Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“How does it feel to be evil?”

Roman is standing at the threshold of Remus’ door. He was afraid to knock, but once his hand had just raised to the tentacled knocker, the door swung open to reveal a surprised Remus --a surprised brother, in the matters of truth-- at the sight of him. It must’ve not helped that he looked like Hell with a wig on; his clothes were sagging off of him, and he couldn’t be bothered to even cover up the fact that hours of crying came before this visit. His face was drained and frown was tugging every other feature about him down with it. Certainly not becoming of a prince.

Even more shocking than the visit and appearance combined was the question. It was sudden, sputtered out like he had been thinking about it over and over with every step he took to get here. If Remus had any sort of malicious expression, it was gone completely, replaced with concern and suspicion.

“...who are you and what have you done with Sir PBS Kids?”

He huffs out a frustrated breath. “Remus...”

Remus cuts him off. “Do you expect me to have an answer for that question on the fly? It comes with the price of a proper visit! I know I’m devilish with my wit and smarts but come on now, Roman, do be reasonable!” With that, he moves to the side and gestures for Roman to enter. “Come now don’t keep me waiting. You know how impatient I can be.”

There seemed to be no other option. He was too lost to even fight it. “...right.” With that, he enters the dark, cold den of the beast he knows as his twin.

His brother’s room is just as imagined: messy beyond belief. There was the upsetting stinky, sour scent of something rotten or dead hanging in the air. All sorts of questionable things were strewn about along with clothes, broken runner up trophies and notebooks full of images too violent, hateful or inappropriate for Roman to feel good at all about focusing on too long. Where there should’ve been a bed was just a mass of blankets, pillows, and some occasional semblances of a threadbare mattress, springs sticking out at odd angles. 

The only “normal” thing was the two chairs and table that just appeared, one of the chairs being embellished with velvet cushioning and the golden carved and woven wood that knotted into a lion’s head just at the top of it. He assumed that one was his until Remus went over and sat in it, putting his feet up on the table. The other chair was gnarled, rotten wood, all sorts of knives, buckles, and slimy parts that almost seemed to breathe and move holding it together. It looked fragile and corrupted, begging to break at any moment. Is this some sort of joke? Looking at it made his skin crawl, even more so when Remus gestured to it merrily.

“Take a seat! Want a drink? I’m fresh outta some of the good stuff, but I’m sure we can find something to your taste.” He leans back in the chair, teetering it as Roman musters up the courage to sit. The grotesque thing sinks with his weight in it, and he shudders while trying to remain serious with his brother.

Roman shakes his head at the offer, and Remus only shrugs and summons a mug of something closer to moonshine than milk. “Alright, then. Down to business! What kind of business, I wonder? You better have something good for me, I’m a very busy man, with Thomas’ dreams to torture and warp and whatnot.” At Roman’s face in response to that, he cackles and slams the mug down. It sloshes the liquid and spills it on the table. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!”, he says, only to add, “Unless I’m not~”

At this point, Roman was regretting coming considerably. “Enough! Of this.” His exclamation makes Remus perk up in interest “I just came here for one answer, and then I’m gone.”

His twin leans in, twirling his mustache and taking another unhealthy swig. “Go on...” It’s teasing, stupidly enough. Roman feels like they’re children again, striking some deal that has no consequences. He almost yearns for that to be the case; everything nowadays is just big moral decision after big moral decision. 

“You’re... you’re not good. As a person. And you’re proud of that.” It’s a rocky start, but it only seems to bring a fond smile to Remus' face. When he isn’t interrupted, he continues hesitantly. “I... just. I want to know how you can even live like this, how you... how it feels to...”

“Be evil, as you said?”

The nonchalant finishing of the question startles Roman slightly, but he nods. “Yes, I suppose.”

Some cartoonish tapping of the chin happens before Remus says anything more. “What I want to know is what calls for such a peculiar little question?” Roman was expecting that, but it didn’t make it any more difficult to form an answer to. There was an answer, but he was ashamed to speak of it, to talk about what happened...

“Now Roman,” His “R” is rolled in the way Remus says his name, and he just growls to himself. “...you must have some sort of answer. What brings you here, to my domain? What is so pressing that could have you even need an answer from me, an audience with me?” The word “audience” doesn’t sit too well with him. It’s arrogant and selfish. It sounds too much like something Roman would’ve said in the past, or maybe when they weren’t separated.

A pregnant pause follows. Roman stares ahead with a hard gaze while Remus drinks and slides his eyes over patiently. Finally, the prince shifts in the chair, but it only makes him sink further into it. Struggling to get up and leave would be so much effort, and he was disoriented and here for a reason. Stalling further would get him nowhere.

“I... something happened. Between De... Janus, and I.”

That seems to delight Remus. “Oh?”

“I said something... unbecoming. And so did he. And then... they just... they...” He feels tears welling up in his eyes, and he shakes his head, willing them away and taking a quick breath to level his voice. “They took his side, in the end. So I’m here. Asking you a question about evil because... because...” He didn’t have a reason, after all this time. Was it because it felt right? Was it because he just didn’t know who else to turn to? Virgil hasn’t been around at all, and now Patton and Janus seem to be seeing eye to eye in ways he can’t understand. Thomas had looked at him like... like he barely knew what to think of him anymore.

Am I evil?

Perhaps that was the question he wanted to ask of his brother, but that would be too much. That would be too direct to say, and too... painful, if he got the answer he wasn’t hoping for.

In all of this introspection and confusion, Remus seemed to grow bored. He stands up suddenly, and gestures for Roman to stand as well with a soft “get up, get up”. With some effort, Roman pushes himself out of that sinking chair and to his feet, bracing himself on the table.

“What?” He asks, but Remus just waves it away, taking a step closer. 

“If you really are so pressed to know how it feels...” Remus reaches his hand up to Roman’s forehead. Fear is in Roman’s eyes, but he isn’t backing up or turning away. “...then who am I to deny you your simple pleasures, brother?”

When the hand is pressed to his head, the effect is immediate. The palm stretches out this all encompassing darkness that crawls forward into his mind and settles. It makes him so very cold, like ice is sliding over every single bone, through all the pores of his body. He cries out, because it’s so lonely that it hurts, and he staggers where he stands, almost pitching too far to the left. Remus grabs a firm hold of his arm so he doesn’t fall, but doesn’t stop. Red, hot fire begins to bubble now in Roman’s chest, molten lava of emotions and rage. It threatens to spill from his mouth like bile, and instead it makes his face flushed hot with anger and disrespect, misunderstanding and frustration.

It’s so much, it’s so deep and cutting and blinding, it’s...

Awful, that Roman has already felt this before.

Remus watches Roman’s face sink into this solemn familiarity as he controls it. The pains roll in like waves, the hate under his tongue and never reaching his full conscience. So that’s what this has been... Fire burns him from the inside out and ice chills him until his fingers feel numb and frostbitten. He wants to take it out on every thing that moves and breathes, and... that possibility for such destruction had been living inside of him, that evil had been tucked just behind his eyelids and stuffed down past his ribcage this entire time.

Remus’ eyes widen and he lets go of his brother, pulling his hand back and leaving Roman sputtering and gasping for air under all of that pressure. He laughs while Roman can barely stand, holding himself upright against the table. All of that clarity over everything left him, but there is this nausea that takes its place as Roman begins to realize what just happened like Remus currently is.

“You sly son of a cock-eyed gun!”

“Wh-what-?”

“Haha!” Remus is elated in the sickest way. “You didn’t need to know what it feels like at all, did you? No no no, of course not!” He leans in dangerously close, satisfaction in his too-wide grin. “You just needed to confirm it was what you’ve been feeling all this time.” 

Roman pushes him away, but it’s too late. That awful truth was closing its jaws around him and he holds his now aching head, feeling those sensations begin to start up within him again. “N-No, that, c-can’t-”

Remus wasn’t caring to explain anything further to him. He was too caught up in his happiness over such a cruel fact, singing a song that was making it hard to focus. “Roman’s the King of Evil, Roman’s the King of Evil~”

“You not, listening to me, no his can’t be-”

“But I am, oh yes I am! All I’m listening to is the truth, the truth now that you can’t deny-”

“Shut up!” Roman’s fist pounds the table and he yells at him frantically, “You don’t understand, you never will! You don’t listen to me! Nobody does! Nobody was listening to me when everything happened! I hate it! I hate it, and I hate them , for never-”

The words solidified something in him that he couldn’t take back. Hate. He used the word hate. Another new giggling cackle was coming from Remus, who now slung his arm around his distraught brother’s shoulder with whooping laughter. Roman’s hands clamped over his mouth, the tears welling up in his eyes. 

I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean that. Why can’t I say what I mean correctly? Why can’t I...

A sudden shake from Remus pulls him out of his spiral for a second to look at him. He saw himself reflected in those green eyes and wanted to scream, but there was nobody he could turn to that would ever dare help him if they’d heard what he just said in a stupid, unthinking rage. Nobody... except Remus.

“Now, don’t look so down in the dumps!” It’s said with a tone of no remorse. Roman knew there was no coming back from this as Remus told him,

“Now that you know how it feels brother, I can teach you what you can do with it.” 

And there was no other choice Roman could make.