Work Text:
Roman paced his room restlessly, lines of frustration etched deeply across his forehead. There were scripts to write, new video scenarios to come up with, all kinds of projects he should be working on, and yet…
He paused, trying to breathe more deeply, more evenly, as he looked around at his room. It was usually alive with vivid colour, with red playing the starring role but supported and offset by a rainbow of a hundred vibrant hues. But now every one of them seemed washed out and dull, as though drained of life.
A deep sigh escaped him as realisation dawned, and he rubbed his hands across his face before waving a hand to fling open the door to the imagination. Beyond it, where inspirations usually took dynamic form, there was nothing but thick grey fog.
His shoulders slumped in resignation as he walked over to the doorway and ran a hand through the mist to try and dissipate it. Despite his efforts it remained as impenetrable as ever, and he sighed again. This happened sometimes, and he’d tried so many times, so many ways to break it down, yet nothing had ever made any difference. All he could do was wait for it to fade away on its own.
What could he create, with no imagination to call on? And if he couldn’t create, what was he to do?
*****
Patton awoke from a dream filled with memories and sighed, twisting around to sit on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands. On days like these his room felt like a prison, where he was doomed to recall against his will every heartbreak, every failure, every person once loved and now never to be seen again. They haunted his room like ghosts, so vivid in his mind even now and yet untouchable, unchangeable.
Another sigh escaped his lips, the draught of warm air fluttering pages of old schoolwork where they lay nearby. He glanced over at the top one, and, without effort or intention, all the emotions he'd felt during its creation came back to him, followed by the disappointment produced by the frankly terrible grade.
He turned away, seeking a distraction, and his eyes fell upon a birthday card from a former friend, still carefully cherished even after the relationship’s fade and demise.
Tears pricked his eyes and he looked further, desperate for a happy memory to retreat into, but now a photograph caught his attention, and with a clench in his heart his dream returned to him, hitting him once more with a drenching wave of sadness.
His chest was tight, crushingly so, filled with a burning pain. A prickling sensation crawled across his skin, making him shiver uncontrollably. It was getting worse, the dark fire around his heart limiting his breaths to shallow, fitful gasps.
He rubbed at his upper arms, trying to ease the discomfort, unable to suppress the longing for someone, any one of his friends to wrap him up in a proper hug. At the very thought of it tears flooded his eyes, but he blinked them quickly away. This wouldn’t do, wasn’t solving the problem, wasn’t doing anything to clear the aching nostalgia in his heart.
At the back of his mind he was dimly aware that he should reach out, that he'd told the others he wouldn't let this happen anymore, but right now the world beyond his room seemed distant and unreal, wholly detached from where he sat alone in this cage of memories.
As more tears welled up and began to fall, he wrapped his arms tightly around himself and surrendered to the pain.
*****
Roman had headed to Patton’s room hoping for a distraction - to perhaps watch a Disney marathon together, or reminisce about old theatrical performances. But all those thoughts were stripped away when Patton answered the door. His eyes were red, and his face was blotchy and streaked with hastily wiped away tears. He tried to smile, but the weak grimace wouldn't have fooled anyone, and his body still trembled with barely-contained sobs.
For a second, Roman froze. He was all too aware he wasn’t good at providing the kind of unselfish sympathy situations like this demanded. Still, leaving Patton in this state would be utterly unthinkable. Wordlessly, he wrapped his arms around the moral side and steered him back into the room to sit down on the bed.
He sat with his arms around him, taking in the sight of the scattered cards and photographs, and realisation dawned. He whispered a quick question to the other side, who nodded without looking up, and then he snapped his fingers. Instantly they were in his room, the comforter beneath them changing to his own red and gold one.
For a long moment, Patton was still. Then, freed from the influence of his room of memories, he loosened his grip on Roman’s clothing and raised his head.
“Is this better?” Roman asked, and he managed a smile in return – small and weak but undeniably genuine. The prince sighed with relief and then waited, unusually silently, for his friend to feel ready to speak.
Patton lowered his gaze and traced a finger along the gold thread of one of the comforter’s embroidered crowns. “How did you know?” he asked, his voice still tight and strained from crying.
Roman frowned, trying to puzzle out what he meant. “Oh, I didn’t”, he admitted when realisation dawned. “I just thought I’d pay you a visit, since I...” He hesitated. “I hate to admit it, but I have a creative block. The doorway to the imagination has sealed itself off.”
“Oh”, said Patton softly, his eyes still downcast, and Roman felt suddenly guilty for having only gone to him for selfish reasons. Then again, perhaps there was a link after all?
“On the other hand...” he began, and Patton looked up, startled from his reverie. Roman smiled and put an arm around him once more. “Who can be creative when their heart is suffering?”
Patton put his head on the prince’s shoulder and nestled against him. “I had a bad dream”, he explained quietly, “About that summer when Thomas was twenty. I try to forget, I really do. I tell myself it’s all in the past, but it still hurts almost as much as it did back then.”
“It was a difficult time”, agreed Roman. “Logan giving us orders, Virgil working overtime...” He shuddered. “Ugh, it’s a miracle I managed to create anything at all back then.”
Patton’s head lightly butting him made him aware he had missed the mark. “And of course, it was a very emotional time”, he added quickly. “A lot for you to deal with, I’m sure. And you handled all those complex feelings magnificently.”
He shifted his position, turning so that his free hand could begin stroking Patton’s hair. He must have done something right, because the moral side responded by wrapping his arms around Roman’s waist.
They stayed that way for several minutes, and Roman let his thoughts drift. There surely must be some way he could help his friend, but with the imagination blocked off he couldn’t conjure cute animals or take him on a thrilling adventure to distract him. Still, as Creativity he ought to be able to think of some kind of solution.
Think, Roman… Ugh, perhaps I should have called Logan after all; he knows how to cope when you’re stuck with just facts…
“Wait!” he exclaimed suddenly, startling Patton. Eyes shining, he pulled back and grasped the moral side’s hands. “Stick to the facts!”
“Huh?” Patton blinked at him.
“That’s it! The solution to my problem! ...And hopefully yours as well, if it works.”
Patton gave him a watery smile, confusion written all over his face. “Well that’s great, Roman”, he said, “But wouldya care to explain what the boiled cabbages you’re on about?”
Roman kissed him enthusiastically on the forehead. “My dearest Patton, I’ve just had the most marvellous idea. Would you be willing to guide me through the memory? Describe it in detail, while I write it down? I could turn it into a story, and you might find that talking it through helps to loosen its fearsome grip on you."
There was a moment’s silence as Patton processed the idea, and Roman’s gleeful expression morphed into one of nervous hope – which changed again into relief as the moral side nodded his agreement.
“Where should I start”, he asked, his eyes dropping once more to the embroidered comforter.
Roman thought for a moment, idly waving a hand to summon a notebook and then a pen. “We should really begin by setting the scene”, he suggested. “Where were you in the dream?”
Patton looked up, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Do you remember how we used to go for picnics in that meadow?”
“I remember”, Roman softly assured him.
Patton’s eyes grew distant again as he sank into the memory, and Roman took one of his hands in an effort to keep him from getting too lost in it. It seemed to work, because the moral side shifted to interlace their fingers, anchoring himself. Balancing his notebook carefully in his lap as he listened, Roman began to write.
*****
They were there for several hours, taking breaks whenever the memories got too much and Patton’s tears fell once more. At those times, Roman quietly held him, waiting patiently until he was ready to speak once more.
“Where are we going to end this story?” the creative side asked at last, as they reached the end of yet another scene. “Do you have any preferences?”
Patton wrinkled his nose thoughtfully. “I don’t know. The story doesn’t really have an ending, does it? I mean, it’s Thomas’ life, and that’s still ongoing.”
“And will hopefully continue for a very long time!” agreed Roman. “Still, we can’t sit here writing out his whole life story, or we won’t be able to play active roles in it!” He considered for a moment. “How about this… There’s no rule saying the whole story has to be factual. If we brainstorm together, perhaps we can weave it into a fictionalised account with a clearer ending.”
“A happy ending?” asked Patton, meeting his eyes uncertainly.
Roman gave his shoulders a squeeze. "Of course! Who do you think we are?" He frowned suddenly. "Of course, to create something like that, we'd need access to the imagination..."
He waved a hand and the door swung open, but although the fog was still there it looked different somehow. He stood and walked over to it, Patton following, and gave it an experimental push. The mist parted before his hand.
He laughed in surprise, waving his hand through it wildly to dispel the grey. Patton giggled and copied him, crouching down and swishing his hands to clear the lower part of the doorway.
Beyond it lay...summer. An open meadow, the warm sunshine beating down from an almost cloudless blue sky, baking the grass yellow beneath it. A scene from Patton’s memories, and, more than that, the scene from his dream.
He stood up slowly, tears once more threatening his eyes as he gazed out across that landscape, overwhelmed by the vividness of it all.
He felt Roman's arm around him and looked to see concern on the other side's face. Patton smiled at him, not trusting his voice but needing to let his friend know that it was okay, that he was okay, just feeling emotions too powerful to hide. No, emotions he didn’t need to hide because Roman was there to help him through them.
“It looks so real”, he said softly, barely above a whisper.
Roman smiled at him kindly. “Just because it’s imaginary, that doesn’t mean it’s not real”, he reminded him. “Now, would you like to sit in the sun with me and think of happy endings?”
Patton nodded, and Roman gently took his hand and led him through the doorway into the meadow beyond. The memory itself would never change, Patton knew that. For all Roman’s powers, he couldn’t alter the past. But somehow, expressing the emotions, turning them around and spinning them into a new creation, made them easier to manage. And with Roman by his side, he knew the future ahead would be happy after all.