in excitement at seeing himself in the mirror after Virgil had finished, gushing over the look and flustering Virgil with praise.

“And done.” Roman announced, somehow having not gotten distracted by Patton’s joy. He held up the mirror to Logan and immediately looked to Patton so he could start with his teasing praises at Virgil’s work, “Our bundle of darkness really isn't allergic to color, it's a miracle.”

Patton meanwhile quickly got distracted again, “Oh oh oh! you're so pretty!” Patton all but gasped at Logan's more glam look.

Logan opened his mouth to speak but only managed a strangled noise at finally seeing Patton, having managed to look straight forward the entire time he was having his makeup done. “Virgil is very talented.” is all he said, eyes not leaving Patton while looking a bit like he was staring at the sun.

“Indeed,” Roman said, “It takes true talent to somehow manage to add to the beauty of Patton’s already perfect face.”

“A mastery of the art form,” Logan agreed.

“I am not wearing enough foundation to handle compliments” Virgil said, face ablaze. 

“But you did such a good job we can't help it!” Patton said, noticeably flushed himself, only adding to the look.

Virgil barely resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands else he’d smudge his own make up. “We should go if we're ready.” He said instead.

“Oh, fine.” Roman sighed. And Logan stood to gather last minute things, making sure they had water bottles and granola bars and the like.

A few minutes later, Virgil caught Patton staring out the window again, but he didn't interrupt him this time. Patton startled a bit when he noticed Virgil staring, but he smiled, “There's a butterfly.” He explained and indeed there was, but Virgil only gave it a glance, far happier to enjoy his own view.

“Stop being sappy, we're ready to go.” Roman interrupted, causing them both to blush. 

Patton giggled adorably while Virgil scoffed, “That's rich coming from you, you're the sappiest of us all.”

“I accept that title with honor, now come on, Logan's already in the car.”

~~~

taggg @flowercrownsandtrauma

edit after ive woken up and consumed coffee- never let me post things at 1 am oh my god i live in shame (there was a couple minor inconsistencies)

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Change | Changing

Basically I love all of your Roman angst especially the one where Roman and Logan go to the rage room because you captured their dynamic so well and in a way that a lot of other writers don’t. So! On that note! What if Logan is thinking about how Roman always seems to brace himself before talking to Patton, and Roman tells him that their relationship isn’t as bubbly as it seems (because I always see Royality referred to as the sunshine couple haha). Specifically how Patton interacts with Remus, or how he (and Janus) react to Roman trying to come out, etc. – anon

Ok ok ok, so I know you basically just posted Change, but I’m already obsessed.. Can I perhaps request a part 2 where Roman struggles with asking for help(taking care of himself, working on projects, etc) and the others try their best(and maybe make mistakes) to help him? – anon

okay ik it’s been less than a day, and i don’t know if you’re still taking requests, but i would LOVE to see a part two to change. it was so touching to me, and i just want to see roman comforted so bad. thank you and no pressure !! – anon

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: internalized homophobia, bullying, implied/referenced abuse

Pairings: none

Word Count: 7329

Roman is over the top, bombastic, and enthusiastic. He is prone to fits of passion and emotional outbursts. Such is the nature of Creativity. But the others...don't like that. They aren't exactly ambiguous about it either. Or, Roman struggles to walk the line between being himself and being something the others can tolerate. It gets far worse before it gets any better. But it does get a little better.

"Hey, Princey?"

Roman nearly snaps his pencil in half as he shoves the notebook into the couch cushions.

"Whoa," Virgil mutters, holding his hands up as Roman whips his head around to look at him, "easy, Princey, it's just me."

He doesn't move.

"Right, fuck." He takes a deep breath and makes an effort to soften his expression. "Uh, hi, Roman. I was, uh, what're you doing?"

"Nothing."

There's a soft popping sound and Janus appears, turning to look at him. He swallows heavily and pushes the notebook further into the bowels of the couch. Several expressions flicker across Janus's face before he settles on a deep sigh. "Good morning, Roman."

"Hi."

"Would you like to explain what's going on?"

"N-no." His heart thuds in his ears. The pencil groans in his hands. "I didn't do anything."

"I'm not saying you did, sweetie."

"I really don't think he did, J, I just, uh, I spooked him."

"I can see that."

They're doing the thing where they talk about him like he's not here. As much as it makes his skin crawl, it does mean he has a better chance of slipping away. At least he would if they both weren't looking at him like that.

"Did you need me to do something, Virgil?"

"What? Oh, uh, no, Princey, I, uh…" He scratches the back of his head. "I just, um…shit."

Janus looks between the two of them, toying with a seam at the end of his glove. Before Roman can summon up the courage to say something, anything, even a lie that Janus might not call him out on, he hears footsteps on the stairs.

"Oh, well, this is a party, isn't it?" Patton's voice floats into the room. "What're we doing?"

The sight of Logan appearing behind him is enough to snap the rubber band in Roman's chest. He snatches the other notebook from the coffee table and sinks into his room, shoving a chair underneath the door handle and yanking open the door to his closet, huddling in the dark with his precious cargo clutched to his chest. His breaths ring out in the dark, cramped space and it soon grows muggy and stuffy from the force of it. The notebooks wheeze in his grip. He closes his eyes and presses his forehead to the spiral until he's sure it's left a mark on his forehead.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid Roman, letting himself give into those urges again. Why did he run away? Now they're all going to be talking about him again, like he's still something they have to work on, not like he's a person with needs and boundaries that they just keep pushing in ways that he can't deal with. Not now, not like this, not when he's holding what's basically his heart in his hands and they're right there looking at it. If he were working on Thomas's things, it'd be different, because he knows how to get flayed for those, he has practice with that, but not with this.

Well, Roman, he hears Logan's voice in the back of his head say, if you didn't want anyone to know about it or ask about it, you wouldn't have been working on it in a public space.

Maybe you all could fuck off and leave me be and let me do whatever I want, how about that? But he won't say that, even though he wants to, because they would never let him get away with being angry out loud like that. Not Roman, not like that, not about this. So he ran because it was easier in the short term even though he knows, he knows they're going to rip him to shreds about it later.

***

He was right.

"We just want to understand, kiddo," Patton's saying, like Virgil can't hear the way Roman's trying not to heave his lungs out of his throat, "it—I understand that it made you feel upset when Virgil asked you what you were doing, but do you get why it was a little hurtful that you just ran away without answering him at all?"

He just nods silently. He really didn't mean to hurt Virgil, but honestly Virgil wasn't really the problem. It was the fact that everyone else came at once and they were all standing around him and he was curled up on the couch with his hands shoved into the cushions like they could hide his soul from them because he didn't want to be hurt and it wasn't ready to breathe around someone that wasn't him.

"Roman? Kiddo? Are you listening to me?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Can you tell me what happened?"

He swallows. This is a trap. It almost always is. "I was working. Virgil startled me. I…I lied about what I was doing and Janus appeared."

"Why did you lie?"

"Because he was scared, Pat," Virgil breaks in. Patton looks away for a second and Roman can breathe again. "He lied because he was scared. Honestly, I think if any of us had spooked him and asked what he was doing I would've gotten summoned because he was scared."

"Oh." Patton looks back at him. "I…I wish you wouldn't be scared of us, kiddo."

Do you think I want to be scared of you? Do you think I'm doing this on purpose? Do you think that when I woke up this morning I went 'yeah, I'm gonna be so scared of the people who are supposed to be my family that I'm gonna run away whenever they so much as talk to me?' Is that what you think is going on?

But Roman can't say that, so he just bows his head and tries not to let Patton see the anger that escapes to flicker over his face.

"Can you tell us what it was now? Now that you know Virgil's not going to hurt you or anything?"

"I didn't think he was going to hurt me."

"That's good! He's not gonna do it now either, and neither am I."

"I know."

Patton grins and raises his eyebrows like he's waiting for something. He is. He's waiting for Roman to tell him what he was working on. Behind him, he can see Virgil making a face.

"You don't have to tell us, Princey. It's cool. I was, uh, I was just looking for something to talk about. We, um, there's a new map on the co-op game that I was gonna tell you about."

"Oh, that sounds fun!" Patton gestures between them. "Why don't you two go play it?"

"Now?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"Uh, sure, Princey, if you're up for it. We can, uh, we can go do it in the game room."

"…sure."

"That'll be fun. You two kiddos can tell us all about it at dinner." Patton grins and reaches out to pat Roman on the shoulder and Roman manages to make himself stand still for it. "Have a good time, okay?"

Roman nods wordlessly as he sinks out with Virgil. They appear in the corner of the library with bean bags and the game stuff. Virgil scratches the back of his head.

"I, uh, I'm sorry, Princey. I really didn't mean to make this such a big deal. We don't have to play right now if you don't want to."

"It's fine. It's not your fault. And I want to play."

"You sure? I can always tell Pat we tried and then changed our minds—"

"No. Let's play."

Virgil still eyes him as he sets it up, as if he could tell better than Roman if he really has the capacity to do something like this right now, but eventually they both just sit down and boot the game and play the new map.

It's fun. The mechanics are still frustrating when they don't work right. The graphics are good and the art style still makes Roman think of that one place in the Imagination where the rocks sit very close together on the coast and the water glimmers from the cracks in between them when the waves wash up near the grass. Virgil doesn't try to talk about anything other than the game while they play. In the pit of his stomach, slowly growing, is the certainty that he's going to be asked about this later and he's going to have to talk about it.

"Hey," Virgil says quietly when they're waiting for a loading screen to finish, "uh, I don't wanna freak you out again or anything, but I can…I can tell you're worrying about something right now."

"It's fine."

A pause as the Imagination ripples. Janus can't detect any lies in here, which means he can't be summoned because of one, and technically it wasn't a lie. Roman is fine right now. Virgil coughs into his hand.

"Just letting you know that if you want to talk or have me listen to stuff, I will."

"Thanks."

The screen finishes loading and they keep playing.

***

There are many castles in the Imagination, not just the main fairytale one near the big double door entrance and Remus's tall black tower on his side. One of them, nestled in the dip of the mountains near the edge of the crystal lake is an expanse of soft grey stone, almost perpetually lit by lavender skies and a pale pink moon. The underwater caverns are nearby, after all, and due to the way the clouds form from the heat during the day, they only clear at night when the air cools off. Long gardens frame the clear streams that cover the castle's grounds, filled with flowering trees and small ornamental shrubs. The evening finds Roman tending carefully to one of the small ponds near the northern end of the walking paths, carefully fishing out the fallen twigs and weeds. Moonlight shimmers off the surface as the bag at his side slowly fills. The cool water is a mercy on his hands, still tingling and achy from the day before.

Logan gave them all a presentation on how emotions can manifest physically in the body once. Virgil talked about how Thomas holds his stress in certain parts of himself and Patton added how sometimes he'll get sore when Thomas is feeling a lot. Roman didn't bring up the fact that he gets bruised as the Ego too, because they would've made jokes about it—and given him more bruises—but he thought about it a lot in the few days afterwards because he needed a way to make the bruises go away without the others noticing them.

As he dips his hand into the water again, he lets his breathing get a little shaky as the water laps at his knuckles and palm. It's not like a burn, where the skin is hot and achy and throbbing, but it's the same sort of heat. Where he's just sort of hurting and it makes him hot and gross and he just wants it out of him. He's wearing short sleeves tonight, so he doesn't feel too bad about dipping his arm in all the way to the elbow, letting the water wash the vulnerable skin on the underside of his forearm. The sensation of something just there leaves him breathless for a moment, before it shudders out of him again. It laps against the vein in the crook of his elbow and his eyes grow heavy for a moment. A warm breeze blows over the back of his neck and he closes his eyes. The juxtaposition between the warm and cold parts of him make it a little easier to clench and unclench his fingers.

He opens his eyes again. As he moves his arm gently back and forth, the reflection of the moon distorts and coalesces, breaking apart and reforming as easily as, well, as water flowing over stones. He does it a few more times, just enjoying the way the water feels, before he pulls his arm out and dries it on his shirt. He reaches for another fallen twig and puts it in the bag.

The others don't know about this castle. They don't know about this dip in the mountains, they don't know about this garden, they don't know about this pond.

He switches the bag to his other side and dips his other arm in the cool water.

***

"Well, I think that's everything I have," Logan says, adjusting his glasses, "is there anything else?"

"Nope!" Remus bounces on the balls of his feet. "Can't wait to get started!"

"Let's hear from everyone else, Remus, before we do that, but I love your enthusiasm."

"Aw, thanks, Pat-Pat."

Patton giggles and glances at the others. Virgil shrugs and Janus makes a slightly offhand waving gesture. Logan looks at Roman who quickly looks down at the sheet of notes in front of him. He tries to read over them again but the letter swim until the page just looks like it's covered in squiggles.

"Roman? You okay, kiddo?"

"Yes."

Janus doesn't quite hiss, but he must do something to signal to Patton and Logan that he's lying. "Roman, if you've got a question, you can ask it."

Trap. Trap. That is a trap and I do not want to be scolded right now. "I'm just thinking about it. You know, I—these are things that I'm gonna do so I'm just…thinking."

"You just gave these to us," Remus adds and Roman leans into him without thinking about it, "you gotta let the brain juices brain juice for a bit before we're gonna have much of anything."

"But you just said you couldn't wait to get started?"

"Yeah, me, Pat, 'cause that's how my brain juices juice. I gotta go start throwing stuff at walls. Ro's not like me, Ro's like Ro. So you gotta let him be like Ro."

"I see," Patton says in the indulgent-not-indulgent tone that always makes Roman's ears ring, "well—"

"How about this: I have a few other things I need to go and work on," Logan says, "and then if Roman has anything he'd like to talk about, he can come and find me later?"

"Yes," Roman blurts out before anyone else can say anything, "yeah, that'd be—that'd be good, thanks, Logan."

"Of course. Come knock on my door whenever you'd like, alright?"

"Great, that's all settled!" Remus's hand is warm and solid on his shoulder. "Bye!"

He sinks them out and into Roman's room, quickly wrapping his arm around Roman's waist as they sit heavily on the ground. Roman's breath catches slightly in his throat and he quickly tosses the notes onto his desk before he can mess them up. That awful curdling feeling in his stomach wriggles and writhes and Remus pulls him to his chest.

"Hey, hey, Ro, it's over now. It's over now, we're in your room, it's just me."

Roman squeezes his eyes shut and turns to burrow into Remus's hold. Remus lets him do it without complaint. He won't get in trouble for being a mess around Remus. Remus won't care. Remus will be happy if he's being a mess because then it means he's not holding it in and hurting himself and Remus can actually help him. He won't be mad if Roman's messy or upset right now. He stood up for Roman when it was getting bad again. He got the others to leave him alone at least for long enough that they could get out. But isn't that running? Didn't Roman just make Remus help him run away? Isn't that just as bad as him running away by himself? Is he going to be in trouble for that too?

"Hey, Roro," comes Remus's voice in his ear, "stay with me. Come give me a cuddle, okay? Just come here, stay right here with me, everything's over now, it's just you and me and I want you to cuddle me because it'll make us both feel better."

Roman does. He wraps his arms around Remus and lets Remus topple them to the floor and squish out all the parts that are making his stomach feel like it's trying to tie itself into knots. His chest feels all achy again and he's so frustrated, because he doesn't want to be like this, he didn't use to be like this, but now it's like he can't go through two conversations without having to run away.

Remus is warm. Remus is solid and warm and safe and he's right here and he's not going anywhere. He can be okay with that for a little while. The longer he sits with this awful shit in his stomach the worse it's going to be when he eventually has to deal with it because his body is stupid like that sometimes and he hates it, he hates everything about it, but right now he has Remus here to love and he'd rather spend that time cuddling his brother than hating the fact that he's so fucking fragile that he can't even talk about things anymore.

Remus must summon some sort of blanket because there's more weight on top of him now and he actually manages to let out a breath when he feels it. He peeks out from Remus's shoulder and sees a version of their old blanket forts covering them. Sheets make the light into pretty colors and there's a gentle breeze through one end. There are blankets covering them, enough to make Roman feel soft and small in the way that you only feel when you're still too young and the bed feels like an ocean and the blankets are comforting creatures that just want to hold and protect you. Remus shuffles down a little to wrap his arms more securely around Roman and oh, he feels—it's—he's—

"Stay here with me for a little," Remus murmurs, pressing his cheek against Roman's, "we're safe in here, okay? Can we do that?"

Roman nods. He tucks his nose back into the crook of Remus's neck and just breathes.

***

He texts Logan. He doesn't want to risk hanging out in the hallway for longer than necessary and if he has to walk there and walk back he doesn't need the added weight of failing to do something as simple as visit someone. Logan texts back right away that he's welcome to come over. He can't decide whether that's a good thing or not and so, before he can overthink it, he texts again asking if he can sink in.

It takes Logan a moment longer to say he can and Roman breathes a sigh of relief. He gathers up his stuff and sinks carefully into Logan's room, appearing just by the door. Logan looks up from his desk and smiles, actually smiles, getting up to go over to him.

"Roman," he says, and fuck, he's talking in that sweet soft voice again, "thank you for coming."

"Thanks for letting me sink in."

"Of course." He motions toward the desk and the second chair. Roman sits down, carefully keeping everything in his lap. "What questions can I answer for you?"

"The, um, they're just small questions, sorry. I just—I was looking over the bit you said about the pacing that you guys wanted and I'm—I don't think I get…it."

"Alright. Let me just pull up my notes…there. Okay, the pacing—can I ask what it is you don't get about it?"

"Maybe you can—sorry, can you just…go over it? Maybe I took my notes wrong."

Something flickers across Logan's expression but he nods and starts going over it. Roman follows along with his notes and sure enough, he hasn't necessarily missed anything, but it feels like there's a piece of the puzzle that Logan can see that he just can't find. When Logan finishes, he bites his lip for a long moment before he glances up. A furrow forms between Logan's brows when he sees what Roman's doing but he doesn't comment on it.

"I just—I'm sorry, I promise I'm paying attention—"

"I know you are, Roman, you don't need to apologize." When Roman hesitates, Logan adjusts his tie and leans a bit closer. "I'm not going to be angry at you, Roman, I give you my word. You came here to ask questions, I am here to work with you to find answers. You are not doing something wrong, I won't be angry, you needn't apologize for anything."

Roman just stares at him. Actually stares, because who the fuck is this and what did they do with Logan? As if he could hear the thought, Logan smiles ruefully and takes off his glasses to clean them.

"What Remus said, about letting you work through things in the way you need to, something in it resonated with me. I suppose I've been—no, I have been taking you for granted in the past with these projects, or at the very least not appreciating the extent of what you do. I'm making an effort to be better about it."

"Oh."

"Is…I know you've only been here for a few minutes, but is it working at all?"

"Yeah. This is…nice. I like being able to talk to you."

Logan smiles. He actually smiles at him and fuck, Roman's not going to start crying right now. He's not gonna. "I like talking to you as well, Roman."

He swallows heavily and looks back down at the notes. "I think I'm confused as to why you've decided to go with this structure. It feels…I don't know how to describe it, but it doesn't—with the way it's been described to me, it feels like it's uneven."

"Uneven how, if you wouldn't mind explaining further?"

"Like—if you're loading passengers onto a train, it kind of feels like you're putting a lot of people in the first car, and then like, two or three in the next few, and then everyone else in the back cars. Does that—I'm sorry, that probably doesn't make any sense at all."

"No, no, I believe I understand. You think the distribution of events is off, correct? The flow of it stagnates in some places and moves too quickly for the audience in others?"

"Yeah."

"What would you suggest, then, to improve it?" Now Roman well and truly stares at him, so much so that he chuckles. "What?"

"You're asking me?"

"You are Creativity," he says, still in that sweet and gentle voice, "I daresay you have far more experience and knowledge of how to do something like this than I do."

Roman looks back down at the notes. Now that this isn't a to-do list anymore, it's a sandbox that he actually gets to play in, he doesn't—he can't—he doesn't know the answer anymore. He doesn't know what he's going to do. Is he going to do something? "C-can I—I need time."

"Of course. I would expect nothing less. Will you let me know if you need a sounding board or when you've got something you think is workable?" He nods. "Lovely."

It takes a few more moments of them sitting there in silence for Roman to realize Logan isn't going to tell him to leave.

"Do you want me to go?"

"If you want to, I've no means to keep you here. I also understand the appeal of co-working in a space, so if you'd like to, you can."

"Wait—you'd let me—but I—"

Logan tilts his head slightly when Roman's words die in his throat. After another moment, he slowly reaches out and runs his hand through Roman's hair, cupping the side of his face. Roman's eyes flutter shut at the contact, breathing in the smell of old books and ink as Logan just holds him. He'd done this when Roman was having a panic attack too; he just touched his cheek and the shock of it interrupted the worst of the feedback loop and then he'd just sat there, letting Roman rest his head in his hand and breathe. It had been so small, it shouldn't have reached into Roman's chest the way it did, but it was a small thing of just I'm here, I'll be here with you for a moment, that it took his breath away.

It takes his breath away again now, Logan's hand just there, supporting his head. After a moment, he hears the creak of a chair and the grip shifts slightly, then another hand cards through his hair and he opens his eyes to see Logan standing over him.

"I am sorry," he whispers, "that I have hurt you to the point where you believe me to be an authority figure out to get you. I am truly sorry, little one. Yes, you can work in here with me if you like. Yes, you can ask questions and take the time you need to work on things at your own pace. I will not be angry, I will not be upset, I give you my word."

"You were so mean," Roman nearly whimpers back.

"I know, little one, I'm sorry. I was cruel and arrogant and you didn't deserve any of it. I falsely believed that I could…control you, as horrible as that is to say out loud, that I could in some way improve Thomas's efficiency by being so rigorous and strict." He crouches down so Roman doesn't have to look up anymore. "But that's not true, and all I've done instead is cause you pain and strife. So I'm not going to be like that anymore."

"You're gonna be nice."

"Yes, exactly, little one. I'm going to be nice." He smiles and strokes Roman's cheek. "I like being nice to you."

"I like when you're—when you're nice too."

"Then this should work out splendidly."

***

"Logan tells me you've been making good progress with the script," Patton says during a pause in the dinner conversation and Roman's hand twitches under the table.

"It's going okay."

There's another long pause before Patton laughs. It's not a very happy laugh. "Are you going to tell us anything else?"

"Like what?"

"Like maybe what about it is going well? Are there things that you didn't expect? Are there things you need help with?"

Roman swallows some water and jams his hand between his leg and the chair. "There's not a lot to talk about. It's just…going."

"You used to be so enthusiastic about talking about your work, kiddo."

"Shit happens, Pat-Pat," Remus grins, "nuts and bolts and squids and ink and all that."

"Yeah, that's how I remember the saying going too."

"Language, Remus, and besides, like you said, your process is different from Roman's. Maybe it's not like that for him."

Roman bites his lip and puts more food in his mouth. Patton won't ask him things when he's actively eating. Across the table, he glimpses Virgil and Janus sharing a look and then Virgil's kicking Remus under the table.

"Hey!"

"You deserve it for reminding me about the time you decided to turn our couch into a giant octopus."

"But that was fun!"

"Having hickies the size of basketballs on my ass for three weeks was not fun, Remus, Thomas couldn't sit down on a sofa for like, a month after that."

"Not to mention the fact that the bear trap was left out in Virgil's hallway."

"Yeah—wait, it was what?" Janus blinks innocently and Virgil narrows his eyes. "You asshole, you said that you didn't know where it was!"

"Did I say that?"

"Don't get cute right now, J."

"Aww, you think I'm cute?"

The conversation quickly derails into Dark Side hijinks and Roman slips gratefully into the background. He sneaks a glance at Patton just to check that he's no longer about to be put on the spot and sees him alternating between bemusement and exasperation. He's safe for now. He goes back to eating and completely misses the concerned look Logan shoots him about halfway through dessert.

***

"Roman," Logan says one evening when the two of them are alone in the living room, "I'd like to go on one of those walks in the Imagination with you again. Would that be alright?"

"Like—the ones on the path near the flower fields?"

"Yes, there. That would be perfect."

"Um, okay. Do you want to go now?"

"If that suits you. There's still an hour or so before movie night officially starts."

"Sure."

Logan smiles and the two of them go up to the Imagination's double doors. Roman pushes them open and late-afternoon sunlight shines over rolling hills of blooming flowers, a single dirt path framed by elegant wooden fences tracing through the sweeps and contours of the valley. Logan carefully takes one of his hands and starts to walk, letting Roman decide the pace. A gentle breeze wafts the aroma of the new blooms through the air. Clouds tinged with orange and pale pink drift across the sky. The grass rustles and their feet crunch lightly along the path.

They walk past a tree growing atop one of the hills and Logan takes a deep breath.

"Little one?"

"Mhm?"

"I have a question for you that you needn't answer."

"Okay?"

"I've noticed that you…when Patton talks to you," Logan begins and Roman's hand twitches. He pauses, taking the hand in both of his and pressing his lips to it. "Precisely."

Roman swallows. "You want to know why?"

"If you would be comfortable telling me, yes."

He's quiet for a long while. Logan doesn't push. They walk up and down a few more hills before he sighs. Logan guides him over to a bench and they sit in the warm silence together.

"Do you…I don't know if you remember this," Roman says quietly, "when Thomas was struggling with being gay."

"I remember the time frame, yes."

"Did you know that was the last time Janus and Patton agreed on something before the, um, before they all came back?"

"I suppose I knew it in an abstract way, or at least it was something I knew to be true, but I didn't—no, I didn't know that was the last time."

He falls quiet again. The prickle along his skin is back. The ache in his chest blooms anew. Old wounds press against the inflamed nerves hidden under layers and layers of scar tissue. He feels heavy.

"They were so sure they were right."

"That they were right?"

"Yeah."

***

"You know how this goes, Roman," Patton says, his voice as hard as a ruler smacking against Roman's knuckles, "the prince falls in love with the princess. He saves her, they get married, happily ever after. You know better than to say something stupid like that."

"But it's not stupid! It's not—"

"Roman." Now Janus looks at him with that falsely pitying condescension. "You want to tell good stories, right? You want to tell stories that people will like, that they'll praise you for, right? You want to be good for the people you're telling stories for, don't you?"

"Well…"

"You know how to be good." Patton folds his arms. "You'll tell the right stories. You will, won't you?"

Roman's throat prickles. He twists his hands into the cover of his notebook. Janus raises an eyebrow, reaching out to snatch it from him. He yelps, scrabbling to get it back, but more arms hold him back as Janus flips through it. His eyebrow keeps raising higher.

"Well, well, well. Looks as though our little prince isn't as honorable as he claims to be."

Hot, thick shame bubbles up in his mouth. Patton holds his hand out and Roman tries to lunge for the book but Janus squeezes his side, making him collapse into the rest of his hands. Patton turns the pages and each one feels like it's ripping his skin off. He doesn't stop thrashing, not until Janus snaps at him to be still. Patton's mouth hardens into a thin line and he sighs like he's disappointed.

He takes the book and drops it into the trash can.

"No! Give it back, it's mine, it's not yours, you can't do that."

"Stop."

Roman grits his teeth and yanks against Janus's grip because Janus is grabbing him and it hurts and it's not fair that he's getting hurt when he didn't even do anything wrong. Patton steps close enough that Roman can't avoid looking at him and just waits for Roman to tire himself out.

"Apologize."

"What? No, I'm not going to apologize! I didn't do anything wrong! You're the ones who hurt me and stole my stuff!"

"If you're so sure you didn't do anything wrong, then why did you try and hide the notebook?" He takes a step closer when Roman doesn't say anything. "Why did you try to lie to us? Why wouldn't you tell us what you were making? You knew it was wrong, Roman, you knew it all along and you did it anyway because you didn't care. You didn't care that it was hurting us, hurting Thomas. And you did it anyway. Do you know what that means?"

There's a lump in his throat.

"That makes you selfish, Roman. That makes you very, very selfish. That's not very prince-like, is it?"

"…no."

"I asked you a question."

"No."

Patton's quiet for a moment. Then: "there won't be any daydreams for Thomas until the end of the month."

Roman's head jerks up. "What? You can't do that!"

"Thomas needs to have good dreams. Daydreams are already a privilege, as Logan said. If you can't be trusted to give Thomas good dreams, you don't get the reward of being allowed to daydream."

"But that's not fair!"

Patton raises an eyebrow. "Do you think you've behaved in a way that deserves a reward? Or a privilege? Have you been good?"

"Don't lie," Janus sings, still tugging on his arms and poking him in the side, "I'll know if you lie."

"Roman, I asked you a question."

Roman doesn't say anything. Janus pokes him again. He doesn't say anything. He gets poked again.

"Stop poking me!" He yanks his arm away from Janus's grip. "Let me go! You're being mean!"

"My, my, Roman, what a temper you have. We've been talking using our inside voices, why are you shouting?"

"He's right, Roman."

"What do you mean he's right? He was poking me!"

"And that gives you the right to shout at both of us?" Patton's voice makes Roman shrivel up. He sighs again and it hurts. "I'm disappointed in you, Roman. I thought you'd know better by now."

"Maybe I do know better. You're not Romance, you're not Creativity, what if I know better than you do?"

Patton raises his eyebrows.

The room gets cold.

Janus chuckles in the background as Roman gets smaller and smaller and smaller—

***

Roman blinks. He thinks about the story he'd told himself when he was younger to fall asleep faster, about the two boys in the village who went to go explore a nearby forest and fell in love. He thinks about the notebook thrown in a trashcan that he never saw again. He thinks about the bruise on his side and the locks on the Imagination that burned his fingers whenever he tried to touch them.

He thinks about hearing Remus cackling joyfully on the other side and wondering why he had to be good when Remus didn't just to enjoy being himself.

He thinks about feeling like a puppet. He thinks about strings and wooden handles and smiling when it hurt and talking with words that weren't from his own mouth. He thinks about tears and sniffles and hissed whispers and too-red noses. He thinks about aching hands and twisted stomachs and chests that wouldn't stop feeling like someone's hand was in there, rummaging around. He thinks about standing very still as someone else talked about something he tried to talk about years ago, he thinks about the rage building up on the underside of his tongue, he thinks about the phantom sting across his knuckles from when someone ordered him to be good and apologize.

He thinks about how much it hurts and how scared it makes him.

He hasn't said any of this to Logan. He just said that they were so certain they were right and Logan seemed to understand what he meant. He let Logan pull him in for a hug and promise that he would try and help in any way he could. He knows Logan's been watching them interact now, that Logan's been seeing how scared he is whenever Patton tries to make him talk about something he doesn't want to. He knows Logan's been talking to him quietly and gently and being nice and it helps. It does.

But he knows it can't last forever.

***

It doesn't.

***

The wolf is the one to find him. He's tucked deep into a crevice in the mountainside, the wind whipping across the rock. He lost feeling in his fingers long ago. The shadow falls over him and he barely blinks. A nose the size of his chest nudges his head and jaws that could swallow houses part to take him in between sharp teeth.

He's carried back to the safety of the forest, laid on his side as the wolf laps at his numb, scraped limbs, just this side of too rough. He stares into the darkness with salt crusted at the corners of his eyes. The wolf huffs and curls around him, blowing warm air over his freezing body before lifting his nose to let out a long, almost mournful howl.

Wings. A distant cry. The ground shakes.

Snuffling scales and warmth, true warmth. A tail wrapping around him as another snout nudges its way into his chest. His dragon rumbles as the wolf resettles, the two wrapping themselves about him as though he were nothing but a little mouse, shivering and scared in the too-big world.

***

"Hey, Princey," Virgil says quietly as Roman steps through the door, the wolf nudging him all the way through, "don't worry, we're not here to yell at you or anything, we, uh, we wanna help."

Roman eyes him warily, hardly daring to look at Janus for too long.

"Remus and Logan are still talking with Patton. They're not gonna be done for a while. We're here to help you, okay? That's it." Roman doesn't move. "We can—shit, Princey, you're bleeding."

He looks down. Oh. So he is. He hears a shuffling and jerks his head back up to see Virgil holding a first aid kit. He gestures wordlessly between it and Roman and after a very, very long moment, Roman nods.

"Okay. I'm gonna come over and just clean it, okay?" Roman nods. "Thanks. I'm gonna…start moving now."

Janus doesn't move an inch, his concerned expression remaining fixed on Roman's arm until Virgil pronounces it clean. Then, and only then, does he look up to meet Roman's gaze and stand. Roman flinches, Virgil steadying him, and Janus stops. Slowly, deliberately, he takes off his gloves—all of them, all six hands, and takes a step forward. Roman's breathing picks up and Virgil squeezes his shoulder.

"I won't let him hurt you," he says softly, and Janus doesn't even react. Instead, he keeps coming closer. "Just—it's okay, Roman. He's here to help too."

Janus stops right in front of him and—oh. One hand fits around the back of his neck, another around his shoulders, one around his waist—oh, no—

"Oh, sweetie," he hears distantly as his knees buckle, "you poor thing, shh, shh, hush now, it's going to be okay."

His mind goes haywire. Janus doesn't do this, not with him, not like this. Janus isn't this gentle, this tender, this kind, whatever you want to call it. There are so many hands rubbing his back, running fingers up and down, or just holding him, there's a soft voice in his ear and he's lying against something solid and safe. There are kisses on his temples, his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, he's shaking, he's so scared.

"I don't know what to do," he hears distantly, "he's—Virgil, what do I do?"

"He's scared shitless, J, he doesn't know what's going on."

"I know, I know, I just—" another kiss, a harder one, pressed right to the crown of his head— "oh, sweetie, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise, you've been so brave and so strong, my sweet prince…my sweet, sweet prince…"

Roman's hands twitch. He touches the fabric of Janus's cloak and holds a single fold between his fingers.

"Yes, yes, that's it, it's okay, you can hold onto me. I've got you, you see? I've got you and you're safe and everything's okay. You're okay, you're safe, I'm going to look after you from now on, I promise. It's okay, sweetie, oh, you've been so brave…"

"…Janus?"

"Yes, sweetie? What is it, what do you need?"

"Are…are you mad at me?"

He feels Janus's chest stutter against his own. "No, sweetie, I'm not mad at you. You didn't do anything wrong, you're so good."

"G-good?"

"Yes, sweetie, you're so good. You've been so good, it's okay, you're safe now, you're going to be just fine, I'm going to help look after you, and so will Virgil and Remus and Logan—we're all looking after you right now, okay? It's okay."

…well, fuck.

***

He's not left alone with Patton for a while after that. Remus sticks closely by his side for any meetings, Virgil's always lurking in a room somewhere wherever Roman is, and Logan texts him throughout the day with random little facts and interesting things he's learned. It doesn't feel bad, per se, to have all of them looking out for him like this, but it doesn't feel good either.

Patton does explain that what he's been trying to do is encourage some of Roman's old habits—talking about his stuff, sharing his opinions—but he didn't know that it was making Roman so scared. He's not thrilled about the fact that Roman's so scared of him, but hey, neither is Roman. They manage to find a way to coexist that doesn't involve the others acting like a barrier between them, but it isn't easy.

He spends more time in the Imagination with the others, showing them the places that he and Remus built when they were younger. They play games and watch movies and spend time together outside of working on things.

Then there's a movie night where only Patton and Roman show up early. It's…not easy.

But then Patton makes a joke that only he and Roman knew and the rest of them arrive downstairs to hear the two of them laughing their heads off.

And…yeah, maybe things aren't beyond fixing after all.

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl

[part-time-zombie]

What To Expect

pairings: logince (platonic, can be read as romantic)

summary: roman didn't think anyone else would be up this late at night, especially not logan. an unexpected encounter leads to a much needed heart-to-heart between the two, one that may lead them in the right direction towards mutual understanding.

tags/warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, angst with a happy ending

word count: 3864

a/n: this is basically my Night Owls fic, but if roman was the one to run into logan instead of remus. also this is like the second fic i've ever written (wow).

Roman couldn’t sleep. This was bad enough on its own, as Roman usually preferred to get plenty of beauty rest, but what was worse about tonight was why he was still awake.

Over the past few days, or maybe weeks, it felt as if a dark cloud had settled over his mind and heart in the wake of all that had happened between him and the others after the wedding, and that in any moment a horrible storm would come erupting to the surface if he didn’t do something about it first. He felt restless and tense and generally very unlike himself, and he was desperate to find a way to get this awful feeling out of his system so he could just get back to normal.

The thought of actually talking about what he was feeling had crossed his mind before, but he squashed the idea down as quickly as it had come up. Firstly, the notion that Roman was so pathetically helpless that he had to rely on someone else just to get a grip on his own fleeting, fickle feelings was simply laughable. He may be a pauper’s excuse for a prince, but he still had his pride to protect. Secondly, even if he did decide to bite the bullet and seek out some form of comfort from someone else, who exactly could he go to in the first place? Remus wouldn’t care to listen to anything like this, and Virgil really didn’t need someone else’s problems to worry about on top of everything else. As nice as a supportive hug from Patton sounded, there was no way he could go to him either. He just stood by and let Thomas choose that lying snake over him, actualizing the dreaded fact that Roman had fallen from grace and from Thomas’ favor. Patton listened to Janus instead of him without even trying to look sorry about it. No, there was no way he could talk to Patton about any of this, and he sure as hell wasn’t bringing this anywhere near Janus.

He doubted he could talk to Logan, either. Logan was probably the best side to go to for something like this, he could keep Remus in line without so much as breaking a sweat after all, and he was always capable of solving the other sides’ problems. He always knew what to do, what to say. And yet, Roman knew it was a bad idea. He knew he could stand to be more observant overall, but he could always tell how people thought of him when he talked to them. He had lost count of the vast amount of rolled eyes, defeated sighs, and outright hateful glares Logan had thrown his way. It didn’t stop there however. He had gradually noticed just how stressed and tired Logan had seemed as of late. If Roman came up to Logan and forced him to put his own work aside to coddle and comfort him right now, he’d probably despise him forever. Not that he would blame him.

A particularly loud rumbling from his stomach pulled Roman from his thoughts. He really hadn’t eaten very much today; he had hardly even left his room for any more than necessary. Maybe if he ate something he’d feel a little bit better, or at least be able to finally get some sleep. It was worth a shot either way, so Roman quietly crept downstairs to the kitchen in search of anything that would serve as a semi-satisfactory midnight snack.

And nearly tripped over himself in shock on the last step.

Logan was still up, which in and of itself wasn’t particularly unordinary, as Logan was usually one of the last sides to retire for the night, but he had never expected to see him like this.

He was sitting in the living room with a glass of wine and a plate full of Crofters on toast on the coffee table beside him, but he wasn’t reading a textbook or going over one of his notebooks like normal. He was resting on the floor and working on a crossword puzzle. Weirder still, he was in his unicorn onesie, and as the hood fell back with an absentminded shake of the head from Logan, Roman saw that he was currently listening to something on his earbuds. He looked soft and almost happy in a way that Roman hadn’t seen in a very long time. The most surprising thing of all of this to Roman was the fact that Logan was smiling. It was a small smile, more relaxed than enthused, but it was still an authentic smile. He looked so calm and light and completely at peace that Roman forgot why he had come downstairs in the first place, the hunger in his stomach quickly replaced with butterflies. He had never seen Logan like this before and he doubted he would ever get the chance again, and if Roman were a little more aware of himself right now, he would have slipped back upstairs as silently as he had come before Logan could so much as suspect that he had still been awake at all. He ought to do just that, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away from the incredible and impossible sight before him, completely transfixed by Logan's smile.

Which is why Logan finally caught sight of him lurking on the stairs and staring at him.

He had merely lifted his head up from the page in a stretch when he froze, wide eyes locked onto Roman's. The smile disappeared in an instant and was replaced with a look of sheer terror. Logan rushed to his feet in a dash, a desperate excuse or plea trying to stumble free from his shaking lips as Roman quickly moved from his point on the stairs to join him, reaching out to calm and quiet him. It didn’t seem to help very much.

“I, um, don’t- it’s not what it looks like. Please don’t say anything, or tell anyone, ever, please. It’s nothing, I was doing nothing, so just forget whatever it is you didn’t see,” Logan said in a rush, changing out of his onesie and back into his ordinary outfit as he stood up.

Roman couldn’t think of anything to say to calm him down right now. He had seen Logan angry, seen him excited, seen him disappointed, even seen him scared and saddened before, but he had never seen him so embarrassed like this. He didn’t know Logan could be this bashful.

“Woah, it’s okay, specs. Don’t freak out or anything, alright? I didn’t mean to spook you like that. I swear I had no idea you were still awake. I was just trying to get a snack,” he explained.

Logan shifted where he stood, eyes darting between Roman and the stairs behind him, as if debating on if he could make a run for it or checking to see if anyone else was awake. Upon seeing that he couldn’t get past the stairs without passing Roman, he quickly took out his earbuds as he straightened his posture and fixed an impassive look on his face.

“Well, I certainly didn’t mean to disturb you, Roman, though I must suggest you try to get some rest after you’ve eaten. It’s rather late, and a good nights sleep is essential to ones health.”

Logan managed to switch from being open and vulnerable to calm and indifferent with such practiced ease that it would almost be impressive, were it not currently concerning. How many times had Logan shut himself down like this for it to be so effortless? How many times had he had to practice this kind of restraint, and how could Roman not have noticed it until now? As much as he wanted to ask, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. Roman instead focused on the smaller matter at hand; what exactly was Logan doing out here in the middle of the night?

“Aren’t you awake right now, too?” he countered. It was merely meant to be lightly teasing but going by Logan’s reaction, it must have sounded more accusatory than anything. Logan tensed minutely before looking away, where his eyes fell upon the still open crossword on the floor. He quickly bent down and retrieved it, holding it close to his chest in an almost protective manner.

“What were you doing up so late, anyway?” Roman added, too curious to be courteous.

Logan didn’t answer right away, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. Roman couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for making him so uneasy, but right now he was far too interested in what it was that had gotten Logan so defensive.

“… Nothing,” he finally answered.

“Get real, you were obviously doing something, Logan.”

“No, I wasn’t. I was, quite literally, doing nothing. That was the point,” he explained with a sigh. He fixed his gaze on Roman, a steely expression on his face. “Everyone has their own method to de-stress when they find themselves feeling overwhelmed. If I recall, you mentioned how singing to yourself was a coping mechanism you usually rely on. This is mine. Or at least, it was, before you decided to interrupt me. Though, I shouldn’t have been so foolish as to be so open in the common room like this. I assure you I will keep any and all future de-stressing sessions in my room from here on out, so you need not worry about me bothering you like this again.”

 “Logan, you didn’t bother me. If anything, I was just surprised seeing you so tranquil. What all is it that you do when you unlax like this?” he asked.

“What does it matter?”

“Well, I’d kind of want to know what it is that makes you so happy.”

“Why?” Logan asked, and despite the question seeming inquisitive, he asked it with the deadpan, defeated tone of someone who didn’t really see the point in the answer.

“It’s just, I don’t often see you so open like that, other than when you’re around Crofters, that is.” He said, lips upturning as the memory of their duet resurfaced. “And I’m honestly surprised you still have that onesie of yours. I thought you said they were too childish for you.”

Logan didn’t seem to share Roman's fondness for the recollection. He flinched just minutely enough for Roman to notice it before straightening his already stiff posture. “Yes, well, I suppose some habits can be somewhat hard to break. It’s nothing for you to bring up again, especially not to the others. Just leave it alone, Roman.”

“Logan, I’m not making fun of you here-”

“That’s a first,” he retorted with an almost exaggerated eyeroll.

Roman was stunned. “What are you… what do you mean?”

“Oh, please. I am not blind to the unmitigated plethora of mockery and insults you’ve thrown my way. ‘Sub-astute teacher’, ‘Squad-less geek’, ‘Microsoft nerd’, ‘Drama turd’, ‘Nerdy Wolverine’. I know you don’t exactly think highly of me, Roman, and that’s alright. We don’t have to like each other, as long as Thomas is doing well you can hate me as much as you want. It’s fine.”

Roman felt like he had just been sucker-punched in the gut. Every nickname Logan spat back at him was ringing in his ears with the sickening realization that Logan actually thought he meant them. It was all just supposed to be harmless banter, jokes to be lightheartedly exchanged like he and Virgil did. They weren’t actually… Logan couldn’t possibly believe…

“Logan, I don’t hate you. I never meant to make you feel that way, I didn’t mean any of it,” Roman started, but Logan cut him off with a scoff.

“Forgive me for my skepticism, but I find it very hard to believe you right now. I already told you; you are allowed to dislike me. I don’t mind. And I know that tomorrow you will undoubtedly use what you witnessed tonight as additional ammunition for your jokes, but I would still appreciate it if you tried to exercise some restraint. I do have a reputation to uphold, after all. Or at least, I should.”

Roman was speechless. Logan really thought that Roman despised him. He even thought that he would go so far as to make fun of him for finally unwinding like this, as if the mere sight of Logan in such a relaxed state didn’t fill Roman with light. Memories clouded his vision, images of Logan smiling and laughing about something silly, the sweet sound of Logan's singing as he lit up at the sight of his own jam, all of the times when he seemed so eager to participate in something jovial and juvenile. The memories shifted, revealing how many times Roman or the others had judged and chastised him for doing so, acting like he shouldn’t enjoy such things at all, despite it now being clear how much joy they had brought him. Logan had seemed so eager to participate in those light-hearted festivities, but Roman and the others made him feel like he couldn’t even enjoy his favorite food without criticism. He couldn’t even remember the last time he heard Logan laugh or even saw him smile before tonight. Is that why he was out here so late at night? Did he feel like he could only let go like this when no one was there to tell him he couldn’t? All because of the expectations everyone else had about him. How could Roman have let it get this bad?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, so quietly that he was uncertain if he had even said the words out loud. Logan must have still heard him, though. His eyes widened in surprise, jaw falling open slightly. His arms dropped to his sides, one hand still absentmindedly holding his puzzle book. He shook his head ever so slowly as if struggling to comprehend what was happening. Roman could see denial forming in his mind, as if he were unable to accept what he was hearing.

“Logan, please,” Roman started. He took a breath and proceeded, desperate to make Logan understand. “I am really, truly, sorry. I never meant to hurt you like this. I had no idea how badly it was affecting you, but I promise you I didn’t want it to. I didn’t want this at all.”

“Then what did you want?” he asked, voice low and wavering.

“I wanted to engage with you. Those jokes, that’s all they were meant to be. Just jokes, ones I was hoping you’d return to me. I only meant for it to be witty banter, quips we could throw back and forth. I remember how you looked during that little rap battle thing we did. You looked so excited, so cool, you really seemed to be having fun. Not to mention how impressive it was. I was honestly amazed with how quickly you came up with those rhymes. And I liked having that kind of fun with you, Logan. I wanted to do more things like that with you. You used to smile so much back then, and you were so enthusiastic about everything. Dressing like Sherlock, making all those witty comebacks, even you wearing that unicorn onesie I know you love. You should have been allowed to indulge in all of those things that make you so happy, but instead of encouragement you were met with mockery. All those comments I made weren’t meant to put you down, they were supposed to inspire you to involve yourself in the banter more, to be just as silly as the rest of us. I should have noticed how it wasn’t being taken that way, so I’m sorry, Logan. I never wanted this for you.”

Logan stared back at him for a moment, blinking rapidly before clearing his throat. “Well, I suppose it is good to know that. I will definitely take all of this into account moving forward. Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe it is best for me to retire for the night. You should too, might I add.” Logan then moved to the coffee table, taking his things and disposing of them with one final swig of his wine. He worked quickly, shoulders visibly tense even underneath his shirt, and Roman didn’t know if he ought to help him or stop him before he dropped something or hurt himself. He found himself doing neither, too surprised to do anything other than stare as Logan desperately tried to ignore what had been said. After putting everything away as if he had never been there Logan tried his best to move swiftly past Roman, who had been standing near the stairs the whole time. Roman almost let him go, but the urge to ensure that Logan was alright compelled him to act instead.

He reached out a hand and grabbed Logan's arm as he passed, not hard or firm, just to stop him from leaving. Logan reacted as if he were burned. He tensed and violently tore his arm away, taking a few steps back, with his other hand absently rubbing at the spot where Roman's had been. His face was filled with surprise and shock, and Roman was sure he shared that same expression.

“Logan, are you alright? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked nervously. He took a step closer only for Logan to take another step back, keeping that same distance between them. He didn’t think he had grabbed him that hard, but he had definitely startled him at the very least. He backed off instead, granting Logan some space. Some of the tension left him at that, but he still seemed pensive about something. Roman wanted to punch himself in the face. He had only wanted to make sure Logan wasn’t too terribly upset after everything, but now he had gone and broken him.

“I really didn’t mean to scare you like that. I just wanted to… I don’t know. I guess I wanted to comfort you. You looked really stressed and I thought I’d try to help in some way. I’m really sorry.”

“…It’s alright,” Logan replied. He didn’t seem hurt, at least, but something was still weighing on him. “You just surprised me, that’s all. I’m fine. You don’t need to worry, you did nothing wrong.”

Roman wanted to believe him, but he couldn’t help but feel doubt gnawing at the back of his skull. No one would react that intensely to a hand on their arm unless there was something going on. Maybe Logan didn’t like being touched, he certainly never involved himself in any hugs or cuddles with the others. If that were the case, then Roman just up and grabbing him like that could have really upset him, despite what Logan had said.

“I don’t think that’s all true,” Roman murmured. Logan looked back up at him as he said this, but he continued. “Logan, are you sure you’re alright? I get that you probably don’t like being touched, so I get it if I upset you by grabbing you like that.”

“That’s not it, Roman,” Logan explained rather quickly. “You didn’t hurt me at all, I just didn’t see it coming. I suppose I’m just a bit unused to sudden bouts of physical contact like that, that’s all.” He looked away as he said this, almost shyly. “I haven’t exactly been held very much,” he muttered that last part to himself, so quietly Roman had to strain his ears to hear it. Logan hunched his shoulders forward slightly, arms wrapped around each other like he was trying to hold himself in a way no one else likely did. He looked so small like this, so alone, and it made Roman’s heart ache.

Roman had never seen Logan seek out a hug, or any kind of physical comfort, so he always assumed he wasn’t the type of person to enjoy that kind of thing. But the thought of him silently struggling, longing for some kind of comfort but feeling like he couldn’t have it for whatever reason made Roman’s stomach twist and turn itself into knots like a fork in spaghetti. He had to fix this.

“Logan, do you want to be held?” he asked, trying to keep his tone soft and even.

Logan hardly looked up at him, just enough to look him in the eye, before making the tiniest of nods, his face kept as still and solemn as possible. Still trying his best to look serious, even now. Roman wasted no time in crossing the room and pulling Logan into his arms, holding him in as tight of a hug as he could manage. Logan tensed for a brief moment, but quickly eased against him and softly returned the hug. Roman didn’t usually dish out hugs, more often than not it was Patton who started them, but Roman still tried his hardest to put all of his warmth, all of his care, all of his love into the embrace. He felt Logan's heart against his chest, beating rapidly but gradually slowing as he relaxed, and it only prompted him to hug him even tighter. Logan tucked his head into his shoulder with a quiet sigh, and Roman let one of his hands wander up to his head and play with his hair. That got him a small whine from Logan, who only pressed himself even further into Roman. He had no idea Logan could be like this, and he felt both lucky upon getting the chance to see him drop his guard and full of regret at having been the reason he was on guard to begin with.

“May I ask you something?” Logan asked him, voice slightly muffled by Roman’s shoulder.

“Of course,” he answered, voice slightly shaky with emotion.

“Why are you being so nice to me now?”

Roman bit back the tears that started to cloud his vision. Even now, Logan wouldn’t let himself accept this. “Because I realized just how mean I’ve been to you, and I don’t want to keep doing that. I want to be nicer, to do better. And I know it’ll take me a while to get it right, but I want to try. I want to do what I can to fix this, if you’ll let me. I want to see you smile again, Logan.”

Logan finally pulled back, just enough to look Roman in the eye. His eyes were shining with unshed tears, but they sparked with a faint glimmer of hope.

“And don’t worry, I would never want to make you feel ashamed for something like this. As far as I’m concerned, nothing happened tonight at all. Your secret’s safe with me, scouts honor.”

“You’re not a scout, Roman,” Logan replied. He rolled his eyes again as he said this, but this time it was with a fond exasperation as opposed to the scorn from before.

“Maybe not,” Roman said with a grin, “so how about a princes honor? Is that good enough?”

Logan smiled at him, and the dark clouds in Roman vanished. “It’s good enough for me.”

@britt-ish123 @lio-the-chaotic-nonbeanie-weenie @rougeside4 @oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat @nico-the-overlord @keitaisghost @can-i-take-a-stab @new-zee-land

[oliviaischillin1204]

wake up call

Pairing: Romantic Analogince (Roman/Virgil/Logan)

Word Count: 1,476 Words

roman is lee in like 70% of the fics i have drafted rn. i just want to Wreck him

"Is he seriously still asleep?"

Virgil's voice came from the direction of Roman's bedroom door. He couldn't look at him to check, but he could imagine the fondly exasperated look on Virgil's face as he watched Roman 'sleep'. He was lying on his stomach, his face shoved into a pillow, and even with his eyes innocently closed he could tell how bright it was in his bedroom. He was supposed to get up hours ago, yet here he was.

"I've knocked on his door three times, and nothing," Logan added. He must've joined Virgil in Roman's doorway; Roman felt his heart flutter a bit at the idea that his partners were both watching him sleep.

It was silent for a few long seconds. Roman thought they might've left again, until Virgil spoke.

"Well, you know he needs the sleep," he said, voice strangely measured. "He was up late last night, and we had a lot of work to do yesterday... and plus you tickled him for like an hour before he fell asleep."

Roman inhaled so quickly he nearly choked. Oh. Oh, fuck.

"Ah, yes, I'd almost forgotten about that," Logan continued. "Only because we do it so frequently, it's practically routine to tickle Roman to sleep every night."

Oh, fuck both of them. Roman absolutely was going to make them pay for this stunt later-- if he could get through this without blowing his cover.

"Yeah, he's pretty loud when he gets tickled," Virgil said. "I was in the kitchen with Patton and we both heard it. Kinda... squeal-y, and shriek-y."

"Ah, that must have been when he said he could keep his arms up for five minutes straight. I told him we could stick to gentler tickles to help him wind down, but you know how he is."

They both laughed lowly, and Roman could feel his face getting hot. It's one thing for the two of them to talk about him like he's not even there-- it's even worse when he can't even try to fight back in some way without ruining his plan.

"What was that one thing he does? When he drops his arms almost all the way down again 'cause it tickles too much, but then he just sorta folds his elbows over his face, like he's trying to hide? It's pretty freaking funny."

"Especially since it blocks his vision and prevents him front anticipating the other hand moving toward his torso. We had a lot of fun with that last night-- I believe I found a new freckle, above his right hip, that seemed to be quite sensitive to spider tickles."

Virgil snorted. "Oh, yeah? I'll have to remember that for later... poor little Princey. He has no idea what he's in for as soon as he wakes up."

No, no, no teasing. The butterflies fluttering around his stomach were already bad enough.

"Roman..." Logan's voice was nearly a coo, and Roman fought the urge to shiver as he suddenly realized his partner must be standing right by his bed. "I do hope you're not pretending to be asleep when we've asked you so politely to get up."

He felt the logical side move to sit gingerly on the edge of the bed. He considered throwing in a fake snore, but decided that would be too much.

Especially when, all of sudden, he felt Logan's hand running through his hair. And then he felt Logan's nails running through his hair.

It took every single thing in Roman not to squirm then and there and ruin the whole game.

"We miss you," Logan said softly, and really that wasn't even fair, because if they're planning what Roman knows they're planning, then he was purposefully trying to be romantic and gentle in that way that made Roman's heart flutter in his chest. Stupid smart boyfriends and their stupid observation skills.

Another dip on his other side told him Virgil had joined him on the bed; he forced himself to stay still when he felt a warm hand rub up and down his back. "We have literally nothing to do today. Give it up to Janus on finally booking in that self-care day. And if we do end up doing any work, then everyone is gonna get to see the genius ideas you came up with yesterday. You did good, Princey."

Bastards, bastards, bastards. Roman's tummy would be full of butterflies just from the compliments and validation alone. Pairing it with the gentlest of tickles was overkill.

He could just give in. Roll over, get good morning kisses from his two favorite people in the whole world, and return the love they've showered onto him tenfold. But no one ever accused Roman of giving up from a fight, so his eyes stayed closed and his breathing stayed measured.

At least, until Virgil suddenly curved his fingers so his nails were the ones running up and down Roman's back. He kept his hand right along the spine, which wasn't so bad for Roman, but with every motion he let his fingers creep closer, closer, closer to the backs of Roman's ribs. Those horrible, wonderful tickle spots that Roman was utterly incapable of ignoring. He felt himself begin to tremble, and he wondered if Virgil could feel it, too.

Logan hummed, and suddenly his hand had moved, too, to gently brush and wiggle against Roman's ear. He softly scratched below the lobe, where Roman's ear met his jawline.

It took everything in Roman not to smile, not to scrunch his neck up, not to laugh. He ached to laugh, to wiggle and kick his legs and squirm away from his lovers' hands... and maybe even to be held so tightly, wrapped up in someone's arms, while the other let their hands trail all over his body in retaliation for sleeping late. Or each of his partners could grab one wrist, keeping him so vulnerable between them as they take turns inspecting each one of his tickle spots. Maybe-

"Alright, enough of this," Virgil said, before shoving both arms under Roman's chest and flipping him over onto his back like a pancake. "Time to wake up."

Roman had approximately 0.1 seconds to take a deep breath before both Logan and Virgil dived in with reckless abandon. Gone were the gentle, soft, nearly soothing tickles they'd began with; now Logan was leaning over to dig his thumbs into Roman's underarms while Virgil vibrated his hands all over Roman's soft stomach.

Immediately Roman screamed, eyes shooting open and limbs desperately trying to coordinate some way to defend himself, but his barely-awake brain coupled with the devious double attack left him beyond delirious and without any way to save himself. Virgil leaned down, letting his own morning stubble graze Roman's side while he massaged his tummy, and Logan dropped himself down to murmurs soft coos into Roman's ear that he couldn't even comprehend over how much his warm breath set his ear and neck alight with tingles.

"Nahaha- wahaha- wait!" he gasped. The tickles slowed, but his partners didn't pull away.

"Wakey wakey," Virgil purred, leaning down to leave slow, soft kisses against Roman's midsection. Roman's legs kicked weakly.

"Not fair," he whined. His ear seemed to vibrate with the sound of Logan's low laughter, before he, too, was peppering the spot with gentle kisses. Roman snorted; he couldn't decide which way to move his head (towards the kisses or away from the tickles?). Luckily, Logan made the decision for him, pressing his mouth even closer to Roman's ear so he couldn't scrunch his neck.

"It's time to get up, darling."

Each syllable sent breath against Roman's ear and shivers run up and down his spine. It was horrible, absolutely horrible- Roman could do nothing but squeal and buck against the bed, where Virgil's own kisses and wandering hands were still attacking his tummy.

"Plehehease..." he begged. His smile nearly ached, but he couldn't feel anything other than the soft warmth that came from being adored by his partners. Blissfully, his partners seemed to listen: Logan pecked his kisses down until he was merely kissing Roman's shoulder through his shirt, and Virgil folded his hands and rested his chin on them as he smirked up at his bedraggled boyfriend.

"That was," Roman continued through catching his breath, "utterly uncalled for."

"We warned you, dude," Virgil shot back. "You could've gotten up at any time."

"I was asleep!"

Virgil snorted. "Uh huh."

"I was!"

"Whatever you say, dear," Logan murmured. Roman opened his mouth to continue arguing, but suddenly Logan was once again running his nails through Roman's hair, and any word of complaint disappeared as he moaned.

Virgil propped himself up further, and even in his blissed-out state Roman could make out the softness in his gaze.

"You know what? I think you should sleep in every day."

[edupunkn00b]

Meus ex Machina, Chapter 15: From This Day Forth

Edited public domain image of two hands reaching for each other, lit in deep blue and neon green.

Prev - From This Day Forth - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Distant history and some time later. Plus, Logan's time with The Muse revealed more than anyone expected.

WC: 2655 - Rated: T - CW: descriptions of treating injuries, the 'comfort' of hurt/comfort

“I do.”

Half-hidden by his wild auburn fringe, Luc’s eyes glowed. Not from his Power, not today. No, today Luc’s eyes glowed from within, the natural deep brown soft and warm and bathing him in love.

Janus smiled back at him, squeezing his fingers. “I know you do.”

Their nerves—and their focus—dissolved in quiet shared laughter until Patton’s pointedly cleared throat brought them back to their vows.

When Janus looked up, Patton smiled and inclined his head, his Illusioned officiant’s robes rustling with the movement. “And you, Janus Gates, do you take Lucas Hart to be your love, your husband, and your light from this day forth?”

Swimming in the gentle depths of Luc’s eyes, Janus nodded. “I do.”

~

Janus tossed his tablet onto the couch with more force than he’d intended. Luckily, it merely bounced twice and flipped over, deactivating the screen. His relief was short lived, though, and the droning news report made him almost wish it had cracked. 

Back straight, he perched on the seat beside it and forced a slow breath, giving his attention to the flow of dry, cool air in his lungs and the—

“Governor Aldi has called in three NatGuard divisions to quell the uprising at Humane Care—”

Patton clicked off the newsfeed. Janus fought to push down the molten lead bubbling up in his stomach but finally it burst out. “When will they ever stop? When we teach them a lesson?”

He smacked the table, the sharp sting doing nothing to calm the fire in his bones. Patton’s hot chocolate rattled against the pair of teacups set on either side of it and the force of his hand shook even the pictures on the wall. 

“Now, Kiddo,” Patton inhaled, exaggerating the movement and giving him and Luc a gentle smile. Luc leaned closer, fingertips brushing his sleeve. “Let’s all take a—“

“No! I will not take a breath!” He sounded precisely like Ro in one of his tantrums but he just couldn’t stop. “And I will not calm down and wait for the Powerless running the government to follow the arc of progress or whatever pacifying bullshit—“

“Language!”

“Papa Bear, it’s alright,” Luc said smoothly. The soft purr of the old nickname brought warmth to the elder brother’s cheeks but his expression didn’t change. He picked up his cocoa and watched the newlyweds with his lips drawn into a thin line.

Luc nodded slowly and reached over the coffee table, brushing Patton’s hand, calming him. “Let him get it out.”

“This isn’t simply some phase I will get past!” Janus nearly growled, jerking away from the other two. “We’ve been trying things your way for three years now and look where we are?” Arms flung out at his sides, he looked around their newly finished HQ. “We have to hide away behind a forest laced in tripwire because all the Powerless know how to do is hate us.”

He stood, shaking his head as he stared at the vidscreen, the latest atrocity playing out in full spectrumed splendor. “Maybe it’s time we used our powers for real change and made them stop.”

“Love?” Luc’s eyes were wide and he made no effort to hide the concern roiling through him.

Janus deflated, sinking back down and accepting Luc’s outstretched hand, bare skin intertwined with his own gloved fingers. “I don’t mean…” He gestured vaguely. “There just… there has to be another way.”

~

“Jan?” Luc’s voice was quiet, barely audible over the whine of the transport’s thrusters as they raced away from the Inn.

Eyes focused on The Muse, unconscious and strapped in his own seat, Janus shook his head.

Luc was completely silent until they’d landed at HQ and he waited until they’d gotten The Muse hooked up to a med bed before addressing Janus again. “Love, there’s nothing you could’ve—”

“ Nothing I could’ve done?” Luc stepped back, the full force of Janus’ rage seeping past his lowered voice. The final threads of his control were fraying and Janus… he wasn’t sure what he might do when they snapped.

Still, Luc reached for him, eyes dimly glowing. “Love, calm down. You didn’t know—”

Janus jerked his hand back, keeping an empty med bed between them. “I didn’t know what? I didn’t know Andrew would betray us? Or I didn’t know you would lead us right into a trap?”

“Wha—” Luc’s mouth moved like a fish and his hand flopped back to his side. “What are you saying?”

Tears swam in his eyes, sparkling in amber light as Luc wrestled his own emotions into control. Or manipulated his own tears. Sour, jagged guilt stabbed Janus’ chest at the thought. Was it his own conscious speaking?

Or Luc’s?

‘Re will be fine, you’ll see. He just needs a little calming, a little extra control.’ Luc had been so sure this outing would work. ‘He’ll have both of us there, both of us to keep him and everyone safe. He deserves a good birthday. He deserves to celebrate a little.’

Janus scrubbed at the blood staining his shirt, his gloves, the man’s final cries echoing in his brain. “What did he offer you?”

“What?” Luc acted like he hadn’t heard him.

Janus stared back, fighting past the buzz of alcohol singing in his veins. Plus gods knew what else that traitorous bartender had slipped into his drink. “What did he offer you? How much were we worth to you?”

“What!?” Luc crossed his arms over his chest, eyes brighter than the med bay’s lights. “You think I—”

Guilt and malice and rage swirled between them, cutting through the lingering dizzy haze. “I can feel your guilt, Luc. You know you can’t hide it from me.”

“Love, no…” Luc’s voice broke, tears finally spilling down his cheeks. “Please listen to me… You’re not feeling that from me, I swear! Here…” He slid around the med bed, both hands outstretched. “Jan, please… Take my hand, you’ll see. You’ll—”

“Don’t you dare touch me!” Janus pushed the bed back between them. “No, you just want to make this all go away and you can’t, Luc. You just can’t. He killed that man! And it’s because of us! Because of y—”

Too late, his mouth snapped shut.

“You really believe I could…” Orange flame for eyes, Luc shook his head, lips pressed together, a gash across his face. When he spoke again, his voice was low, an almost monotone, his words carefully enunciated. “Very well, then, Janus.” He blinked, slowly, bathing the room in cold darkness, then turned and left.

Rooted where he stood, Janus listened to Luc’s footsteps fade before they eventually returned, pausing just outside the med bay. Janus held his breath, waiting. Listening. 

There was nothing more to hear but the curt zip of a bag and the woosh of the front door opening and closing.

Luc was gone.

“Jannie?”

Janus had no idea how long he’d stood there before The Muse’s whisper pulled him back to that room. “Jannie, please help him.”

~

Jolted upright in bed, Janus swore when his grandmother’s repurposed album fell off the side and hit the floor. His dream—his nightmare—tightened its grip on his mind, claws sinking into flesh, The Muse’s plea wrapping tighter and tighter around him.

-”Jannie… Jannie…”-

He forced his eyes open and only then did he register the green lights flashing along the ceiling’s edge. The voice was no dream. -”Muse? What—”- He yanked back, blistering from The Muse’s thoughts.

-” Jannie, please help him !”-

He grabbed his gloves and a robe on his way out of the room and collided with Pat in the hall.

“I checked the breakers, I checked the shield,” he stammered, barefoot and clad in sleep shorts. “Everything’s working. I don’t understand—”

“He’s out in the hall.” Virge nudged them forward, pressing a tablet into Janus’ now gloved hands. “With Mac.”

Tears poured down The Prince’s face and he leaned close to Virge.

While Pat ran to the med bay, Janus watched the camera feed. Machina’s chair sat abandoned in center frame. The Muse’s lower half, writhing in a tangle of thorny vines, was the only part of him visible. Was Machina still inside? “Get him comfortable,” he ordered to Virge, nodding at The Prince. 

Pat returned, zipping up his jumpsuit, the largest medkit tucked under his arm. “I’m ready.”

“He’s trying,” The Prince whispered as they passed. “He just can’t help it.”

“I know.” Eyes closed and with one hand pressed to the wall for support, Janus reached out. -”We’re coming, Muse. Hang on.”-

~

With Pat’s help, he made it onto the elevator and down to the basement. He used the brief trip to stitch together a semblance of a shield, filtering what he could of the turmoil in The Muse’s mind. “I’ll need you to—”

-”Hurry, hurry, hurry…”- The Muse broke through. Why wouldn’t he just go back inside his room? Why had he even left? Had Machina somehow lured him out? He understood what the shield meant to him… didn’t he?

“I’ll get Re,” Pat promised, one arm still loosely wrapped around his waist. The other gripped the tablet and the med kit. “But maybe come back? He might need you.”

Janus nodded, less steady than he would have liked, as the elevator stopped and the door slid open. Machina and The Muse’s cries echoed down the stone corridor, amplified by the small space. They rushed out, Pat barely slowing to grab Muse, remembering just in time to leave behind the tablet before the shield fried its circuitry.

They stepped over the threshold and silence—near silence—fell over the hallway. The world that poured into The Muse’s mind—and relayed into his and The Prince’s—quieted.

Janus hated how his shoulders dropped, his jaw unclenched and he dropped to his knees in shaky relief next to the whimpering heap of blankets on the floor.

“Machina?” He jerked away from the touch, reaching for the closed door. -”Logan.”-

Machina froze, clinging to the thought.

-”Logan, you’re safe,”- Janus sent as gently as he could manage while fighting past the blocks Machina seemed to have instinctively put up. -”You’re safe now.”-

-”Muse isn’t.”- With a groan, Machina rolled and met his eyes, revealing his blood-and-tear smeared face.

Nodding slowly, Janus gently wiped his face clean with the edge of the blanket. -”He will be,”- he promised. -”Patton will care for him. As I will care for you.”-

Machina considered his words, bloodshot eyes darting between his and The Muse’s door. Finally, he nodded.

“May I?” Janus asked aloud, arms outstretched.

He nodded again and Janus lifted Machina up and into his chair. When he resisted leaving behind The Muse’s blanket, Janus simply placed it on his lap and tucked it up and out of the way of the wheels before rolling him into the waiting elevator and upstairs to the med bay.

~

Most of the blood covering his face came from his head and from gashes on his tongue, swollen arcs of bite marks driven in top and bottom. He helped him rinse with a saline solution from the med kit, humming quiet praise at his cooperation. There was more blood on his hands, along with fine strands of Machina’s hair twisted around his fingers. Patton guessed Machina likely bore bloody bald spots that matched the ones on The Muse’s scalp, too.

Just like Ro used to.

“He didn’t…” The Muse hung his head, wincing when Patton found a deep cut near the nape of his neck. “He didn’t mean to. And I…” His voice cracked with that same quiet shame.

“Oh, Kiddo… I know you didn’t want to hurt him. We all do,” Patton murmured and gently dabbed at the wound before reaching for the same skin adhesive he used on the bites in his mouth. “How… Kiddo, how did you…” He paused, letting his work to close up the wound distract them both.

Patton held The Muse’s hair up and away from the gash as the adhesive dried. His eyes wandered around the room. The Muse was dressed for bed but pastels and fresh drawings were scattered over the floor. Lots of them.

Most of the drawings featured Machina in his chair, dark stone walls behind him. Patton looked over his shoulder through the little window on the door. The backgrounds matched. This hadn’t been Machina’s first visit.

He focused on the rest of The Muse’s wounds and, as soon as the adhesive set, he urged him to drink some of the electrolyte. When The Muse finished his cup, he sat curled in the corner, knees hugged to his chest, shivering. Patton fetched the other blanket from his bed and wrapped it over his shoulders. 

“He opened the door,” he whispered, guessing—or, more likely hearing—Patton’s unvoiced question. “He came inside so I could hear him. I tried to stop… I did. I did.  I swear I did. I… He…” The Muse looked up at him, big green eyes swimming in tears. “He’s so lonely, too.” 

Nodding, Patton crouched next to him and opened his arms. The Muse carefully arranged himself in the offered embrace, tucking the folded blanket between his face and Patton’s chest. Patton hummed and stroked The Muse’s hair with gloved hands. 

“We shouldn’t be alone, Papa Bear.” His whisper was muffled against the blanket. “None of us should.”

This close to the door panel’s red lights, The Muse’s curls took on an orange glow and Patton swallowed back a sob. 

“I know, Kiddo. I know.”

~

“Thank you.”

Janus thought he’d imagined Machina’s quiet whisper but when he lifted his head he was met with the other man’s steely blue eyes. “Wasn’t going to leave you there,” he muttered and raised a cup to his cracked lips. “Go slow.”

Machina made a face and pulled away, moving his tongue in his mouth like a foreign object.

Janus nodded and waited, cup at the ready. “You bit your tongue. You’ll absorb the stitches in a few days. Well, if…”

He sipped from the cup then chuckled dryly. “If I wasn't a Powerless, you mean.”

“That’s not how I would phrase it, but, yes…” He tipped the cup again, nodding when Machina took another long drink. “We’ve only used it on…”

“On Remus?”

Cup frozen mid-air, Janus stared at him. The Muse’s old name sent a spark through his veins, Ro’s prepubescent voice calling after his brother, filled with playful indignation.

‘Remus, stop! No fair! It’s my turn to be the dragon!’ 

The cup shook in his hand and he set it down before he spilled it on Machina’s bedding. “Where did you hear that name?”

Machina shook his head, mouth working for a moment before he shrugged. “I—I… In my head? It was… it was just there.” He blinked and shuddered, face twitching.

His breathing stuttered, eyes squeezed shut as panic and shame gripped his mind. Machina shook his head and flailed in the med bed, tugging away the blanket and tangling his stumps in the sheets.

-“No, no… None of that… Stay here with me,”- Janus sent and spoke, gripping his shoulder. Finally, he lay back, hand twisted in the blanket. Still, his mind swirled with images he could not have witnessed himself. -”That’s The Muse’s past… Not yours.”-

Janus smiled when Machina finally met his eyes. “There you are,” he said aloud and offered more of the electrolyte. “You need it. Between the blood loss and…”

He finished the cup and took three sips of the next before shaking his head. “I…” He let out a little puff of air and looked away, guilt thick and sour in his scent. Janus returned the cup to its spot on the bed tray and waited.

“I heard another name… Well…” Dozens of names in The Muse’s voice echoed in his mind and Janus pulled back, throwing up a weak shield.

But not before he caught one final name.

Machina grabbed his sleeve and pulled him closer. “Who’s Lucas?”

[calethelettuce]

SaSi Intruality Week 1/7: Chaos Cookies

Prompt: Chaos

Tags: @intrualityweek

Synopsis: Patton tries to bake something with Remus. Remus is busy trying to find shards of glass to put into the batter. As the title suggests, shit gets chaotic. You’re welcome.

Characters: Remus, Patton

Relationships: Romantic Intruality

TW: Blood/cuts (inflicted by glass shards by accident), Remus being Remus, swearing

~

Remus smashed his hands down onto the bottles, watching the shards of glass go flying all over the counter. They hit the surface with a small skitter and spread out with a clink. He laughed, a shrill, manic one that could probably give someone a migraine.

Patton came into the room, carrying numerous sheet pans of different shapes and sizes! “Remus, I got the pans!” He chirped, blissfully unaware of the messy counter and the little glass shards on the floor, “We can-“ he paused, staring at the floor. His gaze trailed up to the counter, with Remus staring at him with a wide gaze and a sheepish smile. His hands were red and bloodied, little shards sticking into his palms.

“Hiya, Daddy!” Remus waved, the crimson liquid trailing down his arm. “How’s it going?”

Patton gaped at him, nearly slamming the pans down onto the stovetop and rushing over. “What happened!? How badly are you hurt?!” He took Remus’ hands in his own, inspecting the wounds.

Remus shrugged, feeling himself shiver at the sudden touch. “I was preparing for the cookies!” He proclaimed proudly, wiggling his glass covered fingers, “Did I do good, Pattycake?”

Patton’s expression softened. “Oh, dear, we don’t need glass shards for these cookies!” He explained, “But we can make a separate batch just for you with them another day, okay?”

Remus looked sad for a moment, but perked up at the thought of another day to bake. “Okay!”

Patton gave him his signature smile. “Awesome! Let’s get you all cleaned up, okay?”

The cardigan-wearing side led Remus to the upstairs bathroom of the house, sitting him down on the toilet seat. “You wait right there, okay?”

Remus nodded eagerly. Enjoying the pain of getting shards out of his hands was always better when he had Patton there.. even though it was always enjoyable for him. It was boring to just magic away the wounds, so he allowed Patton to carefully take out each shard with tweezers.

There was a short moment of calming silence between the two.

“So!”

“Hm?” Patton dabbed at the remaining blood left on Remus’ scarred and calloused palms. “What’s up, honey?”

“What’s your favorite kind of bottle?” He asked brightly, “I like the glass ones because they’re crunchy!”

Patton laughed a little, adding antiseptic to the cuts. “I like reusable ones,” he answered, “They’re useful because they don’t harm the environment!”

“Boo, that’s boring…” As Remus spoke, the green-sashed side attempted to lick the antiseptic right off of the wounds, which earned an alarmed cry from Patton.

“You can’t eat that! It’s for your hands!” The father figure figment nearly shouted at him from panic.

Remus groaned, leaning back. “I don’t know what to do! I’m bored!” He complained.

“Just let me finish, and then we’ll go make cookies okay?”

“Okay! Can we still add glass to them?”

Patton let out a small, affectionate huff. “Sorry, bud, not today. Another day, remember?

Remus hopped up as Patton taped the last bandage. “Then let’s go, Frog Daddy!” He shouted, running over to Patton and picking him up bridal style. “Shit is about to go down!”

Patton squeaked at the sudden movements, before starting to panic again. “Remus, your hands! Put me down! They’re not even healed in the slightest!”

Remus cackled, descending down the stairs with the other still in his arms. “Extra pain, extra fun!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

Once the two got to the living room, Patton nearly jumped out of Remus’ arms, giving the moustached side a signature Dad Glare (TM). “Don’t jeopardize your health like that!” He scolded lightly.

Remus shrugged. “There’s no rhyme or reason to what I do! I just do!”

“That’s not always good for you, honeybun.” Patton placed himself back in Remus’ arms, hugging the slightly taller side gently. He placed his head on his shoulder. “I know you like that stuff, but you worry me sometimes.” He whispered.

“Awh, sorry Pattycake.” Remus ruffled the blue-clad side’s hair. “I’ll be better… maybe.” He added with a toothy grin.

“You promise?”

“Promises? Yuuck.” Remus paused, mulling over his options. “Eh. Okay. Just for today.” He pressed a kiss to the top of Patton’s head. “Only for you. Roman is still getting his ass kicked at Mario Kart later.”

Patton giggled at his antics, letting go and walking to the kitchen. “Are we thinking chocolate chip, or peanut butter!”

“Ha, you said nut.”

“That I did, dear. Come and help me with the batter, yeah?”

Remus grinned. “Only if I get to eat the raw eggs!”

“Remus, no!”

He ignored that last remark, waltzing to the fridge, opening it up and cracking an egg over his head. Remus watched the contents spill out onto his hair and into his eyes. He laughed maniacally. “That chicken fetus had no chance!”

He paused when he saw the sad look Patton was giving him. His smile faded a little as he magicked the mess away. “Whoops.” Was all he said. He handed Patton the brand new, non-broken egg. “Here you go.”

“Thank you, Re.”

Patton mixed the batter, with Remus peering over his shoulder the entire time. Remus found his hands resting gently on Patton’s hips as the other folded the ingredients together.

“Hey Pat?”

“Hm?”

“Guess what?”

“Yes?”

“Fuck.”

“Language!”

~

I’m gonna continue this one with the Baking prompt when that one and it’s day comes around!

[delimeful]

how easy you are to need (redux) (5)

warnings: misunderstandings/miscommunication, assumption of harm/abuse, references to starvation and blood, food, drug mentions, unreliable narrator is particularly strong in this one

-

When Virgil next woke, it was to a low and melodic humming.

The drugs had clearly worn off, going by how terrible he felt just laying there. He suspected the pain might have actually been what had woken him.

His breathing automatically shifted to something shallower, attempting to keep from putting pressure on the huge bruise that was his ribcage. The humming paused for a brief moment, before resuming.

So, they’d wised up and actually started guarding their captive. They must not have been expecting him to be so active last time, probably believing the tranquilizer would have a heavier effect.

Of course, that meant that they’d adjust the dosage to account for his resistance next time. Damn, he shouldn’t have played that card so early.

Figuring he’d already been caught out, Virgil cracked open an eye.

He was in the same spot, on the same couch. Roman was sitting in the nearby armchair, which had been turned slightly so that it was facing the couch more directly.

The hum was coming from him, a cheerful tune that had completely concealed the soft sursur of a polishing cloth against metal.

The runes on the hunting sword weren’t activated, but the hairs on the back of Virgil’s neck abruptly prickled anyhow, a chill running down his spine.

Roman glanced over at him without pausing his polishing, completely casual about the threat implied in each careful motion. “You’re awake! I’d say good morning, but we’re nearly at sunset now.”

Virgil couldn’t bring himself to tear his gaze away from the blade, not even to confirm that he’d slept another day away. He felt as though the moment he glanced away, he’d look back to find the point of that sword buried deep in his chest.

He’d expected they’d try to get him to shift as soon as possible, but somehow, he hadn’t expected them to threaten him physically. They had to know he would call their bluff, didn’t they? No matter how much they might not want a monster under their roof, human greed superseded hatred, and killing him now would be like throwing gold down a bottomless well.

His mouth felt glued shut when he swallowed, unwilling to let a single syllable through. He reached for his earlier bravado, his miserable confidence that death would be better than being caught, and found the bitter bravery rang hollow in the face of that singing metal.

The human’s hand had paused mid-swipe on the blade. When Virgil forced his eyes to flicker upwards, he found that Roman was staring at him with a distinct wrinkle to his brow.

He jolted upon making eye contact, and then tried for an uncertain smile.

“No need to worry,” he said, shifting the blade up slightly. “This is for Patton, not you.”

The words took a moment to register, but when they did, they landed sharper than any slap. Virgil felt the blood drain from his face quickly enough to leave him dizzy.

His humans were— they were different, weren’t they? Surely, they wouldn’t go so far as to punish Patton just because he’d been taken hostage, not when they’d all failed to contain him in the end.

So why? Sure, Virgil had threatened— threatened with that, but Roman had been watching so closely, he must know that Virgil hadn’t actually bitten Patton. Except. Some hunters believed any physical wound inflicted by a shifter was ‘infected’. How tightly had he gripped the human before? Had his nails bitten into clothing, or skin?

The memories were fuzzy, hazed over by adrenaline and drugs alike. He wasn’t sure.

“He’s not– he’s not,” Virgil started, and the words caught and tangled in the back of his throat like barbed wire. He yanked his arms free of the blanket tucked around him and pushed himself further upright to meet Roman’s gaze more directly. “I didn’t turn him. He’s not turned.”

In the back of his mind, a familiar refrain: Don’t kill him. Please don’t kill him.

Roman visibly reeled back, his grip on the sword’s hilt tightening in surprise, and then he let go of the blade altogether, leaving it balanced delicately across his lap, polishing cloth still folded over it.

“No! I mean, I– I know that, not that it would– even if he–,” He cut himself off, took a breath, and tried again. “I was only joking. I would never threaten Patton with any sort of violence, sword-inflicted or otherwise, even if he is atrociously bad at remembering that he is injured and should be avoiding straining himself as much as possible.”

Even with the emphasis, his voice was more exasperated than truly angry, and there was no sign of deceit in his manner. Patton was fine, Virgil had just– overreacted.

He needed to calm down. Hunters or not, there was no point putting ideas in their heads. He tried to force his body to relax, to ease away the tension that so visibly lined his frame, with little success.

Patton was safe, but he obviously wasn’t off-limits for violent threats, after all.

“Right. Well. How are your wounds?” Roman asked, apparently having correctly inferred that Virgil wasn’t much of a conversationalist. “We can’t give you any more pain medicine, not without risk of making things worse, but nothing should be debilitating. Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t tear more stitches.”

He’d forgotten about his injuries amidst the sudden rush of terror, but sure enough, his side still felt awful. It was like he’d gone a round with a magically-corrupted grizzly bear or something.

Virgil slumped back against the couch to try and relieve some of the pain, but kept his jaw clenched shut. There was no point in them knowing how well he was healing, and he certainly wasn’t going to be the one to tell them which wounds were the worst off. Those were the most painful places to be hit.

There was another long stretch of quiet, and Roman let out a gusty sigh, lifting his hand up— Virgil barely concealed his flinch— and running it haphazardly through his hair.

“Look,” he started, leaning forwards, “I’m not sure what you—,”

“Dinner is ready,” said Logan, who had appeared in the doorway between one blink and the next. “How is— oh.”

Roman jumped, like he’d been caught red-handed, but Logan’s gaze had already flicked over to Virgil. “Good evening. It’s encouraging to see you awake. Do you feel up to walking? I am more than capable of carrying you again if not.”

“Don’t touch me,” Virgil snapped on automatic, too consumed by the phantom memory of that odd burning sensation to hold his tongue.

“Alright,” Logan said simply, not a single hint of temper at the attitude. Somehow, the absence felt almost more frightening. “We normally take meals in the kitchen area, down the hall here, but since we have two injured parties, the sitting room will work as an acceptable substitute.”

“I’ll get Patton!” Roman volunteered, having subtly kicked his sword under his chair midway through the conversation.

“Get the sheath for your blade while you’re at it,” Logan replied dryly. “Patton will have your head if you get sword polish on the rug again.”

“I was careful!” Roman protested, but he kicked his blade up into his hand as he fled from the room regardless.

Virgil barely resisted the urge to stare after him, bewildered that he’d gotten through the encounter without a single cut. Maybe Logan hadn’t been made aware of the plan to threaten him, and his unexpected arrival had interrupted it…? Or maybe it was a planned entrance, and this was a psychological tactic meant to stress him out.

Virgil sighed. Maybe Roman was just too hungry to postpone dinner. There was no point dwelling on it.

“I’ll be back momentarily,” Logan told him before leaving as well, completely scrapping Virgil’s earlier prediction of a constant watcher.

They were still underestimating him, probably assuming the ward had demoralized him. He hadn’t ruined all his chances of escape, after all.

He barely had time to try and assess the room more clearly before Logan returned, an impressive amount of dishware balanced in his arms. He spent a few concentrated moments setting them all down on the low table and then rose to his feet and left the room again without a word, an air of distraction about him.

Virgil glanced between the dishes set out, wishing his sense of smell wasn’t quite so good. Just as he’d forgotten his pain until Roman had asked after it, he’d forgotten how hungry he was until there was food in front of him.

He wasn’t dumb enough to think it was for him, of course. Even though they hadn’t said anything yet, he had a fair idea of what the humans were playing at.

He knew how to count, after all, and he could plainly see that there were only three of each dish set out. It was another incentive to shift, one that had been used against him before. They’d wait until he was starved, he expected, and then offer him raw meat, or some other carrion that only a wolf could eat.

It was a little cruel of them to eat right in front of him, going so far as to move their normal dining location, but he couldn’t deny that it was an effective tactic. The sharp ache in his side had already been joined by a dull pang in his stomach.

There was a breadbasket, there in the middle of everything. The tops of each roll were shiny with butter, but if he grabbed one from the sides, it probably wouldn’t leave a trace on his hands.

… What were the odds that they’d counted how many rolls were in there?

By the time Roman swept back into the room with an amused Patton in his arms, Virgil was carefully arranged in the same exact position as before, and the warm roll in his hoodie pocket was well-concealed by the folds of the blanket still draped partially over him.

Patton was deposited on the plush armchair closest to the fireplace, and he offered Virgil a smile as he carefully propped his injured leg up on a stack of hand-embroidered pillows.

“Sorry for the mess,” he apologized. “We’ve normally got things a little more put together than this, but I was relegated to potato peeling duty after I dropped half the silverware while trying to set the table. Turns out holding plates and crutches is a recipe for dish-aster!”

Roman groaned theatrically from where he was arranging everything out on the table, but he was still exceedingly gentle with the tray he set on Patton’s lap, an artful arrangement of silverware on either side of the meal. “You already murdered two of our poor plates, now you have to slander their good names with puns?”

Patton laughed, and said something else, but Virgil was having a hard time registering the words through the low ringing in his ears.

It was so strange, watching them joke around and chat casually, as if nothing was wrong. With the hunters, there had always been an air of impatience or malice, a sick glee in making him suffer.

His humans weren’t acting like that, but there wasn’t a trace of uncertainty in their manner, either. It was as though this was just another day for them, as though they’d always been capable of doing something like this, so much so that it was an unremarkable event.

It wasn’t the outright hatred of before, but it still felt bad in a different way.

“Sir Wolf?” Roman’s voice broke through the haze in his mind, and his head jolted up slightly as he realized the name was meant to refer to him.

It was certainly nicer than some of the things he’d been called.

The two humans were looking at him with open concern, Patton leaning towards him as far as he could without unbalancing his tray.

“Hey, kiddo. Are you back with us?” he asked.

Virgil blinked at him strangely for a moment— he hadn’t gone anywhere— and then was immediately, sharply distracted by a hand moving closer in the corner of his vision.

He flinched back, hard enough to make his injuries twinge, and the room went quiet for a beat.

“My apologies,” Roman said, his tone subdued. “I only meant to check your temperature; sometimes infected wounds can cause fevers and disorientation.”

“We won’t ever hit you, kiddo,” Patton swore firmly, and the pity in his voice rankled against Virgil, like a hand scrubbing his fur the wrong way.

How could they sit here and pretend to be soft, when they were so willing to hurt him in other, more insidious ways? He clenched his fists, teeth digging into the edge of his lip, but before he could spit out the acid words building on the back of his tongue, Logan appeared in the doorway again.

“Apologies for the wait,” he said, carrying a fourth tray in his hands. He shot a sharp glance at the other two, making them recede from their hovering with sheepish expressions, and stepped close enough to extend the tray out in offering.

Virgil stared at the normal, delicious-looking food in front of him, bewildered. There was no rotting carrion or raw, bloody meat. In fact, the only difference between the dishes set out on the table and the tray being offered to him was that the food was already portioned, rather than in large dishes to serve oneself.

“I’ve added a few malnutrition aids, and they’re most effective when freshly brewed, hence the delay,” Logan continued, still patiently holding the tray out. “I’m entirely confident that they will help– at worst, they’ll do nothing– but if it would put you more at ease, I can sample the food myself.”

They’d dosed it with something. Something that wasn’t immediately fatal enough that they were willing to ‘sample’ it to prove it was ‘safe’. Or, they’d realized he really wasn’t going to shift to heal and were offering genuine health-aiding tinctures to speed up the process.

Better to figure out which it was now. Besides, even drug-laced food was food, and it was in his best interest to play along until he had an actual plan to escape.

He took the tray without protest, half-expecting it to be yanked away the entire time, and settled it across his lap.

“Alright, now that we’re all here, let’s eat!”

Patton smiled at him, and suddenly, the gesture didn’t feel false and insincere. His previous anger had melted away in the face of his confusion and, admittedly, his relief that he would get food at all.

Virgil swallowed, and ducked his head to stare at his tray instead of the others’ faces.

Those feelings were dangerous. Just because they weren’t as bad as the hunters in one specific way didn’t mean he could trust them. Not even if he wanted to. Especially not if he wanted to.

It was beginning to seem like remembering that was going to be harder than he’d thought.

[lovelylogans]

the parent trap

CHAPTER NINETEEN: you got me tripping, stumbling! sinking, fumbling!

Patton makes a splash.

⁂

Is he here? Is he here?

He can barely even think of it without feeling like he’s half out-of-his head, which tracks well with thoughts of his ex-husband—God, his ex-husband, here!—but he can’t be here yet, can he? Or can he be here? It’s not like the number of coincidences in their lives haven’t increased lately—just the idea of sending the boys to the same camp—!

“Oh!”

Patton barely stops himself before he would’ve barreled over some poor early twenty-something.

“Sorry,” Patton mumbles, ducking his head, “‘scuse me, sorry” and continues toward the pool, accidentally bumping shoulders with someone whose hair is the right cut but entirely the wrong color (“sorry!”) and twists, his eyes scanning the poolside—

“Ah, Patton!”

Patton tries his very best not to tilt his head up to the sky and groan. Instead, he plasters on his biggest smile for his potential in-laws.

“Where have you been?” Mr. Blake says, briefly clasping his shoulder. “We’ve been looking all over for you!”

Patton adjusts his tie, making a mumbling noise of assent as he scans the lounge chairs at the poolside. Not him, not him, not him…

“Patton,” Mrs. Blake says, slotting in at his other side. 

Not him, not him, not him…

“I think this hotel is perfect for the wedding!” She continues.

Not him, not him, not him…

“The more I see of it, the more I like it.”

And then Patton freezes.

There.

Floating down the stairs, pulling a pair of sunglasses down from his hair—a touch longer now than it was ten years ago—always so effortlessly handsome, always so effortlessly graceful…

“Now tell me, dear,” a voice continues, “how many are we expecting from your side of the family? Just a guesstimate!”

“Huh?” Patton says, smiling wide as he turns to her, then, “Oh! You know what, I’m not sure. Can I get back to you on that?”

He scans the poolside quicker now—yes, there he is, heading in the direction of…

Patton tries to tamp down his smile. Oh, those little—!

Except he probably ought to blame the two adults sitting there with them, too. 

“Excuse me, I think I see Remus, I ought to grab him—do you mind?”

“No, not at all,” Mr. Blake says, and so Patton goes, picking up the pace, as quickly as he can go without looking like he’s running to him.

Or running away from his future in-laws. Either option.

He then almost immediately runs flat into the back of a flock of black-and-navy coated businesspeople, some kind of guide gesturing—

“Excuse me,” Patton says politely, trying to forge some kind of path onward, then, louder, “Pardon me, sorry—”

“Go ahead,” a woman says, coming to a stop, and Patton surges forward, only to scramble back a couple steps to avoid smacking right into a worker hauling a stack of towels as tall as their eyeballs—walking quickly forward, he’s coming closer, even as Janus is staring down at his watch with his brow furrowed in consternation, a look so familiar that it makes Patton dart forward—

—and he nearly trips and falls flat on his face, knocking one of the poolside tables askew—

“Patton, you okay?” Virgil says, sitting upright.

“What?” Patton says, distracted, briefly turning to face him but not stopping in his trek, “Yeah, I’m fine—”

“Pa, watch out!” one of his kids yelps, but it’s too late—

Patton runs chest-first into one of the hotel staff, who promptly upends their drink tray onto his chest, but Patton barely registers that as the sudden shift of gravity—

“Oh!”

“Careful!”

“Argh!”

His arms pinwheel, scrambling for some kind of balance, but he knows it’s too late even as—

Splash!

Patton starfishes into the pool with a backflop that would surely make Remus incredibly proud.

As soon as he’s in, he’s already getting his bearings—he didn’t even have the dignity to fall somewhere deep, he thinks gloomily—managing to plant his feet on the pool’s floor and attempt to shake out some of the wet.

Oh, no, he’s all wet—from the hair he’d actually tried to style today to his suit jacket to those nice black loafers he got some Christmases ago—and Patton attempts to claw back some shred of decorum as he waves to the hotel lifeguard that he’s perfectly fine, procures his glasses from where they’ve fallen, and wades his way over to the edge of the pool.

He pulls himself up, briefly clambering to stand then taking one step, two, as that object of his distraction has come to a stop right in front of—

Janus is biting his lip, clearly trying his best to keep from laughing at him, his hands clasped together.

Patton miserably sweeps some of his sopping hair out of his eyes.

“Hello, Janus.”

And Janus is smiling at him. Patton cannot help but smile back, though his expression is certainly tinged by his absolute mortification.

“Hello, Patton.” 

And there he is. A little bit aged from their last meeting, but still just as handsome: captivating brown eyes, smooth, well-tended skin—Patton remembers well that skincare routine that took up over half of the bathroom counters in mornings and nights—the whorls of his winestain birthmark, just the same across his cheek and sprawling up to his temple, to his hair, longer now, the hair Patton used to twine his fingers into to pull him in and—

“Um,” Patton says, taking a couple steps forward, attempting to wring out some of the water from his suit jacket. “Oh, gosh. I’ve made an absolute mess of it.” 

Janus presses his lips together, once again to clearly keep from laughing at him. 

Much like the finest wine, Patton thinks, age has only served Janus well.

“Well, I’m just—I don’t know what to say!” Patton blurts out. “I’m stunned to see you, but—but you don’t seem as stunned to see me?”

“Well, if you’d caught sight of me an hour ago,” Janus sighs. “You do know, don’t you, about…?”

“The boys at camp and switching on us? Yes, I do,” Patton says.

“Good—that makes things a bit simpler,” Janus says. “You see, I was told that you knew we were all reuniting here this weekend.”

Patton blinks at him. “I didn’t.”

“I see that.”

“I didn’t even know we were coming here, but then—” Patton says, and the last puzzle pieces click into place. He closes his eyes, wondering what on earth he’s done to earn this sort of treatment.

“Tricked you too, did they?”

“They certainly did,” Patton sighs. “Get-together, right. I did think that attitude took a bit of a one-eighty…”

Then, pivoting, “Where are those little scamps, anyway?”

“Last I looked? With Logan and Virgil—who are not off the hook, as it happens,” Janus says.

Patton closes his eyes tightly, taking a deep breath and wishing he could start this whole interaction over again. “But I’ve got a feeling who the little masterminds are.”

Smiling sheepishly, one of their kids wearing yellow swim-trunks, sunglasses Patton sure doesn’t remember buying, steps into their eyeline.

“You see how the pair of you think so alike,” he says—British accent, it’s Roman, then—“this, sending us to the same camp…”

“Getting married that one time,” the other sing-songs—yellow t-shirt, yellow shorts, with this level of discourtesy it’s surely—

“Oh, God, Remus,” Patton says, sure that the proper parental thing to do in this moment is to be stern, “you’ve been in London all this time!”

“I know!” Remus crows, “everything’s so weird there, it was awesome!” and flings himself into Patton’s arms with absolutely no regard as to how wet he’s surely getting.

Patton holds him tight. He’s missed him, desperately, ever since he practically walked him onto the plane for camp, ever since he realized that the kid he’d picked up from that same airport wasn’t the one he sent away. 

He’s missed his unique food inventions, the way he’d sass the guests behind their backs and to their faces sometimes, the way he spoils Sammy and Sprout, his dedication to looking as messy as possible while being very purposeful about the whole thing, his stubbornness and his messiness and his individuality.

He’s even missed his particular brand of mischief, even though this arrangement is surely a new Remus Parker record.

“Dad’s amazing, Pa,” Remus says, his neck craned to look up at Patton. “I don’t know how you ever let him go.”

Patton swallows hard.

“Erm—boys,” Janus says, his voice soft but firm. “why don’t you let your father and I talk alone for a couple of minutes, all right?”

“Sure,” Roman says. “Fine.”

“Take your time,” Remus says, with a tone of innuendo. Patton is entirely uncertain where exactly he’s managed to learn that.

The twins each pause to pick up a truly absurd room-service daiquiri in hand before they scamper off.

Patton sits on a lounger, picking up the nearest towel, lifting his glasses, and patting it against his face.

“I don’t believe it,” Patton says, and then, with a shaky laugh, “what a ridiculous day! Seeing them plotting together—seeing you—ow!” he says, surprised, pressing against an unexpectedly sore spot.

“Oh, dear, let me help you with that—excuse me,” Janus says, flagging down a passing member of the hotel staff, “do you have a first aid kit?”

“Yeah, of course,” she says, already turning to get it.

“You ought to lie back,” Janus suggests. 

And Patton, as helpless as he ever was to those beautiful eyes of his, does.

Janus settles himself primly on the edge of the same lounge chair, smoothing his hands over his trousers.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks,” Janus says, opening the kit.

“So,” Patton says and clears his throat. “How are you, Janus? You still go by that, don’t you, you haven’t changed it, or shortened it, now that you’re Mr. Fashion? I remember your dad used to call you Jay…”

“Oh, no, no, Janus is… fine,” he says. “My dad still does call me Jay sometimes, though. Yeah, I’ve been… I’ve been swell.”

He gently presses a damp cloth to Patton’s eyebrow, dabbing at whatever wound Patton has managed to wrangle via falling in the pool.

“Other than the boys causing mischief this summer?”

Janus lets out a weary sigh. His breath smells minty, as if he’s just finished chewing gum. Patton bets that tastes nice. 

(The gum! The gum, of course. It smells like it was a nice gum. Pull it together, Parker.)

“Yes, precisely. Other than the boys pulling this trick of theirs.”

Janus frowns at the wound, gently touching Patton’s forehead with his fingers. He’s haloed by the sun, the strands of his hair catching the light—chocolate, mahogany, sepia, caramel, fawn, even a bit of blonde…

“Erm—I hear you’re doing well for yourself, too. Congratulations on your…” Janus looks down at the first aid kit, ripping open a band-aid. “Engagement.”

“Oh,” Patton says, surprised at this; he’d kind of expected Janus to say something snide about it. “Uh—thank you. Did, um. Did the boys tell you?”

“They told me the specifics,” Janus says, still focused prepping the band-aid. “Bit difficult not to tell that you have a new partner, given—”

Patton’s face heats.

“Oh,” he says. “The elevator. The… kissing. Uh, right. Yeah. I’m sorry you had to see that—my boyf—um, fiancé now—he likes… physical affection.”

“As did you, I recall,” Janus says, at last leaning in to place the band-aid on Patton’s forehead. 

Patton’s face must be tomato-red by now. “Yeah. It’s just—um. I try not to in… in public. Y’know, PDA.”

“I remember that too.”

“Right,” Patton says breathlessly, “right” as Janus smooths his warm, dry fingers over the band-aid.

“I suppose,” Janus says, and then, quite coolly, “I just didn’t expect you to be with someone so… purely physical.”

There it is. That cutting wit, that sharp sarcasm that Patton fell—

“You know,” Patton says, unsurprised to find himself smiling. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Finally!”

Patton jumps.

“There you are,” Maddox says, then, “Oh, good, you’ve met! Honey, Janus designs wedding outfits, and he’s going to make my…” 

Maddox trails off, at last taking in the tableau before him—Janus, hands removed from Patton’s face, but still sitting quite close to him, close enough that Patton might be able to smell if he’s still using the same cologne if his nostrils weren’t so clogged with chlorine—a frown crossing his face. “Wait, um. I don’t understand. How did you two meet?”

And, at last seeming to take in the fullness of the image before him, Maddox’s nose wrinkles. “And, Patty, why are you all wet?”

Patton turns to Janus in disbelief.

“You’re making my fiancé’s wedding suit.”

“Well, I didn’t know he was your fiancé—”

“Well,” Patton says with a helpless shrug, before he turns back to Maddox. “How did we meet—how did you two meet?”

“Am I missing something here?” Maddox says. 

“You know,” Patton says, beginning to sweat very hard indeed, “this is one small world!”

“How small?” Maddox says.

And then the twins—as it seems is their only option when in the same room together, Patton’s starting to think—take it upon themselves to add even more chaos and confusion.

“Hi, Mads!” Roman says.

“Hello,” Maddox says, looking down at him.

Remus takes his opportunity, stepping on his other side and beaming up at Maddox in a way that instantly makes Patton suspicious.

“Hey, Maddy!”

Maddox shrieks, his hands flying to his mouth—he looks from one twin—to the other—

Patton clears his throat.

“Erm—I was gonna,” he tries, and then gives up. “Honey, did I ever get around to mentioning that Remus was a twin?”

“No,” Maddox gasps, clutching at his throat. “No, I think you neglected to mention that little detail!”

“Don’t feel bad, Mads,” Remus says breezily, “he never mentioned it to me, either.”

Patton winces. But it’s fair enough.

“By the way,” he adds, his eyes glinting in the summer sun. “I’m the real Remus. The evil twin.”

“Sweetie, you’re not evil,” Patton tries, and is summarily ignored by everyone.

“This is Roman. You’ve been dealing with the good twin all summer,” Remus continues. “And this—”

He swivels, jazz-handing in the direction of Janus.

“—is our father, Janus James.”

“This. Is your father?”

“Yes,” the twins chorus.

“You,” Maddox says, pointing at Janus, “were married to him?” and the index finger jabs at Patton.

“Guilty again,” Janus says.

“This is a small world,” Maddox says. 

Patton tugs anxiously at his shirt collar as he nods in agreement.

“And,” Maddox says, “What a coincidence that we’re all here on the exact same weekend!”

The twins both smile.

After eleven years of experience with one Remus Parker, Patton knows well to be wary of that smile.

“My, my, my,” Maddox says, a vein in his neck bulging. “How sweet!”

Patton plays the Hail Mary of getting out of this uniquely awkward, horrible interaction.

“Excuse me,” he calls out to the lifeguard, “would you mind checking to see if I’ve been concussed?”

⁂

It’s certainly very glitzy in here.

Everything is tinged in a very particular shade of blue—he’s told that’s a very important part of their branding—and there’s so much shimmer.

Diamonds, emeralds, sapphires, rubies, and all their variants: they shine from necklace settings, from earrings, from bracelets.

And, of course, from the object they’ve come here to Tiffany’s to look at: they glint and gleam from rings. Lots and lots and lots of rings.

It’s a pleasant enough environment to distract from the conversation he’s having.

“I’m sorry,” Maddox says. “I just don’t see why you have to have dinner with your ex-husband and his little ‘Mary Poppins’ accent.”

Patton, resoundingly out of his depth, resolves to just keep the jewelry cases free of any of his smudgy fingerprints. “The boys arranged it.”

“Oh,” Maddox says, mouth twisting, “the boys,” and turns to face the case. “Well, that all makes sense.”

“What?” Patton says, confused. “What makes sense?”

“Can we have some help over here, please,” Maddox calls to a saleswoman, before he sighs, turning to face Patton.

“Oh, baby, it’s so obvious. Why can’t you just meet in the lobby, discuss the custody, shake hands, and say good-bye?”

Patton swallows at the thought.

“Because,” Maddox continues, “your sons don’t want me to marry you.”

“That’s not true,” Patton objects.

“Excuse me, it’s totally true. They see me as the evil step-father,” Maddox says, then, to the saleswoman, “Can I try the emerald cut, please? No, not that one—the bigger one—the biggest one—”

“Honey, it’s not that,” Patton objects. “They’ve never had a meal with both their parents in all their lives—how could I say no?”

Maddox sighs but seems to drop in light of the engagement ring, at last on his finger. He examines the ring on his finger, turning his hand to and fro.

“This is incredible,” he sighs, before he leans back against Patton, wiggling his hand so the diamond flashes in the light.

Patton presses a kiss to his temple. “If you love it, I love it.”

Maddox squeals, throwing his arms around Patton’s shoulders, before he pulls back to beam at him.

“I love it.”

⁂

“Tell me why we should continue on this plan of yours, when I have no idea what you’re doing, considering your track record of the past day alone?”

Roman considers this for a moment, even as he’s debating which earrings to wear. (Obviously, he should wear the gold studs, but Janus is trying to parent Roman so that he’ll formulate his own opinions and generally be a functioning person in society.)

“Because most of the track record of the past day has been Remus?” Roman tries.

“Who is also involved in this plan.”

“...and also we kind of have a lot of stuff in place already. So if you don’t show, you’ll be blowing off a reservation.”

Janus places his pocketbook in front of his face for a moment so that he can school his expression. Damn, of course Roman would know how he feels about plans being disrupted and disrespecting other people’s time, he only complains about it constantly.

“And! And and and,” Roman says excitedly, “it’s an opportunity to put on that fun new outfit that I know Uncle Logan packed for you! You love opportunities for fun new outfits!”

Of course he does. He is a fashion designer.

“...which one?” Janus says, tempted, and Roman rushes into the closet where Logan has very thoughtfully put away all his clothes.

Roman comes back lugging a hanger loaded down with black fabric, and Janus knows the fun outfit in question by sight even before Roman says anything.

“The little black number!”

Janus’s latest answer to the evergreen little-black-dress number that many, many women have told him they relied upon: a sleek pair of tailored black trousers, and the shirt: when Janus had tried it on, it had made Vendela sigh if I were a man, and if I had your arms…

He’ll look incredible in that outfit. He knows he’ll look incredible in that outfit.

Janus clears his throat, and he takes the hanger in the most dignified way he can manage.

“I knew you’d love it!”

“One toe out of line,” he says to Roman.

“Sure,” Roman says happily. “But Dad—I bet Papa’s going to love it too!”

“Off with you,” Janus says, and, as Roman scampers off to his own room to pull together the last details of his own look, it makes Janus wonder about how much the twins have rubbed off on each other; Janus could have sworn Roman wasn’t this cheeky prior to summer camp.

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[typically-untypical]

Another Day in Paradise

AU: Coffee Shop AU

CW: None that I can think of

WC: 1,886

Date: 12/18/2023

"Janus, can you get the muffins out of the oven?" Patton called, hands currently occupied with the latte he was making for a customer. He was surprised how busy it was for an afternoon on a Tuesday. He didn't mind though, busy meant the days always went by faster.

"Of course darling," Janus called back, slipping toward the backroom to take care of muffins. Normally Janus would be the one taking care of making the drinks but he had been refilling some of the things they had started to run low on. It was hard, but with all of them, Patton knew they could take care of it.

Logan wrote on another cup and passed it toward him. "We haven't been this busy in a while, I guess Virgil's marketing campaign really worked out didn't it."

The smile on Patton's face was dazzling as he nodded his head, grabbing the cup from Logan and putting it on the queue to be made. Virgil had taken over their social media a few months back because he had had an idea and quickly the four of them realized that he was amazing at that kind of thing, of drawing people in.

"Gilbert, I have your Large Latte ready. Thanks a Latte for choosing us today!" Patton watched as Logan rolled his eyes with a fond smile and returned to working on the customer orders, ringing them up and gathering what was needed. When Patton had suggested to his boyfriends he wanted to open a coffee shop he hadn't expected them to go all in with him. Patton had only told them because he wanted to warn all of them that things in their dynamics would change a bit. However, each of them had jumped at the chance to help him. Now, after a few years, the coffee shop was rather successful and it was more perfect than anything he could ever imagine. Janus handled legal stuff, Logan handled finance, Virgil handled marketing, and Patton handled recipes. They all worked together in the shop, supporting each other, caring for each other and Patton wondered almost every day if he was dreaming. Other days, he worried about the dream ending.

Each of them had left something behind to be by his side. Janus had a law degree, Logan was trained in finance, and Virgil had been studying musical composition. Sometimes, Patton felt like he was stealing that all away from them. 

"Cookie, go take a break," Janus whispered in his ear causing Patton to almost jump. He must have really been in his own thoughts if he hadn't even noticed Jay behind him. Then again, Janus had always been sneaky.

"I'm okay." Patton shook his head, trying to banish the last of his thoughts before looking up at Janus who was staring at him with a very accusatory smirk, one Patton knew far too well. "Okay, okay," he whispered. "But tell me if you need me."

"I always will," Janus gave Patton a quick peck on the check before ushering him away, basically shooing Patton off. With a little sigh and a pout, Patton walked to the back, going over to the office and knocking on the door frame. Virgil jumped, closing a tab on the computer before turning to him.

"Hey P, what's up?" That was another thing that was making Patton feel off and probably what had brought up all of these insecurities. Virgil was acting strange. He had been discussing something with Janus and every time Patton walked into the room the two would shift the topic, Janus normally more gracefully than Virgil. He would distract Patton and pull him into topics he knew would make him smile and forget about the awkwardness, and it did, for a time. However, Janus wasn't the only one Virgil was conspiring with, he had also been talking to Logan about finances, Patton hadn't overheard nearly enough because he didn't want to ease drop but it really made his stomach twist. Still, when Virgil gave him that soft smile, held out his hand to pull Patton in closer, it was hard for his fears to survive. 

"Janus chased me out of the front because I was spacing out." He walked over to Virgil, taking his hand and slowly sitting on his boyfriend's lap.

"That's not like you, everything okay?"

He could bring it up now, he could cry into Virgil's shoulder about how he worried about asking Virgil what was wrong, but Patton didn't want to push, but he also couldn't keep doing this. "You would tell me if something was wrong, right kiddo?" He asked, using their little nickname for Virgil. He was after all the youngest even if it wasn't by much.

Virgil wrapped his arms around the small of Patton's back, pulling him closer. "Yeah, of course, I trust you. I mean it might take me a bit because I'm anxious and all that shit, but I trust you."

Patton nodded slowly, trying to even out his breath.

"Hey, cookie, what's gotten into you?" He pulled back, just enough to see the tears forming in Patton's eyes.

"Something's wrong, I can feel it. Behaviors are off and I... if you need to tell me you want to leave the bakery it's okay. I understand. It was a lot to ask." Patton was trying to smile but he had been so stressed out about this for so long. He didn't know if he could keep up the worried knot that had formed in his stomach.

"Whoa, whoa whoa whoa, what do you mean leave the bakery?" Virgil asked, his arms tightening around Patton. "I have no intention of leaving. I love that we all get to work together, that we go home together, that every day I get to see your smile."

"It's just, you've been talking to Logan and Janus lately and I know they handle emotional things better then I do, and also the logistics."

Virgil tilted his head for a minute, the confusion obvious on his face until his eyes lit up with understanding. "Oh Patton, no, I didn't realize I was being so obvious. No. I don't want to leave the bakery. I do have a surprise for you, and I should have warned you. I guess I was just a bit nervous about it and didn't want you finding out too early."

Patton collapsed into Virgil, relief escaping him in a hiccupping sob. He took in a stuttered breath. "Okay, okay. I'll wait. It's not bad, right?"

"No, I promise it's not bad. In fact it's pretty good, at least I hope it will be," Virgil sighed, his own anxiety beginning to show a bit. "Fuck, Logan is so much better at keeping surprises than I am. Can you hold out until tonight?" His hands threaded into Patton's hair. "I was going to tell you after we shut down the cafe anyway. I can tell you all about it and there won't be anymore surprises for a while.

"Yeah, yeah I can wait." Getting confirmation that it wasn't bad helped him calm his heart a bit, and knowing that Virgil wasn't trying to leave the cafe helped settle the feeling of unrest in his chest. It didn't ease everything, but it eased enough that he could take in a slow stuttered breath. "Can I also stay here for a bit longer? At least until I need to start the next batch of muffin mix?"

"Duh, it's not like I was going to let you leave anyway." Virgil held him closer. "You're mine."

Patton giggled and took in a sharp breath before letting it out slowly. It was heavier than he expected but once again, he felt lighter. "Yes I am." He curled into Virgil's arms and closed his eyes. For a while, he would be just Virgil's, just holding him here away from the stress of reality.

That night, after the doors were closed, the chairs were put away, and Patton was almost done mopping the floor, Logan walked up to him, wrapping his arms around Patton's waist. "You built a brilliant place for the four of us to exist." Logan held him close. His hugs were sturdy, measured and oh so warm. Patton couldn't help but look up into Logan's eyes marveling in the shy soft smile only he and the other two ever got to see. He wasn't sure what the occasion was for this hug, but he was so happy to be in one of his lover's arms. Logan swayed him back and forth as if there were music playing, reaching for Patton's hands and releasing the mop, allowing it to rest against the container of water. He then took Patton's hands, kissing one then the other before he spun Patton around. Logan looked at Patton with an adoration that had no words, a warmth that was all consuming. 

Logan didn't dance much, but when he did it felt fantastical, like the rest of the world was fading away. They stepped and they twisted, staying on the dry ground. Logan led him into a spin and when Patton was in Logan's arms again, they kissed. He wasn't expecting Logan to be this romantic, but it was so very needed after a stressful day. Both the stress of worry and the stress of customers. When they pulled apart, Logan looked at him for a lingering moment, twirling one of Patton's curls on his finger before spinning Patton around and pushing him forward. 

Right into Janus' waiting arms. "You think so much about others, about how you can help, how you can care, it's a trait I find both exhilarating and exhausting," Janus teased, kissing Patton on each of his cheeks. "Although I can often predict your choices, it is sometimes hard to understand why you are willing to show so much kindness. That's a puzzle I'm willing to spend the rest of my life trying to figure out." He nuzzled his nose against Patton's. "Stay with me?"

Patton giggled, nuzzling him back, holding tight to Janus' hands. "Always." That was a promise he was willing to make. He was willing to stay by Janus' side, by all of their sides for the rest of forever. As long as he had breath, he would love them.

Janus smiled, kissing Patton with a hungry burning passion, then twisted him around before he could get the air back into his lungs. Thankfully, what Patton saw made him gasp, hands going up to his mouth as his eyes welled with tears.

"I was talking to Janus about the legality of a multi person marriage, I was talking to Logan about the finances for a ring," Virgil whispered, on one knee with a box. "Patton, I would never want to leave this bakery. Actually, I kinda want to stay here for ever with all of you by my side." He opened the box, revealing a simple wedding band Patton would still be able to wear while making food, but also a thin gold chain just in case. 

"Patton, will you marry me?"

His voice came out strained from the joyful tears falling down his face. "Yes." He didn't need to think about it, didn't need to question or guess if this would be right. 

"Yes, I will."

@tsspromptmonth @simplestoryteller @fantasticfangirl21 @joylessnightsky @glacierruler

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

The Lark's Nest

Hello hello! I tremendously enjoy your writing! Fic request where Logan is a jazz/blues singer? Perhaps an au, perhaps the other sides hear him on accident, perhaps he sings to comfort someone! There are no wrong answers. Thank you for indulging this silly little prompt if you choose to do it! :) – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: gunshot wounds

Pairings: dlampr, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 2018

The Lark's Nest, the nightclub in the center of the Sanders territory, is the latest site of a violent shootout between the two rival gangs occupying the land near the water. In the aftermath of the incident, the lounge singer tends to the crew. There is always a song when the worst is over, that's when the birds come out to sing.

The Lark's Nest stood at the edge of the harbor, water lapping against the docks as the remnants of whitecaps slumped into the exhausted tides. A red sky covered them as the sun sunk lower and lower. The walls bore the scars of the most recent shoot-out, the neighborhood holding its breath as the last of the cars' squealing tires faded into the distance. The crew had long ago slunk beneath the club floor to shelter in the safety of the backrooms, having lasted the worst of the violence huddled together. When the bell had finally rung to signal an end to the shooting, only a few had dared venture briefly up to the main floor to assess the damage and help with the clean-up before retreating to the sanctuary of a quiet room.

Only two had the wherewithal to move about the ship—the bartender, who'd taken his place behind the bar to ward off any other patrons who might be unawares of the mess they'd walk into, and the lounge singer, a nursemaid in disguise who hadn't nearly enough significance to be worth tossing around.

"Logan," the bartender had called as he ventured closer amidst the knocked-over tables and destroyed chairs, "grab a bunk in the back and sleep. I know you had a rough time as any of us."

"I have to check," he insisted, stubborn as ever, "any fight can hurt anyone, no matter who they are or how quickly they get behind cover."

The bartender let out a grunt, but a fond one, as he stepped back and let him fuss. His hands were quick and sure, lightly running over hands, arms, legs. As he placed his hands lightly on either side of his torso, he looked up.

"Do you feel any injuries?" He prodded gently at his ribs. "Were you tossed about at all?"

"A few bruises, I'm sure, but nothing serious. Hey," he warned when Logan prodded a ticklish spot, "enough of that, lad, or I'll show you how unhurt my hands are."

He raised his hands in surrender, squeaking when he reached to squeeze his side.

"Go on," he said, jerking his head toward the stairs, "I'm sure you've more patients to torment."

"Are you sure, Patton?"

"Yes, lad, I'm sure. Go on, now."

Nothing but fondness laced his tone as Logan turned to descend the staircase in the corner. He walked along the red halls until he reached the door to the club's private corridors, carefully descending until he reached the first set of quarters. The lighting flickered overhead—perhaps the wiring had been affected by the shoot out more than anticipated. He knocked sharply on the first door to the left.

"Who is it?"

"It's me," he called, "come to see to your health."

"Logan, yes, come in."

There was never much dignity to be had when one was nursing a fresh gunshot wound, but the crew did its best to right itself as Logan entered. Remus, the one who'd called out that it was alright to enter, scratched his scarred face as Logan looked him over.

"Nothing but a few knocks about." He gestured to Virgil, the younger boy. "Powder monkey got tossed a bit when he got down here. Might want to look him over, can't have him nursing a concussion while he's running on duty again."

"That was one time," Virgil grumbled, mostly resigned to the teasing, "and it wasn't even my fault."

"Aye, lad, you keep telling yourself that."

Logan bade him to turn his head, looking at the back to check for wounds. He ran his fingers over the area, looking for blood, swelling, a bump, anything.

"Does it hurt?"

"No more than a hangover."

"Follow my finger," he instructed, checking his eyes as best he could in the dim light. "Any dizziness? Sickness?"

"No, sir."

"You should be alright, then," he said, ruffling his hair, "maybe stay away from the drink until tomorrow, huh?"

A slight redness touched the boy's cheeks as he nodded his head. "Thank you, sir."

Remus snorts. "You should stick to calling him 'Logan,' you'll make him think he's older than he is. Pretty songbirds aren't to be made to feel old."

"It's a sign of respect! I call everyone 'sir!'"

Logan laughed, ruffling his hair again and patting his cheek. He politely ignored the way it became warmer under his touch and tuned out the teasing—and protesting—that followed as he shut the door.

He could hear voices behind the second door as he approached.

"No, you shouldn't yell, he'll probably be here in a minute."

"I swear, if I find out someone's held him up because they need help 'scratching an itch,' I'll kill them."

"No, you won't."

He knocked on the door and one of them cried out: "If that's you, Logan, get in here!"

He smiled, opened the door, and laid eyes on a swollen ankle, his hands already tugging the bandages from his pocket.

"My savior," Janus grumped, holding out his hands as if in benediction, "come to ease every pain I have."

"I'm not a miracle worker, I'm just the lounge singer."

"You're the closest thing to a medic we've got and right now, there's no difference."

Logan knelt, carefully taking Janus's ankle and rotating it slowly. "How did you hurt it?"

"Stood when he shouldn't have," Roman remarks, smirking at Janus's glare, "it was either this or a trip to the bottom of the harbor."

"Well, it seems to be sprained, but not broken." He reached for the wrap and began to secure it around his ankle. "Just keep it elevated for now, I don't think we're going to get anything significant enough to keep it from swelling any further. Does it hurt very badly?"

"Better, now that you're here."

"Flirt when he's not tending to your wounds," Roman groused, and Janus chuckled.

"No better time to flirt, sweetie," only for his voice to soften as Logan glanced up at him to check the bandage wasn't too tight. "You're an angel, lad."

"Still just a lounge singer."

"With a voice like yours? No, songbird, you're as much an angel as any painted one."

"That'll lift their spirits," Roman agreed, "if you sang for us. We'll hear you over the system, no need to drag anyone anywhere."

"I make no promises."

"Tell you what, you're off to see the big guy next, aren't you?"

"I might be."

"You tell him, songbird, that I asked for a song. See what he says."

"If you promise to stay off your feet until I can check the ankle tomorrow, I'll tell him."

"You're an excellent negotiator, lad. Don't let anyone tell you different."

He gave Roman a once-over and left assured that he was mostly unharmed, save for a sprained dignity. So he closed the door with another loud reminder that he ask the big guy and turned to descend the final staircase into the bowels of the club. The red walls gave way to darker wallpaper, the lights grower softer and darker as he approached the massive set of doors at the end of the hall.

A knock, and a low voice: "Come in."

The boss looked up as he pushed open the door, indicating the seat opposite his desk.

"Just a moment, lad, I've a sentence to finish."

The lack of obvious wounds made him listen, sitting politely in the chair until the soft scratch of the pen came to an end. He laid the pen aside and let out a long breath, looking up at him.

"Are the crew alright?"

"A few bumps and bruises, a few gunshot wounds, a sprained ankle. Hardly the worst."

"Good." He tilted his head, considering Logan. "I take it you weren't able to rest much earlier, were you?"

"No more than you could, I'm sure."

"As is my duty."

"And mine would be to tend to whatever you're trying to hide underneath your suit jacket."

The boss chuckled, letting it turn slightly pained as he shifted back in his chair. "Guilty as charged, songbird."

Sure enough, a red stain bloomed just to the left of the boss's chest as he pulled back the jacket. His hands moved to the buttons, gaze flicking up to check that it was alright. The boss huffed again, carefully cupping his elbow, and nodded. Tugging the fabric aside revealed a stitched wound that had burst, blood trickling slowly down his side.

"Would it ease your mind to know," he said softly as Logan shot him a look, "that I didn't do it carelessly? The fight was rough, songbird, what did you expect?"

"I have no authority to be angry at you, you know."

"Mm." He quirked a brow "That's a very different tune than the one I've heard you sing before."

He looked away at the mention of singing and set about cleaning the wound. As he did, he missed the way the boss's expression softened and he brought his hand to Logan's shoulder.

"I know it's only because we make you worry, lark," he said quietly, "don't fret."

"How can you tell me you know I worry and then in the same breath tell me not to?"

Another chuckle, slightly less pained, as he stitched up his wound and seals a bandage over it. "What was it they yelled to you to remind you to ask?"

"Nothing of importance."

"Lark." A playful warning, but a warning nonetheless.

"…to ask—well, to be informed that a request was made for a song in exchange for a less-sprained ankle in the morning."

The boss took his chin gently in hand and turned it to face him. "And you refused because…?"

"The crew needs to rest. The fight—"

"Is over," he broke in softly, "and no crew of mine would object to being sung to sleep tonight, especially those who are wounded even if their pride won't allow them to admit it."

"Mr. Sanders—" but a finger pressed itself carefully over his lips.

"Go on, little lark, fill your lungs and let us hear you. No one will mind, we all need the reminder that the worst is over."

Logan sighed, finishing with the boss's wound as he shook his head. "Why must you all insist on hearing me now? It's not as if you don't hear me every night, or none of you can carry a tune."

"There is a difference between being able to carry a tune and singing, lark." He spread his hands. "I'll even promise to lie down."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Logan planted his feet and refused to budge until the boss rolled his eyes and allowed himself to be helped to his bed, his pen tucked into the pot on his desk and his shoes removed. Only then did he graciously admit defeat, retreating back to the closet to put away the supplies and emerging once more to the club's main floor.

Tables, scattered, chairs in splinters. Bloodstains growing in the carpet, the last of the bodies only recently removed. The stage, somehow miraculously untouched, his microphone gleaming in a single shaft of light.

The sun dipped below the horizon, the sky streaked with pink, yellow, red, orange, clouds sparse over its visage. He stepped carefully onto the stage, looking across to meet Patton's eyes. He nodded encouragingly, setting aside the glass in his hands to lean on the bar itself. A slight whine emerged as the sound system engaged and the murmurs of the crew fell silent.

Logan closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"I'm sentimental, so I walk in the rain.

I've got some habits even I can't explain.

I go to the corner, I end up in Spain,

Why try to change me now?"

As he sang, the Lark's Nest grew quiet, still, and the neighborhood breathed a sigh of relief.

It was over.

For now.

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[part-time-zombie]

Blame It On The Alcohol

pairings: loceit (romantic, can be read as platonic)

summary: janus is used to having a drink or two alone. he's not used to logan showing up at his door asking for a glass, and definitely not after it looks like he's already had a few drinks himself.

tags/warnings: alcohol use, drinking and getting/being drunk, sharing a bed, hurt/comfort, angst, logan isn't okay, janus notices, janus gets slightly flirty and logan gets slightly flustered near the end, he doesnt take advantage of him or anything though, yeah they both get drunk but nothing smutty happens

word count: 3464

The last thing Janus expected to hear was a knock on his door. It was late, for one, and he along with most of the other sides are usually winding down for the night at this hour. Not to mention the fact that no one had ever bothered to knock on his door at all, or even stop by for any reason. Well, Remus would let himself in and he often stays up this late, but he never knocks first, always just kicking the door open and making himself at home whether Janus was there or not.

So it wasn’t him, but he couldn’t think of any reason anyone else would be here. Patton is never up this late, and Roman and Virgil would rather let the house burn down than talk to him voluntarily, so why on earth would someone be at his door right now?

The knocking resumed, a slow but heavy pounding at a wavering rhythm, and Janus decided he may as well answer it before whoever it was got bored and left. Sparing a moment to ensure he looked decent (he had been getting ready for bed after all), he opened the door with his best attempt at a neutral expression.

Logan stared back at him with the same look, leaning casually against the door frame once the door was opened.

“I’m out of wine,” he slowly mumbled, raising an almost empty bottle to further emphasize his point.

Janus took a moment to respond, taking in the sight of Logan most certainly drunk at his door this late at night. His tie had been loosened and his shirt was uncharacteristically wrinkled, and every so often he should shuffle in place as if he were trying to keep his balance. He looked dead tired, and almost undone in a way Janus had never seen before.

"I can see that,” he finally said, still trying to make sense of the situation. “Although you technically still have a bit of wine left in that bottle. Why are you here, exactly?”

Logan looked back down at the bottle in his hand before bringing it to his lips and tilting his head back, easily downing the last of the wine without hesitation. Once the bottle was completely drained, he all but shoved it into Janus’ arms.

"Now I’m officially out of wine,” he corrected. “And to answer your question, I know you likely store some of your own in your room. I would like to have some if you don’t mind.”

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

Logan's eyes narrowed. “Not hardly.”

Well, if he was so set on getting blackout drunk, who would Janus be to deny him another glass or two? This was going to be fun.

"Very well. By all means make yourself comfortable,” he said, moving aside and letting Logan stumble in to his room. Logan all but fell into the plush seat by Janus’ desk, running a hand over his face with a sigh.

Janus set down a fresh bottle of wine before moving to unlock one of the desk drawers for some glasses. He had to take such drastic measures after Remus stole all of his wine glasses some time ago. He grabbed what he needed only to see Logan already chugging straight from the bottle, nearly a quarter of it already having been drunk.

Janus quickly snatched the bottle out of his hands and placed it on the farthest end of the desk, ignoring Logan's whine of protest.

"And here I thought I was the selfish one,” he chided. “It would only have taken me a moment to get a glass, you know.”

"But I don’t just want to have just a glass of wine,” Logan replied, his words now slightly slurred. “You’re allowed to drink until you’re totally inebriated, why can’t I?”

“Because you’re the responsible one.”

“What if I don’t want to be?”

That brought a weight to Janus’ stomach, sinking uncomfortably within him.

“What are you saying, Logan?”

Logan sighed in frustration, as if the answer was obvious and Janus was an idiot for needing to ask. “I’m saying I don’t see the point in doing all the work around here when it doesn’t get me very far. Everyone else is allowed to be silly and stupid and selfish, and I always end up cleaning up after them. Don’t I deserve a break?”

“Of course you do, but I don’t think this counts.”

Logan shrugged, glancing wistfully at the bottle Janus kept out of his reach. “Maybe not, but it’s the closest thing I can get. I can drink until I stop thinking for the night and recover in the morning to get back to work, it works well enough.”

“You’ve done this before?” Janus asked, though they both knew it was more of an observation than a question.

“On occasion, when I don’t want to have to deal with everything. I just happened to run out of wine tonight, and I knew you’d have some.”

Well, this wasn’t nearly as much fun as Janus had hoped. He reached over and grabbed the wine, taking a rather large swill from it in the same manner that Logan had before passing it over to him. He didn’t want to be fully sober for this conversation.

"So how long have you been drinking your cares away, exactly?”

Another shrug. “I’d say roughly around the same time you started making appearances, if not a little bit before. It wasn’t necessarily because of you, though.”

Well that was a relief.

“Then what was it about?”

Logan took another long drink before passing the bottle back to him. “Something tells me you already know.”

He had an inkling or two. He took a drink as he tried to come up with a way to bring it up, passing the bottle back and Logan quickly started chugging from it.

“At a guess, it’s probably about the others. Perhaps even Roman specifically.”

Logan set the bottle down with a sigh, not looking up at Janus. “It’s not just Roman, or even about the others really.”

“Then what it is about?”

“Why should I tell you, exactly? You don’t even know what it is yourself, not to mention I know how much you love gossip. Frankly, me coming to you at all was a mistake.”

Logan got up from his seat, making his way to the door. Or at least, attempting to do so, as he staggered unsteadily and ultimately fell to the floor with a painful grunt.

Janus fought back a grin as he helped Logan back up, placing him back in the chair.

“Something tells me storming off won’t get you very far,” he teased.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” he slurred, head drooping heavily. “Now you’ll go telling everyone about how foolish I look, and then I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Janus almost felt sympathy for Logan. Or maybe it was pity. Or the wine. Either way, seeing him so dejected and defeated by something he wouldn’t share tugged at something in his chest, and he found he couldn’t stand Logan being like this.

“I admit I love to spread rumors and drama, but I promise I won’t talk about this to anyone. This isn’t just some petty squabble to laugh at over dinner; whatever is going on with you isn’t something I’d joke about with anyone.”

Logan scoffed in response before taking another drink.

“I’d still like to know whatever or whoever it is that’s driving you to drink. I could help make sure it doesn’t get this bad again or find a means of getting you a proper break.”

“You won’t like the answer.”

“I still want to hear it.”

Logan took a particularly long swig from the bottle before passing what was left over to Janus, sighing to himself as he did so.

“It’s Thomas.”

Janus was glad he hadn’t taken a drink yet or he would have done a spit take right then and there. Of all the things Logan could have said, Janus never thought it’d be that.

“Thomas is the problem?”

“More accurately, I am.” Logan replied. “No matter what I do or how I try, nothing ever works. He won’t listen to me; he won’t even interact with me at all unless there’s another problem the others are too dramatic to fix. I’m just a tool to him, something to be used when needed and left to collect dust otherwise. I don’t know what it is I’m doing wrong or why I can’t get through to him, but it always ends the same. I beg for him to see me, and he looks straight through me. It’s like I don’t exist to him anymore.”

Logan was right, Janus hated this answer. Knowing that it had gotten this bad and that he was this neglected by not just the other sides but by Thomas himself made his stomach turn. He took another sip of wine, hoping that it would somehow make this easier.

Maybe that’s what Logan hopes for when he drinks.

Janus thought back to the few times he and Logan had interacted, how stressed he seemed and how much the others ignored him. He remembered how often he would shut Logan up or even remove him from the discussion entirely. He really was a part of the problem, wasn’t he? If he hadn’t taken such efforts to hog the spotlight for himself, maybe Logan would have been heard more clearly.

“I’m sorry, Logan. Truly.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Maybe not fully, but I had a hand in this all the same. I pushed you off to the side and let the others overlook you when you actually were the most helpful one there. I should have made the others, made Thomas, pay more attention to you. You don’t deserve this.”

“Maybe I do. Maybe it’s something I’m doing wrong. I know everyone else can get his attention easily, so it has to be a failure on my part.”

“Now that’s just not true,” Janus added, passing the bottle back to him. “The others get his attention because they’re loud and dramatic. It’s hard to hear the weather alert on the news when there’s a storm howling outside. Just because you aren’t as obnoxious and over the top as them doesn’t mean you’re less than. If anything, I’d say it makes you better than them. You don’t resort to something so childish to be listened to.”

“Perhaps I should. It works for them, after all.”

“But is that how you want to be seen? Throwing a temper tantrum until all they hear is you screaming at them?”

“What other option do I have at this point? Everything else has failed.”

“Well, we can figure something out here. I can help to make him listen to you.”

Logan looked back up at him, skepticism shining in his hazy eyes. “And why would you offer to do that for me?”

“Because you’re an essential part of Thomas, and I admit I respect you a great deal.”

“Really? Even now, after you’ve seen me like this?”

Janus nodded, not trusting himself to not say anything too sentimental. Logan seemed to accept it as a viable response though, offering him a small smile before taking the bottle and finishing off the last of the wine in one final gulp.

“I should go to bed,” he mumbled, words slurring over again. “So should you.”

“You’re the one who knocked on my door this late at night,” Janus joked.

“Right, sorry about that.”

“Never apologize for coming to me, especially for something like this.”

Logan looked confused. “Requesting alcohol?”

“Needing someone to talk to.”

“… oh.”

The two sat together in silence for a moment, neither of them capable of finding something to say. Eventually Logan stood up from his chair again, albeit shakily, as he prepared to return to his room for the night. Janus watched as he tried and failed to walk on his own, before making up his mind with a sigh and gently grabbing hold of his arm.

“Janus, what- “

“You’re not making it to your room like this, not on your own anyway. I could walk you back if you want, but that’ll run the risk of someone seeing me escorting you out of my room in the middle of the night while you can barely stand. I think even in this state you can imagine how that would look to anyone.”

Logan nodded in agreement, head lolling about on his shoulders. “What do you suggest, then?”

“Well, I’m not exactly against the idea of you staying the night.” Janus felt himself blush as the implications of the idea came to mind. “I mean, only if you want to. Nothing is going to come of it and it doesn’t have to mean anything, it would just make sense for you to have somewhere to rest for the night without anything happening.”

Logan stared back at him, swaying lightly in his hold, before sighing. “I suppose so. If anything, the company might be nice. As long as you promise nothing will come of this. I doubt I’m in any state to start something like that right now.”

“Something like what?”

Logan didn’t respond, only flushing a beet red that definitely wasn’t from the wine.

Janus chuckled softly at the sight, greatly enjoying seeing Logan so open and emotional. He’d never had the chance to see him like this, and it was quite a sight.

He gently guided him back to the bed, changing them both into pajamas with a snap of his fingers. Logan sat down with a huff, leaning back towards the headrest as Janus crawled into the bed beside him. It took a few minutes of awkward maneuvering, but Logan eventually managed to slip beneath the covers, wasting no time in cozying up to Janus.

Janus froze, not quite sure what to do or how to react, but as he felt Logan's body heat washing over him and his arms wrapping tightly around him he found he didn’t quite care. If Logan needed this from him, who would he be to deny it?

“Pretty.”

“What was that?”

“Your scales,” Logan explained, looking up at him. “They’re pretty.”

As if to further prove his point, he reached up and let his hand drift slowly across the left side of his face, gently caressing the scales there.

“They’re smooth too. I like them.”

Now it was Janus’ turn to blush, sputtering out some vague semblance of a thank you before turning on his side, ensuring Logan couldn’t see his rapidly reddening face. The change in position also prevented Logan from further touching his scales, and Janus tried to pretend he wasn’t bereft of the experience. Not many people complimented him on his scales, and he had never let anyone go so far as to touch them before, but feeling Logan's skin softly against them felt pleasant in a way he couldn’t describe, much less address.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Logan said from somewhere behind him, voice tinged with regret.

“You didn’t, it’s just… sensitive, is all,” he lied. Mostly.

“Ah. Apologies.”

“It’s no problem. Goodnight.”

“… goodnight, then.”

Logan didn’t try to hold him again, and Janus tried not to think about how much he wanted him to.

“… Janus?”

Logan's voice echoed in Janus’ ear, pulling him out from the depths of sleep. He blinked his sleep-crusted eyes open groggily, groaning at the brightness of the light seeping in through the curtains.

 Turning his head with an aching stiffness in his neck, he found himself face to face with a very flustered Logan. A Logan that was currently wrapped tightly in his arms.

“What happened last night?” he asked him, eyes wide.

Shit. What did happen last night? He was getting ready for bed, then Logan showed up asking for a drink, then…

Ah. Right. That.

“Don’t you remember?” Janus asked, letting a playful smirk make its way across his face. May as well have some fun with this for a moment, after all. “It was definitely an eventful night we had, I’m sure at least some part of it is still fresh in your mind.”

Logan opened his mouth like he was about to say something only to close it again as he wriggled free from where he and Janus had evidently tangled together in the night. He sat up in bed, pulling the blankets up to his chest even though he was wearing a shirt and Janus fought back the urge to laugh. He was surprisingly cute all flustered like this.

“Look, whatever happened between us last night, it didn’t, alright? It didn’t mean anything, and it won’t happen again, so just please leave it alone.”

“Leave which part of it alone? The part where you all but fell into my arms in a drunken stupor, or the part where you let yourself be even more open and emotionally vulnerable than you might even be with yourself?”

“All of it, ideally. Especially the part where we woke up like… this.”

Janus arched an eyebrow. “Is that what you think happened? Some drunken one-night stand fueled by alcohol and repressed feelings?”

Logan squirmed under the teasing scrutiny. “… is that not what happened?”

Janus couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “Not at all. We drank, we talked, and when you could hardly stand let alone walk to your room, I offered you my bed. Nothing else happened between us last night, at least, not like that.”

Some of the tension left Logan at that. “So you’re saying we didn’t… “

“Nope. I may be a horrible person, but I would never take advantage of you like that.”

“… oh. Well, that’s good to hear, I suppose. What did we talk about, exactly?”

Janus felt his smile slip, quickly replaced with a sympathetic look. “We talked about why you were drunk, and why you drink like this so much.”

Logan looked away, the tension from before returning. “I talked about that?”

“Seems like you needed to talk about it. You’ve been dealing with all of that for a while now by the looks of things.”

Logan cringed to himself, still not looking at Janus. “Right. I didn’t mean to bring that up with you. Whatever it is we discussed, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone else.”

“I don’t plan on anyone else knowing, as long as you’ll do something for me.” he said, letting a trace of mischief slip through his voice.

“What is it you want from me now?” Logan asked, tone thick with skepticism.

Janus sat up in his bed, ensuring he was looking Logan head on and that he was looking back at him. He held his gaze, face slack but somber.

“Next time you want to drink, come to me. I’d rather you talk to me about whatever’s bothering you than have you drown yourself in wine again. I swear nothing you say will go beyond this room, but please just go to me instead of the wine.”

Logan fixed him with a deadpan stare. “That’s a bit hypocritical of you, isn’t it? Last I checked, you’re just as inclined to get inebriated if not more so.”

“That’s fair,” he chuckled. “But I drink for fun, not to forget about my problems.”

“… touché.”

Logan gave him a small smile, one that Janus returned.

“I didn’t make a fool of myself, did I?” he eventually asked.

“Not too much, though you were awfully affectionate near the end.”

Logan flushed. “Affectionate?”

“Just a little. You… may have complimented me. You said you liked my scales.”

“Oh. I didn’t mean to- “

“Make me uncomfortable?” Janus teased. “You said the same thing last night. Don’t worry, I don’t mind. It was honestly rather sweet of you to say.”

Logan blushed and looked away again, and Janus let him. It meant he wouldn’t see the blush steadily creeping on his own face.

“I should get dressed, I have work to do.”

“Of course, I should get started on a few things myself.”

Logan quickly shuffled out of bed, Janus doing the same. With a wave of the hand, they were both changed back to their usual garb, and remaining equally flustered.

“I’m going to my room now,” Logan mumbled, still avoiding Janus’ gaze.

“Right, you do that. I’ll talk to you later then.”

Logan gave him a curt nod before walking out the door, closing it softly behind himself. Janus let out a breath, running a hand over his face. Wow, that was awkward.

At least he managed to get a little closer to Logan, right?

If only he knew how to proceed after all of this.

@britt-ish123 @lio-the-chaotic-nonbeanie-weenie @oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat @nico-the-overlord @can-i-take-a-stab @rougeside4 @keitaisghost @new-zee-land

[logarhythm-bees]

The Carousel Kingdom 🏰 CH3 Fancakes

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Virgil wakes up warm, with the distant sounds of dishes being moved about in his kitchen. He stretches and jolts a bit as his arm brushes something, sitting up quickly.

His breathing calms as he realizes it’s just Patton- right, they’d agreed to share Virgil’s bed with Roman taking up the couch. That must be Roman in the kitchen. Nice to know they didn’t opt to cause violence against Patton and Virgil while they slept.

Virgil tucks the blankets closer around Patton, who sighs sleepily and snuggles into the blankets further. Virgil elects to let him sleep longer, making his own way down to the kitchen to get some coffee and make double-extra-sure that Roman didn’t try anything while they were asleep.

When he gets to the kitchen, Virgil is startled. Not by Roman doing anything illicit, in fact, they’re washing the dishes, neatly scrubbing and drying each one before putting it away in the cabinet, dressed now in Virgil’s sweatshirt and pants and looking far less menacing than they seemed yesterday, dressed in fancy but battered uniform and standing over Virgil with straight shoulders. Now their shoulders are taught, but their posture is slumped, back hunching a little bit over the sink as they run a sponge around the rim of a glass.

“I have a dishwasher, dude, you don’t need to do that,” Virgil says, stepping into the kitchen. Roman jumps and nearly drops the glass in his hands, catching it before it can fall into the sink.

“Sorry.” Roman says, grabbing a towel to dry the glass and putting it away before stepping away from the sink sheepishly. “I just- felt like I owed you two. And there’s a not a whole lot here that I know how to do.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, you just- don’t have to do that.” Virgil says, motioning to the sink. “I mean, I appreciate it, but you don’t need to repay us. You were in trouble and needed help.” 

Roman shrugs, playing with his hands where they’re tucked behind his back. “I- still, thank you. You rescued me, in any case.”

“We still gotta get you home,” Virgil says. Roman flinches. Virgil curses, internally, his stupid big mouth. He bites his tongue before it can say anything else stupid and inconsiderate. 

“It’s…okay,” Roman says. “We can figure it out. Patton said we’d go back there today and see if we can find any clues.”

“Yeah,” Virgil agrees, quick to latch onto anything that can fix this conversation. He looks at the stove and the cabinet, thinking. “Uhm. Do you want pancakes?”

“Pancakes?” Roman repeats, titling his head a little like a dog. ‘I don’t think we have those in Innova.”

“Flapjacks?” Virgil asks, wondering if regional names are the issue. Roman still shakes his head. “Well, they’re good. One of the breakfasts ever, definitely. C’mon, sit, I’ll make you some.”

Roman does, carefully, sit, watching Virgil cook from one of the barstools, and Virgil focuses his attention away from being not great at conversations and into making pancakes. Flour and baking powder go into a bowl with some sugar and just a little bit of salt, then an egg and some vanilla and milk, and mix together until just combined.

“So no pancakes in your world, huh. What about blueberries? Or chocolate chips?” 

Roman perks up a little at the word chocolate. “I do like chocolate chips.”

“Glad our worlds have at least a little bit of food in common,” Virgil says. “I like chocolate too.”

Roman nods as Virgil pours the batter into a pan, and the mixture sizzles as the wonderful aroma of pancakes drifts into the air.

“That smells really good,” Roman says. “It’s called a pancake? So it’s a cake you make in a pan? And this is a breakfast food?”

Virgil thinks. “Wait, you’re totally right. I never realized that. And yeah, it is kinda sweet, but y’know, sweet can be a good way to start your day.”

“Good mornin’!” Patton says almost on cue, hopping into the room. “I smell pancakes!”

“Yeah, Prince Roman here doesn’t have pancakes in their world.” Virgil says. Patton stares at Roman, affronted.

“We have chocolate, though,” Roman says in defense as Patton stares at him. Patton considers this.

“This is so good! Like it makes me go ca-cao!” Patton says, and Roman laughs as Virgil slides a pancake off of the pan and onto a plate, placing it in front of Roman, who stares at it eagerly.

“C’mon, try it. I’m not a professional cook, but I think I do pancakes pretty well,” Virgil says, handing him a fork. Roman cuts a piece off, hesitant but excited, and puts it in their mouth. Their eyes light up.

“This is excellent!” Roman says after swallowing the piece, sitting up straight and facing Virgil regally. “My many compliments to the chef.”

“Glad you like it, Princey,” Virgil says. Roman laughs, bright and amused for the first time since Virgil’s met him, and Virgil feels a weight he didn’t realize was there lift off of his chest.

It’s quickly replaced, though, as Patton looks at him and then back at Roman, stress evident on his face, unsure how to bring up what Virgil knows he wants to ask. Virgil nods, solemn, turning back to the stove.

“So about the ‘Prince’ thing,” Patton asks, softly. Roman stiffens. “Why don’t you tell us about Innova? So we can know what to look for?”

Roman swallows his next bite of pancake a lot less excitedly than the first. Their posture dulls again, setting the fork on the table and avoiding Patton’s eyes.

“Innova is… wonderful,” Roman says. “It’s bright and beautiful, and the citizens are very kind, even though we don’t have ‘pancakes’ there.” They chuckle again, but it’s more resolute, more strained.

“And you’re the prince?” Patton asks. Virgil focuses his full attention on not burning the pancakes, unwilling to look at Roman while they unfold their tale.

“Yes.” Roman says. “My father, Thomas, the king, ruled over Innova for many years. He brought me and my brother up to follow in his footsteps, but as the older twin by seven minutes, the throne would go to me when he stepped down.” Roman sighs. “Remus was never much one for ruling anyways, he’d always sneak away from lessons and courts to go roughhouse in the garden.

I had my royal advisor, Logan, helping me most of the way. I grew up alongside xem and Remus. Logan’s been preparing almost xer whole life to help me as a prince and later as king.” Roman chuckles. “Xe’s a nerd. But xe always has my back.

Last I remember, we were coming up on my coronation ceremony. Thomas wanted to allow me some experience on the throne, so I was taking over most of his duties before his official retirement. Lots of papers, and courts, and formal appearances. But last I remember, I was alone in the throne room, and then I woke up when you two found me. I really thought I was doing well, as the soon-to-be-king, ” Roman fiddles with his fork. “I’m starting to think someone disagreed.”

Patton nods, solemn, as Virgil quietly brings over the finished stack of pancakes. 

“That’s rough, buddy.” Virgil says.

“Quite,” Roman says, taking a pancake from the pile. 

The three eat in silence, the table etiquette lessons of Roman’s past seeping into the way they slice and eat the pancakes, shoulders poised and back high as they elegantly saw through the breakfast even with Virgil’s cheap dollar store fork. 

“I think going to the junkyard is a good place to start,” Patton says, interrupting the heavy silence, “but it sounds like we’re going to need a plan. If someone wants you off the throne, Roman, I don’t know if just getting you back to your world is going to be enough. We’ve got to make sure everything’s right over there, too.”

“You’d come with me?” Roman asks, hopeful in their tone.

“Wait- I don’t know,” Virgil interrupts quickly. “Going into a whole different realm is, like, way out of my idea of normality. What if we, I don’t know, explode or something?”

“Roman’s here, and they didn’t explode.” Patton replies. “And they need our help.” 

“Yeah, but…it’s just a lot.” Virgil says. “I’m not- I haven’t been trained in un-overthrowing the monarchy, I don’t know- I’m-” Virgil swallows. “I’m scared.”

“I’m scared too,” Roman says, “but you rescued me from being stuck as a carousel horse, and made me pancakes with chocolate chips in them, and you knew what to do when I had a concussion. I think you have a good heart, Virgil, and I trust you. I would be honored if you’d come and help me set my realm to rights.”

Roman is looking at him with those piercing white pupils again, which Virgil is not starting to find endearing, thank you very much. They’re interesting, that’s all, and the hopeful look Roman is giving him definitely does not make something in Virgil’s chest soften.

“Fine. If we can find the way back to your realm- I’ll see it all the way through that you’re safe on the other side.” Virgil says.

“Thank you, Virgil,” Roman smiles.They pick up a pancake. “And for helping me home too, of course.” 

Virgil snorts despite himself and the absolute mess he’s sure he’s getting himself into.

It’s a lot, yeah. But Roman- Roman seems kind despite their first encounter, and Patton will be there with Virgil too. Patton is strong, and capable. Virgil can- Virgil can do this. Yeah.

[queen-of-the-avengers]

CATFA: Part Five

Pairing: Ikaris x Female!Reader, Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: canon violence and angst

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

The promise you made to Bucky will stand firm because you're not going to let anything happen to Steve. He's eager to get started, even after seeing his other recruits in boot camp. You're off to the side since you've already done this and are allowed to observe. A very slim young woman approaches the recruits with a serious look on her face.

"Recruits, attention! Gentlemen, I'm Agent Peggy Carter. I supervise all operations for this division."

"What's with the accent, Queen Victoria? Thought I was signing up for the U.S. Army," one of the recruits asks with a smirk.

"What's your name, soldier?"

"Gilmore Hodge, your Majesty."

"Step forward, Hodge," she orders, and he does as he's told. "Put your right foot forward."

"Mmm, we gonna wrassle? Because I got a few moves I know you'll like," he winks. 

Peggy pulls her fist back and punches him square in the jaw. He falls to the ground in shock as blood squirts out of his nose. The Colonel picks the right time to come in on a jeep.

"Agent Carter."

"Colonel Phillips."

"I see you're breaking in the candidates. That's good!" he turns to the fallen soldier. "Get your ass up out of that dirt and stand in that line at attention until somebody tells you what to do."

"Yes, sir," Hodge sniffles as he tries to keep the blood inside his nose.

"General Patton has said that wars are fought with weapons," the Colonel begins, "but they are won by men. We are going to win this war because we have the best men and because they're gonna get better. Much better. The Strategic Scientific Reserve is an Allied effort made up of the best minds in the free world. Our goal is to create the best army in history. But every army starts with one man. At the end of this week, we will choose that man. He will be the first in a new breed of super-soldiers, and they will personally escort Adolf Hitler to the gates of Hell."

Steve has always had trouble trying to fit in wherever he went. This training camp was no different. The other recruits saw his size and immediately thought he couldn't do it. They made his life hell here, but Steve was a fighter. He never gave up even when things looked a little bleak.

When you were a recruit, you had gone through the same hell as them, only more difficult. Your recruitment officer wanted to make it as tough as possible to prove a woman couldn't do it. When you passed with flying colors, he knew you weren't an ordinary woman.

The recruits are doing their run around the camp, but you're hanging out with Dr. Erskine and Peggy in a jeep waiting for them to get to the halfway point.

"Y/N, I'd like to talk about your academy results if you don't mind," the doctor asks.

"What about them?"

Dr. Erskine and Peggy look at one another as if they know something you don't. He tries to get the words out of his mouth, but Peggy takes over.

"How you passed with such perfect scores."

"Hard work, I guess."

"Yes, that's what I thought until I looked at the footage." Dr. Erskine takes out photos that were developed from the footage since he can't show you personally. The first photo is of you alone in the camp when you thought no one was around to see you. The next photo is of you hunched over as you're in the middle of transforming into an animal. The third photo is of you as the animal. The fourth photo is you running away from the spot into the woods behind the camp. "Care to explain?"

"No," you shake your head.

"Not even the best candidates of your group got perfect scores, yet, you did. Now, unless you'd like me to show this to authorities, I suggest you start explaining."

Well, there is no use in lying to them now, so you come clean.

"I'm not human. I'm from a planet called Xenia, and I came to Earth nearly a thousand years ago. Believe me or not, I'm not the bad guy here. I'm a shapeshifting avatar that can control the elements. I can turn into anything and anyone as long as it's living."

To demonstrate, you use your aerokinesis and cause the wind to pick up. There are no clouds in the sky, but you solidify the water molecules in the air, causing them to sprinkle down onto the three of you. Peggy looks up in shock when she doesn't see any clouds above her.

"I once belonged to a government that only wanted to inflict pain. They were bullies. I put a stop to it, and I've been bouncing from planet to planet trying to help them. All I want here is to help," you say and cease all activity. Peggy and Dr. Erksine aren't nearly as shocked as you thought they were going to be. "You two don't seem that shocked."

"We're looking for someone to be experimented on with a serum we've created. It will enhance their speed, strength, and stamina. We like to say we're building a super soldier to help us win the war," Dr. Erskine reveals.

"We'd like your input."

"Sure." The unmistakable sound of feet stomping on the ground can be heard from where you are. The recruits are coming this way. "I guess it goes without saying that I'd like for my secret to remain a secret."

"We'll keep yours if you'll keep ours."

"Deal."

You look back and see everyone running in two lines, but Steve is all the way in the back and falling behind. Seeing him so battered and bruised makes you think about the promise you made to Bucky. Then, you think about Bucky and how you miss him so much. He's in England right now fighting for his life without you by his side. Maybe this weekend, when you have off, you'll fly over there and see how he's doing.

"That flag means we're at the halfway point!" the instructor points to a flagpole ten feet off to the side. "The first man to bring it to me rides back with Agent Carter! Move!"

All ten recruits rush to the flagpole and try to get to the flag, but they're all failing. Some try to climb it but only get a few feet off the ground. They try to help each other up, but none can pass the halfway point up the pole.

"Nobody's got that flag in seventeen years! Now fall back in line! Come on, fall in!" All the recruits fall back in line, but Steve hasn't gotten his turn to try. "Rogers, I said fall in!"

Steve looks at the flagpole and notices the base of it. There is a latch that can be undone. He pulls it free from the base, allowing the flagpole to fall to the ground in a defining thump. Everyone is shocked into silence when Steve grabs the flag. You and Peggy look at the instructor with smirks on your faces; you're kind of proud of Steve for using his brain. He hands the flag to the instructor and gets into the backseat of the jeep.

Once everyone gets back to the main area for training, it's time for more exercises. All the recruits need to do push-ups over and over again, and everyone does them well except for Steve. He's trying his best, but he can't seem to keep up with everyone else.

"Faster, ladies! Come on. My grandmother has more life in her, God rest her soul. Move it!" Peggy barks orders at the recruits.

You're off to the side watching them when you notice Dr. Erskine and the Colonel talking by one of the keeps. The Colonel takes a grenade from the back, takes out the safety pin, and throws it into the pit of recruits.

"Grenade!"

If you don't do something soon, then it's going to blow up. You stick your hand out and use your aerokinesis to manipulate the air around the grenade to throw it somewhere else. All the recruits hide behind objects that could protect themselves, but Steve jumps on top of the Grenade to take the fall for everyone else. You, Peggy, the doctor, and the Colonel stare at him in wonder as the recruits look at him like he's crazy.

"Is this a test?" Steve asks when the grenade doesn't blow up.

He's proving to be the one they need for the serum, even if the Colonel doesn't think so. He's passed every test and done everything they've asked for regardless if it's harder for the other recruits to do it.

When it was clear who they were going to pick for the serum, Dr. Erskine came clean to Steve about what was really going on. Steve was apprehensive, but he was ready to take that final step. That final step leads you back to Brooklyn. You're in the car with Peggy and Steve and you can already feel some sort of tension. It's nothing bad, but it's definitely something.

"I know this neighborhood," Steve recognizes the area. "I got beat up in that alley, that parking lot, and behind that diner."

"Did you have something against running away?"

"If you start running and they'll never let you stop. So, you stand up and push back. Can't say no forever, right?"

"I know a little of what that's like. To have every door shut in your face."

"I guess I just don't know why you'd wanna join the army if you're a beautiful dame," Steve says. He realizes his choice of words and stutters out an apology. "Or a beautiful... a woman. An agent, not a dame! You are beautiful, but—"

"You have no idea how to talk to a woman, do you?" she interrupts him.

You snicker under your breath, and he lightly kicks your shin to get you to stop. It's his way of telling you to shut the fuck up.

"This is the longest conversation I've had with one. Women aren't exactly lining up to dance with a guy they might step on."

"You must have danced?"

"Asking a woman to dance always seems so terrifying. The past few years just didn't seem to matter that much. I'd figured I'd wait."

"For what?"

"The right partner." Peggy stares at him in admiration just as the car pulls up to an antique store. You're the first one out, then Peggy, and finally Steve. "What are we doing here?"

Peggy leads you two inside an antique store, and the owner comes out to greet Peggy.

"Wonderful weather this morning isn't it?"

"Yes, but I always carry an umbrella."

The owner gives her a nod, and Agent Carter leads you two to a bookcase in the back which opens up to reveal that they were, in fact, doors. She took the lead down to a hidden lab in a big circular room filled with machinery and a pod in the middle.

"Good morning," Dr. Erskine announces when he sees you. He shakes your and Steve's hands respectively. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah," Steve acknowledges.

"Good. Take off your shirt, your tie, and your hat," he commands. As soon as he achieves that, he climbs into the pod that is ready whenever he is. "Comfortable?"

"It's a little big. You save me any of that schnapps?" he asks the doctor.

"Not as much as I should have. Sorry. Next time. Mr. Stark, how are your levels?"

Howard Stark comes onto the platform, and you stare at him in admiration. He made an impression when you saw him at the Exposition of Tomorrow. It's fitting that he's working on this project since he's brilliant.

"Levels at 100%. We may dim half the lights in Brooklyn, but we're ready as we'll ever be."

"Agent Carter? Don't you think you would be more comfortable in the booth?" the doctor inquires.

"Oh, yes, of course."

You turn to follow her, but Steve grabs your arm to prevent you from leaving.

"Stay, please."

"I'm right here," you whisper and stay by his side.

After a few moments of silence, the doctor picks up a microphone to talk to the people inside the booth as they watch from above.

"Ladies and gentlemen, today, we take not another step towards annihilation, but the first step toward the path to peace. We begin with a series of micro-injections into the subject's major muscle groups. The serum infusion will cause immediate cellular change. Then, to stimulate growth, the subject will be saturated with Vita-Rays."

Wow, if only Markus was this thorough with you back then. Another doctor in the room stuck a needle in Steve's arm and quickly injects whatever is inside.

"That wasn't so bad," Steve comments.

"That was penicillin," the doctor informs him. "Serum infusion beginning in five, four, three, two, one." 

The serum is injected into Steve's arm at the end of the countdown. The Doctor gives a thumbs-up to Howard, and the inventor pulls a lever that encloses Steve into the pod and stands him upright. Dr. Erskine walks to the tiny window and knocks on it. 

"Steven, can you hear me?"

"It's probably too late to go to the bathroom, right?"

"We will proceed," the doctor nods.

x

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[darkboysroadtrip]

wait so if they're still children and their memories are fuzzy, do they even remember how bad their parents were? Or were they always bad? Does dee remember that his mom is dead???

You spring this on them as they're walking back to the car, they're in the long grass again and are very nearly there.

They stop walking.

Rather, Dee stops walking and everyone stops for him when they notice.

"My mom is what..." he whispers.

Uh oh, considering his mother died when he was older than the age that he's been turned into, he was not so aware of this.

Tears start to bubble in his eyes, his mother was the most important person to him, to a seven year old this is life shattering.

He crumples to the ground.

Everyone rushes to where he is now curled up tight.

Virgil and Remus fling themselves over Dee's form to squeeze him in a sort of protective hug.

"Why would you tell him that" Patton says, there's an edge to his voice -anger and confusion mixed- "we could have gone to sleep without that and it would have been fine!"

"Not cool, super not cool" Roman adds.

His tone of nonchalance throws Patton off a little and he looks towards Roman and stares at him for a beat, "yeah that!"

Virgil and Remus are still on the ground with Dee, not that you can actually see Dee under them.

There does seem to be some mumbling going on between the three however so the other three just kind of stand there to wait for the outcome.

It takes a few minutes but Remus jumps up, helps Virgil with his uninjured hand and they both pull Dee up.

Dee is staring at the ground, his silent tears fall with no move to stop them.

Before anyone can prompt forwards motion Dee runs.

Roman chokes out a strangled sound of confused alarm as Patton outstretches a hand in Dee's retreating form his mouth open to call out.

He's going in the direction they need to be so that's good at least.

"Don't worry" Virgil starts, "he needs this."

Patton closes his mouth and they all start to walk again.

They figure they should answer the rest of your question despite the trauma you just shoved to them.

Patton goes first with "my parents are great!"

"I wish I can say the same" Virgil says sourly, "I think my parents hate me..."

"Hehe same" Remus says slinging his arm around Virgil's shoulders.

Roman looks baffled at that, "our parents don't hate you though?" his statement comes out as a question, his face scrunched, "they're perfectly fine!"

Remus rolls his eyes "yeah to you, you're perfect little Roman: The Twin Who Can Do No Wrong."

"What? Nuh uhn!" Roman protests "you just get into more trouble!"

Remus whirls on Roman "you only think that cause they don't tell you everything you do is wrong!"

"Because I don't get into trouble like you do" Roman reiterates.

Remus throws his arms up in frustration "I don't do anything wrong though! They just tell me I'm in trouble for doing things and never tell me why! If the things I do are bad there hasta be a reason!"

Roman seems to not know how to answer that as his next words are uncertain "w-well, they're our parents, they would know."

Remus' eyes narrow "not. good. enough."

"Not good enough? What does that mean?"

"If I havta tell ya, yer not gonna understand."

Before Roman can respond, Remus too runs off to their destination.

It's silent for the rest of their trek considering Logan wouldn't have an answer for you anyway.