#sympathetic Deceit

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Cause and Effect

ok this is overdone i feel but i love your writing. something abkut the effects the sides have on themselves? virgil being super anxious and logan overwhelmed and similar things? something w janus? with a good portion of hurt comofrt? love your fics!! – anon

Hi! I love your writing so so so much. I do have a request for you, if you want it: Headcanon that Remus, being responsible for intrusive thoughts, is also responsible for any earworms Thomas gets. Which, he mostly uses to his advantage. Except. He unironically likes Taylor Swift and is terrified of that information getting out because it will ruin his image/he won’t be taken seriously. – anon

I hope you’re having a good week! I was wondering if I could request a hurt/comfort fic with one of the Sides being really bad about announcing/enforcing boundaries, because “it probably means more to them than it does to me” “it’s not that bad” “I can deal with it”. Thank you for considering!! – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-esteem issues, panic attacks, anxiety attacks

Pairings: dlampr, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 2954

Patton doesn't always remember that he has feelings, too. Logan works…a lot. Virgil lives his life looking over his shoulder. Janus has gotten so good at lying to everyone that it's a wonder he even knows what the truth is himself. Remus wears shame like a badge of honor and the sweater he just can't manage to make himself throw away. Roman is tired. The Sides struggle. The Sides help each other.

Patton doesn't always remember that he has feelings, too.

He's at the center of Thomas's feelings, of course, and that means he's feeling a lot of things that aren't necessarily his all the time. Thomas is happy, he's happy. Thomas is sad, the entire world might be ending. Thomas is angry, he has to hide everything that looks even vaguely orange because something might explode. Thomas is depressed, he finds it hard to even get out of bed.

That extends to the Sides somewhat too; all of them experience heightened emotions, a wonderful by-product of being metaphysical and in the Mindscape. So that means that anything that might happen to them will happen in greater intensity than it would in the 'real world.' But sometimes that can be a little hard to handle, especially if they aren't used to it. For Roman, it looks like being stuck at the worst part of a tragic monologue for hours, for Logan, it looks like that one question on a test that you just can't answer, for Virgil, it's the quiet and unsettling feeling of having something just over your shoulder all the time, for Janus, it's the itch that you just can't scratch, for Remus, it's the noise that's just at the wrong frequency.

It's hard, it's hard for all of them, and so Patton takes it upon himself to help them through it. He takes Roman's hands and just holds them, trying to make him see that he doesn't have to perform, not now, not with him. He sits with Logan and they just talk, about nothing, about everything, until Logan can smile just a little and everything feels better. He puts a pair of headphones on Virgil and wraps him up in a weighted blanket, leaned against his chest. He spoils Janus with a spa day until their favorite snake is too tired to do anything but sleep. And he sings with Remus, as loud and off key as they can, until that's all they can hear.

It's good. It's fun. It's worth it to take care of his kiddos. But sometimes things we say when we're hurting can make other people hurt, and it's important to take care of that too.

Sometimes Patton forgets that. Sometimes he mumbles it's okay, they didn't mean it, through his own tears. Sometimes he has to go and be by himself for a while before he can come back and face them again. Sometimes he has to just…remind himself that they're hurting, and that's what's important.

That isn't true, of course, and when the rest of them find out, it's easy to see that they love him too. They play games until their sides hurt from laughing so much, they crowd around the kitchen to bake cookies and brownies and all manner of sweet treats, they watch movies and cuddle on the couch until they all fall asleep. And when he's upset, because he gets upset too, they all come into his room and tell him how much he means to them until the curtains turn blue again.

***

Logan works…a lot.

There is something to be said for how subtle yet pervasive the concept of Logic is. On first glance, one would associate it primarily with academics, math in particular, or some such thing that is so purely intellectual that it might seem limited in its application. When in reality, when you examine it further, there is some hint of Logic in just about everything that you do, and so there is no escape from the things that you must use it for in order to do it correctly.

Logan has a lot of work. Logan has a lot of work. He has so much work, in fact, that if he stopped to think about how much work he has, he would become so daunted by the prospect of staring at such a tall hill that he would never be able to conquer it. Best to deal with things one problem at a time, take them step by step, and make sure that he doesn't stop to consider the sheer magnitude of what he's doing.

Perhaps this isn't the healthiest way to go about it. Perhaps he would be better suited to breaking down things into more manageable hills, getting over them one step at a time, that sort of thing, but he has no time for that. In the time it would take to do that, the first of the manageable hills would already have become unmanageable by the time he got back to them. So this is how it must be, working and working and working until there is a big enough pause for him to catch his breath.

The others…are not fond of this. Surely, he accounts for enough time to spend with them, but it isn't easily won. It's fraught with the thoughts of what else he could be doing, a passing worry that he's missing something egregious, that he would be better suited to getting all of his work done before allowing himself a break. But that is not the nature of resting, that is the nature of rotting, even if Logan cannot actually give himself a break.

When they find out, they drag him away from his work and into the Imagination, into a library so full of wonder and curiosity that he has no choice but to stop thinking about his work and instead, chase the things he's actually interested in. He darts from bookshelf to bookshelf, peppering the others with did you know, did you know, did you know, and nothing they could say back will be as rewarding as seeing his eyes light up with excitement for the first time in…they can't remember how long it's been.

***

Virgil lives his life looking over his shoulder.

His existence is a constant struggle of did we remember to do this, did we forget this, what if this happens, this is going to go wrong, everything's going to explode in our faces. Every time they so much as leave the house, it's a war of keeping himself together just long enough to make it back so they don't have an embarrassing meltdown in the middle of…wherever they happen to be. The grocery store, the gym, even the fucking sidewalk. It's like walking through the world where there are big flashing neon signs everywhere he turns, each warning about something else awful and terrible, and yet somehow everyone else is able to completely ignore them.

It's terrifying.

And what's worse is that he knows if he so much as breathed a word of this to any of them, they wouldn't believe him. They'd do something like laugh and say he's just freaking out over nothing—which he knows, that's not doing anything to stop it from happening in the first place—or try and rationalize it out of him. Which won't work either, because he knows he's being irrational, that's why he's so mad about it in the first place, but realizing what's happening and being able to do something about it are two different things.

Being able to get himself grounded becomes more of a necessity than anything else. This big hoodie that lets him become an amorphous blob, the heavy things in his pockets he can squeeze when the temptation to break something gets too much, the headphones and earbuds he keeps stashed everywhere with the phone charger clipped to his belt because if he can't listen to music at a moment's notice, he might actually break down in tears. He has to keep himself alert, because if something's going to go wrong, he's going to need to notice it quickly so he can get everyone else on board and safe before it wrecks the rest of their lives.

And when he manages to shove that out of his mouth in an absolute mess of words, he's greeting not with laughs and teases, but with open arms and kind words. He's bundled into Remus's arms and Roman lies on top of them as Janus chuckles, hands carding through his hair to help silence the worst of the mumblings that something's going to go wrong. Logan takes his hand and squeezes it in the rhythm for breathing exercises as Patton sings something soft under his breath.

They're all in the same room. They're all safe. They're all going to be okay.

He can do this. He can do this.

He can do this.

***

Janus has gotten so good at lying to everyone that it's a wonder he even knows what the truth is himself.

Stories need antagonists. A narrative needs something to help it wind its way around all the twists and turns to make it into something worth following. If that means that the truth needs to be a little harder to find, that something needs to go a little wrong before it can be set to rights, well, he's happy to play the part. He's happy to thrill at the surprised looks he gets from the naive little heroes, the shock and betrayal on their faces when they realize he's tricked them, to cackle as they scramble to figure out what to do next.

He's equally thrilled to watch them squirm as he pokes and prods at their comfort zones. Challenging anyone who appears to be steadfast is endlessly entertaining, after all, and he can hardly blame himself when he's rewarded with such passionate monologues or fiery outbursts that end in grudging admittance that maybe he had a point all along. He's never been one to refrain from being smug, after all, and it would be a crime to deprive people of the right to see him in all his victorious glory.

Sometimes, though, that victory feels a little hollow. When it stops being a surprise and more of a resignation, when it's no longer something that they rise to meet but hunker down to grin and bear…when he wins, trouncing them soundly, and they take it on the chin and keep moving…that's not what this is for. He's here to make all of them feel a little something, even if it starts out badly, they should be proud of themselves when they outsmart him, out-think him, even when they don't win but they come close. He's a thorn in their side, not the sword that guts them before they have so much as a chance to say anything. And there's only so much fun that can be had toying with them before it feels like he's kicking a puppy for no reason.

He makes Roman cry once. He just stands there, staring at Janus, waiting for it to be over with tears streaming down his face. And when Janus stammers that yes, he's…he's done, Roman just leaves.

He doesn't want to just be the bad guy. He doesn't want them to think he doesn't care for them. He doesn't want them to be hurt, not…not in any way that actually matters.

He takes it on the chin, as he's seen them do, but it gets harder. Walking the line between fulfilling the role he's made for himself and actually being cruel is difficult, and tensions stretch further and further until one day, he can't do it and he has to retreat to his room and spend the rest of the day puzzling about how to fix this. He's never been the one to actually offer words of comfort. He's been there to lance infections from open wounds, not stitch them back together. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know what to believe anymore.

Roman comes to him first. Wraps him up in a hug and ignores all his babbling in favor of dragging him to their favorite picnic spot in the imagination. Everyone takes on a different role, just for that day, where Patton is the gardener that helps the baker, Logan, Roman and Remus are the woodcutters that build the cabins, Virgil is the blacksmith and Janus—Janus is the innkeeper. They spin a new story together, one where everyone gets a happy ending.

Stories end, after all, and new ones begin.

***

Remus wears shame like a badge of honor and the sweater he just can't manage to make himself throw away.

He delights in the uncomfortable, luxuriates in the madness, and happily dances along to the songs of the worst things you could ever imagine. His side of the Imagination is chaos and ruin, twisted undergrowth giving way to dark city scapes filled with ne'er-do-wells and the filth from stories that finally get their chance to steal the spotlight. He lovingly tends to his creatures that would send fainter hearts into shock, none more so than his beloved Kraken, Oliver. Shipwrecks litter the bottom of the Imagination's oceans and he couldn't be prouder.

For Remus, chaos is a way of life. He takes the things that normal people would scoff at—just as enthusiastically as he would scoff at them for being so boring—and makes it into art. He builds machines that are needlessly complicated and endlessly horrible. He turns perfect order into perfect disorder with a gleeful squeal. He's the bane of Logan and Roman's existences—one is affectionate, the other decidedly less so—and he steps into his bear traps with a grin on his face.

There are, of course, downsides. He's alone, a lot of the time. No one else really appreciates everything he does, all the hard work that goes into turning his world into the best it can be for him. Sure, they get close sometimes, like when there's an experiment and he and Logan get to go full mad-scientist, or when he and Janus are gleefully stirring all manner of shit up for everyone else, or when he and Roman throw literally everything they can at every sort of wall just to see what might stick. But when those times are over, and he's back to being the same old, messy Remus, he gets…lonely.

Especially when there's something that would make them think he's something else.

He's got a reputation. He's supposed to be dark, twisted, messy, chaotic, that sort of thing. He's annoying, the voices in your head that you just can't get to go away, the song that won't stop playing in your head at 2 in the morning when all you want to do is go to sleep.

He can't exactly expect them to believe him when he says the songs he wants to keep playing are something like…Taylor Swift.

He's got an image to maintain! And that image doesn't go well with, y'know…something like that. He's no stranger to other people's shame, but his own…well, he might get why people hate feeling it so much.

Roman, though, is his brother, and as such gets full rights to both tease him about things and find out whatever he wants to know. And Roman is his brother, which means that he loves him unconditionally. So maybe the two of them can sing along to Taylor Swift at 3 in the morning and if Roman takes the fall for being the one obsessed with her stuff, well, that's for them to know and Janus to find out when he figures out what Roman's lying about this time.

It's fine, they'll just make him listen to 'no body, no crime.' That song's right up his alley.

***

Roman is tired.

He's just…really tired.

Being the prince, being Thomas's Hopes and Dreams, his Creativity—well, half of it—trying to keep everything afloat…it's tiring.

The others don't know this—well, Remus might—but he's the main anchor point between Thomas and the Mindscape. They're all products of Thomas's imagination, which he uses his Creativity to make and interact with, which means that…them, the Mindscape, the Imagination, it's…well, he has to spend a lot of energy to keep it the way it is.

It's tiring.

So sometimes, he doesn't have it in him to play the role. Sometimes he can't focus on staying away long enough to do all the work they want him to do on top of all the stuff they don't know he's doing. And sometimes…sometimes it's just a little bit too much.

They find him on the floor of his room one night, just watching the moon. They gather blankets and pillows and stuffed animals and build a little nest, right there around him. Remus opens the door to the Imagination to lighten a little bit of the load and Logan helps Patton coax Thomas the rest of the way to sleep, letting them shift to the dreaming mind instead.

He's so tired. Surrounded by the others, with his mind at peace, he finally gets some rest.

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[fandoms-bandoms-andmentalissues]

Alone? Not Anymore

Logan is belittled, ignored, and discarded by the light sides, but until Janus and Remus help him find a new side of himself he didn’t think there was anything he could do about it. They help him make a very difficult choice suddenly very easy.

[whqreforstevengrant]

just some mommies for the HS AU

[michelangelo-error]

Patton Sanders Sides' Head-canons

~

Patton loves whenever the other sides play with his hair! When Virgil is ever feeling a little antsy he would let him make small messy braids🥰

Add on to the first- After he would leave the braids in, wanting to cherish the master piece a bit longer

When patton puts an object down he tends to give it a gentle pat

One of Patton's love languages is touch, one day the other sides started noticing the small touches he does. Poke on a cheek, shoulder nudges, and fixing a wild hair strand

Whenever, Roman or Remus needed to practice their makeup skills they knew they could rely on Patton to be such a good sport. Even if it ended with some horrific creations especially from Remus😭 (But anything for those Kiddos)

During Janus' more stressed filled nights, Patton would drag him to the living (Luring him in with his favorite wine, making Hot chocolate for himself) then throwing on a Disney film.

[frickerdoodledoo]

Soooo... guess who got really nostolgic while having a cold and binge-watched all of Sanders Sides again after almost a year?

For the last few days I have been sucked down a rabbit-hole of Fandercontent, and let me just say... while this fandom is so creative, there are just a few things I wish people utilized more in fics, you know?

(Disclaimer, I live on angst and the Dark Sides are my three favourite characters, so most of these are about both of those subjects. Also not a huge fan of non-mindscape au's, so these are all about canon-adjacent fanfiction. My only AU is Sympathetic Dark Sides where they all coexist. Yes, even Remus.)

First and foremost, and this is what inspired this post until I found more things after, why do I see so few fics that include Virgil's Dark Side Voice™? It happens whenever he get's too stressed in canon, and from how he reacts whenever it happens, it seems to be a bit of an insecurity for him. Why aren't angst authors jumping on that?

Guys. We... we all saw the end-card of Flirt or Flight, right? How come so few do anything regarding Virgil's colour-changing eyeshadow? It's adorable, it's gorgeous, talk about it, please!

When Janus takes off the gloves in order to show himself to be truthful about his name... why??? He did that for a reason. If it was just about the typical "Cross my heart" pose, there was nothing stopping him from leaving on the gloves unless their was a reason to take them off! Theorize, go nuts! (I personally believe that his scales fluctuate in their coverage of his skin, and his hands being completely human shows that he's being honest. He wears gloves to make his lies less obvious.)

And on the subject of Janus' lies, has anybody else realized that for the embodiment of Thomas' Deceitfulness... he's actually kind of a terrible liar? While disguised as other sides, he always drops some pretty obvious hints that he's not the real Patton or Logan. And whenever he does his whole "speaking in lies" thing, he has this tone about him that makes it clear to... almost everyone, (Cough cough except Roman apparently), that he's lying, or atleast just being sarcastic?

In the Five Year Anniversary special, Virgil, Remus, and Janus refer to themselves as the Cousin, Uncle, and Aunt respectively. And I know that there actually is a fair amount of content about the Dark Sides being a seperate but related family, but I just feel like not many people talk about the low-key confirmation of that as a reality, ya know?

More.👏 Protective.👏 Dark Sides.👏 They've known eachother for so long, no matter how close the whole family is, Virgil, Remus and Janus would naturally know eachother better than any of the others.

If we are to assume that Janus even just unstably co-exists with the Light Sides, (like pre-redemption Virgil), post-Redux, but Remus doesn't... Well, that's the third person that Remus actually has a connection to that just... left him. First Roman, then Virgil, now Janus. (I personally believe that the Orange side will just be an Unsympathetic Dick, so he doesn't count, but that's just me.)

I am a "Former Paranoia Virgil" Truther, as are many others in the fandom. However, something I wish I saw more of is others not catching themselves when calling Virgil paranoid. Even better, the Dark Sides not realising how much thinking of that part of his past affects him, thinking nothing of it and then feeling really guilty.

And that's all the canon-supported stuff, but just... one last thing. Consider the following:

The Orange Side is a relatively new "Relevant" or "Consious" Side, his existance only needed when suddenly there were only two Dark Sides and still three Light Sides

Janus is Patton's foil because he represents an "immoral" side to Thomas, and Remus is Roman's foil as a flip-side to one, single concept. Virgil used to be Logan's foil before his redemption, because senseless overthinking and paranoia defies logic.

This need for a foil doesn't apply to Virgil, because he is no longer a Dark Side, but he isn't really a Light Side either. A Grey Side, if you will.

Virgil encompasses both the good and bad aspects of Anxiety, and is even capable of representing more of an excitement or sense of anticipation, hence the purple eyeshadow seen in Fight or Flirt. He is his own foil in the same way that Roman and Remus are eachother's. They're the good and bad of creativity, Virgil is the good and bad of anxiety.

I am most likely not the first person to come up with this, but this is just my specific take.

Anyway, I am probably going to go write atleast half of these prompts myself, so if any of these concepts interest you... maybe stick around?

[howam-i-theparent]

Sanders sides HCs (Starting with Janus because he is my favorite)

Gender-fluid, but not the “switching genders” but more if the “It’s fluid, but kind of all one thing, ya know?”

Any pronouns (usually goes with he/him or they/them) but also loves sticking to a set that doesn’t match what they’re presenting as that day. (Like she/her in a full 3 piece suit or he/him in a ball gown)

loves confusing people with their gender (the expressions of others trying to figure them out is just so funny)

The “mom friend” who has so may chaotic children (Me tho)

Weaves as just something to do with their hands (weaves a tall tale, web of lies, ect.)

Would know how to walk in heels, but only after a lot of practice in their own room. They never wore heels before getting the hang of it.

One of the only ones that can actually cook (They kind of have to as self-care and self-preservation)

Took care of Virgil and Remus after the split, even though they were the same age

Was the first to “form” in Thomas’s mind, but not as deceit, only as self-preservation.

their nickname was “prezzy” before they got names because self-preservation was too long (this is from a Ao3 Fic that I read a while back, but I don’t remember the author or the Fic title)

Evolved into “Lies” after telling a falsehood to Thomas’s teacher to get them out of trouble

became deceit sometime after the split, No one knows exactly when, not even themself

Would make sure that each of the sides have what they need to go to sleep/function in the morning. Even if no one notices besides Remus.

Tries to not hurt the other sides because they know that would hurt Thomas, it would go against their very nature. They can’t help but to lie, it is one of their main functions. But they will try and emphasize the part that is a lie to be understood easier. (“I can’t do that”, but they emphasize the can’t)

They realize after a while that each of the sides can make small changes to their appearance to look slightly different from Thomas.

They choose to grow out their hair and bleach the ends (it reaches to about their waist now) but they tie it up and hide it under their hat when needing to film Or presenting masculine

Likes to braid their hair and decorate it with gold pieces

Can very easily multi task with all of their extra arms

Cold blooded and has at least 3 layers on at a time

Has something akin to a snake den made out of blankets and pillows in the back of their closet where they can shut the door so it’s dark and warm

Called each of the sides “snakelets” at one point or another and then got very embarrassed

spends a lot of their time studying the minds of people (or just general humans) to mind out how to keep Thomas from the danger of humans

Understands that the current American government is not the best. They try to do small things to rebel against it. “If the place Thomas lives in is not safe, then Thomas is not safe, and I can’t stand for that”

Would hiss at people when startled or upset (Full on Hissed at Remus after they got woken up after being woken up after an explosion)

Sticks out their tongue in concentration unconsciously

Wears gloves because “Ew texture” (who knows what kind of things Remus is leavening around) but takes them off once they are safe in their own room because “Mmm texture”

That’s all for now, might think of some more at a latter date

[ask-gt-roceit]

I can't believe it's been a while since I've done something with those two.

I don't exactly have excuses besides life and motivation ig...

-

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[sinister-things]

Would anyone be interested if I made headcanons for a Spy AU I got in mind?

[treenissanderssidesstuff]

This is gorgeous and heartbreaking

They’re both liars….

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

How Romantic

what if a side did get forgotten? they got pushed to the side enough (maybe by the others being in a relationship, maybe by other conflicts) and the mindscape started to remove the "unnecessary" influence – doteddestroyer

Read on Ao3

Warnings: fading/ducking out, but he's fine

Pairings: none, so gen

Word Count: 4777

Romanticism emphasized the individual, the subjective, the irrational, the imaginative, the personal, the spontaneous, the emotional, the visionary, and the transcendental. When Roman is forgotten as a part of Creativity, well, what use does the Imagination have for a prince when it can simply put the Romantic into its work in other ways? Remus has a few things to say about that.

It shouldn’t be all that surprising, really, to think that if a Mind forgets something, it will no longer manifest. Or rather, to not think of it. Or, one could imagine the consequences of not imagining something.

Listen, Roman’s already mostly out the door, he doesn’t have enough cognitive function left to think his way in and out of all the contradictions that arise from the things he says.

The basic principle is this: if a thing is no longer relevant in the Mindscape, which is a consequence of people not thinking about it, then it ceases to exist. The Mindscape doesn’t put the energy into making it a thing. Think of it like a video game. The game only renders the part of the role that the player is currently in, there’s no use for it to render the secret dungeon buried in the third level of the side quest that hardly anyone knows about. It’s more efficient if it doesn’t and in the incredibly slim chance that the player does end up there, then the game can render it and it’ll be fine and it’ll de-load as soon as they leave to go back to the main game.

Got it?

Great.

So, that’s where Roman is right now. In his room, waiting to be de-loaded. He has his Prince costume on, because that’s the version of him that’s going to fade last, his room is all made up in his signature red: red curtains, red comforter, red pillowcases, red notebook laid on his desk. He’s even got his sword out for a final sharpening—no, that’s not a dirty joke, he’s not that Creativity, he’s literally just taking care of the katana—as he waits for the telltale shudder of the Mindscape forgetting something.

He hums absentmindedly to himself as the whetstone sings against the blade. Really, it’s surprising it’s taking this long. Well, not really. Forgetting things is a slow process, it’s not like you can snap your fingers and poof, something’s gone. At the very least, it has to be long enough that something else has taken its place in your mind, and then when you look, you can’t even tell that something was ever missing from it.

Remus has that handled. And Roman will fight anyone who says that’s just because he’s intrusive thoughts, or whatever, no, Remus is memorable all on his own, thank you very much. He’s far cleverer than they all give him credit. And Roman wishes he was half as quick as Remus.

Again, not an innuendo. That’s not his thing, remember?

And Remus isn’t bound by the same creative limits he is! He can run wild—literally, if they let him—and come up with the most incredible things that open up all sorts of new possibilities for what they could do, what they can talk about, what sorts of things they could explore. Isn’t that so much better than just regurgitating the same story idea, over and over and over, doesn’t that get exhausting? How can you imagine something new when all you’re able to do is ricochet around the same blank boring box?

His hand shudders a little as it moves back up the blade. He never liked creative blocks.

And how nice would it be to have a Creativity that wasn’t bound to the fragility of the Ego? How much better, how much easier would it be if you didn’t have to worry about getting bruised and hurt every single time you got feedback on something you made? Making things is hard, you know, it’s vulnerable and terrifying and mortifying especially when you’re showing the end product to someone—and even if you aren’t! Even if it sits on a shelf in your room or a folder on your computer and it never, ever sees the light of day, that’s still scary! You’ve made something, it exists now because of you, and now someone could look at it and see you through it and—and—

Well. You get the idea.

Roman sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He puts the katana away and places the whetstone back in its little box. As he goes to pick it up, it falls through his hands and hits the floor with a low thud.

Ah. So it is starting after all.

He leaves the box on the floor and goes back to the bed. He lies down, not sinking very much at all into his red covers. He folds his hands on his chest and stares up at the ceiling.

It makes sense, after all, that the parts of him the others don’t know about—or have already forgotten about—are going first. The whetstone. They know he has a sword. They probably don’t know how he takes care of it. His bed is red, and he’s the color red, so it’s still here. His room, his prince costume, his desk, all things he needs to be Creativity, or at least half of Creativity, so it will probably go last too.

He lets his head loll to the side, staring at his red notebook. bits of grey begin to enter his vision, the red notebook standing out like a sore thumb. He wonders if any of the things written on its pages would still be there if he looked.

He did love that notebook. It was his friend when no one else would be his friend. It was there for him when it wasn’t okay for him to have someone there for him, when he’d messed up too much to deserve comfort from anyone else, he would go to the notebook. Mainly because the notebook didn’t have a choice.

He’s written a small thing the other day about that, actually. He wonders if it’s still there. If he closes his eyes, maybe he can remember it.

Why don’t you talk to me?; you’re unkind to me; why don’t you talk to me?; I tried and you turned it into a lecture; why don’t you talk to me?; you make fun of me when I try to express how I’m feeling; why don’t you talk to me?; I tried to ask you for help and you turned it into a game of who could mock me the most until I ran away; why don’t you talk to me?; because you were still laughing when I ran away crying; why don’t you talk to me?; because you made me feel guilty for needing help; why don’t you talk to me?; because you made me feel ashamed for wanting support and comfort; why don’t you talk to me?; I don’t want to be in trouble; why don’t you talk to me?; I want to be hurt and upset and have that be okay because I got hurt by something; why don’t you talk to me?; the loneliest time in the world is right before you tell someone else what you did wrong because you know they won’t want to comfort you anymore; why don’t you talk to me?; it’s cold here; why don’t you talk to me?; I just want to be alone now; why don’t you talk to me?; I learned my lesson already; why don’t you talk to me?; what would I have to say?; why don’t you talk to me?; tell me the right words to use so you’ll actually care about me; why don’t you talk to me?; I don’t want to; why don’t you talk to me?; I don’t trust you anymore; why don’t you talk to me?; why would I talk to you?

Ah, that’s it.

His melodrama will probably be the last thing to go too.

He sighs, rubbing his cheek half-heartedly against the pillow in search of some meager comfort. He hasn’t been forgotten enough that the pain that lingers in his chest and hands has gone away, though he’s not sure how. He doesn’t think anyone knows about that—except maybe Remus.

Oh, Remus.

Roman’s chest burns and he gasps, sudden tears coming to the corners of his eyes. He doesn’t want to leave his brother, not after everything they’ve been through, not after all the work they’ve done to get back to the place they’re at now, after all this time, not when they’re finally brothers again. He sniffles, going to wipe his nose and his hands just start to ache. He curls up on the bed, around his pained hands, weeping for himself, for his brother, for Creativity.

Enough of his mind remains to put the pieces together and realize oh, of course. In forgetting everything else, I have been left with the things that I am at my core.

Pain in his chest and hands and an undying love for his brother.

A more complete Creativity might’ve called it Romantic.

***

Thomas sighs. To say that most of these meetings go well would be a lie, but this meeting is not going well.

“Look, all I’m saying is that—“

“Well, that’s your problem right there, you’ve been doing an awful lot of ‘saying’ and not a lot of ‘listening.’”

“Your sass, as delightful as it is, kiddo, is not helpful right now.”

“Oh, really? And here I thought it was the most pivotal thing at the moment.”

“No, it’s not, because it’s taking valuable time from—“

“Sarcasm, Patton. That was sarcasm.”

“And see! That’s another thing—“

“Oh, for the love of Archimedes…”

Yeah. not going well. Thomas pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to figure out what this conversation started with and how exactly they ended up here.

Right, okay.

He’d gotten a text from a friend about a thing they wanted to go do. The problem was, the thing cost money to do and the friend hadn’t said anything about paying for Thomas to come. His finances weren’t awful but it wasn’t like he had the amount of money to just…spare. Logan had suggested they ask and confirm who would be paying the entrance fee, Virgil had worried that it was rude to ask something like that, Janus had proposed a number of ways they could ‘surreptitiously’ ask about it, and Patton had worried about going at all if they were going to be guilt-tripped into it or if the friend had just assumed Thomas would be fine paying for it.

It had…developed from there.

“Look,” Logan says, “there is a very simple way to ask whether or not Thomas is to pay for his own entrance fee. We simply text or call them back and ask.”

“But what if they freak out about it? That’s a weird thing to ask!”

“How is it a weird thing to ask?”

“They might think we’re trying to freeload, or that we’re going to ask them to pay us back, or what if they think that we’re broke?”

“Hey!” Patton puts his hands on his hips. “You are not broken, kiddo, and I won’t stand for you saying that you are!”

“…not what I meant, but thanks, I guess.”

Janus rolls his eyes. “Well, if we’re this stressed out about a simple invitation to something we want to go to anyway, perhaps we should reconsider whether we want to be friends with them at all.”

“Now that’s a bit of an overreaction.”

“Sarcastic! I was being sarcastic!’

Yeah. That’s about where they are now. Out of sheer desperation, if nothing else, he glances over at Remus. Remus’s arms are hanging over the TV, swinging his hands as he grins at the chaos unfolding. He catches Thomas’s gaze and tilts his head in a silent question. Thomas gestures weakly around and Remus shrugs.

“I voted we just go without paying, but apparently that’s illegal or something.”

“Yeah, buddy, that’s…we’re not gonna do that.”

Remus shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

“Alright, look,” Thomas says, raising his voice enough to speak over the current argument about—you know what, he’s not even gonna ask— “this isn’t going anywhere. If we’re going to figure out what we are actually going to do, we need to think about this differently.”

“It’s a simple issue, Thomas.”

“And yet, we’ve been talking for close to an hour and we’ve made zero progress.” Thomas rubs his forehead. “Look, where’s Roman?”

There’s a pause.

“Roman?” Patton frowns. "Why would we need Roman?”

“Well, you know, he’s…also Creativty? Maybe he can help us think of something we’re not thinking of?”

“Remus is also Creativity,” Logan says, indicating Remus who gives a cheery little wave. “His suggestions have been…well, we’ve ruled them out.”

“That’s because you guys are no fun.”

“Yeah, but Roman is a different Creativity. Doesn’t it make sense that what he’d come up with would be different.”

Logan adjusts his glasses. “I suppose so.”

“Why didn’t he show up today, does anyone know?”

“Perhaps he is working on another video idea.”

“Maybe he got lost in the Imagination? Happens to me all the time.”

“Maybe he slept in. God knows he harps on about his ‘beauty sleep’ enough.”

“Janus? Remus? What about you two?”

“Why would I bother to keep track of anything Roman does?” Thomas narrows his eyes at him and Janus sighs, rolling his eyes. “No, I don’t know where he is or why he didn’t bother to show up, nor do I much care.”

“Janus!”

“What?”

Patton puts his hands on his hips. “Don’t be so dismissive, how would you like it if someone said that about you?”

”I don’t know, Virgil, how would I like it?”

“Hey, leave me out of this, I don’t have anything to do with whatever the heck this is.”

Thomas just barely suppresses a deep sigh and looks over at Remus. Remus, however, is not relishing in the argument breaking out between the three of them. Instead, he’s staring off into the corner, frowning hard.

“Remus? You okay, buddy?”

“Why can’t I remember the last time I saw Roman?”

Thomas frowns. That manages to get the attention of the others—somehow—and a hush falls over the room as they all think about it.

“Well, it can’t have been that long ago,” Patton says, “we saw him for movie night on the, um…when we watched the…”

”No, it was more recent than that,” Logan says, “he had come down to breakfast to make us those muffins.”

“Right, right, that’s right. When, uh, when was that?”

“Well, it was…”

Logan trails off into silence. Remus looks around at all of them. “Think about it: when was the last time any of us actually saw Roman? Can any of us actually remember?”

Thomas watches with muted horror as all of them slowly shake their heads.

“Fuck.”

“Language, kiddo,” Patton scolds, “anyway, I’m sure this is just a big misunderstanding.”

“That’s right,” Logan says, “after all, it’s hardly the first time Roman has been absent.”

“Yeah, but he normally tells someone where he’s going,” Virgil mutters, “especially if it’s gonna be for a while.”

“Okay, the last time I definitely saw Ro was three weeks ago when we fed Ollie.”

“He helped me put up new cat posters in my room. I think it was…it was before we did that full moon thing, so that was a month ago?”

“He—jeez, I think I passed him in the hallway at, like, stupid o’clock around a week ago, but I was…pretty out of it.”

“We had a brief meeting about the upcoming script last week. That’s the last time I remember seeing him for certain.”

“Don’t look at me,” Thomas protests when all eyes turn in his direction, “I don’t see him outside of these meetings and the last time we had one of those was like, two months ago.”

“Janny? What about you?”

Janus sighs, idly examining one of the seams on the tip of his finger. “I think you’re all being overdramatic.”

“Roman is missing, Janus,” Logan says with a bit of bite to his words, “I don’t think ‘overdramatic’ is an accurate description.”

“Yeah, especially since none of us can remember the last time we saw him.”

“Oh, please,” he sighs, “it’s Roman. Do you really think something so horrible could happen to him that he’d disappear and he wouldn’t tell anyone about it?”

A beat.

“…shit.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Roman.”

”Alright,” Virgil says, getting up, “Thomas, don’t respond yet. They’ll think you’re working or something. Remus, go check the Imagination.”

“On it!”

“Logan, go see if he’s in the library, J, check the Dark Side’s living room.” The two of them nod and sink out. “Pat?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re gonna go to his room and see if he’s in there.”

“Okay.” Patton glances at Thomas. “Can you…can you feel anything?”

Thomas frowns, putting a hand on his chest. He moves it to the other side.

“Are you checking for your pulse or something?”

“No, normally when I think about Roman, like I’m gonna summon him or something, there’s this, like, warmth? It’s like something in my chest that just—it’s hard to explain.” He moves his hand back. “But I can’t…I can’t feel it right now.”

“Oh, that’s probably not good.”

”We should go.”

“Hey, if it ever feels like you can summon him again? Do it, then get the rest of us back.”

Thomas nods, watching as Virgil grabs Patton and they sink out. He sits slowly on the couch, staring into the middle distance as he keeps moving his hand around his chest. It’s strange; he normally doesn’t even have to put a hand to himself to feel where Roman is. He wasn’t lying before, it really is like this warmth that just lives in his chest, like a second heart almost, one that doesn’t really beat so much as just exist there. Like it’s reminding him that he’s, you know, a human with feelings and wants and desires and that’s okay.

Oh, Roman, buddy, where are you?

***

Remus steps into the Imagination and his knees almost buckle immediately.

Bluish-black storm clouds gather and bruise a dark grey sky overlooking a massive craggy cliff rising impossibly high. Vividly green grass and terribly purple flowers bloom deep inside the crevices of the rocks lining the path in front of him, the smell of fresh rain hanging so heavy that it seems it would fall any moment. In the distance he can see evergreens, smell them even though they must be miles away, and another mountain rising behind them with thin, wispy clouds stretching red fingers over its peak. The ground is warm under him, as though he were standing over an active volcano, but he can see and hear and smell the river that flows by just to the side of him, and the breeze that comes from it is cool and damp. His fingers twitch. So does his nose. He takes a deep, deep breath and takes a step forward.

With every step he takes, the more an uncertain feeling takes root at the base of his stomach. it’s too sweet to be panic, too frenzied to be melancholy, and too lonely to be wonder. He keeps walking. The Imagination is always impossibly vivid, impossibly beautiful, but something about this feels…different.

His chest feels tight.

As he moves past a larger collection of boulders, he rounds the corner as he spots a tree. A massive tree, one where the branches curl outwards and upwards like color diffusing into clear water. Some part of Remus—a part that sounds a lot like Logan, if he’s being honest—mutters how a tree like this couldn’t exist, not in these mountains, not with its roots in these rocks. And yet, here it grows all the same. He moves toward it, the tightness in his chest growing with every step.

At the base of the tree lies the hilt of a katana.

“R-Ro?” Remus collapses in front of the tree, shaking hands touching the trunk. The bark flakes away under his fingers and the smallest glimmers of gold shine up. “Roro…oh, Ro, what happened?”

“Remus? Remus!”

“Whoa, what the hell is this place?”

Remus can’t tear his eyes away from the tree long enough to see them but he can hear the others rush up behind him. He just paws weakly at the trunk and Logan’s muffled gasp is all he needs to hear before he starts sobbing.

“Oh, no,” Logan mumbles, “Roman’s…something’s happened to Roman. He’s—Remus, has he Faded? Or is this something else?”

“He’s been Forgotten,” Remus sobs, “the—the Imagination put him back where—where he wasn’t Roman anymore and he’s—he’s—“

Another sob leaves his throat.

“I want my brother back!”

“But we remember him,” Patton says, “we—we do, he’s Roman, we want him back, why—why is he here still?”

“I don’t think he knows we’re here,” Virgil says, glancing around, “I think he’s—I think he’s here sort of, but not in the Roman we know.”

“So what do we do? How do we get him back?”

Remus is still touching the tree. The clouds overhead start to rumble with distant thunder. He presses himself up against it, hugging it tightly.

“Come back, Ro-bro,” he mumbles into the bark, “came back, I want you to come back.”

“Logan? What do we do?”

“There has to be a reason he’s manifesting like this, doesn’t there?” Logan turns around, looking at the mountains, the sky, the river, the rocks, the tree. “Nature, the natural world, he’s become a tree so some kind of growth? Reincarnation? Transcendence?”

“Maybe it has more to do with Roman?” Janus’s against the bark near Remus’s head. “Creativity? Ego? Romance?”

“Romance…Romance…Romance, of course, Roman’s Romance!”

“What about this seems particularly romantic to you?”

“That’s it, it’s not romantic, it’s Romantic. The Romantic movement, the whole—oh, Roman,” Logan says softly, resting his hands on the trunk too, “I’m sorry that you didn’t feel like you could talk to us.”

“How in the hell are you getting all of that from Roman being a tree?”

”The Romantic period was in reaction to the balance and calm of the Classical. Heightened emotion, the irrational, the subjective, all of these became key themes. It was far more important to preserve the spirit and individuality of the artist rather than any sort of adherence to strict rules or traditional procedures.” Logan’s hand runs over the bark. “As well as a focus on the inner struggles of the exceptional figure.”

“And Princey’s the exceptional figure?”

”In a manner of speaking.” Logan presses his other hand to the tree too. “Roman? Are you here?”

A breeze ruffles through the leaves.

“Was that him?” Patton rushes forward and touches the tree. “Roman? Roman, kiddo, are you there?”

Another low boom of distant thunder and it starts to rain.

“Quick, everyone touch the tree.” Everyone puts their hands on it. ‘Roman? Roman, can you feel that? We’re all here, we’re all right here.”

The thunder grows louder. They wait there with bated breath as the tree rustles in the breeze, until Janus, who hadn’t clutched down with the rest of them, hears a crackle from up in the clouds.

“Get back!”

They all fling themselves away just as lightning strikes the tree, the very top of it catching fire as the trunk splits down the middle. Jagged bits of wood just into the open air like fractured ribs. And there, in the center of the splitting trunk—

—is Roman.

“Ro!” Remus howls and dives forward, wrenching his brother’s body out of the tree and dragging him to lie on the flat stone. “Ro, wake up, wake up, you have to be okay, you have to be!”

“…Re?”

Remus sobs again, throwing his arms around Roman who looks up at them with quiet confusion.

“What’s going on?”

“You left,” Janus spits, “you vanished and we didn’t know where you were so we had to come look for you.”

“J,” Virgil says lowly, before crouching down, “you went missing, Roman. We couldn’t find you. Why, uh, why were you in a tree?”

Roman frowns. “I don’t know. I…I was in my room, and you were forgetting me—“

“What do you mean, we were forgetting you?”

Roman blinks. “You were forgetting me. You were going to Remus. Remus is the Creativity that’s helping more. You weren’t thinking about me.”

“That’s not true,” Patton mumbles, horrified, even as Roman gestures around with a wordless if it wasn’t, we wouldn’t be here, “we…we love you, Roman.”

Roman just shrugs. “Maybe.”

“What do you mean, ‘maybe?’” Janus splutters. “That’s not a thing you get to say maybe about, Roman.”

Roman doesn’t even flinch, just turns slightly so he can rest his head against Remus’s.

“You don’t even have anything to say for yourself?”

“Janus,” Logan says sharply, “that’s enough.”

”Roman disappears, he turns into a tree, he says we’re forgetting him and that we don’t love him, and we’re just supposed to accept it?” Janus throws his hands up. “How are you three so calm about this?”

“I’m not calm, but I’m not going to make this about me right now!”

“Janus,” Roman says softly and they instantly fall quiet, “you’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t know how I became a tree. I didn’t mean to imply you guys had forgotten me entirely. I shouldn’t have said you don’t love me.”

Janus’s eyebrows raise in surprise. He huffs a little awkwardly and folds his arms. “Well. Good.”

”Are…we done now?”

“What? No, Princey, we’re not done, we—“ Virgil runs a hand through his hair— “you turned into a tree. After you vanished. How the hell are we—what do we do now?”

Roman shrugs.

Remus, who has been lying on top of Roman for this whole thing, feels one of the hands under him begin to meld with the stone. He draws back, alarmed, only for Roman’s fingers to come free and lace with his. He squints at Roman’s face, noticing the barely-there tremble of his lip, and whips around to face the other three.

“You three. Fingers. Ears. Song. Now.”

‘What?”

“Do it!”

It takes them a second but they begrudgingly put their fingers in their ears and start mumbling things to avoid listening. Remus glares at them for a moment longer before turning back to Roman.

‘Hey,” he whispers, “what’s wrong?”

Roman’s lip trembles again. “They’re still here,” he whispers back, “I just—I just want to hurt.”

‘What do you mean?”

“They’ll be mad at me for whatever’s going on, they’ll—I don’t want them to explain or tell me how what I’m doing is bad, or anything like that. I don’t want their—I don’t want their comfort,” Roman whispers, his voice getting thick, “I just want to be hurt by myself and have that be okay.”

“Of course that’s okay, Ro.”

“Because they did forget me. It’s not your fault or anything but they did and it hurts, Re—“

“I know, I know, shh, shh, hey, hey,” he says, “let’s do this: we need to go tell good old Thomathy that we found you, so let’s you and me go do that and then we can have our own cat pile wherever you want, okay? Just you and me. The others can you suck a tree branch.”

“Won’t they be mad?”

“Tell you what: you go to Thomas right now, I’ll deal with them, and then I’ll come after.”

“…I’m sorry I left again, Re.”

“Pshh. Water under the Kraken.”

***

Thomas shoots up from the couch as Roman rises up in his normal place.

“Roman! You’re okay!” He yes the scratches as bruises from the tree. ‘Well, mostly.”

Roman rubs the back of his head. “Yeah. I’m…sorry.”

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay, buddy. As long as you’re okay.”

Roman blinks. “Wait, really?”

‘Yeah, bud. You, uh…it looks like you’ve been through some stuff.”

“…that’s one way to put it.”

“Do you, uh talk about it?”

“Not really.”

‘Okay.”

“Wait, you’re sure?”

‘Yeah. It’s your business. I, uh, I’ll be here if you do want to?”

“Thanks, Thomas.”

“Of course, buddy. You’re great.” Thomas scratches the back of his head too. ‘I know we, uh, haven’t always been the best at saying stuff out loud to each other, that’s normally what the others do, but…you know I’d never replace you for anything, right?”

Roman smiles. He really, truly smiles. And for just a moment, the entire Mindscape fades away, leaving just the two of them standing in this one little room. A man and his Ego, smiling at each other.

The setting sun peeks in through the blinds and the room glows with a rich, bright red.

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

[charcoallip]

My biggest regret you ask?

Holding every hand that came to me, their fingers intertwined with mine, hoping their fingers will stab me through flesh and bone and finally touch my soul

Drawing a million of their eyes on every parchment , paper, leaf that fell to me. Hoping every other pair would see me.

Kissing too many cold lips, with my hands on their hips, hoping they'd burn me like the sun.

What's your biggest regret?

[scoliosispunk]

i have thoughts about the fact that janus consciously chooses to rise up, even though he's clearly unused to it and doesn't have to, considering virgil still just pops in even though he has cemented his spot as a light side. it's as though despite the fact that he's still being antagonistic, he's consciously doing things that will make the rest of the sides let him in more, to see him less as 'the villain'. he's an asshole, but he wants to be accepted REAL bad.

[atherflame-theconcubus]

That is the most brutal way to reject someone. I commend you Remus.

Roman: Any good ideas, Remus?

Remus: Rip his eyeballs out and shove them down his throat.

Patton: REMUS!

Remus: He cheated on our Thomas! And now he has the nerve to ask for him back!? I think not! Reject him! Reject him hard!

Deceit: I like that idea. Reject him.

Virgil: I agree.

Roman: Me too.

Logan: It would be less feelings than dating him again. So I agree.

Remus, cheering: WOOO! WERE DUMPING HIM!

[piliiiiiconfusionf]

The Beginning ~ Sanders Sides fic

Wc: 3942

Characters: Roman Sanders/ Dragon Witch/ Mentioned Logan Sanders/ Mentioned Remus Sanders /Mentioned Virgil Sanders/ Mentioned C!Thomas Sanders/ Unknown to the Narrator voices.

Warnings: Slight mentions of violence and injuries (though they aren't really real) mentioning blood, stabbing, but without a knife.

Summary: Roman, as Thomas' creative side, has always been familiar with nightmares. Not in the way of him having them himself but… quite the opposite. He fought against the nightmares his friends had.

Or better said…with what was left from them.

He was absent when it came to being part of Thomas' nightmares, never being able to understand and see by himself what was happening in them, all because of his brother, Remus, the other half of creativity, being in charge.

He got frustrated by that, always, struggling to help and guide Thomas to his dreams, to what felt right.

But... this time, after so long... It was different.

~*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.~

The Beginning

Roman, as Thomas' Creative side, has always been familiar with nightmares. Not in the way of him having them himself but… quite the opposite.

He fought against the nightmares his friends had.

Or better said…with what was left from them.

Most nightmares were vivid, prompted by his brother, Remus, the embodiment of dark Creativity and Roman's opposite, while Virgil ended them, the latter waking Thomas up in an anxious mess, while Logan tried to reassure them with facts to remind them it was only a dream, helping them to go back to reality and calm down.

Once they were mildly recovered, if needed, Roman would do his best to distract Thomas the best he could. Roman was the one that was always up to save Thomas from them, sometimes helping him with particularly bad dreams, if it wasn't by Thomas calling for him in the middle of the night to make up lighter scenarios to go back to sleep, it was trying to help him to see the nightmare more positively, getting inspired from whatever his brother decided to annoy Thomas with, instead of ignoring them, since Logan Insisted was the best way to avoid intrusive thoughts.

But again, Roman was absent. He struggled to understand the nightmares, sometimes even refused to, just for the pride of not being like Remus, which he had to fight for, just for his love and loyalty towards Thomas, but it still made the mission of finding out how exactly to help Thomas the best he could be harder than he would like it to be.

Sometimes, he even wished he could actually …be there. It was frustrating to see his friends hurting from nightmares, it was frustrating that he couldn't stop Remus from doing it in the first place, to not understand later and have him being explained over and over, having to ask the logic side to remind him of details he sometimes messed up with, repeating, reminding them of the bad time, because it was frustrating that he was affected by something he couldn't understand and above all, it was frustrating to not be able to help, especially when Virgil refused to talk about it and leave it alone to not trigger Thomas.

He was the prince, the Hero of the story supposed to be there when he was needed; the one others could rely on; the one others could trust. How could he help if they didn't let him know?!

He got frustrated, over and over. He was not good at hiding it when something made him upset, but… he cared about his friends, even if he didn't want to admit it, and did his best to not add even more to the pile. He had to be strong when things went bad, that is what heroes did.

He tried, his best, to just accept that things were like they were, but the hope of doing something more was still there. He was the embodiment of hopes and dreams after all, he couldn't lose that.

He tried not to think too much about it. This was something he didn't have any power on, he couldn't take his brother's place, no matter how frustrating that was. He tried not to focus, to ignore.

But… this time, after so long… it was different.

When Roman opened his eyes, darkness embraced him. It was dull, hollow, and confusing in a way that he didn't even know when his eyes were open. He tried looking around, walking around, running forward, walking forward, slashing with his sword around, trying to summon a candle that didn't appear… he was met with nothing, no matter what he imagined, which told him this was somewhere different from the Imagination or the Mind Scape.

Realization struck him. The last memory he recalled was him calling it a day as he read some Disney book he found. Probably Inside Out, he thought at first, being reminded of the darkness where each emotion met in the movie.

But then he felt something different. Dreams, the dreams that he created, weren't dark, weren't hollow, in the slightest. His dreams were bright, imaginative, out of this world, full of adventures and mysteries to solve that would leave both him and Thomas with an open ending haunting them forever.

This one, even though it was a mystery, was just … different.

This one was not made by him.

The darkness was uneasy but that probably was because Roman wasn't one to be in the darkness, he didn't like it much. That was more of the Emo Nightmare Virgil thing where he would either enjoy the time there or be overwhelmed by something Remus did, to scare Thomas.

Remus…this was more of his thing…

And if it was a dream, that Roman didn't make…

This was a nightmare.

Roman found himself with his last feeling of sleepiness off, traded by pure adrenaline burning in his chest with that thought. He gasped at the realization and perked up, following his first thought when he kept running forward.

That could get him somewhere right? That's how a dream worked, he had to move, continue the plot, a made up plot that he didn't have any power on, that the person dreaming didn't have power on, but if it was vivid enough, like this one, could choose its path by themselves… Roman knew how dreams worked and this one was vivid, he could finally choose by himself, in a nightmare,finally by himself.

Finally a change to help.

To be the hero.

After so long, after so long hoping- was it possible?

No need to question it, he thought. He wasn't Logan, dreams didn't follow logic. Hope was born in his chest again, gently warming his chest up.

In the middle of his undeniable excitement, Roman tried to remind himself of how nightmares worked. Dreams were a thing, but Nightmares had a factor that explained why they affected a side like the embodiment of Anxiety himself the most.

They were supposed to know someone to their deepest, the strongest fears, their weaknesses…

…

And Roman was a hero. He was brave, he fought his weaknesses, he beat them, and that made him invulnerable. Who else was more appropriate to face a situation like this, if it wasn't him?

A nightmare was just another, darker, dream right? Just like fighting yet another monster, another adventure, another mission.

Easy.

Roman kept running, a grin on his face as his hope kept trying to tell him where he had to go.

First, he had to find out whose nightmare it was, or… which side was the one contributing the most. As far as he knew, no one of the sides feared the darkness, including him, so what must be the problem here was: what was in the darkness, right?

And what he needed to see that was light.

He ran and ran, and could swear he started seeing light far away when he hurried himself. Feeling pride by his confirmed thought.

It was simple.

This was finally…the time.

His time.

"DO NOT WORRY!" Roman shouted confidence in his tone as a warning. His voice echoed around the darkness, surprising him and reminded him of when he was exploring caves. Hearing his own echoed words, he doubted them a bit, continuing with the same tone "OR ABSOLUTELY DO, ACTUALLY, IF YOU ARE A VILLAIN." He put his sword up.

"RETREAT, OR…" he laughed at his own thought "WE WILL MAKE THIS EVEN MORE EXCITING!"

Roman, indeed, was getting excited as he felt a fire of pride coming on his chest.

He strengthened his run. The light seemed to be getting closer with every step and the feeling on his chest did the same.

He ran with widened eyes, his eyes shining, his smile brightening, he put his hand towards it in an attempt to reach the light and jumped, feeling like he was flying as he slowly floated forward to it.

He took his time to look at it. Allowed himself to breathe, to curiously investigate it. Waiting.

Yeah, he thought it would be easy, that it was just another goal to achieve…but he wouldn't expect it to be boring. Too easy.

Suddenly, the growl that he was expecting came. He expectantly looked up, and smiled.

'There you are' Roman thought. His smile brightened even more.

From the above, a huge dragon with a black cloth and hat appeared as it threateningly flew in circles towards the light. It reminded Roman of how Logan described vultures used to fly around before eating their prey. A last mock from a creature of nature to another in its last minutes of life.

Roman chuckled.

He should be the one doing that.

"I'M READY!" Roman shouted to the Dragon Witch, his nemesis, his long sworn enemy and opponent. He wasn't surprised by her appearance in the first nightmare he remembered being part of. This creature, even if Roman always had to fight it and represented the villain of his stories, was who reminded Roman of his ego, of his purpose.

To protect. To guide people to their dreams.

Roman looked down to the light again, steady and lonely from where Roman first found it. It didn't seem that it had moved itself, not even a little, like it was shocked in place, small as it was. The small…star? Was weakly glowing in place, like a little kid so overwhelmed by a crowd, this little star not realizing it was the reason why there was light in the darkness, light that it couldn't feel itself.

Roman urged to where it was, allowed the weird atmosphere where he was to allow him to float to where the light was, which moved for the first time, backing off, but Roman didn't push it, saving a bit of distance between them, and then struggling to control his movements like he was floating in air. To his experience, it felt like swimming in the water, imagining himself as what would it be if the prince from the little Mermaid would do if he was transformed into a mermaid instead of Ariel into a human.

But Roman had to shake his head and come back to the situation at hand. This was a cool scenario and he was sure that it was also worth it for a Disney production scene if he tried.

With pride, he put himself between the light and the dragon who was coming with a speed that he didn't remember ever seeing her being able to reach, but didn't have time to think about that, she was coming for him.

Roman put himself on guard and charged with a war shout to the dragon too.

Once both were just in front of each, Roman tried slashing while the dragon blocked with her claws. The struggle between them lasted a bit like that until the dragon managed to take Roman by surprise and scratched him on his neck, pushing him back.

Roman groaned with shut down eyes, putting his hand on his neck from the pain. Surprisingly, there was no blood, no physical symptoms aside from the pain, and he had to notice fast when he saw the dragon charging towards the star again.

Roman yelped, and ignored his struggles trying to go as fast as he could towards the dragon-

'You are losing'

A voice echoed in his mind, taking Roman off guard. This voice didn't sound like anyone in particular,at least not someone he could recognise… he just waved it off.

Losing? No, he wasn't. The prince shook his head, and charged once more. He would prove it otherwise.

The dragon noticed Roman behind him, and looked back with a ball of fire charging in her mouth as a last warning for Roman to realize he had to dodge.

It was a struggle, once again, but this time the adrenaline took control and Roman dodged the next attacks rolling in the air with an experience that he knew he didn't have in reality, like he was flying and had been for the entirety of his life.

Welp, that's how dreams worked, he thought. He wasn't surprised that Remus' would work the same.

Speaking of witch-

Suddenly, probably because of his thoughts, the Dragon's laugh started sounding like Remus'. His brother's laugh followed by a high pitched screech coming from the dragon echoed in Roman's mind, and it was making it even more frustrating than it had to be, making his ears sore.

He shutted his eyes down against his will and tapped his ears as he groaned-

'You are a FAILURE.'

Roman flinched.

Among the noises, the voice that spoke to him before came back with more strength.

For a moment, Roman struggled, feeling how the words affected the warm feeling of pride that was still burning in his chest. It didn't hurt, but for a tiny bit he felt a pang of pain as the words settled in his mind.

He wasn't a failure.

Ignoring his clear uneasiness and how he felt like the darkness around him moved, Roman charged towards the dragon again. He had determination in his eyes, his internal fire pushing him to keep fighting and trying to muffle the laughs that kept getting stronger. He put his attention on the tiny star, and pushed harder.

He had someone to protect. Recognition and pride were things that he needed as Thomas' ego but this star needed a savior, and there was him.

'Are you sure about that?'

The voice asked, mockingly, and distracted Roman for a second, only a second.

When he looked down he regretted doing so.

In a way that couldn't be possible, the dragon was way too close to the star now. Roman widened his eyes and ignored everything as he charged again.

Or tried to.

'Not too fast.'

The darkness suddenly trapped him from behind and took him by surprise as he tried to fight it. The thick black darkness pushed him into it like tentacles that reminded him of his brother's obsession with octopuses. They were strong, and coming out from them didn't seem like an easy task, so he better got himself out there quick, or else-

Suddenly, one of the tentacles moved from his back.

'How could they trust you if you can't even do this right?'

Roman felt a sharp , luckily quick pain in his back to his stomach, like he had been stabbed, pain that didn't give him time to scream about it after he was left on the floor with a gasp.

He crouched down, breathing accelerated at the dull pain. He felt kinda grateful that it didn't hurt as much as it probably should, but when he checked down his torso, the wet he could swear he felt wasn't there. For a second he even expected a hole-

He weakly shook his head and closed his eyes.

A nightmare, Roman thought This is just a nightmare, and blood and all that is not your thing, you know this, you are doing this right, helping, finally, they– he kept trying to reassure himself when the voice pushed back again with force

'How could YOU expect them to trust you like this?'

Roman looked up.

From the darkness, one of the tentacles moved up and Roman could swear that it was a perfect black representation of Deceit's face. The prince looked confusedly at it for a second and then gasped, as the fire that once helped as determination, now started to burn him from the inside.

"Between you and Remus, I wouldn't know who the evil twin is"

Deceit

Roman groaned.

He wasn't evil. He knew that-

"I'm the most important Side here!"

Logan

WRONG! Roman thought, but couldn't find in himself to speak.

The fire kept growing in him, keeping him in place because of the pain. He felt tears coming down his cheeks as the darkness left him on the floor, action he barely noticed in the shaky, vulnerable way he was kneeling down on the floor. The fire just kept growing.

‘’Roman, you get super insecure for some reason and when you do, the work suffers’’

Virgil

Roman heard the voices but not quite acknowledged them, pushed them down. The fire kept growing and as the teary mess he was he didn't know how to make the feelings stop.

Insecure.

Virgil, the one that was always in fear, always the one that Roman thought held Thomas back, called him, actual ego,…insecure.

‘How could you expect them to feel secure around you if you are insecure?’

Roman looked down.

He knew better now. Knew better from Virgil, knew better than to take everything Virgil said seriously or in a negative way when he didn't mean it, like it was in this case, learnt to respect him. To see pass his role, to see what his intention was.

But..the feelings, even if they felt distant, they were real. Every time he tried to push them down, they didn't do anything but push back up.

He knew he could mess up sometimes, he did more than he would like to admit, like-

'Did you really do the right thing?'

Ah, yes. What were nightmares about, again?

Weaknesses.

His first thought was the wedding. The feelings there, the weight, the doubt, the thought of 'I don't want to be here.' that weightened him.

Roman hated this. He hated the regret that embraced him when thinking about it, but…he was the one who chose that, right? That was…right, even if it hurt… it was the right thing.

Right..?

He… he deserved it, he gave his word, he–

"Roman, it's ok"

Suddenly a voice that he couldn't recognise snapped him out of his thoughts. For a moment, everything was silent, Roman widened his eyes in shock, unable to react until the voice sounded again.

"We l—- y—u..."

...

Wait what was that-?

Who in the–?

The voice was distant, glitched, so blurry that for a second he thought his mind made it up trying to get himself out of the torture this nightmare was making him deal with, but the fact that he kept trying to understand what he heard didn't allow to forget, pushing forward to focus. He could even feel how his body weirdly calmed down at it–

This thought, even if it wasn't on purpose, seemed to also help to distract his mind enough to stop the memories. The fire didn't hurt anymore, the darkness around seemed to stop trying to reach for him, but he felt weak, tired, a deafening sensation embracing his whole body, kind of dizzy and cold now that the fire seemed to have ceased. He posed his hand on his neck and flinched slightly at the faint pain he felt from the attack he received earlier.

Speaking of which.

Further from where he remembered he was, he barely could catch the light that he swore to protect. He felt the adrenaline rush in his chest again, but found out his mind was working faster than his body.

Damnit.

He focused, and feeling a weird numbness in his chest, he slowly stood up. But to his surprise ,the next thing he knew was that he was standing next to the star. Star that, differently from what he remembered, was weak, a barely there light blue light that shily glowed through Roman.

Roman, disoriented at first, gulped, and uncomfortably looked behind him expecting the Dragon to keep looking for him, but found her crumbled on the floor, without making a sound.

Did he…did he do that–? When-

The star slightly glowing harder for a moment called his attention back to it. Like Roman, it also seemed… tired? More seconds passed by, and Roman could swear he saw how it was slowly also getting smaller. Roman rushed,reaching out, and gently put his hands below it, so it could stay there.

The star seemed to oblige, as it stayed there, without moving. Roman took the opportunity to kneel and take a closer look to it when… it also seemed to be losing color.

Roman felt a weird urge of emotions flowing through him again. A small drop coming from his eyes again, this time with no apparent reason.

Why was he crying?

Why did he feel so…sad? Was that it?

He knew better than to question nightmares, especially if prompted by Remus but- what was all of this?? Did it even have a meaning?

Maybe–

As he processed, he noticed the star was losing form. Little particles floating around Roman's arms like glitter and embraced him like they were tiny stars, and Roman was like that one Disney short, a kid in the space trying to reach the stars in the darkness of the night.

'Woah, Yeah uh…Logan would love this' he thought with a tiny smile as he sighed at the sight of it. That stoic perfectionist logic side could have some appreciation for these things, especially when he didn't have other ways to experience it. He…was able to understand that what Roman did, even if it was different…was also important… that it wasn't nonsense. The thought helped to distract Roman a bit from the hopelessness he was starting to feel.

It was not right for him to feel hopeless…it didn't feel right.

He looked down at his hands again, where the tiny last glow stayed.

Roman looked at it, and sniffled against his will. He gently took one hand out and pointed to the star, hesitantly. The light didn't move, and for the last seconds, it was like time stopped.

Darkness embraced him again after the last touch, and this time, he didn't do anything to fight it.

…

The next thing he knew was that he slowly, so slowly, opened his eyes and was found by many tiny familiar figures on the ceiling, and posters on the walls.

He was in his room.

He didn't even feel like moving. He looked up, trying to catch what had just happened.

After a bit, he looked aside, to his bedside table. There was the book he remembered reading last night, and above it, his notebook. He always left it there, always waiting and prepared for him waking up with ideas or for when he came to bed and had the 3 am thoughts, always getting inspired in the least preferable moments-.

This dream seemed like one of those, the ones that he would feel the urge and need to write down for Thomas, especially when it was about the first nightmare he felt he was part of.

A nightmare that … seemed to be about him. About Roman. This was his nightmare, that was…without saying. He just…didn't know what the heck did it mean, it felt more than just- his insecurities.

He focused on the notebook…actually unfocused.

He just felt…so weird.

He kept staring at the pencil next to it too.

He just-

He was…this was not good.

Something was missing.

He looked back to the ceiling, processing the feeling.

The fire on his chest… he didn't feel it. He couldn't feel it. What- why–?

…

Oh.

Wait a second-

This was- the feeling of the lack of a feeling he well knew pushed him forward. That had a name, and it was–

Oh.

Holy. Sh—cheezits and bagels.

Roman Sanders, Sir Sing A Lot, Thomas's creativity, hopes and dreams, his ego…was feeling…

Unmotivated.

The royal pain he couldn't help to feel and killed him from the inside out. He lost his damn sparkle.

He had no motivation.

He couldn't do his job. Couldn't help Thomas-

That was definitely not good.

~*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.~

***

-Author's note: HELLO THERE!! phew I hope you enjoyed this! This is a story that has been in my mind for quite a long time now- I'm a really slow cook, bear with me-- XD started around last year and keeps kicking- 🤣 I have a lot of plans for this! I wouldn't want them to simply get lost in my documents haha 😂

The gist of it, to give a better understanding of this part in particular, is a Side being forgotten. Roman doesn't know said Side in this story, it's like he never met him... Why could that be? Any thoughts? :)

Anyway! Thanks for your time and reading! Would love to know what you guys think! :D might see more about this thing around in another time, consuming my mind at the time XD See you!

And special thanks to @fandombead for helping me post this, I'm just a little guy that wants to make stories once in a blue moon and doesn't know how this works BWAHA ty fren

-Pili F.

***

[erabundus]

i  just  think  it's  very  fascinating  how  scara  likes  to  adjust  his  approach  when  he's  trying  to  figure  out  the  most  efficient  way  to  gain  his  desired  OUTCOME.

[kaznejis]

He's cold-blooded so it takes more time to bleed- Erik Lehnsherr x Reader

You scoffed then, drawing the eyes of everyone sat throughout the common room; including Erik, the deceitful side of your brain chimed gleefully. He raised an eyebrow at you, cocking his head; physically daring you to speak. You did so anyway, “What the hell is your problem with me, Erik?”  “-Y/N, please-”  “My problem?” Erik spoke over Charles; his eyes hawk-like as they watched you, his cheeks turning with mirth as he grinned at you, his sharp teeth glinting in the evening light. If you hadn’t been overtaken with anger, with embarrassment; you would’ve thought that he looked devastatingly attractive, in some twisted way. “My problem is that lesser mutants, like you, shouldn’t be put on patrols that ensure the safety of the other, more important mutants in this house.” 

A/N: So I hadn't touched this in over a MONTH. Never fear, I had a zap of inspiration and prevailed- I hope you enjoy! I'm considering doing a short fic from Jean's POV of Erik after the battle so look out for that! :)

Word Count: 9,391 / Read it on AO3! / Feel free to send any requests!

BEFORE

“No, Y/N isn’t taking part.” Erik’s words were final, as according to his tone and the silence that ensued; even Charles seemed shocked, his eyes flicking between you, sat upon one of the leather couches, and Erik, stood at the front of the room, hands on hips. 

“Erik-” Charles began, adjusting in his wheelchair and clearing his throat. Jean, beside you, too shifted; her anger visible as she sent daggers Erik’s way with her eyes, he seemed entirely unaware. “I- Y/N is an incredibly capable mutant, in the missions she has gone on-” 

“-Which she shouldn’t have-”

“Erik! In the missions she has gone on,” Charles repeated, shaking his head, “She has proven herself to be one of the best; her Geokinesis has the potential to be-” 

“Potential,” Erik shook his head- whilst your eyes had not left his form, his eyes were yet to stray towards your own as he resolutely stared at any other catching aspect of the room. “That’s all you seem to care about Charles, not the actual raw talent of a mutant.” 

You scoffed then, drawing the eyes of everyone who sat throughout the common room; including Erik, the deceitful side of your brain chimed gleefully. He raised an eyebrow at you, cocking his head; physically daring you to speak. You did so anyway, “What the hell is your problem with me, Erik?” 

“-Y/N, please-” 

“My problem?” Erik spoke over Charles; his eyes hawk-like as they watched you, his cheeks turning with mirth as he grinned at you, his sharp teeth glinting in the evening light. If you hadn’t been overtaken with anger, with embarrassment; you would’ve thought that he looked devastatingly attractive, in some twisted way. “My problem is that lesser mutants, like you, shouldn’t be put on patrols that ensure the safety of the other, more important mutants in this house.” 

Your mouth downturned unwillingly as a clogging feeling entrapped your throat, unadulterated sadness filling your gut at the cruelty of his words. Beside you, Jean sprung from her seat; hurling insults at Erik as Scott attempted to hold her back. At the edge of the room, Charles simply rubbed at his brow, but not before sending you a sympathetic, apologetic look. It had been like this for months now; Erik disregarding your every word, suggestion, and proposal; it seemed that he simply had no interest in anything you had to offer. 

You had been appointed to the X-men with wide, open arms; having scored ridiculously high marks in your training. Erik had even been a friend, in the beginning, one of your closest- hence, the outright obvious, and regretful, feelings you harboured towards him. He had once treated you with kindness; helping you in your training, the similarity in your abilities allowing him to provide advice, tips on how to truly harness your powers. Whilst Erik could control the direct elements of the Earth; Iron, Zinc, Potassium, amongst many others- you could control, as stated within your mutant file, ‘photosynthetic eukaryotes’. You had laughed upon first seeing the description, shaking your head at the severity it suggested; Erik had corrected you then. “You can wield more than you know,” He had nodded, gesturing to the screen before you, “Your powers may seem simple to you now; but there is always more to discover,” He had paused then, turning towards you directly, smile discreet, “I will help you discover that.” 

“What more is there to discover about plants?” You had laughed, genuinely unable to grasp the supposedly absurd concept of your power being of any worth other than discreetly fixing an elderly neighbour’s yard, speeding the growth of the tomato plant they had incorrectly cared for despite their best efforts. 

Erik had shook his head, eyes misting slightly as he watched you, “More than you would know.” 

Your feelings for him didn’t exactly come as a surprise to you, whilst you did regret them greatly, you couldn’t deny the kindness he had provided you during your first months at the school; the guidance he had offered you during the day and the friendship he had offered you at night- it had been everything in contrast to the loneliness you had felt since discovering your mutant gene. Harrowing, stomach-turning nightmares would procure directly from your memories; Erik would always be there to wake you, running into your room before anyone else could even rise, shaking you awake and halting your sobs with the strength of his embrace.

In his shift, his silence; you had learned to quieten your cries- to wake yourself up from your nightmares, scared of bothering him even in sleep. 

You could pinpoint exactly when things had changed; when Erik had suddenly slipped away, succumbing you to the darkness of your own mind; to navigate the dingy, griping hallways of your mutant powers alone. It had been the depths of Summer; the sun hot and blazing upon the grounds of the manor- you spent many a day in the gardens, tending to the plants and honing your powers; barefoot and free. Sometimes, Erik would join you, using the seasonal bloom of the flowers as a ‘training opportunity’. 

The day it ended, you had been manipulating the vines of ivy that had grown upon the fence; learning how to move them as if they were one of your very own limbs. “Focus.” Erik had spoken from behind you, his arms crossed and gaze severe, “Clear your mind of everything other than that plant.” 

A difficult task, you had bemused to yourself, when the sole occupier of your mind and the object of your desires stood only a hair’s breadth away. “I’m trying,” You had gritted your teeth, pushing a splayed palm towards the ivy; your fingers trembling slightly, the sun blazing through the spaces between your fingers. 

Just as you had been about to give up, a touch lay upon your wrist, effectively silencing any thoughts intruding on those regarding the task at hand. “Here,” Erik had mumbled, his breath hot upon your neck, “Hold your hand up like this.” As he parted your fingers, practically intertwining his fingers with your own- you had found clarity in your own worry of revealing your nerves to him, of revealing the heat that clambered upon your chest and upon your neck where his breath lay, goosebumps rising in its wake. Within that sense of clarity, you had linked your powers with the twines and inky green leaves of the ivy- lifting the ivy from the fence and guiding it to hover above you; Erik’s fingers still intertwined within yours. You breathed; shock coursing through your body as you stared wide-eyed at the life-form levitating above you- the ivy floated upon the air, drifting languidly as if upon waves of a tranquil sea. The moment passed then; the initial calm of your powers passing as euphoria replaced it. Laughing,  you had instantly turned to Erik, dropping his hand in favour of throwing your arms around his shoulders; gasping and blubbering as tears of joy had formed within your eyes. Erik, too, had matched your fervour at first; grinning and burrowing a hand within your hair, another moving to rest upon your waist. 

Looking back on that moment, you knew that the pulse of power within your fingertips and the warmth within your chest and the hand within your hair had blurred your judgement entirely. So, looking back, you could see why you had pulled away and immediately pressed your lips to Erik’s. 

In other words, you had kissed him. 

At first, he had reciprocated; the hand within your hair deepening, the grip upon your waist tightening. He had guided your face to the side, gasping into your mouth as you intertwined your tongue with his own. You had felt so alive in that moment, your entire body thrumming like a tightened cord; held aloft by the grip of his hands and the heat of his tongue. 

However, the moment ended as quickly as it had begun. You had felt it as he had frozen, his body going ramrock still against your own; the heat between you retreating like a dying flame. 

You lamented yourself for that kiss everyday; whilst you knew that objectively, there had been nothing wrong with it, and it had been the best kiss you had ever experienced, even in its lacklustre length; you couldn’t see past the detrimental effect it had projected upon your relationship, your life as a whole. He had retreated instantly, some wayward excuse tumbling from his lips as he fled the garden, fled the warmth of your touch. The lingering sense of something more hanging stale, dead in the air. 

You had never forgotten the sound the ivy had made as it had slapped upon the concrete; the stems withering and rotting instantly in the projections of your regret, the scent of it bleating from you in waves. You had used every last ounce of your might, your power, to revive it; pressing your hands incessantly to the blackening stems. They did not return to their living state, too far gone in the influence of your vast emotions. Your nightmares took a new turn then, dreams of rejection, isolation; of your powers overtaking you and destroying the foundations of the world, any semblance of emotion desecrating nature and instilling desperation. Those dreams were worse than your own memories; you grew afraid of your powers, afraid of yourself, your own inability to control your emotions. As you became a shell of yourself, of the barefoot girl who grew geraniums in the palm of her hands; Erik drew further away, you could only chart it up to disgust- you had gone too far, flung yourself upon him in the light of the risen sun where others could have seen. He had been embarrassed of you. Why wouldn’t he be? You were a semblance of everything Erik Lehnsherr, Magneto, was not; whilst he could control the very foundations of the earth’s core, you could barely maintain its creations. Whilst he could stand before the students and present any lesson he desired, you shied away from an authoritative position, opting to hide in the comfort, the secrecy, of your gardens.

You felt as though you were a disappointment of a mutant; a waste of genetic advancement. Entirely undeserving of the gene. 

Days without Erik turned into weeks, and then gradually months. Day after day you sat alone in the cafeteria; staring at the side of his head, watching the crinkle of his cheeks as he smiled at something Charles said; as he enjoyed the company of those within his own mutant league. 

But, as Erik had departed from your life, Jean had entered. Silver linings, and all. She had barged into your life with her fiery hair and even brighter personality; the powers so strong that they would immobilise the average person, the average mutant- but Jean simply took it in her stride, using her staggering, incredible powers for good. 

You would forever be thankful for the way she had taken you under her wing that one random morning at breakfast. You had been sitting alone, meagerly sipping a mug of tea, your nightmares leaving you unable to stomach any solid food; unable to do anything but longingly stare at Erik across the hall, able to think of nothing but the way his lips had felt against your own. It was set to be an entirely normal morning, the same as every other; stare at Erik, tend to the plants, wallow in your lonesome. However, before you could embark on your pathetic routine, your line of sight had been blocked by a figure before you, Jean, placing her tray upon the table and chatting with you as if it were nothing new. 

“-Honestly, it’s ridiculous.” You had blinked, tearing your vision away from Erik; your finger hanging limply at your lips where you had been chewing at a loose hangnail. Shaking your head, you had been able to do nothing but gape at Jean, your brain unable to compute what had been said, why she had been sat across from you, how you had managed to find your way into the dining hall at all. She had simply nodded her head at you, gesturing blatantly down at her provided breakfast tray, “The fact that they’ve only been serving brown bread for toast recently, I mean- nobody wants to eat that.” 

You had practically shifted yourself into first gear, inwardly slapping yourself awake as you had processed what she had said, what she was saying as she continued to complain about the discrepancies the cafeteria had allowed in recent months. “Maybe you should complain to Charles, go straight to the top.” You had managed to contribute, visibly sighing in relief as she nodded enthusiastically. 

“You know what, you’re so right.” 

From there, Jean’s presence had become a normality, walking arm-in-arm with your new best friend through the halls of the manor became a daily pleasure. 

You had almost forgotten about Erik. 

But, you found within yourself, you just couldn’t. He had been so kind, so understanding, and so ridiculously attractive- to which he, in fact, was potentially even more so. 

It eventually reached the point that you had been at in the common room; the only interactions being him hurling insults in your direction, exposing every insecurity you had ever had regarding your abilities; and you sitting there utterly befuddled as to how your relationship had deteriorated so severely. The conversation had initially revolved around assignments, specifically who would enact the nightly patrols of the grounds; groups of two would simply walk the outskirts of the land owned by Charles and ensure that everything was in order. It had been clear that you were perfect for the job; the edges of the land were uncared for; flooded with wildlife and overgrowth- you would practically be in your element. And yet, Erik had vehemently argued against you taking part, so passionately to the point that it was past being insulting, and just outright deranged. 

“You are such an asshole!” Jean’s shouts brought you out of your thoughts, blinking harshly as you zoned back into the conversation to which you were the main component of, “Do you ever climb down from your high horse, Magneto?” She spat his superhero nickname in a derogatory manner, practically laughing as she procured the word; as if one of the strongest mutants on the planet was merely a joke to her. She turned to you then, where you were still sunken into the leather of the couch; gesturing towards you passionately, “Y/N is an incredible mutant, if you had showed any interest in her recent training, you would know that; in fact, Charles is right, she’s on track to be better than you.” Ending the sentence with a jab in his direction, she turned and stomped back towards the couch; muttering angrily under her breath, you could only offer her a shallow smile in appreciation. You had filled Jean in on everything that had happened between you and Erik, whatever didn’t sound like dreamful vitriol, anyway. She had simply sighed, shaking her head, “Men.” She had tutted, turning the page in her book. In turn, she had filled you in on her situation with Scott; there really wasn’t much to it, other than the usual will-they-won’t-they denial of feelings on each end. You knew for a fact that Scott harboured similar feelings for her, it was only a matter of time.

Erik had recovered from Jean’s berating easily, simply brushing off her insults with a swallow and a hand through the hair, “Y/N isn’t taking part in patrols and that is final.” 

“Charles,” You had sighed, sending him a pleading look, hoping that your other superior would take some stance against Erik, recognise your need to be useful, “Please?” 

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Charles shook his head, shrugging his shoulders, “Erik has just as much a say as I do; I’m afraid his decision is final.” 

*

Despite your confidence in Jean and Scott’s mutual feelings for each other, it seemed that the potential couple themselves had been entirely unaware as to this likelihood. 

“Y/N!” Jean cheered, bustling into your room with multiple piles of clothing, you had sprung from your bed; heart thumping from the sudden nature in which she had appeared. She shook off your shock, dumping her clothes onto your bed and spinning towards you, “I need you to help me pick out a dress.” 

“What’s the occasion?” Furrowing your brows, you picked through the masses of colour that now laid upon your bed; clothes suitable for a myriad of situations.

“I’m going…” You waited as she paused for dramatic effect, “On a date!” 

“Oh!” You gasped excitedly, jumping to grasp your friend by the shoulders, “With Scott?”

Jean’s energy died instantly, freezing beneath your hold as she cleared her throat, eyes flickering nervously, “Oh- what? No, why-” 

“Wait- who is it with then?” 

“Um, well, you know Oliver, right?” You nodded, still confused, “We were in classes together and we recently started talking again and, yeah, he seems nice!” 

“Nice?” Grinning, you raised your eyebrows amusedly, moving to sit beside her pile of clothes, “That’s all you have to say?” 

“Y/N! Don’t be mean, he’s more than that, I- just,” She huffed, moving to sit beside you, on the other side of the pile, “He’s actually giving me attention whilst Scott,” She shrugged, eyes sad, “He’s not giving me much to work with.” 

You nodded, completely understanding, whilst you were determined in your belief of Scott’s feelings; the theory was based entirely on conspiracy- Cyclops’ nerves tended to evolve into silence when in the presence of Jean. You moved to rub her shoulder; a grin upon your face, “Let’s pick you out something nice then.” 

After a considerable length of time spent rifling through clothes and testing a combination of outfits in your mirror; Jean spoke up, turning towards you suddenly, “Oh! I also have a way this could benefit you; you know how Erik forbids you from taking patrols, well, since I’m going on a date tonight; I need someone to take over my shift-” She practically sung the words to you; her eyes sparkling with glee. 

“No!” You said instantly, shaking your head and hands at her, to which her form drooped; her lips curling downwards, “Erik said no, Jean; not even Charles could dispute that-” 

“Come on, Y/N!” Jean cried, her arms dropping to her sides as the dress within them drooped to the floor haggardly, “I don’t want anyone I can’t trust taking the shift I’d usually have with Scott, and I know you wouldn’t flirt with him.” 

You shook your head, becoming even more steadfast in your refusal, “Jean, I am not hanging out with Scott, I’m sor-” 

“What?” Jean’s face dropped, her eyes resembling that of a kicked puppy, “Why would you not want to hang out with-” 

“And, that.” You pointed directly at her, other hand on hip, “Is exactly why, you’re going on a date Jean-”

“So?-” 

“So?” You mimicked, “I don’t want to be the one that deals with Scott tonight, I have plans-” 

“Plans? What- spying on Erik?” 

Your mouth snapped shut, opting only to glare at Jean; as she cackled to herself. Traitor.  

“Y/N.” Jean’s tone was deadpan, posture straightened, almost stern, “Believe me, patrols are entirely uneventful; I mean, really, you aren’t missing out- but, I know you want to take part so-” 

“Fine.” You relented, allowing Jean a small, genuine smile, “I’ll cover your shift.” 

Later, traipsing through the sloping mud and overgrown grass at the edge of the grounds as rain fell in think sheets, you couldn’t help but curse Jean in that moment- curse her for deciding to go on that date and neglect her obvious feelings for Scott, curse her for being a good friend and prioritising your own troubles in the meantime, curse her for asking you to take over her patrol shift. You were all for a bit of friendly, healthy jealousy- but, oh, this was unbearable. Any joy you had initially had at being able to, finally, take over a shift was long gone. 

“Why would she do it, Y/N?” Scott practically whined behind you, stumbling along behind you; you could feel blisters beginning to form upon your heels, “Why would she go on a date? I mean, I’m right here. Do you know how many times I’ve tried to ask her out?” 

“Keyword, ‘tried’.” You huffed, spinning to watch him as he traipsed towards you pathetically; hair sopping in the rain and lips pouting like an emotionally unregulated toddler, “Scott, if you had asked her out; I would know about it, and I don’t, so you obviously haven’t tried hard enough.” 

To your chagrin, his pout only deepend; his cheeks going rosy with embarrassment, like a forlorn puppy- it made you feel slightly guilty, but only slightly. You ignored the slew of stuttered, random words that followed, opting to turn around and, physically, get to the portion of the shift that would take place beneath the canopy of trees across the field. 

Whilst you were at it, you decided to curse Erik too; curse him for forcing you to exercise such desperate measures and take whatever shift became available to you. If it had been up to you, the two of you would have shared a sunny evening shift- filled with banter, good conversation and maybe even some light flirting, if you felt brave enough. But instead, he had decided to end your friendship and had shared a shift with Raven the previous night, according to the schedule pinned up upon the notice board; to which you could only assume was a great time, seeing as though the two had entered the communal lounge smiling and laughing after it. The page of the book you had been pretending to read had almost ripped in your seething as he had paid you no mind, instead opting to continue his conversation with Raven on the couch across from your own. 

Your night had, effectively, been ruined from that point onwards; as you had been able to do nothing but listen to your so-called ‘crush’ recount memories of his long friendship with another woman. If you had not known better, if you had not known of the hatred he harboured towards you; you would’ve thought he was trying to make you jealous. You definitely did not fall for that metaphorical bait, absolutely not. 

“Did you see that?” Scott’s, grating, voice broke you from your reverie; he seemed to be on high alert- his stance frozen, like a guard dog on alert. 

You turned to him, confused, “No-” 

“Shhhh!” He hissed, moving you both to a crouch below the grass-line; he seemed to be staring at something just past the tree line, his hand poised at the ready. 

‘Scott, what the f- '' You were instantly silenced by a loud, jarring clatter; a shout following it. You squinted your eyes, attempting to spot whatever had made the noise through the dark of the night. Before you could register what was happening; Scott shot upwards, taking off towards the trees, you could only scramble after him, parting the thick reeds with your powers as you followed. Scott reached the trees before you did; instantly throwing himself head first into the darkness. You could only follow, stumbling blindly as you stretched your powers forward; making any attempt to identify what exactly was unravelling before you. 

“Scott, Scott!” You hissed, the thick bushes procuring your sight as you peered into the darkness of the canopy; nearby leaves rustled alongside the clattering beat of your heart, your powers at the ready. “Scott, answer me.” Whispering as loudly as you could, you begged him to answer, to show some indication as to what the hell was going on. 

Before you could call for him again, a beam of light flashed before you, sending you tumbling backwards from your crouched position, your pants instantly becoming drenched in mud. Scott appeared then, panting; his goggles askew, barely concealing his eyes- you gasped at the sight of him, leading him to spin around; his head flitting side to side as he desperately searched for you. 

“Y/N? Y/N, was that you?” It was his turn to hiss now, the sound quickling turning into a squeak as you wrapped a branch from the bush around his ankle and yanked; usually, you would’ve laughed, cackled even, at the sound he had made whilst falling, but instead you had dragged him backward and placed a hand over his mouth, effectively silencing any further sound. As soon as he was tucked into the overgrowth, an entourage of armed men emerged from the dark; armed to the teeth, guns drawn. As they appeared, you felt Scott’s breath quicken against your palm, your own heartbeat hopping in tandem. 

“Was that Cyclops?” One of the men called to the others; flashing his light into the trees, not far from the bush you crouched in, “Do any of the others use laser beams?” 

“Can’t be sure…” Another man replied; cocking his weapon. The entire entourage were on alert, their torches flashing dangerously close; you didn’t allow the fear to swallow you, the adrenaline and the buzz of your powers rendering you silent, aware. 

Slowly, carefully, you slid your hand away from Scott’s mouth; pressing a finger against your own in demand. He nodded, lips trembling as he kept his hand held aloft; ready to shoot if necessary. Shaking your head, you turned towards him, hoping to convey the necessary declaration within your gaze. When you spoke, your voice was barely there; lower than a whisper, each word spoken slowly, “You need to go.” 

You widened your eyes incessantly when Scott opened his mouth in protest, shaking your head firmly- eventually, he broke past your protests, managing to hiss out a word, “What?” 

“Scott,” You gripped his arm; clasp firm and angry, “You need to leave, now-”

“-I’m not leaving you here.”

“Scott, please,” You were begging now, eyes filling with tears as you sniffled at him, “I’ll be fine.” 

“Look at their weapons, Y/N-” 

“Scott, listen to me. We both know that if they manage to get those goggles off, you are a liability to everyone, to me.” You watched his face fall, his mouth falling ajar slightly in despair; his head shaking adamantly all the while, “I need you to go and get help-”

“Y/N, please, I can’t-” 

“You can.” You nodded, gathering him by the lapels of his shirt; jostling him slightly, “You can, Scott, please.” 

He nodded then, understanding. He was visibly stricken, breath laboured, traumatised by the thought of leaving you there. He spared you one last look, one last squeeze of the hand, before he took off; crashing through the bushes and onto the fields- sending any stray laser that he could towards the men. 

“Shit-” They yelled, aiming towards him and beginning to make chase, though before they could, you shot your hand forwards- the branch of a tree effectively impaling three of the men at once; connecting them all by the same gaping hole as they instantly hung limp. The remaining men froze, guns held half-aloft in shock as they stared up at their comrades hanging above. Rising from the bushes, you cocked your fingers; summoning roots from underground and wrapping them around the ankles of the men, dragging them through the mud and back into their place of origin; silencing the velocity of the men’s screams as they suffocated. The rain was blinding, falling in thick slashes, your hair clung to your neck as you manipulated any semblance of nature you could grasp; the roots, vines, leaves, branches- all elements moved in tandem, fighting back against the weapons of the men. You walked into the clearing, untouchable, unobtainable; your powers bursting at the seams as you discovered the potential you had withheld from yourself. 

As a lone soldier sprinted towards you, baton held high above his head; you spun your wrist, leading a nearby tree to reach forward, plucking him from the ground and flinging him into the air. You could almost have laughed, your powers unvanquished even by the sheets of unforgiving rain. In that moment, you felt yourself channeling Erik, the way his face hardened in the pursuit of revenge; the harshness of his stance and the cool of his metal. For the first time, you didn’t see yourself as weak compared to him, as not good enough- you felt like him. Like him in the essence that you could manipulate whatever you wanted, as long as it tuned to the rhythm of your powers. 

Though, your reign was short lived as a flash of light beamed upon you; you squinted, hand held aloft before your eyes as you looked up at the helicopter above you; it allowed only a second of thought before a heavy force knocked you to the ground, the abject press of an electrified baton burning into your side; leaving you convulsing and screaming beneath its hold, face down within the trenches of mud. A hand instantly clasped the ends of your legs, sharpened nails digging into the bare skin of your ankles, and begun to drag; your face and hands and hair sliding in the choking thick of the mud- you knew in that moment that something was going to happen, that you were going to die, even. The thought shot through your rambling brain as you heaved at the mud filling your mouth and eyes, desperately trying to blink it away. With every ounce of your being, you attempted to utilise your powers as you had been only moments earlier, stretched your convulsing fingers forward, nail beds thick with mud; but it was to no avail, the electricity having dulled the receptors within that allowed your powers to course through your bloodstream. 

To your abject relief, your perpetrator dropped your ankles, leaving you moaning and gasping in relief, a smile almost gracing your face as the pain almost stopped. You laid there, face down in the mud, unable to do anything but comply as rough hands fastened a collar around your neck; any semblance of hold you had on your powers vanished- for a long moment, you felt human, normal- no longer were you attuned to the grass bristling upon your legs and the tree branches dancing above you. They simply became fixtures of nature, living bodies unrelated to your own; the tether snapped. 

“We need to get out of here.” A voice rushed above you, the sound of a gun clicking in the deafening drum of the rain, “Leave the other one, this one’s a real freak- I mean, look at this place, look at how many we just lost-” 

The voices around you blurred as raindrops soaked the side of your face; your sopping hair strewn across the base of your neck and chin- your body could only attune to a constant shiver, your teeth chattering against the mud and the blue of your lips. You could only watch through bleary eyes as the helicopter landed beside you; men instantly jumped from it, armed to the teeth, and running to where you laid prone upon the ground. You knew that you were losing consciousness; your human body no longer strong enough to fight your injuries. 

As your eyes fluttered, your body and mind sinking into the mud; you could only watch in confusion as the helicopter’s rotors began to spin, the base of the vehicle lifting clumsily and sending soldiers scattering. It was apparent that had been the warning signal; as the clearing instantly exploded into chaos above you- gunfire and mutant force alike thrashing upon the night’s quiet. The ground below you reverberated as something fell beside you; as it did so- the pressure of the collar upon your neck eased, the device being torn from your neck as a hand shook your shoulder, turning you on your back. Warmth overtook the shiver that had embedded itself within you as a hand landed upon your cheek, calloused touch brushing the sodden hair from your face and caressing the skin that remained in its place. You knew that someone was talking, encasing your body in their hold as the chaos surrounding you continued. Allowing your head to roll to the side, you watched bleary eyed as Scott mowed down the soldiers with his lasers; his finger not straying from the button upon his goggles. A voice sounded above you, causing Scott to spin and immediately sprint towards you, he took over the hold upon you then; lifting you effectively into his arms and breaking into an immediate sprint. The jostle of his movement was the last straw; the final source of pain your body could handle. As you slipped away; slipped from consciousness, from the forest- you watched as a figure stepped further into the clearing, brandishing nothing but a long dark coat and a raised hand. The last thing you saw was the raising of hell; every last man brought to their knees as the force of the dark figure beckoned upon them.

AFTER

Thistles sung as you awoke; their tune long and drawling, carrying upon the wind that fluttered into the room. Trees just beyond the windowsill waved and chattered, their leaves basking within the midday sun. 

You awoke to their calls with a start- an intake of breath so sharp that your chest caught, a sharp strike of pain ricocheting through your belly. Cringing at the light that shone through the crack created by the stretch of curtain that didn’t quite meet the hook upon the wall, you formed your eyes into slits, peering at the room you had awoken in. It was the infirmary within the house- small, cozy but adequately equipped for the petty injuries that students with mutant abilities tend to acquire. You had accompanied a number of students to the infirmary yourself, the gardens with their thorns and brambles tended to be somewhat of a hazard to inquisitive students. 

The room was empty save for yourself; the resident healer was nowhere to be found. Even Hank, who tended to occupy the room with his technology and experiments, was absent. Adjusting the duvet upon you, you used the opportunity to unscramble your mind, to attempt to recall the events that had led you there. 

Rain, mud, light, gunfire, a dark effervescent figure. 

Sounds about right. 

Shaking your head, you moved to sit up; wincing as your body ached and creaked, your back in particular procuring a sharp burn that shot up your spine. Twisting slowly, you lifted the gown you were wearing and picked at your bandages, only to gasp. A grizzly red mark sat at the cusp of your back, tendrils of bruising and burns spanned from the focal point; the wound spread like spiderwebs, eventually meeting in identical patterns spanning over your back and hip. You could feel the pain, the burn of the baton as if it were still happening, the base still prodding upon your back as electricity coursed through your veins- muting your ability to think, see, to feel the very base of your mutant gene. 

In that moment, you struggled with that thought; turned it over and over within the palms of your hands, the reality of how easily, how simply, your mutant gene could be dulled, could be practically removed, rendering you silent, unable to think of anything but that. Before the school, before your new life, you would have jumped at the chance; burned your body until the gene that had ended your life, sent everyone you had ever loved fleeing, was gone. 

But now? 

Now, your mutant gene had given you everything; the lessons you had learned, the friendships you had made, your place within the very house you healed upon. The thought didn’t pleasure you now, it terrified you. 

Would the X-Men, the students, your friends, your family, still accept you even without the gene? If you had emerged from the attack powerless, unable to exercise your main purpose? You wondered if that was why Erik had turned such a sour note towards you, had he realised that your existence within the X-Men was fruitless? You shook the thought from your head, willing yourself to remember the way you had held those men aloft; each incapacitated by the branch that tore through their chests and left them practically dangling from your hold. 

If only Erik had been there to see that. 

Thoughts of Erik lead you directly to that cloaked figure in the clearing, the person who had saved you (alongside Scott, of course). Had it been him? Your mind whispered insidiously, the dark depths of your mind that harboured your feelings for Erik secreting poison into the, well, rational parts of your brain. 

Stop, you chastised your own mind, mentally batting away the insidious thoughts. Erik hadn’t paid any form of positive attention towards you in months, he wouldn’t drop that facade in a heartbeat just to come to your aid, surely? 

But then, no one else in the house had that form of presence. Nobody could step forward and brandish a hand, fortifying the fates of countless men, all armed to the teeth, other than Erik. His presence was always breathtaking; with his lithe, long legs and perfectly coiffed hair. Though that wasn’t the Erik you had fallen in love with, that Erik had shaggy hair and rumpled plaid shirts, pushed up to the elbow. That Erik, your Erik, kissed the girl in the garden; intertwined her petals into his own arms, clutching them between his fingers ever so gently- allowing her into the fortress made of metal. He was your own to keep, to cherish, because he lived in the safety of your own mind, locked away behind thorns and brambles never to be touched again. 

Sighing, you allowed the sadness to fill your gut for a moment, allowing yourself to bask in it; alone in that room, in an unfamiliar bed and unfamiliar clothes. 

That is how Jean found you. 

You had scrambled at the click of the lock, sitting up straight in bed and staring wide-eyed, slightly terrified at the door. A series of events had transpired then. Jean had entered, a mug of coffee balanced on one hand and a book stored beneath the same arm, and had made direct eye-contact with you, very much awake for the first time. She gasped, freezing in place for a moment before remembering the cup balanced on her hand- which was by then falling to the ground. Luckily, her telekinesis caught it just in time, leaving you staring, wide-eyed at one another as the cup and its contents hung precariously in the air. 

Jean was the first to break the silence, essentially crushing it by immediately bursting into tears, the cup finally smashing against the ground along with its contents and the book as she raced towards your bedside. “Y/N! Oh my g- I am so sorry-” 

Confused, you shook your head, moving to face her; your voice croaked brokenly before you eventually managed to speak, “Sorry? Jean you have nothing to be-” 

“No!” She interrupted you, eyes shining and tears coating her cheeks; her lips trembling all the while, “If I hadn’t have gone on that date-” 

Instantly, you shook your head, silencing her by grasping her by the hand, shaking it until she looked back at you, “This isn’t your fault, if anything, it’s Erik’s for stopping me from going on patrols in the first place.” 

Jean’s eyebrows lowered instantly, her eyes crinkling as she looked at you, confused, “Well-” 

“What is going on in here?-” Scott burst into the room then, having been summoned by the crash of the cup; he seemed ready for battle, though his fight-or-flight immediately withered upon seeing you, a grin instantly gracing his features, “You’re awake!”

“Hey Scott,” You smiled tiredly, lifting the hand that wasn’t clutching Jean’s in greeting.

“How are you feeling?” He smiled kindly, moving to pull a chair beside Jean- interestingly enough. 

Nodding, you sighed; feeling the pain within your once petrified muscles and the chill that seemed to sit within your bones. “I’m- I’m okay.” 

Both Jean and Scott looked upon you remorsefully, their eyes forlorn and mouths twisting with emotion. Scott was the first to speak, breaking eye contact and staring down at his hands, “Y/N, we-” He chewed on his lips, flexing his fingers, “We thought you were dead, I- when we got to you, you were just laying there, face down and unmoving.” 

The breath that left your nose was gusty; heavy in its weight and volume, you found yourself tearing up at his words, “Thank you for listening to me.” 

His breath resembled that of a meagre chuckle, his head shaking all the while, “That’s alright.” 

“And thank you for saving me-” 

Scott looked up immediately, his forehead creased beneath his goggles; he shared a silent look with Jean, she too opted not to speak. “Y/N-” Scott began, his posture going straight, awkward, ‘I can’t take credit for that.” 

“Sure you can. It’s the last thing I remember, you carried me-” 

“No-” Scott spoke stubbornly, refusing to take any credit, “I wasn’t the only one to help.” 

“Oh,” You spoke, shocked, despite the memory of the hand upon your face feeling all too familiar. 

“Erik was the first to reach you Y/N.” Jean spoke, her voice low, almost apologetic. 

Oh. 

You remembered then, not just the hand that had lingered upon your skin, perforated your everlasting pain with warmth and, just maybe, something akin to love. Your mind healed, and what had seemed to be poison; welling at the once-dormant temperaments of your mind, receded- the waves crashing and swelling before dissolving into a calm flow. 

Erik had saved you. 

But why? 

Had he been so furious at your inability to comply with his orders that he had taken his anger out on those soldiers before (conveniently) saving you? A job well done, a well-due pat on the back from the rest of the team for making the right call, before he inevitably celebrated his victories by screaming the walls down in your favour. 

Great, you shuddered, practically awaiting his presence; red and pulsing with fury as you had laid there, vulnerable and pained. 

All in your own stupidity. 

Jean and Scott seemed to sense your discomfort, sharing a look before both turning towards you; practically disagreeing with what they knew your internal thoughts entailed. 

Scott spoke first, his tone impeding and determined, “Y/N-” He sighed, running a hand through his hair nervously, “I’m sorry but- you didn’t see him. He was furious.” 

Chuckling, you moved to sit up, shaking your head, “Nothing new there-” 

“No, Y/N.” Jean interrupted you, her own tone identical to Scott’s severity, though her voice lowered to a whisper, “Not at you.” 

You shook your head confused, Scott spoke; cementing the gaps that Jean had created, “He almost tore the place apart whilst you were under, when he found out that you had taken Jean’s shift,” He shook his head, breathing heavily, only calming when Jean intertwined her fingers with his own, “We thought he was going to tear the house down-” 

“What?” You gasped, shaking your head, throat clogging, “Why- he doesn’t-” You paused, collecting your thoughts; the truth gaping in its clarity, “Erik hates me, he wouldn’t-” 

“I think you need to talk to him Y/N,” Jean’s tone was firm, almost angered, “I know what he did to you but- something isn’t right. A man doesn’t act like that when someone he hates almost dies.” 

Jean and Scott didn’t stay much longer than that; the confusion and the clarity of almost dying rendering you exhausted. Jean left with a kiss to your forehead, a promise to return, a command to heed her advice. 

Despite being allowed short walks throughout the house, you didn’t leave the room until your discharge a week later; with only your thoughts, and the occasional visitor to accompany you, you utilised them a lot that week. That long, drawn-out week. The days limped by, minutes feeling like hours; yet still, your mind allowed no time for outside entertainment. On the second day, Jean bought you a collection of your own clothes, smiling sadly as she saw you slumped against the headboard, eyes misty as you watched the trees beyond the window. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to your own room?” She had whispered, stroking the hair away from your eyes, ‘I made sure your favourite sheets are on the bed..” 

Shaking your head, you turned your eyes to her, mustering your best reassuring smile, “No, I’m okay here.” 

He’ll be able to find me there, you had thought to yourself, watching Jean’s back as she left; eyes latching upon the door even after it had been pulled to a close. 

Eventually, the week came to a close and you were fully healed; physically cleared to embark on X-Men missions whenever you wished. As you walked to your own room, a bag of dirty clothes tucked securely beneath your arm, you found yourself eyeing every corner, waiting for Erik to turn it; practically creeping through the house, the necessity of not making a sound hanging over the creaks of your movements upon the floorboards.

Part of you, that insidious part of your brain that sung at the worst of times and had apparently grown and swelled in your solitude, hoped that Erik would turn one of those corners; crash right into you and be forced to speak to you- finally, after all these months. 

It took you two weeks to muster up the courage to go back to your garden, Jean sneakily having slipped the state, or lack of, of the plants within your garden; no student able to match your own power. With a huff, and many puffs, you pulled on your dirtiest clothes and trekked down to the garden. The scent of jasmine wafted upon you like a fresh breath of air as you pulled off your shoes, hand clutched against the gate of the garden for balance. After a number of pairs had been lost to the swell of the bushes with many an evening spent searching for them, Erik had eventually rolled his eyes and forged a small metal shelf; just big enough to safely slide your shoes into them. You had kept it there, beside the gate, even after his rejection, its convenience too precious to your time in the garden. 

However, when you went to slide your shoes into place; another pair of shoes already sat there. 

“I see you kept my creation.” A voice behind you spoke; your breath immediately sped, heart thundering in your ears. Slowly, carefully, terror filling your veins and pulsing at your fingertips: you turned, immediately coming face to face with Erik. Erik, with his broad-shoulders and messy hair; lips turning upwards discreetly beneath his crooked nose; his gorgeous, beautiful crooked nose. As the usual residual shock mellowed, the love you felt for him receding slightly; the anger took over; teeth gritting and fist curling anger. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt your time-”

“What do you want Erik?” You spat, lip curling in anger; your own torrid emotions instantly combatting his calm front as he tensed immediately; his eyebrows lowering in confusion, his hackles raising slightly. 

“Well-”

“What are you doing here?” Voice lower than a whisper, your words were almost a replica of your previous demand, almost. The tremble of your voice manufactured a shell of your anger, cracking and splintering at the seams. You found yourself trembling; staring straight at him, fear, dread, something awful prevalent in your eyes. 

Erik’s eyes widened, his lips pursing; he looked as if he was on the verge of retreating, waving the white flag, calling the truce. You knew that wasn’t him though; if Erik was going to do one thing, it would not be backing down from a fight. You watched as he visibly rebuilt his walls, composing himself before speaking, “I wanted to see how your recovery is going,” He paused, visibly attempting and failing to string his words together, “So that you can get back out onto the field.” 

Truly, you could have laughed; a hacking cough right in his face, right at his words. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to do it. The anger burning the back of your throat and fizzing in the air, lingering upon the garden’s roots, stopped any semblance of amusement, procuring only venom; only white-hot anger. Shaking your head, malice filling your tastebuds, you spat in his face, the sound of it echoing against the walls of the garden, “Back in the field?” Your amusement returned immediately, but it was manic; frenzied, “Your refusement to put me on patrols; your adamance that I be benched? That is what put me in this position.” 

You only felt slightly guilty as he slowly reached upwards, wiping the saliva that had landed directly upon his chin. “Y/N, you know I didn’t mean-” He seemed desperate, voice almost pathetic, his hands clenching at his sides; seemingly stopping himself from reaching for something. 

“We were supposed to be equals, Erik.” You interrupted, voice calm; frighteningly collected. 

“We were!” He objected, his own voice now seeming frenzied. You could only shake your head, unable to face him, unable to face his willingness to lie. 

“Then why? Why did you treat me that way? Why the sudden change?” Demanding, you fired off the questions in a spitfire manner, allowing him no true chance to procure an appropriate answer. 

“I had good reason-” 

“Good reason, my ass. This is the first time you’re not yelling at me in-” 

“Will you let me speak?” Erik’s words shocked you to the core; his voice abrupt and loud, nostrils flared and chest heaving. You could only muster a nod, silenced in the face of his outburst. He too nodded then, scratching at the stubble upon his jaw nervously; his demeanour changed entirely, almost shrinking within himself. “Do you know how worried I was about you?” The question shocked you; you expected anger, fury- but his eyes remained soberingly soft, gaze sad. He continued in the wake of your silence, “I knew something was wrong before Scott even reached the house; but when Charles told me that he couldn’t hear your thoughts anymore and then-” He swallowed thickly, his gaze straying from yours to the ground, he cleared his throat before continuing, “Then I saw you face down in the grass and-” 

“I’m sorry,” You whimpered, sniffling into the palms of your hands as they moved to cover your eyes, “I’m sorry I’m so useless-” 

“No.” Erik’s tone was demanding, his grip severe as he moved to lower your hands from your eyes; his face was stricken, lips downturned and jaw trembling as he looked down at you. His hands moved upwards then, cupping the skin of your cheeks,  “You were, are, incredible; you were a fighter out there Y/N, so so strong; and-” 

Moving from his grip, you shrunk into yourself, finding any semblance of comfort, respite from your own conflicted mind, within the embrace of your own arms, “Then why- why did you treat me that way?” Harried, hagged breaths heaved from your chest as you stared at him, confusion and shock and disgust prevalent within your demeanour, “You were awful to me, ever since-” 

“No, Y/N, please-” 

Stepping forward, coaxing the shock he made available to you forward; you went straight for the kill, voice lower than a whisper but sharper than a knife, “Why did you leave me here?” His inhale was sharp, lips quivering and wet; eyes sheening with tears. He incessantly attempted to hide his sadness, his fear; but you could see it clear as day. Stepping directly into his orbit, you rubbed your nose against his jaw, lips brushing against the base of his neck, “What are you so afraid of, Erik?” You repressed your shock masterfully when you felt his hands encase your waist, his head lowering to the crook of your neck; you waited, waited for him to lay his lips there, waited for him to devour you whole. Though he only cried, quiet shudders as the skin of your neck grew clammy from his tears and the moisture of his breaths. Instincts succumbed to hunger, rendering you silent as you simply stood there and practically drank the affection; the linen of his shirt brushing against your chest, your mouth against his hair, the smell of his musk and the oaky shampoo he had always used. You were being greedy, overindulging on the touch he was offering you in his lowest moments- you never wanted him to let go, wanted him to raise his head and- 

He did exactly that. 

You could only gasp against his mouth as he pressed his lips to yours, his hands moved to cup the sides of your neck as he practically devoured you. With greed and hunger and lust still residually pumping through your veins, you could only thread your fingers through his hair; desperate to reclaim what you had lost all those months ago. He seemed to not know exactly what to do with his hands, too indecisive to choose a specific spot; you gasped and moaned as his fingertips skirted your sides and front and back, his tongue entering your mouth at the opportunity you allowed him. Any semblance of apologies or hatred had vacated your mind by the time his hands reached the bottom of your thighs, only able to gasp as he effectively lifted you against a nearby wall; the cold of the concrete against your back was nothing compared to the warmth in your mouth and chest and unsurprisingly, your groin. Just as you had mustered the confidence to reach down, to pull at the ends of his shirt; he pulled away, lips red and shining, eyes hooded. 

The only word he seemed to manage to gasp was your name, the syllables spoken wetly into the space between your lips; you stared into his eyes, not blinking, not breathing. Erik seemed to be at war with himself, his eyes flitting conflictingly from your lips back to your eyes. Allowing him the time, you simply stared back, blinking owlishly as you awaited the confession that seemed to be brewing. Finally, he came to a conclusion; his eyes clearing, gaze taking a sense of clarity you had not yet seen in him before. Shaking his head, he chewed at his lip, moving his hand to cup the back of your head; allowing it to tilt back slightly, you were prone beneath his gaze.

“I was just trying to protect you.” His lips curled as he spoke, blue eyes brimming with tears. 

You moved forward at his words, pressing a kiss to the crinkle of emotion at the side of his mouth, “What from?” Your voice was quieter than a whisper, more of a movement of lips rather than a true form of speech. 

Once again, Erik shook his head; tears now spilling from his cheeks, “I’m sorry.” 

“What from, Erik?” 

“Myself.” 

He whispered the words immediately, his eyes closing in turn; his head bowing into your awaiting palm, the course points of his stubble creasing against your fingertips. 

Shaking your head, you watched him, “You were so mean.” 

Swallowing visibly, Erik met your gaze; his eyes doughy beneath a stray hair breaching his forehead. He, almost, grinned; teeth flashing and lips curling, “I don’t know how to be nice.” 

“You were nice to me.” Nodding, you moved your thumb to trace his lips; dragging along the sharp points of his teeth, breaching the jaws of the wolf. 

“I destroy everything I touch Y/N-” 

“Well, I can revive things,” Smiling, you removed your thumb from his lips, placing your own there instead for a chaise kiss. Pulling away, you repeated your words, “I can revive it, Erik.”

Grinning, truly now, Erik lowered his stance before rolling his forhead against yours, brushing your noses together in a dance only known to yourselves, “Let me help you,” He smiled, voice mellow in its tone, “Let me help you fix us.”