Chapter Text
a second part of "Cut" where it's the Others helping Roman figure out what's real and what isn't? Like a look into what continued support for Roman would look like. Maybe some creativitwins moments? – oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat
After learning that Roman had, apparently, invented one of the most sophisticated psychological torture methods Remus has ever seen without even consulting him, and using it on himself, Remus decides that no, Roman doesn’t get to pretend he’s okay for a little bit.
And if that means he has to politely bully Roman into taking care of himself, then that’s what he’s gonna do.
“Come on,” he coaxes, throwing Roman’s favorite red rain jacket at him, “let’s go pick some mushrooms.”
“Re, it’s fine, I don’t have to—“
“A-bup-bup!” Remus holds up a finger. “No protesting, or else I’ll sic Ollie on you and tell him you’re worried.”
Which would lead to the Kraken cuddling Roman for the next week or so. All in all, not a bad thing, but judging by how much the thought of it is making Roman cringe, a good enough threat to make him shrug on the jacket and pull on his boots.
Remus pushes the door to the Imagination open to reveal part of their shared forest, a mossy path twisting into the foggy depths of the trees. The door shuts and vanishes with a slight hum as they start to walk, the soft crunch-crunch of their footsteps accompanied by noises that might be echoes of their own movement, might not. Every so often a shadow will pass through the mist, some large and hulking, others too quick to name. Large moss-covered boulders periodically loom out of the shadows, marking their path.
Roman’s red coat dulls and grows more vibrant in equal measure, almost looking like a bloodstain in the midst of the dark green forest. He shifts to walk a little closer to Remus, their shoulders brushing. It makes the grotesque little spark in the base of Remus’s chest burn just a little brighter; Roman’s still that brave boy that needs to know his brother is right next to him after all.
Maybe it makes Remus reach out and take Roman’s hand. Maybe.
As they move deeper and deeper into the mist, a shadow covers their path, almost swallowing them. They turn as a hulking wolf melts from the mist, a soft growl greeting them as two puffs of air leave its nostrils. Roman smiles softly, reaching up with his free hand. The wolf rumbles again, leaning down to touch its nose delicately to his fingertips.
“He missed you,” Remus says quietly, “and all your fairytale shit.”
“I’ve missed him too.”
The wolf huffs, sounding almost like a laugh, as he nudges the both of them onwards. Up ahead, in between the trees, lies a small clearing. As they pass underneath the wooden ceiling, sets of mushrooms greet them with an almost unnaturally blue bioluminescence. These are the ones Remus uses to feed the baby implings, and Roman to make some of the more complicated healing stuff. The wolf sits on his haunches as Roman produces two baskets, handing one to Remus as he starts harvesting some of the larger mushrooms.
“Hey, Ro?”
“Yeah?”
Remus toys with a leaf between his fingernails. “Why’d you start doing that?”
There’s a rustle as Roman pauses, sitting back on his heels. A quick glance over shows that he’s fiddling with a small purple flower. Behind them, the wolf sighs, putting his head on his front paws.
“It was easier,” he says eventually, “than trying to figure out what to do in the moment. I could try it as many times as I wanted to figure out what was right.”
“But that’s not what we would do.”
He scoffs. “Yeah, it kind of was. Not you, necessarily, but the others? I had them down perfectly for a while.”
“…Ro…”
The wolf stretches his neck out to take the very edge of Roman’s hood delicately between his teeth. Roman lets him tug him to standing, then over to his side. Remus gets up too, coming to sit between the wolf’s paws as he scents Roman’s hair.
“You smell sad, apparently.”
Roman pats the wolf’s cheek. “It’s fine, really. I just pushed myself too hard.”
”You were torturing yourself.”
“That’s exaggerating it, Remus—“
“You were subjecting yourself to horrible experiences for no reason,” Remus says bluntly, “aside from being fucking stupid, that’s torturing yourself.”
The wolf snuffles in agreement, all but making Roman sit down in the cradle of its front legs. Roman goes and Remus has the oddly entertaining thought of Little Red Riding Hood where the wolf and the grandmother are one and the same.
”It just worked,” Roman says eventually, still holding the flower, “it worked, okay?”
“Until it didn’t.”
Roman sighs and the flower falls to the ground. “Until it didn’t.”
The wolf noses at Roman’s hair. There’s a quiet rumble as he makes himself comfortable, curling more closely around the two of them. Remus takes the hint and shuffles close enough to pull his brother into his arms.
“Don’t do it anymore,” he mumbles, “come here, or something?”
“…I’ll try.”
The wolf growls at the mists until they part, the grove of mushrooms glowing faintly in the heart of the forest.
2.
Patton finds Roman curled up in the living room, nursing a cup of tea.
He’s been thinking a lot about what’s been going on recently, and at how much Roman had been bracing to get hurt every time something went wrong. With this in mind, he goes into the kitchen and takes out Roman’s favorite candy before walking over.
”Roman?”
Roman’s head jerks around. “Patton?”
Patton holds out the candy. Roman’s eyes widen for a moment and he sees his fingers twitch, before he looks back up.
“Is something wrong?”
A pang ripples through Patton’s chest but he forces himself not to wince. “No, kiddo, nothing’s wrong. I just thought you might want some candy.”
“O-oh.” Roman reaches out slowly, as if he’s waiting for the catch. When nothing comes, he takes it and tucks it safely into his lap. “Thanks.”
“Can I sit with you?”
“…sure.”
He half expects Janus to pop up. When he doesn’t, he takes a deep breath and sits on the other edge of the couch, looking at Roman out of the corner of his eye. Roman shifts a few times, clearly aware of his scrutiny, but he doesn’t say anything.
The clock ticks.
“Patton?”
“Yeah?”
“When…when we baked together last, what did we make?”
Patton frowns. “Last time…I believe the last time was chocolate chip cookies. For movie night.”
“Movie night, right.” Roman nods to himself a few times. “Thank you.”
“Would…would that be helpful?” He can’t help but push. “If I told you what else I remembered?”
“Not—maybe not right now, but if I need to ask you?”
“I can do that.”
They lapse into silence again. Patton tries not to stare too obviously at him. After a few long seconds, however, the words well up on the tip of his tongue and he can’t help it.
“Roman?”
“Yeah?”
“Can…I have a question for you.”
Roman shifts, turning to face him, the cup and candy balanced in his lap, almost out of sight. “What is it?”
“You seem…you seem like you’re afraid of me.”
Roman’s eyes widen. His mouth opens, probably to instinctively deny it, but he seems to remember that Janus can and will use that as an excuse to appear and smother him, so he closes it after a moment. Patton’s hands bunch and unbunch in the fabric of his pants. Roman looks away, his jaw working. His hand twitches on his cup again.
“It’s not that I’m scared of you,” he says finally, still not looking at him, “it’s…it’s more like I’m just…bracing.”
“For what?”
He winces again. “I’m—you know.”
“I don’t. Sorry,” he says when Roman flinches again, “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be short with you, I just want to know.”
“You’re always short,” Roman mumbles, sighing a moment later. “It just hurts sometimes when I’m talking to you and I don’t want it to hurt. But I know that’s not your fault and I’m not saying it is, I know that’s something I need to work on, I’m not blaming you—“
“Sweetheart, it’s okay,” Patton interrupts with a hand on his shoulder, “shh, it’s okay.”
Roman hesitates for a long moment before leaning into it. His chest flutters.
“I’m sorry it hurts,” he says instead, “is there…is there anything I can do to make it hurt less?”
”Not really. I just have to unlearn the whole…” He waves his hand in a way that’s probably supposed to indicate the Imagination. “That thing first. The, um, the reality checks are helpful though.”
“I’m glad.”
They go back to silence again, but Roman breaks it first this time. “Can—is that why you came down here?”
“Yeah. I wanted to talk to you.”
“How did you know I was here?”
Oh. Well, that’s an easy one. “It’s sunny outside and you finished your project yesterday. I knew you’d want to be down here to enjoy the warmth.”
Surprise and relief flicker across his face and a small smile forms. “You…really remember all that?”
“Roman, you’re one of my special little kiddos, of course I remember. Aww,” he coos when Roman’s face starts to turn pink, “you don’t have to be embarrassed, it’s okay!”
“Don’t do that, Padre.”
“Don’t do what?”
“No, no, no, that’s a trap, I know a trap when I see one. No, thank you.”
Patton giggles, shifting a little closer on the couch to lean against Roman’s side. The sunlight really does feel nice, not too hot, not too bright. His eyes drift closed, just enjoying the warmth of it.
After a moment, he hears the crinkle of candy wrappers and smiles.
3.
Virgil finds Roman in his room, sitting on his bed and looking too sad, and decides nope, it’s cuddle time.
Roman barely puts up a fight, which means it’s really cuddle time if Princey can’t even muster up a half-hearted protest, and soon they’re wrapped up in blankets with just the top of their heads poking out. Virgil hauls him up until he’s tucked under his chin, running his hands up and down his back as Roman stares off into nothingness. Every so often, a tremor will run through him, and he has to soothe it away before that little friendly face comes back.
“Hey,” he mumbles when Roman starts to glare at his desk instead of just looking at it, “hey, hey, Princey. You stay with me, okay? Don’t chase the mean thought rabbits.”
Roman hums something back, rubbing his cheek absent-mindedly against Virgil’s chest.
“You wanna talk about it?”
As soon as it comes out of his mouth, he knows it’s the wrong thing to have said. Roman tenses up and almost pulls away, growing somehow bigger and smaller at the same time. Virgil has to warp his arms tightly around him a squeeze to even get him to relax.
“We don’t have to talk,” he says as quickly as possible, “that’s fine. We can just lie here. I’m not gonna leave, you’re okay, you’re okay, Princey, calm down.”
It takes way, way too long to get Roman back from whatever brink that question pushed him to, to the point where Virgil’s rolling them over so he can squish Roman into the mattress. Only then does he finally lose that wide-eyed thing, sagging into the plush mound of blankets and leaning into Virgil’s touch.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, Princey, it’s my fault for asking that in the first place.” He leans down to rest their foreheads against each other. “I won’t make you talk about it, I promise.”
“‘S stupid.”
“What’s stupid?”
Roman jerks his head. “That. That whole thing.”
“Why was it stupid?”
“You didn’t even do anything.”
Virgil sighs, shifting to prop himself up so they can talk properly. “As the Mindscape’s resident expert on freaking out about nothing—“
Roman snorts.
“—you’re fine, Princey. You…you’ve been having a bad time recently, so it’s all good.”
”..thanks.”
“Can I—and you can say no, you can tell me to fuck off, you have blanket permission to react however you want to this, not that you need it—can I ask why that question freaked you out?”
He braces himself for Roman to do anything from have a panic attack to hit him in the face—fair, honestly—but Roman just sighs, curling up in the lea of him. It’s…well, it’s kind of devastating.
“That’s the loneliest time.”
He frowns. “What’s the loneliest time?”
”Right before you tell someone what you did wrong.” Roman looks up at him. “Because they’re all concerned you’re upset, and then they hear why you’re upset, and then they don’t want to comfort you anymore.”
Maybe it’s because Princey’s unfairly good at describing things, or maybe it’s because Virgil’s paying attention to his emotional state right now, but he can feel the thing that Roman’s talking about. That cold swoop deep in his gut, the awful anticipation where you just know that they’re going to be mad or disappointed. The switch from having someone speak to you softly, that it’s alright, they’re here to help, it’s okay, to the cold as they pull away, as their voice hardens and their words grow sharper. How they’re going to tell you that you shouldn’t be upset, or that you deserve to feel bad, but you should focus on fixing your mistakes instead of letting you be hurt because you need to be.
Before he loses himself in the spiral of nasty brain feelings, he gives himself a small shake and hugs Roman tighter.
“You don’t need to be lonely right now,” he mumbles, “I’m right here. I’m right here, see? I’m not asking you what’s wrong, I’m not gonna be mad or disappointed, I don’t care. I care that you’re upset and you’re hurting and I want to help.”
Roman’s cold nose presses into the crook of his neck. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, Princey. If you gotta just sit with the hurt, I’ll sit with you.”
It takes a moment of shifting, but eventually Roman’s arms wind their way around Virigl’s waist and back. He squeezes. Virgil squeezes back. Some of the tension finally seems to bleed out of him, his eyes breaking from their stare to flutter closed.
“Oh, Princey,” he mumbles, half to himself, “you’re so tired.”
He makes sure the covers are pulled up around them and tucks Roman’s head against his. They’re probably not gonna be moving for a while.
4.
Logan holds out a hand before Roman can pull out his usual notebook. “I thought we could try something a little different today.”
“Okay, what did you have in mind?”
Logan reaches into his binder and pulls out a thin sheaf of paper, annotated with red pen. “I’ve been looking at some of the comments recently, and I realized that I’m out of practice with performing close-readings of texts. So I thought that I could talk about my analysis of one of the works that you’ve done, and you could tell me how I did?”
Roman’s mouth falls open. He drops his pen. “You—you want to what?”
“I’ve fallen out of the habit of that sort of analysis, and I’d like to not lose it entirely, so—“
“Why mine?”
Logan blinks. “Well, aside from the fact that you are one of the only writers with whom I can directly communicate and receive feedback, you are adept at crafting well-written pieces that would serve as excellent examples on which to practice.”
“I—uh—um—“ Roman splutters for another moment. “I-if you want to?”
“Thank you. I’ve picked one of the shorter pieces from the collection you updated recently.”
”Oh. Uh, okay.”
”Would it be helpful for you to have a copy as well?” Roman nods and he passes over another copy. “That does have my notes on it if you’d like to read along.”
There’s a flicker of something in Roman’s expression as he takes in the sheer amount of red ink on the pages, but he steels himself and nods. “Okay. Whenever you’re ready.”
“Excellent. Well, to begin with, I have to commend you on the efficacy of your opening line. It sets up the themes without being overt and it foreshadows the turning point that comes about two-thirds of the way through.” He moves down the page. “And the symbolism you’ve chosen really is masterful—taking the connotations of such well-known motifs and turning them on their heads, really incredible.”
“Uh—“
“I do have to ask: did you intend for the reading to be done multiple times? It’s habit for me; I find I develop greater appreciation for the writer’s craft upon a second read-through, but this one in particular, with the amount of parallels you’ve drawn begin the beginning and the end, it really does seem like—“
“Cut.”
Logan pauses, glancing up. Roman is staring at him, wide-eyed, his knuckles white on the edge of the table. The poor thing looks like he’s about to run away and Logan can’t stop himself from reaching for him.
“Cut,” Roman repeats, leaning away, “cut, cut!”
“Roman,” Logan says gently, “Roman, it’s me. It’s really me, I’m real.”
“But—but you’re being nice.”
Oh, Roman…
“N-not that you aren’t ever nice to me! You are nice,” Roman babbles, “you are, I just—I just meant that we’ve never done something like this before, and—and I just—I didn’t know—“
“Shh, shh,” Logan murmurs, trying to get his attention back, “can you look at me?”
Roman looks. Slowly, telegraphing his movements, he reaches over and takes Roman’s hands in his.
“Squeeze,” he bids lightly, “I’m here.”
Roman squeezes, an embarrassed flush coming to his face. Before he can apologize, Logan squeezes again.
“It’s okay. That was my error; I should have anticipated that you might react poorly to such a deviation from the norm. I didn’t mean to upset you, truly.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s alright if it’s not.”
Roman swallows heavily. His gaze hasn’t left their hands. As Logan watches, his eyes start to grow damp.
“Oh, little one…”
“It’s fine,” Roman insists, freeing one of his hands to scrub roughly at his face, ”I’m just being dramatic.”
"You're dramatic a lot, I daresay we're used to it." His gentle tone undoes most of the bite in his words, but clearly not enough from the way the hand in his twitches. "You're real, I'm real, we're here at this table, that's all real."
There's a tremble to Roman's lower lip as he tries to take a deep breath and steady himself. Logan opens his hand again, waiting, until Roman slowly places it back in his. After another moment, he looks back up. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize, it's not your fault."
"Isn't it?"
"No," Logan says, firmer this time, "you are upset and rightfully so. You don't have to apologize for something upsetting you when you have no control over what will and will not trigger you."
"…okay."
"Are you alright to keep going? We can always stop if you'd rather do something else. I hear Remus has been working on his side of the castle, we could go walk around there instead."
"Is that okay?"
"Of course," he says, smoothly packing everything away, only for Roman to hold onto his copy of his story.
"Can I…keep this?" he asks, almost shyly. Logan smiles, ruffling his hair.
"Of course, little one. I'll be happy to talk about it whenever you like."
5.
Janus opens the door, softening when he sees Roman standing there. "Hello, sweetie, what can I do for you?"
"I'm making a bad choice and I want you to know about it."
He blinks. Right to the point, then. "Do you want to come in?"
Roman nods sharply, stepping inside as Janus shuts the door carefully behind them. He doesn't move any further inside, lingering by the door, until Janus prompts him again. "I'm trying not to…do that thing again."
"That's good, I'm proud of you for that."
A quiet flinch. "In order to do that, I'm…writing it. Instead. Not it directly, but something—a vent thing to help deal with it."
"Alright, I think I understand."
"In order to do that, I have to…sit with it."
Janus frowns. "'It?'"
"The…bad stuff."
Ah. "I see. Are there other alternatives for—"
"I'm not here to help stop it," Roman interrupts, even as he braces for what he thinks will be a consequence for talking over him, "I'm here because—"
He cuts himself.
Something terribly sad strikes Janus then, as he looks at the little prince trying to summon his courage again: when was the last time they saw Roman chase what he wanted? Without fear, with reckless abandon, with the passion that they all came to associate with him?
Had it been before the wedding?
Before the callback?
When had Roman gotten to want?
"I'm writing to get it out of me," comes the mumble and Janus shakes himself out of his musing, "and when…when it's out of me…"
Oh.
Oh.
"Come here when you're finished," Janus promises softly, "I'll look after you. We've been talking about doing makeup for a while now, I've got some stuff we can try."
Roman nods. His mouth twitches. And Janus can't help himself; he walks closer, reaching out to take Roman's hand in his. His gloves brush the familiar calluses, worn smooth from years and years of training, and he fits his fingers to the ones that feel the coldest. Roman's breath catches in his throat as he does, instinctively turning a little more.
"We can watch something too," he continues, still as though he's luring some skittish animal, "or just cuddle, if you want. I've missed one of my space heaters recently, you know Remus is much too squirmy."
Roman chokes out a laugh that's almost a sob. Janus squeezes his hand, daring to pull him closer. He wraps his other arm around Roman's shoulders, a sympathetic noise leaving him at the way Roman screws his eyes shut.
"We could go to the greenhouse too," he offers, and he sees Roman physically hold himself back from reaching out, "just sit there? The flowers are just starting to bloom, the cat that's found its way in there would be happy to have some cuddles."
"Stop," Roman croaks out, "I have to…I have to do it first."
"You don't have to be hurt to deserve comfort, sweetie."
"I think we both know that's not true."
Janus doesn't get a chance to address how devastating that sentence was before Roman's pulling away from his hold, mumbling a thanks, and walking into the hallway like a knight to a doomed battle. Janus watches him go for another second before he turns to the mirror over his dresser. He runs his finger carefully along the edge. Some of the gold flakes off onto his thumb and he turns it this way and that. Few of the bits retain any luster at all, let alone their original sheen.
Not for the first time, he feels a pang of regret for how he handled…everything. Especially with Roman. Remus accused him of using Roman's face as a launchpad to get himself in better standings with Thomas, and he didn't need to be Lord of the Lies to know that Remus was being as honest as they come. How much of Roman's disbelief of things was due to him? How badly did he shatter Roman's perception of reality that he felt the need to worsen it on his own? How could he have done things differently, what could he have done to avoid whatever this tenuous existence is they find themselves in now?
He gives himself a shake, dislodging the golden specks. There's no use dwelling on what's already been done. Roman has come to him to ask for help. That's more than he ever could have hoped for after all the two of them have been through. It's not up to him to determine what he could have done then, he has to focus on what he has to do now.
+1.
It's done.
It's done.
It's done and it's out of him and he never has to think about any of it ever again and he closes his laptop and stuffs his phone into his pocket and stumbles out of his room in an oversized t-shirt and sweatpants and he doesn't have to deal with the awful thoughts ricocheting around his head anymore and he's not going to the Imagination, he's not, he's not, he's not—
He almost doesn't realize he's made it to Janus's door until he's staring at it dumbly. He sees a hand lift up to knock on it—oh, that's his hand, he's knocking—and then the door's opening and there's Janus.
"Oh, sweetie," he hears faintly, "are you all done?
He nods and then he's being ushered into the soft dark room and there are gloved hands on his shoulders, guiding him gently over to the big overstuffed chair thing and Janus is tilting his chin up.
"Hey," he murmurs, and Roman blinks, "hi, sweetie. You look like you're in quite desperate need of a cuddle, is that true?"
He nods again, reaching up, only to let out a bewildered noise when Janus fully picks him up and carries him over to a bed of— oh, this must be where Janus keeps his heat lamp because all the pillows and blankets are soft and warm and it's like being put in the dryer in the best way possible. Janus chuckles when he mumbles something to that effect, lying down and wrapping all of his arms around him.
"Is that right, little prince? Are we putting you in the dryer so you can come out all clean?" He wipes a tear with his thumb, giving him a gentle squeeze. "Or are you going to be like Remus and fall asleep in the freshly clean laundry before I put it all away?"
"I heard lies and slander," Remus announces, appearing out of nowhere, only to coo at the sight of Roman reaching out for him. "Oh, hey, Roro, is it cuddle time?"
"Mhm."
"Remus," he hears Janus say, a little firmer, "I seem to recall a conversation about asking before we do things."
"I summoned him," Roman mumbles, "on accident, but he—I—"
"That's alright, then." Janus says, relaxing back into the pillows and scratching his fingers across Roman's scalp, "just wanted to make sure you were alright with it."
"Roro knows I'm the best at squishing people back into their meat sacks." There's a weight that he knows is Remus pressing carefully on his chest and legs, making him mumble sleepily. "You wanna take a nap?"
"…mm."
"You can fall asleep," Janus says softly, moving to lightly scratch his back, "I don't mind. You look like you could use it."
"That's rude, Janny, you saying he looks tired?"
"I'm saying that he's not been able to open his eyes since I picked him up."
Oh. That's true. Janus didn't turn the lights off, his eyes are just closed. But opening them sounds like work and everything is so soft and warm right now…
Wait.
Trying not to alert the others that he's awake, or that he's waking himself up, he rouses just enough to whisper cut.
Nothing happens. They don't fade, it doesn't get cold, nothing—nothing changes.
Then Janus lets out a quiet oh, sweetie, and Remus wraps his arms around his legs.
"We're real," Remus promises, "we're real and we're right here. Snakey has you, you're all good, we're all real."
"I'm right here," Janus murmurs, kissing his forehead—he wouldn't dare imagine that— "you're here with me, we're just having a nap, alright?"
"Will you be here when I wake up?"
"Of course, sweetie."
"Right here, Roro. We're not going anywhere."
There is such a strange feeling, Roman decides, about actually having the thing you dream about. You don't want to touch it, you don't want to ruin it by bringing into the reality you know. What if it decides it doesn't like it? What if it decides it doesn't like you? What do you do with a dream that wants nothing to do with you? Or worse, what if you do finally get your hands on it only to reveal that it was never worth dreaming about in the first place?
A hand gently tugs on his hair.
"You're thinking too much, sweetie." Lips brush his forehead. "Just close your eyes and rest. Let us take care of you."
"This is real," he can't help but mumble as Janus reaches out to turn off the lamp, "right?"
"Yes, sweetie, this is real."
From near the base of his ribs, he feels Remus nuzzle him. "Real as can be, Ro-bro. Now make with the shushy."
Roman dozes off in the warm pile of pillows and all he can think is encore.