#trying desperately to dust off the ole writing chops

[lefaystrent]

Me, Myself, and These Guys Who Kinda Look Like Me Ch.2

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: Thomas/The Sides

Summary: It starts with dreams. Then Thomas starts seeing the dream people in the waking world.

Thomas doesn't know how to bring it up to anybody or if he even should at this point.

AKA, Thomas has to acknowledge the six colorful characters in the room, much to their long-awaited delight.

AO3 Link: click here

Chapter 1

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Over the rhythm of water beating down his head, Thomas cannot hear anything past it.

On his list of top ten favorite showers, it's pretty on up there in terms of refreshing. He washes his body carefully, using the shower wall to maintain balance. His legs wobble, and he regrets not having the foresight to bring a chair in here with him, but he perseveres. He doesn't have the energy truthfully to go through his full hair routine. The thought of the grime caking his scalp is enough incentive to at least use shampoo. He wants to feel like a normal human being again.

Normal human beings don't meet the people of their dreams. Literal dreams, not figurative. Normal people don't wake up to a bedroom full of strangers. Normal people freak out at the thought of strangers having power over them while sick.

But normal people would think this is a prank, or that these guys crawled in through his window, or broke into his house some other way. And to what end? To…take care of him while he laid there ill?

Thomas doesn't consider for a second that these men broke into his home. It just...isn't the conclusion his mind believes. These are dream people made real, and even they seem surprised by it all.

They kept asking if he could see them. They knew his name.

They took care of him.

Vague and fever-sick as the memory is, Thomas remembers hands tucking him into bed.

He shudders in the shower and holds his face in his hands. He doesn't have an advice book on this particular scenario. Because his life just wasn't complicated enough.

He feels like crying again, but he's spent. He lets the water rinse out the shampoo from his hair as he rests his weight against the wall. He shoves down the little helpless feeling in the back of his brain, shoves it down in a cellar and chains the doors up tight.

He's got to go back out there. He can't panic now. He's got to-

Why does he need to do anything?

He groans quietly and remains in the shower longer than he needs.

At length, he starts feeling too cold and sensitive to continue. He shuts off the valve. In the water's absence, his skin feels tingly and raw.

He wonders if his fever is starting to seep back in.

Thomas dries himself off in no rush. He takes his time and ignores the voices that reverberate through the door. Once or twice, they get loud, but they are quickly shushed.

A part of him wants to put his ear to the door and try to glean new information. There's so many questions, and the curiosity is definitely there, just...muted.

Maybe he's the chosen one and this is the beginning of his epic fantasy adventure.

He actually snorts at that. It's a self-deprecating noise, if nothing else. He dresses and brushes his teeth. He thinks about flossing or gurgling mouth wash, and then he doesn't. The towel is left half-hazard on the bathroom counter, clothes on the floor. There's no use brushing his hair or worrying about his appearance. He's clean at least. He holds onto that.

He's done enough and too much. He really needs to sit down soon.

Thomas leaves the bathroom and barely remembers to turn off the light. He walks into his bedroom.

You know that feeling you get when you know without a doubt that people have been talking about you? Because when you walk into the room, all conversation cuts off? Thomas never thought he would experience that so effectively.

"I can still see you by the way," Thomas comments, because he has to say something and they're all looking to him as if he has the answers.

Some of them glance at each other. Prince bounds forward, arms wide and smile wider.

"This is a momentous occasion!" he declares. His voice is…royal, for lack of a better term. It's confidant and almost sing-songy. "Sure you nearly died, but more importantly! You can finally meet your guardian angels in the flesh, Thomas! I always knew this day would come."

"You didn't know shit," Green Guy comments, and yes he is picking his nose.

"I knew in my heart of hearts!" Prince denies. He grabs Thomas's hand and holds it to his chest. Thomas can feel the silk of the red sash against his knuckles and the starched uniform underneath. It's a beautiful costume, something similar to many that Thomas has seen in past theater productions. It's something Thomas himself would wear.

Roman's grip is strong and he's gazing at Thomas in a way that makes nervous butterflies flutter in his stomach. When was the last time someone held his hand? "No matter the test of time, tried and true, we've come to you. You! You, dear light of our lives! Oh, this is so exciting! From this day forth, we shall-"

"Roman, knock it off," Virgil hisses. He's looking frantically between the two of them, and Thomas gets the distinct impression that he's waiting for some reaction from Thomas. "Don't scare him."

"How on earth would I scare him? I'm his guardian angel!"

Blue Tie clears his throat and adjusts his glasses. "I have said it before and I will inevitably be forced to say it again: we are not angels of any sort." His words are crisp, complexion flawless, and nose sharp. He is handsome in a clean-cut effortless way that is admittedly a little jealousy inducing, and also reminds him of...someone he can't place. Regardless, Thomas has never looked that put together in his life. "There is no evidence to support the theory or any theory of what we are."

"Aren't we though?" Cardigan says hesitantly. He crawls to the edge of the bed and seeks Thomas's attention. He's...holding Benjamin, Thomas's stuffed bear. That shouldn't be so precious. It should be bizarre. This whole thing is bizarre. "I know this must seem like a lot to drop on you, kiddo, but we're only here to help."

Virgil groans, "He doesn't know that. For all he thinks, we broke into his house to kill him."

"Thank God we treated his fever before we murdered him," Bowler Hat sasses. "Also Roman, there's this thing called personal space. Thomas would probably like his."

"I-" Roman, the prince, starts but cuts himself off. He looks wide-eyed at Thomas, and Thomas doesn't know exactly what he sees, what he's searching for. Can he see how Thomas's brain is disconnected from his feet? Whatever Roman gleans, he painstakingly releases Thomas's hand and takes a step back. He grasps at his own hands behind his back. "Right, apologies, Thomas. I may have gotten carried away. Just a tad."

"Are you gonna puke?" Green Guy asks suddenly. He's stopped picking his nose at least.

"I don't think so," Thomas answers and somehow believes it. Mostly. His brows wrinkle together. "Can we… can I sit down?"

There's a flurry of movement, Cardigan trying to make room on the bed. Virgil elbows past Blue Tie. Roman's touching him again already, a light grasp at his arm to make sure he doesn't fall over presumably. Thomas shakes his head, reeling.

"Um, not here," he says. It's way too cramped. Too intimidating with them all looming so close. Plus, he's spent far too long confined to his bed already. He wants to be able to breathe.

"How about we all reconvene in the living room, hm?" Bowler Hat suggests in a placating way that makes Thomas think that he's used to having more of the brain cells between the group. He's making like he's looking boredly out the window, but there's curtains in the way. The half of his face that Thomas can see is also, well, handsome.

Wow Thomas, the dream guys are dreamy, who woulda thunk.

Bowler Hat continues with a purse of his lips and narrowed eye, "I'm sure we could scrounge up some food while we're at it."

"You are right, it has been awhile since you've eaten anything, Thomas," Blue Tie says, perking up with this new objective. He waves towards the door. "You must have questions, and those can be answered in time to the best of our abilities, but you have not fully recovered and must not push yourself too hard. We will try not to cause you any more undue stress. Would that be alright?"

Thomas doesn't answer at first. He takes in how they're all looking at him, and Roman has snatched his hand away again as if scalded. Or maybe just scolded. He manages to look contrite to the effect of a puppy who was told not to play with a ball but really wanted to play with the ball. Underneath it all, Thomas feels everyone's anxiety. Well, maybe not Bowler Hat. He looks cool and confident. And Green Guy looks like he's just along for the ride.

"Okay, cool," Thomas yields and leaves first. He hears them all shuffling down the stairs behind him. He wonders if he should worry about turning his back on them. More so than be concerned that any of them would pull a weapon on him, he's afraid that they'll disappear.

If they vanished now, he'd never get any answers. He'd have to resign himself to believing he'd gone off the deep end.

Thomas sits on the far end of his couch. It's a large piece of furniture shaped in an L and takes up most of the living room's space. It's not as comfy as it used to be, but it's more than functional. He tucks his legs underneath himself and hunkers down by the wall where the window is. It's tactical, placing himself with his back to the corner so that he can see what everyone else is up to.

They filter down the stairs. For a moment, Thomas is reminded of that first dream. He wonders if they ever stood in those spots when he couldn't see them before, if they'll stand there now. But Blue Tie sits beside him on the couch. Not very close by. There's a respectable distance between them. Thomas gets the feeling that he sat there first to prevent any of the others from encroaching on his boundaries.

Roman huffs and elegantly collapses down on the floor in front of Thomas. He props an elbow on the coffee table's glass top.

Cardigan stands in front of the TV wringing his hands. "Thomas, do you think you could eat? We can make you something, anything you want. If you feel comfortable with that?"

It's surreal, to see this person acting so concerned on his behalf. The attention is more than a little heavy.

He nods sluggishly. "Sure."

"What should-" Cardigan begins, but Bowler Ha breezes by.

"Don't worry, I'll find him something suitable. Virgil, I could use a sous-chef."

Virgil had just been about to sit on the other end of the couch and now falters. He watches Bowler Hat confusedly, and that's all the chance Green Guy needs before he's bouncing over the couch arm and landing face first on the cushions. Virgil edges away from the group to follow Bowler Hat into the kitchen. Thomas knows that they are certainly whispering to each other in there about something. Him. The something is him.

Should he tell them where his food stuff is? Or do they just, know? How long have they been around? For Thomas, it's been weeks, months at this point perhaps. But for them, how long have they been there?

Have they always been there?

Oh gosh, shouldn't he be the one offering them food or refreshments? He's the host. Unwilling or not, his parents raised him with southern hospitality. He blurts out as much, but Blue Tie holds up a hand.

"That will not be necessary. We do not need to eat. Besides, you are the priority."

"But if we could, I'd have some tempura," Green Guy says.

"Oddly tame choice," Roman muses, to which Green Guys shrugs.

"I'm a simple guy with simple needs. You chuckle-fucks are the ones always overcomplicating things."

"At any rate, to begin, introductions are in order." Blue Tie gestures towards himself. "My name is Logan. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Thomas. And this is-"

"I'm Patton!" Cardigan cheers, unable to hold himself back. "Which is what Logan was already saying. Whoops, sorry Logan."

Logan sighs, "It is alright, if to be expected."

"My name's Patton," Patton says again, then smiles large and proud with dimples. "But my kids call me Dad!"

"You have no children to speak of."

"Don't talk down about yourself, young man."

"Young man, there's no need to feel down~" Roman sings to himself.

"And that's Roman," Logan treads onwards.

Hands slap onto the coffee table. "Excuse you! I was about to introduce myself! I can introduce myself, thank you very much!"

"If you weren't so busy with musical interludes, maybe you would have done so first."

And they bicker and almost forget Thomas is there. He watches dumbly. There's a lot of personality between them all, and he gets the feeling that this is a common thing between them. He hopes its a common thing in that way that people aren't genuinely angry at each other and bicker more for the fun of it. Thomas has never really handled people being angry around him. He is a soft bean at heart who runs away from conflict.

Thomas lets it roll over him more than processes. He looks to Green Guy who lays there with his head propped, elbow bent. He's watching Thomas right back unblinking, so Thomas waves.

Green Guy surges up. He thrusts his arms in the air. "And I'm your worst nightmare!"

Roman leans towards Thomas in a conspiratorial whisper. "He's what you get if you say Beetlejuice three times. But like an off-brand Beetlejuice. Michael Keaton's understudy, if you will."

"Or you can call me by my name. Remus." And Green Guy flutters his eye lashes towards Thomas. "No seriously, call my name, right now. I need validation that my brain hasn't been deep fried. Like tempura."

Mind-boggled, Thomas repeats, "Remus?"

There's a moment of serious contemplation from Remus. His lips twitch and wiggle his mustache a bit. Then he relents in a nasally tone, "Ehhh, could have said my name a little sexier, but we'll work on it."

Patton tries to grin, cringes more-so. "Sorry. Remus is very…spirited."

"Digging six-feet deeper with the Beetlejuice reference, I like it Patton," Roman crows.

"Please try not to derail the conversation further, we've important matters to discuss," Logan says.

And it is important. It's sobering, and the others sit up a little bit. Not Remus though. He lounges back now with his arms crossed behind his head. He looks content to watch the proceedings. Past him, further in the kitchen, Thomas can see the other two managing over the bar. Virgil has pulled a bowl away from Bowler Hat's hands and places it firmly on the counter. Whatever he's whispering fervently at Bowler Hat, the body language seems aggressive.

Thomas shuts his eyes tightly for a minute. Is this all really happening? Is he sitting here on his couch with these people in his house?

"Thomas?"

He could open his eyes, but chooses not to. He rests his cheek on his hand and leans into the arm of the couch. "I'm really stupid right now. Please just tell me who you guys are."

"We just went over our names. I am Logan, as I said."

"Not literally, Nerdy Wolverine. He means like- well, Thomas what do you mean like?"

"Like what we represent?" Patton asks.

"Yeah, that one." Thomas points his finger in Patton's general direction. "Like are you guys part of a dream sorority or secret government agency sent here to spy on me?"

"That would be cool, but if we were spies, we're not very good ones. Most of us don't even wear hats."

Because hats were necessary for official spy business.

"No, we are not spies," Logan says. Thomas opens his eyes to look at him. He's evaluating. And somewhat... apologetic? "However, I can see how you can draw such a conclusion, outlandish though it is. This must feel like an extreme invasion of your privacy. That is not our intention, simply a side effect of our existence."

"So what are you?" Thomas asks. He feels like he's hanging on a precipice that he can't come back from.

Diving off the deep end indeed.

Logan takes a steadying breath. Thomas questions if he really needs to breathe, if any of them do. "I cannot tell you definitively. What I can tell you are the facts thus far. A number of years ago, we all appeared individually. Coming into awareness was difficult, and our memories are inadequate of the beginning. The first sign of clarity was you Thomas. Then we became aware of ourselves, and then each other."

"It was pretty confusing," Patton says with a little smile. "At first, it was like we couldn't even talk, just watch and listen."

That wasn't creepy at all. If Thomas tells himself that enough, he will believe it.

"How long?" He asks. "How long have you guys been there?"

"College?" Roman questions, glancing around to the others. Some shrug. "Some of us remember those bits, but others don't so much, so about there."

"Eventually we managed to get a handle on our situation, as they say." Logan elaborates. "There were initial theories that we had lived previous lives and had died, that our souls were bound to you. And while some supernatural myths concur, and our incorporeal state of being lends credence to this idea, none of us have memories of a past life or knowledge of our supposed deaths."

"But I can visualize how I died, so it's kinda the same thing."

Logan shows an impressive amount of restraint and ignores Remus. "Furthermore, all of us have the connection with you to consider. We were not members of your family or friends or anyone you knew in life. Why would we be attached to you in death? There is simply not enough evidence to support this theory. And no, Roman, this doesn't mean we're guardian angels either."

"I didn't say it," Roman mutters. "But you still can't disprove it either."

"Just, back up a second," Thomas says. "If you guys have been here for years, then why now?"

"I don't follow," Logan says, head tilted.

"He means why can he see us now," Patton supplies helpfully.

"Ah, yes, I see now. Tell me Thomas, you mentioned seeing us before in your dreams? How long have you been dreaming of us?"

Thomas bites at his lip. "About... a couple months? I think? It's been awhile. I just thought they were really lucid dreams but then..."

"Then?"

"Yes Thomas, don't leave us in suspense!"

He started seeing them outside the dreams. And it's something he fought so hard to rationalize and bury away. Something that he told himself that he couldn't tell anyone about without being called crazy.

It startles him, how relieved he is to finally say it out loud, even to the dream people themselves. They listen, and they hang onto his words. Remus too looks like he's zeroed in. Virgil and Bowler Hat (he'll learn his name eventually) are still taking too long in the kitchen. Are they listening as well?

Thomas let's it all out in a rush. He feels validated when Remus says, "Yeah, I was in your closet the other day."

"Can you be any less creepy?" Roman demands.

"Creepy is subjective. It's someone's kink somewhere."

"To think, we were starting to break through," Patton sniffles. There are tears in his eyes. If Ghost-Angel-Dream people don't eat or drink anything, how can they cry? "Or maybe that was all you, bud! Maybe you managed it all on your own! I'm so proud of you!"

"But what does it mean?" Thomas asks. He's trying to connect with Patton, to feel like the accomplishment is earned. But he doesn't know why any of this matters. "Why are you guys here? Why me?"

Patton fiddles with his fingers. He rocks back on his feet. "Well, we don't have all the answers, kiddo. I'm sorry, I know it's not what you wanted to hear. We're still figuring this out ourselves. We never thought that you'd... but that doesn't matter. What matters is you."

"Me?"

"Yeah you, buckaroo. You matter a whole lot to us."

And Thomas loses all drive. He sinks into the couch cushions. He feels cold. His arms hug around himself to little effect. He's exposed in his own home with nowhere to hide.

He's shutting down, feels the energy dying with his curiosity.

Roman goes to speak but Thomas holds up his hand much like Logan did with him earlier.

"Maybe– maybe later," he says numbly. "This is a lot."

Worry hangs over them. Thomas should feel guilty for making them worry. What did he do to deserve their worry?

These people were bound to him, trapped. They never had a choice.

Why would they be so kind?

In the midst of his pity party, Patton catches on to his state. He fetches a blanket and drapes it over him, slowly so not to startle him. Virgil reemerges from the kitchen, bowl in hand. He's noticeably alone.

"Hope you like oatmeal," he mumbles. He shuffles forward, face lowered so not to meet Thomas's gaze, and he carefully sits the steaming bowl on the coffee table next to a glass of orange juice.

"I have oatmeal?"

"Don't worry, I checked the expedition date."

It's awkward, five men sitting and standing around waiting for you to eat in front of them.

Roman's eyes squint at Virgil. "Where's the bananaconda?"

Virgil shoves his hands in his hoodie pocket and shrugs. "Stepped out."

Nothing more is said about this. They all accept that Bowler Hat isn't there, though Virgil's mood is tense. He stands there hunched, head ducked away and bangs falling over his eyes. His pose practically screams, "Don't look at me".

Thomas doesn't ask what 'stepped out' entails or about the weird nickname. He starts sluggishly on his oatmeal. Peaches and cream.

The TV flickers on. Everyone glances over to Patton holding the remote. He smiles to cover up a wince.

"Thought we could watch some 'toons. Plus, it's just so nice that we can do this now."

They hold their collective breaths, but when Thomas says nothing to object, everyone goes along with it. There's an unsaid agreement to give Thomas some space, so they don't pester him with more questions or details. They turn their attention to the screen. It's not cartoons at all. It's 'The Office' bloopers reel.

Virgil switches off the main light. Then he shoves Remus's legs around until he fits. Patton squeezes in between Logan and Remus.

On the floor, Roman has turned around to face the TV. He can't help to inch backwards, bit by bit, until he's resting with his back against the couch. His shoulder blade presses against Thomas's knee. Thomas is highly aware of the little peeks he keeps stealing over his shoulder. They're all doing it though.

Thomas stomachs half of the oatmeal and a bit of juice. When Thomas has been staring for far too long at the bowl's contents rather than eating it, Logan takes the bowl gently from him and sits it on the table.

He's seen these bloopers a thousand times. He curls deeper in the throw blanket, pulls the warmth up to his chin, and closes his eyes.